See disclaimer in part 1.
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"Jim! Do you know what you're suggesting? Are you serious? You actually want Spock to pretend to be some sort of god and us – me– to act as his servants? That's the craziest thing I've ever heard!" McCoy was red-faced and scowling grumpily as he stalked up and down the straw-covered floor of the little hut he, Kirk and Spock had been taken to. They were there ostensibly to rest after their long journey from the "land of the gods" before attending a feast held in their honour.
"Bones, think about it. All we need to do is play the part while they throw us this little welcome party, say our goodbyes and leave without a fuss. They'll think we've returned to the realm of the gods and they can tell their great-grandchildren that they met the 'Holy Son of Sa-riik'. No harm done." The captain smirked satisfactorily. He had been extremely relieved – as were Spock and McCoy – to find that the Vulcan was not the villagers' 'Lucifer' and they weren't going to end up as some kind of sacrificial offering to the gods. He put their situation down to good fortune and was pleased enough in the certainty that it would all resolve itself shortly without any great transgression against the prime directive.
The doctor was not so optimistic, nor tremendously pleased with the prospect of playing slave to his verbal nemesis, even for so short a time. He was about to needle the science officer into an argument by denigrating the culture that believed Spock a god, but realised his acerbic jousts would fall on deaf ears. The Vulcan was deep in thought, his hands steepled before him and his mind far removed from the irritable ponderings of Doctor McCoy.
"Fascinating." The first officer emerged at last from his contemplation. "Captain," he began, peering speculatively at Kirk. "It does seem rather coincidental that the image in their holy book resembles the Vulcan features so clearly. It is possible…" He paused uncharacteristically, as if what he was about to say might be deemed illogical. "It is conceivable that Vulcans have visited here in the past."
Kirk eyed his friend thoughtfully. "It makes sense, Spock. We may be a long way from Vulcan, but, if you'll pardon the expression, it islogical. It's quite possible that some Vulcans ventured out this far, arrived on this planet and met the locals. Their strange appearance, their technology… it would all have seemed godlike to a primitive culture – as do we. And, you're right about the picture, too. It does seem too muchlike a Vulcan to be anything other than a Vulcan."
"You think that'sa coincidence?" McCoy had ceased his furious pacing and now stood before the captain and first officer, who were seated on low cut-off tree stumps. "Jim, that picture doesn't just look like anyVulcan; it's thatVulcan." He pointed determinedly at the science officer. "It's Spock! Picture's a dead ringer!" He pulled up a tree stump, obviously with more still to say. "'Holy Son of Sa-riik'? Is thata coincidence? Sa-riik. Sarek. No damned coincidence if you ask me!"
"Doctor." Spock glanced at McCoy with an expression of faint amusement. "Are you suggesting that you believe I amthis 'Holy Son of Sa-riik'?"
"Of course not, you green-blooded excuse for a leprechaun! But how do you explain that they have a picture of youand that you're Sa-riik's son? Even that computer you call a brain should be able to tell that it's all toocoincidental!"
"Doctor, your argument is completely illogical. I am relatively certain my father has neither heard of, nor set foot on, this planet. Also, the volume these people call their 'holy book' looks to be well over one hundred standard years old. It is very likely that Sarek is younger than the book. You are aware as well, of course, that most Vulcan males are given a name to honour Surak, the philosopher who brought about the end of our violent past – names beginning in 'S' and often ending with a 'k'. There are a number of Vulcan names with a similarity to Sa-riik: Sarik, Sareek, Sareik, and, certainly, you must know that the name 'Sarek' is not exclusive to my father." He pressed the tips of his steepled fingers to his lips contemplatively. "It would be interesting to enquire about the religious history of these people, Captain. They may be able to give some insight regarding the plausibility of a Vulcan encounter in their past. It would be fascinating-"
"Spock! We won't be asking any nosy questions. You know as well as I do that, the less we say, the less likely we are to mess things up." He knew he had to curb the Vulcan's curiosity before it got out of hand. Spock was far too inquisitive for his own good. Suddenly, Kirk's mouth curled up into an impish grin. "Anyway, how would it look if a god suddenly started asking questions? Surely, the Holy Son of Sa-riik knows everything!"
Before Spock could formulate a reply, the chief returned to their hut. "We would be honoured if the Holy Son of Sa-riik and his two faithful servants accompany us in a feast celebrating the blessing of your visit," he said formally, and gestured to the doorway, before turning to leave.
The captain glimpsed at his two friends, warning them to play their parts until this was over.
"I am not sanguine about impersonating a deity, Captain," the Vulcan whispered uncertainly.
"You'll be fine, Spock. Trust me. Just act important and… all-knowing," He smiled fondly at his first officer, hoping that Spock would sense his encouragement. He turned sharply to the chief surgeon, noting the intensity of the ever-present scowl, and muttered very quietly, "And you'll play your part too. It wouldn't do to have a servant of the 'Holy Son of Sa-riik' appear unhappy in his work, would it?"
McCoy grunted resignedly and the three followed after the tribal chief.
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The 'feast' was a brief affair, held outside in the light of the planet's twin moons. Kirk, Spock and McCoy were seated at the head of an improvised log table, for which they were glad; it allowed them a certain amount of privacy to converse without the villagers hearing. The food laid out on the table could hardly have been called a feast – at least by the standards Kirk was used to. The chief had apologised profusely for the small amount of food and Kirk had been about to nudge Spock, indicating to him that he should say something to appease their concerns, when the leader of the tribe added, "But, of course, you know of our troubles and have come to fulfil the prophecy of Sa-riik."
The Starfleet trio were given little time to contemplate the ramifications of this last statement as the chief said, "Eat now, Holy One. The prophecy can wait until the hunger of the god and his servants has been sated."
Deciding that, for now, the best course of action was to comply, they took the crude plates that were offered to each of them and gazed surreptitiously at the villagers, trying to find an indication of the actions expected of them.
Abruptly, the little medicine man appeared at Spock's side, a look of solemn reverence displayed on his minute features. "We would be truly blessed if the Holy One would consecrate our meal with the holy book." He handed the large tome to the Vulcan.
Spock swallowed nervously. What was expected of him? Was he to read from the volume? He could read, write and speak a number of languages fluently, but the number of languages he could not was immeasurable. What if their chances of escaping from here depended on this moment? He swallowed again. Taking the book in his hands, he stood slowly and waited.
After several tense seconds had passed, the chief announced, "We are blessed indeed! Let us eat!"
Spock sat, feeling an un-Vulcanly measure of relief. Apparently, all he had to do was hold the book.
The medicine man had not come to reclaim it and the science officer was overcome with curiosity. As the Polololans were distracted with their food, he took a good look at the cover of the bound volume. It appeared to be made of leather and had no markings of any kind adorning the front. He lifted the cover a little, peeking at the first page. By now, his Vulcan inquisitiveness had infected the humans sitting on either side of him and both were now peering over his shoulder. As one, they read the hand-written inscription. As one, they reacted with astonishment.
The inscription read:
This is the journal of
Doctor Leonard H. McCoy
Atlanta, Georgia,
Earth
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