Star Trek - Log 9

by Alan Dean Foster

  A patrol of three security personnel was first to spot the invaders. Phasers set on stun, they exchanged fire with the unrecognized antagonists. Incredibly agile and too small to hit easily, the aliens slipped away.

  But now the crew knew what they were up against, for the ensign in charge had recognized the similarity of the sectioned creatures to a former passenger.

  "Pandronians!" Uhura exclaimed. "I don't understand." She leaned a little closer to the pickup to make certain she heard correctly. "Was Commander Ari bn Bem, our former visitor, among those firing back at you?"

  "It's impossible to say, Lieutenant," came the reply from the security officer. "But from the pictures we were shown of him and from the couple of times I myself met him in corridors, I don't think so. Of course, there's no way to tell, and they were all split up in parts. Nine parts. I guess they could even be in disguise."

  "Thank you, Ensign," Uhura acknowledged. "Keep your phasers set on stun. They haven't killed anyone yet. If they do," she added warningly, "appropriate orders will be forthcoming."

  She clicked off, turned to Communications. "Lieutenant M'ress, keep trying to contact the landing party."

  "I'm doing so, Lieutenant Uhurra, but therre seems to be some kind of interrferrence."

  "Natural or artificial?" Uhura demanded to know.

  "I don't know yet, Lieutenant. Without detailed inforrmation on Pandrro, it is difficult to say." She turned back to her instruments, leaving Uhura frustrated and unsatisfied, but helpless to do more than wait.

  The squad that had originally spotted the invaders turned down a corridor. Three dim shapes could be seen scuttling around a far bend.

  "There they are!" the ensign in charge yelled. "Come on!"

  Phasers at the ready, the two men and one woman rushed down the corridor. Each got halfway to the turn the three shapes had vanished behind when they grabbed at midsection or head, tumbling one after another to the deck.

  Three sets of arms and chests slipped out of a crevice to inspect the motionless shapes lying on the metal flooring. Two lower torsos with heads set incongruously in their middles came around the corridor bend they had previously turned. The heads jumped off the hips, made room for the middle torsos and arms, which then picked the heads up and set them on their respective shoulders.

  Thus reassembled, the three Pandronians started back up the corridor the way the security team had come.

  VI

  The zintars continued to make rapid progress through the forest. Kirk, Spock, and McCoy used the deceptively tranquil ride to marvel at the incredible diversity of life around them. Such abundance of forms was only natural in a world of constantly changing species, where an entire genus might consist of only one creature. And that creature might choose to annihilate itself and its place in any textbook of Pandronian biology by freely dissolving into its multiple components, or integrals.

  These endlessly variable animals were in never-ceasing competition to create a form more successful, better able to compete, than the next. The steady flux led to a number of forms bizarre beyond belief, forms which—bn Bem told them—rarely lasted out a day or more before the component integrals realized their own absurdity.

  They saw tiny mouse-sized creatures with enormous heads and pincushion mouths full of teeth, impressive but impractical on creatures so small. Massive armored bodies teetered precariously on the lithe limbs of running herbivores. Tall bipedal trunks armed with clawed arms and legs ended in bovine faces filled with flat molars suitable for mashing only the softest of vegetable matter.

  "Such extreme mismatches ludicrous are, Kirk Captain," the commander pointed out. "Outlandish shapes continue to join, though, brief as they may last. So fierce is the compulsion new forms to create."

  "How many possible combinations are there?" asked a thoroughly engrossed McCoy. "How many varieties of hands and legs, torsos and heads, trunks and so on exist?"

  bn Bem looked dolefully back at him. "No one knows, McCoy Doctor. Have been already cataloged many hundreds of thousands of shapes and millions of integrals. Sometimes cataloged ones vanish and new ones take their place. Is impossible job which never ends."

  "I see," an impressed McCoy replied. "How often does a new successful form, like yourself or the diccob or zintar evolve?"

  "Cannot give figure," bn Bem responded, "but is rare occurence. About forty percent Pandronian lifes maintain permanent association and reproduce same form. All can break down, though, if such is natural willing, but this is very rare. Cannot tell what will find next."

  The officers were soon to discover the truth of the commander's concluding statement. The group made camp in a partial clearing on a slight rise of ground. Gentle though the rise was, it placed them high enough above the surrounding terrain to provide reasonably dry footing.

  Kirk studied their surroundings. Only the different colors and designs of the encircling vegetation, the peculiar alien cries filling the evening air, made this jungle any different from half a hundred others he had visited or read about, including those of Earth itself.

  To the south, the Pandronian sun was slowly sinking. It was slightly larger and redder than Sol, a touch hotter as well. The three massive zintars were bedded away from the camp, where they made their own clearing by simply walking in tighter and tighter circles until trampled vegetation formed a soft bed underneath. Well trained, they were left by themselves, their handlers secure in the knowledge that nothing known would risk attacking them.

  eb Riss and his men unpacked supplies from the third pseudodragon, taking care not to tangle lines in the creature's fur. They produced several oddly shaped, roughly globular tents and some equally odd foot stores, which bn Bem assured Spock he and the others could eat. Had he not partaken with reasonable satisfaction of food on board the Enterprise?

  The bonfire the troops raised in the middle of the encampment was the only familiar thing around, and McCoy in particular was glad for its cheery crackle and sputter.

  "You can always count on the familiarity of a fire," he pointed out to his companions, "no matter what kind of world you're on."

  "That is not necessarily true, Doctor," Spock mused. "Depending both on the nature of the atmosphere in question and the combustible materials employed, a fire could be—"

  "Never mind," McCoy advised with a sigh. "Sorry I mentioned it, Spock."

  A heavy mist closed in around them as the sun dropped lower in the sky. The nature of the yelps and squeeps from the surrounding jungle changed slightly as the creatures of the day faded into their holes and boles and the inhabitants of dark gradually awoke.

  "I can see," Kirk found himself musing conversationally to bn Bem, "how Pandronians could develop a feeling of superiority to other races."

  "A conceit to be deplored," the reformed commander responded.

  "No, it's true," Kirk insisted. "You're not to be blamed, I think, for such an attitude. You live on a world of constant change. Coping with such change is an incredible racial feat. You have reason to have developed considerable pride."

  "Is so," bn Bem was unable to refrain from concurring.

  Their conversation was shattered by a violent yet muffled howl from the depths of the forest.

  "What was that?" McCoy blurted.

  "Is no telling, McCoy Doctor," bn Bem reminded him, eyeing the surrounding trees appraisingly. "Is as your saying, as good as mine is your guess."

  "Generally," Spock ventured, striving to see through the opaque wall of emerald, "those creatures which make the loudest noises do so because they have no fear of calling attention to themselves. That roar was particularly uninhibited."

  As if to back up Spock's evaluation, the howl sounded again, louder, closer.

  "I believe," the first officer said slowly, "it would be advisable to concoct some kind of defense. Whatever is producing that roar seems to be moving toward us."

  "Is not necessarily true," bn Bem argued. "Strange vocal organs of Pandronian lifes can—"

  So
mething not quite the size of a shuttlecraft rose like a purple moon in the almost dark, towering out of the underbrush. It bellowed thunderously, took a step toward the camp—and stopped. It had encountered a pair of huge trees too close together for it to pass between. It hammered with massive limbs at the trees, shrieking its outrage.

  Fortunately, Kirk thought as he retreated toward the bonfire in the center of the camp, the components which had combined to compose this creature had not included more than the absolute minimum of brains.

  The creature snarled and howled at the tiny running shapes so close before it while continuing to try to force its way between the two trees. It could have backed off, taken several ponderous steps to either side on its five pairs of scaly legs, and charged the camp unimpeded. Thankfully, it obstinately continued battering at the stolid trees.

  Kirk watched as the Pandronians struggled to set up a large complex device. It consisted of several shiny, featureless metal boxes arranged in seemingly random order. A long, rather childish-looking muzzle projected from one end of the collage and various controls from the other.

  By now the thought had penetrated the attacking abomination's peanut mind that to go around might be more efficient than trying to go through. Backing up like a lumbering earth mover going into reverse, the creature moved to one side of the right-hand tree and started forward again.

  Only its slowness allowed Kirk and his companions a measure of confidence. Kirk felt he could easily outrun the thing, but would prefer not to have to try. Spock was regarding the still-frantic Pandronians, and he concluded aloud, "It seems our friends were not expecting an assault of this size. I suggest, Captain, that to preserve the camp and supplies we disregard the egos of our hosts and restrain it ourselves."

  McCoy already had his phaser out and was holding it aimed on the unbelievably slow carnivore. It showed a mouth lined with short saw-edged teeth. The cavity was wide and deep enough for a man to walk around in without stooping. Four eyes set in a neat row near the crest of the skull peered down at them dumbly, crimson in the glow of the campfire.

  Nonetheless, McCoy wasn't impressed. "How can any meat-eater that slow expect to catch any prey? It's got to be an unstable form."

  "True, Bones," Kirk acknowledged, "but if we don't stop it, it's going to make a mess of the camp."

  "Maybe if we rubbed its tummy it would calm down a little," the doctor suggested.

  Spock looked uncertain at the suggestion. "An interesting notion, Doctor. How do you propose we convince the creature to turn onto its back?"

  "Don't look at me, Spock," McCoy responded innocently. "I just make up the prescription. I don't make the patient take it."

  "I think something more convincing is in order, Bones," Kirk decided as the creature neared the first of the tents. "On command, fire."

  Three beams brightened a small portion of the night. They struck the creature, one hitting the side of the skull near the neck, the other two touching higher up near the waving dorsal spines.

  Letting out a hideous yowl, the monster halted. Two front feet rose off the ground, and the nightmare head jerked convulsively to one side. The creature shook off the effects, took another half tread forward.

  "Again, fire!" Kirk ordered.

  Once more the phaser beams struck; once again the effects were only temporary.

  "Aim for the head," Kirk ordered, frowning at their inability to injure or even to turn the monster.

  "Captain, we don't even know if that's where its integral brain is located," declared Spock, who shouted to make himself heard above the creature's snuffling and yowling.

  "Why don't you ask it?" McCoy suggested as he tried to focus on one of the four pupils high above.

  Spock frowned. "The creature does not appear capable of communication at the higher levels, Doctor." He fired and ducked backward as the head, making a sound like two steel plates crashing together, snapped in his direction.

  But by now the Pandronians had assembled themselves behind their funny-looking little wheeled device. All at once there was a soft thud from the muzzle and something erupted from its circular tip.

  Several hundred tiny needles struck the creature, distributed across its body. The creature took another step forward, the head almost within range of a quickly retreating Kirk, and then it stopped. All four eyes blinked sequentially; a second time. A high mewling sound began to issue from the beast, incongruously pitiful in so threatening a shape.

  Then it started coming apart like a child's toy. Various segments—legs, tail parts, and pieces of skull—dropped off, each running madly in different directions, until the entire apparition had scattered itself into the jungle.

  "That's quite a device," McCoy commented, impressed. He walked over to study the machine. It no longer looked funny. "What does it do?"

  "Is difficult, McCoy Doctor," the Pandronian commander explained, "to kill a creature whose individual integrals retain life independent. Would have to kill each integral separately.

  "This," and he indicated the weapon, "fires tiny syringes, each of which a chemical contains which makes mutual association abhorrent to creature's integrals. Is very effective." He gestured at the forest wall.

  "Attacking carnivore integration suddenly found its components incompatible with one another. All broke free and fled themselves. Will not for a long time recombine because of lasting effects of the drug."

  "I offer apologies," a new voice said. Kirk turned, saw a distraught eb Riss approaching them. "We did not an assault by so large a meat-eater expect, Kirk Captain. Was oversight in camp preparations on my part. Sorrowful I am."

  "Forget it," advised Kirk.

  "To produce a carnivore so large." eb Riss continued, "requires an unusually large number of integrators. The fasir," and he indicated the device that had fired the hypodermic darts, "is not ordinarily prepared so large a dose to deliver. And the first time we certain had to be dose was large enough to disassemble creature, or half of it might have continued attack we could not stop in time."

  "An interesting method of fighting an unusual and unpredictable opponent," observed Spock with appreciation. "It would be interesting to consider if such a drug could be effectively employed against non-Pandronian life forms. The fighting ability of another person, for example, would be severely impaired if his arms and legs could be induced to run in different directions. And if the parts could later be made to recombine, then a battle might be won without any permanent harm being done. There remains the question of psychological harm, however. If one were to literally lose one's head, for example . . ."

  Mercifully, Kirk thought, McCoy said nothing.

  "Is strange, though," bn Bem commented as he studied the forest, "to find so large a carnivore here. Far though we be, is still close for one so large to Tendrazin."

  McCoy gestured at the jungle. "Do you think maybe it has a mate out there?"

  Both bn Bem and eb Riss favored the doctor with a confused expression. "A mate? Ah!" bn Bem exclaimed, showing understanding. "Is evident you have no knowledge of Pandronian reproduction methods. Can become very complicated with multiple integrated beings. When we have year or two together will This One be pleased to explain Pandronian reproductive systems."

  "Thanks," McCoy responded drily. "We'll pass on it for now."

  "Any word on the whereabouts of the Pandronian boarders, Lieutenant?" Uhura inquired of M'ress.

  "Nothing," came the prompt reply. Abruptly the communications officer placed a hand over the receiver in one fuzz-fringed ear. "Just a moment. Casualty rreport coming in."

  Uhura's fingers tightened on the arms of the command chair.

  "One securrity patrrol incapacitated—thrree total."

  "How bad?" came the unwanted but unavoidable next question.

  "They appearr to be subject to some forrm of muscularr parralysis. It is selective in that it does not affect the involuntarry musculaturre, perrmitting vital functions to continue." Something on the board above the console
beeped for attention, and M'ress rushed to acknowledge.

  "Anotherr rreporrt, frrom Sick Bay this time. Trransporrterr Chief Kyle and Lieutenant Commanderr Scott have been similarrly affected. Commanderr Scott has been only parrtially affected, it appearrs. He is waiting to talk to you now."

  "Put him through," she snapped. "Mr. Scott?"

  "I'm okay, Lieutenant Uhura."

  "We know its Pandronians. What happened?"

  "They came through as I was enterin' the Transporter Room. Surprise was total. They used some kind of hand weapon that puts your whole body to sleep—everything but your insides. I dinna know what they're up to, but there is one thing I do want to know—verra badly, lass."

  "I'm thinking the same thing, Mr. Scott." She could almost hear him nod his agreement.

  "Aye . . . How did they know what frequency to simulate to convince us it was the captain and the others who wanted to be beamed back aboard?" There was a pause, then the chief engineer continued in a more speculative tone.

  "The only thing I can think of is that they've taken the captain, Mr. Spock, and Dr. McCoy prisoner and learned or knew in advance how to broadcast the emergency signal."

  A lighter but no less serious voice sounded over the communicator. "Now, you just lie down. Mr. Scott, and no more but's, if's, or maybe's about it."

  "Who's that?" Uhura inquired.

  "Nurse Chapel here, Lieutenant," came the reply. "The paralysis shows no signs of worsening or spreading in any way which would threaten life functions. But I've four and a half cases in here, counting Mr. Scott as partly recovered. None of the others show any indication of similar recovery yet. I don't want to put any strain on anyone's system." She added, obviously for Scott's benefit. "No matter how well they're feeling."

  "I agree absolutely," Uhura declared. "Let me know when anyone's condition changes—for better or worse."

  "Will do, Lieutenant."

  "Bridge out." Uhura turned back to stare thoughtfully at the communications station. Her gaze did not fall on the busy M'ress, who was striving to coordinate the flow of security reports from around the ship, but went past her.