David Gerrold - The Trouble With Tribbles

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The Trouble With Tribbles

the birth, sale, and final production of one episode

David Gerrold

Illustrations by Tim Kirk

BenBella Books

Dallas, TX

First BenBella Edition 2004

BenBella Books

6440 N Central Expy

Suite 617

Dallas, TX 75206

Contents

Chapters 1-3 of Blood and Fire 6

the third book in the Star Wolf series, new from BenBella Books

“The Trouble With Tribbles” 20

the birth, sale, and ﬁnal production of one episode

“David Gerrold knows Star Trek better than anyone, and here’s his take

at how it really should have been; the Star Wolf series is Star Trek done

right—moral conundrums, fascinating characters, and pulse-pounding

action. Highly recommended.”

Robert J Sawyer, author of Hominids

Also by David Gerrold

FICTION

The Star Wolf Series

The Voyage of the Star Wolf

The Middle of Nowhere

Blood and Fire

The War Against the Chtorr Series

The Dingilliad Trilogy

The Man Who Folded Himself

The Flying Sorcerers (with Larry Niven)

When HARLIE Was One

The Martian Child

NON-FICTION

The World of Star Trek

The Trouble With Tribbles

Worlds of Wonder

Blood and Fire

David Gerrold

Scenery

With each hyperstate jump, the distance between the two ships lessened

signiﬁcantly. Aboard the Star Wolf, the distress signal from the Norway

was expected to become not only more distinct, but more detailed. Dis-

tress beacons were supposed to use “pyramid” coding, with successive

layers of detail encrypted into the signal.

As a rescue vessel approached the source and the signal became

stronger, the additional levels of information would become accessible

and the rescuers would have a clearer idea of what kind of emergency to

expect. Decoding the Norway’s beacon should have provided additional

information about the nature of her emergency.

Should have.

Didn’t.

In this situation, the supplementary channels remained bafﬂingly

blank. And the itch behind Korie’s shoulders became a full-blown rash,

so much so that even Captain Parsons had to scratch. She grumbled her

annoyance. “They want help, but they won’t give details. You’re right,

Commander Korie. This has to be a high-security operation.”

“Extremely high security,” Korie noted. “Way out here, a month deep

into the south end of the rift—this is the other side of nowhere—what-

ever it is they’re doing, they want it secret.”

On the forward display, the red star was already visible as a teardrop

hung against the darkness. A pinpoint ﬂare of blue-white ﬂamed beyond,

but the spiral streamer wasn’t apparent yet, only a soft pink glow sur-

rounding the blue-white dwarf.

“We have our bearings,” reported Tor. “Ready for the next jump.”

“Initiate,” said the captain.

The Star Wolf jumped. And jumped again. And one more time. Soon,

the object known only as IKE-34 was a wall of ﬂame that ﬁlled half the

visible universe. It occupied a volume of space equal to the orbit of Jupiter.

Against the darkness, the blue dwarf could now be seen pulling a great

streamer of ﬂaming gas out of the tip of the crimson teardrop. The line of

ﬁre curled out and around, stretching across the visible sky like a rip; as

it reached the disk-shaped well of the bright blue star, it began to spiral

inward, around and around, the colors shifting more and more brightly

as the crimson ﬂames were gathered into the purpling corona. And yes,

the scenery was spectacular. Better than spectacular. Astonishing.

From this angle, below the red star’s south pole, it wasn’t immediately

apparent that the giant was also ﬂattened at both poles; it was impressive

nonetheless. Despite the Star Wolf’s distance—several billion kilome-

ters—the massive size of the star created the looming perception that

they were close enough to touch it. The perspectives of space create

impossible visions, and this was one of the more impossible views. That

long-dead poet had been right. Enjoy God’s handiwork in silence. Across

the Bridge of the starship the crew worked wordlessly, but again and

again their eyes were drawn to the forward display.

Eventually, the magnitude of the view became so intimidating and

oppressive that Captain Parsons ordered the image muted down. “We

don’t need the eye of hell looking down on us,” she remarked. “We’ve

got work to do. Let’s turn that off.” She stepped down from the Com-

mand Deck, only three short steps into the well of the Operations Bay,

but a whole other domain of command and control. She took a familiar

position next to the astrogation console, just behind Tor’s left shoulder.

“How long to close with the Norway?”

“Fifty-six hours. Coming in across the pole brings us in a lot fast-

er—but the Norway’s in the plane of the ecliptic—a ‘Missionary Orbit.’

Coming up from under, we’ll have to accelerate constantly to catch up,

correcting all the way in, and decelerate only in the last few hours. Tricky,

not impossible.”

“And if those folks are in serious trouble . . . we still might not be in

time,” said Parsons.

“They never should have parked so close to the star,” Tor replied.

“They’ve made the rescue operation damn near impossible.”

“That may be the point,” said Korie, coming up beside them. “They

wanted to make interception difﬁcult. By staying within the gravitational

corona they’re beyond the reach of hyperstate—no ship can jump in that

close, neither friend nor enemy. The approach has to be made in normal

space. The slow way. That gives them time to detect, scan and evade.”

Parsons nodded. “Tactically, that was the right decision. In practice,

it’s going to kill them. This’ll be another one for the textbooks. All right,

take us in, Commander Tor.” She turned to Goldberg at the communica-

tion station. “Lieutenant? Do you have anything else yet?”

The stout, red-headed man at the console shook his head. “Sorry,

Captain. The signal is still blank.”

“That’s what I expected.” She turned to Korie. “In a way, they’re doing

us a favor. When the inevitable board of inquiry asks why there were

no survivors, we’ll be able to point to the deﬁciencies of their orbit and

their distress signal.”

“Failure to arrive in time,” murmured Korie. “That’s what they’ll say.

Of course, we’ll be excused for that—but it’ll still be a black mark on

our record.”

“Don’t sweat it,” said Parsons. “If this ship can carry the burden of

blame for Marathon without ﬂinching, it can easily handle a minor embar-

rassment like this one.” She turned away from Korie’s dour expression.

“All right, let’s do the dance. We all know the steps.” She headed back

up to the Command Deck, the raised dais at the rear of the Bridge. “Oh,

Mr. Korie—one more thing.” She waited until Korie had joined her up

behind the railing. In a more conversational tone, she asked, “Have you

examined the manifest of the supplies we’re delivering here?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Korie waited for the captain to make her point.

“Notice anything interesting?”

“Quite a few things.”

“Such as?”

“Well, there’s a more-than-usual complement of biotechnical equip-

ment and supplies, isolation gear, repulsor valves, magnetic bottles and

so on.”

“Your assessment?”

“It’s a no-brainer, Captain. They’re engaged in Class-X medical research.

All that isolation gear says they’re dealing with extreme toxicity.”

The captain nodded. “That’s my thought too. We’ve got a mean, ugly

bear here. Train your mission team carefully.” To his look, “Yes, I’m go-

ing to want you to lead it.”

“Not Brik? This should be his responsibility.”

“Think about it. If you were captain of a distressed vessel, how would

you feel if the ﬁrst person to your rescue was a Morthan . . .? And if your

ship was involved in a Class-X operation and security was a major con-

cern—would you believe a Morthan in an Alliance uniform?”

“Point taken,” said Korie, embarrassed that he hadn’t thought of it

himself. But then, he’d been focusing on the more immediate prob-

lem—trying to ﬁgure out what the Norway was doing out here.

“I want you to be careful,” the captain added. “Feel free to break out

any of the gear in that cargo you need to protect yourselves and the Star

Wolf.”

“Already planning on it.”

“And don’t listen to Hall’s complaints about the charge-backs.”

“I never do.”

“How’s your itch?”

“Ferocious.”

“Good. Carry on.”

Korie felt comfortable with Captain Parsons—the ﬁrst time he’d felt

comfortable with a captain in a long time. It was a pleasant change to

have his abilities not only respected, but depended upon. He nodded his

assent and turned back to his headset to complete an earlier discussion

with HARLIE, the starship’s intelligence engine. He and HARLIE had

been sorting through the appropriate procedure books and manuals for

dealing with medical emergencies, especially those involving possible

contamination by unknown toxic substances. When he ﬁnished that,

he headed forward to the Med Bay to confer with Chief Surgeon Molly

Williger.

Dr. Williger was notorious as the shortest, ugliest woman in the known

universe, but few people who served with her ever noticed that; all they

saw was one of the best doctors in the ﬂeet. Williger was just ﬁnishing

a routine medical check on Crewman Brian Armstrong when Korie en-

tered. Armstrong, a side of beef with a grin, ﬂashed his smile at Korie as

he pulled his shirt back on. “Hiya, sir.”

Korie nodded a curt acknowledgment. He rarely smiled. “Arm-

strong.”

“Sir?” Armstrong began eagerly. “I’d like to volunteer for the Mission

Team. Dr. Williger says I’m in good shape. I can carry things. And I’m

certiﬁed for security duties—”

“I can see you’re in good shape.” Korie noted Armstrong’s well-de-

veloped body. “But we’re going to need specialists for this operation.”

Noting Armstrong’s immediate disappointment, Korie added, “But—I

haven’t made any ﬁnal decisions yet. I’ll keep you in mind.”

“Thanks, sir. Thanks Dr. Williger.” Armstrong grinned again and left.

Williger and Korie exchanged amused glances.

“Gotta give him credit,” Korie said. “He wants to work.”

“He’s bored,” Williger said. “And he’s got this thing going with the

Quillas.”

“I thought he was over that.”

Williger jiggled her hand in an “iffy” gesture. “Armstrong doesn’t

understand intimacy. The Quillas are a fascinating mystery to him.” She

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TheTroubleWithTribblesthebirth,sale,andfinalproductionofoneepisodeDavidGerroldIllustrationsbyTimKirkBenBellaBooksDallas,TXCopyright©1973byDavidGeroldAllrightsreserved.FirstBenBellaEdition2004BenBellaBooks6440NCentralExpySuite617Dallas,TX75206ContentsChapters1-3ofBloodandFire6thethirdbookintheStarWol...

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