Alan Dean Foster - Star Trek Log Two

Space is not silent.

If one has the ears - the appropriate methods to listen with - the seeming emptiness and black desolation is transformed into a raucous chorus of bleeps, pops, whistles, and hums. The steady modulated whines of patient quasars, the discordant sizzle of black holes, and the stentorian drone of unseen pulsars - all contribute their voices to a heavenly choir of awesome complexity and rhythm.

From white dwarf to red giant, every sun exhibits its own distinctive, individual sizzle-plop in the same way that animals give off special odors, or flowers display color.

At this particular moment, in this typically insignificant corner of the universe, an exceptionally unusual sound was being generated. It came from a minute, irregularly shaped and rapidly moving object of considerably less than solar mass. And yet the sounds it was producing were at once less powerful and more distinctive than those given off by any sun, or pulsar, or radio nebula.

Anyone passing near this object would have needed very, very sensitive instruments indeed to pick up the sound at all. But if one had the proper detection equipment and an enormous quantity of amplification at immediate disposal, one might just be able to hear:

"Deck the halls' with boughs of holly, fa-lalala-lala-lalala ... 'Tis the season to be jolly, fa...!"

But by then, of course, the Enterprise would have shot far out of detector range.

Once a year the tree was carefully unwrapped and lifted from its special cold-storage compartment in the bottom of the starship's cold-storage room. Then, amid much gaiety and boozing, it was set up in the main crew lounge and decorated with everything from genuine gingerbread cookies to holographic angels.

It was a real evergreen, too - as fine and upstanding a tannenbaum as any celebrant could wish for. No one minded that it had sprung from the soil of a world unknown to Man when words were first spoken on his moon.

A group of engineers and technicians had organized an unprofessional but enthusiastic barbershop quartet near the base of the glowing tree. They were caroling away lustily to the accompaniment of a small electric piano.

Lt. Uhura leaned against the fake fireplace set up nearby. She was talking to a tall young ensign from quartermaster section. Every so often she'd emphasize some point or other by jabbing him in the chest with a finger - one of those not wrapped around a glass.

For his part, the ensign was still unsure about how to react. On the one hand, the sudden unexpected situation involving the most desirable lieutenant on the ship was developing promisingly. On the other, he couldn't forget that she was his superior officer. Given the current lack of equilibrium the senior lieutenant was displaying, he'd have to be careful things didn't turn awkward.

"Lischen ... listen, Ensign Burns ... I tell you there's nothing like working in communications! Communication is the most important, most necessariest section on this ship. Why, without communication we ... we couldn't talk to each other!" She seemed overwhelmed at this sudden insight.

"I ask you ... where'd the Enterprise be without communications? Where!"

"I couldn't agree with you more, Lieutenant," agreed Burns, cautiously slipping an agreeing arm around her shoulders. "Of course, we should bear in mind that there are all kinds of communication ... here, let me get you a refill. I have some interesting theories of my own which I'm sure would benefit greatly from the comments and suggestions of a senior officer like yourself.

"If you could spare a minute ... I've drawn up some interesting schematics that..."

On the far side of the lounge, Engineer Scott had corralled Spock at an unoccupied table. The surface between them was swamped with seemingly numberless sheets of paper filled with hurriedly roughed-out engineering diagrams.

"Now you see here, Spock," Scott was saying intensely, tracing a rather wobbly line on one sheet with his drafting pen, "this is - He paused and stared disapprovingly at the Enterprise's first officer.

"Och, smile, Spock, why don't you? 'Tis the season to be jolly, fa-lalala ..."

Spock's reaction was similar to the one he'd already used several times that day, in response to the sudden explosion of illogical activity. To him this "season" seemed a cyclical madness that, fortunately, had to be borne only once a year.

But, by Vulcan's long deserts, it was hard on him.

"I am sorry, Mr. Scott. First of all, I do not 'fa-lala,' as you well know. Also, even if this were my holiday and not yours, I do not think I could bring myself to perform even the slightest of the many unreasonable activities that seem to be the normal method of celebration.

"For one thing, Vulcans do not voluntarily pollute their bloodstream with odd combinations of ethyl alcohol molecules." That seemed to outrage the chief and he drew back in stunned disbelief.

"Pollute? Mr. Flock, do I understand you to be sayin'...? Are you callin'...? Do you mean to say that you regard this outstandin' eggnog as a pollutant?"

"I believe that is what I just said, Mr. Scott. Really, if you cannot see

"No. No, that's all right, Block, I see. I see, all right." He shoved his chin out and managed to look like a Scottish martyr. He started gathering up armfuls of drawings. They overflowed his arms and fell to the floor. When he bent over to retrieve those that had fallen, he lost another set.

"If that's the way you feel about it," he continued, picking up one and dropping three, "I'll just have to find someone else to share this with. Someone who can appreciate my design. Someone who'll be happy to share the income."

Apparently deciding he'd reached the point of diminishing returns as far as dropped papers were concerned, he turned and staggered off in the direction of a knot of nearby subengineers, dripping diagrams all the way. The subengineers saw him coming, but couldn't get out of the way fast enough.

Spock watched him go. A hand touched his shoulder, and he turned 'round, looking up at the new arrival.

"Hello, Captain." Spock's first worry - that he might find the Enterprise's commanding officer in a state similar to that of its chief engineer - was unfounded. On the contrary, Kirk's face was noticeably devoid of seasonal spirit. His current expression was a mixture of curiosity and puzzlement.

"Something is happening?"

Kirk nodded. "It's probably nothing important, Mr. Spock. As you know, meteor activity has been unusually heavy in this sector for two days now. This morning, Sulu thought he'd detected a blip in the normal shower pattern that shouldn't have been there. I checked his readings and the computer seems to confirm them. There's something moving in the shower that's acting very unmeteorlike.

"Still, it may be nothing more than a somewhat different hunk of cosmic flotsam - but it's drifting in a course almost parallel to ours. Since it's not out of our way, I told Sulu to veer toward it"

"Any idea what it might be, Captain?"

Kirk looked skeptical. "Sulu thinks it might be a ship."

"You have of course considered our position?"

Kirk nodded. "I know we're on the edge of the Romulan Neutral Zone, Mr. Spock. If it is a ship, there's the chance it might be Romulan. Regardless -" He glanced around the lounge, in which the noise level had risen several unsteady decibels in the last few minutes, "if you can spare a moment away from the local hilarity, I'd appreciate your presence on the bridge."

"I assure you, Captain, I can spare a great deal more than a moment."

Spock continued his thoughts as they started moving toward the bridge-elevator.

"In fact, sometimes, Captain," and he looked back to where Ensign Burns was now chasing Uhura around the tree, "I often wonder how you humans ever managed to discover fire." Kirk hit the elevator switch, and they entered the lift.