Star Trek - Log 10

by Alan Dean Foster

  "We've found something here which is impressive, Captain. It's the reason for our signal, for my unfriendly attitude, and for my caution in dealing with you. We couldn't risk having an unfriendly power learn what we've unearthed here. Captain, we've found a sealed Slaver stasis box."

  Silence on the bridge.

  Kirk turned to his first officer. "Mr. Spock, what are the odds of finding a Slaver stasis box on . . ." He stopped, waved diffidently. "No, never mind. All that matters is that such a box exists."

  "We've been broadcasting our priority call ever since we found the box, Captain." The reasons for the archeologist's tenseness became clear. "Going on two weeks now. We haven't much of a transmitter here. Your ship is the first that's passed within hailing distance." She smiled slightly again. "This isn't a heavily funded expedition. As I said, Gruyakin's not thought to be very important.

  "You see now, Captain Kirk, why you must change course. As far from developed Federation worlds as we are, I've been frightened that some unfriendly power or unprincipled group of humans might stumble on our discovery. A sealed Slaver stasis box, of course, is beyond price."

  "I understand now, Ms. Masid." Kirk regarded her sympathetically. "You were right to be so cautious. The temptation would be enormous even for an honest man. We'll be there as soon as possible and we'll relieve you of that box."

  "Thank you." She was so obviously happy that it was embarrassing. "I can handle responsibility, but this is a bit too much for me, Captain. We'll be anxiously awaiting your arrival here."

  "Your pardon, Captain," Spock began urgently, but Kirk hushed him.

  "I'll be glad to see the damn thing gone," Shannon Masid was saying. "So we can all get back to some simple, uncomplicated excavating. We'll have our beacon set to provide you with beam-down or landing coordinates. Gruyakin Six out . . ."

  "Captain, you cannot afford to miss the orientation sessions at Starbase Twenty-Five and still expect to make credible and accurate ambassadorial decisions." Spock regarded the captain expectantly. The hoped-for suggestion was not long in coming.

  "No, I can't, Mr. Spock. But you can."

  "That was my thought as well, Captain."

  Kirk completed a mental outline. "You, Lieutenant Uhura, and Lieutanant Sulu will travel via shuttlecraft to Gruyakin Six and take custody of the stasis box. While you are doing that, I'll be undergoing briefing sessions on Briamos at Starbase Twenty-Five. We'll depart from Briamos upon completion of those sessions or immediately on your arrival from Gruyakin, whichever falls nearest to the time set for the beginning of the conference." He paused thoughtfully, added, "I'd rather have you undergo those same sessions, Mr. Spock, but I'm confident that as long as one of us attends them, he can fill in the other on Briamosite protocol and such with the aid of tapes."

  "I believe I can cope with the material sufficiently, prior to our arrival at Briamos, Captain."

  Kirk smiled imperceptibly. "I'm sure you can, Spock." The smile vanished. "I wouldn't consider sending you three," and he gazed in turn at each of the three designated officers, "prior to so vital a conference if an unopened stasis box wasn't of nearly equal importance."

  "Captain?"

  "Yes, Spock?"

  "Rather than have Lieutenant Commander Scott substitute in my place, Captain, and have someone take over in turn for him, I request permission to have Lieutenant Vedama of Sciences handle my duties in my temporary absence. I'll have little time to brief him, but he's a highly competent officer who deserves the opportunity to gain some experience in a command position. He has served as chief science officer on smaller Star-fleet vessels. For him to take over for me on short notice, even for a week or so, will be excellent training."

  Kirk nodded approvingly. It was like Spock to have the interests of a younger officer in mind even as he was about to embark on a serious mission of his own.

  "I haven't heard anyone speak ill of the officer you mention, Mr. Spock. Request approved. You'll detail the lieutenant personally before you depart."

  "Of course, Captain."

  Rising from the command chair, Kirk met with the three department officers near the turbolift doors. "You'll leave as soon as possible. If you reach Gruyakin and have even a suspicion that another vessel might be in your spatial vicinity, get in touch with us immediately."

  "What could you do in such a situation, Captain?" Spock wanted to know. "You still cannot deviate from your appointment with the briefers at Starbase Twenty-Five."

  "One crisis at a time, Mr. Spock." He went on more seriously. "I really don't know. Much would depend on our exact position relative to Gruyakin and the base, and the position of the other ship, its markings, and so on. The difficulty stems from the fact that the contents of a Slaver box might be worth more than an alliance with Briamos, or they might be worthless. Let's hope no such problems arise. Just pick up the box and get out of the Gruyakin system as fast as you're able."

  All three officers acknowledged the captain's orders, then hurried to their cabins. Only the minimum of personal effects would be taken. A shuttlecraft had very little spare room. But they wouldn't be gone very long and nothing beyond the basics was required.

  Not long after leaving the bridge, they were clustered in the shuttlecraft bay. Engineer Scott was waiting to greet them, having just finished a personal checkout of the little shuttlecraft Copernicus.

  "Have a nice trip, Mr. Spock, Sulu, Uhura," he said. "Bring back lots of pictures."

  "From what I've seen of Gruyakin Six, Mr. Scott," Spock replied perfectly deadpan, "visual mementos would not be of much interest. However, I'm certain you'll find what we're going after of considerably more interest."

  "And what might that be? I was only told to make the shuttle ready for a fast flight."

  "Everything's been happening all at once, Mr. Scott," Sulu explained. "An archeological expedition on Gruyakin Six has found a Slaver stasis box."

  "A Slaver—" Scott let out a long whistle, looked impressed. "No wonder the captain's in such a hurry. Why isna the ship goin'?"

  "The Enterprise must reach Starbase Twenty-Five by a certain date, Mr. Scott." Spock was making his own, inevitable fast inspection of the shuttle. "Sending out a shuttle to Gruyakin is the only way everything can be properly accomplished in the time remaining to us. The sooner the stasis box is aboard the Enterprise, the better it will be for the Federation."

  "Aye, Mr. Spock. Here to Gruyakin to Starbase Twenty-Five. I dinna think I'd care to be makin' that trip myself."

  "I share your concern, but we have, as I've explained, no choice."

  Scott gestured at the shuttle. "Well, there's no need to worry about the Copernicus. I've triple-checked everything myself and you've got long-range supplies bulging every storage locker. If you have to stay out longer than you plan, you're equipped for it."

  "I hope not." Uhura looked anxious. "I'm curious to see what these controversial Briamosites are like. I've never heard of Starfleet speaking so highly of a new civilization or potential new ally. They must be something special."

  "They can hardly be more special than a sealed stasis box," said Sulu fervently. "I've heard about them all my life, read about them on tapes, seen pictures of them, but I never expected to see one in person."

  "In appearance," Spock commented as they entered the shuttle, "a stasis box is not particularly impressive. The knowledge of what lies inside more than makes up for any abstract esthetic deficiencies, however." He turned in the doorway, looked back out into the shuttle bay.

  "Good-bye, Mr. Scott. We'll be seeing you again very soon."

  Scott waited until the shuttle door had sealed itself, murmured a heartfelt, "Amen to that, Mr. Spock." Then he jogged to the near wall and punched an intercom switch.

  "Attention, attention! Chief Engineer Scott speaking. All personnel are directed to clear the shuttlecraft bay. Clear the shuttle bay for launch." He thumbed another switch, was rewarded by the clamor of the bay alarm, then hit the communications nub once more.
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  "Bridge . . . Shuttle bay."

  "Kirk here. That you, Scotty?"

  "Aye, Captain. Clearing the bay. I'll be out myself in a second."

  "Thanks, Scotty. We'll take it from here. Bridge out." He turned to the communications station, now manned by Lieutenant M'ress. "Communications check, Copernicus, Lieutenant."

  "Checking, sirr," The Caitian officer purred back at him as she studied her console. "Channel open."

  Kirk spoke into his chair pickup. "Mr. Spock, this is the captain speaking."

  "Communications check good, Captain," came the clear reply. "All shuttle systems check out normal. Ready for departure."

  "Stand by." Kirk turned to face the slight, nut-brown little man seated at the science station. "Open the shuttle-bay doors, Lieutenant, Vedama."

  "Opening shuttle-bay doors, sir." The science officer's voice was almost as gentle as Lieutenant Arex's, but clipped at the end of heavily consonanted words. Vedama's ancestors had fought for a subsistence existence outside a bloated city on Earth named Bombay. Now the great-great-grandson of those struggling peasants commanded more knowledge at his fingertips than had all his ancestors combined.

  At the stern of the Enterprise vast metal panels slid ponderously aside. There was no one in the chamber, now open to space, to see the few wisps of unreclaimed atmosphere puff out into emptiness. Several lights flashed on and then off, were matched by smaller telltales on the ship's bridge.

  "Shuttlecraft away, Captain," Vedama reported.

  "Close bay doors."

  "Closing doors, sir."

  Kirk turned his attention to the main viewscreen. "Lieutenant M'ress, give me shuttle channel and the view from aft scanners." M'ress, nudged certain controls and a picture of the Copernicus, floating behind the Enterprise, appeared on the screen.

  "Mr. Spock?"

  "All shuttle systems continue to function normally, Captain," came the instant reply. "Preparing course to Gruyakin."

  "Mr. Spock," Kirk continued more softly, "I meant what I said earlier. If you encounter another ship in the Gruyakin system, notify me immediately. Don't try to save time by coping with an intruder yourselves. You're not equipped for it."

  "I understand, Captain. Hopefully we will see nothing but subsolar shuttles at our destination. We will rendezvous with the Enterprise at Starbase Twenty-Five at the appropriate time. Copernicus out."

  "Enterprise . . . out." Reluctantly, convinced he had forgotten something, Kirk switched off.

  After a while he considered beaming the shuttle again, but he had really nothing more to add. Spock was not the reckless type, but—Then it struck him what was actually bothering him. He wanted to be on board the Copernicus, racing to Gruyakin. Not on his way to sit like a schoolboy again before a set of repetitive lectures.

  There were no such things as adults, he mused idly. Only older children . . .

  III

  From the time it left the Enterprise, the Copernicus was traveling at maximum shuttle speed. Spock intended to retrieve the Slaver stasis box as fast as possible, both to insure its safety and to make sure that they would reach Starbase Twenty-Five in time for them to sit in on the last of the Briamos briefings. Consequently, it wasn't too long before they had entered the Gruyakin system and taken up orbit around its sixth planet.

  That world was no more impressive from orbit than it had been when seen on the main screen of the Enterprise. It was clearly a tired, worn globe, an old world with no high mountain ranges and only shallow oceans. Yet at one time in the distant past it had been home to a hopeful civilization. Perhaps the people of Gruyakin had also yearned to reach the stars, only to fall back in failure. Galactic archeology had long ago proven one thing: Those races who reached the stars expanded, advanced, and grew. Those who did not often fell to squabbling among themselves over petty tribal differences, only to disappear long before their natural time. The same thing might have happened to Vulcan. It had come very near to happening on Earth.

  Yet down there among the dead cities and forgotten memories lay one of the most valuable single objects in the galaxy, a Slaver stasis box. How and why it had come to be in this unimportant place was a question the archeological expedition might answer in the future. For now, it was important to place that box and its as-yet-unknown contents under more protection than a group of scientists and researchers could offer.

  "I've located their beacon, Mr. Spock." Uhura glanced up from the Copernicus's modest console.

  "Homing in," reported Sulu, as he angled the shuttlecraft in the direction provided by the beacon.

  Uhura made adjustments to another section of the console, then announced with satisfaction: "Audio contact."

  "Identify yourselves," a strident voice demanded in the small cabin of the shuttle. "Our main phaser batteries are trained on you! Identify yourselves."

  Sulu chuckled, but Spock spoke normally into the pickup. "You can drop the subterfuge, Gruyakin Six. This is the shuttlecraft Copernicus from the U.S.S. Enterprise, here to pick up . . . cargo. Commander Spock speaking. Is that you, Director Masid?"

  An audible sigh reached them over the speaker. "Yes, it is, Commander. Excuse our bluff. It's not much, but it's the best we could think of." A pause, then: "We're mighty glad you're here. The Enterprise isn't with you?"

  "No. This is the only way we could satisfy two vital commitments within a limited time."

  "What difference does it make?" Uhura looked askance at Sulu, who shrugged.

  "You have our beacon?" the director asked.

  "Yes. With your permission, we will land immediately."

  "The sooner the better. Gruyakin out."

  Spock thought to ask a question, but decided not to call back. They would be down on the surface soon enough and he could ask it in person. He was feeling some of the same concern as Uhura. There was something going on down on the blighted surface of this world . . .

  It wasn't often Sulu had the chance to pilot a shuttlecraft, much less to make a planetary landing. The transporter was a far simpler and faster device. But one couldn't have told this from the smoothness of their touchdown, which was a silent, safe tribute to the lieutenant's training and natural ability.

  He brought the shuttle to a halt alongside the dark lake they had first observed during the initial transmission from Gruyakin to the Enterprise. Black volcanic sand along the narrow beach extended out indefinitely into the water and explained the lake's grim coloration. Ruined buildings, testaments to a forgotten alien architecture, lined the far shore of the lake.

  Immediately to their left and slightly farther from the shoreline shone the familiar bubbles of pressurized domes. In the bleak setting they provided a comforting, if spartan, reminder of civilization. The expedition's quarters were far from luxurious. Love of science and the quest for knowledge could often enable people to endure hardships no sensible person would otherwise willingly submit to.

  "Peculiar," commented Spock as he regarded the horizon near the domes. "They knew we were coming right down. I'd think there'd be someone here to meet us."

  Sulu frowned as he studied the terrain. "Not a pretty world." He checked instruments, gazed at readouts. "Atmosphere is breathable, which is to be expected, but thin. Altitude equivalent of roughly three thousand meters on Earth. That might explain why no one's running to greet us." He peered closer at an isolated dial. "Judging from the content of certain trace gases, I don't think this world's going to smell very good, either."

  Uhura squinted and then raised a hand to point. "Here they come. There's a vehicle of some kind."

  A small, oval-bodied crawler was speeding toward them from the general region of the domes.

  "Driver's a little reckless," Uhura observed disapprovingly.

  Covering the intervening ground at high speed, the vehicle whined to a stop before the shuttle as Sulu let down the ramp. The atmosphere which now filled the shuttle had a faint flavor of overripe vegetation tinged with sulfur. Sulu tried not to look pained as they mov
ed to meet their greeters.

  Spock recognized the woman getting out of the far side of the crawler as expedition director Masid. Two men followed her toward the shuttle.

  "They appear worried," he said speculatively. "I'd have thought they would be relieved by our arrival. I'm anxious to learn why they're not."

  Uhura's nose twisted as they started down the ramp. "Phew! I think I'd wear a life-support belt here, even if the air is considered fit for breathing."

  "An injudicious waste of energy, Lieutenant," Spock chided her as they walked toward the approaching threesome. His own nostrils twitched as a particularly noxious odor brushed them. He had to confess privately that Uhura's idea was not without merit.

  Masid noted his insignia, went straight up to him and extended a hand. "Commander Spock." Her grip was surprisingly firm.

  "Director Masid." He took in the expressions of the two men who were accompanying her. All three humans wore expressions akin to those who had recently placed large bets on a sure thing, only to learn that it wasn't so sure and that they had three minutes to withdraw their bets.

  More significantly, the taller of the two men had a recent phaser burn scarring the left side of his neck.

  "You've had trouble," Spock said. It was not exactly a question.

  The director was panting heavily, fighting for air and not because of Gruyakin Six's thinner atmosphere. It was clear she had been running hard. "It's the box," she said reluctantly. "It's been stolen."

  "Stolen!" Sulu couldn't believe it. "Didn't you have it under guard? Something that valuable—"

  "Please, Mr. . . .?"

  "Lieutenant Sulu," he replied.

  "Lieutenant," she explained wearily, "try to understand my situation here. This is purely a scientific expedition. I'd thought that I could believe the psychological profiles in our records. Those profiles were accurate save for one man. Even given the possibility that one of my people might conceivably be tempted by the wealth the box could represent, I thought that our isolation here, with no way for anyone to get off-planet until the relief ship arrives, would prevent any criminal action toward the stasis box. Well, I was wrong. The psychologists were wrong."