"Do ye have to mention the years, Scotty? We're becoming a couple of dinosaurs."
"Nonsense. Fit as a fiddle, both of us. These younger officers aren't going to have our experience, not for decades. Boys, Garth Flanagan. Will you let a reserve officer buy you and your friends a drink?"
"We would not let you leave without taking a round, now you know that." The jovial man's eyes twinkled. "Now, sit down, sit down, and tell us what brings you to this starbase in the back of beyond."
They sat down and Scotty waved for a round. He told the engineers that he and his friends had come to the starbase in search of some news about the Beta Promethean situation, as they had an old shipmate who was one of the hostages. The men at the table with Flanagan all turned out to be from the Starfleet Starships that had recently arrived.
"They're armed to the teeth, Scotty," Flanagan said confidentially. "They could turn the whole planet into an asteroid belt in minutes. And I believe that is exactly what the admiral would like to do."
"Admiral?" Scotty asked.
"The Starships are here under the direction of Admiral Julius Fesidas."
"Fesidas?" Kirk interrupted. "I know that name. He's an admiral I know in San Francisco. He's in charge?"
"This is his son."
"There's a coincidence," Kirk said.
"Probably not," Chekov said. "Even in Starfleet, the son also rises."
Everyone laughed.
"Anyway," Flanagan went on, "I got the feeling young Fesidas is champing at the bit to go in and get the hostages. He'd like to prove his mettle."
"And why hasn't he?" Scotty said.
"It's not up to him. It's up to the Federation Council. Only the president can order a full-scale military attack. But there's something else."
"What?" Kirk said.
"In my humble opinion—" Flanagan began.
"Your opinion wasn't humble in Academy classes," Scotty said.
"Perhaps not," Flanagan said in his quiet burr, his eyes twinkling. "In any case, our Starships could nae hide in a black hole. They'd be seen coming a galaxy away. And then what would happen to the hostages? Of course we could beam down an elite troop of soldiers, but then we'd lose our firepower advantage. In fact we'd be at a disadvantage, because the terrain around Archnos, where we assume the hostages are being kept, is particularly hostile. It's rocky, barren, and ice-cold this time o' their orbit. The pirates who've got your friend might be a bunch of primitive dunderheads, but they have the home field advantage, if you know the expression."
"Then you don't think there'll be an invasion?" Kirk said.
"Now, Captain, you know perfectly well the last people to know what's goin' on are the ones down in the engine room. That's only me own poor opinion," he said proudly, "formed as it has been from more than four decades serving the insignia." He tapped the Starfleet patch on his uniform. "I don't know what will happen. But here we are, ready, willing and able to serve the Fleet. Aren't we, gents?" He raised his glass.
The other engineers said "Here, here" and raised their glasses. Scotty, Kirk, and Chekov joined in the toast. Then Kirk excused himself, and left the jovial group.
Mr. Spock reentered the turbolift and rose up to a less crowded level of the starbase, on the opposite side of the spacedock from the star yacht he had arrived on. He stood in front of a big viewport. Hanging in space just off to the side was the U.S.S. Excelsior. He walked to the nearby transporter room and encountered a young engineering officer.
"My name is Spock," he said quietly. "I am looking for a fellow Vulcan. His name is Sencus."
"He's aboard the Excelsior, sir. He's our commanding officer. In Captain Sulu's absence."
"I see. Permission to go aboard, then."
"Yes, sir. Just step up there, and I'll beam you up."
"Would you care for me to give you some proof of my identity? Aboard my old Starship, we did not let just anyone talk their way on board."
The young officer smiled. "Mr. Spock, your civilian clothes don't fool me. I recognize you. I only wish your friend Mr. Sulu were here to welcome you himself."
Spock nodded, and stepped up onto the transporter platform. Moments later he was surrounded by the familiar trappings of a Starfleet Starship, this one an Excelsior-class, even larger than his old ship.
The officer on duty at the transporter room must have been warned by the young man who sent him there.
"Good morning, Mr. Spock. Welcome aboard. I've told Captain Sencus about your arrival. He's waiting for you on the bridge now."
"Thank you." Spock nodded. He stepped off the ship's transporter platform and walked through the archway. Although he found himself walking through the familiar corridors of a Starship, he realized that this was not the Enterprise, and hesitated about which way to go.
"To your right, sir. Then the turbolift there will take you up. Top floor, of course."
"Thank you, officer," Spock said, and followed the directions.
Moments later he walked onto a bridge that, for all the world, reminded him of his old Starship. Realizing he had not been on a Federation Starship in over nine months, Spock immediately recognized his surroundings, as he stepped onto a bridge that was identical to his old one, and saw the uniforms he and his crew had worn for years. He glanced to one side, and saw a young female officer at the communications station. He saw the command chair on the other side, but it was empty. A few officers were at their stations, performing routine maintenance checks, but the helm and navigation chairs were empty.
At the science station, a Vulcan taller and thinner than Spock stood up. He came forward with his hand outstretched.
"Mr. Spock. We have never met, though Captain Sulu has told me a good deal about you. I am Sencus, science officer of the Excelsior."
Spock and Sencus both raised their hands in the traditional Vulcan greeting, and said quietly, "Live long and prosper."
"You were the first Vulcan to graduate from Starfleet Academy," Sencus said. "In those days, among my friends at the Vulcan Science Academy, that was tantamount to running away and joining the circus. We all knew the legend."
"Did you? Interesting … Sencus," Spock continued, "I wonder if you could tell me what happened? So I might hear it firsthand."
"Of course." Sencus leaned in. "Seven days ago we received a distress call …" Sencus rapidly narrated the events for Spock. After the story, he sat back in his chair for the first time. "Then we were ordered back to starbase," he said. "Since then, there has been no activity of any significance. The stalemate in negotiations the Federation admits to is quite real. The Federation emissaries are extremely frustrated. And I am afraid that the number of different civilizations trading in this part of the universe makes it virtually impossible to impose any kind of serious embargo. Too many other civilizations feel it is not their problem, and do not want to stop trading."
"What do you think the Beta Prometheans really want?" Spock said. "Surely they do not think that the Excelsior was actually spying."
"The captain of the Sundew, a Beta Promethean named Maldari, attempted to extort some sort of ransom out of us. I had to refuse, because of our General Orders. After that, things went from bad to worse. It seems to be more a case of blundering in than planned strategy," Sencus theorized. "From what our diplomats can gather from various representatives of the Ruling Family, the taking of the hostages was not sanctioned by them to begin with, and was probably one mad act by Maldari."
"Then what do they want with them now?"
"It is not so much what they want with them, as how to get rid of them without losing prestige. The Shrewdest Ones are in a kind of campaign to convince the people that Starfleet and the Federation are the enemy." Sencus, some years older than Mr. Spock, went on, considering his words carefully. "From what we know about this civilization, the Shrewdest Ones control the Conclaves as their religious leaders, but the boundary between their belief system and the power structure is very gray, as it is in most religions. To keep the people in li
ne, it is necessary to focus their energy and, in some cases, their anger, since both the Only Way and the Ruling Family control an inordinate proportion of their society's resources. The Federation is an easy target, which seems, in this case, to have fallen into their hands almost accidentally. And they are being somewhat manipulated in this by another group, who have apparently jumped in to use the hostages to their own advantage. This group is attempting to convince the Beta Prometheans that the Federation has been exploiting them."
"Who is this?" Spock said.
"The Klingons," Sencus answered. Spock's eyebrow went up.
"Klingons?"
"In fact, there is a rally scheduled for tonight in Archnos. We are worried that the hostages will be presented there. It could be dangerous."
"A rally?" Spock said. "To what purpose?"
"An anti-Federation gathering jointly sponsored by the Clerics and the Klingons. An antigovernment rally, in fact, possibly to put pressure on the Ruling Family."
"Have they always been political bedfellows?"
"Not at all. It is an unholy alliance, to be sure. But they seem to have found common ground this week. They are going to fan the flames of hatred."
"Thereby refocusing the attention of the People of Light away from their own domestic problems, particularly the unequal distribution of dilithium profits," Mr. Spock finished.
"Exactly," Sencus said. "We have not been able to get close enough to Archnos to identify the prison the officers are held in. One of our biggest problems is the monocultural nature of the Beta Prometheus system. We cannot just transport a man—and certainly not a woman—down there, because anyone who looked remotely like he was from a Federation society would stand out like a Melkotian at a Caitian festival. Otherwise Starfleet's Intelligence Section would have the place well filled with security teams by now. That includes Vulcans, of course."
Sencus was a full Vulcan, from whom Spock did not expect to see any display of emotion. Yet he could tell from the tone in which Sencus had outlined the situation that he was frustrated.
"You have tried?"
"An officer from the Excelsior volunteered. We beamed him down. Within five minutes he garnered so much attention we had to beam him back."
"But they must have visitors. From other civilizations, I mean."
"There are. They trade with Kaferian insectoids, Aurelians, a number of others. We have a few sources, but nothing has proved useful yet. And they conduct a lot of business with the Klingons, who have refused to participate in the Federation embargo."
"Naturally. That might be promising, however. Do you think that a Klingon could go into Archnos and investigate some of these buildings we suspect might hold our officers?"
"They do have a great deal of access, especially in the warehouse areas, where they appear to do a lot of trading. But what Klingon would work as a spy for the Federation?"
"I cannot think of one." Yet Mr. Spock seemed to be hatching some sort of plan.
"Then how would that help?"
"Perhaps if this person only resembled a Klingon …"
Sencus smiled. "You mean, send in someone who looked like a Klingon. I do not understand."
"It seems possible."
"Too bad we do not have a shapeshifter on board. Maybe we could send for one. I believe there is a race of Chameloids who can change their identity rather easily."
"Yes, but they are not very friendly. And decidedly untrustworthy. I can attest to that," Spock said, thinking of one who double-crossed Captain Kirk during their last assignment.
Spock spent another half hour on the bridge, talking with Sencus. Then he rose to leave.
"Mr. Spock," Sencus said. "Might I ask you something else? Of a personal nature?"
"Of course," Spock said.
"I have only been aboard the Excelsior for less than a year. But you spent almost three decades with Starfleet, most of it with the Enterprise. Was it worthwhile?"
Spock stopped in the doorway. He thought about the question.
"Worthwhile? I do not know, Mr. Sencus. I do not know the value of life itself. I do not know who does. So I cannot compare it to anything else. But I can tell you this," he said.
Sencus leaned in.
"Between you and I? It was never uninteresting." Then the customary stern visage returned. "Good afternoon," he said, and disappeared into the corridor.
* * *
Kirk spotted McCoy at a table of young female medical officers. He walked over to collect the doctor.
"And let me tell you," Kirk heard him saying as he approached, "when I saw pink blood, I knew I was in trouble."
"Doctor, excuse me," Kirk said before McCoy could begin another story, "but we're heading back to the ship. Sorry, ladies."
McCoy scowled at Kirk, sighed, then rose and bowed to his tablemates. He ambled after Kirk.
As they crossed the room, Kirk searched through the crowd for Barbara, but couldn't find her. He felt a twinge of concern. Had he done the right thing by letting her come on this voyage? Certainly she had proved herself a capable helmsman, though Kirk was well aware that piloting the little star yacht in safe and well-charted territory from the Earth to a starbase was hardly a difficult test. He had privately talked her performance over with Chekov, and found that Barbara had gained the navigator's confidence too, though not without the caveat that "it vas an unewentful trip, Captain. Ve must vait to see how she vill do in unusual situvations." Again he experienced the unnaturally proprietary feelings he had for her. While these thoughts were going through his mind, he looked around distractedly. McCoy broke into his consciousness.
"I haven't seen her, Jim."
"I didn't ask—"
"You were about to."
"Dr. McCoy, have you become a mind reader since our last journey together?"
"I've been observing your behavior toward her, and I saw the look on your face when you were searching the dance floor."
"I do feel responsible for her. Maybe I'd better—"
"It isn't necessary, Captain. She is obviously a strong-minded and capable officer. As for your relationship with her, which I must admit I envy, take it from an old pro in these things. Don't crowd her."
"I'm not in the habit of discussing my personal life with fellow Starfleet officers," Kirk said.
"Jim, you're not in the habit of discussing your personal life with anyone, including yourself. But you're a civilian now. The Enterprise is under someone else's command, I understand. Loosen up, before you become an old fart like me."
"Thanks for the advice. For the record, I don't think you're an old fart, Bones."
"Thanks."
"We'll have to take these little trips more often, Doctor. It seems to be cause for a good deal of honesty."
"This is my last," McCoy grumbled, and led the way out of the crowded bar.
The business of the Federation, even on Starbase 499, until now a backwater assignment on the very edge of the frontier, was round-the-clock. The arrival of three Federation Starships and a diplomatic team only added to a cacophony that was constant and multifarious. Any number of humans and aliens were coming and going at all hours.
In this spirit of activity it was not difficult for even a Promethean to wander the corridors, listening to gossip and making acquaintances. Thus Taras Tarquin sat in a shadowy corner of the rec deck and watched the comings and goings. His squat Promethean body seemed out of character with his reasonably humanoid face, his straight teeth, and his genuine smile. Though on any of the worlds of Beta Prometheus he was considered something of a mutant, and thus an outcast, here he was merely recognized as a virtual cauldron of breeds, some of which were assumed to be human.
When he spotted the crew from the Plush Princess, he made inquiries among his acquaintances on the starbase. Discovering that they were retired Starfleet officers who had come up to 499 because of a connection with one of the hostages, he waited until they had left the rec deck, and followed them to the spacedock, where he stood in front
of the great viewport, admiring the Plush Princess.
While the crew of the Plush Princess was visiting the rec deck, Barbara O'Marla took the opportunity to casually separate herself from the others, and headed for the starbase library. There she found an idle monitor in the empty room. She turned it on, and navigated her way through the system until she found starbase communications. She entered a private password to gain access to a private mailbox. Then she spoke a simple, two-word message: "Arrived. Barbara." She coded it secure, then rose from her seat and headed back toward the Princess.
"There's one more thing," Scotty said. "I did manage to borrow a few supplies. The engineer was kind enough to lend me a couple of photon torpedoes and a mobile launcher. I've brought them aboard, and I think I can hook them into our energy circuits, and find enough power to fire them if necessary. Just in case we have to fire on someone. Though at this point, I cannot imagine who."
Kirk smiled. "Always resourceful, Mr. Scott. But let's try not to start an intergalactic war, shall we? After all, we were all kindly asked to stand down from active duty when we almost started one with the Klingons a year ago."
Six of the seven travelers had returned to the Plush Princess, and were gathered in the aft space lounge reporting on their various conversations. Kirk alone noticed that Barbara was late in returning.
"What next, Jim?" McCoy asked, drawing his attention.
"Well, that depends. An idea has been broached by Mr. Spock that may be worth a try. It appears that the only near-to-humanoid species that is a reasonably integral part of the population of Archnos is Klingon. Although right now as you know we have a shaky but holding treaty with them, they do not participate in the Federation. So they are ignoring the embargo and still doing a good deal of business. There are hundreds of them coming and going, some even living there, we believe. Mostly traders."
"What good is that?" McCoy asked. "We can't trust a Klingon to help us."
"No, we can't. But perhaps one of us could disguise himself as one."
"What?!" several of the crew said.
The Fearful Summons Page 17
