Faces of Fire

by Michael Jan Friedman

  "That's right," said Kirk. "Menikki and Omalas. If we could find them, talk with them, see the matter from their angle, maybe we could get some fresh ideas."

  Bones looked at him thoughtfully. "Worthless hide," he repeated. His face seemed to light up. "Hell, maybe there is a way."

  "What are ye sayin', Doctor?" asked Scotty.

  McCoy turned to the engineer. He tilted his head. "Hmm. I wonder . . ."

  "Bones?" Kirk probed. "If you've got something on your mind, spit it out."

  McCoy's eyes narrowed appraisingly. "You know," he said, "it might not be a bad idea at that."

  And before either of his companions could ask again, he let them in on it.

  Shading his eyes from the big white disk that loomed directly ahead of him, Loutek stopped to wipe his tearing eyes on his sleeve. How many hours of this could a man take?

  Just a little longer, he told himself, and the damned sun will be out of your eyes. Just a little longer.

  Of course, he'd probably only find another steep, gritty slope beyond it, just like the one he'd been climbing. Cursing, the Klingon resumed his ascent. Loutek hadn't been particularly fond of this assignment at the outset, and his disenchantment was growing by the minute.

  First off, he didn't relish the idea of hunting children, particularly human children. There was no honor in it, no challenge.

  Second, he hated the place itself. And not just the fact that the sun seemed to be in his face everywhere he went, sending probes of pain into his eyes. Much worse was the air, which, as cold as it was, seemed to suck the moisture out of his very pores.

  Coughing for what seemed like the hundredth time, he hawked and spat. And then regretted it, for it only made his throat that much drier and scratchier.

  Give me the homeworld any day, he mused. Give me the warmth and the mists and the towering trees for shade. Give me a place where a warrior can breathe.

  Abruptly, a handful of pebbles came loose underfoot, sending him sliding a meter or so back down the escarpment. Loutek cursed, then trudged up again. It was as if the environment itself were conspiring to prolong this ridiculous search.

  Moments later, more careful of his footing now, he came to the top of the slope. The glare of the sun made it difficult to tell at first what was up ahead. Squinting, he finally made it out—not another slope but a deep basin, a valley. Like everything else here, it was reddish brown; not only the inclining walls that defined the place but also the boulders that jutted out of the ground at irregular intervals.

  More important, from Loutek's point of view, was that One of the walls was dotted with a series of what looked like openings. Sizable openings. Caves, he mused. Natural hiding places. And shelter from the biting winds—something one would need in order to survive for long up here.

  His pulse sped up a bit in anticipation. If the human children were where he thought they were, he would not only put an end to this distasteful task, he would also be commended by the captain. And commendations led to promotions.

  Taking out his disruptor, he almost laughed. It was ludicrous to think that he would need it to overwhelm a pack of human brats.

  On the other hand, why make things difficult for himself? One glimpse of the disruptor would put to rest any hopes they might have of running away. Better to strike fear into them immediately than to actually have to use the damned thing later on.

  Crouching low to minimize his chances of being seen, the Klingon picked out a line of approach. If he descended into the valley on the same side as the caves, the only way they could spot him would be if they had posted a lookout. And though there was no way of knowing if they had done that yet, since the darkness at the cave mouths was impenetrable, Loutek rather doubted it.

  Klingon children would have done it, but Klingons knew a lot more about hunting and being hunted. The game of predator and prey was second nature to them.

  Loutek made his way into the basin. Ignoring the cold and the blinding white sun, he kept as far to the right as he could, diverging from that plan only when he came across a boulder too big and smooth to climb over.

  No sign of movement in the caves. No sounds. So they hadn't spotted him yet.

  Of course, the caves could have been empty. There was always that possibility. But he didn't believe it. Being upwind, and probably not close enough to smell anything anyway, he couldn't be certain, yet his every instinct told him that there was someone hiding in those pokets of darkness.

  He crept a little closer. Still no indication that he'd been seen. He grunted in disgust. Why didn't humans train their young to protect themselves? Did they expect the galaxy to be that benevolent to them?

  Closer, still. The Klingon negotiated the largest boulder he'd come to yet, then a smaller one. He had to concentrate on being quiet now, on not dislodging anything that might roll down the hill and give him away.

  Step by careful step, he narrowed the gap. The ground cooperated, throwing no surprises in his path. The whole effort was going very smoothly, he thought, very efficiently. And why not? He was Klingon, wasn't he? And not just Klingon but Gevish'rae.

  Suddenly, even before he himself knew why, Loutek whirled and pointed his disruptor at a point directly behind him—a place where the big, empty basin met the cavernous blue sky.

  There was nothing there. Nothing and no one. He scowled, casting a careful eye over the entire perimeter of the valley. Still nothing. His scowl deepened as he let the barrel of his disruptor drop to his side.

  Klingons were taught to trust their instincts, their reflexes. But this time, he thought, his instincts had led him astray.

  There was no one around here except for Loutek himself and the human children he was stalking. The other Federation intruders were all under guard back in their colony buildings. And there was no animal life on this world.

  Therefore, no threats. Which meant his mind was playing tricks on him.

  And small wonder, now that he thought about it. The way his head hurt from that piercing sunlight, it was no surprise his senses were a little muddled.

  Turning back toward the cave, he gauged the distance he still had to cover. Less than a dozen meters, he judged. A matter of moments before he found what he was looking for. Working his way around one last boulder, Loutek approached the cave from an angle that would let him drop in front of it from above. There were still no sounds from within, but he didn't let that bother him.

  If the cave was empty, which he doubted, he'd have lost nothing by his efforts. And if it was full of children, his discipline would be rewarded.

  He just wished it weren't so dry out here. He wished this hunt were over already, so he could return to the Kad'nra and breathe again without abrading the inside of his throat.

  A few more steps, and a few more beyond that, and Loutek was almost there. He avoided a spot where the dirt looked looser than elsewhere, moving a little farther upslope to find better footing. Then, having circumvented the problem area, he descended again.

  Tightening his grip on his disruptor in anticipation, the Klingon crouched and laid his other hand on the ground to steady himself. He didn't want any slipups now, not after he'd made such a flawless approach.

  Creeping forward, and forward again, he at last reached his destination, a small ledge directly above the first cave. Gathering himself, he dropped and twisted, training his weapon on the darkness within.

  He had expected a cry of some sort, maybe an attempt to scurry past him. Neither of those possibilities materialized. In fact, there was no indication at all that the damned thing was occupied—just a cold breath of air that greedily lapped up the sweat on his feverish brow.

  Of course, the humans could have been sleeping in the cave's recesses. In that case, they wouldn't have noticed him yet. The problem was, he couldn't be sure. After the blinding light of the sun, the interior of the place looked pitch black to him. Impenetrable. It would take a few moments for his eyes to adjust.

  Squinting, concentrating, he waited.
The seconds passed. Kahless it was cold out here. By comparison, the air in the cave had to feel balmy. Surely it wouldn't hurt to take a couple of steps inside. To get out of this hell of wind and brazen sunlight and into someplace more comfortable, if only for a moment.

  Careful to stay alert, Loutek advanced into the darkness. His eyes had acclimated enough for him to make out vague shapes, though none of them were moving. Keeping his disruptor pointed at them, he advanced a little farther.

  The shapes still didn't move, not even with the gentle rise and fall of the chest area that usually denoted sleep. Coming closer, he saw why.

  They weren't living beings. They were just rocks, situated in such a way as to give the impression of head and torso, arms and legs.

  He grunted softly. Funny how much the pile of rocks had resembled humans. He nudged one of the smaller ones with his booted foot, watched it teeter and roll away from its companions.

  Funny indeed. Scanning the rest of the cave, Loutek found nothing else of even passing interest. Obviously, the children were in the other caverns, if they were here at all. The only way to know was to check. But he didn't move right away. He lingered, allowing the relative warmth of the cave to leech some of the stiffness from his tired muscles.

  The Klingon grinned. It even felt easier to breathe in here, though there was probably no more moisture in the cave than anywhere else. If he closed his eyes, he could almost imagine being back on the homeworld, in his family's tiny water garden. It occurred to him how pleasant it would be to take off his boots and his heavy, leather body armor and drop into a scented pool for a while.

  But duty called. Suppressing a growl, Loutek turned to the cave opening, where the blazing light had become more blinding than ever. His eyes felt as if they'd been stabbed; he had to look away.

  He realized then that he would have to make the transition from light to darkness over and over again with each cave search—a tedious process at best, and at worst a painful one.

  Unfortunately, the only alternative—to shut his eyes as he went from cave to cave—was impractical. He could just imagine one of the others, or even Gidris himself, coming upon him as he groped his way from one place to the next like a blind man.

  Again, he spat—and again he regretted it. What a loathsome assignment this was. A loathsome assignment and a loathsome world.

  Crossing back to the cave mouth, Loutek stood and stared out at the terrain. He couldn't discern a thing. It was a curtain of fire, a—

  Suddenly a red ball of agony exploded in Loutek's temple. He dropped to one knee.

  A moment later, a second ball of pain exploded in the back of his neck. The Klingon flung up his hands to protect himself, angry and confused and at least a little fearful of what was happening to him. Something big and heavy hit his right hand—the one that held the disruptor—but he hung on to the weapon anyway.

  He had to see, he told himself. He had to see who was attacking him.

  Squinting into the brazen glare, through the blood that was running down his brow and into his eyes, he made out a number of small forms swarming about like carrion creatures around a carcass. Pointing his disruptor at the nearest of them, he started to depress the trigger.

  That's when he felt something on his shoulder and—whirled to look up at a form larger than any of the others. He barely had time to make out the features of a Vulcan before the darkness closed in all around him.

  Chapter Thirteen

  AS SPOCK'S FINGERS probed the bundle of nerves at the juncture of neck and shoulder, the Klingon went limp in his grasp. Letting go, he watched the inert body slump the rest of the way to the ground.

  There was blood on the Klingon's face, the result of a head wound, which may have been a factor in the ease with which Spock snuck up on him. However, it wasn't until Spock took stock of the children who stood around him—three boys and two girls, their clothing covered with red dirt, each armed with a rather substantial-looking rock—that he put all the pieces together.

  "'This was a trap," he concluded.

  There was a distinct note of surprise in his voice, perhaps even admiration. He immediately regretted, the untoward display of emotion.

  One of the boys, a child with black, hair and narrow. features, nodded eagerly. "Yessir," he said, spitting the word out so quickly that Spock could barely understand it. "We spotted the Klingon coming a long way off, so we were ready for him. We got ourselves all dirty and hid in the last cave 'cause we knew he'd try the biggest one first, and when he went in we came out with our rocks and waited for him, and—"

  Spock held up a hand. "You need not explain further. I believe I understand the nature of your stratagem."

  The boy stopped, though he seemed disappointed. Spock was sorry for that, but there were more important matters to be dealt with right now.

  Despite everything, the Klingon hadn't dropped his weapon. Lowering himself into a squat, Spock wrested the disruptor from his adversary's fingers and tucked it into the sample pouch he wore slung over one shoulder. Then, slipping his hands beneath the Klingon's armpits, he drew him up almost to a standing position. Finally, Spock lifted one of the man's arms and draped it over his shoulder.

  "What are you doing?" asked the darker of the two girls.

  "I am concealing him from view," the Vulcan answered. "In fact, it would be a good idea for us all to conceal ourselves from view. At some point, perhaps very soon, this one's presence will be missed and his comrades will initiate a search for him."

  A boy with blond hair nodded. He turned to the others. "Come on. Let's pick up our rocks and bring them back inside the cave."

  Spock noted the boy's alertness. At least a couple of the stones had blood on them; that clue alone would have been enough to give them away to any Klingon who came to investigate.

  What's more, no one hesitated to follow his direction. Obviously, he was their leader, maybe the one who'd come up with the idea to turn the tables on the Klingon.

  The Vulcan watched for a moment to see which of the openings the children used as they hid their missiles. As it turned out, it was the cavern just beyond the one the Klingon had entered. Apparently, that was also the egress from which the children had issued as they pelted their victim.

  Following them in, Spock headed for the back of the cave, where the slanting ceiling and the dirt floor converged. Kneeling, he deposited his burden there and checked the Klingon's pulse.

  Still strong. Despite his wound, he was in no danger.

  On the other hand, he wasn't about to wake up for a while. The nerve pinch usually left its victims unconscious for three or four hours.

  Spock checked the Klingon's belt for food. Usually, Klingon warriors carried a small amount of it with them out in the field. He wasn't disappointed. A pouch held a number of heavy, brown grain pellets. Not esthetically appealing, but they would have to do.

  Extracting the pellets, he joined the children, who had already begun to sit down in a circle nearer the front of the cave. They looked at the alien fare greedily—five hungry faces that seemed much too young to be battling Klingons.

  The first officer distributed the grain pellets and watched the children wolf them down. He kept none for himself.

  But the blond boy handed half his allotment back.

  "You have to eat, too," he said.

  Spock shook his head. "My needs are different," he explained, which was accurate, if only in the strictest sense.

  The child had probably never met a Vulcan before, nor did he have any reason not to believe Spock. Shrugging, he gobbled down the remainder of his pellets.

  "You have not had access to food in some time," the Vulcan observed.

  "We had some snacks with us," explained the third boy, who had red hair and freckles. "We took 'em whenever we went up into the—" He looked around at the others, then amended his comment. "Whenever we went up to the playground. But the snacks ran out, and it's been pretty hungry here ever since."

  The boy with black ha
ir leaned forward. "What's going on back at the colony?" he asked. He swallowed but maintained his composure for the most part. "How are our parents?"

  Spock wished he could give him an answer. "I know very little more than you do," he replied. "I left the installation shortly after the Klingons arrived."

  One of the girls, a slight youngster with pale skin and delicate features, started to pose her own question. But she must have thought better of it, because she closed her mouth and looked at the ground.

  Seated next to her, the other girl asked: "Did you see them kill anybody?" Her gaze was steady, but there was no concealing the trepidation in it.

  The Vulcan shook his head. "I did not. Nor do Klingons generally kill unless they must; they are not as bloodthirsty as some would have us believe." He sighed, ever so slightly. This was not a subject he enjoyed discussing with children. Nonetheless, they deserved the truth. "However, I cannot rule out the possibility of fatalities."

  The youngsters looked at one another. Some were better at concealing their fears than others. The blond boy seemed to be the best of all. There was something about him that Spock found familiar—something, perhaps, in the way he held himself, or in the way his eyes narrowed as he listened. The Vulcan just couldn't put his finger on it, and the mask of grime on his face didn't make his effort any easier.

  The boy spoke up. "Why are the Klingons here, anyway? What are they after?"

  "This world is not all that distant from the recognized boundaries of the Klingon empire. It is possible that they are merely asserting their right to it." Spock paused. "However, it is far more likely that they have received intelligence about the nature of the colony's work, and wish to seize whatever new technologies have been developed."

  The youngster grunted. "That makes sense."

  "What does not make sense," Spock told him, "is your assault on the Klingon who was pursuing you."

  The children looked at him as if he'd just told them he was a Klingon himself. Perhaps he had been too abrupt in changing topics; that was still an area of human conversation in which he was less than adept, despite the practice his mother had provided during his childhood.