The Tears of the Singers

by Melinda Snodgrass

  “There are a party of Klingons camped a half mile down the beach, and this is an uncharted planet.”

  “Christ! Okay, okay,” he said, holding up his hands. “I’ll try to act subordinate.”

  She watched him walk back toward the cluster of metallic shelters, and felt again that rush of joy and excitement that his presence always brought to her. Something was happening here, for it was now obvious that the affection and attraction didn’t flow in just one direction. She knew that soon she would have to face the situation and evaluate it, but not just yet. There were too many decisions and potential changes in that evaluation, and she was reluctant to deal with them.

  She hoped he would get Spock’s permission to do a bit of exploring for she, too, was drawn by the silver-lit beauty of the world, and the pervasive and compelling song that wove its complex harmonies across the silent ocean.

  Near the water’s edge the covey?—herd?—school? She pondered the proper designation for a group of Taygetian cubs, and finally decided that school was the closest description. The cubs were scooping out hollows in the damp sand, and settling down for the night. This task was accomplished with a great deal of humming, tweeting and horseplay. The pups were flinging sand with their front flippers, and rolling and tumbling about in furry balls as they wrestled.

  Guy came trotting back to her, stumbling a bit in the deep sand. “Spock says we can go so long as we’re back in thirty minutes,” he panted. His breath puffed whitely out in front of him, and Uhura realized that the temperature was dropping with the sun.

  “That’s not much time.”

  “True, but I guess he’s concerned about having us out at night. The sun’s almost down.” He pointed out to sea.

  She turned, and shaded her eyes against the slanting rays of the Taygetian sun. Overhead the clouds were turning a rich orange and peach, and the ocean shimmered red gold in the dying light. It was the first time since their arrival that there had been any color evident other than the varying shades of silver, white and clear crystal, and Uhura found it a welcome change.

  Realizing that she was wasting time, she slung her tricorder over her shoulder. Guy took her arm, and they headed off in a generally northerly direction. They skirted the cubs, not wishing to alarm the youngsters, but the Taygetians now seemed unconcerned with their presence. They watched the humans curiously out of their pale blue eyes, but showed no fear. As Uhura and Maslin moved past several of them chirped and trilled while bobbing their heads up and down.

  “They certainly seem intelligent,” Maslin remarked. “I mean, that sounded an awful lot like a greeting to me.”

  “To me too.”

  “How could the Federation have classified them as animals? When I think about some hunter coming along and giving them a jolt of electricity to the head it makes me want to do the same to some bureaucrat, and see how they like it.”

  Uhura looked distressed. “How did you find out about this?”

  “Ex-girl friend wanted a crystal tear. When I’m contemplating spending that much money I do a little research.”

  “Did you buy it for her?”

  “No, I found the way they were obtained to be disgusting and barbaric.”

  They rounded an outcropping and discovered what appeared to be a trail heading up into the cliffs. The sand had been smoothed and packed as if by countless large bodies. They exchanged glances.

  “Think it’s a path up to the adults?” Maslin asked.

  “Quite likely. We’ve still got a few minutes. Let’s go a little way and see what we find.”

  The path wound between crystalline formations and fallen boulders, climbing higher into the tumbled outcroppings at the base of the cliffs. Uhura frowned and took a slow turn, studying the trail and the surrounding area.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I’m not sure. This trail is well worn, as if it’s been here for a long time, but it doesn’t seem well used, if you take my meaning.”

  Maslin copied her slow look, then shrugged. “I don’t see anything.”

  “I’m not sure there is anything to see, but I have the impression that this trail is not the scene of constant comings and goings between the adults and the cubs.”

  “So?”

  “It just seems odd that the adults of a race would show so little interest in their young. That doesn’t seem to be a very prosurvival trait.”

  Guy sucked thoughtfully at the insides of his cheeks, then shook his head. “Maybe the adults think there’s something they have to do that’s more important than watching the kids.”

  “Spock suggested something like that earlier, but it still seems odd.”

  They resumed their climb. Suddenly Uhura froze. Maslin, who had been looking back toward the ocean, bumped heavily into her. He opened his mouth, then bit back the words at her sharp, chopping gesture. He then discerned the reason for her abrupt halt. Beyond a curve in the trail someone was holding a low-voiced conversation in a language he didn’t understand. Uhura lifted her tricorder, and carefully switched it on. The murmurings continued for several more minutes. Then there was a sharp snick, as if some device had been shut off. Uhura switched off her tricorder and let it fall to her hip. She then darted around the crystal outcropping.

  This time Maslin was ready for her because he had seen her tense as she prepared to launch herself around the rock, and he was right behind her as they exploded around the curve in the trail.

  The Klingon woman, Kali, knelt in the sand, caught in the act of replacing a communicator on her belt. Terror flared in her golden eyes at the sight of the humans, and her hand jerked for the disruptor at her hip.

  “Christ, don’t …” Guy began, but Uhura was quicker. She crossed the intervening distance in one bound, and her booted foot lashed out, kicking the disruptor from the Klingon’s hand. Kali grimaced and gripping her wrist pillowed it in her lap.

  “I’m sorry,” Uhura said, dropping down next to her. The woman flinched away, then relaxed into hostile alertness when she realized that Uhura wasn’t going to hurt her again. “Is it broken?”

  “No, only bruised.”

  Uhura glanced at the disruptor lying in the sand. “We do tend to react without thinking, don’t we?” she asked a little ruefully.

  Some of the tension leached out of Kali, and she nodded slowly. “Perhaps that is why we lose so many ships and men.”

  “It’s one possibility,” Uhura replied cautiously.

  “What are you doing out here?” Maslin asked, perching on a nearby boulder.

  “Getting a feel for the world.”

  “But—” Uhura shot him a warning look, and he subsided.

  “What?”

  “Well … ah … it might be dangerous,” he improvised.

  Kali laughed, a light, musical sound that blended well with the omnipresent song. “I am not your typical Earthwoman—weak and helpless. I can take care of myself.”

  “I would say Lieutenant Uhura has done a pretty good job of taking care of herself too,” Guy said challengingly.

  Maslin and Kali locked eyes, and Uhura stepped in. “Arguing racial superiority has always been a useless exercise, both on my world and in space. The captain is right, we have to work together if we’re going to solve this mystery. What do you make of the Taygetians now that you’ve had a chance to look around?”

  “A number of our officers would like to classify them as animals.” She glanced at the two humans. “It makes it much easier to colonize an uninhabited planet.”

  “But what do you think?”

  “I think they are unquestionably intelligent, but I still do not understand why you think there is a correlation between the phenomenon and the Taygetians.”

  “Actually, I don’t either,” Maslin said, sliding down onto the sand so he could sit between the two women. “That’s Spock’s theory, and we can’t prove it or disprove it until we can understand what they’re singing about.”

  “If it’s a language why not use your univer
sal translator?”

  “Spock tried that this afternoon,” Uhura said.

  “But all he got was gibberish,” Guy added excitedly. “When I first listened to a tape of the Taygetian song I could tell that large pieces of it were missing. Apparently the translator picked up on that also, so it couldn’t make sense out of what it was recording.”

  “How could you tell the song wasn’t complete?” Kali asked, shifting until she could relax with her back against some rocks.

  “Music is audible mathematics. Just as there is a logical progression in math so there is in music.” He shrugged. “I have this quirk that enables me to translate music into numbers almost instantly. When I heard the tape it was obvious that it didn’t track.”

  “And now?”

  “It’s even more apparent now.”

  “I’m not certain I understand, but it would be interesting to watch you work.”

  “Then come on down and watch. Tomorrow I’ll begin programming the synthesizer to the Taygetian song. With its help I’ll be able to build a picture of their musical theory.”

  “And that will enable you to understand their language?”

  “It will certainly help.”

  She sat in thoughtful silence for several moments, then looked up. “Perhaps I will come to your camp.”

  “Do,” Uhura said, picking up the disruptor, and presenting it butt first. Kali stared in confusion, first at the weapon, then at Uhura. “Go ahead, take it. I think we can agree that neither of us is a killer or a monster.”

  Kali hurriedly holstered the weapon. “It will be dark soon. I must get back to camp.”

  “And so must we,” Uhura said, rising and dusting off the seat of her pants. “Spock will kill us if we don’t get back before the sun sets.”

  “Wouldn’t that be an illogical reaction?” Maslin asked.

  “He would find a logical reason to justify it.”

  “That must be convenient. Sort of like having a selective conscience or memory.” He held out his hand to Uhura, and she helped him to his feet.

  “Come to our camp, Kali. We’d like to have you.”

  “I will try. You are a professional musician?” she asked Guy. He nodded. “Well, perhaps you will play for me. I like music.” She turned and started down the trail with Maslin staring incredulously after her. Uhura chuckled.

  “Play for her? Like I’m some sort of nightclub musician who’ll play for anyone at anytime. Doesn’t she have any idea who I am?”

  “No. Based on what we know about Klingon society, I’m quite certain that being a musician is not one of the more respected functions. Besides, you played for us.”

  “I played with those of you who were going to be in the landing party, and coached you,” he corrected as he took her hand, and they started back toward camp. “I’m used to being paid for what I do, and very well. A lieutenant’s pay in Star Fleet doesn’t cut it.” His jaw set, and his nostrils flared a bit with anger.

  “I thought you were beginning to accept your position on this mission, even to enjoy it.”

  “I’m intrigued by musical puzzles, but I still don’t like the way your captain impressed me into service, and I intend to go to Star Fleet when this is over. As for enjoying it …” He stopped, and placed his hands on her shoulders. They were at the base of the cliffs now, and the sun was a blazing orange disc that seemed to rest upon the face of the waters. “I enjoy you.”

  His mouth sought her, and she didn’t avoid the embrace. As they stood locked in each other’s arms the sun seemed to plunge into the water, and the sky turned a dark blue. The stars gleamed like white gems through ragged openings in the clouds, and below them at the water’s edge the cubs pushed up on their front flippers, faced the cliffs and began a soft and haunting song that cut across the music of their elders.

  Their heads jerked up, and the two humans stood mesmerized by the melancholy night music. Once more the elder Taygetians paid no heed. They just continued their song in sublime disregard of their young, who sang so mournfully below them. Maslin stood with his hands clenched at his sides, and his eyes glittered greenly with unshed tears. Uhura, too, sensed the longing and deep sadness inherent in the song, and she stepped closer to Guy. His arms went around her.

  “Sad, so sad. If only I knew what they were saying.”

  “You will soon. I only hope we can help them.”

  The last vestiges of light vanished, and the song ended. The cubs settled back into their nests, and prepared to sleep. Down the beach they could see the lights of their own camp, and beyond that the Klingon camp like a watchful eye on the hill overlooking the humans.

  The Taygetian song went endlessly on, and Guy and Uhura began to hurry for the security and warmth of the camp. The immensity of this new world, and the mystery of the song, oppressed and frightened them. Fred Ragsdale’s round face seemed a welcome sight as they came through the perimeter of the camp.

  Late that night Maslin lay quietly in his tent listening to the song. Uhura’s thigh was warm against his, and her soft breaths fluttered the hair on his arm as they lay wrapped in the sleeping bag. He shifted her to a more comfortable position, easing the cramp in his arm. She murmured something, then dropped back to sleep. He brushed his lips across her hair and allowed his head to fall back against the pillow.

  The song lulled and beckoned him, yet he feared this place with an unreasoning dread. The chorus softened, and shifted in key, reminding him of “Die Winterreise.” His arms tightened about Uhura, and softly, almost below his breath, he began the song.

  As a stranger I came here,

  a stranger I depart again….

  For my journey I cannot

  choose the time,

  I must find the way for myself

  in this darkness.

  A moon-cast shadow goes

  along as my companion.

  I will not disturb you in your dreams—

  it would spoil your rest.

  You shall not hear my footstep—

  softly, softly, close the door!

  As I pass I write

  on your gate: “Good night,”

  so that you may see,

  I thought of you.

  Chapter Six

  “Has Lieutenant Mendez completed translating the message that Lieutenant Uhura intercepted, Captain?” Spock had taken a folding camp stool and placed it at the mouth of their cove. From this vantage point he could watch both the Klingons in their hillside camp, and the cubs who were gamboling about and plunging in and out of the frigid ocean. Now from a position of relative privacy he had contacted Kirk.

  “She certainly has, Mr. Spock,” Kirk’s voice came back over the communicator. “And it confirms my suspicions that Kor has his hands full.”

  “How so, Captain?” Hearing the sounds of an altercation, Spock shifted slightly on his camp stool, and glanced back over his shoulder toward the small group clustered about Maslin’s CompuSynthesizer. Maslin and Brentano were squared off and shouting into each other’s faces. Spock almost interrupted communication so he could break up the fight when he saw Uhura heading out of her tent. He relaxed back onto his stool, knowing that she would handle the situation. He found human emotions confusing at the best of times, and he couldn’t fathom the instantaneous dislike that had sprung up between Maslin and the chunky security guard.

  “Spock, are you there?”

  “Yes, Captain. Something took my attention. You were saying?”

  “It seems that the lady is not reporting to her immediate superior on the planet. Rather she’s using a tight-beam, scrambled transmission to contact her husband.”

  “But why communicate secretly with Commander Kor?”

  “My question exactly. There’s nothing to give us any indication of the problem in the conversation we intercepted, but I would say the very fact the conversation took place supports my theory that Kor is not in full control of his ship.”

  “You suspect a mutiny?”

  “It’s
not unknown among the Klingons.”

  “Let us hope, for our sakes then, that Lieutenant Commander Kali keeps her husband well informed, and that he is not replaced by some less conciliatory commander.”

  “Believe me, I’ll be watching for anything out of the ordinary. I haven’t forgotten that we are outnumbered, and that the Klingons are vicious fighters. How are things on your end?”

  “Everything is progressing on schedule. Mr. Maslin is set up, and he will begin programming the synthesizer today.”

  “How long is this likely to take, Spock?”

  “Uncertain, sir. The fact that the universal translator was unable to fathom the song indicates that there is more at work here than mere language.”

  “You’re not comforting me, Mr. Spock.”

  “I wasn’t aware that I was supposed to, Captain. I assumed you wanted accurate facts, not meaningless reassurances.”

  “A joke, Mr. Spock.”

  There was a pause. “I see. Will there be anything more, Captain?”

  “Not for the moment. I’ll probably be down in the next day or two, but right now I need to get down to engineering. Riley’s been reporting some odd fluctuations in the dilithium crystals.”

  “Do you wish me to assist Mr. Riley? It would be most unfortunate if we had occasion to need power that the crystals were unable to supply.”

  “I would say that’s an understatement, but no, I see no reason for you to return to the ship. If it looks like more than a minor problem I’ll recall Scotty.”

  “Very good, Captain. Spock out.”

  Spock flipped shut his communicator, and replaced it on the back of his belt. There was a flurry of activity at the Klingon camp, but it didn’t seem to be directed toward anything coherent. The Vulcan shook his head, feeling strong disapprobation for the unscientific methods employed by the Klingons. He had little hope that their reluctant partners would contribute anything meaningful to the research, and he suspected that they might become hostile and obstructive if they thought the humans were about to make a major discovery. He decided to warn the security guards to maintain their vigilance, and not to be lulled by the peace and serenity of this world. Rising, he moved off to talk with the three men.