Read Online Strangers From the Sky by Margaret Wander Bonanno - Free Book Online
Authors: Margaret Wander Bonanno
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pages. “Why, a tome of this size can be scanned in an evening with comm-enhance. We even carry a ‘read while you sleep’ version. Such a waste of valuable time—turning pages, reading words instead of scanning paragraphs…”
“One of the reasons God gave man eyes and fingers, Purdi,” Jim Kirk had said softly, but as if to suggest that the subject was closed. Troyians talked too much.
“Coffee-table book!” Purdi sniffed. “At least that’s what they used to call them. That’s why you want the antique version—part of your collection!”
Kirk had left him with his misconception.
“Over a Billion Copies in Scan!” raved holo-ads and vidvertising every time Kirk switched on Prolificom for a weather report.
Not only was everyone buying Strangers , everyone actually seemed to be reading it. Kirk caught Heihachiro Nogura scanning it on his office screen the morning after three civilian friends had tried to press their copies on him at a party. Even his students, whose tastes usually ran to Astromance and Warmongoria , were debating its merits in the corridors between classes. When they asked the admiral his views on its merit, Kirk waived comment on the basis that he was still weighing it in the context of his—ahem—personal experience in diplomatic matters.
The final straw was when he thought he’d managed to escape it for a day by attending to some business up at TerraMain Spacedock, about as far offplanet as one could go without leaving orbit. He’d stopped by the commissary for a cup of coffee and the latest gossip when he caught sight of Nyota Uhura and—
“Admiral, you remember Cleante alFaisal.”
Silly question. Remember her? He’d once been madly in love with her, for nearly five minutes. Enterprise had been on a rescue mission, retrieving the two survivors, human and Vulcan, of a bit of Romulan nastiness at the edge of the quadrant. There’d been a moment’s peace and respite beside a lotus pool, and this sad, beautiful creature with Byzantine eyes…
“Hello, Jim.”
“Cleante.”
He kissed her hand now as he had then. Uhura’s eyes danced as she watched the two of them.
“Join us,” she invited Jim Kirk, and he did.
“What brings you to these parts?” he asked Cleante pleasantly.
“Coincidence,” she replied. Her voice was as lyrical as he’d remembered. “T’Shael had an appointment with Dr. M’Benga in Old Frisco and I tagged along to do some window-shopping. I ran into Nyota and she invited me up for lunch. I’d never been to Spacedock before.”
“I see.” Kirk nodded. T’Shael was the Vulcan survivor, genetically prone to some blood disorder that required periodic monitoring; Vulcan healers were hard to come by on Earth, and M’Benga was still the best of the humans. “Well, don’t let me interrupt your conversation—”
“Cleante was just telling me the most fascinating thing,” Uhura said brightly. “She’s discovered a long-lost relative.”
“Really? Something to do with your archaeology work?”
Cleante shook her head, her masses of dark hair an aura about her face.
“Surprisingly enough,” she said, “he turned up as a rather mysterious character in a history book. Have you read Strangers from the Sky yet?”
Inwardly Kirk groaned, defeated. “No, not yet .”
“Well, I’m sure you’re familiar with the premise. Here you have the entire military-intelligence community of Earth with its knickers in a knot trying to figure out what to do with two misplaced Vulcans, when this—character—by the name of Mahmoud Gamal al-Parneb Nezaj, if you can believe all that…”
That very afternoon, Jim Kirk beamed down from TerraMain and stopped by Purdi’s Book Emporium, waving a white flag.
He’d had his copy of Strangers sent to the Admiralty on purpose, to pique the curiosity of the younger generation onstaff, most of whom wouldn’t know what a book was if they fell over it. He’d sat at his desk holding the thing, still in the
“One of the reasons God gave man eyes and fingers, Purdi,” Jim Kirk had said softly, but as if to suggest that the subject was closed. Troyians talked too much.
“Coffee-table book!” Purdi sniffed. “At least that’s what they used to call them. That’s why you want the antique version—part of your collection!”
Kirk had left him with his misconception.
“Over a Billion Copies in Scan!” raved holo-ads and vidvertising every time Kirk switched on Prolificom for a weather report.
Not only was everyone buying Strangers , everyone actually seemed to be reading it. Kirk caught Heihachiro Nogura scanning it on his office screen the morning after three civilian friends had tried to press their copies on him at a party. Even his students, whose tastes usually ran to Astromance and Warmongoria , were debating its merits in the corridors between classes. When they asked the admiral his views on its merit, Kirk waived comment on the basis that he was still weighing it in the context of his—ahem—personal experience in diplomatic matters.
The final straw was when he thought he’d managed to escape it for a day by attending to some business up at TerraMain Spacedock, about as far offplanet as one could go without leaving orbit. He’d stopped by the commissary for a cup of coffee and the latest gossip when he caught sight of Nyota Uhura and—
“Admiral, you remember Cleante alFaisal.”
Silly question. Remember her? He’d once been madly in love with her, for nearly five minutes. Enterprise had been on a rescue mission, retrieving the two survivors, human and Vulcan, of a bit of Romulan nastiness at the edge of the quadrant. There’d been a moment’s peace and respite beside a lotus pool, and this sad, beautiful creature with Byzantine eyes…
“Hello, Jim.”
“Cleante.”
He kissed her hand now as he had then. Uhura’s eyes danced as she watched the two of them.
“Join us,” she invited Jim Kirk, and he did.
“What brings you to these parts?” he asked Cleante pleasantly.
“Coincidence,” she replied. Her voice was as lyrical as he’d remembered. “T’Shael had an appointment with Dr. M’Benga in Old Frisco and I tagged along to do some window-shopping. I ran into Nyota and she invited me up for lunch. I’d never been to Spacedock before.”
“I see.” Kirk nodded. T’Shael was the Vulcan survivor, genetically prone to some blood disorder that required periodic monitoring; Vulcan healers were hard to come by on Earth, and M’Benga was still the best of the humans. “Well, don’t let me interrupt your conversation—”
“Cleante was just telling me the most fascinating thing,” Uhura said brightly. “She’s discovered a long-lost relative.”
“Really? Something to do with your archaeology work?”
Cleante shook her head, her masses of dark hair an aura about her face.
“Surprisingly enough,” she said, “he turned up as a rather mysterious character in a history book. Have you read Strangers from the Sky yet?”
Inwardly Kirk groaned, defeated. “No, not yet .”
“Well, I’m sure you’re familiar with the premise. Here you have the entire military-intelligence community of Earth with its knickers in a knot trying to figure out what to do with two misplaced Vulcans, when this—character—by the name of Mahmoud Gamal al-Parneb Nezaj, if you can believe all that…”
That very afternoon, Jim Kirk beamed down from TerraMain and stopped by Purdi’s Book Emporium, waving a white flag.
He’d had his copy of Strangers sent to the Admiralty on purpose, to pique the curiosity of the younger generation onstaff, most of whom wouldn’t know what a book was if they fell over it. He’d sat at his desk holding the thing, still in the
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