Star Trek - Log 6

  M'ress was the next to surrender to the assault of merriment. Her throaty, feline giggles were in sharp contrast to the deeper laughs of Kirk and Scott. She was soon joined by the weird, amused piping of Arex.

  Only Spock remained silent, though not unaffected. His concern grew rapidly as he studied his out-of-control companions, while unprovoked, unrestrained hilarity reigned on the Bridge. He was about to voice an observation when both hands suddenly flew to his temples. His brows drew together in an expression of shooting pain. There was nothing he could have done to mitigate the half-anticipated attack of migraine.

  Still blubbering uncontrollably, Kirk finally noticed his first officer's silence and painful grimace.

  "Come on, Spock," he managed to gasp, "where's that famous Vulcan sense of humor?" This apparent apex of jocularity caused Arex and M'ress to laugh even harder. Meanwhile on the viewscreen, Scott was fighting unsuccessfully to remain in focus.

  Holding one hand to the side of his head and gritting his teeth occasionally, Spock turned his attention to his computer console. The crew still retained some control over certain localized monitoring equipment, facilities the central computer apparently disdained to trouble with. Spock already suspected what had happened. Environmental analysis quickly confirmed his suspicions.

  "Just as I thought," he murmured painfully.

  "What are you," Arex whistled heartily, "mumbling about, Mr. Spock?"

  "The atmosphere on the Bridge and presumably also in Engineering," he replied tautly, "is being pumped full of nitrous oxide, better known in the human vernacular as laughing gas. I cannot yet tell what other decks have been affected by this aerobic alteration. In any case, it is no laughing matter." His other hand darted up from the console to press at his opposite temple. "Especially for Vulcans. Breathing nitrous oxide causes . . . severe headache."

  The same somber amusement was prevalent in another part of the ship, though with even grimmer overtones.

  "This blizzard," Uhura roared under the effect of the gas, "keeps getting worse. And I think the temperature is still dropping."

  "I know!" Sulu shouted, in forced hysteria. "If we don't keep moving, we're going to freeze to death."

  McCoy fell to the snow. Already his feet and ankles were becoming numb from the unrelenting cold and damp. Nevertheless, he rolled and flailed about as if Sulu's observation were the funniest thing he'd heard in ages.

  Such laughter-induced helplessness was worsening on the Bridge. Only one person was not similarly enraptured. Though in considerable pain, he was still capable of coherent thought, of responsive action.

  Spock's skull felt as if it were about to fly from his shoulders. He staggered over to the engineering console. By now the pain had reached the point where it occasionally blocked out sight. But he was able to locate and adjust the necessary controls.

  There was a sudden loud hum as rarely used circuits were engaged. The controls Spock had adjusted were purely manual and required no switching through any computer annex.

  As a refreshing breeze flowed over them, the rest of the Bridge crew began to return to their senses, the laughter dying slowly and agonizingly.

  "Thanks, Spock," Kirk was finally able to whisper, as a last chuckle forced its way loose. "How long have we got?"

  Spock checked the gauges on the panel, rubbing at his head. The marching on top had ceased. "The emergency air supply should be adequate for another six hours, Captain. When that's exhausted, we'll automatically go back to standard recycled air until the emergency supply can be cleaned and retanked—assuming that's likely to take place. I would not like to comment on the odds."

  "Six hours . . . then we've from now till oh-eight-hundred to find a cure for the computer. No telling what we'll be forced to breathe next." His gaze returned to the forward viewscreen.

  An extremely serious chief engineer stared back at him. Scott put a hand over his mouth, coughed hard a couple of times. "I heard, Captain . . . I'll get right on that crew."

  "The main recreation room, Scotty." He nodded as Kirk switched off.

  A small measure of sanity returned to the Bridge as Kirk and Spock strove frantically to discover a path through the labyrinth of contradictions their central computer had created. It wasn't long before M'ress indicated a call for Kirk and he was forced to turn his attention from the harried research back to the main viewscreen.

  The image that appeared was Scott, but now the background was different. It showed busy men and women working in an otherwise deserted corridor, instead of in Engineering. He knew where the chief engineer was, now.

  "How's that door coming, Scotty?"

  Scott's voice was filled with despair, discouragement. "None of our power tools work, Captain! The laser drill, standard metal-cutting saws, drills . . . nothin'. Near as I can figure, some kind of internal energy drain is operatin' here.

  "I tried them on ship's power first. The big drill didn't even turn over. We got a couple of spins from a battery-powered saw before it died. After that, nothin' so much as burped. Whatever's suckin' this stuff dry is as efficient as it is selective."

  The view jerked slightly as he moved aside and readjusted the corridor visual pickup. Now Kirk was able to see exactly how the work was proceeding. Several crew members were attacking the rec room with crowbars while another pounded a steel wedge into the doorway jamb with a sledgehammer.

  "As you can see, we're givin' it a mighty go with manual equipment." Scott almost smiled. "We've got some awfully primitive stuff on board, Captain. Whoever wrote out cruiser stores either had a vivid imagination or secret fondness for sweat. Whoever it was, I'm glad he included some old-fashioned persuaders among all the electronics." He chuckled. This time, it didn't hurt.

  "Keep at it, Scotty. We've got three people in there whose lives may depend on it." He paused. "I hope the worst that's happened to them is that they've laughed themselves sick."

  "We'll have 'em out any minute, sir," Scott assured him, more to boost the Captain's spirits than because it was true. "No need to worry . . ."

  McCoy stopped, exhausted. Sulu and Uhura had long since outdistanced him. Now they turned and waited patiently for him to catch up. Sulu waved.

  "Come on, Doctor, we must be close to the outside wall by now."

  McCoy shook his head, wondering if the echo of his voice would reach them. "You two better go on without me—cold's finally gotten to my legs. We may not even be walking in a straight line. Illusion . . . everything's fake. Maybe . . . maybe you can hit the door by chance . . . if you move fast. You won't, with me." He sat down in the snow. He could no longer feel anything below his ankles.

  "Doctor," Uhura began as she and Sulu walked back to him, "we're not going to . . ."

  She stopped. The enclosed environment changed. The sensation was similar to the feeling of temporal-physical displacement one felt when transporting.

  Gone were the snow, the cold, wind and ice. Instead of clinging white drifts they found themselves standing on a patio of pink marble, surrounded by gleaming Corinthian columns out of an ancient Hellenic frieze. The patio was encircled by a lush green lawn, recently watered. Tall, manicured hedges walled them in. The soothing simulacrum was complete even to the position of the warm sun in the sky, the light breeze scented with date blossoms, even drifting butterflies. The maniac in control of the rec room annex was nothing if not thorough.

  "Well, what do you know," Sulu murmured, half-appreciatively. "Come on, Doctor, looks like we're finally going to get out of here."

  McCoy was too tired to dispute the helmsman, and he sincerely wanted to agree with him. They waited until he hauled himself up on thawing legs and started toward the one opening visible in the surrounding hedge. He passed them, stopped at the entrance. Sulu and Uhura slowed, aware that something was wrong. When he turned back, his voice reflected a weariness born of pessimistic expectation once more born out.

  "I don't mean to discourage you, Sulu, but this may not be as simple as you think."


  The helmsman eyed him questioningly. Rather than reply, McCoy beckoned them to come ahead. They came up beside him and looked slightly to the left.

  The hedge there was far taller than any of them. It opened into two new pathways. A short sally showed that these in turn branched into several more and broke up again into no one knew how many equally confusing mazes.

  Sulu looked disconsolate, while Uhura offered an enlightening combination of Swahili, English, and Simbian curses.

  "Ever wonder how the rat feels?" McCoy grinned faintly. "I was afraid something like this might happen." He leaned back against the artificial foliage; it gave like real brush.

  "Any time it wants to, the rec room computer can be programmed to decoy us with an infinite arrangement of fake walls and exits. Apparently that's not enough for it. It's gone one step further." He gestured at the first division in the green wall.

  "We could wander around in this old-fashioned garden maze until we all grew long wrinkles and blank expressions. One thing you can bet on. The last place any of these pathways lead is out."

  Sulu tried to find a bright side. "At least we know where we are. We might as well stay here."

  "Yes, that's right," agreed Uhura hopefully. "We're probably closer to the corridor wall than we were when we started walking."

  "Are you sure?" McCoy asked, staring past her. "Take a look behind you."

  The two junior officers turned. Marble columns and patio, green lawn, all were gone now. Stretching away in every direction were duplicates of the featureless hedgerows they now faced. Like it or not, they had been trapped in the maze.

  "Where do we go from here?" a discouraged Sulu muttered.

  The last thing he expected was an answer. So they were all surprised when it came, shattering both the silence and the hedgerow simulacrum with a violent crash.

  A section of brush suddenly collapsed inward toward them, and they had a view into the next dimension. The inside of the rectangular section was green; but the other side was made of metal. It was the corridor they had entered from that showed beyond. Their sense of direction must have been right even through the snow and wind.

  No wonder their assailant had been forced to alter their environment . . . they had been too close to finding their way out.

  Standing in the rough-edged opening, through which the perfume of standard composition ship-air now poured, were a worried Commander Scott and several engineering techs armed with crowbars, hammers and picks.

  Uhura let out a relieved sigh and slumped against Sulu, who staggered. He suddenly was aware that he was more tired than he had believed possible.

  McCoy started forward—and then stopped dead, a peculiar expression twisting his features.

  "Scotty," he said strangely, "what's behind you?"

  Scott looked understandably puzzled. "Behind me?" He hesitated. Dr. McCoy sounded serious, so he looked right then left. "Service corridor leading off east and west. What in heaven's name . . .?"

  McCoy walked up to him and extended a hand. Scott looked at him, started to say something and then shook it firmly. As he did so a broad smile spread across the doctor's face.

  "I know every groove and callus in that palm," he explained with satisfaction. "If you're an illusion, Scotty, you're the best crafted one this rec room ever devised."

  "Illusion?" Scott gaped. "By the holy heather, the Captain about worries himself to death over what happened to you three, I nearly break my own back and those of this crew here to get you out, and you have the brass to call me an illusion? McCullhans and Scotts, I'll show you who's an illusion!"

  "Easy, Scotty, easy," McCoy gentled. "I plead recreational fatigue."

  The chief engineer's brow wrinkled. "Recreational . . . what's that?"

  "A new disease recently made up especially for the three of us." He gestured at Sulu and Uhura. "We've been overentertained for the last few hours." Then he sat down on the battered-in door and took off his shoes.

  Scott watched him in dumbfoundment until the socks started to come off, then his eyes widened. "What happened to your feet?"

  "Come on, Scotty, I'm disappointed in you. You should recognize it—surely you've seen enough cases to."

  It hit Scott seconds later. "Frostbite . . . in the rec room?" He looked incredulous.

  "Seems impossible, doesn't it?"

  "No . . . no, as a matter of fact, it doesn't. You don't have a true picture of what's been goin' on, any of you. You've been out of touch for the last several hours. I forgot that, for a minute. No, nothin' that happened to you in there could surprise me."

  "The only thing I'm interested in getting in touch with now," McCoy countered with verve, "is the idiot who's responsible."

  "I can help you there," Scott informed them. "We know who the idiot is."

  "The culprit's been arrested, then?" McCoy asked. "I'll be interested to see how far over the edge he actually is."

  Scott didn't smile. "He hasn't been arrested, and is not likely to be—and you'd have a devil of a time prescribing treatment."

  "Tell me about it when I get to the Bridge. First the three of us have to make a little detour to Sick Bay. Sulu and Uhura have assorted bruises and strains that require attention, and I think I have to stick my pods in the cooker for a bit . . ."

  He rubbed ruefully at his damaged feet as he fought to make sense of Scott's words . . .

  VIII

  "There's no need for either of you to stand this shift," Kirk told Sulu and Uhura when they returned to the Bridge. McCoy came along with them.

  Both lieutenants ignored him as they relieved Arex and M'ress. "Sorry, Captain, but you'll have to order us out," Sulu objected.

  "And as you can see," Uhura added, "we took the precaution of bringing Dr. McCoy along with us—in case we needed an irrefutable medical opinion."

  "Seems I'm outnumbered and outflanked," Kirk mumbled, concealing his pleasure at their safe return. "What is your irrefutable medical opinion, Bones?"

  "Both of them are fully fit for duty, Jim. You might even say anxious."

  "I see. Then I might as well quit pretending and admit how glad I am to see you both back on the Bridge. We had some anxious moments trying to figure out what our berserk computer was doing to you all."

  "Not as anxious as we did," McCoy confirmed. "You know what we went through by now—you did see my preliminary report?"

  "I saw what you dictated to the medical records log, if that's what you mean," Kirk replied unenthusiastically. "I'd prefer a less technical description."

  "Sure . . . if you'll grant me one request."

  "Anything within reason and regulations, Bones."

  McCoy crossed his arms and rubbed both biceps. "Could you turn up the heat on the Bridge? I know it's my imagination, but I haven't felt really comfortable since we left that madhouse."

  Kirk chuckled, then self-consciously cut it off. He had already done more than enough laughing for one day.

  "As to your description," McCoy began, only to have Spock interrupt him.

  "Captain, we're getting under way . . . the main drive has been activated."

  "Uhura, on the double, get me Chief Scott."

  "Yes, sir." A pause, then a slightly surprised reply. "Sir, Mr. Scott just called in, trying to get in touch with you. He reports that despite the fact every sensor and gauge reads negative action, the warp drive is operating. He has already tried every emergency procedure . . . even attempted to shut down the control reactors. Nothing works."

  "I heard that the central computer's been responsible for all the trouble," McCoy said. "What's it up to now?"

  "Sir, the helm no longer responds," a troubled Sulu reported. "We're coming about to a new heading."

  "Very well, Lieutenant," a resigned Kirk said. "As soon as our course stabilizes, give me a full plotting."

  There was silence for several minutes as Sulu studied his readouts, then reported, "Course stabilizing, sir . . . three-seven-two mark twelve."

  Kirk di
d some quick mental calculation. Roughly translated, those figures meant they were heading back toward the neutral zone, back toward three waiting Romulan cruisers.

  "And you can bet they'll be gunning for us, after the way we slipped by them," Kirk said minutes later.

  A high, hysterical and by now all-too-familiar chirping echoed through the bridge. It sounded for all the world like a crazed electric cuckoo loose in its clock—and the analogy was not so far wrong.

  "Speed increasing, sir," Sulu informed him. "We'll round the energy field any minute—sensors are picking up three vessels." He worked controls. "Long-range scanners show them to be Romulan warships."

  "Now that's a surprise," Kirk muttered.

  "Decelerating, sir," the helmsman continued. Kirk's chair intercom buzzed.

  "Bridge, Captain speaking."

  "Scott, Captain." The chief engineer sounded concerned. "I've no idea what it means, but I'm receivin' information that the ship's inorganic metallic fabrication facilities have been workin' overtime ever since we started up again."

  "Any indication what the computer's up to, Mr. Scott?"

  "I kinna tell, sir, that whole deck section's been sealed off."

  "Captain . . ."

  "Just a minute, Uhura." He turned back to the mike. "Let me know if you find anything out, Scotty."

  "Aye, sir, Engineering out."

  "What is it, Uhura?"

  "Sir, monitors indicate the main cargo hatch is opening. I'll swing the rear scanners on it."

  "Yes . . . do so, Lieutenant," he agreed absently. His thoughts were running into each other, threads of one frantic solution meshing with the wrong problem. Slow down, he wanted to shout! Slow down—things were happening too fast. As soon as he thought he was getting one problem under control, something new cropped up to shove it aside.

  The rear of the ship appeared on the viewscreen as Uhura manipulated the scanners mounted on the stern. She worked controls and the field of view rotated. Something white and glowing slid past.

  "Bring that back, Lieutenant," Kirk ordered hurriedly. Slowly the scanner retraced its path, until it was focused on the rear cargo hatch. Two massive clamshell doors were separating. The spot of brightness was the cargo hold itself, brightly lit from within.