Trials 04 Shadow's Trial

by Terri Zavaleta

  met with resistance as Shadow held his shoulders down. "Give yourself

  a minute to recover," she ordered.

  "Yes, ma'am." It was a weak echo of the impudent scoundrel's form of

  address to the captain.

  Shadow bit her lip, caught unprepared for the sob of relief that

  surged through her. Haldersen snapped his fingers to get the attention

  of the humans. The aliens were withdrawing, leaving the humans alone

  once more.

  "Well, I guess we showed them," Tom joked faintly, his voice rasping

  uncertainly.

  "Shut up, Tom," Malista whispered. "Sven, you and Ethan help me get

  him to his feet. We can make him more comfortable on one of the beds."

  She was hanging onto her self-control by a thin thread. Any minute now

  she was going to start screaming and once she started she might not be

  able to stop.

  Haldersen helped Ethan up, then the two of them reached down for

  Paris' outstretched hands. The lieutenant submitted to being hauled to

  his feet and half-carried and half-dragged into one of the smaller

  chambers by Haldersen and Shadow, Ethan limping along behind with the

  help of Delaney and Lamont.

  Truthfully, Paris felt weak and dizzy and probably couldn't have made

  it on his own. He wasn't sure exactly what had happened. The last

  thing he remembered was the alien poking at him with that

  stick---painstick. That's what it reminded him of. One of those

  Klingon painsticks. Longer and with more punch to it, but the same

  type of weapon.

  He glanced up as he was deposited on the hexagon-shaped bed. "Everyone

  stay together. Come on in to this room. I don't want to take a chance

  on any of us getting separated from the group again if we can avoid

  it." He took a deep breath and exhaled it on a low moan. "Owwwwwwww.

  My headache is definitely back. I do not recommend that you try that

  yourselves, boys and girls."

  The away team crowded into the smaller room, taking comfort in the

  physical nearness of the others. Malista sat next to Tom on the bed

  and compulsively checked his pulse once more.

  He met her concerned eyes and smiled reassuringly. "I'm okay, Sis.

  Just tired."

  She shook her head mutely, lips pressed tightly together. She refused

  to meet his eyes.

  "What happened?" Tom asked. "Why did they give up and leave?"

  She shrugged. Her hands went to his shoulders and tightened on them

  convulsively.

  Megan Delaney stepped nearer the bed and answered his first question.

  "You tried to keep them from taking Malista and they hit you with one

  of those sticks. Some kind of energy weapon. You dropped like a

  meteorite and stopped breathing. Your little sister here saved your

  life."

  Unspeakably moved but trying not to let it show, Tom brought his long

  fingers up to stroke Malista's cheek. "Thanks, Sis. I guess it's a

  good thing you started taking lessons with the Doc, huh?"

  The kind words and gentle touch were the proverbial last straw. Silent

  tears began to trickle down Malista's face and she flung herself face

  down on his chest, snuggling into the crook of his neck and releasing

  her fear and relief with mute trembling. The other four crew members

  moved away slightly to give the twosome as much privacy as possible

  under the circumstances.

  Tom sighed and patted her back gently. His little sister really was

  having a terrible, horrible, no-good, very bad day. On top of a lousy

  month or two. He just wished he could do something about it. When the

  shaking eventually stopped, he tugged lightly on her ponytail. "Okay.

  That's enough. Come on, Sis. My shirt's getting soggy. Next time, you

  get to make Harry's shirt all wet. And no wiping your nose on my

  sleeve either."

  Her choked laugh as she sat up preceded a swipe at his upper arm.

  "Don't you EVER do that again!" she commanded. "I don't suppose you

  have a handkerchief?"

  "Nope. Sorry. Left the last one on the holodeck, I think. I wasn't a

  Boy Scout. Never prepared," Tom quipped, reaching up to wipe the tears

  from her cheek with his thumbs as his fingers framed her face.

  A large hand dangled a white handkerchief in front of her tearstained

  face. She traced the hand visually back to its source, Sven Haldersen.

  "Thanks." She took the offering and tried to scrub away all traces of

  her emotional outburst. At least this time she hadn't burst into loud,

  noisy sobs. She felt slightly ashamed of her lack of control. All the

  others seemed so calm. They were taking everything in stride. Why

  couldn't she?

  The big Swede shrugged. "They took my shirt, but they left me my

  pants---and my pockets. I always carry a handkerchief. I *was* a Boy

  Scout," he boasted as he smiled and winked encouragingly. "Eagle

  Scout, Troop 410, New Sweden Division."

  Chuckling and shaking his head, the lieutenant dragged himself up to a

  sitting position and crossed his legs. He grabbed Malista and hauled

  her up to sit beside him. It didn't take much persuasion. She slipped

  her fingers around his wrist, reassured to feel the strong pulse

  beating there. "Okay, team," Paris announced. "Everyone on the bed.

  It's time for a staff meeting."

  Megan eyed him disbelievingly even as they moved to comply. "I've

  heard of informal command styles, but really!"

  "Come on, Delaney. We need to talk and we might as well be comfortable

  while we do it. I'm not suggesting an orgy. Though the aliens might

  find that interesting to observe, come to think of it." That remark

  provoked rueful smiles and broke the tension, just as he intended.

  Shrugging, Megan squeezed into place between Haldersen and Simms.

  There was barely enough room for all six to sit on the bed's surface.

  "Okay, Lieutenant. What's the plan?"

  "First of all, let's discuss what we know or think we know about our

  enemy," Paris proposed. "Did anyone get a good look at one of them?"

  "Those hoods or robes or whatever pretty much cover them from head to

  toe---so to speak," Lamont commented.

  "They're really tall and seem to like hexagons," Simms reported,

  feeling a little foolish for stating the obvious.

  "That's it?" Paris said. "That's all we know?"

  "They have four fingers on their hands, arms like tentacles, skin

  that's sort of scaly, and they don't taste very good?" Malista

  offered.

  Four sets of eyes stared at her. Paris grinned.

  "I bit one," she explained in a very small voice.

  "What did they taste like?" Paris inquired curiously. "And, please,

  don't say like chicken---" Her only response was to elbow his ribs.

  "Ow. Okay. Sven, when we were discussing Ethan's and Megan's injuries,

  you said something about the aliens were probably testing the range

  limits of the joints. That scientists always study the anatomy of the

  animals that they capture. Is that what you think is going on here?"

  Haldersen nodded hesitantly. "It's just a guess. But it would fit in

  with our standard procedures. The kind of tests we would run on non

  sentient life forms. Or on life forms we aren't certain a
re sentient."

  "Like trying to understand our social setup by pairing us off?" Lamont

  pondered. "I wonder what conclusions they've come to. And why did they

  stop and just leave us alone? I thought they were going to drag

  Malista off somewhere. What would be the purpose of that?"

  Haldersen was uncomfortably aware that everyone was looking at him.

  "I'm no expert. I don't know anything about these aliens either..."

  "You're the closest we have to an expert and if you're right and we're

  the subjects of a study, maybe you can help us predict their next

  move. Or figure out their conclusions and what they'll do about them."

  Paris smiled at him calmly. "Don't worry, Sven. We're not expecting a

  miracle from you, just an idea of what to expect. So, elucidate. If

  you were in charge of this experiment, what would your conclusions be

  so far?"

  Haldersen rubbed his chin as he thought for a few moments. "This is

  like building a house of cards on a very shaky table, but let's give

  it a try. Okay, let's suppose that the probe was meant to look for

  intelligent life forms. It came across Voyager and we somehow

  triggered its programming. It selected our crew for testing and the

  six of us as the test subjects."

  "Why?" Megan interrupted. "Oh, I know we decided it had to do with eye

  color, but what does that mean? Why would they be looking for color?"

  "Maybe color is more important in their culture than it is in ours,"

  Malista whispered in Tom's ear.

  He pulled slightly away from her and squeezed her hand. "Don't tell

  me. Tell everyone. This is a staff meeting. We need to brainstorm our

  ideas. We may hit on something important."

  Shadow cleared her throat. "I was just thinking that maybe color is

  more important to them than to us. With some species color has a great

  deal of significance. I mean, like birds or insects or---"

  "Insects!" Haldersen said, snapping into alertness. "The hexagon

  shape. It's found in some hive building societies."

  "You think they're insects?" Simms asked dubiously.

  "Of a sort. That might explain a few other things. If it's a hive

  society, they might have a form of telepathy or a non-audible

  language. Like bees on earth that perform a dance to give instructions

  to tell the others where to find food sources," Haldersen concluded.

  "How does that help us?" Delaney demanded.

  "For one thing, in a hive society there is only one leadership. We

  don't have to worry about factions," Simms mentioned. "They're all

  working toward the same goal."

  Paris nodded. "Yeah. That might be important later. If we get around

  to negotiations. Now to get back to our situation. If you were running

  the tests, what conclusions do you think you'd have reached based on

  the tests we know about?"

  Haldersen scratched his head. "Well, we don't really know what was

  done while we were unconscious, but I would imagine it was a

  superficial physical evaluation. They probably looked us over, took

  some samples..."

  "Like my hair and fingernail," Malista supplied. "And they took

  samples from Tom. He has a whole series of puncture marks on his back.

  Janine was exposed to cold. Ethan and Megan had their joints tested.

  Sven's feet were turned blue by whatever they did to him and he was

  exposed to high temperatures."

  "It looks like they spread the testing out among the six of us. So

  they wouldn't use up one of their test subjects?" Megan speculated.

  "That makes sense. At first we were separated. Trying to see if we

  would try to escape. Probably looking for signs of intelligent

  behavior. An indication that we knew we were captives," the Swede

  theorized.

  "I saw you. All of you. A viewport opened to each room and I reacted

  to seeing you. Malista responded kind of violently when they went back

  for a second sample or whatever it was they intended. That's when she

  bit one of them," Tom explained with a sly grin. "He didn't get out of

  the way fast enough. That's when they sent her to me. Maybe they were

  hoping I could make her behave? Or they just wanted to see what we'd

  do?"

  "Your reactions must be the reason they put us all in here together.

  To study our interactions. Trying to determine our social structure,"

  Haldersen muttered, thinking aloud. "They must have us under

  observation. When we were brought together, our first reaction was to

  take care of each other, though we don't have the equipment to

  demonstrate our medical technology."

  "What would that tell them? I mean, what would that mean to them?"

  Lamont asked, then answered her own question. "Compassion can be

  considered a trait associated with sentient behavior, but in and of

  itself, it doesn't necessarily denote sentience. I mean there are lots

  of non-sentient animals that demonstrate nurturing behavior."

  "And what about when they tried to pair us off?" Ethan chimed in. "We

  resisted their attempts to order our pairing. What conclusion would

  they draw from that?"

  "Don't look at me!" Haldersen protested. "I don't know. They're just

  as alien to me as they are to all of you." He stumbled to his feet and

  moved across the room to stand near the doorway, gazing out into the

  larger room. It was obvious the mild-mannered scientist felt out of

  his depth on this unexpected and involuntary away mission.

  To everyone's surprise, it was Malista Shadow who made the first

  effort to soothe his agitation, perhaps because she felt as out of

  place among this team as he did at this moment. Her shyness and

  self-consciousness forgotten to meet another's need, she left her

  place by Tom's side and with great temerity laid a comforting hand on

  Haldersen's arm. "It's all right, Sven. We don't expect you to have

  all the answers. We're just brainstorming, like Tom said. You've

  already helped a lot. You were the one who figured out why they had

  such a hard time knowing what to do with me. You really do seem to

  have some insight into what they're doing."

  Megan Delaney joined the two of them, insinuating a flirtatious and

  somewhat proprietary arm around his waist. "Yeah, honey. We're in this

  together. Come on. Sit down and enlighten us some more. Sometimes I

  wish I'd paid more attention to classes outside my specialty," she

  confided, batting her eyes flirtatiously at the biologist. "But then,

  if I had, I wouldn't have an excuse to pick the brains of handsome

  men."

  Flattered and calmed by the attention of two lovely ladies, the big

  blond returned to the circle. Malista slipped back into place at

  Paris' shoulder, accepting his nod of approval with a swift smile.

  "What I don't understand," Ethan complained, "is why after almost

  killing the lieutenant, they just went off and left us like that. They

  didn't even make another attempt to take Malista or any of us with

  them. What was the point of dragging Malista away, if they weren't

  really going to take her?"

  Lamont interlaced her fingers through his as she spoke thoughtfully.

  "I think they were going to take her. Maybe to study h
er more

  carefully to see how she fit in. She's the obviously different one in

  the group---I'm sorry, Malista. I don't mean--"

  "It's okay," Shadow replied. "I know what you mean. If they've figured

  out our genders, they know I'm different from the other females. You

  and Megan are both much shorter than I am, which makes me different

  from you two. If they're going by coloring, I'm the only brunette,

  which is different from all of you. Of the six of us, my skin is the

  darkest. You're all very fair. My eyes are a darker green than

  Ethan's. If color is really a matter of importance to them, I may seem

  to be an aberration. Maybe they don't have my kind of color

  combinations here."

  "What kinds of social structure are there? What do they think we have?

  Based on what they've seen of us so far?" Delaney asked.

  "A hive?"

  "Why do you say that, Malista?" Paris said.

  "Well, there's a tendency to think others organize themselves the way

  you do."

  "I don't think so," Lamont murmured. "That might have been their

  original impression of Voyager. That it was a hive traveling through

  space. But our behavior hasn't really been hive-like. And in hives,

  there's a great uniformity of appearance. Those in the same job

  function or social class tend to look alike. For example the Hamidions

  on Vualkar Five."

  It was a classic Academy textbook example. Everyone but a bewildered

  Malista nodded agreement with the ensign's assessment. Reminded once

  more of her lack of Academy training and education, Shadow sank back