Star Trek - TOS - 79 - Invasion 1 - First Strike Page 12
"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."
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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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FIRST STRIKE
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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FIRST STRIKE
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
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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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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,