Star Trek - Log 5 Read online

  Kirk managed a grin, held up the pair of cylinders he was carrying. "If these don't contain the necessary medical information, we may have an ample number of years to study it first hand."

  No further tremors troubled them as they left the city this time, nor did they encounter the snake-squid or any other predator.

  Returning through the hole in the reef was pretty much out of the question. Possibly one of Rela's people could have bucked the powerful current, but Kirk didn't think his legs could manage it. Fortunately, they were able to confirm an earlier supposition.

  Swimming upward, they discovered that the reef did indeed break the surface in numerous places. By walking carefully and taking deep breaths at the multitude of pools that pockmarked the top, they were able to cross it on foot. Even so, Kirk was relieved when they finally reached the far side and were able to descend once again. He could understand why the Aquans were reluctant to consider such an idea.

  One sealed cylinder proved a complete dead end, but the others contained between them the complete details of the air-to-water mutation procedure, as well as water-to-air. There was also a great amount of additional information which kept much of the Enterprise's scientific staff drooling over the shoulders of the linguists. As each new revelation or bit of ancient theory was translated, a small covy of men and women would bear away their booty for intensive study with all the enthusiasm of a bunch of Goths at the sack of Rome.

  Kirk pressed up against the glass of the water room and stared out at McCoy. Two-way pickups brought the soft click-click of the computer annex through to him as the doctor ran through the relevant material a final time.

  McCoy was hoping to find a substitute for the prescribed methodology. Failing that, he had searched for a substitute for one particular compound. No use. The formula specified by the ancient Argoans was inflexible.

  Turning, he spoke into the pickup. "If the translations are all correct, Jim, the mutations are brought about by a timed series of injections. To return your circulatory and respiratory systems to normal, supposedly all we have to do is provide you with sufficient dosages at properly spaced intervals."

  Kirk waited. When McCoy didn't continue, he ventured, "Only . . . there's a problem."

  "Yes. I can duplicate most of the required chemicals in the lab . . . except for a derivative from a local venom. Weirdest arrangement of proteins you ever saw. No way I can synthesize it."

  "All right," Kirk replied calmly, "where do we get it?"

  "It's a good thing the chemical text was accompanied by diagrams . . . and pictures. Not surprisingly, the venom is produced by the poison glands of a large local meat-eater. Judging by both the visual and written material, its not as rare as the Argoans wished it was."

  He touched another switch, punched out a combination on a keyboard in the annex. There was a hum and a sheet of printed plastic popped out of a slot. McCoy took it, walked over to the glass and pressed the sheet up against it.

  Kirk and Spock studied the carefully reproduced drawing made by some long-dead Argoan biologist. They ignored the translated text because they didn't need it. The creature sported a snakelike body, a circular, toothed gullet, and four enormous tentacles.

  McCoy pulled the sketch away. "I don't know where you're going to find one, or how you're going to capture it. The venom must be taken while the creature is alive and active. A phaser stun would numb the poison-injection mechanism. Dissection is out, too, because death causes the venom to lose its potency immediately. It's got to be gathered while the creature is alive and kicking."

  "Don't worry about us finding one, Bones," Kirk assured him. "As for handling a live one, we've already had plenty of experience in how not to . . ."

  Rela had arranged a clandestine meeting on the outskirts of the cultivated areas. The two other young Tribunes, Nefrel and Lemas, listened attentively to Kirk's description of the impending quake. Their looks turned to alarm when he began to detail the request.

  "We need your help to capture one of the snake-squids . . . alive," he told them, "snake-squid" coming out as a series of unpronouncable gurglings. "We can't do it ourselves—the only craft we possess for performing such tasks here was destroyed by one of the creatures."

  The three young Aquans exchanged uneasy glances. "Rela was observed leading you toward the Forbidden Zone," Nefrel explained. "Domar has warned us that if we break the Ordainments again we risk being exiled to the open seas."

  "We cannot reverse the mutations you induced in us without the serum the captain has told you about," Spock said firmly, "and we cannot make that serum without the snake-squid's venom."

  "But the Ordainments," Nefrel persisted, "also state that capturing one is forbidden."

  "See how all is cleverly tied together!" Lemas exclaimed. "It is forbidden to capture a cpheryhm-aj because its poison is needed to reverse the sea-change. Tell me, Nefrel, will the Ordainments protect us from the upheaving of the sea-floor? These travelers say their science can help us, but we must help them first. That is just."

  Kirk didn't bother to correct Lemas. They would aid the Aquans as best they could, no matter what.

  "We must break the Ordainments, Nefrel," insisted Rela, "even if Captain Kirk could not aid us."

  The reluctant Tribune finally acquiesced, whereupon the five left the meeting place and started back toward the sunken city of the ancients.

  "We do not need to return to Llach-sse," Lemas told him. "We can obtain what we need from the outlying storehouses."

  Kirk's confidence suffered an unexpected letdown when he saw that the three Aquans intended to use to capture one of the huge carnivores. It was a net . . . uncomplicated, with no secret devices of a subtle undersea science concealed in it.

  Of course, he and Spock had been unable, despite their most violent efforts, to so much as loosen a strand of the net that had been used to capture them. Maybe the material was far stronger than he had suspected. He eyed the thin webbing and hoped so.

  This was no time for criticism of the Aquans' efforts—he had to hope they knew what they were doing.

  The next step took a great deal of persuasion on Kirk and Spock's part. Lemas and Nefrel in particular refused to believe one could simply walk over the forbidden reef and avoid the treacherous, current-torn crevice.

  But exhilaration replaced fear when they finally completed the crossing, without a single injury or moment of panic.

  Trying to stay out of sight as much as possible, they circled the city and approached the entrance from behind, from the region of the hospital-temple. Kirk hoped they would be able to find the large cypheryhm-aj that had ambushed them before.

  Rela was swimming well in advance of the rest of the party. Suddenly, she put up a hand in a trans-cultural gesture, and they moved up quietly alongside her.

  When Kirk and Spock had stumbled across the snake-squid it had been dazed and drowsy, half asleep. Now it appeared fully quiescent, perhaps sleeping off the blow it had absorbed from the falling stone. It lay motionless on the sand, coiled in among a cluster of huge boulders.

  Kirk knew how deceptive that peaceful scene was. At any moment, any suspicious sound, the monster might awaken and make a quick meal of them all. That another timely quake would be in the offing was highly unlikely.

  Carefully the three Aquans unrolled their weighted net. Lemas and Nefrel unfurled it while Rela took care to keep it parallel to the bottom and untangled.

  At a mutual sign, they started swimming smooth and fast for the snake-squid.

  Either they reached a crucial point or someone lost his nerve, because both Lemas and Nefrel suddenly stopped moving forward. Rela let go of the back end of the net. Inertia and weight kept the net moving forward and curving slightly downward. All three Aquans retreated toward the crumbled wall they had left . . . and waited, and watched.

  Falling in a gentle arc, the net kept its shape as it neared the bottom, began to settle softly over the snake-squid. The beast quivered slightly when the first st
rands touched it; but when the body of the net made contact, the cpheryhm-aj erupted.

  While Kirk and Spock watched anxiously, unable to intervene for fear of getting in someone's way at a critical moment, the three Aquans shot downward.

  The more the monster struggled, the tighter the mesh was drawn. Both officers admired the design of the net, which they now saw was equipped with an intricate series of cross-pulls and cords that tightened around any prey.

  And Kirk's hopeful analysis of the netting was proven correct . . . not a strand parted, not a square broke.

  Judging from the urgency in Rela's voice as she yelled to them to hurry, its invincibility was finite, however. Both officers moved rapidly downward, hurriedly readying the makeshift container-collectors McCoy had designed, flexible pouches from each of which protruded a long suction tube with a wide mouth.

  The snake snake-squid had a better view of the officers than it did of the dodging, darting Aquans. Tentacles and teeth strained for the two maddeningly near shapes. Reflex reaction sent a jet of dark fluid toward both men.

  Kirk edged the mouth of a suction tube into the slowly dispersing cloud, touched a control on the side of the tube. He moved the flexible gathering mouth from side to side. McCoy had warned them that they needed as much venom as they could obtain.

  Dark poison dissipated around the captain. The Aquans had assured him the poison was harmless unless injected. He kept that resolutely in mind as he directed the tube toward a darker patch, missed it when a sudden current sent him tumbling.

  Rubble showered down from surrounding towers. Much of the already battered structure they'd hidden behind came down. Some of the venom already collected drifted from the open mouth of the suction tube and Kirk hurriedly closed it off. A series of violent after-shocks made things more difficult. Rela was alongside him unexpectedly, watching the procedure worriedly. She directed his attention downward.

  While the admirable material of the net had proven equal to the explosive spasms of the snake-squid, it had fallen victim to some of the toppling stone. Rocks and carved pillars had driven the pinioned carnivore into a frenzy. They had also abraded sections of the net to the point where the monster was able to break them.

  It was still trapped, still bound awkwardly . . . but it had discovered the weakened portions and was tearing at them with mindless malevolence.

  "We must leave now, quickly," Rela insisted. She turned, started for the top of the reef where they would be safe.

  Kirk examined a gauge set in the side of the tube, called after her. "We need more venom."

  "There is no time!" she shouted back. "There . . ."

  A thunderous, echoing moan drowned out her last words. Two of the muscular tentacles and part of the upper body of the snake-squid were already free of the netting. Another minute or two and the creature would free the rest of its thick torso. They couldn't hope to outswim the maddened beast.

  Cursing silently, Kirk raced off in pursuit of the retreating Aquans. Spock risked a reaching tentacle for one last inhalation of poison before following.

  V

  Kirk had tried floating on his head, swimming off the walls, counting rocks—in general, doing everything imaginable to dampen his impatience while McCoy ran a final series of checks on the mildly toxic chemical.

  So many things could go wrong if even a small portion of the ancient formulae was wrong, out of date, inaccurately set down. And there was no Aquan physician present to look for signs of failure.

  Kirk studied McCoy and Nurse Chapel as they moved slowly in their underwater gear—too much precision was required now for life-support belts.

  With Chapel's aid, McCoy was locking a small bottle of fluid into a spray-contact hypo. Now, if only Spock's metabolism and his would adapt to Argoan medical procedure as readily as did Bones' equipment.

  McCoy's voice, distorted by the broadcast apparatus and the intervening water, broke the nervous silence.

  "We've set this up as best we can, Jim. Only a small section of the relevant records was missing. I don't think—I hope—it isn't critical."

  "But I thought you said . . ." Kirk began.

  McCoy made calming motions. "Oh, I'm sure about the composition of the serum, Jim, that portion of the records is intact and plenty scientific. The section that's missing . . ." He shook his head.

  "Something to do with the dosage per unit of body weight. I've had to approximate without the complete charts. We might never turn them up." He motioned the two men toward the bedlike slabs that would serve as a resting place.

  "The experiments I ran on local fish-life show that if the serum dosage is too strong, it causes an over-mutation which then can't be reversed by any means. Inject too little and there can be violent side effects. The stuff is tricky, and too potent for my liking.

  "I'd like to conduct further experiments, but we . . ."

  "Haven't got enough venom," Spock finished for him.

  "Not only that, but the potency of what you brought back fades rapidly. The composite serum has to be used right away. If you could obtain some more . . ." He stared at Kirk, but the captain made a negative gesture.

  "We've already drawn on our credit with Rela and her friends to the point of exhaustion, Bones. I'm not sure we could convince them to repeat the hunt. I'm not sure I want to . . . we might not be so lucky a second time." McCoy sighed, resigned.

  "Then I'll have to make do. I've decreased the maximum allowable dosage by one quarter—that should be proper for your systems, Vulcan as well as human."

  Kirk nodded. "All right. How many infusions?"

  "Two small, one large."

  "Let's get started."

  Both officers assumed reclining positions on the slabs, head higher than feet McCoy checked a gauge on the side of the hypo, made a last adjustment. If he had miscalculated half a cubic centimeter either way, the damage to their bodies could be irreversible.

  McCoy pressed the hypo's nozzle to Kirk's upper arm, then stepped back and studied his wrist chronometer intently. Several minutes slid by before the first change appeared.

  Kirk's skin was changing, the pigmentation darkening slightly. First it deepened to a rich golden hue, then to a familiar amber. The captain's lids drooped low, lower, finally closed tightly.

  Abruptly, the amber color drained like bourbon from a broken bottle, leaving Kirk a pale, nearly albino white. They all studied him anxiously, but he showed no signs of movement. McCoy frowned uneasily and hurried to exchange the hypo for a pre-keyed tricorder.

  He passed it carefully over Kirk's limp form, muttering to himself all the while. "Pulse fading . . . all internal functions slowed . . . heartbeat weakened . . ."

  "Andrenalin . . . aldrazine?" ventured Chapel. McCoy shook his head, pulled the 'corder away.

  "There's enough in his system now that doesn't belong there. Give the serum another couple of minutes."

  Sure enough, normal color began to tint Kirk's face, returning with the same suddenness it had departed. He stirred slightly on the makeshift pallet.

  Chapel let out a bubbling sigh of relief. Spock remained expressionless as usual, but McCoy noticed how an unnatural tenseness had suddenly left the first officer's muscles.

  Again he made a pass with the tiny machine. "Pulse and heart normal, other shifts within acceptable parameters . . . good. Nurse?"

  Chapel handed him the second of the three bottles and he exchanged it for the first, reset the dial on the side of the hypo. This time he pressed it over the Captain's chest, just below the left lung, held it there a second, then moved it to the right side and repeated the injection.

  Kirk's body reacted instantly this time, jerking spasmodically on the slab like a puppet with snipped strings. Before McCoy could have countered with another injection of any kind, Kirk collapsed. Once more the amber hue flooded his face. Once again McCoy used the compact 'corder.

  "Something's really given his system a kick—his metabolism's a good ten times normal speed."

&n
bsp; "Doctor," Spock interrupted, "his hands."

  McCoy's gaze moved down the unconscious form. The thin webbing which had formed between the fingers was dissolving like so much gelatin, the faint scaling beginning to smooth out. His stare went lower and he saw that the same process was at work on the feet.

  McCoy checked his watch, made yet another pass with the instrument.

  "Metabolism normal—and everything else!" He couldh't keep the optimism from his voice, didn't want to. "Indication of physiological alteration in the lungs . . . he's beginning a complete reversal. Nurse . . ."

  Chapel handed him the final bottle. Carefully McCoy locked the vial in place beneath the pistol-like hypo.

  "This is the final dose," he said, to no one in particular. "The major infusion. Roll him over please, Christine."

  Chapel slowly turned Kirk on his stomach . . . easy enough in the water. McCoy recalled the translated instructions, prayed that the ancient recorder was precise in his technique and made the last injection as it had been described.

  He pulled the hypo away, nodded to her. She turned Kirk over on his back again, let him relax. Nothing happened. McCoy was about to program a minute secondary dose when Kirk suddenly doubled up in agony, his legs threshing wildly and an expression of pure pain invading his face.

  The pitiful moans of a man having nightmares filled the water around them. Scales erupted like scars on his face and the backs of his hands.

  Twitching with uncontrollable violence, he spun from the pallet and onto the sand. So powerful were the jerks and kicks that McCoy and Spock were unable to get a grip on him.

  Finally the explosion quieted and Kirk came to rest motionless and face down on the sand. The back of the skin-tight green bodysuit started to bulge slightly, showing an eruption of dorsal fin. Chapel didn't scream—she'd seen too many mistakes of nature in McCoy's lab to be terrified by another—but her eyes widened in horror. Spock, uncharacteristically, looked helpless.

  "Too strong . . . the serum was too strong!" McCoy groaned. The spasms struck again and once more Kirk was thrashing water. The amber color deepened even further and revealed a faint yellowish overlay.