“And a humanoid stick figure, inside the Enterprise.”
Spock raised one eyebrow, but complied.
“Now dissolve the stick figure, trail the bits to the alien craft, and reform them.”
“Are you out of your mind, Jim?” McCoy said.
“Don’t you want to come along?”
The new being returned to the viewscreen. It touched its sensory mustache with its tongue. Then, with a gesture perfectly comprehensible, it pointed at Jim and at the ground beneath it. Sharp nails tipped its long, delicate, three-fingered hand.
Jim touched his own chest, and pointed toward the being.
“Well, Bones?”
“Captain Kirk,” Commander Spock said, “Dr. McCoy [228] has not recently updated his first-contact clearance. It has expired. Mine is current.”
“Wait a minute!” McCoy said.
“Bones, dammit—!”
Jim pointed at Mr. Spock, then at the new being.
The being showed them its hands, palms up, fingers spread, empty.
“An invitation, I believe, Commander Spock.”
“Indeed, captain.”
“Lieutenant Uhura, take the conn. And—make an announcement about what’s happened.”
“Yes, sir.”
He rose and took the stairs from the lower to the upper bridge in one stride. The turbo-lift doors slid aside for him. Spock followed, and McCoy came close behind.
“You can’t go traipsing off—”
“I told you to update that clearance!” Jim was furious. “What are you doing out here, anyway, if you can’t be bothered to keep up your credentials?”
McCoy started to retort, then deflated. “You’re right,” he said. “It was a stupid oversight.”
In the transporter room, Jim attached a field-suit control to his belt and turned it on. The suit spread around his body.
“Ready, commander?’’
“Yes, captain.” Spock, too, stood within the nearly imperceptible shimmer of a field suit.
The suit made Jim’s own voice sound louder to him, and attenuated sound from outside. But it would protect him against infection, as it would protect the beings against infection from him. It provided him with oxygen, should the atmosphere be inimical to his life, and it would even protect a fragile human body against extremes of temperature and pressure long enough for a transporter beam to sweep him back to safety.
Sensors showed a moderate environment at their destination. Jim hoped to find, as it often happened, that microorganisms adapted to the ecosystem of one world did not thrive on another, and posed no danger to the new planet’s inhabitants. But he and Spock would wear the suits till they knew for certain.
[229] McCoy grumbled as Jim stepped onto the transporter platform. Spock joined him.
“Energize.”
“Energizing,” Kyle said.
Jim felt a quick coldness, a moment’s disorientation. The transporter locked in on the being’s transmission.
Jim and Commander Spock materialized. They stood on an enormous open plain. Jim tried to take everything in at once: the new environment, the low gravity, the sounds, the sensations ...
And the group of strange beings who watched from a few paces away. Jim picked out the one with deep scarlet fur. Its ears pricked forward; its long horizontal pupils dilated to ovals. The sensory structure above its mouth ruffled, and the being touched it again with its tongue. Jim assumed it was smelling them or taking some measure he could not conceive of. The field suit entirely cut off outside smells.
The being moved. Its muscles slid smoothly beneath its short fur. Taller than Jim—taller than Spock—it had fine, narrow bones. Its chest was deep from front to back. Its small feet possessed claws even more impressive than those on its hands. Along the sides of its sleek, streamlined body grew a narrow frill that extended to the backs of its arms and the edges of its hands, and down the sides of its legs and feet. It had three fingers and six toes.
“It will be edifying to discover in what base this species does arithmetic,” Spock murmured. The tricorder blipped and blinked.
Jim stepped toward the scarlet being.
It stretched out its hands, palms up, empty.
Jim matched its gesture. It held his gaze. Jim hoped he would not do anything the beings would perceive as a threat, or as offensive. Perhaps they were thinking the same thing; perhaps each species had attained a level of civilization that would not take offense at any innocent gesture.
“The biology resembles no system with which we are familiar,” Spock said. “The possibility of our infecting them with microorganisms, or vice versa, is ten to the minus nineteen.”
[230] “What does that mean in real terms, Spock?” Jim asked softly.
“It means, captain, that it is ...” He hesitated before so unqualified a word. “... impossible.”
“Why didn’t you say so in the first place?”
“I did, captain.”
The being sang a few notes. Jim’s universal translator ran the sounds through its programming and produced what it believed to be a translation. Like the translating functions of the Enterprise’s computer, it produced gibberish.
“I can’t understand you,” Jim said. He and the being needed to talk to each other, even if they could not understand each other, so his translator could collect data to analyze and contexts in which to analyze them.
The being replied. The translator emitted a strangled whistle. The being’s ears flicked back, forward, back. Jim stepped toward the being, his hand outstretched.
“Captain—” Spock said.
Jim’s hand encountered an invisible barrier, a featherbed that yielded, then pressed him back. The suit fields and the alien barrier interacted with an electronic crackle and whine.
“I’ll bet you were going to tell me they’re protecting themselves like we’re protecting ourselves.”
“Precisely, captain. But the problem of infection is nonexistent. The air is breathable. The partial pressure of oxygen is slightly higher than in earth’s atmosphere, and considerably higher than in Vulcan’s. The temperature is well within the comfort zone for human beings.”
“What about Vulcans?”
“For Vulcans, comfort does not enter the equation. The suits are unnecessary.” He turned his off.
Jim touched the control of the field suit. The suit sighed—the sound always reminded him of a deflating balloon—and the faint pressure slid away. He swallowed hard to make his ears pop. The air smelled strange and wild, like cinnamon and fiery pippali.
Jim pressed into the alien field till it stopped him. The beings watched gravely. Jim waited.
The force faded.
The scarlet being stepped forward. The two species touched for the first time.
[231] The being’s hand felt hot and dry. Beneath the skin and fur, the being’s flesh felt so hard and tense that it might have been made of tendon rather than muscle. Perhaps it was. Perhaps the words “muscle” and “tendon” had no relevance to the structure of these beings.
“Welcome to the United Federation of Planets,” Jim said. “Thank you for welcoming us to your ship.”
The scarlet being had eyes of amber gold. Each being had fur of a different color, eyes of a different color.
Jim wondered if the scarlet being was “he” or “she,” or something else entirely.
In the controlled environment of a starship, clothing existed for custom’s sake, for decoration, for modesty. None of these beings wore clothing, though several wore bangles on fingers or toes. The beings had nothing, in human terms, about which to be modest; nothing immediately recognizable as generative organs or secondary sexual characteristics. Jim put aside his curiosity on that subject as well as many others, until he could communicate with the beings and until he knew their customs and taboos.
He kept talking in order to elicit more information for the translator to work on. Each word Jim spoke, every gesture he made, brought a new chorus of song. Though th
e beings sang on a scale unfamiliar to Jim—or perhaps on no scale at all—they reminded him of a chamber orchestra. Their voices floated and soared and blended. In response, the translator continued to make futile and meaningless sputters.
“Captain, if I may suggest—?”
“What, Commander Spock?”
“Disable the translator’s output. The processor will then turn all its power to collection and analysis. Forcing it to translate beyond its capabilities will cause a crypto-schizoid breakdown. In addition, it could unintentionally produce an ... offensive noise.”
Jim did as Spock suggested. His translator was a good one. If it cryptoed and he had to have it blanked and reprogrammed, it would never be the same.
Spock scanned with his tricorder, his mind following several simultaneous trains of thought. First, he observed the behavior of the new beings. He could detect no single one of them that took the lead in speaking to or about James [232] Kirk, no leader in their gestures and actions. Instead, they gave every impression of discussing at every turn what to do next. Though the captain concentrated his attention on the scarlet being, which of the group spoke to Kirk or made the next gesture was random choice or moved according to some pattern that Spock had yet to perceive.
Second, Spock observed his surroundings. The environment exceeded by far the strangeness of any other he had ever encountered. In one direction, gentle dunes led to foothills, foothills to mountains, mountains to higher and higher peaks till distance obscured them. In another direction, tall stone spikes jolted from broken ground to form an eerie landscape.
The concavity of the land eliminated horizons. Distance and the atmosphere, rather than the curve of a planet, attenuated the view. Across 180 degrees, the world stretched on without end.
But in the other half of the circle of view, the world did end. The craft’s enclosing wall leaped upward, vanishing into the distant heights of the sky’s geometric pattern of light. The fabric that made up the wall consisted of great pearly globes of many sizes, packed densely together.
Overhead, a delicate glowing webwork cast an even light that surrounded every object with a faint circular shadow. Here and there, where strands of the asymmetric webwork diverged sufficiently, a bright star shone through.
Third, he observed the behavior of the captain. Captain Kirk attempted to elicit information in a systematic manner, touching his own chest, speaking his name, recording the beings’ responses, pointing at one of them with a probably futile questioning glance, recording the replies, going from one material item to the next. The system, though simple, had been known to work.
The difficulty was that each recording Kirk made contained an enormous amount of information. Spock doubted the beings used parts of speech as simple as the noun, for the responses they offered possessed a complexity that might describe the history, evolution, fabrication, cultural relevance, and material significance of each object.
Captain Kirk turned on his translator’s output. The [233] instrument replied with meaningless chirps. He turned it off again. The beings conferred.
James Kirk possessed the severe flaw, in Spock’s eyes, of impetuosity. Certainly he was far more headstrong than Christopher Pike. Of course he was much younger, but even at the age of thirty, Pike had possessed a gravity unusual in the normal run of human people. Pike’s serious view of life had persuaded Spock that working with him might be tolerable.
James Kirk’s ebullient, reckless humanity gave Spock no such reassurance.
Captain Kirk joined him. “I can’t get the same answer twice. Even when I choose the simplest object, I get a different reply from each of the beings, and sometimes I get different replies from the same being if I point to the same thing twice. At least I think it’s different. I’m not much for music. I can’t reproduce any of their speech. Have you observed anything that might help us communicate?”
Spock had the beginnings of some ideas, but he was unwilling to present them in their current state of flux. His suggestion might solve their problems; or it might result in disaster. He would offer it without doubts or second thoughts, or he would not offer it at all.
“It is possible, captain, that your perception is accurate. Many groups of beings possess different dialects of the same language. In addition, this ship may hold different ethnic groups with different languages.”
“But if that were true, wouldn’t they send representatives who all spoke the same language, so they’d have at least a chance of communicating with us?”
“That might be logical,” Spock said. “Under certain conditions, and from our point of view. But these beings do not have our point of view. They may operate under a different system of logic entirely. They may not be prepared to meet other sentient beings.”
“But that’s the whole point of star travel!” Kirk exclaimed. “Discovering new places, new people—”
“Again, captain—it is a major point for us. Their reasons may be entirely different.”
Kirk’s communicator signaled. “Kirk here.”
[234] “Lieutenant Uhura, sir. A Klingon ship is approaching the alien spacecraft.”
“Civilian or military?”
“It’s an armed cruiser of a design computer doesn’t recognize, sir. The owner claims it’s been decommissioned.”
Kirk glanced at Spock.
“Within the realm of possibility, captain, if it is obsolete. But in that case, computer should recognize it.”
“How close is it?” Kirk asked Lieutenant Uhura.
“About a million kilometers, sir. Well out of range of its weapons, or ours.”
“Warn it off, lieutenant. Tell it ... misunderstandings might occur if it remains’ in Federation space.”
“But, sir ...”
“Yes, lieutenant?”
“There’s some disagreement about where Federation space is.”
“That is true, Captain Kirk,” Spock said. “Both the Federation and the Klingon Empire claim certain volumes of space along the Phalanx. Since nothing of value exists within the disputed region, neither government has pressed its claim. But neither government has seen fit to withdraw, either.”
Kirk blew out his breath. “All right. Lieutenant Uhura, suggest that they might be encroaching. See what reaction you get. Use tact. If they come within weapons range, raise shields. Tell Mr. Kyle to beam us up on my signal.”
“Yes, sir.”
Kirk folded his communicator and indicated with hand signals and pantomime that he and Spock had to leave, but would return. The beings whistled occasionally and sang high fluting notes.
The scarlet being raised its hands. Spock’s tricorder detected odd electromagnetic emanations and erupted into a cacophony of powerful signals. Spock had never seen anything like it. But, then, he reflected, he had never seen anything like this world within a ship before, either.
“Captain Kirk,” Uhura said, “we’re getting a visual transmission—are you sending it?” She described it: an echo of the schematic the Enterprise earlier had transmitted to the [235] strange starship. The tiny stick figures traveled from the starship on a glittery beam, then disappeared inside the Enterprise.
“Thanks, lieutenant.” Captain Kirk touched his chest, pointed out of the worldship, then pointed at the ground.
“That’s right,” he said. “We have to go for a while. But we’ll be back. We’ll be back.”
The being folded its hands. The chaotic readings faded from Spock’s tricorder. Then the being spread its arms, hands open, palms up.
Kirk replied with the same gesture. The human and the new being gazed at each other. The scarlet being flicked its tongue over the structure above its lips. Spock noted still another strange set of readings from the tricorder. The worldship inhabitants had no equipment—no visible, mechanical equipment—for making visible transmissions. Sensors found no recognizable alien electronic technology within range.
Kirk flipped open his tricorder. “Kirk to Enterprise. Beam us up, Mr. Kyle.”
The cold dislocation of the beam surrounded Spock.
He reappeared beside Captain Kirk on the transporter platform of the Enterprise.
“We’ve got to find a better way to communicate with them,” Kirk said on the way back to the bridge. “If I put my translator’s data into ship’s computer, what are the chances of getting any results?”
“Impossible to judge, captain. The language is sufficiently strange that I would advise caution. Forcing computer to try to make sense of it could cause difficulties.”
At Kirk’s arrival on the bridge, Lieutenant Uhura returned to the communication station.
“What happened out there?” McCoy demanded.
“It’s incredible, Bones. Lieutenant Uhura ... intraship channel, please.”
“Channel open, sir.”
Jim hesitated. How do you announce meeting an entirely unknown sentient species? he wondered. Especially one that has a technology higher than your own?
“Kirk to all personnel. The gravity field of a spacecraft has drawn the Enterprise from its course, but the ship has [236] incurred no structural damage. We have established peaceful contact with the spacecraft’s inhabitants, a previously unknown sentient species.”
He wondered if he should say something else, something about historic encounters, but doing so seemed overly dramatic and at the same time rather feeble, considering the occasion, so he gestured for Uhura to close the channel.
“Lieutenant Uhura, what about the Klingon ship?”
“The owner prefers not to change course, sir.”
“Oh, really. Let’s take a look at it.”
Spock raised one eyebrow at the image that formed on the viewscreen. This was no elderly, battered hulk, no irreparable, decommissioned military craft, but the most advanced technology of the Empire, so new that Spock had never seen a cruiser like it.
“Captain, it is very nearly beyond the range of possibility that this ship belongs to a civilian.”
“I see what you mean, Commander Spock. Lieutenant Uhura, I’ll speak to the owner.”
The owner’s image appeared on the screen. Spock thought, Even when the chances are one to one million, or one to one billion, that one chance does exist. For though the ship was a military one, the owner was a civilian.
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