STAR TREK - TOS - 36 - How Much For Just The Planet

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Star Trek - TOS - How Much For Just The Planet
Chapter One
In Space, No One Can Fry an Egg
THE OFFICERS' MESS of the starship USS Enterprise was a small, rather cozy room, with
comfortable chairs, moderately bright lighting, and a food-service wall with four delivery slots, no waiting.
This morn- ing, two officers entered the room, dropped briefing folders marked TOP SECRET onto the
table, and ap- proached the service wall.
"I don't know, Scotty," said Captain James T. Kirk, with an offhand gesture toward the secret
documents.
"Maybe it's just the idea of an inflatable rubber starship that bothers me." Kirk turned to face the
messroom wall. "Two eggs, sunny side up," he told it, "bacon crisp, wheat toast, and a large orange
juice." The wall went pleep in acknowledgment.
"Oatcakes wi' butter an' syrup," Chief Engineer Montgomery Scott told the wall, "a broiled kipper, an'
coffee black." Pleep. "Rubber's hardly the word for the material, Captain. It's a triple-monolayer
sandwich: an organic polymer inside to keep th' gas in, metal film on the outside to reflect sensors like a
real ship's hull, an' a pseudofluid sealant between 'em." Ploop went the wall. "I do not have that sandwich
on today's menu," it said, in a pleasantly maternal voice.
"May I suggest the grilled cheese with Canadian bacon?" Scott gave the wall an amiable kick. "An' each
of the prototypes is nae bigger than a deak while it's collapsed, includin' the inflation system. Not that it
takes much gas to fill her out, not in hard vacuum; a couple o' lungfulsm" "Mr. Scott somewhat
underestimates the volume of gas required," said a voice from the messroom door- way. "The inflation
system holds twenty-seven cubic meters of compressed dry nitrogen. Exhaled breath of course contains
moisture and respiratory waste prod- ucts, which would be quite damaging to the material of the
Deployable Practice Target." "Good morning, Spoek," Kirk said patiently.
Science Officer Spoek entered the mess, hands folded and eyebrows arched. "It does seem the start of a
productive day," he said, as the door hissed shut behind him. "One hundred grams of unsalted soya
wafers, with one hundred twenty grams of defatted cream cheese," Spock told the wall, "and two hun-
dred milliliters of unsweetened grapefruit juice." Pleep.
"I admit that the Deployable Target is a very fancy rubber balloon," Kirk said, "not to mention
expensive--" "Two point eight six three million credits for each of the four prototypes," Spoek said.
"--but it's still shooting rubber fish in a barrel." Ploop. "Fried fish are available--" Kirk ignored the wall
and looked past the steep rise of Spock's eyebrow. "Balloons can't maneuver tacti- cally, and yes, I've
read the stuff in the Starfleet Institute Proceedings about 'pretending three- hundred-meter starships are
Sopwith Camels.'" Pling went the wall, and a panel slid open to reveal a tray. Two eggs looked sunny
side up from the plate above a smile of bacon. Kirk took the tray to the dining table.
The door opened again, and Ship's Surgeon Leon- ard McCoy came in. Without a word to anyone, he
walked crookedly to the wall, leaned heavily against it, and said something that sounded like "Plergb
hfarizz ungemby, and coffee." Bones McCoy was not a morning person.
Pleep, the wall replied, and then pling for the delivery of Scott's breakfast, and pling again for Spock's.
They sat down at the table with Kirk.
The captain had broken the yolk on one of his eggs, buttered his toast, and had his glass two-thirds of the
way to his mouth before noticing that the liquid in the tumbler was blue.
Not the deep indigo of grape juice, or the soothing azure of Romulan ale, but a luminous, electric blue, a
color impossible in nature.
Kirk looked around the table. Scott and Spoek were discussing some obscure engineering aspect of the
bal--Deployable Practice Target. There didn't seem to be anything wrong with their breakfasts; Scott's
black coffee was black, Spoek's juice was pale gold.
Dr. McCoy was still waiting for his meal, watching the rest of them like a vulture with a hangover, but his
stare had a distinctly unfoeused quality. Maybe it was just the early hour, Kirk thought, a trick of the light
or something. He looked at his juice again. Still blue.
Starship captains are a special breed of beings who boldly go, et cetera. Kirk took a sip of the blue
liquid.
It tasted just like orange juice. It even had pulp that got caught in his teeth, just like orange juice. One
more look. Blue.
The wall plinged, and McCoy brought his tray to the table. Kirk looked at the doctor's meal: there was a
huge mug of coffee, a slab of Virginia ham, and an enormous heap of something else. The something else
was orange, in the same way Kirk's juice had not been orange: it was signal-flare orange, bright as a
Christ- mas necktie. Kirk noticed that Spock and Scotty had stopped talking, and eating, and were
looking intently at the orange mound on the doctor's plate.
Oblivious, McCoy buttered the orange heap, sliced the ham, and went at them like a starving man.
After a moment, Spock finished his crackers and cheese, stood up, and slipped his tray into the disposal
slot. "Excuse me, Captain, Mr. Scott, Dr. McCoy. I have some preparations to make for the Target
tests." "Aye," Scott said, watching McCoy eat as the syrup congealed around his own oatcakes. Kirk
said "Of course, Spock." McCoy said "Gmltfrbl." Spock looked sidelong at McCoy's plate, turned
sharply and went out. Kirk thought he looked rather green, even for a Vulcan.
"I'd better check over the launch tubes," Scott said.
"For, uh, th' tests, an' all." He went out.
Kirk watched, fascinated, as Dr. McCoy forked down the orange stuff, interspersed with chunks of ham
and gulps of coffee. Finally McCoy drank deep from his mug, sat back in his chair, and let out a long sigh
and a short burp.
He looked at Kirk, and frowned. "What's the matter, Jim? Haven't y'ever seen a man eat grits before?"
"I, um..." "And what in the name of Hygeia are you drink- ing?" "Morning, ah, pick-me-up," Kirk said
hastily, and emptied the glass to the last blue drop. "'Scuse me, Bones, lots to do today." He stood up
and dumped his tray, with one uneaten egg still on it. There was no waste; the food processors would
recycle it, Kirk thought, and at once regretted thinking.
It was, the captain thought as he left the puzzled doctor in the messroom, going to be one of those days.
Not far away, silent in silent deep space, Federation resource exploratory vessel Jefferson Randolph
Smith cruised at Warp Factor Four, her sensor net spread wide in search of dilithium. Dilithium, that rare
and refractory mineral that powers the warp drive, indeed the Federation itself... but more about dilithium
a little later. Just now, aboard Smith, the captain was also having one of those days.
But then, thought Captain Tatyana Trofimov, as she sipped her blue orange juice, it always seemed to be
one of those days.
The rest of Smith's officers were at the messroom table with Captain Trofimov. The first officer, a Withiki
named Tellihu, had his broad, red-feathered wings draped over the back of his chair, he read a freshly
printed newsfax with his left hand and ate a mushroom omelet with his right. Tellihu had had eggs for
breakfast every morning of Smith's mission, four hundred and sixty-six days so far, and it still seemed to
Captain Trofimov vaguely like cannibalism.
Science Officer T'Vau had finished her soya salad and was looking at a chess set. Not playing with it, not
touching the pieces, just looking. T'Vau's hair was dangling over one pointed ear, and there were
vinegar-and-oil spots on her uniform blouse. For a Vulcan, the Captain thought, T'Vau was really a slob.
The three of them were all the officers aboard Jefferson Randolph Smith, and also all the crew, just as
this compartment was not only the messroom but the common room and the recreation room. Smith
(NCC-29402, Sulek-class) was a ship of the Resources Division, Exploration Command, designed to
seek outreno, not what you're thinking~seek out miner- als, especially dilithium, at the lowest possible
cost.
It was actually not such a small ship, really quite roomy given its crew of three. And Starfleet Psycho-
logical Division had been very aware that a crew of only three for a mission of twenty to twenty-eight
months must be carefully chosen for compatibility.
PsyComm recommended that a special battery of crew-relations tests be designed.
The test designers were hard at work and expected to deliver a preliminary report no later than six
months from now. Until thenwwell, somebody had to bring in the dilithium.
Captain Trofimov came from Reynaud II, a thinly populated planet on the Cygnus-Carina Fringe, with-
out much space trade. Trofimov had decided very young that she was not only going to enlist in Starfleet
and get off Reynaud II, she was going to get every millimeter as far off Reynaud II as Starfleet went.
Exploration Command seemed like just the thing.
The recruiter showed her trishots of the big mining ships, like Dawson City, and the planetformers, like
Robert Moses, vessels bigger than starships, bigger than starbases, and Trofimov knew that her destiny
was sealed.
Only too right, she thought.
Tellihu finished his omelet, stood up, and said something to the wall in the whistling Withiki lan- guage.
Pleep, the wall said, then pling. Tellihu took out what looked to Trofimov like an ice cream cone filled
with birdseed and went out of the room nibbling it, dipping his wings to clear the doorway.
He does it deliberately, the captain thought. He'd eat worms if he thought he could get away with it.
She looked at T'Vau. The science officer picked a kelp strand out of her salad bowl and chewed on it
idly, still watching the 'chess set. Finally she reached out, picked up a pawn, turned it over in her fingers,
then put it back on its original square.
Trofimov finished her juice without looking at it, and left T'Vau to her, uh, game. As she went into the
corridor she thought, I'll bet it's never like this for starship captains....
Not much farther away at all, the Imperial Klingon cruiser Fire Blossom patrolled the Organian Treaty
Zone that separated the Empire from the Federation.
Fire Blossom was named for an incident in the youth of its captain, Kaden vestai-Oparai. Kaden had
been an ensign, helmsman aboard a B-5 destroyer in one of the Wars of Internal Dissension. A lucky hit
had pierced the destroyer's screens and killed most of the bridge crew, including the captain. Kaden had
seized command, only to realize that he had a small and damaged ship being hotly pursued by a light
attack cruiser.
Kaden broke formation and made for the nearest sun, dodging the cruiser's fire. The deflectors began
shining with energy, the hull to heat despite them.
The pursuer closed in. There was no practical chance of survival: the cruiser's heavier screens could
sustain a much closer approach to the star, almost to the photosphere. It didn't even have to fire
weapons. Just a little more pursuit, and Kaden's ship would melt.
At the last possible moment before the B-5 flashed to vapor, Kaden ejected a survival pod on maximum
drive and broke away at nearly ninety degrees, calcu- lating that the cruiser's captain would swing behind
him, looking suddenly from intolerable light into darkness, and take a moment to line up his final shot.
He would pay no attention to the pod; it was doomed to vaporize in an instant.
Kaden's guess was right. And as the cruiser took aim, the pod Kaden had jettisoned struck the star.
Its contents, four magnetic bottles of antimatter, collapsed, and even antiplasma reacts violently with
normal matter. There was an eruption from the solar surface, a very small prominence by solar
s'mndards, but big enough to engulf the cruiser. The light of its shields collapsing was lost in the sun.
That had been many years ago, Kaden thought as he ordered breakfast from the messroom wall. That
had been when life was really enjoyable. Now he commanded a D-7c, a heavy-enhanced battlecruiser as
much more powerful than that little destroyer as the destroyer outgunned its survival pod. There was not
a deck officer in the entire Imperial Klingon Navy who would not have been excited to command a D-7c
into battle against any foe of the Empire.
Unfortunately, ever since the business with the Organians, there had been a real shortage of foes of the
Empire you could go into battle against. Try anything the least bit violent in one of the Treaty Zones, and
everything like a weapon on the ship, from main-battery controls to cutlery, got red-hot, and some
disembodied voice lectured you on the Treaty provisions.
Kaden had seen it happen, as an ensign. His squad- ron had run across a couple of Tellarite freighters,
no armament, no escorts, nothing, they were practically towing a sign saying PLEASE I-mACK. And
practically before the cruisers were in attack formation--hiss, thunder, you could have fried chops on the
Weap- ons Control board. One of Kaden's bunkmates had been in the portside ratings' head; the
Organian lightbulbs had a pretty strange idea of what consti- tuted a weapon. Then, Organians were
some kind of pure energy. They probably didn't need disposal cubicles.
At any rate, thanks to the busybody lightbulbs, Kaden's command was about as thrilling as watching
yeast grow. And speaking of yeast... Kaden looked down at his battertoast, hot and crisp from the wall
unit. He shook his head. He looked at his glass of sweetened fruit juice: it seemed all right. He took a
long gulp. The rapid Klingon metabolism broke sim- ple sugars down almost instantly, producing a thor-
oughly pleasant buzz. Just the thing to get started in the morning.
There were consolations, Kaden thought. For one thing, his bridge crew did include Arizhel.
Rish came into the messroom precisely then. Kaden just about jumped at the coincidence, then settled
back to watch her. She punched buttons on the meal console, then leaned against the wall. Admirable
hull design, Kaden thought, splendid computing equip- ment. And very sophisticated defensive systems,
too, which had thus far precluded any direct sensor analy- sis, never mind tractors and boarding.
Oh, well, Kaden thought, maybe in the Black Fleet... He had a sudden, more immediate thought.
"Don't dial up the battertoast." "What's wrong with the battertoast?" Rish said, as the console bell rang
and the tray slid from the slot.
She looked down. "G'day't.t" "Well, not literally," Kaden said, and picked up one of the green-coated
sticks of toast from his own tray.
"They taste all right, if you don't look at them." Chief Engineer Askade, rather tall and slender for an
Imperial-race Klingon, and Security Officer Maglus, built like a stormwalker and just as danger- ous,
came into the messroom and punched for meals.
Arizhel said, "What do you make of this, Chief Engineer?" She held up one of the green sticks.
Askade took the battertoast, looked at it blearily. "I can't rewire it into a death ray without some extra
parts," he said, and took a bite. "Hm. Tastes okay.
What's the problem?" "The color, that's what the problem is." "Oh?" Askade held the stick close to his
eyes, tried to focus on it. "Oh. Hm." Magius took his tray from the machine. There was a slab of rare
steak and four fried eggs on it, and a liter mug of juice. The eggs had blue yolks. Maglus looked at them
for a moment, then shrugged and doused them with hot sauce. He began eating heartily.
Kaden said, "Maybe a couple of feed pipes got crossed, and it's recycling the used laundry instead.
This is a sort of undress-tunic green, isn't it?" "That's most unlikely," Askade said, in an uncon- vincing
tone.
"When I think of what the food synths are supposed to be recycling," Maglus put in between bites, "I'm
not sure that old socks would be so much worse." The intercom whistled, and the voice of Communi-
cations Officer Aperokei came on. "Captain Kaden, Commander Arizhel, wanted on the bridge."
Aperokei's voice was, as ever, bright and eager enough to put ice in one's blood.
Rish touched the com key. "What is it, Proke?" "Ship on sensors, Commander. Looks like a Feder-
ation vessel." "Can you identify?" Kaden said.
"It's small, Captain. Not likely to be a warship.
She's sublight in the shallows." There was a pause. Somewhere or another Aperokei had acquired a
fondness for Federation films, and it showed up in his language. "She's what, Lieutenant?" Kaden said
patiently.
"Cislunar orbit, I mean, Captain." Arizhel said, "Sounds like a mapper or surveyor." "I suppose we
should take a look," Kaden said, feeling uneasy already. "Pay our respects, smile at them." "Carefully,"
Maglus said.
Askade was idly turning his fork over in his hands.
"All we need this morning is a visit from the Org--" He put the fork down, pushed it away.
"We're coming, Proke," Arizhel told the intercom.
"Aye, Commander. We'll look sharp from the bow." The officers looked at each other, with expressions
from bemused to grim. "That youth was raised wrong," Askade said, and they dumped their trays and
headed for the bridge.
Aboard Jef~,rson Randolph Smith, Captain Trofi- mov settled into her swivel chair at the center of the
bridge. It wasn't a very big bridge, only a room four meters square, and the chair squeaked and its uphol-
stery was patched with plastic tape, but it was Trofimov's bridge, and chair, and command. Content, she
switched on the main forward display.
It showed a roomful of people staring at three- dimensional chess sets.
"Computer," Trofimov said, cautiously. A few months back, T'Vau had spilled a milkshake into the
computer's main logic bank, and it hadn't been quite the same since.
"Proud to be active and functional, Captain," the computer said.
"Computer, what is on the main display?" "This is the 68th All-Federation Trimenchess Championship,
Captain." "I see. Why is it on the screen? Did the science officer request it?" "No, Captain. I simply
thought that Lieutenant Commander T'Vau might find it of interest. Consider- ing her interest in the game.
And so forth." "Very well. But please clear--" Trofimov stopped.
The chess players on the screen were all sitting alone at sets; not one had an opponent visible. She men-
tioned this to the computer.
"That is correct, Captain. All these players are competing against the J-9bis duotronic polyprocessor
computer known as Polymorphy. They are all pre- dicted to resign in twenty moves or less." "Why... I
mean, enhance, Computer." "I am sorry, Captain, but even though as a J-2 duotronic unit I am directly
related to the J-9bis, I lack the capacity to analyze why all these Vulcans might want to play this pointless
game." "I see. And you thought that the science officer might find it... interesting." "I do my best to
anticipate and fulfll the needs of my crew, Captain. Excuse me, your crew." "Thank you, Computer.
Clear the screen, please.
Forward camera view." The screen blanked and the normal starfield ap- peared.
Trofimov wondered about the computer. T'Vau
swore the milkshake hadn't done any real damage.
Could computers go stir-crazy like people? Trofimov didn't know. They hadn't had talking computers on
Reynaud II. There was a law against it. When she went offworld, Trofimov thought that the law was a
typically stupid, backwater, Reynaud II notion. She wasn't so sure anymore.
The milkshake had been some strange Vulcan flavor that smelled like peppermint. There had been a lot
of sparks and a really awful smell, like roasted cottage cheese, for weeks. Still, T'Vau knew computers.
"Captain Trofimov?" "Yes, Computer?" "We're alone, aren't we? I mean, the science officer isn't on the
bridge, is she?" "No, Computer... Your sensors aren't malfunc- tioning, are they?" As she considered the
possibility, it didn't seem as terrible. If the sensors weren't working, they couldn't find dilithium. If they
couldn't find dilithium, there was no point in their being out here. They could go home.
"My sensors are fine, Captain. In fact, my sensors are really great. I can't imagine why you might think
there's anything wrong with my sensors, they're just in tip-top shape." "You asked if T'Vau was on the
bridge." "Oh. Well. I thought she might be... hiding." "Hiding?" "Yes, Captain." "Why would she be doing
that, Computer?" "Well, Captain... we are alone, aren't we?" "Completely." "You see, Captain, I think
the science officer is trying to kill me." "Kill you... Enhance, please." "Well, you see, she asked me to
adjust the log entry about her spilling the, you know, milkshake, so it said 'Science Officer T'Vau
inadvertently spilled the milk- shake,' and I told her--of course I told her I couldn't do that, and she said
she was going to get me for that, and ever since..." The door opened and T'Vau came in. There was an
ink marker and a soldering pencil pinning her hair up, and a watercress sandwich leaking mayonnaise
down her fingers.
The computer voder was whistling "I Got Plenty o' Nothin'." "Cease this behavior, Computer," T'Vau
said.
"Aye aye," the computer said. "At once, Science OffiCer." "T'Vau," Trofimov said, "has the computer
shown any signs of malfunction? I mean, new malfunction?" "I see no sign of malfunction at all, Captain,"
T'Vau said slowly. "To what do you refer?" "Doesn't its speech pattern strike you as... odd?" T'Vau
looked at the console. "It is illogical and elliptic, but that is hardly odd for a machine pro- gramreed by
humans." She pulled the soldering pen- cil from her hair, tapped it on one of the access panels. "I must
see if I can find time to study its programming." "Yes," the captain said absently, "I know how busy we've
all been, these last few weeks..." "Four hundred sixty-five days, nine hours, forty- one minutes. Now,
Captain, if I am not required on the bridge, I shall be in my quarters." "Of course, T'Vau." The science
officer left the bridge.
The computer said "Uh, Captain Trofimov. that stuff I said earlier? About the science officer?
Don't pay any attention to it. We're getting along just great. I mean that sincerely. I'm fine, Lieutenant
Commander T'Vau's fine, we're all fine." "That's fi--wonderful, Computer." Trofimov felt a sudden sharp
pain from her hands, looked down. Her fingernails were pressed deeply into her palms.
She faced the main display. It was showing a tape of waves breaking on a seashore, amber-colored
waves under double suns, one red, one golden. It was really very restful. She settled back to watch, and
soon all sense of time was gone.
"Excuse me, Captain Trofimov," Srnith's computer said abruptly.
"What is it now?" "I don't want to bother you, Captain." "That's all right, Computer." "Really, Captain
Trofimov, if you're busy..." "I'm not busy." "But I'm sure you've got a lot of important things to do." "No.
Really." "It's very nice of you to make time for me, Captain.
I understand how difficult it can be, being in sole command of--" "Spill it, )~uter!" "I knew I was being a
nuisance. I'm sorry, Cap- tain." Trofimov held her breath and counted to ten.
"Computer." "Happy to be working." "Was there something you wanted to tell me?" "Oh. Yes, Captain.
Sensors are picking up Hecht radiation." "Very well," Trofimov said automatically. "What?" "When
relatively pure dilithium deposits receive solar radiation," the computer said patiently, "they re-emit a
particular signature of energy known as Hecht radiation, named for--" "I know that, damn it! Put it up on
the board!" A local stellar map appeared on the main display, with graphs alongside showing the
radiation-spec- trum analysis. There, in glorious color, was the telltale mark of dilithium in the sun, way
up the electromag- netic scale with a sizable i-component.
The captain hit the intercom switch. "T'Vau, Tellihu, get up to the bridge on the double. We're going
home."
Educational Short Subject: Useful Facts about Dilithium
(FROM D~LlrmUM AND You, an educational filmstrip produced by the Dilithium Information Institute,
a subsidiary of the Deneva Mining Consortium, a divi- sion of Deneva-Universal Enterprises Ltd.)
Dilithium!
This amazing mineral, as beautiful as any jewel, harder than any diamond, is vital to civilization as we
know it today. It is no exaggeration to say that the Federation in which we live could not exist if not for
dilithium, the wonder mineral.
But just what is it that makes dilithium so amazing?
Scientists here, in the laboratories of the Deneva Mining Consortium, the Federation's largest private
producer of dilithium crystals for government and industry, have spent many years and huge amounts of
money unlocking the secrets of this unique substance.
We'd like to point out that it's the United Federa- tion of Planets' wise and forward-looking policy of tax
deductions for research expenditures that have made the wonders you're about to see possible.
Mountains fall, and dilithium is revealed!
Don't be afraid--what you're seeing is not some alien war machine, but the chariot of Progress! This is a
Tagra-X Planetary Excavator. These mighty ma- chines, capable of swallowing whole mountains at a
gulp, unearth dilithium ore wherever it may hide.
Itself powered by a dilithium-focused antimatter gen- erator, the Tagra*X allows the mining of planets
that before would have been left untouched and useless.
Fire one--It didn't bream Bullets just bounce off crystals of dilithium, the hardest known substance in the
universe. Dilithium is in fact so hard that it exceeds the theoretical physical laws for materials. This
paradox baflied scientists for decades, until researchers for the Deneva Mining Consortium discovered
the amazing truth: the crystal structure of dilithium extends not just in the usual three dimensions, but in
four! Did you say... four?
That's right! As illustrated in this computer ani- mation, the internal structure of dilithium extends both into
the past and the future. The Deneva Mining Consortium named this phenomenon Gonio- chronicity~. The
extreme difficulty of cutting dilithi- um into usable shapes, requiring high-output lasers over a long period
of time, became suddenly under- standable. Here's Dr. Wallace Thaumazein, star of everyone's favorite
popular science show, "Dr.
Wally's Kitchen of Wonders," with the explanation.
"Scientists like me always thought it was net energy absorption by the crystals that made them finally give
up under pressure, since as you probably know that's how most of the stuff we live with in our everyday
lives acts. If I hit this pane of glass with this hammer, see, it's gonna break." It sure did, Dr. Wally!
"Right. Are you guys all right down there, with the glass... ? Anyway, what we scientists figured out was
that you don't just have to hit a dilithium crystal hard, you have to hit it hard last month, now, and a week
from Tuesday, so to speak. Now, here's a dilithium crystal that we hit two days ago. And I've made a
note in my appointment calendarmyou can see it here, on the wristwatch display--to hit it again two days
from now. Now, some of you are probably wondering, 'what if you don't hit it two days from now?' and
that's an interesting question. What I always say to that is, 'I'm a scientist, not a philosopher.' Now I'll hit
it, well, now." That's amazing, Dr. Wally!
"It sure is, and it also shows why you kids watching shouldn't try this experiment at home with any dilith-
ium you might have around the house. That man will recover, because he got prompt medical attention,
which we always have on call here at the Kitchen of Wonders. You might not be so lucky." That's an
important safety tip, Dr. Wally. Yes, dilithium, the wonder mineral, can be dangerous. But isn't a certain
level of risk always present in our everyday lives? Think of thermonuclear fusion, our mighty but
mischievous friend. Or the dome over the city where you live; think how easily it could crack and
decompress your whole town. Even this ordinary wooden pencil is potentially explosive, if it should touch
antimatter. But there's another risk we haven't mentioned yet, perhaps the most important one of all.
Can you guess what it is?
Yellow alert! Yellow alert/ Yes, it's the Klingons. These warlike beings are always on the prowl for
dilithium, to drive their war machines, power their warships, and do many other war things. Here's Dr.
Wallace Thaumazein again.
"Before dilithium-enhanced warp drives and weap- onry, there was no interstellar war. Well, not exactly
no interstellar war, but not very much of it, because with the ships flying at Warp Three or Four, and
these little laser guns that only shot at lightspeed so even at Warp Two you flew faster than the stuff
coming after you, it really wasn't very interesting, and nobody much did it, except for the Romulans, who
you have to admit try real hard in everything they do, even if we can't always figure out why, and the
Klingons, for whom it was sort of a hobby anyway." A simple hobby that threatens millions. This is the
result of the Klingon Empire's ruthless hunger for dilithium, the wonder mineral. Is there an answer?
Yes. The answer is in each one of us. We must all vote for continued tax deductions for dilithium
research and fight to preserve the Dilithium Depletion Allow- ance from those who cannot see that
today's innocent, unexplored frontier world is tomorrow's Klingon slave outpost. This, then, is the choice
that faces each of us in a free society.
This... is dilithium... and you.t [Tagra-X film courtesy of Tagra Geoforming Co.
Gun provided by Denevarms Division of Deneva- Universal Enterprises Ltd. Goniochronicity is a regis-
tered trademark of the Deneva Mining Consortium, all rights reserved. Dr. Wallace Thaumazein appears
courtesy of Apocrine Pictures Video, an entertain- ment unit of Deneva Fizz Inc.]
Chapter Two
The Dilithium Crystal as Big as the Ritz
JEFFERSON RANDOLPH SMITH approached the source of the dilithium radiation, a blue and brown
world wrapped in white cloud. Captain Trofimov thought it was quite beautiful, but then again after four
hundred and sixty-six days of empty space, sensor ghosts, and barren black rocks, perhaps her view
was biased.
"What's the planet?" Trofimov asked.
T'Vau rolled up the data on her console. "Pi Pharosi II, name... pronunciation, Computer?" "Excuse me?"
the computer said.
"Please try to remain logical, Computer. Your behavior does not require explanation. I would like to
know the pronunciation of this world's local name." "Di-rye-dee. Excuse me..." "This is not required,
Computer." "Very well, Commander." T'Vau nodded and turned back to her screens. They were black.
"Computer." "Yes, Commander?" "Restore my data displays."
"Excuse--" T'Vau kicked the console. There was a bloop and the displays lit up again. "The planet is
colonized," she said. "There are approximately fifteen thousand inhabitants, mostly humans from
Federation worlds." "Do they claim Federation allegiance?" "No allegiance posted." The computer was
humming "There's a Long, Long Trail A-Winding." "All fight, Computer," Trofimov said. "What's so
important?" "May I use the main display? If, I mean, Lieutenant Commander T'Vau doesn't need it."
"Yes, Computer, you may use the main display." It did.
"What in hell--" "The general configuration indicates that it is a D-7 heavy cruiser," the computer said.
"From the shape of the intercoolers and position of the disruptor banks, I believe it to be the D-7c
modification. Its current range is 200 million meters and closing rap- idly."
"What's wrong with the sensor picture?" Captain Kaden said.
"Interference, Captain," Aperokei said. "Appears to be coming from the planet." "They're jamming us?"
"It could be, sir... wait, sir. Spectrum analysis indicates iraltu cha ~uj." Cha~ouj--what the Federation
called dilithium-- gave off a very particular sort of radiation. And there wasn't a ship of either empire that
wasn't always sniffing for that scent.
Askade gave a low chuckle. Askade was an expert on dilithium. Kaden said, "What do you think, Engi-
neer?" "I think that the Federation surveyor has found crystal ore. How sad for the surveyor's crew that
we have found them." "Arizhel, pick up the sensor trace." "Working on it," Rish said, and a moment later
breathed in sharply.
"What is it? Cha ~uj?" She hit switches, put the sensor analysis screen up on one of the main bridge
repeaters. "It is cha[ouj as I've never seen it. Do you agree, Askade?" Askade stared at the computer
摘要：

StarTrek-TOS-HowMuchForJustThePlanetChapterOneInSpace,NoOneCanFryanEggTHEOFFICERS'MESSofthestarshipUSSEnterprisewasasmall,rathercozyroom,withcomfortablechairs,moderatelybrightlighting,andafood-servicewallwithfourdeliveryslots,nowaiting.Thismorn-ing,twoofficersenteredtheroom,droppedbriefingfoldersmar...

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