"Thank you, Mr. Spock. Barbara, place us directly over the coordinates we were given, within beaming distance."
"Aye, Captain," she answered.
"Any sign of their ship?" Kirk said.
"Negative, Captain," Spock responded. Not in visual range.
"Uhura?" he asked.
"No, Captain," Uhura responded. "I've been monitoring all frequencies and subspace channels, but there hasn't been any communications yet at all."
"Very well. We'll wait."
"For how long, Jim?" Dr. McCoy said.
"Until our patience runs out, I suppose. Does anyone know what a Promethean's sense of time is? Perhaps we're unconscionably rude by being on time. Anyway, if we have not been sent on some sort of wild-goose chase—or worse—I assume they will want to make the exchange on the surface of the planet. Mr. Spock, if you and Dr. McCoy will accompany me down to the planet's surface, we will speak to this Maldari. I'll call for the transport containers if I think this will go smoothly. Scotty?"
"Aye, Captain?"
"In our absence you are acting captain of the ship."
"Aye, Captain."
"Don't send the containers down unless you hear directly from me."
"Aye, Captain."
"I think you know the drill. I would keep your shields up, weak as they might be, and watch out for any tricks. If you have to pull away for any reason, we'll attempt to rendezvous at our original spot every hour on the hour."
"Got it, Captain."
After that the crew waited in silence for what seemed like a long time. In reality, not more than five or ten minutes had gone by when Uhura spoke.
"I'm getting something, Captain," she said quietly. Everyone tensed.
"They have not identified themselves, but the coded frequencies match the ones that Tarquin gave us."
"What are they saying?"
"They're using a code of some sort, not a language. I don't recognize it, but I'll—wait a minute, it's Morse. I'll put it through the Translator. They are asking us to identify ourselves."
"Put me on the air, Uhura. On a coded low frequency that nobody else will overhear."
"Channel open."
"This is Captain James T. Kirk of the starship Plush Princess. We are carrying nine transport containers of freight, and would like to trade them for your … cargo."
"Do you have the proper coordinates on the moon's surface?" Maldari's voice said as Uhura slipped the coded signal through the voice-equivalent translator.
"We do," Kirk said.
"Beam the containers down there."
"Beam your payment down."
Silence. Finally Uhura whispered, "Nothing, Captain."
Kirk sat in the chill silence without moving a muscle. Finally it paid off. Maldari's guttural voice burst into the bridge.
"Beam yourselves down, Captain, and we will meet you there."
"Agreed." He jumped out of his chair and shot into the turbolift. Spock and McCoy were right behind him.
When the three arrived on the lower deck, Scotty had the transporter ready. They stepped onto the platform and he gave them a thumbs-up sign. A moment later they were standing on the dry rock surface of the lifeless moon, in the center of a valley ringed by low ridges.
They stood there alone for some minutes. McCoy took out a tricorder and aimed it in a circle, reading off its display.
"No signs of life," he said.
They stood in the chill air of the desolate moonscape, lit only by the reflective glow from Beta Prometheus 3 as it loomed in the sky nearby.
Then McCoy read off his tricorder display again. "Something over there." They all looked.
An ancient shuttle, rusted and dented from inferior metals, inferior shields, and too much use, flew down and landed on the far side of the flat area. For a while it just sat there.
Finally a shuttle door opened and several Beta Prometheans climbed out. Kirk and McCoy recognized some of them from the anti-Federation rally. The three watched as the Prometheans scuttled forward until they were only ten yards away. Kirk realized they had covered almost a mile in only a few minutes. They can sure as hell run fast, he thought. It must be their lower center of gravity, and four muscular legs.
"Kirk?" Maldari said.
"I'm Kirk."
Maldari looked at him. "So, you are the famous Captain Kirk of the Starship Enterprise. Your reputation precedes you."
"You must be Maldari. Of the Sundew. So does yours, I'm afraid. You have kidnapped Starfleet officers representing the United Federation of Planets. We're here to take them back."
"They were spying!" Maldari shouted. Kirk saw the others nod their heads. "They were invading Beta Promethean territory in preparation for a full-scale attack on our civilization. This is the way the Federation behaves, everywhere it goes, as if—"
"Why don't we dispense with the propaganda you have picked up from the Klingons. I'm not here representing the Federation or Starfleet. We're here to trade, which is, I understand, your business. We have nine transport containers on our ship, each loaded with Starfleet weapons, and will be glad to beam them down as soon as you can provide eight Starfleet officers."
Maldari's heavily lidded eyes narrowed. But he didn't say anything. Kirk went on.
"I can assure you that Starfleet will not allow this situation to continue indefinitely. In a very short time, they'll send Starships that could force your planet into compliance. As men of vision"—Kirk hoped the shameless flattery wasn't overly obvious—"you and I ought to be able to avoid that. Where are the officers?"
Maldari turned to one of his aides, and nodded his head. The aide turned and scuttled back quickly to the shuttle. He leaned in and said something. Then everybody waited. Kirk and Maldari looked at each other. Spock and McCoy stood patiently.
Finally a second shuttle, slightly larger if just as ancient as the first, glided in and settled on the rocky ground behind the first one. The door opened and Starfleet officers climbed out. From the distance, Kirk counted eight.
Kirk touched his communicator. "Okay, Scotty, beam down the transport containers."
Kirk saw Maldari signal one of his men, and the two shuttles rolled toward them. The containers began materializing next to them. Maldari scuttled over to one of the boxes and opened the lid. He handled a few of the weapons, then turned to Kirk.
"These are very modern weapons."
"That's what you wanted."
"They are difficult to use. We—"
"Look, Maldari. They didn't come with an instruction manual. And we don't give lessons. Each and every one of them is primed and loaded with liquid neutron energy. Look at them. You want them or not?"
Maldari's helpers had pulled several of them out already, and were admiring them. One sighted a large, complicated-looking gun back toward the Starfleet officers.
"Hey, watch it. These things aren't toys," McCoy shouted.
"Load them up," Maldari called to his aides.
The Prometheans put the weapons back in the transport containers and began maneuvering them into the open shuttles. There were no antigravity sleds, and they lifted each one by hand. But the Prometheans were strong, and the containers disappeared quickly into the shuttles.
Kirk began walking toward the Starfleet officers, Spock and McCoy right behind him. As they did, Kirk touched his communicator again.
"Scotty, prepare to beam up eight officers."
"Jim, there's something funny here," McCoy said. Kirk looked at him and found him studying the tricorder display. "Those officers …"
"What?"
"They don't register any life signs."
Kirk picked up the pace again until the three of them were running hard across the rocky moonscape. As they got closer, Kirk slowed down and cursed. "Damn."
He turned to look over his shoulder. The two shuttles were just loading the final containers. As he watched, they closed their doors and sped off, disappearing into the sky behind the moon.
"Robots," Spock said.
"Primitive customized robots."
"Damn, damn, damn!" Kirk shouted. "We've been cheated."
"It would appear so," Spock said.
Kirk turned one around and lifted up the Starfleet tunic. He saw the small indentation in the imitation skin and pried out the panel. A tangle of chips and data input terminals was exposed. Kirk frowned. "I should never have trusted these Beta Prometheans. Too much time out of action, I suppose."
"Do not blame yourself, Captain," Spock said. "We did our best. From a mile away, they looked authentic."
"Come on, let's get out of here. And let's bring them along. They might come in handy. Scotty, if you still have a fix on our location, please beam us up. Beam up our eight friends here as well."
A moment later seven humans and eight robots were crowded into the star yacht's transporter room.
"Robots!" Scotty exclaimed. "I'll be damned. Robots."
"I'm afraid so, Mr. Scott." As the other crew members crowded into the hatchway to welcome the returning hostages, Kirk explained what happened on the moon's surface. "I feel like such a fool," he said.
There was a depressed silence, then the humans drifted out of the transport room and back up to the bridge.
"Now where am I going to put these things?" Scotty muttered.
"You know," Barbara said, lingering behind to examine the robots, "these uniforms are pretty authentic, even if the people wearing them are not."
Sulu and his officers sat around the large bare room in their underwear.
"If Starfleet is trying to bluff these pirates," Lieutenant Roose offered, "I wish it were not with strip poker."
"At home we are often naked in the snow," Norquist Svenson offered. Everyone looked at him. "After the sauna. It is most healthy." He shrugged.
Sulu glanced around the room. The officers were tired and tense, the result of their incarceration and the death of Spiros Focus. The lack of sunlight in the sealed room was disorienting, and although there were vents, through which the breathable atmosphere of the planet must have been pumped, the air was stale.
Sulu wished he could have cheered them up, but he had assumed from the beginning that their captors could monitor what they said in their prison. So he couldn't tell them that he had heard the voice of James T. Kirk when they were taken to the rally and displayed. He had looked into the face of a Klingon and seen an extraordinary likeness, in an odd way, to his old captain. He would have laughed at the ridiculous makeup, if he had not been worried it might expose Kirk. Then Uhura had confirmed his presence. He had no idea what the captain had in mind. But he was there on the planet. Something certainly was under way that might lead to their freedom. He wanted to tell the others, but couldn't figure out how under the circumstances. They needed to know that not all Klingons were enemies. That one might come along who was a friend in a foe's clothing.
Dramin arrived at the door to the unused warehouse moments after Maldari and part of his crew had left. He was accompanied by a cohort of Klingon soldiers.
"We're to see the prisoners," Dramin told the young Beta Promethean on guard.
"Shrewdest One," the nervous guard said, "Maldari is not here, and he has left instructions to allow no one near the hostages."
"No one but me, I'm sure you mean."
"In fact, he did not mention …"
"My name is Dramin. I was a member of the Sundew's crew. I was the religious officer. It was I who captured the prisoners in the first place."
"Yes, but—"
"What is your name?"
"Mikali, Shrewdest One."
"And Mikali, to whom is your loyalty? To Maldari, or to your Conclave?"
"We are all loyal to the Only Way, of course."
"Then it can certainly do no harm to allow your Conclave leader to interview the prisoners."
"I suppose not." He stepped aside hesitantly and pounded a coded knock on the door. Another guard opened it from the inside.
"Barush, he wants to see the prisoners," Mikali told the inside guard.
"Take us to them at once," Dramin said. "We will not be long."
Mikali looked at the group of Klingons who crowded behind him. "Shrewdest One, aren't you going alone?"
"They are to come with me." Dramin scuttled past Mikali, and the Klingons strode in after him. Inside they were led to the prison room. The guard stood aside.
"Open it," Dramin said. "Did you think we have come to stare at their prison?"
The young Beta Promethean scuttled backwards. "There are eight of them. I am alone. Maldari specifically said—"
"Do you think these miserable disbelievers can escape past a cohort of Klingon soldiers?" Dramin said forcefully, indicating the Klingons that towered behind him. The Klingons brought their weapons up, as if on cue.
"I suppose, if you will take responsibility for them …"
"Of course. Open the door."
The Beta Promethean inserted a luminous rod into an almost hidden hole in the wall. Then he used his massive upper-body strength to lift off an iron bar. He pushed and the door swung open.
Though the warehouse was dimly lit, the prison room was nearly black, and the officers blinked at the light. Dramin scuttled in.
"The one who is called Sulu," he said to the men. "Come forward."
Sulu rose up from his seat on the floor.
"I am Captain Hikaru Sulu, of the Starship Excelsior."
"You will come with us," Dramin said.
The other officers rapidly rose to their feet and moved forward, warning Sulu against going. The recent execution of their young cadet was fresh in all their minds. The Klingons, however, growled in their own harsh language, and pointedly waved their weapons.
"Dr. Hans. In my absence you are in charge," Sulu said as he walked forward. Dramin turned and led the way out of the room, and Sulu followed him. The Klingons backed out. The young Beta Promethean guard quickly shut the door behind them, then scuttled after the group.
"I don't think Maldari will like this," he whined. "You'll bring that human back, won't you?"
"Maldari has seven left," Dramin said. And he hurried Sulu out of the building and into a waiting shuttle.
* * *
The mug of thick, steaming liquid was placed in his hands. Sulu looked at it.
"Drink this," Dramin said. "You need nourishment." Sulu looked at the Beta Promethean dressed in black. He was different from the guards who came and went from their prison room. His mottled gray skin was slightly darker, but the principal distinction was his eyes. They shined brighter than the average Beta Promethean. And he blinked less. In fact, he hardly blinked at all. That was odd, Sulu thought.
"Go ahead," Dramin said. "This is cacoa, a drink native to Beta Prometheus. It's the same thing you've been drinking since you arrived here. Just a richer blend. You drink it, and relax. And here is a tunic for you to wear. Put it on. Then I want to talk to you about some political ideas. After all, you're a man of intelligence."
Sulu drank the stuff. It had the same brackish taste of the other Beta Promethean liquids they had been offered. This was richer, and tasted also of something else, though Sulu couldn't have described it precisely. His head felt suddenly lighter. Alcohol, he thought. That's it, there's something in this drink that's an intoxicant. But even as he thought he shouldn't drink any more if he wanted to maintain his equilibrium, a warm feeling flooded over him, and he took another sip. It tastes fine, and it makes me feel good, he thought. I wonder what he means by political ideas.
"Commander Sencus, I've got a transmission you'll want to hear." Lieutenant Rand had personally hurried through the Excelsior to the Vulcan's quarters. She fiddled with his console as he turned from his desk to look at his viewscreen. "I monitored it from Archnos. It's been translated into the Beta-Promethean language, but I'll put it back into English." Static crackled in the room. The viewscreen flickered. Sulu's face appeared, expressionless. He was wearing an ill-fitting Promethean tunic of some sort. Hans and Rand watched as Sulu spoke in a monotone
.
"Citizens of Beta Prometheus. I am Hikaru Sulu, commanding officer of the U.S.S. Excelsior, a Starfleet warship from the United Federation of Planets. Eight days ago my ship was engaged in scanning the Beta Prometheus star system for the purposes of planning an invasion—"
Sencus stood up sharply. The image on the screen drew him closer.
"—of Beta Prometheus in order to force it to become a subject of the Federation. We were well inside Beta Prometheus star space when we were caught by the Sundew and brought to Archnos. Our ship, however, escaped, and returned to Federation Starbase 499, from where a fleet of Starships is preparing to launch an assault. I see now that such actions are an abuse of the power of the Federation, and that our desire to impose our will and our culture on other civilizations is in imperious ignorance of the Creator's will and in contradiction to the Only Way. I renounce such actions as an attack on peace-loving civilizations throughout the galaxy. And I ask all Federation Planetary systems to do the same."
There was a crackle of static and Sulu disappeared from Sencus's monitor.
"Nonsense," Sencus said. "He is—"
But before he could finish, a Beta Promethean face replaced Sulu's and spoke.
"The Shrewdest Ones have announced that the human commander Sulu will be executed at two-thirds orbit today, unless the Federation Council agrees to an immediate lifting of the dilithium embargo, a restoration of the rights of Beta Promethean trading ships to travel throughout the galaxy, including within Federation territory, and a penalty of two hundred and fifty thousand kerns paid to the High Conclave in exchange for the return of the spies."
Static replaced the Beta Promethean face. Rand touched the monitor.
"That's all there was, Captain."
Sencus still stood facing the blank monitor.
"Can you translate two-thirds orbit?"
"Yes, sir … 1500 hours. Today," she added nervously.
Sencus glanced at the chronometer in the wall above the monitor. "Almost 1200," he said. He turned and stared out the viewport and across the dock to the lights in the starbase's outer shell. "Get me the starbase commander."
The Fearful Summons Page 23