Star Trek - Log 4

by Alan Dean Foster

  Korax studied his personal timer. Twenty-two kuvits had passed since the final warning had been given to Captain Kirk of the Enterprise. It had taken that long to assemble the forces necessary to implement the assault plan. Kirk would never be able to claim he had not been given sufficient time to think over the surrender terms.

  Now it was too late. He stood by the chief transporter officer of the Devisor and watched the first platoon of Klingon marines assemble in the transporter chamber.

  The sudden appearance of a large, well coordinated boarding party on board might not be a total surprise to the Federation crew . . . but it should have no trouble overwhelming any resistance. The supposedly peaceful Federation starships carried no such trained attack groups.

  He nodded to the officer in charge, who started to advance his men to positions within the transporter alcove. The officer took a step forward—and froze, gaping.

  Something was materializing, not only in the alcove itself but in the room. Several marines moved aside, hands edging nervously toward their disruptor pistols. Had Kirk decided on the same course of action as Captain Koloth? It seemed wholly out of character, and yet . . .

  The transporter effect intensified. Faint, huge silhouettes began to form. Abruptly, the effect faded—and every Klingon in the chamber recoiled in horror.

  Suddenly, the room was filled with giant emotionally disturbed tribbles.

  And in the corridors, in storage holds, in private rooms startled crew members were treated to the most unwelcome sight of tribbles abruptly materializing in front of them, behind them, and, in the case of one nearly suffocated dozer, on top of them.

  Scott kept a close watch on his console and a ready ear to the com. linkup with the transporters. Moving the tribbles to the Enterprise's transporters at first had looked like an impossible task, until someone had suggested a method almost too simple.

  All they had to do was have any human crew member demonstrate affection toward one of the furry goliaths. Whereupon, cooing and mewing like any healthy tribble, it would follow the coaxing human to any point in the ship.

  Scott's smile widened. The Klingons, of course, would be utterly unable to duplicate this maneuver. No self-respecting tribble would have anything to do with a Klingon. He didn't envy any member of the Devisor's crew who tried.

  Chief Kyle concluded this report at the other end of the com. Several stats were relayed to Scott, who surveyed them briefly, then looked over to the waiting Kirk.

  "Emergency Plan B complete, sir. Chief Kyle reports all transporting has been carried out as directed."

  "Open hailing frequencies, Lieutenant."

  Uhura acknowledged and seconds later the portrait of an as yet unruffled Captain Koloth appeared on the screen.

  "Captain Koloth, are you prepared to release my ship yet?"

  Koloth stared back incredulously. "Release your ship? Kirk, you are monotonous. Your ship's armament is completely inoperative and in a few minutes you will not even have the option of surrender."

  "That's not an option I require, Koloth," Kirk countered. "You don't know yet then, do you?"

  "Know," said Koloth irritably. "Know what?"

  "That we have immobilized your ship worse than you have immobilized ours."

  "I doubt that. Our instruments report nothing except some fragmentary transporter activity and . . ." He paused and a thoughtful expression came over his face. "You could not transport any weapons aboard, of course, and you wouldn't attempt an assault with armed personnel, but . . ." A longer pause now.

  "Kirk?"

  "Yes, Captain? What seems to be the matter? Are you feeling all right? If not, I'd suggest . . ."

  "Tribbles, Kirk?"

  The Captain's grin grew even wider. "Tribbles."

  Koloth started to say something, was interrupted as a Klingon junior officer entered the picture. The two conversed below range of the aural pickup for several moments. The junior officer spoke rapidly, punctuating his words with many erratic gestures. Koloth's face went through a repertoire of expressions surprising even for a Klingon. When the junior officer had left the picture, the Devisor's commander turned slowly back to face the screen.

  "Kirk, I am compelled by circumstances to reveal an Imperial scientific secret. When the full report of this incident is known, I shall probably be chastised for it. I may be broken. But under the circumstances I see no alternative.

  "Cyrano Jones stole a Klingon genetic construct—an artificially produced creature—from one of our worlds. It was designed to be a tribble predator. It is the prototype, and the only one to survive many hundreds of attempts at cross-breeding.

  "We must have it back. I am authorized to use any means to secure its return. I hope that includes imparting this sensitive information to you. The Imperium is willing to chance war to gain its return."

  "Surely you don't expect me to believe you can't produce others?"

  "That is precisely the situation, Kirk." A hint of desperation had crept into Koloth's voice. No talk of surrender now. "I am told that the production of this first success cannot be duplicated. Apparently its creation was as much the result of chance as careful planning.

  "This specimen can, however, reproduce by asexual division. We must have it in order to produce others from it. And we need those to get rid of the tribbles Jones disposed of before they completely overrun the world on which he left them."

  "And that's all you want—the predator?" Kirk asked.

  Koloth gathered himself. "I am prepared to forgo my demand for the return of Jones. But we must have the glommer."

  "Oh well," Kirk replied easily, "if that's all." He glanced back. "Mr. Scott, instruct Chief Kyle to transport the glommer over to the Devisor. We do have the glommer?"

  "Aye, sir. Mr. Jones recovered it himself as we were drivin' the tribbles to the transporters."

  Two security guards hustled Jones along between them some minutes later. He seemed somewhat reluctant to part with "his" glommer. It nestled under one of his arms. He was looking around wildly. His gaze finally settled on Scott, who had come down to join Kyle for the crucial transfer.

  "You can't do this to me! Under space salvage laws it's mine." He stroked the glommer possessively and it growled softly once.

  Scott sounded tried. "As you well know, a planetary surface is not exactly covered by free-space salvage statutes. But if it's a matter of sentimental attachment, that might put a different light on things, Jones."

  The trader looked hopeful.

  "If you're that attached to the little beastie, I wouldn't dream of separatin' the two of you."

  Jones looked wary, but still hopeful. "And that is the case, Mr. Scott." He stroked it again, made babying noises at it. "I couldn't bear to be parted from my little glommer, after all we've gone through together. It's almost like a child to me, a part of my own self!"

  "I understand," Scott confessed. "So . . . we'll transport you over with it."

  "Given the current situation and in the interests of interstellar cooperation," Jones said at breakneck speed, "I withdraw my claim."

  Without shedding so much as a tear, Jones put the glommer in the transporter, backed out. Scott nodded to Kyle, who engaged the transporter.

  On the bridge, Kirk noted the subsidence of the stasis field concurrent with the glommer's transporting. Resumption of full power was suitably detailed by Sulu and Arex. Almost immediately thereafter, the Devisor was seen moving away at high speed.

  Kirk watched it go, feeling better than he had in some time. "At least we can submit a detailed report on the stasis weapon . . . and although something will have to be found as a defense against it, it's far from being a superweapon. The power drain makes it vulnerable to a second ship. It's main value is in convincing us of its omnipotence, and we've exploded that possibility."

  "Quite so, Captain," commented Spock thoughtfully. "Tribbles appear to be a much more effective weapon."

  There was a buzz from his chair com. and he acknowledged.
"Yes?"

  McCoy here, Jim. I'd like you and Spock to come down to the lab. I've made an interesting discovery."

  After assuring himself that the Devisor was too far away to catch them even at top pursuit speed, Kirk took Spock and made his way down to Sick Bay.

  Moments later they found themselves examining the single giant tribble Bones had saved for experimental purposes. It sat behind a glass wall and munched happily on leftovers from the third shift's lunch.

  "You see, Jim, Jones' genetic engineering was very slipshod. He fooled us at first but it's doubtful he could have hidden the truth forever. These tribbles don't reproduce, just as he claimed . . . when they're normal sized.

  "But because he didn't slow their metabolism permanently, his secret would reveal itself eventually. These aren't giant tribbles . . . they're cooperative colonies. Like our coral, for example, only softer."

  "Then that means . . ." Kirk began, staring at the hulking yellow tribble, "that . . ."

  McCoy nodded silently.

  Both of Spock's eyebrows went up.

  On board the Devisor, Koloth was heading for the engine room. He was holding the glommer and stroking it gently. Since glommers shared their disposition, they didn't dislike Klingons. A frantic, excited Korax met him in the passageway.

  "Captain, report from Chief Engineer Kurr. His people have had to evacuate the engine room and operate the ship on automatic because the main engine chamber is filled with tribbles."

  "I know," Koloth replied with a vicious smile. "We can finally do something about that. Then we're going back after the Enterprise."

  "But sir . . ." Korax was desperately trying to add something, but Koloth waved him off.

  "You'll see, Korax."

  Together, they approached the access door to the main engine room. While Korax stood back doubtfully, Koloth put the glommer on the deck opposite the door. Stepping back, he activated the door and focused his attention on the poised glommer.

  In fact, his attention was so focused on the glommer that he did not notice the sudden alteration of his first officer's expression, nor what had caused it.

  He spoke directly to the glommer. "Attack!"

  The glommer seemed to lean back. And back . . . and back. It gave a funny little shake, turned and rocketed off down the corridor in a series of olympian hops, making a sound like a dog with empty tin cans tied to its tail.

  Koloth abruptly grew aware of another sound, a low, rhythmic rumbling which a Terran would have likened to an idling locomotive. To Koloth it sounded like approaching thunder.

  The captain turned quickly, backed away from the source of that deep-throated pulsing. It was horrible, it was ghastly . . .

  It was the angry mewing of a two-ton tribble that filled the Devisor's engine room from floor to ceiling.

  "He did it again," he swore. "That plated, overbearing excuse for a starship captain did it to us again!" He jabbed a finger at the growling colossus.

  In such an emotional moment, even an Imperial board of inquiry would find reasons for absolving Koloth for an instinctive reaction.

  Korax didn't stop to think, either. Instead, he whipped out his disruptor pistol and fired with admirable speed. The miniature bolts from the powerful hand weapon contacted the furry yellow wall. A bright flash temporarily blinded both officers.

  Koloth felt the new pressure at his legs and waist even before vision returned. He tried to move . . . first to his right, then left, forward and back. No luck. He was thoroughly pinned in place by . . . something.

  Another blink cleared his eyes and revealed the reason.

  The entire corridor—all the way from the nearest bend to the depths of the engine room—was now hip deep in tribbles. Not giant tribbles but large normal tribbles. Very large normal tribbles.

  Tribbles didn't like Klingons.

  "Let us not panic, Korax," instructed Koloth. He was calm, he told himself. Quite calm. "Let us try to move one step at a time toward the nearest exit."

  Both men tried to move, found that even the slightest attempt produced a frightening rise in the volume of mewing around them.

  "I don't seem to be making any progress, Exalted One. Should I . . .?" He held up his disruptor pistol.

  "Put that away, you idiot!" Koloth cursed . . . but softly, softly. "Don't ever do that again. I'll break you to sanitation engineer . . . twelfth class."

  "Yes, sir," said an abashed Korax, suddenly aware of what he had been about to do. He put the pistol away slowly. Both officers stood in the sea of nervous tribbles and stared at each other.

  After several long minutes, Korax ventured to ask, "What now, Exalted One?"

  "Now, Korax? We wait till we are rescued, of course. I don't know what else to do. Have you any brilliant suggestions, perhaps?"

  "No, sir. There's just one thing."

  "Well, what is it?"

  The first officer of the Devisor looked down.

  "Either we're shrinking, sir, or these tribbles are getting bigger."

  Koloth made a strangled sound . . .

  Kirk, Spock, Scott and Jones stood in the lab and watched the giant tribble shiver while McCoy explained what was happening.

  "A simple shot of neo-ethylene fixes everything, gentlemen. The catalyst drug induces the tribble colony to break down into its individual smaller units . . . but also enables them to retain their engineered metabolic stability. These really will be safe tribbles."

  Even as he spoke, the oversized tribble was rapidly collapsing into dozens of little, normal tribbles . . . like a big fuzzy ice cube melting into chunks.

  "What about the Klingons?" asked Jones.

  McCoy thought a moment, spoke slowly. "Unless they discover how to treat their tribbles—and do so soon—the Devisor isn't going to be big enough for all of them. Even if they do so, of course, the smaller tribbles will still retain their dislike of Klingons."

  Kirk turned to leave, stopped as he spotted something up near a Jeffries tube. "Say, here's one you didn't get, Bones."

  McCoy came over, glanced up the tube also. "Yes, I did, Jim." He turned to inspect one of the small tribbles, let it crawl up his arm, purring.

  "But it hasn't . . ." Kirk began. He was drowned out by a loud, muffled flumpppp! as the hidden giant colony suddenly dissolved into hundreds of component tribbles.

  Kirk dug himself out of the mound of cooing, pulsing balls, spat out a mouthful of tribble fur and gazing imploringly heavenward.

  "Someday I'll learn," he murmured solemnly.

  "Aye, Captain," agreed Scotty, standing nearby and observing the talus of the hirsute avalanche. "But you've got to admit, if we have to have tribbles, it's best if all our tribbles are little ones . . ."

  The orange tribble that Kirk threw mewed indignantly as it bounced off the chief engineer's retreating back . . .

  Table of Contents

  CONTENTS

  PART I: THE TERRATIN INCIDENT

  I

  II

  III

  IV

  V

  VI

  PART II: TIME TRAP

  VII

  VIII

  IX

  X

  PART III: MORE TRIBBLES, MORE TROUBLE

  XI

  XII

  XIII