wrong attitude," Scanner insisted. "When Captain
Kirk asked me ff I knew where there was a ship for a
covert mission, I jus' naturally suggested this one. I
got my pocket money when I was at the Academy by
doing Federation construction jobs on this rig."
"You're responsible for this being my first command
ship?"
37
"Yeah! It's got cutting lasers, it's got tractor beams
tied fight into the warp engines, it's got pinpoint
disruptors for demolition, it's got a presser beam, it's
got a containment field, it's got grapples, it's got a hull-
tool bank, it's got passenger quarters, and it's got
state-of-the-art computer capabilities that yours truly
helped put in. It's got a full architectonics library and
. . . and it's got Star Fleet registry." He poked his
finger into the hollow of my shoulder with each of the
last three words. "Federation-wide clearance."
"With Kirk's name all over it," I muttered.
He squared off in front of me, staging himself
against the construction rig, and struck a dramatic
pose, his brown eyes expressive and intent. "Remem-
ber the First Federation's giant tug? Doc, you remem-
ber!"
"Oh, yes," McCoy droned, rolling his eyes as the
memory flooded back in. "The commander of that
ship took a real fisk. He bluffed us down and we fell
for it. We could've bypassed his shutdown of our
systems and blown that ship to bits with a few phaser
shots. It didn't even have any shields or weapons. Just
an incredibly powerful tractor beam." He shook his
head and clasped his hands behind his back thought-
fully. "Jim was impressed by the theatrics."
"Right," Scanner said. "It was a supervessel de-
signed to yank asteroids out of orbit and haul 'em in
for mining purposes. All that power, and it turned out
to be a giant space-faring truck. But think what we
learned from it! Think of the mining boom after we set
up relations with the First Federation! That's what this
is!" He swung both hands endeafingly toward the
ship. "It's a Fesarius!" "It's a barge!"
My head started to throb.
I backed off a few steps to see if the rig looked any
better, and was greeted with yet another---as though I
needed one--surprise. From the main air lock ap-
38
peared a second familiar face, one which confirmed
my guess that I'd been set up. I watched in silent
astonishment as the slim young woman caught sight of
me, narrowed her slightly tilted almond-shaped eyes,
the only suggestion that she might be other than hu-
man, and strode down the long ramp toward us. Her
short beige-blond hair was a shade or two lighter than
the last time I'd seen it, a gift from Earth's relentless
sun. My hair, too, bore a few streaks of extra gold
after so long at the schooner's helm, but it would never
reach the pearl shade of hers.
"Merete," I breathed, almost a groan, confirming
what I saw as she came down the long ramp and
approached us.
"Hello, Piper," she said. Her tone of voice told me
that she knew exactly what was going through my
mind. She reached for McCoy's hand. "Dr. McCoy,
how are you?"
He took her narrow palm in subdued greeting.
"Well, I'm just fine, Dr. AndrusTaurus. What are you
doing here?"
She shrugged. "Medical duty. Or so I was told. I
only recently started to doubt it."
That was enough formality for me. I rounded on her.
"Do you know what's going on? All I've got so far is
Scanner, this bizarre excuse for a space vessel, and a
pile of unanswered questions. And I hope this thing
really can fly, because I'm guilty of assaulting Star
Fleet officers to get to it."
Merete pressed her delicately colored lips into a line
and gave me a look of intense sympathy, but she
plainly had no answers for me and, knowing that,
declined to complicate my mood. As she had in the
past, Merete AndrusTaurus gave me her best prescrip-
tion a steadying presence.
Scanner shook off my words and recalibrated.
"Piper, it's a good ship. It's got heart. Here... look
over here. See that dent? That happened when they
39
built the very first outersystem communications relay
station. And this patch over here? That's from the
superstructure for the Martian Colonies' Orbital Medi-
cal Center. And up yonder, that's what happened when
they built the new docking bay for Star Fleet Com-
mand itself. I was there." He poked his own chest.
"There's my name. See? Judd Sandage, light-etched
right in. And there--see that name? Liex Muller? He
died on that job. Piper, this ship... this is a memorial
to construction projects all over the Sol system. It's an
archive of local history! And it's all yours!"
His enthusiasm was almost pathetic. I backed away
a few steps and leaned toward Dr. McCoy while
Scanner waited anxiously near his prize.
"He loves the ship," I whispered to the years of
experience beside me. "What do I do?"
Dr. McCoy folded his arms and rocked in contem-
plation. ,Give him the benefit of the doubt. The ship is
innocent until proven obsolete."
With a surrendering little nod, I tried to change the
look on my face to give the impression I might be
having second thoughts. "I... I see what you mean,
Scanner," I said. "It does have a certain... unique-
ness."
He nodded so hard his hair flopped over his eyes.
The massive blue hull, patched with vari6us colors
of coiiplate, scored with Scanner's precious chroni-
cles, stretched out across the hangar, begging for
approval. Even the silly carnivorous teeth somebody
had painted onto the bridge hull seemed to be trying to
smile. I licked my lips, gazing across the veteran
fibercoil. I had to clear my throat before I could speak.
"Does it have a name?"
Scanner puffed up and squared his shoulders. With a
nod he announced, "Tyrannosaurus Rex."
My nerves jarred against each other. I felt Dr.
McCoy shift beside me, moving away. Must have been
the steam coming out of my ears.
40
In a feeble attempt to shield my disappointment, or
perhaps to shield Scanner from it, 1 ignored his hopeful
expression and stepped past him, tersely stating, "Not
anymore."
"This is U.F.P. Construction Transport S.S. Ba-
nana Republic requesting clearance for space access."
"This is Star Fleet Planetary Patrol, Banana Repub-
lic. Specify your registry code."
"MTK 4247, Patrol. It's a new code."
"We copy. That's not a new code, Banana Republic,
it's a reissue. Please confirm and specify the old
code."
"All right, confirmed. Scanner, take over."
Scanner leaned forward in the mate's seat beside
mine as we sat in front of a slapdash control cockpit
which bore the scars of having been overhauled and
added to with each new phase of engineering science
over its disturbingly long life. He tied his console into
the communications link and said, "Patrol, this vessel
was formerly registered as Construction Tug 87, S.S.
Tyrannosaurus Rex, registry number MKT 1187." He
leaned back as far as the newly installed command
lounge would pivot. "You sacka wet socks."
I shushed him with a glance. "I don't want any more
delays!" I hissed at him. "If we can get atmospheric
clearance we can be at Star Fleet headquarters in
fifteen minutes." Leaning closer to the corn system, I
asked, "Patrol, are we clear for space access?"
There was an annoying silence. They had no reason
to hold us back but their own petty show of power
over civilian vehicles. After a moment the same voice
returned "Affirmative, 4247. Take a heading of point
five seven seven by two six two. Have a good trip."
"No thanks to them," Dr. McCoy commented from
the passenger couch behind us. The foreman's cabin
had been refurbished, storage compartments removed
and altered for passenger seating. The renovations
41
were considerably more pleasant to look at than the
conglomerated hull, with its damage repairs and its
added chunks of hardware that had been tacked on
with each new technical innovation. The construction
transport looked less like any kind of ship than a
collection of odd-shaped containers somehow welded
together. Dr. McCoy had wasted no time in settling
back into the cushions of the new pivot chairs and
acquiring a professional slouch. Beside him, Merete
AndrusTaurus gazed thoughtfully out the observatory
gaps in the coilplate casing of the ship. Beside us,
coasting through the clouds, flew a Star Fleet Plane-
tary Patrol Cruiser. Merete waved at them, her slim
eyes narrowing as she smiled in an attempt to smooth
out anything they might have overheard. Merete
wanted nothing more than peace of mind--my peace of
mind.
"Well, Commander Piper," McCoy said. "Once we
clear the atmosphere, you're officially the captain of a
space-faring vessel. Quite an accomplishment, consid-
ering you've hardly been aboard a space-faring vessel
long enough to change uniforms. If you don't watch
out, Jim Kirk'11 think you're upstaging his dazzling
career." He was smiling, both arched brows raised in
amusement.
I blushed, but not from pride. "Doctor, this wasn't
my idea," I reminded him, burying my humiliation in
adjusting a navigational mapping beam.
"Ah, but that's usually how it happens, Com-
mander," he pointed out in his wise drawl.
Scanner nodded. "Sir's right, Piper. You know, in
all the years ol' Rex has been alive, all the uncounted
projects this ship hauled on, she's never had a captain
before. She's had crew chiefs and construction bosses
and foremen, but never ever a captain. You're the first
one!" He slumped back in his chair, raised one foot
high on the other knee, and stared at the mangled
42
ceiling circuitry. "Captain Piper. Has a kind of a nice
ring to it."
Perhaps the designers put too much pivot into the
pivot chairs. I stood up, shoulders bunched beneath
the cotton flight suit, and placed my hand on Scanner's
chair. It gave a satisfying groan when I pushed it, and
it reeled backward. Scanner yelped, hit the floor on his
side, and rolled over, his face plastered with astonish-
ment.
"What'd I do?" he bellowed. "What'd you do that
for?"
I stood over him, one foot on either side of his
sprawled left leg. For long moments I glared down at
him, so intently that he dared not get up. McCoy and
Merete were frozen to their chairs.
"Don't call me that," I said. I stepped over him.
"Notify me when we're over San Francisco."
"Is it gone yet?"
The soft voice was consummately feminine. Noth-
ing about it suggested its source might be other than
human. There wasn't much about Merete that couldn't
be human if she wanted to give up her Palkeo citizen-
ship or heritage. The Palkeo Est people of Altair Four
were one of the independently evolved cultures closest
to humans so far discovered, at least in their habits and
attitudes. Only physiological exceptions set them
apart, such as genetic code differences, blood com-
pounds, and certain nucleoplasms or some other bio-
technical terminology that I could throw around.
Merete's similarity to a human, spiced with that ves-
tigial hint of aiienness, comforted me somewhat, but
unfortunately also reminded me of Sarda.
Sarda--a cultural foundling. A Vulcan, displaced by
his own people, trying to dig a trench that would lead
him back to the main river of Vulcan tradition from the
separate pool fate had eddied him into. Had he broken
43
under the pressure, the sorrow?.Could a Vulcan deal
honor and pride? Or would he reach a snapping point?
"Is your headache gone?" Merete asked again with
her customary patience.
An added pressure on the heat cloth over my eyes
let me know I was being touched.
I thought about giving her an answer and waited to
decide ff the pounding in my skull had receded.
"Nope," was my conclusion.
Merete's weight tipped the edge of my bunk mat-
tress. "I don't want to medicare you ff I can avoid it."
"It's only a headache, Merete," 'I said. "I'll live." I
puffed the heat cloth from my eyes and blinked into the
dim light of the foreman's cabin. My cabin, now. It
was a cramped and inglorious place. Constructags
simply weren't bu'flt for comfort, and room remained
at a premium even when renovations were attempted.
"It'll go away as soon as I get to talk to the captain. As
soon as he tells me what's going on."
"You don't have any idea?" she asked, diminishing
the seriousness by casually arranging the heat cloth in
her medikit.
"I know sarda's in trouble." I sat up, scooting back
against the cold metal wall. "It's got to have some-
thing to do with that. Kirk deliberately made sure
those security officers didn't find out I was on board
the schooner. And I think he knew how I'd react once
I found out Sarda had gotten caught up in espionage."
I pulled at her wrist, forcing her attention away from
the medildt. When she looked up, I asked, "Are you
sure, absolutely sure, Mr. Spock didn't say anything
about this so-called mail run?"
In deference to me, she took the time to think about
it for a moment. Finally she shook her pale head and
shrugged. "Not a word. He provided instructi
ons for
the ship, and for a while there were several Star Fleet
technicians and engineers down here working on it.
4
Scanner and I didn't even know the ship was intended
for you until a week ago, when the last of the Fleet
crew left. I thought I was here to tend to injuries in the
tech crew. I certainly didn't understand orders to stay
behind. Then Mr. Spock told Scanner that you'd be
coming. We assumed you'd beam in any minute after
that. What were you doing on that sailing boat?"
I dropped back. Good question, Doctor. "It's Kirk's
private ship. He offered to authorize shore leave for
me aboard the schooner if I was willing to crew the
ship during the Annual International Battle at Sea
Flotilla for Masted Ships. War games. A collection of
sailing buffs get together and try to outmaneuver each
other. I thought it was a little primitive and silly until a
couple of ships actually went over in the fervor for
victory points. Smaller ships than Keeler, of course,
but even we carne close to being rammed a few times.
They're pretty serious about it." I stared at my knees,
suddenly unblinking, aware of little more than my own
heartbeat. "Few more serious than Jim Kirk. I never
saw such intent to win. He's a bedeviling man,
Merete. He leaves me in awe . . . confused .... He
tries to force me to figure out what he's thinking. He
pushes the odds. This time, he miscalculated. Some-
thing went wrong. He meant to tell me what was going
on, but he got pulled off the schooner before he could
do it. I've got to find him, Merete," I told her, lost in
conviction. "I've got to know what to do."
If she was unsettled by my intensity, she did a prime
bedside job of concealing it. She nodded slowly, mak-
ing sure I knew she had been listening. "You will," she
assured. "We'll be there soon. It may all turn out to be
much simpler than you expect. Just a mix-up of some
kind. It may even be fixed by the time we arrive at Star
Fleet."
"I hope so," I said. "I don't mind a struggle, but I
can't stand not knowing."
An unfamiliar whine interrupted our conversation,
4S