Pathways - Jeri Taylor [45]
Briefly the thought occurred to him that he might not be much protection against a bear or a mountain lion, but he willed the notion away.
Nearby, the water of the small lake lapped gently at the shore. Water, that was something. He pulled off the cloth that was knotted around his head and ran to the lake, dipping the scarf into the cold water, soaking it through. Then he ran back to his father and applied the cold cloth to his forehead. Surely that would accomplish something.
But his father did not respond. He lay with terrible stillness, eyes closed, mouth parted slightly, a dribble of saliva trickling down one cheek.
Harry sat heavily on the ground, fighting anxiety, trying to remain calm. He’d have to go get help, there was no other choice. He remembered his father’s drawing materials and found them scattered on the ground from the tumble down the ravine. He used a charcoal to write a message on the sketch pad, telling John that he’d gone for help, and not to move from this spot.
He put the sketch pad where it would easily be seen and then put his hand on his father’s forehead again. It felt clammy, and an icy squeeze of fear clutched at him. He turned and looked once more into the woods, for the magic rescuers that would come to his aid and handle this terrifying situation.
And there they were.
There were four of them, young men and women several years older than he, dressed alike, in drab jumpsuits that had the feel of a uniform. Metal badges were worn over their hearts.
They caught Harry by surprise, but he had no feelings of alarm. They seemed benign and purposeful, and were in fact hurrying toward him as though sensing his situation.
“What happened?” asked one of the young men as he moved quickly toward John Kim’s unconscious form.
“He fell,” replied Harry, pointing upward. He was experiencing a vast feeling of relief now that these samaritans had appeared. They were older than he, more knowledgeable. They moved with purpose and dispatch. They would know what to do.
One of the young women was passing a device over his father’s body. “It’s a concussion,” she said calmly. “We have to get medical attention.”
The first young man briefly touched the badge on his chest. “Noftsger to base camp. We have an emergency situation.”
A voice replied: “Go ahead, Cadet.”
“We’ve encountered civilians who’ve had an accident. A man, forties, has sustained a concussion. He needs medical attention.”
“Stand by to transport, Noftsger. We’ll be taking your whole team.”
“Aye, sir.” The young man knelt to Harry’s father and put his hand on the man’s shoulder. One of the females put her hand on Harry’s, and within seconds they had dematerialized and were transported to a building that seemed still to be in the mountains, but was sleekly styled and teeming with people: more of the young people in jumpsuits, and older men and women wearing uniforms of black and red. One of these moved immediately toward Harry and his father, passing a device over John just as the young woman had done.
“Get him to the infirmary,” said the older man, and the boy known as Noftsger said, “Aye, sir,” and knelt once more, touching John’s shoulder. “Energize,” he said, and the two dematerialized.
“How did he get hurt, son?” asked the man.
It had all happened so fast Harry hadn’t been able to assess who these people were, where he had been taken, or what he should do now. “He fell,” he stammered, and then blurted out, “Who are you? Where is this place?”
The man smiled and put a hand on Harry’s shoulder. “Sorry. I thought you knew. Cadet Shanak, take our young friend to the mess hall and get him some lunch, and fill him in on Starfleet’s survival program.”
“Aye, sir,” said the woman known as Shanak. She was Vulcan, dark-haired and dark-eyed, with brows that swept upward at the outer corners. She regarded Harry coolly and gestured down a hallway.
“Starfleet?” said Harry in surprise. “I thought all that was in San Francisco.”
“Headquarters is there,