Star Trek - Log 8 (2 page)

"Mr. Spock," Kirk continued, "what can we expect to find on Lactra Seven?"

"We have little information on the world below us," the first officer began thoughtfully. "What we do have is the result of the drone's preliminary report, coupled with information drawn from the survey ship's library. We may assume this basic information is fairly accurate. Our own sections are working to confirm this now.

"Lactra Seven is a Class-M world. Gravity is approximately Earth-normal, the atmosphere a reasonable analog of Earth-Vulcan. Very little additional useful information is on file. By useful I mean material which could aid in the locating and rescuing of the missing crew. What we do have is available in the printouts before you."

Kirk picked up the slim bundle of sheets and leafed through them. "According to the survey ship's log, Commander Markel and the other remaining members of his crew beamed down six weeks ago."

"Five weeks, three days, two hours, to be precise, Captain," Spock corrected.

"Careless of me, Mr. Spock." He finished scanning the printouts, then let the sheets drop. "No indication of planetary life forms."

"And in particular, of intelligent or large, dangerous ones—that is true, Captain," Spock admitted. "Life sensors are experiencing some difficulty in penetrating a distortion layer in the Lactran atmosphere.

"Given the composition of that atmosphere, the surface temperature, and the presence of large bodies of free water, I would suspect Lactra Seven harbors a considerable amount of life. But without additional data I cannot speculate on the form such life has taken." His brows drew together.

"Despite the distortion layer, the survey ship was specially equipped for obtaining just such information. Their records were surprisingly deficient in this area, one of primary concern to any survey team. Apparently they had no sooner entered into Lactran orbit when this emergency overwhelmed them. Mr. Arex is overseeing a full, detailed sensor scan, which should reveal the relevant information," he finished.

"Eventually," Kirk added. "Anything like a comprehensive scan will take too long to complete, Mr. Spock. Minutes might make the difference between life and death for Commander Markel and his people—if they're still alive. I want a landing party to beam down to the last recorded coordinates in the survey ship's tapes. If they've had the sense to remain in that immediate area we might be able to find them quickly."

"Don't you think that's taking an extreme risk, Jim?" put in McCoy. "If the first three were lost—and remember, they never beamed up any hint that something was wrong, no warning or anything—then we might run into the same silencing trouble."

"True, Bones. But if they experienced some kind of mechanical problem, the risk might be in leaving them stranded while we take endless readings. It might involve that distorting atmospheric layer. For example, maybe it affected their communicators. That would explain why the first crew was unable to contact the ship, and why the second crew failed to activate the transporter to bring them back.

"They could be starving down there, sitting on their acquired information and waiting for someone to haul them out. We have to find out. They could have survived for six weeks. They might not be able to survive six and a half."

"Still a risk," McCoy objected.

Kirk's reply was matter-of-fact. "That's why we're here, Bones." He rose from his seat. "We'll travel light, gentlemen. Phasers, tricorders, communicators—and you'll take a full medical kit, Doctor."

It took only minutes to gather the necessary paraphernalia; then the three officers met in the Transporter Room. Scott was waiting for them. He would handle the beam-down personally.

"Any new information from Sciences, Mr. Scott?" Kirk inquired as they exited from the elevator lift and crossed to the alcove.

"A little, sir," the chief engineer reported. "Mr. Arex says that the distortion layer has been penetrated sufficiently for sensors to reveal a large variety of life forms on the surface. There are substantial concentrations in the area scheduled for your landing, Captain."

McCoy voiced the thought uppermost in their minds. "Any indication of intelligent life?"

"No, Doctor, none." Experienced hands moved over the controls, adjusting settings, checking energy levels. Playing with a man's molecules was a dangerous business.

"No large clusters of life forms in urban patterns, and no hints of city outlines. No rural patterns indicative of large-scale agriculture."

Kirk nodded. "You've set in the coordinates taken from the survey ship's transporter tape? That's where we want to be put down, Scotty."

"Beggin' your pardon, sir," he countered hesitantly, "but if I beam you down in the same place, you could run into the same trouble . . . and end up the same way. Quiet."

"We'll be expecting exactly that, Scotty," Kirk explained. "At the first sign of anything we can't handle, we'll beam back up. Proceed with transporting."

Scott shook his head, ever the pessimist, and mumbled under his breath. That didn't affect the precision with which he engaged the transporter controls. Triple levers rose, and the three officers dissolved into elsewhere.

Kirk experienced the momentary blackout, the disorientation, and the usual twinge of nausea. Then he materialized in an oven.

A blast of humid, hot air struck him like a sockful of hot mud. That first unexpected blast seemed hotter than it actually was. But while conditions at the set-down point were far from arctic, they were bearable.

After checking his footing he turned and took in their surroundings. They were standing on the bank of a steaming lake—Kirk assumed it was a lake; but it could as easily have been an ocean—he couldn't see land across it. Hot springs gurgled all around them, filling the air with feathery streamers of pure steam.

The thermal activity around them was as intense as in the Waimangu valley on Earth—noisy and nervous. But the ground underfoot was firm and gave every indication of having been so for some time. So Kirk discarded his first thought—that the survey crews might have set down on some unstable area, despite the safeguards inherent in transporter sensors.

"Everyone all right?"

Spock nodded, then McCoy.

"Ten meters either way, though," the doctor pointed out, "and we'd have been boiled alive."

Spock already had his science tricorder out and was taking preliminary environmental readings. He frowned. "Unusual that such a lake, of such extent, could exist under the planetary conditions prevalent at this latitude. Most unusual."

"Speaking of unusual, Spock . . ." Kirk interjected. He was pointing at the surface of the lake directly before them.

A shape was rising from the steaming water. One could read the writhing steam into fantastical forms, but this rapidly growing outline was composed of something considerably more solid than water vapor.

It had a saucer-shaped body, limbs of still unseen design but obvious power, and a short, snakelike neck. A vision of quite adequate ugliness bobbed atop that swaying extension.

Spock nonchalantly turned toward it and readjusted his tricorder to take a biologically rather than geologically oriented reading. He studied the results with undivided attention as they appeared in the tiny readouts.

"Most intriguing," he finally commented.

"I'm not sure 'intriguing' is the word I'd choose," Kirk said, taking a step backward. "That creature may be able to navigate on land as well as in the water." Certainly the apparition showed no sign of slackening its pace.

"I know it can," an excited McCoy decided nervously, "and I don't need a tricorder to tell me so."

In truth, the alien being appeared to be accelerating as it neared them. Beneath heavily lidded eyes, black pupils stared at them with the single-minded blankness of the primitive carnivore. The interlocking fangs which protruded sicklelike from both jaws parted slightly, revealing an uninviting dark gullet.

"Phasers on stun," Kirk ordered sharply. "Stand ready."

Each man pulled out one of the compact weapons, adjusted the tiny wheel on top, and dropped to one knee. Spock held his phaser in one hand and the still-operating tricorder in the other. Both were aimed with precision.

The monster reached the shoreline, and any question of its ability to navigate a nonaquatic environment was answered as it humped enthusiastically toward them.

"Fire!"

Three bursts traversed the space between the men and the huge monster. The creature halted its seallike advance, faltering. The long neck lowered and swung dazedly from side to side.

A second round stopped the monster as if it had frozen. It sat on the shore, momentarily paralyzed. The nightmarish skull dipped until it scraped the sand.

Then, amazingly, it seemed to shake off the effects of the double phaser blast. Its appetite gave way to a blind desire to escape, however. Turning with surprising agility, it rushed back into the lake and vanished beneath the steaming surface.

"Not a very friendly environment," Kirk observed idly, kicking at the warm earth. "I think the survey crew would have come to a similar conclusion." He turned. "They'd probably try for a friendlier area inland. Let's move."

Picking their way cautiously between pools of bubbling clear water and thick, candylike mud, they started away from the water's edge. Once, Kirk knelt to probe the ground with a finger, and pulled it away speedily. The soil here was painfully hot just beneath the surface, but it was stable.

"What do you think, Mr. Spock?" he asked, referring to their first encounter with a representative of Lactran life.

"An interesting and no doubt dangerous animal, Captain," the first officer replied easily, "but not particularly so, and clearly not invulnerable. Certainly not to the kind of weaponry a survey crew has available as standard equipment.

"Nor is it the sort of beast one would expect to catch experienced personnel off-guard. Such teams regularly expect far more lethal attacks. For it to have surprised and rapidly killed not one but two such teams—no, Captain, I think it extremely unlikely."

"Exactly my opinion, Spock." They topped a modest rise and started down the other side. "In such a situation—"

He cut off in mid-sentence, staring in surprise at the land before them.

No steam rose there. There wasn't a hint of a boiling pool or steaming mud pit. The panorama before them was flat, hot—and dry. Only a few isolated outcroppings of weathered rock broke the gravel-and-sand plain. Here and there an occasional patch of defiant green stood out like a flag. The change was startling.

"Desert," muttered McCoy. "Not a very welcome sight either, gentlemen."

Kirk frowned as he pulled out his communicator. "We're on a hill here. Let's see if we can pick up anything on the emergency ground bands." He flipped open the communicator and made the requisite adjustments, then addressed it slowly and distinctly.

"This is Captain James Kirk of the U.S.S.
Enterprise
, commanding a Federation rescue party, calling the crew of the survey scout ship
Ariel
. Come in please, come in."

A faint whisper of wind on tired rock, nothing more.

"Try again, Jim," McCoy prompted.

"Captain James Kirk of the Federation cruiser
Enterprise
calling Lieutenant Commander Markel or any members of the Federation survey ship
Ariel
. Are you receiving me? Please acknowledge."

Still silence. Resignedly, he made a slight, standard readjustment on the receiver dial—and was rewarded with a surprise. A slow, steady beep began to sound.

McCoy was startled. "Be damned . . . they're answering!"

The beep continued for several seconds before stopping suddenly. But not before Kirk, who had been frantically adjusting further controls, registered an expression of satisfaction.

"You got a fix on it, Jim."

The captain nodded. "Barely. The signal didn't last very long, and I don't like the way it cut off like that, in the middle of a series." He turned slightly to their left and pointed. "Over that way."

Picking their way down the slight slope, they started off in the indicated direction. "Likely they're close by, staying near the touchdown point like they're supposed to," Kirk murmured tautly. He squinted at the sky. "We'll try this until the heat begins to tell, then have Scotty beam us up for a rest. We can set down and continue on after a break."

"Don't you think it's strange we didn't get a voice reply to your call, Jim?" wondered a puzzled McCoy.

Kirk shrugged. "Could be any number of reasons we didn't. Mechanical trouble with the communicators, as we originally postulated, Bones."

"Never mind counting them, Spock," broke in McCoy dryly, seeing the first officer about to comment. They continued on across the sand in silence, searching for indications of human passage. There were none—no footprints, no trail of shredded tunic, no lost instruments or survival equipment. Nothing but harsh sky, sand, gravel, and heat that stayed just the human side of oppressive.

Nothing moved on that brown-and-yellow landscape. There was no soothing wind to ruffle the compact, squat green growths which leaned possessively to any hint of shade or depression in the ground.

Kirk spent no time studying them. A single casual glance was enough to show there was nothing remarkable about the largest, nothing distinctive about the smallest. It was the fate of six humans that absorbed his thoughts now, not new outposts of alien ecology.

Eventually they reached the other side of the gentle basin they had been crossing and mounted the symmetrical curve of a large dune. Their descent on its opposite side was as fast and awkward as the climb had been slow and controlled. They reached the sandy base and found themselves confronted by another basin, which terminated in a twin of the dune they had just crossed.

"At least it's not thermal springs and hot mud," McCoy observed.

There was a sound like frying fat, and a sheet of flame interdicted their progress. It missed Kirk, who was in the forefront of the little party, by a few saving meters. He scrambled backward.