The Unsettling Stars

by Alan Dean Foster

  The alien resumed communications. “Though it may at first appear otherwise, our ship has been seriously damaged and we have suffered casualties. We are transporting a full colonial compliment of several thousand individuals, including reproductive females and subadults. Though we possess some limited defensive capability, the Eparthaa is not a warship and repeated assaults have left us hard-pressed to maintain its structural integrity. Hence the desperate broadcasting of our omnidirectional distress call. We do not know you and you do not know us, but we appeal to you as fellow peaceful sentients. Will you help us, Captain Kirk of the Federation?”

  * * *

  Down in engineering, where the crew had been following the transmission, the chief engineer summarized the unexpected situation in his usual pithy fashion.

  “By Wallace’s bleedin’ underwear!” Montgomery Scott turned to his first assistant. “Just what we need on a supposed shakedown mission—a request for help from a colony ship full of wee, sleekit, cowerin’, timorous beasties!”

  Assistant Engineer Lieutenant Arif Ben-Haim was gazing in fascination at the image on the screen. “They may be wee, and I don’t have a clue what ‘sleekit’ is, but they don’t look very cowering or timorous to me, Mister Scott.” He gestured at a nearby readout. “I’ve seen their shields. Minimum power, maximum shields.”

  Scott harrumphed. “Well, if I know anything about our captain, we’ll bloody well find out soon enough. Be ready for any sudden demands for power.” As Ben-Haim turned to pass the word, the chief engineer continued to study the screen. “And somebody see if they can find where I left the last half of my sandwich!”

  * * *

  “Captain, these people have suffered damage and incurred injuries,” said Spock. “You do have it within your purview to render assistance. However, if they have been attacked and may be again, then by offering assistance, you will place us in the position of appearing to be their allies. At the moment, we have only Leaderesque Taell’s version of what may have transpired. We know nothing of his species or of his claimed assailants, nor what may have provoked conflict between them. He may be telling us the truth, or some version of it. It is imperative that we ascertain which he is telling us before we proceed. We should not place ourselves in a position where our actions might lead to a misinterpretation of the Federation’s official position with regard to the Perenoreans or whoever may have assaulted them. For all we know, the Perenoreans may very well be the aggressors.”

  McCoy considered this before replying. “Maybe a visit to their vessel to see for ourselves the condition of wounded females and offspring might preempt the need for excessive diplomatic caution, Mister Spock.”

  Inured by now to the doctor’s characteristic sarcasm, the science officer replied without rancor. “I agree that it would be a useful first step, Doctor. Visible evidence of aggression against palpable noncombatants could certainly serve to underscore the veracity of this Taell’s narrative.”

  Sulu’s eyes widened and his hands suddenly flew over his instrumentation as he leaned forward. “I think something else is going to take precedent over a ship-to-ship visit, Mister Spock.” He looked back at Kirk. “We have incoming, Captain!”

  2

  Shields on full!” Kirk shouted. “Red alert, arm photon torpedoes!”

  Throughout the ship, meals were abandoned unfinished, conversations terminated in midsentence, and casual activities cast aside as the crew scrambled for battle stations. On the bridge, all attention remained focused on the forward viewscreen. The last image they had of the Perenorean leaderesque Taell showed him turning away from his own bridge’s visual pickup, his fluid multijointed gestures increasingly rapid, an inescapable manifestation of panic spreading across his flattened, furry face.

  His likeness was replaced by a far larger field of view supplied by Chekov, which revealed first one, then two, and finally three new vessels emerging from warp. Considerably smaller than the Eparthaa, they were equally alien in appearance, as different from the Perenorean vessel as the large craft was from the Starfleet ship.

  The trio of newcomers came out firing. But not at the Enterprise.

  Flattened dull gray hulls with scalloped flanks featured triple-engine nacelles mounted underneath the convex main body of each starship. Varying only a little in size from one another, each massed slightly less than the watching Federation vessel. It was impossible to tell from looking at them if the simple, unnecessarily streamlined design was the result of a different engineering approach or alien aesthetics. At first glance, the basic shape and construction implied a lower grade of technology than that possessed by the Federation.

  There was nothing primitive about the weaponry they unleashed on the Perenorean colony ship, though. Loosed from three different sources, energy weapons and explosive projectiles clawed at the larger alien vessel’s shields, filling empty space with fire, disruption, and an unbridled eagerness to destroy.

  “This is an uneven fight if I ever saw one!” Stepping forward, McCoy placed a hand on the back of the command chair and leaned close to Kirk. “Jim, you’ve got to do something! We’ve got to do something!”

  Spock ignored the fiery mayhem that now filled the viewscreen in favor of studying his readouts. “Despite the apparently overwhelming firepower being directed against them, the Perenorean shields appear to be holding.” He glanced querulously in Sulu’s direction. “Interesting that a self-declared colony ship would travel equipped with such extensive and advanced defensive capability.”

  “The Perenoreans are returning fire.” Sulu’s sensor readouts confirmed what was sometimes difficult to discern on the viewscreen. “They’re not just sitting and taking it. But their weapons capability doesn’t appear to come close to matching their defensive technology.”

  “Or else they are diverting the majority of ship’s power to their shields,” Chekov reasonably pointed out. “In any case, based on what I am seeing here”—he indicated his instrumentation—“despite their initial achievement in resisting the attack, I do not see them holding out against such a concerted multipronged assault for very long.”

  “Jim!” McCoy was unrelenting.

  Kirk ground his teeth. Instinct told him to open fire on behalf of the seemingly inoffensive alien colonists. Doing so would likely put the Perenoreans, and by inference their species and society, forever in the Federation’s debt. Conversely, it would also make enemies of their present assailants. Experience, as limited as it was, cautioned him against taking sides too impetuously in a conflict of whose origin and causation he was still ignorant.

  The trouble was that, as usual, ongoing battlefield conditions did not allow for extended contemplation of alternatives.

  “Captain, we’re being hailed again.” If not her words, Uhura’s tone indicated that her sympathies lay wholly with Doctor McCoy. Kirk refused to be swayed.

  “On-screen,” he tensely ordered.

  The face and upper body of Leaderesque Taell reappeared before them. Though his admirable surplus of facial expressions were alien and as yet uninterpretable, he communicated his anxiety efficiently via translation.

  “Captain Kirk, I beg you—on behalf of our younglings if no other—please help us! We are not a warship. Our engines are nearing overload. We cannot withstand the concerted assault of the Dre’kalak for much longer! They will kill us all!”

  Chekov looked askance toward the science station. “Dre’kalak?”

  “Another unknown species.” Searching swiftly through available information, Spock found nothing.

  A moment later his search was rendered superfluous.

  “Captain,” Uhura announced, “we are being hailed by the nearest of the attacking vessels. Establishing communication will require a moment to sort and analyze syntax and verbalizations.”

  “Get it right, Lieutenant,” Kirk told her. “We want to be sure everyone understands each other. In a situation like this, we don’t have any room for misperception. Take your time.”


  “We have time, Jim,” McCoy put in, “but I’m not so sure about the Perenoreans.”

  Once more confirming the multiplicity of honors she had received at the Academy, Uhura’s response came sooner than anyone on the bridge dared hope. “Full comprehension is not perfect, Captain. Not as good as with the Perenoreans. The language of the Dre’kalak is rougher on enunciation, and their fundamental grammar is more complex. But I think we’ll be able to understand each other.”

  “Then go ahead and acknowledge their hail, Lieutenant.”

  Once more the forward viewscreen cleared and an image formed. It was decidedly less attractive than those previously viewed.

  Several other representatives of the speaker could be seen behind it. “It” because unlike with the Perenoreans, Uhura could not ascertain the sex of the individual communicating—or even if it was of a particular gender. For all she had been able to construe, its species might reproduce asexually.

  From a rippling lump of gray-green flesh a trio of tentacles waved erratically. Three round lime-green eyes, each a different size (and perhaps evolved for individual and dissimilar functions), seemed to float untethered in the middle of the upper portion of the roughly cone-shaped body. There was no visible nose or ears, though a distinct cavity located near the crest of the body might have provided either function—or neither. The mouth was wide, narrow, and surrounded by a single contiguous rubbery lip. The creature’s speech sounded like a series of painful groans, with which the Enterprise’s translation software and instrumentation struggled mightily.

  “Unknown vessel,” the Dre’kalak rumbled. “I am Podleader Ul-tond, squadron commanding! We of the Ultimate Circle are on critical hunt-and-destroy mission. Do not interfere with ongoing action! Repeat, do not interfere! Such actions will be regarded by the Circle as allying self with hated Perenoreans and kindle angry responding by full might of the squadron!”

  McCoy could barely contain his outrage. “ ‘Hunt and destroy’? Hunt and destroy what? Harmless colonists? Jim…?”

  Kirk addressed himself to the chair’s pickup. “This is Captain James T. Kirk of the Starship Enterprise. Until now, both the Dre’kalak and the Perenoreans were unknown to us. As such, we are patently not a party to any disagreements that exist between your two species. However…”

  Hearing that word, Spock braced himself.

  The science officer was needlessly worrying. Kirk continued formally enough to make his Academy instructors in interspecies diplomacy proud. “It would serve to expand our knowledge of the situation and understanding of your apparent grievances if you could enlighten us as to why three ships of the Dre’kalak are attacking a single Perenorean ship, when the latter appears to be a vessel carrying colonists.”

  Responding immediately, the Dre’kalak podleader abruptly terminated the transmission. Kirk sharply swiveled around.

  “Uhura? I didn’t get a translation of that last part.”

  “Neither did I, Captain.” The communications officer checked her displays. “Much of it was apparently too colloquial for the linguistics core upon which our initial exchange of verbalizations is based to interpret correctly.”

  “I can tell you what it consisted of.” McCoy voiced confidence. “He—it—was saying ‘Mind your own damn business.’ ” The doctor held resolutely to his position. “Well, Jim? What about it? Are we going to mind our own business?”

  Kirk had less than a minute to think it over when his already churning thoughts were interrupted by another communication from the Perenorean ship. It was Taell again, bruised and unsteady this time, with extraordinarily dark blood trickling from a gash on his forehead just above one of those luminescent slitted eyes.

  “Captain Kirk! Our shields are on the verge of failing! I plead with you one last time, can you not…?”

  The desperate transmission dissolved into static. Forward of the command chair, Sulu looked back at his commander. “Captain, sensors indicate that the Perenorean ship is losing power. It is reasonable to assume that when it reaches a critical point, they will lose their shielding entirely.” He paused. “They will be completely defenseless.”

  This time Kirk didn’t hesitate. “Uhura, hail the leading Dre’kalak vessel.”

  She complied. To those on the bridge, it seemed to take forever before the image of the alien commander reappeared on the main viewer. Kirk framed his communiqué carefully even as he wondered if the inadequate translation algorithms Uhura was employing would convey his mood and intent correctly and with sufficient force.

  “Podleader Ul-tond! It is not the policy of the United Federation of Planets to interfere in disputes between nonallied species.”

  “We of the Circle are glad to hear that,” the Dre’kalak replied.

  “However,” Kirk continued as Spock winced ever so slightly, “it is the policy of the Federation to step in when its assistance is requested by those in clearly identifiable distress. The fact that your people are apparently the source of that distress creates what I must politely refer to as an awkward set of circumstances.”

  “I understand, though I do not sympathize with your reasoning, Captain Kirk.” No doubt the Dre’kalak commander’s viscous upper body allowed for a considerable range of expression, but if so, Kirk remained ignorant of what the alien movement signified. “I restate the position of the Circle: This not your fight. Remain neutral, and all will be well.” The transmission cut off again.

  Kirk turned. “Spock? Opinion?” The attention of everyone on the bridge shifted in the direction of the science officer.

  For one of the few times in their admittedly brief time together, Spock appeared to hesitate. Though not for long.

  “You have stated the formal Federation position clearly and concisely, Captain, to which stance I have nothing to add.”

  “Spock…,” an anxious McCoy began.

  “However,” the science officer continued, drawing a hint of a smile from his commanding officer, “as a member of a refugee race, I find that I am sufficiently conflicted to the point where I cannot say what I might do if our present positions were reversed.”

  Don’t you wish, Kirk said, but only to himself. “Mister Sulu, Mister Chekov, stay sharp and be ready for anything. We want these Dre’kalak to see and understand that we’re making preparations for more than just talk.”

  “Aye, Captain.” Sulu’s hands darted over his instrumentation as the Enterprise crew completed the shift to battle stations.

  “Show of force without showing any force,” said Chekov. “Little is risked with the possibility of much being gained. A knight’s move.”

  “Forward or sideways?” Sulu commented. “A hundred years before the establishment of the Shogunate, there was a battle three hundred clicks south of Edo that—”

  “Please, no samurai stories now, Hikaru. Or I’ll have to tell you how my great-great-great-great-grandfather Boris ended up as a model for one of the crowd in Repin’s Reply of the Zaporozhian Cossacks.”

  “Not that again.” Sulu’s attention was immediately diverted by other, more immediate concerns. “Captain, one of the Dre’kalak vessels is disengaging from the attack and heading for the Enterprise.”

  “A hostile gesture.” McCoy’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Jim, we could open fire. Clearly you’d be in the right.”

  This time Kirk didn’t look back at his friend. “Bones, don’t you have work to do in sickbay? If we’re going into a fight, there are liable to be casualties.”

  “Yes, you’re right, Jim.” Whirling, McCoy exited the bridge.

  After tracking the doctor’s departure, Uhura’s attention shifted to Spock seated ready and ramrod straight at his station. She peered harder. Was that a hint of satisfaction on his face—or just a shift in the light? Her own instrumentation commanded her attention and she turned back to her console.

  “The Dre’kalak are hailing us, Captain.”

  “Mister Sulu, Mister Chekov, be ready. Put them on, Lieutenant—after our detectab
le power-up they may still want to talk.”

  “They don’t strike me as a particularly conversational species,” Sulu muttered. At the captain’s command, the Enterprise was ready to unleash destruction. The helmsman was tense but not nervous. Alongside him, the same resolve could be seen writ plain on Chekov’s face.

  The ship’s shakedown cruise had morphed—they were being tested once again.

  The alien’s tone was as bellicose as before. But this time, there was something previously unheard underlying Ul-tond’s anger. Kirk couldn’t put his finger on it and Uhura’s translation program offered no hint.

  “You appear to have prepared your ship for battle.” The podleader framed his observation as a threat.

  Kirk’s expression remained neutral as he replied, “I compliment you on the sensitivity of your sensors.”

  “You are unaware of the complexity of circumstances you have encountered,” Ul-tond continued. “Yet you are prepared to fight on behalf of those of whom you know nothing. You are ignorant of the danger posed by Perenoreans!”

  Spock could not contain himself. Or more likely, chose not to. Time and additional knowledge had brought a shift in his hitherto cautious thinking. “What danger does a single off-course and low-on-fuel ship full of colonists, including reproductive females and young offspring, pose to the Dre’kalak? Or for that matter, to anyone else?”

  Plainly more comfortable with combat than conversation, Ul-tond struggled to formulate a reply. As he did so, a thin line of glistening white fluid dribbled from the lowest corner of his wide mouth. A consistent physiological phenomenon, Spock wondered, or the Dre’kalak equivalent of a human sputtering?

  “You do not understand! Perenoreans are dangerous species, fatally dangerous! Not knowing them, you cannot envision threat that they represent! Is beyond your imagining!”