Web of the Romulans

by M S Murdock

  "Get me the admiral," he said tersely. "And I want it visual this time."

  He would try again to talk some sense into that bonehead … until the last moment he would try.

  "Admiral Iota!"

  "Don't bother me, Garson."

  Iota's smug voice drove the captain to distraction.

  "Iota, you are a fool! You're throwing away a chance that could be the beginning of peace!"

  "Garson, you make me tired. And you're insubordinate. I will not forget when this is over."

  "You won't have a chance to remember! This ship will be destroyed in … twelve point four-two minutes."

  "Bah! You're bluffing. You don't have the courage for that. Now leave me alone before I …"

  The admiral's voice trailed off as a high-pitched, intermittent beep sounded. He pressed a lever on his wrist communicator.

  "What is it?" Iota asked.

  "Admiral, I think you should hear this … I think we were wrong," said a distant voice.

  "Proceed with the communication."

  Iota bent to catch the taped communiqué and Captain Garson's heart leaped. Kirk! He prayed for a miracle. Time was suspended, interminable. The admiral's silver hair was alive with white highlights, the rugged line of his cheek impassive, broad shoulders drooping a little with fatigue. His head sank lower and lower. To the captain's hopeful eyes there was defeat in the humility of his posture. Iota raised his head and turned away.

  "The victory is yours, Captain," he said in a muffled voice. "It seems I was wrong."

  Garson controlled the tremor in his voice.

  "Admiral, you will allow security to escort you to your quarters."

  Iota did not speak, but nodded his acquiescence. Garson turned from the viewscreen, his grey eyes alive with victory.

  "Ensign Heery, abort destruct order."

  "Yes, sir!"

  The smile in Heery's voice was symptomatic of the relief flooding the bridge.

  "Commander Yellowhorse, get me Tiercellus."

  Yellowhorse looked up from the communications board.

  "Sir, the Romulans say the detachment is now led by a Commander Hexce. He's on, sir."

  "This is the Potemkin. Our emergency situation is under control. Repeat, we have complete control."

  "I am glad to hear that, Captain. Only the Praetor's orders saved you," answered Hexce.

  "Your discipline has been noted, sir," replied Garson.

  "It was wearing thin."

  "It will be tried no further. Though I acknowledge my debt to you, I cannot refrain from pointing out the Federation's patience has been your ally."

  "And I acknowledge the truth of what you say—reluctantly. We will keep the truce," answered Hexce.

  "As will we," said Garson.

  Hexce favored the Terran with the Romulan salute, indicating the end of the discussion as far as he was concerned. The screen replaced his image with its former survey of the four enemy ships.

  Captain Garson sank into his command chair.

  "Maintain position," he said.

  "Aye, sir."

  Garson closed his eyes. No more, he thought. If this isn't the end I don't want to be told. He let his mind slip quietly away to linger over the ideal shore leave.

  "Journal: the fifth day of Esaan."

  Romm Joramm's stylus traced the sweeping curves of Canaran script with practiced ease.

  "Canara has sustained a time of crisis. That is over. The danger was great … we ran the risk of extinction … but if we learned from what we have gone through, I venture to say the benefits may outweigh the dangers. For the first time Canara has dealt with true outsiders—enemies—and survived. We had help and examples, both good and bad.

  "For myself, I find it hard to view the Romulan envoy S'Talon as an enemy. Unlike his Praetor, he is concerned for the welfare of others, and I have always found it difficult to accept a role instead of an individual. Perhaps this betrays a certain lack of experience and worldliness on my part. No matter. I am an old man. When younger, more flexible minds carry the weight of leadership they will find answers to questions I never dreamed of asking.

  "The harvest is almost complete, and the production of a vaccine is underway in the laboratory Doctor McCoy has set up. This is a most interesting development. With our supply of gran it would be beneficial to have more and larger laboratories to manufacture medicine here on Canara. Doctor McCoy and I have spoken of this in depth and he feels that gran itself should be studied more carefully. He has obtained a supply for personal research, but he feels it deserves the full attention of a competent laboratory for no less than five years! Imagine—we know only one-tenth of gran's potential!"

  The script wavered as the old man's hand shook with enthusiasm.

  "A vast new world opens before us. It is diverse and challenging, full of opportunity, but to take advantage of it we will have to curb our headstrong impulses. I very nearly destroyed Canara through my own selfish sense of injury. That most arresting young Captain Kirk has given me a glimpse of Canara's future. Through his eyes I have seen the limitless possibilities open to our young people. We have much to learn, but I am confident we will win through. There is much to be done."

  Joramm initialed the entry and closed the journal. He leaned back, tilting his head up to the sky, though he knew neither the Enterprise nor the Romulan fleet was visible to the naked eye. These young men had excited him—so intense, so dedicated to their goals. He had been like that once. He chuckled suddenly, realizing he still was. Well, peace follow them all. He, meanwhile, had a harvest to see to.

  "Captain's log: stardate three-one three-zero point four.

  "The Romulan crisis is under control. Commander S'Talon has come to an understanding with the Canarans and the Romulan empire has agreed to buy their entire supply of gran. Doctor McCoy estimates that, made into the new vaccine, it will be enough to stem the myrruthesian plague …"

  "Captain," interrupted Uhura, "Commander S'Talon wishes to speak to you."

  "Thank you, Lieutenant," answered Kirk. "Main viewscreen."

  S'Talon's image materialized, his profile cutting a clean line against the shadowy red of his quarters. He was alone, and for a moment he seemed lost in thought, but when he turned his eyes locked with Kirk's.

  "Doctor McCoy, Mister Spock … Captain," he acknowledged.

  "Commander," returned Kirk.

  "Our work here is almost complete. Soon we will return home and the cooperation we have enjoyed will dissolve. We will be enemies with the Neutral Zone a wall between us and there will be little opportunity for personal feeling. James Kirk, not only are you and your crew directly responsible for stopping a war and keeping a civilization from decimation by disease, you have secured my position as well."

  Kirk opened his mouth to reply, but S'Talon continued.

  "I believe, Captain, you would make as valuable a friend as you are dangerous an enemy. Whatever circumstances may require of me, I remain in your debt … I will remember, Captain."

  "Good-bye, S'Talon, my friend," said Kirk. The Romulan Commander's eyes were full of regret as he faded from the screen.

  "That's quite a man, Jim," said McCoy with respect. "His medical knowledge is phenomenal."

  "It is regrettable we are on opposite sides," acknowledged Spock. "Commander S'Talon is a remarkable personality. When I questioned him about his ship, he merely replied he had personally set a delayed action overload in sequence before he left her and that the Federation would find nothing but microscopic debris."

  "His concern is for the welfare of his people," mused Kirk, "just as our concern is for the welfare of ours. Yet we are enemies. No logic in it, is there, Spock?"

  "War, in all its forms, is not a logical process," said Spock, his eyes dark.

  "No," answered the captain. He punched into the computer to finish the log entry S'Talon had interrupted. "Our mission is successfully completed and the Enterprise will be leaving the area in approximately four point two-three hour
s, when we will proceed to the nearest Starbase for computer repair. Kirk out."

  "Recorded, my darling, my dearest," answered the computer in its most seductive tones. "Another brilliant mission completed by my brave, loyal, warm …"

  The computer continued its list of adjectives as the captain's face fell.

  "Spock …" he said in a desperate, tiny voice.

  Spock's lips twitched.

  "I am sorry, Captain," said Spock with conciliatory sympathy, "but the log entries are directly tied to the library computer and I can do nothing until it is reprogrammed …"

  Kirk lowered his head, his forehead resting on the heel of one hand. He was the picture of helpless dejection.

  "… noble, loving, hardworking …" the computer continued.

  Kirk's whole body sank.

  "Look at it this way, Jim: she may be a machine, but she's all yours," McCoy chuckled.

  "You did say you loved her, Captain."

  Spock's voice was innocent.

  Uhura turned quickly to her communications board, choked by an irrepressible giggle. Sulu shook with silent laughter and Chekov had to clamp his mouth shut. The bridge was violently quiet when a chortle erupted from the command chair. The chortle bubbled into a laugh and the bridge exploded … except, of course, for Spock. He observed the situation with innocence and mild surprise … his own approach to humor.

  "… pure, kind and generous, my own true love," the computer finished fondly, totally unaware of the reaction it was causing.

  The Enterprise rocked with laughter.

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