The Fearful Summons Read online

  "They respect the privacy of other species, however," the biologist said in anticipation. "It is highly unlikely that they will arrive without some warning and an invitation."

  The officers breathed a group sigh of relief. Sulu looked over at Dr. Bernard Hans, at eighty-three years old the oldest of the crew of the Excelsior.

  "Dr. Hans," Sulu said. "Please give us a brief overview of your observations today."

  The doctor spoke in a quiet voice, accented slightly by languages from the European continent of Earth.

  "These dolpheels, and for all practical purposes every other species on the planet, have fit themselves to their environment so well that, at this point in their evolution at any rate, they are virtually untroubled with sickness or disease of any kind. I could not detect any inhabitant of the planet which was, or had ever been, sick as we know it. Of course, a few of these species are part of the larger food chain, and do fall prey to other species, but all the principal species—certainly all with any intellectual development at all—survive on the planet's vegetation. They do not have, because they do not need, an immune system. Nothing causes illness or premature death. The oldest of each species is by far the most advanced, for they never seem to slow down in their development. At some point, at approximately one hundred and fifty years old for the dolpheels, for example, they simply go off and die peacefully. Like elephants on Earth. They are neither sick nor senile in any earthly sense, but they seem to realize that their natural life span has ended. When they reach their own burying ground, their heart stops and, well, that's it. I am not often given to characterizations outside of the purely scientific, but I must say I find these creatures rather noble. I for one look forward to the time they are ready and able to introduce themselves into the community of the universe. They may have much to teach us."

  The doctor's report had closed out the round of talks on the planet with a humane touch.

  "I think, then," Sulu took over the discussion, "that we've done just about as much as we can here from a distance. And if we move any closer they're likely to see us. I want to thank you all for your hard work and your very impressive and complete reports. Please see that everything is stored in the ship's memory bank. We will inform the Federation of our discovery upon our return, and at that time transfer the information into Alpha Memory in the Federation library. I expect to be moving to our next assignment by 1900 hours. That's all, ladies and gentlemen."

  Before the officers could rise, however, the holograph of the dolpheel drifted toward Sulu. Sulu looked at the biologist controlling the device. He was running his fingers rapidly over the console in front of him.

  "Ms. Pastur, I appreciate your competence with the projectors. If you'd like to make a film for the crew's enjoyment—"

  "I'm sorry, sir, it's not me. I seem to have lost control of the holograph." She was fiddling with the console and staring at the dolpheel as it swam through the air and hovered in front of Sulu. "It seems to have taken on a life of its own."

  "That is highly improbable for a holographic image," Sencus said.

  "Really, I—"

  Before anyone could respond, however, the animal made a quick tour of the conference table, past each officer's face, its eyes lit and its mouth twisted up in an ever-present smile. Then it returned to the center of the table, and faded away.

  "Got it," the controlling biologist said. "Sorry, sir, I wasn't doing that on purpose. I guess I crossed my signals for a moment there."

  The whole event took less than thirty seconds, and when it was over the crew rose and began to leave the room. Only Sencus lingered, his own elegant hands playing over the console in front of him. Sulu noticed this and walked up behind him. He glanced around, but they were the only two officers left in the conference room.

  "What is it, Mr. Sencus?" Sulu asked.

  "I was just checking the ship's principal memory banks, Captain."

  "And …"

  "And it seems that they have been accessed from an outside source."

  "That's not possible. The computer isn't available to anyone beyond the Excelsior, and it's completely secure. It requires voice identification and only recognizes the senior officers."

  "Nevertheless, there is evidence that the ship's basic library and internal instruction data have been scanned quite recently."

  "What are you suggesting … old-fashioned hackers in space?"

  "The memory banks have been accessed, but not directly. It's almost as if they were simply read in place."

  "No one can mind-meld with a computer, Sencus."

  "No one we know of, Captain," Sencus said. He rose from the table and began to leave the room.

  "Wait a minute. You can't leave it like this. What are you thinking?"

  "While we were studying that planet today, Captain, someone or something was studying us. That is all I know. They did not do us any harm at all, which they probably could have if they so desired. I am afraid they left no evidence of who or what they are."

  "Well, what's your guess, Sencus?"

  "I never guess, Captain. You know that perfectly well." He left the room.

  Sulu stood alone for a minute, staring out the observation windows at the vast panorama of space. The planet was not visible to the naked eye from their current distance, since the Excelsior had stationed itself well beyond the range of reasonable vision for every species. In the corner of the screen was only a gray, cratered moon, without life.

  Maldari stood behind his Sightsman on the bridge.

  "They haven't seen us?" he questioned.

  "No. They have been in orbit around that planet for nearly twelve hours."

  "And you kept us hidden behind this moon?"

  "Always."

  "Put their image on the viewscreen."

  The U.S.S. Excelsior appeared in black space in front of them, but its image was not as clear as it had been in the morning. Maldari looked at it again. It was the largest starship he had ever seen. And the most modern. Its great holds must be filled with treasure, he thought. Why else build such an enormous ship, if not to carry great cargo.

  "Can you read an interior plan?" he asked.

  "No, Captain," the Sightsman said. "We didn't have them in sight long enough. This is only from the memory banks and—"

  "All right, I understand. Still, that must be the bridge, on top."

  "Captain, do you think we can take her?" Barush asked.

  "Barush, you are a fool much too anxious to rush in and have your picades cut off. To go into battle with a Federation Starship would gain us nothing but scorched hide."

  "We could sneak up on them."

  "You are mistaking this ancient bucket for a Klingon warship with a cloaking device. They could blow us out of the galaxy with a single photon torpedo. Little fish that want to survive hunt only littler fish, not sharks."

  "Then we're going to run?" Dramin said. Maldari turned around and saw that the religious officer had entered the bridge, closely followed by the political officer.

  "The Sundew has never run from anything in her entire career in space," Maldari said using his most guttural voice. "Not when my grandfather captained her, and not when my father captained her. And she will not run on my watch either."

  "Then you have a plan?" Dramin said. "If you return with the bounty of a Federation Starship, the Shrewdest Ones would be very impressed."

  "And what shall be my excuse to board her?" Maldari asked. "She may be a disbeliever to you, but she's a Starship in open space to me."

  "Actually," Kornish said quietly "We've been talking about that, and I pointed out that, technically, she could be in Beta Promethean star space. We're not a signatory to their Federation. And therefore … Well, you see the situation."

  Maldari looked at his Sightsman. "Are they trespassing in Beta Promethean star space?" he said harshly.

  The man didn't answer at once, but his hands stumbled over his console. While they did, he kept his head down.

  "Of course,"
Kornish went on, "it depends on your definition of star space. I'm not an expert on that, but …" The political officer shuffled his feet, and whatever was left of his thoughts he didn't express.

  "Sightsman, are we in Beta Promethean star space?" Maldari asked again. The Sightsman looked up.

  Maldari was sure that the Sightsman looked at Dramin before he answered, and though Maldari wasn't looking at Dramin, he was willing to bet that Dramin nodded.

  "Yes," the Sightsman said. "We are."

  "Well," Maldari sighed. "It would be suicide to attempt to subdue a Federation Starship the way we deal with independent freighters. But if we could board her somehow, and control the bridge …"

  Maldari realized that he had committed himself to a course that, a few minutes earlier, he had evaluated as extremely risky. He couldn't decide whether he had let Dramin talk him into it, or if he just couldn't resist the prize. Certainly there would be goods aboard a Federation Starship that would make his year in space the most lucrative one any Beta Promethean space trader ever had.

  After the conference, Sulu visited the bridge and set the Excelsior on course to a Federation starbase, where they were expected to arrive within two twenty-four-hour cycles. Then he returned to his cabin. He was sitting at his desk in his white tunic carefully carving a piece of ivory when a chime sounded.

  "Come in," he called without breaking his concentration on the delicate swirls of white sculpture. The hatch slid open, exposing a young Starfleet officer with a thick thatch of gray hair shading a round and eager face.

  "Commander," Lieutenant Russel Roose said, "I think you might want to hear—"

  "Come in, Lieutenant," Sulu called. "Look at this."

  The lieutenant walked up behind him.

  "Have you ever seen one of these?"

  "I don't think so, sir."

  "It's ivory. Synthetic, of course. But it's an exact duplicate. Real ivory only comes from the tusks of elephants, and isn't harvested anymore. You're from Africa, aren't you?"

  "Yes, sir. Mandelaport, South Africa. But I don't think I've ever seen ivory that wasn't connected to its owner."

  "Centuries ago ivory was a prized commodity. It was thought to be an aphrodisiac when it was ground up. It was used to make the keys for a musical instrument called the piano. And it was a medium for artwork. Before we could duplicate raw materials precisely, poachers killed elephants just for their tusks. These tusks were carved into elaborate statues and trinkets. Using these long thin razors, artisans often carved a series of ivory balls, one inside the other. The effect was truly magnificent. You can see many of these balls in the Chinatown museum in San Francisco. I'm attempting to duplicate the art—a new hobby. This will be a model of our own solar system, and I'm working on a model of the Starship Excelsior that will float here just between the seventh and eighth planets."

  "I see …" Roose knew that his commander was well known by his penchant for trying to interest the many junior officers aboard the Excelsior in one obscure subject or another.

  "Do you have a hobby, Lieutenant?"

  "No, sir. I guess not." Roose was only four years out of the Academy, and his whole world was the Excelsior.

  "You'll enjoy this. It is very calming and satisfying. Here, you take this piece and a knife."

  "Thank you, but—"

  "Go ahead. You try to carve something. You're going to love this. Bring it to me when you've finished."

  "All right. Thank you, sir."

  "Everybody should have a hobby," Sulu said with a smile. "Maybe we could start a club for ivory carvers. Meet once a week."

  "Maybe so, sir."

  "Be sure to show me the results. Good day, Lieutenant."

  "Good day, sir."

  The lieutenant lingered in the doorway, a shapeless chunk of ivory in one hand and a dangerous-looking knife in the other. Never having held a weapon that couldn't be disabled, he looked at it curiously, and handled it gingerly. Suddenly he remembered the reason for his visit.

  "Uh … sir?"

  "Yes, Lieutenant?"

  "We've had a kind of mysterious communication. I thought you might want to listen to it."

  Quickly Sulu put his knives neatly down on the workbench and turned to Roose. "Mysterious communication? What kind? Linguacode?"

  "No, sir. A fairly ancient system of transferring information through space."

  "Not on one of our normal subspace channels?"

  "No. A radio transmission, actually. That is, something broadcast within the old electromagnetic frequency range."

  "That is odd. Why didn't you tell me, Lieutenant?"

  "I meant to, sir."

  "What does Sencus have to say about it?" Sulu asked.

  "He hasn't heard it yet, either, sir. He was off the bridge when it came in."

  "Let's go up to the bridge. I'd like to give a listen to this myself."

  "That's what I came to suggest, sir."

  Sulu grabbed his jacket and hurried out the door. The lieutenant, trailing him, smiled inwardly. You could always catch the captain's full-spirited attention with an anomaly, he thought.

  On the bridge Sulu went directly to the communications station, where Janice Rand was working. The blond officer looked up at Sulu and the lieutenant.

  "Could you replay that message for us," the lieutenant requested.

  Together they listened to thirty seconds of static. In the background Sulu faintly heard a dozen varying beeps that seemed to be repeating over and over.

  "I've checked it against all known languages, sir. Everything that's in the ship's computer. If it is a language, then it's from a civilization unknown to us."

  "It is not a language, exactly, it is a code," Sencus said, having walked onto the bridge just then.

  "You can understand it, sir?"

  "I cannot. But I can identify it for you. It is the original code used when the telegraph was invented. It is called Morse code, after the inventor of the telegraph, Samuel Morse. Six centuries ago it was utilized frequently on Earth. But it died out as soon as voice transmission became possible." Sencus strolled over and stood behind Sulu.

  "Identify it as a code and let's see if the ship's computer still has the morse vocabulary in its memory," Sulu said.

  Lieutenant Rand's hands flew over the console.

  "I have it," she said. "I'll put it up on the screen in English."

  They looked at the forward viewscreen. One at a time, a three-letter series appeared, and repeated over and over again. Marching across the screen in block letters, it read: "SOS … SOS … SOS … SOS …"

  "SOS," Lieutenant Roose mused. "That's all it says. SOS. What does that mean?"

  "It means," Sulu answered quietly as he stared at the monitor, "Save Our Ship. Now, I wonder who would be broadcasting such a thing …?" Sulu stepped away from the communications console and stood by himself just above the main command console. He appeared to be deep in thought. The lieutenant followed him.

  "Save our ship?" the lieutenant echoed. "What kind of a message is that? I'm afraid—"

  Sulu turned to the lieutenant. Any evidence of his casual nature was gone.

  "It is an ancient distress signal, Lieutenant," he said sharply. "I haven't ever heard it actually used, but I can tell you it is quite serious. It's a Mayday message, an urgent appeal for the nearest Starship in the sector to provide aid at once. Back in the nineteenth century, when sailing ships actually floated on the water to cross oceans and seas, if they had capsized or were crippled for any reason, they broadcast an SOS as an immediate request for help. According to maritime law of the period, the nearest ship was required to go to its aid. In fact that is still true. Regardless of the ancient form of communication, this is a distress signal, and we are obligated to respond. Have you located the origin of the message?"

  "Yes, sir, we have the coordinates of the source. It isn't far from here, though it is in the wrong direction. If we're going to make Starbase 499 by—"

  "We're not. Send them a mes
sage that we're going to be late. Tell them we have answered a call for help and give them the coordinates as well, so they'll know where we'll be. Helmsman!" Sulu moved close to the center of the bridge and stood behind the conn. "The lieutenant will give you new coordinates. Alter your course at once, and increase our speed to warp eight."

  "Yes, sir."

  "ETA?"

  The navigator swiftly calculated their speed and distance on the console. "Approximately one hour, sir."

  "Let me know when we are within visual range." Sulu walked over to the science station.

  "Sencus?"

  "I have been listening, Captain. You will want to know exactly who is broadcasting this archaic message."

  "Exactly."

  "Unidentifiable at this time. No energy fields are detectable. If it is a starship, it is not under power. In fact, it is stationary."

  "Orbiting?"

  "No. Simply sitting in space."

  "Lieutenant," Sulu called. "Send a message on all frequencies in all known languages, including morse code: 'The Starship Excelsior is coming to your assistance.' Sencus, ask the computer for any information on abandoned vessels or ancient ships that might have been lost in the area. And let's put the entire crew on standby."

  The bridge hummed with activity as the great Starship changed directions and increased its speed. Sulu took his seat in the command chair. Everyone awaited the uncertain rendezvous.

  An hour later the Excelsior dropped from warp eight and cruised quietly in space at vessel speed. The navigator turned to Sulu.

  "I have them in range, sir."

  "Visual," Sulu answered.

  The forward viewscreen lit up. In the far distance they could see a ship. "Magnify."

  The ship loomed up. It was an ancient design by Starfleet standards, dirigible-shaped, gunmetal gray with few viewing ports. The material it was coated with was corroded and dented in places, as if it had collided with small asteroids or space debris and never been repaired. There were few markings, but a faded identification could be made out on the nose cone.

  "Scan the markings."

  The monitor jumped again, and quickly featured the nose of the old starship. It was painted with odd hieroglyphics. Sulu turned to his science officer.