Star Trek - Log 9

by Alan Dean Foster

  "Nor is this one mine, Captain," the first officer replied evenly. "Not only is it not mine, it is not anyone's. These are not Federation communicators but clever forgeries. Very clever forgeries." He hefted his experimentally. "Even the weight is correct, though I venture to say they contain anything but operative electronics."

  "But it's not possible," Kirk objected dazedly. "This communicator's been with me since we beamed . . . What now?"

  Spock had his phaser out and tried it experimentally. "Our weapons are also substitutes." For confirmation Kirk attempted to rattle a small sapling with his own phaser. Not so much as a leaf was disturbed.

  "So our phasers and communicators have been swapped for phonies, Commander bn Bem has run off and gotten himself taken captive by the local primitives, and we've been separated from Scott and Sulu." It was the captain's turn to hike a rarely raised eyebrow. "Mr. Spock, something mighty funny is going on."

  His first officer nodded somberly. "I would put it in less colloquial terms, but that is certainly an accurate appraisal of our present circumstances. It would appear that a course of action other than what we originally planned is advisable, until we can discover what is happening, and why."

  "Agreed, Spock—except for one thing." He looked back across the log, keeping his profile low. "Commander bn Bem's difficulty seems genuine. Phasers or not, we have to rescue him. If he should be killed while under Federation protection, not to mention ours . . ." The sentence trailed off unfinished.

  "Hold it—they're moving."

  Both officers watched as the natives began to move off to the west, picking their way easily through the muddy meadows and swampland. Commander bn Bem hiked along readily, making no attempt to slow his captors' progress or leave a trail for would-be rescuers to follow.

  Kirk was suddenly struck by the Pandronian's curiously complaisant attitude. "He doesn't act like someone on the verge of being dissected by alien aborigines."

  "There's not a great deal he can do, in his present circumstances," Spock suggested.

  "I don't buy that, Spock. He ought to be making it difficult for them—struggling, making noise, anything to delay his removal from here. Especially knowing that we were chasing after him. The motives—"

  "—of a Pandronian are unknown to us," finished Spock. "In any case, we are badly outnumbered—not to mention being unarmed. We might return to contact Mr. Scott and Lieutenant Sulu. Hopefully their phasers and communicators are in working order."

  Kirk shook his head. "Can't risk it, Spock. The group is moving. We might never be able to find them again in time to save bn Bem, not in this swamp. And if Scotty's and Sulu's equipment also turned out to be fakes—no, at least now we have the commander in sight.

  "Let's stick with them. As long as we stay under cover, we have a chance to surprise them."

  Careful and occasionally treacherous pursuit brought them unseen to a vantage point slightly above the natives' destination: a small but neatly arranged village. Several large wooden cages, empty now, reposed at its center. The convoy appeared to be in the process of installing Commander bn Bem in one of the cages.

  The thatched huts comprising the village looked competent enough. They were in no way spectacular, not even for primitive architecture. Little in the way of drying sheds, baskets, pottery, or other tools and constructions was visible in the small community. There was nothing to indicate to Kirk that these aliens ranked in the forefront of known primitive races. Spock was obviously dwelling on the same thought.

  "These aborigines appear to be in a late primitive state, below urban tribal infrastructure but far above mere nomadic hunters and gatherers. Based on what we have seen thus far, one can deduce that they are at least moderately intelligent and possess a basic language and well-developed social structure. I would assume that a well-developed system of morals, taboos, and traditions is present in the appropriate proportions and degrees of advancement."

  He paused, considered a moment before adding, "The standard method of dealing with strangers in such societies may include dismemberment, consumption, or various other unfriendly actions we cannot imagine." He directed a nod toward the now tightly imprisoned Commander bn Bem.

  "Judging from the way they have treated the commander so far, I believe we can safely discard such hopeful possibilities as the commander being treated as a god from the sky, or being adopted into the tribe."

  "That's too bad," Kirk murmured. "I think he belongs, somehow. But I agree, Spock." Once again he found himself puzzled by the Pandronian's nonchalant attitude, bn Bem stood calmly in the center of the wooden cage, not pacing or testing the bars or imploring his captors.

  "You'd think Commander bn Bem would be able to look at these people and see the same things, yet he's given no indication he finds capture and confinement especially objectionable. If anything, he's behaving as if he's half enjoying it." Kirk shrugged, resigned.

  "Well, maybe this is the standard Pandronian way of reacting to capture. As you've pointed out, Spock, we know so little about them." He slid down behind the rotting log in front of them.

  "In any case, we can't do anything for him before nightfall. I just hope these aborigines' night vision isn't as well developed as their biceps."

  The time remaining until dusk wasn't passed in idleness. Studious searching through the underbrush around the little rise they had encamped on turned up several broken but unrotted sections of tree. These would serve as clubs. A few fist-sized stones coupled with some lengths of native creeper and a little dexterous Vulcan handwork produced a set of efficient-looking bolos.

  Thus armed, they waited until the sun had vanished behind the trees in the abrupt manner common to all jungles, before proceeding cautiously down the slope toward the village clearing. Civilization here hadn't reached the elevated plane of intertribal warfare, so Kirk and Spock encountered no posted guards as they entered the outskirts of the village.

  Once, something like a cross between a cat and a chartreuse sofa crossed their path. It stared at them with startled red eyes, uttered a single soft yelp like a warped tape, and waddled rapidly out of sight. None of the natives were about. Occasional muffled sounds drifted out from various huts.

  "Shhh," Kirk whispered.

  "Of course," Spock agreed in near-normal conversational tone. Kirk threw him an exasperated look.

  Several moons—one globular, two others of irregular cast—lit the village in ghost light. Eight shapes—the two men and their shadows—moved toward the central cage.

  bn Bem noticed their approach and had the grace not to cry out. Silently, Kirk and Spock set to work on the lashings of the case door.

  "Kirk Captain—?"

  "Shut up," Kirk ordered, scraping fingers on the crude fiber of the bindings. "We're rescuing you."

  "You are interfering with observations."

  Even Spock was startled. "This is how you observe? By being captured?"

  "The opportunities for first-member study are best."

  "Assuming the studied don't decide to do a little vivisecting of their own," the first officer observed.

  bn Bem adopted a pose of contempt "Is as logical a way as any, Spock Commander."

  "Maybe so," put in Kirk, "but I don't think Starfleet would approve. You're being rescued, Commander, whether you like it or not. Come on."

  The lashings finally undone, Kirk yanked the door aside. For a minute, as bn Bem stood stolidly in the middle of the cage, the captain was afraid the Pandronian was actually going to resist the rescue. But he finally left the confines of the wooden bars, muttering to himself, using some of the logic he professed to have.

  They started for the hill, but were confronted by the unexpected appearance of a light. It did not come from any of the orbiting satellites above. It was small, intense, and wavered slightly.

  A second light joined it, then another, and still more. Each light lit a semihumanoid reptilian face, staring into the night. The torches formed a circle around the men. In the flickeri
ng light the aborigines' skin took on an ominous blood-red hue.

  Kirk took a step backward. As he considered running for it, there was a faint blur before him and something went ka-thunk at their feet.

  Looking down, he saw the quivering length of a rough-hewn but deadly-looking spear. As a nonverbal means of interspecies communication, it was brutally effective.

  "Gentlemen," Kirk observed as the circle of torch-bearers moved closer, "I think we're trapped."

  "Ineluctably," Spock murmured.

  None of them got much sleep the rest of that night, due in large part to the steady noise of saplings being felled around the village and to the steady rumble of their own thoughts. Only Commander bn Bem seemed composed as he studied the native activity.

  "Why, Kirk Captain," he exclaimed once, "you are not observing."

  Kirk thought a few choice thoughts and ignored the Pandronian's sneers. A steady stream of most undiplomatic images eventually lulled him to sleep.

  II

  When the sun rose again, Commander bn Bem was back in his cage. The village was unchanged, except that the commander now had company. Two cages to his left were also occupied. One imprisoned Kirk; the other held his first officer. A single native guard stood close by, the villagers undoubtedly having decided one was required should any more of the evil strangers suddenly appear.

  Kirk had spent futile hours in the predawn darkness testing the lianas which held his cage door closed. But while the aborigines were primitive, they were not stupid. The new knots were far too solid and complex for Kirk to unravel.

  A small knife would probably have been enough to saw through the woody lashings. But he didn't have a small knife. Instead, he had a phaser which could carbonize the entire village in a couple of minutes. Only this phaser was a fake. It wouldn't incinerate a Starfleet Technical Manual.

  Kirk doubted that the natives, however lethargic they might otherwise appear concerning their captives, would give him time to gnaw through the bindings with his teeth. He wished he had the tech manual now, anyway. At least it would give him something to read.

  Instead, he had to be satisfied with standing morosely at the front of the cage, eyeing the massive guard and muttering to himself.

  "How's that, Captain?" Spock queried, overhearing a portion of Kirk's ramblings.

  "I was wondering how come we always end up like this, Mr. Spock."

  "I assume that's a rhetorical question, Captain."

  Kirk sighed, pulled his arms free of the supportive crossbar, and stared through the poles at his first officer. "I was just expressing my astonishment at our ability to get into these situations."

  "The common complaint of every human since the dawn of time, I believe," Spock commented philosophically. "It's fate, Captain," he murmured.

  Kirk looked surprised. "Fate, Mr. Spock?"

  "I think that is the correct term," his first officer said, looking curious rather than uncertain.

  Apparently stirred by this incomprehensible alien gabble, the guard strode over to Kirk's cage and poked at the captain with his spear. Kirk jumped back.

  "Well, I'm not going to rely on fate to get us out of here." He eyed the guard, who stared back unimpressed. Then Kirk turned a significant expression on Spock.

  "Why don't you coax him over to your cage and try a quick Vulcan nerve pinch, Mr. Spock?"

  Spock eyed the aborigine warily as the enormous biped turned a neolithic gaze on him. "Captain, I'm only a Vulcan. There are limits to what even I can do. It is possible that I could surprise this creature. I could also fail. For one thing, I am unfamiliar with its internal physiology and, specifically, its neural network. Should I guess wrong, it might irritate the creature. I do not believe being taken apart by an aroused native would enhance your own chances of escape, while mine would no longer be in question. Logically, therefore . . ." He shrugged.

  Kirk turned his attention back to Commander bn Bem, who had been mercifully silent all morning. "I'm afraid this means we're not going to be able to rescue you at this time, Commander."

  His sarcasm was lost on the naturally sarcastic bn Bem. "Good intentions, Captain, are not enough. Planet Pandro will be much displeased. Starfleet Federation told us you were best captain in the fleet. Actions to date deny this."

  Kirk had finally had enough. To hell with diplomacy. "Commander bn Bem," he yelled, "you are personally responsible for our present situation!

  "You deliberately disobeyed orders, orders given for your own good, by running off. Your attitude during this entire mission has been extremely abrasive. And I don't know how you did it," he continued dangerously, "but I'm convinced now that you're the one who switched our phasers and communicators for imitations."

  "You place too much dependence, Kirk Captain, on phasers and communicators." If Kirk's accusations had dented the Pandronian's insufferable egotism, he gave no sign of it. "Petty instruments. One should rely more on personal resources instead of artificialities."

  "Either one of those 'artificialities' could solve our problems right now," grumbled Kirk.

  "Is that all?" bn Bem sneered contemptuously. He reached into the pouch at his waist—and produced both phasers and communicators.

  "Our phasers!" Kirk exclaimed excitedly. "Throw one—" His excitement was abruptly tempered by realization of what the magical appearance of their devices meant.

  "Commander bn Bem," he began carefully, "if you've had those phasers and communicators all this time, why didn't you use them to escape?"

  The Pandronian's attitude was that of a parent patiently lecturing a couple of dull-witted children. "You recall will, Kirk Captain, my say that this is best way to observe. As observation is completed, is now time to leave. This One, though, does not demean self by the use of casual violence to accomplish simple goals."

  "Oh." Kirk wasn't sure whether he was more fascinated than furious.

  "However," the commander concluded, "you may demean yourselves if you wish."

  "If we wish? Commander bn Bem, I want those phasers and communicators now—and for O'Morion's sake, toss them over carefully. They're pretty rugged, but—"

  bn Bem waved him off. "Compliance with request is, but is no need to throw. This One must disassemble."

  Kirk stared blankly at the Pandronian, the commander's words echoing meaninglessly in his mind, until bn Bem showed what he meant

  Detaching his lower half, the commander split neatly in two and squeezed out through the gaps in the bars, his top half carrying phasers and communicators easily.

  Kirk gawked, fascinated, while Spock murmured, "Remarkable." The Pandronian reassembled and handed each of them their instruments. "Truly remarkable. Commander bn Bem is a colony creature. Or perhaps we should begin calling him Commanders bn Bem."

  "Commander," Kirk wondered, leaving aside for the moment the question of whether the Pandronian should be addressed in the singular or plural, "if you could split yourself into separate sections, why didn't you escape on your own earlier?"

  He set his phaser on low stun and beamed the guard. The huge native slumped, unconscious, on his supporting spear. A careful readjustment of the setting wheel and Kirk was burning away the lashings on his cage, as Spock did likewise to his.

  bn Bem watched their efforts idly and continued in the same lecturing tone. "I explained, was not concluded with observating. Also, would deny you the chance to prove your people's value to planet Pandro by rescuing This One from possibly dangerous situation to same."

  "For the last time, Commander bn Bem," Kirk declaimed in exasperation, "this is not a laboratory. Not for testing the locals, not for testing us. This is a new, hostile world. And," he added forcefully, "Mr. Spock and I are not your private experimental animals."

  "I did not say that," bn Bem objected mildly.

  "But you implied it." The Pandronian did not reply. "I have no choice this time," Kirk went on. "Commander, consider yourself under protective custody. We're going to protect you from any further escapades. Mr.
Spock, keep an eye on him while I call in. On all of him." He flipped open his communicator.

  "Kirk to Enterprise, Kirk to Enterprise . . ."

  From his position at the con, Chief Engineer Montgomery Scott leaned forward toward the communications console and asked for the tenth, or possibly hundredth, time, "Lieutenant Arex, have you located them yet?"

  The Edoan looked back over a feathery shoulder. "No, sir. It is a large world, filled with many distracting life forms."

  Uhura looked up from the main readout screen at Spock's science station. "Mr. Scott! That sensory anomaly—it's expanded to cover the whole northern continent."

  "Try more to the south of where we set down," Scott suggested to Arex. "It's possible that—" He blinked, spun in the chair to face Uhura. "What's that, Lieutenant?"

  "The sensory distortion—it's covered the entire region. We aren't receiving any information from that area."

  "That explains why the detectors are so confused," Arex noted with satisfaction. "I thought they were giving awfully peculiar readings."

  Scott left the command chair and walked over to check the readouts at the science station. "That does it, Lieutenant," he said finally. "You couldn't locate the Loch Ness monster through that." His face wrinkled in disgust as he examined the distortion-plagued information.

  "These figures look like a regurgitated mass of undigested haggis, and they're about as encouragin'." He looked back at the navigation console. "Nonetheless, Mr. Arex, you've got to keep tryin'."

  "Yes, sir."

  "Kirk to Enter—" The captain paused, studied his communicator. "There's some kind of advanced interference on all channels, Mr. Spock." He looked around nervously. "We're going to have to get out of this village on our own—horizontally, for now. I doubt we'll be able to manage that without being seen."

  "I'm afraid I agree, Captain," said Spock, turning to study the still-silent huts.

  "Remember, keep your phaser on stun. There are no advanced weapons here, no reason to put a native down permanently. Let's get moving."

  They started toward the low rise that he and Spock had descended so hopefully the night before. The concentration of thatched houses was thinner there, but to no avail. As soon as they had emerged from the central clearing, they were spotted by the villagers. The shouting and angry natives reacted to this second escape attempt, as Spock declared sadly, "Most unreasonably."