by Greg Cox
“Please forgive me.” Una moved away from the useless pod, lowering her palm beacon so that it did not shine in the Usildar’s faces. “I did not know your laws, but have no wish to break them. I will depart if you wish.”
The Shimizu was parked several meters away, with the Usildar between her and the ship. She hoped that they would allow her to leave unmolested. The Usildar were not her enemy. She didn’t want this to get ugly.
So much for salvaging anything useful from these ruins, she thought. Time to adjust my plans.
The Usildar blocked her path to the ship.
“Please let me pass,” she requested. “And I will leave you in peace.”
Her hand drifted toward her phaser, hoping she wouldn’t have to use it.
“You have already disturbed our peace,” the leader protested, “and tempted disaster by tampering with the baneful relics of the Despoilers. This cannot be tolerated.”
Una felt the situation going south. “I told you, I meant no harm—”
Something sharp and pointy struck her in the neck. She yelped in pain as another spiky nut dropped to the ground, bouncing off her boot. Her hand went to her throat and came away bloody. The puncture was not deep, but it stung like blazes. She shook her head at the Usildar, more in sorrow than in anger.
“You didn’t need to do that.”
The stinging subsided as a numbing sensation spread from the wound and throughout her body, and she realized she’d been drugged. The narcotic worked with remarkably efficiency; within heartbeats, she was tottering unsteadily upon her feet, feeling woozy and light-headed. She groped for her phaser, but her fingers felt heavy and clumsy. The palm beacon slipped from her grasp and crashed onto the tarmac.
A moment later, she did the same.
Sixteen
Cold water splashed against her face, rousing her.
Una awoke to an aching head and water dripping down her cheeks. Blinking and sputtering, she tried to wipe the wetness from her eyes, only to find her arms tied behind her back by what felt like knotted vines. Rough hands yanked her to her feet. Still groggy, she shook her head to clear it, which didn’t exactly help the throbbing in her temples, as she rapidly took stock of her new surroundings.
She found herself standing atop a sizable tree stump, at least two meters in diameter and rising nearly a meter above the forest floor. The trees surrounding the stump were packed with Usildar, sitting on or dangling from a multitude of low-hanging branches. It was still night out, but a ring of torches driven into the ground around the stump held back the darkness. Scowling Usildar guards, along with the large number of forest dwellers watching from the trees, discouraged her from making a break for it. Unarmed and bound, she wouldn’t get far.
“The accused stands ready,” one of the guards announced. He tossed aside a large blossom that had probably held the rainwater used to wake her. “Let her face judgment for her crimes.”
The accused? Una thought. Judgment?
That did not sound promising.
A quick self-inspection confirmed that her gear, including the pack containing the Key, had been taken from her. She spotted it lying at the foot of the stump, so near and yet so far away. She eyed the equipment longingly; as much as she wanted her phaser back, she was even more anxious to reacquire the Key. Without it, her entire mission was doomed, and a dangerous piece of alien technology would be loose in the universe. She needed to get the Key back, she realized, not to mention get herself out of whatever trouble she was in.
“Hello?” she said. “What’s going on here?”
At least the effect of the drug appeared to have worn off. Aside from the headache, and an irritating itch where the spiky missile had poked her neck, she felt alert and functional once more. She wondered how long she had been out and how far she had been taken from the abandoned labor camp and the Shimizu. The nocturnal forest offered no clues as to her exact location. Her ship could be just past the trees or kilometers away.
“Prepare to be judged,” the guard said, glowering, “but expect no mercy.”
“But I was only—” she began.
“Save your words for the High Ranger,” the guard interrupted. “He will decide your fate.”
The noisy rattling of many hollow gourds, shaken by the hands and feet of the Usildar gathered in the trees, precluded any further discussion. Una gathered that she was on trial and that the hearing was getting under way.
Better than a summary execution, she decided. Hopefully.
The whistle of a flute heralded the arrival of the Ranger, who swung down from the upper reaches of the canopy to occupy a perch overlooking the scene below. No surprise, he was the same Usildar who had confronted her back at the landing field. His saturnine countenance promised little in the way of sympathy. The camouflage dyed into his flesh failed to entirely conceal some old scarring on his face and arms, which suggested that he had been badly burned at some point in the past. Possibly during the Jatohr occupation?
She hoped that wouldn’t prejudice him against her.
Una was reminded of a certain treetop conclave many years ago. Despite her own predicament, she was genuinely pleased to see that the Usildar were still populating the forests, regardless of the creeping legacy of the Jatohr, and that they appeared to be a free and living culture, no longer under the thumb of their former oppressors.
Perhaps the sacrifices of years past had been worth it after all?
The Ranger held up a carved wooden flute, and the ceremonial rattling ceased. He peered down at Una from above. His apparent age suggested that he was old enough to remember vividly the dark days of the Jatohr occupation.
“Stranger,” he addressed her. “Have your wits returned to you?”
“More or less.”
Recalling the last time she was taken captive on Usilde, she decided that she preferred “stranger” to “creature,” as the Jatohr had once referred to her. At least the Usildar regarded her as a person, not a thing, and deserving of a trial of sorts. That was an improvement, she supposed. She scanned the arboreal audience viewing the trial, but failed to spot any familiar faces, let alone any friendly ones.
“May I ask who is judging me?”
“I am Banev, High Ranger of the Winding Waters tribe. And you stand condemned of treading on forbidden ground and disturbing the secrets of the bygone Despoilers.”
Una wondered what mythology had grown up in the years since the Jatohr had vanished and how the Usildar had reacted to their sudden disappearance. From what she could tell, the forest dwellers retained a superstitious dread of their former conquerors and any sites or artifacts associated with them. If anything, they seemed even more suspicious and xenophobic than before.
“I meant no harm or disrespect,” she said. “As you say, I am a stranger, ignorant of your laws. And I have nothing to do with the Jatohr.”
That wasn’t entirely true, of course, but she doubted that the Usildar would recognize the Transfer Key as a creation of the Jatohr. She kept one eye on her pack, wondering if it was to be used in evidence against her.
“But you are not Usildar,” Banev accused her, sounding more like a prosecutor than a judge. “And you traffic in the unholy and the forbidden.”
“I apologize,” she said. “The error was mine. Let me go in peace and you will never see me again.”
“And why should we trust you? How do we know that you will not reawaken the troubles of old?”
“That is not my intention,” she insisted. “I promise you.”
“I believe her,” a new voice called out. A younger Jatohr dropped from the trees to stand before the stump. “She is not of the Despoilers. We need not fear her.”
Her defender was a wiry youth, painted brown and green like his treemates. Handsome enough, if you liked long arms and opposable toes. Intelligent green eyes glanced at Una, briefly meeting
her gaze. She saw neither dread nor suspicion in those eyes, which made for a pleasant change. It was good to have at least one Usildar on her side.
Let’s hear it for youthful idealism, she thought, and the courage to challenge your elders.
Startled exclamations and hubbub greeted this new development. Banev blew on his flute to quiet the commotion, which quickly died down. He peered down at the youth, looking vaguely displeased.
“You would defend the stranger?”
“I would,” the youth said. “You recall the days of seasons past. Strangers such as she, shaped much like us, visited Usilde once before, and their coming heralded the disappearance of the Jatohr, who vanished from our lands not long after. There are many who believe that it was those very same strangers who exorcised the Despoilers and gave us back our world.”
“This is true,” Una confirmed. “My companions and I visited you before and sought only to help free you from the Jatohr.”
“That may be,” Banev grudgingly conceded, “but then why have you returned?” His emerald eyes widened in alarm. “Unless the Despoilers are returning as well?”
A shudder seemed to go through the tree-borne audience at that terrifying possibility. Banev had to whistle for order again, even as Una rushed to calm the frightened Usildar.
“No, no, nothing like that! The Jatohr are gone for good. I came only to honor the memory of companions who were lost here long ago, the last time we visited Usilde.”
And to try to rescue them, she added silently. If possible.
“By disturbing that which should be left alone?” Banev shook his head. “We Usildar are wise enough to shun such places, lest we call back the evils of the past. The Despoilers have left us alone for a generation. We will not have strangers digging up the hardships of days past.”
“Just let me go on my way then,” Una pleaded. “You will be left alone as you wish.”
“Go where? Back to the forbidden valley—or perhaps even to the haunted lair of the Despoilers, which slumbers restlessly above the gray waters?”
Una assumed he was speaking of the deserted Jatohr citadel, if it was in fact still deserted after all these years. She hoped that the Usildar had indeed shunned the citadel, so that it would be in better condition than the demolished labor camp. Biting her tongue, she resisted the temptation to ask what shape the fortress was in these days.
“The Jatohr are gone forever,” her young defender declared. “We don’t need to live in fear of them . . . or any innocent stranger who visits our forest.”
Banev was unmoved by the youth’s words. “Our laws are clear. To trifle with the works of the Despoilers is punishable by death.”
Death?
Una registered that dire detail, but refused to let it rattle her. To be honest, she had rather suspected that matters were heading in that direction. The way the Usildar were acting, this was obviously a grave offense. She hadn’t expected to get off with a slap on the wrist.
“But she did not know our laws!” the youth argued again. “Where is the justice in punishing her for a crime she did not know she was committing?”
“This is not about justice,” Banev said bluntly. “This is about the protection of our people. We have been enslaved and watched our loved ones unmade before our eyes. Our world remains defiled by foul, unnatural growths. The very air still reeks of the Despoilers and their evil.” His voice quaked with emotion. “We cannot allow outsiders—any outsiders—to ever trouble Usilde again!”
“My people would never do that,” Una said. “We have laws too, and one of our highest is that we do not meddle in the affairs of others.”
Banev’s face hardened as he regained his composure. “Then you should have stayed where you belonged, by your own laws and ours. Here you are like the foul gray growths choking our rivers and forests: a foreign weed that must be stamped out and burned before it can do any more harm.” He snapped his flute in two, as though signaling the end of the proceedings. “My judgment is made. At dawn, you will be taken back to the cursed valley where you were found. There you and all your otherworldly possessions will be burned and the ashes buried deep in that unclean soil, where they belong.”
“No!” Una’s self-appointed advocate protested. “She has done nothing to deserve this!”
“She came uninvited, flying through the night sky like the Despoilers once did. She violated our laws, bringing fear and uncertainty into our lives after years of peace.” Banev scoffed at the passionate young Jatohr. “What has she not done . . . and what more might she still do if given a chance? We can take no chances with our people’s safety. This is the only way to ensure our survival, both today and tomorrow.”
Una could tell that the Ranger’s mind was made up. The horrors of the past were rooted too deeply in his soul. He could not see past them.
“It’s funny,” she said. “The Jatohr felt the same way. They also believed that their security depended on treating any other intelligent being as a threat. They were mistaken, and so are you.” Her voice softened as she addressed the young man who had defended her. “Thanks for sticking up for me. I appreciate it.”
He turned mournful green eyes toward her.
“I am sorry,” he said. “Forgive us our fear and suspicion.”
“You have your reasons. I understand.”
The death sentence was upsetting, though. Aside from her own peril, she hated the prospect of her mission ending like this, before she could save Tim and the others. She had come too far to end up burned alive before she could try to reactivate the transfer-field generator and bring her old comrades home.
Keep calm, she told herself, not letting anxiety cloud her thinking. This isn’t over yet.
She had been in sticky situations before, and this was far from the first time she’d been condemned to death by unfriendly aliens. She was a Starfleet captain after all; she just had to keep her wits about her and wait for the right opportunity to turn the situation around, provided that opportunity arrived before sunrise.
Maybe I shouldn’t have tried to do this on my own.
Seventeen
The trial concluded, the Usildar swiftly dispersed into the forest canopy, leaving Una alone with only Banev and a pair of guards to keep her company. Even her young defender retreated in defeat, apparently unwilling to witness what came next.
“Be brave,” he urged her before taking to the trees. “And do not think too ill of us.”
“I won’t,” she said. “And thank you again for speaking up for me.”
Una was sorry to see him go. She was woefully short of allies at the moment.
“Young fool,” Banev muttered, watching the youth depart. Avoiding eye contact with Una, he issued instructions to the guards from his judicial perch. “Bind her to the place of the judgment, so that she may not escape her fate. And watch her carefully through what remains of the night. I will return before dawn to see the sentence carried out.”
“Yes, High Ranger,” a guard replied. One of his front teeth was chipped, giving it a jagged look. “It will be done as you say.”
Banev nodded grimly. “See that it is.”
Una considered pleading her case one last time, before the Ranger went his way, but decided that it would be a waste of time and energy. The traumas of the past had scarred him in more ways than one. She might as well try arguing with one of the surrounding tree trunks—or the long-departed Commander Woryan.
Banev vanished into the canopy, leaving behind the broken ceremonial flute. Una was in no hurry to see him again, given his stated intention to preside over her execution. Glancing around, she looked for a way to alter that agenda. There were only two guards, but she was on their turf, unarmed, with her hands tied behind her back, which put her at a distinct disadvantage, despite her considerable hand-to-hand combat skills. Starfleet training could only aid her so far.
&nbs
p; “Watch her while I secure more restraints,” Jagged Tooth said to his comrade. He scurried off into the shadows beyond the torchlight. “I’ll be right back.”
“Make it quick,” the second guard said. Gripping his spear, he glowered at Una with bloodshot eyes. “Don’t try any tricks!”
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” she lied.
Una expected the first guard to fetch more vines, but instead he returned bearing a large purple melon the size of a cantaloupe and placed it on the stump between her boots. He raised an edged stone hatchet above the melon.
“Don’t move,” Jagged Tooth warned her.
The hatchet split the melon, spilling a sticky yellow sap over her boots. Una wasn’t sure what to make of this. She tried to lift one foot only to find it effectively glued to the stump. She pulled harder, but was barely able to lift the sole of her boot more than a few centimeters above the spilled sap. Gooey strands tugged on her boot, refusing to release their grip.
“I said, don’t move!”
He grabbed her ankle and yanked her raised foot back down into the sap, which quickly hardened like resin around both her feet, cementing them in place. Within moments, she was stuck fast to the stump and confronted with yet another challenge to overcome if she wanted to live past dawn and complete her mission.
This complicates matters.
It was possible that, with difficulty, she could manage to extract her feet from the trapped boots, but it was unlikely that the vigilant guards would allow her to do so. She peered up at the sky, which was barely visible through a gap in the canopy, and wondered how many hours she had until dawn. Usilde rotated on its axis every twenty-seven hours, she recalled, but there were also seasonal factors to consider, and she still wasn’t certain how long she had been unconscious prior to the trial. Unfamiliar constellations, peeking out from behind the cloud cover, defeated her efforts to reckon the time, but she knew that, subjectively, the sun would be rising all too soon.
I might have to make my move later, she thought, after they’ve unstuck me from this stump.
