by Greg Bear
"Surely Starfleet is very careful in choosing its captains. Isn't it impossible for a man or woman who's passed all the tests to be a bad apple?"
Again she was leading him into delicate matters. Kirk knew of fellow officers who had "gone bad." They were rare, and the unfortunate results had never extended beyond damage to Starfleet vessels—and crew deaths—but there was always the possibility …
"It's never impossible for a human being to make a mistake. The monitors have been installed to catch me—us … if a mistake is made."
"But what if it's a difference of opinion, a judgment call, and you're not allowed to follow your own judgment?"
"That hasn't happened yet."
"The system hasn't been tried, Captain."
"True. But I dislike speculation. By the end of this mission, we should have enough experience to know whether modifications are necessary."
"Do you expect them to be?" Kirk smiled. "No." I certainly hope not, he thought. "The monitors really consist of the experiences of six of our finest starship captains. It's much as if they were staring over my shoulder, offering friendly advice. I don't really expect to ever disagree with six of Starfleet's finest."
"Yes, but I'm sure no captain enjoys having his commands questioned by even the most brilliant of his peers. Isn't a captain supposed to be autonomous, the ruler of all the surveys?"
"A starship captain is part of a chain of command. He is never his own man." And how often had he strained that dictum past the breaking point? "Sometimes the romance of command is overblown, wouldn't you say? I'm always accountable for my actions. In fact, I'm accountable for the actions of the Enterprise and all aboard her. If the monitors can help me in my work, I welcome them. Perhaps you should speak to Lieutenant Veblen. He can describe the technical details, those that aren't classified."
"That would be very useful. Is he available now?" If he isn't, Kirk thought, I'll make him available.
He motioned her out of the computer bay and called the computer control center, where Veblen was likely to be engaged in his endless checking and re-checking of the monitors' peripherals. "I'll need Mr. Veblen on the bridge with me in forty-five minutes," he told Mason. "Please don't keep him any longer than that."
"I won't," Mason said. She watched Kirk enter the elevator. She had learned nothing important—nothing she could substantiate, at any rate—and he had only given her thirteen minutes. But one thing was perfectly obvious to her, perhaps moreso than it was to Kirk himself. The captain of the Enterprise loathed the thought of being second-guessed.
Everything was running smoothly on the bridge. Kirk took his chair and paused before beginning an entry in the ship's log. Was it possible—barely possible—that the Enterprise could run herself better without him? He put the doubt aside almost before he had a chance to notice it, and made a routine status entry on the compact chair arm keypad. Veblen came on the bridge a moment later. "Good day, Mr. Veblen," Kirk said. "I trust you had a pleasant interview with Mister Mason."
"Yes, indeed," Veblen said, smiling. "She's a very pleasant person. May I listen in on the monitors' communications with the command console, Captain?"
Kirk looked at him, vaguely irritated. "Yes. Of course." Veblen made the necessary patches through the science console and plugged in an earphone. His face assumed an air of blissful attentiveness as he listened to computer voices discoursing with each other in various machine languages.
"Mr. Veblen," Kirk said a few minutes later.
"Yes, Captain?" Veblen had plugged a diagnostic tricorder into the science console. The display on the console screens was spectacularly complex.
"Mr. Spock recommends that the Enterprise be prepared for any exigency, and I concur. We'll need—"
"Sir, I've already initiated a stochastic algorithm in the strategy and forecasting centers."
"Of course," Kirk said. He bit his lip. "Precisely. Any results yet?"
"It's only been running for an hour, sir." Veblen smiled almost gleefully. "Last I checked, it was running a model on the development of Hoyle clouds under protostar conditions."
"Hoyle clouds, Mister Veblen?"
"Large sentient masses of interstellar gas, Captain. Named after a twentieth-century astronomer."
"Yes. The Enterprise has encountered similar creatures several times. Why should that be amusing, Mr. Veblen?"
"By itself, no reason, sir. But the algorithm was speculating on the possibility they were chess masters." His smile widened, as if he were filled with some hidden joke he couldn't possibly explain.
"I assume that is in the nature of the algorithm, Mr. Veblen, and we shouldn't be alarmed?"
"Quite unnecessary, Captain. The program does not expect to be interrupted while preparing its required list of nonsense situations. It will select useful scenarios on its own."
"Thank you," Kirk said. Somehow his sense of humor faded when he was in the presence of the young computer officer. Perhaps it was Veblen's seeming inability to wear a uniform properly …"Please disengage the command console now, Mr. Veblen."
"Yes, sir." Veplen withdrew his tricorder and patches and returned the privacy of his chair to Kirk. McCoy came on the bridge, looking mildly jubilant. He stood to one side of Kirk, smiled, and shook his head. "Captain, I think I've got the hang of working with the watchdogs. I'm learning to reason with them, God help me. We shouldn't expect too much trouble." He lowered his voice. "Unless we run into anything just the tiniest bit unusual." He cast a meaningful glance at Veblen.
"Glad to hear it, Doctor. When you've mastered them, perhaps you'll inform me how to deal with Mr. Veblen's command override."
"That's simple, Jim," McCoy said. "Just don't screw up. Use your own judgment, but for God's sake don't make any decisions."
Kirk laughed. "Status report on your weapons tests, Mr. Chekov."
Chekov swiveled his chair. "We are ready for almost anything, Captain."
Captain's Log, Stardate 4380.4.
I'm going back through my tapes and trying to find all the information on hand about Kshatriyan Vice Commodore Uligbar Dar Zotzchen. VC Dar Zotzchen is the last confirmed commander of the Kshatriyan stretch of the neutral zone. As anticipated, the Romulans gave us no trouble during our brief passage; the Kshatriyans, however, are not likely to be so cooperative, even with the acquiescence of their Federation representatives.
I last had dealings with Dar Zotzchen when I was a very green exec aboard the Bonne Homme Richard, escorting treaty software to the presiding regent Dom Hauk. My impression was that VC Dar Zotzchen is a devious son of a bitch, and nobody to trust when you're in a hurry—
INTERRUPT / INTERRUPT / INTERRUPT / INTERRUPT / INTER
Kirk was on the bridge in less than a minute. Veblen smoothly disengaged the command override, which thankfully had done nothing in the meantime, and Uhura played back the message.
Kirk listened intently. Yes, indeed, the voice—even in translation—was that of Dar Zotzchen. Unforgettable.
"Defender of the Kshatriyan God's Endowment, Prime Commodore Uligbar Dar Zotzchen to the inept commander of the easily recognizable Federation starship Enterprise. Your course will take you across Kshatriyan neutral territory. That is regarded as an act of war. Are you prepared to violate all that our treaties stand for?"
"Greetings," Kirk said, "to the Righteous Defender Dar Zotzchen. Congratulations on your promotion, and all proper respect to the Presiding Regent." Kirk deliberately left out the regent's name, in case there had been reshuffling in the royal house. "The Prime Commodore's servant officers must be lax in their duties, not to inform His Vigilance that we have already sought and received permission to cross. We are on a rescue mission."
Uhura listened closely, then swung her chair around to face Kirk. "There is no reply, Captain."
"Sir," Veblen said, "the monitors suggest the Kshatriyan will probably broadcast a conciliatory reply on an obscure channel to—"
"Lieutenant Uhura and I are quite aware of that, Miste
r," Kirk said, perhaps too sharply. "Lieutenant, repeat my signal, and add the substance of the message from the Kshatriyans granting Starfleet permission."
Spock came on the bridge, took his position at the science center, and surreptitiously checked on Veblen's points of access to the computers. Kirk noticed this and smiled his appreciation. He didn't like being in a conspiracy against one of his own officers, but in a possible emergency, it was best to know everything in advance—including whether the new systems would allow him a full range of actions.
Mason came on the bridge a moment later. Her expression was more harried than scared, but this changed to stiff-faced control as she caught on to the situation.
"Still no reply, Captain," Uhura said, glancing back at her new roommate.
"Distance to the neutral zone, Mr. Yimasa."
"Three light hours and closing rapidly, Captain."
"Maintain warp maximum. Ensign Chekov, load torpedo bays with decoy targets and prepare to launch. Shields on maximum."
"Reply coming in now, Captain."
"Let's hear it."
"Captain Kirk, is it not?" The Kshatriyan had altered his tone to take advantage of human inflections. "Our records are not so precise, but I remember a young officer with a voice very much like your own. I assume you have achieved your own command, and my congratulations. I measured you as a worthy adversary then, despite your inexperience. Our machines are even now searching for such a message. Until then, please reduce to impulse power and skirt the neutral zone."
Kirk grimaced. "Reply, Lieutenant: Unable to reduce to sub-lightspeed. Repeat, we are on a rescue mission and time is of the essence. We have already broadcast your own government's response, complete with uniquely coded identifiers. Please allow us to pass. Your hostility could be considered the first step toward a very undesirable situation."
Uhura listened for a few minutes. The bridge was silent, except for Mason's somewhat uneven breathing. Kirk looked at Veblen and saw flushed excitement on his face, but no fear. Mason was beginning to show her distress in various twitches and nervous motions.
"No reply, Captain."
"Maintain warp maximum, Mr. Sulu. Mr. Chekov, clear the bays of two decoys and load two photon torpedos. Do we have the Kshatriyan ships, Mr. Yimasa?"
"They are still out of range and hiding, sir."
"Sir—" Veblen said.
"No interruptions, please, Mr. Veblen."
"But this could be important, sir—"
For God's sake, Mason wanted to scream, listen to him!
"Please!" Kirk shot an angry glance at the computer officer, who nodded and backed away a step. "Distance, Mr. Yimasa."
"Two light hours from neutral zone buoy eighty-one, the closest, sir."
"Yellow alert, gentlemen." The sirens began on all decks. "General quarters." There was a piercing whistle, and a mechanical echo of his command. On his console, a display ticked off the stations reporting fully manned and ready. The bridge screen showed a reconstructed image of the stars immediately ahead, and postulated positions of the Kshatriyan battle fleet.
"We have them, Captain," Chekov said. Yimasa concurred. "They are in the classic Warp-E formation. They look very combative."
Kirk nodded. The green postulated positions of the fleet on the forward screen were replaced by red confirmeds. In the Warp-E, the outlying lines of ships would be in warp drive, traveling between warp minimum and warp three, while a rear line and center piercing line were on impulse power. If the Enterprise were caught in that formation, no matter what tactic she used, she would be confronting fully prepared ships. Kirk saw that McCoy had come on the bridge. He stood near Mason, hands gripping a railing, wearing his tailored expression of overbearing interest.
"Mr. Sulu," Kirk said. He paused. Sulu turned, waiting. "Maintain course, steady as she goes."
"Sir, we will pass within range of their formation," Yimasa said.
"I assumed as much, Mr. Yimasa. Any signals, Uhura?"
"None, Captain."
"Steady, then. Steady." He sounded as if he were reassuring a horse, Mason thought. Kirk patted the chair arms and stared intently at the forward screen. Veblen stood to one side, trying to look chastened and not entirely succeeding.
It was at a time like this that Kirk felt he was almost in telepathic communication with Spock. The science officer's mere presence was enough to make Kirk believe that, somehow, he was doing what Spock would suggest.
"Fifty-seven light minutes."
"Status report."
"All stations manned and ready, Captain."
"Conditional red alert." Again the sirens, and the ticking off of acknowledgements on his command console.
Always the rush of adrenaline, which the caveman had used to prepare for the wolf or cave bear … and which Kirk was now using to prepare himself for a fleet of high-technology battle cruisers, deep between the stars, between dimensions.
Veblen swallowed audibly. His first time, Kirk thought. Good for him. Mason hadn't moved. She kept glancing between Kirk, Spock and McCoy.
"No reply, Captain," Uhura repeated.
"Spock, are we tapping their ship-to-ship?"
"Yes, Captain. They do not appear to be in a state of great alarm. Other than that, I cannot read the signals clearly. They may be false."
If that Kshatriyan son of a bitch was making him put his crew through a conditional red, just to get his jollies …
"Two light-minutes," Yimasa said. "Within range."
"Warp-E shearing and closing," Chekov said.
"Full red alert," Kirk ordered.
"Impulse ships going to warp minimum," Chekov said.
"Formation closing on us, sir," Sulu reported.
"Prepare for combat, damage alert imminent."
"Captain!" Uhura held her hand to her ear. "A message from the Prime Commodore. He wishes us the best of Creator's luck, and acknowledges receipt of our permission to pass through the neutral zone …"
Kirk, McCoy and Mason let out their breaths at almost the same time. Kirk looked at the computer officer with a wry grin. "Well, Mr. Veblen?"
"Captain?"
"What did the monitors suggest?"
"That we shouldn't worry, sir. The Kshatriyans are unable to engage in a full-scale war at this time, have no need to do so and are renowned for enjoying testing their adversaries. The monitors concurred down the line with your actions, sir."
"Very glad to hear that, Mr. Veblen. Why was the message so urgent, then?"
"Why, sir, I felt there was no need for tension, if all was to go well. Wasted energy."
"Quite, Mr. Veblen," Kirk said, glancing at Mason. "Quite."
Chapter Seven
When Mason entered Uhura's quarters, the communications officer had just come off duty and was changing into a flowing orange and red robe, decorated with a fringe of leopards stalking through jungle grass. Uhura smiled at her and offered a glass of wine from the cabin autochef.
"That was really something," Mason said, sitting on the edge of her bunk. "I'm not sure I've ever been more scared."
"It was a bluff," Uhura said. "I think most of us were aware of that. I'm sorry there wasn't more time to prepare you."
"The captain didn't behave like it was a bluff."
Uhura laughed. "Poker face."
"And everybody seemed relieved when it was over."
"Well, you can never tell what a Kshatriyan might do. Do you know much about them?"
Mason shook her head. "Only what I've read in my schoolbooks and picked up from the subspace bulletins. The dailies."
"They're quite an admirable race, actually. Very tough, very defensive … and well they should be. They remind me of the Zulu. They're an old race, surrounded by the Romulans and the Federation, threatened by the Klingons … and still they hold their own, even against better technologies."
"They're the same basic stock as Commander Spock, aren't they?"
"They're part of the third octant Dakhrian migrations, if that's
what you mean. The Vulcans, Romulans, Klingons and Kshatriyans are all related if you go back far enough."
"And Spock doesn't feel funny, siding with humans against his own blood?"
"I'm afraid the ties go too far back for any of them to feel much kinship. Besides, who knows what Spock feels?"
"I don't understand."
Uhura gathered up her gown and pulled a chair near to Mason's bed. "He's a Vulcan. They have very rigid codes governing emotions."
"Yes, I know that." She felt slightly irritated. "We're not that isolated on Yalbo. But doesn't he hold opinions?"
"Not unless there's a lot of evidence behind them. Personal opinions are anathema to a Vulcan. In fact, anything having to do with petty personal traits is subdued during Vulcan education. But enough talk about Spock. I'd like to learn more about you."
Mason shrugged. "I'm a reporter. I come from a very small, isolated planet. What else is there to say? Besides, I'm not important. Only the story."
"I'm sorry none of us could get down to Yalbo," Uhura said. "I like to visit all sorts of planets, even small ones."
"It started out as a mining colony," Mason said, one hand stroking the back of the other. She looked down at her hands and clasped them. "Full of metals, rare earths … We can't drink the groundwater. It would poison us. The atmosphere is filled with nitric acid vapor. When we go outside the compounds, we have to wear full body suits. It's not what you call a paradise."
"Still, I bet you like it." Uhura leaned forward, her dark eyes glittering. Mason grinned and shook her head.
"We all like something about where we grow up."
"The people, maybe?"
"Sure. There are good people on Yalbo."
"You're proud of Yalbo. Admit it."
Mason considered. "Of course. We've done some really remarkable things there. Like, we stayed alive until the Federation chose us for an outpost. That wasn't easy. Yalbo became productive just when there was a metals glut in the second octant. We'd have had to ship our output a thousand parsecs to even begin to be competitive. Those were hard times."