Star Trek - Log 10

by Alan Dean Foster

  Uhura concurred. "I've got to admit I'll feel a lot more comfortable back on board myself."

  "And I'll feel comfortable," Sulu added fervently, "only when that"—he pointed at the quiescent cube resting in Spock's grasp—"is safely on board the Enterprise . . ."

  "I want to thank you, Commander," Director Masid was saying as the three officers prepared to board their shuttlecraft, "for relieving us of responsibility for that," and she indicated the stasis box. "Its potential for causing trouble is too explosive for us, even if its defensive mechanism isn't."

  "There is no need to thank us, Director Masid," Spock replied from his position atop the boarding ramp. "We were fortunate, and that is no substitute for being skilled. We were all lucky that the box contained something besides a disruptor bomb to defend itself with. Good-bye for now, and good luck with your digging."

  "Thanks to you," she murmured as the shuttlecraft thundered into the dark sky, "I think I may be able to enjoy it for a change." She turned to the car waiting to take her back to her office in the administration dome.

  It's amazing, she reflected, how a reprieve from expected death can make formerly ordinary work seem fresh and exciting . . .

  V

  "Captain? Captain Kirrk!"

  Kirk swung the command chair and looked toward the communication station. "What is it, Lieutenant M'ress?"

  The Caitian communications officer who had taken over for the absent Lieutenant Uhura had one paw pressed to the left side of her head. She was slightly bent over in her seat and it looked to Kirk as if she was wincing.

  "What's the matter, Lieutenant? Are you in pain?" He was immediately concerned.

  "No, not exactly, sirr. I . . . I'm not surre what's wrong, but something . . . is. I feel very peculiarr all of a sudden. Dizzy. It's almost familiarr, like something I've felt beforre, but . . . I can't place it." She rose unsteadily in her chair. "I'm afrraid I have to ask to be excused frrom duty, sirr."

  "You don't have to ask and there's no need to apologize, Lieutenant. I only hope it's nothing more than a bad headache."

  "It . . . doesn't feel like a headache, sirr."

  "Report to Sick Bay immediately," Kirk ordered her. "Lieutenant Talliflores will take over for you."

  "Yes, sirr." M'ress made a few adjustments to the controls on her console, her hands moving with unaccustomed awkwardness over the familiar instrumentation.

  At that point Kirk was out of the chair and striding over to her. "Never mind contacting your relief," he said, worried. "I'll do that myself. Just get to Sick Bay. Think you can make it by yourself?"

  "I believe so, sirr."

  Despite her assurance, Kirk helped the lieutenant to the turbolift. He left her with a reassuring smile, which turned instantly to an expression of troubled concern when the doors closed behind her.

  Back in the command chair, he activated the intercom. M'ress's relief was on recreation time now and probably wouldn't be in his cabin. He set for shipwide general broadcast.

  "Lieutenant Talliflores, Lieutenant Talliflores. Report to the bridge immediately."

  That task concluded, he leaned back and mused over M'ress's sudden ailment. Why it should trouble him so, he couldn't say. It was only natural that occasionally one of his bridge crew should take sick, despite their usual exemplary healthiness. Perhaps it was because M'ress was always so vibrant and alive. Try as he could, this was the first time he could recall the communications officer falling ill.

  And yet . . . hadn't she indicated that her symptoms were akin to something she had suffered before?

  He was still mulling over the incident when Lieutenant Talliflores arrived, worried and out of breath.

  "I'm sorry, sir, if I—"

  "Never mind. There's no problem." Thus assured, the swarthy officer relaxed. "I'm going to have to ask you to take over the remainder of Lieutenant M'ress's shift. You can do double duty until she returns, Talliflores. Your recreation time will be accredited accordingly."

  "Yes, sir." Talliflores moved to take up station at communications. In the middle of his standard checkout of the instrumentation, it occurred to him to ask why he was taking M'ress's normal position. "If I may inquire, sir, is anything wrong? Lieutenant M'ress and I went sliding only yesterday. I didn't notice anything wrong with her."

  "She complained of not feeling well, and of being dizzy." Kirk offered the officer reassurance he couldn't feel himself. "Probably just a headache. It didn't seem serious, Lieutenant. I expect her back before her shift is up."

  "That's good to hear, sir." Talliflores looked relieved. He was a close friend of both M'ress and Uhura. That was only natural since they shared the same station, performed identical duties on different shifts.

  But after several hours had passed without the reappearance of M'ress, Kirk felt compelled to check on her condition. He thumbed the intercom.

  "Sick Bay, this is the captain speaking."

  "Sick Bay, Nurse Chapel speaking."

  "How is Lieutenant M'ress, Chapel?"

  There was a brief pause before McCoy's assistant replied. "Fine, as far as I know, Captain. Why?"

  Now it was Kirk's turn to hesitate. Something was wrong here. "What do you mean, 'As far as I know'?" he finally replied. "What was wrong with her? Or hasn't Bones made a diagnosis yet?"

  "Diagnosis, sir? As far as I know Dr. McCoy hasn't seen Lieutenant M'ress except in the officers' mess or maybe in the recreation section." Chapel's tone turned abruptly from one of puzzlement to concern. "Why, is something wrong with her? If there is, this is the first I've heard of it."

  Lieutenant Arex glanced back from his place at the navigation-helm. His quizzical stare was matched by that of lieutenant Vedama, who looked over from the science station.

  "Chapel," Kirk finally asked, "didn't Lieutenant M'ress report for treatment of a mild cerebral disorder?" He checked his command-chair chronometer. She ought to have been in Sick Bay for several hours by now."

  "Just one moment, sir. I haven't been here long. Let me check today's records." There was a pause while Kirk fidgeted impatiently at the delay.

  "No, sir," Chapel eventually informed him. "I see no record of Lieutenant M'ress checking in for observation or any other reason. I believe I—Just a moment, sir."

  A new voice sounded over the intercom. "Jim, what's this about Lieutenant M'ress?"

  "Bones, M'ress left the bridge over three hours ago. She was complaining of dizziness and other unidentifiable difficulties. She was having difficulty operating her equipment, but she insisted she could make it down to Sick Bay on her own." He took a deep breath. "Apparently she couldn't."

  "It doesn't look that way, Jim. I just came on duty myself. I haven't seen her and if Chapel says the records don't show her checking in, well, then she didn't check in."

  "That's bad. Hang on a minute, Bones." Kirk turned to communications. "Lieutenant Talliflores, give me security in the officer's section, Deck Five." Talliflores did so.

  "Security Deck Five, Ensign Atete speaking."

  "Ensign, this is the captain. Lieutenant M'ress is missing. Check her cabin. You have permission to break the lock seal if necessary, to enter."

  "Yes, sir," the ensign responded alertly. "A moment."

  There was a wait, first while the lieutenant checked to make certain it was indeed Kirk who was speaking to him, and then a longer one while he performed the necessary check.

  "No, sir," he finally reported back, "the lieutenant is not in her cabin."

  "She may be ill," Kirk told him. "It's possible she fell behind something."

  "I made a thorough check, sir. She's nowhere in her quarters."

  "Thank you, Atete. Bridge out."

  Kirk switched back to his chair communicator, where Sick Bay was waiting on hold. "Bones, she's not in her quarters."

  "You said she complained of dizziness and that she had trouble with her instruments, Jim," McCoy repeated carefully. "Did she seem to be in pain?"

  "I couldn't tell, bu
t if she was she didn't complain about it," was the captain's reply. "She just said she was feeling peculiar, and that she thought it was familiar. I'd say she was as much confused as sick."

  "It doesn't sound like a headache, Jim. I could be wrong. I hope I am wrong. I'll check our Caitian references. The important thing is to find her. If she's lying unconscious in a corridor somewhere . . . Let's hope she's just sitting somewhere in a daze."

  "I'm going to find out, Bones. Stand by at your end." He faced communications. "Lieutenant Talliflores, give me shipwide broadcast."

  "Aye, sir." Talliflores adjusted controls, then signaled to Kirk, who directed his voice to the command-chair pickup.

  "Attention, all personnel. Lieutenant M'ress of communications was scheduled to report to Sick Bay some time ago. She did not do so. The lieutenant was suffering from dizziness and possibly more severe disorder as well. Lieutenant, if you hear this and can respond, please go immediately to the nearest communicator and check in with either the bridge or Sick Bay. If you are unable to respond verbally, try to make yourself visible.

  "While not neglecting your assigned duties, all personnel are requested to keep an eye out for lieutenant M'ress and to notify Sick Bay as to her location and condition upon seeing her."

  He switched off general broadcast, spoke to Sick Bay again. "Unless she's hidden herself somewhere, Bones, that should find her for us quickly."

  "I hope so, Jim," the Enterprise's chief physician replied slowly. "It doesn't sound serious . . . yet. But it sure sounds peculiar. Sick Bay out."

  "Funny," Kirk mused after McCoy had clicked off, "that's exactly how M'ress described it . . ."

  In a quiet section of the small forest that formed part of the Enterprise's recreational area on Deck Eight, a strolling off-duty food technician paused to listen to the Captain's urgent message even as he was curiously eyeing an indistinct form crouching behind a large shrub in front of him, slightly off the main pathway.

  As soon as the message ended, he walked toward the bush. "Hey, you there!" The form didn't move out into the open. The technician continued walking toward the bush.

  "Say, aren't you Lieutenant M'ress?" he inquired when he got near enough to make out the individual's outline. "Didn't you hear the captain?" Still the figure gave no sign of moving. "You're supposed to report in immediately." Uncertainty gave way to sudden concern. "They said you were supposed to report to Sick Bay. Are you all right, Lieutenant? Can I help?"

  He reached out a hand toward the figure. "I said, do you need any—"

  Rising in one motion, the figure spun violently on the startled crewman. Wide, glaring cat eyes blazed at him, nostrils flared widely, and the slim figure was puffed to more than normal size. It was not the appearance the technician expected from a ranking officer.

  Slowly he took a step backward, away from the heavily breathing figure. "Now take it easy, just slow down a moment, ma'am. If you've got some kind of sickness or something . . . I don't think I'd better—"

  The technician whirled, turned to run. His mouth opened as he framed a call for help. As it developed, he managed neither a shout nor retreat. Lieutenant M'ress fairly exploded off the grass. As she landed on the man's back her hands went around his neck and both squirming, struggling shapes fell hard to the ground.

  VI

  Like a dull white copepod swimming in some unimaginably vast ocean's black depths, the shuttlecraft Copernicus raced for Starbase Twenty-Five and its rendezvous with the Enterprise. Within the shuttle's control room the Slaver stasis box, fifty centimeters on each side but considerably larger in import, gleamed metallically in the center of the single rest table.

  Spock was pacing back and forth near the table while Sulu manned the tiny craft's controls. Uhura stood near him, staring out the fore port at the slowly changing panorama spread out ahead of them.

  They were back on schedule, which meant they had plenty of time to reach the Starbase before the Enterprise was required to leave for Briamos. But that was small comfort to Spock. He was regretting every hour of the learning sessions Kirk must be attending on Briamos and its inhabitants, sorry for every detail he was not present to absorb firsthand.

  In addition, he was as anxious as Uhura and Sulu to learn what the enigmatic stasis box contained. Only on board the Enterprise could he and Engineer Scott assemble a proper stasis disruptor for safely opening the ancient container.

  Bored with the view forward, Uhura turned to the less spectacular but more intriguing object resting on the table. She gazed speculatively at the box. With ample time to do nothing but reflect on what it might contain, she had managed to conjure any number of incredible wonders—though they were wonders no larger than fifty centimeters on a side.

  Inside that unimpressive cube of metal time had stood still for perhaps a billion years. Certainly whatever relics lay so magnificently preserved had to be valuable, as the contents of stasis boxes usually were. And maybe dangerous as well, as they often were. She no longer had any doubts about the value of whatever lay inside. The box's unique method of protecting itself all but stated that something inside was well worth defending from the casually curious.

  Spock was making notations in his pocket recorder when he noticed Uhura's stare. "Speculation is no less intriguing for usually being inaccurate, Lieutenant."

  "I was wondering what might be inside, Mr. Spock. I know a little about the Slaver Empire, but not enough to make an accurate guess."

  "You have a great deal of company, Lieutenant," the first officer assured her. "Our entire store of information concerning the empire of the Slavers is sketchy at best. We know that they were masters of all the intelligent life in this part of the galaxy a billion years ago. That is a long time for anything in the way of reliable information to have survived. It's hardly surprising that so little has."

  "Masters of the galaxy until a billion years ago . . ." Uhura murmured wonderingly. "Until one race finally mounted a successful revolt. It must have been a time of chaos." Her gaze went from Spock back to the stasis box. "Are these the only sources of information we have about their empire?"

  Spock turned away, eyed the blaze of stars forward. "The only factual ones. Even rumors die in that length of time. But we have learned a little."

  Uhura turned to listen, moved forward again. In doing so, she missed the sudden appearance of a slightly blue glow that materialized around the box. Its teardrop shape was silent. The tip of the azure halo pointed forward.

  "The Slavers," Spock declared, ignorant of the mysterious aura which had enveloped the box behind him, "and all their subjects were exterminated in the war that followed that eons-old revolt. Intelligent life had to evolve all over again in this part of the galaxy." He fell silent, thoughtful. "So far," he eventually added, "the stasis boxes are the only remnants we've been able to find of those many lost and doubtless great civilizations."

  He frowned, noticed Uhura staring as if mesmerized behind him. "Something wrong, Lieutenant."

  By way of answer, she pointed. "Why is it glowing like that? It wasn't doing that before."

  Spock whirled and saw for the first time the unmistakable aura which had encapsulated the box. Moving to his right, he noted its shape, let his gaze travel naturally from the point of the teardrop shape back out the front port. Ahead and drifting slowly to starboard was an impressively radiating spiral, a stellar object sufficiently spectacular that it had to be on the charts. He thought he recognized it.

  His attention turned back to the no-longer-inert stasis box. The point of the teardrop, he was convinced, was not stable but instead was shifting slowly. Not unexpectedly, it was changing to a starboard direction.

  "Mr. Sulu, what is our current position?"

  Sulu executed a fast check of his instruments and glanced back over a shoulder as he spoke. "Passing Beta Lyrae, sir. One hundred and forty-two degrees northeast of the galactic plane." At this point he noticed the glowing blue cloud enveloping the box. "Where did that come from?"
<
br />   The point of the blue aura was still moving steadily to starboard, tracking the changing position of Beta Lyrae as efficiently as any instrument.

  "We do not know where it comes from or how the box produces it, Mr. Sulu, but it is not a unique phenomenon. I have heard of such a thing happening before. Most unexpected and most fortuitous."

  "Fortuitous? I don't understand." The helmsman looked understandably confused.

  "The motion of the blue aura surrounding our box," Spock explained, "would indicate that there is another stasis box orbiting Beta Lyrae."

  Uhura was equally new to the phenomenon described by Spock. "Another one!"

  Spock appeared baffled, almost hesitant to answer. "It is, as I said, unexpected. Your surprise is well justified, Lieutenant Uhura. It seems most illogical for a stasis box to remain in this vicinity, undiscovered, for so long. Beta Lyrae is one of the most impressive sights and one of the rarest in the explored galaxy. Every ship that passes by would likely slow to observe and enjoy its spectacle at leisure.

  "Still, the only known stasis-box detector is another stasis box. Detection is, obviously, by means of that blue aura. Perhaps none of the many vessels passing Beta Lyrae possessed a stasis box. But given the number of observers, both casual and scientific, who must have spent a good deal of time in this vicinity, I confess to being puzzled that a stasis box's peculiar characteristics have remained undiscovered for so long."

  He broke off to take another look at the glowing box. By now the point of the teardrop had shifted around to a position facing forty-five degrees aft of the shuttle. Rapidly, he considered the time and date, made some hasty calculations. As important as it was for all three of them to attend the Briamosite briefings at Starbase 25, this was something that they could not ignore. While their presence at the pre-conference briefings was desirable, it was not critical.