He was wearing nothing below the waist.
With a moan, he shot up in bed and looked around wildly. His cabin was nearly dark; the pale blue luminescent lighting automatically responded, coming up to one-quarter. Through the bed, he could feel the faintest, barely perceptible vibration: the Enterprise at warp speed. As he turned slightly to his left, the dream was already fading.
Good riddance, he told himself.
“Computer, status report.”
A cool feminine voice replied immediately. “Speed warp factor eight. We are two days out from the SiBor system. All systems are functioning normally. Ensign M’parl is in sickbay with a moderate intestinal flare-up—something to do with hairballs. Ensign Nanduparvi is being treated for a minor skin irritation. All other members of the crew are healthy. Do you wish elaboration of ship’s status?”
“No.” Reaching up with both hands, Kirk rubbed at his eyes. “No, that’ll be sufficient.”
The synthesized voice went silent. It was dead quiet in the captain’s cabin. Involuntarily pondering the remnants of the dream as he climbed out of bed, the lights brightened around him when he started to dress. While slipping into his duty uniform, he reflected on the events of the past several days.
The meaning of the dream was simple enough. He had been getting ahead of himself. Anticipating accomplishments before they had been achieved. Counting on promotions prior to being recommended. The confrontation with Nero had ended victoriously—but it had been a near thing. He had gained ample credit for that, but as significant as it was, it was still only one achievement.
He had time, he told himself. He was young… and impetuous. Two character traits that did not sit well with Starfleet brass. In order to reach the heights of which he had just dreamed, he would have to demonstrate that he had earned them. That meant reining in his tendency to leap and then look. There were many equally adept, well-qualified, and more-experienced officers in Starfleet.
Admiral, he told himself. His expression twisted. He would never make admiral. He would be lucky to keep command of the Enterprise. It was interesting, however, to note the instructional value of an inadvertent dream. No doubt Spock would be able to discourse at length on its virtues.
Kirk had no intention of telling him about it, of course.
* * *
Irouth was slight of build even for a Perenorean. As a representative of his kind invited to make the voyage to SiBor aboard the Enterprise, he had taken to not only observing Sulu at his work, but to following the helmsman around when he was off duty. This did not trouble Sulu, who found the attention flattering, and the Perenorean was a font of polite and often unintentionally amusing questions.
Take their present location in the ship’s gymnasium, for example. While watching Sulu preparing to engage in his daily fencing exercises, Irouth had observed the helmsman flexing his épée and had innocently inquired, “What are you going to do with that cooking utensil?”
When Sulu had finished chuckling, he proceeded to explain the épée’s history and purpose. Irouth closely examined the practice version of the ancient blade.
“A very primitive weapon. Surely your kind do not use it in battle now?”
The helmsman’s smile widened. “I agree that a phaser is more useful in modern combat. But there’s an elegance pertaining to certain antique human fighting techniques that’s lost when energy or projectile weapons are employed. I feel that by continuing to work with it, I not only challenge myself physically and mentally, but that I’m also helping to maintain an ancient tradition. It offers excellent exercise that’s far more interesting than simply struggling with resistance machines or performing simple calisthenics.”
Irouth stepped back out of the way. “May I watch?”
“Of course.” Turning away from the Perenorean, the shirtless Sulu slid his left leg back, extending his right arm holding the épée, raised his left hand, and barked a command.
“Alexandre Dumas, Three Musketeers—Richelieu’s men! On my mark—now!”
In front of him, a brace of swordsmen dressed in seventeenth-century French military costumes were materialized by the exercise room’s holo-projector. They came for him one at a time. And one at a time he dispatched them, in the process suffering only a single stab wound to his left thigh. Like the soldiers of the ancient regime and the blade that had inflicted his “wound,” the injury to his leg consisted of nothing more intrusive than a concatenation of coherent light.
After half an hour of such exertions involving combat with holos of swordsmen from ancient France to Austria, Sulu was perspiring profusely as he turned to check on his guest. As he had from the very beginning of the exercise period, Irouth was staring keenly at him, having missed nothing.
“What wonderfully controlled movements!” The Perenorean was gesturing expansively with his multijointed hands. “Such a refined combination of grace and strength! In a similar situation, I fear that my people would be reduced to clumsily throwing rocks.” He stepped forward, having to tilt back his head to look up at Sulu as he drew closer. “I know that I am presuming unworthily on a friendship in its earliest stages, but—would you teach me?”
Sulu blinked. “What? Teach you fencing?” He studied the smaller and lighter alien. “I don’t see why not. Except for all the extra joints, the basic movements should be similar.” He gestured at the alien’s narrow skull. “You’ll just have to be careful to keep your ears out of the way.”
Both of the Perenorean’s unusual and oversized hearing organs immediately flattened themselves against the sides of his gaunt head.
“I will be very careful to do so! Thank you, Lieutenant Sulu, thank you! I know that I will struggle, but I promise to do my best to absorb whatever lessons you can spare the time to impart to me.”
“Don’t worry. We’ll take it slow and easy.” He walked over to the arms rack and began to thoughtfully study its contents. “Let’s see if we can find you a slightly shorter weapon. As you see, they all have tips blunted with the necessary integrated electronics, but we’ll still have to work up some kind of makeshift protection for you if I’m going to give proper instruction. I think we can modify one of the smaller competition suits.”
They were halfway through the second lesson when after a quick and unexpected thrust by Irouth, a thumbnail-sized red orb appeared above and in front of Sulu’s forehead. A dozen such orbs already occupied the equivalent space in front of his opponent’s body, but the unexpected appearance of the red sphere proximate to his hairline still gave the helmsman pause.
“What did you just do?”
Irouth lowered his practice épée as he straightened. A touch on the side of his modified mask caused the transparent faceplate to fold up and out of the way. “Parry, retreat, parry, feint low, go high. Just as you taught me, Mister Sulu.”
The helmsman slowly shook his head. “I didn’t teach you that. What you just did was… different.”
Golden eyes met Sulu’s own. “I may have varied my final thrust somewhat. I thought it might have a better chance of slipping past your guard.”
Raising his eyes, Sulu spared a glance for the accusatory red orb floating before him. It moved when he did. “Obviously you were right.” He smiled anew. “Very clever move. I’ll be on the lookout for it from now on.” Lowering his own mask, he slid back into a fighting stance. “En garde!”
“En garde,” echoed the Perenorean as he mimicked both the human’s words and posture.
An hour later, Sulu pulled off his mask and wiped at the sweat that was streaming from his brow and cheeks. The time was approaching when he would be required to report to the bridge to begin his shift. Exercise and schooling were over. Thirty-two red orbs drifted above and in front of Irouth.
Twenty-two drifted above and in front of the helmsman.
“You have a facility for this, Irouth.” Walking up to the alien, Sulu stuck out a gloved hand. “Congratulations. I’ve never seen anyone pick up the skill so fast.”
; The Perenorean gestured dismissively with both hands and ears. “I have tried very hard, but any success I have had today is due entirely to the fact that I have been working with the most excellent instructor! It is certainly a more enjoyable form of primitive defense than throwing rocks!”
Sulu had to laugh as he picked up a towel and dried his face. “Maybe tomorrow we’ll try some work with the wakizashi. You should do even better with something that length. Right now I’m due on the bridge, and if I don’t shower first, you can bet Mister Spock will have something to say about ship’s officers setting an example in personal hygiene.” Lowering the cloth, he saw that Irouth was gazing intently at another of the racked exercise weapons. “Most of those are sabers. Fighting with them demands a completely different set of techniques.”
Irouth picked up one of the lightweight practice swords and examined it as carefully as if he was absorbing its substance, its heft, and its design into his very being. His tone was appropriately deferential.
“Will you teach me?”
* * *
To Chekov, Nathtal looked very much like a Perenorean male. Any secondary sex characteristics were concealed beneath the elaborate wrapping that was wound around her body. The only outward sign that she was other than male was the fact that her ears were noticeably larger and longer.
“What is that?” She indicated the object that was sitting on the table in front of the navigator.
“It’s the setting for a game called tridimensional chess.” Leaning forward, Chekov moved a rook from one level to another. “I’m competing against a trio of my shipmates.” He smiled pridefully. “Back home, I am considered a pretty good player.”
One seven-fingered hand twisted in a gracile gesture. “Can you show me how to play?”
A youthful grin creased Chekov’s face. “It is not so simple. Being of another species, you have no cultural references.”
Gliding into the chair opposite, she reached out to lightly finger several of the hand-carved wooden pieces. What she discovered surprised her. “The components are solid and organic, not electronic.”
“That is a tradition with this game, though it can be played electronically. The pieces can be made of any material. There are many older variants among my people. It began as a two-dimensional game that is still played and enjoyed as such. This version has evolved subsequently.”
“My people enjoy competition. We enjoy anything that is mentally stimulating. You would call it a form of exercise.”
“Certainly. But one has to be careful. Too much physical exercise can sprain the body.” He tapped the queen. “Too much mental exercise can sprain the brain.”
Reaching out, her other hand came to rest on the back of his wrist. The soft fur was gently ticklish against his bare skin.
“I will be careful, but I want to learn. I want to learn as much as I can about those who saved me and my fellow colonists.” Huge yellow-gold eyes gazed back into Chekov’s own. “Even to understanding what you do for amusement and entertainment.”
He checked a chronometer and sighed. “Wery—very well. We’ll start with the names of the pieces. Once you know those, I’ll explain the moves; what each piece can and cannot do. If you’re comfortable with that and we have any time left, we’ll move on to basic game play.”
She eagerly pulled her chair forward. Despite their smaller stature, their multiple joints allowed the Perenoreans to make passable use of furniture designed for humans and other larger bipeds.
When Chekov ended his shift and returned later in the day to where the game was set up, he was surprised to see how the pieces on the boards had been moved. The longer he studied the new arrangement, the more puzzled he became.
“You shifted the pieces. Half of them are gone.” Anger mixed with curiosity as he looked over at the alien. “What did you do?”
She was instantly apologetic. “I have been studying. After you left, some of your friends, the ones you have been playing against, came around. They were as interested to converse with me as I was with them. Discussion evolved toward the game. I allowed as how you were teaching me to play, and they responded with suggestions of their own.” Her head turned away and her ears, remarkably, folded forward to cover her eyes. Is that a Perenorean indication of embarrassment? Chekov wondered.
“I ventured to make one move on your behalf. This occasioned much comment among your shipmates and fellow game players. They seemed surprised. After discussing it among themselves, they offered a countering move. I immediately answered.” Her ears slowly drew back to expose her eyes. “As many competitions do, this one proceeded to take on a life of its own.” She indicated the board and her tone reflected happiness. “See? You were losing the game before, but now you are winning, yes?”
Chekov sat down in the chair he had occupied earlier that day. He studied the tripartite setting closely, his eyes shifting from one piece to the next, from position to position.
“You have cleaned out half of their major pieces.” His eyes rose. “How in Gogol’s name did you do it?”
She brightened. “A variation on the Khalinkov strategy about which you spoke briefly.” Dancing in the air, her remarkably agile fingers traced the history of each move. “Top board to bottom with only feinting action between. You see?”
“No,” he muttered. “I don’t see. What I do see is that this morning you had never seen or heard of tridimensional chess, and now you are beating opponents in a three-on-one.” His gaze narrowed as he fought to fathom what might lie hidden beyond those alien pupils. “You must be incredibly smart, Nathtal. Or an accomplished game player among your own kind.” Sitting back, he gestured at the vertically linked game boards. “Still, to achieve something like this in so short a time is—it’s nothing short of amazing!”
She looked down and her ears folded backward. “I was fortunate to do as well as I did. But it was only because I had such a patient and empathetic teacher…”
* * *
The signal was incredibly weak. It was sheer luck that the Enterprise and the Eparthaa, traveling together through warp space, picked it up. Even so, both vessels had sped well past the point of origination when the ship’s computer system alerted Spock to what it had detected.
The science officer studied it carefully, did some rapid cross-checking, analyzed the signal again, and finally turned toward the center of the bridge.
“Captain, our sensors just picked up and recorded an unusual signal in free deep space.”
Uhura had been chatting quietly with McCoy. Now both turned curiously toward the science station as Spock continued.
“It was so weak as to be barely perceptible, but the signature identification is positive. It is quite ancient.”
Kirk frowned. “Is that all you’ve been able to learn about it, Mister Spock?”
“No, Captain. I have processed the signal, enhanced and clarified it, and there is a surprising match. It would appear that on our way to SiBor, we have crossed the path of one of humankind’s first interstellar probes.”
McCoy looked immediately to Kirk. “Jim, this is wonderful! A historic moment! If this object can still send out a detectable signal, then it’s likely to be relatively functional. We have to go back and pick it up.”
Kirk drew back slightly in the chair. “Go back? Bones, we’re on a vital diplomatic mission. We can’t go back. The SiBoronaans are expecting us and…”
The doctor moved toward him. “Come on, Jim. This is important too. It won’t take very long to check it out.” When Kirk didn’t reply, the doctor turned hopefully toward the science station. “Spock, given the present circumstances, you wouldn’t pass up the chance to recover an important artifact from Vulcan history, would you?”
The science officer’s expression never wavered. “I would have to say no, Doctor, I would not.” He turned to Kirk. “Doctor McCoy is correct when he points out that retracing our course to the point where the signal was encountered will take very little time. The Perenoreans are inten
sely curious. I believe they would not object to the detour.”
“So I’m outnumbered,” Kirk said. “Can we find the signal again, Mister Spock? After all, we’re traveling at warp eight. I’m presuming that the signal source in question was also moving.”
Spock paused a moment to check one of his readouts. “It is, Captain. But at a velocity so minimal compared to ours that it would appear to be virtually standing still. Were we to backtrack, we would easily find it.”
“An important artifact from human history.” Kirk mulled his options. The delay in reaching their intended destination would hardly register on the SiBoronaans, and if the Perenoreans raised no objection, so be it.
“Very well, Mister Spock. Let’s have a look at whatever’s generating this signal the ship insists it picked up. Inform the Perenoreans, and make certain they understand that this will be a minor delay.”
“Great, Jim!” McCoy’s enthusiasm was almost sufficient to make someone believe he was enjoying being in deep space.
With the Eparthaa and its compliant colonists following, the Enterprise emerged from warp into the great void between the stars. Kirk was frowning as soon as Uhura activated the main viewscreen. All that was visible were stars like sequins cast against filaments of glowing nebulae.
“There’s nothing here.” He glanced sharply to his right. “Mister Chekov?”
The navigator was studying his instrumentation. “These are the coordinates. We should be right on top of… whatever it is.”
The science officer swiveled around. “Indeed we are, Mister Chekov. Almost literally. I have locked in the signal and its source.” Without looking at his instruments, his left hand made a fine adjustment. “The viewscreen’s magnification is too high. This should be better.”
“There!” An excited McCoy unnecessarily pointed at a portion of the viewscreen.
The Unsettling Stars Page 7