The Fearful Summons

by Denny Martin Flinn

  And there was the question of anonymity. This tiny private museum was unlikely to be visited, particularly on a Sunday afternoon, by any Starfleet personnel. Had they gone to Starfleet Headquarters, they might have run into any number of officers, some of whom would know them. Then there would be an awkward moment when Chekov had to explain why he and Uhura were rummaging around the library, and what they were looking for, and Chekov knew from experience that he was not good at dissembling. They had all agreed to keep their trip a secret between themselves until the last possible minute, against the possibility that Federation diplomacy might prohibit such a trip and Starfleet bureaucracy would consider it interference.

  Thus he and Uhura were headed for one of the coziest places in the universe to Chekov's mind: the attic room, for members only, of the centuries-old Maritime Museum, a tiny three-story building right on the beach, tucked into the shadows of the huge commercial environpods of the port city. They walked quietly, enjoying the clean salt air of the headquarters city. Then Uhura broke the silence.

  "Why do you think Captain Kirk has organized this expedition, Pavel?"

  "To see vhat can be done about the situation, as he said."

  "Do you think there's anything the six of us could do to help that Federation diplomats and Starfleet Starships can't?"

  Chekov didn't answer that right away. Finally he spoke.

  "Probably not."

  "Then why?"

  "The captain is restless. I as vell. I admit it. There's nothing like a deep-space voyage."

  "He didn't have to ask the old crew. He doesn't have to go to Beta Prometheus. He could hire himself out as captain in private industry and pilot a star freighter almost anywhere he wants. Or he could request active duty. Starfleet would find something interesting for him."

  "He is concerned about Sulu. Ve all are."

  "Yes. But, again, the question is, if Starfleet and the Federation can't solve the impasse, what could we do?"

  "What are you getting at, Uhura?"

  "The captain has been known to be impatient at times. Hotheaded."

  "He vould prefer to call it self-directed, I think."

  "Whatever. I'm not a young cadet any longer. Excuse me, but you're not either. Are we going to have to do battle? I'm not sure I want to be fired on by Klingon battlecruisers any more in my life. Or trapped by alien unintelligences. Or bounced around the skies while I'm trying to decipher static. I don't know about you, Pavel, but I was sort of enjoying a quiet life."

  "Then vhy did you come?"

  Uhura sighed. She didn't answer. They walked a few more yards and stopped in front of the entrance to the museum. Then Chekov spoke again.

  "Me too," he said. "Because he asked." And he led the way up the stairs to the reception desk.

  Kirk and McCoy strolled across the grassy quad on their way to a lunch with Lieutenant Eugene Marasco, the young press officer Kirk had met at the Flag and Grog on his first hunt for news. They arrived at Heaven's Hearth a few minutes late. The neon archway was filled with Starfleet and civilian personnel on their lunch hour. Marasco had particularly picked this eatery because it was populated more by lower-echelon workers and civilians.

  Not that Kirk expected Marasco to be much of a source.

  He would be selective about the classified information he passed to Kirk. That was his job. But Kirk hoped there might be more to the story, and trying to find out kept this worry in check.

  Kirk and McCoy threaded their way past waiting groups to a corner Marasco had already commandeered in the rear of the restaurant.

  "Captain Kirk, it's good to see you." Marasco stood and shook hands.

  "This is Dr. Leonard McCoy. Bones, Lieutenant Marasco." They sat down.

  "I hope you don't mind this place," Marasco said as Kirk arrived at the table. "It's devoted to macrobiotic food."

  "I'm always interested in something new. What is that?" Kirk said.

  "Well, for one thing, it's not new. Macrobiotics has been around for centuries. It's extremely healthy and energy-oriented. I've taken the liberty of ordering for us."

  "Great."

  "In the meantime, I'm sure you'd like to know about the hostage problem."

  Kirk dropped his casual pose.

  "You've caught me. I did want to pick your brain. I'm very worried about Sulu and his crew. How did you guess?"

  "It wasn't difficult, Captain Kirk," Marasco said. "You are one of the legends of the Starfleet, and your crew is not far behind. In fact, it's my guess that your running into old Caius two nights ago was not entirely an accident. The Flag and Grog is where I would go if I wanted to tune in to the Starfleet grapevine." Marasco leaned in and lowered his voice a bit. "The truth is, Starfleet has been restrained from taking action on this—some kind of military action, I mean—by the Federation. They don't want a war, an invasion, an incursion, a police action, or even a strategic incident. Of course they want the hostages returned. How they expect to effect that, nobody knows just yet."

  "Those are Federation citizens," Kirk said with some urgency. "Whether the politicians like to admit it or not, what has happened is an act of war."

  "They're Starfleet officers, too, and if we don't take care of our own, we're not going to get many volunteers in the future."

  "And the future," Kirk intoned, "is our business."

  Marasco laughed. "All right, touché. I suppose I've been in press relations too long. Let me try to stop talking like an advertising executive. Most of the Starfleet brass are impatient and angry too. You're not alone. It's still a top priority, but we haven't gotten permission to move, and, frankly, I don't think we will."

  "Well, then, what is being done?" McCoy asked bluntly.

  "A diplomatic mission has been sent. They are attempting to talk with the Ruling Family. The problem is that the Excelsior officers were captured by some pirates from a strata of the Beta Promethean civilization the government doesn't really control. The government says they deplore the situation, and they probably do; any interruption in dilithium trading affects their profits. But these pirate-traders are a large part of their society, and keep them in power by refusing to align themselves with the Spiritual Leaders. If they were antagonized, they might throw their weight behind the Conclaves and the Spiritual Leaders would rule entirely. The society could become wholly theologic, which would put the Ruling Family out of business. The Federation wants the balance of power maintained as well. We have agreements with the Ruling Family about the dilithium that keeps the supply going and the price reasonable. So everybody is happy. If the Spiritual Leaders took over, they might change the rules. They have what they call a Higher Calling, and they don't seem to care if the dilithium gets mined or not."

  A waiter arrived with two plates piled high with green rice, moldy water chestnuts, and tough bamboo shoots. Marasco's face lit up.

  "You'll love this. Pure protein."

  McCoy looked at it cautiously.

  "This is, ah … what exactly?"

  "It's real. Not from a synthesizer," Marasco mumbled through a mouthful of rice. "You can't get this just anywhere. It has to be grown. Takes enormous quantities of land and water. An entirely inefficient method of agriculture. But you can taste the difference."

  "I can see the difference," McCoy said glumly as he looked down at his plate. "There aren't any worms in here, are there? I've heard they're a delicacy, but I've never …"

  "No, no worms. Nothing that moves. That's part of the macrobiotic creed."

  "Well, that's a relief," McCoy said as he picked up his utensils. Kirk went on. "So what you're saying is, the Federation is simply not going to allow the Starfleet to take any kind of aggressive action."

  "That's probably true. It's going to be a political show all the way. It will just take time. We've cordoned off their system. We're not allowing them out of their own immediate space. We're allowing a bare minimum of humanitarian supplies through, but nothing military."

  "And how long do you think the Prome
theans can withstand being isolated like that?" Kirk asked.

  "No more than a few decades."

  "Oh, great," McCoy said sarcastically. "Sulu will be home free in no time."

  As they finished, Marasco asked Kirk and McCoy about their years in deep space, and they accommodated him with a few stories. They all left the restaurant together, and separated just outside. As Kirk and McCoy headed off, Marasco thoughtfully watched them go.

  They walked back in silence. Kirk was thinking about the next day. He was taking the responsibility of dragging his old crew into uncharted areas in the frontier on a mission, the precise nature of which was not really clear. Was this a vainglorious attempt to recapture old feelings of leadership and adventure, or a genuine mission of loyalty to an old friend and comrade? Suddenly Kirk had his doubts, but he kept them to himself. They turned the corner and hiked up the last hill to Kirk's apartment.

  "I did not want to be a wet blanket myself with the others present," Scotty was saying to Mr. Spock, "but unless we can get Starfleet to work with us on this, I do not see how we're going to travel hundreds of millions of light-years into deep space. It is not like goin' to Mars for a vacation."

  "I have been to Mars for a vacation."

  "Really?" Scotty said. "What was it like?"

  Mr. Spock paused to remember. "They lost my luggage," he said.

  "I'm sorry."

  Spock shrugged. "I have not been on vacation since."

  With that Mr. Spock set resolutely out to visit the docks and offices along the port, and Scotty followed cheerfully.

  Two hours later Scotty was losing his ability to maintain a jaunty attitude. They had hiked what seemed like several kilometers. They had walked throughout the spaceport, talking to numbers of starship captains and freight operators, transportation specialists and port chiefs, engineers and cadets, and even some humans and aliens who appeared to be simply lounging around the docks which held the smaller starcraft. Scotty turned to the tall Vulcan.

  "Mr. Spock, we're not getting anywhere. Starships do not just rent out like hovercraft. The big ones are not even here, they're in spacedock above the planet. Do ya think—"

  "It would not be logical to give up before we had traversed the entire port." Mr. Spock had hiked through the area at a pace so steady that Scotty, his human anatomy sometimes causing him to fall behind and sometimes to hurry ahead, had become frustrated. He had felt at home climbing in and out of the spacedocks, talking to the men and women who ran the transportation for various intergalactic enterprises. But he had to admit failure so far. They had not found a starship available for their purposes. As he had warned the others before they started out from Kirk's apartment, ships capable of speeds up to warp ten "do not grow on trees."

  They hiked on. They had almost reached the limit of the port when, high up on a steep cliff overlooking China Beach, Mr. Spock stopped.

  "What's that?" he asked Scotty. He was staring at a small but sleek white star yacht floating twenty yards above the edge of the high cliff, just off the terrace of a mansion on the bluff.

  "A very small starcraft," Scotty answered. "It could not hold more than a dozen personnel. And by the looks of it, it could not last the first asteroid storm. She's built for looks and for luxury, Mr. Spock. I do not have to visit her engines to see that."

  "Nevertheless, she is worth a visit."

  "She's not even correctly docked."

  "It looks as if she belongs to that private environpod on the cliff there. Let us go see."

  Spock set off at a rapid gait toward the path that led through a front garden to the home. Scotty sighed, flexed his toes in a vain attempt to relieve what he was sure were soon-to-be-blisters, and followed glumly. Another toy bucket, he thought, that could not take me home, halfway across this little planet, much less into deep space.

  Spock knocked on the door, while Scotty attempted to smooth the rumples in his clothes caused from several hours of hiking around the port. It was a large mansion overlooking the Pacific Ocean, all sleek titanium and opaque glass. Colorful flowers at its base were well tended. Thick fog slid off the angular roof.

  The door was opened by a tall furry humanoid, and when Spock asked if he could interview the owner of the star yacht moored in the air off the terrace, the alien turned around and headed into the house. Spock and Scotty followed. They were ushered into a large room with rich upholstering and a huge picture window that overlooked the Pacific Ocean. The yacht could be seen floating outside, just above the window. The alien left the room.

  As they stood admiring its sleek lines, a short, stout man with no hair on his glistening head walked in. He was dressed in a casual jumpsuit, and his age was difficult to assess, but his joviality was not. He was clearly proud of the star yacht and eager to show it off.

  "Hello," the little man boomed. "My name's Thaylor. Rockefeller Thaylor. You like my starship, I understand? If you're from one of those databanks, she's all yours."

  "Databanks?" Spock said, not sure if he should introduce himself until he got the full picture.

  "Star Yachts. Interior Architecture. Luxury Worlds. They've all been here. Doing holographic essays. The Plush Princess has been featured in all of them."

  "The Plush Princess?" Scotty asked.

  "My baby," Thaylor purred. "Commissioned her two years ago. She's fitted with the best there is from all over the galaxy."

  "Twin nacelles engines?" Scotty asked, his interest rising. "Matter-antimatter cones? Gravitational and life-support backup systems?"

  "Huh? Oh sure, I suppose so. I don't know anything about that stuff. I meant the furnishings. There aren't many hotels on Mars that have this kind of luxury. She sleeps eight in four cabins. The galley can synthesize the most complex gourmet meals. The control deck has an enormous main viewscreen, and is custom-fitted with genuine leather chairs. Why, wait until you see the aft space lounge."

  "Oh. Well, that sounds outstanding," Scott said, casting a glance at Spock. "It sounds like just what we are looking for."

  "Great," the enthusiastic man said. "You can scan her any time, just give me a day's notice to inform the cleaning crew."

  "In actual fact," Spock said, "we had her in mind for something a little different."

  "Oh? What?" Thaylor smiled pleasantly.

  Spock was about to explain, when he heard Scotty speak.

  "For a holodoc!" Scotty said.

  "A holodoc?"

  "In a documentary style," Scotty appended, hoping it sounded important.

  "A documentary holodoc? That sounds interesting. About star yachts? You won't find one better outfitted than mine."

  "Not exactly," Scotty said. "About … travel in deep space."

  "Deep space? I haven't been out of the solar system myself. Too many aliens out there."

  "Yes, well, that's just where we're going. Deep space. Can she travel at warp speed?"

  "Of course. She can do it all. Her designer said she was the fastest ship in her class. Said I could go to the end of the galaxy if I wanted. She's in peak form. My private pilot sees to that."

  "She must have warp speed, then," Scotty said to Mr. Spock.

  "Presumably," Spock said, unsure of where Scotty was going with this.

  "But I don't think—" Thaylor frowned.

  "Imagine how famous she'll become," Scotty said quickly.

  "Famous?"

  "Of course. As the star of a holodoc on alien worlds. Have ye never heard of the Calypso?"

  "That's a kind of dance, isn't it?"

  "It's also the most famous oceangoing ship of its time!"

  "Oceangoing? What time was that? Why would anyone want to travel on water?" The man was becoming more puzzled, and rapidly losing his booming personality, while simultaneously Scotty was taking on the personality of a used-hovercraft salesman.

  "Why, the twentieth century, of course," Scotty said. "I'm afraid I'm not much on history," Thaylor said lamely.

  "Captain Jacques Cousteau. The greatest explor
er of our oceans the world has ever known. He took the Calypso to every corner of the globe. And Captain Spock here, who is a metaphorical descendant of that stalwart breed of intrepid explorer"—he nodded at Spock, who stared back stoically—"would like to take the … what's she called again?"

  "The Plush Princess."

  "Aye, the Plush Princess … to an obscure, unexplored corner of the galaxy. She'll become as famous as the Calypso. Famouser." Scotty slowed down, realizing he was getting too carried away. "Captain Spock you've heard of, I expect."

  "Well …"

  "He's made any number of discoveries in space. The Tholian Web. The asteroid Yonada. The Murasaki 312. All his discoveries."

  "I'm afraid science isn't my strong suit, either."

  "Well, he's really going for it this time," Scotty said in a confidential voice.

  "I am?" Spock said.

  "For what?" Thaylor asked.

  "The greatest discovery in history. He's going into a black hole. I forgot to introduce myself. I'm Montgomery Scott, the documentary producer. My crew and I are making the holodoc, so that children everywhere and always will have a firsthand look at Captain Spock's amazing adventure. And we thought that your starship would be just right for the voyage. Imagine. One month from now, the Plum Princess—"

  "The Plush Princess."

  "—the Plush Princess will be the most famous starship ever built. You'll be equally well known as its owner, of course."

  "This sounds exciting."

  "That's exactly the word."

  "But I don't think I could let my baby fly right into a black hole. As I said, I don't know much about science, but isn't that dangerous? Has anybody ever done that before?"

  "Did I say into a black hole? My mistake. We're just going to scan one up close."

  "Still …"

  "But not that close. A safe distance. Your baby will be completely secure in his hands. Mr. Spock is the best pilot flying today. Also the safest. Wouldn't risk a hair on the head of his crew. Those that have hair. What we were hoping, is that you might be willing to supply that beautiful starship for the holodoc. She'll be the principal character, just like the galactically famous Calypso."