Burning Dreams

by Margaret Wander Bonanno

  She had taken to ignoring Pike. She wanted him in her presence, but paid no attention to him when he was there. She seemed to be catching up on her paperwork, waving off visitors, spending most of her time at a computer console that Pike had calculatedly not shown any overt interest in.

  For one thing, the keys and toggles were designed for Kan’ess fingers; they were long and narrow and arranged too far apart for human hands, and he realized it would take him days to be able to use them efficiently even if he could decode what all of them meant. For another, if he pretended the tech was too advanced for him to understand, the Director would become overly confident and he could observe what she was doing.

  On the several screens in front of her, he saw street plats, visuals of many cave dwellings, commsats connecting this region with others. He tried to memorize as much as he could. It was apparent he was being kept in a backwater, far away from any central control. Communications facilities would be less sophisticated than, say, something in a capital city. If he could only get to them…

  His thoughts were broken by the Director’s irritable hiss. She began rubbing her back against the back of the chair, then remembered she was not alone. Glaring at Pike, she snapped off one of the screens and turned away from the others, pulled herself up out of her chair as if with great effort and, swaying slightly, moved away from her desk on all fours rather than upright.

  Not-well? Pike gestured. She glowered at him and moved toward the tangle of corridors that led to her sleeping chamber, where he was forbidden to go.

  She doesn’t want to be seen this way, Pike realized. Some sort of cultural taboo or just pride? For a moment he almost pitied her.

  He was alone. He assumed the guard was just outside as usual, ordered there first thing this morning by the Director, who didn’t want him to see her in the early stages of molting, either.

  If he was to have a chance, this was it. He approached the computer, wondering if he could find a way in. But the toggles didn’t respond; the Director must have locked it.

  Cursing silently, working furtively, Pike reassembled the communicator parts he’d salvaged and, just on a whim, tried to contact the ship. Nothing. All comm still blocked. He had to get out of here and think of something else.

  Moving lightly, he approached the door to the outer corridor; it was little more than a large, flat stone designed to slide flush against the wall when moved with enough strength. If he could somehow disable the guard, he might actually be able to find his way outside. After that…

  Think! he told himself. Think of everything you know about snakes. Where are they most vulnerable?

  With that, he wedged his fingers into the space between the door and the wall and began to pull. As the door slid slowly open, Pike hoped the guard wouldn’t feel the vibration, and readied himself.

  Every Starfleet officer takes a turn at guard duty early in his career. Pike remembered how deadly boring it could be to stand in a corridor staring at a wall or bulkhead for hours on end, trying not to daydream so deeply that you lost your concentration. He’d never succeeded. Fortunately he’d never been asked to stand guard over anyone or anything of importance, but he remembered that dreaminess, that lack of focus, the distraction of wanting to shift your feet to keep your calves from cramping, the slow drip of time as you waited for your shift to end.

  The Kan’ess guard was no different. He also had the disadvantage of not being built to stand upright. His slumped posture said he was bored, uncomfortable, and only the sudden appearance of someone important in the dimly lit, winding stone corridor would get him to stand at attention. As Pike positioned himself flush with the open doorway and peered cautiously into the corridor, he could see the guard swaying on his back legs, his forelegs nowhere near his weapon, head tilted back, the usually active Kan’ess tongue lolling in one corner of his half-open mouth, for once not flicking out to test the air.

  Pike launched himself at the creature, the sheer momentum of his weight toppling them both onto the floor as he fisted both hands and drove them, hard, against the aural patches on either side of the creature’s head, where he knew the skin was thinnest. The blows were just powerful enough. When Pike got to his feet, the guard didn’t stir.

  Seizing the guard’s weapon—the shape was wrong for human hands, and he’d never seen one fired, but he’d figure something out—he ran.

  Luck was with him. Not only was this section of corridors deserted, but when he finally did find his way outside, it was night. He found himself standing at the mouth of a cave, its floor worn smooth by the passage of countless Kan’ess, perhaps some seven hundred feet above a desert floor.

  Reconnoitering, he saw what he’d expected to see from studying the visuals on the Director’s computer—an extensive cliff dwelling like that of the Pueblo back on Earth, augmented by structures of native stone stretching as far as the eye could see, to another range of cliffs that no doubt contained still more tunnel dwellings.

  Of course. Where else would a species descended from snakes live? But where would they house their communications networks, and how could he get access to them?

  First, though, he needed to take care of some basic needs, the most basic of which was to find his way down from the cave mouth, on trails designed for elongated reptile bodies, without so much as a piton or a length of rope, in the dark. He was helped a little by the planet’s moon, an overly large orb skulking close to the horizon this time of year. Of course, in helping him see better, it also made him more visible.

  Fortunately, there was no one around to see him. The pueblo, as he began to think of it, was deserted. The chill night air of the desert had driven all the Kan’ess indoors. He would be safe, or relatively safe, until morning.

  Reaching the valley floor, though not without skinning his hands and tearing the knees out of his uniform trousers, Pike dusted himself off and considered the next order of business—food and water. He didn’t expect to find much that he could eat among a species who ate live prey.

  Except, of course, if he found where they kept that prey penned up until it was ready to be eaten.

  It was easy to find the open-air markets by the noise generated by the many species of prey the Kan’ess fed on. Wherever there was live prey, there were bins full of grain and tanks of fresh water. Pike helped himself, stealing with impunity since no one was around to challenge him. Once he’d eaten, he roamed the winding passageways separating the buildings on the desert floor, no doubt worn into the bedrock by thousands of generations of Kan’ess traveling on four limbs, possibly even gliding along like snakes before they evolved those four limbs. As long as there was moonlight, and well into the predawn light, he searched the exteriors of the buildings where wall met roof for what he finally recognized as transmitter nodes, noted which way they were pointing, and followed their direction in an attempt to find the central locus where the power was transmitted.

  By the end of the night he had reached what he took to be the center of the city. Reluctantly, as he watched the sun peer over the horizon, he thought of where he could conceal himself for the warm part of the day. He wondered what the guard had done once he came to, if he’d been forbidden to approach the Director because she was molting. While as yet no one seemed to be actively searching for the Director’s lost pet, Pike wasn’t about to take the chance that someone might stumble upon him and bring him back to her for a possible reward. He kept out of sight, not an easy thing to do in what became a teeming urban area once the sun was up.

  He spent the day hiding in an empty grain bin, dozing fitfully, nearly suffocating from the heat. That night he found his way into what looked like the commercial center of the city, a small hill honeycombed with heavily traveled caves decorated with elaborate archways marked with official-looking sigils that, if he guessed right, designated the centers of control. One cave in particular attracted Pike’s particular interest. He had found what he was looking for.

  “I got complacent,” he told José Mendez, s
uppressing a yawn. The primary would soon be coming up over Starbase 11, too; they really had talked all night. Fortunately Mendez was off duty tomorrow, and Pike was nominally on leave. “I didn’t realize until too late that the voder I’d built for the Director was a two-edged sword. In my urgency to communicate, I hadn’t figured on her scientists using our technology to try to lure my ship in for capture.”

  He suppressed a shudder. “Apparently ingesting four of my crew had given the Kan’ess a taste for human…”

  Not only had he found the pueblo’s main transmitter, but he was able to enter the cave where it was housed unchallenged. Apparently there was no such thing as vandalism on this world, because the facility was neither locked nor guarded. There wasn’t even a proper gate or door, merely an open cave mouth. Suppressing a lifetime’s conditioning against entering dark places where there might be snakes, Pike crept into the cave, leaving moonlight behind him, hoping to find banks of lighted instruments to see by.

  After following several interminably long corridors largely by feel, he was not disappointed. What he was, was horrified.

  Of the four banks of screens transmitting visual and/or coded communication, three were devoted to everyday comm—the Kan’ess version of television, Inter- and intranets, comm. The fourth bank of screens showed long-range views of Enterprise, at station-keeping well beyond the Kanes system, but clearly under observation and, it was safe to assume, not for peaceful purposes.

  Using what he’d learned from watching the Director work at her personal computer, Pike studied as many readouts as he could decipher. It wasn’t until it dawned on him that he could hear some of the comm as well as see it that he realized just how much trouble he and his ship were in.

  Using the very technology he had provided them, the Kan’ess scientists had developed audio comm, based on the model of a Starfleet communicator. They’d recalibrated their high-frequency planetary and vessel shielding to let audio comm in and out, and were apparently working on a way to send an audio message to Enterprise inviting her in for a visit, a chance to retrieve her lost captain…and the opportunity to be captured and stripped of her technology, her crew imprisoned and fattened for Thanksgiving.

  There were innumerable Starfleet regulations and scenarios against just such a contingency. By now Number One would have been trying to penetrate the planet’s shields to punch a message through. Ironically, the Kan’ess scientists would have worked with that, too. Pike could hear Number One and Lieutenant Dabisch, as well as the Enterprise’s computer, droning out repeated messages of greeting. He realized that the Kan’ess would build a language base from this, enough to formulate a standard greeting and—

  The hair on the back of Pike’s neck stood on end as, this time, he heard his own voice.

  “…this is Captain Pike…want to welcome you to Kanes…”

  19

  Enterprise

  Number One wore a determined look as the bridge crew prepared to abandon the search and leave the Kanes system. She tapped her brilliantly colored fingernails on the armrest, anticipating resistance, a resistance she would not tolerate. Captain Pike might have treated this crew as a team, but when she was in charge, she was in charge, and the first person to raise an objection to her order was going to get their head bitten off.

  The silence was palpable. No one spoke or even made eye contact with her or with each other, but she could feel the reluctance in all of them against leaving Pike behind. Even the ship seemed sluggish in her response.

  But there were procedures, and they had to be followed. Mr. Grace had been unable to penetrate the planet’s auditory shields. There was no way to scan for Pike on the Kanes homeworld, if he was even there. Every time Enterprise had ventured too close to what the Kan’ess considered the outer perimeter of their system, she’d earned a warning shot across her bow, and Mr. Spock had reported that the planet’s weaponry, if fired consistently and with enough force, could penetrate their shields.

  Which was not to mention that engaging that fire, without knowing for absolute certain that their captain was being held prisoner on this world, would be a violation of the Prime Directive.

  They were leaving. Starfleet Command would tell them what to do next, and that was that.

  Cursing himself for a fool, Pike realized he’d given a powerful enemy the means to destroy his ship. He had to find a way to warn her away, or at least terminate that outgoing transmission. If his tampering with the main comm transmitter attracted attention, he was already dead. Maybe he could hold off a few armed Kan’ess for a while, if he could figure out how to fire this weapon, but—

  First things first. There’d been a particular sequence the Director had keyed into her personal computer to send remote messages. Hoping the instrument panel before him was similar, Pike started pushing buttons.

  “I hear it, Mr. Dabisch,” Number One said before the comm officer could speak. “Relay it here. Captain?” she began immediately, automatically assuming Dabisch had done his job. “Captain Pike, this is Enterprise. We read you. Please respond…”

  Something Pike touched had triggered an alarm. The three banks of screens not focused on Enterprise suddenly became hyperactive with scrolling messages and visuals. After a brief glance at them to see what was happening, Pike blocked them out. The automated recording of his voice was still being broadcast to the ship, and Number One was attempting to respond. He’d only made matters worse.

  “Number One…” It was Mr. Grace’s voice from engineering. “I think I’ve got something. They’ve had to alter the frequency to let that message through. If I can punch through and—”

  “Moment, Engineer,” Number One said irritably, permutations racing through her mind. Was the message from Pike genuine or a trap? Would the wrong move here ruin a possible first contact, or at least get the captain killed? “Recalibrate for that weak spot and see if you can scan for a human reading, then stand by. Enterprise to Captain Pike. Please respond.”

  The exact sequence of events was a little fuzzy after that. Did Pike hit the right button to shut off the faked transmission before or after Mr. Grace punched through the audio shield, or did they both happen simultaneously? Did three armed Kan’ess arrive in the transmitter room a split second before or after Mr. Grace got a transporter lock on Pike? Did he ever figure out how to work the Kan’ess weapon and return fire? Did the planet’s defense system fire on Enterprise while Pike was still in transport, or a few seconds after, in either case allowing for a near hit on the starboard nacelle before the shields snapped on?

  Eventually the engineering logs would sort it all out. For now, everything seemed to happen at once.

  “Pike to Enterprise—disregard that first message! You can’t save me—get that ship out of here!”

  Number One bit her tongue. No time to argue. “Mr. Grace?” she barked.

  “Have a tentative fix…Starfleet communicator frequency. Not stable…I’m not certain…”

  “Do it!” Number One barked.

  Kan’ess weapons apparently fired some sort of short burst plasma, Pike noted dreamily as, simultaneously, he felt the familiar and ever-so-welcome tingle of the transporter and watched as if from a distance as a series of bolts from three weapons fired past and through him. The transporter effect was slow through the auditory shields, slow enough for him to spend several seconds suspended between Here and There before the communications hub and the three disappointed Kan’ess guards finally disappeared and the transporter room of the Enterprise coalesced around him.

  Moves-with-Burning-Grace and Spock were waiting at the transporter controls—Grace smiling quietly, Spock somber but, it seemed to Pike, considerably relieved. Boyce materialized out of nowhere, scanning him with a medical tricorder, hypo full of something-or-other at the ready.

  Pike waved him off and managed a lopsided grin. He was stepping precariously down from the transporter pad—dusty, his uniform torn, a five-day growth of beard only partly hiding the haggard look of his face
—when the ship was rocked by weapons fire from the planet surface.

  With what seemed like the last of his strength, Pike lunged for the intercraft panel on the wall. “Number One?”

  “Got the shields up as soon as we had you, Captain,” she reported crisply, all but reading his mind. “We’re out of here.”

  STARBASE 11

  “I need to see daylight,” Pike said after a long silence, pushing himself away from the table and onto his feet, stretching the stiffness out of his lower back.

  He and Mendez left the lounge, found themselves outside under the pale red sky just as the distant sun was coming up. A soft breeze ruffled their hair and brought the smell of the native sage from the distant hills. This place, too, reminded Pike of home.

  “Home.” He always considered Mojave home, no matter how long he stayed away. He and Charlie had barely communicated in the past five years, but Hobelia always made him welcome, even though she gently needled both men about patching things up between them. Was he willing to be away for another five years? What alternatives did he have?

  José Mendez eyed his old friend warily. He wanted to say something, but wasn’t sure about the timing. He and Pike put the high-rise administration building dominating the plaza behind them and walked in silence until they came to the edge of the inhabited part of the base.

  “Penny for your thoughts,” Mendez said, watching Pike stare off into the foothills, scuffing at the red sandy soil where the pavement ended, as if contemplating a hike even after a night of no sleep and too much Saurian brandy, or perhaps because of a night of no sleep and too much Saurian brandy.

  Pike scowled, massaged the back of his neck. “It was anticlimactic. My crew rescued me from Kanes and we beat it the hell out of there. There was no resolution. I kept thinking there was something else I could have done. Last I heard, there was some sort of directive in the works to cordon off that sector of space until it’s determined how much of a danger the Kan’ess pose now that I’ve managed to teach them a whole new form of communication,” he finished bitterly.