"There is no need to overdo it, Lieutenant," cautioned Spock-uhura mildly.
"Let's move to the main briefing room," Kirk-sulu instructed them. "We'll work on our individual acclimatizing there." He turned to regard the watching McCoy and Scott. "Scotty, you get to work on that panel." He indicated the tiny board which had caused all the trouble. "Requisition all the technical assistance you need."
"Aye, Captain. Maybe we'll get lucky." There was more enthusiasm in his voice than in his thoughts.
Kirk-sulu's gaze shifted. "Bones?"
"Yes, Jim."
"What kinds of side effects can we expect to encounter from now on?"
"Besides the obvious ones of getting used to a strange body, Jim, of walking easily and reaching normally and other physical activities, there may be mental shifts of the kind Mr. Spock just experienced." He looked helpless. "I can't predict what else might happen."
"I know that, Bones, but speculate the best you can."
The Enterprise's chief physician thought a moment, aware of concerned eyes on him, eyes that were slightly haunted. "You personally shouldn't have too much trouble, Jim. You're in a human male body not greatly different from your own. You might have to concentrate on restraining yourself in certain situations."
"Restraining myself how, Bones?"
"You're operating a considerably . . . well, not considerably," he hurriedly corrected himself, "but younger body than the one you're used to. It will react faster, move more rapidly than your own—as excellently conditioned as that one is.
"You already brought up reaching for something and coming up short. It works both ways. You have to be careful not to reach for something in a hurry. Your hands are liable to get there before your mind thinks they will. You could hurt or at least embarrass yourself."
"What else?"
"Listen. I think you can all cope with the physical changes," McCoy said convincingly. "It's the other problems that worry me. Your mind, Jim. How do you feel mentally? Can you remember everything?"
"Everything I try to," Kirk-sulu informed him.
McCoy looked pleased. "Then the personality transfer extends to full memory as well. That should make things easier. You'll have it easiest of all, Jim."
"What about the others?"
McCoy walked over, confronted Spock's body. "Lieutenant Sulu?"
"Yes, sir?"
"I wish I had some practical advice to give you, but I don't. How do you feel?"
"A little funny, Doctor. But it's not overpowering me. I can handle it." He frowned, then hastily wiped the expression from his face. "I just feel generally . . . well, not depressed, exactly. But dull—as if, as if I can't get excited or sad about anything. It's not that the laughter isn't in me. It's there, in my mind. But . . . for instance, I was trying to think of something funny to say just now, when you spoke about retaining our memories. I thought of an old joke that applies, and it's one that usually breaks me up. I recognized the humor in it, recognized it's as funny as ever, but . . . I couldn't laugh."
"Vulcan control," said McCoy, without a trace of a smile. "Try, Sulu. Think of the joke again. I want to make certain your own mind isn't in danger of being submerged in something alien you can't handle. See if you can consciously override the endocrinal suppression."
Sulu struggled with himself. Then a faint smile appeared on the face of Mr. Spock. It widened slightly, and the first officer laughed. It was a little forced, but a laugh nonetheless.
"Please don't do it again, Lieutenant," Spock-uhura requested. "The unnatural sight makes me ill."
"I don't think he will, Spock," Kirk-sulu told his first officer. "Bones, does that convince you that Sulu will keep control of his thoughts?"
McCoy nodded.
"Good. From now on, Lieutenant Sulu, you're going to be a model Vulcan, aren't you?"
Sulu-spock nodded, once. "As phlegmatic and poker-faced as possible, sir."
Spock said nothing. McCoy turned, walked over to confront Uhura's form. He had to consciously lower his gaze, so used was he to staring up at the first officer.
"And what about you, Spock? How are you coping?"
"Adequately, Doctor," came the lilting response from Spock-uhura. "But some of the sensations I am experiencing are truly remarkable. It is an intriguing experience, one filled with ample opportunities for discovery. But I fear I may experience some physical difficulties, contrary to your primary concern over our mental reactions. My thoughts are reasonably lucid, my control over them seems firm. But this physical configuration is sufficiently, radically different from my natural self. I'm afraid I find it a bit clumsy."
"Clumsy?" Uhura-kirk looked upset. "What do you mean, 'clumsy,' Mr. Spock?"
"No offense is intended, Lieutenant. It is clumsy only to me. For example, I find that I must cope with a considerably different and to me not especially efficient distribution of mass. It's a question of leverage and muscular control. I do not think I could ever master it, but I believe I will, with practice, be able to manage it."
"Speaking of distribution of mass . . ." Uhura-kirk began accusingly.
"That's enough, Lieutenant," Kirk-sulu said sharply. "You're not reacting the way I would, are you? You're the captain now. Don't forget it."
Kirk's face assumed an expression of embarrassment.. "Sorry, sir. I forgot myself, for a moment."
"If it helps," Kirk-sulu added with a grin, "consider your predicament a temporary promotion."
"If this is what I have to go through to make captain someday," Uhura-kirk replied with a shy little smile, "I think I'd just as soon stay in communications. Don't worry, sir," she finished briskly. "I'll make an efficient you."
"I'm sure you will, Lieutenant. Neither Kumara nor his staff knows us well enough to recognize personal idiosyncrasies, so your imitations won't have to be letter-perfect. The way I sometimes rest my chin on one hand when I'm thinking, for example." Uhura-kirk promptly placed her chin on her right hand and looked pensive, "Or the way Mr. Spock raises his eyebrows when something surprises or especially interests him." Sulu-spock promptly lifted both brows and assumed a distinctly supercilious look.
Kirk sounded pleased. "That's the idea, Lieutenant. Only keep Mr. Spock's comments in mind and don't overdo it. Better to act like a humanlike Vulcan as opposed to a caricature." He hesitated, then went on. "It'll be best all around for us to keep everything—our words, our movements, everything—as simple and brief as possible. That will help to minimize opportunities for error. Opportunities the Klingons can only turn to their advantage. Let's go."
He turned and headed for the turbolift, walking carefully and working to adjust his pace to Sulu's slightly different way of walking.
"Bones," he said, glancing back at McCoy, "if you can think of anything else we ought to watch for, let us know in the briefing room. And, Scotty, no matter where we are, even if we're down on Briamos and in conference, you get in touch with me—meaning Lieutenant Sulu—the instant you've corrected the transporter and are ready to try switching us back."
"Aye, Captain, you can be sure I'll do that. Even if it means insultin' our sensitive friends the Briamosites."
Moving like a quartet of drunken ensigns on leave, the four officers entered the turbolift. When the doors had closed behind them and the telltale alongside indicated the car was moving on its way, Scott turned his attention from the wavicle rectifier to the introspective Dr. McCoy.
"Did you mean what you said, Doctor, about them being able to handle their transposition?"
"I didn't see any reason to be overly pessimistic, Scotty." He looked concerned. "But I don't know, I just don't know . . . There are several psychology tapes I've got to run through. In case any problems do arise, I want to be prepared to treat them as best I can. Let's just say," and he gestured at the little rectangle of complex circuitry Scott was holding so carefully, "that the best thing for them would be to fix the transporter and put all of them back in their own bodies." He turned, his gaze traveling to the turbolift doors behind
which his fellow officers—and friends—had departed. "Dual-personality delusions are easily treatable, Mr. Scott, but when there's a physical as well as mental basis for a psychosis, then I can't help but worry . . ."
Neither officer said another word. McCoy led Chapel and the rest of the murmuring medical team into the returned turbolift. Scott turned to the second engineer standing expectantly nearby. He held the almost-dry circuit panel up to the light, turned it slowly over in his hands, tilting it this way and that. Then he lowered it, and sighed.
"Dastagir, tell Loupas and Krensky we've got a little job to do. Tell them I'll be right there to detail what's got to be done. Tell them to forget about their off-time. No one in Engineering's going off-time until this cursed piece of electronic guts is turned right-side up again."
"Yes, sir." Second Engineer Dastagir moved to the intercom to relay the chief engineer's instructions. Scott moved toward the turbolift doors.
And far below, the anxious Briamosites listened unhappily to the asked-for hour delay and wondered about the courtesy of their maybe-allies of the Federation . . .
XIV
Nearly an hour later the frenetic discussions filling the main briefing room were interrupted by an apologetic beep from the room intercom. Kirk-sulu moved to the desk, thumbed the receiver switch and acknowledged the call.
"Yes, what is it?"
"Mrr. Sulu, I—Oh, I'm sorrry, Captain. We werre told and it was all explained forr us, but—"
"Never mind, Lieutenant M'ress," Kirk-sulu told her. "No need to be embarrassed. Sometimes I get confused myself as to who I am now. It's hard enough for us to cope here." He looked back into the room at the three familiar and yet not familiar forms, all discussing matters of great import among themselves. "I'm not sure any of us are easy at mind. That's our problem, not yours. We have to convince the Klingons and the Briamosites, not our fellow officers."
"That's what I'm calling about, sirr," the communications officer purred. "We just rreceived communication from below. I spoke with that Colonel-Grreeterr Pliverr, the Brriamosite liaison? He was concerrned that ourr delegation had not beamed-down yet."
"Concerned or angry, Lieutenant?" Kirk-sulu asked.
"My imprression was of a perrson willing to extend concessions, sirr, but at the point of losing patience."
Kirk checked his, or rather Sulu's, wrist chronometer. "We still have a few minutes, according to the extension the Briamosites granted us, but Pliver has our interests in mind by reminding us, Lieutenant. Contact Pliver and inform him we're on our way to the transporter room and should be greeting him in person in a very few minutes."
"Yes, sirr. Brridge out."
Kirk clicked off, called for attention. The discussion ceased and the other three looked at him expectantly. "We're out of time. Mr. Spock." Sulu-spock nodded "Lieutenant Uhura." Spock-uhura smiled . . . weakly. "Captain Kirk?" Uhura-kirk said, "I'm ready, Lieutenant."
Kirk-sulu looked grimly satisfied. "Let's go to the masquerade, then." He led the way to the door and they left the briefing room.
Kirk-sulu and Spock-uhura stopped in the hallway. The other two officers did likewise. There was an uncomfortable pause. Then Uhura-kirk muttered, "Oh," turned down the hall, and started for the turbolift. Sulu-spock fell in alongside her, his stride natural and seemingly unaffected. The two "lieutenants," as was proper, followed.
"That's better, Lieutenant Uhura," Kirk-sulu told her. "How are you handling me?"
"All right so far, sir," Uhura-kirk replied. Kirk still felt he was listening to an echo everytime she spoke with his voice, his lips. "But it seems a little more difficult to concentrate." They entered the turbolift. "It's fighting the tendency of my body to pull me one way, when my mind tells it to behave another. The hormone differences, I think. I keep feeling emotions that I know are unnatural . . . but for this body, they're perfectly natural."
"Your mind," Spock-uhura told her, "is battling the captain's instincts. We will have to be on constant alert against doing anything without thinking first. One of us could be in full mental control over our present bodies, but while thinking of something else that body might react naturally, producing an awkward situation. This is a war with ourselves. We must take care never to let down our vigilance."
The turbolift deposited them near another of the personnel transporters, on the opposite side of the ship from the damaged one. Scott awaited them there. He had left reconstruction of the critical panel to his subordinates long enough to handle the beam-down of the captain and the others personally, this time.
Uhura-kirk marched over to the console, said firmly, "All right, Scotty, we're ready for beam-down."
"Very good, Captain. I—" Scott stopped, startled, to stare in disbelief at the captain's face. "Are you—?"
"No, Scotty, I'm still over here, where you left me." Kirk-sulu gestured with a hand. "You're speaking to Lieutenant Uhura."
"What do you think, Mr. Scott?" Uhura-kirk asked hopefully in the captain's familiar voice.
"I think," a dazed Scott muttered, "I'd better get that wavicle rectifier fixed in a hurry or there won't be a sane person left aboard this ship." He waved an arm weakly. "Go ahead, I'm ready."
The four officers moved away from the console and took their places in the transporter alcove,
"Is there a possibility, Mr. Scott," wondered Spock-uhura, "that we could be reintegrated into our proper forms when we emerge on Briamos?"
Scott shook his head slowly. "I seriously doubt it, Lieu—Mr. Spock. There's no question that in order to return you all to your own bodies you have to be reassembled through the altered path of the original rectifier. But if it means anythin'," he added, "I hope I'm wrong, Mr. Spock, and you're right."
"We can hope," Kirk-sulu murmured as the chief engineer energized the transporter.
"I hope you set down in a nice, quiet chamber somewhere where initial observation will be by as few Briamosites as possible, Captain," Scott said. Kirk barely had time to nod Sulu's head as the transporter took effect.
He felt the usual disorientation, the blurring of vision and thought. It was joined by an unexpected sense of fear. But it passed, and along with it Kirk's momentary worry that their experience had given them all a phobia against using transporters.
They rematerialized on the surface of Briamos. Kirk started to slump, caught himself—and stood erect more rapidly than he normally would have. Since he had been learning the past hour to compensate for a strange body, handling the slightly higher gravity of Briamos was easy. He saw the others adjust with equal swiftness.
Sadly, Spock did not get his wish. Unspoken exchanges between him and his companions indicated that they were still firmly ensconced in the wrong bodies.
Nor was the chief engineer's hope fulfilled. Instead of the nice, quiet reception room they had all hoped for, they found themselves standing on a tall reviewing stand covered with a green canopy and lined with pennants and banners, facing four tall, attenuated Briamosites, whose slimness was accentuated by their attire, making them resemble more than ever animated scarecrows.
All four aliens were elegantly clad in bright emerald uniforms. Red striping sliced across the lower third of both jacket and pants legs. They wore, male and female alike, decorative tiara crowns. Each of these was cocked at a different but rakish angle on their high skulls, and sparkled with multicolored cabochons of different stones. Whether the tiaras were a badge of office, a sign of rank, or simply an article of clothing Kirk couldn't decide.
Less attractive by far were the five figures standing on the other side of the Briamosites. Captain Kumara was flanked by four of his own officers. They wore their own dress uniforms and were a blaze of barbaric design and color. Perhaps they were more colorful, Kirk mused, but they were certainly less dignified, even a bit childish. Whether they would appear so to the Briamosites, of course, was another matter.
Kumara made a Klingon sign of greeting, smiled slightly at Uhura-kirk. "Greetings to you, Jim. We were worrie
d that you wouldn't be able to join us."
"Hello, Kumara," Uhura-kirk said, even as Kirk caught himself. He had almost replied to the greeting. The transition from the familiar surroundings of the Enterprise to this vast open plain and reviewing stand had been abrupt enough to unbalance his carefully prepared Sulu-image. He had spent so much time helping Uhura learn to act like himself that he'd nearly slipped up. Fortunately, Uhura was prepared, and she'd handled herself well already.
"In fact," she added, "I was worried about how depressed you'd become if we didn't arrive. You are sure you're feeling all right?"
Kumara responded with a tight-lipped little smile.
Kirk felt a surge of elation inside. Kumara showed absolutely no suspicion that anything was wrong. They just might carry the incredible impersonations off—if their luck held.
"Greetings to you, Captain Kirk." Kirk recognized the by-now-familiar face of Colonel-Greeter Pliver as the tall Briamosite moved to gesture at Uhura-kirk. "Sorry are we for whatever problem delayed you from arriving at the appointed time, and certain am I that it will not so trouble you again."
This was a veiled warning about punctuality, Kirk knew, which they'd better heed. They had already presumed on the Briamosites' version of courtesy once. Another such request would push them into the poorly understood realm of local insult.
"We had some trouble with one of our transporters," Uhura-kirk explained truthfully, without going into details. "I'm sure it won't happen again. Our delay bothered us as much as it did you, Colonel-Greeter. If there's one thing I can't stand it is people who can't keep their appointments."
A derisive snort sounded. It came from the knot of Klingon officers around Kumara.
"It's not," Uhura-kirk went on, "that we had any desire to minimize the pleasure of your company, you understand. It was only that our transporter operator disobeyed orders. He was reluctant to inflict the distasteful company of certain others on us. The person's intentions were worthy, but his insubordination could not be tolerated." She glanced toward the Klingons and made a face. Kirk was amazed at how disgusted he could look when he wanted to.
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