Okay, so my semester isn't quite over yet, but I need to keep my hand in this, or it'll just drift away. Of course, the fact that I have to write a paper that I really don't want to write has nothing to do with this...
Well, for some reason, I didn't get as much response from chapter 3, which leads me to believe it sucked as much as Keridwen implied it did. Basically, the point is that it's dragging out, getting dull, which is true. I justify the length of the dull section, however, by stating that without the important conversational revelations, the subsequent action scenes would be less startling and exciting. But then, that's probably just b.s. I'm much better at dialogue than action, and this episode might determine the truth of that. So, to quote an unnamed character from a random episode of "The Simpsons" (I don't remember which), "Less chat, more splat!"
Oh, yeah, Tavia, the llama thing. Glad you were amused, but I really can't take credit. I probably quoted it from "Llama Trek," or at the very least was inspired by the story in question. I can't remember. Did you know, as a side note, that in Welsh, there is an aspirated l sound, pronounced like "hl," which is similar to the "hw" sound in some pronunciations of "whiskey," etc.? There's your random linguistic nugget of the day. Hlama! Hlama!
And now…
Chapter 4: Escapar!
McCoy awoke with a start: he hadn't even realized he'd been asleep.
He blinked.
He blinked again.
"Spock!" he whispered. "What's going on?"
Spock shifted slightly beside him. "If by that you mean to ask what is happening…nothing."
"But I can see you!" McCoy said excitedly. "Sort of."
"That is because it's daytime," Spock replied, a dark form just visible in the dim light. "Apparently a shaft to the outside allows light to enter this chamber."
"Great! Is this shaft accessible to us, by any chance?"
"I doubt it."
"Oh. Shoulda guessed. Then never mind." McCoy sat up and rubbed his neck which, unfortunately, had settled itself into a disturbingly uncomfortable position. "Just when I was getting used to living in the dark. Hell, I even started to like it!" he muttered to himself.
"You have not expressed any particular affection for this situation," Spock pointed out. "In fact, if anything, you have been vigorously proclaiming your displeasure at every possible juncture."
"Just because you don't understand my unique way of expressing my complete exaltation…"
Spock turned his head to look at McCoy. Somehow, McCoy got the feeling that Spock was studying him carefully, that blasted eyebrow raised, although he couldn't for the life of him figure out why that might be.
"How long was I asleep?" McCoy asked, when Spock didn't say anything.
"Nearly two and one half hours."
"Nearly? What, you don't have it timed down to the second?"
"I cannot be certain when you actually fell asleep. I simply started keeping track when you began to snore."
"I see," McCoy said, in absence of anything more significant to comment. "You didn't try one of your Vulcan mind melds on me as I slept, did you?"
"No, Doctor. That would be unethical."
"Good." McCoy decided to ignore the fact that the ethics concern didn't stop Spock before.
"You spoke my name in your sleep," Spock said quietly, completely out of left field. That is, if there had been a left field to say something out of. Come to think of it, left field is actually closer to the action than right in a ball park. Especially at Fenway in Boston. Why is the phrase not "out of right field?" You're right, it sounds funny that way. Left field it is.
So, anyway, Spock comes out of left field by saying, "You spoke my name in your sleep." (He didn't say it twice, I'm just trying to keep the flow of the story right. Crap. Did it again.)
"You spoke my name in your sleep." Okay, that's overkill. Sorry.
"What?" McCoy exclaimed, as startled by the third time as he was by the first, which makes sense, since it was really only once.
"My name," Spock repeated. (This time he really did.)
"Your name? That's impossible."
"I heard it very distinctly," Spock insisted.
"Well, I was obviously saying…locked, as in 'we're locked in here.' You see, in my sleep, I'm devising ways for us to escape."
"And what did you come up with?"
McCoy blinked. "We're locked in here."
Spock didn't say anything.
"So, have you come up with anything?" McCoy continued casually.
"Yes," said Spock. "If you wait a few minutes, someone will likely move the rock. We should prepare to escape."
"What? Is this some totally irrational hope of yours, or—"
"Come," Spock grasped at McCoy's arm to bring him to his feet.
Then McCoy could hear it himself: something was moving the rock from the outside. "Well," McCoy said amiably enough, "I guess it's officially hit the fan now, hasn't it?"
Despite himself, Spock had to pause. "What do you mean by 'hit the fan,' Doctor?"
"Never mind, Spock, we've got to get out of here. Now, how are we going to do it?"
"That depends on several factors, which I will not be able to ascertain until the rock is moved and we know whether the creature has returned."
"Okay, you've just said nothing, Spock. What are we going to do? Run out as soon as there's enough space? Wait and see if it invites us to breakfast?"
"I believe we should use caution in any respect," Spock said, more to himself than to McCoy, as McCoy was also holding a conversation with himself.
"…Of course, if it invited us to breakfast, would that mean breakfast for us, or that we are breakfast for it?" McCoy continued mumbling.
"Doctor," Spock interrupted. "On my signal, follow me out through the opening."
McCoy looked up. "Okey doke." The rock had edged out from the wall, leaving a hole about a foot wide. Startlingly intense light shined directly into the cave, blinding McCoy. He clamped his eyes shut, cursing the sun of this planet, whatever its name was, for being so blasted bright.
Spock and McCoy could hear the Large Thing rumbling just outside the cave.
"You know, a thought just occurred to me," McCoy whispered as close to Spock's left ear as he could reach, considering their height difference and the fact that McCoy could no longer see him, "how will I know when you signal me?"
Spock didn't get a chance to answer. The Large Thing had moved the rock away from the chamber opening and waited just outside, ready to enter. It smelled like burning flesh and decay and blood and all sorts of unattractive odors that McCoy found himself all too familiar with. Not always mixed together, though. Although he squinted furiously at the Thing, McCoy couldn't see it any better than he had the night before.
The two were barely hidden in a recess just to the left of the opening. If the Large Thing had good eyes (or similar sensory organs), it couldn't possibly miss them.
Could it?
The Large Thing entered.
It crept forward.
Slowly.
McCoy thought he'd probably collapse from the tension of keeping still for so long. He kept every single muscle tightly clenched, willing himself to maintain absolute control over every aspect of his body. He did a pretty decent job at it, too. Almost like a Vulcan. Spock would be proud. That is, if he were the type to feel pride.
The Large Thing passed within inches of Spock and McCoy. They could hear grumbling from somewhere deep inside the Thing. Was it still hungry?
It didn't stop. Slowly, slowly, until McCoy was ready to give up and turn himself in, resign himself to whatever horrible fate the Large Thing had in store, because for God's sake, it couldn't possibly be any worse than this! But it passed by without even a hesitation.
It probably was headed for its stash of decaying corpses, but Spock didn't hang around long enough to find out. He yanked on McCoy's sleeve to get his attention, and bolted out the cave opening. McCoy just barely held back a startled yelp, and tenderly jogged after.
They didn't stop running until they reached a stand of trees a good fifty meters distant. Then Spock stopped behind a tree, McCoy just after him. McCoy leaned against a tree, gasping for breath in fear and exhaustion from the sudden activity.
"Nothing…like a morning jog," he commented wryly between deep breaths.
Spock, who acted as if nothing of particular note had occurred in the past several minutes, looked back toward the cave. "It appears we have made our escape."
"That would probably be an accurate assessment," McCoy replied. "Now, that was remarkably easy, wasn't it?"
"I'm afraid you're correct, Doctor."
"Afraid?"
"Which leads me to believe that we are at risk from other dangers," Spock concluded.
"As long as it isn't Large and hideous, I think I can handle it."
"How are you holding up?" Spock turned to McCoy.
McCoy glanced up at him. "I'm doing lovely, how about you?"
Spock paused in a moment of impatience. "I meant your injuries. Will they impede your mobility?"
McCoy looked up at the trees looming over their heads. "Well, as long as we don't have to be climbing any trees or anything, I should be fine."
Spock pulled the scanner out of his pocket and turned it on.
"Oh, you still have that, do you?" McCoy asked, moderately surprised.
"Your condition has not worsened, at least," Spock said after staring at the device for a few seconds.
"You won't be getting rid of me that soon."
Spock returned the scanner to his pocket. "I believe our next course of action is to try to find familiar territory. That will, perhaps, bring us into contact with the ship. They should be able to locate us now or, barring that, we may find some of our lost equipment."
McCoy raised his hands in an inviting gesture. "Lead the way, mon capitan."
Spock looked at him strangely for a moment. Then he turned and set off into the trees, the doctor on his heels.
They hiked through ever-thickening trees for a good half hour before McCoy even thought to complain. He was happy enough being outside that dank, disgusting cave that if he'd had to go to a logic convention of Vulcans, in his dress uniform, no less, he'd have done so with enthusiasm. Without openly expressing it, of course.
Once that half hour was up, however, McCoy realized he was out of character.
"Spock!" he called, as he was gradually falling behind the Vulcan's faster pace. "Are you trying to kill me, or what?"
Spock stopped and watched McCoy make a show out of trudging forward to meet him.
"I swear, my life is more at risk from you than that creature back there," he grumbled as he reached Spock.
"Do you need a rest, Doctor?"
"I think we should wait a minute and get our story straight."
Spock looked at him. "How do you mean?"
"Well, first of all, do you have any idea where you're going?"
Spock blinked. "This way," he pointed.
"Oh, that's comforting. You do realize you're not Jim, right?"
Spock hesitated. "Yes, I am aware of that fact, though I do not currently understand the reluctance of that statement," he said carefully.
McCoy narrowed his eyes. "You seem to be picking up his particularly irritating habit of enacting major plans without disclosing the details of that plan to his crew."
"I have already told you my plan. You agreed with it at the time."
"Well, I've decided that it's not so good after all."
"It is the only option available to us."
McCoy gestured around them widely. "Look at this. Does any of it look familiar? How long do you expect us to wander around out here searching for an area that's exactly the same as the rest of it?"
Spock didn't flinch. "We beamed down into a clearing."
McCoy rolled his eyes. "Great. So all we have to do is find a clearing. Shouldn't be too difficult, in this thick mass of trees!"
"There is a clearing directly ahead," Spock said calmly.
"What?" McCoy looked up from his rant, surprised. Spock had already started walking forward again. McCoy pushed after him, gingerly stepping over a broken tree branch blocking his path.
They stepped out into the clearing, pausing to welcome in the warm, calming sunlight. From its position in the sky, McCoy judged it to be just after noon. Spock probably had the time down to the second, taking into account the latitude of their position and the season.
Spock surveyed the perimeter of the clearing silently.
"Look familiar?" McCoy asked.
"I do not believe so."
"Too bad. Maybe they'll pick up our biosigns, at least." Despite the bad news, McCoy was smiling. "You know, if it weren't for that Large Thing, and the fact that we were attacked and whisked away to certain death, this would be a pretty nice place."
"Perhaps. I fear that we may encounter some unpleasant weather in the near future, however."
McCoy looked up at the sky. "Well, I'm a doctor, not a meteorologist, but it looks fine to me. The sky's as…purple…as anything."
Spock pointed toward the distant horizon to the pair's right. "That formation may be a storm headed in our direction."
McCoy squinted at it. "That li'l thing?" he drawled. "We'll just have to find some shelter, then, or get rescued."
"Our rescue may be more immediately necessary," Spock commented with a foreboding tone.
"Huh?" McCoy tore his gaze from the sky and started. Across the clearing, not much more than twenty meters away, stood what he could only assume was the Large Thing.
"Where the devil'd that come from?" McCoy blurted.
"The trees," Spock said quietly.
The three figures stood where they were, staring at each other. Actually, we can only assume the Large Thing was staring, as opposed to sunbathing some other innocent activity. Which, of course, is possible. Boring, but possible.
Now, I really don't want to describe the Large Thing, because it's disgusting and abhorrent, and a few other adjectives that mean roughly the same thing, and creepy and scary and unlike anything you've ever seen—or would ever want to see. However, for the sake of the story, I suppose I'll have to describe it, at least to some degree. I will insist that you use your imagination to fill in some of the hideous details, just to keep your brain working. Try to give yourselves nightmares. Because McCoy will be having them for quite some time. Maybe Spock, too. Do Vulcans dream? (of electric sheep)
So, here's what the Large Thing looked like: You know how television shows and the media always portray aliens as largely human-looking, with a few quirky sidenote features that are "alien" but not really freakishly repulsive? That's not what the Large Thing was like at all.
First off, imagine a plethora of scaly, hairy, multi-colored appendages, placed at totally random points on an enormous barrel-shaped mass, serving no apparent function. The largest of these appendages, and what McCoy decided to assume was the head, emerged from a mucousy pool in the approximate center of the side facing Spock and McCoy. Nasty-looking antennae stuck out from the "head" at odd angles. At present, these were the only parts of the Large Thing moving.
Well, it certainly wouldn't be winning any beauty contests, this Thing. Not that McCoy was really up for nominating it, anyway.
"What do you think?" McCoy murmured out of the corner of his mouth.
"I think we should leave as expediently as possible."
"Can we?"
"We may have an advantage in speed. The creature did not appear to have the ability to move very quickly."
"Yeah, I don't see any legs on that Thing, either. Or anything it could use for legs, anyway."
"Then shall we?" Spock took a step backwar, catiously.
"Sounds like a plan," McCoy replied, following his lead.
The Large Thing edged forward like a slug. A giant, rock-hard, carnivorous, frightening-looking slug.
McCoy moved a little faster. "Why don't we try taking advantage of that speed of ours now?" He turned his back on the Thing to run.
That was his first mistake. He managed to completely miss what happened in the next five seconds.
"McCoy!" came Spock's strangled cry from a few meters to McCoy's right. He looked over, startled.
Spock looked remarkably calm, considering the Large Thing (which McCoy realized he still hadn't thought up a proper name for) was on top of him, about to separate his head from the rest of his body with what turned out to be—not antennae—but enormous, sharp pincers.
McCoy flashed a glance back to the last known position of the Large Thing, which was now empty, confused and suddenly much more intimidated than he had been six seconds ago. Which was actually saying quite a bit.
Spock was barely holding the Large Thing's head back. McCoy could already see a trace of green blood on Spock's neck where the pincer must have grazed.
McCoy hesitated just a split second longer before lunging forward.
* * *
"Keptin!" Chekov cried, "I haf them!"
Kirk's head snapped up with sudden alertness. "Spock and Bones?"
"Yes, sir."
He leaped up from the captain's chair and darted over to the science station, peering over Chekov's shoulder.
"Do you have a lock on them?"
"Yes. There is another lifeform down there."
"Transmit the coordinates to the transporter room." Kirk slammed his hand excitedly on the intercom button. "Scotty! Get those coordinates and transmit our men up NOW!"
Scott was a bit slow in responding. "I'm sorry, Captain. I cannae do that right now."
"WHAT?" Kirk was furious.
"I don't know what the problem is. There could be some kind of interference in the signal, but these transporters won't be beaming anyone around for several hours, at least."
Kirk's fury faded as quickly as it arose, replaced by a quiet sadness. With a heavy resignation to his words, he replied, "Stay on it, Scotty." He keyed off.
The bridge was silent for several long moments. Well, as quiet as the bridge of a starship gets.
"Oh, that Klingon warbird's a little closer, Captain," Sulu said casually. "I think they've spotted us."
Kirk stared at the viewscreen. "Okay," he said quietly.
Nobody said anything else for a while.
Postscript: Half of you are probably wondering why my title is in Spanish. The other half either didn't notice or don't care. Well, I'm gonna explain, anyway. For some reason recently, I've been listening incessantly to Enrique Iglesias. Escape, it's a pretty good album. Which, for me, is odd, because I don't normally listen to that sort of thing. Exactly what "that sort of thing" is defined as, I can't tell you. Pop music, maybe? Latin? I dunno. But, yeah. That's the driving force behind this chapter. The title, anyway.
I actually hadn't planned on this going on as long as it had. Maybe I should end it now, just so it doesn't go on forever. You know. Wouldn't that be a good idea?
Oh, yes, of course I love reviews, seeing as I'm attention-starved and all. I'll even gladly accept flames. It gets mighty cold in Upstate NY. Well, it gets cold just about anywhere, but since this is where I live, I mention it. I nearly froze my face off last week. And you shoulda seen the weather we got yesterday. I don't even know the name for it. Sleet? Freezing rain? It was yicky. So flames are fine. But don't just give me something dull like "You suck," because that lacks in creativity. Give me something that will make me laugh after I cry. Something like, "This is a repulsively pornographic pile of festering mess. Of suck." But not that exactly, cause I just gave you that one.
Man, have you ever heard of Mark Dignam? Irish singer. He's fantastic. I've only heard two of his songs now (listening to one right now), but that clinches it for me. Must seek out more of his music…