Chapter 3
Knowing Spock would have found fishing unnecessarily cruel, even if they released their catch, they decided instead to spend their first day examining the Essirian Marine Mammal Preserve, located about ten kilometers south of their beach house. A short trip by flitter brought them to the animal sanctuary. Once there, they rented a small skiff in order to go Tasarti watching, opting out of joining a pre-arranged tour with a large group of other off-worlders. The Trianian marine mammals most closely resembled a cross between Terran dolphins and the American Manatee. While stringent conservation programs during Earth's 22nd century had vastly increased the number of dolphins worldwide, the Manatee, quiet, gentle giants, once plentiful in the warm waters off the southern coast of the United States, had been extinct on Earth for over one hundred and fifty years.
They planned to spend the better part of the morning and early afternoon on the water searching for the shy, elusive animals. McCoy volunteered to operate the tiller, letting Jim and Spock paddle the boat out to sea. Powered locomotion of any kind was expressly forbidden within a three kilometer radius of the Tasarti's habitat due to the danger it presented to the native animals. The two settled into a steady rhythm, the shoreline always visible in the distance off the starboard side, Kirk pausing briefly to peel off his shirt, the exertion causing him to sweat profusely under the intense glare of the native sun.
"Jim, don't forget to put sunblock on, the UV radiation here is a lot stronger than you're used to," McCoy admonished, ever the cautious medical man, tossing Kirk a can of Protecto Film. "This shore leave won't be much fun if you spend the majority of it burnt to a crisp."
"Yes, mother," Kirk quipped, but cast a grin over his shoulder at the doctor as he sprayed the gooey substance liberally over his back and chest. In a few minutes it dried to a breathable, pliable, slightly shiny film which would provide 100% protection from the damaging rays and could be peeled off like a layer of skin once he was out of the sun.
After half an hour of rowing parallel to the coast they reached their goal – a smattering of about a dozen small, uninhabited islands – a disorderly group of tall, thin spires jutting up indiscriminately from the sea floor. Like stone behemoths these giant monoliths, breathtaking in their unspoiled beauty, were scattered among the waves, rocky at the base, luxuriantly green above, evocative of giant, misshapen boulders covered in spiky, colorful lichens, their height much greater than their girth. Millennia of pounding surf had undercut their foundations, making them appear to hover above the surface of the water.
In a sheltered area between these geologic oddities they came across a family group consisting of three females with their seven young calves. The Enterprise men observed them in silence for quite a while, not wishing to disturb the harmony of the extended social unit.
The Tasarti had the dorsal fins and thin, elongated snouts of Terran dolphins, with the pudgy, round body of the Manatee. The soft, glossy, deep blue skin of the adults was mottled with numerous small, muted yellow dots, while the calves were a dull grayish green in color, their appearance gradually changing to match that of the adults as they grew.
As the three continued to watch, mesmerized, the calves started cavorting and chasing one another, bobbing and diving playfully among the low waves and darting in and out of the large, plentiful fronds of underwater vegetation swaying gently with the current – the marine equivalent of hide-and-seek.
Jim, unable to contain his enthusiasm, rose rapidly to his feet, gesturing with boyish excitement at the frolicking sea mammals. "Look at them. They're absolutely incredible." A sudden, strong gust of wind hit them broadside at that moment, throwing the captain off kilter. Kirk fought to keep his balance, arms pinwheeling furiously in an attempt to compensate. Spock was behind him instantly, but his hands slipped off his captain's shoulder, slick from the UV film Kirk had applied earlier. In a last ditch effort Spock did manage to seize the waistband of his captain's shorts in a desperate bid to keep him from falling in. However, the rapid movements of the Vulcan only succeeded in further upsetting Kirk's already compromised balance and he tumbled toward the water, dragging Spock, who still had a firm grasp on his captain's pants, in with him.
Kirk turned it into a dive, but Spock had no chance at finesse, his innate agility compromised, the side of his upper torso and face smacking the water hard, kicking up a surprisingly large splash for so thin an individual. The deafening sound of the two impacting the surface thundered across the open water, causing the small group of timid mammals to flee amid a flurry of tails, flippers and a considerable spray of temperate water. The two men spluttered to the surface, howls of laughter from McCoy ringing in their ears.
"Ha, ha, that was priceless, Jim," he guffawed, wiping his eyes with the backs of his hands and then pressing them to his spasming stomach. "If you could've seen your face, or Spock's…" he dissolved into another fit of breathless snickering.
Kirk glanced conspiratorially at the Vulcan, an evil smile stealing over his features. "Spock, are you thinking what I'm thinking?"
"Undoubtedly."
McCoy stopped laughing abruptly, his gaze traveling nervously between the two. They were ignoring him; their eyes locked and McCoy could almost feel the sizzle of their silent communication.
"Jim…," he started anxiously, desperation creeping into his tone, all trace of his earlier humor gone. "Spock…" The panic was now audible, yet neither of his friends were paying any attention to him, leaving McCoy as merely a spectator to an as yet undetermined fate. "Now wait just a damn minute! You wouldn't dare—"
In unison, they grasped the side of the boat, tipping it toward them, spilling McCoy into the warm, salty water as well.
"Hey, what was that for?" McCoy gasped, surfacing and shaking the water from his eyes. "It's not like I pushed either of you in or anything!"
"Sauce for the goose, Doctor."
"I'll show you sauce for the goose," he retorted, playfully dunking Kirk's head under water. Kirk used the momentum to get below McCoy, tugging on an ankle, dragging the doctor down with him before making his subsurface getaway.
Good, thought McCoy as he resurfaced, this is just what they need to help them relax a little. He glanced around, looking for Spock, but the Vulcan already had a leg over the side of the boat and was rolling himself back in. Despite what had happened on Uriman, McCoy knew Spock was a very capable swimmer – he'd even seen the First Officer dive, fully clothed, into the Enterprise's pool to rescue a crewman in distress – but the man was like a cat – just because he could swim didn't necessarily mean he liked to swim. The doctor suspected it had a lot to do with Spock's desert upbringing; on a planet where water was a precious commodity, as valuable to Vulcans as rare gems were to humans, he didn't envision there being a large number of pools designed for recreational use.
He set off after Jim once again, who had popped his head above the low waves and was checking to see if he was being pursued. McCoy knew he had no chance to catch the captain, but was willing to play this little game nonetheless. Anything to help them unwind, slip out of the chains of duty, of responsibility for a short time.
Kirk was making for the opposite side of their little skiff, his strong, freestyle strokes enabling him to easily put the boat between him and the doctor. Seeing that McCoy was still a good distance behind him, he spared a glance around, searching for Spock. He discovered that his First was already back in the boat, tugging his wet shirt over his head. "Spock, if you need something dry to wear, my shirt should still be in the boat," he called, treading water, one eye on the Vulcan and one on the doctor, who was preparing to round the stern at a leisurely pace, doing an odd, somewhat spastic version of the breast stroke.
Spock gingerly picked up the captain's rumpled tee shirt between a thumb and forefinger, holding it at arm's length, the sweat stains plainly visible. "Thank you, no Jim," he commented laconically, turning the garment back and forth slowly to allow for a more thorough inspection of the item. "I shall be quite content to wait for my own apparel to dry," he added wryly, an eyebrow on the rise, that almost-smile playing briefly over his lips.
Kirk threw his head back, a deep belly laugh erupting from his throat, and McCoy traded a knowing glance with Spock. The Vulcan had realized, too, that Jim was thoroughly enjoying this bit of light-hearted fun, the dark eyes expressing Spock's approval. McCoy continued his pursuit of the captain, splashing him in mock disparagement when he got close enough. Kirk ducked under the waves again, several powerful kicks and long strokes of his arms propelling him away from the doctor and the small skiff.
"Well don't just stand there Spock, help me in," the doctor said gruffly, coming alongside the boat and stretching a hand up to the Vulcan. "Jim might like playing dolphin, but it's certainly not my idea of a good time." Spock surreptitiously looked around for his captain, who had surfaced and was watching the exchange with interest.
Spock reached down, firmly grasping McCoy's arm, lifting him bodily out of the water. The doctor flailed wildly with his free arm, managing to catch the side of the little skiff, trying to help Spock pull him in. As his torso cleared the water his wrist slipped from the Vulcan's grasp causing him to pitch forward, his head and upper body inside the boat, his legs still dangling over the side, thrashing and kicking violently in an effort to give him the final boost necessary to climb in.
Spock was struggling to regain his balance, the sudden loss of McCoy's weight shifting his center of gravity. Righting himself, he watched McCoy's predicament with more than a little amusement as the ship's surgeon tried desperately to get the lower half of his body to join the upper half in the boat.
Allowing McCoy to continue unaided for several long seconds, seeing that Kirk was still transfixed by the scene that was unfolding, he finally took pity on the CMO. Kneeling beside him and grasping a shoulder and one of the flailing legs, Spock managed to drag the sopping form the rest of the way into the boat, McCoy's face impacting the hard bottom squarely before he was able to catch himself.
"Thanks, Spock," he quipped acidly, his tone dripping with sarcasm, pushing himself into an upright position, "that was just perfect. Couldn't have asked for a smoother entry," he added, but the twinkle visible in his eyes let Spock know the acerbity of that statement was for Jim's benefit. Kirk's laughter floated easily across the water to them.
"Somehow gentlemen, that didn't look anything like the way they taught us to do it at the Academy. Perhaps I need to send you two for some remedial training," Kirk commented, still treading water a good ten meters from the boat.
"Oh yeah?" McCoy groused, having regained his seat in the stern. "You think it's so easy? Let's see you do it better, captain."
Kirk, never one to refuse a challenge, made for the boat immediately. "Just to show you how easy it is, I'll do it without Spock's help," he added, grasping the side with both hands and hooking a foot over the edge, his leg fully extended. Using his arms to support his weight and his foot for balance, he managed to expertly roll himself back into the boat. "See? Piece of cake, Bones," he said, extremely pleased with himself, a boyish, self-satisfied grin plastered on his face.
"I guess that's why they pay you the big bucks," McCoy responded dourly. "But you know, it's a lot less difficult when there are already several people in the boat, acting as ballast to keep it from rolling. I think Spock wins the prize on this one."
Kirk cast a glance at his First, whose only response to this observation was to raise an eyebrow, his visage totally impassive. Upon closer inspection, Kirk realized the Vulcan's chest was not shiny in the least. He turned his attention to his CMO once again. "Aren't you going to yell at Spock? Make sure he applies adequate sunscreen?" He asked, jabbing a thumb over his shoulder at the tall Vulcan.
"Captain, Eridani is a much hotter sun than Sol," Spock interjected before McCoy could answer. "Therefore Vulcan skin is uniquely adapted to strong sunlight and the harsh UV waves emitted by the Trianian sun will in no way be damaging to my epidermis," he explained patiently.
"Showoff," Kirk teased, a grin splitting his features.
Spock's look transformed instantly from one of impassivity to uncertainty, and Kirk dissolved into another fit of hearty laughter.
"Let's go home, gentlemen. I'm famished, and I think we've managed to scare off the Tasarti for good." He retrieved his paddle from the floor of the skiff, dipping it into the crystal blue water.
***
McCoy emerged from his room, his hair still damp from his shower. He could see the remnants of Kirk's hastily prepared lunch on the dining room table. Spock was seated in one of the overstuffed chairs near the windows, his eyes trained on the sofa, and McCoy walked over only to discover that Jim had fallen into an exhausted sleep on the couch, stretched out flat on his back, an arm thrown haphazardly above his head, the other hand resting on his chest.
"Who'd a thought we'd manage to tire him out during the first half of our first day here?" McCoy commented softly, coming to stand beside Spock's chair.
Spock's mind drifted to Kirk's nightmare induced insomnia of the previous night, and he quietly admonished the doctor. "Your intention behind this mandatory leave was to compel the captain to rest. You have succeeded. I do not understand why you are dissatisfied with that result. It is unprecedented for Jim to sleep during the day," Spock replied sincerely in hushed tones.
"Oh for heaven's sake, Spock, it was a joke," McCoy groused, a bit louder than he intended, and Kirk shifted restlessly on the couch. "I honestly thought you 'got it' during our time on Beta Arcida IV."
Spock was instantly on his feet, grasping the doctor by an elbow and pulling him away from the sleeping form. "My sense of humor, or lack thereof, is not the paramount issue. The captain is in need of rest; we would be wise not to disturb it." He had managed to move McCoy away from the couch, steering him toward the dining room table.
"Jeez, Spock, let go, will ya?" McCoy said, jerking his arm from the Vulcan's grasp. "I have no intention of waking Jim up," he finished in a huff, plunking himself down into one of the chairs surrounding the table.
"Then you would be best served to lower your voice," Spock retorted, exasperation coloring his words slightly. He slipped into the vacant seat next to the doctor. "Perhaps we should undertake an excursion to procure the supplies necessary to facilitate our stay here."
McCoy's look bordered on annoyance. "For crying out loud, Spock. Why the hell do you always have to be so technical?" His question was met with a perplexed expression, eyebrow on the rise. "If I understood that gibberish correctly, you're suggesting that we go get groceries," the doctor asked, summoning up a patience he definitely didn't feel.
"I thought I expressed that in a clear, concise manner," Spock responded, nonplussed.
McCoy let out a frustrated breath. "Clear and concise are two adjectives that I certainly wouldn't apply to your bizarre speech pattern, but I'm game for going to get food," he replied, a sigh of resignation escaping pursed lips.
"We are in agreement then."
After briefly consulting the tourist guide accessed via their portable reader and hurriedly scribbling a note for Jim, they headed for their rented air car, Spock darkening the huge bank of windows by several degrees and covering his captain with a thin blanket before departing.