Probe [Margeret Wander Bonanno] (fb2) читать постранично, страница - 3

pure, but on the whole, things on planet Earth were pretty much back to normal.

As were things aboard the Enterprise.

"Available twentieth-century selections coming up on-screen now, Doctor." The thickly accented voice belonged to Commander Pavel Chekov, who sat at the science station before McCoy, punching buttons. "A very important period in the history of Western music. Significant composers include"-he paused the scrolling display for McCoy to read some of the names listed there- "Shostakovich, Prokofiev, Miaskovsky, Strauss. ." He frowned at the display a moment, then continued reading. "Khachaturian, Volkonsky. ."

McCoy leaned over the display and laid a hand on his shoulder. "Do I detect a slight bias here, Mr. Chekov?"

"Bias, sir?" Chekov turned back to McCoy, the look of puzzlement so pronounced that the doctor couldn't help but wonder if it, like the occasional thickening of the Russian's accent, was 100 percent genuine and not at least partly the continuation of a "game" that had started in his days as an ensign on the old Enterprise. But then, McCoy thought ruefully, there were those who had voiced similar suspicions about himself and his exchanges with Spock. There were even times, after all the years and adventures, when he himself would be hard put to give an unequivocal answer.

"Almost every one of the composers you've mentioned is Russian, Mr. Chekov," McCoy pointed out.

Chekov shrugged. "It is a well-known fact, Doctor. Russian contribution toward twentieth-century Western music is substantial. Concepts of atonality, dissonant harmony, computer-generated composition. ."

McCoy leaned back against the guardrail circling the bridge's command deck and tuned out the musicalhistory lesson. Half an hour ago, he'd come to the bridge, planning to take advantage of Starbase One's extensive facilities to update the ship's on-board musical library. Chekov had been on duty and immediately volunteered to aid the doctor in his task. So far, much to McCoy's consternation, their review of Starbase One's selection had produced little that was not tinged with a distinctly Slavic flavor.

"Shall I instruct the computer to initiate transfer?" Chekov asked. "I would suggest a sampling of some of the recent interpretations of Shostakovich's works in particular."

"No, no," McCoy said. "Let's skip ahead, Chekov. I'm interested in more recent compositions."

"As you wish, Doctor." Chekov swiveled back to the science station. "Twenty-third-century works now coming up on-screen."

"Ah," McCoy said. Now that was more like it. He smiled, recognizing most of the names now scrolling by. "Now this is music. Salet of Vulcan, Evanston, Penalt-" He frowned. "Vigelshevsky?"

"Anton Wigelshevsky, Doctor," Chekov said. "Why, he is this century's most famous composer of electronic music. His wariations on a theme by Prokofiev-1 cannot believe you have not heard of him."

Before McCoy could give his opinion of "all that electronic hooting and braying," he was rescued by the sound of the bosun's whistle.

"Probably Dr. Chapel," he said, stepping quickly to the captain's chair and toggling on a switch. "I promised her the five-dollar tour of the new sickbay before we shipped out."

But it wasn't Chapel.

Instead, the viewscreen before them filled with the image of a dark-haired Starfleet ensign.

"Starfleet Operations. Admiral Cartwright for Captain Kirk."

Chekov and McCoy frowned at each other. McCoy spoke first. "The captain isn't here. But I understood he already had an appointment to meet with the admiral later this afternoon."

"Thank you," the aide said brusquely. "One moment."

The screen darkened for a few seconds, then the aide reappeared. "If the captain checks in, please have him contact the admiral immediately. Starfleet out."

The screen went dark again and stayed that way. McCoy frowned. "Now what do you suppose that was all about?"

"Captain!" Sulu called, bounding out of the shadow of the Sciences building where a maintenance robot was polishing the structure's transparent aluminum facing.

Kirk smiled as the helmsman caught up and fell into step beside him. The two strolled across the broad, sunny plaza of Starfleet Command HQ Central. "Mr. Sulu, where've you been? I've been trying to get in touch with you all day."

"Out enjoying the city." Sulu grinned, all enthusiasm. "It wasn't much fun when the rain was coming down, but it's sure had some beautiful side effects. So, ready for the grand tour of Chinatown?"

"Er. . that's what I've been trying to get in touch with you about. I'm afraid our little outing will have to be delayed for a while. Cartwright's schedule cleared, and I managed to get in to see him early."

"No problem, Captain." Sulu's expression remained doggedly cheerful. "I don't mind waiting out here in the sunshine."

"Why don't you come along?" Kirk paused at the entrance to Headquarters and motioned the helmsman inside. "It certainly won't hurt to have someone else there to support my case."

Sulu paused in the doorway, dark eyes wide. "If you're sure the admiral won't mind. ."

"He won't mind," Kirk said easily. He felt certain Cartwright had already chosen the Enterprise to lead the exploration; it would simply be a matter of the admiral's announcing the fact, and Kirk's thanking him. Cartwright certainly wouldn't have managed to clear time so quickly in order to argue against it. "I asked for the meeting, after all."

They walked briskly to the central turbolift; within one minute, no more, they stood at the outer office leading to Cartwright's. The admiral's door was shut, but an aide rose at the sight of Kirk and Sulu.

"Captain Kirk to see Admiral Cartwright," Kirk announced confidently, smiling pleasantly at the aide.

But the aide-a young human female with dark hair and features severe enough to be Vulcan-did not smile; in fact, she looked decidedly worried. "Captain Kirk, sir. The admiral's been trying to reach you." She pressed a

toggle on her desk console. "Admiral, Captain Kirk is here."

The admiral's door slid open.

Cartwright's mellow baritone filtered through the intercom. "Tell him to come in."

Kirk raised his eyebrows in surprise and nodded at Sulu, who glanced uncertainly at the aide, then followed the captain into Cartwright's inner sanctum. The aide's protests were cut off as the door snapped shut behind Kirk and Sulu.

They were greeted by a second surprise: Cartwright was not alone. The admiral sat, not at his desk, but at a nearby conference table across from the white-haired President of the Federation Council. And from their furrowed brows, it was clear that whatever had come up was serious indeed.

"Admiral. Mr. President." Kirk nodded in turn at each man; Sulu followed suit. "I believe you both know my helmsman, Commander Sulu."

Cartwright gave a distracted nod, barely glanced at Sulu; the President looked as if he were about to object to the commander's presence, then changed his mind and released a small smile of welcome.

"Gentlemen, sit." Cartwright motioned for them to take a chair. "I know, Captain, that we were supposed to meet about an entirely different subject, but there's something I want you to hear." He rose, went over to his desk, and stooped to press a control.

A burst of static erupted from the console speakers; Cartwright grimaced. "Sorry. The transmission's of poor quality because we had to hyperaugment the volume, and his voice is distorted because of the scrambling devices used."

Kirk strained to sift the words from the static.

"To friends across the Neutral Zone: I have news. You would know it soon enough through normal channels, but better you hear it now, for it has already changed relations between us. The Praetor is dead."

Jim Kirk glanced sharply at Cartwright, who nodded slowly.

"For a time," the distant voice went on, "there will be chaos in the Empire. There is opportunity amidst this chaos, to be sure: perhaps an understanding between our two peoples can be reached. Bring this news to all among you inclined to work for peace, and be wary of those who would stop its spread or distort its meaning: unfortunately, censorship is one of the many things our empires have in common."

The static increased, gradually drowning out the transmission. Cartwright pushed the control, ending the message.

"How recent is this report, Admiral?" Sulu asked.

"As recent as a subspace squirt from the heart of the Empire received at three this morning," Cartwright answered, his sculpted, dark face looking ashen, suggesting that it had gotten him out of bed and he'd been hounding the decoders from that time to the present.

Kirk shook his head skeptically. "There've been rumors of