STAR TREK: TOS #12 - Mutiny on the Enterprise

by Robert E. Vardeman

  “Of course, Captain.” Spock sounded almost indignant. “I would never take time from duty to work on a personal project such as this.”

  Kirk shook his head and settled into the command seat. During the three weeks since leaving Starbase One, the Enterprise had functioned perfectly. Only the presence of the diplomats aboard shattered routine. And Ambassador Zarv did all he could to make everyone in the crew feel as if they were personally responsible for preventing him from reaching Ammdon and the peace conference. Kirk had spoken with Donald Lorritson about the ambassador’s attitude, but Lorritson had offered little consolation.

  “Ambassador Zarv,” he’d said, “is a man obsessed. He sees the danger in any war in the Orion Arm. If the Romulans intervene, we either lose all contact with the free planets scattered along the arm or we launch an interstellar war. Zarv is an adroit negotiator, one of the best in the Federation. Just put up with him for a few more days.”

  Kirk hadn’t liked the suggestion but had no other course of action. The ambassador’s constant harping on the [19] slowness of the ship distracted the crew from their duties and reinforced the anger at not being allowed shore leave.

  “Mr. Spock, since this is a relatively unmapped region of space we’re crossing, have all the appropriate crew make accurate records for future use. The Enterprise ought to be more than a taxi service, after all. When we return to Starbase One, I want to show Admiral McKenna complete charts of our course.”

  “The mapping is already under way, Captain. I took the liberty of ordering it to keep the crew occupied.”

  “Good.” Kirk slumped back in the command seat, eyes dancing from one control console to the next. Sulu’s work at the helm was precise, perfect. But then there was scant reason for it to be anything else. Besides being capable, the Oriental helmsman had little to do. The course had been locked in and then forgotten. Only dreary, gas-cloud-littered space reached out in all directions from the ship. Pavel Chekov took the time to make practice runs with the phaser crew, shaving fractions of seconds off their response time. Spock worked with his computer. Uhura daydreamed, her services as communications officer unneeded for at least another week. Even then, contact with Ammdon would be by the book and routine.

  Routine. All around him was nothing but routine. And he was bored.

  The flashing of alarm lights and the siren running up and down the scale jerked him away from his thoughts.

  “Spock, report!” he snapped.

  “Unidentified vessel off the port side, Captain.”

  “No voice or visual contact, sir,” came Uhura’s quick words.

  “Deflector shields at one-half power.”

  “Aye, aye, sir.” Chekov quickly changed from drill to reality. “What about phasers, sir?”

  [20] “Power up, but hold your fire.”

  “Captain, the ship is adrift, powerless, a derelict. But I detect faint life-form readings. Correction, I detect one life form of an unusual nature.”

  “Explain.”

  Spock looked up from his scope and shook his head. “I cannot. The life-form reading does not conform to any recorded in our data banks. Also, the ship design is unknown.”

  “Sulu, plot a vector parallel to the derelict.” Kirk stabbed one of the com buttons on his seat arm. “Transporter, ready to beam aboard one life form of unknown species.” Another quick jab of the com button. “Dr. McCoy to the transporter room. Bring full alien medic gear.” Before McCoy could respond, Kirk had punched several more command buttons.

  He reveled in the action. He wasn’t bored any longer. The Enterprise’s mission wasn’t to ferry obnoxious diplomats; it was to explore the unknown, to find and contact new life forms.

  “This mission might actually prove worthwhile,” he said, more to himself than anyone else.

  The opening and closing of the turboelevator door behind him gave him a few seconds to prepare for the verbal onslaught he knew was coming.

  “Kirk, what’s the meaning of this outrage?” bellowed Zarv. “We can’t take the time to go scurrying off to poke into odd corners. Ammdon and Jurnamoria are at each other’s throats now. I need to be there to stop them. I need to be there to stop the Romulans!”

  “Ambassador Zarv,” Kirk said, his voice low and calm, “we cannot abandon that ship. You, as a Federation expert on space law, ought to know that a distress signal takes precedence over any other mission. Any other one.”

  “Distress signal? What distress signal? Was there any [21] radio communication?” Zarv turned and poked a chubby hand at Uhura. “You there. What signal?”

  “A life-form reading is sufficient for a rescue mission, Captain,” Spock pointed out. “We are in the process of beaming the sole survivor of this disaster aboard.”

  “He might carry a space plague. We might all die. Then I’d never reach Ammdon. By the Antares Maelstrom, I’ve got feebleminded peasants all around me. All around!” The ambassador threw his stubby arms in the air and stalked off the bridge.

  “Mr. Spock, let’s see what we’ve beamed aboard. Mr. Chekov, you have the conn.”

  In the transporter room, Dr. McCoy already bent over a tiny form. All Kirk saw was a light fluttering of a diaphanous sea-green material until he moved around for a better look.

  The woman’s eyes fluttered open and locked on his. James Kirk took an involuntary step forward, his hand lifting to reach out to her.

  “She’s in shock, Jim. I think.”

  “What, Bones? Oh, yes. Shock. Aren’t you certain?”

  “I’m only a doctor, not a mind reader. Outwardly, she looks human enough.”

  “I’ll say.”

  “But look at the medical tricorder readings.” He held up the device for Kirk’s inspection. The flashing lights all indicated severe problems—for a human. “She’s alive, and she shouldn’t be. Heavy radiation exposure, yet she’s alive. No indication of a significant metabolic rate, yet she’s warm.”

  “Warm,” Kirk said in a distracted tone. His eyes never left hers. A tiny smile curled at the edges of her lips and a light blush graced her cheeks. “She’s lovely.”

  “Help me get her to sick bay. Maybe I can find out more then.”

  [22] “There is no need, Dr. McCoy,” she said. Her voice came light and airy, a spring breeze caressing tall pines. “While I am not entirely healthy, I shall live.”

  “How is it you speak our language?” McCoy demanded. “I checked your bioreadings through the ship’s computer, and the Federation has never found a race such as yours.”

  “I ... learn languages quickly. All languages.” She sat up, smoothing the thin gown about her slight figure. She leaned forward and looked once again into Kirk’s eyes. “The spoken languages are the easiest to master. The unspoken ones are much more difficult.”

  “What happened to your ship?” Kirk managed to ask.

  She shrugged. “A mechanical malfunction. The crew all perished. I know little of starships. I am a Speaker.”

  “A speaker? From what planet?”

  “I am native to Hyla.”

  Kirk looked up at Spock, who shook his head. “That planet’s unknown to us. Can you give us more information about it?”

  “Certainly, though my knowledge of location is limited. I have been alone aboard the Sklora for almost two months. During much of that time, our engines fired at random. When the fuel ran out, the Sklora continued on its last vector.”

  “So you don’t know where Hyla is?”

  “I do not know where we are now.”

  “Jim, dammit, can’t you see she’s been through a lot? Stop grilling her like she was a spy: I need to do a full bio on her.”

  “Please, Doctor, believe me when I state I am relatively uninjured. I am in no danger.”

  Her gaze again went to Kirk.

  “Do you have a name?” the captain asked. “Calling you Speaker seems a bit ... distant.”

  [23] “Yet these friends of yours call you Captain.” She smiled and took any sting from the wor
ds. “We do not have names such as McCoy and Spock and Kirk.”

  “So we call you Speaker.”

  She smiled, and Kirk almost melted in its radiance. “Call me Lorelei.”

  Chapter Two

  Captain’s Log, Stardate 4801.4

  The trip so far has been routine, except for the rescue of Lorelei, Speaker of Hyla. Spock has examined our computer records carefully and has found no indication such a planet exists. However, McCoy is certain Lorelei’s biopatterns are approximately Terra norm. The differences that do exist do not preclude her from breathing our atmospheric mix or eating our food. She is a striking woman, intelligent, pretty and possessing some undefinable quality I find compelling.

  I wish Ambassador Zarv had a fraction of this charm.

  Fat blue sparks arced from the control panel to the terminals on the warp engines. One technician was caught [25] between. The smell of burned flesh permeated the engine room even as his agonized screams died to soft moans.

  “Get McCoy down here on the double,” Scotty yelled. “The engines. Cut back on power ten percent. You, McConel, get the lead out. I need a computer readin’ before shuttin’ down entirely.”

  The red-haired crew chief hurried about her mission while Scott gently moved the injured technician away from the short circuit. The engineering officer was oblivious to the sparks just fractions of an inch above his head as he grabbed limp forearms and started pulling. Only when the man was entirely away from the panel did Scotty sit back on the deck plates and heave a sigh.

  “Me engines. Me precious wee engines.” He shook his head. The arc built in intensity, rising up like a rainbow bridge of death between control panels and engine casing. Already, blackened metal turned to slag and began to puddle on the deck. Intricate printed circuit boards, integrated cubics and wiring exposed to the heat smoldered, too, and began to char. In another few seconds, the matter-antimatter exciter circuits would be ruined.

  “Got it, Scotty,” the redhead yelled from across the engine room. “Kill the power on twenty-three.”

  “But, lass, that’ll shut off life support over half the ship!”

  “I call ’em as I see ’em,” came the immediate reply.

  Scott didn’t hesitate to give the order. Better to leave much of the Enterprise without lights and air for a few minutes than to allow the engine to explode.

  “What’s going on, dammit?” came Dr. McCoy’s querulous demand for information. “You shut off all the power in the corridors. The doors won’t even open.”

  “Sorry, Doctor, but I’m a-needin’ your medical help before givin’ explanation.”

  “Why didn’t you say so?” McCoy dropped beside the [26] technician, made a face, then glanced up at Scotty. “Third-degree burns over his shoulders and back. Electrical?”

  “Aye, that they are.” The fiery arc had vanished as quickly as it had come after Scotty ordered the powering down of control bus twenty-three.

  “Not much I can do for him here. He needs isolation. Burn gel. Plasma. Some touch-up surgery on these veins and arteries.” Even as he spoke, McCoy worked. His medical tricorder gave the weakened vital-sign readings while he injected a beta-endorphin stimulator to ease the man’s pain.

  “Here’s a medical team, Doctor,” Chief McConel said. She motioned for the litter bearers to get the injured man on immediately. They jockeyed the antigrav platform down beside him, carefully scooped up the technician and had him floating out to the sick bay in less than a minute.

  “Anymore, Scotty?” asked McCoy.

  “Nae more, Doctor, praise be. Andres is the only one.”

  Leonard McCoy glanced around, then shrugged. “I’ll do what I can, but don’t find a spare to replace this one when I fix him. I don’t like to be rushed.”

  “Report, Chief,” ordered Scotty. “What’s happened?”

  “Not as bad as it looked. The exciter circuit can be rebuilt. Might cut our power a wee bit until then, but nothing we canna handle.”

  Scotty beamed at his chief. It was good having someone who cared for the engines as much as he did. It was even better that she was Scottish, too.

  “Commander Scott, status.” Scotty turned to see Captain Kirk swing through the partly opened door. The control circuits for the doors were doubled with the life support throughout much of the ship. “I need power to decks four through eight.”

  [27] “Captain, it’s as I told you. I kenna when we’ll be back to normal.”

  Kirk’s sharp eyes darted about, located the malfunction immediately and studied the damage.

  “It’s not too bad, Captain,” Chief McConel answered his unspoken question. “But the magnetic bottles on the starboard engine thin down perilously close to rupture point.”

  “Is that what caused this? The magnetic field thinned and allowed radiation seepage?”

  “The circuits overloaded trying to stabilize, sair.” Scotty gestured, his agitation visible. “We canna do more than we’re doin’ now.”

  “If I reduce speed to warp one, will that help you get repairs under way?”

  “It’d be better, sair, if we found a dry dock. I need shielding to properly work on the engines.” Scotty’s pained expression told Kirk that this wasn’t a meaningless plea. His chief engineering officer meant every word.

  “We’re still some fifteen days’ travel from Ammdon. Dropping speed makes it even longer. You know why we have to get the diplomatic team there, Scotty. Do what you can. Keep the engines running.”

  “Aye, sair. I can keep them a-runnin’, but not safely.”

  “Do whatever you have to, Scotty. I have faith in you.” Kirk turned to leave, then hesitated and spoke to Chief McConel. “Heather, do you have the still in the biology lab on deck four?”

  “Sair!” she protested, straightening up and locking her green eyes directly on his. “ ’Tis against regs to run a still.”

  “Oh, I see. Well, it has been my experience that a power shortage tends to cause the mash already in a still to cool. This reduces yield and quality.”

  “Sair!”

  [28] “I don’t care about yield, but everything aboard the Enterprise must be quality. Carry on.”

  James Kirk smiled briefly, then hurried for the sick bay.

  “I don’t know, Bones,” Kirk said, leaning back in the chair and sipping at the brandy the doctor had given him. “It looks as if this mission is turning sour.”

  “If you mean the technician who almost got himself electrocuted—and who you see is doing fine under my care—that’s the sort of thing that happens all the time aboard a starship.”

  “All the time, Bones? Not aboard the Enterprise.”

  “You know what I mean. If you go messing around with currents and all that, you have to expect to get burned once in a while.”

  “Still distrustful of machines? And what did you do for him? No,” Kirk said, holding up his hand. “Let me guess. You plopped him down on a bioscan table and let the computer analyze his every internal function and level. Then you ran a graphics probe over his body and let the computer match it with the way he appeared before the burns. A little hocus-pocus with automated surgery, a bit of reconstruction done via holographic imaging, then you placed him in the gentle care of the sick-bay monitoring computer.”

  “You’ve made your point,” McCoy said sourly. “But that still doesn’t mean I like machines. Taking over everywhere. Everywhere.” McCoy took a stiff drink, made a face, then poured himself another two fingers’ worth of the potent liquor.

  “What I meant about the mission turning sour was Zarv and the others. They pace the halls. They seem to go out of their way to antagonize the crew.”

  “I expect it of someone like Zarv. He has all the personality of a boar in rut. But that Lorritson. He seems like [29] a nice enough fellow. Knew a guy who looked a lot like him. Farmer, back in Georgia.”

  “Ah, now we get all bucolic,” Kirk said, smiling. “But I think you’ve got Lorritson wrong. There’s something very hard ab
out him. About Zarv, too. I don’t think the powers that be in the Federation sent them on their mission without reason. There’s nothing that says we have to like them, though.”

  “I like that Mek Jokkor fellow. Never says much.”

  Kirk looked at McCoy, then saw that the doctor didn’t know about the alien’s background.

  “About all I know about him is that he cringes whenever anyone eats broccoli in the mess.”

  “Strange phobia,” mused McCoy. “Must go back to his childhood.”

  “No doubt.”

  For a while the two sat and drank in silence, their thoughts private. Then came the disturbing sounds of an argument out in the corridor.

  “I wish you’d see to soundproofing the sick-bay walls,” McCoy complained. “I have to put up with this all the time.”

  “Quiet, Bones. Listen.”

  “So now you’re spying on your own crew? Where will it end?” he asked in mock disgust.

  “Listen, I said.”

  The voices rose in pitch and fervor. One said, “The bottles are going. I know it. The whole ship’s going to explode.”

  “The captain’s crazy,” came a second voice. “He’s leading us straight into the middle of a war.”

  “What’s the difference if we all die in a matter-antimatter explosion?” demanded the first.

  Kirk rose to his feet and said quietly, “This gets nipped in the bud right now.”

  [30] McCoy shrugged and watched as Kirk opened the door and stepped into the corridor.

  Two crewmen leaned against the bulkhead, arguing with one another. When one saw Kirk, he fell silent, then tugged at the other’s sleeve and motioned.

  “Very good, gentlemen,” Kirk said in a controlled voice. “I couldn’t help overhearing your wild conjectures and misinformed opinions about the condition of this vessel.”

  “You’re going to kill us. It’s wrong to waste our lives like that,” blurted one, an ensign.

  “What? Who’s killing whom? No one’s dead. A technician was injured in an accident, nothing more. Dr. McCoy assures me Chief Andres will be healed in another few days.”

  “You’re trying to kill us. That’s wrong.”