IN A FLASH
by Beverly A. Hale
Stardate 2919.73 We are presently engaged in negotiations with the Kalonari regarding entry into the Federation of Planets. The planetary system is rich in a variety of minerals useful to the Federation and is situated close enough to Federation trade routes to make Kalony a very desirable ally. Unfortunately, though they are always extremely polite to our envoys, the Kalonari have, to date, resisted all offers of alliance or trade pacts. We are at a loss to understand what makes them so resistant.
"I can't decide which I'd rather do first," McCoy grumbled as he left the transporter pad. "Get out of this fancy straight jacket . . ." He tugged at the tight collar on his dress uniform. ". . . or find something strong to wash away the taste of that battery acid the Kalonari served as dinner."
The first officer followed after him, eyebrow raised. "Doctor, although the refreshments served by our hosts would not be considered extremely palatable by most human taste standards, it has been thoroughly analyzed and is not only harmless, but nutritious. The term 'battery acid' is therefore both inaccurate and potentially hazardous to the delicate negotiations we---"
McCoy turned a glare back at him. "Shut up, Spock."
"I was simply endeavoring to inform you of the inherent prob---"
"Of all the long-winded, pointy-eared---"
"Bones! Spock!" James Kirk stepped quickly between them. "I've got enough problems trying to imitate a diplomat without having to negotiate peace on my own ship." He rubbed the back of his neck, stretched and smiled wearily. "We've offered them everything we're permitted to discuss, I don't know what else to try." With a shrug he slapped his medical officer on the back. "Doctor," he said, "I think I'll join you for that drink. What do you say to prescribing some of that Saurian brandy you're always hoarding?"
"Lord, no! No alcohol! After spending the evening sitting around in those big glass tubs of red goo, the Kalonari began to resemble a bar full of giant bloody-marys with wilted celery stalks in them." McCoy shivered. "It's almost enough to make a man give up drinking."
The
"I imagine, Captain, that it would insult the---"
"It's a joke, man," McCoy interrupted. "I wonder if green blood is what ruins a species' sense of humor? Those Kalonari don't seem to have any either. Probably related to Vulcans, too."
Spock arched an eyebrow. "There is presently no evidence, DNA or otherwise, to suggest that Kalonari and Vulcan genomes are in anywise related. However, I would expect such implausible speculations from---"
"Enough! Enough already." Kirk raised both hands. "Bones, how about coffee?" He looked to his first officer after the doctor nodded. "Care to join us?"
"Thank you, no, Captain. I shall return to my quarters." With a slight inclination of his head, Spock turned and left. The other two followed him out of the transporter room.
Kirk scraped his teeth across his tongue. "Black coffee. Strong enough, I hope, to kill the taste of dinner."
"What do you bet," asked McCoy, leaning to whisper in Kirk's ear, "that Spock is going to go gargle?"
Kirk tried not to laugh.
#
"Dammit, Sulu! Cut it out!"
"I can't see anything but spots!"
"Stick that in my face again and I'll make you eat it, Sulu!"
Mass protests continued around the rec room as crewmen blinked and squinted while trying to dodge flashes of light. Some threw up their hands or turned away, a few went so far as to duck under tables to escape the unwanted attention of the navigator.
"Hold still," Sulu ordered, waving a pair of hapless ensigns back against the wall, "you're spoiling my composition. A man tries to create art and what does he get? Praise? No. Even minimal cooperation? No." His deep sigh was greeted with a series of hisses and catcalls. "No artist," he added dolefully, "is ever appreciated in his own time." The hail of crumpled disposable cups landed before he'd finished the last word.
"And what does a flashing box have to do with art?" Riley asked. "Or are you just blinding people so they can't critique your work?"
"It's not a box, it's a camera, circa 2010, Terra. A replica of an antique my great grandfather had." Sulu turned it over in his hands, gazing down at it fondly. "35mm, single-lens reflex, interchangeable lens, auto-wind, zoom---"
"Sulu's got another hobby," someone groaned.
"Photography is not just a hobby," Sulu protested.
"Big deal." Riley was clearly goading his friend. "A tricorder can take pictures, and it tapes and analyzes the data as well. And anyone can use a tricorder."
"A tricorder doesn't create art, it just . . . records data. There's no creativity, no imagination, no---"
"No hassles, no troubles, no flashes," Uhura added, smiling to ease the words. She reached out for the camera. "How does it work?"
"Actually it's an improvement over the original." He beamed as proudly as a new parent. "I had them add a few things, like this button. I can produce instant photos when I push it, or develop the film myself. I've got all the processing equipment in my quarters, and various filters and lenses." Quickly, he took back his camera. "I'll show you how it operates---Smile!"
"How long does it take to get the picture?" Uhura asked, blinking furiously. "And how long until I can see again?"
"Oh, the spots will clear in a minute, but the photo should be ready any second now." There was a small buzz and a square of heavy paper slid out the bottom of the apparatus. Sulu glanced at it and handed it to her. "It looks great, just like you."
Uhura eyed the picture with a frown, then stared up at him. "If I look like that, I am suffering from Denebian swamp rot." She faked a swoon into a handy seat. "Call the doctor."
"Someone need a doctor?" McCoy called, heading for the group.
Quickly coming out of her collapse, Uhura gracefully rose and handed McCoy the photo. "Tell me I don't look like that. Sulu took it."
"He's got a new hobby, right?" The doctor stared solemnly at the photograph. "Son," he drawled, "I think y'all ought ta go back ta Botany."
#
In frustration, Kirk shuffled through the different readers scattered across his desk. Nothing there seemed to help. Negotiations were going badly---very badly. The Kalonari, while unfailingly polite, seemed totally uninterested in anything the Federation permitted him to offer them. He riffled through the stack again: medical, agricultural, engineering advances, all refused. Politely refused, but turned down all the same.
Nor had they been impressed by the offer of Federation protection. In fact, they seemed to find the idea not only unnecessary, but somewhat distasteful. The captain stretched wearily. Why don't I just notify Star Fleet that the mission is a failure? Hell, I never claimed to be a diplomat. The sound of his entry buzzer broke into his reverie.
"Come," he called, rubbing his temples, grateful for the interruption.
"Jim, you've got to do something about Sulu!" McCoy stormed into the room. "Half the damn ship is up in arms about this."
"What? Sulu?" Kirk asked blearily. "Has he done something to upset the Kalonari?"
"The Kalonari? No, not them. Hell, I wish he had. Maybe they'd drown him in that red goo. I'd be of a mind to help them. Most of the crew would help them." McCoy yanked out a chair and dropped into it.
Still trying to separate Sulu from the situation on Kalony, Kirk asked, "What exactly has he done, Bones? I'm too tired for guessing games."
"It's that damned hobby of his---"
"Botany?"
"No, that was last month, this is photography. Boy's been running around the ship taking 'candid shots.' Hell, a man can't even go to the toilet without Sulu popping out and snapping a picture to commemorate the occasion."
"I know he has a tendency to go a little overboard on his interests," Kirk said, "but surely it's not that bad."
"Jim, I spend all day in a tub of red goo while you talk to celery, and then I spend all the rest of my time dodging your navigator to get any rest or privacy," McCoy argued. "What's worse is that ninety-five percent of his pictures are awful. Most everyone comes out looking like a Tau Cetan dung beetle. But this time---" McCoy slammed a fist against the desk, "Sulu has gone too damn far."
"Blackmail?"
"Worse. Jim, he's selling pin-up posters."
"Pin-up posters?"
"He's enlarged some of his 'photos' to a meter square or more and he's selling them. You'd be surprised to know how many lockers or closets have pictures of various crewmembers. I know some of the crew posed for him, but not nearly all of them volunteered. Hell, Jim, you're on half the bedroom walls of this starship. And Spock is probably on the other half." McCoy smiled grimly.
"Pin-up posters." Kirk began to frown. "Sulu is selling pin-up posters of this crew?"
"And eight-by-ten color glossies, wallet-sized, five-by- sevens, picture charms. He's even selling postcards."
"Postcards?" The frown grew deeper. "Postcards." Kirk slapped the intercom button.
"Bridge."
"Get me Sulu."
"Aye, sir." There was a small click. "Go ahead, sir."
"Lt. Sulu, report to my readyroom. Immediately."
"Aye, aye, Captain."
"Kirk out." He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "My picture is on display in crew quarters?"
"And the lockers, the engine room, three-fourths of the science labs, the rec room . . . and I've heard there's even one in the aft hangar bay." McCoy watched his captain's reaction as he added, "On the ceiling." Then he stood up. "Well, having made your day, I'll leave you to your discussion with the lieutenant."
"You don't want to stay around and watch, Bones?" Kirk said quietly as he drummed his fingers on the desktop.
"Hell no, I hate bloodshed." The doctor started out the door, then leaned back in. "But let me know if Sulu wants a photograph to mark the event."
"He won't when I get through with him."
Less than a minute later Kirk's door chimed. The navigator must have sprinted to make such good time. "Come," Kirk said.
The navigator slid through the opening and stiffened to attention. "Reporting as ordered, sir."
"Mr. Sulu. I don't usually interfere with the crew's off-duty pursuits."
"No, sir."
"However, it has come to my attention that certain pictures of
Sulu flinched slightly, barely nodded, and remained silent. Kirk let the silence lengthen as he stared up at the young man. Even two minutes would probably seem like a lifetime to Sulu. Kirk waited five.
"Not only have these pictures been for sale, but it appears that some were of an intimate or personal nature. In addition, some of the subjects appear to have been photographed without their specific permission." Kirk kept his voice calm and low.
Sulu remained at mute attention.
"I would suggest that in the ship's best interest, and as a courtesy to all crewmembers involved, the photographer should contact all personnel whose photographs have been taken. Further, if any of said personnel object to their photos for any reason, I would suggest the photographer repurchase all of said photographs and dispose of them. Immediately." Kirk looked down and began stacking his reports. "Do I make myself clear, Mr. Sulu?"
"Yes, sir." The answer was barely above a whisper.
"Dismissed."
"Aye, sir." Sulu swallowed thickly and exited before the door was fully open. He hit the turbolift at almost a dead run and plowed headlong into Kevin Riley.
"Whoa now, me boyo!" Riley affected a brogue.
“Can’t stop now,” Sulu told him between gasps. “I’ve got to get rid of all the pictures on the ship. I never should have listened to you about selling copies to the crew.” He grabbed Riley’s arm and dragged the ensign back into the lift. “You’ve got to help me!”
“What did Kirk do, threaten to keelhaul you or something?”
“No. Crew level,” he ordered the turbolift. “He was very polite, didn’t even make it a formal reprimand. But I’m not taking any chances. I’m not only going to get rid of the photos, I’m going to space the whole damn setup---camera, darkroom, everything.”
“Didn’t that equipment cost you a stack of credits?” Kevin asked. Sulu shrugged. “The captain can’t expect you to just lose your entire investment.”
“Better that than being keelhauled.”
“Let me think . . . there ought to be some way a pair of bright young Star Fleet officers can recoup a little on your losses. Stick with me, Sulu me lad.” Kevin clapped a friendly arm around the navigator’s shoulders. “We’ll come out all right.”
“I’m going back to antique weapons. They’re safer. All I can do is kill myself with them.”
#
“Well, that was certainly a waste of speech.” Kirk shook his head and took another sip of his coffee. He could barely taste it with the stink of the Kalonari's 'red goo' still in his nostrils. “What am I missing?”
“Look, Jim, the Kalonari are declaring tomorrow a holiday,” McCoy told him over dinner. “We can’t do anything else, why not take one for ourselves as well?” The doctor pointed a fork at him when Kirk tried to protest. “They’re setting up some kind of citywide fair down there. And I’d even be willing to help Spock set up the landing party rosters.”
“I don’t need this, Bones. We’re in the middle of a diplomatic disaster and you want to go to a carnival?”
“Captain, Jim, we can’t do anything useful tomorrow if they’re on holiday anyway. We’ve spent the last seventeen days playing swizzle sticks in the Kalonar’s bloody marys---” McCoy began ticking off points on his fingers. “---I’ve had my genes scrambled by that transporter thirty-four times now, which I do not appreciate, all because some damned idiot in Star Fleet thought it would be more impressive if all your senior officers played swizzle sticks with you. And I’ve had to scramble into this ridiculous monkey suit more times than any sane man should have to in his entire life.” McCoy’s fingers curled into a fist and he slammed his hand against the table. “I have had it!” People in the dining hall turned to look.
“I don’t want to discuss shore leave now, Doctor.” Kirk tried another sip
of his coffee. Still bad. “
“If we finish.” McCoy looked around the room. “Spock, hey, Spock! Come over here for a minute, I need to know something.”
“Why, Doctor---” The Vulcan carefully set a tray laden with lentil and vegetable dishes on the tabletop, “---I was under the impression there was nothing you felt you did not know. However,” he added, breaking into McCoy’s strangled protest, “I am willing to furnish whatever information you require.”
“How long,” McCoy said in a tight voice, “has it been since the crew’s last shore leave? And, is there anything in the regulations which would keep us from taking liberty on Kalony while we’re negotiating with them?”
Spock lowered his fork. “It has been four months and 11.435 hours since the last shore leave officially ended. As to the second question, there is nothing in Star Fleet regulations that I personally am aware of which would preclude or prohibit crew from participating in approved shore leave activities on any planet not classified as hostile or proscribed. Nor do regulations prohibit such activities on planets under consideration for membership in the Federation. There are, in fact, certain precedents for such activity. I refer you to the negotiations held on Llaoncia by the Republic in 2242, the Kongo’s mission to Elb’s Planet in 2279, the Potempkin’s---”
“See, I told you,” McCoy told Kirk. “Besides, it’s good for morale, and----" He launched into his final argument. “It might even help the negotiations. Hell, Jim, do you want them to think we’re friendly, or a bunch of tight asses too snobby to associate with them?”
“That will be enough, Doctor.” There was plain warning in the Kirk’s voice.
“Captain,” Spock interjected quietly, “I believe the Doctor may actually have a point. It is possible that crew attendance at the Kalonar festival might provide sufficient additional data to break the impasse in negotiations. Such data could allow us insight into what might induce the Kalonari to join the Federation.”
“I give up,” Kirk said in mock anger, watching a Vulcan eyebrow lift, and a human imitate it. “I can’t fight both of you. I’ll contact the council chairman and get clearance for shore leave. Spock, draw up the roster.” Kirk stood up. “Dr. McCoy has graciously volunteered to help you. I’ll expect it within three hours. Unless instructed otherwise, liberty will commence at 0800 hours tomorrow. I’ll expect the crew to be on their best behavior, and I’ll hold you both personally accountable for their actions.” He nodded grimly. “Gentlemen.”
“By the by, Jim, you must have really put a bug in Sulu’s ear. I haven’t spotted one picture on board since early this morning. Now maybe we can get back to work without worrying about the mad photographer. Don’t know how he managed it so quickly.” McCoy leaned back, a satisfied look on his face. “Had to have run around like a cat with its tail on fire.”
“Although I do not fully understand the doctor’s rather colorful allusion, I
must confess that I, too, find a certain relief in Mr. Sulu’s abandonment of
his recent avocation. It was somewhat . . . ”
Spock hesitated, as if searching for a word. “ .
. . disconcerting to find my likeness exhibited throughout the
“What?” McCoy’s eyes gleamed. “You didn’t like being a pinup? You don’t want the adulation of millions?”
Spock remained carefully emotionless. “As there are only four hundred and thirty in the crew complement, and as I calculate that my picture would be of little interest to approximately 87.32 percent of that number, I would hardly classify that as millions. In addition, I do not believe Star Fleet requires or expects me to serve as a ‘pinup’.”
“Well, I’ve heard some of those posters were downright cute.” His drawl broadened. “Ah’ve even heard some of the womenfolk call you steamy, and some of them---”
“Enough, Bones,” Kirk warned.
Spock stood up, meal mostly untouched. “If you will both excuse me, I shall attend to the leave rosters.”
#
The scheduling took considerably less than the three hours Kirk had allotted.
“As you can see, Captain, this should allow sufficient time for each crewmember to attend the festival and still provide sufficient personnel to adequately cover all duty stations aboard ship.” The Vulcan stood easily at attention in front of Kirk’s desk.
“Sit down, Mr. Spock,” he said, glancing over the schedules. It was mostly as a courtesy to his first officer, as he was certain the schedules were just as efficient as the Vulcan had stated. “I’m just about to contact Bador.” Kirk thumbed the intercom button.
“Bridge.” It was Uhura’s soft voice.
“Contact Bador, the Kalonari council chair and patch it through to me.”
“Aye, Sir. One moment.” After a few seconds her voice continued, “We have the chairman for you, sir, go ahead.” Kirk’s screen cleared and Bador appeared. The Kalonar was tall, slender and several shades brighter green than Spock. Although roughly humanoid in shape, the Kalonar had almost no neck, just a long thin head on almost nonexistent shoulders. Sprouting from the top of his skull were wavy frond-type growths that served as the Kalonari equivalent of ears. Damn, they do look like stalks of celery.
Bador wore no clothing, none of the Kalonari did. He did wear a badge of office, fastened to a strip of brilliant teal cloth that crossed his torso and fastened under one arm. The chairman smiled up at the screen from the comfort of his lounging vat. The viscous red liquid sloshed slowly with every movement.
"Ah, Captain Kirk. What may I do for you?"
"Greetings, Mr. Chairman. We understand you're hosting a fair in the capitol tomorrow. If you and the council are willing, we'd like to arrange to have our crew attend the festival."
"We should be delighted to have your people join us," Bador said with the first real signs of pleasure Kirk had seen among the Kalonari. "Please be assured that you are all most welcome."
"Is there anything we should know about the festival, so as not to inadvertently give offense or behave inappropriately. Does it have religious or historical significance?"
Bador made a soft reedy whistle which the universal translator rendered as laughter. "No, no particular reason, just time to gather and enjoy. I'm sure your people will give no offense." Bador dipped his long fluttery fingers into the liquid and watched the drops slide off the tips. Then he looked back up with what passed for a Kalonari smile. "We shall look forward to seeing you tomorrow." Then Bador laughed again and left Kirk with the sound of whistling reeds as the screen cut off.
Jim Kirk spun about in his chair and slapped the desk happily. "Spock, I think your hunch, excuse me, your speculation may have just hit pay-dirt." He leaned back in his chair. "The reports we received from the contact team indicated a species which was very deliberate and solemn. They suggested that these beings worship sorrow."
"Indeed, Captain, it appears the original reports were in error or insufficient. Your conversation with the Chairman would suggest a somewhat different approach to the Kalonari." Spock stood up, "I shall be quite interested in observing this festival."
"So will I, Spock, so will I."
#
"It's certainly a fine day for a country fair." McCoy rubbed his hands together in anticipation. "The Kalonari may look like salad fixings, but they surely know how to put on a real nice do." He gestured around. "Food, drink, souvenirs, sightseeing, dancing girls? Name it, Jim boy."
"I think we'll forgo the dancing girls. Bones, we're looking for information, not dates."
"That doesn't mean," McCoy said, slapping him on the shoulder and smiling, "we can't have fun while we're looking, does it?"
"What makes you think the Kalonari have dancing girls?" Kirk smiled back, relaxing for the first time in over two weeks. He looked at his first officer. "Spock, where do you suggest we start?"
Laughing folk streamed around them. Family groups were decked out in collars and wristbands of colorful fluttering silk ribbons. Silver bells tied to the ribbon tips tinkled in the breeze to mingle with the rippling whistles of laughter. It was like being in the wind section of an orchestra, or a flock of cheerful songbirds.
The Vulcan stared at the Kalonari around him without expression, though they all smiled and nodded cheerfully at the group as they glided past. "Captain, this festival is in direct contradiction to the behavior patterns reported by the Federation contact team. I see no reverence for sorrow, no ingrained solemnity. It would seem that our information sources are in error." Spock looked as close to perplexed as he'd allow himself. "Until I have additional data, I am unable to offer suggestions."
"Lead the way, Bones. Just don't have so much fun you forget to look for some negotiating point. Shall we proceed?"
The Kalonari fairgrounds covered a large meadow just beyond city limits. Literally appearing overnight, the booths covered the grass like colorful gumdrops and sprinkled between, in no particular pattern, stood tall spired tents hung with a rainbow of banners and ribbons. The fairgoers wandered among the structures, pausing to look at merchandise or order refreshments.
"Look, no hard sell, no haggling." McCoy pointed to the proprietor of a sweets booth. "You know, I could get to like this place after all."
The Kalonari continued to smile and nod at the humans. Occasionally, a youngling toddled over to hand them flowers, or silk handkerchiefs. "Why, you'd think we were celebrities." McCoy patted the shoulder of a small Kalonari who shyly held up a somewhat battered bloom. The little one turned to hand a second flower to Spock, took a good look and ran squeaking back to its family. The youngling's parents whistled apologies as they comforted their offspring.
"They do seem a bit leery of Spock, though," Kirk said, watching the Kalonari give the Vulcan a wide berth.
"You'd think they'd like him best," McCoy said under his breath, "he's almost as green as they are."
"Doctor---" Kirk warned, then stopped as he spotted Uhura and Christine Chapel storming toward them.
"Captain, you've got to do something! I can't believe he did it!" Chapel sputtered with anger. "I'm going to kill him!"
"And I'm going to help her!" Uhura clenched her fists.
"Who did what? Lieutenant, Nurse, I want a report," Kirk cut them off quickly.
They stiffened to attention. "Sir," Uhura said through clenched teeth, "posters are being sold at a booth back there." She pointed through an opening between tents.
"What posters?"
"Sulu's posters. All his 'pin-ups' on display, for everyone to see!" Chapel added. "Someone has to do something about them."
"And about Sulu."
"The posters Sulu disposed of are here? On Kalony? For sale? Where?" With the two women in the lead, Kirk, Spock and McCoy hurried through the crowds.
They slipped through a packed group and stopped before a small booth plastered with large color posters of the Enterprise crew in what could charitably be termed as 'candid shots'. Each poster sported a label in large Kalonese lettering.
Kirk stared in horror. For a moment he lost the power of speech. Then he drew a deep breath. "Spock. Can you translate the labels?"
Pointing to a picture of Kevin Riley with his mouth stuffed to overflowing and a trail of tomato sauce dripping down his chin, Spock intoned, "This one says 'bizarre feeding patterns'."
Of the one showing Uhura and Chapel caught half-dressed in the locker room, he said, “‘Voluptuous native beauties’.” The Vulcan indicated one of McCoy treating an injured crewwoman. “That one---” there was the slightest hint of amusement in his voice as he said, “is advertised as 'exotic mating rituals'.”
Kirk carefully kept his face neutral as he watched McCoy imitate a man swallowing his tongue. That is until Spock pointed to one of the Captain wrestling with Chekov and added, “‘Earthman Antics’.”
"What about that one?" McCoy asked through tight lips as he pointed to a photo showing a shirtless Spock practicing with a lirpa. "What does that one say?"
When Spock didn't answer, the doctor added, "Come on, you didn't mind reading the others."
“‘Rampaging. Lust. Crazed. Alien’.” Each word fell like iceflows breaking.
Kirk ripped his communicator from his holder and flipped it open. "Kirk to
"
"Find Sulu. Wherever he is, whatever he's doing. I want him beamed to these coordinates in sixty seconds. Or less."
"Aye, Sir!"
"Kirk out." He slapped the communicator closed. "Ladies, you may have your chance at murder, providing there is anything left of Sulu when I'm finished." He was interrupted by the shimmer of a transport beam. When it faded, Sulu stood there, dripping wet, in a sadly inadequate towel.
"Captain, sir, I'm---Oh, my God!" Sulu's eyes widened and he lost his grip on the towel he'd been clutching around him. "Captain, I, ah, he told me, ah, he just wanted to compare, he wasn't supposed to, he didn't tell me he'd, oh . . . " Sulu shook his head. "I'm going to die, in disgrace," he muttered under his breath, "naked and wet. I’m going to die."
"That is entirely possible," Kirk told him, "unless you can explain this, mister. AND I MEAN NOW!”
"Sir. Yes, sir. Anything you say, sir." Sulu unconsciously backed away as the others closed on him. He tried futilely to grab the towel as he backed up. "I was trying to get rid of the photographs, as you, ah, suggested. And, well, I thought it would be best if I got rid of the equipment, too. Sir. I was going to put it in the disposal chute, and then we, ah, that is . . ."
"We who, Mr. Sulu?"
"I, sir, I thought I could maybe, recoup my losses, by, ah---"
"We Who?"
"Captain, sir, it was my equipment and I take full responsibility for---"
"WE WHO!?”
"It was probably Riley," McCoy told Kirk.
"I'd prefer not to say, Captain." Sulu stood stiffly at attention. "It was my equipment, I sold it, I take all the blame for any trouble I've caused, sir."
"Continue, lieutenant."
"Yes, sir. I showed them to Lasli, the, ah, salesman there. He was really interested in the developing process, so I showed him how I printed the pictures up from negatives, and then I had to show him how to develop the film." A glance at Kirk showed Sulu the Captain's darkening expression. He hurried on. "Anyway, Lasli wanted to buy the whole setup, but then he wanted all the negatives so he could compare them to the ones he took. I didn't think there'd be a problem."
The crew started closing in on him again.
"But, there ah, obviously was, ah, a, er, problem . . ." Sulu started backing away again, watching the fingers of their hands make slight clenching movements. He could picture the fingers closing about his neck. Sulu glanced around, searching for an opening he could make a break through.
"Captain Kirk, how nice to see you and your people here." Bador glided up, followed by the entire Kalonari council.
Kirk shut his eyes for a brief moment. If you can't explain this mess you'll be lucky if Star Fleet lets you crew on a garbage scow after this. He straightened and turned to face them. "Mr. Chairman, Councilors."
"Captain, we must compliment you and your crew on your delightful jest." Bador fluttered his long fingers in the direction of the posters. "What a marvelous way to join in the fun. I must confess that we feared your Federation had no knowledge of the Unity of Joy."
Kirk could hear Bador's cheerful whistles behind the words of the universal translator.
"How happy we are to know that the Unity extends throughout your worlds as well." The Kalonar turned and picked up a poster from the tall stack at Lasli's booth. "Such wonderful creativity. Lasli tells us you create these with a device called a . . . camera. Why did you not tell us of this before? With your cameras we would be able to record our joy, save the happiness we share with others. Recall it over and over." Bador laid the poster back down.
"But we can discuss this tomorrow or the day after." He stopped and peered closely at Kirk. "Forgive me, Captain, perhaps we have anticipated too soon. Are your people not finished with their Festival of Sorrow? Perhaps we had misunderstood, but when you contacted us to attend our fair, we assumed that your time of mourning was at an end."
"I believe the misunderstanding is on our part, Chairman," Spock said. "Could you explain this Festival of Sorrow?"
“Oh, do you call it by another title? Perhaps our festival varies from yours. We hold a period of mourning for three twelvedays once in three years to contemplate the sorrow of those who are not one with the Unity. We believe joy and laughter are the highest goal of the universe, and that we are truly privileged to share in that joy. Our Festival of Sorrow reminds us of our fortune.”
Understanding dawned. “And you were celebrating this festival when our representatives were last here?”
“Yes. Your people were so respectful of our customs, we felt sure that your Federation must be part of the Unity. Then, when your ship arrived to discuss our joining your Federation, you seemed so solemn and unhappy we feared this to be your normal response to life. It would be impossible to entwine our future with people so gloomy, so sad, so, so . . .”
“So boring?” Kirk finished.
“Of course,” Bador said, chuckling. “But when we saw your---photographs?---that is what they’re called, yes? When Lasli displayed your photographs, we decided you had finally completed your time of mourning. Though why your Federation would attempt to treat with others during such a time is beyond us. All decisions should be made in joy.”
Kirk erupted in chuckles which quickly turned into belly laughs. “Chairman Bador,” he managed to gasp out between fits of laughter. “There’s an enormous jest here, my friend, and we’ve played it on ourselves.”
“Friend Kirk, I will be happy to hear this great jest.” Bador stepped back. “Shall we find a comfortable place to sit and discuss it? The joy in any jest is in the sharing of it.” Around him the other councilors nodded happily. “Please, please, bring your associates with you. Joy increases in our numbers.”
Kirk motioned Sulu to him. “I want you in uniform and back here inside of five minutes, Mister,” he whispered. “You’re our expert in photography, and if you pull this off you may even be able to explain it to the rest of the crew. They might even forgive you.” Sulu saluted and turned to go. Kirk called after him. “And take your towel.”
#
“So, Jim,” McCoy asked happily as he poured himself a drink, “are you going to tell Star Fleet that their hotshot contact team screwed up?” He sat down across from the captain and Spock.
“I hate to pass up the chance, but then I’d also have to explain how we discovered that error and I don’t want to have to explain those ‘pin-up posters’ as well.”
“Captain, I believe we shall have to inform Star Fleet, even at the risk of possible embarrassment to the crew.” Spock sat stiffly on the edge of his chair. “We will need some explanation of the Kalonari failure to follow expected behavior patterns.”
“Let ’em figure it out for themselves. Might do those stuffed shirts some good to make fools of themselves,” McCoy countered.
“No,” Kirk said, shaking his head. “It’s tempting, but Spock is right---we have to tell them. Though I may need assistance phrasing the report so we don’t sound like complete idiots.”
The door buzzed. “Come.” Kirk took a sip of his drink. “Mr. Sulu. How are negotiations coming along on the photography?”
Sulu stood at attention. “Pretty well, sir. I’ve had some prototypes made of the development equipment and cameras. The Chairman says they should be able to duplicate it within two months. They’ve already got the technology, they just never thought of photographs.”
“Thank you, Lieutenant, anything else?”
“They’ve ask me to invite the command staff to a banquet tonight. They’re taking photos of the whole affair. And Bador said to tell you they’re serving Quator and Ckeva.”
“Well, I’m hereby placing myself on sick leave until we break orbit,” McCoy said as he shivered. “Anyone else here can’t face that stuff again?”
“No. We all go. Besides,” Kirk said, “this way you’ll get to watch Sulu enjoy it all.”
“There is that to consider. Sulu, my boy, you’re in for a treat. That stuff tastes even worse than it looks. Prune-flavored motor oil. You’re going to love it.” McCoy rocked back in his chair, happily revenged.
Sulu frowned. He turned back to the captain.
“Mr. Sulu,” Kirk told him, “you’re to behave with the dignity expected of a Star Fleet officer.”
“Which means you can’t throw up till you’re back up here,” McCoy told him. “I sure hope the pictures are in black and white. After the meal we’re going to, I’ll bet the Kalonari wonder if the film’s gone bad when we all show up as green as they are.”
“I imagine they would be pleased, Doctor,” Spock told him.
“I just wonder if Star Fleet will be as pleased.” Kirk added. “We’ve got to explain why we’re delivering film to Kalony system for the next two months and why we’re the hottest pin-ups in this part of the galaxy.”
“It could be worse, Jim,” McCoy said.
“How?”
“This.” Slowly McCoy unfolded a poster.
Kirk blushed.
-End-