STAR TREK - TNG - 23 - War Drums

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/* /*]] */ Star Trek - TNG - 023 - War Drums (v1.0) (html) Scanned by Highroller.

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War Drums by John Vornholt

Chapter One

A CACOPHONY OF bird calls abruptly stilled as three women and three men entered a heavily

wooded glade carrying baskets, buckets, blankets, and assorted hand tools. All six wore simple brown

outfits of coarse hand-sewn material and heavy boots, befitting settlers in a pristine world. Their voices

were subdued, as if in respect for the cathedral-like setting of towering black trees, each about a meter in

diameter. The few words that could be heard distinctly were comments about the fine weather, tales

about the antics of children, and the sort of small talk any group of neighbors might make.

In the center of the glade two of the women began to brush away the ankle-deep accumulation of leaves,

twigs, and branches that had lain undisturbed on the forest floor since the last heavy rain. Then they

carefully laid a blanket on the clearing and began to unpack their picnic baskets. Meanwhile, the other

four broke into two groupstwo men and a man and a woman. They carried the buckets and tools to the

trees and began to inspect the sturdy trunks. Soon the peace of the forest was broken by hammering as

the two teams began to pound sap-catching spigots deep into the trunks of the trees. As the women on

the blanket unpacked deviled eggs and sandwiches the other four settlers hung buckets on the spigots

and speculated on the quality of the sap they would be harvesting.

Suddenly the idyllic peace was rent by an unearthly screech. A naked figure came leaping out of the

trees, landing in the midst of the food. It was hairy, but not hairy enough to be an ape, and there were

distinct ridges on the creature's forehead.

One of the women scrambled to escape, but the other reached into the bottom of her picnic basket and

pulled out a hand phaser. The creature was evidently prepared for this maneuver and attacked her

viciously, knocking her down with one sweeping blow, then pummeling her until she was unconscious.

Then the Klingonthat's plainly what it wasbegan to scoop up every picnic basket, utensil, and morsel of

food in sight.

The other humans reacted with alarm, but before they could come to the woman's aid other naked

Klingons swarmed out of the woods, screeching and leaping on the humans like a pack of wild dogs. The

attack degenerated into a bloody battle that made Captain Picard squirm uncomfortably in his cushioned

chair, but he never diverted his eyes from the viewscreen. He had seen Klingons behave violently before,

but never like this. Klingons were warriors who relished a fight, but they relished the ritual, weaponry,

and rules of battle just as much. The scrawny, unkempt Klingons in this visual log were little more than

animalssnarling, feral creatures who bit and slashed rather than stood and fought.

The object of their attack was plainly the picnic baskets and supplies, because the first Klingon made off

with them as quickly as possible. His comrades were evidently there to make good his escape, because

as soon as he was gone they tried to disperse. Three of the humans lay on the ground, not moving, and all

were badly bloodied; but one strapping human was not content to let the Klingons escape. He staggered

into the woods after them, pulling out a phaser weapon and shooting indiscriminately. One of the

Klingons, too small to be anything but a youth, was caught squarely in the back by the glowing beam. He

spun and slumped to the ground.

Now the scene shiftedthe first obvious edit in the visual logand the bedraggled Klingon prisoner was led,

limping and bruised, into a walled compound. Someone had tied a rag around his waist so that he wasn't

completely naked anymore. The welts and bruises on his face could not have been caused by any sort of

fall or phaser wound. The boy looked as if he fully expected to die, but his battered face remained proud

and defiant. With that expression, thought Picard, he looked like a Klingon, not a beast in the woods.

"End visual," said a deep voice.

The screen blinked off, and the lights came up slightly in the observation lounge of the starship Enterprise

. The large bearded man who had fired the phaser and captured the Klingon youth stood before them.

Every seat at the oval table was taken by one of Captain Picard's most trusted subordinatesFirst Officer

Will Riker, Commander Data, Doctor Beverly Crusher, Commander Geordi La Forge, Counselor

Deanna Troi, Ensign Ro Laren, Chief O'Brienbut every eye wandered in the direction of the burly

security officer who sat at the far end of the table, Lieutenant Worf". The Klingon sat slumped in his seat,

still glowering at the blank screen, his breath coming in guttural bursts.

One by one they turned away from Worf, all except for the man standing at the front of the room. Raul

Oscaras glared hatefully at the big Klingon.

"Lieutenant Worf," he growled, "do you still deny that we are being attacked by Klingons?"

Worf sat up, his teeth clenched. "No, I do not. It is also evident that you have beaten your captive, in

blatant disregard of Starfleet regulations."

"In the year that we have been on Selva," countered Oscaras, "we have been attacked by this roving

gang of Klingons forty-two times. We have suffered eleven dead and sixty-nine wounded. Our children

cannot leave the compound and play in the beautiful forest that covers our planetfor fear of being killed.

Our scientists cannot study the wildlife of Selva, and our healers cannot look for herbs. When we came

to Selva we didn't have a single phaser weapon. Now the replicator is working overtime to make them,

and only armed parties dare to venture forth. And you think we should coddle these savages?"

Before Worf could respond the captain held up a hand to defuse the situation. "It won't do any good to

quarrel among ourselves," he declared. "Mister Oscaras"

" President Oscaras," the man corrected him.

"President Oscaras," Picard continued, "we sympathize with your plight. New Reykjavik is a Federation

colony, and Starfleet sent us here to resolve this problem. Whatever you may think of Klingons at the

moment, I can assure you those are not typical Klingons. I have spent considerable time among Klingons,

and I've never seen them act like that. They're warriors, yes, but they have strict codes of behavior and a

great deal of pride. They do not behave like wild animals."

His jaw clenched, Oscaras gazed out the observation window at the stunning expanse of stars. "I wish

you could hear their drums," he murmured. "They play them for hours on end, all night, while our children

cry and no one sleeps. We've tried to hunt them down, but they're part of the forest. They sleep in the

trees or burrow in the ground. Despite what you say, Captain, they are animals, and you must help us

hunt them down."

"I don't understand this," said Riker, leaning forward impatiently. "The Federation only sponsors colonies

on uninhabited planets. Were the Klingons there when you arrived, or did they come later?"

The big man scowled. "We scouted Selva for three years, along with other planets. There was no

evidence of sentient beings, past or present. You can check the studies. But now that we realize how the

Klingons blend into the forestand how they live like animals we know they were hiding from us.

"For the first few months," he continued, "there were no outward signs, just a few things missing every

now and then. There are nonsentient animals on the planet, and we assumed chucks or sloths took the

food. Then they became bolder, and the attacks started. Always hit-and-run. They never tried to make

contact or anything. They just started attacking and stealing what they wanted."

Picard nodded grimly, "Then our first order of business is to find out where they came from." He turned

to Worf. "Lieutenant, I suggest you contact the Klingon High Command and find out how there came to

be Klingons on Selva."

Worf stirred, as if awakening from a private reverie. "Yes, sir," he said, standing. "With your permission,

I will undertake that investigation immediately."

"Make it so," replied Picard.

Worf, with obvious relief, left the observation lounge. No sooner had the door shut behind him then Raul

Oscaras leaned across the conference table.

"Captain Picard," he said, "if I may speak frankly, I don't believe your Klingon can be trusted in this

matter."

Tight-lipped, Jean-Luc Picard glared at his guest. "First of all, President Oscaras, he is not my Klingon.

He's Starfleet's Klingon and a valuable member of this crew. I can assure you he's no happier about

these developments than you are. Secondly, if we establish the fact that the Klingons arrived on Selva

before the settlers, then you have violated the Prime Directive by establishing an open settlement on an

inhabited planet."

"We didn't know!" protested Oscaras.

Data cocked his head and observed, "Ignorance is no excuse for the violation of law."

"God help me!" moaned Oscaras. "Out of all the ships in the fleet, why did they send you ?" His angry

gaze moved from Data to Ensign Ro, who selfconsciously touched the bony ridge between her eyes.

"Half the crew isn't human!"

"No," replied Ensign Ro, "but we make do."

Will Riker smiled slightly before his expression turned serious. "President Oscaras," he warned, "I

wouldn't continue with this line of thought. Every day the Federation encompasses more species who

aren't human, some who aren't even humanoid. Your settlement may be one hundred percent human, but

your planet obviously isn't."

The burly man sighed and lowered his head. "I apologize," he muttered. "When you've been the victim of

guerrilla warfare for months on end you get a little irrational. You've got to help us find some sort of

solution."

Captain Picard nodded and got up from the table.

"We will," he promised. "Right now it's night on your part of the planet, and you probably want to return

to your people. Let us conduct our research, and a party will beam down in the morning."

Oscaras bowed, "Thank you, Captain."

"Chief O'Brien is our transporter operator. He'll make sure you get home all right."

"Right this way," said O'Brien, motioning to the door.

"One thing," asked Deanna Troi, "is the captured Klingon available to talk with?"

"Yes," replied Oscaras. "But he won't talk. We've tried both the universal translator and sign language."

"Perhaps we'll have better luck," the Betazoid remarked.

After O'Brien had led their angry visitor out of the lounge the captain turned to his assembled crew. "I

would welcome suggestions," he said.

Data replied, "I would like to assist Lieutenant Worf, if I may."

"Absolutely," said Picard. "Check Starfleet records, too, in case there was a distress signal or other sign

of missing Klingons in this sector."

Geordi volunteered, "I'm going to run a complete scan of that planet. Maybe there are other things they

don't know about."

"Ensign Ro will assist you," said the captain. He shook his head troubledly. "Beverly, what were your

impressions of that incident?"

The red-haired doctor frowned, "One thing bothers me. To get that video log, they must've set up an

observation post outside the compound. Then to show up in that exact place with a picnic lunch? Did you

see how thin and undernourished those Klingons are? It was almost like they were inviting an attack."

"They knew we were coming," said Deanna Troi.

"They wanted to have proof. I sense that President Oscaras is an extremely clever man. He may have

used these attacks to solidify his control over the colony."

"Yes," said Picard. "And they took their time notifying Starfleet. Number One, you and I will go on the

away team. Who else?"

Riker glanced around the room and answered, "Counselor Troi, Doctor Crusher, and Data. Normally I

would say Worf, but"

"But," agreed Picard, "until we find out how many others think like President Oscaras, we had better

spare Lieutenant Worf. Ensign Ro, I would like you to accompany us."

The slim Bajoran nodded curtly. "Thank you, sir."

"Very well," said Picard, "the away team will assemble in ten hours in transporter room three."

"Get some sleep, everybody," said Doctor Crusher. "We may need our wits down there."

Worf grunted impatiently, not hiding his irritation with the archivist who had put him on pause, as signified

by the jagged Klingon insignia on the viewscreen of his weapons console. He had to admit Klingons were

not the best or most conscientious record keepers, and those who chose that unpopular profession often

became arrogant beyond belief. This gangly librarian was so surly he could put the meanest Klingon

assassin to shame.

The screen blipped on, and the archivist slid back into his seat and said snidely, "The information you

want is classified. We cannot release this information to the Federation. You must apply through security

channels or receive authorization from the council."

"I only want information on a few refugees," Worf muttered. "It was ten years ago, when there was a

series of Romulan attacks on the Kapor'At colonies."

"All of those colonies were deserted, and the Kapor'At abandoned," the archivist interjected.

"Yes, I know," groaned Worf, trying to suppress his anger. "That information is in the Federation

histories. But what happened to the refugees from those attacks? Could they have gone to the Plyrana

system? It's directly between Kapor'At and the home planets."

With boredom the clerk intoned, "There was a negotiated settlement with the Romulans, and one of the

agreements was that the records be classified."

Worf growled, "But everyone knows about it! It's in the Federation histories. There must have been

some accounting of the refugees and the missing."

"There is," agreed the clerk, "but it's classified."

As Worf was about to detonate with anger Data stepped to his side and cocked his head at the screen.

"Good day," said Data.

"Who are you?" asked the Klingon archivist.

"Lieutenant Commander Data," answered the android. "Are you aware that article 749.3 of the

Klingon/Federation Alliance states that the Klingon Empire and the Federation will freely exchange any

and all information pertaining to the rescue and safety of stranded refugees? We are attempting to rescue

Klingons made homeless by armed hostility with the Romulans, and this supersedes any security

designation."

"Are you sure about that?" the Klingon asked doubtfully.

"You claim to be an archivist," said Data, "look it up."

"The information you want is ten years old," muttered the Klingon. "How can you be trying to rescue

them now?"

"How can you be trying to prevent them from being rescued?" asked Data.

The clerk scowled. "Open your data channelI am transmitting the records now. I would appreciate your

keeping it confidential." The screen went blank.

Worf hurriedly punched in the command to receive a subspace transmission, noted verification, then

settled back on his heels. He glanced at Data and nodded. "Thank you. You knew exactly what to say to

him."

"I understand the way bureaucrats think," said the android. "Like myself, they are most comfortable with

set rules and regulations."

"Unlike you," replied Worf, "they don't want to think for themselves."

"Thank you," said Data, "I will take that as a compliment. What do you expect to find?"

"I've reviewed the visual log twice, stopping it at several points, and I estimate the oldest of those

Klingons to be about fifteen in terran years. I saw no adults. The way they behave, as the captain tried to

explain, is atypical."

"Unless they were raised without the benefit of Klingon heritage," added Data, "to channel their

aggressive tendencies."

"Exactly," agreed Worf. "When there's a war it's customary for Klingons to send the youngest children

away while everyone else remains to fight. To the death, if need be. Therefore, I began by looking for

hostilities involving Klingon colonies in a time period of about ten years ago. The Kapor'At solar system

was settled by Klingons, even though the Romulans claim it, as they do everything. Conflict was

inevitable, and the Romulans initiated a series of raids that eventually led to the Klingons abandoning the

solar system. Federation records mention the conflict and the settlement, but there are no details about

escape vessels and refugees. Kapor'At lies only forty-two light-years from here, and it is possible that an

escape vessel might have reached Selva."

Data nodded and glanced at Worfs console. "The transmission is complete," he observed. "Would you

like me to review the records? I could do it in five percent of the time it would take you."

"Very well," agreed Worf. "I shall try to sleep before the away team goes tomorrow."

Data turned to a console behind Worf and punched up the freshly received information. "You are not

going on the away team," he remarked.

"I'm not?" asked Worf with surprise.

"The captain wanted to determine the depth of anti-Klingon sentiment before subjecting you to it," said

Data, scrolling through dense screens of information nearly as fast as the computer could display them.

"Perhaps I should thank him," muttered Worf. He glanced around the bridge but saw only replacement

crew members, all of whom were concentrating on maintaining the orbit around Selva. "Once humans

have made up their minds to hate Klingons, there isn't much that can be done."

"The reverse is true as well," answered the android. "Despite seventy years of peace, conditioned

antipathy is a strong emotion. Here, I believe I have isolated the information you seek."

Data stepped back and allowed Worf to peer at his screen. "At the height of the attacks," the Klingon

read aloud, "the Der'Nath colony put forty-eight young children on a freighter bound for Kling. But they

never reached it. No wreckage was ever recovered, and the freighter was presumed destroyed by the

Romulans."

"I believe your theory is correct," said Data. "If the freighter was only crippled by the Romulans, it might

have reached this solar system."

"It was chunDab class," added Worf, "which means it could have entered the atmosphere of Selva. The

children ranged in age from infants to six, which matches the ages of the Klingons in that visual. The pilot

would have looked for the first available land, which means it is logical they landed near the coastline."

"If they were proven to be the survivors of the freighter," asked Data, "what would be official Klingon

policy in this matter?"

Worf frowned. "That's difficult to say. The way this entire incident has been hushed up and the records

classified, I would guess that the council must be ashamed of the way they capitulated to the Romulans.

Perhaps the Romulans bought them off or made some sort of secret deal for Kapor'At. As you know,

Romulans and certain Klingon factions have been known to bargain in secret, and this occurred during a

very unstable time for the empire."

Data concluded, "You are saying they may not wish to have the survivors found and everyone reminded

of what happened at Kapor'At."

Worf nodded thoughtfully. "I think we should wake the captain."

Captain Picard sat on the side of his bed with a beige robe wrapped around his wiry body. He listened

intently as information, theories, and conclusions about the mysterious Klingon youths were related to him

by Worf and Data. He strode to the computer console in his quarters and read the formerly classified

records himself.

"We can operate under the assumption that these are the missing children," he agreed, "but unless we find

the wreckage of that freighter or we identify the children through their medical records, it's just a theory."

"Captain," said Worf, "it's imperative that we talk to their captive. He is the key."

"Oscaras doesn't know it yet," said Picard, "but we're going to try to have the boy released in our

custody. For his own safety, if nothing else."

"I know I'm not a member of tomorrow's away team," remarked Worf, "but sooner or later someone will

have to go down to that planet and locate those youths. I am the logical choice."

"I agree," said Picard, "but we have to see how much cooperation we can get from the colonists. Data,

according to regulations, what rights do the Klingons have?"

The android cocked his head and replied, "Klingons are allies of the Federation, so they have the same

rights as Federation citizens. Since their residency on Selva predates that of the colonists, they cannot be

removed from the planet without their consent, according to regulation 3144.5, subparagraph eight.

Under normal circumstances, the colonists would need their permission to be there."

Picard sighed and rubbed his eyes. "I think we'll forgo legal considerations until we get the parties to stop

trying to kill each other. Reasoning with Oscaras and the settlers will be hard enough, but how do we talk

to teenagers who have grown up alone in the woods?"

"Captain," said Data, "the three of us speak Klingon, so we can communicate with them if they retain a

memory of their native language. If we equip them with comm badges containing the universal translator,

they will be able to understand any member of the crew or colony."

"We can't delay this mission," insisted Worf. "There were males and females on that ship, and they are

reaching an age when they'll have children of their own."

"Codifying their behavior and society," Data added. "In our favor, the Prime Directive does not apply to

our allies, and all Klingons are our allies, whether they know it or not."

Picard jutted his chin and vowed, "We have to find them and help them all we can. Lieutenant Worf,

would you please inform the Klingon High Council about our suspicions. We have to give them the

opportunity to make a recommendation."

"Yes, sir," nodded Worf.

"And Data," the captain added, "when we meet their captive, memorize his coordinatesso we can borrow

him if need be."

At the master systems display in main engineering Ensign Ro peered at various colorful graphs and

graduated computer representations. She viewed awesome mountains, oceans, canyons, and other

geological formations from impossible points, such as underneath a volcano. The computer compiled the

enormous amounts of data, but there would be time to study it all later, she decided. For now, Ro just

wanted to get impressions, to see if anything stood out from the ongoing scan of the planet. Commander

Geordi La Forge prowled the other side of the master display, and they found themselves drawn

simultaneously to a computer simulation of earthquake fault lines and tectonic plates.

"It's a very young planet," observed Ro thoughtfully. "No wonder it doesn't have any sentient life of its

own. It's still evolving."

"Yeah"Geordi frowned"those tectonic plates aren't exactly fitting together like a jigsaw puzzle. What do

you think of the place they picked to settle?"

"Plenty of water," the Bajoran answered. "They're on the stablest continent. And they're close enough to

the oceanabout twenty kilometersto benefit from warm currents, but far enough away to avoid the brunt

of storms. After you automatically eliminate the forty percent of the planet that's covered by glaciers,

there isn't much stable land left. I wouldn't want to build a skyscraper down there, but I'd say they did all

right My people are living in places that are far worse."

"I would be willing to bet that ocean is uninhabitable," said Geordi. "The salt and mineral compounds are

substantialit's like the Dead Sea on Earth. All those springs and underwater volcanoes must keep it pretty

warm, though."

"Like a big spa," answered Ro. For a second there was a smile on her normally dour face. "I would like

to see it."

"I would, too," said Geordi. "The whole planet is the reverse of Earth the water is hot and uninhabitable,

and most of the land is cold and has glaciers. I'd say they definitely picked the best spot."

"Except that there were Klingons already living there."

Geordi sighed. "I'm not sure what the captain can do to solve that problem. But I'll keep monitoring the

planet while you're down there to see if I can pick up any patterns. At least I can tell you what the

weather will be like."

"This could be a difficult mission," Ro observed, more to herself than to Geordi. "I'd better say good

night."

The chief engineer smiled, and she could imagine the warmth in his hidden eyes. "Take care of yourself

down there, Ensign," he added.

The Bajoran managed a smile and said, "Did you notice that I was the token bumpy-head on the away

team?"

"Well"Geordi shrugged"they have to understand that no race is alone in this universe. I think the captain

made a good choice in taking you for other reasons. You're likely to have compassion for both sides, or

for anyone who is trying to make a go of it in a new world."

"Sometimes I wish the Bajora were like those Klingons," Ro said thoughtfully. "If we had been more

aggressive and fought like animals, maybe we wouldn't have been kicked from planet to planet. But it's

too latewe're civilized."

"It happens to the best of us," said Geordi. "Just be careful."

"I will. Commander. Good night."

Ensign Ro took the long way back to her cabin on deck eight, meaning she meandered down countless

corridors, through empty labs and recreation halls, shunning the closest turbolifts for more distant

conveyances. Finally she found herself on deck ten, as she knew she would, and she made her way to

the ship's ultimate recreation lounge, Ten-Forward. The tasteful and subdued cafe was home base for her

best friend on the Enterprise , the mysterious bartender Guinan.

At this late hour Ten-Fore was more subdued than normal, and only the endless array of stars glittering

through the observation windows gave it any life. From the port side of the ship the rust-colored curve of

the planet Selva was visible below, most of it bathed in the darkness of night. Ro stood at the window for

several moments, gazing at the planet, before she was aware of an outlandishly dressed presence

standing beside her.

"Scuttlebutt has it you're going down there in a few hours," said Guinan.

"Yes," answered Ro. "I should be sleeping, but I can't."

"Why not?" asked Guinan. "Simple assignment-just conquer bigotry and fear."

"Right," sighed the Bajoran, crossing her arms in front of her.

"Especially fear of the Other."

The Other?"

"The different," said Guinan, "the unusual. The one who won't play by the same rules you do. You've

been the Other all your life, and now you've got to teach people not to fear it."

"I doubt I'll have that much time. I don't think the captain intends to leave me down there," Ro said.

Guinan agreed. "I doubt if the captain knows what he intends to do, but I have a feeling this is no normal

assignment for you. I have a feeling that you are desperately needed down there."

"I'm just along for tokenism," Ro countered. "A bumpy-head to show the settlers we can live in peace.

Counselor Troi, Doctor Crusher, Captain Picard they're the ones who will make the difference."

" Everyone makes a difference," Guinan responded. "Lead by example. Shall I bring you some tea that

will help you sleep?"

"No," said the Bajoran. "There's no reason I should be nervous. I'm sure I'll be taken off this mission in

no time. I'll come back tomorrow and tell you what it's like down there."

"Perhaps." Guinan smiled enigmatically. "Whenever you come back, please stop by and tell me about it.

I'm very interested."

"Good night," said Ro.

"Peaceful dreams," replied the bartender.

Chapter Two

IN SPARKLING COLUMNS of dancing molecules, the away team of three women, two men, and an

android materialized in the central square of the village of New Reykjavik on the planet of Selva. One by

one Captain Picard, Commander Riker, Lieutenant Commander Data, Ensign Ro, Doctor Crusher, and

Counselor Troi stepped forward and surveyed the tiny village, home to barely over two hundred souls.

After having read about the settlers and their ideals of self-sufficiency and simplicity, Deanna Troi

expected to see a quaint hamlet with, perhaps, sod houses and mud-packed roofs. Instead she saw a

fortress. The houses and public buildings were ugly and built of corrugated galvanized metal. The walls of

the compound towered at least fifteen meters into the air and were also constructed of fortified metal

sheeting; they were topped with barbed wire and jagged metal stakes.

Turrets that were little more than stilt houses guarded each corner of the fort and the lone vaultlike gate.

The square had three black trees in it, but they looked forsaken and lonely compared to the riotous

profusion of plant life that towered over the gleaming walls and undulated into the distance. The trees in

the square and those close to the walls had been drastically pruned so that no one could hide in them and

leap into the compound from their branches.

A child of about six or seven stood looking curiously at them. "Have you come to kill the drummers?" she

asked.

Will Riker knelt down to meet the child eye-to-eye. "We haven't come to kill anyone," he answered.

"We've come to make peace. Isn't that better?"

"No." She shook her head firmly. "My daddy says there won't be any peace until they're dead."

Before this disturbing conversation could continue they were surrounded by adult colonists and children

of various ages. All of them sported the same nondescript but practical brown clothing, and they all wore

a wary expression that said "We don't trust strangers." They looked uncomfortably like prisoners to

Deanna Troi, especially with the barbed wire and walls surrounding them.

The counselor noticed several of the colonists staring at Ensign Ro, as if they trusted her least of all. But

the slim Bajoran seemed oblivious to their scrutiny as she studied the readings on her tricorder.

President Oscaras came striding out of the crowd. "Welcome!" he bellowed. "Had we known when you

were coming, we would have arranged a formal welcoming party."

"We don't wish to interrupt your daily routine," Picard said, forcing a smile.

Oscaras shook his head with frustration and declared, "That's our problem. We have no daily routine,

because we can't go out of the compound! We had intended to subsist solely off the wealth of this

planetyou could live off the sap contained in those treesbut the savages have made it impossible. The

replicator we have was only supposed to tide us over until we got crops planted and harvested, but now

we depend upon it for everythingfrom the clothes on our backs to the food we eat. As I told you on your

ship, we never intended to manufacture phasers, but that is what the replicator is doing now."

"Do you have a transporter?" asked Data.

"No," answered Oscaras. "That is one concession I refuse to make. At least we will get exercise by

carrying our goods and walking."

Beverly Crusher knelt down to examine the little girl who had spoken to Riker. Smiling warmly, she

maneuvered her medical tricorder from the girl's dirty face to her skinny legs. "I'm a doctor," she assured

her. "I just want to make sure you are feeling all right. How do you like living here?"

"I want to go home," the girl answered honestly. "Back to Iceland."

A red-haired woman who looked like a grown-up version of the child cupped her shoulders and spoke

to her disapprovingly, "This is home for you, Senna. You know that. You shouldn't complain."

"But she asked me," the girl protested.

"Actually," said a young man in the crowd, "there are a lot of us who would like to go home."

His announcement was met with a mixture of boos and muttered approvals.

"Enough of that talk!" snarled Oscaras. Under his stern gaze the murmurs died down. "The crew of the

Enterprise hasn't come here to listen to our complaints or take us back to Earth. They've come here to

make this planet habitable by ridding us of those vermin who plague us!"

That statement was followed by cheers. Picard glanced uncomfortably at his crew, then cleared his

throat. He kept harrumphing until the cheers faded.

"I hate to inform you," he began, "but the Klingons have as much right to be on this planet as you do.

There's good indication that they're refugees from a war and survivors of a crash. If so, they've been here

nine years longer than you have. What we will endeavor to do is to reach them and persuade them to live

in peace with you."

There was hooting and mocking laughter from some, while others stood dumbfounded, staring at the

strangers as if they had two heads. Deanna sensed a bewildering array of emotions, from despair and

acceptance to rage and disbelief. Clearly, this was not the happiest colony in the Federation, and she

tried to have compassion for the stress they had been under from the constant threat of attack. She tried

to imagine their joy in first arriving on this pristine planet, only to be replaced by fear and bigotry after the

attacks started.

"You could sooner talk to the trees," scoffed one man.

A woman turned her anger on Oscaras. "You told us they would help. They're siding with them the

savages!"

The president scowled. "I said I would call the Federation for help, nothing more. They don't know what

we're up against. They even have a Klingon on their vessel, although they had the decency not to bring

him. I say let them go into the forest and search for the Klingons! They will soon learn there is no way to

deal with these beasts."

This solution was clearly not popular with anyone, and loud arguments commenced. Some of the

colonists began to wander away from the impromptu town meeting, their faces reflecting disgust and

resignation. Deanna felt driven to do or say something that would lighten the somber mood of their arrival

on Selva.

The Betazoid pointed to the stockade that surrounded them. "We want to help you tear down those

walls," she declared. "Isn't that what you want? To be able to wander freely on this world you've chosen

for yourselves? More deaths and hatred won't achieve it."

"Can't you capture them?" asked the red-haired mother of the six-year-old. "Take them back to their

own people. That would be all right with us."

Several colonists seized upon this idea and voiced their approval. Picard held up his hands to quiet them.

"We are contacting the Klingon High Council to inform them of this situation," he explained. "But there's

very little we can tell themwe have to find the Klingons and learn more about them first. I must warn you

that capturing the Klingons and expelling them from this planet against their will is a last resort."

"Give us better weapons and scanners!" shouted a burly man. "We'll finish them off without you."

Judging by the cries of approval, this was the most popular suggestion yet, thought Deanna. Oscaras

shook his head at his visitors as if these sentiments, grotesque as they were, couldn't be helped.

"There is Marta," he said, pointing to a pretty blond woman. "She lost her husband in the first attack. And

Josephhis wife was on a science team that was studying the chucks, which is our name for the

predominant mammal on the planet. She was killed for the food in her pack. Ask Lucius to show you the

souvenir he got from his encounter with the drummersa scar that runs from his neck to his navel. And

Edward, what happened to your son?"

An old man licked his dry lips before replying, "They mauled him to deathlike animals."

Captain Picard swallowed before answering. "We're not here to defend these attacks. You've lived with

this terror for many months, and we've only just found out about it. But Klingons are allies of the

Federation, and the same laws protect them."

"But they have no laws!" protested Marta.

"Then they haven't been brought up as Klingons," answered Picard. "What do you really know about

them? Nothing. Except that they attack you, seeking food. Have you ever left them food or tried to make

peace?

The old man, Edward, shook his head. "You are right, Oscaras. Let them go into the forest. After they've

lost a few sons and daughters they may listen to reason."

"Perhaps we should speak to the captive," suggested Data.

A dark-skinned woman approached Data and sniffed him suspiciously. "What are you?" she asked.

"An android," he replied. "I was created by Doctor Singh"

"Not now, Data," interrupted the captain. "We'll have plenty of time to get to know each other. I believe,

President Oscaras, that we should see the captive as soon as possible."

"Come," said the bearded man. "I'll give you a quick tour of the compound on our way."

Oscaras led his visitors past the largest of the corrugated buildings, which seemed to Deanna like a

fortress. "That building houses our replicator, subspace radio, science lab, and sickbay," he explained. "I

don't believe there's anything in there that you aren't familiar with. Families have their own dwellings, and

the younger unattached men and women live in dormitories on the other side of the square. That other

large building is our communal dining hall, and it also serves as a courthouse and recreation room.

"In our original plan," he continued, "families were supposed to have houses and plots of land

interspersed throughout the forest. Obviously, we had to abandon that idea. We are a little pressed for

space, so families have been asked not to have any more children until we resolve this problem."

"Do you know how many Klingons live out there?" asked Riker, making a sweeping motion that took in

the forest.

"They attack in small groups," said Oscaras, "and we've never seen more than a handful at a time."

"If the Klingons are the group we think they are," said Picard, "there would be slightly under fifty of

them."

Oscaras gave a hollow laugh. "If there were fifty of them," he scoffed, "they would have killed us all by

now."

He stopped outside a windowless corrugated shed that looked more beaten and weathered than any

other building in the compound. The walls near the thick metal door bulged as if something inside had

been trying to batter its way out.

"You keep him in here?" asked Beverly Crusher, clearly shocked.

"It's better than he deserves," answered Oscaras, scowling, "and certainly better than he's used to." The

president of the colony lowered his voice to add, "If it had been left to the majority, the Klingon would

have been executed for murder by now."

Picard frowned. "Capital punishment has been abandoned for centuries on Earth."

"If there were creatures like this on Earth," said Oscaras, "they would have to reinstate it. I warn you that

the prisoner has been placed in restraints, but that's for his own safety. He threw himself against the walls

with such force that we feared he might injure himself."

As Oscaras reached for the heavy bolt that locked the door Deanna saw Captain Picard and Data

ex-change glances, and Data nodded slightly. The android must have been given a secret order, she

knew immediately. She had told herself to remain calm and nonjudgmental about anything she might see

on this planet, but the raw emotions of hatred and terror emanating from the crude shed made her sick to

her stomach. Involuntarily, she stepped back as Oscaras yanked the bolt and opened the door.

It was dark and foul-smelling inside the shack, like a primeval cave. Captain Picard wrinkled his regal

nose but stepped forthrightly into the darkness. Oscaras motioned the others to stay back.

"There won't be room for all of you inside," he said.

"Let Doctor Crusher and Counselor Troi enter," ordered Riker. "Data, Ro, and I will remain here."

Doctor Crusher was already pushing her way inside, and Deanna reluctantly followed. The counselor's

reluctance was not based on fear or disgust, but rather on the certainty that her opinion of human beings,

who constituted half her heritage, was about to be downgraded.

"Let's have some light!" ordered Picard.

"Sorry," said Oscaras. He reached inside the doorway and grabbed a battery-operated lantern. He

turned it on, then returned it to its hanger on the wall.

Deanna gasped as the light revealed the inhabitant of the decrepit shed. Against one rusted wall,

restrained by straps and a crude straightjacket, sat a pathetic young Klingon surrounded by bits of rotting

food and his own feces. He blinked and turned away from the unaccustomed light. Then he drew his thin,

dirty knees up to his chest as if he was about to be beaten.

Picard swallowed hard, mustered a smile, and said, " chay. tlhlngan Hol Dajatlh 'a' ?"

The Klingon blinked at him in amazement and shook the strands of dark, matted hair from his face.

Finally he lowered his legs slightly and seemed about to speakbut instead bared a set of jagged teeth and

hissed.

Beverly Crusher looked twice as mad as the bound Klingon. "Release him immediately!" she ordered

Oscaras. "This is no way to keep an animal, let alone a humanoid."

Oscaras poked his head in the door and mustered all the tact at his disposal as he replied, "I would

advise against that, Doctor. He has bitten several of us, and he would instantly attempt to escape."

"Wouldn't you?" she snapped back. "Release him immediately so that I can examine him."

"You can make a preliminary examination while he's restrained," Oscaras countered. "Or may I suggest

we stun him with a phaser first?"

Deanna watched the Klingon, who seemed to be quite interested in this exchange. Probably it was the

first time he had seen anyone argue with his chief captor. His eyes, though reddened and wild, looked

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