STAR TREK: TOS #44 - Vulcan's Glory

by D. C. Fontana

  “Excuse me?”

  Boyce brought up the results on the detector’s broad, flat screen. ‘‘According to this, they’re all telling the truth.”

  “Could there be a malfunction?”

  “It was tested before we began,” Orloff said.

  “We’re talking about Vulcans. To a great extent, they control all emotions, even their voice levels—”

  Orloff shook his head. “Boyce thought of that beforehand. We pre-tested on Lieutenant T’Pris. We asked her to throw in several lies to routine questions to check the machine’s response to a Vulcan. It picked out the misstatements instantly.”

  “It’s their sense of honor,” Boyce put in. “To lie is dishonorable, shameful. Even for T’Pris, who only lied in order to check the machine’s response, it was [185] uncomfortable for her to do so—and the machine registered it.”

  “Difficult as it is to believe, Number One,” Orloff said, “this evidence points to our suspects’ being innocent.”

  “Then who in hell is guilty?” Number One looked at Boyce and Orloff in frustration. Neither man had an answer. The executive officer shook her head, stirring her long mane of dark hair around her shoulders. “No. Sorry. At least one of them must be lying—and able to hide it from the detector.”

  Once the sun dropped behind the mountains, darkness came swiftly to the Druncaras. Spock and Pike watched the village below. Lights began to glow in a number of windows, and the smell of cooking began to rise, wafted by a light breeze. As soon as it was dark enough to hide them from any casual watchers in the town, they began a slow and careful descent of the slope, angling toward the end of the village where the “prison” building stood a little apart from the others. The temperature had dropped as the sun had gone down, and the guard—a different one—had left his post beside the door to go inside. Though he couldn’t see them, Pike knew Lieutenants Ars Dan and Endel were working their way down the flank of the hill at the other end of the village.

  Pike’s foot slipped on some loose pebbles, and the stones skittered and bounced down the slope. He and Spock froze where they were, scarcely breathing. There was no shout of discovery or any particular stir in the village. Something that sounded almost like a [186] dog wuffed in a throaty bark, but it subsided after a moment. Normal night sounds continued—the flutter of a nocturnal hunting bird’s wings overhead, the shush of the wind in the trees, some softly peeping insects in the long grass.

  Spock and Pike moved ahead again, stepping carefully. They reached the bottom of the slope and gratefully dropped behind the cover of a woodpile that rose more than six feet in height. The cords of wood were stacked against the windowless side wall of the suspected prison building. The hours they had spent in observation had revealed that there was a back door to the building. No one seemed to use it, and it was probably locked. With the guard inside, the front entrance also was likely to be locked or barred. Much as he hated to do so, Pike had been forced to request phasers beamed down for himself and Spock. He hoped they would only have to use them to get into the building, and not in the sight of the mutants. The guards they had seen had not appeared to be armed, but small weapons could easily have been concealed in the bulky clothes they wore. Pike reached into the pocket of his desert robe and brought out his communicator. He flipped it open, muffling the characteristic beeping signal against his chest, then he spoke quietly.

  “Pike to Endel.”

  “Here, sir,” the throaty voice of the reptilian lieutenant whispered back from the communicator.

  “Ready any time you are, Lieutenant.”

  “Aye, sir. Endel out.”

  Pike tucked away the communicator and pulled out the phaser pistol. Spock already had his ready. “Set it [187] for cutting,” Pike said softly. Spock nodded and quickly made the adjustment.

  On the far side of the village, there was a sudden hollow whump, and a flash of light tore the night apart. The smell of smoke and the roar of flames rose immediately. Doors flew open, and the pounding of feet and alarmed shouts signaled that the mutants were leaping to the source of the disturbance. The hoarse wuffing of several dog-animals joined the din, the body of noise swiftly moving toward the opposite end of the town.

  “Now,” Pike snapped.

  He and Spock leaped toward the rear door of the prison building. Taking positions on either side of the door, they aimed their phasers at the knob area and cut a shimmering line around it, the phaser beams slicing through the heavy wood like a hot knife through butter. Pike kicked the door in and entered first, Spock following close on his heels.

  The interior of the small room was dark, cluttered with boxes and sacks, possibly a food storage area. Light gleamed around the edges of a door in the wall opposite them, and they moved toward it with military precision.

  Suddenly, the door slammed open, and the mutant guard loomed in the entrance. Behind him, they could see the figures of a handsome boy and a lovely young girl, the boy arrested in the act of putting his arm protectively around the girl. The guard dodged aside, evading Spock’s attempt to reach out and apply a Vulcan neck pinch. The mutant’s arm slashed out, and the blow knocked the Vulcan back against the wall. [188] Pike sidestepped the guard’s headlong lunge at him, tripped the mutant, and sent him sprawling. He lay still, stunned, and the two officers sprang into the main room.

  Pike reached the girl as she seemed to cringe away from Bardan, and he pulled her up by the arm. Spock turned toward the boy, holding out a hand to assist him. Silene twisted as she was pulled toward Pike. Her dree knife flashed in her fist, and the’ viciously sharp blade sliced a long cut in Pike’s robes, uncomfortably close to his ribs. Spock moved to try to pull Silene away from Pike. Bardan let out a roar of anger and flung himself at Spock, tackling the tall Vulcan and bringing him crashing to the floor. Pike found himself trying to hold a wildcat in check—a cursing, wriggling desert woman who was actively trying to cut out his heart.

  Chapter Eleven

  SPOCK HAD RECOVERED from his surprise at being slammed to the ground by Bardan and pushed the boy away from him to scramble to his feet. The boy clawed up Spock’s legs and managed to swing a punch that Spock blocked. The Vulcan caught Bardan’s arm and twisted it behind him. There was a bloodcurdling roar from the back room, and the mutant guard barreled through the open door. Spock released Bardan, pushing the boy into the path of the mutant so that they collided with a dull thump as he desperately struggled to get his phaser reset on stun.

  Pike had his hands full trying to subdue Silene, who didn’t seem to appreciate the fact that he was there to rescue her. The girl expertly feinted with the knife toward Pike’s throat and then came in under his guard, going for his midsection. He got an arm down in time to block the thrust and divert it enough to escape with only another harmless cut through the robe, the sleeve this time. “Stop it!” he panted. “We’re [190] trying to—” Silene slashed again. Pike finally managed to grab both her wrists so she couldn’t work the knife. She promptly bit his arm.

  The mutant guard pushed Bardan aside and leaped at Spock. Spock abandoned the phaser and sidestepped, pushing hard as the man rocketed past him to land in a heap, the breath knocked out of him. Bardan came at Spock again, but Spock fended him off with one hand long enough to reach down and deliver a Vulcan neck pinch to the guard. The mutant stiffened as the pressure point in his neck flamed, and then he slumped to the ground. Bardan broke away from Spock and lunged for his throat. Spock trapped the boy in a bear hug and lifted him, struggling, from the floor.

  Pike wrenched his arm away from Silene’s wicked teeth, spun her around, and finally trapped her arms behind her back. She tried to kick him, and he gave her a violent shake. “I said, stop it! We’re here to rescue you.”

  “Go away!” Silene shouted. “We have no need of you!”

  “What?” Pike stammered. He pulled Silene around to face him. “What did you say?”

  “We’re not going with you,” Bardan snapped. He had stopped struggling, an
d Spock slowly released him. The boy and the girl stood glaring angrily at their would-be rescuers. “Let us alone.”

  “Your fathers want you back safe,” Spock said.

  “No. Our fathers want us back apart.” Silene moved over to the fallen mutant, who was starting to stir. Spock stared in astonishment. No one had ever [191] shaken off a Vulcan neck pinch so quickly. As Silene helped the mutant to sit up, she said, “We are safe here.”

  Pike looked from one to the other in confusion. “But you were kidnapped by force, carried off, held prisoner here ...”

  “We were carried off by the mutants,” Bardan agreed, “but we’re not prisoners.”

  The mutant pushed to his feet, Silene hovering beside him. “Are you unharmed, Panlow?” she asked in concern.

  He patted her arm reassuringly, squared himself around to face Pike and Spock. “I am Panlow, chief of this village. Who are you?”

  “They were sent by our fathers.”

  There was a scuffling sound outside the door, and then it abruptly opened. An embarrassed Endel and Ars Dan were thrust unceremoniously into the room by several angry mutants. “They destroyed almost a cold turn’s worth of firewood, Panlow,” one of them grumbled angrily.

  Ars Dan looked at Pike in chagrin and shrugged his shoulders. “Their dogs—I think they were dogs—hunted us down, sir. We were unable to escape them.”

  Panlow had been studying Spock, Endel, and Ars Dan with sharp interest. He moved toward them almost accusingly. “You are mutants like us, yet you wear the clothes of the desert, and you come here on the orders of the flatlanders. Why have you deserted your own kind?”

  Spock shot a look at Pike, in that one glance requesting permission to speak for them. Pike [192] nodded. “We are not of your kind, Panlow. We have learned to work in harmony with the flatlanders. We are not considered to be different in the way you are.”

  “There. You see?” Panlow cried to the other mutants who had crowded into the room. “There is hope for my plan. This is the proof of it. We need not be isolated in these mountains any longer. We can find a way to live with the others to the benefit of all.”

  Pike cleared his throat. “You still haven’t explained about the abduction of these two.”

  “They’ve treated us with kindness,” Bardan said. “They want us to be emissaries for them.”

  “Panlow?”

  The mutant leader was almost unbelievably ugly, his face twisted into a grotesque parody of what was considered normal. His voice, however, had the timbre and quality of a trained speaker. Despite his ungainly body, when he moved there was a certain nobility and grace about him. He swept his four-fingered hand toward Silene and Bardan, and a smile warped his face. “I have planned for a long time to take some normals from the flatland, but they had to be young enough to accept us as we are. They also had to be old enough to understand that we wished to make contact with their people and why. These two, they fell into our hands as we moved closer to their lands to scout.”

  “They have much to offer our people,” Silene said. “Things we have never been able to find or make for ourselves.”

  “That’s true,” Bardan put in. “They mine ores we’ve never even seen ...”

  “We control these mountains.” Panlow nodded. [193] “And the ores and minerals that are rich here. We have the forests, the animals, birds, and fish that the flatlanders would find rare and exotic. There is wealth and abundance here that they can never have because they fear to venture into our territory. We have unique trade goods which would benefit them, and they have trade goods we need.”

  “I see,” Pike said quietly. “What you really want is a chance to trade with the nomads and townspeople of the flatlands so all would benefit.”

  “Exactly.” Panlow smiled. “We have spied on them when they have not known it. They are progressing, leaving the holocaust behind them. We wish to do so as well. These two children could be our bridge to understanding with the others of this planet.”

  Pike turned to Silene and Bardan. “What about you two? What do you think about all this?”

  “When they carried us off, we were frightened,” Silene said. “But they treated us with gentleness, with concern, as though they feared to hurt us. When we got past our terror, we saw them as people, not mutants.”

  “They believe we can help them, and I think we can. But we have to be able to talk to our people, especially our parents, as adults. I mean, they have to accept us as adults.”

  “You did run away against their wishes, instead of presenting your love to them as grownups.”

  Silene flared again, pushing toward Pike angrily. “They only saw us as spoiled children defying their wishes. They took no time to see us as two people who love each other.”

  Pike tilted his head and smiled charmingly at her. [194] “I’ll grant you have a point there. I think it’s only because you’re both so very young. But I believe we might be able to assist you—and Panlow’s people—to get what you want.”

  Orloff reported to Number One every half-hour, but it was clear both he and she were frustrated. Number One and T’Pris stayed on duty on the bridge while the majority of the security and engineering personnel searched the Enterprise rivet by rivet. After Orloff had reported one more time that nothing had been found, Number One irritably clicked off the intercom and looked at the Vulcan woman. “I feel like I’m chasing some kind of will-o’-the-wisp.”

  “I am not sure I understand the reference,” T’Pris said politely.

  “It means pursuing a goal that’s not really there, an illusion. I believe the Glory is on this ship and we can find it. But I’m not sure we’re going about it the right way. I think there’s something I’m missing, but I don’t know what it is.” She smiled, and the smile softened the lines of her face into friendliness. “And if that sounds confused and frustrated, that’s about right.”

  “Is it possible we are looking for two persons?” T’Pris asked. “It could be one was the murderer and one is an accomplice—possibly a non-Vulcan—who might move the Glory ahead of our search teams.”

  “Would a Vulcan murderer trust a non-Vulcan to do that with the Glory?”

  T’Pris considered it, then shook her head. “The point is taken. I do not believe that would happen—if the murderer is a Vulcan.”

  [195] “Are you back to that? I thought we’d all agreed only a Vulcan could have committed the murder in the way it was done.”

  “I believe humans have a saying, ‘Never assume.’ It appears to me we have all been guilty of assuming only a Vulcan could or would use the lan-dovna technique to murder Meadows. I admit it seems so obvious, but perhaps that is what the killer meant us to assume. Our traditions and rituals are not secret on this subject. As Spock pointed out to you, it is a self-defense technique that is taught. There are many who have studied our philosophy and combat techniques, though it is seldom that a non-Vulcan has the strength to carry out many of them. Still, if we allow for the strength, a non-Vulcan could very possibly execute lan-dovna. I wish to follow a theory that our criminal is not a Vulcan. If we take that assumption, what other candidates on board do we have?”

  Number One thought about it, liked the possibilities, and nodded to T’Pris. “All right, Lieutenant. Follow that line of thought and bring the answers back to me. Who else might have committed this murder, and why?”

  “C’mon, Scotty,” Bob Brien hissed. “They’re right behind us.”

  Scott moved a little faster down the corridor, walking with a peculiarly stiff-legged gait. Brien, carrying an inconspicuous toolbox, hurried on ahead. He stopped again and impatiently waved Scott on. Scott angrily hobbled up to him. “It isn’t easy to run with three distillery pipes down your pants leg!” He [196] gestured at Brien’s toolbox. “You get to carry all the small parts and catch jars in there.”

  “Well, it was your idea to transport them that way. Come on, now.” Brien nervously threw a look down the corridor behind them. “Security’s through wi
th the engineering search. We can circle around and go back in through the number four entry. There’s a service closet there—it has to have been inspected already. We’ll dump all these parts in there until you go back on shift tonight.”

  “About time, too. I may never be able to walk right again.” Scott awkwardly hitched his left leg along, unable to flex his knee.

  Brien tipped him his twinkle-eyed grin and patted his shoulder. “It’s worth it. I delivered all the jars we had in stock, and there’s a whole batch of orders to fill when you get set up again.”

  “Bob, I’m starting to believe you’re money mad. Do ye see yourself as a tycoon or some such?”

  “Tycoon? We’re just above breaking even on this. No, it’s the happy, smiling faces I see when our crewmates take a taste of this first-class hooch you’ve concocted. And a happy crew is—a happy crew.”

  Scott grunted as they finally reached the engineering entry. “Agreed. But just above breaking even—” He paused thoughtfully. “We should have a better profit margin.”

  Phil Boyce finished the last of his sick-call chores—no more heavy than usual. There were the usual small accidents people suffered—bruises and cuts, a head cold (that common ailment still had no sure cure), an [197] upset stomach from overindulgence in a particularly rich dessert the night before. Boyce cleared away his instruments and left sickbay in the charge of his head nurse.

  He stopped in the rec room for a cup of coffee. Must be the atmosphere or something, Boyce thought. Rec-room coffee always tasted better than sickbay coffee, even though it was actually piped from the same source before being delivered through the food slots. As he sat at a table sipping the brew and casually glancing around at the other off-duty personnel in the room, Boyce noticed a common phenomenon and realized he had actually been seeing it for several days. He tossed down the rest of his coffee and went to a nearby wall intercom.

  “Dr. Boyce calling Number One.”