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Table of Contents
Day One
Day Two
Day Three
Day Four
Day Five
Day Six
Day Seven
Day Eight
One Week Later
About the Author
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Day One
"THERE IS A SAYING in the Book of Muharbar," Maldari said to the Steersman behind him. "Things belong to those who desire them most."
Maldari stood in front of his viewscreen, staring at the enormous, sleek U.S.S. Excelsior, its white hull gleaming, its observation ports shining, its huge twin nacelles' engines silent as it floated in black space.
"I have heard they are capable of a cruising speed of warp eight," the Steersman said. "And that they can stay in space for five years at a time, without returning to their port."
"You have heard more than that," Maldari said, knowing the young Steersman was out of his planetary system for the first time. "You have heard that Federation Starships are invincible. You tremble at the thought of their power, their swiftness. You believe they have magical abilities to be everywhere, hear everything, see everything. But they do not."
"They have defeated Klingon Birds-of-Prey in interstellar combat."
"Perhaps. Or perhaps the Klingons defeated themselves." Maldari twisted to see his Sightsman. "Have they scanned us?"
"Not yet," the third Beta Promethean on the bridge answered.
Maldari turned back to the young Steersman. "Then put that dead moon between us at once."
Maldari watched the sparkling Starship disappear behind a great gray lusterless globe, pockmarked with craters.
"You don't want the Federation ship to see us?" the Steersman asked. "Are we going to—"
"Patience, Barush. I don't know what we are going to do. When I do"—he turned away from the screen, and his sharp, crooked teeth flashed in a sarcastic smile—"you will be the first I will confide in, of course." Maldari's pear-shaped body, which rested on four short legs, scuttled behind the two crewmen and ducked under the archway. The young Steersman's mottled gray face darkened with embarrassment.
Maldari continued along the corridor joining the bridge to the Sundew's central hull. In the meantime, he thought, it will be best if they are unaware of us. Perhaps it can be to our advantage. It has been an unrewarding voyage. We have boarded an ancient starship that turned out to be virtually empty but for a few scientists. No valuable commodities, not even any women to take to the slave markets. We landed on a planet that had no use for dilithium, or any other goods, for it had no technology. We have searched whole systems and found little of value. Our holds are practically empty, after nearly a year away from port. Our permit for star travel will be rescinded if we do not bring home something valuable, and if I cannot tithe a sufficient amount to the Shrewdest Ones, they will mark my ship as undesirable, and I will have difficulty enlisting a crew for another voyage.
Frustrated and dismayed, Maldari entered the central cabin. His foul mood further darkened when he found both Kornish and Dramin there.
The U.S.S. Excelsior
Somewhere beyond the frontier
Spring, 2294 A.D.
The planet floated serenely in black space, three-quarters of its surface shimmering in blue, the rest islands of brown and green. Puffy white clouds hugged it and a single barren moon drifted in close orbit. How like Earth, Sulu thought as he watched it on the forward viewscreen, and for just a moment he was back there, wandering the pleasant streets of San Francisco, where, almost three decades earlier, he had reported to Headquarters for his first assignment for Starfleet and the United Federation of Planets.
It was quiet on the bridge of the Excelsior. Low voices percolated around him. Lights had dimmed automatically when the science officer put the illuminated celestial body on the monitor. Most of the crew were staring at it, as Sulu was, transfixed by its beauty.
"In actual fact, it is not a bit like your home planet," Science Officer Sencus said in a low voice to Sulu from behind him, guessing his thoughts. "According to our scans, the atmosphere is entirely free of pollution, the soil is without chemicals of any kind, and the water is pure H2O. There are eighty million species, all fairly abundant, from insects to fish to mammals, some of which have developed a fairly complex form of communication. But nothing humanoid. From volcanic substances we can estimate the age of the planet to be one hundred fifty billion years, somewhat older than the Earth, in fact. It has abundant vegetation and no carnivorous species. Surface storms are short-lived and mild. Because it is equidistant from two suns, the temperature only varies approximately ten degrees in either direction from a mean of fifty degrees Celsius."
"In short, it's a paradise." Sulu smiled. "Lucky us."
"None of the species has made any attempt to leave the planet," the Vulcan went on without acknowledging Sulu's comment. "Nor have they yet attempted to communicate with other sentient beings."
"We could be in stationary orbit in one hour, Captain," Sulu's navigator said. "I'd be glad to lead a landing party." The young officer had turned around and was smiling at Sulu.
The conversation had attracted half a dozen of the officers on the bridge. They were clustered around the captain's chair, trying to appear casual. But Sulu knew perfectly well what they were hoping. It had been several months since they had last set foot on land, and their most recent visit to a foul and frigid planet inhabited only by massive swarms of watermelon-sized animals resembling cockroaches could hardly be called rest and relaxation. They were hoping for a chance to make a closer examination of the pristine mass that floated on the monitor in front of them.
"Unfortunately"—Sulu raised his voice for the benefit of his eavesdroppers—"we will have to pass it by. If we reveal ourselves to them at this time, the knowledge of our existence alone could alter the course of their history. Suddenly aware of artificial technology and other civilizations, they might be forced to respond. And as you all know, it is against the Prime Directive of Starfleet that we should interfere in any way with the development of another civilization. Sorry, ladies and gentlemen."
The little body of officers drifted away amid some groans and muttering.
"A logical decision, Captain," the Vulcan science officer said. "Though apparently an unpopular one," he added.
Sulu looked up at Commander Sencus. When his original science officer, Masoud Valtane, had been transferred to another assignment, Sulu requested the old Vulcan as his replacement because of the Vulcan character. Although it was sometimes a strain to c
ontinually be confronted with a man who lacked emotion entirely, he knew from observing the relationship between the captain and the science officer on his first starship assignment that it was worthwhile. A Vulcan's ability to meet every situation, no matter how urgent or complex, with crystal-clear logic, could be an excellent balance for a commander with human emotions and sometimes all too human failings.
"They had hoped to spend a few days on a nice, habitable planet," Sulu explained.
"Why?" Sencus asked.
"Because—well—because it's a new environment. They could have taken a walk, or a swim."
"They can do that on the rec deck," Sencus answered.
"Well, they could have had a meal that wasn't from the synthesizers. Perhaps even held a conversation with an alien. You know, just a little change from routine. Something different from our starship. Just for the variety. For the pleasure of it."
"The pleasure of it … I see." Sencus nodded, then returned to his customary station at the science console.
Clearly he doesn't, Sulu thought. He doesn't see at all.
"A Federation Starship would be a great prize," Dramin said carefully. "It must be full of freight. Valuable commodities from all over the galaxy."
"And a crew," Kornish said warningly. "For a ship that size … how many, Maldari?"
"I have no idea," Maldari answered, wishing he hadn't run into these two—the political officer and the religious officer—and then deriding himself for casually informing them that they had come across a large, modern Starship. "It could be a few dozen. Or hundreds. I've never seen one inside."
"It's large enough for hundreds," Kornish followed up quickly. "Many of them soldiers, no doubt."
"Disbelievers, all of them," Dramin said.
Maldari watched Dramin sip thick, steaming liquid from his cup. It's that thick sludge they all drink, he thought. Must be addictive. Makes them fanatics.
"I heard once they allow beliefs of every description," Maldari suggested.
"There, you see. How absurd. They do not belong in the universe."
"It's a big universe," Kornish said. "We have to be realistic."
Maldari couldn't tell which way Kornish was leaning. It was always the same. Every time members of the Ruling Family are aboard, they serve only to confuse the issue. They are here purely as spies. If Kornish made no commitment, he was free to claim support for a success, and able to distance himself from failure. Members of the Ruling Family must be taught hypocrisy at the cradle, Maldari thought.
"Does this mean," Maldari said politely to Kornish, peevishly deciding to put him on the spot, "that you favor turning toward home? Shall we return to port with only what we have managed to secure so far?"
"Your holds are practically empty," Kornish said equivocally, emphasizing the pronomial adjective as if it were entirely Maldari's fault and responsibility. Which, come to think of it, it was.
"I can't put a Federation Starship in them," Maldari answered sarcastically. Next he listened to Dramin, though he knew that fanatic wouldn't have Maldari's fortunes in mind.
"The Book of Muharbar," Dramin pontificated, "divides the universe quite clearly into those who follow the Only Way and those who do not."
Convenient to call it the Only Way, then, Maldari thought.
"Those who do not, stand against those who do, and we have the obligation to remove them."
"When the holy war begins, Dramin, you must inform me," Maldari said. "I will be first to enlist. Provided, of course, that it is sanctioned by the Ruling Family." He nodded at Kornish. "In the meantime, as captain of this starship, I must decide what is worth dying for and what is not. It's certain they have shields. And even if we could catch them with their shields down, it's unlikely we have the firepower to knock them out at once. They could be a formidable foe."
"You are afraid of a Federation Starship," Dramin said.
"I am not," Maldari said proudly. "I am only careful. Perhaps you are willing to commit suicide if the Book of Muharbar says so. But the crew to which I am responsible may not all feel the same way. For them, piracy is merely an occupation. There are no cowards aboard my ship, there are only brave men. But neither are they stupid. If I do not bring the majority of them home with a large profit, I will not be a captain they will fly with another time."
"You are going to pass them by then?" Kornish asked. "I didn't say that. But that Starship is not a lightly armed freighter with a crew of five sleepy starmen. Ramming and boarding them will gain us nothing for our holds, and the Sundew will be renowned for its fool of a captain."
"What you need," Dramin said, his fanatic's eyes shining, "is a plan."
"Thank you, Dramin," Maldari said. "I'm so glad I ran into you while I was considering my options. Whatever Conclave gets you for their Shrewdest One will be lucky indeed." He scuttled out of the lounge, once more feeling that he had been less than diplomatic with his political and religious officers. He hoped that his sarcasm had been over their heads, but he doubted it.
In the corridor again, he thought over how Kornish and Dramin seemed to be always together. They couldn't possibly like each other. And they certainly couldn't trust each other. Then he realized why. It was only because all the ordinary crew members stayed away from them both.
Sulu sat with his science officers in the conference room off the main bridge and chaired a discussion on the planet, since dubbed "the Mirage" by the crew, because they would not get to visit it in person. More scans had been run and several probes had been sent to the surface camouflaged as rocks. The communications team had recorded and decoded several languages used by the cetaceans. Geologists had mapped the planet's landmass down to the core, and constructed a natural history of the planet. Meteorologists had charted its weather patterns, and chaostaticians had projected them one hundred years into the future, identifying what sort of effect the climate would impose on the inhabitants. Microbiologists had mapped the genetic structure of the principal species and projected their evolutionary development for the near future. Short of visiting the surface, it was the consensus of the scientists that little more could be learned.
"Although there are no cities or complex structures of any kind," Sencus was saying when Sulu's mind settled on the conference, "each species fits into the biosystem in a benign and comfortable fashion. And while they have consistently adapted to gradual changes in the environment, there is no sign that any of the species has ever attempted to adapt the environment to itself. Thus the planet is entirely uncorrupted. Finally, I have monitored a very advanced degree of mental activity. Many of the species seem to exhibit an intelligence that is quite advanced in the psychic sense, not unlike your dolphins. It is an almost perfect laboratory. They are a perfect example of millions of years of evolution without aggression." Sencus completed his presentation and turned to the biologist Sandra Pastur.
"In fact," Pastur took up the discussion, "most of the species have adapted so well to their environment—they have not dammed their rivers, interfered with migratory patterns, or cut down their rain forests—that long-range projections for evolutionary development in their physical structure indicate very little change. Here is an example of their most advanced species."
The biologist moved her hands over the console. A holograph took shape in the center of the conference table. It was a pleasant-looking creature with the face of a dolphin and an eel-like body approximately four feet long.
"For convenience' sake we have dubbed it a dolpheel. It is comfortable on both land and sea, either swimming or moving along land effortlessly, something like a snake. It mates for life and lives in family units within larger communities of several hundred. There is no identifiable antagonism either between the dolpheel and any other species, or between dolpheels themselves. They travel extensively, but not owing to either weather or food-chain patterns, since they can survive anywhere on the planet. They are simply nomadic and restless for no discernible reason. What sets them ahead of so many other species we'
ve studied here is their thought patterns. They are apparently developing a higher consciousness, and doing so at a fairly rapid rate."
"They can read each other's thoughts, then?" Sulu asked.
"It's more like they all share many of the same thoughts. They function mentally both individually, and as a group. They do this for practical reasons—something like the way birds migrate back on Earth, where the leader's flight pattern seems to be understood so instantly by the others that they fly as one—and they do it for fun as well. They seem to play many mental games with each other, games that are very highly advanced. And they are intensely spiritual, though of course they have no religion in the institutional sense. These mental exercises seem to have a purpose. Some kind of exploration of the soul you might say. It seems a bit silly to say that they are searching for the meaning of life. They're aware already of the extremely chaotic and random nature of the universe, and even of the concept of infinity, though they have not traveled in space as you know. Rather than developing any technical skills, they are developing the mental skills that will enable them to transcend time and space. If that's possible. If they reach an impasse, there is no way of knowing which way they will turn. I don't think we're ever going to find them in starships traveling the galaxies like us. But in less than a hundred years we will almost surely hear from them."
"How could they contact us if they don't build subspace transmitters?" a communications officer asked.
The biologist smiled. "One of these days, they'll begin to communicate with off-worlders. They'll probably begin with telepaths. Then we're going to find them inside our own heads."
There was a moment of silence around the polished conference table. The senior crew of the U.S.S. Excelsior looked at the figure floating in front of them curiously.
The Fearful Summons Page 1
