Constellations (38 page)

Kirk stepped around the main console but only that far. Kor wouldn't be treated like a visiting dignitary.

“Commander,” he greeted.

Smiling that slithery grin that Kirk couldn't quite decipher, Kor took two steps down to the main deck and nodded a cordial salute to Kirk. “We meet again, Captain,” he said almost cheerfully, then looked about and found Spock standing across the room. “Ah, Mr. Spock.” Kor bowed respectfully.

“Commander Kor,” Spock responded dryly with a slight nod.

“How is the kevas trade this season?” Kor asked the Vulcan, mocking his cover story from their joint Organian adventure.

“Up an average of one point seven-six-five Federation credits in the major trade markets,” Spock said, and Kirk couldn't help but allow himself a smirk.

Turning back to Kirk, Kor kept his positive façade. “You have D'kar.”

“Security is bringing him here directly,” Kirk said.

“If my blood has been mistreated,” Kor said, “I will see to it your ship is dismantled by my disruptor banks, treaty or no.” Even when he threatened your life, Kor maintained some semblance of a smile under his Fu Manchu mustache.

“Your blood engaged in terrorist acts against a Federation vessel,” Kirk said. “That treaty is the only thing keeping him out of a Starfleet brig.”

McCoy took one step forward. “He wouldn't allow me to treat him,” he said. “He has a temporary cast for a number of broken bones in his right arm.”

Kor had turned, listened, then looked back to Kirk. “His arm was broken in interrogation or battle?”

“Battle.”

As Kor nodded his acceptance of that fact, the doors to the transporter room parted and D'kar entered, flanked by two security guards.

Immediately, D'kar's expression changed from prisoner to champion.

“qab yon Da'agh. QablIj yon yI'aghHa' 'aghHa'pa' 'etlhwIj.”
Kor snapped. Without the universal translator, Kirk made out the words “satisfied face” and “blade,” and considering the smug look that had evaporated off D'kar so quickly, Kirk imagined there was something in there about Kor scraping it off with his knife.

D'kar began to respond but Kor cut him off.
“BIjatlh ‘e' yImev, DI'qar!
You will speak when spoken to.”

Kirk hadn't had a great deal of interaction with Kor, but that was the first flash of genuine anger he'd ever seen.

“It was to restore your honor—” D'kar spoke in Klingon, but Kirk understood that much.

“chobelHa'moH, DI'qar. SajlIj ‘oHbe' quvwIj'e'.”
Kirk mostly understood that as well. Kor had said he was displeased, and that his honor was not D'kar's plaything.

The Klingon commander pointed to one of the transporter pads, and D'kar sullenly marched to that exact position. The Klingon family was an interesting dynamic, to be sure. On Organia, when Kor mandated the wanton slaughter of hundreds, Kirk had tried to imagine the kind of man who could give such an order. He'd wondered what such a person would do if his own child were about to be murdered. Still, seeing father and son together, Kirk wasn't sure.

“My son's actions were not known to me, Kirk,” Kor said.

“I know that.”

“Good.” No apology. That would have been too human. And what he had said was as close as a Klingon would get to such a thing.

Kor nodded once, and with Scotty's facilitation he and his son were on the Klingon vessel.

Kirk nodded once at his engineer, who relinquished the transporter console to the normal duty crewman. Scotty exchanged some comment with McCoy—Kirk didn't hear what exactly—then exited toward engineering.

McCoy waited for Kirk and Spock, and they entered the corridor together. “Well,” McCoy began, “it's small consolation, but at least it looks like Kor will exact some punishment for D'kar's actions. I wonder what ‘grounded' translates to for Klingons.”

“I suspect there is more shame involved,” Spock said. “Klingon culture is concerned with particular honor rites and taboos that D'kar seems to have misunderstood, and therefore broken.”

McCoy nodded thoughtfully rather than replying, and in silence they gathered into the turbolift. Kirk grasped the control handle and manually selected the bridge.

“You seem awfully quiet, Jim,” McCoy finally prodded gently.

“I'm thinking about Captain Anders,” Kirk said. As the lift doors parted, he led the others onto the bridge. “That's who's been truly punished in all this. He had the respect of those people, and now they doubt him, and he doubts himself.” The captain stepped down to the command deck and swiveled the center seat around. He slid down easily into what had become his most familiar home.

“I sympathize with his dilemma, Captain,” Spock said, falling into place to the captain's right as McCoy joined them on Kirk's left. “But he chose his path based on the subjective feeling that he was losing his ‘command' to you. You did not threaten his authority, if I read your report correctly.”

Kirk tilted his head a moment and half shrugged. “I didn't threaten his authority, but it
was
threatened, Spock. Those people needed him to lead them because they depended on his skills for their survival. Our presence negated that need. In a week's time that planetoid will have advisors, engineers, maybe even new settlers—all there to help build up the accidental colony they began. And transports will come to take off-world those who wish to go.”

“We changed his world.” McCoy understood.

“For the better, in many ways,” Spock added.

“Except for Anders.” Kirk let his hand touch the leather arm of his command chair and he ran his hand along its length. “He's lost his purpose, his self-respect, and…he's a good man who felt helpless as everything he had—everything he was—collapsed around him.” The captain shrugged and realized he might be sounding a bit too sentimental, a bit too maudlin, for the bridge of a starship. To his mind, however, he looked at Anders and felt “there but for the grace of God go I.”

“Interesting,” Spock said after a moment of almost awkward silence. “Both Captain Anders and D'kar made certain subjective presumptions that led to vast misunderstandings on which they chose improper courses.”

“Here it comes,” McCoy murmured to Kirk.

“Here what comes, Doctor?” Spock asked coyly.

McCoy took the bait. “Here's where you lecture us that logic is the only way to make moral choices, and if only we were all pointy-eared Vulcans, then the universe would be filled with the muted joy of countless unemotional, cookie-cutter, stone-faced, walking computer banks.”

One brow jutting above the other, which Kirk often believed was the Vulcan's version of an ironic smirk, Spock was deadpan: “On the contrary, Doctor. Nothing gives me more ‘muted joy' than knowing you and I are so radically different.”

Kirk smiled, McCoy fumed, and Spock lithely turned and strode to the science station.

Unlike Simon Anders, Jim Kirk's command—his world—was very intact. In
that
there was great comfort. All things change eventually, and while that fact brought tacit and minute anxiety, it was greatly calmed by the familiarity of duty and purpose he had for the foreseeable future.

The captain leaned back comfortably in his command chair. “Mr. Sulu,” he said. “Ahead, warp factor one.”

William Leisner began writing at age six, scripting and drawing comic strips that featured his younger siblings, their animate stuffed animals, and lots of potty humor. Not long afterward, he discovered
Star Trek
through its syndicated reruns, though it would be almost twenty years before it would occur to him to combine these two interests.

His first professionally published story was “Gods, Fate, and Fractals” in
Star Trek: Strange New Worlds II.
This was followed by “Black Hats” in
Strange New Worlds IV,
and “The Trouble with Borg Tribbles,” the third-place winner in
Strange New Worlds V.
Most recently, he's penned
Star Trek: Starfleet Corps of Engineers #57: Out of the Cocoon.
He also has to his credit a pair of award-winning teleplays for the student-run TV station at his alma mater, Ithaca College, and a story concept sale to
Star Trek: Voyager.

A native of Rochester, New York, he now lives in Minneapolis.

Sulu's first reaction to Uhura's urgent report was to wonder why Captain Kirk so often chose to leave his ship without its commander or first officer.

Not that there had been any reason Mr. Spock should have remained on the
Enterprise
on this particular occasion: They were in orbit above Pentam V, a planet comfortably within Federation-controlled space. Though, on the other hand, there seemed to be no compelling reason the first officer had to join the captain for this conference with the Pentamians. It seemed a capricious decision—not that it would have occurred to Sulu to question it. Truth be told, even more than a year after his transfer to helmsman, he still felt a jolt of excitement whenever the two senior officers absented themselves and the captain declared, “You have the conn, Mr. Sulu.”

He hadn't expected any further jolts during this fairly routine mission, but Uhura had certainly just provided one: “Mr. Sulu! We're receiving a distress call, priority channel.”

Sulu collected himself immediately and cleared the steps to the bridge's raised perimeter with a single stride, stopping beside the communications officer. “What is it?”

Uhura looked past him, concentrating on the signals coming through the remote amplifier she held to her right ear. “It's from Thraz Outpost, an Andorian scientific base. It's an automated message—no details, just a request for emergency assistance.”

Sulu turned forward. “Chekov?”

The navigator was already pulling information up from his database. “Aye, sir, Thraz Outpost. Two-point-four hours from our current position at warp five. No other Federation ships are reported in the vicinity.”

Sulu nodded as he moved to the captain's chair and toggled open a channel to the surface. “
Enterprise
to Captain Kirk.” Several seconds passed without a response from the planet, each one seeming to stretch longer than the previous one. “
Enterprise
to Spock, come in,” Sulu said. More slow seconds stretched by.

Then at last: “Enterprise,
Spock here.”
The first officer's voice was low and sounded as if he was cupping his communicator in both hands, right up against his mouth.

“Is everything all right down there, Mr. Spock?” Sulu asked. “Where's the captain?”

“All is well, Mr. Sulu. The captain is at the podium, making his opening statement to the Pentamian Assembly.”

“Opening statement?” Sulu took a quick glance at the chronometer on the helm/navigation console. “The talks were supposed to have started almost four hours ago.”

“Indeed. The first three hours and twenty-three minutes were taken up by opening statements by all thirteen members of the Assembly leadership. We are now obligated, it seems, to make a similarly lengthy monologue.”
Vulcan or no, it wasn't hard to hear the frustration underneath Spock's flat tone.

“Sir, we've received an automated distress call from a nearby Andorian colony. They need immediate assistance, and we're the closest ship in range.”

“Stand by, Mr. Sulu.”

He heard the snick of the hinged cover closing over the communicator's audio pickup. An almost subaudible hum was the only indication that the connection had not been lost. Sulu turned back to Uhura. “Have you been able to raise Thraz? Any more information?”

“Negative. And their signal is weakening; they may be drawing down their emergency power reserves.”

Sulu's next question was cut off by the captain's voice. “Enterprise,
Kirk here.”

“Sulu here, Captain. We've received a distress—”

“Yes, Mr. Spock filled me in before taking the podium for me. Unfortunately, per Pentamian protocols, neither of us can leave the chambers before our negotiations are completed without forfeiting our bid for mining rights.”
Sulu frowned at that. He knew the Federation couldn't afford to let this dilithium-rich world slip away from them like that. Again he wondered why the captain made the choices he did, but his thoughts were broken by the one that followed.
“Kirk to Scott.”

From engineering, a third voice joined the conversation.
“Scott here, Captain.”

“Scotty, I'm putting you in temporary command of the
Enterprise.
Set course for Thraz Outpost, maximum warp. Mr. Sulu will brief you on the emergency there.”

“Acknowledged, sir.”

“Godspeed, gentlemen. Bring her back in one piece. Kirk out.”

The captain's communicator cut off, while the intraship channel remained open.
“Scott to bridge.”

“Bridge, Mr. Scott,” Sulu answered, already back at his regular position and punching up coordinates. “Course laid in and ready.”

“Break orbit, Mr. Sulu, and engage warp drive once we're clear. I'm on my way up to the bridge.”

The channel closed, and the bridge fell quiet but for the ambient chirps and beeps, and the rising hum of impulse engines pushing them out of planetary orbit. As Pentam V fell away on the main viewer, Chekov leaned over from his seat at the navigation console. “Well…
that
was a slap in the face.”

Sulu's eyes flicked right, eyebrows raised. “What?”

“The captain relieving you of command, and tapping Mr. Scott instead.”

Sulu shook his head as he turned his attention to his board again. “Lieutenant Commander Scott is the senior officer aboard, Ensign.”

“I mean no disrespect to him, of course,” Chekov said quickly. “But a starship bridge has its own command structure.”

“Theoretically,” Sulu said. On most Starfleet ships, that was indeed the case. Yet another example of James Kirk's peculiar command style.

Chekov continued. “You're senior bridge officer, and you're on a command track. You do want your own command someday,
da
?”

He'd never actually given it that much thought; it'd been only a little over a year since he'd switched to wearing a gold uniform shirt. Yet he heard himself say, “Well, sure. But someday doesn't have to be today.”

“Still…you don't find it a little bothersome that the captain trusts you to command the ship in orbit, but not in a crisis?”

“That's not how I see things,” Sulu said with a dismissive shake of his head. Yet, now that Chekov had shared his point of view, he found it difficult to shift his perception back again.

 

As many times as Scotty had made the trip between main engineering and the bridge, it always struck him, watching the light bars slide across the turbolift display panel, how
enormous
the
Enterprise
was. He had served on nine other ships in his twenty-plus-year Starfleet career, some of them so compact that the engine room and conn were separated by no more than a pair of doors. On the
Enterprise,
though, with its separate and distinct drive and saucer sections, it was almost as if he were serving on two different ships: one of engines and mechanics, where the laws of physics held sway, and the other, where the captain was forced to deal with issues of people, politics, and other unexplainable phenomena. All things being equal, Scotty preferred his
Enterprise.

The turbolift car decelerated as it approached the top of the saucer, and Scott took a deep bracing breath before the doors opened onto the other ship. The first thing he saw was the captain's chair at the center of the circular bridge, empty and waiting for him. He glanced away and found Sulu standing by his helm station. “Mr. Scott.”

Scotty nodded as he took the two steps down into the command center. “Report, Mr. Sulu.”

“We're under way to the Thraz system at warp five. ETA: two hours, seventeen minutes.”

“I'm starting to pick up additional transmissions from Thraz,” Uhura interjected from her station. The muscles in her jaw and her elegant neck were tight as she concentrated on and processed the information coming in through her earpiece. “They're saying they've been attacked by an unidentified alien ship. It entered the system completely undetected, struck their residential area, and immediately left the system. Fortunately, given the time of day, they believe most residents should have been safely out of their homes.”

“Let's hope they're right,” Scott said. “Anything else?”

Uhura frowned as her fingers went from one knob to the next on her console. “Hard to say. The signals are very weak—the attack also overloaded their power distribution network, and they're operating on emergency backup generators. Most of the messages are very confused and contradictory, as well.”

“Par for the course in the wake of a catastrophe,” Scotty noted with a sigh.

“‘Completely undetected,'” Sulu repeated ominously. “It couldn't be Romulans, could it?”

“In this sector?” Scotty frowned. “I doubt it.” He certainly hoped it wasn't the Romulans, though the attackers' identity made little difference to the task at hand. “Bridge to sickbay,” he said as he tabbed the intercom on the captain's chair.

“Sickbay. McCoy here.”

“Doctor, have you been briefed on our current mission?”

“Got the word from Sulu not five minutes ago. I've got the lab brewing up some basic Andorian meds, and my staff and I are boning up on Andorian physiology.”

“Good work,” Scott said, as much to McCoy as to Sulu, who acknowledged with a slight nod.

“Save your praise until there's cause for it, Scotty. The way these people's insides are put together…well, I'll never needle Spock about his Vulcan anatomy again.”

Scotty chuckled. “I'll be sure to let him know you said so, Doctor. Bridge out.”

“Klingons.”

Scotty's head jerked toward the forward screen. “What?”

Sulu turned and looked up at him. “Rumor's been the Klingons and Romulans are negotiating some kind of alliance. If the Romulans were to agree to share their cloaking devices…”

As his heart slowed back to a normal rate, Scotty said, “Even if we were to put stock in rumor…why would the Klingons target a science base this far into Federation space?” He turned to the bridge science station, where a young man in a blue uniform sat in Spock's place, passively listening to the ongoing discussion. “Ensign?”

The ensign snapped ramrod straight in his seat. “Yes, sir?”

“This Thraz Outpost. What do we know about it?”

The young man gaped back at him as if perplexed by the question. “It's…an Andorian science colony….”

Scotty put up a hand to stop him. “What's your name, lad?”

“David Frank, sir.”

“Mr. Frank, the reason we have a manned science station on the bridge is so that, when the command staff have a question of a scientific nature, someone is ready with an answer, if not before the question is asked, then quickly afterward.” Scotty's eyes locked hard on the junior officer's. “Do I make myself understood?”

Frank nodded, then added a spoken, “Yes, sir.”

Scott nodded back. “I want to know what the scientists are doing at Thraz Outpost, and why that might attract the attention of hostile forces.” Turning then to the communications officer, he continued. “Uhura, keep listening and trying to raise the colony. We'll meet in the briefing room in thirty minutes. Mr. Sulu,” he then said to the helmsman, and tilted his head toward the engineering station.

Sulu followed him up the steps, and the two of them huddled close in hushed conversation. “I wanted to say, a bit more directly, that you did a fine job directing matters in the first minutes of the crisis.”