Star Trek - Log 8

by Alan Dean Foster

  As soon as the path opened into a cleared, well-kept trail, the three slugs accelerated astonishingly. Their lower limbs might be hidden, but they were amazingly efficient. And despite the speed, the tail-tentacle held Kirk firmly enough so that the ride was not as bumpy as he had feared.

  "Would . . . would you say this is an intelligent life form, Mr. Spock?" he called long minutes later, his initial evaluation of their captors complete.

  "It is difficult to say for certain at this time, Captain," Spock called from behind. "Thus far their only action that could be construed as intelligently formulated was the removal of our phasers and communicators. That could be an acquired or taught action, however. They may be more than advanced domestic animals."

  As Kirk considered this, he noticed the squarish shape still slung over the first officer's shoulder. "Intelligent or not, they forgot something, Spock. Can you get at your tricorder?"

  "I think so, Captain." One arm was pinned firmly to his side, but he still managed to work the other around enough to fumble at the compact instrument's controls. It was hard to adjust the sensors with only one hand. If he could retain control long enough to take even a few preliminary readings, it might tell them a great deal about—

  Two protrusions of the multilimbed tail plucked the tricorder neatly from his shoulder.

  "I believe I have an answer, Captain, to the basic question. If these are merely trained animals, their attention span and selectivity are extraordinary. Consequently, even if they are not the masters of this world, I think it reasonable to say they can be considered intelligent on their own."

  "Personally I could do with a few more answers than that," a discouraged, aching McCoy called from the back of the strange column. "We've been traveling like this for what feels like hours. Where are they taking us?"

  "As near as I can tell, Bones, we're moving northeast, in the approximate direction of that life-form concentration Mr. Scott reported on." His expression turned wry. "It would be a help if he had clarified just what that concentration is, and could let us know. We'd have some idea of what we're heading into."

  "I think it more likely, Captain, that we will be able to identify it for Mr. Scott." He gestured with his free hand. "Look ahead."

  Kirk turned his attention forward again. They were just coming to the crest of a hill, and he had a glimpse of something distant and pale through the green mesh.

  Then they were over the steep slope and traveling down on the opposite side, their peculiar captors never slackening the pace.

  The city spread out before them, marching in neat ranks of low, blocklike buildings to the distant horizon. It was an urban complex laid out close to the ground, rather than high and skyward as many of the great Federation centers were. The only interruptions in the field of gently rounded structures were provided by glistening bodies of water, pools, and streams—and by an alien-conceived yet still attractive landscaping. It was not a place Kirk would have liked to live in, but that didn't prevent him from admiring its unmistakable, utilitarian beauty.

  "Quite a metropolis," he finally murmured. Spock concurred fully.

  "If these are the builders and not servants, they are capable of admirable feats of construction."

  "I'm thrilled you two can admire the local talent," McCoy commented sardonically, "but I still have this sick feeling that we're about to become someone's lunch."

  Spock looked indifferently confident. "For a creature of this size, Doctor, you would hardly be more than an appetizer."

  "Now there's a comforting thought!" McCoy snorted. "Not only am I going to be eaten, but even my passing'll rate hardly a burp."

  "We're slowing down," Kirk noticed.

  They had come up against the base of yet another hill. Since it was no steeper than the one they had just crossed, Kirk wondered at the stop. Then he noticed that the creature holding Spock had moved to the hill-face and was doing something to a section of the ground.

  His guess was confirmed as the reason for their halt became obvious. There was a muted hum from somewhere ahead as the hillside, complete with vegetation and rocky outcroppings, began to slide upward into a concealed recess.

  Behind it a large, well-lit cavern appeared, dominated by a huge, silvery cylindrical form which threw back the morning sun in a way only highly machined metal can.

  They started forward again. When they neared the cylinder, Kirk thought it was suspended freely in midair. As they moved closer, though, he could see dust motes floating in the air around the base of the metal construct. It was riding on a cushion of air—or something more advanced and less identifiable.

  They entered the cylinder through an oval opening in its side. Kirk wondered if their captors also traveled on a cushion of air. That would explain the lack of visible limbs. Come to think of it, this cylinder bore some resemblance to the Lactrans' own bodies.

  It grew dark as the humming hillside behind them slid back into place, but only for a moment. Some hidden device compensated, and the interior light grew correspondingly brighter. Kirk tried to identify the source of illumination, but without success. The interior of the cylinder showed nothing like a window, fluorescent panel, concealed tube light, or anything else recognizable as a light source. There was only the smooth metal, his companions, and their three enigmatic, silent captors.

  "They're undoubtedly taking us to that city," he ventured aloud, as the faintest hint of motion jarred the craft. "If we could manage to communicate with some of their leaders . . ."

  "They don't seem very interested in communication with us," McCoy noted curtly, staring down at the dull gray back of his alien. "That's assuming they're capable of interspecies communication at all."

  "I'd tend to think like that, too, Bones," agreed Kirk, "except every now and then I seem to feel something knocking about the inside of my mind, something that won't stay still long enough for me to fix on it. Like daydreaming. When we reach the city—"

  He broke off as the oval portal drew aside with unexpected speed. Their hosts slid through the opening, still showing no strain from their bipedal burdens. At no time, Kirk marveled, had they let their load down to rest.

  "We're . . . we're already here?" wondered McCoy, staring in all directions. Spock's amazement was still directed at their means of transportation.

  "Remarkable. I experienced none of the sensations of traveling at high speed, yet we have obviously been carried at tremendous velocity. I would very much like a look at the mechanisms involved."

  Kirk wasn't listening. His gaze was reserved for the big chamber in which they now found themselves. The vaulted room appeared to be divided into doorless compartments dominated by intricate yet massive machinery. Occasionally, complex structures of metal overhead bathed them in intermittent washes of multicolored light.

  A short . . . walk, crawl? He couldn't say, but by some means they entered one such side compartment. The powerful tail-hands dipped, and Kirk, Spock, and McCoy found themselves deposited gently on the ground with as much care as they had been picked up.

  That was the one comforting aspect of this entire episode so far. Throughout the entire journey and despite their apparent indifference, the slug-creatures had taken pains to avoid even bruising any of their captives. Nor had they made anything resembling an overtly hostile gesture.

  "Any ideas, Doctor?"

  "Only one, Jim," replied McCoy, studying their uninspiring, pale-walled alcove, "and it's not very appealing. I'd guess they're doing exactly what we would do in a similar set of circumstances."

  "Which is?"

  "Well," he continued, as Spock knelt to examine the half-metal, half-porcelain surface they stood on, "if we encountered an alien creature we'd never seen before on a Federation world, one which science records made no mention of, the first thing we'd do is make sure it was free of harmful bacteria, germs, and other assorted little surprises.

  "I wouldn't be surprised if those colored beams we passed through had something to do with insuring our h
osts' health. That accomplished, we'd next proceed to see if our visitor were intelligent."

  "Congratulations, Doctor," Spock said, looking up from his study of the floor. "All most logical assumptions."

  "I told you you should drop by the medical lab sometime."

  "A more important question, gentlemen," Kirk interrupted, "is whether or not there's a way out of here." He pointed. "As you can see, we've been left alone."

  Indeed, there was no sign of their captors. The vast floor of the chamber was deserted.

  "Gone off to report our appearance, maybe," Kirk suggested. He started toward the exit and was brought up short by a half-anticipated barrier. The sensation was akin to that of running into a giant sponge.

  Reaching out, he slowly tested the apparently normal air before them. It wasn't hard and unyielding as some such barriers were. Instead, he could push into it; but resistance grew stronger and stronger until further progress grew impossible. At that point, exerting additional strength merely caused his probing fingers to slide off in various directions, as though he were pressing on slippery glass.

  "Force field, all right," Kirk murmured. "It seems harmless enough. In fact, if it's designed to do anything, it's to keep those inside undamaged if they try to escape. Absorbs impact rather than resisting it bluntly."

  "The bars of a cage are just as harmless," McCoy observed pointedly, "unless you're viewing them from the inside. And we are definitely on the inside." He moved up to the force field. "Let's see if this field is impervious to everything." He cupped his hands and shouted.

  "Hey, listen, let us out of here . . . we're as curious about you as you are about us, blast it!"

  Something tickled his head.

  "A wasteful use of energy, Doctor," Spock commented. "I believe they can hear us quite well without your shouting." He eyed them closely. "I received definite hints of thought projections. I understand that humans are not as sensitive, but did either of you experience anything just now?"

  Both Kirk and McCoy nodded.

  Spock looked satisfied. "I thought I had detected similar impressions earlier, but could not be certain. I am now. Clearly, they are purely telepathic."

  Kirk looked puzzled. "We've encountered telepathic races before, Mr. Spock, and had no trouble communicating with them. Why can't we get a grip on any of the local transmissions? I have the feeling I can almost see an image forming in my mind, but it never becomes stronger than 'almost.' "

  "Analysis of the impressions I have received thus far, Captain, would appear to indicate that their thoughts move at a rate far beyond our comprehension. We can only grasp at a fleeting image here and there. That fleeting image we barely sense probably represents many complex thoughts elaborated on at length."

  "Surely we can communicate with them somehow," Kirk muttered, "even if only through bits and pieces of information."

  "I do not know, Captain," a discouraged Spock mused. "The sheer rapidity of their cogitation, the incredible transport system which brought us here, certain aspects of the instrumentation we have already been exposed to—that could be as advanced compared to Federation civilization as we are to a colony of ants. There also remains the possibility that they could communicate with us and are simply not interested."

  "Don't they think we've anything to say?" growled McCoy. "If that's so, they're sadly mistaken. I've got plenty to say to them. Their methods of greeting visitors . . ." His voice trailed off.

  "Wait a minute . . . what were they doing out among those other creatures? We never did figure out all those environments."

  "You will recall, Doctor," reminded Spock, "that we recognized at least two species from vastly different worlds and ecologies, and we landed in yet another ecology altogether. Remember how we felt that the environments we were passing through appeared not only unrelated to one another but to this world?

  "A civilization this advanced might enjoy transforming part of their own planet to"—he hesitated over his choice of terms—"more conveniently provide for their specimens."

  "Are you trying to say that we beamed down into some kind of local zoo?"

  "That is precisely my theory, Doctor."

  "Maybe they'll be kind enough to explain," said Kirk, turning to face the alcove barrier. "They're coming back."

  None of them could tell whether the three Lactrans approaching them now were the same three that had brought them there. They inched smoothly across the chamber floor, moving easily via a still unseen, unknown method of transportation, concealed beneath rippling skirts of gray flesh.

  Stopping just outside the alcove, the three aliens regarded those within in contemplative silence.

  "Examining us," Kirk whispered idly.

  "Well, I'm sick of it!" McCoy snorted. He moved up to the force field and gestured emphatically at their captors. "Look, we're as smart as you—maybe a little smarter in some areas—and we don't take kindly to being locked up. I think it's about time you—"

  One of the colored beams from above abruptly winked off as the nearest of the three Lactrans reached in with its manipulative tail member to neatly lift the startled doctor from between his companions.

  III

  "Wait a minute," McCoy yelled. "Do you—"

  His world suddenly turned upside down, and he caught his breath. The slug was turning him slowly in its grip and he found himself facing the floor.

  "Hey!" Not caring one bit for the position he found himself in, McCoy struggled violently, beating with both arms at the encircling coil of rubbery flesh. The Lactran took no notice of either the doctor's physical or verbal barrage and continued to examine him as unaffectedly as McCoy would an experimental animal in his lab.

  "We've got to communicate with them!" Kirk said tightly.

  "By all means, communicate," McCoy mumbled, in no mood for diplomacy. His resistance had faded to an occasional weak blow directed at the clasping coil. "Tell it I'm getting dizzy."

  "Try, Spock," urged Kirk. "If we concentrate on the same thought, try to pool our effort . . . Try to think at it, tell it to release McCoy and put him—"

  They never got the opportunity to try. Kirk's voice and concurrent thoughts were interrupted as the other two Lactrans reached into the alcove, one lifting Kirk and the other Spock. They started toward the far end of the vast chamber.

  A large section of the far wall appeared to be constructed of the same silvery material as the transportation cylinder. They paused before it and waited while it slid upward. That action Kirk was prepared for.

  What he was not prepared for was the sight on the other side.

  He had expected to enter another chamber. Now he blinked as he found himself out in open air and bright sunlight once again, moving rapidly forward.

  He glanced down. They were traveling on a moving road or sidewalk of some kind. At the moment it was devoid of any other travelers.

  Immense buildings slid past on either side of the roadway. All were constructed of simple gently curved squares and rectangles. There wasn't a single straight line to be seen. Perhaps the Lactrans attached no importance to architecture on merely efficient principles.

  Kirk realized that the buildings were constructed with the same simpleness and lack of external ornamentation as their hosts.

  Despite the oversized proportions of the structures they moved through and the smoothness of the moving roadway, Kirk estimated they had traveled a respectable distance when they finally emerged from the intensively developed area into a vast open plain.

  The abruptness of the shift was startling. One minute they were passing through the depths of the monstrous city and the next found themselves in open country.

  At least, it looked like open country.

  Their speed increased. Kirk saw that the broad countryside was actually compartmentalized, divided into sometimes radically varying ecologies. For kilometers it seemed they passed nothing but arboreal creatures—some of the fliers were recognizable, some less so, and a few that utilized exotic methods to
defy gravity teased Kirk's curiosity in passing.

  Moving beyond, they entered a region of broad fields dotted with trees and flowering shrubs. One such section of grassland proved to be inhabited by a small herd of unicorns, as neat and appealing as if they had just stepped from the pages of an illustrated fairy tale.

  "So much for mythology," McCoy commented sadly, as they passed a horned stallion nuzzling its mate.

  "Using a nonspecies standard of appreciation, I confess I find them strangely attractive" was Spock's only comment.

  "Something even more intriguing coming up, gentlemen," Kirk called to them.

  They turned their attention forward, to where the moving roadway executed a sharp turn. At the end of the bend was a new habitat at once more familiar and at the same time more alien than anything they had yet encountered. Three small cottages, as perfect as if they had just been transported whole from Earth to Vulcan, were grouped neatly to the right of the roadway. Kirk took in the carefully planned details as their speed slowed.

  Each house had its own swimming pool, handball court, and other accouterments. The emphasis, he noted, was on providing plenty of opportunity and equipment for physical exercise. Each complex was set in a well-landscaped garden.

  Having thoroughly studied the arrangement, the officers were not at all surprised when they stopped next to it. They found themselves deposited on the grass nearest the roadway.

  A gentle nudge from one of those incredibly versatile and powerful tails urged Kirk forward. As he couldn't very well resist, he accepted the prod and took a few steps onto the lawn.

  "Better to do what they want—for now, anyway," he murmured to the others. "We'll figure this out, given time." He turned, as did Spock and McCoy.

  The three Lactrans rested there, just off the roadway, conveying the unmistakable impression of watching without eyes. Kirk, receiving the vague feeling that he was expected to do something, walked directly toward them, slowly. A couple of steps were sufficient to bring him up against the expected resilience of the invisible field.