The Stargazer
Westel
The old woman stood on the stone slab before an open door, sweeping furiously, her back to the quiet dusk behind her. She felt the summer breeze stir languidly, heard the sleepy birds settling down in the hedges nearby, and felt secure among the familiar, end of day sounds and smells she had known since childhood.
The stone, immaculately white after years of scrubbings, radiated the last of the day's heat under her ankle-length skirt. She stretched and scratched an itch, reluctant to go in to her supper just yet. Leaning on the broom handle, oblivious to the damage done to the straws, she stared out over the trees lining the field beyond her yard to watch the stars come out.
A mile away, beneath the forest edge, a light kindled in a cottage nestled among rustling trees. The wife set a lamp on the kitchen table to shed a warm glow over their evening meal, its welcoming beams lighting the way for her husband who was just quitting the fields.
In the little town over the hill, the village children played in the square, watching for the evening's first night-flies and having an ear for their mothers' calls to come home.
It was a night like any night in the upland hills: quiet, serene, untouched, yet Jaresh felt uneasy as he looked out upon the darkening terrain which lay between his stone house and the village nestling among the rolling folds of the land.
As he stared into the twilight he suddenly clutched at his throat, his breath coming in painful gasps. Falling to his knees, Jaresh fought against the blackness in his mind, struggling to stay conscious. Slow minutes passed before his breathing slowed and steadied, before he became aware of the cold stone of the window ledge pressing against his cheek. He stood carefully, trembling with weakness, and glanced up to see a falling star disappearing beyond the horizon.
The spell had come three times now, just at nightfall, and with increasing intensity. This starsong was persistent and growing stronger. Something was about to happen, like nothing the village had ever known - something which could change life as they knew it, and make their familiar world into something totally alien...and deadly.
ooOOoo
"Mr. Scott, can you do anything with the stabilizers?" yelled Spock hoarsely as he bent over the inert form of Captain Kirk, feeling for a pulse. The shuttle craft lurched violently as it entered the planet's atmosphere, nose down and yawing wildly.
"No, sir! It's all I can do to keep her out a tailspin." Scott glanced up worriedly from his controls. "It's gonna be a rough ride."
"Sir, we have entered atmosphere. Shields are holding but weak; we're going to feel the heat before we land." Chekov, left without tacticals or proper instrumentation, keyed open the viewscreen panel and looked upon the fast-approaching planet. His eyes widened in unspoken alarm.
Spock used the weight of his body to keep Kirk's unconscious one from battering against the bulkhead. Impossible to check for injuries; at least Jim was breathing. Spock's own head throbbed from the blow he had received when the tiny ship had been bombarded with an unexplained (and unexpected) energy field of some kind. No doubt Scott and Chekov had suffered similar injuries. Read-outs had gone wild; the small crew felt a disorientation which still clung to them like cold sweat. How the shuttle craft had held up was beyond comprehension.
Unable to contribute to the engineer's and navigator's efforts to land safely, Spock looked at the chaos around him, all too aware of a keen whistling which spoke of leaking atmosphere, strange muted sounds denoting a bulkhead strained to the breaking point, and the smoke which became thicker with every vanishing circuit.
Kirk groaned, his hands clutching feebly at his side. His eyes opened briefly, without recognition, before closing again. Spock could only hold on, unable to release his grip long enough to adjust Kirk's position. He would have to wait until they landed - or crashed.
Chekov glanced at Scotty, whose face was streaked with sooty residue and sweat. It was becoming difficult to concentrate; he was coughing hard and dizziness washed over him again and again. "Mr. Scott, I don't think we're going to make it."
"Hush, man," said Scott, never taking his eyes from the instruments. "You're not to talk that way, lad..." He broke off, coughing asthmatically, his lungs feeling as though he were breathing black molasses. You're not to even think it. We'll land."
"Where, Mr. Scott?"
"Anywhere," whispered Scott, his voice gone. "Just make sure she lands right side up."
Chekov smiled grimly at that remark. She would have to land herself, it seemed, because everything was getting so dark and thick, the smothering blackness swallowing him whole...
"Chekov! Chekov, are ye all right?"
Pavel had to nod in the affirmative, despite the violent shaking the chief engineer was giving him. At least nothing appeared to be broken or severed, though his neck felt as if it had been wrenched full circle.
He sat up with Scott's assistance and shook the cobwebs from his head. As his mind cleared he could see that the shuttle had suffered considerable damage in landing - their equipment and few belongings lay scattered and smashed in the interior. The shuttle door was open, but only partly, and by the look of it would not close of its own accord again.
It was then he noticed the crumpled body near the door, one hand outstretched as if supplicating some vanished deity, the blue sleeve torn and stained green...
Mr. Scott, having satisfied himself the navigator was functional, scrabbled about picking up odds and ends of equipment, mumbling to himself in a strange dialect. As Chekov hurried over to Mr. Spock, the engineer knelt beside them both for a moment, laying his hand on Chekov's shoulder.
"I hate to do this to you, lad, but the captain has disappeared. He wouldna left Spock here like this if he'd been in his right mind. He must have wandered off after we crashed." At Chekov's look of dismay, he hurried on: "Oh, you'll do fine, lad, while I'm gone. Mr. Spock'll come around all right - I've already checked him. There are a few superficial scrapes you can tend to, and mild concussion. You just keep an eye on him until he wakes up. When he does, tell him I'm looking for the captain. I'll be coming back here, bar something happening. I've left information Mr. Spock will be needing on the tricorder." He tapped his finger on the instrument.
"I'll need a communicator, lad," he added, pointing to the storage compartment behind Chekov. With some effort, the Russian got the door open, revealing the smashed equipment inside. Scott took a long look and shrugged resolutely.
"Mr. Scott," said Chekov, shutting the door of the compartment, "what happened to us?"
Scott frowned darkly. "I can't say exactly; if I didn't know better I'd say we were attacked, but we're supposedly in friendly territory. I only saw the readouts for a moment before we lost sensors; it was an energy field like nothing I've seen before." He sighed. "We'll have lots of time to speculate. Starfleet won't be missing us for two weeks, what with the length of the wedding festivities and all, so we're liable to be here for a bit, even after they realize we're lost and send someone to look for us."
The Russian wondered if, offended that the Federation representatives failed to show up for the wedding, the Galesi officials would bother to report their absence at all. Better to think of something else. "Do you think this planet is inhabited, Mr. Scott?" asked Chekov, running the scanner over the unconscious Vulcan to prove to himself that he was in no danger.
"According to my reading, yes." Scotty handed over the tricorder to Chekov. "But no sign of industrialization. You know what that means. They'll not be contacting Starfleet for us."
"Why didn't the Galesi government tell us there were other inhabited planets in this system?"
The Scotsman shrugged. "We're dealing with a new culture, new people. Shouldn't ask too many questions. When the Federation is invited to attend the most important event in the Galesi society, the heir's wedding, we don't want to ruffle their feathers, do we?"
Chekov was quickly learning the ways of diplomacy aboard the Enterprise. He nodded ruefully.
"That's the spirit. I shouldna be too long; I doubt the captain has wandered far. Medikit is there," he said, pointing to the case. "And lad," he cautioned, "if there are inhabitants here, remember the Prime Directive." And with that last quick warning, Scotty was gone.
Chekov stared at the vacant door for a moment, not liking the sudden silence. First the captain, now Scott had gone. They were separated and vulnerable in a strange place under stranger circumstances. No, he didn't like it one bit.
Spock moved, drawing Chekov out of his reverie. Sighing, he opened the medikit case and proceeded to make the Vulcan comfortable. He made short work of the minor wounds and played the mediscan again over the first officer, watching for signs of waking. Might as well make myself comfortable, too, he thought with a sigh. He was liable to be in for a long wait...
ooOOoo
He swam in the crystal oceans of Meredes, the pressure of the atmospheric field allowing him total freedom in the warm, pristine waters. This type of diplomatic mission was more like R&R than work; the Meredah were friendly, playful, highly intelligent people - and water-breathers, which explained the life-support field he and Spock wore to allow them access to the great cities far below the surface.
With rude abruptness his breathing became painful, as though a giant hand was squeezing his chest in a relentless grip. Something was wrong! The pressure field - it had failed somehow, and the ocean's hundreds of pounds per square centimeter were pressing in on him like a slowly tightening vise - he couldn't breathe. He cried out weakly, the sound dying before it left his lips.
Kirk felt sunlight on his face; he opened his eyes, squinting in the bright light. The azure sky above him reflected the sun's rays from white clouds moving lazily across his line of vision. This isn't Meredes, he quickly realized. He lay staring at the sight for some moments until the rocks jabbing in his back fully dispelled the lingering dream of the water planet. With effort, he turned over to one side, raising himself up on an elbow. All around him were hills - one wooded, some tilled. But the greater part of the land was pasture, great rolling hills that effectively blocked the view in any direction. The air was warm and spicy, alive with small flying insects glittering in the morning sun.
To his right was a giant, gnarled tree, very old by earth standards, its lower branches beckoning to the Iowa boy to climb up and get a look around. He rose to his knees, finding his breath come with some trouble and feeling as if a Belag had jumped on his left side. He shook his head, trying without success to dispel a lingering disorientation. Standing with difficulty, he walked carefully to the tree, each step bringing more effort than the one before it.
When he reached the ancient timber he grabbed for a low-lying branch, only to realize he would never make it up the tree. Pain sent rivulets of sweat down his temples and he felt his heart hammering. Too late, he tried to brace himself against the tree but collapsed, falling across its large, interlaced roots. Kirk cried out, his voice echoing hollowly amidst the hills; but the drone of the jeweled insects was his only answer.
ooOOoo
The Vulcan shuddered, his face contorting as he struggled to speak. Chekov leaned closer to try to comprehend - surely he had misunderstood! The first officer groaned audibly, alarming Pavel. Spock's breathing became labored and shallow; again he fought to speak.
"Hit me; hit me now! Quickly!"
Chekov cursed softly. Scott never said anything about this! He checked Spock's vital signs; they had grown erratic. Spock had paled to an unnatural white, a sheen lf perspiration covering his forehead.
"They can only court-martial me," he muttered, and the young Russian struck a superior officer for the first time in his life. Spock inhaled sharply and whispered something barely audible - had he said, 'again'? Pavel shrugged resignedly and slapped him once more.
This time there was no mistake; Spock said, emphatically, "Again!"
Under orders now, the ensign cheerfully went about his duty until the Vulcan's fierce grip stopped his hand in mid-air. For a moment, as Chekov looked into fully cognizant black eyes, he saw his career in shambles, his name removed from Starfleet records for all time. . .
"That will do, Ensign," said Spock, obliterating the Russian's morbid thoughts. "Thank you."
"You are-welcome, Mr. Spock." Chekov offered a hand and pulled him up.
"Mr. Chekov, we seem to be alone."
"Yes, sir. Mr. Scott said the captain was missing and went to look for him." He pulled the strap of the tricorder over his head and held the unit out to the Vulcan. "He knew you'd be conscious soon and would be needing his readings and report." He watched Spock scan Scott's information. "Do we wait here, sir?"
Spock considered the situation a moment, his brow furrowed in thought. Chekov thought he saw pain written there, but shrugged it off. If Vulcans were in pain, they certainly didn't admit it.
"I cannot answer that question until we determine our location."
"But Mr. Spock, the captain..."
Spock glanced at the wrecked door. A brief vision of Kirk, lying unconscious in his arms, flashed in Spock's memory, his friend's pain lancing through him via physical contact. His own features spasmed for a moment before he regained control. The captain. . . Blinking, he turned back to the ensign. "Mr. Scott will find him, if anyone can, Mr. Chekov. You and I, on the other hand, must concentrate on what has happened here and the possible ramifications. We should not be on this planet."
The Vulcan, finding all systems down on the shuttle, manually keyed open a panel and withdrew a set of Federation charts. Handing several rolls of flimsy copy to Chekov, he spread a sheet out on a blackened panel and activated the tricorder.
"According to these preliminary readings," he murmured, eyes on the tricorder screen, "the nearest densely populated area is approximately five point four kilometers east of here. Spock paused a moment and passed a hand over his eyes before he again let his gaze wander outside. "But where is here?"
In the middle of nowhere, Pavel thought, as he unrolled his own sheet.
ooOOoo
Scott saw him immediately, curled up as if asleep under the spreading arms of a large tree. Like a kid on holiday, he found himself thinking. Holiday. He was supposed to be on holiday, but this mission had come up. Kirk had asked for him specifically, though any good pilot would have done. For that matter, Kirk could have done the piloting and there would have been room for McCoy, and it would have been one big, happy family...
The engineer cursed himself, angry that his personal problems would surface now, when he needed to think clearly. He scurried down the hillside, heedless of outcropping stones and uneven ground, bent solely on reaching his C.O. Catching his toe on a stone, he fell sprawling; scrambling up again, his knees and elbows smarted with new abrasions. Absently, he wiped at the grime now covering him as he hurried over to Kirk. Kneeling, he gently shook the captain's shoulder. Kirk's eyes opened and widened in recognition.
"Scotty! Where did you. . . I was just. . ." The captain seemed at a loss for words as he got up - too carefully, Scot noticed - favoring his left side.
"I've just come from the shuttle, Captain. It was sheer luck I found you. We were all shook up a bit when she landed and you got away from us. I was afraid you were hurt."
Jim placed a hand to the back of his skull. "A bump on the head, I think." He shifted his weight, unsure of whether his legs would continue to hold him up, and cradled his ribcage. "Maybe bruised a rib or two." His eyes narrowed as he surveyed his engineer more closely. "What happened to you?"
"Me?" Scotty looked down in amazement at his befouled clothes, only now noticing the pungent aroma emanating from them. "Oh, no," he groaned reeling with chagrin.
"What is it? Are you hurt?" Kirk grabbed the Scotsman's arm in alarm, then stared in wonder as the engineer broke out in laughter. He withdrew his hand and gazed at it, his nose wrinkling at the smell. Slowly, his frown creased into a wry smile. "It's been a long time since I've come in contact with this particular specimen, Mr. Scott."
"Aye, sir," the engineer managed to say, trying with minor success to control his grin. "I'll wager you won't be shed of it anytime soon, either, at least until we can find some place to wash."
"Let's head back for the shuttle, then. Wonder what Spock will think of us?"
"No doubt he'll find us fascinating, sir."
"No doubt." He looked the engineer over again and let out a chuckle, instantly regretting it.
Scott saw the captain try to cover his discomfort. "Are you up to a walk, then?"
"I think so," came the reply. "Just take it slow."
They had reached the top of the rise when a darkness fell over the countryside, as if the sun were suddenly eclipsed. A strange shaft of green light streaked across the false night, accompanied by a vibrant humming, barely perceptible.
Instinctively, both men threw themselves to the ground, feeling very vulnerable in the stark openness of the barren ridge.
The great light grew more intense, with no discernable source that Scotty could see, but he felt his senses grow confused, as if he were experiencing the effect of a badly-adjusted transporter. Closing his eyes against the nausea which racked him, he failed to see the abrupt dissolution of the beam, but the fading of the humming sound alerted him that for now at least, they were safe. But safe from what?
He opened his eyes and stood up, the disorientation draining away slowly, leaving him wobbly. There was no sign of the beam of light, no sign of a disturbance of any sort. Had they experienced a probe of some kind? If they had it was of an enormous magnitude, far beyond his ken. It reminded him somehow of the energy field they had encountered before crashing...
The captain was struggling to stand at his side and Scotty leaned down to help him up. Kirk stifled a groan and bit his lip, managing only to stand in a crouch, hands on thighs.
"Captain, you're in no condition to walk back to the shuttle. I'll find a sheltered place for you to rest and bring Mr. Spock with me."
Kirk shook his head 'no' and slowly straightened. "Had the wind knocked out of me, Scotty, that's all." He glanced around worriedly. "What did you make of that?"
"An energy beam of some kind, though without my instruments I canna do more than guess. I thought for a moment someone was trying to beam us up."
Kirk nodded. "I had the same feeling, but it was like whoever was doing the beaming couldn't make up his mind which part of me to take first."
"Aye," answered the engineer, thinking it was high time to get back to the shuttle. The crash must have shaken him up more than he realized - he should have brought along a medikit. A hypo would have soon had the captain feeling more comfortable, but that would have to wait, now. "Come on, then. Let me help you." Kirk made no protest as Scotty slipped an arm around his waist and helped him down the long slope.
They had nearly made it to the bottom when they passed under a small outcropping, overgrown with vines and flowering rock-plants. Without warning, a whole section of it gave way, sending down a cascade of small rocks and dirt. Scotty jerked Kirk and himself back as quickly as his burden would allow, but did not make it clear of the falling debris. When the dust cleared, the two men lay sprawled among the rubble, unmoving.