Star Trek - Log 4

by Alan Dean Foster

  It was time to proceed with the utmost caution.

  On the Enterprise something had happened to the vision of the bridge crew. Or else something had affected the atmosphere in the room. Whether the thing was in their eyes or air, it caused everyone to see his neighbor through a faint haze. One couldn't judge distances, discern outlines; and whatever it was made the eyes hurt—and the brain, which had the responsibility of trying to sort out the distorted images and reconcile them with known memories.

  No one was having much success. Those who had not fallen from their seats were hanging on for dear life. The sudden displacement was not due to any violent shaking or tumbling, although a weird vibration was running through the metal underfoot and in the hull walls. Rather, everyone was experiencing an abrupt and disquieting loss of balance. Something was causing a gross distortion within familiar surroundings.

  Sulu had both arms around the back of his chair and was leaning crazily around one end, staring back in Kirk's general direction.

  "Captain, coordination's gone . . . dizzy."

  Even Spock spoke without his usual assurance. "Captain, we appear to be suffering from a sensation akin to mass vertigo. Remarkable."

  "Sulu," Kirk managed to mumble, "are we still locked into the same course?" The effort to concentrate on the weaving outline of the helmsman was making him feel sick. Somehow he controlled it.

  "I can't tell, sir," was Sulu's reply. "I can't read the instruments clearly. They're all running together. Running, blending, and . . ."

  As abruptly as it had begun, the strange haziness abated. Vision and balance returned with unnatural speed. Only the lingering queasiness gave any indication something unusual had happened.

  Spock, characteristically, was the first to recover. His gaze was directed not to Kirk or any of the others but to the main viewscreen.

  "Captain . . . ahead of us."

  Still feeling slightly ill, Kirk looked over at his first officer and followed his gaze to the main viewscreen. His first reaction was that somehow the two Klingon battle cruisers might have gotten ahead of them. But that was not the explanation. Oh, no.

  There were other starships ahead of them, though. Several starships. Dozens of starships. Starships of every age and origin. Starships representing every known civilization—and some unknown.

  Some looked so ancient it was difficult to believe they contained even the most rudimentary form of star-drive. Others were sufficiently advanced looking to boggle Scott's mind.

  All drifted motionless against an alien starfield, tightly packed, a chaotic confluence of uncounted relics in overwhelming numbers.

  There was unconscious awe in Kirk's voice as he studied the slowly shifting panorama. "It's a graveyard. A graveyard of ships from every part of the galaxy—maybe from Outside, too. Ships I've never seen before. Look at that one."

  He was indicating a monstrous jumble of spikes and pylons bound together by a webbing of translucent arches. Not in his considerable experience nor in the recognition tapes Starfleet issued regularly had he seen anything remotely like it.

  Nor, he ventured to guess, had he ever encountered anything like its unknown builders—wherever they were.

  "Where are we, sir?" a voice asked hesitantly. Uhura's.

  "I have no idea, Lieutenant," he said huskily. "I don't think we've traveled very far in space." He nodded towards the screen. "Some of those farther constellations looked unchanged. It's the nearer ones that look distorted. That means we may have traveled a respectable distance . . . in time."

  He broke off to stare at another vessel passing close by to starboard. It showed a more familiar outline—an interstellar cargo transport of a type and design discarded as obsolete some three hundred years ago.

  "If we check," he went on, "I'll bet we'll find that many of these ships are ones designated by history as having been lost in the Delta Triangle."

  "Where . . ." Uhura started to say, but Kirk had other concerns in mind.

  "Mr. Arex, can you give us any idea of our present spatial position?" Arex worked at his console for several minutes. Eventually the bony skull swiveled round on its thin neck and he stared back at Kirk out of deep, soulful eyes.

  "I'm afraid not, Captain. Our sensors are operating properly once more, but the star-field is not cooperating. I cannot place our position with any certainty, given the apparent position of the nearer stars. Nor can I pick up anything like a navigation beacon."

  Kirk was nodding. "I suspected as much."

  "An alternate universe, Captain?" Uhura wondered.

  "Perhaps something of the sort, Lieutenant. If we were in the same universe but behind some form of energy screen then we ought to be able to plot our position. But as Mr. Arex says, everything is changed around here. Same universe, different continuum—it's all a matter of semantics."

  Alternate universe, different continuum . . . amazing how easily the words came when you were presented with an astrophysical fait accompli.

  "Observations and comments, Mr. Spock."

  "I can find no fault with your evaluation of the situation, Captain. I would add a thought, however.

  "It must be remembered that many vessels which enter the Delta Triangle traverse it with no incident whatsoever. It would seem therefore that the contact between the two continua is erratic, the point of tangency shifting. In this case the gate remained open long enough for us to follow the Klothos in." He momentarily turned his attention back to a readout.

  "Possibly it closed before our pursuers could follow us on through."

  "I'm not sure they tried," Kirk ventured.

  Scotty added a heartfelt, "Aye."

  "Speaking of the Klothos, Captain, I've been scanning for her ever since we threw off the lingering effects of the entry." Sulu continued to probe the space around them with full scanners. "But there are so many ships here, it's near impossible to locate a specific one."

  "Stay with it, Mr. Sulu."

  "Yes, sir."

  Kirk studied the viewscreen. Somewhere in that sargasso the Klothos drifted, perhaps disabled, perhaps as intact as the Enterprise seemed to be. The Klothos, which had sprung a totally unprovoked, premeditated surprise attack on them, he found himself looking forward to meeting again . . .

  VIII

  At slow speed the Enterprise moved deeper into the swarm of dead ships—and dead they surely were. Not a sign of life or hint of motion from any of them.

  Every member of the bridge complement experienced related reactions to the sight of so many abandoned vessels, the thought of so many vanished crews. But for Chief Engineer Scott the experience bordered on the religious.

  Naturally the man to whom starships themselves were reason for existence was most profoundly moved of them all.

  "Sir," he told Kirk, his voice hushed, "there are ships here I've only seen crude drawings of. Pictures in museums. Ships I've only seen bare outlines of on the Federation's unconfirmed-sightings charts. Ships hinted at by rumors."

  Spock added additional information, his library working overtime. "Sensor scans have provided a rough approximation of the age of the metal in some of the hulls, sir—those hulls which are metallic in composition. I have already catalogued several whose base is plastic. There is also one of a unique ceramic-metal alloy and even one of wood."

  "Wood! Come on now, Mr. Spock!" Scott admonished. But Spock remained confident in the findings of his sensors.

  "That is what the detectors reported, that is what the spectrograph confirmed, Mr. Scott. A wooden starship. The hull was composed of a celluloid material of a density not believed possible in an organic substance.

  "As to the age, Captain," he continued, turning his attention back to Kirk, "while none of the vessels here have deteriorated, of course, there was sufficient degeneration of some material to indicate that many have been here for centuries. That may be a conservative estimate."

  Scott's voice rose in a yelp of sudden recognition. He pointed at the screen. "My Great Aunt McTavis
h's haggis, Captain, isn't that the old Bonaventure?"

  Kirk looked at that hulk. He had no question which of the myriad ships on the screen Scott was gesturing at.

  Among the alien helical, parallelopiped, and conic ships floated a metal shape much like that of the Enterprise, only smaller. Its hull was not as smooth, festooned with awkward-looking projections and tubes, its design not as sleek—but nevertheless, a powerful vessel in its time.

  Scott's voice was reverent They were looking upon a piece of the interstellar cross. "The Bonaventure, the first ship to have warp-drive installed. The first of us all."

  "She vanished without a trace on her third voyage." Spock spoke from over by his hooded viewer. "The crew's descendants could still be living, Captain."

  "Their descendants?" Kirk threw his science Officer a look of puzzlement. "But I thought . . ."

  "The vessels in our immediate vicinity are indeed dead, Captain. But there is a chance some of their crews could have transferred to other ships. Specifically, to the cluster directly ahead of us, from which I am picking up faint energy and, I believe, life readings. They are increasing in intensity as we move nearer."

  While Spock and Scott and Kirk studied the Bonaventure and this new possibility, the Enterprise was being observed on another screen.

  With its life-systems screened out, and nestled carefully into the melange of empty hulks, the Klothos waited like a trap-door spider at the edge of its hole—all systems poised, only its eyes showing.

  Senior Officer Kaas looked back from his station at the main sensor console. "It is the Enterprise, positively, Exalted One. Scanners indicate her shields are fully down."

  "Excellent!" Commander Kor viewed the hated silhouette on his bridge viewscreen with satisfaction. He still did not understand what had happened to him and his ship, and for awhile it had seemed as though nothing good could come of it.

  But now . . . "All hands to battle stations, quietly. Prepare to open fire on the Enterprise the moment she comes within range. Full disruptors—let's get her the first time, this time.

  "First Engineer, I want minimum motive power to the engines. Navigator, intercept course. And rotate the ship slightly. It is imperative that we resemble one of these derelicts as much as possible."

  Spock turned away from his loaded viewer for a quick glance up at the screen. His gaze started to turn back . . . and lingered. One eyebrow rose a millimeter. Then he returned his attention to the viewer.

  "Strange," he muttered.

  "What, Mr. Spock?" asked Kirk idly.

  "I had thought that the only sign of life here was in the cluster of ships lying directly ahead of us, but there appears to be . . ."

  Before he could finish, Sulu was leaning forward in his seat, staring at the screen. His eyes suddenly bugged as he recognized one shape in the crowded scene, and his brows went even higher than Spock's.

  "Captain . . . the Klothos . . . twenty degrees port!"

  "Sound red alert," Kirk ordered sharply. "All deflectors on full—phasers lock on target."

  "Aye, sir," Sulu responded, his hands moving faster than his reply. "Screens up . . . phasers locked on."

  On board the Klothos, sirens and horns suddenly howled in warning. Commander Kor shouted an obscene word, made a violent gesture.

  Every disruptor that could be brought to bear immediately cut loose with a tremendous discharge of destructive energy. The Klothos shook with the release.

  The wave-particle tide got halfway to the Enterprise—and the enormous charge shimmered and dissolved into nothingness. First Officer Kaas stared at his gauges with an expression he might have used if they had suddenly confronted a Kalusian sand serpent a hundred kuvits long.

  "Sir, I don't . . . our entire weapons system . . . it's frozen."

  Kor started to rise from the command seat, an appropriate comment on his lips—then there was a sudden crackling in the air. A brief whiff of ozone, the commander was outlined in a sharp flare and then he was gone. Utterly dumbfounded, the rest of the crew stared at the chair where their commander had sat seconds before.

  On board the Enterprise, Kirk had a brief comment of his own, directed in this case to the helm. "Fire, Mr. Sulu."

  "Firing phasers." It was the Enterprise's turn to tremble with the release of annihilating energies.

  Seconds passed before Kirk prodded Sulu. "This is no time for daydreaming—report, Mister."

  "There's nothing to report, sir," the dazed Sulu finally managed to blurt. For a moment he thought the sensors might have gone berserk again, but no, they were operational. But the readings made no sense.

  "No indication of damage, or even that the deflector shields of the Klothos registered contact. All instrumentation appears functional and . . ."

  A sharp report, like the discharge of an ancient projectile weapon, sounded on the bridge. Sulu whirled in time to see Kirk outlined by a radiant nimbus. It closed over him, and was gone.

  So was Captain Kirk.

  For once, Spock had nothing to say.

  The chamber conveyed a vastness of spirit rather than mere space. To a Terran it would have seemed more like a gothic cathedral rendered in pastel tones than anything else. A curved wall backed one end of the chamber, fronted by a raised dais.

  Twelve beings sat behind a sloping table running the length of the dais. Male and female, human, humanoid, and other—no two members were of the same race.

  A Klingon sat next to a Tallerine, who seemed tiny compared to the huge Berikazin on his right. Next to the representative of that warlike race sat a beautiful woman from the Orion system. An Edoan was near her, from the same world that had given Lieutenant Arex birth. A Vulcan rested at ease beside him. One could also see a Gorin and a human in the assembly.

  There were also three aliens representing races no one in the Federation would have recognized, for they were as foreign to Federation knowledge as was the Tetroid ship the staff of the Enterprise had observed here. Yet they waited in harmony with their nine spiritual brothers and sisters.

  There was an air of purposefulness about this place which transcended mere species. No seat was more prominent than another, no being of the twelve higher than his neighbor. At the moment an air of expectancy hovered over them, though none could say what they awaited.

  A peculiar electrical discharge appeared in the room immediately before the dais. The flickering vanished and a large simian shape stood there.

  Kor's reaction was typical of a Klingon warrior suddenly thrust into an inexplicable situation. He reached for his sidearm.

  The clutching hand never touched the handle of the pistol. A secondary discharge formed in the region of the gun and he stumbled backwards. The electrical shock he had taken was not strong enough to hurt him badly. The import, however, was sufficient to discourage him from trying it again.

  Near the center of this alien collage, a tall Romulan stood. His eyes were oddly sunken for a Romulan and his voice soft yet firm.

  "My name is Xerius." He nodded in a way that was unmistakably directed at the weapon, and his voice turned cold. "That will not be needed here, Commander Kor."

  Before Kor could offer the objections that occurred without thought, a golden cloud of charged particles formed at his side. He stepped hastily out of range of the tingling field. A moment, and Captain Kirk had materialized beside him.

  Kirk spared Kor a barely contemptuous glance. Other things claimed his attention.

  "My name is Xerius," the aged Romulan repeated. "Welcome to Elysia, Captain Kirk." Turning, he gestured at the exquisite Orionite woman who sat next to him.

  "This is Devna, our interpreter of the laws. She will speak to you both, now."

  As the woman stood, she cleared her throat—the first sign Kirk had that while remarkable, this place was not Olympus and its inhabitants not gods.

  She bowed formally, her gaze shifting from one starship commandant to the other. "Gentlemen," she informed them in clear, bell-like tones, "you stand now before
the ruling council of Elysia. Our nation, confederation . . . call it what you will. Our world without a world.

  "Representatives of one hundred and twenty-three races participate in our government Our existence dates back over a thousand Terran years. During this time these diverse peoples, many of whom were bitter enemies on the Outside, have learned to live together in peace. Learned to do so because they must.

  "Any act of violence is strictly forbidden here and will be dealt with swiftly and with utmost severity." This directed primarily at the scowling Kor, though she didn't neglect Kirk.

  The ritual speech ended abruptly. She smiled. "You are now each permitted a question. Captain Kirk?"

  Kirk considered a moment before asking, "Are we in an alternate universe, truly?"

  "It is not certain, but we believe otherwise," Devna told him. "This tiny universe has no stars or planets, though we can see many such. Exploration here has been most extensive. There is a barrier that cannot be pierced to the outer galaxy." Her smile grew wider, her attitude sympathetic.

  "Those who were first here have had much time to explore. The finite limits of our environment is one reason why all must cooperate. This place is best described as a pocket in the fabric of normal space-time."

  "A restrictive Elysium," Kirk murmured, but to himself.

  "Never mind all that," Kor broke in roughly. "How did you freeze my weaponry?"

  Overlooking his tone, Devna endeavored to explain. "We have among us many individuals gifted with psionic powers unknown to most races. On the Outside such people were often required to use their powers to exploit, terrorize, and kill. Here those powers are employed only to preserve the peace.

  "All our energies are directed to the maintainance of that peace. You, a moment ago, were attempting to break that peace, Commander Kor. We will not allow that."

  There was a significant pause while she stared at both men in turn, then a look at Xerius.

  "Pronounce the law," the Romulan intoned solemnly.