STAR TREK: TOS #80 - The Joy Machine Page 2

  “Everything happens for the best,” he said softly to himself, “in this best of all possible worlds.”

  By the time he had arrived at his villa, a wide, [12] rambling, one-story white building, he had worked up a pleasant, physical glow. In front, surrounded by a low, white stone wall, as if for definition rather than protection, was a well-tended garden. The villa was situated on a hilltop overlooking the deep blue of the ocean below. He nodded at the uniformed policeman standing beside the gate. “Joy, ’Lone,” he said.

  “Joy to you, sir,” the policeman said. And then his face expressed instant regret. “I’m sorry, sir,” he said. “I meant—”

  “I know what you meant, ’Lone,” Marouk said kindly. “I will accept it as a wish for the future.”

  He entered the open doorway of his villa. There were no locks on Timshel, nor even any closed doors. Before he could announce his presence, he was attacked by a bundle of energy with twining arms and legs. After disentangling himself he held at arm’s length a young girl—perhaps ten years old, with short, dark hair, a freckled nose, and green eyes. “Noelle,” he said, in mock dismay, “what have I done to deserve this?”

  “By being the best daddy in the whole galaxy,” the girl said, and she wrapped herself around Marouk once more.

  “And what have you been doing all day?” Marouk asked, once she had quieted. They walked, side by side, with their arms around each other from the tiled entrance hall into the living room that spanned the entire width of the villa. On the front, patio doors opened onto the garden; on the back, similar doors revealed a random-stone deck overlooking the ocean below and, below a steep cliff, a beach of white sand.

  “Studying,” Noelle said, “trying to make you proud of me and worthy of being a citizen of Timshel. The best place in the whole galaxy,” she concluded triumphantly.

  “I can see,” Marouk said, laughing, “that you’ve got the right attitude already.”

  An older girl, perhaps fifteen, looked up from an [13] old-fashioned printed book she was reading where she was curled up at the end of a sofa facing the fireplace on the far wall. Shelves lined the entire wall on either side of the fireplace. Most of them were filled with the slender cases of information disks, but one shelf was devoted to books—perhaps two dozen of them. Even their impervious plastic spines showed evidence of frequent use over the centuries.

  “How about you, Tandy?” Marouk asked. “Do you want to be worthy, too?”

  “Hello, Daddy,” Tandy said, glancing up from the page in which she had been absorbed. “I know I’m worthy,” she said. “I just want Timshel to be worthy of me.”

  “And so it shall,” Marouk said, “if I have anything to do with it.”

  From the entryway behind them, a woman’s voice said, “And my dear Kemal has everything to do with it.”

  “We shall see,” Marouk said. “But it is heartwarming, Mareen,” he added, smiling, “to find such confidence in the person who knows me best.”

  He went to her with three quick steps, hugged her, and kissed her. She was a slender, youthful woman, and it was clear where their daughters had got their beauty. Marouk was tall and rugged, with an olive complexion and a prominent nose, but no one would have called him handsome. People with him for more than a few moments, however, forgot about his appearance in the mesmerism of his intellect and charm.

  As Marouk and Mareen walked away, their hands clasped, an observer would have had no difficulty identifying their affection for each other, even their passion undiminished by the years. They walked across the hallway that led from the entrance to the kitchen and dining area overlooking the ocean. On the other side, through a wide doorway, they entered a study.

  [14] The room had the garden smell of flowers and green growing things. Mixed with that was the scent of leather and of plastic impregnated with the magnetic switches of information. All around them were shelved disks and spooled data in boxes, interspersed with darkened vision screens and disk readers. They sank down onto a leather sofa.

  “How did it go, Kemal?” Mareen asked, but her tone indicated that the question carried a greater weight of meaning than the innocent words suggested.

  Marouk shrugged. “As well as could be expected.”

  “He’s coming?”

  “The Enterprise is on its way.”

  “And what does he expect to find?”

  “Something terrible, no doubt.”

  “I think he is in for a surprise.”

  Marouk nodded. “I hope he can survive it,” he said, and he reached out his arm and hugged his wife to him with an urgency that bordered on desperation.

  Spock, McCoy, and Scotty waited with Kirk in the transporter room. McCoy was scowling. Kirk knew what McCoy thought of the transporter. For the doctor the room was filled with the ghosts of a thousand humans and aliens who had passed through this room to their fates: disintegration and analysis and materialization in a distant place. Bodies had come and gone, leaving their immaterial essences behind, and most of them had returned—though who can say that the same persons came back who left this room. Exact duplicates, certainly, but what of that which could not be measured or analyzed? What of the personality? What of the “I”? What of the soul, for those who still believed?

  Every being who stepped onto the transporter platform had to wonder, and even those who had done it a dozen times, or a hundred, must nurse to themselves a lingering doubt as to whether they were the persons they had always been or if, over the years, [15] even if the process was nearly perfect, a hair here or a cell there had been added or subtracted, if the microscopic errors that must occur in every electronic process did not add up, over time, to macroscopic differences. What if a stray cosmic particle struck the computer at the wrong moment? What if a single tiny semiconductor among millions failed? What if a once-in-a-lifetime glitch bypassed the fail-safe procedures?

  For people like McCoy all the what-ifs balled up in their stomachs, and even if they accepted their chances as part of their jobs, they still had to wonder when they were alone, when they were dropping off to sleep, if the persons in their places were really, truly them.

  Kirk said, “Well, Scotty, what have you got for me?” He had changed his normal uniform for a white tunic, Grecian in appearance.

  “What Spock here calls the phase maneuver.”

  “Spock?” Kirk asked.

  “He suggested it,” Scotty said sourly. “But I found a way to make it work.”

  “And what is the phase maneuver?”

  Scotty looked at Spock, who stood at the transporter controls. “If we could go in and out of warp within a space of a second or two, the ship should be undetectable,” Spock said.

  “With only a couple of seconds in normal space,” Scotty said, “a sensory system might notice a small disturbance but wouldn’t have time to focus on what it was, and such matters tend to get dismissed as anomalies. Averaged out.”

  “I can see that,” Kirk said. “But can you rig the engines to cycle that rapidly?”

  “I’ve already tried it out, and it seems to work.”

  “Except,” McCoy said, “it seems to nauseate normal humans.” He shot a glance at Spock.

  “As a matter of fact,” Kirk said, “I did notice a couple of moments of stomach churning a while back, [16] but I thought—Well, it doesn’t matter what I thought. What about using the transporter?”

  “It is only a matter of tying the transporter process to the phase maneuver so that they occur in sequence. A bit risky, perhaps,” Spock said, “but since I seem to be unaffected by the phenomenon I can monitor the procedure to make certain that accidents do not occur.”

  “Then everything seems to be ready except for Uhura,” Kirk said.

  “Then we are ready,” Uhura said, entering the room with a box held out before her. “Here, Captain, is your edge.” She nodded at his garment. “Maybe it will offset those bare legs and sandals.”

  “I wasn’t going to say anything about that,” McC
oy said.

  “Some men are not equipped by nature to wear kilts or anything that exposes their knees,” Scotty added, smiling for the first time.

  Kirk grimaced and took the box from her. He opened it. Nestled in it like an expensive wristwatch was a silver bracelet. In the middle, glowing transparently red, was a large synthetic ruby. Kirk admired it. “Very good,” he said, turning it around in his hands. “It looks like a perfect imitation of the Timshel decoration.”

  “But it isn’t,” Uhura said. “The jewel is really a device that can record up to twelve hours and, together with the bracelet, serve as a transmitter capable of releasing twelve hours of recording in a single burst. We can record it here and slow it down for comprehensibility.”

  “So we can time it with our phase maneuver,” Scotty said, “to pop out of warp space, pick up the recording, and pop back in.”

  “Exactly,” Uhura said.

  “Then it seems as if it’s time for me to go,” Kirk said, as he slipped the bracelet onto his wrist and adjusted it.

  [17] He made a movement toward the stage, but McCoy stopped him with a hand on his arm. “I wish you’d reconsider, Jim,” he said. “Let one of us go instead.”

  “I’m uniquely qualified.”

  “I don’t like it,” McCoy said. “Timshel is too benign, and the deadliest threats lurk in the most innocent disguises. Those agents should have reported back by now.”

  “Haven’t you ever had such a great time on leave that you never wanted it to end?” Kirk said, smiling.

  “Just remember,” he said, stepping onto the platform and taking his position. “I have not only Uhura’s recorder”—he held up his wrist—“but another edge. Nobody knows I’m coming.” He motioned toward Spock. “Ready when you are.”

  Spock looked at Scotty, who nodded, a bit apprehensively. Spock looked at Kirk. “Goodbye, Captain—and good luck.” He pushed a button. A look of nausea swept the other faces in the room, and then Kirk’s image flickered and was gone in a shimmer of suspended particles.

  A ghost had descended into the night below.

  [subspace carrier wave transmission]

 

  >response

  starship<

 

  >sub-traffic confidential accepted<

  Chapter Two

  Dannie

  IN A CORNER of the garden, the air shimmered. The policeman on duty at the gate felt a sudden puff of wind against his face, and turned his head in that direction. A man stood on a cobblestone walk that threaded its way between a bed of yellow tulips on one side and a cluster of bloodred alien blossoms on the other. In the evening shadows only the pale blur of a face and the traditional Timshel tunic could have been discerned with any certainty.

  “Sir,” the policeman said.

  The man on the walkway turned his head. “Were you speaking to me?”

  “This is a private residence,” the policeman said. “I must ask you to identify yourself and leave the premises.”

  “I am a friend of the Marouks.”

  “I have not been informed that they were expecting guests,” the policeman said politely. “I will ask you once more to identify yourself and leave the premises.”

  “A citizen of Timshel has an inalienable right of free access,” the man in the garden said.

  [20] “And since when does a Timshel citizen refuse to obey the commands of a legally constituted authority?” the policeman asked. “And dress in this antique fashion?”

  “The way I dress surely is a matter for me alone to decide,” the man in the garden said, “and since when is a legally constituted authority assigned to guard a private residence?”

  “If you do not know the answer to that question, you are no citizen,” the policeman said. “For the third time, I ask—”

  “Your interference surely will not be welcomed by the Marouks whom you claim to serve,” the man in the garden began when the glass doors opened behind him and a woman stepped out into the garden, shading her eyes from the light of the room behind her.

  “Jim, are you still out there?”

  “Yes, Mareen,” Kirk said.

  “You know this man?” the policeman asked Mareen.

  “Of course,” Mareen said. “He just went for a walk in the garden to cool off. He’s a friend of ours, Jim Kirk. Show him every courtesy, ’Lone.”

  “And thanks for your vigilance toward my friends,” Kirk said to the policeman as walked toward the light and the silhouette of the slender woman standing in front of it. “They are in good hands.” He put his arms around the woman and hugged her.

  “Thanks, Mareen,” he said softly, and kissed her cheek. They went into the living room together, and Mareen shut the door behind them against the coolness of the evening. “But how did you know—?” he asked.

  “Kemal said you would be arriving soon,” Mareen said. “And you know Kemal—he is seldom wrong. When I heard voices in the garden, I guessed that you had shown up.”

  “You see what it is to have a loyal mate,” Marouk [21] said. He was standing by the fireplace, where he had been studying the spines of the old-fashioned books, as if they had the power to speak to him of Earth itself. “I have always said that the one thing you lack to make your life complete is a wife.”

  Kirk shrugged. “There is only one Mareen,” he said. Marouk nodded his appreciation of the compliment. “You were expecting me?” Kirk added.

  “Who else would the Federation send to find out why Timshel has imposed a quarantine upon itself?”

  “Two agents to begin with,” Kirk said.

  “And then Captain Kirk to find out what has happened to them. And the timing was calculable: a year to send the first agent, nine months to send the next. How long would the Federation wait to send the inimitable Captain Kirk?”

  “Three months to the day,” Kirk agreed. “But what happened here?”

  Marouk moved from the fireplace to take Kirk’s hand. “My old friend,” he said, “we’re not living up to the Timshel reputation for hospitality. Something to eat, or drink?”

  “Some of that famous Timshel coffee, perhaps,” Kirk said.

  “Of course,” Mareen said. “I should have remembered your fondness for our local variety.”

  “The soil, the air—something about Timshel gives it a special aroma and an even more special flavor,” Kirk said, “as it does to the Timshel way of life itself.” As Mareen turned and left the room, Kirk said to Marouk, “You haven’t answered my question.”

  Before Marouk could answer, he was interrupted by the arrival of a young woman bearing a steaming cup of coffee, followed by a still younger woman almost dancing in her eagerness to greet Kirk.

  “Let me introduce you to a couple of admirers,” Marouk said. “This is Tandy and this is Noelle,” he said with obvious pride.

  [22] “I can’t believe it,” Kirk said, accepting the cup from Tandy. “How long has it been—five, six years? You’ve both grown up: you’re women!”

  Tandy extended her hand to be shaken, but Kirk swept her into a hug with his free arm. As if relieved of the necessity to be grown-up, she put her arms around him, and hugged him with unfeigned fondness while Noelle grabbed him from the other side and kissed his cheek.

  “Careful,” Kirk said, holding his cup aloft.

  “I was only four,” Noelle said, “but I can still remember the visits from the glamorous Starfleet officer. And now you’re a captain. Famous and even more glamorous. I was in love with you. Tandy too, but she’s too old to admit it.”

  “Shut up, Noelle,” Tandy said, but she smiled as she detached herself and walked to join her father. “And let the poor man drink his coffee.”

  Reluctantly, Noelle released her grip on Kirk, but when he sat down on the sofa, she sat down beside him, possessively. Kirk looked around the room as if renewing old impressions while he sniffed the aroma rising from his cup and smiled appreciatively. He took a sip. “It’s been a
long time,” he said, “and you can’t imagine my dismay when I learned that the quarantine included exports. No more Timshel coffee. But you still haven’t answered my question.”

  “Later,” Marouk said, nodding toward Noelle.

  “At least tell me what happened to my—predecessors,” Kirk said.

  “Nothing,” Marouk said. “The first, Stallone Wolff, is the policeman on guard at our gate.”

  “I should have recognized him,” Kirk said.

  “Men look different in uniform.”

  “And the second?” Kirk said, hiding his apprehension in a show of unconcern.

  “I’m here, Jim,” a woman’s voice said.

  Kirk turned, nearly spilling his coffee. Standing in [23] the doorway beside a smiling Mareen was a woman who looked as if she had just stepped out of a cube of glass.

  “Dannie!” Kirk said.

  The beautiful, dark-haired young woman was dressed in jeans and a blue workshirt that didn’t entirely conceal the womanly curves of her slender figure. She smiled as if pleased by her surprise. The smile transformed her face into something angelic, and Kirk put down his cup and walked quickly to her.

  “Dannie,” he said again, and put his arms around her to pull her to him.

  “Jim,” she said softly, and kissed him.

  Kirk gave himself up to the pleasure of the moment, feeling the softness of her lips on his, the pressures of her body molding itself to his. Then he pulled himself back to look at her. “What happened here?” he asked. He looked down at her attire, as if to include it in his question. She had always dressed in current fashion.

  “Nothing,” she said. “And everything.”