Burning Dreams

by Margaret Wander Bonanno

  He shook his head, couldn’t finish.

  “You don’t know how tempted I am to jump down there and throw myself in the path of one of those aliens just to see if they’ll actually kill me, or if, like the Kaylar, they’re just an illusion, and a minute later I’ll be right back here talking to you.”

  “Captain…” Spock said seriously. The human impulse to act first and think later was nothing new to him. “…I would strongly advise against it.

  “In any event,” he went on once it was clear Pike was not going to act on his words, “I believe it is now relatively safe for us to travel. The temperature has fallen below the range at which most cold-blooded creatures should be able to move with any alacrity, and I detect no hunters in the vicinity.”

  For the rest of the night, Spock with his superior night vision leading the way, they endeavored to find someplace the hunting parties hadn’t reached yet. Without the ability to read them on tricorder it was a challenge, and several times they passed quite close to shuttles or temporary structures containing, they assumed, any number of the reptiles, sheltering until daybreak.

  By the time daybreak came, they had traversed several kilometers, sometimes doubling back on themselves, crossing streams in an attempt to obscure their scent. Only when the sun began to peer above the horizon did they seek shelter in the tree canopy once more, halfway up one of the larger trees so that, with luck, they would neither be seen from the ground nor spotted from the air should any more of the alien shuttles pass by overhead.

  They were also close enough to some of the fruit trees to help themselves, since they’d only brought sufficient Starfleet rations for a single day. The presence of the native marsupials, creating a ruckus over the pillaging of their food supply before retreating to a wary distance, was reassuring. As long as the small furry ones were nearby, the reptiles wouldn’t be.

  They took turns keeping the watch. They continued to attempt, without success, to contact Enterprise. Until the sun went down again, there was nothing else to do but wait.

  Unless, of course, you were Spock.

  Pike awoke after a fitful nap, grateful after all that there were no insects on this planet, since the heat of the sun was distracting enough, to find Spock just as he had been when the human had drifted into sleep, studying something on his tricorder screen. It was unnaturally quiet; the marsupials were gone. Glancing cautiously below, Pike saw a party of perhaps a dozen reptiles in full hunting mode moving through the clearing.

  “Captain,” Spock began without preamble, handing Pike one of the tricorders. “I have backed up the data from Dr. Chisholm’s tricorder on my own. In the event one of us is captured…”

  “Good thinking,” Pike said. Even if only one of them survived, the other could store the collected data aboard Enterprise. Pike forced himself to overcome his revulsion at the sight of the creatures and began to study the translator’s attempts to create a language algorithm out of their gestures. He glanced up at Spock gratefully. “This is incredible, Spock—we can use this.”

  But Spock’s attention was on the hunters passing beneath them. “It is still not enough,” he mused. “Captain, request permission to follow the hunting party and attempt to capture more of their communication patterns.”

  “Negative, Spock. There are too many of them. If even one catches your scent, you’ll end up like D’zekeo.”

  “We have discovered that they do not climb trees. If I remain above them in the canopy—”

  “I think I’ve made myself clear, Science Officer.”

  Spock’s face wore what on a human would be a stubborn look. “Captain, you have instructed me to capture enough of the aliens’ language to communicate with them. If I am to succeed…”

  And if you don’t, I’ll be alone down here. Stranded like Robinson Crusoe, every deep space traveler’s unspoken nightmare, alone with these creatures and my memories. I don’t know which is worse.

  Pike shook himself, disguising it as an attempt to stretch his muscles after sleeping in an uncomfortable position.

  “All right, Spock. But stay in the trees, and stay in communication. Meanwhile, I’m going to see if I can get a better look at that transmitter. Rendezvous back here in an hour.”

  “Affirmative.”

  The last of the hunting party moved off without noticing them. Spock peered through the foliage to ascertain their likely direction and soundlessly disappeared among the branches.

  Pike climbed as high as he could in the swaying branches. From there he could look out over the entire valley and ascertain that this region too was now swarming with hunters, perhaps fifty or sixty in all on the ground, with more emerging from several shuttles. Peering in the other direction, he could see the skeleton of the structure the aliens had begun to construct yesterday. It was almost certainly a comm tower, possibly meant to interface with an orbital satellite.

  The sound of engines overhead made him duck below the canopy just in time, as yet another squadron of the sleek alien shuttles roared by.

  Pike reached for his communicator, prepared to order Spock back, then stopped himself. Wherever Spock was, he was probably in no more nor less danger than he would be here. If the entire region, perhaps the entire planet, was soon to be filled with hunting reptiles, no place would be safe.

  Spock returned as silently as he had departed, precisely within the hour. Pike, his nerves raw, had to stop himself from jumping out of his skin when Spock suddenly appeared.

  “Captain, while I have not succeeded in establishing an algorithm for ‘beautiful morning, isn’t it,’I believe there may be enough data here to establish a basis for communication,” Spock reported dryly.

  As they transferred the data to the second tricorder, Pike felt himself grinning for the first time since Chisholm had offered him some of the native fruit yesterday. They might yet get out of this alive.

  The next step was to wait until dark and have a closer look at the comm tower. What they saw confirmed Pike’s fears.

  “Considerable advanced weaponry,” Spock observed, stating the obvious. “It is also shielded, quite primitively, but successfully.”

  Pike saw it, too, a high fence of some fine metal mesh surrounded the facility, apparently electrified, meant to keep the marsupials away. Several which hadn’t been clever enough to recognize the danger clung to the wire, frozen in place by the current that had killed them.

  “Guess they only eat live ones,” Pike commented wryly. “What are the odds the current’s strong enough to kill a humanoid?”

  “I would not recommend experimentation to find out,” Spock replied, frowning at his tricorder.

  “What is it?”

  “I believe I have an answer to why we have lost contact with Enterprise.”

  Pike read the tricorder screen over his shoulder. “And they with us. There is a ship up there transmitting on the same frequency. Since these creatures can’t hear, it doesn’t matter to them that their ships’ shielding blocks audio feeds.”

  “Indeed,” Spock said, switching screens and showing Pike something else. “Their visual comm is quite sophisticated. I shall endeavor to capture as much of it as possible.”

  “Later,” Pike ordered. “Right now we find the source of the electricity powering that fence and shut it down, then get in there and disable that comm system, even if it’s only for a few minutes.”

  They found the transformer for the electricity, a simple device housed in a makeshift guard hut whose guard had begun dozing as soon as the sun went down. When the dead marsupials fell free of the fence, it was easy enough to slip under the mesh and break into the comm center.

  “Never knew Vulcans were such expert lock picks,” Pike joked, scanning the perimeter, phaser at the ready. “Wouldn’t imagine there was much need for that kind of skill on your world.”

  “There is not,” Spock assured him, easing the outer door open. Even knowing the aliens were deaf and, most likely, in a somnolent state, they strove for stealth. “Ho
wever, the acuity of Vulcan hearing…”

  “Save it!” Pike said, clapping him on the back and going first down the darkened corridor. Trying to gauge where the main controls might be, he noticed something else. “It’s warm in here. Some of the creatures may still be active.”

  “Indeed,” Spock concurred.

  They found the main controls. Spock contemplated them for a long moment, his familiarity with the technology of several worlds suggesting a certain logic to the configuration before him. With a surety Pike envied—he thought he knew which control was for what, but he couldn’t be certain—Spock moved toward one of several panels busy with lights and toggles, and went to work.

  They knew he’d succeeded when the power grid went down abruptly, plunging them into darkness. Moving toward where they remembered the door to be, Pike whipped out his communicator.

  Number One considered her dilemma. More than thirty hours had passed since they’d lost contact with the landing party. Mr. Grace had determined that the alien vessel’s shielding emitted some sort of dampening frequency that was blocking Enterprise’s comm. Not only was it impossible to contact or even locate the landing party, but attempts to reach Starfleet Command were blocked as well, as long as they remained in the vicinity of that ship.

  There was only one thing to do. Deliberately, Number One opened the intercraft.

  “All hands, this is the first officer. Prepare to leave the system.”

  She counted the space of a nanosecond before José Tyler spun around in his chair and said, “But—!” Ignoring him, she went on.

  “As you know, we have lost contact with the landing party. All comm into and out of this system is blocked by that alien vessel, which has made it clear it will not allow us to approach any nearer to the planet. Given the presence of numerous shuttlecraft on the planet surface, it’s obvious whoever built those ships considers this planet their territory, and one lone starship is not in a position to dispute that.

  “We will reestablish communication with Starfleet Command and await advice. There will be no grumbling or speculation in the meantime. First Officer—”

  “Number One!” It was Dabisch, nearly shouting. “Message from the surface. It’s Captain Pike!”

  “…could be cut off any second…” Pike was saying, feeling his way down the corridor and through the outer door. He’d counted the number of paces to the fence. If they could get clear…“Can you get a lock on us?”

  “Mr. Grace?” Number One barked.

  “They’re moving quite rapidly,” the engineer reported. “I’m unable to get a fix on them unless they can get to a clear place and stand still.”

  “Captain—?”

  “I heard that, Number One. Stand by…”

  He and Spock cleared the fence just as the lights inside the complex fluttered back on. Someone activating backup power, he assumed. But they hadn’t reset the comm controls—Spock had cross-circuited something that would keep them guessing for a few more minutes—so he could still talk to the ship.

  Just a few more yards into the forest, and they could—

  Pike skidded to a halt as one of the creatures loomed in front of him. It was moving slowly in the chill night air, but moving, blocking their path. A phaser blast stunned the creature, which fell heavily. But the flash of the phaser fire had no doubt given their position away.

  An eerie thundering behind them made Pike turn in spite of himself. The aliens were stamping on the ground, communicating with each other in the absence of their commcoders. Several silhouettes against the bright light inside the compound told him they were headed this way, moving much more quickly than they should have been.

  He didn’t wait for them to get close enough to see that they were wearing heat suits. He would learn about those later.

  For now he and Spock ran, dodging low-hanging branches and plowing through underbrush, disturbing nests of marsupials who chittered at them furiously. How much longer before the aliens blocked their comm again? When the chittering suddenly stopped, Pike did, too.

  “They’re close,” he gasped, out of breath.

  “Indeed,” Spock concurred, scanning the darkness. “Seven of them…” He gestured toward where he could see them and Pike couldn’t. “Possibly more.”

  “You can see in the dark…elude them better…” Pike said abruptly, shoving his phaser and the second tricorder into Spock’s unwilling hands. “I’ll distract them. Get to the ship…work on that translation…Go!”

  “Captain—!”

  “That’s an order!” Pike yelled, literally shoving Spock toward the woods and starting off in the opposite direction, communicator open as he ran. “Enterprise, get a fix on Spock and beam him up now!”

  “Sir, we’re trying to get a fix on both of you—” Number One began. Pike cut her off.

  “Negative! Beam Spock up and get my ship out of here! Do it!”

  With that Pike clapped the communicator shut, flung it as far as he could into the darkness beneath the trees, and kept running.

  STARBASE 11

  “Were you out of your mind?” Caught up in the narrative in spite of himself, José Mendez was leaning forward in his chair, incredulous. “You actually let them capture you—!”

  “And to this day, I don’t think Spock’s forgiven me for it,” Pike mused.

  “But why?”

  “Spur of the moment decision,” Pike said, gesturing to the bartender for another round, though he didn’t remember finishing the last one. “If Spock could get to the ship and get a handle on their language…”

  “Blah-blah-blah, of course!” Mendez said crossly. “That doesn’t explain why you didn’t stand still and let your first officer beam you both up. Or why you jettisoned your phaser and your communicator.”

  “Easy to explain. Didn’t want them capturing our technology.”

  “But it was all right for them to capture you?” Mendez’s voice was laced with skepticism. “That goes against half a dozen regs I could cite, and you can, too.”

  Pike ducked the question, went to the bar to retrieve their drinks. “Command was satisfied with my explanation after the fact,” he said a little smugly, handing Mendez his cognac.

  “Only because you lived to tell the tale!” Mendez snorted. “Why? Why let them capture you?”

  Pike sipped his drink, determined it would be his last, even if he and Mendez talked all night.

  “Sitting in that tree all day, I learned as much as I could from the translator. There were certain basic gestures…I thought I could communicate enough to convince them I was intelligent, at least too intelligent to be a between-meal snack. At best I was hoping for first contact, at least to learn enough about their technology to see if they posed a threat.”

  “And if they did have you for breakfast, how were you supposed to convey that information back to Starfleet?” Mendez wanted to know.

  Pike shrugged. “I told you. Spock was going to learn their language. With what he’d learned on the planet, he could work with Number One and Mr. Grace to get around the Kan’ess ship’s dampening field, ask for my release—”

  “And you had that all worked out while you were running through the woods?” Mendez fixed Pike with his steely gaze. “I think there’s more to it than that. I think you have some kind of death wish.”

  Pike started to argue, but Mendez knew him too well. Instead he tried to laugh it off. “Well, as you say, I’m here. If I was really trying to get myself killed, I wasn’t very successful, was I?”

  When they surrounded him, he didn’t struggle. He’d heard the whine of the transporter and knew that Spock was safe. When he found his way blocked by half a dozen of the creatures, he assumed one of them would have him for a midnight snack. Thinking crazily of vampires, he saw rather than felt the largest of them sink its teeth into the side of his neck. The venom, if that was what it was, didn’t cause him to lose consciousness, merely made it impossible for him to move. He found himself trying to remember something Ch
arlie had told him about a poison the indigenous peoples of South America used, but couldn’t get his thoughts to coalesce. As the aliens lifted him off his feet and carried him back to the compound (curare, he thought crazily), he soon had other things on his mind.

  The paralytic didn’t clear his system until after they’d loaded him into one of their shuttles and brought him up to the mothership, dumping him like so much cordwood in some kind of enclosure. By the time he was able to move his arms and legs again, pull himself up to a sitting position and, eventually and not without leaning against a bulkhead, climb stiffly to his feet and walk about, the vibration of the deck plates told him the ship was moving, probably leaving orbit, possibly headed for what he and his crew had thought was an uninhabited, mechanized world.

  The holding cell was dimly lit by the bars of light across the doorway, which obviously comprised some sort of force field. The cell and, he assumed, the entire ship, was kept at a slightly higher temperature than a human ship might be. No warmer than a late-fall day in Mojave, Pike thought; he’d get used to it. A slightly musky smell and a vague chittering from somewhere down the corridor told him he was being held in the same part of the ship as the marsupials.

  Just great! he thought. Another cage. And this time they’re saving me for dessert!

  “You were trapped on that world for a long time,” Mendez observed soberly.

  “Long enough…” Pike answered.

  He’d always been a quick study and, unable to sleep after that first fitful nap in the tree, he’d used the time to memorize every bit of information Spock had gathered on the alien signing language. When the first one (a guard, he assumed) appeared at his cell door, Pike greeted it (it would be a few days before he learned to distinguish male from female by the patterns of their scales) with a gesture—a combination of a leftward tilt of the head and a right-handed motion—that he’d seen the aliens make whenever one group neared another, and which he hoped meant something like “Hello.”