by Dayton Ward
Sighing, Khatami shook her head.
“Time’s up, people.”
25
Standing alone at the center of the control room, Stephen Klisiewicz continued to marvel at the chamber’s array of consoles and panels.
“This place is incredible,” he said to no one, just as he had uttered similar comments and observations throughout the brief time he had been working here. The workstations—as he chose to call them—were covered with all manner of switches and indicators, arranged in multicolored clusters of varying size and number. Everything was accented by the familiar yet still largely unintelligible glyphs exhibiting the language of the Preservers.
The glyphs themselves were as much works of art as articles of communication, but it was their latter properties that concerned him at the moment. After being granted continued permission by Seta to enter the Caves of the Shepherds and ultimately this hallowed space, Klisiewicz had benefited from her ability to read the symbols adorning the pyramid’s exterior surfaces as well as much of the walls and consoles inside the structure the Preservers had left here at some point in the distant past. Like the rest of those personnel from the Endeavour and the Sagittarius, he had refrained from revealing the identities of the “Shepherds,” not willing to risk further cultural contamination of the Tomol beyond what circumstances already had forced upon them. Despite the best efforts of the two Starfleet crews, the damage to the people of this world had been done. While the case could be made that Nimur’s rebellion against her people likely would have happened regardless of outside interference, the matter had been rendered moot by encounters with the Klingons and the Sagittarius landing party. The only option available was to help Seta, Kerlo, and the rest of the Tomol to mitigate the effects of that inadvertent meddling by any means necessary, which included understanding and exploiting whatever technology the Preservers had seen fit to leave there.
I just wish we had time to truly study this place, he mused. Maybe later. Assuming we survive, that is.
“You want to wipe that drool off your chin?” asked a voice from behind him, which Klisiewicz recognized as that of Doctor Leone. “It’s embarrassing. Besides, you don’t want to make a mess of the nice ancient alien cave, do you?”
Despite the seriousness of the situation, Klisiewicz could not help laughing at the physician’s dry wit as Leone stepped farther into the room. How had he not heard the other man enter the chamber? “How are things outside?”
“Commander Stano and the Masao showed up and dropped off most of her security detail,” Leone replied. “They also left Tormog. He says he’s here to help, and Captain Khatami says Kang will vouch for him, but Stano said you’re supposed to put a boot up his ass if he gets out of line.”
Klisiewicz grinned. “She really said that?”
Leone shrugged. “She may have said something about stunning him into next week, or whatever else you think you need to do if he starts going off script, but my idea sounds better.”
“Have a couple of security people bring Tormog down here,” Klisiewicz said. “He can’t cause too much trouble if he’s stuck in here with the rest of us.” Though he doubted it, there remained the possibility that Tormog had information of value about the Preserver artifacts, or something else he had seen during his encounters with Nimur and the other Changed. Right now, Klisiewicz would take any advantage he could find. “What about the Tomol?”
“Seta and some of the Wardens or whatever they’re called are overseeing the evacuation.” Leone shrugged, and there was no mistaking the worry on his face. “I don’t know how the hell they’re going to get everyone down here, but it’s the only thing that even remotely resembles a safe place.”
It had been Seta’s suggestion to evacuate the village and move all of the Tomol into the Caves of the Shepherds, in the hopes of protecting them from Kerlo and those handful of Changed who followed him now that his mate, Nimur, had been rendered inert by the bizarre countermeasures deployed by the automated Preserver drones. It would be a tight fit down here, Klisiewicz guessed, with nearly fifteen hundred people requiring relocation, but they would be all but defenseless in the village. Even now, with the transfer under way, there remained hundreds of Tomol out in the open on the trail connecting the village and the caves, and while the effort was proceeding apace, it still was too slow for Klisiewicz’s comfort. Wardens and others from the village who had volunteered to act as defenders had been armed from the weapons cache discovered by the landing party.
Assuming they work, Klisiewicz reminded himself. After all, the weapons had been stored down here for uncounted thousands of years. On the other hand, the drones had performed admirably during the Changed’s two previous encounters with Endeavour and Sagittarius personnel. The problem was that there was no predicting how or even if the weapons would appear again, even with Kerlo and his followers poised to strike. I guess we’ll find out soon enough.
“Speaking of Seta,” Klisiewicz said, moving back to what the Tomol priestess had identified as the room’s primary control console, “how is she? Any signs of possible side effects, in her or the others?”
Leone shook his head. “Nothing so far. I’m up to twelve test subjects, all of them believing they were getting close to their own time for jumping into that fire pit, and because they trust Seta. Based on what I’ve been able to learn about their physiology and from my tricorder readings, each of them could reach that point within four to six months, with the closest one happening within a week to ten days.” He sighed. “Give or take, that is. It could happen a month from now . . . or tomorrow. Even with all the scans I took of Seta up on the Endeavour, there’s just not enough information on their particular physiology for me to pin it down any better than that. I couldn’t find anything in the medical database about a similar species, so there’s nothing to compare them against.” He waved his hand in the air as if to indicate the control room. “I don’t suppose you can tell me if there’s anything useful about the Tomol stored somewhere down here, can you?”
“Not yet, I can’t,” Klisiewicz replied, “but I’m still looking.” Despite the time crunch under which the crews of the Endeavour and the Sagittarius had been working since their arrivals at Arethusa, he was impressed by how much progress Leone had made in his own research into the Tomol and how quickly he had formulated the synthesized compound he had administered to Seta and her fellow volunteers in the hopes of neutralizing the Shedai’s genetic manipulation. Even with the assistance Klisiewicz had provided thanks to the Operation Vanguard files he possessed, the doctor had made several intuitive leaps of his own, covering some of the same ground addressed in the information Klisiewicz himself had mined from the metagenome data so meticulously cataloged by his late friend, Ming Xiong.
Standing next to Klisiewicz, Leone leaned against an adjacent console, glancing behind him as though to ensure he was not inadvertently moving or otherwise activating any of the controls. “Assuming we don’t want to wait around here any longer than we have to—and I really don’t, in case you’re wondering—the only thing I can think to do is administer the treatment to a Tomol who’s already undergone the Change.” Klisiewicz cast a questioning expression at the doctor, who shrugged and admitted, “Yeah, I think that’s a pretty damned crazy idea, too.”
“Maybe not,” Klisiewicz said, realizing too late that he had spoken the words aloud. When it was Leone’s turn to eye him with open skepticism, the lieutenant added, “Obviously I don’t mean trying to chase down one of the Changed that are running around out there.” He gestured toward the room’s entrance. “But we have several specimens just standing about in the woods, waiting for something to happen.”
“You mean one of the frozen guys?” Leone crossed his arms, frowning as he considered the notion. “But that would mean drilling through the rock encasing them, right? Didn’t Stano and the others tell us that could be dangerous, even fatal to the person trapped inside that she
ll?”
Stepping back from the console, Klisiewicz shook his head. “Not necessarily. Even though I think trying to break one of them free could be life-threatening, it might be possible to drill a small hole through the rock shell, just enough to let you administer your serum. That shouldn’t have too drastic an effect on the rock itself.”
“Shouldn’t?” Leone’s eyes narrowed. “You’re not sure?”
“No. It’s an educated guess.” Despite the progress he had made deciphering the glyphs and other script left behind by the Preservers, there still was much he had not yet translated, let alone understood. Thanks to Seta and information collected by Commander Theriault and the Sagittarius landing party, he had read and translated several sections of the glyphs inscribed on the pyramid’s exterior containing information about the Endless and how they were turned into stone by an unknown power source located somewhere within or near the obelisk. What he had not yet found was anything about reversing the process, but to Klisiewicz it simply made no sense for there not to be such an ability. Surely the Preservers, with their apparent penchant for safeguarding representatives of endangered or doomed civilizations, would not consign their charges to eternal imprisonment with no hope of reprieve?
What about the Tomol who’ve been standing in that valley for thousands of years?
No, Klisiewicz decided. There had to be a logical reason for that as well. Was rescinding the interment effect a duty to be performed by a priestess such as Seta? Perhaps it was knowledge that had been lost over the generations, or the technology for overseeing such things was malfunctioning. That certainly was not out of the question, given the untold millennia for which the obelisk had sat here, buried beneath the planet’s surface. The answers to the questions the Tomol posed were here, embedded somewhere in the perplexing script of the wordstone left by the Preservers. Klisiewicz simply had not found it.
Yet.
Shouts of alarm from outside the control room echoed through the open portal leading from the obelisk. Moving to the entry, Leone peered out before looking over his shoulder to Klisiewicz. “Something’s happening. Tomol are running all over the place.”
“Kerlo and the others,” Klisiewicz said. “They’re here.” His communicator beeped, and he flipped open its cover. “Klisiewicz here.”
“Hewitt here,” replied Ensign David Hewitt, the Endeavour security officer who had been placed in charge of the relocation effort. “We’ve got trouble out here, Lieutenant. Company’s coming, and there’s no way we can get everyone inside the caves before they get here.”
“Aw, hell,” Leone said. “They’ll be sitting ducks out there.” Klisiewicz could only nod in agreement, already imagining what Kerlo and the other Changed might do once they arrived to see so many defenseless Tomol for the taking.
Hewitt continued, “We’ve got our people and the Tomol Wardens deployed all along the side of the mountain leading to the caves, but if they attack us the way the other Changed went after the Sagittarius . . .”
Klisiewicz heard the unspoken worry in the young officer’s voice. “We only have to hold on for a few minutes.” Feeling a knot of anxiety growing in his gut, he scanned the consoles around him, searching for some sign that his nagging suspicions were correct. “If I’m right, the obelisk should deploy some kind of countermeasure once it detects the Changed threat.”
“Do we want to be here when that happens?” Leone asked.
It was a good question, Klisiewicz conceded. As for the answer?
“There’s only one way to find out.”
* * *
From the forest flanking the trail leading to the Caves of the Shepherds, Kerlo saw two villagers emerge into the open, each wielding what he at first thought to be a Warden’s fire lance. The implements they carried were at once recognizable as weapons and yet unfamiliar in form or function. He had no idea if they might be more powerful than the lances and he would not wait to see them tested. Lunging toward the new arrivals even as they raised their weapons in their direction, Kerlo slammed a fist into the first Tomol’s chest. The villager was thrown off his feet and back toward the trees, crashing to the ground and sliding into a depression on the far side of the trail. His companion, as though shocked by the speed and ferocity of the attack, froze in the act of aiming his lance, and that brief hesitation was all Kerlo needed to close the distance and swat the weapon from his grip. It sailed into the trees and the Tomol turned to flee. Kerlo was faster and grabbed the man by his neck and flung him into the forest. He heard the impact of the Tomol’s body against a tree, but by then Kerlo had all but forgotten about him, relishing in the wave of power and increasing strength surging within him.
Whatever drove him now that he had accepted the Change was asserting itself with unexpected force. Every breath he drew brought with it heightened vigor and awareness. Further, he could sense a similar progression in those who had been Changed by Nimur during the battle at the crashed sky-ship. Like him, they were advancing toward the throngs of Tomol frantically seeking shelter, or simply plunging into the forest and away from the caves. Kerlo knew he could not waste time pursuing those who fled, but he would find them in due course. For now, though, there remained others in need of the guidance and truth they had been denied all of their brief lives.
Turning his attention farther up the trail to the clearing near the caves, Kerlo saw dozens of villagers running toward the entrance. One of them, a young female, caught sight of him and pointed, yelling out in fear. Kerlo saw the bluish-purple aura emanating from her, communicating her dread, but he also sensed in her another energy—a flicker of untapped strength waiting to be summoned. Though he did not know her, Kerlo intuitively realized that he was seeing the first sparks of the Change beginning to spread through the female’s body. Had life here on Suba not been upended by Nimur’s rebellion and spurning of village law and tradition, the female would be giving herself over to the Cleansing before the next cycle of Arethusa’s moons.
No. Your fate, as with mine and that of our people, lies elsewhere.
Kerlo focused his mind on the ember he felt growing within her, reaching out and pulling at it, coaxing it forth to join with him. He sensed the female’s initial resistance, but by now there was no stopping him. The spark erupted into flames, which Kerlo saw reflected in the female’s eyes. Her expression was at first one of shock, replaced quickly by uncertainty, but already Kerlo could see her aura shifting as the Change took hold within her.
She was only the first, with others following in short order. Marching up the trail on his way to the caves, he saw the glint of power radiating from other villagers. Most of them were not old enough that the Change could be convinced to spring forth, but others awaited him. For those whose Change was not imminent, enticing the transformation taxed Kerlo, but the results were the same. Within moments he had recruited five Tomol to the cause. The number was small, but it was a start.
Others will follow.
A high-pitched whine from somewhere above and behind him filled the air beyond the trees, and Kerlo looked up to see what he recognized as the smaller, boxlike sky-ship that had come to the aid of its larger companion craft. Arriving at incredible speed, it had slowed to hover above the tops of the tallest trees, its nose pointed slightly downward. This craft lacked the artistic beauty of the vessel that had crashed on Suba’s far side, but that did not concern him now.
Instead, he fixed his gaze on the vessel’s open portal and the sky person who appeared to be leaning out of that aperture. She was aiming the newcomers’ version of a fire lance toward the ground, as though searching for targets.
They had come to defend the Tomol against him. While part of him remembered that the sky people presented themselves as peaceful strangers, he saw now that they were obstructing the path his people were destined to travel.
Though they still possessed some limited value in the larger goal of claiming one of the sky
-ships, their presence and interference could no longer be tolerated.
26
“Keep her steady,” said Katherine Stano, kneeling on the Masao’s deck plating and bracing herself as best she could against the shuttlecraft’s port-side interior bulkhead. Wind whipped through the open hatch, pushing at her as she steadied her phaser rifle against the edge of the portal. Having taken over the cockpit controls, Lieutenant Lerax was doing a commendable job maintaining the Masao’s attitude, bringing the shuttlecraft to a hover just above the tops of the trees encircling the small clearing near the cave entrance. From her vantage point, Stano could see dozens of Tomol scattering in all directions. Some were racing for the cave and whatever shelter might exist in the subterranean caverns, while others ran for the feeble protection offered by the surrounding forest.
“You sure this is a good idea, Commander?” asked Ensign Kerry Zane from where he crouched against the bulkhead on the hatch’s opposite side. The junior security officer’s own phaser rifle extended through the open doorway, beneath Stano’s and covering angles she could not see.
Stano shrugged. “We can’t risk leaving the shuttle on the ground, and there’s no way I’m leaving people behind down there.” It had been Lerax’s idea to utilize the Masao as air cover, maneuvering above the trees in a bid to target and subdue any of the Changed before they could get to the cave or cause harm to any of the other Tomol villagers. Agreeing with the security chief’s evaluation, she had landed the shuttle long enough to offload Tormog and the bulk of her landing party, transferring her security detail to the one that had accompanied Klisiewicz and Doctor Leone.
One virtue of Lerax’s plan was that it would serve to keep the shuttle away from the Changed, who doubtless would seize any opportunity to get their hands on it as a means of making their way into orbit in an attempt to attack and commandeer the Endeavour. It was because of this that Stano had ordered the Masao’s sister shuttlecraft, the Simone, back to the Endeavour. As neither the Simone nor the Masao had armaments of its own, any defensive usefulness came from one or more people positioning themselves at the open hatch and firing at targets on the ground, hopefully without falling to their own deaths.