Star Trek - TOS - Battlestations

by Diane Carey

  the aft cabin, I happened to glance at the old-style

  ship's clock that lay half-buried in navigational charts

  on the captain's desk. The clock I could read. The

  charts--well, I could read the clock.

  The aft ladder was easier to climb with a tray of

  coffee mugs than the forecabin ladder, so that's the

  way I went. I came up on deck just in front of the

  ship's wooden wheel. Behind it, the captain was grin-

  ning at himself and steering Keeler through waves that

  seemed to grow calmer at his behest. What had been

  eight-footers had smoothed to a light chop as we

  stopped fighting them and continued sailing into the

  middle of the Caribbean,

  I relayed coffee to Mr. Scott and Dr. McCoy as they

  relaxed amidships, then returned with one for the

  captain. He took it with a silent nod, settled back in

  the helm chair, and eyed me with those hazel-browns.

  "Something on your mind, Commander?"

  9

  "That sounds like something Spock would say."

  "Oh, no, Jim. Spock would comment on the waste.

  You know, exertion and risk with no true gain. Can't

  you just hear him say it, with a 'most illogical' pinned

  on the end of it?"

  Bidden as though by drug, I indeed heard Com-

  mander Spock's rough baritone cadence knitting those

  words into his own kind of commentary on races and

  contests.

  "Now, Captain, there's a proposal I'd like to see

  worked on," Mr. Scott said, as he cocked one leg on

  the cooler and gripped the loops of rope that held the

  mains'l to the big boom. "Mr. Spock on board this

  kind of starship. I wonder ha' he'd look in a slicker."

  "Earth's a water planet, Scotty," Kirk said, be-

  mused. "One of very few. Sailing ships grew with our

  culture. Besides... wouldn't you hate to see Spock

  even greener than usual?"

  The three men laughed, enjoying their moment of

  teasing bigotry at the expense of their absent friend,

  forgetting that although I was human, Earth was not

  my home either. I had no reason to feel envious, yet I

  couldn't laugh along with them.

  "Where are we headed, sir?" I asked.

  "We're supposed to rendezvous with the other flo-

  tilla participants at New Providence."

  I waited for him to finish the sentence. Perhaps it

  was his tone, perhaps the flicker in his eye, or the fact

  that I'd learned to expect more from him than what-

  ever was obvious. After a moment, I assisted.

  "But..."

  McCoy's rooster-tail brows arched up. "Tell her,

  Jim. What are you saving it for? She's been looking at

  you like a suspicious cat for a week now, even if she

  doesn't know it."

  I flushed again, but McCoy's hilarious glare made

  me duck my head and smile in embarrassment. One

  thing was for sure we weren't going to New Provi-

  dence.

  That half-grin stretched one side of Kirk's mouth.

  He gazed at me from the corners of his eyes. "We're

  sailing toward your future, Piper."

  "A banana republic," Kirk explained, putting one

  foot up on the rail, still fingering the ship's wheel

  lightly. "A quaint local epithet used to describe island

  settlements in semitropical areas here on Earth. The

  Virgin Islands .... Greater and Lesser Antilles ....

  Jamaica, the Caymans, the West Indies in general."

  "Because of the banana trees?"

  "Banana trees, banana vendors, a generally banana

  life-style is what you'll find there."

  He gazed at the sea between McCoy and Scott. "I

  guess we taught Ben Shamirian a good lesson today,"

  he said, enjoying the sight of Gavelan plowing along

  several ship-lengths behind Keeler.

  "That you did, sir," Scott said. "And bonnily too.

  'Course, Doc and I'll ne'r be the same for wear..."

  "What, Scotty? Thinning out already, at your age?

  I'm dismayed."

  "And I'm ocean-sick," McCoy drawled.

  Meanwhile, I was itching to find out what he meant

  about sailing toward my future.

  When I spoke, my voice seemed not to fit in among

  theirs. "Are you tampering with my future, sir?"

  He nodded, dawdling through a sip of coffee. "Your

  first command."

  He was teasing me again. Bad enough when I did

  know what he was talking about, much less when 1

  didn't. I sat down on the rail and leaned back against

  the lifeline. "A lobster scow, right?"

  Kirk shook his head, saying, "A space vessel."

  Through my astonished stare he continued, "With

  atmospheric and stellar capabilities."

  12 13

  The stare started to hurt. My eyes watered in the

  wind. Mr. Scott was chuckling.

  "Are you . . ." I stammered. "Are you kidding

  me?"

  " Commander, it's a Star Fleet-commissioned space-

  going passenger vessel, and it's waiting at Man-o-War

  Cay for you to take command." When Kirk saw my

  expression--'ff by any reach of terminology I still

  appeared human at all--he buried a flicker of amuse-

  ment in a blink.

  McCoy leaned forward on the rail, supported by

  both hands on either side of his legs. Those demonstra-

  tive eyes widened at me. "How hard did you think it

  would be to wangle a light command for the youngest

  person to receive the Federation Medal of Valor?"

  "But... but... but... but why?"

  My question started in McCoy's direction, shifted to

  Scott, and ultimately landed on Captain Kirk. After a

  moment, he said, "Oh, I've got a little mission for you.

  Call it a... mail run."

  "Space... a space... a mission out in space?"

  "That's right."

  I took a deep breath, and shook the seaweed out of

  my head.

  "Think you're up to it?" he asked.

  "No!"

  Captain Kirk chuckled openly. "That alone tells me

  you are," he said. "We'll be there by tomorrow after-

  noon. Start getting used to the idea, Commander. As

  of tomorrow, you've got a ship of your own."

  14

  Chapter Two

  "Anything you might say has already been taken down in

  evidence against you."

  --The Squire of Gothos

  MY OWN COMMAND.

  Gladiator. Excalibur. Odyssey. Mountaineer. Trou-

  badour.

  Since she would be acquired during my stay here on

  Earth, shouldn't my ship have a Terran name? This

  planet might be just a little squeak that started a big

  rumble, but Earth's history had plenty to offer. More

  so in plain gallantry and intrepidness than in many

  more, dare I say, civilized cultures. I was just begin-

  ning to appreciate that. Earth, planet of my ancestry,

  had been the subject of my fascination, my study, even

  my curiosity, but never my respect.

  As Star Fleet hung in political suspension a few

  thousand kilometers behind us, subject to tense

  purges, and courts-martial, I contemplated the name

  of my ship. Had I earned this? I
had fallen into a bad

  situation and forded it. That was Star Fleet's hope

  when they created the Academy to mine the crude ore

  of future command, wasn't it? The cost had been long

  and wide--the lives of a Star Fleet destroyer's entire

  crew; no, not my fault, but inevitable because I

  refused to give in. I felt victorious about the failure of

  Vice Admiral Rittenhouse's clandestine attempt to

  trigger the collapse of Star Fleet and set up his own

  intersystem'republic, but I still didn't feel good about

  15

  it. Victorious... good... too different for peace of

  mind. And now Star Fleet trembled in the wake.

  I stood in Keeler's galley, heating coffee on what

  seemed an archaic gas stove. Though I'd grown used

  to it, I still marveled at Kirk's purity of cause. Dr.

  McCoy had told me that when Kirk had purchased this

  ship, she'd been half-restored and in bankruptcy. He'd

  completed the restoration, rope for rope, halyard for

  halyard, binnacle for binnacle, keeping true to the old

  style. Hence, gas stove.

  Maybe a feminine name, so everyone would know

  the captain was female. Edna St. Vincent Millay. Too

  long. Summer Rain. Myth. Siren. Or a famous name

  Zuriak. Boone. Philip of Macedon. James T. . . .

  He didn't seem worried about the tumult at Star

  Fleet Command. After all, here he was, one of only a

  handful of starship commanders, cruising his home

  planet in the slowest possible fashion. Shouldn't he be

  back there... helping? Weren't there decisions to be

  made? I'd bet that somebody, somewhere, was turning

  to his second and grumbling, "Damn, I wish Jim Kirk

  was here."

  Thunderbird. Chimera. Cumulus. Egyptian.

  The coffee wasn't even hot enough to send up an

  aroma when an unexpected whine shook me from my

  plans. The whine turned to a hum, then caused a faint

  but recognizable oscillation of air particles around my

  face and arms, where the skin was bare. My ivory

  cotton flight suit shielded the rest of my skin from the

  particle jump, but the cause remained perfectly identi-

  fiable, even if it was totally out of place. I must be

  delirious, imagining things. A transporter beam?

  The hum grew deeper. I dashed to the forecabin

  ladder and climbed up enough to get my elbows onto

  the deck, and froze in place, astonished. Three forms

  were indeed materializing onto the aft deck. The syn-

  16

  thesis of old and new hit me like the smell of bad

  weather. Invasion.

  "How rude!" I exclaimed. My breath was stolen by

  the wind flushing into the fores'l. Beaming down!

  What raw nerve!

  Still hardly more than bands of shimmering light, the

  forms were steps away from where I'd left Captain

  Kirk and the others on the aft deck when I escaped to

  collect my thoughts. Kirk obviously wasn't going to

  divulge any more information about this so-called mail

  run he'd slotted me for and I'd seen no reason to gawk

  at him. So I came down to the galley, to gawk into the

  coffee.

  But with people beaming onto the ship without the

  slightest announcement, I had another direction to

  gawk in. The affrontery of it held me to my place half

  out of the hatch, peering around the main mast.

  Three Star Fleet Security Division uniforms distilled

  into being and stopped shimmering. Two men, large.

  And a woman, compactly built but still somehow

  imposing in her own subdued way.

  Kirk got up from the helm chair, moving to them like

  a prowling ghar-tiger. Sharply he demanded, "Just

  what is the meaning of this intrusion?"

  "Captain James Kirk?" a big goon of a lieutenant

  began. It was a formality only, the beginning of a

  recitation. "Yes."

  "Lieutenant Alexander, sir. Sir, I am instructed to

  escort you to Star Fleet headquarters regarding an

  inquiry issued by Star Fleet Command and the Federa-

  tion Military, Advisory Committee---"

  "Why?" Kirk asked with typical bluntness.

  "For questioning regarding the theft of special tech-

  nology by a member of your crew."

  Kirk's voice changed. "Which member?"

  "Lieutenant Sarda."

  17

  I bumped my head on the hatchway in a bolt of

  shock. Sarda... only weeks ago my biggest concern

  about Sarda was helping him find a channel back into

  the Vulcan disciplines he'd been denied by his race's

  pacifist prejudices. Only weeks ago we were fighting

  side by side. How did he get himself embroiled in

  espionage while on shore leave? I gripped the hatch

  rim and dug my fingernails in, seized with a sudden

  need to talk to him, to find out why--

  "What in the devil!" McCoy blurted.

  Scott moved to stand beside Kirk, a united front. He

  glared at Lieutenant Alexander. "You'd better have

  your chevrons on straight for this one, lad," he

  warned. "Lieutenant Sarda is a recipient of the Silver

  Palm."

  The lieutenant shrugged. "Anyway."

  Mr. Scott bristled. "You don't just go about tossing

  accusations at Federation honorees."

  Alexander took a breath, ignored him, and ad-

  dressed the captain again. "I am authorized to escort

  you to Star Fleet Command Headquarters for ques-

  tioning regarding this theft. If you do not choose to

  cooperate, I am authorized to place you under special

  arrest---"

  "In other words, I go with you either way," Kirk

  finished, his eyes narrowing.

  "Correct, sir." Alexander pivoted on one foot and

  faced Mr. Scott. "Chief Engineer Montgomery

  Scott?"

  "Aye..."

  "Sir, I am instructed to escort you to Star Fleet

  headquarters regarding an inquiry issued by Star Fleet

  Command and the Federation Military--" "A' right, mister, I've heard it."

  "I'm authorized to escort you to Star Fleet Com-

  mand Headquarters for questioning. If you choose not

  to cooperate, I am authorized to place you under

  special arrest."

  lg

  I ducked back into the forecabin. Even beyond the

  complete surprise and unlikelihood of this turnabout, I

  sensed a deeper wrongness. Slipping aft through the

  cabins, I hid at the bottom of the aft hatch and lis-

  tened. Half expecting Alexander to have turned to

  McCoy with his recitation, I had to recalibrate when

  he turned instead to Kirk and said, "Sir, I must

  request that you inform me as to the whereabouts of

  Commander Spock, who has also been named in the

  inquiry."

  There was a pause.

  Kirk's voice was low-toned. "Mr. Spock is not

  aboard."

  "Where is he, sir?"

  '"On leave. I don't know specifically where." His'

  vocal timbre stiflened then. "Lieutenant, this is a

  gross breach of protocol as well as a serious accusa-

  tion. I demand to know who's responsible for levying

  these
charges."

  "Sir, there are no charges. This is only an emer-

  gency inquiry. I must also request that you inform me

  as to the whereabouts of the following Fleet personnel,

  who have also been called in for questioning Lieuten-

  ant Commander Hikaru Sulu, Lieutenant Nyota

  Uhura, Lieutenant Commander Piper."

  While I crouched in the forward hatch, my heart

  shriveled up and ran into the fo'c'sle. I couldn't swal-

  low anymore.

  "I'm not in the habit," Kirk went on, very steadily

  measuring his hidden message, "of monitoring my

  crew's shore leaves. None of those people are here."

  "Then if you and Mr. Scott will please gather your

  things, I'!1 signal the cruiser to beam us up."

  The lack of immediate alternatives showed in Kirk's

  voice; though I couldn't see his face, I knew exactly

  what his eyes were doing. "Dr. McCoy isn't able to

  pilot this schooner alone, Lieutenant. You'll have to

  wait until we make port."

  19

  I ducked back another step into the aft cabin. His

  message was gaining poignant clarity, if not explana-

  tion.

  "Yes, sir," Alexander said. "A Star Fleet low-

  atmosphere tug is on the way to take control of this

  vessel. The sailing plan you filed with the San Fran-

  cisco Maritime Authority specified New Providence as

  your next port of call. The boat will be taken there,

  unless you specify somewhere else. We could have the

  boat beamed somewhere, if necessary, but it's offi-

  cially impounded until further notice." I caught a

  glimpse of Alexander's gesture toward the sober fe-

  male guard. "Yeoman Philotoff will remain on board

  until the tug arrives. She knows how to steer it."

  Beam the whole ship? Wow...

  "Now just a minute," McCoy interfered, blustering

  "How can we be expected to supply any useful infor-

  mation, considering we've been sitting on this ocean,

  out of touch with everybody and everything? How do

  you explain that?"

  "I don't, sir."

  The sound of shuffling feet replaced the voices for a

  moment, then relented again.

  "Captain," Alexander said. "I have here a warrant

  of permission to search this boat, the North American