Seekers

by Dayton Ward

  “Of course a more prudent approach is called for,” Kang said, glancing around the engineering compartment to confirm that all of Konvraq’s men were once again engrossed in their repair tasks and other work, leaving their superior officers to their private conversation. “At least for the moment. But this Starfleet captain may force me to act more quickly and brashly if I am to complete our mission.”

  The Earther ship commander with an almost Klingon-sounding name, Khatami, had impressed him with her bravery and guile during their previous conversation and the recently concluded battle. She was not to be under­estimated, of that Kang was certain. If she had been a ­Klingon, she surely would have pressed her attack upon learning that his vessel was so badly wounded and in need of retreat. Instead, and in typical Starfleet fashion, she had allowed the Voh’tahk to withdraw. Indeed, Kang was surprised that he had not yet received a customary message from Khatami, offering to render aid. The very thought made Kang snarl with disgust.

  Even as his crew hurried to complete repairs to the damaged Voh’tahk, he knew that Khatami would soon learn the secret of Arethusa and its people, and why the empire had taken such an interest in them. However, she was hampered—for the moment, at least—by concerns over her companion ship, which remained marooned on the planet surface. Khatami would not abandon any survivors from that crash, in keeping with the finest traditions of Earthers who expended so much energy protecting and nurturing the weakest among them. Still, the resources at her disposal would allow her to see to that effort while also investigating the Tomol. That, of course, presented a number of problems, particularly with the Voh’tahk all but drifting helpless out here, well away from the planet and unable to face off against the Starfleet ship.

  “Make haste with your repairs,” he said. “Time runs short.”

  Konvraq nodded, his expression hardening as though he understood that the time for friendly banter had passed. “We will double our efforts, Captain. What are your intentions?”

  “To complete our mission,” Kang replied. “We must secure Tomol specimens for study. If we cannot do that, then we must prevent the Starfleet ship from doing the same, by any means necessary.”

  And Captain Khatami awaits, he reminded himself. As does my vengeance.

  6

  Pushing upward through the darkness toward the light, Nimur forced open her eyes, holding up a hand to shield her vision from the almost painful brightness that washed over everything. The blurred colors separated and solidified around her as she became aware of her surroundings.

  I live.

  She was on her back, lying flat at the bottom of the pit created by the fire weapons from the sky-ships. Every molecule of her being radiated agony. An acrid smell of burning embers and soot permeated everything, including the soil beneath her and even her own skin. Choking from a dry mouth, Nimur placed a hand to her chest only to discover her clothing gone, scorched from existence by the fire weapons. Forcing away the pain that accompanied the slightest movement, she planted her left hand on the ground in an effort to push herself to a sitting position, only to realize that her right arm did not respond to her commands. Casting her eyes down upon her blackened body, she beheld the charred stump that was all that remained of her right arm. The pain surged, almost blinding her with its ferocity as she fell back to the dirt.

  Gritting her teeth and howling through the renewed torment, she made another attempt to raise herself, this time discovering that her right leg ended at her knee, the stump begrimed with dirt and ash. Fury swelled from her depths and she collapsed once more to the ground. She screamed skyward, hurling her rage to the clouds.

  No!

  The sound of her own breathing as she drew air deep into her lungs had a calming effect, and within moments Nimur realized the pain was already beginning to fade. Was she slipping into unconsciousness, or perhaps beginning the slide toward death itself? No, she decided. This was something else. Each breath coaxed fire from deep within her. A tingling gripped her, emanating from her core to the tips of her remaining extremities, and in its wake her nerves no longer registered the distress that had been levied upon her entire being.

  Turn your thoughts within. Make yourself whole.

  Nimur at first did not understand what this suggestion could mean. How could the power she wielded be used solely upon herself? She sensed a peace within her mind, a path to follow toward the answers she sought. Closing her eyes, she cleared her mind and then imagined her flesh and bones divesting themselves of the wounds visited upon them.

  Reclaim what was taken from you.

  A new pain flowed over her, soaking through her skin and coursing through her veins, the heat growing with every beat of her heart. Each breath was like fire in her lungs. Her vision swam but Nimur willed it to steady, turning her focus inward and seeing herself whole once again, the wrath of the sky-ship’s weapons now nothing more than a memory. Releasing a cry of triumph, she pushed herself to her feet, turning her face to the sun and allowing its warmth to caress her skin. She opened her eyes and looked down, beholding with wonder her restored body. No evidence remained of the torment to which she had been subjected. The flawless skin of her nude body gleamed in the sunlight.

  I am reborn.

  Thrusting her fists skyward, she glared at the clouds, defying them to reveal to her those who had attempted to subdue her. “I live! You have failed!”

  They would always fail. Of this, Nimur was certain.

  Now aware that she no longer was alone, she turned to where her senses told her others of her kind approached, and she saw several Tomol running from the crater’s rim, attempting to flee. Almost without her conscious bidding, her thoughts leaped from her mind as she envisioned those who sought fleeting safety snared by a web only she could see. Climbing from the crater, Nimur saw her captives suspended in the air and held in place by an invisible hand that answered her unspoken commands.

  “You fear me,” she said, her voice carrying on the breeze to the Tomol’s ears. “You fear what you cannot comprehend, or what you refuse to comprehend.”

  “I don’t fear you, Nimur,” said a lone voice.

  Nimur realized the dissenter was Kintaren, one of her closest friends. A fleeting thought to the unseen force holding her was enough to release her, and Kintaren dropped to the ground. “You say you do not fear me. Perhaps you should.”

  Stumbling as she regained her footing, Kintaren faced Nimur. Seeing her nakedness for the first time, she removed the heavy garment she wore over her other clothing and offered it to Nimur. “I have not feared you since my parents became your guardians many sun-turns ago, after your parents stepped into the Cleansing fire as you should have done.”

  Nimur wrapped the garment around her body. “Yes, the Cleansing, as you have been led to believe. Why did you come back here? Were you hoping to find me dead?”

  “I came to see what had happened to my sister,” Kintaren replied.

  “No longer. At least, I am no longer only your sister.” Nimur held out her arms. “Have you not seen what I can do? I defied the sky people and the death they rained down upon me. I am Changed, Kintaren! This is what we were meant to be. It is our birthright, and I have reclaimed it, and now it is time to see that all Tomol regain what has been taken from them, what has been kept from us for ages by the Shepherds. The Change is our destiny, Kintaren.”

  Her sister and friend shook her head. “When the Change visits me, I will be Cleansed, as it is written.”

  Flames of irritation licked at Nimur’s patience. “The Cleansing is a lie, perpetrated by the Shepherds to hold us captive to this world. Only by accepting the Change can you know the truth. It is the only way. Those who cannot accept that will die, either at the hands of the sky people, or as a consequence of ignorance or weakness, or simply because I wish it.”

  Kintaren’s eyes narrowed. “You won’t kill me, Nimur. You do not want to kill m
e, or any of our people.”

  “I have already killed,” Nimur warned. “It was effortless.”

  “You were threatened. You acted on instinct in response to perceived danger. If you had wanted me or all of us dead, you would have killed us by now, or simply let the fire from the sky-ships burn us to nothingness. We are no threat to you, so what stops you from acting?”

  Confusion clouded Nimur’s thoughts. Why save Kintaren and the others? Why not kill them all now and be freed of their constant doubts and fears and anger?

  “I see the battle you fight with yourself,” Kintaren said. “Let us go, Nimur.”

  “No,” Nimur said. Beyond Kintaren, the other Tomol she held still hovered in the air. In addition to her sister, several others had not yet been visited by the Change. She saw the flames in the eyes of the muscled metalworker Shem and his mate, Larn; the lithe and wiry weaver Ayan; brothers Bhar and Tane, identical but for the latter being just a sun-turn younger and a head shorter; the teacher Jorn; and Kintaren. Nervousness gripped them, and Nimur could sense their anxiety continuing to increase. As for the Changed, they were looking to her for direction, as it was she who had brought about their transformation.

  Nimur pointed to the group. “You have been taught from your earliest days to fear the Change as the end of your life. You have been told to believe that it is the height of selfishness to want the Change, and that it is your duty to leap willingly into the Well of Flames in order to avoid succumbing to its grip. All that you know is false. The Change is not a curse; it is a gift, and it is not the end of our lives but instead the very beginning. This understanding is not mine alone. It belongs to each of you, but only if you have the courage to accept what fate has seen fit to bestow upon us.” She saw within Tane and Jorn the same as was evident in Kintaren: their auras communicated the onset of maturity and the summoning of the Change. Nimur might not be able to turn all of the Tomol to her cause—at least, not all at once, and not in the immediate future—but these three? They were ready.

  “In time you will understand.” Extending her hand, Nimur closed her eyes and searched through the darkness until she almost could touch the three auras. They were there, so very close, just beyond her reach. She enticed them closer.

  “Nimur, no!” Kintaren shouted. “Do not do this! We don’t want the Change! Nimur, stop!”

  Ignoring the protests, Nimur opened her mind to the auras. She imagined herself guiding her energy into each of their thoughts, winding it into flesh and muscle before infusing it into their very beings.

  When she opened her eyes, she saw Tane, Jorn, and Kintaren looking back at her. Like those of the others and even Nimur herself, their eyes burned red.

  Changed.

  7

  “A few coats of paint, and she should be good to go. Right?”

  Standing just outside the main airlock hatch leading into the port side of the U.S.S. Sagittarius saucer section’s main deck, Lieutenant Stephen Klisiewicz waited as the vessel’s commander, Captain Clark Terrell, and its chief engineer, Master Chief Petty Officer Michael Ilucci, descended toward him.

  “If that’s the only thing keeping you from buying,” Terrell said, offering his trademark wide smile, “I’ll get my people on it right now.”

  “That wasn’t part of the deal,” Ilucci countered, wiping his dirty hands with an equally soiled rag. “We’re selling it as is. Take it or leave it. Well, that’s if you pass the credit check. Do that, and you can take her home today.”

  Klisiewicz frowned, playing his part. “What? No test drive?”

  “Maybe later,” the master chief replied, “after my round of golf. Getting a tee time on this course is a pain in the ass.” Like the rest of the Sagittarius crew and very much unlike Klisiewicz and the Endeavour landing party, Ilucci and Terrell were dressed in olive drab jumpsuits rather than the standard Starfleet duty uniforms worn aboard ships of the line. Klisiewicz knew from experience with long-range scout ships in general, and the Sagittarius in particular, that the more relaxed uniforms were a practical choice for the crew. They featured no rank insignia, just a patch on the right shoulder bearing the Sagittarius’s ship emblem and the wearer’s last name stitched in black lettering above the jumpsuit’s left breast pocket. Klisiewicz himself had worn the uniform on rare occasions, but not since joining the Endeavour, where Captain Khatami tended to prefer regular duty attire except for those members of the engineering and maintenance departments where the utilitarian coveralls were more appropriate.

  As for Ilucci, Terrell, and the rest of the Sagittarius crew, their jumpsuits definitely had seen better days. Each was soiled or torn in various places, and the flap of the cargo pocket on Ilucci’s right thigh was missing. The top of his left boot had been scored all the way through the black finish so that his sock was visible, which Klisiewicz noted was not regulation black but a rather harsh shade of orange.

  That could come in handy if we can’t find the distress flares.

  “How are your people doing, Captain?” Klisiewicz asked. “I know some of them were banged up pretty good, and there’s also the radiation exposure you all suffered.” He had read the brief report Terrell had transmitted to the Endeavour while he and the rest of the landing party prepared for transport to the surface. The Sagittarius had been forced to use an asteroid to shield them from the sensors of the two Klingon vessels, but the same radio­active mineral deposits it contained and that had served to mask the scout ship’s energy signature also had threatened to poison its crew. The Sagittarius’s chief medical officer, Doctor Lisa Babitz, had subjected everyone to a stringent protocol of antiradiation medications, but there had been concerns that the treatment might prove insufficient to combat the effects of prolonged exposure.

  “Looks like we’re all going to live,” Terrell said. “Doctor Leone’s already taken care of all the cuts and bruises, and boosted our antiradiation meds. He still wants to give us all a good going-over on the Endeavour.” He eyed ­Ilucci. “That goes double for you and Threx.” Klisiewicz knew that the two engineers had been in the bowels of the scout ship during its wild fall from orbit, and Leone wanted to rule out further and potentially dangerous exposure to radiation or any other hazardous materials that might have contaminated the compartment during the crash. In this, the Endeavour’s CMO was erring on the side of caution with every member of the Sagittarius crew.

  “Awesome,” Ilucci said. “I haven’t had a good double going-over since our last shore leave.”

  Behind the jocularity expressed by Terrell and Ilucci, Klisiewicz could hear the fatigue in both men’s voices. They along with the rest of their crew looked tired, which was understandable considering the plight they and their ship had endured. Still, from where Klisiewicz stood, they looked a damned sight better than the Sagittarius itself, which had suffered momentous damage, first from the weapons of the Klingon battle cruiser and then as a consequence of its rough landing after plummeting from orbit to Arethusa’s surface. Only the skilled piloting of the ship’s helm officer, Ensign Nizsk, and some timely mechanical miracles provided by Master Chief Ilucci had spared the Sagittarius from a disastrous crash.

  Still, the scout ship had not come through the incident unscathed. That much was obvious from just a casual visual inspection. His first look at the ship had revealed to Klisiewicz an array of scorch marks and other damage from its firefight with the two Klingon ships as well as a host of dented and scarred hull plates from its plunge from orbit and through the planet’s atmosphere before Ensign Nizsk had effected the Sagittarius’s harrowing landing. Even his untrained eye told Klisiewicz that substantial repair work was required in order to make the compact vessel spaceworthy once again, and even then in the barest sense. The list of damaged systems was as long as his arm, and even if the Sagittarius lifted from its current resting place, it still would require a tow or other means of transport to a Starfleet shipyard or starbase repair facility.
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br />   Having reached his apparent fill of their friendly chitchat, Terrell said, “I’ll start sending our people up a few at a time, so we can keep going with the repairs. Thanks for your help, Lieutenant. We appreciate it. With your chief engineer and his team helping us, we should have the old girl ready for liftoff in no time.” Terrell and Ilucci had prioritized which repair tasks were essential for getting the ship off the ground. To that end, the Endeavour’s chief engineer and his team wasted no time climbing into the depths of the grounded scout ship and already were hard at work with the Sagittarius’s crew to accelerate the repairs.

  “Don’t thank me, Captain,” Klisiewicz replied. “Commander Yataro and his people are doing the heavy lifting with that.” He looked to Ilucci. “Whatever you need from our stores, Master Chief, you just say the word and it’s yours, assuming Yataro didn’t already bring it with him.” He gestured to where the Masao, one of the Endeavour’s shuttlecraft, sat nearby. Anticipating numerous needs on the part of the Sagittarius’s engineers in order to complete repair efforts, Commander Yataro had ordered the small transport craft loaded with all manner of tools and other equipment.

  “Much appreciated, Lieutenant,” Ilucci replied. “I don’t suppose that goes for beer, too?”

  Despite their current situation, Klisiewicz could not help but chuckle at the other man’s easy humor. “I’ll see what I can do.” It amazed him that Ilucci, and Terrell, for that matter, were able to maintain their composure with the stresses of the moment, coupled with the knowledge that somewhere on this planet—distant and yet not too far away—a threat loomed.