[Star Trek Logs 02] - Log Two

by Alan Dean Foster - (ebook by Undead)

  “Hurry, Christine.” She nodded obediently and turned toward the intercom.

  “Get me engineer Sco—” She stopped in midphrase. Chief Engineer Scott was in no condition to program a coffee pot, much less handle complete realignment of the Enterprise’s generators. “Get me Subengineer Hondo McDuff.”

  She nodded with satisfaction. McDuff would handle the complete readjustment of forces with ease—if in her eagerness to satisfy everyone she didn’t blow up the ship first.

  The women regained consciousness slowly. There was no moaning, no groans at the tingling aftereffects of the phasers.

  Theela, the strongest of the group, was already on her feet. Her initial antagonism had gone. She showed no desire to challenge even a tickling phaser effect again.

  Instead, she retreated against the central dais and watched Uhura.

  The object of her attention waited until enough of the other giantesses had recovered to make the demonstration worthwhile. She reset her phaser while searching around the room, settled on a good-sized, cube-shaped table, and fired.

  The blinding phaser beam struck it with impressive force and the solid construct of stone and metal fused into a tiny lump of glowing slag. There was a concerted gasp of horror from Theela and the other women. Uhura’s voice had taken on a new intensity, too.

  “Release Captain Kirk, Dr. McCoy, and Ensign Carver immediately, or we’ll melt your temple down into a pink puddle!” She raised the phaser slightly. “But first, maybe we’ll start on you—piece by piece.”

  Theela didn’t reply… just stood and looked defiant. Trying to exhibit a casualness she didn’t feel, Uhura shrugged and raised her phaser the rest of the way, pointing it at a nearby, beautifully worked stone column. Theela wavered, and a restraining hand gestured hurriedly.

  “Wait! No more destruction. I do not know where your people are—” Uhura’s finger tightened on the trigger, and Theela’s tone grew frantic.

  “It’s true! They escaped, but wait and I shall find them for you. I was about to do so when you appeared.”

  She left the dais and once again approached the transparent shape of the Oyya. The note was hummed and the machine activated.

  “I will find your men for you. But first learn of us and the reasons for our actions.”

  “I could care le—” Uhura began, but Theela was already speaking to the cube.

  “The past—reveal it.”

  Uhura tried to appear unimpressed as a lifelike miniature of a handsome man appeared in the cube. The detail was unbelievable. The man’s hair was short, green, and done up in ringlets. Standing beside him a second later was an equally attractive woman, also with hair of green.

  “This is the race from whom we are descended,” Theela informed Uhura. “They came to this world which you call Taurus when their home world began to die.” She gestured around at the silent hall.

  “They built this temple and all surrounding it—the automatic food machinery, the gardens, the underground recycling systems… everything.” The image in the cube blurred, then slowly cleared again to revel the man standing alone.

  He was changed, shrunken now, old and white-haired and hunchbacked. Theela’s voice was sad. “They did not know that radiations on this world drain the life-energy from a body.

  “But the women developed a glandular secretion which partly enabled them to withstand these debilitating effects. It also gave them the ability to manipulate, through special devices and a certain local mineral, the now weakened males—to draw life-energy from them to replace what the radiations stole.

  “So in learning how to resist this planet’s life-hunger, they acquired that same need. In drawing on the life-force of the men, they caused them to age and die. We are the daughters of those first women. They built the Lura-mag, which draws new men to us, the Oyya, and they designed the focusing headbands.”

  As Theela continued with her tragic history, rain continued to fall. Most particularly it continued to fall into a certain large lump of pottery, in which Kirk and the others splashed weakly, half floating now, their toes bouncing off the bottom. Uhura, as she listened to Theela, had no way of knowing how close Kirk, McCoy, and Carver were to drowning.

  “To maintain our long life,” Theela was saying, “we must revive ourselves this way every twenty-seven years of your time.”

  Darah broke in unhappily, “We are eternal prisoners of this need, which we did not ask for. We age very slowly. Our damning immortality has also cost us the ability to bear children. The necessary organs are still there, but they do not function. A by-product of our increased life.”

  Uhura didn’t have to ask how they knew this.

  “Why don’t you just live out your normal life spans?” asked one of the security guards.

  “We have no weapons here, no way to destroy the Lura-mag. And when the men eventually arrive,” she hesitated, “we are afraid. We have no wish to be murdered as monsters. We have always feared this would happen were we to confess what we have done.”

  “So we follow the plan, and the cycle continues.”

  Uhura muttered to herself. These poor creatures had never known any civilization but their own pitifully confined fragment of history. They’d never known any other way to react, never thought to take the chance of asking for help.

  Sympathy later, she reminded herself. They were wasting time—time which might be precious to an aged Kirk, McCoy, and Carver. How precious, she didn’t yet know.

  “That’s all very interesting,” she replied honestly. “Now, what about Captain Kirk and his companions? If your fancy crystal ball can locate them, why haven’t you done it already?”

  “We were about to,” Theela reminded, “but you came.” She turned to face the cube.

  “The men of the Enterprise who remain on our world… reveal them.”

  An image began to form, screened by plants and vines.

  “The garden outside the temple,” Theela informed them. The image blurred again, solidified. Then it was as if they were peering at some impossible kind of moving cutaway drawing.

  They were looking inside the urn. Kirk, McCoy, and Carver were bobbing inside, pawing at the water which washed over and around them. Kirk and Carver had unsteady grips on the grid covering the urn. Kirk had a grip on McCoy, and his fingers slipped. McCoy slid below the surface as the captain made frantic flailing motions at the water, struggling to reach him.

  “They’re drowning!” Uhura exclaimed. She turned to face Theela and her hand tightened on the trigger of the phaser. “Where are they? Take us there now, or—”

  “The ceremonial urn in the far glade!” the giantess shouted.

  Driving, unrelenting rain soaked everything, obscuring their sight for all but a few meters in any direction. The light was dim, except when an occasional streak of lightning shouldered its way between the clouds and threw trees and thick creepers into sharp relief.

  Uhura and the security party followed Theela through the nightmarish storm, phasers drawn. Uhura kept hers focused squarely on the center of the giantess’ back and stayed close on the big woman’s heels.

  Back in the temple she’d seemed docile enough, but Uhura was taking no chances on her disappearing suddenly in the darkness. Let her try something—

  Without any warning from Theela they burst into the open glade. The urn looked innocuous enough, standing firmly in the high wind. No sign that there were three men floating inside, their lives ebbing away with each passing minute.

  “Phasers on third setting!” Uhura yelled over the drumming rain. “Aim for the base!” She was firing her own weapon as soon as she’d given the order.

  The concerted low-powered energy from the five phasers struck the base of the ceramic container. Four broad cracks appeared instantly. Water gushed out of the urn as if from four spigots. The sudden release of internal pressure was too much. Cracks multiplied, and the um split apart.

  Kirk, McCoy, and Carver were washed out like wet logs, tumbling and falli
ng over pieces of broken pottery down the slanted muddy ground. Uhura and the other women from the Enterprise had shut off their phasers and were rushing toward them even before the flow of water had subsided.

  Uhura’s face twisted in pain when she saw Kirk. He’d aged even more than Mr. Spock. And McCoy—

  “My God—” she muttered, flipping her communicator open. “Uhura to Enterprise. Subengineer Lewis, transporter room.” The voice of the technician acting for Chief Kyle shot down through the gray clouds.

  “Lewis here, Lieutenant.”

  “Four to beam up, Lewis—and gently, Lewis, gently. We’ve got some… sick people down here.”

  “Yes, Lieutenant, I’ve seen Mr. Spock.”

  Uhura flipped the communicator closed. “Ensign Tadaki, you’re in charge. I’m going up with the captain and Dr. McCoy. Vierne, you’ll come with me. I’ll send you back down for Carver.”

  “Excuse me, m’am,” interrupted Tadaki, “but what about her—and the others?” She gestured at the silently watching Theela.

  “If they don’t give you any trouble, leave them alone. But if they go near anything more modern than a spoon, or get belligerent—shoot them.”

  The medtables were waiting, in the transporter room. Nurse Chapel was somewhat prepared for the experience of seeing Kirk and McCoy, but her assistants were not.

  Nor was Scott, who was assisting Lewis in the transporting.

  “Mr. Spock’s screen is working,” he said in answer to Uhura’s unvoiced question. “The rest of the men are recovered, except for some splittin’ headaches. Most of us would rather not discuss the whole matter, Lieutenant Uhura.”

  “Don’t blame yourself, Mr. Scott,” she replied. “You were acting under an irresistible outside compulsion.”

  “I still feel a bit of an idiot,” the chief engineer grumbled.

  “Far be it for me to deny you the pleasure of feeling like one,” Uhura admitted. Scott grinned.

  Chapel was admonishing her stunned assistants.

  “You’ve seen old men before,” she said with an assurance she didn’t feel, “get moving.”

  Drugs and injections restored some strength to the four aged men, but they remained as old as before. Chapel ran test after test on them, took reading after reading. It was a toss-up as to which result was less depressing than the others.

  “No results, Captain,” she finally had to admit. “The aging process seems to be the real thing, speeded up. I see no way to reverse it. I’ve… I’ve tried everything I can think of. Perhaps Dr. McCoy—?” Her tone was hopeful.

  McCoy’s wasn’t. “I can’t imagine anything you haven’t already tried, Chapel.” Dismayed silence filled the examination room.

  “I’m not ready for retirement,” Kirk mumbled. No one laughed.

  Spock, who’d lain deep in thought ever since the first injections had refreshed his mind, broke in.

  “Perhaps the transporter is the key.”

  “Key to what?” snapped McCoy testily.

  “Our restoration. The transporter computer automatically records the molecular structure of everyone and everything it handles. Humanoid patterns are permanently recorded and shifted to a special section of the library. It’s part of the ship’s security systems.

  “Think, gentlemen, the records of our original forms were re-recorded when we beamed down to the planet.” Kirk’s face showed hope.

  “You think, Spock, that if we are transported back to the surface and then immediately brought back under the patterns recorded previously, our former bodies would be restored?”

  “Possibly, Captain. It has never been tried before. Theoretically, a man could be retransported back into his child’s body, if the pattern were available. The danger—mental as well as physical—has precluded experimentation in this area. There would not be a second chance.”

  “I’m not crazy about our chances right now,” Kirk replied. “If you think there’s any chance at all, Spock—”

  “There is a chance, Captain.”

  Kirk leaned back on the table and spoke to Uhura. “Inform Engineer Scott of our plans and tell him well be back in transporting as fast as,” he grinned, “our wheels will carry us.”

  “I don’t think much of this idea, sir,” Scott said when the details had been explained to him.

  “Look at me, Mr. Scott,” Kirk ordered. “Every other attempt to restore our original bodies has failed. This may be our only chance. You’re absolved of all responsibility for it. It’s my decision—-mine and Mr. Spock’s and Carver’s and Bones’. We’ve got to try it!”

  “All right, sir, I’ll do my best.”

  “You’ll have to, Scotty.”

  With the aid of Chapel’s assistants the four men were helped into the transporter alcove. McCoy was unable to stand and had to sit on the transporter disk.

  “Go ahead, Mr. Scott.”

  Scott resisted the urge to draw a deep breath, drew the levers down. The man glittered, faded and were gone.

  There was a beep from the transporter console less than a minute later.

  “We are on the surface, Mr. Scott,” came Spock’s voice. “Reprogram the computer as indicated according to the previously recorded patterns.”

  Scott delicately shifted four new settings into the transporter control. The settings were crucial and required matching the new patterns to the old with no room, absolutely no room, for error. He checked it once, could have checked it a dozen times more without being completely satisfied.

  “All right, Mr. Spock. Here goes.” He began adjusting the proper dials and switches, his eyes glued to one small unassuming gauge set in the console under his right arm.

  “I heard them say this has never been done before, Mr. Scott,” Chapel whispered. “What happens if it doesn’t work, if things don’t match up right?”

  “If they’re a little bit off, lass, just the tiniest bit—then the atomic structure of Captain Kirk, Mr. Spock, Dr. McCoy, and Carver will break up, disperse—scatter to every corner of the universe. And not all the king’s horses nor all the king’s men will ever put the captain together again.”

  There was an end to talking as Scott, using more care than he ever had in a transport operation, slowly brought the necessary levers upward. The familiar hum of pattern integration increased. Transporter Chief Kyle had arrived and now stood to Scott’s left, double-checking readouts.

  “So far so good, Chief.”

  Four outlines began to shimmer into view, coalesce.

  “Easy, easy…” Scott murmured to himself.

  The outlines steadied, started to take on color—and suddenly began to oscillate violently.

  “Scott, we’re losing them!” yelled Uhura helplessly.

  Scott didn’t reply, his hands working faster on the controls. The four outlines seemed to separate into sixteen tiny sections, flutter still more wildly, and then reform into four shapes again.

  The oscillation slowed, stopped. Now the humming steadied, and the four outlines began to fill in once more.

  “Coming up on zero mark,” noted Kyle, only a slight tremor in his voice hinting at tenseness. “Two… one… mark!” Scott slammed four levers down so hard it appeared sure he’d shove them right through the console and into the floor.

  Kirk blinked and looked around. Uhura smiled in relief.

  “You’re more handsome than ever, all of you.” They were themselves again.

  Well, not quite.

  “That’s very nice of you, Lieutenant,” McCoy replied, “but why is everyone staring at us?”

  “Yes, Scotty, aren’t you going to beam us down? It’s time we figured out what that probe—” He looked around and a puzzled expression came over his face. “Say, that’s odd, Mr. Spock, have you noticed? The music has stopped.”

  “Indeed it has, Captain. Most peculiar.”

  Uhura felt like the girl who’d just stepped through the looking glass. “What’s going on here? Aren’t you glad to be back in your own bodies again?”


  Kirk looked at her strangely. “Back? I don’t remember having left mine anyplace, do you, Bones?” McCoy shrugged, looked innocent.

  “I think I know what’s happened,” mused a thoughtful Scott.

  “Well, I wish you’d tell me,” pleaded a badly confused Uhura.

  Scott turned to her. “It’s simple, lass. The captain, Mr. Spock, Dr. McCoy, and Mr. Carver are once again as they were before they first beamed down to the planet. That not only includes their youthful looks, it includes their original brain patterns, which include memories. They’ve lost some time—and experiences.”

  “What’s all this, Mr. Scott?” queried Kirk, stepping off the platform. “Why the delay?”

  “It’s kind of complicated, Captain,” began Scott. “We have some tapes from Spock’s tricorder, plus those from Dr. McCoy’s and Ensign Tadaki’s, which ought to clear things up…”

  It took only a few hours for the four repatterned officers to relive the experiences of the past day. It was difficult to get used to, but the tapes didn’t lie.

  McCoy didn’t stay for all of them. He had a number of questions of his own to put to the medical computer.

  Eventually he handed Kirk the results of his work.

  “Aren’t you going to handle it, Captain?” asked Uhura.

  “No, Lieutenant. Besides, I think it might mean more coming from you. I don’t have any particular desire to go back down to this particular world. Not if what happened to me on those tapes really happened. It was like watching yourself acting out a bad dream.”

  Uhura nodded sympathetically. “I understand, Captain.” She turned and headed for the transporter room.

  Theela, Darah, and the other giantesses were overjoyed when Uhura announced the results of Dr. McCoy’s research. Not that they were in any position to reject the offer, she thought sardonically, but she had to admit that they accepted it with what seemed like honest relief.