<USS Cervantes> Re: Rain dance - Part II (updated)

LOL! The beginning line - "Spill lizard bitch!" - makes a LOT more sense
now!

-----Original Message-----
From: usscervantes-bounce@xxxxxxxxxxxxx
[mailto:usscervantes-bounce@xxxxxxxxxxxxx] On Behalf Of Bela Ciardan
Sent: Tuesday, September 17, 2002 3:47 PM
To: usscervantes@xxxxxxxxxxxxx
Subject: <USS Cervantes> Rain dance - Part II (updated)

My apologies -- when piecing together the log last night, I somehow 
managed to omit a huge chunk at the very beginning.  My bad.  Also, Bear

pointed out that a few people (only hotmail users?) didn't receive it,
so 
here we go again.

C

--

Rain dance - Part II (updated)
Oriana Bell
Bela Ciardan
Douglas McKnight

0209.16

McKnight was pretty sure that even though the realization would have
unnerved him, he never would have been this alarmed if he and his two
companions had been simply discovered. But as things were, his alarm was
increased several fold by some rather obvious signs of hostility he was
picking up on, not the least of which was the rifle that Ssarish's
companion had just drawn from under his robe.

"Oh, shit, shit shit!" While the lizard tried to get a clean shot
through the crowd, McKnight wildly swept his gaze from side to side, in
desperate search of some cover. To his great relief, he found that they
were standing not far from a rather sizable and more importantly very
dark alley. "Quick, this way!" he shouted as he bolted out of the open
square, his companions right on his heels.

Naturally, it was too much to hope for that once discovered, they'd be
left alone just alone, just because they'd shown some resistance to the
idea of getting shot. McKnight had only just started to get used to the
darkness when he heard the rapid clicking of talons on stone, signaling
that the lizards had indeed given chase. Crouching down low with his two
companions in the shadows provided by the alcove of a conveniently
placed doorway, McKnight had only moments to wait before the tall dark
shape of lizards on the hunt became visible.

Dark though the alley was at night, McKnight was pretty sure that the
armed Ss'thlan would be the one leading the pair into the alley, a
theory confirmed by the barely perceptible gleam of what little
starlight there was filtered down into the alley striking the metal
finish of the weapon. Rising quickly to his feet, McKnight broke into a
run as he charged the rifle wielder. He was, of course, outmatched in
size and strength, but then size and strength had never been his chief
virtues in combat. Speed was what he'd always relied on, and speed meant
momentum. Fortunately, a combination of surprise and momentum were
sufficient to knock the taller alien back against the wall of the
neighboring building. As McKnight also registered with a degree of
satisfaction that the rifle had fallen from his clawed hands and
clattered harmlessly to the ground. Quickly bringing his kinfe to the
lizard's throat to prevent any attempt at retaliation, McKnight noticed
Ssarish grasping for the fallen weapon. He couldn't have that.

"Lizard bitch, you so much as twitch, and your buddy here's a suitcase,
capisce?" Ssarish didn't understand every word uttered, but it seemed
that under the circumstances, the malevolent tone in McKnight's voice
had been sufficient to get the message across. She quickly withdrew the
grasping talons back to her side.

Bela stepped forward slowly with the practiced ease of a diplomat,
trying not to think about the consequences should he fail. "Ssarish, do
you recognize us? You and us, we're scientists and explorers ^^ violence
does not become us." Bela continued in the smooth, confidence-inspiring
tongue that had served him for years, first in the classroom and later
at the bargaining table. "Besides, what would be gained by one of us
harming the other?"

Ssarish stood mutely, eyes locked on McKnight's weapon.

Bela was near-overwhelmed by the pungent monkey-urine scent of fear and
hostility radiating from the captive Ss'thlan. He frowned and gestured
towards McKnight's knife, still resting against the soft throat of the
unidentified Ss'thlan.  "Please put that away, McKnight -- we're all
friends here." Reluctantly, McKnight obeyed, though Bela was barely able
to pick up on some soft muttering coming from the annoyed ensign,
something about attempted murder being considered a rocky foundation for
a friendship where he came from. As McKnight secured the fallen rifle,
Bela wrinkled his nose and continued, "If we're not careful, your scent
pouches are going to get us into trouble.  Already, we're attracting
interest."  Feline silhouettes were visible in the alley mouth,
curiously peering into the shadows.  "Might we find some place more
secluded and have a little chat?"

The five made their way through the door near which Bell and Ciardan
hid, the Cervantes crew cautiously leading and the Ss'thlan following
closely behind. A narrow corridor opened quickly into a large chamber,
dark save for one or two torches. Shelves lined the walls, filled with
carefully-stacked scrolls and bound books. Bela led the party to a squat
square table surrounded by chairs (which seemed as though they could
accommodate both body types, being comfortable for neither) and waited
for everyone to sit. Naturally, Bell and McKnight sat on one side and
the Ss'latha on the other -- Bela made himself as comfortable as
possible between them.

"Now... Where to begin?"

After a few minutes, no one seemed to have an answer for Bela -- 
McKnight decided he might as well break the ice.

"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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