Seekers: Second Nature

by David Mack

  All my life I could have tasted the sweet thrill of murder, but I was too frightened. She fixed her mind on the desperate Klingon survivor. Never again.

  Energized by a will to vengeance, Nimur stalked deeper into the caves, down toward the sacred wordstone, her new senses keen, all her thoughts on the joy of the hunt to come.

  Behind her, a pathetic wailing emanated from the cave. It was a vexing noise, the sound of fragility. Part of her wanted to silence it, to cut away the last evidence of the weakling she had been. Instead, she answered to a faint, almost inaudible desire, an instinct she couldn’t name but felt compelled to obey, and left it behind in the cave, never to be thought of again.

  Tears were a thing of the past, and Nimur had turned her mind toward the future—one whose designs she would draw in blood.

  12

  Pastel hues of daylight slipped through the tiny gaps in the jungle’s canopy, a silent herald of dawn’s arrival. Dastin halted the landing party and their new Tomol acquaintances. They had reached the edge of the tree line. All that remained between them and the caves was the bare slope, which brightened as the burning edge of daylight crept down from the hilltop, forcing the shadows of the forest into slow retreat.

  In the rear of the single-file formation, agitated whispers passed among the Tomol. Two of the Wardens and the disciple Seta huddled around Ysan, who seemed vexed by the need to calm her people. She shushed them and moved forward to join Theriault and Dastin at the head of the group. The priestess said nothing as she shouldered past Dastin, pushed aside a clutch of vines, and stole a look up the hillside. When she turned back, her expression was dour.

  Dastin threw a questioning look at Theriault, who just shook her head.

  Ysan slipped past them and rejoined the huddle of Wardens. When she returned, her countenance was one of stony resolve. “My people and I will continue alone from here.”

  Theriault looked worried. “Um, I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  “It is not a subject for debate. Those are the Caves of the Shepherds. They are a sacred place, the dwelling of the wordstone, from which we learn the laws and will of the Shepherds. We can’t allow outsiders to defile it.”

  The holy woman was getting on Dastin’s nerves. “No offense, lady, but the Klingons have already defiled it. Matter of fact, you’ll be lucky if that’s all they do to it. And if your last fight with the Klingons was any measure, I think you’ll need our help in there.”

  “Do you know the fastest route through the caves? Or the safest?” Ysan shifted her ire toward Theriault. “We have protected these caves since the time of the Arrival. Only a priestess, her disciples, and her Wardens are permitted to set foot inside them.”

  The first officer struck a conciliatory tone. “We understand that, Ysan. And if we had no pressing reason for going inside, we’d be happy to respect your wishes. But Lieutenant Dastin is right: Even in a strange setting, the Klingons are dangerous enemies. And they’ve had time to dig in and prepare for an attack. I know your people aren’t defenseless—far from it. But we have experience dealing with the Klingons; we can help you.”

  Seta sidled up to Ysan. “She might be right. If these Klingons are helping Nimur, they’ve put us all in danger.” The disciple glanced at the brightening sky. “It might already be too late.”

  A Warden in a plumed reptilian headdress joined the conversation. “Listen to her, Ysan. The longer we wait to subdue Nimur, the harder it’s going to be. Maybe we should let the strangers deal with the Klingons so we can focus all our strength on Nimur.”

  Ysan winced at the mere suggestion of letting the landing party enter the caves. After a few seconds, she turned back to face Theriault and Dastin. “Will you give us your word that once the Klingons have been dealt with, you won’t proceed any deeper into the caves?”

  Theriault nodded. “We won’t go any farther inside than we absolutely have to.”

  Her promise coaxed a grudging nod from Ysan. “Then we continue together.” She beckoned the Warden in the plumed serpent headdress. “Kitraan. How should we proceed?”

  Kitraan pointed to the left of the cave entrance. “There is another trail, one reclaimed by the jungle many years ago, that leads up that side of the hill. It will take some time to clear the path without giving away our movements, but it will let us get above the entrance and approach it without being seen.”

  “That could work,” Dastin said. “But it might be faster to find another entrance.” He studied Ysan’s face for any reaction as he asked, “Is there another way in or out of the caves?” The priestess didn’t disappoint him. Her jaw clenched, and her eyes made a brief, almost involuntary turn downward and toward the east. He caught her eye. “All right, where is it?”

  “The low path has been blocked for ages,” Ysan said. “Its roof fell in before I was born.”

  Hesh piped up from behind the three Tomol leaders. “How deep is the blockage?” When they looked back at the unassuming young Arkenite, he continued, “If it’s less than fifteen meters, we might be able to drill through it with an industrial phaser.”

  Sarcasm infused Theriault’s reply. “Got one of those in your pocket, Hesh?”

  “No, but Master Chief Ilucci could rig one from spare parts and—” He stopped as he noted Theriault’s pointed glare, a silent warning not to mention the transporter in front of the natives, who had already seen and heard too much about Starfleet technology as it was. Hesh swallowed and added, “He could send it ashore for us.”

  Theriault looked skeptical. “Ysan, how long would it take to walk down to the low path?”

  “Until midday, at least.”

  The first officer asked Kitraan, “How long to clear a trail and get above that entrance?”

  “Two hours.” The Warden looked around, taking the landing party’s measure. “Maybe one, if you and your people are stronger than you look.”

  “All right, we go with Plan A,” Theriault said.

  Dastin peeked under a frond and felt a tingle of suspicion in his gut, an instinctual sense that something was amiss. “Hang on,” he said, arresting the group’s departure. He extended one hand to Theriault. “Commander, can I borrow your tricorder? I need to check something.”

  She lifted the strap of her tricorder and ducked out from under it, then handed the scanning device to Dastin. He checked to make sure its feedback tones were muted, and he began a quick scan of the cave’s entrance using multiple settings. The more data he gathered, the more concerned he became. “We might not need to go the long way, sir.”

  Theriault moved up to kneel beside him. “What’re you seeing?”

  “It’s what I’m not seeing. There’s no one guarding the entrance.” He showed her the tricorder’s display as he cycled through a series of readouts. “Plus, no Klingon life-signs. No humanoid shapes or movement registering on any active sensor frequency. Nothing at all.”

  She took back the tricorder and tweaked its settings. “Maybe they moved deeper into the caves, to a more defensible position.”

  “That’s possible. But watch what happens when you try to run a deeper scan.”

  She changed the tricorder’s settings. Then her eyes widened. “It’s scrambled.”

  “Exactly. As if it were being jammed.”

  Theriault shook her head. “No, I don’t think so.” She beckoned Hesh forward. When the science officer joined them, she passed the tricorder to him. “What does that look like to you?”

  Hesh eyed the device’s readout. “Natural interference. Most likely produced by high concentrations of fistrium, kelbonite, and trace particles of chimerium in the caves.” He recoiled, confused. “But that makes no sense. My initial geological survey of this planet showed no significant levels of those compounds. That would suggest they are specific to these caves.”

  “Almost as if by design,” Theriault said. “If I had to gue
ss, I’d say the Tomol’s ancient ‘Shepherds’ built these caves to be impervious to sensors.” She took back her tricorder and switched it off. “Which means that whatever’s waiting for us in there, we won’t see it coming.”

  Dastin drew his phaser and flashed an encouraging smile at his XO. “Look on the bright side, Commander. That means it won’t see us coming, either.”

  “If that was you giving a pep talk, you suck at it.” Theriault drew her phaser, cueing the rest of the landing party to do the same. “Set for heavy stun and move out.”

  Weapon in hand, Dastin led the group out of the jungle and up the barren, rocky slope toward the cave entrance. He had no idea what he expected to find inside.

  Ten minutes later, he wished he had never set foot inside the caves at all.

  • • •

  Captain Terrell peered over Lieutenant Commander ­Sorak’s shoulder at a pair of tiny red triangles on the Sagittarius’s tactical sensor display. Two entities were moving at high warp on a direct heading for the Nereus system, and the ship’s computer had tagged them as a potential threat. “Commander? Are those what I think they are?”

  “Yes, Captain. A Klingon heavy cruiser and a bird-of-prey. Based on their energy signatures, it is ninety-eight point six percent likely the bird-of-prey is the Homghor, and the cruiser is the Voh’tahk. Their ETA is two hours and nine minutes.”

  Terrell admired the Vulcan’s stoic detachment, a product of having completed the years-long, emotion-purging Kolinahr ritual decades earlier. “Are we inside their sensor range yet?”

  “Not for another eleven minutes.”

  The captain masked his concern and returned to his command chair. “Ensign Nizsk. Have you and Ensign Taryl had any luck finding us a hiding place?”

  The Kaferian swiveled her chair away from the forward console, which comprised the functions of flight control, navigation, and operations management. “Not yet, sir.”

  Taryl turned her chair away from the science console to face Terrell. “We have a few ideas, but they all require us to move out of communications range from the landing party. I’m looking for something that keeps us close but out of sight at the same time.”

  “Keep looking, but be quick. We need to find cover before the Klingons detect us.” As much as Terrell liked to think his crew could master any challenge they encountered, his years in Starfleet had taught him there was no shame in knowing when to retreat—and when to ask for help. He turned his chair toward the communications console, which was manned by Senior Chief Petty Officer Razka. “Chief, what’s the Endeavour’s last known position?”

  The Saurian called up comm and sensor logs on one of his auxiliary screens. “According to her last report, she is still in the Villicus system, completing a survey of the fourth planet.”

  “Are we close enough to raise her on subspace?”

  “Possibly. Let me check.” Razka keyed commands into his panel and noted the responses on his master screen. “Affirmative, sir. The subspace repeater her crew deployed is operational.”

  “Open an encrypted channel and hail Captain ­Khatami, please.”

  “Aye, sir.” Terrell swiveled his chair toward the main viewscreen while Razka set up the real-time subspace channel to the Sagittarius’s companion vessel in the Taurus Reach, the Constitution-class heavy cruiser Endeavour.

  The image of Nereus II switched to the face of Captain Atish Khatami. Behind the youthful, dark-haired Iranian woman, the Endeavour’s bridge crew worked with quiet efficiency. “Clark? This is a surprise. I didn’t expect to hear from you so soon after deployment.”

  “We’re coping with a few surprises here, as well. I hope it’s not a bad time.”

  “Not at all. What can we do for you?”

  “We’ve landed in some hot water with our old neighbors. Apparently, there’s more to Nereus Two than we thought.”

  “How hot is the water over there?”

  “We’ll find out in two hours.”

  Khatami angled her chair away from the viewscreen, took a moment for a whispered conference with her first officer, Commander Katherine Stano, then returned to her conversation with Terrell. “At maximum warp, we can be there in just over two and a half hours.”

  “Better late than never. See you then. Sagittarius out.”

  Razka closed the channel, and the main viewscreen reverted to an image of the ringed planet below. Terrell felt sweat bead upon his brow. Help was on the way, but he had no idea if he, his crew, or his ship would still be here when it arrived. “Commander Sorak, take the ship to Yellow Alert. Ensign Taryl, you have nine minutes to find us a place to hide. After that, we’ll either have to retreat, or else find a shallow sea on the planet—and scuttle the ship.”

  Nizsk looked back from the forward console. “Sir, we won’t last long underwater.”

  “Longer than we’ll last if we go head-to-head with two Klingon warships.”

  Something chirped on Taryl’s console. The Orion woman silenced the alert, checked the sensor display, and then flashed a wicked smile as she looked up at Terrell.

  “Captain, I just found our hiding place.”

  • • •

  Daylight didn’t reach far inside the caves past their entrance, just far enough that Theriault had time to acclimate her vision to the shadows that lay ahead. She was about to ask Hesh to power up his tricorder to shed some indirect light on their surroundings when her boot sole adhered ever so slightly to a tacky sheen on the cave’s floor. Her nostrils filled with the charnel reek of an ­abattoir—a grotesque mix of blood’s ferric tang and the stench of excrement.

  “Something bad happened here,” she whispered ahead to Dastin.

  The Trill lifted his foot and shook it. “No kidding. I think I just stepped on a spleen.”

  Theriault beckoned Tan Bao. “I hate to do this to you, but this is starting to smell like your department.” She waved the svelte Vietnam-born nurse past her.

  He inched forward and halted when the smell struck him. “Oh, that’s not good.”

  “I’ve figured that out. I need you to give me a detailed forensic report.”

  “Never a dull moment.” Tan Bao activated his medical tricorder and moved deeper inside the cave. The glow from the tricorder’s display revealed wet splatters of magenta blood and shredded viscera on the cave’s walls, ceiling, and floor. He stepped with care, seeking out the few dry patches of ground where he could walk without disturbing any grisly remains.

  Dastin and Theriault followed Tan Bao inside. Ysan and Kitraan were close behind them, but Hesh lingered in the entry passage, visibly reluctant to ford the fresh-spilled river of blood. The rest of the Wardens filed past him, spread out inside the cave, and navigated the gore in halting steps. The blue-white glow from the Wardens’ lances added to the illumination, revealing the full extent of the macabre details that surrounded them.

  Theriault sidestepped some glistening entrails to speak confidentially with Ysan. “What lives in these caves that could do this to an entire squad of armed Klingons?”

  The teenaged priestess sounded shaken. “Nothing. This must have been Nimur.”

  “Nimur? That slip of a girl we saw run away from your pit of fire?”

  A fat drop of blood fell from the ceiling and streaked down Ysan’s robe of feathers. She winced in disgust and tried to wipe it away, but that only spread the blood farther. “Don’t be deceived by her size. She’s deeper into the Change than anyone has been in hundreds of cycles. The longer it takes us to restrain her, the more dangerous she’ll become.”

  Hesh walked a slow, wary patrol around the perimeter of the carnage, while Dastin and Tan Bao scrutinized its most gruesome patches. Because the minerals in the cave walls were blocking most active scan functions of their tricorders, the devices could be used only for generating light and making an audiovisual record of the scene. Meanwhile,
the Wardens split up and ventured a few meters down the connecting passages, as much to seek out their quarry as to provide a defensive ring for the investigation.

  A troubling thought occurred to Theriault. “Ysan? If Nimur wasn’t willing to go into the fire before, I’d have to think she’ll be even less cooperative now.”

  “I suspect you’re right.”

  “Well, if she’s this strong already, will your Wardens be able to stop her?”

  Ysan cast a despairing look around at the shredded flesh and bone. “I don’t know.”

  Tan Bao stood, his expression grave. “Commander? We counted six members of that Klingon recon team, but the”—he struggled but failed to find a euphemism—“parts we can account for here only add up to five bodies. I think one of the Klingons made a run for it.”

  An avian-masked Warden returned in a hurry from one of the intersecting passages. “The stranger might be right, Ysan. There is a blood trail in this passage. It is not Tomol blood.”

  Dastin hurried to the Warden’s side and made his own assessment. “Yeah, this is Klingon blood. Not much of it. Our guy’s been hit, but judging from the spacing between these stains, he was running his ass off.” The scout looked back at the Warden. “Where does this tunnel lead?”

  “All the way down to the labyrinth that protects the wordstone.”

  “All right, then,” Theriault said. “We know Nimur didn’t come out of the only entrance. Unless anyone objects, I’d suggest we stick together and follow that blood trail.” There were no protests from the Tomol priestess, her disciple, or her defenders, so Theriault continued. “Dastin, stay on point. We can’t use tricorders to track in here, and I’d rather not give away our position by shining lights ahead of us, but you’ll need some way to follow the blood splatters.”

  Tan Bao perked up. “Ultraluminol! I can rig a hypo­spray to disperse it like an aerosol. It’ll light up a blood trail like a supernova.”