“I know. There’s something about this world that sort of gets to you. Well, good night.”
“Good night, Mr. Lindenbaum.” She walked into the darkness, and felt a tug of regret as she left the beguiling warmth of not only the fire, but the people as well.
She felt a surge of anger with herself for succumbing to the blandishments of the humans, but she could not dismiss it as mere playacting. There was something very honest and sincere about the Earthers and she found it a welcome relief after the hostility and hypocrisy that riddled the ship.
She found herself beginning to worry once more, but she pushed it away. For the present there was nothing she could do about the dangers which beset Kor. She decided she could best serve them both by relaxing, enjoying the peace of this new world and preparing for the next battle.
Using the darkness as a cloak she crept up the slope of the hill and, scooping out some sand, she wiggled in beneath one wall of her tent. In this way she avoided the five men who sat talking and drinking about a portable heater in front of the circle of tents. She had no desire to explain her absence to Quarag, nor did she feel comfortable being the only woman in the landing party. She feared that the liquor might arouse both hostile and amorous emotions in her companions, and as a precaution she slipped her disruptor beneath her pillow.
Pulling off her boots she slid, shivering, into her sleeping bag, and then lay listening to the song which wove mysteriously through the night sky. It seemed to speak of peace, and rest and harmony, and for an instant she felt a flicker of resentment at the circumstances which forced her to spend her life constantly armed, and constantly on guard.
She wrapped her arms around her body, and at last fell asleep dreaming that she lay safe within Kor’s arms, and that they both lay in some place far removed from the plots and politics of the Imperial fleet.
Chapter Seven
“Mr. Spock! Mr. Spock!” Donovan shouted as he and Chou came running into camp. Spock straightened from where he leaned over Maslin’s shoulder at the synthesizer, and the other members of the landing party dropped whatever they were doing and came hurrying to hear the news.
“Trouble, Mr. Donovan?”
“No, sir, I don’t think so, sir,” the lieutenant panted. “But we just saw the most incredible thing.”
“We were exploring a tidal inlet about four miles south of here,” Chou said. “Suddenly fish, hundreds of them, started throwing themselves out of the water and onto the beach. It was happening for several miles because we walked down the beach watching.”
“And then the cubs arrived,” Donovan broke in. “They all gathered around this carpet of fish, and began this strange song. And … and then wham!” His arms circled excitedly in the air above his head. “The next thing we knew the fish were gone!”
Spock thoughtfully tapped a forefinger against his lips, and eyed the two young humans. “I trust you made a copy of this song.”
“Only a part of it,” Chou confessed. “We were so startled that we didn’t get the tricorders on right away.”
“Let me have it,” Maslin ordered, holding out his hand. “I’ll run it through the synthesizer. Maybe it’ll help make some sense out of this gibberish,” he added under his breath.
“Interesting. Is it possible that this was part of some sort of breeding frenzy on the part of the fish?”
“No way, Mr. Spock,” Donovan said firmly. “I’m a biologist, and this resembled nothing I’ve ever seen. It was almost as if those fish were being yanked out of the water.”
“Good work, Lieutenant, Yeoman. Dismissed.” The members of the landing party drifted back to their various duties, and Spock crossed swiftly to his tent. Entering, he sealed the door flap behind him, and flipped out his communicator.
“Spock to Enterprise.”
“Enterprise here,” came T’zeela’s raspy voice.
“Get me Dr. McCoy.”
“Right away … oh, wait, sir. Lieutenant Mendez needs to speak with you.”
“Mr. Spock, I’ve either got a problem with the scanners that defies analysis, or there’s something going on on that planet that defies logic,” the woman said without preamble.
“Explain.”
“I was reviewing the scanner tapes taken during our first pass over the planet. I then checked the most recent tapes, and that’s were the problems began. Whole sections no longer correlate. Where there was desert I now get a reading for forest, and so on. I’ve checked and rechecked the scanners—”
“The problem may not be in the scanner, Lieutenant,” Spock said, cutting short her aggrieved recitation of the problems she had been enduring. “Two of our members observed a phenomenon which closely resembles what you are describing. Please locate the captain, and Dr. McCoy. I wish to speak with them.”
“Yes, sir.”
“What is it, Spock?” McCoy’s voice came over the communicator. “If it’s anything less than your discovery of the lost ship of the Agravean Emperor, I don’t want to know. I’m a busy man.”
“First, why you would believe in that fable, much less that it would be present on this world is—”
He broke off abruptly as a keening, agonized cry ripped through the air. It cut across the Taygetian song, marring the perfect harmony with its hideous, pain-filled note. Spock jerked open the tent flap, and rushed into the open.
People stood like statues, stunned and horrified with the sound. All except Maslin. He clutched at his head, and toppled from the synthesizer bench.
“What in God’s name was that?” McCoy yelled.
“Trouble, Doctor. Please get down at once. Mr. Maslin seems to have collapsed.” Spock shut the communicator and joined the knot of people who had gathered around the composer.
“I’m all right. I’m all right,” Maslin said, pushing away the supporting hands. But he didn’t look it. His skin was stretched tautly across the bones of his face, and he was white as a skull.
“What happened, Mr. Maslin?” Spock asked as he caught the smaller man under the arm, and helped him to his feet.
“I tell you I’m all right!” Maslin insisted again.
“I am not interested in the state of your health. I want to know what caused your collapse.”
Maslin stood shivering in the center of curious onlookers. “I’m not sure,” he said at last. “I was working on the synthesizer, trying to match resonances with the song. Then that….” He paused, groping for words. “That terrible cry came, and I felt as if a part of me had been ripped away.”
Spock stared at the musician, and considered what he had heard. What Maslin was describing sounded like a telepathic experience, but the talent was rare among humans.
“Mr. Maslin,” Spock began, only to be interrupted by a melancholy, dirgelike descant. The cubs gazed up at the crystal cliffs and sang a song of such pain and despair that several humans turned away, fighting back tears.
“Fit up a reconnaissance team, Mr. Scott. Somehow one or more of the Taygetians has died. We will investigate.”
“Aye, sir. It’ll be a pleasure to find what ever it was.”
“Probably those stinking Klingons,” Brentano muttered.
“Conjecture will not supply us with facts. We will rendezvous back here in ten minutes.”
There was a hum, and a sparkling of molecules, and McCoy appeared. He quickly surveyed the camp, ascertaining that everyone was safe, then moved to Maslin.
“What are you doing here?” the composer asked rudely.
“I was in the neighborhood so I thought I’d make a house call.”
“Well it’s not necessary. I’m fine,” Maslin said shortly, then swayed, and clutched at Uhura’s arm.
“Yeah, fine,” McCoy repeated and, taking him by the other arm, he and Uhura propelled Maslin to his tent.
Ten minutes later Scotty, Spock, Ragsdale and Lindenbaum headed out of the camp, moving quickly along the base of the cliffs. Spock lifted his tricorder, took a reading, then frowned.
“What is it
, Spock?” Scotty asked as, phaser drawn, he kept a forward watch.
“There is a group of five humans about two miles to our north.”
“Humans?” Ragsdale echoed.
“But how did they get here?” Lindenbaum asked.
“Let’s find them, and ask them,” Scotty said with a smile, but it was not a pleasant expression.
The two groups spotted each other simultaneously. Painstakingly working their way down the rugged cliff face were five heavily loaded men. Backpacks and bedrolls thrust above their shoulders, and shockwands hung at their waists. One of the men on the cliff glanced down, and saw the landing party. He gave a Comanche whoop, and waved vigorously. The men quickened their descent, and soon joined the Enterprise party at the base of the cliffs.
“Are we glad to see you,” a big, heavyset man called as he shouldered through his companions. His biceps looked like tree trunks, and his head seemed to sprout directly from his beefy shoulders. His small, pig eyes flicked evaluatingly over the men from the Enterprise.
“We’ve been waiting weeks for a pickup, but we never expected Star Fleet.”
“You can keep waiting,” Scotty growled, having taken an immediate dislike to the man. “We’re not here for you. Whoever you are.”
“Garyson, Max Garyson.”
“Lieutenant Commander Scott of the starship Enterprise. But what are you doing here? We had no information of human presence on this world.”
“Isn’t that just like that turd Ridly. First he maroons us here, and then he doesn’t even inform anyone.”
Spock turned to Scotty. There was a slight frown of aggravation on his chiseled face. “Forgive me, Mr. Scott. I have been remiss in my duties. The captain and I knew of the presence of the hunters. Commander Li mentioned them during our meeting at Star Base 24, but when we did not find them in evidence I confess that it slipped my mind.”
“It’s no real problem, Mr. Spock, but meantime what the hell do we do with them?” Scotty asked, jerking a thumb in the direction of the hunters.
“Hey, what’s going on here?” Garyson demanded, apparently becoming irritated at being discussed as though he weren’t present. He thrust out his chin belligerently, and stared challengingly at the party from the Enterprise.
Spock turned coolly to face him. “Captain Ridly was returning to pick you up when, regretfully, both he and his ship were lost in the space/time warp that now exists in this system.”
“Tough luck about Ridly,” Garyson said with a dismissing shrug. “But at least you’re here, and we can get home. God knows we’re ready.”
“Yeah, and it’s gonna be party time when we get back,” hooted one of Garyson’s companions.
“Say, what brought you fellows out this way if you didn’t know we were here?” a small dirty man with long stringy hair asked.
“We were investigating a death cry. We believe that one of the Taygetians has been killed.”
“That’s right, and we did it,” Garyson said, jabbing at his barrel chest with a forefinger. “Great big male, but the take was worth it. Thirteen tears.”
“You killed that creature?” Lindenbaum demanded, his normally gentle expression replaced by one of loathing.
“Sure, that’s what we come here for.”
“Mr. Garyson, have you been continuing your hunt?” Spock asked.
“Yeah, but about fifty miles from here. We’d picked over this group pretty well, so we went north to another large herd up there.”
“That would explain why we were unaware of your presence until today.” Spock paused, and considered how best to approach his next topic. “Mr. Garyson, you and your men are naturally welcome to remain at our camp, or aboard the Enterprise until our mission is complete, but I must tell you that all further hunting must cease.”
There was a confused and hostile babble from the hunters. Garyson cut it off with a slash of his spadelike hand. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“The Taygetians are not animals as first believed. They are an intelligent life form, and this destruction must cease.”
“You got proof of that, Vulcan? ’Cause I got a piece of paper here that says these critters are animals, and I’ve got a license to hunt them. Unless you can show me where the law has changed I’ve got my rights. And my rights included harvesting crystal tears.” Garyson spat neatly to the right of Spock’s boot.
Ragsdale gave a growl of fury, and lunged forward. Spook’s arm caught him across the chest. It was like running into a steel bar, and the security chief quit moving. “I do not have the documentation you request for it is our research which has established the sentience of the Taygetians. But I can assure you that the law will be changed once we return to the Federation.”
“You hear that boys?” Garyson, yelled, turning to face his companions. “He says our little gravy train is about to be derailed.” He turned slowly back to face Spock. “Well, if that’s the case I guess we’re going to have to move fast, and get what we can while we can.” His broad face twisted in an expression of disgust. “Before you government types interfere again with an honest man’s right to make a living.”
“You do not have the right to make a living at the expense of another creature’s right to live.”
“Until the law says they’ve got rights.” Garyson’s arm thrust up at the Singers. “I don’t have to respect them.”
“Then you refuse to stop your killing?”
“Read my lips.” He leaned in close to the Vulcan, and Spock drew back, his nostrils narrowing fastidiously at the sour odor of the man. “I refuse.”
“I will report your refusal to Captain Kirk.”
“Go ahead, and by the way, I think we’ll pass on your,” he paused and grinned, “hospitality.”
Spock turned on his heel, and headed back for camp. His spine was stiff with outrage, but he did not know what other choice he had. Garyson and his group were legally within their rights to continue hunting, and until a determination to the contrary could be obtained from the Federation there was little, short of violence, he could do to stop it.
McCoy snapped off his tricorder, and stared grimly at Maslin, who lay stretched out on his cot. “What the hell have you been doing? These readings are horrible. Your pulse is doing a cha cha, respiration and heart beat are up, white cell count—”
“Spare me a recitation of my physical failings, Doctor,” Maslin said, swinging his feet to the ground. “I’m well aware of them.”
“If that were the truth then you wouldn’t be pushing it. I let you out of my sight for three days, and I find this.” He shook the tricorder in the composer’s face. “If these readings don’t improve I’m going to yank you back to the Enterprise, and place you in sick bay.”
“No, Doctor, please don’t.” The sophisticated mask slipped, and Maslin looked genuinely distressed. “I’ll try to relax, but I can’t go back now. I’m just beginning to get a feel for the Taygetian song.”
McCoy sighed. “All right, but prove to me your good intentions by lying down now, and resting for a while.”
“Okay.” Maslin pulled off his boots, opened his sleeping bag and crawled in. McCoy started to prepare a hypo, then glanced back over at Maslin, and realized it wasn’t necessary. The composer’s eyelids had fluttered closed almost as soon as his head hit the pillow. He would be sleeping for hours. McCoy left the tent, and went in search of Uhura.
He found her at the edge of the sea with one of the Taygetian cubs draped across her lap and gazing adoringly up at her while she scratched at the base of its skull. He dropped down next to her on the sand, and stared out at the swelling ocean.
“How is he?”
“Not too good. It looks like he’s entering a flare.”
“I take it you mean the disease is flaring up.”
“Yes.”
“What can be done?”
“Rest will help. Just getting him to slow down will probably quiet the disease.”
“He won’t. Not voluntarily
anyway.”
“Then make him.”
“Why cast me as the heavy? You make him.”
“I don’t have your influence with him.”
She dropped her head, and concentrated on the way her fingers ruffled through the thick white pelt of the Taygetian. “I’ll try.” They sat in silence. “He shouldn’t be here!” The words exploded from her, and she looked embarrassed at her outburst.
“I think he’s glad to be here now.”
“Oh yes, of course. He’s got a musical puzzle to solve. A minor matter like his health won’t make him let go of that.” Her tone was bitter.
“I’ve never seen you like this before. Are you sure you can handle it?”
“Don’t fish, Doctor. I prefer to keep my private life private.”
“I’m not trying to pry, Uhura, really. I care, and if you ever need it, I’d like to help.”
She held out her hand to McCoy. “I’m sorry. I suppose I’m not handling this very well.”
His hand closed warmly over hers. “It’s a difficult emotion. We all fumble along the best way we can when we’re beset by the condition.”
“I thought it was supposed to be wonderful to be in love,” she said quietly.
“It is. It makes the pain of life endurable.”
“Even when it causes pain?”
“That’s what makes us human. Our ability to feel and experience.”
She gazed into his kindly blue eyes, considering what he had said, then leaned over and pressed a kiss onto his cheek. “Thank you, Doctor. You’re good medicine.”
“We aim to please.”
Uhura slid the cub off her lap. It tweeted in protest, then gave a shake, and flopped off to rejoin its fellows.
“You sure have a way with those critters.”
“Anybody could have a way with them. They’re the friendliest creatures I’ve ever encountered.”
“Sure would make it easy for the Klingons to move in. The little guys seem utterly defenseless,” McCoy said as they walked back toward the tents.
“I’m afraid they are, and I don’t even like to think about what the Klingons would do to this planet. I hope the Federation makes it a protectorate.”
The Tears of the Singers Page 11
