Doctor's Orders

BY

DIANE DUANE

POCKET BOOKS New York London

Toronto Sydney Tokyo Singapore

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters,

places and

incidents are either the product of the author's

imagination or are

used fictitiously. Any resemblance

to actual events or locales or

persons, living or dead, is entirely

coincidental

An Original Publication of POCKET

BOOK

POCKET BOOKS, a division of Simon and

Schuster Inc.. 1230

Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY

Copyright (C 1990 by Paramount Pictures.

All Rights Reserved.

STAR TREK is a Registered Trademark of

Paramount Pictures.

This book is published by Pocket Books, a

division of Simon and

Schuster Inc., under exclusive license from

Paramount Picture.

All rights reserved, including the right

to reproduce this book or

portions thereof in any form whatsoever. For information

address

Pocket Books, 1230 Avenue of the

Americas, New York, NY 10020

ISBN 0-671-66189-2

First Pocket Books printing June 1990

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

POCKET and colophon are registered

trademarks of Simon and Schuster

Inc.

Printed in the U.s.a. For Laura, Nita,

Tom, the good Dr. Spencer,

and the many other friends who worked (or work) in and

around Payne

Whitney Psychiatric Clinic in New

York City

with happy memories of the Sixth Floor and the

Pros from Dover.

And for them all, this variation on a theme

"Why would anyone want to rule the world? They'd just

have to

do the time sheets." "In the ancient names of

Apollo the

Physician, and Aesculapius, and by Health and

Allheal his daughters,

I swear this oath-though chiefly by the One above

Them, Whose Name we

do not know. I swear to wield my art in such

ways, and only in such

ways, as serve to preserve sentient life in its

myriad forms, or to

allow such life to depart in dignity. I shall turn

aside from every

act, or inaction, which would allow any being's life

to depart

untimely. Into whatever place I go for the healing of the

sick, I shall

hold such things as I see there to be as

secret as the holy

Mysteries. I swear to perform no procedure in

which I am unqualified.

Nor shall I use my position as a tool in the

seduction of any being.

I will teach this, my art, without fee or stipulation,

to other

disciples bound to it by oath, should they desire

to learn it; and I

shall hold the ones who taught me the art as close

as family, and

help them in their need should they require it. I

ask the Power Which

hears oaths to hear me swear this one. As long as

I keep it, may I

stand rightfully in the respect of my fellow beings

but should I break

it, may the reverse be my lot."

comHippocratic Oath, revised ed.

"I wish that blasphemy, ignorance and tyranny

were ceased among

physicians, that they might be happy and I

joyful."

comationicholas Culpeper

(specialist in alternative medicine,

fl.

1608)

"Do YOU REMEMBER," said Leonard

McCoy, "when I stole your cadaver?"

The tall gray-haired man lying in the other

lounger laughed.

"Disaster," he said, "alas! Murder most foul,

alarums and

excursions, theft, buggery, barratry,

incomplete perfusion!"

McCoy suspected that Dieter was trying to say

that, at the time, he had

gone into shock. It was always a matter of

guesswork, figuring out

what he meant. Dieter Clissman's grasp

of English had never been

less than perfect, but sometimes he seemed

to want to make you

wonder about that a little. McCoy leaned forward a

little to signal

to one of the waiters looking out toward the hotel

terrace. "Here,

never mind," he said, "you've gone right through that. You

and your

milk drinks. Let me get you

another." The waiter glanced at McCoy,

nodded, and went off. McCoy leaned back in his

lounger and looked

out through the railings of the terrace at the landscape.

The old

hotel sat on the highest shoulder of the little

plateau that held the town of Wengen against the

Jungfrau, "the

Maiden," queen-mountain of all the Bernese

Alps. The sky was that

perfect light clear blue of late Alpine

summer, the color of the very

end of July, just before the fall first begins to assert

itself. Down

below, among the dark green scattered pines, under the

brown peaked

roofs, lights were beginning to show in windows, as the

day drew on

toward sunset and the houses farthest west in town

fell under the

upward-leaping shadow of Schilthorn across the

valley. A pair of

lights down toward the Lauterbrunnen valley

spoke of a train coming

up the old cog railway, loaded with

tourists and the day's commuters

from Interlaken, Thun, and Bern. Nothing else

moved down there in the

streets of the town but people walking, and electric or

horse-drawn carts; bigger ground vehicles and

fliers came no farther up the mountain than

Lauterbrunnen, a restriction that McCoy found

hard to fault when the result was such perfect

quiet, broken only by the bells on the horses"

harness, and on the tuned bells of goats and cows on

the green alp higher up the

mountainside. High above everything, the razory

peak of the Maiden was half- hidden in veils of

wispy cloud, but that was the best possible news to

McCoy. Cloud at the end of the day in Wengen

meant incredible sunsets. They were one reason why

McCoy was here. The other reason was to see

Dieter.

It had been a long time since they were at medical

school together. After graduation, they had gone their

separate ways. Now Dieter ran the Xeno

department at the University of Bern and was

practically a legend among the xenomedics of the

Federation; and McCoy . . . Heaven only knows

what I am, he thought. 2

"When does it start?" he said to Dieter.

"In about an hour, I should think," Dieter said,

looking down toward the valley. After a long, long

drink, he added, "And whatever did make you

steal my cadaver?"

McCoy laughed softly at that, and took another

drink of his mint julep. "If I hadn't, someone

else would have," he said. "I thought it would be better

if a friend did it."

"Mmmmm," Dieter said. "We did have a few

rogues among us, did we not."

McCoy nodded. There had been people studying

xenomedicine in the same class as the two of them who

turned out not to have been particularly well fitted for

it. Well, he thought, better they should find out in

training, rather than in practicing on a patient. But

some of them had been less than kind to the hard-working,

hard-studying man who got better grades than

any of them, and made them look less than competent

in the labs and on the wards. A lot of them had

tried to make Dieter's life less pleasant

than it might have been. That had annoyed McCoy.

It annoyed him now, even though it was all a long

time ago. But some memories would not lie down and be

still.

"Rogues, yes," he said. "Well, they're

all in other jobs, I hope and

trust."

"What I don't understand is what made you put

the cadaver in the Dean's

office," Dieter said, leaning back to gaze at

where the clouds around

Schilthorn and Morgenburghorn and Niesen to the

west were already beginning to crimson.

"Seemed like a good idea at the time," McCoy

said, looking, around him as the terrace slowly began

to fill

up with tourists, people with stillshooters and cameras.

Most of them had

sweaters on-a good idea; it was cooling down, and

McCoy wished he had

brought his own jacket. "It also seemed to me,"

he said, "that the Dean

would be forced by such a gesture to take a more

personal interest in what was going on in our

classes. That seemed like a good thing."

"But you were flunking anatomy," Dieter said.

McCoy blushed. That was one memory he had

never quite been able to come to terms with. "Such only brought

more attention to bear on you," Dieter said,

ignoring the blushes. "Not a good thing."

"It's all relative," McCoy muttered.

"And it all turned out all right in the end." Indeed

it had, though it had meant the Dean of Medicine

tutoring him within an inch ofhis life for the next

three months. He had passed

anatomy with a more than respectable grade, and the

Dean had shook him by the hand and told him that she never

wanted to see him again. "Getting a little thick up

here, isn't it?" McCoy said, looking around him

at all the tourists, who were beginning to gather

expectantly at the railings.

"I decline to be distracted," Dieter said.

"You went to great trouble for my sake. I have never

forgotten it."

"Yes, well. What about that time-was McCoy

stopped himself, then. What's

wrong with just letting a thank-you in? he thought.

"Never mind," he said after a second or so. "I

was glad to help."

"I was glad to be helped. Which is one reason

I wanted to see you before you went off again. Your last

couple of letters-there was a lot of

complaining about Starfleet bureaucracy."

McCoy chuckled. "You recruiting,

Dieter?"

"Don't joke. You haven't my budget cuts

to deal with. I just wanted to know that you are all right."

McCoy sighed, looked out at the darkening

valley. "Well, good usually

manages to triumph over bureaucracy, at

least lately. But good has to be very, very careful. It

can tire you out."

Dieter said nothing to that, just took another drink.

"This mission that means you can't stay to dinner," he

said, "will it take you away for long this time? I'd like

you to come lecture, if you can spare the energy when you have

some more leave. Your last few articles left the

other department heads hot for your blood. That

Gastroenteriditis denebiis one in

particular. Old Kreuznauer threatened to feed you

that article with-. out a GI tube."

McCoy chuckled. "I don't know," he said,

gazing out at the sunset. It was becoming

magnificent; the late a fternoon had become almost a

recipe for

splendor-high clouds in an otherwise clear

sky, the reflected crimson light of a sun already

gone down now lingering on the highest snow-covered

peaks so that they blazed pink-orange against the

deepening blue, as if lit from within by fire. "It's

officially a post-survey survey. The First

Contact people have been down to the planet in question and counted

the species. Apparently they already have some knowledge of

space travel. The survey has done the initial

language analyses and so forth. Now we have to go in

and do the fine calibrations for the Universal

Translator . . . and evaluate them to see if

they're Federation material. And if they want

to be." He

shrugged. "It's work we've done before. I'll be

busy . . . there's a lot of xenopsych involved,

as you might 6

expect. Other than that-biological survey of

flora and fauna, especially the

germs-anatomical and medical analysis of the

species involved-was

"Wait a moment. Species plural?"

Dieter said, sounding surprised. "More

than one?"

McCoy nodded. "It's unusual," he said.

"They're not planted, either-not put there by some other

spacefaring species earlier on in history.

Three

species on the one planet, all true

convergent evolution. Starfleet is hot to find out

what's going on . . . seeing that no such planet

has ever been found before. Enterprise was headed somewhere

else first, but this mission has pushed that other one

farther down the list. So-off we go tonight, and not next

week as I thought. Otherwise, I would come

lecture for you,

happily. There's no telling how many years

it'll be this time. You know how it is."

Dieter made a little sound like a sigh. "Here we

are in the prime of our careers," it said, "and we have

no more time to ourselves than we did as first-year

students. Something's gone wrong somewhere."

McCoy studied his drink. "At least we're not

bored."

"We weren't then, either," Dieter said. He

paused, and added, "You know, I think they may be

starting early. Let's look."

McCoy got up and followed his friend to the end of the

railing, where there was still a little room left. They

looked out, down past the town, down the valley.

There were sparks of light showing not electric

lights, this time, but fires, burning on the nearby

heights and hills. One after another, they started

to blaze up. Down in the valley, near

Lauterbrunnen and 6

Murren and right down to Interlaken and Spiez by the

lake on the heights on the far side of Lake

Thun and Lake Brienz, on the Brienzer and

Sigriswiler Rothorns, and eastward to the

Schrattenflue they shone, so that the fires

doubled themselves in the still waters of the lakes; and right

down into the lowlands, atop the hill-heights of

Rammisgummen and Napf. And one tiniest

light, farthest away, due north by Lake

Luzern not a bonfire, but a

laserbeam starting upward straight as a spear from the

peak of Mount

Pilatus, and vanishing into the night.

"They just can't wait till midnight anymore,"

Dieter said. "The impatience of the young. But

anyway, you understand why I wanted you to see this. This

year in particular."

McCoy nodded. All around them, on every

mountaintop, new fires were being kindled. One was

lit down in the main square in Wengen; in

response to it, another laserbeam lanced out upward

from the meteorological research

facility on the peak of the Jungfrau, pure

white, casting a light like

bright moonlight on everything around. The sound of

singing began to drift up-at first a few voices

together, then more and more of them, thin but

clear, singing a simple tune in a major key,

something that might have been mistaken for a music-box

tune. But the translator handled the words without

hesitation, even though they were in the oldest Swiss

language, Rumansch, and made it plain that this was

not a song for music-boxes. "Freedom or

death, that is our will; no foreign rule, for good or

ill; Free folk are we, in a free land-was

"Almost a thousand years since they spoke those words

first," Dieter said, "in the middle of the night, 7

in the Riitli meadow up north by Luzern.

Thirteen stubborn people, annoyed with the local

representative of a foreign empire."

McCoy nodded again. That pact, the Perpetual

Alliance, had been the seed of the formation of

Switzerland the declaration that the Swiss belonged

to themselves, and each other, not to whatever empire felt like

conquering

them. And the Swiss Articles of Confederation had

been one of several

useful models for the Articles of Federation of the

United Federation of Planets-a loose

association of fiercely independent parties bound

to help one another in distress, to protect the group

against threat or

interference from outside, and otherwise to leave each

other pretty much alone. It was all history, and

well enough known. But a little thread of suspicion

woke up in McCoy and wouldn't go away. "How

much of it really

happened?" he said. "All the William Tell

stuff?"

Dieter chuckled. "Willem Tell certainly

lived," he said, "but he didn't

kill the tyrant with his bare hands, or shoot any

apples off his son's

head. He was a stubborn man with a talent for

withholding his taxes in

protest, and getting his neighbors to do the same.

Among many other things. And as for the Rutli meadow,

it's there, all right, but who knows what

happened nearly a thousand years ago, in the dark?

All we have is the

signed Pact in the Bundesbriefarchiv in

Schwyz. And its results."

Some of the people up on the terrace were singing, now, in

German or French or Italian; the words

all came out the same in McCoy's

translator, though it often had trouble with the

Rumansch, and kept trying to treat it as if it were a

sort of worn-down Italian with 8

pig-German mixed in. "Our homes, our

lives, no one's but ours our earth,

our blood, no foreign power's-was

The song chorused up to its end. Applause and

cheering broke out as more fires flared up on the

heights. Glasses were raised, drained, but not

smashed-this was Switzerland, after all; smashed

glasses were untidy-and people went in search of

refills. In McCoy's back pocket, the

communicator cheeped.

He sighed, yanked down suddenly from the odd

elation that had been building in him. "At least I

got to see this," he said to Dieter, and pulled the

communicator out. "McCoy," he said to it.

"Doctor, was Spock's voice said to him, "The

Captain has asked me to say to you, All aboard

that's coming aboard. ?"'

"Tell him I appreciate the extra time,

Spock," McCoy said. "Tell Uhura I'm

ready."

"Noted." There was a brief pause.

"7t is a most notable sight, Doctor. And a

bit of a curiosity. his

"Oh? Why's that?"

"1 had not thought of you as much of a historian. his

McCoy chuckled a bit. "It's personal

history, more than anything else. And besides," he

said, "those who ignore the mistakes of the past

usually wind up treating the resultant bullet

holes in the future. Just consider this as

prophylaxis. McCoy out."

He could hear Spock's puzzlement as he

closed the frequency down, and he approved of it.

"A longer stay next time, old friend," he said

to Dieter. Dieter raised his glass. "Grusse

Gott, was he said.

"Mud in your eye too," said McCoy. He

drained his 9

julep, putting it down just before the transporter

effect started to take

him. "And ciao. his

James T. Kirk leaned back in the helm and

appeared to take no particular notice of the

predeparture checks going on around him. That

appearance was one he had cultivated for a long, long

time. It didn't do for a Captain, in terms

of the everyday running of a ship, to let his crew think

he was

watching them too closely. Such scrutiny only

made them nervous, or gave them ideas about their

Captain's opinion of their competence. No, it was

better to lean back, enjoy the view, and let them

get their jobs done.

At the same time, Kirk knew every move of the

predeparture ritual, for

every station of the Bridge. He paid scrupulous

(though low-key) attention to it, for the same reason that

old-time parachutists used to pack their own chutes,

having first signed the silk. With the back half of his

attention he listened to the checks on the warp and

impulse engines, and the OK'S from the various

departments around the ship, and assured himself that everything

was proceeding correctly. But in the meantime, the

front half of his attention was busy with a

philosophical problem.

Am I lonely? he wondered..

He had had a birthday not too long ago, and some

of his congratulatory mail had just caught up with

him. One card that had come from an old friend on Earth

had made some mildly humorous remark about

wondering when he was

going to settle down with someone. Kirk's first

reaction, after chuckling at the question, had been to think that

he already was settled down with someone with the

Enterprise. But a 10

moment later, some annoyed part of his brain had very

clearly said to him. How long are you going to keep

feeding yourself that answer? You made it up a long time

ago. Is it still valid? Was it ever valid? And how

come it's

been so long since you even gave it any thought?

Because it was true then, and it still is, he had

answered the mouthy part of his brain. But the derisive

silence that was the only reply had brought him up

short. Slowly, over years, Kirk had learned

to pay attention to the things his brain said to him without

warning; accurate or not, they tended to be worth

considering. So he was considering the question, regardless of the

fact that it made his brain hurt.

This is all McCoy's fault somehow, he

thought, a bit sourly. I never used to be this

introspective. He's been contaminating me.

"Sickbay," he heard Lieutenant Uh ura

say behind him, as she went down the checklist.

"Sickbay ready, was he heard Lia Burke

say she was acting as McCoy's head

nurse while Christine Chapel was out doing her

doctorate practicals.

"Doctor McCoy's on his way in from the

Transporter room."

"Ask him to come up to the Bridge when he has a

moment," Kirk said

suddenly, deciding in momentary wickedness that if

he had to be

philosophically uncomfortable, he was going

to spread some of the

discomfort back to the source.

"Certainly, Captain. Anything in particular?"

"I'll discuss it with him when he gets here," he

said. Let him sweat, he thought with mild amusement.

"Ah, Mr. Chekov. Thank you."

He reached down and took the datapadd Chekov

was offering him; he looked it over, saw nothing on the

day's schedule that he hadn't been expecting,

signed the padd, and gave it back to Chekov.

"Your briefing today, I see," he said.

"At 1900 hours," Chekov said, "yes,

sir."

"Done all your homework?"

"I should think so, Keptin," Chekov said

mildly. "It is a Russian

inwention. Like many other things."

Kirk smiled. "Carry on, Ensign," he

said.

"Sir," said Chekov, and went back to his

post.

Spock stepped down beside the helm from where he had

been going through his own checklists. "We are ready

to leave, Captain," he said. "All personnel

are accounted for, and all departments report ready."

"Fine," Kirk said. "The usual notifications

to orbital departure control, then. Mr. Sulu,"

he said, glancing at the helm console, "take us out

at

your discretion."

"Yes, sir," Sulu said, and started the

departure procedures.

Kirk stretched a bit in the helm. "A quiet

time out this time, I hope," he said to Spock. "A

little pure science will do us all good."

Spock looked speculative. "It would be

dangerous to attempt to predict

events in advance without sufficient data," he

said, "but one may certainly wish for ample time in which

to do one's research."

Kirk looked sidewise at Spock. "Is

there something you know that you're not telling me?" he said.

"Some. reason to suspect that things won't be

quiet?" "Indeed not," Spock said, with a slightly

scandalized expression. "I would inform you immediately of

any such. Preliminary data about this mission are

all negative as regards any significant

problems."

"A hunch, then?" Kirk said. His teasing mood

was refusing to confine itself to McCoy.

"Really, sir," Spock said, "it is most

undesirable technique to hypothesize without data-was

"Of course," Kirk said. "Never mind."

The Bridge doors hissed. "Can't leave for a

moment," McCoy said. "Place

goes to pot the minute I turn my back on

it. Evening, Spock."

"Morning, actually," Spock said. "It is

point three six-was

"Spare me the decimal places," McCoy

said, leaning up against the center seat. He was carrying

a datapadd, and looking cross. "Jim, have you

seen these?"

Kirk took the padd and scanned it. It was a

list of crewmen who had been seen in

Sickbay over the past week, while the

Enterprise had been on

layover. "Yes. So?"

"These numbers are twice what they should be.

Maybe three times. Look at this. There were five

people down with colds-was

"It's not their fault that you haven't found out how

to cure the common

cold yet," Kirk said.

McCoy scowled at him. "You know perfectly

well that diet and exercise and a generally healthy

immune system are the only things that're going

to stop minor upper respiratory infections. These

people go on shore leave, and all their health training

goes out the window."

"Oh, come on, Bones," Kirk said. "One of the

reasons for shore leave is to cut loose a little."

"Indeed," Spock said, "just last week you were

lecturing us on the

beneficial effects of shore leave in 13

minimizing the effects of long-term stress." He

paused for a beat, then

added, "In those species that experience stress,

of course."

McCoy merely snorted at Spock in

genial disgust, and said to Kirk, "The

numbers are much higher than they ought to be."

Kirk sighed and stretched a bit in the helm.

"Yes, well. We can't have

everybody on the ship in perfect health, can we?"

"Yes, we can!" McCoy said, with surprising

force. "That's what I'm aiming for. Nothing less."

"But if that happened, you'd be out of work."

"Jim, every doctor and nurse from here to the Rim

lives in hope that one day we'll wake up and find

that everybody in the Universe is perfectly

healthy and in possession of a signed certificate

from God saying that

they're going to die peacefully in their sleep.

Then we can all retire and go fishing."

"You don't like fishing. You said it was barbaric the

last time I took you. You made me throw back a

ten-pound trout."

McCoy scowled at Kirk. "Now you know what

I mean, dammit. We all want some other job.

Any other job. In any case, it's not likely

to happen this

week."

"Not any other job, surely," Kirk said,

feeling the teasing mood get

stronger.

"Not his, anyway," McCoy said, glancing

at Spock. "Give me an ulcer for

sure."

"Not mine, then?!"

"Don't tempt me," McCoy said. "Your

chair's a lot

more comfortable than the one in my office. I think it

was designed by Torquemada. Anyway, look,

Jim,"

McCoy said, "these figures need to be handled

at the

next department heads" meeting. They're too

high

right across the board; they were too high for the last two

missions. Heads need to take a little more

responsibility for helping their people follow

their regimens, especially as regards shift

scheduling and making sure

people don't run themselves into the ground out of sheer

enthusiasm. I can't be everywhere."

"No?" Spock said, lifting one eyebrow.

"No," McCoy said. "Doctors couldn't be

everywhere, so the Lord invented

Vulcans. I thought you knew."

Kirk smiled a bit. "Anyway," McCoy

said, "we'll go into this in more detail at the heads'

meeting. Jim, I need your backing on this."

"You've got it, of course. Anything else?"

McCoy looked meaningfully at Kirk's

middle. "I'll be wanting to see you

sometime tomorrow," he said.

"Just me? Not Spock?"

"Spock is logical," McCoy said with

entirely too much relish, "and takes good care of

himself. Besides, he's not due for his

hundred-thousand-kilometer oil change yet.

0800 tomorrow, Jim. Be there."

McCoy headed for the Bridge doors. "Good

to see you too, Bones," Kirk

called after him. "I had a nice leave, thank

you for asking!"

"Mnnnhhhhnnn," McCoy said, and the Bridge

doors shut on him.

Kirk and Spock looked at one another.

"He's in a prime mood," Kirk said. "I

guess he wasn't done with his leave yet."

"It is frequently difficult to tell what is

occupying the Doctor," Spock said, "or perhaps

"preoccupying him' would be a more accurate

assessment. I suspect the medical model of

behavior is at fault; it seems to require its

adherents to keep their true concerns to 15

themselves. But I daresay the Doctor will let us

know in good time."

Kirk nodded, watching Earth slip hurriedly

away behind them as Sulu took them up out of the plane

of the ecliptic and out of the system. "You're

probably right," he said. "Now what about those

mass conversion ratios you wanted to discuss with me? .

. ."

"The planet's name," Mr. Chekov said, "is

1212 Muscae IV the fourth body out from

1212 Mus, an orange type-F8 star with no

spectrographic or

historical anomalies worth mentioning. The star

was initially cataloged by the Skalnate Pleso

stellar survey on Earth, the edition dated epoch

1950, and the Bayer number and classification then

assigned have been retained under the new IAU

survey. Galactic coordinates and the nearest

Cepheid-wariable tag beacons are in the

ephemerides listed to your

screens."

Kirk leaned back in his seat at the head

of the table in Main Briefing,

noticing that the list of coordinates was about half

again as long as it would have been if Spock had been

doing the briefing; evidently Chekov was taking no

chances, for Spock was down at the other end of the table,

his cool regard resting on the screen with the calm

interest of a teacher

waiting to see how a star pupil performed.

"The planet," said Mr. Chekov, "was

surveyed in

the first Southern Galactic Boundary Survey.

Initial readouts from the non-landing survey

indicated

a planet in the broad M-type

classification, that

is to say, metallic core, largely

silicon-bearing crust

with significant carbon deposits the

atmosphere

middle-reducing, with oxygen at no more than 20

percent, nitrogen no more than 70 percent, and

noble gases within Federation medical tolerances for

carbon-based life."

He touched a control on the data panel in

front of him. The image showing in the

screens changed to show a green-blue planet of a very

Earthlike

kind, the picture taken from about three hundred

thousand kilometers out. Soft white brushstrokes of

cloud stroked across its surface; the continents were

separated by wide seas, and were mostly islands not much

bigger than, say, Australia, to judge by the

scale of miles down in the corner of the image. The

polar caps were tiny scraps of ice, hardly there

at all.

"As you can see," Chekov said, "the planet is

presently interglaciated;

overall planetary average temperature is

sixteen degrees Celsius. Weather patterns

are generally unremarkable except for their mildness;

no wind

during the survey period of twenty-nine days

exceeded force four, even in the polar areas."

"What's the mean daytime temperature in the

temperate zones?" Scotty said from down the table.

"Twenty-one C in the winter," Chekov said,

"Twenty-three C in the summer."

"Ahh," Scotty said, "just like Aberdeen."

Several people around the table laughed.

"That's as it may be, Scotty,"

Kirk said. "Mr. Chekov, this planet sounds like

a nice place for a holiday."

"It might be, sir, if people weren't living there.

But more of that

shortly. If you'll look at the next

image-was and it changed in the screens, to a

small-scale tactical layout showing the

relative position of Federa- tion

space-"you'll see that the system is in so-called

"debatable' space, to which neither Federation 17

nor any other aligned group has laid any

serious territorial or "buffer'

claim. Neither Klingon nor Romulan interests

have ventured much in this

direction, probably for economic reasons; this

part of space is fairly

star-poor, it being in a gap between the Sagittarius

and Perseus arms of the Galaxy, and systems with

sufficiently exploitable resources, like asteroid

belts, are few and far between."

Kirk nodded. "A long way to come for just a

holiday planet," he said.

Chekov nodded. "In any case, the warious

indigenous species would

complicate a holiday," he said. The

image changed again, to show a diagram with three

line-drawn figures, compared for size one like a

collapsed

sack, one vaguely treelike, and one that was

merely a squarish dotted

outline somewhat taller than the human figure that

stood nearby for

comparison.

"There are three intelligent species native

to the planet," Chekov said. Some glances were

exchanged around the table, from those who had as yet

heard nothing of this. "This is extremely

unusual, as some of you have

guessed. So far this is the only planet found

by any Federation survey that has so many species

living together that were not brought there by some

other species, like the Preservers. The First

Survey team confirms that

they are genuine products of evolution on the

planet; the DNA'-ANALOG

samples taken early on give a better than

six-sigma probability to the

thesis. One of our mission objectives will be

to get absolute confirmation of the evolutionary

situation, which is certainly historic in

space

exploration so far, and which will certainly be

actively questioned by the scientific community when we

bring our data home."

"We have our honor to defend, hm?" McCoy

said from down the table.

"The truth is worth defending, Doctor,"

Spock said calmly. "As long as it is the truth.

It is our business to find out.

"The three species show an unusual' spread

of morphotypes," Chekov said, very calmly

continuing and paying no particular attention to the

backchat. Kirk smiled a little to himself. "The first

one to be contacted-was

The image on the screens changed again. It now

showed something that looked surprisingly like a plastic

bag full of some clear liquid; but the surface

of the bag shimmered with iridescent color, like glass

left for years in the sun. "This species,"

Chekov said, "identifies itself as one of a people called

the Ornae-the singular and adjective form appears

to be Ornaet. They are one of the first true

theriomorphs known to Federation science, even more so

than creatures like the Alariins or the amphibian

gelformes of

Sirius B III. There are apparently about

five million of them on the

planet, which they describe as a normal and stable

population. The

creatures' interior, according to the survey team, is

pure undifferentiated protoplasm the outer

membrane seems to be a standard semipermeable, such

as is possessed by simple one-celled animals like

the amoebae. However, the outer skin or pellicle

is highly radiation-resistant, and its relative

permeability seems to be consciously

controllable. It is also completely malleable; the

Ornae seem able to take any shape they choose,

for limited periods, and they use their own bodies as

tools."

"They're not shapechangers, though," Scotty

said.

"No; their appearance remains the same,

regardless

of the shape they take," Chekov said. "They seem

able to absorb energy

directly from their surroundings, in any form

awailable." He began to grin a bit. One of the

younger Ornae took one of the survey team's

phasers and

ate it. The team member got the phaser back

physically undamaged, but

completely drained of charge."

Scotty put his eyebrows up at that.

"The survey team found the Ornae friendly and

communicative, if a bit

obscure," Chekov said. "They weren't sure

whether to attribute the

obscurity to difficulties with the uncalibrated

universal translator, or species-specific

difficulties. We're expected to find out which."

McCoy looked interested. "What were they

obscure about?"

"The survey team reported most of their

difficulties with terms having to do with

physicality," Chekov said. "Body shape and so

forth. It was thought that polymorphs might have

difficulty understanding why an alien didn't

change shape as often as they did themselves."

"Makes sense," McCoy said. "Probably

the language is at least as flexible a

psychology like that would find it normal for everything

to change con- stantly, including symbology. I

think we'll be able to find a way to handle it."

"The second species-was The image

changed again. This time Kirk found himself looking at

something that resembled a small forest-except that he

couldn't get rid of the idea that it was looking at him.

"This is a Lahit-was

"Singular?" Uhura said in surprise.

"One entity," Chekov said, "yes. These people

obviously bear some physical similarity

to dendroids like the Lusitanii, but there the likeness

ends. The Lusis are individuals; the Lahit

are more like a hive, economy than anything else.

They are vegetable in, habit, and move slowly

over the face of the planet in large colonies, some

of which

willingly inhabit the parklands in the Ornaet

cities. In many cases, the

Ornae seem to create those parklands

specifically for them. There are about twenty million

Lahit on the planet, which is described as an

under-usual

population due to some disaster in the recent past, the

nature of which the survey team was unable to establish.

Each Lahit entity is connected to its own

subgroups and to its immediate supergroup by a dendritic

system that

usually resides under the soil, and moves

through it with great rapidity, in the same sort of way

used by the sporulating tubules of brachiophytic

fungi like the fairy-ring mushrooms. The network of

dendrites functions as a

nervous system, though the survey team remarks

on the apparent slowness of transmission along the

network. Asking a Lahit a question can mean waiting a

few days for the answer."

"I talk to the trees," Uhura sang softly

under her breath, "but they don't listen to me . . ."

A little chuckle went around the table. "Apparently

that was pretty much what the survey reported,"

Chekov said. "Very few of the Lahit would even

acknowledge their presence, much less have any kind of

conversation with them. But the Ornae seemed to think that the

Lahit were somehow more

important to the planet than they themselves were.

It's another of the

puzzles left us to solve."

The image on the screen changed again. "The third

species-"said Chekov.

Kirk squinted at his screen. The image there was

a vague one-a large,

oblong, palely colored shape, seen as if through

a fog. "Bad weather that day, Mr.

Chekov?" he said.

"No, Keptin. The image was made in full

daylight under clear conditions. That is an beAt."

"Say again?" Uhura said to Chekov.

Chekov shook his head. "That's the approved

pronunciation of the species' name for themselves-as close

as the survey's linguist could get to it,

anyway. The IPA orthography is in the

full report-maybe you can make better sense of

it than I have. Anyway, the beAt are the

planet's third species. We have no count of their

total numbers, and this is the best image the

survey could come up with."

"Some kind of gaseous entity?" Scotty said.

"No, sir. They simply seem not to be there

sometimes; their physicality is selectively

variable. The survey reported that members of the

beAt with whom they were having conversations would fade in and

out without warning, and without any seeming correlation to the

subject being discussed. Images of them seem not

to come out, no matter how clearly the entity in question is

manifesting."

Chekov sounded a bit embarrassed by what he was

having to report. "The

survey team," he said, "reports that the

beAt received them with great

courtesy and were willing to converse with them at great

lengthmuch greater than the other two species.

However, those conversations were all rather problematic . .

. since it seems from the transcripts in the

report that the beAt did not believe in the survey

party."

There were some bemused glances exchanged around the table

at that one.

them?" McCoy said. "Like not believing in Santa

Claus? Sounds absurd."

Chekov shrugged. "The transcripts repeat that

basic thread several times," he said. "One member

of the survey party asked the beAt in question whether it

doubted the evidence of its senses, and its reply, as

closely as the

translator could render it, was that "it always

distrusted perception, and if its senses gave it

unacceptable data, it exchanged them for new

ones."" McCoy sat back in his chair with his

arms folded and a look of great

interest spreading over his face. Aha, Kirk

thought, pleased, that's got him. There was nothing better

calculated to catch Bones's fancy than a

bizarre new psychology, and this

certainly sounded like one.

"No more information was obtainable about the beAt,"

Chekov said. "Again, the survey party found them

sociable and voluble, but also found great

difficulty in understanding what they meant. The

report suggests that a

more advanced or complex translator algorithm

may be necessary."

Uhura nodded and began making notes on her

datapadd.

"That concludes the survey's report,

Keptin," Chekov said.

"Thank you, Mr. Chekov." Kirk looked

around the table.

"This mission leaves us with some interesting work to do,"

Kirk said.

"We're well away from the conflicts of more

populated areas of the Galaxy, so we should have

leisure to concentrate on our work. Starfleet's

orders to me indicate that we may stay in the area as

long as we require to do a more thorough

surveysubject to recall, of course." All

around the table, eyes 23

rolled. The Enterprise had a way of being

dragged out of the most

interesting assignments to save someone's bacon

halfway across the Milky

Way. Everyone was used to it by now, but no one

liked ir,

"All the same," Kirk said, "I think they

may let us be on this one. My

orders make it plain that the Enterprise was

assigned to this mission

because of the considerable scientific expertise aboard

her. Half of our brief is straight scientific

investigation; the Federation scientific

community desperately wants all possible

information on this world's

evolution, on as many of its species as we can

catalog, both sentient and nonsentient, and as many

informed theories as we can come up with on how this world

got this way . . . and why only this world, among the

tens of thousands of inhabited planets we know.

What we discover here, what these species can tell

us about themselves, will profoundly affect all the

biological sciences. So all the departments of

Science aboard ship are

going to be stretched to their utmost." McCoy

stirred a little in his seat. "I want to remind you

all not to let your people overextend themselves,"

Kirk said. "Tired researchers miss clues that

may be right under their

noses, and may prove to be vital. I'll be

vetting all lab schedules and

landing party assignments daily, once we

arrive. Please consult Dr. McCoy with any

questions you may have."

Heads nodded all around. "The other half of our

mission," Kirk said, "is diplomatic. Or at

least we hope it will be. The survey merely

identified its members as explorers; they were able

to get very little actual

information about how the planet is administered, how the

three species

interact with one another, and so forth. Our business

is to find out-to

sense of their cultural structures and

government, if they have one-and to make formal contact with

all three species on the Federation's behalf.

We

must discover whether they want to be affiliated with

us, some or all of

them, and to what degree. Also, we must discover

whether it's even

appropriate to ask them. There is some

emphasis in my orders," Kirk said,

looking a little grim, "to try to make sure that it

is. Considering the

political implications of this kind of

evolutionary situation-whatever they are-the

diplomatic people are apparently edgy to have this world in

our camp rather than in some other, and have put some

pressure on us to that end.

Nonetheless, I intend to see to it that this secondary

survey is carried out with the utmost probity. What

matters is that these species be offered a

well-informed choice, and left free to make it.

I expect all departments to act accordingly."

He paused for a breath or two to think. "One of

Science's main tasks will be the correct

calibration of the Universal Translator for this

planet.

Obviously the initial survey team couldn't do

more than a quick and dirty calibration, with the time they had

to work in. A great deal rests on

making sure we have good translation otherwise much

of the "hearsay" data we collect will be

corrupt. And everything in the later stages,

especially the diplomacy, will rest on the

correctness and completeness of

translation, for all three species; we, as

well as they, must have the

correct data with which to make our choices." He

looked at Uhura and Spock. "I expect all

the other departments of Science to defer to Linguistics

for use of computer time and other necessities.

Note it, everyone."

"Noted," several voices murmured.

"With any kind of luck," Kirk said, relaxing

a little, "at least two out of the three species will

elect to be associated with us, in some way or

other, and give us the leisure to know that some other

ship can come back and fill in what we miss. But

we can't count on it, and the sheer

uniqueness of this planet demands that we treat this

survey as a

once-and-never-again opportunity. Starfleet has

kindly used this short

layover to install an extra eighty terabytes

of storage in the Library

computers. I want to come home with that memory

full, ladies and gentlemen. Be advised. In the

worst case, at least we'll have enough raw data to have

made the trip worthwhile . . . and found out that little

bit more about the Universe that we didn't

know. At best, one or more of these species will join

us, and after completing the agreement between the Federation and the

people of 1212 Muscae, the rest of the mission will

degenerate into

rubber-chicken banquets. Or rubber-whatever they

use on 1212 instead of

chicken."

Another chuckle went around. "Any questions?"

Kirk said.

"How soon do we get there?" Uhura said.

"Three days. Three days, Scotty?"

"At warp six, aye. Unless you want more.."

"What, and deprive the departments of time to get

ready? Seems unwise.

Three days let it be. Anyone else?"

No one spoke.

"That's the story, ladies and gentlemen," Kirk

said. "Dismissed for now. There's an informal

reception at 2100 hours, for those of you who have time

to attend."

They all rose, all but McCoy. Kirk

kept his seat too, 26

waited until the room cleared and the doors had

hissed shut for the last

time. "Problems, Bones?" he said.

"Was that enough backing?"

"More than enough." McCoy stretched a bit.

"Thanks, Jim."

"Something else, then?"

McCoy smiled a bit. "They handed you the

hottest potato they could find, didn't they?"

Kirk shrugged. "It's not Starfleet's style

to hand you easy jobs once they find you can handle the

tough ones," he said.

"I bet I know what your orders looked like,

though," McCoy said. "The only commander with

sufficient diplomatic and exploratory

experience for the

job. Incredible importance to the Galaxy.

Severe consequences for the

Federation if anyone else should acquire influence

in this sensitive part of space-was

Not for the first time, Kirk found himself wondering if the

command ciphers controlling access to his personal

terminal were as secret as he liked to think they were.

"Listen, Bones, they're not-was

"Yes, they are."

"Are what?" Kirk said. McCoy's

favorite mindreading game always annoyed

him.

"Entitled to depend on you to pull their bacon out

of the fire every time it falls in," McCoy said.

comannoying, especially when he does know what I'm

thinking, dammit, Kirk thought. "Jim, want some

advice?"

"Is this a free sample, or will you bill me

later?"

McCoy snorted. "Jim, listen to me. Just

try to relax and enjoy yourself."

Somehow that wasn't the advice he had been

expecting. "Oh really?" he said, a little weakly.

"Yes. Because for a good while, if I read this

mission correctly, you won't have any decisions

to make; you won't have enough data to make them. Sit

back and let your people do their jobs." There was a

wicked twinkle in

McCoy's eyes. "We're going to have the worst

work to do on this mission, anyway. Make a change

for you."

Kirk laughed softly. "You're always telling me

how to do my job . . . now you're telling me how

to not do it, too?"

"May be the last chance I get for a while,"

McCoy said. "Psychology and

Xenopsych are going to be real busy this

mission, from the look of things. Working on the people on

1212 . . . and on our own people, who may have

their own problems interacting with them. Culture

shock works both ways . . . and always worst the first

time."

"I thought you were a surgeon, not a shrink,"

Kirk said, teasing.

The Doctor looked ironic for the moment.

"Probably in a couple of weeks, I'll wish

that were true," he said. "Hell, since when did a

ship's doctor get to wear just one hat? If our people

get busy enough, I may find myself staining

microscope slides. It's happened before."

"Not this time, I hope," Kirk said. "Don't

you overtire yourself. I might have to relieve you of

duty."

"Threats, idle threats," McCoy said,

grinning a bit as he got up. "Are you coming down

to the rec room later?"

"If I have time," Kirk said, getting up too.

"Paperwork."

McCoy rolled his eyes. "What about that

administration-free starship they promised us about

ten years ago?" he said. "The one where we all

have secretaries from

telepathic species, who know what we need

done without asking us, and do

it?"

"They got it worked out, finally," Kirk said.

"Then they stuck it in Earth orbit and called it

Starfleet Command."

Laughing, they went out together.

"I CANNOT BELIEVE THIS," McCoy said, first

under his breath, then more

loudly, for the benefit of his staff "I can't

believe this! Lia!"

"Mmm hmm," Lia said from the next room of

Sickbay, without much enthusiasm. Possibly this was

understandable, since she had been responding to

expostulations of this sort for two days now.

"What are you going to do about this damn report from

Bio?"

"I'm going to let it sit there until," there was a

brief pause as if

options were being considered, "someone else does

something about it. I'm busy with Uhura's thing at the

moment."

McCoy put his head in his hands and groaned.

"Can't you get Lieutenant

Kerasus or somebody in Linguistics

to handle that?"

"Not when Linguistics has sent the translator

algorithm to us for a psych assessment."

"Damn," McCoy said, and sat down at his

desk, again. This did nothing to improve matte rs,

since it 30

merely called to his attention the pile of

tapes, datapadds, cassettes,

floppies, and other debris all over the top of

his normally tidy desk.

He groaned softly and leaned back in his chair.

The preliminary work for the mission was spread among

departments all over the ship, but one way or

another, they all seemed to wind up on his desk for

approval or adjustment. The microorganism

cataloging and the antibioticstantigenic survey

well,

those would naturally come under Medicine. But spending

hour after hour

looking at pictures of slides of germs, and

wondering which might be

biologically active, and which you should have the Lab people

culture, was no fun any more than thinking that should you

miss some unprepossessing organism because of a

flaw in your thinking, or the way you felt that

afternoon, the humanities might be cheated of a

pandemic cure for cancer. Or the common cold,

McCoy thought sourly. And no matter what he

did, people were going to have to run all over that planet

picking up samples of dirt, and the lab people were going

to have to be told which to culture out for likely

organisms; and McCoy knew that they were going

to rediscover

penicillin at least three hundred times on this

trip.

Then there was the flora and fauna survey. You would

think that would come under pure Science, the Biology

department. But no, all the flora on 1212

Muscae, from the simplest to the most complex, were

apparently a little on the hyperactive side-walking

trees, for pity's sake, whose good idea was that?-so

all the plants wound up in Xenobiology, and hence

in Medicine. A surgeon 1 may be, McCoy

thought, but a tree surgeon?

And then the linguistics work; no translator

program could begin to work without some knowledge of the psychology

of the species in question-not

that the survey team had done more than give the

slightest inkling of what any one of the three

species in question liked to think about, or the

way they did it. Who picked that survey team,

anyway? Some damn civil servant with thinking like a

New York sidewalk, all concrete and no

abstracts.

About as much depth to the interviews as a frog

pond in August, no

invitation to introspection or analysis, nothing!

"How do you get around?"' "What do you eat?"'

Dammit, no species lives by bread alone-

And that was just the beginning. Atmospheric surveys,

taxonomy, etiology of local diseases, once

they managed to talk enough to the local species to

find out what their diseases were-once they figured

out how to talk to the species-if the species even

wanted to-

McCoy rubbed his head. "Nurse," he said, not

for an audience this time, "my brain hurts."

"It'll have to come out," Lia said from the doorway.

She was standing there with her hands full of tape

cassettes a slender little curly-haired woman,

her normal cheerful look very much muted at the

moment. It looked rather as if it had worn off

"Take it," McCoy said. "Lobotomy sounds

like just about what I need."

"We're having a special," Lia

said. "Prefrontal with a ten percent discount on a

vasectomy."

"You just shut your mouth," McCoy said,

straightening up a bit. "Uppity

nurses anyway. Pretty soon you'll start

thinking you run this place."

Lia merely smiled. "You asked about the crew

health summary," she said. "It's done. Do you

want to read it?"

"Should I? Will it tell me anything I want

to know? Or don't know already?" No.

"Then sign the damn thing and send it to the

Captain. Let him read about what the crew brought

home from leave." He snorted. "Athlete's

foot! Only place you should be able to catch that these

days is in a museum."

Lia looked resigned. "Are you happy with what

you've got for Linguistics?" McCoy said after a

moment.

Lia nodded. "It should do for the time being. We need

to get someone

skilled in interviewing techniques down there in a

hurry, with the first party, if possible. The present

Translator algorithms are pretty shaky

without more verbs and without the causal

relationships tables filled in. If these species

believe in causal relationships, and I'm beginning

to have my doubts, especially in the beAt's case.."

She made a sort of click before the vowel sound.

McCoy cocked an ear. "Is that how you

pronounce it?"

"Don't ask me," Lia said. "That's how most

of the survey people pronounced it most of the time. But that's

hardly a guarantee of anything. I want to hear

one of those creatures say it." She paused and

added, "If hearing's even involved. Some of those

audio records are pretty strange.

Staticky" McCoy nodded and sighed. "I'll have

a listen later . . . things are a bit busy now.

Anything else I need to know?"

"Lieutenant Silver's in for his physical,"

she said. McCoy raised his

eyebrows. "That bone still behaving itself?"

"Good knit," Lia said, "no sign of

metastasization or edema."

"Keep an eye on it. His marrow's gone

funny on us once before."

"Want me to do a broad-spectrum

histological on it.

McCoy nodded. "Go on," he said,

"let me get back to this. Spock's going to be

jumping down my neck for this damn taxonomy

proposal in a matter of min- utes."

Lia went off about her business. McCoy sighed

and turned to his own data terminal again.

"Restart," he said. "Display previous listing."

The screen came up with a long list of Greekish

and Latinate names, and the desk comm whistled

stridently, both at the same moment. "Damn,"

McCoy said, and hit the button. "McCoy!"

"Spock here, Doctor- his

"Of course you're there," McCoy said, with

exaggerated politeness that at the moment he

definitely didn't feel. Where else would you be?

I'm not done yet; you can have it in an hour."

There was a longish silence on the other end.

"Doctor, Spock said, "7 was not inquiring about

the taxonomic parameters list. his

"That's a relief."

My interest was in your assessment of the survey's

fungal data in the

preliminary microbiological catalog."

"Spock, my boy," McCoy said, "between you and

me, I don't think those

toadstool if one jumped up on them and

gave them warts. There's one spot

here"-for a moment he riffled through the cassettes on

his desk, then gave it up-"never mind the reference,

but there's at least one mycete listed as four

discrete species, and another three of what look

like different species to me seem to have been mistaken

for different sporulating forms of the same one. Heaven

knows how many times this kind of thing happened in the one

prelim catalognot to mention all the others. And

since the divergent-

evolution problem makes it crucial to tell the

difference between mutative and allomorphic forms on

this particular planet, I think we may have to

reassess almost everything the survey team gave

us. But certainly this

report is best suited to somebody's compost

heap."

There was another brief silence. McCoy braced

himself. Then Spock said,

"Doctor, we are in perfect agreement. Am

I to understand that you are

finding your department somewhat overloaded at the

moment?"'-

McCoy let a breath out. "Spock, that would be

a correct understanding. To

say the least."

"In examining the assignment rosters, was Spock

said, "it would seem possible to reassign some

Science personnel to Medicine, once we have made

planetfall and had time to do some initial

assessment. Perhaps, two or

three days after arrival. his

Now is when I need them, McCoy thought. But

Science needs them too, and

needs them now; the study and classification plans

they're making now will determine what they do for the next

several weeks .... "That would be very nice of you,

Spock," he said,,

"very nice indeed."

There was another of those brief silences. "7t

would only be logical,

Doctor. Nice is- His

"Oh, for gosh sakes, shut up and go count

electrons or something," McCoy said, though he was

smiling a little. "That'll do just fine, Spock.

Anything else?"

"No. Spock out. his

McCoy shook his head and picked up the offending

report, tossing its

cassette off his desk into the antique

"wastepaper basket" his daughter had sent him.

He stared at it for a moment.

"Doctor," Lia called from the next room,

"do you want to come have a look at this histo?"

Not really, he thought. "Coming," he said, and went

to check the bone

marrow test.

The planet was even prettier than its images

had made it look. They came out of warp on the far

side of its system, so that its tiny far-off disc

shone like an evening star in the slightly brassy light

of its primary.

Kirk sat there and watched idly as Sulu worked

the ship in close, slipping past several of the

system's inner planets that were in fortunate

conjunction. This approach wasn't absolutely

necessary, but Kirk admired the fact that Sulu had

done it, and wondered whether he was thinking

strictly of the scenic value of such an

approach, or the scientific

opportunities . . . for Spock was even now

getting spectroanalysis on each of the inner worlds

as they passed. Knowing Sulu, Kirk thought, he

probably did it for both reasons.

Two of the three inner planets were rocky

and barren; the third had an

atmosphere, but it was one of the Venusian type,

full of reducing gases at high pressure.

Spock dropped a radar-mapping buoy into the

nitric-acid soup of its atmosphere in passing,

and

then turned his attention to the fourth planet out, their

object.

"Flyspeck," Sulu said, under his breath, and

chuckled.

"Pardon, Mr. Sulu?" said Kirk.

Sulu laughed. "It's a nickname, Captain,"

he said. "A lot of the Science people are using it. Because

the system is so small."

Kirk chuckled too. Musca, the star's

constellation of record, was Latin for fly; the name was

one of the original ones given the constellations as se en

from Earth by the old astronomer Bayer. The tradition

of Latin naming had been continued when the explorers

had hit the Southern Hemisphere, but when they ran

out of animals and insects, some of the later names had

been

comical. "Just as well we're in this part of the

sky," Kirk said. "It's

harder making puns out of words that mean things

like airpump his

"Yes indeed," Sulu said.

"Planetosynchronous altitude, Captain. Shall

I

hold here, or take her in on standard orbit?"

"Mr. Spock?" Kirk said. "Anything you need

from this orbit?"

"No, sir." The Vulcan stood up and looked

calmly at the screen.

"Standard then, Mr. Sulu."

"Aye aye."

They slipped in close to the planet, began

to circle it. The seas were

about twice as blue as the images had made them

seem; the clouds in the

high atmosphere caught the slightly golden

color of the planet's star,

looking less like clouds than swirls of Jersey

cream. The continents, as they passed over them,

looked almost impossibly verdant.

"A lot of nitrogen in that atmosphere?"

Kirk said. "Or C02?"

Spock shook his head. "No more than usual.

The visual effect is not due to diffraction. I

would speculate that the forms of chlorophyll

or phyllanalog here are more intensely colored

than those on the usual M-type planet.

There are probably cellular or chemical

differences that will be quite

fascinating, once we have time to look into them."

Chekov, next to Sulu at the helm, was

monitoring preliminary mapping at his console..

"No signs of cities," he said, sounding

slightly puzzled. "No

energy output. Some geothermal-was

"The cities were quite small," Kirk said, "according

to the report, and the lifeform calibration that the survey

gave us was very tentative-I seem to remember the

report stating that calibrations they made one day

sometimes didn't work the next."

"Correct," Spock said. "There may have been

a problem with their

instrumentation; we shall have to look into that. Our own

equipment is

functioning properly, of course."

"Of course," Kirk said. Beneath them another

continent gave way to another sea, impossibly

blue; then they slipped around through the planet's

termi- nator into its night side. A little moon

looked down greenish silver on the clouds

there. Its light was the only thing on the night side

that shone. Kirk nodded to himself. Another day, another

world; but the same old

excitement was there again, new again, as it always was .

. . thank Heaven. "All right, Mr. Sulu,"

he said, "give Mr. Chekov a mapping orbit

until he and Mr. Spock are satisfied with the

results. Then standard equatorial. Mr.

Spock," he said, "have you got your First Contact

party picked out?"

"Yes, Captain." Spock stepped down by the

center seat, handed Kirk a padd. Kirk scanned

down the list. "Hm. Kerasus for Linguistics,

good; Morrison and Fahy from Science; Chekov for

Exo-was He nodded at Spock. "That's fine.

Pinpoint one of the Ornaet settlements the survey

mentions-they seem the most approachable of the three

species at the moment-and have the landing party go say

hello."

"The settlement has already been chosen," Spock

said. "I will meet them in the Transporter room."

Kirk nodded, waved Spock away. "We'll

be watching," he said. "Good luck."

Spock nodded gravely, and headed out. Kirk

rubbed his hands on his pants a bit.

Starfleet had been getting quite outspoken these days

about Captains going down with first landing parties, even

when there had been a prelim survey through the

neighborhood in the recent past. His orders had

been

explicit his value to this mission was primarily

in terms of data

synthesis-seeing what happened, trying to make

sense of it-and in his

diplomatic capacity. No one else aboard

ship but the commander was

empowered to work out the Inclusion Agreement with one

or more of the

indigenous species. He was to sit tight until

it was plain that things were safe, and then to confine his

visits downplanet to those necessary for

diplomacy's sake.

At least, as far as the Fleet people could tell.

Kirk smiled a little.

There was always room to cheat a little.

The Bridge doors hissed open again.

"Pretty place," 39

McCoy's voice said, a moment later, over

Kirk's shoulder.

Kirk looked over at him in mild

surprise. "Thought you were going down with the landing party,"

he said. "I would have thought you wouldn't want Spock

to mess it up-."

McCoy chuckled. "Not very likely," he said,

and rubbed his eyes for a

moment. "Nope, got too much work on my

plate at the moment. I'll go down in a day or

two"

Kirk frowned a little. "How much sleep did you

get last night?"

McCoy's eyes opened wide. "Now don't you

take that tone with me, Jim. I bet I got more

than you did."

Kirk smiled slightly and nodded. "Probably

you did," he said. It had always been a problem for

him-not a serious one, of course-that excitement at the

prospect of seeing a new world tended to keep him

up later than usual, the night just before. All the

same- "You've been working too hard," he said.

"Not yet, I haven't been," McCoy said.

"In about two days, I will have,

though. Then you can yell at me; and I'll envy you

your nice easy job

here."

Kirk choked genteelly. "Easy-,

McCoy laughed at that, too, then. "Well,

everything's relative, I guess."

The communicator whistled. "Transporter

room, "it said, "Lieut. Renner

here. Landing party reports ready to beam down,

Captain. his

"Beam them down, Lieutenant," Kirk said.

The Bridge screen came on just then and showed them

the images being

transmitted by Ensign Morrison's

tricorder Lieutenant Renner behind the 40

Transporter console, making a few last

adjustments, then slipping the levers upward; a storm

of glitter as the effect blanked out the room; and then

the glitter fading.

Through it the screen showed them all what seemed to be

a clearing in a

forest. Bright yellowish sunlight came lancing

down among the wide branches to lie in bright pools

on a ground surface that alternated between what

looked like scuffed heaps of leaf mold and other

material greener than the greenest grass Kirk

had ever seen. The trees were all impossibly

green,

even to the trunks, which were quite smooth, like some

kinds of birch. One after another, the landing party

stepped into sight and looked around.

Spock produced his tricorder and began to scan

in the traditional manner. The others moved around

slowly, touching a branch here, a plant there. The

woods were very quiet, except for a soft scratching

sound in the distance that might have been the stridulation of

some insect-but Kirk immediately put that thought away;

on a new planet, there was no predicting anything

at all without data, and your suppositions could kill

you without warning.

"Readings," Spock said softly to Chekov and

Kerasus, who had their

tricorders out as well.

"Life signs, sir," Chekov said. "I

think. Two one four mark six. Not much movement."

Spock studied his tricorder. "Ms.

Kerasus," he said.

The tall, cool-looking young woman nodded. "I

concur. The readings are very mixed-animal and

vegetable. But they would be."

"Correct. Landing party, let us work toward that

bearing. There appears to be a rough path here."

"Looks like a deer trail," Morrison said

to those

watching on the Bridge. "Occasional broken

branches comab waist height. A fair amount of

traffic, I'd say".

They worked through the woods. Kirk sat back and

watched as the green-gold lighting changed almost

completely to gold. The landing party came out into a

clearing and paused there for a moment, looking around

What the-Kirk thought, for in the middle of the clearing

stood what seemed to be a large amorphous lump

of crystal about the size of a shuttlecraft.

Until it moved.

The lump of crystal came apart into about fifty

pieces, which began to roll and hop toward the landing

party with the most peculiarly fluid kind of

motion that Kirk had seen in a long time. There were

a few gasps around the Bridge, but Kirk

ignored them, wondering for a moment about what the

creatures were using for musculature, since they

were supposed to be

nothing but protoplasm. They certainly weren't

having any trouble moving, though this particular brand of

locomotion looked mostly as if thick

plastic bags were pouring themselves along the ground, and

occasionally

doing a forward roll to make a little better

speed.

"No phasers," Spock said softly to the landing

party. They nodded.

The tumbling, pouring shapes slowed down as they

came close to the landing party, surrounding them.

Spock looked down at them with his usual calmnone

of them came much above his knee-and waited to see what

would happen.

Slowly a circle formed around the landing party, and the

creatures settled where they were, shifting or

wiggling slightly. 42

Morrison turned slowly to show the circle of

creatures, like so many lumps of iridescent

glass, but quivering and alive, and thinking who knew

what.

"Good morning," Spock said. Kirk took a

second to flash a grin at Bones; sometimes

Spock's formality could tempt you to laugh. "Are you

members of the species called the Ornae?"

There was another tremor of movement through the layered

circles of

creatures, and then a sound something scratchy, not

quite the "insect"

sound that Kirk had heard before. The Bridge's

Translator circuitry

immediately cut in and rendered the sound as oddly

high-pitched laughter. One of the creatures in the

front circle shook itself all over and, still shaking,

moved very, very slowly toward Spock. He didn't

move a muscle. The creature put out a long

slender pseudopod, gleaming in the sunshine like

suddenly blown glass, and poked Spock's boot

with it. Then it made the

scratchy sound again, more laughter, and said a word

"Gotcha!"

It jumped back to its place. All the other

creatures began to echo the

scratch-laughter. Spock looked around him with

mild bemusement. "Captain," he said, "I

suspect we have found a kindergarten at recess,

or something similar."

Kirk laughed. "Whatever," he said, "they're

certainly Ornae."

"That they are." Spock bent down a bit to the

Ornaet who had gotcha'd him and said, "We are

visitors here. Do you suppose you might take us

to see the same people who greeted the last visitors

who looked like us?"

There was more scratchy laughter at this, and some

of the Ornae began to shuffle out of the way

of the landing party, opening a path for them toward one side

of the clearing. "Thank you," Spock said

gravely, and headed in that direction. The

Ornaet who had spoken to him went hopping and

rolling alongside him, bumping him occasionally to show

him the right less-than way to go.

They watched the Ornae lead the landing party into the

woods again, onto another path, a wider one this

time, with more broken greenery at the

sides, seeming to indicate a heavier traffic

load. The landing party was led through several more clearings,

though none of them had Ornae in them; then they burst

out into one last clearing, the biggest they had seen so

far. And this one had structures in it, the size of

small houses; more

iridescent glass built into surprisingly

graceful structures-curving towers and spires,

glass-webbed domes, open-roofed mazes of

uncertain purpose.

More of the Ornae moved in and out of the buildings as

they approached.

McCoy let out a soft breath. "The report

didn't say anything about

buildings like that," he said.

"Indeed not, Doctor," Spock said.

"I suspect the half was not told us . . . as I

mentioned to you."

Kirk made a mental note to compose a sharp

memo to Starfleet about the

report from the original survey team. The last

three days of reports from the Enterprise's various

departments had been making it plain that the

survey report had been about as incomplete and

error-ridden as one might imagine. What are they

sending these people for if not to make our job a little

easier? Heaven knows what dangers they missed on

this planet that we might have to deal with before we leave .

. .

"Holy smoke," McCoy said suddenly,

"look at

that. his

Kirk did . . . and understood the exclamation.

One of the buildings had

quietly begun to come apart; its tallest spire,

some fifty feet above the ground level, was slipping

down around the remaining structure of the spire as

slowly and gracefully as a drop of glycerine . .

. but a drop containing about twenty gallons.

"They build their buildings out of themselves,"

McCoy said, delighted,

almost reverent. "Jim, this is incredible. Is it a

permanent job? Do they take turns?"

"Ssh," Kirk said, watching the single Ornaet

slip down the structure built of its presently

less mobile fellows. It came to rest in front

of the

landing party, at Spock's feet, and looked up

at him. Visibly looked up at him, by putting

up two eyestalks out of what had been a blank

smooth curve of body.

"Greet," it said.

Spock's eyebrow went right up.

"Greetings to you as well," he said, giving the

creature just a fraction of an inch's worth of bow.

"I am Commander Spock of the Federation starship

USS Enterprise. his

"Federation," the creature said, and the translator

gave the word a

slightly meditative tone "mmf."

Spock looked over at Lt. Janice

Kerasus, whose big dark eyes were

thoughtful. As head of Linguistics, she was perhaps

best equipped of anyone on board to understand the

vagaries of the Universal Translator. But this

situation, with the calibration only half done,

and apparently incorrectly done as well, was

likely to be twitchy for days, perhaps months.

Heaven

knew what they were saying to these creatures; Heaven

knew (until they heard a great deal more of it)

what the creatures were

saying to them. And the whole mission rode on that

point.

"Our landing party," Spock said calmly he

wasn't sweating. "Lieutenant

Kerasus, Ensign Morrison, Ensign

Chekov."

"Mmf," said the Ornaet. "Greet, greet,

greet. Federation?"

"Yes," Spock said, as the others nodded or

rumbled or spoke their own

greetings "We are all with the same

organization. Our commanding officer has sent us

to make initial contact with you. We should like to visit

your planet for a while, and participate in discussions

with you, if you have no objections."

The Ornaet stretched its eyestalks a little

farther up toward Spock; there was something quizzical

about the expression . . . and Kirk warned

himself again against anthropomorphization. "Only

objections beAt," it said.

Kirk raised his eyebrows. This was news to him.

McCoy glanced at him, and the quizzical

expression on the Doctor's face was not in any

danger of

misinterpretation. "Uh oh," he said.

"Let's not panic just yet," Kirk murmured.

"A bit early for that."

"Welcome," the Ornaet said then. "Stay,

talk, be here, yes." It let its

eyes plop back into its main body, rather as if

holding them up so high for so long had been a strain.

"We thank you," Spock said, with a nod of

acknowledgment. "We would also like to examine you and your

people, to see how you are like us, and how different. The

examinations are noninvasive. May we do this?"

The Ornaet goggled up at Spock again, though

without putting the eyestalks up quite so far this time.

"Examine," it said thoughtfully. "Yes. Examine

you?"

Spock glanced at Kerasus as if to ask

silently whether she understood the creature's

syntax in the same way as he did. She nodded.

"Yes," Spock said, "most certainly.

Gentlemen?" he said, to Chekov and Morrison.

"Of course, sir," Morrison said, and

"Certainly," said Chekov.

Next to Kirk, McCoy twitched slightly.

"Like to know what they're going to be examined with first,"

he said softly, for Kirk alone to hear. "Don't

know how noninvasive their techniques are."

"Spock will keep an eye on things," Kirk

said. "So will we. And it's a fair request.."

McCoy sighed and nodded. "Uhura," he said,

"make sure their tricorder

readouts go straight to Sickbay. I want

to get a running start."

"No problem, Doctor."

"Can't imagine how they even move," McCoy

said softly. "The report said

that was undifferentiated protoplasm. Doesn't

have anything like enough ATP or analog for motility on

this scale-was"

"The report said a lot of things," Kirk said,

"and I'm going to have a word with Starfleet about that.

Never mind it now."

He was more interested in what was going on on the

screen; understandable, as the landing party was led into that

astonishing structure. The building was not

terribly big inside, by human standards; it was perhaps

the size of the briefing room, with a rather low ceiling. But

the relative transparency of the walls kept the

effect inside light and airy, as if one were inside

room built of glass blocks. The only

difference, of course, was that there were no blocks, but the

rounded shapes of Ornae, each stretched or

compressed to fit the particular spot it occupied,

a sort of bas-relief

mural of flowing rounded shapes. And all the

shapes were looking at the

landing party, with eyes either hidden inside their bulk,

or projecting. It would be enough to give a person of

nervous disposition a serious case of

the jitters.

Spock, of course, was not even slightly concerned

with nerves. He sat down in the middle of the room's

floor, unslung his tricorder, and started

making fine adjustments in it, while still talking

calmly to the Ornaet who had led him in. The other

members of the landing party strolled around,

struck up their own conversation, and examined their

surroundings. It began to be difficult to follow

what was going on with the party as a whole,

since only Morrison's tricorder was

transmitting, and he was concentrating on examining the

structure of the walls at the moment. The Bridge

screen became dominated by the image of several

pairs (or triplets) of shiny black Ornaet

eyes staring at the tricorder, or poking it gently

with pseudopodia. Kirk sat back and rubbed his

eyes a bit. "This is going to be fascinating," he

said, "to coin a phrase."

McCoy sighed. "You said a mouthful. I'd

better get down there and make sure they're getting

the data I need. What those critters are using for

energy transport, I can't imagine . . ."

"Let me know when you find out," Kirk said.

"I've got to sit tight for a good while yet,

otherwise certain people at Fleet will have my britches

for breakfast." 48

"Poor Jim," McCoy said. "The burdens of

duty. Having to sit in a nice soft chair and

watch the rest of us run around and bust our-was

"Don't you get started," Kirk said.

"Life's hard enough. Get your body down there, and

have fun."

"Fun!" Bones snorted, and headed out of the

Bridge.

Kirk sat back, and slowly, slowly, began

to smile.

The medical side of the situation was turning into a

circus, that was all it was. People just could not function

without close supervision anymore. McCoy

didn't know what they were teaching them in school these

days.

"Come on, Mr. Chekov," he said to the air in

his office, as he started

flinging together a rock-bottom kit of the things he

would need downplanet. "Let Lieutenant

Kerasus handle the verb problem for the time being.

We've got other fish to fry. I'm going to be

down there in ten minutes, and if you haven't got

waiting there for me a group serology analysis, a

tegument series with scrapes, a neural series with

pertinent EEG, and a

percussion-and-auscultation set-was

"No problem, Doctor, was Chekov said

cheerfully.

McCoy snorted genially. "See to it. I'll

be there in ten minutes. McCoy

out."

From the next room, Lia called, "Do you want

me to come down and give you a hand?"

"No, thanks," McCoy said, picking up an

inverpalliator, considering it, and then tossing it

back in its drawer and pulling out a miniature

polarioph- thalmoscope instead. "The Captain

hasn't authorized 49

any other people downplanet but department heads

until the Translator is

better calibrated. Doesn't want

to multiply the possible errors."

"Sounds like your advice," Lia said, peering around

the corner of the door. "It was."

"Just another excuse to overwork yourself, I see,"

she said.

"No, indeed," McCoy said, closing his little

black bag, then opening it

again and tossing in a radiolaparoscope, and a

tongue depressor. "You get your work done here, and

make sure all this data is safe."

Lia sighed. It was plain she had heard this sort

of thing often enough

before, and had learned there was no use in trying

to argue with it. "Have a nice time, then," she said.

McCoy grunted, picked up his little black

bag and headed for the

Transporter room.

He found Spock still sitting on the floor of

what seemed to be the Ornae's main building in this

clearing. Scan had since found many more of the

clearings, with similar structures; but there were

apparently also

structures here and there that were made of local

wood and stone. One of the other species? McCoy

thought. Or not? Why would sentient trees need

houses? And the third species is supposed to be

nonphysical. Well, one

thing at a time-

"Ah, Doctor," Spock said, glancing up from

his tricorder. "I wondered

whether you would find time to join us."

"Didn't have much choice," McCoy said,

"data is coming in at such a

miserable damn trickle-was

Spock gave him a look more of pity than

anything

else-if a Vulcan would in fact admit

to pity. McCoy suspected that Spock

might, as long as he was involved. "You mean

medical information," Spock

said. "We have been giving more attention to linguistics

at the moment, I

fear-was

"I'll just bet you have. How's it going,

Lieutenant?" McCoy said over his shoulder.

Janice Kerasus glanced up from her own

tricorder, which the Ornaet she was talking to was

examining with interest. "I need more verbs," she said,

sounding a bit desperate.

"So do we all, my dear," McCoy said, "so

do we all." He strolled over

toward Chekov, pausing a moment next

to Morrison. "How're we doing?"

"I'm being examined, this lad says," said

Morrison, from where he sat

crosslegged on the floor. Sitting, if that was the

word, across from him, was an Ornaet that seemed to be

rolled right up into a ball, with no eyes or other

features showing. "7 can't feel anything."

"Don't complain," McCoy said. "At least,

don't phrase it like that. You

don't know what they use to test lack of sensation

here. Might be a bit

solider than a reflex hammer. Well, Mr.

Chekov?"

"Here's what you wanted, sir," he said

"Mmf," McCoy said, as he squatted

down beside Chekov and began running down the list of

readouts. The results of the group serology tests

he had asked Chekov for were confusing, to say the least.

The creatures barely had a

circulatory system per se, so there was no

telling exactly how much of the fluid running around in

it was perfusion material, and how much was just

temporarily fluid, having been solid

"muscle" material a little while

before. McCoy had seen a few protoplasmic

creatures in his time, but few 51

quite so undifferentiated as this. Usually by the time a

being got to this size, it had managed to develop at

least a little multicellular structure. The

situation was puzzling, but it was probably also grounds

to write

another paper. Poor Dieter, McCoy thought,

smiling slightly, he thought they got upset about that

last paper! These people are going to set the xeno

crowd on their ear. "Hmm," he said again,

scrolling past the obscure

serology results and looking at the tegument

test and scrape instead.

"Hmm," the creature said to him, quite plainly.

McCoy glanced at Chekov, then at the

Ornaet. "Sorry about that, son," he said,

"I've been ignoring you. McCoy's my name;

I'm a doctor."

The Ornaet said something scratchy, which the

translator rendered as, "What son?"

"Doctor," Kerasus called from across the room,

"for pity's sake, key your translator to overlink

to mine, will you? I can use the extra vocabulary."

"Right." He made an adjustment to his

tricorder and then turned back to the Ornaet.

"Son is a term of affection," he said. "You know,

when you like

somebody?"

There was a pause, and the Ornaet said, "Like?" It

bumped McCoy's leg from one side, like a friendly

cat.

"That's right. Or like this. May I touch you?" he

said, catching himself before actually doing it.

"Touch, yes."

He very much wanted to, having seen the first part of the

tegument report. McCoy patted the Ornaet's

hide in a friendly fashion. "There," he said,

"that's one of the ways we show we're friendly to each

other."

"Friendly, yes!" said the Ornaet

cheerfully. It put

out a blunt rounded pseudopod and patted

McCoy back.

He chuckled a bit and stroked that beautiful

iridescent hide. Hide was a misnomer, of

course, since the scrapes reported that the

creature's

tegument wasn't any more multicellular than the

rest of it. It was one

thick piece of selectively permeable

membrane, no different than what

separated one blood cell, or skin, or

muscle cell in a human, from another. It was just

about five thousand times thicker. Now how did this

evolve? he thought. How is this tissue kept

correctly perfused, not to mention fed? No

vascular structure. Then again, if you posit

permeable-membrane behavior, any spot in it

has access to enough fluid-after all, it's all just

sloshing around in there. But at the same time it

doesn't make sense-

"Do you have a name?" McCoy said, turning a bit

to tell Chekov's tricorder to scroll down to the

next set of readings.

"Name?"

"You know what others call you." He stopped

to look at the neural series. It made even

less sense than the tegument test. "The way they

call me

McCoy."

The Ornaet made another scratchy noise,

once that didn't translate. Oh boy,

McCoy thought, since that noise could mean either that the

creature's name had no equivalent in any

language known to the Translator, or that it had

misunderstood his question and said something else that the

Translator

wasn't able to handle. "Hmm," McCoy said.

"Would you mind repeating that?" The Ornaet produced

the scratchy noise again, exactly the same as before.

"Well then," McCoy said, "you won't mind if

I call you Hhch, bearing in

that that's the best I can do with that noise you just made,

and I have no idea what my pronunciation's like, and

I don't know how well you're able to understand me, or

whether that's even your name to begin with. Pleased to

meet you, anyway."

The Ornaet bumped him again, perhaps by way of

acknowledgment. "What do you call this part of you,

Hhch?" McCoy said, patting the

creature's hide once more.

The Ornaet made another sound. "Skin, would that

be?" McCoy said, pulling up a bit of skin from

his own forearm to illustrate.

"Yes, skin," said Hhch.

"There's one for you, Kerasus," he said, and went

back to looking at the readouts. "Now then, let's

see what the rest of your insides are like. Good

God, son, a potato has more of an EEG than

you do. But you obviously think and move, and you're a

carbonbased life form. What are you using instead of

bioelectricity? Unless you're all chemical

neurotransport, like a Denebian? That wouldn't

make any sense, not with your physical structure.

Such as it is."

"I have structure," said the Ornaet, rather

suddenly. McCoy looked at it, wondering

exactly what it meant.

"You have indeed, Hhch, my lad. But not like anything

I've seen in this

month of Sundays. Here, Chekov," McCoy

said, feeling around behind him, "do me a favor and do a

chemical study. That looks like a

neurotransmitter site to me, you see that

microstructure there?-no, on the next

screen-right comput the molecular analysis module

on that and see 54

if there are any compounds at the end of that

structure that look willing to unravel. Or

unwilling," he added, bemused. "Anything goes in

this lad's

insides, it looks like. Heavens, what a

report I'm going to write . . ."

"Doctor," Spock said from across the room, where

he was still talking to the Ornaet who had first greeted

them, "to write a successful report, one must first

understand what one is writing about-at least well enough to

form theories that have a chance of standing up."

"You just be quiet now, Spock," McCoy said,

feeling cheerful for the first time since the mission had

started. "By the time it comes time to start

writing, you can bet I'll have a few theories."

I dearly hope, he thought. Spock raised an

eyebrow and said no more to McCoy, but went back

to his

conversation with the Ornaet. McCoy smiled and

turned back to his work.

"Now then," he said to Hhch, "let's see what

kind of nerves you've got . . . ."

"Where's Dr. McCoy?" Kirk said,

looking up and down the table in the

briefing room with some surprise.

It was late evening, ship's time. The landing party

had returned some hours before, and another one had been

sent down to do surveys on the local flora and

other nightside activities. All the members

of the original party were around the table now, with their

department heads, all but McCoy.

"Lieutenant Burke," Kirk said, "where is

he?"

She looked flustered. "Captain, the last I

heard from him, about an hour ago, he was still down on

the

planet's surface. He knew when the meeting

was, and told me he'd be here for it. I assumed

he was going to meet me here."

Kirk sighed. This was something he'd had to deal with

before, in McCoy; he might complain about overwork for

his department, or other departments

aboard ship, but he didn't even think about how

he drove himself. Kirk

touched the communications switch on the table and said,

"Bridge?

Lieutenant Brandt."

"Sir," the evening communications officer's

voice came back.

"Find Dr. McCoy. We're waiting on him

down here."

"Yes, sir. his

Kirk sat back. "We can at least do some of the

preliminaries. Spock? The diplomatic

situation, as it stands."

Spock folded his hands. "Sir, as we knew,

serious efforts must wait until the Translator

is better calibrated. But we are certainly

better off

tonight than we were with the information from the survey

report, and our data is of a much finer degree of

accuracy." Kirk smiled; there was Spock making

his position clear. No one aboard more thoroughly

loathed inaccurate data.

"I spent most of my time downplanet

attempting to

refine our knowledge of the Ornae's concept of them

selves and their relationship with the other sentient

species on the planet," Spock said, "with

special

attention to anything we might be able to discover

about their organizational and political

structures.

There is a great deal more to discover-waiting again,

as I said, on the improvement of the Translator

algorithms-but briefly, I believe we can

rely on the following information. First of all, the

Ornae seem to perceive almost everything as fluid

relationships, language, as was mentioned before, and

structures both

physical and nonphysical. They are quite

surprised by our rigidity, and it was my sense that they

find us not necessarily unacceptable, but certainly

rather abnormal. However, they have what for us would be an

unusually

accepting nature, for beings that have never until

recently seen another

sentient species-possibly again a function of

their own fluidity and the way it affects their thinking.

They do not mind us being as rigid as we are, but they do

look narrowly at us, expecting us at any moment

to give up our

present physical forms for something different."

"I hate to disappoint them," Kirk said.

"They're going to have to deal with it. Does it seem like

a problem to you?"

"It does not," said Spock. "There will be

problems enough elsewhere, I

should think. After some discussion, it became plain that

these beings have no organizational structure anything like

ours. No one rules the planet decision making

is strictly a personal matter, which is

probably wise,

since anyone may change shapes or plans at

any given moment. There are

periods of cooperation, as we saw in the buildings

down on the

planet-structures for which I have as yet been

unable to discover a

purpose. These creatures seem to have no need for

shelter in the classic sense. Their environment is

generally unable to harm them, and they seem to need no

protection from it. But at any rate, each

individual decides

whether to be part of a community or not; they have little

influence over

one another, and none over the other species, whom

they describe with words for which we have as yet no

referents."

"Does the tone seem friendly?" Uhura said from

down the table.

"Difficult to tell," Spock said. "We have not

yet enough vocabulary

information to do the autoemote calibration on the

translator. It may be some days yet. These people

are not purposely obfuscatory, but their

mindset is very different indeed from the hominid, and

common ground will take a while to establish."

Uhura nodded.

"The Ornae," Spock said, "seem to have no

concept of work or the need for it. They survive

apparently by direct energy acquisition from the

surrounding environment, though we are as yet

uncertain as to the mechanism by which they achieve this.

They do not eat, drink or excrete; they need no

shelter, as I have said; besides accidental trauma,

there really appears to be nothing on the planet that can

affect them adversely. They have no

physical needs as we normally consider them.

They seem to have a rich

social life, but as to what does occupy their

days, we have little sense as yet. They are not idle,

by any means. But most of the concerns that we find

important, I suspect will seem useless or

foolish to them. This will of

course affect the diplomatic outcome

somewhat."

Somewhat, Kirk thought ruefully. What

incentives to community do you ofer a species that

doesn't need anything, and doesn't understand why you

do? "I should take it from here, I think," Uhura

said. Spock nodded at her to let her know he was

finished for the moment. "Captain, their language, as

much of it as we've got so far, makes it plain that

the Ornae 58

would be a wonderful addition to the Federation-if we

could just persuade

them to join. These people have a higher verb density in their

spoken

language than any species in the Galaxy.

Given differences in sentence

structure, the relative density is something like

ten verbs to every two

nouns. Their pronouns are all verbs-which I

suppose shouldn't surprise us, when you consider that

these people make tools and buildings out of

themselves. They cannot imagine not acting on their

environment. Which begs the question, how do they act on

it?-since they don't need to eat, drink, or work.

Or apparently to sleep, either."

Burke looked thoughtful. "That rich social

life, maybe. They act on each other."

"So it seems. That building behavior

we saw today may be some indication of it. Or they

act on the other species."

Lt. Kerasus nodded. "When we started getting

onto the interspecific

topics," she said, "we got a whole flood of

new verbs, more than we could handle-was

"You asked for more verbs," said McCoy as he

came in, "you got them. Better watch what you

ask for. Sorry for being late, everyone."

"Sit down, Bones," Kirk said. "We're not

that far along." He looks awful, Kirk thought.

McCoy looked drawn-the look that Kirk had

learned to

recognize as the dehydration of someone who hadn't

stopped for food or

drink for some hours.

Kerasus smiled a bit ruefully at

McCoy. "You're right about that, anyway," she said.

"The interspecific verbs were of great complexity and

length-verbal action piled on action, so that a

whole sentence's worth of activity takes place

in one concept."

"Lieutenant," Kirk said, "how close are

we to a

level of translation that we can trust enough

to start making some advances on the diplomatic

side?"

Kerasus and Uhura looked at one another, then

in unison shook their heads. "I'd be lying if I

gave you any concrete time or date," Uhura

said. "Sir, we need a great deal more vocabulary

before we'll be ready to talk about anything more advanced

than the weather."

"Well," Kirk said, "we can't rush this, so do

what needs doing, in your own time. Doctor," he

said, "doubtless you were deep in data gathering, and

must have something fascinating to tell us."

"Well," McCoy said, glancing at the

datapadd he had brought in with him, and then pushing it

away as if annoyed with it, "fascinating it is, but

not necessarily illuminating. The Ornae have one

of the most mutable

physiologies I've ever seen or heard of.

I carried out four examinations on the same beingeach

about three hours after the exam before it-and major

portions of its interior physiology changed between

each examination and the one before. Energy transport

mechanisms, plasma flow, neural currents, you

name it. I was trying to discover whether this is a

voluntary or

involuntary change, but the good creature seems

not to know the difference, or believe in it. Whether this

is a translator problem or not, I don't

know." He glanced at Uhura and Kerasus.

They both shook their heads again. "Doctor,"

Kerasus said, "we've been

chasing that question in circles too. The Ornaet

idea of causality is

peculiar enough to begin with. They seem to think they are

the cause of

everything that happens to them. Even things that they

didn't know about, and couldn't have. Like the arrival of the

original survey party . . . and our 60

own." She chuckled. "They were surprised to see

us, but they told us they

had made us come. Or something to that effect without more

vocabulary and more feeling for the verb structure, it's

still hard to tell whether that's what they actually mean,

or whether we've just misplaced a

subjectstobject

pair."

McCoy nodded. "I was afraid of that. Well,

all I can say is that if any of the other species

on this planet share this mutability, we're going

to have a nightmare in front of us in terms of

understanding their physical setup. I desperately

hope there's a pattern to the physiological

changes I've been seeing, but it's going to take

some days of monitoring to tell whether

that's the case. We are going to need a lot of

physical exams done each

day, since one horrible thought that's occurred to me

is that each

individual Ornaet may have its own pattern of

change, or kinds of changes."

Kirk nodded. "Noted. Spock? What about the

other species?"

"We asked the Ornae if they would arrange

meetings with some

representatives of the Lahit and beAt,"

Spock said. "They agreed, as far as I can tell;

at least, the individual with whom I spoke said it

could be

done, and would be. But there seemed an atmosphere

of reticence about the other species, the beAt in

particular. I have no idea why, and asking the wrong

question at this point in an attempt to get to the bottom

of the

issue could do more harm than good."

"All right," Kirk said. "We'll

take it as it comes. But it's going to be interesting

negotiating a document of association with these people, if

they're all as disorganized-was He caught himself.

"Excuse me, that term's a bit judgmental. If

they're as nonorganizationally oriented as the Ornae

seem to be."

"It may be impossible," Spock said, "at

least, impossible to make an

agreement for the whole planet. No one species

may contract for the

others."

Starfleet had made it very plain in Kirk's

orders that they wanted all the species represented

in an agreement, and would consider a one- or

two-species agreement a very poor second

indeed. Kirk sighed. Sometimes

politics gives me a pain, he thought.

We'll do our best for them. Anything else, they'll

just have to deal with it.

"I understand that, Mr. Spock," Kirk said.

"When did the Ornae think the Lahit and the beAt

would be by"...[*thorn]

"Their time words are rather peculiar," Spock said,

"but I gather they

thought something could be arranged for tomorrow or the

next day."

"Very well, then. We'll shine up the company

silver. Ladies and gentlemen, anything else that

needs to be covered here, for the department heads? The

Sciences briefing will be tomorrow morning."

Heads shook up and down the table.

"Dismissed, then. Doctor-was

The room cleared out slowly. McCoy stretched

in his chair, and as the door closed, said, "Do I have

to stay after school for being late?"

"I thought you were the one carrying on at me about

overwork," Kirk said. McCoy looked guilty,

but only for a moment. "Jim, you've got to bear in

mind, this situation is like nothing we've ever seen

before-was

"Like most of the other situations we see," said

Kirk. "You just calm down a bit and let your

staff take some of the weight. The situation seems

stable

enough; larger landing parties can go down tomorrow, and more of

them."

McCoy nodded and yawned, then looked annoyed

at himself. "Sorry-it's blood sugar. I missed

a meal."

Kirk wagged a finger at Bones as he

got up. "Shame, shame. Physician, feed

thyself. Better still, come on down to the rec room with

me. I missed

dinner too."

McCoy said, "How are you supposed to stay

healthy if you keep skipping

meals-was

Kirk told McCoy that he was a pain, and in

nonclinical detail began

describing where it was as they went out together.

MCCOY STOOD THERE in the very early morning

sunlight, the next day, shaking his head. "Old Will

Shakespeare would love this," he said softly.

Next to him, big blond Don Hetsko, one

of Sickbay's other nurses, looked up from his

tricorder bemused. "How so?"

"Look," McCoy said. "Birnam Wood is

coming to Dunsinane."

They were standing in the clearing, surrounded by Ornae

again, and by other Enterprise crewmen. Until now,

the main sounds to be heard had been morning noises

of the local forest-the soft, repetitive piping of a

large local

winged insect that looked surprisingly like a winged

iguana-and the

cheerful scratchy voices of the Ornae themselves,

overlaid with the

conversation of the various Sciences people talking to them.

But now there was another sound, growing louder a swishing

noise, like branches rustling rhythmically. And so

they were. A party of Lahit were moving slowly into the

clearing.

None of them was less than six feet tall, and

most of them more like ten. They had definite trunks,

and branches, and their general shape was tall and

pointed, like a pine tree's. At least this bunch

is, McCoy thought, for the survey's pictures had

made it plain that there were quite a few forms of the

Lahitit wasn't clear how many. The "leaves"

on the creatures"

branches were soft and feathery that in shape resembled

pine needles, but were longer and finer, and moved in the

slightest touch of wind. The trunks were a bright

green, like the more stationary trees of the forest; the

leaves were darker, a slightly blue-green

"spruce" color. Hidden among the leaves were

small bright round shapes, like berries. At first,

McCoy

thought that was what they were. Then he realized that they

were eyes, and that some of them were looking at

him.

He commanded the small hairs on the back of his

neck to go down. Next to him, sounding very impressed,

Hetsko said softly, "Goodness. The Day the

Christmas Trees Struck Back."

"Don't give them ideas, son," McCoy

said, watching the Lahit method of

locomotion with interest. Walking trees they might

be-or rather, it might be; this could be just one creature,

though there seemed to be about

fifteen main trunks involved, and they seemed

to be moving independently. At any rate, their

roots never came very far out of the ground. That made

sense, if their roots did indeed function like the

roots of more

conventional plants; no point in suddenly cutting

off your source of

nutrients every time you moved. The mechanism of

perfusion in this species was probably going to be

even more interesting than in the Ornae.

Stop saying "their", McCoy told himself

silently. Don't superimpose your own

prejudgments on the situation. The reality is going

to be weird enough. He said to Hetsko, "Better

store that last group of readings; we're

going to have a whole "nother batch to deal with shortly.

Uplink the new Ornaet stuff to the ship; I'm

going to have to go up there and have another run at the

Translator algorithm later."

"Right," said Hetsko, and went off to do it, leaving

McCoy to watch Kerasus ambling over to talk to the

Lahit. She looked slightly uneasy, and

McCoy could understand why. She had just gotten to the

point where she was

beginning to feel mildly confident in translating

elementary Ornaet

correctly . . . and now she was going straight

back to kindergarten, having to start from scratch with

another species, and make who knows what

mistakes.

He ambled over too, thinking that he might as

well get some initial

physiological readings that he could trust, without

having to wonder later whether whichever crewman had

taken them had been holding the scanner by the correct

end. McCoy glanced at her as he unlimbered his

little personal scanner, and said, "Courage. There's

only one more new species after this."

"We hope," she said softly. "Good morning,"

she said to the Lahit.

The Lahit rustled, a sound that McCoy's

Translator rendered as white noise. "As a

preliminary to courtesies," Kerasus said, "how

many of you isstare

there?"

The trees seemed to bend together for a moment, then

sway upright again. "We are one," said the Lahit.

That's a big help, McCoy thought

sardonically. Yet 66

another species that was confused about plurals.

Heaven knows how many of us it thinks there are. Oh

well . . . it takes all kinds to make up a

universe . . .

"Thank you," Kerasus said. "While we're

talking, would you mind if one of our physical

specialists examines you? He needn't touch you

if you don't want him to."

There was more rustling. "Him?" the Lahit said.

And gender confusion too, McCoy thought. Nothing

about this mission is

going to be easy, is it?

"Uh, I'll explain in a while," Kerasus

said.

The Lahit rustled together again. "Yes," it said

finally, "examine."

"Thank you," McCoy said, and turned his

scanner on, walking slowly around the Lahit.

Absently he looked over the torn ground in its

wake. Various

squiggly life was moving in it. Or were those in

fact independent life

forms? Was it possible those were actually just more

roots, newly detached by the act of "walking"?

Did the creature possibly propagate itself this

way? "Lieutenant Siegler," he said, glancing

up and beckoning a Medicine crewman from across the

clearing, "I can't look at these just now. Get some

readings, will you? I want to know if they're

independent of our friend

here."

Lt. Joe Siegler hurried over, making some

adjustments to his tricorder, and McCoy went

back to what he was doing. The mediscanner was sopping

up raw data as fast as it could, and McCoy could

only abstract a little of it

while the thing was in rapid-gather mode. Very low

systemic pressures, he thought; might as well be

trees, that way. Maybe the standard

exovegetative model will be more useful than we

originally thought. Hmm-interesting echo reading

there-a structure 67

something like a heart, but stretched right up and down

the inside of each "trunk"-cylindrical,

gravity-run

mostly, like a human venous system more than any

thing else-pockets and traps in the "veins, was the

actual movement of the creature pushes the f uid

back up into

the circ system, the way walking does with

humans.

Funny, 1 would have expected something more strictly

capillary-the parallel with xylem and phloem in

trees

back on Earth is close enough, there are those

two sets

of "muscular" layers inside the trunk with the

fibers

running in opposite directions-

His communicator bleeped. McCoy swore.

The Lahit and Kerasus both looked at him, the

Lahit with considerably more eyes and less

expression.

"Sorry," he said, "got carried away." He

took out his communicator.

"McCoy."

"Doctor, was Spock's voice said, "the

Captain has asked me to find out

whether your interim physio report on the

Ornae is ready. StarJleet is

apparently becoming impatient. his

McCoy thought of several things he could say, but

there was no point in it, because Spock was out of visual

range, and he wouldn't have the pleasure of watching him

resist changing expression. "I'm about to do the final

polish on it," he said. "Can it wait half an

hour?"

"7n my estimation, no. his

"Dammit," McCoy said, "they're five

hours away by subspace radio, it's got to be the

middle of the night at Starfleet Command; don't those

people ever sleep? It's bad for them. Never mind,

Spock, I'll be up in a few minutes. I

didn't want to go away without a bit of Lahit

data, that's all."

"They have arrived?"

"Big as life and twice as natural. You ought

to get down here yourself.

Then again," McCoy said, "maybe you'd better

not just yet. I don't know if I'd want to tell

one of these creatures that I was a

vegetarian."

"Regrettably, was Spock said, "7 too

am in the throes of report compilation, and must defer

the opportunity for some time yet. I shall tell the

Captain you will be here soon. his

"You do that. Have the Transporter room give me

a beam-up in forty seconds, will you?"

"Affirmative. his

"Ou."

He put the communicator away and finished his

walk around the Lahit.

Kerasus was still talking to it, asking question after

simple question,

listening to the answer, and then coming up with another question,

in a

clear, patient voice. She was one of those people with a

very mobile face that revealed every passing thought as it

went by; and from the way her

eyebrows were jumping around and her mouth was quirking,

it was plain she wasn't entirely pleased with the

results she was getting. Fortunately the Lahit

was in no condition to read her expressions . . . at

least McCoy

sincerely hoped not.

"How are the verbs coming?" he said, as he

packed up the mediscanner.

She threw him a look of extreme desperation.

"Haven't hit one yet," she

said.

"Keep at it."

A few seconds later the world shimmered out, and

McCoy found himself in the Transporter room.

He hurried to Sickbay, which was slightly

crazed when he arrived there.

Several people were in having routine examinations, and one

of the previous day's 69

landing party was being seen for some scratches on his

arms. McCoy stopped next to Morrison and had

a look at them. The scratches were puffy and

inflamed;

one set on the forearm was even slightly edematous

and showed some small

vesicles, blisters filling with clear fluid.

"When did these start to bother you?" McCoy said.

"Last night, pretty late. I'm not even

sure how I got them; I didn't bump

into anything that I can remember."

"Hmm. Do you have problems with cortisone? No,

of course you don't. Lia, give him some

CorTop cream and a prospray of the

euthystol. That should

clear this up. If you don't see any

improvement by this evening, stop in again and we'll try

something more aggressive."

"He's had the euthystol," Lia said, coming up from

behind McCoy and handing Morrison an applicator

tube. "You think we sit around here waiting for you

to diagnose things? That report is in your office,

on your terminal-better hustle."

"Nobody needs me," McCoy muttered,

"everybody rides me, I think I'll go eat

worms." He headed into his office and sat down

at his desk, staring at the terminal. "Scroll,"

he said to it, sighing.

It showed him a report that was essentially a

written version of the

previous night's debriefing on the Omae. In

a couple of places he stopped the machine and added

a bit of data, or clarified a statement that could have

been misunderstood by the more inflexible minds at

Starfleet. In

McCoy's opinion there were far too many of

them-armchair officers who had forgotten how to really

understand the sciences-but he couldn't do much

about that at the moment.

It took him about twenty minutes to get the

report into shape, and finally he told the machine

to send it along to Spock's station on the Bridge.

He was just reaching out for the button when the communicator

went off

"McCoy here."

"Doctor, I really must ask you- His

"No, you mustn't, because it just went to your machine."

There was a moment's pause. "So it has. My

apologies, Doctor. his

"No problem, Spock. If you need me for

anything, I'll be back down on the planet. It

was just getting interesting."

"7 dare say it was. Spock out. his

Now, was that the slightest little bit of annoyance

there? McCoy thought, as he headed out of his office,

through Sickbay again, and out. Just

outside the door, he turned and poked his head

back in. "Lia, did you get that last set of

readings on the Lahit?"

[*reg] ,

No.

"Damn, did the uplink go on the fritz?

Wait a moment." He pulled out the mediscanner and

pushed it into one of the reader bed's ports,

activating it. The scanner poured its data into the

bed's memory. Lia looked up from noting something in

Morrison's records and gazed with interest at the

picture the screen above the bed drew of the

Lahit's internal structure. "Just echosound, that

reading?" she said.

"Yup. Interesting, eh?"

"Good thing I've got a green thumb," Lia

said, clearing her padd off "By the way, the

Captain was down here earlier. He wanted to see you

after you finished that report."

"Did he sound urgent?"

"Not particularly."

"Good-then it can wait another hour or so. I've

got to get back down there and talk to the trees."

When he reappeared in the clearing, it looked as

if Birnam Wood really had come to Dunsinane.

There was a whole group of Lahit there now-or perhaps

a whole grove of them would be a better word, or

orchard-and the Sciences

people were all talking to them as fast as they could, running

scanners

over them and waving tricorders. McCoy smiled

a bit at the sight.

Something bumped into him about knee level.

He glanced down and saw that it was an Ornaet.

"Good morning," he said.

"Good morning to you too," the Ornaet said quite

clearly; or at least that was what the Translator

made of it. McCoy raised his eyebrows.

Kerasus and Uhura must have been up all night

doing algorithm work.

"Is there something I can do for you?" McCoy said,

going down on one knee. He hated talking down

to people, and with the Ornaet it was difficult to avoid it.

"Will you examine?" it said.

"Ah," said McCoy. This then was the gentleman

he had been working on

yesterday. Or lady, he added, if gender is

even an issue with these people. Something we'd better

find out pretty quick. "Gladly," he said, and

pulled out his mediscanner, touching its controls first

to make sure that this set of readings would add itself to the

set already stored aboard ship.

Sometime in the next hour the scanner would call the

ship's library

computers and dump its newly acquired data,

emptying its temporary memory to make room for

more information. "How have you been feeling since

yesterday?"

The Ornaet was quiet for a moment. McCoy

began to sweat a bit as he ran the mediscanner

over it. No matter how good the Translator

got, it wouldn't

stop you from asking questions that had no cultural

referents, or were

somehow insulting. But the Ornaet shook itself a

bit and said, "You inquire of method? Or

condition?"

Thank heaven, McCoy thought, they've got the

first-stage idiom sorter

installed. At least these critters won't have to be

relentlessly literal . . . and neither will we.

"Condition," he said.

"No complaints," said the Ornaet.

McCoy chuckled a bit at that. "You're about the

only one I've seen today who seems willing to say

that," he said. "Except maybe for them." He

nodded at the Lahit, waving a hand at them for good

measure in case the Ornaet

might not know how to read the head gesture.

The Ornaet put up eyestalks for a moment and

gazed at the Lahit. "They

don't complain either," it said after a moment.

Now this was interesting. "How can you tell?"

McCoy said. "Oh, and leave those eyestalks out

for a moment, would you? I want to look at them."

The Ornaet kept looking. "Just know," it said.

"Feeling."

"Hmm," McCoy said. There was no direct

way to test esper ratings in a new species,

except to have a known psi-talented crew member do

an assessment; and the only one he would really trust

to do that was Spock. But Spock had his hands full,

and besides, McCoy hated to ask him to do psi

evaluations on 73

other entities. From what he understood of the

Vulcans' code of mental

privacy, asking something of this sort was like asking a

doctor to test for diabetes mellitus the

old-fashioned way. Not very pleasant at all, either

sensually or esthetically. Better to wait for more

vocabulary, and then run a rhine series.

"I take it that you and the Lahit see one another

pretty frequently," McCoy said. "I mean,

you socialize." This is amazing, he thought. The

optical

tissue is actually multicellular. That's

recognizable retinal tissue,

there, with rods and cones. And a compound

lens, very sophisticated. But it all goes away

at w"...Would you mind terribly making one of those eyes

go away? Can you do just one? Not too quickly,

please."

"Of course," the Ornaet said, and slowly the

lefthand eyestalk was subsumed back into the

Ornaet's main body mass. "Yes, we

socialize."

"What about?" McCoy said. "If I may

ask. What kinds of things do you do

together?" Damn, look at that. The cells just

melted away. Not all at once, either, but one at

a time. I wonder, if we found the right words; could

we teach these creatures to synthesize new organs

for themselves? Would they want to, though? Or need to?

He shook his head and put the mediscanner

away.

"We talk," said the Ornaet.

"Can you tell me what about?" said McCoy,

sitting down next to the Omaet. And then added,

"I'm sorry. I was calling you Hhch yesterday.

Was that

really your name? Or was I mispronouncing it?"

The creature made that scratchy noise again that the

translator clearly

rendered as laughter. "You mispronounced," it

said, "but no harm. You have words slowly, yes?"

"Yes, indeed," McCoy said, and laughed a

bit himself. "We'll get more as we go along."

"My name is Hhhcccccchhhhh," said the

Ornaet, and then he and McCoy both laughed

together, because it was clear the words weren't there yet.

"Maybe tomorrow," McCoy said. "But what do you

and the other species talk about?"

There was a pause. Then, "Life," said the

O rnaet.

McCoy nodded. "This means yes," he said.

"Well, so do we, my friend. The details will come out

with time."

"What do you talk about?" said the Ornaet.

McCoy stretched, thinking. "Work," he said,

"play, relationships . . . the things that happen in the

world . . . things that we can do something

about, and things that we can't."

The Ornaet was quiet for a moment. "Yes," it

said. "What is work?"

Oh brother, McCoy thought. "Work," he said,

"is when one must do things one doesn't always feel like

doing, because they need to be done, for some

reason. If you're lucky, you like doing

work most of the time. Not

everyone's that lucky."

Another long silence. "Yes," it said. "I

know. Some of us work."

"Really?" McCoy said, surprised. "Doing

what?"

The Translator emitted several short blasts

of static.

"Oh well," McCoy said, "never mind.

We'll have more words in a while."

"No," said the Ornaet. "I can show you."

"Really?" McCoy was on his feet in a moment.

"Where?"

"Come," said the Ornaet.

They went off through the clearing, the Ornaet

leading the way, McCoy following, trying not

to trip over other Ornae-they did seem to be

everywhere this morning-and zigzagging around more copses of

Lahit. There were more and more of them, too, rustling and

hissing, and

looking at the Enterprise people with all their eyes.

The Ornaet led him out of the clearing, into the forest

again, by one of the many paths. This was a broadish path that

seemed to have seen a lot of use recently, to judge

by the broken branches on either side of it.

Also, there seemed to have been something rather larger than the

Ornae using it. "Tell me something," McCoy

said as they went along. "Do you have animals around

here?"

"Animals?"

"Other creatures able to move about, like you. But not

talkers, not

intelligent."

"Oh yes," the Ornaet said. "But we keep

them away."

"How?"

There was another static attack. "Never mind,"

McCoy said again. "I'm much more interested in work at

the moment."

"Here," said the Ornaet.

They came out into another clearing. This one was wider

than the one where most of the Enterprise people were. There

were none of the wonderful self- built buildings as in

the other clearing. But there was a large stone, set right

in the middle of everything a tall, oblong stone,

brownish colored, roughly cylindrical, well

set into the ground.

McCoy walked up to it with interest, then looked

around the clearing, and finally at the Ornaet. "Where

is the work, then?" he said.

"Here," said the Ornaet.

"You mean someone set this stone up, as work?

Hmm." He turned to look at it. There were

certainly marks on it that could be construed as

tool-marks. Chipped stone? he thought. Metal,

perhaps?-Or maybe-what need does a

species have of tools, when it can make tools out

of itself?

"No, no," the Ornaet said. And it laughed at

him, so that McCoy looked at it in astonishment and

confusion. "This is work." It paused a moment, then

said, "This is working. his

"It is?" McCoy said, looking up at the

stone, very bemused. Some kind of machine, inside the

stone? Wouldn't be the first time we've found something like

that-

And then the stone moved.

Not much. McCoy backed away in the time it

moved about a foot, leaning

toward him. But somehow it had not moved. There was no

change in the earth at its foot no crumbling, no

change in the grasslike plants that grew

there. The rock was suddenly simply a little closer

to him than it had

been.

"Wait, wait," said the Omaet, clearly

pleased with itself. "Not,

it-indefinite-pronoun is working.

Itpersonal-noun is working."

McCoy's breath caught somewhere south of his

breastbone.

"And I can't pronounce your name either," he said

to the beAt. "Not even the name of your species."

There was a long silence. The beAt looked at

him. How McCoy knew it was

looking at him, he couldn't say. But he knew

it was; and he was too

surprised, and-to his own bemusement-awestruck,

to do anything but stand there.

The creature was not fully physical. On these

grounds at least, the initial survey report had

been correct. It was not a question of the creature being

somehow vague, or misty-looking. It was not. It was

as solid as any Swiss mountain seen from its lower

slopes against clear sky . . . and there was an

equivalent feeling of weight to it, solidity,

thereness. But at the same time, you had the feeling that that

thereness might suddenly stop-a feeling you did not get

with any mountain. McCoy knew that no matter how

many times he might say to the Jungfrau,

in the old words, "Be thou removed," it would stay

right where it was. But looking at the beAt, one was

left with the

impression that it might remove itself without warning,

and take a great deal with it if it wanted to.

"At any rate," McCoy finally managed

to say, "good morning."

"Good morning to you, Doctor," the beAt said.

No hesitation, no difficulties with the syntax;

though the voice itself, even translated, tended

to drive thoughts about syntax away. It was a voice

with overtones of earthquake

about it, of avalanche-of great force, controlled, but

force that could be suddenly unleashed to some huge effect.

McCoy took a deep breath or so to help him

manage himself. Then he said, "Sir or madam or

other, do you understand the meaning of the concept

doctor?"

"It is not a concept we use ourselves," the beAt

said, "but I believe we

understand the general sense."

No syntax problems at all. Oh dear.

Kerasus is going to have a fit. In

fact, I d have one myself, right now, if there was

time. "Then may I

examine you as I have done with my friend here?" 78

"You may."

Nothing else just the sound of the wind in the trees.

McCoy cleared his throat, pulled out the

mediscanner, and did a hasty recalibration on

it-he wanted all its available bandwidth working for this

scan. He keyed it on and began walking around the

beAt. "Would you mind if I touched you?" he

said.

"Feel free."

Idiomatic, too. Good Lord on a bicycle.

He paused halfway through his

circuit to put a hand on the stone. It was warm.

The mediscanner was

ingesting data much too fast for him to be able

to tell anything from the sound of it; he was thrown back

on his physical senses, which told him

nothing except that the creature's outer surface

looked very like an

igneous stone, granite or something similar.

He wondered idly if there was any radioactivity

that would indicate genuine igneous formation, and

resolved to check later. "May I ask you a

question, please?" he said.

"Ask." The rumble sounded good-natured

enough.

"How many of you are there on this planet?"

"All of us." Was there an edge of humor there?

Was he being joked with?

McCoy cleared his throat again.

"Ah, yes. Do you have a problem with our number

system?"

"We understand it well enough, I think. Our

numbers in manifestation vary between nine hundred

thousand and one million."

Vary why, and how?-but it would have to wait. "My friend

here, whose name I can't pronounce," McCoy said,

"said to me while we were coming here that you were doing work."

He finished his circuit. "May I ask what you

were

doing?"

His communicator went off.

He didn't swear this time; it seemed as

inappropriate, somehow, as swearing at the

Jungfrau would have been. "Excuse me, please,"

he said, and pulled it out. "McCoy here-was

"Bones, was Kirk's voice said, "what do I

have to do to get a word with you these days?"

"Jim," McCoy said, as politely as he

could, "I promise you on my Oath that

I'll be up there in a minute. I just need to-was

"Sixty seconds, was Kirk said, "and I'm

counting. his

"But-was

"Your Oath, you said. his

"McCoy out," he said. He looked longingly

at the mediscanner and shut it down. "Sir or

madam or other-was

"As I understand the term," said the long slow rumble

through his

Translator, "I think "sir' would do.

"Thank you. I have to go. I'll be back as soon

as I can. Will you still be here?"

There was no answer for a second or so. Finally the

beAt said, "That is a philosophical question of some

complexity-was

The golden shimmer took McCoy away. This

time he did curse, as soon as he couldn't see the

beAt anymore.

"Though perhaps," it added then, was "madam' would have

been correct as

well."

McCoy burst into the Bridge so torn between

delight and wild annoyance that he didn't know which

to let go with first. For the first moments, at

least, the 80

need to choose was aborted. Kirk was sitting there

in the center seat,

facing the elevator doors.

"You made it," he said, "just."

"Jim," McCoy said, "we've got a

breakthrough on our hands here. It's the beAt."

"Are you catching cold?" Kirk said, looking

suddenly concerned.

"No, I am not catching cold! Jim, I think

we're concentrating on the wrong species here. I

was just talking to one of the beAt, and-was He paused for a

moment and looked around the Bridge. It was

surprisingly empty for the time of day the only ones

there besides Kirk were a Communications officer and someone

from Navigation, sitting in Sulu's spot. "Where

is everybody?"

"Down on the planet, most of them, or

coordinating data. Or off shift. Sulu had just

done two back to back, and I remember what

I'm told about shift relief."

"Oh. Well, good. Jim, the beAt translation

algorithm seems to be OK, they have idiom and

everything, and this one said to me that it was-was

"Doctor, was Kirk said, "you have been

overworking yourself just a bit. I

think it's time you got some rest. But not even your

own staff seems able to get you to slow down. Nurse

Burke has been complaining to me."

I'll kill her, McCoy thought.

"You say a word to her and I'll dock your pay,"

Kirk said, wagging a finger at him. "I want you

to sit down here and write me a decent report, not

like that whitewash you did for Starfleet a little earlier

today. They may be suckered in by all your long words,

you can't hand me that stuff and expect to get away

with it. I want an

analysis of what's going on down there."

"But I can't do that without more data-was

"Give me what you've got, and make sense of

it. If you just sit still and think for a while, you're bound

to come up with something that will do me some good. And you stay out

of Sickbay to do it, too. You go down there, you'll

just start treating someone for something. Sickbay is off

limits to you except for legitimate medical

emergencies, until further notice. That's a

direct order. Understood?"

McCoy glowered. It was best to humor Jim when

he got in these moods. They passed quickly

enough. "Understood," he said.

"Good. And just to keep you out of trouble-was He got

up from the center seat and stretched. "Here. Sit

down."

McCoy stared at him.

"Come on," Kirk said. "Have a seat. It's

nice and comfortable; you can sit here and dictate your

report. But anyway, I'm leaving you the conn."

McCoy was outraged. "You can't do that," he said.

"7 can't do that!"

"Of course I can," Kirk said, "and of course you

can. You've had line

officer's training. Not the full Command course,

naturally, but enough to know what to say at the right times.

Not that you'll need to. And I can

leave anybody with the conn that I please, most

especially a department

head and a fellow officer. There's no need to be in

the direct chain of

command at all-that's a common misconception. I

could leave an Ensign

Third-class with the conn if I 82

liked, and the situation seemed to call for it.

Well, at the moment, it

seems to call for Captain's

discretion."

"Uh-was

"So sit down," Kirk said.

"Uh, Jim-was

"I am leaving the Bridge, Bones. Then I

am going to get something to eat. And then I am going

to go down to the planet and have a chat with Spock, who

is also overworking, and who I've also got to yell

at; and then I'm

going to meet some of these people we're supposed to be

talking to. I've stood it up here about as long as

I can. And you, Doctor, are going to sit in this comfy

chair, and have a nice relaxing time, and coordinate

data, which you are better equipped to do at the moment

than I am, and then

you're going to call me on the planet's

surface and give me sage advice. You got

that?"

McCoy nodded.

"Then get down here."

Slowly, McCoy walked down to the center seat,

and very slowly, very

gingerly, lowered himself into it. It was indeed very

comfortable.

"You have the conn," Kirk said. "I'll

be back at the end of the shift. Have fun."

"Mmf," McCoy said as Kirk walked away,

and the Bridge doors closed on him. Leonard

McCoy sat in the command seat of the Starship

Enterprise and

thought, I'm going to get him for this.

Kirk had a sandwich and a cup of coffee,

grudging

the time for anything more complicated. He then took

himself straight off to the Transporter room, and

down to the clearing on the surface of Flyspeck.

The sweet taste of the

fresh air made the hair stand right up on his

neck, as usual. It was one of the small, secret

delights that he had never really managed to tell

anyone about-the scent of a new world's air, for the first

time, with its

particular compendium of strange new aromas. This

one smelled as if there

had been rain recently; and there was an odd edge

of spice to the air too, as if the growing things here were

mostly aromatics.

He glanced around him at the business of the

clearing-all the Ornae and

Lahit rolling or trundling or wading

around through the ground-and at his crew, doing their jobs,

talking, examining, collecting data. Spock must

be around here somewhere, he thought, and looked around for him,

but couldn't see him anywhere.

"Morning, Captain," someone said behind him; he

turned and saw that it was Don Hetsko, one of

McCoy's people. "Looking for anyone in particular?"

"Oh, Spock, if you've seen him."

"Not for a while. The Doctor went off that way just

a few minutes ago,

though," Don said, pointing toward one of the paths that

led out of the

clearing. "You ought to be able to catch him."

"Thank you, Mr. Hetsko," Kirk said, and

went off that way, smiling

slightly.

His businesslike stride slowed to a stroll as he

got into the forest

proper. The quality of the light here was unusual,

somehow more intense than he had been expecting. It

was as if some photographer had purposely lit the

place to look both warm and coolly enticing; a

curious effect,

caused by the brassy gold of 84

the planet's sun, probably, and the

extreme greenness, almost

blue-greenness, of its plants' dominant

chlorophyll. The science of the

situation aside, it was a very pleasant effect,

re/l, and he was in no

mood to get out of it in a hurry.

The path gave onto another clearing, bigger than

the first one. Kirk paused on the fringes of it,

looking at the great stone shape in the middle. He

remembered the pictures of the beAt from the briefing;

he remembered McCoy's insistence that the beAt were

the people he wanted to talk to. But at the same time

an odd reluctance came over him, almost a shyness.

There was a sense of remoteness about this creature,

somehow, a feeling that it knew things that might make it

wiser not to disturb it . . .

Odd feelings, and baseless, of course. Kirk

shook off the slight case of nerves and stepped out

into the bright sunshine of the clearing.

The beAt @ddaw him coming, Kirk knew, though it

had no eyes that showed, and seemingly no other sense

organs. I wonder if Bones managed to get a

scan on it, he thought. Have to ask him about that later.

Some feet away from it, Kirk slowed down, and

stopped.

"I beg your pardon," he said.

There was a long silence before the beAt said to him,

"I am not aware of

your having done anything that requires pardon."

The voice was astonishing it rumbled like a

landslide. But there was

nothing threatening about it. Rather, its tone of voice was

so grave, and at the same time so humorous, even

through the Translator, that Kirk

smiled. "That's good," he said. "The phrase is

an idiom of my culture,

interrupts another. I didn't want to take the

chance that I might have been interrupting you in the middle

of something important."

"You have not interrupted me, Captain," said the

beAt.

"I'm glad." He paused and said, "You must have

been the one with whom the Doctor was talking."

"We did speak," said the beAt.

Kirk hesitated. "I hope you'll excuse

my ignorance," he said, "but I have no name to call

you by. Not even a gender designation, if you use

such

things."

"The Doctor would have called me

Sir," said the beAt.

Kirk nodded. "If I may, then. Did the

Doctor speak much to you of why we are here?"

"He began to," said the beAt, "and I said to him

that the matter was one of some philosophical

complexity. He then disappeared."

"He went back to our ship," Kirk said. "The

vessel in which we travel, and by which we came here."

"Enterprise, was the beAt said.

"That's right."

"I see it," said the beAt. "All silver, but

it shines gold where the

sunlight touches it. And it has lights of its

own, for the dark."

"Yes," Kirk said, while thinking with some

excite

ment, These creatures must have a sensorium that

we've never seen the like of. I know the sound of a

direct

perception when I hear one. Anything that can see a

starship, somehow, from the surface of a planet-what

else can it see? "Sir," he said, "did he

speak to you at

all of why we came?"

"No," said the beAt. "No more than

did the first party who arrived here,

though they asked us many a question. They were cautious.

But we knew well from the sight of them that they did not

come of this world, and had

traveled from some other."

Kirk shook his head, thinking, There has to be a

better way to get these initial surveys done.

Dammit, these are intelligent species we're

dealing with, not idiots. They figure out what's going

on quickly enough. How does it make us look?

He glanced up. The beAt had not moved, but the

sensation that it was looking closely at him grew quite

strong-in fact Kirk was finding it a little

difficult to breathe normally, with the closeness of that

regard acting

almost like a physical pressure on him. There was

nothing angry or

threatening about it. It was merely a level of

interest so intense that it was actually affecting his

body.

"Sir," he said, "that ship up there, and the people who

are here with your people and the Ornae and the Lahit, are under

my command. We have all come here to see how much we can

discover about your people, and how much we can tell you about us.

Once that is done, we have some questions we would

like to ask all three species as a whole-if that is

even possible. That is one of the things we need

to discover."

"Many questions," said the beAt. "And what questions do we

get to ask?"

"Any you like," said Kirk, just a bit nervously.

"So we shall," said the beAt, and fell silent.

Kirk stood in that silence and felt the hairs

rising on the back of his

neck again, but this time for no reason that had anything

to do with the sweetness of the 87

morning air. That intense interest was bent on him,

and on his ship, and all his people. He could feel it on

his skin, like sunlight, but it was not a

warming or calming feeling at all.

"When will we start?" he said at last, when the

silence became too much for him.

"We have started," said the beAt.

McCoy sat in the center seat and yawned.

He was tired, and annoyed, but at the same time

he felt a certain smug

satisfaction. Kirk had counted on his being

terrified by this experience. Unfortunately he had not

reckoned with McCoy's great talent for learning

to cope at high speed. It was probably

the first important thing a doctor or nurse

learned-how to turn the sudden surprising or annoying

situation into a commonplace.

He had been playing with the buttons on the center

seat's arms. There was quite an assortment of links

into the library computer, so that even

without a Science officer at his or her station, you

could display all

kinds of information on the main Bridge screen, and

even do things like

voicewrite reports. McCoy had finished the

report that Kirk had asked him for, and then had gone

back to playing with the machinery, pulling various information

up out of the library computer and annotating his report

with it.

The Bridge intercom whistled, and McCoy

glanced over to the communications officer on post,

Lieutenant DeLeon, to say that he would take it

himself. He pushed the appropriate button on the

seat console and said, "Bridge.

McCoy."

"Heaven help us, Doctor, what're ye doing

up there?"

"Blame the Captain, Scotty," McCoy

said. "He stuck me with the conn two and a

half hours ago."

Scotty chuckled a little at that. "Well, it'll

do you no harm, I suppose. Himself is

downplanet, I take it. his

"You take it right. Anything I can help you with?"

"Not a thing. He had asked me to do a reset on

the warp engines, and I have the figures for him on how

long it would take and how much antimatter we would

need. It can wait till he gets back up. his

"Why did he want a reset?"

"bebledh, I talked him into it. It's a matter

of maximizing our fuel

consumption, is all. He was looking to save some

power by resetting the

fusion timing. I found a better way, but I

shan't trouble you with the

details. his

"Thanks, don't," McCoy said. "I'll

let him know you've got the figures for him."

"Right you are, was Scotty said. "Engineering out.

his

McCoy pushed the button with satisfaction, and

sat back in the center seat. "DeLeon," he

said, "would you get me the landing party? I want to see

what they're up to down there."

"Yes, sir," said DeLeon. A moment later

the screen was showing the main

clearing down on Flyspeck and crewpeople

all over the place, busily doing their work.

McCoy saw Spock, and Lia, and various

other people he knew; but there was no sign of Kirk.

"Off gallivanting again," he said. "Pinpoint the

Captain, would you,

Lieutenant?"

"Sure, Doctor." DeLeon touched a few

controls, then peered at his board. It was a curious

look.

"What's the matter? Did he turn his

communicator off? Just like him," McCoy said,

grumbling.

"No, Doctor," said DeLeon. "I can't

find him."

McCoy got up and stepped up to the Communica-

tions station, looked at the scanner screen, and

frowned. No trace of the

Captain was showing at all. Even if Jim had

dropped his communicator, the

scanners would still clearly indicate where it had

fallen.

But there was no trace of it at all.

McCoy swallowed hard and called Spock.

WHEN SPOCK ARRIVED on the Bridge,

McCoy was so utterly glad to see him that he was

tempted to jump up and hug him. Instead, he just

said, "Spock, your damn scanner's gone on the

fritz again."

Spock favored him with an expression that was

skeptical at best. "Doctor," he said very

gently, as if to a brain-damage case, "that

hardly seems

likely. Nonetheless, I will run some checks."

The Vulcan went over to the Science console and

began touching controls

with the swift certainty of someone who barely even

needs to look at them. "I take it matters are

sufficiently under control in Sickbay as to not

require your presence there," he said.

McCoy humphed. "Fat chance, Spock.

Kirk handed me the conn and told me to stay out of

Sickbay except for medical emergencies."

That made Spock blink. He looked up from his

console-though he did not stop keying in instructions-and

said, "Forgive me, but I should not 91

want to misunderstand you. You say the Captain left

you in command?"

"His idea of a little joke. Ask DeLeon,

he was here."

"It will be on the Bridge procedural recording

as well," Spock said, and turned his attention

back to his work again. McCoy turned away and

watched the front screen for a moment. There was a little

forest of Lahit in that clearing now, and about two

hundred of the Ornae seemed to have gotten

together to build a much larger structure than had

been there the day

before-more ornate, with plenty more room inside. They

were considerate

hosts, if nothing else about them was very clear as

yet.

McCoy turned back to Spock to see the

Science Officer staring at his

console with a concerned expression. "Doctor," he

said, "we have a

problem."

He had known that, but hearing Spock admit to it

somehow made it much

worse. McCoy sat down in the center seat, more

by reflex at this point than by preference, and said,

"He is missing."

"The instruments are working correctly,"

Spock said. "The Captain's

communicator is not on the planet. According to the

instruments."

"Never mind the communicator, Spock, where is

he??"

"Doctor," Spock said, stepping down to the

center seat, "calm yourself.

There are ways to explain why we might not be able

to find the Captain."

"Such as?"

Spock raised an eyebrow. "The Captain

may be in an area having a high

concentration of some other rare earth element, so that the

communicator's signal is washed out in the

background radiation-was

"And did you locate any such?"

"Well," Spock said, reluctant, "I must

admit-was

"So? What else then?"

Spock looked at him with as close to a helpless

expression as McCoy had

seen on him for a long time. "Nothing," he said.

"Well, the hell with this, was McCoy said.

"I'm going where I can be of some use . . . down

there, to help look for Kirk. You mind the

store."

He was halfway to the Bridge doors when

Spock said, "Doctor . . . I am

afraid you don't understand the situation."

McCoy stopped and looked at Spock in

surprise. "What part of it?"

"Your part, at least," he said. "Doctor, you

are in command. You cannot

leave the ship under these circumstances."

"Dammit, yes I can! I'm turning command over

to you! Where it ought to be, by the way. You're the one who

went all the way through Command School, and you're the

second most senior officer aboard ship. You sit

in the damn

chair."

"Doctor," Spock said quietly, "as the

Captain might put it, it would not matter if I were

Commanding Admiral of Starfleet and had a note from

God. I could not accept command from you under these

circumstances. Nor could anyone else. Fleet

regulations are most specific in this regard. An

officer placed in nominal command of a vessel must

retain command until relieved by the commander of

official record. The Captain is not around

to relieve you. Anyone who exercised command

in your place would be liable to

court-martial-and would not have a leg to stand on, as it

were, in court. And any effort by you to leave your

post-in this case, the Enterprise 93

would also be a court-martial offense . . .

especially in these

circumstances, when the Captain is missing. An

emergency, to say the least."

McCoy sank down onto the Science station

chair and stared at Spock in

dismay.

"You are "stuck," Doctor," Spock said.

"I am very sorry." And he sounded it.

McCoy looked over at Spock. He took

a deep breath or two, thinking, Calm yourself,

boy. You're going to need your wits about you today.

"All right," he said. "You'd better go down there and

get a search started. Find out who saw him last .

. . take it from there."

Spock nodded and headed for the Bridge doors

himself.

"And by the way," McCoy added, "can I at least

have a restroom break?"

Spock nodded. "Give the conn to Lieutenant

DeLeon," he said, "but don't be away

too long. Though," he added, from just inside the

turbolift, "I

believe the Captain would say, "You should have gone

before we left.""

"Why, you-was

The lift doors closed.

McCoy looked at DeLeon and said, "Take

it, son. I'll be back in a few

minutes."

"Yes, sir."

"And see if you can get Uhura away from her

business downstairs. I need

some advice."

"Right, Doctor."

When he came back to the Bridge, she was there

waiting for him.

"Lieutenant," McCoy said to the young Comm

officer, "go take a break or

something. When does your shift end?"

"In about an hour, Doctor," said DeLeon.

Lord, where has the day gone? Time goes fast when

you're having fun. He

glanced at Uhura; she nodded, and McCoy

said, "Never mind coming back, son. You go on

ahead."

"Thanks, Doctor," he said, and headed out.

When the lift doors shut, Uhura said softly,

"I hear we have a little

problem."

"You bet your sweet-well, never mind. Yes,

we do. Do many of the crewpeople down there know?"

"All of them do, now. Search parties are working

their way through the

area." She looked worried. "But the trail

may be getting a bit cold at this point.

Nobody's seen the Captain since this morning, and

only very briefly then."

"Where was he going?"

"Off through the woods, on one of those paths. That

big one that seems to get a lot of use."

A sudden suspicion flowered in McCoy. The

one that led to the clearing

where the ,At was-"Has anyone seen any beAt

around there?" he said.

"No," said Uhura, sounding faintly

surprised. "Doctor, I think it's more of a

glottal stop, that noise."

"Never mind the pronunciation. Anyway, I

want to hear one of them say it. Uhura, I saw

one this morning. I was talking to it when Jim

made me come up here. I think he may have met it

too. "

"You were talking to it?" she said in surprise. "But

we have hardly any of the algorithms for their

language yet. The survey party could hardly get

anything out of them. Was it fairly easy to understand?"

"As easy as you are. I was surprised."

Uhura looked very concerned. "Doctor," she

said,

"this is very odd. It can't be happening this way . .

. unless that species knows a lot more about us than we

think it does."

McCoy thought of that slow, silent regard bent

on him, the feeling of

concealed, controlled power, and shivered a little. "I

wouldn't put that past them. Uhura, we've got

to find at least one of them and see what it knows."

"It would help if we had some scan information,"

she said, sounding

dubious. "On the outside, they just

seem to look like big rocks. There are a lot of

rocks on this planet."

"Not that many rocks that move, was McCoy said.

"And only about a million of them, according to the beAt

I was talking to this morning. Never mind that;

I've got a scan. Here." He reached down for his

instrument pouch, which had come straight up to the Bridge

with him, and handed Uhura his mediscanner. "Good,"

she said, and went over to her station, popping the scanner

into one of its input ports. She touched a button

on her board, then squinted for a moment at the readout

screen. "Uh-uh," she said. "It's dumped its

memory."

McCoy muttered. "Yes, it would have. Check the

library computer; the file should be in there."

Uhura nodded, touched a few more controls, and

waited. "Here we are," she said, gazing at the

screen; then started to shake her head.

McCoy's stomach began to tie itself into a little

knot. "What's the

matter?"

"I've got your uplink here," she said, "but

there's trouble in the visual component. What's this?"

She touched another control and brought what she was

seeing up onto the

main screen. In the back-

ground of the shot, McCoy could see the other side

of the big clearing, the view changing as he carried the

mediscanner around something in the center of the shot. What

the something was, though, there was no telling.

All the screen showed was a silvery vagueness,

foggy, an oblong shape with no

detail.

"Damn, was McCoy said.

"Your scan information is gone too, I'm

afraid," Uhura said. "Not wiped; the scan bands

are just blank, as if your scanner didn't

record."

"This isn't my day for machinery, I can see that,"

McCoy said.

"Not the machinery's fault," Uhura said

promptly. She had been doing

something else with her console. "I get faint

scan artifact in some of the bands from the background

life forms-too faint to be of any use for data

collection, naturally. But your scanner was picking

up some of the fluid movement in the plant life in the

background, for example."

"Yes, it does that . . . but usually the life

form it's being directed at simply drowns out the

background readings, by proximity. Now what does

this mean?"

Uhura shook her head and took the scanner out

of the reading port, handing it back to McCoy. "Your

guess is as good as mine," she said.

"Probably

better, since you saw the beAt, and I

didn't." She looked very curious.

"What did it sound like?"

"Trouble," McCoy said, only half listening.

"Like something you wouldn't want angry at you." His

stomach went cold at that thought; he had to con-

sciously push the fear away. "Never mind.

Maybe," he said, thoughtful, "it didn't want

to be scanned?"

He looked at Uhura. She tilted her head

to one side, eyes narrowed.

"Possible," she said. "Species that are 97

good at handling energy flows can do that sometimes.

Take our scans of the Organians, for example,

before they revealed themselves. We thought we were dealing with

hominids . . . and they manipulated our instrument

readings to make it look that way. We never thought

to question what was going on. These people-was She looked at the

screen. "That," she said, "is energy management of

great virtuosity, if your theory's correct. A

creature that could do that could do all kinds of other

things."

"But it didn't try to trick us, as far as we

know," McCoy said, trying very hard to keep

strictly to the facts. "It just concealed its own

readings. Why would it want to do that, I wonder?"

"Privacy taboos?" Uhura said.

McCoy sighed. "Until we talk to more of them,

we'll never find out. And

they don't seem to be quite as forthcoming as the other

species."

Uhura laughed at that, a short sound, and

slightly sarcastic. "Don't bet on the others

being any more "forthcoming," Doctor. I spent

all morning

discussing the nature of reality with some of the

Ornae. They don't really believe in us."

McCoy blinked. "This theme keeps coming up,"

he said. was "Don't believe in us" how? Are

we against their religion? Or is there something they

don't approve of?"

"Not that, exactly," said Uhura, sitting back

and sighing. "They just don't think we're real. Or

no, that's not exactly it. They know we're here. But

they don't think we're human."

"What? Two arms, two legs, one head, what

else should "human' be? More or less."

"Not that way. They don't think we're people. It's

98

not prejudicial on their part. They like us well

enough; they like talking to us. But they don't think we

matter, particularly. The things we find

important seem laughable to them. And why not?"

Uhura said. "In their

worldview-theirs and the Lahit's both, they seem

to share this-the basic

survival needs, air, water, food, are all

there for the taking-or don't even need to be taken, in

the Ornae's case. You just live. They simply

start at a higher rung of the self-actualization

ladder than we do. They have all

those basic physical needs met already, and

don't have to deal with them

consciously. Their concerns are all social. They

may be the most social

species the Federation will ever have encountered, in

fact."

"Be a nice change from some people we've run

into over the years," McCoy muttered.

"Well, yes. They understand the idea of a Federa-

tion, too-more or less. They just don't understand

our reasons for having one. They might join us just

to chat. But they would never think of joining us because we had

something they wanted. As far as I can tell,

we have nothing they would want or need-except perhaps

ourselves, to talk to. The language of any

association agreement would have to be

changed to reflect that, and I'll be telling the

Captain so-was

"When we find him."

"Yes," Uhura said, and concern showed in her

face. "I must admit, I'm

worried."

"You think you're worried," McCoy said.

"Well, never mind that at the

moment. I suppose Starfleet is going to want

to hear from us sooner or

later and find out how we're getting on." He

groaned. "This is one

conversation I'm going to love having."

"It won't be a conversation," Uhura said, "not

at

five hours' subspace radio distance, it

won't. You put together a report and get it ready

for me-our next scheduled transmission should go out in

about an hour and a half, and you don't want them

getting any ideas that you're

having trouble with things by being late with the news."

"I am having trouble with things,

dammit!" McCoy said. "I'd be delighted if

they'd relieve me. Here, quick," he said, "get

me a padd. I'll certify

myself unfit to command. Stress, that's a good

excuse. Then they'll put

Spock in this miserable chair instead of me-was

"Doctor," Uhura said, her voice full of

pity, "don't you just wish. But

there's no way they'll do it. Relief of command

by "remote control' is very rarely done,

specifically because it very rarely works out. On this ship

in particular. The time or two that Fleet has done

something so dumb, they've regretted it. And think how

it would look on your service record."

"Mmf," said McCoy unhappily. "Hadn't

thought of that."

"Think of it," Uhura said. "Poor Doctor.

You've got the tiger by the tail this time."

He nodded. "Nothing to do but hang on, I

guess."

"You do that. We'll all help you."

"Find me the captain," he said. "That would

help."

Uhura nodded and turned back to her station.

McCoy sat there drumming his fingers on

the arm of the seat. He shifted

uneasily. The cushions were feeling a lot

less comfortable than they had earlier.

Spock came back from the planet surface some

three hours later, looking, to McCoy's

practiced eye, 100

very drawn-not physically tired, but showing the

effects of not having

produced any results whatever.

"We're going to have to have a department heads' meeting

in a while, I

guess," McCoy said to Spock, "and record

it and send it along to

Starfleet."

"I would not do that," Spock said, sitting down at

his station and dropping a couple of tricorder tapes

into one of its reader ports. "Call the

meeting, certainly. We must intensify our search

for the Captain. But

Starfleet does not require the details of our

decisionmaking process.

Also," and there was a slight glint of humor in his

eye as he glanced over his shoulder at McCoy,

"there is no point in giving the, ah, bureaucratic

elements at Starfleet any more insight

than necessary into how we arrive at our decisions."

"How I arrive at my command decisions, you

mean," McCoy said.

Spock nodded. "The bureaucratic mind," he

said, "will always find some way to meddle if at all

possible. If faced with a decision-making process

that they find too . . . original . . ."

"Too intelligent, you mean. Or too

consultative."

"Precisely. Under such circumstances, you could

find yourself issued orders which you would be required

to carry out, but which would be most . . .

distasteful."

"You mean stupid."

"I believe I said that," Spock said. "Though

perhaps not in so many words."

"Spock," McCoy s aid, in a moment's

gratitude, "when this is all over, I'm going

to cancel your next physical."

The look Spock gave him had more than a

trace of mischief about it.

"Dereliction of duty, Doctor?" he 101

asked. "I could never allow you to behave in such a

manner. I will take my physical in good part."

"And find some other way to ride me about

this for the rest of my life," McCoy said.

Spock didn't quite smile as he turned away.

"All right," McCoy said. He looked over his

shoulder. "Uhura, call the

department heads . . . tell them we should meet in

the briefing room in an hour. Special attention

to Linguistics and Biology; I want everything

we've got on all the species so far. I also

want a report to the minute on when the Captain

disappeared. Starfleet is going to want at least a

few concrete facts."

"Yes, sir," Uhura said, and started calling

around to the various

departments of the ship.

McCoy looked over at Spock. "I take

it," he said, "that no one has seen

anything of the beAt today."

Spock shook his head. "Uhura was kind enough

to give me your mediscanner's readout file for

signal analysis," he said. "I must admit that

at first I thought you might have mishandled the device

somehow. But two thoughts

suggested otherwise the fact that you are most

intimately familiar with the equipment after years of

using and even improving on it; and the

certainty that even you could not misuse an instrument

so selectively and skillfully."

McCoy sat still for a moment doing mental sums in

his head and trying to work out whether that sentence, taken as

a whole, came out to a compliment. He decided it

didn't, and decided to ignore it. "Thank you,"

he said. "Were you able to tell anything useful from the

scan?"

"Something not useful," Spock said, "but certainly

odd. Your scanner picked up some incidental

radiation in the neighborhood, for which it was not

specifically calibrated, but which it recorded

nonetheless."

"Radiation? Anything dangerous?" McCoy said,

alarmed.

Spock shook his head. "Merely odd. There was

an over-threshold amount of high-energy particle

decay some Cerenkov radiation, and Z-particle

remnants. Most peculiar."

"But Cerenkov radiation is associated with

black holes," McCoy said. "There aren't any

of those here."

"Indeed not. Cerenkov radiation, however, is also

associated with the

sudden deceleration of a superrelativistic body

in atmosphere."

"Someone traveling faster than light, and slowing

down-was

"Or some thing. Mere subatomic particles can be

responsible. The number

your scanner recorded was very small, too small

to indicate a spacecraft or anything of the kind."

"But still above the threshold amount," McCoy said.

"Yes."

He shook his head. "What about the

Z-particles?"

"Again," Spock said, "I am at a loss

to understand their presence.

Naturally occurring Z-collisions and decay

are rare enough that it has

always taken great amounts of sensitive equipment

to detect them. But here they do not seem to be rare.

Or did not while you were scanning. My own

scans, conducted over the past hours with much more

sensitive equipment, showed no such collisions

taking place."

"Then it's something associated specifically with the

beAt," McCoy said.

Spock nodded. "I feel that is a

safe assumption. But

what it can mean, I have no idea. It is a pity

the rest of your scan was not more revealing, but it was most

skillfully interfered with.-

64 You think it did that on purpose?"

McCoy said.

Spock frowned a bit. "We have no direct

evidence of that," he said, "but on the other hand, if the

beAt in question had not wanted its internal workings to be

known or theorized about, it could hardly have managed it

better.

Statistically, I would find this data at least

suspicious."

McCoy sighed. "All right," he said. "I'm

going to go take a break. Have

everybody get their notes together, and I'll see

you in an hour."

He went down to his quarters. The sound of the

door closing behind him

filled him with a wild sense of relief, which he

knew was completely

spurious. In an hour he would have to go out and sit

at the head of the

table in the briefing room and pretend to run things.

He sat down in his favorite chair,

probably the oddest thing in his

quarters, certainly the most expensive. It was

an antique, and he had given up most of his

personal-possessions space allowance for it. It was

a

genuine Shaker rush-back rocking chair, circa

1980; not the most venerable of its kind-the really old

ones were all in museums-but good enough. It was good for

back problems, and the rocking was soothing.

I need some soothing now, he thought, as he sat

down. The motion was

physically comforting. His mind, of course, was

running around in little circles, screaming and biting itself

in the small of the back, 104

but then that was understandable-and the more clinical parts of his

mind

weren't troubled by the fact. If he kept rocking

long enough, the body would affect the mind eventually.

It had no choice.

"Take about a year at this rate, though," he

muttered. He ran a quick check on himself. Palms

clammy, pulse elevated, some fine muscle

tremor, general malaise. Stomach spasm.

Physician, feed thyself, he remembered Kirk

saying. When did I eat last? Was it

really this morning? Not like me to miss meals. My

blood sugar must be down in my socks somewhere. He

reached out, tapped the intercom button, and said,

"Commissary."

"David here."

"McCoy. Can you have somebody send me up a

sandwich and a coffee? I'm in my quarters."

"He leaned back again and sighed, glancing around.

The room seemed smaller than usual. Was this the

way Kirk felt when he took a break during a

crisis? As if the whole world's trouble was

pressing on the outside door, and would come rushing

over him the minute he opened it again? He could

understand why sometimes he had to tell Kirk to take

a sleeping tablet.

Sleep wouldn't come anywhere near him until all

this was resolved.

Yes, it will, said one of the clinical parts of his

brain.

A mind that isn't rested is useless. Lowering your

own

efficiency won't get Kirk back. If you have

to sleep, you

take the damn pill, or get Lia to hit you

on the head

with a hammer, or whatever. You don't get

to indulge

yourself in staying awake and feeling miserable. . .

not this time.

He sighed. All the times he had given Kirk

his

advice, and had been so sure he was right, while

Kirk sat in that center

seat and joked with him, and sometimes took the

advice, and sometimes

ignored it .... Often McCoy had been sure

that things would have worked out better, more elegantly, more

simply, if Kirk had done what he told him.

They had worked out anyhow, as a rule, and McCoy

had shrugged and tended his own business in Sickbay,

and made that part of things work.

But now there was more business to tend to than just

Sickbay, and it was all his responsibility. And

no matter who gave him advice, and no matter

how good it was, the responsibility for the choices

he made would lie with him.

And if he had a good idea, and acted on it, and

it didn't work, that would be his responsibility too.

He found himself wondering how Kirk had ever been

able to accept his advice with such good humor,

when he did accept it.

He found himself wondering whether any of his advice

had ever been good at all, all those times he had

hung over the back of the center seat and made

off-the-cuff suggestions.

Well, he thought, at least some things are going right

around here. I've gotten all introspective again.

First time I've had the leisure for it in hours. Not

that being introspective was bad for a doctor at

all, especially when he had the kind of

psychiatric responsibilities that McCoy

had, with the whole gestalt of a starship more or less in

his professional hands. But overdoing it could be a

mistake, and sometimes McCoy veered that way. It

was a tendency he had learned to watch out for.

Someone touched his door signal. He got up and

answered it. There was no one there but a tray, hovering

on its automatic transport pad. McCoy

chuckled a little apparently Meg had gotten

Scotty to teach her transport pads a new

trick or two.

He picked the tray up, and the pad silently

zipped off down the corridor and around the corner, out

of sight. "Just as well," he muttered, taking the

tray inside. "I was out of change for a

tip."

The sandwich vanished in short order, followed by the

coffee. McCoy began to feel better almost

instantly. Blood sugar, he thought. I've got

to eat bigger breakfasts if I'm going to be stuck

in this job for long. Tea and toast doesn't make

it.

His intercom whistled then. "McCoy," he said,

finishing the last of the

coffee.

"Doctor, "Spock said, "five minutes to the

meeting. his

"What? Never. I just got here," he muttered.

"Oh, hell, I guess time does fly when you're

having fun. I'll be right down, Spock."

"Acknowledged. his

McCoy took just long enough to change into a fresh

uniform tunic-no time for even a sonic shower, it

would have to wait-and headed out.

"All right," he said, looking around the concerned

faces at the table in Main Briefing. "One at a

time, from best to worst. Engineering."

"No problems, nothing to report," Scotty

said.

"Bless you. Keep it that way.

Communications."

"Same as Mr. Scott," Uhura said, "with the

exception of our inability to find the Captain by the

usual means."

"We'll get back to that. Recreation."

Harb Tanzer, the big silver-haired rec

room chief, said, "No operational problems.

Crewmen coming in on their off-shift time are a bit

nervous about the Captain's disappearance, but it isn't

a serious situation as yet."

"Mmf. How are they vi ewing the present, uh,

command?"

Harb smiled a bit. "With some amusement," he

said, "but positively. You've bandaged up too many

of them for them to doubt your general expertise, and they

know you're getting good help."

McCoy allowed himself a breath or so of

laughter. "All right. Science."

"We have a huge body of data to add to what we

gathered yesterday," Spock said, "especially as

regards plant life and subsoil flora and

fauna. It may interest you to know-it will certainly

interest Starfleet-that this planet is one of the most

promising sources of medicinal substances that we have

ever found."

"That's wonderful," McCoy said, meaning it, "but

it also means that

Starfleet is going to put that much more pressure

on us for a three-species agreement. My delight

knows no bounds.-What else?"

"There is also much more information about the

physiologies of the Ornae and Lahit. We are

coming to some conclusions that may shortly lead to

theories that will explain how such very different

species evolved here. On that count, at least, our

present information agrees with that of the

original survey."

"You mean, they were actually right about something." There

was muted

McCoy smiled sardonically. "Noted. What

have you been finding? Any fossil

records?"

"Surprisingly, yes. One of the landing-party

teams, from Geology, has been concentrating on some

submerged strata off the northern coast of the

continent where most of our research is taking

place. There is a

possibility, bizarre as it sounds, that the

Lahit and the Ornae have a

common ancestor-species."

McCoy shook his head. "That would be an

eyeopener. Anyway, I take it that this information

has all been packed up for the next transmission

to

Starfleet."

"It has."

"Good. Security."

Ingrit Tomson, the tall, blond security

chief, said, "Nothing to report

shipside, sir. On the planet, we have search

groups combing the entire area where our contacts with the

Ornae and Lahit have been concentrated, and

then spiraling outward. Nothing has been found as

yet, though we've covered some fifty square

kilometers. There is no sign whatsoever of the

Captain, but there have also been no overt signs of

foul play."

"There is also something rather peculiar," Spock

said. "Doctor, after you furnished me with the

coordi

nates to which you beamed down, I was able to get a

temperature scan of the area-even when some hours

have passed, there are infrared heat-traces of the

passage of the human body." Spock reached out

touched the data terminal in front of him. A

sec

ond later, everyone's terminal was showing a

picture

of the clearing, seen from above, its colors process

ed by the computer to indicate areas of latent heat.

There was a wavering line that came from one side of the

clearing, circled around one spot, and then vanished.

"That's what Jim did?" McCoy said.

"No, Doctor. That is what you did. This is

the Captain's trace." He pointed to another fat

smudgy line, off to one side of the clearing, that entered

it at the same point . . . and faded out.

Glances were exchanged around the table. "Somebody

else's transporter

beam?" McCoy said.

"Unlikely, Doctor. That too leaves some

slight thermal trace, and some

characteristic background radiation. This fade-out is

atypical, and does not resemble a beam-up."

"Great," McCoy said. "Something grabbed him and

spirited him away.

Something subtle enough for us to need methods like this

to find out about it." He sighed. "Any theories?"

"None as yet," Spock said.

"All right. Defense?"

"Nothing to report," Chekov said. "All

ship's defense systems at normal and on

standby."

"Good. Medicine?"

Lia, sitting down toward the end of the table, said,

"Business as usual, Doctor. Routine small

interventions. It looks as if Morrison's

problem was some kind of allergy, by the way. No one

else has reported a similar

problem, and his skin irritation is almost gone."

"That's good. Communications-was

"Linguistics and I have been working closely

together," Uhura said, "trying to improve the level

of translation a little faster than would be the norm.

Unfortunately, we're having some

difficulties-not with vocabulary so much, at this

point, but with conceptualization and very different

mindmaps. I

have a recording I'd like you all to see."

She touched a control on her own terminal. Their

screens came alive to show her sitting on the

ground, chatting amiably with an Ornaet, while

Kerasus sat next to her taking notes.

"I have a question to ask you," said Uhura in the

recording.

"All right," the Ornaet said.

"One of our people is missing down here," she said.

"Do you understand

missing?"

"Not to be found," said the Ornaet. "Why did

he do it?

"He didn't do it himself," said Uhura.

"Someone else did it."

"That's ridiculous," said the Ornaet.

"How so?"

"No one does things, except by themselves. He must

have wanted to go away, if he went somewhere."

On the tape, Uhura thought about that for a moment,

then said, "Where do you think he might have gone?"

"I don't know. Why would he want to go away

at all?"

"That's what we're trying to find out. Have any of

your own people gone

missing this way?"

"Oh, lots. But they were all right here."

"Here, close by? Or here, on the planet?"

"Yes."

Another long pause. The Ornaet;

sitting next to her, turned slightly in the

sunlight, and its iridescence 111

flashed bright. "Why are you asking these questions?"

the Ornaet said. tilde " "We're worried

about our friend."

"Why? He's all right."

"How do you know that?"

"Nothing ever happens to anyone here. The beAt

"'ibbity make sure of

that." In the recording, Uhura raised her

eyebrows. "Yes," Hisby 'tilde n, she said,

"let's talk about that. Where are the beAt

today?"

r "They're here," said the Ornaet. "What?

Here with us, right now?" "Yes." "I can't see

them," said Uhura.

"Neither can I," said the Omaet, "but they're

[*thorngg'tilde u tilde here."

"Do you think they know where our friend is?"

?"'bbI;" "Probably," said the Ornaet.

"They know most ,", things."

"Could you ask them?" i tilde be "When they get

here," the Ornaet said, "yes." tilde tilde was

"But you said they were here."

?"'" "They are, was said the Ornaet,

sounding faintly cross.

"Is there a reason you can't ask them now?"

"'1 tilde ,, "Yes," said the Ornaet.

A long pause. "What is it?" Uhura said.

"Because [static]," said the recording. ",caret

be,; One or two people around the table groaned.

McCoy resisted the temptation. They had a real

problem here; one of those alien-point-of-view

differ- I[*thorn] ences that might take

months to understand and resolve. Somehow he doubted

Starfleet was going to

give him months.

"All right," said Uhura in the recording,

"we'll come back to that. When you can ask them, will you?"

"All right." There was another pause. "It

doesn't matter, you know," said the Ornaet. "Your

friend is all right."

"But how do you know that?" Kerasus put in from the

side.

The Ornaet put up its eyestalks at her.

"Nothing happens here," it said. "And your friend must have

wanted to go."

At the table, Uhura reached out and froze the

frame. "That went on for

about an hour," she said; "I've just shown

you the highlights. We talked with various other of the

Ornae and a few of the Lahitour work with their

language is coming along very satisfactorily,

though we'd still like to

know how the two species can speak completely

different languages and

understand one another without benefit of translation.

There's no

telepathic component-we think. At any rate,

everyone we talked to was

certain that the Captain must have wanted to vanish, that

he was just fine, and that the beAt probably knew

something about it, and would tell us

everything we wanted to know when they arrived.

Despite the fact that they were already here." She

sighed. "Several of them insisted that the Captain was in

fact there now, and that we were making a big fuss over

nothing."

"What are the odds of that?" McCoy said.

"Spock?"

"Doctor, we are moving among many unknowns

here." Spock laced his fingers together and gazed at

McCoy over them. "I have no way to give you odds

on such an improbability. We must obviously

continue 113

searching in the orthodox fashion, but we must also

take great care with our other data gathering so as not

to miss some small piece of information that might make

all these seeming contradictions plain. Most

urgently, the

linguistic work must continue to go ahead at its best

speed."

"We concur," Uhura said. "We're keeping

our people on it."

"I just want to remind you all of that line that the first

landing party heard yesterday," McCoy said, "something

to the effect that the only ones around Flyspeck who

had objections to things were the beAt. We have yet

to find out what that means. Uhura, I'd like you and

Lt. Kerasus to follow

that up. And we have some other mysteries to solve; for

example, the beAt I spoke to this morning claimed

that there were nearly a million of them.

Where are they all? How come the initial survey

had no problem finding them comlots of them? What's

making them fight so shy of us? We need answers about

this stuff."

Heads nodded all around the table as people took

notes. "And there are

other problems," McCoy said. "As

soon as they get this news, Starfleet is going

to get antsy, and want to know what we're doing about

getting the

Captain back-knowing them."

"We have no diplomatic recourses," said

Spock, "since as yet there is no diplomatic

agreement. Starfleet will doubtless suggest some kind

of display of force."

"They can just go to bed early on that one," McCoy

snapped. "These people barely understand the concept of death

or injury, as far as I can figure it out. I

don't want to be the one to teach them what it means.

Neither would Jim, if he were here in my place.

I'll 114

refuse such an order if they give it. Or

find some way to weasel out of it."

Spock's expression was calm, but there was warning

hidden in it. "If we are successful in finding the

Captain," he said, "Starfleet may well

forgive you that . . . eventually. If not . . . your

career in Starfleet may be

short."

"That's as may be," McCoy said. "I have

oaths to follow, the same as they do. The discipline

of the service be damned." He paused, and

then said, "We have stopped recording this briefing,

haven't we?"

"No one will hear," Spock said, "what was

certainly a casual remark made after the meeting

proper." He looked at Uhura.

"Of course not," she said to Spock. "I'll just

look around and see if I

can't find my sewing scissors."

McCoy chuckled. "All right. Anyone have

anything to add?"

No One said a word. "Good enough," McCoy

said. "Let's all get back to what we were doing.

Keep calm, keep your people calm, and be nice and

slow and methodical-was

That was when the red-alert siren went off. McCoy

leaped straight up out of his seat. He had never been

good with sudden loud noises. "Holy Christmas,

what's that??"

"Red alert, red alert, this is no drill, this

is no drill, his

said the voice of the automated alert. And right afterward

came the voice of the junior Communications officer,

Mr. Brandt. "Proximity alarms activated, was

he said calmly, "vessel dropping out of warp and

incoming to orbit. Early ID indicates

Klingon battle cruiser- his

People scrambled out of the room at speed. McCoy

stood there with his mouth open for a bare second, then

said, "Hell." He ran out into the corridor,

turned down toward Sickbay-

And stopped. And cursed. And turned, and ran after

Spock, toward the

turbolift, and the Bridge.

HE COULD HEAR the bedlam of the Bridge before

the turbolift doors even opened for him. Alarms

were whooping, people were running in all directions, but what

astounded McCoy most was the sheer noise of it all.

Red alerts in Sickbay were a much quieter

business;

they had to be, or they might wake the patients.

This noise would wake the dead, he thought in mild

amazement.

The doors opened for him, and McCoy stepped out.

All over the Bridge, heads turned; eyes

looked at him speculatively. He could

practically feel the thoughts. How is he, is he,

going to be able to manage this, what df he can't . .

. his

But this at least was a position he had been in before;

on a

planet's surface, or in some operating room,

where the staff had looked over at him, wondering, Can

he save this one, or will we have another wrap job in

a few minutes? . . . He had usually

managed to surprise them all. He would do it

again.

He hoped.

He stepped down without hesitation, as he had seen

Jim do so many times, sat himself in the center seat, and

said, "What's the situation?"

"Shields are up," Spock said, coming down to stand

beside him, "and weapons systems are ready."

"All right, then. Do we have an ID on this

clown?"

"Yes, Doctor-ah, sir," Sulu said.

"Positive identification as KL 818,

Imperial Klingon Vessel Ekkava. his

"No one we know personally, then," McCoy

said.

"No," Spock said. "The vessel has

assumed a standard orbit around the

planet, slightly above ours, and is pacing us

some two thousand kilometers behind. Just outside firing

range," he added.

"Mmm hmm. So the gesture is

overtly . . . noncommittal. So far."

McCoy

looked at the screen, which showed the faint white

blip well back behind them. "No communications as

yet?"

"Nothing yet, Doctor," Uhura said.

"They're probably busy scanning."

"Confirmed," Spock said, glancing over at his

station.

"All right. Why wait to be. friendly? Uhura,

hail them. The usual

niceties."

She nodded, and did it. McCoy looked up at

Spock and said, "I remember Jim mentioning a

rumor that he'd heard, something about an increased

incidence of Klingon "moles" inside

Starfleet. You think there's anything to that?" Spock

looked abstracted for a moment. "Difficult to say.

Certainly one can understand the reasoning behind it. But it

strikes me as information that both sides would desire

to keep hidden. At least, accurate versions of the

information."

"Mmm hmm. Spock, we're a long way from

anywhere out here. Funny that they should just come coasting

into the system like this, a couple of days after

we do."

was "Funny' is not the word I would have chosen,"

Spock said. "But it

certainly does strain the limits of

probability somewhat."

The Bridge fell quiet, waiting. McCoy

wiped his hands on his trousers. Here we go, he

thought. I just wish I had some better idea of what

to do.

Nothing to do but wing it, I guess . . . . Then

Uhura said, "Coming on

screen, Doctor. Ready for visual?"

The question almost made him laugh. He had never

really had to worry about how he looked at work before.

"Ready," he said.

The screen shimmered, and the starfield it had been

showing gave way to the bridge of a Klingon ship,

all dim red lighting and cramped,

crowded-together consoles. In the center of the screen,

a Klingon glared at them a man with a rather noble

face, McCoy thought, with excellent bone

structure. Pity he has to ruin the effect

by glowering like that. Then

again, Iguess it's an occupational hazard for

Klingons in command posi-

tions. Look tough or get shot-

hishis am Commander Kaiev, was the Klingon said.

"Is your vessel's identification correct?"

McCoy leaned back in the center seat and was

visibly amused. Among the

Klingons, as on Earth, there was no surer way

to discommode a very serious person than to refuse

to take the individual seriously. "Well now,"

he

said, "and why wouldn't it be? We're not in the

habit of running around

playing Galactic Twenty Questions."

"Then you are the Starship Enterprise?" 119

"Yes," he said to the Klingon, and nodded, "we

are. Who wants to know?"

Commander Kaiev stared into the screen, and at

McCoy, with an expression that McCoy thought was

supposed to be fierce eagerness. "7 have long

waited my chance to meet the famous Kirk," he

said.

Not another one, McCoy thought. How the hell

does Jim stand it? "Sorry," he said, lacing his

hands behind his head and leaning back. "You just missed

him."

"Missed him?" the Klingon said, looking

for a moment slightly bemused. "We did not fire.

his

There was a suppressed snicker somewhere on the

Bridge. McCoy shot a

warning glance around, then said, "Uh, excuse me,

Commander. Syntactical difficulty. I mean,

he's not here."

The Klingon looked actively disappointed.

"Commander Leonard McCoy, at your service,"

he said, before the Klingon could pick up the conversational

ball. "Now, Commander, would you mind telling me a

little something about what you're doing in this part of space?

Not exactly a crowded

neighborhood, as a rule."

"Ah, was Commander Kaiev said. "We have

beenexploring this part of space for some weeks now- his

Lie, McCoy thought. He knew that much

Klingon body language, even when the man was

sitting still, and trying to keep his face still as well.

"comand when by chance we detected your ship here, so

far away from

Federation frequented space--

Lie, McCoy thought. And, Ambulance-chaser!

They just want to see what we're up to, and see

if they can't find a way to get a bit of the

action if it's anything good. He kept smiling.

"comwe thought we would stop and investigate. his

Now, McCoy thought, he waits to see if

I'll tell him to get out of here. "Well, you're

more than welcome here, Commander," he said. "Four

planets, no waiting. Make yourself right at

home."

Commander Kaiev actually blinked. McCoy had

a hard time keeping his face straight, but managed it

somehow. Now he lets us know that he would have anyway,

he thought.

"So we have done, was said Kaiev, with a sort of

air of jovial threat that McCoy had to admire.

"We shall send down landing parties to investigate the

planet. his

"Well, go ahead," McCoy said. "But I should

warn you, things are pretty

weird down there. We've lost some people in odd

ways. Trees eating them, mostly."

The Bridge crew all looked at McCoy in

fascination. He ignored them. "But don't mind

that," McCoy said jovially. "You go ahead down

there, have a

good time. Our people will show you around, if you like."

An expression of suspicion did not

so much creep across Kaiev's face as run across

it, shouting and waving placards saying I don't

believe you, you're up to something! McCoy was

delighted, and kept his own face straight. "No,

thank you, MakKhoi, was Kaiev said. "We will

manage our own investigation of this planet. Shall we

speak further of this?"

Or in other words, "Wanna fight?"' "No,

heavens, why should we?" McCoy said, waving a hand

languidly. "You go right on ahead. But listen,"

he added,

"you watch out for those trees, now. And the rocks. was

He leaned forward a little as he said the word, and waggled

his eyebrows at the Klingon.

"MakKhoi, was said Kaiev, looking slightly

discommoded by McCoy's strange expressions,

"7 must ask you. What has

happened to Kirk?"

McCoy paused for a moment, then sighed heavily

and leaned back in the

center seat again, looking down. "I killed him,"

he said. "In a duel. Very sad."

And he looked up then, and gave Kaiev a long

cool look from under his

brows. "I do so hate killing my friends," he

said.

Kaiev looked at him for a long moment. He

opened his mouth, but before he could say anything,

McCoy sighed again and said, quite cheerfully, "At

any rate, Commander , if we can help you with any little

thing, don't hesitate to call. Enterprise out."

And he glanced over at Uhura, who killed the

circuit. The screen went back to showing

starfield again.

There was a rather stunned silence on the Bridge.

Then the laughter broke out. McCoy let it go on

for a few moments, then said, "All right,

everybody, hush up now!"

They got quiet. "That should give us a few

minutes to breathe," he said, "since they'll now think

the Enterprise is being commanded by a raving

loon. Perhaps even a homicidal raving loon,

which would be even better."

"I think you are wise," Spock said, "not to let

them know that the Captain is missing. They would

certainly perceive that as a weakness, perhaps a

fatal one, on our part."

"Spock," McCoy said, smiling a bit, "I

may be just an old country doctor, but I

know enough not to tell my patients that I don't know how

to cure

them. Why, half of them cure themselves just because they

think I'm doing it. Saves me no end of trouble,

and it's cheaper than placebos."

"In any case," Spock said, "there is nothing

we can do about their presence here. Under the Organian

Peace Treaty, they are entitled to explore

planets that they find us exploring, even the

populated ones. Of course, the

"exploitation" part of the agreement does not

apply here."

"And a good thing. I'd hate to see this planet

Klingon-dominated. The Ornae are too

good-natured, and the Lahit are just too strange; I

have a feeling neither species would long survive a

Klingon settlement."

Spock nodded. "However that may be," he said,

"we now have a more

interesting problem how to conduct our searches for the

Captain without letting the Klingons know."

McCoy nodded. "Our own efforts can be disguised

as land surveys and so

forth," he said. "But I worry that the Ornae

might tell them. Or the Lahit. They

wouldn't understand the need not to, I think."

"I don't think they would either, Doctor,"

Uhura said. "The whole concept of fiction and

falsehood seems to have passed them by."

"Sad that they'll miss fiction," McCoy said,

"but as for the rest of it, they may be into a good thing.

Never mind. We have a little protection in that the

Klingons won't have much in the way of translator

algorithms."

"Doctor," Sulu said suddenly, "if you're

right in your suspicion about

moles in Startleet, the reason the Klingons are

here might well be that the whole initial survey

report was leaked."

That was a bad thought. McCoy mulled it over for a

moment, then said, "That may be. We've had the

whole linguistics resource team of this ship working on

those languages for two days now, and we're just

beginning to make progress. It's going to take

them a while to catch up. By then, we may have found the

captain."

"And if not?" Spock said. "What then? Or

what if they come to us and ask us in a friendly fashion

for our algorithms? You have set the tone for

this encounter, Doctor, and have practically invited them

to do so."

McCoy had been thinking about that. Now he grinned

evilly. "Simple," he

said. "Media mismatch. Our software won't

talk to their hardware."

"But it will," Spock said.

"No, it won't, was McCoy said. "Think about

it. When's the last time the

Klingons had access to our data transfer

methods? Goodness, Spock, anything could have been

invented since then."

Spock got a glint in his eye that McCoy had

seen before, and always

enjoyed. "I take your point, Doctor," he

said. "But that aside, we must get back to business.

We have our own work to do, not least of which is finding the

Captain."

"Right. Spock, you coordinate the landing parties,

and Uhura, make sure

everybody gets the word about what's going on.

Utmost courtesy to our

guests, give them anything they want-except

data-within reason. The old

Galactic Unity game."

"Yes, Doctor," Uhura said.

"I would have thought," Spock said, "that you approved

of Galactic Unity, Doctor."

"I do," McCoy said, "with those who mean it the

same way I do. The Klingons just have a little convincing

to do, as far as I'm concerned." He sat back and

smiled.

Spock nodded and went about his business. McCoy

stood up. "Keep an eye on our friends here," he

said to Sulu. "If they do anything sudden, call

me. I've got to catch forty winks. Uhura,"

he said, "if the landing parties

that are staying down tonight find anything, call me right

away. Or if

anything else happens that you or your relief

judge to need my attention."

"Yes, sir."

He headed for the turbolift, waited for the doors

to close.

When they did, he collapsed against the back

wall and shut his eyes, and tried very hard not to moan

out loud.

"Deck five," he finally said, when he could

trust himself not to say

something that would confuse the lift's audio

sensors. It began to move. He was shaking all

over. Like a mouse at a cat show, he thought. I

hope I get used to this fast, because Lord, I'm not

used to it now, and if I

misstep because of nerves, a lot of people could die.

He fell into the deep-breathing exercise routine

that did him the most good for an attack of nerves.

I need a good long spell of anti-stress

exercises tonight, he thought, and then maybe I should

get Lia to come hit me on the head with that hammer.

Lord, Klingons, whose good idea was that? Not funny,

God!

The Deity declined to respond, possibly being

on a

break. The deep breathing began to work; the trem

bling started to ease off. I may need something

else to

eat, McCoy thought, as the lift slid to a

stop. I only

had the one sandwich, after all. I wonder if

Jim

sometimes eats to distract himself from the stress?

It was an interesting thought, one that McCoy had

had before, and usually discarded. He was now less

willing to discard it.

Jim may need better stress management. I

should have noticed that before, if that's the case. Getting

sloppy, Leonard my boy . . .

His room door opened before him, and closed behind

him. He sat down in his rocking chair with a feeling

of vast relief. Unfortunately, behind the

relief was a formless terror that insisted on

reminding him that there was no way to tell how long the

relief would last. He sat there and finished his

breathing exercises, and then thought about ordering something

else to eat. No, he thought then. Stress

reduction first. If I try eating anything with my

stomach in its present state, it's going to be sent

back with

extreme prejudice.

He composed himself, made sure his breathing was

settled, closed his eyes, and set about imagining the

private place where he did his mindwork.

About five seconds later he fell asleep.

"Here," he was saying to Dieter, "I've

spilled your drink; let me get you another," when

the soprano shriek of the Jungfrau cogwheel

train's horn

abruptly turned into the intercom's whistle.

McCoy's eyes flew open. He sat

up straight in the chair from his original slumped

position, and grimaced at the feel of his back-no

matter how orthopedically sound straightback

rocking chairs are, they aren't made for sleeping

in. McCoy reached out and hit the intercom

button.

"McCoy."

"Bridge, Doctor. It's Ensign Vehau,

on Communications. We've got something in from

Starfleet for you. his

He groaned. "At this hour? Tell them to take

two aspirin and call me in the morning."

Vehau laughed softly. "7 wish I could.

Unfortunately, 126

you're going to have to come up here and sign for the miserable

thing, and right away, too."

McCoy sighed. "On my way," he said.

He made his way up to the Bridge through the

subdued lighting of night

shift. The ship worked better when it had a "real"

night and day; and in consideration of the crewmen who were

diurnal, the night shift was largely run by people who

had minimal difficulty with being awake at night,

especially members of naturally nocturnal

species-a surprising 30 percent or so

of hominids.

Vehau was one of these. The Delasi were quite

humanoid, and gave no other indication of their

nocturnal status than particularly large,

sensitive, and (mcCoy thought) beautiful-looking

dark eyes. When McCoy came into the Bridge,

he found Vehau looking with mild annoyance at her

station. "Here, Doctor," she said. "It's already

queried me twice."

"Where do I look?" he said.

"Here, this scanner, sir."

McCoy bent over it and kept his eyes wide,

waiting for the ruby flash of the retinal-scan laser.

It came, and immediately the console began to

chatter softly to itself. "There you go," Vehau said,

and touched a stud. "Do you want to take it in your

cabin, or would you rather have vision and sound here?"

McCoy sighed and sat himself down in the center

seat. "I'll take it here, I suppose," he

said. "Nobody here but us chickens, anyway.

Who's on call for Weapons and Navigation, by the

way?"

"Navigation is shut down for the moment," she

said. "The ship's orbit is on automaintenance

. . .

might as well be she doesn't need anyone

here to

handle a standard orbit. Sulu volunteered

to take an

extra shift on Weapons. He's on his

break; he'll be back up in a while. Just us

chickens, as you say." She wrinkled her nose a

bit. "What is a chicken?" "An Earth beast

famous for crossing roads," McCoy said. "All

right, Vehau. Let it rip."

The screen showed the usual Starfleet

time-anddate-stamp trailer. Then

McCoy found himself looking at a man sitting

at a desk. "Oh hell," he said, for the man was

Admiral Delacroix, a name that he had heard

Jim mutter

about more than once. "Superannuated," Jim had

said, and there was truth in it; Delacroix looked as

if he had been around since the Ice Age-the

earlier one. He was white-haired and tall, with

chiseled features, and the kind of stance and bearing that

says a person prides himself on being better, or

at least older, than you are.

"Delacroix," he said. He sat there with his

hands folded on the desk,

looking like a man who was about to give some

schoolboy a serious scolding. "To Leonard

McCoy, presently in command, USS

Enterprise. Commander McCoy, we are in

receipt of your report and find it a rather disturbing

collection of documents.

"First of all, our concerns regarding the divergent

evolution of the

planet's three species are not being dealt with in

the approved manner.

Much pertinent data is missing regarding the third

species, the beAt." He didn't pronounce it

any better than anyone else, McCoy thought;

there was that small consolation. "We expect better

performance in data gathering

from a starship of Enterprise's reputation. We

assume the fall-off in

efficiency is due to the missing status of

Captain Kirk, which we will deal with in a moment.

At any rate, we expect the information shortfall

to be 128

dealt with immediately. Please take the necessary steps."

"Oh, sure," McCoy said bitterly. "What

am I supposed to do? You can't find a species that

doesn't want to be found, dammit

all-was

But the recording was continuing. "Second.

Surveys concerning

planet-exploitable resources are not proceeding

at the speed we would wish. No informed decisions can

be made regarding diplomacy without full data on

planetary resources. Your crew rosters as

submitted show too much

concentration on sciences and linguistics at this

point. Please reassign personnel from

linguistics work to planet survey and report

soonest on

mineral and other resources."

McCoy sat there tight-lipped. He's saying

that all of a sudden they don't want to talk to these people

until they find out whether they've got

anything worth having! Dammit, that wasn't our

original brief from

Starfeet! Who put this turkey on the job all

of a sudden? Where the hell are Llewellyn and Tai

Hao, who backed this mission in the first place, on

scientific grounds?

"Third. We regard with grave concern the

disappearance of Captain Kirk.

From your report we must assume that the

Captain was not in breach of his orders when he

transported down to the planet, since at that point

the

situation seemed to be stable." McCoy frowned;

the man sounded as if he

were faintly disappointed by this fact. "It becomes

apparent that there has been some deterioration in your

exploratory group's relations with one or more of the

indigenous species, possibly the beAt. This

breakdown is almost certainly due to inadequate

data gathering regarding this species, and you are

required to rectify 129

this situation immediately. We note your attempts

to " locate the Captain. We confirm your

brief to take all

appropriate action to recover the Captain,

including

the military option if you find it prudent or

necessary.

We will expect a report with your next

transmission as

to what steps are being taken and what results are

forthcoming. If no results are forthcoming within one

standard day, orders will be issued regarding possible

action to be taken against the planet.

Until then,

matters are left to your discretion, within our guide

lines."

Delacroix stopped and cleared his throat a

bit, as if I he were about to say something distasteful.

"Last

regarding your present position in command.

Despite

the fact that your service record indicates no

previous

experience with starship command, other aspects of

your record indicate that this is a duty you should be

adequately equipped to undertake; and Captain

Kirk

is an officer of sufficient skill to have had some

good

reason, under the circumstances, to leave you in ?"'

command. We are reluctant to countermand Captain

Kirk's orders in his absence and relieve you of

duty.

F We expect that your conduct will justify this

judgment. However, in light of the past day's

occurrences, there will of course need to be some kind of

inquiry into the management of this mission on your

return to Earth. You are advised to bear this

in mind.

"Reply is required within one hour of receipt

of this message, already

verified to us. Starfleet out."

"And what about the goddam Klingons??!" McCoy

shouted at the screen. It

ignored him, going blank and showing him the serene

face of Flyspeck

turning beneath the ship as she orbited.

Vehau said, "Shall I save you a copy of the

message, Doctor?"

McCoy was very tempted to make several creative

suggestions as to what

Vehau might do with the report; one of them,

involving the report,

Delacroix, a can of surgical lubricant,

and a protoplaser, struck him as particularly

attractive, but he pushed the thought aside as

unworthy of

him. "Yes, please. I'll want Spock

to see it in the morning. Meanwhile,

would you record a reply for me?"

"Do you want to make it now?"

"Certainly. Just voice. I don't want that

old prune seeing me without a

shave and my boots polished; he'd probably

order me tied to a gun carriage and left out in the

rain, if I know his type."

He sat thinking for a moment. Maybe 1 should

call Spock and ask his advice, he thought.

He's probably not sleeping anyway. But after a

long moment, he pushed that idea away. Hell no

. . . I've got to do my best to manage this myself.

Even if it drives me crazy, and scares me

to death. Have to wonder, though. Who else at

Starfleet is going to see this report when 1 send

it back?

And who leaked the first one? . . .

He thought for a moment about who might hear what, and

what might be done with the information. Then, "Ready?"

he said to Vehau.

"Go, Doctor."

"From Leonard McCoy, commanding USS

Enterprise, was he said. "Your message received and

understood. Will comply in all parts." But not the way you

think, you old fool. "Search for Captain

Kirk continues. Other conditions continue normal."

He paused 131

for a moment, then added, "Klingon situation stable.

McCoy out."

Vehau chuckled softly as she completed the

reply. "Anything else, Doctor?" "Nope.

Send it. That should give them something to think about,"

McCoy

said. I dearly hope. "And now I'm going to go

back to my downy couch. You have a good shift, dear,

and don't call me for anything less imperative

than an invasion."

"Will do, Doctor."

"Bureaucrats," McCoy muttered softly, and

staggered off to bed.

In the morning he was in the center seat bright and

early, having managed to work in a little stress

reduction before breakfast, and was feeling

rather more alert and ready for things. Also, he had had

some time to

think. "Spock," he said, when he had settled

in and Spock had given him the morning report, "have

you seen the wonderful message from Starfleet that we

had last night?"

"Doctor," said Spock, "you exercise your

usual talent for choosing unique and perhaps

unexpected words to describe a situation."

"Yes, indeed, you saw it too. Spock, I

think we should do everything they suggest."

Spock looked at him in mild astonishment.

"Yes, indeed," McCoy said. "I want you

to make some reassignments from

linguistics to survey. Take, oh, Nuara and

Meier-Wes, not Wilma-and give them one of the

shuttlecraft for the next day or so. I want a

mineral

survey. Particular concentration on iron ore

deposits, the usual."

"Doctor," Spock said, "we have already done that

scan from the ship. It came up broadly

negative, as you know. The planet is very

metal-poor, and rare earths are in a much

lower-than-usual

concentration. Nor are there any deposits of

dilithium or other useful

energy-managing elements."

"Yes, you're absolutely right. Well,

evidently Starfleet wants more

information, and they want some people reassigned to that

duty, so let's give them what they want. Full

shuttlecraft survey, with sensors on

high-density."

"That will result in a massive data load,"

Spock said, "on the order of-was "It's

Starfleet's nickel," McCoy said. "Let them

worry about it. And won't someone there be pleased when

they see so much detailed data? They'll be hours

going through it. Days, if we're lucky."

"Analysis will of course show them that there is

nothing here worth

pursuing as far as minerals are concerned."

"And that'll be exactly right. Though I have a

feeling there are some

people at Starfleet who may not want to believe that.

Not people working just for Starfleet, you understand."

Spock turned an expression on McCoy that

was covertly approving. "Your

orders will be carried out," he said. "Meanwhile,

as regards the personnel reassignments-I think the

Admiral will have had rather more people in

mind."

"He didn't say," McCoy said

regretfully. "Can't go second-guessing the man

if he won't make himself clear."

That covert approval got more overt.

"Doctor," Spock said, "while I

understand your intent, there are some at Starfleet who

could construe it as insubordination. 133

That would give them an excuse

to relieve you, and whatever the results as regards

finding the Captain, the damage to your career could be

extreme."

"At the moment," he said, "I'll take my

chances. But thanks for your

concern, Spock."

Spock nodded and went to his station, preparatory

to going back down to the planet. McCoy sat in his

chair and gazed at the screen, looking at the tiny

dot of the Klingon vessel tailing them, far back,

at a respectful distance. "No news from them, I

take it."

"No. They have been busy on the planet all

night, doing mineral surveys and so forth, if I am

correctly reading our recordings of their

activities. The action seems to have stopped for the

moment."

"It's their night, perhaps?"

"Difficult to tell. Power levels on their

ship have riot changed much since they arrived."

"Hmm. Rude to make noise and wake the

neighbors. I'll say hello to them

later. Meanwhile, have you got any ideas about

Jim?"

Spock came down from his station and stood

by McCoy, gazing at the screen. "Doctor," he

said slowly, "I have tried every kind of analysis of the

presently available data that I can think of. The

Captain does not seem to be on the planet at the

moment. Certainly he was there. Less certainly,"

Spock said, "there is no evidence of him leaving

it."

"Huh? You saw that disappearance trace."

"Yes. Doctor, think for a moment. Even if a

trans

porter of some kind unknown to us had taken hold of

the captain and pulled him off the surface of the

planet, it could not have done so undetected. The

universe does not work that way. There would have

been energy residue of at least one of several

hundred kinds-some indication of the source of the

instrumentality that removed the Captain, leading off-

planet. I have spent the night in careful

analysis of all the ship's sensor data for the past

two days. No indication of any such outside

interference occurs; all background radiation is

exactly as it should be. Faced with this data-or

lack of data that would disprove it-I am forced

to conclude that

Captain Kirk is still on the

planet."

McCoy raised his eyebrows, then lowered them.

"The Ornae and the Lahit have been saying that the

Captain's right there, and he's fine."

"So they have. At first I did not consider it

evidence to be taken at all seriously, not with the

Translator algorithms still so uncertain. But their

certainty is increasing hour by hour, as Uhura and

Kerasus do their work, and the translation of that piece of

information does not change."

"And," McCoy said, "there's that odd radiation you

picked up. The Cerenkov radiation, and those

Z-particle decays."

"Yes. I cannot understand what they mean as yet, but

I am still working on our scan data. There have been more

occurrences of the radiation over the past day, but not

associated with any consistent event or set of

events

that I can correlate."

McCoy looked thoughtful. Now how do I

phrase this so as not to bother him? "Spock," he

said, lowering his voice, "you occasionally have a knack

for, uh, feeling what's going on with Jim, at a

distance. You haven't had any "bad feelings," have

you?"

Spock was silent for a moment. Uh-oh,

McCoy thought. But then Spock said, very quietly,

"Doctor, I 135

have not. I can frequently "hear," from humans,

what is best expressed as a sort of mental

white noise. I cannot detect the Captain's. But

there is no sense of his ideation having stopped; it

simply feels as if it is

elsewhere." He looked at McCoy a bit

quizzically. "Not evidence admissible in court,

certainly. But in its way, reassuring."

"Well, let me know if you find out anything

interesting, or anything you think I can help with.

Highenergy physics is way over my head, but

I'm good at some other things."

Spock raised an eyebrow. "I had occasionally

noticed," he said, and went back to his station.

McCoy sat back and gazed at the screen.

"I wish I could get down there," he said softly.

"Oh, well."

They were coming out from over the night side of

Flyspeck. The terminator fell away beneath them in

a sudden sunrise; or a backward

sunset-McCoy

wasn't sure whether they were orbiting the

same way the planet rotated. I should start paying

attention to that kind of thing, he thought. Not that I really

want to...

"Hmm," said Chekov from the helm. "Some

activity over there, Doctor."

"Who? The Klingons?"

"Affirmative. Transporters running."

Chekov watched his scanners for a

moment, then said, "They're beaming down a party

near where three of our groups are working, near the First

Clearing."

"Uhura, give our people a shout and let them know that

company's coming," McCoy said. "It's morning where

our group is, isn't it?"

"Yes, Doctor," Spock said. "About three

hours after local sunrise."

McCoy nodded. "Chekov," he said, "you just

scan that new landing party and see if they're carrying

anything antisocial-looking."

Chekov peered at his screens for a moment.

"Nothing, Doctor," he said.

"Standard sidearms, and some light digging

equipment-core samplers and so forth."

"Such as you might use when looking for minerals?"

McCoy said idly.

"That's right," Chekov said. "A small ground

wehicle, too. Not armed."

"Hmm," said McCoy. "Well, I wish them

luck. At least they'll be getting

some fresh air and exercise."

Chekov chuckled. "Setting off away from our

landing party, Doctor. At a

pretty good rate, too."

"Message from the landing party, Doctor,"

Uhura said. "They say the

Klingons passed through their camp like-was She

chuckled. "They passed

through very fast, heading for the hills to the north."

McCoy nodded and sat back. "Keep our people

posted on that party's

movements," he said.

Uhura nodded. "Will do, Doctor."

It got quiet. People moved around the Bridge,

all doing their business;

everybody but McCoy, who sat in the middle of

things and began to feel the boredom nibbling at the

edges of his mind. There's nothing for me to do

here, he thought, except wait. I hate

waiting. Maybe I could just go down to Sickbay and

do a couple of routine exams . . .

No, Jim ordered me not to . . . and I

accepted the order. Dammit. I should have just defied

him right there and let him throw me in the brig. It's

quiet down in the brig.

Insulting people from Starfleet don't send you rude

messages in the middle of the night when you're in the

brig . . .

Uhura's station made a querulous little queeping

noise. McCoy glanced over at her as she

fitted her transdator to her ear. Her eyes

widened. McCoy

didn't like the way they widened at all.

"The Klingon vessel is hailing us,

Doctor," she said. "It's Commander

Kaiev."

Uh-oh. "Put him on," he said.

The screen changed to show Kaiev's face. It was

not a happy face, not at all. The Klingon

seemed to be torn between rage and a cold sweat, and

McCoy didn't like the look of either. Hmm.

Atypical petechiae on the face and

brow ridges. Now what was that syndrome

again-"Good morning, Commander," McCoy said, to put

his oar in first. "Or good evening, whichever it is.

To what do I owe-was

" MakKhoi, you are responsible for this!"

Kaiev shouted. " My people were engaged in a peaceful

exploration of the planet and you disintegrated them! This

act of hostility will not go unpunished!"

McCoy stared at him. "Pardon?" he said.

"We've just been sitting here. We saw your party go

down there, all right, but we-was

"7t is useless to try to deceive me! They

vanished from our scans without trace, in a matter

of a second or so! What other explanation could there

possibly be"....f"

Uh, McCoy thought, and looked over at

Spock. Spock raised one eyebrow, and shook his

head.

McCoy turned back to the screen and looked

carefully at the man.

"Commander," he said, "you want to calm yourself a

bit. Klingon blood

pressure's high enough; you keep on like this and

you're going to blow a fuse. And you just getting over that

bout of arthasomiasis and all. Sure way to bring

on a liver

spasm."

Kaiev's mouth fell open for a fraction of a

second.

"You-How do you know I have had arthasomiasis?"

His expression suddenly grew crafty. "Your

intelligence network is as far-flung as I have

heard, then.

Which of my crew is your spy"...I will kill them

all until I find the

traitor!!" He half rose from his chair, then

sat down suddenly, with a look of surprise and pain

on his face.

What are they doing, sending people like this out into space?

McCoy

thought, disapproving. Their stress screening

program must not be worth

much. "See now," he said, "what did I tell

you? You go have a word with

your medic and tell him or her to raise your

regulation dosage of Tacrin. It's not high enough

yet." He waited until the Klingon's color

improved a little and the secondary muscle tics

associated with the spasm began to

taper off.

And then his temper flared. "And as for your landing

party, son," and he began to rise out of his seat as

he got louder, "let me tell you that if I felt

like killing them, I'd just haul off and do it,

and I wouldn't bother lying to you about it afterward, so don't

flatter yourself!" He sat down again, ignoring the

shocked looks from all around the Bridge. McCoy

had

always been a good shouter, and he had had a good shout

coming for about two days now. It was a pleasure to be

able to use one appropriately.

The Klingon looked at him with a mixture of

somewhat abated fury and half-concealed admiration.

He opened his mouth. "Now you just get hold of

yourself," McCoy said immediately, "so we can talk

like reasonable beings here, and if you use that tone

with me again, my boy, I'll open your ship up like

a

sardine tin, and later on I'll fish your

corpse out of

space and thaw it out and stitch it back together the

old-fashioned way,

with a needle and thread, and then I'll use your

guts for garters. Now go

see your medic, and then get yourself back here and

we'll talk. Ou."

He jerked a thumb at Uhura in the gesture that

he had seen Kirk use so many times before. She

killed the connection, and McCoy sat

back in the center seat and began to sweat.

"Doctor," Spock said into the silence, "I

think I know what has happened to the Klingon landing

party1,

"So do I, Spock," McCoy said, and got

up so that he could go spend a few moments in the

turbolift before Kaiev called back. "So do

L"

"ALL RIGHT," KIRK SAID. "What can I

tell you about us?"

The beAt stood silently for a long while,

considering that. Kirk was in no hurry. He sat

down in the warm sunshine and said, "I'll wait this

way, if you don't mind."

"Of course not ," said the beAt.

Kirk sat crosslegged on the short, fine

turf, looking down at it, touching it. The stuff was

less like grass than clover; its small round

leaves, fat with moisture like some Earth succulents,

were springy and tough. The

leaves were the same brilliant blue-green as

most other kinds of plant life on Flyspeck.

That faint spicy scent that Kirk had noticed

earlier rose from it when Kirk pressed it with his hand.

He breathed the smell in gratefully.

Much as he loved the Enterprise, and for all the

efficiency of its

air-scrubbers and ionizers, the ship's air never

quite had this smell of atmosphere scrubbed only

by sunlight and wind.

"Can you show me where you come from?" said the beAt.

Kirk put aside the seeming oddness of the question.

He was aware that,

though Linguistics might have managed to iron out his

Translator's problems with the language proper,

there would still be conceptual problems that

would be weeks in the ironing, and many questions about things

that the beAt would take for granted, but humans would

find strange. Their sensorium in particular, which

seemed adequate for identifying the Enterprise from

the surface of the planet, in daylight, and perceiving

details about her, was phenomenal; Kirk would have a

few questions of his own to ask about that. In any case,

McCoy had been certain that this species was somehow

the key to this planet, and Bones's hunches were never

barren; they always paid

off, though sometimes not in the way you expected.

Kirk was determined to spend as much time as he could with

this creature, and to make it "quality time." Sooner

or later somebody from the ship would call

him, and he would have to go back and lever poor Bones out

of the center seat and get back to work. But for the time being,

he was going to relax and enjoy himself.

He squinted up at the sky, looking for the

planet's moon to give him some orientation; but it

had set. He had paid insufficient attention to the

coordinate system his people had set up. He

knew that the planet's north pole pointed more or

less toward the Galactic ecliptic, but that was little

help as far as this question went. "I would need to wait for

nightfall," he said. "Aboard my ship, I could

identify it for you fairly quickly. Out this way, I

would need to see a star I recognize, and I can't

do that in

daylight."

The beAt didn't move or speak, but there was a

feeling as of it nodding, in confirmation of something it had

expected. "What is your home system like?"

Kirk chuckled a little. "Very small," he said.

"Very, very small." In his mind's eye he could see

the splendor of Earth at night, all the lights

shining on the night side, the golden glitter of the

cities alive with

billions of people, the glint of moonlight or

sunlight on orbital

facilities and satellites as they swung by,

the cold clear brilliance of the cities on the

Moon. Many an Enterprise passenger had seen the

huge

shining orbital facilities of Starfleet that

serviced the ship when she

came home; everything was sleek, huge, modern,

impressive, and quite a few of Kirk's various

passengers had fallen silent, or grown voluble,

over the achievement of human beings, alone and

jointly with their alien companions of the other

humanities. For a lot of them, Earth was the bit

of the Solar System that mattered; all the other

planets were just colonies. But for

Kirk, the home system was more than its

hearth-planet. He had come coasting in from far

intergalactic space enough times to be more impressed and

moved by crossing what he privately called "the

doormat"-the radiopause, the

place far out beyond Pluto's orbit where the

Sun's gravity and wind could first be felt on the

Enterprise's hull. That was where the Solar System

began for him, out there in the dark. It was a long

ride in on impulse

engines, and gave you time to look around and

think. What stuck with him were the long cold silences

of the outer fringes, the vast emptiness; the little yellow

G-type star, a yellow dwarf really, nothing

particularly spe- cial, just a pinprick of light

for the longest time; and at the end of the ride, the

pretty, tiny world, dwarfed and 143

insignificant against the robust ruthlessness of the

gas giants of the outer reaches-a delicate thing,

an accident, a miracle almost thrown away a time

or two.

He tried to tell the beAt about that. He wasn't

sure how much of it got

across, less due to problems with the Translator

than with his own

difficulty expressing himself. But the beAt

listened patiently, and said at last, "You seem

fond of the place."

"Well, it is my home," Kirk said. "Or,

to be honest, it was. The Enterprise is my home

these days. I may visit Earth for longer or

shorter periods, but I always want to be back

aboard."

He smiled to himself, amused that he should be discussing

with an alien

what he had been mulling over on the

Bridge days ago. Not settled down with her after

all, he thought; settled down in her. Very different.

And that answer will do for the moment.

"You've come a long way to see us," said the

beAt.

"We were sent," Kirk said, "yes."

"And you came willingly?"

"Always. Well," Kirk said, reconsidering,

"almost always. There are

occasionally missions we don't care to undertake, but

do, to keep the

peace. There are other species who take a

less, uh, easygoing approach to life in the

Universe than we do. Not that we're always

perfect, either."

This is a dangerous line to be walking for a man

who's trying to get the species of this world into the

Federation, Kirk thought. But he had a

feeling that the comforting vagueness of diplomatic

jargon would not suit this situation. The beAt might

seem wise, and somehow dangerous, but there was a sense

of innocence about it that he had no wish to abuse. It

was one of the things about an alien race that he had always

most treasured-its own way of being-and

damned if he was going to take the

aggressive-colonizer mode and try to force another

being into the mold of

his own expectations. That was not why he and the ship had

come.

"Let me ask you something, sir, if I may,"

Kirk said. "You are the only one of your people that

we've seen so far. There have been plenty of Ornae

and Lahit, but only one beAt. Do you speak to me

as representative for your

people?"

There was a silence. Kirk could physically feel

the beAt looking at the

question. "I think you could say," it said finally, "that

I am the only one of us you need to see. One is

adequate to speak for all. We are very

like-minded."

Kirk was quiet for a moment. There had been

planets where he had been

handed similar lines, and the reality had turned out

to be laughably

different. But here he knew the truth on sight.

This, then, was the chief beAt, or what would pass for

it.

"Very well," he said. "What about the

other species? Do they have anyone who speaks for

them?"

"Not of their own species," said the beAt. "They

feel no need. In matters where their welfare is

concerned, we speak for them."

The rumble of the beAt's voice acquired, for the first

time, a slightly

threatening note. Or, not specifically threatening,

but there was an

implication within it that anything that would adversely

affect the other two species would have it to answer

to, and the answering would not be

pleasant.

Kirk said, "Good enough. That's what I was trying

to find out."

"Why?"

Kirk stretched his legs out. "You will have gathered,

I think, that we

didn't come here simply because we felt like it."

"Correct," said the beAt.

"Well then. We are the representatives of a

large number of species who

associate with one another for the sake of mutual

benefit in trade and

exploration. And," Kirk added,

"to tell the truth, for company. Life in a

universe with other species is much more interesting than

in a universe

where there are no others."

"That is certainly one way to put it," the beAt

said. Once again Kirk got that feeling of

pressure, as if the creature were considering him so

closely that the whole weight of its thought was bent

on him, and the

weight was as tangible as its stone. He sat still,

and bore up under it the best he could.

It eased off after a few moments. "Are there many

of you?" it said.

"Many billions," Kirk said, "scattered across

thousands of worlds. Not all of us travel the worlds,

by any means. But many do."

"And you "trade,"" the beAt said.

Kirk nodded. "We have many different kinds of

needs. Some of our worlds are rich in things that other

species need, or desire-goods, or knowledge. We

find ways to fulfill one another's needs, so that

all have what they

require for their lives to be worthwhile." At

least, he thought, that's the way it's supposed to work.

"And do all these species never do one

another harm?"

Kirk sweated, and said, "Yes, I'm afraid

sometimes they do. We have a long way to go yet before we

can walk through the Universe merely smelling the --

flowers. Some of us step on them. Sometimes

accidentally, sometimes on

purpose."

There was a silence. "Show me a flower," said the

beAt.

Kirk looked up at it, bemused, then said,

"Certainly." He got up, looked around the

clearing. It was not all the fine turf he had been

examining

earlier; there was some low shrubby growth dotted about

it here and there, and bright spots of color showed among

the branches. "Shall I bring one

over for you?" he said to the beAt.

"No need," said the creature. "Show me one."

Kirk got up and started walking over to the

shrubbery. That was when he got another surprise,

because the beAt went with him. It didn't move. But

at the same time, it was next to him with every step he

took, without disturbing a single leaf of t hat springy

bluegreen ground cover, or so much as a

crumb of dirt. It was a very impressive trick,

and Kirk wondered how in the world it did it.

Then again, they said the comAt's physicality was

"occasional." Is it

voluntary, I wonder? Do they turn it on and

off" at will? And how does it affect their

metabolism? He smiled to himself again. Now 1

understand why it made Bones so crazy when I called

him back up to the ship. I've got to find a way

to make it up to him later.

"Here," he said, pausing and kneeling down. The

bright bits of red in the bushes turned out to be

berries; but the turf had more than one kind of

plant in it, and Kirk reached down to touch a

small broadleaved plant, like a miniature

primrose, with delicate white orchid-like

petals. "That's what we would normally call a

flower. I'm not sure it's strictly analogous

to flowers on Earth; you'd have to check with my

Biology people."

The beAt leaned over him-rather, it didn't move,

but its shadow fell over him and the flower both.

"Yes," it said then. "I understand the idiom, I

think. To interfere with natural processes

already in place."

"Yes," Kirk said.

The beAt straightened-or rather, its shadow shortened,

and it was suddenly standing straight in the ground again. "I

thank you," it said. "Now let me show you something."

And immediately, night fell.

It was a night full of fire, and screaming. The

screams were like nothing that Kirk had ever heard before, but

it took only a moment for him to

recognize the scratchy noises of Ornae,

suddenly pitched terribly high, and the rustlings of

Lahit whipped to a terrible speed. Phaser and

disruptor bolts were lancing down through the utter

darkness, kindling fires where they struck. There was the

occasional crash of explosive in the middle

distance. Kirk held still, because he couldn't see

to run. Somehow he knew that the beAt was still beside him,

with terrible emotions rumbling in it, but leashed for the

moment.

A phaser bolt hit nearby. Lahit

screamed; a grove of them went struggling away through

the darkness, their branches flailing in agony, all

afire.

Another bolt illuminated the Ornaet

structure it destroyed; iridescent

flesh exploded, protoplasm melted and hissed

into steam. The air reeked of burning resin and alien

flesh. After a few seconds, the attack stopped.

But silence did not fall; the screams of the Lahit

lasted a long time. From the Ornae there was no sound

at all anymore.

Something passed overhead, silhouetted silveredged

by the light of the one small moon-a blunt, sleek

shape, that went over with a roar of ion-drivers and was

lost against the moonhaze at the horizon.

Kirk cursed, and found that he was standing in daylight

again, the beAt

beside him, looking down at a flower.

He looked around at the bright sunlight, breathing

hard with shock. Beside him the beAt stood silent and

stolid, as if it had been rooted in that spot since

the morning of the world; and it cast no shadow.

"Do you know that vessel?" said the beAt.

"From what I saw of it," Kirk said, "it

looked like an Orion pirate lander. The mothership

would have been up in orbit somewhere."

"Yes," said the beAt.

Kirk shook his head. "How did you do that?" he

said.

For the first time, he got an impression from

the beAt that felt like

uncertainty. It was very strange, from something that

until now had seemed solider than some mountains

Kirk had climbed. "I shall have difficulty

telling you," it said. "Tell me; where will you be

tomorrow?"

Kirk shrugged. "Back aboard my ship, I

suppose. I may be able to get down here again if

I can finish my other work." He looked around at the

sunny woods and said, "I'd like that, if I could.

This is a nice place."

"Yes," said the beAt. But there was something faintly

troubled about its

voice. "Can you not make a picture for me of

where you will be tomorrow, as you have been doing of where you were at

other times?"

"A picture-?" Oh Lord, Kirk thought, the

creature's a concept telepath.

It's been in my head all this 149

time, seeing every image that's occurred to me. Heaven

only knows what I've shown it! This thing could

destroy us with a thought if it wanted to-

Then he shook his head. He could hear McCoy

saying very annoyed, Why does it always have to be a

thing? The creature shows no sign of

destroying anything . . . and it's had enough destruction

visited on it. "Sir," he said, "I

can't do what you're asking me. You're asking me

to predict the future.

Visualize it, yes, I can do that. I can

approximate future events in my

mind. But not one of all our peoples can truly

tell, reliably, as an act of will, what will

happen tomorrow. Or five minutes from now."

The beAt was quiet for a moment. "This will be our

difficulty," it said,

more to itself, Kirk thought, than to him. "Captain,

I must try to make you understand us a little now."

"Be my guest," Kirk said.

"So we shall be. I think that you perceive-the past-and

now-but not the

future. Am I right?"

Kirk sat down in the grass again-gratefully,

for he was feeling slightly weak-kneed after that sudden

episode in the dark-and said, "You mean you can perceive the

future."

"Exist in it. Yes. To a limited degree."

"Holy cow," Kirk said softly.

"Pardon?" said the beAt.

Kirk laughed. "Sorry, the image

must have looked strange. And what about the past?"

"You saw for yourself," said the beAt.

"So I did." Kirk shook his head again. "This

ought to be impossible," he said, bemused. "Spock

will have a field day with you. The future shouldn't be

accessible, 150

by any rules we know. Even the Guardian of

Forever can't get at it."

The beAt paused a moment, perhaps looking at the

image in Kirk's mind. "That instrumentality is

operating on different principles," it said. "It

is only capable of managing one time-branch at a

time; its programming forbids

more, if I read correctly the way it

described itself to you. We are living in a way the

Guardian is not. All time-branches are

accessible, though the past ones are simpler

to access."

"Oh jeez, time," Kirk said, for in the midst of

all the excitement he had forgotten to check in with the

ship. "Sir, would you pardon me for a

moment? I won't go anywhere. I just need to talk

to my people."

"Of course, Captain."

He pulled out his communicator and

flipped it open. "Kirk to Enterprise. was

"Enterprise," Uhura's cheerful voice said.

"How

are you doing down there, Captain?"

"No problems. How's the ship?"

"No problems up here either, sir. his

"Fine. Kirk out."

He put the communicator away, and leaned back

a little to gaze up again at the beAt. "Now then . .

. where were we?" Kirk rubbed his head for a moment.

"You were telling me that you people can visit the future."

"We live in it," said the beAt. "To a limited

extent, as I said. Also the past and the present, as you

perceive them."

"We were actually there, just then, weren't we? That was

the last time the Orion pirates attacked your

planet."

"How often has this been happening?"

"At irregular intervals for some six rounds of

our sun, now."

"That's more or less eight of our years. Sir-was

Kirk paused a moment. "I

really do wish you had a name," he said. "I may

not use it much, but it

would help to have something to think of you by."

The beAt looked at him, and suddenly had a

shadow again, which fell over

Kirk. "We have little use for them," it said. "The

others, the Ornae and the Lahit, sometimes call me

by words that mean the one who manages things, having

understood them."

"Chief," Kirk said. No, too

nonspecific. "Boss." No, too informal.

"Hmmm . . . Master." As in teacher, or

skilled proponent of some art. That sounded more like it.

"Master," said the beAt, "says it well."

"Fine. So these people have been raiding you for eight

years now-was Kirk

tried to fit that together with reports he had heard

concerning their

depredations in other parts of space. "They've come

a long way from their usual hunting grounds if

they're all the way out here. Then again," he

said, "it's possibly our more widespread

presence, and the Klingons', that has driven them away

from the more populated parts of the Galaxy." He

thought for a moment. "What are they after? Can you

tell?"

"Every time they come here, they dig," said the Master.

It sounded rather bemused by that. "What for, I

could not say."

"It's not minable minerals," Kirk said. "Your

world

is poor in those. Then again, McCoy was getting

rather excited about the dirt earlier. And Spock

mentioned that the plant life here seemed rich in

medical alkaloids." That rang an

unfortunate bell. "It could be drugs," Kirk

said. "There are substances on some worlds that are

innocent enough in their own environment, but when used on

an alien species, are psychoactives of

greatly varying strengths. Such things bring huge

prices . . . and those who obtain and sell them

don't hesitate to kill." He shook his head.

"But it's just a guess."

"What I do not understand," said the Master, "is why

these Orion beings

feel it necessary to kill our people as they have been doing.

Surely they could take what they desire and depart

unharmed. There are many parts of this world with the same

plants, the same earth, but where none of us

lives."

"Sir, sometimes people like that just like killing. It's a

game to them. Or else they see it as fumigation .

. . cleaning an inconvenient infestation off

a world so they can more easily exploit it." Kirk's

mouth set in a

straight hard line. "The Orion pirates have

done that often enough before. Early on in their history, they

sometimes destroyed whole inhabited planets

simply because they weren't economically viable . . .

then us ed the

fragments to build Dyson spheres and

populate the increased areas with

slave labor. In a way, they did us a

favor . . . their behavior so

disgusted a lot of worlds that the profit motive went

out of style. There are a few holdouts, here and there.

But the pirates . . . I think they just like to kill."

The Master rumbled, a low slow sound that would have

made Kirk very nervous if he had thought it was being

directed at him. "I would tend to agree with you," it

said.

Kirk stood up and started to pace slowly back

and forth among the flowers. "But you've told me that you

can exist in other times. That's a tremendous

advantage, or it should be. If you can exist in the

future, why can't you perceive the pirates coming, and

act to keep your people away from them? Or find

some way to stop them?"

Kirk got a sense of profound regret from the

Master. "Don't you think we would if we could?" it

said. "We can exist in the future, but we cannot act

on it or in it without withdrawing our presence from

present and past. We would have to live permanently in

the future, our own future, so that we might warn

ourselves in the present of any danger. To do so would be

to

give up life in the present, forever."

Kirk thought about that for a moment. "I guess living

in the future

wouldn't be any more healthy than living in the past,"

he said. "You're

right. There must be some other way."

"It is hard for us," the Master said. "We are

prepared to do that if we

must. We are, in our way, the guardians of the

Ornae and Lahit. They share our perception of

time, but not the wider view; they can live in past and

present and future, but in only one at a time . .

. not all at once. They are innocents, with their own

concerns-mostly one another, discovering

their differences and likenesses. There are many."

"There certainly are," Kirk said.

"That's partly what brought us here-we know of no other

place where three species so different all

evolved

together."

The Master seemed gently amused by that. "Yes,"

it said, "we enjoy it-this discovering how different others

can be, while still being alike at root. Life is

a joy because of it."

"I think I understand you," Kirk said. "Though

it's possible I'm deluding myself." He shook his

head. 154

"Your ability to coexist among times alone is

going to raise a lot of

questions. Especially since you seem able to extend the

effects to others. You may find yourselves having a lot

of visitors . . . not just Orion

pirates." He clasped his hands behind him as he

paced. "There must be some way to put a stop to that,

though."

"We should be glad to hear of it," said the Master.

McCoy sat in the center seat, holding onto his

temper with both hands.

"Kaiev," he said, "I'll tell you again. I

have better things to do with my time than go killing your

crewpeople. I don't care how they go

running all over the planet with their little toy diggers

and I don't know what all. If they've vanished,

that doesn't surprise me. I told you that

strange things were happening down there, but you wouldn't

listen to me-oh no. We've had people vanish too, and

we don't know where they are."

"How many?" Kaiev demanded. "When?"

"Classified information," McCoy said. "You should

know better than to ask. And I don't care if it

means taking our statement on trust. You'll just

have to deal with it. If you don't believe me, and you

want to make

something of it, you just go right ahead."

McCoy looked at Sulu and Chekov

meaningfully, and threw a glance over at Scotty.

He could see that the screens were already up, and Sulu

brought up the little firing sight on his console.

Kaiev could see all this, and was having a hard time

keeping his face still.

"Now son," McCoy said, "I'm an

easygoing man, but you have an attitude

problem. If you force me to, I'll be glad

to adjust it for you,

permanently. Make up your mind."

He was very glad Kaiev couldn't see

how his hands were sweating.

It was very quiet over on the Klingon bridge.

"About what?" Kaiev finally said.

McCoy smiled. "About whether you're going

to cooperate with us. We'll send down some extra

search parties and help you look for your people. We have this

place a lot more completely mapped than you can have just

yet; that may be an advantage. Also, we'll do

some analysis on their sensor traces and see if

we can't find out where they went. We haven't had much

luck with finding our own missing yet, but we'll share

what we've discovered with

you. Spock," McCoy said, looking over his

shoulder, "make up a data packet about that odd

radiation and see to it that the Science Officer over there

gets it, will you? Thanks."

He turned to the screen again and smiled. "Anything

else you need, Kaiev?" The Klingon commander

looked at McCoy with an expression that was

difficult to decipher completely, but there was a lot

of perplexity in it. "Before, was he said, "you mentioned

that some of your people had been-eaten by trees- His

McCoy raised an eyebrow. "Tell your people

to leave their chain saws home, Kaiev," he said.

"McCoy out."

Uhura ended the transmission. Spock came

down to stand by McCoy, and

favored him with a look of mild annoyance.

"Doctor," he said, "have you any idea of the

weapons ability of a Klingon battle cruiser?"

"Enough to know that he can't take us one to one,"

McCoy said, "not with our screens up and with our fingers

on the button. Which is where we will stay, 156

until this situation has become calmer. It may

take a while. Yellow alert

until I say otherwise."

"Noted, Doctor." But Spock had not finished

being admonitory yet. "I must ask, however, why

you are being so provocative."

"I'm being nothing of the sort," McCoy said.

"Spock, it's pure Klingon

psychology, or as close to it as an Earthman

is going to get at the moment. Snarl first, and louder,

and never let up. Out-aggress the aggressor, and he

falls over and shows you his throat. It works for

wolves. And there are aspects of Klingon

behavior that suggest that "pack' psychology is

most

effective with them."

Spock still looked dubious. "You were

showing dangerous signs of enjoyment, Doctor," he

said. "Would you care to comment on the chance that you are

taking out your own anger at this situation on the

Klingons?"

McCoy laughed. "Why, of course I am,

Spock. That's one of the things

emotion is best for to use as a tool,

consciously, to achieve a goal.

One's own emotions, of course. In your case,

I speak theoretically." He

smiled; Spock looked at the ceiling.

McCoy was satisfied by this result. It would be a

poor day for him, even under these horrendous

circumstances, if he couldn't manage to tease

Spock a little.

"Meantime," he said, "I have to start putting together

some more

information for Starfleet; they're going to be wanting

my log extracts,

damn them. Have you found out anything else about that

radiation?"

"There continue to be minor incidences here and there on

the planet

surface," Spock said, "but again, none of them

seems attributable to any specific

event 157

that I can identify. I shall continue working on the

problem. But you should know," he said, "that I have had a

look at the heat and radiation scans for the area in which

the Klingons disappeared, and the traces are identical

in nature to the remnants left by the Captain.

Whatever the instrumentality is that is operating here, it

is the same in both cases."

"Wonderful," McCoy said. "So something now

has both Kirk and a batch of

Klingons in the same playpen. I needed something

like this to put my mind at ease."

"There is of course no evidence that any such thing

has happened-was

"Spock," McCoy said, "I will bet you a

nickel."

Spock raised his eyebrows. "Do you mean

to indicate an actual coin?"

"Just so happens that in my quarters, carefully

secreted from prying eyes, I have a genuine

buffalohead nickel, dated 1938 old date.

I bet you that nickel that the Captain and the Klingons

are going to wind up in the same place. And,"

McCoy said, "T bet you that Jim is going

to run rings around them."

"If I lose this bet," Spock said, "I will

be unable to redeem the amount in question. I am afraid

I do not have any nickels."

"That'll do," McCoy said. "Here, give me that

padd. I've got to think of something that'll sound good

enough to keep Starfleet off my neck for the next few

hours."

"Are you expecting something to happen in that time?"

Spock said.

"Spock, with my luck, something will. You just

watch."

Katur was a young officer, but experienced in many

landings in her time. She prided herself on her ability

to cope with the unexpected. She had seen many things that

had been the deaths of those less prepared than she,

those less ready to react in a second, to kill

quickly and without undue

consideration of the consequences. Too much thinking,

Katur felt, was bad for the pulse rate.

Reaction, reflex, swift and merciless, that was the

secret of survival . . . and advancement in

rank.

But she had not been prepared for anything like

this.

The briefing with Commander Kaiev had been

brief and simple. "The place is full of

aliens," he had said. "There are indications that some of

them may be dangerous. Use due care, but do not

hesitate to make examples of them if you find it

necessary. Our intelligence indicates that this planet

is most likely a rich source of tabekh. You

are to search out the necessary raw

materials, and once identified, bring as much

back to the ship as possible. At all costs, stay

away from the Federation personnel. We do not desire

them to have any idea what we are after in this area,

lest they attempt to co-opt the resource.

Understood?"

Katur had understood all too well. There wo uld

be precious little glory on this landing. My mother did

not raise me to dig in the dirt like a menial, she

had thought, as she went to the Transporter room with the

others. But one must suffer in silence sometimes to gain

greater goals.

Katur frequently thought like that, in axioms and

wise sayings. It was a bad habit she had

acquired from her brother, who had died suddenly in

some world south of the Galactic Rift, when a

creature with too many teeth and no appreciation of

wise sayings had leapt on him from a tree

and bitten his head off. Katur had never cared much for

her brother, so she had been

little moved by this, except to take the occurrence as

an omen that wisdom was best left to others, and that

thinking too hard tended to distract one from what was going

on in the immediate vicinity. The wise sayings continued

to rattle about in her head, but she kept them to herself,

and did her best to ignore them.

Now she sat in the back of the all-terrain

vehicle and muttered to herself over Kesaio's

driving, which was certainly suitable for a muck-cart, but

nothing much better than that. The transporter had

put them down

practically in the middle of the Federation camp, and

they had had to

endure a great deal of staring and interest as they

made their way out of the clearing. That was another

problem-the lack of proper roads. The

Commander had forbidden them a

flyer, apparently thinking that the Federation commander, not

the famous

smooth-talking Kirk but some other officer, was

too easily antagonized, and might misconstrue

the flyer as being rather too handy should they decide

to attack the Federation landing parties.

That statement alone had made Katur's liver

twist in her. She despised

Kaiev, even when he was being prudent; perhaps more

than usual, then, for he so rarely seemed

to exercise good judgment at other times. He was

capable enough of being reckless when the foe was small and

helpless, which annoyed Katur. No honor in such

pretenses; enslave them and be done with it. But this

sudden careful courtesy being 160

exhibited by Kaiev in the face of

Enterprise's puny guns annoyed Katur

considerably. It was a great pity that the ship had

been prepared for them. All it would have taken was a

moment's surprise to add glory to all their

names. Glory, and an early end to this tour of

duty in the middle of nowhere at all.

Instead, they were forced to act meekly, and drive out

through the

Federation people. And even worse, through the aliens.

"I would shoot them all," Katur muttered to herself.

"Look at these disgusting things."

"I am trying not to," said Helef, who was

sitting beside her and glowering. And it was understandable, for they

were revolting. Half of them were like fat bags of

sickly colored jelly; the other half were

dumb plants, except they had little cold eyes that

made it plain they were watching you, and thinking no one

knew what.

"I will take an axe to one of them yet,"

Katur said under her breath. "Why is it that everywhere

we go, we keep finding these things? Does the idiot

Universe have nothing better to do than to keep creating

more and more

life? And most of it not worth conquering." She

shuddered. "All simple

life, no sophistication about it, no elegance,

no grand passions. The

Universe is hopelessly pedestrian,

Helef."

Helef shrugged and looked away. He was no

philosopher at the best of times. Kesaio took

them out of the clearing along a narrow, bumpy path.

Tree

branches whipped at their faces; they ducked, and

Kesaio and Tak in the

front seat all swore. Katur longed to see

the day over with. Digging tabekh like any servant,

she thought. Someone ought to call challenge on Kaiev

for this, and cut his liver out. Except we need the

stuff, I suppose. It had 161

indeed been three weeks now since any of them

had had tabekh, and there had already been several

murders aboard ship as one crewmember or another

ran

out and killed another for his or her supply.

To happen on a planet that was a source was incredible

luck, and had to be exploited. But Katur was

intensely annoyed at having been sent to do the

exploiting.

They came out into another clearing and went roaring

across it. And then something happened. Katur was not

sure of the details even later, when she had time

to think about matters, but it seemed as if suddenly there

was a stone in the middle of the clearing, where previously

there had been none. She had little more time to consider the

problem, as she was pitched out of the vehicle over the

windshield.

She was well-taught enough to hit the ground rolling,

and a moment later she was on her feet, sidearm out,

looking for the others. They were all

lying about in various states of disrepair.

Kesaio was sitting up groaning, with the blood coming

down from a good long scrape on his head. Katur

went and helped him up roughly by one arm. "A pity

you weren't killed," she

said, "but that's all right; the Commander will do that for you

when he

sees what you've done to the vehicle."

Kesaio wasn't up to much but groaning yet.

Katur went over to Helef,

pausing along the way to kick at one of the

pulse-diggers, which had come down and broken rather neatly

in two pieces. "Fine," she said. "We're going

to have to do all this by hand now." She helped Helef

up; he was stunned, that was all. "Tak?" she said.

"I'm all right," he said. "Katur, did you

see that? The stone got in front of us."

She stared at him. "You're addled. Here, pick

up your gun."

He picked up his sidearm, but at the same time

he was looking suspiciously at the rock.

"Katur, I mean it. It was somewhere else first, and

it moved."

"Nothing moved," she said scornfully. "Don't

be a fool. How should a rock move? Do you see

any marks in the grass, anything of the kind?"

"No, but-was

"Idiot," she said, and stalked away. Another

disappointment. She usually rather liked Tak, but if

he was going to start hallucinating on her,

there was no point in him.

Katur stared at the vehicle. A ruin. How

quickly everything could go to

pieces in the world. She had gone out with hopes of a

commendation for a task well done; now there would be

discipline for all of them. And still no tabekh.

The windshield of the vehicle was quite shattered.

Katur looked at it,

rubbing her slightly sore neck, and wondered how

she had managed to go

flying over it and not hit the rock.

Unless the rock had moved-

No, ridiculous. She went over to the other

digger and picked it up. It was still in one piece, but

whether it would function was another question.

"Come on, the lot of you," she said. "At least

we still have one of these

left. We'll get the damn tabekh anyway,

more than enough for everybody."

"What about the vehicle?"

"We'll tell the Commander that one of the wretched

tree-things got in front of it," Katur said.

"Rocks we can't explain except by people's

clumsiness."

She glowered at Kesaio. "But we can

catch one of the trees 163

and make it look as if the alien got clumsy.

Nothing easier. Here, take

this," she said, and handed the surviving pulse-digger

to Helef.

He took it with ill grace, but he had no

choice; she was most senior.

"Here," she said, "give me your scanner." He

handed that over reluctantly as well. He had

spent time making special alterations in it, and

disliked having his settings fiddled with. She knew it,

and delighted in

discomfiting him. Katur changed the

reading-slides until they suited her, then did an

allaround scan.

"There," she said. "There's a positive trace.

Northnorthwest, no more than four thousand paces

away. We can make it in an hour or so, I should

think. Come on, let's get this over with."

They set off north-northwest, up toward the

bluegreen hills. A long soft afternoon, blue with

haze and the planet's idiosyncratic

chlorophyll, was settling over everything. Katur,

uncaring, was blind to it.

Another thing she also did not see, that she

might have cared rather more about, was the rock, which was following

them.

KIRK WAS SITTING in the shadow of the Master

of the beAt, thinking hard.

Afternoon was setting in; the light was changing from the

odd coolstwarm

mixture of the morning to earlier day to something almost

wholly warm,

though blues and greens were still predominant. The

brassy light of

Flyspeck's sun was shading down to old gold

through the still air. In the

trees leading up to the hills northward, birds

were beginning to sing, or

something that would have passed for birds. The song was

muted, abstract,

and slightly melancholy. It reminded Kirk of

nightingale bats, or chickadees in winter, and it

suited his mood, and the feeling of the place,

exactly.

The Master had not spoken for some time. Kirk

leaned back against its

bulk-it had told him it didn't mind-and

waited. One feeling he had been

getting steadily, ever since he had

beamed down, was that there was no

point in rushing this process. This was exactly

what the Enterprise had

come for-the diplomacy, taking place in a rather

different manner than 165

he had originally imagined, but taking place

nonetheless, and requiring the same care and attention as

if the usual forms were being observed. Pity more

diplomacy can't take place like this, though, Kirk

thought. Sitting out in the fresh air and the sunshine is

a lot more pleasant than being stuck in

stuffy meeting rooms and bureaucratic

cocktail parties.

He kept finding himself looking around, though, as if

to reassure himself that the day would not suddenly give

way again to a night full of bombs and phasers.

There was no question in his mind that he had been there,

physically. It begged an interesting question could the

beAt affect others' physicalit y, as well as their

own? It seemed likely. But he would need

Spock later to help him work on answers to that

question, and many others. There was no doubt that the Federation

would be very, very keen to get

Flyspeck in.

He could not allow that to concern him, however.

His business was to

discover whether membership in the Federation would be as

good for the

beAt-and the Ornae and the Lahit-as it would be from the

Federation's point of view. If it wasn't, he was

going to tell the Federation to go take a

flying leap. Theoretically, if that was his decision,

they would support him.

Theoretically.

He sighed and thought again of that horrible night full

of carnage. "I

think I can understand," he said after a while, "why

you're in the mood to be a little cautious of aliens."

There was a silence. Then the Master said, "Can you?

Can you indeed?"

Its tone of voice was curious, and made him

wonder if he had been missing something. Kirk said,

"You're 166

implying that there may be reasons for your caution that

I don't understand as yet. Nothing is more likely.

But I don't know what questions to ask as

yet, sir, to get the right answers."

"Nor do I," said the Master. "I suppose

we'll just have to play Galactic Twenty Questions

until we both discover what we need

to know."

Kirk chuckled. As they had been talking, the

beAt's idiom was becoming more and more fluent, even

witty. Kirk supposed it was picking this up from his

mind somehow, catching snatches of other people's conversation

as he

remembered them in the course of his own talking and

thinking. "That's as good a name for this as any," he said.

He stretched. "It's a pleasure to have the time

to ask the questions

today," he said. "I feel a lot less

pressured than usual." He cocked an eye up

at the beAt. "That wouldn't be your doing, would it?"

The beAt hesitated-Kirk was growing able to hear

its hesitations now-and

said, "I couldn't answer that until I was certain

I knew what you meant by doing. I would have to tell you

everything I do, I suppose."

Kirk was amused. "And what do you do?"

"Watch the world, mostly."

"No different from most of us. Except we have to do

things about what we see happening. Not always the right

things, I'm afraid."

The beAt made a long slow rumble that Kirk was

coming to recognize as

agreement. "You do a lot of doing, was it said.

"Yes."

"It must be strange," said the Master, "to spend so

much of your time in the present."

Kirk laughed outright at that. "We're kind of

stuck with it. The future is a closed book . .

. the past is frozen. The present is all we've

got to

work with."

"Very strange," said the Master. "Time as you conceive

it is a little

place, it seems. A box. You sit in the

present moment, with everything

outside the box inaccessible to you."

"We get out," Kirk said slowly. "But only

occasionally. Dreams . . .

there's no time there. A hundred things happen in

an eyeblink."

"Yes," the Master said, "that is the way it is."

"There was a saying on Earth, among some of the early

philosophers, that time was Nature's way of

keeping everything from happening at once."

The Master rumbled with amusement again. "What a

quiet context you must

exist in," it said. "A simple

place."

"Simple!"

"But do you see," said the Master, "what our

caution is founded in? Here our people have this

perception of time as a whole thing, unbreakable; a

field that we live in, and move through at will;

sky,

sun, trees, wind. Now comes a species that

tells us that

all other species, nearly, live in boxes,

and let in the

sun only a blink at a time, glance at a star

only once in

a while. Should that not seem unutterably strange

to

us? Frightening? And should we not fear that the

species we live with, and care for-the Ornae and the

Lahit-might somehow catch this view from contact

with these other beings, be contaminated by it? Might

we not fear that our friends, who see the world mostly

as we do, might themselves crawl into the boxes, and

come to ration their perception of the world to the

occasional breath of air, a glimpse of

sunlight through

the cracks?" It sounded grave. "I

think that would be a mistake in our

caretakership."

"You would be right there," Kirk said. "But you have no

guarantee it would happen. You might as easily

become enriched as impoverished. Think of the other

side of the question. People from a hundred worlds coming here-as

many new, strange ways of thinking as you can

imagine; more than that. For strangeness doesn't always

have to be terrible. We got over that fear,

though it took us a long time. Some of the most

different of us are the

best friends. Maybe there's something to what people say

where I come from, that opposites attract, that people as

unlike as they can be have nothing to argue about, and get

along the best of all, much better than people who are more

alike."

"Like your friends the Klingons."

Kirk laughed. "We may be a little too alike

for our own good. We were both bred from predator

species. Are there any predator species on this

planet?" he said, for he could feel the Master's

momentary confusion. "Creatures

that live off other creatures, by actual ingestion

of their tissue, or by taking something belonging to the other

creatures from them?"

The beAt shuddered. Kirk did too, in

sympathy; perhaps the Master was

leaking emotion a little, for its wave of shock and

revulsion went straight through him. What was the image

in my mind? he wondered, for he had never even

noticed. Lions on the veldt? Or something

worse?

"We have nothing of the kind here," said the Master, and

there was an

undertone of unhappiness in its voice, "though I

have heard of the concept. This, then, would also go far

to explain the behavior of your 169

Orion pirates, if they are descended from

predators too."

"Hominid stock," Kirk said. "I'm afraid

so. Most hominids had

ancestor-creatures that hunted and killed

to live. The habit is in our

genes. It's hard to break. Some of us choose

to break it. Some delight in the killing, and see no

problem in that. We try not to judge them by our

standards." Kirk sighed. "We have trouble enough living

by our own."

"You can see," said the Master, "the difficulty

I would have in justifying contact with such kinds

of creatures."

"Justifying to whom?" said Kirk.

There was another of those long pauses. "I will have

difficulty explaining that," it said, though there was an

undertone to its rumbling that sounded almost cheerful.

Kirk shook his head. "Never mind, then. It can

wait till later. I'm more concerned about the

pirates. They're bound to come back again. They'll

keep coming back until they've drained your planet

of whatever resource they

started coming here for. And they'll kill more of your people,

and the

Ornae and Lahit, in the process."

"Oh, they haven't killed any of my people. We

are hard to kill," said the Master.

"I just bet!" Kirk said. You could drop a

planetcracker bomb on a creature that could put

its physicality in abeyance; and when it came

back, not a vein of its stone would be out of place.

"But the others . . . yes. I would prevent that, if

it could be prevented."

Kirk weighed his next words for a few seconds.

"This might be one advantage that being in the 170

Federation could offer you," he said. "One of the things

we cooperate in is protection. If it

became known that your world was affiliated with our

Federation, odds are that the pirates would avoid you.

We have had run-ins with them before." Kirk smiled,

and the smile was grim. "Generally not to

their advantage."

"You were telling me," said the Master, "that you thought

perhaps the

reason they were coming here was because they had been driven

out of other spaces comby you and the Klingons. Should you

come here, then perhaps they would be driven farther out-to some

other world even less able to defend itself. Some world that

your people would see no advantage in defending. For

clearly you see advantage in us."

"I can't deny that," Kirk said.

"I would find it hard," said the Master, "to take

on my conscience the

burden of deaths on another world. This one is

problem enough."

Kirk had to see the logic in that. So much for the

diplomatic initiative, he thought unhappily.

I have a feeling these people are going to say no to us at the

end of the day. Regardless, something has to be done

to help

them.

"This predation," the Master said, thoughtful,

"seems unusually widespread. One wonders if

something could be done about it."

Kirk smiled slowly. "I'm sitting here trying

to think of ways to help your people," he said, "and you're

trying to think of ways to help mine."

"Well, who wouldn't?"

"The Klingons, for one."

"Yes," the Master said, still thoughtful. "But that's

their problem. They cannot help their genes any more 171

than you can. One must transcend such things, not try

to deal with them by simple removal. Removal never

turns out to be permanent, or effective."

"So we found out, sometime back in our history,"

Kirk said. "Mastery is

better than change, as a rule. And usually more

satisfying."

"Yes, was said the beAt, and the earth round about shook

with its agreement. .kirk steadied himself until the

bouncing stopped. I

have the feeling I've just missed something

significant, he thought. I wish I knew what

it was. "In any case," Kirk said, "the

Klingons don't seem

particularly interested in transcending their heredity.

They appear to be

very fond of it." He shrugged. "Their choice."

"Yes."

"At any rate, I thank you for trying to think of

ways to help us. But I

think that we would probably not benefit unless we

impl emented the help

ourselves."

"I was going to say something similar to you," said the

Master, and Kirk could feel it smiling, though there was

not the slightest change in the

contours or terrible weight of that great tall stone.

"And you see, if we had to depend on others for our

protection, our-sufficiency-would be

impaired. Never again would we, or the other

species, be quite whole. It might be better to die,

than to lose that wholeness. It is all we have,

really."

"Live free, or die," Kirk murmured.

"Yes," said the Master of the beAt. "That is the

choice to be made, I

think."

"And you will be making it," said Kirk.

"Oh, I have made it, eventually," the Master

said. "I just don't know what it is yet."

Kirk sighed. Every now and then the

Master's

tenses became confused, but it had something to do with the

beAt's odd

perception of time, rather than a glitch in the

Translator. "Well, let me

know when you find out," he said.

"You will be the first to know," said the beAt. "And

possibly the last. Tell me something, if you would."

"Certainly," Kirk said, thoroughly confused.

"The other ship-tell me about that."

"Oh, our initial survey vessel," Kirk

said. "They were under orders not to reveal where they came

from or what they were doing here. I have regrets about that,

in retrospect," he said. "It seems a childish

way to treat

another intelligent species. Unfortunately,

I don't make the policies; my job is

to carry them out."

"Not that ship," the beAt said. "The other ship in

orbit, the one with the name Ekkava on its hull.

There are not as many people aboard it as there are aboard your

vessel, but the ship seems to be carrying many more of the

energy-directing devices than yours does."

Kirk broke right out in a cold sweat.

BonesYA-ND my ship, with a green

officer in the helm, one that no one else will be able

to relieve because of my orders. "Ekkava-that sounds

uncomfortably like a Klingon ship," he said.

"Sir, I need to contact my ship." He pulled

out his communicator and flipped it open. "Kirk

to Enterprise. his

The result was a horrendous electronic

squeal that he had heard before, and it raised the hair

on the back of his neck-not with delight, either.

"Jammed," he muttered. "What the devil are

they up to?"

"They appear to simply be orbiting at the

moment," said the Master. "I can tell you this in

certainty your ship is in no danger from the

Klingons."

"If you don't mind," said Kirk, "I'd rather be

the judge of that."

"A moment only. We have been discussing the

Klingons mostly in the

abstract," said the Master. "Do you consider them as

bad as Orion pirates?" Kirk had to think about

that for a moment. "There are more of them," he

said, "and they're less cautious, and more violent,

in more straightforward ways. Usually they're better

armed. But they're usually more predictable.

We know each other moderately well," Kirk

said.

"So it seems. Well, they are here, and I

suppose they must be entertained as well." The

Master sounded to Kirk more like a host who's worried

about the hors d'oeuvres running out than a

creature with what might be the

beginning of an invasion force sitting on its

doorstep. "What would you

recommend we do?" Kirk frowned furiously

at the nonfunctional communicator, and put it

away. "Probably," he said, "get ready for a

fight."

Captain's Log, Supplemental. Commander

Leonard McCoy recording in the

absence of Captain James T. Kirk

(oh Lord, Jim, where the hell are you?)

Conditions remain largely unchanged since our

last log entry. We are

keeping a channel open to the Klingon vessel

to keep them reassured that we harbor no ill Will

against them, and continue to check in with them

regularly regarding their missing crewmen. No

sign has been found of their people as yet, or of

Captain Kirk, though our searches have

extended to include three of the other continents and the

Waters off the continent on which most of our researches

have been done. Mr. Spock continues to

investigate odd radiation readings and other

slightly unnatural phenomena that he feels may

shed some light on the method used to remove the

Captain. The Ornae and Lahit on the planet

continue to insist that the Captain is present and

unhurt, though they are unable to prove this, or

to tell us how they know.

Meanwhile, datagathering continues on the

planet, though many personnel have been diverted

to searching for the Captain. We have rediscovered

penicillin eighteen times, streptomycin and

hemomycetin three times, and have isolated several very

promising antifungal and antibacterial agents.

The planet also seems to harbor some plant life

that occurs on planets a good ways away, such as

snortweed, which as far as we knew only grew on

Delta Orionis Eight. Other specimens have

also been found and identified, leading some members of

Botany to suggest that the Preservers may indeed have

been out this way, but may have transplanted

vegetative plant species rather than the usual

intelligent animal-descended ones, and

may have used the planet as a greenhouse rather than a

zoo breeding program. The

interest of this planet continues to increase. My

only wish is that the Captain were experiencing it from

up here, rather than wherever he is.

McCoy handed the recorder to Uhura. "Did that

sound all right?" he said. "You're getting the hang

of it," she said. "Thanks, Doctor. This will go out

with the next transmission in a little while."

"Good." He frowned a little. "Aren't we due for

another love letter from Starfleet pretty soon?"

"Yes."

"Oh, wonderful." He was feeling the dread in the

pit of his stomach, a

feeling he hadn't experienced since he was in

grammar school, sitting and waiting for what he

knew would be a failing report card to be put

into his hands to take home.

"Don't panic yet," Uhura said. "They'll

have your last reply at this point, but it's going

to take five hours for them to get this one and figure

out what you've 175

been doing with what they told you. Maybe something will

happen between now and then."

"Maybe," he said, not wanting to rain

on Uhura's parade. But he had a

feeling that if anything was going to happen, it was on

that little spark of light that was trailing them two

hundred klicks back in orbit. It made his

back itch. Several times now he had considered

telling Sulu to slow

their orbit so that the Klingons would slip in front

of them. But he had restrained himself. The Enterprise

could fire just as well backward as

forward, and as for the Klingons, any sudden move on

Enterprise's part

might make them nervous. No use doing anything

that might alter the

delicate balance that presently prevailed.

"Spock," he said, looking over his shoulder,

"anything new?"

Spock was bent over his station's viewer, intent.

He straightened up slowly and said, "I am . . .

uncertain, Doctor."

"How uncertain?"

Spock came down to stand beside the center seat.

"Doctor," he said, "you said that high-energy

physics was a little "over your head." How far

over?" McCoy shrugged. "I understand the basics;

you have to, to understand most of the diagnostic

imaging systems we use in Sickbay. I can fix

our little cyclotron when it breaks down, but that's about

the size of it."

Spock nodded thoughtfully. "I have been doing some

time-lapse scanning of the planet surface," he

said, "concentrating on the area where the Captain went

missing. I keep locating Z-particle decay

of a certain kind, the kind associated with tachyon

incursion in atmosphere."

That surprised McCoy a bit. Tachyons were

the

heralds of particles that had been traveling at more

than the speed of

light, and had slowed down and so become perceptible

in the "real"

timeframe; their high red shift always gave them

away. "That's curious," he said. "What do you

make of it?"

"I have no theories as yet," Spock said. "But

we have come across these

particular kinds of decay before."

"Where?"

"On the planet of the Guardian of Forever."

McCoy raised his eyebrows. "The characteristic

decay patterns are all

there," Spock said. "Typically they were found when

the Guardian had just been active in engineering a

timeshift."

"You think there's another Guardian down there?"

He swallowed. No question but that the Klingons would be

interested in that. "Is it buried somewhere? Is that why

our friends down there were out with their digging gear? Maybe

we were wrong in thinking they were hunting mineral

resources."

"Insufficient data," Spock said. "All I

have been able to determine is that the radiation decay is

the same. I must say that I doubt the Klingons have

had time to come to my conclusions."

That struck McCoy as small consolation, at the

moment. "Has something

grabbed Kirk and thrown him into some other timeline?"

he said. "Is that why the Ornae keep insisting

he's there . . . but can't produce him?"

"I cannot say. But I will continue my

investigations."

McCoy brooded a moment, then said, "Have our people

down there been asking the Ornae if they know where the

Klingons are?"

"Yes, but the answers have not been conclusive.

They are still trying to get replies that make

sense."

Spock turned away. "Still no sign of the

beAt?" McCoy said.

"None, Doctor." And Spock went back

to his station.

McCoy sat back, watching the screen, which at

the moment was showing the main clearing down on the

planet. In the background of the picture Lt.

Kerasus was sitting with an Ornaet half in her

lap, talking a mile a minute to her tricorder,

and herself now using the scratchy noises the Ornae

used. Lia was off at one side, peering among the

branches of a grove of Lahit, using an

ophthalmoscope on their holly-berry eyes. The

eyes were foll owing her as she moved around, and goggling

at her. He smiled a bit through his annoyance and

concern.

TheeaAt are at the heart of this, somehow, he thought.

If Jim hadn't called me up just then, I would have

found out something about what's going on

here . . . I know it. Maybe I would have been the

one to disappear, but who cares about that? I d have found

out.

1 hope.

Uhura glanced over at him.

"Doctor," she said, "we've got a

transmission coming in. I'm afraid it's

Starfleet."

McCoy moaned. "I guess there's no use in

trying to avoid it. Let me have it live."

Uhura smiled demurely and said, "Yes,

sir." She touched a button.

The pleasant scene on the screen went away and

was replaced by, oh Lord, Delacroix. And

puns aside, he looked cross. He was sitting

in exactly the same position as he had been for the

previous message. 178

Does the man ever get out of that chair, I

wonder? But this time his face

looked as if he had been sucking Demons.

McCoy tried to be inconspicuous

about gripping the arms of the center seat.

" Starfleet Command, Delacroix, was he said.

"To

Leonard McCoy, commanding Enterprise. Command

er, we confirm receipt of your last set of log

extracts and

data. As of this stardate, you are re-was

The picture broke up in a howl of noise and a

blizzard of static. Very

slowly, McCoy turned around and smiled at

Uhura.

"Nice job," he said. "Oh, Uhura, that was

nice."

"I didn't do it, Doctor," she said. "Much

as any of us might dislike the contents of the message,

I can't interfere with reception. Ethics."

McCoy sighed. "Yes, well then . . . what

did?"

And the horrible suspicion hit him. "Or who?"

"Checking," Uhura said. She turned her

attention to her board for a moment, touched a couple of

controls, and said, "I thought so. It's a jamming

signal, Doctor."

"Klingon?" he said.

She nodded.

"Never thought I'd be thanking them for some tilde

thing, but by Heaven, if I see Kaiev, I'll

buy him a jelly pastry," McCoy said.

Spock looked over at McCoy with a bemused

expression. "I am uncertain why you're

celebrating, Doctor," he said. "From the

syntactical construction we heard, the

probability is high that the Admiral was about

to relieve you."

McCoy stopped right where he was. He had been

so delighted not to have to take a scolding from

Delacroix that that hadn't occurred to him. His 179

mouth dropped open, and he said, "Damn.

Damn, damn, damn!

Then he stopped. "Wait a second," he said

to Spock, and advanced on him

with glee. "If you're so sure that that's what he

said, then you have to relieve me!"

"Doctor, I only said the probability was

high. One officer cannot relieve another on a

probability. The order must be heard. We did not

hear him

finish."

McCoy's scowl came back. "I'll kill

him," he said, turning to Uhura.

"Uhura, get Kaiev on the horn. I'm

going to give him such an ache in that bumpy head of

his-to "

"I take it the jelly pastry is off, then,"

Uhura said softly, and reached out to her console. Before

she could touch it, it beeped at her.

"Put it on screen," McCoy said angrily,

and swung to face it. It lit up

with Kaiev's face a moment later.

"Commander," McCoy said to him, "do you know that it's

not polite to

interfere with people's communications with home?"

Kaiev looked both annoyed and upset, and for a

moment McCoy found himself wondering whether he was

running up to another liver relapse; he was pale.

Kaiev said, "Commander, I have just received a number of

orders from our High Command-was

Oh boy, McCoy thought. It never occurred

to me that he would have his own bureaucracy breathing down

his neck. I should have thought of that long

ago. I am really not cut out for this job-

"We have decided that you and the indigenous peoples of

this planet have

conspired in the kidnapping of our personnel. We

are also convinced that

your stories of missing personnel are a blind

to allow you to 180

stay in the area for reasons of your own, probably

treacherous. Therefore, if our crewpeople are not

re

turned to us within one of your standard days, was Kaiev

said, "7 am ordered to destroy your ship. Reinforce

ments are being diverted to this area. If you

attempt to leave without returning our people,

we will hunt you

down wherever you run, and blow you out of space. We

have jammed your communications to prevent your

calling for help. Since we are a peace-loving

species,

and wish to give you a chance to rethink the conse

quences of your aggression against us, for the present

we will take no action against your landing parties on

the planet, and will allow you to recover them. But

any

Federation personnel found on the planet after the

one-standard-day time limit will be considered a casu

alty of the security action that will be mounted

to recover our own people. You may also wish to warn the

planet's inhabitants that should they repent their

collu

sion with you, and assist in the return of

our personnel

to us, we will spare them. Otherwise we will kill

one

thousand of them for every one of our missing people,

and will continue to do so every standard hour until our

people are returned. Long live the Empire. was

And the

screen went black before McCoy could

get in a single

word.

McCoy sat down and swiveled around to face

Uhura. "Are we jammed as he

says?"

"Yes, Doctor, we are. Subspace is

full of artificially generated black

noise. Not a thing we can do about it without leaving the

area. At the

strength they're using, not even a signal buoy

would do us any good within the time limit."

"Wonderful." A moment later he said, "Wait

a minute! They can't do this. The Organians-was

Spock shook his head. "Doctor, test cases

of whether or not the Organians will or will not

intervene, this far away from their home space, are very

thin on the ground. I should not care to rely on their

intervention. Would you?"

"Mmf," McCoy said. "Yes. Well, I

suppose the Universe helps those who help

themselves, eh, Spock?"

"The body of statistical data does indicate

something of the sort."

McCoy folded his hands and thought. "Look,

Spock," he said after a little, "will it help

you if we take some of the people who're doing general

survey work and get them looking for more of those

tachyon-Z particles?"

"I doubt it," Spock said, "but the decision is

yours."

McCoy could hear Spock's private thought

if it made McCoy feel better, it would do no

harm. "No," he said, "let them keep doing what

they're doing, then. Uhura, put together a buoy

anyway, and get it ready to take last

batches of information that the landing parties will be bringing

up

tomorrow at this time. The DNA'-ANALOG analyses

will be done by then, and that information in particular mustn't be

lost, if this whole mission isn't to be wasted."

"Yes, Doctor," Uhura said.

McCoy sighed. "Spock," he said,

"opinions?"

"I should say that we are in a difficult

position," said Spock.

"Thank you ever so much. Analysis."

Spock looked thoughtful. "Kaiev's ship by itself

is not capable of taking on the Enterprise

successfully," he said. "But three or more ships

would be; and three 182

is the usual number of ships sent along on an

intervention of this kind.

With four-to-one odds against us, our ability

to leave the encounter without serious damage becomes

seriously impaired."

"Spock," McCoy said gently, "your bedside

manner is flawless. You mean,

we're all going to be blown to hell."

Spock hesitated, then nodded.

"Right. And if we run, they'll run after us . .

. with the same odds."

"They would. Tactically, our advantage

increases slightly if we remain in orbit.

Space battles in the close neighborhood of a

planet are a complex business, but the

opportunities for mistakes involving the

planet's gravity increase exponentially, and that

is to our advantage."

"If an experienced officer is directing the

fight," McCoy said softly.

Spock simply looked at him.

"Right," McCoy said. "Well, we can't do

anything else at the moment, so

we'll sit tight, and prepare ourselves the best we

can. If any suggestions occur to you, let

me know. Uhura, make sure a complete

recording of that last little lovenote goes in the

buoy. Spock, department heads" meeting

this evening. We'll want to make sure everybody

is as ready as they can be for this gymkhana."

"Acknowledged."

McCoy got up. "I'm going to go off and have my

lunch," he said. "Call me if anything interesting

develops."

"Yes, sir," Uhura said.

McCoy got into the turbolift; the doors

shut, and he waited for his shaking fit to start. It

declined. "Oh 183

hell," he said. "Don't tell me I'm

getting used to this now. his

As far as he was concerned, this was a bad, bad

sign.

Katur tossed the digger to the ground and said words that

would probably have astonished her mother. "We must have

come half a kalikam," she said, "and there's nothing

to be found. What do they mean, sending us on a mad

chase like this?"

The sentiments were treacherous, but none of the other

members of the party seemed inclined to disagree with her.

She sat down on a big rock and looked

around her. This was a wretched planet. Ugly

colors, hot dry atmosphere, dim little sun-a

waste of time. And they were stuck down here, and the ship

hadn't answered their last call. Katur supposed

there was something wrong with the ship's transmitter again.

It wouldn't be the first time, or the last.

"Never mind that," she said to Tak, who was slogging

on up the hill as if he still meant to obey orders.

"Come back down, Tak. There's no point."

"I think I see something up here," he said. "It

looks like the right color of leaves."

"Oh, go ahead," she said. "Let us know if

it's tabekh after all." I hope it's not, you

miserable little sycophant...

"I wonder why all these rocks look so much

alike," Helef said. He was

leaning against one, mopping at his face. Helef was

soaked with sweat;

typical of him, Katur thought. He had not been

in shape since he was first assigned to the ship, knowing

that no one cared about his physical

condition as long as he completed his duties and did

not bother the ship's physician by becoming ill.

Helef was soft. But this had its advantages

as well. One who knew his weakness could

exploit it when necessary.

"What about the rocks?" Katur said, looking

back down the valley, the way they had come.

"They all look alike. See this one-was He

squinted up at the one he was

leaning against. "It looks almost exactly like the one

that Kesaio hit."

She glanced at it and away . . . then looked

back. Odd, but it did bear a resemblance to that

other standing stone. And there was another one farther up the

hill that looked similar-several of them, in fact.

"Someone else must have lived here once," she said.

"None of those jellybag things, or the trees, could

put up anything like that. They haven't enough technology

to crack nuts."

"Foul things," Helef muttered.

She nodded, wondering why the Federation people were so

eager to bother

with aliens at all. She had heard a theory that the

Feds had such an

inferiority complex that they had to consort with

animals to make

themselves feel like real people. That made a kind of

sense. All she knew for sure was that she would rather

die than so lower herself.

Tak was running down the slope, waving his arms and

shouting something.

Katur looked up in surprise.

"It's tabekh, it's tabekh! Not where I thought

it was; farther up. There's not much of it, just a little

patch-was

Well, that's something. We won't be whipped when

we get back for completely failing in what we were

sent to do. But I for one will be sure that Kesaio

has to account for the vehicle. Katur sighed, picked

up the digger, and

began to walk up toward Tak.

Then she turned around, blinking. For a moment

she had been sure something had moved behind her. There

was nothing, though. She turned again . . . and found

another rock in front of her.

comexcept it was gone-

Katur blinked several times., hard. Her eyes

were all right. True, it had been a while since she

had eaten, but she was hardly faint with hunger just

yet.

Afterimage, she thought. She had been staring at

Helef's miserable rock, and had seen an

afterimage of it when she turned. After all, the

shape had been exactly the same.

Tak came down to her. "Definitely tabekh,

was he said. "There are some of the tree-things up there, but

we can get rid of them. Come on!"

"Helef, Kesaio," she called, and led the

way up the slope, with Tak

scrambling after her, hurting to keep up, and

panting. Truly he was in

terrible shape.

Though it was astonishing, Katur thought, how steep

some of these slopes could turn out to be; much steeper

than they looked. She didn't mind, of course.

The stoniness of them was a bit of a problem, though. And

each time they turned a curve in the gully they were

following, there were more of the tall stones to be seen. There

must have been a civilization of some

other kind here at one point. Probably, she

thought, these jellybags and the trees are their

degenerate pets. Probably a mercy to put the

things out of their misery.

"Here," Tak said at last, leading them over the

brow disofa little wooded ridge. On the other side was

a sort of dell, surrounded by the ubiquitous blue

green trees; and in the middle of the dell, among the

scrub and turf that floored it, were the unmistakable

leaves of iabekh. It was of course the

roots they wanted, and

Katur wearily unhooked the digger from its strap

and started to set it up on its legs. "All right,"

she said to the others. "Let's take this. Don't

miss the taproot. It will be somewhere near the center,

and if we can keep it

alive, the Hydroponics crew can clone enough of the

young plants so that

none of us will run out for the rest of the tour. Come on,

then. We don't

want to be all day about this."

It was then that they heard the odd rustling noises,

and something

stranger, a tearing sound that Katur could not

identify. She whipped around to see a whole little

herd of the tree-things coming at them, all their

nasty little eyes glinting, all their branches

waving about. The trees were hissing, the kind of noise

you hear from trees in stormy weather, just

before the storm breaks. And they were actually wading

through the ground, their roots breaking it, tearing it. In

a moment they would be into the

patch of tabekh, and tearing that up-and there would go

any hope of cloning it.

Katur pulled out her sidearm and

shouted, "Stop!" and fired into the ground in front of the

aliens. They paid no mind, but kept moving.

"Very well then," she said, and fired into the

branches.

Or should have. Something struck her hand from one side,

hard, and sent her sidearm flying. She must have

tottered off balance, because immediately

thereafter she stumbled into one of the large rocks,

hitting it hard with the length of her body, right up from

leg to side to cheek and temple.

Stunned, she caromed back, rubbing at her eyes

to try to clear her vision. But that wasn't there before-she

thought.

"Drop those," she heard a voice say in

Federation

talk. She scrubbed at her eyes again, opened

them, and managed to see

something through the tears of pain-a hominid figure,

an Earth-human, in

Starfleet uniform, standing with drawn phaser. Behind

him was a very large rock, the one that Katur had

rammed into; the one that occupied a spot that had been

empty air a second before.

""Back off," the man said. Katur looked and

saw with disgust that Tak and Kesaio and

Helef had already dropped their sidearms. Helef

was shaking his hand as if to get rid of the violent

pins-and-needles of a stun-level

graze.

The man was looking them over with an expression

somewhere between

amusement and annoyance. Katur flushed with

anger, but that was all she

could do; her own sidearm was somehow or other

halfburied underneath the foot of the tall stone.

"You are interfering with a mission team of the Klingon

Empire, Earther," she said angrily. "The

penalty for such interference is death."

"Yes," the man said, grinning amiably at her,

"I just bet it is. Whom have I the pleasure of

interfering with?"

"I am First Specialist Katur of the

Imperial Vessel Ekkava, was she said,

furious at being mocked.

"That's nice. I'm Captain James T.

Kirk of the Starship Enterprise, and you were in the act

of attacking a harmless indigenous and intelligent

inhabitant of this planet without provocation and in

a breach of the

Organian Treaty." He made a

disparaging tsk-tsk noise at them. "Shame on

you," he added.

Katur's mind whirled. James Kirkally "You

lie," she cried. "All know that Kirk was killed

in a duel, and another took his place and commands his

ship."

The man's face started out blank . . . then an

odd smile began very, very slowly to spread across it.

"Ah," he said. "And by any chance . . . would the

new commander's name be McCoy?"

Katur's face gave everything away, against her

desire.

The man nodded slowly, then turned and looked up

at the rock, as if sharing a joke with it. "Well,"

he said, "as usual, the reports of my death have

been greatly exaggerated."

The confusion in Katur's mind quieted to one

thought. If this was Kirk,

then someone must get word to the Commander . . . and

quickly. Things

aboard the Enterprise were not as they had seemed.

The look in the man's eyes hardened suddenly.

"Yes indeed," he said. "So for the meantime, my

dear, you just sit down right where you are, you and all your

friends. I want a moment to think."

Katur sat down, thinking too.

Captain's log, Supplemental. Leonard

McCoy recording in the absence of James

Kirk

It is now twenty hours since the issuance of

Commander Kaiev's ultimatum to us, with four hours

remaining. We have scant hope of finding the

Captain within that time. Mr. Spock continues his

researches, but has so far found nothing that would enable

him to find the Captain, much less retrieve him.

It can, however, be said that there is no sign yet of the

other Klingon

vessels we have been expecting. Mr. Sulu's

best estimate of their arrival was within eighteen hours

of the ultimatum-such ultimata are rarely issued

without the issuers being fairly certain of the

reinforcements turning up early, and thus putting added

pressure on the ultimatees, or perhaps even

catching them incompletely prepared for battle, and

forcing an engagement before they're ready, which usually

concludes in the ultimatees becoming plasma

shortly thereafter. This is a conclusion that we are eager

to avoid, so I have had the ship on red alert for some

time previous to the

eighteen-hour point. This makes certain

unavoidable changes in the ship's shift

structure, and adversely affects the number of people

we have

gathering

data-but I also have a responsibility to see that

those

people and those data get home safely.

A buoy has been prepared to take all the

data we have so

far gathered out of the system. It will make its way

eventually

back to Federation space if we are lost. A

copy of all log

entries since the Klingon jamming began will also be

sent

out. If there is time to manage it, a second

buoy will go out

with the same information. A duplicate never hurts.

,IT WAS LATE. McCoy was sitting up in

the center seat, gazing at the

sedately turning shape of Flyspeck underneath

them. As he watched, it passed out o f its day side,

into night, and the light of its one little moon

glinted silvery-blue on the wide empty

spaces of the planet's largest ocean. I

never did get to go down by the water, McCoy thought.

Usually that's such a priority for me. Joanna

got me hooked on the water, all those times ago

when we used to go out to Montauk Point and try

to see across to England. He found himself smiling a bit

as he looked around the night Bridge crew. A

long time ago, he thought.

"Ensign Devlin," he said, "you lived on the

East Coast once. Ever go out to Montauk

Point?"

"Oh, yes, sir," she said, looking up from the

Engineering console. "My

sister and I used to go out there And watch for sharks.

Sharks were a hobby of hers."

"You see any?"

"Yes, we did! One was the biggest one we ever

saw. It was a real Great

White, the Point biologist said. At least

eighty feet long, but I think it was more like a

conhundred."

McCoy visualized that. "That could have eaten a

shuttlecraft," he said. "Or at least it

could've taken a good bite out of

it."

Devlin nodded and stretched her legs out

in front of her. After a moment, she said,

"Nervous, sir?"

McCoy was aware of other eyes on him, around the

Bridge, not obtrusive, but interested. Lawson

and Tee Thov sitting at the helm, minding

Weapons and Navigation, didn't quite turn around, but

he could see from the muscle tone of their backs that they

were listening. Parker and North, at Science and

Communications, glanced at one another. McCoy

laughed, just a bare breath of laughter. "Well,"

he said, "I'm half ready to bite my nails

down to the elbows. But there's no point in it, and I

might want my elbows for

something later."

"No sign of them yet," Tee Thov said,

looking over his shoulder at McCoy. "None

yet," McCoy said, "but they're not scheduled

onstage just yet anyway. Doesn't matter.

We'll be ready."

He leaned back and tried to look as confident as

he wanted them to feel. Usually, there was no problem

with this . . . when he was in Sickbay. His bedside

manner had always been the envy of his classmates.

It was a simple thing, really, once he discovered

it never lie to your patients, but find the

best truth to tell them that you can, and keep reminding

them that the Universe does strange things, and that

health can overcome the worst

diseases if given half a chance and a little faith.

Faith was always the problem. People were so used

to certainties, most of their lives-death, taxes,

pain comt the occasional need to believe in

something without evidence tended to be beyond them. It was the

ones who could have faith, and not care whether anyone thought

they were stupid, who always got 192

better the fastest, and survived what were usually the

most fatal maladies. Bodies were, after all,

just educated meat-and not that educated. Before the certainty

that lived at the heart of faith, very few bodies had

any defense. The question was Was his faith about the

Enterprise's continued survival going to be strong

enough? Or was it caught at the stage where you

insisted, "I believe, I believe!" and you

didn't, and the Universe wasn't fooled?

He snorted at himself a little, then. There were,

after all, other wills, other faiths, involved. It

was entirely likely that theirs would carry his, this time

out-t the crew of the Enterprise, so used to not dying in

horrible situations, would go on as always, and he would

survive with them. Then again, there was always a

first time . . .

"Doctor," Devlin said, "are you okay?"

He laughed softly. "Fine. I just wish the

Captain would walk in here. You know the trouble with this

chair?"

"Wish I did," Devlin said with undisguised

envy.

"You're nuts," McCoy said. "Well, each

to his own insanity. This thing has no back

support to speak of." He got up and pointed at

the very

insufficient lower back padding. "Now just look

at that. Any one of you

"has a better chair. But if you have to sit in this

thing for more than an hour, it makes you want to get

up and pace around. Now I know why Jim was always

all over the Bridge half the time. The damn

chair was driving him crazy."

There were chuckles here and there from the Bridge

crew. "If some one of you wanted to make me really

comfortable," McCoy said, "you'd go get me a

nice pillow."

"Does it have to be an embroidered one?" said

Parker in his dry

Earth-British Voice.

McCoy snickered. "No, one of the

fat-substitute pillows from Sickbay would do all

right." He reached down to the arm of the center seat,

punched the button. "Sickbay."

"Sickbay, Aiello, was said the cheerful

voice. Pat Aiello was the night

nurse, a big cheerful dark-haired woman with a

round happy face. "What do you want this time of

night? Why aren't you in bed?"

"Pat," McCoy said, "have you got a spare

weightdist pillow down there?"

"A few of them."

Have someone send me up one when you have a chance. This

center seat was designed by Torquemada."

"Will do. Must be nice for some people, was Pat said in

an offended tone,

"sitting on their bottoms all day, while honest

crewmen work their fingers to the bone- his

McCoy had to laugh. "Spare me the

philosophy and

send up the pillow."

A couple of minutes later, the turbolift

doors hissed open. Spock was

standing in the turbolift. He had the air

of a man who had been in an

extreme hurry, but who had been stopped in

midrush and given something he didn't understand. He was

holding a small flat cushion. "Doctor," he

said, "I think possibly this is meant for you."

"Thanks." McCoy got up and went to take it

from him.

"Your night nurse," Spock said, moving quickly

to

his station, "is a woman of few words, but forceful

ones."

"Have you got something?" McCoy said.

"That we shall see," Spock said. "Certainly I

have something to show you."

Parker had slid hurriedly out of the way as

Spock sat down. "Doctor," Spock said,

touching the console here and there to bring up some data from the

computer in his quarters, "you will remember we were

talking about those radiation decays that were more typical

of tachyon artifact than anything else?"

"That's right." McCoy looked over Spock's

shoulder.

"Searching along those lines, I have found a great

deal more artifact of the same kind," Spock said.

"Again, it seems not to attach itself to any

specific thing going on on the planet below. But if

one plots all

incidences of such decays against time and location-was

'He paused for a moment, waiting for the computer

to finish a calculation. At the screen above his station

it brought up a schematic of the smaller clearing, as

seen from above, where McCoy had earlier seen the

beAt. "Now watch, Doctor," he said. "By good

chance we have earlier scans of that

area, before you or the Captain entered it.

Fortunately we were on the

correct side of the planet for enough scan time.

Look."

A faint fog of light became visible in the

clearing, strengthening to

patches that became thick, vague lines. "Those

look like deer trails,"

McCoy said.

"They are areas of probability," Spock said,

"where such particle decays as I have been

investigating are most likely to occur. Now look

at the same area after the Captain vanishes."

Suddenly there were more sets of tracks-smaller

ones, that intersected with the larger set. McCoy

began to smile slowly. "Jim," he said.

"The data is not absolutely conclusive,"

Spock said. "But see here. We are now looking

at time-lapse readings. The Klingon landing party-was

Their traces were suddenly added to the already existing

tracks of tachyon artifact. Those traces began

at the point where they had disappeared, and then went off

northward, toward the hills. Shortly thereafter, the

previous traces seemed to follow them away and out

of the scanned area.

"All right," McCoy said, still smiling. "There

they are, then. What now?" Spock straightened and

looked dissatisfied. "Doctor, it is not quite so

simple. Their traces are obviously there in

"real time"-but they are not. These particles are

decaying in a way that indicates a fairly

substantial timeslip, but whether into the past or

future, I cannot tell. And even if I could, I

am still without an inkling of how to come at the Captain.

It is certainly something of a relief to discover that he

is apparently alive-or was. However-was

"Something of a relief? Why, you greenblooded-was

"Doctor, please. Your blood pressure."

"Mmf . . . never mind that now. Spock, wait

a minute. You said the past or the future. No one

can travel to the future!-I thought."

Spock looked more dissatisfied than ever. "You

are correct . . . at least, according to present received

opinion. Unfortunately, the particle decays have

a characteristic that sheds some doubt on the question. 196

A significant percentage of them show a

quality that has some relation to

the "red shift' that happens in light when it is

slowed up in the

interstellar medium; though this quality is actually

associated with the

"up' and "down' characteristics of so-called

"plain vanilla' quarks. It

illustrates entry into the present timestream from a

"faster' one-that is to say, the time that has not

occurred yet. The compression factor-was

McCoy's head began to hurt. "Spock,

time's awastin' here, no matter what else it may

be doing. Let's cut to the chase. We know where

Jim is . . . more or less. We know when he is

. . . more or less."

"If he were more than a week in the past, or the

future," said Spock, "I would be very

surprised."

"Great." McCoy smiled, but it was not a cheerful

expression. "So if we had been here a

week early-or if we hung around for a week

more-Jim would turn up.gg*thorn]

"So I believe."

"Well, then, all we have to do is survive the

next week . And then after all the dust settles,

if he doesn't turn up in the future-the

present

future-oh, you know what I mean-then we use the

"slingshot' technique to go back in time a week

or so and pick Jim up.eagreater-than

"Time travel is not to be taken lightly,

Doctor," Spock said. "You should not assume that-was

"Spock," McCoy said, "you worry too much.

Look, I'll bet you a nickel that the.bbAt will be

with him . . . and I'm going to ask it some questions."

"I daresay the Klingons will want to as well,"

Spock said, "should they

still be here."

McCoy sighed and made his way down to the center

seat. "A little less than two hours now," he

said. "Keep working on it,

Spock. Unless you feel you're needed

elsewhere."

"I will do so," Spock said.

The first hour, the next half hour, went

by too quickly. Nothing happened. McCoy thought he

would get more and more nervous as the time went by, but

bizarrely, he found himself getting calmer and

calmer. That was assisted, he thought, by the fact that the

three or four Klingon vessels they were expecting

had not yet arrived.

At about minus half an hour, Sulu and

Chekov took the helm, and Uhura took the

communications board. Spock had been working

quietly at the Science

station for a long time, saying nothing to anyone.

McCoy busied himself

chatting with his returning officers, keeping calm,

keeping them calm. It was one of the things he best

knew how to do. Just because he might be dead in half

an hour was no reason to stop doing it now.

"Minus fifteen minutes," Sulu said.

"Scanning?" said McCoy.

"Nothing in range," Chekov said. "And nothing out

of range, either, as far as I can tell."

"It might be a trick," McCoy said.

"Keep alert." But his brain was

simmering with surmises.

"Negative scan," Sulu confirmed. "No

sign of anything in subspace at this

point, at least not in the neighborhood. Our

range is limited on subspace scan."

"All right," McCoy said. He sighed.

"Ladies and gentlemen and others, I

would prefer nothing untoward to happen in the next

fifteen minutes. But if it 198

comes to that, I intend to fight this ship the best it can

be fought with

our resources."-with an untried innocent in the

helm, and its Captain

missing! "And if I have anything to say about it, they

won't get to paint

our silhouette on their sides."

"We're with you, Doctor," Sulu said. There was

a murmur of agreement around the Bridge.

"Good enough," McCoy said. "Then let's take

the adventure that comes to us. Uhura? All

secure?"

She nodded. "The last landing parties are aboard."

"All right. Is Ekkava moving, Mr.

Chekov?"

"Not an inch, sir," Chekov said. "Maintaining

standard orbit."

McCoy's smile got grim. "Playing it

coy, are they? Fascinating."

Spock quirked an eyebrow, but said nothing.

They waited. Five minutes passed. People

whistled softly, twitched, fiddled with controls.

McCoy held himself still, very still, at the center of it

all.

"Two minutes," said Sulu, almost cheerfully.

"Noted," McCoy said.

And a minute went by, and took a year.

"One minute."

McCoy nodded, and concentrated on

breathingslowly. In, and out. In, and

out.

"Zero time," Sulu said then.

And nothing happened.

Nothing.

More nothing.

"Status of the Klingons," McCoy said.

Sulu looked down his scanner and shook his head.

"No change, Doctor.

Weapons are powered up, but not activating."

"Shields?"

"His shields are up," Chekov said, "not that that

would help him should we fire. I would approximate

five seconds of resistance at full barrage."

McCoy sat still. "Wait," he said.

For two, three more minutes, five, ten more

minutes, they waited. The

Bridge got very quiet, but the tenor of the quiet

had changed. At the end of ten minutes, McCoy

began to smile. "All right," he said.

"Either *com *Uobbtilde l- something's-happened

-- w Liiaeaii @avaiiy, or vur

friend here has been bluffing from a busted flush.

Either way, I've goddam well had enough of it.

Mr.

Sulu, tip us over nice and easy. Bring all

forward

batteries to bear, and reduce orbital speed.

A nice easy

drift. I think you know what I have in mind."

"Aye aye, sir," Sulu said, his voice

full of relish.

McCoy did not need the screen to show him what was

happening. He could see it as if from the Klingons'

viewpoint. A challenged enemy waits the time of

battle. Waits past it, waiting for the challenger

to make good his boast. The challenger, out of countenance,

looks at his enemy. Sees the

silver-white shape, all this while facing away

from him, now tilting slowly forward in its

orbit, the great forward disc pitching downward, the

nacelles tipping up; watches the pitch

continue, a leisurely, massive,

graceful pinwheeling on the central lateral

axis; sees that disc, upside down now, come

swinging up into line, revealing the opening throats of the

great main phaser batteries, and the yawning photon

torpedo ports. Then

just as slowly, the ship begins to turn on its

longitudinal axis, righting herself, and at the same time

drops off orbital speed. Your speed is not

changed yet, and so in your forward screens this silvery

monster swells, grows huge, overshadows

you-coasts to a delicate halt,

relative to your speed, and hangs there, looming,

staring down your throat, orbiting backward, not even

concerned about the virtuosity this requires of the helm

officer. And what further virtuosities will the

weapons officer

show you shortly, out of the open jaws of death? . .

.

"Shall I open a channel, Doctor?" Uhura

said softly.

He opened his eyes. "Not yet," he said.

"Let them think. Sulu, Chekov, arm

us. Full spread on photon torpedoes,

maximum-damage harmonization on all phaser

banks. Take your time, be deliberate about it. I

want their scan

officer to see. Arm everything we've got, every last

firecracker."

"Yes, sir."

He was aware of Spock's eyes on him from behind.

"Psychological warfare, Doctor?" the

Vulcan said softly.

"I know, Spock. Violence is violence. But

this will be a hell of a lot less violent than what

they were planning to do to us. his

He waited for a minute or so more, just to be sure.

"Uhura," he said at

last, "open a channel, if you would. Hail

them."

"Yes, sir."

Silence for a moment. Everyone watched the screen.

"Incoming message,

Doctor," Uhura said.

"Put it on screen."

The screen shimmered, showed them the bridge of

Ekkava, and Commander Kaiev sitting there,

visibly sweating and pale. "Well,

Commander," McCoy said. "Commander MakKhoi, was

said Kaiev, and stopped. He was trying to keep his

face passive, and it wasn't working.

For the moment, McCoy refused to react to this.

"Commander," he said, in a slow drawl, "I thought

I told you to go get your Tacrin dosage

regulated. What's the matter with you? Don't you

realize what's going to happen if you have to have that liver

regenerated? You'll be on your back for weeks."

"I will be dead, was Kaiev said, looking

slightly surprised. "7 cannot afford the

procedure."

"Can't afford-to " McCoy was outraged, but he

put that aside too, after a

moment of wrestling with the emotion. "We'll discuss

this later. Always

assuming we jointly decide there is to be a

later."

Kaiev held very still.

"You have made certain threats against us," McCoy

said, "which I assure you I do not take lightly.

Especially since we are innocent of your

accusations. But part of the equation is missing.

Someone at your High

Command have a change of heart?"

Kaiev said nothing. McCoy leaned back in the

center seat. "I know well

enough what one of your people would do to us, were the positions

reversed," he said. "And I have to admit, I'm

strongly tempted to knock you around a little to teach you the

error of your ways."

"We will fight to the last-was

"Yes, of course you will, what a waste of time,"

McCoy said, waving a hand in disgust. "Sorry,

Kaiev. I don't mean to impugn your worldview.

But you know perfectly well that this ship can walk all

over yours with cleats."

Kaiev looked bemused for a second. "Pardon?

This

is some new kind of weapon?"

McCoy's mouth quirked up at one side.

"Never mind that. We can destroy you in what-about ten

minutes, Sulu? Five? Thank you. About

five minutes, Commander. If that long. My people are

a little annoyed over your attitude."

Perhaps what Kaiev saw on the screen confirmed

this. McCoy didn't look

around to see. At any rate, the man looked

righteously nervous . . . as he had a right to.

"Commander," Kaiev said, "you know I cannot

ask you for

terms. You know that. his

"Of course I know that. Believe it or not,"

McCoy said, "I approve. Never you mind why

at the moment. Commander, we have other fish to fry at the

moment. But first, I want to hear you say that your

planned attack is

called off."

Kaiev looked even more uncomfortable. "Commander,

my orders-was

"You have some latitude," McCoy said. "You have

enough of it so that you don't have to commit suicide . . .

just that much. Believe me, Commander, you'd better use

it. I am in no mood for this at the moment. You

make a

move I don't like the look of, and I'll take

your ship to pieces and sell it as souvenirs . . .

because there won't be enough left to sell for

scrap." He smiled a bit. "And besides, even

if you promise not to attack us now, you don't have

to make any promises about later. I know

Klingons

better than to expect that. A truce, until the

situation changes."

Kaiev thought about it. McCoy smiled.

Klingons were not really

treacherous-that was a judgmental concept born of the

human mindset.

However, they were vigorously opportunist. They

would promise you anything, and keep the promise

until the situation changed i n their favor. Then all

promises and bets were off. McCoy didn't mind

that; at least he knew what was going to happen, and

until it did, there 203

would be that much time when he wouldn't have to worry. The

time might make a difference.

"Well?" he said. "Come on, Kaiev, don't

sit there dithering. We have things to discuss. Do we have

a truce? Or do I blow you up now, collect the

souvenir material, and go back to looking for our

missing people?"

"Very well, "Kaiev said. "I promise. I

have not much choice, for you have us at a disadvantage. was

He frowned. '7 still cannot understand why you

people are always behaving this way. I would have destroyed

you. his

McCoy shrugged. "Let's just say we're

crippled by our own worldview," he said, "and go on from

there. Kaiev, I think we may know whereyour people

are."

At that, the man's eyes positively lit up

with relief. Interesting, he

thought. A relative in the landingparty? A

closefriend? "Where?" Kaiev

said.

"This is going to sound strange-was

"Commander," Sulu said. Strange not to be called

Doctor, McCoy thought,

glancing at him. "Sir, ripples in

subspace. Getting stronger. I think we're about

to have company."

"Noted. Get ready. Kaiev, we think

they've been shunted a short distance away in time,

no more than seven to ten standard days in one direction

or another. I told you it was going to sound

strange," he added, as the

FJ-INGON'S face went from eagerness, through

bewilderment, toward anger.

"Just deal with it. Do what you can with the data, because

things are about to change. But they were on the planet-or

they will be shortly. We need

to-was

"Incursion," Sulu said. "Splitting the

screen. Three

vessels, out of warp, incoming. Two

light-minutes out. Decelerating, ETA to orbit

two point nine minutes."

"Kaiev," McCoy said, "we need to survive

this. Keep your wits about you, because if we don't

live through this encounter, you have no hope of

getting your people back. Believe me."

Kaiev looked stricken. "Believe me,"

McCoy said again. "The odds of your duplicating our

data and results are very, very slim. I have no ill

will against you, and I want my people back as much as you

want yours. Don't

blow both our chances."

"Positive, ID'S," Chekov said.

"Klingon vessels Sakkhur, Irik, and

Kalash. All fully armed, all weapons

systems ready."

McCoy nodded, glanced around the various stations.

"Noted. Ladies and

gentlemen, stand ready." Dear God, I wish

1 were in Sickbay, where I

belong! But he had to smile. And may this not be the

last time I think

that, either . . .

The screen showed the three Klingon vessels

sweeping in toward Flyspeck, braking

down from lightspeed They were all sister-ships

to Ekkava-no big- ger, but four of them together would be

able to do what one alone hadn't a prayer of pulling

off. McCoy shifted a bit in the center seat.

"Uhura," he said, "a moment of quiet, if you

would." She nodded and

silenced the connection, while leaving the visual

signal alone. "Spock, how long do you reckon

we could hold out against a concerted attack by these

four?"

Spock thought about that. "Some minutes. Less,

if we were unlucky, or were maneuvered into an

unfavorable position."

I don't want to break orbit. But there seems

no reaeason not to do it. It's not as if Jim is

down there physically . . . He sighed. There were

other considerations than just Jim. There were the Ornae

and the .lahit to think about innocents-at least

relativelyand undefended against any attempts the

Klingons might make to attempt to "frighten" them

into giving their

crewpeople back. "Let's not be, then," he

said. "We need to stay close and protect this

planet as best we can. Sound on again, Uhura.

Kaiev," he said, "this conis it, then."

He held the other's eyes for a moment. "Take

care of your liver."

Kaiev looked down and said nothing.

"Commander," Uhura said, "hails coming in from the

other three ships. They require us to surrender."

"Later, Commander," McCoy said. "Uhura,

kill it." Kaiev's face faded from the screen,

to be replaced by the images of the incoming ships. "And

as for those others, tell them "nuts."" As the

Bridge crew looked at him in a

mixture of astonishment and approval, he said,

"Well, it's traditional,

isn't it?"

""disDoctor," Spock said, "I had not thought

to find you so expert in

militaria."

McCoy looked over his shoulder at the

Vulcan, who had come down to the

center seat to stand beside him. "You know how it is,

Spock," he said.

"Those who don't know the mistakes of the past

won't be able to enjoy it when they make them again in the

future."

Spock raised both eyebrows, then glanced up

at the

screen.

The Klingon ships had come to rest in a standard

surround formation around the Enterprise, a diamond

shape-Ekkava in front making the fourth corner."

"Uhura, any answer from them?"

"Nothing yet, Doctor. They must be running

semantic analysis."

"What? Hasn't anybody ever told them

"nuts" before?" McCoy was amazed.

"Perhaps," Spock said, "everyone else was thinking

that it had been used before."

"Thanks so much, Spock. Go sharpen your wits

or something."

"Messages passing back and forth between the

Ekkava and the other vessels, Commander," Uhura

said. "Can't get the content for you just now, though.

They're using a new scramble."

"Oh well."

"No, it's all right," Uhura said. "Give

me fifteen minutes or so."

"You think you can crack it?"

Uhura smiled. "Let's see," she said.

There was quiet for a few minutes. Then Uhura

said, "Message coming in for us from Irik,

Doctor."

"Let's have it."

The screen resolved into the image of the bridge of

another Klingon battle cruiser, but this time the

forward position was occupied by a young

woman-very intense, andwitha fierce expression and very

striking

reddish-gold hair, which McCoy had never heard

of on a Mingon before. Not dye, surely. Maybe

just a genetic hiccup?

"You are Commander McCoy?" she demanded, in a

voice that sounded not at all like a fierce officer's.

It was one of those tiny, soft voices that make the

owner sound about thirty years younger than she really

is.

"Ma'am," McCoy said, bowing slightly from the

waist where he sat. "You have the advantage of me."

"Indeed. But we will come to that shortly. I am

Com-

mander Aklein, senior commander in charge of this task

force. his

"Pleased."

"7 rather doubt that. was She peered at him

suspiciously. "I must say it is hard to believe

that you have killed the mighty Kirk in a duel. You do

not look like the dueling type. his

McCoy just smiled. "There are arts of killing that

require more than mere muscles," he said.

"Cunning will do nearly as well . . . or the

knife in the back, in the dark."

He didn't dare move to look around at his people's

faces. Aklein frowned a bit. "That sounds like a

page from our book, Commander, was she said.

"Perhaps we have a few more likenesses than we have

thought. his

McCoy shrugged. "Commander, forgive me, but you

haven't come all this way to do a sociology study.

What are your people thinking of doing?"

Aklein settled a bit in her own chair.

"Sir, "she said,

"the kidnapping of our personnel on the planet

is a hos

tile action that cannot be permitted, whoever

perpetrated it-was McCoy rolled his eyes.

"There's no evidence of kidnapping, Commander. Not of

our people, or of yours. Planetary scans show

perfectly clearly that

none of our people was anywhere near yours when yours went

missing. There was no Transporter usage at that

time, as our records and yours will

confirm-was

"We know all that. That leaves us with the conclusion that

one of the alien species here is responsible. Though

our suspicion is that you somehow put them up to it-was

McCoy began to laugh. "Commander," he said,

"I

will be delighted to furnish you with records of our

dealings with the

people down there over the past few days. Putting them

up to anything,

including giving straight answers to straight questions,

seems to be damn

near impossible."

Aklein looked a little put out by that. " No

matter. We will conduct our own search of the planet

surface, to confirm Ekkava's findings, and then

begin punitive operations against the natives until

they- His

"I will not permit that," McCoy said.

"You will be hard put to stop us, was Aklein said,

smiling a bit.

McCoy did not smile. "Think again, Commander.

This is Enterprise. She is more than one man,

though that one man might have made her famous-or,

among you, infamous. She is four hundred

thirtyeight people-to whom you're an

interesting enough problem . . . but one that we're long

used to solving."

"You do not frighten me, Commander. his

"Good," McCoy said. "Fear is much overrated

as a deterrent. Death works

much better."

She blinked. "Commander," Sulu said softly, "more

subspace ripples. Two

more vessels incoming."

"Really?" McCoy said. He glanced up at the

screen. "I thought you said you were in command of this task

force, Commander. Can it be that someone at home was

second-guessing you?" And a happy thought occurred

to him,

impossible though it was, and he went on, "Or

can it be that our

reinforcements have arrived?"

Her eyes widened; she glanced down at her own

command console, then up

again. "But Kaiev- his

"I'm from the South, ma'am," McCoy said, "and

even down there, where we're friendly people, we don't

tell even our friends everything. Much less so for people

we're less friendly with."

"Not two vessels, Commander," Sulu

said suddenly.

"More?"

"No. One."

"One?" McCoy got up to peer over Sulu's

shoulder at the scanner. "Good

Lord, what is that? Am I reading it right? It

looks huge!"

"It i s huge, Commander," Spock said, coming down

from the Science station to look over Sulu's shoulder as

well. "I too thought it was two vessels at first.

But it is a single trace. Incoming at warp 6,

decelerating, about to go sublight."

"How about it, Commander?" McCoy said to Aklein.

"A bit of a surprise?

That's nothing of yours that I know of. I wonder whose

it is?"

"Back to Alert status, was Aklein said

hurriedly to one of the officers

behind her.

"Aklein, you've hurt my feelings," McCoy

said. "You mean you came ofAlert at the sight of us?

We're going to have to discuss this later. Are we all

set?" McCoy said to Spock.

"We are ready," Spock said.

"Gone sublight now," Sulu said,

alarm in his voice. "Massive vessel,

Commander. Braking down hard from point nine nine.

Point eight nine, seven nine, seven, five

nine-was

Spock had hurried back up to his station.

"Unknown type," he said after a moment. "Greatly

overengined for its size."

"Extremely well-armed," Chekov said,

glancing at the weapons console.

"Twenty phaser banks, all on 210

charge, all arming. Photon torpedoes,

tractors, flashplasma generators-what do you

make of that?" he said to Sulu.

Sulu looked too. "Phased-packet

particle-beam accelerator," he said.

"Leaking leptons." He shook his head and

looked at McCoy. "Very nasty," he said.

"It's a screen-ripper. Fortunately, they can't

fire while they're

using it."

"What's the ID on that thing?" McCoy

demanded.

"No ID, Commander," Spock said. "But

configuration matches some

intelligence I have seen recently."

"Who the hell is it?!"

"A high probability that this is an Orion

pirate vessel," Spock said.

The weapons console began to make an unnerving

beeping noise, which McCoy had not heard before, and

fervently wished he wasn't hearing now. "Sulu,"

he said, "would you mind-was

"Aye, sir," Sulu said. He killed the

audio alarm. "disIt's got a firing lock on us,

whatever it is."

"Lock right back at it," McCoy said.

"Prepare to fire if it fires. Get us a

visual, for pity's sake! Damned if I'm going

to shoot at something I

can't see. Scotty, what about the shields?"

Scotty looked nervous. "That particle-beam

accelerator, that's a nasty

little weapon they've got there, Doc-Commander.

Starfleet's engineering

department is still working on countermeasures."

"Oh, come on, Scotty, don't tell me you

haven't invented something

already!"

"Well, to tell you the truth, the problem has

been preyin" on my mind a

bit-was

"Let it prey. What can we do in the meantime?"

"Not yet," McCoy said. His Oath

to preserve life, even pirates" lives, was

ringing in his mind-but it was arguing with his oaths as a

Starfleet

officer, to protect and preserve the ship, and the

argument was loud. "Wait for it. Spock, visual

yet?"

"Now," Spock said, and the screen split to show the

image of the thing that was coming at them. The ship was

massive-more like four times the

Enterprise's size. "That's a whole city there,

isn't it, Spock," McCoy

said, as the great sleek oblong bulk, studded and

lined with ports and

drop-tubes and weapons apertures, came

coasting along toward them. "They live in that-must be a

couple thousand of them-and go from world to world, robbing what

they like."

"That is the supposition," Spock said.

"However, we have little data. They tend to attempt

to destroy any ship they meet that is not already in

association with them."

"Good luck to them," McCoy said. He

looked over at the image of Commander Aklein.

"Well, ma'am?" he said. "What now?"

"I must confer, was she said hurriedly, and shut the

connection down from her end.

"Hurry up about it," McCoy said, as the ship

shuddered a bit. "Ranging

shot, that was?"

"Yes. Phaser beams."

"They're too far away to hit us," McCoy

said, very hopeful.

"No, they're not," Sulu said. "Those beams have

been dilithium-augmented."

"Isn't that a little expensive?" McCoy said,

sitting down again, rather

hurriedly, as the ship shuddered once more.

"Not if you're an Orion pirate," Uhura

said. "One 212

of the few things we know about their language is that the

word we use for "stealing," they translate as

"getting paid.""

"Shields holding," Scotty said. "But they

won't for long if they open up with that particle-beam

shredder."

"flail them, Uhura."

"I've been trying. No response

to hails."

"Dammit," McCoy said, feeling his options

going away one by one. "What do they want?"

"Probably to scare away the poachers," Sulu

said. "Someone horning in on what they see as their

territory. They wouldn't just come in here firing unless

they'd been here before and didn't want anyone else

around."

"I must agree with Mr. Sulu that that hypothesis

seems likely," Spock said. "Wonderful,"

McCoy said, and gripped the arms of the center seat.

"Prepare to fire."

"Ready," Sulu and Chekov said.

McCoy waited. One breath.

One more.

One more. The ship swelled in their screens.

One more-

comand everything went white-

"WELL," KIRK SAID, "aren't we all

snug."

He was looking around at the rather disgusted Klingons.

They were

avoiding looking at him, now that he had relieved

them of all their

weapons and communicators, and they were

sitting about on the ground of

the glade having a truly massive sulk. He

didn't mind; it was preferable to having them trying

energetically to jump him.

He turned to the Master of the beAt. "Sir," he

said, "I must get in touch with my ship. The presence

of these people means that they're very likely in some kind of

difficulty."

"You hear the way your device is behaving,

however," said the Master. "I fear I can do nothing

about that."

"Yes, but I had an idea-was

One of the Klingons, the young woman, looked at

Kirk with undisguised

disgust. "How can you pretend to understand that gibberish?"

she said.

"You are either mad or perverted."

"Sorry, First Specialist," Kirk said.

"You don't know me well enough to

accuse me of either." Still, he thought, if they really

can't understand what's being said, the situation is that much

to my advantage. Of course, it might be a

trick, too, to get me to feel free to discuss

things with

the ,At . . .

"What sort of idea?" said the Master.

"A little while ago, we were discussing your ability

to . . . inhabit . . . other parts of the

time-space continuum."

"So we were."

"My communicator is presently jammed. But

would there be anything to

prevent you from moving to an, uh, different location

in time-space-and

informing one of my people of what's going on? Or will be

going on?"

"Unfortunately," said the Master, "yes. We

learned a long time ago not to tamper with the fabric of

things in that way. It invariably produces more trouble

than it solves."

Kirk sighed. "Well, I had to ask. Sir,

forgive me, but my place is with

my people at a time like this. I have to find a way to get

to them."

"I am sorry for your discomfort," said the Master.

"Correct me if I

misunderstand your technology, but if your

communications are not

functioning, most likely your Transporter will not

be either, since the

carrier signals are interrelated."

"That's true," Kirk said, not surprised that the

beAt knew it; he had been thinking about it earlier.

"Well, at any rate, I should get back to my

people down in the clearing; and I'll take this lot

down with me and keep them out of your hair."

"What will be done with them?" said the Master.

"Oh, we'll send them home to their ship, no

problem with that. Their

Commander will probably be annoyed with me, but not as

annoyed as I'm

going to be with him or her for sneaking up on us without

so much as a

hello-how-are-you. I want to find out how they

did that." Kirk was

feeling a little grim; it was not like the Enterprise

crew to let a ship come into system without letting him

know about it. If this was McCoy's

doing somehow, that might put a slightly different

complexion on it. But not much. He could just hear

Bones saying, "I didn't see any point in

worrying you, there was nothing you could do about it, and they

seemed

harmless-was

No, he thought, no use trying to judge

the situation without really

knowing what's going on. It's just as possible that our

friends here

found some clever new way to sneak up on us. A

new cloaking device,

perhaps?

But what do they want here, anyway?

"You," Kirk said, glaring meaningfully at the young

woman. "First

Specialist Katur?" She tilted her head

sideways for "yes." "What the

devil were you people ,doing here?" He looked around at

the digging

devices, and the path that the Lahit had been making

toward the plant

growth in the center. Even now the Lahit stood

around the glade, making

vaguely upset hissing noises.

Katur glared at him. "I shall not tell you."

"Oh yes you shall," he said, advancing on her

slowly, "or you'll find out the truth of all those

horror

stories you've heard about me." He reached down

to

pick up one of the Klingon sidearms,

on which the

Master of the beAt was more or less standing. "May

I

borrow this?" he said. "Thank ,y. Nasty thing,"

Kirk said. "No stun setting. But then you people have

always been of a

rather terminal turn of mind."

Katur stared at him. "Let's have it," he said,

letting his anger show in his voice. "What is that

stuff?"

"Tabekh, was Katur said hurriedly.

"What's that?" She hesitated. "I mean, what

do you do with it?"

"Don't tell him," said one of the others.

"They'll take it for

themselves."

"What's it for?" Kirk demanded, taking another

step forward.

Katur gulped. "It's the raw material for

making

tabekhte. his

"And what does that do?" He had a horrible

thought. "Is it a drug?"

She glowered scorn at him. "Idiot! We

put it on our food," Katur said.

Kirk stared at her. "Just the plant?"

"No. We make a condiment out of it."

He was interested in spite of himself. Heaven help

us, this is the raw

ingredient for Klingon Worcestershire sauce,

Kirk thought. And then he

thought of Spock's occasional complaints about the

freshness of the

vegetables from Hydroponics, and McCoy going

on about tasteless

dehydrated reconstituted meat, and Scotty

muttering about the lack of

neeps and tatties-1 really have to find out what

"neeps" arefor Burns

Day. He smiled a bit. "First Specialist,

grousing about the food aboard a ship is one of the

universal rights of crewpeople everywhere, and if

someone's declared it treacherous, then almost everybody

I know is a

traitor. But you really can't do without this stuff?"

They glared at him and said nothing.

"Then you'll have to come to some kind of agreement with the people

who

live here as regards whether you may have it or not,"

Kirk said. "And I

wonder what else you might be here for . . ."

No one said anything.

"Well, I suppose that's something I need

to ask your Commander, not you."

Kirk tossed the Klingon sidearm back to the

ground, and took a moment to admire the way the

Master of the beAt managed to stand on it again without

moving from its original spot. Or at least that was the

way it seemed.

"Sir, I should take these people back down to my people

at the clearing. They'll hold them until

communications are restored and we can find out

what's going on up there."

"As you like," said the Master of the beAt. "Also, if

they wish some of

the plant, they may take it. The Lahit

grant them leave."

Kirk glanced over at the nervously jiggling

Lahit. "Do they have a use

for it?" Kirk said.

"They talk to it," said the Master.

Kirk nodded. "Get to it, then," he said to the

Klingons. They hurriedly

began picking leaves from the plant.

"And you, sir," Kirk said, "I look

forward to talking to you again

tomorrow, if I may. I think we still have some things

to discuss."

"Probably not," said the Master of the beAt, but

its voice sounded

pleased. Kirk raised his eyebrows. "But in

any case, meet we shall. At

your convenience, Captain. I think you are

probably rather busier than I am."

"Tomorrow morning, then," said Kirk.

"Very well so," said the Master.

"All right, that looks like as much as you can carry,"

Kirk said to the

Klingons, drawing his phaser. "Ahead of me,

please. A little farther

ahead than that." They filed out of the glade ahead

of him. "Good

afternoon to you, sir," Kirk said to the Master. "And a

very nice

afternoon it's been. Things seem very quiet hereabouts .

. . very

relaxing."

"I am glad you found it so. A good day to you,

Captain."

Kirk nodded amiably to the pillar of

stone-if that was what it was; he

would be very interested in Bones's tricorder

readings-and followed his

little party out of the glade, over the ridge and back

down the hillside.

"DamnAf"...McCoy shouted. "Are we dead?"

"No," Spock said, "but it is uncertain how

long that condition will

obtain."

McCoy gulped. The ship was still shuddering from that

last bolt, whatever it was. "Scotty,

report!"

"Shields holding," he said. "J. Doctor,

I advise you to move."

"Too damn right! Mr. Sulu, take your best

evasive action. Get us out of

here. Uhura, give me the Klingon vessels,

all of them. Broadcast it."

"You're on, Doctor."

"Ladies and gentlemen of the Klingon Empire,"

he said, "This is Commander Leonard McCoy of the

Enterprise. You will pardon me for breaking forma-

tion, but the vessel incoming doesn't seem

to be interested in the

formalities. After we've dealt with the

visitor in whatever way seems

returning to orbit, and we'll handle any other

matters then. Meanwhile, I

suggest you watch your rear ends. McCoy out."

"Done, Doctor. Acknowledgments from the

Klingons."

"They'd better do better than acknowledge,"

McCoy muttered, watching the planet dwindle

away behind them. Back soon, Jim, he thought. I

hope! "Is the Orion following?"

"Affirmative," Spock said.

"Dammit," McCoy said. "The price of

fame. If I commanded this ship on a

regular basis, I'd paint her numbers over.

Uhura," he added, "what are

the Orions using for scan?"

"Difficult to say, Doctor. Standard scan,

the last I heard. Mr. Spock?"

"Standard scanners are usual, as I understand it.

They are not too

different from ours."

"Good. Can we block them? Or hide them?"

"To some extent, at deep-space distances."

"Good. Sulu, get us well out of orbit. Then

turn back in-a nice, long,

tight hyperbola. Chekov, plot it so that we can

slingshot around the

planet and go out again afterward, without any additional

power. Spock,

once the orbit is set, just before we turn, I

want everything we can shut down, shut down. No

emissions that we can help."

Spock blinked. "Doctor," he said, "this is

a familiar-sounding strategy . . . and an

effective one. If I did not know better, I

would think you had been reading Jellicoe. Or

possibly Smith."

McCoy smiled a little sheepishly. "Jim would

keep giving me these books

on strategy and telling me I 220

should read them," he said. "Never saw the point,

at the time. But he may

have had something. I started getting caught up with my

reading last

night."

"Doctor, one Klingon vessel is leaving

orbit," Chekov said. "It's Kaiev."

McCoy blinked at that. "Wonder what he's

up to."

"Doctor," Sulu said, peering down his

scanner, "he is firing at the

pirate vessel from behind. Full spread of

photon torpedoes.-Ineffective," he added a

second later. "All clean misses."

"What's he at?" McCoy said softly. "He

could cut and run."

"Hail from Ekkava, Doctor," Uhura said.

"Not live. A squirt."

"Show me."

Abruptly they were looking at Ekkava's

bridge again, and Kaiev. He was

still sweating. McCoy began to wonder whether the

man's medication was

ever going to take . . . or whether the sweat had

to do with something

else. "Enterprise," he said, "you have dealt

bravely with me. I would do the same with you, before we

all die. was He paused a moment, then said,

"And I have had my Tacrin dosage increased.

Ekkava out. his

McCoy smiled, the only thing he had really

felt like smiling about for

some time now. "Keep an eye on him, Sulu,"

he said.

"He's still firing, Doctor. Another

spread of torpedoes.-One hit this

time. But ineffective. The ship is too well

shielded."

"It's reactive shielding," Chekov said.

"Some of the newer Klingon

vessels have it . . . not these, I don't think.

The shield's forcefield

is much more highly charged than the usual weapons

shield; it doesn't

absorb the force of the photon torpedo, it

bounces it back. Very nasty,

especially if you're following too closely."

"Noted," McCoy said. "Funny, though. The

Klingons are usually hot for any new weapon that

comes down the pike."

"Not these, Doctor," Spock said.

"Reactive shielding, and the

particle-beam weapon they're carrying, require

massive power supplies . . . much more than a

conship the size of the Klingons', or even the size of

ours, can supply. There are probably not more than

several hundred people on board the Orion vessel,

despite its size; most of that space is given

over to engine and weapons installations." He folded

his arms and looked thoughtful. "This is a

scenario that is sometimes played out in

simulation at Starfleet . . . but more as an

exercise in creative evasive action than anything

else."

"Mr. Sulu is pretty creative,"

McCoy said, cracking his knuckles, and

then chiding himself. It was a bad habit he had when

he was nervous.

"What's Kaiev doing?"

"Still firing," Chekov said. "The pirate

vessel is ignoring him."

"He's either trying to distract it," McCoy said,

"or-was He shrugged.

"Maybe, as he says, he's just being brave.

I wish he'd get out of there."

"Two of the other Klingon vessels are breaking

orbit, Doctor," said

Spock. "On tactical."

The computer supplied the front screen with a

tactical view, looking down on Flyspeck's

part of space from above its north pole. Enterprise

was al- most off the bottom of the screen, the

tag-numbers in X and Z axes

changing rapidly. Behind her, the pirate 222

vessel was swinging out to the left, ascending

out of the plane of the

solar system after her. Close behind it, Ekkava

was still firing. Closest

to the planet, the Klingon vessels were swinging out of

orbit, rightward

and behind the planet.

"Now where are they going," McCoy wondered, "and

what are they going to

do?"

Spock said, "I can give you visual display

if you prefer, Doctor."

"No, keep it like this," McCoy said

hurriedly. When he saw ships, he saw people, and

lives, and his Oath started having noisy arguments with

other obligations in his head. But when he saw a

clean, neat, computer picture like this, it reminded

him more of readouts in Sickbay than anything

else-diagrams, complex perhaps, but tidy and

manageable. And tactics he

understood. 4Do chess, and Go, and gwy.bwyll,

those he had been playing

for a long time.

And there were other sources of good ideas as well.

"These people," he said, looking at the spark of light

that represented

the pirates, "they're not much on subtlety, are

they? Come in shooting,

that seems to be the favorite tactic."

"I would agree with you," Spock said, coming down from

his station to

stand beside the center seat for a moment. "Historically,

they have

preferred to overweapon themselves, and simply

bludgeon any resistance

into ineffectiveness. Surprise and treachery have

always been favorite

weapons."

M cCoy nodded. "Good."

"Good?" Uhura said, slightly bemused.

"Yes. Uhura, did you manage to do anything with

that Klingon code?"

"What? Oh, certainly. I cracked that a

while ago."

"The new one?"

"I had a few minutes."

"Wonderful! Send this to Ekkava "Going

to play hide and seek. Note

orbit.""

Spock looked concerned. "Doctor . . . is

this wise?"

"I think so. Do it, Uhura. Code it and

squirt it."

She worked at her console for a moment. "Done."

"May I inquire what strategy you are

considering, Doctor?" said Spock.

McCoy leaned back. "Are you familiar with

twentieth-century warfare? The idea was to run

silently."

"The strategy has some virtues," Spock

said. "But bear in mind that some aspects of our

presence, such as residual radiation and heat, cannot be

blocked or otherwise concealed."

"I know that. But Spock, isn't it true that this

close to the system's

star, space is still too "hot" for us to be

easily seen by just heat

radiation?"

"That is true," Spock said, "but the closer we

come to the system's

heliopause, the less protection we will have from that

sort of

detection."

"I know," McCoy said. "I don't plan to go

out that far. Though I hope our friend thinks I will.

How's the orbit coming, Chekov?"

"Plotted, Doctor," Chekov said, and touched

a button. It appeared on the tactical display

a very tight hyperbola indeed, almost the shape of a

comet itself, or of an old-fashioned hairpin.

One leg of it was a tangent to the circle of the

orbit Enterprise had been describing around

Flyspeck. The other leg missed the planet

by some fifty thousand miles,

in toward it again in the slingshot curve McCoy

had asked for.

One part of the hairpin, near the turn at its

top, was marked off in red against the white of the rest of the

hyperbola. "We must use the engines there, was

Chekov said, "to acquire that orbit, Doctor."

"Understood. Lay it in and execute it."

"Done, Doctor."

"Once we execute, shut everything down that can be

shut down. Scotty,"

McCoy said, "that means the warp engines, too.

If I remember what Jim

used to say about scan, that's the major thing they'll

be tracking us

by."

"Aye," Scotty said, very unhappily.

"You don't need to shut down cold,"

McCoy said. "Hot restart would take

you-how long?"

"In this fuel configuration, six minutes."

"All right."

"Message from Kaiev, Doctor," Uhura

said. "He says, "Acknowledged. Note

ephemerides. Change to opposite.""

11 That's his orbit," Chekov said, his fingers

dancing across his

console. "I think he means he'll be ipverting

his own parabola. Tricky.

He must be planning to use thrusters-was

There was quiet for a moment; then Chekov put

Ekkava's orbit up on the

screen. It neatly swung out rightward from his

present visible course

away from the planet, and then back toward it again,

slingshoting around as McCoy's did, but from another

angle and from higher up. The two orbits came quite

close near the planet, then diverged.

"All right," McCoy said softly. Any ship

that chased

one of them, without knowing where the other was, would

eventually find

one or the other of them behind it,

unsuspected. "Not much of an

advantage," McCoy said, "but the best I can

manage for the moment. We

can't outgun this guy. And we can't outrun him.

We can't do much of

anything until we see what kind of scan he's

got."

"We will be vulnerable while the impulse engines

are running," Spock

said.

"I know that. Can't be helped. How are those people's

computers, Spock?" Spock looked thoughtful.

"There are rumors that they have been buying

them secondhand from the Romulans. That would be both

fortunate and

unfortunate. If the computers are an old

model, so much the better. But

the Romulans make very good computers, ones that are

not only flexible,

but easily upgraded. Are you concerned about their

ability to process

their scan data quickly?"

"Yes."

"I would say they are not as fast as, say, the

Klingons," Spock said

judiciously, "but there are always unpredictable

factors in any such

assessment. As you say, Doctor, subtlety

is not usually their style. Most people who deal with

Orion pirates are destroyed, or run away

to keep

from being destroyed. They will not be used to a

protracted engagement . . . certainly not with a

combined Starfleet-Klingon force. We might last quite

a long time."

McCoy didn't care a great deal for the way

Spock had phrased that, but he could understand why he

had. "All right. Kill everything nonessential,

from the shields out. I don't like losing shields,

but they stand 226

out like a lightbulb in the dark, and if they can't

see us, they can't

shoot at us. At least not very successfully.

Douse the lights, shut down

the warp engines, you all know what to do. Get on

with it."

Everyone at the various Bridge stations got on

with it. The lighting

faded to evening mode. "Uhura," McCoy said,

"let the whole ship hear me, will you?"

She nodded.

"This is Dr. McCoy," he said, and for the first time

in all this

silliness, his voice cracked. "Ahem.

Sorry. Ladies and gentlemen, we are about to be

very small and quiet for a while, in hopes that the

extremely large vessel presently hunting us will

lose us long enough for us to do

something useful that will get it to stop. You don't have

to be quiet-was

he glanced at Spock for confirmation; Spock

nodded-"but positive thinking is always a help.

Meanwhile, please avoid using any equipment that

you

can possibly do without, remembering that our shields

are down, and we

will leak electrons quite nicely, and visibly,

if we're not careful.

There will be a short run of impulse engines in

about-was he glanced at

Chekov-"twenty minutes. After that we will be

coasting back in toward

Flyspeck, and considering our other options for

getting this nasty

situation handled. Everyone keep your

calm, and think good thoughts.

McCoy out."

He sat back in the center seat and waited.

Spock said, "Doctor, this may not work out . . .

you are aware of that?"

"I thought I could depend on you to point that out,"

McCoy said. "Spock, you just trust me this once.

Besides," he added, "can you think of

anything more likely to keep us alive at this

point?"

Spock hesitated a moment. "I would not want

to give you false hopes," he said, "but . . .

no. The strategy has much to commend it."

"Good enough, then. The worst that can happen," he

said, leaning back in the center seat, "is that we'll

all be horribly blown up, and Jim will

still be alive on the planet surface . . . so

this situation," he dropped his voice a bit,

"won't be a total loss. Very unfortunate . .

. yes. But the Orions won't have killed all of

us."

Spock nodded; a thoughtful look. He went

slowly up to his station.

McCoy sat there thinking, And now comes the worst

part; the waiting. How does Jim stand

it? just sitting

here-when he wants to be out kicking someone's

tail,

or just wants to get out entirely, not fight at

all? for

there are enough times that he'd rather not. It was a

state of mind that, at the moment, he found

curiously

difficult to sympathize with. McCoy himself, at

the

moment, desperately wanted to see the pirate

ship

blown out of space, just to reduce the tension a little.

But the lives . . .

"How many people," he said to Spock, "did you say

were on that ship?"

"It is difficult to estimate," Spock said,

"but I would estimate

somewhere on the close order of seven hundred."

"Thank you, Mr. Spock," McCoy said,

sitting back again, saying nothing.

He had seen about seven hundred people die in the first

year of medical

school, what with one thing and another. Everything you

could think

of-infectious, traumatic, chronic, every kind of

syndrome, pathology, and disorder. Memory

dulled how many of them had died of something he 228

had done to them, or not done. Not too many, he

always hoped. That was all anyone could do, in that

situation. Hope.

It was good practice for this.

"Eighteen minutes to impulse engines," Sulu

said.

"How extended a visual can you give us at this

range?" McCoy said.

"Not very," said Sulu. "With all the power shut

down, we can't exactly

probe the area the way we'd like to; it would give

us away. You'll have

to make do with augmented tactical, Doctor."

"Good enough." It would have to be.

He watched the tactical, and tried to maintain the

calm. It took such a

long time. One got used to the Enterprise going

where she wanted to in a crack of thunder and a cloud of

dust, as it were. This creeping through

the dark was agonizing. But it'll save Jim . .

. and the rest of us. I

hope.

"Sulu," McCoy said, "did you get a

decent visual of that pirate ship?"

"I was wondering when you were going to ask," said

Sulu, and worked over his console for a moment. "Here."

Tactical split off to one side; the other

side of the screen became

occupied by the huge thing that had come blasting out of

nowhere at them. In the relatively bright light near

Flyspeck, all its superstructures and

external additions stood out very clearly. "What's

that?" McCoy said,

pointing to one feature. "Looks like a

greenhouse."

"I think it's probably a targeting bubble,"

Sulu said. "External shielded sensor arrays and

so forth."

"Thing looks like it was built out of bits and

pieces," McCoy said. He was used to the

tidiness and grace of the

Enterprise's design; this thing looked clumsy

and ineffective beside her.

But that was a dangerous fallacy.

"Probably it was," Sulu said idly, leaning

back and stretching while he

kept one eye on the course. "They would

have bought the pieces here and

there-and then when they've got e verything together, they have it

all

shipped out to some backwater shipyard down in the

bottom of the Sag Arm, or maybe tucked away

in the Coalsack-we hear rumors about places like

that. Put it all together out in open space. A

lot of people die-more die when the building is finished,

to make sure no one spreads the word

around about what that particular ship has, who bought

it, what they

paid, what it's armed with . . ." Sulu looked

disgusted.

McCoy said, "Funny . . . I thought you were

interested in the

swashbuckling life. Piracy on the high seas

and other delights."

Sulu chuckled. "Aye, wi" a wanion! A

sword, and the wind in your

hair-fight a ship gun to gun and sword

to sword, take her doubloons and

bury them on some pretty Caribbean island . .

." He looked thoughtful.

"Even now, they haven't found the wreck of the

Maria Rea, or the Estevan . . . was

He smiled. "But that was a different time. A ship

or two here or there, a little redistribution of the

wealth, on that scale they didn't

do much harm. But this kind of thing, where if a

planet's not profitable enough, you destroy it-was He

shook his head. "Not for me, Doctor."

"I didn't think so." McCoy looked

thoughtful, then said, "What's a

wanion?"

"I think it's a curse," Sulu said, not sounding

very

certain. "Or a little fish that runs when the

moon's full."

"I had to ask. And how is our own private

wanion at the moment?"

"Following on impulse," Chekov said.

"Accelerating to full power."

"My, he does mean business, doesn't he,"

McCoy murmured. Generally

speaking, a good starship captain tried to avoid

near-relativistic

velocities; they tended to do odd things to one's

engines . . . and crew. But this pursuer obviously

thought that the prize was worth a little wear and tear.

"How is our own velocity?"

"Eighty percent of that, at the moment.

Borderline. Running without

shields, it's not too healthy . . . but the

computers are all right for

the moment, not showing any timing problems. Mr.

Spock?"

At his station, Spock nodded. "For the time being, at

least. But if we

increase velocity much without any protection, the

computers will

eventually begin to suffer. I should not like to take her

much above

three-quarter impulse."

"All right," McCoy said. "Shout out if you come

across anything else I

should know about."

"Of course."

That was the best part of it, McCoy thought. No one

minded his being in

command-there was no competitiveness, no strain; they

all wanted him to

succeed. But then, they all had the same thought; he

needed to hang on

until Jim could get back in the center seat.

They wanted Kirk there as

much as McCoy did-if that was possible. Fond

as he was of the crew, as

well as he knew their loyalty, McCoy had

his doubts.

"The Orion vessel continues accelerating,"

Sulu said. "Gaining on us

slightly. Ten minutes to impulse."

"How likely is he to see our engine trace?"

McCoy said.

Spock shook his head. "That will depend on the

direction his main scan

installation is looking at at the beginning of that

period. There is a

fair chance, if we accelerate slowly enough, that

he may miss the ioniza- tion trace for some

seconds, perhaps a minute or so. If that is the

case, then he will have that much less data from which

to predict what course

we are intending to make."

"The less he sees of us, the better," Chekov

said. "We just have to hope he's looking farther out than

where we really are."

"Too much luck required in this operation,"

McCoy grumbled. "Not the best odds for a

firsttimer."

"On the contrary, Doctor," Spock said,

looking up from his work, "a

first-time commander actually has a much better chance of

survival in a

situation of this sort than a seasoned one. The

new commander does not

know which mistakes to make-and so his antagonist

has more difficulty

judging those mistakes, and the reasons for them. His

tactical choices

are likely to be most unpredictable, and when they

succeed, most

effective. And there is also a slight, strictly

statistical advantage, in that he has not been in

a battle recently, and the laws of averages

combine with chaos theory to-was

"comgive me a headache, mostly," McCoy

said. "Thank you, Mr. Spock . . .

Chekov, what are the other Klingons doing?"

"They're all in long cometary orbits, like ours,

but plotted in a way to let them either exit the system

quickly or cut in warp drive and fall

back in quickly," said Chekov. "All very

cautious. I think they know the Orions have us

outgunned, but they want to see whether we have

some trick up our sleeve about which they ought to inform the

Empire."

"Once again our reputation goes before us,"

McCoy said softly. "I'm not

sure I like this fame business. It doesn't

make for a very quiet life."

At that the ship shuddered-a very sharp, very noticeable

shake, unlike

the usual rather softened one. But they had no

shields-so every jostle

was going to feel three times as acute as usual.

McCoy said, "Another

ranging shot?"

"I think so, Doctor," Sulu said. "They're

not sure where we are, so

they're trying the occasional shot in the dark. But

I saw where that bolt was aimed. They have our position

pretty wrong."

"Thank heaven for small miracles. And when we

turn, it should get

wronger, right?"

"That's right."

"I'll drink to that," McCoy said, "later."

He sighed and thought about Kaiev, somewhere out there in

the dark, with his liver syndrome and his

nervous looks. You could never tell who was

going to come in handy in a pinch. There is someone

I'll look forward to buying a drink when all this is

over, he thought, if the fates are kind, and we have a

few minutes to rub together after these problems are all

solved.

If we survive-

On the screen, he watched the point creep

closer where they would go

back on impulse. No more than a 233

few minutes now. McCoy stared at the little

point of light that

represented the Orion ship, and wondered, What

makes them do it? Do they

feel that this is just a job, something they have to do? Do

any of them

ever think about the people they kill and enslave, the

planets they've

terrorized over the years? Some of them must.

Certainly some of them on

that ship have, over time, regretted things they've

done. Some of them

surely want out.

And they're likely to get out, too, because we're

going to have to kill

them-or try to. They won't let us go; we're

too rich a prize, and we're

threatening their livelihood. No way to talk your

way out of this one,

Leonard my boy. Out here, the only recourse

is good astrogation, and the good cold dark to hide in .

. .

"Two minutes," Sulu said. "Doctor,

they're continuing on their earlier

course. If they keep going that way, when we

turn, we'll definitely lose them. They're far

enough away from us to miss an impulse burn if

they're looking the wrong way."

"Hold that thought," McCoy said.

Another minute slipped by slowly, slowly.

McCoy watched the diagram,

considering his options. What was he going to do if that

monster didn't

turn? "We must be more maneuverable than that thing

on impulse," he said. "I would think so,"

Spock said from his station. "It is well enough

provided with impulse engines, but at the same

time there is so much raw mass to move that it is

perilously close to its point of diminishing

returns."

McCoy nodded. "Under the circumstances, it

sounds like a mistake to let

it scare us into warp."

"Unquestionably. That ship is certainly better

armed than we are. It would have a considerable

advantage in warp; I would certainly resist the

temptation." Spock sounded unusually vehement.

"Spock, if our advantage rests with

impulse, then that's where we stay.

You don't have to convince me." But the problem was that

they couldn't

stay in impulse forever. There was going to have to be a

resolution to

this problem . . . and McCoy couldn't see where it

was.

"Thirty seconds," Sulu said. McCoy

watched the screen, watched the little white dot that was

Enterprise inch toward the marked part of the

parabola. "Check course."

"Confirmed," Chekov said, and read out a string of

numbers. Sulu nodded. "I check you," he said.

"Doctor? Last chance to countermand."

"Go," McCoy said.

The impulse engines came on, all at once,

as they

tended to-no slow build of sound vibrating in the

ship's bones, but a whoomf f of loud power.

McCoy sat

upright in the helm, astonished. "Are those engines

all

right?" he said.

"It's that everything was shut down," Sulu said over

the noise . . .

which truly wasn't so loud, once you had heard it

for a second. "It

sounds louder by comparison."

"Does it ever," McCoy said. The "burn"

went on. Normally the impulse

engines' functioning was almost unnoticeable. But now

McCoy wanted to

call Engineering and find out whether there wasn't some

way they could

make the things run more quietly. It was absurd;

there was no way the

pirates could hear them in space. But all the

same, McCoy twitched.

The noise went on and on. It seemed to have gone

on forever-certainly long enough for anyone not

completely blind to not

miss seeing their ion trace-

The noise stopped. He breathed out in relief.

"Well?" he said to Sulu and

Chekov.

Chekov was looking at his computer readout; Sulu

didn't wait-he was busy studying their orbit, and the

Orions. The pirate seemed to be heading

farther and farther away from them-

"That's a good burn," Sulu said. "We have our

tight hyperbola, as planned, and the slingshot will work.

And our friend doesn't seem to have seen us-was I hope

Kaiev did. "Well done, gentlemen," he said.

"Report on the

Klingons."

"Kaie v has dropped off scan, Doctor,"

said Spock. "I would project him to be about here."

On the forward screen, a small red pinpoint of

light

marked his spot, still swinging away from the planet, and

into the orbit that would eventually intersect with theirs.

"He will also be about to

make an impulse burn, and so has taken the

same precautions not to be

seen as we have." Spock looked satisfied.

"I would not care to speculate on whether this is a

tactic he was already considering, or whether

he

borrowed it from you. But it was a wise choice, I

think."

McCoy thought for a moment. "Now, then. Uhura,

have we got another of

those data buoys left over?"

She looked unhappy. "We have one, Doctor,

but I haven't had time to load it as yet."

"That's all right. I don't want you to load it.

Except maybe with a

little garbage. Look-was He got up and went up

to the screen, looking

closely at the spot where the Enterprise's

orbit would more or less

intersect with Ekkava's. "What I was thinking

of," he said, 236

"was putting a buoy right about here-was He pointed

to a spot a bit closer

to the planet than the intersection point. "comand

having it start

broadcasting just before we get to that spot. Make it

look like a data

fault. Or no. Better-was He grinned.

"Read our ID, and a distress call, into it.

Make it sound like us. his

Uhura smiled too, a wicked look. "I could

fake an answer, too, if you

like," she said. "Starfieet saying that the task force

was going to be a little late, and we should hold on-or

I can imply that in the leaked

message."

"Do that. I think it's a little smoother."

Spock was looking at the screen with interest. "You

are thinking," he

said, "of trying to lure the pirate between us and

Ekkava. his

"That's right. Suggestions?"

Spock considered for a moment, then said, "I would

suggest this spot

instead-"and he indicated a point slightly

closer to the intersecting

orbits. "Postulating worst case, which is always

wise in situations of

this sort, one would desire to keep the maximum

distance between your

vessels and the pirate as small as possible.

Your superior

maneuverability-and here the Klingons also will do

well-will enable you

to react much more quickly to the bigger

vessel's moves, and it in turn

will have difficulty reacting quickly to you, because of your

proximity."

"There has to be a catch."

"Naturally there are drawbacks as well. If

the Orion vessel sees you, and fires at you, the

odds of it missing are very low indeed. But I judge

that danger to be roughly offset by our

advantage."

McCoy smiled ironically. "Roughly?"

"Doctor, as you yourself know from your experience at

chess, tactical

situations of this sort are rarely expressible in

percentile terms, or in terms of statistical

averages. There are too many variables, including

the onset of sudden unexpected insight, and the

intervention of variables not taken into account." Spock

looked as if he considered such

intervention a breach of good taste. "But the balance

of effects in the

present situation is simply the best we can

hope for. Your plan regarding the buoy is well

reasoned. The Orions will certainly feel sure that

the

ship is doing exactly what it is doing

now-running "silent and deep'-and will eagerly

attack the spot where the sudden leakage of signal

reveals

it to be. That is, if all goes well. The question

then becomes, what to

do next."

"Too right," McCoy muttered. His mind's

eye was full of the image of

Ekkava firing at the rear of the Orion

vessel, and the pirate paying no

more attention than if the Klingon ship were a fly.

"I'm just hoping two of us will be enough."

"I have been screening the scan of the Orion

vessel for possible

vulnerable areas," Spock said. "That is

probably our best line of

investigation. It is not logical to attempt

to make such a large ship

completely "bulletproof'; there will always be some

areas that are

considered less of a priority for protection, or

too well protected by

other "active' defenses to need any. Mr.

Sulu, I would welcome your input in this regard,

and Mr. Chekov's."

"Certainly, Mr. Spock. Put it down on

my screen, and we'll have a look."

The three of them got busy. McCoy watched the

little white dot on the

screen curve around and around the tightest part of its

orbit, the

hairpin. The Orion vessel was continuing away

from the planet, its own

orbit curving a little away from theirs, and upward,

out of the plane of the system. You just do that, McCoy

thought. You just head right on out

of the system, and good riddance. But it was not very

likely, and he knew it.

Two of us may not be enough, either . . .

"Uhura," he said, "how long will it take to get

that buoy ready?"

"Not very long," she said. "I'm working on the

programming now."

"Good," McCoy said, and yawned.

Uhura looked at him with a quirky expression.

"Doctor, when did you last eat?"

"Huh?"

"I thought so," she said. "Shouldn't you go off and

get something?"

"What?" he said, shocked. "In the

middle of a battle?"

"Doctor, nothing is going to happen for at least

the next ten minutes or so. Go get yourself a

sandwich or something."

"I could have it brought up here," he said, starting

to sit down in the

center seat again.

"Doctor," Spock said, from where he had come

to look over Sulu's

shoulder, "if you are going to command, you must learn

to delegate. You

have not had a rest break for some time. And this is not a

warp-speed

battle, where conditions can change in a matter of

seconds. You have a

short time to refresh yourself, and 239

I strongly suggest you do so. I will call you if

anything requires your

attention, or your presence here."

"Well, if you're sure-was

Spock looked at him with that particular

expression that always reminded McCoy of a kindly

teacher gently instructing an acephalic. "I'm

going,

I'm going," McCoy said finally, and

headed for the turbolift.

HE WENT TO SICKBAY, finally having been

given an excuse. As he walked down the

familiar hallway, a feeling of great relief

washed over him, as if

once he stepped through that door, everything would be

all right. He knew

it was an illusion. But it was a pleasant one.

When he walked through the door, the place was in

chaos-the kind of chaos he knew how to deal with. The

diagnostic beds were full of people having routine

physicals done, and there were four or five people

sitting around in the front room waiting to be

seennothing serious. Lia herself was

putting a pressure splint on Ensign

Blundell's leg, and lecturing him

about high-impact zero-gee sports. McCoy

breathed the air of his favorite place with relief,

and strolled on through.

There was general delight at seeing him, though

Lia looked up, half

teasing, and said, "What are you doing here?"

He glared at her and said, "Can't check out my

own department? I've come to investigate the shoddy

way you're running this place. Wasting a

perfectly good splint on him. Mark, how many

times have we told you about the way you throw yourself around the

squash court?"

"She won't use the quick-fixer on me," Mark

Blundell complained.

"And why should she, when you ignore everything we

tell you? No, you just sit and suffer a bit, my

lad. Besides, Taka over there needs the

protoplaser more than you do, and anyway, you've

had that bone

regenerated four times this year already. You're over

your

threshold-don't want the cells forgetting how

to heal themselves. You

just sit out the next four weeks, and think about the

error of your

ways."

"It's torture, that's what it is. I'm

complaining to Starfleet."

"You do and I'll put you on bread and water. And

vitamins," McCoy added

as he headed through into his office.

Quiet fell momentarily as the door closed.

He went to his desk, opened

the locked drawer, and rummaged around for a

moment until he came to the large lump that lived

at the back of it. It had been too long. He

withdrew the object in question, looked lovingly at the

white wrapper

with its elegant black copperplate printing, and

undid it.

"You shouldn't eat that," Lia said. "You know it's

bad for your skin."

"Next you'll be telling me it'll give me

heart disease," he said

scornfully. "Sit down and be quiet, or I

won't give you any."

He sat munching the chocolate, a present from

Dieter the last time he had visited-a giant

bar of best bittersweet,

glossy as a thoroughbred's coat, and a lot

tastier. "Here," he said,

breaking off a square and handing it to Lia.

"Don't say I never gave you

anything."

"Now how could I, after that last cold?"

"Don't tell anyone about that," he said.

"You'll ruin my rep."

She smiled at him. "How're you doing up there?"

"Lia, it's sheer hell. But worse.

In Hell you can complain that you were framed. I got

myself into this. Teasing Jim all those times."

She shook her head. "I'll bet he'll be

kicking himself when he finds out what's happened."

McCoy nodded, had one more bite of the

chocolate, then started to put it away. "Want one

more piece?" he said.

"Not me. Somebody out there will smell it on my

breath and start

demanding it too."

McCoy chuckled. "Right. I'd better get out

of here. I'm not even really

supposed to be here. I promised Jim."

"I won't tell on you," she said. "By the way,

those bone marrow results

are in for you."

"Later," McCoy said, heading out. He looked

at the faces of his patients as he went out-all

calm, all pleased to see him-and said to the group at

large, "All of you get better and get the hell out

of here!"

Laughter followed him out into the hall and back up

toward the turbolift. That feeling of impending

doom, held away for such a little time, came

crashing in on him again.

The hell with that, he thought, and pushed it back

by force. He had been doing too little mood control

on 243

himself lately, letting himself react to things as they

happened, instead

of creatively altering his mood to use a situation

to the best advantage.

I am the master ofalll survey, he told himself

sternly as he got into the

lift. I am the master of my fate; 1 am the

captain of my soul!

Now do the Orions know that?

He laughed softly as the lift got going. The

doubts were completely

understandable (said one of his psychiatric departments,

in the back of

his head). Suddenly stuck with a strange new

job, the fine points of

which he knew only by hearsay-if at all-and with the

lives of others

dependent on him, he was bound to feel out of his

depth, out of control, incompetent. But at the same

time, he had the advantage of having

listened often to one of the most successful

practitioners of the

starship commander's craft, as over a drink or a

dinner he had analyzed

his own performancewhat had worked, and what hadn't, and

why. McCoy was a good listener, and had internalized

a lot of what Jim had discussed,

without even really thinking about it at the time. And they

had played

chess-which was better than even Jim's endgame

analyses, for it had given McCoy firsthand

evidence and experience of the ways and means of a master

of the unpredictable in strategy and tactics.

McCoy held chess high as a powerful

diagnostic tool, and in this case it was going to be more

useful even than that. It might save all their

lives.

If I can keep my wits about me. I am the

captain of my soul.

Unfortunately I'm also the commander of this goddam

ship. A little more

dangerous, and affecting a lot more people . . .

So stay calm, and let's jump in there and do our

best.

The Bridge doors opened for him. No one even

looked up. They were all

watching their screens and monitoring the

ship's status, and that of the other vessels in the area.

McCoy went and sat down. On the front

screen, the Enterprise was well

along the second leg of her parabola. The

telltale for the pirate vessel was missing, though.

"Where've they gone?" McCoy said.

"Uncertain," Spock said. McCoy's stomach

began to twist again. "I believe they may have

instituted electronic countermeasures."

"What? A cloak?"

"Possibily."

"Oh, wonderful. Just what we needed. Where would

they have gotten it?"

"Possibly they bought it secondhand from the

Romulans," Sulu said.

"They've been dumping some of their older

technology. But if it is the

old cloak, that's all right. We know the

manifestation signature for

that, and as soon as our scanners come back up

to power, we can find it

without any trouble."

"Back up to power?"

"We have suffered a slight fault, Doctor,"

Spock said, tapping busily at his

console. "One of our particle scanners has

burned out. A group from

Engineering is replacing it at the moment, but the work

will take at

least a half-hour, and we are going to have to proceed

cautiously when

the new one is in place. We cannot run the

usual full-power test

sequences while we are trying to conceal our

presence."

McCoy sighed. "How far along are they?"

"About half done," Scotty said. "I would go

down

there mysel', but there's no point; it's nae a

creative job, just a

straight replacement. I couldna do it any

faster."

His Glaswegian is showing, McCoy thought. It

was never the best of signs. The Aberdeen accent of

Scotty's upbringing was what one usually heard

from day to day, but at times of stress it got more

pronounced, and began to shade into the rougher, more

glottal sounds of Glasgow and its

spacedocks.

"Right you are, then," he said to Scotty,

and looked around to Uhura.

"How's our buoy doing?"

"Almost ready," she said. "Do you want to talk

to Mr. Spock about the

course?"

McCoy shook his head. "Spock, I defer

to your better judgment."

The expression Spock turned on him was

bantering. "Possibly a historic

decision," he said. "Certainly a first."

McCoy grinned. "Don't expect me

to return the favor at your next

physical. You go ahead, give Uhura what

she needs. I want to get that

thing out there. We can alter the course after it's

gone, can't we?"

"I would prefer not to," Spoek said. "The

transmission would probably be noticed, and could very

well betray the fact that we are using a decoy."

"All right . . . we'll burn that bridge when

we come to it. Sulu, where

are all our friends?"

"The three extra Klingon ships are still well out

of range rightward on

the screen," Sulu said, "orbitward.

Ekkava is running quiet; we think

she's about there-"and he indicated a point in

Ekkava's hyperbola that

was a little farther along than the Enterprise was.

"We should be making our closest rendezvous in about

twenty more minutes."

McCoy rubbed his sweating hands together. "All

right. Let's get that buoy out there. Uhura?"

"Ready."

"Launch it."

"Affirmative."

There was of course no sound or feeling of

recoil, but a moment later

there was another trace on the screen, a little green

dot making its way hurriedly toward the point on

which Enterprise and Ekkava were slowly

converging.

"I'm going to let it get about thirty thousand

miles from the spot where we're meeting," Uhura

said, "before I start it hollering. That should be plenty of

time for the Orion vessel to hear it and respond;

they'll turn and make best speed-was

She glanced over at Spock. "Probably about

ninety thousand kilometers per hour, at this point.

They will have to drop some speed while

maneuvering. It will take them, I estimate, six

point four minutes to successfully

change course, and another eight minutes to reach

that spot."

"And blow the buoy up," McCoy said, "thinking

they're aiming at us."

"Oh, close-range scan will tell them that it's

not us. But they will fire anyway, to silence the buoy.

Also, not seeing us, they may assume that we too are

cloaked, and somewhere in the area. They may or may not

know

about the cloaking countermeasures we have devised, but

whether they do

or not, some bracketing fire in the area is

desirable. If they are

cloaked, or using other countermeasures, they will have

to drop them

while they fire. And while they are occupied with

that-was

"We do a little firing of our own." McCoy got

up

and went over to look at what Spock was up to.

"How's that scan analysis

going?"

"It proceeds." Not as quickly as you'd

like, though, McCoy thought; he

knew that phrasing. He looked at Spock's

screen, which was showing a view of the pirate vessel.

"Ugly big thing," McCoy murmured. "Looks

like a

brick covered with frozen spaghetti. Look at

all those ducts and

conduits."

"I would surmise that esthetics are not a major

concern for Orion

pirates," Spock said. He had the display

rotate, then said, "Observe,

Doctor. This surface-the narrower face of the

oblong-appears to be not so heavily armored as some

of the others, to judge by spectrography. That

may possibly be a design flaw. It will be

difficult to tell until the

vessel begins firing."

"I can't tell you how happy that makes me,"

McCoy said. "I too am less

than impressed with this situation," Spock said,

"but there seems little point in complaining just now. From

present evidence, that side of the

vessel is our best chance. There are also doors

on that side to the

shuttle bays-their ships, like Enterprise, never

land; they rely on large cargo shuttles for most of

their acquisitions. Any one of those doors is a

potential target; it must be fairly thin and light,

or it would be

impossible to move. But on the other hand, the

ship's armorers will have known that perfectly well, and

screen intensity over those spots will

likely be higher than elsewhere. We will have to test

our theories on the fly, I fear."

McCoy sighed. "The story of our lives.

Well, let's get ready. Sulu?"

"Buoy is on track," he said. "No

transmissions as yet, but it should be

screen, indicating its little green light, farther

along than it had been. "The other Klingon

vessels are beginning to turn."

That surprised him a bit. "Are they able to tell

what's going on, do you think?"

Sulu shrugged. "No way of knowing. Ekkava

hasn't broken silence. They may have looked at

Kaiev's ephemerides and figured it out. But

they're not

showing any willingness to get too close. The

turn is very gradual-they

obviously want to remain uninvolved

observers."

"They haven't hailed Ekkava, have they?"

McCoy said to Uhura.

"No hails at all, Doctor. It's dead

quiet out there."

"Let's find another way to phrase that,"

McCoy said.

For a little while more, there was nothing to do but wait.

Then, "Fifteen minutes to close approach

to Ekkava, Doctor," Spock

announced.

McCoy rubbed his hands. It really was astonishing

how sweaty they got. I could be a rich man if I

worked out an anti-palm-sweat preparation to

sell to starship captains. Hmm, aluminum

hydroxide . . . no, too

harsh-maybe restructuring the sweat glands; you could

take a protoplaser and-No, then you'd only have

to do it once, what's the point in that? How about-

"Buoy's coming into position, Doctor," Uhura

said. "About twenty minutes

of optimum transmission-position time, starting

now."

"Twist its tail," McCoy said.

Uhura touched a toggle. The Bridge filled

with the soft chatter of the

data transmission that the buoy was 249

sending out. "An old code," Uhura said.

"They'll have no trouble reading

it."

"Good."

And they waited.

"Ten minutes to Ekkava, Doctor."

"Thank you."

There was no use doing bre athing exercises

anymore. All McCoy could do

was sit there and sweat.

"Seven minutes, Doctor. There's

Ekkava-positive trace, direct scan at

reduced power." The telltale on the screen that

had represented Ekkava

realigned itself ever so slightly, drawing closer

and closer to the one

that showed Enterprise's position.

"Noted."

It was amazing how much you could sweat in a matter of

two or three

minutes. McCoy thought about writing a paper on

dehydration in personnel on battle

stations.

"Five minutes. Doctor, Ekkava is showing

faint traces of arming her

weapons. The pirate has turned and is making

good speed. Six minutes to

the buoy."

"All weapons at standby, then. Don't arm

yet. Scotty, stand by restart

procedure. We may need it." McCoy

gulped.

Dehydration, yes, it was fascinating how your mouth

dried out and how

your life started to pass before your eyes. No need

to jump off a cliff

at all. The regrets came marching up on you,

each one demanding why you

hadn't tasted that meal, watched that sunset, told

that friend what was

on your mind-

WHAM!! The whole ship wobbled as if some

giant hand had grabbed it and

rattled it to see if there was anything inside.

"Pirates firing on the

Sulu said. "Making better time now. One

minute out."

"Have they hit it?"

"No!" Uhura said.

"Good! Shut it up. Send to Ekkava

"Now!" Just that. Sulu, tactical!"

The screen shimmered and changed views. There was a

large oblong block in the middle of it, like a big

ugly brick covered with frozen spaghetti. It

blazed with a bright red halo, the computer representation

of its

screens. Phaser fire lanced out from it, off at

one side, missing

Enterprise, which was orbitward of the pirate.

Ekkava was closer to the

pirate, and fired at it, another full load of

photon torpedoes. Where do they get all those

things? McCoy thought. Now I know why those ship have

such small crews. The whole ship's as full of

torpedoes as a chicken is

with eggs-

The Orion ship could not turn very quickly,

certainly not quickly enough to immediately deal with the Klingons.

Ekkava hurried off to one side,

firing. The pirate began to decelerate, but it was

going to take time.

Slowly it turned, very slowly

indeed-bringing that weak face toward

Enterprise. "This is time for your best shot,

Chekov, Sulu," said McCoy. "Spock,

give them the coordinates-was

The tactical display narrowed in on the pirate.

Circled crossbars

centered on the vulnerable spots. "Everything at

once, and we might

overload their shields," McCoy said.

"Might. Save us a little something

in case we need it, gentlemen. Fire at will!"

They did. The pirate's screens lit up like the

sun where they were hit,

overloading-but not for long. Slowly they backed

down into red light

again.

Chekov wasn't done. He hit his console, and a

spread of photon torpedoes leaped out.

From the other side, Ekkava was firing as well.

Torpedoes as well as

phasers struck the screens in all the vulnerable

spots at the same time. The screens flared and went

down.

"Got him!" Sulu said, more in a whisper.

"Have we?" said Chekov. The pirate was

turning more sharply, wallowing,

but making better speed. Behind it, the Klingon

vessel was falling away, not accelerating, not firing.

Slowly the huge oblong shape turned toward them,

chasing them on the hyperbolic course that was to slingshot

them

around the planet.

"Fire again, at will," McCoy said.

"Photon torpedoes recharging," Chekov said.

"Phasers only."

He fired. The beams hit that massive shape-

comand it absorbed them.

"My God," McCoy whispered, horrified.

He had miscalculated. "We're

history." And the despair that he had been holding

off came crashing down on him. No way to live,

no way to save the ship and its people even

though he himself should die-

The pirate bore down on them as they fired,

uselessly, hopelessly-

And everything simply stopped. No light, no

sound, nothing; everything

went out.

Death- McCoy thought, despairing, before he went

out too.

Kirk came down to the clearing with his Klingons

marching before him, all ferociously angry but unable

to do anything while he was holding the

weapon. As they got close to the clearing, he was

surprised to see 252

through the blue-green trees that there were something like

another ten

Klingons there, of all ranks and types, standing

around as if they were

waiting for something. Some of them were talking with

members of an

Enterprise landing party. Kirk saw Lt.

Janice Kerasus off at one side

chatting with one of them, apparently a commander, in

fluent and rapid

Klingonese.

"Go on then, all of you," he said to his little

crowd. "Katur, help your friend here back up to your

ship."

The young Klingons noticed their commander's eyes on

them, and vanished

with some haste in the bright hum of the Klingon

transporter beam. Kirk

walked over to the man, who watched him come with

something like pleasure in his face, and stepped

away from Kerasus to greet him. Kirk kept his

thoughts out of his face for the moment.

"Captain Kirk," said the Klingon, and actually

sketched a little bow.

"Commander-was

"Kaiev, of Ekkava. At your service."

We'll see about that, Kirk thought. "Commander, would

you tell me why

you've been jamming communications?"

Kaiev twitched a bit. Aha, Kirk thought.

"That was very unfortunate,"

Kaiev said. "We had a communications fault in

one of our main boards-it

shorted out in a test loop, and became stuck in

jamming mode. Our comms

were down too. But the problem's been handled now;

communications are

clear again."

"You'll excuse me if I check my

equipment-was comand your word! Kirk pulled

his communicator out, flipped it open.

"Enterprise," it said, in Uhura's voice.

"Kirk here. Just checking, Lieutenant." 253

"Yes, sir. Do you need anything down there?"

"No. I've had a very pleasant afternoon

out, and tell Dr. McCoy I'll be

beaming up shortly."

There was the briefest of pauses, then Uhura's

voice came again, sounding faintly puzzled.

"Aye, Sir." Kirk frowned. Now what was that

all about?

Had McCoy-

"Captain," Kaiev asked, "is there a

problem?"

"No," Kirk said quickly, "no problem. That's

all, Lieutenant Uhura. Kirk out."

He put the communicator away and nodded

to Kaiev. "So much for that,

then. Commander, may I ask what your business is

here?"

"None now," Kaiev said. His face had a

relaxed look that was puzzling

Kirk considerably. A thought occurred-that the man

seemed to have no

defenses up at all. Kirk had never met a

Klingon before who wasn't on the defensive, and the

experience wasintriguing-to say the least. "We were

on survey," said the Klingon, "but there is nothing

here of particular

interest to us. Except," and he actually

laughed, "some of the plant

life."

"Yes," Kirk said, and at that he had to smile

a little. "I understand you had a bit of a shortage.

If we can be of any help as regards the cloning,

please let us know."

"No need," said Kaiev. "But I thank you.

Captain, not to be abrupt, but I have business

elsewhere, and some disciplinary matters to attend to.

We

will be leaving orbit directly."

"Very well," Kirk said. "A good journey to you,

Commander."

"And to you, Captain."

The Klingon took out his communicator.

"Commander," Kirk said, feeling slightly

confused, "comh we met

somewhere before?"

"Oh, no," Kaiev said. "But MakKhoi

has told me all about you."

The Klingon transporter effect took

Kaiev, but not before he raised a

hand in farewell. Kirk half-raised his own,

totally confused; then let it fall as the man

vanished.

Bones, he thought, what have you been up to? I

intend to find out.

Ensign Brandt came along at this point, from the

far clearing. "Captain," he said, "one of the beAt

is over in the next glade. He says he'd like

to speak to you before you leave, if that's possible."

"Certainly," Kirk said. He strode off through

the soft grasslike plants

of the clearing, looking up at the impressive

building that about two

hundred of the Ornae were busy building with themselves.

It was a

fantastic structure that looked half like an

old Russian cathedral, with spires and onion

domes, and half like a pillared stoa in the tradition

of the Parthenonwith some Danish modern mixed in. It

was certainly bigger

than anything else he'd seen them build yet.

There was a sort of

triumphal arch off at one side of it. He

walked through this, and was

rewarded by several of the Ornae goggling their eyes

down at him and

making their soft scratchy laughter.

Kirk smiled too and headed into the next

clearing. This had definitely

been one of the more pleasant afternoons he'd had in a

long time, if you discounted the momentary annoyance of

having to deal with the overzealous Klingon landing party. The

woods closed around him, cool and pleasant,

with the long low golden light of the afternoon sun passing

down through the branches in broad beams, gilding the

leaves and even the floating

time on the path, looking at the shapes of the

leaves, the way the light

fell. Heaven only knew when he would have time for

this again. And on the

other side of the little patch of woods, there was the

second clearing;

and in it stood the Master of the beAt.

Kirk walked over to the Master and greeted it

amiably. "Sir, did you

forget something?"

"Never yet, I fear," it said; but its voice

didn't sound particularly

fearful. "Captain, there are decisions to be

made."

"So there are," he said. "I hadn't thought to hear

any from you so soon."

"Nor had I thought to be ready to make

them. But we must talk; and there is a thing I must

say to you firs t."

"Is this going to take a while? I'll sit,"

Kirk said.

"D. Captain, I have practiced a deception

on you."

"You have?"

"Yes. And the consequences could be dire. You will

probably be angry with me, and I will understand that. But

it was utterly necessary."

Kirk couldn't imagine what it was talking about.

Was this going to be

another of those weird alienviewpoint things? "Go

ahead, sir. I may be

angry, but I will try to be fair."

"So I see." There was a long pause, and

Kirk became aware of that very

long, slow rumbling, all around him, as if the

earth were feeling the

beAt's concern and trembling a bit with it.

"Captain, when first we met, I desired to talk

to you without interference."

"And so you did. I thought."

"Your Translator-was The beAt sounded a bit

perplexed. "The word talk, I

fear, says little of what I truly wanted to do.

We are a deep-seeing

species, Captain."

He thought he understood that. The Translator was

doing its best to

render some compound word, but what the beAt meant was that

it was a

concept telepath. "Sir, I have understood that for

some time. I'm not

troubled by it."

"That's well. What may trouble you, however, is

how long you've been

here."

Kirk looked around him, confused again. He was

beginning to get used to

the state. "It's only been a couple of-was

"Days," said the Master.

And immediately, without knowing how, Kirk knew it to be

true. All

afternoon he had been seeing things in more than the usual

detail,

feeling every passing second go by with much more than the

usual acuity. The air had been like wine every

minute, the light as rich as something

in an old Dutch painting, every texture

and sensation sharper than usual. He had assumed that

it was just the effect of the leisure, of getting

away for a few minutes. But now he knew the

feeling of time being

tampered with; it was impossible to mistake for

anything else, now that

he knew what it felt like. "You're saying," he

said, "that though I've

experienced only a few hours away from my

ship, my crew has experienced

two days-was

"A little less."

"My ship tilde f

He forced himself to calm down, for the effect was still

working, and his fear was much sharper than 257

usual. "The time has not been concurrent," the

Master said. "I dislocated

you slightly from your proper time-stream, into future

time. A week,

perhaps. I shall restore you immediately when we have finished

talking

here."

Kirk swallowed. "Sir," he said, "you're

right. I am angry. But I want to hear what your

reasons are for this."

"We needed to talk, as you know," said the Master

of the beAt. "You are

not the only one who has been deep-seeing,

deep-feeling, this past while. I have as well. I

had decisions to make-about you, and your people. I

needed time in which to make them correctly-extra

time. And to some

extent, being able to exist briefly in the future,

as I told you, I saw

that this was the only way it was to be managed. For the

Klingons were

coming, and others with them, on their trail; and after that,

all chances would be lost."

"Others-?"

"The Orion pirates."

Kirk's stomach curled up into a little ball and

tied itself in a knot.

"I fear for your folk too," said the Master.

"But my first fear is for my own people, whom I see

suffering from that attack, and others. The help

you hold out to us is very tempting. But I must

balance it against the

dangers of dealing with aliens. The pirates have not

dealt very kindly

with us. You came with fair words, but I

had to be sure there was more

beneath the words that was fair. I am certain of that now.

Our three

kinds will join your Federation, and learn to share what

we have, and

what we are. We will never be quite the same again; but

I think that

change must happen, and I think it will be worth

it."

Kirk nodded, keeping himself calm by sheer force.

"That said," he said,

"and I thank you for it-what's to be done about my

ship?"

"I think you should return to it," said the Master.

"They are in the

midst of a battle, and it goes hard with them."

"Bones is in a battle-his! He- They-How

am I going to get up there?!" Kirk cried,

jumping up. "They'll have their shields up, they can't

use the

Transporter-was

"This way," said the Master.

And everything stopped-

comand started again. He was on the Bridge, and red

h alert sirens were going off, and all

Hell was breaking loose-

He felt, as he had felt it once or twice

before, an actual flush like

fire in his lower back, as a blast of adrenaline

cut loose. "Tactical,"

he shouted, and all over the Bridge heads

snapped around in astonishment and terror. McCoy

alone didn't turn; he had his eyes on the

screen, and

said, "About time you got here, goddam it! Sulu,

fire again-was

"Yes! And shields," Kirk said hurriedly,

his eyes fixed on the tactical

display, "and Sulu, cut hard right now!

Chekov, give me weapons status

readout-was

It came up on the screen. What a farrago!

Ships everywhere, one of the

big pirate vessels, mother of the shuttlecraft

he had seen in the step

back in time with the beAt-and four Klingon

vessels, attacking it as well- "We got some

help," Bones said. "Kaiev there started it-in

Ekkava-and the others pitched in 259

after a while. I think they just couldn't

resist a good fight."

Kirk nodded and stared at the screen. The pirate

vessel was running on

impulse, as everyone else was. Prudent. But

this was no time for

prudence. "I recognize this endgame," he said

to McCoy. "Jellicoe, huh?

Not sure it's working this time. Sulu, the hell with

this, warp 4 and out of the system when ready."

"Restart is still in process, Captain,"

Scotty said from his station.

"Four more minutes."

"Best evasive then, Mr. Sulu." Kirk

looked at McCoy. "You were running

quiet, I take it. Uhura, give me a

padd and put the logs since I left on it."

He looked at the screen. "One Klingon vessel

I could understand. But four?"

"The first one misplaced a landing party," McCoy

said. "The same way we

did you. Where the hell were you?"

"On the planet," Kirk said. "With your friend the

beAt.

[*macr]

McCoy blinked. "That's what the

Ornae and Lahit kept saying."

"They have some connection with the beAt. They seem to know

what they're

doing. It's doing," Kirk corrected himself, as

he took the padd Uhura

gave him. "I only saw the one. Sulu, swing

out a bit wider. I want some

more room."

"Anyway, we couldn't find you," McCoy said.

"You were gone from scan, and your communicator was

missing."

"The beAt do something with time," Kirk said,

scanning down the padd.

details later. Meanwhile, I understand the

Master's reasons for doing it," he said, and he

looked over his shoulder, "but it has created some

problems for us all, and I am going to require

some assistance by way of

apology."

"The Master?" McCoy said, and looked where

Kirk was looking. And froze,

as did everyone else who looked that way; because there

appeared to be a large, rough, brownish stone

monolith standing near the turbolift doors. It was

unquestionably too large to stand there-the ceiling

was too low

for its height. But the stone appeared to be sticking

through the

ceiling, without doing it any harm.

McCoy got up out of the center seat, which Kirk

promptly sat down in, and said, "Sir-was

"Doctor," it said. "Your pardon that I had the

Captain call you away. But it was he that I had

to speak to, urgently; and time was short."

"You had the Captain-was

"The Master is a talented being," Kirk said

absently, still going through the contents of the padd. "This

transmission from Starfleet, for example. This

sudden loss of signal. Sir, there were times in the

past when I

would have very much liked to have had you around. Oh,

well.-Sulu?"

"Gaining a little distance, Captain. The Klingons

are making it difficult for the Orions. Its

shields are back up, and they can't affect them much,

but they're a lot faster than it is, and they're

concentrating on its

weak spots."

"Good. Keep running for a few minutes; buy

me some room. I need to think a bit."

The ship shudded slightly. "Photon

torpedoes,"

Spock said, coming down for a moment to stand beside the

center seat.

"Captain, may I say that it is good to see you

back?"

"Amen to that," McCoy said, from the other side of the

seat.

"Spock, I can tell you it's good from my side

too. But it'll be better as soon as we can do

something about this pirate." Kirk looked at the

screen, and saw less of it than of some night

down on Flyspeck, a night

full of fire, and the screams of Ornae and

burning Lahit. "Scotty, what

about our restart?"

"Two minutes yet, Captain."

Kirk put the padd aside and drummed his fingers

on the arms of the seat. "Bones," he said, "you

don't have to stay. I've kept you away from

Sickbay long enough."

"Uh-uh, Jim. I started this, and I'll see

it finished."

"One way or another, you will. Anyway-you did

a good job. That bit with

Delacroix was pricelesscdn't have done better

myself."

He looked with some admiration at the shape of the

pirate behind them.

"Some ship," Kirk said. "Starfleet really ought

to look into who's

selling them so much of our off-the-shelf

technology. Not all the stuff

welded onto that hull is Romulan."

"I was looking particularly at the sensor array

near the close end,"

Spock said. "It appears to be Starfleet

issue, with some modifications."

"So it does." Kirk frowned and considered that.

"Hmm. Bones, are any of

the Klingons cooperating with us directly?"

"Ekkava is. The others were just sent in by their

High Command to try to intervene when that landing 262

p arty of Ekkava's went missing, and we wouldn't

tell them where we

kidnapped them to."

Kirk snorted. "Typical. Uhura, ask

Commander Kaiev to break off his

attack and come up here to join us. Warn him that

we're about to go into warp. That thing will

certainly chase us-which is what I intend. We'll

be looping around to come back through the system; I'm

going to lead him

through the other Klingons." He got up and leaned

over Chekov's seat,

programming in a course. "Read that from your

console. See this point

here? That's where we'll pop out of warp. Reaction

time being what it is, the pirate will drop out a few

seconds later, but we'll have flipped end for end and

started dumping sublight velocity. We'll wind

up behind him. Have the rest of them be there and ready

to fire when that thing drops

out. We'll collapse its shields-then finish this

business. Uhura, see

that they have Spock's list of vulnerable spots.

Do all that now."

"Yes sir."

"Then in a moment we'll see about that sensor

array." McCoy was staring

at Kirk. "You know Kaiev?" he said.

"We've met," Kirk said. And there are some

interesting implications in

that-but never mind that just now. Kirk looked

thoughtfully at the other side of the screen,

now split and showing both the image of the pursuing

pirate and the tactical display. "What's that little

green trace there?" "The communications buoy."

Kirk looked surprised for a moment. "Ah!

Fake signal?"

"That's right," McCoy said.

Kirk smiled at him. "You were really getting

into this, weren't you?"

"Not much choice," McCoy grumbled.

Kirk looked embarrassed. "No, I guess

there wasn't. Still-was A bit of

mischief came into his eyes. "Never turn

down a learning experience, eh, Bones?"

"Jim, you can take your learning experience and-was

"Tell me later. Uhura? Are the other ships

ready?"

"All set, Captain."

Kirk looked at McCoy with momentary interest.

"Bones, would you mind

telling me how you got all these people fighting beside us,

instead of

with us? Just curious. Starfleet will probably be

interested."

McCoy looked a bit sheepish. "I can't

take credit for the other three. As for

Ekkava, I just shouted at him. Called him

names."

"Hmm," Kirk said, thinking how many times he had

wanted to do just that. Still, he had borne a fair

amount of McCoy's name-calling in his own

time, and it occurred to him that even a Klingon might

be impressed by

some of it. "Seems to have worked."

Again he bent over the helm console and touched a

control here, another

there. Sulu watched with increasing interest. "There,"

Kirk said. "Just

hold that instruction in abeyance; we may get a

chance to use it.

Scotty?"

"She's ready, Captain."

"Good. Mr. Sulu, warp four, now. Keep

an eye on the Z axis change. I want to go

straight up like a turbolift on the fly."

"Yes, sir!"

She went. "Back to visual," Kirk said. The

screen was empty for a

moment-then filled again with the 264

image of the Orion ship, a fair ways back

at the moment, doing perhaps

warp two.

"Won't take them long to catch up. Let them

think we're making a run for it," Kirk said.

For about ten seconds, the situation did not

change. Then slowly the

pirate vessel began to creep closer.

"Scotty," Kirk said, "you're using

that new fuel configuration, are you?"

"For the moment." Scotty turned away from his

station, looking a bit

concerned. "There are problems with it; I wouldn't

use it for very long, no more than an hour or so. After

this we'll need to look for something

else that will produce the same result. But at

the moment, we're running at about 110 percent of

normal engine efficiency. I can get you up to

warp eight . . . for very brief periods."

"Noted. We may need that eight, though, so if

you have to do anything

special to the engines to get them ready, do it now.

I intend to find out what our friend there has in the way

of engines."

Scotty sighed and muttered something, and turned

back to his console to

begin making adjustments. Kirk smiled.

Scotty always complained when you asked his machinery

to stretch itself out; but then again, he complained when you

didn't-so there was nothing to be done but to put up with the

occasional mutter. "By the way, Bones," he

said, "your Klingon landing

party that went missing-you know what they were after?"

"I'm more interested in knowing whether they're back

safe," Bones said.

"They are-I think. At least, I saw them go.

Anyway, guess what they were after."

McCoy looked at him and shook his head. "Not

a clue."

"The vegetable form of the anchovy."

"What?"

Kirk told him about the tabekh sauce. Bones

nodded at that and said,

"Yes, I've heard of it. I don't think

you'd want to try it, though."

"Why not?"

"One of the other ingredients is arsenic."

Kirk blinked.

"Apparently they like the bitter taste," Bones

said. "Also, the arsenides are pretty important

in their diet. Klingons can get into horrible

arsenide deficiencies if they're not

careful, especially in stressful

situations-was

"Bones, Kirk said, "thank you. Sulu, how's

our friend doing?"

"Accelerating to warp four. No one else is in

warp at the moment."

"Good. Warp five, Mr. Sulu. Accelerate

as they do."

"Yes, sir."

Slowly they watched the Orions begin to catch up

with them. "Not bad for off-the-shelf stuff," Kirk

said thoughtfully, "but I still want to find

out where they're getting it. We're not supposed

to be selling material

to anyone who will pass it on to the Orions-but then,

I guess forging and falsifying end-use

certificates is an old, old game."

"Warp six now, Captain."

"Noted. They are coming right along, aren't they?"

He sat there and

watched them, thinking. Some part of his mind noted how

good he felt. It was always better to have space

battles in the morning, if you had to

have them at all. But no-this was almost evening,

wasn't it?-for him, at least. Odd that his

body felt as fresh and his mind as lively as if it

glanced at the beAt. He was going to have a lot of

questions to ask, later

. . .

"They're matching our warp six, Captain."

"Good. A nice, slow acceleration now, Mr.

Sulu. Keep it regular. And mind the course.

Turning too soon will throw the timing off."

"I've got an eye on it, sir."

They all watched the screen. The pirate

vessel was creeping closer, all

the time-and suddenly it was quite a bit closer, a

swift rush forward,

continuing. "Quick, Sulu, warp seven!"

"Done, sir-was

Enterprise surged ahead too. Hang on,

Kirk thought. Speed is what we need at the

moment. Not for much longer. But show him your heels for

just a

little while-

"Warp seven," Sulu said. "More, sir?" For the

pirate was still gaining.

"Must be doing nine at least, was Kirk thought.

"Start the turn-we don't

want to get too far out of the system. Go

to warp eight."

"Ah me," Scotty said from his station.

"Not for long, Scotty, I promise," Kirk

said. "Only a few moments. Then

we'll drop out of warp and let things cool down.

Though not for him." He looked grimly at the

Orion ship.

Behind them, the pirate crept closer still. "He's

doing eight-point-five, Captain," Sulu said.

"Go to nine-point-five, One minute. Then

decelerate to warp four, hard,

and drop out of warpspace. We need to match our

old intrinsic velocity.

Uhura, intership."

She nodded. "All hands, this is the Captain."

Was that a slight sigh of

relief going through the Bridge 267

crew? Or just McCoy? Kirk said, "We're

about to undertake high-speed

braking maneuvers while in warp. You know that this will

sometimes cause

the artificial gravity system to fluctuate.

If you're holding a cup of

coffee, drink it. Maneuvers should take no more

than one minute. We'll let you know when

we're done. Kirk out."

He sat back in the center seat and watched the

pirate draw closer and

closer. You do that, he thought. Right up our tail,

the closer the

better. The vector-inflight maneuver he was

trying now had first been

invented by vectored-thrust aircraft pilots in

one of the old Earth wars; it was so effective, and

along with others of their inventions had made

them so deadly, that pilots on the other side often

insisted that they

had been shot down by viffers even when someone flying

some other plane

had done the deed.

We'll see if it still works-Kirk thought. So far

it looked good. Maybe

the pirate had never heard of viffing, for he was

cheerfully running

right up Enterprise's tail. "We should expect

some fire shortly," Kirk

said.

As if on cue, the white fire lanced out from the

pirate. Sulu evaded

before Kirk could say a word. Not much of

an evasion, but at this speed, not much was needed; even

the slightest drift to port or starboard could change

your position by thousands of miles. The first shot was a

clean

miss; but the pirate kept firing, and the problem for

Sulu was that he

had a specific course to maintain, and couldn't

deviate from it too much, lest they come out in the wrong

place, far from their friends in

realspace.

The pirate fired again, and again, and Sulu ducked

and dodged, and Kirk

clenched his hands on the arms 268

of the center seat and tried not to show his nerves. One

good shot at this velocity, and they would be so dead that

they wouldn't know anything about it until God tapped

them on the shoulder and asked them for

identification. Behind him, Scotty was muttering

unhappily at his station. "How about it, Mr.

Scott?" he said.

"I'm keepin" things on an even keel for the

moment," Scotty said, "but I canna say how

long it'll last. She's not meant for this, not really-was

"Noted. Keep that keel even for just a few

seconds more. I've heard about the

screen-shredders those things come equipped with, and I

don't want

one used on us-the feedback alone would tear the

ship apart at these

velocities. Sulu-was

"Close to dropout point, Captain. It's in

the helm."

"Keep an eye on it, and count it down."

"Fourteen," Chekov said, while the pirate

got closer behind them, and

more phaser beams lanced out. One was a graze, and

Enterprise shuddered

sidewise like a horse stung by a wasp.

"Sulu-was Kirk said.

"Just lucky, Captain-was

"Them and us both!"

"comeleven, ten, nine-was

"Intership, Uhura. All hands, warp

deceleration in eight seconds-brace

yourselves! Out-"

"comsix, five, four-was

The ship shuddered again, harder this time. "Lost

number six screen,"

Spock said. "Covering with five and seven-was

"comtwo, one-was

Kirk's stomach flipped as the artificial

gravity, true to form, went on

the fritz. Even Scotty had never been able to do

anything about that. At deceleration from 269

such high speeds, the shields' priorities

changed to favor maintaining the ship's structural

integrity, and the gravity suffered as a result. The

gravity came in again, went out again. People grabbed

hold of their

stations and hung on. McCoy, next to him,

looked a bit strained; it was an expression Kirk

had seen before, on people trying to keep their cardiac

sphincters in line. His own was giving him a little

trouble, but he had no time for it now. The screen showed

the pirate vessel plunging past them at warp nine

while they dug their heels into the fabric of space

and slowed,

slowed. The warp engines howled. Even Scotty

couldn't make them like doing this-

"Warp eight, seven, five-four!"

"Now!" Kirk said. Sulu took control away

from the helm and did the

dropout himself, just to be sure. The whole ship

rattled and boomed

around them as she dropped out of warp, still

decelerating. "Tactical-was

The screen showed four small red lights clustered

together, ahead of

them-seeming to rush closer, though it was Enterprise

doing the rushing. "One," Kirk counted softly,

"two, three-was

Ahead of them, the pirate dropped

into realspace, and went plunging

straight into the center of the waiting group of

Klingons. "Mr. Sulu,"

Kirk said, "fire at will. Mr. Chekov,

activate that intervention I put

into the console."

Phaser beams hit the pirate vessel from five

different directions. Its

screens went down. "Close visual," Kirk

said, hanging onto his seat as

hard as he could. If the timing on this went wrong,

the thing would

merely drop back into warp, then come around for

another pass-

The pirate filled the whole screen. Its

screens flickered 270

up for a moment, then went down again. Klingon

phaser beams hit it hard

from four sides, and Enterprise's from the fifth.

And something else hit

it a small shape that came streaking in out of

nowhere, a little lump of

metal no more than a ton or so in mass-but

accelerated to almost half

light-speed. The communications buoy struck the

pirate amidships. No armor could have done anything

to stop it, at such a velocity. It burrowed into

the side of the pirate, and a great plume of fire

and silvery atmosphere,

freezing as it came in contact with space,

billowed out of the side of the vessel.

"That sensor array, there," Kirk said, pointing.

"Burn it out."

Without even bothering to wait for a lock from the

targeting computer,

Sulu took aim and fired. The glassy

installation at the end of the pirate exploded in a

cloud of plasma.

"Good enough," Kirk said. "Let him

decelerate."

"Klingons are following him, Captain,"

Chekov said.

Kirk let out a long breath. Doubtless

they had old scores to settle; the Orion

pirates had preyed on their planets for as long as

they could get

away with it. Perhaps they thought that letting this one get

away would

be a mark of weakness on their part, an invitation to more

destruction.

He looked over his shoulder at Uhura. "Send

to Kaiev and the other

commanders that this strategy was ours, and we require

the right of

disposal," Kirk said.

Uhura nodded. After a moment, she said, "They

accept that, Captain. But

Kaiev wants to talk to Commander McCoy."

Kirk turned to McCoy and smiled. "You want

to take the call here, Bones? Or in Sickbay?"

"Sickbay, please," McCoy said. "But,

Uhura, tell him I'm busy at the

moment. I'll call him back later."

"Shall I follow, Captain?" Sulu said.

"No. Decelerate and stop."

Sulu said, "Yes, sir," in a slightly

mystified voice. They all sat and

watched the screen, watched the pirate

slow, watched it begin to tumble. "Major

explosive decompression aboard the pirate,

Captain," Chekov said. "Weapons and engine

systems are down."

"Not as down as they will be," Kirk said, a touch

grimly. On the screen, they saw the Klingons

move in on the pirate, anchor to it with tractors,

and begin to slow it to a stop.

Kirk watched and waited. When the Orion ship

had come to a stop, some

hundred thousand kilometers away, he turned

around in his seat to glance at the massive block of

stone seemingly sitting in front of the turbolift

doors.

"Now, sir," he said.

And nothing changed except the screen-which suddenly

showed them within

five kilometers of the pirate and the Klingons

tethering it.

Every head in the Bridge turned to look at the

beAt, then at the Captain. Kirk smiled very

slightly. I don't know if the pirates could see

that,

but let the Klingons chew on it and wonder how we

did it. I think things will be quieter on the

borders of Federation and Klingon space for a

while.

He looked at the pirate vessel for a moment,

then said, "Mr. Sulu, are

the phasers ready?"

"Yes, Captain," he said, very quietly.

"Jim-was

He knew what McCoy was about to say before he

even said it. "Bones," he

said, "they're killers, many times over. They've

murdered on this planet, and on ones that we

protect, and on ones the Klingons do. I'm not

sure

they would understand a slap on the wrist at this point.

These people are a hundred times more alien to me than the

Ornae or the Lahit, or anyone

else I know."

McCoy just looked at him, and let out a breath.

"Your conn, Captain," he said.

Kirk looked at the ship to pick the best and

quickest spot.

Hominid stock, his memory said to him, unusually

clearly. Most hominids

had ancestor-creatures that hunted and

killed to live. The habit is in

our genes. It's hard to break.

He sat quite still.

But with these? They need killing, if anyone ever

did! That too vivid

night of fire was with him again, the screams and the

burning. They're

terrorists, pure and simple. They've earned

their deaths.

"Sulu-was he said.

"Sir."

Kirk took a long breath, and then let it out.

"Burn all their engines out but one, the least powerful.

No point in letting them all die of old age before

they get back to the Coalsack with the news. And

fuse all their

weapons ports. Uhura, are their comms working?"

"I'm hearing some feeble intership," she said.

"Can you put a transmission into that?"

"Certainly."

"Starting now, then. Orion vessel, this is the

USS Enterprise. We thank

you for a pleasant chase, but as 273

you see from our last maneuver, we no longer need

such chases. In cases of less

importance, we now have the ability to move our

vessels-and parts of

them, including the weapon we used on your

ship-without recourse to normal impulse or warp

engines. The new instant-relocation devices will

shortly

be installed on all Federation vessels. We are

allowing your ship to

return to your home port so that you may carry this

news to your people.

Meanwhile, we strongly advise that you stay out of

our spaces-including

this area, which is now under protection of the Federation,

by treaty

newly agreed with its three species." Heads

turned in the Bridge at that,

but Kirk ignored them for the moment. "You may now

leave. Enterprise out."

There was a small patter of applause on the

Bridge. Sulu didn't join it; he was finishing

the last of a number of delicate and skilled phaser

blasts that destroyed exactly what they were intended

to, nothing else.

"Query coming in from the Klingon task-force commander,

sir," Uhura said. "They say they're

disappointed in you."

Kirk smiled at that. "Tell them "Sorry,

I'm only human,"" he said. "And

they should leave the pirate alone on his way

home-unless they want us to pop out of nowhere on them.

his

She nodded and turned to her station. Kirk looked

around the Bridge. "Any damage from all that shaking

around?" he said.

"No, sir," Scotty said. "All's well."

He patted his station. "We build

these lassies to last. his

Kirk looked at the beAt. "Sir," he said,

"my thanks."

"And shall I see you tomorrow morning?" it said.

"Count on it."

"So I shall." And it was simply gone.

"I'd like to go with you," McCoy said.

"Sure, Bones. No problem. But don't you have

a call to make?"

"As a matter of fact-was McCoy headed for the

turbolift doors.

"Oh. And by the way, Bones?"

"Mmm?"

"You're relieved."

"Damn straight I am," he said, and the doors

closed on him.

"What the hell are you all doing in here?"

McCoy shouted happily as he

bounced into Sickbay. "I told you all to get

better and go away!

Morrison, are you back again? We're feeding you

too well."

"Doctor," Lia said, "I have these reports for

you to sign-was

"Oh, lovely, bring them here-to " He grabbed the

padd out of her hand,

brought up the form screens, and signed each one,

lovingly, artistically, with great relish. She took

the padd from him, when he was done, and said

suspiciously, "Are you all right? I can read your

signature."

"What's the matter with you? I love forms. And

if you want me to write a prescription, that'll be

legible too," he said happily, heading into his

office. "I have to make a call. Anybody

wants me, I'll be right here."

For a minute or two he did nothing but sit and

look at his office walls. They had no screens

on them but the one that displayed pictures of

people's insides, and there were no guns at all. No

weapons, no shields, and only his own dear stupid

computer terminal.

Bliss.

He reached out to his comm. "Bridge," he said.

"Uhura, get me Commander

Kaiev, if you would."

"No problem, Doctor. Visual?"

"Please."

After a moment, the screen lit up with Kaiev's

face. The Klingon looked

rather surprised-no shame to him. "MakKhoi, was

he said. "7 had hoped you

would speak with me before you left. his

"I don't think we're leaving right away," he

said. "There's time for

that. But, Kaiev, I wanted to apologize for

lying to you."

"About killing your Captain?" The Klingon

laughed at him. "It was a good lie! A pity it

wasn't true, though. But don't feel bad. Some

day you will command a ship of your own. And you will do

well!"

"Oh no I won't!" McCoy said.

"Kaiev, I'm a medic. I have no

interest in

command."

Kaiev stared at him.

McCoy shrugged. "It's the truth," he said.

"Sorry if you're

disappointed."

Kaiev said, "7f all medics are as

skilled in command as you, I must

remember to kill mine. his

"Might want to do that anyway," McCoy said,

a bit drily. "After the way

he hasn't been taking care of you. No, I

didn't mean that. But it might

do a little good if you threatened him some. He's not

watching out for

your health . . . possibly on purpose. And

heaven knows what he's doing

to your people."

Kaiev nodded thoughtfully. "Perhaps. But

MakKhoi-one question?"

"Ask."

Kaiev looked around, as if checking to see if

anyone was watching him.

"With this new weapon, surely you 276

need not have feared even four more ships. You

could have destroyed them

all. his

McCoy just smiled.

"But you talked with us, as if you were the weaker. It

makes no sense. his

"Neither did not blowing you up when I could have,"

McCoy said. "Just

part of being human . . . this week, anyway. You

didn't always do the

sensible thing either, Kaiev. Maybe people like you and I

are the wave of the future. Our peoples may work

together yet.

Kaiev looked at him thoughtfully.

Then, "Impossible, was he said with cheerful

scorn.

"Well, at any rate," McCoy said, "perhaps

you'll let me give you a

physical before you go, so you have a proper baseline

to compare your own medic's results against. As a

gesture of respect . . . from one commander

to another."

Kaiev nodded. "7 shall make time. was And the

screen went blank.

McCoy sat back in his chair and smiled.

Captain's log, Supplemental.

James T. Kirk commandingag

The situation aboard Enterprise has quieted

somewhat in the past day.

Personnel who had been assigned on priority

to Linguistics duty-or,

alternately, to looking for mehave returned to the

business of scientific research into the extremely

strange evolutionary patterns and history of

1212 Muscae IV. Mr. Spock estimates

that we might need to be here for as long as a month

to complete a most basic survey, and give the people

at

Starfleet Sciences enough information to start asking the

correct

questions about this planet. Myself, I can't say

I'll mind sitting still for a while.

I have been holding discussions with the Master of the

beAt concerning the exact wording and workings of the treaty

to be signed by us and the three species of

Flyspeck. The Master has no problem with that being

the name

that goes on the treaty; since all three

species have different names for the world, it will probably

simplify matters. The Master does not wish

the Federation to have a permanent base

actually on the planet-he says

that that would be "a breach of his jurisdiction," a

phrase that I hope

to have explained to me eventually.

The three Klingon ships that arrived to assist

Ekkava during

my-absence-have since left. Ekkava remains,

at the request of the Master. Generally speaking, our

relations with the Klingons here have been

unusually warm and friendly, so much so that I sometimes

feel tempted to pinch myself. Whether this can be

ascribed to the effect of fighting on

the same side as the Klingons, or to some other

force, I can't say.

Certainly the planet surface of Flyspeck

is an unusually serene place,

and both Klingons and Enterprise crew find it

re/l. Leave parties have been down for some time now,

there being no rush, and no reason for quite a lot of the

crew not to have a holiday.

The attached communications from Starffeet make it

plain that there was

some kind of organizational reshuffling going on at

Starfleet, which

resulted in Delacroix being put on

our case. At any rate, the gentleman

was thrown into handling our situation without the proper

briefing. He

has since been removed from it, and McCoy's

record remains unsmirched,

except for the time he stole the cadaver.

The Doctor himself seems to have survived a most

difficult and painful

experience, with difficulty but with gallantry.

Recommending him for a

decoration seems like the thing to do, though my

suspicion is that

Starfleet will refuse to give It on the grounds

that so doing would

encourage others to try to maneuver themselves

into similar situations.

But decoration or not, McCoy acquitted himself

splendidly. I can't say I would willingly put

him in the same situation again. But it is definitely

heartening to know that the Doctor's common sense

follows him in the

Bridge as well as in Sickbay.

I will be continuing to visit the planet, firming up

the groundwork on

which our future dealings with the Ornae, the

Lahit, and the beAt will be conducted. There are a lot

of questions to be asked, and the Master has

been endlessly helpful, especially with problems of

linguistics and

idiom, always a stumbling block. At least we

have answers for some of the questions we came with. But some of the

answers are obscure, and are

going to require long and careful study to be

eventually understood . . . if ever they are at all.

"WHAT KIND OF BUG IS THAT?"

McCoy said, pointing upward.

"Doctor," Spock said patiently, "your

inaccuracies are showing. A "bug"

is specifically a member of the order-was

"I don't mean bug bug, I mean that bug,"

McCoy said. The bright-colored

creature that he was pointing at came to rest on a

branch far above their heads, and looked at them with little

bright eyes like sparks of flame.

"It has no name, I fear," said the Master of the

beAt. "It flies; it's

bright; it seeks certain kinds of trees

to pollinate. That's all I can

tell you of it."

It was a very early morning, no more than

an hour or two after sunup. The light came

lancing sidewise through the branches of the forest as

McCoy

and Kirk and Spock walked together along a forest

path, and the Master

went with them in its silent way.

"You are great namers, you people," said the Master.

"Soon everything

here will have a name, if you have your way."

"And will we? Have our way, I mean?" McCoy

said.

"Oh, not in any way that matters," said the

Master. "No creature needs to keep your naming,

if it doesn't care for it. Their true natures

are known to them; that's sufficient."

They went on a little way in silence. Kirk was

deep in enjoyment of the

morning, untroubled by the Master's obscurities.

"Gorgeous," he said, as they came out into another

clearing, this one surrounded with trees from which cascaded

great fragrant veils of flowers, all

transparent as water, and dusted here and there with golden

pollen.

"They are fair," said the Master, with great

satisfac-

tion. "Most things are, this morning. And your ship

was the morning star,

the first one we have had. A pity it will be to lose

it."

"Others will be back," McCoy said.

"But none of them is ever again the first; was said the

Master. "No matter; memory remains blue.

And at

least you will be here for another week."

"Yes, we will," Kirk said, "but I don't

remember telling you so. Did

someone else mention it?"

"No indeed," said the Master, "but you must stay here

at least a week."

"I must?"

It paused-or rather, simply stopped keeping up with

them. "Surely you

must," it said. "Or rather, your ship must. For it was

about a week ahead in your time that I took you.

Having checked your time measurements, I

can say that for certain now."

Kirk thought for a moment, then said, "Of course.

The Enterprise still

has to answer my communications from the planet

surface. That must be why Uhura sounded so

puzzled."

"Yes," said the Master. "And the young Klingons that

I brought into that time, to see how you would react to your

great enemies when alone, must

be sent back to their ship then. The commander of

Ekkava will be here for at least that long. But I

daresay they will desire to be out of the area shortly

thereafter."

"Is that a guess?" McCoy said. "Or are you

going to find some clever way to manage it?"

"There's no difference between the two," said the

Master, sounding

faintly bemused.

They walked on through the clearing, breathing the scent

of flowers clear as water. "One thing, sir," said

Kirk. "When we spoke-will speak-later

and you made your choices. Will make. Damn these

tenses!" McCoy laughed.

The Master itself made that low rumbling that Kirk

had quickly come to

recognize as laughter, for the Master laughed

often.

"You had been to, or seen, or somehow

experienced, this future. You had

to have already known that I had been able to keep

the ship f rom being

destroyed in the battle with the Orion pirates."

"But I did not-and you had not, not yet. And had I

known and shared it,

that very knowledge could have made you careless, or rather it could have

taken the edge from the fear that is your weapon when you

defend your

ship. Even had I known, I would not have dared

tell you."

"But you had to know! You were in the future!"

"That's so. But neither of us yet knew what the

present would do, you

see. The present is everything comm important

than the past by far, and the ground and nursery of the

future-even when you are in the future. The present

is dangerous, almost too dangerous to tamper with."

"Yet we inhabit it," Spock said.

"Yes," said the Master. "This is a source of

wonder to me. But how other worlds are run must remain

a mystery to me in some ways. In any case,

Captain, I told you no more than you needed to do

your work . . . and no less than would enable you

to manage it."

They paused near the other side of the clearing, where

a path ran farther into the woods. "Sir,"

McCoy said, "are you glad we came?"

"Glad? That would be hard to say. You have had a child,

Doctor. When she first began to set out into the world on

her own, how did you feel?"

"Nervous," McCoy said. "Afraid for all the

things

that could go wrong. Yet at the same time-was He

fumbled for words. "It was

what I had been working for," he said. "To see her

her own woman, grown,

and happy, and doing well. To see her taking her

own chances, and becoming things I would never have

suspected-was

"Exactly so," the Master said. "Just these past

few days, the changes

have been great. Already the Ornae speak to me in

words I never heard

them use. Your language is enriching theirs. I

think some of them may go out into space someday, with your

people. And the Lahit are becoming more talkative, more

open. There is no telling where it will all lead.

Changes . . ."

"Sir," Kirk said, "I doubt that there will be many

of our people coming

here at all. Only a few

scientists, linguists, and so forth. We would not want

to ruin such a perfect place-so simple and

peaceful-was

There was a brief silence. "And paradisaical?"

the Master said. "And have a few paradises been

spoiled and ruined in your people's time? I see

there have. Your concern does you credit. But you need

not be

overconcerned for the simple pastoral creatures

of the Galaxy's edge,

Captain," said the Master, and there was a slight

edge to the amusement

in its voice. "News does travel, by ways

that might surprise you. And

your guilts aside, paradises are hardly in

short supply.but no matter for that. It is noble

of you to worry that your own culture, your many ways

of being, might drown ours out. Indeed, that was my

concern at first. But I have since laid it by. If

I have done so, you may well put your own

mind at rest. In my estimation, you are not strong

enough to do anything but enrich us . . . and it is my only

business to know our three peoples here. Later, much

later, in some thousands of 283

years, you may come up with something that might

actually change one or

two of our own ideas. But not just yet."

Kirk said nothing-feeling, as if it still hung over

him, the shadow of

immense age and power that had lowered over him in the

field. Our

intentions are good, he thought. That's worth something.

But what makes

us think we understand everything that's going on around us?

In fact,

it's the not understanding that brings us out here again and again.

Mystery is much more interesting than knowledge . . .

They walked on, into the woods. "I have no

doubts about the process of

our meeting and our negotiations, Captain," said

the Master, as it

followed them without moving. "There were many subtle

ways you might have tried to affect my decision. But

you used none of them; and you intended to use none of them,

as I know. And in our own histories, which include

the future, your coming had been predicted . . .

yours, or that of

someone like you. The time had come for growth. So . . .

we grow. But

never think that is your doing," the Master

added, sounding amused. "The history being written here

is ours. And as for who is doing the writing-was It

trailed off in something that sounded suspiciously like a

chuckle.

"Sir," Kirk said, "whatever we do, we will

keep our interference here at a minimum, and we will be

as careful as we can with your people."

"What of your own people?" Spock said. "The other

beAt seem rather

reclusive."

Kirk got the distinct feeling that the Master was

smiling at them. "So

they have been, in their time," he said. "Mr.

Spock, I am the only one of my kind here at

the moment. There are many others, but this is not their

place."

Kirk raised his eyebrows. All their scans

of the Master had come up

blank; and they couldn't get a physical

sample of its manifestation-you

might as well try to get a cell sample from the

skin of the Enterprise.

The Ornae and the Lahit might have the same

basic genetic makeup, but

there was no evidence that the Master had anything to do with

them at

all-another place where the initial survey had

gone wrong. The Master was a cipher. "To be the

only one of your kind here-was he said. "Do you find

it lonely?"

The Master laughed. "With a whole planet to watch

over, and two whole

species? Hardly. And now another species,

for whom the responsibility

does not obtain. There are good times coming!"

"The responsibility?" Spock said.

"To guard, to protect." The Master paused on

the brink of another

clearing. "There are marvels happening elsewhere, that

is clear. To have some of them come here will be a great

pleasure."

"Sir," McCoy said, "have you considered space

travel yourself'?"

It was silent for a moment as they looked out across the

open space, full of long, waving blue-green

grass, waist-high and jeweled with dew, so

that the whole field glittered with every breath of wind.

"Who doesn't

think occasionally," it said, "of leaving his

post, and doing something

else, some other job, better? But sooner or

later, if duty matters, it

keeps you where your given word put you. No,

Doctor, this is my charge.

Here I stay. But perhaps," and the Captain got the

impression that it was looking specifically 285

at Dr. McCoy, "you, who know my charge, and

your people, will come back

this way some time."

Kirk thought he heard something like wi/lness in its

tone. He would

have liked to tell it yes. But telling this creature

the truth had become a habit. "We're not our own

men, sir," he said. "We would like to come

back when we're done here. Perhaps we will. But it

depends on the Powers That Be, and on what they

decide."

"So it does," said the Master. "But I'm used

to that." Its voice was

cheerful.

On they went, through the grass, getting wet to the

waist, and not

caring. The Master disturbed never a blade of the

stuff, and dislodged

never a drop of dew. "Nice trick, that,"

McCoy said, just a little put

out what with one thing and another. He had never been

a morning person

at the best of times, and this was a bit early for him.

"You will manage it some day," said the Master. "I

shouldn't worry."

"Not unless I lose a lot of weight, I

won't," McCoy said.

They came to another patch of woodland, with an

odd sort of luminescence showing through it. "This way,"

said the Master, and led them down one

more path. This one was narrower than most; soft

fernleaved trees and

bushes brushed at them as they passed through the

blue-green twilight.

The trees were thick enough to make a roof here, and the

only light came from ahead.

"This is something I wanted you to see," said the

Master; and they came

out of the woodland, suddenly and finally, onto the

beach. The soft

of the early sun, caught in the orange haze,

spilled over the blue water

and caught in the combers as they tumbled

onto the peach-colored sand.

McCoy smiled. "Thank you," he said.

"I thought perhaps you might like it," said the Master.

"Just one of many boundaries. I thank you for crossing

mine, and defending it."

"Sir," Kirk said, "you're welcome. And I

thank you for your hospitality

to us."

"Oh, as for that," said the Master, "one has to be

courteous, after all. You never know whom you might

find yourself entertaining-was

It laughed, and vanished.

"Mysterious creature," Kirk said after a while

spent looking at that

remarkable sunrise. "I'll be sorry

to leave."

Spock looked out at the golden morning for a

decent interval. "Well,

Captain," he said finally, "I think

Lieutenant Uhura will be wanting me

to come look at her translator algorithm.

We finally have the Lahit

pronouns and verbs sorted out."

"Go on ahead, Spock," Kirk said, and the

Vulcan turned and was off back

into the woods, heading about his business.

"No use trying to keep him when he has things

to do," McCoy said, looking out over that morning

sea.

"Nope," Kirk said.

He walked off to one side, where a big boulder

sat half-buried in the

sand. "Excuse me," Kirk said to it, brushed it

off, and sat down.

McCoy ambled over, bending down once to pick

up a shell from the sand and turn it over in his fingers.

"Playing it safe, are you?" he said.

"Bones, I'm no geologist. All the rocks

here look alike to me, and I'd prefer not to sit

down on one that might speak to me. At least, I

won't do it without introducing

myself." "Strange place, this," McCoy said,

sitting down in the

sand beside him. "I don't know," Kirk said.

"Odd, yes. But not as

strange as some we've been to. The things that have

happened-now,

those have been strange." "You're telling me. You

going to hide off

in the bushes somewhere and watch yourself appear

in a few days?"

He made a face. "Probably not. Being in

one place in one time is

enough for me. The Master can do things his own way."

"Never

did find out how to pronounce his name," McCoy

said. "You were a

little busy," Kirk said. "Bones-I have to say

I'm sorry. If I'd

known anything like that was going to happen-was "Oh,

Jim, never

mind. How could you know? Forces were being

manipulated in ways we

couldn't understand. Considering the whys of it all, I

can't say I

mind. If the price of bringing this planet into the

Federation was

me being terrified out of my mind and dead tired for

two days, I think

that's pretty cheap. Don't you?" "Well-was

"And don't

forget the learning experience." Jim chuckled.

"No," McCoy

said, "seriously. I always knew that ship was yours;

but the

knowledge was abstract. It's concrete now. And it was

easy to criticize

from behind 288

the seat. But I've been in it now. When nothing's

happening, it's

lovely. The rest of the time-I'll keep the job

I know." Kirk

nodded. "All the same," McCoy said, "one of

these days I'm going to

have an excuse to make you scrub for an operation.

Then we'll see

who's got the flexibility on this ship." "No,

thanks!"

They sat in companionable silence for a while.

Kirk looked out at the

morning, and sighed. "I'm going to hate leaving this

place. There's

something veryrelaxed about it." "Serene," McCoy

said.

"Enchanted, almost." "Protected," Kirk said.

"Yes." "That's

the Master, I think," McCoy said, and he

looked thoughtful. "Long

may he wave." "Others of his kind, he said .

. ." Kirk took a deep

breath of that morning air. "I wonder where they

are?" McCoy

shook his head. "All over, if my

suspicions are right."

"Suspicions?" "Oh, not really. Just a

funny thought, a joke. I was

thinking of a particular quote, back there,"

McCoy said, "and he

picked it out of my mind and agreed with it, and thought

it was

funny. Something about being careful about being kind to

strangers-because many thereby have entertained angels

unawares."

Kirk smiled, and nodded. "Who knows what people

all those years

ago might have thought they were experiencing," McCoy

said, "when

sometimes they brushed up against wise -- 289

creatures of great age, and great

power-nonphysical creatures, good

beings-who sometimes passed through Earth in their

travels, touched a

life or three, passed on? And there are

legends of creatures like

that all over the Galaxy, in all

different kinds of forms. They get

called by all kinds of different names. On Earth

alone there are a

hundred names for creatures who act and talk like

the Master of the

beAt, if they don't look exactly like him.

And there are all those

legends of "live' standing stones, too, that walk

and talk every now

and then. Anyway, if this is something that some one of

my distant

ancestors occasionally mistook for an angel,

I must say I understand

their confusion. And it has a sense of humor,

too. What more could

you ask?" Kirk tilted his head to one side.

"An interesting theory.

Another species like the Preservers, perhaps? But

traveling the

worlds in various shapes, and devoting themselves to caring

for

whole planets, whole ecologies? It's not

such a strange idea. You

could make a case that the Organians have been

doing something

similar." He grinned, rather wickedly. "And what

if they weren't

aliens? What if these creatures really were

angels?" "Then I'd be

especially glad about the sense of humor,"

McCoy said, "because

dealing with us and our like, they'd need it." Kirk

laughed and got

up. "Come on, Commander," he said. "Enough

theories. According to

regulations, I have to debrief you on your period

of command. Now,

about forgetting to put your shields up in the middle

of combat-was

"Aren't you due for a physical?" "Oh no,"

Kirk said.

ORDERS

"Oh yes-to " They headed back through the trees,

into the

bluegreen twilight. Behind them, over the sea, the

Enterprise rose

and passed over, a morning star again. And if somewhere

a stone

smiled at it, no one noticed.

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