Damian Mitchell pulled his Marine cover tighter over his head, landed a final piton at the mouth of the hole, and tossed the climbing rope over the side and into the hole. The Pit of Veralon was a spelunker’s dream. A combination of limestone and quartz, the Pit was renowned for it’s beauty. The locals, a mild race of philosophers and thinkers, had joined the Federation right after achieving warp capability. Unlike so many others, the Melankins(for such was there name for themselves) never tried to push beyond their first warp attempts. It was as if they had reached a pinnacle of technology that permitted them to participate in the galactic community and they then turned away from further technological progress. Damian didn’t care. The Pit awaited.
He swung a leg over the edge and started down. The surface of the rock was slick and slightly damp, with sharp protrusions in various random points. He grinned and began to rappel. The shaft widened as he dropped. Before he’d reached the forty foot marker on his rope the entrance was obscured by the diffracting effects of the quartz. Damian continued to bounce down the rope under a haze of rainbow light. The first sign of trouble came when the rope jerked unexpectedly at the one hundred foot mark. Damian knew he had two hundred feet more to go at least but the point of no return had long since been passed. He tried to get down the rest of the way, exchanging his rappel for careful creeping but at the two hundred and eighty foot mark the raw quartz sliced his rope through. The safety pitons pulled loose from the limestone and he fell.
He saw things as he fell, and he wondered at the vast amount of time it seemed to take to hit the ground below.
ONE FOOT
A man stood upon a mountain or ridge clad in furs. He lifted his spear to the sky and, although Damian couldn’t actually hear him, his face showed an inarticulate scream aimed at the sky. In the background was a melted, twisted image of the famous Capitol Records building that Damian had seen on his last R&R in Los Angeles. He had Damian’s face, albeit covered in a beard left ragged with neglect.
TWO FEET
Another man stood in cruel black leather, holding his curved scimitar. He had what looked like a group of Vulcans strapped down hand and feet across a large log. The scar on the man’s face pulsed. He lifted the sword and slowly brought it down upon the Vulcan throats. As Damian watched the man looked at him. Blood spurted from the Vulcans and soiled the man’s leather uniform. He ignored it and stared at Damian. Damian felt as if the man was looking right through him. As he passed out of sight Damian noted the Earth and Dagger symbol on the man’s shoulder. Then he met his eyes. It was Damian.
THREE FEET
There were candles and a stone cell much like monks inhabited in the Middle Ages. A rude table and chair dominated the room. A lone, hooded figure prayed at a tiny altar off to one side. The symbol above it was familiar to Damian’s eye, a triangular, stylized version of the Starfleet logo. The figure pulled back his hood as he rose, his genuflections complete. Damian caught a glimpse of a familiar face. He’d seen it in mirrors all of his life.
TEN FEET
A wind-swept piece of New Mexico desert backlit the tombstone. All Damian saw was DAM- before the floor of the Pit rushed up at him.
TWENTY FEET
The impact jammed his spine and he heard a leg snap, the sound echoing through the Pit. He was hundreds of feet down in a limestone funnel and injured. He lifted his head weakly and looked about. A haze obscured the details around him. He saw a wavering in the air around him. A figure stepped out of the fog, a cruel man with black leather clothing, the Dagger through the Earth symbol vibrant on his breast. He strode over to Damian and sneered downward.
“You are weak,” he said.
Damian gasped as another wave of pain struck. “I am injured,” he replied. The other man stepped closer and Damian could see his face. He gasped again, not from the pain but from the surprise. It was his face he was looking at. The same face that had killed the Vulcans.
“You are weak,” the other Damian said again,” You are weak because,” and here he looked at Damian’s shirt, “You are a part of your pathetic Starfleet. You have no strength. I would not have allowed myself to be in your position-ever.”
Damian looked hard at him despite the pain. “You’ve never been injured?”
The other snickered. “Oh, I’ve been injured. I’ve just never been helpless.” He put his hands on his hips. “You, on the other hand…”
“What makes you think I’m helpless?” Damian grimaced.
“Nobody knows where you are, and you failed to bring any communication devices with you. Your right leg is broken. You are helpless.” The smug look on his face angered Damian to no end. He pulled himself up on his elbows and then forced himself to a sitting position. His left leg extended out in front of him at an odd angle. The pain nearly blacked him out and his counterpart laughed. “Look at you, you can barely sit. Soon enough, the pain will take you and you will fade out. Then you will die. Because you are weak.” He crossed his arms in satisfaction.
“Am I delirious?” Damian thought. “What the hell is going on here?” The images he’d seen had left him bewildered and the presence of this funhouse –mirror version of himself left him completely confused. He didn’t let that stop him, though. He thought about the dying Vulcans. His lips set, and his doppelganger’s eyes started to widen. Too late. Damian pushed with his one good leg and momentarily got himself vertical. Snatching the wicked-looking dagger from his double’s sheath he slashed at the man’s throat, hard, opening it even as he used his momentum to shove the man back into the creepy fog that surrounded them. His vision blurred as he hit the ground and he thought, “At least I didn’t lie down and take it.” Black swept over him.
****************************************
Damian came to in the Seleya’s main sickbay. Dr. Ramirez, CMO of the Seleya, stood next to his bed , glaring down at him. “How kind of you to rejoin us.” Jesus had his hands on his hips. “So your idea of fun is to throw yourself down a very deep hole on a strange planet, eh?” Damian opened his mouth to reply but Jesus cut him off. “You don’t even know how lucky you are that another set of fools thought climbing down that hellhole was a good idea or you’d be brain dead about know!” Ramirez turned his back on Damian long enough to grab a hypo off of a near bye tray. “Did you even bother to read the Starfleet literature on The Pit? Don’t answer, because you’ll either sound stupid or you’ll lie to me!” Jesus was getting red in the face and Damian decided silence was the key here. Jesus jammed the hypo into his neck “Pendajo! The gasses and compounds in that thing are borderline lethal to humans! Goddamn it, you almost fried your brain! Do you have any idea how much reconstructive surgery I had to do on your lungs and your not-so-useful gray matter? No, don’t answer,” he said as Damian opened and then closed his mouth. “You know,” Jesus said, reflectively, “More people, more humans, die on other worlds because they treat those planets like Earth than slip in the shower.” He glared at Damian again. “That quartz, combined with the weird gasses in The Pit, damn, man, they can misfire your brain like you wouldn’t believe. You’re lucky you remember who you are! That kind of stuff can leave your brain little better than Swiss cheese! Next time, read the warnings first. You should have had a rebreather, at least.” His scowl spoke volumes.
Damian waited a bit longer, just to make sure Ramirez had wound down. “Doc, I’m feeling better-can I go to my quarters?” he asked meekly. Ramirez just looked at him for a moment. Damian felt uncomfortable.
“Yeah, but take it easy for a week or I’ll be resetting that leg! Your climbing crap is in locker three and the rest of your stuff is in locker four.”
Mitchell eased himself out of bed and limped carefully over to the lockers as Ramirez turned his attention to some read-outs on a padd. He gathered his ropes and harnesses, grimacing at the cut safety line as he piled it on his shoulder. Pulling his com badge and assortment of lethal hardware out of the other locker, he stopped, puzzled. “Doc, what’s this?” he held a dagger up. The Dagger through the Earth symbol was clearly visible on the pommel.
“How should I know-you security types have all kinds of nasty things on you.” Ramirez sounded distracted. “We put every thing we found on you in the lockers.”
Damian stared at it, trying to remember if he’d seen it before. Shaking his head, he slipped it into a loop on his scale belt and left Sickbay.
He swung a leg over the edge and started down. The surface of the rock was slick and slightly damp, with sharp protrusions in various random points. He grinned and began to rappel. The shaft widened as he dropped. Before he’d reached the forty foot marker on his rope the entrance was obscured by the diffracting effects of the quartz. Damian continued to bounce down the rope under a haze of rainbow light. The first sign of trouble came when the rope jerked unexpectedly at the one hundred foot mark. Damian knew he had two hundred feet more to go at least but the point of no return had long since been passed. He tried to get down the rest of the way, exchanging his rappel for careful creeping but at the two hundred and eighty foot mark the raw quartz sliced his rope through. The safety pitons pulled loose from the limestone and he fell.
He saw things as he fell, and he wondered at the vast amount of time it seemed to take to hit the ground below.
ONE FOOT
A man stood upon a mountain or ridge clad in furs. He lifted his spear to the sky and, although Damian couldn’t actually hear him, his face showed an inarticulate scream aimed at the sky. In the background was a melted, twisted image of the famous Capitol Records building that Damian had seen on his last R&R in Los Angeles. He had Damian’s face, albeit covered in a beard left ragged with neglect.
TWO FEET
Another man stood in cruel black leather, holding his curved scimitar. He had what looked like a group of Vulcans strapped down hand and feet across a large log. The scar on the man’s face pulsed. He lifted the sword and slowly brought it down upon the Vulcan throats. As Damian watched the man looked at him. Blood spurted from the Vulcans and soiled the man’s leather uniform. He ignored it and stared at Damian. Damian felt as if the man was looking right through him. As he passed out of sight Damian noted the Earth and Dagger symbol on the man’s shoulder. Then he met his eyes. It was Damian.
THREE FEET
There were candles and a stone cell much like monks inhabited in the Middle Ages. A rude table and chair dominated the room. A lone, hooded figure prayed at a tiny altar off to one side. The symbol above it was familiar to Damian’s eye, a triangular, stylized version of the Starfleet logo. The figure pulled back his hood as he rose, his genuflections complete. Damian caught a glimpse of a familiar face. He’d seen it in mirrors all of his life.
TEN FEET
A wind-swept piece of New Mexico desert backlit the tombstone. All Damian saw was DAM- before the floor of the Pit rushed up at him.
TWENTY FEET
The impact jammed his spine and he heard a leg snap, the sound echoing through the Pit. He was hundreds of feet down in a limestone funnel and injured. He lifted his head weakly and looked about. A haze obscured the details around him. He saw a wavering in the air around him. A figure stepped out of the fog, a cruel man with black leather clothing, the Dagger through the Earth symbol vibrant on his breast. He strode over to Damian and sneered downward.
“You are weak,” he said.
Damian gasped as another wave of pain struck. “I am injured,” he replied. The other man stepped closer and Damian could see his face. He gasped again, not from the pain but from the surprise. It was his face he was looking at. The same face that had killed the Vulcans.
“You are weak,” the other Damian said again,” You are weak because,” and here he looked at Damian’s shirt, “You are a part of your pathetic Starfleet. You have no strength. I would not have allowed myself to be in your position-ever.”
Damian looked hard at him despite the pain. “You’ve never been injured?”
The other snickered. “Oh, I’ve been injured. I’ve just never been helpless.” He put his hands on his hips. “You, on the other hand…”
“What makes you think I’m helpless?” Damian grimaced.
“Nobody knows where you are, and you failed to bring any communication devices with you. Your right leg is broken. You are helpless.” The smug look on his face angered Damian to no end. He pulled himself up on his elbows and then forced himself to a sitting position. His left leg extended out in front of him at an odd angle. The pain nearly blacked him out and his counterpart laughed. “Look at you, you can barely sit. Soon enough, the pain will take you and you will fade out. Then you will die. Because you are weak.” He crossed his arms in satisfaction.
“Am I delirious?” Damian thought. “What the hell is going on here?” The images he’d seen had left him bewildered and the presence of this funhouse –mirror version of himself left him completely confused. He didn’t let that stop him, though. He thought about the dying Vulcans. His lips set, and his doppelganger’s eyes started to widen. Too late. Damian pushed with his one good leg and momentarily got himself vertical. Snatching the wicked-looking dagger from his double’s sheath he slashed at the man’s throat, hard, opening it even as he used his momentum to shove the man back into the creepy fog that surrounded them. His vision blurred as he hit the ground and he thought, “At least I didn’t lie down and take it.” Black swept over him.
****************************************
Damian came to in the Seleya’s main sickbay. Dr. Ramirez, CMO of the Seleya, stood next to his bed , glaring down at him. “How kind of you to rejoin us.” Jesus had his hands on his hips. “So your idea of fun is to throw yourself down a very deep hole on a strange planet, eh?” Damian opened his mouth to reply but Jesus cut him off. “You don’t even know how lucky you are that another set of fools thought climbing down that hellhole was a good idea or you’d be brain dead about know!” Ramirez turned his back on Damian long enough to grab a hypo off of a near bye tray. “Did you even bother to read the Starfleet literature on The Pit? Don’t answer, because you’ll either sound stupid or you’ll lie to me!” Jesus was getting red in the face and Damian decided silence was the key here. Jesus jammed the hypo into his neck “Pendajo! The gasses and compounds in that thing are borderline lethal to humans! Goddamn it, you almost fried your brain! Do you have any idea how much reconstructive surgery I had to do on your lungs and your not-so-useful gray matter? No, don’t answer,” he said as Damian opened and then closed his mouth. “You know,” Jesus said, reflectively, “More people, more humans, die on other worlds because they treat those planets like Earth than slip in the shower.” He glared at Damian again. “That quartz, combined with the weird gasses in The Pit, damn, man, they can misfire your brain like you wouldn’t believe. You’re lucky you remember who you are! That kind of stuff can leave your brain little better than Swiss cheese! Next time, read the warnings first. You should have had a rebreather, at least.” His scowl spoke volumes.
Damian waited a bit longer, just to make sure Ramirez had wound down. “Doc, I’m feeling better-can I go to my quarters?” he asked meekly. Ramirez just looked at him for a moment. Damian felt uncomfortable.
“Yeah, but take it easy for a week or I’ll be resetting that leg! Your climbing crap is in locker three and the rest of your stuff is in locker four.”
Mitchell eased himself out of bed and limped carefully over to the lockers as Ramirez turned his attention to some read-outs on a padd. He gathered his ropes and harnesses, grimacing at the cut safety line as he piled it on his shoulder. Pulling his com badge and assortment of lethal hardware out of the other locker, he stopped, puzzled. “Doc, what’s this?” he held a dagger up. The Dagger through the Earth symbol was clearly visible on the pommel.
“How should I know-you security types have all kinds of nasty things on you.” Ramirez sounded distracted. “We put every thing we found on you in the lockers.”
Damian stared at it, trying to remember if he’d seen it before. Shaking his head, he slipped it into a loop on his scale belt and left Sickbay.
)
