THE PLAN WAS woefully inadequate. By the time Sisko found himself in the turbolift, standing with Dax and heading for the bridge, the muscles in his neck, arms, and back were all pounding from tension and a headache was beginning to percolate.
When the bridge doors opened, he drew a breath and had a hard time letting go of it. He was in shock. He almost forgot what he had come for.
He was stepping out onto the bridge.
The bridge of the Enterprise. Imagine walking out onto this bridge!
Its colors were simple, primary, tantalizing, and efficient, appointed in black here and there. The glossy black consoles were rimmed in a single line of red, and the lights and switches were clear and attractive. On the viewing trunks, the squarish monitors with their beautiful pictures of near-space, the bright red bridge rail in contrast to the blue-gray trunks and bulkheads, the soft lighting, and the bright colors of the crew members' uniforms all reached out and drew him into a mythical embrace. Across from where he stood, the big main screen was framed by its mounting, and an engineer strode across the picture, a brilliant representation of Deep Space Station K-Seven and the hovering Klingon cruiser beyond it. This was the grandest ship—the first of her kind, the one which had taken the hardest knocks of early exploration. The actual first Starship Enterprise.
Sisko felt supremely and proudly human as he stood here. The sounds, soft whoops and blips of working machinery, each sound a subtle reassurance, all seemed familiar. He wanted to stand here and enjoy what he saw, smelled, heard, and what he felt. The sheer privilege of walking out onto this bridge …
A muffled trilling shook him out of his charm—there were tribbles everywhere, gently singing against the steady sounds of the starship's beautiful bridge. There were tribbles on the consoles, tribbles on the carpet, and tribbles crawling slowly along the bright red rail. Tribbles, tribbles, many colors, many sizes, all purring.
And one of them … or one of the other thousands …
Sisko sustained himself with his purpose and led Dax to the forward port-side engineering console. She played the controls briefly, then quietly said, "You take the science subsystems station. I'll send you data for analysis and isolation."
"Where?" he asked.
"If I remember, it's over on the starboard side, by the main screen. Over there."
Trying to appear at home, Sisko crossed in front of the big main screen, avoiding the eyes of the navigator and helmsman, who at the moment didn't have much to do but maintain orbit about the station. No problem, except that the station had no notable gravity.
The navigator and helmsman paid him no attention. They were both groggily stroking tribbles.
Sisko took up post at the science subsystems monitor, noting with some trepidation the presence of Commander Spock off to his right at what must've been the main library computer console.
The Vulcan's presence was magnetic and held constant undercurrents as he sat quietly and worked his cooperative computer with legendary thoroughness. Sisko's hands were actually cold.
And colder still when the turbolift door whispered and James Kirk strode slowly onto the bridge. Lines of dissatisfaction grooved the captain's young face, as if he already sensed or even knew there was too much trouble brewing under these events.
For an instant, Sisko thought the captain was looking at him, but relief poured through as he realized Kirk was actually looking around at all the tribbles. Kirk moved with enviable familiarity along the bridge rail and down to his command platform. Without looking at his chair, he dropped tiredly into it. There was a squawk of animal protest, and the captain instantly bounced back up and fished a tribble out of the command chair.
Sisko bit his lip, but nothing more happened. No explosion. Relief made Sisko smile. Well, relief and the whole spectacle of Jim Kirk sitting on a living squeak.
Kirk cradled the tribble, annoyance creasing his features, accepted a smile and shrug from Dax, then punched his comm panel. "Dr. McCoy, would you mind coming up to the bridge?"
He stood up then and prowled the helm, scanning the tribbles hypnotizing his helmsman and navigator.
Dax finished her work at engineering, picked up one of the old-style padds and crossed the forward bridge to Sisko.
"I rerouted the sensors," she said quietly.
"It worked," Sisko said, checking his instruments. "I'm scanning the bridge for the explosive. Nothing up here …"
Leaning forward, Dax plucked a tribble from his console. "That's a relief. When Kirk sat on that tribble, I half expected it to go off. They're so cute … I can't believe Darvin would put a bomb in one."
"Mmm," Sisko agreed noncommittally. "Nothing on the first six decks."
"Lieutenant Uhura," Kirk's voice cut through sharply, as he hustled with an armload of tribbles to the woman at communications, "how did all these tribbles get onto the bridge?"
Again Sisko witnessed a wonderfully human side to Kirk the legend, Kirk the commander. All this with the tribbles was, to Kirk, a bunch of nonsense. He was thoroughly human. He joked, he got annoyed, he got headaches, he had close friends, and occasionally he was just plain winging it. Like now. He had no idea what to do about an enemy that everybody wanted to hug and cuddle.
Sisko smiled. He liked this Kirk a lot better than the Olympian hero portrayed one hundred years later.
"I don't know, sir," Lieutenant Uhura was saying with a sheepish smile. "They do seem to be all over the ship …"
The lift doors opened and a medical officer came toward Kirk.
"Dr. McCoy!"
McCoy approached Kirk with an easy stride. "Yes … did you want to see me, Jim?"
Dax watched the doctor and squinted. "I know him …"
"Must be McCoy," Sisko said uselessly. "The ship's doctor."
She kept looking. "McCoy … McCoy …"
Kirk confronted his chief surgeon with two fists full of tribbles in the face.
"Well, don't look at me," McCoy protested. "It's the tribbles who're breeding. And if we don't get them off the ship, we're gonna be hip-deep in them."
Squinting, Kirk ordered, "Could you explain that?"
"Well, the nearest thing I can figure out is that they're born pregnant." He grinned. "Which seems to be quite a time-saver!"
Wearily Kirk murmured, "Well, I know, but really…"
"And from my observations, it seems they're bisexual, reproducing at will. And, brother, have they got a lot of will."
Sisko grinned again, and turned to hide it. The doctor was completely unintimidated by Kirk. So Kirk had McCoy, and Sisko had Dax. Maybe fate made sure that men on the cutting edge of adventure always had somebody to keep them from getting too filled up with themselves.
"Leonard McCoy—" Dax gulped suddenly. "I met him when he was a student at Ol' Miss!"
Sisko kept his voice down. "Who met him? Curzon?"
"No, my host at the time was Emony. I was on Earth judging a gymnastics competition—"
"Captain, I'm forced to agree with the doctor." Spock swiveled around, his arms folded and his posture surprisingly relaxed. "I've been running computations on their rate of reproduction and the figures are taking an alarming direction. They're consuming our supplies, and returning nothing."
"Oh, but they do give us something, Mr. Spock," Lieutenant Uhura protested. "They give us love!"
As the men glared at her in varying degrees of scoff, she added, "Well, Cyrano Jones says that a tribble is the only love that money can buy."
"Too much of anything, Lieutenant," Kirk said painfully, "even love, isn't necessarily a good thing!"
He shoveled his tribbles into her arms.
Uhura struggled not to drop her load. "Yes, Captain …"
"I guess he took my advice," Dax murmured, and smiled as Sisko looked up at her. "About becoming a doctor. I told him he had the hands of a surgeon."
"I get the picture." Now that he had armament for future teases, Sisko clicked off his console. "I've scanned every deck. The bomb's not on board the ship."
Dax straightened, and he saw the same worry in her eyes that he felt in his own. "It must be somewhere on K-Seven."
Yes, he thought. Somewhere.