Star Trek - Log 5

  "And after that?" wondered a worried Morax. "What about the chances of our beaming you back aboard when you're finished—in one piece. The odds . . ."

  "Let us not exerrt ourrselves with minorr details, acting Captain," she cut in. "I don't want anyone retrieving me until I signal back that I'm good and rready, too."

  "Well," she added, when neither officer essayed anything further, "arre you both of a sudden tongueless?"

  Ankee stared at the deck while Morax . . . Morax looked exceedingly unhappy.

  "If there were another way, no matter how extreme or unlikely the chance of success . . . You know what the Kzinti would do to you?"

  "Morre details," she snapped, but trembling inside. "As you arre well awarre, there is no other way." She started past them. "I'm going down to Recreation. Someone down therre ought to be able to make me up.

  "Meanwhile, acting Captain, you might have someone go overr the interrnal schematic of a Kzinti crruiser. It won't help if I'm set down in the middle of one of theirr interrogation chamberrs."

  Against all probabilities—against all hopes and prayers and reasonableness—the scheme worked.

  Of course, as soon as the signal was changed and beamed out toward Federation territory, other Kzinti on board the warship got wind of what was happening.

  Still, M'ress almost got away unscathed, thanks to the timely and incredibly precise manipulations of the officer manning the transporter controls.

  Almost.

  Fortunately, the majority of scars were correctable by surgery, the others cosmetically concealed. The cause in which they were obtained was the reason why after only two short years on active duty, Ensign M'ress was promoted to the rank of lieutenant and assigned the prestigious post of alternate communications officer on board the U.S.S. Enterprise.

  Actually, the hardest part had not been making it through Starfleet Academy, nor had it been the deception she'd so devastatingly performed on the Kzinti.

  No, the hardest part had been the steady separation from the traditionally close-knit Caitian family. She smiled to herself. Her mater had been right about her setting an example for her younger sister and brothers; all three were now serving in Starfleet in various capacities. So M'mar had learned to bear up under the honor of having not one but four kits achieve officer grade in Starfleet.

  A litter of warriors and militarists, she'd raised—she often grumbled. But privately, she was proud, proud.

  And her sire, M'nault, wasn't private about it.

  (White Satellite to Black Sun two, plus one. Check)

  "Check."

  M'ress blinked, looked up across the multilevel game board.

  "There's a great deal on your mind, Lieutenant," observed the concerned figure seated across from her, "besides your next moves. If you wish, we can continue the game at another time."

  "You'rre rright, Mrr. Spock. I wasn't concentrrating."

  Spock pushed his chair back, rose. He touched a switch set in the top of the game table. The blue striping on the table rim slowly turned bright red, an indication that there was a game in suspension on it and no one should disturb the pieces.

  "I do not like to pry, but your concentration was so intense—if I can do anything . . ."

  "It's nothing, Mrr. Spock." She let out a deep, purring sigh. "Nothing at all, rreally. Some unimporrtant memorries, that's all."

  Spock studied her skeptically, but elected not to pursue the matter any further. Not that the intimate details of M'ress' history or her mental preoccupations intrigued him so much. But as a student of intelligent behavior, he was curious as to what "minor" matters could distract an outstanding player like M'ress to the point where she would make several moves as foolish as her last.

  Such a thing would never happen to him, of course,

  Kirk was concluding a log entry as Spock entered the bridge. The first officer of the Enterprise moved to stand near the command chair, at ease and at the ready, while Kirk dictated. The captain noticed his arrival, acknowledged it with a barely perceptible nod and continued on without a break.

  The subject of said log entry was currently visible on the main screen: a smallish, intensely blue-green globe. The light of a modest G-type star reflected phosphorescently back from the spines of interminable ocean. Misty cloud cover added an angelic air to the scene.

  The planet's name was Argo. It was one of a surprising multitude of water worlds thus far discovered in the explored section of the Galaxy.

  Argo's one peculiarity worth remarking on—and worth the Enterprise's presence here—was that until quite recently (according to drone probe analysis), it had been largely a landed planet. Now its surface was ninety-seven percent water.

  No great ice caps had melted to cause this; no mythological Terran forty days and forty nights of rain had fallen. According to the data relayed back over the indifferent light-years to Starfleet Science Center by the drones, this world had been subjected to a series of evenly spaced seismic convulsions—intense without being cataclysmic—in a very brief span of time.

  Forty days and forty nights of tectonic activity, perhaps. The fact that these convulsions had caused the major land masses to subside and vanish beneath the waves was not especially remarkable, Spock mused. It was the time factor which made Argo a world worth a second, more detailed look. That, and the chance that such emergence—subsidence activity might be cyclic in nature. Because there was at least one other, well-populated, world in the Federation which gave hints of being similar to Argo.

  A number of techniques for dealing with such subsidings on a selective basis had been developed, but only in theory. To put them into practice would require a world like the inhabited one. Since the inhabitants of the planet in question frowned on experimentation with the planetary crust and other such intimate chunks of their home, a substitute world had to be located.

  Argo was such a world . . . maybe. If so, the Enterprise might have a chance to try out some of those hopefully effective techniques.

  Kirk wrapped up the entry, flipped off the recorder and glanced up at Spock.

  As some sort of comment appeared to be in order, the Vulcan ventured, "Hardly the sort of world one would expect to be riven at any moment from core to surface, Captain."

  Kirk nodded, and his gaze shifted to the screen. "No, Mr. Spock. It certainly seems placid enough on the surface. It's what's under the surface that'll be interesting. But we'll make the standard on-site survey first."

  "Very good, Captain."

  Kirk rose and both men started for the door.

  They might, Kirk mused as the elevator took them toward the shuttle hanger, simply have beamed down with life-support belts to maintain them. The force-fields would keep them supplied with sufficient air while preventing them from drowning.

  The trouble was, movement in a liquid environment while encased in a personal support field was peculiarly awkward. And mechanical transportation, would be far faster.

  The small door slid aside and they strode into the cavernous hangar. Two men met them by the water shuttle. One—young, brown-haired, Lincolnesque-bearded and mellow-voiced—saluted: Lieutenant Clayton, their pilot.

  His companion simply smiled. "Hello, Jim. Hello, Spock."

  "You're coming with us, Doctor?" asked Spock.

  "No, Spock," McCoy shot back. "I'm here to evaluate the possibilities of flooding the shuttle hangar five centimeters deep so that when the shuttle departs, the water will freeze solid and we'll have the largest interstellar skating rink in existence."

  Spock paused a moment, considered thoughtfully, finally observed cautiously, "You are being sarcastic again, Doctor."

  "It's observational capabilities like that which make me glad that at least one competent observer is going on this trip."

  "Three, actually, Doctor," Spock continued, "but we will not be offended if you come along anyway."

  Kirk cut off McCoy's inevitable riposte by starting for the shuttle with the young lieutenant in tow. "Clayton?"


  "Sir?"

  "How long," and he gestured at the nearing craft, "since you piloted one of these?"

  "It's been a while, sir," the subordinate replied readily, "but as designated shuttle pilot for this mission, I've been reviewing the appropriate tapes and techniques for the last several weeks."

  Kirk muttered something inaudible, turned back before entering. "All right. Mr. Spock, Dr. McCoy . . . if you're quite finished?"

  The long ovoid shape of the shuttle was broken only by a clear plexalloy dome set midway back on its top. One section of this was raised. A small retractable stairway led into it. Spock, McCoy and Clayton followed the captain into the crew section.

  While the three senior officers settled into thickly padded seats set into the bulkheads, Clayton eased himself into the one adjustable one that faced the instrument panel. He ignored the conversation of his superiors and concentrated instead on running a final check of the internal computer, phaser controls, and their inorganic relatives.

  "Is this trip really necessary, Jim?" asked McCoy over the beeps and hums of the responding components. "Not that I'm complaining, mind. I'm tickled for the chance to get a look at another water world. Fascinating ecologies on all of them. But can't we get all the information on seismic abberations from onboard instrumentation?"

  "Yes, Bones. But the regs say that any world holding life bigger than a bacterium and more complex than a coelenterate requires at least one hands-on survey by a visiting ship. It's especially necessary in this case. You know how much trouble drone probes have getting accurate data on the life of water planets."

  "That's true, Jim," McCoy admitted, "even so . . ." The clear voice of Lieutenant Clayton cut him off.

  "Ready, Captain."

  "All right, Lieutenant, when you're set."

  Clayton manipulated controls. Slowly, majestically, the two massive doors of the hangar deck began to drift apart, moving with the ease and speed of milkweed seeds in an autumn breeze. Ebony blackness speckled with brilliant pinpoints of light backed the stage. The blue-green-glowing principal performer lay below them and slightly to starboard.

  The lieutenant was as good as his word—and his homework. He had a little trouble handling the entry into the atmosphere, but that was understandable. Kirk said nothing. The shuttle had been designed with underliquid maneuverability first in mind, in-flight navigability second.

  Once they had penetrated the shifting cloud cover and Clayton had gotten the feel of the little ship in atmosphere, the operation grew gratifyingly smooth.

  With a single exception, the surface of Argo in this region was wholly water. The shuttle skimmed low over roiling swells—all shades of blue and green that endless ocean was: azure, cerulean, deep turquoise; emerald, periodot, and flashing olivine. And where a wave crested, broke, the sea turned to amber foam flecked with white.

  A strong concentration of mineral salts would be needed to stain the water that orange-brown hue—manganese, perhaps, Kirk thought.

  The single exception hove into view: an island now, once the topmost crags of some mountain range. Stone exploded from the sea like a hallucinatory vision of a medieval castle. Battlements of naked basalt and porphyry offered challenge to endless legions of siege-waves, and amber moss festooned the rock-turrets with the banners of still defiant land.

  Clusters of brilliant-hued shells rested in niches and crevices of the rock, and some shone phosphorescent even in the strong light of day. The amber color was prevalent here, too. It seemed to engulf the island and form a secondary atmosphere above the sea.

  Not manganese then, Kirk thought. Whatever peculiar trace minerals were present here in ocean and air were likely as not alien to Earthly chemistry. He hoped the shuttle's recorder-sampler was operating at peak efficiency.

  Assuredly, there was more of interest here than occasional earthquakes.

  Clayton adjusted controls and the shuttle cut speed, eased downward to a damp landing. They hit gently and then slid smoothly toward the island.

  They lay in the lee of the prevailing current, the island serving as shield, so here the surface was unusually smooth. As the shuttle came to a halt, Kirk and the others unfastened themselves from the protective seats.

  McCoy and Spock moved to the storage lockers, started to remove the equipment they would need to properly sample what lived and was lived upon on Argo. But it was the enchanting vision of an accidental island that drew Kirk's attention.

  He moved forward to stand by the busy Clayton. Through the plexalloy the jagged bastions now towering nearby resembled more than ever an impregnable repository of watery secrets. The dark shadow it cast on the otherwise unmarred ocean looked unnatural and faintly forbidding.

  "Spock?"

  The first officer looked over from where he was carefully constructing a small, self-powered mesh. It would skim the surface outside the shuttle for microscopic life and return automatically when full.

  "Yes, Captain?"

  "This is the largest remaining land mass on the planet, isn't it?"

  "Yes, Captain." Spock turned back to his work, continued speaking as he fitted another part. "There are other outcroppings, but all are smaller than this. Yet according to readings taken from the ship, the ocean bottom hereabouts is fairly close to the surface. This suggests that the subsidence was unequal in places—or else we are floating above what would be regarded as a monstrously high plateau on Earth or on Vulcan. I think the irregular subsidence theory the more likely."

  "I suggest," McCoy broke in, "that we stop debating theory and get down to some practical work . . . like obtaining some specimens."

  "For once I agree with you, Doctor," Spock responded. Kirk smiled.

  "Lieutenant Clayton, open the hatch and let our two impatient scientists get on with their business."

  "Aye, sir." He reached toward the side-mounted lever which would raise the entranceway of the dome. As he did so, McCoy gestured sharply to port.

  "What's that?"

  "I don't see anything, Doctor," Spock said, studying the indicated spot.

  "There's something in the water there," McCoy countered, beginning to feel like a mighty fool. Had he seen something or not? "There, see where the water is fountaining slightly?"

  McCoy's fears of seeming a fool were put to rest by a wild churning and frothing at the indicated place. They were supplanted seconds later by more tangible fears as a brace of enormous tentacles broke the surface and hooked down like a pair of gargantuan anacondas to embrace the shuttle in a crushing grip.

  Kirk was yelling something about activating the engine, but whatever had them was shaking the shuttle violently and his words were lost in the steady banging about.

  Released from their protective loungers the four men tumbled about the interior like dice in a cup. There was a sudden jolt as if the ship had abruptly slammed into something hard.

  Either the thing had accidentally struck a sensitive portion of itself with part of the unyielding craft or else it was generally infuriated by its inability to crack the hide of this strange prey, because it had thrown them end over end to bang to a stop against an inoffensive wave.

  The shuttle automatically rolled to an upright position. Kirk then pulled himself to his feet, saw they were still seaworthy and watertight.

  "Spock . . . Bones . . . Lieutenant Clayton?"

  Replies came back promptly. "Surprisingly sound, Captain." "I'm all right, Jim." "Okay, I think, sir."

  He stumbled to the dome, holding one hand to the large red bruise forming on his left cheek. "What was it, anyway?"

  "At the moment my scientific curiosity stands in abeyance, Jim," McCoy groaned. "Just so long as it doesn't come back . . ." He struggled to his feet.

  Kirk took a quick step back from the dome. "No such luck, Bones. Clayton . . ."

  Before Kirk could say anything else, the upper portion of the Argoan life-form erupted from the water hard by the shuttle. From what they could see, it resembled a cross between an oversi
zed snake and a whale, with the addition of four side-tentacles thick enough to embarrass Earth's grandfather squid. That they were fully functional had already been amply demonstrated.

  It was Spock, not the more severely stunned Clayton, who slipped into the pilot's seat and edged them around in the water. He was taking action even as Kirk ordered it.

  "Firing phasers on stun, Captain."

  Two poles of fiery red light bolted from the nose of the shuttle, enveloped the head of the monster in a glowing nimbus. The concentrated light danced on amber and copper colored scales.

  Incredibly, the creature continued toward the shuttle for another couple of seconds. Then its continual roaring faded to an echo. Still moving weakly, reflexively, it sank from sight beneath the waves.

  Uncaring swells dusted the place clean, left nothing to indicate the apparition which had loomed there moments before. Spock paused at the console a moment longer to make certain it was no ruse on the part of the monster, then moved to aid Clayton.

  "It's all right, Mr. Spock." The younger officer was limping slightly. "I twisted an ankle a little, that's all. I'll be okay."

  Spock nodded once, then walked to the dome to stare at the spot where the creature had disappeared. Clayton returned to his position at the front console, sitting down carefully.

  "What the devil was that thing?" McCoy murmured.

  As usual, the doctor gave in to his oft-times infuriating affectation for redundancy, Spock mused—and as usual, he held the easy retort in check.

  "Clearly one of the multitude of life-forms which the drone survey neglected to record."

  "Hard to see how something that big could be overlooked," Kirk mused. "Still, with such a large area to cover in so short a time, I'm not surprised. The presence of a predator that size is a sure sign of a thriving ecology. I don't think I've ever seen anything quite like this one."

  "A rough combination of Terran Cetacea and Cephalopoda, with unique characteristics of its own," Spock added.