STAR TREK: Strange New Worlds I

by Dean Wesley Smith (Editor)

  Apparently, there was something inherent in quadrotriticale that caused the tribbles to disregard their population safeguards. It was an intoxication similar to that produced by the waterborne virus on Psi 2000 which had nearly caused the loss of a starship several years before. Yersa had said she thought the starship involved had been the Enterprise, but she hadn’t had time to check official Federation records.

  Remembering the feeding of tribbles caused Cyrano to shake himself out of his reverie. He had come to the subsection junction. Another tricorder reading. It was time to report to Lurry. The dim lights and isolation of the ventilation ducts plus his need for companionship gave further reason for this action.

  “We were wondering what was delaying you, Cyrano,” said Lurry. “We’re coming into some of the time-guesses in the tribble pool. We also have a few guests in the office who are anxious to see what’s become of you.”

  “Then give me some idea of where I need to go from here.”

  “We think it’s just ahead and slightly to the left of your current position. Is there an access panel on that side?”

  “Yes, there is.”

  “That should be it.”

  Cyrano Jones doubted that it would be that easy, but at this point he was willing to accept some good fortune. He also knew he had earned it in some respects. Being effectively marooned on the station had been almost as hard to [22] take as the Federation penal colony he’d been threatened with. The food had been almost as bad, and the physical demands probably worse. Most of his rotundity had disappeared within the first two to three years of his confinement. After that, he’d started noticing some muscle tone that he hadn’t felt since he was barely old enough to drink Altair water.

  There were some other, more subtle changes that he became aware of as well. One was his relationship with station manager John Lurry. Seventeen years ago, they were outwardly social with each other but that was about it. Lurry had been suspicious of Cyrano’s every move. Knowing that had been an advantage for Cyrano. He had simply kept Lurry chasing shadows while the real business was being conducted elsewhere. The loss of Cyrano’s ship had affected him more than he thought it possibly could. With nowhere to go, he’d found he no longer had anything to hide. The two of them had eventually found enough common ground to become friends.

  Another was Yersa. Once she’d isolated the pro-reproductive pheromone, she’d begun working on isolating its negative counterpart. Her experiments had then progressed quickly, causing Cyrano to spend more and more time in the lab. She’d enlisted his aid in constructing some of the test chambers and in monitoring the tests themselves. To make up for some of his lost time, she became the first person to help in recovering the tribbles.

  The anti-reproductive pheromone, once isolated, rapidly went through small and progressively larger scale tests on tribble groups. Zero population growth for tribbles had been achieved. Field testing on Iota Geminorum IV had [23] commenced shortly afterward, using tribbles relocated to the planet via Cyrano’s freighter. These tests had also proved successful, and more and more frequent tribble shipments followed. The fact that this had caused Yersa to spend more and more time away from the station had left Cyrano with a vague but increasing sense of loneliness.

  Just then he caught the subtle sound he had been hoping for so long to hear. Somewhere between a purr and a chirp, it was the call of a tribble. It seemed sad, almost mournful to him, and he guessed it expressed the tribble equivalent of loneliness. He opened his tool kit and began working on the panel. In spite of himself, he began talking to the tribble, saying soothing nothings like those used when trying to quiet a child.

  “Almost there,” he said, the next to last fastener dropping to the duct with a clank. Then came the last one. He lowered the grate and peered inside.

  The tribble was average size—about half as big as a human head—and white with faint traces of brown in color. It made no sound of resistance as Cyrano reached into the access duct and retrieved it. He stroked it absent-mindedly for several moments, trying to decide what he was feeling.

  There was relief at having finally completed his task, but there was also a feeling of loss because of that accomplishment. He was suddenly afraid that he would be unable to find a sense of purpose again, that his future life would just become a sequence of finding things to do. Almost one third of his life had been devoted to this pursuit, and all that remained was to take this tribble home to rejoin the others.

  He flipped the communicator open. “I have the tribble.”

  [24] “Energizing,” responded a distantly familiar voice.

  Before he could identify the speaker, he sensed the transporter beam carrier wave. After the brief disorientation that followed his being reassembled, he found himself lying on his right side and facing the dimly lit wall of the main transporter room. Except for the hum of air circulators the room was silent as well as dark. He got to his feet and turned around. Then the lights came on.

  Cyrano’s first impression was that he never knew that the transporter room could hold so many people. Whatever he had been about to say froze in his brain, and his mouth was left hanging at full open. He registered the presence of Lurry and Walt Mathison, the long-suffering bartender to whom the tribbles had been peddled. Most of the other members of the station staff were present as well.

  Then he saw Yersa, her Argelian features highlighted by the way her smile brought out her eyes. Just behind her were several people in the red and black uniforms of Starfleet. He recognized Kirk immediately, despite the inevitable changes that had occurred over the last seventeen years. Beside him was his lovely communication officer, whose name Cyrano couldn’t recall. The Vulcan science officer was at the transporter controls.

  Cyrano was searching for the identities of the other Enterprise crew members when the room erupted into congratulatory noise. Applause, cheers, a banner welcoming him back, and everyone crowding around the transporter platform. He finally regained the control of enough facial muscles to close his mouth, but it only lasted a second or two. Everyone was laughing, most to the point of tears. Lurry was the first to shake his hand. Walt came up to him, [25] took the tribble, and placed a drink in his hand. “I think you need this,” he said quickly.

  After several minutes, the room had quieted down to the point where Lurry could gather everyone’s attention. He began to speak, starting with a description of the tribble situation as it had been at the beginning. He had just finished the part about the unmasking of Darvin when he was interrupted by someone shouting out something about who won the pool. Realizing that he was never going to finish his impromptu speech, Lurry acquiesced.

  “The winning guess, only 3.6 minutes off, was submitted on behalf of Cyrano Jones by Mr. Spock of the Enterprise.”

  Everyone applauded the result, even if some were disappointed in it. The applause level increased when Lurry announced that Kirk had released Cyrano’s ship from station control. A further increase came with Lurry’s last announcement that the main bar had been closed so that the celebration could be held there.

  As everyone streamed out of the transporter room, Lurry caught Cyrano’s arm and steered him over to where Kirk, Spock, and McCoy had remained. Lurry completed the introductions and explained that the Enterprise had stopped at the station to exchange cargo en route to Sherman’s Planet where it was to be the Federation representative for the swearing in of Governor Nilz Bans.

  “Congratulations, Mr. Jones,” said Kirk, his hand extended. “I have to admit I didn’t think you had it in you. It seems that I have underestimated you in several respects.”

  “Captain Kirk,” said Cyrano, accepting the offered hand, “I can’t quite say that I thank you for what you have put me [26] through, but I also have to admit that most of the changes were for the better.”

  “You appear to be in great physical condition,” said McCoy. “You see what can happen with a good diet and plenty of exercise, Jim?”

  Kirk ignored the barb. “Mr.
Jones, you have your ship and, from what Mr. Lurry says, a rather considerable sum at your disposal. Do you have any plans?”

  “Actually, Captain,” interrupted Lurry, “I do have some things to discuss with Cyrano before he should answer that question. First, we do have to return the remaining tribbles to their homeworld, and apparently only Cyrano and Yersa know its location.”

  “A wise precaution considering the proximity of the Klingon Empire,” said Spock.

  “Captain, if you please, I would like to take Mr. Jones to his celebration. We can complete your cargo transfers and requisitions in the morning if that is acceptable.”

  “Perfectly acceptable, Mr. Lurry. We will return to the Enterprise until we receive your signal.”

  “Very well, then,” said Lurry as he escorted Cyrano out of the transporter room. The noise that came from the corridor after the doors closed indicated that the party would be boisterous.

  “You’re not staying for the party, Jim?” asked McCoy. “That’s not like you. Is something wrong?”

  “Nothing, Bones. I just don’t feel my presence would add to the festivities. This is Cyrano’s day. Let’s let him enjoy it.”

  “No problem here. How about you, Spock? You look like you could use a good party.”

  [27] “Really, Doctor. What could possibly give you the impression that I would actually participate in the reckless consumption of alcohol accompanied by such a raucous din?”

  “Why, to take your mind off of all your errors in logic.”

  “You are referring to ...”

  “Well, when this whole affair started, you predicted that it would take 17.9 years, exactly, for Jones to clear the station of tribbles. You also predicted a time for the pool that was 3.6 minutes off. That’s not like you, either.”

  “Need I remind you, Doctor, that I was basing my calculations on your assessment of the reproductive physiology of tribbles, and therefore my predictions relied on the uncertain theory that you knew what you were doing. To have missed the inherently obvious conclusion that tribble reproduction must have involved some form of population control and that some form of pheromone must be present, surely—”

  The sound of a communicator being urgently flipped open stopped him in midphrase.

  “Kirk to Enterprise. Three to beam up. Now, please, Mr. Scott.”

  The return to the Enterprise was uneventful, and the night, fortunately, passed without further incident. The designated cargo from the station was transferred to the Enterprise, and all was made ready for departure. Formal leave was taken and Mr. Lurry wished them well on their voyage.

  “Ahead, full impulse, Mr. Sulu.”

  “Aye, Captain. Full impulse ahead.”

  “Captain, at full impulse, we won’t reach Sherman’s Planet for 6.73 days.”

  [28] “Correct, Mr. Spock. I’m not in that much of a hurry to meet Governor Boris. Are you?”

  The arch of Spock’s left eyebrow was all the response Kirk needed.

  Epilogue

  It was near sunset on Iota Geminorum IV. The solitary freighter rested on its landing pylons in the midst of a rock-strewn depression between two small ridges. There were several large formations of granite nearby, but not so near as to be affected by the heat of the freighter’s propulsion systems. The lengthening shadows all but concealed the ragged clefts in the formations and the rich growth of lichen within them.

  Cyrano Jones stood at the foot of the freighter’s aft loading ramp, looking out over the ridges as the edge of the reddening solar disk began to disappear beyond the ridge. There was the faint intermittent hum of some form of insect mixed with the definite cooing of masses of tribbles. He stood there for some time, fixing the sensations in his mind, for he knew he would not be returning to this place.

  He knew some way would have to be found to protect this planet, because he knew the Klingons would eventually find it. With the homeworld lying so close to the Neutral Zone, its discovery was almost inevitable. Some “navigational error” would probably arise, resulting in some wayward battle cruiser finding its way to the source of its hated enemy. The fact that the tribbles could create such a hostile response yet be so totally unable to defend themselves would only further enrage the Klingon [29] commander. He would order all weapons fired, all energy sources expended, seeking nothing less than the total annihilation of the planet.

  As the last traces of twilight dissolved into the night sky, Cyrano remained where he stood. No answers came. All that did come was an increasing sense of fatigue. The answers he sought would have to arise from somewhere else.

  He walked slowly up the ramp and hit the key sequence to close the hatchway. Minutes later, he rejoined Yersa and Lurry on the freighter’s small bridge. Nothing needed to be said. Yersa merely looked in his direction, then turned to the control panel in front of her. She typed in the commands to bring the engines on line and waited patiently for the monitors to read nominal.

  “Let’s go,” was all Cyrano could say.

  The freighter rose slowly into the stars with no sign that any of the life-forms below took notice of its passage. Soon it was orbiting the planet, its passengers counting down in silence the time until the impulse engines engaged. The course for Station K-7 had already been laid in, and the computers executed the departure sequence with minimal supervision.

  It was Lurry who decided to speak first. “Cyrano, I have something to ask of you, but I want you to take your time before answering. I’m sure that you can guess where I’m going with this, but please let me finish.

  “This is the first time I’ve been off the station in twenty years. I don’t believe that you know that. Frankly, I’ve begun to think that I’ve become part of it. And I’ve come to think of you as a part of it as well. I would miss you considerably if you decided to leave.

  [30] “So, I’m going to make you an offer. The station has always had a certain amount of smuggling going on, and I’m sure that with your ... experience in such matters, you know a lot more about it than I do. Certainly, I would like to cut down on some of the trafficking in Romulan ale or, at least, get a chance to taste some of the damned stuff. I could use your assistance, say as chief of security?”

  Lurry rose and moved to the rear of the bridge. “Please think about it,” he said. “I’ll be in my compartment.”

  Cyrano, struck by the ironies of the situation, tried unsuccessfully to keep his laughter to himself. Yersa, turning at the sound, rose and stood next to him. He looked up at her, wondering what she thought of the offer. She had been almost as much a part of the station over the last several years as he had been. He didn’t know what to think or say.

  “And just what do you think of said proposal, my dear lady?” he asked, mustering as much of the bravado that had carried him through those earlier years as he could.

  Yersa looked down into his eyes and smiled slightly as she laid her hand on his arm.

  “I’d seriously think about it.”

  The Lights in the Sky

  Phaedra M. Weldon

  [THIRD PRIZE]

  “Come in.”

  Shahna continued pacing the length of her cramped quarters aboard the Excelsior. Her environmental controls were locked on cool, the lights were too bright, and she disliked the beige and brown furniture Starfleet elected to decorate with. The only splash of color in the room besides herself was an arrangement of roses, sent by Captain Sulu upon her arrival.

  When the door to her quarters closed, she stopped and whirled around, her silver and white skirt pinwheeling at her feet. She faced the tall uniformed man who stood just inside her doorway, his arms clasped as always behind his back.

  “Ambassador,” Mr. Spock said in a toneless voice.

  Shahna crossed her arms over her chest, her green and gray hair curling in the folds of her sleeves. “Why have we changed course?”

  When Mr. Spock remained silent, Shahna fixed him with her emerald gaze. In the silence she became aware of the Excelsior’s engines. Thei
r ceaseless vibrations beneath her feet, the tireless hum encircling her, permeating the still air between them.

  [32] Finally looking away, Shahna approached him hesitantly. After spending countless months with him in negotiations concerning Triskelion’s long-awaited admission into the Federation, she did not know him. Possibly because a small part of her remained in awe of him. Before the negotiations began, she had never thought of Spock as a real person, only a voice from the skies, from her past. A voice Jim Kirk had called friend.

  “I have been monitoring the bridge communications,” Shahna said hurriedly, lowering her arms, looking into his face again.

  Mr. Spock raised an upswept eyebrow. “Then you know Captain Sulu is answering a distress call in the Gamma system. By Starfleet’s order.”

  “Doesn’t he understand how important it is for me to reach Earth? The meeting is tomorrow.”

  “The Klingons have been made aware of our present situation and have agreed to the delay.”

  Shahna clenched her fists. “The Romulans are my concern.”

  Mr. Spock almost sighed. “They have been contacted but have not yet responded. Starfleet has rescheduled the meeting for the day after tomorrow. I was on my way to inform you of this before you called for me.”

  Shahna opened her mouth, then closed it, unsure of what to say. She knew shouting at a Vulcan was senseless, the same as staring one down. Turning, she faced the windows that made up the farthest wall of her quarters. The stars were mere streaks of light racing across a black expanse. “By then it may be too late.”

  “Ambassador Shahna,” Mr. Spock began, his voice [33] gentle but questioning. “The attack on your world by the Romulans has been dealt with by the Federation. Since that attack has precipitated your joining the Federation and you are now under its protection, I do not see the true urgency for this meeting. To be honest, I do not see the point to this meeting at all.” Mr. Spock stepped forward as Shahna turned to face him. “The nonaggresion treaty with the Romulans can be handled without your presence. It is my understanding Provider One did not approve of your leaving.”