Star Trek - Log 2

  The door chimed and he didn't look back. The figure of Carter Winston walked into the examination room. It watched patiently as McCoy continued matching figures that didn't match the way they were supposed to. Eventually McCoy glanced irritably to see who had entered. When he recognized Winston, he smiled a quick greeting before returning to his work.

  "Hello, Winston," he said while running a new set of figures across the screen. "Still trying to figure this out. Sometimes I wonder if I shouldn't have taken more Instrumentation in med school."

  So intent was McCoy on his study that he failed to notice the transformation behind him—a transformation that would have confused his instruments a good deal more.

  He didn't see Winston place his arms over his chest, didn't see him dissolve like instant pudding and become a strange alien apparition, one that glided across the smooth floor on thick appendages with the grace of a ballerina.

  "Winston, I've been over your tests two dozen times, and I don't think—" A tentacle rose, touched the back of McCoy's neck. The doctor slumped in his seat.

  The alien thing caught him easily and carried him into the adjoining laboratory. As it placed the doctor on the floor, the sound of the examination-room door could be heard operating.

  Anne Nored peered into the deserted room. "Dr. McCoy?" She took a step inside and the door automatically closed behind her. "Dr. McCoy?"

  In the lab, the creature made motions with its tentacles. Seconds later a duplicate Dr. McCoy was standing over the limp form of the original. Anne Nored walked over to McCoy's workbench. She idly examined the scanner and the other devices McCoy had been pouring over without touching any of them. There was a slight shuffling sound and she jerked to her right.

  "Dr. McCoy, you startled me."

  Winston/McCoy stepped out of the lab, making sure the door closed behind him. "Nothing startles you, Anne, you're a security officer, and one of the best. Can I help you?"

  "Oh, all right, so I was role playing." She smiled, but it faded quickly to an expression of awkwardness. "I thought this might be easy, doctor, but it's not. I don't know if you can . . . I just thought . . . well, I have to talk to somebody. And the other gals," she smiled a little again, "have a tendency to be less than serious about such things. I'd like to laugh at it, too, but I can't. It hurts too much. So I thought maybe you . . .?"

  Winston/McCoy seemed to hesitate, then gestured to a chair. Anne sat down gratefully. When she didn't seem able to continue, Winston/McCoy spoke.

  "Let me guess. It's about you and Carter Winston." He paused for a moment, added, "He told me a little about it when I was examining him."

  "How much is 'a little,' doctor?" Again Winston/McCoy appeared to pause.

  "Enough."

  "Doctor, what am I going to do?" she finally blurted desperately. "I know you're not a psychiatrist, and I don't think I need that. I'm not mentally unbalanced. I don't think, but I still love him." The corners of her mouth twisted upwards a little.

  "Come to think of it, love is classified by some as a state of temporary mental imbalance, isn't it?"

  "Only by poets, writers of romantic fiction, and the French," Winston/McCoy replied. He turned and focused his attention on the blank wall opposite.

  "I'm sure he'd like to feel the same way about you, Anne. He also told me something of the times you two had together, of the experiences you shared. Not a great deal, but I think I can understand the depth of feeling you had for each other.

  "But it all may be impossible to recapture, Anne. Five years can be forever to someone. People change. People in love more frequently than most. And one thing I can tell you with assurance—Carter Winston's been through changes no other human being ever experienced." His voice dropped and he murmured, "Yes, people change."

  "Well, I haven't!" she finally shouted. "What am I supposed to do? What can I do?"

  "If he asked you to forget him," said Winston/McCoy, "I think you should try to do just that. Or would you prefer that he lie to you, tell you what you want to hear, intentionally deceive you. Do you want him to do that?"

  "Oh, no. He's the gentlest, most thoughtful man I've ever known. Ever will know. And I don't think he could carry it off very well. Lying's not in his nature."

  "Well, then, you see?" Winston/McCoy insisted. "If he doesn't want you any longer, for whatever reasons, and he's asked you to forget him, then all I can do is suggest that you take that as an honest concern for you and do it."

  "You have no knowledge of what he's been through, of what—" and Winston/McCoy half smiled,—"unusual changes may have taken place in the years he's been gone. As a physician I can only advise you . . . and also as a friend. Forget Winston."

  "Forget Carter—" The words came without any force, any conviction behind them. She seemed ready to argue further, but the door chimed. Kirk and Spock entered. It was hard enough to articulate such intimate feelings in front of the ship's doctor. It would be impossible in front of the ship's captain and first officer.

  So instead of continuing, she stood. "Thank you, Doctor McCoy. I'll consider your advice."

  "Do that, Anne . . . Lieutenant Nored."

  Kirk studied the security officer as she left, then turned to Winston/McCoy. The doctor smiled pleasantly.

  "What can I do for you, Jim?"

  "Bones, I need a complete medical examination."

  "On Carter Winston? But I've already—" Kirk waved him off impatiently.

  "No, no. For myself. Something's just happened that—" He stopped. The figure of Winston/McCoy had abruptly turned away from him and was now engaged in studying a microtape index file mounted on the far wall.

  "I'm afraid I'll have to make it later in the day, Captain. I have too many tests to process right now."

  Kirk had too many thoughts whirling through his head to react to that, but Spock looked puzzled. Being the favorite target of McCoy's brash wit, maybe he was more sensitive to the doctor's moods—or changes in personality.

  "Carter Winston's, for example?" Spock inquired. Winston/McCoy half-turned, but didn't look at them.

  "No, that one's done, completed. No trouble at all, Mr. Spock. Standard tests run, checked out completely normal."

  "Are you sure there's no possibility you made an error?" persisted Spock.

  Now it was Kirk's turn to look questioningly at his first officer instead of vice versa. It wasn't like Spock to question another officer's work—especially McCoy's. But it would be like McCoy—almost required of him—to respond with some especially devastating remark.

  Instead, the doctor only chuckled. "Well, there's always that chance. I'll go over them again, if you like."

  "No, that won't be necessary, Bones. I'll drop by later for that examination, when you're not so busy. Let's go, Spock." Kirk turned and started for the door.

  When it was securely shut behind them and they were out in the empty reception room, both men stopped and exchanged uncertain looks.

  "Captain, did you notice Dr. McCoy's reaction when I asked him if there was a possibility he might have made an error in Carter Winston's tests?"

  Kirk nodded.

  "Yes. He didn't jump all over you when you questioned his accuracy. That isn't normal."

  "Excuse me, Captain—'jump all over me?' "

  "Said something along the lines of, 'there's as much chance of that as my falling down with . . .' "

  " 'hysterical laughter at a joke of mine,' " finished Spock.

  "Yes, that's it. What's even less normal is that he agreed with you. He conceded the chance, and that's not like Bones at all. If there's anything he's supremely confident about, it's his own competence as a physician. Come to think of it, it was also not like him to put off my request for a physical."

  "I quite agree, Captain. Which means—"

  "I don't know what it means," Kirk muttered, "except that maybe there are two officers on this ship who need medical checks. Come on!"

  They burst into the Sick-Bay examination chamber and were d
umbfounded at what they saw. Or rather, at what they didn't see.

  The room was empty.

  Neither officer feeling particularly bright at that moment, they moved to make a thorough search of the room.

  "There is only one entrance to these inner medical rooms," mused Spock thoughtfully. "For security reasons, and for quarantine purposes. There are not a great many places a man could hide."

  "No," agreed Kirk, "and I think—"

  "Ohhhh . . ."

  Kirk and Spock were at the entrance to the nearby lab in seconds. Both men were wary, expecting—they weren't sure what—to come charging pell-mell out at them. But the door slid back normally at Kirk's touch and nothing barred their entrance.

  McCoy was sitting up in the middle of the floor, rubbing the side of his head. He looked very much as if he'd just absorbed a substantial dose of something a good deal stronger than eggnog.

  "Bones?"

  McCoy didn't react at first. Then he looked up at them, still dazed.

  "Must have . . . must have fallen asleep . . . somehow, I guess. A little nap—"

  "A little nap," echoed Kirk, reflecting on the similarity of a recent experience. "I think I have an idea what you mean, Bones."

  "Doctor, you are a man of curious habits," observed Spock, "but I have never known you to nap on the laboratory floor. Elementary logic dictates that even an examination table would be far more comfortable, as well as—" He paused in midsentence at Kirk's raised hand. The captain was staring intently around the inner laboratory.

  Ever since they'd entered he had not felt quite right about something. And not because of what they half expected to find—without knowing what it was. No, it was a feeling he still couldn't pin down. Spock would say it was illogical, but damn it, he felt something was wrong!

  "Something is not right with this room."

  McCoy made a rapid examination of his laboratory. His gaze returned eventually to Kirk's uncertain face.

  "Everything looks okay to me, Jim."

  "No," Kirk objected hurriedly. "Take a moment and think about it, Bones." Before McCoy could comment, the captain moved quickly to shut the door behind them.

  "Both of you, study the room. There's definitely something different from the last time I was in here. I can't put my finger on it yet, but—"

  The three officers started a patient, methodical survey of the laboratory. There didn't seem to be a great deal that might conceal some startling revelation. It didn't help that they had no idea what to look for, Kirk included.

  Desks, wall decorations, shelves full of vials and tubes and neatly racked instruments, the gleaming surgical cases, emergency power chargers for use in case of shipboard power failure, the big portable sterilizer, three examination tables . . .

  Even an examination table would be far more comfortable, Spock had said.

  Kirk smiled then. "All right, Winston, you can come out now." Both Spock and McCoy turned their attention to the captain, Spock interestedly, McCoy incredulously.

  Kirk walked forward until he was standing directly in front of the examination table farthest to the left. He spoke not behind it nor under it, but to it.

  "I suggest you show yourself, Winston, or whatever you are. The masquerade's over."

  Making no sense of the scene and getting no elucidation from Kirk, McCoy slowly got to his feet and whispered to Spock.

  "Did you say that I'm a man of curious habits, Spock? Jim's talking to a table!"

  "I don't think so, Doctor." An idea was beginning to solidify in the first officer's mind as he added certain known factors and proceeded toward a result. Evidently Kirk had already gotten there.

  The captain stepped back from the table and turned his attention to one of the nearby wall shelves. Kirk spoke to the others as he studied the labels on the neat rows of crystal vials.

  "There used to be only two examination tables in this room, as I recall, Bones." He focused his attention on the top row of containers. "Now there seem to be three."

  Spock said nothing, but McCoy suddenly found himself nodding in agreement. "I just realized that too, Jim. But even so, what—" McCoy shut up. Whatever was happening here ought to come to a head pretty soon.

  Kirk finally selected one of the smaller vials from the shelf. He walked back to stand next to the table.

  The vial in his hand was made of thick, heat-formed artificial quartz alloyed with certain other metallic and ceramic components. It contained a small amount of thin purple fluid. When McCoy saw which vial the captain had removed he started forward, then stopped.

  Again, Kirk directed his comments to the table. The flat, unmistakably inorganic surface gleamed brightly in the overhead lights, small wheels and dials sparkling with polish. McCoy studied it till his eyes hurt, looking for some hidden sign he might have missed that would reveal the table's mysterious secrets to him.

  It looked like an examination table. Kirk tapped it with one finger, and there was a faint ping.

  It sounded like an examination table.

  By Andromeda, it was an examination table!

  "This is a vial of orientine acid," Kirk informed the table solemnly. "It will burn through just about anything but this holding crystal. If you've never seen it work, I'll be happy to demonstrate." He patted the table again. "On you."

  There was a reasonable pause. Then Kirk raised the vial over the table and moved his thumb toward the cap release set into one side. The table shimmered suddenly, the sort of eye-tricking flutter of things seen out of one's corner of vision that aren't there anymore when you turn to look at them. The table rippled dreamily and changed form.

  A moment later it was no longer an examination table. In its place stood a tall creature of thick, cabled limbs and shining eye lenses that stared back at them unwinkingly.

  "I saw that," said a gaping McCoy, "but I don't believe it."

  "A Vendorian, Doctor," Spock informed him. "Their planet is quarantined, and few people ever see them. Their ability to rearrange their molecular structure at will to resemble anything of the same approximate mass—and their practice of deceit as a way of life—places them very much off-limits to others."

  "Their unusual abilities could be of considerable value to the Federation, or to others. But as desirable as their physical attributes might be, psychologically they are still unfit for participation in a community of worlds.

  "Mr. Spock, get a security team down here on the double."

  "Yes, Captain." Spock turned to leave. As he did so McCoy moved to get out of his way. Those few steps were all that was necessary to bring him within reach of the Vendorian.

  Powerful tentacles snapped out and enveloped the doctor in a constricting grasp.

  "Jim!"

  Kirk and Spock moved as one toward the Vendorian. Unraveling the clutching limbs, the alien sent McCoy spinning and stumbling into the other two officers. All three fell to the floor.

  Moving with surprising agility for such an awkward-looking creature, the Vendorian dashed past them. Spock managed to roll over in time to make a grab at the fleeing alien. All he got was a handful of something that felt like snakeskin without the scales. He couldn't hold it. A second later it was out the doorway and long gone.

  Kirk was on his feet, racing for the exit. Spock made a move as if to follow, instead changed direction and went directly to the wall communicator.

  "Spock to bridge—put me on the ship's intercom, Lieutenant." And then, seconds later, "All security teams, intruder alert! All security teams, repeat, intruder alert—"

  Kirk was out in the hall. He looked to his right, then left, just in time to catch a last glimpse of the Vendorian turning down an intersecting corridor. A security team raced around the far end of the hallway facing him a second later. Spock's voice sounded loud, replayed over every speaker in the starship.

  "Intruder is a Vendorian, capable of assuming any shape or form of the same approximate mass . . ."

  III

  A Jeffries tube loomed nearby
. The Vendorian, using its ability to look in all directions at once, satisfied itself that no pursuer was in sight. Then it clambered into the tube.

  Moving like a big orange spider, it made its way up the channeled interior. Footsteps sounded below—far away now, muffled with increasing distance—as Kirk and the security team raced through the corridor below.

  Near the top, the alien paused and crossed upper tentacles. Once more it shifted to the shape of Carter Winston. A few more centimeters, a careful look both ways, and then he scrambled out of the tube onto a new deck, setting the tube cover back into place.

  There were drawbacks as well as advantages to assuming human shape. For one thing, he could no longer see in all directions. So he didn't see Anne Nored until he rounded a corner and nearly ran her down. She staggered and, reflexively, it seemed, he caught her to keep her from falling.

  But this time, instead of moving into his arms, she pushed away and brought up her security phaser. It centered squarely on his chest.

  Affecting an air of mild surprise he looked first at the phaser, then up at her.

  "Anne, what are you doing?"

  "My job," she replied tightly. "It isn't hard to guess who the intruder is. You're the only stranger aboard, Carter. Or whatever you are. A . . . a Vendorian." Running footsteps sounded from somewhere behind them. She stared at him, then threw a quick, nervous look over her shoulder.

  It was only an instant, but Carter Winston's reflexes were faster than human. He knocked the phaser from her hand. It skittered across the deck to bounce off the far wall. She ran to recover it. At the same time Kirk and a small group of security personnel rounded a far curve.

  Anne picked up the phaser, turned and dropped to one knee, holding the phaser in both hands and balancing an elbow on her thigh. It was easy to take aim at the distant figure. She had a clear shot.

  But she didn't fire. Instead, she slowly lowered the phaser to her side.