STAR TREK - TOS - 30 - Demons

Demons

by

J. M. dillard

Look for Star Trek fiction from Pocket Books

Enterprise 17 Star Trek III

The First Adventure The Search for Spock

1 Star Trek 18 My Enemy, My Ally

The Motion Picture 19 The Tears of the Singers

2 The Entropy Effect 20 The Vulcan Academy

3 The Klingon Gambit Murders

4 The Covenant of 21 Uhura's Song the Crown 22 Shadow Lord

5 The Prometheus Design 23 Ishmael

6 The Abode of Life 24 Killing Time

7 Star Trek H 25 Dwellers in the Crucible

The Wrath of Khan 26 Pawns and Symbols

8 Black Fire 27 Mindshadow

9 Triangle 28 Crisis on Centaurus

10 Web of the Romulans 29 Dreadnought!

11 Yesterday's Son 30 Demons

12 Mutiny on the Enterprise 31 Battlestations!

13 The Wounded Sky Star Trek IV

14 The Trellisane The Voyage Home

Confrontation 32 Chain of Attack

15 Corona 33 Deep Domain

16 The Final Reflection 34 Dreams of the Raven

Most Pocket Books are available at special quantity discounts for bulk

purchases for sales promotions, premiums or fund raising. Special

books or book excerpts can also be created to fit specific needs.

For details write the office of the Vice President of Special Markets,

Pocket Books, 1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, New York 10020.

a Star Trek Novel

PUBLISHED BY POCKET BOOKS NEW YORK

This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and

incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are

used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or

persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Another Original publication of POCKET BOOKS

POCKET BOOKS, a division of Simon & Schuster, Inc. 1230 Avenue of the

Americas, New York, N.Y. 10020

portions thereof in any form whatsoever. For information address

Pocket Books, 1230 Avenue . of the Americas, New York, N.Y. 10020

This book is Published by Pocket Books, a Division of Simon & Schuster,

Inc. Under exclusive License from Paramount Pictures Corporation, The

Trademark Owner.

ISBN 0-671-62524-1

First Pocket Books Science Fiction printing July, 1986

10 9876543

POCKET and colophon are registered trademarks of Simon & Schuster,

Inc.

STAR TREK is a Trademark of Paramount Pictures Corporation Registered

in the U.S. Patent and Trademark Office.

Printed in the U.S.A.

PROLOGUE

Beekman's Planet. Its nearness to binary suns and oppressive humidity

made it hot, even for Vulcans, but unlike home, Beekman's was lush and

wet. Up in the mountains it was cooler, and atop the smallest of them,

T'Ylle sat on her heels, shading her eyes from the glare. It had been

said that she was beautiful, and that her eyes made her so they were

large and almond-shaped, with an upward slant, as velvety blue black as

her hair. To T'Ylle, the fact had never been of the least importance

there was a remoteness about them as well that was impenetrable.

T'Ylle pulled back the hood of her jacket and brushed the moisture from

the face of the tricorder. The afternoon rains had just ended, and the

leaves, coated with tiny droplets, made the glade glisten like a jewel.

Steam rose from the ground around her boots with a soft hiss. She

scanned the area briefly, and the results pleased her--she was the only

animal life form in the immediate vicinity. Danger was, at least for

the moment, averted. She let the tricorder dangle again from the strap

on her shoulder and peered over the precipice.

Below, tiny workers crawled out from under makeshift shelters and

began digging in the heavy muck, made heavier still by the fresh rain.

In spite of the limitations imposed by the climate and soil conditions,

work on the dig had progressed beyond their expectations. They had

originally anticipated at least another year, but it was rumored that

Starnn would declare their decades of work finished sometime within the

next few days. Already they were close to exhausting this site--the

last--of its treasure. And do they know, thought T'Ylle, what they

have unearthed?

Save for those already affected, none of the others suspected.. ..

Perhaps it was foolish of her to confront the danger this boldly, but

family relationships demanded no less. She could not go to the others,

not until she had confirmation from his own lips first. If not

foolish, then she was at the very least reckless .. . but the chance

existed that she could set things aright, or that she had been wrong,

had entirely misunderstood.

But she knew she had not.

She repressed, so much from habit that she was no longer aware of it

and would have denied it, a shudder at the thought of what would happen

if she were killed. The gesture had arisen not from fear of her own

mortality, but of what would follow for the others--not only the

expedition, but the billions back home.. ..

She rose expectantly at the sound of steps crushing the low, sun-baked

undergrowth, but did not use the tricorder to tell her what approached.

At present only one species of animal life on the planet was capable

of

such footfall. The footsteps shuffled and came to a halt.

At the same time, something buzzed loudly past her, grazing her face.

Disconcerted, she stepped back and raised the tricorder in front of her

face as protection. When the assailant flew past again, she struck out

at it. The insect fell on its back in the soil, its legs dancing

maniacally in the air. Without hesitation, T'Ylle lowered her foot

over it and with a quick, firm movement, crushed it. Her mouth

twitched slightly as the hard shell made a loud crunch beneath her

boot.

The visitor stood silently and watched the murder without reaction;

T'Ylle raised serene, fearless eyes to meet his.

"You see," she said, "I know everything."

Chapter One

the building, which housed the sister sciences of linguistics,

anthropology, and archaeology, was more than three thousand years old,

but it could scarcely be distinguished from the younger buildings on

the campus of the Vulcan Science Academy. The structure's design was a

wonder of the architecture of the period --naturally lit by the sun and

ventilated by captured desert breezes, it had taken no notice of the

passage of three millennia, save for the addition of artificial

nighttime lighting and computer equipment in the labs. Outside, the

hot wind rippled red sand into tiny dunes under a blinding sun; inside,

it was fresh and cool and dim.

The ceilings in the ancient building were high, and the heels of

Sarek's boots echoed loudly on the stone stairs. He climbed until he

reached the third floor (he would not have used the lift even if there

had been one) and walked to the end of the hallway, to the door bearing

the inscription linguistics. He paused before the door and spoke a

name aloud--the offices were not equipped with buzzers--and waited for

a response too soft for human ears before he pushed against the heavy

stone door.

In the center of the room was a desk and behind it a

window flooded the room with sunlight, obscuring for a moment the face

of the seated figure in shadow. Sarek blinked. The figure rose and

stepped forward out of the glare.

Silek was younger, leaner, with an openness about him that Sarek

completely lacked, but even so the resemblance was unmistakable. He

raised his hand in the Vulcan salute. "It has been many years,

brother."

Sarek returned the salute. "Many years; thirty-eight point four

standard, to be exact."

"I trust your wife and son are well?"

"They are well." Sarek paused politely, taking notice of the stranger

who stood next to Silek's desk.

Silek turned to him deferentially. "This is Starnn, my father-in-law.

Starnn was chief archaeologist on our project. He will be

participating in the presentation with us."

"Sarek," Sarek addressed the old Vulcan. "Then you are part of our

family, and will be staying with us."

Out of respect for Starnn's age, which he estimated to be well over two

hundred, Sarek waited for the older man to initiate the salute. But

Starnn merely nodded distractedly. His white hair was disheveled, as

though he had forgotten to comb it, and there was a vacant gaze in his

eyes. Sarek took no offense; even the best of Vulcans sometimes

suffered from forgetfulness at such advanced age.

"Starnn, of course, has often heard me mention your name, and is

honored," Silek said swiftly.

Sarek changed the subject. "And what of your expedition to the

Hydrilla sector?"

"Most successful, actually," replied Silek. "Of the

ruins, we were only able to thoroughly explore Beekman's Planet, which

is why we need more funding to continue exploration of the sector."

"If you were successful, no doubt you uncovered some interesting

artifacts," Sarek said, looking at Starnn.

"Of course," Starnn said in a wavering voice, suddenly galvanized.

"That is why we must return. There were far too many for us to uncover

in one expedition. And several of these discoveries are worthy of

extensive study and testing, for they will no doubt lead to a greater

understanding of the principles of physics." He turned to Silek.

"Show him the box."

"Yes," said Silek. "One of our most intriguing discoveries." He went

into the lab for a moment, then returned to the outer office area with

a look of thinly veiled scientific excitement and what looked to be a

smooth piece of onyx, polished so that its surface reflected the faces

of the three. It was somewhat larger than Silek's hand, and shaped

like a Terran oyster, with an almost invisible seam around its center.

Even in the daylight, a faint bluish glow emanated from it. Sarek

thought he detected a slight hum.

"Try to op en it." Silek handed it to him.

Sarek pulled on the top of the box and flinched as it sparked and

crackled. "I cannot."

"Nor can we," replied Silek, "with all of our instruments. It is

apparently an internally generated force field. And it is shielded

from us; our scanners cannot penetrate this material. We don't even

know if the structure is solid or hollow. And, of course, the field

will not permit us to analyze the material."

"Fascinating," said Sarek.

"And quite beautiful," said Starnn. "An ingenious blending of the

principles of physics and art to create a puzzle. We found many others

like it; this one is the smallest. Please take it as a gift, a

souvenir of the Hydrilla sector."

Silek shot a quizzical glance at the elderly Vulcan.

"Forgive me," said Sarek, "but I cannot take it. This belongs to the

academy museum. It belongs where others can appreciate it."

Starnn ignored Silek's stern, silent gaze. "We already have too many

for display. This one is the smallest, as I said."

"I cannot," said Sarek.

Starnn grew something close to vehement. "You are a diplomat," he

said. "Your house is open to many guests, some of them interplanetary;

the box would be seen and enjoyed by many."

"Perhaps you are right." Sarek bowed slightly, wishing at this point

only to humor him. "I am honored."

"Your acceptance honors me," Starnn said, mollified.

"If you gentlemen are ready," Sarek said, "I will escort you to my

home."

"Yes," Silek agreed quickly. "And will your family be there also?"

"My wife will be there. Spock is in Star Fleet."

"Forgive me," said Starnn. "I have some matters to attend to here in

the capital. If it is no inconvenience, I will join you later."

"Certainly," said Sarek. "Take the evening shuttle to ShiKahr and I

will meet you at the station."

Starnn nodded and picked up the box. "Do not

forget this. I know you will display it where it can be admired."

Sarek bowed again as he accepted the box.

The two left. In the hallway, out of Starnn's earshot, Sarek said, "I

am honored by the gift, but I feel it is inappropriate. I am unused to

receiving items which should be museum pieces."

"Starnn uncovered many of these," Silek answered, not meeting his

brother's eyes. "He is quite accurate when he says that there are too

many for display."

"Then it could be used for testing. And I perceive that you also do

not approve of Starnn's action."

Silek paused before he met Sarek's eyes. "Starnn may be chief

archaeologist, but even that does not give him the right to dispose of

academy property."

"Then why did you say nothing to him?"

"He has not been himself of late."

"He is old," said Sarek. "And his only daughter has died."

Silek glanced at him darkly. "My wife. Yet I have not changed. It's

more than that. Even before T'Ylle died, Starnn .. . changed."

"Perhaps he should visit a healer."

"If you could recommend a local one," Silek said, "I will suggest it to

him."

"That would be wise," said Sarek.

Silek paused, and his tone became lighter. "And is the lady Amanda

still as gracious as I remember her?"

Sarek was unaware that his expression had softened. "Even more so."

A diamond-eyed beetle with mother-of-pearl wings droned in through the

open window of the archaeology

dating laboratory. Starnn took no notice; his eyes were focused on a

row of silvery onyx boxes all weakly glowing in the day lit room. He

did not see the insect until it had the misfortune of lighting on one

of the luminous boxes. Starnn cupped his hands and gently caught the

creature, moving toward the open window to free it; but a spasm shook

him before he was able to unclasp his hands. It passed swiftly,

leaving his face locked in a hideous grimace. The grimace resolved

itself into a serene smile as he set the beetle carefully upon the

windowsill, and with long, bony fingers, proceeded to pull off its

delicate, iridescent wings.

"I just don't understand, sir," Lisa Nguyen said. "Why are we picking

up only a handful of the expedition?"

The security contingent of Tomson, Nguyen and al Baslama had seen to it

that the Vulcan researchers were safely ensconced in their quarters and

were now making their way back to C deck. Nguyen was the newest member

of the security team, and the lowest in rank. She had directed this

question deferentially to Security Chief Tomson.

Tomson gave Nguyen a sideways glance, secretly displeased, although

technically she had no right to be. Nguyen was eager and well-scrubbed

enough, with hair pulled back and falling in an amazingly straight line

down her back. It was the hair that troubled Tomson; she could not get

used to the new, relaxed regulations on hairstyle. Tomson was regular

navy, and still had palpitations when a crewman's hair touched the

collar. She made a mental note to talk to Nguyen afterwards. For

routine security work,

okay--but for show, pomp and circumstance, the hair should be pinned

up. Nguyen might not like it, of course; if she decided to be bold,

she could point out to Tomson that this was a backwater planet in a

dead sector and the Vulcans they were picking up were scientists, not

diplomats.. .. She could point it out, and find herself transferred.

Tomson was not there to be liked. She was there to see to it that her

people did their job.

Nguyen smiled up uncertainly at her, and Tomson's pale face shifted

into the barest ghost of a smile. It was often an effort for her to be

friendly, especially with overeager types like Nguyen. She'd once

overheard a crewman saying that it must be the altitude--it wasn't the

first such comment she'd heard. A cold, six-and-a-half-foot female

security chief was an easy target for jokes. Tomson told herself she

did not care, as long as it didn't interfere with her job.

"They were staying behind to finish up an archaeological dig, and one

of them was injured," Tomson answered, looking straight ahead and not

at Nguyen. "All of their doctors had already left, and he needed

immediate medical attention. The Enterprise was the closest ship out.

Apparently, his family came with him."

"Extended family," al-Baslama said. He was swarthy, congenial, and

almost as tall as Tomson. Save for his intelligence, he perfectly fit

the stereotype of the beefy security guard.

Nguyen nodded; they had picked up twelve passengers. "Do they always

travel in families like that?"

"It was convenient in this instance," Tomson said. "They'd been out

close to forty years."

"Forty years .. ." Nguyen faltered.

Tomson shrugged. "The wink of an eye, to a Vulcan." She stopped

abruptly as they approached the turbolift and turned to al-Baslama. "I

wonder if I could talk to you for a minute, al-B?"

"Of course, sir."

Nguyen got on the turbolift and shot a glance in alBaslama's direction,

which he studiously ignored. From the looks of things, Nguyen had

already joined the ranks of al-B's ardent admirers; no doubt, she had

hoped to ditch Tomson and consult al-B about his off duty plans. Tomson

watched the doors close over her with a sense of smugness.

Al-Baslama stood politely at attention, and Tomson looked at him

admiringly. Next to Tomson, he held the highest rank of anyone else in

security lieutenant, junior grade. Not, Tomson thought, that he

hadn't earned it. Now that Nguyen was gone, she permitted herself to

smile at him. Al-B relaxed; he had not been able to tell from the

lieutenant's voice whether to expect praise or a reprimand.

Tomson never wasted words. "I've recommended you be put up for

promotion. I want you to know that my evaluation of you was extremely

flattering."

"Sir?" al-Baslama said. He wasn't due for a promotion for another six

months. He was silent for a moment and then seemed to remember that

more of a response was called for, "Thank you, sir. That's very

kind."

Tomson leaned forward conspiratorially and lowered her voice. "I'll

tell you another secret, al-B. I'm almost sure you're going to get

it."

He hesitated. "Sir .. . that would mean a transfer."

"I suppose it would," Tomson said, falsely casual. It was not

something she liked to think about, but someone like al-B deserved any

help he got from his superiors. "You deserve a command of your own.

We both know that."

"But I've enjoyed working with you, sir," al-B protested. "You're the

best."

Tomson lowered her eyes, uncharacteristically embarrassed. "I

appreciate the compliment, Lieutenant, but you've got a career to think

of. You shouldn't let anything get in its way."

"Yes, sir," he said, clearly unconvinced. "Again, thank you, sir."

Tomson stepped into the turbolift, and al-B followed. He stood,

silent, not looking at her, as they moved toward C deck.

When she could no longer stand the silence, she said, slightly

exasperated, "Is there a problem, Lieutenant?"

Al-B squared his shoulders. "Is there any way, sir, that I could get

the promotion and still be assigned to the Enterprise?"

Nguyen, Tomson thought bitterly. She almost stamped her foot. "Dammit,

al-B, I stuck my neck out on this one! What's the matter with you?

There's no one on this ship worth wasting your career for!"

"I had thought..." he said softly, then broke off. "I guess I was

wrong."

Tomson was about to continue her invective until she caught his eye.

She had only seen such looks directed at others, never at herself--and

she became

suddenly conscious of her heart beating faster. "Moh ." she said

gently. "I'm your immediate superior. It wouldn't be proper."

"I know, sir. But a transfer .. ." He looked hard at her. "I guess I

read everything wrong. Is that what you really want?"

"Yes--for your career," Tomson insisted. Then, in a much lower voice,

she said, "Personally? No. You're the best person, male or female,

I've ever had on this team .. . and the nicest."

He smiled sadly. "Maybe it won't go through, Lieutenant."

The doors to the turbolift opened. "Don't be a damn fool," she said

shortly, and walked away too quickly for him to catch up.

Amanda had finished planting and was just watering the last rosebush

when Sarek brought Silek back into the garden. She straightened

suddenly, smiled, and then grimaced.

"Are reunions always painful for you, my wife?" Sarek asked calmly.

"It's nothing," she said, smiling once again. "A thorn. Silek, how

wonderful to see you!" Her impulse was to hold out her hand in the

Vulcan embrace, two fingers extended, but a strange shyness held her

back. "You've hardly changed."

It was true, of course; other than a broad streak of gray in the front

of his hair, Silek looked exactly the same. Being human and aging much

faster, Amanda knew that he could not truthfully say the same for her;

after living with a Vulcan for many years, she did not expect him to.

Curious, though, how much he looked

like Spock.. .. She had never forgotten his face, but had somehow

failed to realize over the years that by some capricious combination of

genes, her son had grown to look more like his uncle than his own

father.

"How long has it been?" she asked.

STAR TREK - TOS - 30 - Demons

相关推荐

开通VIP享超值会员特权

作者详情

相关内容

热门标签

举报选择: