Moving up alongside the science officer, McCoy joined him in gazing out across the sea of green and blue boles that dominated the far bank.
“You think another one of these things is likely to follow in the wake of the first, Spock?”
“I do not know, Doctor. But I do know that where one large predator is encountered, there are likely to be others.”
Kirk turned his attention back to the bustling, incipient settlement. “I think we should have a talk with the SiBoronaans.”
8
Maybe their timing was just bad, Kirk told himself. Or maybe they had used up their quotient of luck. Vulcans were willing to entertain theories of convergence, and were content to discuss coincidence, but to ascribe them to luck was an “invention of emotionally effervescent humans.” In fact, Kirk found himself thinking as he ran for cover, he was not even sure there was a word for luck in the Vulcan language, or if they simply employed the human term as a courtesy.
Could use a little of what the Vulcans insist doesn’t exist right now, he thought anxiously as he ducked beneath a track-wheeled bulk carrier. At least this time he was armed. Ever since the encounter with the giant riverine predator, no one beamed down to the Perenorean colony without a phaser.
In a panic situation that could be an issue, as he discovered when a blast of energy disrupted the air in the immediate vicinity of his left ear. He whirled furiously.
“Hell, Bones, watch where you’re shooting!”
Behind him and huddled deeper beneath the massive yet streamlined Perenorean construction vehicle, McCoy lowered his weapon and looked abashed.
“Sorry, Jim. I’m a little out of practice.” He glanced down at the phaser clutched tightly in his right fist. “In fact, I never had much practice. Starfleet expects its physicians to heal wounds, not inflict them.”
Kirk peered out from beneath the carrier’s overhanging front end. Chaos had descended among the settlement’s partly erected buildings. And that was not all that had descended.
Even in the midst of the hysteria caused by their arrival, Kirk had already learned that the SiBoronaans did not have a name for the aerial carnivores. While they had failed to warn the Perenorean settlers of the presence of the giant forest dweller, at least they had been aware of its existence. The swarm of membranous-winged killers that was presently assailing the settlement site was of a species and number unknown to the SiBoronaans. Their limited technology had allowed them to visit DiBor but not to explore it fully. Each expedition, the captain had been told by a SiBoronaan fleeing the swarm, returned home with new information. Unfortunately, none of these earlier visits had included mention of the two-meter-long flying predators.
The carmine-green segmented cylindrical bodies of the attackers were quadsymmetrical. Each body section featured a single eye that gazed hungrily at the world around it from the leading edge of a leathery wing. The location of the eyes on the four opposing wings was unusual but understandable, since there was no room for oculars or any other identifiable sense organ on a tiny head that was almost entirely mouth. About as large as a human eye, the circular maw was lined with sharp, inward-pointing teeth. When a wide-eyed McCoy described the first one he saw, appropriately enough, as a flying mouth, for want of a better or a local term Kirk promptly dubbed the indigenous carnivores flyjaws.
As he and McCoy gazed out from beneath the loader where they had taken refuge, a Perenorean technician came running toward them. He was flailing futilely at his back. His double-jointed arms allowed him to grasp at the creatures clinging there but he was not strong enough to pull them off. That was because the pair of flyjaws that had attacked him had locked their mouths onto his flesh, their circular jaws ripping through his clothing to fasten themselves to his back. One continued to flap two of its wings while its companion had all four folded flat against its body. In a couple of seconds the uppermost of the pair also folded all of its wings against its sides. Uttering an intermittent high-pitched meeping, the terrified and tormented Perenorean began to slow, his stride surrendering to a stagger as the blood was methodically drained from his body.
“Here’s a better use for your hands, Bones.” Gripping his phaser tightly, Kirk started out from beneath the protection of the loader. Glancing upward, a hesitant McCoy followed.
“Hundreds of other worlds out here,” he muttered. “Why can’t one of them look like Kentucky?”
“Bones!”
McCoy whirled, ducked, and fired as a flyjaw struck at his back. His shot went wild, but Kirk’s did not. The energy burst ripped into the chittering predator and tore it from mouth to wing. It face-dove into the ground, the head snapping and sucking at the long open wound.
Having already reached the rapidly weakening Perenorean technician, Kirk was firing at the flyjaws attached to his back. “Bones, cover me!”
“Cover…?” While the doctor didn’t have a great deal of experience with Starfleet weapons or particularly good aim, it didn’t mean McCoy could not be effective. Standing close to Kirk and the injured Perenorean, the doctor fired off burst after burst. Though several struck home and caused a brace of flyjaws to tumble from the sky, McCoy felt no sense of achievement. In firing repeatedly and blindly upward, he was bound to hit something.
Because the sky overhead was dimmed by the presence of no fewer than a thousand circling, cackling, saliva-dripping flyjaws. And more of them arriving every minute.
Though he had shot both of the DiBoronaan predators clean through, Kirk still had to holster his phaser and use both hands to rip them away from the Perenorean’s body. Each flyjaw left a bloody circle on the technician’s back. With one of his arms draped over his shoulders, Kirk hauled the weakened Perenorean toward the shelter of the loader as McCoy did his best to supply covering fire.
Once beneath the impenetrable overhang the doctor commenced an examination of the moaning Perenorean’s wounds. Swapping phaser for medical tricorder, he passed the sophisticated instrument slowly over the alien’s body. Having been downloaded with every bit of medical information on their species that Masteresque Founoh and his colleagues had been able to supply to their human counterpart, the tricorder quickly analyzed the damage and prescribed a course of treatment. This demanded a transfusion of synthesized Perenorean body fluids and far more work than McCoy was presently equipped to perform; the best he and Kirk could do was try to stop the bleeding and keep the injured technician calm until his own people arrived.
Mixed with the kind of desperate meepings the female had been uttering were the hysterical chirps of fleeing, panicky SiBoronaans. The flyjaws were a thoroughly opportunistic class of predators, more than happy to suck nurturing body fluids from any prey that might present itself. Having already demonstrated a fondness for Perenorean blood, Kirk felt certain they would be just as glad to attach themselves to any unfortunate human.
As McCoy tended to the injured technician as best he could with the limited equipment that was available, Kirk hazarded a glimpse outside. He had been so occupied with defending McCoy and himself from the initial assault that he’d not had a chance to get anything more than a quick look at their fast-moving attackers. A single glance upward showed that, despite the steady toll being taken on the attacking flock by the defenders of the settlement, there were now far more of the ravenous bloodsuckers circling overhead than there had been earlier.
They must send out some kind of signal when they’ve found a tempting food source, Kirk decided as he continued to watch from cover. Like bees or ants. A high-pitched squeal, or something olfactory in nature. If that was the case, then it was likely the colonists were going to have to kill every last one of them before the creatures could contact others of their kind. Unless the swarm first sucked the life out of every Perenorean and SiBoronaan on the bluff. Squatting there while McCoy worked desperately to keep the Perenorean technician alive, the captain of the Enterprise considered his options.
Sulu and Chekov had proven adept at the use of the Enterprise’s weapons.
But while a starship phaser burst or two directed at the flyjaw swarm from orbit would doubtless exterminate most if not all of them, the unavoidable collateral damage would be unacceptable. A cleansing blast of such force would probably result in the deaths of the majority of colonists and their SiBoronaan saviors.
Kirk was not concerned for himself. Should the situation become hopeless he, McCoy, and Spock could beam back aboard the Enterprise. Utilizing the transporter, Scott would try to save as many of the others as he could. Maybe Spock would have a better idea. He looked around, frowning.
Where the hell was Spock, anyway?
With his free hand, Kirk pulled his communicator. Behind him McCoy, quietly cursing his lack of equipment, continued to work feverishly on the injured Perenorean technician. The colonist’s moaning had ceased, though whether from the salubrious efforts of the doctor’s ministrations or because he had died, Kirk did not have the heart to turn and find out.
“Spock! Where are you? What’s your location?”
“Coming your way and closing, Captain.”
Kirk was relieved to hear the familiar voice. As usual, Spock sounded as calm and controlled as if they were back on the ship.
“I am not alone.”
The science officer came into view moments later, racing around the corner of a half-finished structure. Kirk had a bad moment when he noticed something alien and cylindrical clinging to his second-in-command’s back. He was in the process of raising his phaser and taking aim, hoping he would be able to free the science officer without hitting him, when he saw that Spock was burdened not by a bloodsucking flyjaw but a SiBoronaan. Flapping like loose flags, pieces of the alien’s garb trailed behind.
They safely reached the cover of the loader, thanks to Kirk methodically blasting first one hungry dive-bombing flyjaw and then a second out of the sky. Breathing hard but evenly, Spock unloaded his passenger. It was impossible to tell if the SiBoronaan was scared stiff because their normal posture was one of innate rigidity. Both eye flaps, however, were in constant motion, beating fretfully back and forth like the wings of a small stingray and making it impossible for Kirk to meet either or both of them with his own gaze.
Spock looked past his friend. “Doctor McCoy is tending to the injured, I see.”
Still frustrated by his lack of appropriate medical material and medication, McCoy spat a reply. “I’m doing everything I can short of mouth-to-mouth—and I haven’t ruled that out yet.”
Anger and anxiety churned within Kirk as he turned to—or rather on—the fortunate SiBoronaan Spock had rescued. At the moment, the Enterprise captain was in no mood to be diplomatic. He made sure his translator was functioning.
“First that hulking great mountain of a meat eater whose existence here you people ‘forgot’ to mention comes lumbering out of the riverside, and now these.” After gesturing skyward, he stepped past Spock and, utterly heedless of protocol, reached up with both hands and grabbed the two fluttering eye flaps, stilling them. “Look at me when I’m talking to you!” Kirk hoped that his translator was fully conveying the anger and frustration underlying his words. “What’s next? Tell me! Giant worms that swallow buildings? Lethal parasites? Poisonous night predators? No wonder your people were so willing to let the Perenoreans settle here. The place is a hellhole seething with dangerous carnivores!”
“No, nay, negative, Captain Kirk.” The SiBoronaan was plainly more worried about the airborne predators circling overhead than he was of the human holding him by the eye flaps. “We are innocent of such accusations! Yes, true, we knew of the existence of the giant river-forest dweller. It was something to be mentioned later, as the Perenoreans grew more comfortable in their surroundings.”
“Helping folks avoid being eaten while they’re building their home is one way of making them feel ‘more comfortable in their surroundings.’ ” McCoy made his point while he continued to minister to the injured Perenorean tech.
Either the SiBoronaan did not properly comprehend the doctor’s sarcasm or else chose to ignore it. “But as has been confessed, these aerial killers are new to us also. Until this day, we knew no more of their existence than did you.”
“Great. Wonderful,” Kirk commented tiredly as he released the SiBoronaan’s eye flaps and stepped back. “Just what’s needed here. A mutual learning experience.” Turning, he looked back out at the blood and chaos that threatened to overwhelm the colony before it could even get started. “Spock, any ideas? We could beam armed personnel down to join the fight.”
Spock shook his head. “Impractical, Captain. A gratifying notion on the face of it, but tactically ineffective. Not a solution. While another few dozen phasers would of course have an impact on the attacking creatures, they would not bring an end to their assault. Not as long as they somehow continue to call upon others of their kind to join in the attack. While it is true that the ones here now must be killed or driven off, it is even more important that more of their species be convinced not to come this way—as additional hundreds, perhaps thousands, are doubtless doing so even as we speak.”
“Then what do we do, Spock?” McCoy indicated his breathing but unconscious patient. “We’re responsible for these people settling here. We can’t just beam back aboard the Enterprise and abandon them.”
“I concur fully, Doctor.” Spock joined Kirk in peering out from beneath the loader’s overhang and, occasionally, letting loose a killing burst from his own phaser. Though dead flyjaws were piling up everywhere, each time Kirk snuck a look skyward, there seemed to be more of them, reinforcements arriving every moment.
And each new cluster was as hungry and determined and ferocious as those who had preceded them.
The concentrated fire from the Starfleet officers as well as those SiBoronaans and Perenoreans who were armed exacted a steady terrible toll among the circling, swooping, diving predators. Being unfamiliar with advanced weaponry, they dove fearlessly at armed as well as unarmed colonists and SiBoronaans. By now the majority of Perenoreans as well as their SiBoronaan “benefactors” had taken shelter inside the first nearly complete settlement structures. Slamming up against windows and portals, the flyjaws were not heavy or strong enough to break in. These strange and previously unfamiliar obstacles to the food huddled within only drove them to greater heights of feeding frenzy.
Trapped beneath the loader, Kirk pondered his next move. Even if Scott could somehow manage to transfer every one of the embattled colonists as well as all the SiBoronaans onto the Enterprise, it would provide only a temporary solution. It would do nothing to solve the problem posed by the existence of the swarming flyjaws. In order to ensure the continuing safety of the settlement, the predators attacking the site not only had to be destroyed or driven off, but a way had to be found to discourage them from broadcasting their still unidentified attack signal to their fellow flyers. And those who were already on their way had to be convinced to change their one-track minds.
While trying to come up with an answer, Kirk continued to pick off any flyjaw that came too near their hiding place. His efforts and those of his companions were too late to save many Perenoreans and SiBoronaans who had been unlucky enough to have been caught out in the open. Even from where he and his fellow officers had taken shelter, Kirk could see the numerous bodies lying motionless on the ground while chittering, writhing flyjaws twisted and coiled above them, fighting each other for the last drops of Perenorean or SiBoronaan blood.
Next to him Spock took aim, fired, and dropped a patrolling flyjaw as it glided along the street in front of them. As the phaser beam tore into it, the predator let out a high-pitched whine, snapped at itself, and crashed into a pile of containers filled with liquid construction material. Flailing furiously at its wounds, it crumpled to the ground. Its movements slowed quickly, and then it was still.
“We cannot continue this indefinitely, Captain.” The Vulcan checked his sidearm. “Our weapons need to be recharged. If they empty while we are still here, we will have no choice but
to ask Mister Scott to beam us back aboard. Our lives are in comparatively little danger.” Leaning forward, he checked the sky. It was growing increasingly dark as more flyjaws arrived to join the vast circle of winged bodies wheeling overhead. “The same cannot be said for the Perenoreans or the SiBoronaans. Mass evacuation would be difficult and dangerous.”
“I’ve already come to the same conclusion, Spock. There has to be another way.” Kirk took aim at a passing flyjaw, noted that the power indicator on his phaser was running dangerously low, and slid his finger off the trigger. The airborne killer soared past untouched.
McCoy looked back and up from where he continued to monitor the injured Perenorean’s condition. “Here’s a thought. How about we just evacuate the Perenoreans and leave the SiBoronaans to deal with this second little ‘oversight’ of theirs?”
“I believe the SiBoronaans are being truthful when they claim to be guilty of nothing more than an honest omission, Doctor.” Spock’s tone was disapproving of the physician’s half-serious suggestion. “Their exploration of this satellite world has been limited at best. It is entirely possible they were unaware of the existence of and the danger posed by the species Captain Kirk has designated as flyjaws.”
McCoy grunted. “Still should’ve cautioned us and the Perenoreans that there were aggressive predator types living on this moon. Didn’t have to be specific. A general warning would’ve been useful.”
“With that I certainly agree, Doctor. But however justified, anger and frustration will do nothing to resolve the present difficulty in which we find ourselves.”
“You’re right about one thing, Spock. We can’t stay here forever.” Kirk started to rise from his crouching position. “If nothing else, we ought to be consulting with the colonists and their SiBoronaan advisors.” He gestured with his free hand. “The central administration building for the colony is almost complete. If I’m remembering right, it’s only about a half kilometer sprint from here. Once inside, we can caucus with the settlers and try to figure out the best way to deal with this.”
The Unsettling Stars Page 11