See disclaimer in part 1.
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The ink on the pages was eighty or so years old; the pages themselves were a great deal older than that. The words contained in the yellowed volume held the two humans' attention as well as any gorgeous topless dancer from Wrigley's Pleasure Planet. This book was a valued piece of the current Doctor Leonard McCoy's family history; it also happened to be a significant artefact in Pololola's history.
As Spock worked steadily at repairing the replicator, the gentle sound of metal tools clinking, Kirk and McCoy read with fervour the incredible tale of Sa-riik, as told by Doctor Leonard H. McCoy, the First…
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August 13, 2190 (I think)
I wonder what in Damnation ever made me leave the comfort of home.
"I want to see the stars," I said to my old drinking buddies one day. "Close up. Yeah, real close. Not so far away that they look like little fireflies. I'm gonna find me a place where the barkeepers serve drinks that'll knock you flat on your backside after half a sip." Fred groused a bit then. I was always complaining about that colorized water he was passing off as whiskey.
So, here I am stuck on some blasted backwater planet with a discarded food replicator and a half-crazed Vulcan for company. Interesting story, that. And I'm gonna have to write it down so that the next time I visit a psychiatrist, I can give him all the unbelievable details before he has me locked away.
I knew that freighter captain was trouble as soon as I saw the shifty eyes and charming grin. I know how it's done – you flash your very best smile and, if you do it right, you have everyone thinking you're the greatest guy that ever lived. I've done it myself a few times, I admit. And Betty Foster was worth it, too.
Anyhow, I ended up on this guy's flying dust can of a ship 'cause he says he's heading over to Gelmus III and he knows of a great little drinking spot on the way. Sounded just fine to me at the time.
Turned out I wasn't his only passenger. This Vulcan gets on at Horrax Prime, says he needs a ride to somewhere-or-other and "would be obliged" if the dodgy captain would get him to his "desired destination". Course, he didn't call the guy 'dodgy' – not to his face, anyway – but you could tell that's what he was thinking. I guessed he hadn't had to fly freighter-class before.
So, we're halfway to nowhere, I'm sitting in a teeny little compartment with Mr Sociable, and the captain – Telzar, he called himself – comes in with this bottle of… actually, he never said what it was…But this stuff really hit the mark. Boy, Fred, back home, would be trying to turn his insides the right way round after a glass of this. He offered some to the statue sitting next to me, only to hear, "Vulcans do not consume alcohol, Mister Telzar." Well, how do you like that! The guy was just being friendly and, if you ask me, I'd say this guy really needed something to loosen him up. He sat as stiff as a corpse and hadn't said more than two words to me the whole time we were sitting in each other's pockets.
Telzar said, kind of patronisingly I thought, "Certainly, sir, let me find you something non-alcoholic."
Five minutes later, Telzar's back with what looks like a glass of fruit juice. The Vulcan – he hadn't told us his name – took the glass without so much as a thank you, eyeing it just as distastefully as the alcohol. He took a couple of sips, stopped and kind of stared into space for a while, then drank the rest of it in one go. Telzar winked at me and I knew that it wasn't any ordinary kind of fruit juice.
Well, it took about half an hour for that drink to start turning my antisocial companion into Mr Life-of-the-Party. He said his name was something like Saareek – it was hard to tell when he belched right in the middle of it. Said he was a "junior diplomatic apprentice" or something (his speech was more than a little slurred). Imagine that! This pointy-eared flexi-board cutout as an ambassador! Apprentice, huh? I'd say he had a fair bit of training left yet.
He was just getting to be really entertaining when Telzar came back with the bad news. "There's been a slight change in plans. I'm gonna have to drop you off for a bit while I pick up a full load of trivium from Drevis and take it to Beta Zionna. I could leave you on Drevis, but things are a bit rough there and there's a quiet little planet just ahead. Shouldn't take more than a couple of days at most – there and back." He shoved a communicator in Saareek's pocket and went back up front.
And that was that. Saareek, me – and an old replicator that Telzar decided he was just going to dump – all ended up on this little quasi-paradise. There were trees and hills and little ponds – just dandy for a stroll with Mother Nature. But, a couple of days here? There weren't any hotels or restaurants hidden amongst the grass. Well, I suppose we had the replicator for food, but camping out has never been a great thrill for me. And Saareek was still as high as an orbiting probe – and not looking like he was coming down any time soon. (Note: ask Telzar for a sample of that stuff when he gets back. I'd love to run it through my lab equipment and find out just what's in it.) Actually, it's been so dull here that I drew a picture of Saareek right here in my diary. Good grief! Why would I want to keep that for posterity?
You know, this is where things really start to get interesting. I took Saareek for a walk, figuring it might help to clear his head a bit. And what does he do when my back's turned for a few seconds? Falls down a damned hole, that's what. Great, I thought. He fell in a hole that's just a bit too deep for him to climb out of – or for me to lift him out of. Then I saw the rope and I thought, that's handy. I'll use the rope to pull him out and we'll be happily on our way. Obviously, people had fallen in the hole before.
And then it dawned on me. People. Ropes didn't just lie around in the middle of the countryside unless people put them there.
The next thing we knew, there were people there. Funny little men with grass skirts. At first, I thought I was going to end up on the end of one of their spears, but then they looked in the hole and saw Saareek. A couple of them lowered a rope and hauled him out. I guess it wasn't surprising that they hadn't seen a Vulcan before.
While they were gawking at the two of us, a group of them came running over the hill, yelling as they went. It occurred to me that I could understand what they were saying and I remembered that I'd had a new-fangled translator thingy implanted before I left Earth. The authorities recommended them to anyone visiting foreign planets.
"Over there, Chief," one of them was saying. "It came from the gods!"
Following their madly pointing fingers, I realised they must have discovered the replicator.
The chief came over and stood in front of me. "You are the servant of the god," he said to me, nodding at Saareek. "Show us this gift you have brought."
Well, what could I say to that? Before I could think of anything to say, we were back in front of the replicator. Saareek was looking a little woozy – from the fall in the hole as much as the booze, I guess. I also noticed he couldn't understand a word these people had said. (What kind of a diplomat travels around without a translator?) Anyhow, that left me the one to do the talking.
It seemed the whole tribe had gathered now, and hands of all sizes were pawing at the replicator, marvelling at the cool metal. The chief was amazed. "Please tell us of this wondrous thing. How is it that a god and his servant have come to visit us?" That 'servant of the god' stuff was really starting to get to me. Why should they think Saareek was the god and I the servant? I mean, I'm not the one who fell in a hole.
My Southern charm came in handy then; I have a gift for adlibbing my way around things. "You see, Chief, this is the god, Saareek… and it is his wish to give you this… feeder… to feed your tribe." What the hell, Telzar had said he didn't want it, was just going to leave it here. Might as well put it to good use.
The chief was astonished. "Sa…ree… ik," he tried to say, the syllables unusual on his tongue. "Sa-riik," he said with more confidence. Turning to his tribe, he announced, "My people, the god Sa-riik has heard our pleas and brought a gift to ease our hunger! No more will the young and old of our tribe starve!"
Well, after I showed them how to use "Feeder", the chief invited me to sit and talk with them around their campfire. Saareek was still not over the effects of the juice (what was in that stuff, anyway?) and I made up a story about how he had to go and commune with the other gods. The chief was good enough to let him have the use of his own hut. My guess is that Saareek probably crashed as soon as he was alone.
I was told the entire history of the tribe, I think. It seemed that this tribe had moved far away from the other tribes on this planet – what did they call it? Polola? Polololola? Hell, I don't know – after bloody wars broke out. They'd been here for centuries, as near as I can tell, living cheerfully enough. Until their food supply started dying off, that is.
According to the chief, they were growing vegetables, picking fruit off the trees and catching plenty of game until a few years ago. For some reason, everything but a few species of trees and a small variety of foods can no longer be grown here. Now, what would cause that? These people live simply; I can't think of any way they'd produce something toxic enough to kill off any wildlife. Damn, I wish I had some of my equipment from home. There wasn't anything I couldn't cure in Georgia.
The sad thing is that people are starving and dying. They said their tribe had been twice the size it is now.
Hell, for all I know, our coming here might have been some kind of holy blessing – although I refuse to believe that green-blooded fella (who can't hold his drink) is any sort of god. I suppose it's those ears of his – they're certainly not common on this world. Kind of make me think more of the devil than a god.
Anyhow, Saareek came out of the hut – and all the villagers bowed down as he walked past. I was a little pleased to see him looking better and, when he told me that Telzar had called him on his communicator, saying he was coming for us in a few minutes, my mood improved even more.
It occurred to me that the replicator wasn't a permanent solution to the problem here and I know that, when I get home, I'll ask the authorities about how we can help. They'll probably send scientists and advisors and sort the whole thing out.
In the mean time, I couldn't help spreading the mysticism a little. I walked up to the chief and said, "If Feeder should ever stop feeding your people, then you must pray to the gods and Saareek will… send his… Holy Son to help you." Well, it wouldn't hurt, would it? Hopefully, their problem'll be long gone by the time they need to worry about that.
"Honourable servant of Sa-riik, how will we know this Holy Son of Sa-riik?"
"That's easy," I said. "He'll look just like him." I pointed at Saareek and grinned
They left us then, heading back to their huts. I'd told them that we were returning to the land of the gods and needed privacy. Well, I didn't want them to see that a god and his servant were being picked up in something not fit for a Klingon, let alone a god.
So, it's just me, Saareek and the replicator once more. Not your average kind of day, that's for sure.
Oh, I'll have to finish this later. Here comes Telzar, now.
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"Good grief!" exclaimed McCoy. "Who would believe a story like that?"
"Certainly explains a few things, though, Bones."
"Leaves a few questions, too. I don't recall my great-granddaddy ever saying anything about a starving tribe or a replicator. Of course, I was still pretty young when he died."
"Hmm." Kirk ran a finger along his brow thoughtfully. "We now know how the replicator got here. As far as I know, there's been no Federation involvement here – in fact, we know there's been nothing done about the replicator because it did break down. And they still have whatever problem they had with growing things. This time, I think we can provide some help – see what's wrong here. Spock did say that it was only this area of the planet that was unsuited to supporting growth. Perhaps there is some kind of contamination, although it's anyone's guess as to how it happened. We'll hang around in orbit for a while and get our scientists on it." He sighed tiredly. "Maybe it's possible to return these people to some sort of normality after all."
"And Starfleet'll have to monitor the planet to make sure it all works out," McCoy said wryly.
"That's right, Bones. Everything will be fine." The brilliant smile emerged once more.
"Hey Jim," the doctor blurted suddenly. "That picture my great-grandfather drew does look awfully like Spock. Perhaps, it's a relative of his. Ha-haa! I can't wait to tell him about the drunk Vulcan!"
Just then, Spock approached, his tools now carefully put away in the appropriate slots in his tool case. "Captain, the replicator is repaired."
"That's great, Spock." Kirk let his hand rest gently on the Vulcan's shoulder. "And now I suggest we get back to the ship and start working out how we're going to solve the other problem."
"Sir?"
"It's a long story, Spock."
Thinking at first that they should say their farewells to the tribe, Kirk decided to take a leaf out of McCoy Senior's book, figuratively speaking, and generate a little mysticism of his own. It couldn't hurt; they had come from the land of the gods, after all.
"Beam us up, Mister Scott," he said into his communicator.
As the three dematerialised, McCoy realised he still had the 'holy book' in his hands. A touch of guilt flushed through him as he thought of the Polololans losing a valuable religious artefact, but he remembered also that it was a relic of his own family's past – and he had a lot of history to catch up on before passing the diary on to his daughter and her future children. It wasn't every family that had two holy servants.
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The Polololan chief was astounded when he entered the room to find it empty and Feeder now alive once more, bright colours flashing brilliantly. He looked heavenward, his hands raised in supplication. "A true god, indeed!"
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