Star Trek - Log 10

by Alan Dean Foster

"They probably wonder, like all naturally furred creatures in the Federation, how we humans can run around almost naked, by their standards."

  Kirk stood as several figures emerged from the hatchway. A limp form was passed to one tall medical technician. He handled the comatose M'ress easily. Her eyes were closed tight, arms and legs dangling like pale vines.

  "Sick Bay immediately, Ensign," ordered a muffled voice from somewhere behind the hatchway.

  "Yes, Doctor," acknowledged the tech, moving toward the turbolift doors.

  Kirk was about to tell the ensign that the lift didn't work, when the doors slid aside obediently at the man's request and shut behind him. At the rate they were going, it wouldn't take Scotty's crew long to have the bridge functioning at full efficiency again.

  "They'll all be all right, Bones?" he asked the figure emerging from the hatchway.

  "I think so, Jim, Except for the mental inconvenience they might suffer for a while."

  "How do you mean, Bones?"

  McCoy walked over to retrieve first Scott's discarded tranquilizer pistol, then Kirk's. "Consider what they've done, Jim. They've tried to take over the ship. In the process they put a respectable number of their fellow crew members in Sick Bay with assorted scratches and other wounds. Generally they've behaved in a very immature as well as aggressive fashion.

  "Of course, they had no control over their actions. Matter of fact, when they come around in a few hours I doubt that any of them, M'ress included, will remember much of what they did. The difficulties will come," he continued after a brief pause, "when their companions tell them what they've been up to.

  "That will upset them enough, but it's the reason behind their actions which will trouble them the most. M'ress will stand it better than M'viore and R'leez because she's an officer, but I don't doubt that the two ensigns will take a good deal of kidding about what happened. I think we're going to have to cope with three very embarrassed Caitians."

  "But everyone will know," Kirk said, "that they weren't responsible for their actions, that they had no control over the way they were acting."

  "Easy to say, Jim, but then we're not the ones who have to handle the fact that we lost all composure and intelligence and spent a day acting like, well, like animals."

  Kirk turned to the blank viewscreen, thought hard. "I think the Caitians will handle any joking competently, Bones. After all, they can always use the argument that we humans act like animals all the time."

  X

  Sulu found himself running deeper and deeper into the jumbled landscape, dodging nervously around towering blades of ice, scrambling atop slick-surface boulders to whom the proximity of organic matter was a radical if nonperceived event.

  The terrain grew steadily more grotesque in outline, the horizon increasingly tortured. One would have thought two rivers of ice had rushed headlong into one another here, jammed together like massive white wrestlers. Ice and stone pressed and piled over and atop each other to create a chalcedony desert flavored by Bosch. At least the chaotic topography favored Sulu's retreat. No phaser beam stabbed at him from behind. Let the Kzinti follow him if they could—he'd have them ambushing each other.

  Sulu turned another ice block half the size of the shuttlecraft, only to see a figure rushing at him. Startled, he tried to back away. Then he recognized the familiar shape and began moving toward it.

  "Mr. Spock!" Sulu let out an exhausted but relieved sigh as the first officer neared. "I thought you were one of the Kzinti."

  Spock replied simply by holding up the object he carried. "I have the device, Lieutenant."

  "Yes, but they've got Uhura. At least, I expect they do. I'm sure I saw her fall before I got out of the open. They've also got subspace radio and have us cut off from the Copernicus. If they want to, they can wait for us to starve while they call for help from the nearest Kzinti base."

  "No, they cannot," Spock informed him with remarkable self-assurance, "or rather, they will not."

  Sulu re-examined the options open to the Kzinti that he had just voiced, and bewilderedly could find no reason why they could not do exactly what he'd claimed. "Why can't they?"

  "Because I kicked Chuft-Captain." When Sulu showed no sign of comprehending, the first officer elaborated. "Consider, Mr. Sulu. Chuft-Captain has been attacked by an herbivorous pacifist, an eater of roots and leaves, one who according to Kzinti tradition not only does not fight, but does not resist. Furthermore, I gave the ultimate insult subsequent to my successful attack, by leaving Chuft-Captain alive." Spock moved to the far corner of the monolith, peered cautiously around it.

  "Chuft-Captain's honor is at stake, Lieutenant. Before he can seek outside help he must have personal revenge in order to absolve himself."

  "Now I understand, sir. That gives us some time, then." Sulu hesitated, eyeing the first officer intently and with admiration. "You did plan it that way?"

  "Of course." Spock seemed surprised that Sulu should think of any other possibility.

  "Then as long as you stay free, the Kzinti can't or won't do anything until Chuft-Captain's had his chance to regain his reputation." He looked suddenly concerned. "But they could use Lieutenant Uhura as bait to trade for the Slaver device."

  The first officer examined the enigmatic construction he held. "That is so, Lieutenant. However, to this point we have not seen it display anything more powerful than devices and instruments Starfleet already has. I would actually go so far as to say that in several cases present Starfleet equipment is superior to some of the device's manifested forms."

  "Maybe so," Sulu looked thoughtful. "But I have a feeling, Mr. Spock, that that won't hold true. It doesn't make sense for it to hold true. All those different settings," and he pointed to the toggle gauge, "those different functions. Why so many varied ones and why conceal them behind the initial, inert, bubble shape?" He was studying the device and thinking hard.

  "What do you think, Mr. Sulu? What could be behind such careful concealment of functions and their multiplicity?"

  "I'm not sure, but I can imagine one possibility. Suppose this thing belonged to a spy or espionage agent of some sort? He could carry the bubble shape around openly. Maybe the bubble shape corresponds to some billion-year-old personal ornament or decoration, like a bracelet, for instance. And a spy would be just the one who could make good use of something that looked harmless but could be made to serve as an energy absorber, a telescope, perhaps a communicator of some kind, a personal transport."

  "I acknowledge your expertise in the field of weaponry, Mr. Sulu," said Spock readily, "but I do not see how you can determine a possible ownership classification."

  "Just look at it, Mr. Spock." Sulu was convinced of his own supposition now. He took the device and held it up to the faint light. Lime-yellow gleamed on its metal surface, reflecting the life-support aura of both officers. "All these settings. I admit we don't know that a common Slaver soldier or even an ordinary citizen couldn't handle them all, but to what end? For a soldier, only the laser is an effective weapon. The other functions aren't necessary for an ordinary warrior's single objective: to kill the enemy. An ordinary Slaver citizen, if there were such a creature, wouldn't require that a multitude of functions be so cleverly disguised. But they are disguised.

  "For that matter, it wouldn't be necessary for a warrior to have such an elaborately concealed set of functions. If the device produced a shield, well, that would be useful. Possibly the telescope, and certainly the energy absorber. But a communicator, a telescope, and the rocket transport? A soldier might have need of them all, but why put them all into a single device of tremendous technological complexity? No, the thing is too intricate—unless intended for someone who has to hide all those functions in a single place."

  "Assuming it is a dangerous device intended for use by someone who doesn't wish it to look like that," Spock finally replied, with equal thoughtfulness, "the Slavers would have wanted to keep its secrets a secret. They would never have wanted a potential enemy to k
now that the device was anything other than a silvery bubble attached to a handle. If so, and if we follow your reasoning through to its logical conclusion, it seems reasonable to assume that the device possesses a self-destruct setting also."

  Sulu indicated the toggle switch, which rested at the bottom of its slot. "But we've seen all the phases, all five manifestations of the device."

  "Perhaps not." Spock took the device back, turned it over in his hand. "There is the null setting."

  "Null setting, sir?"

  "The first one, where the toggle was originally set. It is marked with a hieroglyph." One finger traced the strange writing while Sulu looked puzzled. "The device appears to be without function, at this setting. But then why should that setting be present in the first place?" Spock had the look of a mathematics professor on the trail of an errant ingredient in a catastrophe-theory problem. "Why not simply leave the device set at the telescope setting? There is no reason an ordinary person, Slaver or Vulcan or human, could not carry a small telescope about with him. Nor does the first setting correspond to a safety lock of any sort, since Chuft-Captain was able to move the toggle easily to the other five settings."

  Sulu shrugged, took the device back, and indifferently nudged the toggle up to the top of its slot. Immediately the device dissolved in his hands, the fifth mode returning once more to the featureless silvery bubble shape.

  It certainly looked harmless enough.

  "Maybe," Sulu began thoughtfully, "it's the key to some kind of hidden setting, Mr. Spock. Maybe this manifestation is intentionally innocent. If we—" He stopped as a rumble like a distant earthquake sounded.

  Beneath them the ground trembled. They turned in the direction of the sound.

  Just over the rim of the highest ice block, a shallow cone shape with a flat base was rising steadily spaceward. Boulders and huge chunks of ice fell in a sparkling rain from its flanks. It was the Traitor's Claw, the Kzin ship, hatched from its place of concealment.

  Narrow projections protruded from the edge of the cone. They looked suspiciously like weapons, weapons which a mere police vessel shouldn't be quipped with. Sulu and Spock hugged the protective overhang of the massive boulder next to them, trying to slip their revealing life-support auras wholly beneath the shielding mass.

  Within the observation room of the ship, Chuft-Captain glanced back once to assure himself that the human female remained frozen on the police web. She glared back at him with sufficient animation to tell him that she was alert and fully cognizant of what was taking place around her.

  In one massive paw he held a communicator, standard Starfleet issue. He addressed himself to it while staring out the main port, which provided a moving view of the jumbled ice plain beneath the slowly moving ship. Neither of the two escaped prisoners, either the Vulcan or the human Sulu, were visible. That was hardly surprising. They were not fools and must have heard the Traitor's Claw lift. By now they should sensibly be well concealed in the crazy-quilt rocks below.

  It would do them no good. Being familiar with human and Vulcan psychological orientation, Chuft-Captain knew that the possession of the human female was sufficient to bring the Slaver device once more into his hands.

  "This is the Traitor's Claw calling Lieutenant Sulu," he said into the communicator. "Chuft-Captain speaks to you. We have the female prisoner. She is in good health, a condition dependent solely on your next actions. Will you bargain with us for the Slaver device or must we take harsh action to convince you?"

  There followed a respectable pause during which no response was forthcoming. That did not bother Chuft-Captain. Any warrior would first consider every possible alternative before surrendering. He expected no less of the human.

  "If you do not reply," he said into the communicator when a reasonable amount of time had passed without an answer from below, "it will not be pleasant for her."

  Uhura might have given Chuft-Captain a reply, but it wouldn't have done her any good. She stood paralyzed on the police web, kept silent, and considered her predicament. It was probably fortunate for her, despite Chuft-Captain's patience, that Telepath was not present to inform him of her hostile thoughts.

  The Traitor's Claw cruised back and forth over the icefields in a regular spiral pattern, searching the ragged formations below for traces of the escaped prisoners.

  "Still no sign of them, Chuft-Captain," Flyer reported from his position at the controls.

  Chuft-Captain snarled his acknowledgment, tried to repress a stab of pain and keep it out of his voice as he spoke into the communicator again. "I repeat, Lieutenant Sulu, we have the female human as hostage. You have something that we want. We will trade her life for the Slaver device."

  Spock and Sulu remained well hidden beneath the overhanging lip of weathered rock. Together they had listened intently to Chuft-Captain's demands. Now Spock stared meaningfully across at his companion.

  "Chuft-Captain's offer neglects certain important details, Lieutenant Sulu. Answer him."

  Sulu palmed his own communicator, flipped it open, briefly considered his reply before speaking. "This is Sulu. You've taken care of Lieutenant Uhura. What about Mr. Spock and myself? If we're not included we can't consider your offer."

  "You must surrender anyway," the Kzin commander's raspy voice said over the tiny speaker grid. "You cannot reach your shuttlecraft. There is no escape for you. But I will give a chance. I offer Mr. Spock single combat."

  "Not interested," Sulu said immediately.

  Spock only nodded. "Chuft-Captain must fight me. They could beam this entire region on low power, probably kill us without damaging the Slaver device. But he cannot risk letting me die without regaining his personal honor."

  Back on board the Traitor's Claw, Chuft-Captain's claws contracted reflexively as he clutched tightly at the arm of his seat. Leaning to his left partially concealed the ends of the pale bandages and his uniform hid the the rest. His tail switched lightly above the deck, projecting backward through the slot provided by the Kzin chair.

  "Why do you refuse? I am as the Vulcan left me," he informed the communicator, "with two ribs broken. I have not had them set. He may conceivably kill me."

  Sulu hesitated, shut off the communicator while he watched his superior. Spock's attention was still on the sky, searching for the patrolling ship, but the helmsman knew that Spock had heard Chuft-Captain's words as clearly as he had. "What about what he says, Mr. Spock? Could you?"

  "I kicked him over one heart, but Kzinti ribs have vertical bracing in addition to the horizontal bracing found in humans and Vulcans. His injury would still be severe, but far from crippling." He thought a moment, then added, "I compute the odds of my defeating Chuft-Captain in hand-to-hand combat at sixteen to one against, and that is assuming his injuries are as he claims."

  Sulu flipped the communicator on again. "Sorry, offer refused," he said tersely. Putting the deactivated communicator away, he resumed his examination of the Slaver device, puzzling over Spock's suspicion of the innocent silver bubble shape.

  Chuft-Captain stared out the fore port, at the endless fields of ice and ragged stone. Eventually, he turned his attention to the figure standing silent and frozen behind him. Uhura glared back at him.

  "They think very little of you."

  "Wrong." She wished she could scratch her right thigh. "They don't think much of you."

  That provoked a vicious growl from the Kzin commander. Uhura wasn't impressed. Let them continue to consider her a dumb female like those of their own species. She would never give them an excuse to call her a coward. When Chuft-Captain turned his baleful gaze away from her and back to the fore port without saying anything else, she felt as if she had won a small but significant victory.

  Sulu leaned back against their concave shelter, his life-support aura compressing to a thin lime-yellow line against his back. Again he examined the Slaver device in great detail. Again he found nothing faintly resembling another toggle switch, hidden button, or any other kind of cont
rol that could conceivably activate some unknown setting.

  Turning the device once more, in the vague hope he might still somehow have overlooked something, Sulu became conscious of something he had not noticed before. He had had the hand grip in his right hand and the silver sphere in the other. When he'd turned the device this last time, he was certain the sphere had moved slightly. He used his right hand again on the argent globe. Yes, it definitely moved!

  Excited, he stood clear of the rock wall. Gripping the sphere firmly this time, he twisted sharply to one side. Nothing. He twisted in the opposite direction. This time the globe not only moved, it turned halfway around on its axis.

  The familiar blurring distorted the device. This time, when it coalesced, the sphere was gone. In its place was a cone with its apex facing outward. The cone had a rounded base that blended smoothly into the hand grip. The configuration was so simple that Sulu almost shrugged it off as merely another disguise form and twisted the sphere back. But maybe the thing did something, despite its innocuous appearance.

  One small, added shape gave credence to that thought. A tiny, round transparency was emplaced between the cone and the hand grip. A peculiarly arranged series of tiny lines were etched into it. They resembled an asterisk more than anything else.

  Spock leaned forward as soon as the sphere shape had given way to the cone. Now he ran a finger over the strangely engraved little lens.

  Chuft-Captain, he knew, would also have interpreted that tiny but significant transparency at first glance. "A self-destruct mechanism would not have a gun sight."

  "No, it wouldn't," agreed Sulu readily. "Let's see what this setting does." Widening his stance, he raised the device as if it were an old-fashioned pistol. Aiming at a point on the distant horizon, he pulled the trigger.

  An intensely blue beam sprang from the point of the cone, crossed into space. Slowly the helmsman lowered his arm until the blue line, which remained constant as long as he held the trigger down, touched the lowest ridge of rock and ice. There was a brilliant flare of pure white light. Sulu shut his eyes, blocking out the powerful radiance, then took his finger off the trigger. The glare vanished slowly, like a dying ember. In its place appeared a thick, rising cloud of dense gas and smoke mixed with vaporized ice and stone.