STAR TREK - TOS - 42 - Memory Prime

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Star Trek - TOS 042 - Memory Prime

By Garfield And Judith Reeves-Stevens

Chapter One

THEY were ALL Alians on that planet. From the worlds of the Federation, the empires, and the

nonaligned systems, each was a visitor on a planet where indigenous life had vanished in the slow

expansion of its sun more than five hundred centuries before.

The scientists from a dozen races had come and gone since then. Andorians had sifted through the

heat-stressed sands in search of clues to understanding and controlling their own prenova sun. Vulcans

had beamed down a network of automated planetary sensors and warped out of system in less than one

standard day. Terrans had conducted a six-month colony assessment study, with negative results. Even a

Klingon heavy-assault scientific survey vessel had passed by, scanned for dilithium, and departed.

Through all these incursions, the planet spun on, unclaim4 unwanted, littered with the debris of sprawling

survey camps and unbridled exploration. In the end, it was not even given a name and became little more

than a footnote on navigation charts, identified only as TNC F3459-9-SF-50, its T'Lin's New Catalog

number. It was an abandoned world, a dead world, and for some beings in that part of the galaxy, that

meant it was perfect.

This time, his name would be Starn, and he would wear the blue tunic and burgundy guild cloak of a

dealer in kevas and trillium. Legitimate traders were not unknown on TNC 50. The disguise would serve

him well.

As he walked through the narrow streets of Town, Starn cataloged everything he saw, comparing it to

the scanmap his ship had produced while in orbit, already planning his escape routes. The slender needles

of Andorian prayer towers stretched up past the squat bubbles of Tellante communal baths, casting dark

shadows through billows of fine sand that swirled like vermilion fog. A group of Orion pirates appeared,

wearing filters against the sand. There were no authorities on TNC 50 for pirates, or terrorists, or any

type of criminal to fear. There was only one law here. Fortunately, Starn knew it.

The Orions slowed their pace, coolly assessing the resistance that a tone trader such as Starn might

provide. Starn pulled on his cloak, stirring it as if the wind had caught it for an instant.fbe Orions picked

up their pace, each touching a green finger to his temple in respect as they passed by. The sudden

glimpse of the black-ribbed handle of Starn's lopene Cutter had shown them that, like most beings on

TNC 50, Stam was not what he seemed.

Starn continued unmolested. Most of the other oxygen breathers he passed also wore filters. A few, like

Starn, did not. For those whose lungs had evolved in an atmosphere scorched by the relentless heat of

40 Eridani, this barren world was almost like coming home.

As Starn approached the center of Town, he felt a tingle and slight resistance as if he had stepped

through a wall of unmoving wind. It was the transporter shield, projected and maintained by the

merchants of Town. A strong enough transporter beam could force its way through, Starn knew but the

transmission time would be on the order of minutes, long enough to make an easy target of anyone trying

a quick escape after an act of vengeance.

Everyone who came to TNC 50 had enemies and Town could only continue to exist as long as it offered

safe haven.

As the swollen red primary set, Starn a pproached his rendezvous site: a tavern pieced together from

scavenged survey structures. A sign swung above its entrance, clatter ing in the rising wind. It told Starn

who the proprietors of the tavern were. Other races might secretly whisper the name of the tavern, but

only a Klingon would be insulting enough to display it in public.

The sign carried a two-dimensional image of a monstrously fat Vulcan clutching two Orion slave women

to his folds of flesh. The Vulcan's face was distorted in a terrible grimace. Beneath the image, set in the

angular p1qaD of Klinzhai, glowed the tavern's name: vulqangan Hagh. Starn pulled his cloak around

him, an innocuous gesture that served to position the handle of his weapon for instant access, then

stepped into the tavern to keep his appointment.

The central serving, area was smoke-filled and dimly fit. For a moment, Starn was surprised to see a fire

pit set in a far wall, blazing away. An open fire on a desert planet without plant life could only mean that

that part of the tavern had come from either a Terran or a Tellarite structure.

Stam studied the fire for a moment and failed to detect an appropriate amount of heat radiating from it. It

was a holoprojection, Terran, he decided. Tellarites would have shipped in plant material especially for

burning. Starn knew the fire was there for a purpose, most probably to hide sensors. His host must

already know that Starn had arrived.

, Starn stepped up to an empty space at the serving counter.. A multilegged creature made an elaborate

show of sniffing the air, then moved several stools away. Starn ignored ft.

The server behind the counter was, as Starn had deduced, a Klingon, and an old one at that. He limped

on an improperly matched leg graft and wore a veteran's ruby honorstone in the empty socket of his left

eye. Stam was troubled. A Klingon with an honorstone would be reveredon Klinzhai, given line and land.

A veteran with such a medal would never submit to being a menial tavern server, which meant the tavern

server had stolen the honorstone. The concept of a Klingon without honor was as unsettling as the

laughing Vulcan depicted on the tavern's sign. Starn decided that the stories of Town's depravity did not

do it justice.

After ignoring him for several trips back and forth, the server finally stopped in front of Starn. "NuqneH,

vtdqangan?' the Klingon growled.

Stam considered for a moment that in this setting the standard Klingon greeting actually made sense.

"NQ," he snarled in reply.

The Klingon paused as if puzzled by Starn's perfect accent, then filled the trader's order for water by

spitting on the counter in front of him.

Other beings nearby, who had listened to the exchange, froze. Had Starn also been Klingon, a glorious

blood feud would have started that might have lasted generations. But Starn was not Klingon, though his

knowledge of the empire's customs was comprehensive.

The server waited tensely for Stam to respond to the insult, his single eye burning With expectation. Starn

slowly slid his hand beneath his cloak, and just as, slowly withdrew a carefully folded white cloth.

Keeping his eyes locked ' on the Klingon, Starn delicately dabbed the cloth into the spittle on the counter

and began to raise the cloth to his forehead.

The server began to tremble. Starn moved the cloth closer to his forehead.

Two Klingon mercenaries standing farther down the counter began to snicker.

The cloth was centimeters from Starn's forehead when the server finally realized that the mad creature

was not going to stop.

"GhobeP' the server spat, and snatched the cloth from Starn's fingers. Stam sat motionless as the server

used the cloth to wipe up the counter and then stormed away, his rage almost comical in its intensity. The

mercenaries broke out in gales of harsh laughter. One of them motioned to a server, who guided an

antigrav tray of food and drink through the tables. A few moments later, the server stopped the tray by

Starn and passed him a sealed bubble of stasis water.

"With the compliments of the officers, trader," the server said.

Starn looked down the bar at the Klingon mercenaries. They smiled at him and made clumsy attempts at

saluting him with third and fourth fingers splayed. Starn nodded in acknowledgment, to more laughter,

then broke the seal on the bubble and waited for its field to collapse. Around him, the business of the

tavern returned to normaL Whatever else Starn was, he was a connoisseur. From its bouquet, he

identified the water as coming from a desert world, high in complex oxides.

With his first sip, he ruled out TNC 50 as its origin. The water had once been part of a

photosynthesis-based ecosystem and this planet was lifeless.

A second sip was all he needed. The water was from Vulcan. The mercenaries had sought to honor him.

Starn placed the bubble on the counter and would not touch it again.

A pale blue hand reached out to the counter beside Starn. The movement was cautious and he turned

slowly. An Andorian girl looked at him nervously.

She was young, clothed in a tattered and obviously contraband Starfleet jumpsait that matched her skin

color, and she suffered from an atrophied antenna. Even the smallest and poorest of her people's families

would have sacrificed everything to treat that twisted hearing stalk. The girl was something no Andorian

should ever have been forced to be: alone.

Starn greeted her in flawless Federation Standard, again no accent to suggest it was not his first tongue.

The girl looked nervously from side to side. "Wass it a present brought you here, trader?" she asked in a

sibilant whisper.

Starn nodded yes. He couldn't detect anyone nearby trying to eavesdrop, but noticed that the girl stood

so that as he turned to speak with her, he looked straight across the serving area into the sensors hidden

behind the fire. He didn't try to block them.

"And-where was that present fromT' the Andorian asked, shuffling and looking over her shoulder. Her

withered antenna twitched and she winced in pain.

.1iopene," Starn answered. Another dead world whose now-extinct indigenous life had proven to be too

competent in building lethal weapons. Even the empire banned lopene relics from all but the noblest

houses. The cutter that Starn carried had been the "present" that had convinced him to take the invitation

to come to TNC 50 seriously.

"Thiss way," the girl said, and headed for the back of the tavern. Starn followed. Behind him, he could

hear the mercenaries begin to laugh again.

The girl slipped quickly through a series of dark.corridors. Starn kept up with her, ducking his head

beneath the low Tellarite ceilings. They passed an entrance to a smaller serving area where Starn could

hear Orion dancing music pulse in time to the cries from an unseen audience. He detected the scent of

drugs outlawed on a hundred worlds, beard screams of pain and pleasure above the hum of cranial

inducers, and committed to memory every twist and turn, every dark stairwell, for the long run back.

At last the girl stopped by an unmarked door. She gripped a gleaming gold handle on the doorframe and

trembled as the embedded sensors read her palm prints and analyzed her sweat. The door clicked, then

slipped open. The girl entered and motioned for Starn to follow.

A young Klingon waited behind a simple desk. A single glowpatch lit the room from directly above him

and his eyes were deeply shadowed beneath his prominent crest. The Andorian scuttled to a comer. The

Kfingon rose gracefully and waved toward a chair across from his desk.

"Good of you to come, Trader Starn," the Klingon said in Standard. "I am Karth." Stam took the offered

chair, comfortably proportioned and padded for humanoids, and studied his host. Even for a Klingon, the

being was large.

The taut fabric of his tunic stretched across an impressively muscled physique. Starn compared the tunic

with hundreds of military designs he had memorized in order to place his host within the Klingon

hierarchy. With something close to amazement, he finally realized that what Karth wore was that rarest of

Klingon garb-a civilian outfit.

"Do you want somethingT' Karth gestured to a serving unit on the wall.

"Perhaps... wate#?" The Klingon smiled, respectfully keeping his teeth unbared.

"Sensors in the fire pit?" the trader asked.

"Of course. The crime rate in Town is one of the lowest in the Federation." "And in the empireT' "Trader

Starn," Karth began seriously, "all beings know there is no crime in the empire." Then he smiled again.

"Though if you had touched that server's spittle to your head and become betrothed to him before all

those witnesses, that would have qualified him for criminal proceedings. A very clever way out of a

potentially disastrous situation. Kai the trader." "Kai the Karth -who gives such generous presents." The

Klingon settled back in his chair. The chair was massive, but Starn's sensitive ears heard it creak.

"As there is no crime in the empire," the Klingon said, "there are no presents, either. The lopene Cutter is

a down payment." "Understood. What service do you requirer' Karth shook his head. "This is a foul

language. So many ways around the point. Nothing direct. What service do you think, traderr'

"Chotne$," Starn replied instantly.

Karth glanced over at the Andorian girl. "We shall stay with this lerangan chirping. She speaks Hol much

better than Standard." The girl stared blankly. Karth shifted his gaze back to Starn. "I want no heads of

state removed, no leaders killed. This will be a simple act of murder, trader, not assassination."

"Whatever you wish to call it, the service is the same.,$ Starn shrugged.

"Who is to be the victim?" "Don't you want to know the price?"

"After I kn6w the victim." Karth shook his head again, hands moving slowly to the edge of the desk.

"You accept the contract now. You accept the price now There will be no negotiation once the victim is

revealed." Starn considered his options. it was probable he could walk away from this now. But the

opportunity for expansion that this meeting offered might not come again. However~ if ,he did commit to

the contract, in the end he would still be able to make a final decision concerning who would be the more

difficult victim: the one who was now unrevealed, or a certain Klingon civilian.

Very well," Starn agreed. Karth moved his hands back to the center of the desk. "But since I

cannotknow the cost or effort involved in this service, I must call on Kfingon honor to seal our bargain.

State your price." Stam was puzzled when he could detect no physiological response to his subtle insult.

For a non-Klingon to bargain on Klingon honor unplied either that the, non-Klingon was an equal of a

Klingon or that Klingon honor was suitable for animals. At the very least, Karth should have demanded a

test of blood, if not death, but Stam could not hear any quickening of Karth's breathing rate or see any

change in his skin color.

'-TWo hundred Iopene Cutters with feedback shields." iwo hundredl Starn concentrated on not

disrupting his own breathing rate.

Whole planets could be taken with a handfid of cutters whose beams could tunnel through any force

shield by turning the shield's own energy against itself in perfect counterphase.

,i was not aware that there were that many in existence," Stam said flatly.

7wo hundred!

"Do you doubt my word?" Now Starn picked up an immediate flush in Karth's face and a rapid

escalation in breathing rate.

111 simply stated a fact. For such a price I will accept your contracL Again I ask, who is the victim?"

Karth motioned for starn to approach the desk. He touched a keypad and images formed on the desk's

surface. Starn watched intently.

At first he was stunned. Then impressed. The concept was brilliant. By this one single action Starfleet

could be reduced to an uncoordinated swarm of helpless ships and starbases. The entire Federation

could be brought to its knees. So many past wrongs would be repaid. Starn knew he would have

accepted this contract without fee.

He leaned over the desk, studying the words and pictures, memorizing the diagrams and timetables.

Already a plan was forming. It could be done. He was just about to step back from the table when he

noticed Karth's hand on the keypad.

"Bring up the initial timetable again?" Starn asked.

Karth tapped out a three-key sequence. Starn watched the Klingon's exact hand movements carefully,

then stepped back.

"I will be proud to carry out this service," Starn stated. "But I do have a question." "I expect you to have

many." "Federation officials will not rest until they discover who is behind this action." "That is not a

precise question." "What do you wish the officials to find out?" "That is not a clear question." "Should I

leave evidence implicating the empire in this crime?" Karth leaned back and snorted. He gestured to his

dark face. "Who has set this crime in motion, trader? What do you think?" Starn took his opening. "I

think it is intriguing that I am being hired to commit'this crime by a mechanical device attempting to pass

itself off as a Klingon." Karth's hands disappeared beneath the desk with unnatural speed. Starn twisted

sideways and reached beneath his cloak. Karth jumped back from the desk, aiming a disruptor at Starn.

The cutter's particle beam sliced through the air with a thunderous crackle, disassociating dust and smoke

molecules. But Karth dodgedl The beam erupted on his aboulder instead of his chest.

Starn stumbled back against his chair. The cutter whined as it cycled up to discharge again but it would

take too many seconds. Karth's shoulder dripped with thick blue coolant. wires and transtators glowed

and sparked in the mechanical ruin. The Klingon robot leveled its disruptor and fired.

Starn braced himself for disruption. Ile Andorian girl was engulfed in a sputtering orange corona and

collapsed onto the floor. The robot placed the disruptor on the desk.

Starn looked over to the Andorian. Her body had not disintegrated. She was still breathing. A Klingon

disruptor set for stun? What kind of madness was this?

"Neural disruption only," the robot said. "She won't te ember anything of the last twelve hours. She didn't

know." It pointed to its shoulder.

The cutter beeped its ready signal in Starn's hand.

-You won't need that," the robot said, pushing small silver tendrils back into its shoulder. The arm

beneath ituttered erratically, then jerked once and hung limply.

Starn replaced the cutter beneath his cloak. "You didn't kill her?" he asked.

"Low crime rate in Town. She'd be missed. There'd be questions. The important thing is that there be no

witnesses." A flesh-colored foam sprayed from the robot's good hand to cover the open circuitry of its

blasted shoulder. "Not now, and not when you carry out your contract." Starn watched with fascination

as the robot began to fepair WwX He suddenly doubted that the Klingons had anything at all to do with

this.

"That sounds quite... logical," Starn said and, thinking of the image that hung above the tavern door, he

began to laugh.

Chapter Two

SpocK Dm Norr NEw Looic to know that another attempt was going to be made.

The only question was, who was behind it: the captain or the doctor? He finally decided that the instigator

would be the one who entered the Enterprises recreation lounge last. Satisfied, Spock returned to his

meal.

His theory was disproved when the lounge door puffed open and Kirk and McCoy entered together.

Spock reaaed then that they were both in on it. Whatever this one was going to be, it was going to be

big.

"Mr. Spock, mind if I join you?" Kirk was already seated by the time Spock could swallow and begin his

reply. McCoy sat beside the captain, not even bothering to ask Spocles permission. The table for eight

was now filled. As were the two tables closest to it. The fact that the two chairs across from Spock had

been left empty, even as other crew members decided to sit as close to him as possible, indicated that

everyone else knew that Kirk and McCoy were expected. It had also been Spock's first clue that he

was, McCpy would put it, being set up.

"Well, Captainr' Spock decided to play white and take the advantage of the opening move.

"Well what, Spock?" Kirk's wide-eyed innocence confirmed his guilt.

"I merely assume that you have come to tell me something and I wonder what it is." Kirk pursed his lips.

"Tell you something?" He looked over to McCoy.

"Bones? Did you have anything to say to Spock?" ' McCoy smiled brightly, his expression calculatingly

cheerful. "Not a thing, Jim." The captain and the doctor smiled at Spock. Spock constructed a decision

tree. He could excuse himself and return to his station, though he concluded that would be interpreted as

a resignation from whatever game was being played. Or he could regroup his position.

He took another forkful of salad.

"Good salad, Spock?" Kirk asked.

Spock chewed carefully and nodded warily, assessing the captain's counteropening gambit. He prepared

himself for the next attack. But the captain turned back to McCoy instead.

"So, Bones, who do you think is going to take the top spot for the Nobel and Z.Magnees Prize in

medicine?" So that was it, Spock realized. Something to do with the prizes. But what?

He had not been nominated, and his work would likely remain too specialized to ever qualify. Sarek, his

father, had been awarded the Peace Prize more than twenty years ago but, logically, that had nothing at

all to do with Spock. So what were they hinting at?

"Well now, Jim, I think that Lenda Weiss has made a remarkable contribution to our understanding of

resonance fields. Half my portable scanners are based on her work. I really don't see how she has any

competition." "Not even from Forella?" Kirk suggested. "I hear his work with shaped stasis fields will

make the protoplaser obsolete in just a few years." "I'll believe that when I see it," McCoy said

definitively. "Dr. Weiss is the front runner. No doubt about it." "I believe you'll find the work of Stlur and

T'Vann merits the attention of the prize committee as well," Spock offered. He suspected he shouldn't get

involved but logically he could see no other choice. The captain and the doctor were grievously

misinformed. "They have opened up the whole new field of transporter-based surgery. Surgeons might

never- "Stlur and T'Vann?" Kirk interrupted. "A Vulcan team?" 'Department heads at the Academy of

Science," Spock added.

"So you follow the prizes, do you, Spock?" "Doctor, the winners of the Nobel and Z.Magnees Prizes

represent the forward thrust of Federation science and culture. From their work today it is possible to

deduce the shape of tomorrow. They represent the finest minds of all the worlds of the Federation. Who

would not follow them?" Kirk and McCoy exchanged glances. Spock observed them and felt as he did

when he stepped into one of the captain's intuitive mates in three-dimensional chess, but he still couldn't

determine what Kirk and McCoy were trying to accomplish.

"I suppose you keep up with all the latest news about the prizes then?" Kirk asked.

For a chilling moment, Spock was afraid he was about to be informed that Dr. McCoy had been named

a nominee, but quickly discounted the notion. The prize committee had some standards, after all. There

were Vulcans on it.

"I follow the news as much as I am able, Captain," Spock replied.

"And you know about the ceremonies coming up?" "I have read about them in the updates." Ah, good

then. You know all about it. C'mon, Bones." Kirk started to stand.

McCoy followecL Is that all? Spock thought. Where was the logic in creating an elaborate setup such as

this just to determine if he had been keeping up with the news about the prize ceremonies? Had he

missed something?

"Excuse me-know all about what?" he asked, knowing the odds were overwhelming that he shouldn't.

"The prize ceremonies," Kirk said.

"Tbe scientists who will be there," McCoy added.

"Where it's being held." "How they're all getting there." "You do know, don't you, Spockr' Spock

prepared himself for the worst. "I'm aft-aid I must say I obviously do not know. Please be so good as to

inform me." Kirk and McCoy exchanged glances one more time.

"Why certainly, Spock," Kirk began, then paused for a moment. Everyone in the lounge looked at Spock

expeotantly.

"The Enterprise has been assigned to carry a delegation of sixty prize-nominated scientists to the

ceremonies on Memory Prime." Checkmate, Spock thought. Again. "That is indeed splendid news," he

managed to say evenly.

Kirk turned to McCoy. "Well?" "He blinked, Jim. I'm sure of it." "How about a smile? A little one?"

"Maybe. But the blink was definite. I think he's excited. Think of it, an excited Vulcan! And we were

there." Spock stood up from the table. "Captain, may I ask what arrangements have been made to

accommodate the delegation on board?" "You may ask, but I can't answer. The person in charge hasn't

told me what's been planned yet." "I see. And who is the person in charge?" "You are." Kirk checked

with McCoy. "Another blinkr' "I might have to write this up." Kirk looked back to Spock. "If that's all

right with you, that isr' "I shall be honored, Captain." Kirk smiled. This time it was genuine. "I know,

Spock. We all know." "Ifyou'll excuse me, gentlemen, I find I have considerable new work to attend to."

"Of course, Mr. Spock. Carry on." Spock nodded, took his tray to the recycler, and headed for the

lounge door. As he stepped out into the corridor, he could hear McCoy complaining.

"J was sure we were going to get a smile out of him this time. I'll admit two blinks are a good start but-"

The doctoes voice was lost in the puff of the lounge door.

Spock walked through the ship's corridors at a measured pace, contemplating his feelings. Despite what

most of his cTewmates believed, Vulcans did have emotions. It was just that they chose not to express

them. Though Spock supposed that Dr. McCoy would be surprised to discover how close he had come

to seeing Spock smile back in the lounge.

In fact, if Kirk and McCoy had not made it so obvious that they were setting him up, Spock thought he

might well have been startled and pleased enough at the news of the prize nominees to have actually

smiled in public.

Then arAn, Spock thought, perhaps that's why the captain had made it so obvious, so his friend would

be forewarned and spared committing an unseemly act.

. The captain has such an illogical way of being logical, Spock thought. He knew he would think about

that for a long time, though he doubted he would ever totally understand. And as in most of his personal

dealings with the captain, Spock decided that understanding probably wasn't necessary.

"Transporter malfunction!" There weren't many words that could shock the chief engineer of the

Enterprise awake with such forcefulness, but those two never failed.

Scott jumped out of his bunk and slammed his hand against the desk comm panel. The room lights

brightened automatically as they detected his movements. That voice hadn't been Kyle's. He peered at

the nervous face on the desk screen.

"Scott here... Sulu?" What was Sulu doing in the main transporter room?

"Report!" Scott hopped around his quarters, trying to pull on his shirt and his boots at the same time as

Sulu's tense voice filtered through the speaker.

"The... carrier wave transmitter just shut down, Mr. Scott. Every pad in the ship is out."

"Ochh, no," Scott moaned. Years ago on another ship he had seen a landing party evulsed by a

carrier-wave collapse, He had personally seen to it that such a malfunction would be virtually impossible

on his Enterprise, no matter what McCoy might think.

"Give me the error code, lad," Scott asked softly. There was no need to rush now. Whatever, whoever,

had been in the matrix when the wave collapsed was irretrievably lost. And Scott didn't want to think

about who might have been in the matrix. They were still in orbit around Centaurus. The captain had

some property there... and had planned to visit it.

"Error code, Mr. Scott?" "Below the locator grid, Mr. Sulu." Where was Kyle?

"Uh... one-two-seven," Sulu read out tentatively.

Even Scott had to 9top and think to remember that one. When he did, he was relieved and angry at the

same time. At least no one would have been lost in transit and there would be no more danger to the ship

until he manually reset the carrier-wave generator.

"Mr. Sulu, I dinna know what it is ye think you're doing at the main transporter station, but I strongly

suggest ye call up the operator's manual and look up a code one-two-seven shutdown on your own. I'll

be down right away and in the meantime, Mr. Sulu.

"Y-yes sir?" "Don't touch anything!" Scott broke the connection to the transporter room, then opened a

new link.

"Scott to security. Have a team meet me in the main transporter room, alert the captain if he's on board,

and find me Mr. Kyle!" Then the chief engineer straightened his shirt in the mirror, smoothed his hair, and

stormed out of his room to find out who had just tried to scuttle the Enterprise.

Sulu began to apologize the instant Scott stepped through the doon "I'm sorry, Mr. Scott. I only have a

Class Three rating on the transporter.

The simulator never took me past error code-fifty." Sulu stepped quickly out of the way as Scott took his

place behind the transporter console.

. The doors slid open Again. Four burly, red-shirted security officers rushed in, followed by Captain

Kirk.

"Scotty, a malfunction?" Kirk looked at the transporter pads. Scott could bear the captain exhale with

relief when he saw they were empty.

"An automatic shutdown, Captain. Error code one-twoseven." Kirk's eyes widened. He knew them all.

"Somebody tried to beam an acceleratorfield on board?" "Aye, while our own warp engines are on line,

too. If the computer scan hadn't recognized the accelerator signature in the matrix and automatically

reversed the beam, the chain reaction between the field and our dilithium crystals would have fused every

circuit in the Cochrane generators, released the antimatter... occh." Scott worked at the panel to

reconstruct the readings of the aborted beam-up.

Kirk noticed Sulu standing in the corner by the viewscreen. "Isn't this Mr.

Kyle's tour?" "Well, yes, Captain. But when Doctors T'Vann and Stlur beamed up with their

transporter-based surgical equipment, Xyle, well... he asked me to cover while he-- "--helped them

calibrate their equipment?" Kirk suggested. "Or was it check their figures? Or link up to the ship's

computer?" "Actually, set up their equipment in his transporter lab, sir," Sulu completed.

Kirk shook his head. "I don't know, Scotty, but it seems that ever since the prize nominees started

coming aboard, my crew is playing hooky from their work to go back to school." 6"Hooky,' Captain?"

Spock had entered the transporter room and joined Scott behind the console.

"An inappropriate leave of absence, Mr. Spock, usually ftm school.

Spock arched an eyebrow. "Why should anyone wish to do that?" He realized the captain was not about

to enlighten him, so he turned to Scott. "What does the problem appear to be, Mr. Scott?" "It doesn't

appear to be anything. Some addle-brained nincompoop just tried to beam up an operating accelerator

field and I'm trying to traci the coordinates." Spock reached over and punched in a series of numbem

Scott read them on the locator grid.

"That's the Cochrane University of Applied Warp Physm ics," Scott said.

"Yes," Spock concurred. "I believe you'll find that the 'addle-brained nincompoop' you are searching for

is the professor emeritus of multiphysics there. Professor Zoareein La'kara." Scott narrowed his eyes.

"Of all people, surely he'd know what happens when ye bring an accelerated time field within interaction

range of aligned dilithium?" "Of course, Mr. Scott. Which is why he is a nominee for the Nobel and

Z.Magnees Prize in multiphysics." A paging whistle sounded. Uhura's voice announced, "Bridge to

Captain. I have a message from the Cochrane University, sir. Professor La'kara says he is still waiting to

beam up with his equipment." "Thank you, Uhura," Kirk answered. "Tell him we're working on it." Then

to Spock and Scott he added, "Wen, are we working on itr' -Captain, an accelerator field is a tricky

beast. If a fourth-dimensional arm of dilithium impinges upon a domain of artificially increased entropy,

why all the power our engines produce would be sucked back three and half seconds, rechanneled

through the crystals, and then sucked back again. The feedback would be infinite and..." Scotty

shuddered as he contemplated the resultant destruction of the ship's warp generators.

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StarTrek-TOS042-MemoryPrimeByGarfieldAndJudithReeves-StevensChapterOneTHEYwereALLAliansonthatplanet.FromtheworldsoftheFederation,theempires,andthenonalignedsystems,eachwasavisitoronaplanetwhereindigenouslifehadvanishedintheslowexpansionofitssunmorethanfivehundredcenturiesbefore.Thescientistsfromadoz...

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STAR TREK - TOS - 42 - Memory Prime

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