See disclaimer in part 1.
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By the time the meagre meal was consumed, two humans and a Vulcan were filled with a nova-hot curiosity. Kirk and Spock were eager to ask the chief surgeon what he knew of the book and how it may have ended up on this planet so many light-years from Earth. It was obvious he knew something about the journal judging by the incredible number of wild expressions dancing across his face. Was it his? How many Doctor Leonard H. McCoys could there be in Atlanta?
They were forced to stifle their interest as the chief rose from his tree-stump stool at the opposite end of the table and approached them. "Has the Holy One's hunger been eased?" he asked with undisguised anticipation.
"The meal was indeed adequate," Spock replied with dignity.
"Then we must allow the Holy One to fulfil the prophecy of Sa-riik. We have waited many turnings of the moons and lost much of our tribe awaiting your arrival, but Sa-riik has blessed us and sent you as promised. Come." He indicated the large central hut. "Feeder is this way."
Spock looked anxiously at Kirk for instructions. His captain shrugged. Play along for now, the gesture said.
The science officer rose slowly to his feet and followed the chief into the main hut. Kirk and McCoy stood also, the doctor lifting the book and taking it with him. The medicine man appeared from nowhere and gestured at the book. Thinking swiftly of an excuse to hold onto it, McCoy said, "The Holy Son of Sa-riik wishes to keep the Holy Book near to him as he fulfils the prophecy." He pointed at the retreating back of the first officer. "Don't worry. The Holy One will not allow it to come to any harm." Just for good measure, he treated the minute man to his very best, charming 'Southern Gentleman' smile. The medicine man bowed and left.
As McCoy caught up with the others, he saw that they were entering the room behind the large wall hanging. None of the three could completely cover his surprise when the tribal leader indicated the sole object in the room. "Feeder," he said solemnly. "As you know, he has refused to feed our people for several moon-seasons. But we are truly repentant for the anger we must have caused him and now we see that our apologies have been heard by the great Sa-riik. He has sent you to ask Feeder to feed us once more. I will leave you to your Holy work."
Left alone for the first time since before the 'feast', the Starfleet officers were like three warp-cores about to breach.
"Jim, this journal is-"
"Captain, this 'Feeder' is-"
"Gentleman! One at a time!" The captain swivelled to face McCoy. "Bones, I've got a thousand questions I want to ask about that book but, right now, we'd better have a look at this… 'Feeder'." He turned back to the Vulcan. "Spock, what do you make of it?"
"Captain." The first officer switched on his tricorder and waved it in front of the large object. "This is the source of the unusual power readings we first discovered with the sensors on board the Enterprise. I am at a loss to explain how such a device came to be found in this primitive village."
"Spock, am I right? This 'Feeder' is a food replicator, isn't it?" The captain, as part of his Starfleet training, had familiarised himself – at least basically – with most of the computer technology the Federation had to offer, especially that which was found on his beloved Enterprise. But, other things – those that fell outside his knowledge – could be anything from a garbage receptacle to a laundry processor for all he knew. What point was there in filling his brain with the universe's knowledge of computers when he had Spock, alternately referred to as "walking encyclopaedia", "dictionary on legs" or "biological computer" – depending on what McCoy was currently accusing him of.
"Indeed, Captain," the Vulcan replied, the corners of his lips turning up ever so slightly in acknowledgement of his friend's uneducated assessment. "An antiquated model at that. This particular replicator originated on Ornus Four and was replaced with a newer model approximately one hundred and thirty-six years ago. It is curious to find it here, some eight thousand, six hundred and forty seven light-years from its point of origin." His brow furrowed in contemplation. "Captain, there are a number of unusual anomalies present here."
"Yes, Mister Spock. I agree." He glanced at his chief medical officer, who slouched absently against the wall and whose entire face was obscured by the mysterious journal. Kirk dragged his gaze reluctantly away from McCoy and the book; the replicator was the most important matter at present. "What's your assessment of the replicator's condition?"
"Obviously, it has received little attention in the way of repairs or maintenance. It is unquestionable to think that anyone here would have the required knowledge to effect repairs. Although an old model, the errors are insubstantial and relatively simple to correct. However-"
"Can you fix it?" Kirk asked suddenly.
"Sir?"
"Can you repair it, Spock?"
"Certainly, Captain, but do you think we should-"
"Yes, I know. You're concerned about the prime directive. But these people have obviously had the services of this replicator for some time. You heard what the chief said; they've lost lives through hunger. You can tell none of them have had a decent feed in ages. I'm sure Doctor McCoy could tell you they're malnourished and…" He eyed the doctor, hoping he would back him up, but McCoy seemed unaware of anything other than the book in his hands. "Spock," he continued, "surely you noticed the lack of food around. When I was up that tree, I couldn't see any signs of animals, nor anything that resembled fruit or vegetables. Look, I don't know how that replicator got here, but I think someone left it here to help these people and, now that it isn't working, they're dying of starvation."
Captain, I am aware of the difficulties here. I believe that is why there are no other tribes for several hundred kilometres. There is some natural food here, but this area of the planet is unsuited to supporting those food sources. However, I am not certain that repairing this replicator is the best solution. Perhaps, it would be better to relocate-"
"No. I don't want to move these people from their home. As far as we're concerned, the prime directive has already been breached – probably before it even existed. The simplest solution is to return the situation to what passed as normal here before the replicator broke down."
"Sir, that is not how you dealt with the people of Vaal."
"No, it's not, Spock – and I seem to recall that you weren't too enamoured of the decision I made then. I think it would be far less intrusive to fix the replicator than to uproot the whole village and make them live somewhere unknown to them." He put a gentle hand on the Vulcan's shoulder. "Spock, the decision is mine – and the consequences. Fix their replicator." He smiled reassuringly, aiming to convince the first officer that his choice was the right one.
Spock pulled out his communicator, calling the ship for the tools and supplies he would need to make the repairs. Now all Kirk had to do was convince himself.
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"Well, Bones, are you going to explain how the 'holy book' just happens to have your name on it?" Kirk had left Spock to work on the replicator and, knowing he was about as helpful as an Iltusian stump-tailed slug, removed himself to go and sit with the doctor.
"Not my name, Jim," McCoy answered, lowering the tome so Kirk could read it too.
"Are you going to tell me there's another Doctor Leonard H. McCoy floating around your old hometown?"
"Yes and no," replied the chief surgeon secretively.
"Bones!"
Sensing the imminent explosion of Kirk's increasingly filling balloon of curiosity – and not wishing to be caught in the resulting fallout, McCoy relented and sighed. "Weeeeeeelllll," he began slowly. He had every intention of satisfying the captain's inquisitiveness, but he was going to do it in his own good time. "There was another Doctor Leonard H. McCoy from Atlanta, Georgia."
Again, a lengthy pause.
"Bones! I don't have all day!"
"Well, this Doctor Leonard H. McCoy was my great-granddaddy. I was named after him; only, his 'H' stands for 'Humphrey' and my 'H' stands for… well, never you mind what it stands for. Anyhow, this journal is his." He lifted a finger to his chin thoughtfully. "Come to think of it, I do recall him tellin' us young kids about his travels and how he kept a journal. Told us he lost it someplace. He was really teed off too, 'cause he had had it since he was a kid himself. I was just readin' some of his early entries."
"So, how did it end up here? Does it say? This journal may be able to tell us something useful if your great-grandfather was actually here. And why does it have a picture of a Vulcan in it? Come on, Bones, let's have a look!"
"Yeah, okay! Don't get your stripes in a twist!" He flicked the yellowed pages over quickly and carefully.
"Look for his last entries – before he lost the book."
Skimming the pages as they whizzed by, they stopped abruptly when Kirk shoved his finger on a page just as McCoy was about to turn it. Their eyes scanned the page briskly; words flew past as they visually disposed of those that were superfluous and sought those that would answer their burning questions. Words like: tribe, starving, replicator, Vulcan, god…
"I think your great-granddaddy might just provide some answers, Bones." The captain's eyes were fastened on the page just as surely as if they had been set that way in thermocrete.
"Or, as Spock would say, 'fascinating'!"
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