Spock had already noted the surface on which he had been directed to stand, and on which Sulu and Uhura now swayed unsteadily. Roughly five square meters of a thick metal mesh, it resembled a carpet woven of steel instead of fiber. He had recognized it as soon as they'd entered the large room. It was a police web, one identical to those used by Federation authorities for restraining prisoners without damaging them. The webs were portable and much simpler to maintain than an energy—or solid-barrier cubicle. When not needed, the jail "cell" could simply be rolled up and tucked away in a locker somewhere.
His observation was immediately confirmed. A Kzin nearby touched a wall control. Spock instantly felt himself paralyzed from the shoulders down. The force field generated by the mesh held him as firmly as any visibly bonds. The field was strong enough to retard perspiration in a prisoner, but given the cool climate of the ready room and the fact that their incarceration was likely to be brief, he didn't expect that would be a problem. As a bonus, the field kept the still unsteady Uhura and Sulu from falling over.
It took an effort, but Spock managed to turn his head enough to see his companions. They were beginning to regain full control of their nervous systems, including their minds. When they came around completely there would be questions, and Spock prepared himself for some awkward ones.
Uhura blinked, tried to take a step toward him, and found she was unable to move so much as a toe. Her head also came around slowly. "Mr. Spock . . . where are we?"
"Inside a Kzinti spacecraft, Lieutenant. Of what size and capability I have been unable to determine."
"Just a minute." Sulu was taking in their surroundings, eyeing the cluster of arguing Kzinti around the table. "Something doesn't make sense here—Wait, I remember now. Kzinti aren't supposed to have hand phasers, let alone space armor. Where did they get those weapons?" He gestured at the nearest Kzin and the pair of phasers slung at its hips.
"I don't know, Mr. Sulu, but you are quite right about their possession of weapons." Spock recited, "The Treaty of Sirius does not permit them any weapons capabilities at all, beyond the operation of a few police vessels. Obviously, the treaty has been broken."
The Kzinti left the room, still growling and grunting among themselves.
"This severe violation must be reported," Spock went on, "as soon as we reach Starbase Twenty-Five."
Sulu's expression was more eloquent than words, as if to say, You mean, if we reach Starbase Twenty-Five. But he didn't say that. Instead, his attention shifted to the grated surface they were standing on.
"Police web. We won't be able to do anything unless we can turn it off somehow."
They were left alone to discuss their plight for some time, before equipment-laden Kzinti re-entered the room. Under the direction of one Kzin with engineer's markings they deposited the equipment around the central table.
Devoid of their pressure suits they looked a lot like plump orange cats, save for their fanlike ears and the furless, pink, ratlike tail that twitched and moved restlessly behind each of them. Each was of considerable bulk, and an unmistakable, if feral, gleam of intelligence shone behind every pair of blazing yellow eyes.
As they chattered among themselves and moved equipment and instrumentation about, Spock concentrated on noting differences between individuals. For the most part these were slight. One Kzin had a bright patch of white on its nose. Another's fur was colored to form a pair of dark stripes over both eyes. These minor differences made the startling appearance of the last Kzin to enter the room all the more striking. In contrast to the healthy, robust girth of its companions, the newcomer was thin—downright scrawny. Instead of twitching restlessly about, its tail drooped to drag listlessly on the deck, and the pink batlike ears curled flat against the head as though soaked by a month's rain.
Along all of one flank, the dense orange fur was twisted and matted beyond combing, as if the Kzin slept exclusively on the same side and never moved. The fur resembled the gnarled hair of a dog, repeatedly washed and dried, who broke the cycle by rolling in mud. Nor was the expression of the newcomer normal. Instead of the other Kzinti's usual fierce or proud demeanor, this one wore a look of perpetual disillusionment.
Uhura decided that the scrawny arrival was either dreadfully unhappy or haunted by some as-yet-unknown affliction. "What are they up to now, Mr. Spock?" She gestured with her head at the compact but complex machine that was being erected alongside the central table. "What's that?"
"I cannot be positive." Spock had to raise his voice to make himself audible over the increasing yowls and grumblings of the orange-colored assembly. "But from the haste and excitement with which they are supervising the construction of the device, I would guess that despite differences in design and crudeness of engineering, it is a stasis-field nullifier."
"They're going to try to open the box, then, and there's nothing we can do to stop them." Sulu was simultaneously angry and downcast.
"It is the logical thing to do—and you needn't whisper, Lieutenant. At the moment they seem to have absolutely no interest in us. So we can talk normally, without much fear of being abused, although a certain amount of caution in what we discuss would be advisable."
He gestured with his head toward the far side of the room. "You see the lean, bedraggled Kzin, the last one to enter the chamber?"
"You mean the one back there in the corner?" Uhura asked.
"Yes. He is a reader of minds, a telepath."
"I thought I'd heard something about that." Uhura looked satisfied. "I remember reading that all Kzinti telepaths were unhappy neurotics who'd just as soon not have their special talents." She nodded ruefully. "That one sure fits the description. What a miserable-looking creature." At her last words, the telepath cringed. That also was typical of his condition. A normal Kzin so slighted would be on top of Uhura by now, frothing at the mouth.
Spock warned them again. "There is no sure way to guard our thoughts from him. Orally we can say what we wish, but mentally we must be constantly on guard." He paused a moment, thoughtful, then added, "Lieutenant Sulu, the telepath is not likely to concentrate much on Lieutenant Uhura or myself. For different reasons, she and I are considered by the Kzinti to be inferior beings.
"It will be helpful to keep in mind that the Kzinti are meat-eaters. If you sense that ugly one probing your thoughts, there are better things to concentrate on besides visions of resistance or hate. I believe it would be more effective if you were to concentrate at such moments on enjoying a raw vegetable. The thought of eating anything not-meat is repulsive in the extreme to a Kzin. Even the most perceptive among them cannot think rationally if afflicted with overpowering nausea, and I expect that to hold true for telepaths as well."
"Yes, sir. I'll concentrate on wallowing in salad." Sulu looked pleased at the thought. "Maybe I can goad them into revealing something of their intentions, besides opening the stasis box, of course."
"There is one other things we should all keep in mind." Spock fought his own neck muscles in order to turn his head to look at the Enterprise's chief communications officer. "Lieutenant Uhura, what I am about to say may be critical, and it will be difficult to comply with. While we are in the presence of the Kzinti, do not say anything, do not suggest anything, do not do anything inventive. You must strive to look harmless, ignorant, virtually inanimate."
"Any special reason, sir?"
"Are you forgetting that Kzinti females are no more than dumb animals?" Spock tried to tell whether or not the scraggly Kzin telepath was concentrating on him, then decided that if anything he was still wholly absorbed with monitoring his fellows and possibly also Sulu.
"In an emergency," he reminded Uhura, "the Kzinti may forget that a human female is an intelligent creature, capable of original thought and activities beyond the merely instinctive ones of eating and sleeping."
"Thanks," snapped Uhura. "Thanks a lot, sir."
Spock was patient. The lieutenant's gut reaction was only to be expected. "Lieutenant Uhura, I value
your intelligence highly. So does Lieutenant Sulu, and everyone else on board the Enterprise. But we may be able to seize an opportunity to escape if the Kzinti believe you have none. This is not a time for emotional reactions. Let the Kzinti react emotionally, as they are inclined to do. Our chances lie in calculation and reason . . . and in being ready."
Uhura replied much more softly this time. "Yes sir . . . You're right, of course." She smiled a dangerous little smile. "Don't worry. I'll do my damnedest to convince our captors that I'm nothing more than an automaton."
VII
Kirk moved continually between the command chair, the science station, and the helm-navigation console. Under the guise of inspecting readouts and information, he was really disguising his nervousness. Having places to walk to concealed the fact that he was in a mood to pace the floor.
Another distraction was the last thing he needed. He should have been able to concentrate all his attention on the upcoming conference, save for wondering how Spock, Sulu, and Uhura were progressing in their expedition to pick up the Slaver stasis box. Now he had a fresh, utterly unexpected problem on his hands. There was still no word on the whereabouts of Lieutenant M'ress, and the Caitian communications officer hadn't reported herself in to Sick Bay.
He didn't know it, but his troubles were about to be complicated a dozenfold.
"Captain?"
Kirk slid heavily into the command chair, swung to face communications. "Yes, what is it?"
Lieutenant Talliflores looked confused and unhappy. "I have two reports just in, sir."
Kirk perked up a little. "They've found Lieutenant M'ress?"
"No, sir. One report is from Engineering. Commander Scott says that one of his warp-drive techs, an ensign M'viore, has disappeared." Talliflores checked his recorder readout. "The other report is from Security, but it has nothing to do with Lieutenant M'ress. One of their own ensigns engaged in the search, name of R'leez, has vanished and does not acknowledge her orders."
"Both Caitians," a concerned Kirk declared after a brief pause. "That makes three of them: M'ress, and now this R'leez and M'viore." Swiveling in the chair, he looked to the science station.
"Mr. Vedama, I don't believe we have any other Caitians in the crew, but would you check, please?"
"Aye, sir," Vedama responded in his soft, lilting voice. It took only a few seconds to run the check through the computer. "You're right, sir. Those three are the only representatives of the planet Cait listed in the personnel records."
"Obviously we're dealing with a Caitian racial malady, then," Kirk announced. "But what? Some kind of disease, maybe, but how could they all be affected so fast? None was near the others when they were stricken. How could a disease be communicated so quickly throughout the ship? Unless Caitians are subject to periodic attacks of madness. But I've never heard of anything like that affecting them."
"Neither have I, sir," his acting science chief added.
"Excuse me, sir." It was Talliflores again.
"Now what?"
"A report coming in from Sick Bay, Captain. Dr. McCoy wants to talk to you."
Kirk allowed himself a sigh of relief. "At least Lieutenant M'ress has made it safely to Sick Bay. Maybe Bones has some idea by now of what's causing the Caitians to act this way." He flipped on his chair intercom. "Bones, how is she?"
"How is who, Jim?" McCoy sounded unusually tense and irritated.
Kirk's spirits sank. "Didn't Lieutenant M'ress report in to you yet?"
"No, she hasn't, Jim. And now I desperately wish she would, because I have reason to believe she isn't going to."
"You sound awfully positive, Bones. What makes you so sure?"
"Jim, I've got a food technician here, an Ensign Sanchez. He insists that he found Lieutenant M'ress crouching under a bush in the recreation forest area. She didn't respond when he called out to her, so he walked over to see if he could help. He heard your broadcast and thought she might've been too sick to respond."
"Go on, Bones," urged Kirk tensely.
"Not only wasn't she too ill to respond, Jim, but when he approached her she attacked him."
Kirk felt dazed. He conjured up an image of the communications officer in his mind: calm, efficient, usually in complete control of herself . . . It didn't fit.
But neither did her not reporting to Sick Bay.
"Bones, is he certain it was M'ress?"
"Just a second, Jim. You can ask him yourself."
A shaky voice replaced that of Dr. McCoy. "Sir, Ensign Sanchez here. Yes, sir, I'm positive it was Lieutenant M'ress."
Even as he listened, Kirk found it hard to believe. He was even willing to go as far as to ascribe the incident to a delusion on the ensign's part, except that M'ress was missing. While Sanchez sounded upset, he was perfectly coherent. There was no reason to discount his description of the encounter.
But Kirk was still incredulous. He had to be certain M'ress's actions were the result of some aberration on her part. "You say she attacked you, Ensign? I've known Lieutenant M'ress ever since she was assigned to the Enterprise. She's a competent, responsible officer, hardly the type given to irrational acts and especially to an act of violence against another crew member. You're positive you did nothing to provoke her?"
"Provoke her, sir?" In spite of his condition, the ensign managed to sound suitably outraged. "Sir, all I did was repeat to her what she must have heard herself, that you'd directed her to report to Sick Bay. The moment I made a move to touch her she gave me this crazy look. I started to back off, intending to call for medical help, and that's when she jumped me. I swear, sir, all I did was offer to help her, and when she made it clear she didn't want any help, try to get away."
"I can verify Ensign Sanchez's story, Jim," said McCoy, cutting in. "He has a substantial number of pretty deep scratches. Even well-trimmed Caitian claws can inflict rugged damage if they're used in anger. They're much thicker than human fingernails."
"Captain." It was Sanchez again. He sounded almost defiant. "I'm sorry to have to say this about a superior officer, but I don't think the lieutenant is quite sane. She didn't respond to any of the things I said, either before I approached her or while we were fighting."
"Did she say anything at all, Ensign?" By now Kirk had reluctantly accepted Sanchez's story. The scratches detailed by McCoy were the final convincer.
"Only in Caitian, sir, a lot of yowling and screeching it seemed like to me. I don't know the language, but she sounded as angry as she was acting. Frankly, sir, from the look in her eyes I thought she was ready to kill me." Sanchez paused a moment, added emphatically, "It was raw emotion I saw in her face, sir. The kind of expression you expect on the face of a crazy animal, not a superior officer. That's only my impression, of course, and I couldn't get too analytical about things. I was too busy trying to keep from being cut up."
"I understand, Sanchez." The ensign could be forgiven, Kirk felt, for exaggerating his impressions in the hysteria of the moment. Kirk was about ready to give vent to some emotions of his own.
"Bones, you can finish treating the ensign and release him. Sanchez, just one last question for you."
"Yes, sir," said the ensign.
"You told me that you thought Lieutenant M'ress was ready to kill you. Why didn't she? Did you fight her off? I presume neither of you was armed."
"No, sir. At least, if she had a weapon, she didn't show it. But me, fight her off? On the contrary, sir. I'm about her size, maybe a little bigger, but it was like tangling with a small tornado. No, sir, I didn't fight her off. It was pretty funny, now that I think back on it. She just kind of stopped all at once, gave me this real peculiar look . . ."
"What kind of look, ensign?" This was McCoy speaking.
"It's hard to describe, sir. Like she was sorry for what she'd done and yet she'd do it again in a minute. Then she took off and disappeared into the landscaping."
"Do you think she's still down in the recreation area?" Kirk thought to ask.
"I cou
ldn't say, sir." Sanchez sounded exhausted. "I didn't hang around to look for her. All I could think of was getting out of there with the rest of my skin intact."
"All right, Ensign. Thank you. Bridge out."
"Sick Bay out," McCoy responded.
Kirk turned to his science officer. "Lieutenant Vedama, what do you make of all this? First, Lieutenant M'ress disappears and then two Caitian ensigns, and now I learn that one of my most trusted officers is running around silently attacking other members of the crew."
"Sir," Vedama announced apologetically, "I'm no expert on the Caitians."
"My second in command of communications goes berserk, without any visible reason, and no one knows anything!" Kirk sounded understandably peeved. "Lieutenant Vedama, see what you can find on Caitian social patterns. Dr. McCoy will be researching possible medical causes. Maybe it's not a medical problem."
"Yes, sir." Vedama turned to the science computer, began his searching.
Kirk's attention shifted forward. "Mr. Arex, are we still on course schedule for arrival at Starbase Twenty-Five?"
"Slightly ahead of time, sir," the Edoan navigator replied. "Shall I change our speed?"
"No. We'll resolve this trouble before we arrive. Maintain heading and warp-speed." He glanced back at communications.
"Lieutenant Talliflores, relay a message to Security. Tell them I want search teams on every deck to hunt for Lieutenant M'ress and the two absent ensigns. Inform them that all three Caitians are probably dangerous, prone to violent response if approached, and possibly not responsible for their actions.
"Under no circumstances are any of the three to be assaulted with anything stronger than a phaser set for stun. Emphasize to all teams that the three crew members are likely to be suffering from a noncommunicable racial disease as yet unidentified, and that they haven't turned traitor or anything as ridiculously imaginative as that. When captured, all three are to be taken directly to Sick Bay for treatment."
Star Trek - Log 10 Page 8
