“I am Captain James T. Kirk commanding the Starship Enterprise.” From his seat in the command chair, he gestured to his left. “Standing next to me is my chief science officer, Commander Spock, and next to him is my chief medical officer, Doctor McCoy.” He turned back to his right. “This is Leaderesque Taell of the Perenorean colony vessel Eparthaa.”
Two of the SiBoronaan’s sub-limbs rose. “Your indulgence a moment while I consult.” Looking off-screen, his eye-holding face folding sideways like the wingtips of a manta, the diplomat went quiet as he studied something out of the officers’ view. His remarkably flexible face shifted while the rest of his body except for the continuously contorting limb remained ramrod straight.
Perhaps he was communicating through gestures with others of his kind, Kirk thought. While he had taken the time to study up on the SiBor system, the captain was painfully aware not of what he had learned but of what he still did not know. Spock might have been able to find purpose in the SiBoronaan’s movements, but Kirk was hesitant to expose his own ignorance.
Four Amek turned to face them once more. “We are familiar with many species that claim allegiance to the Federation and also with many who lie outside its boundaries, but the designation ‘Perenorean’ is new to us.” The eyes shifted again. “As is the physical appearance of the one you call Taell. It/he/she appears to be undergoing a process of dawdling disintegration.”
Kirk had to smile. “As a result of stress, Leaderesque Taell has lost some of his fur, Four Amek. Fur, or hair, is a soft material that is produced in individual strands by the Perenorean body as well as by humans, Vulcans, and other species that are related through long-recognized convergent evolution arising from a panspermic diaspora. Your people, who evolved independently of that diaspora and do not possess this body covering, might find its variability somewhat alarming.”
The diplomat lowered all four sub-limbs. “I apologize for my ignorance, and if I have given any offense.”
“Not at all.” A cheerful Taell was relying on the humans’ translation technology to make sure he was understood by the SiBoronaan.
Gratefully excused from the minor diplomatic faux pas, Four Amek continued. “To what do the people of SiBor owe this welcome but unannounced and unexpected visitation from the Federation?”
Spock leaned over to Kirk, whispering, “Captain, we represent the Federation but we do not speak for it. Any agreement we come to with the SiBoronaans will have to be formally confirmed through Starfleet.”
“I understand, Spock.” Addressing himself to the image on the forward viewer, Kirk cleared his throat and raised his voice. “In the course of what had been a routine mission, we picked up a distress signal. It turned out to be coming from Leaderesque Taell’s vessel, the Eparthaa, which was being attacked by ships of another species, the Dre’kalak. Tracing the signal led us to encounter a… divergence of opinion between the two. Until then, both species were unknown to us.”
“As they are to us, Captain Kirk.” It was impossible to read the SiBoronaan’s expression since the diplomat had very little to express with. Kirk suspected there were subtleties he was missing, but he had no time to linger and hypothesize.
“Leaderesque Taell is in command of a colony ship that, because of the ongoing attacks by the Dre’kalak, has now traveled much too far and expended too many of their supplies to have any chance of reaching its original objective.”
“The Perenoreans are refugees,” Spock put in. “As are my people, the Vulcans. Humans have permitted survivors of the disaster that has overtaken my people to live among them. We would ask the same of the SiBoronaans.”
Kirk continued. “The Perenoreans asked us—as representatives of the Federation—if there was some way we might be able to help. Examination of our charts indicates that there are no options lying within remaining range of their ship.” He kept his voice as even as possible. “The only option is the habitable SiBoronaan moon DiBor.
“Allowing this small group of Perenoreans, who number only in the thousands, to establish themselves there would not only save them, but it would be of great benefit to the SiBoronaans. The Perenoreans have valuable expertise in many areas of technology that exceeds your own”—he glanced at Spock as he said this—“and in certain specific areas may even equal or exceed that of the Federation.”
The tips of Four Amek’s single manipulative limb swept to the right. “I continue to listen.”
Taell took a step forward. His long ears were pressed straight back against the sides of his head and he had extended his double-jointed arms so that they were parallel to the deck. All fourteen fingers pointed downward.
“All that we have, all that we are, all the knowledge of the Perenoreans that we carry with us, we will gladly share with you if you will allow us to settle on this moon of yours. We will be the best of neighbors! The SiBoronaans will never regret permitting us to live near them as friends—never. No matter what we are doing, no matter how important our needs of the moment, yours will always take precedence!”
Four Amek did not immediately reply, though his multiple limbs resumed their air dance.
“This is not for me to decide. On a matter of such import, I must consult the Others. Five Kend, Six Jol, and Twelve Covot must be given the opportunity to render their opinion. Only when that has been done can a prudent reply be given to so momentous a request.” All digits dropped to the front of the magnificent cloak. “We will give you our answer in one hundred and thirty qualums.” The diplomat’s image was replaced with a starfield.
Kirk had risen halfway out of his chair. “Wait! The Perenoreans—they don’t have enough supplies left to…!”
Spock took a step toward him. “Captain, one hundred and thirty SiBoronaan qualums do not constitute a long waiting period.”
“Really?” McCoy had been quiet, watching and absorbing details. “Exactly how long is that, Spock?”
The science officer regarded the doctor evenly. “Two days and six hours, Doctor. Ship time. Exactly.”
“Oh.” McCoy let out a muted grunt and looked slightly abashed.
Taell remained uncertain. “We will use two days of our remaining supplies just waiting for an answer from the SiBoronaans. Are there no other options for us?”
“None that you could reach in time.” Having walked around the back of the captain’s chair, Spock towered over the shorter and more lightly built Perenorean. “There are worlds that would accept you as refugees, but far beyond your range. Whereas yours still exists somewhere in the far reaches of the galaxy.” A sudden, chilling thought made him hesitate. “It does still exist, doesn’t it?”
“As far as we know, yes,” said Taell. “We have come so far, ducking in and out of so many star systems in our attempts to throw the Dre’kalak off our track, that I am not certain even our redoubtable Finderesque Ornean could find the way back—even if we had fuel and supplies enough to allow us to try.” Taell hesitated. “We wouldn’t want to impose ourselves on those not inclined to help us.” The fingers of one hand flexed but the joints did not crack. “We will wait the two days.” He made a complex gesture with the seven fingers of his other hand. “If at that time the SiBoronaans turn us down, we will have no choice but to look for other possibilities.”
Spock was clearly pleased by the leaderesque’s response. “The Perenoreans are a most logical and rational people. I think you would get along well with Vulcans.”
“I do not believe I could dispute that.” Taell’s slitted gold pupils expanded.
Spock saw no reason to linger. “I am off duty. I will leave you with a traditional parting of Vulcans.” Raising his hand, he parted his fingers; two to the left, two to the right. “Live long and prosper, Leaderesque Taell.”
The Perenorean commander duplicated the Vulcan gesture on his very first attempt. “Live long and prosper, Commander Spock.”
Observing the exchange, Uhura decided that the familiar gesture was even more impressive when executed with seven finge
rs.
* * *
While instinctively wary, Four Amek declared on behalf of the Others that as civilized beings, they could not ignore the plea of helpless sentients who had nowhere else to go. Therefore, the government of SiBor would be pleased to allow the inhabitants of the colony ship Eparthaa to found a settlement on the SiBoronaan moon DiBor. They would assist the Perenoreans in establishing themselves, insofar as it was possible for the SiBoronaans with their limited resources to do so.
One did not have to know a word of Taell’s language to recognize the unbounded joy that this response produced on board the Perenorean vessel.
Coordinates were consulted, details elaborated, and timings exchanged, whereupon the two vessels entered warp space at an agreed-upon speed that was intended to see both craft emerge simultaneously in the SiBoronaan system.
The crew of the Enterprise returned to sharpening their specialties and polishing their skills prior to arrival at SiBor. In other words, they reverted to shakedown status—though everyone was aware of the serious nature of the mediation role they had entered into.
“It must be hard for you,” Uhura remarked to Spock.
“What must be hard for me? And why do you keep bumping into me? Are you suffering from an illness that is affecting your balance?” There was a hint of concern in Spock’s voice.
Glancing back down the corridor and seeing other members of the crew trailing behind them, Uhura reluctantly put a little more space between her and the ship’s science officer as she sighed. “I can see that this is going to take some time. There’s nothing wrong with my physical stability, Spock. You should know that by now.”
“I was referring to your present walking and—”
She impatiently cut him off. “There’s nothing wrong with me. Let’s change the subject. Isn’t it hard for you to encounter representatives of another people who find themselves in a situation similar to that of your own? How can you be sure your decisions concerning them are objective? It’s got to be hard to suddenly find yourself having to deal with refugees.”
They turned down another corridor. “On the contrary, Lieutenant.” Spock looked around. “Nyota. I believe that the desperate situation in which the Perenoreans find themselves only redoubles my resolve to help resettle my own people. Though we still know very little about them, based on our preliminary contacts and our ongoing exchanges, I find the Perenoreans to be like Vulcans.”
She smiled. “Only fuzzier.”
“An irrelevant epidermal characteristic. Those with whom we have had interchange—”
She bumped him again. “What did you say?”
“Your irreverence is truly charming, Nyota, but I am being serious.”
Her sigh was deeper this time. “What a shock. All right, what about ‘those with whom we have had interchange’?”
“They have shown that they will invariably proceed logically and sensibly, with concern for those around them and with an ingrained courtesy that I find refreshing after having to live and work entirely among humans.”
“So, you’re saying that we’re lacking in courtesy?”
“Present company and certain other individuals excepted, of course.” They paused outside the entrance to her cabin. “It is not your fault. Occasional rudeness appears to be a congenital defect of the human condition.”
“And that is a trait unknown among Vulcans?”
“Not unknown. I could cite you certain examples from my own childhood that would differ only in general content from the sufferings human children normally inflict on one another. But rudeness is not common between adult Vulcans.”
“Really?” She was meaningfully eyeing him.
One eyebrow went up. “Do you mean to imply, however obliquely, that I have been rude to you?”
“I wouldn’t think of implying such a thing.” She indicated the sealed doorway. “But let’s put it to the test. There are some aspects of Perenorean dialect that I am having trouble mastering. I could use the help of someone else qualified in advanced linguistics to help me resolve the finer differences.” She pressed the door control and the cabin opened. “As a science officer, you’re the most qualified to provide the kind of assistance I need. It might take a little while.”
Spock hesitated. “Such studies might be better pursued in the ship’s research center.”
Her eyes twinkled. “Why, Mister Spock, are you turning down a request from a fellow officer? Others might construe that as being downright rude.” She stepped into the doorway.
This time he didn’t waver. “You are quite correct, Lieutenant. I have no choice but to accede to your request. It is the logical thing to do.”
She nodded as she stepped aside to let him enter. “I promise you it’ll be a damn sight more than logical, Spock.”
* * *
“Inverness Gold.”
Lieutenant Arif Ben-Haim shook his head violently as he gazed across the deck at his superior. “Loch Kilarney, aged sixty-two years.”
“The magic is in the barley, Arif.” Scott refused to give ground. “The Inverness distillery owns their own farm. They grow their own so they can control every ingredient that goes into the final product.”
Punching in a series of commands, Ben-Haim carefully studied the screen in front of him until the rapidly scrolling sequence of figures on the left matched those on the right. A follow-up series of commands fixed them at the level he sought.
“Loch Kilarney has been using the water for its whiskey from the same spring for five hundred years. Its quality has never varied and they bought all the land for kilometers around just to ensure its continued purity.”
Attending to his own instrumentation, Scott remained defiant. “There has to be a way to settle this!”
“The ship’s food synthesizers are state-of-the-art, but they can’t work miracles.” Putting his data tablet down, Ben-Haim walked over to stand beside the chief engineer. The other members of engineering were attending to their own business and none were looking in their direction. “I just happen to have a couple of small flasks of Loch Kilarney in my cabin.”
“And I have a fine bottle with me—give me traditional glass over self-chilling metal any day. But…” Scott’s voice reflected his disappointment as he lowered his gaze. “But I’ve made a promise to the captain.”
Ben-Haim was taken aback. “Are you telling me that Captain Kirk extracted a promise from a Scotsman to forbear from drinking whiskey?”
An increasingly glum Scott responded slowly. “Aye. I’ve vowed not to drink while on duty. And since the chief engineer is always on duty, I’m afraid there’ll be no imbibin’ for me while I’m aboard this ship.”
Ben-Haim considered this. “Suppose you manage to get yourself appointed to the delegation that’s going down to SiBor?”
“First of all, me lad, there’s no indication that anyone from this vessel is even going to get the chance to set foot on this planet of perambulatin’ tent poles. For all I know, the final negotiations will take place from ship to ground. Second, if there is a landing party, and if I were to somehow manage to wangle me way along, I do not think the captain would look kindly on his chief engineer smellin’ of spirits while the formalities were bein’ conducted. And lastly”—he eyed Ben-Haim unblinkingly—“while the captain extracted no similar promise from you, I’m doin’ so here and now. No drinking while on duty. Which means no drinking at all.”
Ben-Haim’s eyes widened. “Mister Scott! Has our friendly little debate offended you in some way? If so, I’m truly sorry that I—”
Raising a hand, Scott forestalled any further apology. “Easy, Arif. No, you haven’t offended me. I’m only holdin’ you to the same standard that the captain expects of me.”
“But he didn’t catch me drunk on station. Are you penalizing me because of what he’s requiring of you?”
While it was decidedly disrespectful of his fellow engineer to bring up the earlier incident, Scott let the remark go.
“Nay, Ari
f, I’m not penalizin’ ye. I’ve got another reason.”
“What’s that?”
Chief Engineer Scott said without hesitation: “I’m doing it because it’s right.”
5
Buoyed by the unbridled enthusiasm and rapturous applause from the assembled officers and administrators, Admiral James T. Kirk strode to the podium. Resplendent in his dress uniform, a modest selection of only his most important decorations gleaming on his chest, he smiled paternally at the raucous crowd as he waited for the clapping and cheering to die down. This was not the pinnacle of his career, he knew, but only one more step in his inexorable rise to the top. Appointment as commander of Starfleet was virtually a certainty, a mere formality. As the youngest officer to ascend to that rarefied position, there would inevitably be some minor carping about his meteoric rise, but it would be drowned out by the universal acclaim that had greeted his innumerable achievements. Beginning with the defeat of the time-traveling Romulan renegade Nero, it had been followed by the peaceful and successful settling of the lost colonists of the Perenorean Outreach on the SiBoronaan moon of DiBor and the consequent allying of both species with the Federation.
A diplomatic triumph on all counts, the latter had boosted his astonishing ascent within the ranks of Starfleet. None could match his accomplishments, nothing could compare with his mastery of everything from interspecies diplomacy to interstellar battle tactics. The treatises he had composed and the books he had written were eagerly devoured by classes of hopeful cadets as well as the general public. He was feted throughout the Federation for his wisdom, his experience, his foresight, his…
Something was wrong. The cheers had morphed, shifted, their tone had changed to… laughter. The whole audience of his peers, glittering and attentive in their dress uniforms, was laughing and pointing. He looked down at himself.
The Unsettling Stars Page 6