Star Trek - Log 7

by Alan Dean Foster

  Thousands of watching eyes saw the distant explosion and reacted. From electronic pickups set strategically around the assembly area, billions more on Earth and on other globes also saw it—and all reacted.

  On billions of speakers, the aged but enormously respected voice of the Federation president, Samuel Solomon Qasr, sounded from a chamber on the moon: "In the name of the United Federation of Planets, for the United Nations of Earth, the Planetary Confederation of Forty Eridani, the United Planets of Sixty-one Cygni, the Star Empire of Epsilon Indii, the Alpha Centauri Concordium of Planets, and all other peace-loving, space-going peoples, I christen thee Enterprise!"

  Those on board the just-commissioned ship heard those words, but not the cheering of the construction crews gathered around them, or the comments and smiles and expressions of satisfaction on the world below. Though each crew member might have permitted himself a silent observation, of varying content and intensity, these were not voiced aloud.

  There was too much to do now.

  The Federation Exploration Territory was enormous beyond comprehension, and it was but a minuscule portion of this tiny section of the galaxy. Battle cruisers were too expensive, their personnel too valuable to be tied up on anything as wasteful as a shakedown cruise.

  It seemed there was a certain world on the present fringe of Federation expansion which desperately required the know-how and capabilities of a major-class vessel. April had his orders. The initial cruise of the Enterprise would be fully operational.

  Ceremony concluded, April leaned back in his chair, already a part of him, and called firmly to his helmsman.

  "Ahead warp-factor three, Lieutenant Nobis."

  It was four decades, forty long years since he had given that first order, April thought. He was still on the bridge of the Enterprise, only this day and this place in time he found himself behind the captain's chair, instead of sitting in it.

  Still odd, he mused to himself. Odd to be standing here, staring at the familiar—and always overpowering—panorama of stars depicted on the viewscreen ahead and listening to someone else making the entry into the official log.

  "Captain's log," the voice was saying, "Stardate 5536.3. The Enterprise is on course to the planet Babel, where an inter-Federation ambassadorial gathering is scheduled. Highlight of the conference is to be a ceremony honoring the Enterprise's distinguished passenger."

  Kirk paused and glanced behind him to see April still staring quietly at the main screen. The commodore's mind appeared to be elsewhere, but his eyes sparkled as he stared intently at the perfectly ordinary starfield ahead. There was an enthusiasm there that was often absent in officers a third his age. The superstructure might be aged and wrinkled, but Kirk knew the mind it housed was as keen and fascinated with the universe as ever.

  Every so often Uhura, Arex, or Sulu would steal a surreptitious glance at their honored guest when they were sure no one was looking. Kirk smiled. A little hero worship would not affect ship efficiency. Besides, he had to admit he wasn't wholly immune to it himself. He turned his attention back to the log. After all, it wasn't every day one had a living legend for an after-dinner chess partner.

  "Commodore Robert April," Kirk continued recording, "was the first captain of the U.S.S. Enterprise and, for the past twenty years, the Federation ambassador-at-large. Now seventy-five years old, Commodore April has reached mandatory retirement age." Kirk pressed one switch, activated another.

  "Captain's log, supplemental to entry of 5536.3. Said retirement age being a bureaucratic aberration—arbitrarily decided on by a cluster of smug civil servants without regard to individual capability or overall Starfleet efficiency—and a regulation badly in need of overhaul." He clicked off.

  "Nice of you to add that, Jim," April approved in soft, almost small-boy tones. "Do you really think anyone will ever pay any attention to it?"

  Kirk shook his head. "They had to pick a number, Commodore. How they arrived at seventy-five for everyone human is something I'll never understand. Instead of basing the figure on individual ability and performance, they simply—"

  April cut him off smoothly, soothingly. "Oh well. If they didn't have a number, Jim, then there'd be a blank spot on a form some place. And you know what that would mean."

  Kirk grumbled sarcastically. "The end of Starfleet, I suppose."

  "That is hardly likely, Captain. Nor is it logical," Spock observed from across the bridge.

  "I guess not, Mr. Spock, but neither is the mandatory retirement setup."

  "I never claimed it was, Captain. On Vulcan such things are determined with rather more regard to reason."

  "Perhaps it will all change in Starfleet someday, Mr. Spock," April mused hopefully. "Too late for me, I'm afraid." He turned his gaze forward again and was silent for a minute.

  "You know, no matter where I've traveled through this galaxy, Jim, this bridge is more home to me than anywhere else. I can't count the number of times these past twenty years when I've turned to give an order to someone and found myself seated across from some utterly bemused diplomat I was negotiating with. It's a wonder I accomplished anything for the Federation." He chuckled. "Most diplomats don't take orders very well—or even suggestions."

  "Probably intentional," Kirk observed. "If every one of you behaved reasonably and intelligently at all times, why then all our problems would be quickly solved, and you'd all be out of a job. No more diplomatic corps." April smiled knowingly.

  "But as far as this bridge being home," Kirk continued, "yes, I know the feeling myself, Commodore."

  "The Enterprise has always been like my own child, in a way," April went on. "I was there in San Francisco when her basic components were being built. I consulted with her chief construction engineer, Franz Joseph IV, on her internal configuration. I was present at the orbital assembly plant when they put her innards together.

  "When they tested out each newly installed component, whether warp-drive or swimming pool, I was there. The additions and modifications she's taken since are good ones. A ship-of-the-line has to be kept up to date, but . . ." He shrugged. "I miss some of the old-fashioned touches."

  "Nostalgia is notoriously inefficient," Spock commented, but so softly no one could hear. He knew an emotional observation when he heard one.

  The elevator doors parted to admit Dr. McCoy. He was accompanied by an attractive little woman who projected an air of supreme self-confidence and contentment. Her attire was current high fashion, all emerald green and black and bearing no relationship to Starfleet uniforms. Gray hair, unabashedly untouched, was done up in long taffy like swirls and twists. Even the single flower she carried seemed designed only to complement her. The colorful blossom had petals that wound in and about themselves in an intricate, delicately engineered manner.

  The last person in the room she resembled was her husband. Only one thing, besides age, linked them inseparably—both wore that same aura of composure and confidence like a coat of jewels.

  For his part, Dr. McCoy wore his standard on-duty uniform and an air of what could best be described as bemused pleasure.

  "Jim," he began admiringly, "I didn't realize until now how many of the instruments I use in Sick Bay were originally designed and first used by Sarah. Did you know that she cribbed the first version of the standard cancer monitor together out of some old medical components and phaser-monitor units?"

  The woman smiled demurely. "As the first medical officer aboard a ship equipped with warp-drive, it was always necessary for us to come up with new ideas."

  "Your modesty is unnecessary, Ms. April," Kirk observed honestly. "Your achievements as a pioneer Starfleet physician are well known and extensively documented. There are many doctors who cannot do what a medical engineer does, and a corresponding number of medical engineers who are ill-prepared to administer treatment. You're one of the few people in Starfleet medicine who ever managed to master the requirements of both professions."

  "And it's nice to know," McCoy added, "
that the doctor is as beautiful as she is accomplished. A beauty that's reflected by the flower she carries."

  "If your medical ability is as accomplished as your flattery, Dr. McCoy, then I know Captain Kirk has no worries in that area of Enterprise operations. I won't be impolite and ask if that's a quote—I'll assume you made it up on the spur of the moment." She smiled a youngish smile. "Please feel free to insert such comments wherever you think they fit into the conversation."

  Her smile faded as she looked down at the delicate growth in her hands. "I'm afraid, though, that my flower is dying."

  So many references to the flower prompted Kirk to turn to get a better look at it. "Let's see . . . botanical text, the Reddin catalog . . . volume six, which sector . . .?" Mumbling to himself, he thumbed the text. He located it quickly. "A native of Capella Four, isn't it?"

  She nodded. "The mature blossom has a lifespan of only a few hours. If you recognize it, Captain, you'll recall how brief the growing period is on that world.

  "This is an extreme example even for Capella Four, I'm told. When it was given to me this morning it was a bud barely out of seed. Within a few hours it will be dead." She paused. "It's one of the most beautiful growths in the galaxy, and one of the shortest-lived. What a pity." She looked up. "I know people like that, too, Captain."

  "Excuse me, sir," Spock said in the ensuing silence. "You asked to be notified when we made visual contact with the Beta Niobe Nova."

  "Yes . . . thank you, Mr. Spock." Kirk glanced backward. "Ms. April, you're about to see another of the galaxy's most beautiful—and, in astronomical terms, short-lived-sights. Its remnants, though, will last a lot longer than the petals of your flower. The Beta Niobe Nova. Mr. Spock?"

  "A moment, Captain, some precision focusing is required." They waited while the first officer made final adjustments at his console. The forward viewscreen blurred, then cleared, to show a monstrous eruption in space, an explosion of primal energy, of raw power—and only incidentally of blazing color.

  Yellow and white gases, mutilated matter, glowed at its heart, while at its edges erratic and undisciplined streamers of brilliant red and orange charged blindly into indifferent emptiness. In this isolated section of space, the depressing darkness of the universe was suffused with wild color and wilder energies.

  "Magnificent," Sarah April gushed.

  "Magnificent and deadly," Spock echoed, "but we are traveling at a safe distance from the nova, Ms. April."

  "Beta Niobe, Niobe . . . I've heard that name in connection with the Enterprise before." She looked up at the commodore. "Bob, didn't you read me a report some years ago . . .?"

  "Yes . . . you were present when the star first exploded, weren't you, Jim?" he asked.

  "We were, Commodore," Kirk replied. "I wasn't aware that in addition to handling all your duties and activities as ambassador-at-large you managed to keep track of such trivia as our day-to-day operations."

  April looked at once flattered and embarrassed. "It's not trivia to me, Jim. A part of me will always be on this ship, and the rest of me is intensely interested in what happens to it. Some of your reports to Starfleet headquarters read as anything but uninteresting trivia. As you know, your ship's log is always available to me—a courtesy Starfleet extends to former starship captains. I know what's happening aboard the Enterprise as soon as headquarters does.

  "If I recall this particular report correctly, you were trapped in a planet's past, about to be tried as a witch just before this star started to go nova."

  Kirk nodded. "One of our narrower escapes. For Dr. McCoy and Mr. Spock as well as for me."

  "I'll say it was narrow!" McCoy added fervently. "I was trapped in that world's ice age at the time. The only other time in my life I've ever been that cold was when our computer went berserk a little while back and turned the Recreation Chamber into subarctic snowpack."

  "Captain . . .?" A hesitant query from the region of the helm. Kirk looked over absently.

  "What is it, Mr. Sulu? Important?"

  "I don't know, sir." He looked puzzled. "I've got something moving toward us, at extreme range right now."

  Kirk swiveled. "Mr. Spock?"

  "No basis for identification as yet, Captain," the first officer replied, staring into the gooseneck viewer. "Vessel is no longer at extreme range, however."

  Now it was Kirk's turn to appear confused. "That was a quick change. Are you sure, Spock?"

  Both curved eyebrows sank as Spock analyzed several readouts at once. "Captain, the object is traveling at a speed nothing short of incredible. Presently on collision course with the Enterprise."

  Kirk didn't hesitate. "Sound red alert, Lieutenant Uhura. 'Nothing short of incredible' doesn't tell me much, Spock. Spock?"

  Crimson warning lights blinked on, accompanied by the appropriate aural blarings.

  "Excuse me, Captain," the first officer finally muttered. "You'll have to ascribe my hesitation to sheer incredulity. This object is traveling at a rate theoretically impossible for matter to achieve.

  "More specifically—bear in mind I have to override the standard settings, Captain—it is moving at a speed on the order of warp-thirty-six."

  The numbers cut through Kirk like a scalpel. "You're right," he finally confessed, "it is impossible. Mr. Spock, nothing can travel that fast."

  "I fear, Captain, that in this case you must redefine that observation. It is nothing, less one."

  "No natural object," April put in, "has ever been recorded as traveling at that speed—or at anything close to it."

  "Preliminary sensor reports, Captain," Spock continued, "lead me to an even more astonishing conclusion." He looked up from his instruments. "The object is an artificial construct. I must assume it is some kind of ship."

  Kirk pondered the information. When he spoke again, his voice was unconsciously hushed. "Who has the technology to build a vessel that can move at that velocity?"

  "Obviously, no known race, Captain," Spock pointed out. "Impossible or not, it will make contact with us in one point four minutes."

  There was nothing theoretical about the order Kirk gave them. "Hard over, helmsman, change course to a new heading, two full degrees to starboard."

  Even as he gave the order he knew that if this ridiculously rapid visitor turned out to be inimical, there was no way they could dodge or outrun it.

  The same thought evidently was running through his first officer's mind, because a second later Spock commented, "It is apparently nonbelligerent, Captain. It appears a collision was not intended, as the vessel has not altered its course to match ours.

  "If it continues in its present direction, it will plunge directly into the center of the Beta Niobe Nova."

  Was that it, then, Kirk thought quickly—a hurried rush to extinction, to suicide? Or was an unknown crew injured, its ship damaged?

  "Lieutenant Uhura," he called over his shoulder, "open hailing frequencies. I want to talk to that ship's captain—if it has one."

  A long pause while Uhura worked at her console. Finally she turned, spoke discouragingly. "I'm sorry, Captain. I've sent everything in its direction except carrier pigeons. If there's anyone on board capable of responding, they've elected not to."

  Kirk pondered. "Have you tried all the emergency frequencies, Lieutenant?"

  "Sir, I've broadcast on every possible frequency for every listed race, and a few that are only hypothetical. No response."

  "Vessel is nearing a parallel course, Captain," Sulu reported uneasily—uneasily because their brief course change was now taking them toward the raging nova instead of past it.

  "Increase speed to warp-seven, Mr. Sulu, try to stay with it as much as possible."

  "Aye, sir."

  "Despite our best efforts, the alien vessel will shoot past us very shortly, Captain," Spock declared.

  "I realize that, Spock." His voice dropped to a murmur. "It may be that they can't communicate—maybe their communications equipment's been damaged. Perhaps the entire
crew is injured. We've got to find out, somehow."

  "It'll have to be soon, sir," Sulu noted. "She'll go right out of range as soon as she parallels us."

  "Then we'll have to slow her down. Mr. Sulu, put our forward tractor beam on that ship as soon as it comes within range. Full power."

  "Is that advisable, Captain?" Spock wondered aloud.

  "It's more advisable than letting a possibly friendly crew burn to a crisp in the nova, Mr. Spock. If I were injured and aboard that vessel, I'd want any stranger to lend a hand. If they know what they're doing and insist on committing suicide . . . well, let's evaluate that possibility last of all."

  "It is not that, Captain," Spock protested. "I agree with you completely on the possibility that the crew may be incapacitated or that their broadcast instrumentation is damaged beyond use. If that is the case, then naturally we must do everything in our power to aid them. My worry is that we may overextend ourselves in doing so. I am particularly concerned about the aftereffects of locking a tractor beam on an object moving at such a velocity. To understate the matter, there could be severe physical repercussions. Such a thing has never been tried before."

  "Naturally not, Mr. Spock, the opportunity never arose before. It'll be history in a few seconds, whatever the result. Mr. Sulu?"

  "Forward tractor beam energized, Captain." A pause; then, "Contact achieved . . . locked on."

  "Any effect?"

  "Sir," Sulu responded after a quick check of his readouts, "I'm running it at maximum power, but the alien is still moving on the same course."

  "Tractor beam monitors report no damage to components or tractor bracing," Spock reported evenly. "No sign of dangerous stress apparent yet."

  It was Arex's turn to speak up. The quiet navigator made his first comment on the proceedings. "We are apparently having some effect on the vessel's mobility, Captain, if not its course. Using the parameters employed by Mr. Spock, it would appear that the other ship's speed has dropped to the equivalent of warp-twenty-seven."

  "Darn well froze it in its tracks," Kirk muttered. "That's some ship."

  That was when Uhura's excited voice commanded all the attention on the bridge.