Trials and Tribble-ations Read online

  Between the two, instead of pushing paper, they were pushing a starship.

  The comm whistled again. "Captain Kirk, Captain Kirk!"

  "Yes, Lieutenant, what is it?"

  "Sensors are picking up a Klingon battlecruiser, rapidly closing on the station!"

  "Go to red alert. Notify Mr. Lurry. We'll be right up."

  Red alert trumpeted throughout the decks of the Starship Enterprise. On the bulkheads, light panels slashed on and off in bright carnelian alarm, making sure that nobody heard wrong. This was not yellow alert.

  A voice on the comm system boomed, "Red alert. Red alert. All hands to battle stations. This is not a drill."

  Ben Sisko looked at Dax, and she looked back. For the first time, she seemed confused.

  "What should we do?" she asked. All around them other crew members—real ones—hurried about, heading for assigned emergency postings. For each of these people there was a deck assignment and a station bill made up by that deck's officer of the watch, and on that station bill was a place to go during an emergency. A job to do. Something very specific. Go there, stand by.

  Sisko glanced around. "Get to battle stations." He closed up the panel he was pretending to fuss with, and the two of them plunged into the hustling crowd, trying to blend in and hoping they didn't end up stampeded into a place where they couldn't explain themselves.

  To avoid any embarrassment—or worse, the chance of being discovered—Sisko ducked into a turbolift and waited for Dax to join him. He grasped the handle then and said, "Deck Seven."

  The lift started whirring, and Sisko gave it a few seconds to get between decks. Then he twisted the handle to off let go of the handle and the lift stopped. "Let's see if we can find out what's going on," he said. He tapped his uniform insignia. "Sisko to Defiant."

  He waited for a response, long enough that Dax started grinning in that you're-being-an-idiot way she had. Funny—the one trait she had left over from her days as Curzon Dax, and it had to be that.

  Sisko sighed with annoyance, realizing his mistake, and pulled out the communicator stuck to the back of his belt. Those were the days.

  He flipped the grid open. "Sisko to Defiant."

  "Defiant here." It was Kira.

  Sisko knew she'd been working on making the Orb operate, but now she was on the bridge and answering for the ship. That alone meant something was going on.

  "The Enterprise just went to red alert. What's going on out there?"

  "A Klingon D-Seven battlecruiser has dropped out of warp and is approaching the station."

  "Are they locking weapons?"

  "Not yet."

  Dax held out a hand, as if remembering. "Wait a minute … Kira, can you identify the Klingon ship?"

  There was silence for a few working seconds on board the Defiant, then Kira's voice returned, "The IKS Gr'oth."

  Dax smiled conspiratorially. "That's Koloth's ship!"

  Grinding her with a glare, Sisko decided she was enjoying herself way too much.

  "Curzon's old friend?" he guessed.

  "Yes, and he's not going to attack. I remember Koloth telling me he once traded insults with Kirk on a space station near the Federation border. He always regretted not getting a chance to face him in battle."

  Kira's voice broke in. "The Klingon ship just transported two people over to the station manager's office, Captain."

  "That's Koloth!" Dax exclaimed, gathering memories and plugging them into the moment. "Maybe we should beam over to the station and help Odo and Worf. We know that Darvin was there a few hours ago and—"

  "I think," Sisko said evenly, "maybe Dr. Bashir and Chief O'Brien should go."

  "But if we went, we might run into Koloth!"

  "Exactly."

  Dax huffed with frustration that he wasn't letting her have any fun. "It's not as if he'd recognize me! And I'd love to see him in his prime—"

  "Dax," Sisko said sternly. Then into the communicator he said, "Major, beam the doctor and the chief over to K-Seven."

  "Aye, sir."

  Sisko clapped the communicator shut and grasped the lift handle.

  "It would've been fun," Dax complained.

  He leered at her. "Too much fun."

  The corridors of the Enterprise bristled with activity under red alert. The constant whooping of the alarms kept adrenaline flowing. As he and Spock hurried to the nearest turbolift, Kirk was gratified by the excitement he felt in the crewmen rushing past them. His crew liked action, even battle. They were that kind of people. They had to like it even while disdaining it. That was the only way to survive.

  When the lift reached the topmost deck of the starship and the doors parted, the comforting sounds of the bridge engulfed Kirk like a blanket. All his nerves buzzing, Kirk dropped to the lower deck and came around his command chair, settled into it, and immediately asked, "What is the position of the Klingon ship?"

  As Spock came to stand beside him, Chekov answered, "Hundred kilometers off K-Seven. It's just sitting there."

  "Captain," Uhura said then, "I have Mr. Lurry."

  "Put him on visual."

  "Aye, sir."

  When the picture of Lurry appeared, seated and calm, Kirk quickly told him, "Mr. Lurry, there's a Klingon warship hanging one hundred kilometers off your station."

  "I don't think the Klingons are planning to attack us."

  "Why not?"

  "Because at this moment the captain of the Klingon ship is sitting right here in my office."

  Lurry doctored the sensor visual to expand the picture, showing a Klingon commander and his first officer, both glaring defiantly into the screen.

  Koloth. Hand on his knee, legs crossed. Doing his imitation of a persnickety winner. Even though he hadn't won anything yet. Or lately, for that matter.

  Then again, he was down there in the office and Kirk was up here, about to have to walk in there as if summoned.

  "Cancel red alert," Kirk growled. "We'll beam right down."

  "Of all Klingons, it has to be Koloth."

  Jim Kirk strode out of the Enterprise's transporter room and felt like taking a shower. He'd just met with and sparred with Captain Koloth in Manager Lurry's office.

  "Is there something specific about Captain Koloth which disturbs you?" Spock asked, as they walked the corridor.

  "Nothing specific," Kirk admitted. "Attitude, mostly. Undeserved arrogance. He's never done anything remarkable, but he feels he can fly into Federation border territory and demand shore leave on a Federation-run station."

  "You gave it to him," Spock pointed out.

  Kirk sighed. "I said that, didn't I? The sailor in me was empathizing with their having been in space for five months without a break. I should've told them to turn around and eat asteroids. Let's go this way," he added, suddenly turning down the corridor that led toward the mess hall and rec room.

  "Are you hungry, sir?" Spock asked.

  "The corridor's empty. The watch is probably finishing lunch. I feel like seeing them."

  Spock nodded as if he understood, but Kirk knew he probably didn't.

  Then again, maybe he did.

  "Lurry, Barris, Koloth," Kirk muttered, as he fixed on the rec room door panel and went through it.

  The first person he saw was Chief Engineer Montgomery Scott, nested at a computer terminal, gazing happily into the screen as if looking at a picture of a beautiful woman.

  Kirk leaned forward, enough to catch a glimpse of the screen, hoping for a glimpse of paradise. No such luck.

  "Another technical journal, Scotty?" he asked. "Don't you ever relax?"

  The engineer blinked up at him, confused. "I am relaxing!"

  Just that small exchange, a venture into normalcy after this peculiar morning, set Kirk on the road to feeling better.

  He strode to the largest table, where a dozen of his crew were gathered over a purring mass of powder puffs. What was this?

  The powder puffs were purring, and the crew was petting them. Alive?
<
br />   He glanced across the table to where Ship's Chief Surgeon Leonard McCoy stood with his arms folded, gazing down at the puff balls. Well, there wasn't any contamination or risk, then, because McCoy would've isolated the little puffs by now. Instead, the doctor seemed fascinated by the effect of the purring on the crew members. Everyone was completely quiet, mesmerized by the soft noise and the action of stroking what amounted to an earless, legless, faceless bunny.

  "How long have you had that thing, Lieutenant?" McCoy asked.

  Lieutenant Uhura glanced up at McCoy. "Since yesterday, Doctor. This morning I found out that he—I mean, she—had had babies."

  "Well, in that case I'd say you got a bargain."

  "You running a nursery, Lieutenant?" Kirk asked.

  "Oh, Captain," she said, just noticing that he was there. "I hadn't intended to, sir, but the tribble had other plans."

  As the mesmerized crew drowsily stroked the dozen tribbles on the table, Spock picked up a white fuzz ball and put it to his ear. It purred and bubbled happily.

  Kirk looked at Uhura. "Did you get this at the space station?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "A most curious creature, Captain," Spock observed. At first, he was listening to the tribble, tugging its fur analytically, feeling the consistency of its body, but after a few seconds, he began simply stroking it groggily. "Its trilling seems to have a tranquilizing effect on the human nervous system. Fortunately, of course, I am … immune … to its … effect …"

  Kirk felt his tensions untwist a little as he embarrassed Spock with a quirky gaze.

  Spock realized what was happening, glanced at Uhura, at Lieutenant Freeman, finally at Kirk, and deposited his tribble back on the table.

  Stifling a comment—he'd store it up for later—Kirk simply led the way out of the rec room.

  Lurry, Barris, Koloth, Tribbles.

  CHAPTER 7

  "I MAY BE sick …"

  The two time cops stared at Sisko with expressions so much alike that he wasn't sure which one was about to throw up on his desk. He held his breath for a moment, ready to dodge away in either direction.

  "Tell me about it," Lucsly said then. "My palms are sweating."

  Dulmur swallowed hard. "Think of the repercussions … a Klingon from the twenty-third century realizes that a Federation vessel from the future is potentially within his grasp …"

  "We'd all be speaking Klingonese," the other one said.

  "Can you imagine?" Dulmur looked at him. "All those consonants."

  "Q'apla," Lucsly parried, then they both shuddered.

  "I didn't let Dax go," Sisko told them soothingly. "Koloth never knew we were even there."

  "We'll be the judge of that," Lucsly told him.

  "What happened next?" Dulmur asked bluntly.

  Beginning to get the idea that he was being interviewed by two guys with the sense of humor of customs officials, Sisko sighed. "It was one thing to convince Dax to stay out of history's way. The problem was, history had a funny habit of coming our way."

  "Benjamin … look."

  The corridor was quiet now, all hands at stations or at lunch, except for Ben Sisko and Jadzia Dax, who were still desperately pretending to be doing something while scanning for a single renegade old Klingon. They hadn't found Darvin yet, but they did find destiny strolling down upon them as Ben Sisko looked up into the face of legend.

  Faces—two.

  Down the empty corridor strode two officers, conversing casually and seeming eminently at home here in these crisp halls.

  Sisko turned his back until he could see the two only in his periphery, and tried to look occupied.

  But he was listening as the wall comm whistled and the two officers angled toward it.

  "Bridge to Captain Kirk," came a voice with an accent.

  The young officer in the patina-green shirt tapped the wall comm. "Kirk here."

  His voice was … well, commanding. It gave Sisko a shiver of proximity. He was within steps of the real thing, one of the first men to expand the Federation's influence in the settled galaxy. James Kirk was one of the early propellants pushing the envelope of civilization. He had a reputation for impulse and sideswiping, something Sisko understood from these past years as commander of an outpost on the deep frontier. History both cherished and disdained James Kirk—cherished for his unflagging energy and sense of right and wrong, disdained for his propensity to meddle and his rattlesnake tenacity at taking things into his own hands. He was a man who would load his dice if he could, and it took special taste to appreciate that.

  But historians were documenters and analysts, not captains. Sisko always considered such caveats, and read between the lines.

  Beside Kirk was the other half of the legend—Commander Spock. Still alive somewhere in Sisko's time, this Vulcan had been the first of his kind to break the cultural barriers and join Starfleet. It had cost him his relationship with his father for a couple of decades, but he stuck to his commitment as an officer.

  The voice from the bridge said, "Mr. Barris is waiting on Channel A to speak to you, sir."

  Kirk's posture tightened. "Pipe it down here, Mr. Chekov."

  "Aye, sir. Mr. Barris is coming on."

  "Keep working," Sisko murmured to Dax. "We're just a regular maintenance crew doing our job …"

  "Yes, Mr. Barris, what can I do for you?"

  "Kirk! This station is swarming with Klingons!"

  Kirk fixed his eyes on his Vulcan first officer and patronized his way through the comm unit. "I was not aware, Mr. Barris, that twelve Klingons constitutes a swarm."

  "Captain Kirk, there are Klingon soldiers on this station. Now, I want you to keep that grain safe!"

  Sisko stiffened, anticipating.

  Dax giggled, then tried to suppress it.

  Sisko growled, "Dax …"

  "I had no idea," she murmured.

  "What?"

  "He's so much more handsome in person … and those eyes …"

  Continuing to pretend work, Sisko dismissed, "Kirk had quite the reputation as a ladies' man."

  "Not him," Dax corrected, eyeing the pair. "Spock."

  Sisko glanced at the Vulcan and couldn't deny Dax's assessment. Commander Spock possessed a passive elegance ideal to his position as second in command and foil to Captain Kirk. The two were as opposite as two men could be, physically but also in manner. As such they seemed an almost perfect set.

  Kirk folded his arms. "Mr. Barris," he went on, "I have guards around the grain, I have guards around the Klingons … those guards are there because Starfleet wants them there. As for what you want—"

  Sisko braced himself for a show, but Kirk glanced at Spock, and the restraint of his first officer seemed to scold him down.

  "It has been noted and logged," the captain concluded with an edge.

  Enthralled, Dax was looking too much.

  Clapping the panel shut, Sisko straightened. "Let's go."

  "Now?" she protested.

  "Now."

  He urged her around the corner, out of line of sight, then paused and listened as Spock's low voice traveled around to them.

  "Captain, may I ask where you'll be?"

  "Sickbay. With a … headache."

  As the captain rounded the corner and headed away, Dax took one last peek. "I can't believe you don't want to at least meet Kirk!" she said.

  "That's the last thing on my mind," Sisko said flatly.

  She leaned toward him. "Come on, Benjamin. Are you telling me that you're not the tiniest bit interested in meeting one of the most famous men in Starfleet history?"

  "We have a job to do."

  "But that's James Kirk," she insisted right past his stern expression.

  "Look," he protested, "of course I'd like to meet him. I'd like to shake his hand and ask him about … fighting the Gorn on Cestus Three. But that's not why we're here, old man."

  "You're right," Dax said as he drew her along. "I guess the difference between you and me is that I re
member this time. I lived in this time." She glanced back the way they'd come. "It's hard not to want to be part of it again."

  Kirk paced into sickbay, all his tensions wired back up just from hearing Nils Barris's voice.

  "Hi, Jim," McCoy said casually, putting a restraining beaker on top of a whole clutch of tribbles.

  "Bones," Kirk returned. "What've you got for a headache?"

  McCoy looked up at him in a kind of delight. "Let me guess. The Klingons. Barris!"

  "Both." Kirk looked down at the tribbles in the big beaker. "How many of these did Uhura give you?"

  "Just one."

  "But you've got … uh, eleven."

  "Noticed that, uh? Here. This ought to take care of it." The doctor handed him a couple of pills.

  Accepting the pills, Kirk started adding up the minutes since he'd seen Uhura and her tribbles in the rec room. These looked almost full grown.

  He pointed at them. "How do they … how do they …"

  McCoy held out a defensive hand. "I haven't figured that out yet. But I can tell you this much—almost fifty percent of the creature's metabolism is geared toward reproduction." The doctor leaned on the table and peered at Kirk. "Do you know what you get if you feed a tribble too much?"

  Simmering, Kirk peered back. "A fat tribble."

  Annoyed that he was going to have to say it outright, McCoy told him, "No, you get a whole bunch of hungry little tribbles."

  "Well, Bones, all I can suggest," Kirk told him, heading toward the door, "is that you open up a maternity ward."

  Leonard McCoy watched the captain leave and regretted not being able to come up with a snide remark. He knew there was some problem with these tribbles, but damned if he couldn't find it. They were soft, they made a pretty noise, they were nice, they were passive, they liked being held close, and they made more little puff balls to love and purr. Quickly. Something about this didn't add up.

  Still, the sickbay sounded kind of pleasant with eleven tribbles cooing in it.