Star Trek 07

by James Blish

  Overhearing, Uhura turned indignantly. "What's the matter with them?"

  "Nothing that I was able to see," Spock said. "But all the Elasians seem to be most irrational."

  "I gave up my quarters," Uhura said, "because—"

  "I appreciate your sacrifice, Lieutenant," Kirk told her. He got up. "I'll talk to the lady myself."

  He heard the screams of rage before he reached Uhura's cabin. Its door was wide open. But it took a moment to take in the scene. A crystal box was flying through the air—and struck Petri in the chest. "Swine! Take back your gifts! Your ruler cannot buy the favor of the Dohlman of Elas!"

  Petri retrieved the box, stuffing delicate lace back into it. "Your glory," he said, "this is your wedding veil." He backed up to what he clearly hoped was a safe distance to raise the lid of a begemmed gold casket. "In this," he said, "are the most prized royal jewels of Troyius. This necklace is a gift from the bridegroom's mother to adorn your lovely throat . . ."

  The necklace seemed to be composed of diamonds and emeralds. Elaan seized it. Then she hurled it at Petri with a wild aim that barely escaped hitting Kirk in the face. "I would strangle if I wore this bauble of Troyian dogs around my neck!"

  Kirk stepped over the glitter at his feet and into the cabin. She saw him and shrieked, "Kryton!" The huge guard rushed in. "By whose permission has he come here?"

  "He came in answer to your summons, your glory."

  Kirk said, "I understand you are not happy with your quarters."

  She waved a hand, dismissing Kryton. "Quarters?" She leveled a perfect leg at a cushioned chair. "Am I a soft, pewling Troyian that I must have cushions to sit on?" She kicked the chair over. Her own action inflamed her rage. She ran to the cabin window, ripping down its draperies. "These female trappings in here are an offense to me!"

  Kirk said, "My Communications Officer vacated these rooms in the generous hope you would find them satisfactory."

  "I do not find them so." She pointed at Petri. "And I find this—this Ambassador even less satisfactory! Must my bitterness be compounded by his presence aboard your ship?"

  Petri, red with suppressed fury, said, "I've explained to her glory that her Council of Nobles and the Troyian Tribunal jointly agreed that I should instruct—make her acquainted with the customs and manners of our people."

  "Kryton!" Elaan called. She indicated Petri. "Remove him!" The guard fingered his weapon. Petri bowed; and was moving to the door when she cried, "And take that garbage with you!" He bowed again, stooped lower to collect the gifts she'd flung to the floor and gratefully made his exit.

  "That he should dare to suggest I adopt the servile manners of his people!" Elaan stormed.

  "Your glory doesn't seem to be responding favorably to Troyian instruction," Kirk said.

  "I will never forgive the Council of Nobles for inflicting such a nightmare on me! By the way, you were responding to my demand for better quarters!"

  "There are none better aboard," Kirk said. "I suggest you make the best of it."

  Aghast at this effrontery, she glanced at Uhura's dressing table for some object she could smash. "You presume to suggest to me—"

  Kirk said, "Lieutenant Uhura's personal belongings have all been removed from the cabin. But if smashing things gratifies you, I will arrange to equip it with breakable articles."

  "I will not be humiliated!"

  "Then behave yourself," Kirk said. He went to the door; and she screamed, "I did not give you permission to leave!"

  "I didn't ask for it," he said, slamming the door behind him.

  An agitated Petri was waiting for him in the corridor. "Captain, I wish to contact my government. I cannot fulfill my mission. I would be an insult to my ruler to bring him this incorrigible monster as a bride."

  "Simmer down, Ambassador. Your mission is a peace mission."

  "There cannot be peace between the Elasians and us. We have deluded ourselves. The truth is, when I am with these people, I do not want peace. I want to kill them."

  "Then you're as bad as she is," Kirk said. "You're not obliged to like the Elasians. You're obliged to do a job."

  "The job's impossible. She simply won't listen to me."

  "Make her listen," Kirk said. "Don't be so diplomatic. She respects strength. Come on strong with her, Ambassador."

  "I, too, have pride, Captain. I will not be humiliated."

  "You're on assignment, Ambassador. So am I. We're under orders to deliver the Dohlman in acceptable condition for this marriage. If it means swallowing a bit of our pride—well, that's part of the job."

  Petri sighed. "Very well. I'll make another try."

  "Strong, Ambassador. Remember, come on strong with her. Good luck."

  A knockout fishwife. What she needed was a swift one to her lovely jaw. Kirk, re-entering the bridge was greeted by Uhura's hopeful question: "Does she like my quarters any better now, Captain?"

  "She's made certain . . . arrangements, Lieutenant. But I think things will work out."

  The intercom spoke excitedly. "Security alert! Deck five! Security alert!"

  Kirk ran for the elevator. On deck five, Security Officer Evans met him as he stepped out. "It's Ambassador Petri, sir. They refuse to explain what happened but—"

  At the door to Elaan's quarters, two Enterprise security men were confronting the three Elasian guards. "Stand aside, please," Kirk said to Kryton.

  The ape-jawed giant said, "Her glory has not summoned you."

  Behind him Elaan opened the closed door. "Have this Troyian pig removed," she said.

  Petri lay on the cabin floor, face down in a pool of his own blood. The jeweled dagger had been buried in his back.

  In Sickbay McCoy looked up at Kirk. "The knife went deep, Jim. He's lost a lot of blood."

  Kirk bent over the patient. What he received was a glare. "If I recover," Petri said weakly, "it will be no thanks to you."

  "I said talk to her. Not fight her."

  "I should have known better than to enter that cabin, unarmed. But you forced me to. I hold you responsible for this."

  "Captain!" It was Uhura. "A message from Star-fleet Command just in. Class A security, scrambled. I've just put it through the decoder."

  "What is it, Lieutenant?"

  "The Federation's High Commissioner is on his way to Troyius for the royal wedding."

  McCoy whistled. "Whew! Now the fat's really in the fire. When the Commissioner learns the bride has just tried to murder the groom's Ambassador . . ."

  "What a comfort you are, Bones!" But McCoy had returned to the patient whom Nurse Christine was preparing for an air hypo. As she applied it, she said, "If the Elasian women are this vicious, sir, why are men so attracted to them? What is their magic?"

  "It's not magic," Petri said scornfully. "It's biochemical—a chemical substance in their tears. A man whose flesh is once touched by an Elasian woman's tears is made her slave forever."

  "What rot!" Kirk thought. "The man's a fool." The failure of his mission was about to be exposed to the Federation's High Commissioner—and here he was going on about Elasian females' tears. He walked over to the bed. "Ambassador, I have news for you. The Federation's High Commissioner is on his way to this wedding."

  "There will be no wedding. I would not have our ruler marry that creature if the entire galaxy depended on it. And I want nothing more to do with you."

  "I didn't ask you to have anything to do with me. I asked you to do your job with her." He turned to McCoy. "Bones, how long will it take to get him back on his feet?"

  "A few days. Maybe a week."

  Petri raised his head from his pillow. "Captain, in this bed you put me. And in this bed I intend to stay. Indefinitely. I have nothing further to say to you."

  Kirk looked at McCoy. Then he shrugged. Uhura and McCoy followed him out to the corridor. "I don't know what to do with him, Jim. He's as bad as she is. They're all pig-headed. And they just plain hate each other."

  Uhura said, "You've got to admit h
e's got the better reason for hate. Captain, can't you explain to the High Commissioner that it's just impossible to—"

  "High Commissioners don't like explanations. They like results. How do you handle a woman like that, anyway?"

  "You stay away from her, Captain. As far away as—"

  She broke off. From the recreation room they were passing came the sound of poignantly haunting music. Uhura's face lighted. "Captain, it used to be said that music hath charms to soothe the savage breast. The Dohlman has a very savage breast. Suppose you—"

  "Soothing that woman is asking a lot of any music," McCoy said.

  But Kirk was looking reflectively at the recreation room door. He opened it. Spock, sitting apart from the other crew members, was strumming his Vulcan lyre. Its unearthly tones suited the room decorations—its carpet of pink grass, wall vines that broke into drooping, long-stamened blossoms, the fountain spraying purple water into the air.

  "Spock, what's that music you're playing?"

  "A simple scale. I was just tuning the lyre."

  "You can play tunes on that contraption?" McCoy said.

  "I took second prize in the all-Vulcan music competition."

  "Who took the first one?"

  "My father."

  "Can you play a love song?" Kirk said.

  "A mating song. In ancient times the Vulcan lyre was used to stimulate the mating passion."

  "We need some form of such stimulation on this ship," Kirk said. "A mating on Troyius is supposed to take place if we could just persuade the bride to participate in it."

  "Inasmuch as she's just knifed her teacher in the bridegroom's etiquette, teaching it to her seems something of a baffler," McCoy said.

  "Appoint another teacher," Spock said.

  "You, Spock?"

  "Certainly not. Logic dictates that the Dohlman will accept only the person of highest rank aboard this vessel."

  Everybody looked at Kirk. He looked back at them, considering all the elements involved in Elaan's capitulation to reason.

  "All right. Spock, give me five minutes and then start piping that music of yours into the Dohlman's quarters." He left; and as Spock's fingers moved over the strings of his instrument, Uhura sighed. "Mr. Spock, that music really gets to me."

  "Yes, I also find it relaxing."

  "Relaxing is the very last word I'd use to describe it," Uhura said. "I'd certainly like to learn how to play that lyre."

  "I'd be glad to give you the theory, Lieutenant. However, to my knowledge no non-Vulcan has ever mastered the skill."

  In Elaan's cabin Kirk was wishing he could give her the theory of acceptable table manners.

  He watched her lift a wine bottle from her sumptuously spread dinner table, take a swig from it and wipe her mouth with a lovely arm. She swallowed, and replacing the bottle on the table, said, "So the Ambassador will recover. That's too bad." Then she grabbed a roasted squab from a plate. She bit a mouthful of breast meat from it; and tossing the rest of the delicacy over her shoulder, added, "You've delivered your message. You have my leave to go."

  He was fascinated by the efficiency with which she managed to articulate and chew squab at the same time. "I'd like nothing better," he said. "But your glory's impetuous nature has—"

  "That Troyian pig was in my quarters without permission. Naturally I stabbed him."

  Kirk said, "You Elasians pride yourselves on being a warrior race. Then you must understand discipline—the ability to follow orders as well as to give them. You are under orders to marry the Troyian ruler and familiarize yourself with the habits of his people."

  "Troyians disgust me," she said. "Any contact with them makes me feel soiled."

  Her cheek was soiled by a large spot of grease from the squab. "It's my experience," Kirk said, "that the prejudices people feel disappear once they get to know each other."

  Spock's music had begun to filter into the cabin. "That has not been my experience," she said, reaching for a rich cream pastry.

  "In any case, we're still faced with a problem."

  "Problem?"

  "Your indoctrination in the customs of Troyius."

  "I have eliminated that problem."

  "No. You eliminated your teacher. The problem remains."

  The luscious mouth smiled grimly. How, he couldn't figure out. "And its solution?" she said.

  "A new teacher."

  "Oh." She placed her dagger on the table. "What's that sickening sound?" The pastry in her hand, she rose, went to the intercom and switched off the Vulcan music. Licking cream from the pastry, she said, "And you—what can you teach me?"

  "Table manners for one thing," he said.

  He picked up a napkin, went to her, removed the pastry; and wiped her mouth, her cheek and fingers. "This," he said, "is a table napkin. Its function is to remove traces of the wine and food one has swallowed instead of leaving them on the mouth, the cheek, the fingers—and oh yes, the arm." He wiped her arm. Then, grasping it firmly, he led her over to the table.

  "And this," he said, "is a plate. It holds food. It is specifically made to hold food, as floors are not. They are constructed to walk on." He poured wine into a glass; and held it up. "This is a glass," he said, "the vessel from which one drinks wine. A bottle, your glory, is merely intended to hold the wine."

  She seized the bottle and took another swig from it. "Leave me," she said.

  "You are going to learn what you've been ordered to learn," he said.

  "You will return me to Elas at once!"

  "That is impossible."

  She stamped her foot. "What I command is always possible! I will not go to Troyius! I will not be given to a fat pig of a Troyian as a bride to stop a war!" She lifted the wine bottle again to her mouth. Kirk grabbed it.

  "You enjoy the title of Dohlman," he said. "If you don't want the obligations that go with it, give it up!"

  Her shock was genuine. "Nobody has ever dared to speak to me in such a manner!"

  "That's your trouble," he said. "Nobody has ever told you the truth. You are an uncivilized little savage, a vicious, bad-tempered child in a woman's body . . ."

  Her fist leaped out and connected with Kirk's jaw. She had pulled her arm back to strike him again when he grabbed it and slapped her as hard as he could across the face. The blow sent her sprawling back on the bed. Shaking with rage, Kirk shouted, "You've heard the truth from me for the first time in your spoiled life!"

  He made for the door—and her dagger hissed past his ear to stick, quivering, in a wall plaque beside his head. He pulled it free; and tossing it back to her, said, "Tomorrow's lesson, your glory, will be on courtesy."

  As he jerked the door closed behind him, she yanked wildly at the table cover. He didn't turn at the sound of crashing crockery.

  He got out of the bridge elevator to see Spock absorbed in his sensor viewer. "Captain, look at this. At first I defined it as a sensor ghost. But I've run checks on all the instrumentation. The equipment is working perfectly."

  Kirk examined the shadow. "Hydrogen cloud reflection?"

  "None in the area. The ghost appears intermittently."

  "Speculation, Mr. Spock?"

  "None, sir. Insufficient data."

  "It's not an instrument malfunction, not a reflection of natural phenomena. A space ship, then?"

  The intercom beeped. Scott's voice was thick with anger.

  "Captain, must I let these—these passengers fool around with my equipment? I know what you said about showing them respect but . . ."

  "Hang on, Scotty. And be pleasant no matter how it hurts. I'm on my way."

  He was startled himself when he opened the door to Engineering. Elaan and her three guards had their heads bent over the warp-drive mechanism. Scott had somehow got his fury under control. He was saying, "I suppose, ma'am, that even our impulse drive must seem fast—"

  "We are interested in how ships are used in combat, not in what drives them. Engines are for mechanics and other menials."

  S
cott choked. "Menials? How long do you think—"

  "Mr. Scott!" Kirk said sharply.

  He strode to Elaan. "Why didn't you tell me you wanted a tour of the engine room?"

  "Do I not own the freedom of this ship? I have granted your men permission not to kneel in my presence. What more do you want?"

  "Courtesy."

  "Courtesy is not for inferiors."

  Kirk said, "Mr. Scott, our chief engineer has received you into his department. That was a courtesy. You will respond to it by saying, "Thank you, Mr. Scott.'"

  He thought she was going to spit at him. Then she said tightly, "Thank you, Mr. Scott." Her guards stared, dumbfounded. She pushed one. "Come," she said to them and swept out.

  Scott said, "Your schooling, sir, seems to be taking effect."

  A buzz came from the intercom beside them. Spock's voice said, "Bridge to Captain."

  "Kirk here."

  "That sensor ghost is moving closer, sir."

  "On my way."

  His guess had been right. The sensor ghost was a space ship. Kirk studied the instrument for a long moment. Then he raised his head. "The question is, Mr. Spock, whose space ship is it?"

  "No data yet, sir."

  "Captain!" Sulu called. "A distant bearing, sir. Mark 73.5."

  "Maximum magnification," Kirk said.

  The main viewing screen had been merely showing a telescopic blur of a normally stationary star field. Now there suddenly swam into it the sharp image of an unfamiliar but strangely evil-looking space ship.

  "Our ghost has materialized, Captain," Spock said.

  Kirk nodded soberly. "A Klingon warship."

  He returned to his command chair, the gravity in his face deepened. He turned to look at the screen again. "Any change, Mr. Spock?"

  "Negative, sir. The Klingon ship has simply moved into contact range. She's pacing us, precisely matching our sub-light speed."

  Though the bridge screen was equipped to show what was moving outside the Enterprise, it was not equipped to show what was moving inside it. Thus, Kirk could not see Kryton move stealthily into the engineering room—and take cover behind the huge mount where Second Engineer Watson was working. In perfect secrecy, the Elasian silently removed the main relay box cover, took a small dial-studded disk from his uniform pouch, adjusted the dials and placed the disk in the relay box. It was as he fitted it that Watson sensed something amiss. Tool in hand, he confronted Kryton, shouting, "What are you doing in here?"