STAR TREK: The Original Series - Garth of Izar

by Pamela Sargent

  He also had to be prepared for the possibility that Garth might still lose his painfully won sanity, that being among the Antosians again might eventually unbalance him. Garth’s actions after boarding the Enterprise were those of a sane, observant, and considerate man, but Kirk had to allow for a relapse. The concealed hand phaser was one safeguard, but there were other backups Kirk had arranged with Montgomery Scott. Scotty knew what he would have to do if the worst happened, and also that his primary duty was to the Enterprise and not to Kirk and his landing party.

  Kirk glanced at the band of windows, which offered a view of a lake to the north and a ridge of mountains far to the west, then lifted a hand in greeting. Empynes and Gyneeses, clothed in long tunics and pants, stood with Captain Garth, who wore a long coat of a silklike fabric over his uniform; he had mentioned that the weather in this region could be cool.

  “Welcome to Antos IV,” Empynes said, nodded at Kirk, then pressed the palms of his long-fingered hands together. His black hair was clipped close to his head, while the shorter Gyneeses wore his light brown hair at collar length. Except for a slightly larger brain case, the Antosians were like most humanoids in having a wide range of skin tones, hair colors, eye colors, and body types.

  [67] “Thank you,” Kirk replied. He quickly introduced the other members of his team, then said, “I am told that you hold the title of First Minister.”

  “Yes,” Empynes said, “but I have never cared for titles—feel free to address me and Chief Adviser Gyneeses by our names.” Gyneeses frowned, as if displeased by that remark, but Kirk told himself that maybe he was misinterpreting the Antosian’s expression. “Please, let us sit down.” He turned and led everyone toward the two rows of armchairs near the windows.

  Gyneeses sat down first, with Empynes at his right. Kirk seated himself directly across from the two Antosians as Garth settled himself next to Empynes. Gyneeses gave Garth an impassive glance. What was the Chief Adviser thinking and feeling now? Kirk wondered. Garth had threatened the Antosians with destruction; what might Gyneeses be thinking when he looked at Garth’s people? Representatives of a Federation that had also been threatened by the madman, but had somehow conveniently forgiven him his transgressions?

  Kirk was only speculating; he was not yet familiar enough with this culture to be sure of anyone’s thoughts. Still, there was something about Chief Adviser Gyneeses that troubled him. This entire mission had made him unduly suspicious. Why was Garth so subdued, even deferential, in the presence of the two Antosians?

  Foolish of me, Kirk thought. Of course he would [68] be subdued; Garth would not want these people to glimpse anything that might remind them of his earlier grandiose self.

  “We’d better get right down to our problem,” Empynes began, “and be clear about exactly what it is that we’re about to do. To put it directly, we are on the verge of a civil war over what future use we are to make of cellular metamorphosis. This ability, as you may know, was developed over time, from a possibility inherent in our larger brain cases. It once promoted our survival, though it is no longer necessary.”

  Kirk nodded, having been briefed by Garth on that point.

  “We survive and have continued to thrive without exercising this talent other than in trivial ways,” Empynes went on. “Many of us, a majority in fact, have felt for some time that we should give up this shape-changing ability, which can be troublesome and drains our energies when we do use it, as our children frequently do, but which now has no real use beyond that of play. But there are those among us who disagree. They see the political and military uses of the skill, especially when they look beyond our world to the larger sphere of the galaxy.” He paused. “Some members of these factions, which comprise, I estimate, about ten percent of our people, have absented themselves from the rest of us—they’ve left this city, and continue to lay their plans against us at a distance.” Empynes sighed. “But perhaps Gyneeses can finish the story of our growing discord, since I [69] sometimes find it too painful to describe. It creates a knot in my mind that can become almost physically agonizing.”

  “Yes, of course, my friend,” Gyneeses said in a low voice.

  Empynes sat back in his chair. Gyneeses leaned forward. “If our people are to come and go freely among the intelligent races of the galaxy, the danger of collaboration in the service of martial ambitions may do great damage to the constructive impulses we have observed in your Federation’s ideals.”

  “Exactly what precipitated the split among your people?” Kirk asked. “What made some members of your dissident factions decide to leave the city and rebel openly?”

  “It was our proposal to genetically engineer the power of metamorphosis out of ourselves.” Gyneeses looked regretful as he spoke. “The dissidents refused to consider that solution.”

  “But its medical uses show such great promise,” Leonard McCoy cut in. “Look what you were able to do for Captain Garth. It’d be a damn shame not to have the benefit of such abilities.”

  “There would be benefits,” Spock murmured, “but the same effect might be achieved in other ways.”

  “Exactly, Commander Spock,” Empynes said as he sat up again. “Why should Antosian children be burdened with the temptations of such a talent, at an age when their judgment and self-control are just beginning to form? To control this ability, to rein in [70] ourselves, we have lived under a series of centralized and authoritarian historical regimes—all of which, we now see, were shaped by the desire to control this one feature of our genetic inheritance and to keep it from corrupting us.”

  Spock said, “My own Vulcan people had to conquer the violent parts of their nature millennia ago. Those who were once our rebel faction became the founders of the Romulan Star Empire.”

  “Then you see what we must do, Commander Spock,” Empynes responded. “Our renegades now propose, in effect, to give in to the temptations that we have so long been able to control. Our entire peaceful history and culture may come crashing down.”

  Empynes covered his eyes, clearly overcome by that prospect. Kirk almost expected him to break down and weep. The Antosian lowered his hand and looked up, seeming more composed, but it was obvious how much weight he carried on his shoulders. Now Kirk felt even more the necessity of Garth’s mission to this world that he had helped to destabilize, and why Garth had pushed so hard for it.

  The First Minister sighed, then continued, “Perhaps, Captain Kirk, you and your team could advise us on a matter of tactics. Our plan is to meet with the rebels personally. This has taken some time to arrange, but no other course is open to us, and they have agreed to such a meeting. We are a cautious people, however, and so our negotiating partners have asked that we approach the meeting place in full [71] view, riding elleis—our native animal mounts. I for one do not expect any treachery, at least not until after the meeting.”

  “But you would like to have a plan,” Kirk said, “that would guard against any eventualities.” For a moment, he was puzzled about why Garth had not discussed possible tactics with the two Antosians, but perhaps the other man felt that such suggestions would carry more weight coming from Kirk.

  Empynes nodded. “A number of important people must be risked to give this meeting credibility, so we need a plan to protect ourselves as we go to meet the rebels. I, as First Minister, have the final say on almost any important matter involving our people, and my advisers keep a close watch on those who work with them. It’s a centralized system that has served to keep us at peace for millennia, but it only works because of the discipline we have imposed on ourselves, and it places a heavy load on the back of the First Minister. It also means that the rebels know that they have to deal with me to ensure any kind of settlement. Therefore, I must go talk to them myself, as must Gyneeses. Your presence, that of Captain Garth, and the three Starfleet personnel with you is part of an unspoken guarantee of sincerity on our part to the suspicious rebels. I am regretful that so much has to be risked.”

  “Without r
isk,” Kirk said, “there is no progress.”

  “We’ll have to leave the city and ride west,” Empynes said. “This means crossing a long stretch of [72] desert to reach the meeting place. Riding there on elleis, stopping at the oases along the way and allowing time to rest ourselves and our mounts, is a journey that will take at least two of our days. I wish there were some way to speed our travel, Captain, but we must make the approach to the meeting place on our mounts. Can you suggest anything?”

  “Yes, I think I can,” Kirk replied. He glanced at Spock, who nodded in his direction, and knew immediately that the Vulcan had thought of the same possibility. “Mr. Spock, please explain what we can do.”

  “To put it simply,” Spock said, “we propose that we make use of our transporters to decrease our journey’s duration. The Enterprise can easily beam us and our mounts from one place to another, enabling us to cross the desert and be at the meeting place in only a few hours.”

  Empynes clasped his hands together. “I had hoped you might be able to do something of that sort.”

  “And it has the advantage,” Kirk said, “of getting us to the meeting place before the rebels expect us there.”

  “Are we then agreed that we’ll begin our journey tomorrow?”

  Kirk glanced at his companions, then said, “Agreed.”

  “We can hope this matter can be settled,” Gyneeses said then, “but I have grave doubts about all this, whether it will be of any use.” He turned toward Empynes. “I am Chief Adviser—I must tell you what I fear.”

  “And what do you foresee?” Garth asked softly.

  [73] “Civil war among ourselves, for a long time to come, ending only when one faction is victorious. I just cannot see any group willingly giving up what power it has, and any clear advantage it sees for itself.”

  Empynes sighed. “It will be as it will be, Gyneeses, but we must all take up our positions in this conflict and act according to our best judgment. I am not about to let our way of life die without doing everything I can to prevent it.” The First Minister paused. “I propose to take all of you to our stable, so that you can see the mounts you’ll be riding. After that, it would be best if we dine early, so that we’re well rested for tomorrow. We’ve set aside quarters for you here in my compound, in the official residence, but you may return to your ship if you prefer to rest there.”

  “I’d prefer to stay here,” Garth said, looking at Kirk.

  “Then so will we,” Kirk responded. The situation did not seem hopeful, he thought, as he suddenly imagined possible outcomes: a civil war with one victor; maybe an action by the Federation against rebellious and dangerous shape-shifters. As Kirk thought about it further, he also imagined an endless civil war, with no victor, the end of the peaceful Antosian culture, even the final extinction of the species.

  Whatever happened, the powers the Antosians possessed could not be allowed to threaten the Federation, or to become the tools of the Federation’s Klingon and Romulan enemies.

  Chapter Five

  MCCOY BREATHED IN the cool morning air, then draped his arms over the top of the wooden fence, watching the elleis as they milled around inside their pen. The four-footed, black-furred animals were roughly the size of horses, yet moved like cats on their padded paws; they seemed to him to be a cross between graceful equines and black panthers.

  “They are beautiful, aren’t they?” Wenallai said.

  McCoy turned toward the Antosian woman. “Indeed they are.”

  Wenallai squinted at him, which seemed to be her equivalent of a smile. She was the bondpartner of Empynes and the owner and breeder of this particular herd of elleis, but she was also a healer, a fact McCoy had discovered last night during the dinner the Antosians had laid out for them.

  [75] “I wouldn’t think there’d be much need for physicians here,” McCoy had said to her after she had passed him a dish of delicately seasoned vegetables resembling ferns.

  “Oh, but there is,” Wenallai had replied. “Being able to use the art of cellular metamorphosis doesn’t automatically turn one into a diagnostician. That’s much of what I do: scan and mind-probe and give a detailed diagnosis, and then suggest the most efficient or least painful way to promote healing through cellular transformation. And with younger people, particularly children, I often have to guide them through the process of healing step by step.”

  “Were you one of those who healed Garth?” McCoy had asked.

  “No, others healed him.” A darker look crossed her face before she went on to speak of other matters. That the Antosians would have to change themselves somatically and genetically in order to give up their shape-changing abilities was probably necessary, but McCoy and she both worried that her people might become much more vulnerable to injury and disease if they gave up such talents altogether. Wenallai and other healers and biologists were already at work analyzing the Antosian genetic structure to see which of their abilities might be retained.

  “If we could keep certain talents,” she had continued, “the ability to, say, transform an ailing organ into a healthy one, or to mend a broken limb by [76] reshaping it, most of us might be willing to give up our more comprehensive shape-changing skills. And we might also be able to help your people in time. That Garth was able to master cellular metamorphosis suggests that others of your people may have latent shape-changing abilities. Another hypothesis is that his transporter accident didn’t only inflict deforming and life-threatening injuries on him, but also may have altered his neurological structures just enough for any latent shape-changing ability he had to be able to manifest itself.”

  “If that’s the case, then Garth is an exception,” McCoy said, “and possibly unique. Other non-Antosians may never be able to acquire his particular skill.”

  “But what may be true about Garth doesn’t change anything for us,” Wenallai said. “It seems that if we don’t give up most of our shape-changing powers, we’ll soon be at war. And if the dissidents win, they could become a threat to your people.”

  An ellei with its long tail held high padded over to McCoy and thrust a furry nose at him. He scratched the animal behind its pointed catlike ears; the ellei emitted a low humming sound that resembled a purr. The notion of riding one of these creatures for any length of time had not appealed to him at first; unlike the avid horseman Jim Kirk, McCoy did not consider himself much of a rider. But his visit to the pen yesterday had eased his mind considerably. The elleis were gentle, even affectionate, and were also [77] surprisingly easy to ride. Empynes had taken them all on a short ride in a park near the stable and then along a trail toward the lake that bordered the city to the north, in order to get the offworlders used to their mounts, and McCoy had actually enjoyed the excursion. An ellei could slip forward like a cat and then race like a horse.

  Wenallai patted the nose of another ellei, then turned to McCoy. “I worry about my bondpartner,” she murmured. “Empynes has been under so much pressure. There are nights when he can’t sleep, when he wanders the city and broods over what we may lose in the battle to come.”

  “Let’s hope that we can avert that battle.” McCoy thought of what Gyneeses had said about the prospect of civil war.

  “I’m not thinking only of what your people mean by a battle, a fight with weapons. I am thinking of the struggle to save what is most valuable in our peaceful way of life—if anything can be saved.” She leaned against the fence; her green eyes gazed past him.

  McCoy had encountered her unexpectedly that morning. He had been up earlier than the others, and Wenallai was about to walk her young son Benaron to school; she had suggested that McCoy accompany them, since the school was near her stable. McCoy thought of how the little boy had rushed to join his schoolmates, of how they had played in the school gardens before disappearing behind the doors of the [78] white building. The boy had transformed himself from a child with the black hair of his father Empynes into an elf with a shock of white hair, and then into a thinner and taller red-haired boy
in a long black cloak. The other children had been shape-changing as swiftly, their hair and height and body types altering so rapidly that McCoy quickly lost track of which child was Wenallai’s son. Even their garments did not remain the same; Benaron’s black cloak had begun as a brown coat. Wenallai had explained that their shape-changing abilities made them able to alter the appearance of anything they were wearing, as though their clothes were a second skin. It was in fact easier for them than the flowing of living tissue.

  McCoy had watched the mutable children flowing in and out of ever-changing humanoid shapes, laughing as they did so, and had found the sight moving and beautiful. How transitory everything is, he had thought as the children returned to themselves and hurried into the school. Such innocent shape-changing games were only one of the beauties the Antosians would have to sacrifice.

  “The others will be here soon,” Wenallai said, “and I must go to meet a few of my colleagues at our laboratory.” She thrust her hands into the pockets of her long brown woolen coat. “Promise me that you and your comrades will watch over Empynes and do your best to keep him safe.”

  “Of course,” McCoy replied.

  [79] “He is not used to fearing other Antosians, or having to deal with people who might want to harm him.” Even as he watched her, Wenallai was changing, but very subtly, almost imperceptibly. Her reddish hair took on the sheen of copper; her green eyes grew larger and more lustrous; her olive skin acquired a golden glow. The quietly attractive female Antosian had transformed herself into a beauty, and McCoy began to see why, according to Garth, these people had a reputation for long and enduring pair bonds. Wenallai, he realized, could become whatever her bondpartner wanted her to be, and Empynes could transform himself for her. This private shape-changing between partners was perhaps another form of play that might forever be lost to their race.

  “Farewell, Dr. McCoy. I wish you well.” The coppery glow of her hair faded to a darker red as Wenallai walked away.