Lieutenant Uhura and Ensign Tekakwitha would already be at the library. Kirk left his room and took the lift down to the small lobby. As usual, it was empty, and for good reason. It contained no furniture, as if the hostel’s management wanted to make sure that no one would be tempted to loiter there. He reminded himself that he and his crew would not be on Tyrtaeus II much longer, a week or two more at most. Enduring oddities, irritations, and what seemed to be lapses in taste, would soon come to an end. Compared to some of their missions, this one could almost qualify as a vacation; he might as well take advantage of that.
The weather, as usual, was clear and dry, the air clean and cool. The Tyrtaeans certainly could not complain about their climate, Kirk thought. People [41] strode through the square, backs stiff, eyes gazing straight ahead. Tyrtaeans moved as if they had no time to waste and knew exactly where they were going; he had never seen anyone wandering aimlessly, and even the children he saw on their way to classes had purposeful looks on their faces.
Kirk nodded in greeting, as he always did, to the people who passed him in the square. Most of the Tyrtaeans ignored him, but two men and a woman nodded back, and two boys hurrying past actually dared to smile.
As he approached the library, he thought again of Myra Coles. It was rare to meet a woman so unconscious of her own beauty—so much so that he did not have to fear that any graceful compliments or friendly gestures on his part might offend her, because she simply ignored them. She never let down her guard, even when he gave her his undivided attention, but he wondered if she might be a woman with banked fires. She seemed more at ease in the company of Wellesley Warren; a truly cold person would not have chosen that congenial young man as an aide.
There was no place to eat at the hostel, but the Tyrtaeans had set up food slots in a small room next to the library gallery for the Enterprise personnel and any Tyrtaeans working with them. Kirk helped himself to a late breakfast of a hot, brown beverage that smelled of chicory and a bowl filled with a substance that resembled gruel. McCoy was just getting up from a table with Wellesley Warren; [42] the doctor muttered something under his breath and Warren laughed. The two men clearly got along; Kirk had often seen them together.
“How’s it going, Bones?” Kirk asked.
“My job’s done,” McCoy replied. “I’m going over to the Administrative Center to meet with some physicians, but that’s mostly to see if they’ve got any more local medical lore that I should know about.”
“And we’ve found those two journals by early settlers we thought were lost,” Warren said. “An old woman in Teresis—that’s a town near here—has copies. Myra sent me a message about it this morning.”
“Glad to hear it,” Kirk said.
“You and your people won’t have to stay here much longer. Still, we’ll be sorry to see you go.”
Kirk doubted very much that most of the Tyrtaeans would be sorry to see him and his crew leave, but it was courteous of the man to say so. “We’ll have to pay you a return visit sometime,” Kirk replied, just to be polite.
There had been many times, he told himself as he sat down, when it had been a struggle to keep himself from making a humorous remark that he knew the Tyrtaeans would take seriously. Dealing with such somber, earnest people, taking care not to insult them with remarks that might seem flippant to them while reminding himself that their blunt speech and expressionless stares were not intended as rudeness—he had been tempted to [43] order Lieutenant Riley to beam down just to see how the Tyrtaeans would react to his sprightly and irrepressible personality. The overwhelming conclusion he had drawn about the Tyrtaeans was that they just didn’t have to be the way they were, but persisted in their ways out of sheer stubbornness.
Uhura and Cathe Tekakwitha came into the room; the lieutenant nodded at him. The two women helped themselves to cups of the chicory-flavored beverage, then came over to his table.
“Good news, Captain,” Uhura said as she sat down. “We’re just about finished installing the subspace communications components. We’ve already started running tests, and we should be ready for the incoming subspace download this afternoon.”
Kirk heard the note of relief in her voice, and said, “Then our job’s nearly done.”
“Yes.” Uhura sighed. “I’ll be glad when this mission is over. I certainly don’t intend to offer any more musical performances before we leave.”
“Musical performances?” Kirk asked.
“Two evenings ago,” Tekakwitha said, “a group of us were walking back to the hostel, and we decided to stop for a drink at Redann’s Tavern. Then somebody—I think it was Ensign Marais—said that what we needed was some music.”
“So I went across the square to the hostel,” Uhura said, “to get my Vulcan harp, and when I went back to the tavern and started to play—” She paused, looking exasperated. “I never saw such icy [44] stares. Believe me, I didn’t play for very long. It wasn’t that anyone was complaining—they just stared at me without reacting at all.”
“Wellesley Warren was with us,” Tekakwitha said, “and two other Tyrtaeans.” She shook back her long, black hair. “They assured us that Lieutenant Uhura wasn’t doing anything offensive—in fact, they seemed as anxious to hear her play and sing as our crewmates were. Wellesley was very apologetic—said that people here just aren’t used to hearing music in a tavern.”
“Imagine not knowing what to make of music in a tavern,” Uhura murmured.
“I sympathize,” Kirk said with a smile. “I’ve had Myra Coles and aides of Aristocles Marcelli complaining at me one minute for any delays, and then muttering about their resentment at needing our help at all.”
“Tyrtaeans are obsessively self-reliant,” Tekakwitha said, “and controlling. They almost make a fetish of it.”
“I suppose that’s better than being weak and cowardly,” Kirk said.
Tekakwitha smiled. “I keep reminding myself that their ways aren’t our ways, and that we have to respect that. And Federation colonies have to be insular in order to develop their own cultures. When they’re more secure, they’ll reach out. The Federation’s strength is in its diversity, and we may have great need of Tyrtaean mores in time, what they’ve developed in their isolation from other [45] cultures—that quality they have of acting as if they have to stand up to whatever the universe throws at them.”
Kirk nodded. The ensign was not just speaking as an anthropologist, he knew, but as a Mohawk. Her own people had needed time to relearn their old language and practice their customs apart from the white European culture that had nearly overwhelmed them, and they were stronger for having withdrawn for a period. Too bad that the Tyrtaeans had to be so dull and dogged about it.
“Maybe you should have kept Mr. Spock down here,” Uhura said. “The Tyrtaeans might have found his manner more to their liking.”
Kirk was not so sure. Many of the Tyrtaeans might have found Spock extremely irritating after a while, a reminder that they, for all their restraint, could never be as controlled as a Vulcan. Spock had also implied that, for all their Spartan customs and behavior, he found the Tyrtaeans quite illogical for harping on the need for self-reliance when they so clearly needed Starfleet’s help. Resentment of the Federation for an unforeseen, accidental error seemed equally illogical to him. Sensing that Spock might prove to be more of an irritant than a balm to the people here, and knowing how curious he was about the object coming in from the outer solar system, Kirk had decided it was best to leave him in charge of the Enterprise.
Uhura took another sip from her cup, then set it down. “Well, back to work.”
[46] As she got to her feet, Kirk’s communicator sounded. He pulled it from his belt and flipped it open. “Kirk here.”
“Captain,” Spock’s voice said, “I have important news.” Uhura sat down again; Tekakwitha leaned forward. “The unknown object is still on a course for the sun. Our most recent scan indicates that there are life-forms aboard. They have not responded to any of the standar
d hailing frequencies. If the object continues on its present course, it seems likely that any life-forms aboard will perish.”
“Does it show any sign of changing course?” Kirk asked.
“None, Captain. I suspect that if there is intelligence aboard, it may have lost control of its vessel. Or it may be deliberately aiming for the sun—for what reason, I cannot conjecture. The object is too distant for us to do deep scans.”
“We’re just about finished here,” Kirk said, feeling a twinge of apprehension. “It’s time we took a closer look at this curiosity. I know it’s been working on your mind.”
“It is most intriguing.”
“Any ideas of what it might be?”
“I would rather not speculate,” Spock said. “There is a much better way.”
“And what is that?” Kirk asked, instantly realizing that he wasn’t thinking, that he already knew the answer to his question.
“To go and see,” Spock said.
[47] Uhura laughed softly. “Obviously,” Kirk replied irritably. He was in no mood for Spock’s version of a witticism.
“Not obviously, Captain,” Spock said. “I have seen too many human beings, both past and present, who seem to prefer guessing to learning.”
Kirk did not take the bait. “Guessing games are not on the agenda today, Mr. Spock. Prepare to investigate the object. Kirk out.” His communicator closed with a satisfying snap. He could hardly wait to be done repairing planetary data bases. Necessary as the mission was, it had gone on long enough; it was putting him to sleep. A real challenge was just what he needed now.
Chapter Three
MYRA COLES was just about to call Aristocles Marcelli on his private line when her phone buzzed. She opened the line and Aristocles’s recorded voice said, “I am requesting that we have a private meeting at my quarters within the hour. Thank you.”
As she closed the line, it became obvious to her that he was anxious, but she wondered whether that was the impression he wished to create or one that had slipped out of his control. So often had Aristocles Marcelli worked to keep her off balance that she could not imagine him losing any of his self-control. Still, it was possible, given the situation and the stakes. She would have to be alert during their meeting to any confirming clues. They would be crucial to her political survival.
* * *
[49] Aristocles’s house, at the southern end of Callinus, was an almost ostentatiously plain one-story building of wood and glass. He greeted Myra at the door and ushered her into a room furnished only with three cushions and a low wooden table.
She had brought a small bag of sewing with her. She settled herself on one of the cushions and took out a shirt with seams that needed stitching. No sense in recycling a shirt that could still be mended and worn; no point in sitting here and talking while her hands were idle. Some tools were laid out on the table, along with a small portable appliance Aristocles was apparently in the middle of repairing.
“I’m very curious about that object in our outer system,” Aristocles said as he fitted a component to the side of the appliance, “and I suspect you are, too.”
“Of course,” she said carefully. “I’m sure that James Kirk and his people will want to find out more about it.”
“We must recommend that they take a good look at the artifact, and share all their observations with us. In fact, I think it might be wise to have an observer of our own aboard the Enterprise when it goes out to meet whatever this is.”
Myra paused in the middle of a stitch. She had wanted to make the same recommendation. It bothered her that he had anticipated her actions, that he wanted the same thing she did.
[50] “This is our planetary system,” she said. “We do have the right to find out about this unknown object and what it may mean to us.”
“Exactly. I think that you, and one of your aides, should be a part of any exploration. Frankly, I can’t think of anyone better for the job.”
She drew her needle through the shirt, keeping her eyes down. She had intended to ask for that, too. All afternoon, she had been thinking of how to make such a suggestion to Aristocles, who was so deeply resentful at having any dealings with Starfleet, the Federation’s arm; but she had worried about playing into his hands.
And, she admitted to herself, she was not anxious for more prolonged contact with Starfleet officers. She had found her few past encounters with Starfleet trying, even though she knew that Federation membership was in her world’s best interests. The last Federation envoy to come here three years ago had treated her as someone he could not entirely trust. The treaty they had crafted together had preserved the autonomy of her world while leaving the way open to communication and closer future ties to the Federation. But forging the agreement had drained her, and many Tyrtaeans had seemed hostile to her efforts.
Aristocles Marcelli had won election in the aftermath of the treaty she had negotiated, so she had put aside her more self-indulgent feelings. He would try to undo everything she had accomplished if she did not stand against him.
[51] “We have our pride, you know,” Aristocles went on. “You have noted, of course, that James Kirk didn’t tell us about his science officer’s discovery until we brought up the fact, following the reports of our own observers. He probably would have informed us, but we can’t know that now, can we? Still, Kirk and his people did restore our data base. The least we can do to repay them is to offer to help in investigating that mysterious object.”
How disingenuous he was. Myra lifted her head. Aristocles shifted his slender body on his cushion, averting his eyes from her as he fitted another component to his appliance.
I know what you want, she thought; you want me on the Enterprise so that you won’t be contaminated by too much contact with non-Tyrtaeans, with people who have embraced all that our ancestors abandoned. You want me there if anything goes wrong, in case this object proves to be a danger. Maybe I’ll make a mistake in judgment, and give you even more reason to criticize the Federation and those Tyrtaeans who value our membership in it, who trust the Federation too much. That would strengthen your position, and might fatally weaken mine.
But perhaps she was supposing too much, too quickly. There was no reason as yet to think that the unknown object posed any danger, and it would be appropriate to have someone aboard the [52] Enterprise to look out for Tyrtaean interests. And she, Myra admitted to herself, was the most qualified person to go.
She was wary of James Kirk, the starship captain, a man too free with courtly gestures and compliments; his company, she grudgingly admitted to herself, could become too pleasant if she allowed it. Aboard his ship, her fate would be in his hands. She would have to make it clear—would have to remind herself—that her responsibilities to Tyrtaeus II were her highest priority. Nothing, and especially not her curiosity about the discovery, could override that responsibility.
“I agree with you,” she said. “Let’s settle on exactly what we’ll say, then ask for a meeting with James Kirk as soon as possible.” She wished that she could quiet her suspicions, rid herself of the feeling that she was saying exactly what Aristocles Marcelli had planned.
Their task was done, and as Kirk had hoped, nearly all lost data had been restored to the Tyrtaean data base. A few early historical accounts were still missing, along with some bits of folklore, but Wellesley Warren already had clear leads as to where these might be found.
Kirk had intended to beam up to the Enterprise from his room, but Myra Coles and Aristocles Marcelli had asked to meet with him in the hostel’s lobby. Perhaps they simply wanted to mark his [53] departure with some kind of gesture or ceremony, unlikely as that was for Tyrtaeans. Maybe they were only preparing to thank him and his crew for their efforts.
Kirk was moving toward his door when his communicator sounded. He flipped it open. “Kirk here.”
“Captain,” Spock’s voice said, “I have just received a message from Myra Coles telling me that she and her associates have requested a mee
ting with you.”
“I’m on my way to it now.”
“They have requested my presence at that meeting as well. I am in the transporter room preparing to beam down.”
“No reason for you not to be there, Spock. They’re probably planning some show of a farewell for us, and maybe they thought that my first officer should be included.” He hoped that was all it was, but his instincts were already telling him that the two Tyrtaean leaders had something else in mind. Asking Spock to beam down simply to go through the motions of saying thank you and good-bye did not seem like something the eminently practical Tyrtaeans would do. “I’ll meet you in the lobby. Kirk out.”
The door slid open. Uhura and Tekakwitha were waiting for him by the lift; since they had spent more time on the planet than almost anyone else in his crew, he wanted them present at this last encounter.
[54] The lift whisked them to the first floor; they emerged to see Spock standing in the lobby with Myra. Coles and Aristocles Marcelli. Wellesley Warren stood to the right of Myra Coles.
The four were silent as Kirk and the two female officers crossed the lobby. Even Wellesley Warren seemed uncharacteristically solemn. Kirk stopped in front of the group; they seemed to be waiting for him to speak first.
He cleared his throat. “I’d like to say,” he said, “how pleased we are that so little of your local data was lost. The Federation’s librarians and computer technicians have learned a lot from this mistake, and the Council has asked me to assure you that such incidents are highly unlikely to happen again.” He waited, hoping that the Tyrtaeans could bring themselves to utter a simple expression of thanks.
“You’ve done your job well,” Aristocles Marcelli said in a toneless voice. “That’s not why we wanted to meet with you. We’re concerned about that object that is now moving through our outer solar system, and strongly recommend that you go and investigate it.”
“That’s exactly what we were preparing to do,” Kirk replied. “One of our directives is to take the initiative in investigating unknowns, as long as another mission does not take precedence.” That sounded official enough. He glanced at Spock, who gazed back at him without expression.
STAR TREK: TOS #83 - Heart of the Sun Page 4
