Constellations

by Marco Palmieri

  CAPTAIN’S PERSONAL LOG, Stardate 6453.4:

  Now entering the Veletus system after a voyage of 12 days to resupply Deep Space Station M-33, currently under the command of Commodore Julius “Falcon” Merrill. I must admit to some excitement at the chance to meet the commodore, one of the most renowned commanders in the history of Starfleet.

  Although our trip here was uneventful, the commodore’s reports have mentioned intermittent encroachment by Tholian vessels into this sector, and we anticipate providing at least some tactical support to the station. But I—

  James Kirk’s thoughts hit a wall as the door to his cabin buzzed. “Computer, pause recording,” he commanded as he hit the intercom button on his desk. “Come,” he said, unlocking the sliding cabin door.

  He wasn’t surprised to see Leonard McCoy grinning at him from the open doorway. “No dress uniform today, Jim?” the doctor asked as he entered the cabin. Kirk stood up from his desk and cast a sideways glance at the Enterprise chief surgeon.

  “No, but if you’re eager to get into one I can arrange it,” Kirk said. He sighted a familiar-looking cylindrical container in the doctor’s hand. “What’s that?” he asked suspiciously.

  “Altairian rice wine,” McCoy said. “I believe it’s the commodore’s favorite. For some reason there’s a case of this stuff in the cargo bay.”

  Kirk shook his head ruefully. “I swear I’m going to put Chief Still-well on report. Is everyone on the ship in on this?”

  “Jim, you’ve earned your crew’s respect. Let’s just say there are quite a few of them who take an interest when they find out who it is out there that you look up to.”

  Kirk felt uncomfortably transparent. “Falcon Merrill was a childhood hero of mine,” he said disapprovingly. “When I became a captain myself I put away childish things.”

  “Yeah, keep telling yourself that,” McCoy said. “The fact is I grew up reading about Merrill, too. Five starship commands and two diplomatic appointments; not too many people have a career like that.”

  Kirk’s intercom whistled: “Bridge to captain.” Kirk thumbed open the channel.

  “Kirk here.”

  “Approaching Space Station M-33, Captain,” Spock’s voice came.

  “On my way.”

  They were halfway insystem when Kirk and McCoy exited the turbolift. Kirk slowed slightly as he stared at the image of Veletus V, the system’s lone gas giant dominating the main viewer. The planet was a looming sphere of banded gray and green, but an immense, triangular smear of crimson blocked more than a third of its surface from view. The orbiting cloud was far larger than Kirk had imagined it would be. “The Ifukube Veil,” Kirk said as he stepped down and settled into his command chair.

  “Affirmative, Captain,” Spock said from his science station. “Named after twenty-second-century astronomer Kenji Ifukube, the cloud is composed of ionized hydrogen and other trace elements, held in orbit around Veletus V by a combination of the planet’s magnetic fields and the gravitational loci of its five moons.”

  “Wouldn’t something like that normally take the form of rings, Mr. Spock?”

  “Over millions of years, yes,” Spock said. “The Veil was formed far more recently, although we have not yet determined precisely how.”

  As the image grew with their approach, Kirk could see the shape of Deep Space Station M-33 in the screen’s lower right-hand corner: a collection of glinting metal cones connected by concentric rings. Even after two years sections of the station remained under construction. Indicators on the screen pointed out a series of dozens of satellite substations surrounding the Ifukube Veil and the gas giant itself: remote drones of the space station designed to monitor the condition of the hydrogen cloud and the complex gravitational forces around the planet.

  As Kirk stepped down toward his command chair, his eyes still fixed on the screen, he saw a flash of light like an electrical discharge crawl across a small section of the hydrogen cloud, illuminating it from within.

  “Fascinating,” Spock said, dividing his attention between the screen and his hooded science station viewer. “Extraordinarily active.”

  “Aye,” Montgomery Scott agreed from his engineering station. “There’s enough charged hydrogen in that cloud to power a fleet of starships.”

  “Message from M-33, Captain,” Uhura announced. “I have Commodore Merrill for you.”

  Kirk glanced at McCoy, who’d stepped down to stand next to the captain’s chair. “You want the honor, Bones?”

  “It’s all yours,” the doctor said. Kirk punched his command chair intercom.

  “This is James Kirk of the Enterprise; it’s a pleasure to speak to you, Commodore.”

  “Well, if it isn’t the Enterprise.” Julius Merrill’s unmistakable voice, familiar from dozens of recorded speeches, filtered through the chair speaker. “Nice to hear from you. We were damn near running out of toilet paper out here.”

  Kirk smiled. “I hope we can provide better supplies than that,” he said.

  “Captain,” Sulu interrupted. “We’re picking up two Tholian vessels converging at the edge of the system, moving at extreme speed.”

  “Excuse me, Commodore,” Kirk said. “Course, Mr. Sulu?”

  “Sir, they’re changing course now, heading directly toward the fifth planet and M-33.”

  “Their speed is approximately warp seven, Captain,” Spock said, peering into the hooded viewer on his sciences console. “At that rate they will be in weapons range of the station in two minutes.”

  “Contact those ships, Uhura. Warn them off.”

  “Trying, sir,” Uhura said.

  “Sound red alert,” Kirk snapped. “Mr. Sulu, plot an intercept course and get us between those ships and the station; increase speed to warp seven-point-five.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  “Spock, why didn’t we sight those vessels earlier?” Kirk demanded, swiveling to look at his science officer. “I’m assuming the Tholians don’t possess cloaking technology.”

  Spock straightened and turned toward Kirk. “Vessels were too small to register on our sensors until they reached the edge of the system, Captain,” the Vulcan explained. “Their configurations indicate Tholian design; however, they are far smaller than any Tholian vessels we have previously encountered.”

  “Kirk, don’t intercept those ships!”

  Kirk tore his attention from the tactical display on the screen ahead of him as Merrill’s voice registered.

  “Excuse me, Commodore? Their course certainly seems to indicate a hostile intent.”

  “I said, don’t intercept them,” Merrill barked. “My people can handle this.”

  “Sir, with respect, the Enterprise is far better equipped—”

  “Just follow my orders, Captain. Back off now, and keep your distance until this is over.”

  Kirk frowned, his nerves on fire at the sight of the Tholian vessels careening into the star system. It made no sense for Merrill to refuse his help…but it made even less to argue tactics with a man of the commodore’s experience.

  “No reply from the Tholian vessels, Captain,” Uhura said. “They may be unable to respond.”

  “Unable?” Kirk asked.

  “The Tholians designed diplomatic language specifically for our translator technology, Captain,” Uhura explained. “Only vessels designated for border patrol and diplomatic duties use it. Our ability to translate Tholian standard languages is limited.”

  “Mr. Sulu,” Kirk said quietly. “Come about; program a parallel course to the incoming vessels at seven-hundred-thousand kilometers.”

  Sulu glanced back at Kirk for a second but didn’t question the order. Kirk watched the Tholian vessels close the distance to the gas giant, pointing like two arrowheads at M-33. The Tholian ships bulleted into the system in tight formation, curving away from the space station and toward the swath of red gases a thousand kilometers past it. Just as the ships were about to penetrate the Veil, energy surges flashed between the network of
satellites fringing the cloud, forming a barrier that both tiny craft now crashed against. The Enterprise scanners focused in sharply on the Tholian vessels as tractor beams from the drone system damped their forward momentum. One of the vessels managed to wrench free of the tractor beams and penetrate the Veil, disappearing inside the cloud. The other ship hung suspended between two of the Veil satellites. Spock looked up from his science station. “The remaining Tholian vessel has been immobilized, Captain,” he said.

  The bridge crew watched as the drones shunted the alien ship between overlapping tractor swaths, efficiently maneuvering the vessel for kilometers at a pass until the M-33 station’s own tractors could take over and draw the ship toward a spherical holding bay. Kirk shook his head, marveling a little at the tactical efficiency on display.

  “All clear, Enterprise,” Merrill’s voice returned. “You can come back on approach.”

  “You made that look like a drill, Commodore,” Kirk said.

  “Captain, out here we’ve got nothing to do but drill. We’re preparing to receive you; transporter coordinates transmitting now.”

  Kirk got out of his chair. He’d been expecting a bored old man eager to share stories, but the encroachment of the Tholian ship, no matter how elegantly handled, had thrown him. Now he wasn’t quite sure what he was getting into. “Spock, Bones: with me.”

  The operations center of M-33 was big; it dwarfed the Enterprise’s bridge, but there were only three or four more officers inside the domed chamber than there were in Kirk’s command; that and the high, vaulted ceiling gave the room a strange, denuded quality, like a forest clearing somewhere. Kirk’s pupils dilated at the wash of red light from the Ifukube Veil flooding through a broad viewport that dominated half of the ops center. He could see the glint of the station’s drones surrounding the gas cloud even from here, as well as the swollen curve of Veletus V behind it.

  A tall, gaunt Andorian stepped forward from a group of officers as Kirk, Spock, and McCoy glanced at their surroundings. “Captain Kirk,” the blue-skinned alien said. “I am Commander Thavas. Welcome aboard M-33.”

  Kirk looked around expectantly, but Merrill was nowhere to be seen. “I thought Commodore Merrill might be here,” Kirk said.

  “The commodore is waiting for you in his office, Captain,” Thavas replied. “If you will follow me.”

  Kirk spared a last glance at the operations center and noted Spock too studying the layout and the hum of activity as several screens showed the Tholian vessel being maneuvered into a holding bay. If this was an emergency, Kirk thought, the station’s crew was doing a pretty good job hiding it.

  They walked down a large, long corridor toward Merrill’s office, past technicians still at work on pressure seals, evidently expanding this section of the station. Then they were ushered down a shallow flight of stairs to the entryway to Merrill’s inner sanctum.

  Thavas signaled and Merrill’s no-nonsense voice issued a brief “Come” over the doorway intercom. The door slid aside and Kirk and his officers entered the ready room. The chamber, evidently one of the numerous spherical pressure chambers dotting the skin of the station, related to an “office” the same way M-33’s ops center related to Kirk’s bridge—it was huge, vaulted, and dark. Merrill himself stood silhouetted against the view of the gargantuan planet the station orbited, red light from the hydrogen gas cloud above lighting his shoulders like a mantel. Kirk wondered if the commodore planned all his meetings this way, with the surroundings designed to dazzle his visitors.

  Merrill turned as the four officers entered his domain, and in the dim light Kirk felt a flush of recognition at that weathered profile, the still-thick head of wavy hair, and the athlete’s build. Only when the commodore waved the lights up and strode toward them did Kirk have to adjust his Academy memories of what this man looked like and acknowledge that this was a human being in the ninth decade of his life. The recruiting poster smile blazing off a row of perfect teeth now sported a hint of a rictus to it, Kirk noted, as if Merrill were grinning through some vicious little internal ache. The brilliant blue eyes had paled a little since he’d last been holographed, but they fixed on Kirk with the focus of a man a third of his age.

  “You must be Jim Kirk,” Merrill said as he closed his fingers around Kirk’s hand. Kirk’s eyebrows rose as he felt the vigor in Merrill’s grip and reflexively returned it.

  “It’s a great pleasure, Commodore Merrill,” Kirk said, smiling, as he introduced his officers.

  “Sorry about that business when you were on your way in,” Merrill said affably.

  “Your people certainly seemed prepared for it,” Kirk acknowledged.

  “Like I said, nothing to do out here but drill. For this crew that little trespass was a walk in the park.”

  “But surely of some political importance,” Spock remarked. “Federation contact with the Tholian Assembly has been intermittent at best over the last century. M-33 lies approximately seven light-years from the Tholian border; navigational errors could not account for such an incursion.”

  Merrill leveled a look at Spock. When he turned to look at someone, Kirk thought, he was like an ancient artillery piece swiveling to aim at a target. “There probably wasn’t an error,” he said. “But we’ll have the ship back in Tholian hands soon enough. You’ve contacted the Tholians, Thavas?”

  “Affirmative, Commodore,” the Andorian officer said. “A transfer vessel with escort is already en route; evidently Assembly forces were tracking these particular ships before they entered the system. They will arrive in less than two hours.”

  “Two hours?” Suddenly Merrill seemed surprised. “That’s a new record. Let’s have our supplies beamed aboard before then if possible. See to it, Commander.”

  The Andorian nodded and turned to leave, but Spock interjected. “With your permission, Commodore,” he said, glancing at Kirk. “Captain, this is an unprecedented opportunity. If I may, I should like to observe the Tholian vessel before it is retrieved.”

  “Of course,” Merrill said. “Thavas, please take Commander Spock down to the holding sphere.”

  Spock nodded politely and followed the Andorian out of the ready room.

  “You don’t mind if we sit and talk for a bit?” Merrill said, motioning Kirk and McCoy over to a pair of couches facing each other across a low, rectangular table. “I get visitors about once a year now and I sure as hell intend to take advantage of it.”

  Kirk glanced briefly at McCoy. Kirk actually pulled rank and pushed the Enterprise ahead of the Akagi on the list of supply vessels for just this opportunity, just for the chance to shoot the breeze with Julius Merrill. But now the incident with the Tholian ships made casual conversation seem strangely inappropriate.

  “Of course, your hospitality’s greatly appreciated,” Kirk said slowly. “But I’m concerned about this incursion, sir. You’re more than a week from Starfleet assistance out here, and—”

  Merrill waved a hand dismissively. “I told you, we have the situation well under control. Ever try one of these?” As Kirk and McCoy settled onto one of the couches, Merrill opened a box of narrow, finger-sized cylinders: Deltan cigars, Kirk realized. McCoy’s eyes flashed in a combination of envy and disapproval.

  Kirk looked apologetic. This was going to be more challenging than he’d thought. “I can’t say that I have.” Kirk knew Merrill was an old man, but smoking was an activity that was positively prehistoric. He took the proffered smoke, which was strangely heavy in his palm, and waited while Merrill lit the cigar with an old fuel-based lighter. Even McCoy started slightly at the sight of the open flame: not something a starship crewman was used to seeing without hearing an alert klaxon.

  Merrill watched while Kirk drew the smoke in cautiously, holding it in his lungs for a moment. It felt like a mix of hot magma and poison. Kirk struggled to keep from choking while the commodore let out a hearty laugh. “Easier to face a hundred angry Romulans than your first cigar. Let’s see if you do better with cognac.”
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br />   “That sounds more up my alley,” Kirk groaned. “Even better if you have Saurian brandy.”

  “I might be able to scare up a bottle. I developed expensive tastes pretty young, in my early days on the frontier.” Merrill headed over to a case of rare beverages and rummaged around inside, clinking old glass bottles. “You’re not off the hook with that cigar yet. You pull the whole thing down, then you can tell me whether you approve or not. The finish is the best part.”

  Kirk clamped the toxic object between his teeth once again and glared at McCoy while the surgeon grinned at him smugly. “Be careful what you wish for, Jim,” McCoy said under his breath.

  “I’ll be counting on you to cure whatever this does to me, Doctor,” Kirk hissed back before Merrill turned around with a bottle in his hand.

  “There we go,” Merrill said as he poured three glasses and then raised his own as Kirk and McCoy took their drinks. “Enjoy life’s little pleasures while you can; it’ll all be gone soon enough.” If it was a toast, it hung uncomfortably heavy in the air, Kirk thought. “Now, how is it we never met, son?” Merrill said, the vigor returning to his voice. “I’ve kept an eye on your career. You’ve got promise. A little sentimental for my taste, based on your logs, but I give that a pass.”

  “Sentimental?” Kirk said.

  “That business on Gamma Trianguli VI for one thing,” Merrill went on as if Kirk hadn’t said anything. “Slaying an ancient god and getting everybody to love each other. I’ll admit it makes an entertaining log entry, but sometimes you’ve got to leave well enough alone.”

  Kirk stole another glance at McCoy, but the surgeon was still clearly enjoying himself. “Well, I can’t quite believe that after five starship commands you haven’t run into a similar situation,” he argued gamely.

  “Well, now that you mention it, there was something,” Merrill said as he settled into a plush chair that looked to be half a century old. “Now granted, this was about thirty years ago and the planet was pelagic…”