Star Trek - Log 3

by Alan Dean Foster

  "Ah, Captain, Captain!" The goat-man leaned back on the grass and rested his head in his hands, staring at the blue sky. "To feign such ignorance with me. Still, it way always one of my problems." He stopped, and Kirk got the impression he had somehow hurt the goat-man's feelings.

  Lucien crawled forward then and swept his hand through the clear surface of the brook. His fingers broke the water once and withdrew.

  "Listen, look, I'll try to explain further."

  The ripples stilled. Colors began to appear, staining the clearness. Shapes started to form, and soon it was like looking into a viewscreen. Gone completely was the sandy bottom of the stream. In its place they saw a broad panorama of men and women—Megans—exotic and familiar, chiseled handsome and intentionally plain, all sitting lost in contemplation amid the howling chaos that was the real surface of Megas-tu.

  "This may seem to you humans to be a world of insanity and instability," declared Lucien. "But it has the quality of change we all demand. My people are calm and contented, each one existing in the world of his or her imagination."

  The image in the screen blurred, changed, and Kirk and his companions had again a view of the Megan universe as they first encountered it, a riot of blending colors and splinters of stellar shape.

  "There are no rivals in our little universe at all, Captain Kirk. No other life-forms save ourselves." The picture jumped again, and they were back on Megas-tu. As they watched, the people in the stream-picture stood together, and some of them began to rise upward, free of the planet.

  "Millennia ago," Lucien continued, "in our search for companionship, we Megans passed through the various gates between dimensions, including the great vortex you entered by.

  "Eventually, on one such expedition, we discovered," and the scene shifted again as if anticipating his words, "your world—Earth." They now saw a view of the blue-white globe of Terra, seen from space. Kirk felt an unexpected quickening. He had been away from home for too long.

  "Wherever we went we became friends and advisors to mankind. To help your ancestors out of their misery and ignorance we drew as best we could on the power left behind in our own universe, bringing it in through tiny gates." Hands stirred the water again, and ripples blotted out the blue-white ball.

  When the stream had stilled once more, Kirk saw only the sandy bottom and a couple of dreamlike shadows cast by small fish.

  Lucien sat back and shook the droplets from his hand. "Eventually we were forced to leave," he concluded. "It was a group decision. For myself, I wanted to stay. Ah, how I fought, how I argued! You see, I was the generalist, the apologist among specialists.

  "The troublemaker, the others said. But I'd grown to love Earth and its unpredictable, funny people." He saw visions of the past. "Those were the days . . . you crazy, irrational humans." He looked over at them.

  "But now you have come back to me. It is so good to see you again." He leaped to his feet, a gesture of pure joy, and sprang into a hectic, prancing dance, to the accompaniment of a cheerful piping that seemed to come from all around them.

  The music was infectious, and Kirk found himself smiling as he spoke. "If you Megans enjoyed Earth so much, why did you leave it? I don't understand . . ."

  "Captain, good Captain, always so curious, always there must be a reason," the dancing Lucien laughed. "Another reason why I liked you humans so much. The vortex knows you have many special qualities—and special faults."

  He took a giant leap and whirled in the air, performing an outrageous multiple pirouette that carried him to the tops of the highest trees . . . where he froze motionless. There was a new note in his voice when he spoke, a hint of concern, of worry, that was alien to the Lucien they had started to know.

  "No." The piping melody faded into silence, and he was down at their side again in a second. His boyish pleasure had turned desperately serious.

  "You must go."

  "What is it?" asked a nervous McCoy. "What's wrong?"

  "I cannot tell you just now. But you must return to your vessel immediately. And quiet, be quiet about it. You must not give your presence away."

  Kirk tried for elaboration, but Lucien was already gesturing again. A rainbow haze blurred Kirk's vision, and he felt himself rising, rising and dissolving . . .

  Scott, Sulu and Uhura were clustered anxiously on the bridge, all crowded around the main navigation console where Arex was struggling to make some sense out of the computer readouts. Their study was shattered by a sudden crackling behind them, and they turned quickly.

  Pulsing with vast power held carefully in check, a red-and-white cloud appeared in the center of the bridge. It broke into three smaller clouds, which gradually contracted into the shapes of Kirk, McCoy, and Spock.

  Everyone on the bridge rushed forward to the returned officers, all trying to speak at once.

  "Captain Kirk . . . what happened? . . . where were you all? . . . given you up, Mr. Spock . . ."

  "One at a time, one at a time," Kirk admonished them, making calming motions. "We're . . . we're all right." He took a deep breath, looked around him.

  They were back on the Enterprise, and it had never looked quite so good. After the mad maelstrom below, the clean lines of the bridge were reassuring—even if they held their shape only through Lucien's will. And it was good to be back among real people again. Though the look in Uhura's eyes . . .

  "Status report, first."

  "Everything okay, it seems, Captain. All systems except the warp-engines are workin' perfectly, and I can have them operatin' in two or three hours. But you . . ."

  "The only thing that's wrong with me, Mr. Scott, is that I'm still badly confused by a number of things."

  "You've got plenty of company, Jim," McCoy noted. "What did Lucien mean, we're not to 'give ourselves away'? Give ourselves away to whom? Couldn't anyone else on Megas-tu detect us up here? I would think we kind of stand out."

  "They'd need mighty powerful scanners to find us now," said Scott, who was ignorant of the realities of Megas. "See that?" He indicated the main viewscreen.

  A thick layer of dense, particle-laden material now lay like luminescent gray smoke between the Enterprise and the surface, blotting out the red-and-white clouds below them.

  "It's somethin' like a big dust cloud, Captain," said Scott, "and yet it's different. Been between us and the surface ever since you disappeared. Communicator and scanner beams wouldn't penetrate . . . we tried." Kirk swiveled to face the library station.

  "If it was Lucien who put it there, Captain," Spock mused, "the question then becomes . . . why is he hiding us? What danger are we in from something on his world?" Kirk nodded, turned back to his chief engineer.

  "Weapon's status, Mr. Scott? It seems we may have to be ready to defend ourselves."

  "Then it'll have to be with fast talk, Captain. Our phaser banks and defensive screens require at least a partial powering-up of the warp-drive engines. Give me a few hours and I might be able to say different."

  "Do the best you can, Scotty." Kirk's voice dropped to a murmur. "We can't defend ourselves and we can't run away. And we don't even know what it is we might have to fight. So," and he clapped both hands firmly to the arms of the command chair, "we wait."

  "And do what?" wondered McCoy aloud. "Lucien may not show up again for three hundred years, our time. By then, I might be an old man."

  "I have an interesting idea," proposed a calm voice. They all turned their attention to Spock. "Captain, I think it would be best to first try this in private. If you will accompany me to my quarters? And Dr. McCoy as well?"

  "What have you got in mind, Spock?"

  "Something in the nature of an experiment, Captain. It may prove quite interesting. And if we are fortunate, practical as well."

  The door slid quietly aside as the three officers entered Spock's spacious room. Kirk and McCoy watched as Spock moved to his desk and fished out a thick, white marking stylus. He waved them to one side.

  "A little room, please,
gentlemen." They stepped back and stood against the far wall.

  While they watched with growing curiosity, Spock proceeded to sketch a rough pentagram on the smooth floor, erasing one arm and redrawing it when it seemed too much longer than the others. Kirk and McCoy recognized the pentagram shape, something that made no sense in connection with Spock. The latter clarified his actions as soon as the diagram was finished.

  "Not being a logical corollary of physics, magic was never subjected to quite the serious study on Vulcan as it received on Earth. No doubt the actions of visiting Megans lent it somewhat more credibility on your world. Some of your more credulous philosophers—or more perceptive—went as far as to attempt to codify the most formal principles of the so-called 'dark arts.' In the course of my readings on Earth I had occasion to encounter much information of this sort." He got to his feet, gazed thoughtfully down at the pentagram.

  "I believe this is one of the most important and basic mystical symbols described by the terran 'magicians.' I observed Lucien utilizing the same device earlier." Kirk began to see where Spock was heading.

  "Lucien did say something to the effect that we could master the same techniques," Kirk pondered. "Spock, you're saying that as long as we're in this universe, we can 'work' magic, too?"

  "One must always be prepared to employ the resources at hand, Captain." He hesitated. "Although I must confess it requires considerable effort for me to readjust my thinking along such lines." He walked into the center of the pentagram.

  "Watch there, now." He pointed toward his desk. An elaborate three-dimensional maze laden with double-toned crystal pieces sat on one end.

  "I will attempt to move one of the Vulcan chess pieces using only magic—magic in our universe, but what should merely be the proper utilization of a local scientific principle."

  "But how can you, Spock?" McCoy objected. "I mean, you don't know the words, or the proper gestures, or—"

  "It should be the mental state that counts, Doctor. And I have the terran magical principles to use for a base." He gestured for quiet, assumed a stance of deep concentration.

  Stretching out his arms toward the table, he began to speak. "May the energy of this universe be the power in me." Kirk and McCoy stared expectantly, hopefully, at the chess set. There was no hint of movement.

  "Forget it, Spock," advised McCoy after several minutes of intense concentration on the first officer's part had proven ineffectual. "It won't work."

  Spock lowered his arms slightly and opened his eyes. "It has to work, Doctor. It is logical it should work—here." He closed his eyes halfway and tried again.

  "I draw on your energy . . . I know I can. I believe I can. For every action, yea, let there be an equal and opposite reaction."

  There was a sudden crackling in the air. McCoy jumped halfway out of his regulation boots. Yellow and black fire flashed around Spock's body. A thin sliver of energy leaped from one of his hands to the table.

  It touched a Vulcan rook, enveloped it in yellow flame, and moved it three spaces forward. Kirk smiled.

  "Well now. Let me try that, Spock." Spock obligingly stepped out of the pentagram and let Kirk take his place.

  He raised his arms hesitantly toward the table, looked over at his first officer for reassurance. "This feels ridiculous, Mr. Spock."

  "The important thing is to relax and concentrate, Captain. I think the physical gesture is purely supplementary . . . a psychological crutch. Merely a way of helping the mind focus thought. Like talking out loud."

  "Now really, Jim," began McCoy. "You can't expect to fully duplicate . . ."

  McCoy was cut off by the rumble of a small thunderclap echoing through the room. But the doctor was right. Kirk could not duplicate Spock's results . . . exactly.

  The colors that flashed around him were not yellow and black, but blue and green, sea-color fire. One fringe of it nudged a bishop two spaces, then lifted and dropped it down a level.

  "Good move, Captain," commented Spock idly. Kirk dropped his arms and stared at the chessboard, still not quite able to believe he had done it.

  Sudden enthusiasm replaced McCoy's skepticism. "Wait a minute now—it's my turn."

  "Only two at a time can play the game, Doctor. I believe we can find other, more interesting uses, for this extraordinary ability. With a little practice, it should be possible to control the local energy flow without the use of clumsy inscribed symbols such as this pentagram."

  The demonstration that Kirk, Spock, and McCoy gave on the bridge caused the expected sensation, but the surprise and shock soon gave way to delight as Sulu, Uhura, and the others discovered they too could manipulate the Megan magic.

  Not having a chess set handy, they followed Spock's suggestion and practiced with the bridge instrumentation. Kirk discovered that he was able to activate or deactivate the main viewscreen with a simple gesture. But he could not work the magnification controls. Apparently the more delicate the instrument, the finer one's grasp of the energies involved had to be.

  "Hey, where's Scotty?" asked McCoy suddenly, looking around the bridge.

  "I think he headed up to the recreation room on B-deck," Sulu replied absently. He was making elaborate twisting movements, but so far had achieved nothing more than a floating cloud of writhing energy a meter in front of his hands.

  "Now what do you think he'd want in there, do you suppose?" wondered Kirk.

  Scott surveyed the recreation room to make certain it was empty. Then he moved to the unit games dispenser and requested a normal tennis ball. But he didn't go through the door leading to the indoor court.

  Instead, he made a number of swinging, swerving gestures with both hands. Energy appeared out of air and formed a glowing nimbus around the ball. It was abruptly sucked up by the spheroid, acting as a vacuum. The ball quivered as Scott concentrated on it, then dropped to the floor, bounced once and ricocheted off the far wall.

  Beautifully executed—except Scott had overlooked one small factor. The ball was moving at about a hundred kilometers an hour, and showed no sign of slowing down.

  It struck the roof and rocketed toward Scott. Showing some impressive speed of his own, the chief engineer dove under a nearby game table. The ball contacted the floor near his left foot, shot across the room, hit the far wall, bounced back up to the ceiling, the floor again, across the room—and it appeared to be picking up speed.

  Seconds later it whizzed past his head, and Scott hurriedly covered his face with his hands. Crouched in that awkward position he wiggled his fingers desperately. It had not the slightest effect on the ball, which continued to whizz around the room like a runaway warp-engine. It was now moving so fast Scott could see it only as a weak blur.

  Scottish magic can be very strong.

  Back up on the bridge, Sulu had assumed a look of grim determination. He made a last, twisting thrust at the drifting ball of energy he had conjured up. Abruptly it darkened, coalesced, and formed into the most beautiful girl in this or any other universe.

  He had been expecting it all along—the helmsman was a positive thinker. He moved forward, arms extended to embrace her . . . but when his lips touched, the image dissolved.

  "I've heard of devastating kissers," said the watching McCoy, "but don't you think that's overdoing it a little, Sulu?"

  "Very funny, Doctor," Sulu moved his hands again, slowly constructing another human shape out of colored fire.

  The officers of the Enterprise continued to practice their new-found talents. Eventually Kirk found that he could make the viewscreen do just about anything it could do in normal space-time, only here he did not have to touch a single control.

  On B-deck, the whining ball finally came to a sudden halt. Scott looked out warily from under the table. First the covering and finally the interior material had disintegrated—shredded by sheer speed. But not before the ball had managed to put some respectable dents in the metal walls.

  Eyeing the now defunct remnants of the ball with respect, he moved back
to the games producer . . . and ordered a set of checkers. This time he would practice with something a little less lethal.

  Sulu was sweating with effort and had managed to generate another girl. He leaned toward her again. This time his curious audience included several other members of the bridge complement, who had left off their own practicing to watch him.

  "Good luck," Uhura volunteered.

  Sulu kissed the apparition . . . and the girl's arms went around him as she kissed back. His eyes bugged in surprise. That he hadn't expected. But he recovered quickly, returned the kiss with fervor—too much fervor. The energy-waif burst into little match-flares and was gone.

  Sulu was prepared to try yet a third time, but a red-and-white cloud suddenly filled the center of the bridge. It faded, and once more Lucien stood among them. But this time he was not grinning or dancing. In fact, he looked agitated and upset.

  "What are you doing?" He gazed around in anxious confusion. Kirk looked back at him.

  "Learning to protect ourselves, Lucien."

  "Protect yourselves? Is that all human beings ever think about—fighting? I'll take care of you. That's what friends are for." He started pacing back and forth.

  "I don't know . . . I just don't know. All this mental energy you've been using. Your peculiar patterns . . . it can be traced, you know. You might be found."

  A voice thunderous enough to dwarf Lucien's suddenly filled the bridge, accompanied by the whistling, howling, spine-twisting moans of the real, uncontrolled Megas-tu.

  "HAVE BEEN FOUND!" it rumbled.

  Lucien halted in mid-step. Kirk was startled to see something very like fear appear in the face of the up to now omnipotent goat-man. For the first time it occurred to Kirk that Lucien might not have exceptional powers among his own kind.

  He didn't care to think what sort of being might.

  But it seemed they were about to find out.

  A new cloud of colors began to form on the bridge. There was more of the fiery black this time—yellow, white, electric blues and orange, swirling and reforming and curling; all the slithery nightmare shapes of the world below seemed present in that cloud.