TNG - Stargazer 2 - Progenitor (c) by Star Trek

Author:Star Trek [Star Trek]
Language: deu
Format: epub
Tags: \Star Trek
Publisher: Simon & Schuster
Published: 2011-01-02T08:03:04.904000+00:00

Back in his Academy days, Picard had run marathons. What’s more, he had fared rather well in them, regardless of whether the course before him was crumbly desert dirt or rocky mountain turf or some smooth artificial surface.

But then, he hadn’t run those races on anything even remotely like the stuff he now found underfoot.

“There’s a rhythm to it,” Simenon told him. “All you’ve got to do is find it.”

Picard frowned and tried to follow his engineer’s instructions. However, the springy, reddish-brown moss beneath his feet seemed to want to bounce when he didn’t, and vice versa.

“Easy for you to say,” he told his engineer.

When they had begun this race, the ground had been pretty much what one found in most forests—an uneven but generally reliable mixture of whatever substances the surrounding trees cared to contribute. But a few minutes ago, that had changed.

“This is most unsettling,” Vigo observed. Obviously, he was having trouble making the adjustment, too.

“Get used to it,” Simenon told them. “From here on in, the trail will be like this more often than not.”

And that wouldn’t be a disadvantage to the Aklaash or the Fejjimaera, Picard reflected. But it would be a disadvantage to them—a group made up mostly of offworlders unaccustomed to this kind of terrain—as if they weren’t laboring under enough of a disadvantage already.

Suddenly, the trees up ahead seemed to explode into a million fragments and the sky was filled with a flight of green and purple avians. Shading his eyes from the shafts of sunlight that penetrated the forest, the captain saw that the creatures were vaguely reminiscent of a flock of Terran geese.

As they flew, their wings flapping in graceful unison, they shed their plumage over the forest. The green and purple feathers wafted and rolled lazily, glinting with iridescent majesty.

“The colunnu?” Picard asked.

“That’s right,” Simenon confirmed.

“They’re beautiful,” Vigo observed, squinting so he could see. “And so fragile-looking.”

“Yes,” said Ben Zoma. “Hard to believe they would pick us clean if we let our guard down.”

Thanks to Simenon, Picard knew exactly what his first officer meant. The colunnu’s feathers were extremely poisonous. If any of them were to prick his unprotected skin, they would paralyze him in twenty seconds and shut down his nervous system in another ten.

And the colunnu, who had an uncanny knack for knowing when one of their feathers had claimed a victim, would be on him almost instantly. If Simenon’s cautions weren’t exaggerations, his bones would be picked clean even before the poison finished its work.

“A gruesome end,” said the captain, “to be sure.”

That, he mused, was why they were all wearing thick, sturdy boots—to make certain they didn’t step on any green and purple feathers and come to regret it.

Suddenly, Joseph stopped in his tracks and looked around. “What’s that?” he asked.

Greyhorse stopped, too. “I didn’t hear anything,” he said.

“Listen,” the security officer insisted.

They stopped and listened—all of them, Picard included. That’s when he heard it—a barking sound in the distance.

“Simenon?” said Ben Zoma.

“Sanjarra,” the Gnalish told them.

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