"Yed's Crusade"

[Mr. Atoz]

[This is a story that Thallassa and I have been working on together. You can amuse yourself trying to spot the parts I thought up and the parts she thought up.]

YED'S CRUSADE

Captain's log, Stardate 52917.1: Following up on a report by the survey vessel Polaris, the Odysseus has returned to the planet ZA-89-IV, which we first surveyed nearly a year ago. The situation we find on arrival is distressing.

The procession came slowly down the flagstone street, between the tall buildings of whitewashed stucco. First came two men bearing yellow warning flags, followed by two carts drawn by shaggy, camel-like neroghs, each bearing a wooden coffin. The mourners came behind, the women clad in black robes covering all but their eyes, the men silent in their everyday clothes but their faces painted black to show their grief.

Captain Atoz stepped away from the center of the street to wait respectfully for them to pass. Lieutenant Commander Diane Weir, stopping beside him, covered her face with the her shawl, as they had been briefed was the custom. Both of them were dressed in loose-fitting native clothing and turbans, their skin dyed olive to match the native coloration and their hair darkened. In Weir's case, long braided tresses had been added to her short brunette hair. "That's three funerals we've seen just in the past twenty minutes, sir," she whispered.

Atoz didn't reply, and she understood why. Sensor readings indicated that the populated region of this planet was in the middle of an epidemic. It wasn't yet as bad as the Black Death on Earth, but people were dying by the hundreds. If he had to comment on the situation, he might also have to speculate on the life expectancy of the friends they had met the last time they were here. Instead, he looked down the street. "The shopkeeper said Zagir's house was next door to the white smith's," he said, striding off into a narrow alley.

Weir hurried to catch up with him, clutching at his arm and struggling to chose her words carefully. "Sir? There's still time to rethink this."

Atoz slowed his pace. "Diane, you know as well as I do as well as I do in a situation like this, sensor readings from orbit can tell you only so much. A first hand evaluation on the surface--"

"-- is permitted, as long as in the captain's judgment the mission is vital and relatively free from danger," she finished, quoting the regulation which, as Science Officer, she knew by heart. "Are you sure, sir? Are you certain you're not letting your feelings influence your decision?"

"Yes, I'm worried about Zagir and Ziphata. Aren't you?"

"Of course I am, sir. But I don't have to remind you of the Prime Directive."

Atoz shook his head impatiently. No, she didn't. The natives of this planet were still in the Iron Age, just beginning to make their first tentative experiments with gunpowder and mechanical clocks. Starfleet's paramount directive prohibited any contact which might in any way influence their natural development. "Do you think I would interfere with this culture?"

"Not intentionally, sir, of course not! But we could do so without meaning to. Suppose we found Zagir or his wife sick and dying of malnutrition. Could you honestly stand there and watch them suffer when you could beam them to the ship and Dr. Pierce could cure them in two seconds?"

Atoz grunted. No, he couldn't. "Point taken, Diane," he said uneasily. "Okay, we'll keep our distance. I just want to see how they've been affected by this."

The alley opened into a square where three other narrow streets converged. In the center a crowd of people had gathered around a raised wooden platform, where a stout, bald man dressed in bright red and black robes was standing. Atoz stopped, recognizing the costume from his briefing. This was the Yed, the local city ruler. The title was passed on through kinship, but his power had certain limits by custom. Thus he was less than a dictator, but more than a mere mayor.

Next to the Yed was a shorter person in a hooded gray robe. Grouped on either side of the platform were half a dozen guards armed with spears and swords Atoz paused to let his Temporary Linguistics Overlay do its work. The telempathic device had been placed next to his left temple, where it could act directly on the speech center of his brain. A step up from the old Universal Translator, it was exactly like having instant fluency in a foreign language.

"People of Kro-perom, hear me!" the ruler said. "You know the will of the gods!"

The crowd murmured disapproval. Several voices were raised, drowning one another out. After a moment the hubbub died down enough that one voice could be made out. "What of this plague, Yed Sarir? Can the priests do nothing?"

The ruler raised his hands to quiet the mob. "Only the gods can banish the sickness! They require an act of faith to show that the people of Kro-perom still honor them!"

"By making war on Ial-babil?" the protester shouted back. "What madness is that?" Straining to see over the intervening heads, Atoz made out the face of the tall man who was speaking. As he suspected, it was Zagir!

"They are many and their walls are strong!" another person added, amid many murmurs of agreement.

The small figure clad in a gray robe stepped forward. The crowd relapsed into uneasy silence as his hand emerged from under his robe gripping a thick, J-shaped object about a foot long. Taking aim at Zagir, he pulled the trigger.

An explosive boom echoed through the square as a projectile streaked out and shattered a wooden sign hanging just over Zagir's head. The crowd gasped and then went deathly quiet.

"Captain, that was a percussion revolver," Weir quietly, in English so that she wouldn't be understood by the people next to them. "When we were last here, they still hadn't mastered fireworks."

Yed Sarir spoke again. "This traveler comes to us from a distant land. Armed with his thunder sticks, there is no need to fear the armies or the high walls of Ial-babil. Our crusade cannot fail. Who will join me?" After the briefest of pauses, several men began pushing towards the platform. Zagir alone remained unmoved.

Atoz leaned closer to Weir. "Suddenly I'm very interested in getting a closer look at this traveler. Wait for me here." Seeing his chance, he jostled his way into the group of men surging forward to enlist.

Meanwhile Gray Robe had leaned over and spoken to Yed Sarir, who in turn nodded and gestured towards the guards. Two of the men grounded their spears and marched over to Zagir, still standing defiantly in the same spot. Boxing him in between them, the soldiers attempted to seize Zagir's arms. He resisted, striking one in the jaw and then turning to intercept the other. Zagir swept the second man around in a shoulder throw, but as he began to rise, the first guard drew his curved sword and clubbed him hard with its heavy brass hilt. As Zagir tried to struggle upright, the guard slashed at him backhanded, catching him on the side of the head with the flat of his scimitar. Zagir dropped to his hands and knees. The guard raised his sword, ready to bring the razor sharp blade down on his skull.

Atoz tackled the guard hard before his blow could fall, knocking the wind out of him and catching his weapon arm in an arm lock. As his grip loosened on the scimitar, Atoz slammed his elbow into the man's jaw, scooping the sword out of his hand and turning it on him.

"Friend Atoz?" said Zagir, grinning. "Praise the gods!"

"Arrest them!" Yed Sarir shouted. "Arrest them both!" As the crowd scattered out of the way, the other four soldiers, spears leveled, began to advance across the square.

So much for keeping our distance, Weir thought ruefully.

[Mr. Atoz]

Weir pressed her comm badge. Because of all the excitement, no one was paying attention to her as she whispered, "Weir to Odysseus. Lieutenant Rosh, fire a level two phaser burst on our position, frequency modulated and attenuated by a factor of twelve. Do you understand?"

There was a short delay while the tactical officer on board the starship in orbit presumably asked for authorization from the First Officer. Fawkes would naturally be right there on the bridge monitoring the situation. Weir imagined him being puzzled by the request, since an attenuation of that magnitude would mean the energy of beam would be completely absorbed by the atmosphere before it reached ground level. Would he take the time to think it through, or would he trust her? "Aye-aye, commander," said Rosh's gruff voice promptly. "Firing now."

Zagir had pulled out his mace, and he and Atoz stood side by side as the four soldiers advanced upon them. There was a narrow alleyway to their left, but with the superior reach of their spears, the soldiers could cut them off before they reached it. Atoz hefted the sword he had taken, getting the feel of it as he wished that he was better trained in hand to hand.

Without warning, the sky brightened as the invisible phaser beam superheated the clouds overhead. Dozens of green plasma balls sparkled like fireflies, drawing everyone's attention for a few seconds before they flashed out of existence. Atoz took advantage of the distraction to grab Zagir's arm, and together they raced down the alley. The soldiers took up the chase, but in the narrow lane their spears were now more of a hindrance than an advantage. Zagir and Atoz darted into a potter's shop, pushing aside the protesting shopkeeper as they kept going through the rear exit. Outside, the two of them met up with Weir and kept running.

***

On the bridge of the Odysseus, Lt. Rosh scanned his tactical station. "I have a traveling transport lock on the Captain and the Science Officer, Commander. Shall I beam them up?"

The First Officer frowned as he thought it over. "Scampering down Piccadilly in plain sight?" he said, shaking his head. "We're already on thin ice with that phaser stunt."

"But, Mr. Fawkes," said Amelia Penner anxiously from the communications board, "if they're in trouble..."

"Starfleet takes the Prime Directive seriously, ensign," Fawkes said. "I don't fancy spending the rest of my career on a freighter. The Captain would have a job explaining to a review board what he meant by beaming down in the first place. Let's give him a chance to sort it out on his own."

The tactical officer, still watching his console, visibly relaxed. "They have outdistanced their pursuers."

"Good enough," said Fawkes. "What was that explosion?"

"My readings indicate a chemical discharge of high grade potassium nitrate and carbonaceous sulfur."

"Gunpowder," said Fawkes shortly.

"That is what I said, Commander," Rosh replied coolly. "Firearms of this kind are far ahead of this culture's engineering index, according to our latest survey."

"That's just grand," said Fawkes, sitting back in the command chair. "So either they're smarter than we gave them credit for, or somebody's playing silly buggers with us." He frowned as he touched a button on the chair arm. "Bridge to Sickbay. Anything new, doctor?"

The face of Ben Pierce, the ship's chief medical officer, appeared on the main screen. "The med scanners have isolated a sample of the disease for study. It looks like a coccobacillus rickettsia, a real nasty one, too. According to my bio-scan, fifty to fifty-five percent of the people in this city are showing symptoms, to some degree or another."

Fawkes couldn't help but grimace. And the Captain and Science Officer were down there in the middle of it, trusting to their standard Starfleet immunizations to protect them. "There's another thing," the doctor continued. "I've completed the DNA comparison with the cell structure records from last time we were here. It's indigenous to the planet."

"The Captain isn't going to like that," Fawkes said. "It means according to regulations, there's nothing we can do about it. Have you determined the mortality rate?"

Pierce shook his head. "Not yet, Charles. Too many unknown factors to account for."

The First Officer looked back at the planet on the main view screen. Wasn't that always the way it was?

***

Zagir unlatched the door and the three of them slipped quietly into the darkened house. Once the door was closed and fastened behind them, he took the time to do something he had evidently been wanting to do for some time. He ritually placed his forehead against Atoz' forehead in formal greeting, and then pulled the captain into a bear hug. "Oh my friend it is good to see you again in these dark times!" Atoz hugged him back.

A shadow appeared at the top of the narrow staircase as a reedy female voice called, "My husband? It is thou?"

Weir smiled as she picked up her skirts and hurried up the stairs. "It's us, Ziphata! Diane and Atoz!"

"Diane?" the other woman replied uncertainly, as Weir reached her and enfolded her in a friendly hug. "This is beyond all my hopes! It cannot be real!"

"It certainly is--" Weir stopped abruptly as she felt the other woman's face. "How long have you had this fever? You're burning up!"

"It is nothing," Ziphata said in a tired but happy voice. "I must see to your refreshment! I must--"

"You'll do nothing but get in bed!" Briskly Weir turned the other woman around and helped her back into the bedroom she had emerged from. Glancing back over her shoulder, she called down to the men. "Cap-- " she began, then caught herself in time. The last time they had been here, they had found it simpler to fall in with the pretense of being a married couple themselves. "Husband, is there any water? Or food?"

"I'll see what I can find... wife," Atoz replied self-consciously as he looked around the kitchen. Almost immediately he had to confess himself stumped. Having grown up with replicators like most people, he had only a general idea that in less advanced societies most foods had to be eaten fresh or not at all, and then had to be dried and stored with care to prevent spoiling. Nothing looked familiar. If Zagir hadn't been there, he would never have guessed that the covered barrel in the corner was for water, let alone where the bread was hidden.

While Zagir put together a tray, Atoz made the excuse that he had to use the privy. He waited until Zagir had gone upstairs, then touched his comm badge. "Atoz to Odysseus."

"This is Fawkes," the First Officer replied. "Are you all right, Captain? We picked up what looked like a weapon discharge."

"We're both fine," Atoz assured him. "The weapon was a percussion pistol someone fired in the town square."

"We thought so," Fawkes said, "and we've been looking into it. Do you think it's cultural contamination?"

"The individual who made the demonstration was cloaked and hooded, so we didn't get a good look at him. But if he is here from another planet, he must have a spaceship. See if you can turn up anything. We'll contact you again in an hour, or sooner if we find out anything new."

"And Captain," Fawkes added hesitantly, "I already have a preliminary report from Dr. Pierce. The disease is native to the planet."

Atoz sighed. If it had been non-native, regulations gave him a little more leeway in doing something about it. As it was... "Thank you, Charles. Atoz out."

He joined the others upstairs. Ziphata was stretched out in bed, with Weir sitting next to her bathing her forehead with a damp cloth. Zagir offered bread, cheese, and dried meat. "My face burns with shame," he said, "that this humble fare is the best I have to offer my noble friends. Times are hard."

Atoz took a piece of hard unleavened bread. It tasted a little of mold, but under the circumstances, it was delicious. But as he looked around the room, he couldn't help noticing someone missing. He almost didn't want to ask, but in the silence of the room, he had to. "Where is your son?" he asked delicately.

Zagir paused before responding, which made Atoz fear the worst. "Jabek has enlisted in Yed Sarir's guard. I objected, but he is past the age of acceptance. We have not seen him for many days, and yet we are told that he is well."

Atoz breathed a sigh of relief, and caught Weir's eye for a second before she turned back to minister to Ziphata. "What it that all about?" he asked. "Why is your ruler so bent on making war with...?" He trailed off, because truthfully he had forgotten the name of the city.

"Ial-babil," said Zagir, shaking his head. "It has always been rich because of its water-stone mines, but to make war for that reason is madness. And yet Yed Sarir has always been ambitious. Now that he has these thunder sticks, perhaps he thinks it is his day."

"Speaking of Yed Sarir," Atoz said. "Are we safe here? Will he find us here?"

Zagir frowned. "He could find by asking easily enough. Do you think he would still pursue us, merely because I questioned him?"

Weir flashed Atoz a significant look. It had been Gray Robe who had sent the guards, and he clearly didn't want his plans thwarted. "It's possible," he said finally. "Is there anyplace else you could go?"

"My cousin lives in Fortal," Zagir said judiciously. "It is not very distant, but we would be safe there." He slid to his knee beside Ziphata's bedside. "Are you well enough to ride, my flower?" he asked, gently stroking her forehead.

She sat up. "Yes, of course, my husband. Give me a few moments."

She needed help getting out of bed, which was not a good sign. As Zagir helped her to pack some spare clothing, he turned to Atoz. "I have two neroghs stabled with Gamij Viss near the west gate. Are your animals lodged nearby?"

Rather than explain that they didn't actually have any animals, Atoz merely gave him a curt nod. "Come along, Diane. We'll see to provisions."

"Yes, husband," Weir said, bowing her head submissively as she followed. Safely in the kitchen, she said quietly, "Do you really think we're in danger? With her fever, Ziphata really shouldn't be traveling."

"I don't see any choice," Atoz replied. "If that person in the gray robe is from a space-faring culture, he may have detected our arrival. If he has a spaceship with sensors, he could be locking onto our position right now. Of course it would simplest just to beam all of us up to the ship."

Weir looked shocked at the suggestion. "You mean Zagir and Ziphata? Captain, you know that would be a violation of--"

"What if the disease were the result of contamination?"

"Even if it were, that would hardly justify making the contamination worse!"

She was right, of course. He was letting his feelings get in the way again, looking for any excuse to interfere when he knew perfectly well that the Prime Directive tied his hands. While he pondered what to do, they both heard the shimmering hum of a transporter beam.

They recognized right away that it was a deeper frequency than a Starfleet beam. "Come on! Quick!" Atoz said as he seized Weir's hand and pulled her towards the door. The active scanning radius of a transporter was usually only a few meters. If they could get outside, they might evade it. But as Azoz fumbled with the latch, suddenly his muscles all went rigid. The paralyzing effect was a standard precaution, but as the kitchen disappeared around him, he couldn't help thinking that it was also a heck of an effective way to keep him from escaping.

***

"Commander, I am picking up a transporter beam in operation," said Lt. Rosh. "On an unusual wavelength."

"Where is it coming from?" said Fawkes.

"It appears to be a runabout in low geosynchronous orbit. Running in silent mode with engines powered down."

"Get a fix on it! I want to know who that is!"

A full sized hologram of a young woman wearing the flowing gown of a Greek goddess suddenly appeared beside the command chair. "Commander Fawkes," she said, "sensors are detecting a space cruiser coming into view from behind the planet's second moon."

"Confirmed," Rosh said, with a quick glance over his console. "The vessel is on an intercept course, with defensive shields charged!"

"Red alert! Raise shields!"

[Mr. Atoz]

They materialized in a long room with an open balcony on one side. Judging from the tapestries and rich gold filigree, it was the Yed's personal chambers. Sure enough, Yed Sarir himself was sitting in a heavy throne-like chair. Atoz and Weir were surrounded by six of his soldiers, three of them carrying those percussion pistols aimed right at them. "Don't move, demons!" said the ruler. "I assure you these men know how to use their thunder sticks!"

The little man in the gray robe was standing to the left of Yed Sarir, holding what looked like a small tricorder. "I know that you are Hewmons," he said in a voice that had the distinctively harsh, tinny rasp of a Ferengi universal translator. "My name is Daimon Jylp," he continued, pushing back his hood to reveal his ratlike face and enormous ears, surmounted with the headband of a merchant captain. "Hand over your weapons and communicators. Very slowly, please. You do not want to be shot by one of these projectile weapons. Take it from me, they are much more painful than phasers."

Atoz slowly took his phaser out of the pocket of his robe and set it down on the table. "Daimon," he said in Federation Standard, as he lay his comm badge beside it, "you are in violation of the 4521 Interstellar Convention on trade with pre-warp civilizations."

The Ferengi grinned, showing pointed teeth. "Ah, that depends upon how you interpret the word 'trade'. Technically I'm not trading in thunder sticks. They come under the heading of gifts."

"Gifts?" said Weir, as she followed Atoz' example by surrendering her own phaser and comm badge. "It's not like a Ferengi to give things away."

Daimon Jylp sneered at her disdainfully and ignored the comment. He turned to the table behind him and picked up a gemstone. It was exquisitely beautiful, aqua blue with streaks of sapphire. "Have you ever seen a stone like this? It's called jemmisite. An extremely rare combination of quartz and carborundum. Quite valuable in the Ferengi empire. The city they call Ial-babil has tons of it, but they won't deal with me. Yed Sarir will, once he rules the city."

"However you justify it," Atoz said, "it's interfering with the natural progression of this culture."

The Ferengi shrugged. "What he does with the thunder sticks after I give them to him is not my concern, is it? Anyway, it's a keth eat keth universe out there, Hewmon. If I don't come back with a full cargo, my contract will be canceled. That is slightly more important to me that your stupid Hewmon rules."

The Yed himself had been following the conversation, conducted in a language unknown to him, with growing uneasiness. "What is this they say, Demon? I know Zagir and his wife, they are loyal citizens. Who are these two? They are strange to me."

The Ferengi smiled as he switched his translator to the local language. "They are rival demons, oh great Yed. They have placed your loyal citizens under a spell. That is why they oppose your will."

"A spell?" the ruler said uneasily. "What is to be done with them?"

"That is entirely your decision, great Yed," said the Ferengi casually as he picked up the phasers and comm badges. "I have neutralized their magic and made them harmless. But if you would have my counsel, they should be kept under close guard, lest they cause more mischief with their devil's ways."

"So be it," said the ruler, gesturing towards the guards. "We march on Ial-babil tomorrow, and I want nothing to stand in our way. Send some men to place Zagir and his wife under house arrest, but do not harm them. These two others will be executed when the sun returns in the morning."

"Wait a minute!" Atoz protested. "Just like that? Don't we get a trial?"

"A trial?" said Yed Sarir. "To what purpose? Do you deny that you are demons?"

"Yes we deny it," said Atoz. "We are merely travelers. We have cast no spells on anyone."

The ruler paused. "Very well. When the sun returns, you will undergo trial by the Ordeal of Fire."

"Ordeal of Fire? What exactly is that?"

"What is always done with those accused of demon-craft. You will be locked in an iron cage and set on fire. If the gods deem you innocent, they will allow no harm to come to you. If you survive, you will be released. I have spoken."

As the guards seized Atoz and Weir, Daimon Jylp grinned. "It's out of my hands, Hewmon," he said.

***

Captain's log, Stardate 52917.4, First Officer Charles Fawkes in temporary command. A Ferengi Nagrom class trader has taken up a position in orbit six kilometers off our bow. Although there is no indication that its weapons are locked on us, it has raised shields and refuses contact.

Amelia Penner expelled a sigh of frustration as she turned from the comm board. "No response from the Ferengi, Mr. Fawkes."

"Try to raise the Captain again," the First Officer said, leaning back in the command chair staring fixedly at the hostile vessel at the main view screen with his chin resting on his fist.

Penner's voice sounded ragged with anxiety. "Odysseus to Captain Atoz! Captain, please respond!" After a few tries, she turned towards the command chair again, biting her lower lip. "I'm not even getting the transponder signal from his comm badge! His or commander Weir's!"

Fawkes didn't take his eyes off the Ferengi on the view screen. "They're playing it close to the vest," he said quietly. "They know we won't open fire first, but with their shields up they can keep us on tenterhooks wondering if and when they plan to start shooting."

According to Starfleet's rules of engagement, in the absence of a clear and present danger to the security of the Federation, it was Fawkes' duty to bend over backwards to avoid conflict. But the Ferengi were unpredictable. You could never tell what a Ferengi captain would do if his business interests were in jeopardy. Fawkes' priority therefore was the safety of his ship and crew, and the mere threat was enough to keep him on the defensive.

The trouble was that Human life signs were near enough to those of the natives, they couldn't pinpoint Atoz and Weir's location from orbit without the locater circuits in their comm badges. With his shields up, Fawkes couldn't beam anyone down to find out what had happened. And an armed rescue party was out of the question in any case because of the non-interference directive.

Behind him, the turbolift doors hissed open. Pierce stepped onto the bridge and paused, seeing the crescent shaped Ferengi vessel on the main view screen. Quietly he sidled up to the command chair. "What's going on, Charles?"

"A standoff," Fawkes shrugged. "What's on your mind, doctor?"

"I've been thinking about what to do about this disease," said Pierce. "The Prime Directive says we can't introduce superior knowledge or technology to a less developed culture."

Fawkes had been so worried about the Captain, he had practically forgotten about the disease. "Tell me something I don't know," he suggested.

"Nothing says we can't we introduce inferior technology, does it?"

"I don't follow you."

"Let me beam down, just myself and a nurse. At the very least, I could teach them about treating the symptoms, proper sanitation, that kind of thing..."

Fawkes very slowly smiled. "I like the way you think, doctor." He reached over and touched his comm badge. "Bridge to Engineering. Vespis, I need to beam down an away team, but I need to do it without lowering the shields. Can it be done?"

"You don't want much, do you, darkskin?" she replied. He listened to her lilting voice and imagined the chief engineer's pale blue Andorian skin, accented by her silky white hair. "Do you have any idea how many hours I've spent over-syncing the micro-tolerances of the Paulsen generators to eliminate the smallest frequency window?"

"A simple yes or no would be fine."

They both heard a heart-felt sigh come over the comm link. "It might be possible to cut back the nutation rate of the ventral shield enough we could beam through it. To the Ferengi, it would still look like we had a full complement of shields."

"Okay, do it." He swung the chair around to face the tactical station. "Mr. Rosh, I want you to take a detachment down to the planet. You can take hand weapons, but no phasers or energy weapons. Try to make contact with the Captain, but under no circumstances take any overt action without his express orders. Is that clear?"

"Yes, sir."

It was time to see how far the Prime Directive could be pushed.

[Mr. Atoz]

Once or twice every hour, the jailer checked on the prisoners. The bare dungeon cell was a long room twelve feet by thirty, with a square buttress in the middle. Three walls were solid stone, and the remaining wall was of iron bars. Folklore said that demons couldn't use their magic in the presence of cold iron, but the jailer still didn't feel safe. He would have felt better if they howled or raved or threw themselves against the bars trying to escape. They were merely sitting on the floor in plain view with their backs against the wall, just like anyone would in a prison cell.

"I wish he wouldn't keep doing that," Weir said in English. "It gives me the creeps."

Early in their stay, Atoz had tried talking with the jailer, but was resolutely ignored. "Give the man a break," he replied. "He's probably never seen a demon before, let alone two."

"Captain, how can you joke at a time like this?" she said, exasperated. He reached for her hand and found it cold. She was shivering. "They're going to burn us to death in the morning! Doesn't that terrify you?"

"To tell you the truth, Diane," he said, gently squeezing her hand, "I've been trying hard not to think about being burned to death. Thank you so much for reminding me."

"Sorry," she said, leaning against him. "I'm frightened, sir. I can't help it. Is that how you present that image of courage and self-assurance? You just don't think about the personal danger?"

"If you dwell on it too much, you lose your ability to think of options. They teach you that in Command School."

Weir nearly said, "What options?", but she caught herself in time. There was no way they were going to charm their way past a locked door and an armed guard. Fawkes couldn't help them without violating the Prime Directive. For that matter, Fawkes probably had his hands full already. If there was a Ferengi captain on the surface, there must be a Ferengi ship in space somewhere. But Atoz didn't need to be told that.

What she said was, "It's a very attractive trait, self-assurance."

"Is it?" he replied with a short laugh. "It would have thought that basic intelligence would be more attractive. If I had listened to you from the start, we wouldn't be in this mess. You wouldn't be in this mess."

Weir felt touched that even now he was more worried about her than about himself. She wanted to tell him that she didn't care, that if she had to be in a situation like this, she was glad that it was with him, but the right words to express her feelings refused to come. "Captain..." she began, then fumbled for his given name. "Seven..."

For a moment the two of them just sat looking into one another's eyes, pulses quickening with the warmth and closeness of their bodies. "Captain," Weir said breathlessly, "you do realize that we're both experiencing an intense limbic resonance event, resulting in a surge of neurotrophins and sex hormones into our bloodstreams?"

"Commander... with a seduction technique like that, I'm amazed that you're still single."

The smile lit up her whole face. Atoz felt that she had never appeared more beautiful to him than she did right now. But this was neither the time nor the place to give in to his feelings. Desperately he sought for a topic to drag them both back from the precipice. "You know what really worries me?" he said. "This trial will only confirm their belief in magic. If their gods don't miraculously save us, we really must be demons. Confirmation bias strikes again."

"And Yed Sarir," she added, "will be even more convinced of his decision to attack Ial-babil. If you want to blame anyone, it's all that Ferengi's fault. Without his 'thunder sticks', none of this would be happening."

Now that was an idea! "Diane, you still have your tricorder, don't you?"

She stole a glance at the bars, looking out for the jailer. "Yes, but what good does that do us?"

"I know that the tricorder's sensor probe is specifically designed not to affect whatever it scans, but you could adjust it, couldn't you?"

"If you're planning to blast our way through these thick stone walls with a tricorder, I'm sorry to tell you--"

"No, no. I have something entirely different in mind."

***

Hathik, the Yed's principal aide, had taken responsibility for Zagir's house arrest. He tried to make it as cordial as possible. His men had helped bring Ziphata downstairs to the main room of the house, where she would be more comfortable on a pallet in front of the hearth. He had seen to it that they had plenty of food and drink. He had even offered to send for the Yed's personal physician to bring his lancets and blood leeches, a courtesy which Zagir had declined with thanks.

At the same time, he made clear that it was arrest. Zagir's weapons had been confiscated, and Hathik kept him company while he tended his wife, both of them knowing that two armed men stood guard outside the door, should Zagir decide to flee. Neither of them spoke much. In fact Hathik was about to doze off in Zagir's armchair when they were both startled by a resounding THUMP from the door. Hathik got up to investigate. He let the door swing open and, drawing his long-bladed dagger, took one cautious step into the dark street.

Suddenly someone's hand struck him on the throat, grabbed his collar, and yanked him outside. There was another thud, and one second later a strange man strode through the doorway.

He was a tall man with olive skin and a short goatee, his head covered by a low-brimmed turban. He was armed only with a short rod, but he did not look like a man Zagir wanted to cross. "Are you Zagir?" the man said gruffly. "Are there other guards in this house?"

Zagir numbly shook his head as two other men and a woman entered swiftly, dragging inside the unconscious bodies of Hathik and the two guards. As one of the men went back into the street to stand watch, the other drew back his hood to reveal an friendly, smiling face. "You must be Zagir. My name is Pierce. We're friends of Atoz and Diane."

Without waiting for an answer, he knelt beside Ziphata's bed and put his palm to her forehead. She opened her eyes in response to his gentle touch. "Don't worry," he said. "I'm a healer."

"You are... friends of Atoz?" said Zagir, turning again to the tall man who seemed to be the leader. "I lament to say he and his wife have been arrested by Yed Sarir. They are accused of being demons. They will undergo Trial by Ordeal in the morning."

The healer looked up briefly from his work. "Trial by Ordeal? I don't like the sound of that."

Rosh addressed Zagir, "Can you show us to the citadel where they are being kept?"

Zagir nodded. "Yes, with a will! Do we assault Yed Sarir's fortress then? How many swords have you?"

The security officer took a deep breath. "Just take us to the citadel."

Zagir kissed his wife goodbye. Ziphata watched him and Rosh depart with a worried look.

"Don't worry about a thing," Pierce reassured her with a broad smile. "They know what they're doing. Nurse Miller, see if there's any more of this moldy bread. Now pay attention, Ziphata. With any luck, I'm about to demonstrate Ben Pierce's recipe for homemade penicillin."

[Mr. Atoz]

The morning dawned clear and bright. As soon as it was light enough, Yed Sarir made his way to the courtyard in front of the citadel, along with Daimon Jylp. The guards already had a bonfire going. Above it was a derrick, and suspended from its arm was a small iron cage, just big enough to hold one person. A small crowd of onlookers had already gathered, held back by a line of men with spears.

"I do confess this causes me unease, Daimon," Yed Sarir said, as he lowered his bulk into a seat.

"In what way, great Yed?" the Ferengi replied, taking a seat on his right hand. "Surely is it best to rid yourself of those who speak against you?"

"Demons must be put to death," Sarir blurted out in self-defense, "for the good of the people. That is clearly stated in the Book of Jazim. But what of myself? Am I not also consorting with a demon?"

"Demons by definition are evil, great Yed. But you will be able to do much good with the aid of my thunder sticks. Perhaps you should think of me more as an angel."

The ruler scoffed at the rat-like face of the alien. "What you say is true. I only wish I liked it better."

Atoz and Weir arrived, their hands tied in front of them, escorted by three jailers and seven soldiers armed with the long-barreled rifles the Ferengi had provided for the assault on Ial-babil. The crowd watching began to murmur. "Silence!" commanded Yed Sarir. "Demons, look well upon the fire and confess your sins!"

The bonfire was uncomfortably warm where they were standing. "Yed Sarir," Atoz said, "I tell you again that we are not demons. And you would do well not to trust Daimon Jylp, or his thunder sticks. He is only trying to make a fool out of you."

"You leave me no choice then," the ruler said, giving a decisive nod. "Jailer--"

"Take the female first," the Ferengi interrupted, his eyes locked spitefully on Atoz'.

The men paused, clearly uncertain whether this was an order they should obey or not. Seizing upon their hesitation, Atoz charged forward. With his hands tied, the best he could do was use his body as a battering ram to slam into them, kicking backwards at the one who tried grab him from behind. That man lost his balance and caromed into the soldiers, effectively preventing them from joining the fray.

Weir would have loved to get in a few kicks herself, but she realized that the Captain was only doing this to draw attention away from her, so she meekly withdrew out of reach while she had the chance. She could only watch, barely stifling a cry of alarm when the jailers retaliated. Ganging up on Atoz, they held him fast by the rope binding his hands while they pummeled him with their fists several times, until he sprawled on the cobblestone pavement of the courtyard.

"Enough!" shouted Yed Sarir, half rising from his chair. "I do not want him beaten to death!"

Breathing heavily from their exertion, the two bigger jailers backed away as the third knelt to check on the prisoner and haul him to his feet. As he did so, Atoz felt a small medallion pressed into his hand. A comm badge! The man let his turban slip enough so that he could be recognized as Lieutenant Lucius Caeli. "Rosh and Zagir are here along with a security detachment, sir," he whispered in Federation Standard. "Orders?"

Atoz had to struggle to catch his breath. With a simple command, he could have himself and Weir beamed up to the ship, safely out of this mess! But that would not solve the problem of cultural contamination. In fact, it would only make things worse. "Stand by, Mr. Caeli," he whispered, as he stood up to full height.

The jailers came forward to untie Atoz's hands and strip off his outer robe, leaving him with only a thin linen chemise and trousers. The men at the derrick hoisted the iron cage out of the bonfire, while the jailers grabbed Atoz' shoulders and manhandled him over to it. The cage had been resting in the flames for a good fifteen minutes now, and in consequence the metal was uncomfortable to the touch. Atoz quite naturally balked at being locked inside it.

"Get in there!" the head jailer growled, shoving him. Atoz felt the hot iron searing him through the thin fabric of his clothes. The iron door was swinging shut on him, the men at the block and tackle waiting for the word to hoist...

"Wait!" he shouted. "I confess! Yed Sarir, I confess!"

The Ferengi smiled. Yed Sarir leaned forward in his chair. "You confess to being demons?"

"Anything but the fire!"

"Very well," the ruler pronounced. "Jailers, remove him. We will hang them both of them at--"

"Your pardon, great Yed," said the Ferengi. "But since the demon scorns my thunder sticks, would it not be more fitting to use them for his execution? Perhaps as another demonstration to all doubters that your army cannot fail in its march on Ial-babil?"

The suggestion set the onlooking crowd to murmuring again. Yed Sarir seemed irritated by the sound of dissent. "So be it!" he declared. Two of the jailers grabbed Atoz and marched him to the broad outer wall of the citadel. Uncertain what to do, Caeli slipped back beside Weir and untied her wrists. While all the attention was on the Captain, the science officer unobtrusively reached into the pocket of her robe.

The riflemen formed a line some twenty paces away. Six of them unslung their weapons and held them ready, while the sergeant-at-arms gave the drill. "Ready!" Six clicks resounded across the courtyard as they pulled back the bolts of their rifles, exposing the firing chambers. "Load!" Six hands dipped into pouches on their belts for cartridges, then slid them into place with another click! "Take aim!" The six men raised their rifles into firing position, as the two jailers hurriedly moved out of the line of fire, leaving Atoz alone against the wall.

Atoz felt his blood pounding in his ears as the six muzzles aimed right at his chest. There was no doubt that at this distance, six rifle bullets would kill him as dead as a phaser. He licked his dry lips as he waited, even now some corner of his mind thinking that he had never envisioned something like this all those years ago, when he had sworn to uphold the Prime Directive with his very life if need be...

"Fire!" the sergeant-at-arms shouted.

Click! The first rifle misfired! Right on its heels the other five rifles also fizzled. The soldiers slid back the bolts to see what had gone wrong, releasing a flash of smoke from the open breaches as the gunpowder in the cartridges burned without exploding. The heat from the reaction made them drop the weapons with alacrity.

Weir pulled her tricorder from the pocket of her robe. It had been simple enough to key in the program to activate the damping field, but for the next part of the program, she needed to see what she was doing. Rapidly her fingers danced over the instrument as she aimed the sensor array at the nearest soldier. POP-POP-POP! The man leaped into the air as the cartridges in his pouch detonated with a string of nerve-jarring explosions. At least one of the bullets caught him in the thigh, but by then Weir had switched to a new target. The other soldiers quickly discarded the pouches, running for shelter as the bullets continued to explode, sending projectiles flying dangerously in all directions.

Daimon Jylp jumped from his seat in alarm. "It's a trick! A Hewmon trick--"

His voice was cut off as Rosh grabbed him from behind, one hand stopping the Ferengi in the middle of reaching for his disruptor pistol, while the other hand pressed a hypospray against the Daimon's neck. The diminutive figure sagged into the tactical officer's strong arms, even as Zagir and his son Jabek appeared on Yed Sarir's other side, preventing him from calling for more guards.

"Remain calm, my friend," Zagir said. "There is no need for alarm."

Several people had been hit by stray bullets. The crowd was in panic, along with the spear men who were supposed to be keeping order. The two jailers caught sight of Weir manipulating the contacts of her tricorder and jumped to the conclusion that this was all her doing. Drawing their swords, they rushed her, but Caeli was there to block their path, a collapsible duralloy fighting staff appearing in his hands as if by magic. The staff was almost a blur as the helmsman parried one opponent and disarmed the other in seemingly the same swift movement. As he spun around and clocked the still-armed jailer on the side of the head with a stunning blow, the other one thought better of the fight and made a break for it, running toward the gateway to the citadel.

Atoz joined Weir and crossed the courtyard as Lt. Caeli led two of the Odysseus' security men, armed like him with fighting staves, to barricade the gateway. "Yed Sarir, listen to me!" Atoz said. "Daimon Jylp tried to deceive you, which is against the law where we come from. We have to take him and his thunder sticks away with us."

Even finding himself surrounded, the Yed stubbornly held his ground. "Take the deceiver with you if you must, but leave me the thunder sticks!"

"Look around you!" said Zagir. "Do you honestly believe your soldiers will use them again, fearing they will blow up in their very faces?"

However gun-shy they might be, more soldiers, some armed with bows and arrows, were arriving from the citadel. Rosh hurried over to help Caeli and his men hold the gate.

"They are no use to you," Atoz said, "because your people don't understand their working. Yed Sarir, in times to come, I have no doubt your artisans will discover how to build your own thunder sticks. At least then you will know what you are doing. If you are a wise man, you will see that this is the way it must be!"

***

Captain's log, Stardate 52918.5: With Daimon Jylp safely in our custody, the Ferengi vessel backed down. His second in command disavowed any knowledge of what he was doing on the planet's surface.

I must add here my whole-hearted approval of Commander Fawkes' handling of the situation. He managed to provide aid for the away team without in any way violating the Prime Directive. I recommend him for a commendation, as well as Lt. Rosh, Lt. Caeli, and Crewmen Stevenson and Whitaker.

Ziphata was sitting up in bed on her own, eating with a healthy appetite. Nurse Miller reached over with her right hand to unobtrusively take her pulse, while at the same time laying her left palm gently across her forehead. It was a quaint and old-fashioned way of monitoring a patient, but after almost twelve hours, it had become second nature.

"Her fever is gone, doctor," she said. "And her pulse is normal."

"The roses are back in her cheeks," Pierce confirmed with a smile, "and all is right with the world. If I could figure out how to cure hiccups as easily, I'd win the Nobel Prize."

Ziphata smiled even though about half of that had gone right over her head. "Thank you, Healer. It is hard to believe that a simple potion of bread crumbs could do so much." She found Weir's hand, close beside her on the other side, and squeezed it with the simple pleasure of feeling well again.

"It won't work for every illness, mind you," the doctor cautioned, "but it's well worth trying in serious cases. The important thing is to keep the fever down and replace fluids. And don't let anyone use blood leeches. They do more harm than good. And don't--."

"Once again, good friends," Atoz interrupted, before Pierce recited the whole Starfleet medical database, "the time has come to say goodbye. If I had no other responsibilities, I would wish to stay in this house forever and a day. But I must see that Daimon Jylp receives the punishment he deserves." Having brought nothing with them but the clothes they were wearing, Pierce and Miller had nothing to pack up. They and Weir said their lingering goodbyes to Ziphata and gradually made their way to the door.

"Back to that distant land you come from?" asked Zagir suspiciously, stopping Atoz in the doorway. "It must be a long and difficult journey, and with no riding animals."

Atoz looked him straight in the eyes as he took his hand. There was no way of knowing how much Zagir had guessed, but that was still no reason to confirm or deny anything. Instead he clasped him close in a farewell hug. "Yes, my friend. It's a very long and difficult journey."

"Be warned, friend Atoz. I will find this distant country of yours some day."

Atoz smiled as he stepped through the door to join the others. "I've no doubt you will."

>>>THE END>>>

[Thallassa]

That turned out pretty good, didn't it?

[Mr. Atoz]

Yes it did. But you gave me some really good ideas to work with.