by Barbara Paul
"I'm all right, Mr. Scott," Hrolfson replied greenly.
The chief engineer turned back to his examination of their captors. The sac fluids were all different colors. One color seemed to dominate in each individual Sacker, though, making it relatively easy to differentiate among them. Color-coded monsters, Scotty thought. It was hard to think of these creatures as men and women. They resembled human beings only superficially, primarily in their bifurcated structure; in all other respects they were as alien as any creepy-crawly Scott had ever encountered in all his travels in the galaxy.
"What are they doing, Mr. Scott?" Hrolfson asked. "What are those vats for?"
The two men from the Enterprise could see waves of heat rising outside their refrigerated cell; whatever the Sackers were doing, it took a lot of steamy heat to do it. Six huge plastiform-sided vats filled with a cloudy liquid were bubbling away. The Sackers kept checking the gauges on the outside of the vats; the Sackers were slow-moving, Scotty noted, although not clumsy. Once in a while one of them would add something to one of the vats—a nutrient? Scotty wondered. He squinted and tried to make out what those small forms were he could see floating in the cloudy liquid. They looked for all the world like … fetuses?
"I think," he said slowly, "I think they're growin' new Sackers."
Hrolfson drew in his breath sharply. "Baby Sackers? This is how they reproduce?"
Scott shrugged. "Why not? The males donate sperm, the females donate eggs, they come down here and … aye, now, why is that? Why not do all this on their ship?"
"Those vats are pretty big."
"But not so big that their monster of a ship couldna accommodate them. It might be the heat—but that shouldna be a problem either. Why do they need Holox?"
They watched a while longer until Hrolfson said, "Oh-oh. We've got company."
A seven-foot green Sacker was heading straight for their cell. He was followed by a gray Sacker and a brown one who were towing an antigrav carrier loaded with equipment of some sort. The green Sacker opened the door, letting in a blast of heat that drove Scotty and Hrolfson to the farthest corner of the cell. The Sacker took a few things off the antigrav carrier, tossed them inside, and closed the door.
On the floor lay two breathing masks attached to small air tanks and two pairs of smoky-lensed goggles. "I guess we're supposed to put those on," said Hrolfson.
Scotty sighed. "Brace yourself, laddie. I'm afraid we're in for a close encounter of the worst kind." They put on the masks and goggles and waited.
Outside the cell, the green Sacker was putting on a floor-length hooded robe. He pulled the hood forward to hide most of his face. "So we won't throw up all over him," Hrolfson commented dryly. The Sacker strapped a translator around his waist and slipped some kind of attached headpiece inside his hood. The other two Sackers unloaded a piece of equipment and a solid plastic cube and pushed them through the door. The hooded green Sacker stepped inside.
Even with the breathing mask on, Scotty still caught a whiff of the creature. He sternly ordered his stomach to stop churning.
The Sacker looked the two humans over and then indicated Hrolfson. "You," a mellow male voice said from the translator at the Sacker's waist. "Sit there." He pointed at the plastic cube.
Hrolfson hesitated. "What do I do, Mr. Scott?" he asked through his breathing mask.
Scotty took a step forward. "What d'ye plan to do with him?"
"I probe the memory. There is no pain, and no danger."
If that was the worst the Sackers had planned for them, they could survive that. "Do as he says, lad. But don't let him touch ye."
Hrolfson sat uncertainly on the cube. The Sacker used tongs to place a metal band bristling with electrodes on Hrolfson's head. Then he went around behind the instrument to read the results of the probe. He went on studying the results long after the probe was finished. Hrolfson took the metal band from his head.
Then without warning the Sacker moved over to the security man and grabbed his upper arm. Hrolfson screamed from the burning pain. The Sacker opened the door and thrust his human captive out. Scott let out a yell and started after him, but the green Sacker slammed the door shut and stood in front of it. "Get out o' the way!" Scott demanded, but the Sacker didn't move.
One of the two Sackers who'd stayed outside the refrigerated cell—the gray one—had a weapon in his hand. Without further ado he pointed it at Hrolfson … and set him on fire.
Scotty screamed and tried to push his way past the green Sacker, who wrapped his robe around one arm and used it to knock him away. Outside, a tongue of flame caught a passing Sacker in the arm; he jerked back and said something to the Sacker wielding the weapon. What would have destroyed a human arm merely made the Sacker wince.
But the human security man was now barely visible inside his coat of fire. Hrolfson was jerking spasmodically as the flames reached his nerve endings; finally all movement ceased as he collapsed into a heap that went on burning and burning. Scotty fell to his knees and beat against the plastiform wall with his fists, moaning as he watched the younger man die.
"You are connected?" The Sacker's pseudovoice sounded puzzled.
"Ye heathens! Why did y'do that?" Scotty cried in anguish. "Y'dinna have to kill him!"
"I do not comprehend your pain. Was he your kin? You do not share characteristics."
"No, he was not me kin! He was me shipmate—if that means anythin' to ye!"
"But if he was not your kin, his going should not cause distress."
"Oh, that's the way your so-called minds work, is it? If he's not a relative, kill him?" Scotty wiped his eyes. "Well, y'can kill yourselves off that way if y'like … an' the sooner the better! But y'have no right to be takin' our lives away from us. Y'have no right!"
"If I had let him go, he would have called your ship. We are vulnerable here."
Scotty got to his feet. "We're not all as bloodthirsty as ye, y'great green blitherin' blob! Y'dinna have to kill him!"
The Sacker was silent for a moment. Then he asked, "What is 'blitherinblob'?"
"Look in a mirror," Scotty snarled.
The Sacker thought that over, but instead of answering simply pointed to the plastic cube.
Scotty sat and snatched up the electrode headband. "I'll put it on meself." He did.
When the probe was finished, Scotty took off the headband and stood up. The Sacker said, "You are the chief engineer of the U.S.S. Enterprise?"
"I am. What about it?"
"You know much of the Enterprise engines?"
"Much? I know everythin' about 'em."
"Interesting similarities exist between your engines and ours. This information will be of much use."
"So glad to be of service," Scotty said sarcastically.
"Your willingness to cooperate will be noted."
Scotty threw up both arms. "Cooperate! Y'dinna give me a choice! Y'probed me mind, remember?"
"You are skilled in adapting engine functions to various alternate purposes as well as in maintaining and operating them?"
"Aye."
"I?"
"Yesssss," Scotty hissed. "Yes, I am skilled."
"In—"
"In anythin' you can name havin' to do with the Enterprise engines! Have I made meself clear?"
The Sacker considered a moment and then said, "Aye."
Scotty shot him a sharp look, wondering if he was being made fun of. The Sacker started pushing the memory probe machine toward the door. "Here, now, where'll ye be goin'?"
"This temperature distresses me. I must momentarily return to my own environment."
"Momentarily. That means ye'll be comin' back."
"Aye."
The green Sacker went out, taking the probe machine with him. The minute the door was closed, Scott ripped off his goggles and mask. He sat down on the plastic cube the Sacker had left behind and tried to think.
Clearly it was his technical expertise that was keeping him alive. If he could convince that green monster t
hat one Montgomery Scott would be a valuable asset to have around, he just might hang on until Captain Kirk could think of a way to get him out. He didn't see there was much he could do to get himself out, locked in this now quite chilly cell as he was. A thought struck him. He got up and tried the door. Locked was right. The only other possible way out was through the gridded vent over the refrigeration unit, and he'd never get his shoulders through that small hole.
Poor Hrolfson. What a dreadful way to die—the lad didn't deserve such an ugly fate. No more did Ching or Franklin. Those two had gone down fighting, though; Ching had kept firing her phaser even after the Sackers had set her ablaze. Brave people; Scotty was proud to have known them, even though for so short a time. Now he was the only survivor of that ill-fated team, and his own future wasn't exactly what he would call secure. There he was, the only human being in this furnace of Sackers, creatures who killed easily and with no concern for the rights of others. What could one lone human do?
"I can do a lot," Scotty said out loud, in a tone of wonder. Why, what an opportunity this was! If he could just get that green beastie to talk to him, he might learn all sorts of things that could be useful later. And there would be a later, Scotty told himself firmly. He started planning his strategy.
Ten minutes later the Sacker came back to find the chief engineer of the Enterprise seated on the cube, begoggled and bemasked, hands resting on his thighs. "Well, now, Mr. Green—come in, come in," Scotty said expansively. "It's time the two o' us were havin' a nice friendly little chat, don't ye think?"
Chapter Five
THE DOOR TO the captain's quarters opened to reveal a puffy-eyed James Kirk.
"Oh, my," said Dr. McCoy. "I tell you to get some sleep and then I come wake you up."
"I was awake, Bones. Come on in."
McCoy stepped inside. "Did you get any sleep?"
"Yes, several hours, in fact. Something up?"
"I wanted to tell you that most of the Holox poison victims are on their feet again and functioning, to a degree. Our people are starting to beam back up."
"Good. How's Dorelian doing?"
"She'll be all right—I want to keep her here one more day. She's starting to come to terms with the fact that she'll never see Zirgos again. It's going to be rough, but she'll make it."
Kirk massaged the back of his neck. "I feel bad about having had to tell her. I wish there was something I could do to help."
"Time is what she needs, Jim. Just give her time."
Kirk nodded and turned to the intercom. "Captain to bridge."
"Spock here," came the answer.
"Mr. Spock, Dr. McCoy tells me the poison victims on Holox are pretty much recovered and getting back to normal."
"I am heartily glad to hear that, Captain."
"Contact Holox and find out who's in authority now. Tell them we have one of the poisoners for them. Then instruct Lieutenant Berengaria to beam down with, ah, what's his name, ev Symwid—and turn him over to the appropriate Holox officials."
"Understood, Captain."
"Kirk out."
"You're going to let the Zirgosian colonists try him?" McCoy asked.
"It seems only fair, since it was the Zirgosians he poisoned. It could be considered a Federation matter—ev Symwid was acting as an agent for the Sackers. But Starfleet Command likes to turn these matters back to local authorities whenever it can."
McCoy grinned. "Besides, you don't want to be bothered with him."
"Right," Kirk laughed. "The Zirgosians are a humane people. They'll deal with him fairly."
McCoy was silent for a moment. Then he brought up the question that was really on his mind: "What are you going to do about Scotty?"
Kirk exhaled sharply. "I'm going to make one more attempt at contacting the Sackers. I wanted to give Uhura as much time as possible with the Sacker language, but something tells me I'd better not wait any longer. Coming?"
"Wouldn't miss it for the world," McCoy replied. In the turbolift on the way up, he asked, "What if they still don't answer?"
"Then we'll have to apply a little pressure."
On the bridge Uhura and Chekov were still compiling a Sacker vocabulary. Sulu was off duty, but Mr. Spock was studying the results of Uhura and Chekov's efforts. Kirk watched and listened for a minute until he got the hang of what they were doing. Then he said, "Lieutenant, if we should get a reply in the Sacker language, could you translate it?"
"It would be difficult, Captain," Uhura answered. "The words are easy enough, but the syntax and grammar are still a bit of a mystery."
"Let's give it a try. Cover your ears." She did. Kirk picked up the isolated mike and said, "I feel angry."
Sacker word-approximations appeared on the screen. Uhura studied them with a puzzled expression and translated, "'I feel full of fire'?"
"Close enough," Kirk said wryly. "It's time we sent the Sackers a message in their own language."
"It will have to be visual only, Captain. I don't know how these words are pronounced."
"Visual will do. Blank the screen, please." Uhura cleared the Sacker words. Kirk spoke into the mike. "This is the Enterprise, calling the Sacker ship. You have killed one of our crew and grievously injured another. Two more are missing. You are also responsible for the mass poisoning of the Zirgosian colonists. We demand you account for your actions, and we further demand a meeting for the purpose of negotiation. If these demands are not met, we will open fire on the structure you have erected on the surface of Holox. Respond immediately." He switched off the mike. "Send that, Lieutenant."
Spock said, "You are not telling them we know of the baryon reverter, Captain?"
"Best not to show all our hand at once, Mr. Spock."
Spock thought a moment. "Ah. Poker."
"Are you really going to fire on that Sacker blister?" McCoy asked. "Scotty may be alive in there!"
"We'll lay down a ring of fire around the blister first. That may be enough to catch their attention."
"Light-impulse message coming in," Uhura said excitedly.
All talk ceased as every eye on the bridge was trained on the screen. Uhura's sketchy knowledge of the Sacker language was not needed; the message was in English.
AGREE TO MEETING WITH SHIP'S CAPTAIN NAVIGATOR AND COMMUNICATIONS OFFICER ONE KILOMETER DUE EAST OF DOME IN ONE HOLOX HOUR NO WEAPONS NO OTHER CREW
"No other crew!" McCoy said. "Do they think we're fools?"
"Mr. Spock," Kirk said, "how long is a Holox hour?"
"About forty-five of our minutes, Captain."
"And no weapons?" McCoy went on. "Jim, they're making the conditions impossible!"
"Only if we obey them, Bones. Lieutenant Uhura, tell Security to have twenty men in the transporter room as soon as possible. Notify Mr. Kyle where we'll be beaming down and then join us there. Mr. Chekov, the Sackers desire your presence."
"Hold it!" McCoy roared. Kirk glared at him. "Hold it … sir. You're not really going down there? They'll roast you alive! Remember what they did to Franklin? Don't do it—don't go."
"I don't have any choice. But we don't have to go when the Sackers tell us to." He told Chekov to go on down to the transporter room. "Bones, listen. We'll beam down now instead of waiting forty-five minutes. That'll give us enough time to stake out the place. Twenty armed men in concealment should give us an edge."
"Unless they've already got thirty armed Sackers hiding down there," McCoy muttered. "There's something else too. Let's get on the lift."
Spock stepped into the turbolift with them. "Captain, request permission to—"
"Denied, Spock. You're definitely staying here. We can't let the Sackers get a crack at both of us."
"Then allow me to meet them in your place, and you stay on the Enterprise. I could present myself as the ship's commander."
"Won't work. Our first messages to them were visual as well as audible—they know what I look like."
Spock had been hoping he wouldn't remember that. "Jim, I urge you t
o proceed with caution."
"Count on it," Kirk said grimly.
"There's something you may be overlooking, Jim," McCoy pointed out. "Uhura. Have you forgotten her childhood traumatic experience with fire? And if fire is the Sackers' natural weapon, she's about the last person you should be sending down there."
Before Kirk could answer, Spock said, "Unfortunately, Lieutenant Uhura is the only one of us with even a rudimentary knowledge of the Sacker language. Her services could prove invaluable."
The turbolift came to a stop and the three men stepped out into a corridor of G Deck. "What about Chekov?" Kirk asked.
"He knows a great many of the words," Spock admitted, "but it is Lieutenant Uhura who has been studying the language's syntax. If you find yourself in a position in which you need linguistic assistance, it will have to come from her."
McCoy shook his head. "It's a hell of a thing to ask of her. Jim, Uhura's afraid of fire almost to the point of incapacitation—and she has been for over twenty years. She's getting a handle on it, but she's not there yet. You put her in a situation where the Sackers are likely to start shooting flames at you and there's no telling what she'll do."
"It all comes down to how far you trust her," Spock said, "whether you take her with you or not."
The situation had an all-too-familiar ring to it, Kirk thought. How many times had the three of them stood like this, in a corridor of the Enterprise—Kirk with a decision to make, McCoy advising one thing, Spock another. It all comes down to how far you trust her, Spock had said.
"She's coming with me," Kirk announced.
They headed down the corridor toward the transporter room, where they found Lieutenant Berengaria waiting for them outside the door. "Sir," she greeted the captain.
"Berengaria," Kirk said. "Did you find someone on Holox to surrender ev Symwid to?"
