by Barbara Paul
In the lift on the way to G Deck, Spock was aware that Kirk was growing increasingly annoyed—and deliberately did nothing to relieve his captain's frustration; the Vulcan knew how effective Kirk could be when he was angry. "Jim, you must be aware the odds are that the Zirgosian colonists on Holox will know nothing about what happened to their home planet. They are probably as uninformed as we are."
"Don't tell me the odds. Holox is the only lead we've got—unless you have a better suggestion?"
"At this juncture I have no suggestion. I merely point out the Zirgosians on both planets must have been caught by surprise."
"Yes, they must have been," Kirk agreed. "They're a technologically sophisticated people, but what technology can protect against the birth of a new universe?"
Spock had no answer.
Transporter Chief Kyle had their phasers and communicators ready for them. "I've set the coordinates for an exterior location, Captain. You'll be materializing in the primary street of the only major settlement. Is that satisfactory?" He looked worried.
"Quite satisfactory, Mr. Kyle," Kirk said. "Is something the matter?"
"I'm sure the figures are correct, Captain, but I was unable to get confirmation from anyone on the planet."
"Yes, they're not taking any calls today." Kirk turned to see Scott coming in, followed by six security guards. "Scotty, did you get a look at that ship out there?"
"Aye, I saw it."
"So? What do you think?"
The corners of Scott's mouth turned down. "An energy-guzzler, if y'ask me." He took a phaser and communicator from Kyle.
Kirk raised an eyebrow at Spock. "It seems our engineer doesn't think much of the mystery ship."
"Oh, it's fancy enough, I gie ye that," Scott said, stepping on the transporter platform to join the others. "But it's bound to have problems. For instance—"
"Later, Scotty. And in detail, when we have the time." Kirk nodded to the transporter chief. "Now, Mr. Kyle."
The first thing they saw on the surface of Holox was a dead body.
The security team immediately drew their weapons and formed a rough circle around the three officers. Spock knelt by the dead man. "Rigor mortis not far advanced," he said. "He's been dead only a few hours."
"A few hours!" Scott echoed in outrage. "They left him lyin' in the street for hours?"
"'They' who, Scotty?" Kirk asked. "Look around. Do you see anybody?"
The street they were standing in was a wide avenue lined with tall ornamental trees of a species unfamiliar to the landing party; the trees' feathery lavender branches were in constant motion even though there was no breeze. The buildings for the most part were prefabricated zyroplex structures, tall and shimmering in the bright light of Holox's sun. Down the side streets could be caught an occasional glimpse of a building constructed from substances native to Holox, all blues and purples and greens; but for the most part the Zirgosians had brought their building materials with them from their homeworld. But of the Zirgosians themselves, the only one in evidence was the dead man at their feet.
"Look at all the hovercraft," Kirk pointed out. "A dozen vehicles at least, and all of them at rest. The walkways are moving, but no one's riding them." He led the landing party to the nearest building and peered inside; it was some sort of administrative center, and it looked empty. "It's the middle of the day here—this should be a busy time for them. Where are all the people?"
"Where indeed," Spock said. "Since the structures are intact, it would appear Holox has not been the target of an assault, nor is it the victim of some natural catastrophe such as earthquake. But there is another possibility. Captain, we may need to undergo decontamination when we return to the ship."
"Disease? A plague?"
"That man we found back there—I could see no visible wound. He could have died from the natural failure of some essential bodily function, but precautions would seem to be in order just the same."
Kirk whipped out his communicator. "Enterprise, come in."
"Enterprise here," Transporter Chief Kyle's voice answered.
"Beam down Dr. McCoy immediately," Kirk ordered. "And have him suit up—we may have been exposed to something contagious down here."
"Right away, sir."
While they were waiting for McCoy, Kirk ordered a search of the administrative center. "They can't all have disappeared. Teams of two, and spread out."
They didn't have to look far. "Captain!" Scott called. "In here!"
Scott and one of the security team were in a conference room. Six wall-mounted display screens were running columns of unfamiliar symbols, probably Zirgosian numbers. Around the conference table three figures lay slumped over their consoles; a fourth was stretched out on the table as if reaching for something, and a fifth lay huddled on the floor.
Scott was lifting one of the figures at the table upright. "Captain, this lady's alive!" She began to slide out of her seat; Scott caught her and lowered her gently to the floor.
Kirk hunkered down beside her and felt for a pulse—very faint, but still there. The woman's eyelids fluttered and opened. She said something in a language Kirk didn't know. "Don't worry," he told her, "help is on the way. Hang on."
Her eyes focused on him, and with great effort she whispered a word. "Sackers."
A chill ran down Kirk's back. "The Sackers?"
"Here," she gasped. "On Holox."
Kirk and Spock exchanged a look. "They did this to you?" the captain asked. "Where are they?"
"Building … structure." She breathed shallowly for a moment and then said, "Heat … structure."
A heat structure, Kirk thought. "There's your hot spot, Mr. Spock." To the woman he said, "Don't talk any more. Just lie quietly until medical assistance arrives."
But the woman forced herself to say one more word. "Ship."
"Ship … that's a Sacker ship in orbit?"
The woman mumbled something in her own language and reached up to grasp the front of Kirk's uniform feebly with one hand. "Stop … them." She lost consciousness.
Scott bent over and picked her up. "Ah, poor lady! I'll take her outside. Dr. McCoy must be here by now." He carried the unconscious woman out.
The leader of the security team, a woman named Berengaria, looked up from the side of the figure huddled on the floor. "Captain, the other four are all dead. But if one woman is still alive …"
"Then there might be others," Kirk finished for her. "Let's find out. Take your team and search these other buildings, Lieutenant. And don't waste any time about it."
"No, sir!" Berengaria turned to the rest of the security team. "Hrolfson, you take Franklin and Ching and cover the north end of the street. You other two come with me." She started out, followed by the others.
But the one addressed as Hrolfson, a blond giant with pale blue eyes, hesitated. "Captain, if there is disease down here—"
"Then we're already exposed to it," Kirk snapped. "Get going, mister!"
"Yessir!" Hrolfson stepped out smartly.
When the captain and his first officer were left alone, Spock said, "Sackers, Jim."
Kirk grimaced. He knew of the Sackers, although as far as he was aware no one on the Enterprise had ever seen one. The Sackers were an enigmatic race that had never shown any overt hostility in the entire time their existence had been known to the Federation, a period of about fifty Earth years. Their contact with Federation worlds had been limited mostly to the exchange of information, and they had earned the reputation of being equitable and fair traders. They were peaceful, courteous, and always respectful of other people's laws … and their visits were dreaded by every world in the Federation.
"This can't be the work of the Sackers," Kirk said, "not from what I've heard of them." He shivered in spite of himself.
"Then why did the Zirgosian woman warn us against them?"
"I don't know. But they're supposed to be nonviolent, aren't they?"
"And so they have been," Spock replied, "but no one really
knows much about them. I do not know whether that is because the Sackers do not wish to reveal information about themselves, or whether they have simply never been asked. It could well be that no one has had the courage to face them long enough to ask questions."
"Or the stomach for it."
The Sackers were cursed with a physical appearance repugnant enough to turn even the strongest stomach. In addition to their nausea-evoking exteriors, they gave off an overpowering stench; most people of other races became violently ill in their presence, vomiting uncontrollably until removed from the sight and smell of the Sackers. And to top things off, Sacker speech was shrill and piercing, causing excruciating pain in their listeners' ears. This standard response to the Sackers was purely a physiological one, and it couldn't be helped. But even after half a century of exemplary behavior, the Sackers still found that their presence inspired reactions ranging from uneasiness to near-violent disgust wherever they went.
"They've never hurt anyone before," Kirk mused. "So far as we know, they've never fired a shot in anger. And now this? It doesn't make sense. Spock, we'd better look through the rest of this building."
Their search was a disheartening one. They found thirty-one more people, all of them dead. One man had been trying to reach a communications console when he was struck down. Whatever had hit them had acted fast enough to keep them from sending out a call for help; no wonder Uhura hadn't been able to raise an answer. "Someone really has it in for the Zirgosian people," Kirk murmured. "First their home planet, and now Holox." Even Spock looked more grim-faced than usual.
Outside the building, they caught sight of Dr. McCoy in his spacesuit kneeling in the street beside a row of eight or nine recumbent people. At the head of the row was the Zirgosian woman who'd spoken to them. Even then the security guard named Hrolfson was carrying a man over to be placed at the end of the line. Kirk noticed that McCoy had removed his helmet.
But before he could ask, McCoy looked up and said, "Jim, there's no disease here. These people have been poisoned! Every one of them."
"Poisoned!"
"It tests out a common alkaloid poison—we ought to be able to save most of those who are still alive, if we can find them in time. I've called down a full medteam and supplies."
"That won't be enough. Spock, order all off-duty personnel to beam down and help search for survivors." He knelt down next to the Zirgosian woman while Spock spoke into his communicator. "What about this woman, Bones? Will she make it?"
"Borderline, Jim. Can't say yet."
"When you've got things under control here, beam her up to the ship with you. I want to talk to her."
"If she makes it," McCoy cautioned.
"If she makes it."
Just then they heard the humming sound and spotted the shimmering air that announced a beamdown was in progress. The medteam materialized, led by Nurse Chapel; they took one look at the row of patients waiting for help and hurried over to them.
Lieutenant Berengaria jog-trotted up to them, a child tucked under each arm. "I found a school, Captain," she said heavily.
Kirk winced. "Many of them survive?"
"Very few."
"Smaller body mass," Spock offered. "Children would have less resistance to the poison."
"Poison?" Berengaria said. "Is that what caused this?"
"Afraid so," Kirk answered grimly. He thought a minute. "Where's Mr. Scott?"
"He's helping us look."
"Find him, and round up the rest of your team. I've got a job for you. There'll be others beaming down to do the looking."
Berengaria took out her communicator and started calling.
Soon the settlement was swarming with Enterprise crew members searching every building for survivors. Scott returned, his face filled with pain. "Ah, Captain! Have y'ever seen such a sad sight?" He wiped a forearm across his eyes. "The lass said y'wanted me."
"There's something I want you to do, Scotty. We'll wait until the security team gets here."
Kirk looked along the row of poisoned Zirgosians. Some were moaning softly, others were trying to move their heads. The woman who'd warned them was still breathing shallowly. "Bones?"
"I still don't know, Jim. I'll have her beamed up as soon as someone is free."
The rest of the security team returned. "Mr. Scott," Kirk said, "you heard what this woman said about the Sackers building some sort of heat structure here. It's probably a hot spot Mr. Spock detected on the sensor array—he has the coordinates. I want you to take three of the security team and go find it."
Spock removed the tricorder from around his neck and handed it to Scott. "The location is locked in. Just follow the beam indicator."
"Thank ye, Mr. Spock." Scott took the tricorder and studied it. "That way," he pointed, off toward the southwest. "And when we find it, Captain?"
"Make no contact with the Sackers. Don't even let them know you're there. Just find out what that thing is they've built. Study the layout and report back. But no contact!"
"Y'don't have to tell me twice, sir," Scott replied with a shudder. "I've heard about those beasties—contact with them is the last thing I want." He looked at the security team. "Ye three," he said, pointing, "y'come with me." He turned and headed off toward the nearest grounded hovercraft, followed by Hrolfson and two of the others.
"And my job is?" Spock asked. He knew his captain.
"Your job is to investigate this mass poisoning. Find out how the poison was disseminated—through the food, the water, perhaps the air-circulation systems inside the buildings. Was it accidental or deliberate. Find out as much as you can."
"Where will you be?"
"On the Enterprise. Remember the maxim 'Know thine enemy'? I'm going to see how much our record banks can tell me about these strange beings we call Sackers."
Captain Kirk sat alone in the briefing room, staring with disgust at the image of a Sacker on the viewscreen.
All his training and all his natural tolerance seemed to have deserted him. Meeting alien races had been an integral part of his adult life; he would feel as if he'd lost a part of himself if it were to come to an end. Contact with new races was often demanding, always exciting, and sometimes dangerous. But it was his job, and he'd always been able to do it without the feeling of repugnance that the sheer differentness of other peoples sometimes evoked in the human race. It was one of the things that made him a good starship captain.
But this race … just a two-dimensional image of one of its only technically humanoid members was enough to make him feel queasy. What must it be like to see one in the flesh, if that stuff hanging on their outsides could be called flesh? Their real race-name was unknown; they'd been dubbed Sackers because each of their bodies was encased in a semi-transparent membrane similar to an amnion—a "sac". It wasn't a smooth-surfaced sac, though. The computer's record banks quoted a human observer's comment that the Sackers all looked as if they were constantly molting; another had remarked they appeared to be in a state of "self-regenerating decay". Kirk acknowledged the aptness of the seeming contradiction: self-regenerating decay was just what it looked like.
And the sac was hot to the touch, the record banks said, fiery hot by human standards. Even a casual brushing together of Sacker and human arms was sufficient to result in second-degree burns to human flesh. No wonder no human being had ever shaken hands with a Sacker. The computer noted that the prolonged touch of a Sacker finger was sufficient to ignite an ordinary sheet of paper.
Inside the sac was a colored fluid, purpose unknown—possibly a nutrient or a lubricant. The colors varied from one individual Sacker to another, and frequently within the individual as well. The Sacker on the briefing room screen had a fluid that was primarily yellow with streaks of a particularly nauseating shade of green running through it.
The records were full of speculations about the Sacker body structure—speculations based on observations that had all been made at a distance. No one really knew anything about Sacker physiology. No med
ical practitioner on any world had ever treated one. The best method of learning about them would have been through post-mortem examination, but that had proved impossible. The reason for that was simple: no one had ever seen a dead Sacker.
If one looked closely—and Kirk forced himself to do just that—it was possible to catch glimpses of a Sacker's internal organs and even observe them functioning. The Sacker internal arrangement included a multitude of small, white, sluglike organs that seemed to be mobile; even as Kirk watched, one broke loose from a larger organ and slithered a few centimeters away to attach itself to a body part not completely visible. Messengers? Chemical carriers? They looked for all the world like blind worms feeding on a corpse.
Kirk tasted bile in his mouth. Fascinating, as Mr. Spock would say. The computer mentioned the smell the Sackers gave off, a stench so overpowering it brought a bilious taste to human mouths. Personal communication between Sacker and human was possible only when the latter wore a breathing mask of some kind. Kirk had no idea what the smell was like, but his body had been visually stimulated to produce the same physiological reaction the olfactory stimulus was supposed to produce. He turned his back to the screen until the vile taste began to fade.
When he could look again, he said to the image on the screen, "You are without a doubt the ugliest son of a bitch I've ever laid eyes on."
The Sacker language was unknown, mostly because there were very few races that could bear to hear it spoken—and those races could endure it for no longer than a minute or two. Sacker speech was high and shrill … and painful; continued exposure to it was enough to pierce the tympanic membrane in the human ear. This barrier to communication had been solved by the Sackers themselves; they all wore translator devices that muted their earsplitting tones, modulating them to a level tolerable to the ears of their listeners. They accepted the name "Sackers" for themselves, just as individual Sackers accepted names given to them by others not of their race.
