Star Trek - TOS - 79 - Invasion 1 - First Strike Read online

"You have made contact with the conquerors," the

  Dana said. "Play the tape."

  "They have not yet identified themselves," Zennor

  countered, speaking with cautious measurement. "I prefer

  to make personal contact first. Otherwise we will be

  assuming we are in the right place and that these are the

  people who deserve our coming. After so many centuries,

  after the millennia indeed, we should be prudent.

  Look--those ships are not familiar in any way. Some

  fired on us, but the large one stood them off. I would like

  to comprehend their conflict. We will give them a chance

  to speak to us before we give ourselves away. I appreciate

  your flexibility in my decision at this very special and

  important moment, Garamanus. Thank you."

  The vapor-pale face and heavy horns dipped slightly

  under their own weight as Garamanus turned to look

  from the screen at Zennor, and Zennor knew he had

  lost.

  Garamanus nodded as if in polite response, but his

  manner became a subtle threat.

  "Play the tape," he said.

  "Witness you conquerors... we the grand unclean,

  languishers in eternal transience, come now from the

  depths of eermore. Persistent... we have kept supple,

  fluid and... changeable... because we were destined to

  return. You have... cowered through the eons, knowing

  this day would come .... It has come. Because we are

  forgiving, we shall give you the opportunity to leave this

  .. sector... or you will be cast away as we were cast

  away... or you will be destroyed as you have done to us.

  With your last moments you will know justice. We are...

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  the impending. Now gather all you own, gather your kin

  .. and stand aside."

  The message thrummed and boomed through the low

  rafters of the bridge, then echoed into silence. Not

  ending, just silence. Waiting.

  Everyone held still, and watched the captain.

  The sound of the heavy, eerie, haunted-house voice

  remained in every mind, and spoke over and over. Stand

  aside...

  Tightening and untightening his aching arm, aware of

  McCoy watching him because he'd never reported to

  sickbay for his own treatment, Kirk indulged in a scowl

  and tipped his head to Uhura. eutenant, what's the

  "Li

  problem with that translator.

  r

  "I don't know, sir," she said, playing her board.

  "Having some trouble distilling the accurate meaning of

  some of their words and phrases."

  "Fix it. I don't want to have to guess."

  "Trying, sir. I don't understand why--"

  "Was it a living voice, far as you could tell?"

  "Given the inflections and order of sentiments, I

  believe it was a recorded message, sir. Or it's being read

  to US."

  "I thought so too."

  He moved away from her, back to where McCoy was

  staring at the screen, eyes wide.

  "That's a mighty poetic mouthful," the doctor uttered.

  "Any idea what it meant?"

  "I'd say they're inviting us to get out of their way."

  "I told you." Kellen stepped forward, but made no

  advances toward the helm this time, especially since the

  guards flanked him snugly now. "Attack them, Kirk.

  Your chance will slide away under you. Do you see it

  sliding? I see it."

  "Something tells me I'll get another chance, General

  Mr. Spock, are you reading any shieldin o

  , ?"

  ...... ,

  g

  n that ship.

  ,o, sir, me upper morntot

  said. "No energy shields

  at all, except for the way

  clover-leaved

  hull

  plates

  fold

  down."

  101

  Diane Carey

  "Not battle attitude, then," Sulu offered.

  "Not ours," Kirk said, stepping down to his command

  center and sliding into his chair. "But we don't know theirs

  yet, other than the defensive posture we've just seen.

  Maintain status."

  "Aye, sir," said Sulu and Donnier at the same time, and

  tensed as if they'd realized they were relaxing too much.

  Kirk moved back to the rail, where McCoy stood over

  him. "Opinion?"

  "Pretty lofty talk," the doctor said. "But there's a ring

  to it. I can't put my finger on it."

  "Mr. Spock?"

  By not looking at the monitor, he could imagine that

  Spock stood up there, next to McCoy, bent over his

  sensors, adding his deductions to the information being

  drawn in by the ship's eyes and ears. Spock wouldn't

  have admitted it, or wanted it said aloud, but there was a

  lot of intuition in that man.

  "There is a common tone in the phrases," Spock said,

  his voice rough, underscored with physical effort. "'Witness

  you conquerors,' for instance. 'Eternal transience,'

  'destined,' and the suggestion that we have been expecting

  them, that they have been wronged, and that they

  believe they are returning from somewhere."

  "Conclusion?"

  "We may have a case of mistaken identity."

  "That may not make a difference," McCoy warned.

  "They're inviting us to leave, remember? They might not

  take our word for our intentions."

  "They can't take anything for anything until we've

  identified ourselves."

  "Captain," Spock's rough voice said from the monitor

  , "I suggest you answer their immediate request first."

  "Set the pa rameters? Yes... I agree."

  There it was. The reason he needed Spock here. He

  hadn't thought of that. Just answer them. The simplest

  answer had almost slipped by. Set the line of scrimmage

  before he offered anything else.

  "Challenge them!" Kellen insisted. "Demand they

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  stand down and allow us to board and inspect Then

  we'll be inside!" -

  Kirk rubbed his hands and, gazing at the screen, shook his head.

  "I think Mr. Spock and I have something else in mind.

  Lieutenant Uhura," he said slowly, "tell them...

  'No.""

  Chapter Eight

  "'No'? That's all they say?"

  "Nothing else. The translation has no error, Vergozen.

  They say only 'No.""

  ergo Zennor gazed through the smoldering constant

  vapor at the wide band of screen curving halfway around

  his bridge on either side of where he stood. He thought

  he had gotten used to the moisture necessary for some

  members of his crew, but today, for the first time since

  years past, his skin began to itch.

  This was a beautiful portion of space. Or perhaps he

  only wanted it to be beautiful. Ordinarily he would sit,

  but with Garamanus on the bridge, he felt compelled to

  stand.

  Shrouded in the mystique of his order, the echo of

  subtle power held dear by all Dana, Garamanus made no

  comment as the answer came in from the conqueror

  ships.

  No?

  Zennor bowed his own he
avy head. His horns tingled.

  So he was more tense than he let on, even to himself.

  His own feelings were lost to him. Simple desires of a

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  straightforward mission had become suddenly and almost

  instantly entangled in the mechanisms of those

  ships out there. He had hoped to explore awhile before

  facing those who lived here. He wanted to search around.

  No longer possible. Now there were beings to be

  confronted, the tape had been played, and the answer

  had come back. No.

  How strange. How simple. He had trouble with simple

  things.

  The ship at the front was a sizable arrangement of

  white primary shapes--a circle, an oblong, two cylinders,

  joined to each other by graceful necks of white

  pylons. Behind it were ships more familiar to him in raw

  form, more like the green dawn silhouettes of creatures

  in hunting flight, heads down, wings arched, muscles

  tight and tucked.

  None was moving forward now. No, they had said. No.

  Zennor forced himself to turn away from the Dana

  and shiver down the waning-moon eyes that followed

  him. Unlike Morien and the helmsman Fame, Gara-manus

  was of Zennor's own race, the horned ones

  among the many, yet Zennor felt nothing like him and

  when Garamanus was on the bridge the place became as

  foreign as this space.

  "They want us to speak to them," he said quietly.

  "You have had more communication than this with

  them?" Garamanus rumbled.

  "I sense they want to speak. When they contact us

  again, I will answer them myself."

  "That is not the procedure." The Dana's voice was

  like wind. Low wind.

  Zennor tightened his thick neck muscles and tensed

  his shoulders, which raised his head and the curved

  horns upon it. He saw his own shadow move like a

  wraith against the oblong helm as he turned to face the

  Dana.

  "This is not your forest grove or sacred Nemeton," he

  said. "This is my ship and my mission. We can never go

  105

  Diane Carey back, and now the situation complicates. I have done

  your bidding and played your sanctimonious tape. Nothing

  else is required of me yet. The next decision is mine.

  And I want to speak to them. When the time comes to

  destroy them, that will be my decision too."

  General Kellen fumed with disappointment, but he

  was standing on the port side of the command chair,

  flanked by the Security team, saying nothing. He cast the

  guards no attention and as such seemed to understand

  why they were here.

  At least he wasn't insulted by the fact that he was being

  treated like a delinquent.

  Kirk offered him a glance, as if to communicate that

  he understood what the general was feeling, whether or

  not he intended to act upon it.

  "No

  "Two minutes, sir," Sulu reported.

  action out

  there."

  "Nothing on the open frequencies, sir," Uhura confirmed.

  Kirk nodded, sighed. "All right. We'll do it by the book. Uhura, ship to ship. Universal Translator on."

  "Tied in, sir. Go ahead."

  He moved to his command chair, but despite his

  raging muscles did not sit down. Not with another fleet's

  general on his bridge.

  Clearing his throat, he parted his lips to say the words

  that were so practiced, yet so different every time he said

  them, because they were said hundreds of light-years

  away from the last time, and each utterance was something

  completely new and critical.

  "This is Captain James T. Kirk, commanding the

  U.S.S. Enterprise. We represent the United Federation of

  Planets and request you communicate with us on peaceful

  terms. We await your reply."

  Channels remained open as he paused. There was a

  different sound about it, an openness, like a cave without

  an echo, a tunnel waiting for someone to shout through

  it.

  106 FIRST STRIKE

  They waited. All the others took their cue from him,

  and he didn't move or make any sounds. Let the greeting

  distill, see what would happen. Let the listeners hear the

  ring of his voice and decide on its honesty, let them

  decide what to believe.

  A full minute. Nothing came over the waves.

  Ten more seconds. Sweat tickled his spine.

  Finally he asked, "Recommendations, Mr. Spock?"

  Gravelly and contemptuous, Kellen spoke before

  Spock had a chance. "Recommendations," he intoned.

  "Recommendations. The great shipmaster asks for recommendations.

  The cavalier of Starfleet asks of his

  subordinates what to do. The Federation's headmost

  uphelmer parries to his rear and mocks the rash faith

  given to him by those he flies before. Recommendations.

  Certainly the stories that come back to my people of

  Starfleet's Argonaut will be different after today." He

  gestured to the deck at his feet and added, "The arrogant

  falls before me."

  Kirk glared at him without really turning his head, but

  with only his eyes shifted to the side.

  Kellen was sizing him up and was no longer impressed

  . That bothered him.

  It shouldn't, but it did.

  "! am . . ."

  The bridge changed suddenly. All eyes turned to the

  screen, to the alien ship holding position out there.

  The two words were long, sonorous, even distorted,

  like distant foghorns sounding over a cold ocean. Then

  the voice paused as if listening to itself, testing the open

  frequencies.

  Or maybe they were just changing their minds.

  Kirk felt the eyes of his crew. He kept his on the

  screen.

  "I... am... Zennor. . . Vergo of the Wrath."

  There was a sense of echo. Something about the tenor

  of that voice. Like the last upbow on a cello's low note.

  He glanced up at McCoy and mouthed, Vergo of the

  Wrath?

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  Diane Carey

  The doctor shook his head and turned one palm up.

  No idea. Uhura the same.

  On the science station monitor, Spock's brow furrowed,

  but he said nothing yet.

  Kirk shifted his feet to take some of the ache out of his

  back. Maybe it was empathy. What a morning.

  Square one.

  "Thank you for answering," he said, though it

  sounded clumsy. "Where are you from?"

  "Here."

  Kellen bristled, but didn't interfere, though he stared a burning hole into Kirk's head.

  "According to.our history, our laws and treaties," Kirk

  attempted, "this area is claimed by the Klingon Empire.

  Nearby is a neutral area of space, beyond which is space

  charted and occupied by the United Federation of Planets

  . We have no records of the configuration of your ship,

  or any planets in this vicinity which could support

  advanced life. Can you give us the location of your home

  planet?"

  "We do not... know it."

  Putting one foot on the pl
atform that held his command

  chair, Kirk cranked around to Uhura. "Can't you

  fix that translator? We're not making sense here."

  She shook her head in frustration and touched her

  earpiece. "I don't think it's in the system, sir. I think

  it's endemic to their language or their brain-wave pat

  terns."

  "Scotty, take a look."

  "Aye, sir."

  As the engineer crossed the deck behind him, Kirk

  pressed an elbow to his chair's arm and grimaced. What

  would help?

  "Our communications equipment has visual capabilities

  ," he said, speaking a little slower and more clearly.

  "Will you allow us to open our screens so we can look at

  each other?"

  Another pause.

  Kellen looked at him. Kirk ignored him.

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  "It is against our custom," the booming voice came

  finally, "to display living faces on screens .... "

  The voice drifted off as the translator struggled along

  after it.

  All right, next step.

  "Very .well," Kirk responded, measuring his tone.

  "Perhaps we can meet face-to-face. Will you come to this

  ship as our guests?"

  "No--" Kellen choked, balling his fists.

  Waving him silent, Kirk went on, "We have the ability

  to transport you here in minutes."

  He stopped and waited. Over the years he'd learned

  that extra talking didn't usually serve. Make the statement,