<USS Cervantes> Rain dance - Part II

Rain dance - Part II
Oriana Bell
Bela Ciardan
Douglas McKnight

0209.16
 

"Spill, lizard bitch! Who, what, when, where, why? Since none of us know
the jargon, I think we can skip how."

Bela shot a warning look at McKnight and leaned towards Ssarish, smiling
disarmingly. "Let's begin at the beginning, shall we? What can you tell
us about the Khefiraa?"

"It issssnot asss you envishunned, of course," Ssarish replied. She
hissed as if losing steam, both figuratively and literally. Even in the
dim light, the lizard's eyes looked weary.
 
"You sseee that we are NOT typical archaeologists. But we learn more
thisss way."
 
"Yeah, it's usually a lot easier when you cheat." McKnight muttered to
himself.
 
Oriana had picked up quite a bit from her empathic trance. Probing
Ssarish would provide an opportunity to confirm what they'd learned, and
fill in the missing details, answer questions such as: "What are the
Khefiraa so afraid of?"
 
"The end of life itself," the lizard answered darkly.
 
"Can we get that without the melodrama?" McKnight asked impatiently.
 
Ssarish continued, unperturbed by McKnight's abrasiveness. "The Khefiraa
are doubly-threatened -- their homeland is turning to dust, and their
population is rapidly diminishing."
 
"Um..." McKnight scratched his head in confusion. "I'm afraid I'm gonna
have to amend the earlier line of questioning. Could we get the how on
that mass extinction thing?"
 
Ssarish squinted, her eyes flashing yellow in the torchlight. "The sands
are encroaching -- a Khefiraan poet said, 'The greenness is a lie, and
the desert is growing.' They simply haven't the technical ability to
halt it."
 
Oriana could feel the pain of the Khefiraa, in the lizard, through the
lizard. After all, this was Ssarish's life's work, all she knew and
loved. The dying of the species, in a way, marked her own dying, as
well. Everyone was silent for a moment, when Oriana, her empathy getting
the better of her, finally blurted, "Surely, the Federation has the
technology to help them!" 
 
McKnight could only close his eyes and brace himself for what he knew
was coming. He had a pretty good idea what answer Federation dogma would
have for Bell's compassionate plea, and it turned his stomach.
 
"It's really not an option," Bela sighed, rubbing some stinging smoke
out of his eyes. "There's the Prime Directive *and* the Temporal Prime
Directive standing between us and the Khefiraa -- technically, we're not
even supposed to be here."
 
Oriana released a guttural growl, so quiet it was more of a vibration.
Angry with herself at forgetting the directive-the PRIME DIRECTIVE, for
Kahless' sake -- and embarrassing herself in front of her crewmates once
again, there was little she could do but back down. "You're absolutely
right, Bela." There was hope, though. Oriana turned to Ssarish. "Can the
Sslytha'a doing anything to help?"
 
Ssarish flared her nostrils and replied sharply, "Those who have the
technology to help have not the inclination. It's the official
unofficial opinion of the Sslytha'an that the time of the Kefiraa has
past."
 
Bela straightened in his chair. "You seem very familiar with the Kefiraa
-- do you think any of their solutions might conceivably work?"
 
Ssarish shook her head, a humanoid gesture she only could have picked up
from the Cervantes crew. "What they have is little more than hatchling
imaginings." It was an odd translation, which the crew took to mean
something like Old Wives Tales. "The warm, wet leaves which acted as a
breeding ground get smaller each season. Antigens create diseases that
kill many of the dwindling numbers of kittens born each year."
 
All this time, McKnight had been rather quiet, quieter at least than one
would expect given his track record this night. Truth was that he hadn't
expected himself to give a good God damn about the opinion of their
attempted murderers. But that comment about a people having the
technology but not the inclination to help these people had really hurt,
so much was it a reflection of his own doubts. How he wished he could be
serving in the Star Fleet of Kirk's day, his job clear : Blow klingons
straight to Sto'vo'kor. But somewhere along the line, Star Fleet had
gone over to the Picard doctrine: Rescue a cat from a tree, but only if
the natives don't see you doing it. God, this made him sick. McKnight
was all for idealism, provided it was feasible, as it seldom seemed to
be in the real world. But Star Fleet stubbornly decided again and again
to play the knight in shining armor, helping those in need, whatever the
risks. But now, it seemes that the fuckers couldn't even do that right.
He was thankful that he had never been at Bell's stage, the idealistic
cadet, straight out of the academy. His disillusionment was never quite
so jarring as he figured hers would have to be, unless she boated an
optimism so stubborn as he could hardly comprehend. With a sigh,
McKnight brought himself back to the present. "So" he interjected "is it
just me, are these people a bit loopy? I don't mean crazy with fear, I
mean generally sort of off up there, if you take my meaning."
 
Bela turned to look more closely at McKnight's shadowed face. "Their
entire world is ending, Douglas, and they can do absolutely nothing to
stop it. Stoicism is really only worthwhile when one has an audience."
 
"Possibly not 'absolutely nothing', Cervantes," Ssarish suggested with a
blink. "One of their intellectuals recalled 'The Madness', a disease
which affected the Kefiraa most strangely, inducing them to mate
out-of-season, when procreation was an impossibility. Through prayer and
their primitive version of science, it was suggested that somehow this
disease could be used to battle the drought-induced decline in
reproduction." Ssarish continued, stone-faced. "The suggestion was
widely ridiculed -- it was never really tested. Unfortunate. I think it
might have saved them in the end."
 
McKnight thought at that moment to look down at his watch, only to
realize that ship's time didn't really mean much down here, and he
didn't know what sort of schedule night and day kept on this planet.
"Say" he asked slowly, "when exactly does the sun rise on this planet?"
 
At McKnight's question, Ssarish gazed out the library window into the
twilight. "We have little time," she said. "Follow me." She gestured to
her silent Slytha'a companion and the three Cervantes officers.
 
Ssarish led them through a series of narrow corridors, then up a tall
staircase. "This building is above ground in our time," Ssarish informed
them. "We will be safe."
 
"Thank you, Ssarish," Oriana said. "And thank you for all your insight.
You've definitely selected an interesting life's--" Before Oriana could
finish her sentence, the stone walls around them jumped, like a poorly
programmed looping segment on a holodeck program. It was only when
Oriana looked outside that she could tell they had traveled forward in
time. Dense foliage had transformed to sky and sand as far as eye could
see. They were home.

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