The Tears of the Singers

by Melinda Snodgrass

  There was a flash of black and silver from the rocks to her right, and she quietly aimed and blew away his head. Two more fell to her merciless fire before the remaining Klingons realized that they were under attack from the rear.

  Down in the camp Spock also realized that something had changed. There was still the whine of disruptor fire from the cliffs, but none of it was being directed into the camp. Instead the Klingons seemed to be battling with some unknown assailant.

  “What the hell’s going on?” McCoy asked as he cautiously lifted his head from the protection of his arms.

  “I’m not certain, Doctor, but the Klingons appear to be under attack.”

  “Well of course they’re under attack, Spock,” McCoy said in exasperation. “What do you think we’ve been doing for the past fifteen minutes?”

  Spock’s lips narrowed into a thin line. “Try not to be more obtuse than usual, Doctor. The Klingons are firing behind them.”

  “But who could it be? Taygetians?”

  “Highly unlikely. If the Singers won’t protect themselves why should they protect us?”

  “Good point.”

  “At any rate we have no more time to debate the issue. This would seem an opportune time for an assault,” the Vulcan said, pulling out his communicator. “Mr. Ragsdale.”

  “Aye, sir,” the security chief’s voice came back over the communicator.

  “What is your situation?”

  “I’m down in good cover. Yeoman Chou is with me.”

  “Excellent. What of Mr. Brentano?”

  “I saw him go down several minutes ago.”

  Spock nodded and, switching frequency, signaled Uhura. “Lieutenant?”

  “Here, sir.”

  “Is Mr. Maslin with you?”

  “No, and I don’t know where he is.” Her voice was ragged with worry.

  “Is any one else with you?”

  “No, sir, I’m alone.”

  “Well ready yourself, we’re going to charge the cliffs.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And what about me, Spock?” McCoy asked.

  “You have no weapon, and I would prefer that you waited here. Also, I would like to have your services available to tend any of us who might be hit.”

  “First time you’ve ever expressed any confidence in my abilities.”

  “You are, one is forced to admit, Doctor, better than nothing.”

  “Thanks, what a vote of confidence. I hope you do get shot so I can make you eat those words,” McCoy muttered, but his blue eyes were dark with worry.

  Spock tried unsuccessfully to raise Donovan, and finally decided with regret that the young man had been hit. He knew Maslin carried no communicator so he put the composer out of his mind for the moment. Cautiously lifting his head, he eyed the cliffs, and settled upon a plan of attack. In a few quick words he informed everyone of their targets, and then dropped back to wait until there was a particularly vicious barrage of fire, none of which came into the camp.

  “Now!” he ordered, and they all exploded from their places of cover heading for the cliffs.

  Spock saw Maslin come charging out from behind a tent, a phaser clutched in his hand. “Back!” he shouted. “Go back!” but Maslin kept running.

  Uhura suddenly glanced back, and saw the composer. Spock wondered bitterly if she were going to break discipline and go back after her lover, but she once more lived up to his high estimation of her abilities. She paused, made a quick adjustment to her phaser, and fired a quick stunning burst at Maslin. He went down like a rag doll, and Spock nodded in satisfaction and continued his sprint for the cliff.

  They were beginning to take a little fire as the Klingons realized their danger, but with that withering fire from their backs they were unable to make a concentrated effort to stop the humans. Spock saw four more of the Klingons fall as his people opened fire, and that seemed to break their morale. There was a concentrated rush for the beach as the five remaining Klingons tried to escape the deadly crossfire. One more fell, victim to the humans’ unknown benefactor, and Yeoman Chou went down clutching her leg as a last random shot from the Klingons managed to hit.

  Lieutenant Uhura hurried to the other woman, and Spock saw a small figure rise out of the rocks. Shading his eyes against the glare of the sun on the crystal cliffs Spock recognized Kali. He waved, and she came leaping like a goat down the rock wall to join him.

  “Thank you for your timely help,” he said formally. “It would have gone badly for us if you hadn’t intervened.”

  “My pleasure.”

  The Vulcan frowned, and glanced about. “How many did we kill?”

  “Ten, I think.”

  “But there were only five—”

  “In our landing party,” she interrupted. “Yes, that’s right, but some reinforcements arrived a few hours ago.”

  “And the Enterprise is currently under attack,” Spock murmured as he began to assemble the entire picture.

  “I think we can safely assume that my husband is no longer in command, and that the truce is off.”

  “Unfortunately I must concur.”

  Brentano and Ragsdale gathered Chou up in a fireman’s carry, and they headed back to camp. McCoy was bent over Maslin, running his tricorder over the composer’s limp body.

  “Is he all right?” Uhura demanded, rushing over to his side.

  “Yeah, the stun didn’t do him any real harm, but I’m not happy with these other readings.”

  “The disease?”

  “Yes, it’s on the rise again. Spock, help me get him into his tent.”

  After Maslin was safely ensconced in bed, Spock moved to the large computer that had been tied into the synthesizer, and began making adjustments.

  “What are you doing, Mr. Spock?” Uhura asked, having been shooed away by McCoy.

  “This computer was acting as a link between the Enterprise’s computer and the synthesizer. It may be possible to reactivate the link with the Enterprise, and determine how the battle is going. I could use the communicators,” he said, answering her unspoken question. “But it would distract the captain, and that I will not do.”

  Kali drifted over to join them, and soon Ragsdale and Brentano had gathered about Spock, waiting tensely while he worked. There was a flicker of color, and then the display screen of the synthesizer lit up with a strange elongated view of the main screen of the Enterprise. They watched in silence for several moments, trying to make sense out of what they were seeing. Then Kali exclaimed, “There are three cruisers present. Where did the third one come from?”

  Spock’s face tightened into even grimmer lines, and he began to punch a request for data into the computer. There was a whir and a chatter, and then the cold, impersonal female voice of the computer began to speak.

  “Screens down fifty-two percent. Phasers operating at one-third normal power, maneuverability reduced by sixty-one percent due to—”

  “Stop!” Spock ordered. “Calculate maximum operating time remaining for affected systems.”

  “Working.”

  Tension was turning his head and neck into a mass of pain, and he bitterly regretted the series of circumstances which had left him trapped helplessly here on the planet’s surface while far overhead, in the frigid darkness of space, his captain battled for his life. Mendez was very young and inexperienced and might be unable to provide Kirk with the sort of split-second information he would require if the Enterprise was to survive this encounter.

  Suddenly he balled up one fist, and drove it into the protective crate that had held the synthesizer on its journey to the planet. The metal crumpled beneath the power of his Vulcan assault, and the other people around him jumped nervously. It had been an action beyond his own volition, and after he made it he immediately regretted the emotional display. He arranged his face into its usual expression of bland impassivity, and returned his attention to the display screen, watching as the picture from the Enterprise buckled and wavered under the pounding the
ship was enduring.

  McCoy, accompanied by a shaky Maslin, joined the rest of the landing party. Maslin slowly walked to Uhura, and stood gazing thoughtfully at her.

  “I didn’t appreciate what you did,” he said at last.

  “I didn’t think you would.”

  “Then why did you do it?”

  “To protect you.”

  “But they killed Donovan and the cub,” he said miserably. “And I wanted to do something.”

  He had that little-boy-lost look again, and Uhura felt her heart go out to him. No doubt this was the first time he had ever seen death, and she could still remember her own shock and confusion when, after a pitched battle against rebels on Wynet V, she had found herself staring down at the twisted body of the captain of the small cruiser that had been her first assignment out of the academy. She reached out to him and, folding her arms around his thin form, pulled him tight against her body.

  “I’ve made Yeoman Chou as comfortable as possible, but she really needs to be in sick bay,” McCoy announced to Spock, pulling the Vulcan’s attention away from the compuscreen on the synthesizer.

  “Regretfully, Doctor, that is not an option that is at present open to us.”

  “Why? What’s going on?” Maslin asked, lifting his head from Uhura’s shoulder.

  “How do you feel about becoming a lost human colony?” Ragsdale grunted before Spock had a chance to reply.

  “Why? What is it?” the composer demanded again.

  “The Enterprise is under heavy attack,” Kali said quietly, “and it seems unlikely she can survive. Your brilliant captain notwithstanding,” she quickly added, to soothe the humans who were already starting to bristle at her unconscious slur of Kirk.

  “I don’t think your visions of a pastoral existence are likely, Mr. Ragsdale,” Spock said dryly. “If the Enterprise is destroyed we will then he captured or killed by the remaining Klingons.”

  Everyone stood clumped in miserable silence, and watched the events unfolding on the screen. Suddenly the computer stopped its steady chattering and announced, “Time to full systems failure—nineteen minutes, seven seconds.”

  There was a stir from the assembled people, but no one spoke. There really wasn’t anything to say.

  Kirk, like his first officer, was also aware of the steady loss of essential systems. He kept one eye on the tiny readout on the arm of his chair, and one eye on the screen, trying to keep one jump ahead of their attackers.

  The Enterprise shuddered and bucked under another blast of deadly disruptor fire, and people went sprawling in all directions. Kor grabbed the arm of Kirk’s chair, and pulled himself to his feet.

  “Perhaps you ought to consider heading in another direction,” he said softly into Kirk’s ear. “The captains of those other ships are beginning to hit more often because they know where you are heading.”

  “I too know where I’m heading, and I have no intention of wasting power in useless maneuverings.”

  “You mean you have a plan?”

  Kirk winced a bit, and even managed a smile at the unconscious and incredulous emphasis. “Yes, Commander, I actually have a plan.” And he turned his attention back to the screen.

  He was grateful when Kor stepped silently back to his position behind the command chair, for he didn’t want to elaborate upon his plan—he didn’t much like it himself, but he could see no alternative. Never, in all his years of narrow escapes and tight spots, had he viewed suicide as the only option, but now he had reached that decision. He knew that the Klingons could not be permitted to take and enslave the Taygetians, and use their awesome power against the Federation. He also knew that the Klingons would be unable to mount another expedition to Taygeta before the phenomenon consumed the Singers’ sun, and they went down into a cold, dark and silent death. It seemed a cruel solution, but at least the people of hundreds of other worlds would be safe from the Taygetian power in Klingon hands. Having recognized all this, his only remaining duty was to remove the Klingon cruisers.

  That the Enterprise and all her crew had to be sacrificed in the process almost gagged him, but he held firm to his duty. His only problem now would be tricking the Klingons into following him in this last dangerous gamble.

  The second planet in the Taygetian system loomed up on the screen. Kirk sucked in a deep breath and held it for a moment while he took a last fond look about the bridge of his ship, and the people who had been his comrades for so many years.

  “Mr. Sulu, drop all shields, and channel the power directly to the engines. Mr. Chekov, please do the same with the phaser banks. Then Mr. Sulu, build up full speed and take us right over the top of that planet, and drop us down the other side.”

  “But Captain,” Mr. Scott began as he took a half step toward Kirk.

  The Captain held up one hand to forestall him. “Please, Scotty, give me everything you’ve got.”

  “But it will horribly overload the crystals!” he said, his accent thick with distress. “It may even shatter them!”

  “It won’t matter once we clear the planet,” Kirk said quietly, and Kor stared at him in amazement and admiration.

  “The phenomenon. You are going to take us into the phenomenon, and like hounds after a hare they will follow us in before they realize what is happening.”

  “That is the general idea, yes.” There was a murmur from the bridge crew, quickly silenced.

  “Transfers complete, Captain,” Sulu sang out after receiving a confirming nod from a white-faced Chekov.

  “Full power on my command.” Kirk tensely watched the screen, waiting until the Klingons were virtually within range and rushing carelessly forward, emboldened by the loss of their enemy’s shields. “Now!” he shouted, and brought his hand down as if signaling the start of a race.

  The Enterprise leaped like a startled deer, and raced for the planet. Sulu sent her skimming over the barren surface, not wasting speed or time by making a large arc. Then they were over the other side, and the luminescent tendrils from the space/time warp drifted about them.

  Kirk heard a sound like delicate chiming bells, and in the next instant tasted the same sound. He shook his head, trying to keep his mind clear as it was overloaded with a barrage of bizarre and alien sensations. All around him people began to lose control. Some giggled and capered about the bridge, while others stared in rapt contemplation of something only they could see.

  The instruments on the bridge began to glow with a pale, multicolored witch’s fire that danced along the floor and ceiling in time to that strange and beautiful chiming. Everything was beginning to warp and fade, and Kirk realized he had lost touch with his own body. He could see it seated there in the insubstantial command chair, but he wasn’t there.

  “Captain,” he heard Kor say softly. “It was a privilege to know you. You are worthy to be a Klingon.” And then they were gone.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Spock stared down at the now blank screen. His shoulders and neck were rigid with tension, and his hands slowly tightened on the edge of the synthesizer, leaving deep gouges from the pressure of his Vulcan fingers.

  Maslin instinctively reached out and, grabbing Spock by one wrist, tried to pull his hand away. This touch seemed to bring the Vulcan back to himself. He straightened slowly, almost painfully, and turned to face the white-faced landing party.

  “Where have they gone, Mr. Spock?” Uhura asked, her voice small with shock and anguish.

  “Who can say, Lieutenant?” He looked back at the blank, gray synthesizer screen. “Perhaps into an alternate universe, or perhaps they are still in our universe, but in an altered state.”

  “Any chance of your miraculous captain pulling the ship out of this one?” Maslin asked. The words were sarcastic; the tone wasn’t.

  “No,” came Spook’s blunt, hope-killing reply.

  Kali stood off to one side of the humans, her arms wrapped tightly about her body as if she feared that if she let go she would fly into a million pieces. Her fa
ce was impassive, but her eyes were wells of anguish. Uhura stepped to her side, and placed a comforting hand on the other woman’s shoulder.

  “At least he did not die at Karsul’s hands,” Kali whispered, forcing the words past stiff lips. “He would have liked the way your captain lured them in after him. To die in such a heroic fashion would have …” Her control broke, and she began to cry in small, almost silent little sobs that nonetheless shook her slender body with their muted violence.

  “Are they dead?” Maslin asked bluntly.

  “I don’t think so,” Spock replied, but he forbore to give his reason for this belief. It was so illogical that he almost cringed when he admitted it to himself. Still, it could not be denied that somewhere deep within himself he believed that Kirk still lived. That powerful bond that held him to his captain was still there, and he believed, however foolish it might seem, that that bond would not be broken until death claimed one of them.

  Maslin dug his hands into his pockets and, narrowing his eyes, stared up the glittering cliffs to where the Singers still continued their world-spanning song. He suddenly whirled, and sliding onto the bench began to bring up the synthesizer.

  “What are you doing?” Spock asked, looking down into the small man’s intense white face.

  “The Taygetians have the power to manipulate matter, possibly even time and space in some way we don’t understand. So let’s get them to bring back the Enterprise for us.”

  “You cannot be serious. We have no evidence that the Taygetians possess such a power.”

  The composer shifted on the bench to stare challengingly up at the Vulcan. “And we have no evidence that they can’t, so I suggest we try it. It’s better than sitting here passively waiting to die.”

  McCoy stepped into the conversation. “You know what I told you in the tent. The disease is beginning to flare again. You try a stunt like this and you will die.”