by L. A. Graf
"Yes, Your Glory. You are right, of course." The middle-aged Elasian lowered his face to the floor, his cheek branded coppery red where she had struck him. "I kiss the shadow of your presence."
Israi snorted and spun away, leaving Takcas glaring down at his subordinate. Uhura met the Dohlman's gaze steadily, their eyes nearly level across the pile of cushions between them. "You say you are responsible for this geologist," Israi challenged her. "Will you swear on your honor as a Dohlman that he will not sabotage our camp with his seismometers?"
A quick gesture by Chekov caught Uhura's eye before she could answer. The security chief held up his communicator, then pointed from Mutchler to himself and circled one hand around his wrist significantly. Uhura nodded acknowledgment. "I'll do better than that," she assured the Dohlman. "If you permit me to examine your charts as we agreed, Dohlman Israi, I'll make my kessh take the geologist into his custody. He will see to it that Dr. Mutchler takes his seismometers up to the top of the volcano and leaves them there." She gave Mutchler a warning look when he opened his mouth. "Is that suitable?"
The Dohlman cocked her head, regarding them with astute dark eyes; then her face lit with a completely unexpected smile. The expression warmed her arrogant mouth into something approaching charm. "Very suitable," Israi agreed calmly. "Even a geologist could not be stupid enough to try and sabotage Rakatan Mons."
Mutchler snorted, still irrepressible despite their combined glares. "Never fear," he told the Dohlman. "I'm the only one here who knows just how stupid that would be."
Chapter Eight
"OH, NO!"
Uhura stifled her groan of dismay as she scanned the Elasian astral charts. She knew that Israi had left the door open between her rooms and this outer annex where the mining camp's records were kept, and suspected that the Dohlman wasn't above listening in on her comments as she translated. The utterly lifeless quiet of Rakatan, however, carried Uhura's soft voice all too well. Ensign Murphy looked around from his post at the threshold.
"Sir?" His concerned glance fell to the yellowing sheets of ancient plastic spread under Uhura's fingers. "Is something wrong with the charts?"
"Not wrong, just unexpected." She let the Elasian charts curl back into their age-old roll and reached for her communicator. "Uhura to Enterprise. Come in, please."
"This is Enterprise." Spock's voice startled her, answering in place of her junior communications officer. The long time it had taken them to be admitted into the Elasian camp must have raised suspicions on the ship. "Is the landing party in danger, Commander Uhura?"
"No, Mr. Spock."
"Then hold for Captain Kirk. Spock out."
Thumbing off the communicator, Uhura rolled the Elasian charts open again in the hope of seeing something she recognized. Star systems freckled the oxidized plastic, stretched out of recognition by the perspective of an unfamiliar planet. Uhura drummed frustrated fingers on a bright star that she would have guessed to be Spica if it hadn't been too close to one even brighter. Maybe Sulu, with his uncanny knack for navigation, could have identified it, but Sulu wasn't here. Why had she let him go gallivanting off with Chekov?
"Dohlman Uhura." Captain Kirk's voice crackled with a mixture of impatience and suspicion, but his words were neutral, obviously chosen for the benefit of possible Elasian listeners. "What's the status of your mission?"
Uhura decided to give him the good news first. "The Elasians were a little suspicious of us at first, but they've agreed to permit Dr. Mutchler to repair his seismometers on the volcano. Sulu and Chekov are helping him do that now."
"And the star charts? Do they support their mining claim?"
Uhura frowned down at the yellowing sheets under her hands. "I'm having a little trouble determining that, Captain. The charts are written completely in Elasian."
Silence answered her for a moment, the hissing silence of an open subspace channel. Then Spock's voice replaced the captain's. "Commander, I believe you learned the rudiments of the Elasian language when we ferried Dohlman Elaan to Troyius, did you not?"
Uhura repressed an urge to tell him exactly how many years ago that had been. She knew that to the Vulcan, the correlation of time and memory meant nothing. "I learned to speak it, not to read it, Mr. Spock. The Elasians have no alphabet, only abstract pictographs."
Kirk snorted. "Not those things that look like someone pasted dead insects to the page?"
"I'm afraid so." Uhura ran her fingers across the faint line of black smudges that labeled the star she thought was Spica. "When Sulu gets back, I might be able to get some of these star systems identified, but that still won't let us judge the dates of their discovery."
Another pause, this time punctuated by the click of a closing channel. Uhura guessed that the captain and the first officer were conferring with each other. Then the contact clicked open again.
"Commander Uhura." Spock seemed to be using her title with even more than his usual politeness. Uhura suppressed a smile as she realized that was as close as the Vulcan could come to misleading the Elasians about her importance on the ship. "I suggest that you persuade one of the Elasians to read their charts into the Universal Translator so you can transcribe them into English."
Uhura glanced at Ensign Murphy, wondering if she would see her own doubts mirrored in his dark eyes. The security guard refused to meet her gaze, his shoulders tense beneath his uniform jacket. She took a deep breath. "But, Mr. Spock, can we be sure that will give us an accurate translation?"
"It doesn't matter," Kirk pointed out. "Accurate or not, a translation will give us something to check against our own computer records. And if their claim doesn't hold up—"
"It will hold up." The arrogant Elasian voice at her shoulder didn't startle Uhura. She'd guessed from the direction and intensity of Murphy's gaze that the Dohlman had entered the room behind her. What did startle her were the young ruler's next words.
"I will read the charts myself, and I will read them accurately for your translator." Israi's voice dripped scorn as only the very young could do. "I would not stoop to deceive a Dohlman served by such an inferior cohort as you command, Kirk-insect."
Kirk answered with a strangled sound that could have been either a stifled curse or choked-off laughter. Whatever it was, his first officer clearly judged it better that they didn't hear more. "Spock out," he said and slashed the subspace connection.
Uhura put her communicator away, then gave Israi a considering glance. "When do you wish to start reading the charts for me, Your Glory?"
"Now." The young Elasian pushed back her heavy sheath of gold-braided hair, eyes oddly bright as she leaned over the plastic charts. "Do you have ready this translator your cohort spoke of?"
"Yes, it's on." Uhura hurried to pull a small computer pad and light pen from her jacket pocket, so she could record the English versions of each star's label. Later, she could use the tricorder to duplicate the entire chart, but she would have to trust her memory to match the translations with the correct stars.
"Good." Israi pointed at the first line of dusky smudges on the plastic. "That says, 'Originally recorded during the eighth year of the reign of Dohlman Skuah, of blessed memory.'" She looked up, the expression on her angular face so unfamiliar that it took Uhura aback. "Do you know when that was?"
"Um—no." Uhura jotted a quick note, then glanced up again at the young Dohlman. This time, the eager way Israi met her gaze allowed her to recognize an emotion she would have known at once if she'd seen it in any human teenager. Uhura bit her lower lip and asked gravely, "Do you?"
"Of course." Israi lifted a proud chin. "Dohlman Skuah reigned first in the line of Kesmeth, founded after the rebellion of the Snake Clans. She ruled for nine years. After her came Dohlman Alais, who ruled for twelve years. Then came Dohlman Wywras—"
Uhura recorded the cascade of information, bending her head over her computer pad to hide her smile. There could be no doubt about it. Dohlman Israi, the absolute and sovereign ruler of her planet, was showing off.
If they hadn't been scouring every inch of Rakatan Mons's flanks in search of a one-meter-high square of geology equipment, Chekov might almost have appreciated this chance to experience the planet's relative charms. Although several kilometers up the same ravine that housed the Elasian mining camp, they were still comparatively low on the mountain—or so Mutchler assured them. Anywhere Chekov looked, the horizons ran too far into the distance to see. Water, a bright, reflective emerald, smeared into turquoise where it mingled with sky far, far below, and wild, exotic sweeps of land thrust cones of barren rock into the bellies of low-hanging clouds.
Or maybe not so low-hanging. Having the rest of a mountain towering out of sight above his head tended to distort Chekov's concept of distance and height. So did the slightly muggy quality of the local air—he kept thinking it shouldn't be so thick and warm at this altitude, even though the depth and speed of his breathing served as a reminder of how little oxygen was really reaching his lungs. He forcibly took his attention away from the landscape, and concentrated instead on getting his breathing under control before they started walking again.
"Are you sure you landed the shuttle at the coordinates I gave you?" Appropriately enough, Mutchler seemed the only one not affected by the oxygen-poor environment.
Sulu, hands clasped behind his back so that only Chekov could see the fists he clenched, nodded very calmly. "Yes, Dr. Mutchler. I'm sure." An edge unrelated to his labored breathing crept into the helmsman's voice.
Mutchler seemed to hear it, too. His young face flushed with embarrassment. "Yes … Yes, of course you are." He winced a little, and rubbed his cheek when an apologetic smile tugged at his swollen eye. "I'm sorry, Commander. I really didn't mean it like that."
Sulu nodded an acceptance, but Mutchler didn't wait to see it. Scrambling nimbly up a pile of what looked like blocks of shattered glass, the geologist craned to look toward the horizon with no apparent concern for the dirt and rips suffered by his black and gold clothing. "When we lost contact with this station four months ago, it didn't occur to me that something cataclysmic might have happened. But now I wonder if Rakatan Mons might have experienced some unexpected crustal movement along this gully." He scaled the top of the pile and jumped down the other side, only his tousled head showing above the jumble. "Or—God help me—a slump. I wish I'd thought to compare the last quarter's satellite maps before we came. . . ."
Mutchler's voice faded as he hiked another dozen meters up the ravine, and Chekov thumbed off the gravsled's repulsors to let the device settle gently to the ground. It sighed up a fine puff of ashy sand as it sank. "Does he ever shut up?"
Sulu shrugged, sitting down on the end of the sled and unfastening the clasp on his jacket. "Not that I've noticed." He motioned after Mutchler, but showed no inclination to rise and follow him. "Do you really think it's safe to let him wander off all alone like that?"
Between the warmth, the stuffiness, and the two hundred kilos' worth of seismic equipment he'd been dragging since they landed, Chekov wasn't interested in following Mutchler anywhere. "There's nothing on Rakatan but the Elasians and us," he sighed, scooting one of the crates catercorner so he could take a seat on the other end. "Given Dr. Mutchler's record so far, it's probably safest to let him wander off alone." He leaned back to rest his elbows on the crate behind him, but resisted stripping open the front of his own duty jacket against the heat. It would look too undignified, and they were still technically on duty. "Scientists," he grumbled.
Sulu angled a reproving look down the length of boxes at his friend. "And just what is that supposed to mean?"
Chekov glanced aside at him, then back after Mutchler with a shrug. "Just that scientists sometimes don't seem to have the sense God gave lemmings." He allowed himself the minor discretion of tugging at his tunic collar with a finger to let some air under the fabric. "Mutchler hasn't been planetside for five hours, and he's already nearly started a war. It makes me think we should confine scientists to universities and labs until they pass some sort of social competency test."
Sulu snorted, not quite an honest laugh, and kicked sand across Chekov's boot. "That's a very open-minded attitude for someone who spent his first year on the Enterprise chin-deep in astrophysics texts."
"That was different," Chekov countered. He shook his foot clean and moved it out of Sulu's reach. "I was a navigator then."
"And now you're a security chief, so you have to think like a football player."
It seemed a strange brand of insult, coming from Sulu. Chekov turned to scowl at him, and felt an unexpected stab of discomfort when he saw that Sulu wasn't smiling. He released his collar and sat straighter, not liking this turn in their discussion. "I don't even know what that means."
Eyes very serious, the commander studied his friend with an intensity that made Chekov's face feel warm. "I don't think I like what's going on between you and the Elasians."
The lieutenant pushed to his feet, suddenly unwilling to sit any longer, but not knowing why. "Nothing's going on."
"Oh?" Sulu stood as well, moving firmly in front of Chekov before he could even get started pacing. "Then what happened back at the mining camp?" he pressed. "A square dance? I thought they were going to kill you!"
"They're not going to kill me." Chekov stepped around him with an irritable wave. "We have an understanding."
Sulu fell into step beside him. "What kind of understanding?"
"I'm … not sure." Chekov glared at Sulu when the helmsman barked a laugh. "I mean I can't explain it. But I know I'm right, and I know …" The more he talked, the worse it sounded, so he just turned away with a frustrated growl. "Oh, it's complicated."
"It's hormones." Sulu caught his arm, and Chekov stopped himself from pulling away when he saw the worried line between his friend's eyes. "Everything about the Elasians is," Sulu said soberly. "Takcas and his men sweat enough testosterone to choke a Deltan, and just being around them has you so uptight I want to scream."
"I found it!" Mutchler's call from somewhere out of sight beyond the rock pile gave Chekov the excuse he needed to break eye contact with Sulu and turn away.
He was surprised, then, when the helmsman didn't let him go immediately, and he had to reach up and detach his friend's hand before returning to the waiting gravsled. "It's not what you think," he said in an effort to reassure him.
The helmsman grudgingly released him, but didn't look any happier. "I don't think it's what you think, either. Just be careful around them. Okay?"
Chekov couldn't help being amused by the unnecessary warning. "Always."
By the time they'd maneuvered the gravsled around the broken terrain to join the geologist, Mutchler had already pulled off the seismic station's door and disappeared halfway inside on hands and knees. The station itself looked something like a high-tech doghouse, with Mutchler's rump sticking out of the cramped crawlway entrance like the narrow end of some alien house pet.
Chekov eased the sled into position as close to the entrance as he dared without crowding the geologist, and Sulu moved to the other side of the small station to wait, sealing up the front of his uniform jacket as he walked.
"Ack!" Mutchler had been talking since before they were even in earshot, most of his words drowned by his tricorder's hum. "I expected the telemetry to be off—this station hasn't beamed data up to our satellites for months. But look at this!" He didn't even squirm out of the hole, just thrust some unidentifiable piece of machinery out past his shoulder as though the very sight of it explained everything. "This is going to take a lot longer than I thought."
Sulu leaned over the station roof to examine the little piece. "What's wrong with it?"
"Dust damage. It's supposed
to look just like the laser we assembled on the shuttle." Mutchler took the piece inside again, then reached out with his other hand. "Lieutenant Chekov, could you open that crate on the bottom and hand me the red attaché with the new laser sensor? And the cleaning supplies?"
Parking the sled, Chekov slipped an antigrav from along one side and fixed it to the box on the top of the pile. "If you didn't plan on cleaning the stations, Dr. Mutchler, why do you have cleaning equipment?"
Inside the housing, the geologist went very still. "Oh … well …" He became a flurry of activity again, moving things around inside with much bumping and clanging. "I wanted to be prepared, Lieutenant. You never know what you might find when you check up on some of these stations."
He was a worse liar than he was a diplomat.
As if hearing Chekov's thought, Mutchler pulled himself out of the housing so quickly he thumped his head on the doorway. "Please, don't be angry." He talked just as quickly despite the hand clapped on top of his head. "We just haven't had access to the stations for so long, and God only knows what the Elasians have done to them. We were afraid if we told you how long it might take to service them, your Captain Kirk might not let us use you for transportation."
Chekov handed down the laser with a weary sigh. "We're on the same side, Dr. Mutchler," he said as the geologist accepted the small device. "You'd be better off telling us the truth and saving your lies for the Elasians."
Mutchler jerked his head up from sorting out the power leads on the back of the laser's housing. "I haven't lied to the Elasians! Those neckless grunts just think everything's related to their alleged supplies of dilithium." He squirmed back into the housing with the laser clutched in one fist. "No one at the Johnston Observatory cares one whit about their stupid mining operations, so long as they keep away from our equipment and they don't interfere with our seismic data." He clicked something together inside, and grunted with satisfaction. "All right, that ought to have us running, at least …"
