Fur and Feathers

Chapter 4

Chapter 4

The shuttlepod returned to the site with its passengers early the next morning. They were determined to make the most of the daylight, this planet having a relatively short revolution as well as being currently rotating this particular continent towards the shortening hours of autumn.

The clouds had passed, and the rain had soaked into the dry earth and refreshed the grass. The herds were still moving slowly southward across the plain, grazing as they went; the arrival of the shuttle again caused an eddy of alarm, but the imperatives of eating and moving were too strong to be disrupted for long. Another month and the cold winter wind would scour the land bare. The few creatures who lived here permanently would settle down to long months of semi-starvation, of which they might or might not live to see the end.

There was still some work to do on mapping the site before extraction could begin. As the ship’s explosives expert (who had never quite outgrown a boyish passion for blowing things up), Lieutenant Reed would be in charge of the final stages of the blasting operation, but he was in the middle of an important tactical simulation in the armoury. This had been scheduled to take place some days earlier, but the urgency of the search for the hyrellanium had led to it being postponed. Now, with the ship in orbit around a peaceful planet in a deserted solar system and a day of enforced idleness to fill while the ore was extracted, it had seemed an ideal opportunity to get it over and done with. Malcolm had therefore deputed the task of planning the siting of the explosive charges to one of his more trusted seconds, Ensign Neill McKenna, a tow-haired, serious individual whose lilting tones betrayed his origins in the misty green isle where his parents still lived. His regular and faithful transmissions home were the subject of some good-natured twitting among the crew, which he accepted with the benign tolerance of a very large dog surrounded by very small yapping puppies. Travis was required to take part in the simulation at the helm, and so, unfortunately for her, was Hoshi – who had listened entranced to the story from the previous evening and intended to study the alien’s recorded voice patterns from the translator at the earliest opportunity and add them to her database. T'Pol as science officer did not intend to delegate such a vital task to anyone, and was therefore once again one of the landing party.

It had therefore fallen to Trip to man the shuttle, he having deftly organised his own second, Lieutenant Hess, to stand in for him during the simulation. He was still surprised that he’d got away with it. Had he not carefully picked a moment during which Malcolm was fully occupied elsewhere, there would certainly have been protests from that quarter. The captain had given permission for the exchange almost absently, and as he piloted the craft effortlessly down through the still, cool dawn air Tucker thought uneasily of the effect which the encounter with the lion-woman seemed to have had on his friend. Although Archer seemed alert enough, and as prepared as anyone to take part in the simulation of an attack from hostile forces on the ground, Trip had known him longer than anyone else on the Enterprise. He suspected that the telepathic contact had affected the captain more deeply than he would be prepared to admit, perhaps even to himself. Although their long friendship meant that he could get closer to the captain than most, he couldn’t help fearing that in this instance even the most well-intentioned intervention would be met with hostility.

He glanced towards T'Pol, wondering if she’d noticed anything wrong with the relative ease with which he’d gotten away with a request that in ordinary circumstances would have been met with a flat refusal. Tactical simulations were serious matters, and senior officers who had no valid reasons for being elsewhere were expected to show up and play their part. Sure, he was a decent shuttle pilot, but there were others on board. For all his prior planning, even he himself had been slightly shocked by his success. Quite probably T'Pol had been, too. She must have noticed that the captain was acting somewhat strangely; she was always extremely observant, if not always extremely forthcoming – if he wasn’t imagining things, of course. This planet seemed to have had a remarkably lively effect on his imagination already. But if she had anything to say on so sensitive a subject she certainly wouldn’t broach it in the presence of a junior officer. At some point in the near future (and perhaps it had better be the very near future) he was going to have to collar her for a little private conversation. Just conversation, he reminded himself sternly, having noticed on his own account how very aloof she looked this morning – doubtless gearing up for the task of dutifully enduring the absurdities of any other superstitious aliens they might accidentally bump into today.

He still wasn’t sure himself why he was so keen to return to the surface. Shiránnor had made it clear enough that she wasn’t going to be around. He thought she was certainly one of the most intriguing aliens they’d encountered so far, and for himself he’d have liked to spend more time with her – even if the fact that he’d had that startling hallucination in close proximity to her had been no more than a coincidence. Nevertheless, he was glad in some ways that she’d made the decision to leave. Whatever joy Jon had gotten out of their mental contact (and from the way that his expression had been transformed, there seemed no other appropriate word), it appeared to have taken its toll on him now. Perhaps it really was best for their two species to keep their distance.

The ship’s scanners had not indicated the presence of anything other than animals, and as they opened the shuttle door and looked around it appeared that this time everything in the vicinity was peaceful. A couple of hundred metres away a pack of smallish grey creatures like dog-sized dinosaurs was squabbling over the remaining few large bones of the hind whose migration had come to that premature end yesterday evening, but they showed no interest in the new arrivals. Nevertheless, it would not pay to forget their existence: once the possibilities of the carcass had been exhausted they might look for other prey. Ensign McKenna had a phase pistol clipped to his belt. Malcolm had been mindful that migrating animals attract many predators, and had taken time out from his preparations for the simulation to issue his deputy with strict instructions to stay on alert at all times while co-operating with his superior officers. The young Irishman snatched a pair of binoculars from the shuttlepod locker, stared suspiciously through them at the snapping, snarling animals, and checked (unnecessarily, since Malcolm had issued it to him) that his weapon was fully charged, obviously wishing that they’d come more heavily armed.

“We’ll keep an eye on ‘em,” said Trip reassuringly. “If they look like they’re getting too nosy we’ll just give one or two of ‘em enough of a zap to scare ‘em away.”

“Yes, sir.” He glanced once more at the distant pack, put the binoculars in his pocket where they would be ready to hand, and unclipped his PADD to begin planning.

* * *

The sun rose as they worked. The wind rose too, and although it had no more clouds to hurl in their direction it soon dried the grass heads again. Once more the pollen was shaken out in clouds. All around them the herds were still plodding and munching; as the ground also dried out, their innumerable hooves stirred up the dust to join the pollen in the air. Even this far into the autumn there was still a good deal of warmth in the sunshine, and presently Trip straightened up from checking a particularly promising seam of ore, wiping sweat off his forehead. Like any other part of him that was exposed to air, his face was now coated in pollen. It felt awful. This hadn’t happened to such a degree yesterday because the storm had quickly reduced the temperature and the lagyaar’s lair was so designed that it remained several degrees cooler than the outside air even on the hottest days of the summer. From glancing at Ensign McKenna’s daffodil-tinted features he could guess what he himself looked like. And the pollen-laden perspiration was getting into his coveralls, too. Just in case of any further inopportune hallucinations he’d taken the precaution of wearing a couple of extra pairs of underwear to help contain the results. He’d had no hallucinations, but he was suffering severely from the sweat the extra layers had induced. Even his parched mouth was coated in dust and pollen. “I sure could use a drink,” he gasped. “And is there anywhere round here a man could wash up?”

Vulcan, of course, was far hotter than Earth; its inhabitants had evolved in almost desert conditions. It was therefore probably inevitable that T'Pol was still almost completely unaffected by the heat. She was still as cool and neat as though she had just stepped on to the bridge to start a duty shift. He tried to tell himself that it was only his imagination that as she surveyed the two men her mouth quirked in what in a Human would be the effort not to laugh. “It would certainly appear that you need to,” she said primly. “I would not advise drinking the water on this planet without carrying out a prior analysis, but there is a small watercourse in that direction.” She pointed north. “A short distance. We could spare the time to pay it a brief visit if you wish.”

“At this moment in time I’d trade my next week’s shore leave for a liter of water over my head.”

“I’d be glad of it too, Sub-Commander,” volunteered McKenna a little diffidently.

“Naturally. I suggest that you both satisfy your thirst from what we brought down with us in the shuttle before we leave, so that you will be less tempted to drink the river water.”

They deposited the PADDs and the binoculars carefully in the shuttle, took out the water-bottles and sat inside in the shade, drinking thirstily. Even T'Pol consented to sip from a flask of iced tea. The sun was nearing its zenith for the day. Even the unending streams of deer and the odd group of wild black cattle-like creatures seemed to be shuffling more slowly, heads low. The pack of scavengers had disappeared westward some time ago; the plain was silent save for the low ceaseless rumble of hoof-falls.

TBC...