[Star Trek Logs 02] - Log Two

by Alan Dean Foster - (ebook by Undead)

  Not only could Sulu not see Captain Kirk or Dr. McCoy in the drifting miasma, he couldn’t see the cellulose abominations that were attacking them, either. But he could sure hear them. At which point the steady hiss that had been issuing from his cylindrical sprayer fizzled out.

  He yelled into the mist. “The sprayer’s empty, Captain!”

  “Mine too, Jim!” came the familiar voice of McCoy. Sulu moved toward it, clinging tightly to the empty sprayer. They might be reduced to fighting with clubs after all.

  He bumped into something solid and almost screamed. It was only McCoy.

  “Wait a minute,” came another voice, Kirk’s. “Listen.”

  No one said a word. Sure enough, the plant noises had stopped. Not died out slowly, or faded, just… stopped. McCoy tried to make out shapes in the thick haze surrounding them.

  “Maybe they’re waiting for this to clear. This far underground, there has to be some kind of automatic air-circulation system to blow out accumulating impurities.”

  Sure enough the mist started to clear, thinning even as he spoke. Soon Kirk could see the two of them. They moved to stand back to back in expectation of a renewed attack. Kirk removed his mask and sniffed.

  “It’s okay now.”

  McCoy and Sulu removed theirs. The cleaning process accelerated and the mist broke up rapidly. In seconds it was completely gone.

  So were most of the plants.

  Those that remained behind weren’t going to attack anyone ever again. They lay on the floor, limbs twisted grotesquely, shriveled like dead clumps of hedge.

  “Well, how about that,” McCoy mused, studying the copse-laden battlefield. “Great-grandpappy’s weed spray still works.”

  “I’ll witness that,” said a relieved Kirk, “so long as those that got away don’t come back.”

  “I don’t think they’ll be in a hurry to do so, Captain,” observed Sulu.

  “Even so, we’ve got to get Spock out of here before Keniclius returns. Scott should have the ship back in orbit now.” He took out his communicator, activated it.

  “There’s a chance this shield is directional. We might be able to beam out, even if nobody can beam in. Kirk to Enterprise… Kirk to Enterprise. …” There was no answering beep. He paused, tried again. No luck.

  “Must be these blasted walls. Kirk to Enterprise….”

  McCoy had been examining Spock ever since it appeared they were safe from counterattack. Now he looked up and shook his head slowly, sadly.

  “It’s no use, Jim. He’s fading too fast. He’ll be dead inside a quarter hour.” He hesitated. “He no longer thinks. His mind is gone. But it’s not the normal blankness of predeath. This machine,” and he indicated the instrument-laden table, “seems to be draining him somehow.”

  “more than just drain, gentlemen.” They turned.

  Keniclius was no plant. He’d returned.

  “his memories have been transferred… relocated INTO THE MECHANISM ITSELF AND THEN TRANSFERRED again.” He moved towards them.

  “I CAN DUPLICATE EXACT PHYSIOLOGICAL STRUCTURES. I CANNOT DUPLICATE THAT WHICH IS LEARNED. I CAN REPRODUCE THAT SECTION OF THE MIND WHICH HOLDS THOUGHTS, BUT I CANNOT REPRODUCE THINKING. I CAN MAKE AGAIN THE AREA THAT IS RESPONSIBLE FOR MEMORY, BUT I CANNOT CREATE MEMORIES.

  “JUST AS MY PREDECESSOR TRANSFERRED HIS MEMORIES AND THOUGHTS TO ME THROUGH A SIMILAR MACHINE, SO HAVE I DONE WITH MR. SPOCK AND HIS DUPLICATE.”

  “You talk about your cloning as though you were creating life!” screamed a frustrated Kirk. “But you have to murder to do it!”

  Unexpectedly, that appeared to affect the giant. He halted in his approach, something within him seemingly in conflict with itself. Kirk noticed the hesitation. While it seemed incredible that this monster might have some distorted sense of morality, he had to grab at any chance.

  Together the three of them got hold of Spock’s limp form and lifted it off the table. They started carrying him toward the third entrance.

  They didn’t get very far.

  The second colossal figure had appeared and was blocking their retreat. Nor did the giant Spock appear inclined to move out of their way.

  There was no hesitation in Kirk’s voice now.

  “Out of my way, mister!” he yelled at the giant. “That’s an order.” The huge head inclined slowly to stare blank-faced at them, but the giant showed no sign of moving. McCoy had his medical scanner out and working.

  “I don’t think he understands, Jim. His mind is still trying to assimilate all the fresh knowledge that’s been poured into it.”

  That first order had come automatically. But now Kirk found himself uncertain how to proceed.

  How much Mr. Spock was there in the giant towering silently over them—and how much Keniclius?

  XII

  On board the orbiting Enterprise the frustration, if not the danger, was just as intense. Wishing he had the full resources of a planet-based communications station, Scott struggled to keep his voice calm as Uhura’s repeated attempts to contact the landing party met with repeated nonsuccess. He had no way of knowing, of course, that Kirk, Sum, and Dr. McCoy were no longer on the surface of Phylos, but under it.

  “Keep trying, Lieutenant. We’ve got to make contact with the captain.”

  “What do you think I’ve been trying to do for the past fifteen minutes, sir?” She shook her head and glared. “It’s no use. I’ve tried every ship-to-ground frequency I can think of. No response. I can’t even determine if their communicators are still operational.”

  “Something down there… either the communicators have been destroyed, or there’s something awfully thick between us and them.”

  Scott had one card left.

  “All right, Mr. Arex?” The navigation officer turned back to look at the chief engineer. “I want every ohm of power on this ship, except for the life-support systematization, put behind a tight-beam communications probe. We must try to break through whatever’s blocking our communications!”

  “That’s fine for a simple contact, Mr. Scott,” concurred Uhura. “But to maintain communication on such a power load could be disastrous. We risk total drain of our dilithium crystals. Could burn out every reserve on the ship.”

  “Don’t I know it, lass.” Of all the people on the Enterprise to recommend such a command, he reflected ironically, the last one ought to be her chief engineer.

  “But we’ve left orbit as the captain requested and returned. I don’t know what the situation is down below, but we should have heard from them by now. And I can’t order any action until I know what the situation is. We must make contact.”

  Kirk slumped to the floor, sat with his head bent between his knees. The giant didn’t respond to a reflex command. Now Kirk had time to think, and he found himself at a complete loss. The life of his first officer—and friend—was slipping away with every tick of the chronometer, and he seemed helpless to prevent it. Helpless.

  However, circumstances often take a hand where individual decisions fail. There was a deep rumbling sound. The giant Spock was clearing his throat.

  Kirk’s head came up. His thoughts shifted from distant regions of remorse to the present. Maybe there was a chance.

  McCoy was already taking another reading on the colossus.

  “He’s coming out of it, Jim. Becoming conscious and aware.”

  Kirk scrambled to his feet and took a step toward the giant. He stopped.

  What should he say? What could he say? Was there really anything of the Spock he’d known in this… Frankenstein? Anything beyond surface features and superficial similarities? For that matter, how much of the original idealistic doctor remained in a Keniclius five times removed from the first?

  Think, man, think! Say something, anything….

  He heard his voice talking. “Spock, what is the logic of letting a man die for the sake of creating his duplicate? Explain it to me, sir, explain it to me!”

  The giant raised an eyebrow, thinking, but did n
ot respond.

  “Power sources are channeled, Mr. Scott,” Uhura informed him. “I hope you know what you’re doing, sir.”

  “So do I, lass, so do I. Let’s find out.” Uhura turned back to her console. Her hand moved toward a certain little-used switch, the switch that was used only for expensive tight-beam communications. She’d used it before, but never with this kind of power behind it.

  Would the components involved be able to handle the strain of routing the full power of the Enterprise? She fervently hoped so.

  If not, there was a fair chance the console would explode in her face….

  “Jim, we’ve got to do something!” McCoy pleaded, taking another reading on the original Spock.

  “I’m trying to, really!” He eyed Spock 2. The real Spock had never been impressed by physical violence. This lumbering double would be even less so. Their only chance lay in reasoned argument.

  “Look,” he said desperately, “Vulcans do not condone the meaningless death of any being. Spock’s death is meaningless, if its only purpose is to create a giant duplicate of himself. It’s been proven time and again that no duplicate can possibly be as efficient as an original.”

  “IT IS NOT JUST A DUPLICATE!” objected an angry Keniclius. “‘AS GOOD AS AN ORIGINAL’, INDEED! HE WILL BE FAR BETTER THAN THE ORIGINAL—THE BEGINNING OF A MASTER RACE!”

  Kirk’s ready reply was interrupted by a startlingly loud beep. He looked dazedly at his communicator as if it might suddenly jump off his belt and bite him. Then he unclipped it and fumbled with the activator. A better idea stopped him.

  He tossed the unopened communicator to Spock 2. The giant caught it easily in one enormous palm. If the duplicate’s mind was not fully operational yet, Kirk reflected, then all was lost. No amount of argument would serve.

  At least its reflexes looked sound.

  “That’s our ship calling, Spock. You’re her first officer. You answer her.” The beep came again.

  Raising his hand, the giant appeared to study the tiny instrument. It made no move to open it and acknowledge the now constant beeping.

  “Spock’s slipping, Jim,” whispered McCoy tensely. “There isn’t much time left.”

  “I’m sure we’re getting through,” Uhura insisted, the strain in her voice reflecting the one warping the communications equipment. “But they’re not replying.”

  “Keep trying,” ordered Scott. Uhura kept an eye on an overhead indicator. “We’re nearing the overload point on the dilithium now, Mr. Scott Our reserves…”

  “Keep… trying.”

  Suddenly the giant’s eyes seemed to clear, his expression to brighten. With the ease of one who’s performed the same task a thousand times, yet also compensating for the increased size of his fingers, Spock 2 flipped open the communicator.

  “COMMANDER… COMMANDER SPOCK HERE.”

  A chance, at least they had a chance, Kirk thought excitedly!

  Uhura’s relieved tone sounded over the communicator. “Thank heavens! Mr. Spock, tell the captain I’ve located additional information on Keniclius.”

  “Let’s hear it, Lieutenant!” Kirk shouted, hoping his voice would carry far enough for the communicator mike to pick up.

  Apparently it did. Uhura continued.

  “I had the library research all known writings by Keniclius. Most of them border on the incoherent, but two themes stand out, especially in his last essays.

  “One is his fanaticism. The other is some idea he had about using his projected master race as a peacekeeping force for the entire galaxy. That’s why he needed a perfect specimen for his cloning experiments.”

  There was more, but a glance at the overhead indicator ruled out any further contact. Another second and the needle would dip into the red zone. She hurried.

  “Signing off, power drain threshold!” She snapped off the signal and slammed down several switches with the other hand. Her sigh of relief whooshed out only after the needle had dropped out of the yellow and back into the green section of the gauge. Then she grinned up at Scott.

  “That is what I call close, Mr. Scott.”

  “At least we know they’re alive, and apparently okay,” agreed Scott, in blissful ignorance. “Let’s hope it was information they could use.”

  “Information, yeah,” mused Uhura. One arm was still trembling. She leaned on it to hide the quiver. “Did I ever tell you the one about the one-legged jockey, Mr. Scott—?”

  “Peacekeeping,” echoed Kirk bitterly. “Peacekeeping!” He shook his head and faced Keniclius. “All this has been a waste, Doctor Keniclius. There’s no need for any peacekeeping master race. There’s been peace in the Federation now for well over fifty years.”

  “THAT’S A LIE!” the giant shouted, his voice washing over them, “WHAT ABOUT THE EUGENICS WARS? THE GALACTIC WARS? WHAT OF THE DEPREDATIONS OF THE ROMULANS, THE KLINGONS, AND OTHERS? NOT TO MENTION THE ENDLESS, OH, THE ENDLESS SQUABBLES AMONG THE SO-CALLED ‘ALLTED’ RACES OF THE FEDERATION ITSELF?

  “AN ORGANIZATION OF SPOCK DUPLICATES IS NECESSARY TO FORCE THEM TO LIVE IN HARMONY—FOR THEIR OWN GOOD.”

  Sulu muttered, “Peace through coercion. Humanity has finally grown out of that immature philosophy, Keniclius.”

  “You’re the fifth Keniclius,” reminded Kirk. “What makes you so sure the things you see as truth aren’t just old news bulletins hundreds of years out of date? Your predecessors have probably been out of touch with mankind’s sociological advances for at least that long.”

  “That is not possible. The Master always speaks the truth,” came a new voice. A new, old voice.

  They turned to face the first entrance, the tunnel of horrors they’d escaped from so recently.

  Agmar and his four aides stood there, watching.

  “I can’t understand why you’ve come to think of Keniclius as a ‘master’,” began McCoy. “Sure, he saved you from dying—all five of you. But why should you agree with his plan for a super-race? Of what possible interest could a race of giant Spocks have for you?”

  “Our fleet of ships, which you saw,” Agmar replied, “was to be launched for the same purpose the Master intends. You see, there existed between our people and him a fortuitous coincidence of purpose. Disease struck us before we could carry out our own plan to impose peace on a galaxy that knew none.”

  “We already have peace in our Federation,” snapped Kirk, “and it wasn’t imposed—it was achieved from within. A real peace!” He paused.

  “You have no need of Spock now. Reverse the effects of that machine and let us take him back with us.”

  “no!” thundered Keniclius wildly, “the mold must be broken.” The giant’s voice wavered considerably; Kirk’s revelations had thrust uncertainty into two hundred fifty years of single-mindedness that had known only absolute confidence.

  But it wasn’t enough. The giant couldn’t reverse in a moment the accumulated efforts of those two and half centuries.

  McCoy was leaning over Spock 1.

  “Jim, he’s almost gone.” Kirk thought rapidly. McCoy could do nothing. And Keniclius wouldn’t. And he—he felt utterly impotent.

  In fact, there was only one other being present who might be able to save Spock now. He turned to the other giant, who’d remained impassive throughout everything.

  “If you have Spock’s mind, you must know the Vulcan symbol called IDIC.”

  “infinite diversity in infinite combination,” the great form recited.

  “Comprising the elements that make up truth and beauty,” finished Kirk. “Tell me, could an army of giant Spocks impose Phylosian philosophy on any other creatures, in knowing defiance of the IDIC concept?”

  There was a long pause as Spock 2 considered this question. Kirk held his breath.

  Finally, “i do not believe so….” Kirk spun on the other giant.

  “I thought so! Reverse the machine, Keniclius!”

  “No!” yelled Agmar. It was the first violent exclamation the Phylosian had made. “Our
dream must not be allowed to die!” He suddenly rushed at Kirk. His companions followed, trying to keep the humans from putting Spock 1 back on the machine.

  Sulu let out a vibrant battle cry, intercepted Agmar and flipped him neatly over a shoulder. The Phylosians were at a tremendous disadvantage in a fight with anyone who knew judo… they had too many limbs that could be conveniently grabbed.

  But in the ensuing melee, while the three humans battled the Phylosians, Keniclius rushed the machine. The resolution of the minions had decided the confused master. He lifted a long bar of metal. It didn’t really matter that none of the humans could reach him, they couldn’t have stopped him anyhow.

  The heavy bar smashed through one of the crystal globes encircling the table. There was a crackling electrical discharge and the giant retreated. Several other globes exploded in a shower of glass slivers and agonized internal components.

  No one was hurt, but the damage was done. The lights on the sides of the machine went out—went out in the panels lining the walls. And the slight hum which had issued from inside the table faded into nothingness.

  Kirk, who’d been functioning near his mental limit ever since they’d first entered the chamber and seen the dying Spock, lost all control. Despite the difference in their sizes and without really knowing what he intended, he charged Keniclius.

  “Murderer! You’ve killed Spock!”

  He never reached the giant. A leg as big around as a small tree stepped between him and Keniclius. He was forced to stop and look up into the face of Spock 2.

  “TO PERSIST IN THIS BEHAVIOR, CAPTAIN, IS TO NEGATE THE ELOQUENCE OF YOUR PREVIOUS ARGUMENT. MAY I SUGGEST A MORE CONSTRUCTIVE COURSE OF ACTION?”

  He walked around Kirk who, thoroughly puzzled, watched him advance on Sulu and McCoy. The two officers eased Spock 1 to the ground and backed away slowly.

  Bending, the giant Vulcan lifted Spock 1 in a single hand. Thumb and forefinger touched the smaller man’s forehead. Closing his own eyes the giant began a familiar chant.