by S. D. Perry
“The Ingavi family I stayed with the last time I was here said about twelve hundred refugees survived the first month after the crash, but after the initial shock wore off, they realized just how lucky they were. Sindorin is similar enough to their own world and many of the survivors decided there was an almost mystical connection between them and their new planet.”
“So,” Taran’atar asked, “they came here from a moderately sophisticated world?”
Ro nodded. “Tech-wise, Ingav was a lot like Bajor had been when the Cardassians arrived. But Ingav’s occupation never ended. More than that, I don’t really know. I haven’t had the chance to do any research about their homeworld.”
“But the being we spoke with did not smell like he comes from a technological society,” Taran’atar commented.
Ro, impressed by the observation, said, “He doesn’t. They aren’t technological. Not anymore. From what I could piece together, the survivors decided to abandon as much technology as possible when they integrated themselves into the environment. They knew certain technological emissions were detectable from a distance; it was how the Cardassians found the Ingavi in the first place. By then they’d become obsessed with avoiding detection, concealing themselves from outsiders. And as I’ve already explained, conditions on Sindorin make it damn hard to find anything or anybody most of the time.”
Taran’atar furrowed his brow. “They gave up technology out of fear.”
“It’s understandable,” Ro said. “They’d been through a lot. The ship they arrived in crashed off shore. They probably got some basic supplies off before it sank, but not much. And these people were in shock—first they were forced off their planet and then crashed on an uncharted world. The wonder is that they didn’t sink into barbarism. From what I saw, in the seventy-five years they’ve been here, the Ingavi have devised a very stable, very balanced civilization. They have some technology, but they use it judiciously. As you saw, they’re arboreal; they cultivate fruit-and grain-producing vines in the canopy, and rarely come down to the ground.”
“And these circles of large trees?” Taran’atar asked.
“They tend to build settlements in them. The older trees are more stable, less likely to fall over if struck by lightning or die if there’s a ground fire.”
“That is why the Jem’Hadar destroy them.” It was a statement, not a question. “Target practice.”
Ro said nothing.
“But this still does not explain how you know so much about them,” Taran’atar said, looking around at the clearing.
“I’ll get to that,” Ro said, then looked back over her shoulder. “Are they still up there?”
Taran’atar shook his great horned head. He must look gigantic to the Ingavi, she thought.
“They’ve moved farther away. I cannot hear them now. They move quickly through the treetops. I do not think even a well-trained Jem’Hadar could keep up with them.”
“That explains why there are some still alive.”
“Yes,” he said, and turned back to look at her. “Continue.”
“Right,” Ro sighed. “Most of what I said was true: The Maquis were looking for a new base and we thought Sindorin looked like a good candidate, so I came here with two others and we did a survey. The part I left out was the mudslide. They have a lot of those here. The heavy rains and loose soil can be treacherous. My two companions were killed—suffocated or drowned, whatever you call what happens in a mudslide—and I was in pretty bad shape. The Ingavi found me, took me back to their village, and nursed me back to health. I stayed with them for about three weeks until I was strong enough to find my ship.” Ro sighed and craned her head back to look up at where the canopy would be, though she could see almost nothing more than a few feet away from the beam of her light. “I learned a lot about them during my convalescence, and I promised them I would never reveal to anyone that I had discovered them.” She paused, shaking her head bitterly. “Problem was, the Dominion came anyway. Then Section 31. I kept my silence to protect them, and it didn’t matter. It didn’t matter.”
Taran’atar tilted his head. “I don’t understand. They were weaker than the Maquis, surely. What did it matter what they wanted?”
“What are you saying? We should have killed them or conquered them, is that what you’re suggesting?” Ro asked coldly.
“But the Maquis were at war, and had need of this place.”
“That’s not good enough,” Ro snapped. “I wasn’t going to do to them what the Cardassians did to Ingav, or to Bajor. They’ve suffered enough.”
“Yes. We have,” said a familiar voice from directly overhead. Ro shined her lamp straight up, directly into the large round eyes of the Ingavi they had been talking to earlier. Hanging head-down, he flinched away from the light, then released the vine he was clinging to and dropped lightly to the ground at Ro’s feet. This time, he did not stay crouching, but drew himself up to his full height—about the center of Ro’s breastbone—then swept one arm forward in what she interpreted to be a courtly bow.
“My name is Kel. I am to serve as your guide while you are here. Those among us who remember Ro Laren speak of you with honor and affection. The heads of the families say you owe us an explanation as to why you are here, but we’ve decided to believe you mean no harm.”
Then he turned to Taran’atar and said, “On the other hand, they all wanted to kill you, but I told them that you heeded Ro Laren when she asked you to lower your weapon. They have decided this means I have spoken for you, Jem’Hadar. So, if this is a trick and you plan to kill us all, slay me first. Otherwise, I could not bear the shame.”
Taran’atar listened attentively, then nodded once.
Ro took the opportunity to take a closer look at Kel and found that she did not, in fact, recognize him. Like the rest of his kind, his head, arms, and legs were covered in short, coarse green hair—not their natural coloring, but the result of a colonial microorganism that clung to Ingavi fur, a harmless parasite that helped to camouflage them in the forest. He wore mottled green shorts, a close-fitting vest of the same color that had many sealed pockets of several different sizes down the front, but no shoes because the Ingavi used their long, prehensile toes while climbing as much as they used their hands.
Like most of the Ingavi males she’d seen during her previous visit, Kel had large eyes, a flat nose, and a wide, down-turned mouth. There was, to Ro’s eyes, something about their habitual expression that made her think of a perpetually put-upon civil servant and, as far as she could tell, there was nothing about Kel’s personality that would dispel that illusion.
Lifting one long arm, Kel pointed into the forest and said, “We have a shelter in this direction. Some of my friends are attempting to distract the Jem’Hadar—the other Jem’Hadar—who are searching the forest for you, so we must hurry.”
Taran’atar looked back over his shoulder as though he was thinking about going back to face the other Jem’Hadar, but shook it off and returned his attention to Kel. “Lead on.”
The Ingavi turned to Ro and said, “Talk to me while we walk. I will have to explain to the others why you are here when we arrive.” He glanced at Taran’atar. “And why we should believe that this one is different from the others.”
“Taran’atar isn’t one of those who have been menacing you,” Ro said. “He…works with me, and accompanied me in returning to Sindorin because what threatens you now also threatens our worlds.” Ro told Kel an abbreviated version of the tale that brought her to Sindorin.
When she was finished, Kel asked, “So do you think your comrades perished?”
Ro puffed as they climbed a long, steep slope, but managed to say, “There’s no way to know. It’s possible, though I doubt it. There was no explosion when our ship went down, as far as I could tell. And Bashir and Dax, they seem a resourceful pair.”
“That’s not a reason,” Taran’atar commented, chugging steadily up the hill. “It’s an opinion.”
“I agree,” Kel
said, loping along at an easy pace, “but I hope you are right, Ro. If this madman, this Locken, is the one responsible for these latest atrocities, then I hope your friend finds him and stops him.”
“I think he could,” Ro said, stopping to catch her breath when they reached the crest of the hill. Dawn was beginning to turn the sky to the east pink. “Or, anyway, he stands a better chance than anyone else. And Taran’atar and I will do whatever we can. It’s the least we can do.”
“The least you could do,” Kel corrected, “is nothing, so anything you will do is welcome.”
“But now you tell me of your fortunes, Kel,” Ro said. “How have the Ingavi fared since I was last here?”
Kel looked up at her from under lowered brows. “Very little has occurred that I would call fortune, Ro. We have endured, but little else, though my wife tells me I am inclined to take the dark view. Now, come,” he said, pointing the way down the hillside. “It’s best not to be above ground when the sun rises.”
There were caves where there should not have been any. Ro knew a little bit about geology, enough to know that the loose, shallow topsoil usually associated with rain forests could not support a system of caves as extensive as those the Ingavi refugees were hiding in. A surreptitious check with her tricorder revealed the truth: they were not in a cave at all, but inside the hollowed-out remains of a massive petrified root system. Sometime in Sindorin’s distant past, its ecosystem must have supported the existence of gargantuan trees, plants so immense that they would have cast a shadow over half the area now covered by the Ingavi’s rain forest. Ro didn’t feel like she knew enough about botany to be sure of her idea, but she felt the blood rush in her veins at the thought of bringing a Starfleet survey team back to the planet to confirm the finding.
And then Ro felt ashamed. Another disturbance, another group of outsiders to harass the Ingavi? It wasn’t right. She’d restrain herself, though she was surprised to find that the urge to explore—something she thought had atrophied forever when she had fled the Enterprise—was still there. How odd.
Kel introduced Ro to his extended family, most of whom seemed to already know who she was. Then, he grudgingly indicated Taran’atar, who took this as a signal to glide into a corner, where he hunkered down to watch the door, apparently making a sincere effort to appear as harmless as possible, although the Ingavi all jumped nervously whenever he shifted his weight or moved his hands. It was painful for Ro to watch, not in the least because the Ingavi had to know there was nothing they could do if Taran’atar took it into his head to open fire.
There were about twenty Ingavi in the bunker, and though it appeared to Ro that they had made themselves as comfortable as possible, it was clear they were miserable. They wanted to be swaying under the treetops, but here they were in these dank, dark, windless holes.
“How long have you been down here?” Ro asked, taking the small bowl of food Kel’s wife, Matasa, offered. It looked like grubworms mixed with sawdust, but Ro ate it gratefully. She knew from her previous visit that she could digest Ingavi food (indeed, their digestion was considerably more delicate than the average Bajoran’s) and that what she had been given was a generous portion by their standards. Ingavi ate many small meals every day and eating was usually an invitation to talk.
“One dry season and most of this rainy season,” Kel said.
The better part of a year, Ro translated. “And before these Jem’Hadar, there were others?” she guessed.
Kel nodded. “The others were worse in many ways. They looked, acted, more like him.” He pointed at Taran’atar, who was, Ro saw, silently declining the bowl he’d been offered.
Kel’s family finished their meal, then invited Ro and Taran’atar into a small circular chamber where the air was fresher. Ro inspected the ceiling and saw that the Ingavi had inserted into the loose soil some kind of long, narrow tube that was drawing down air. Someone lit a small oil lamp and Ro turned her lamp off. Something shifted at the edge of the room and Ro realized there was an elderly Ingavi sitting there, wrapped in a heavy cloth. He had almost no hair left on his head, very little on his forearms or legs, and Ro noticed a milky white film over his eyes—cataracts, a severe handicap in an arboreal species.
“Hello, Ro,” the old Ingavi said. “I hope the years have been kind to you.”
Ro was surprised and delighted to realize she recognized the voice. “Hello, Tan Mulla,” she said, bowing at the waist. “Passably kind, sir, and the same to you. I’m sorry we meet again under such circumstances.” She turned to Taran’atar and explained that the Tan was one of the Ingavi who had rescued her after the mudslide.
“Yes, I was,” Tan Mulla agreed. “And it is an action I have never regretted, though I confess I came close to despair today when I heard you had returned accompanied by a Jem’Hadar. But my nephew”—he nodded at Kel—“says you vouch for him.”
“I do,” Ro said, trying to sound certain. “We have a common goal. These other Jem’Hadar are not like him and he has been ordered by our leader to help us fight them.” Close enough to the truth without getting complicated.
“I think we understand,” the Tan said, but shook his head in mild disbelief. “You’ll forgive us if we are suspicious. Not long after you left came the first Jem’Hadar, they and the pale ones who speak so well but smell so bad.”
“Vorta,” Taran’atar offered, the sound of his voice causing several nearby Ingavi to flinch.
“Yes,” the Tan agreed. “Them. We did not like them, but they assured us they meant no harm and we believed them…for a time. Then they began to tell us, ‘No, don’t go there,’ and ‘Not allowed here,’ all the time explaining why it was for our own good. We tried to respect their wishes as best we could, but then they began to harm the trees.” He paused and inhaled deeply and let out a long wheeze. The air underground obviously did not agree with him. “We knew this did not bode well, so we ran and hid.”
“We saw some of those trees,” Ro said.
“There are worse areas, places where the forest floor is open to the sky for as far as I could see,” Tan Mulla said, then pointed to his eyes. “When I could still see, that is. They built a very large structure and ringed it round with fences. Then, when they were secure, they came into the forest and hunted us. My family—those you see around me—once numbered in the dozens. Now, we are no more than those you see here. It is the same for all the other families, if not worse. We were fortunate to find this place. The Jem’Hadar never discovered that we hid underground.”
Ro asked, “And then the Jem’Hadar left?”
“Yes, very suddenly. But their stronghold did not stay empty for long. Others came, men and women not unlike yourself, but with smoother noses. They began to create new Jem’Hadar, but these new ones seemed…less efficient than the previous ones. More brutal. I would even say clumsier, in some ways.”
“Do you know how many there are?” Taran’atar asked softly.
“We think perhaps ten score now. But their creator, whom they call the Khan, is making more. We have done our best to stay hidden from them. Although there are many among us who would prefer to fight, even if it means we will die, because our lives now have become unbearable.”
“I understand,” Ro said sincerely. “As I told you when we first traded stories, my world was once occupied by the same aliens who conquered Ingav. I knew the anguish you felt then, and I know it now.”
“I remember. You said then that you were fighting the Cardassians. Did you win?”
“No,” Ro admitted. “I lost.”
“What happened?”
“The Cardassians allied themselves with the Jem’Hadar, and together they waged a war against the entire quadrant. They eventually were defeated, in part because they turned against each other. But many died on all sides of the conflict, and my original cause was made moot. By the end, the Cardassians themselves suffered the most.” She wondered if this news would come as some comfort to the Ingavi. She doubted it.
“But if there is peace now,” Kel asked, “why has this horror come to Sindorin? Did you break your vow of silence?”
“No!” Ro said. “The people who started breeding these Jem’Hadar are renegades and opportunists. What they’re doing violates the laws where I come from, threatening many beyond Sindorin. We’ve come to stop them, to rid this place of them. I’m just sorry, so very sorry that you found yourself trapped between all these forces. It’s not right…” But she found that she didn’t have words, couldn’t find a way to define her anguish.
Beside her, Taran’atar uttered a word that Ro could only assume was a curse, then stood and marched out of the chamber. The startled Ingavi watched him leave, but no one questioned where he was going. Ro was compelled to make excuses and follow the Jem’Hadar, both worried and not a little curious about what had disturbed him. She found Taran’atar standing in the next chamber near the exit. He had opened his weapons satchel and was inspecting its contents.
“What’s wrong?” Ro asked.
Taran’atar did not reply, but began checking the charge on his phaser.
“Taran’atar?”
“Nothing,” he snarled. “Nothing is wrong.” The power cell was fully charged, so he checked the edges on his throwing knives. Not looking up at her, he continued, “And everything is wrong. You are wrong. All this is wrong. The Founder—how can I say this?—he must be ill, possibly deranged from living among you for so long. Or a deviant. Why am I here? Why should I care about these…” and he said a word that Ro could not understand, the same word he had uttered in the small chamber. “Why do you care about them? They are weak. If they die now, what does it matter?”
Ro knew the philosophical gulf between them was too vast to bridge in one conversation, so she didn’t try. Instead, she kept it as simple as possible. “They want to live.”
“As do I,” Taran’atar said. “As do all things. But what has any of this to do with our task here?” Taran’atar rose and slung his weapons onto his back. “If we die fighting Locken, then we die. I do not regret giving my life for my duty, Lieutenant, but I still do not understand what my duty here is.”