<USS Cervantes> Rain dance - Part I

Rain dance - Part I
Orianna Bell
Bela Ciardan
Douglas McKnight
0209.13

Bela, Orianna and McKnight followed the cloaked pair discreetly, the
shapes of their elongated bodies indistinct in the darkness. Faint
sounds of conflict drifted towards them through the moist night air.

Long before Orianna heard the howls and cries, she sensed the agitation,
nearly tangible in the air. "They're not happy," she said, half to her
crewmates and half to herself.

"Let them join the club," grumbled McKnight as he kept pace at a
discreet distance behind the cloaked lizards. Checking his watch, he
confirmed his fear that breakfast was still many hours off. With a soft
sigh, he acknowledged to himself that as reasons for being dragged out
of bed in the middle of the night went, this was a pretty damned good
one, but that didn't mean he had to be happy about it.? After taking a
few moments to allow for the yawn that he hadn't bothered to suppress,
he tried for some light conversation. "So... am I the only one who
noticed that priest lady had one hell of a nice ass?"

"Not to be too judgmental or xenophobic, McKnight... but it's a CAT."
The security officer had seen her at her worst the other night, which
gave Orianna free reign, she felt, on a little good-natured, friendly
jibing. "Remind me to lock up Golden if you ever come over!"

"Besides," Orianna continued, "Attractive priestesses aside, does anybody
ELSE get the impression that something is just... not right about this
whole thing? A being of that age, being euthanized, you would assume
they would feel relief, and I did get some sense of that. But there was
more. Even when death is welcome... as an end to suffering... there's a
certain sadness. I felt that, alright. It was in the air, like the sense
even non-empaths get at a funeral. But the lizards. They seemed almost
eager. Happy. It was WRONG. And I'm wondering if all this doesn't tie in
to the corpse that disappeared from Hisaj's office."

After her long winded speech, Orianna looked at the two men. What would
they say? It was the most she'd said to either of them, since she'd
joined the crew. But the captain had made it clear to her, through
actions, if not words, that she was brought on board to contribute what
she could to the crew and its missions. And she couldn't leave any of
her impressions unspoken. 

"Huh? Oh, right! You're talking about all that boring stuff, what with
the ritual and all. Can't say I was paying all that much attention."
McKnight shrugged. "It WAS a nice ass." 

"Bela, what do YOU think?" Orianna said, knowing McKnight was not at his
best, and she wouldn't get much more out of him unless they were in some
immediate danger... at which point, she'd trust him with every inch of
her life. 

Bela caught Orianna's eyes and raised a finger to silence McKnight's
impending tirade, motioning towards the silhouettes of the two Ss'thla
--the shimmering blue light from the wormholes above were steadily being
overpowered by the dancing yellow light of numerous torches in the
clearing ahead. An occasional guttural mrowl found its way to the trio,
their Universal Translators sulking in mute frustration. The Ss'thla
adjusted their cloaks and entered the clearing, and after a prudent
pause, the three followed.

NOW McKnight was at something approaching his best. Confronted with the
specifics of Khefirran culture, he honestly didn't find himself caring
all that much. The wormholes littering the night sky were pretty, but
given that McKnight was far from fluent in egg head, his thoughts about
them ended there. But if anything went wrong in the next few minutes, he
might quickly find himself in his element. Folding his arms, he reached
into one sleeve to grasp the hilt of the Applegate-Fairebairn combat
knife he'd thought to bring along for this occasion. Low tech? Sure. But
if there was killing to be done, and stealth was the name of the game,
centuries of technological development had yet to find a better solution
than cold steel. 

Orianna glanced around furtively. She sensed McKnight had placed himself
on a state of alert, but saw no impending danger, herself. The only
fighting going on at the moment seemed to be contained to a center
square... a courtyard in the middle of four buildings, each of which
contained platforms at various levels. Khefiraa perched on the
platforms, yowling and slashing their claws in the air. Damn these UTs!

In the middle of the buildings, huddled in groups, stood Khefiraan
carrying signs and howling like, well, howling like cats in heat. They
weren't though... beings in heat emit sexual frustration easily
identifiable by empaths. They weren't in heat, but they WERE extremely
agitated. And afraid. While the Khefiraa on the platform seemed to have
a purpose, a modus operandi if you will, the ones on ground level,
standing on dead, yellowed grass or patches of sand, didn't seem to know
where to turn. They knew something had to be done, but had no idea what.
Times like these made Orianna wish she were a full telepath. Reading
empathic symbols was akin to looking at a child's picture book with no
words. You could guess at what was going on, try to put the pieces of
the puzzle together, but the end result was still hazy and uncertain. 

Focusing on the horizon, letting the darkness envelope her, Orianna
invoked a meditative state in the hopes of gleaning more information,
telepathically. "The leaders are frustrated and confused," Orianna
whispered, still in a trance-like state. "They want to help, but don't
know how. They are afraid the end of their species is approaching. What
once was green is now turning brown, and the rains don't come like they
used to." 

Bela motioned to anguished faces and mottled pelts in the crowd on
either side of the advancing trio, their owners bowing and murmuring
softly with hands raised. "I hope their gods are listening."

Orianna continued in the same subued voice, her gaze still directed far
away. "The townspeople are frustrated by the political leaders' attempts
to improve the situation. They are turning to what amounts to old wives
tales and superstitions. Nothing is working." 

"Maybe they oughtta try rain dances or something," McKnight offered with
a grin. "I mean as you so quickly pointed out earlier, they ARE a bunch
of cats. You'd think one of them would be bound to have some rhythm. And
besides... oh crap."

McKnight stopped and crouched abruptly enough that Bela collided with
his tensed back. Past his shoulder, the gleaming eyes of Ssarish were
visible as two circles of reflected torchlight in the darkness of her 
hood.

They were discovered.

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