Chapter Six
“CAPTAIN PICARD, THE TARN flagship is hailing us.”
Picard stood up, studying the viewscreen closely. Three Tarn ships had entered the system an hour ago and were now moving into orbit above Torgu-Va. Their design reminded him of the old Romulan Bird-of-Prey configuration and he wondered if the Tarn had acquired some of their upgraded technology from the traditional rival of the Federation.
“I’ll take it in my quarters,” Picard announced. He sensed that this was going to be difficult, better handled alone for the moment.
He looked back over at Data.
“Data, as soon as you find out what is going on, call me at once.”
“Yes, sir.”
Picard wanted to explode with frustration. Everything, it seemed, had slipped out of control. Riker and Eardman could not be found. Apparently, they had moved so deep within the planet’s network of caves that their sensors could no longer be located. Karish’s location was even more mysterious; the signal had simply winked off as if his communicator had been smashed.
“Data, keep on Mr. Eddies. I want that transporter back on-line.”
The door slid shut behind him as he paused for a moment to look out the viewport to the world below. Most planets, when silhouetted by the darkness of space, looked warm, inviting, even if the surface was cloaked in liquid ammonia or boiling sulfur. This one, however, even when viewed from space, seemed harsh, foreboding, a place that, given a choice, he would pass by without a second look.
“I have Admiral Garu Jord of the Tarn Royal Circle, sir.”
“Patch him in.”
The screen on his desk flared to life. Garu Jord’s attention was elsewhere, his back to the screen as he spoke to someone standing behind him. It gave Picard several seconds to compose himself. The conversation seemed animated and Picard wondered if it was a bit of playacting for his consumption.
“Commander Picard?” Garu Jord finally asked, swinging his chair back around to look at Picard.
“I am Captain Jean-Luc Picard of the Federation starship Enterprise,” he replied, concealing his annoyance regarding the slight in rank.
“I am Admiral of the Royal Circle Garu Jord, commander of this flotilla, sent to investigate events here on Torgu-Va. I expect a report.”
Picard stiffened slightly at the imperious manner in which Jord addressed him.
“Admiral Jord, I will be happy to share all ship’s logs with you. Once we have finished talking, my communications officer will download them to your ship.”
“Fine. I wish to speak with Commander Karish in private.”
“He is not back from the surface of the planet.”
“Not back? Is there something wrong?”
“Commander Karish went to meet with the Tarn commander on the planet’s surface. He has not reported back.”
“I wish to speak with him now.”
Picard hesitated for a moment. “Commander Karish is out of communication range.”
“Out of range? Maybe for your system but not for ours.”
“Sir. He is either too far below the surface or has removed his communications link. We have not spoken to him for nearly a day. I should add that the away team we sent to the human survivors on the planet has not reported in either.”
“By ‘human survivors,’ you mean the Federation personnel, don’t you?”
Jord was obviously laying a diplomatic trap. If Picard openly acknowledged the legitimacy of the command held by the personnel on the planet then any hostile actions they engaged in could be laid at the door of Starfleet Command.
“That designation is still being considered by Starfleet,” Picard replied.
“Admiral, may I ask the reason for your visit?” Picard pressed, wanting to shift control of the conversation back into his own court.
“This is now free space, is it not, Captain? The Tarn have as much right to the access of it as you do.”
“I do not debate that right, Admiral. Given the current situation down on the planet I know I can count on you to help bring about a peaceful resolution.”
A gruff bark escaped Jord. A harsh comment erupted behind him and he turned in his chair. After nearly a minute he finally turned back.
“As per my advanced communication to you, Captain, I am expecting that you do not in any way offer assistance to the Federation personnel down on Torgu-Va. If you do so, we shall intervene immediately on behalf of the Tarn who are down on the planet.”
“Admiral, I have not intervened but I think your sensors will reveal that a full-scale battle is currently in progress. We have been monitoring air drops of Tarn troops, artillery strikes by both sides, and numerous other actions across several thousand square kilometers of ground. Hundreds, perhaps thousands are dying and I wish to see it stopped at once. Can I count on you to do that?”
A moment passed in silence.
“Captain, I would like you to come aboard my ship.”
“I must respectfully decline, Admiral.”
“You don’t trust us?”
“That is not the issue at all,” Picard replied with ease. “I have two away teams down on the planet. I need to stay here in case there is a crisis.”
Picard kept a straight face. Given what was evolving, there was no way that he would leave the Enterprise at this moment.
“Then I will come to you.”
Surprised, Picard nodded an agreement.
“I should add that we are having difficulty with our transporter system. Could I ask that you use yours?”
Again a bark, which Picard interpreted as a laugh of amusement.
“Damn things, never liked them,” Jord growled.
“Spacious, very spacious,” Garu announced as Picard led him into the ready room. “One would think your ship was a royal barge for a princeling rather than a vessel of war.”
Garu had maintained a stony silence all the way up from the transporter room. Picard was not surprised that the Tarn’s first comment was sarcastic, but the captain was in no mood to rise to the bait.
Instead he merely motioned for Garu to follow him into his private quarters. The door slid shut behind them and Picard offered refreshments. Garu showed evident surprise when the replicator produced a horn of Hammasi.
“Where did you learn to make this brew?” Garu asked, obviously pleased with the drink’s bouquet, a scent which Picard hoped to mask by ordering up a strong brew of Earl Grey.
“Commander Karish’s drink of choice.”
“Hmm. Very good. . . . So what is this concerning Karish? Where is he?”
“Down on the planet’s surface.”
“Why?”
Jean-Luc offered a quick briefing. Garu listened, saying nothing while sipping his drink.
“Captain Picard, what do you think of Karish?”
“He is a competent officer.”
“He is of the reactionary circle.”
“The internal politics of your government are, perhaps, not our most pressing concern,” Picard replied guardedly.
Garu grunted—the equivalent of a chuckle, Picard surmised. The captain watched in amazement as his visitor drained his drink and motioned for another. Without comment Picard fetched another one from the replicator.
“The internal politics of the Tarn circles might very well become the direct concern of the Federation soon enough.”
Was this a warning? Jean-Luc wondered. “Would you care to elaborate?” he asked cautiously.
“First, let me share with you my orders. My squadron was ordered here at maximum warp to assess the situation on Torgu-Va. My orders from the Ruling Circle are quite specific. We are to observe the situation. If the parties below should reach a peace agreement, independent of any influence from off the planet’s surface, that will be acceptable. However, if you should move to provide any assistance to Federation personnel down on the planet I am authorized to provide full and unstinting support to the maximum of my ability to the Tarn.”
“Full and unstinting?”
Garu nodded. “Up to and including the deployment of weapons systems down on the planet and fire support from orbit.”
Picard said nothing for a moment, feeling slightly uncomfortable with the cold, almost lifeless stare of Garu as he finished the second horn.
“Admiral. We are facing a situation that could rapidly escalate out of control. If you should in any way interpret my current level of involvement as providing support, and decide to react with aid to Tarn personnel on the planet, I will undoubtedly be ordered to match your level of involvement. This will trigger a rapid slide downward into full-scale combat involving both of us.”
Garu nodded.
“Tell me, Admiral: personally, off the record, do you want a war?”
Garu said nothing.
Picard did a quick calculation of the three Tarn ships in relationship to his own vessel. Chances were, he could cripple one, maybe two of them, but a knock-out fight with all three might result in the loss of the Enterprise.
“You know I outgun you,” Garu announced as if reading his thoughts.
“Yes, I realize that. That equation, however, cannot be the deciding factor in the policy I might be required to follow.”
“Your own death is not a deciding factor? Tell me, does the Federation train its officers to pursue suicide?”
“We are trained to fulfill our missions and to do so without regard to personal interests.”
“And the crew for which you are responsible?”
“They understand the risks when they join the service, but that is not the issue before us at the moment. I want to see this situation resolved without the risk of war.”
Garu offered a wry look, as if Picard’s desire were mere fantasy, the dreams of an ignorant child. But a new thought was now visible on his face. He broached it with the captain. “Have you seen how the Federation news is reporting this crisis?
“You must know that there is more than one member of your government who is not at all pleased with the prospect of a full peace agreement between your side and ours. It seems some of them are using the Verdun as a means of stirring opinion against us.”
“And your side?”
Garu smirked. “Yes, the same. Already our council has declared that the onus of the broken circle has been removed from those down below us. Some are hailing them as heroes who kept faith while cowards scrambled to seek peace.”
“Why is it that those who seek peace are so often called cowards?” Picard sighed. “Often it is the harder course to pursue.”
Again a chuckle erupted from Garu. Picard studied him closely. Though the Tarn seemed to display certain universal gestures, nodding the head, laughing when amused, even sighing, it was impossible to read their eyes, to sense what was going on beneath their mask-like visage.
“You realize that your decision to send teams down to the surface was viewed less than enthusiastically by certain members of the Royal Circle.”
“I made my decision based upon the crisis of the moment. No hostile intent should be interpreted by those actions. I was attempting to stop the senseless killing.”
“Some might not see it as senseless.”
Picard stirred uncomfortably. There was a flare of temper inside and he struggled to control it. Did the Tarn really believe that there was a purpose to the primitive slaughter being waged down below? The whole thing was an exercise in futility and to see it in any other light was beyond his comprehension.
“I suspect you are not pleased with my attitude,” Garu announced.
“Why do you think that?”
“You pink-skinned creatures, so transparent. One can see the blood flowing below the surface. One can read that flow of blood to understand what is in the heart. Strange, the sight of it seems to arouse a certain hunting instinct for us.”
“To my knowledge I don’t think I’ve been contemplated in quite such a manner before,” Picard replied.
“And us, what sort of primal sense do we engender?”
Picard looked down into his cup of tea and realized that it was empty. When he motioned to Garu’s horn, the admiral nodded. The captain refilled it and handed it to the admiral, who came up to the counter where the replicator was.
“The scent of the drink troubles you, does it not?”
Jean-Luc smiled enigmatically.
“But you haven’t answered my question, Captain Picard.”
“Some theorize that wired into the psyche of my race is a dread of reptilian species. That, however, is simply instinct. The purpose of intellect is to transcend instinct.”
“Very good. You are quite adroit in avoiding the question. But perhaps we are arriving at the crux of the problem, Captain. The sight of you arouses the instinct of the hunt, the sight of us arouses the instinct to kill as well, to destroy the hunter before he strikes. Our compatriots down on Torgu-Va are therefore fulfilling their instinctive desires and, some say, pointing the way to what all of us should be doing.”
“If you believe that, Admiral, then two hundred years of negotiation are for naught. You might as well take that ceremonial dagger on your belt and come at me,” Picard answered smoothly.
Garu’s hand slipped down to the dagger and he drew it out of its sheath, the sound of steel on leather sounding like the hiss of a snake.
“It is not ceremonial, Captain,” Garu announced softly.
In spite of his training, Jean-Luc found his attention fixed on the blade. There was a flash memory of many years ago, the fight in the bar with the Nausicaans, the blade slipping between his ribs, slicing into his heart—and the drifting into the dark, to awaken with an artificial beat in his chest.
Garu stared at him and Picard wondered if indeed the admiral would come for him. The captain maintained an outward calm, intellect telling him that such an action was absurd, it served no purpose, no logic, but instinct screamed at him to strike first before the cold remorseless blade and the cold remorseless talons encompassed him.
Garu suddenly laughed, breaking the tension. With a flick of his wrist the knife twirled through the air, slamming point first into the table by his side.
“You wondered for a moment, didn’t you?” Garu asked.
“Would I be a soldier if I didn’t?”
“That is what we are dealing with,” Garu stated while contemplating the drink in the bottom of the horn. “You see, there is fear in our hearts too when we gaze upon the likes of you. The sense that you fear us and that in your fear you believe it best to strike first. Tell me, Captain, did you consider striking first just now?”
Picard nodded; there was no sense in denying the truth. Garu leaned against the wall and smiled.
“Captain Picard, surely you must realize what we have here. The negotiations of our governments are not something that is fully supported by many of the circles on my side. I am willing to venture that such is the case on your side as well.”
Picard said nothing. The Tarn could fish all he wanted, Picard wasn’t prepared to just hand over intelligence.
Garu smiled and nodded. “As I suspected. There are elements on both sides who would love nothing more than to see this incident on Torgu-Va provide the excuse, the flash point, for an escalation into a full-scale conflict. If it did, the policies of the Royal Circle would be shattered and another circle of royal blood, such as the one Commander Karish belongs to, would rise to power.”
Picard raised an eyebrow. Sending Karish, had that been a mistake as far as Garu was concerned? Was he, even now, moving to another plan, hoping to use Torgu-Va for his own ends?
“May I have another?” Garu asked, nodding to the replicator.
Picard nodded and, taking the horn, refilled it and passed it over. The intoxicating effect of the drink seemed barely to touch Garu, he noted as he watched the admiral drain half the cup.
“Captain, I regret to tell you this, but the Royal Circle senses the precarious situation it is in. The balance of power is such that it could topple, plunging my planet into civil war. Torgu-Va might be the trigger for that. Though the Royal Circle wants to reach a fuller understanding with the Federation, it will not do so as an act of suicide. I will follow my orders, Captain. If you should try in any way whatsoever to increase your involvement, to stun Tarn forces or offer any aid to Federation personnel down on the surface, I shall attempt to block you by whatever means necessary to ensure the survival of my circle.”
“And what do you think of all of this, Admiral?”
Garu smiled. “Madness, all of it madness.”
Finishing his drink, Garu slammed the horn down, spilling some of the contents onto the table.
“I must return to my ship, Captain. It has been a pleasure meeting you. You were, after all, one of the humans I spent a good deal of time studying. It was interesting to meet you in the flesh, as they say.”
Picard smiled.
“Admiral, a favor.”
“What?”
“We are here. Our respective governments are hundreds of parsecs away. Let us see what we can do between us to ensure that this does not get out of control. Can we at least agree on that?”
Garu smiled, saying nothing.
“At least let us open up communication down there. You can sit in on the meeting, we can inform both sides that we are in orbit above them. I will request a cease-fire, nothing more.”
Garu hesitated, then finally nodded. “If you think such a folly is worth it we can try, but I can assure you they will not listen.”
“Work with me, Garu. I sense that you want to do that—you are a warrior of honor.”
Garu said nothing, heading to the door and back out onto the bridge. Punching the communications tab on his shoulder, he called his ship and asked to be beamed up.
“Admiral, may I have your assurance?” Picard said.
“We must render unto Caesar what is Caesar’s, Captain Picard. But we shall see what we can render unto the gods.”
Garu disappeared in a beam of light.
Picard settled into his chair and the image of the Tarn admiral, who had moments before stood on the bridge of the Enterprise, flashed onto the forward screen.
Picard spared a quick glance to Data, who nodded to the forward screen. A sidebar in the lower corner of the screen showed the tactical position of the three Tarn ships, status lights indicating that they were going to a higher state of readiness.
“You can see I’ve ordered my ships to condition two, Captain,” Jord announced.
“I see that and you will see I have not yet responded.”
For the moment there was no need to, but he knew that behind him Worf was waiting, hovering over the control boards, and that down in engineering Geordi had been alerted. There was a subtle change in the air, his people were ready if need be.
“Open a hailing frequency to both sides, Mr. Worf. Mr. Data, you may translate the Tarn language where it is appropriate.”
“Understood, sir.”
“Frequencies open, Captain.”
Picard cleared his throat. “This is Captain Jean-Luc Picard of the Federation starship Enterprise,” he began. “I wish to speak at once to those in command of the descendants of the Federation ship Verdun and the Imperial Tarn ship Rashasa. We are overriding all frequencies and I expect an immediate response. Whoever is in command, reply by voice radio on whatever frequency you have and we will pick it up.”
He settled back, waiting.
“Captain, your overriding of radio frequencies is an act of interference,” Jord interjected.
“Momentary inconvenience applied to both sides,” Picard replied. “I will clear the other frequencies as soon as we have the two leaders online.”
Jord harumphed, shifting uncomfortably, but said nothing further.
“Sir, I have Gadin of the Circle of the Golden Talon on-line.”
“Tell him to wait until we contact the other side, I will give the identical message to both sides at the same time.”
Picard looked up quizzically at Jord, who finally nodded an agreement.
Another light flashed, at almost the identical location.
“Lysander Murat is on-line, Captain.”
Picard nodded. “Put him through, Mr. Worf.”
He drew a deep breath. “This is Captain Picard of the Federation starship Enterprise, maintaining orbit above Torgu-Va. I am here to inform you that all hostilities between the Tarn Empire and the Federation ceased more than two hundred years ago. I am therefore informing you that a cease-fire is in place.”
He waited for several seconds. Finally Lysander’s voice crackled back.
“Picard, Lysander Murat, commander of all Federation forces on the planet Torgu-Va here. Captain, I do not recognize your authority to issue such an order.”
On the main screen Picard could see that Jord was frowning while listening to the hissing reply of Gadin. Picard shot a glance at Data.
“Gadin’s response is essentially the same,” Data announced.
“Then, Mr. Murat, you must recognize the authority of my superior, Admiral Nagaru of Starfleet Command, who has conveyed the same order.” Picard looked up at the screen again, his look somehow conveying his thoughts, and Jord nodded. “Gadin of the Golden Talon, ships of the Tarn imperial forces are in orbit above this planet as well, here to convey the same information.”
Jord stiffened slightly but said nothing.
“That is a lie,” Gadin shot back.
“It is the truth,” Jord interjected. “Three ships of the Imperial Talon orbit Torgu-Va as well. There is a cease-fire.”
“Captain, smash them now!” Murat shouted. “Strike first, don’t make the same mistake as the Verdun!”
“Again the same response from Gadin,” Data announced. “He is calling for Jord to launch a strike.”
Picard sighed to himself. Any hope of negotiating, of talking sense, was breaking down.
“The away teams, I wish to speak with them,” Picard snapped.
“They are elsewhere,” Murat replied, and there was a brief pause, “helping in our defense, unlike you.”
Picard stiffened.
“I wish to speak to Commander Riker immediately.”
“It’s been lovely chatting, Picard, but there’s a war to be fought. Murat out.”
“Damn,” Picard hissed under his breath.
“Picard, is it true your people are helping them?” Jord now asked coldly.
“Of course not, Commander Riker is my most trusted officer. Murat was deliberately trying to provoke a situation up here, Admiral.”
“Sir, the same reply from Gadin, he said Karish is actively engaged in combat,” Data said.
Picard looked accusingly at Jord, who seemed taken aback.
“Cut communications to the planet, Mr. Worf.”
“Yes, sir.”
Picard looked back at Jord.
Jord was still speaking, then looked at the screen and stopped.
“May I ask what you said?” Picard inquired.
“Suspicious, are we, Captain?” Jord asked.
“Just that, given the situation, I am required to know.”
Jord chuckled again. “You seem to be playing your hand openly, so I will too, Picard. Just an inquiry to Gadin to reconsider.” To one side Picard could see Data nod in agreement.
“Sorry, Admiral.”
“If your Riker is indeed helping them, we shall be forced to respond.”
“The same goes for Karish,” Picard replied, ruing his own decision to send the away teams down. This situation was spinning further out of control by the moment.
Riker had had his fill of roaming after an hour. His primary responsibility to inform the Federation forces of the current status of their war accomplished, he was stymied as to how to fulfill the second: How was he going to convince Murat’s people to accept the situation and establish a cease-fire agreement?
Janice had retired to the bunker she would be staying in with the hopes of speaking further with Julia Murat, which left Riker with nothing of any importance to do until he could arrange a second meeting with Lysander. His walk through the level for the past hour had left him disheartened. Word spread quickly throughout the city, it appeared. He had been greeted with far less enthusiasm than on his arrival. The people were polite, but wary. He had offered to help in the cleanup of the earlier bombing but had been met with firm smiles of denial.
Another rumbling wave washed through the corridors, not as severe as the previous bombardment. A battle group trudged by, obviously returning from the fighting, men and women, eyes unfocused, hollow, battle tunics torn and bloodstained. One of them staggered past, dried tears streaking the dust creased into her face. Over and over she whispered the same refrain, “I told you to stay low, stay low . . . I told you to stay low, stay low.”
Riker slowed, wanting to extend a helping hand, but a sergeant gently elbowed him aside, putting his arm around the woman’s shoulder and leading her away.
Frustrated, Riker decided to make his way back to his bunker. He turned down a side street that led behind a series of houses, cubicle block buildings built with little attention to coziness. There were no people here. If he closed his eyes he could almost believe that he was in a quiet neighborhood back home in Alaska, where the old men sat outside on summer evenings and watched the sun still blazing high in the arctic sky, even at mid-night. What would those old men think of a world where no one saw the sun, where all of their talk, all of their lives, revolved around slaughter?
A kicked stone behind him startled his attention away from thoughts of home. He turned quickly, surprised to find a girl standing merely inches behind him. She was small and delicately made, beautiful even at five or six. Stringy hair had been twined into two braids at either side of her head and she wore the same coarse clothing of the adults.
“You’ve been following me.” Riker smiled as he said it.
The girl nodded but did not comment.
“Do you always follow strangers?” Riker asked.
The child cocked her head back to take in Riker’s height. “I’m a watcher,” she said proudly.
“A watcher? What does a watcher do?”
“Hide.”
“Where do you hide?”
“All over.”
Riker smiled gently.
“What’s your name?”
“Alissia Murat.”
Riker was surprised; this must be Lysander’s daughter. “Well, it’s been very nice to meet you, Alissia. I’m sure I’ll see you later.”
The girl did not move.
“Good-bye,” he prodded. When she still made no comment he smiled again and turned away, walking down the way he had come. He wanted to turn his head and see if the child had moved, but thought against it—no need to frighten her. But halfway down the street, his curiosity overcame him. He cast a quick look behind his shoulder and was surprised to see that the child had followed him, again, so quietly that he had not realized her presence.
“Daddy said that you came to make everything right, but now you aren’t going to.”
Riker sighed. What was their notion of right, he wondered.
“I’m going to try,” he said, infusing the remark with more optimism than he felt.
“Want to see where I hide?” she asked simply. There was no excitement in the question, but then that was unsurprising. There was no time or place on this planet for childlike enthusiasm.
“All right.”
Alissia reached up and took his hand, bulky in her own, and led him away. He noted her act of trust with surprise but said nothing, allowing her to lead him down several back streets. They entered a tunnel that led them away from the main level. Unlike the narrow tunnels that had brought them into the city, this tunnel was wide and dimly lit with emergency lights. It was not a tunnel designed to mislead, as were the series of passageways that he had originally encountered, but rather, formed for efficient movement. He concluded that it had been built as an escape tunnel, its dusty appearance indicating that it had not been in use for some time.
They soon reached a large circular room, the openings of more tunnels radiating in all directions like wheel spokes. Riker dropped the girl’s hand and peered into the entrance nearest him. It appeared far more narrow than the tunnel they had come from but still maneuverable.
“What’s down there, Alissia?”
“It’s just my tunnel.”
“Where does it go to?”
“Outside.”
“Outside where?”
Alissia looked at Riker with a blank expression, as if she didn’t understand.
“To them,” she responded without affect.
“Do you mean that it’s an unguarded exit? A way out of the city?”
“There are lots of them. It’s closed up with stuff in front of it, there are mines and traps too.”
She spoke as casually of the traps as other children might speak of dolls and favorite toys.
He turned his attention back to the opening. Clever, he thought. If the need for an immediate escape did arise, it would be foolish to herd the entire city out of one exit. Each of the side tunnels led to a different surface exit point, thereby dispersing the population over a large area of ground.
The child walked away from him, seeming to lose interest in the conversation. Riker watched with curiosity as she began to spin herself around in circles, sending her braided hair lashing out on either side of her. The activity seemed to occupy her, yet he found no signs of pleasure on her face.
“Will you take me up there?”
Alissia stopped suddenly, her gray eyes round with interest.
“We aren’t allowed up there.”
“You’ve been up there.”
“I’m tiny and I can run fast.”
Riker thought a moment. “Will I fit?”
The girl looked him up and down, as if sizing him up. She nodded an affirmative.
“Don’t tell?” the child asked.
“I won’t.”
Alissia paused a moment. Riker could decipher nothing from the placid face. It remained curious, devoid of any other emotion.
“Come on.”
Riker followed quietly, ducking into the small entrance to avoid the brush obscuring the opening. The tunnel was dank, dripping with moisture. A system of piping ran along the roof, making it difficult to walk without ducking to one side. The walls and ground of the portal were made of dirt and rock, held up only by a few support beams every hundred feet or so.
“It gets smaller up here. You’re gonna have to crawl.”
She was right. The tunnel narrowed significantly, sloping upward as it decreased in diameter. Crawling on all fours, Riker attempted to keep up with the child, who was agile and dexterous in the cramped area. They continued in this manner for some time before reaching a level area of ground. The tunnel opened upon a small room of sorts. Granite walls with metal plating covered the floor. In the right side of the room several boulders were piled up to make a stairway that led to a securely latched metal hatch in the ceiling. The way out, Riker supposed.
She pointed to several wires cunningly set across the bottom of the boulders and gingerly stepped over them. Alissia turned and held her finger in front of her lips, cautioning for silence. She scrambled up the rocks and motioned for Riker to do the same. “This way. You can see the blue thing from up here,” the child whispered.
Riker nodded, cautiously moving over the wires and climbing the rock pile carefully. Once safely on top, he positioned himself awkwardly next to the girl.
“Look. Through there. The broken piece. Can you see it?” Riker peered through a half-inch slat of corroded metal tangled with brown weeds and gravel. At first glance he could make out little but a finely laid layer of red silt covering everything in sight. The slightest exhaled breath sent several grains into his eyes. Blinking to clear his vision, he looked away.
“Did you see it? Isn’t it beautiful?” The child gazed with wide-eyed wonder at Riker.
“See what?” Riker blinked again, beginning to question what whim of his led him to follow the girl in the first place.
“The blue thing. It’s so pretty. Daddy thinks so too.” The child stared up again, drinking in the sight. Her animation, the first he had seen since meeting the girl, was contagious. She was captivated by whatever it was that she saw through the corroded metal. He craned his head up next to hers and took a second look through the narrow opening, squinting his eyes to see through the crack. This time he could see beyond the dirt and debris, past the dry weeds and up further. Puzzled, he pulled back and stared at the girl, who was waiting, eyes wide, for his response.
“You mean, the sky?” he said quietly.
“Sky?” she said reverently. “Is that what it’s called?” And she stuck her tiny head up against the hatch again, nose peeking through the tiny slit, eyelashes brushing against the metal in her effort to be as close to the opening as possible.
Riker studied her little form pressed upward, straining to get a glimpse. He had the sudden urge to break through the exit and climb through, throwing her up onto his shoulders so that she could reach up her little fingers and laugh as she tried to tickle the clouds. He wished he could take her away from this world where children wore the eyes of old men and their only source of wonder was in a stolen, slivered glimpse of sky.
Explosions thundered in the distance and his first instinct was to pull her away but she didn’t move. She was far more battle-wise than he; if there was danger nearby she was bred to sense it, so he let her stay. He silently cursed the fact that his communicator and Janice’s had been confiscated. From here he could easily reach the ship, find out what was happening, report in, and yes, perhaps even beam this child up and away from hell.
Alissia apparently noted Riker’s silence and turned to look at him. She moved so that her gray luminous eyes were inches in front of his own, their noses almost brushing against each other. With a voice no stronger than a whisper she asked slowly, “You don’t like my sky?”
“It’s the most beautiful piece of sky I have ever seen,” he said truthfully.
She blinked once and then offered him the gift of a smile; it was the first sign of her childhood. “Good. I think so too.” She spoke confidently, her face serious, her voice wise. And without another word, she scrambled down the rocks and left the room.
“Dear God, keep her safe,” Riker murmured to himself before following, wondering where Janice was now.