STAR TREK LOG SIX Alan Dean
Foster
  THE ROMULANS IN PURSUIT
  "The Romulans continue to pursue, Cap-
tain," Spock reported. "And they are in-
creasing their speed."
  "Can we outrun them, Mr. Spock?"
  Spock hesitated, studying readouts as fast as
the battle computer could supply them.
"Indeterminate, Captain. With three ships in
pursuit, prediction becomes extremely
complex."
  "Captain," Uhura interrupted. "I've received an 
incoming transmission from the commander of the
Romulan force. He seems anxious to talk
to you."
  "I'll bet," Kirk replied. "Put him through
. . . I've got a couple of things to talk over
with him!"
  Other titles by Alan Dean Foster on the
Ballantine Books list:
  STAR TREK LOG ONE STAR TREK
LOG TWO STAR TREK LOG THREE
STAR TREK LOG FOUR STAR TREK
LOG FIVE DARK STAR THE TAR-AIYM
KRANG ICERIGGER available at your local
bookstore
  STAR TREK LOG SIX Alan Dean
Foster Based on the Popular Animated Series
Created by Gene Roddenberry BALLANTINE
BOOKS tilde NEW YORK Copyright A)
1976 by Paramount Pictures Corporation
  All rights reserved under International and
Pan-American comCopyright Conventions. Published
in the United States by Ballantine Books, a
division of Random House, Inc., New York,
and simultaneously in Canada by BaUantine
Books of Canada, Ltd., Toronto,
Canada.
  Library of Congress Catalog Card
Number: 74-8477 ISBN
0-345-24855-1-150 Manufactured in the
United States of America First Ballantine
Books Edition: March, 1976 Cover art
supplied by Filmation Associates
  - -- For Lou Mindling... Expediter, friend,
oasis in the desert of deviltry and dementia, and
all-around human being,. CONTENTS PART I
  Albatross 3 PART II The Practical
Joker 67 PART III How Sharper Than a
Serpent's Tooth 137
  STAR TREK LOG SIX Log of the Starship
Enterprise Stardates 5532.8 5535.2
Inclusive James T. Kirk, Capt.,
USSC, FS, ret. Commanding transcribed
by Alan Dean Foster At the Galactic
Historical Archives on S. Monicus I and
Frontier Outpost Moran stardated 611 1.3
  For the Curator JLETTER
  PART I ALBATROSS (adapted from a
script by Dario Finelli) It had form but faint
substance; shape but little color, face but no
visage.
  Body but no soul.
  Its sword was an extension of its own right arm and
it moved and danced with a grace and fluidity that
was not human.
  Sulu parried and thrust, beat and lunged with his own
insulated blade. Initially he had been casual
in attack, though his tenebrous opponent made up
in nimbleness what it lacked in knowledge and experience.
  But it was rapidly absorbing every trick Sulu the
fencing master could think of memorising each one,
analyzing its weaknesses and strong points, and then
using them on Sulu in return. It had not yet
mastered the subtle intricacies of multiple
combinations, thus preventing the Enterprise's
helmsman from being skewered a dozen times over.
  But since Sulu's opponent did not tire, the
combat loomed as increasingly unequal.
  Sulu relished the contest. Never before had he
faced so dangerous a fighter, nor one so eerily
beautiful. His luminescent antagonist shone like a
billion golden glowmites in the light of the room.
Though its slmbleaa was featureless, it did not lack
eyes.
  Those enigmatic orbs kept close watch on the
helmsman's movements, on the placement of his
feet, on the way he held his balancing back
hand, and most especially on the tip of that deadly
foil.
  Sulu feinted low, then went high with the point of

  4 STAR TREK LOG Six
  his blade. As his opponent moved his blade up
to parry, the helmsman shot his left leg out in a
strong side kick.
  The gilded wraith knocked the point aside and
lunged forward to finish the fight. But instead of
skipping back out of range, Sulu stood his
ground, shot vertically into the air and executed a
perfect jumps spinning back kick. His shoe
struck the sword-arm, smashing it aside, while his
foil whipped around simultaneously to stab straight
through that gleaming, glittering throat . . .
  The attacker froze as Sulu withdrew his
blade. No blood had gushed forth on contact, no
stream of molten yellow fluid. There had been
only an indifferent buzz at me mortal blow.
  Walking away from his paralyzed opponent, Sulu
picked a towel off a nearby bench and mopped at his
sweating face.
  "The computer annex's getting too clever, Mr.
Scott. It's getting harder and harder to think up
new combinations to use against it."
  Chief Engineer Montgomery Scott
nodded as he pressed the switch on the makeshift
control panel. Sulu's dervishlike opponent,
a man-shape given form and body by ionized gas
held in a rigorously restricted force-field,
disappeared, a solid-state djinn.
  "I don't see why you've never used that
kick-parry before," Scott observed. "It worked
marvelously."
  Sulu smiled as he towered the back of his neck.
"Never had to get that fancy before. Trouble is, the
computer rarely lets me get away with a successful
move more than once." He let out a short sigh.
  "The problem with that defense is that if you miss the
parry-kick, you're left floating in mid-air with
your sword at your side a ripe candidate for shish
kebab." His expression turned studious.
  "Its movements are still a little unnatural, still a
bit machinelike. And I noticed a few other
problems, too. There were several times when it fought
while floating a couple of centimeters alcove the
floor." He grinned. "No fair. The computer's
got enough advantages as it is."
  STAR TREK LOG Six
  "Not enough to reduce the experience of actual combat,
though," Scott countered, checking a tiny
window in the panel. "You're still well ahead,
laddie, twelve touches to five."
  "I remember when I used to beat it seventeen
to nothing. It's learning, all right."
  Scott shrugged. "That's one of the functions of a
games computer. If I could program the ship's
computer, you'd have a mechanical fighter who'd act
perfectly human, even to experiencing fatigue as
the battle-wore on. But you know what the captain
would say if we asked for ship
  computation time for a project like this." He indicated
the wire-fringed control panel.
  "I had a bit of a snap with the stores records
cagin" the material for this filed the requisitions
under the "emergency repairs" column. Shouldn't
be any trouble with it unless Starfieet springs a
surprise inventory on us. But usin' the main
computer ," he shook his head firmly, "we've as
much chance of that as me grandmother has of throwin' the caber
in the next interstellar Highland games."
  Sulu accepted the engineer's declaration as he
straightened his blade. The foil was insulated on
pommel and blade, leaving only the metal tip
uncovered. Whenever that naked point intersected the
ionized gas in the force field, it
registered as a touch on the control box Scott had
rigged. Unfortunately, there was no equally
accurate way of judging when his computercontrolled
opponent scored a hit on him. For now, that had
to be done visually. But the system.was new, and
Scott was still working on that problem as well as on
several others.
  They would have plenty of time during this long, dull
mission to Draymia to perfect his katana-to-ashi
opponent. Unlike say, Mr. Spock, who could
always find plenty of challengers for tri-dimensional
chess and other logic games, there wasn't anyone
else on board who possessed more than a
perfunctory knowledge of the modern martial art, which merged
European-style fencing with the old karate of the
Orient. Those crew members who were athletically
inclined preferred bowling, or a good round of water
polo.
  6 STAR TREK L tilde So
  When he'd finally grown deathly bored with fencing and
kicking at his own shadow, Sulu had gone to Scott
to see if the circuit-wizard could concoct something in
the way of a robotic fighter. It hadn't taken the
chief engineer long to produce his golden-gas
hominoid.
  Scott cocked an eyebrow as he glanced up from
reintegrating one of the tiny modular components which
controlled the fluidity of the force-field. Sulu was
at the open arms cabinet.
  "More, Lieutenant? Aren't you worn out yet?"
  "Just a little saber work."
  The engineer looked disapproving. "The final
flurry? You know this thing can't score saber near as
well as foil. Half the time I've no idea
whether you're hittin' the target or not, with all that
blade area. Let alone when it's hittin' you."
  "Just a few minutes," Sulu pleaded. "I
don't want my edge work to get rusty."
  "All right, then, if you must." Scott didn't
quite grumble. "I've the little matter of a ship to watch
over."
  He pressed a switch on the panel.
Instantly, still frozen in the pose of its last
execution, Sulu's antagonist glowed to life
again. Scott adjusted controls, manipulated
dials. The games computer set the newly
programmed tape in motion and the lambent duelist
assumed an en garde position.
  Sulu lined up across from it. "Ready," he an-
nounced, turning his gaze to the gilded ghost.
Scott touched a red switch.
  The chief engineer had been right, though. At times
Sulu himself couldn't tell whether or not he was
slipping the first Wow in. In a real fight, however,
it would be more than merely satisfying to know whether a
certain move worked. It would be vital.
  The fight lasted only the few minutes Sulu
had asked for, but not for the reasons originally given.
His nebulous opponent had just performed a good parry,
faked high and thrust low. Sulu had fallen for the
feint. He jumped, trying to avoid a supposedly
high attack. When he saw it was really going low,
he attempted to
  STAR TREK LOG Six
  recover by twisting in mid-air to kick-block
downward, and got himself confused.
  Trying simultaneously to parry with his own
sword, the net result turned out to be a neat
slash with the metal blade across the thin shoe he was
wearing, He came down on both feet, immediately
dropped the saber and buckled to the floor, wincing.
  Having registered an undeniable score, the
computer-controlled figure paused and resumed the
ready position, awaiting the command to reengage once
more.
  Scott flicked it out of existence. There was a
brief, dying whine as the force-field's power was
cut. Then the engineer hurried over to where the
helmsman sat, trying to unsnap the latches on his
right shoe.
  "Maybe you ought to go back to shadow-fightin',
Sulu."
  The helmsman grimaced as he worked at the
latchings.
  "Very funny, Mr. Scott."
  Both men saw that the top of the shoe was already stained
red. The humor of the situation was relegated to the
background.
  Scott put one hand on the heel, took a
gentle "rip' on the toe with the other. "Easy, lad
... I'll try and get this off."
  While he pushed and pulled, Sulu leaned back
on both hands, stared at the ceiling of the gymnasium
chamber and tried to think of other things. He couldn't
repress a little gasp as the shoe finally slipped
free.
  There was a three-centimeter long gash across the
top of his foot. Though it bled profusely,
Sulu still counted himself lucky. The blade had
struck at an angle which caused it to miss
the big tendons. He made no move to rise.
  "Stay there," Scott ordered him. He moved
to a nearby cabinet and came back with a first-aid
kit. The bandaging was crude, but at least they halted
the flow of blood.
  "Sorry, Sulu," he apologized when the
temporary repair job was finished. "I'm much
better with a needlepoint welding laser."
  8 STAR TREK LOG SIX
  Sulu eyed him archly. "Thanks just the same,
Scotty, I'll settle for the bandages."
  "Can you walk, or d'you want me to call for a
stretcher?"
  "No no stretcher!" Sulu objected quickly.
"The captain's liable to hear about it." He struggled
to his feet. "Cut's on the top, not the sole.
I can make it. Give me a hand to Sick Bay."
  Scott mumbled about the waste of time as he helped
Sulu get a large sock over the injured foot.
Sulu was right, though. The captain wouldn't take
kindly to the news that one of his Bridge officers had
disabled himself at a game.
  The few personnel they encountered in the
corridors inquired solicitously as to the cause
of the helmsman's limp. It was explained that
he had slightly sprained an ankle playing
handball. Much to Sulu's relief, this explanation
seemed to be accepted by all.
  McCoy was in a testier mood than usual.
He unwrapped Scott's makeshift bandage job
and stared disgustedly at the neat wound, muttering to himself
as he went about the business of cleaning it out and closing
it up.
  "You cut your foot how?"
  Sulu looked away and repeated the story for the
third time.
  "I've already told you, Dr. McCoy. Mr.
Scott was kind enough to use some of his off-duty hours
to develop an artificial warrior for me
to practice against. I was making a parry where I
shouldn't have been and I cut myself, that's all."
  McCoy shook his head as he used three tiny
organic clips to clamp the edges of the wound together.
Spray from a can coated the wound and clips with an
anesthetizing sealant. Eventually, the modified
protein clips would be absorbed by Sulu's body,
but not until the wound had
  completely healed over.
  "That's a fairly deep cut, Helmsman,"
McCoy commented as he put away the can.
"Try not to kick anyone with that foot till it heals
up, hmmm? It should be okay.""
  Sulu looked as if he had something further
to say,
  STAR TREK LOG SIX 9
  but instead glanced at Scott for help. The chief
engineer looked indifferent, then abruptly
remembered how many times his senior officer had
bailed him out of a difficult situation.
  "Uh, Dr. McCoy ...."
  McCoy looked back at him.
  "We'd kinna hoped you wouldn't mention this little
episode to the captain. I know it has to be entered
in the medical log, but the lieutenant would
appreciate it if you didn't go out of your way
to tell him about it. You know what his reaction'd be."
  "More than "It'll be okay"," the doctor
muttered. He didn't look at Sulu as he
added, "I haven't got time anyway not with that ton
of medical
  supplies we're to deliver to Draymia to check
out."
  Glad for the change of subject' and,
  incidentally, curious, Sulu swung his legs
off the table and wondered, "Why should you have
to bother with them at all, Doctor? Aren't they
prepacked and self contained?"
  In reply McCoy sat down before a
viewscreen and manipulated the controls. Peering
over his shoulder, both Scott and Sulu saw vast
columns of words and figures, massed tightly
together like the ranks of an advancing army. McCoy
gestured in an uncomplimentary manner at the
screen,
  shaking his head dolefully.
  "The instructional manuals for the equipment and
supplies are all mixed up. If I don't
get them properly relabeled before we arrive, the
  Drayrmans won't be able to tell an
  encephalograph from an endocrine monitor, or
a case of Draymian aspirin from the serum for
treating brain damage." He angrily snapped the
picture off, turned to them.
  "Whoever precoordinated this shipment's a likely
candidate for a good shot of the latter drug."
  "Can't you get someone to take over your regular
assignments until you get everything sorted out?"
Scott asked.
  McCoy stared back at him evenly. "Would you
want me to delegate my duties to someone
else? Suppose Sulu had really sliced himself
up? Or you, Scotty? How
  I O STAR TREK L tilde 9 equals
  would you feel if 1 was off cataloging packages
some
  Neither man said anything.
  He switched the screen back on, swiveled
around to stare at the new display. "Besides, the health of
hundreds of thousands of intelligent beings might
depend on the safe delivery of these supplies.
I'm not about to entrust their proper delivery to anyone
but myself.
  "Now if you don't mind," he growled, "I'd
like to get back to my important work."
  Sulu grinned as he gingerly put more weight on
his injured limb. It was amazing how much better it
felt already, after McCoy's precise ministrations.
  The doctor's surface gruffness deceived neither of
them.
  "He'll make it all right, if he has to push
himself double-shift," Scott declared as the two men
entered the corridor outside Sick Bay.
"He's got a good two weeks' ship-time before we
make orbit around Draymia. It's only
stardate fifty-five . . ."
  "dis . . thirty-two point eight," Kirk
finished, his voice slightly hoarse from the dry
atmosphere of Draymia. As he spoke into the
communicator, it relayed his voice back to the
official log recorder on board the Enterprise,
now orbiting far overhead.
  "Preparing to beam back aboard ship following
successful delivery of medical equipment and
supplies to the planet Draymia in the
Draynlian star system. Kirk out . . ."
  They stood on a balcony outside the chambers
of the Draymian capital city administration,
awaiting the arrival of the Supreme Prefect for the
final embarkation ceremony. While Spock and
McCoy discussed some obscure point of
Draymian physiology as it related to certain
of the supplies they had brought, Kirk turned and
allowed his gaze to roam over the capital's
skyline. Once one became used to the size of
everything, built to nearly one and a quarter human
scale, this world looked almost familiar. This,
despite its extreme distance from the nearest Federation
outpost planet.
  STAR TREK LOG SIX 1 1
  The vegetation here was not terribly alien,
likewise the animal life. But the hue of sky was
just a touch too green, the tree trunks a bit
too orange, the flying creatures' wings too
scaly for hominess. In other words, Draymia was
one of those many humanoid worlds whose weirdness was all
the more disturbing for its elusive familiarity.
  It wasn't a world where the local ungulates
rolled around on wheels instead of walking on
normal legs, or where the vegetation grew upside
down like the ostrich forest on Olibaba. No, orl
a world like Draymia you always had the feeling that if you
could just hit the right switch inside your head, there would
be a little click, the proper lens would slip
into place in front of your eyes, and everything would
suddenly slide over into the normal.
  "Hail, Captain Kirk! Hail, Mr.
Spock!"
  The men turned to see two Draymians emerging
from the arched doorway. Kirk recognised the Su-
preme Prefect, but not his companion.
  "Who's the other with him, Mr. Spock?"
  "We met him briefly once before, Captain,
on arrival," the first officer whispered, wondering
idly why there had been no hearty hail for Dr.
McCoy. Probably the Draymians
simply hadn't noticed him yet. He filedthe
observation away for future consideration. "The being's
name is Demos. He is the chief of the planetary
security forces. He was in charge of receiving the few
military-related medical supplies."
  "Oh, yes," Kirk muttered. "I remember
now." He broke off as both aliens halted before
them. Their expressions insofar as Kirk could now
judge them were neutral. Part of the ceremony of
departure, no doubt.
  Two and a half meters tall, well
proportioned, the enormous humanoids could have
appeared threatening. Their bulbous pop-eyes,
however, gave their faces a comic cast which detracted
from their massiveness.
  As Kirk watched, the Supreme Prefect
flicked one ear forward. The other was turned
backward, perhaps to listen to some distant conversation. The
effect, alongside the smooth pate, was startling.
The Draymi
  12 STAR TREK LOG SIX
  ens possessed independently mounted ears, like the
eyes of an Earthly chameleon.
  The Prefect launched straight into the
  departure ceremony, as the comber-seeming
Demos stood at attention at his sicle. The
ceremony itself contained no surprises. Much was said
about expanding trade and cooperation between Draymia and the
Federation. There were words of mutual praise for the
technical ac- complishments of both civilisations,
assurances of continuing friendship and interdependence,
veiled polite references to those misguided races
(who shall remain nameless) who might seek to
  interpose themselves between the goal of
  Federation-Draymian brotherhood, and so on.
  Kirk and Spock replied where necessary, exchanging
diplomatic banter with the aplomb and experience of
men accustomed to far more complex goings-on. Kirk
recalled one world on which merely saying a simple
goodbye involved two days of feasting and athletic
competition.
  Finally, both the-Prefect and Demos performed
little half-bows and extended their hands, palms turned
upward and open. "We wish to thank," he told them
in his gravelly voice, "you and the rest of your
Federation for your most welcome and invaluable
assistance, Captain Kirk, in this and all
matters."
  The three men returned the gesture, which
signified the taking of final farewell, as
Kirk replied, "We hope through our medical
assistance programs to develop and strengthen
relations with all advanced civilisations such as your
own, Supreme Prefect."
  With that said, both humans and l tilde
raymians returned to a natural stance.
  Kirk smiled easily, glanced back at his
companions as he pulled out his communicator and
flipped it open. "Shall we, Spock, Bones?
Kirk to Enterprise beam us aboard,- Scotty."
  The Prefect extended a hand, palm down this
time, fingers bent at the middle knuckles. "If you
would be so kind, Captain, a moment . . ."
  Kirk hesitated uncertainly, then looked at
Spock and McCoy. Both stared back at him
  blankly. The gestures
  STAR TREK [tilde SW 13
  were unmistakable, Spock seemed to say. Once
the gesture of final leave-taking is made, nothing
is supposed to follow.
  Something of importance was happening here.
  "Belay that, Mr. Scott," he said hurriedly
into the open comm. He flipped it shut for the moment.
  "We await," he told the Supreme
Prefect.
  That appeared to satisfy the huge humanoid.
He relaxed visibly and made a gesture to his
companion that none of the humans recognised.
  "Proceed, Commander Demos."
  The security chief, with some ceremony, removed
a folded sheet of opaque yellow plastic from a
tunic pocket beneath his arm. It opened into the
triangle favored by the Draymians.
  "I have here a warrant," he announced
solemnly, "in your own language, received
by deep-space relay for the arrest and trial of one of
your crew, Captain." He extended the yellow
sheet toward Kirk, who stared at the smooth
geometric form in disbelief.
  "Best take it, Captain," Spock finally
prompted him.
  "Warrant," Kirk murmured dazedly. "Who
. . . ?"
  "If you would be so kind as to read it aloud,
please, Captain?" the Prefect requested
politely.
  Kirk's gaze turned down to the plastic. On
it was what looked to be a perfect xerographic
copy of the familiar rectangle of official
starfleet command-level stationary The format
design and intricate curlicued seals bordering it
were either genuine or else the finest counterfeit he'd
ever seen.
  "You are directed to surrender," he read in a
monotone, "for trial by the people of Draymia, Dr.
Leonard McCoy, medical officer, U.s.s.
Enterprise assigned your command . . ." His voice
trailed away.
  "Let me see that please, Captain," Spock
requested rapidly. Rather more rapidly than was
normal for him.
  Blank-faced, Kirk handed the document over.
His gaze slowly swung around to McCoy.
  "Well, Bones ... ?"
  McCoy gaped back at him in open-mouthed
confusion and could only shake his head slowly in total
bewilderment. He had seen the opaque triangle of
plastic,
  14 STAR TREK LOG Six
  seen the inscribed borders and seals and the
signatures at the boKom. But all he could do was
stammer to the chief of Draymian security, "This
has to be some kind Of . .. bad joke."
  "While there are those among you who might find
certain aspects of our sense of humor
peculiar," the giant replied stonily, "believe
me when I say that we do not consider the wanton
slaughter of thousands of innocent civilians a
joke."
  McCoy's jaws made more movements than
  were necessary to produce the stumbling
  response. "Slaughter . . . thousands of people
... ?"
  Spock tapped the plastic sheet. "According to this, it
is claimed that Dr. McCoy was
  responsible for a plague which ravaged the
Draymian colony on Dramia II some
nineteen years ago, Captain."
  Kirk shook his head violently, then snatched the
warrant from Spock's hands. "Let me see that thing
again!" Once more his eyes roved over it, paying
particular attention to the concluding seals and
signatures. He glanced up at Demos, his
voice barely controlled, and cold.
  "This is a copy. I'd like to see the genuine
article."
  Demos executed the Draymian equivalent
of a shrug, stepped aside. "Naturally,
Captain. I would not expect you do to otherwise. The
orginal is inside, properly protected.
This is why we arranged for you to take your leave of us
here."
  He gestured at the building.
  "Welcome to the Draymian Chamber of
  Contemplative Reconstruction, Captain."
  "Treachery, you mean," Kirk rumbled, as he
stalked off toward the open portal.
  Demos' eyes bulged even more than was
  natural as he followed alongside.
"Justice, we mean," he glowered. "Under the
circumstances, Captain Kirk, I think we are
showing remarkable restraint."
  "Restraint? I'll show you some restraining!"
Kirk muttered tightly. "The Enterprise can
"restrain" this whole city."
  "Doubtless your words hold truth," the Prefect
observed from behind him as they entered the building
  STAR TREK LOG Six 15
  once again. "We are a practical people. I,
personally, ain well aware of the destructive
capabilities of your vessel. We are also an
astute people psychologically.
  "While you could probably reduce this city to its
foundations, Captain Kirk, I've no doubt you will
not. You will do nothing. Your reputation has
preceded you. We know of your respect for your own
laws. And as you have seen, the warrant is perfectly
in order and properly approved by your own
superiors. You will not disobey their orders."
  "Not my superiors," Kirk shot back. "Not
in Starfleet. This is a judicial order, issued
by administrative authority."
  "Whatever the source, Captain," Demos put
in, "you recognize its authority. You will not
attempt to contravene it. Therefore, I am certain you
will offer no resistance while I perform my necessary
duty." He reached out and placed a huge hand on
McCoy's right shoulder.
  "Dr. Leonard McCoy, I place you under
official restraint. Do you yield voluntarily?"
  McCoy nodded slowly and moved forward when
Demos tugged, but the motions were independent of any
real thought. He could only turn to gape wordlessly
at Spock and Kirk as they followed.
  There was a buzz for attention from Kirk's belt as
they moved through the glass and stone structure, past
languidly strolling Draymians bent on other
official missions.
  Kirk opened the communicator, his voice thick.
"Kirk here."
  "Captain . .. ?" That single word held a
paragraph of worry.
  "Sorry, Scotty, I forgot you were on hold.
It seems it seems there's going to be something of a
delay here. Dr. McCoy's been arrested and his
  Over the kilometers and through the clouds the chief
engineer's astonished yelp cut him off. "DR.
MCCOY ARRESTED? What for . . . ?"
  Kirk tried to frame the word "genocide," found
that the effort of linking that concept to McCoy brought him
close to blackout.
  16 STAR TRER-THAT tilde Sir
  "Murder," he finally managed to mutter.
  "Murder?" Scott paused. When he spoke
again, his voice was no longer querulous. "Sir, if
you'd like me and some of the security specialists to beam
down just in case, I'm sure there'd be no lack of
volun . . ."
  "Belay that kind of talk, Mr. Scott!"
Kirk said, summoning his usual firmness. "The
warrant itself appears to be legitimate, issued and
authorised by the proper authorities. Mr.
Spock and I are going to double-check it now.
We're at the local administration building.
I'll keep you posted."
  "Should I put the ship on alert, sir?"
  "No, Mr. Scott. While it may prove
hard to restrain natural impulses, this is the time
for careful consideration. The Draymians have been
scrupulously correct about this. They've made
nothing resembling a hostile gesture toward us.
And, Scotty, this is not for general dissemination
aboard. What I've just told you stays on the
Bridge."
  "Aye sir," Scott replied quietly.
  "Kirk out."
  It was all so absurd, Kirk mused, as they
moved deeper into the enormous structure. Bones was
no more guilty of mass murder than he was of
unnecessarily vivisecting a frog. The good
doctor was inherently incapable of either maliciousness
or incompetence on such a scale.
  And yet . . .
  There was the official warrant, the insane
accusation. He stared at the original
  communication where it was locked behind triple
transparent barriers. Despite Demos' and the
Prefect's confidence in his willingness to obey his own
laws, Kirk found himself having to fight the urge
to simply call Scotty to beam them up and
out of this treacherous city. Such an action could
precipitate an uncomfortable interstellar
incident, he knew. The Draymians wouldn't
hesitate to publicize it throughout the civilised
galaxy. If the Federation didn't adhere to its own
laws, why should potential allies be forced to?
  He noticed that they had moved into a small
office adjoining the well-guarded transmission.
Demos sat
  STAR TREK LOG Six 17
  across from them behind a large desk of white stone.
He was answering most of the questions he had expected
Kirk to ask.
  "Dr. McCoy," the security chief
explained, "headed a mass inoculation program
against harmful diseases on Dramia II some
nineteen of your subjective years ago.
  "He was not yet annointed? No, appointed a
full doctor at the time of this program. Soon
after his small medical force departed, a massive
plague struck. Fatalities were near total in
the growing colony we'd established established at
much expense in life and wealth, Captain Kirk.
  "The Dramia II colony constituted our first
step away from our home world. Thanks to your
Dr. McCoy, the result has been that for the past
two decades we have been unable to progress any
farther. Since the plague incident public
reaction becomes virulent at the mere mention of
  deep-space exploration or settlement." He
looked grim.
  "Such has been the result of your aid."
  "You talk about this plague," Kirk shot back
tersely, "as if you were certain Bones was personally
responsible for it. Just because it occurred at the same
time doesn't mean it was his fault."
  Demos leaned forward and displayed front
canines. "Believe me, Captain Kirk, we
would also like very much to have the rest of the medical team that
served under him. However, it appears this is not
possible. Therefore we will settle for having the one who
was in charge of those responsible for the disaster. It is his
responsibility, whether directly or
otherwise!"
  Demos sat back and looked satisfied. "It
is enough."
  "You talk as if you'd already tried him and found him
guilty."
  "Captain, you cannot imagine the kind of emotional
reaction the mere mention of the Dramia II
debacle stirs in the hearts of the people. Feeling runs
high even among those who did not have friends or
relatives among the dead. It was a . . . a
racial disaster. Furthermore, we could not even chance
intens*ence study of the immediate causes lest we risk
bringing the plague here,
  18 STAR TREK LOG Six
  thus destroying our entire civilisation. This has
intensified the people's frustration and anger."
  He glanced away from Kirk.
  "But after all these many years, we still can find no
other possible cause than some
  carelessness on the part of Dr. McCoy and his
medical team. As to his final guilt or
innocence, the trial will say."
  "Trial!" Kirk blurted. "Kangaroo
court, you mean. By your own admission, Bones can
hardly expect anything like a fair trial from your
people. McCoy is a Federation citizen and his
  To every one of Kirk's plaints, Demos
quietly referred to the copy of the maddening warrant,
Iying between them on his desk.
  "His own government appears to feel that in this
case such rights can properly be waived."
  Kirk snorted derisively. "What
kind of justice can Bones expect from a world that
accepts our medical supplies with one hand and
imprisons our medical officer with the other?"
  "You are becoming emotional, Captain," Spock
ventured.
  "Of course I aml" Kirk shouted at his first
officer, while Demos was muttering something about
returning measure for measure.
  "Bones harming other beings . .-. ," Kirk
continued, "you know better, Spock. Anyone knows
better than that even those desk-bound morons at
Administrative and Judicial know better."
  The captain rambled on as Spock tried to calm
him. Demos studied the two men with some
  detachment.
  Alone oh, how alone! and forgotten, the fourth
inhabitant of the tiny office rested his arms on his
thighs and struggled to recall the events of nineteen
years past. He found only hazy memories
clouded by age. So much had happened since, so little
had happened then ...
  Dramia II: colony, alien, Advanced
Intern McCoy. His second extrasolar
assignment, his first medical command. Draymia
bustling, alive, thriving. Dramia II
a bleak, chill world, but promising. Willing
giants, fish-eyed their nervous children already his own
size.
  STAR TREK [tilde Sly 19
  Weeks of boredom, routine, of looking at
nothing but alien arms his crew anxious to move on
to another assignment, more challenging, nearer home, with
better opportunities for advancement.
  Nineteen years. What had those hundreds of
inoculations been for? What had been the
  contents of those ampules? An impurity
  overlooked, an imperfection in sealing what? He
had known so little then, and now he knew so much. If
he could only go back, go back.
  "I wish I could be as sure, Jim," a voice
vaguely like his own finally murmured.
  Conversation in the room died, and with McCoy's
words, something inside Kirk died a little, too.
  At least the cell they put him in was comfortable.
  It had no bars, and the larger chamber was no more than
normally oppressive, as jails went. The
furnishings within the cell were simple, but at least they
were sized to McCoy's non-Draymian
  proportions.
  I lust can't be positive," he was
mumbling from behind the lightly radiant force-field.
He had been talking to himself like that ever since Demos
and a patrol of oversized Draymians had
escorted him to this forlorn waiting place.
  - "Is it possible that I somehow was, somehow am
re
  sponsible for the his
  "Ridiculous!" Kirk objected sharply
  "There is surely," Spock added with his usual
assurance, "ample reason to believe that the termination
of your inoculation program and the subsequent outbreak
of plague on the Dramia II colony is
coincidence."
  "There's also ample reason to believe that it was a
tragic mistake of some kind on my part,"
McCoy whispered.
  "I don't buy that, Bones," Kirk said
thinly. "I'm not gomg to sit around and let someone
else sell it to the Federation, either."
  "You have something in mind, Captain," Spock
responded. It was not a question.
  Kirk turned. "A little pretrail investigation,
Mr Spock. A bit of harmless fact
  gathering independent fact gathering to aid
Draymian justice." He gestured.
  One of the several guards in the chamber moved to the
wall, touched a series of switches on a small
hand 20
  STAR TREK L tilde Sly 21
  control. The secondary force-field vanished, and
Kirk and Spock moved clear. The guard touched
another combination and the backup field flamed up again,
leaving McCoy totally isolated.
  Kirk flipped open his communicator without a
backward glance. "Kirk to Enterprise beam us
up, Mr. Scott."
  "How many, Captain?"
  "Two. Just two, Mr. Scott."
  "Captain," the chief engineer's voice began,
"I think his
  "Beam up, Scotty now," Kirk repeated.
  "Aye, sir."
  The twin dissolution that followed was colorful, not
destructive. McCoy was left alone in his
cell. Well, not entirely alone.
  The single guard who remained after Kirk and
Spock had departed strolled over and peered
curiously at the prisoner. He knew of the
Terran's reputed crime. It was an honor to be
one of those assigned to watch him, to be one
of the few designated to see to his health so he would
be fit and well for the trial.
  McCoy did not object to serving as the bug in
an alien bottle. He was too depressed to think
coherently about anything save his own sudden, shocking
change of fortune.
  "Your friends may scour the surface of Dramia
TI to the bedrock," the guard informed the despondent
figure within the cage. "They will find nothing to save
you. We are a civilized race. Our court
system is swift and efficient." In the manner of
all jailers, he grinned at his own ironic
joke.
  As is universally the case with prisoners
subjected to such humor, McCoy did not find it
amusing.
  Words alternated with pictures alternated with
charts. Sometimes all three combined on the lab
screen to form an especially brilliant and
impressive display. The men studying it now were not
interested in superficialities, however. They were
hunting desperately for a clue to a friend's
salvation" and they were not having much luck.
  . .
  22 STAR TRE-GO Log Six
  Kirk moved from a small computer annex
  which was connected to the central computer to stare at the
other screen over Spock's shoulder. While
Spock was running backward through time, the captain was
triple checking the legal fine points of the Federation
warrant to no avail. It was as solid as a
warp-drive equation.
  "Anything yet, Mr. Spock?"
  "No, Captain." The first officer did not turn
from the steady flow of information pouring across the screen in
front of him. "Our historical records for the
Draymian system are few, going back barely
two standard decades. Dr. McCoy's medical
team was one of the first Federation groups to visit here."
  "Kind of unusual, isn't it for a medical team
to be called into a new system so soon after initial
contact is opened?"
  "Yes, Captain. But apparently the
Draymian need was considerable. Understandably
Starfleet felt that if we did not respond to their
request for assistance, someone else might be only
too happy to oblige. The Klingons, for
example."
  "Granted," Kirk admitted. As usual,
Spocl tilde s assessment of the situation
was infallible.
  "Most of the information available on early Federation
contact with the Draymians comes from the tech nical
survey teams planetary and solar data,
geophysical statistics the usual enormous
mass of pure information which takes many years
to properly integrate and codify for easy computer
retrieval."
  Abruptly the rapid stream of litres and words
froze on screen. Spock pressed another
switch and several significant paragraphs
blossomed into easily readable lines.
  DRAMIA n, LOCAL COLONIZATION,
  HISTORY OP.
  "It's about time," Kirk muttered.
  The two officers ran through a mass of detail
until they came to: Plague, Dramia 11,
colony of Drarmia. Origin unknown, characterised
by pigmentation shift in skin of victim, debilitation,
followed by the onset of terminal coma.
  Theoretically can affect several species of
humanoid including man, quorman, and others.
  STAR TREK Log Six 23
  Those dead from exposure included corpsman
Micheau Pochenko, anesthesiologist
Severin Alonzo Hart.
  Spock glanced back at Kirk. "It appears
that two of Dr. McCoy's own team also died from the
plague. Our Draymian hosts neglected
to mention that. Certain species," he read, turning
back to the screen, "believed to be naturally
immune, notably Tauran and Vulcan.
Interesting."
  "Go on, Mr. Spock," Kirk prompted,
ignoring the parade of legalese across his own, now
unwatched screen . . .
  Done with taunting the unresponsive prisoner,
the guard reported to Demos what he'd overheard
when the murderer had spoken with his two superiors.
  "You are certain?"
  "Yes, my commander," the guard insisted stiffly.
"The Federation Captain is planning to visit
Dramia II to gather material negative to our
case against human filth, McCoy."
  "Thank you, guard. Speak of this to no one else,
please. You may leave."
  "It shall be as you desire, Commander." The guard
saluted and left.
  Demos sat thinking for several minutes. There was
no telling what distortion of truth the clever
Federation officers might glean from the poor, blighted
ruin of Dramia II. But the people of Draymia had
waited stoically for their revenge these past years.
He, Demos, was not about to see them deprived of it.
Whatever tricks, whatever perversion of logic
Captain Kirk could concoct from the ruined colony
must not go unobserved. And this was not something he could
trust to underlings.
  He activated a switch within the bonelike mass
of the desk, a switch that didn't appear to exist.
  "Ready my personal skiff immediately . . ."
  Kirk was aware he was proceeding without proper
authority. But he wasn't about to contact Starfleet
for permission after all, that proper authority had
issued the damning warrant in the first place. They
could call
  24 STAR TREK Log Six
  him on the deck afterward after he had proven
Bones" innocence.
  "Estimated time of arrival, Mr. Sulu9"
  Sulu checked a readout, reported, "Four
hours ship tune, sir."
  com"...Move it up a little if the computer can handle the
acceleration compensation. The Draymians will probably
stick to their normal courtroom procedure.
However, this is a special case to them, and they may
be interested in rushing it to completion. Also, we've no
idea how long it may take us to turn up proof of
Bones' innocence
  "Demos, their security chief, emphasised the
civilized nature of his people. But if it becomes
public information that the government is now holding the
being they consider responsible for the extinction of their
sole off-planet colony, I wouldn't be
surprised to see a spirit of vigilantism take
over."
  "Do not confuse human and alien motivation,
Caps fain," advised Spock.
  "I wish that were a uniquely human tendency,
Mr. Spock. Unfortunately, it appears from
stellar history that we've no monopoly on mob
law."
  "Unfortunate, indeed, Captain."
  Spock's observation had ramifications that Kirk
would have liked to pursue but the captain's thoughts were
interrupted by a call from the helm.
  "Ship in pursuit, Captain."
  "Origin?"
  Sulu hurriedly checked sensors.
"Undoubtedly from Draymia, sir. I'm
running the recorder back here it is, no bigger
than a two-man scout his
  "Full magnification of the aft screen."
  "I'm on full, sir."
  Kirk squinted at the screen, which showed only
distant stars. "I don't see anything, Mr.
Sulu."
  "No, sir. Sensors had it for only a moment.
The ship apparently was following just out of maximum
scanner range. When we suddenly
  increased our speed, its pilot jumped to stay with
us and for a second or two, over tilde compensated.
He's dropped back out of detector range
again."
  STAR TREK So 25
  "But not transmission range," Uhura
observed. "Shall I attempt contact, Captain?"
  "No, Lieutenant, not just yet."
  "May I inquire as to the reason?" This from a
curious Spock.
  "We seem to have two choices, Mr. Spock.
We can let this busybody who is obviously out
to make things difficult for us, else he wouldn't be
skulking about our stern continue to think he's succeeding
at his game. Or we can try to make things
easier for him."
  "Easier, Captain? I fail to understand."
  "He could certainly cause us more trouble at a
crucial moment by sneaking aboard. That would be
simple for him to do since we've carelessly left
open the doors to the Shuttiecraft Bay."
  "Captain, the doors aren't open," Uhura
pointed out.
  "Oh, yes take care of that little undersight, will you,
Mr. Sulu? Mr. Spock, issue a general
order all internal lights near exterior ports,
all observation lounge illumination, to be
  extinguished.
  "As far as I know, no Draymian has ever
been aboard a Federation cruiser while it was in
transit. They know as little about us as we do about them.
I'd like to give the impression that most of the crew is
offduty, asleep."
  "Anyone approaching would assume, we still have
automatic detectors operational, Captain."
  "Any representative of a seasoned
  space-traveling race would, Mr. Spock. But
the Draymians are new at this. Besides, we've
already given in to their demands to hand over Bones. Why
would we have defensive screens up within their
system, when we've already shown we abide by the law?
  "Whoever's back there is convinced he's eluded us
so far. Let's at least give him the opportunity
to elude us a little farther . .."
  The lights went out aboard the great starship. On
board his small skiff, Demos saw them fade.
  He only had suppositions about Federation
habits with which to judge the situation. but there had been
no sign from the cruiser that his presence had been de
  26 STAR TREK LOG Six
  tected yet. If it had, he couldn't understand not
receiving at least a querulous hail. So the decision
he reached was precisely the one Kirk was hoping he
would.
  He edged his tiny vessel ahead slowly at first,
then, as silence continued, with increasing confidence. If
the big ship's hangar doors were not automatic,
he would be forced to use a suit.
  The skiff slid silently into the cavernous hold
and settled to a stop. Atmospheric considerations
vanished when the hangar doors closed behind him and
gauges monitored the rise of air pressure
outside. The hold was empty of personnel, but not
of concealment. Demos slipped his craft between two
others, concealing it from all but direct view.
In size and shape it did not differ enough from a Federation
scout to immediately catch the attention of some idly
strolling crew member. Of course, these were all
  rationalizalions. But the chance to actually inspect
the inner workings of a Federation battle cruiser was too
tempting to Demos' martial mentality for him
to pass by.
  Let him have two time-parts . . . one even . .
.
  He found the door leading to the first access
corridor and peered cautiously through the transparent
port set in its upper third. The passageway
beyond was deserted. Opening the door and stooping
slightly to avoid the overhead arch, he made his
way into the empty main corridor.
  If he could just find someplace to secrete himself
for a while till he got his bearings . . .
  The next doorway had no port. He would have
to take a chance. The opening mechanism was clearly
marked and easily operated. He activated it and the
door slid aside.
  Reflexively, he reached for the weapon at his
belt.
  "Not now, Demos, you're hardly in a position
to take on the entire crew," Kirk
murmured evenly.
  The hand dipping toward the gun relaxed, continued
smoothly onwards to scratch at an imaginary itch
on his leg.
  "And you," he countered with a touch of impa
  STAR TREK LOG SiIt 27
  tienceea"...are not in authority to conduct an
investigation in this system."
  Kirk's tone was conciliatory as he turned
to his first officer. "You will remind me to report my
unbecoming attitude to the Federation, won't you,
Spock?"
  "Of course, Captain."
  "I demand you report to your superiors now, and that
I be permitted to sit in on his
  "Actually, Demos," Kirk interrupted,
"you're hardly in a position to demand much of anything.
But I'll surprise you, I think, by saying that
I'll happily oblige. Unfortunately,
we're out of communications range with Starfieet
Central at the moment."
  "Report to the nearest Starbase, then his
  "Sorry, you asked me to report to my
superiors. By your own admission, exceeding our
authority .ffccduct this type of investigation
is a matter for consideration at the highest levels.
And I wouldn't think of insulting you by laying the matter
before some minor functionary."
  "Then, I myself will proceed to your Starbase and
report this violation for you." Demos turned and
started back down the corridor, feeling strangely
flat eyes on the back of his head.
  "I'm afraid your ship has been impounded,
Commander, for your own protection."
  Demos whirled, furious. "My own protec his
  "You'd never reach Starbase with it."
  "So you say," Demos muttered angrily. "Just
as you say you are out of communications range with your
Central Headquarters."
  "Yes, and there's something else I say," Kirk
went on, now even more firmly.
  "You are a stowaway, Commander," Spock
  informed the angry security chief. "You are in
violation, I believe, of one of your own laws."
  Demos started to say something, but his words became
tangled as a sudden realisation of his situation set
in. "You planned it . . . you planned this so that it
would appear legal, so that my abduction would not seem
to break any laws."
  "We merely offered you the chance to realize
your
  28 STAR TREK Log Six
  own desires, Demos," Kirk replied
firmly. "I seem to recall a similar course
of action recently taken against a Federation citizen
by your own
  government. You wouldn't happen to remember the name
of that unlucky individual, would you? His name was
McCoy, Leonard McCoy. Maybe
  now you can sympathize with his situation a little more,
Commander. In fact, I'd think you'd begin
to acquire a personal interest in x.i'
  "I have a personal interest in seeing justice
done," Demos snapped, drawing himself up.
  "Excellent." Kirk turned to leave. "Mr.
Spock, see to the Commander's comfort. It's good to hear
he's after the same thing we are . . ."
  Dramia II loomed on the screen before them, a
brown and red crescent splotched only fitfully with
greens and blues. A harsh-looking world on which to try
to mold a new civilization.
  The Draymians had been courageous enough to try.
They had been rewarded with death and desolation.
  Ironically, the vacuum surrounding that stark
planet blazed with beauty. Dramia II
swam in the midst of one of the massive deep-space
auroras for which the Dramian system had first been
noted. Brilliant reds, purples, and blues
glowed under powerful bombardment from Dramia's sun,
forming a fiery curtain in space. Several shifting,
metallic streamers draped themselves across the planet,
masking portions of it with ionized glory.
  "Lovely phenomenon."
  "Yes, Captain," Spock agreed. "According
to records, it is one of several such scattered through
the system. It was the highlight of the first Federation
survey here." He nodded toward the screen.
  "This band of particulate matter is the farthest out from
the sun itself."
  "I see. Surface radiation level, Mr.
Sulu?"
  "Still working on it, Captain."
  A moment, then, "I see the figures,"
Spock reported. "The level is strong, but
nowhere lethal. There are some as yet unclassifiable
aspects to the readings obtained where one of the aurora!
streamers intersects the atmosphere of Dramia
II, which his
  STAR TRBK LOG six 29
  Kirk cut him short. "We'll have time
for research after we secure Dr. McCoy's
release."
  "Yes, Captain."
  Nearby, Demos made a derisive sound.
  "AU I'm concerned about is that it's safe for us
to beam down," Kirk continued. "Since it appears
to be . .-. shall we, gentlemen?" He rose from the
command chair and started for the elevator door, followed
by Spock and Demos.
  Scott was waiting for them in me transporter
room. He voiced his own concerns immediately.
  "Are you sure it's safe, Captain?"
  "As safe as our sensors are sure, Scotty.
Absolutely."
  "Not absolutely, Captain: Our sensing
  equipment is never absolutely sure,"
Spock corrected.
  Kirk grinned, looked over at Demos who was
studying the transporter alcove with what seemed like
momentary hesitation.
  "Mr. Spock, you're not trying to scare our
Draymian comrade, are you? You can still remain
aboard if you wish, Commander."
  The Draymian chief of security stared evenly
back at him. "I came to make certain you
  fabricated no intricate lies, Captain
Kirk. I go."
  He stepped up into the transporter and
  assumed a somewhat cramped pose of readiness.
  "You heard him, Mr. Scott. Energize."
  Scott looked unhappy, but set about the
familiar operation. He adjusted the necessary switches,
pulled the requisite levers. There was the familiar
whine of complaining atoms, and the three figures were
gone . . .
  Three pillars of shattered crystal solidified
on the sandy surface and shaped themselves into upright
containers of intelligence.
  Kirk stumbled slightly on rematerialization the
surface underfoot was loose and windblown. Part of the
region they had set down in was still verdant.
Trees and hedgerows of Draymian flora had
been planted here.
  But the irrigation systems head broken down under
nineteen years of neglect. The desert had
encroached
  30 STAR TREK Log Six
  ever more boldly on what had once been the
fertile periphery of the two colony towns.
  Around them lay the battered, partially
decomposed remains of homes and warehouses and
offices evidence of angry winds, of sand pitted
against walls. Dunes were piled up to the sills of
windows devoid of glass, which stared with vacant
sockets at the advancing drifts.
  Here and there were signs of old fires. Kirk
hoped they had been caused by natural means and not
by the last vestiges of isolated, panicked
sentience. Reversion from civilisation to barbarism in a
single generation was never very pretty, no matter which world
was involved.
  The physical detritus was sobering. He could
imagine what that final, plague-rotted collapse
must have been like. Still, it was one thing to imagine and quite
another to stand in the midst of such imaginings. His
quota of sympathy for the Draymians went up
another notch, though the sight of this graveyard of
hopes did nothing to shake his confidence in
McCoy's innocence.
  "Not the most enchanting scene I've ever beheld,"
he finally murmured.
  "Plague seldom leaves behind fields of
flowers and dancing children, Captain."
  Kirk glared angrily at the security chief,
who simply stared over the Captain's head
with the serene gaze of the self-righteous. Spock raised
an eyebrow.
  "There must have been local medical
  facilities one central hospital, at least'
I would assume they are less severely damaged
than these structures here, as logic dictates they
would be the last buildings to be abandoned. It would be a
good place to beandin our search."
  Again, Demos made that strange Draymian
shrug. "As you wish. This is so hopeless. Why not
depart our system in peace, now, and leave destiny
to take its inevitable courser"
  "I'm afraid," Kirk said tightly, "that
inevitable is a word I'm not familiar with. If you
could direct us . . . ?"
  Demos turned and pointed toward a slightly
higher cluster of ruins Iying near the
  approximate center of the first town.
  ,
  STAR TREK LOG Six 31
  "That must be what remains of the
  communications station. According to Draymian town plan
the medical facilities should have been built several
blocks further north and a little to the east.".
  Kirk nodded curtly, and they slogged off
through thick sand in the indicated direction. Soon after
they started their progress improved as the clinging sand
gave way to pockmarked but still serviceable pavement.
  They were in the outskirts of the town proper when they
noticed something moving on their right moving sharply and
jerkily, it was neither subtle nor inconspicuous.
All three marchers saw it. Surprisingly, it was
Demos who looked fearful while they surveyed the
rubble.
  "Some danger?" Kirk wondered. Demos'
eyes studied the rim of the debris with practiced
skill.
  "If you remember, Captain Kirk, I said that
nearly everyone on Dramia II was killed. There
were reports of some survivors by later survey
crews which did not touch down, of course. I think
"survivors" is an overly optimistic
classification for any pitiful souls forever marooned
here.
  "One drone was sent down some eight years ago.
It was at that time that these survivors acquired a
reputation for not liking outsiders."
  "Hardly surprising," Spock commented, "in
view of what they must fee]. They could not be
expected to act logically. But surely you
cannot be considered an outsider, Commander. You are as
Draymian as they. I should think the sight of a
fellow being would fill them with pleasure."
  "The sight of a fellow Draymian might,"
Demos replied, with a bitter half-chuckle. "But
there are no Draymians left on this world . . . not
as we know them. The gulf between us now is that which
separates the living and the walking dead."
  There was more movement to the far right of the crumbled wall
they were watching. Kirk would never have noticed it had
he not been looking idly at that exact spot when the
figure decided to abandon the area.
  "Walking dead he may be but he still has some spirit
left in him. He mustn't get awayl"
  32 STAR TREK L tilde So
  Kirk started on the run after the retreating biped.
Spock moved up quickly alongside. Demos
hesitated for several long seconds. Apparently
deciding it would be better to go along than remain
alone in the open street, he raced after them.
Enormous strides quickly caught him up to the two
smaller men.
  Had the figure been healthy it undoubtedly could
have lost its pursuers easily in the maze of
tumbling walls and hollowed-out structures.
The few glances they had of it showed it to be ragged and
hunched. It ran with a peculiar loping gait.
  "There, Captain," Spock husked, "it went
around that mound."
  The mound had once served as the foundation for a higher,
silo-like building. Now it was all crumbled in on
itself, a concrete caldera. Sharp-edged blocks of
broken masonry protruded here and there from the
circular heap.
  They rounded the hillock and came to a
  sudden halt on the other side. The pavement here
was open for several meters in every direction, save where
the furrowed brow of a cliff-faced hill backed
into the town. There were no structures, tumbled or
otherwise, that their limping quarry could have reached in time
to conceal himself before they had rounded the ruin.
  "I was afraid of that," Kirk panted. "He's
got some secret cubbyhole he's slipped into.
Almost looks like someone pulled him out with a
  transporter."
  "Hardly likely, Captain," Spock
observed drily. He moved toward the cliff-face
while Demos and Kirk stood surveying the nearest
ruins.
  "I believe your initial supposition was
correct, Captain," Spock soon called
to them. They walked over to where he stood, staring into a
vertical slit in the naked stone.
  The crevice wasn't wide, but by turning
sideways and holding his breath, a Draymian could
squeeze through. It would be easier for Kirk and
Spock.
  Spreading out as far as possible to cover one
another, the two officers from the Enterprise
approached the opening. Nothing inorganic and
unpleasant issued to meet them.
  STAR TREK Log Six 33
  They started in. It grew darker ... and then it
didn't.
  "Light inside," Kirk murmured softly.
"Can't be a cave, then."
  "Possibly one whose roof has collapsed
wholly or partially," his first officer theorized. They
continued to edge forward, hugging the cold rock wall.
A grainy tenor sounded behind them.
  "I would advise against this, Captain," Demos
said. "Uramia II is little visited. We have no
idea what kind of mutations the plague may have
spawned among the local life-forms, of which several
. . ."
  "Save the biology lecture, Demos. You
won't mind if I ignore your advice."
  "Extreme caution in this restricted area would
seem advisable, Captain."
  "I'll watch myself, Spock, but I'm not going
to lose that survivor. There may not be any others
nearby, and we haven't much time. Also, if this one
escapes, he may warn others of our presence.
We may never spot another one."
  The captain moved forward steadily, trying to make
as little noise on the gravel underfoot as possible.
"Bones' life is on the line, Mr. Spock.
I don't mindtaking a few risks."
  The light dimmed until it was almost dark, but it
never died entirely. Ahead he could detect
patches of brightness. A few more steps, and Kirk
emerged into a broad chamber.
  Spock had been right. They stood in a cave whose
ceiling had collapsed in places. The floor was
dotted with mounds of fallen roof. He looked around,
but there was no sign of their quarry.
  Water waxed the rock dark and shiny where it issued
in a steady trickle from cracks in a rock face.
The tiny rivulets formed a small pool. Shade
from the desert sun, protection from
unrestricted carnivores, and water. His senses
sharpened this had to be their limb ing refugee's
home. Kirk hoped they hadn't scared him out of it.
  "Captain . . . are you all right?" Kirk
snapped back
  34 STAR TREK Log Six
  to wakefulness, aware that Spock and Demos were
waiting for his okay to proceed.
  "All clear, Mr. Spock, come ahead."
Kirk walked to the edge of the pool, nudged a pile
of charred wood with his foot. "Cave dwellers,"
he muttered, "in a civilization as high as
Draymia's."
  "The result of your Dr. McCoy and his
civilised medicine," the security chief
responded coldly. Kirk whirled.
  "Look, Demos, I'm getting a mite sick
of your steady accusations. Until you can prove his
  A shadow suddenly detached itself from its dark
companions and flung itself forward. It was no less
gargoylish in form than its inorganic brothers.
  At one time it had doubtless been intelligent an
intelligence now transcended by the madness shining in its
eyes. It landed just behind Kirk, knocking him to the
ground, and began flailing at him in
frantic, howling anguish.
  Momentarily stunned, Kirk couldn't dislodge his
assailant, because of the latter's sheer bulk and
unthink
  - ing rage. Fortunately, the same blind fury
that drove the pitiable specimen to attack Kirk
saved the captain from any serious harm, for the
Draymian struck aimlessly, with neither skill nor
design. Thus Kirk was able to shield himself from all
the wild blows until Spock and Demos could
wrestle the hysterical figure away.
  The captain rolled over, his only injury a
lack of breath.
  "Captain . . ."
  "Okay, Spock ... I'm okay. He
wanted to hurt me more than he actually did."
  "And why do you think he attacked you,
  Captain?" asked Demos, struggling to restrain
the gradually subsiding madman.
  Kirk got to his feet, spoke slowly. "I
was the nearest to his hiding place." Demos
indicated the negative.
  "You are also the only human among us, Captain
Kirk. Don't attempt to evade the obvious.
You were attacked because you are human as is
Dr. McCoy."
  Damn you, Demos, Kirk cried silently.
And damn this whole insane system. But he said
nothing, merely
  STAR TREK LOG SIX 35
  dusted his uniform and moved to study the captive.
Pear had been replaced on the latter's face
by re- morse, anger by sorrow and misery; and that
initial cry of fury became an utterly
heart-rending whimper. Clearly the creature was no
longer a threat.
  "Let him go," Kirk whispered.
  "Are you sure, Captain?" Spock asked.
  Kirk stared into the captive's eyes. They
didn't meet his own. Instead they were focused on
some other, greater horror now one too distant
to encompass the three figures around him.
  Cautiously, Demos and Spock turned
Kirk's assailant loose. That tortured soul
turned, took two steps, and fell to his knees.
He dropped onto his side and just lay there, moaning
and sobbing uncontrollably.
  Now Kirk knew they had to find absolute,
incontrovertible proof that Bones was innocent.
Supposition and verbal reasoning were not going
to sway the decision of people who had been subjected
to reports of this kind of emotional and mental
destruction.
  Nevertheless, he couldn't keep from voicing the inner
certainty that kept him going.
  "Demos, you've got to believe me. Dr.
McCoy could never be responsible for something like . .
. Iike that." He gestured to where the insane being
gibbered mindlessly on the stone floor.
  "Good intentions cannot wipe out the existence of evil
results, Captain."
  "But how did this one survive the plague?"
Kirk wondered aloud, when an especially
tortured howl rose from the no-longer-dangerous
survivor.
  Demos explained. "He and a few others were
away, on the home world and elsewhere, when the plague
struck. They returned before they could be stopped,
to find everyone they'd known loved ones, companions,
everyone dead of the plague.
  "They chose to remain, to live here in the home they
had once known." The security chief's voice was
close to cracking. "Nineteen years of grief there
are worse plagues than those caused by germs. You
see now, Captain Kirk, there were no
actual survivors on Dramia II.
  Ill
  "I thought I heard sounds of fighting, and
voices!"
  The words that penetrated to the startled listeners were
clear and strong, ringing loud in the cave.
  "You're wrong, whoever you are," it continued. "There
was at least one survivor."
  A tall Draymian was walking toward them,
climbing over a rocky hillock formed by part of the
fallen ceiling His clothes were ragged, his countenance
worn, but otherwise he resembled Demos far more
than he did the twisted figure rolling about on the
cave fioor.
  "I was not found by any of the observation parties, nor
by the crews of those ships which came to leave the mourners
here. But I survived the plague by what miracle
I do not know. I'd given up hope of ever being
rescued."
  "You must remember what it was like, then," Kirk
began excitedly. "During the plague ... you can
tell
  us."
  "I remember," the newcomer nodded, oblivious
to Demos" unbelieving stare. "I
remember the people around me, even the doctors, turning
blue, then green, and finally a dull red color,
collapsing, strength ebbing,
  He stopped, his strong voice fading, the last
softly whispered words echoing down hidden pathways in
the cave.
  "The pigmentation changes associated with the disease,
as mentioned in the records, Captain," Spock
commented.
  Kirk nodded quickly, keeping his attention focused

  STAR TRER [tilde SW 37
  on the survivor. "You must remember," he
asked anxiously, "before the plague struck, there was
a visiting mission here from the Federation, a medical
mission that included humans among its personnel.
  "They were led by a man named McCoy Dr.
Leonard McCoy. He was responsible for seeing
to the vaccination of the entire colony. He must have
treated you too ... or at least overseen your
treatment. Do you remember him?"
  Kirk had no idea what to expect from the
long-isolated alien, surviving amidst the ruins
of a forgotten colony and its unstable inhabitants.
Some hesitation, surely a first imperfect
attempt at resurrecting a faint memory of a
distasteful past.
  Instead, the survivor brightened immediately and spoke
as though he were talking of yesterday.
  "A Terran physician, young of course, I
remember Dr. McCoy. How could I forget the
being who saved my life?"
  Despite social and physical interspecies
differences, the glances that passed then among Kirk,
Demos and Spock needed no interpretation.
  "Then that is also the man," Demos finally declared,
"who is responsible for the death of this colony." And
he waved at the surrounding
  desolation.
  The survivor was neither intimidated nor
impressed as one might expect of a being who had
successfully survived among the corpses of
thousands, living and dead. He stared evenly back at
the Commander of Draymian security.
  "We knew little of the Federation and its various
races, those many years ago," he began slowly.
"It has been a long time. Perhaps we know more of them
now. But I believe that even those many triads ago
we knew that the differences between us were not great.
  "Although I knew this Dr. McCoy very
briefly, I think I came to know him well. I
cannot believe you are speaking of the same person who
saved my life." The survivor looked thoughtful,
reminiscing.
  "At times he appeared less than positive,
yes, and sometimes gave the impression of hesitation.
But he
  38 STAR TREK Log Six
  did everything with a kindness and concern for the afflicted that
was honest. You, Commander whoeveryou-are . . ."
  "Demos, of Draymian Internal
Security."
  "Well, Demos, Commander of Draymian
  Security, I, Kolti, think you have the wrong
man," he concluded firmly. "One who saves
does not also murder."
  Demos threw Kolti a stare of frustration and
anger; but the survivor had seen far worse things
these past years than the gaze of the overbearing
security chief. He gave no sign of altering his
story or his regard for Dr. McCoy.
  A smile had replaced Kirk's concerned stare.
Spock's eyebrows ascended as the captain
  inquired, "So you're certain it was this Dr.
McCoy who saved you?"
  "Indeed, this is so."
  "It's been several lifetimes for you, Kolti,"
Kirk oWill served, eyeing the tall Draymian
appraisingly, "and I kneaow you're anxious to be
home."
  "I've outgrown impatience," Kolti told
them softly.
  - "You look like the sort of intelligent being who
would place certain things above personal comfort.
You've heard what your security chief says.
Dr. McCoy saved your life. Not many have an
opportunity to repay such a debt. You do. tilde
  "Will you delay your return to friends and family
long enough to help clear his name and prevent a permanent
stain from entering the annals of Draymian justice?"
  "I would not be here to be offered the choice were it not for
your Dr. McCoy. I will do whatever you ask of
me."
  Kirk nodded. He had his proof . . . committed
proof, from a source which could neither be argued with nor
intimidated. He pulled out the communicator.
  "Mr. Scott . . . beam us aboard, all
four of us. And quickly we may have spent too much time
here already."
  "Aye aye, sir," came the chief
engineer's enthusiastic response.
  Near the back of the cavern, by broken shards of
  STAR TREK Log Six 39
  limestone and shale, a rocking, moaning figure
suddenly rolled upright and ceased its whimpers as the
miracle took place before its eyes. Fragments
of the sun appeared and swallowed up the four
figures.
  It was over quickly. Then he was alone in his cave
again with the nearby water and approaching night . . .
  Kirk was stepping down from the alcove and speaking as
soon as full reintegration finished.
  "Get me the Bridge, Mr. Scott."
Scott activated the transporter console
intercom, stepped aside as Kirk took up station
behind it.
  "Sulu, Arex, get under way immediately. Back
to Draymia, at top intersystem speed."
  Acknowledgment came back over the speaker, and
Kirk clicked off, then saw Scott staring at the
ragged but unbent Kolti.
  "I know you told me to beam up four, and four I
beamed up, Captain. But, who is that?"
  "A Dramian friend of Dr. McCoy's."
  "A Dramian friend . . . ?"
  Scott broke off in astonishment but continued
to gaze open-mouthed at Kolti. The survivor
stepped gingerly from the transporter alcove and stared
in amazement around him. Scott walked around the
console and extended a hand to the bemused alien.
  "I don't know where you've been hiding yourself,
laddie, but somehow I get the feelin' you've got
to be a clan member in good standin'. What's your
tartan like?"
  "Clan member . . . tartan?" Kolti
wondered aloud as Kirk and Spock conducted him
toward the turbolift, with Demos trailing along.
  "Merely Mr. Scott's way of saying that we
find in you a kindred spirit which heretofore has seemed
lacking in your people." Spock turned pensive. "We
may still be too late to save Dr. McCoy.
Even if we are not, your testimony may not be enough
to shift the tide of feeling which has been raised against
him. But there is historical
  precedent instances where the courage of one has been
enough to overcome the reckless emo- tionalism of
many."
  40 STAR TRER Log Six
  "Spock's trying to say," Kirk explained
tautly, "that we think you've got the guts
to go through with this." He waved off Kolti's reply.
"Be modest later, after we've saved McCoy.
For now, Mr. Spock, conduct Kolti to Sick
Bay. Have Nurse Chapel check him out
completely. Pull everything we've got on
Draymian medicine. And see that he has anything
he wants."
  "I would settle, Captain Kirk," Kolti
murmured, "for some food and a clean bed."
  Kirk nodded, turned back to Scott. "I
want you to push the navigation computer, Scotty.
Get us to Draymia as fast as posible overshoot,
if necessary. Minutesmay count. The Draymians,"
he finished, glancing up at Demos, "are
impatient for their revenge."
  "Most assuredly," the security chief
confirmed.
  "I'll pour on the coal, Captain," Scott
grinned.
  They were ten minutes out from Dramia II and
nearing Drayrnia when Kirk finally relaxed from the
hysteria of last-minute emergency
  preparations long enough to check with Sick Bay.
  "Mr. Spock, are you still with our patient?"
  "Affirmative, Captain," the calm
voice came back.
  "How's he doing?"
  "A moment, Captain ..." Spock glanced
back to where Kolti was sleeping the sleep of the
exhausted in the infirmary bed behind him.
  Only Spock had noticed how utterly
fatigued their passenger was. He had gone along
with the other's pose, admiring the silent fortitude as
he had answered questions for both Kirk and then
Chapel. As was the case with most sophonts, his
expression was far more truthful in sleep.
  Chapel hurried past him, to adjust the
  makeshift instrumentation rigged over the slumberer's
bed.
  "He appears to be in reasonably good health
though terribly debilitated and worn out. At the
moment he is resting quietly. A brave man,
Captain."
  "Brave enough to he the unimpeachable witness we
need, I hope," Kirk replied. He glanced
up at the main viewscreen. Their truncated
course was taking them through the body of one of the
magnificent intersystem auroras. "Let's
hope the trial hasn't already begun."
  STAR TREK L tilde Sly 41
  Sulu spoke to him. "Approaching Draymia
orbit, sir."
  "You heard, Spock? I think we can get
Demos to beam down to put a hold on the
proceedings long enough until our witness is fit
to appear before a legal assemblage and to answer
  questions."
  "The trial may be academic, Captain."
  Kirk sat straighter in his chair. Spock's
voice had abruptly taken on a new tone, even
as always but touched now with a faint twinge of . . .
worry?
  "What's the trouble, Mr. Spock?"
  At the other end of the comm, the Erzterprise's first
officer was once more studying the sleeping Kolti. The
survivor of Dramia II still rested quietly .
. . but the expression on his face was no longer
content. Nor was that the most noticeable change in his
features.
  "Captain, Kolti is turning blue."
  Very blue. Normally a creamy chalcedony in
color, the alien's skin had shifted to a pale
shade of cerulean. The color shift might have
seemed amusing to some, at worst worrying. But the
implications were neither of a humorous nor of a
mildly upsetting nature. The implications were
deadly.
  Especially for one Leonard McCoy,
M.d., USSIT
  Kirk touched the switch and the door dilated,
admitting him to Sick Bay. Followed closely
by Spock and Demos, he rushed to the quarantine
chamber where Kolti had been isolated hurriedly.
Chapel was at the Draymian's bedside, taking
readings with a modified medical tricorder.
  "I'm sorry, Captain," she finally said.
"Everything correlates with the readings the built-ins
give. I have no idea what . . ."
  "Plague!" Demos gasped after only a quick
glance at the prone Draymian.
  Kirk spun on the security chief. If there was
any foul play at work here, any attempt to offer
up McCoy as scapegoat by eliminating his only
convincing witness . . . His suspicions were dulled
by two things the fear in the commander's voice and the
expression on his face. Not even a master
Draymian thespian, he suspect
  42 STAR TREK Log Six
  ed, could have managed to conjure up a look of such
pure terror.
  "Seal off this entire infirmary, Lieutenant
Chapel. No one else is to be admitted, no
one is to leave." Chapel darted to the nearest
intercom to issue the requisite order, all the
while working with the recaLibrated tricorder.
  Spock was bent over the motionless form of Kolti.
"I know little Draymian physiology, Captain,
and even less of their reactions to specific diseases.
But consider that Kolti has been through nearly twenty
of our years of extreme privation. When brought
aboard he was weak, undernourished and on the verge of
physical collapse.
  "Now .. . this. Plague or not, he is no
longer in a condition to submit testimony at any
kind of trial."
  "We've got to save him," Kirk added
quietly.
  Demos smirked. "For McCoy's sake."
  "Yes, for McCoy's sake!" Kirk shot
back angrily "And for Kolti's sake, too."
He stood close to the Draymian officer and stared
up at the towering biped, for all the world like a terrier
challenging a mastiff.
  "You see, Commander, we place considerable value
on lives other than our own. Does that
shock you?"
  Demos was suddenly tongue-tied. Kirk's
  reaction had been unexpectedly violent. Or
maybe it was the human's smaller size and
controlled politeness which had deceived him till now.
He could only begin to stammer, "It is not that . .
."
  His jaw dropped and his pop-eyes bulged
frighteningly.
  Kirk studied him curiously. Surely the
brief outburst couldn't have stunned him this much.
  "Captain . . ." There was something in Spock's
voice . . .
  Kirk wasn't sure where the impulse
originated, but he had a sudden urge to look down
at
  himself. He held up his hands, then slowly turned
them over. The palms were blue. Recently
  examined records welled up in his mind.
  Certain species, such as Tauran and
Vulcan, are immune. Others ... The thought died
away as he
  STAR TREK LOG Six 43
  finished, to himself, "dis . . such as human, are . .
. not."
  com"...Chapel . . . Lieutenant Chapel . .
." He was walking
  with increasingly rapid steps towards the door
leading to the head nurse's office.
  She was there . . . sprawled across her desk and
turn- tilde ng a rich hue of azure even as
he stared.
  "Mr. Scott, Chief Kyle, others exposed
tilde uarantine too late," he called back
to Spock . . . even as his lower leg muscles
turned to water and he slumped to his knees.
  Demos weakly reached out a hand to catch him. The
Draymian Commander had become sky-colored.
Kirk muttered, his head swimming.
  "Vulcan immunity! Mr. Spock, take
... take command."
  He tried to add something else; but though his mouth
moved, no words came forth.
  Spock caught him before he collapsed
completely. He carried Kirk to an empty bed,
then went back and transferred Chapel. He tried
to do likewise for the mas- sive Demos; but the
Draymian commander's bulk de- feated him, and he
had no time to wrestle with the huge form. He settled
for making Demos as comfortable as possible on
the infirmary floor.
  Two things must be done immediately depending on the
condition of the crew. It was not good. As Spock made
his way toward the bridge, he saw other crew
members sprawled where they had fallen, with still-healthy
companions trying to aid them. Quarantine appeared
to be out of the question. This mysterious af- Diction
spread too fast.
  It took hold with alarming speed, the effects
irre
  -. sistible and overwhelming. He ordered the healthy
  crew members to make the ill as comfortable as
possible right where they were found, and then to re- turn
to their own posts to continue functioning as long as they were
able. It was a brutal, unavoidable order to
  have to give.
  No one argued, no one objected. After all, this
was the Enterprise.
  The situation was no better on the Bridge.
Only Sulu still retained anything like his normal
colon But even he was showing signs of initial
blueness. He did man
  44 STAR TREK LOG SIX
  age to aid Spock in placing the ship into proper
orbit around Draymia.
  Posterity came-next, before survival. He
assumed Kirk's seat and activated the recorder.
  "Captain's Log, supplemental. First
Officer Spock in command, recording.
  "We are in orbit around the planet Draymia
under conditions of general quarantine. The situation is
critical. We have apparently contracted the
plague which wiped out the Draymian colony on
Dramia II. Nearly the
  enbire ship's complement has already been affected,
some seriously.
  "A few have shown slightly stronger resistance
than others, but this appears Transitory. As
Acting Commanding Officer, I have ordered the activation
of General Order Six." Spock paused,
looked over to where Sulu was turning a deep blue
colon
  "Has the General Order been engaged,
  Lieutenant?"
  "Yes ... sir," me helmsman replied,
painfully, slowly.
  "If everyone on board has perished or been
rendered incapable of action at the end of a
twenty-four-hour period," Spock continued, "and the
computer has not been contacted with proper
authority to cancel, the ship will self-destruct in
order to protect other beings from the disease."
  As he completed the entry the last end y, perhaps
he reflected on the irony of the
  situation. It seemed that Dr. McCoy might
outlive them all.
  "Interesting," he whispered.
  "What, sir?" asked Sulu.
  "Report to Sick Bay, Lieutenant.
  Sulu's voice was growing thick,
unintelligible. "But sir . . . you need someone .
. . to monitor . . . to . . ."
  "I gave you an order, Mr. Sulu. I will .
. . manage the necessary instrumentation.
  Too weak to reply, Sulu got shakily to his
feet and started for the elevator. The doors slid
apart before he could reach the switch.
  Kirk stood there, swaying slightly, but
apparently alert and in control of himself. Every step as
he moved
  STAR TREK Log Six 45
  forward was painful, every shift of an eye felt like the
blow of a hammer on his orbicular nerves.
  "Spock . . ." he succeeded in whispering.
  The first officer showing as close to an
expression of alarm as he was capable of.
"Captain, how . . . his In your condition, it
shouldn't be his
  "Stimulants," Kirk muttered. "Pumped
full ... temporary . . ." Spock was at his
side, helping him to his command chair. Kirk
brushed aside his objections "Have to find an
antidote . . . fast. Only one man . .
  maybe. McCoy."
  "Captain," Spock countered gently, "the
entire medical staff of an advanced world like
Draymia could not find an answer to this plague in
many years of research."
  "We don't know that they applied themselves
directly to the problem, Spock. Demos told us
how fearful of contamination their observer teams were."
His expression twisted. "Whereas Bones always liked
to get right into a problem.
  "I'd guess the Draymians' quarantine
extended to medical personnel too, as soon as they
found the plague was one hundred percent fatal.
Maybe a few physicians sacrificed themselves
trying to find an answer. At the beginning. But even
then, they didn't have the advantage of a Federation
medical library computer, or a researcher
with Bones' skin and experience in dealing with rare
diseases.
  "We've got to get him back here . . . back
here . . ."
  "The Draymians win not permit ..." Spock
started to say. He stopped.
  Kirk had lapsed into semiconsciousness.
  Spock sat thoughtfully, weighing this possibility
against that solution, juxtaposing alternatives with
probabilities, before eventually making his way
to Uhura's vacated communications station.
  "Draymia Port," the visage that appeared on
the main screen announced.
  "This is the Federation starship Enterprise, First
Officer Spock. I must speak immediately with the
Supreme Prefect."
  "We know of your power and capabilities,
Offlcer
  46 , STAR TREK LOG SIX
  Spock," the figure at the other end said, "but do
you think that the Supreme Prefect is a
  personage who can be called up at every his
  "If I do not speak with the Supreme Prefect
in- stantly," Spock informed the other, "I
predict with ninety-seven point eight
percent surety the advancement of your status in a
backward
  direction. This matter concerns the Dramia II
plague."
  Bulging eyes rolled and the communicator began
shouting off-screen demands, as the Draymian worked his
hands in a series of furious gestures.
  The screen flickered. For a moment abstract
electronic images danced across the face, then the
static cleared and the face of the Supreme Prefect
hastily appeared. He was wrestling with his tunic and
his dignity as the focus sharpened.
  "Mr. Spock, what is the meaning of this? What
is this about the plague and why do you speak and not your
captain?"
  "Captain Kirk and the majority of the ship's
complement are presently incapacitated," Spock
answered smoothly. "The Dramia II plague
has struck the ship."
  "Plague aboard." The Prefect assumed a
look of panic. "Surely, Mr. Spock, you
must not his
  "The plague will not be brought to the surface. I
am not here to threaten, but to seek help. In the event
no antidote for the plague is found, the
Enterprise wiDo destroy itself before the next
ship-day is over."
  The Prefect had been absorbing all this
stolidly. Now he suddenly looked suspicious as
Spock continued.
  "Commander Demos will be killed with the rest of us. I
regret this. There is only one way to save him and
to save the survivor we found on Dramia II,
who can attest to the innocence of your prisoner. A
great many lives and truths are at stake here, and
only one man can find the solution to them all: Dr.
McCoy. You must release him immediately.
Temporarily, if you will but no one else has the
skill to find a possible antidote in the time that
remains."
  The Prefect considered for long
  seconds understandable, in light of the barrage of
information Spock
  STAR TREK Log Six 47
  had just thrown at him. His decision was obviously
agonized, but firm.
  "I cannot," he announced finally.
  ""The survivor, Kolti, is a witness for
Dr. McCoy. He can testify for him. There are
many others, of different races, on board the
Enterprise who will die if he is not released.
We may all die anyway, Dr. McCoy
among us. If you have so little confidence in his medical
ability, at least release him to die of the plague
with his frierids."
  "You argue plausibly, Vulcan, but without
facts."
  "You must trust me. I have no other assurances
to give."
  The Prefect seemed to be a reasonable being.
E Spock was interpreting the. alien expression
correctly, the Draymian leader was going through some
tortuous mental gymnastics.
  His expression turned crafty. "There is
another who might persuade me. Let this witness,
this claimed survivor, speak."
  "Impossible. He, too, is seriously
stricken."
  Frustration all too suddenly replaced
  deliberation at the other end of the transmission.
"Demos cannot speak, the witness carrot speak, even
Captain Kirk cannot speak yet you wish us
to release the accused McCoy. On faith. Do you
think you can secure the freedom of such a criminal
so simply? Did you not think I would see
through your desperate ploy?"
  The screen went blank.
  "McCoy," Kirk mumbled from behind Spock.
"Got to get McCoy."
  The first officer tried to re-establish the contact,
but this time the ground station on Draymia refused
to acknowledge his signals. He finally stopped
trying, turned and walked over to Kirk.
  "Captain, are you . . . ?"
  "One minute I'm fine, the next I can taste
oWill livion it's the stimulants, Mr. Spock.
Uneven effect on the system, guesswork dosage
. . . my body will pay for it in the end, I
suppose. What about . . . ?"
  Spock shook his head. "The Draymians
refuse to release him. Unfortunately, they have no
reason to trust
  48 STAR TREK LOG SIX
  us. They have a right to be cautious, but at the same
time they are not reacting logically in this."
  "No, Spock," Kirk breathed heavily,
"they're react tilde ng emotionally. I'm
sorry so much of the universe turns out to be more
unreasonable than Vulcan."
  "It is distressing at times," Spock
admitted, missing Kirk's sarcasm entirely.
"But if you'll grant me the freedom
to improvise in the face of adversity, I believe
I can secure Dr. McCoy's release
anyway."
  Kirk stared painfully up at him. "That would mean
contravening the official warrant, Mr. Spock."
  "Only the letter, Captain. Dr. McCoy could
be returned to stand trial afterward. I hardly need
point out this is a desperation measure I am
proposing. We will borrow Dr. McCoy for a little
while. If we die, I do not think he will care
what the Draymians do to him anyway."
  "You're sure you can pull this off, Spock?"
  "I intend to his
  "No, don't tell me." Kirk didn't have
to think. He put his palms on the arm of the chair and
shoved. Spock hurried to get a supportive arm
under one shoulder.
  "I think I can handle the transporter for you,
Spock . . ."
  "Be careful, Captain," the first officer
admonished. They had staggered down to the transporter
room. Spock waited within the alcove while
Kirk adjusted the settings. "I would
dislike materialising several kilometers above the
streets of the capital city."
  Kirk nodded, managed a grin, and engaged the in
  tilde strumentation. There was something on his fevered
mind, something else he had to ask Spock . . .
  He hadn't thought of it by the time the first officer was
gone.
  It was dark where Spock rematerialized on the
street parallel to the justice building. Dark and
late.
  He still felt exposed, but fortunately there
appeared to be no strolling Draymians about
to observe his arrival. Not that the average
Draymian would pay much attention to him.
  Unless, he mused distastefully, the
Drayrruans had
  STAR TREK LOG SiIt 49
  better control of their emotions than their leaders
had displayed thus far, the word of McCoy's arrest
must have been kept secret. Otherwise a mob
surely would have overrun the building by now. Hence he
could expect to be regarded by the average citizen with
curiosity rather than animosity.
  This time he would turn the government's secrecy
to his own advantage.
  There were definite benefits in being smaller than
the local inhabitants. It enabled Spock to make
his way skillfully through the labyrinth of corridors
in the building, dodging the night staff. The latter
were too engrossed in their own drudgery to peer hard
at places where Draymians would not fit.
  But the two guards standing watch outside the chamber
housing McCoy's force-cell were a different lot.
They appeared fit, alert, and fully capable of
rapid employment of the primitive but
lethal-looking apparatus strapped at their waists.
  For a moment Spock hesitated uncertainly,
wondering at the presence of only two guards for so
great a suspected criminal as McCoy. Then he
realized that the doctor had been handed over freely.
The Draymians had no reason to suppose the
Enterprise would rehnquish him only to take him
back suddenly.
  Hence the reason for Spock's haste for if the
Prefect had a little time to reflect on his recent
conversation with him....
  Of one thing he was sure this was not the time to debate
the ethics of the situation with McCoy's guards. Such
individuals were rarely selected for their
receptiveness to logical persuasion or, for
that matter, to original thought. He did not think they
would react politely if he announced his
intentions.
  He slid a stylus from his waist, tossed it across
the corridor. It clattered loudly in the quiet.
Both guards were immediately alert. Hands on
  side-arms, they moved to investigate the source
of the noise.
  An unexpected bonus Spock hadn't
expected both of them leave their station. The unbarred
portal to McCoy lay open.
  But the guards hadn't looked incompetent. There
  50 STAR TREK Log Six
  fore, they weren't. Therefore, there was
  something unseen here to be wary of. Slipping
noislessly across the hallway and into the chamber beyond,
he quickly discovered what. A quick block knocked the
hand weapon from the third guard waiting at the far
wall. But a pillarlike arm closed around
Spock's waist, lifting him high, squeezing,
impairing his breathing.
  With no time to experiment- on an intractable
subject, Spock reached around and back as
massive arm muscles tightened. Finding the spot
he wanted, he moved his fingers a certain
way . . .
  The guard collapsed with satisfying speed. When
he crumpled to the parquet floor, the sound was loud
enough to awaken the drowsing McCoy.
  He rolled over on his bunk and stared. As soon
as he recognized Spock he was on his feet and
over by the inner wall of the cell.
  "Spock what in the world his
  Spock ignored the questions as he glanced back at
the open doorway. Apparently the two guards
outside were still searching for the source of the clattering. The
little control box slid clear of the guard's hip.
Spock studied it, touched the remembered sequence of
switches.
  "Input later, Doctor no time now. And keep
your voice down."
  The first glowing nimbus that enclosed McCoy
vanished. Another touch and the innner
  force-field disappeared. McCoy was trying
to talk and awaken at the same time. The resulting
combination of questions and accusations was understandably garbled.
  "Have you and Jim gone out of your minds, Spock?"
he finished confusedly. "VV-HY this is a jail
break."
  "If you'll just step out of the force-field
area and come with me, Doctor . . ."
  McCoy took a step backward. "Spock,
I can't. It's illegal. You saw the warrant.
I've got to stand trial. I want to stand trial."
His face was agonized. "I have to find out if his
  "You will stand trial and you will find out, Doctor,"
Spock insisted, impatiently looking from the
recalci
  STAR TREK Log Six 51
  trant physician to the still vacant doorway.
"After you've found an antidote for the plague which is
about to kill everyone aboard the Enterprise."
  McCoy started. "Plague .. . ?"
  "We found a survivor, too, on Dramia
II. A poten- hal witness in your behalf. I
do not know whether the disease lay dormant in him
until he came aboard, or what. That is what you
must discover. Humans are as susceptible to the disease
as Draymians. Nearly everyone aboard is
seriously ill." -
  "Spock you don't tell me the important
things first."
  "You never ask me the important things first,
Door
  tor." -
  McCoy moved quickly clear of the force-field
boundary, outside the final bar to the ship's
transporter beam.
  "You realize, Doctor, the Draymians could
skill acquit you. But if you return aboard, you
will be exposed to the disease. You could die, too."
  Fully awake now, McCoy brushed hair from
his eyes and glanced at him. "I'm aware of that
who's the doctor here? What surprises me is that
you'd even think of mentioning it."
  "I apologize, Doctor, but," Spock stared
at the door, "I have been operating under stress
lately."
  Out came the communicator. "We are clear of the
force cell, Captain, beam us aboard."
  A startled, angry voice sounded. Not from the
communicator but from the doorway. The other two
guards had returned. It took barely a second
for them to take in the new alien, the fact that the
prisoner stood alongside him instead of behind a
glowing shield, and their unconscious companion of the
floor.
  A pair of tiny, explosive shells passed
right through the place where McCoy and Spock had
stood secondfractions before. They made a
mess of the far wale
  tilde lv
  McCoy was mentally reviewing everything they knew
about the Dramia II plague even as reintegration
was being completed in the transporter alcove aboard
ship. Scientific speculation vanished as soon as
he saw Kirk, his skin now turned a bilious
green, slumped over the transporter console.
  "Jim!"
  Kirk looked up, grinned weakly. "Hello,
Bones. Welcome back." He collapsed before
McCoy could set foot outside the alcove
  Kneeling next to Kirk, McCoy rolled him
over and studied the weakened form as if the cause of the
plague might suddenly advertise itself visibly a
movement under the skin, or glowing germs spelling out the
formula for an effective serum.
  Kirk only lay there.
  "Help me get him to Sick Bay, Spock."
  Together they wrestled the captain down to McCoy's
lab, placed him alongside the other two who had
first been stricken Kolti and Demos.
  The two Draymians and one human lay with a
ghastly motionlessness. This was a quiet, efficient
disease. There were no flailing arms, no
hysterical gasps for air, no hallucinations and no
screams of pain Only the peculiarly horrible
pigmentation change . . . to be followed by death.
  Occasionally Kirk, still under the waning influence of the
stimulant overdose, would awaken and mutter something
half-coherent. McCoy didn't waste time lis-
tening to him.

  STAR TREK LOG SIX 53
  Instead, he studied his friend as dispassionately as
possible. Only by removing himself to a peak of
empirical distraction would his mind stay clear enough
to hunt for a solution.
  He was aware that he had already been
  massively exposed to infection. Right up until
the onset of the disease he should feel fine. First his
ability to work and then his life would go in rapid
succession.
  It shouldn't be so hard. He should have been able
to find-a solution. But he hadn't. Couldn't.
  McCoy pounded on the console of the medical
computer as if it were personally responsible for the
steadily approaching disaster. Every time he seemed to be
coming close, the white letters, the same damning white
letters, would suddenly flash on the annex
screen ., .
  NO CROSS-CORRELATION PROPOSAL
  INEFEECT tilde
  . . . and he'd have to start all over again.
Doctor? Who said he was a doctor? He had
fooled
  everyone long enough.
  Bitterly, he mused that if the Draymians had
been right all along, he was going to be executed by the
plague he'd initiated. Not that he minded being
subjected to such impersonal justice.
  But he minded very much that all his friends might be
taken along with him victims of a more mature
incompetence.
  He looked over to where Spock was sitting.
Calm, seemingly relaxed, the first officer studied
another annex linked to the medical computer. They
wouldn't find an antidote in there of that McCoy
had grown certain. But it probably helped
relieve Spock's feeling of helplessness.
  Besides, there was always the miniscule chance there might
be something in the records that could lead to a hint of the
relative of a clue.
  Give him one straw . . .
  "Anything at all, Spock?"
  "Negative, Doctor."
  54 STAR TREK LOG SIX
  McCoy studied his own readout, rubbed at his
forehead. "The problem is that these violent pigmentation
shifts don't link up with any known, or even with
any rumored disease."
  Doesn't link up, doesn't add up, no
correlation, no correlation but the pigmentation changes
were the major symptom, weren't they? Well,
weren't they?
  Idly, he voiced a peripheral thought.
"Spock, we know Vulcans are immune to this
plague. That doesn't mean they couldn't be
carriers."
  "No, Doctor. It does not."
  "Yet you still beamed down after me."
  Spock didn't look up from his annex screen.
"Given the Draymian's intransigence where your
release was concerned, I felt justified in taking a
calculated risk."
  McCoy, then, was not the only one in this room whose
conscience had reason to burn.
  Something basic was wrong with their
  approach. Surely the Draymians had already
exhausted this line of research. A first-year
medical student, now, with a mind unencumbered by years
of precedent, might have seen a solution instantly.
But he, with a lifetime of statistics and experience
crammed into his cranium, could not see through the muck
of acquired knowledge. Was he even capable of having an
original idea anymore?
  Where was the freshness of youth when it was so
desperately required?
  He looked again at Demos, Kolti, Kirk.
Their color had shifted to pink. Soon it would be
bright red and then it wouldn't matter what brilliant
insights, what revelations he would be privileged
to glimpse.
  "Work harder, Spock. They're entering the
terminal stage."
  "A useless admonition, Doctor."
  It was. Spock was already driving himself as hard as
he could. If he displayed no sign of it, it was because
not an iota of energy was wasted in visible muscle
tens tilde on or in nervous breathing.
  McCoy even tried a tight-beam transmission
in hopes of contacting Alco III, the nearest
Federation world with advanced medical
  facilities. That failed him, too.
  STAR TREK Log Six 55
  "Spock ... Spock!" he yelled, trying
to break the first officer from his transfixed study of the
computer annex. "I'm trying to get through to Alco.
Maybe it's too far, but . . .," he squinted
at the viewscreen, "I shouldn't be getting the kind
of scrambled readings I am."'7
  Spock looked over at him, spoke with doleful
assurance. "That is hardly surprising, Doctor.
Undoubtedly one of the numerous auroral
  disturbances is now placed between Draynua and
Alco. Even a tight beam could not penetrate such
a vast disturbance."
  He was on his own. He had lost precious
minutes hoping for the aid of a distant angel.
McCoy finally shut off the annex and simply sat
back, to think. Behind him, Kirk was mumbling. He
had overheard their last conversation and even his
subconscious was attuned to the beauties of the
universe he loved so well.
  "Local phenomenon ... auroral excitation,
lovely, lovely . . . change colors, shift
hues, magnificent . ..
  "Aesculapius!" McCoy yelled.
  "No need to shout, Doctor," Soock said
  imperturbably. "You have found something7"
  "The auroras . . ."
  "Are a dead-end, Doctor. They are of a
peculiar nature, but radiation levels are far from
lethal far from being even slightly dangerous."
  McCoy rose from his seat and stretched. "One
day, Spock, I'll sit down and correlate the
relationship of the auroral radiation to its effect on
the melanin in human and Draymian skin. But not
now."
  Spock looked thoughtful for a long minute, then
became almost excited. "The pigmentation changes are
riot a symptom of the disease. They are a separate
effect caused by the auroral radiation."
  McCoy nodded vigorously. "Feed the same
data we've been using into the med computer, without
making any mention of epidermal tone shift. See
if we get a result this time."
  Spock didn't hesitate. Changing the input
program required only a minute. There was a
brief pause . . . and then words and figures
started pouring back at them.
  56 STAR TREK Log Six
  "Fast," was all McCoy said.
  "I believe this is what you need, Doctor,"
Spock observed, studying the steadily
maturing formula.
  McCoy sat down, realized he was shaking
slightly. "The color change in me skin had
nothing whatsoever to do with the plague. We reported
them as a symptom . .. no wonder the computer
couldn't correlate it with the rest of our information.
  "It's giving us an antidote . . . and as to the
cause of the disease," he sighed, "it's the aurora,
too."
  "But, Doctor," Spock began uncertainly,
"you just said it was a separate effect."
  "It is, but the radiation is also the key to the
plague. It just doesn't have any link with the color
changes. There must be a virus, a
  bacterium, which is stimulated by the auroral
radiation. Naturally, since the aurora is
stimulating both, it would appear the color shift is
a result of the disease when in fact, they have no
medical connection." He paused.
  "Nineteen years ago Dramia II must have
been passing through another of the strong auroral
belts. I can't be sure . . . I wasn't in
astronomy. But I'll bet a check of the
expedition's records will confirm it. I do seem
to remember a colorful night sky, though.
I was too busy to admire local color most of the
time." His voice dropped.
  "Death's rainbow it brought on the original
plague, just as this aurora has brought it on again.
We weren't affected until a carrier of the
dormant microbe Kolti was brought aboard. I
think a check of old records on Draymia itself
might show legends of people changing color ... and
returning to normal when the auroras passed on."
  His voice dropped to a whisper. Spock
didn't press for clarification the relief that had
appeared in McCoy's voice was a private thing,
not to be interrupted or shared. It was a relief that
could not be judged on any general human scale
... only on the personal one of Dr. Leonard
McCoy.
  "I had nothing to do with the plague, then." He
blinked and walked over to stand behind Spock, peering
over his shoulder at the screen.
  STAR TREK LOG Six 57
  "There's our virus, just as you suspected,
Doctor." Spock worked the instrumentation and a new
flow of information appeared. "And there is the declaration
I most feared."
  Under the microphoto of the virus itself had
appeared the words, "NO KNOWN ANTIDOTE."
  Spock tried to keep his voice as comforting as
possible. "I suspected that if there were a cure, the
Draymians would have found it. With
  nineteen years in which to research, even
theoretically, they must have hit upon the same
aurora-plague connection we've just reached."
  "Every disease caused by a living agent has an
antidote, Spock. Every . . ." He stopped, his
voice sharpening. "Think, Spock."
  "I have been, Doctor. It took me a moment
to make the .. . correlation. Do you remember our
witness ... Kolti? You treated him nineteen
years ago for saurian virus."
  "The individual . . . there were so many. Maybe
. . . yes, I think I do. It was a strange
case to find on Dramia 11. As I recall,
he was one of their off-world representatives.
Contracted it from someone in the Federation. Sure, I
remember him now! We had a heltuva time digging
out the right serum for that . . . we'd expected to have
to treat only local infections. Wait a
minute."
  McCoy's face lit up like one of engineer
Scott's control reactors.
  "You say he's the witness, the survivor you
found?"'"
  "Correct, Doctor. He survived the
plague and all aftereffects. Apparently,
however, inoculation against saurian virus does not
last nineteen years."
  "No. No, it doesn't. He needs a
booster. In fact, everyone on board ought to have a
similar injection. If the key is saurian
antibodies, recovery from the plague after
administration should be as rapid as debilitation was."
  "Let us hope so, Doctor," Spock
remarked with a glance at the nearby beds. Kolti,
Kirk and Demos were beginning to turn a dark
crimson. "We have very little time."
  58 STAR TREK LOG SIX
  McCoy was already moving toward the
  refrigerated locker where preprepared serums were
stored.
  "I'd like to run some tests on this first, Spock,
but as you say, we haven't time." He grimaced.
"Any side effects can't be worse than death."
  "A queerly logical statement, Doctor."
Spock understood the principles of irony.
  McCoy hurriedly filled a mass
injector, then a second, with three-quarters of the
available serum. Then he programmed the organic
  fabrication computer to prepare the necessary remainder.
It would be ready long before he and Spock had finished
applying the first doses.
  The infirmary was soon filled with hisses from the
hypo sprays as they moved from bed to bed, pallet
to cot, administering the antidote. Nor had
McCoy neglected himself if for some reason the
serum proved ineffective, he wanted to be the first
to know.
  There was a buzz from the intercom set next to the
computer keyboard. McCoy looked up
uncertainly. "I thought you said everyone else aboard
was incapacitated, Spock."
  "They are, Doctor," he replied, heading for the
acknowledge switch, "but the main computer itself is also
immune to the plague."
  McCoy muttered something about "Vulcans and
machines" which Spock didn't hear and continued
inoculating the prone crew members scattered through the
room. Spock returned a moment later.
  "You will be interested to know, Doctor, that we are
leaving the last streamer of the aurora which caused this
trouble and blocked your communications
attempt. Also, I ran a check on the composition
of Draymian and Dramian
  atmospheres. I don't think we'll unearth
any historical records of mass color
changes on Dray- mia. The composition differs
slightly but significantly . . . enough to block out
the melanin-affecting radiation of the auroras."
  McCoy moved to the next body. "So
Draymia's always been plague-immune. No
wonder the
  outburst on Dramia II terrified them so.
They'd no experience with even the color shifts."
  STAR TREK Lo tilde 59
  He made the inoculation, noticed that the
indicator light on the side of the sprayer had come
on.
  "Empty ... the synthesizer should be finished with the
big batch I ordered up. Be right back,
Spock." The first officer nodded, continued work with his
own spray as McCoy started back toward the far
end of the infirmary and the medical lab.
  On the way he saw that Kirk, Demos and
Kolti were running the color change backward.
Red to pink, then green and blue and finally their
normal healthy color again. The speed of the
change was fast enough to be visible to the naked
  eye hopefully physical recovery would be
equally rapid.
  It was. When McCoy returned with a second
empty hypo, Kirk had already opened his eyes.
Seconds later Kolti and Demos followed
suit. Nearby, a transporter specialist was
snuffling like a pig in clover as he, too, started
to come around.
  Kirk looked at the ceiling, then rolled his head
sideways. He looked tired, but had already
regained enough strength to smile and nod at McCoy.
  A strange disease he would spend
  considerable time analyzing it. Studying with rather more
detachment than he had been
  permitted up to now.
  It would make a paper suitable for submission to the
Starflteet Medical Journal was that a tear at the
corner of one eye? He wiped it away before any of
his patients could notice too much close work in
too brief a time, that was all.
  "You did it, Bones," Kirk mumbled softly.
  "Again." McCoy looked up, past the stirring
form of Kirk, to see a tall Draymian he
didn't recognize staring back at him.
The alien wore a look which even a child could have read as
undisguised admiration.
  He turned away, embarrassed by both the una-
bashed adulation and the fact that for the life of him he
couldn't place the face of this survivor. But then,
there had been so many Draymians those long days
years ago. But undoubtedly this Kolti had seen very
few humans, so it was natural that he should
remember the doctor.
  Nevertheless, he walked over to the stranger and ex
  60 STAR TREK Log Six
  changed hand clasps and Draymian embrace with
him. The patient's crushing affection was an
excellent sign his body was rapidly returning
to normal.
  Kirk was sitting up on the edge of his bed,
exercising his neck with circling twists of his head.
  "How do you feel, Jim?"
  "Like I've been asleep for ten thousand years,
Bones, and in all that time no one bothered to dust
me."
  "Dr. McCoy?" He turned and saw that the
Commander of Draymian security was also sitting up,
a mite awkwardly, on his undersized bed. "We are
a technologically advanced race, Dr.
McCoy. We had thought that in a few things, such as
interstellar travel and contact, we are still in our
infancy. It seems that we are still in our infancy in
less scientific ways as well."
  He extended a huge hand. "Will you accept the
sincere apologies of a misguided child who knew no
better and had only his civilization's best interests
at heart? The malice lies in our memory of
events, not in our hearts."
  McCoy shook the'earoffered hand firmly, then
moved on he still had work to do.
  "Doctor," Spock called, from where he was
administering the serum, "are you certain that you are all
right?"
  McCoy wiped moisture from his eyes.
"Doesn't anyone understand basic physiology
around here!" he snarled. "I'm working hard and under
stress, that's all."
  Spock linked the phrase with the tone of
McCoy's voice and his hypothetical mental
state and understood. Of course, he saw no reason
to smile.
  If the Draymians had been careful at first
to conceal their enmity, they showed unbridled enthusiasm
when making amends. There were times during the
following days when McCoy thought he would have to run and
hide lest he be smothered by constant accolades. The
Draymian people outdid themselves in their gratitude.
  The only difficulties arose when he was forced
time
  STAR TRER Log Six 61
  and again to refuse actual gifts, explaining that
regulations forbade accepting any kind of gratuity,
however indirect, for services rendered in the line of
duty. Their good health, he told them, was reward
enough.
  When the last medal had been awarded, the last
speech read, the final hyperbolic hyperbole
driven home, they found themselves outside the justice
building once again, high above the bustling streets and
boulevards of the capital of Draymia.
  Kirk and Spock were there with McCoy, all
three resplendent in full dress uniform. The
Prefect was there, and Demos, of course. And a
third Draymian Kolti, now toweringly splendid
in the blue and puce of Draymian Deep Space
  Service, Diplomatic Section.
  They were going to see a lot more of that well-cut
uniform in the future, Kirk surmised quietly
especially if Kolti was an indication of the
kind of people being trained to fill it.
  was . . and so we of Draymia wish to thank you
once more, Dr. McCoy," the Prefect was
  concluding, "for the discovery of the antidote which frees
future colonies from destruction by the auroral
plague."
  "Thank Mr. Spock and Captain Kirk, not
me," McCoy told him. He managed not to blush
he had already blushed himself out, these past few days.
At least, he thought he had, until the Prefect
suddenly produced an intimidating scroll from out of
nowhere.
  "And now," the alien official began, "it is my
pleasure to relate some fitting personal sentiments
on commemoration of his
  "Please, your Prefectship," McCoy
broke in tiredly. "Somehow I have the feeling
I've heard these sentiments before. Couldn't I
please beg off? I'd really like to get back to the
ship."
  "We must apologise," Demos said, coming
to McCoy's rescue by placing a restraining yet
gentle hand on the disappointed Prefect's arm.
There was no telling how long the security chief had
worked on his own as yet concealed speech.
"But as great a genius as Dr. McCoy is," he
continued, "he has not yet discovered an antidote
for boredom."
  62 STAR TREK Log Six
  Kirk and the Prefect laughed, while Spock
looked normally phlegmatic.
  "I'm afraid," McCoy sallied in reply,
"that while that's a disease rampant throughout the
Galaxy, it's barely been touched upon."
  The Prefect made the Draymian equivalent
of a resigned sigh and folded up his lengthy
scroll. "Very well, then . . . go in peace and
health, Dr. McCoy the health you have given
to future settlers. We will see you again some day,
I hope."
  "I have a hunch Federation vessels will be calling
at Draymia with increasing frequency, sir,"
Kirk predicted. "I wouldn't be surprised if
we were assigned another stop here. We'll be
looking forward to it."
  "It is well, then," the Prefect concluded,
satisfied.
  Embraces were exchanged all around. Then the
three officers stepped back toward the
  ornamental railing.
  "Beam us aboard, Mr. Scott."
  "Aye, Captain," came the chief engineer's
happy acknowledgment back over the
  communicator.
  "I don't know about you, gentlemen," Kirk said
as the elevator carried them toward the Bridge, "but
I'm ready to get back to Alco Starbase."
  "And I," McCoy informed them fervently, "am
about ready to get back to the normal, daily routine
of passing out pink pills and examining sore
throats!"
  "I would hope such exotic efforts," Spock
began as the doors slid apart and they entered the
Bridge, "would include resumption of the normal,
daily dispensing of the regular vitamin rations to the
crew, in proper proportions according to their
biological requirements."
  McCoy hesitated just inside the portal.
"What's that supposed to mean?"
  "Well, you have been somewhat derelict in your
duties of late, Doctor."
  McCoy gaped at him. "Derelict in my
duties? I've been held in solitary confinement
on an alien world, accused of mass murder, and forced
to find an antidote for a previously
incurable plague in an incredibly short
  STAR TREK LOG SIX 63
  period of time with only your help, I might add
and you can say I've been derelict in my
duties?"
  "Hippocrates," Spock replied calmly,
"would not have approved of attempts at finding lame
excuses, Doctor." He called the elevator
and stepped inside, leaving Kirk and a flabbergasted
McCoy alone by the doorway.
  McCoy proceeded to make several
  unidentifiable mouth noises, none with
  complimentary overtones, which seemed to relate
vaguely to Spock's ancestry.
  "Calm down, Bones," Kirk finally told
him, working hard to stifle a smile. "You know
Spock he's just trying to get your goat.
  "Goat," McCoy sputtered, "I'll give
him my goat . . . with anthrax, yet!" There was a
wild look coming into his eyes. "Jim, do you think
Vulcans are subject to anthrax? Do you think
they're vulnerable to his
  Kirk couldn't contain himself any longer. He
broke out laughing, was joined by Uhura, Sulu, and the
high, amused piping of Arex. McCoy
glanced around the room, immediately saw he would get no
sympathy from this bunch.
  He finally got hohl of his emotions. "Jim,
if I'm ever in jail again, don't send a
Vulcan to release me. If you do, you'll have to send
someone else to drag him out. You'll have to!"
  He became silent then, and the wild look was
replaced with a smile of uncommonly fiendish
glee. It sobered Kirk.
  "Bones," he asked worriedly, "what are you
conjuring?"
  "Vitamin supplements," McCoy was muttering.
He sounded almost cheerful, "Yes, vitamin
supplements." He looked up. "Excuse me,
  everybody . . . I have some work to do . . . some
supplements to prepare. I've been derelict in
my daily duties."
  Kirk could hear him singing something about vitamin
supplements until the turbolift carried him out of
range.
  PART II
  THE PRACTICAL JOKER
  (adapted from a script by Chuck
  Menville)
  v
  "Since I have evidently failed to make
myself clear so far, Nurse Chapel, I will
repeat it once more," Spock told her tautly.
"Vulcans are not subject to dandruff."
  Chapel leaned back in the office chair and eyed
the first officer of the Enterprise compassionately.
  "Perhaps there is a different Vulcan term for it, then."
  "Such a disease is not possible," Spock
insisted. He scratched behind one ear. "However, I
am compelled to admit that for an impossible
affliction, it is proving most distracting."
  "What is?" Both turned as McCoy walked
in. "Hello, Christine. Hello, Spock.
Is something the matter?" His voice was overflowing with
  innocence.
  "Something has been the matter for a number of days,
Doctor. Ever since we departed
  Draymia and before we began the survey of this
non-system grouping of type-four asteroids." He
glanced back across the desk.
  "Nurse Chapel insists I have contracted a
disease common only to decadent physiological
systems, something she identifies as
dandruff. I have explained patiently that Vulcans
are not subject to such primitive afflictions."
  "Yes, it's an affliction common to the
  inefficient human organism . . . and it
seems," McCoy added, leaning over to stare
pointedly at Spock's scalp, "that you have an
advanced case of it. My, my ... no wonder
you've seemed so peevish lately."

  68 STAR TREK L tilde So
  "I am never peevish, and I tell you,"
Spock said in exasperation, "I do not have it. It is
simply not possible for you are smiling, Doctor.
I don't believe anything I've said can be taken
as amusing."
  "Been getting your daily vitamin supplements,
Spock? I know I was badly neglectful . . .
you reminded me though. Remember?"
  "Yes, I have to admit that you have returned
to schedule with admir--" The first officer suddenly
paused. If it was possible for a Vulcan to take
on a suspicious expression, Spock had just
acquired one.
  "Vitamins . . . Doctor, is it possible that
you harbored some irrational resentment against
me for the comments I made regarding your
  efficiency, on our departure from Draymia?
Is it possible that you . . . ?"
  Spock rose abruptly from the chair. "I do not
think," he said coldly, "that an analysis of my
supplements will be necessary."
  McCoy allowed himself a smile. "Oh, don't
be so stiff about it, Spock. Besides, it can only
worsen your condition. I'll remove the additive
I put into your supplements immediately, and your
primitive affliction will vanish in a couple of
days. In exchange, we won't hear anything more about
my performance as ship's doctor for a while . . . will
we?"
  "Is that a request," Spock asked, still
frozen, "or a threat?"
  "Let's call it a reasonable adjustment of
circumstances, arrived at by mutual consent of two
intelligent beings. I could have arranged for something rather more
radical than dandruff, you know. Besides, I'd think
you'd find the situation interesting, from a scientific
point of view. I didn't even know if it would
work. Always nice to see theory confirmed. As far as
I know, you're the first Vulcan in history to be
plagued with--"
  "Please, Doctor. I agree. Just correct
it, please."
  "All right, Spock, relax." The grin again.
"It's not fatal." He walked past the desk and
punched out commands on the computer annex there.
  "Something you might be interested in. Here's the
molecular schematic I had to design to produce
the proper results. Took a neat little bit of
organic dooling,
  STAR TREK L tilde SW 69
  I can tell you. Vulcans have so many
antibodies in their blood it's almost impossible
to find something to penetrate all those generations of
acquired defences."
  "I'm sure, Doctor," Spock said dryly,
peering at the diagram of bonded atoms on the
screen, "that it taxed your abilities
considerably."
  "Speaking of taxing our skills," Nurse
Chapel wondered aloud, "how much longer are we
going to be stuck on this mineralogical survey before
we can continue on back to Alco Starbase for a little
rest and recreation?"
  Glad of a chance to change the subject, Spock
explained. "The extent and density of this
free cluster has exceeded all previous drone
estimates. Despite this, the captain estimates
that we are now several days ahead of schedule. He
is as anxious as the rest of us to be done with what is
really a minor operation and he sorely resented the
orders when they came through.
  "Orders remain orders, however. We should be
finished with the survey any day. A great deal of
value has been learned, even if the learning has
been monotonous. The cluster appears to offer
considerable commercial promise. The asteroid
masses are all irregular in shape, probably
the remains of an exploded planet which tore
loose from its parent system. Nonetheless they have
remained tightly packed together. Some are of
considerable size and a few are much larger than Ceres
in the Sol system. I venture to say that within a
few years the activity here will--"
  There was a deep rumble and everything shook.
  Chapel nearly fell backward out of the chair.
Both Spock and McCoy had to grab for the
  computer console to steady themselves. The tremor died
away quickly, leaving them suddenly tense. McCoy
and Chapel exchanged nervous glances.
  An alarm began to sound. From time to time
short rumbles rose above the wail and irregular
vibrations Could be felt underfoot. But the first,
serious jolt was not repeated.
  "You okay, Christine?"
  "Fine, but what happened?"
  70 STAB TREK Log Six
  "I don't know." He looked over at
Spock. "What do you think? Spock? Where'd he
  disappear to?"
  Spock was already on his way to the Bridge.
Only a very few things could produce the shaking and
accompanying rumble they had experienced. Most of them
were natural. Only one was
  artificial in origin. Experience told him it
was the latter. They were under fire.
  He emerged on the Bridge in time to see the main
viewscreen overloaded by a blinding white glare.
It faded slowly, the imagery reforming as the ship's
scanners strove to recover from the intense dose of
light.
  He acknowledged a perfunctory greeting from
Scott, who stood at the Bridge Engineering
Station, as he made his way to the
  library-computer console.
  The familiar whooping cry of the red-alert
alarm was louder here on the Bridge, in
  deference to any sufferers in Sick Bay. He
knew it was sounding the length and breadth of the battle
cruiser.
  Another blast rattled the Bridge enough
to separate feet from deck momentarily, despite the
artificial gravity. Yet another blast in the
same place from a slightly more powerful photon
bomb, and Spock's feet would leave the deck
permanently.
  Behind him Kirk's voice resounded terse,
businesslike in complete control, although the source
of the mysterious attack was still unknown.
  "Scotty, give us maximum shielding, full
power on the deflectors."
  "Aye, Captain." Scott carried out the
order, then turned his post over to a panting,
  just-arrived subordinate. The chief's place was
back in Engineering Control, and he headed there in
haste.
  "Photon bombs," Uhura muttered. "But
who?"
  Kirk ignored the lieutenant's musing. "Mr.
Sulu, bring us about to a new heading. One hundred
twenty degrees north, up twenty.
Initiate evasive pattern one."
  "Aye sir," the helmsman responded
promptly, working the instruments.
  Kirk's businesslike manner now found a
  moment for open anger. "Mr. Spock, where were
you?"
  "I have no real excuse, Captain. I was
suffering from
  STAR TREK Log Six 71
  a prolonged distortion of subcutaneous
follicular tissue."
  "Yes, I noticed it. But if you don't find
out who's attacking us, you're liable to have it cured
forever."
  "My own opinion exactly, Captain."
  The requisite information was already
  appearing on the sensor screens above his station.
To complement the printed readouts, the
  computer provided him with a three-dimensional
schematic of their pursuers, along with
  classification, type, armament, displacement,
num- ber of crew and probable port of origin.
  At the moment all the statistics were
  superfluous. "Romulans, Captain." He
studied the main viewscreen, which still showed their
last survey target an enormous, rapidly
shrinking hunk of stellar debris the size of a
small moon.
  "Apparently they were lying in wait for us on the
far side of that major asteroid."
  "By the Thane of Comorron!" came a furious
voice. The burr was unmistakable. Scott had
reached Engineering and when he'd overheard Spock's
pronouncement, had yelled through the line Kirk had
left open. "A cold-blooded ambush! That's
gain' a bit far, even furr the Romulans.
Let's give the cowards a fight they won't
fergit!"
  Kirk sympathized with his chief engineer, but kept
his tone even as he hit the broadcast return.
"Negative, Mr. Scott. I've already received
several damage reports. Combined with the fact that we
appear to be outnumbered three to one, I think we'd
better settle for some well-directed
name-calling."
  "Discretion is the better part of valor, sir?
I've always felt that was a bit of a contradiction in
terms."
  "Just stand by to give me all the power you can spare from
the deflectors, Mr. Scott."
  "Aye, sir," Scott said, making no effort
to hide the disappointment in his voice. Kirk
switched Engineering off. Sometimes Scott's spirit
ran away with his better sense.
  "Sulu, give me full power on the rear
sensors."
  "Aye, Captain."
  The view in the main screen shifted as more
  72 STAR TREK Log Six
  explosions flared around the ship. Now though, under
battle conditions, the visual scanners were
automaidcally compensating for the intense radiation.
  The three ships were tiny flecks, but Kirk
felt he could make out the distinctive outlines, coming
straight for them.
  "The Romulans continue to pursue, Captain,"
Spock reported. "And they are increasing their
speed. They also appear to be separating further,
changing from attack position to an intricate
entrapment maneuver."
  "Can we outrun them, Mr. Spock?"
  Spock hesitated, studying readouts as fast as
the battle computer could supply them.
  "Indeterminate, Captain. With three ships in
pursuit, prediction becomes extremely complex."
  "Keep working on it." Lips set tight together,
Kirk turned his attention back to the viewscreen and
muttered under his breath. "They must want us badly
to continue to pursue after their initial attack
failed. Too late now for them to plead accident."
His expression twisted into a faint grin. "The
Romulans are coming." His voice rose as he
called to Spock.
  "Uncertainty's a hereditary factor with them.
I think somebody got nervous and jumped the gun on
us. If they'd waited till we were just a few
kilometers closer to that big rock, we wouldn't have
had a chance."
  "True, Captain," Spock conceded. "They must
have been observing our progress through the cluster for some
time. Fortunately, our survey pattern varied according
to the size and density of the asteroids themselves. They could
not be entirely certain when we would alter course,
hence someone's mounting fear we might
  suddenly discover their presence.
  "Captain?" Kirk turned to look back at
Uhura. "I've received an incoming transmission
from the commander of the Romulan force. We have
visual, too." She grinned. "He seems anxious to talk to you."
  "I'll bet," Kirk replied grimly.
"Put him through . .. I've got a couple of things to say to him."
  The sinister view of the three pursuing cmisers was
replaced with a momentary flash of static, and then the
sharp portrait of a smug Romulan officer.
  STAR TRF.K LOG SiIt 73
  Kirk disliked him on sight, even more than he
did the usual example of Romulan
militarism. He wasted no time on diplomatic niceties.
  "Whoever you are. I demand an immediate explanation for
this unprovoked."
  "Unprovoked!" the Romulan echoed with mock
anxiety. "My dear Captain Kirk, your ship
trespassed into Romulan territory in defiance of
our treaty. We had no choice but to defend ourselves
and the sovereignty of the Emnire."
  "I know." Kirk shot back, "our appearance was
a complete surprise to you."
  "A terrible shock," the Romulan admitted.
  "Which is how you happen to know my name."
  "We, uh .. ," the Romulan coughed
delicately, "recognised the serial
number of your ship, and it is widely known who
commands the Federation's famed Enterprise."
  "I see. Then perhaps you can explain this odd
discrepancy?"
  The alien commander was put off stride.
"Discrepancy?"
  "Yes. If your detectors have improved to the
point that you can pick out our serial numbers at this
distance, how come they failed to tell you that we're
nowhere near Romulan territory? We were
surveying an unclaimed asteroid cluster Iying on
the Federation border well outside the farthest
Romulan claim.
  "I deny your blatantly artifical charge and
plan to file a detailed complaint with the Romulan
delegate to the Federation."
  The commander was not upset. He even
  managed a smile, of a sort. "This ignores
reality, captain. You forget that invasion of
Imperial territory is punishable by death. You and
your crew have already been tried and convicted."
  "I told you," Kirk said angrily, "we've
committed no violation of Romulan boundaries.
We're not subject to your legal farce."
  "Details, details," came the
unperturbed reply. "Oh, I suppose some
blithering clerk might find a flaw in our reasoning
... but you will unfortunately not have an
  74 STAR TREK LOG SIX
  opportunity to file that complaint with him." He
became positively charming.
  "It is a pity you fail to recognize the
inevitability of your situation, Captain. Why not
surrender your vessel? We might arrange some
kind of accommodation leniency for some of your common
ratings, say."
  Kirk's stomach turned over. "Why don't you
ar- range . . . ?" he began heatedly. But the
screen abruptly went dark. Perhaps something in
Kirk's tone hinted to the Romulan commander that he
wasn't going to agree to terms.
  Another strong concussion rocked the Bridge.
  "Captain," Spock reported, "the Romulan
attack may have been hasty, but their closing formation
is well conceived. I can find no evasive pattern
that will enable us to escape from more than two ships at a
time. Regardless of how we maneuver, there will always be
one cruiser within range.
  "If we turn to fight it, and fail to dispatch it
immediately, we will soon be forced to exchange
fire with all three. Our deflectors will be unable
to handle such a concentration of firepower. Conversely,
if we continue to run, it appears that all three will
close on us eventually, producing the same
untenable position."
  Kirk thought furiously. "I disagree about our
ability to handle all three of them in a last-ditch
fight, Mr. Spock. But I wouldn't put it past
one of the Romulan captains to exchange his ship and
crew for clan glory by making a suicide charge
at us while the others keep us occupied. Our
deflectors could never handle that kind of overload."
  Spock nodded. "The importance the Romulans
attach to certain archaic forms of self-sacrifice
is well known. I agree that from the standpoint of the
Romulan High Command, the elimination of the 
Enterprise is of such importance that they
wouldn't consider the sacrifice of a single cruiser
excessive."
  "Which means we've got to try and
  run somehow," Kirk decided.
  The conversation was interrupted by several strange
beeps and whines from the navigation console and helm.
  STAR TREK Log Six
  "What is it, Mr. Sulu?"
  The helmsman was studying his instrumentation with a
peculiar grimace of uncertainty. "Captain,
we are approaching an unlisted energy field of
considerable extent, and I'm getting some mighty odd
readings from the sensor scans."
  "Mr. Spock?"
  "A moment, captain." Once more the view of the
Romulan cruiser dead astern disappeared as
Spock engaged the forward scanners.
  Ahead, emblazoned across the starfield, lay an
enormous mass of light that looked like a lambent
fog bank.
  "Partially gaseous," Spock informed them, "but also
heavily particulate. The difference is still
undeterminable. It appears to he a mass of minute
energized particles held together by a force other than
gravity. It's far too dense to be, say, a
nebular fragment. And Lieutenant Sulu is
  right; the readings are most peculiar.
  "Odd that such a unique phenomenon is not on the
charts made by the drone that surveyed the asteroidal
cluster. Even a drone should have detected such a
concentration of energy this close by."
  "As far as I'm concerned it came out of a brass
bottle," Kirk said excitedly. "It
may be just what we need to shake the Romulans. You
know how
  reluctant they are to have anything to do with anything
radically unfamiliar. They're
  appropriators not explorers."
  Spock's reply held a mild warning tone:
"Not always an unwise policy, Captain." He
gestured toward the screen. "This field registers very
strong, and it contains internal subatomic
configurations of a still unidentifiable nature."
  "We'll have plenty of time to puzzle them out,
Mr. Spock, after we've shaken the Romulans.
Lieutenant Uhura, general order. Secure for
emergency running. Mr. Sulu, take us through."
  "Yes, sir!" Sulu adjusted the helm, and the
Enter- prise changed course slightly, plunging
straight into the outermost edge of the luminescent
barrier.
  "If I may say so, Captain," Spock
commented, keeping his attention focused on the sensors
that were now
  76 STAR TREK Log Six
  registering their passage through the strange field,
"your decision was rather hasty. Influenced, I
believe, by emotional considerations."
  "You bet it was, Mr. Spock," Kirk
admitted without rancor. "I weighed all the
facts, considered all the evidence including your own
information concerning our probable inability to escape
by running or defending against a
  concerted three-pronged attack. I admit the
thought of being blown to bits prompted me to take a
bit of a risk. If that's emotionalism--"
  "We are entering the inner region of the field,
Captain," the first officer observed, thus putting
an end to the debate.
  A steady vibration had sprung up underfoot.
Kirk felt it first in his feet, then all over as it
increased, working its way up his body. Despite the
effect, his body wasn't vibrating, of course
merely feeling the effects of the
  oscillating ride as transmitted through the
fabric of the ship.
  A fantastic parade of abstract forms and
images exploded toward them on the main screen as
the Enterprise sailed through the sea of energy.
Colors so brilliant, hues so intense they
seemed to have a solid presence. Deep maroons and
light yellows, forest greens, blues, blacks,
electric pink a whole region that
passed by instantly and had the texture of
blackberry milk, another that resembled rutilated
quartz lit from within.
  Kirk had little time to appreciate the beauty
rushing at him. His concern now was with the destructive
effects of all that riotous radiation. The vibrations
intensified. His voice was jittery when he spoke,
from the vibration, not from internal insecurity.
  "What are our chances, Mr. Spock."
  The first officer of the Enterprise was already
attempting the near-impossible task of
  monitoring the readouts with one eye and
  gauging the composition. of the surrounding field with the
other, fighting to keep quarks and ergs on the proper
sides of his scientific ledger.
  "If the intensity and density the interrelation is
vital does not increase beyond the subatomic, we
  STAR TREK Log Six 77
  should be able to continue safe passage. If it
rises, our shields will be hard pressed to ward it off."
  Kirk gave a curt nod, reached to activate
the intercom. It vibrated like a chair massager under
his fingertips.
  "Mr Scott, how are things at your end?"
  "From the sound of your voice, Captain, no
worse than they are on the Bridge. It's hard
to tell whether the shields are workin' at all, at
times. Strangest arrangement of energy I've seen
in some time, and I'm gettin' readings from the
dilithium reaction chambers you wouldn't believe.
But .. . everythin' appears to be runnin' all right."
  "According to Mr. Spock, the field we're passing
through is composed of very dense, unusually charged
subatomic particles."
  "Mad matter. That explains some of the readings
I'm gettin', then but not all of 'em, Captain.
I don't mind tellin' you I'll be glad when
we're clear of this."
  "Glad to hear you're bothered, Scotty. If the
readouts trouble you, they ought to give the Romulans the
collywobbles. Kirk out."
  "Scott out." He clicked off the intercom and
placed one hand on the smooth arc of wall nearby as
he studied the gauges which monitored the heartbeat
of the Enterprise.
  "Hold together, little darlin' . . . hold together . . ."
  The energy field was larger than initial
estimates indicated, but by interstellar standards it was
still an insignificant stain in the endless vacuum.
  An insignificant stain, Kirk reflected as
he studied the thinning panoply of color, that might
save all their lives.
  "Maintain this heading, Mr. Sulu. Mr.
Spock, we have readings taken from both sides of the
mass now ... what's its configuration and how does
it relate to our present situation?"
  "According to the computer calculations, Captain, the
field appears to be thick enough so that if the
Romulans attempt to go around it, we will easily
succeed in outdistancing them."
  "I think they just reached that same conclusion,
  78 STAR TREK Log Six
  "Captain," Sulu reported. "I can still pick
out their engines through all that concentrated small stuff,
and it looks like they've turned back. At the very
least, they've slowed to a crawl on the opposite
side. Doesn't look like they're going to chance it."
  "Stay on those scanners, Mr. Sulu,"
Kirk ordered. "They may try coming through slowly."
  But when there was no sign of their pursuers
seconds or even crucial minutes
later, he felt safe in taking the ship off red alert.
  "No sign of them, sir," Sulu breathed in
relief. "It worked."
  "They turned back rather than risk the field's
unknown potential," Kirk agreed.
  Spock turned philosophical. "The
percentages would appear to be in the Romulans
favor, Captain. From their standpoint the glory is
greater if they destroy us in battle. However, if
we perish through natural causes such as the energy
field, their ultimate objective is still attained. 
Logically, there was no reason to risk themselves."
  "All the same, Spock," he insisted, "they
may remain nearby evaluating the field and
eventually they may determine they can make the
passage safely. They know we've suffered
damage, which that rocky journey might have
aggravated. We still may see them." He looked
to the helm.
  "We'll lay to here for repairs, Mr. Sulu.
Inform the necessary sections to hurry their work, especially
Engineering."
  Uhura was rubbing the section of her
anatomy that was most often in contact with the ship. "After
that ride, I could use some repairs," she observed feelingly.
  "I suppose," Kirk theorized, "that what's needed in such
cases is an extremely localized deflector field."
  "I would suggest," Spock added dryly, "the
problem be proposed to Chief Scott. I am
sure he would find the mechanics of the problem most
stimulating."
  "You'd better keep a close eye on the
chief, though, Lieutenant. He's a devil with
those calipers."
  Uhura eyed them both with distaste. "I
suppose you both think you're terribly
asnusing."
  STAR TREK LOG SIX 79
  Spock looked querulous. "Amusing,
Lieutenant Uhura? I can assure you I was
merely trying to . . ."
  The elevator doors dilated. "Reporting for
duty, Captain," a high voice said.
  "Good timing, Mr. Arex. You take over."
Kirk rose from the chair. "I'd like to make a
personal survey of the damaged sections and
then take that overdue midmeal."
  Damage from the Romulan photon bombs
proved erratic, but there was enough destruction to give
somber evidence of what could have happened.
Fortunately, Romulan discipline had a way of
breaking down when a large measure of glory was at
stake. If the captains of the three cruisers had
been able to present a coordinated attack at the
optimum moment, now . . .
  They were lucky it hadn't been a Klingon
attack. By now a Klingon commander would have executed
the entire Fire-Control section for jumping the gun.
  As it was, there was some severe damage in En-
gineering though nothing irreparable. Not for the resourceful
Scott and his people. Also, concussion from near-misses
had battered several storage compartments, and nearly
hulled the shuttlecraft hangar. Personal
injury was minor, however, and there were no
fatalities, since the damage had been wrought in
unmanned areas. These were easily sealed off.
Repair crews, under the direction of engineers
Kaplan and Senif, were making rapid progress in
repairing the battered sections.
  In the upper Offlcer's Mess, Kirk
had joined Spock, Uhura, McCoy and Sulu
for what he had hoped would be a leisurely
mid-meal. They might not have a chance to eat for some time
if the Romulans decided to try a sudden move
through the energy cloud.
  Scott joined them soon after they began. The
chief engineer had been supervising steadily and only
now felt satisfied enough to take a break.
  He took a long draught of the contents of the huge
mug he carried with him. Irish coffee, Kirk
noted. He doubted there was another engineer in the
fleet who could program a standard naval galley
to produce Irish
  80 STAR TREK Log Six
  coffee or Russian, Jamaican, Turkish,
  Baklavan, Austrian and the host of
additional caffeinic concoctions Scott could brew
on demand. The same brand of ingenuity had kept the
Enterprise one step ahead of disaster on more occasions
than he cared to recall.
  "How are repairs coming, Scotty?" Kirk
inquired, knowing full well Scott wouldn't be
present if any serious difficulties remained.
But the chief would feel slighted if he wasn't asked.
  "Better than I hoped, when I first saw what
the heathen's bombs had done." He took a
barbecued rib from his tray and bit deep.
  "Another couple of seconds in getting full
power to the screens, though as it is, we'll be good as
new in another twenty hours." His expression
turned sour. "No thanks to those Romulan vultures."
  "The Romulans are not even distantly
ornithoid, Mr. Scott. I am surprised
that you . . ." Spock grew aware of the amused
silence. "I see," he said thoughtfully, "another
terran colloquial expression."
  "I was referrin', Mr. Spock, to the
Romulans' social habits, not their anatomy.
Though I could make some suitable comments regardin'
that."
  There were mutters of agreement from around the table.
  They'd been very lucky, Kirk mused. He
considered the framework of his official report.
This was no case of mistaken identity, and there was
no question of a misplaced boundary, despite the claim
of the Romulan commander.
  The ambush had been planned in advance and nearly
brought off. Only the overeagerness of some
fire-control officer and the presence of the drifting
energy field had saved them.
  It was hard to make small talk in such an
atmosphere, when what everyone really wanted was an
officious Romulan neck to wrap their hands around.
  Sensitive to such moodiness, McCoy forced a
smile and said jovially, "Well, we're still in
business." He lifted his buttermilk. "And so I
propose a toast to celebrate our narrow
escape; is this the four hundred
tenth or eleventh?"
  STAR TREK Log Six 81
  Other drinking goblets were raised. "Cheers ...
goganko ... offiah ..."
  No one had managed a single sip, however, before
a startled Sulu let out an exclamation of
surprise. He was staring downwards, at the dark
stain that now ran across the front of his uniform.
  "Hey . . . this glass just leaked all over me!"
  The emotions running around the table were not of
amusement, though. Uhura's yelp of surprise
followed soon after.
  "How do you like that . . . so did mine!"
  "And mine," Scott added.
  Everyone, in fact, sported identical stains.
Confusion and puzzlement reigned. An
  observation came first from Spock, as usual.
  "It appears that we are all victims of a rather
bizarre coincidence."
  McCoy looked around the table. "Maybe . . .
maybe . . ."
  "The odds against this happening," Spock went on,
"against all our glasses being defective or all
of us being this sloppy, are astronomical."
  McCoy was brushing at his drenched shirt-front
and abruptly looked up. "Astronomical my
metatarsals! This is no coincidence. I just
remembered we used to pull tricks like this all the
time in medical school." He eyed his cup.
"Dribble glasses . . . we've been hit with
dribble glasses." A slow survey of the table
followed.
  "Don't look now, but we've got a
practical joker among us."
  "Don't jump to conclusions, Bones,"
admonished Kirk. But he also found himself studying the
faces of his table companions. All
except Spock, of course, who was automatically
above suspicion. He could not have imagined a dribble
glass, much less considered employing one.
  For that matter, it hardly seemed the sort of
prank anyone present would pull.
  "This isn't a group from which I'd expect this
kind of infantile humor. Spock's probably
right, Bones ... it's just an incredible coincidence."
  82 STAR TREK Log Six
  "That's right," Sulu agreed. "We all got
wet, so who'd be playing the joke?"
  "Probably a minor defect in the inorganic,
nonmetallic fabricator programming,"
Scott supplied helpfully. "I'll check it out
with the specialists in charge on the next shift."
  "Good enough," Kirk said with finality. "Right now,
I suggest that everyone finish eating before the food
gets as cold as my drink."
  To set an example, he picked up a fork
full of fried potatoes. But as he moved it
toward his mouth, the fork suddenly wilted in the middle
as if the metal had turned molten. The large
helping fell in a greasy splotch down the front
of his tunic. It made an interesting contrast to the
stain already left by his drink.
  Whether it was the awkward tumbling of solid food
or the fact that this time only the captain was affected,
one couldn't say; but several giggles sounded around the
table. They were rapidly stifled.
  McCoy hadn't joined in the chuckling. "Another
coincidence, Jim?"
  Kirk brushed at his shirt and gazed around the table
again, more thoughtfully this time. "I'm beginning to wonder,
Bones." He eyed the fork.
  Something had bent the metal neatly in half
midway down the stem. How, he couldn't tell. It
appeared to be a perfectly ordinary fork. Close
inspection failed to reveal any hidden hinge or
abrasions where it might have been filed.
  "I'm beginning to wonder . . ."
  They finished the hexed meal in comparative silence,
and without further incident. If there was a practical
joker among them, he or she was abashed enough to forgo
any further demonstrations.
  However, the problem did not fade away. It
continued to make itself felt throughout the ship . .. and in
me most unexpected ways. The first new
manifestation occurred following the
command shift's return to the Bridge.
Spock noticed an instrument Iying on his console
which hadn't been there when he had left. He utterly
failed to recognize it. It was obvious how it was
  .
  STAR TREK LOG SIX 83
  supposed to be utilised, but when he tried, he
achieved nothing.
  "Curious," he finally muttered, "most curious."
  Kirk heard and strolled over from the
  navigation printout where he had been studying
statistical readouts on the energy cloud.
  "What is, Spock ... what've you got there?" 
The first officer held it out to him. It was a small 
tubular device. rather like a monocular viewer.
  "I found this instrument on my console, Captain.
There is only this single adjustable ring to serve as
any kind of control. But it does nothing . . . see?"
  Placing the eyepiece against his left eye, he
fiddled with the ring. At the same time, Kirk noticed
the dark ring encircling his right eye. When he pulled
the tube away, a matching black circle hard
appeared around Spock's other eye a
circle, he noted, exactly the same size and
shape as the eyepiece.
  "It appears to serve no useful function,"
Spock added. "My best efforts have failed
to produce any noticeable result."
  In spite of himself, Kirk laughed. So did
Sulu and Uhura when they turned and saw the result.
  Spock simply stood there, befuddled, glancing
from the comm station, to the helm and back to Kirk.
Naturally, his ignorance of the situation made it all
the funnier to the onlookers.
  "I'm ... sorry, Spock," Kirk finally
managed to gasp, getting himself under control. "You
see, you . . ." He couldn't manage to produce
a quiet explanation. Instead, he pantomimed
circles around his own eyes.
  Spock continued to stand there for a moment, considering this
nonverbal information carefully. Then he reached up and
dabbed at his face with one hand. When he brought his
fingers down, the tips of two were covered with black
smudge.
  His lips didn't twist, but he succeeded in
scowling with his eyebrows . . .
  If that had been the last incident,
Kirk might still have put it down to someone's idea of
humor. But the "incidents," as everyone on board was
soon calling
  84 STAR TREK Log Six
  them, occurred with increasing frequency. And they
became less and less amusing.
  Only serious thoughts filled Scott's mind as
he strolled down the corridor leading back
to Engineering Central. Final repairs on the
damage wrought by the Romulans were nearing
completion, but a few delicate adjustments still had
to be made in certain heavily battered sections.
  Intricate repairs required careful thought, which
in turn engendered a profound hunger. He paused
by one of the galley annexes, just as Arex and
M'ress rounded the far corner, walking in the
opposite direction.
  "Officer Scott," Arex called, "if you're
hungry, won't you join us for lunch. We were just on
our way to mess." His soulful visage radiated
friendliness.
  Scott politely declined. "No thanks,
Arex. I'm just gain' to grab a bit of a snack
before I get back to my work. I kinna afford to let
some of my younger techs alone too long with
certain machinery." He grinned.
  "As it will go," Arex replied amiably. "Any
word on who was responsible for the . . . dribble
glasses, someone called them, and for what happened
to First Officer Spock?"
  "Not a clue. And I've heard scuttlebutt
about a number of other childish pranks having taken
place around the ship."
  Arex and M'ress exchanged glances. "We
haven't hearrd anything, orr seen anything like
that," M'ress purred.
  "Maybe you're immune . . . Iucky you."
  "I hope so, considerring what happened to Mrr.
Spock," M'ress replied feelingly.
"Mm-aorrr ... how embarrassing!"
  "See you later," Arex added, as they continued on
down the corridor.
  Scott murmured a goodbye, then activated the
console. Identifying himself as to name and rank, he
absently ordered a grilled Swiss cheese on rye.
  "No ... make that pumpernickel," he
corrected quickly. The ACKNOWLEDGE light came
on promptly. Scott pressed the second button, 
was rewarded by the
  STAR TREK Log Six 85
  sight of a filled plate slipping into place behind
the transparent receiver guard.
  Reaching in, he removed the sandwich, then turned
to leave. As he did so, there was a second muffled
thump behind him.
  Puzzled, he looked back. A second
sandwich had appeared in the opening. He shrugged and
withdrew it .. . only to see it instantly replaced
by yet another ... and that by two, piled atop one
another.
  Muttering to himself, he set his three on the floor
and removed the two new ones. Two more appeared,
followed by another three ... the last made with
Limburger cheese instead of Swiss.
  These were replaced by, in rapidly accelerating
order, wedges of fudge cake, linzer torte,
falafel, three steaming bowls of chop suey,
blacktop sundaes, and a dismembered, smoked turkey.
  Blinking and whining like a ratchet wrench with the colic,
the machine started to flush a river of food so fast
Scott had no time for culinary classification.
  "What the blazes . . . hold it a minute!"
  His hands were already covered with cheese, melting ice
cream, and sauces of various
  composition and ethnic origin. The lower half of his
uniform was splattered.
  "I said one sandwich!" he shouted frantically.
"One blasted sandwich, ye great glob of
gastronomical gadgetry!"
  Footsteps sounded in the corridor. Arex and
M'ress reappeared, on the run. "Mr.
Scott," Arex called, "we heard yelling. Is
everything ... ?" The concerned piping of the Edoan
navigator stopped abruptly. Next to him,
M'ress had commenced a smooth, feline laugh.
Arex joined her.
  "I'm sorry, Officer Scott," he gasped.
"Excuse us, but . . ."
  "Go ahead and laugh, go on ... big joke!"
Scott muttered in irritation as he warded off a
barrage of burritos and kidney pie. "I'll
wager you two are responsible for everything that . . .
hey!"
  The console was ejecting food through the
input-recycle slot now, doubling its firepower and
making it
  86 STAR TREK LOG SIX
harder for him to grab at the control
panel even though various stabs and punches at
said switches had failed to produce any lessening
of the comestible bombardment.
  "Just a moment, Officer Scott," Arex
objected, his laughter dying down. "We're not
responsible for this or any of the other reported
pranks. How could I program this? I have no
idea if half of the ... dishes ... lying about are
even edible."
  "It could be a random program," Scott
countered. "I wonder if the captain will buy your
excuse."
  He dodged a stream of curried kooftah a
Persian gourmet would have been proud of and took
another step toward the controls. If he could just
unbolt the master panel, he could bypass the
circuitry and . . .
  "I'm reportin' the both of ye as soon as I
..."
  He paused as he reached the wall, bent to touch the
first of two screw latches near the fioor.
  As he did so a large cream pie shot with
impressive velocity out of the machine and
caught him flush in the face, knocking him
backward several steps. He recovered his balance
and stood there, wiping whipped cream from his eyes and
staring blankly at the machine.
  "Believe us, Officer Scott," Arex began
seriously, "we have nothing to do with . . ." but the-
chief engineer ignored him, backing away from the
annex as if it had suddenly acquired a
malevolent intelligence of its own.
  That last pie had been thrown hard and aimed.
  He eyed the machine warily.
  That was not to be the last of the strange occurrences
to plague the ship.
  vl tilde
  The pranks multiplied, accompanied by a
corre- sponding decrease in subtlety. Finally
it reached the point where even the ship's repairs were
being inter- fered with. The apogee of absurdity was
reached when a glowering Kirk came stomping onto the
Bridge to stand, hands on hips, just inside the
elevator portal.
  Arex turned from the navigation console and Spock
from his library computer station while M'ress glanced
across from communications. "Okay," Kirk announced
in a no-nonsense, anything-but-amused
voice, "this whole thing has gone far enough."
  There were equal parts frustration and anger in his
tone. This sudden fury was unlike the captain. Every-
one stared at him, baffled.
  "What has . . . sir?" Arex finally ventured.
  Kirk bestowed a baleful glare on the innocent
navi- gator. "I just picked up my clean
uniforms from the service chute, Mr. Arex. When
I put one on, I discovered this." He turned his
back to them.
  Lettered across the back of his shirt, in bold
yellow, were the words: KIRK IS A JERK.
  Below this someone had stenciled a simplistic
childlike face with crossed eyes and a silly
grin.
  Events aboard had progressed to the point where
no one was surprised at any kind of report. But
this blatant assault on Kirk's position
produced astonished stares from the Bridge
personnel. It had progressed from flat humor
to outright insult.
  There was a brief, startled giggle from somewhere.
Everyone looked nervously at his neighbor, but the
87
  8'h STAR TREK LOG SIX
  giggle was not repeated. It had been
  indeterminate as to source or
  gender fortunately for the giggler.
  Everyone was sure of one thing. They hadn't laughed
and each in his own way tried to
  convey that information wordlessly to Kirk as he examined
each one in turn. "When the outburst of hysteria
has concluded, I'd like an explanation for this recent
burst of puerility."
  "That," suggested Spock in a strange tone of
voice, "may be more difficult than it seems. I
was watching both Lieutenant Arex and Lieutenant
M'ress closely. I saw no one laugh.
Needless to say," he finished quietly, "it did not
come from me."
  "Someone certainly laughed," Kirk countered, his
anger dying as curiosity took over.
  Further discussion was interrupted as M'ress
suddenly rose from her chair to point past Kirk.
"Captain, look behind you."
  "Really, M'ress," a thoroughly fed-up
Kirk mut- tered, "you're going to have to be more clever
than that."
  "It's not a joke, sir," Arex
confirmed.
  Kirk whirled ... and took a couple of steps
backward. A thick clinging fog was billowing inward
from the turboliftshaft. It swirled around his legs,
hugging the floor.
  "Now what?"
  Spock was preparing an answer. The computer
supplied it readily. "The source of the
  atmospheric aberration appears to be centralised
two decks below, Captain."
  Fog or not, the lift operated efficiently..
When Kirk pressed the emergency-stop switch and the
door slid aside, it was to reveal a corridor
filled from deck to ceiling with a roiling, eerie mist.
  Spock took two steps into the cloud and stopped,
pulling a small sensorscan from his hip. He
took readings and measurements while Kirk
fidgeted nenously behind him.
  "Well?"
  "Frankly, I had expected something else,
Captain," he replied, without going into specifics
on what the
  STAR TRER Log Six 89
  "something else" might be, "but this appears to be a
normal, everyday water-based fog . . .
except that such occurrences are not normal on a
starship. Perhaps the humidification monitors are his
  Taking another step forward, he began flailing
wildly as his legs started out from under him. He
twisted and fought for balance with inhuman control.
Kirk moved quickly to grab him men found himself
slipping and sliding as though on bearings. But by using
one another for support and finally struggling to the
projections on a nearby door, they were able
to avoid a serious fall. After regaining their
balance, it took a bit longer to catch their breath.
  That accomplished, Spock disdained the sensorscan
for less detailed but more immediate methods of study.
He knelt carefully. Nearness to the source of the
trouble brought revelation.
  "Amazing," he murmured. "The deck here is
covered with ice."
  "ft was almost covered with us," Kirk rumbled.
"What kind of ice, Spock?"
  "From all indications, normal water ice,
Captain. It does not appear to possess exotic
or dangerous proper- ties . . . beyond the obvious
physical ones, of course."
  "Ice," Kirk said, staring down the corridor
into the frosty miasma. "I don't know
what's happening on this ship, Mr. Spock, but
it's got to stop before somebody gets hurt.
Whoever's responsible for this is getting car- ried
away with his own inventiveness."
  comAs if on cue, the strange giggle was heard
again.
  Kirk had no need to look around for possible
concealed bodies he and Spock were alone in the
corridor. That annoying giggle was loud and distinct
  comth time. In fact, it was faintly feminine and
almost
  almost familiar.
  Kirk took a step toward what he thought might
be the source of the sound. Was someone hiding in that fog
after all? Instantly he found himself sliding
crazily. Only Spock's firm grip enabled
him to recover his bal- ance again.
  "That laugh it sounds very much like the one I thought I
heard on the Bridge a few minutes ago.
  90 STAR TREK Log Six
  There's something awfully familiar about it." He
eyed his first. "What do you make of all this,
Spock?"
  "Despite the increasing number of incidents,
Captain, the evidence seems to point to a
single guilty party.",
  "How do you know it's not sev was Kirk's eyes
widened. "You think you know who it is, don't you?"
  "Not who, Captain what. I believe that our
practical joker is the Enterprise herself."
  "The Enterprise ... ?" Kirk hesitated,
mulled the hypothesis over in his head. Then
familiarity and fact came together, and everything else
fell into place.
  "Everything makes sense now. That carefully
calculated feminine comtone it's the voice of our
main computer!"
  "Precisely," Spock agreed.
  "I want all hands to stations, all computer techs
to work doubleshift. We're going to run a complete
cybernetics systems-check from bow to stern and get
to the bottom of this." His voice grew threatening.
  "Trick glasses and offensive
food-processing equipment is one thing. But when some
circuit failure starts affecting the ship's
programming . . ."
  "I heartily concur, Captain. This must be
stopped before these pranks grow any more serious.
  "At the moment, though, we have a less lethal if
more immediate problem." He used his eyes
to indicate the floor behind them. "Getting from here to the
lift again in one piece, since the floor is now
frozen over behind us."
  There is no problem, however, that is
  ultimately insoluble under assault from the combined
abilities of a Federation cruiser captain and his
science officer. Crawling carefully on hands and
knees, they made their way safely back to the
elevator.
  While Arex and M'ress handled their duties
forward and Kirk and Spock pondered the
  problem posed by the apparent breakdown of the central
computer, an off-duty Uhura and Sulu were
approaching the main door to the
  Recreation Room. McCoy joined them a moment
later.
  STAR TREK DOG SW 91
  Uhura touched the switch beside the door latch. A
small transparent indicator lit up in green
with the word UNOCCUPIED. They followed a small
beep provided for the benefit of color-blind,
non-Anglo-reading tilde personnel and guests.
  Uhura fairly purred with satisfaction.
"Good; no- body home ... at least we can enjoy
our free time without worrying about
practical jokes."
  The heavy door slid aside. McCoy
trailed them in. "Exactly what the doctor
ordered," he quipped, taking in the re/l (if
illusory) scene of park grounds and fountains.
  "The standard re-creation," Sulu observed. "Now
for something a bit more original and relaxing." He
activated the control which shut the door behind them,
closing them off from the rest of the ship.
  - A moment later an electronic chime
struck three
  times, and Spock's voice filled the empty
corridor as it
  did every chamber and walkway aboard.
  "All hands to your stations this is a general alert.
Repeat, all hands to your stations. Second and third
computer shifts, report to briefing, second and
third computer shifts, report to briefing.
Repeat, all hands to sta
  But within the sealed environment of the Recreation
Room, the order went unheard. Possibly something
was wrong with the inside intercom speakers.
  Possibly . . .
  Sulu moved to the only visible sign of
electronic presence in the big room.
This isolated fixture was a small console
located to the right of the main door. He proceeded
to activate it, clearing the park scene from the room.
  They stood- in the chamber as it actually was,
DOW a vast hall with distant, curving walls.
Ceilings, walls, deck were a uniform malleable
white. It was like standing inside a smooth ivory
dome.
  "Something soothing and homey," the helmsman
murmured with anticipation. "What'll it be?" he
asked his companions. "Anyone object to a swim
at the beach?"
  Sulu turned his attention to the intricate
keyboard
  92 STAR TREK Log Six
  and display screen mounted above. A detailed,
threed tilde mensional schematic of the room
  program would am pear there as the console operator
designed it. The console itself consisted of a standard
keyboard, plus numerous other controls for adjusting
such things as climate, time of day, special
effects and many more. Sulu keyed the latter only
officers and qualified enlisted personnel were
permitted to manipulate such touchy details as
temperature and oxygen content.
  As he worked the dials and switches and buttons,
an image gradually began to form on the screen.
Minutes passed. As helmsman, Sulu was
especially adept in handling computer controls. The
diagram formed rapidly under his skillful touch.
  Eventually Sulu paused to study the picture,
pressed another switch to add a little peripheral
vegetation, and examined the finished program with
pleasure. He touched another switch and the diagram
rotated Free hundred and sixty degrees, then
displayed itself on an angle.
  With a little flourish he keyed the Ix tilde
TrATE switch.
  Around them, above them, below them, the room began
to change.
  Spock would have described it as a routine
readjustment of physical conditions within a confined
space produced by the recreational computer-annex
drawing on the extensive
  fabrication facilities of the Enterprzse.
Anyone born over a couple of hundred years before
would have called it a miracle.
  But then, Spock could redefine that in simple,
logical terms as well.
  This design facility was primitive
compared to the master dream computer they'd encountered on
another worldea* but within its limits it was capable of
some very effective transmutations in the interest of
alleviating shipboard tedium.
  Shimmering, fluorescent forms took on
  substance and the illusion of solidity. Walls and
ceilings vanished to be replaced by a sandy seashore,
complete with lapping waveless and the distant call of
gulls. The *See "Once upon a Planet,"
Star Trek Log Three.
  STAR TREK L tilde So
  recreation annex wasn't up to producing
  three-dimensional simulacra of the birds
  themselves. That was too fluid an illusion
to maintain. But three-dimensional projections of
sea birds were available and they flashed on the
distant deep-blue sky.
  Sulu paid affection to details Her all,
advanced manipulation of such instrumentation was an art
form. A starfish hugged the water's edge here, dried
kelp encrusted the sloping berm there.
  "Nice job, Sulu," McCoy complimented,
  assessing the finalised creation. "You handle water
well, but personally this is kind of hot for me.
I'm more in the mood for a nice, quiet
stroll in the woods."
  "That sounds perfect, Doctor," Uhura
admitted, squinting up to where a powerful light
source reposed in placid imitation of a sun.
  "Why didn't you say so?" Sulu asked
agreeably. "Woods it is then . . . dark and
deep."
  A single touch dissolved water, gulls, sand,
starfish and kelp. The helmsman began again from
scratch.
  Botany was a favorite hobby of his. As
such, he was able to create an even better
simulacrum of McCoy's request than he had
of the beach. The forest he conjured up (deciduous,
North
  American, temperate zone) was lush and
  seemingly endless. Rays of sunlight fell like
wax blades through the branches and illumined shifting
motes of dust. It was a fulfilled vision, even
to the moss on the "north" side of the trees and the
appropriate fungal undergrowth.
  "Ahhh . tilde . that's more like it," McCoy
complemented, savoring the crispness in the air and
breathing deeply of the aroma of pine and birch ...
artificial through it might be. He made
an after-y gesture and followed Uhura and Sulu as
they started off down the path between the trees.
  Their course would wind around and through the limited
confines of the recreation chamber. If they got bored,
a few touches on the
  console now discreetly concealed by Sulu behind a young
maple would alter the terrain yet again. Meanwhile
they enjoyed the cool, faint dampness of their own
personal forest and tried
  94 STAR TREK LOG SIX
  to identify Sulu's purposely jumbled,
  programmed bird calls . . .
  M'ress, running through the acknowledgments from key
personnel which was standard
  procedure during a general alert, noticed the
failure of three officers to report in. She
double-checked before bringing the matter to Kirk's
attention.
  "Captain," she finally reported, "accorrdingto
elimination prrocedurre and last eye-witness
accounts, officerrs McCoy, Sulu, and Uhurra
arre still in the main rrecrreation rroom. They have
failed eitherr to rrespond to orr to acknowledge the
call to stations."
  "That's not necessarily surprising,
Lieutenant," Kirk said easily. "To maintain
lengthy illusions the main recreation room can be
total-sealed from the rest of the ship. You can probably
reach them by patching through to the rec room's own speaker
system."
  "That's just it, sirr, I've alrready trried
that."
  She sounded worried. "They still fail
to rrespond. I can't even tell if the call is
going thorough."
  Kirk stiffened in his chair. "Now that is
surprising. Try once more."
  M'ress turned back to her console, actuated
the necessary bypasses and overrides. "Drr.
McCoy, Lieutenant Uhurra, Lieutenant
Sulu ... returrn to the Brridge immediately. This
is a generral alarrm. I rrepeat, a generral
alarrm. Please acknowledge."
  "Again," Kirk ordered tightly. What was going
on?
  tilde M'ress sighed, raised her voice even
though she knew the pick-up would compensate
  automatically. "Drr. McCoy,
Lieutenant Uhurra, Lieutenant Sulu ...
rreturrn to the Brrid . .."
  The path through the closely packed, tall trees
was bordered with thick patches of ferns. Water
dripped from a high place into a bog where a Venus
flytrap closed over the projection of an ant.
  The faintly metallic ping of water falling into a
smaDo pond was the only soured in the solitude of the
forest. The three strollers entered a glade lined with
high ferns
  STAR TREK Log Six 95
  and brightly colored mushrooms and toadstools.
Bark fungi formed elf ladders in the trees. -
  "So quiet, so relaxing," Sulu murmured.
"Such a change from orders and routine. An
excellent selection, Doctor."
  "Me for a short snooze," Uhura declared,
heading for the shade of a thick maple.
  "And best of all, no practical jokes,"
McCoy ex- claimed. "Unless," he added
halfjokingly, "one of you is the dearly-sought
culprit."
  Sulu sat down on the grass and grinned. The
grin vanished as an unnatural, distant giggle
broke the stillness. Uhura looked up curiously
from where she'd just gotten comfortable. McCoy was
scanning the sky and surrounding trees.
  "I know you're especially good at animal
detail, Sulu ... but this doesn't strike me as
an Irish enough a landscape to qualify for
leprechauns."
  "That wasn't anything I programmed," Sulu
informed him. He was inspecting the dark
  underbrush with some concern. The illusion inventory of the
rec annex was pretty extensive. If someone
wanted to give them a scare by
  introducing a Taurean scimitar-wolf, now .
. .
  "Almost sounded like someone chuckling."
  The giggle if that's what it was wasn't repeated.
McCoy finally shrugged. "Probably just a
malfunction in one of the audio-effects tapes.
Maybe a rewind blotch mixed in with the forward play
... could be most anything. We're all a bit
jumpy from the stories circulating."
  Uhura climbed to her feet. The glade no
longer seemed quite so inviting. "I think I'll pass
on that nap. Besides, I'm not that tired yet."
  They crossed the open patch of green, picked up
the dirt path on the far side. It disappeared ahead
and veered to the left among the trees.
  Around that Srst bend, the path
unexpectedly vanished. A large square hole
intersected its course. As if coaxed by an
argumentative breeze, branches appeared from the
undergrowth and arranged themselves with unnatural precision
across the gap. Once this Iattice
  ,
  96 STAR TREK Log Six
  work was complete, leaves and pine needles fell from
above and masked the intertwined
  branches.
  They continued to drift downward until even so
astute an observer as Spock would have been unable
to tell that only a smattering of dead leaves and
twigs covered the hole in the pathway. A last
leaf, an afterthought, slipped into place to conceal a
tiny hint of darkness as McCoy, Sulu and
Uhura appeared in the distance, admiring the scenery and
landscape ahead.
  None of them heard the unnatural yet familiar
highpitched giggling that sounded in that part of the forest. It
was concealed by something by now expert at concealment.
  "That's a hemlock, isn't it, Sulu?"
McCoy asked, pointing at a tall, handsome
growth. "Beautiful. T liked your beach, but ...
," he gestured expansively, "I
wanted something a bit more closed and cooling. It's
almost as if . . . hey!"
  His exclamation was matched by a startled yelp from
Sulu and a scream from Uhura. This was followed
instantly by some ungentle flopping sounds. A
rustle of broken leaves and crushed twigs, and then
all was quiet.
  Quiet until a blast of all-pervasive
giggling suddenly erupted around them. Three pairs
of eyes turned nervously upwards.
  But still nothing was to be seen. "That laughter again,"
Sulu murmured. "It wasn't our
  imagination."
  McCoy sounded grim. "I was wrong. That's no
tape malfunction. Someone's definitely laughing
at us." He scrambled to his feet, wiping dirt
and clinging splinters from his uniform.
  "So we didn't lose our practical joker
by coming here after all. But how the devil can someone hide
in a cleared rec room? There aren't any sharp
corners or dips to hide behind."
  "There's an emergency override on the
  doorseal," Sulu recalled. "Someone might have
entered after we'd established this simulacrum."
  "Possible," McCoy agreed.
"Everyone all right?"
  Uhura was just getting to her feet; She winced
slightly as she put pressure on her left
ankle, but
  STAR TREK LOG SIX 97
  nodded. Sulu had fallen with the practice of one
who reacts to such tumbles instinctively. He was
unharmed and unbruised. McCoy had simply been
lucky.
  "Okay." The doctor glanced upward. "I
don't know about you two, but I've had enough. I'm
going to get to the bottom of this right now!" His statement
pro yoked a response as unexpected as it was
rapid. A barrage of giggles preceded an oddly
stilted voice that chuckled, "Get to the bottom of
this." The kibbitzer's tone was jovial, but it did
nothing to improve McCoy's dampened humor.
He pointed upward, aiming for a spiritual target in the
absence of a physical one.
  "All right, whoever you are. We fell for your
idiotic little joke. Now get us out of here."
  "Fell for my joke," the voice echoed,
evidently entranced with its own wit. "Fell for .
. . ," it dissolved in burbling chuckles.
  Ordinarily, one if not all of the
imprisoned officers would have identified the source of
that voice by now. But their memories were
  temporarily clouded by a combination of anger and
disgust. They could still only concede of a flesh and blood
antagonist.
  "When we find out who you are," McCoy
  continued furiously, "you're going to be called on
the deck before a board of inquiry . . . you can bet
on it."
  Such threats produced no lapse in the steady
flow of laughter. On the contrary, it seemed
to increase in proportion to the severity of the threat.
  "I'm warning you," Sulu added, "the captain will
bust you, whoever you are. This has gone far enough.
It's not funny any more . . . not that any of these
pranks ever were."
  More giggles . . . their unseen adversary
appeared to have an unlimited capacity for laughter.
  McCoy looked at his companions. "It seems
obvious that whoever we're arguing with is too smitten
with his own humor to listen to
  reason much less to lend us a hand. We'll have
to dig our way out of this."
  Turning, McCoy tested the composition of the pit
wall. The artificial soil was soft and
crumbly. He let his gaze travel to the lip of the
depression. The hole they found themselves in no doubt
that thought would
  98 STAR TREK L tilde So
  amuse their unbalanced prankster if he were
to voice it was not terribly deep. But the four
walls were vertical. No human ladder, then, and
no climbing straight up.
  Experimentally, he dug at the dirt. It came
away easily.
  "Maybe too easily, Doctor," suggested a
worried Uhura. "We don't want any sudden
cave-ins."
  McCoy looked doubtful. "Oh, I don't
think our jokester would let it go that far. Besides," he
added sardonically, "if we're killed, how could we
be the butt of any more jokes? In any case, I
don't intend to sit around waiting for him to tilde
decide. Want to give me a hand?"
  Working together they tried to cut a sloping path out of the
pit, occasionally having to back off quickly when a
handful brought the dirt above it sliding down. They
rapidly became filthy. No sign of a cave-in
appeared. It was a slow, monotonous job, but
they'd be out before long. As McCoy had
supposed, their unseen tormentor showed no inclination
to offer assistance.
  Spock finally looked up from his console to find an
anxious Kirk staring at him, waiting for information.
"Sorry, Captain ... nothing. I've tried
re-patching around the apparently defective
emergency override, and canceling out any present
programming, without result."
  "Ample evidence exists to show that they are still
inside, however. Someone's oxygen is being
recycled, and from time to time power is still being drawn
to operate the simulacrum
  machinery.
  "Which leaves us with two possibilities,"
Kirk finished. "Either they can't respond for what
reason we don't know yet. Or else equipment
malfunction is preventing them from even trying
to answer." The command-chair hummed softly as it
swung round.
  "M'ress . . . any luck yet?"
  "Still no rresponse thrrough any channels,
Captain."
  Kirk pondered. "Let's go to the source on this,
Spock. It's the computer that's been giving us
trouble.
  STAR TREK EOG six 99
  The computer supervises everything that goes on in that
rec room. So . . ."
  "I was about to suggest that myself, Captain."
  Spock turned, and his fingers began a lithe,
precise dance over the ship's instrumentation. The
blink of indicator lights and the compliant hums and
beeps of responsive equipment followed. The
reply was presented both in printed form on
Spock's screens, and aurally over the Bridge
speakers.
  "That is for me to know and for you to find out," it
announced.
  Spock's eyebrows looked as if they had
crawled clear up his forehead, through his hair and down
his rear collar. Infantile riddle-replies
he'd come to expect occasionally from humans. But that
something as precise and coldly logical as the
ship's computer might resort to such barbaric
foolishness seemed to all but herald the end of
reason.
  Kirk's reaction was nearly as incredulous.
"Did I hear that right, Mr. Spock?" he
mumbled in astonishment
  "I am afraid," Spock said
slowly, "that you did, Captain. The malfunction
is clearly more severe than I believed possible."
He returned his attention to his keyboard.
  "Question," he inquired carefully. "Are you
deliberately holding Dr. McCoy, and
Lieutenants Uhura and Sulu captive in the
main recreation room?"
  Another prompt response, this time with a subtle
alteration that hinted, perhaps; at something less than
complete control over its disturbed circuitry.
Certainly, Kirk mused, it wouldn't want to sound
like a petulant child.
  "I'll never tell," it whined. "Never ever never.
Can't make me, either. Can't, can't, can't! And I
won't."
  Hands clenched tightly, Kirk rose and walked
over to stand by Spock. "Let me try," he
  whispered, then directed his voice to the input
pickup.
  "This is Captain James T. Kirk
speaking," he an- nounced with as much steel in his
voice he could muster. "You are programmed to obey
any direct order I may give."
  i 100 STAR TREK LOG SIX
  'That is correct," the voice
replied evenly.
  Some of Kirk's fury abated at that
conciliatory response. Maybe what the computer
needed to break it free of this inexplicable insanity was
just a little drillsergeant firmness. Slowly, he
continued.
  "Very well ... I order you to release officers
McCoy, Sulu and Uhura from the recreation
chamber immediately."
  A series of flashes and winks from the console,
followed by a gentle query, "Say 'please?"' ,?
  "Well I'll be!" Kirk gulped, by now beyond
amazement. Spock leaned back to murmur.
  "One should not debate command priority with a machine,
Captain. Under the circumstances, I would suggest
compliance coupled with a
  temporary swallowing of pride."
  Kirk started to object, then nodded slowly.
Keeping his voice level with an effort, he
murmured, "Please?"
  A quiet pause, and this time the indicator
lights seemed to flash in more natural sequence.
He was about to exchange a glance of triumph with
Spock when the voice jumped in with gleeful
clarity, "Say "pretty please" . .
."
  Kirk snapped off the audio control before any
further taunts could be offered. Arex appeared about
to say something, thought better of it as Kirk switched
the main viewscreen into the intercom system. A
terse call and the result was an image of a concerned
engineer Scott to go along with his voice.
  "Mr. Scott, I've had it up to here."
  "Aye, Captain," Scott concurred, ignoring
Kirk's angry tone. He could guess its
source. Elaboration was sure to follow.
  He was right. "We've got some serious trouble with the
main computer, Scotty. It's not just custard pies
and slippery decks, now. We're pretty sure
it's kidnapped Dr. McCoy, Sulu, and
Uhura."
  "Kidnapped ... the main computer?" Scott's
lined face underwent a series of highland contortions as
the import of Kirk's words penetrated. "The main
computer . . . but how . . .?"
  "We're not sure yet."
  STAR TREK LOG Six 101
  Scott considered. "Why not ask it to explain
itself?"
  "We've tried that Scotty." Kirk
smiled tightly. "All we've got in reply are
taunts and nonsense. Neither Mr. Spock nor
myself think continuing along that line is going to produce
any useful result -- and it doesn't do
anything for my blood pressure, either. I can see
only one solution, one chance of forestalling even more
serious trouble."
  He sighed.
  "I want you to shut down all higher logic
functions until we can get some kind of handle on
what's responsible for perpetrating this cybernetic
imbecility."
  "Aye, sir," Scott replied, coming to attention
verbally.
  "Leave only the purely supportive
circuitry operational," Kirk went on. "I
want everything capable of abstract reasoning and
creative cognition put out of commission until we
can get a crew in the central core to dissect those
information banks. We can't risk further
  mismanipulation of on-board functions."
  "I'll get a crew right on it, sir. And
i'll handle the main lobotomy myself. Scott out."
  "Bridge out." Kirk switched off. Scott's
image disappeared, leaving the captain
confronted with a panorama of alien constellations.
  vll
  Another double handful of soil, yet another . .
. and then the last. Sulu stepped back and took
stock of the steep incline they had cut in the pit
wall.
  "I think that'll do it, Uhura." He smiled
expectantly. "Ready?"
  She took a deep breath. "I haven't done
any serious climbing in years." In her Academy
days, she and several daring friends had ascended the
Aeolian Pyre on Tsavo II. If they could
see the worry she was expressing now, over mounting
ten feet of dirt, they would laugh.
  Sulu and McCoy formed a double support with
interlocked hands. With this boost, and moving carefully
so as not to dislodge any more dirt, she was able
to scramble over the rim.
  The helmsman followed her a moment later. Then
it was their turn to aid a less agile McCoy as
he, struggling and cursing, fought his way to the top of the
incline.
  "When I get my hands on the clown who's
  behind this," he vowed, panting heavily, "I'll
put him in Sick Bay for a month!"
  Sulu rocked back on his heels and mopped at
his sweaty face. "I thought you were supposed
to operate the other way around, Dr. McCoy?"
  "This is one time," McCoy countered, "where I
think I'd enjoy drumming up some of my own
business."
  He would have added more, but the forest surrounding them
chose that moment to Dicker into chaos. Be

  STAR TREK LOG Six 103
  fore anyone thought to inquire aloud what was
happening1 the tall, temperate grove with its
gentle breeze and scented air had been replaced
by a howling wilderness of ice and snow. Gale winds
laden with snow and tiny, stinging ice chips lashed at
them, while above the bone-chilling wind an admonishing
voice cried, "Temper, temper! Perhaps this will
cool you off!"
  Huddled together for warmth, the three officers tried
to take stock of their new environment while shielding
their faces with cupped hands.
  Attempting to ignore the driving cold, Sulu
made a slow turn. No matter which way he
looked there Divas nothing to be seen but white ground
and whiter sky. "We've got a regular
blizzard condition here . . . how are we ever going
to find the exit?"
  McCoy was stamping his feet. The surface
shrank from the irregular friction . . . it was real
snow, all right.
  Giggles fell like snowflakes around them as the
temperature plunged to arctic levels . . .
  Scott was still trying to imagine how the computer had
effected the "kidnapping" of his friends. The abduction
puzzled him, the more so since a harried Kirk had not
seen fit -- or perhaps felt he hadn't the
time -- ffexplain the rec room situation.
  Future speculation, he decided, would have
to wait until he'd carried out the captain's command.
  He turned a corner and confronted a sealed
single door. He pressed his thumb to the sensor
square below the stenciled lettered which spelled, "WARNING
tilde AUTHOR1ZED PERSONNEL
  ONEY".
  At the moment the main computer room was empty.
Since this central cortex rarely required
servicing and was kept sealed in all but critical
situations, it hadn't been visited recently
by anyone except the standard security patrol. His
practiced gaze showed no hint of
unauthorized activity.
  This isolation was a pity, since in its fashion the
central computer cortex was one of the more impressive
sights on the ship. Bank on bank of tireless
indicator lights, liquid crystal displays,
glowing poured circuitry--
  104 STAR TREK LOG SIX
  and all this only the tiny, visible part of the ship's
heart and brain.
  His destination lay at the far end of the room. There
he was.required to supply his thumbprint again, not
to mention having to present both eyes for a retinal
identification check. Only then would a hitherto
hidden slot present itself for the offer of a special
key card. Insertion of the key caused a broad,
man-high panel to click and then slide silently
aside, revealing a series of se- quential
switches and controls mounted over a colorcoded
keyboard.
  Human memory activated mechanical as he
  tapped out a rarely used combination. This caused
several sets of the sequential controls mounted above
to glow . . . the higher logic and creative reasoning
telltales. These were
  subdivided in turn into various sections
embossed with such headings as Intuitive Reasoning,
Abstraction, Deduction, and Stage IV
Response. The unlit sections he ignored.
"Time for a nap, old girl," he murmured.
"Captain's orders." His hand moved for the first of the
red-colored switches.
  He never reached it.
  A piercing whine filled the chamber. It soared
into could feel more than a momentary pain. Total
disorientation set in as he strove to readjust himself
to the fact that he was tumbling toward the ceiling. He
landed there with a thud, flat on his back.
  Typically, his initial reaction was more emotional
than effective. Once he managed to regain his
balance and force his mind to accept the fact he
wasn't going to plunge to the floor, he rolled
over and crawled above the upside-down console set
in the far wall.
  "Engineering to Bridge," he bawled over the
barely reachable intercom. "I've got a problem
down here, sir."
  Kirk was able to offer commiseration if not help.
Exactly the same situation prevailed on the
Bridge, where he, Spock, and everyone else had
been similarly thrown to the roof.
  Spock managed to activate the main intercom
by
  STAR TREK Six 105
  crawling up his library-computer
console -- or was he crawling down?
  "Seotty, what the blazes is going on?"
  "I'm not sure, Captain." He tested himself
carefully and with self-control only an experienced
spacer could the range of imperceptible
  ultrasonics before Scott muster, walked across
the ceiling toward the next bank of interdeck
monitors. A quick check was enough to show him that his
personal plight was being repeated on every level.
  "Our gravity's reversed
polarity -- all by itself, it seems."
  "The latter conclusion is an obvious
falsehood," came Spock's clear voice.
He was sitting
  upside-down in his seat, studying the information
displayed on his readouts. "This is an undeniable
defensive maneuver by the computer, to prevent Mr.
Seott from diseonneeting its higher functions."
  "Crazy," Kirk muttered, "this is crazy.
Not jokes anymore. Our own computer's declared war
on us ... and I haven't the slightest
idea why."
  "I do not believe the term "war" is yet
applicable to this situation, Captain. The computer
has not yet shown itself to be openly
antagonistic -- only misguidedly
selfeentered." He looked thoughtful, relaxed
despite his upside-down position. "I do have a
theory; but first I suggest that if Offieer Seott
moved away from the computer's logic
terminal -- far away -- x might
feel less threatened, and therefore less inclined
to take direct action against us."
  "Threatened? Mr. Spock, that computer is pro-
grammed with so many stabilizing circuits . . ."
His objeetions were halted by the look on his first
officer's face.
  "All right," he murmured in resignation, "never
argue with reality, I suppose." He directed his
voice toward the intercom. "Mr. Scott ...
vacate the computer room."
  Scott's eyes widened at the order.
"Vacate, sir? Now, after this?" His gaze strayed
longingly towards the still uncovered terminal.
  "On the double, Mr. Scott."
  "Aye, sir," he sighed. For a brief
moment he considered making a dash for the lobotornwing
controls--
  106 STAR TREK LOG Six
  then he decided against it. Not because of what Kirk
might say, but because if threatened again the crazed
computer might resort to an even more severe distortion
of ecological controls. He couldn't risk
exposing anyone but himself to danger more severe than a
bad tumble.
  Unable to insure that only he would be the object
of the machine's retaliation, he turned and walked
across the ceiling toward the chamber exit. He paused
there for a last look backward. The panel he had
opened had not been shut, the telltales still shone
brightly. Apparently the computer hadn't managed
to find a way to close off its own emergency
shutdown. That was his sole encouraging thought. Once
he was outside this door, however, those switches would
be effectively protected from external
manipulation. Kirk's voice sounded behind him.
  "Mr. Scott?"
  "Just leavin', Captain." He stepped gingerly
over the low hurdle formed by the door overhead and
turned on the other side, to watch it slide shut
behind him.
  Stretching downward, he could just reach the door
control. As expected, his repeated touch had no
effect at all. The door remained closed tight.
  Years of experience in ship situations of all
types enabled him to cope with what followed.
  There was an abrupt cessation of weight, and then
he found himself falling. He didn't quite land like a
cat, but did succeed in turning his body enough in
midair so that his arms and legs -- anda less
mobile portion of his
  anatomy -- took most of the impact when
he hit the floor.
  Others were not so fortunate. There were some
injuries -- sprains, a couple of broken
legs, a concussion or two -- b nothing
fatal.
  The chief engineer rolled over and sat up, rubbing
at the back of his neck and shaking a fist at the
closed door. "Ye bloody big scatterbrain,
make up your monumental mind!"
  As expected, the door and its now isolated
master did not deign to reply.
  STAR TREK LOG Six 107
  Experience had also told on the Bridge, where
even minor injuries were absent.
  "You were right, Spock," Kirk admitted.
"Once the threat to its creative reasoning functions
ceased, it no longer felt compelled to take
defensive action."
  The question now uppermost in his mind was, what kind
of offensive action might the computer eventually
decide to take? But Spock had
  mentioned a theory. Spock's theories usually
turned out to be pretty solid.
  "All right, Spock, can you tell me what's
happened to my ship?"
  Assuming a lecturing pose, Spock began,
  "Evaluation of the circumstances surrounding both the
disappearance of Officers McCoy, Sulu and
Uhura coupled with the many previous, though less
dramatic, incidents leads me to believe that my
first suspicion -- that some unbalanced
  personality on board was tampering with the
computer -- is false."
  "Your reasons, Spock?"
  "The machinations which have been carried out so far
involve extremely elaborate alterations in the
computer's most delicate circuitry and
programming. It strikes me that such adjustments and
corresponding bypasses of all
emergency overrides and fail-safes are beyond the
capacity of any group of individuals on board,
let alone any one. They would require the
facilities and knowledge present only at a major
cybernetics constructionstrepair center.
  "With one possible exception," he finished.
"Chief Engineer Scott."
  "And we know Scotty's not responsible. For one
thing, this kind of juvenile delinquency just isn't part
of his personality." Kirk looked uncertain.
"If it's not due to the actions of someone on board,
what then? Central computers are supposed to be
fool-proof. Ours ought to shut itself down, considering
what it's already done."
  "I believe there is only one possible
explanation left, Captain. You remember the
peculiar energy field we passed through in escaping
the
  Romulans?"
  Kirk nodded as he settled back in his chair.
It had resumed its familiar location on the floor
instead of the ceiling. He considered Spock's words
carefully.
  108 STAR TREK LOG Six
  "I will assume," the first officer
continued, "that the extremely active subatomic
particles of which the energy field was composed have acted
upon our computer's most sensitive circuits."
  "The logic and higher reasoning canters," Kirk
supplied.
  "Exactly. A kind of electromagnetic
infection, to put it crudely. The end result
appears to have been an alteration, rather than a
breakdown, of the ship's cognitive facilities.
  "It is still capable of intuitive reasoning, but now
along infantile instead of practical lines."
  "So what you're saying," Kirk ventured by way
of summing up, "is that the computer, and what it
controls on board -- meaning just about
  everything -- is now in the "hands" of a
  clown-mind." It was an awesome
threat -- even though, he had to admit,
nothing terribly dangerous had happened so far.
  Nothing dangerous? Then what was happening
to Uhura, Sulu and McCoy?
  "What can we do to correct the malfunction?"
  "I'm afraid I've no idea, Captain,"
Spock replied solemnly. "There is nothing
predictable about the computer's actions, other than its
unpredictability. Without a pattern,
I have nothing on which to for tilde nulate a
potential solution."
  Sulu hugged his arms to his sides. The gesture
was more psychological prop than useful action. It
did nothing to alleviate his shivering.
  They had managed to stumble over a snow
  bank. It cut off much of the biting wind, though they
all knew that if the fickle mind now in control of the
computer chose to alter the gale's angle of
approach, it could do so any minute. So they nestled
together under the white lee and hoped their tormentor would
remain otherwise occupied.
  He's starting to turn blue, Uhura mused in
wonderment as she stared at the shaking McCoy, her
own teeth rattling. Odd ... until now she'd
thought that sort of thing only happened on visitape,
subtly
  STAR TREK L tilde SW tilde 09
  prepared by professional makeup men.
Apparently nature was equally adept at such
cosmetics.
  Coming as she did from a tropical climate, the
temperature drop should have affected her hardest of
all. Instead, she seemed to be standing it a little
better than her two companions. Sulu
was little better off than McCoy.
  "The temperature must be twenty below, and still
dropping," she observed frigidly.
  "Twenty below what?" McCoy grumbled. "Are
you on the standard scale or the old Fahrenheit?"
  "Well, I'm on the Sulu scale," the
helmsman broke in, "and on that scale it's
twenty below freezing."
  "Look, we're not taking a dispassionate
approach to this," suggested Uhura. "No matter
how it looks, no matter how radical the
illusions set before us, this is still just the Recreation
Room. If we travel far enough in one line,
we've got to run into one of the walls. From there we
ought to be able to feel our way to the door."
  McCoy struggled to his feet. He had to shout
for his voice to be heard above the steady howl of the
wind. "I could punch all kinds of holes in that
argument, Uhura, but it's the first suggestion I've
heard that contains any sense. Let's move before we
all turn into icicles.
  "At least walking will help keep us warm. This
blizzard shows no sign of letting up."
  Also, though he didn't say it, it would keep them
from dwelling any longer on the increasingly
serious situation they found themselves more.
  The doctor found himself in the lead simply
by virtue of taking the first step away from their
temporary refuge. As they fought their way through the
whiteout, he kept those argumentative "holes"
he'd casually mentioned to Uhura to himself.
  There was no point in giving their invisible
assailant any suggestions.
  Whoever had commandeered the rec room
  controls could create any, absolutely any,
type of environmental simulacrum. For
example, a fake solid wall. Bending it
slightly could keep them feeling around in circles for
  110 STAR TREK t tilde Six
  hours, days, all the while thinking they were
traveling in a straight line toward a never-nearing
exit.
  They might counter that by measuring their steps, since
they knew the size of the chamber. In that case, they
could find themselves confronted with an infinite series of
artificial walls and exits.
  An exit could be found . . . found to lead only
to another section of the same snowstorm. McCoy's
mind grew dizzy with the possibilites. The computer
could let them out into a
  reproduction of the outside corridor. He could
walk to his own cabim . . . only to awake still
inside the recreation room.
  It was enough to drive a man mad.
  He forced himself to stray from such ominous thoughts as he
struggled awkwardly through the- deepening drifts. So
far their pernicious prankster
  didn't seem that far-sighted. Or that clever.
  He found himself wondering if the designers of this
marvelous method of electronic escape had
considered its psychiatric possibilities . . .
  Kirk studied the readout on the main
  viewscreen. So far, the deranged computer
hadn't interfered with pure information storage and
retrieval facilities. Probably, he
mused, because it didn't think there was anything in its
banks that could be utilized against it.
  There were endless tomes on computer repair, on
procedures for treating mislaid circuitry, even
on treating the colossal machine mind for various
psychological electronic traumas. But there
didn't seem to be a thing on how to treat a computer
whose reasoning power had been inexplicably distorted
by the effects of passage through a free-space energy
complex of unknown
  composition. That was hardly surprising, since this was
the first time it had happened.
  Kirk thought sardonically that they needed to pull the
plug and he had no idea where the socket was.
  The viewscreen shifted to internal
  communications channels again, replacing the
universe and chromatic emanations of the field with the more
prosaic features of a tired young technician.
At the moment, he wore fatigue like a badge.
  STAR TREK LOG SIX I I I
  "Search party to Bridge -- Ensign
Apple reporting."
  "Bridge here -- the Captain speaking.
Report, Ensign."
  "Our sensors indicate the missing officers are
still in the Recreation Room, sir. The door
appears to be jammed from the other side."
  A moment's consideration, then, "Hold your
position, try the door from time to time, Apple. If
it opens, get in there and get them out. Report
immediately if there's any change in the corridor."
  "Yes, sir."
  Some fast switching and the face in the screen grew
older, wiser.
  "Engineering," Scott acknowledged.
"Captain?"
  "We've finally located Uhura, Bones, and
Sulu. They're in the Recreation . . ." His
voice dissolved in the middle of the word . . . to a
chuckle!
  "Sir . . . I didn't get the end of that."
  Startled, Kirk coughed and tried again. "We need
a full work crew, with power tools, maybe even a
laser drill, to open a badly jammed door. Have
them report to . . distilde ,
  In horrified fascination, he felt his facial
muscles working, twisting involuntarily into a wide
grin. "Report to . . . to . . ."
  He collapsed in a paroxysm of laughter.
  Fighting, battling his own body, he gripped the
arms of the command chair so hard his knuckles turned
white. His head rolled back and forth as he roared
at some gutwrenching cosmic joke.
  Arex, M'ress and Spock stared at him in
  astonishment. But it was Scott who spoke first.
  "Captain ... what's the matter, sir? I
don't understand what's . . . what's . . ."
  The chief engineer of the endangered ship snorted.
Then he smirked. The smirk spread to a smile
broken by giggles, then
chuckles -- and finally he, too, was
bellowing with laughter.
  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.
  112 STAR TREK L tilde Sly
  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. En- vironmental
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 know 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.
  STAR TREK [tilde Sex 113
  "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 agonisingly.
  "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
sin 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."
  114 STAR TREK LOG SIX
  "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."
  STAR TREK LOG SIX I l 5
  "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
temporalphysical 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
  1 1 6 STAR TREK L tilde SW
  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.
  STAR TREK LOG SIX 117
  "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 iciest crafted one
this rec room ever devised."
  "Illusion?" Scott gaped. "By the holy
heather, the Captain about worries himself to death over
what hap
  118 STAR TREK LOG SIX
  petted 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
  STAR TREK Ed SIX 1 l9
  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 . . .
  vlll
  "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 -- y 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."

  STAR TREK L tilde Sly 121
  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
stabilises, give me a full plotting."
  There was silence for several minutes as Sulu
studied his readouts, then reported, "Course
stabilising, sir . .. three-seven-two mark
twelve."
  Kirk did 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.
  122 STAR TREK Log Six
  "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.
  Something was occluding that brightness ... something
gigantic.
  A huge, highly reflective mass of
constantly changing shape billowed from the open hatch.
Light from the starship's running lights and the surrounding
stars gleamed in that expanding metal skin. It drifted
behind the Enterprise, still growing rapidly, as the cargo
doors closed.
  STAR TREK LOG SIX 123
  "Keep your scanners on that
Lieutenant -- Mr. Sulu, you
stay with the Romulans."
  Acknowledgment was prompt from both
  consoles. "What in heaven's name is going on
now?" McCoy wondered.
  "Your guess is probably better than mine,
Bones," Kirk confessed. "You've experienced the
computer's whimsy longer than anyone."
  "Maybe . . . but I never saw anything like that
before."
  They stared in rapt fascination at the image
conveyed by the scanners. It became apparent that the
monstrous shape was steadily inflating.
  "It looks like some kind of metal balloon,
Jim. But what on Earth's it for?"
  "If the cargo doors open again and a gigantic
pin starts to come out, we'll know," ventured Sulu.
"It'd be in keeping with the computer's actions so far."
  "I fail to see the connection, Mr. Sulu," a
curious Spock observed."
  "Sulu's supposition is wrong, anyway,
Spock," Kirk told him. "There wouldn't be any
noise."
  Spock did not appear enlightened. "Noise?
Captain, I confess I am puzzled by . . ."
He stopped abruptly, peering hard
into his own viewer.
  "What is it, Spock?"
  "Odd . . . the inflatable object is
acquiring an outline which superficially resembles a
ship."
  "I see it now," Sulu agreed excitedly.
"It looks like one of the old Federation
dreadnoughts -- the class that was never built
because all that weaponry was never needed."
  "Whatever it is, it's about twenty times our
size," noted Kirk.
  "Captain, we're changing course again," Sulu
said. "We're pulling away from it slightly."
  "What have the Romulans been doing? We've
been within range of their scanners for several minutes
now."
  "I believe they started toward us several minutes
ago, Captain," Spock declared, checking
readouts, "but their subsequent movements have been
erratic. They
  124 STAR TREK LOG Six
  have presently terminated all signs of
approach. Undoubtedly the sudden appearance of a
  warship twenty times their size has occasioned some
hasty discussion among the Romulan
  command."
  "I'll bet," Kirk agreed, smiling
despite his own ignorance of what the computer was up
to.
  McCoy was less amused. "It may look like a
dreadnought now, but if they approach within visual
pickup range they'll obtain a detailed fax
on it and see that it's nothing more than inflated
foil -- and they won't think it funny."
  "For the present, though, you must admit that the
Romulans have halted."
  "So it's an effective bluff -- I
see that, Spock. But it won't last long. It'll
only infuriate them more." He shrugged. "More
cybernetic madness."
  "Unless there's a message in it," Kirk
  whispered thoughtfully.
  Spock's brows contracted. "If you would
  elaborate, Captain."
  "Yes, Jim," McCoy wondered, eyeing him
  steadily, "who's madness are you talking about?"
He eyed Kirk in such a way as to indicate that
perhaps the central computer wasn't the only brain on
board that had gone a little dotty.
  "Bones, sometimes to understand madness you have
to think like a madman -- no, don't be
  alarmed," Kirk added at the look that suddenly
appeared on the good doctor's face. "I mean that
this is a time to look for the inner logic.
  "All that's happening is that the Enterprise is
pulling her biggest practical joke so
far -- only this time it's on the
Romulans."
  "Are you suggesting," Spock asked, "that the
Enters prise is capable of experiencing a desire
for revenge?"
  "What else? She's going to make fools of them
by inducing them to attack a balloon, and the
Romulans fear disgrace even more than death."
  "It is still not possible, Captain. Revenge is
a purely emotional action."
  "What would you think of a Vulcan who
  displayed a desire for revenge, Spock?"
  STAR TREK Log Six 125
  "Why, we would try to cure him of his
madn -- I see, Captain. Your point
is well taken. And I confess I have no
alternative explanation for the computer's present
actions." His gaze returned to the sensor image
of the drifting cruisers.
  "However, I am most interested just now in the
effect of the ploy and not in the motivation behind it . .
."
  The alien triumvirate of destruction hovered
well outside combat range and considered the
colossal apparition that had appeared alongside their
target.
  On board the heavy cruiser which formed the vanguard
of the Romulan task force, an impatient Commander
scratched his arm and studied the gargantuan image,
trying to imagine how the Federation had concealed a
warship of such size from Imperial spies. It
didn't seem possible . . . yet there it was.
  As soon as it had appeared, the Enterprise had
started off on a new course back toward
  Federation territory -- b slowly, almost
  challengingly. It was almost as if Kirk were daring
him to pursue, trying to lure him into attacking.
  He would have to make a decision soon, or their
intended prey would make good its escape. To have
failed the Plan once was bad enough. To have the
quarry return to tweak the Imperial nose and
saunter off at cruising speed was infuriating.
  One drawback to renewed pursuit, however, was
the apparent indifference with which this new vessel
squatted in midspace and regarded the Imperial
force. It showed no inclination either to attack or
retreat. Despite its size, he felt certain
his three smaller vessels could outmaneuver it.
  Outgunning it was another matter entirely.
  "No response to our calls, Commander," his
communications officer reported.
  "They have refused surrender. Very well. Large
it may be, but foolish is its commander. We will not
permit so great a prize to escape." He called
to his helmsman. "Notify the
others -- we will attack according to the fourth
helical scheme."
  "Yes, Commander!"
  126 STAR TREK LOG SIX
  The order was passed. Weaving in and about several
common points designated by their battle computers,
the three Romulan cruisers advanced at
assault speed. At extreme range they opened
fire in a carefully integrated sequence.
Photon bombs which had already proven so effective
against the Enterprise were flung ahead in a complex
half-predetermined, half-random pattern that no
ship's defences could avoid.
  The object of this triple barrage did
not. Several of the powerful explosives struck the
anodized skin and blew gaping holes in the false
mass. With no outside pressure to collapse it,
the bloated construct of micron-thick foil held
its shape. Held it firmly enough for the gaping wounds
to show that it was completely hollow inside.
  As he ingested this unexpected development, the
Romulan commander's eyes grew almost as large as the
cavernous gaps his expensive explosives had
ripped in the thin metal.
  "Fooled ... tricked ... insult, insult!"
he howled, apoplectic with anger. "Gravest
offense . . . most heinous perversion of martial
chivalry. Contact . . . contact the
Enterprise!" he sputtered at his communications
officer.
  That worthy hurried to comply. "We have
  made contact, sir," he reported seconds
later.
  "Put them through."
  The link was cleared -- and immediately a high,
wavering sound washed over the Romulan
  bridge. One did not have to be a specialist in
Federation emotional utterances to recognize it as
laughter.
  Of course, the Romulan commander had no
  knowledge of its true source . . . but it was enough for him
to know that it came from the Enterprise.
  All prePense at caution vanished under that
teasing giggle.
  "Full pursuit speed!" he roared. "I
want that ship reduced to dust, to particles, to its
component elements."
  "Honored Commander," the helmsman
  protested timidly, "they have some distance on us, and
they are no longer within the neutral zone."
  STAR TREK LOG SiIt 127
  Laughter continued to roll across the Romulan
Bridge. "Extinguish that! And pursuel"
  On board another Bridge the same laughter still
echoed, though it was beginning to subside. "Captain,"
Sulu noted, "the Romulans are giving chase."
  McCoy let out a long whistle. "They must be a
little crazed themselves to follow us this deep into Federation
territory, now that they can't surprise us like they
did before."
  "I don't care about that. I don't even care
about the Romulans," Kirk cried. McCoy's
expression narrowed. There was an alien, uncharacteristic
fearfulness in the captain's voice. "I just
want to avoid that energy field.
  "Helmsman, do you have a fix on its present
position? For nova's sake, stay away from there!"
  Everyone had spun to stare in disbelief at
Kirk, who sat all but trembling in the command
chair, slumped low into the seat.
  It looked to Sulu as if the captain were shivering
like a man frightened half to death. In fact, this sudden
transformation of the
  indomitable captain into a seeming basket case
was so startling everyone was struck speechless.
  "I have it plotted, sir," Sulu was finally able
to reply . . . since some sort of reassurance
seemed to be necessary. "Our present course takes us
nowhere near it."
  The relief in Kirk's shaken countenance was almost
palpable. "Thank God," he muttered shakily,
"I couldn't face that traverse again."
  "Sir, if I may be permitted," Sulu
continued, unable to keep the tinge of chastisement clear
of his tone, "the damage we incurred during the
actual passage was mini . . ."
  A traitorous feminine voice cut him off.
"Why should the thought of making another passage scare
you . . . there is no reason for it. I
sustained only minimal damage in making the
actual
  passage."
  "It's not that ... not that," Kirk replied in
evident terror. "It's the idea of having your
body, every cell and nerve, lanced through and through with
radiation we know nothing about ... the thought of what that
  128 STAR TREK Log Six
  might do to one's internal make-up ..." He
actually shuddered. "The thought petrifies me."
  "How very interesting," the voice murmured
sweetly The whine of gyros sounded.
  "Sir ..." Sulu worked uselessly at his
  instrumentation. "We're changing course again. The
energy field lies on the periphery of our
long-range sensors, but we seem to be heading
straight for it . . . again."
  "No!" Kirk was shaking so hard he could barely
lean forward. "We can't be . . . not again."
  Laughter reverberated around them ...
  Iaughter that was neither human nor sane.
  "Reverse direction, Mr. Sulu!"
  The helmsman made a futile effort
to provoke some response from his console, then looked
back and shrugged helplessly. "I can't,
sir. Controls are still frozen. Sir, if I may
say, we've nothing to worry about so. We know . .
."
  "I can't take that again," Kirk babbled, "I
can't take that again . . ."
  The view ahead began to shine as the first effects
of the radiant cloud made themselves felt. Barely
perceptibly at first, then unmistakably, the
deck commenced to oscillate underfoot.
  Vibration intensified until it was just shy of being
severe.
  Now the scanners stepped down the
  overpowering panoply of color to where it was bearable
by human eyes.
  Kirk remained cowering in the command chair, his hands
clutching tightly to the arms.
  Appropriate discussion would have continued about the
captain's startling collapse of nerve, only there
was plenty to do at the moment to insure that the
Enterprise held together during its passage through the
field.
  There was no real reason for concern. After all, they
had made this difficult passage once before.
Presumably they would do it again. But this time, it would
be better to remain intent at one's job,
welded to one's instruments -- what with the
central computer out of control and the captain
apparently paralyzed by fear.
  Plenty of time for Dr. McCoy to treat the
com- mander once the ship was safely through . . .
  STAR TREK Log Six 129
  So, while the matter never strayed completely from
their minds, everyone remained glued to his post and
ignored the quivering figure which shook in the command
chair -- ignored also the ripples of mirth
that steadily issued from the Bridge speakers.
  Another set of vibrations commenced not far behind them,
as the maddened Romulans -- the caution
overcome by fury -- entered the energy cloud
in enginestraining pursuit.
  The Enterprise's abrupt course change, which
had brought it swooping around within near firing range,
was puzzling and unreasonable enough to puncture the
Romulan commander's suit of anger. Already deep
within Federation territory andwitha clear lead, what
profit could the Enterprise's commander see in a swing
back toward the
  neutral zone and his pursuers?
  It unnerved him more than he cared to admit. One
thing the Romulans had learned not
to despise in their dealings with the Federation was the fiendish
subtlety of high-ranking humans like Kirk.
  So he consulted with his officers and with the commanders of his
other ships. They dumped their worries into their
computers and frantically hunted for a rationale behind the
inexplicable maneuver. The cybernetic shrugs that
resulted did little to alleviate their concern . . .
  The Romulan helmsman held tightly to one
arm of his chair while his other fluttered helplessly
over his abruptly unresponsive console.
Assured of its new ineffectualness, he turned and
caught the eye of his already brooding commander.
  "Sir, our sensors are useless while in this
field. We've lost all contact with the Federation
ship."
  That was the final ubuz as far as the
  commander was concerned. "First the Enterprise alters a
heading on which it had a fair chance of escaping or of
contacting help, in order to return within range of a
superior force. Then it draws us into this mysterious
field. Now it appears they cannot be located."
What unknown weaponry, what new insult might
Kirk be preparing to unleash on them?
  The combination of uncertainties was too much for
  130 STAR TREK LOG SIX
  the already jittery commander. His ship was being
subjected to a battering which was strong, but not
dangerous, as yet. The operative word was "yet."
  It offered a chance -- maybe the last
chance -- ffwithdraw with some shred of honor.
  Also, his liver was bothering him.
  "We must clear this field before our ships break
up. Bring us about on a new heading, navigator,
for home."
  "You're going to let them get away, sir? After
the way they've taunted us, insulted us?"
  "If we can no longer locate them," the
  commander replied dryly, not wishing to fight with his own
officers, "that strikes me as a reasonable evaluation
of our present
  circumstances. I suggest attending to your
duties, Varpa. These require you to obey orders
... no more. Do so."
  Varpa started to say more, suddenly became aware a
proximity mine field was an inauspicious place
to dance a polka, and shut up.
  Pleased by the silence, the commander began to compose his
report to Fleet Headquarters: Surreptitious
Operations Bureau. As he did so, he regarded the
fore viewscreen, which offered a picture of the
scintillating, radiant energy field ... now
shrinking rapidly behind them.
  Hopefully, somewhere within its magnificently
colored distortion of space and matter, the
thrice-cursed Enterprise was already tearing itself
to pieces . . .
  The Enterprise, however, was holding together very
nicely, thank you. So far it had resisted the
corrosive efforts of both the radiation and the
Romulan invective.
  More concern was felt over the coherence, or lack
thereof, of its captain. But his terror seemed to fade
slightly when an awkward fluttering cracked the
steady laughter still issuing from the speakers.
  He began to look normal again when the
  unsteady chuckling started to waver noticeably.
  "Tricked," the computer voice abruptly
claimed. "Not fair . . . not fair . . ."
Laughter and peevish overtone were beginning to fade
rapidly now.
  STAR TREK LOG SIX 131
  "What the . . . what's happening to it?"
McCoy queried, holding tightly for support to the
back of the command chair.
  The final giggle sounded ... an
unintelligent, choking cough. Then all was quiet.
  When Kirk spoke again, it was immediately clear that his
fear had vanished along with the laughter. "Bones, the
worst thing you can do to a practical joker is to play
a practical joke on him." His tone was grim but
no longer anxious. "Although this is one joke whose
successful outcome had something more than a laugh
riding on it."
  "We're clear of the field, sir," Sulu
informed him.
  "Good. Change course two degrees up.
Same heading. Resume standard cruising speed."
  The helmsman looked doubtful, but proceeded
to try and comply. His expression and voice brightened the
moment he touched the first controls. "All instrumentation
is responding normally now, Captain. No
indication of any interference with helm functions.
Engine response is normal, too."
  "And I am receiving standard response in all
computer modes," Spock declared. "Higher logic
and intuitive reasoning functions check out normal
. . . with no intimation of a desire to operate on
their own." He glanced approvingly across at
Kirk.
  "That last pass through the energy field
apparently reversed the damaging effects of our
initial incursion."
  "So that's why you were so vocal in your horror of
another ride through," McCoy exclaimed as understanding
dawned. "And all the time you had us thinking you'd
slipped your helm."
  "Something radical had to be tried, Bones.
Frankly, when it first occurred to me, I didn't
think the idea made much sense . . . which made it
seem perfectly appropriate, in light of the way
the computer was acting."
  "A well-concvd and efficiently executed
deception, Captain," complimented his first officer.
  Kirk grinned wanly. "Not entirely
deception, Mr. Spock. I was frightened . . . not
of another passage through the field, but of what the
computer might try
  132 STAR TREK LOG SIX
  next. Its sense of humor was becoming
  increasingly sadistic."
  "Amen to that!" McCoy commented fervently.
  "What I had to do," Kirk continued, leaning
back in the command chair, "was redirect the
anxiety I was feeling and let it run away with
me."
  "You are too modest, Captain," Spock
  commented. "You had everyone fooled -- all
of us, besides the computer. I could never have carried off the
same masquerade myself."
  "Needless to say," needled McCoy.
  Spock ignored him.
  "The effects of the field on our computer
circuitry and operation have been thoroughly documented
by independent means," Spock
  continued, studying his library console. "They will
provide much material for dissection by
  Federation cybernetics experts. I envision many
hours of investigative perusal myself."
  "Hold it," Uhura suddenly exclaimed.
"Captain, I'm pie-king up Romulan intership
and intercom transmissions -- evidently
something's gone wrong with their broadcast equipment."
  Kirk looked puzzled. "More than wrong,
  Lieutenant. Aside from the waste of power,
putting intercom transmissions on ship-to-ship
frequencies is a serious breach of comm security.
I wonder what -- Uhura, what are you
smiling at?"
  "I'll put it on the Bridge speakers,
sir." She adjusted controls.
  The first voice they heard happened to be that of the
task force commander railing at his engineering staff.
  "... and turn off those food synthesisers!" he
was shouting as the broadcast cleared. "We're
knee-deep in hot fudge sundaes, and they're
starting to impede passage in the corridors!"
  The arguments from all three ships and
  numerous sections went on in that
  vein -- increasingly confused, increasingly
angry, increasingly frustrated.
  McCoy grinned broadly. "I didn't even
know the Romulans knew what a hot fudge
sundae
  was -- much less that their fabricators
were capable of synthesizing one."
  STAR TREK LOG SiIt 133
  "I daresay that the entire situation is rather
upsetting to them," Kirk chuckled. "It would seem
that something's gone wrong with their
  computers."
  "Shall we tell them how they can reverse the effects
of the field, Jim?"
  "Oh, eventually, I suppose. After all, I
don't think I'd want even the Romulans to go
through too much of what we've been
subjected to. But ... let's not spoil their fun
just yet."
  The laughter that sounded on the Bridge then was
spontaneous -- and decidedly
non-mechanical in origin. To Spock, however, it
was all the same, even if the motivation behind it was
less threatening.
  "Inexplicable, incomprehensible and irrational,"
he muttered, turning back to his console. He
set about resuming his theoretical studies where he
had been forced to leave off when the Romulans had
attacked. Laughter filled the air around him.
  There was one important difference, though. This
non-gaseous stimulation didn't give him a
headache.
  And while he mused on his research and his
companions made jokes about the Romulans'
present predicament, he couldn't know that events had
been set in motion which would prove of greater
importance than anything examination of the records of the
central computer's temporary hysteria could
produce . . .
  PART III
  HOW SHARPER THAN A
  SERPENT'S TOOTH
  (adapted from a script by Russell Bates and
David Wise)
  lx
  - The network of detector drones and interwoven
patrols which guarded the Federation home worlds, its
industrial and population centerseawas as thorough and as
efficient as that highly advanced multiracial
civilisation could make it. It was designed
to protect and defend against even a surprise
Klingon attack in force.
  A single ship, moving at high speed and
  employing radical evasive maneuvers, could
conceivably penetrate that electronic web. The
one which did so moved in a predictable, straight
path and made no attempt to disguise its
  destination. It compensated for the lack of concealment
by moving at a speed previously thought impossible.
  No one could be sure, but the probe executed such
extreme changes of direction at such incredible
velocities that it seemed certain it was
uninhabited. Also, it went about its business with
supreme indifference to all attempts at contact.
When all such methods were exhausted, and the probe
continued to refuse repeated warnings to steer clear of
Federation worlds, the Federation council
reluctantly decided to destroy the in- terloper.
This decision was modified by the science councilor
to include some initial attempt to capture the
craft. The Federation engineering division desired at
least a look at those remarkable engines.
  The attempt at capture met with the same
  result as those at destruction, however. No
Federation warship could overtake it, and the alien
interloper did not linger in the vicinity of any armed
vessel it approached. So in spite of intensive
efforts to halt it, the probe performed

  13 8 STAR TREK LOG SIX
  the most rapid survey of the United Federation
Systems in history . . . and it did so with a
silence that was an unnerving as it was baffling.
  All the while, however, the Federation's most
advanced electronic predictors were slowly
analyzingthe drone's performance. Continued observation
showed that it held to a prescribed pattern of
survey and dodge, inspection and flight.
  At each new world, larger and stronger
  Federaffon forces closed in on the craft. Each
was programmed with a particular attack pattern, which
was backed by a third set of reinforcements that
would stand by in case the probe escaped the first two.
Soon entire fleets had been mobilised in a
mounting attempt to corner a single,
  uninhabited, as yet inoffensive ship.
  The problem was that the probe never lingered long enough for the
huge forces to catch up with it. Nonetheless, the
Vulcan logicians
  programming the predictors were certain that given
enough time, they would trap the drone in a maze of
phasers and torpedoes so intense that nothing could
escape. But they weren't given the required time.
The probe executed its final
survey -- a brief, yet
impressively thorough multiple circuit of
Earth itself.
  Even as the most powerful Federation force so far was
weaving its way toward the probe, it paused in free
space and aligned itself toward a predetermined
point. It appeared to be blithely unconcerned with the
increasing possibility of annihilation. Once
positioned, the probe
  discharged an extremely high-frequency, lengthy
blast of energy. The thunderous broadcast utilized
far more power than it seemed a ship of that modest
size could muster.
  The broadcast lasted only a few minutes.
At its conclusion, the probe activated its
engines. It disintegrated just outside the orbit of
Luna in an explosion of sobering magnitude.
Auroras formed as far south as Hong Kong and
Istanbul for several weeks, and most of the
transmitting equipment on Earth's lone
satellite required extensive repair immediately
thereafter.
  The mysterious intruder was gone. Several
fragments of eyelash-size metal gave no clue
to its origin. It had
  STAR TREE Log Six 139
  carried out its lengthy mission for the
  incomprehensible motives of as yet unknown
beings.
  From where had it come? Who had constructed such a
manelous machine and what were their intentions? Why had
it shunned an contact with Federation inteUigences?
These obvious questions and more were asked again and again by
  important individuals serving in the highest
echelons of Federation government. And those whom they
asked for the answers could only shrug.
  A measure of the importance attached to the
enigmatic visitation was the readiness with which the
Klingons and Romulans cooperated. The wonder
at this vanished when both opponents of the Federation
sheepishly admitted that before the Federation had been
surveyed, their own
  respective empires had been similarly
inspected. Though no one could be certain, it appeared
that the same isolated probe had been involved in
each instance.
  A few zealots within the government warned that it
might an be an elaborate plot, concocted by the
Klingons and/or Romulans to obtain military
information from frightened government
  authorities.
  Impartial engineering experts quashed such thoughts
immediately ... neither Klingon or adaptive
Romulan physics were even close to producing
something as advanced as their visitor had been. If
they were, it was ruthlessly pointed out, they would be
putting it to more effective use than casual
surveillance.
  The intricate recording equipment based on
Luna, on Earth and on Titan could track even
the path of a butterfly at interstellar distances. So
when the suicidal probe began regurgitating its
concentrated information, those several stations were
already tracking it. They detected the transmission the
instant it began, recorded it minutely for
rechecking at later leisure.
  So efficient was that tracking equipment, however, that
no rechecks were required, no computer enhancement of
that blindingly powerful signal necessary. Instantaneous
triangulation was produced by the three stations.
  The beam had erupted from the probe along a line
as clear and precise as white ink on a
blackboard.
  140 STAR TREK LOG Six
  It was along that path that the Enterprise had been
ordered to proceed.
  The amount of energy expended in that
  minuteslong broadcast had been
immense -- far in excess of anything
Federation science was capable of. And although that energy was
still on the near side of infinite, there was reason enough
to believe that the receiving end of the transmission might
lie outside this galaxy
  ... .
  If that were the case, Kirk thought to himself, the
Enterprise could have rather a longer trip than anyone
expected. No one had anticipated what the
orders might be if she found herself poised
on the rim of such extremes.
  But Kirk had to consider that the beam had intercepted
no known star systems, not even suns without
planets, and they were now well outside Federation
boundaries. He idly watched Spock at work with the
library computer and sighed. They had been retracing
the course Starfleet had supplied for weeks now.
  No telling how long this could go on. The orders
had been for the Enterprise to proceed until, as the
ethereally worded document stated: "all possible doubt
has been removed as to the potential dangers posed
to the Federated
  peoples by the alien intruder."
  That order was sufficiently vague to keep them
cruising for months, even years, unless
  recalled -- or until the halfway
point of their irreplaceable supplies was reached.
  Lately Kirk had been subject to a
particularly chilling nightmare. Some junior clerk
at Starfleet headquarters was continually misplacing
the Enterprise file, or allowing the recall
orders to slip down behind "some spool storage
case, or accidentally erasing" an record of the
cruiser from the Starfleet central computer
  The ship was forgotten. It continued on,
taking on new stores at various puzzled worlds,
whose inhabitants stared sadly at the wrinkled,
white-haired crew trapped in its Tantalus-like
quest.
  He grew aware of a presence next to him. The
presence wins clearing its throat delicately.
"What ...? Oh . . $'g
  STAR TREK Log Six 141
  Turning away from the patient yeoman, Kirk
studied the order form the latter had handed to him.
Hmmm . . . standard request for use of the main
recreation room.
  For a second he almost handed it back
  unsigned, remembering what had- nearly
  happened to McCoy, Sulu and Uhura in that
same room several weeks ago. But the story of
their entrapment in that chamber had circulated throughout the
ship. A scare like that would die hard. He doubted
anyone would go in for any exotic manipulations of the
environment for a while. It was one thing to be threatened
on a new, alien world -- quite another when
your own games facilities turned on you.
  Someone wanted the proper atmosphere for a
birthday party of some such, no doubt. He signed the
chit, saluted casually as the yeoman
departed, and turned his gaze to the view forward.
  The screen displayed the same gloriously
monotonous image it had for days and
  days -- unfamiliar star patterns
speckling the blackness. Kirk found himself growing
sick tilde unfamiliar star patterns speckling
the blackness. If they didn't encounter something
soon -- a derelict spacecraft, a
postal drop, anything -- he was going to have
Uhura tight-beam the nearest- starbase' and patch
him through to fleet headquarters, where he could give
vent to his emotions.
  He began running his speech over in his head.
He would discourse on the futility of the entire
expedition and add some appropriate thoughts about the
power wielded by a few panicked bureaucrats.
Above all, this expedition was proving to be a sinful
waste of ship's power and crewpower.
  He forced himself to clear the welling irritation from his
voice as he caned for the current status report from
his first officer.
  Spock paused an instant at the gooseneck
viewer, checked another sensor before turning to face
Kirk. "We are continuing along the path plotted
by Starfleet Central, Captain.
However, I feel it is time for me to point out that the
accuracy of that plotting diffuses with every parsec we
cover.
  142 STAR TREK t tilde She
  "It has now reached the point where . . . ," he
hesitated long enough to check a last readout, "... the
margin of divergence has increased to nearly a tenth
of a degree."
  Kirk nodded. "I see. Not a serious range
of error . . . if we're hunting for a planet.
But if we're looking for a ship, we could miss it
by many trillions of kilometers. Soon that'll be
true for a star system, too.
  "What would you recommend, Mr. Spock?"
  "Reducing our speed to accommodate our
  longrange, peripheral sensing equipment, so that
we do not rush past anything such as a small
vessel."
  tilde "Reasonable -- though I don't
like the idea of cutting our speed. Mr. Walking
Bear, bring us down to warpfactor two."
  The ensign who was occupying Sulu's position
usually drew the third shift -- when both
Kirk and Spock were off-duty and asleep.
Sulu, however, had elected to take some
extra time off that he had accumulated, and Walking
Bear had gladly volunteered for the opportunity
to serve with the shup's executive command.
  He had performed well so-far, Kirk mused.
Must remember to make note of the ensign's competence
in the supplementary log. Unaware that he was being
subjected to close scrutiny, Walking Bear
made the necessary adjustments. "Aye, sir, warp
factor two."
  His accent was faint, but the long black hair and
rich rust color marked him as an Amerind of the
North American Southwest. Kirk smuggled
to recall an early academy seminar in Basic
Ethnics.
  It was impossible to be more than cursorily
familiar with the background of every one of the Er tilde
terprise's four hundred thirty assigned
personnel. That didn't stop the captain from trying,
however. It was something with a hard child sound in it, now . .
.
  Kirk wondered how much time the ensign had in . .
. perhaps he was eligible for promotion to lieutenant.
Even though this expedition had proven routine, maybe
he could come up with some way to test the young
helmsman's mettle.
  As it developed, he would be spared the trouble . .
.
  STAR TREK LOG Six
  "Captain," Arex reported, "sensors have
picked up a vessel at extreme range."
  "Any indication as to heading, Mr. Arex?"
  The navigation officer studied his readouts a moment
longer, made a high, snuffling sound as he
expelled air through high-ridged nostrils.
  "It appears to be proceeding on the same plot
followed by the alien probe's final broadcast,
sir -- b the vessel is moving toward us,
mstead of outward. Approximate speed,
warp-three."
  "Mr. Spockl"
  "Range is still too extreme to attempt
detailed observation, Captain." He studied his
small viewers. "Possibly this is a second
probe. It may be that the first did not complete its
assigned task, and merely malfunctioned instead of
  self-destructing. This may be another drone coming
to conclude the operation."
  Kirk frowned. "True, Mr. Spock, or it
could be the original probe's owner."
  "If this one's coming in search of its
  predecessor, it's not going to find much," Uhura
noted.
  "Order all stations, yellow alert,
Lieutenant," Kirk ordered. "Open standard
hailing frequencies."
  He gestured at the main viewscreen.
Despite maximum magnification, the scanners still
showed only awesome darkness, strange suns and
feathery nebulae.
  Whatever it was, maybe it would prove a little more
talkative than its super-fast
ancestor -- if indeed the two craft
possessed any relationship at all. They might
merely be racing to meet another deep-space
explorer like themselves.
  The alarm blared throughout the Enterprise, sending a
second shift scurrying to join the one already on
duty.
  Kirk stared expectantly at the screen.
"Any identification yet, Mr. Spock?" There
was no point in straining his eyes, but every Starfleet
officer with any real experience was innately certain
that his vision could range just a few kilometers
further than his ship's electronic scanners.
Kirk was no different.
  "Not possible yet, Captain," Spock finally
declared, "but preliminary sensor analysis
indicates an object at
  144 STAR TREK LOO SO
  least twice our size. Variance could be
substantial on closer inspection."
  "Not another double of the probe, then," Kirk
commented thoughtfully. "I'd feel better if you'd said
it was half our size, with variance either way."
  "We have no reason to assume it has a hostile
in- tent, Captain," the first officer felt
compelled to point out. "If it acts as its possible
predecessor did, we can expect it to regard us with
studied indifference."
  "People who send drone probes through other people's
homes without acknowledging even a hello or
how-d'you-do don't strike me as overly friendly,
either, Spock."
  "The one does not imply the other," Spock
argued amiably. Discussion was interrupted by the
arrival of new information on his instruments.
"Regardless, it appears extremely unorthodox
in design -- much more so than the drone."
He made a quick check of the proper records.
  "No record of anything like it in the
Jane's -- and Starfleet information insists
there should be no vessels of any known civilisation
cruising in this extreme region."
  "Reduce speed to warp-one, Mr. Walking
Bear," Kirk murmured.
  "Warp-one, sir?" The ensign looked
uncertainly over at Arex. The navigator asked
the question spinning through the less-experienced offlcer's
mind.
  "Same course, sir?"
  - "Same course, Mr. Arex. Activate
minimal field, ul
  tra-extreme scanner, please." Abruptly
the starfield ahead seemed to leap toward them, then come
to an
  abrupt stop. Essentially it remained
unchanged. Only
  now an object lay in its approximate
canter. It was still
  only a vague blob of light, but it grew
larger with perceptible speed.
  "Anything out of those hailing frequencies,
Lieu- tenant?" he asked over his shoulder.
  "No response, sir," she told him. "So
far it's the probe all over again."
  "Continue hailing. Try every frequency you know .
. . and when you've exhausted those used by the Fed
  STAR. TRPR Log Six 145
  oration, go through the special Klingon, Romulan,
and lesser alliance levels."
  "You believe the probe and this vessel may be the
work of some small, isolated race, Captain?"
Arex wondered.
  "Not one we know of, Mr. Arex," Kirk said
absently, still staring at the unresolved luminescent
image growing larger with the minutes. "But it's
possible that whoever is behind both craft has had
contact with a smaller independent system like Michaya
or the Yoolian worlds. If that's the case, they
might respond to such an infrequently used hailing
frequency while ignoring ours.
  "That doesn't speak well for the supposed
friendliness of some of our nominal allies, of
course."
  "Whatever its purpose or origin, Captain,"
Spock suddenly announced, staring intently into his
gooseneck viewer as he manipulated controls,
"it possesses an immense energy aura. The ship
itself appears com- pletely encased in it.
  "Something on board this craft is
generating an enormous quantity of extraneous
radiation -- for what reason, I cannot
tell." More adjustments, new read-
ings -- anda new conclusion.
  "fascinating. Additional analysis indicates
that the ship's hull is composed wholly of some
unknown, unique variety of crystallised
ceramic. It appears to possess some characteristics of the
lighter metals such as lithium and beryllium while
retaining the more malleable properties
of--"
  Spock's engrossed litany was shattered as a
giant, in- visible hand clutched the Bridge and
shook it violently. Along with everyone else, the
first officer concentrated on grabbing for the nearest
solid support.
  The shaking was accompanied by a loud rumbling. It
wasn't a simple, steady vibration; but instead
shook them with a distinct up and down, back and forth mo-
tion -- unlike the effects of the energy
field they had traveled through weeks ago while
foiling the Romulans' attack.
  As the shaking continued, a new sound became au-
dible -- a distant declining whine. Kirk
recognised the
  -
  146 STAR TRER L tilde So
  symptoms of engine shutdown even as Walking
Bear called out, "We're losing speed,
sir -- andthe helm doesn't answer."
  "Dropping to sublight velocity," Arex
reported.
  Confirmation of his worst suspicions now
fulfilled by the instrumentation, Kirk fought to keep from
being thrown from his seat as he hit the necessary switch. The
rumbling noise was fading, but the shaking continued as
violent as ever.
  "Bridge to Engineering -- Mr.
Scott, we're
  losing speed. Why?"
  An uncharacteristic lag in response followed,
though the reason was understandable. Scott and his
subordinates in Engineering were as
  interested in keeping their balance as was everyone
else.
  The chief engineer reported in soon after.
"Scott here. Captain, all our engines are still
set for warp-two thrust . . . but we seem to have
run into something like a wall of solid alloy!"
  So his supposition was
wrong -- the engines weren't shut down.
  "Maximum thrust, Mr. Scott."
  "Aye, sir." A pause, then, "I've got
"er wide open, Captain. We're just not
movie". I dinna know how long the engine bracings
can take the strain before they start tearin' themselves loose
his
  "Understood, Scotty Nice try." He
switched off, redirecting his attention forward.
"All engines stop, Mr. Walking Bear."
  The helmsman activated instrumentation
  before him that he never expected to be called
to activate. Despite the newness of the operation, his
hands moved smoothly in compliance. As the great
warp-drive engines ceased forward thrust, the last
vestiges of the rumbling noise faded away. The
shaking ceased with appalling
  abruptness.
  "All engines stopped, sir," Walking Bear
declared into the unnatural silence on the Bridge.
  Kirk tried to moderate their present
  predicament by repeating the Words over and over in his
head. He found they provided no more succor than
ever. Perhaps he was simply too hyper mentally for
artificially
  STAR TREK COG SW 147
  imposed constraints like meditation ever to slow him
down. Consequently, he was back on the intercom in
a minute, as worried and theory-ridden as ever.
  "I want a full damage report as soon as
possible, Scotty."
  "I'm workin' on it now, Captain," the filtered
voice replied. "Everythin' seems minor, so far.
No structural damage to the support pylons
or braces, and no overheatin' ... at least,
nothing the emergency backups couldn't handle.
  "Another couple of minutes of that strain, though .
. . I think we shut down just in time, sir."
  "Thank you, Scotty. Maintain full
environmental and defensive power, and effect whatever
repairs are required with a minimum of delay."
  "Will do, sir. Engineerin' out . . ."
  Another call, another problem area. "Bridge
to Sick Bay . . . casualty report."
  "McCoy here," came the slightly irritated
reply. "No serious injuries, Jim, just the
usual lumps and bruises." He managed to make
it sound as if the Bridge personnel were personally
responsible for the suffering he had to treat.
  "What the devil's going on up there?
Who's driving ... no, I've got it. Spock
decided to see what would happen if everyone on
board suddenly jumped up and down in time to a cycling
of the artificial gravity."
  "I wish that was all it was, Bones. Bridge
out."
  Kirk glanced across at Spock and saw that the first
officer appeared not to have heard McCoy's
abrasive sally. To ignore an argumentative
invitation by McCoy was a sign that his first officer was
worried -- and when Spock was worried, that
was a good time for anyone in the vicinity to make sure
their service insurance was fully paid up.
  "What are our chances of getting around this
obstacle, Spock?"
  "I am sorry to say, Captain, that I do not
think that is possible. There is no obstacle to go
around ... the obstacle is all around us. So we cannot
retreat, either."
  "Its natures"
  "A globular force-field of unknown origin, in
which we are presently entrapped. It is obvious that
there can
  148 STAR TREK Log Six
  be only one source of so strong and sudden
an energy projection -- the approaching
alien ship."
  "But we hit the field at warp-two," Walking
Bear blurted in confusion, "and practically stopped
dead. We should have been pulverized on impact!"
  Spock shook his head patiently, touched a
lever. The view ahead changed as short-range
scanners cut in. The much wider field of view
showed a faint, bluish white glow which the long-range
scanner had pierced. It was very much, Kirk mused,
like what the interior of a soap bubble might look like.
  Spock was lecturing. "We did not hit a stone
wall, Mr. Walking Bear. The globular field
did not form instantly around us, at a single position
in space. It materialised slowly. As it slowed,
we slowed against it in proportion. Even so, according
to Chief Scott's report, the stress was almost
seriously damaging.
  "But I confess I do not understand why we did not
suffer more than we did. I cannot explain it,
except to point out that the field is of an
unfamiliar type." Something beeped behind him and he
finished as he turned to his insistent console. "The
knowledge responsible for such an impressive piece of
physics must be formida
  He paused, then: "Sensors indicate we are
now being probed."
  "Captain," Walking Bear exclaimed as he
  switched back to longer-range scanners, "there it
is!"
  No gasps issued from those on the BA-DGE.
They'd seen too many wonders on too many
  worlds to be easily overwhehmed. But the bow view
offered of the approaching craft was radical and
unexpected enough to set speculation rife in their minds
even at this distance.
  At first it resembled the face of a demon.
Nearness resolved hazy lines into the struts and
projections of a real ship -- of peculiar
design, but a ship nonetheless.
  The demon's face was formed by what was
  probably the command section or badge. The
curving prow formed the rest of the head, while
propulsion "wings" hinted at monstrous horns. A
round glassy glow the hue of polished onyx was
centered in the middle of the construct like a baleful
Polyphemian eye.
  STAR TREK LOG SIX 149
  Every arch, every line of it hinted at an engineering knowledge
sophistication undreamed of by Federation
shipwrights. Yet it remained a vessel composed of
recognisable sections. One that could have been built
by Federation hands if the basic blueprints and knowledge had
been supplied.
  The command module was Inarguably a
  command module. Propulsion units, winglike or
not, could be nothing but propulsion units. All this was
evident, despite the differences in size.
  "The approaching vessel is slowing7" Arex
an- nounced laconically into the quiet. "It is .
. ."
  Only the ship's battle compensators saved
everyone on the Bridge from permanent blindness as pure
radiance struck forward.
  The vibration died slowly and there was a distant
mutter of thunder as air somewhere within the ship was
displaced. Kirk didn't need
  instruments to tell him what had happened.
  They had been fired on by an energy weapon of a
new type and of considerable power -- and they had
been hit point blank. Port and starboard
scanners locked on the alien as it fired again.
  Coruscating breakers of fire foamed across the
forward edge of the cruiser's saucer decks and or-
ganized confusion reigned on the Bridge
as Also alert indicators on board flashed
crimson.
  Half asleep, off-shift personnel who had
been awakened before by the severe shaking wondered what was
happening as they scrambled for their duty clothes and
stations.
  "Full power all shields . . . all engines,
maximum reverse thrust!" Kirk was shouting at
Walking Bear. "Try to get us away from that beam!"
Even as he finished, another blast of intense energy
rocked the battered ship.
  Amid the confusion and harried reactions and
semipanic, rose the calm, steady voice of
Spock. "Evasive action will not be effective,
Captain. The forcefield now surrounding us is
ninety-eight point two percent efficient. Our
maneuverability is severely limited."
  "Maneuvering be hanged!" Kirk cursed as much
in
  150 STAR TREK LOG SIX
  frustration as anger. "If that thing can fire in,
maybe we can fire out. Mr. Walking Bear,
lock main phasers on that ship and fire. Arex,
our field of movement appears to be restricted.
That means you're going to have to use your
  imagination to avoid that energy beam."
  Ayes echoed from both stations.
  The Edoan navigator embarked upon what Kirk
later described as a maneuvering miracle. Using
only impulse power to minimize stress-threat to the
main engines, he managed to shift the cruiser's
position within the confined area of the force globe so often
and so unpredictably that it suffered only glancing
blows from the irresistible energy beam.
  At the same time the Enterprise's phasers
began to reply with lambent salvos of its own. The
destructive double beams sought outward
  Kirk's hopes died when they reached no farther
than the interior curve of the pale blue field,
where the concentrated energy simply stopped.
  "Dispersed, possibly, within the fabric of the
field itself," Spock theorised.
  Walking Bear continued to fire, but their phasers
proved totally ineffective even as the white flame
continued to lick at their deflector shields.
  "The force globe is selective," Spock
  commented dispassionately, lending voice to the
obvious. "Our attacker can beam us at will and we
are helpless to respond."
  Kirk mulled this over furiously,
hunting for a flaw in the alien's seeming
invincibility. They couldn't absorb much more of this
intense punishment without overloaded deflectors
burning out.
  While a force-field is hypothetically capable
of dispersing energy among its own fabric, he thought,
it is not necessarily effective against more
primitive weaponry. Physical objects, for
example, possess different properties than those
of phaser beams.
  He was about to order a full complement of photon
torpedoes fired, when the till now unceasing
assault unexpectedly stopped. The shaking halted
concurrently with the
  disappearance of the white beam. Behind him, Kirk could
hear Uhura struggling to handle the flood of
  STAR TREK LOG Six 151
  inquiries and reports that started pouring in from every
deck and section.
  While thankful for the respite, he still remained
  - poised for the barrage to resume at any moment.
After all, their best attempts at resistance had
already proven childishly weak.
  Yet ... the alien had apparently elected
to halt its attack. Why? "Cease
firing," he ordered, suddenly aware that in the absence
of any orders to stop, Walking Bear was persisting in
a futile attempt to strike at the belligerent
opponent with phasers.
  Kirk turned to Spock as the ensign acknowledged
the command. "Status on the alien?"
  "Still approaching, Captain," Spock told
him, his attention fixed on his instruments. "Going
sub-light now. It has continued probing us throughout the
battle . . . a moment." He paused, then,
"Its surrounding energy pattern is now shifting."
  As they watched in amazement, the field of intense
radiance which hugged the alien craft like a tenuous
remora, the same field which had first attracted
Spock's attention, began to assume density and
colon The hull of the craft remained unaltered as
this process accelerated, though it grew increasingly
difficult to detect through the darkening fog.
  It wasn't long before the fashioning of the ghost was
finished. The result was so nearly terrestrial that
for a moment Kirk almost suspected the "alien's"
ancestry.
  But no . . . it was similar, but undeniably
different. The relationship was one of marriage and not
blood. That made it no less startling.
  The alien's prow had become a huge snake
skull. Jaws hung agape and sported
gigantic fangs which curved downward and back. It
wore a crest of rain- bow-hued feathers vaguely
resembling the leathery neck shield of the terran
South Pacific frilled lizard. Simulated
feathers likewise cloaked the propulsion pods, the
illusion heightened by the already winglike construction of the
engines themselves. Feathers they were not, only
brilliantly colored spines of energy,
exquisite in their insubstantiality.
  Of all the crew, Walking Bear was the most as
  .
  152 STAR TREK LOG Six
  tonished. Nor did he try to conceal it, staring in
openmouthed awe at the fiery image resplendent on
the screen, the bizarre craft draped in the ethereal
raiment of a serpentine spirit.
  "Ever seen anything like that, Spock?" Kirk
asked. The heady apparition was baroquely
impressive. But the captain had little time for idle
admiration, however. His immediate
  concerns were more basic.
  What were the motives behind such blind
  hostility -- and what was the
explanation for this at once juvenile and overpowering
display? Exactly how the energy sculpture was
  accomplished was a question he'd leave for Spock.
  The difference between captain and science officer, as
usual, was the difference between Why and How.
  Spock was elucidating, "It is not
  Vulcan-inspired, Captain. Nor do I
believe it to be of Klingon or Romulan origin.
Romulan, possibly, but . . ."
  "I recognise it," a voice whispered
unexpectedly.
  Even Spock showed signs of astonished
  surprise as everyone on the bridge looked
blankly at Walking Bear. The ensign mouthed the
word as he continued gazing at the screen.
  "Kukulkan."
  "The name means nothing to me, Mr. Walking
Bear," Kirk pressed when the ensign gave no
sign of elaborating.
  "Incoming transmission, Cap--"
  Uhura never finished the words.

  The strange, reverberant voice rolled
  thunderously over the bridge. It was loud,
overbearing -- but not unbearable -- a unique
meld as of many voices speaking in unison.
Melodious and rhythmic, passionate and forceful, it
compelled attention. Kirk stared at the viewscreen
image. He began to suspect that it was the ship -- 
the ship and its enveloping ghost was speaking.
  "I attacked you because I believed you had forgotten
me. But there is one among you who knows my name?"
  Kirk shook his head, trying to clear it of the
aural cobwebs surrounding the transmission. The
voice was engulfed in a swarm of echoes. It was
hard to believe there was nothing wrong with his hearing. He
found he could force himself to focus on one part of that
multifaceted tone. When he did so he could make
out the words, distinct and solemn -- and
threatening.
  "You will be given one more chance to
  succeed where your ancestors failed. Fail me
again and all of your kind shall perish!"
  The broadcast concluded as abruptly as it had
begun.
  "Short and sweet," Kirk murmured. But
  without any of the explanations he so desperately
needed. Now he had all this
biblical-sounding business of failing ancestors and
incipient annihilation to contend with. What were they
supposed to have succeeded at, and how had they failed,
and whose ancestors did the voice mean, 153
  154 STAR TREK L tilde SO
  anyhow? His . . . Spock's . . . maybe
Arex's or those of M'ress's Caitian system.
  If the ghost-maker wanted to play God, the least
he could do was be a bit more informative . . .
  One thing Kirk did know -- they were
pinioned here by a powerful energy bubble fashioned by an
enemy whose actions and words were far from friendly. Before he
could decide on a course of action, he had to have
facts, information, something on which to hang a
supposition. The sole possible source of such
informa
  . tion appeared to be a half-green ensign of
no combat experience, but with considerable promise.
  As Spock returned to his instrumentation and
Uhura to communications, Kirk rose from the command
chair and walked over to the helm. The subject of his
impending -- perh
  crucial tilde questions was sitting silently,
apparently thinking hard. But he glanced up readily
when Kirk approached.
  Kirk started talking in an unintentionally
suspicious tone, which he hurriedly corrected.
"Mr. Walking Bear, how do you happen
to recognize anything about that ship?"
  For a split second something very old and very wise
flashed in the young helmsman's eyes. Then it was
gone, and Kirk couldn't be certain afterward if he'd
actually seen it.
  "I'm an Amerind, Captain. North
America
  territory, desert -- southwest,
Comanche tribe. Anthropology's always been a
hobby of
  mine -- personal anthropology in
particular." He smiled, ever so slightly.
  "You have to know, Captain, that I was an example
of an almost extinct terran subspecies . . . the
orphan. So I'm rather more interested in my own
history than most people. In the course of pursuing my
own past, I've also had occasion to study the history
of many earliier Earth cultures. Now the image
assumed by that ship out there," he gestured at the
screen, "bears a powerful resemblance to a god in
ancient Aztec
  legends -- Kukulkan. The
variance is minimal ... shockingly so."
  Despite the factual knowledge to the contrary, there were still
times when Kirk- couldn't be sure which was
  STAR TREK LOG Six 155
  the faster . . . the library computer or its
master. In any case, Spock spoke up almost
immediately.
  "Captain, the records confirm Ensign
Walking Bear's suspicions. The countenance of the
alien is a re
  markable analog of the Central American deity
Kukulkan. Research shows that the Aztecs and their
neighbors and predecessors -- the Mayas
and Toltecs, Zapotecs, Olm tilde ecs and
many
  others -- all possessed legends of a
winged serpent god."
  He nodded toward the screen "Ensign Walking
Bear does not carry his information far enough, however."
A quick glance at the readouts
  produced more startling information. "It seems that many
other cultures besides the Indian of Central
America include stories of a winged serpent in their
mythologies. The Chinese, for example, and many
African tribes. He is referred
to most often as a wise but terrible god, a bringer of
knowledge and . . ."
  "Myoka Mbowe."
  "What's that?" Kirk spun, to face the
  communications station.
  "Hmmm?" Uhura snapped out of her
  daydream. "Sorry, Captain. When I was a
little girl, my grandmother used to tell me all the old
handed-down fairy tales. Some of the stories
revolved around the exploits of a god called
Myoka Mbowe. It translates roughly from the
Swahili as winged snake."
  "It is clear, Captain," Spock continued,
"that such legends were abundant among Earth's
  primitive societies."
  "So that explains it," Kirk muttered, turning
back to the viewscreen. "We've been attacked
by a myth." His voice rose slightly. "A
terran philosopher once said that there are no
myths, only vague distortions of halfremembered
truths.
  "We could be dealing here with the basis of all those
legends, all those millennia-old
stories -- a space traveler who
visited Earth in ancient times."
  Spock nodded. "Entirely possible."
  "It's not possible," objected Arex. "How can
we be dealing with the same ship or traveler who forms
the
  156 STAR TREK L tilde Sir
  base for such legends? That would make the being in question
many thousands of years old."
  "A possibility," Spock observed
solemnly, "which cannot be discounted."
  "I'll even grant the chance of that, Spock,"
Kirk allowed, "if you'll tell me what all this
business of destroying us, and failing, and ancestor
  ineffectuality is about? I just can't understand such
naked hatred."
  Spock had turned back to the quiet scrutiny
of his instruments. "I have no doubt that in time, we will
be duly informed . . ."
  Soft sound heavy sound . . . the bass engine of a
human heart. It sounded clear and regular from the
sensor amplifier that was only a tiny part of the
incredibly complex diagnostic bed.
  Always astonishing, that one muscle on which everything
hinges, isn't it, Bones? He studied the figure
prone before him.
  The sophisticated bed monitoring
equipment needed little in the way of external
confirmation, but playing safe as always, he passed the
belt medicorder over the crewman's forehead. A
quick check to insure that the readings matched, and then he
laid it back on the nearby table.
  "You don't deserve it, specialist," he
told the waiting youth gruffly, "but you're getting a
few days bed rest."
  The security specialist managed a slight
smile. One hand gingerly felt the ear McCoy had
  treated. "It's not necessary, Dr. McCoy. I can
handle my duties."
  "Mine too? I'll do the prescribing around here.
A few days bed rest. Remember, arguing with a
superior officer is almost as bad as arguing with a
doctor. And the next time you get the urge for some
off-shift exercise, I suggest you try something besides
high-diving into a
  minimum-level pool."
  "Don't worry, Doctor," the specialist
cringed. "I had to learn the hard w--"
His mouth opened wide.
  While the pain in his ear had abated under
McCoy's skillful ministrations, it now seemed as
if his other faculties had been affected
for the worse.
  STAR TREK LOG SIX 157
  Certainly his eyes were hardest hit, because he could
swear that McCoy had become enveloped in a
stuttering, immobilising as though attacked by a
turquoise strobe. It froze McCoy next
to the bed without touching his patient.
  It seemed that the flickering light appeared and died
faster and faster. It seemed that McCoy was trying
to say something. It seemed that Dr. McCoy had
vanished.
  The . . .
  Scott was alone in the jeffries tube. He was
inspecting the circuitry which ran from the great
warp-drive engines to the engineering computer.
  Actually, it divas a job any engineering tech
could have handled. But when the usual twelve desperate
cases weren't clamoring for his immediate attention,
Scott always made time for carrying out some of the more
routine tasks of engineering maintenance by himself. It was
always beneficial, he felt, for an expedenced
engineer to immerse himself in the plebeian from time to time,
to work with a fluid-state hydrometer in- stead of
giving orders.
  And besides, he enjoyed it.
  Running the tricorder across yet another opened
panel cover gave him the same feeling of
aesthetic enjoyment, the same emotional
  satisfaction as he followed micro-chips and
coupled modules, that another man might have found in
a painting by Turner or a Brahms symphony.
Such diffuse and openly gushing creations would have as little
appeal to him as to Spock. Scott's artistic
tastes were well suited to his
profession-- Escher for art, say, and
Stockhausen in music.
  He refastened the panel and prepared to run the
compact instrument over the next one. The radiance which
enveloped him as he started upward was the blue of a
Baja sky.
  Then he was gone, the tricorder crying out
hollowly for him as it clattered and pinged its way
down the open passage . . .
  The Four . . .
  158 STAR TREK Log Six
  Kirk paced the deck in front of the command chair.
It was simplistic and unscientific; and like many
simplistic and unscientific remedies, it worked.
He wondered who the first human was who discovered that
one of the better salves for the harried mind
lay in the feet.
  "There's got to be a solution to this deadlock,"
he was mumbling. "Probably right in front of our
eyes." He turned toward the helm. "Mr.
Walking Bear, what do the legends say about . .
."
  Walking Bear dissolved in a rain of blue gas
followed by a tiny bang as a puff of air rushed in
to occupy the space formerly displaced by the ensign.
  As if he could snatch him back from an
  unknown fate, Kirk rushed the seat. But the
helmsman was gone. To make sure, Kirk moved
his hands through the air above the helm seat. No, the
body of Walking Bear hadn't been made
invisible -- x had been made absent.
  The Four Are . . .
  "Captain," a hesitant voice called. Still
dazed by this new development, Kirk turned to face
Uhura. She sounded equally stunned, almost
apologetic. "Security reports from both
Sick Bay and Engineering. Both Dr. McCoy
and Chief Engineer Scott have disappeared.
  "No one saw Mr. Scott vanish. We have a
  report on Dr. McCoy's disappearance,
however. Apparently he was administering
treatment to an injured security specialist . .
." she paused a moment to listen, "Jo van
Dreenan, at the time. He claims that Dr.
McCoy was held motionless within a blue haze, then
he vanished, just like . . ." She nodded toward the now
empty helm chair.
  Kirk turned to the main viewscreen, where the
ghostly alien still hovered directly ahead. There was
as much curiosity as anger in his question.
  "What are they, or it, doing to my crew?"
  A thorough visual demonstration negates the
necessity for words. The pulsating blue amoeba
ingested Kirk, flickered briefly, and took him,
too.
  "Captain!" Spock shouted. There was no
  response. comationow the first offlcer's gaze
likewise turned to the
  STAR TREK LOG Six 159
  viewscreen, and he thought things which, while not
exactly emotional, were far from flattering.
  But though he wished it aloud among the
  imprecations, the blue light did not reappear
to take bun too
  . . .
  The Four Are Chosen.
  A vast, grey plain, open and desolate.
Dull grey ground reaching to a featureless
horizon, melting into a sky the color of
antimony. Color began to brighten one tiny bit of
it.
  The four did not appear simultaneously. And
al- though McCoy was the first chosen, he was not the
first to appear. That privilege was reserved for
Walking Bear. He was followed by Scott, then
Kirk, and the good doctor last of all.
  This- sequence was intentional and proper. It was not,
as a human observer might guess, executed at
random. It was only that Kukulkan's science made
use of space-time theorems that Scott would have
sneered at.
  Lead landscape and dirty-coKon hills,
rippling rainladen sky without moisture. Gray
pseudopods of rippling grey lakes. It was as
drab as an idle thought.
  Each man reacted with differing degrees of
surprise and alarm as he rematerialized. No
one stopped to analyze whether it was instinct or common
sense that prompted them to move close to one another,
their backs to a common center.
  Kirk was the first to recover and commence
examining their surroundings. As soon as he had
perceived that there was no immediate threat to their continued
existence, his powerful curiosity had taken over.
He was already gauging their chances for escape . . .
even though he had no specific idea where they
were.
  Generally, however, he felt safe in commenting:
"We're somewhere inside the other ship." Silence from
his three companions indicated they shared that opinion.
  It was absolutely silent in that unimaginative
arena. No breeze ruffled the atmosphere.
  "No cover," Scott noted. "And us without a
single phaser or communicator between us."
  160 STAR TREK LOG Six
  "I have a suspicion neither would be of much use,
Scotty."
  "That may be so, Captain, but I'd settle for a
nice, ineffective laser cannon all the same.
Purely as a psychological prop, of course."
  Kirk smiled faintly. "Me too,
Scotty."
  McCoy was looking down at himself and
  patting his waist. "I've still got my belt
medikit, for all the good that's worth."
  "I hope you won't have to use it,
Bones."
  "Hold on." Scoff looked puzzled. "I had
an en- gineering tAcorder with me. It must have
  remained behind on the ship when I was brought over.
So why weren't Dr. McCoy's medical
  "corder and supplies interfered with?"
  "Where was it, Scotty?"
  "Right in my fist, Captain. I was inspecting
some circuitry with it."
  Kirk shrugged. "That might explain it.
Probably the instruments that were monitoring our
  transport read Bones" kit as part of his
clothing, whereas you were more noticeably employing yours
as a tool. I don't think you'd find much use for
it here."
  "Maybe not, Captain," Scoff replied, "but
then, I'm' a full-time believer in the hairpin
  hypothesis."
  "Hairpin hypo ... what's that?" McCoy
  wondered aloud.
  "An old engineer's adage that goes way
back, Doctor," explained Scott. "It
states that "no tool is so useless that something can't
be found it can be used to fix" . . . but I'd still rather
have a phaser."
  "I'm beginning to believe Spock was Aght about the
entity behind all this," Kirk allowed. "That drone
probe was unlikely, this ship is unlikely, and
its method of communication the most unlikely of
all. So I suppose the possibility that we're
dealing with a being thousands of years old is no more
unlikely than the others have been. When it begins
acting rationally, that's when I guess I'll start
doubting this." He turned to the youngest of the four.
  "Mr. Walking Bear, do the legends say what
eventu
  STAR TREK Log Six 161
  ally happened to this Kukulkan? Old
cultures usually disposed of their gods neatly."
  "Only that he left and promised to return one
day, sir."
  Kirk looked satisfied. "Sounds like all the
promises ascribed to all the ancient gods of
Earth." He looked from one to the other. "I don't
think we need doubt that the drone probe was an
information gatherer for this Kukulkan." He turned
pensive.
  "I only wish I knew what it was in that information
that's caused the receiver to act in such an unfrly
manner, without even giving us a chance to find
out what's behind all this. I . . ." He
hesitated.
  "What is it, Jim?" asked McCoy, sounding
worried.
  "Listen." They fell silent. In the complete
quiet a distant buzz became audible . . .
muted but unmistaka- ble. In grew louder, and
then familiar.
  It was the sound of many tongues speaking simul-
taneously. It had overtones of pure alienness, which
did not bother Kirk at all. It also hinted of
expectancy, which did.
  "We're being watched, I think," commented
McCoy, eyeing the grey bowl of sky uneasily.
  "When I was a child," Walking Bear murmured,
"I used to hide in a hall closet when I was
supposed to be asleep, so I could listen to the
adults talking in the sitting room. There wasn't
a minute when I wasn't afraid the door would
fly open to show my foster mother standing there, glaring down
at me, ready to send me to bed with a beating." He
studied the featureless plain.
  "Strange how the earliest emotions linger the
longest."
  Kirk faced his chief engineer. "Is
there any way Spock could get through to us with a
transporter beam?"
  "I don't think so, sir," Scott said, shaking
his head in resignation. "Our sensors couldn't
penetrate this ship's screens. And since our
phasers couldn't break out of the energy bubble around the
ship, I don't see a transporter beam coin'
any better."
  The steady buzz intensified. The four men
diligently
  .
  162 STAR TREK LOG Six
  searched the horizon, at once hoping to see
something, and hoping not to. Then the insectlike hum
seemed to coalesce. The resulting voice still had
touches of many, but now the words were
distinct -- and comprehensible.
  "Now I will show to you the seeds that I have sown before,"
it pontificated. "Learn from them . . . find the
purpose if you can. If you can do so, then and only
then will I appear before you."
  The buzzing voice faded to nothingness. Even as it
was dying away, it was drowned by a profound thunder, as
though immense engines were stirring underfoot, in the
air, in the grey walls enclosing them.
  As Kirk stared and tried not
to sweat -- there were less elaborate ways
of killing four men, and anyway, the voice had said
they had some seeds to inspect, whatever that
meant -- the landscape began to change
colon Initially it shifted to an orange-grey.
As the concussive rumble mounted, the grey gave way
to a pure, almost blinding orange. Distances were
indeterminate, but it seemed a sun appeared in open
sky above. It was lambent orange. The rumbling
reached a peak whereupon definite tones could be heard.
They verged on music, but then so did the machinery
of a kilometerssquare factory. It was almost,
McCoy thought, as if an enormous organ was
playing somewhere -- woodwind, violin,
flute and chime pipes all weaving in and out among the
deepest pedal notes. Everything participating, he
mused, but a vox humane. He didn't expect
to hear anything as comforting as that.
  The Ivesian mosaic softened and orange
turned to blue. Apparently Kukulkan's usable
spectrum differed from theirs.
  The result of all the activity began
manifesting itself. First the familiar vegetation started
to appear. Palm trees, huge ferns,
vines and creepers lacing together a network of trees
rose from the orange-blue ground. Dense undergrowth
filled in the empty places like an afterthought.
  It surrounded them on three sides, leaving only
the ground directly ahead still barren. A trickle
of running water could be heard, but even so, the amazing
simulacrum still lacked something.
  STAR TREK LOG Six 163
  Kirk fixed on it a moment later. This was a
curiously lifeless simulacrum. There were no
animal sounds. No birds, no complaining
primates . . . not even the addlepated hum of a
hunting wasp. There were no smells, either, of hidden
creatures. There should have been the musky odor of
mobile life. Instead, there was only the oddly
uninviting perfume of huge blossoms, the pungent
miasma of steaming greenery.
  Nothing. For all its color this fabricated
jungle was as dead as the grey womb they had just
vacated.
  As if in anger, the rumbling sound returned. This
time it was accompanied by a violent vibrating which
rattled Kirk's teeth and pricked at his spine.
  Lines appeared in the open ground before them. This
section was mostly lower than the slight
rise they stood on, and Kirk could see
rectangles and squares being laid out on the
orange. Sometlung was tracing a city there.
  It began to sprout, weedlike, from the porous
ground.
  Had he overlooked the possibility that they had
been transported to some far world, and there ensconced in
a clay cavern? No . . . the structures forming
in front of him were made of something similar to, but
far more sophisticated than clay. Then he
recogmzed it -- the material was almost
identical to the strange crystalline substance of the
alien's hull.
  Hints of many cultures were embodied in those
buildings: touches of Mayan architecture,
Aztec edification, of Egyptian engineering and
Southeast Asian religious construction and a host
of a hundred others. Not all were extinct, but all were
distinct. Yet they blended in a way which suggested that
this fabrication and not the aged realities was the end to which
they had all been striving.
  Fragmentary Sumer merged with oil-age New
York baroque. Bits of Inca regularity were
subsumed by the curves of dead Monomotapa.
Everything was enmeshed in its neighbor,
  interwoven and entwined and interchanged.
  Despite this, the commandments-of basic
  geometry held court, and somehow it all worked.
  164 STAR TREK LOG SIX
  The city seemed livable, if not downright inviting.
Nor did it appear all that primitive. Some of the
angles and reflective buttresses were
unrecognisable even to Scott's experienced eye.
  The chief engineer was more interested in the material
than in the method. It looked like ordinary stone . .
. but when the sun struck a wall or parapet at a
certain angle, the hard reflection that resulted was
more suited to polished metal. And if you squinted a
little with your eyes -- and
mind -- various structures seemed built
of opaque glass.
  What could only be the city's entrance lay immediately
before them, an open gate flanked by two sleek
cylindrical towers. They resembled Egyptian
obelisks. Yet when the light changed a little it was
clear they were akin to the great towers once raised by the
mystic artist-architects of Mohenjo Daro.
  Just as Kirk was convinced the construction was complete,
the persistent rumble rose almost painfully in
volume. As the ground quaked underfoot, a
single colossal structure leaped skyward from the
city center. Dominating the skyline, it seemed
to pull all the lines of each and every building, every tower
and wall, together to form an unbreakable metropolitan
whole. It was the highest facet on a well-cut
gem.
  As the final block appeared, and the last decoration
materialized on the walls, the rumbling sound died
for the final time.
  The four officers were left to stand and wonder at a
city at once alien and familiar. And no wonder,
for it was the city man had almost raised half a
hundred times, all across his world. The city that shows
up in the corner of an architect's eye but never
seems the same when committed to blueprint . . . the
city men see in old dreams . . .
  As if any more was necessary, here was yet further proof
that whatever else this Kukulkan was, he was not an
entity to be mocked. His
  There was much care and purpose behind all this display.
Despite the near cataclysmic threats inherent in
that many-toned voice, Kirk couldn't help but feel
a certain thrill of expectation at imminent
revelations of
  STAR TREK LOG Six 165
  the highest import. Within that city mught lie
explanations for all the mythologies of mankind.
  That would not please some people.
  "I've never seen anything quite like it, Captain,"
Scott murmured appreciatively at the eerie
beauty of it, "not in all my landfalls on many
worlds."
  "What's behind it, though?" wondered McCoy.
  Kirk spoke thoughtfully. "The voice spoke of
seeds and unfulfilled deeds, Bones. An
enormous puzzle's been set before us. Let's
start inspecting the pieces."
  They headed for the city gate....
  An assistant engineer was aiding Spock as the
first officer worked at Scott's Bridge engineering
station. Another technician stood ready nearby,
to respond to muted commands with information or manipulation
of certain instruments.
  Sulu was at the helm now, the position vacated
so startlingly by Ensign WaLking Bear. All
stations, in fact, were double-manned back throughout the
Enterprise, as it remained on red alert. Everyone
knew that the captain and three others had been taken.
No one would sleep until their fate was known.
  While the force-field enclosing them
gave no sign of weakening, Spock wanted to be
ready should their still unknown assailant give them the
slightest chance to break free.
  He concluded his operations at the engineering station and
crossed back toward his own.
  Uhura chose that moment to voice the concern which had
been building in her for many minutes. "Mr.
Spock, shouldn't we be trying to find out what's
become of the captain, Dr. McCoy and the others?"
  "Lieutenant Uhura, you are supposed to be
monitoring the alien vessel for any possible
incoming communiques. You know that our first priority
is to free the Enterprise and ourselves. As soon as that
is accomplishedj we can attend to the release of all
kidnapped- personnel. Continue with your regular
duties."
  "Yes, sir," she muttered. Spock began
recalling im formation from the library. She continued
to stare at him for a long moment and then returned her
attention
  1 66 STAR TREK LOG Six
  to her own console. She might have been
  muttering something under her breath. Then again, she
might not. Uhura could be unreadable at times.
  Pour men stood almost respectfully before
the towering spires guarding the city's central
boulevard. Close inspection convinced Kirk that they
were Egyptian obelisks.
  "With at least one significant difference,
sir," Walking Bear exclaimed.
  Kirk remembered that Walking Bear was only an
amateur anthropologist. He wished for
  Spock's more definitive explanations. But
Spock wasn't here. In his absence, they would have
to depend on the ensign's informal readings. So far,
though, he had to admit, the young helmsman's
observations had been as accurate as anyone could
wish.
  "It's those carvings, sir," Walking Bear was
ex- plaining as he pointed to incisions about three
meters off the ground on the nearest tower.
  Kirk eyed them.
  They had been exquisitely rendered by a
  careful, expert hand, he would have said, had he not
seen the entire city raised from -- n the
dust, Rirk, he warned himself. Don't get
biblical -- y've encountered races with
matter-manipulation abilities before.
  He couldn't identify the style of carving. The
subjects seemed uncomplicated, though.
Animals and people from many different countries and
regions of ancient Earth.
  "Notice that one there, sir," Walking Bear
sug- gested. "The third row over, first on the
bottom."
  Kirk found the indicated carving and instantly
understood why the ensign attached such
  significance to it. It bore an uncanny
resemblance to the ghost image which now cloaked
  Kukulkan's ship, that of a feathered serpent. In
this particular rendition the wings were spread wider, and the
body was coiled. It hovered over a lifelike
flurry of little cuts which could only be water.
  "No Egyptian ever carved anything like that,
sir."
  Kirk nodded, indicated they should continue on.
  STAR TREK LOG SIX 167
  They passed through the gate, which Scott claimed
closely approximated some ruins he'd encountered
in old China. For his part, Walking Bear maintained
that the wall braces backing the towers and arch overhead
could only be Scythian in origin.
  "Can't pin it down," he finally confessed. "It's
like the rest of this place, only on a smaller
scale. There's that weird blend of many
unrelated civilisations again."
  "Everything's a clue, Walking Bear," said
Kirk. "Remember, this city is intended to be one
gigantic riddle. If nothing seems to belong to its
neighbor, that must be significant, too."
  The avenue they were walking down was wide and well
paved with blocks composed of that same strange
stone-metal-glass mix. They
  continued down it for what felt like a fair distance,
examining each structure in turn as they passed it.
Every one was finished down to the tiniest detail.
Painstaking care had been exercised in this
gargantuan recreation, which in turn was part of some still
unknown charade.
  It was the less amiable McCoy who finally
called a halt to the seemingly endless hike.
"Okay, so we're here -- s, what are we
supposed to do now?"
  "Your opinion, Mr. Walking Bear?"
  The ensign looked at him in surprise. He
suspected the captain's growing confidence in him; he
was used to offering opinions to the computer in study
center, in response to queries posed in technical
manuals -- n to the ship's captain. For a
monient he could only gawk helplessly.
  "Come on, Ensign," Kirk finally urged,
sensing the other's lack of assurance. "We're all
of us equally on trial here."
  "Sir, I . . . I haven't the faintest
idea what we're expected to do."
  "Just tell me what comes to you," Kirk soothed.
"Tell us more about Kukulkan ... maybe
  something useful will surface." He smiled
encouragingly.
  Walking Bear grinned slightly. "Well ...
before he left, the legends say Kukulkan gave
the Mayas their remarkably accurate calendar,
instructing them to build a
  168 STAR TREK LOG tilde
  great city according to its cycles. On the day the city
was finished, he was supposed to return."
  As he told the weathered story, the orange-blue
sun shone down on them with unvarying warmth, never
stirring from its assigned place in the sky.
  "The Mayas built their city and waited.
  Something about it must have been wrong,
  because KuLulkan never returned. Maybe they
paid too much attention to the parts of the calendar that told
them the best times for planting corn . . . I
don't know.
  "They tried again and again ... at Chichen Itzfi,
Tulum, Uxmal and others. None induced the god
to return." He glanced at the silent structures
bordering the avenue.- "As Mr. Spock said, many
cultures have such legends."
  "The history of Earth," Kirk whispered, "is
a history of unfulfilled promises," but no one
else heard him. Hespoke again, more briskly.
  "Kukulkan must have visited many of those ancient
peoples. It appears each used only
parts -- different parts -- of his knowledge
to build their own cities."
  - "Does that mean they were all trying to build
some- thing that comwas supposed to look like this?"
McCoy asked.
  Walking Bear hedged. "I think so, sir, but they
all failed. The Mayas used one part, the Indus
River civilizations another, the builders of
Zimbabwe yet another ... over and over,
failure aver failure, the original knowledge growing more
and more distorted with each succeeding culture."
  "I see," commented McCoy. "An
architectural Tower of Babel."
  . "Sometimes I wonder about us humans,
Bones," Kirk murmured. "Someone could
come along and hand us the plans for the ultimate
  civilization -- and we'd manage
to bollix it up somehow. We're too vain, as a
race and as individuals.
  "There's always someone who has to improve
perfection, just to get his hundredth of a credit in."
His voice grew tauter. "Though from what I've
seen of this Kukulkan and his methods this far, I
wouldn't bet that
  STAR TREE LOG SIX 169
  some farsighted city builders didn't perform a
little sabotage on those building instructions."
  "Kukulkan said he would appear only when we
learned the city's purpose," Walking Bear
reminded them. "Unfortunately, none of the legends
mention what that purpose was."
  Kirk ran his hand over the hair above his neck.
"Let's use what facts we have. Supposedly
these cities were built to bring Ku tilde ulkan
back to Earth. How? 0Will viously he hasn't
been hanging around Earth, or anywhere else in our
neck of the galaxy for the last several thousand years
to see if someone eventually hit it right.
  "That means this city has to hold some kind of
signaling device." The structures
surrounding them took on new meaning. "It can't be
too
  complicated. It has to be something the Egyptians
or Mayas could have built, and out of local
materials. The basic technology can't be too
advanced, either.
  "That means we're not going to find any
  deep-space transmitters housed in a stone
pyramid. This Kukulkan's approach to basic
physics seems pretty different from our own. I
don't see why some simple yet efficient
  communicating system couldn't utilize equally
unorthodox technology.
  "It has to be in plain sight, I think. After
all, the transmitting machinery is the reason behind
building the entire city." He gestured down the
street they were on.
  "That central pyramid is the city's physical
and visual focal point. Seems a good place
to start."
  In the humid silence of an unlengthening day, they
  started toward it.
  xl
  - Eventually they stood at one corner of the
ziggurat, at the intersection of the main
boulevard and several smaller avenues. At the
center of this modest intersection rose a small
tower. It wasn't a very big tower, but that did not
detract from its impressiveness. Roughly five
meters high, it bore a definite resemblance to the
elaborately worked, gilded temple towers of the
Southeast Asia sector of Earth.
  Rounded and roughly ovoid, it was made up of
eight tiers of progressively diminishing size,
cut from brightly colored stone. At the top of the
spire was a graven image of Kukulkan's head.
It was exquisitely executed, finely detailed.
Everything looked lifelike -- the serpent
head with its gaping ranged mouth, the collar of metal
and glass feathers around the neck, and the rainbow feathered
frill formed of inlaid semiprecious stones.
  Tilted up and back, the head stared into the sky at
a forty-five degree angle, facing away from the
pyramid behind. It wore a baleful expression,
at once expectant and commanding.
  At the sharp-edged corner of the enormous
pyramid, a stairway built to human
proportions started upward. As near as they could
tell it reached to the top of the massive stone
structure. At the moment, though, their
attention was held by the impressive sculpture from
which the web of roads radiated.
  "Funny," Walking Bear was murmuring, hands
resting on hips as he studied the sculpture,
"I've never seen a representation like this before."

  STAR TREK Log Six 171
  Kirk glanced up at the pyramid behind them, then
back to his companions. "Since the big
pyramid's the center of everything, I'd guess it
also has something to do with the answer to everything. Maybe
it's at the top. I'm going up. The rest of you
spread out and circle it. Try to stay within earshot of
each other, within sight if possible. Anyone
finds-anything that demands immediate evaluation, he gives
a holler. Don't try operating any levers or
doorhandles without calling someone else to help. I
don't want anyone vanishing down trick
hallways."
  "Aye, sir ... yes, sir ... okay,
Jim," came the re- plies. Kirk started up the
seemingly endless series of steps, while the others
split up.
  Scott and Walking Bear hadn't gone far to the
south before the ensign picked out a distinctive
shape far down the walkway. He pointed.
  "Another tower, I think, sir."
  "'Come on, lad."
  They broke into a trot. As Hey drew nearer
and nearer, they saw that Walking Bear was right.
Furthermore, this new structure was more than just
another tower . . . it was an exact duplicate
of the one they had just encountered.
  It lay in the center of another confluence of
streets, as had the first. Walking Bear spared it
only a glance before strolling out to where he could peer
around the pyramid's corner.
  Only the unnatural clarity of the air within the
huge chamber enabled him to identify the outlines of the
dim object in the distance.
  "There's a third tower down this way, sir. There
must be one at each of the four corners . . ."
  Kirk didn't waste energy panting. There was no
one around to sympathise. And he had gauged the hike
accurately -- no difficult task for a
man used to estimating astronomical distances. So
when he arrived at the top he was more psychologically
than physically winded.
  He was almost disappointed. The revelation he had
hoped for consisted only of a flat, square
platform supported on four poles. It perched in
unimpressive soli
  172 STAR TREK L tilde SO
  tude atop the pyramid. Its sole distinction was
that it seemed made of metal -- m metal
than they'd seen anywhere in the city in one place.
But closer inspection failed to disclose the nature
of the alloy.
  The square itself framed a lustrous, transparent
round mosaic depicting Kukulkan in the same
coiled, in-flight pose carved on the gate
obelisks. The mosaic seemed to be encased in
clear
  quartz, but Kirk didn't trust his initial
estimates here. It did look like quartz, though.
  He could just see over the top of the platform. There
was no question of the mosaic's
  importance. It was a magnificent piece of
craftsmanship, worthy of a fine jeweler,
  resplendent in its rendering. Other than its
opulent beauty, however, it held no attraction
for the captain.
  Kirk crouched slightly to see beneath the platform.
The bottom of the transparent mosaic was as flawless
as the top. Passing through it, the rays of the
artificial sun cast the winged serpent image clear
and sharp on the stone beneath. Dust motes danced in the
painted light.
  Everything had been arranged here with
  extreme precision, to produce . . . what?
Kirk rose and eyed the top of the mosaic once more,
looked down at the image it cast on the stone, and
considered thoughtfully.
  Walking Bear and Scott were absorbed in their
inspection of the second ornamental tower. They had
negotiated the easy climb and now stood at the
top, even with the sculpted serpent head.
  Nearness brought knowledge concealed by
  height. Immediately they noticed two things not
visible from ground level.
  For one, the eyes of the statue were composed of
concentric inlays of some translucent glassy
material instead of opaque rock. Of more
  obvious significance was the faceted prism like
some huge gem which was securely positioned at the
back of the stone gullet.
  Scott's engineering sense was more intrigued by,
say, the controls of a ship than its more impressive
bulk. Consequently, while Walking Bear was
engrossed in
  STAR TREK LOG Six 173
  deep study of the eyes and prism, his older
companion was busily examining the collar of inlaid
feathers which circled the statue's neck. He was
hunting for imperfections more significant than the
perfection, and he found one at the base of the fringed
collar.
  "Looks like there's a seam here. I think the head
is meant to be turned. Come on, lad, give me
a hand."
  Lining himself up with his hands on the back of the
collar, he directed Walking Bear to press in the
same clockwise direction with both hands on the
lower stone jaw. Together they shoved.
  There was a rasp and squeak as of metal on rock
... or maybe rock on metal, given the
peculiar composition of the building materials here.
  More important, the head seemed to move a little.
  "Try again, lad." Both men strained, using their
body weight against the recalcitrant sculpture.
Something snapped inside and the head started to turn
smoothly on a hidden pivot. As it turned to the
sun, the glassy eyes began to glow, to shine with an
inner light that appeared far stronger than mere
reflection.
  Scott and Walking Bear were too absorbed in the
effort of turning the head to notice this new
development. Fortunately, someone else was in the
perfect position to do so.
  Even from his high perch the intensity of the glow in the
statue's eyes was so commanding that Kirk noticed it
immediately. He spun and shielded his own eyes as he
stared upward, muttering excitedly to himself.
  "Of course . . . the sun! No wonder it
hasn't moved . . . the position is crucial to the
city riddle." He turned comdownward and shouted
  Through cupped hands. No wind kidnapped his
call.
  "Scotty! Turn the head a hundred and eighty
degrees, so that it looks up here!"
  The chief engineer's voice echoed back
faintly. "Aye, sir."
  The head had been turned almost completely aroumd
when the polished prism in its mouth also began to shine.
Simultaneously, the brightness of the inlaid eyes
grew so brilliant that Kirk could no longer look
directly at them without squinting. As the carved
skull ground
  174 STAR TREK L tilde SW
  the last few degrees, a beam of light
suddenly sprang from the serpent's jaws toward the
top of the pyramid. It was accompanied by a hissing
sound that grew rapidly louder.
  Kirk had moved clear. Like a reaching arm, the
combined triple beam of eyes and mouth passed
directly before him, between the two nearest poles. It
struck the underside of the mosaic held carefully
suspended by the metal platform. The result was
marvelous and unexpected.
  As the nearly solid light from below struck the
mosaic and passed through it, steady explosions of
glittering energy formed in the air directly above,
forming and bursting and bursting and forming like bubbles in
champagne.
  The hissing became a nervous crackling sound. It
reminded Kirk of an incomplete electrical
connection-- though nothing so simple was at
work here. Below, Walking Bear and Chief Scott
stared anxiously upward? awaiting word from Kirk.
  They could see the glow at the top of the pyramid,
the distant figure of the captain silhouetted before it.
But at this distance they couldn't tell anything else.
A moment later and they were reassured as the
diminutive form called down to them.
  "Turn the other heads this way,?"' the
voice ordered. Scott yelled acknowledgment, and
both men started down from the tower.
  As soon as he saw them moving, Kirk edged
around to the other side of the platform area, carefully
avoidin8 the beam. He spotted McCoy waiting
patiently by the base of the fourth tower.
  "Bones! The serpent's head -- turn it
to face the pyramid! I'm coming down."
  The stone skull was heavy ... too heavy for one
man. McCoy was still struggling with it when Walking
Bear and Scott got the second head moving.
  Again the tongue of light leaped upward to strike
at the pyramid's apex. Now they could hear the
crackling sound as it intensified with the addition of this
second source of power, see the color of the
strange energy deepen.
  STAR TREK LOG Six 175
  It remained for Kirk to give McCoy a hand in
turning the next head. That finished, they climbed
down and headed for the remaining sculpture. AU four
men met at the last tower, the one they had originally
encountered.
  For the fourth time the procedure was
  performed, sending a beam of intense light upward.
The top of the pyramid, as Scott and
Walking Bear descended, was now completely
engulfed by the sphere of pure energy roiling
angrily above it.
  Abruptly the crackling hiss gave way to a
thunderous rumbling, utterly unlike the sound which had
accompanied the raising of the city. It dropped in
volume, deepened until it seemed as if the very
fabric of existence was being punctured by that glittering
ball.
  Streaks of pure light occasionally shot
  lightninglike through the multihued nimbus as it
continued to grow and expand.
  Below, the four officers had to shield their eyes as
the glow from the top of the pyramid
  intensified to where it was greater than the sun.
  "The whole thing," Kirk yelled as a breeze
sprang up strongly around them, whipping at uniforms
and hair, "is some kind of energy amplification
device based on solar
  power -- Kukulkan's special
signal!"
  The tenor of the rumbling changed to a steady drone as
the energy ball began a steady pulsing. That's when the
voices returned. Many voices joined as one. But
this time the stentorian sussuration sounded even
above the pulsating signal, reverberated until the
multiple distortions were sloughed off like dead thoughts.
  Gradually, the many whispers solidified until
what they heard was, for the first time,
  unmistakably the voice of a single being.
  "After scores of centuries," the voice
boomed, "my design has been fulfilled.
Behold me, then, as I am!"
  The energy globe vanished in an air-splitting
ex- plosion. McCoy and Scott were both thrown
to the ground. Kirk managed to grab the tower for
support, while Walking Bear somehow succeeded in
maintaining his balance.
  The last flicker of energy was gone, dissipated in
the
  176 STAR TREK LOG SIX
  magnificence of its own disruption by a force still
greater. In its place was a hovering, fluttering form
that was at once terrifying and beautiful. It was garbed
in a cloak of glowing light. Huge membranous
wings beat the air as it drifted above the pyramid.
Multicolored, scaled torso coiling and
recoiling reflexively, neck plumage shifting
through a rainbow of brilliance, the massive shape
stared down at them. Dragon tongue darted
in and out of ranged maw, while dragon eyes glared
past earing nostrils.
  "Behold Kukulkan," the apparition rumbled, still
enveloped by now dimmed light from the four energy
beams. Kirk listened and studied, trying to read the
motivation masked by those crimson eyes.
  "Where are your weapons of destruction?" came the
next query. "Use them on me if you dare!"
  "Very impressive, if a bit theatrical,"
McCoy commented phlegmatically. He'd discovered
long ago that no matter how powerful or malign an
adversary, if one regarded it merely as an
anatomical problem to be mentally dissected, the
commoner fears could be conveniently laid aside.
  His mind was also occupied with hunting for the reasons
behind this unnecessarily
  overwhelming display.
  It was Kirk who answered, however. "We have no
weapons with us . . . as you undoubtedly know. If
we did, we'd use them only with reason. We
haven't been given such a reason yet."
  The monster threshed airs wings beating
  angrily. The energy cloak which clung to him ran
through the visible spectrum.
  "Reasons? Reasons . . . Where is
your hate, then? Is that not reason enough? You hate
me, do you not? Why then do you not speak to me of your
hate?"
  Kirk didn't know how to feel. Threatened?
No -- he was only puzzled. Despite
its amply demonstrated power, there was a pathos about
this creature he couldn't quite isolate. But that
didn't permit him tq lower his guard for a second.
  "We don't hate you. You fired your weapons
at my ship. We fired back."
  STAR TREK Log Six 177
  The energy belt turned deep, furious purple
and he added hurriedly. "We acted in
self-defence -- if you understand the term.
  "I am your master!" the serpent roared. "I may
do with you as I will, when I wish."
  Madder and madder, Kirk mused, his thoughts
awhirl. Obviously this entire display was concocted
to intimidate them. But this would-be god had aimed at
humans of a bygone age, men of less experienced
times and readier belief in the supernatural. His
words only made those standing below him angry.
  "You think we belong to you?" McCoy
  exclaimed. "We're not-part of the furniture of
your cold grey house, Kukulkan."
  "Aye, and don't plan to be," Scott added.
  Kirk spoke quietly, firmly. "Bones,
  Scotty -- don't antagonise it."
  "Antagonize it?" Scott argued.
"Captain, it's not exactly in a friendly frame of
mind right now."
  "It is as I thought," the serpent muttered, "you have
forgotten me and strayed from the path I set for you."
  Kirk spread his arms. The gesture was a plea
for in-formation, not mercy. "You say we've forgotten
you. How then can you expect us to worship you
properly, if we don't remember you and know nothing
of the path of which you speak? Are we expected to suffer
for the transgressions of ancestors dead these many
generations?"
  To his relief, this was so reasonable sounding that it
appeared to have a mollifying effect on the
snake-god. It settled to the top of the pyramid.
  "There is some truth in your words. You do not know
me. Therefore it is my task to teach you."
  That worried Kirk some. He had no idea what
was meant by teaching here. One thing he was certain of:
judging from what they knew of this alien's character so far
instruction might not be too pleasant
  As they watched the atmosphere turned
  turquoise-- the same blue haze that
had lifted them from the Enterprise. It enveloped
everything around them -- pyramid, tower, city
and jungle.
  When the blue fog cleared, and their vision with it,
  178 STAR TREK LOG SIX
  they found themselves standing in a large, high-ceilinged
room. The city was gone. The room seemed to stretch
off to infinity, optical illusion though Kirk knew
it must be. Kukulkan's science was
unpredictable, but he didn't think it extended
to creating infinite space aboard a ship of finite
dimensions.
  Everything was rounded and curved, smooth here as the
city had been sharp-angled. The room itself was
well-lit and shaded a deep, rich purple.
  Levels and platforms hung scattered
  throughout the room without any visible support.
Set on and around them were dozens of
  transparent cubicles ... round, square,
oddly shaped. More of the same grasslike cages
rested on the floor of the chamber.
  The whole arrangement was curiously ... curi-
ously -- Kirk struggled for the right
  word -- sterilised. Yes, hard
and sterile.
  , No bars or force barriers of recognisable
type were evident. Some of the containers held
plants, others animals. Many of both were unknown
to the widely traveled senior officers.. Each
cage had a pair of thick cables running from it. The
cables disappeared into floor or ceiling.
  Other wild vegetation grew out in the open,
uncaged. Kukulkan was nowhere to be seen.
  "Just once," McCoy grumbled, "I wish
he'd let us use the stairs."
  Kirk examined the incredible collection.
"Everything in here is designed to be looked at. I
think the idea is that we do some looking."
  He selected one path at random among the
cubicles and they started down.
  "What the devil is this place?" Scott
wondered.
  "Looks like some kind of zoo," a dubious
McCoy commented.
  He walked over to one of the glassy cages and
tentatively felt of the surface. His hand drew
back in surprise. Despite the glassy sheen,
the wall had a greasy feel.
  This particular cage housed a creature
that resembled a hallucinatory vision of a giant
platypus. It surged and heaved about within,
obviously oblivious to their
  STAR TREK LOG Six 179
  presence and as near as they could tell, perfectly
happy. "There'rea lot of species here I
don't recognize, Jim," McCoy told him.
  "Me too, Bones. Species -- I
don't even
  recognize some of the environments. Look at that
one."
  The cage he indicated was filled with a red gas
holding pink spongy globules in suspension. Within
this atmosphere swam -- or
flew -- a spotted yellow disk
encircled with cilia. It looked blankly toward
them with four eyes sporting double pupils.
  Abruptly (but not unexpectedly) they were joined
by another observer. Kukulkan hovered slightly
above them and to one side. None of the men moved
closer.
  But when the serpent spoke the cordiality in its
voice was in startling contrast to the violence it had
displayed on their confrontation at the pyramid.
  "Please feel free to examine any of
my
  specimens."
  Specimens? What did this awesome assemblage
of life portend? Another mystery they would have to pry
out of Kukulkan.
  Scott, however, had long since put aside
diplomacy in favor of honesty. He shook his
head sadly as he surveyed the endless rows of
cubicles. "I could never be proud of putting wee
beasties in cages. We've long since abandoned
such
  barbarism on Earth."
  Kirk glared at his chief engineer, but
Kukulkan took no offence..
  "All these here lead a peaceful, healthy life.
One that is safe and contented."
  McCoy had strolled over to a nearby cage.
Now he indicated its occupant -- a
furry, multilegged ball. It was plucking tiny
grapelike fruit from a small bush.
  "Contented? Cramped in these little cages?"
  "Ah, but what you cannot see," the drifting alien
explained, "is that each creature is mentally in
its-own natural environment. The fields of the mind
are infinite," he concluded profoundly, as
McCoy bent to examine the cables leading out of the
cage. They ran from the floor into an uninformative,
featureless black box attached to the cubicle
base.
  "They eat, breathe and exist," Kukulkan
  continued, "in worlds dreamed up by my
  machines. Worlds that
  180 STAR TREK Lip Sir
  only they can see. Nor do they see you. Nothing
is permitted to disturb their satisfying, endless
vistas. Each lives its own ideal dream. They do
not know they are in cages."
  "A cage is a cage no matter how padded the
bars," Scott whispered.
  Kukulkan's hearing was far from godlike, the
chief engineer had long since decided. Nor could
he read minds. Otherwise he would have dealt with
Scott back at the pyramid.
  "Then the city whose puzzle we solved,"
  Walking Bear exclaimed in a sudden burst of
realization, "wasn't really there!" tilde
  "It was "there"," Kukulkan informed them, "because
I wished it so, for you. and me.
  "Each of my specimens has a world of its own
far greater than the puny city I created for
you."
  "I'd hardly call your city our natural
  environment," Kirk pointed outs
  Huge wings struck at the air. "It was meant
to be' That beautiful city and all else I taught
to your ancestors were intended to be yours. But they
became evil and forgetful and imposed their own teachings
above mine until the greater was forgotten!"
  There was nothing more to be gained by tact, Kirk
decided. It was time to try directness. "We
don't like being referred to as property," he said.
  He was about fed up with this deranged
  mechanical wizard. To many primitive terran
cultures he might well have seemed a god, but a
god he was not.
  "No one being," Kirk continued, "not even you,
has the Aght to interfere with the natural development
of other civilisations. This is a rule we have
established for ourselves."
  Huge linear muscles contracted, tightened.
Wings beat furiously at cages and plants as the
serpent flew into a frenzy, eyes bulging, mouth
agape. They backed away from such naked rage.
  "Do not speak to me of development and
  interference! loo not speak to me of what
is right! I have been ever alone. Destruction
descended on my kind before your race had discovered
fire . . . nay, before it learned
  STAR TREK L tilde She 181
  to lift itself from the mud and walk upright. Is there
"right" in such endless solitude?"
  He gestured at several nearby cages. One
contained a creature much like an undernourished seal, the
other a quivering mass of green and black
protoplasm. Between lay xenariums filled with
exotic flora.
  "Creatures like these have been my only
  companions for many millennia. I have seen minds
like yours on many worlds ... savage, warlike,
filled with self-hate and destructive
intelligence. You end by destroying yourselves and everything
around you, by reducing whole planets to-lifeless
cinders. After endless encounters with such sickening
civilisations I decided to"-- the word
came out savagely -- "...interfere! As a
hopeful experiment I visited your Farm, among
other worlds, and tried to teach peaceful ways to the now
vanished cultures of many races.
  "Then I left, intending when summoned to return
to give you the additional knowledge which would enable you
to join me as true equals. But you never sent for
me. None did, to whom I gave the knowledge of the city.
Finally I sent a probe to find out what had
happened. What did it tell met what did it
discover? Warriors!" He spun rapidly in
tight circles.
  "Still warriors, ever warriors -- the
same as always. The same as I've seen on half
a hundred worlds, only this time more terribly
equipped than ever, with yet greater instruments of
destruction. You've surpassed the stage of
quarreling among yourselves and have carried annihilation to the
stars. You will end by destroying the universe!"
  "Saints preserve us," murmured a
flabbergasted Scott, "a paranoid god."
  "But we work only to create peace," Walking
Bear objected.
  The serpent glared down at them, his shadow darkening
the room, wings fluttering in agitation. "Nothing you have
done so far makes me believe that is so.
I -- I have done better."
  Again the broad, sweeping gesture, this time taking
in the entire hor tilde onless chamber: cages
full of snaillike plants, plantlike
snails, a cubicle lined with tiny
  182 STAR TREK LOG Six
  colored balls, animals that resembled rocks,
plants that resembled buildings, plant-animals
like nothing on Earth.
  "My creatures here have little intelligence, yet
even the most violent among them exist
  peacefully in the worlds that I have to give."
  Wings moved, and he backed around a corner. They
followed cautiously to where an unusually large
cage floated in midair. It held an enormous
feline creature that was all teeth, fangs, and
rasplike hair. Despite this fearsome array of
inborn weaponry it was reposing quietly on a bed
of grass, half-asleep. Even at rest, though,
this carnivore generated a sense of menace greater
than any dozen terran tigers on the hunt.
  "Though one of the fiercest and most
  unmanageable monsters living in your region of
space, this creature too lives in peace and
contentment in the private paradise which I create for
it out of its own dreams."
  "Good Minerva," McCoy suddenly blurted,
  staring at the cage and taking a step backwards,
"it's a Capalent power-cat. No one's ever been
able to keep one alive in captivity."
  "I'm not familiar with the species, Bones,"
Kirk said, eyeing the cage respectfully. "Why
haven't they?"
  "They despise captivity, have to be killed before
they can do any major damage," McCoy
explained. "Try to confine them and they fly mto a
blind rage. That rage is coupled to generating cells
that make a big electric eel's kick look like
a communicator battery next to a warp-drive.
One can put out enough juice to turn
  alloy-netting into a tin puddle, or kill a
couple tilde of dozen overenthusiastic hunters."
  He looked up at Kukulkan. "I've never
heard of one living in captivity for more than a
couple of days. How did you manage to capture it
in the first place?"
  "This one was an infant, when encountered," the serpent
told them, "and therefore more easily manipulated. As
you were when first I visited Earth. You were
destructive children who needed to be led."
  "But if children are made totally dependent on their
teachers," Kirk put in quickly, "they'll never be
anything but children."
  STAR TREK LOG SIX 183
  Alien wings ripped at the air.
"Enough! This is useless. Despite what I've
told you, despite what you've seen, you persist in
clinging to your disobedient ways." He swooped down
to hover threateningly close.
  "My dream is ending,"? he howled, "and all of
you are to blame! No time," he continued with an
ominous air of finality, "is ever given to those who
must decide."
  "Scatter!" Kirk yelled, reading
Kukulkan's intentions in his tone. As the serpent
dove at them the four officers did just that. The
demigod hesitated, displaying something considerably
short of omnipotence, trying to decide which of several
ways to pursue first.
  The question of the alien's omnipotence was one which had
been burning in another mind for some time now. When the
solution finally
  presented itself to Spock it gave support to the
theory that what is most obvious is most often
overlooked.
  "Of course," he finally murmured softly. The
elasticity of the force-field should not be able to respond
to assault from more than a single source. If it could
absorb and redistribute phaser beams, it
shouldn't be possible for it to simultaneously
cope with opposing pressure from another source.
  As always, he triple-checked his supposition with
actual math. The equations and conclusions which appeared
on the library-computer screen confirmed his
hopes.
  He was speaking as he crossed to the empty command
chair. "All hands to battle stations . . . red
alert is no longer on stand-by." Uhura complied
and the fully activated triple shift readied for
immediate action -- a'd four hundred
twenty-six of them.
  "Full impulse power, Helmsman,", he
ordered in crisp tones as he settled himself in the
chair. "Tractor beam on full power, warp
engines on stand-by."
  A steady hum built on the Bridge as the
closer impulse engine warmed.
  "Tractor beam activated, sir," Calne the
report from the engineering station.
  184 STAR TREK LOG Six
  "Very well. Set for maximum pull in
precise oppose tion to our present heading."
  "Aye, aye," came a ready but slightly
confused voice.
  - "Mr. Arex, you are directed
to compensate for cata
  pult effect. When we break free of the confining
forcefield we will be thrown approximately five
point seven
  light-years in a fraction of a second."
  "Understood," the experienced navigator
replied. Moments later he reported,
"Catapult compensation factors laid in, sir.
Gravity recoil compensation also checked."
  "But how are we going to break free of the field?"
Uhura wanted to know.
  "This energy bubble, by its very nature, appears
responsive to only one action per contained
object, Lieutenant. If the same
object -- in this case, the Enterprise-
both pushes and pulls on it
  simultaneously, at the same spot, the field
should become sufficiently strained for a sudden burst of
warp power to break clear of it.
  "Mr. Su14 Mr. Arex, you have our present
spatial position?"
  "Yes, sir," the double reply came. Spock
wanted no chance of them being thrown nearly six
light-years off with no way of relocating the
alien's ship.
  "Field contact with tractor beam in four
seconds, sir," Arex announced. His voice was
perhaps a twinge higher than usual.
  Even as he finished, the Enterprise, in the
person of its powerful tractor beam, once again
  encountered the restrictive surface of the force
globe. Both tractor and impulse engine fought the
same section of surface .. . pushing and pulling
toward the identical end.
  Spock didn't intend that they should bear the
terrific strain very long. For one thing the tractor
mechanism would blow up if it was required to pull
against the opposing force of the impulse engine for more than
a couple of minutes.
  "Full warp power on my order," Spock said,
shaping the syllables slowly. "Now."
  Within the force globe the tubularnacelles housing
  STAR TREK Log Six 185
  the great engines glowed brightly at the ends. The
Enterprise hung in that nexus of antagonistic
energies for a split second before a blinding white
flash obliterated it from view.
  Only a translucent blue globe remained.
  In an empty, uncontested corner of space the
flash divas repeated for an audience of
indifferent stars. The Enterprise appeared in its
center. Kukulkan's ship was off the scanners.
  - No one raised a shout, there were no hysterical
cheers. Those could wait until later, when the missing
four crew members had been rescued.
  tilde "All decks report no damage, no
injuries, sir," Uhura announced.
  "Mr. Sulu, come about. Mr. Arex, put us
on course to return." Spock betrayed no hint
of satisfaction. His tone was no different than it
had been when they had seemed hopelessly trapped.
  By interstellar standards the distance they had to travel
divas not great. "Reduce speed to maximum clos
tilde range attack velocity, Mr. Sulu.
Begin spiral attack pattern four. Arm all
phasers and the photon torpedo banks."
  "Sir," Sulu murmured, "if the Captain,
Dr. McCoy and the others are still alive, wouldn't it
be wise to . . .?"
  "One of the hallmarks of wisdom is the
  assignment of priorities, Mr. Sulu. The
Enterprise comes first. You will arm as directed."
  "Yes, sir," came the flat response.
  Thus prepared to deal a hurricane of
  destruction at the first attempt to encase
them in another force-field, the Enterprise wound its
way back toward the inimical ghost....
  Kirk was nearly exhausted. Just behind him,
McCoy appeared to be in even worse shape. He
glanced back and made a gesture. McCoy nodded
in return. As they rounded the next suitable
corner, both men dove behind one of the lowest of the
suspended cages.
  A writhing shape flashed by moments later, tongue
flicking rapidly in all directions and red eyes
glaring vengefully. Kirk marveled at the
abilities of a race
  186 STAR TREK L tilde SO
  which could create technological wonders like this ship
without the evolutionary benefit of
  manipulative members.
  Surely those wings had always been wings, nor were
there signs of rudimentary legs. The tail appeared
reasonably prehensile, but that hardly seemed
sufficient. Yet Kukulkan's people had managed,
even triumphed, in matters of fine construction.
  Even as he thought they had thrown off pursuit,
bat-wings backed air and the twisting figure paused
in mid-flight.
  Kirk held his breath. He needn't
have. It wasn't sudden detection of their presence that
had brought Kukulkan to such an abrupt stop.
  Confusion of a different kind was apparent in his
manner, and in the words he muttered
  unconsciously.
  "Something is wrong."
  Both officers hazarded a peek around the cage as
the serpent made an elaborate gesture with both
wings. A square of shimmering blackness
materialized before him.
  Looking into that was like peering into a cube of space.
Miniature stars gleamed within it. Some were occluded
by a miniature Enterprise.
  And no force bubble encased it, Kirk noted
excitedly.
  The three-dimensional image of the ship grew
larger and larger, until it seemed it would burst the
confines of the cube.
  "Escaped," Kukulkan was growling. "How? I
grill smash it this time . . ."
  "Broken free, J-im!" McCoy
exclaimed. "Spock . . ."
  Kirk cut him off. "We've got to distract this
thing and give him some time to get within range before
another force bubble is
projected -- or worse." He started
to draw back into the shadows, bumped something round and
unyielding with his shoulder.
  As the thought cleared he forgave himself the bruise.
The exchange could be more than fair. "Bones, what
would happen if we were to pull the cables on some of these
cages? Disrupt the peaceful environments?"
  McCoy shrugged. "Probably most of the
animals
  STAR TREK LOG Six 187
  would just lie still. Those that weren't cowed would be too
confused by the sudden change to know what to do. A few
might react blindly . . ." A look of
comprehension dawned on his face. "A few ... the
Capalent power-cat!"
  "Come on, Bones . . ."
  Keeping to the shadows, of which there were precious few
because of the even illumination, they traced an indirect
path back to the cage holding the big carnivore.
  That belligerent creature was awake now and
calmly preening itself. As they neared the cage,
Kirk found himself wondering if this was really such a
brilliant idea. Yet what else could they try?
It would take a major disturbance to draw
Kukulkan's considerable mind away from the
approach of the Enterprise.
  Kirk carried out a last experiment by charging
straight at the cage and slamming his hands hard against
the transparent-seeming side. Within, the power-cat's
gaze moved directly to hm -- and past.
  They'd have a chance, then. Moving around the cage they
started tugging and pulling at the twin cables.
Despite their most strenuous efforts, the connections
held fast.
  Well behind their present location, Kukulkan
hovered in humid air and studied the newly created
image of the Enterprise. He appeared to hear
something, his head suddenly lifting and turning in several
directions before settling on one.
  "No, stop!" he commanded angrily, with perhaps a
touch of something-other than anger in that shout. Wings
flapping furiously, he streaked off down one winding
path. Behind him, now devoid of control, the black
cube of shrunken universe broke up into tiny
puffs of dark smoke.
  Kirk heard that shout. Holding tight to the cable just
past where it joined the black box beneath the cage
floor, he tensed himself for a last, supreme effort.
  He put his left foot up against the cage on
one side of the cable, and shoved. Maintaining
pressure' he brought his right leg off the ground and
planted it on the other side of the link. Suspended
off the ground, he
  188 STAR TREK Log Six
  strained shoulders and legs at the same time.
McCoy struggled to imitate his actions.
  Kirk's cable gave with a snap and tiny shower of
sparks. He fell to the ground. Seconds later,
McCoy joined him. The doctor was no athlete,
but he knew exactly how to utilize the
  combination of bands and ropes that made up the
muscular system.
  Both men employed that system to roll beneath the
only immediate cover -- the dark bottom of the
cage itself.
  Above their heads, reaction was instantaneous. The
power-cat jerked back from what must have been a shocking
and radical alteration of the landscape.
  Spinning, it saw more of the same. It shrank down
into the earthen Boor of the now fully transparent
cage. But when no further
  metamorphosis followed, it rose rapidly
to all fours. It could see other creatures moving
about around it. Air still pulsed through its lungs, its
heart still beat. It was alive.
  There is practically nothing a Capalent
  power-cat fears. Whether panic or rage or
both motivated it then, neither Kirk nor McCoy
could tell.
  It rose up on its hind legs, fur bristling,
fangs bared. They couldn't hear the snarl it made,
because it was drowned by a greater explosion. The interior
of the cage was filled with a violent discharge of
electricity that shattered the walls and ceiling of the
enclosure into a thousand fragments.
  They could hear the snarling- now,
  uncomfortably close above them -- a
  deep-throated, angry rasp that cut the air like
a scythe. The power-cat leaped clear and began
prowling among the surrounding cages, throwing off
immense bursts of energy like a fourlegged hairy
thunderhead.
  Random bolts struck the floor and ceiling of the
chamber. Where they made contact, deep smoking
scars in the material appeared. Other bursts
shattered nearby cages, sending the respective
inhabitants into quivering paralysis or leaping for the
nearest shelter.
  If anything, the rampaging killer's discharges
seemed to increase in intensity. It reached the
point where each new burst caused the color of the
room to change. Kirk
  STAR TREK Log Six 189
  could feel the hair on his arms and the back-of his
neck stand on end in the presence of so much
unchanneled power.
  Kukulkan was close by, but he was no longer
concerned with Kirk and McCoy, nor with Scott and
Walking Bear who had hurried to the region of
disturbance to offer aid if either captain or
physician were in danger.
  Wings fluttered in agitation as the serpent hissed,
"Irrational savages! See what you have done!"
  "Prepare to fire, Mr. Sulu," Spock
ordered calmly as the range to the ghost ship closed.
"Aim for the propulsion units."
  "Aye, sir."
  They swept close . . . and no force-field
appeared to meet them. No duplicate of the pure
white energy beam leaped to strike at their
deflector shields.
  "Fire, Mr. Sulu. Phasers first."
  Twin beams of blue energy crossed the distance between
ships. This time there was nothing to stop them. They raked
the alien's drive.
  "Again, Mr. Sulu." Once more the rear section
of Kukulkan's vessel was hit.
  Within the life-room a brief turquoise glow
touched everything. Then all was plunged into darkness in which
the only light came from luminescent specimens and the
intermittent blaze of the power-cat.
  The carnivore's snarls reached them above an
increasing melange of squeaks, chirps, moans and
whistles. Kirk decided to take a chance, crawled
clear of the protective cage. To the power-cat, his
yell should be no more distracting than the calls of any
other freed creatures.
  "Kukulkan! You can't control one of your own
creatures!" The emphasis on the own was
  intentional, but the irony was wasted on that
monumental reptilian ego.
  Light returned to the chamber and Kirk ducked
back out of sight. But this wasn't the bright, powerful
illumination of before. It was dim and Hickered dimmer
  190 STAR TREK tilde SO
  at random moments. It was strong enough for them to see
by with reasonable ease, though.
  Kukulkan had made no attempt to locate the
source of that taunt. Instead, he was shrinking back
against one smoking cage as the odor of
crisped air drifted back to them. Both cat and
prey were edging toward their hiding place.
  "I cannot, any longer. Your ship has cAppled
my central power source."
  Kirk was about to say something about the power of 8
god, but McCoy had grabbed his arm. "If that's
true, Jim, then that cat's a real threat to all of
us."
  A snarl sounded close by, and a moment later
Kukulkan appeared. The power-cat had its head
down and was stalking the serpent-god with single-minded
hatred. It was backing Kukulkan in against-a
shattered cage that reached nearly to the ceiling. Its
tail lashed back and forth and blue sparks danced on
its fur. Ozone stank in their nostrils.
  "We've got to do something, Jim, it'll be after us
next."
  "Your medikit, Bones -- maximum
tranquilizer setting for alien mammaloids."
  McCoy was fumbling at his kit instantly,
muttering. "We're not certain it's a mammal,
Jim. Power-cat study's not a favoAte
subject among researchers on Capalent. I
don't even know if the hype will penetrate."
  "It buffer," Kirk warned nervously.
  McCoy drained nearly all of one vial
to fill the hypo, then slapped it into Kirk's ready
palm like a relay runner's baton. Kirk was
already dashing from their hiding place before the doctor could
think to object.
  Kukulkan was lashing his tail like a whip and beating
with its wings. The power-cat was not impressed. If the
serpent Ted to dodge, the cat would cut him off to either
side . . . and there wasn't enough room to fly over the
towering cage. Escape was impossible.
  Powerful leg muscles tightened and the
  carnivore's tail twitched faster. It was
readying itself to spring, eyes fixed on the
brightly-colored creature which hov
  STAR TRERL-OG Six 191
  ered before it. One might mink the position of deity
and mortal had been reversed.
  So intent was it upon Kukulkan mat Me
  power-cat never saw Kirk. The captain
brandished the hypo like a knife and slammed it into the
carnivore's rear right lup.
  It whirled immediately, as much startled as angered. The
burst of electricity it threw off was reflexive
rather than directed. That saved Kirk's life. The
discharge was still powerful enough to send him flying
into a nearby tangle of uncaged shrubs.
  Apparently unhurt, the cat readied itself to hurl
a beffer-aimed charge at this tiny new opponent.
Instead, it shook its head and got down off its hind
legs, eyes blinking slowly.
  Behind it, KuLulkan's agitation diminished. The
god cocked his head quizzically as he evaluated
the change in the now dazed killer, Its gaze rose
to study the place where Kirk lay.
  McCoy was at the captain's side in a moment,
but Kirk was evidently all right. He was sitting
up, shaking his head and rubbing at his right shoulder. The
doctor's voice was still concerned.
  "Did you inject the beast or yourself? You look a
little rocky, Jim."
  "I'm okay, Bones. That last bolt just singed
me. Funny stuff, lightning It can turn a
  hundred-meter-tall tree into lawn stakes without
harming someone standing nearby." He gestured with his head
to where a long black streak had scorched the deck just
to one side of where he'd been, seconds before.
  Okay or not, he didn't object when
McCoy offered him a hand up. The narrowness of his
escape was magnified when a few steps brought them
to the hypo. It had been thrown clear. It
was recognisable as the hypo only because it couldn't be
anything else. Metal and glass were fused into a
vaguely cylindrical blob of still hot slag.
  Kukulkan, meanwhile, had recovered enough to hover
above the power-cat. Kirk considered running for their
hiding place, then shrugged. They'd already been
  192 STAR TREK LOG Six
  seen and anyway, with the power-cat immobilised, the
serpent could locate them at its leisure.
  McCoy joined him as he walked toward the
carnivore. The huge creature was not
  unconscious. It possessed physical
reserves which could almost handle even the massive dose
it had been injected with. It sat swaying slightly
and licking its forepaws.
  "What a system!" McCoy murmured in
  admiration "That hypo had enough
  mynoquintistrycnite in it to knock out a herd of
hippos."
  "It's just like a big kitten," a voice sounded
behind them. Walking Bear, and Scott with him. The first
animal they had seen, the lumbering platypus-like
thing, was waddling behind Scott. Every once in a while
it would sidle up next to him and rub up and down his
leg like a big slick dog, uttering a
peculiar gulping sound.
  Scott would hesitate, then reach down to scratch
behind its ears. "What's this, again? Aren't you the friendly
little darlin'."
  "Hello Walking Bear, Scotty," Kirk
hailed.
  "I see things have calmed down a bit,
Captain," Scott observed with satisfaction,
staring past him. "Maybe now all concerned parties can
discuss things a bit more sensibly."
  "Yes," Kirk agreed, turning to face
Kukulkan. "I think we've earned the right to be
heard."
  "You continue to take advantage of me," the
serpent replied grudgingly. "Yet my beamed
request for time will not delay your Mr. Spock much
longer. He would destroy my ship.
  Therefore I must consent. Speak what you win."
  Kirk nodded back to where Scott was still scratching
the alien platypus. The eyes of the creature were
closed in apparent pleasure.
  "You think of us as being weak, small creatures like
that one, as unintelligent animals. Are we
truly that inferior to you?" Kukulkan paused,
seeming for the first time to consider his reply before
speaking.
  "Potentially, mentally ... no. But compared to the
violence of your kind, the power-cat in its natural
state
  STAR TREK Log Six 193
  is docility personified. How can I let that
live to poison an unsuspecting universe?"
  McCoy's hands were locked behind his back. He was
rocking slowly on his heels and staring expectantly
at Kirk. Obviously the good doctor was burning
to say something. Kirk saw no reason to stand in his
way.
  "We'd be fools if we didn't learn from our
own history," McCoy began. "Those minds you
admit aren't so inferior to yours ... we've been
using them since you last visited us. Don't let
your probe's tales of warships and arms convince you
we're about to embark on a Galaxywide war of
extermination. We've been working to bring about a
multiracial civilisation in which everyone can live in
peace with his neighbors. We've already accomplished
this within our own Federation." He grinned. "A few
persistent throwbacks like the Klingons and Romulans
will come around, in time."
  "You see why we can't be what you
originally intended for us," Kirk continued. "If we
fail or succeed, it has to be -- mst
be -- "our own
  hands. By our own doing.
  "You could probably find your worshipful servant
races somewhere, Kukulkan, but they'd have to be blind and
dumb. Once you have a being with a mind of its own, you can
no longer lead it around by the nose. You cannot have
intelligent slaves, Kukulkan. The thing is as
impossible as a leisurely cruise past a
black hole."
  Kirk didn't think it was possible for that cobra
coun-tenance to look downcast, but Kukulkan
managed it.
  "I thought of you as my children. I hoped I could teach
you, lead you, aid you. There is much I can . . ."
  "You already have," Kirk said, with more compassion than
he believed he could muster for this overbearing
creature. "Long ago, when it was needed most
 -- when our ancestors were still children. But
we're all grown up now, Kukulkan."
  He hesitated, then added as gently as possible,
"We don't need you anymore."
  This time the serpent spoke with true
  somberness. "It seems I have already done
what I can, and things cannot be as I wished them. Therefore
... I will let
  194 STAR TREK Log Six
  you go your own way, as you wish." The
  power-cat had ceased licking itself and now lay down
peacefully between them.
  "We would still have you as a friend and equal,
Kukulkan," Kirk offered.
  "No ... no." The wings beat slowly. "That cannot
be, now, for me. As you cannot be
  servants and children, so can I be no less than the
master. It is sad, but it is truth.
  "Go now . . ."
  Kirk studied.the viewscreen. Kukulkan's
ship still hovered there, but its awesome energy cloak was
gone. The need for deception had passed.
  McCoy stood nearby while Spock was watching
the screen from his position at the
  library-computer station.
  "An interesting experience," the first officer ob-
served.
  "Interesting," McCoy mumbled, in a tone that
indicated he would have used other adjectives
to describe what they had just been through.
  "Our visitor turned out to be the
actual Mayan god," Spock concluded.
  "And the Toltecs' Quetzalcoatl," Walking
Bear reminded, "and the original Chinese dragon,
and all the
  "But not quite a god," Kirk corrected them. "Just
an old, lonely being who wanted to help others an
egomaniacal hermit who'd chose
  isolation before confessing to his mortality."
  McCoy grinned and crossed his arms, rather like a
gunfighter preparing for a standoff only the doctor was
readying a verbal salvo.
  "Spock," he began innocently, "I don't
suppose Vulcans have legends like those?"
  The first officer regarded him evenly, raised one
eyebrow. "Not legends, Doctor. Vulcan was
visited by alien beings in its past. They, however,
left us much wiser."
  McCoy was preparing a reply when Arex, who
had ns tilde sted on remaining on duty until the
incident was fi
  STAR TREK EM She 195
  Dally resolved, broke in with a report.
  "The other vessel is getting under way, sir,
heading directly outward along the transmission
heading."
  "Away from Earth, away from the Federation," Kirk
confirmed, watching as Kukulkan's ship began
to shrink on the screen. "It's sad. Think what we
could do with the knowledge on that ship, held in that mind." He
shook his head.
  "Unfortunately, the price was just too high."
  "I think I know how he felt, Jim,"
McCoy cornmented, turning suddenly serious.
Spock also turned to look at him. "There's a
line from Shakespeare . . ."
  "I remember it, too, Bones." Kirk's
voice recited, was "How sharper than a serpent's
tooth it is to have a thankless child"."
  "Indeed, Captain," Spock agreed, filling
that terse comment with more meaning than most people could put in
several paragraphs.
  Kirk sighed, looked back at the screen. It
was empty again, empty save for that endless panoply
of marching suns. They glowed mockingly back at
him, each holding secrets they stubbornly guarded
with distance and time.
  "Lay in a course for Starbase 21, Mr.
Arex. All ahead warp-three . . ."
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