Removing his hat, Bilar asked, "What is your will for me now, Mahmud?"
The engineer knit his brow, uncomfortable with the man's choice of words yet knowing that the Betans could not help themselves from speaking in such a subservient manner. "Just watch and learn, Bilar. The Elders tell me that you'll be the person who manages these systems once we leave, so you'll need to know how to keep an eye on things."
"It is an honor to serve as best I can, Mahmud." Bilar paused as al-Khaled chewed. "Marplon and the others should be coming at any moment. Might I wait for them outside?"
Al-Khaled rose, grabbing the rest of his sandwich in one hand and swigging from his tea with the other. "We'll both go. I need to get an update on how the reprogramming efforts are proceeding, anyway."
"It helps much that the Elders are so learned," Bilar said as they left the command center.
"That it does, Bilar, but don't sell yourself short." Seeing by the look on the man's face that he did not comprehend his words, al-Khaled added, "Everyone in the city has proven useful and willing to help get things going again. You all have reason to be proud."
"It is for the good of the Body," Bilar said. Then, catching himself, he smiled and amended with, "I mean, it is good for us all. Yes, Mahmud, it is a time of change."
"And it is a welcome change!"
The voice from behind him startled al-Khaled for a moment, as he turned to see the men he awaited.
"Greetings, gentlemen," al-Khaled called to the approaching pair. Reger and Marplon, formerly Elders in the society Landru had once overseen, had covertly participated in an active resistance to the computer's rule before its ultimate deactivation at the hands of Captain Kirk. Marplon in particular had quickly earned al-Khaled's trust and confidence through his knowledge of Landru's operating systems. Along with Reger, Marplon had been working with several of al-Khaled's engineers to eliminate any trace of pseudo-consciousness from Landru's master computer network.
Marplon extended a hand and when al-Khaled returned the gesture, he grasped it in both his hands. "This is a time long in coming, and one I did not think I would see. But it is here." He paused, barely containing his joy. "Landru is no more. With the assistance of your technicians, we have gone through the data banks, as you call them, and have removed all that supplied the will of Landru."
"Your men now are seeking to locate any of what they called subroutines, but we agree that the task is almost completed," Reger added.
Al-Khaled smiled in satisfaction. By far this had been the most difficult task that had presented itself to his engineering team since arriving on Beta III, given the extensive nature of the software that comprised the vast entity once known as Landru. "Excellent. Once we reconnect the master computer to the remainder of the network, your systems will be running just as they used to, only now without Landru making all of the decisions."
"My people owe you a great deal, Mahmud," Reger said. "We have lived in the grip of Landru for far too long."
"We still have some work to do, and you will need to help," al-Khaled replied. "But once we are gone, Beta III will be in your hands. You will able to live as you see fit."
Marplon nodded. "We are ready, of that you can be sure." Turning to Reger, he placed a hand on his companion's arm. "Come, my friend. We still have many matters to attend to this day."
As the Elders turned and departed the command center, Bilar turned to al-Khaled. "And where are we off to next? Meeting with our Mr. Scott, ayeh?"
"Not until he hits the sonic showers. He probably smells worse than a platter of haggis."
"Haggis, Mahmud?"
Al-Khaled could not help but laugh at the quizzical expression on his protégé's face. "Be sure to ask him about it the next time you see him."
Chapter
3
The people of Beta III moved differently these days.
Christopher Lindstrom noticed it more and more as he walked through the streets of the city, greeting passersby while threads of the afternoon sun peeked between buildings that looked to him as if they had sprung from history tapes of the late nineteenth or early twentieth century Earth.
The residents of the city had put him off when he had first arrived a little more than a week ago, but that had not daunted him. His training as a Starfleet sociologist helped him keep an open mind to all differences in manner of speech, dress, custom, and interaction he might observe in sentient races inhabiting worlds far from his home on Earth. He thrilled to the idea of meeting representatives of new civilizations, and dreamed of one day leading his own first contact mission.
Yet his gut had given him an odd feeling about the Betans from the moment he materialized on the planet's surface as part of Captain Kirk's landing party. In reflection, he attributed his initial unease to one thing. It had been their gait; a slow, methodical stepping that gave them the appearance of being more automated than human. They had moved as if every action, from tipping a hat to holding a door, had been programmed or dictated to them by an unseen source.
Of course, we learned just how right that observation was, didn't we?
When not driven by inner voices from Landru, the citizens had taken some direction from the Elders. This select group of senior residents of the village had been groomed by Landru to lend some of their insight and experience to the others in context with the computer's grand plan for peace and life on Beta III. They had also been charged with the secrets of Landru's maintenance and operation, possessing closely guarded knowledge that had been passed quietly from generation to generation of Elders.
Continuing his casual stroll down the street, Lindstrom noticed a young woman emerging from one of the buildings that had been converted into a temporary supply warehouse. Dark-haired and fair-skinned, she was dressed in a black skirt and cream-colored blouse, fastened at the neck with an ornate lace collar. It took only a moment to recognize her. Catching sight of him, she smiled brightly as she waited for him to approach her.
"Good morning, Tula," he offered as he drew abreast of her. Noting the parcel she carried, with the familiar logo of the Starfleet Medical Service emblazoned on it, he asked, "Still helping out at the hospital?"
"Yes, Mr. Lindstrom. I was bringing these to Dr. Hamilton right now. Are you headed that way yourself?"
"Eventually, yes," he answered as she began to walk beside him. "And please, I know I've told you that my name is Chris."
Tula's face flushed slightly and she turned away from him. "I know you have. This is more…comfortable for me, at least for the moment. I hope that doesn't upset you."
Shaking his head, Lindstrom said, "Not at all. I'd never want you to be uncomfortable with me, Tula." Once again he found himself drawn to the young woman, just as he had the first time he had laid eyes on her, on a street much like this one mere moments after beaming down with Captain Kirk. He felt more than a little protective toward her, and he knew the feeling arose from the chaotic scene that had unfolded minutes after the landing party's arrival from the Enterprise.
They had found themselves in the midst of "the Festival," a period of wanton violence and decadence that had abruptly gripped the entire city. The landing party soon discovered that the Festival was a manifestation of Landru, just another way that the mammoth computer entity had exerted its control over the populace. Tula had been swept up in bedlam that had ensued when the "Red Hour" had struck and the Festival had commenced.
Fearing for their safety, Lindstrom and the rest of the landing party had sought a place to hide and found it in the home of Reger, a man they would quickly come to know as an Elder and, to Lindstrom's surprise, the father of Tula. Lindstrom had initially expressed shock at her father's lack of concern for the safety of his daughter, but it had worn off when he and the other Enterprise officers learned just how powerful Landru's influence had been.
"Thank you for understanding," Tula replied. "Understanding is the will…" She brought herself up short, and Lindstrom turned to look at her, concern etching his featur
es. Seeing his expression, she attempted a small smile. "I am fine," she said after several awkward seconds. "I meant that understanding each other is good for us all."
Lindstrom nodded uncertainly as they resumed their walk to the hospital. Originally run under the auspices of several Elders who possessed all the medical training that Landru could provide, the hospital had been augmented with Starfleet medical equipment and supplies, to say nothing of a full contingent of doctors and assistants. It was yet another way the Federation had found to assist these people in the wake of Landru's deactivation.
The people, he had learned, were quick studies when it came to technical training, something for which the Starfleet engineers and scientists had expressed a great deal of gratitude. They knew how to operate the mechanical systems of the village, and they could perform the basic functions of running their own lives at home. While they did not possess the understanding of social interaction and subtle nuances of emotions that came into play during such situations, these too could be taught. It would be Lindstrom's job, and the task of other sociological experts like him, to shepherd these people through the obstacles of simply living in harmony without the assistance of a machine to make the decisions for them.
If only they could get a jump start of their initiative.
"Tula," Lindstrom said. "What are you going to do after you give your supplies to Dr. Hamilton?"
He watched as the young woman knit her brow and mulled his question. "Well, Dr. Hamilton asked me to bring her these bandages and cloths from the supply area. So I gathered them and am doing that."
"But, Tula, what will you do afterward?"
Her look showed she was becoming more perplexed as she seemed to grapple with what would be a simple question for someone with practice at exercising free will. "I…these bandages. I need to give them to…"
Lindstrom put his hand on her forearm and they paused. Tula looked into his eyes as she sought some direction from the Starfleet sociologist, and he ached a little inside for the Betan woman, who in many ways was but a child. "It's all right, Tula. You're doing fine."
"I still have much to learn, don't I?"
Nodding, he offered what he hoped was a reassuring smile. "We all do, I think. I…"
His attention was drawn to a sudden disturbance up the street, where a woman wearing a Starfleet engineering jumpsuit was working with a Betan man. The man was holding his head in his hands and shouting in pain as he staggered away from his companion. Sinking to his knees, the man rolled into a fetal position as he continued to groan in agony. The female engineer rushed to his side in an attempt to help.
Running to the scene, Lindstrom saw that the woman was Lieutenant Vanessa Masters, another of the Enterprise engineers. He could not help but notice the circles under the woman's eyes and that her dark skin was smudged with dirt and grime, testament to the hard work and long hours she had been putting in since arriving on Beta III. "Vanessa," he called out as he sprinted to join her. "What's going on?"
Masters shook her head as she knelt beside the fallen man. "I don't know." She placed her hands on his arm, trying to reassure him. "We need a doctor."
Reaching for his communicator, Lindstrom flipped the unit open. "Lindstrom to Dr. Hamilton. We have a medical emergency and could use your help." Looking up to verify his location, he added, "We're just to the south of the hospital."
The doctor's response was immediate. "I'm on my way, Lieutenant."
As the connection went dead, Lindstrom noted that the Betan had fallen into unconsciousness. He checked for a pulse and to ensure that the man was breathing.
"We were running some scans on the gas lines beneath the street," Masters said, "when Dorin was gripped by this seizure."
Tula, who had run up behind Lindstrom yet remained silent to this point, said suddenly, "He is a Lawgiver."
"What does that have to do with anything?" Masters asked, her eyes narrowing in confusion.
Ignoring the question, Lindstrom gently reached around the back of the man's head, his fingers seeking out the area just beneath the bottom edge of the hairline at the neck. There, just where Dr. Hamilton told him he would find it, his fingers traced the telltale bump beneath the surface of the skin.
"What is it?" Masters asked.
His suspicions confirmed, Lindstrom replied, "Tula's right. Dorin was once a Lawgiver."
The Lawgivers had been Landru's version of a police force, and, until the computer's deactivation, the chief method of maintaining order in the city. Where the Elders had led by example and sincerity of purpose, the Lawgivers had struck fear in the souls of the people. In their long flowing robes and concealing hoods, the Lawgivers had usually appeared at the first sign of trouble or discord. In addition to their intimidating appearance, they alone had carried the only weapons allowed in the city: Long cylindrical staffs that projected a type of forced energy pulse. Despite a week of continuous study, the construction and operation of the staffs still baffled Starfleet engineers.
The sounds of running footsteps caught his attention and he looked up to see a woman in a blue Starfleet uniform running toward them. Her fair skin and long locks of fiery red hair, to say nothing of the medical kit she carried under her left arm, immediately identified her as Dr. Jane Hamilton.
"What happened?" she asked as she dropped to a knee beside Dorin, simultaneously reaching into her kit for her medical tricorder.
"He's a Lawgiver, Doctor," Lindstrom answered. "I think the scans they were conducting induced a neural shock."
Frowning as she activated her tricorder and accompanying diagnostic scanner, Hamilton asked, "You found the chip?"
"Just above his neck, where you told me to look."
"What are you two talking about?" Masters said, making no attempt to hide her confusion.
Waving her scanner over Dorin's forehead, Hamilton glanced up at the engineer. "Sorry, Lieutenant. I haven't been able to brief the engineering staff on what our medical research has learned about these people." Noting Tula, who was standing just behind Lindstrom with a worried look on her face, she amended, "Some of these people, that is."
Turning off her scanner, she returned the device to her kit. "The shock has induced a light coma, but I'm not detecting any neural damage. We should get him to the hospital." Swapping her tricorder for a communicator, Hamilton contacted the hospital with instructions for medics to bring a stretcher.
Lindstrom rose to his feet and, noting the still-puzzled look on Masters' face, indicated Tula with a nod of his head. "Landru controlled the bulk of the populace with sonic and light waves to literally reprogram parts of the brain. When it came to the Lawgivers, his hold was even tighter."
Putting away her medical instruments, Dr. Hamilton ran a hand through her long hair, the bangs of which were matted across her forehead with perspiration. "The Lawgivers all have a computer chip implanted at the base of their brains. Landru used the chip to control them, even more so than he did the rest of the people. Electronic signals sent to the chip carried instructions directly into the Lawgivers' brains. They had no choice but to obey."
"Are the chips malfunctioning?" Masters asked. "Is that what caused Dorin's seizure?"
Shaking her head, Hamilton replied, "Some of our equipment operates on frequencies similar to those used by Landru, including ones he apparently used for punishing individual Lawgivers when discipline was needed."
Pointing to the tricorder Masters had slung from her shoulder, she added, "If you were running a high-intensity scan, it was probably enough to trigger the chip. We haven't figured out the complete range of frequencies that were utilized yet. We have learned, though, that the chips can't be removed without extreme risk to the patient, at least not here. Once the Hippocrates arrives, we'll have the facilities we need for further research and even delicate surgery." Starfleet had already dispatched the medical ship to Beta III, but it was not scheduled to arrive for at least another week. For now, Dr. Hamilton and her staff were on their own.
During the past week he and the physician had spent long hours, when time permitted, discussing the situation here, and had found their specialties overlapping in their quest to better understand the Betan people. They had used each other as sounding boards several times already as they each strove to peel away one more layer of mystery surrounding the people of Landru.
Hamilton said, "If I didn't already have orders to the Defiant, I'd be tempted to stay here. There's enough research potential to last several years." Nevertheless, Lindstrom knew, the doctor would soon be leaving Beta III to assume her posting as chief medical officer of the Enterprise's sister ship. She had already confided to him how the compelling nature of both this assignment and the one that awaited her had given her pause to consider a change of orders, even though she had already admitted that the Defiant was where she truly wanted to be. This mission, however, had already proven to be as challenging as anything she was likely to encounter during her upcoming deep space assignment.
"It's amazing," she said. "An entire race mentally controlled by some computer implant. If, somewhere in this universe, a race ever set to using such technology to conquer and subjugate its enemies, that race might be unstoppable."
"Well," Lindstrom replied, the visions conjured by the doctor's words causing a small shiver to run down his spine, "let's hope that never happens."
Chapter
4
Reger stepped up his pace through the darkness as he neared Marplon's residence. Although the two Elders had worked together for years within the secret resistance to Landru, this would be his first visit to his friend's home. After all, he hadn't even known Marplon's name until a week ago, the organization of the resistance cells having been such that although he had worked with the man, he had been unaware of his identity.
All of that nonsense can be forgotten now, Reger reminded himself.
He ascended the several steps to the stoop of Marplon's modest home and reached for the front door's handle. It flew from his grasp, however, as the door was opened from the other side to reveal Marplon standing in the doorway, a worried expression clouding his aged, distinguished features.
Foundations Book Two Page 3
