Star Trek - Log 8
Page 1
ANOTHER EXCITING EPISODE
FROM TELEVISION'S MOST POPULAR
SCIENCE FICTION SERIES
—Complete in this volume—
THE EYE OF THE BEHOLDER
A routine follow-up mission to investigate
an overdue survey ship leads
the crew of the Enterprise to a world
where visitors are always welcome . . . very
welcome indeed.
Kirk, Spock and McCoy are suddenly
captured by strangely intelligent aliens . . .
telepathic Lactrans who look
upon the Enterprise crew as no more than
interesting specimens for their already
well-stocked zoo.
It was not a happy situation
for Captain Kirk and his crew. And there
seemed to be no way out . . .
CAPTIVE CAPTAIN
Kirk had the sensation of being lifted clear of the ground, experienced that peculiar sense of helplessness one has when one's feet no longer have contact with anything solid.
That was a common enough experience in free-fall space, but highly disconcerting on solid ground
Then he turned and looked behind him and saw what had picked him up as neatly as an elephant plucks a lone peanut. He was in the grasp of the tail end—he supposed it could be the front end—of a creature some six or seven meters in length.
Whatever it was that had control of him, Kirk quickly discovered, was interested in keeping him intact and reasonably healthy . . .
By Alan Dean Foster
Published by Ballantine Books:
The Black Hole
Cachalot
Luana
Dark Star
The Metrognome and Other Stories
Midworld
Nor Crystal Tears
Sentenced to Prism
Splinter of the Mind's Eye
Star Trek® Logs One–Ten
Voyage to the City of the Dead
. . . Who Needs Enemies?
With Friends Like These . . .
The Icerigger Trilogy:
Icerigger
Mission to Moulokin
The Deluge Drivers
The Adventures of Flinx of the Commonwealth
For Love of Mother-Not
The Tar Aiym Krang
Orphan Star
The End of the Matter
Bloodhype
Flinx in Flux
The Damned
Book One: A Call to Arms
Sale of this book without a front cover may be unauthorized. If this book is coverless, it may have been reported to the publisher as "unsold or destroyed" and neither the author nor the publisher may have received payment for it.
A Del Rey Book
Published by Ballantine Books
Copyright © 1976 by Paramount Pictures Corporation
STAR TREK® is a Trademark of Paramount Pictures Corporation registered in the U.S. Patent and Trademark Office
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. Published in the United States by Ballantine Books, a division of Random House, Inc., New York, and simultaneously in Canada by Random House of Canada Limited, Toronto.
Library of Congress Catalog Card Number: 74-8477
ISBN 0-345-27602-7
Manufactured in the United States of America
First Edition: August 1976
Fifth Printing: September 1991
Cover Art by Stanislaw Fernandes
For REECE and CONNIE WOOLFOLK
For BEATRICE MURPHY
They don't say much about it, but their kind
of people built this country.
CONTENTS
THE EYE
OF THE
BEHOLDER
I
II
III
IV
V
VI
VII
VIII
IX
X
XI
STAR TREK LOG EIGHT
Log of the Starship
Enterprise
Stardates 5537.1–5537.2 Inclusive
James T. Kirk, Capt., USSC, FS, ret.
Commanding
transcribed by
Alan Dean Foster
At the Galatic Historical Archives
on S. Monicus I
stardated 6111.3
For the Curator: JLR
THE EYE
OF THE
BEHOLDER
(Adapted from a script by David P. Harmon)
I
"Captain's log, stardate 5537.1. The Enterprise is embarked, for a change, on a routine follow-up mission—to search for a survey ship overdue for report-in in the vicinity of Epsilon Scorpii, last known to be investigating the system of a G4 sun designated Lactra on Federation starcharts."
He clicked off and studied the nearing globe and the yellowish, slightly hot sun beyond. The world and its star were no different from hundreds he'd examined personally or on tape. Yet past experience had shown that the innocuous-appearing worlds were often the ones full of surprises—planet-sized paranoia-inducing piñatas.
The continuing silence of the survey crew the Enterprise was here to locate could be due to some easily explainable equipment failure or minor human error. Could be.
But Kirk was a veteran starship captain, and he always wore two uniforms on such missions: Starfleet regulation pull-ons and an intense, personal wariness.
At the moment there was nothing to hint that Lactra VII was anything other than the recently discovered, inoffensive world it appeared to be. Only the small, obviously artificial shape growing slowly and silently larger on the main screen suggested otherwise.
The vessel was a long-range limited scout, of a minor class designed for extensive exploration of possible colonial worlds. It carried a small crew of first-contact xenologists and no frills, moving at high speed on an unvarying course from starbase to eventual destination. Its large quantity of complex instrumentation was announced by the bristling array of antennae, external sensor pickups, and other intricate detection equipment which almost obliterated the small hull.
Kirk noted with satisfaction that the scout looked undamaged. That probably ruled out any messy natural disasters such as meteorite collision and, more important, interference from some inimical spacegoing race. "Disarm phasers, Mr. Sulu," he instructed the helmsman.
"Phasers disarmed, sir."
The captain leaned toward the chair pickup and activated the log again. "Captain's log, supplemental. We have encountered and visually observed the missing survey ship. It continues to maintain communications silence." Glancing backward, he noted Lieutenant Uhura's confirming nod. All attempts to elicit some response from the craft had failed, though she continued trying.
"There is no evidence of violent damage or sentient attack. Mr. Spock will lead a security team in boarding the ship. End entry." Shutting off the recorder once again, he addressed another grid: "Transporter Room?"
"Chief Kyle here, Captain. Boarding party standing by."
"All right, Chief, send them aboard." He glanced backward. "Lieutenant Uhura, pick up visual and aural transmission as soon as transportation is complete."
"Standing ready, sir."
There was a tense pause, and then the view forward changed to an internal view of the scout. Kirk could see armed security personnel moving about as someone's visual scanner played around the ship's interior.
"Boarding party has integrated, Captain," a voice announced clearly . . . Spock's. "Our sensors were correct. Ship appears pressurized normally, temperature likewise."
The view shifted jumpily. Spock was walking through the cabin. "We are dispersing throughout the v
essel, Captain."
"Any sign of life?" Kirk asked anxiously.
"Negative. There is ample evidence of previous tenancy, though. It looks as if the crew fully expected to return. There is nothing to indicate they were surprised, or removed forcibly from the ship. Personal effects are lying neatly about. There is no indication that the crew intended to leave their ship for an extended period."
"Very well, Mr. Spock. Continue your exploration."
Several hours sufficed to show that the only living things left on board the survey ship were laboratory animals. Automatic feeders kept them healthy in the absence of the crew.
Spock did make one important discovery, however.
"Captain, Dr. McCoy," he began as they watched expectantly from around the small table in the Briefing Room, "we found this tape lying in the ship's library, next to the playback slot. There is a duplicate in the ship's banks, but this copy was deliberately placed in a prominent position, obviously to attract the attention of anyone entering the library."
He picked up the small cassette and slid it into a slot set in the table, then depressed the play switch. Attention was focused now on the three-sided viewer which popped up in the table's center.
The tape showed a tense, worried officer in the uniform of Federation Sciences. He was staring into the pickup.
"It is now thirty-two minutes since our last contact with the three members of our crew who beamed down to the planetary surface," the man declaimed. "Each member of that crew was instructed to report in at ten-minute intervals.
"As this deadline has long since passed, and subsequent to our repeated failure to contact any member of the landing party, I have decided to take the following action. As senior officer aboard I, Lieutenant Commander Louis Markel, take full responsibility for this action and any consequences thereof." He coughed awkwardly, then continued on:
"All three remaining members of the survey team, myself included, will beam down in an attempt to discover the whereabouts of our comrades and, if necessary, to effect a rescue. If for any reason we should fail to return I, Lieutenant Commander Louis Markel, do hereby accept and acknowledge that—"
It was too much for Kirk. He jabbed the cancel switch and both picture and audio died. McCoy looked at him questioningly and saw that the captain was struggling to suppress a rising fury.
"What's the trouble, Jim?" he inquired quietly.
Kirk glared at him, the angry words tumbling over one another. "Blatant disregard of standard emergency procedure . . . utter suppression of survey orders! I tell you, Bones, there's no excuse for—"
"Apparently the lieutenant commander felt the need was pretty desperate, Jim," McCoy interrupted softly. "His friends had vanished, and he decided going after them was more important than anything else."
Kirk calmed down slightly, but McCoy could see the anger still simmering. "It doesn't matter, Bones. Letting personal feelings get in the way of Starfleet regs . . ." He sighed. "Since when were human beings otherwise?"
"True, Captain," commented Spock.
"Regulations specifically state, Bones, that in a situation like this at least two members of the crew—the minimum necessary to operate a ship this size—must remain aboard. In the event that contact with the other four team members is lost, they are to return to the nearest starbase beam region and file a full report. I don't care if the team commander is a full admiral. Regulations must be followed. They were created for a reason. Any sign of danger to Federation civilization . . ."
"But, Jim, there was no sign of danger," McCoy pointed out.
"That does not alter the fact, Doctor, that the survey ship's commander made what is essentially a personal decision," Spock observed.
Now it was McCoy's turn to explode. "Spock, you Vulcans are the most unimaginative, unbending . . .!"
"Easy, easy Bones," soothed Kirk. "You're starting to sound like me." He waited until McCoy had calmed himself, then continued briskly. "None of this is helping the situation any. Nor is it helping Commander Markel and his people—assuming they're still down there and in a position to make use of our help. Barring positive evidence to the contrary, we have to assume that they are."
"Sorry, Jim. Spock just has a way of getting to me sometimes." McCoy grinned. "It's an inborn talent, I guess."
Spock replied amiably, "Some humans are rather more easily gotten to than others, Doctor."
"Mr. Spock," Kirk continued, "what can we expect to find on Lactra Seven?"
"We have little information on the world below us," the first officer began thoughtfully. "What we do have is the result of the drone's preliminary report, coupled with information drawn from the survey ship's library. We may assume this basic information is fairly accurate. Our own sections are working to confirm this now.
"Lactra Seven is a Class-M world. Gravity is approximately Earth-normal, the atmosphere a reasonable analog of Earth-Vulcan. Very little additional useful information is on file. By useful I mean material which could aid in the locating and rescuing of the missing crew. What we do have is available in the printouts before you."
Kirk picked up the slim bundle of sheets and leafed through them. "According to the survey ship's log, Commander Markel and the other remaining members of his crew beamed down six weeks ago."
"Five weeks, three days, two hours, to be precise, Captain," Spock corrected.
"Careless of me, Mr. Spock." He finished scanning the printouts, then let the sheets drop. "No indication of planetary life forms."
"And in particular, of intelligent or large, dangerous ones—that is true, Captain," Spock admitted. "Life sensors are experiencing some difficulty in penetrating a distortion layer in the Lactran atmosphere.
"Given the composition of that atmosphere, the surface temperature, and the presence of large bodies of free water, I would suspect Lactra Seven harbors a considerable amount of life. But without additional data I cannot speculate on the form such life has taken." His brows drew together.
"Despite the distortion layer, the survey ship was specially equipped for obtaining just such information. Their records were surprisingly deficient in this area, one of primary concern to any survey team. Apparently they had no sooner entered into Lactran orbit when this emergency overwhelmed them. Mr. Arex is overseeing a full, detailed sensor scan, which should reveal the relevant information," he finished.
"Eventually," Kirk added. "Anything like a comprehensive scan will take too long to complete, Mr. Spock. Minutes might make the difference between life and death for Commander Markel and his people—if they're still alive. I want a landing party to beam down to the last recorded coordinates in the survey ship's tapes. If they've had the sense to remain in that immediate area we might be able to find them quickly."
"Don't you think that's taking an extreme risk, Jim?" put in McCoy. "If the first three were lost—and remember, they never beamed up any hint that something was wrong, no warning or anything—then we might run into the same silencing trouble."
"True, Bones. But if they experienced some kind of mechanical problem, the risk might be in leaving them stranded while we take endless readings. It might involve that distorting atmospheric layer. For example, maybe it affected their communicators. That would explain why the first crew was unable to contact the ship, and why the second crew failed to activate the transporter to bring them back.
"They could be starving down there, sitting on their acquired information and waiting for someone to haul them out. We have to find out. They could have survived for six weeks. They might not be able to survive six and a half."
"Still a risk," McCoy objected.
Kirk's reply was matter-of-fact. "That's why we're here, Bones." He rose from his seat. "We'll travel light, gentlemen. Phasers, tricorders, communicators—and you'll take a full medical kit, Doctor."
It took only minutes to gather the necessary paraphernalia; then the three officers met in the Transporter Room. Scott was waiting for them. He would handle the beam-down personally.
"Any new information from Sciences, Mr. Scott?" Kirk inquired as they exited from the elevator lift and crossed to the alcove.
"A little, sir," the chief engineer reported. "Mr. Arex says that the distortion layer has been penetrated sufficiently for sensors to reveal a large variety of life forms on the surface. There are substantial concentrations in the area scheduled for your landing, Captain."
McCoy voiced the thought uppermost in their minds. "Any indication of intelligent life?"
"No, Doctor, none." Experienced hands moved over the controls, adjusting settings, checking energy levels. Playing with a man's molecules was a dangerous business.
"No large clusters of life forms in urban patterns, and no hints of city outlines. No rural patterns indicative of large-scale agriculture."
Kirk nodded. "You've set in the coordinates taken from the survey ship's transporter tape? That's where we want to be put down, Scotty."
"Beggin' your pardon, sir," he countered hesitantly, "but if I beam you down in the same place, you could run into the same trouble . . . and end up the same way. Quiet."
"We'll be expecting exactly that, Scotty," Kirk explained. "At the first sign of anything we can't handle, we'll beam back up. Proceed with transporting."
Scott shook his head, ever the pessimist, and mumbled under his breath. That didn't affect the precision with which he engaged the transporter controls. Triple levers rose, and the three officers dissolved into elsewhere.
Kirk experienced the momentary blackout, the disorientation, and the usual twinge of nausea. Then he materialized in an oven.
A blast of humid, hot air struck him like a sockful of hot mud. That first unexpected blast seemed hotter than it actually was. But while conditions at the set-down point were far from arctic, they were bearable.
After checking his footing he turned and took in their surroundings. They were standing on the bank of a steaming lake—Kirk assumed it was a lake; but it could as easily have been an ocean—he couldn't see land across it. Hot springs gurgled all around them, filling the air with feathery streamers of pure steam.