Star Trek - Log 6 Read online

  "Uncertainty's a hereditary factor with them. I think somebody got nervous and jumped the gun on us. If they'd waited till we were just a few kilometers closer to that big rock, we wouldn't have had a chance."

  "True, Captain," Spock conceded. "They must have been observing our progress through the cluster for some time. Fortunately, our survey pattern varied according to the size and density of the asteroids themselves. They could not be entirely certain when we would alter course, hence someone's mounting fear we might suddenly discover their presence.

  "Captain?" Kirk turned to look back at Uhura. "I've received an incoming transmission from the commander of the Romulan force. We have visual, too." She grinned. "He seems anxious to talk to you."

  "I'll bet," Kirk replied grimly. "Put him through . . . I've got a couple of things to say to him."

  The sinister view of the three pursuing cruisers was replaced with a momentary flash of static, and then the sharp portrait of a smug Romulan officer.

  Kirk disliked him on sight, even more than he did the usual example of Romulan militarism. He wasted no time on diplomatic niceties.

  "Whoever you are, I demand an immediate explanation for this unprovoked attack."

  "Unprovoked!" the Romulan echoed with mock anxiety. "My dear Captain Kirk, your ship trespassed into Romulan territory in defiance of our treaty. We had no choice but to defend ourselves and the sovereignty of the Empire."

  "I know," Kirk shot back, "our appearance was a complete surprise to you."

  "A terrible shock," the Romulan admitted.

  "Which is how you happen to know my name."

  "We, uh . . ." the Romulan coughed delicately, "recognized the serial number of your ship, and it is widely known who commands the Federation's famed Enterprise."

  "I see. Then perhaps you can explain this odd discrepancy?"

  The alien commander was put off stride. "Discrepancy?"

  "Yes. If your detectors have improved to the point that you can pick out our serial numbers at this distance, how come they failed to tell you that we're nowhere near Romulan territory? We were surveying an unclaimed asteroid cluster lying on the Federation border—well outside the farthest Romulan claim.

  "I deny your blatantly artificial charge and plan to file a detailed complaint with the Romulan delegate to the Federation."

  The commander was not upset. He even managed a smile, of a sort. "This ignores reality, Captain. You forget that invasion of Imperial territory is punishable by death. You and your crew have already been tried and convicted."

  "I told you," Kirk said angrily, "we've committed no violation of Romulan boundaries. We're not subject to your legal farce."

  "Details, details," came the unperturbed reply. "Oh, I suppose some blithering clerk might find a flaw in our reasoning . . . but you will unfortunately not have an opportunity to file that complaint with him." He became positively charming.

  "It is a pity you fail to recognize the inevitability of your situation, Captain. Why not surrender your vessel? We might arrange some kind of accommodation—leniency for some of your common ratings, say."

  Kirk's stomach turned over. "Why don't you arrange . . .?" he began heatedly. But the screen abruptly went dark. Perhaps something in Kirk's tone hinted to the Romulan commander that he wasn't going to agree to terms.

  Another strong concussion rocked the Bridge.

  "Captain," Spock reported, "the Romulan attack may have been hasty, but their closing formation is well conceived. I can find no evasive pattern that will enable us to escape from more than two ships at a time. Regardless of how we maneuver, there will always be one cruiser within range.

  "If we turn to fight it, and fail to dispatch it immediately, we will soon be forced to exchange fire with all three. Our deflectors will be unable to handle such a concentration of firepower. Conversely, if we continue to run, it appears that all three will close on us eventually, producing the same untenable position."

  Kirk thought furiously. "I disagree about our ability to handle all three of them in a last-ditch fight, Mr. Spock. But I wouldn't put it past one of the Romulan captains to exchange his ship and crew for clan glory by making a suicide charge at us while the others keep us occupied. Our deflectors could never handle that kind of overload."

  Spock nodded. "The importance the Romulans attach to certain archaic forms of self-sacrifice is well known. I agree that from the standpoint of the Romulan High Command, the elimination of the Enterprise is of such importance that they wouldn't consider the sacrifice of a single cruiser excessive."

  "Which means we've got to try and run—somehow," Kirk decided.

  The conversation was interrupted by several strange beeps and whines from the navigation console and helm.

  "What is it, Mr. Sulu?"

  The helmsman was studying his instrumentation with a peculiar grimace of uncertainty. "Captain, we are approaching an unlisted energy field of considerable extent, and I'm getting some mighty odd readings from the sensor scans."

  "Mr. Spock?"

  "A moment, Captain." Once more the view of the Romulan cruiser dead astern disappeared as Spock engaged the forward scanners.

  Ahead, emblazoned across the starfield, lay an enormous mass of light that looked like a lambent fog bank.

  "Partially gaseous," Spock informed them, "but also heavily particulate. The difference is still undeterminable. It appears to be a mass of minute energized particles held together by a force other than gravity—it's far too dense to be, say, a nebular fragment. And Lieutenant Sulu is right—the readings are most peculiar.

  "Odd that such a unique phenomenon is not on the charts made by the drone that surveyed the asteroidal cluster. Even a drone should have detected such a concentration of energy this close by."

  "As far as I'm concerned it came out of a brass bottle," Kirk said excitedly. "It may be just what we need to shake the Romulans. You know how reluctant they are to have anything to do with anything radically unfamiliar. They're appropriators—not explorers."

  Spock's reply held a mild warning tone: "Not always an unwise policy, Captain." He gestured toward the screen. "This field registers very strong, and it contains internal subatomic configurations of a still unidentifiable nature."

  "We'll have plenty of time to puzzle them out, Mr. Spock, after we've shaken the Romulans. Lieutenant Uhura, general order. Secure for emergency running. Mr. Sulu, take us through."

  "Yes, sir!" Sulu adjusted the helm, and the Enterprise changed course slightly, plunging straight into the outermost edge of the luminescent barrier.

  "If I may say so, Captain," Spock commented, keeping his attention focused on the sensors that were now registering their passage through the strange field, "your decision was rather hasty. Influenced, I believe, by emotional considerations."

  "You bet it was, Mr. Spock," Kirk admitted without rancor. "I weighed all the facts, considered all the evidence—including your own information concerning our probable inability to escape by running or defending against a concerted three-pronged attack. I admit the thought of being blown to bits prompted me to take a bit of a risk. If that's emotionalism—"

  "We are entering the inner region of the field, Captain," the first officer observed, thus putting an end to the debate.

  A steady vibration had sprung up underfoot. Kirk felt it first in his feet, then all over as it increased, working its way up his body. Despite the effect, his body wasn't vibrating, of course—merely feeling the effects of the oscillating ride as transmitted through the fabric of the ship.

  A fantastic parade of abstract forms and images exploded toward them on the main screen as the Enterprise sailed through the sea of energy. Colors so brilliant, hues so intense they seemed to have a solid presence. Deep maroons and light yellows, forest greens, blues, blacks, electric pink—a whole region that passed by instantly and had the texture of blackberry milk, another that resembled rutilated quartz lit from within.

  Kirk had little time to appreciate the beauty
rushing at him. His concern now was with the destructive effects of all that riotous radiation. The vibrations intensified. His voice was jittery when he spoke, from the vibration, not from internal insecurity.

  "What are our chances, Mr. Spock."

  The first officer of the Enterprise was already attempting the near-impossible task of monitoring the readouts with one eye and gauging the composition of the surrounding field with the other, fighting to keep quarks and ergs on the proper sides of his scientific ledger.

  "If the intensity and density—the interrelation is vital—does not increase beyond the subatomic, we should be able to continue safe passage. If it rises, our shields will be hard pressed to ward it off."

  Kirk gave a curt nod, reached to activate the intercom. It vibrated like a chair massager under his fingertips.

  "Mr. Scott, how are things at your end?"

  "From the sound of your voice, Captain, no worse than they are on the Bridge. It's hard to tell whether the shields are workin' at all, at times. Strangest arrangement of energy I've seen in some time, and I'm gettin' readings from the dilithium reaction chambers you wouldn't believe. But . . . everythin' appears to be runnin' all right."

  "According to Mr. Spock, the field we're passing through is composed of very dense, unusually charged subatomic particles."

  "Mad matter. That explains some of the readings I'm gettin', then—but not all of 'em, Captain. I don't mind tellin' you I'll be glad when we're clear of this."

  "Glad to hear you're bothered, Scotty. If the readouts trouble you, they ought to give the Romulans the collywobbles. Kirk out."

  "Scott out." He clicked off the intercom and placed one hand on the smooth arc of wall nearby as he studied the gauges which monitored the heartbeat of the Enterprise.

  "Hold-together, little darlin' . . . hold together . . ."

  The energy field was larger than initial estimates indicated, but by interstellar standards it was still an insignificant stain in the endless vacuum.

  An insignificant stain, Kirk reflected as he studied the thinning panoply of color, that might save all their lives.

  "Maintain this heading, Mr. Sulu. Mr. Spock, we have readings taken from both sides of the mass now . . . what's its configuration and how does it relate to our present situation?"

  "According to the computer calculations, Captain, the field appears to be thick enough so that if the Romulans attempt to go around it, we will easily succeed in outdistancing them."

  "I think they just reached that same conclusion, Captain," Sulu reported. "I can still pick out their engines through all that concentrated small stuff, and it looks like they've turned back. At the very least, they've slowed to a crawl on the opposite side. Doesn't look like they're going to chance it."

  "Stay on those scanners, Mr. Sulu," Kirk ordered. "They may try coming through slowly."

  But when there was no sign of their pursuers seconds or even crucial minutes later, he felt safe in taking the ship off red alert.

  "No sign of them, sir," Sulu breathed in relief. "It worked."

  "They turned back rather than risk the field's unknown potential," Kirk agreed.

  Spock turned philosophical. "The percentages would appear to be in the Romulans favor, Captain. From their standpoint the glory is greater if they destroy us in battle. However, if we perish through natural causes such as the energy field, their ultimate objective is still attained. Logically, there was no reason to risk themselves."

  "All the same, Spock," he insisted, "they may remain nearby evaluating the field and eventually they may determine they can make the passage safely. They know we've suffered damage, which that rocky journey might have aggravated. We still may see them." He looked to the helm.

  "We'll lay to here for repairs, Mr. Sulu. Inform the necessary sections to hurry their work, especially Engineering."

  Uhura was rubbing the section of her anatomy that was most often in contact with the ship. "After that ride, I could use some repairs," she observed feelingly.

  "I suppose," Kirk theorized, "that what's needed in such cases is an extremely localized deflector field."

  "I would suggest," Spock added dryly, "the problem be proposed to Chief Scott. I am sure he would find the mechanics of the problem most stimulating."

  "You'd better keep a close eye on the chief, though, Lieutenant. He's a devil with those calipers."

  Uhura eyed them both with distaste. "I suppose you both think you're terribly amusing."

  Spock looked querulous. "Amusing, Lieutenant Uhura? I can assure you I was merely trying to . . ."

  The elevator doors dilated. "Reporting for duty, Captain," a high voice said.

  "Good timing, Mr. Arex. You take over." Kirk rose from the chair. "I'd like to make a personal survey of the damaged sections and then take that overdue mid-meal."

  Damage from the Romulan photon bombs proved erratic, but there was enough destruction to give somber evidence of what could have happened. Fortunately, Romulan discipline had a way of breaking down when a large measure of glory was at stake. If the captains of the three cruisers had been able to present a coordinated attack at the optimum moment, now . . .

  They were lucky it hadn't been a Klingon attack. By now a Klingon commander would have executed the entire Fire-Control section for jumping the gun.

  As it was, there was some severe damage in Engineering—though nothing irreparable. Not for the resourceful Scott and his people. Also, concussion from near-misses had battered several storage compartments, and nearly hulled the shuttlecraft hangar. Personal injury was minor, however, and there were no fatalities, since the damage had been wrought in unmanned areas. These were easily sealed off. Repair crews, under the direction of engineers Kaplan and Senif, were making rapid progress in repairing the battered sections.

  In the upper Officer's Mess, Kirk had joined Spock, Uhura, McCoy and Sulu for what he had hoped would be a leisurely mid-meal. They might not have a chance to eat for some time if the Romulans decided to try a sudden move through the energy cloud.

  Scott joined them soon after they began. The chief engineer had been supervising steadily and only now felt satisfied enough to take a break.

  He took a long draught of the contents of the huge mug he carried with him. Irish coffee, Kirk noted. He doubted there was another engineer in the fleet who could program a standard naval galley to produce Irish coffee—or Russian, Jamaican, Turkish, Balaklavan, Austrian and the host of additional caffeinic concoctions Scott could brew on demand. The same brand of ingenuity had kept the Enterprise one step ahead of disaster on more occasions than he cared to recall.

  "How are repairs coming, Scotty?" Kirk inquired, knowing full well Scott wouldn't be present if any serious difficulties remained. But the chief would feel slighted if he wasn't asked.

  "Better than I hoped, when I first saw what the heathen's bombs had done." He took a barbecued rib from his tray and bit deep.

  "Another couple of seconds in getting full power to the screens, though—as it is, we'll be good as new in another twenty hours." His expression turned sour. "No thanks to those Romulan vultures."

  "The Romulans are not even distantly ornithoid, Mr. Scott. I am surprised that you . . ." Spock grew aware of the amused silence. "I see," he said thoughtfully, "another terran colloquial expression."

  "I was referrin', Mr. Spock, to the Romulans' social habits, not their anatomy. Though I could make some suitable comments regardin' that." There were mutters of agreement from around the table.

  They'd been very lucky, Kirk mused. He considered the framework of his official report. This was no case of mistaken identity, and there was no question of a misplaced boundary, despite the claim of the Romulan commander.

  The ambush had been planned in advance and nearly brought off. Only the overeagerness of some fire-control officer and the presence of the drifting energy field had saved them.

  It was hard to make small talk in such an atmosphere, when what everyone really wanted was an officious
Romulan neck to wrap their hands around.

  Sensitive to such moodiness, McCoy forced a smile and said jovially, "Well, we're still in business." He lifted his buttermilk. "And so I propose a toast to celebrate our narrow escape—is this the four hundred tenth or eleventh?"

  Other drinking goblets were raised. "Cheers . . . goganko . . . offiah . . ."

  No one had managed a single sip, however, before a startled Sulu let out an exclamation of surprise. He was staring downwards, at the dark stain that now ran across the front of his uniform.

  "Hey . . . this glass just leaked all over me!"

  The emotions running around the table were not of amusement, though. Uhura's yelp of surprise followed soon after.

  "How do you like that . . . so did mine?"

  "And mine," Scott added.

  Everyone, in fact, sported identical stains. Confusion and puzzlement reigned. An observation came first from Spock, as usual.

  "It appears that we are all victims of a rather bizarre coincidence."

  McCoy looked around the table. "Maybe . . . maybe . . ."

  "The odds against this happening," Spock went on, "against all our glasses being defective or all of us being this sloppy, are astronomical."

  McCoy was brushing at his drenched shirt-front and abruptly looked up. "Astronomical my metatarsals! This is no coincidence. I just remembered—we used to pull tricks like this all the time in medical school." He eyed his cup. "Dribble glasses . . . we've been hit with dribble glasses." A slow survey of the table followed.

  "Don't look now, but we've got a practical joker among us."

  "Don't jump to conclusions, Bones," admonished Kirk. But he also found himself studying the faces of his table companions. All except Spock, of course, who was automatically above suspicion. He could not have imagined a dribble glass, much less considered employing one.

  For that matter, it hardly seemed the sort of prank anyone present would pull.

  "This isn't a group from which I'd expect this kind of infantile humor. Spock's probably right, Bones . . . it's just an incredible coincidence."