Seekers: Second Nature

by David Mack

  Standing beside his neighbors and kin on the edge of the great crater, Kerlo felt his heart swell with grief. He had loved Nimur once; and though he had come to fear her after the Change, part of him had hoped she was at least partly still the woman he’d adored, the mother of his child. His most earnest wish now was that she was truly and finally gone, so that the land and the people could be at peace. But even so, he mourned her, and he wept to think that the woman who once had woven such beautiful fabrics with her delicate hands, and had kissed his bruised head with the tenderness of a morning breeze, had driven herself to such a brutal, pointless ending.

  • • •

  As grateful as Hesh was that the Sagittarius had survived its harrowing brush with annihilation, he was ever so slightly vexed that it had crash-landed on a completely different island from the one on which they had set their exfiltration site. Consequently, returning to the ship had proved to be a rather roundabout affair. It had entailed another submerged journey through pitch-dark seas—a journey made navigable only by Hesh’s own effort to link his tricorder to the rover’s navcomp so that it could detect and plot routes around treacherous kelp forests.

  Now, as they surfaced onto a strange new alien shore, Dastin proclaimed, “See! Told you guys I’d get us back to the ship in one piece!”

  Hesh left his criticism unspoken: As if he could have piloted around those kelp forests that his Trill eyes lack the acuity to perceive in the dark.

  The Arkenite suppressed his urge to set Dastin’s beard aflame and concentrated instead on making tricorder scans of the area for the good of the group and the mission. “I have detected the Sagittarius,” he said. “Relaying coordinates to the navcomp. Be advised, there appears to be a great deal of impassable jungle between us and the ship. We might need to proceed on foot.”

  Dastin checked the ship’s position on the navcomp. “On foot? Don’t make me laugh.” He stepped on the accelerator and swung the wheel to the right. “Hang on, this might get bumpy.” The rover fishtailed its way down the beach, charging through the breakers for a few kilometers until Dastin jerked the wheel hard to the left. “There we go.”

  Lit by the glow of the planet’s two moons, the straight and level swath cut by the Sagittarius through the jungle was like a smoky canyon with trees and vines for walls. Most of the debris had been knocked aside or driven under the dirt by the small starship’s violent passage, leaving an eerie, wide dirt road stubbled with low stumps. A dust cloud in the middle distance promised an imminent end to their odyssey across this increasingly inhospitable planet.

  Theriault opened her communicator. “Theriault to Sagittarius. We have you in sight.”

  Captain Terrell answered, “Roger that. The door’s open.”

  A couple of minutes later, the rover reached the Sagittarius, which was planted nose-first into the ground. The jungle hugged the dented, torn-up scout ship on three sides; only the aft quarter of the primary hull was clear of obstruction, but the ramp to the cargo bay was several centimeters off the ground because the ship’s forward landing gear had dug itself into the dirt.

  Terrell, Cahow, and Ilucci stood on the ramp, watching the rover’s return. The captain lifted his arm and waved in salutation. Dastin flashed the rover’s headlights in response.

  The vehicle rolled to a gentle stop a few meters from the ramp. Dastin turned off the engine, and Theriault opened her door. “Okay, kids. We’re home.” She got out, and the rest of the landing party followed her. As soon as Hesh was free of the rover, he did the first thing that came to mind: He ran another tricorder scan of the area. Just to be safe. It was.

  As they walked toward the ship, Hesh got his first good look at the captain, the chief engineer, and Cahow, who were bathed in light from the rover’s headlamps. All three of them were scuffed, sweat-soaked, and covered in a fine layer of grime, but Cahow seemed the worst off of the three. Her face was bloodied, bruised, and reddened, and her flaxen hair looked as if it had been assaulted by an open flame that had left it crisped in several spots.

  “Good to have you back, all of you,” the captain said. He shook Theriault’s dusty hand and clapped her shoulder. “Everybody okay?”

  “Fine and dandy, sir. How’s everybody else?”

  “We’ll manage.”

  Dastin surveyed the damage to the ship, glanced back at the rover, and then turned to face Ilucci. “Damn, Master Chief—and you thought I was a menace.”

  The gentle jibe lit the chief’s fuse. “I’m the reason this goddamn ship is still here.”

  “Whoa!” Dastin lifted his hands in a defensive posture. “Sorry, Master Chief.”

  Terrell pressed his open hand lightly against Ilucci’s chest. “Stand down.”

  Ilucci took a deep breath as he backed off and unclenched his fists. “Sorry, sir.”

  “S’all right. We’ve all had a hell of a day. And it ain’t over yet.”

  Theriault stepped onto the ramp and motioned for the others to follow her inside the ship. “Do we have a repair schedule yet, Master Chief?”

  Ilucci, Dastin, Tan Bao, and Terrell followed the first officer up the ramp and inside the cargo bay, but Cahow lingered outside and stared into the night, so Hesh stayed behind with her. He wanted to reach out and touch her singed hair, as if that might offer some comfort, but he didn’t know enough about human customs in general, or about Cahow in particular, to be sure such an act might not be misinterpreted, so he kept his hands to himself. “Are you all right?”

  “I’ve been better.” She sniffled and wiped nascent tears from her eyes. “I bet you wish now you’d never signed up for starship duty, right? Then you could be home with your sia lenthar instead of stuck here on a bird with clipped wings.”

  Hesh took a chance and trusted his instincts. He reached out and held Cahow’s hand. “There is nowhere I would rather be than here. When my friends back home hear what a fine sia lenthar has welcomed me on the Sagittarius, I will be the envy of every soul on Arken.”

  Her eyes shone with overwhelming emotions, and she released her pent-up tension with a short, self-conscious laugh. “That’s great, Hesh.” She smiled at him. “We like you, too.”

  • • •

  White heat surrounded dark thoughts. Every direction seemed to promise more of the same—nothing but endless fire and boundless pressure, a burden beyond measure, as bright as the sun.

  Fleeting memories stitched themselves together in the blinding inferno.

  The Klingons’ sky-ship had fallen from its heavenly perch and returned to the world cloaked in flames. Its magic window had gone blank, leaving only darkness and fear, the all-consuming dread that came with knowing the end was near but being unable to see it arrive.

  Alone in the blackness, huddled around the magical device that refused to awaken, the Changed had united their powers and linked their minds. They had fled the fire only to have it find them. The Cleansing would not be so easily defied.

  Wind had screamed through the splintering ship and its metal skin had wailed as it bent and broke apart. Then had come the bone-crushing stop and a flash like a thousand dawns.

  All that was had seemed to end. Only the searing light and heat of the crucible remained.

  Now thoughts stirred and coalesced; they grew clearer as the Changed surfaced from their blinding slumber. This boiling sea was a pit of molten rock beneath a crust of glass. Beyond that fragile barrier lay the promise of freedom. The Changed siphoned raw energy from the liquid rock and willed themselves toward the darkness above.

  The glass cracked and heaved upward at their point of impact. Fractures radiated across its obsidian surface, like strands in a hidden web suddenly revealed.

  Another upward surge, another relentless push for ­liberty—and the Changed exploded through the glassy crust into open air. Once the balmy breezes might have seemed warm to them, but after their immersion in a lake
of fire, the sultry night felt blissfully cool.

  Emancipated, the Changed separated and strode across the jagged remnants of the crater’s glassy crust. With each step they divorced their minds a bit further from one another, until at last Nimur was alone with her own thoughts. She led her Wardens up the slope of the crater, toward the circle of Tomol who had gathered around its perimeter. Every member of the throng projected fear in waves, but none of them ran; they all stood as if paralyzed.

  At the top of the slope, Kerlo waited for Nimur. His fearful aura was tinted with sadness as he looked upon her. “What are you going to do to us?”

  “I’m going to lift you all up.”

  It was obvious he did not trust her. “You mean you’re going to make us all like you.”

  “Yes. This is our birthright, the heritage the priestesses denied us. I’m giving it back.”

  “What if we don’t want to be like you?”

  She was baffled by his refusal of her generosity. “Don’t be a fool, Kerlo. We were born to live as gods. Why choose to live and die as a worm?”

  His terror turned to contempt. “I don’t see any gods here. Only monsters.”

  “After I open your eyes, you’ll see the truth. Then we can rule this world together, as we were always meant to.”

  “I would rather be cast into the fire now, as the person I am.”

  Nimur’s temper flared. Like an alien presence in her mind it cried out for violence, for retribution, for the chance to hurt Kerlo until he submitted to her authority. She fought back against the urge, but it was like trying to stop the ocean from crashing against a beach. Her hands clenched into aching fists. “If death is what you crave, Kerlo, keep refusing my kindness. I am offering you a life longer than any you ever dreamed of.”

  “There are measures of a life more meaningful than its duration.”

  “What good is a life that fades like a spark from the fire?”

  Kerlo gestured toward the smoldering pit. “As opposed to what? Burning out of control and consuming the world? Sooner or later, we all go into the darkness. But I’d rather soar as a spark for an instant than destroy everything beautiful that made life worth having.”

  “And what of our daughter? Don’t you want to see her life?”

  “Of course I do. But not if it means she grows up seeing her parents as abominations. Not if it means she has to be twisted into something ugly to survive.”

  There was no more point in arguing with Kerlo. Nimur could see that her mate’s foolish idealism had left him blind to what really mattered. She was offering him the world, but he was too timid to take it—for now. “You will join me, Kerlo. You won’t be able to help yourself.”

  “You think giving me power like yours will make me want what you want? Or make me forgive you? Or follow you, like these puppets who used to be Wardens?” He stepped forward until their noses almost touched. “Give me that power now. Watch what I do with it.”

  Did he want her to kill him? Was his urge to self-­destruction so compelling? Slaying him might serve as an example to the others and preempt future challenges to her authority—or it could alienate the rest of the Tomol and spur them to reject her boon. She knew their resistance could be overcome, but what if Kerlo was able to make good on his threat? What if by Changing all the others, she inadvertently empowered her own enemies?

  Right now I have the advantage, Nimur reasoned. If I’m to keep it, I have to be more careful about whose powers I awaken. I need to be sure those I lift up are loyal to me.

  She stepped aside and gestured with a sweep of her arm toward the crater of molten rock. “Cleanse yourself in the fire, then, if that’s your wish. I won’t stop you.” Kerlo met her taunting gaze with an angry look. He tensed as if to begin his march into the molten stone, but then he paused—and took half a step backward. Nimur laughed at him. “Just as I thought. When your time comes, you’ll welcome the Change.” Her mate closed his eyes and hung his head in shame.

  Around them, the emotional temperature shifted. Pockets of resistance faded. Nimur felt her hold over the others grow more solid. Then she sensed a mental presence, at once strange but familiar, and she remembered her flurry of vengeance in the caves.

  It was behind her, lurking in the gathering darkness. She reached out and snared it with her mind. It struggled as she pulled it toward her, too stubborn to see it had no hope of escape. When at last her prey hovered before her, caught in her invisible grip, she looked him in the eye.

  “Hello, Tormog. I thought you’d have run back to your sky-ship by now.” He spat at her. The wet glob hit Nimur’s cheek. She tightened her unseen hold on Tormog’s body until he cried out. “Don’t do that again.” She turned him upside-down. “Why are you still here?”

  He could barely breathe. “Mission . . . not done yet. Need . . . new subjects.”

  “What makes you think I’ll let you abduct any of my people?” She nodded at her mate. “He’s plotting to kill me, and I won’t even let you take him.”

  Tormog shook his head and gritted his teeth. “Doesn’t . . . matter. Have . . . my orders.”

  “I’m sure you do.” She looked up at the night sky and imagined the Klingons’ sky-ship hovering there, concealed between the stars, spying down upon them. When she focused her mind, she could almost feel the sky-ship, but it was just too far away for her to touch.

  Then she looked back at Tormog and saw the talking-tool tucked into a pouch on his belt. Holding him in place, she coaxed the device from Tormog’s belt with a thought and floated it into her hand. She emulated one of the other strangers by flicking her wrist to open the cover of the small box. It buzzed gently in her hand, and a small crystal on its inner face glowed red.

  She held it up so Tormog could see it. “How do I talk to the sky-ships?”

  “You mean . . . my people’s ship?”

  “All of them. I want them all to hear what I have to say.” She relaxed her hold on the Klingon to make it easier for him to answer her.

  He drew a long breath and steadied his voice. “Turn the center dial so its red line points at the dot above it. Then rotate the left dial all the way to the right. Then . . . just talk.”

  Nimur did as he’d instructed and showed him the adjusted settings. “Like this?”

  He nodded. “Yes.”

  “Thank you, Tormog. You’ve been very helpful.” She tossed him aside and enjoyed the dull, heavy sound of his body hitting the ground. “Stay there until I call for you.”

  He wore a look of wild confusion—wide eyes, half-bared fangs, and a furrowed brow. “You’re not going to kill me?”

  “Not unless you give me no choice. After all . . . why would I kill a perfectly good slave?”

  25

  Khatami watched the northern hemisphere of Nereus II fill the Endeavour’s main viewscreen as McCormack announced the ship’s updated status. “Standard orbit achieved, Captain. The Voh’tahk is keeping its distance on the far side of the planet.”

  “Very good, Lieutenant. Let me know if the Klingons make any sudden moves.”

  The navigator kept her eyes on the helm console. “Aye, sir.”

  Estrada checked in next. “Sir? Captain Terrell says his landing party is safely back aboard the Sagittarius. They’re standing by to receive our medical and engineering teams.”

  “Glad to hear it.” She glanced over her right shoulder at Stano. “Commander? Is our landing party ready to beam down?”

  “Aye, sir. I’ve put Commander Yataro in charge of the team.”

  Selecting personnel for landing parties was the first officer’s responsibility, but as the ship’s commanding officer, Khatami reserved the prerogative to overrule the XO’s choices. In practice, she was reluctant to do so. Second-­guessing Stano might undermine her ability to do her job, which could lead to a breakdown of the chain of command. Regardless, Khatami har
bored misgivings about letting the Endeavour’s new chief engineer lead a landing party into a tense crisis situation. It wasn’t that he was a poor officer; he simply hadn’t been tested yet—at least, not on her watch. “Belay that. Mister Klisiewicz, I want you to lead the landing party.”

  Klisiewicz traded a concerned glance with Stano before he replied. “Captain, I’m sure Commander Yataro is capable of leading a repair-and-rescue op.”

  “No doubt. But I want a command officer on the ground, just in case.”

  “Sir, I’m a science officer.”

  “You’re also my third-in-command, which means you outrank Yataro on this ship.” She swiveled her chair and quashed any further discussion with a pointed look. “Grab your gear and report to Transporter Room One, on the double. That’s an order.”

  “Aye, sir.” He nodded and walked toward the turbolift.

  As Klisiewicz stepped inside the turbolift, Stano descended the stairs into the command well and stood beside Khatami’s chair. Her voice was low and grave. “Captain, I—”

  “Not now, Commander.” Stano accepted the rebuff and returned to the sensor console on the upper deck of the bridge. Their truncated conversation cast a pall of tension over the bridge.

  Estrada dispelled the air of disquiet with an excited declaration. “Captain, we’re receiving an audio message from the planet’s surface. It’s a broad-spectrum transmission, but the signal appears to be coming from a Klingon communicator.”

  “Who’s hailing us?”

  The communications officer listened for a moment while adjusting the switches on his console. “Actually, sir, I don’t think we’re being hailed directly. The message isn’t addressed to any specific person or vessel, and”—he fiddled with a few more switches and frowned—“well, I’m sorry, but this I can’t explain. According to the universal translator, the person sending the message is directing it to ‘the sky-ships above us.’ I’ve checked the translation three times, sir. It says ‘sky-ships’ instead of starships.”