Star Trek - Log 9

by Alan Dean Foster

  "Just a second, Ensign." There was a pause as the engineering officer ran the schematics for that region of the ship through his own viewscreen.

  "Got it now. Several men or man-sized creatures might get up in there, but the shaft goes straight up for about four meters. Then it does a number of sharp doglegs to connect with other ventilation tubes before running into a main shaft. No way a man could get through those turns, not even a contortionist."

  Namura moved, stared up into the dark tube above. "Hang on, Lieutenant." Removing a small device from his waist, the ensign activated it, sending a powerful if narrow beam of illumination upward. It lit the entire four vertical meters of shaft, which were manifestly empty.

  "They're not up there. Thank you, sir," the ensign said, replacing the light at his hip and speaking again into his communicator. "Security team twelve out."

  Shutting off his communicator, he directed his words to the other five. "They're not in here. Let's try the next service corridor down." Relaxing slightly, the group turned and trotted out of the subcorridor.

  Contact by the average member of the crew with Pandronians or things Pandronian had been infrequent and rare. So it was unfortunately only natural that in his anxiety to run down three man-sized intruders, Namura had overlooked the basic nature of Pandronians, had not considered their physiological versatility. Far above and beyond the security team, in the very bowels of the Enterprise's ventilation system, nine segments of three whole Pandronians made their rapid way around twists and turns which no man-sized creature could have negotiated.

  An hour passed and a worried Uhura faced Communications. "Still no contact with the invaders, Lieutenant? It's been much too long."

  "No, Lieutenant Uhurra," M'ress replied. If anything, she looked more haggard than her superior. Ears and whiskers drooped with exhaustion, her energy drained by the effort of coordinating dozens upon dozens of uninformative security reports from all over the ship, compounded by the tension which still gripped everyone on the bridge.

  "Therre hasn't been a sighting of the Pandrronians in some time—only false rreporrts. One securrity team thought they had the boarrders trrapped nearr the Main Trransporrter Rroom, but they managed to slip past all purrsuerrs. I don't know what—"

  Alarms suddenly began sounding at Communications, the command chair, and at several other stations around the bridge.

  "Now what!" Uhura shouted.

  Below, in another section of the cruiser, a badly dazed technician dragged himself to the nearest intercom. Acrid smoke swirled all around him, and the mists were lit by flashes of exploding circuitry and instrumentation shorting out. Phaser bolts and other energy beams passed through the choking air above and around him.

  "Hello, hello!" he coughed into the pickup grid. "Bridge . . . emergency—"

  "Bridge speaking; Lieutenant Uhura here. Who is this?"

  "Technician Third Class Camus," the voice replied, shaky and barely discernible through the sounds of destruction around it. Something blew up close by and he was thrown slightly to one side. But one arm remained locked around the console containing the intercom. Bleeding from a gash across the forehead, he blinked blood from his eyes and coughed again.

  "Camus—Camus!" Uhura yelled over the intercom. "What's your station? Where are you?"

  "I'm . . . on . . . secondary bridge," he managed to gasp out. "We've been attacked. Only myself . . . two others on duty here. Standard maintenance compliment for . . . area. Aliens attacked us . . . slipped in before we knew what was happening. Must be . . . the Pandronians." He blinked again.

  "Can't see . . . too well. Smoke. We didn't expect anything. Thought . . . they were several decks above us."

  "So did we," replied Uhura grimly. She glanced away, back toward Communications. "M'ress, notify all security teams that the Pandronians, are attacking the secondary bridge." She turned her attention hastily back to the intercom.

  "What happened, Mr. Camus?"

  "Explosive charges . . . not phasers. Shaped demolition, from what I can see." The smoke burned his eyes, and tears mixed with the blood from the gash above his eyes.

  "Damage report?" Uhura queried.

  "Helm's . . . okay. So's most everything else, except for minor damage. But communications are completely gone. We were lucky . . . I think."

  "Report noted, Mr. Camus," Uhura told him. "This is important," she said slowly as something banged violently over the speaker. "Was the destruction achieved randomly or did they go for communications intentionally?"

  "Don't know . . . Lieutenant," the technician reported, trying to see around him. "Happened too fast to tell anything."

  "Understood. Listen, if they're still there, try to tie them down with your phasers," Uhura ordered him. "Security teams are on their way to you."

  "Will do, Lieutenant," the technician acknowledged, just before something touched him in the middle of his back and he slumped to the deck unconscious.

  Uhura looked again at M'ress. "Direct all security teams in that area to block off all turbolifts and stairwells, seal all corridors near the secondary bridge. Maybe we can pin them down there. Also notify Sick Bay to send a medical team over—they've obviously experienced casualties." Her expression was not pleasant. "If any of those techs die, every phaser on this ship goes off stun."

  There was a low murmur of agreement from the rest of the solemn bridge personnel. "Verry well, Lieutenant," the communications officer acknowledged.

  "I also want extra security sent to Engineering at warp-drive control and at all approaches to the main bridge."

  "Yes, Lieutenant."

  Uhura voiced her thoughts aloud. "If they were trying for communications, or anything else on the secondary bridge, then their intentions are obvious. They're trying to cripple one or more ship functions. If that's the case, then I think they'll try for Engineering or the bridge next."

  She leaned back in the command chair, resting a fist against one cheek and trying to make sense of what was going on. Several minutes passed and she noticed that the navigator had his eyes focused on her.

  "Well, what are you looking at, Arex?" she snapped.

  "I am as worried as you are, Lieutenant Uhura," the Edoan replied in his soft singsong voice.

  "Staring at each other isn't going to help the situation any." The Edoan looked away, but remained deep in thought.

  "I just can't help wondering why Pandronians, even the rebel Pandronians the captain mentioned, are trying so desperately to damage the Enterprise. They must know that three of them can't do any serious destruction, can't carry out anything we won't eventually repair." She shook her head slowly, wishing the solution were as simple as operating ship's communications . . . communications.

  Apparently the same thought occurred to Arex. "If it is our communications they are trying to destroy," he theorized, "and not the ship itself, it seems to me there can be only one reason behind this. They are attempting to prevent us from keeping in touch with the landing party. Yet for them to want to do so must mean this rebellious faction knows the captain, Mr. Spock, and Dr. McCoy are, as they mentioned, aiding government forces. If that is the case—"

  "If that's the case," an excited Uhura finished for him, "since only the Pandronian government knows we're helping them, that means that government is home to at least one traitor. The captain needs to be told."

  "I believe the Pandronian government should also be notified," the always empathetic Edoan added.

  "Lieutenant M'ress," Uhura began, "call the authorities in the Pandronian capital—anyone you can make contact with. Tell them it's vital for both their security and ours that we speak immediately to someone high up in the government. Then get in touch with the captain."

  "Aye, aye," the tired Caitian replied. She turned back to her control console and prepared to carry out the orders.

  She was interrupted by a loud thumping from somewhere across the bridge. Like everyone else, she paused, listening. Now the strange noise was the only soun
d on the bridge. It didn't remain stationary, but instead seemed to move from place to place. Abruptly, the noise ceased.

  It was dead quiet for a minute, and then a loud bang sounded from overhead. "They're in the repair access space above us!" Uhura shouted.

  "M'ress, emergency alert! Get a security team in here on the double. We've got to—"

  Carrrumphh!

  A powerful concussion shook the bridge. Smoke and haze filled the air, and nearly everyone was thrown to the deck. A hole had been blown in the roof, just to the right of the science station. Recovering well, everyone dove for cover in anticipation of the coming assault. Three sections of Pandronian dropped through the ragged gap, hurriedly assembled themselves into a complete assailant. Sections of a second came close behind, the three integrals joining together like midget acrobats.

  As the second alien came together, the turbolift doors to the bridge slid aside to reveal four battle-ready security personnel, phasers drawn and aimed outward.

  Everything happened very quickly after that. Huddled behind the command chair, struggling for every breath, Uhura was able to absorb only isolated glimpses of the subsequent fight.

  One Pandronian fired a burst at her from an unfamiliar weapon, which glanced harmlessly off the arm of the protective chair. The alien whirled quickly to fire at the turbolift. This second shot caught one of the charging security techs in the shoulder and sent her spinning to the deck.

  Her companion slipped clear of the confines of the lift car and fired. The stun beam struck the first Pandronian in the midsection. As the alien collapsed, he came apart again. Ignoring the immobile midsection lying still on the deck, the head hopped onto the lower torso. One leg reached down, regained the weapon still held in a stiff hand, and prehensile toes commenced operating the gun as if nothing had happened.

  The second, by now completely reformed Pandronian ignored the battle and raised a device whose muzzle was wider than its handgrip was long. He aimed it to Uhura's left and fired. The awkward-looking instrument emitted a dull pop which was barely audible over the noise and confusion swirling around the turbolift.

  Luckily, M'ress had seen the alien point the weapon and had rolled aside. She escaped injury when the short, stubby missile landed in the middle of her console. For a microsecond the flare from Communications was too bright to look at directly. As it vanished, Uhura could see puffs of white smoke covering the console and surrounding instrumentation.

  The Pandronian reloaded his weapon for a second shot. But by this time security personnel were pouring onto the bridge via walkways as well as the turbolift, faster than the three Pandronians could shoot them down.

  Short and furious, the gun battle ended before the second Pandronian could unload his second missile. It ended with all three aliens—or rather, all nine independently mobile sections of same—paralyzed and motionless on the floor.

  When the last operative Pandronian integral, a furiously resisting head, had been stunned, Uhura, shaken, stood up from behind the command chair. One after another, the rest of the bridge complement rose or crawled out from their respective hiding places.

  Only the security personnel who had resisted the attackers had been hit. Everyone else appeared healthy and able to resume his post. Security teams continued to pour onto the bridge, followed closely by medical teams responding to the emergency calls issued by the first to reach the bridge. It had grown incredibly crowded beneath the gap the attackers had blasted in the ceiling.

  Uhura and Arex moved to examine the nine motionless shapes scattered across the deck. "Which one belongs to which one?" a bewildered security officer wondered.

  "No telling," muttered Uhura. "Take the whole collection down. They can sort themselves out when they regain consciousness. When that happens, I've a few questions I want answers to—and I'll have them, or these three will be disassembled into a lot more than nine pieces!"

  Under the close guard of a dozen security personnel, supervisory medical technicians loaded the various sections of dismembered aliens onto stretchers and carted them down to the security area of Sick Bay.

  Once the bridge was clear of Security and Pandronians, Uhura used a pocket communicator to contact Engineering and request a repair team. Then she moved to stand before the shambles that had been the communications station.

  M'ress met her there, trying to peer into the wreckage, yet careful to jerk clear whenever something within the white-hot mass would flare threateningly.

  "I don't know what was in that missile," she confessed to Uhura, "but whateverr it was prroduced an enorrmous amount of heat. They couldn't have chosen a betterr way to make a thorrough mess of things."

  It didn't take an expert to see what M'ress meant. Instead of being blown apart, the communications station had been melted, fused into a half-solid wall of metal and plastic slag. Where they could have replaced the damaged or destroyed areas resulting from an explosion, now the entire section of wall would have to be cut clear out to the depths of the heat damage and the console would have to be literally rebuilt.

  When Scott heard what had happened, there was no holding him in Sick Bay, despite Chapel's admonitions. Having recovered the use of all but his legs below the knee the Enterprise's chief engineer was on the bridge minutes later. He propped himself up on the mobile medical platform and directed the engineering team which had already commenced repairs. His steady swearing was directed at those who had dared violate his beloved equipment in so horrid a fashion.

  It wasn't long before the subjects of Scotty's ire began to recover from the effects of security phasers. Uhura sat in the sealed security area and watched the activity within the Sick Bay cell as the Pandronians reassembled themselves.

  "The lower portions recovered first, the head last," Chapel was explaining to her. "I expect that's only reasonable, since the heads contain the greatest concentration of nerves and would be most strongly affected by a phaser set on stun."

  However, when Uhura began questioning them via a hand translator, the Pandronians might as well have remained unconscious, for all the loquaciousness they displayed.

  "Why did you board the Enterprise?" she inquired for the twentieth time. All three sat quietly at the rear of the cell, ignoring the energy barrier and those beyond it while they stared with single-minded intensity at the back wall.

  "Why did you destroy our communications facilities?"

  Silence of a peculiarly alien kind.

  "Was it to prevent our communicating with our landing party on Pandro? If so, how did you know about it?"

  Perhaps, she thought, a question which should strike closer to home.

  "Are you," she began deliberately, "connected to the rebel groups of Pandronians operating on Pandro? If that's true, why interfere with us? We have no desire to interfere in Pandronian domestic squabbles."

  That was an outright lie, since the captain, Mr. Spock, and Dr. McCoy were openly aiding the present planetary government, but it produced the same response from the quiescent three, which was no response.

  Uhura made a sound of disgust, turned to Chapel. "You're certain the paralysis has completely worn off?"

  "From everything I can tell, they're fully functional. Any paralysis of the vocal apparatus is voluntary, Lieutenant."

  "Fully functional, huh?" Uhura muttered sardonically. "Let's see some functioning, then." She raised her voice, all but screamed herself hoarse. "At least identify yourselves! Or are you going to insist you're not even Pandronians!"

  Unexpectedly, the middle alien turned to face her. "We are the representatives of the True Order," he said contentedly.

  Uhura was not impressed. "I seriously doubt that, whoever you are and whatever that's supposed to mean. But it's nice to know that you're capable of speech."

  The Pandronian assumed a lofty pose. "Can talk to lower forms when mood occurs."

  "Goody. Maybe you'd condescend to chat with this representative of a lower order about a few things. Once more: Why did you sneak aboard
our ship?"

  Dead silence. Uhura sighed.

  "All right, if you don't want to talk about what you're doing here and why you've brutally assaulted those who mean you no harm, maybe you're willing to answer questions about yourselves." She began pacing back and forth in front of the energy barrier.

  "What is this True Order you mentioned?"

  "The Society of Right Integration," the Pandronian replied, as if talking to a child. "Only the True Order to restoring the natural order of lifes on Pandro is dedicated. Dedicated to bringing end to desecrating civilization now existing. Dedicated to eliminating vile government which perpetuates unnaturalness. To cleansing running sore of—"

  "Take it easy," Uhura broke in. "You're giving me a running headache. What's this natural order you're so hot about restoring?"

  Shifting his position slightly, the Pandronian gazed upward. "In beginning all lifes on planet Pandro had freedom of integration complete. Could integrate one life form with any other to achieve integrated shape pleasurable for moment or lifetimes. Had even primitive Pandronian intelligences like This One great flexibility of form. Often primitive rites including dividing and recombining to gain new insights into existences." The alien's voice turned from reverent to remorseful.

  "Then did bastard civilization now grown huge begin to take hold. To become rigid, unfluid, frozen was Pandronian intelligences. Recombinations among intelligent Pandronians were," and his words became coated with distaste, "law forbidden. Realized only a few true believers, first of True Order, that this was horrible wrongness! Themselves dedicated to restoring naturalness of Pandronian lifes!"

  His head dropped and turned resolutely from her. Further questions elicited only silence. Having delivered their sermon, the captives apparently had nothing more to say.

  Uhura had listened stolidly to every word of the diatribe. Now, when it became clear they would learn nothing more from the three, she turned and spoke bitterly to Chapel.