The turbolift hissed open again, and Sulu bounced onto the bridge. His dark eyes were sparkling, and there was a wolfish grin on his narrow face. He paused by Kirk’s chair, and shook a fist in mock anger.
“Have a good shore leave, Sulu?” Kirk asked blandly.
“That’s the problem, sir. It’s hard to come back to reality when a man’s been in heaven.”
“Let me guess. You were at a fencing tournament?”
“She does fence, sir.” Sulu moved down to the helm, and tapped Riley on the shoulder. “Okay, Riley. Move over and let the expert in the driver’s seat.”
“Whew!” The lieutenant pretended to reel away from Sulu’s breath. “Didn’t anyone ever tell you about drinking and driving?”
“Clown,” grumbled Sulu. “I took a soberall before coming aboard. What are you trying to do? Upset the captain?”
“Oh no, never that, sir,” called Riley to Kirk, and he executed a sloppy salute and headed to the turbolift.
“Someday,” Kirk remarked, almost to himself, “we’ll make an officer of that man.”
“But never a gentleman,” quipped Sulu, and began checking his panel.
Kirk waited several more minutes, but Uhura didn’t appear. He decided that the bridge was for the most part in competent hands, and Uhura did have to change, he thought, justifying her tardiness. With a grunt he pushed out of the command chair and left the bridge. A dose of Dr. McCoy seemed to be in order.
McCoy was wandering through sick bay with a bottle of brandy clutched in one hand, a glass in the other and the overall appearance of a man who had misplaced everything. He whirled when Kirk entered the office, and blurted, “Now damn it, Jim …”
“Easy,” Kirk said, holding up his hands. “It wasn’t my fault.”
“So whose dulcet voice was it on my communicator ordering me back to the Enterprise at eleven-thirty at night. Uhura?”
“No. Besides, Uhura isn’t back yet.”
“Smart lady. Wish I’d had the gumption to ignore such an asinine order. So when do we leave since you were in such an all-fired rush to call us back?”
Kirk gave a slight cough. “Well, I’m afraid we’re going to have to delay departure until we finish the mandatory inspection, and the people seem determined to be difficult.”
“Can you blame them? I bet you pulled them out of bed to finish those inspections.”
Kirk looked a bit shamefaced. Then a small smile tugged at his mouth. “Actually, yes.”
“And you enjoyed it too,” McCoy accused.
“Again yes. These government bureaucrats seem to think we’re here for their convenience, and when I think of all the round-the-clock alerts this ship has endured I decided it would do them good.”
McCoy slowly smiled, and extended the bottle. “Have a drink.”
Kirk poured out a small splash of the Saurian brandy, and took a seat across the desk from McCoy. “Actually, it wasn’t just malice that made me roust the inspectors. We really do have an urgent mission, and we’ve got to get out of here. Li called me and showed Spock and me—”
McCoy held up a hand. “No. I don’t want to know about it. Not until I absolutely have to. I still might be able to grab a few hours of sleep tonight, and I don’t want to be disturbed by nightmares.”
The communicator whistled through the sick bay. “Captain Kirk,” came Uhura’s velvet voice.
Kirk leaned over and snapped on the desk communicator. “Kirk here, what can I do for you Lieutenant?”
“Mr. Spock has just beamed aboard, and he would like you and Dr. McCoy to join him in briefing room seven.”
“Thank you, Lieutenant. We’re on our way. And, by the way, glad to have you back aboard.”
“Yes, sir,” Uhura murmured, and she sounded faintly embarrassed.
“There goes my sleep,” muttered McCoy as he downed the last of his brandy.
Spock was seated at the briefing-room table when they entered. His hands played with a stack of computer tapes that lay before him, and his face was grave. To people who didn’t know the Vulcan, his face always seemed uniformly impassive; but after years with his first officer, Kirk knew every subtle nuance that passed for expression on Spock’s face.
“This better be good,” McCoy growled as he pulled out a seat.
“Believe me, Doctor, I would not have disturbed you at this hour if I did not feel it were necessary.”
“Just because you have a metabolism that can run without sleep—” McCoy began, only to be interrupted by Kirk.
“What have you got, Spock?”
“I ran a tape of the Taygetians’ song through the central library computer. I instructed it to search for similar tonal patterns, and it produced three such examples.”
The Vulcan slid a tape into the computer terminal on the table, and sat back to listen. Soon a strange series of sounds, ranging from basso profundo roars to high-pitched squeals and clicks, echoed through the room.
“What you are listening to,” Spock said over the din, “are the songs of the now-extinct humpback whales of your Earth. Fortunately a large body of their songs was preserved before their final destruction.”
The sound switched, and they listened to a series of fluting trills. “This second recording is the communication of a large aquatic mammal found on Regulas V.” The tape shifted for a third time, and they heard a long passage of wavering honks and squeals. “This final example is of a freshwater dweller from the lakes of Deneb.” Spock paused and glanced at the two humans. “All three examples represent the communication of intelligent species.”
Kirk gave a low whistle and leaned back in his seat. McCoy gave the other men a mystified look and, finally, plaintively asked, “Would someone mind filling me in?”
“I had assumed the captain had already done so.”
Kirk gave the Vulcan a wry glance, and said quietly, “Occasionally I fall from perfection, Mr. Spock. I confess that Dr. McCoy and I were relaxing rather than talking business.”
Spock gave him a look that said he knew fully well what “relaxing” entailed, then turned his attention to McCoy. In a few concise sentences he apprised the doctor of the situation, and it was McCoy’s turn to look startled.
“So, it’s likely that the critters on Taygeta are intelligent, but what has that got to do with this warp in the space/time fabric?”
“It is my opinion that the presence of the creatures on Taygeta and the appearance of the phenomenon are linked.”
“Your evidence, Mr. Spock?” The Vulcan remained silent, and looked faintly uncomfortable. “Riding a hunch, eh?” Kirk added.
Spock raised an eyebrow. “The logic employed was somewhat complex, Captain, and I doubt I could explain it in simple enough terms.”
“I see,” Kirk drawled. He paused for several seconds, musing on what he had heard. “It’s interesting that all four races are water dwellers.”
Spock nodded. “Yet it does make a certain type of sense. By an evolutionary fluke these species have been denied manipulative appendages. Since they cannot build or write their only outlet would be in the area of pure mentation, and music falls easily within that category. Also it could be a way to preserve and pass on a body of philosophy, as is the case on Deneb.”
“Could you translate any of the Taygetian song?”
“I regret to report, Captain, that I failed in the attempt. I believe it to be possible, but only by a more talented musician than myself.”
“I never thought I’d live to hear it,” muttered McCoy. “Spock admitting to a limitation.”
“Recommendations, Spock,” Kirk said hurriedly before the doctor and first officer could begin exchanging insults.
The Vulcan rested his elbows on the table, and steepled his hands. “We require a musician of extraordinary ability, one who can translate music into mathematics almost instantly, for all these songs have in common a strong mathematical base.”
“Good God,” broke in McCoy. “How do you expect to find someone like
that out here on the edge of the Federation?”
“I made a computer search for such an individual, Doctor, and the machine returned five names. Of those, two are on Vulcan, one is on Earth and one is on Capica. The fifth, however, is present at Star Base 24.”
“Guy Maslin,” murmured Kirk.
“Precisely, Captain. I suggest we contact the gentleman. He would be of great aid in solving this problem.”
Kirk pressed the communicator. “Lieutenant Uhura.”
“Yes, Captain.”
“Please locate Mr. Guy Maslin, and request that he come aboard the Enterprise.”
Uhura looked startled, and Kirk thought that she blushed slightly. It was gone in an instant, however, and he decided he had imagined it. “Aye, aye, sir. When do you want him aboard?”
“As soon as possible. Have him escorted to briefing room seven.”
“Yes, Captain.” Her image faded from the screen, and Kirk swung back to face his first officer and chief medical officer.
“Once we have Maslin aboard all that’s left is to get rid of the inspectors, and we’re on our way.”
“Somehow when you make things sound simple, Jim, they always seem to turn out otherwise,” McCoy remarked.
“Faith, Bones. Our troubles won’t start until we reach Taygeta.”
It was Uhura who escorted Maslin and a fat balding man into the conference room instead of the usual security detail. She also remained in the room, taking an unobtrusive seat at the end of the table. Kirk decided to overlook this newest aberration by his communications officer, and turned his attention to the musician.
Kirk rose to shake hands with Maslin, and realized how small the other man was. The composer had an overwhelmingly commanding presence from the stage, but in person he stood no more than five feet three or four. Kirk became aware of a dull red suffusing Maslin’s pale cheeks at the obvious scrutiny, and the captain hurriedly resumed his seat.
“I’m glad you could join us, Mr. Maslin.”
“Did I have a choice?” Maslin remained tensely standing in front of the table.
The fat, nervous man tugged at the sleeve of Maslin’s coat, and indicated a chair. “Why don’t you sit down, Guy? It’ll be better that way.”
The composer crossly shrugged off the other man’s hand. “Do stop fussing, Cubby. I’m fine.”
Kirk eyed the fat man, and finally asked, “Excuse me, but just who are you, and why are you here?”
“I’m Mr. Maslin’s manager, Harvey Cumberland.” Stating his name and position seemed to give the man confidence. He stepped forward, rested his knuckles on the table, and leaned in on Kirk. “And let me tell you, sir, you had better have a pretty damn good reason for pulling us out at this hour.”
“Since I don’t recall inviting you, Mr. Cumberland, I’m not particularly concerned with your likes or dislikes. My business is with Mr. Maslin.” The captain turned his attention to the small musician. “Won’t you please sit down, Mr. Maslin, and hear what we have to say?” Maslin gave an abrupt nod, and took a seat opposite Kirk.
“The Enterprise has been assigned to investigate a strange phenomenon in the Taygeta V system. There is only one habitable planet in the system, and the life form inhabiting it is a seallike creature which seems to sing.” Maslin had been looking bored, staring down at his hands, which rested on the table, but now his eyes flicked to Kirk’s face. “Mr. Spock, if you would, please.”
The first officer snapped in a tape, and the eerie vocal blending of the Taygetian song filled the room. Maslin closed his eyes, and leaned intently forward. There was a frown of concentration between his upswept brows. After a few minutes he opened his eyes.
“Large pieces of it are missing.”
“I beg your pardon?” Kirk asked.
“Whatever these creatures are doing, their song has the scope and complexity of a Bach chorale, and the mathematical complexity to match. However, there seem to be places where the logical progression of the sound breaks down. My guess is that some of the creatures’ sounds are ultrasonic.”
“Fascinating,” Spock murmured. “And how would you go about detecting these sections of the song?”
“You’d need a powerful CompuSynthesizer like the one I use for composition. How you’d obtain one out here I don’t know.”
Kirk gave a delicate cough. “Well, that rather brings us around to the issue, Mr. Maslin. My first officer holds the opinion that the space phenomenon which has already claimed one ship is somehow linked to the creatures’ song. His recommendation is that we obtain a superior musician as expert advisor. A computer search turned up your name, and by good fortune you are accessible, unlike the other four.”
“What exactly is it you’re suggesting, Captain?”
“We’d like to have you accompany us to Taygeta V, and work with us on solving this problem.”
“No,” Maslin said crisply. He pushed back his chair, and headed for the door.
The Star Fleet officers exchanged stunned glances. “May I ask why?”
“You can ask,” Maslin said indifferently.
Kirk felt a dull rage beginning to roil through his body. He clenched a fist beneath the table in an effort to calm himself. The manager, Cubby, seemed to sense Kirk’s anger, for he turned back and helplessly spread his hands.
“Mr. Maslin is on a concert tour. He has commitments that have to be met. You know how it is.”
“No, I don’t,” Kirk snapped, rising from his seat. “A concert date can be rescheduled, while we may be dealing with something that could threaten the Federation. That’s hundreds of planets, millions of lives, and I would say that outweighs the wishes and desires of one person. Some things are more important than individuals. It’s to just that sort of cause that the people aboard this ship have dedicated their lives.”
Maslin turned languidly back from the door. “Good. Then you military geniuses figure it out. And by the way, save the stirring speeches for your crew. They might find it inspiring—I don’t.” Muslin paused, and withdrew a cigarette. Taking a long drag on the cigarette, he eyed Kirk through a haze of swirling smoke, and added, “I’ve also never liked my tax dollars going to provide jobs for people who can’t cut it in civilian life, and given that attitude I’m not about to donate my help to this institution.”
“Now look here, Mr. Maslin,” McCoy gritted, leaping to his feet. “This so called institution has stood between you and some pretty unpleasant people who would have made it real hard for you to tinkle on your piano if we hadn’t been around.”
“Bones,” Kirk said quietly, and pulled the doctor back into his seat. Anger still smoldered in his eyes, but a slight smile played about his lips. His officers recognized that expression, and they knew that Kirk was holding an ace.
Kirk leaned back in his seat. “Mr. Spook, please assist me. Which section of the Emergency Defense Act am I trying to think of?”
For a moment Spock remained quiet, as if momentarily puzzled by Kirk’s request. Then he gave a slow nod of his head. “I believe the section you are seeking, Captain, is article 9, section 5, paragraph 7 entitled ‘The Civilian Emergency Mobilization Act.’”
“Thank you, Mr. Spock. That was the section.”
Cumberland goggled, Muslin became even whiter and there was a faint, inarticulate sound from Uhura. She had been so still during the entire proceeding that Kirk had almost forgotten she was present.
Muslin at last found his voice. “Are you attempting to draft me, Captain?”
“Not draft, Mr. Maslin, mobilize, and I’m not attempting, I’m doing it.”
“No, you can’t!” Cumberland blurted, lurching toward the table.
“Oh, Cubby, do shut up!” Maslin snapped.
“And what is to prevent Captain Kirk from taking this action?” Spock asked, raising an eyebrow at the manager’s obvious distress.
“Guy has Richart’s syndrome.”
“God damn you, Cubby!” Maslin exploded, and whirled away from the group.
/> “Guy must never be very far away from the most up-to-date medical facility—”
“He’ll have that aboard the Enterprise,” Kirk interrupted.
“It’s not just the availability of medical care, Jim,” McCoy interjected. “Richart’s syndrome is triggered and fueled by stress. There’s no known cure, and if the victim is subjected to sufficient stress and exhaustion he in essence burns himself out.”
Kirk indicated to Spock and McCoy, and he led them out of the briefing room and into the corridor. “Recommendations, gentlemen?” He suddenly found Uhura at his elbow.
“Captain,” she said urgently. “You can’t require him to accompany us when it could cost him his life.”
“Lieutenant, we may not have a choice. How about it, Spock? Can we bring in someone else?”
“Negative, Captain. The field of space/time distortion is widening at an alarming rate. We dare not delay.”
“McCoy?”
“Oh, I’ve got the facilities to care for him, but it’s a rare condition, and it can get away from you fairly easily. Also the more intense the personality the more difficult it is to keep it under control.”
Uhura started to speak, then stopped herself. Kirk wondered what she had been about to say, but didn’t have time to ponder on it. He rubbed a hand across his face, and gave a sigh.
“I see no alternative, gentlemen. We need an expert; Maslin is available, so we’ll take him.”
“The logical decision, Captain.”
“And if he dies will it still be the logical decision, Mr. Spock?” Uhura asked in a low voice.
The Tears of the Singers Page 3
