Chapter 2

“Message from Admiral Ross,” Data said.

“On screen.”

“Commander Riker, have we heard from the captain?” Clearly Ross was anxious for some good news.

“Not at all, sir.” Riker wished for word from his friend, too, but at least was closer to the action. He could busy himself with monitoring forty-eight potentially lethal ships and maintaining a fragile alliance where the now long-gone Gorn had already betrayed them once.

“Damn” was all the admiral would say. After all, he remained on Earth and could merely absorb reports from the fleet, most of which were of a catastrophic nature. All in all, Riker was glad to be on the Enterprise.

“How go things back home,” Riker asked, knowing full well that it would not be pleasant.

“We’ve achieved a holding action, which is better than being deluged,” Ross admitted. While not quite a victory, it was the first positive news in too many hours. “We have some news from Deep Space 9. The Orions are officially out of the bidding, at least, and they managed to successfully evacuate Europa Nova. Unfortunately, it looks like Colonel Kira may have been lost.”

Riker winced. He had only met the Bajoran woman a few times, but he’d been impressed with what he saw. The commander also knew that Ross had great respect for her.

“We’re still waiting for word from the Excalibur and the Trident , but I can’t get them to tell me everything.”

“Captain Calhoun is known for his unorthodox methods,” Riker said dryly.

“That’s just it. I’m beginning to think that neither Calhoun nor Shelby are aboard their respective ships, but I can’t get them to tell me where they are.”

A moment was all it took for the realization to hit the first officer. “You think they entered a gateway and are lost, don’t you?”

Ross’s silence confirmed the worst for Riker. Before either could speak, Lieutenant Vale interrupted. “There’s a message from Desan coming in on the other channel.”

“Back to your duty, Commander,” Ross said, and the screen blinked once and his hangdog look was replaced by the more attractive visage of the Romulan commander.

“How can I help you, Commander?” Riker asked, leaning back in the command chair. It would never be comfortable, he realized. Not with his friend missing in action.

“Why are we rigging a simultaneous connection among all the Petraw vessels?”

Riker blinked. She looked unhappy about the matter and he matched her mood. It wasn’t something he had assigned.

“News to me,” Riker began, when he heard the turbolift doors slide open. Before he could turn around, the heavy footsteps were a clear signal.

“Are we not to be consulted?” thundered Captain Grekor, leader of the Klingon delegation.

“Listen to me, both of you, I didn’t order anything of the sort and we’re going to take a moment and figure this out. Commander, tell me what you know.”

“We received a Starfleet communiqué informing us to participate in rigging all forty-eight ships with a single link, to remain on an open channel. The message gave us an hour to comply.”

Riker nodded and looked at the very unhappy Grekor, who nodded in agreement with the message. His stance showed he was pretty angry, feet firmly planted deep into the bridge’s carpet, arms crossed before his chest, which rose and fell quickly.

“Lieutenant, did we issue such a order?”

Vale scanned one end of the tactical station to the other before responding. Of course, she found nothing.

“Raise Captain Brisbayne, please,” Riker said, trying to sound polite, but betraying the anger in his tone.

Carter Brisbayne, captain of the wounded starship Mercury, appeared on the screen after a matter of moments. He seemed restless, like everyone else, and he had every right to be. On approaching the Petraw ships, they took heavy fire and were left limping in space, possibly irreparable.

“Did you issue an order, Captain?”

He stiffened at Riker’s tone, and directed himself at the camera.

“God damn right I did, Commander,” he replied.

“Captain Picard left me in command of this group, Captain, and with all due respect, I ask that you honor those wishes.”

“You can have this ‘fleet,’ but we are not going to get caught with our pants down.”

Riker shifted in the chair, as it seemed to get more uncomfortable by the minute. “Explain.”

“By maintaining an open link, we can avoid sabotage and surprise,” the older captain said. “If just one thing goes amiss on one ship, we all know immediately—or if one ship cuts the signal, we can spot the problem. I’m not one for waiting.”

Riker stroked his stubbly chin and saw that the explanation, while sensible, did not mollify the Klingon. He couldn’t easily let Brisbayne off the hook.

“Everyone is here voluntarily, Captain,” Riker said evenly. “We do not hand out orders while at yellow alert. If you want to make further useful suggestions, we must all be consulted. Riker out.”

The first officer rose to address Grekor, who remained immobile. It was a good sign that he came alone; there would be no “honor” to defend before his own crew. Riker had the advantage but didn’t feel the need to press it.

“He acted on his own authority, but the thinking is sound. I suggest we complete the task, backing up the crew we have on the Petraw ships. Such a breach of protocol won’t happen again, Captain. You have my word on it.”

The rotund Klingon nodded and finally moved, turning to head back to the lift. “I will hold you to it, Commander.”

“As will I,” Desan added, cutting the signal.

Once the Klingon left the bridge, Riker settled down once more and felt a fresh ache in his shoulders.

The good news was there was no dampening field on the verdant planet. The bad news was nothing technological was showing up on the screen. Picard completed several full-circle turns before shutting down the tricorder and pocketing it.

There were plenty of life signs. The planet was teeming with humanoid life, birds, animals, and insects. No electronic signals were detected, no radio communications, nothing to imply anything more than primitive development. As a result, Picard was faced with the full impact of noninterference directives. He had to somehow find the device, which failed to register in the vicinity of the gateway, and do so in a manner that prevented the culture he was to find from being altered.

He believed in the Prime Directive, absolutely. It was just coming into play at a damned inconvenient time.

Picard exhaled for a moment, clearing his mind and preparing to plot a course of action. As he inhaled, and concentrated, he detected the faint aroma of cooking meat. First, it told him there were intelligent people nearby, which was a start. Second, it provided a direction. Finally, it triggered a rumble in his stomach, reminding him that he needed to find food for himself or he would jeopardize the mission by starving to death. He set out from the cluster of trees he had been standing in, which provided comfortable shade. Like the new Iconian homeworld, this planet promised plenty of sunshine and warmth, perhaps too warm for his full uniform. He unzipped the jacket to let the cooler air caress his body.

A well-worn path from the trees indicated that people used this area. It made sense that there would be an encampment of some sort nearby. He noted that the planet must have had lighter gravity than Earth, as each step seemed to carry him farther than expected. Noting the size and shape of the trees and plants, he was proven correct, mentally filing the information away.

His trail led him to the forest’s edge, which opened up to a small village. There were thatched homes, made from sturdy thin wood. Each structure seemed tall and wide, probably two stories, and they were clustered in a traditional block pattern, with all paths leading to a central square. He concluded that there was no chance of finding the Resonator without dealing with some of the planet’s inhabitants, so he had to start somewhere.

And the cooking food smelled so good.

Before entering the village, Picard stopped to study the people, withdrawing the tricorder once more to take comparative readings. Like the Iconians, they were tall, thin folk. Their skin was copper-colored, darkened by the sun. Each wore what appeared to be cured animal skins for clothing and all carried walking sticks topped with ornate carvings. Around their waists were thick, wide belts that seemed to have pockets bulging with….well, he could not tell from the distance. The men seemed to all sport shaggy beards while every woman he spotted had hair pulled back in a ponytail. The sheer uniformity of their appearance was remarkable to the captain.

The tricorder also told him one important detail: the food being cooked was safe for a human to eat.

One of the men caught a glimpse of Picard and shouted out a cry of some sort. Seven other men rushed to his side and they looked at Picard, alone and feeling naked on the path. He hoped the Universal Translator would unlock their language quickly, but of course it needed a sample to work with. Wisely, he chose to stand his ground rather than appear threatening to the men. The last thing he wanted was to be clubbed to death by a mob.

With long strides, the men hurried toward the captain, who remained in place, knowing full well that he was likely to be poked and prodded, tested before anyone let down their guard. He could smell the men before they arrived, dirty and smoky, but that made sense given their apparent lifestyle. None made threatening moves, which pleased him. As they got closer, they began spreading out, and within moments the eight men who stared with wide-eyed wonder circled Picard.

The one who’d spotted him nodded to the others and they all reached to a pocket in the rear of their belts. All removed what was remarkably a weapon of sophisticated design. Picard could see the refined metal in their hands, recognizing the pistol design despite the men holding the weapons at right angles to the proper manner. It seemed more ceremonial than anything else, but not taking chances, Picard raised his hands to shoulder height. To his surprise, the men imitated the move.

Picard next lowered his arms and once again, men imitated the move. Before he could try something else, the men once more held out the weapons at the silly angle. Picard slowly reached for his phaser and, adjusting it to imitate their handling of the pistols, held out the phaser, turning in a slow circle so all the men could see the action. They made comprehending noises but it didn’t sound like language. He thought back on his training and spoke out. His first word was “hello.” They all stared at him.

After a moment, the men tried to repeat the word and failed miserably. Once again, Picard said “hello” and they tried to repeat the sound, improving on the second chance. They began to look expectantly at the captain, who was hoping they would say something to him next. Instead, the silence grew, so he tried again. Holstering the phaser, Picard pointed to himself and said his last name.

The men pointed to themselves and repeated the word. They seemed remarkably pleased with their progress.

One man, though, turned to another and said something that was clearly in a language. Picard made minute steps toward them, hoping it didn’t appear as a threat. Instead, he was trying to make certain the translator picked up the words to begin processing. Another two began to whisper and before long, everyone was whispering, so all the captain heard was gibberish.

Finally, one of the men said loudly, “Hello!” The captain looked directly at him and smiled. The others took turns calling out the name and he responded to each in kind. It might not have been translating according to the manual, but they were making progress.

The circle broke and the leader gestured toward the village, shouting his name while one of the others bellowed back, “Hello!” The nine moved toward the buildings as more curious men and women filled the center, where the meat had continued to cook. Along the way, Picard tried to catch snippets of conversation back and forth and hoped the translations would start soon. Very soon.

On his way toward the center, he took time to notice the decorations on the buildings and he came to realize each home had some piece of sophisticated technology as a door hanging, more decorative than anything else. Clearly, there had been a superior civilization on this planet, but something had happened, and, darkly, he fretted over the Iconians’ role in the planet’s past.

Children stood before their parents and looked in amazement at Picard, who was shorter and stockier than these people. Some gestured to one another and patted their heads, clearly remarking on his bald scalp compared with their thick manes. The men and women commingled, sharing comments and unashamedly staring at the newcomer.

“… smarhsgehb…. funny-looking….”

Finally, the translator began working and he smirked at the timing involved. People looked up in amazement as they heard the electronic device at work.

“Greetings,” the captain said, a smile on his face. He tried to look as friendly as possible. “I am Picard and I have come from a long way away.”

The man he presumed to be the village leader came toward him, a huge grin on his face. “Picard! We welcome you!”

“It has taken me a little time to learn your language, but I am now able to speak with you all,” the captain explained.

“Excellent. I am Hamish, elder of the village.”

“I have come from far away seeking a special item. A very old item.”

Hamish, definitely among the older ones in the village as witnessed by the almost white hair, looked thoughtful. He reached once more behind his back and withdrew the weapon. “Something like this perhaps?”

Picard shook his head. “No, Hamish. I cannot tell you what it is, but I do know it is a singular item while it seems all your men have that.” He shook his head and laughed, a deep-throated laugh, which was pleasing to the ear. “No worry, Picard. We all have these because they were given to us by our fathers. It is our symbol of welcome and while yours is different, it clearly is similar. I see yours looks newer and cleaner. We have lost count of the generations these have remained in the village.”

“Why do you seek this object?” asked a woman from his right side.

“I have many people in trouble at home, and ones wiser than I tell me it will help.” Not at all a lie and boiled down enough to be clear to these pleasant folk.

“Wiser than you?” This from a young girl, behind Hamish.

“My daughter Hemma,” he said by way of introduction.

“Yes, Hemma,” Picard replied. “I knew no other way to help my people than to ask for the help of those who built the item I seek. It is the way of my people, to ask for help when we must. We in turn offer help to those who ask.”

“Picard, are you from the west?”

The captain stared at the old man. Truthfully, his path led west, but he was not of the west and he couldn’t begin to imagine what the question implied. His answer could turn them against him if his words were chosen poorly.

“My travels have taken me in all directions,” he answered a moment later.

Hamish laughed once more and stepped closer to Picard, who noticed the stench of dried sweat. “As I expected. Young Gods on their ordeal must have traveled the world to gain their granita.” Picard couldn’t even begin to imagine what a granita implied but being called a young god set off internal warning bells. He’d been mistaken for a god once before by a low-tech culture, and it was not an experience he was eager to relive—for his sake, or for the sake of these good people.

Several other old men approached Hamish and they clustered, whispering back and forth. Picard took the opportunity to study more of the village and its inhabitants. Everyone seemed healthy, well fed, and protected. However they developed, he knew his presence must not change that status quo. He seemed not to frighten the children, which pleased him. While he might be uncomfortable around them, he never wanted to chase them away. Many stayed close to adults, family members most likely, and just studied him, as he studied them. A few smiled, while most kept their opinions to themselves.

“Picard,” Hamish called, regaining the captain’s attention. “If you seek things closer to our ceremonial welcome tools, then we think you must travel to the City. It is but three days’ walk from here, and must be part of your path. It is filled with many unknown things and it may hold your heart’s desire.”

Poetic, he mused, but accurate. There was nothing he wanted more than to find the Resonator and return to the Enterprise. He sniffed and then realized there was one more thing he desired: dinner.

“Very well,” he said. “I shall start at sunrise if you would be so kind as to provide me with directions.”

Hamish smiled and began walking toward the fire. The other men followed and slowly the other members of the village began to head for the center. Most talked and laughed among themselves, and Picard seemed uncertain of what he might have missed.

“Come, Picard,” he called as he stopped before the huge pit, where some animal roasted on a spit. “Even gods must eat, eh? You’ll eat and sleep and eat once more, then begin the final part of your journey.”

With that, the elder turned to the fire, grabbed a long metallic item, and poked roughly at the meat. It hissed as juices dribbled from the scored carcass into the flames. Children had gathered up plates that seemed formed from clay, along with short, wide cups. They walked past the fire and to long tables, setting places as they passed. A few sang a song he was too far away to translate but he found the melody pleasing.

Three men hefted the meat off the fire and carried it to a small hut, where the meat was swiftly carved and placed on a large earthen slab, the color of rust. They, too, joked among themselves, ignoring Picard, who just watched.

Finally, a girl left her mother’s side and walked over to the captain and looked up at him. He estimated her age to be five or six, but she was already tall compared with human children. Her hair was past her shoulders but nowhere near as long as the mature women in the group. Unlike the women, her belt was not stuffed with tools but with a round plastic item and some bright stones. With a hand gesture, she indicated he was to follow her and happily he did. There was no awe in her, as if young gods visited the villages regularly. He wouldn’t ask her, not before they ate, and he wasn’t sure if he should. This might be one of those times ignorance was bliss and there was less likelihood of crossing the Prime Directive.

She led him to the smallest of the tables, where the older women already sat. He was placed between two whose hair had long since stopped shining in the sun but showed age. They seemed pleased to have him with them, so he smiled and nodded to them all.

“Picard is it?” the woman to his right asked.

“Yes,” he answered.

“From the west are you?”

“And other places.”

“Been to the depths? To the stars?” She laughed at her joke, seemingly not to believe he was anything more than a funny-looking native. The other women laughed at the jest and he took it in stride.

Finally, adolescents brought platters of meat and broth to each table. They remained to serve those seated and then took their own places. Picard noticed that none began eating. All looking toward Hamish to speak.

“Our food gives us life, your sun gives us warmth. For this we are thankful. And we thank you, too, for sending one of your children among us. We will be a better people for his presence.”

Everyone bowed low, their heads carefully touching the rims of their plates, so Picard imitated the gesture. Within seconds, the sounds of eating, drinking, and laughter filled the air. They seemed a happy, stable people, one the captain would have found fascinating to study, but while they laughed, more people, closer to home, suffered.

The meat was soft and tender, and was well marinated in some sweet native spices. Picard ate his fill and drank the local wine, which struck him as flat and without much bouquet. He was impressed by their overall politeness as no one, not even the children, pestered him with questions. Instead, he heard hunting stories, local gossip, and gained an impression that between here and the City there were farms and smaller enclaves of people. He was pleased that the path sounded clear so he could try and cut the march from three days to two. At least, he mused as he finished his drink, the Iconians sent him to the right continent.

After the meal, those who served went from table to table and collected the remains. Picard nodded in approval to see how neat and orderly they were, not letting much go to waste. Women and men gathered their children and started herding them back to the huts for bedtime. The older ones went toward the fire and sat there in companionable silence, enjoying the warmth. One took out an item from her belt and began fiddling with it while another reworked a piece of wood with a stone carving knife. Hamish waved Picard over and he was more than happy to join the group.

“What have you seen, on your travels?” an old man asked. He barely had any hair left and his scalp was sunburnt a deep red.

“Much the same as you, I would imagine,” Picard said in a friendly tone. “I have traveled on the seas and watched great storms. I have walked in the woods and across a desert, seeing the remains. I have slept at night under the same stars as you, and have dreamed what might be out there.” All true, he reminded himself.

“Are there many like you?” the woman who fiddled with a metal item asked.

“Here? No, I don’t think so.”

He stared at the item in her vein-popped hands, as she turned it over and over again. Something about it seemed familiar and, instinctively, he knew it was out of context. Letting his mind drift a bit, he pictured it in his head.

“That is a tool, is it not?”

“I don’t know,” she said seriously. “I’ve had it four or five seasons now—found it while doing the summer planting.”

“May I?” The woman handed over the item without hesitation, clearly curious to see what the newcomer might do with it.

It was denser and heavier metal than Picard imagined. The item was smooth to the touch, oblong with an indented opening at one end. He saw a small seam and recognized it could be twisted and he gave it a tug. At first, it resisted his touch and then it began to move. He unscrewed the item into two distinct pieces and saw that within one end was an apparatus that could fold out. Slowly, he brought it into the light and studied its composition.

“I believe this is a garden tool,” Picard proclaimed. “Once opened, you pull out this part and it helps dig deep holes for the seeds. Capped together, it can be a digging implement as well.” It was not too dissimilar from tools he knew were of Iconian-derived manufacture on Iccobar, and, of everyone involved in this mission, he might have been the only one to recognize it.

This delighted the woman and confirmed for Picard that the Iconians had indeed used this world for a time before departing. Had they been hunted down from Iconia to here? More mysteries to ponder, and he was beginning to believe he’d never know the answers. Thankfully this was a fairly benign discovery, not one to totally alter the culture. After all, they seemed to lack the ability to manipulate metal ore.

“The Young God knows much,” Hamish said in admiration.

His being a god to them, though, that could pose problems.

La Forge looked at the tricorder and showed it to Kliv, the engineer who appreciated the intricacies of the Petraw hodge-podge technology as much as he did. The Klingon nodded once and then stared deep into the open panel of the gateway device.

“There’s nothing left to do,” he said in a matter-of-fact tone.

“No doubt about it,” La Forge agreed. He snapped the device closed and tapped his communicator. “La Forge to Riker. Sir, there’s nothing left to do. We’ve rerouted everything possible, but there’s no way to stop this ship from being destroyed.”

Once the gateways throughout the galaxy were turned on, each used their sophisticated programming to stay powered up—even at the expense of all nearby sources of power. In this case, it meant the lead Petraw ship was a ticking time bomb and the best efforts of the two engineers could not defuse it.

“The Ambassador is about done with the evacuation onto the other Petraw ships,” Riker reported. “You and the security team will be the final ones to come back.” Geordi was already moving, leaving the massive engineering deck, heading for the bridge in the ship’s center. Kliv remained at his side, a tight bond having been quickly formed between the men. One would not leave without the other and neither would leave the ship until the remaining vessels were safe. Their fast walk became a trot until the two were racing from deck to deck, making sure there would be sufficient time remaining to do their duty.

Boots echoed on the metal deck plating as heavy feet moved with increasing speed. Neither said a word as they wended their way to the ship’s nerve center. Once they entered the now-vacant space, each took one of the low-slung stations and began entering coordinates. They called forth details to each other in a rapid staccato, making sure all the redundancies were in synch. A star chart on Kliv’s station showed the vessel moving away from the pack, heading away at an accelerating speed.

“We’ll never make warp the way this thing is sucking the energy reserves,” Geordi said.

“Then today might be a good day to die, after all,” Kliv replied, stabbing blunt fingers at a side control panel.

“Not yet,” his partner replied. “The engine integrity fields will collapse in about four minutes. Maybe we’ll be far enough away.”

Kliv shook his head.

Before he could say anything else, La Forge snapped his fingers and summoned his commander once more. “Beam us back, and at the same time, have Kerim push us farther away with concentrated tractor bursts. Every inch will be useful.”

“Acknowledged. Stand by to beam up.”

Once back aboard the Enterprise, the two once more raced for a bridge, this time to watch the fruits of their labors. Out of breath and perspiring, La Forge couldn’t help but notice that his partner seemed utterly fit and not even breathing hard. He vowed to start Dr. Crusher’s exercise regimen, ignored for two months now, tomorrow.

“Nice work, gentlemen,” Riker said from the center seat. Data flashed them a thumbs-up gesture that made Kliv blink in confusion. Chuckling, La Forge showed his friend the engineering station and they monitored the death throes of the Petraw engine core.

Within seconds, the ship began to buckle then flare and a moment later, nothing remained on the viewscreen.

“Shock waves in five ….four….three….two….one,”Data announced.

The mighty starship bucked once, then twice, then settled down without incident. La Forge rolled out the chair at the aft station and sat, letting out a breath he never knew he was holding. Kliv stood impassively by his side.

Perim turned to Riker, who was still tightly gripping the arms of the command chair, and asked, “How will the captain return now?”

He had no answer for her, and it was a question he avoided asking himself. With the gateway destroyed he couldn’t even send a search party after Picard, in direct defiance of his orders no less. Wherever his friend was, he hoped he was safe and would return soon.

It was considerably more comfortable when Picard woke the following morning. The sun was rising in the sky and he could tell the villagers had been moving about for a little while now. People were already eating, children were chasing a wooden hoop, and something that seemed more pet dog than wild beast was snuffling around the waste pit.

Hamish was tending the fire, which never seemed to die out, when Picard approached. He had already been offered some food and drink so felt refreshed. He liked these people and could only wish them well. Still, he felt the press of time, and needed to be on his way.

“I need a direction so my journey can continue,” Picard said.

“You really cannot linger any longer?”

“Would that time permitted me, but without this object, people will continue to die.”

Hamish looked at him with a grave expression on his face. It seemed to just be dawning on him the importance of the task. “This item you seek—it has that much power?”

“It is a key to something that will give me the power to save lives.”

“The remainder of this world is very different from our village, is it not?” “I have not seen it all, but can tell you that it is very lively and I would like to keep it that way.”

“You will make a great God,” Hamish said with finality.

Picard winced but shook his head slightly. “I am trying to be a good man, first.”

An hour later, he was on a worn path leading away from the village, heading in a southeastern direction. Hamish had insisted on giving him two skins of water and some dried meats tied in a large leaf for safekeeping. He tried to extract a promise of a return visit from Picard, but the captain dodged it while trying to remain respectful.

He truly enjoyed their company and had wanted to spend more time, but like the Petraw, he was forced to keep moving. Now, he was walking in and out of shade, as he skirted the edge of a forest. The trees grew quite tall, with thin but sturdy sand-colored trunks. As the village was near water, Picard could hear a stream or river to his right, assuming most of the people lived near whatever natural sources they could find. The smaller trees that seemed to be closer to the water were short and more like overeager bushes, but they burst with orange and beige fruits.

It was quiet and Picard was alone with his thoughts. How different this world was from the harsh remains of Iconia, he considered. Knowing they spent time here would force him to reconsider their path across the galaxy, and he was mentally ordering information for the eventual paper that he would write. This pleasant world was well on its way to full recovery from whatever the Iconians had left behind, and he would have to stop and take some tricorder readings to help determine the age of these artifacts. If the City was what he imagined to be their largest remains, he would have plenty of samples to work from.

He was also pleased to note that the lighter gravity gave an extra bounce to his step and he was making rather good time. The sun was not too hot compared with yesterday, and Picard hoped he would see the City before nightfall and reach it by sundown tomorrow. Hamish and the villagers didn’t measure distance in miles or kilometers. They apparently had little dealing with those beyond the village so they never quite developed a precise measurement for such distances.

Within time, Picard noticed tracks in the path, parallel ruts that indicated some form of wheeled vehicle had been by, recently enough for the tracks not to have been washed away by the previous day’s rain. He saw no such thing at the village so presumed it to be from a neighboring enclave. This led him to conjecture about differing developmental paths for humanoids in the same general vicinity. It was certainly true for tribes found in Africa or the South American rain forest, the captain knew. As a result, he felt a need to stay more alert … just in case.

Sure enough, after less than an hour, he heard sounds. The noise was not that of wheels in mud, but of concerned voices. There was definitely a problem, so he quickened his pace and hurried forward. Within a few minutes, the road rounded a bend and he saw the remains of a wagon teetering over a huge rock and pinning a man underneath. The wide, low platform, filled with bales of something akin to hay, seemed stable, but the axle for the rear wheels had splintered over the rocky path. The man was conscious and moaning, clearly in pain. Watching in fear were women and children, dressed differently from people in the village Picard had visited. These had on lighter-colored clothing that seemed actually spun from natural materials as opposed to the skins the villagers wore. Physically they were the same, even down to the long hair.

Picard saw they were paralyzed to the point of inaction, so he stepped forward and approached the wagon. “Don’t be scared, help has arrived,” he said.

The woman behind him had stopped wailing and stared at him. He heard a whisper or two but it had grown fairly silent except for the trapped man’s moans.

It was clear that the lighter gravity would allow Picard a physical advantage, so all he needed to do was lift up an edge of the wagon so the man could be freed. He took several deep breaths, focusing his energies. Then, placing his back to the wagon, he firmly gripped the corner, planted his feet far apart, and began exerting his strength.

As expected, the wagon full of hay made the effort tough, but his muscles responded and he strained. Not a young man anymore, Picard prided himself in staying physically fit and knew he was up to the challenge. He gritted his teeth and continued to apply pressure, finally feeling the wagon rise.

“Quickly, come clear him away!” Picard ordered, not wanting to shift his focus.

The women hesitated, but three of the children, most seeming around ten years old, rushed forward and tugged at the man’s exposed leg. He grunted louder than Picard, making for an odd duet. Finally, Picard could tell he’d have to let go in a matter of moments, as the children continued to slowly drag the man away.

Finally, the man was clear and Picard let the heavy wood slip from his fingers. It shattered some more as it resettled itself against the rocks but he doubted anyone would care. Wiping the sweat from his brow, Picard saw that the man was having his leg tended to by one woman while another was giving him water.

He took a drink himself and then slowly walked over to check on the injured person.

“You saved him, thank you, Young God!”

“Yes, thank you, Young God.”

Picard was feeling particularly uncomfortable for being repeatedly singled out and called a god. It made sense that there would be mores and beliefs carried from village to village but he was nothing like a god.

“Will he be all right?”

“I think so,” the woman responded.

“Good, then I will be on my way.” Picard turned toward the path, hoping to make a fast escape from these emotionally distraught people.

“Why leave us so quickly, Young God?” The speaker was a young girl, one of the children who helped him.

“I must go to the City,” he replied.

“Stay so we can thank you properly,” she said.

“I wish I could, but I must hurry.”

“The sun is going down, you won’t make it there today,” she argued. “At least let us feed you supper.”

Picard glanced at the sky and noticed it growing deeper in color, and that it was beginning to cool. He had hoped to glimpse the City today but it seemed not to be. There was safety in numbers, he knew, and the man might need attention.

It seemed decided for him so he smiled at her and accepted the invitation.

Within an hour, the area was transformed into a small campsite with vegetables being grilled on a small fire. Lean-tos were established by the forest’s edge, and the boy had brought back water from the nearby stream. The man, who was named Yanooth, had slept on and off as he recovered from the shock. The leg was badly broken and the women successfully placed it in a neatly made splint.

Picard’s offers of help were refused, so he sat back and spoke quietly with the children. They told him of their village, which was beyond the City, and how they loved traveling. Their innocence and resourcefulness charmed him.

One young boy seemed quite taken with Picard’s actions but didn’t act like he was a god, which he found refreshing. Instead, the boy asked questions about lifting the wagon, how his muscles felt, how he could manage to do such feats for himself. His named was Chanik, and he wedged himself between one of the women and Picard when they sat to eat the vegetable stew.

“I’ve been to the City once,” he proudly announced.

“Really?” asked Picard. “Tell me about it.”

“Well, it’s like no place you’ve ever seen,” he said between mouthfuls of food. “Tall huts, mostly broken, with weird-looking vines connecting some of them together. It’s as big as this forest, maybe bigger, and the animals all avoid it so it’s a good place to hide.”

Picard processed the information, trying to imagine the place, and wondered how much of it still functioned given how long-lived the Iconian technology was. “I’ll find out for myself soon, won’t I?”

“And I’m going to show you!”

Picard was alarmed by the pronouncement. He had already learned that Chanik had attached himself to this traveling party, and was from one of the villages nearby. The last thing he needed was to be responsible for someone’s life while he was rushing to save countless others.

“I can’t do that,” he declared. “I must move quickly and I won’t be able to properly look after you.”

Chanik put down his wooden bowl, wiped his mouth with the back of his left hand, and grinned. “I’ll be looking after you, Young God Picard. After all, I know how to get in there and you don’t.”

The captain, recognizing a universal tone in his young voice, sat quietly, suspecting he was going to have company, like it or not. He resolved to make the best of the situation, since the youth’s experience just might allow him to move through the City quicker.

The notion though, kept him awake as he lay on a bed of fern leaves, trying to sleep.