See disclaimer in part 1.

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"Spock, what were you saying about McCoy's accidents earlier? I think you can add one more to the list." The captain's voice was fairly light, but was tinged with sarcasm. He could have done without the worry and extra time spent looking for his mysteriously absent surgeon.

The surgeon in question blushed furiously under the dirt he was trying to wipe from his face. He wasn't feeling chastened so much from Kirk's not-so-innocuous teasing as from the fact he had so convincingly fuelled Spock's 'McCoy-causes-trouble' fire.

He ached right through to his bones. The hole he had fallen in wasn't overly deep – although too deep to climb out of, but it wasn't exactly a soft landing either. Once Spock had located the doctor on his tricorder, he and the captain had run back to the narrow hole and, deciding it to be the simplest method of retrieving him, Kirk had called the ship and had McCoy beamed out. The doctor knew he'd be sore and well bruised tomorrow, but he wasn't seriously hurt.

As he brushed off what he could of the now-crusted mud, McCoy glanced at Spock, waiting resignedly for the Vulcan equivalent of 'I told you so'. The science officer's eyes were not fastened on his face, however, but on something lying on the ground just out of McCoy's line of vision.

Kirk, too, had been a little surprised to not hear Spock berating the doctor and stepped up next to the Vulcan to see what had piqued his friend's interest.

"A rope," Spock replied to the unasked question.

Kirk looked down at the crudely twisted length and followed its path with his eyes. One end stretched off into the distance – in the direction of the village? He wasn't sure. The other end disappeared into the hole that McCoy had fallen into. Striding over to the hole, he saw that the rope was attached to a sizable rock.

A trap. A primitive, yet effective trap.

The captain looked up swiftly at Spock and could see that the Vulcan's thoughts mirrored his own. The rock had obviously been placed carefully so that, when the trap-setter's prey – or a Starfleet surgeon – walked on that particular piece of turf, the ground gave way and took the rock with it. The purpose of the rock was clear; it was a signal. The rock falls, the rope pulls tight and whoever's at the other end of the rope knows they've caught something.

Then they come to see what they've snared.

"Damn," Kirk muttered quietly. "We've got to get out of here." He swivelled to face the Vulcan. "Spock, do you get any tricorder readings on the natives? We'll have to move quic-"

He was too late. He, Spock and McCoy were surrounded by a circle of Polololan tribesmen, all wearing little grass skirts and a healthy smattering of brightly coloured body paint. They each carried a bone-tipped spear. 

It was a moment where time stood still. The local hunters stood unmoving, watching their captives warily. It seemed two humans and a Vulcan did not constitute a usual days catch. As if a reflection of the tribesmen, the Starfleet trio stood statue-still, regarding their captors uneasily – and with a little curiosity on the Vulcan's part.  

Finally, after a silent standoff that could easily have been a scene in one of the ancient 'Wild West' films, one of the locals – the tribal chief, judging by the elaborateness of his headgear and hand-crafted jewellery – stepped forward and poked at McCoy with his spear. "Move," he grunted. "This way." His instructions were interpreted easily via universal translator and the three prisoners walked off in the direction the chief was pointing, each with a spear pressed firmly in his back.

A short time later, they arrived at the humble dwellings of the inhabitants, a community comprised of approximately a dozen small round mud and straw huts, and one larger hut located plumb in the centre of the village. It was this larger building they were taken to, obviously a temple or communal building of sorts. Inside, there was a single chair – a throne for the chief, Kirk assumed – and the dirt floor was covered with a hand-weaved straw mat. Behind the great chair was a large wall hanging, also woven by hand and seemingly made from some kind of wool or similar. Kirk hadn't seen any wool-producing animals like goats or sheep, but he supposed it was possible that some animal like that existed here. He smirked inwardly. Spock would know; he knew everything there was to know about a place before he got there. He would bleed the library computer dry before beaming down to a planet.  

Brought out of his reverie by several loud drumbeats, Kirk watched as the chief sat down gracelessly in the chair. The chief clapped his hands and the drummers, who had formed two parallel lines on either side of the chair, stopped playing. He clapped his hands again, a rapid six or seven-clap pattern, and the big wall hanging behind the chief was lifted aside to reveal a doorway.

Through this opening walked a little man, who would barely have reached Kirk's chest – had he been standing, wearing an array of colourful necklaces and pouches, and a very solemn expression. As he strolled serenely into the room, the other tribesmen treated him with much reverence and dignity; maybe he was a medicine man or shaman. There were no women present in the room, the captain observed – perhaps it wasn't permitted. In his hands was a large book, which Spock immediately noted as strange; this primitive society was far too simple to be utilising paper and printing technology.

The little man stood in front of the three Starfleet officers for a moment and stared at them strangely. This wasn't unexpected; it was highly likely that no one here had ever met anyone outside of their own tribe before. Even the next closest village was many hundreds of kilometres away. But, the small Polololan man's features showed quite clearly that he was more than shocked. As he caught sight of Spock, his eyes grew wide and he paled visibly.

All of a sudden, the book in his hands was opened and he was searching franticly for something before shoving the large volume onto the lap of the chief and chattering so fast the translator could hardly pick up what he was saying.

"Our, holy book, Chief! See here – the picture! It's him!"  He pointed to something in the book and then at Spock. The chief peered at the page and then up at the Vulcan, his expression one of profound surprise. Every other head in the room turned to look at him too. The tribal leader held the book up for everyone to see. The likeness was unmistakable. There, on a page of a book found in a tiny village on a backwards world in a star system light-years from anywhere, was a picture of Spock – or his twin brother, if he'd had one.

Kirk, Spock and McCoy each suddenly had a vision of another time and another planet when a holy book had been brought forth bearing a picture looking distinctly like the Vulcan first officer. They had barely escaped from there with their lives.

"Oh no," whispered McCoy. "It's those ears of his! They've discovered the devil in their midst!"

"We're in trouble, gentlemen," mumbled the captain.

The Vulcan swallowed reflexively, but remained silent.  

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