Ishmael
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About this ebook
The USS Enterprise is on a peaceful mission at Starbase 12 when a bizarre cosmic phenomenon causes a Klingon ship to suddenly vanish—with Spock aboard for the ride. Spock’s last message from the Klingon ship is cryptic and frightening. The Klingons are traveling into the past, searching for the one man who holds the key to the furure. If they can kill that man, the course of history will be changed—and the Federation will be destroyed!
Barbara Hambly
Barbara Hambly (b. 1951) is a New York Times bestselling author of fantasy and science fiction, as well as historical novels set in the nineteenth century. After receiving a master’s degree in medieval history, she published The Time of the Dark, the first novel in the Darwath saga, in 1982, establishing herself as an author of serious speculative fiction. Since then she has created several series, including the Windrose Chronicles, Sun Wolf and Starhawk series, and Sun-Cross series, in addition to writing for the Star Wars and Star Trek universes. Besides fantasy, Hambly has won acclaim for the James Asher vampire series, which won the Locus Award for best horror novel in 1989, and the Benjamin January mystery series, featuring a brilliant African-American surgeon in antebellum New Orleans. She lives in Los Angeles.
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Reviews for Ishmael
147 ratings11 reviews
- Rating: 5 out of 5 stars5/5Hands down my favorite ST:TOS novel. I still re-read this every few years. You wouldn't think Star Trek could meet Here Comes the Brides successfully, but this ties the two together well. Such a treat for those of us raised on TV westerns AND Star Trek!
- Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5During a layover at Starbase Twelve the Enterprise crew investigates suspicious activity surrounding a Klingon ore freighter which seems to be more than it appears. As they follow it into the Tau Eridani Cloud, the Klingon ship suddenly vanishes . . . with Spock still on board. And on Earth in 1867, a frontier businessman encounters an amnesiac stranger in the woods — one with pointed ears and green blood coming from his wounds.
Barbara Hambly's book is unique among the many novels in the Star Trek Pocket Book series. Unlike the others set in the Star Trek universe, Hambly situates many of the events in a different fictional world, that of the ABC television show Here Come the Brides which ran for two seasons in the late 1960s. To be honest I'm not a fan of such a conceit (and her insertion of thinly-veiled characters and references from other television shows and sci-fi franchises didn't help), but Hambly makes it work here, thanks to the strength of her characterization and her storytelling skills. There's also an underlying joke in her use of the series that proved rather clever once I understood what it was, and which highlighted the amount of work she put into realizing it. The overall result is somewhat different from most other Star Trek novels, yet it is that difference which makes it such a fresh and enjoyable read. - Rating: 5 out of 5 stars5/5This may be my favorite among the Star Trek books that I own. I love how we meet another one of Spock's ancestors.
- Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5A fun, light read with Hambly indulging in a mash-up (before the term was invented) between classic Star Trek and Here Come the Brides.
1 person found this helpful
- Rating: 5 out of 5 stars5/5This is a really fun book combining two 1960s TV shows - Star Trek and Here Come the Brides. It starts with the Enterprise at a Starbase when Spock becomes suspicious of some Klingon activity. He has snuck aboard their ship to investigate when the ship leaves and then vanishes, right after the Enterprise receives a puzzling transmission from him. The next time we see Spock he is in 1867 Seattle badly injured, with no memory and no idea how he got there. Spock is rescued and nursed back to health by Aaron Stemple, a local mill owner. Aaron quickly realizes that Spock is not of the Earth but it doesn't seem to make any difference to him. Once Spock has recovered, Aaron gives him the name Ishmael, an identity as his nephew, and a job as his accountant. Spock, as Ishmael, begins to get acquainted with the townspeople and build a life. He gets occasional flashes of memory and feels that there is something important that he is supposed to do. I loved seeing Spock's human side come out, as he didn't know to repress it. There is enough of his true self there that his logical mannerisms and speech are evident and create some very humorous moments. One of my favorites is when he and Josh are engaged in a mock battle involving spoons, catapults, tea cups and a lump of sugar. Spock's mental comment to himself is: “and besides, he had no intention of allowing a human to win at this game…”The setting is Seattle during the time of Here Come the Brides and the characters are all recognizable from the show. The Bolt brothers, some of the women such as Candy, Lottie and Biddy, and Aaron himself. I really enjoyed seeing Spock's unintended influence on them as he simply accepts things that are foreign ideas to them. I loved his complete acceptance of the idea of a woman doctor when it was something nearly unheard of to them, yet his attitude influenced their changing perceptions. His biggest influence ends up being on Aaron himself, who finds himself changing thanks to Spock. There is also an interesting connection between Spock and one of the residents of Seattle.There is some time spent with the crew of the Enterprise as they work feverishly to figure out what the Klingons are up to and where Spock is. Kirk's worry about his friend and fears that he is dead are a prime motivator for him. His connections enable him to find people/beings who are able to assist him in his search. He is assisted by Bones, Uhura and Sulu as they skate along the edges of the rules. As is usual, they prevail just in the nick of time.An interesting bit of trivia: In the TV show Here Come the Brides, Aaron Stemple is played by Mark Lenard, the same actor who portrays Spock's father in the TV show and Star Trek movies.
1 person found this helpful
- Rating: 5 out of 5 stars5/5When I was 16, I discovered Star Trek, and wanting more than the 79 episodes I sought out the novels - soon discovering that quality varied wildly, from dead-on characterizations and very good writing to really bad generic sci fi novels couched in ST to make an extra buck. One of the good ones, one of the really, really good ones was by Barbara Hambly - talk about your excellent fanfic! Ishmael is, though I had no idea when I first read it or for a long time after, a crossover story, in which Spock is captured by Klingons and winds up through a sequence of events that make perfect sense if you're a Trekkie back in Seattle of 1867. It was only years later that I discovered (I think because of Bjo Trimble) that the characters he encounters in the tiny logging town of Seattle weren't Ms. Hambly's inventions but characters from another TV series: "Here Come the Brides". It was a series starting in 1968, starring Robert Brown, David Soul (yes, that David Soul), Bobby Sherman (yes, that Bobby Sherman) - and Mark Lenard, aka Sarek of Vulcan. (Hence part of the joy of the crossover.) I'd never heard of it, and I don't think I've heard of it since apart from fannish mentions in connection with the book. The wonderful thing is – it's available on Netflix. When worlds collide… This is one my old favorite comfort books, a perfect Star Trek novel which introduced me to Ms. Hambly – for which I will forgive almost all of the vagaries of the rest of the novel series. This one's a wonder, whether or not you know anything about "Here Come the Brides".
1 person found this helpful
- Rating: 5 out of 5 stars5/5just plain fun, and an intersting look at the beginnings of Seattle Washington's history.
- Rating: 5 out of 5 stars5/5Always fun. I love the various references in it - I know I'm missing some (or seeing them but can't identify them). And it was well after I first read the book that I found the main setting was a TV show - Bridal Veil Mountain (I don't know if that's the actual title). Still haven't seen any of the show, though I'd like to. The two Dr. Whos, Bonanza, Battlestar Galactica - is the spice smuggler from Dune or Star Wars? And was the gambler Paladin - was either of them Paladin, and if so who was the other? Fun puzzles. The story is great - Spock from a different aspect, without his history to support and guide him. I'm a sucker for amnesia stories anyway. And the romance aspects (no, not Spock!), and Biddy standing up for herself - and I love Sarah, though we don't get to see much of her. Jason really needs someone - this is why I want to see the show. The trigger for the crisis makes periect sense; the timing for the cavalry is suspiciously perfect, but that's the only major auctorial meddling I saw. The time loop is amusing, too, particularly since it wasn't intentional at the time. Excellent story - I've read it at least five times and likely more, and fully intend to read it again, and again…
- Rating: 5 out of 5 stars5/5I keep returning to this book at different points in my life. It's a story about the power of friendship that has really made a difference to me, echoing my own experiences and reminding me of that power when I've forgotten it. Rather than transcending the television shows it's based on, I think the book reaches deep into the underlying archetypes in the shows and brings them into startling clarity. Highly recommended -- Billie
- Rating: 5 out of 5 stars5/5What a great way to handle Star Trek - combine it with another period TV show. In this case, Spock is caught in a time jump, and finds himself in frontier Seattle dealing with the characters from "Here Come the Brides." There are also cameos from "Paladin" and "Bonanza." But beyond the novelty of this mix is the excellent writing, the imaginative turn of phrase, the deft handling of characters and their emotions. A favorite.
- Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5Spock time-travels unexpectedly to 1867 Seattle, getting amnesia along the way. Klingons plotting, mostly off-screen. Possible fanon planet name "Khlinzai".
Book preview
Ishmael - Barbara Hambly
Chapter 1
THE SOFT, INQUIRING NOTE OF THE DOOR SIGNAL threaded apologetically into the dimness. Captain James T. Kirk, lying on his neat bunk looking at the ceiling of his quarters, almost didn’t answer it, except that as Captain of the U.S.S. Enterprise he felt obligated to do so, even when officially off duty and presumably asleep.
He had not slept in two nights now. It was, he guessed, close to the end of the third. He had dozed, restlessly, skimming the surface of dreams that repeated the same scenes over and over in a nightmare treadmill of doubts and grief. And the dreams always ended the same way: with that implacable riddle, and final silence stretching away into the darkness of space.
He hoped, for the thousandth time, that Spock was dead.
He should be, he told himself. Twenty-four hours is a long time.
But the other half of his mind whispered treacherously, He’s tough. And the Klingons are very skillful about things like that. Twenty-four hours isn’t all that long.
Kirk closed his eyes, as if that could blot out some hellish inner vision, then opened them again and looked up at the ceiling in the dark. He had stared at it for most of this watch. But if the neutral, shadowy pearl of that surface held any comfort, or any answer, it had not so far manifested them.
The door signal bleeped again. Kirk sighed. It was 0400 hours, the depths of the Enterprise’s artificial night. But then, most of the crew would know that Kirk wasn’t sleeping, and why. He touched the switch beside the bed.
Bones McCoy stood silhouetted in the light of the corridor. When you didn’t answer you got my hopes up,
he remarked accusingly, stepping inside. The door slid shut behind him. Jim, let me . . .
Kirk rolled to a sitting position on the rumpled bunk. If you’re going to offer me a sedative again I’ll have you clapped in irons,
he said tiredly. I don’t need a sedative, I just—need to think.
McCoy’s sharp blue gaze flickered over him, once, like a tricorder taking a reading, and a corner of his mouth twisted down. If that’s what thinking’s done for you I’d recommend the sedative, but it’s up to you.
The small glow of the entry way light brushed an edge of blue from his uniform jersey as he passed under it; then he came to stand beside Kirk’s bunk, looking down at his friend. He said quietly, There was nothing you could have done, Jim.
I know.
Kirk sighed, and ran a tired hand through his hair. It’s just that I keep thinking that there should have been.
On the other side of the room a small green light winked on. Automatically Kirk got to his feet and crossed to the desk. He touched a switch. Kirk here.
Captain?
The night communications officer didn’t seem surprised to find him awake at 0400 hours either. We’ve got Starbase Twelve on visual, sir. ETA 1200.
Pipe in visual, Lieutenant.
The small screen above the desk widened into life.
Kirk stood in silence for a long time, gazing at the aphotic depths of interstellar space. Remote and un-twinkling in the frozen emptiness of that terrible vacuum, stars stared back at him.
Against those endless light-years of nothing, Star-base Twelve hung like a magic Christmas-tree ornament, the gnawed rock ball of the original planetoid sewn over with a silver mesh of the lights of the surface works. An attendant swarm of docked spacecraft surrounded the base like the flashing halo of electrons around an atomic nucleus. There was something warm about it, welcoming—the fires of home.
It had been on Starbase Twelve, thought Kirk, that he had seen Spock for the last time.
Like a lot of last times, he hadn’t expected it to be the last, had not even remotely dreamed of the possibility. Starbase Twelve was a completely routine stop, to deliver a couple of highly ranked astrophysicists and a load of scientific equipment to record the effects of the passage of a wandering white dwarf star through the so-called Tau Eridani Cloud—that vast, amorphous region of ion storms and unexplained gravitational anomalies which was Starbase Twelve’s raison d’être. That evening in the Wonder Bar there had been absolutely no thought in his mind that Spock might not be on the bridge of the Enterprise when they left.
Gazing at the image of the base in the blackness of the tiny screen, he felt like a man who has lost a hand, but continues to reach for things with the stump.
The memory of the Wonder Bar was vividly clear in his mind, cozy and dim and overpriced, with the tinkle of ragtime music in the background and the sweet taste of Aldebaran Depth Charges on his lips. He’d been there with Maria Kellogg, an old friend from his Academy days. McCoy had offered to squire Lieutenant Uhura. Spock had arrived alone, as he was generally alone; and, as usual, he did not drink, saying that if he wished to consume alcohol he could manufacture it far more cheaply in the laboratories of the Enterprise, and have a guarantee of quality as well.
You could probably metabolize it more efficiently if you took it intravenously, too,
commented McCoy, and Spock raised a prim eyebrow.
So I could,
he agreed in his most correct voice. But it has always escaped me why anyone would wish to metabolize alcohol in the first place, much less to do so in the company of strangers who have, perhaps, over metabolized.
At the bar on the other side of the grottolike room, a Gwirinthan astro-gravitational mathematician slid from its barstool to the floor with a squashy thump.
And yet here you are,
Uhura teased him.
Indeed,
Spock replied. Where else would I find such an unparalleled opportunity to observe the vagaries of human behavior?
Uhura laughed, her dark eyes sparkling warmly. Spock leaned back a little in his chair, silhouetted against the red lights of the main room; a tall, thin, catlike shape, watching the human race in all its irrational glory with well-concealed fascination.
Kirk had seen him do this, on hundreds of shore leaves, and on countless evenings in a corner of the main rec room on the Enterprise while Uhura played her harp or Ensign Reilley sang Irish ballads: Spock the observer, the outsider. A Vulcan forced to deal with humans, a cold logician stranded amid the chattering welter of random emotion.
But Spock had saved Kirk’s life and soul and sanity more times than Kirk cared to think about; put himself in danger against hope and logic in situations where Kirk knew his own survival had been despaired of. And all out of an emotion that Spock would have denied to the death that he felt.
A couple of Hokas waddled by, elaborately robed for one of their endless games. Over by the bar voices were raised as a scruffy-looking spice smuggler got involved in an argument over a girl with a pair of brown-uniformed pilots from some down-at-the-heels migrant fleet. McCoy, mellowed with good bourbon, raised his glass and commented, You’ve got to admit, Spock, you’ll never find anything like this in all your logic.
A fact which I find most comforting,
the Vulcan replied. There are times, Doctor, when I feel as though I had been shanghaied by a shipful of Hokas— except that in the case of Hokas, once one has understood the rules of their current system of make-believe, one is fairly certain of what they will do next.
Kirk concealed his snort of laughter at McCoy’s outraged expression behind another Aldebaran Depth Charge. The comparison with that fanciful teddy-bear race was hardly a flattering one. The girl by the bar, he noticed, had watched calmly as the altercation between the pilots and smuggler had degenerated almost to the point of fisticuffs, then finished her drink and departed on the arm of a tall, curly-haired man in the eccentric garb typical of space-tramps—the combatants had continued their quarrel undeterred.
Thinking back on that evening, Kirk could not remember anyone mentioning the Klingon ore transport at all.
He’d made a mental note of it when he’d seen it listed on the base manifest, as a possible source of crew conflicts. It hadn’t seriously concerned him, though. Ore transports, though gigantic, are far too thinly manned to cause much trouble even had its whole crew come ashore at once. The crew of this one had kept to their ship.
Maybe, like Sherlock Holmes’s dog, that was what had tipped off Spock. Something had.
Kirk had been preparing to meet Maria Kellogg the next morning when Spock had contacted him. Power readouts on the ore transport are running suspiciously high,
that deep, rather harsh voice had said over the communicator. There would also seem to be about twice the usual number of crewmen listed. I should like to have a look at the inside of that vessel.
You have a hunch something’s up?
Kirk threw an uneasy glance at the chronometer, settled in its wall niche slightly to the left of the door. The visiting officers’ quarters, like most of the older part of Star-base Twelve, had been remodeled from the far more ancient tunnelings that dated back to the days when the long-vanished Karsid Empire had used this planetoid as a base. Thus the rooms all had the slightly awkward feel of space created for nonhuman proportions, the wall niches all about half a meter lower or higher than they should have been. The chronometer itself said 1000 hours. Spock, Kirk thought, must have been up early. More likely he had sat up late the night before, scanning the readouts for the other ships on the base, curious about which governments were sending what kind of scientific crews to watch the latest fluctuations of the Tau Eridani Cloud and looking for the names of scientists whom he knew.
Instead he had found—what?
Captain,
said Spock severely, Vulcans do not have ’hunches.’ There are enough subliminal clues to add up to a high order of probability that something is, as you say, ’up.’ The base manifest lists the ship simply as an ore transport. The Klingons might be using it for scientific observation of the Tau Eridani Cloud, but why would they do so when they already have two legitimate research teams working on the base?
Kirk’s mind snapped suddenly to something else, with an almost audible mental click. "And the Klingon cruiser Rapache is due within eight hours, he said.
ETA 1800, departure two hours later—no shore leaves."
And the ore transport is scheduled to depart at 1800 hours,
said Spock’s voice thoughtfully. Fascinating.
Personally, Kirk felt less fascinated than he did suspicious and apprehensive. But then, Spock was capable of being sincerely intrigued by processes simultaneously with being sincerely appalled by possible results. Kirk’s own mind was already scouting the ground, ticking off possibilities. Starbase Twelve was in Free Space; not even the base commander had the authority to inspect a properly registered ship. Moreover, on what grounds could he base the request for such a search? That his instincts, and Spock’s instincts, told him that something was afoot? And even if a search was made, who else on the base had Spock’s triple grounding in abstract scientific theory, Klingon computer systems and the workings of the Klingon military mind?
All this went through his mind in a matter of seconds. Then he said, Can you get on board?
Affirmative, Captain. I have made arrangements to go aboard as part of the base technical crew. Our access will theoretically be limited to a very small area of the ship, but it will be possible for me to tap into the computer database.
After a long moment Kirk said quietly, Mr. Spock—you know what that’s called.
As I will be uniformed as a starbase technician, I believe ’espionage’ is the correct term, Captain.
Kirk was silent, rapidly weighing alternatives in his mind and discarding them just as quickly. Kirk had had enough run-ins with alien weapons technology to know that the possibilities were hideously infinite, and the populated heart of the Federation was not so far away as to be out of danger if the Klingons had achieved some kind of major breakthrough. Yet the price of capture was unthinkable, not only to the lone spy himself, but to whoever had sent him. The Klingons had gone to a deal of trouble to keep secret whatever it was they had on the transport—how much more would they go to?
We can’t know that, Kirk thought ironically, until we know what the thing is.
Mr. Spock . . .
He hesitated. The knowledge that the risks involved in investigating the transport weighed small against the potential risks of not investigating made it no easier. If anything went wrong, he thought—if Spock didn’t manage to get off the transport, if he was caught in an area of the ship where he had no right to be, if the Klingons even suspected the motives behind that Vulcan technician’s nosiness— there would be absolutely nothing that Kirk could do to bail him out. Be careful.
Espionage is not something that one does carelessly, Captain,
Spock replied, after due consideration. I will rendezvous with you at 1400 hours. Spock out.
Kirk realized he was still staring half-hypnotized at the small darkness of his cabin viewscreen and the glittering ball of lights that hung suspended in its center. He rubbed his eyes tiredly, and turned to see McCoy still behind him, one shoulder propped against the partition that divided the desk area from the rest of his quarters. The doctor’s cynical features looked very worn in the reflected glow from the screen.
Kirk said quietly, To this day I don’t know what I could have done differently.
Nothing,
said McCoy.
Nothing,
Kirk repeated bitterly. If I had done nothing we’d be exactly where we are now with regards to that transport. Only Spock would still be with us.
He turned to the galley-pipeline mechanism in a corner of the office cubicle, and prodded the coffee button. It didn’t always work, and occasionally what was delivered more closely resembled something that came out of reactor-coolant coils than a coffeepot, but at the moment Kirk was in no mood to seek out the more palatable alternatives available in the rec room or the galley. You want some coffee, Bones? It’s nearly 0500 now and staying up looks simpler than getting up.
The corner of McCoy’s mouth turned down again as the pipeline made an indescribable noise and produced a cup of faintly steaming black fluid. You can put a relief on standby until we reach the base, you know,
he reminded him.
To do what? Hold the con while I stay here and look at the ceiling some more?
Kirk turned away, leaving the coffee untasted to prowl across the narrow confines of his quarters. I’ll be fine, Bones,
he added, more quietly. It’s just that—I’ll be fine.
McCoy watched him keenly from where he still stood beside the desk. Then he said, What about Spock’s transmissions?
Kirk paused in his pacing, his back to the doctor. McCoy’s clinical eye observed the straight line of the spine under the gold jersey, the tightening of the shoulder muscles and the way they relaxed suddenly in a long sigh as the captain turned back toward him. Kirk’s face, usually a little boyish, looked haggard. You know, Bones, if it weren’t for those transmissions sometimes I’d think that transport never existed at all?
McCoy carried the coffee over to him. Here,
he said. Drink this if you’re determined to pollute your bloodstream rather than get the sleep you need. I’ll be back in a few hours with some vitamin B for your breakfast.
Kirk expelled his breath in a faint sound that could have been a laugh, and sipped at the murky brew in the cup. It should take that long for me to figure out what I’m going to report to the base commander,
he said. Then, as the doctor turned to leave, he added, Thank you, Bones.
McCoy paused in the doorway, studying him for a moment without speaking. All that he could have said had been said, by his own presence in the captain’s quarters at a time when, by his own advice, he, too, should have been sleeping. So he turned and left, and Kirk prowled restlessly back to sit on the edge of the bunk, his mind worrying again at the problem of Spock’s transmissions from the Klingon ore transport.
It was there that the half a grain of phylozine that McCoy had slipped into his coffee while his back was turned took hold, and he slid almost without knowing it back into a heavy sleep tortured by too-familiar dreams.
Spock’s first transmission had come as the last of the Enterprise crew members were beaming aboard.
Kirk had returned early to the visiting officers’ quarters on the base, and had paced the oddly shaped rooms like a tiger caged by time. Fourteen hundred hours had come and gone—fifteen hundred. Driven by restlessness, he had had the image of the ore transport piped into his quarters’ viewscreen: an unwieldy black giant of a ship, a floating mountain. In the distance behind it Kirk could glimpse the deadly silver angularity of the Klingon battle cruiser Rapache, which had arrived at the base inexplicably early and was now in orbit, hanging like a hawk upon the winds of night.
Still Spock had not come.
At 1540 Kirk had tapped back into Base Control, to learn that the ore transport had just lumbered out of orbit, and was headed in the direction of the Tau Eridani Cloud.
At 1730 Kirk began canceling shore leaves, calling all personnel unobtrusively back to the Enterprise. After a final, cautious communicator scan of the base he returned to the ship himself and took his post on the bridge, preparing the ship to leave orbit, watching the gleaming shape of the Rapache still riding in its orbit, mentally weighing possibilities against inevitable consequences.
The Rapache was a heavily armed fighting ship, capable of mauling the Enterprise badly in a pitched battle. He had put himself and the Federation in the wrong by sending Spock aboard the transport to begin with. The Klingons didn’t know that, of course, but if they found it out . . . what was their secret worth to them?
He did not want to think about how they might find it out.
Mr. Sulu,
he said quietly. Lay in a course for Alpha Eridani III.
Aye, sir.
The helmsman’s voice was impassive, but Kirk felt the flicker of those dark eyes. The tension that crackled under the bridge crew’s usual calm efficiency was almost strong enough to pick up on a voltmeter. Instinct—or, as Spock would have insisted, subliminal clues—told them that there was something behind this sudden change of course other than new orders from the Fleet.
Kirk studied the wide-range readouts on the small screen on the arm of his chair. A course for Alpha Eridani III would parallel the transport’s along the fringes of the disruptive field of the cloud, but was a perfectly legitimate bearing for a Federation ship. The Klingons might have their suspicions, but could hardly prove that the Enterprise had some reason to follow the transport. If the transport changed course, Kirk knew, and headed deeper into the cloud, he would have the choice of abandoning the pursuit or playing tag with some unknown weapon through that mazelike welter of shifting navigation points with the Rapache very likely on his back—neither of which course of action would help Spock any.
With a sudden harsh crack of static the Enterprise communicator came to life. Even through the distortion, Spock’s voice was recognizable. The message was short.
White dwarf, Khlaru, Tillman’s Factor, Guardian.
A flash of static, and silence. The whole had taken less than two seconds of transmit time.
What—
Kirk began, and Uhura said, It’s a generalized subspace broadcast from the direction of the Tau Eridani Cloud, Captain.
The dark wings of her brows pulled together. Was that—
That was Mr. Spock, Lieutenant. He’s aboard that Klingon ore transport. He had only a hand communicator. . . .
He could have wired it through their communications system via a centralized computer,
said the communications officer thoughtfully. Only—transports don’t carry that type of sophisticated equipment.
No,
said Kirk grimly, they don’t. Did you get a tape?
She touched a button, rose from her station to hand him a tiny spool.