The Three-Minute Universe

by Barbara Paul

  Kirk found that interesting. Perhaps they were a group mind, in which case the concept of individual identity would be meaningless to them. Or if they were individuals, did they have so little self-respect that they didn't consider themselves worthy of bearing names? No, Kirk told himself sternly, you're projecting your own negative reactions on to them, anthropomorphizing with a vengeance. The computer suggested a more mundane explanation: probably Sacker names were simply not translatable into other languages.

  Kirk switched off the screen and summed up what he'd learned. The appearance of a Sacker was disgusting to human eyes and his smell offensive to the human nose; both sight and smell could bring the taste of bile to a human mouth and cause the poor observer to lose his dinner. Touch one, and you get burned. Listen to one, and your eardrums are punctured. Sight, sound, smell, touch, and taste—without meaning to, the Sackers managed to offend every one of the human five senses. Without those senses, humanity was a race of machines. With them, humans could never approach the enigmatic race derisively known as Sackers.

  There didn't seem to be any answer.

  Instead, there were new questions, bothersome questions that Kirk could see no answers to. Why would a hitherto peaceful race suddenly turn violent? Could the Zirgosian woman be mistaken and was unknowingly blaming the wrong people for the havoc wreaked on Holox? Were the Sackers somehow responsible for bringing the three-minute universe into our own? Did that last question belong with the first two?

  "McCoy to Captain Kirk," the speaker said.

  Kirk pressed a button. "Kirk here."

  "Just wanted you to know I'm back, Jim. And I brought the woman with me, the one you wanted to talk to."

  "I'll be right there," Kirk said, and broke the connection before McCoy could tell him not to bother.

  Lieutenant Uhura didn't want to be in sickbay. "My problems are nothing compared to what's happened to those poor people down on Holox," she insisted. "I can wait."

  "Uhura, I called you in, remember?" McCoy said tiredly. "The situation on Holox is under control, and it looks as if those we reached in time are going to pull through. Now tell me about the dreams. Are you getting your sleep? You look more rested."

  "I am, thanks to you. I'm still dreaming of fire now and then, but the dreams are, well, different."

  "Different how?"

  "I'm no longer dreaming of … that fire, the one I was caught in when I was ten years old. I dream of other places burning. Do you remember the palace on the planet Platonius?"

  "Very well."

  "I dreamed it caught fire. It never has, so far as I know. The games arena on Triskelion—I dreamed of it burning. And the space station where I got that first little tribble? Burned. Does that mean that on some level I'm convinced fire is uncontrollable? If I'm letting it burn up every place I've ever been?"

  "No, I don't think so, Uhura," McCoy smiled. "What you're doing is depersonalizing the fire that hurt you. You're substituting other places, other details for the ones that cause you pain. It's a way of controlling the memory—you've taken a big step. I'll bet you that the dreams start coming farther and farther apart now. You'll see."

  "You think so?"

  "I do indeed. And you won't need drugs to help you sleep."

  Uhura sighed happily. "That's the best news I've heard in a long time." She got up to leave. "I thank you, Dr. McCoy."

  "That's what we're here for."

  They walked together out of McCoy's office into the examination room. Uhura looked around. "Where's Christine?"

  "Down on the planet. The doctoring is done—it's all nursing from now on."

  Suddenly the doors whooshed open and Captain Kirk came charging in. "Where is she? Oh—sorry, Uhura. Where is she, Bones?"

  "In intensive care. She's sleeping, Jim."

  "Can I talk to her?"

  "Not yet. She's sleeping a natural sleep, one of the best healers in the world. Right now treatment consists of sustaining life while the antidote has time to clean all the toxic residue out of the system. We can't rush it, Jim. I'll call you when she wakes."

  Uhura looked puzzled. "Who is it you're talking about?"

  "A Zirgosian woman, I don't know her name," Kirk said. "She's the one who warned us about the Sackers."

  "Ah. No one else said anything?" Uhura asked.

  "No one else was in any condition to talk—none that I saw, at any rate. Bones, that heat front is still advancing, and if the Sackers had anything to do with it I've got to know about it!"

  "If we wake her now, we may interfere with the healing process. Just a couple more hours, Jim."

  Kirk shrugged and accepted it.

  "There's still no answer from the Sacker ship, Captain," Uhura said. "If only we knew their language!"

  "Doesn't matter—they know ours. Or at least they have translators they can use. They're not answering because they don't want to answer. And they don't want to answer because they're planning something. Something that's not going to do any of us any good. You can bet on it."

  Uhura and McCoy exchanged an uneasy look, said nothing. Captain Kirk was disturbed, and that was reason enough for both of them to feel disturbed as well. The captain wasn't in the habit of seeing problems where none existed.

  They had trouble.

  Chapter Three

  "ALL RIGHT, two lads and a lass," Mr. Scott said, "what're ye called?"

  "Hrolfson."

  "Franklin."

  "Ching," said the lass.

  They were in a Holox hovercraft heading southwest from the settlement. The security team member named Franklin was at the controls and the ride was getting a bit bumpy, but Scott didn't say anything about it. He studied Mr. Spock's tricorder resting on his knee. "A wee bit to port, lad."

  Franklin edged the craft over to the left. "What are we looking for, Mr. Scott?"

  "We're lookin' for an unaccounted-for source o' heat out in the middle o' nowhere. The captain is thinkin' it may be a Sacker structure."

  The hovercraft lurched, then straightened out again. "Sackers?" Franklin gulped. "On Holox?"

  "That's what we're to find out, lad."

  "My sister saw a Sacker once," Ching remarked from the seat directly behind Scott's. "She was sick for a week."

  Scott swiveled around to face her. "Aye? Where was this?"

  "On Elas. The Elasians wouldn't let them inside the cities."

  Scott grunted. "Smart o' them. We'll not be havin' contact with the Sackers, so rest easy. We're just to see what they're up to."

  They rode in silence for a while. Then Hrolfson said, "Am I getting nervous, or is it getting warmer?"

  "It's getting warmer," Franklin said, tugging at the neck of his uniform.

  Scott read the tricorder. "We're almost there."

  "Could it be a military structure, do you suppose?" Ching asked.

  "Maybe it's a supply base," Franklin said. "They might need a place to store things."

  "Perhaps they just want to settle here," Hrolfson suggested. "Holox has a lot of unused land area."

  Mr. Scott said nothing.

  "Wait here, Mr. Spock," Lieutenant Berengaria ordered.

  Spock halted obediently. So far they'd run into no sign of danger in any of the Zirgosian structures they'd entered on Holox, but the lieutenant was just being thorough. Spock approved.

  Berengaria barely met Starfleet's minimum height requirement for security work, but she always managed to look bigger than she was. The hard, muscled arms helped, as did the pouf of hair standing straight up from her head and adding inches to her height. But what made most people forget her size was the air she exuded of knowing exactly what she was doing. Spock was quite content to wait while she checked out the building.

  Berengaria and the other two members of her team cautiously made their way into the structure, which bore no indicator on its façade as to its function. So far, the investigation had proved fruitless. Spock had looked over the rows of patients the medical teams from the Enterprise were
treating, but he'd found only two of the poisoned Zirgosians who were able to speak. They'd barely had time enough to gasp out that they had no idea what had happened before Nurse Chapel showed up to shoo Spock away. One of the medteam's members was even then at work analyzing the food and water; Holox's air had already tested out safe.

  Spock took a few steps back to get a wider view of the building he was to search next. On the whole the Zirgosians built well; they balanced function and aesthetics in a proportion that was especially pleasing to Vulcan eyes. A very civilized people, the Zirgosians; they'd never once initiated hostilities against another world in all the time they'd been a spacefaring race. They were probably as close to being enemy-free as any modern culture could be, and Spock had thought Jim Kirk mistaken in his suspicion that an attempt was being made to eradicate the entire race. But after the evidence of the mass poisoning on Holox, he could no longer deny the likelihood.

  Spock walked to the corner of the building and looked along the side. This building was different from the others. Most of the Zirgosian buildings they'd visited had been supersolid structures designed to look light and airy, soaring and pristine. Zirgosian tastes in color ran to cool blues and whites, complementing perfectly the clean lines of their architecture.

  But the building in front of him would have looked more at home on Argelius II. Dark and asymmetrical, it was evidently quite labyrinthine on the inside—if the exterior shape of the building was any guide. What colors Spock could glimpse through the windows were dark and rich, maroons and deep greens with an occasional dash of gold trim. He spotted a tapestry hanging on one wall but it was too far away for him to make out any of the detail. His communicator beeped.

  "Spock here."

  "Mr. Spock, the lab analysis is finished," Christine Chapel's voice said. "It was the water! The food hasn't been tampered with, but the water is loaded with a toxic alkaloid bonded to a delaying agent."

  "A delaying agent? That rules out accidental poisoning, then."

  "Yes, sir. Evidently whoever is responsible didn't want a few of the Zirgosians falling ill immediately after drinking the water and thus warning the others."

  "That would seem a logical conclusion. Thank you, Nurse."

  So now there was evidence of malicious intent. Spock was not surprised. Spock was rarely surprised. He was concerned, however. Under normal circumstances the Enterprise would stay in orbit around Holox until the colony was back on its feet. Jim would undoubtedly want to help find the poisoner; but unless they could discover a way to stop the advancing heat, there wouldn't be any Holox left to help. Yet he knew Jim would refuse to leave until enough Zirgosians had recovered to the point where the colony could function again, at least on a minimal level.

  Berengaria came out of the building. "It's a hostelry, Mr. Spock, for off-planet visitors. I'd say it was for folks who didn't feel comfortable in the Zirgosians' usual antiseptic kind of building."

  "Did you say 'antiseptic', Lieutenant? Are you speaking medically or aesthetically?"

  "Aesthetically," she smiled. "I think I'd be happier in this building myself. We don't all like that kind of architecture." She gestured dismissively toward the nearest Zirgosian structure. "We haven't checked everything, but there aren't any booby traps lying around. I think it's safe."

  "Did you find anyone inside?"

  "Nobody yet."

  Spock followed her into the building. The old-fashioned beamed ceilings were lower than in other Zirgosian structures, and the rooms were overcrowded with furniture, all of it richly colored and soft-looking. Tapestries and paintings and niches containing small sculptures took up most of the wall space; it was all too fussy for Spock's taste. "Where have you looked?"

  "Just downstairs."

  Spock started to climb a circular staircase—an affectation, he concluded, since the building had only two stories. The staircase ended at a narrow hallway with a ceiling so low he had to bend over when he entered. Even Lieutenant Berengaria, who was much shorter than Spock, had to stoop a little. Spock had been right about the labyrinthine structure; the hallway made three turns and dropped five steps before leading to a wider area with a number of doors opening off of it. He reached out to open the first door.

  "Better let me do that, Mr. Spock." Berengaria pushed past him and cautiously opened the door. The bedchamber was empty.

  So were the next three rooms they tried, but the fifth door opened on to just about the last sight they expected to see in a settlement that had recently lost well over half its population. A man stood poised on a wooden chest, a rope looped around his neck with the other end thrown over a ceiling beam and anchored to a bed. When he saw Spock and Berengaria, he gasped … and stepped off the chest.

  Berengaria got there first. The man hanging by the neck kicked out at her, but she managed to grab him and support his weight, grunting from the effort, until Spock got there to help. Even with the two of them holding on to him, the hanging man continued to fight until Spock reached up and applied the Vulcan nerve pinch. All the fight went out of the would-be suicide; he slid quietly and bonelessly to the floor.

  "Whew!" said Berengaria. "That was close. He weighs a ton."

  "Let's try to make him more comfortable." Spock stooped down and hooked his arms under the man's arms, but even with his great Vulcan strength he had to strain to lift the unconscious man. Berengaria took the man's legs, and between the two of them they got him on the bed.

  "He's awfully heavy for such a short and squat fellow," Berengaria panted. "Who is he, Mr. Spock? He doesn't look like a Zirgosian."

  "That, Lieutenant, is an inhabitant of the planet Gelchen, if I'm not mistaken," Spock said. "A high-gravity planet—one point eight five Earth normal, if I remember correctly. All those who dwell there have that same low, compact body. Heavy mass."

  "Wonder what he's doing here? Look, he's coming around."

  The man opened his eyes and stared at them blankly for a moment. Then he remembered and turned his head to the side and began to cry. His body heaved with big, racking sobs.

  Berengaria was appalled; instinctively she reached out to place a comforting hand on his shoulder. "Oh, don't—there's got to be a better answer than killing yourself." She turned to Spock. "You don't happen to speak the Gelchenite language, do you, Mr. Spock?"

  "Unfortunately, I do not."

  But it didn't matter; the Gelchenite understood English. "You should not have interfered," he choked out, and covered his face with both arms.

  Spock and Berengaria waited; finally the Gelchenite got himself under control. He sat up in bed and looked at their uniforms. "You're from a Federation starship."

  "The Enterprise," Spock acknowledged. "I am First Officer Spock—this is Lieutenant Berengaria. And you are …?"

  "I am Borkel Mershaya ev Symwid, of the Gelchen Transgalactic Trade Commission." He took a deep breath. "You might as well take me into custody. I am the one who poisoned the water supply. It was I who killed all those good people." His head drooped forward on his chest.

  Berengaria made a strangled sound and stepped in closer to the bed.

  Spock's left eyebrow rose. "Mr. ev Symwid, do you understand what you are saying? You deliberately poisoned the Zirgosian colonists?"

  "Yes," the Gelchenite answered dully. "I can't live with what I've done. You should have let me die."

  Spock turned to Berengaria. "Lieutenant, summon your team." He took out his communicator. "Enterprise, come in."

  "Enterprise here."

  "Five to beam up. On my signal."

  * * *

  The Gelchenite, Borkel Mershaya ev Symwid, slumped in his seat in the Enterprise briefing room. Dr. McCoy had given him a stimulant to keep him from succumbing to depression, but the man remained passive and resigned. Lieutenant Berengaria stood behind him, arms folded. Mr. Spock sat quietly at the briefing table calibrating the new tricorder he'd checked out of Stores, to replace the one now in Mr. Scott's possession.

  The briefing room door
opened and Captain Kirk walked in, his face a mixture of revulsion and curiosity. He stood before the disconsolate Gelchenite and gave him a good looking-over. "Borkel Mershaya ev Symwid," he said. "I'm told that is your name. Is it a name you're proud of?"

  The Gelchenite lifted his head. "I was once," he said. "But not now."

  Kirk stared at him a moment and then took his seat at the table. "I'm Captain Kirk. I want you to tell me why in the name of all you hold holy you poisoned those people. And make it good, mister. Don't hold back anything. Why did you do it?"

  The Gelchenite sighed deeply. "The Sackers. They forced us to. They—"

  "Hold it," Kirk commanded. "You're saying it was the Sackers who wanted the colonists dead? Why?"

  "The Zirgosians had denied the Sackers permission to build that thing out in the desert, whatever it is. So the Sackers took three of us—"

  "Us? Start at the beginning, ev Symwid. Why were you on Holox to start with?"

  The poisoner ran his tongue over dry lips. "I was part of the Gelchen Transgalactic Trade Commission. We were here to set up offices to administer a trade agreement recently drawn up between Holox and Gelchen. Then the Sackers came. They beamed down in the desert and started building without so much as a by-your-leave. When the Holox authorities went to their site to tell them Holox was a Zirgosian colony planet and they were not welcome to build here, the Sackers killed them."

  "Killed them! What did the rest of the Zirgosians do?"

  "They're not a combat-oriented people, Captain, so the first thing they did was try to contact their home planet. But they got no answer. So they started arming themselves. They weren't decided as to whether they should attack or defend, or whether they should just try to contain the Sackers until they could contact either Zirgos or a Federation starship."

  Kirk held off on telling him why they couldn't reach Zirgos. "Then what?"

  "Two other members of the trade commission and I were about to beam up to our ship—we were thinking of leaving, frankly. All the others were already on board. But the Sackers … kidnapped us, I suppose it was. We didn't have a chance."