Constellations (42 page)

“Yes, coming in now.”

“Forward them to sickbay and ship's stores, and tell both to stand by.” Sulu paused to collect his thoughts, then turned forward again. “Put the director back onscreen,” he said.

Again, Shrevan's visage appeared on the screen.
“Lieutenant Sulu, I don't know what they teach about proper diplomatic protocol—”

“Director Shrevan,” Sulu interrupted, his voice raised just a notch above a polite level, “is Thraz Outpost still experiencing the unexplained tremors you reported earlier?”

Shrevan was slightly surprised by the sudden role reversal between intimidator and intimidated, but held his composure.
“Yes, we are. But our top scientists are studying—”

“Our science officers have already determined their cause,” Sulu interrupted again, in a tone that seemed to send shivers up the length of Shrevan's antennae. “And we've devised a way to put an end to them, while minimizing any further damage to your colony.”

Shrevan's eyes widened.
“Then what are you waiting for?”

His voice rumbling slowly, Sulu said, “I am waiting for you, as I asked before, to evacuate the area within five kilometers of the excavation site.”

“I…I'll have my people get to it immediately.”

“Excellent. Thank you, Director.
Enterprise
out.”

The screen again changed back to the image of Thraz from orbit, and Sulu allowed himself a wisp of a smile as he leaned back into the captain's chair.

 

A dull thud, followed by a muffled curse, reverberated from inside the open Jefferies tube. “You all right in there, lad?” Scotty called, grinning in spite of himself.

“Fine, sir,” Frank's echoing voice replied. “I just need one…more…second…There!” The younger man dropped onto the deck of the tractor beam master control room, as if he had leapt down the sloped conduit. “I think we're all set,” he said as he joined Scott at the main control board on the far side of the room. Both started checking system readouts against the figures jotted on an electronic clipboard that lay on the console between them. “I sure hope this works.”

Silently, Scotty hoped so, too. The tractor beam was designed to manipulate large objects, along the lines of other ships or asteroids, in the zero-g environment of space. There were precious few situations where one would apply a ship's tractor to a planet, and none of them involved the targeting of living creatures.

But what Scotty said instead was, “Have a little confidence in yourself, lad. You convinced me and the rest that your plan makes good sense; don't be telling me now I should have doubted you.”

Frank smiled. “Thank you, Mr. Scott. For giving me a chance to make up for that first impression I made.”

“A wise man once told me, most of us are capable of more than we might suspect at first. Come on, lad, let's get up to the bridge and see just how well this works out.” Scotty led Frank out of the control room toward the nearest turbolift.

 

Sulu turned at the sound of the 'lift doors opening. “We have an all clear, Mr. Scott,” he reported as the engineer walked onto the bridge.

“Any trouble from the locals?” the engineer asked as he stepped down inside the circular rails.

“None worth mentioning,” Sulu said.

“Grand. Mr. Frank, how do things look from there?”

Frank was already hunched over the sensor hood at his station, bathing his face in blue light. “Situation is approaching critical, sir.”

Scott gritted his teeth, then nodded. “Tractor beam is at your control. Mr. Chekov, make sure we don't end up pulling ourselves into the planet with this stunt.”

“No crash landings,” Chekov confirmed. “Aye, sir.”

Frank was heard taking a deep breath, then saying, “Engaging tractor…now!”

A beam of tightly focused energy lanced out from the
Enterprise,
piercing through the atmosphere and striking the sinkhole on the planet surface with near-pinpoint accuracy. A thin mist of loose dirt and small bits of debris were pulled skyward…but no more than that.

“It's not working,” Frank said. “Something's off…”

“Have you compensated for atmospheric distortion?” Sulu asked. “Or interference from Van Allen radiation?”

“Retuning beam harmonics now…Wait. I think that's doing it.” Frank's voice rose with excitement. “I think…Yes! They're moving!”

On the surface of the planet, there was no observable change in the tractor beam's effect. But underneath the surface, the neonate aliens paused in the powerful stretching and flexing movements of their still-soft carapaces. They had been struggling to free themselves from their dark, dense surroundings, with only inborn instincts and the pull of gravity to guide them. Now a new stimulus impressed itself on their still-developing consciousnesses, one that overrode everything else. To the most basic elements of their beings they understood:
Go to this.

The second alien to push through the surface of the planet emerged right at the edge of the crater the first one had made. At first, it held close to the tractor beam as it pushed itself skyward. Out in the open, though, it soon became aware of another beacon, of which this artificial energy wave was merely a pale simulation. It peeled away while still rising skyward, in the direction of the tachyon streamer, while at the same time two of its siblings also freed themselves in quick succession.

“My God, will you look at that?” Leonard McCoy said, awed. The whole bridge crew watched the main viewer as the alien hatchlings started streaming out of the ground, like a string of beads being pulled loose. They destroyed two more abandoned buildings in the process, but amazingly, that was the extent of the additional damage done to the colony. When the last one burst free, they all climbed together in a swarm past the
Enterprise.
Several slowed in their flight as they moved past the ship in orbit, as if curious, or even grateful.

Scott watched, mouth slightly agape in wonderment as the creatures surged past the ship. His head shook slowly as he absorbed the remarkable sight, and he caught Sulu, out of the corner of his eye, wearing an identical expression. Noticing the stare, Sulu turned to face him, a broad grin breaking across his face. Scott returned the smile, and after a few seconds, both men turned their eyes back to the viewscreen, watching the newborns move off toward the stars.

 

The trill and hum of the transporter fell silent, and Captain Kirk stepped down off the platform, with Spock a half step behind. “Welcome back, Captain,” Scott said as he moved out from behind the control console. Likewise, Sulu offered his welcome as he stepped forward from his position by the corridor doors.

“Thank you, gentlemen. It's good to be back.” Kirk appeared rumpled and tired, though to nowhere near the degree he did in the aftermath of many of his other missions. Yet the relief he expressed now seemed to suggest that facing the Pentamian Assembly was more harrowing than facing a Gorn.

“How did the negotiations go?” Scott asked.

Kirk grimaced. “Don't ask.”

Before Scott or Sulu could react, Spock clarified by adding, “We were successful in securing dilithium mining rights for the Federation.”

“Twenty-seven hours of debate. Twenty…seven…hours…without interruption, without…The Pentamians only eat and sleep one day out of four. Did you know that?” Though the question sounded rhetorical, Kirk seemed to be demanding an answer from the two junior officers.

To their relief, Spock was the one to offer a response. “That information was in our briefing, Captain.”

“But what wasn't in the briefing is that they only purge their bodily waste one day out of four, too. A culture for whom the very concept of ‘a short break' is beyond—” Kirk stopped himself in mid-sentence, closed his eyes, and drew a silent breath. When he opened his eyes again, they had a look of chagrin in them. “Excuse me, gentlemen. Yes, the negotiations were successful. And what about that Andorian colony, their distress call?”

“Ah, we ended up with quite the surprise, sir. You see, the Thraz Outpost was set up to study—”

“Scotty, forgive me,” Kirk interrupted, pressing the first two fingers of his right hand to his forehead. “I'm sure there's plenty you have to report, but…please just tell me, was the mission successful?”

“That it was, sir.”

Kirk nodded. “Anything else I absolutely need to know right now?”

“We can brief you at your convenience, sir,” Scott assured him.

The captain sighed quietly at that, clearly relieved. “Thank you, gentlemen. Spock, I'll be in my quarters.” He gave them all curt nods before turning and walking out of the transporter room.

Once the doors closed again, Spock turned to Scott and Sulu. “If there is nothing else to report, gentlemen…We are expected at Starbase 14 in fifty-one hours, forty-seven minutes. And if you will excuse me as well, I have some…personal matters to attend to.” Vulcan stamina was superior to that of humans, and Spock masked his fatigue even better than the captain did. But it was rather clear that his “personal matters” included sleep, or else a period of deep meditation. Spock followed Kirk out of the transporter room, leaving Scott and Sulu facing one another alone.

“Well,” Scott said, with a shrug, “I'm sure the anticipation will only heighten their appreciation of our tale.”

“Undoubtedly,” Sulu said with a smile, while Scott moved back behind the transporter controller to fully power down the systems. “Mr. Scott,” Sulu said after a moment's silence, “it just occurred to me that Mr. Spock didn't specify which of us was to resume the conn.”

“Oh?” Scott looked up from his board, his eyes meeting Sulu's, both men trying to read the other's thoughts. “Well,” Scott said finally, “I suppose it's my role to make the command decision…”

Sulu nodded slowly as Scott reached across his console for the intercom mounted at its top edge. “Scott to bridge.”

“Chekov here, sir.”

“Set course for Starbase 14, and engage when ready at warp five. And you have the conn, Mr. Chekov. If y' be needing Mr. Sulu or m'self, we'll be in my quarters.”

“Acknowledged, sir.”

Scott cut the channel and looked to the helmsman with a roguish grin. “The captain and Mr. Spock aren't the only ones who have earned themselves a short break. I think a toast to commemorate the end of a successful mission is in order, don't you agree, Hikaru?”

Sulu looked from the now-silent intercom to the chief engineer. “That's not proper protocol, is it, sir?” he asked, deadpan, watching the older man's expression fall before breaking into a broad smile of his own. “I'd be honored, Scotty.”

Scotty laughed and clapped Sulu on the back, and the two crewmates headed off to celebrate their shared victories.

Born and raised in Los Angeles, Kevin Lauderdale grew up watching reruns of
Star Trek
every night during his childhood. He watched
The Next Generation
in college,
Deep Space Nine
in graduate school, and
Voyager
and
Enterprise
while shuffling papers in the real world. During those years, he also took William Shatner's advice and got a life. He is married, has two children, and now lives in northern Virginia.

Kevin broke into the glamorous world of
Star Trek
writing by placing stories in three consecutive volumes of
Strange New Worlds
anthologies: “A Test of Character”
(SNW VII),
“Assignment: One”
(SNW 8),
and “The Rules of War”
(SNW 9).
He has also published essays and articles in
The Dictionary of American Biography,
the
Los Angeles Times, Animato!,
and Mcsweeneys.net; as well as poetry in Andre Codrescu's
The Exquisite Corpse.

He thanks the busiest man in
Trek,
Marco Palmieri, for continuing to take chances on newcomers.

“…Officially this facility doesn't exist,” explained Dr. Miyazaki, “so it doesn't even have a name. Everyone here just calls it the Yard.”

The diamond-shaped orange door in front of them opened with a muffled
swish.
At a gesture from Miyazaki, Spock and Kirk entered the office, only to find that the Yard's director was not, as they had expected, there waiting for them.

Kirk suppressed the urge to vent his frustration on Miyazaki. It wasn't the man's fault that his commanding officer was late. But it was just one more thing Kirk didn't like about all this.

The room was twice the size of one of the conference rooms aboard the
Enterprise.
There was a black-topped desk with some data slates on it and a three-sided computer monitor. Four black, high-backed chairs were scattered around the room, and on display everywhere were pieces of alien technology.

A handgun that looked like it was made of green gelatin, translucent and wobbly, sat on a pedestal under glass. Nearby, fragments of an exotic space suit had been reconstructed like the skeleton of a dinosaur. By a small potted palm sat a knee-high, hourglass-shaped metal box studded with buttons and switches that shone like gems. In an alcove by the door, three rings of white stone, each as big as two fists and arranged to form a pyramid, sat on black velvet, carefully illuminated by recessed lighting.

Kirk had long heard whispered rumors that Starfleet was going to build a secret base to store and study all of the alien technology it had acquired.
And now here it is,
he thought.

Through the large panes of transparent aluminum that all but filled one wall, Kirk could see a handful of small, gray-white Federation space stations and a few giant, oddly shaped pieces of machinery floating in space nearby. One of them, he was certain, was some sort of starship, but the others—some made of metal, others looked more like stone—he could not place. One thing looked like a giant purple and white orchid. The Federation stations, however, each employed the familiar design of small domed saucers branching out from beneath a much larger domed saucer at their center.

From this angle, Kirk knew he wasn't seeing everything out there, but clearly there was no emergency. No ion storms, no ancient weapons running amok. In fact, Kirk didn't see anything that warranted the coded orders he had received from Starfleet to take the
Enterprise
there at top speed, rigged for “dark running.”

Following those orders, the
Enterprise
's main viewscreen had been opaqued, every viewport sealed, and all communications silenced. Upon arrival, they had physically docked here at the Yard's main station; use of the transporter was also forbidden under dark running.

Spock glanced around the office and then turned to their escort. “Dr. Miyazaki, now that I have actually arrived, I fail to see the point of continuing to conceal the purpose of my visit from me.”

“Well, you
were
the one named in the communiqué,” said Miyazaki with a resigned tone. “Oh, well. It's your expertise in plasma constraint, Mr. Spock, what else?” He laughed as if it were the most obvious thing in the galaxy.

The intercom buzzed.
“Lacsamana to Miyazaki.”

“Excuse me,” he said and walked over to the red wall panel. “Miyazaki here.”

“We need you in cold storage to okay those Izarian memory crystals for transfer.”

“Acknowledged.” Miyazaki turned to Kirk and Spock. “I'm positive our director will be along in just a minute,” he said as he walked out the door. “Good day.”

After the door closed, Kirk said, “If it was so urgent, you would assume…” He noticed that Spock was staring intently at the desk. “What is it, Spock?”

“Fascinating,” the Vulcan said.

“The desk?” asked Kirk.

“Yes, Captain. You have noted the height.”

“It is sort of…low.”

“Indeed.”

“So,” said Kirk, “whoever is in charge here is short.”

“Or a member of a species that is, on average, lower in stature than the humanoid norm.”

“What are you getting at, Spock?”

“And the chair,” said Spock. Kirk stepped behind the desk. He suddenly realized that he hadn't seen the chair before. It was a low, back-less, S-shaped curve of metal, with a little padding on the top for a seat. “Note also that the slates,” continued Spock, pointing to two black, wedge-shaped electronic clipboards and their styluses, “are arranged vertically: one near the top of the desk and one closer to the chair. If you were going to have more than one on a desk, how would you arrange them, Captain?”

“I imagine, horizontally, one next to the other.”

“As would I. But then, you and I have only two arms, one on each side. This arrangement suggests that the user has rows of arms, one on top of the other. How many such multi-armed species have representatives in Starfleet?”

“Offhand, Spock, I can't recall any.”

“I know of only one, and very few of its population venture into space: the Nasat.” Spock left the desk. “And I, personally, have only ever met one of them, B6 Blue. She was a scientist who spent some time on Vulcan during my youth.”

Kirk said, “Let me guess: She also has something to do with plasma constraint?”

“A related field, yes. The odds that the administrator of this facility is
not
B6 Blue are at least one hundred and eighty billion to one.”

“And who was she? An old friend, a colleague?”

“More than that, Captain. It was she who was responsible for my choosing Starfleet over the Vulcan Science Academy.”

Kirk's eyes widened. He knew that Spock and his father, Sarek, had gone nearly twenty years without speaking as a result of that decision, but it surprised him to learn that a third party had been involved in the disagreement. What did B6 Blue want with Spock now, after all these years?

The door opened, and she entered.

She was indeed a Nasat. Now Kirk remembered; he'd seen an image of one somewhere. Her short (she barely came up to Kirk's chest), insectile build reminded Kirk of a giant pillbug, but with a distinctly incongruous reptilian tail that reached down to the floor. Her exoskeleton and six arms were cobalt blue. Her round head had two large, yellow eyes with heavy lids that gave her a look of perpetual drowsiness.

Kirk imagined that the quartermaster's office could have tailored a uniform to fit her, but she probably would have found even a six-sleeved shirt confining. Instead, the Nasat had simply affixed her gold commodore's braids to her exoskeleton. They were draped along the chevron of chitin at the top of her thorax.

“Spock, I'm glad to see you again,” she said in a high-pitched, but not unpleasant, voice.

“I as well, Bishop.” He turned toward Kirk. “My captain, James T. Kirk.”

The Nasat stepped up to Kirk. “You've come as well, of course. A pleasure to meet you, Captain.”

“Commodore…Bishop?” began Kirk.

“My clan designation is B6 Blue. I am a commodore in Starfleet, as well as a Ph.D. But we maintain an informal atmosphere here. We're an
academic
facility. We're all scientists and researchers. More like the academy than command headquarters. As such, I go by the nickname of Bishop.” She walked around the desk and sat down. “Do sit, gentlemen.”

“Commodore,” said Kirk, “I don't like mysteries. And I really don't like them when they involve my ship. The
Enterprise
was called away from Narnel's World and ordered to bring Mr. Spock here, and I wasn't told why. I'm not even sure where
here
is. Only our navigator knows!”

The command to transport the
Enterprise
's first officer, who had no more idea what this was about than Kirk, had arrived from Starfleet Command heavily encrypted. Kirk and Spock both had been required to verify their identities through voice print recognition before the file would open. Chekov had been dispatched to auxiliary control, armed with his own set of coded directions and far from any prying eyes, to pilot the ship here.

Kirk hadn't even been invited down to the Yard; he'd just been ordered to deliver Spock. But he'd be damned if he wasn't going to get an explanation.

“Perhaps Mr. Spock can shed some light on the situation,” said Bishop with a smile.

Spock? Kirk turned to his friend. “But you said you didn't—”

“Indeed, I did not know,” said Spock. Then he turned to Bishop. “Exactly how large,” he asked, “will your Midnight Sphere be?”

“Sphere?” said Bishop, her smile widening. “I said nothing about a Midnight Sphere.”

“Dr. Miyazaki mentioned that I was needed for my expertise in plasma constraint. Your work is in artificial gravity. This facility is classified as top secret. The most logical assumption is that you are attempting to camouflage the Yard by placing it within a Midnight Sphere.” He turned to Kirk. “A shell of gas and plasma capable of absorbing light and sensor beams.” Then to Bishop, he said, “However, I do not think that Dr. Culla ever conceived of one large enough to house whole space stations when he proposed the theory. Which is, of course, where I may be of use.” Spock paused for a moment, as Bishop looked on expectantly. “Yes,” Spock said slowly. Kirk imagined he could almost see the proverbial cogs in the Vulcan's mind turning. “Yes…I had never considered the possibility before, but certain frequencies of plasma constraint, if sufficiently powered, could be utilized to maintain a sizable shell.”

Bishop leaned back and put the fingertips of all six hands together. “Very good, Spock. In fact, excellent. I'm glad you're on our side. To answer your question: The Sphere, once it is activated, will enclose an area exactly the same size as three-quarters of the Earth. Therefore with a surface area of…?”

“Three hundred and eighty-two million, five hundred and forty-eight thousand, nine hundred and sixty-three square kilometers,” said Spock.

“And a volume of…?”

“Eight hundred fifteen billion, one hundred thirty-eight million, four hundred ninety-four thousand, eight hundred ninety cubic kilometers.”

Bishop turned to Kirk. “He must be invaluable to you, Captain.”

“The finest science officer in the fleet,” said Kirk.

“I would expect no less,” said Bishop.

“Just let me get this straight,” said Kirk. “You're going to create a hollow shell. Your space stations, and all collected artifacts, will be inside this shell. And, from the outside, the whole thing is going to be what, invisible?”

Bishop said, “If you are going to camouflage yourself in space, the easiest solution is to be black. So we are tuning the plasma to absorb all electromagnetic radiation, not just those wavelengths within the conventional visible spectrum. It won't bend light—that is the provenance of black holes—but any light that does touch it will be absorbed, not reflected. Likewise it will absorb sensor beams, so that any sensor that hits it won't ‘bounce back.'”

“So it will seem as though there's nothing here at all.”

“Correct, Captain. The effect should be more reliable and sustainable in the long term than trying to adapt the other…more obvious solution.”

Kirk knew she could mean only one thing. “The Romulan cloaking device.”

“Yes.”

“So that's here, too. Couldn't you just hide everything in a hollowed-out asteroid?”

“Oh, Captain, some of the objects here are much too large for that. Some are nearly the size of asteroids themselves, as you will see.” She stood up.