Part 9 (1/2)
Chapter Eight.
WORF WATCHED DATA with a slight smile. The android banged on a tambourine a few times and held it to his ear, as if measuring its resonance. Then he tried the maracas, which appeared to have been made from genuine gourds in a time-honored tradition-before having been scanned and stored in the replicator's memory for resurrection hundreds of years later. Many of the instruments seemed to be of museum quality, except for the snare drums and kettledrums, which sparkled with brand-new chrome. All in all, thought Worf, the Enterprise had sent them an impressive collection of terran percussive instruments, with a set of Vulcan gongs thrown in for good measure.
Data picked up a pair of drumsticks and clacked them together. ”Shall I summon the Klingons?” he asked Worf and Deanna.
”Which code will you use?” asked Worf.
”The most recent one we heard, which Balak used to summon the others. I have also a.s.similated the code Turrok used to announce our presence, as well as various responses and the Test of Evil rhythm. Would you like me to teach them to you?”
”Not right now,” said Deanna with a smile. ”Perhaps we should contact Captain Picard before we renew our acquaintance with Balak.”
”Agreed,” nodded Worf. He pressed his comm badge. ”Worf to Captain Picard.”
”Picard here,” answered the familiar clipped tones. ”Where are you, Lieutenant?”
”That,” said Worf, ”we do not know for sure. We took a rather circuitous route to get here. We're standing on a large mound that Data believes the survivors built for spiritual purposes. We witnessed a ceremony they held here last night, and we know they consider this a sacred place. This morning we fed twelve of them breakfast, and we have requisitioned drums and other musical instruments from the Enterprise to give to them as presents.”
”It sounds like you're making progress,” said Picard. ”But don't hesitate to come back to the village if there's any danger. Also, watch out for a certain type of mantis.”
”We heard about Ensign Ro,” said Deanna. ”How is she?”
”Resting. But it was touch and go.”
”Captain,” said the Betazoid, ”we found something disturbing yesterday. A pit, which was apparently dug for the express purpose of trapping animals. Inside the pit there was a dead Klingon, badly decomposed. Would you ask President Oscaras if they've been digging pits out here to trap the Klingons?”
”He's standing right beside me,” said Picard, ”and I can tell by the look on his face that he doesn't know what you're talking about.”
A gruff voice insisted, ”We've never done any such thing! I'll bet you those savages did it themselves.”
Worf grumbled under his breath, but it was Data who responded. ”They could not have dug this pit without sophisticated equipment or phasers.”
”You don't know what they're capable of,” muttered Oscaras. ”And they've stolen a lot of stuff from us.”
”I was just curious,” said Deanna Troi. To Worf she looked more than curious-she looked troubled.
Picard asked, ”Do you need more people or any other a.s.sistance?”
”None at the moment,” said Worf. ”Data has learned their drum code and is about to summon them.”
”Good luck,” replied Picard. ”Out.”
Worf heaved a sigh and turned to the android. ”You might as well try it.”
”I think I shall use the kettledrum,” Data remarked, picking up the largest of the drums as if it were weightless. ”It produces more volume and a deeper timbre.”
Data set the large drum in front of him and began to beat a complex rhythm that vibrated the very earth they stood upon. Worf glanced toward the forest, wondering how this new overture would be received. By this time, he thought, the adolescents must realize that the strangers were determined to gain their trust. But would they ever realize that the rewards of friends.h.i.+p were greater than those of hatred? As he listened to the deafening drum Worf thought about his own family and the pain and humiliation they had suffered due to political machinations. So-called civilized Klingons fought and killed among themselves for far less worthy reasons than hunger and survival. Perhaps he was wrong to think of the castaways as savages. At least they were n.o.ble in their desires.
Then he thought of Balak, and he felt his jaw tightening. Balak was a type of Klingon he recognized well-one who ruled through intimidation and strength. Not only that, but he had proclaimed himself the voice of the laws, which meant that to question him was to question what little order they had in their lives. It wasn't surprising that Balak was both the biggest and the oldest of the survivors-he had spent the most time with ”civilized” Klingons before being uprooted by the Romulans.
Thinking of Romulans made Worf's stomach clench in knots. Whatever else he thought of Balak and the others, he had to remember they were brothers in one respect: The Romulans had ripped them from their families and turned them into orphans.
Data stopped drumming, and they heard a faraway drummer answer them in a burst of staccato tones. Then the forest was quiet, except for the cawing complaint of some bird that seemed to resent having its morning interrupted with all that pounding.
”Balak is coming,” said the android.
”How do you know it's Balak?” asked Deanna.
Data replied, ”Each one has a signature code. I have only just learned this, based on Balak's response. I think he is angry that I used his signature.”
Worf grumbled, ”As you said, we have to deal with Balak.”
They waited anxiously, peering at the forest. The mysterious mound was one of the few vantage points that offered a clear view of Selva's gray sky. The sun rose over an ocean of jade treetops, but it was little more than a yellow wave rippling through the cloud cover. By noon, thought Worf, the fog would burn off. Until then the sky was shrouded in a muted haze that matched his mood.
First came the drumming-the same steady marching beat they had heard the previous sundown. Then the drummers emerged from the forest, followed by the bearers of the wicker cage that was used for the Test of Evil. There was no prisoner following them, only Turrok, supported between two larger boys who half carried him while he tried valiantly to walk. Then came Balak, followed by the rest of the tribe, which numbered about a dozen. The leader of the castaways did not looked pleased, thought Worf, as he clanged his knife on his sc.r.a.p of metal. He looked exactly like a Klingon whose leaders.h.i.+p was being challenged.
As they climbed the mound Worf and Deanna picked up the various gifts and were prepared to distribute them. Only Data seemed to sense that this process wasn't going to be as easy as it looked, and he remained immobile, poised for whatever happened. The youths gazed curiously at the strange instruments, and some even smiled; but no one broke ranks to take them from the strangers' outstretched hands.
Balak looked at the a.s.sembled instruments and scowled. In Klingon he said, ”You give us food, then toys. Do you think we are children?”
”No,” said Worf, ”we want to be friends.”
”We have laws!” growled the strapping teenager, as if they were the only ones in the universe who did. ”You must prove yourselves worthy.”
”We will,” answered Data. ”I am prepared to take the Test of Evil.”
Balak declared, ”Each of you must take a test.” He pointed to Deanna. ”She will take the Test of Finding.”
Deanna shook her head and said to Data, ”I can't agree to that, because I don't know what that is.”
”Let us say nothing until we know more,” suggested the android. Deanna nodded her agreement.
Balak glowered at Worf. ”Your test will be me.”
This was something Worf understood, and he tried not to smile. He saw Wolm and Turrok nod encouragingly to him from the back of the pack. To make certain of Balak's intentions, he asked, ”Do you mean a fight?”
Balak nodded as if he was looking forward to it.
”I won't fight you to the death,” said Worf. ”We're here to make friends, not kill each other.”
Balak held his hands up and wiggled his fingers.
Now Worf smiled. ”Bare hands, yes.”
Data asked, ”In what order shall we take these tests?”
”You first,” said Balak. ”If anyone fails, you go away. Or we will kill you.”