In
the Eye of the Beholder
by Westel
"Ensign…Ensign Chekov! Wake up."
Chekov heard the voice as from a great distance, a blackness and dull roar surrounding him like a midnight storm. Gradually, as the voice continued to call him, the smothering sensation eased and he eventually found himself opening his eyes to look around his own room.
Caspar sat next to him on the edge of the bed, his kindly face etched with worry. The Russian reached up to touch a cool cloth resting on his forehead, realizing his gentle friend had placed it there. As he lay quietly, taking in his surroundings, he suddenly frowned in puzzlement. "Sir, how did I get here? The last thing I remember is walking on the green – I thought I was going to pass out."
Caspar smiled at him. "You did."
Pavel didn't know how to respond to that, so he tried sitting up, Caspar pushing pillows behind him. The navigator's eyes were drawn to the large window through which the calm, sparkling bay could be seen, beckoning beach-walkers. But his body's weakness mocked his desire to be outside. He sighed heavily and found, to his horror, that tears dimmed his vision.
"Ah, our patient is awake, I see!" boomed a large voice, made to order for the hulk of a man who bounded into the room. He stopped short at the look on his patient's face, however, before continuing: "Now, this won't do, won't do at all. Caspar, get up off his bed so I can take a look at this young man!"
Caspar grinned, shaking his head. "Don't let this overbearing old fool bother you. This is Trent, my old friend and physician. Don't ever play any lawn games with him, though," he whispered conspiringly, as he stood aside. "He cheats!" Chekov cocked an eyebrow.
"He only says that because he's a poor loser, Mr. Chekov. I'm happy to make your acquaintance, though I wish it had been under better circumstances."
The young man shook the doctor's offered hand and mumbled a greeting, still uncomfortable that the doctor had found him near tears. He was made even more uncomfortable by the cause of them – the inability to do anything for himself. The Enterprise wouldn't be back for another two days and, at the rate of his decline, he wasn't going to make it back to the bridge. He hadn't been able to work on the report, either. . .
The report!
"Oh, no. Sir, how long have I been here?" Chekov halted, aware of his abruptness. "Excuse me, Dr. Trent, but I… Caspar, how long?"
"Overnight, son. You've had a good night's sleep, thanks to Trent's little sleep potion, and he gave you some medication to strengthen your heart. You just lie there quietly until your ship arrives, then your physician can take over and repair what damage. . . what is it?" asked the old man, confused by Chekov's shaking head.
"I can't just lie here, Caspar. Look, we've talked about this unknown factor which alters the Hemera rays' effect on people. I can't deny I was sent here to investigate the disappearances of certain people, people who came here to rest, relax – and instead were never seen or heard from again. From what I've learned so far, this Mai Li molecule is the crux of the whole puzzle."
"You can give the report to your commanding officer when they pick you up. All the information is stored in the computer," said Caspar, soothingly.
Despite his friendship for Caspar, the navigator was growing tired of his half-truths, placating deferrals, and patronizing attitude. "Is it?" he snapped. "Can I go to the computer right now and call it up? It was your voice pattern which saved the data. I was getting too close to something you'd prefer to keep hidden, wasn't I? There's more to it than clueless visitors falling ill or succumbing to the process. You haven't told anyone – warned anyone!" He lay back against the pillows, the emotional outburst tiring him.
"Caspar," he continued more gently, seeing hurt all too clearly in his guide's eyes, "I'm sorry to have to ask you these questions, but you haven't been totally honest with me since I beamed down."
Caspar looked up at the physician, who shrugged resignedly and walked over to the window, looking out at the broadening day. The old guide pulled up a chair and sat next to Chekov's bed, lacing fingers together in his lap before he spoke.
"We've known about the Mai Li effect for some time. No, let me go on," he said, cutting off Pavel's protest. "God knows I've held it in long enough." He paused a moment collecting his thoughts.
"When I first came here, as did Trent, we were with the first colonizing group – about a hundred and fifty of us, ranging in ages between thirty and fifty-five. Trent and I were in the older group. As I said before, the planet had been scanned, checked out for a preliminary first stage colonization. Things went well for a few days, everything going according to schedule, sites surveyed for future buildings and landscaping – that sort of thing. Then some of us began aging very quickly. The funny thing was, we didn't feel it, didn't even notice it – at least, those of us who were turning grey and becoming wrinkled. It was the youngsters, the 30 year olds, who saw it. They panicked. Our transport wasn't due for another two months and our communications weren't designed to contact anything closer than a passing ship, so we were marooned here with no other alternative than to deal with the situation as best we could.
"Interestingly enough, Trent, myself, and some others noticed that even though we looked older, we were still vigorous and perfectly capable of carrying on our work. In fact, we were better able to handle things than the youngsters. They were the ones who grew weaker daily, hourly even. Then some of them began to die. That was a terrible time," he remembered, his eyes mirroring the horror of watching men and women, seemingly in the prime of life, struck down by ancient geriatric diseases.
"Some of the younger ones, seeing their friends die, ceased to struggle against the inevitable. You can imagine how surprised we were when they stopped dying."
"Surprised, yes," said Pavel, raising himself up on one elbow. "But I still don't understand why you have hidden this information until now. Hid it from me when you knew why I was here. What about those missing people? How do you account for them?"
"That wasn't entirely his fault," interjected the doctor. "Let me finish the story. The young ones, the ones who refused to accept accelerated aging – well, some of them went berserk. It was probably due to degeneration of brain synapses, but they were still strong enough to be violent. They enticed the Grey Robes, the ones who had allowed themselves to age only after suffering some of the irreversible damage caused by their own initial resistance."
"Enticed them. . . to violence, you mean."
"Exactly. We had no choice but to run them off. They were dropping dead, anyway!" he cried defensively, seeing the accusing look in the Russian's eyes. "I could do nothing for them! Try to understand – I hadn't come equipped to treat geriatric diseases among our age group!"
"So, when your transport finally came—" began the Russian.
"They fond ninety-eight of us left alive," said Caspar. "Most of us were healthy and active, ready to stay in order to initiate stages two and three. We were prepared to make this planet a colonized world set up under its own government and ready to conduct interstellar business.
"Some were 'damaged', true, but we took care of them here with new geriatric medicines, giving them meaningful jobs to perform and a place to call home. The others we. . . we reported dead, destroyed by a fabricated virus which had hit us all, allegedly picked up somewhere during our journey here.
"Trent and I concocted a story which convinced our sponsors. It didn't take much, considering they were just as anxious to get this high-budget undertaking off the ground as we were. Don't you see?" he pleaded, holding out his hand in supplication. "This was our life! Everything we owned was invested in this project – there was nothing else we could do!"
Pavel was sorry to hear this from someone he had grown so fond of in such a short time, someone he had wanted to trust. He was sorry that he would have to report everything to Captain Kirk. He regretted ever having set foot on this miserable planet. He grimaced as the now familiar band of pain tightened in his chest.
"Wait, Caspar," said Trent, as he came back over to Chekov's bed. "Let me give him another hypo. He should have had it as soon as he woke up." Pulling a hypo spray from a bag on a table nearby, he held it up to the light and then administered it into Pavel's shoulder with a cool hiss.
Chekov lay back with his eyes closed, forcing himself to breathe deeply until the medication began to take effect. The intense physical discomfort receded quickly, but the emotional pain remained. There was bitterness in his voice as the Russian continued the conversation. "So, you've been carrying on this little ruse ever since."
"Yes." Caspar would not look at the young ensign.
"When did you discover it was the Mai Li molecule which triggered the process?"
"I discovered it," said Trent, looming over Chekov's bed like a gnarled oak tree. "Twenty years ago. I know what you're going to say. But I couldn't ask for outside help to figure out a way to neutralize it. One little leak and we'd be carted off to some penal colony, losing everything! The older we got, the more afraid we were of being found out."
"We designed brochures and holovids to appeal to the older clientele," said Caspar, sill avoiding Pavel's eyes. "Older folks benefit from this place. They rest, recuperate, even rejuvenate to a certain extent. But we didn't account for younger customers who were just as much in need of quiet, repose. They came, despite the advertisements, and again, we couldn't turn them away for fear of arousing suspicion. Most of them stayed only long enough to feel it. We encouraged them, with Trent's 'diagnoses', to go home to recuperate. Many of them followed our advice. A few, a very few, did not. They are the ones who died, and have not been seen by friends or family again."
"You came up with a story to explain their disappearances, of course." Chekov's eyes darkened with a blacker emotion. "I suppose the same way you plan to explain mine." Pavel looked down at his crossed arms, unaware of Caspar's stricken face.
"Didn't you care about the families of these people?" he continued. "Not knowing where they are; wondering if they are marooned on some unknown planet or their atoms scattered all over space; captured by a pirate band or enemy!"
"Oh, you're real good at showing the righteous anger, aren't you? Well, haven't you forgotten something? Haven't you forgotten him?" Trent pointed to Caspar, who sat slumped in the chair, his face buried in his hands. The little man seemed smaller than before, his shoulders shaking in half-smothered sobs.
Trent placed a protective hand on his friend's shoulder. "We were wrong, Chekov, in the way we handled it from the beginning. Once initiated, we had to continue with it, or face an empty future. But we never intended to hurt anyone." He shook his head. "It seems that our lies have finally caught up with us, that's true. But what I cannot understand is your attitude toward Caspar, who's done nothing but protect you, care for you since your arrival. He even defended you when you were attacked on the green."
"A-attacked?" Pavel stuttered, his focus switching to the now quiet Caspar. "I don't remember. . ." He reached for the old man's hands and pulled them away, holding them in his own. "Caspar. . .Sir, look at me, please." Caspar raised his sorrowful eyes to those of the ensign, tears still wet on his cheeks.
"Who attacked us? The Grey Robes?"
"Yes." The guide cleared his throat, gently withdrew his hands from the Russian's, and sat up straighter. You had collapsed and I was unable to lift you. I'm not quite that strong." He smiled, tentatively. Chekov smiled back, and Caspar found the courage to continue. "They were jealous of you, as I explained in the library. You stand out like a nebula, with your brown hair and fair, smooth skin. Most of the Grey Robes are fairly old now, but they still remember in their damaged minds, that they were once like you. When they see someone young, or even view a holograph, they become aggressive. I must admit their periodic aggression has been increasing, of late. Yesterday they approached us after you lost consciousness."
"He could have run away, Ensign. I want you to fully understand that," said the doctor, defensively. "The gendarmes were on the other side of the building, rounding up most of the Grey Robes, and he hade every excuse to run to them. He just might have made it back in time to prevent you from sustaining any damage; then again, he might not."
Chekov turned his gaze from the doctor back to Caspar and felt the blush of shame. "You stayed with me?"
"Yes, although the gendarmes came in plenty of time. Neither one of us was struck or harmed in any way. Then some help came and I was able to get you back here, where you belonged."
"The way I spoke to you just now," Pavel began, his speech slow. "You didn't deserve that." He felt Trent's baleful eyes upon him.
"Oh, yes I did," Caspar answered, darting a frown at his old friend before continuing. "How can I fault you for your convictions? If you can't hold onto them, what do you have? They will grow as you do, if you let them. Isn't that right,Trent?"
But Trent was looking with horror at something outside the window and had not heard a word Caspar had uttered.
"Oh, my God!"
"What is it?" said Caspar and Chekov in unison. Caspar hurried to Trent's side, his own eyes widening in fear.
Pavel threw his legs over the side of his bed, finding himself clad in one of the loose-flowing robes Caspar so often wore. He tried to stand, but his legs wouldn't support him and he fell to his knees before Caspar and Trent could reach him. They ran to his side and sat him back on the bed, Trent hurrying to administer more medication.
"This isn't due for another hour, Mr. Chekov, but we have unexpected company and you must be ambulatory," explained the doctor as he shot the stimulant home. "I knew this would happen soon. It looks like the Grey Robes have done a little more than start a commotion this time," he muttered to Caspar as they went out the side door and crossed the square, Chekov supported between them.
Caspar looked over his shoulder at the following crowd and saw that the robes of many in the crowd were now spattered red. He did not want to linger on what those stains might represent. . .instead he looked ahead to the hills in the distance, the only place they might find sanctuary from the pursuing mob.
"We'll just have to out-distance them, that's all," he panted.
"And if we don't?" asked the pessimistic physician.
"Don't even think about it."
ooOOoo
"Standard orbit, Captain."
"Captain," called Uhura, "I am unable to raise Mr. Chekov, but the emergency signal on his communicator has been activated!"
Kirk darted a look at his science officer before ordering Uhura to have the communicator and whoever was holding it beamed aboard immediately. He and Spock hurried to the transporter room, where a security team stood ready.
The person who materialized on the platform was wrinkled and bent with age, covered with blood, and totally out of her mind. She lunged for Spock, bellowing with rage, before he stopped her with a nerve pinch and lowered her gently to the deck.
McCoy, bursting in a few moments later, ordered her taken to sickbay for further examination. Just before they took her out, Bones pried something from her fingers and handed it to Kirk with an accusing look.
It was Chekov's communicator, partly crushed by the strength of the wild woman's grasp.
