Foundations Book Two

by Foundations B

  "Joy be with you, friend," Marplon said.

  Without Landru to guide us, Reger thought, even old habits such as a traditional greeting seem out of place now.

  "Thank you for coming so quickly, Reger," Marplon continued. "I fear we may have a problem."

  Marplon ushered Reger into his home and as he stepped forward into a simple yet warmly furnished sitting room, he saw his friend Hacom sitting on a couch with his face in his hands. The man was visibly distraught, dressed in wrinkled bedclothes and a robe. His gray hair, normally groomed impeccably, was tousled.

  Casting a questioning look at Marplon, Reger crossed the room to his friend. As he drew closer, he could hear the man sobbing quietly. "Hacom," he said, putting a hand on the old man's shoulder, "what troubles you so?"

  Hacom looked up, and Reger saw a measure of calm ease the deep lines of his face. "You are strong," he said. "You are much stronger than I. The will of Landru is so great, and I can resist it no longer."

  Reger's eyes narrowed in confusion. "Hacom, Landru is no more. You have no reason to fear his wrath."

  "But I do," Hacom replied, watching as Marplon entered the room and seated himself in one of two overstuffed chairs situated near the fireplace. "He will not let me sleep. He troubles my every thought. I have abandoned him in his hour of greatest need!" Tears ran from the old man's eyes as he looked at Reger.

  "Why do you say that, Hacom? Landru is powerless against you."

  Marplon said, "I believe Hacom is the Guardian."

  Feeling a shiver run down his spine at the words, Reger's eyes widened in momentary shock. He brought his hand to his mouth, his finger rubbing his lips. It was an almost unconscious gesture, one that he performed whenever he was nervous or uncertain.

  The Guardian? Does he truly exist?

  "Surely you jest," he whispered. Looking at Hacom, his friend for uncounted years, Reger found it difficult to speak for several moments. Then, "We have heard the stories, certainly, but…Hacom, can it be true?"

  "I do not know!" He shouted with a force of voice that Reger hardly expected from the slight-framed man. "I have never been called that, neither by man nor by Landru. I know only that he calls to me with a voice distant and yet powerful. He tells me what I must do."

  Stepping forward, Marplon placed a comforting hand on his friend's shoulder. "Hacom, let me get you something warm to drink. Settle yourself, and let us help you seek peace."

  "There can be no peace without Landru! It is he who brings us peace and tranquility." Sinking back into the couch, Hacom began to sob once more.

  Rising from the couch, Reger guided Marplon by the arm into the small kitchen just beyond the sitting room. As Marplon busied himself warming a kettle on the stovetop, Reger could see that despite trying to project an outward appearance of calm by involving himself in the mundane act of preparing tea, his friend was anything but relaxed. Taking a moment to look back to where Hacom was still sitting on the couch, Reger asked in a low voice, "What has he told you?"

  "Hacom has told me nothing," Marplon said as he gathered three mugs from a cabinet. "I found him and led him here just before I summoned you. He was in the Hall of Audiences, screaming for Landru and asking for his guidance."

  Confusion returned to Reger's face. "Why would he go down there?" The Hall of Audiences had been the main auditorium where Elders and other trusted advisors could go to seek Landru's counsel. With the computer's deactivation, there seemed no need to return to that once-hallowed chamber.

  "I asked him a few questions when I found him there," Marplon replied, "and his responses made all very clear to me." Looking up from his tea preparations, he fixed Reger with a solemn stare. "He is the Guardian."

  "The Guardian is a myth," Reger countered. "A tale of the prophets, is it not?"

  Marplon shook his head. "Was not the prophesied return of the Archons just another tale to you not ten days ago? 'And at my darkest hour, when the winds of change are upon us all, from among you shall come the Guardian to champion the will of Landru and restore all as it once was.' Those are the words of the prophets, Reger. I think it best that we heed them."

  "Hacom is overwrought," Reger said. He too knew the words, but that did not change one unalterable fact. "He has simply not been able to come to grips with the fact that Landru is gone and that a new life lies before us, one that Landru does not control." Even as he spoke the words, though, Reger knew that he had at least to acknowledge the possibility that Marplon could be right.

  "We have always known that the Guardian was among us," Marplon replied, "but we could never imagine what events would come to pass that might require him to come forward. Surely what has happened to Landru at the hands of Starfleet is just such an event."

  "But if Hacom is the Guardian," Reger said, "he is not strong enough, neither mentally nor physically, to fulfill this prophecy on his own. Is the power of Landru so great that it can act on Hacom despite that fact?"

  Reger began to move about the small kitchen, somewhat frustrated that the confined space did not allow him the freedom of movement he craved when he wanted to pace and think. "If what you say is true, Marplon, then the mind of Hacom must be more deeply affected by the will of Landru than any of us, anywhere in all of this world. Landru is strong, my friend, but we must be stronger if we are to succeed in our dream to live as free people."

  "What shall we do?" Marplon asked.

  "If we calm him and keep watch over him this night, Starfleet will finish their work and we will have our world as our own." On the stove, the kettle started to whistle and boil. "He trusts me, Marplon. Let me speak with him. I may be able to reason with him."

  "Yes," Marplon replied as he moved the kettle from the hot burner. "You have known him far longer than I. Perhaps you can…"

  The thud of a closing door cut Marplon off in midsentence. The two men rushed from the kitchen into the sitting room only to find it empty.

  "Oh no," Marplon whispered as Reger ran to the front door and flung it open. Looking into the dark street, illuminated only by the faint glow of the gaslights lining the street, he saw no sign of his friend.

  "Hacom? Hacom!"

  But he was gone.

  It was hardly a celebration feast, but Montgomery Scott looked upon his tray of Canopian spiced salad, lasagna, and steamed vegetables as if it were food fit for a king rather than a meal processed in a field kitchen. Not only was this his first hot meal in two days, but tonight would be the first time he had actually relaxed since arriving at Beta III. It was a sure sign that their assignment here was more than likely drawing to a conclusion.

  Taking a seat at the table already occupied by Lindstrom and al-Khaled, Scott offered the men a greeting before turning to his meal. As he took his first bite, he glanced down at Lindstrom's plate and thought he recognized the orange contents of the lieutenant's soup bowl.

  "Is that plomeek soup yer eatin' there, lad?"

  Lindstrom nodded. "I'm in a Vulcan phase, I guess. I go through the dietary cards of all the races I can stomach. I guess you could say that it helps me to understand them as separate peoples, at least in some fashion. I've been doing it since I got my first sociologist's posting after graduating from the Academy."

  "And has Beta III proven to be an interesting case study for you?" al-Khaled asked.

  "It has," Lindstrom said. "I would bet that there are plenty of assignments given to the Corps of Engineers team that would be of great interest to Starfleet sociologists. Have you ever given any thought to creating such a post onboard your ship?"

  Shaking his head, al-Khaled replied as he reached for a piece of bread, "You have to remember that this is hardly a typical mission for us. We're usually out making emergency repairs to subspace relay stations or catching up with starships that have matter/antimatter drive problems or digging tunnels through asteroids. Situations like this do not come along all the time, Mr. Lindstrom, and we're not the type of team that gets first contact missions."

  "Granted,"
the sociologist answered. "But should this type of situation arise again, you don't necessarily want a group of engineers handling things."

  Al-Khaled said, "I'm no sociologist, but even as an engineer I can appreciate how this situation has hobbled the Betans as a race. I don't know how I'd react if someone told me my god was dead."

  "You've just underscored my point, Commander," Lindstrom said, smiling. "The Betans did not view Landru as their god. They didn't worship him in churches, nor do they even have any churches that we've been able to find. The Betans talk of a few prophecies but they read no scripture. There are no dogmatic beliefs that we can find stemming from the will of Landru, other than he is to be obeyed and feared. He told them what to do and dictated almost every decision they made."

  Scott and al-Khaled exchanged looks, the full weight of the sociologist's words beginning to sink in for the first time since they had set foot on this world. "So, they really are lost," al-Kahled said.

  "Yes, Commander," Lindstrom replied. "But these people do not miss their god. Instead, they miss, some of them desperately, being told what to do. Keep in mind that sometimes the need to be led is stronger than the need to lead. People seeking that kind of direction have done unexpected things to get it."

  Scott nodded, realizing for the first time in several minutes that he had left his meal untouched while Lindstrom was speaking. "You raise good points, lad."

  Smiling, Lindstrom shrugged and offered his hands in mock surrender. "I'm not trying to be full of myself here. Just an observation that long after the machines have been fixed, the people will still need tending to."

  The conversation paused as the men finished their meals. Scott looked at a chronometer on the mess hall wall as he stood from his chair. "What needs tending to right now, gentlemen, is my body, in the form of sleep. This is the earliest we've knocked off for the day since we got here. If there are no objections, I think I'll be honorin' that request."

  "Barring any unforeseen weirdness," al-Khaled said, "I do not see that as a problem, Commander."

  Scott smiled at that.

  Now wouldn't a break from weirdness be nice?

  Hacom shielded his eyes from the cloud of displaced dust rising up to enshroud him as the wall panel before him slid through the floor. The musty smell that escaped from the room beyond the doorway was distasteful and stale, but he didn't dare hesitate. As the door mechanism's grinding ceased, he crossed the threshold into the hidden chamber.

  Though he had never even known of this room's existence before tonight, Hacom had arrived here as though he'd known the route his entire life. How had he known about the concealed street-level entrance and the elevator that descended hundreds of meters beneath the city to this chamber? And the correct procedure to open the sealed door? The knowledge had come to him as easily as any fact he had ever committed to memory.

  There was, of course, only one explanation.

  "Landru!"

  His words echoed in the Spartan chamber. Lighting panels set in the walls reacted to his presence, glowing even brighter as Hacom stepped farther into the room.

  "Landru?" After the torment he had been experiencing these last days, would his calls go unanswered?

  The centerpiece of the room was a single waist-high railing, constructed of ornately carved wood and highlighted with sections of polished metal. Hacom listened carefully, but he did not hear the comforting hum that he typically had sensed whenever he had come to any of Landru's halls.

  "Landru! Where are you?"

  His cries unanswered, Hacom walked to the rail and kneeled before it, bowing his head and supplicating himself before a blank wall. "Guide me, Landru."

  Opening his eyes after a moment, Hacom noticed a small, hinged plate set nearly flush within the center metal section of the railing. He worked a fingernail under its seam and raised it. Underneath was a single button, blinking with ruby light. He ran a finger over the button, feeling the warmth that pulsed in rhythm to the light. For no other reason than it seemed the proper thing to do, Hacom pressed the button.

  Immediately a low rumbling began somewhere beneath his feet. No, it was in the walls. It was everywhere, surrounding him as it grew in intensity before evolving into the hum of power, no, of life, that had always signaled the presence of…

  The wall before him began to glow brighter than even the lighting panels as an image took form before him. Hacom gasped as the blurry image came into crisp focus, that of a man wearing a gown and draped with a golden sash. The man's head, made larger in appearance by upward streaming hair, seemed almost to levitate above his shoulders. His eyes were piercing yet friendly. The edges of his mouth carried the hint of a smile.

  "Landru!"

  "Guardian, you have carried out my will," the image said. "You have rescued the Body when all seemed lost. Landru is grateful for your service."

  "I am your humble servant, Landru," Hacom said, drinking in the image of his protector, of the one who had guided him throughout his entire life. "I want only peace and tranquility as there was before."

  The image nodded, its thin smile unwavering. "Soon, all will be as it was."

  Hacom smiled, reveling in the bliss that only moments ago he feared had been taken from him forever.

  Chapter

  5

  "Mr. Scott! Mr. Al-Khaled!"

  As he exited the building that housed the Starfleet contingent's temporary mess hall with al-Khaled and Lindstrom, Scott caught sight of three men running toward them. Actually, Scott realized, two of the men, Reger and Marplon, seemed to be assisting the third man, whom the engineer recognized as Hacom, moving as fast as their aged bodies appeared able to carry them.

  "Marplon? What's wrong?" Al-Khaled broke away from his companions to meet the approaching Elders. The three men stumbled to a halt, gasping for air, and Reger dropped to his knees.

  What could upset the Elders like this? Scott wondered. As he crouched beside the fallen Reger, the old man's breaths were coming in ragged wheezes as he fought to speak.

  "Lan--uunh!" was all he could force out before the effort overwhelmed him.

  Grasping Marplon by the shoulders and trying to steady the man, al-Khaled's face was a mask of concern and confusion. "Marplon, what is it? What's happened?"

  The Elder was beginning to catch his breath, nodding in response to al-Khaled's words. Indicating Hacom with a wave of his hand, he managed to say between deep, sucking breaths, "The Guardian has been revealed! Hacom…Hacom…Landru is returning as it was foretold in prophecy. He is coming to enslave us again."

  "What?" The words seemed to Scott at first to be the ramblings of a man lost in hysterics. "That canna be possible. Landru is gone, Marplon. Ye helped to turn him off, remember?"

  It was Hacom who answered, his expression one of mild contentment. "I have carried out the will of Landru. He has returned. We will all be of the Body once again."

  Scott rose to his feet. "I thought the beastie was completely shut down," he said, "that its memory banks had been wiped."

  "Landru is all-powerful," Hacom countered, his voice remaining calm. "He has been here for six thousand years, and he will be here long after our passing."

  Al-Khaled's eyes were wide with near shock. "If this is true, then we may be in big trouble. We should get these men to the hospital. Reger doesn't look good at all."

  And then the wailing started.

  Screaming, shrieking voices filled the outdoor air from all directions at once. Scott saw a pair of passing Betans fall to the ground, writhing and moaning in what must have been intense agony. Another man burst from a nearby building, his hands over his ears while shouting something unintelligible at the top of his lungs. All around the Starfleet officers the sounds of panic and pain from women and men alike were beginning to bleed together in a single unrelenting cacophony.

  "This can't be good," Lindstrom said.

  Marplon froze, his voice a whisper. "Landruuuu…"

  The hospital that had once belonged to the
Elders now rivaled, thanks to the efforts of Dr. Hamilton and her staff, the sickbays of most active Federation starships. For that Scott was grateful as he observed Reger and Hacom on two of the diagnostic beds. Hamilton was studying the readouts on the medical displays arrayed around the patients' heads.

  "How is he?" al-Khaled asked, referring to the unconscious Reger.

  "Severe heart palpitations," the doctor replied. "And I don't like the looks of his blood pressure. He's a little too old and out of shape to be running around like he was."

  Moving over to Hacom's bed, her frown deepened as she studied the diagnostic monitors. "As for Hacom, scans show unusual brainwave activity. The frontal lobe stimulation is consistent with what we've seen in our research of Landru's neural reprogramming processes."

  Only partly listening to the doctor, most of Scott's attention was instead on the report from the security detachment commander over his communicator. When the report was finished he said, "Send a detail to the hospital on the double. I want a man on each door right now."

  Lindstrom shook his head. "I've seen this mob mentality at work, Commander. One man on each door won't be enough."

  "It'll have to do, Mr. Lindstrom," Scott replied as he flipped the unit shut and returned it to his waist. "Things are beginnin' to get out of hand. Reports are comin' in from all over the city. Mobs are formin' and fights are breakin' out. It seems that some people have fallen back under a kind of trance while others haven't."

  "So it's true," al-Khaled said, sighing in exasperation. "Landru has been reactivated somehow. If we let it go unchecked, he could undo everything we've accomplished here."

  Scott shook his head. "I dinna think so, lad. The systems we installed are independent of the main computer network. Landru canna tie into them."

  "But he can turn the Betans against them and physically tear them apart," al-Khaled argued as he reached for his communicator. "That's not happening on my watch." Activating the unit, he barked out a series of orders. "Al-Khaled to all personnel. Report to your primary duty stations. The Landru computer has somehow been restarted and is in the process of reassuming control over the people. Everyone is to be armed with phasers on stun. Guard your stations and await further instructions. Al-Khaled out."