Star Trek - TOS 021 - Uhura's Song

by Uhura's Song

  "Still," said Stiff Tail, "if you wish them to remember, you must ask them to turn on their memory machines. It is- unsettling."

  Spock stared hard at his tricorder, as if by sheer will he might force it to tell him the answer to his questions. "Illogical," he said at last. It was the closest to an insult in his manner of delivery that Jim Kirk had ever heard him come. Vulcan or not, Mr. Spock, he thought, if you had a tail, it'd be twitching right now. "We still have insufficient data, Captain. I do not understand this culture.... I beg your pardon, Brightspot, but confusion is often the result when two peoples as different as yours and mine first meet."

  She had been watching his work with absorption. Apparently, it made no difference to her whether she looked at the screen right side up or upside down. She twitched her whiskers at him. "It's all right. I think you're confusing, too. I never met anybody who kept his memory in a machine." She looked down again at the tricorder. "Can't I help? I remember everything."

  "Then you will remember that we have no wish to cause difficulty between you and your mother," Spock told her.

  The tip of her tail swept up and quivered. "Yes, I remember- I was only hoping you wouldn't."

  "Hoping to take advantage of our weaknesses, Brightspot?" Kirk grinned at her. Children, he thought, would be quick to see the possibilities.

  She stepped to his side. "When you put it that way, it doesn't sound very nice. I guess it wasn't very nice, was it?"

  "It's nice of you to want to help," he said, "even if you're devious about it. And some of my best friends are devious- isn't that right, Mr. Spock?"

  Spock lifted an eyebrow. "I have no idea what you mean, Captain."

  Brightspot's tail looped in amusement. She said delightedly, "You just pulled Mr. Spock's tail!"

  "Indeed he did," said Spock. "May I ask how it is you were able to recognize that, knowing as little of our relationship as you do?" Brightspot looked startled. "You said he was your friend. Is that a baby question?"

  "I believe so."

  "And the captain- did I use that right?- always pulls his friends' tails, even if they don't have any. Besides, your -" Momentarily without a word, Brightspot drew an arc in the air with the tip of her tail.

  "Eyebrow?" suggested Kirk, pointing to his own.

  "Eyebrow," she repeated in Standard, "went up- it's almost as good as a tail- and your smell changed." Spock's eyebrow lifted a second time. "Now you're very curious," said Brightspot with complete assurance. "That's a different smell."

  A glance passed from Spock to Kirk. Kirk said, "I'm curious, too, Brightspot. Can you tell that as well?"

  "It smells different on you than on Mr. Spock, but I can tell."

  "Brightspot, I think I'm going to... shock you again. I can't tell when someone is curious by the way he smells."

  She was indeed taken aback. "You can't?" she said. "Mr. Spock?"

  "Nor can I," said Spock.

  She fell silent to consider the two of them. At last she said, "I think you must miss a lot."

  Kirk grinned, but it gave him an idea. "Brightspot, do you remember smells the way you remember words?"

  "Yess."

  That came out in Standard English, too; Brightspot was picking up their words as well as their expressions. He went on, "Do you remember the first time Lieutenant Uhura spoke to Jinx?" She made what was clearly a scoffing sound, and Kirk grinned again. "Sorry, I forget how good your memory is."

  Her tail went into a virtual paroxysm and ended up wound once more around his wrist. When she had gotten herself under control, she said, "You mean, when Lieutenant Uhura talked about- the You-Know-Whos?"

  "Yes. Tell me, what did you smell?"

  "First," Brightspot began, then, seeing that Spock had turned on his tricorder, began anew, addressing her remarks directly to it: "First, I smelled very strange smells. I never smelled any human or Vulcan smell before, but I did smell that you had come through the stand of green velvet just outside the camp.... Do you want to know how my people smelled, too?"

  "Please, Brightspot," Kirk said.

  "Mostly curious, but some frightened," she said and added scornfully, "Catchclaw's babies ran away."

  "That is a logical response for the young when confronted by an unknown," Spock interjected.

  "I suppose so. Better that than stick their tails in a slicebill nest. But I'm old enough to walk," she said, clearly for the record. "I stayed."

  "You did," Spock acknowledged, also for the record. "Continue."

  "Well, when Lieutenant Uhura sang to Catchclaw's babies, most of the smell of fear went away, and it was only curiosity- until she mentioned the You-Know-Whos." Her ears suddenly flicked back. "That's odd!"

  "What is?" Kirk asked.

  She spoke slowly, as if thinking it through aloud. "Most of us still smelled curious, but Winding Path and Catchclaw and Settlesand smelled... guilty, ashamed. The way Fetchstorm does when he's been told not to do something but he's done it anyway. Stiff Tail smelled that way when she cuffed you- and that's not usually how she smells when she cuffs somebody- usually she smells angry! Left Ear, too!" She caught and shook her tail vehemently. "When I asked about the You-Know-Whos! Everybody I asked smelled either curious- or guilty!" She stared at Spock and concluded, "You're right, Mr. Spock: it is illogical. I don't understand it at all."

  "Kagan's Law," said Kirk.

  When he had explained that for Brightspot, she nodded and said, "I'm going to find out. I'm going to find out why I don't understand my own people.... Do you need any more baby questions answered right now?"

  "No, Brightspot. Thank you, I think you've answered a big one."

  "Okkay"- again she spoke Standard- "I'll see you later. I have some baby questions to ask." She walked away, the tip of her tail flicking behind her.

  "Guilty," said Kirk, thinking aloud. That confirmed what Left Ear had told him. "After two thousand years?" He turned on Spock as if expecting an answer.

  "The Eeiauoans still bear a guilt of their own," Spock said.

  "How the hell do we fight two thousand years' worth of stubbornness, Spock?"

  "As you pointed out, Captain, you yourself have considerable talent in that direction. Perhaps, in this instance, it may be of value."

  "Why, Mr. Spock, I do believe you're pulling my tail!"

  "I am merely stating a fact, Captain." Spock's expression was as bland as ever, and Kirk found himself wishing Brightspot had not left before she'd sniffed out the truth for him.

  Uhura left Jinx's tent in a pensive mood. Jinx had not recognized ADF syndrome from her description of the symptoms. That might be a good sign; that might mean the disease had been wiped out on this world- or it might mean that ADF was a new disease for which the Sivaoans had no cure. Jinx had assured her Catchclaw would know, if anyone did. Uhura said a small silent prayer that Catchclaw would know.

  The commotion of welcome-homes drew her from her thoughts, and she waited to see what new arrivals there might be. Making as much noise to announce their arrival as the welcome-homes had, a hunting party emerged from the wood. The eight of them, male and female, waved and shouted their triumphal return until they drew the rest of the camp from tents and trees to look. Whatever their catch was, it was certainly bright. She walked over for a closer look.

  One had a fistful of something that looked like chicken-sized dinosaurs, complete with needle-sharp teeth. "What is that called?" she asked SilverTail in her best native speech.

  "Grabfoots," he answered, indicating the teeth and motioning toward his ankles so that she would get the general idea what the word referred to, as well as how to pronounce it. "Grabfoots," she repeated. He nodded, mimed eating and licking his chops and said something more. She took it to mean 'Good eating' or 'Tasty' and repeated that as well.

  Rushlight came toward her, with something large and four-footed slung across his shoulders. She turned the universal translator back on, very much afraid of being misunderstood in the general confusion.

  "As
we say, 'Take a bard and the hunt goes fast'. A good hunt, as you can see!" he said. He unslung the creature from his shoulders and dropped it onto the ground to stretch. "And I shall tell you what happened to Three Times- we'll make a song about it, you and I." He blinked at her and suddenly said, "You're twisting your own tail. Is something wrong?"

  Embarrassed, Uhura said, "When you left without saying a word, I was afraid I had done something to offend you."

  He started. "Surely you smelled the hunting scent...?"

  That confused her still more. "I don't understand, Rushlight."

  Rushlight considered her for a long moment, then his tail curled around her wrist. "I think I do: that's why your songs don't speak of smells. Next time I'll leave a message with one of the children." He reached up a finger and tapped her lightly on the side of the nose. "Remarkable," he said, "such long noses and no sense of smell at all!"

  A handful of Sivaoan children sprang from branch to branch in the trees at the edge of camp, playing hide-and-seek. Staring up from below, Evan Wilson couldn't tell if rousting the welcome-homes was part of the game or purely incidental- it certainly added to the excitement, though. The game was much simplified compared to that of her own world, but it stirred a memory of her childhood and she smiled. An instant later, the smile turned to a puzzled frown. The memory could not be hers!

  She hastily excused herself from Fetchstorm. She sought out Spock and found him alone with his tricorder. Having no wish to disturb his calculations, she sat down and tucked her chin into her hand to think. If Spock couldn't explain... "Dr. Wilson." Spock had completed his task, and he now gave her his full attention. Once again the intensity of it disconcerted her. She blushed and, with some difficulty, she said, "I'm not sure how to put this.... Does your memory transfer technique work both ways?" Nothing in the literature I read even suggested the possibility."

  "I do not understand."

  "I have a memory that's not mine. If it's not yours..." She frowned. "It must be yours, Mr. Spock. There's no other possible explanation."

  Spock's expression did not change. "May I inquire as to the content?"

  The question startled her- it seemed too personal- until she recognized the sheer foolishness of the feeling. "If it's your memory in the first place, there's no reason not to tell you," she said.

  She described it to him as best she could, setting the richness of the game against the austerity of a desert world. It began with a challenge given and accepted, and it became a sort of hide-and-seek that required all one's skills, From computer programming to physical tracking. No one but the players knew the game was in progress. Yet, for all its complexity, the game she remembered playing held as much or more excitement as that of the Sivaoan children in the trees.

  When she had finished Spock's raised eyebrow left no doubt that she had in fact been given one of his memories. "A child's practice on Vulcan," he said. He did not say "game;" and she understood him to mean a sharpening of skills. "Remarkable," he continued. "To my knowledge, there has been no previous mention of this phenomenon. Have you been tested for extrasensory perception, Dr. Wilson?"

  "Meaning, was I reading your mind while you were reading mine? I've had all the standard tests: I come out average. I thought perhaps it was deliberate on your part- a kind of fair trade."

  He shook his head. "I was unaware the possibility existed, Doctor. It too would be worth investigating when we return to the Enterprise."

  "Yes, and meanwhile, it's a relief to know that I'm not completely off my rocker." She met his eyes and held them: "Thank you for the gift."

  Caught in his continued scrutiny, she felt her face redden again. And this time Spock said, "Dr. Wilson, several times during the course of our conversation, your face has turned a distinctly darker shade of red. I believe humans refer to this as a 'blush.' I am unfamiliar with your culture. I apologize if I have inadvertently caused you distress. If you find it possible to speak further, I should appreciate knowing what taboo I have..."

  Until that moment, she had not recognized the cause herself. She raised her hands. "No, no, Mr. Spock. Nothing like that. I'm afraid it's a cultural misinterpretation on my part. I've seen it happen more than once between Vulcan and human." It was easier to speak of it impersonally. "The kind of undivided attention a Vulcan gives as a matter of simple politeness is often misread as... sexual interest by a human."

  "Fascinating." He fixed her with a long steady regard- experimentally, she thought- and her blush deepened. Smiling, she said, "Yes, you've done it again. In my book you just gave me the eye. If I were you, Mr. Spock, I'd try to tone it down a little. I'm sure I'm not the only one this happens to."

  She glanced away and, to her relief, saw the tip of Catchclaw's tail disappearing into her tent. "If you'll excuse me? I have an appointment with the local physician." She rose and, as an after-thought, added, "Don't worry, Mr. Spock, I'll get over it."

  She strode away without a backward glance. A moment later, Catchclaw's invitation to enter wiped the encounter from her thoughts: here was the problem she had to solve.

  The Sivaoan glared at her from head to toe and growled, "What am I to do with a species that has a privacy taboo about removing its clothing?"

  Wilson grinned. "We make an exception for doctors," she said, "and I'll satisfy your curiosity, if you wish."

  "Thank you," said Jinx, giving a sidelong glance at Catchclaw, who arched her whiskers forward.

  When their examination of both normal flesh and injured flesh was completed, Wilson rewrapped her sari. "Stay and talk," Catchclaw invited. "Jinx tells me you wish to find the cure for a disease. Will you tell me what you know of its symptoms?"

  "That's the best question I've heard all day," said Wilson. She pulled up a stool, sat down and went to work.

  Left Ear had come to speak with Jim Kirk with her claws sheathed, but to no avail. Try as she might - and he could see the effort it cost her-she could not bring herself to speak on the subject of the Eeiauoans. She skirted the topic, edging nearer and nearer, but she never quite got there.

  He wished he could think of something to make it easier for her. Meanwhile, he kept his questions to areas she could talk about.

  The only thing he had learned about the Eeiauoans was negative: They did not seem to have been exiled for religious reasons. How can you have a schism when each camp has its own god- and every plant and animal its own spirit? If he understood her correctly, the Sivaoans had not so much a religion as an ecology. There were limits to the number of animals of each kind that might be taken in a season, for example, and strictures that allowed land to lie fallow. It might have been fascinating had his mission simply been to establish contact.

  Left Ear sensed his distress. Giving her tail a vehement shake, she said, "I cannot. I can no more tell you than I could tell Brightspot or Jinx or one of our own. You must try elsewhere, Captain Kirk. I am only wasting your time."

  Kirk felt an enormous sympathy for her. He had seen the strength of taboos- he'd even had to deal with some of his own- and he knew the difficulty she must be facing. But he could not let the chance slip away. "Please, Left Ear. Keep talking. Talk around it, if you must. Tell me what it's not about, and perhaps I may be able to learn enough from that to get the help we need."

  Her hackles rose, but she said mildly, "We will continue our discussion after dinner." Having little choice in the matter, Kirk followed her lead once again.

  Stepping from her tent, he found himself in the midst of a festival, like something from a medieval costume drama. A cooking fire blazed before every tent, and exotic spicy scents filled the air. A welcome-home, tempted by the smells, ventured into the clearing a handful of children chased it back into the trees and then threw it scraps.

  They crossed to Stiff Tail's tent, where Distant Smoke and Chekov happily improvised dinner over the fire. Two small children clung to Chekov- one at shoulder height, peering over into the cooking pot, and the other clutching his head. A third dashed in circl
es, trying to catch his own tail and shouting excitedly. Distant Smoke jabbed a tail in the child's direction and said, "Noisy baby."

  "It certainly is," Jim Kirk agreed with a grin.

  "A little less claw there," Chekov said, turning his eyes up. "Hello, keptain. This is TooLongTail and EagerTalker, Ketchclaw's children. They hev already discovered that I hev no tail to remove them with." He bent to taste the concoction in the pot.

  Kirk saw that neither child was in danger of being dislodged- Chekov, however, was going to be a vast collection of scratches and pinholes. "I don't recall assigning you pincushion detail, Mr. Chekov."

  Chekov grinned back. "I ken't keep them away, sair. Perheps you want one? The other two are WhiteWhisker and Grebfoot- I respectfully suggest the keptain watch his toes around thet last."