Of Noble Heart: Star Trek, TNG
Chapter 7
Riker, Deanna, Data and Worf sat in silent wonderment, waiting for Questor Movid to continue. When he did not, Deanna gently asked him to explain, "what can be worse than bondage?"
"It's a long story my Betazoid friend." Movid moved his chair to face Deanna. Not only was she a beautiful woman, but she expressed an eagerness to listen to his tale. He leaned toward her, keen to continue. "We were strong once, as I have said. A widespread empire, wealthy, productive, powerful. At the centre of it was the Prime and his Council, and above him were the Assessors." He looked around at their bemused faces, and continued. "You've probably never heard of the Assessors. But for us they were gods."
"You worshipped them?" Deanna asked.
"More than that, we relied on them to organise and manage our lives. To solve our daily problems, to govern us, to keep us healthy. Our religion was not one of the spirit only. It concerned our everyday existence as well. The Assessors gave us our laws, they punished us when we transgressed, and they rewarded us when we behaved."
Riker was amused. "Sounds like a father."
"Exactly. That's what they were, our fathers."
"In the metaphorical sense," Deanna added.
"No, in every sense."
"Please explain yourself, sir," Data interrupted. "I am not sure we are following you."
"When the Assessors came here eons before, they found us living in the dirt. We were simple hunters then, maybe a bit of herding but subsisting only. Our lives were brutish and we made little technological or social progress from one generation to the next. Our science, if that is what it should be called, was primitive. We could barely read and the simplest diseases killed us; a third of our children died every year from illnesses that could have been cured had we had even a basic understanding of medicine. Also, we were factionalised and slaughtered one another in fights over resources. We went to war to defend our foolish beliefs. Hubris led to more than one conflict."
"This sounds like the history of any number of underdeveloped civilisations, many of which are now members of the Federation," Riker said.
"That may be so, but what happened to us was unique." The old man smiled at each in turn. "Within a generation all of that changed. Out of the sky, much like yourselves I might add, came the Assessors. They ruled through fear at first, but as soon as we saw the righteousness of their ways, they loosened the reins and led through example. They taught us how to increase production, first in agriculture and later in other, more developed ways, so that we could not only feed ourselves, but we could provide for our neighbours as well. Soon we produced sophisticated goods and surpluses to trade, and we began to use our earnings to invest in education, improved sanitation, better health care and the like. Our children lived longer and with genetic engineering, the life span of our whole race was extended. We no longer lived 40, 80 or even 150 years, but 6, 7 or 800. That gave us time to travel the galaxy, much like you do now."
"But warp drive? Did you develop it?" Worf asked. It was clear to Riker that the security officer's mind was still running along the same weapons-related track. But that was as it should be.
"No, we did not develop it ourselves, but were given the capacity to fly at warp speed and beyond by the Assessors, who encouraged us to reach outward. Into the void, where they had come from."
"And your weapons?" Worf asked. "Did you get weapons from the Assessors too?"
"Of course, it was all part of their package. Their technology extended our lives, our productivity, our understanding, and it allowed us to visit and then to colonize other planets. Their assistance helped us fight better and so, ultimately, to fight fewer wars."
None of the four officers showed their astonishment but each was surprised by the tale. Each had been prepared to hear that this sleepy planet and its people were once rulers of the region, for the database on the Enterprise had told them that. But they had not expected to learn that an alien species – whoever these Assessors were – had been the moving force behind their development and expansion. What happened to the notion that a species, a planet, was to progress at its own speed without interference from outside? Had the Federation's Prime Directive been adopted here the people of Pranek IV would perhaps be hunters still.
"Yes, we are lucky," Movid said, reading their minds. "Our development was accelerated and we progressed and expanded faster than anyone could have expected."
"It's not clear to me," Data stated. "Did the Assessors live among you? Or did they provide these benefits from afar?"
"Yes, oh yes," he said ecstatically. "They lived with us, they walked among us. They married some of our women, and even today, some of us carry their genes. We were loved by them."
Riker shifted in his seat, thinking of the desolation they had seen outside the building. Pranek was hardly the success story Questor Movid made it out to be, or at least, it wasn't any longer.
"But what happened?" Data asked, as though he had read Riker's thoughts. "Your society is no longer spacefaring, nor is Pranek IV a bustling planet today." He said this without malice, simply as a statement of fact.
Where the curator of antiquities had shed years and been animated when he spoke of the past, now he slumped forward like the old man he was. His face fell into folds. "Ah, that's the thing, isn't it? What happened."
None replied, for his words expressed a forlorn resignation too painful to interrupt. They waited in silence.
"After living among us for generations, millennia," he signed, "our gods departed." He sat wordless, deep in thought.
When the man went no further, Deanna softly asked, "but why?"
"That's it, we never knew why. One day they were here and then the next day they abandoned us. They left us their technology, their laws, their genetic material and like all good servants, we have maintained them the best we can. For centuries after they left, the Prime Alliance flourished, but slowly our boundaries slipped inwards as the most advanced subjects in the empire rose up and demanded their independence. We have maintained the engines – below ground, in orbit, and tucked away in the corners of Pranek Prime – but we have lost the ability to improve on them."
"But where did the Assessors go?" Riker asked.
"For generations we searched for them, but they were gone. Without a trace. It was as though they didn't want us to follow them, or to find them."
"But why?" Worf said with emphasis. The three officers looked at him with surprise, for his words expressed an emotion that the others did not share. "Why would your gods abandon you? Surely one of your people did something to anger them?"
"We thought so too. 'Why have we been forsaken?' we asked our priests, and they performed rituals, even sacrifices, in an attempt to woe them back. But all that failed. The Assessors simply stopped loving us and left. We have come to accept that now," he said with resignation. "In the end we did not warrant their love and protection perhaps, but we never learned what had changed."
Data returned to the point of the interview. "Sir, you can tell us nothing then about the beings who now live in this part of the galaxy? Nor where your benefactors now reside?"
"We know little about what happens off-planet nowadays, even in close proximity to Pranek Prime. We don't innovate or try to improve on what the Assessors left us. Seldom do any of us leave here. As you can see," sweeping his hand toward the dirty windows, "we don't even have the resources to keep our capital city in the manner it deserves. And few of our people venture far outside the central districts. A small group of citizens who retain a pioneering spirit wander outside the city into the hills nearby here, but that group is small and diminishing every year. We have no information about our neighbours off-world that you in the Federation wouldn't have or couldn't get. That said, I am sure our administration will share all the information it has about the planets and beings that once made up the Prime Empire."
"Perhaps your scientists…" Riker began, but was cut off by the older man.
"As I said, we have none. What use are scientists without scientific enquiry? When we were in our infancy we knew nothing of science. When the Assessors lived among us, they provided us with scientific miracles. Scientists weren't necessary then either. And since they left, we have struggled to hold on to what we have. Our priests may be able to help you, but their information will be little different than mine, though more wrapped up in the mythologies of faith."
"May we look at your technologies?" Worf asked, returning to his security concerns.
"I am sure it can be arranged, but you will have to explain yourselves to the authorities. They will want to know what you are looking for."
"We are prepared to do that," Riker assured him. "We are trying to find out what happened to Rabijan IX, and to the civilization that flourished there." Though an honest explanation, he was aware that he had omitted mentioning the missing Federation scientists and the human skeleton. On the other hand, Riker knew Movid was well aware of much of what they had left unsaid but was on their minds. "We are keen to meet your administrators and to see your machines."
"One last question, if you don't mind sir," Data said as they all began to rise. "Can you tell us in which direction your gods departed? Is there a record of the time they left?"
Movid rose and signalled for them to follow. They trailed after the archivist through a maze of cupboards and cases piled high, until they reached a large cupboard in the middle of the room. He reached to the lowest shelf for a bound volume covered in a red synthetic material resembling old fashioned leather. "This is a record of that day. It is not unlike passages from our liturgy, which tell the same story. But I like to think of this as more factual than the account the priests relate because it was recorded by an ancestor of mine, another librarian, who witnessed the events." He opened to a page near the front of the book and translated the passage.
The Godly Ones gathered their families, including the wives and children of Pranek Prime, and walked onto the desert. There the Elder spoke to the crowd that had assembled, explaining that He loved the people of Pranek and their neighbours. One of the people rose up and asked Him, "then why abandon us? What error have we committed? What wrong have we done unto you?" The Elder answered so all the crowd could hear: "You have done no wrong, but we must leave you. It is time for you to follow your own ways and to choose your own path." The people cried and beat their breasts. "We need you," one woman shouted, and the Elder pointed to the sky and said, "but we are only going there. And from that place we will watch after you." The Elder and the Godly Ones, numbering over one thousand, went away from the people and deep into the field. When they arrived there the sky shimmered and a sound of chimes bellowing in the wind was heard by the people. Then the Godly Ones were gone. The people of Pranek Prime threw themselves on the ground and wept.
"But where was "there"?" Data asked.
The old man flipped the pages to one page stuck tightly in the middle of the book. It was crafted from a material similar to velum, which he removed and unfolded. It was a star chart of the sky as seen from Pranek IV.
"This was once our Empire," he said, dragging his hand across a large section of the page. It made the same shape as the map he'd shown them earlier. "This is the direction the Gods pointed when they spoke that day." He put his long white finger against the right margin and indicated a place near the edge of the map. "We have since that day called it the Veil of Tears."
#
As the sun lowered it struck them square in the face and waves of heat reflected off the hard, narrow shelf where the boys perched. Between the two younger boys Jarok lay on his back, unconscious and still. Alexander kept a hand on Jarok's good leg to steady him and periodically nudged him in the hope that he'd wake up. Matthew vacillated between weeping and going quiet, at which point he seemed almost to be asleep – so much so that Alexander decided to clasp his hand, to ensure the younger boy didn't slide off the ledge either.
Alexander, who had been in difficult situations in the past, thought about their predicament and realised that no one was going to come rescue them. They had carefully planned their departure from the Enterprise so that no one would know they were off the ship. No one knew where they were, except the taxi driver and who knows what that odd old man would do. Also, Matthew was now too scared even to look over the ledge, let alone move off it. The Klingon realised that the boy was incapable of seeing the larger picture; Matthew wept because he knew they were in trouble, but he didn't really understand the full extent of it.
Matthew stirred from his near-trance state, realised again where he was, and glanced at Alexander. Without a word he stared directly forward, not once looking down.
"Even if Jarok wakes up he isn't going to be able to climb down the rock face," Alexander said softly to his young friend. "Nor is he going to be able to walk out of the canyon. The only solution is for one of us to go find the man who drove us here and have him come help us."
"But I can't get off the cliff," Matthew said, starting to shake again just at the thought of climbing down the rope.
"Then you are going to have to wait here with Jarok and make sure he doesn't roll off the ledge."
"But you can't leave me alone." The boy began to weep again.
They sat there discussing their predicament for nearly 20 minutes, bringing them no closer to figuring out how to get the bigger boy off the wall. They acknowledged to one another that Jarok was in serious trouble – at best concussed and probably worse. His breathing was slow and laboured, and his leg had bled where it was broken. They had less than a single bottle of water between them, and the heat and their talking only deepened their thirst.
Alexander thought that Matthew was probably in shock and was looking to him for their salvation. He felt the weight of that responsibility and considered how he was going to rescue them. They reviewed the list of climbing supplies they had, analysed the situation thoroughly once more, and fell silent again, each deep in his own thoughts. Alexander used the opportunity to ponder what Worf might do if faced with such a problem. He concluded that his father would not have lied in the first place or found himself in such a precarious situation, which did nothing to raise his spirits and only lessened his confidence in finding a solution.
"Okay," Alexander concluded aloud, "you don't want me to leave but then how are we going to get out of here? Can either of you climb down." Appealing to the boy's better judgement was a first step; losing his temper with him would only be counterproductive.
Matthew looked up, wiped his tears and considered Alexander's words. The Klingon stayed silent for a moment to let the boy work out the options for himself. "No," he finally whispered a reply.
"So, neither of you can climb so that means I must go and get the transport and you must wait here with Jarok."
"I'll wait here," the boy said in a low voice.
"Ok. I will be back in a half hour," Alexander said as he stood and dusted himself off. He took the rope from Matthew and the pitons and carabiners from the sling on Jarok's waist. He handed one end of the rope to Matthew, and pounded a piton in the wall just below the ledge. He clipped on. "This is a start," he said to the boy, who had begun to shake again. "I will be back as soon as possible. Just wait here and don't move till I return. That's all you have to do. Don't move. And keep Jarok from hurting himself worse. Put a bit of water on his lips every half-hour or so, just a little bit. Don't drink the rest yourself. Save it as long as you can."
"But what about you? Won't you be thirsty?" Matthew asked as Alexander laid down near the edge.
"No, I will be fine, it's just a quick trip to the vehicle and back."
With that, Alexander gently slid over the ledge and found his footing in a crevice below. He descended slowly, well aware that he was climbing without a partner, and that if he fell, he had no one to help him. He felt confident of his skills though, and moved slowly down the face of the cliff just like his father had taught him on the gym wall.
When he reached the bottom he called up to Matthew, who yelled back that he was alright. "Just stay there. I will come back," Alexander said as he untied the rope and dropped the climbing gear. He turned one last time to look at the two boys on the cliff. From this vantage point he could see just how perilous their situation was. If he didn't return, no one would ever find them stuck up there. He waved toward Matthew and sprinted out through the narrow gorge, the way they had come.
He scampered down through the rocks at the base of the hills and in twenty minutes he saw where the cliffs opened up into the rift, and the valley spread out onto the plains. Between the cliffs in the distance the flatlands shimmered in the heat and a haze hung in the air, making it impossible to see any more than a faint outline of the capital city in the distance.
Running out through the crevice Alexander drew up short for he expected to see the vehicle and driver sitting where the boys had left them. But the landscape was bare for as far as he could see. He turned a full circle, checking the horizon and making sure he had exited the canyon where they had entered the cliffs a couple hours earlier. Yes, it's the same place, he reassured himself. "But where is the driver?" he said aloud to the wind.
He turned another 360º to scan the bush in more detail. He bent and looked closely at the light brown soil and saw the smudged footprints they had left when trekking into the hills. He followed them back to the exact place the vehicle had stopped. He stood there a full minute, looking into the distance and recalling the conversation he and the driver had had. Surely, he understood what 'wait' means!
He bent again, this time near the vehicle's track marks, to look for footprints. He saw the man's prints, laid down as he paced back and forth. But there was no one there now and Alexander had no option but to draw the unhappy conclusion that the driver had not waited as asked. The boy looked again toward the horizon, and the shimmering city in the distance. "He's driven off and left us," he said to himself. He felt like crying, but no reputable Klingon would do such a thing and so he used an expletive he had learned on Earth instead.
For the first time since Jarok had climbed off without them, which to Alexander's mind was the same as acting irresponsibly, he felt like howling. Moreover, Alexander had counted on the old man to do as he'd been asked and to wait for them. And he had counted on Matthew … to what? Not get scared? How realistic was that, knowing his friend? And of course no one had counted on Jarok falling. Making their plans aboard the Enterprise they had been sure they'd be safe on their little hike and climb into some real hills. Thinking about it now, he could see that any one of them could have been hurt, and could now be passed out and stuck on the cliff… even him. At the same time, though, Alexander was convinced that Jarok had brought it upon himself by acting so foolhardy. Had they been clipped together as climbers are meant to be, the accident could have been prevented. Had they slowed down to the pace of the weakest climber, they would have all been safe.
He sat hard on a boulder near where the vehicle had rested and considered his options. He could return to Jarok and Matthew… but for what? He alone couldn't get them off the ledge. Nor could he make more water. Alternatively, he could walk back to the city. He could see it in the hazy distance. He thought again about what Worf would do. Thinking through the tough times the older Klingon had faced, Alexander knew what had to be done. He had little choice in the matter: Jarok's and Matthew's lives were in his hands.
Looking around him and being the pragmatist his heritage had shaped, he was also as aware as any Klingon youth could be of the danger he now faced: walking through a semi-desert without water in the heat of the day.
"Well, we wanted a challenge," he muttered aloud as he set off for the city shimmering in the distance.
