Constellations (15 page)

Thavas signaled and Merrill's no-nonsense voice issued a brief “Come” over the doorway intercom. The door slid aside and Kirk and his officers entered the ready room. The chamber, evidently one of the numerous spherical pressure chambers dotting the skin of the station, related to an “office” the same way M-33's ops center related to Kirk's bridge—it was huge, vaulted, and dark. Merrill himself stood silhouetted against the view of the gargantuan planet the station orbited, red light from the hydrogen gas cloud above lighting his shoulders like a mantel. Kirk wondered if the commodore planned all his meetings this way, with the surroundings designed to dazzle his visitors.

Merrill turned as the four officers entered his domain, and in the dim light Kirk felt a flush of recognition at that weathered profile, the still-thick head of wavy hair, and the athlete's build. Only when the commodore waved the lights up and strode toward them did Kirk have to adjust his Academy memories of what this man looked like and acknowledge that this was a human being in the ninth decade of his life. The recruiting poster smile blazing off a row of perfect teeth now sported a hint of a rictus to it, Kirk noted, as if Merrill were grinning through some vicious little internal ache. The brilliant blue eyes had paled a little since he'd last been holographed, but they fixed on Kirk with the focus of a man a third of his age.

“You must be Jim Kirk,” Merrill said as he closed his fingers around Kirk's hand. Kirk's eyebrows rose as he felt the vigor in Merrill's grip and reflexively returned it.

“It's a great pleasure, Commodore Merrill,” Kirk said, smiling, as he introduced his officers.

“Sorry about that business when you were on your way in,” Merrill said affably.

“Your people certainly seemed prepared for it,” Kirk acknowledged.

“Like I said, nothing to do out here but drill. For this crew that little trespass was a walk in the park.”

“But surely of some political importance,” Spock remarked. “Federation contact with the Tholian Assembly has been intermittent at best over the last century. M-33 lies approximately seven light-years from the Tholian border; navigational errors could not account for such an incursion.”

Merrill leveled a look at Spock. When he turned to look at someone, Kirk thought, he was like an ancient artillery piece swiveling to aim at a target. “There probably wasn't an error,” he said. “But we'll have the ship back in Tholian hands soon enough. You've contacted the Tholians, Thavas?”

“Affirmative, Commodore,” the Andorian officer said. “A transfer vessel with escort is already en route; evidently Assembly forces were tracking these particular ships before they entered the system. They will arrive in less than two hours.”

“Two hours?” Suddenly Merrill seemed surprised. “That's a new record. Let's have our supplies beamed aboard before then if possible. See to it, Commander.”

The Andorian nodded and turned to leave, but Spock interjected. “With your permission, Commodore,” he said, glancing at Kirk. “Captain, this is an unprecedented opportunity. If I may, I should like to observe the Tholian vessel before it is retrieved.”

“Of course,” Merrill said. “Thavas, please take Commander Spock down to the holding sphere.”

Spock nodded politely and followed the Andorian out of the ready room.

“You don't mind if we sit and talk for a bit?” Merrill said, motioning Kirk and McCoy over to a pair of couches facing each other across a low, rectangular table. “I get visitors about once a year now and I sure as hell intend to take advantage of it.”

Kirk glanced briefly at McCoy. Kirk actually pulled rank and pushed the
Enterprise
ahead of the
Akagi
on the list of supply vessels for just this opportunity, just for the chance to shoot the breeze with Julius Merrill. But now the incident with the Tholian ships made casual conversation seem strangely inappropriate.

“Of course, your hospitality's greatly appreciated,” Kirk said slowly. “But I'm concerned about this incursion, sir. You're more than a week from Starfleet assistance out here, and—”

Merrill waved a hand dismissively. “I told you, we have the situation well under control. Ever try one of these?” As Kirk and McCoy settled onto one of the couches, Merrill opened a box of narrow, finger-sized cylinders: Deltan cigars, Kirk realized. McCoy's eyes flashed in a combination of envy and disapproval.

Kirk looked apologetic. This was going to be more challenging than he'd thought. “I can't say that I have.” Kirk knew Merrill was an old man, but smoking was an activity that was positively prehistoric. He took the proffered smoke, which was strangely heavy in his palm, and waited while Merrill lit the cigar with an old fuel-based lighter. Even McCoy started slightly at the sight of the open flame: not something a starship crewman was used to seeing without hearing an alert klaxon.

Merrill watched while Kirk drew the smoke in cautiously, holding it in his lungs for a moment. It felt like a mix of hot magma and poison. Kirk struggled to keep from choking while the commodore let out a hearty laugh. “Easier to face a hundred angry Romulans than your first cigar. Let's see if you do better with cognac.”

“That sounds more up my alley,” Kirk groaned. “Even better if you have Saurian brandy.”

“I might be able to scare up a bottle. I developed expensive tastes pretty young, in my early days on the frontier.” Merrill headed over to a case of rare beverages and rummaged around inside, clinking old glass bottles. “You're not off the hook with that cigar yet. You pull the whole thing down, then you can tell me whether you approve or not. The finish is the best part.”

Kirk clamped the toxic object between his teeth once again and glared at McCoy while the surgeon grinned at him smugly. “Be careful what you wish for, Jim,” McCoy said under his breath.

“I'll be counting on you to cure whatever this does to me, Doctor,” Kirk hissed back before Merrill turned around with a bottle in his hand.

“There we go,” Merrill said as he poured three glasses and then raised his own as Kirk and McCoy took their drinks. “Enjoy life's little pleasures while you can; it'll all be gone soon enough.” If it was a toast, it hung uncomfortably heavy in the air, Kirk thought. “Now, how is it we never met, son?” Merrill said, the vigor returning to his voice. “I've kept an eye on your career. You've got promise. A little sentimental for my taste, based on your logs, but I give that a pass.”

“Sentimental?” Kirk said.

“That business on Gamma Trianguli VI for one thing,” Merrill went on as if Kirk hadn't said anything. “Slaying an ancient god and getting everybody to love each other. I'll admit it makes an entertaining log entry, but sometimes you've got to leave well enough alone.”

Kirk stole another glance at McCoy, but the surgeon was still clearly enjoying himself. “Well, I can't quite believe that after five starship commands you haven't run into a similar situation,” he argued gamely.

“Well, now that you mention it, there was something,” Merrill said as he settled into a plush chair that looked to be half a century old. “Now granted, this was about thirty years ago and the planet was pelagic…”

 

“Our station's xenobiology team will meet us in the holding chamber,” Thavas said quietly as he and Spock exited a turbolift at a circular airlock station. “Environmental suits beyond this point.” The Andorian pointed out a row of silver pressure suits and helmets lining one wall. Spock pulled a suit off the wall and adjusted it to his measurements. In a few minutes he had the suit on and made the final adjustments to the helmet before fastening it into place.

Four suited technicians were visible ahead as Spock and Thavas entered the holding chamber. Spock felt a slight crackle as the heat and pressure of the chamber pressed in on his suit seals. Behind the four station personnel lay the Tholian ship, a wedge-shaped vessel similar to the gleaming webweavers Spock had encountered before, but far smaller, with a faceted central core bulging out from between its three triangular hull segments. As he approached he saw three similar vessels lined up behind the pair the technicians were examining: all three looked strangely desiccated, their hull surfaces shriveled and cracked. Spock's eyebrows rose appreciatively; it looked as if his earlier declaration of the scientific opportunity here might be an understatement.

One of the figures ahead of him turned as Spock and Thavas approached, and Spock saw the face of a surprisingly young human woman behind the environmental suit helmet. “This is M-33's chief xenobiologist, Dr. Casio Glasser. Doctor, may I present Commander Spock of the
Enterprise.
”

“Commander Spock,” the woman said. She seemed about to extend a hand almost excitedly and then seemed to think better of it, inclining her head slightly in the Vulcan way instead. “This is an honor.”

“I was not aware this station had a full xenobiology staff,” Spock said.

“Well, we didn't originally—I was just doing planetary science until the first incursion thirteen months ago; after that I got a little promotion.”

“Indeed,” Spock said, gesturing at the lineup of Tholian vessels. “You have an enviable opportunity to examine Tholian technology. I am curious as to why the Tholians would allow it.”

Glasser shrugged, looking back at the ships. “Well, you're welcome to join us, but you won't learn much. We haven't gone very far beyond the basics.”

“Why have these three additional vessels not been transferred off the station by the Tholians?”

“The pilots all died before the Tholian Assembly transfer ships made it here. Tholians seem to have no interest in their dead, or the dead pilots' ships. These vessels started to decay shortly after we brought them on board. We've tried to approximate what we know of Tholian atmospheric conditions in here on the off chance the pilots might survive after their ships break down, but it seems to make no difference.”

Spock approached one of the breached ships, its hull splintered and cracked. An entire side of the arrowhead-shaped vessel had disintegrated, leaving the remains of its interior and its dead pilot open to inspection. “Remarkable,” Spock said, activating his tricorder. The Tholian pilot was now a glinting, lifeless husk, shards of its crystalline body fraying away from a hollow center. A barrel-shaped torso, multiple supporting, segmented legs, and the remains of the familiar, helmet-like head Spock had once viewed on the
Enterprise
's main screen: the details were all there, but shattered to the point where they were barely recognizable.

“Somewhat insectile, as you can see,” Glasser said. “That seems to extend to their society as well; individuals seem to be bred for specific societal functions, like ants. Or a caste society on Earth.”

Spock nodded. “I have heard the caste system mentioned in relation to the Tholians.” He found it interesting how often human scientists relied on Earth-based analogies. “It would appear that very little of their internal structures survived whatever caused their deaths,” Spock said. “Yet you say the majority of your captures have survived.”

“Yes,” Glasser acknowledged. “The survivors have stayed sealed in their ships and are pretty uncommunicative. It's funny; two of these died in captivity and the other was dead when we brought it in. The Tholians declined to retrieve any of them…it was almost as if they knew these particular pilots would die even before their ships started to decay.”

“I fail to see why those facts would be considered cause for amusement,” Spock said, training his tricorder on the newly captured Tholian vessel. Its energy output was steady and it was clearly maintaining its own intense internal heat and pressure, but there was very little more useful information available. “It is quite effectively shielded. I should like to tie my tricorder into the holding chamber's sensors if I may. You said you have had at least some limited communication with captured Tholians?”

“We're not that certain of our translations, and we only got a few words; nothing that made any sense.”

“Our ship's chief communications officer has had some experience in Tholian translation, which may be helpful,” Spock said. “With your permission, I would like to involve her in this research.”

“Of course,” Glasser said. Spock reached up to toggle the communicator control just underneath the foreplate of his helmet, cycling through command channels to beam outside the station's interior relays. “Spock to
Enterprise.
”

“Enterprise;
Uhura here.
”

“Lieutenant, contact M-33's executive officer, Commander Thavas, and arrange to be transported to the station. I will need your presence in the—”

A piercing whine suddenly erupted over Spock's helmet speakers, and he saw the four human researchers reflexively clutch at their own suit helmets as the sound flashed through their communicators. One of the scientists had the presence of mind to focus his tricorder on the transmission.

“It's coming from inside the Tholian ship!” he exclaimed.

“Dr. Glasser, I assume this transmission differs from your prior communication attempts with the Tholians,” Spock said.