Star Trek - Log 1 Read online

  When the sun rose over the black mountains, it turned the hard-baked desert floor the color of molten lead. Ee-chiya still trailed close on young Spock's heels. They were headed for those same forbidding dark peaks. Under the circumstances and given the task he'd set himself, the peaks seemed as logical a place to prove himself as any other.

  Quick physical collapse was an early threat of the real Kahs-wan. That was one test Spock no longer worried about. He strode along easily at an even pace, seemingly untired. Of course, all of his walking so far had been in the pleasant chill of night and the cool of early morning. Soon it would grow hot and the sun would pull moisture from him. That is, unless he elected to stop and find shelter for the day. He hadn't decided yet.

  He refused to let such dismal possibilities intrude. Were it not for his anguished state of mind he could have enjoyed the hike. As for any unpleasantness that might lie ahead, he was determined not to let his spirits drop. The most important element in the Kahs-wan was mental.

  Ee-chiya continued to mope along slightly behind. In his case it was not the mental aspect that was most important. The big animal was unused to such extended hiking. Eventually young Spock had to pause and wait for the sehlat to catch up.

  Several long strides and his huge pet had done so. It promptly lay down on its belly, panting from the unaccustomed exertion and trying to catch its breath. Ee-chiya's spirit was willing, but the flesh was too old.

  Besides, a sehlat's normal environment was the cool, high forests of the south. He managed well enough in his cool stall and in the thick shade of the garden at the house. But here, in open hot country his thick fur was a heavy burden. The rapidly rising heat would put a tremendous strain on the body of even a young, vigorous animal.

  Young Spock stopped again and turned to face his pet squarely, hands on hips. His tone was gentle, but frustrated.

  "Ee-chiya, go home! You are too old and too fat for this."

  Ee-chiya leisurely examined this statement from his position on the warming sands. Then he put his great head down on his forepaws and assumed an air of patient dignity. Young Spock shook his head determinedly.

  "Huh-uh, that's how you always get your way with father. It won't work with me. Go home, Ee-chiya."

  The sehlat took no notice. He seemed quite prepared to spend the rest of his existence on this spot. It was clear to young Spock that the only way the beast would return home would be while trailing its master.

  And he had a great deal to accomplish before that return journey could take place. He sighed, shrugged, and lifted his shoulders in a very human gesture that said, "I've done what I can." Then he turned and started off towards the high range at the same steady pace he'd maintained since leaving home.

  Ee-chiya waited only a few seconds. Then he lurched to his feet and shuffled off to join his master.

  After a while, another, taller figure reached the same spot. It paused to examine the depression left in the sand and soft gravel by Ee-chiya's relaxing bulk. A light breeze off distant desert plains swept sand and twigs into miniature dust demons, threatening manifestations of Vulcan's turbulent atmosphere.

  He pulled out the tricorder as he resumed his walk. The trail of young Spock was clear enough, that of the sehlat was unmistakable.

  "Personal log—the boy Spock should be moving toward the Arlanga mountains. He . . ." Spock hesitated, "I . . . had much to prove to myself. The personal ordeal, I now remember, on which I embarked was meant to determine the course my life would take. Many things are coming back to me now, as I retrace my steps of thirty years past and as I become more familiar with this time of my youth."

  Sarek was just entering the garden. Amanda spotted him and left the shady seat to rush into his arms. She was calmer, more controlled than most terran women would have been in a similar situation. But to one of her Vulcan neighbors, she would have appeared almost hysterical.

  "Sarek, I've looked everywhere. Our son and the guest are gone."

  "And Ee-chiya?" asked Sarek calmly. Amanda frowned. She didn't know what she'd expected him to say, but that was not it.

  "Ee-chiya?"

  "He would go with our son," Sarek noted, "as he always does."

  "I haven't seen him, now that you mention it, Sarek."

  Sarek nodded. "I feel more secure knowing that. Ee-chiya's getting old, but it will be difficult for the boy to get into any serious trouble with the sehlat around. You're certain he's with the stranger?" Amanda looked uncertain.

  "I don't know, really. Spock's not anywhere in the neighborhood—I've checked—and it's not like him to go off any distance without telling me. I don't know what else to think."

  "This cousin," mused Sarek, "he puzzles me. Something very odd about him. I sometimes think I can see it, and then it suddenly eludes me again." Amanda gave an anxious start.

  "You don't think he'd harm Spock?"

  "I don't know what to think, Amanda. The man claims to be a relative and is friendly enough, yet there is this lingering strangeness about him that all his good-naturedness cannot conceal. However, I will take no chances. I shall notify the proper authorities immediately to watch out for either of them."

  Amanda bit her lip. That was the only logical thing to do.

  The desert ended abruptly in the first rugged ramparts of the mountains. Spock knelt to study the fresh trail of boy and sehlat, then rose and began his first real climb. The morning sun exceeded his rate of ascent.

  The various formations he passed as he moved higher into the foothills were of igneous rock, stark and weirdly shaped. Not from wind erosion, but by the primeval forces of Vulcan itself. This was an area of geologically recent plutonic activity.

  Once the ground turned upward his path became more difficult. Spock climbed slowly and carefully.

  Something sounded in the air, distant. He stopped climbing and turned his head to listen. Nothing.

  Several steps later he heard it again and this time it was unmistakable and much louder. A sound . . . no, there were two sounds, separate and distinct. One was a deep, grinding snarl, the other the scream of an animal with a much higher-pitched voicebox.

  The sounds conveyed anger and fury rather than fear. He began climbing faster. Each boulder seemed intent only on slowing his progress, every small fissure designed to catch and trip him.

  Then he was running along a channel out through naked rock. The old watercourse twisted and turned before finally opening into a broad natural amphitheater.

  On the far side young Spock was scrambling for safety, trying to stay behind protective rocks and at the same time gain height. The le-matya swung at him with venomous claws. They barely missed a trailing leg, digging shallow gouges in the soft stone. As young Spock dodged behind another boulder the le-matya screamed in frustration.

  It was built like a terran mountain lion, but huge. The nearly impenetrable leathery-grey hide was more reptilian than mammalian, as was the poison in its claws. Again the high-pitched scream sounded, like the sound of metal rubbing on metal at high speed, grating from the depths of that awful gullet.

  The youngster moved higher and reached for a handhold. Instead of a handhold he found himself confronted by a sheer wall of shining black obsidian. It was no more than three meters high—not much of a barrier. But there was no way up it and no way around. It might as well have been three thousand.

  He turned his back to the volcanic glass and awaited the le-matya's charge. If he could dodge the first swipe of the monster's claws, he might be able to slip past on that side before it could swing again. The le-matya snarled and drew back a paw for a last, final blow.

  It was never delivered.

  An aging Ee-chiya struck the le-matya like a runaway warp-drive, rolling it over completely on the high ledge. The heavy, square head, neither cuddly nor benign now, bit quickly and with surprising speed. Yellowing old teeth made a deep double slash in the le-matya's flank.

  Spitting and squalling, the carnivore twisted free, clawing at the sehlat.
Ee-chiya darted out of the way and threw a blow with one massive paw that barely missed crushing the le-matya's skull. The half-reptile glared and leaped at the sehlat with both sets of claws extended. Ee-chiya dodged that multiple death and in doing so lost his balance.

  Both animals clashed together, off stride and on crumbling, uncertain footing. There was a moment's pause while they overbalanced. Then, locked in each other's grips, they tumbled over and over, clawing and biting, down the short slope. Ee-chiya's low, rhythmic snarls boomed in counterpoint to the le-matya's high-pitched, hysterical screams.

  Spock hesitated only a moment. To challenge a le-matya unarmed was certain death. But for a while, the sehlat had it fully occupied. Maybe, just maybe . . .

  He ran straight for the massive collage of fighting flesh. Young Spock saw him coming. But the sudden unexpected appearance of his cousin generated only mild concern. He was too worried about Ee-chiya.

  The sehlat had managed to bury his fangs in the le-matya's thick hide. Powerful teeth failed to do much damage. His jaw muscles were too old and weak. There wasn't even much blood oozing from that armored skin. But the considerable bulk of the sehlat kept the writhing, spinning le-matya continuously off-balance.

  It never saw Spock moving close by, eyeing it, waiting for a chance. The le-matya dug in and started to roll Ee-chiya over on his back preparatory to a killing strike. As the armored spine came up Spock saw his opening, ran, made the short leap. He landed firmly on the carnivore's back.

  Incensed at the sudden new weight on its shoulders the le-matya exploded in frenzied anger. It jerked and twisted, trying to buck Spock off. Ee-chiya skidded back out of the way as the le-matya frantically tried to deal with this tiny but unrelenting tormentor. It screamed again and again.

  By simply lying still and rolling over it could easily have dislodged Spock. But a le-matya, while long on ferocity and strength, was notably deficient in matters mental. So it did not roll over. Instead it kept spinning in circles and leaping high in the air, trying to bite at the thing on its back. It had no luck.

  Making a vise of his thighs and digging one hand into loose, flying hair, Spock leaned forward along the smooth neck and felt for the certain special joining on the animal's neck. If it suddenly decided to roll over, or jump back first against a boulder . . . He couldn't hold on indefinitely, and to let go now was an easy way of committing suicide.

  There! That should be the place. Small but powerful fingers touched, moved.

  The le-matya gave a long, drawn-out shudder. As the wild eyes closed it sank unconscious to the earth. Now the muscular form started to roll over on its side, but Spock was not worried as he jumped clear.

  Turning, he glanced up the slope, but the boy was already down off the dark rocks and running towards the sehlat.

  Ee-chiya was getting slowly to his feet when young Spock reached him. He threw his arms around the big animal's neck. The slight boyish shape had no effect on the huge furry mass. It shook itself, a long rolling oscillation that commenced at the nose and fluttered back to the short tail.

  It seemed that his pet was unharmed, merely out of breath.

  "Ee-chiya," muttered the youth, unable to enjoy the emotional release of crying. "Good boy, good old boy!"

  Forgotten, but not upset by the neglect, Spock dusted himself off and walked over to the two companions. He'd bruised his thighs with the shifting, frictioning grip he'd held on the le-matya's back, and there was a possibility of a broken toe, but otherwise he was intact. He cleared his throat.

  "I suggest we move away from this area before the le-matya regains consciousness. I do not think it will follow us, now, but it would be better not to tempt it."

  "True," replied the boy, then, "thank you for helping me and Ee-chiya."

  "It was only my duty, Spock," the elder version of himself told the younger. The reply held a slight hint of reproof.

  "Mother says you should always say 'you're welcome.' " That caught Spock a little off guard. There was an awkward silence. Some sort of reply seemed called for.

  "The lady Amanda is noted for her graciousness."

  The youngster looked over at the motionless le-matya, a threatening shape even while unconscious, then back up at his cousin. He continued to stroke Ee-chiya's fur.

  "Do you think I'll ever be able to do that neck pinch as well as you, cousin Selek?"

  "I dare say you will," admitted Spock drily. "Come now. Let us leave this place."

  They moved off, heading up the slope. A little while later they had circled the far curve of the amphitheater and were heading deeper into the mountains.

  Neither of them noticed the occasional shiver that passed through the sehlat's body. Nor could they see inside to learn that the big animal was moving with increasing difficulty.

  They'd entered an area where huge boulders and unworn volcanic rock had begun to mix with soil. The first deciduous trees grew here, marching down in friendly ranks from the wetter high plateau. Young Spock spoke again, his voice full of open childish curiosity.

  "You followed me—why?"

  For a quick moment Spock felt that he didn't have to be as careful as he'd had to be with his mother and father. But he paused before replying. Overconfidence might be his biggest danger. After all, his verbal inquisitor, though young, had an undeniably brilliant mind.

  "I suspected you might attempt something of this sort. I sensed your worry about the Kahs-wan. Such an expedition seemed a very natural gesture." Young Spock looked up at him.

  "I had to see if I could do it. A personal test first, a test for me and no one else. I cannot fail!"

  "That is your father's desire?"

  The boy spoke slowly, choosing his words with care.

  "Yes, and my mother's. They . . . they confuse me, sometimes. Father wants me to do things his way, and when I ask her, Mother says that I should. But then she goes and—" He stopped and looked away from Spock, suddenly embarrassed over what he was about to confess.

  Remembering, Spock continued the thought himself. "She's a human woman with strong emotions and sensitivities." He kicked at a loose pebble, unaware that he was repeating a gesture performed several times by his younger self the previous day.

  "She embarrasses you when she displays those traits. And you are afraid when you see them in yourself, because of what your father wishes."

  "How . . . how did you know?" young Spock murmured, quietly amazed. Uh-oh—it took Spock some fast thinking to find a way around that one.

  "There is also some human blood in my family line, Spock." Then he added, taking some of the solemnity off the conversation, "It is not fatal."

  "What you do not yet understand, Spock," the first officer of the Enterprise continued, "is that Vulcans do not lack emotion. This is an all too common misconception—among many Vulcans as well as among other races. It is merely that ours are controlled, kept in check. This adherence to principles of logic offers a serenity that others—excepting certain theological and philosophical orders—rarely experience in full.

  "We have emotions, you see, so that is nothing to be ashamed of. It is as natural as having a sense of sight, or touch. But we deal firmly with them and do not let them control us. Nor are humans, like your mother, wholly ruled by their emotions. Instead, they must walk an uneasy, nerve-wracking tight-rope between the Vulcan principles of logic and reason and the—"

  He would have said more—suddenly there were so many things he wanted to say to this boy—but they were interrupted by a low moan. It came from behind them.

  Startled, they both turned. Ee-chiya was no longer right behind them. Instead he stood far back, half-leaning against a broken cliff-face. He showed no sign of moving toward them. They ran to the sehlat's side.

  Up close, they could now see that the huge animal was swaying unsteadily on his feet. By the time they reached him he'd sunk slowly to the ground, his eyes glazed and dim.

  "Ee-chiya!" young Spock shouted, completely forgetting Spock's recent lecture on
logic and emotion. The science officer made an efficient, rapid examination of the distressed animal. If he could only remember the details of his own childhood, he'd know exactly what was the matter! He'd been through this experience once before—or had he? Everything was so vague.

  The time was so distant, so insubstantial, so . . .

  Nonsense, he told himself. The past was now—and it was very real.

  Then he found what he was looking for—but didn't expect to find. Puzzled, he stared at it until he grew aware of young Spock's anxious gaze.

  "It appears that the le-matya grazed him with a claw, here. A slight wound, not too deep. But that does not matter much, not with a le-matya. It should not have happened. I don't seem to recall—"

  The boy interrupted. "Is he dying?"

  Spock considered. When he finally replied it was with a double pain. Pain for himself, pain for what he must say.

  "Yes."

  The youngster looked stricken. He stared down at the rapidly weakening, moaning sehlat.

  Spock walked away a few steps, his thoughts spinning. For the second time something completely unexpected had happened. Try as he might, he couldn't remember anything like this taking place before.

  But musing on the perversity of the time vortex would do no good at all. The animal was dying. He would be dead already, only the strike had been a shallow one. So Ee-chiya had not received a normal dose of venom. There might be a chance.

  But the boy's pet—his pet—would die for certain unless they could bring a healer here, and soon. He told young Spock as much, making no effort to sugarcoat the news.

  "We cannot get him back to the city to a healer. He is too large to move without special equipment."

  "Then what," and young Spock's tone was agonized, "can we do? There must be something."

  "You are a Vulcan. What would be the logical thing to do?" The boy thought, looked up brightly.

  "I have medicines in my desert kit. Can . . .?" Spock shook his head slowly.

  "Even if by some chance you have a proper medication, there could not possibly be a large enough dose for an animal the size of Ee-chiya. Try again."