The Fearful Summons

by Denny Martin Flinn

  "Here it is," Flanagan said. "Make whatever use of it you like. There won't be a record, as I've shut off the data transmitter. I'll turn it on again when I come to work in the morning."

  "You're a good lad, Flanny," Scott said. "You always were."

  "Well, it's almost as good to see an old countryman as it would be to see the heather again."

  "Aye, I've got plenty around my place. When you're finished playing the bureaucrat out here, you'll have ta come by. I'll owe you a drink."

  "I'll be collecting, dinna you worry. I'll be leavin' now.

  Don't leave a mess. There's plenty of transport containers and if you use that antigravity sled over in the corner, you ought to be able to move your supplies out of here and back to your ship. As for me, I dinna see you tonight." He waved and went out the door. The three conspirators waited until the door shut firmly behind him.

  "Scotty, you sly old dog," McCoy said.

  "Comin' from you, Doctor, I take that as a compliment. You can travel the galaxy over, but there's nothing like a countryman for loyalty, I always say. Now, Captain, if you have the specifications for what you want, let's get started. It may take us several hours." His experienced hands flew over the panels on the face of the synthesizer, and the console's lights began to respond. "Where's your shopping list?" he said.

  Some time after Mr. Spock and Uhura arrived back on the Princess and reported to the bridge, a message came to them on a private frequency.

  "Mr. Spock," Uhura said from her station. "I have a set of coordinates coming in from Taras Tarquin. No message, just the location."

  "That probably means the exchange has been agreed to. Anything else?"

  "Wait a minute. Here's a time … 0500 hours. That's all it says."

  "All right. The time and the place. There is our confirmation. Let us hope we have something to trade when we get there."

  An hour and a half later Scotty shut down the synthesizer, while Kirk and McCoy manipulated the last transport container onto the antigravity sled. The whole load looked like it would fill a good-sized shuttle, which was what they were going to need to transport it onto the Princess.

  McCoy slipped the last transport container that was loaded with weapons into place, then stood back and brushed his hands together. "Now what, Jim?" he said. "Do we just walk out of here with all this stuff?"

  Kirk maneuvered the antigravity sled over to the double doors. He smiled at McCoy.

  "That's exactly what we do. Walk out with it all."

  Scotty and McCoy smiled at Kirk. McCoy shook his head and laughed. "Okay, Jim," he said, and he moved ahead to open the double doors.

  They walked the twenty-foot sled out of the synthesizer room, then waited while Scotty shut the doors behind them. Then he took up the lead.

  "If I've got my directions right," Scotty said, "we ought to be goin' right up this corridor. There's a freight turbolift around the bend, which will take us right up to the spacedock freight port. There's plenty of shuttles there."

  They maneuvered the huge sled into the corridor and nudged it along until they came to the big bay doors. At that late hour, few people came along, and those who did were uninterested in the three men pushing freight purposely through the corridors of 499. They were alone in the lift. But when they stepped onto the freight dock at the edge of the enormous, airy spacedock where the dozen Starfleet Starships and assorted smaller vessels floated, it was a different story. The twenty-four-hour spaceport was busy with activity. Shuttles flew back and forth across the big open area and out to the Starships. Though the evening-cycle crew was not as large as the day-cycle, it was just as busy. A number of Starfleet personnel were there. Kirk looked around and spotted a tall, young African in a Starfleet uniform who looked like he was in charge. He walked over to him.

  "Excuse me, I'm James T. Kirk, from the—"

  "U.S.S. Enterprise. This is a pleasure, Admiral. I'm Deck Officer B'huto."

  "Actually, I'm not an admir—"

  "If there's anything I can do for you, don't hesitate to ask. Sorry, what were you saying?"

  "Uh, oh, nothing. I was just wondering if we could borrow a shuttle. Just for a few minutes. We've got some supplies to take over to our, ah, temporary transportation. My chief engineering officer is an outstanding shuttle man, so we wouldn't—"

  "I wouldn't hear of it, sir."

  "But—"

  "We'll take it over. I'll have my men make it their highest priority."

  "Oh. Well, thanks, but I wouldn't want you to go to that much trouble. It's only a load of, oh, this and that, you know. For the trip home. Nothing important, we can handle it. Got it all loaded on the antigravity sled and Scott is an outstanding shuttle pilot."

  "The chief of operations here would kill me if I made you take that by yourselves. Is that it?"

  "That's it. One sled. It's no problem, we could—"

  "Here we are. Officers Handler and A'ron, the best shuttle pilots on 499. This is Admiral James T. Kirk. Please take him and his crew and their luggage over to their ship at once."

  "Right this way, Admiral," one of the young men said.

  "Thank you, Mr. B'huto, you've been very kind," Kirk said to the officer.

  "Anytime. Anything I can do for you, sir, just let me know.

  "Thanks. See you later," Kirk said, and followed the two shuttle pilots.

  As they approached Scotty and McCoy, the men stood up nervously.

  "Is this yours?" one of the pilots asked.

  "Yes, yes it is. Everything on this sled. We're on the Plush Princess, it's that star yacht in the far corner of spacedock."

  "All right. I'll get a shuttle." And he walked over to a parked shuttle at the edge of the floor that overhung the spacedock.

  "I've got us a ride," Kirk said to Scotty and McCoy, who stared at him. "Very kind of them. Rolled out the red carpet for an old Starfleet admiral." He smiled at them. "Be on board in a minute."

  Scotty looked at Kirk with wide eyes, but was speechless.

  McCoy kept glancing at the transport containers, but didn't say anything either. The pilots backed the shuttle up to the sled, stopping it only inches away. A back bay door opened. Kirk tipped the sled up and slid it into the shuttle. Then he climbed in after it. He waved at Scotty and McCoy, still standing on the deck.

  Scotty and McCoy scrambled in and the back bay doors slid closed behind them. In moments they saw the Princess off the starboard viewport. Then they heard the pilot's voice.

  "Princess, open your doors, please, we have a delivery."

  They heard Chekov's voice make a response; then a door on the rear of the saucer slid open. The shuttle driver neatly turned the shuttle in a 180-degree arc, then backed up until they were just touching the Princess.

  "There you are, Admiral. Hope that didn't take too long."

  "Fine, thank you. Just fine." Kirk got out and pulled the sled with him. Scotty and McCoy jumped out behind it. The shuttle doors closed and the shuttle shot off across the spacedock, back to the freight deck. McCoy turned to Kirk.

  "Admiral?" he said, his eyes opened wide.

  "They had me confused with my former self. I didn't want to disappoint them. They probably don't get many real admirals on the freight deck."

  "Or any phony ones either," Scotty said with a chuckle. "Well, we've got weapons to trade. Let's go see if Mr. Spock is back."

  "We've made contact with the crew of the Sundew," Barbara said quietly, as she sat with her back to the bar in a dark corner of the rec deck. The man facing her sat back in the shadows.

  "You have?!" he said.

  "Kirk plans to make a trade for the hostages. He's worried that another hostage will be executed tomorrow. And there's always the danger that the hostages could be moved, or security around them might be increased. He is not a patient man."

  "Where? When?"

  "I don't know yet. Early tomorrow, I would imagine."

  "Will you be going?"

  "Yes. Kirk doesn't want me to,
but I'll talk him into it. I'll leave a message on your terminal. I'd better get back now, I don't want to be away too long or somebody will suspect something. Wait at least ten minutes before you leave."

  After this confidential talk with her contact, Barbara made her way back to the Princess.

  The crew held a short conference in the aft space lounge, and briefly checked the starship's equipment. Then the little group broke up for the night.

  Spock was climbing the ladder to his upper berth when Barbara came into their cabin.

  "Jim, I'd like to talk to you," she said quietly.

  Spock looked down at her. He looked over at Kirk, who had been staring out the viewport.

  "Perhaps I will go up to the lounge deck and discuss the weather with Dr. McCoy," he said. He climbed back down the ladder and headed out the hatchway.

  "Mr. Spock, I may be new to deep space," Barbara said, "but as there isn't any atmosphere up here, there isn't any weather to speak of, is there?"

  "No, I suppose that is true. On the other hand, Dr. McCoy is not very good at small talk, so I doubt it will matter. Good evening." He left the cabin.

  Kirk hadn't been alone with Barbara since the trip had begun. He had consciously put his original feelings for her out of his mind. He had wanted to make sure that his judgment wasn't impaired by their relationship. He'd seen that happen too often with other officers. Heck, he'd had it happen to him on occasion, although only when under a chemical or biological influence engendered in him by some alien life force. He sensed that she, too, had kept her distance, both physically and psychologically.

  Now there was nowhere for him to go in the small cabin. He inhaled her fragrance, remembering it clearly from their encounters in San Francisco. He didn't know what to say, so he waited cautiously for her to speak.

  "Jim, you're going to need a good pilot. You don't have one, and you can't get one from Starfleet or Starbase 499 without tipping your hand. You've got to take me."

  "Scotty is an excellent pilot."

  "So is Chekov. He taught me a lot coming out here. But you need Scotty in the engine room and the transporter room. You can't have him running back and forth, not in such a delicate situation. Who knows what's going to happen when we get out to that moon? And you know that Chekov can't handle both duties at once, without wasting time. Time that might be precious."

  "I've been on the helm before. I didn't always sit and give orders."

  "I'm sure you were a hell of a pilot. Twenty-five years ago."

  Kirk frowned.

  "I'm sorry, Jim. I didn't mean that as an insult. But you haven't handled the helm directly in a long time, and you've never handled the Princess. Tomorrow's voyage isn't the time to get the feel of her. Why risk additional problems?"

  "I understand how you feel, Barbara. And I greatly appreciate your loyalty. But I won't jeopardize your whole career. We'll manage." He looked out the viewport, unable to look directly at her.

  "Tell me something," Barbara said quietly. "You said you have nothing to lose. But that's not true. If I have my future, you have your past. Your reputation. You are an icon of Starfleet, and yes, you have on occasion done things not exactly by the book. You're the commander who stands for self-reliance and quick thinking. You're the smart cadet who beat the Kobayashi Maru scenario. But you and I both know this is different. This might very well be seen as arrogant self-interest. You could jeopardize the peace you helped bring about yourself. And you're doing it for one man. A man who knew when he signed on with the Starfleet twenty-six years ago that he might risk his life someday. His loyalty is to Starfleet. Where's yours? Why are you doing this?"

  Kirk thought about this for a very long time. Finally he was ready to answer her.

  "I have a great feeling for the Federation and the Starfleet. I always will. I'm loyal to the concepts they stand for, the democracy, the freedom, the greater good of the community. I served for over twenty-five years not just for the adventure and the excitement, but because I wanted to help create the very glory, the future glory, that our explorations would lead to. But I have a greater loyalty, and that's to one man. To my old helmsman. He stood by me for a lot of those years, and I'm going to stand by him now. I can't think of anything else. I suppose that's what this boils down to for me. I was never a man for the big picture. I was a failure as an admiral, I'd be a failure as a politician and a diplomat. I know I'm hardheaded. I know I sometimes have narrow vision. But that's me. Getting Sulu out of there is all I can think of. It's the only road that makes sense to me. Sulu is real, and the concept of the Federation losing one of its carefully cultivated intergalactic relationships isn't real to me. I can only take this one step at a time. I'll admit that I came up here partially for the adventure of it. Maybe it was the excuse I was looking for to get back at the conn of a Starship, to get back into deep space. But today when I saw him, without the broad smile I remembered so well, the whole thing became so simple. I'm going to get him out, and if I can't think of a way to do it legally, I'm going to do it illegally."

  Barbara looked at him.

  "Thanks," she said.

  "For what? You know I don't want you going with us."

  "For being so honest. Now let me tell you about my reasons," she said. She moved away from him and sat on the bed.

  "I've come this far. If I have to quit now, I'll be mortified.

  I can go back a disgrace, but I can't go back a failure. If I stay, I'm one of you. One of seven. If I go, I'm on my own. My fellow cadets will know that I bailed out. You talk about loyalty. Well, I don't want to be smart. I don't want to be political. I just want to be loyal, too. To you and to the mission. This is my first assignment, unauthorized as it is. It may be unorthodox. Hell, we know it's probably going to end up being downright illegal. But I piloted the Princess out here, and I want to pilot her back."

  "I appreciate that, Barbara. I really do. I know you'll be disappointed, but I won't drag a young officer into a wild, renegade plan like this. You'll have to stay on Starbase 499 while we're gone."

  Barbara leaned against the bulkhead. Kirk wondered if it was a purposefully provocative pose. Her next words convinced him that it was.

  "If you dump me here, you won't see me again."

  Kirk looked at her. "I'll be lost without you. But I have to put my feelings for you aside. You know that. It's just not good leadership."

  Barbara sighed. She stood up and walked to the door. Then she turned around.

  "Last shot. I'm sorry to have to do this to you, James." She looked straight at him and something about her expression changed. He saw a Barbara he hadn't seen before. "If you dump me, I'm going straight to Starfleet and tell them your plans. You know they'll interfere. There's not a chance in hell they'll let you move one inch without their supervision."

  Kirk's jaw tightened. "You wouldn't do that."

  "I would. I'm afraid I never told you everything about myself, Jim. I'm also strong-minded."

  "This is blackmail."

  "That's right. And the only way you can follow through with your plans is in secret. So I'm your hostage. Take me with you, or don't go."

  "Barbara—"

  "No deals. What do you say?"

  A cold air hung between them.

  "I guess I have no choice," he finally said.

  She smiled. "Good. And now that we've got that out of the way, we don't have to bring it up again. I'm in for the duration. The crew will think you caved, but don't worry, I won't brag." She turned and started out the hatchway. When she stopped and turned back, Kirk hadn't moved. He was still looking at her.

  "Jim, I'm sorry. I guess I'm as strong-minded as you are. Maybe we're a bad match. I hope not."

  She smiled, but he didn't return it. She turned away from his quizzical stare. As she disappeared into the corridor he heard her say, "By the way, as long as I'm going, I'll drive."

  Day Eight

  WHEN THE CREW ROSEthe next morning, they gathered in the tiny galley of the yacht and ate a s
ynthesized breakfast. None of the seven had much to say. The air was thick with tension, as they faced an unpredictable rendezvous and none of them had slept easily. In the dawn stillness they moved up to their places on the bridge without being asked.

  "Engage thrusters," Kirk said to Barbara's back.

  "Thrusters engaged," she said without looking over her shoulder. Barbara guided the star yacht to the rendezvous coordinates.

  "Leaving warp drive, Captain," Barbara said after the short voyage.

  "Ve have the Promethean moon vithin wisual recognition, Captain," Chekov said a few seconds later.

  "Put it up on the screen," Kirk said.

  The image was like countless others the space travelers had seen. A dry round orb, pockmocked with craters. No clouds or vegetation, hardly even any shadows. The highest peaks of rock would hardly have put a star cruiser in the shade.

  "Mr. Spock," Kirk said. "Report?"

  "Captain, there is a breathable if thin atmosphere. The only sign of life-forms is low-level vegetation rooted deeply in the planet's crust, and one species of small mammal. The former are not poisonous and the latter not aggressive. They appear to hide during the day and forage for food in the darkness. No recognizable minerals or ore of any value. No dilithium, which accounts for the abandonment of this particular sphere in the Beta Promethean system. A close visual scanning indicates that there are footprints. As there is little wind or water, however, these marks might well last for weeks, even months, and thus could be very old. There are also signs of small-craft landings and launchings. I would suggest that this small moon, because its orbit keeps it on the least hospitable side of Beta Prometheus 3 and thus is seldom in visual range, has become something of a useful port for precisely what we are doing now. Those Promethean traders who wish to keep their transactions secret land here. A smugglers' cove, if you will."