[Star Trek Logs 02] - Log Two

by Alan Dean Foster

  Standing in the doorway was a human male. He was perfectly normal in every way save one; he stood just under twenty-four feet.

  He wasn’t smiling.

  There was a movement immediately in front of the landing party, and .Kirk lowered his gaze. Agmar and his four associates had fallen to their knees—or knee-substitutes—before the giant. It was the most humanlike gesture they’d yet made. The implications of the movement were appalling.

  McCoy had the presence of mind to activate the medical tricorder at the giant’s entrance.

  “Praise to the Master!” the five Phylosians chorused dutifully. “All praise and adoration to the Restorer, the Master, our Saviour!”

  “Another plant?” Kirk asked quietly. This one would be hard to swallow.

  But McCoy’s ’corder insisted that in this case, at least, appearances were not deceiving.

  “No, it’s definitely human, Jim. That explains that first unusual reading I picked up.” Further explanation was soon provided by the giant himself.

  “I AM DR. STAVOS KENICLIUS #5,” the giant boomed. He wore only a short pair of pants and several instruments. A cane or walking stick the size of a small pine was clasped in his right hand, “WELCOME TO PHYLOS, CAPTAIN KIRK.”

  “No thanks, Keniclius. Yours is the second welcome we’ve received here and I’m getting sick of them. I don’t want any more of this world’s hellos.”

  “DO YOU KNOW WHAT YOU WANT, CAPTAIN KIRK?”

  “You bet I do. Where’s Mr. Spock?”

  “THAT IS NO LONGER ANY CONCERN OF YOURS, CAPTAIN.” The giant took two strides toward them, “HE IS MINE, NOW. MORE IMPORTANTLY, THE ESSENCE OF HIM IS MINE. I HAVE WAITED FOR MR. SPOCK A LONG TIME… TOO LONG TO CONSIDER GIVING HIM UP.

  “RETURN TO YOUR SHIP.”

  He bent and picked up the communicator. It looked like a toy in his massive palm. He tossed it contemptuously to Kirk, who caught it automatically.

  “HERE IS YOUR COMMUNICATIONS DEVICE. GO BACK TO YOUR SHIP.”

  “Not without my first officer.” The two men glared at each other.

  If Spock had been present he’d undoubtedly have advised against a confrontation between Kirk and a man four times his size and more so in weight.

  Kirk might have thought of it himself, except that he was subject to human traits which did not trouble Mr. Spock. Right now, for example, he was too mad to consider the situation dispassionately.

  “I AM SORRY, CAPTAIN. YOU WILL LEAVE NOW OR SUFFER THE CONSEQUENCES.” He made a gesture with one hand.

  A flock—no, a crop—of swoopers came darting into the chamber again. Pausing overhead like a swarm of organic helicopters, they circled back and forth over the knot of watching humans. Their hinged bodies jerked in the middle, twitching nervously from side to side.

  Dropping his gaze, McCoy happened to notice the tiny tape cartridge Spock had dropped earlier. He bent and picked it up, slipping it without undue motion into a pocket. His caution was unnecessary. Both Keniclius and the Phylosians had their attention focused wholly on Kirk.

  The object of their study stood fuming silently. He was frustrated, angry, and almost mad enough to take on the huge Keniclius despite their difference in size.

  But he’d already had one very enlightening experience with swoopers and their abilities while they were operating under external restraint. He had no illusions about the outcome if Keniclius let them run loose.

  For now, then, they had only one choice. He flipped open the communicator and raised it slowly to his lips. There was always the chance that either Keniclius or the Phylosians were thought sensitives. No, if that were the case they should have fallen dead from reading his thoughts several minutes ago.

  “Kirk to Enterprise,” he repeated. “Chief Kyle? Beam us up.”

  Kyle was smiling when they materialized normally in the transporter room. His smile turned to a worried frown. It deepened as the little party exited the alcove. He made a frantic grab for certain controls.

  Kirk took a moment to reassure him. “Easy, Chief, you haven’t lost Mr. Spock.”

  “Well, then,” the transporter chief replied, searching the room, “where is he?”

  “Out of reach of your transporter, I’m afraid. For the moment. But you might keep hunting for him. Try the transporter on his pattern every now and then in the area of our touchdown point. There’s always the chance something down there will get lazy, or move him, and you’ll suddenly be able to bring him aboard.”

  “The power drain, sir,” began Kyle, but Kirk cut him off.

  “We have plenty of power, Mr. Kyle,” he said as he headed for the elevator, “but a distinct shortage of Mr. Spock. Try at five minute intervals.”

  “Aye, sir,” Kyle agreed uncertainly. His acknowledgment barely beat the closing doors.

  Kirk held a small, quick conference to explain the situation to those principal officers who’d remained on board. It was a solemn group of men and women who stared expectantly back at him when he’d concluded.

  “Uhura, you’ll have to take over the library computer station in Mr. Spock’s absence. Lieutenant M’ress will manage communications for you.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I want you to use the library to dig for two things, Lieutenant.” He ticked them off on his fingers. “One, any record extant of a form of plant life of extraordinary intelligence and a technology so advanced they don’t bother to boast of it by visiting inhabited worlds.”

  “And two—I want you to check into the one hope we have in all this.”

  “Hope, Jim?” McCoy looked puzzled. Kirk only smiled back confidently.

  “A giant who is fool enough or megalomaniac enough to tell us who he is.” He looked back at Uhura.

  “A human named Keniclius—Stavos Keniclius. Said individual may or may not be entitled to the label of doctor.” Uhura nodded and moved rapidly to the library station. Seconds later its console was a Christmas tree of blinking lights.

  “Sulu, you and Arex get to work with the ship’s main sensors. See if you can locate Spock or Keniclius. And Sulu, see if you can program some sensors to differentiate the Phylosians from the lesser plant life. They’re probably the only other intelligent life forms on the planet.” Both helmsmen moved to their stations and began to work swiftly.

  That left only McCoy.

  “Sorry I can’t help, Jim.”

  “You can, Bones.” Kirk slumped in the command chair. “While Uhura, Sulu, and Arex are running checks, you can get yourself down to Sick Bay and find me a non-narcotic, non-enervating tranquilizer. If I don’t relax soon I’m going to start breaking things. And I haven’t got time for a trip to the therapy chamber.” McCoy grinned.

  “I’ll see what I can find, Jim.”

  He wasn’t gone long. And by the time the mild relaxer had taken effect, Kirk was able to speak with more patience and listen with a little of the same. Inside, though, he was still seething.

  “Anything at all, Mr. Sum?” The helmsman shook his head.

  “We haven’t been able to pick up anything like a humanoid life-reading, sir. And it’s not because they’re attempting to decoy or divert our probes—there’s no evidence of any surface interference. Spock and Keniclius must be somewhere our sensor scans can’t penetrate.”

  “Outstanding news,” Kirk grumbled. “What about the Phylosians?”

  “It was hard to calibrate for an intelligent plant form, sir. We’re registering thousands of botanical readings in the city, including the swoopers, which have a definite pattern. But no sign of anything higher. Nothing that might be Agmar or his friends.” Kirk frowned, thinking. “Agmar said something about a weapons deactivator in operation in at least one of their buildings . . . but nothing about its range or limitations. Let’s find out. Mr. Sulu, lock ship’s phasers on that laboratory building we first entered. Wide area stun setting.”

  Sulu manipulated controls. “Ready, sir.”

  “Just a minute.” Kirk turned to face Uhura. �
�Lieutenant, how are you coming on information about Keniclius?”

  “There’s nothing current, Captain.” She looked disappointed. “I think I may be getting something from the biography section of the recent history bank, but it’ll take a moment or two, yet.”

  “All right, Lieutenant. Keep at it.

  “Fire phasers, Mr. Sulu.” Sulu hit the proper switch.

  “Firing, sir.”

  A beam of pure energy erupted from the bowfront of the Enterprise. Instantly it disrupted orderly molecules, surprised combinations of oxygen, nitrogen, carbon, and a host of others as it speared down through the atmosphere of Phylos.

  Nothing could stand before that paralyzing beam, powered by the space-warping engines of the great starship. Nothing solid—

  Sulu was staring into a gooseneck viewer. Now he turned to look back at Kirk.

  “No effect, Captain. Nothing at all. Phaser stun was neutralized at…” He paused and checked another gauge set into the console near the viewer, “A distance of approximately one thousand meters above the target area. Should I try a stronger setting?”

  “No.” Kirk drummed his fingers on an arm of the command chair, and thought.

  “I suspect it either wouldn’t have any effect at all, Mr. Sulu, or else it would break through and destroy anything it touched—Mr. Spock, too. That means that either way our weapons are effectively useless. All right. We’ll have to go back down there and rescue Mr. Spock without them.”

  “The old oriental martial arts are kind of a hobby with me, Captain,” said Sulu. He smiled faintly. “But I don’t think hands and feet will work too well against those swoopers.”

  What, exactly, is a flash of genius?

  Mental stimulation. A concatenation of cerebral crosscurrents. The fusion of one particle of cause with another of effect which—once in a while, just once in a while—produces a molecule of solution.

  But all McCoy said was, “I think there might be something we can use that’d be more effective, Sulu.” A crooked smile crossed his face. “I’m just not sure which section—”

  “If you’ve got any suggestions at all, Bones—” By way of reply, McCoy leaned close and whispered in Kirk’s ear. The Captain’s expression grew by turns amused, disbelieving, and finally determined.

  “Where’d you get an idea like that, Bones?”

  McCoy looked grimly pleased. “From Agmar.”

  “I don’t know—” Kirk mused. “I see what you mean about ‘which section’.” Turning suddenly he hit an armrest switch, spoke into the broadcast grid.

  “Kirk to engineering. Scotty?” The chief engineer’s filtered voice replied from the other end of the starship.

  “Here, sir.”

  “Scotty, I’ve got a priority project for you. Who’s your weapon’s specialist?”

  “That’d be Lieutenant Chatusram, sir.”

  “Get him. I’ve got some special equipment I want you to make up—and I want it yesterday.”

  The special equipment was basically very simple. McCoy had no trouble conveying what was needed over the intercom. Nor, according to Chatusram, would it be difficult to make.

  “I don’t think we’ll have any problems with the actual construction, Captain,” explained the weaponsmith, “though some of the nonsolid components may take some time to compose. The ingredients are simple, but the combination required is not. Still, I’m sure my staff and I can manage it.”

  “Good for you, ’Ram,” said Kirk. “Mr. Scott, see that the lieutenant gets all the help he needs.”

  “Aye, Captain.”

  “How soon, Lieutenant?” Chatusram’s reply was cautious, but confident.

  “I believe if the basic mechanical components are in stock, within the hour, Captain.”

  “That’ll have to do. Hop to it, gentlemen. Kirk out.” He ended the discussion.

  It was Uhura’s turn to speak. She’s been waiting impatiently throughout the cross-ship conversation and now she broke in before anyone else could demand Kirk’s attention.

  “I have the requested information on the man identified as Stavos Keniclius, sir. I’ll put the statistics and what visuals there are on the main screen.”

  “Thank you, Uhura.” Kirk turned back to McCoy. “Bones, you really think this gadget of yours will work? It seems almost too simple.”

  “I can think of several reasons why it should, Jim. That’s one of them. Another is what Agmar said that gave me the idea in the first place. The clincher is that, way back when, my great-granddaddy had the finest garden in metropolitan North-South America.” Kirk nodded and looked to the viewscreen.

  The screen lit, and the feminine computer voice of the Enterprise sounded over the speaker.

  “Working.”

  “Here it comes, sir,” said Uhura. Almost before she finished, a portrait had appeared on the screen.

  There were some slight differences—the figure in the portrait was slightly older, for example—but Kirk, McCoy, and Sulu recognized Keniclius’ features immediately.

  More revealing was the accompanying statistical chart, especially those figures Which declared that the man shown was a normal human of about the same height and weight as Kirk.

  While they studied the printout, the computer voice supplied additional information.

  “Drawn from recent-near-recent Earth history file, category scientists, male, subheading iconoclasts… Keniclius, Stavos. Terran physiologist-physicist period Eugenics Wars. Specialist in eugenics and manipulative endocrinology. Noted for plan to clone perfect humanoid prototype as founder of idealized ‘master race’ to act as galactic peacekeepers. Concept evaluated by ruling government of time and formally rejected as, quote, ‘too antihumanistic’.

  “Experiments persisted despite governmental decree. Upon discovery of continuance of illegal research, Keniclius banned from terran community. Voluntarily accepted total exile and vanished into an uncharted region of space. Cursory search initiated. No body found, no official death certificate issued—”

  The computer droned on, pouring out additional information. Most of it was trivial, peripheral and, more importantly, downright unhelpful. There was nothing that might be employed as a psychological weapon against the giant below.

  But they’d pegged Keniclius, all right.

  “No further data,” the computer concluded. Voice and visual display disappeared together. Then McCoy spoke.

  “Wasn’t there an old story about a modern Diogenes roaming the galaxy in search of someone special?”

  “Someone special,” Kirk muttered. He looked up. “A perfect someone. Someone special to begin the ideal race, yes, I’ve heard that story too, Bones, as a child.”

  “That’s just it, Jim. This can’t be the Keniclius. He’d have to be over two hundred and fifty years old!”

  “The original Keniclius, yes,” Kirk noted. “Keep in mind what the library just told us. What was he banned for?”

  Understanding lit McCoy’s eyes. “I remember now. He said he was Keniclius 5. My God, he’s gone and cloned himself, to carry on his search! And his clones have re-cloned themselves, right on down the line.” He shook his head, an expression of mixed distaste and admiration.

  “At least we’re not dealing with a complete megalomaniac,” Kirk added. “If we were, he’d long ago have decided that he was the ‘perfect specimen’ all along. Then we’d be faced with an army of giants instead of just one.”

  “I’ll grant that in his favor,” admitted McCoy reluctantly, “but by the same token, Jim, he’s not going to be an easy man to talk out of his dreams….”

  XI

  Forty-two point one five minutes later (ship-time), Kirk, McCoy, Sulu, and Chief Engineer Scott assembled in the main transporter room. Scott carried three small traveling bags in his arms. He handed them out to his fellow officers while Kirk tried to regard the upcoming attempt with a detached air.

  “It’s seems incredible that a man could take a few cells from his body and successfully repr
oduce himself time after time. Yet that seems to be the kind of disturbed genius we’re dealing with in Dr. Keniclius and his oversized successors.”

  At the moment, however, Sulu had other things on his mind than the astonishing feats—biological or otherwise—of their giant antagonist. Most of his worries concerned the untested quantity resting in the leather carry-bag. He hefted it and tapped the contents. It responded with a faint metallic ring.

  “I just hope these things work, that’s all.”

  “Oh, they’ll work all right, Lieutenant,” Scott assured him. “The equipment’s simple enough—foolproof, in fact. Chatusram and I saw to that. But I admit I’ve got my own doubts about the stuff they contain. I’ve heard of some mighty strange ways to fight aliens, but—”

  “These are mighty strange aliens we’re fighting, Scotty.” Kirk moved into the transporter alcove. “As soon as Dr. McCoy, Mr. Sulu, and I have beamed down,” he told the chief engineer, “I want you to leave orbit and—”

  “Leave orbit, sir?”

  Kirk nodded. “If they think we’ve gone, I have a hunch they’ll stop scanning the area around their still-functioning structures. On any other world in a similar situation it would be standard precautionary procedure to keep scanners on. But the Phylosians do whatever Keniclius tells them to do, and this mutant is so confident of his own power—he’s been a virtual god for so long—he won’t think any mere humans like us will dare defy him.

  “He’s been out of touch with humanity too long to be anything but contemptuous of it. Not that I can blame him, considering what some of us were like during the Eugenics Wars. Give us thirty minutes on the surface, Scotty, and then circle back.”

  “All right,” the chief engineer reluctantly agreed. “But if I may be permitted an opinion, sir… I dinna like it.”

  “Neither do I.” Kirk made sure he was well inside the perimeter of the transporter disk. “But without phasers or any other modern weapon, we’ll need all the surprise we can muster. If the ship seems to leave, we might get it.”