The Assignment
Star Trek – Animorphs
In truth Spock had not precisely expected to understand the nature of the local crisis by this early point. After all, to assume meant to challenge and undermine a purely scientific approach.
Anathema.
From the vantage point gained through rapid deconstruction of natural obstacles, he perched in the hollow of a wide, rocky peak. A firm grip through regulation boots set the breath in his lungs to steady intervals. Despite a tension in the very nape of his shoulders, the first officer of the Enterprise kept his phaser to a near-perfect stillness.
If he did not have some level of respect for the strategic capabilities of his captain, Spock may have objected to placement some distance above the altercation. Vulcans did not complain. They had no need for it.
And so Spock did not.
Perfect control. The flesh obeyed the mind.
Very little of the mission still lay within stated parameters. As the crew and command of the Enterprise had come to expect in their voyages into the unknown, Starfleet intelligence rarely, 'held water', under circumstance.
A gust of steamed breath blew over bare skin. His right hand held true. Spock's respiration responded to a 1.3% increase in oscillated spans of mental concentration. Base. But effective.
An attempt to pierce the darkness did not increase in efficiency despite repetition. Vulcans did, however, possess a sense beyond sight.
Deep breathing, thicker in the raw material of lungs and oesophagus to a more commonly fragile respiratory system in humanoids. It shuddered at intervals of 2.3 breaths, accompanied by faint squeaks.
"We come in peace!" A pause in which Science Officer Spock relocated his understanding of where the beast lay below. "In peace!"
28.3 metres vertical. 8.02 horizontal-north, correcting. Not within immediate reach.
Vulcans did not place mental replicas of themselves within the position of a potential foe, using the ever-magnified and inherently biased ability for 'imagination'. It did not guarantee pure fact.
A small whimper cast up into Spock's delicate aural tissue.
Despite himself, the vulcan's head turned to catch the pain on that little sound.
The captain's call echoed up into the tiered heights. A deliberate rearrangement of his shoe kept the worst of the icy winds from blowing directly up his sleeves. The double-layer did not operate beyond maximum efficiency, a bare twitch denoting the lack of efficiency in the thought itself, that one object could indeed compete with the laws under which it existed.
Spock did not find the cold a respectable opponent in his carefully maintained position.
"Being of unknown origin... You will stand down and allow yourself to be detained. Is that clear?"
Irrepressible optimism.
A cascade of earth in close vicinity. A member of the crew. He considered it. Security Officer Ralov. Male, denoting the heavier tread and apparent clumsiness. Unnecessary information.
The captain's tone increased in urgency. Knowing well the human's mannerisms, Spock could almost see his clenched chin, a hand running across the band connecting shirt to trouser. Non-essential data, perhaps. The fine texture of earth crumbled under less pressure than expected, the dust fine and scattered into the breeze. Spock released another rock and gathered a handful for greater balance, closer to the base.
"Please! I am Captain Kirk..."
A fever, to the human mind, of cerebral activity. Suppressed by trappings of logic established since the early years of his remembered life. Frictionless, yet gathering inertia since this new mystery had come to light. And yet Spock's mind emptied.
It stopped. A millisecond of nothingness. He reacted.
Communicator in-hand, tuned already to his captain, a speed to speech that neither denied verbosity nor discouraged efficacy. "Captain, come in."
Because among the many species and, perhaps incorrectly termed, 'racial abilities' scattered across the known universe, what brushed against his mind triggered an intrigue insatiable. A knowing perhaps unique to one well-acquainted in the mental arts. Yes, Spock may now understand this altercation in terms greater than an earlier hypothesis.
"Yes, what is it, Spock?"
Because that brush against the mindscape did not indicate worded speech. It did not connect, mind-to-mind, at a distance. Indefinable, no. Understandable?
"I believe the being we have pursued has made contact. And it is, indeed, intelligent."
The light click allowed Kirk to scan the ravine again, focus split between the rocky floor and the measured words of his personal friend and occasional deputized encyclopedia. "How do you know that, Mr. Spock? I haven't heard anything."
"Indeed, Captain. It has not contacted me directly, but I believe it may have the capacity to do so, if it wished." A pause. "As of this moment, it appears to not desire as such."
He creased his brow. "Most eloquent as always, Mr. Spock."
The situation, after such a wild, rapid hunt through the thick of this planet's flora, allowed for some levity.
Muscles cooled rapidly in the lessened humidity of higher elevation. A shift of his arms brought a mild reminder not to raise them in decent company. The figure outlined by moonlight caused the thought to linger.
Not too close. Not too far to control, if the time came and Kirk needed to act, physically. A glance and James marked his hand in a short downward swipe. The bald man bobbled his head and crouched on the spot, tanned leather gleaming on bent knees as on the back of an oiled scalp.
What a mess. He gloried in it.
First approach to a wild animal had different implications to first contact with an intelligent being. The darkness hid his people, stationed for best access through phaser fire around the downed beast. He hoped that would be enough.
"Can you communicate with it?"
A mountain peak did not stand in total absence of moisture. It stood in awe of the flat voice over comms. "I cannot begin an attempt from where I am standing, Captain."
"Come on down. Kirk out."
As Spock made his way in what was likely an impressive display of both strength and dexterity, Kirk leaned over the lip again. His shouts hadn't raised a whimper. The growling, so deep they rattled the stuff inside the bones, didn't travel to his perch.
Or the animal might have passed out. If it could think as he suspected it might, plan or imagine creatively, then he could imagine its reaction to pain.
A long drop after slipping off a cliff.
In any case, contact with the man listed as this planet's Federation liaison made the night's hunt a mission priority. Splitting off on a wild goose chase might paint a few black marks on his thoroughly grubbed, latinum-lined ledger, but leaving a good impression on the natives greased the wheel of those inclined to keep James T. Kirk in captaincy. It balanced out.
And the captain could follow a hunch and find out why his crewman had to be pulled out of action within minutes of beaming down.
"It's got to be capable of answering," Kirk muttered into his palm. A pluck at his sleeve caught the captain from his moment.
His new friend let go and smiled. It split damp lips, hairless and apparently slimy in the way an amphibian kept an affinity for the depths close at hand. Kirk repressed an urge to wipe the cloth on unsoiled uniform. Said urge murmured behind an ironclad resolve to keep from potentially offending the mission objective.
A light huff into another whip-strong breeze. The captain smiled, too. Briefly. "Yes, what is it?"
Fluttering hands about the face of Krymmen, Less-Visser of Eirin, had the touch of greater meaning than simple fear. Still and perhaps placid, the grin did not break.
"Lord Captain! Please, allow me the honour." A glance to the ravine held no change in facial expression. Kirk watched, fascinated, as the high-pitched thrum of an Eirine voice fluctuated far beyond the native's apparently peaceful visage.
White sclera bulged in Krymmen's flickering attention between the space below and the captain.
To be mindful, and yet ready for action. Kirk tilted his head, a nudge towards honest expression. "That title seems a bit beyond my station, Mr. Krymmen. And what honour do you speak of? The creature is caught."
"But not dead."
"I don't intend to kill it."
"I see, Lord," the grin following suit in an honest downside pull, "that you do not understand what it is. It does not deserve to live."
A distant rumble seemed to mark the end of the crouching man's statement. An eyebrow rose from Kirk's lofty stance on the stones. "Deserve, Mr. Krymmen? And what right do we have to judge that?"
Krymmen shrugged, neck stuck out in stiff contrast to his shoulder blades. The movement of bones showed beneath voluminous layers of light cloth. "You have the power. Who can stand against you?" Dark eyes in the low light, blacker in speech beneath a sickly trill. "Kill it. It is vroma - it is filth."
A chirp. Tuned to the swift nature of necessity in remaining reachable while on-duty, Kirk had his communicator open again without thought. "Kirk here."
"Sir. We have the second specimen."
A half-turn from the native kept, he hoped, some level of secrecy to a burst of delight chasing icy temperatures from his fingers. The small dial twisted the degree to lock with the crewman's current channel. "And? Is it alive?"
"Yes, but... But it's not like the other one, captain." The voice, female, hesitated. "It's an avian creature. Not mammalian. Sir, it may not be related at all."
"Hmm." No. This couldn't be coincidence. No, he had to be sure.
That specimen, that glaring inconsistency with their friend in the valley might help answer the questions surely bubbling by now in any curious mind. Not sentient? Not likely.
In the interval of thinking and commanding the mysterious bird to be beamed up, to immediate captivity, a skitter of grainy pebbles announced his second's timely arrival. The captain favoured the sallow figure with a nod.
"Captain." In reply, the polite incline and slow blink.
Spock remained somehow concordant with long limbs and frankly inhuman speed, the jerky grace of an Earth arachnid. The vulcan leapt into the ravine and clambered out of sight.
Krymmen whooped. Not to be beaten, the captain's heart settled in shorter time than Eirine subharmonics curling to silence. He watched the edge of the platform with an expression only to be described as rueful.
He left the native behind. Blind but not helpless in the familiar clamber down alien cliffs, Kirk muttered choice words under his breath.
"Mr. Spock."
