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Beta'd by Distracted, to whom all due thanks!
In the intervening weeks winter had come early to the High Plains.
The clouds hung low, scudding on a spiteful wind. The herds had long gone. The grass was like a sea of attenuated ghosts, scorched by frost; it whispered amazement at their return.
During the approach the shuttle passed low over the mining site. Wind and sleet had begun softening out the edges of the blasting scars – when the warmth returned the snow-melt would lie in the hollows, a haven for wildlife. Not far from where they had landed, a pack of grey animals quarreled over a handful of bleached bones.
The river gully was directly ahead of them, cut like a wound into the flesh of the plain. Trip was piloting the shuttle, and brought it lightly to land as close to it as possible.
"Phase pistols to hand at all times, please," Malcolm reminded the other two members of the landing party as they prepared to exit. "And if – when – we find one of the parasite-creatures, please let me do the shooting if possible." He hefted a rifle. "We want one alive for preference, but if you feel you or anyone else is in any danger whatsoever just shoot first and ask questions later." They had a net in one of the rucksacks of course, but given that they were dealing with a creature which posed such a deadly threat to its victims, the security officer felt very much happier with the thought of immobilizing it before even attempting to catch it.
"Business as usual, hey, Malcolm?" murmured Trip teasingly.
"It's the first time I've had to impersonate a zoo keeper. Oddly enough, catching wild animals didn't figure particularly strongly in my Security training."
They opened the door. The wind from outside burst in and slapped them hard, making them thankful for the thickness of their jackets.
"Will you be okay?" Tucker turned to T'Pol in some concern. Under ordinary circumstances he probably wouldn't have asked, but these weren't ordinary circumstances. Her physical condition was now far from robust.
"I do not anticipate this mission taking long. Your concern is appreciated, however."
Reed caught his friend's wry grimace.
The mission, as they had envisaged it, certainly didn't take long.
All around them the trees were silent, so that the sound of their feet among the mounded dead leaves was shockingly loud. Rime rimmed the bare twigs and the twisted, skeletal heaps of bramble that lay among the trees. Not even the wind moved. Overhead, beyond the still black tracery of naked boughs, the sky was a pale, washed-out blue that crackled with cold.
The thicket was bare and deserted. Hardly a leaf remained on the branches. The undergrowth was sere and shriveled. Repeated sweeps of the scanners revealed hardly anything bigger than hibernating insects wedged into crevices in the bark.
"This was the tree." The science officer stopped beside one that was tall and sturdy, with whitish bark mottled with cloudy grey markings. She remembered it with painful clarity.
"They've gone," said Trip blankly as they ended their third fruitless search of the area. "Unless there was only the one and it..."
"Came to a sticky end," finished Malcolm darkly. "If the situation was different I'd say good riddance. Unfortunately, it isn't."
"There is a good deal of forest further down river," T'Pol pointed out calmly. "Enterprise will probably be absent for some days. We have more than sufficient time for continuing our search."
Tucker looked at her dubiously. "It could be a hike. Will you … be up to that? Or shall we go back and get the shuttle and fly down?"
"I am not an invalid, Commander."
Their expressions indicated that they would have liked to argue, even if she hadn't outranked them both; but she wanted to make as few concessions to her condition as possible, and by Vulcan standards the reply had been rather tart. After returning to the shuttle to fetch what they would need for a longer hike, they set off, crossing the river to follow the route that Trip had been taken by his kidnappers.
"Not that I remember a whole lot of it," he admitted. "I was just too shaken up to pay that much attention." He cocked an eye at Malcolm. "How is McKenna, by the way?"
"Back at work. On light duties only, of course. Begging me never to send him on an away mission with you again." A malicious grin. "Just one mission and you broke his nerve, the poor man."
"Should'a brought him with us down to Risa."
"Don't mention that place." The grin vanished; he shuddered.
"Your report on what exactly happened on Risa was singularly vague," remarked T'Pol, recalling the incident. "I think the captain would have liked further clarification."
"Just a cultural ... misunderstandin', Sub-commander," answered the chief engineer in something of a hurry as Malcolm scowled. "Nothin' serious at all."
"It must have been quite a serious misunderstanding to have involved you losing all your clothes," she commented. For some reason the episode had obviously caused considerable perturbation to both of them, and her curiosity was mildly piqued.
"If it had just been Trip's shirt they took I'd have thought it might have been something to do with Risa's Sartorial Standards Regulations." Reed plainly decided that attacking his fellow victim was the best form of defense. "They must have some."
"Now hold on there!" Commander Tucker inflated with delighted indignation as a familiar avenue of bickering opened up. "There was nothin' wrong with my shirt!"
"Nothing that being bleached and put down a waste disposal unit wouldn't have cured."
"Well your damned shirt was so boring, if you'd'a stood still for two minutes you'd have disappeared into the wallpaper!"
"At least somebody would have had my shirt pattern for wallpaper. In a quite upmarket establishment, actually. They wouldn't have used yours in a cheap curry restaurant in downtown Hong Kong. It'd have put the diners off their food."
"Gentlemen," T'Pol said mildly, "we may be alone in this area at present, but we should bear in mind that the ship is no longer in orbit to warn us of anyone approaching our position, so it would be wise not to make too much noise."
"Yeah, like the ship did a fine job of warnin' us last time!" Trip lowered his voice somewhat but went back into the attack on another old grievance.
Malcolm glared. "We were in the middle of a tactical exercise, sir," he hissed. "One that, as I believe I've mentioned before, you should have been taking part in. And if you had been – or even if you'd confined yourself to just plotting the blasting site, which is what you came down here for in the first place – then you wouldn't have been in a position to inflame the locals!"
The Vulcan sighed. It was like being in charge of two poorly disciplined children. "And the creatures we are searching for may have extremely good hearing."
That shut them both up.
They reached the camp site just over an hour later. The gully had offered pockets of forestation right up to that point, but here it ended. Although there had been a fair number of the right sort of tree, and the landing party had scanned every tree they came across anyway, the situation was the same: the whole area was empty of any life of any significant size whatsoever.
"I can't believe this!" Trip looked around in despair. "Did somebody beam every one of these critters into space or somethin'?"
"We do not know anything about their life cycle," T'Pol pointed out. "It may be that having laid their 'egg', they die. That would account for none being left."
"Oh, great." He ran a hand through his blond hair, rumpling it still further. "So now what?"
"Now, I suggest that our next alternative is to search woodlands further south, at a latitude where the ambient temperature corresponds to the weather here when we last visited." She consulted her PADD. "There is a very large area of woodland indeed further down on the continent. That should provide our best chance."
"Inhabited?" asked Malcolm warily.
"As far as I recall from the ship's scanners, hardly at all. One large city, situated on the coast. As long as we give that a wide berth and exercise due caution there is ample space for us to carry out a search undetected."
"We should wait until dusk to fly in though. Gives us the best chance of not being spotted by anyone who might be there. And use the shuttle's scanners to make sure we don't set down on top of anyone by accident." He looked across at Trip, who was staring around the open area with a strangely wistful expression on his face. "Are you all right, sir?"
"Yeah. 'Kay." He walked slowly towards the rim of the forest, stopped, and glanced around. T'Pol eyed him rather apprehensively, but since he had his back to her she couldn't see how he looked now. She strongly suspected that he was trying to remember what had happened here – events that she, unfortunately, could remember extremely well.
She should have talked to him about it when he had so obviously wanted her to. She had failed him so badly, and now it was too late. Even if he asked her outright – which was unlikely given Lieutenant Reed's inhibiting presence – what would discussing it achieve? The exhaustion that the simple act of carrying a rucksack this far had caused her told her that her body was failing fast. Too late. It was all too late. She couldn't even control her emotions any more, for what invaded her heart just then was surely despair and remorse. Most Humans were light-minded in matters of partnerships; the Vulcan database had been clear on that. She had thought that Commander Tucker was one of them. Now she was beginning to suspect that she had been wrong on that score, horribly wrong. And if so, she had done him an injustice that it was beginning to seem increasingly likely she would not live long enough to correct.
After a moment he turned around. For just a second the blueness of his eyes was the only thing in her world, but there was only gentleness on his face. He would not burden her with inappropriate emotions again. Not here, not now, perhaps never again. At that moment she could have put her face in her hands and wept at the knowledge of how much she had lost.
Regret was illogical. The day was passing, and the hours of daylight were becoming fewer. They had to return to the shuttle, eat a meal, examine the maps, and plot a suitable landing area in the forest further south. That, at least, should give her mind something useful to do.
She gave the orders.
They landed the shuttle safely in an isolated clearing late that evening. The scanners had picked up nothing within range, although they passed between the city T'Pol had mentioned yesterday and a large chain of mountains that extended down the heart of the continent. Apart from the city, the few inhabited areas were confined to the coast, though bio-signs high among the mountains suggested that a number of Skaira were there. There was no saying whether Shiránnor was among them.
The forest was enormous and seemingly virtually trackless. Clear patches of ground were few and far between, and not all of them were suitable landing places. The landing party would have to do much of their searching on foot.
There seemed no reason to court danger by exploring the forest at night, so they pitched tents outside the shuttle and set up camp. Dinner was peaceful. The wind had dropped. The woods all around them were silent, but it seemed somehow a friendly silence, hardly disturbed by the occasional infinitesimal pattering of falling leaves. Close beside the shuttle a late-flowering tree bent under heavy sprays of flowers whose scent perfumed the air.
The lack of significant bio-signs persuaded them that there was no danger in making a small fire. It was comforting, as well as providing warmth while they prepared for sleep. T'Pol, however, made her excuses and retired to bed early.
"That's unusual," murmured Malcolm, as soon as they were alone.
"I know." Trip poked the fire restlessly with a stick. "And she was having real trouble carryin' her rucksack by the time we got back to the shuttle this mornin'. Did you notice? I'd have offered to carry it for her, but she'd probably have bitten my head off."
"Mm." The armory officer frowned. "Sir, do we ... is Phlox certain about the time frame? She doesn't seem like her usual self at all."
"I know as much as you do, Malcolm." He sighed heavily. "I'm just hopin' we can get hold of one of those damned things real quick tomorrow and be ready with it as soon as we hear a peep out of the ship."
"If we don't get lucky, you know – though obviously I hope we do – we can still contact the people here. I know the captain's thinking along those lines."
"I don't know what lines the cap'n's thinkin' along these days." The retort was sharper and perhaps rather more revealing than he'd intended. "In all honesty, I'm real glad he didn't come down here. That Bird of Prey was the best thing that could've happened, if you ask me."
Reed was silent for a moment. "You're still worried about him."
"Hell, yes. Oh, not – not like he's losin' his marbles or anythin'. If it came to facin' off against a bunch of Andorians or takin' a landin' party down to a new planet, I'd trust him as much as ever." A faint grin acknowledged the wry grimace of a security officer whose protests over the wisdom of a ship's captain endangering himself unnecessarily by forming one of a landing party had too often gone unheeded. "I've known him for a good while now, and I've seen him go through a few relationships. He still has an on-off thing with Erika, as far as I know."
"Erika Hernandez?" said Malcolm interestedly. "She's up for the captaincy of the Columbia, isn't she?"
"That's her." He stirred the fire again. "It's on when they meet and off when they part. For all I know that suits the pair of them just fine. But I've never seen Jon ... pine after her. And that's what it feels like he's doin' now. Just sittin' in his quarters and pinin'." A heavy sigh. "So it seems to me the last thing he needs right now is to come down and take another hit of somethin' he'll never be able to have."
"It can't be that bad, Commander." Reed hitched his blanket closer around his shoulders; the night was becoming very cold. "He didn't turn the ship around till Sub-commander T'Pol found out she was ill. He must have been ... at least trying to fight it."
"Yeah. 'Tryin'' is the word. I didn't see much sign of 'succeedin'."' Trip stared bleakly into the flames. "When it all kicked off, he had a reason to come back. Thing is, he also had an excuse."
They began searching quite early the next day, while the thin wreaths of night mist were still lying along the ground. It was chilly, but the sky was clear and the sun would rise soon. The ground underfoot was thick with fallen leaves, though many more still clung to the trees as far as the eye could see in any direction, a masterpiece by an artist with a palette of bronze and gold.
For perhaps an hour they quartered the forest without event, working in a methodical grid pattern. There were numbers of the type of tree they wanted, but no sign of any camouflaged creature clinging to any of them. Then suddenly T'Pol stopped, lifting a warning hand. "There are a number of bio-signs nearby. Too large for what we are looking for." She was consulting her scanner. "But they are very faint."
"Sick? Dyin'?" asked Trip sharply. The connection in his mind was obvious: they could have found other victims of the same parasitic predator. And if so, that meant the culprit might not be far away.
"It would not appear so. Although the readings are so strange that I cannot be sure."
"Well, let's go check it out. But be real careful. We already know this place can spring nasty surprises."
They followed the direction that the Vulcan indicated. She came to the edge of an area that seemed a little more open than the rest of the forest, and halted. The trees here were widely spaced and of a variety whose thin, whippy branches sprang from the top of the trunk and cascaded down almost to ground level. Although they too had shed many of their leaves, the weeping boughs had a strange appearance in many places, as though some kind of fabric had been woven among them. Close to, however, this was found to be not fabric but leaves of another type, long and stringy, pierced and connected with infinite patience originally but now falling into decay so that even a light wind would break them apart and strip the boughs naked. It appeared that during the summer the weaving would have covered the whole tree, forming a kind of not-very-waterproof tipi. It was hard to come to any other conclusion but that each of the trees had been turned into some kind of airy and murmurous dwelling-place.
"The bio-signs are in that area." She pointed to the roots of the largest of the trees, which had a wide grassy space at its foot. "They are at least partly humanoid and would appear to be underground." Obviously there were no hyrellanium deposits in this area, or the scanner would not have picked up the information.
"Buried?" exclaimed Trip in horror.
"'Partly humanoid'?" asked Malcolm almost in the same instant, going as usual for the worst case scenario and thinking that they'd stumbled across a whole den full of lion-women, who could represent a very great deal of trouble if they were so inclined.
"If my interpretation of the data is correct, I would imagine rather that these people are hibernating. They are in an underground chamber which would be suitable for that purpose. They are completely different from either of the species we encountered on our last visit. Some of the readings are unlike anything I have ever seen before."
"Different in what way?" asked the tactical officer suspiciously.
"I would prefer not to speculate until we can examine them more closely."
"Examining them might wake them up. How dangerous would they be if we did?" Ever single-minded to the point of paranoia where security issues were concerned, he refused to be diverted from the issue that was really important as far as he was concerned. This landing party wasn't going to come to grief for want of his efforts to instill a little proper caution into its members.
"The readings suggest that they are in a far deeper sleep than anything that Humans – or Vulcans for that matter – ever experience naturally. If we take due care, it is highly unlikely that any of them will wake."
"I don't see the point of examining them, anyway. That's not what we're here for." Trip spoke up stubbornly. He could be even more single-minded than the lieutenant when he had reason to be, and right now he had the best of all possible reasons. His gaze roamed among the tree trunks around him, obviously still searching for any of the ones that had cloudy grey splotches on its off-white bark.
"We set out on a mission of exploration, Commander. While we are here, I suggest we fulfill that mission. It will take only a few moments, and then we can pursue our search for the tree-creature." She didn't actually say so, but the 'suggestion' wasn't really couched as such. She was the ranking officer present, and if she said 'explore' then it was an order.
Trip glowered, but said no more. If he hadn't had such an excellent reason for impatience, Reed thought with some sympathy, he'd have been as excited as a boy by this opportunity; he was always eager to be in the forefront of new discoveries. This was what he'd signed on for, after all. However, in view of the fact that exploration was their primary mission, and that the people hibernating here were not going to kill them or kidnap them or exhibit any other unfriendly inclinations, and that T'Pol herself thought it too good a chance to miss, he supposed even Trip would concede that it was pretty unreasonable to pass up the chance of a very fleeting glimpse of members of the third species which shared Kerriel's civilization, especially since there was no chance of contaminating their cultural development. A few moments' searching uncovered the fretwork of branches that acted as a cover to the entrance tunnel to the underground chamber; it had been secured in place with a couple of large stones, easily placed and moved through narrow gaps left in the right places. Interlaced leaves filled the chinks, keeping out the worst of the rain and frost. There had been no particular effort put into hiding the entrance; it seemed that the sleepers had no reason to fear being disturbed.
Taking care to note where the stones had been placed so that they could be put back exactly as they had been left, Trip and Malcolm freed the cover and removed it cautiously. The dark hole beneath was not inviting. It looked as if it was very old; the sides were solid packed earth, sloping away at about a forty-degree angle. It was wide enough for a Human to slide down without effort, even without having to lie completely flat, if not to turn around in very easily. There was no smell from below, nor any sound.
"This is where a flashlight would come in handy." The engineer peered into the gloom.
"Eagle scouts always come prepared." With something of a smug expression Malcolm produced a slender torch from one of his uniform pockets.
"The room is approximately four meters down," said T'Pol, studying the readout. "It should be possible to avoid touching the occupants if we are careful."
"I'll go first." Armed with the torch, the armoury officer lowered himself into the tunnel, which the beam showed bent left to take it directly under the sentinel tree. He would have preferred to have his phase pistol in his other hand, but it seemed wiser to control his descent with his free arm; the slope was quite steep, and smooth from the passage of many bodies over the years. He had no wish to announce his arrival by colliding with a sleeping alien who might not be quite as hard to rouse as the scanner seemed to indicate.
He scuffled his way down into the dimness. The tunnel was laced with exploring tree rootlets that touched him inquisitively. Every meter or so he stopped to listen, but there was no sound except his own slightly accelerated breathing.
After negotiating the bend he shone the torch down into the chamber, which was now visible. It appeared to be half-full of leaves. He tried not to think about how many rodents or insects might have taken up residence in that lot. This would be a haven for insects to over-winter in. Doubtless the scanner would pick up anything of any size, but the prospect of having disturbed creepy-crawlies investigating his trousers for alternative winter quarters wasn't appealing to him; this wouldn't be a good moment to discover another allergy to add to his already depressing collection.
He reached the bottom of the tunnel and thrust his feet cautiously into the layer of leaves. They came up to just under knee height, and feeling the floor secure beneath his boots he stood up and swung the torchlight to and fro.
It illuminated a surreal scene. If he had not heard the science officer's analysis he would have believed that he was in a burial chamber. Seven adults and what appeared to be a child were lying close together, half-buried in the leaf litter, curled up in a fetal position. They were each wrapped in plain woolen cloth but apart from that had no covering. The wraps of one or two permitted a glimpse of a narrow, pallid face, eyes tightly closed. In each case the right hand was resting against the cheek or mouth, but the left was thrust out of the wrapping and touching one of the huge roots of the tree that he now saw formed the ceiling of the chamber. Looking more closely, he realised that the slender fingertips weren't just touching the root: each of them was fused to it. "Bloody hell," he breathed.
The two other members of the landing party followed him down. All three of them walked carefully around the sleepers, marveling.
"This would go some way towards explaining the readouts," observed T'Pol, crouching to study with care the way the fingers were joined to the root. "These people appear to have a symbiotic relationship with this tree. A large quantity of their blood has been drawn into it. Possibly this is how they can survive such low temperatures without freezing."
"They can exchange blood with a tree?" exclaimed Trip.
"Many species of fungi depend on such a relationship. In their case it is termed 'mycorrhizal mutualistic symbiosis'. Though this is the first example I have seen of such an advanced life-form forming such a relationship. It is fascinating. I am sure that Dr Phlox would wish to see this for himself, if it was possible."
"But surely they're just too different…." He hunkered down and stared at one of the sleepers. "They must be … intelligent beings. I just can't imagine what…."
"I could not be sure without taking a sample, but it would appear that their vital fluid is closer to 'sap' than what we would call 'blood'. Obviously it would need to be considerably more complex than that, but certainly some of the components are the same."
"But you won't be taking a sample."
"I could not guarantee that doing so while they are in this state would not harm them. I would imagine that it has evolved over millions of years, and we have no means of establishing what their physical tolerances are."
"Commander." Malcolm was bending over one lying at a slight distance from the others for some reason, almost completely buried under the leaves where the stray draughts had heaped them deeper. "There's another of them here. But I don't think…."
This one was wrapped in the same way and lying in just the same attitude; the only difference was that the left hand lay at a little distance from the nearest root, as though it had slipped from it in sleep. The right hand held a small number of articles close to the unmoving chest: globular wizened things that gave off the faintly sickly smell of decaying fruit. The sleeper had taken food for his last journey.
The discovery presented another whole range of questions, these about what these people believed and how they lived and died. It was utterly exasperating to think that none of them were ever likely to be answered. The only benefit was that this individual, at least, would not be harmed by having a tissue sample taken (his blood would have congealed), except insofar as such a procedure could be viewed as disrespectful. There was no way of knowing how such an action would be regarded by these people.
A short discussion ended with the agreement that a tissue sample should be taken if it could be done with extreme discretion. With that end in view, Malcolm and Trip began gently unwrapping the body. It felt uncannily light in their hands: the creature's bones must be very thin indeed. It was lax and unresisting. When they finished removing the sheet, the body was revealed for the first time. It was, indeed, amazingly slightly built. The average human male would virtually have made two of it. He (they thought it was male, but removing the plain white tunic still remaining seemed too much of an intrusion) would have stood about a meter and a half tall on what came as the greatest shock of all – legs that were not humanoid, but shaped like the hind legs of a deer or a goat. Cloven hooves completed the picture. A dead faun lay on the leaves, the withered fruit still clasped in his hand, which was now seen to be supported in place by something like a sling. The face was very narrow, its silver-grey hair drawn back and clasped at the nape of the neck with a withy tie. He seemed to have died in his sleep, for his expression was utterly serene.
The very small tissue sample was quickly and gently taken from just underneath the joint that would have corresponded to the heel of a human foot. Then they wrapped the body up again, taking every care to handle it reverently and replicate exactly how it had been laid when they had finished.
"Weird." Trip stood looking around at the silent figures. "Just weird."
"Doubtless our way of life would seem equally 'weird' to them." T'Pol replaced the scanner on her belt clip. "I believe we have spent enough time here. We should go."
"Oh, I can live with that." He shivered a little. "C'mon. Let's get up back up there and get searchin'."
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