[Star Trek Logs 02] - Log Two

  McCoy and Sulu joined him in the chamber. He turned to look at the waiting chief Kyle.

  “Energize.”

  The three men became three drifting masses of lambent color. Then they were gone.

  Scott stared into the empty chamber for a moment, became aware that Kyle was watching him.

  “Well, what are you starin’ at, Kyle?”

  “Nothing, Chief. I—”

  “See that you don’t do it again.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Scott stalked off toward the elevator doors. He’d have to officially assume command now—and it would be he who would have to issue the unpopular retreat order.

  Life was dreadfully unfair sometimes!

  Three glittering cylinders resumed human shape on a street of the Phylosian metropolis. Sulu was checking his tricorder as soon as they’d fully rematerialized. He kept the mysterious leather bag tucked tightly under one arm.

  “No indication of a scan, sir,” he said finally. “I don’t think they know we’re here. Unless—”

  “No,” Kirk sighed gratefully. “That kind of subtlety is beyond Keniclius. If he knew we were back he’d show up roaring biblical pronouncements, or send a crop of those toothy fliers. Let’s get a move on.”

  Kirk took two steps and started to turn the corner around the thin tower they’d set down next to… and almost walked straight into a flight of the just-mentioned swoopers.

  Flattening themselves against the curving wall in the convenient shadow of the glass edifice, they barely breathed as the swarm of powerful carnivores sailed past.

  “I’m not sure I can take too much of this,” McCoy finally gasped. “Watch those predictions, Jim. Why’d you take me anyway, instead of Arex or a couple of security personnel?”

  “You ought to know better than that, Bones. We don’t know what kind of shape we’ll find Spock in.”

  “If we find him,” murmured McCoy.

  “Let’s not even think about that, hmm?”

  Sulu looked up from his tricorder and tried to inject a more hopeful note. “I wouldn’t worry too much about those swoopers, Doctor. They seem to be almost mindless. They attack primarily as a reflex action.”

  “Out of sight, out of mind, is that it?” McCoy grunted. The helmsman nodded.

  “The way is clear now, Captain.”

  They turned the corner without being challenged. Moving at a smooth trot, they headed for the laboratory building.

  Once, a tiny dandelionlike plant tried to follow Sulu. It took Kirk and McCoy several minutes to catch up with the sprinting lieutenant. Other than the single fuzzy, they encountered nothing ambulatory.

  They’d materialized in a different section of the city than the first time. If only they’d landed here initially, events might have taken a different course. But that was wishful thinking. They turned another corner.

  Came up short.

  “I don’t believe it,” Sulu murmured.

  “Incredible,” was the only word Kirk could think of. McCoy just stared.

  They were standing close by the entrance to a colossal, hangarlike building. The structure was easily a couple of kilometers long. Inside, ranged neatly in double rows, were hundreds of translucent, milky, teardrop shapes, each dozens of yards high.

  In the immediate foreground were the five Phylosians. Each rose on a small, automatic lifting platform. They were working at the teardrop shapes, cleaning them, scraping and pulling a thick mossy growth from their sides.

  “What else could they be but ships, Jim?”

  Kirk agreed. “Looks like they’re getting ready to go on a trip, too. But where? To what purpose?”

  “By the number of ships here I’d say a mass migration is being planned—or invasion.”

  “Agmar insisted they were a peaceful people,” Sulu put in.

  “Oh, sure!” spat McCoy sarcastically. “We’ve had ample evidence of that, haven’t we? ‘Peaceful’ has almost as many definitions as love, Mr. Sulu.”

  “Is that a clinical opinion, Doctor?”

  “Ease off, you two,” warned Kirk. “We’ll probably have a definition supplied, soon enough.” He looked thoughtful. “But you’ve got a point, Bones. These ships, this city—I’m not saying the motives and abilities of a vegetable civilization would be so different from ours, but let’s not jump to any conclusions. This is the first one we’ve encountered.”

  “And the last, I hope,” the doctor muttered. He added, half to himself, “I always did hate vegetables as a kid. Now I know I had a good reason.”

  “And that’s about enough hilarity, Bones. If Spock were here he wouldn’t be laughing.”

  “Sorry, Jim.” McCoy turned serious once again. “I’d almost forgotten why we’re here.” He nodded in the direction of the gigantic hangar. “Those ships look like they’ve never left the ground. Probably they were all set to leave, when Keniclius the first arrived and his new diseases swept the planet.”

  Kirk nodded, glanced at Sulu. “Any indication of Keniclius’ or Mr. Spock’s whereabouts?”

  Sulu checked the tricorder, looked disappointed. “They’re not around here, sir. Certainly not in the hangar. I read only the Phylosians.”

  “Umm. Well, followers can be led. Maybe we can be as persuasive as Keniclius.”

  Moving from wall to wall and taking care to conceal themselves well, they gradually made their way to the entrance of the enormous structure.

  It appeared that each Phylosian was taking care of one ship by himself. That was fine with Kirk. It would make the momentary disappearance of one of their number less obvious to the others.

  Agmar was working close by. At the moment he was filling the tank of his lifter with some sort of cleaning fluid from huge canisters stacked neatly against the near wall. Taking up positions behind these, the three men waited for the leader of the Phylosians to return.

  Two others came and filled their tanks before McCoy whispered tensely, “Here he comes!”

  “Do we want the flitter he’s riding?” asked Sulu hurriedly. Kirk shook his head.

  “Might take too long to figure the controls. I’d rather stay on the ground anyway. It might be subject to outside orders. I don’t want someone yanking my feet out from under me a couple of hundred meters up in the air.”

  Agmar brought the little vehicle down smoothly to the canisters. His back was to them. They tackled him without any trouble.

  Sulu and Kirk were momentarily repulsed at handling a creature who felt like a clump of sticky straw. They almost lost control of the struggling alien.

  Fortunately, McCoy was used to handling things that would turn many men squeamish. He wasn’t at all bothered by the unconventional feel of the Phylosian. He hung on tightly until Kirk and Sulu had recovered from the initial shock of contact.

  They had no difficulty dragging him back behind the high containers. Kirk’s only worry had been the chance that the repair flitter might be fitted with some kind of automatic alarm that would relay back to Keniclius. But there was no sign that anything of the sort existed. A moment’s consideration and he realized there was no need to be concerned.

  The little repair vehicle had shown a tendency to take off again. But once they’d removed its sole passenger, it stopped and now floated patiently in place.

  “Agmar,” began Kirk quietly, “we don’t want to hurt you. You claim you’re a peaceful people. Well, we’re an easygoing race, too, we humans. But we must have Spock back. If this means using crude physical force against you, then rest assured we’ll do so.”

  Agmar was not impressed. Nor was he arrogant. More than anything else his attitude smacked of resigned indifference. If he was startled to see the humans again, he didn’t show it.

  “I do not think that is possible,” he said blandly. “The Vulcan-human blend of wisdom, sense of order, durability, reason, and strength is the finest the Master has ever found. We are pleased Spock will carry on our work.”

  “Patrick O’Morion!” Sulu gasped. T
he whole situation had been turned upside down and a new light now gleamed on its backside.

  “Carry on your work?” was all Kirk could stutter.

  “We are the last of a dying race on a dying world, Captain,” intoned Agmar. A limb that remained unpinned gestured towards the ships.

  “Once, we had a great mission. Then the disease destroyed nearly all of us. We five are the frail remnant of that race, the inheritors of that purpose.

  “And we are sterile. We cannot put out spores. When we go, there will be no more of our kind.”

  “This great plan, this mission of yours,” probed McCoy. “What happens to it if something happens to Spock—or to the Master?”

  It was Agmar’s turn to be put off-stride and confused. He recovered quickly, utilizing the response that all “masters” engender in their subjects.

  “There will always be a Master. But come, you are worried about your friend, and that is needless, I assure you. I will show you that he is safe and in good condition. Better than you can guess.”

  He wriggled out of their relaxing grasp and shuffled into the hangar. Kirk and the others hesitated, then followed.

  “Just like that, Captain?” asked Sulu. Kirk was thinking furiously, trying to stay one mental step ahead of Ag-mar. Yet, who could tell how the Phylosians saw things?

  “Yes, just like that, Mr. Sulu. All the same, keep that bag handy.” By way of emphasis he hefted his own.

  “No tricks now, Agmar.” The Phylosian didn’t reply. He leaned forward and pressed a button on the console of the flitter.

  Rapidly, the other four joined them. They dismounted from their own repair craft. Then the five moved together to stop before what looked like a solid, blank wall.

  “The way is through here, gentlemen,” said Agmar. He moved forward. In doing so, Kirk noticed that he stepped on a circular section of floor that was slightly different in color from the rest. Immediately, the wall slid aside to reveal a huge metallic iris behind it.

  Agmar moved again and stepped on a second odd-hued round area. Now the iris dilated. An enormous tunnel appeared, a gaping wound in the earth. Its floor was smooth and sloped gently downward, under the city.

  Kirk could just make out another iris far away down the tunnel. A second later it, too, opened.

  Beyond was only endless blackness.

  Agmar and his fellows started into the tunnel. Kirk did not follow immediately. Nor did McCoy or Sulu. That bottomless hole looked awfully dark.

  Agmar turned. “We sprang from the soil, Captain,” he said reassuringly. “These tunnels are part of our ancient home.” He drew a flat disk from his middle. It was somewhat larger than a voder. He did something to one side of the disk, and it suddenly put out a brilliant beam of light.

  “This will serve to show our way.” He turned and started down the tunnel.

  Kirk wasn’t keen on following, but they didn’t have much choice. Beating up an already willing Agmar was a poor alternative to what appeared to be acquiescence.

  “Once more into the breech,” muttered McCoy.

  There was more than one tunnel, they soon saw. More than two, than three. After a short walk they’d already passed dozens of intersecting corridors, a veritable labyrinth of passageways cutting through the earth beneath the city.

  Sulu was busy with his tricorder.

  “No wonder we couldn’t detect Spock or Keniclius with shipboard scanners, Captain. Our sensor beams couldn’t penetrate here.”

  “Absurd,” McCoy objected, observing their surroundings. “It must have been interference of some kind. These walls don’t look thick enough.”

  “Perhaps not, Doctor,” admitted Sulu. “But according to tricorder analysis they’re composed of artificial elements some six hundred times denser than lead, in addition to a surface force field.” He shook his head wonderingly. “I can only guess at the kind of foundation they must sit on.”

  “On the other hand—” continued McCoy as though he’d never doubted the walls’ shielding ability.

  They hadn’t been walking much longer before something else caught Kirk’s attention. He whispered to McCoy.

  “Do you hear something?”

  “What, Jim?”

  “I’m not sure.” Kirk’s brow furrowed in concentration.

  “Not much further now, Captain,” came Agmar’s voice from just ahead.

  “There it is again!” Kirk gave a sudden start and stopped, his voice rising. “A flapping sound….”

  That was the signal for light to leave the tunnel, and illumination of another sort to set in. They found themselves standing helplessly in blackness as black as the deepest sleep.

  They’d been tricked again.

  He shouted, “Use your belt lights!”

  “They don’t operate,” replied Sulu nervously. “I’ve already tried.”

  “Agmar!” Kirk yelled angrily. “Agmar!…”

  Agmar didn’t answer.

  Now McCoy and Sulu also recognized the uneven, beating sounds of the approaching swoopers. In the confined darkness of the tunnel it sounded like a growing storm. Most men are willing to face a certain amount of danger in normal circumstances.

  But in the dark!

  The hardest thing was to resist the urge to go charging off into nothingness, to run blindly away from the threatening noise. They might crash into a wall or, worse, there might be vertical shafts in the underground maze as well as horizontal.

  They hadn’t seen any pits on the way in, however. At worst it would be a quick death, a clean death. With Kirk, to think was to act.

  “Run! We’ve got to find some light. We can’t do anything unless we can see what we’re fighting. Keep your hands out and feel for the walls. And keep talking—stay together!” Kirk moved away, starting in the direction he thought they’d been going.

  “This way!” Then he broke into a run. McCoy and Sulu were close by. They didn’t have to keep talking to stay aware of each other’s position—footsteps and increasingly heavy breathing solved that.

  The same sounds might also reveal their location to any pursuers, but Kirk suspected that whatever was chasing them could find them easily enough in the dark anyway.

  “Don’t stop!” His voice echoed like thunder down the tunnel. “DON’T STOP… Don’t Stop… don’t stop….”

  All of a sudden it sounded like they were leaving the alien cacophony further behind.

  “We’re gaining on them,” he panted.

  “Jim, up ahead!” Kirk squinted at McCoy’s shout. Sure enough, there did seem to be a pinpoint of light off in the distance.

  “I see it… I see it… keep going!” There couldn’t be light where there was no light—that was one kind of mirage man hadn’t encountered yet.

  Sulu had slipped slightly behind. Unconsciously, they’d changed into the most practical order for running—McCoy barely in the lead, with Kirk in the middle and Sulu, the youngest and freshest runner, bringing up the rear.

  The change from the blackness of the tunnel to the light of the room was overpowering. It was like waking up in the glare of a flashlight. They were momentarily blinded and stumbled to a halt.

  The underground chamber they’d emerged into was roughly circular in shape and the by-now expected four times human size. Two other entrances gaped in the walls, leading off to unknown regions. Controls and flashing panels lined the walls.

  A long table sat in the center of the room, surrounded by an attached series of fragile-looking, semitransparent crystalline globes. These formed a sparkling corona for the platform. All were connected to each other and to the delicate instrumentation built into the table.

  On the table lay Mr. Spock.

  McCoy hesitated just long enough to unhitch his medical tricorder before sprinting forward. Kirk and Sulu followed.

  McCoy took a hurried preliminary reading from the motionless form. He checked the results, reset frantically and made another, slower pass. His eyes were wild when he finally looked over at Kirk
and Sulu.

  “Something’s affecting his brain. All other bodily functions are normal, but he’s dying.”

  “IT IS TOO LATE, CAPTAIN KIRK!”

  They whirled as that rolling voice exploded off surrounding walls. Keniclius 5 towered over them, staring down at the tiny intruders from one of the other entrances.

  “IN A LITTLE WHILE YOUR FRIEND WILL BE GONE… IN A WAY. BUT AS KENICLIUS 1 LIVES ON IN EACH OF HIS CLONES, SO WILL MR. SPOCK. BEHOLD, GENTLEMEN, THE DAWNING OF A NEW ERA… THE SALVATION OF A GALAXY… SPOCK 2!”

  He made a grandiose gesture toward the third portal. Again Kirk, McCoy, and Sulu turned.

  Another huge figure had appeared there. It had a familiar detached look, sharply peaked ears, oddly arched eyebrows. It was Mr. Spock, four times over.

  His expression was not unfriendly. But neither did the giant show signs of recognition at the appearance of his shipmates, nothing to give the three officers a surge of hope.

  They had only the single moment to register shock before the sounds of their tunnel pursuers grew suddenly very loud.

  “Get ready!” Kirk ordered.

  Now the contents of the mysterious leather sacks were revealed as the three men drew out filtering masks and slipped them over their heads. Kirk tugged the protective bag off his own device.

  It was a slim cylinder with one slightly flared end. Several small nozzles protruded from that end, while the opposite sported a handhold and control knob. McCoy began fitting the fourth mask over the supine face of Spock 1.

  “WEAPONS DEACTIVATORS ARE IN OPERATION HERE, TOO, CAPTAIN KIRK. A LAST CHANCE—RETURN TO YOUR SHIP.”

  That’s when the tunnel exploded in a landscaper’s nightmare. There were swoopers, too, scattered among a crawling, hopping, rolling collage of leafy, screaming monstrosities, offshoots of a plant kingdom gone mad.

  Kirk, Sulu, and McCoy depressed the single control set in the base of their cylinders. Suddenly the room was enveloped in a thick chemical mist.

  At first the gray fog hugged the floor. As it began to rise a strange expression came over the face of Keniclius 5. He started to cough roughly and retreated from the rapidly dimming room. No one noticed as Spock 2 did likewise.