by David Mack
Ysan returned to Nimur. In her left hand she held the bowl of crimson paint. She dipped her right thumb into the pigment and began inscribing glyphs onto Nimur’s face. “These symbols of the Shepherds will protect you on your journey into the next world.”
Nimur said nothing. Was she supposed to thank Ysan? As she watched the priestess cover her arms and the backs of her hands with the symbols of the Shepherds, all she wanted to do was run, flee down the road to the village, steal back her baby, and escape the island.
Shame and despair rooted her in place. There was nowhere to go; she knew that as well as everyone else did. Suba was a large island, but it had no place in which she could evade the Wardens for long, especially not if she meant to take Tahna with her. For a moment she entertained the delusion that she might try to reach one of Arethusa’s other nearby islands. There were several that had been visited in generations past but had never been colonized, partly because none of them had proved as verdant or arable as Suba, and partly out of fear that Tomol living anywhere other than Suba might succumb to the Change before they could be Cleansed.
As soon as the notion of flight entered her head, she dismissed it. I wouldn’t survive a sea journey alone, and definitely not with Tahna. And even if we outran the Wardens, how would I find another island without a map? Or know which ones had food and clean water?
As the priestess painted glyphs down Nimur’s left leg, another phalanx of Wardens escorted six other Tomol, four males and two females, who also exhibited the fiery eyes that marked the onset of the Change. The six were already painted from crown to toe with the sacred glyphs. To Nimur’s surprise, her fellow condemned looked serene, as if they not only accepted the inevitability of their predicament but in fact welcomed their imminent endings. She envied them their peace even as she resented them for it.
Soon, their families and friends would gather to say their farewells and pray to the Shepherds to guide the spirits of the Cleansed. Nimur wondered what she would say when her turn came to step into the Well of Flames. Would she beg for mercy? Shout curses? Impart some final gem of wisdom for which she would always be remembered? Or just whimper with fear and regret before diving into the midnight-blue inferno?
In a few hours the sun would set on Suba and on her life, and she would have her answer.
• • •
Navigating underwater, even at shallow depths, was one of the most disorientating tasks that Faro Dastin had ever been compelled to learn. By comparison, learning to fly shuttles in both atmosphere and low orbit during his years at Starfleet Academy had been easy for the young Trill. There was a freedom to flight in which he reveled, and despite the few minor similarities between aerospace and nautical piloting, the latter had always felt uncomfortable to him.
Because it’s backward, he decided. In the air or in space, all the pressure was inside the vehicle, which made maneuvering through such environments as high altitude or vacuum feel effortless. Several dozen meters beneath the ocean’s surface, however, there was already considerably more pressure on the ship and its crew than Dastin felt comfortable contemplating. Underwater, every action felt like a struggle against the elements.
He also disliked the limited visibility. Even in relatively clear coastal waters such as those between the islands of Nereus II, the refraction, scattering, and absorption of light from the surface made it difficult to accurately gauge distances. Ranges were easy to underestimate in exceptionally clear water and even easier to overestimate in turgid conditions; objects directly ahead might seem to move more slowly than those crossing one’s field of vision.
For all those reasons, he had little choice but to navigate by instruments. It was tempting to look up and simply trust his eyes to show him the way, but whenever he compared his guess to the hard data from the sensors, his instincts proved unreliable. It was like flying in a thick fog, or through heavy cloud cover, or inside a thick gaseous anomaly; in those environments Dastin knew not to trust his inner ear’s perception of direction, elevation, or velocity. But at least in those cases he wasn’t being lured by an aquatic mirage.
He checked the readouts again, just as a precaution. Vixen’s depth was twenty-seven point two meters, a bit deeper than Dastin had intended to go. The clinometer indicated he had unwittingly nudged the nose downward, easing them into a half-degree dive. A quick adjustment brought them back up to twenty-five meters, where he leveled their path. Then he glanced at the navcomp display and made some minor tweaks to keep them on a direct course for the big island.
Theriault leaned forward and squinted. “Dastin? What’s that?”
“What’s what?”
She pointed. “That wavy wall of dark green ahead of us.”
“I think that’s called ‘seaweed,’ sir.”
Hesh leaned forward between the front seats. “Forgive me, but I believe that is actually a forest of kelp.” He held up his tricorder, which gave off a high-pitched tone as he made a scan. “And it appears to be a particularly robust variety.”
Dastin looked over his shoulder at Hesh. “Since when are you a marine biology expert?”
“Arkenites are a semi-aquatic species. Though we can work in terrestrial environments, we prefer to spend at least part of our time in—”
Dastin raised a hand. “Thanks, I get the point.” The Trill scout shook his head at Theriault. “Nothing to worry about, sir. According to the navcomp, we’re only a few kilometers from shore. We’ll breeze through the seaweed and be on the beach in no time.”
Hesh struck an anxious note. “I would strongly urge you to circumnavigate the kelp.”
Dastin would have been happy just to ignore the Arkenite, but Theriault turned to hear what the man had to say. “Why, Hesh?”
“In my experience, kelp of that size and circumference tends to pose a hazard to aquatic navigation. It can snag on any protruding piece of a vehicle, and its fronds can clog intake valves such as those on our MHD. Also, kelp forests often serve as habitats for apex predators. While that might not be a concern for a large submersible vessel, a craft as small as this rover could sustain significant damage if attacked by a large enough ichthyoid, crustacean, or cephalopod.”
The red-haired first officer arched an auburn eyebrow at Dastin. “Faro?”
“It’s just seaweed.” Outside the rover, the edge of the kelp forest loomed large. “Watch. I’ll show you.” He opened the throttle on the MHD and charged the rover through the first few meters of fronds. “We’ll slice through these weeds like a knife through—”
Vixen slammed to an abrupt halt. Its nose pitched sharply downward, and then the vehicle listed hard to port. Dastin switched the MHD into reverse and opened the throttle. The rover jerked and shuddered. Multiple firings of the maneuvering thrusters rocked the amphibious vehicle slightly, but whatever had snared it was holding on with a vengeance.
Theriault folded her arms and affected a deceptively stoic mien. “You were saying?”
“I can get us out,” he said, though he wasn’t sure it was true. “Might take a few minutes.”
“Take your time.” She made a show of checking her neatly trimmed and unpolished fingernails. “It’s not as if the rest of us have jobs to do.”
In the backseat, Hesh continued scanning with his tricorder. “How very interesting! This species of kelp behaves like an aggressive creeping ivy, attaching itself to any—”
“Please stop talking,” Dastin said.
“Don’t listen to him,” Theriault said. “Please tell us everything you can about the kelp.”
“Belay that, Hesh. If I hear one more word about the kelp, I’ll flood the cabin.”
Hesh looked taken aback by the conflicting orders.
Tan Bao sighed. “I hate when Mommy and Daddy fight.”
The Arkenite switched off his tricorder. “May I make a suggestion?” Theriault skewered Dastin with a pointed look, s
o the Trill gave Hesh his grudging nod of consent. “If I recall the schematics of this rover correctly, it should be possible to transmit a low-level electrical pulse through the outer chassis by decoupling the ground circuit on Bus B beneath the forward passenger-side floor panel, and then purging the MHD capacitor. Such a discharge should be more than sufficient to provoke the kelp into retracting and releasing its hold on us.”
After a moment spent considering the idea, Dastin had to concede it was rather ingenious. However, he had no intention of admitting that to Hesh. He opted instead for verbal deflection. “When did you have time to study the rover’s design schematics?”
“Last Thursday, during lunch.”
Theriault opened the panel at her feet. “Let’s get on with it.” She decoupled the ground circuit in a matter of moments, then sat back. “Okay, Faro. Purge the capacitor.”
He keyed in the purge command. Tiny forks of white static electricity jumped and danced across the exterior of the rover. Just as Hesh had predicted, the kelp let go of the rover, which bobbed for a few moments and then righted itself, once again free to navigate.
Dastin clapped his hands. “All right! Nice team effort!”
“It sure was,” Theriault said. “You got us stuck, and Hesh got us out.”
“That’s not what you’re gonna say in your report, are you?”
“We’ll see. Set course for the second kelp on the right, and try to shut up till morning.”
5
Vixen’s battery-powered motor was whisper-quiet as the rover threaded its way free of the kelp forest and surfaced from beneath the waves. The crystal-clear view of the ocean floor gave way to the momentary blur of water sheeting across the windshield. It cleared quickly as the canopy’s transparent coating of hydrophobic sealant repelled even the tiniest drops of moisture, which beaded and fled across the rover’s curved nose. Theriault squinted against the sudden return to daylight untainted by the surreal filter of the sea. Her eyes adjusted quickly and took in the white-sand beach backed by a dense wall of verdant jungle beneath a violet dusk sky.
She nudged Dastin with her elbow. “There’s a small gap over there. Is it big enough?”
He gave it a critical look. “Yeah, that’ll work.” He stopped the rover. “You guys should bail out here. Once I back this into the brush, getting out’s gonna be a pain.”
Theriault looked over her shoulder at Hesh and Tan Bao. “You heard the man.” She unfastened her safety harness and released the lock on her door. It lifted open, letting in a chorus of animal sounds from the wilderness ahead—whoops, croaks, buzzing, and roars galore.
Hesh and Tan Bao opened the rear hatches and got out of the rover. As soon as they and Theriault were clear, Dastin closed the rover’s open doors with a few taps on the master console inside the vehicle. The rover rolled forward a couple of meters, made a sharp turn back toward the ocean, then halted. Theriault watched Dastin shift Vixen into reverse and guide it into a narrow break in the jungle’s dense foliage, provoking a noisy fluttering by unseen creatures.
An oscillating, high-pitched shrilling turned Theriault’s head. Hesh was scanning the area with his tricorder while turning in a slow circle. He noted the first officer’s stare and apparently took it as a cue to report. “I’m picking up a broad range of life signs, Commander. Countless species of flora and fauna. Some appear to be similar to avian, reptilian, and mammalian forms known on other worlds. Others . . . do not.”
“Thanks, Hesh. That was almost informative.”
The Arkenite science officer turned away to mask his embarrassment, so Theriault turned toward Tan Bao. The nurse was gathering samples of small berries, leaves, and bark from plants and trees along the jungle’s edge, and sealing each new discovery inside a clear vial for return to the Sagittarius, where he, Hesh, and Doctor Babitz would no doubt pass the hours between star systems running tests and analyzing biochemical data with meticulous precision. Fearing that he might tell her what he was looking for amid the leaves and fronds, Theriault opted not to ask.
Dastin slithered out of the rover through its barely open driver’s-side door. He held a rolled-up bundle of camouflage netting in one hand. It took him less than a minute to drape the lightweight mesh atop the rover. Then he adorned the netting with bits of local foliage and flowers, until the vehicle was all but undetectable to the untrained eye. Admiring his handiwork, he looked very pleased with himself. “Whaddaya say, Commander? Not bad, eh?”
“I’ve seen worse.” Theriault knew better than to feed Dastin’s ego; it was large enough already. She’d made the mistake of complimenting him on his new beard a few months earlier, and the preening young scout had crowed about his “awesome whiskers” for weeks afterward.
I’m not going through that again.
She whistled once, summoning the landing party to her side. “Dastin, make sure you get a tricorder lock on the rover’s position. If we need to leave in a hurry, I don’t want to hear any excuses about not remembering where we parked.”
“All set, boss.” The Trill held up his communicator. “I synced the transponders. Plus, I left some clues in the camo that’ll help me find our ride in a hurry.”
“Okay, good. Hesh, do we have a fix on the nearest settlement?”
The Arkenite checked his tricorder before he answered. “Yes, sir. Bearing nine-one, range three point five kilometers.” He faced the jungle and pointed with an extended arm. “Less than a hundred meters inside the jungle, there are well-established trails that lead to the largest agglomeration of humanoid life signs.”
Dastin looked dubious. “I’d suggest we stay off the trails, Commander. If we parallel them, there’s less chance of an unplanned encounter with the locals.”
Theriault nodded in agreement. “Good idea.” She looked at Hesh. “I don’t suppose you’ve picked up any sign of the energy readings that our probe detected on this planet?”
Hesh pursed his small, thin-lipped mouth into a pinstripe frown. “No, sir. So far, I am unable to confirm any readings consistent with artificial energy generation, signal transmission, or other forms of advanced technology. Likewise, the only atmospheric pollutants I can detect appear to be the product of a nearby geological phenomenon, a crater that acts as a vent for a long-burning pocket of natural methane. However, I have set my tricorder to monitor the most common range of power and communication frequencies. If there is any change, I will report it.”
“That was a lot of words to say ‘no,’ but thank you for being thorough.” Theriault checked the settings on her phaser. “Everyone set phasers to light stun, but keep them holstered unless we’re threatened. This is supposed to be a recon mission—not contact or combat.”
The other members of the landing party did as she’d instructed, verifying their weapons’ settings before returning them to their inconspicuous pocket holsters along the waistbands of their jumpsuits. Satisfied that everyone was ready, Theriault nodded inland. “Okay. Let’s go.”
• • •
Entrusted with the duty of walking point, Dastin felt his way through the alien jungle with all his senses at once. He attenuated his balance as his feet found purchase in the soft mud beneath the roots and decaying vegetation that carpeted the ground, and he breathed deep the tropical climate’s sultry musk, floral perfumes, and animal odors. The landing party’s footfalls squished softly on the damp ground behind him, while the trees around them echoed with the warbles and shrieks of wild animals sending up warning cries at their approach.
Dastin knew well enough that he needn’t fear the creatures he heard at a distance. He saved his dread for the ones that moved nearby with lethal silence, their passage marked only by fleeting shadows, faint tracks, or momentary traces of their scent in the air.
Sunset’s violet glow soon dimmed as dusk faded into night. The landing party skulked from the sheltering darkness of the jungle to crest a steep incline. D
astin dropped to all fours to traverse the last couple of meters, and the others emulated his caution. The team spread out, flanked him, and crawled four abreast to the top of the ridge. Together they peeked over the rocky edge at the vale far below.
Primitive-looking huts huddled along the edges of a maze of streets that crisscrossed the area, which was more developed than Dastin had expected. Several wide paths radiated from the village’s center and extended in many directions into the jungle and across the island, as if this village were the hub of a great wheel. Small fires burned in the middle of intersections throughout the village. Plumes of smoke climbed from a handful of crude chimney pipes that pierced the huts’ thatched roofs, and the ruddy glow of firelight flickered within many of the structures.
Theriault studied the scene with a sharp eye. “Dastin? How many people do you think live down there? Eight hundred? Nine?”
The scout put his specialized training to work, estimating at a glance the number of dwellings and how many humanoid occupants each could likely support. “More than that. I’d say at least twelve hundred, and no more than fourteen hundred.”
Science officer Hesh fiddled with his tricorder. “Those numbers would be consistent with these humanoid biomass readings, Commander.”
Tan Bao looked confused. “Then where the hell is everybody?” He tilted his head toward the village. “Less than a third of those huts look occupied, and the roads are all but empty.”
Hesh checked his tricorder, then pointed at a cerulean glow nestled in the jungle some distance away. “Bearing zero-one-one, range one point six kilometers.” He adjusted his tricorder. “Several hundred humanoids are gathered around the crater I mentioned earlier.”
His report made Theriault apprehensive. “So that blue light is burning methane?”
“Yes, Commander. A great deal of it.”