1
I’m having some difficulty decoding the content precisely, Captain,” Lieutenant Nyota Uhura said. “It’s being broadcast in dozens of different languages and codes. Some of it is pretty amateurish—but it’s definitely a distress call.”
From his position at the science console on the wall to the left of the commander’s station, First Officer Spock turned his slender frame to where a very young and still comparatively untried Captain James T. Kirk sat in the command chair. “I concur, Captain. The parameters are new but the basics unmistakable. A distress signal.”
Restraining her emotions, Uhura continued her report without turning from her console on the opposite side of the bridge from Spock. “As near as I can make out, it’s a universal appeal, Captain. Whoever is doing the sending, they’re asking for help from anybody.”
“And very loudly.” Spock lingered over one particular readout. “The signal is remarkably strong and consistent.”
Slightly slumped in the command seat, Kirk absorbed the information provided by his crew and silently pondered. Seated at the helm and navigation in front of him, Sulu and Chekov awaited orders. The Enterprise was still on her shakedown cruise, a routine exploration of a little-visited corner of the Federation. Or at least as routine as it could be considering that the majority of the crew had been promoted into their current positions in haste, handmaidens of circumstance. He knew perfectly well that, despite their recent achievement in dealing with the threat posed by a certain renegade time-traveling Romulan, there was ongoing discussion at the upper levels of Starfleet as to whether or not their battlefield promotions should be made permanent or rescinded. As a result of the successful resolution to the Nero confrontation, more than a few members of the Enterprise had jumped the promotional queue. As had been true throughout history, the dogs of envy and resentment were forever nipping at the heels of the successful.
That was the nature of battlefield promotions, he knew. As far as he was concerned, everyone on the ship who had received one deserved it. There was no false pride in feeling that he certainly deserved his own. Sitting up straighter in the chair, Kirk sighed heavily. You could destroy an enemy with an array of phasers. You could overwhelm his shields with a barrage of precisely placed photon torpedoes. Neither weapon was effective against envy.
Everyone on board was aware of this state of affairs. Despite their accomplishments, their individual positions and ranks were precarious. One serious mistake, one collective slipup, and the whole range of promotions could be withdrawn as swiftly as they had been bestowed. There was even the possibility of field-demoted officers being sent back to the Academy for additional training. Kirk shivered at the prospect.
While he enjoyed the ancillary social benefits of the Academy, Kirk considered himself finished with studies. This was where he belonged. Not in a classroom but out in deep space, in command of a starship and its crew. Having survived everything Nero had thrown at them, every member of the crew had looked forward to what Christopher Pike referred to as their “delayed shakedown.” This voyage offered an opportunity for everyone to settle into their respective assignments, to familiarize themselves with the intricacies and eccentricities of the ship, to get to know their shipmates, to work hard at and continue to master their specialties, and to do so without interruption or interference. Except…
Now this.
Spock could not read Kirk’s thoughts, but he could see that the captain was vacillating. He did not believe that Kirk was afraid of making a wrong decision. Left to his own devices, the inexperienced captain would immediately have acknowledged the distress call and ordered the relevant course change. Except now that Kirk was responsible for an entire ship, its crew, and everyone’s professional future, he was hesitating.
The science officer felt that this was an encouraging development.
Pavel Chekov spoke up from his seat at navigation. “Captain, utilizing the communications data, I have traced the source of the signal to the Marr-i-nul system.”
“Uninhabited, Captain.” Spock provided the information without having to be asked. “And unclaimed. It lies just outside Federation boundaries and distant from even the usual extravagant Klingon maps. Neutral territory.”
Kirk muttered something unintelligible before commenting. “It’s also near enough that we could get there quickly and size the situation up without deviating radically from our course.”
Spock raised an eyebrow. “I am compelled to point out, Captain, that insofar as Lieutenant Uhura has been able to determine, the distress signal is not typically issued of a Federation or allied vessel. As we are engaged in what originally was intended to be our shakedown cruise, Starfleet could see it as presumptuous of us to intervene—however altruistic the motive.”
A new voice sounded on the bridge. “How did I know you were going to say that?”
The science officer glanced in the direction of the oncoming sarcasm. “I do not know, Doctor. Perhaps in the considerable leisure time you have enjoyed since our departure from Earth, you have finally mastered the ability to predict the future.”
Leonard McCoy eyed him sourly, mumbling to the captain, “If I was going to probe another sentient’s mind, it wouldn’t be…”
“I predict you’re both going to be quiet for a moment,” Kirk declared, just forcefully enough that both officers looked embarrassed. It went silent on the bridge while he ruminated a moment longer. Then he looked to his right and spoke firmly. “Mister Chekov, set a course for the Marr-i-nul system. Stand by to go to warp factor eight. Mister Sulu, when we drop out of warp, I want shields up and phasers on standby.”
“Aye, sir.” The lieutenants hurried to make the requested preparations.
Doctor McCoy had moved over to stand behind and to one side of the command chair. “You sure you know what you’re doing, Jim?”
Kirk turned to frown at his friend. “I had the impression you wanted us to check out this signal.”
“I do.” The doctor smiled affably. “I’m just practicing the query because I ‘predict’ that I’m going to have opportunities to use it a lot.”
Having risen from his seat at the science station, Spock walked over to join them. “Captain, I must point out that given the specifics of our mission, we are not authorized to intervene in a distress situation that does not involve Federation citizens or property. This is plainly a hastily composed distress call, and one that is being propagated from outside Federation boundaries.” He eyed McCoy, who glared back but said nothing. “In my ongoing and apparently never-ending research into the arcane dimensions of human metaphor, it might be called ‘sticking one’s nose into someone else’s business.’ ”
Kirk inclined his head slightly. “Mister Spock, I bow to your growing familiarity with human language. However, we’re still going to try and find out what’s going on in the Marr-i-nul system.”
For a second time in the past few moments, an eyebrow rose slightly. “Rationale—for the record, sir?”
Kirk nodded. “For the record, as captain I consider sticking my nose into someone else’s business part of my job description.” Returning his gaze forward, he raised his voice. “Mister Sulu, warp factor eight.”