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Jim Ausfahl

June 23rd 2297

Baraka Keme M’Benga, the chief medical officer of the Hyperion, sat at a readout, going over duotronic paperwork, in the back of his mind wondering why he had let himself be talked into being the chief medical officer. It seemed that the endless stream of forms, signatures, reports and the like were taking up more of his time than actual patient care. The half-Masai, half-Zulu physician sighed deeply. Frankly, he decided, if it weren’t for the fact that he very much wanted to stay near Uhura, retiring and throwing it all to the side would be very tempting.

He flipped to a new screen filled with data that demanded review. In one corner of the readout, he noted that it was display thirty-seven out of sixty-two. Over half done, at least. Doggedly, he began going through the display. At his elbow, the communicator chimed. Profoundly thankful for the interruption, he triggered the contact. "Sickbay, M’Benga here."

"Hi, Keme! I need a favor."

M’Benga smiled broadly, recognizing the voice. "Captain, I’ll do what I can. Dare I hope that it’s a quiet dinner for two in your ready room?"

"Mmm...I like your idea; maybe tonight. But I had something else in mind, Keme. I need to borrow Doctor Eletto."

"Giac? I don’t know about this. It all depends on what you have in mind for him. If he’s going to be a chaperone, forget it, lady!"

Uhura chuckled. "Not at all. I want to put him on an away team. We’ve stumbled across what looks like a lost Human colony—possibly the Tschebycheff-l’Hermitte expedition."

"Oh, the lost Snoot Ship colony? I remember reading about them. Just after interstellar travel became practical, they pooled their quite considerable resources, built a starship that was totally automated and able to pander to their every need, and set off to find somewhere they could be away from the riffraff. Their flight plan was a total crock, presumably intentionally, so that the rest of humanity wouldn’t be able to find them and bother them. Bunch of rich snots, or so the books said, from not all that long after Eletto went in to the deep freeze. How am I doing?"

"You’re doing fine, even if you’re a bit on the judgmental side. The bottom line is that we’re going to be sending down a team to do a preliminary cultural survey, particularly to find out if these people are the descendents of the Tschebycheff-l’Hermitte expedition and to gather enough data to decide if they fall under the Prime Directive. Since they were from not long after Giac’s time, I thought he’d be an ideal choice for the away team."

"Request denied, Captain. There’s no way I can let him do that." M’Benga’s words were stern, but his tone of voice carried distinct amusement.

"Okay, I get the feeling you’re not giving me the whole picture, Doctor. Why can’t he do the away team? You know he loves a chance to do that."

"Centaurian mucositis, Captain. He’s got a rip-roaring case of it, and he’s confined to quarters."

"Don’t tease me, you big lummox. I know it’s a standard immunization for all Starfleet personnel."

M’Benga couldn’t resist a chuckle. "It is now. When Giac was immunized, we hadn’t even reached Centaurus. We’re going to have to give that boy a bunch of immunizations, to get him caught up to modern routine immunizations. If you send him down to a Human colony right now, you could start an epidemic to beat the band."

"C’mon, Keme; I know it’s nothing fatal. Isn’t it just an exceptionally miserable version of the common cold?"

"I wouldn’t recommend saying that to Doctor Eletto just now, Captain! Last I heard, the only thing that’s keeping Giac alive is the sweet hope he’ll die swiftly and mercifully. We’re doing what we can to keep him comfortable, you understand, but..."

"You win. Can you spare Hardav?"

"A good choice, and I think Marie and I can manage to spare him. Most of the rest of the crew is too busy chuckling over Eletto being sick to think they’re sick. What’s the colony’s status?"

"Mostly clustered around the initial site; they appear to have lost touch with the technology their parents had. It’s almost like an old-style commune, frankly, but not quite as well organized." Uhura sighed. "At least they’re utterly peaceful, as far as we can determine by observation from orbit. Thankfully, the language hasn’t changed much."

"That’s good; no need for translators. Who all is going?"

"Just three: Hardav, Running Bear and me."

"You?" M’Benga’s jaw dropped. "Woman, forget Hardav! Take me!"

"And get nothing but monkey business done? Forget it, man!" A chuckle came across the communicator. "And anyhow, there’d be a witness."


"That’s me, Captain Spoilsport. Still willing to do dinner?"

"Downright eager. Half an hour after shift end?"

"In the ready room. We can watch the sunset over the arboretum. Bridge out."

M’Benga turned back to the readout, which still read number thirty seven out of sixty two. Doggedly, hoping to get it done before sharing dinner with the captain, the physician returned to his task.


Uhura was the first to join Indri on the transporter room. Her outfit was, to say the least, decidedly shabby; her feet were shod with simple sandals; her trousers were faded, patched, worn and peppered with holes of various sizes; and her shirt was a moth-eaten tee that had been inexpertly tie-dyed. Hanging from the short piece of rope that she was using for a belt, there was a very businesslike sheath knife. M’Benga had managed to stimulate growth of her hair to the point that she had a modest Afro—he’d wanted to get it far larger, but out of sheer practicality, she had kept it small in size. She smiled at her chief of engineering. "I must be a sight to make your eyes sore. This is hardly a class outfit."

"I just see my captain, clothed properly for a cultural survey." Indri shrugged. "It could be worse. They could be nudists."

Before Uhura could make a reply, the turbolift opened, a totally disheveled character shuffling out of it. She turned: the hair was long and scraggly, as was the beard; neither looked like they’d been washed recently. The moustache was no better. The clothes fit poorly, and were every bit as worn and disreputable as what Uhura was wearing. For an instant, she almost didn’t recognize him—then, memories of a pizza delivery in San Francisco made the identification clear. "Hey, Weed. Good t’see ya back, man."

For an instant, Hardav’s posture straightened, the glazed look in his eyes cleared, and an indefinable something changed about his persona. "Lieutenant Commander Harrison Davids, P.A., at your service, Captain Uhura!" As quickly as the precision Starfleet crewman appeared, he disappeared. "Hey, Freedom Woman, a real gas to see ya. Wanna do some travel together?"

The Bantu threw her head back, laughing. "Just don’t get too personal, Weed, or M’Benga will definitely see to you. I think I’ll use Freedom as my name down there; as near as I can tell from what the data banks hold on this planet, it’s a name that will fit in just fine—all the better for being my name, translated out of Swahili." The turbolift opened again. Running Bear stalked out, in Native American regalia, a few feathers sticking out of his headband, a beaded belt around his waist, and what looked like beaded buckskin for clothing. The only part of his costume that didn’t appear authentic was the hard leather soles on the moccasins, and the business-like sheath knife that he, like the other two, sported at the waist. Uhura nodded. "You’re sure taking advantage of their diversity of dress, Running Bear. It looks good on you."

"Thank you, Captain. It’s not actually authentic for Illiniwek Indians, but it’s good enough. Eletto will be terminally jealous, I hope. When he recovers, I mean." Running Bear turned to Indri, suppressing a snicker over the physician’s indisposure. "Hey, Boss, you have the instruments we were getting ready?"

"Sure do. Here’s your dumbek drum, Running Bear. You’ll notice that if you put pressure here and here," Indri indicated two areas on the wild painting of the body of the drum, "you’ll be able to see the viewscreen of an engineering tricorder. Let go of either, and the view looks like it was painted on."

Running Bear accepted the drum, slinging the strap over one shoulder. He struck the center of the head, followed rapidly by striking near the rim; the drum went ‘dum-bek.’ "Well, what do you know? This little thing knows its own name!" He proceeded to beat out a wild, but pleasing, rhythm.

"That’ll do, Running Bear." Indri pretended terror. "If you don’t cut that out, you’ll probably start singing in that hideous falsetto you say is typical of your ancestors. I’d rather hear bagpipes."

"Now boys, be good." As much as she enjoyed watching the interaction between the two friends, Uhura wanted to get on with business. "It sounded like there were several instruments. What else is there?"

Out of a small container behind him, Indri produced a harp. "For you, Captain, a harp, with an in-built communicator. Grab the strings for the chord called a tritone, and you’ll have it running, bi-directionally. You’ll get the response via bone conduction, through your fingers. Running Bear and Hardav won’t be able to hear a thing, but you will." He handed the harp to her. "For you, Hardav, a guitar. You know your way around the chords on one of these, or so I hear."

The physician’s assistant took the instrument and began playing it. "I’ll let you decide that. What secrets does this thing hold?"

"Put your fingers here, here and here on the neck." Indri pointed to three spots on the guitar’s neck. Davids obeyed. "You’ll notice a mediscanner readout, I hope."

"Sure do, Indri. Looks like you’re in good shape."

"Thanks for the accolade. You and Uhura seem to have picked out names to use on the surface. How about you, Running Bear?"

"Seems to me that my actual name would work down there." The younger engineer looked down at his attire. "It matches my outfit, after all."

"Just as long as they get ‘bear’ spelled right, rather than shifting that e to the end..." Davids pretended to look serious.

"From what I can tell, Hardav," Uhura interjected, "most of the inhabitants aren’t exactly that hot with spelling, or literacy for that matter. Running Bear, the Weed and Freedom it is. Let’s get going, okay?"

"Not so fast, Captain!" Indri produced three backpacks, giving each of them one. "You may be down there a while. There is food, a couple of blankets, and a few other necessities in each of these. Given what I’ve heard, you might want to do your own cooking."

One of Uhura’s eyebrows lifted slightly. "Suddenly, this is beginning to look like a dangerous assignment, at least gastronomically." She donned her backpack. "Time’s a-wasting. Let’s go. Last one down cooks supper!"

Dutifully, the other two took their positions with the captain on the transporter, disappearing down to the planetary surface.


The trio materialized in a small copse of trees, near the top of a knoll. Uhura looked around herself, to get her bearings, then moved forward with a confident stride. Only three or four steps were needed to bring them out of their temporary concealment. Before them, in what looked like a lush and fertile valley, lay what was clearly the main population center of the colony. Around a small central cluster of what looked like sections out of a durasteel starship hull, there was a loosely scattered grouping of other sections out of the starship, laid out as if each was to be the main mansion on a large plantation, many of them with what looked like well maintained crops nearby. Interspersed with the durasteel structures, there were numerous buildings of wood and brick. The captain turned to the other two. "Looks strongly like it is the Tschebycheff-l’Hermitte expedition, all right—or what’s left of it. Let’s move down there and mingle." She took the lead again.

Making their way to the heart of the colony was an easy walk, physically, but somewhat depressing. As the vista from the hilltop had suggested, there were numerous durasteel structures, clearly intended to be mansions. What had once been well-groomed, lavish gardens and lawns had, for the most part, gone wild; in only a handful were the automated attendants still functioning. The same story seemed true of the agricultural areas, the machinery often standing motionless among rampant weeds.

Running Bear brought his drum up, looking at the readout. "Captain, most of these machines just need recharged. We could get most of them running quickly and easily."

"Prime Directive, Running Bear. You know we can’t, at least not for now." Uhura looked around herself. "Freedom says, we no can do. Maybe another day, hey?"

"Yeah; I guess they’d just run dry again." Running Bear’s face registered frustration.

"Heads up, folks. We got visitors ahead." Davids pointed. "Let’s get it together, people." He began strumming his guitar and humming to himself, improvising as he did. The other two caught the point, trying to blend in with the guitar music. The small knot of people coming toward them smiled, waved, and walked on. The physician’s assistant stopped playing briefly, holding the neck of the guitar where Indri had indicated, so that he could scan the people as they walked off. He winced.

Uhura saw the facial expression. "Let it be, Weed, let it be. Maybe we talk tonight, when it’s just the three of us."

"Yeah, Freedom lady; just don’t eat the food, and don’t drink the water, with me?"

"With ya, Weed. Already up to date on that one." Uhura kept up her pace.

Reaching the center of the community took just less than an hour. Even in the heart of the community, things were in poor repair. The odor of open latrines was rampant, barely overshadowing the reek of bodies long unwashed. Running Bear maintained a gentle, continual beat on his drum, keeping time with his pace. Around them, people of an assortment of ages milled around, most of them totally disinterested in the new faces. The few that showed any awareness of them smiled and went on with whatever business they had. In what had once been spacious lawns and parks, there were groups gathered around small camp fires, near small sheds or lean-to’s that appeared to be dwellings, huddled around the large ultrasteel buildings, and the multi-story brick buildings. Where once there had been glass was open space, the small remaining shards of glass making the windows of the abandoned buildings look like mouths of some hostile carnivore.

Suddenly, the litany of drum-beats stopped, and Running Bear’s voice started. "Freedom Mama, the Running Bear thinks it’s time to see which of us can run the fastest, that way. Race you both!" The Illiniwek began moving at a quick clip away from the brick structure they were passing. Without thought, the other two followed. At a respectful distance, Running Bear turned back to face the building, his fingers triggering the tricorder in his drum. "Watch. I don’t think that building is going to stand all that much long..." There was a noise, somewhere between an agonized groan and a sharp crack. One wall of the building began collapsing.

Before any of the three of them could say anything, a Human in tie-dyed leotards and a hood that covered all but his eyes, nose and mouth came flying from over a building behind them, a large medallion hanging from a gaudy chain around his neck. He placed his hands firmly against the bulging area on the wall. To the amazement of the troupe from the Hyperion, he slowly pushed the wall back into place. That done, he began rapidly moving his hands across the wall; where the hands passed, the cracked mortar melted, fusing with the melted brick. More swiftly than they could react, the Human in the outrageous outfit had returned the wall to better than new. He floated back from the wall, watched for a moment, then turned and flew away.

"Hey, Weed, do me a favor."

"What ya want, Running Bear?"

"Just make sure I’m okay. I’m not sure if I saw what I just saw." He shook his head, his braids flapping freely. "Like, maybe I ate something that disagreed with me or something."

"If you just saw someone in the loudest set of leotards in the universe fix that building, either we both need help, or neither of us do, man." Uhura was still staring at the building. "Like, that wall looks like it has been has been totally fused solid."

Ever the easy going individual, Davids used his concealed mediscanner. "Nothing wrong with either of you, other than having seen what was blatantly impossible." He shrugged, looking at the sun. "Hey, sun’s only a couple hours from setting. Maybe we need to find us a quiet campsite where we can crash, think? And maybe talk about the mess here, huh?"

Clearly half-stunned by what he had seen, Running Bear nodded. "Seems to me I spotted what might harbor a good spot not far from here. Let’s make us a nice cozy nest for the night." He looked at the other two for agreement; finding it, he led the way to a small cluster of trees just outside the main group of buildings. After a moment of effort to be sure they were alone, he slipped his backpack and drum off, hanging them on a branch. Uhura and Davids did likewise. Out of his backpack, Running Bear pulled a small hatchet. After inspecting the trees, he picked one and began cutting a good sized limb loose.

"What’s with the lumberjack act, man?" Davids was collecting up an armful of fallen limbs to use as firewood. "There’s plenty here on the ground."

"Humor me, Weed." The branch came down. Returning the hatchet to its sheath and to his backpack, Running Bear produced a large knife, which he used to skin the bark off a section of the branch. With a few quick folds, and a long, thin branch off the limb, he quickly fashioned a square-bottomed container, the thin branch forming a handle. "I hear a stream nearby. While I get a tripod built to hang the pot from, would one of you fill this thing?"

"Weed, is the water safe?"

"Tell ya what, Freedom, I’m not drinking it." He deployed his mediscanner. "Not without it being thoroughly boiled."

"It’ll be boiled, Weed." The Native American busied himself with the green timber he’d just cut. "It’s an old trick, and it’ll work, trust me."

"Boiling water in a bark bucket?" The captain rolled her eyes. "This I have to see. Give me that thing." She reached for the container. "I’ll be back. Weed, try your hand at getting a fire going, will you?"


By the time Uhura had returned with the bark bucket filled with water, Davids had a fire going, and Running Bear had erected a simple tripod, lashed at the top with thin strands of bark from the limb he’d cut down. Taking the bucket, the Native American took a loop of bark and suspended it over the fire. To both Uhura and David’s surprise, the flames barely scorched the bark.

Running Bear smiled. "The bark has to get over two hundred thirty degrees Celsius before it’ll ignite. With the water in it, it can’t get over one hundred; the water has to boil off before it can burn." He reached into his backpack, again, extracting a light metal cooking pot with a significantly larger capacity.

The other two turned, finding that their packs had similar pots, realizing that Running Bear had been playing mind games with them. Uhura looked at Running Bear with a mixture of agony and antagonism.

"Hey, I just wanted to prove that it worked, okay? I’d need to get bark off of the trunk to make something large enough to do a meal."

"You are totally incorrigible, Running Bear." Uhura brought out her metal pot. "I’m going to get another pan of water to boil. I just hope one of these packs has some tea leaves in it."

"Careful, Freedom, the locals might want you to read ‘em." The physician’s assistant winked. "Not sure any of us know how."

She gave him a withering look and headed for the stream. Running Bear foraged in his backpack. "Looks like it’s mostly dried meats and fruits in mine, Weed. Look in yours, see if you’ve got any spuds or veggies. I think I can cook the jerked beef to the point of being palatable, but some other stuff with it wouldn’t hurt. It looks to be too early in the spring to figure that we can harvest anything."

Davids opened his pack. "Spuds and some carrots, and what looks like a couple varieties of beans. What say I snoop around and see if I can turn up anything that we can use for potherbs, just to perk the flavor up? The mediscanner should be able to warn us of anything poisonous."

"While you’re at it, see if you can find any edible mushrooms. I think I saw some nice shelf fungi on a couple of trees. Some of those can be good eating."

Davids nodded, disappearing into the brush. Running Bear was cutting up the last of the carrots he’d peeled, preparatory to putting them in their supper. Uhura put the pot over the fire, letting the water heat, as Running Bear looked at Davids’ haul. "Not bad, Weed, not bad." Running Bear sniffed one of the herbs. "Whoa, this stuff is pungent; I’ll be sparing with that one."

Carefully, they sorted their harvest, Uhura joining them. Once the pot was boiling vigorously, their evening’s chef inspected it. "Hey, one of you grab that other pot, will you? There’s enough sediment in this that I’d rather pour it off." He used a forked stick to lift the pot from the fire.

Davids produced his identical pot, letting the Illiniwek carefully pour the hot water into it. Adding the vegetables and a handful of strips of dried meat, he hung it back over the fire. "It’s going to have to cook for a while before it’s ready for the fungi and spice." He leaned back. "So what did you guys think of the fellow in the fancy flying suit?"

"I’m still not sure I believe it, and I saw it myself." The Bantu woman rubbed the side of her head with one hand. "For just a moment, I felt like I was in a children’s comic book or something."

Davids nodded. "Me too. I figure that the guy in the colorized underwear had to be window-dressing, so to speak. Correct me if I’m wrong, Running Bear, but the only way you can float like that is to be lifted by a tractor, or to fiddle with gravity."

"More like a tractor beam, Weed; I’m not sure you could fiddle gravity enough to do that. And any set of hands moving fast enough to hit that wall and force it back in place would go straight through the brick, which he manifestly did not do. While we’re at it, getting the brick and mortar hot enough to fuse by rubbing his hands over it just flat out doesn’t work, either; he’d have cooked his hands before he’d melted anything, and long before he cooked his hands, he’d have rubbed all the skin off of them. What we saw just couldn’t have happened, at least not the way it looked like it happened. There’s a Klingon in the kitchen somewhere, that’s for sure; I just don’t quite know where, yet."

"All of which, you realize, is technically a side issue," Uhura reminded her companions, tapping on one knee with a finger. "We’re here to observe the culture, not figure out all the problems it has or poses. From my standpoint, though, this whole effort has been rewritten by what we saw; we need to put some effort on figuring out what’s with this being—whether human or not. Here’s my plan: two of us move forward with the cultural survey, and then the other…"

Davids stopped the captain, putting a finger to his lips. He triggered his mediscanner, then pointed surreptitiously to a shadow near them in the trees. Uhura nodded, understanding that they had company. Running Bear stood, ostensibly stirring their supper, carefully looking to see if he could spot the intruder. A thin smile formed. "Hey, Freedom, shall I do a little more searching for things? I mean just in case the Weed didn’t get all we needed?"

"I think there’s enough, and to spare. Is it ready for the herbs and all?"

Running Bear sniffed the boiling pot, gently prodding the contents with his wooden fork. "I think so—well, the herbs anyhow. As I recall it, the shelf fungus should only be in long enough to get it good and hot, or it will turn to mush. Not what we want, I’d say."

Turning to the shadow moving in the denser shadows the night was creating in the trees, Uhura looked squarely where the furtive individual seemed to be standing. "You need not be afraid, whoever you are. Come and join us."

Into the small clearing, a young girl came, carrying an infant in the crook of one arm, and a crude bag over the other shoulder. Even by the apparently low local standards, her clothing and the child’s were ragged, and although the child seemed reasonably adequately fed, the girl looked like a moving skeleton. She looked at Davids, then Uhura, and finally at Running Bear, who was adjusting the amount of herbs in the pot. "The aroma of what you’re cooking was so wonderful, I just thought I’d stop and enjoy smelling it. I suppose I ought to be moving on; I’ve nothing to add to the pot."

"Oh, sit down and join us. You don’t need to add anything to the pot. I’ve cooked up plenty; I always make more than is needed, and anyway, it’s close enough to being done that I couldn’t add anything more, anyhow." Running Bear started skinning a shelf-fungus, preparing to add it. "Other than this stuff, anyhow. I bet Freedom over there wouldn’t mind a little female company anyhow, right?"

The captain smiled, nodding. "You’re dead right. What’s your name, honey?"

"You can call me Nikki, I suppose." She looked at her feet, shuffling them slightly. "I get called lots of other things, but they’re not so nice."

"Nikki it is. Sit here next to me." She patted the ground to her left. As Nikki sat down, putting the bag on the ground near her, Uhura peeked at the little bundle in her arms. "You’ve got a cute baby there. Is it a boy or a girl?"

"He’s a boy." As Nikki spoke, Davids rummaged in his pack, producing a couple of pieces of what looked like thick matzo and offered them to Nikki. She looked up, gratitude in her eyes. "Thank you." She bit off a piece and ate it hungrily. "It’s very good."

"How long has it been since you’ve last eaten, Nikki?"

"It’s been a couple of days. There was only enough for baby, lately, you understand, and baby comes first." Nikki’s eyes were very serious as she spoke.

Running Bear foraged a wooden cup from his backpack, spooning some of the broth from the pot into it. "Hey, Nikki, give ol’ Running Bear an opinion. Taste the broth, here, and see if I’ve got enough herbs." The girl looked perplexed: with the food in one hand and the baby in the other, she was clearly unsure how to take what the Illiniwek was offering. Uhura reached for the baby; Nikki surrendered the child and took the cup. "Now, you be careful—it’s hot. Might want to blow on it a little, to cool it."

Nikki sipped the broth gratefully, taking pieces of the thick, cracker-like bread with it. "It’s very good, Running Bear. Thank you."

Uhura looked down at the child; large blue eyes looked back at her from a pale, almost sheet white face. Inside her, there was a gentle wrench as she remembered the child she had conceived years ago, but lost before she could hold. Crooning softly, she hugged the little boy to herself, rocking gently.

"How old’s the little fellow?" It was Hardav’s voice.

"Just a little over six months. He’s taking solids, now, and with a little help, he can manage a cup. He’s bright, I think." Nikki sighed. "I just wish I were a better mother."

Looking up from the little bundle she was cuddling, Uhura turned to face Nikki. "How old are you, honey?"

"Sixteen." Nikki continued to concentrate on eating. "I’ve pretty much been on my own since daddy and mommy died." She took another mouthful of broth. "The man who used to take care of me disappeared just after baby was born; it’s just baby and me, now."

"Doesn’t he have a name?" Running Bear ladled some of the thick soup into a bowl, offering it to Nikki, then giving her a spoon.

"I never got around to that." Ignoring the spoon, she lifted the bowl to her lips and drank from it. "Thank you, the soup is very good, too."

Running Bear served the others, as well as taking a little for himself. He watched as Uhura offered the little urchin broth from the spoon. He took it greedily. She mashed up some of the meat with the spoon; the child clearly relished it. Delighted with her success, she continued to feed him, forgetting to feed herself. Running Bear ladled more into her bowl. "Hey, Freedom Mama, the mama has to eat, too. Don’t forget to take a bite or two, yourself." She smiled, and took a couple of bites before she went back to feeding the child.

Davids put his empty bowl down, picking up his guitar by the neck. He stared at it a moment or two, then foraged in his backpack, producing what looked like a couple of brownies wrapped in something clear. The P.A. put them by Nikki. "Now, you be sure to save room for your dessert, little lady." His face looked full of mock sternness. "It wouldn’t be right to eat Running Bear’s cooking without something sweet afterward, now would it, Running Bear?"

The Native American looked at his companion; something in Davids’ eyes killed the humorous response he’d planned. "No, wouldn’t be right at all, Weed. And maybe we could make a little tea in that bark bucket."

The scraggly blond lifted the bark bucket, still full of water, and hung it back over the fire, putting in a few of the leaves that he’d harvested. As it boiled, the clearing filled with a rich, sweet aroma. Davids took Nikki’s now-empty cup and poured some of the brew into it, giving it back to her. She nodded thanks and sipped it happily. Davids returned to where he’d been, pouring some for himself and Running Bear.

The meal progressed with little other than the three people from the Hyperion offering Nikki something more to eat, or taking turns holding her child. Fed, cleaned and freshly diapered, the little one dropped into the totally trusting sleep that only a child really ever knows. Nikki yawned. "Thank you all for the meal; it was wonderful. I just wish I could make some return for your kindness before I move along."

An almost maternal look on her face, Uhura pulled two blankets from her pack. "Just holding that sweet little baby of yours is more than enough return. There’s no need to be moving on, honey. Rest with us tonight; we’ll see that you and baby are safe and warm."

"You are so nice." Nikki yawned again. "I can’t believe I’m so sleepy."

"Why? It’s dark, it’s warm, and you’ve got a belly full of food." Running Bear slapped his forehead in mock agony. "What’s with being surprised that you’re drowsy, Nikki? And I bet you’ve been hunting for something to eat all day; that’s tiring work, especially when you’ve not had a lot of success." Uhura spread one of the blankets for the girl as Running Bear talked. "Lay on down; we’ll make the Weed give you your baby back, and let you sleep."

Gratefully, Nikki lay down, clutching her baby to her. Uhura spread the other blanket over her. "Sleep tight, honey. We’ll feed you breakfast tomorrow."

Returning to her place by the fire, she looked at Nikki until she was sure the girl was asleep. She turned to Davids. "Weed, you’ve been uncharacteristically quiet, and you were pushing sweets on her like a candy store owner, which is really out of character. What’s eating you?"

The P.A. stared at the fire, adding a piece of wood. "Nothing any of us can do anything about." He shrugged. "I guess I wanted her to really enjoy her meal."

"Your eyes say that you’re thinking a whole lot more than you’re saying." Running Bear looked his friend square in the eyes. "Nikki remind you of someone that’s associated with a painful memory?"


"Okay, out with it. A one-word answer from you is one great, big, red flag." The situation was beginning to bother Uhura; the last thing she needed was to be on a survey team with a moping team member. "What’s eating you?"

The man looked away from the fire a moment, then looked up at the Captain. "It’s just the kid, Nikki. You noticed she’s jaundiced?"

"A lot of the folks we saw today were. With the lousy sanitation that it looks like this place has, hepatitis must be rampant, so it’s not a shock. She’s about half-starved, too. So?"

"She’s dying. She’s got hepatocellular carcinoma, and she’s riddled with it. I’d guess she’s only got a couple of weeks to live, tops, and that’s with good nutrition and throwing everything we’ve got in Sickbay at her." He looked at the girl, blinking back tears. "Down here, with no help, and not much to eat—well, it’s not going to be long."

The two others were shocked by the revelation. Uhura looked up. "What about that baby?"

"All that kid can hope for is some kindly soul to adopt him, and as self absorbed as the folks here appeared to be, I’m not going to put bets on that." The P.A. shook his head sadly. "The little squirt hasn’t got a chance, otherwise. Healthier than I’d expect, though—just a little anemia. Nothing wrong with the kid that a decent diet wouldn’t fix."

"I don’t suppose we could take her under our wings for a couple of days?" There was an almost maternal look on Uhura’s face as she spoke. "I mean, at least until we have the survey finished."

Davids shrugged. "Or the rest of her life, whichever comes first. I’ve got no problem with it, if you two don’t."

The Bantu nodded. "Then it’s a done deal." She yawned. "Hey, Running Bear, did you slip a sleeping tablet in that soup? I’m beat, too."

"Fresh air, good food, some exercise and darkness—look, that applies to us all." He rolled his eyes. "Tell you what, Freedom, you grab a blanket or two and get some shuteye. Weed, you and I can watch the fire; you take first sleep, and I’ll watch for a couple hours before I wake you."

"I guess. I’ll scrounge up an armload of wood first, to make sure we’ve got enough." Davids rose, moving to the edge of the fire’s light. "There seems to be plenty to collect."

Uhura lay down on a soft-looking area of grass, where she could see Nikki and the baby. She pulled her blanket over her. "’Night, guys."


It seemed that she had hardly closed her eyes when the early morning sun woke Uhura up. In front of her, the blankets that had held Nikki and the baby were empty. The captain sat up, looking around. Running Bear was sitting by the fire, holding the baby. Davids was nowhere in sight.

"Good morning, Running Bear. Where’re the Weed and Nikki?"

Unconsciously, the man held the child a little closer. "She died in the night. He’s burying her. We’ve got some simple shovels in the kits—I suppose mainly for sanitary purposes, but they’ll work well enough for this." The baby whimpered. "It’s okay, Lonesome Hawk. It’s okay. We’ll have some breakfast for you here in a minute, and it’ll all be better." Almost as if the child understood, he nestled in Running Bear’s arms and quieted down.

It was a minute or two before she could fully digest the shock. Emotions surged in her, but Uhura pushed them aside; there would be time enough for tears when she was back on the Hyperion. "At least she died with a full belly."

"And happy. There was a peaceful smile on her face when I found her. At least we gave her that." It didn’t take much insight to realize that Running Bear was struggling to control himself, too. "I scrounged some oatmeal out of your pack; it’s busy cooking. I think I saw what looked like some walnuts and syrup in your pack, too; they’ll make the stuff more palatable for us all. Especially Lonesome Hawk, here."

"Didn’t take you long to name the little squirt, Running Bear." Davids emerged from the trees on one side of the clearing. "Lonesome Hawk isn’t the only hungry member of the team." His words were flippant, but his voice was far from it.

"I’ll serve it." Uhura moved to the fire, stirring the thick oatmeal. "I think it’s done." She dug the nuts and syrup out of her pack, along with bowls, dishing up the simple fare and garnishing it. "Here you go, Weed. If you like, I’ll take the little fellow while you eat, Running Bear."

"Lonesome Hawk seems happy enough with me, for now; we can eat together." He settled on the ground, balancing the bowl on his thigh. He gathered a little of the oatmeal on the spoon and offered it to the infant. "But he does remain an issue. It’s certain that he can’t come back with us on the Hyperion."

"I guess that’s a given, which is a pity." She looked at the infant, who was concentrating on eating what he was fed. "He’s cute."

"Babies all seem cute to me, Freedom." The physician’s assistant looked at the child. "Even the Klingon babies I’ve seen, which is saying a lot. That doesn’t change the fact that we’ve got a mission, all it does is give us a little bit more local color. We’ll just have to look for a likely adoptive family."

Lonesome Hawk’s face suddenly contorted and turned red, accompanied by his making grunting noises. Running Bear looked down, suddenly worried. "Hey, little fella, what you doing? You choking?"

"Running Bear, you are so thoroughly male!" She grinned wryly. "The issue is at the other end."

The Native American sniffed, then pulled a wry face. "Whoa, you are so right there." Uhura reached for the child, who was willingly surrendered. "I guess there’s a lot I don’t know about people this age, isn’t there?"

"Do tell." Uhura found what had been Nikki’s bag, extracting a more-or-less clean, cloth diaper. With greater speed and expertise than either of her companions expected, she changed the diaper. "I’ll just rinse this in the stream nearby and be back in a couple of minutes. Why don’t you two break camp? We can go back to town and see what we can learn." The captain disappeared into the trees.

"Boy, she went from leadership to maternity in record time, Weed."

"Nah, not really, Running Bear." The scraggly blond looked at the captain’s trail. "She’s just added another surrogate child. She’s been a mother figure to all of us on the Hyperion; that’s why any of us would take a phaser bolt for her, and it’s why she’s such a good captain." He turned back. "But don’t you dare tell her we know that."

"Yeah, man, we could get one whale of a spanking." Running Bear started policing up their possessions, putting them into the backpacks. "Wouldn’t want the rest of the crew seeing that happen, now would we?"

Davids decided no answer was the best answer and started clearing up the campsite, using his shovel to bury the remains of the campfire. By the time Uhura was back, the other two were ready to move along.

"Any chance we could hang the packs and all here, and return here tonight? This seems like as good a place to camp as any." As she spoke, she hung the damp diaper on a branch. "I have this feeling that I’m going to be doing some impromptu laundry most nights, and I’m thinking that we could hang these out to dry. I’m hoping Nikki had enough diapers to get us through the day."

"That all depends on Lonesome Hawk, there, and how much you’re willing to put up with before you change him." The engineer shrugged. "You and Lonesome Hawk stay tolerant enough, you could go all day on one diaper."

"I’m not betting on it." She picked the child up, putting him on one hip and hanging the improvised diaper bag on the other shoulder. "If you two think you can make the packs reasonably secure, though, leaving them here and returning tonight sounds pretty appealing."

"Freedom lady, you are on." Davids collected the three backpacks, extracting a short length of rope from one. "I’ll just lash them together, here. You need anything out of your pack, man?"

"I’ve got my drum and my knife; that ought to be more than enough." Running Bear shouldered his drum, gently tapping out a rhythm. "Hope that Lonesome Hawk there likes drum music. He’s likely to be hearing some for a while."

"And harp and guitar. Look, I’ll carry the harp, okay? You seem to have your hands full, Freedom."

"And I don’t want to let this urchin get his hands full of harp strings." Her face got serious, suddenly. "We need to check in before we begin our day’s excursion. Let me have that thing a minute."

"Trade you for the kid." The PA extended the harp, reaching for Lonesome Eagle.

She pulled on three strings. There was a soft chirp, only audible to her. "Away team to Hyperion. This is Captain Uhura."

"Reichard here. All is well?"

"As much as can be expected. How’s the data coming in?"

"Indri’s interested in an anomaly from yesterday—something about what looked like a Human in outrageous underwear. He’s insistent that it’s a malfunction."

"We saw it, and we’ll be researching it today, among other things. Mister Fancy Pants is no anomaly—he’s just inexplicable, for now. One of us will be working the Fancy Pants angle while the other two continue the survey. We’re thinking about trying to buy some food, too."

"There are some trade items in your backpacks; it looks like they’re on a barter system." Reichard paused before going on. "Doctor M’Benga advises against buying any food there; from what he’s seen on some of the scans, he’s very worried about sanitation. To be honest, he said it looks to him like they use Human sewage to fertilize their few crops. Take it from there and make your own call."

"Point made. We may need fresh supplies tonight, then. Walking is great for the appetite, and we expect to be doing a good deal of it today."

"We’ll be ready. Hyperion out."

Uhura looked at her two companions. "It seems to me that we’ll make better use of our time if we split up when we make it to town. Running Bear, you see what you can learn about why the buildings are in disuse; Weed, see what you can learn about the dude in psychedelic shorts, and what makes these folks tick. We meet back here at around noon; I figure Lonesome Hawk will need fed by then, so it’s a logical time."

"What will you be doing?" The PA foraged in his backpack, storing some dried fruits and dried beef in his inner shirt pockets.

"Studying the people, trying to see if they’re as self-absorbed as it looks like they are, Weed. What’s with stocking up on the grub?"

"Food’s about the best way I know to get people talking, which is what I’m going to need them to do. How do you plan to do figure out how self-absorbed these folk are?"

"Simple." Uhura took one of the bowls. "When I get this washed out, Lonesome Hawk and I are going to situate ourselves somewhere likely in town and beg. What ends up in the bowl will tell us more about these folks than anything else I know will. If they can’t spare anything for an old woman and a baby, they’re a megaparsec too self-absorbed."

Both men stared at her, mouths hanging half open. Running Bear shrugged, turning to the Weed. "Full of surprises, isn’t she?" He turned to face the Captain. "If you think you can pull it off, Chief, more power to you. My only concern is your safety."

"Running Bear, it’s my theory that there isn’t a person on this planet that can take something from her, without her permission. She’s a seasoned warrior, right, Freedom?"

"Compared to this lot, I am, anyhow. Let’s move."

Walking to town took surprisingly little time; with the two men accompanying each other, playing a lively beat, it seemed that walking moved faster than normal. Intent on finding a busy corner to set up shop, Uhura bade her two companions goodbye and moved toward the center of town, her harp on her back and Lonesome Hawk on one hip. Davids looked over at Running Bear. "What say we try to keep a surreptitious eye on her anyhow, man? You’re pretty good at sneaking around, from what I hear from Eletto, and I’m not a total loser there, either. We can both check in on her every hour or two."

"At least. I’ll probably need to look at some of the buildings around her, anyhow. Let’s get going."

Davids wandered off, strumming his guitar idly. Running Bear walked up to what was clearly the doorway of the first building he came to, gently tapping on the drum. After being sure no one was looking over his shoulder, he triggered the visibility of the scanner readout. Study as he would, he could see no evidence of malfunction in any of the door control mechanism. Walking a path that he hoped would appear random, he made his way to another building, then another, then a fourth and a fifth. In all of them, the doors refused to open, but showed no sign of mechanical malfunction. The only reason the doors failed to open, as far as the engineer could make out, was the lack of power. He sighed inwardly. Solving this would be all too easy: just find the power station and get it back on line.

As surreptitiously as possible, he began scanning the area, looking for the buried power grid that he expected to find. Only moments passed before he found it and was able to begin tracing it to the central power station. Almost exactly in the center of the community, he saw a structure that looked like a stylistic mushroom: a large sphere, perhaps twenty meters in diameter, poised on top of a tall, slightly tapered base. He nodded, carefully deploying the scanner to be sure that his initial impression was correct. It was; the structure was a fusion driven electrical power generator. The forcefield that acted as the containment flask and that provided the periodic compression to trigger the fusion had clearly long since dissipated.

Discovering the problem was the work of only a few moments; the water feed that supplied hydrogen for the fusion reaction had become plugged by detritus. He turned away, toward what seemed to be the main hub of activity, hoping to find evidence that one or more buildings might have independent power supplies. Of that, he found none; what he did find was a large, open area with people trading whatever they had for what they wanted. As he sized the situation up, he concluded that the area had originally been intended as a park or public commons; scattered here and there around the area were cryptic appearing objects that Running Bear took for someone’s idea of art. Everywhere else seemed to be a bazaar.

Having achieved his goal, the Illiniwek engineer decided that the best thing to do would be to check in on Uhura; in his concentration on resolving the problem he had been set, it had been over an hour since they had parted company with her, and long past time for him to find her. Finding her wasn’t hard; she and Lonesome Hawk had taken over an area in front of a larger piece of abstract art, the child playing with whatever his hands could grasp and the captain playing her harp. To his disappointment, Running Bear saw that her begging bowl was, as far as he could tell from at the distance he was standing from her, utterly empty.

Unbidden, the thought of creeping up on the woman and trying to count coup on her came into the man’s mind. Carefully, slowly, he moved through the throng, looking at occasional individual’s wares—most of it being what looked like grains, nuts or fruits harvested from somewhere—and moving onward to his goal, trying to use the ebb and flow of people as a shield for his approach.

Without warning, he heard Uhura’s voice raising. As far as Running Bear was concerned, his game was over. He turned, moving steadfastly and swiftly toward her. Before her, there were four burly adult males, looking like they were threatening her. Silently, his hand grasping the handle of his knife just in case, he made his way forward to defend his captain.


Only a moment’s thought convinced Davids that his chances of finding anything out about the man in the loud leotards would be greatest if he moved to a busy area of town. Given the way things seemed to function in this colony, he guessed that there would probably be some sort of park near the center, and that the rather Bohemian population would likely converge there to do whatever business they might have.

Wandering slowly, he moved toward a tall, mushroom-like structure that seemed to mark almost the exact center of the community, playing whatever ditty came to mind on the guitar to amuse himself and those around him. Off to one side of the structure, he found a greensward, filled with abstract statuary and people.

By one of the larger, and to the PA’s tastes more obnoxiously gaudy, pieces of art, Uhura and Lonesome Hawk were setting up. They looked like things were progressing pretty well for her; she’d harvested a large handful of the grass nearby and was using it to scrub the bowl she was going to put out for whatever others might give.

A smile crossed his face, as the temptation to toss something into the bowl crossed his mind. He decided to shelve that for an hour or two; if she’d gotten nothing by mid-morning, he decided, he’d put something in the bowl to see if he could prime the pump. Without her seeing him, Davids headed off in another direction.

Several other individuals were sitting around a small fire, over which a bark pot, surprisingly similar to the one Running Bear had made the night before, was hanging. In the pot, there was a modest amount of water, with a handful of leaves steeping as the water boiled. Each had a musical instrument, and was playing happily. The scraggly, blond P.A. interrupted his playing to trigger a scan of the pot’s contents; the water contained a significant amount of alcohol, the leaves were rich in psilocybin, and simmering in the water-alcohol solution was effectively extracting it. Resuming the guitar music, he sat down, joining them.

"Got room for another musician, folks?"

"Maybe. Got anything to put in the pot?" The one who answered was dark haired, bronze of skin and yellow of eye. The multiple missing front teeth did nothing to improve his appearance.

Making an exaggerated exam of the pot, Davids shook his head. "Nothing as wild as you’ve got in there, man. All I have is some dried meat—nourishing, but not exciting."

The six musicians all laughed at him, in a good natured way. One, a dishwater blond woman, nodded. "That, you can save for later—unless it’s something you can chew without cooking."

"It is—but it’ll make singing hard while you chew, y’know."

She slapped her leg in amusement, her drug-befuddled mind enjoying the simple jest more than it deserved. "Then break up a piece, and pass it around. These fools here haven’t a decent voice among them, but lack the wit to stick to playing."

Davis slipped a couple of pieces of beef jerky out of a pocket inside his shirt, breaking himself off a piece and passing the rest around. He stuck his piece into his mouth, then returned to the guitar as he chewed. There was no question in his mind that Running Bear’s culinary expertise had definitely improved the palatability of the product. Around a half-chewed mouthful, he looked over at the dishwater blond. "Hey, I’m from out of this area, y’know? Been wandering in the outland areas for a while. Saw a guy in a fancy outfit flying around town yesterday—know anything about him? He looked like one useful fellow to know. Fixed up that building something really nice, really really nice."

"We call him MegaDude, man." It was the dark haired, jaundiced one talking. "He seems to show up whenever there’s a crisis—no small stuff, just big stuff, y’know?—and sets things right. He’s fast; he’s strong; nothing much seems to slow him down, much less hurt him. Definitely good fellow." The man slapped his drum a couple of times for emphasis. "Doesn’t say much, which is weird. Weirder still, doesn’t stay around to party after he pulls your toes out of the fire. Guess he just got too many other rescues to pull off, know what I mean?"

He didn’t, but Davids decided it wasn’t worth pursuing. He started playing a semi-random progression of chords, which obviously pleased the others around the small blaze. "So, anyone know where this MegaDude comes from?"

"Nah, no idea at all." The comment came from a redheaded male, who was trying to follow Davids’ lead on a much less well made guitar. "What I’d like to know is where that guitar of yours came from, man. You make it? It’s like really nice."

"Given to me by my pappy; he never told me where he got it." This was, the PA decided, not the time for the exact truth. "Plays good, though. Pretty old; pretty well preserved. Family heirloom thing, I guess." For a moment, he hunched over, concentrating on playing. For some reason, he felt like a little classical flamenco suited his mood. The redhead leaned forward, amazed at the playing.

"Hey, guys, this one is really good. You must have been spending all your time practicing, to get that good. Hottest licks I ever heard on a guitar."

"Done my fair share of practicing, and then some, yeah. Hey, let’s get going and play together. Someone take the lead, I’ll join in."

One of the others, wielding a creditable looking violin and bow, started sawing out a rough tune. The others joined in, Davids waiting until almost the last. None of those gathered, he realized, had spent much time practicing; he wondered if they did much but do the minimum effort to survive, spending most of their time hallucinating with the psilocybin they extracted from the leaves. Probably not, he decided.

He triggered the mediscanner, briefly scanning each individual. The one with the drum lifted the bark pot and sniffed it. "Getting about ready to pass around, people. Hey, you can join us if you want, you know. Maybe pass a little of that dried meat around again."

Joining in the psilocybin pot was certainly not something that the PA cared to do. "I’ll leave you guys to it. You enjoy it for me, hey?" He stood up. "Maybe we can play tomorrow."

"Yeah, tomorrow. We got better stuff for the pot for tomorrow, don’t we?" The others joined in enthusiastic chorus. Revolted, but trying to conceal his attitude, Davids slung the guitar over his back; the medical scanner had revealed evidence of recent cocaine use in all of them. He waved and moved on, hoping to find another knot of folks he could talk to; the results with each group, with minor variations, were essentially the same.

Looking over the goods offered for barter, he meandered slowly through the bazaar, hoping to find a handful of folks he could benefit with his stash of food. Behind him, he heard Uhura’s voice, raised to a level loud enough he could recognize it over the noise of the bazaar. That, he decided, boded no good. He turned; four men, clearly not intent on charitable purposes, were confronting her.

Trying not to run, he moved swiftly. There was no doubt in his mind that his captain could handle herself in combat; equally, he knew that four assailants arriving as a group was not something she could overcome. Clandestine operations had taught him to move swiftly and inconspicuously. Surprise was, he decided, worth the extra seconds it would cost; the quick tricks he’d learned in clandestine operations would be enough to take two out before they knew he’d arrived. The determined, thin but grim smile on his face boded ill for Uhura’s assailants.


As far as Uhura was concerned the best place to ply the trade of a beggar would be somewhere that there was buying and selling, or at least barter, going on. Her harp slung over her back and Lonesome Hawk in her arms, she moved steadfastly forward, letting her nose guide her to the savory aromas that most bazaars inevitably produced, as vendors hawked spiced cakes, stews and breads to all and sundry. True to her experience on other worlds, she quickly found herself where she wanted to be. The large open area was filled with people selling baked goods, such produce as they had grown and gathered, and whatever things their skills could manufacture—or, she was sure, could steal. With her little friend, she knew she had to find somewhere where there was protection at her back, not only to prevent someone from assaulting her without warning, but to keep Lonesome Hawk from straying behind her, where she couldn’t keep an eye on the little fellow. He clearly wasn’t walking, judging from his age, but scooting was definitely possible, and if he could crawl, life would become a major challenge quickly.

With an eye seasoned by many years of being involved in military tactics, the Bantu looked the area over. One open area of sufficient size caught her eye; it was just in front of an abstract sculpture, one large enough that she could expect to get shade through the whole morning, if she planned her position carefully. Quickly, she positioned herself, putting Lonesome Hawk to her right, the bowl before her and her harp on her lap. Lightly, she began running her fingers across the strings. Celtic music seemed the best bet to attract attention, at least some of the livelier airs. Although the music attracted attention, often bringing quite a crowd of admirers, that was all that the music achieved. Her bowl, conspicuously deployed at her feet, was totally ignored. Charity, it appeared, was something totally unknown to these people.

How long she played to the shifting crowd, she was unsure—the sheer joy of playing made time fly by for her—but just before she decided to abandon her place and move elsewhere, four tough looking males appeared. The one that was clearly the leader of the troupe sized Uhura up.

"Nice harp, lady. You’re pretty nice, too."

"I like the harp, and I’m not nearly as nice as I look." The captain decided to give the foursome the benefit of the admittedly tiny doubt.

"You ain’t exactly fast on the uptake, either." The leader of the group took a step forward. As surreptitiously as she could, Uhura made sure her knife was easily accessible, should she need it. She pointedly kept one hand on the harp.

"I like the harp, and I want it. Give it up," the man insisted.

"I like the harp, too, and I plan to keep it." The situation was developing in a direction that failed to surprise her, but was one that the Bantu certainly didn’t care for. She decided to raise her voice, in hopes that Running Bear or Davids might be in range. She was confident that she could handle any one of the four of them, indeed that she could deal with all four of them if they had the decency to come one at a time. Looking at the lewd expression on the faces of the underlings, there was no question that decency wasn’t something she could expect from this group. "Get lost, punks."

One of the others looked at the leader. "Oooh, a spunky one! I like spunky women. Can I have her first, Rog?"

Rather than respond, the leader of the troupe reached for the harp. Uhura swatted the hand away, none too gently, putting the harp behind herself and rising to her feet. "Out of a spirit of fairness, I feel I need to tell you that I’ve swept floors with tougher looking trash than you." Her right hand moved to the handle of her knife; she hoped she wouldn’t need it, but she intended to have it ready, just in case.

"Arrogant, eh?" Rog reached for Lonesome Hawk. "We’ll see about that."

Inside her, Uhura felt something snap. Faster than even she realized she could move, the long bladed knife was out of its sheath, across the leader’s arm and up against his neck. "One more stupid move like that, talking garbage, and you’ll see more blood. Yours. Back off."

He looked down at his arm; the sleeve was slashed, but there was only a scratch on the skin. He backed off. "I don’t have to take that from you."

"Correct. You can leave." Teeth showed between Uhura’s lips, their white sharply contrasted against her dark skin. "Stay, and I dish out more."

The crowd began to grow; it was clear that they might be treated to watching a fight, and a fight that might be worth the time to watch. None of them showed any inclination to be of assistance.

"You think you can take on all four of us at once, and win? How stupid can you be?"

"Stupid enough to know that the first one that grabs for me loses a hand—if he’s lucky. I’ve been known to go for the kill. Try it, and at least one of you dies." One of Rog’s underlings reached for her arm; the knife moved rapidly, this time laying the arm open deeply. Howling with pain, and grabbing his arm to try to staunch the bleeding, the underling backed off. The crowd was almost panting with bloodlust, none even making a move to help staunch the flow from the wounded man’s arm.

The remaining trio split, realizing that Uhura wouldn’t be the easy pickings they were used to having. They began to advance from different directions, but together. In the crowd, she saw Davids, easily recognized because of his height and blond hair, and Running Bear. Grimly, she turned her focus to Rog, hoping her two companions would get the hint. Willing herself to relax, and to focus on her chosen assailant, she cradled her knife in her hand, ready to give fiercer than she was offered.

Before any of the individuals involved in the potential combat situation could make a move, an individual in tie-died leotards landed between Uhura and her assailants. In the crowd, the whispered name, "MegaDude" made nearly silent rounds. The man spoke, facing the leader of the thugs. "Do you have any idea of how stupid it is to threaten a woman when she feels she’s guarding a child?"

The thug swung, connecting with MegaDude, succeeding in hurting his hand and nothing else. "It’s about as bright as slugging me. You other two—come stand by your friend." MegaDude looked Davids and Running Bear in the eye. They moved silently, both drawing their knives. "As you can see, she was neither as alone nor as helpless as you had thought. Had you laid your hands on this lady, I suspect her friends would have made short work of your lackeys, and she would have made equally short work of you."

"Yeah, that’s what you think, Mister Fancypants." It was obvious Rog was longer on muscle than on wit. "Wanna let her prove it?"

MegaDude sighed. "You are a remarkably slow learner." He turned to face Uhura. "Madame, are you willing to face this person in unarmed combat?"

"It wouldn’t be fair, but I suppose so. My two friends will keep the child and my harp safe." She sheathed her knife, giving it to Running Bear. "I’ll be merciful. Just so long as his cronies keep their distance."

The colorfully dressed man turned back to face Rog. "Do you have the courage to face this woman single-handed, in unarmed combat? Or are you nothing more than what you seem to be: a coward and a bully?"

Rog’s face worked, and his fists clenched; MegaDude’s taunt had definitely motivated him. "I’ll take her on. Get out of my way, rainbow."

Obligingly, MegaDude stepped aside. The crowd moved back, clearing an adequate area for the combat. Uhura stood, slightly crouched, waiting. Rog moved forward, making a sudden grab for Uhura’s shirt. His move was a mistake; she grabbed his arm and threw him easily. Rog stood, shook his head and charged again. This time, the Bantu was less merciful. She leapt into the air, one foot driving forcefully into Rog’s gut, doubling him over. As she came down, her hand placed a rabbit-punch to the back of Rog’s neck, sending him sprawling, unconscious.

MegaDude turned to the crowd. "I am confident that you all have business to which you need to attend. I would recommend that you do so." The crowd began dispersing; the brightly attired man turned to face Uhura. "I expect that you also have other business. It might be in your best interests to pursue it elsewhere as well."

"Thank you, MegaDude." Uhura extended her hand, in what she hoped he would recognize as an offer to shake hands. He did. "I’m much happier with the resolution you brought about than what I thought I was going to see happen."

Firmly, he shook Uhura’s hand, and released it. "You are quite welcome." He rose rapidly, disappearing from sight.

Catching the eyes of her two companions, Uhura headed out of town, Running Bear and Davids at her heels. The threesome remained silent until they reached the previous night’s campsite. On their arrival, Running Bear immediately started untying the knapsacks.

"Are you hungry, already? Breakfast was barely two hours ago." Uhura’s face wore a combination of surprise and amusement.

"Rescuing damsels in distress is hungry work, you know." The Native American winked. "But I’m thinking along other lines. The way I read the situation, the guys that we shamed in front of a crowd are probably going to want a little revenge. Nothing personal, you understand, but I’m not excessively fond of the idea of some midnight marauder pounding the daylights out of me, or putting a knife in my ribs before I have a chance to wake up and defend myself." He delivered the untied backpacks to the ground. "Doesn’t seem to me that either of you two would be enthused about it, either."

"Night’s hours away. Before we break camp, how about telling me what you found—other than finding me being the damsel in distress."

Davids started coiling up the rope. "You looked more like woman ready to kill, to me, Freedom Lady."

"I was. Running Bear?"

"Basically, I think it all boils down to a modest-sized bird carcass that got where it had no business being. It got sucked into the water intake for the fusion reactor, blocked it, and shut the reactor down. Now, as near as my scanner and I can make out, all the doors are power operated, and essentially none of them have any mechanical backup. Rotten engineering, if you ask me, but I’m biased. No power, no entrance or exit from the building. The population is trapped, having to make do the best they can—the results of which are, I trust, amply visible."

"It looked like some of the farming spreads had an autonomous power supply." Davids looked puzzled. "Why didn’t the folks living in them set themselves up as rulers, since they had the only accommodations and all?"

"That’s one I don’t know, Weed. Maybe they were all trapped inside the civic buildings, and couldn’t get out." He shrugged. "Either way, I propose that we make our way to one of the estates that’s still operating, and see if we can get into the house."

"Don’t you think they might be locked?"

One of Running Bear’s eyebrows arched. "Do you think that T’Soral and Indri can’t whip up something to pick locks this primitive? What’s your take, Weed?"

"Hmmm..." The physician’s assistant pretended to think. "It might take them all of three, maybe even four, minutes to get the job done. That counts the time it’ll take them to walk to the nearest transporter room, mind you."

"Okay, guys, you’ve made your point." She sniffed. "Just let me improve Lonesome Hawk’s odor, and we can head out."

Neither man argued.


Running Bear, Uhura and Davids stood outside the door of what looked to be the living quarters on an estate where the automated farming equipment was still methodically tilling the ground. The engineer stood close to the door, his concealed tricorder deployed. He straightened. "If you could contact the ship, Freedom? I think I’ve got the data that Indri will need to get us in. Looks like the system works on face recognition; the sensors here manage a crude ID, then send the information to the colony’s central computer for confirmation. Looks like it’s an RF linkage—primitive, but effective."

"That would explain why the owners couldn’t get back in, I suppose. With the central computer down, there’d never be an RF confirmation, right?" Uhura shifted Lonesome Hawk to her other hip, bringing the harp where she could reach it. She pulled on the three critical strings. "Uhura to Hyperion. I need Indri. Yes, you can, Indri; do you have the most recent scans from Running Bear’s tricorder? Good. You guessed it; we’d love to get in there. Three minutes or less? Excellent. Put it a meter in front of me, will you?"

Moments later, a small device materialized at the indicated spot. Picking it up, Running Bear triggered a small contact. The door to the building before them swung open, the lights in the vestibule switching on. Running Bear bowed, sweeping one hand toward the door. "Welcome to my humble abode."

The threesome moved through the door, seeing it close behind them. As the lights came on before them, they saw an immaculately clean room, filled with antique furnishings of the most opulent kind.

"Amazing." The captain looked around herself. "I almost feel like I’m in a museum or something. Look at this place, will you?"

"Nice, really nice," Davids remarked. "What would thrill me even more is to find a functioning shower, right about now. And after that, I’d love to investigate the kitchen, and see if there’s anything to eat." He moved forward with a determined pace. "I bet there may even be a functioning laundry around here somewhere, if we can find it and figure out how to get it running."

Delighted at the thought, Uhura joined Davids in the search. Running Bear stood in place, his fingers on his dumbek drum, slowly turning. Uhura looked back. "What’s up? Do you like smelling wretched?"

"I’m standing in the middle of an absolutely magnificent, still functioning, antique engineering marvel, with an engineering tricorder. Should I be so totally unwise as to return to the Hyperion without having done a good, high resolution scan of this place, Indri will kill me—if he doesn’t torture me, that is—and I’ll deserve it."

He looked at the mechanisms scuttling around on the floor, trying to stay out of sight while still keeping the floor clean. "Look at those things—early versions of our semi-autonomous cleaning machinery on the Hyperion. Still working after over a hundred fifty to a hundred eighty years or more. Absolutely magnificent." The engineer returned to scanning the area around him. "You and Hardav go find places to clean up and wash clothes and all that; I’ll finish here, and use the facilities when you guys are done."

The advice, Uhura decided, was good. She moved off, looking for a tub, looking at Lonesome Hawk. "Young man, you are about to get what just may be your first bath." Lonesome Hawk just looked up and burbled happily.


Several hours later, with everyone washed, their clothing laundered, and a good meal prepared from food transported down from the Hyperion cooked with the resources of the mansion’s kitchen, the three members of the Hyperion’s crew settled down in the living room, wrapped in robes from the closets in the estate’s mansion, each with a flagon of ice water.

"Running Bear, you sure know how to book nice accommodations." Davids took a deep draught from his ice water. "I checked out the sleeping quarters; we are going to sleep in luxury tonight. I’ve already picked out the room I plan to use."

"Why doesn’t that surprise me, Hardav? Look, Running Bear has already given me the rundown on what he’s found. How about you filling us in on what you dug up? Especially on this MegaDude individual."

Davids nodded. "It appears that there is pretty significant recreational use of psychoactives, including cocaine and hallucinogens; I’m not sure why, though I suspect a couple of educated guesses spring to all of our minds. I learned a bit about MegaDude, not all of which appears to be accurate. The going-around-and-rescuing people bit fits our experiences so far—but the folks described him as being rather sparing of words, which certainly does not fit with what we’ve seen. He bordered on the loquacious."

"And fluent; he was really clear, but professional. I..." Running Bear was interrupted by an unfamiliar sound. "What in space?"

"Offhand, I’d say that might just be the doorbell." Davids cocked his head to one side, listening for it to happen again. It did. "Doorbell for sure, all right. Shall I answer it?"

"I noticed an electronic peephole, Hardav. Check that first. If it’s the ruffians from this morning, I’m not home." There was no mistaking Uhura’s aversion to meeting them again.

Davids rose, checking the peephole. "It’s not them. I’m letting him in; I don’t think we could keep him out, anyhow."

As the PA opened the door, Megadude floated into the vestibule. "Thank you. Please, make yourselves comfortable." MegaDude planted himself in a chair where he could see Running Bear and Uhura. Davids sat where he was in equally clear sight. "I suppose you are curious about my arrival."

"I’m curious about you. I noticed you don’t walk; you floated. And rumor had it you were a regular clam—but suddenly, you talk fluently." Davids leaned slightly forward. "That’s all very interesting to me, especially since you talk, but your lips don’t move. What are you?"

"I am..." There was a pause. "Accept my apologies, but your language seems to lack the concepts." The Human form slumped in its chair; the medallion floated before them. "The best I can offer is that I am the inhabitant of this medallion." There was a pause; clearly the Humans were waiting for more explanation. "Long years ago, my kind became obsessed with extending our lives and ability to function; we developed increasingly sophisticated replacements for lost limbs and organs, to the point that the only thing we had no way of replacing was the center of our consciousness, our brains.

"One of our engineers developed a means of copying our awareness onto circuitry; since the process would allow us instant access to all the stored knowledge our race had amassed, it seemed a great advance. When we were all shifted over, our sciences advanced rapidly, for a while. Then we got bored. Perhaps depressed expresses it better; I am not sure.

"Some of us withdrew from all contact with everyone and everything; others began quarreling, ultimately ending in fights that ended in one or both individuals being destroyed." The medallion emitted a sound that seemed like a very Human sigh. "Others of us simply committed suicide. None of those paths appealed to me, so I set out to see what, if any, good I could do elsewhere. I arrived here."

Davids looked over at the brightly costumed Human, slumped in the chair. "What did you do to him? He looks like he’s barely better than a Human vegetable."

"You are quite correct. When I arrived here, and realized that this colony had descended into a plight not unlike what my own people had reached, I wanted to help. I found him, out in the woods, dying from some sort of poisoning. Looking back, I suspect he’d taken some mushroom or weed that contained a potent neurotoxin, hoping to have a drug-induced euphoria. I did what I could to rescue him; what you see is the result. I had thought I might work through him to get this society back on its feet. ‘MegaDude’ was the best I could manage. Of course, you have unquestionably deduced that the ridiculously gaudy outfit was to distract the populace from the fact that he was nothing more than a living marionette, which is all I had with which to work. Until now."

"I see, or I think I do." Uhura leaned a little forward, gesturing as she spoke. "You’re hoping to use us as your mouthpieces. Unfortunately, I’m not sure that we can do that."

"Oh, I understand, fully." The medallion remained motionless as it spoke. "I have downloaded the entire database in your ship’s computer systems; that is how I have managed to improve my language skills. I’m not sure that your Prime Directive is applicable here, but I realize that you may have to have a ruling from your superior officers. But this child is a different story. My living marionette can raise him, and I can teach him what he needs to know to lead these people." The medallion moved toward Lonesome Hawk.

"You can get started by removing the plug out of the intake of the fusion reactor, too." It was Running Bear this time. "Frankly, I’m surprised that you haven’t done that already. Let the civic buildings be available again. I’m sure you can regenerate the fields for the containment flask."

"I can, now. With the information from your ship’s data base, I finally understand the primitive energy generation system that powered the colony. Until I downloaded the information, I hadn’t a clue." The being in the medallion almost sounded apologetic for not having done the obvious. "Either way, restoring power to the civic buildings should be simple."

"That’s good. If I read my scans correctly, one of the buildings has a public swimming pool—with showers." Running Bear winked at Davids.

Uhura’s nostrils twitched. "Showers; that’s one innovation that would be worth the effort. And I’ll bet there is an electronic library, which might be all the better. But MegaDude will still be needed, you know."

"Indeed, if for no other reason than to get them into the showers." Davids stood, using his guitar as a mediscanner, scanning the Human. "Captain, would you call the Hyperion and have M’Benga ship me a medikit and a full medical scanner?"

"No problem." She tugged on the strings. "Sickbay....Keme, we need a medical scanner and a medikit. No, we’re fine. It’s a long story; maybe over dinner tomorrow. Exactly—any excuse I can find. Uhura out."

The scanner and medikit appeared, and the physician’s assistant snatched them up. For several moments, he studied the scanner. He used the hypospray on the Human that was MegaDude. He studied the scanner again, readjusted the hypospray, and delivered another dose. Twice more, he repeated the process, then nodded to himself, clearly satisfied. He turned to the medallion. "He’ll wake up in about an hour."

Davids studied his mediscanner one last time, then hung it on his makeshift belt. "He wasn’t as badly off as you had feared; he won’t be the sharpest wit on the planet, but he’ll be able to walk and talk and all on his own. You might try using bone conduction to talk to him; I think he’ll probably accept your input, especially after you manage to make him look like a genius a few times."

"Sounds like our job here is done, then." Uhura stood, the long, red terry robe she wore falling almost to the floor. "It would probably be best if we are gone before he wakens, and you might want to have him out of here before he does, MegaDude. Just take good care of Lonesome Hawk for me, will you?" There was no mistaking the difficulty she was having over leaving the child behind. "I’ve grown fond of the little fellow." Gathering up her harp and the freshly laundered clothing she’d temporarily discarded for the robe she wore, Uhura turned to Running Bear and Davids. "Time to beam up, gentlemen."

As Running Bear and Davids gathered their clothes, instruments and backpacks up, handing the Captain hers, the medallion moved away, draping its chain around MegaDude’s neck and coming to rest on his chest. The Human stood, moved by the inhabitant of the medallion. "Goodbye. And thank you."

"You’re welcome." It was Uhura speaking.

The threesome disappeared into the sparkle of the transporter, materializing before Indri. His eyebrows raised. "Talk about new clothes! Those robes you three are wearing look like they’re right out of a luxury magazine. What happened? And what’s with the shortie robe, Hardav? If you’ve being trying to make time with the Captain, your boss is going to make you wish you were dead."

"Oh, we just got tired of hanging out with hippies, Indri," Davids offered, "and had you let us into a mansion. They didn’t have a robe for tall folks like me, at least not after the Captain got the real luxury model." He chuckled as he spoke.

"Trust me, M’Benga wouldn’t be anything compared to what Patty Denali would do if he got caught angling for the Captain. While we were at it, the Captain let a super-hero adopt a baby we’d sort of inherited." Running Bear looked over to Uhura. "I guess that sort of sums it up, doesn’t it?"

"Pretty close." Uhura rolled her eyes, turning to face Indri. "Near as I can tell, that pair has been reading too many comic books…"

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