Star Trek - Log 10

by Alan Dean Foster

  Further buffeting, not a repeat of the last but stronger this time, rocked the Enterprise again. It had enough force to jolt small objects loose from their places at desk and console. It also lasted slightly longer than the previous shaking, and stopped just as mysteriously.

  Uhura relayed the gratifying no-damage reports from each deck and section while Spock worked feverishly now at the science computer.

  "I think I have it, Captain." He glanced up finally from his instrumentation. "If the information compiled by our long-range sensors is accurate, we would do well to immediately—"

  He never finished the suggestion. A giant hand slapped the Enterprise sideways, flung Kirk from the command chair. He barely caught himself in midair to keep from being thrown against the navigation-helm console.

  All across the bridge, other crew members were slung from their positions. Only Spock, who was half prepared for the shock because of what the sensors had told him, clung tightly to his seat and absorbed the buffeting. But this time the shaking didn't stop. It fluctuated from dangerous to irritating, but never ceased entirely.

  Kirk crawled carefully back into the command chair. "Mr. Sulu, all ahead warp factor eight! Emergency power!"

  "I'm trying, Captain," Sulu shouted after a frustrating struggle with the controls. "She's not responding properly. We're caught in something."

  "Energy storm," Spock announced loudly, over the noise of the shaking. "Captain, sensors report a variable pulsar in the immediate spatial vicinity. That's what's causing the uneven buffeting. It's rotating at a high rate of speed, throwing out intermittent, unpredictable bursts of tremendous energy. I should have recognized the cause sooner but—" He broke off, concentrated on keeping his seat as a violent spang sounded through the fabric of the ship's hull.

  Kirk thought of a hammer pounding on a metal pail—and they were inside the pail.

  "Captain!"

  Kirk instantly recognized the urgent voice shouting over the chair intercom.

  "Hang on back there, Scotty."

  "What's going on, sir? The strain on the engines tryin' to hold us to a course through this is makin' my stress gauges look drunk. And the hull's showin' strain, too."

  "Variable pulsar, Scotty."

  "What? But how did we get so close? Shouldn't . . .?"

  "I know, Scotty. Let's wonder about that later. Bridge out." He rolled to his right, remembered the sensation so well described in books of sea captains of old. "Mr. Sulu, change course. We can't fight through this. Compute to—" He held on, gritting his teeth, forearm straining as another violent jolt battered the ship. "Compute position of pulsar, utilizing sensor readings, Mr. Sulu. Engage course directly opposite to plotted wavicle flow!"

  "Aye, Captain!" A brief pause was long enough for the Enterprise's superfast navigation computer, operated by Lieutenant Arex's skilled three hands. Then Sulu fed it to the helm. Abruptly the Enterprise came about, although there was no sensation of turning on the bridge: The curve the ship was making was far too gradual for it to affect the artificial gravity field.

  The buffeting gentled, the galactic storm falling to a electromagnetic zephyr, but didn't cease completely.

  "How are our shields holding, Mr. Spock?"

  The first officer checked his instruments. "Still holding, Captain. I would be surprised if we have not suffered some external damage, though. We were caught utterly unprepared, and our shields are not designed to absorb that kind of intense radiation bombardment anywhere but at different spots at a time, as in a phaser attack. The storm enveloped us completely."

  He checked his readouts again. "We absorbed saturation-level bombardment for nearly two minutes." Someone on the bridge whistled in awe. "We are fortunate to still have power."

  "I know we've been lucky, Mr. Spock. But if we'd struck that storm at a sharper angle, plunged deeper into it before we realized what was happening, we'd have less than power." Everyone knew what Kirk was implying. A variable pulsar, at close range, could put out more than enough energy to fry the best-shielded vessel in space. The Enterprise had barely escaped being turned into a vast, metal coffin.

  It was a nervous moment as another tsunami of energetic particles rocked the ship. This was the last one of any kind, powerful or gentle. Seconds later the warp drive had outpaced the wave front assaulting them.

  "All right, Mr. Sulu." Kirk discovered half the muscles in his body were still contracted, forced them to relax. "Compute a new course and bring us back toward Briamos . . . and keep a slight curve out on the new heading." That ought to keep them clear of the receding pulsar's most powerful outbursts.

  "Damage reports coming in, sir." Uhura listened a moment, then added more quietly, "They're not negative this time."

  "I don't doubt it." Kirk readied himself. "Anything of real significance?"

  "Several sections on Decks Seven and Eight report external structural damage in their area, sir. Estimate is that a portion of hull plating will have to be replaced."

  "Contact Engineering and inform Chief Scott—though he may know about it already. Tell him to put a couple of crews to work on the damage. They'll have to rig something temporary as best they can. We can't afford the time to go back to Starbase Twenty-Five for formal repairs."

  "Our appearance when we arrive in orbit around Briamos will not be the best, Captain," Spock pointed out.

  "I know, Spock, but I'd rather show up looking a little bruised than not show up on time. According to what I heard during our briefings, if we're late we might as well not show up at all."

  "I have already examined a part of the briefing material in detail, Captain, and I concur." The science officer turned his attention to the fore viewscreen, which showed only steadily burning normal stars forward. "A near thing. We should take time to report the hazard."

  "That's right." Kirk turned, glanced over his shoulder. "Lieutenant Uhura, give me Starbase Twenty-Five contact."

  Uhura worked busily at her console. Kirk waited . . . and waited. "Lieutenant, what's the delay?"

  "I'm sorry, sir. Apparently some of our external communications facilities were damaged by the energy storm. I've finally gotten through to the base, but I can only receive audio at the moment."

  "That'll do, Lieutenant. Inform Engineering and have Scotty get on that damage also."

  "Starbase Twenty-Five," came a pleasant, mildly concerned voice over the bridge speakers. "Lieutenant Jorgenson speaking. Go ahead, Enterprise."

  "Mr. Spock, you have the coordinates?" The first officer nodded. "Tell them, then."

  Spock switched on his own pickup. "Lieutenant Jorgenson, are you recording this transmission?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "Very well. We have just ridden out a violent energy storm, radiation put out in ship-crippling bursts by a variable pulsar of," and he read off several figures, giving galactic position and the pulsar's estimated frequency of critical-intensity outbursts.

  There was an unexpected silence at the other end. Kirk and Spock exchanged puzzled glances. "Do you copy, Starbase Twenty-Five?" Uhura finally asked.

  "We copy," came the lieutenant's voice, "but . . . would you mind giving those figures again please, sir? Especially making certain of the coordinates?"

  "The coordinates were correct the first time," replied Spock evenly, "however," and he repeated the entire sequence of identifying numbers.

  "But that's impossible," Jorgenson insisted. "Those figures can't be right!"

  "I assure you that it is not impossible and that our figures are correct." Spock sounded just the faintest bit peeved. "Are you denying that we just experienced the situation described?"

  "No, no . . . it's not that, sir. I've counterplotted your figures against the base charts and we have that pulsar clearly marked. There are four beacons of deep-space broadcast capability set well clear and equally spaced around that pulsar to warn approaching ships of the danger well in advance."

  Kirk's thoughts tumbled over one another. "This is Captain Kirk speaking, L
ieutenant. We certainly weren't warned. We picked up no beacon transmissions." He glanced sharply to his left. "Lieutenant Uhura?"

  "No, sir!" She looked shocked. "You can't miss an emergency deep-space beacon. Not even if I wanted to. I didn't pick up as much as a cautionary beep."

  Kirk hesitated, but Spock spoke into his chair pickup. "Are you sure about those four beacons, Lieutenant?"

  "Positive, sir," came the reply, crackling with static due to the Enterprise's damaged communications network. "It says here in the manual that they're fourth-degree amplitude broadcast, too, and were serviced only two years ago. You should have picked up at least two signals well in advance of any potentially damaging energy surge."

  "It seems most unlikely, Captain, that two recently serviced beacons of that type should fail simultaneously." Spock sounded unusually grim.

  "True, Mr. Spock." Kirk chewed his lower lip, looked thoughtful. "Still, there can't be many ships passing this way. They could have failed."

  "Possible, Captain," Spock conceded. "I am not denying that, only saying that the odds are large against it. Deep-space warning beacons are powered and designed to remain operative without inspection for a hundred years. That two of them should fail together in so short a time . . . I find that a difficult concept to accept."

  "So do I, Spock. But at that moment that's one of only two possible explanations I can think of. And I don't like thinking of the other one."

  "That the beacons were intentionally tampered with?"

  "Yes. Although I admit that seems little more reasonable than a simultaneous double failure." He paused, then directed his voice to the chair pickup once more. "Starbase Twenty-Five . . . Are you still there, Lieutenant?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "Report that at least two of the four beacons and possibly more apparently have become inoperative."

  "Inoperative, sir? But that's impossible also."

  "There's no other explanation, Lieutenant. Not unless all our external sensors and communications equipment has been rendered completely useless." Uhura shook her head violently. "And I'm assured that's not the case.

  "Put in a report and have Starfleet maintainance get a repair team out here to check those beacons as soon as possible." He paused, and added even though he knew the answer, "Could those beacons have been destroyed by an energy surge from the pulsar itself, Lieutenant?"

  "No, sir. According to the manual here, those four beacons are Class-AA-shielded. Nothing short of a full nova would knock them out. I just don't understand this, sir."

  "Neither do we, Lieutenant, although we have a suspicion and it's not pleasant. However"—he took a deep breath—"we are still on course for Briamos and expect to arrive slightly delayed but still within the time parameters set by the Briamosites. You can report that back to Starfleet Command for us."

  "Will do, sir. And, sir?"

  "Yes, Lieutenant?"

  "If there's negligence proven in this case, someone's going to pay for it."

  "I have news for you, Lieutenant," Kirk replied. "If there's no negligence proven, someone's going to pay for this."

  XII

  Other than the unexplained incident involving the unbeaconed pulsar, the flight to Briamos was devoid of surprises. That pleased Kirk just fine. One near disaster before the conference had even been convened was quite enough.

  Briamos's main system, containing two populated planets including the Briamosites' homeworld, was impressive. And Briamos itself was as beautiful a world as any in the Federation. Its twin world of Niamos, orbiting farther out, was smaller but equally attractive.

  Clearly the Briamosites had not squandered the natural opportunities nature had given them. The deep-range scopes and sensors on the Enterprise indicated highly developed populations on both planets. With Niamos, an inhabitable world, hanging only seventy-five million kilometers off in space, the ancient Briamosites had been gifted with a natural reason for developing space travel.

  While they did not possess warp-drive capability as yet, and journeys between the three close Briamosite solar systems involved—by Federation standards—unconscionably long times, the vessels that Kirk saw when they approached Briamos were superbly designed and very efficient-looking. So much so that Chief Scott was of the opinion that the Briamosite ships could be adapted to warp-drive technology, and therefore fast deep-space flight, with few modifications. No doubt that capability would be one of the first items the bargaining Briamosites would seek in deciding who to ally themselves with. But it would hardly be critical. Both the Federation and Klingon could offer Briamos high-speed FTL technology.

  No, the Briamosite decision was likely to hinge on less definable reasons.

  Five warships, each nearly as large as the Enterprise, drifted out of low orbit to greet them.

  "We're being scanned and hailed, Captain," Uhura reported.

  "Have a good time but check your weapons first," murmured Kirk as he admired the lines of the approaching ships, "Let's keep in mind that they're likely to be cautious at the same time they're displaying impatience. Put them through, Uhura."

  The screen cleared instantly and they saw their first Briamosite. Their first live one, Kirk reminded himself. He had studied those features at lecture session after session. The actual sight, therefore, was expectedly anticlimactic. He now knew Briamosite features as well as those of M'ress, Arex, or any other nonhuman Federation race.

  Since the screen proportioned everything, one couldn't tell from the portrait that the alien stood over two meters tall, this being the Briamosite average. Partly, the alien resembled a human being who had walked in front of one of those ancient amusement park fun-house mirrors (the one that made fat women happy by squeezing them to an unnatural thinness while stretching them to Watusi heights). The forehead was high, the head itself long and narrowed. But it was not a hollow-cheeked skull face. The Briamosites were thin, they were not living cadavers.

  The one regarding them now did not smile. Neither did he frown. Not much could be told from that, one way or the other. Even sociologist Chu Leiski hadn't been able to learn much about Briamosite expressions during her limited sojourn on their world, and the shy people had been reticent to discuss the meanings of their occasional facial grimaces and twitches.

  One thing they did know, Kirk remembered: as long as a Briamosite did not on first greeting show lower canines and groan softly, he or she was at least offering a neutral greeting.

  The eyes were stretched like the rest of the gangling body. Ellipsoidal orbs peered out at Kirk, their pupils eerily small. As if to counterbalance the high, narrow skull the ears were wide pleated shapes like the wings of a bat, and roughly that size. They stuck out boldly at right angles to the nearly hairless pate. A three-centimeter-high gray fuzz ran in a straight line from the forehead down below the back collar, much in the fashion once favored by certain primitive Amerinds of Earth.

  The figure spoke. Considering the small size of the mouth opening, the words that emerged sounded quite normal in inflection and pitch. Now that he was speaking, the Briamosite gestured freely with one hand or the other, hands which ended not in fingers but in four small, flexible tentacles, each tipped with a pointed claw painted a color different from that of its seven fellows. The ears moved also, in a manner which Kirk recalled from his notes as signifying friendliness. While the two arms were jointed much like human arms, the weaving boneless tentacles gave them a decidedly graceful, supple look.

  As the speaker moved, the pins holding his toga to one high shoulder sparkled. Stripes which Kirk recognized as indicating rank ran across the upper folds of the garment. The skin beneath those folds was a light gray-green, hairless but definitely not reptilian in appearance.

  "To you greetings, Captain Kirk of the Federation ship Enterprise. Am I—I am Colonel-Greeter Pliver here to welcome you to our system home and to conference." His ears swayed in agitation like those of a nervous rabbit. "Worried I was that you might not be here in time. You have arrived bar
ely six vilvits the polite side of deadline."

  "We're sorry, but we were delayed," Kirk explained quickly. Then he recalled the view that the Briamosite's portrait had replaced. "That's quite a welcome you've given us—five warships. You, Colonel-Greeter Pliver, make me feel like an honored guest. But all those weapons aimed in our direction kind of counter the effect."

  "Apologies are extended," said Pliver.

  At first Kirk thought the Briamosite might be struggling with an unfamiliar duty; but that impression had changed swiftly. Already Kirk was coming to regard the alien as a slickly professional diplomat the Federation Diplomatic Corps would have been proud to match wits with.

  "We felt it necessary to provide an escort," Pliver continued smoothly, "for your own protection."

  "Protection from what?" a new voice wondered. Kirk glanced back, saw McCoy emerge from the turbo-lift and stride onto the bridge.

  "Hello, Bones. I was just going to ask that myself." He returned his attention to the viewscreen. "We can take care of ourselves," he said meaningfully. "Who do we need so much protection from?"

  "Why, from mutual enemies yours, the representatives of Klingon. They have been here for," and Kirk thought he detected just a hint of reproach in Pliver's voice, "three days."

  "Klingons . . . As I told you," Kirk went on, "we ran into some trouble on our way here. If you take a look at the damaged exterior of our ship you'll have some idea of why we were delayed."

  "I have already noticed the damage, during your initial approach from deep space, on our scanners." He didn't sound particularly sympathetic, Kirk noted. "Most unfortunate. Assuming, I am, as little as we know about you of the Federation, that you are telling me a true story, Captain Kirk. I would hate to think that Federation of yours thought so little of us as to send a second-class damaged ship to represent them because it was not needed somewhere more important."

  Almost, almost Kirk said the first thing that came into his mind. But he recognized it as a clever ploy, and a test. Pliver had deliberately baited him, testing his patience, his pride, his ability to maneuver mentally in a stressful situation.