by Mosaic
Her teammates had tried to console her, but she was beyond solace. She refused to go to the transport sitewalk by that snotty cadet?-and instead struck out, walking, determined to hike the entire twenty miles back to school, punishing herself for this intolerable defeat. The storm burst only minutes after she started out. There had been a quickening of the breeze, a sudden drop in temperature, and then the first crack of thunder followed only seconds later by lightning. So close so quickly! The noise was unnerving, and she stepped up her pace. But only minutes later the clouds burst open and deposited their abundant load into the wind-whipped atmosphere, and almost immediately Kathryn was drenched and the ground beneath her had turned to soup.
She slogged on, legs covered in mud, mud sucking at her shoes and creeping in to coat her feet. The rain lashed at her even harder, and the wind almost hammered her off her feet. She had to lean into the wind, head down, driving forward with all her strength.
Tears began to sting her eyes, and then they poured freely, mixing with cold rain; great sobs began to rack her. Never in her life had she been more miserable. And yet the very misery was soothing; she deserved to be miserable after today.
Somewhere in the distance, she saw the faint lights of a hovercraft. It shouldn't be out in this storm, she knew; hovercraft were at risk in storms. Whoever it was was probably looking for cover. Then she realized how dark it had become. The wind had died down a little, and the thunder seemed to be moving on, but there was still a steady downpour. And it was night. Kathryn reached automatically for her bicorder, which would give her bearings, then remembered that she was in her tennis uniform. She stopped, turning around in the rainy darkness, and realized she had lost her sense of direction. No stars were visible, no distinctive landmarks stood out. She could make out fields, and rolling hills, and a wooded area, but which way was home?
Her tears dried up as her mind went into gear. What should she do? Stay put, that's what. She'd always been told that if she was lost she shouldn't wander. Sit down and stay there.
The rain was diminishing. She put her tennis bag on the mucky ground, sat down next to it, and then laid her head on the bag, an impromptu pillow. She could sleep right here, and tomorrow when the sun came up she would find her way home. She realized she was exhausted. She closed her eyes, and her mind drifted to analytic geometry and the distance formula. She felt drained of energy and emotion, and her mind became still and calm. And as soon as she stopped trying so hard to get it, the solution immediately became apparent to her.
It lay in antiquity. Nearly three thousand years ago, a visionary mathematician named Pythagoras had developed a theorem that related the sides of a right triangle to the length of the hypotenuse-the distance between two end points. With sudden, vivid insight, Kathryn realized that this was the solution to the derivation of the distance formula. And then her father lifted her up.
She felt his strong arms grip her, pulling her to him, his handsome, sturdy face etched with concern and relief. Kathryn smiled at him and relaxed into the journey, safe in his arms until he had put her into the hovercraft and wrapped her in a blanket.
"I saw lights," she murmured, still drowsy. "Was that you? You shouldn't be out in a storm."
"You were out here, Kathryn. I had to find you."
"I'm sorry, Daddy."
"What were you thinking?"
"I lost my match. I didn't deserve to come home with the others." She felt his eyes turn to her, and he was quiet for a moment. "But guess what?" she went on. "I figured out how to derive the distance formula. It's the Pythagorean theorem, isn't it?"
She heard him chuckle. "You're a funny little bird, you know." He eyed her mud-splattered body. "Tonight you're a blackbird." There was a silence, and then he looked over at her. "Kathryn, I want you to promise me you'll never do anything like this again. We were all worried sick about you. "I promise, Daddy." She waited for him to praise her for figuring out the distance formula, but he didn't talk about anything except how frightened they'd been. When they got home, her mother put her in the sonic shower and then tucked her into bed with hot soup, but Daddy had gone to his office and didn't even come out to say good night. Under the warm covers, sipping hot soup, Kathryn was nonetheless ice cold. Her heart felt like stone. Daddy didn't even care that she had derived the formula. She was more miserable than she had been lying in the cold mud with the rain pouring down on her.
CHAPTER 7
THE CAPTIVE LAY ON THE TABLE, EYES GRADUALLY LOSING A struggle to stay open as the narcotic had its inevitable effect on his system. It had proven necessary to keep the prisoner under almost constant sedation, a situation Trakis, the Trabe physician, regretted because he was uncertain as to the ultimate effect of such high levels of drugs on this alien being.
However, unless lie was narcotized, the captive had demonstrated an alarming unwillingness to cooperate with Trakis' examinations. Perhaps all members of this species were similarly truculent, or perhaps this one was particularly fierce, but Trakis had no intention of coming to bodily harm in order to aid the Kazon-Vistik in their vain quest for control of the sector.
A noise startled him as the door to the ship's laboratory opened, and Nimmet entered, swaggering slightly, as always, adopting an air of lofty condescension intended to make Trakis feel insignificant.
Would it matter, wondered Trakis, if Nimmet knew that his posturing had quite the opposite effect: made Trakis feel decidedly superior to this preening toady Kazon, who rendered himself ridiculous with his mannered arrogance?
Nimmet was his Control. He had been assigned to Trakis soon after the physician had been abducted from the Trabe outpost on Slngsnd and brought to the Kazon ship. Trakis was not the only Trabe on board, but he was the only physician. The smug but foolish Vistik hadn't even bothered to abduct a physician until they had a specific purpose-as though they had no need of regular medical examinations themselves. Pride would be their undoing, Trakis reflected.
"Well?" Nimmet all but barked the question. Trakis turned to look disdainfully at him.
"You have eyes. You can see. I've done nothing more."
Nimmet's eyes flared. Trakis knew he became furious when treated with such disrespect, but he also knew Nimmet couldn't retaliate: Trakis was necessary to their mission and couldn't be harmed until it was completed. Afterward, of course, was a different story, but Trakis was already laying his plans for escape before he became expendable. Nimmet advanced toward him, narrowing his eyes to slits and adopting his most menacing growl. "Why not? Maje Dut is waiting for your report."
"The Maje will have to wait. I cannot do these procedures any faster than they can be done."
"Do you know what the Maje would say if I told him that?"
"He would explode in a tirade of fury, threaten to cut off my fingers, and then realize he has no choice but to let me proceed as best I can." Nimmet then tried to squeeze his eyes into even narrower slits as though that would intimidate Trakis, but the physician knew how to respond to this posturing. He turned his back and approached the captive, now unconscious on the table.
"I can perform the examination now," said the physician matter-of-factly. He was busily keying controls at a large console, quickly scrolling through blocks of data. "Although with this outmoded equipment I can't guarantee the accuracy."
"That is equipment the Trabe constructed," Nimmet reminded him, still trying to get the upper hand in the relationship. "Over a quarter of a century ago. The Kazon have simply driven our technology into the ground-no upgrades, no innovations, no advances whatsoever. It's a wonder these ships still fly."
"Our engineers have maintained them expertly. As they have the medical equipment. Do not try to excuse your own ineptness by blaming the technology."
Trakis turned slowly to face him. His voice was calm, almost pleasant, as he said, "Perhaps you would prefer one of your own physicians to attend to this matter."
Nimmet flushed. The Kazon had no healers, at least none that didn't do more harm than
good. He gestured toward the captive. "Hurry up and do what you must before he wakes up again."
Trakis turned back to his console and began reciting in a near-monotone: "The specimen is approximately one half meter in length and possesses the familiar tripartite construction of parasectoid species: there is a head, birax, and abdomen; the exoskeleton is hard-shelled. There are two sets of wings-durable forewings that resemble the alytron of similar species, and more delicate hind wings folded underneath. Two antennae and four mandibles are present. The head presents an elongated snout with biting jaws.
There are three compound eyes. The underbelly is soft and is green mottled with black.
"The respiratory system is unique; it is clearly constructed for air-breathing but there are adaptations which permit it to exist in various environments. There is an unusual fluid circulating throughout the creature's body, similar in some respects to lymphatic fluid, but possessing superconducting electrical and magnetic properties." As he spoke, he was aware that Nimmet barely listened. The Kazon didn't understand this medical jargon, didn't care about it, didn't want to be trapped in the bowels of the ship serving as Control to a physician. And it was this indifference that Trakis intended to exploit when the time came.
Neelix and his group had moved quickly into the gloomy grove of trees, but they were soon forced to slow down. The undergrowth was thick and tangled, ripping at faces, hands, uniforms, and hair. It was so dark they had to turn on their wrist beacons, and even then the beams of light seemed to get swallowed in the fetid darkness.
The odor was cloying, a rancid dampness with the telltale sweetness that bespoke rotting flesh. Neelix' mind went briefly to the reading of life-forms he had detected earlier, but he thrust those thoughts out of his mind. They had to get through this dense thicket and unite with Tuvok before the Kazon found them. What followed them was far more threatening than what might lie ahead.
They moved deeper into the copse, the undergrowth thicker all the time, the putrid stench more intense. Neelix turned around to check on the group. "Everybody present and accounted for?" he queried cheerfully. "We're here, Mr. Neelix." Ensign Kale's voice drifted from the back of the group.
Neelix turned around again to see what seemed to be an impenetrable obstacle-a solid wall of brush and thicket. Neelix played his beacon around it, looking for a gap, at first finding nothing. Then, at the very bottom, he discovered what looked like a small burrow, a hole that showed evidence of broken branches and so was probably a route that had been used before, probably by some kind of animal. Neelix knelt down and shined his beacon into the hole; it seemed to tunnel through the underbrush for quite a distance. It might take them all the way to the other side. But that would require a squirming journey on one's belly, inching through the moist, decaying carpet of the forest, into a thick darkness that could conceal-anything. He turned back to the group. "This looks like the only way through."
The young faces looked at the uninviting tunnel without enthusiasm. No one was eager to crawl into that gamy, sour-smelling burrow, and they all seemed to be trying to come up with another option. But LeFevre wiped out that line of thinking. "Kazon... they've reached the clearing." That meant they'd be moving into the thicket in minutes. Neelix and his group had no choice. They had to try the tunnel. Neelix took a breath and tried to sound confident. "I think this will take us right through," he said, smiling optimistically, then dropped to his knees and plunged into the jagged opening that might or might not lead them to safety.
Immediately, he began to regret it. They could have taken a stand and fought the Kazon, instead of crawling like insects through this fetid passageway. Brambles snagged at his hair, and he couldn't see a foot ahead. It was moist and hot in there; a dank steam rose from the decaying sludge and the stench was worse than ever. He forced himself to think of Kes, her delicate beauty and her gentle touch, and it helped him to stave off the queasiness he was feeling from being trapped in this hot, smelly enclosure.
He put his hand down in a pile of slime that seemed to be a mixture of fur, bone, and runny gelatin. He didn't want to think what it might once have been. He concentrated on moving steadily forward, inch by reeking inch, hearing behind him the crew, gamely following his lead. He heard a soft, chafing sound, as though heavy rope were being pulled along the ground, and he turned quickly, shining his beacon into the impenetrable undergrowth. He had a brief impression of slitted eyes that disappeared as the light hit them. Even though he was sweating in the hot, foul air, he was suddenly chilled to the bone. He stepped up his pace. Eventually, the narrow confines of the tunnel seemed to widen, and soon he was able to crawl without nasty thistles ripping his face and hands. The air seemed slightly cooler. Then he was able to lift his head up, and finally to get to his hands and knees and eventually to stand upright. The tunnel had given way to a wide, canopied passageway, even more spacious than the one they had first entered. Neelix felt like breathing deeply for the first time since they had penetrated this uninviting forest; he turned as the others began emerging from the tunnel, grateful and gasping. When the last one had crawled free, Neelix lifted his phaser. "Kale, LeFevre, Hutchinson, train your phasers on that thicket. We can make it a little tougher for the Kazon to follow us." Phaser to ire collapsed the tunnel, and Neelix smiled to think of the Kazon trying to find their way out of the rancid tunnel.
Ahead less than half a kilometer they could see a small flash of sunlight-the end of the trek through the dense copse of trees and overgrowth. Tuvok's group was beyond, just minutes away now. Neelix waved the group forward and, with a lighter step, they made their way toward the glint of light. Then something began dropping from the trees.
Neelix sensed, rather than felt, a heavy weight plummet through the air behind him; barely brushing the back of his head and then thudding onto the ground. Puzzled, he turned around in time to see a dark coil enclosing LeFevre's shoulders, heard LeFevre's sudden gasp and then a strangled cry of distress. Neelix had time to register only a dark, serpentine shape before he realized more of them were dropping from the trees, directly onto the hapless crew, hissing fiercely, an awful, caustic sound that heightened the terror of the sudden attack.
And the smell was dreadful. These creatures were the source of the putrefying odor they'd been smelling since they entered the forest, and the viscous fluid that they extruded from long, tubular snouts was a miasma of death and decay. Neelix felt his gorge rise, and he fought a wave of nausea.
He saw LeFevre struggling against tightening coils, hands groping desperately to find the long head that darted just out of his reach. Neelix lifted his phaser, afraid he'd hit LeFevre if he used it. The young man made a strangled cry of pain, and Neelix realized the reptile had encircled him and was crushing his ribs.
The tubelike head of the creature swung into Neelix' vision; ancient, glittering eyes caught his briefly, before Neelix pointed the phaser and blasted directly into those unblinking bronze slits. There was a thrashing as the serpent's head was flung backward, and then it went limp, coils relaxing and falling away from LeFevre, who gasped for air, drawing in great sucking lungfuls as he pulled the now-flaccid body of the huge reptile from his torso.
Neelix looked up to see the others in similar struggles; a desperate, feral dance was being performed in the dark passageway as the crew wrestled with their hissing attackers. Those who weren't entwined tried to rescue their comrades by phasering the heads of the serpents, but the beasts were deft and agile and getting a target was difficult. Neelix spotted Greta Kale sagging in the crushing embrace of mottled coils. He started to sprint toward her, then suddenly felt a pressure on his ankle; looking down, he saw a snaky coil wrapped around his leg and a foot-long snout moving toward his head. He fired blindly, missed, saw the coil envelop his leg and begin to tighten, felt his leg go numb immediately, looked for the elongated head, which was bobbing and weaving, fired again and hit the mark, saw the tubed head drop heavily to the ground, and felt his leg regain feeling.
He
turned to Greta, who was already turning blue, eyes popped wide. He couldn't isolate the serpent's head; in desperation he put the phaser tip directly against the reptilian body and fired. The serpent exploded.
A stream of matter and fluid sprayed Neelix, who threw up his hands to ward off gouts of tissue and cartilage. Bits of bone stuck to his face and hair, but Ensign Kale was released, and he could hear her ragged, shallow breathing once more. She moaned, and Neelix guessed she had broken ribs. Glancing around, he saw that the situation seemed under control: serpents lay dazed or writhing on the ground, and all the crew were standing, some bent over, drawing grateful breaths of air, others warily eyeing the huge coiled reptiles on the ground and scanning the trees for more of the vicious animals.
They weren't, strictly speaking, snakes. On their dark, mottled bodies were a series of small leglike appendages, which would serve to give them traction on the ground and a better grip on their victims. Their long snouts could spread wide to ingest prey far larger than they. All in all, they were perfectly hideous creatures. Neelix shuddered slightly, grateful for Starfleet's powerful phasers. He wasn't sure his would have had the same effect. He motioned for someone to help him with Greta; they hoisted her between them and hurried toward the light that beckoned to them from the end of the passageway with a comforting golden glow. It seemed to promise safety.