Strange New Worlds IX

by Dean Wesley Smith

  Antosso.

  General Torrna Antosso…rebel leader…friend…older Bajor…

  Antosso took a long swig from his own mug, swallowed thoughtfully, and then declared, “We are lucky. This wine will turn tomorrow.”

  Kira grinned despite her confusion.

  “A little vinegar for our victory,” she said, referring to the battle they had just won against the Lerrit Army.

  “Here, here,” he replied quietly. They toasted and drank heartily.

  “I watched you today,” he said. “I am most impressed with your tactics.”

  Kira stared into her mug of wine. Stars reflected in the drink, and she was filled with a sudden ease.

  “I had great teachers,” she said. Rebels…commanders…symbionts. She looked up at the sky. It was alive.

  “Torrna,” she asked, “what do you think of stars?”

  He shifted his weight to glance skyward, and what began as a halfhearted movement became a stop in time. He seemed to consider her question deeply.

  “They are seen by most as guideposts in the night. Markers for the determined traveler, help for the wayward wanderer. I see them as more than that. I see them as secrets.”

  “Secrets?”

  “Yes.” He took another swig of drink without averting his eyes. “That the universe has yet to share. They are humbling to me.”

  He looked at her then, and took her hand in his.

  “You truly are a giant among people, Ashla,” he said, using the nickname he’d given her. “These last few months have been very dark, and I sense more darkness will visit us. But suddenly, you appear. And you have brought the stars out.”

  A moment passed between them, one of profound respect. In the flickering of the campfire, Kira almost thought she saw a physical change as well. As if his round face grew leaner, his tan skin darker, his hair disappear in the dark. Even his hand felt different.

  “Keep the stars burning for me, Ashla.”

  “Of course,” she replied.

  Relaxing, Antosso broke their grip and patted her knee.

  “And find us some dinner. I’m starving.”

  Kira grinned, and taking up a bow and arrow, headed toward the woods, the stars bright above her.

  The dark walls of the Institute felt cold against her touch. They had passed many doors, and Kira was starting to wonder if Shakaar was lost. The mission was one of top clearance and covertness; Lupaza had fooled the Cardassians, Kira kept watch, but only Shakaar knew the details. The only goal Kira had figured out so far was: Don’t even let them think we’re here.

  A sense of error began to creep into her mind. Every minute was playing out as it had years ago, but her direct future was remaining cloudy, almost as if…

  …as if the next few hours, possibly minutes, were unformed, as if she really was living it all for the first time. And yet, she had the recent memories as well as the far-reaching. It was as if the in-between would have no effect on the future; things would still progress as normal, even if the past outcome was changed.

  She heard a rustle in the trees and aimed her bow, arrow ready. The rustling stopped, and a shaft of moonlight poured through the low tree canopy. Looking for the animal, a glittering in the distance caught her eye. Small lights seemed to dance on the ground, and then all at once became very still. They were beautiful.

  Torrna can wait a little longer for food, she thought, lowering her bow. She crept slowly toward the pool of light, barely noticing the game sprinting away. The lights held her, told her to get as close as she dared. She crouched as she trod, almost considering a crawl. She did not want to frighten them away….

  “Here.”

  They had reached a door exactly like the others.

  “Lupaza,” Shakaar whispered, and the skillful woman wasted no time getting them inside.

  Too easy, Kira felt. Even for Lupaza. But she said nothing.

  Darting into the room, feet barely touching the ground, Shakaar activated his torch, and motioned for them to follow. Once they were all inside, the door whispered shut at Lupaza’s touch.

  The room was square in shape but octagonal in layout. There were eight lab stations, and as Shakaar’s torch spun around, Kira saw sealed beakers, test tubes, and the occasional pod, all of which contained creatures in stasis (she hoped), different colored liquids, and what looked like dissections. There were no tools or data recorders, and each computer terminal was dark.

  It’s almost as if we were expected, she thought.

  Shakaar proceeded to get a closer look…

  …and the closer she got, the clearer she saw that the lights were reflections of Bajor’s moons. The substance they reflected off of was a liquid, but it wasn’t water. It didn’t seep into the forest floor. It looked thick, almost gelatinous….

  When he stopped looking, Kira sensed Shakaar’s energy change. Beads of sweat dotted his forehead as he evaluated a beaker sitting below him. It held a brownish gold liquid that seemed too unremarkable for his reaction. He dug into the satchel he carried with him, and removed a containment device. As torchlight illuminated the beaker’s liquid contents, Kira could have sworn she saw it…

  …shiver. The puddle was shivering. Not rippling, not evaporating, but shivering. She couldn’t take her eyes off of it. It drew her closer and closer….

  He couldn’t take his eyes off of it. It drew him closer and closer, and the liquid definitely began to move. It dipped like waves in the ocean, crawling up the sides of the glass, and then…

  …it screamed.

  It screamed. Alarms blared throughout the lab, and all too quickly, Kira heard the rumbling of Cardassian boots in the corridor. Whirling around, Lupaza looked as though she might shoot daggers from her mouth. Cursing in Bajoran, she dashed over to the door panel and frantically tried to shut the alarm off.

  Shakaar snapped out of his trance, returning to his focused calm, and disengaged the locking mechanism on the beaker. As soon as it was able, the screaming creature soared toward him, its waves turning into gelatinous limbs and its size growing exponentially.

  “Stun it!” Shakaar yelled to Kira.

  Her fingers adjusted the rifle to its proper setting, but she couldn’t pull the trigger. Something held her back, told her to question her leader’s order.

  “Nerys!” Shakaar yelled again. “Stun it!”

  Lupaza hit the trigger on her own rifle. The creature instantly recoiled, its screaming cut off, and thrashed limply about. It shrank back to the size of the beaker and, finally, stopped moving. Shakaar poured the creature into the containment device and stuffed it back into his satchel.

  “We’re done here,” he said, fixing a steely gaze at the door. Outside, Cardassian guards were attempting to undo Lupaza’s handiwork.

  “Now comes the fun part.” There was a gleam in Shakaar’s eyes and a smirk around the corners of his mouth.

  “Escape?” Kira asked.

  Nodding, Shakaar led them to the back of the lab, removed a wall panel, and scrambled inside. Lupaza followed, and Kira brought up the rear, barely having time to replace the panel before the Cardassians broke through the door. As she spider-crawled her way after them, Kira felt an old rise of panic in her chest, one she hadn’t felt in a very long time.

  What if I lose them? She paused a moment, the movement ahead echoing through the small ducts. She shook the thought away, and began repeating the mantra Lupaza had taught her. Focus on the goal, focus on the goal. She took off again, easily catching up. But with the panic receding, she realized that she didn’t know the true goal, and judging by what she’d seen in the lab, she wasn’t so sure she liked it.

  Another memory surged within. Last time…Last time we did this, we didn’t encounter that creature. We didn’t even get through the door. Memories of failed security codes flooded her, and she remembered the Cardassian boots being louder and closer, the mission aborted.

  What went right this time?

  Shakaar said nothing as they made a sharp left
and came to a sealed duct. Lupaza easily sliced through it with some rifle fire, and once again, they were on the move.

  There had been one scream, and the puddle had grown silent again. It had almost sounded like…a scream of shock. As Kira sat bent over her knees, staring at its bronze color, the puddle shivered in the moonlight, keeping its oval shape, melding with itself but never dissolving.

  She felt the urge to talk to it.

  “Hello?”

  It continued to shiver.

  “Do you understand me?”

  It calmed a little.

  “Can you speak?”

  It paused. Kira’s voice became a trance-like whisper. The feelings emanating from her, all from staring at it…

  “Do I know you?”

  Then it didn’t move at all…

  Kira sat by the dinner fire, an untouched plate on her lap. Her mind was racing, images of the creature replaying again and again. Lupaza was watching her, had been since she’d faltered in the lab. Furel had joined them, and after kissing Lupaza in greeting, noticed his lover’s preoccupation with their younger friend, and he, too, joined in the staring contest.

  “Nerys,” Lupaza said at last, breaking Kira’s reverie. She looked up and saw they were the only three around the dinner fire. Lupaza’s annoyed tone was an understatement when compared to the aggravation in her eyes.

  “Will you let it go?” her friend asked. “I’m tired of being a watchdog.”

  Kira stood to throw out her uneaten food when Furel hopped up and took the plate from her.

  “I’ll finish this,” he said with a smirk.

  Kira gave a sigh. So it’s time to play “good friend, bad friend” again.

  “Furel,” she groaned, tossing her fork onto what was now his plate, “I don’t want to hear it.” But before she could leave, he took her by the arm, leading her and her food just far enough away to appear to be out of earshot. The trick was getting old.

  “Don’t make ’Paza mad, Nerys. When she gets mad, she goes to sleep mad.”

  Kira had to laugh at the image of a sex-starved Furel getting punched in his sleep.

  “I’m going to go for a walk,” she announced to both of them.

  “Oh, Prophets,” Lupaza groaned. “You don’t expect me to believe that.”

  “Nerys,” Furel pleaded, his eyes wide.

  Kira walked over to Lupaza, and looked just enough above her eyes to appear to be looking in them.

  “It’s just a walk. To blow off some steam.”

  Lupaza sighed, and the smirk appeared. “Get out of here,” she said.

  Over her shoulder, Furel mouthed a desperate “Thank you,” and Kira chuckled, heading off toward the south. An idea had piqued her interest, and suspicious friends or not, they were not about to stop her. She would get to see the creature before daybreak.

  It reached up to her. A small orange tentacle grew from the puddle, bending toward her hand, seeming to study the shape and texture of it. And then it began to ripple, and the smooth orange turned peach and brown. The tentacle split into five tiny ones, and little fingernails grew on the tips. It had formed her hand. Not as perfect, a little too smooth and undefined, but definitely her hand. It had even added the detail of dried mud. It brought its fingers to hers, and its flesh was soft and cool.

  Like lakes, Kira thought, and she smiled, suddenly feeling very much at home.

  Shakaar had chosen the southernmost cave for one reason: it was hell to get to the bottom. Stalagmites jutted up at every possible moment, making for slow going and high risk of injury. The treacherous parts came early on, and most intruders, if not all, usually turned back; Kira kept on. The rocks were razor sharp thanks to “enhancements” made by the more geologically minded cell members, and she watched her footing carefully.

  The first time she’d attempted this descent, she’d badly injured a rib and nearly torn her right leg off. She’d hidden the bruises until they’d healed, and no one had been the wiser. No one, that is, except Shakaar. He’d assigned her to more exertive missions during that time, knowing she’d been up to no good. But she had safe bets he didn’t think it’d been in the underground storage facilities.

  She continued on, relatively unscathed, until she passed under a low archway and into the first of several large rooms. Here were the highly sensitive items: weapons, rescued artifacts, stolen plans. Each resistance cell had one, the highest hopes set on recovering the stolen Orbs of the Prophets. There was even a separate room for them in case those days arrived.

  She was in the written artifacts section, where ancient Bajoran texts decayed around her. Her people were efficient at rescuing, but their scattered resources made it difficult to keep up with preservation. Eventually, the written gave way to the visual; mosaics, pottery, artistic renderings of ancient times. Then came a room filled with statues and sculptures, and after that, piles of dark computers.

  Finally, she came to the last room. Someone was in it. Kira pressed herself against the wall and tried to make out who it was. Unsuccessful, she stole glances at the objects around her, but all were too large or elaborate to be what she was looking for.

  If only I knew where he put it….

  “Nerys,” a voice called out from the dark.

  Of course.

  Shakaar motioned in the distance for her to approach, and her curses and footsteps echoed off the high ceilings.

  “What gave me away?” she asked, her tone wry. Shakaar didn’t move, and as she approached, she saw he was holding the containment device.

  “Trying to mind-meld?” she chuckled, and Shakaar’s shoulders tensed.

  “You think this is a joke?” he hissed.

  “No,” she answered quickly.

  “I was wondering if you’d forgotten the meaning of that word.”

  “I’m sorry I disrespected you.”

  “Be honest, Nerys. You enjoyed it a little. You had an actual adventure for once.”

  He cocked his head, and she could make out a frustrated expression on his face.

  “You need to be trained, Nerys, before you can move on to bigger things. You’ve got the fire, but you need to know how to handle the gun first.”

  “I understand,” she muttered, burning with embarrassment.

  A pause, and then Shakaar replied, “Apology accepted.”

  After another pause, Kira felt the mood lighten and ventured forward.

  “So,” she began. “What is it?”

  “A changeling,” he replied. “A shape-shifter.”

  Kira felt her breath die inside her.

  A shape-sh—

  “A shape-shifter?” she asked. “What…I mean, aren’t they—?”

  “Untrustworthy?” Shakaar answered. “A threat? Precisely why we’ve stolen one from the heart of Cardassian scientists. They’ve got a Bajoran man working with it, but I don’t have to remind you the worth of that these days. Do you know what they’d be capable of with one of these?”

  Kira felt uneasy. There were clouds in her mind, evasive maneuvers from the truth.

  “I…I…” she said, trying to find something useful, something that would snap her out of the haze. “I can’t begin to imagine.”

  “Well, don’t worry,” he said, his voice changing, sounding…wrong. He laid the device beside him. “We’ve just made sure you don’t have to.”

  He stood up and began leading her out of the room.

  “Shakaar? Shakaar, maybe we shouldn’t keep it here.”

  “Don’t worry,” he said. “It’s not going anywhere.”

  His grip was unusually strong, and a burst of pain shot through her arm.

  “Shakaar…you’re hurting me!” she cried, trying to release herself from his grip, but he grabbed her other arm and spun her around. She winced as her heel dug into the rocks at a sharp angle.

  “No one is to go near it,” he declared. His eyes had a nasty gleam to them, plotting and vengeful. He raised his arms as if to push her, and she took the opportunity to spri
ng away from him, snatching up the containment device.

  I know the goal.

  “Nerys!” Shakaar yelled. “Put that down! You saw what it did in the lab! You’ll never get anywhere if you don’t follow orders!”

  “These are the right orders!” she replied, and finding the release button, she pressed down hard.

  “No!” he yelled, more with anguish than anger. The changeling sprang to life, lunging at Shakaar as a huge ring of fire. Kira ran close to the flames, yelling, “Wait! Don’t hurt him!”

  The fire raged, but she could feel no heat. Shakaar was unharmed, cowering in the middle of the ring and shaking. Kira searched for the absent eyes of the changeling, for some distinct place within the fire where she could address it.

  “Please don’t hurt him,” she said. “He just doesn’t know.”

  She barely registered the snapping tree branch or the shadow that darkened her view, but she did feel the two arms that grabbed her and tossed her into the bushes. And she definitely heard the screams of the creature. A huge shadow darted in and out of the moonlight, and as she scrambled up, she made out the form of Antosso producing a hunting knife. She threw herself upon him, trying to stop his hand.

  “Nerys, I know what I’m doing!”

  “No!” she cried.

  “This creature is evil, sent from Lerritt sorcerers to murder us in the night!”

  “No, Torrna!” she yelled again, and snapped back his hand, fracturing his wrist. The knife dropped to the ground. He howled in pain, dropping to his knees. He looked up at her through sweat-drenched hair and crisscrossing shadows, his eyes filled with disbelief.

  “Nerys,” he gasped, “you betray me?”

  “No, Torrna,” she replied.

  “It comes from evil magic, I tell you!”

  “No, he doesn’t.”

  “Then from where?”

  “From another time.”

  “Another—?” Antosso shook his head, nursing his hand. “Ashla, you’ve grown confused. There is no other time but now.”