The screen went dark.
Kirk felt the air gust from his straining lungs, and he realized he had been holding his breath during the death throes of the Wanderlust. There was an almost subliminal shivering along his nerve endings, and he felt suddenly cold even though the room was a comfortable seventy-two degrees.
He realized that he could have dealt with the loss of the freighter more easily if there had been a blast of destructive force that had left debris and rubble in its wake. This sense of nothingness, of a ship and her crew helpless in the face of something they could not understand, filled him with disquiet. That could have been his ship. The emotion passed as Kirk pushed away his foreboding.
“So you want the Enterprise to check out this phenomenon?”
“I’m afraid we have no other choice. Computer analysis by the scout ship indicated that the space/time distortion is spreading outward from the Taygeta system. I know it pulls you off your assigned course toward the Romulan neutral zone, but I’ve cleared it with Star Fleet. They agree this should take precedence over brandishing the big stick.”
Kirk smiled at Li’s sally, and cocked an inquiring eyebrow at Spock. “Any questions, Mr. Spock?”
The Vulcan shifted in his seat, and steepled his hands before his face. “I would question whether there is anything peculiar to this area of space, the local star or surrounding planets which might account for this effect.”
Li shook his head. “We’ve had computer analyses of the star and the surrounding area drawn from the data banks of the survey craft which listed the system. As for the planets, aside from Taygeta they are lifeless balls of rock or gas giants.”
“And Taygeta?”
“The area has only recently been opened to exploration, and the only point of interest would be to exobiologists or zoologists. Unfortunately there hasn’t been enough money to mount an expedition to Taygeta.”
“And what’s on Taygeta that the Federation would want to?” Kirk asked.
“The planet is inhabited by a strange mammalian species.”
“Intelligent?”
“One hopes not, since the planet has become a mecca for fortune hunters.” Kirk looked puzzled, and Li enunciated two words. “Crystal tears.”
“Oh,” Kirk said. “I see.”
Spock broke in. “Forgive me, Captain, but I do not see. What are crystal tears?”
“The galaxy’s newest and most costly craze,” Li explained. “My daughters are all hounding me for a tear. So far I’ve been holding them at bay since the cost is astronomical.”
“I gather that these tears are garnered on Taygeta?”
“Not from Taygeta, Mr. Spock, rather from the inhabitants of Taygeta. The tears are formed by an eye secretion emitted at the moment of a Singer’s death.”
“Singers, Commander?” Spock repeated, sitting forward attentively.
“The name that’s been given to the creatures who dwell on Taygeta. The beasts seem to sing constantly. Not like any human or humanoid music known, but a very definite and complex song. That’s one of the questions an expedition would have answered, along with how the creatures maintain themselves, since they never seem to feed.”
“I am disturbed by this failure of Federation policy. The evidence of such complex behavior would argue against the nonsentience of the creatures. If such were the case the Federation’s action in allowing the hunters access to the planet may be destroying an intelligent species.”
Li spread his hands. “As with all governments, Mr. Spock, there are failures and oversights. The present issue before us, however, is not the inhabitants of Taygeta, intelligent or otherwise, but with this strange warp in space.” He shifted in his chair, and looked back to Kirk. “Captain, how soon can you be ready to leave dock?”
“As soon as I get to the Enterprise I’ll cancel all shore leave. With Scotty back on board we ought to be able to get the inspectors off in a matter of hours.”
“Good, and if we need to fudge a bit on any inspection certificates just let me know.”
“I like a man who knows how to cut through red tape,” Kirk said with a smile. He rose, and shook hands with Li. Spock politely inclined his head to the base commander, and they left the office.
Spock hesitated in the hall rather than following Kirk toward the lifts. “Captain, with your permission I would like to delay my return to the Enterprise by perhaps as much as an hour.”
“Why, what’s this, Spock? Are you beginning to pine over the loss of a shore leave?” Kirk teased.
Spock drew himself regally erect. “Hardly, Captain! I merely wish to pursue a possible line of investigation while I have the libraries of a star base at my disposal.”
Kirk paused and looked thoughtfully at his first officer. Sometimes Spock’s logical or intuitive leaps seemed far-fetched, but Kirk had learned not to question them. Many times Spock’s seemingly outlandish lines of research had provided the solution to a particular knotty problem. If Spock wanted to go off and study a species of singing aliens there was, no doubt, a very good reason for it.
“Request granted, Mr. Spock. But see to it that it only takes an hour. I want to be ready to pull out by morning.”
Spock nodded. “Very good, Captain.”
As Kirk thumbed the lift for the ground floor he noticed that the last trace of his boredom had vanished.
The crowd in the Green Room had begun to thin, and still Uhura waited. She was mentally castigating herself for foolish and adolescent behavior, but it didn’t help. She couldn’t bring herself to walk out of the room.
A tall woman swathed totally in gold-tipped Ssravat fur gave one final gushing comment, took her escort’s arm and they swept toward the door, and Maslin stood revealed. He made a rude gesture toward the pair’s departing backs, and then turned toward his dressing room. He halted after only a few steps, and looked back as if arrested by Uhura’s close scrutiny.
Brilliant green eyes stared suspiciously out of a thin, pale face made even paler by the shock of jet black hair which fell across the man’s high forehead. There was a world of exhaustion and cynicism in those eyes, and Uhura almost blanched when he said in an infinitely weary and sardonic tone, “I suppose you want an autograph too?”
Anger that her idol should possess such obvious feet of clay, and anger at herself for having waited literally at the stage door like some star-struck schoolgirl, swept away her embarrassment.
“Not anymore, thank you,” she said coolly. “I did when I walked in here, but I find that after a few minutes of exposure to your personality I’ve changed my mind.” She crossed the room to the door, her head held high.
“Wait,” Maslin said, eyeing her curiously. “You’re not like these vapid socialites. What are you?”
She found it odd that he asked her what rather than who she was, but she ignored it, and answered, “I’m a Star Fleet officer assigned to the U.S.S. Enterprise.”
“Impressive, if one happens to be awed by that institution. But what’s a technocrat like you doing at one of my concerts, Madam Star Fleet?”
“I’m also a musician, Mr. Maslin, and you’re displaying an appalling amount of ignorance and bias in assuming that all Star Fleet personnel lack an appreciation or understanding of the arts.”
Maslin walked slowly up to her, and Uhura noticed that he was a small man. They were eye to eye, and she was wearing sandals.
“What are you doing now?” he asked abruptly.
“Now? I’m going back to my hotel room.”
“Why don’t you come to supper with me? I may be a royal son of a bitch most of the time, but I pride myself on an open mind. I think I’d like to be lectured and corrected by you, Madam Star Fleet.”
It was on the tip of her tongue to refuse, but there was a compelling power about Maslin when he dropped his prickly, sarcastic mien, and concentrated his not inconsiderable charm on a person.
“All right,” she said at last. “But only if you ask my name, and stop calling me Madam Star Fleet. I’m owed that c
ourtesy at least.”
“I think you might be owed a good many others as well,” Maslin retorted with an appraising look. “And what is your name?”
“Uhura.”
“A powerful name for a powerful lady. Just let me change, and you can try to teach me some manners.”
“That’s too large an undertaking for a single evening, Mr. Maslin,” she replied easily.
He mimed a touché, and suddenly smiled. The expression softened the harsh lines around his mouth, and made him seem younger. He vanished into his dressing room, and Uhura realized that she hadn’t felt this giddy in years. She decided to enjoy the sensation and the moment for as long as they lasted.
When Maslin returned he had shed his formal attire, and wore slacks, a sweater and a long, knee-length jacket. Uhura noticed the height of his boot heels, and decided that Guy Maslin was not a man who lived comfortably with his size.
The composer held the stage door for her, and they stepped out into the warm night air. Capella was a lush and hospitable world, and Uhura breathed in the scent of citrus and alien fruit which was carried to her by the wind.
“Do you mind if I don’t call a cab?” Maslin asked. “On a night like this I’d rather walk.”
“Fine. It isn’t often that I’m planetside, and I enjoy the feel of earth underfoot.”
“How do you stand it?” he asked, thrusting his hands into his pockets, and striding along beside her.
“What?”
“Being closed in on a ship all the time.”
She smiled at him. “A common misconception that people have. First, the Enterprise is one of the largest ships in the fleet, so I’m hardly cramped. Also, we have rec rooms, and gyms, and a botanical garden where a person can relax, and more importantly—I love it. My work is interesting, and you never know what new experience is going to confront you when you’re on board an exploratory vessel like the Enterprise. I don’t think I’d be as happy making a milk run between Earth and Vulcan, say.”
“An adventuresome as well as a beautiful lady,” he murmured with a sideways glance at her.
“That’s coming on a bit too strong.”
“I never pay empty compliments.”
“And I wonder how many women have heard that line?”
“And she’s also a lady who reads the gossip columns.”
Uhura blushed with vexation. “I do not. Your reputation transcends even the gossip columns.”
“Touché again.” He stopped walking, and pulled a gold cigarette case from his coat pocket. He thumbed a tiny button on the side of the case, and a cigarette slid smoothly from the recesses of the case already burning. Uhura raised a brow at the expensive toy. He returned the case to his pocket, and studied her as he took a thoughtful drag on the cigarette. “How does a man get to you?” he finally asked.
“By not playing games with me.”
“Fair enough. Okay, no more empty compliments, but you will permit me to buy your dinner, won’t you?”
“Of course. You invited me.”
They walked on in silence until they reached an awning-covered doorway.
Maslin indicated the bright blue canopy. “What passes for elegance on this backwater. I suppose I should be grateful that there is anyplace other than bars that is open at this hour,” he added as he held open the door.
“I take it you’ve never been out to the frontier before.”
“This is the first and the last time. I like my caviar to be Beluga, my champagne aged and my jumps between worlds to be short. And those amenities you only find in the settled areas.”
“A luxury-minded and not very adventuresome man,” Uhura murmured in imitation of his earlier remark.
“No, you are definitely not going to be easy,” Maslin said in a low voice as they followed the maître d’ to the table. The composer ordered quickly, choosing an elegant and expensive supper. When the waiter left he leaned back in the booth and studied Uhura. “You’re the first Star Fleet type I’ve ever really talked to.”
“Yet you seem to have formed some pretty strong opinions about us on the basis of little or no information.”
He shrugged, and took a sip of champagne. “You represent a lot of things I don’t like.”
“Such as?”
“Discipline.”
“You have to be disciplined to be a musician.”
“That’s self-discipline, not discipline imposed from outside.”
“We’re not precisely keelhauled if we step out of line, and remember we choose to join the service. There are no conscripts in Star Fleet.”
“You said you were a musician,” he said, switching subjects. “What do you play?”
“Not play, sing. I can handle the Vulcan lyrette, though Spock tells me my attempts are feeble at best.”
“I’m surprised you tackled it at all. It’s a difficult instrument.”
“I like challenges, Mr. Maslin.”
“Guy, please.”
“All right, Guy.”
“And who’s Spock that he sees fit to comment on your musical skill?”
“He’s our half-Vulcan first officer. He plays the lyrette very well, and has given me a few lessons.”
“After supper will you sing for me?”
Uhura felt her throat constrict at the thought. Maslin had performed with some of the greatest voices in the Federation. What was acceptable aboard the Enterprise became ridiculous when in the company of this man. She quickly shook her head.
“Come now, if you don’t I’ll think my original impression, that all Star Fleet personnel are technocrats, was the correct one.”
She gave a laugh, and reached for her champagne. “When you put it that way I have to agree, if for no other reason than for the honor of the fleet.”
“That’s the spirit.”
They were interrupted by an insistent beeping from Uhura’s communicator. She pulled it from a fold in her gown, and flipped it open. Maslin watched curiously.
“Lieutenant Uhura here.”
“Lieutenant,” came the voice of her second. “I’m to inform you that all shore leaves have been canceled, and all personnel are to report aboard ship as soon as possible.”
“Thank you, T’zeela. I’m on my way.” She flipped shut the communicator, and looked at Maslin.
“I’m sorry, but I have to go. Maybe you can find someone else to share dinner with you.” She rose and started away from the table when his hand shot out, and closed around her wrist. There was surprising strength in the long, slender fingers. She looked at him questioningly.
“Wait. That person said ‘as soon as possible.’ In this case I think as soon as possible means after supper.”
“A nice try, but I can’t agree. You don’t know Captain Kirk. Soon for him means now.”
“You’re becoming all hard and military on me,” he complained. “Where’s that sensitive artist I saw looking out of those beautiful eyes?”
“She’s moving aside for the officer, which is how it should be.”
“We’re talking about thirty minutes, maybe an hour tops,” he pressed. “And this is probably the only time we’ll ever spend together. Please say you’ll stay.”
She wavered, reminding herself of duty and responsibility; but that gay, carefree side that had surfaced during this evening reminded her of the inspections, and that they really couldn’t leave until they were completed.
Maslin’s hand was warm on hers as she sank back into the booth.
Chapter Two
The bridge hummed with quiet activity. Kirk paused just off the turbolift, and allowed that surge of satisfaction he always felt when he entered the command center of his ship to wash through him. There was polite acknowledgment of his arrival from the crew members at their various stations as he moved to the command chair.
Kirk realized after scanning the circular room that none of his first-line people was present. Lieutenant Riley held down the helm for Sulu, T’zeela occupied Uhura’s seat and Scotty’s pert
young assistant worked at engineering. Kirk spent a moment admiring the way Lieutenant Bethany Wilson fitted her uniform, and he dubbed Scotty a sly dog for attracting her from life support to engineering.
The captain slid into the command chair, and a young yeoman brought him the day’s paperwork. Kirk signed the sheets without really knowing what they contained. He knew it was a bad habit, but he had given up on reading the reports years ago when he had realized that their only purpose was to satisfy the paper pushers back on Earth.
The door of the lift hissed open. Scotty, Kirk identified from the sound and rhythm of the boot heels on the deck. He gave the yeoman a dismissing nod, and handed back the clipboard.
“Captain! I tell ya I canna stand it!” It was apparent that Scotty was deeply moved for his accent blurred all of his words instead of the few he considered obligatory.
“What seems to be the trouble, Mr. Scott?” Kirk asked, swinging around in his chair.
The chief engineer’s round face was ruddier than usual, and his jaw worked for several seconds before he answered. “That damn Ssasenach inspector. He’s driving me and my engineers crazy. He keeps crawling through my engines with that pinched and sour look of his even after I’ve told him everything is fine. At this rate we might be cleared to warp sometime next year.”
“Show a little pity, Scotty. The fellow’s probably a frustrated Star Fleet applicant.”
“He’s a damn bureaucrat! Him and his damn snotty ways, as if I don’t know how to maintain me own engines!”
“Relax, Scotty. If I have to I’ll call Li, and have him get this inspector off our backs. Besides, sometimes they do find something that needs overhauling.”
The engineer gave a disdainful sniff. “Maybe on a lesser ship than the Enterprise.”
“Get back to your engines, Mr. Scott. When we are cleared to leave I want to be ready to go.”
“Aye, sir.” He paused at the door to the turbolift. “But I tell you, Captain, you best do something quick before I commit murder.”
Kirk laughed. “Don’t worry, Scott.”
The engineer left, and Kirk settled back in his seat to meditate on the situation they were being sent to investigate. The phenomenon offered dangers of an unknown quality and quantity, but Kirk had other fears as well. This particular quadrant was one which both the Federation and the Klingon Empire were expanding into. Ultimately there would be a clash, new lines would be drawn and the uneasy peace would be maintained. But in the meantime it was up for grabs, and the two major powers would be battling by whatever means were available for territory. Kirk just hoped that word of the phenomenon hadn’t reached Klinzhai, and that he wouldn’t find any Klingon destroyers waiting at Taygeta. He leaned his head against the back of his chair, and wove contingency plans if he should find the Klingons holding the high ground, so to speak.
The Tears of the Singers Page 2