II
Something beeped in her ear. Uhura woke with a start and activated the incoming call.
"Message from Starfleet headquarters, relayed, priority coded, Captain."
Kirk turned in the command chair to face her. "Restricted access, Lieutenant Uhura?"
She checked the signal code. "It doesn't say here, sir."
"Put it on the main screen then, Lieutenant."
Uhura complied, and a portrait took shape on the main viewscreen forward. The uniform beneath was not that of a military man but of a United Federation of Planets diplomat. Spock's brows lifted slightly in puzzlement. It was highly unusual for diplomatic information to come directly to them without being shuttled through Starfleet channels. Then the scene enlarged slightly to reveal a commodore sitting alongside. Spock relaxed. The situation had changed from unusual to simply curious.
"Captain Kirk," said the man in the diplomatic attire, "I am Joseph Laiguer, personal envoy and ambassador plenipotentiary to the systems of Briamos. I suggest a moment to familiarize yourself with the basic details of Briamos as supplied to all Starfleet vessels."
"Well, Mr. Spock?" Kirk glanced across at his science officer, who replied softly.
"A fairly recent Federation contact, Captain, on the fringe of explored territory. There are three closely aligned solar systems containing five inhabited worlds comprising the government of Briamos. The Briamosites are technologically advanced and possess their own modest space fleet. They are humanoid, though they average a third of a meter taller than human or Vulcan norm and are reputed to be a polite but suspicious people."
"That matches what I can recall about them. Thank you, Spock."
"You have now had time to discuss Briamos with your officers," the ambassador continued as if no pause in their conversation had taken place. "You may already have asked yourself why I am contacting you directly; also why I am calling from Starfleet headquarters if I am ambassador to these worlds. The answer to both is that I was called back for consultation, unfortunately."
"Why unfortunately?" Kirk asked.
"Because," the ambassador said, leaning forward intently, "it seems that the Briamosites abruptly decided the other day to hold a conference on their homeworld during which they will decide whether or not they will enter into a preliminary alliance—social, cultural, and military—with either the Federation . . . or the Klingon Empire."
What had thus far been a fairly ordinary communication was one no longer. Although no one on the bridge neglected his assignment duties, everyone delegated a portion of his attention to the figure speaking from the viewscreen.
"Observers and representatives of both the Federation and Klingon Empire have been invited to participate in the conference and to present their respective positions regarding the Briamosites' intentions."
"And you can't be there," said Kirk, filling in blanks. "Why not?"
"Among other things," the ambassador explained, "the Briamosites are noted for their impatience." He named a date. "As you can see, it would be impossible for me to reach Briamos from Starfleet headquarters anywhere near the time set for the opening of the conference."
"Are the Briamosites so impatient they wouldn't delay the start of such an important conference until you could arrive?" Impatience was one thing, Kirk thought, but this bordered on downright rudeness.
The ambassador was slowly shaking his head. "It is important to them, Captain Kirk. According to the Briamosite way of thinking, we will be the ones guilty of an insult if we do not arrive in time for the beginning of their conference. Therefore," and he rustled some papers before him officiously, "since the Enterprise is patrolling in the Federation sector nearest to Briamos, you are directed to proceed there, Captain, empowered to act as ambassador-at-large for the Federation with all due powers and rights in my absence and to act for and in the name of the United Federation of Planets." He dropped the papers, regarded the viewscreen pickup solemnly.
Kirk shifted uneasily in his chair. He would far rather have been informed he could expect to deal with a rapacious alien life form than with the intricacies of diplomacy.
As the ambassador concluded his talk, Spock turned and began speaking softly to his computer pickup. There were important preparations to be made, and he was commencing such activities already.
"That's all I have to say." The ambassador looked to his right. As he did so, the view widened to include the officer sitting next to him. "But Commodore Musashi has a few comments to add, I believe."
Kirk had never met the diminutive commodore now gazing out at him, but he knew of him by reputation: an old-line officer famed for directness and the brilliance of his tactical solutions to logistical problems. With the Romulans on one side and the Klingons on the other, plus assorted bellicose organizations in between, the United Federation of Planets had special need of men with Musashi's particular analytical talents. So, while the older officer would no doubt have preferred a ship command to a desk job, the requirements of the Federation kept him tied to Starfleet headquarters.
Kirk could sympathize with what he had heard. Only loyalty kept Musashi active. In Musashi's position, having to battle figures and charts and petty bureaucratic interference, Kirk probably would have resigned. The fact that the commodore remained to serve the Fleet despite personal feelings only made Kirk pay particular attention to what the man was about to say.
"I cannot overemphasize the importance of this assignment to you, Captain Kirk," the commodore began earnestly. "You must keep in mind at all times that these Briamosites are not only not just your average cluster of primitive aborigines, but are one of the most advanced races we have contacted in a hundred years." Spock turned his attention from various science readouts to pay attention as the commodore paused for effect, then continued.
"Starfleet intelligence has estimated that the five worlds of Briamos have a combined population of well over seven billion. In terms of natural resources these five worlds and the uninhabited satellite worlds of their three systems are quite wealthy. Here at Starfleet the impression of the Briamosites themselves is one of a competent, highly industrious people. It goes without saying that they would be a welcome addition even on a limited-alliance basis to the United Federation."
Musashi leaned back in his seat, sighed deeply. "Unfortunately, they could also become a powerful ally of the Klingons. From what we know of their natural temperament, which borders on brusqueness at times, they could blend in as well with the Klingons as with us.
"Should the Briamosites decide to link themselves with the Klingon Empire and should that relationship be cemented in the future, it would do much more than simply gain the Klingons a powerful friend. Because of their position on the flank of the Empire, the Briamosites could be counted on by the Klingons to anchor that portion of their empire and protect it from attack. Doing so would free their ships immediately to create considerably more mischief elsewhere."
"The term 'mischief is imprecise, but I have no doubt as to the commodore's true meaning." Spock glanced over at Kirk as he spoke.
"I don't think anyone would, Mr. Spock," Kirk agreed.
Once again the pickup concentrated on the ambassador. "There you have the situation, Captain Kirk. We of the Federation Diplomatic Corps wish you luck and know you'll carry out your assignment to the credit of us all. I wish only that I could be there in person to assist you, but space and time preclude it." He paused, obviously trying to think if he'd forgotten anything.
"Again, keep in mind always the Briamosites' natural impatience. We've already contacted them and informed them that our representative—meaning you—will arrive in time for the conference. What else could we say?" He shrugged slightly. "They replied in their gruffly polite fashion that our representatives would be most welcome—indeed, would be anxiously awaited—but that the conference date is set and will proceed whether or not the Enterprise arrives on time." Another pause, and when he resumed it was in a low, almost warning tone.
&
nbsp; "I need hardly tell you, Captain, that the absence of the Federation representative at the conference would be tantamount to an expression of disinterest on our part, if not an outright insult. Nothing could be better calculated to drive the Briamosites into the orbit of the Klingon Empire than for the Enterprise to arrive after the conference is scheduled to begin."
Kirk bridled at being so openly chided, but held his silence.
"You will proceed to Briamos by way of Starbase Twenty-Five. There you will receive additional briefings and more detailed information on what you can expect upon arriving at Briamos. You should have ample time to attend all the scheduled briefings and still reach Briamos well before the conference begins." The ambassador thought for a moment, glanced briefly over at the commodore, then said almost absently to the pickup at his end, "That's all, then, Captain Kirk. We of the Diplomatic Corps are with you in spirit if not in the flesh."
The picture faded. As it did so, Kirk thought he detected the barest hint of a reassuring grin on Commodore Musashi's face. It was a smile that said, Don't-mind-the-ambassador-he's-upset-because-he-can't-be-there-for-his-moment-of-glory-so-just-ignore-him-and-do-your-job.
"End transmission, Captain," Uhura announced formally as the last vestiges of image faded from the screen.
Kirk considered all he had just seen and heard, then swiveled to regard his first officer. "Well, Mr. Spock, I'd just as soon not engage in any professional word fighting, but we don't seem to have any choice. We're prisoners of our spatial position. At least we'll get to meet the Briamosites. They sound like an interesting people. I only wish we didn't have to be civil to a bunch of Klingons at the same time."
"I also have been intrigued by the little I have heard of Briamos and its inhabitants, Captain," replied Spock. "I am looking forward to the starbase sessions we will be attending."
Kirk nodded in reply, turned to face the helm, "Mr. Sulu, set a course for Starbase Twenty-Five."
"Yes, sir," Sulu responded, turning to his console.
"Standard cruising speed, Mr. Sulu." Kirk hesitated, then asked, "By the way, do we have coordinates for Briamos? In the event we run into trouble, we might have to bypass the starbase and proceed directly to Briamos."
Sulu made a rapid check of the navigation computer. "Coordinates for Briamos were entered last input session, sir. If we have to, we can get there from here."
Kirk relaxed a little at that information.
"Anticipating difficulties, sir?" Lieutenant Arex inquired from his position at the navigation station.
"Lieutenant, given the importance of this conference to both the Federation and Klingon, I'd be surprised if we didn't run into a little interference."
"Yes, sir," the Edoan acknowledged in his quiet way. "Dense of me not to see that, sir."
"Excuse me, Captain."
Kirk frowned slightly, glanced over a shoulder toward communications.
"What is it, Lieutenant Uhura?"
"Sir, I have"—she sounded a bit uncertain, which was unusual in itself—"another priority message coming in."
It was Spock who voiced the most obvious objection. "Are you certain it's not a ghost of the first message, Lieutenant?"
Uhura was rapidly checking several readouts. "No sir, absolutely not. I haven't quite traced the place of origin, but it's definitely not coming from Starfleet coordinates."
There was silence on the bridge while Uhura fought with abstract math. As usual, she won. "The signal is very weak, Captain." Again delicate hands moved in an attempt to coax the incoming message to greater clarity. "Odd." She was staring at a single readout now. "According to my instrumentation the signal is emanating from a system known as Gruyakin."
"Mr. Spock?" But Kirk needn't have urged his first officer, who was already reading the requisite information from the science computer screen.
"The Gruyakin system consists of twelve planets circling a K-6 star, Captain," he reported. "Two of the dozen worlds are reported to be marginally habitable, but there are no settlements of any kind. The only item of interest stems from reports of a vanished civilization on one of the two inhabitable worlds."
"Then who," Kirk wondered aloud, "is broadcasting a message strong enough to reach this far?"
"I don't know, sir, but I have an acceptable signal now."
"Let's see it then, Lieutenant." Kirk turned his attention once again to the main screen.
Despite Uhura's best efforts and some heroic image enhancing by the communication computers, the picture that appeared there was fuzzy and distorted. But amid the interference everyone could make out a tired and none-too-clean, middle-aged human woman. They could also discern a few details, including prematurely gray hair, deep-set blue eyes, and an expression awash with worry and grave concern.
"Does anybody . . ." she said, obviously in the middle of repeating a by-now-old message. Abruptly she noticed an unseen control on her left and looked into her own pickup out onto the bridge of the Enterprise. Kirk wondered if her view of him was as weak as his own was of her.
"Sorry if we've startled you," he said, "but you were broadcasting on a priority Starfleet frequency."
"I know what we're doing!" she replied, a mite testily. Then it was her turn to apologize as she ran a hand over her forehead to brush aside several trailing hairs. "Excuse me, whoever you are. We've all been under a lot of pressure here. We still are.
"My name is Shannon Masid. I'm in charge of this expedition to Gruyakin Six." She used a thumb to gesture sharply over one coverall-clad shoulder.
"One of the two inhabitable worlds in the Gruyakin system, Captain," Spock whispered to him.
Despite the poor quality of the transmission, Kirk could just make out the curving wall of a transparent dome behind the woman and a very little bit of the landscape beyond. A few hardy, thin plants showed against the dome, as tired and beaten as the topography they grew upon. A lake so dull and black it might have been the source of the Styx lay in the distance.
"What expedition is that?" Kirk wanted to know. "According to our information there are no outposts in the Gruyakin system."
"Not so fast, sir. Who might you be?"
Kirk was a little peeved at what sounded almost like an accusation. This was evident in his reply, which was a touch sharper than he meant it to be. "I'm Captain James T. Kirk, commanding the U.S.S. Enterprise, en route to Starbase Twenty-Five."
"Enterprise . . . Starbase Twenty-Five." The woman appeared relieved, then said importantly. "Captain, I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to alter your course."
"Alter our—?" Kirk was speechless.
"I am sure Ms. Masid has a reason, sir," Spock said gently.
"I'm sure she does, Mr. Spock," Kirk replied firmly, "and I'm sure it's valid—to her." He directed his voice to the command-chair pickup.
"Ms. Masid, the Enterprise is on a mission of vital importance to the Federation. I can't imagine any circumstances under which we could alter our course. If you're in some difficulty, please explain its nature and we'll see that relief is sent to you promptly. But I'm afraid we cannot—"
"How do I know you're who and what you say you are?"
For a second Kirk's outrage threatened to overpower his reason. Then he considered the suspicion and fear in the woman's tone. His exasperation gave way to curiosity. This Masid did not look or sound like a fool. Then it came to him, something he had noticed as soon as she'd appeared on the screen but had only placed just now.
She wasn't just frightened. She was terrified. That had not been immediately obvious because she was fighting to keep her emotions under control.
"How do I know," she continued anxiously, "that you're not in some kind of disguise, that your appearance isn't meant to fool us?"
"Mr. Spock, play the visual pickup around the bridge," Kirk directed.
Spock did so, and the woman's darting eyes on the screen showed that she was following everything intently.
"Satisfied?" Kirk asked when the pickup had complet
ed a circuit of the bridge.
"Almost. If this is a ruse, it's an elaborate one. Just one question," she went on rapidly. "Who won the Federation tridimensional hockey championship three years ago in the double-overtime final game, and who was named most valuable player?"
"Really, Ms. Masid!"
"I'm dead serious, Captain," she replied. "That information isn't likely to be in an enemy's computer banks."
"Her seriousness appears genuine, Captain." Spock was convinced of the woman's sincerity. "If you'll wait a moment I'll check the computer files in the recreation section and—"
Sulu interrupted him as he prepared to recover the necessary information.
"That's not necessary, Mr. Spock." The helmsman put himself on the pickup. "The Eridani Gryfalcons," he said. "Most valuable player was center-forward-up Shawn Ge-Yrmis."
"Thank you, whoever you are. That's right." The woman on the screen smiled gratefully. Sulu glanced at the science station, and Spock nodded approvingly in return.
"That's as conclusive a test as I can think of," the figure on the screen declared. She folded her hands on the battered worktable before her. "I've got to accept that you're who you say you are.
"Our expedition isn't large or permanent enough to qualify for outpost status," she explained. "That's why we're not listed in your computer. I'm in charge of Federation Archeological Expedition Four-Six-Two, investigating the remnants of a dead civilization on Gruyakin's sixth planet."
"That matches the information we have, Captain," Spock declared.
"The civilization of this world," and she gestured again at the desolate, unimpressive landscape barely visible through the dome behind her, "was not particularly important, nor does it seem to us to have been especially impressive. Nevertheless, it was a civilization and all such are deemed worthy of study and investigation."
"I'm familiar with the motives of the Federation Science League," Kirk commented drily. "You still haven't explained your reason for utilizing a priority distress frequency."
Star Trek - Log 10 Page 2
