The Jelly Men
A Star Trek TNG Novel
Chapter 1
Atarina Dar stepped out of the transporter shimmer as though shrugging off a layer of grime. The old Romulan warship had been plagued by problems, the ship's sanitation systems among them. Now for a time she was free of its foul air and endless frustrating maintenance issues.
Her assignment, isolated as it was, had sounded like a vacation to her ears: she was to remain on this planet for three days and monitor any and all communications traffic in the area using a passive receiver that wouldn't give away her presence. The likelihood was very high that there would be absolutely nothing to listen in on, which was like music to her senses. Nothing at all to do for three days, in a place as pristine as Paradise. This was no assignment- it was sweet release!
She knelt down, opened up the case containing the communications-monitoring array and switched it on, not to listen for communications traffic but to determine if her own ship remained overhead. Within moments there was a hiss of energised particles that were generated as the ship's engines were engaged. And then, at last, there was the background hiss of empty space.
She was in a smooth-worn stone valley cut by a slow-moving rill. The place looked ancient and unchanging. Across a deep water-hole lay a grotto, spacious and clean enough to make camp. At the moment, however, her thoughts were occupied by one thing only . . . she peeled off her grimy clothes with disgust and dove into the impossibly blue water.
-
Causing a twinge of irritation as it surfaced, a memory intruded. Not a great distance away lay a Human industrial site which appeared to be minimally operational. The ship's unreliable sensors had yielded little useful information other than the detection of some sort of industrial assembly activity. If there were any Humans about they were unlikely to pose any sort of threat or distraction. Relations with the Federation had been uneasy of late but it was the Romulans' experience with Humans that remote exploration and industrial outposts generally preferred to be left alone. In any event, if there were Humans about they were likely to be few and too preoccupied to worry about being watched.
Kicking herself to the surface, Atarina took a deep sigh of air into her lungs, swam about aimlessly on her back for a while, watching the few wispy clouds, before climbing out of the water to retrieve a bottle of cleansing gel from her things.
'Agh!' She cursed, having cut her thumb which began to bleed profusely, and glared at the plastic package, the corner of which was razor-sharp. Shaking blood from her hand, she went back to the pool and spent the next hour scrubbing hair and skin until they felt clean again-
A sense that was neither sight nor sound caused her to freeze and listen, to go cold and leaden inside. Some instinct made her sink slowly from sight until she was under water. The bottle of cleansing gel was left to float away, perhaps to serve as a distraction.
Moving slowly and deliberately, she clawed her way along the bottom until a large boulder appeared. A peripheral memory sent her to a place on the surface where a narrow slit lay between this rock and another.
Across the pool, moving toward her things, was a pack of large predators, yellow-grass-coloured with a single wide, black stripe down the back, huge ripping teeth that protruded from both upper and lower jaws, and glossy black lumps of varying sizes distributed over the entire head, which were some type of sensory-organs.
Atarina hissed inwardly in anger at the inadequacy of the ageing ship's sensors, which had shown no large predators of any kind in this entire region. These predators were particularly dangerous; they could swim, could track their prey across any terrain under any conditions, and were absolutely relentless once they began tracking game.
Mentally uttering a florid Romulan oath, she released her hold on the boulder, submerged, and allowed the current to draw her where it would.
-
It was not a directionless flight brought on by panic: she already had the sketch of a plan in mind. The rill widened and deepened in its course and would soon join a deeper, wider stream. The stream, in turn, would reach a river, the river would wend its way first South, then West toward an ocean. At the river's bend was some sort of industrial track or road, and along that route, once every day, travelled unmanned industrial vehicles.
Now and then she ventured a look for following predators but there were none. The journey to the stream took longer than she'd expected, and the stream's water was uncomfortably chill and fast-moving. In a way this was well, because less than an hour had passed before the stream joined a silt-grey, slow-moving river whose warmer waters felt tepid to the touch.
It was late in the sultry afternoon when the river widened, its banks disappearing into grassy lowlands. To the left, out of the heat-haze rose what at first appeared to be a construction derrick. As she drew nearer it turned out to be a massive crane lifting pieces of a gigantic wind-turbine. At the base of the crane was the track or road. Though the crane was operating unmanned it was obviously built to accommodate workers.
Shying away from considering her predicament or the fallout it would cause, Atarina swam towards the shore. Soon she was half-swimming, half-wading through thick water-weeds, a task that became arduous as she was still a good distance from dry land. The hour was late by the time there was dry ground beneath her feet. Fearing that the crane's departure was imminent, as the massive machine seemed to have completed its task, she began to run.
A sharp, barking growl almost froze her in her tracks. It seemed that the predators were fully living up to their legendary tenacity. But how could they have known where she was? There hadn't been a trace of them all the way here.
Redoubling her efforts, she was soon closing on the giant crane which rose impossibly huge into the sky, its battered, rust-stained, yellow exterior and small windows reflecting the late-afternoon sun. But it seemed to be moving . . .
A quick check of the predators showed that they were closing fast. They would be on her in moments. But the crane! It seemed to be moving towards her . .
As she drew near the reason became clear. The enormous machine was moving sideways, away from the now-erected wind-turbine and towards a track a good twenty-paces wide. There were no wheels- it was a magnetic repulsion system. Even as the machine slewed towards the rails, the crane-arm was collapsing into itself and coming to rest on its cradle.
Atarina bounded for a metal staircase running up the side of the machine, that switched back and forth several times in its ascent to the crew quarters at the top. A frustrated roar brought her up short and she paused to take in the scene just below. The big predators were unable to gain a sure footing on the staircase. Within moments they had broken off their pursuit and watched in motionless silence as the huge machine drifted away from them like a moving island.
-
Beyond a locker room was a lavatory with showers. The water smelt strongly of chlorine but Atarina couldn't have cared less as she tried to rinse away the day's frustration and disaster. Should she have tried to retain her belongings and equipment? Absolutely not! Was she derelict in her duty and/or irresponsible for having let her guard down and gotten into her present predicament? No, she told herself, her best information was that there were no large predators in the area. Was she at fault for trusting that information? Grudgingly, she had to admit that, having known the ship's sensors to be less than perfectly reliable, caution was due.
'What's done is done,' she muttered irritably, shutting off the water and going in search of something to dry herself with.
-
There was nothing- no towels, no clothing stored in lockers, no napkins big enough. The only thing she could find was the washroom hand-driers which gushed tepid air to little effect. Half an hour was spent sitting on a stool underneath the drier's vent hitting the On switch every time the automatic timer ran out. By that time her body had dried on its own. A search for food in the cafeteria turned up dried soup which when rehydrated and heated turned out to be better than nothing. As she ate the lights came on automatically, a sign that the day was fading fast. Beyond the locker rooms were tiny quarters with cramped three-tiered bunks. None had a mattress but a search of the lockers turned up a stale-smelling sleeping bag. Using a worn, padded foot-locker cover for a pillow she sighed deeply, crawled into her makeshift bed, zipped the sleeping bag closed as though trying to shut out the day's events, and plunged into vivid, dream-filled sleep.
-
She awoke to soft grey light whose source was two small porthole-like windows between tiers of bunk beds. Arising and glancing outside revealed a clammy, dreary day, heavily overcast and on the verge of rain. Wrapped in the sleeping bag she made her way to the cafeteria, made another bowl of soup and sat in a window booth to eat it while taking stock. The huge machine glided along so smoothly that it seemed to be sitting still while the countryside moved slowly on by, but leaning close to the window to peer down at the ground showed the vehicle to be moving at a pace that would severely injure or kill should one jump or fall off. So, there was no possibility of turning back. Every now and then the machine would pass over rail junctures, some of which led nowhere, others travelling far off into the distance lined with the giant wind-turbines.
What was the purpose of generating all that power if there was little or nothing here to use it? To entice business interests, perhaps? Colonists? If so, it was so much wishful thinking. This planet was so remote that its only useful purpose was a place to stop during a brutally long voyage. And yet the Romulan High Command wanted a passive-array listening post established here and would have done so already were it not for the claim of a Federation business interest which effectively put the planet off-limits to all other comers.
Why a passive array only? she wondered. What was there to listen for in this remote place? Passive arrays were good pretty much only for spying and to the best of her knowledge there was no one to spy on . . .
But, intuition born of experience told her, obviously there was someone to spy on, and spying on that someone had been her mission. A sudden thought caused her to down the rest of her soup and surge to her feet. There might be communications equipment aboard this machine.
-
The control room was fairly large and surprisingly full of equipment. Evidently a number of operations could be monitored and controlled from this place. The communications console was unfortunately as she expected: a few bands of low-frequency digital radio, two of computer information transfer, a tiny subspace radio good only within this star system, and a device marked "remote system interface" which allowed the huge crane to be guided from wherever the signal originated.
Atarina arched an eyebrow as she flipped open a protective cover and examined the device's controls, one of which was a two-position switch marked "active" and "passive". It was in the "passive" position, which meant that all the big machine's functions were being remotely controlled. Which told her nothing useful. The giant crane could be entirely run by computer, or Humans could be running the whole entire operation- again, by computer. There was no way of knowing whether Humans were involved or not, except by using the radio or computer to contact them or to encounter them directly when the machine reached its destination. That is, assuming the machine's destination was the place the Humans were located. Sighing deeply, she toyed with the idea of contacting the Humans, if there were any, then decided simply to wait until the machine reached its destination.
-
The following night she was awakened by a shudder like an earth tremor and light pouring in through the windows of her borrowed quarters. The great machine had come to a halt and was slewing sideways onto a layby. In the distance was a piercingly bright light that blinded if one looked directly at it. Within moments the source materialised out of the darkness- another massive crane towing parts for another wind tower. It passed with a roar of wind which caused the sidelined vehicle to sway briefly from side to side. With a booming clash and loud hum the vehicle slewed back onto the main rail and continued on its journey.
This performance was repeated at regular intervals throughout the following day and throughout the evening. Belatedly she discovered the reason for the increased traffic- the wind towers were being shipped from a single source to several separate lines; as one neared the source the lines were fewer and bore more traffic. She sensed, as one would when nearing a city, that the machine's destination was drawing near.
-
The Romulan officer fingered the shards of torn clothing, his features grim and set. 'Is there no other sign of her?'
'I am certain that crewman Atarina is dead, Commander. We have found her blood, and all of her equipment and supplies. Even all her clothing is accounted for.' Though his tone was carefully neutral, the ship's physician's voice carried undercurrents of admonishment. 'Her weapon was unfired. She had no warning. She was led to believe there was no possible danger.'
'We use aged, out-of-date equipment in this region because the Romulan Empire does not wish to betray its true strength,' the Commander reminded his chief physician. 'There are great risks, assuredly, but I assure you they are necessary. I very much regret the loss of crewman Atarina- she was a fine and promising young woman- but our mission is of far greater importance than the life of a single crew member . . . greater, even, than the loss of a good many ships and their crews.'
'I wish you would tell an old friend what our mission is,' the physician grumbled. 'To hell with protocol. If it's a Borg invasion we're expecting, there should be no reason for secrecy.'
There was a long pause as the senior officer considered. 'It is not the Borg,' the Commander said at last in an empty voice that gave the physician an ugly cold feeling in the pit of his belly. 'It is believed to be something far worse.'
'"Believed",' the physician echoed. 'Then it is not a certainty.'
'What is certain,' the Commander stated flatly, 'is that what appears to be an invasion force is coming. It is approaching slowly, taking its time, probing for signs of inhabitation and technological development.'
The physician's eyes narrowed. 'Could this be why the Federation is constructing power generation on a vast scale in the middle of nowhere?'
'We do not know what part the Federation has in the construction of the local power grid, if any,' the Commander answered. 'All we do know is that they have dispatched a galaxy-class starship to this planet with the intention of evacuating its inhabitants. And before you utter that which is on your lips, yes, the Federation does seem aware of the present situation- at least, to the extent that they are concerned regarding . . . certain recent events. They have no colonies to speak of in this region, but there are a few trade and industrial interests. Those which lie beyond this region seem no longer able to . . . communicate. Those few within are to be offered sanctuary, and in a humanitarian gesture that has caught the notice of the Romulan Empire, sanctuary is to be offered also to all non-Federation persons in the area.'
'The Federation would only do something like that if a serious threat were imminent,' the physician muttered. 'Their Non-Interference Directive prohibits such action excepting when there are exceptional circumstances.'
'Federation communications protocol has been unusually lax,' the Commander added pointedly.
'Their way of warning us, without actually warning us,' the physician nodded, and shook his head. 'Relations between the Federation and the Romulan Empire may be strained, but common sense prevails. What of our own communications protocol?'
The Commander smiled, thinly. 'Old Romulan warships aren't the best keepers of secrets, military or otherwise.'
-
The day was growing hot, the interior of the huge machine stifling. Atarina abandoned the sleeping bag and went around opening windows, until at last a rush of cooler air was flowing through the crew areas. A sudden blaring voice startled her out of her skin, until she realised that the voice was merely a pre-recorded warning.
"All passengers and crew, prepare to disembark once we reach the assembly station . . ."
Getting a glimpse of the machine's forward passage was difficult, and the approach of a massive factory complex had been obscured by the manner in which the crane's passenger windows faced mainly to the sides. Craning her neck and laying her head against the glass showed Atarina that massive doors, as in an aircraft hangar, were opening to accept the crane into the dimly lighted interior of the factory. As the machine glided into near-darkness she saw no sign of life. What little visible activity there was was entirely robotic. The only sign of possible habitation was an office near the entrance, and it did not appear occupied.
The machine stopped and she departed as instructed, wishing that at the least she had a pair of shoes. Despite the day's heat the concrete was uncomfortably cold. Walking on the balls of her feet she moved quickly to the office- the only place, it seemed, where life would be present. She opened the door-
Nothing. Nothing but stale air, dust and disuse. However, during the approach she had noted that this appeared to be a side of the complex. The front should be . . . this way . . . and from a distance it had appeared to be where personnel would be located.
The chill air felt good against her skin after being hit by scorching sun and a blast of hot dry air. Though near-darkness shrouded the interior, windows at each track entrance admitted enough light to navigate. Not knowing whether it were a positive or negative sign, she discovered that the sound of machine noise was gradually being left behind until it was a dim vibration in the background.
Turning a corner she saw lights and in response felt as much apprehension as hope. Habitation could mean trouble just as it could mean help. She hesitated a long moment, considering, then decided to approach with caution.
-
Her insides tightened as she stared at the Human male seated before the computer console making notes on an old-fashioned stylus pad- the kind that converted handwriting into script. The Man had a military look, with close-cropped hair, square jaw, hard muscles, a decidedly steely mien. She, in turn, was half a head shorter, and though trained in both armed and unarmed combat, knew instinctively the risks when faced with a larger, stronger opponent. There was little chance of taking him alive if she chose to attack- a quick kill was her best option. And not attacking and killing him would probably give him every advantage-
A touch on her leg cost her any element of surprise. Startled, she looked down, saw nothing, looked up again-
He was gone!
She began to back away with alacrity when the flash of a Federation phaser consumed her vision and her consciousness.
-
She came out of the stiff-aching-muscles, muzzy-headed torpor induced by phaser stun. Shifting position evoked a creak from an old, rickety cot. The room was tiny, dimly lighted, otherwise unfurnished and bare- a cell. Beyond the faint haze of the force-field which imprisoned her sat the Human male, still holding the phaser and scrutinising her.
'State your mission,' he bit off curtly.
Atarina raised an eyebrow. He had addressed her in the common tongue used by the Romulan military, his command of the language flawless. Responding in kind, she answered, 'To monitor local subspace communications.'
It was his turn to raise an eyebrow. 'Which includes running about naked and spying on this facility?'
'My clothing and equipment and I were inadvertently separated,' she responded testily. 'Our ship's sensors showed no sign of large predators, but when I went to bathe in a pool several such creatures arrived and I fled as I was.'
'Where exactly did this happen?' he said, his expression unreadable.
She told him.
Rising, he said, 'I'll be back shortly. In the meantime . . . being stunned by a phaser is unpleasant, but this force-field,' he indicated with a nod, 'is far worse. It's an industrial type that's not intended to contain people- does the job but it'll hurt you pretty badly if you try to escape.'
-
She was nursing an arm that was numb and aching to the elbow when he returned.
Seeing this, he said, 'I had a hunch you'd be the worse for wear by the time I got back.' When she didn't respond, he continued, 'It appears as though you were telling the truth-'
'I do not lie!'
The ghost of a smile touched his features. 'No? Does that mean you'll behave civilly if you're released?'
Straightening her back, glaring but not looking at him, she said, 'Perhaps.'
After a lengthy silence, he said, 'I see. Well, I have work to do, so I'll have to leave you to your little prison here.'
'I need to use your facilities,' she said. 'I have not . . . I would like the return of my equipment . . . and some food.'
'Then I'll need better assurance from you than "perhaps",' he told her.
She met his eyes in stony silence. At last, she stated, as though the words were bitter in her mouth, 'I promise that I will not attack you. I give you my word as a soldier of the Romulan Empire. Does this suffice?'
-
He didn't offer her any clothing and she did not ask, but he returned her few belongings which he'd somehow gone and rescued from their location by the pool she'd gone swimming in. Her clothing was in useless tatters, as was her tent and sleeping bag, and her few pieces of equipment appeared as though they'd been passed through the gearing of a large and powerful machine. So much for her mission! But a hot shower and fresh food prepared on a very old but utilitarian electric stove went a long way to improving her mood. The Human was nowhere to be found and she began to wonder if he was alone here. The place was not designed for habitation and the few amenities appeared out of place. A search for Federation weapons turned up nothing- perhaps his phaser was all there was. The facility itself was decidedly non-Federation, a matter which demanded attention. Neither the facility nor the Human had a Federation air about them. The Man was decidedly military or ex-military, but instinct told her that the central ethos of his training was very un-Federation-like. She frowned, finished her meal, and left the office in the direction he had gone.
-
Approaching what she had assumed to be the front of the complex, an open door got her attention and drew her towards it. Outside was a swath of long yellow grass transected by a single rail line. Beyond lay a shallow river valley and its slow-moving river. The river was at least half a kilometre wide and in the distance turned a line of wind-turbines. To her left lay an open expanse of grasslands dotted by thick stands of brush. To her right lay the tall swath of grass which continued around the complex. The air was cooler now, the sun low in the sky. A persistent sound got her attention and drew her toward it. Rounding a corner of the front entrance to the complex she came to a sight which answered a question she'd had about her meal. There, in the middle of a large vegetable patch, was the Human picking away at the soil with a garden implement- what Humans called a "hoe". He glanced up once, only vaguely taking in her presence with his peripheral vision, and continued working.
'I had wondered how you came by your food,' she said unnecessarily.
'Well, now you know,' he responded, a trace of irritation in his voice.
His tone making her feel an intruder, she turned to leave.
'You can help if you like.'
This sounded less like an invitation than a barb intended to tell her she should do something to earn her keep. 'Very well,' she responded without enthusiasm, spotted a water valve and hose, and set herself to spraying water where it seemed to be needed. Her mood soon brightened somewhat, however, as she found the task enjoyable, watching the plants perk up their leaves and appear less wilted by the lowering sun. Soon she was down on hands and knees in the mud, weeding by hand and examining the garden's contents- the appearance of a pair of laced boots caused her to stop, startled.
'It's getting late,' he said, an unspoken warning in his voice. She had lost all passage of time and saw that the sun now lay low and red on the horizon. 'It gets dark fast here,' he continued. 'It's a good idea to remain indoors after dark.'
The implicit threat in his voice caused her to look to the river bank to their right which was heavily forested- no evergreen-type foliage here, but solely deciduous. An excellent place to conceal predators.
'The forest is the least of it,' he told her in an unreadable but somehow ominous tone. He inclined his head meaningly, drawing her gaze upwards.
'There are flying predators? she asked doubtfully.
'The advance scouts of the enemy,' he told her, caused her insides to go cold. 'They pass over this position at night. If they catch you out in the open they'll take you.'
'Were there others here?' she asked him. 'Have they all been taken?'
'There were other beings here,' he told her, 'the ones that began this facility. As you can see, they're all gone now. Not just taken but wiped out. Completely. As far as the enemy is concerned this place is still functional but operating automatically on its own. And before you ask, one of the first things I did was install a system which conceals the presence of life-forms. When I'm inside the facility my presence can't be detected from space, as I'm sure you discovered for yourself. If the enemy unexpectedly does a fly-over during the day, which for some reason they've never done, there's a warning system that tells me to head indoors. If the warning goes off you've got ten minutes to get inside, so don't ever be ten minutes away from the facility. Unless,' he added with the barest trace of a smile, 'you're parading around naked and your equipment is broken and non-functional. That way, as far as they're concerned, you're just part of the local wildlife. Yes,' he nodded as pale realisation stole over her features, 'you were unbelievably lucky. What they would have done to you . . .'
The look in his eyes was enough to evoke a feeling she hadn't experienced since her childhood- cold terror. 'What would they have done to me?'
His outward look became unfocussed as his mind's eye turned unwillingly inward. 'They take you apart,' he said in a dry voice, 'in a way that's worse than being killed . . . because you're alive the whole time . . . alive and conscious. They rip you apart and pull you inside at the same time, so that they can get to where your brain's located. Then your brain is dismantled and absorbed into them, and you can't escape and you can't die . . . and you can't sleep or shut them out, ever. Your memories, everything you know and were becomes theirs. Every part of your body they have no use for gets consumed, slowly, cell by cell.'
'Who are they?' she demanded. 'What are they?'
'The beings that began this facility referred to them as "the djelimen", which means something my computers are unable to translate,' he told her. 'I call them the "Jelly Men" because for a time that's what I thought "the djelimen" was. They have many other names, given to them by each and every civilisation they've encountered and wiped out.'
'What do they call themselves?' she queried, sensing something unspoken in his tone.
'They don't,' he told her in a manner that was somehow ominous. 'They don't speak. They have no language. If they think or even feel, it's in a way no one understands.' He glanced at the horizon then nodded towards the entrance. 'Time to go inside.'
'How do you know all this?' she demanded as they made their way.
'Another time,' he said in a tone which told her not to press the matter.
-
'How many times a day do you bathe?' he asked her with barely concealed amusement as she left the shower room, drying her hair with a small towel.
'Every time I feel unclean,' she retorted tartly. 'May I have some bedding?'
'There isn't any,' he told her. 'That old cot's as good as it gets.'
'Are you saying that I must share it with you?' she glared.
'Oh, no,' he rejoined lightly. 'I get to sleep in that,' he indicated a two-metre-long off-white cylinder off in one corner.
'What is it?'
He stepped over to the cylinder and pressed a catch which caused it to open with a faint hiss. 'It has all the comforts of home, plus an interface for every facet of this complex on the inside-top. It's air-conditioned, nice and warm, and ver-ry comfortable.'
'There is room enough to spare!' she said with asperity. 'Will you not share? Or at least lend me some sort of blanket?'
'Best you could do around here would be a bunch of those little white towels,' he told her. 'Sorry- no blankets, no sleeping-bags. And I wasn't expecting company.'
'Where are the towels kept?' she demanded sullenly.
He considered for several long moments, then said unexpectedly, 'All right, get in. But if you toss or turn or snore or annoy me, out you go!'
-
She felt apprehension as he stripped off his clothes and joined her but realised it was part of his nightly routine. The inside became close as the top came down and locked itself into place. The interior was dimly lighted and from openings in the top there came a very faint hiss of pristine air. Turning her back to him she plunged into deep dream-filled sleep.