Night of the Eagle
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Chapter One: Prologue
Of course, Senak heard it first. Absorbed in a very delicate stage of her experiment, Keetah paid little attention as he suddenly left his own console and went unhurriedly over to the ventilation shaft. High above, the drift-wind howled and whined, distorting the almost imperceptible noise.
"What is it?" Puzzled by his silence, Keetah glanced around, then crossed the lab to join him. "Senak?"
He raised a slim-fingered hand to silence her. "Listen."
Obediently, Keetah pushed back the hood of her thermo-parka and placed her ear close to the vibrating metal of the shaft. A few seconds was enough to identify the low rumble of sound.
"An atmospheric vessel." She looked up at his proud, enigmatic face. "Could it be that Sirak has returned at last?"
They could hear it clearly now, the deep throb of engines plain even in the hibernation labs, the deepest compartment of the laboratory dome.
"No, it is not Sirak." Senak said abruptly, his breath puffing out clouds of vapor as it met the near-freezing air.
Keetah nodded, regret well-concealed behind the stoic mask of her people – the mask that had won her the guarded approval of the even more self-contained Vulcans she worked amongst. But if not the leader of their research team, then who was it? Few people were drawn to the frozen hell that was Hiemal wolf-world: an occasional outlaw willing to gamble life and limb for an illegal cargo of hides and fur, the odd scientist interested in their somewhat esoteric research into hibernation and estivation, but no one else. In the two years since they had been stationed on the wolf-world, this was the first time the galaxy outside had intruded on them.
Bounded by the wolf-world, Keetah's life had become interwoven with those of her Vulcan teammates. She wished no disruption of the smooth cooperation which had grown between them all.
"Could it be our routine starship check?" Keetah offered doubtfully. "The Enterprise is due within the next month or two. Or perhaps our reliefs from Main Base…"
"Illogical." Senak's voice was toneless, but she knew he welcomed this interruption no more than she. "A starship would use its transporters rather than risk a shuttle here. Nor could it be our replacements. Can you not hear? It is a large vessel with powerful engines and has been circling for some time now.
"Trying to locate us!" Keetah guessed, feeling the instant response to danger which was her ancestral legacy. "Why?"
"To learn that, we must go to the surface."
"You also believe trouble flies above us." Keetah accused.
Senak's gaze was level, reproving. "I did not say so. We will need full protective gear. The drift-wing grows in force."
He crossed to the always ready outdoor gear, swiftly donning insulated, double-layered furs, stout fur-lined boots, windproof gloves, and finally the snow-mask and goggles – essential if they were to survive the blinding white-death droning across the world above them. Keetah dressed with equal speed.
To leave the hibernation chamber they had to use an air lock. Base Two was a prefabricated, reinforced structure transported from Sigma Draconis, deeply sunken in a pit blasted from the ice and rock, only the entrance above ground. Sleeping quarters, storage rooms, transport hatch, and kitchen facilities were grouped nearer the surface. Life was bearable during a duty spell at the lab, for the rosters changed constantly, but only just in the freezing, below-zero temperatures.
A long corridor led to a steep ramp and the surface air lock. Senak went first, slipping his goggles down over his eyes as he pushed through the drifts of snow and ice blocking the entrance. Keetah followed. Although prepared for the biting cold that would leech air from her lungs, it still left her coughing violently, bent double against the force of the wind. Turning her back on the icy blasts that moaned like a soul in torment, the ice particles lashing into her face, she fumbled on snow mask and goggles.
Above the ceaseless howling she picked up another sound: the booming roar of engines straining at full capacity against the force of the drift-wind. Keetah turned full circle, trying to pinpoint the source, but it was Senak's Vulcan eyesight that finally located the obscured craft.
"There." He had to shout to make himself heard over the shrieking gale. Keetah followed his pointing finger, eyes screwed into slits against the fine white mist of endless, everlasting wind-drift, the licking snow shrouding vision. She watched the craft approach through the flying spray. Then it was bearing down on them, its sleek lines unmistakable, and Keetah reached instinctively for the weapons she did not carry. "Klingon!"
Senak caught her arm in a punishing grip, swinging her around to the dome. "It is attacking. Run, Keetah!" he yelled. "Get to the hibernation chamber. It is the safest place."
The Klingon craft dipped as its sensors became aware of them. Two brilliant streaks of high-energy light stabbed into the murk, cutting into impacted ice and snow, and sending up a cloud of boiling steam. Senak hesitated at the entrance, shephering her inside, glancing back at the deadly shape even now swooping down on them again like a gigantic bird of prey….
…. And fell, as an actinic blue beam seared through furs and flesh alike. Keetah reacted without thought grabbing Senak and all but throwing him away from the open hatch as another burst of fire lashed furiously scan inches from them. Ignoring the pain, she slid on back and elbows down to the floor of the corridor below, shielding the injured Vulcan as best she could. She was in time…just. A nearby burst of scorching energy lashed over the bubbling ice and snow, crushing the outer hatch like tissue paper. The Klingons were firing indiscriminately, hoping to wipe them out in a barrage of fire.
Barely conscious, Senak moaned deep in his throat. In the reflected blaze of light, Keetah could see him, and her stomach heaved. Dark eyes, lidded by the inner nictitating membrane, stared sightlessly at her, a thin trickle of blood oozing from the charred, blackened ruin of the left side of his face, chest and body; an injury which must have been fatal had he been human; yet still he lived, clinging to life with Vulcan tenacity, unwilling to surrender to unbearable agony.
"Senak?"
He stirred at her desperate cry, the membrane withdrawing as he struggled to focus on her. "Go… Keetah… leave me."
Bright blood frothed over his burnt lips and he choked and coughed, fighting to raise himself. Cradling him protectively in her arms, Keetah gently restrained the movement.
"I will not leave you, for those to find." She indicated the world above, "Can you stand… walk?"
"My injuries are too severe. You must go. There… can be no help for me … and their…sensors are…aware…"
"I will not leave you, Senak. This I have said!"
"Illogical. The … Federation… Sirak…must be warned. Your duty…to survive. Return…Main Base. They…will…will…."
Abrupty the lights wnet out as another explosion rocked the dome. Shadows danced crazily as the floor rose and fell beneath them. They must have taken a direct hit. Keetah forgot everything but the need to get them to a safer place before they were buried alive. Scrambling to her feet, she grabbed Senak's uninjured arm, urging him to his feet, feeling the lean, heavy body shudder and almost collapse at this further demand upon it. Senak gripped her arm in return, face mortally stricken, holding on until his knuckles turned white.
"Lean on me." There was no time to consider Vulcan pride. Only Senak's indomitable will was keeping him on his feet. That would have to suffice for the moment.
"I can…walk."
The started down the corridor, but after only a few steps it was clear that Senak had come to the end of his strength. Pride insisted that he keep going, especially before a human female, but the Vulcan's slender body was failing him. His knees buckled and only Keetah's encircling arm kept him from falling headlong. She cried out, urging him to greater effort…too late.
A fresh shock sent them both sprawling. As Keetah scrabbled to her feet, something crashed down from overhead, tearing Senak out of her arms. She heard him scream "T'Pila, no!" as the corridor collapsed in a welter of falling debris; then a heavy beam caught her forehead a glancing blow.
She could only have been out for a bare minute or two, The wreckage was still settling as Keetah clawed her way frantically to where a twisted, broken thing sprawled like an unwanted, discarded doll. For an endless moment she stared down at what remained of Senak, thought briefly of the others at Main Base. Then slowly she raised her face to the now-buried hatchway. It was impassive, giving no indication of her hearbreak,t he terrible grief and pain she must never voice aloud.
"I am …Apache! I am…Apache!" Keetah said the words over and over through clenched teeth. Again – and for the last time- her eyes slowly roamed over her dead companion – and past him to where sticky, tarlike insul-foam dripped black and viscid down one wall. She reached out, three fingers extended, hesitated momentarily, dipped into the stuff – and drew it swiftly down one cheek.
"There will be an accounting they will never forget, E'dik'e – heart-friend. I, Keetah, Cuchillo's daughter, maid of the Apache, have said this."
Without another glance at the broken body lying behind her amid the debris, Keetah turned and raced as quickly as she dared along the littered corridor to the storage rooms, and through them to her own quarters. There was much she must accomplish – supplies and weapons gathered, a refuge sought – before Klingon blood flowed, but flow it would. Now in all truth she must live as her forebears had done, with the war-lance always to hand.
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5
A collaboration between Marie Hietala and Karracaz
EDITORS' REMARKS (Regarding printed zine)
The Night of the Eagle is a Spock novella. It came to us, literally, by one of those miracles of happenstance that befalls people of our trade from time to time. And while we're proud to present the talent of Marie to American readers, we know we owe thanks aplenty. To Marie, for sharing her adventuresome talent and love for Trek. To Johanna Cantor and Mardi Lamski for their cooperation and hard work. To Suzan Lovett: her illos are spirited and true to the story, and her talent joins with The Night of the Eagle to make it shine all the more.
And this story does shine. Written and illoed by Spock fans, we know it is their hope that all who read it will enjoy!
Ingrid Cross and Joyce Tullock.
Illustrations were by Suzan Lovett
Printed in U.K. as Night of the Wolf.
Copyright May 1985 by Odyssey Press. The Night of the Eagle is an amateur publication and is not intended to infringe on anyone holding copyrights to Star Trek properties. All rights revert to the authors and artist.
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