Chapter Sixteen
"Who sent you?" Kirk asked Leyton for the second time. His patience was wearing thin. Blackstone stepped toward Leyton again and Kirk again signalled to him to back off. Earlier, when asked what sort of a Vulcan he was, the young man had replied that he was not a good one, and he had already offered to force a mind meld with Leyton to procure the information quickly. Kirk had looked at McCoy who had shook his head, mindful, as Kirk was of how abhorrent such an act should be to Blackstone. Perhaps one day the young Vulcan would be grateful for their restraint.
Which left Kirk with the problem of how else to get Leyton to talk. In the end, it was McCoy who hit on a solution.
"He's a bounty hunter, right? He's been told to find Blackstone and bring him to whoever is paying him. If he doesn't turn up with Stephen, then the deal's off and Leyton is out of pocket. He has no reason to withhold the information other than self-interest. If we can pretend to offer him a better deal, he's likely to take it."
"Did you have something in mind, doctor?" Kirk asked, knowing exactly what McCoy was thinking. The doctor had that wicked gleam in his eye that he normally displayed when tormenting the Enterprises's First Officer.
"Weston won't like it."
"Weston can go to hell."
Weston was outraged. Kirk had confronted him with his knowledge of exactly what he had found stashed in the false bottom of the crates in the cargo hold. Kirk waited for the man's temper to burn out. Weston could rant and rave as much as he liked but he was shipping illegal goods and he didn't have a leg to stand on. In the end, he sent Hag to bring a sample of the goods from below.
Leyton's eyes widened in disbelief when he saw what Kirk was holding out to him. He took the glass vial Jim offered to him and held it up to the light, examining the contents with a critical eye.
"Is this what I think it is?" he asked, incredulous. Kirk nodded.
"So what, Hopkirk– you're offering me this in return for information on my client?" Another nod. Kirk shook the vial and watched as the contents sparkled, lighting the glass from within with a thousand tiny speckles of multi-coloured light. Leyton whistled soflty. "That's classy stuff." He said. "I wish I could help you. The truth is, all I know is that the request came from someone high up in Starfleet Command. No names were given. I was asked to take Blackstone to Skara, you know, the 'forbidden planet.' Leyton eyed the contents of the vial greedily, wondering, perhaps if the scant information he had provided were enough to earn him such rich reward.
"Sorry." Kirk said, "Not enough information. He handed the vial to McCoy, who put it carefully back in the case Kirk had taken it from. Blackstone looked puzzled.
"Rocosyminite," McCoy said, watching the young Vulcan's face react. Blackstone had removed his human disguise and now looked like a younger version of Spock – with one difference; used to passing as a human for some time, Blackstone had relaxed the usual impassive Vulcan demeanour and allowed emotion to show in his face from time to time. It tickled McCoy to see outright surprise on a Vulcan face.
"One of the rarest substances in the galaxy. Its medical uses are inestimable – it forms the basis of more than a dozen anti-plague serums. It's rarity means that it's illegal to transport it for profit, but that doesn't stop unscrupulous individuals like Weston getting hold of it and stockpiling it for times when demand exceeds supply. Or to sell it for use in recreational drugs."
"You would have let Leyton have it?" Blackstone asked. McCoy shook his head. "No son, we were lying."
Kirk had the Westons confined to their quarters. Hag, he allowed to return to the bridge. Kirk had not suspected the Andorian of any involvement in the transportation of the rocosymonite, and the Westons had confirmed this. Now Kirk faced the husband and wife in their comfortable quarters,
"What have you got to say for yourselves?"
Nancy was silent. Roger Weston merely shrugged.
"You do appreciate the trouble you're in?" Kirk asked, surprised at their lack of response. "Rocosyminite is produced from one of the rarest substances in the Galaxy. It is the only known treatment for at least five known plague varieties. Buying it and transporting it is illegal without authorisation, so I have to ask, what were you intending to do with it?"
"My guess is that they were planning to store it until the next outbreak, then sell it to the highest bidder. Desperate people will buy from any source." McCoy said. Kirk glared at the Westons. Nancy had the good grace to look down, guiltily.
"We've never done anything like this before, Hopkirk, I mean, Captain Kirk. The truth is the Aurora's not as sound as she used to be and we need…"
"Enough." Kirk said, angrily, "Your selfish action could result in thousands of lives lost if there is an outbreak tomorrow in the sector you stole supplies from. How did you steal it anyway?" Kirk added. Rocosyminite was such a valuable commodity that it would have been closely guarded.
"The simple answer is that we didn't, Captain. We are the transporters only. We weren't even told what the cargo was – I assumed it was weapons. Had we known, we wouldn't have touched it." Nancy Weston said. Kirk looked from one to the other of them in exasperation,
"Then who were you transporting it for, and to where?" he asked, impatiently."
"We weren't told where it would finally end up. Our instructions were to take it to Starbase six and hand it over to a contact." Kirk sighed. It beggared belief that anyone would transport an unknown cargo, but looking at the Westons, he could almost believe them. They were an unworldly pair, probably more guilty of naivety than evildoing.
"You will remain in your quarters until I decide what to do with you." He said in exasperation.
"I don't know, Jim. I'd feel happier if that Rocosyminite were on its way to somewhere it could be of use."
Kirk had just put it to McCoy that they disable the Aurora's engines and leave the ship's occupants adrift in space until they could return and pick them up. In the meantime, he, Blackstone and McCoy would assume command of the Shadow, which was in many ways more suited to a landing on Skara; after a preliminary check, Kirk had been surprised at her superior equipment and capabilities – which owed much, he suspected, to theft and plunder.
He and McCoy were walking towards their quarters; the entire Shadow crew was bound and locked in the hold, Kirk himself having led the capture of the final crewmember who had been so startled to see them that he had had no time to draw a weapon.
"We could take it with us." The medic suggested. Kirk shook his head, rubbing his neck. "Tired, Jim?" McCoy asked. Kirk smiled. "It's been an…interesting day. The rocosyminite will be safe here – it's unlikely that any other craft will wander into this area now that we're approaching the Skarran system." McCoy nodded.
"Let's get some rest, Jim. I'll see to our cargo in the morning." Kirk nodded, suppressing a yawn. The Westons were locked down in their quarters and Blackstone had volunteered to assist Hag on the Bridge.
"Bones." Jim said, in a hesitant tone so uncharacteristic of him that it caused the doctor to look at him with concern,
"Blackstone said Spock may be in grave danger…our orders are clear and I will do everything in my power to find out what Caton is up to on Skara, but…" McCoy cut him off, knowing what his captain was struggling to say.
"I know, Jim, and with some luck, there will be no conflict of interest. Besides, Blackstone's an asset we weren't counting on having." Jim nodded, hoping McCoy was right.
Kirk had worked out the co-ordinates for a landing that would place them in the vicinity of their previous landing on Skara. In their absence, Skara had entered an autumnal phase and a blaze of colour seared their retinas as they stepped out of the Shadow into the heavily wooded landscape.
"It got colder." McCoy remarked. It was not an idle comment. Kirk knew that he was thinking of Spock's susceptibility to the cold. They were both on edge now, having come so close, not knowing what they would find.
"Pretty, though." Kirk said. McCoy nodded,
They were armed with an assortment of weapons from the Shadow and Kirk was tucking a disruptor into his belt as he spoke. Stephen Blackstone joined them, similarly armed. McCoy viewed his weapon with distaste as he too, concealed it on his person.
"The Curie's shuttle is this way, about one kilometre. " Kirk said, waving an arm in the direction he was already heading. "That's as good a place to start as any."
Seeing the crashed shuttle was almost as shocking second time around, so incongruous did it look amidst the surrounding vegetation, its rusting hull camouflaged in the glorious autumn foliage.
A cursory look around was enough to confirm that the Enterprise's First Officer had not been back there. "It was worth a try, Jim." McCoy said in a subdued voice. It had not been possible to sweep the surface of the planet in any meaningful way using the pirate vessel's crude technology. The theory was that Spock might have returned to the shuttle, if not to await rescue, then at least to leave some clue to his whereabouts, otherwise, there was no way of knowing where the Vulcan was on the planet. No one said it, but they were looking for a needle in a haystack.
"It's possible he made contact with the native population." Blackstone pointed out. "Or that he met up with the Curie survivors. I survived on Ravik after half the planet had been destroyed. Mr Spock's chances of survival here must be favourable given this world's abundant vegetation." He was attempting to lift their spirits, give them hope. Kirk and McCoy acknowledged his comments with positive ones of their own and the three headed back to their captured ship – they needed supplies if they were going to be exploring the Skarran wilderness, and the ship had a small hovercopter aboard that would transport them over the treetops – they could look for clearings or any other sign of habitation.
"Communication devices." Kirk said, tossing the others a small, communicator-like instrument. "Klingon." He smiled. The Shadow's crew had been no respecters of persons.
"Think you can fly this thing, Jim?" McCoy asked, looking at the copter doubtfully as Kirk checked out the controls, Blackstone watching on.
"Bones, Bones." Kirk said, in a wounded tone. "It's kid's play. I'm a starship captain, remember. Back in Iowa, Sam and I woulda raced these things for fun." It was the first time he had used his brother's name so flippantly for a long time, and it did not escape McCoy's attention.
"If you are in any doubt, I have had experience of flying a craft similar to this." Blackstone commented. Was it McCoy's imagination, or did he sound nervous? Kirk waved the offer aside, "These things are pretty much all the same; it's just a matter of knowing which buttons to push." Kirk's fingers darted over the console as he spoke, "However, the buttons on this model are somewhat differently arranged from what I've seen before." His last words were drowned out by a sudden jolt as the craft took a massive jerk backwards, crashing into a tree. "Hmm." Kirk said, "Must have got into reverse thrust by mistake. Let's try…" As his hand reached towards another button, Blackstone acted quickly to steer Kirk's hand to a different area of the console that Kirk had clearly missed.
"I believe this is the control you are looking for, Captain Kirk. It's easily missed." He said, tactfully. Immediately Kirk pulled on the lever, the craft lifted off the ground and hovered gracefully just above the treetops. Kirk beamed, "Like I said, gentlemen, a piece of cake."
"Spock's 'hills' sure are easier to soar above than to climb." McCoy observed, admiring the view below. A river snaked through the forest and the area around its banks was less densely overgrown. From a height, they could see that the landscape was not all forest; sporadically the canopy opened to reveal grassland and also evidence of transitional meadows where small herds of deer-like animals were grazing.
Blackstone had put together a portable scanning device that he had described as 'crude.' It would allow McCoy to distinguish between different life forms on the planet so that he could filter for Vulcan features. It could also search for weapons at the more sophisticated end of the scale from what they estimated the native Skarrans would be using. They were now looking for a bigger, more easily identifiable needle, but the haystack was still overwhelming.
The search seemed futile, the scenery stunning, if empty consolation - kilometre after kilometre of canopy, wooded hillsides and clearings in a burning collage of autumn splendour. Kirk flew as close to the treetops as he dared but if anything moved under the canopy, it would do so under a cloak of invisibility. Hours passed under the steady drone of the hoverplane's engine before McCoy suddenly jumped out of his seat in excitement.
"Down there!" McCoy pointed to a wooded hillside indistinguishable from many others. Kirk leaned forward, straining to see and thought he spotted the source of his CMO's excitement.
"I see it. I'm taking us down. A flattened area of razed and blackened woodland that could only have been made by something crashing into the trees from above. And it was recent. It was not Spock, Kirk told himself, struggling to contain his own excitement. It could only be the Klingon shuttle that they had seen hurtling towards Skara from the doomed Klingon ship.
No one spoke as Kirk manoeuvred the plane closer until they were directly above the area. There could be no mistaking what they saw below. "It's Klingon, alright. So they made it this far." Jim said, "I'm going down. We need to check it out."
"We must look for a clearing, somewhere to land safely." Said Blackstone. Seeing that he was right, Kirk pulled out of the area, with reluctance. The crashed Klingon vessel had been tantalisingly close. Did it hold any clues to Spock's whereabouts? Frustratingly, the nearest clearing was approximately twenty kilometres distant from the location of the shuttle. "A good day for a hike," said, Kirk with scant enthusiasm.
They camouflaged the plane with tree branches, but it was not possible to hide it from view completely. The native Skarrans would not be fooled. With any luck, their curiosity would be tempered by fear and they would leave well alone. That was the theory. "We'll take what we can carry with us, just in case," Kirk said, already collecting an assortment of equipment together. "Set your weapons to stun – who knows if any of those floppy-eared wildcats are prowling nearby – or Skarrans, for that matter."
Several hours of steady, purposeful hiking brought them face to face with the Klingon shuttle. Wary after his last encounter with the Skarran feral cat, Kirk clapped his hands loudly and rattled the hull with a stick, before venturing inside, closely followed by McCoy and Blackstone. "No bodies." Murmured Blackstone.
"Plenty of blood." McCoy said, grimly, sweeping the interior with his tricorder. "At least two people were injured enough to bleed out, Jim. From the amount of blood one of them lost, I don't fancy his chances." There was no hint of satisfaction in McCoy's tone, only regret – had the injured Klingon lain in the shuttle, the doctor would have tended him in the way he tended any injured person, and with the same compassion.
Blackstone was examining the shuttle's console. "I speak some Klingon." He said, his fingers zipping over the controls until they found the computer log. In horrified fascination, Kirk and McCoy listened to Blackstone's simultaneous translation of the final moments of the shuttle's harrowing escape from the doomed Klingon battlecruiser, and its descent in flames through the Skarran atmosphere to crash land in the forest.
"There were four survivors – one died from his injuries within a day of the crash. Of the others, one had fairly severe injuries, the other two, minor."
"What was their business on Skara?"
"Unknown, Captain." He wondered why Kirk and McCoy looked at him in such a peculiar way when he said it.
"It's nothing." McCoy reassured him, "You just remind us of someone, sometimes."
"We're losing the light. This is as good a place as any to spend the night." Kirk said.
"I can fix the door. It will keep the draught out." Blackstone offered.
"I'll rustle us up a meal." Said McCoy setting down his pack. The Shadow had been well stocked with foodpacks that required only the addition of boiling water – perfect fare for campers. Kirk volunteered to start a fire using a disrupter blast and some sticks and leaves. Skara's multiple moons and Kirk's fire provided light and heat as night settled around them, chill and oddly silent given the many nocturnal creatures that must be creeping in the all-encompassing forest. From nowhere, McCoy produced a hipflask and he and Jim sipped bourbon in a state of increasing contentment the emptier the flask became.
Blackstone, encouraged by McCoy, began telling them about his experiences on Ravik.
"I'm sorry to disappoint you, Doctor McCoy, but I remember almost nothing about the initial disaster. Some survivors have given harrowing eyewitness accounts of the events of that day, but my own memories are incomplete. I vaguely remember being thrown from my horse, Mark Hunter bending over me, looking back at the smoking ruins of the science station and knowing beyond any shadow of doubt that my parents were dead."
There was unashamed emotion in Blackstone's voice as he spoke. McCoy leaned forward. Kirk could understand his fascination with the young Vulcan. Here was proof, if any were needed, that Vulcans too were emotional beings. But, of course, they had known that all along, hadn't they? The Vulcans' ancestors had been a bellicose, lot whose unrestrained savagery and unbridled emotions had almost led them to the point of extinction. Logic and mastering how to control their emotions had saved their race. Under the veneer, they were as raw in emotion as the next Human.
He knew that it was McCoy's view that Spock, being a Human-Vulcan hybrid was at risk of damaging his mental health by suppressing (controlling was not a word the doctor favoured when it came to the healthy, cathartic release of emotion) his human impulses. He never tired of reminding Spock that he was half human and that his human half needed emotional release. Now here was a full-bloodied Vulcan choking up at the memory of his parents' death, however unconventional his Vulcan upbringing.
"Ravik as you know, was an inhospitable world on the fringes of the explored galaxy. Its people had welcomed the setting up of the science station and the benefits that its subsequent membership of the Federation conferred. They had attained space travel early in their technological development, by accident – one of those great minds born out of their time had an idea. Such minds occur in every civilisation and because of their genius, that civilisation takes a giant leap forward. The native population was, despite its space age technology, still backward in outlook. A superstitious, atavistic people with draconian customs and laws.
"When the strikes came and the planet descended into darkness and chaos, they reverted to savagery. It was, as Hunter said, 'dog eat dog.' All our communication systems were destroyed. Ravik was so distant from any Federation outpost, that the only contact we had with the outside world, was a visit every two years from a Federation starship, which delivered supplies and personnel. The strikes occurred one month after our last visit from a supply ship"
Kirk nodded soberly. The Enterprise had sometimes been assigned the duty of visiting distant colonies that were within its path, with medical and other supplies. He imagined the horror of arriving at Ravik and finding that the planet had been blasted apart.
"I was lucky. I was out riding in the hills at the time of the strike; Kort and Hunter found me before I bled to death. They could not save my leg. Kirk looked at him in surprise. McCoy nodded – he had guessed as much. "The planet was plunged into perpetual darkness. It had been tilted out of its customary orbit. Storms raged and fires blazed out of control; near the coast tsunamis struck. I am sure you know the statistics, how many were killed. Again, we were lucky; we were on Ravik's largest, but less populous continent, far from the ocean. After the strike, it was Ravik's only continent."
McCoy shivered. He had seen reports by members of the medical teams that had arrived on Ravik two years after the disaster. It had not made for pretty reading. Not only had the survivors lived in almost complete darkness for two years, they had lived in constant fear and hunger. The planet had been evacuated, its inhabitants resettled on a habitable world in Federation space where they could be rehabilitated, counselled, coaxed back to sanity. Some never recovered. A whole new syndrome 'Ravikian Syndrome' had been coined to describe their mental state. Ravik itself had been searched minutely for clues to what happened and an attack by an alien force had been suspected but never proven. It was still, as McCoy had stated earlier, one of the great mysteries of the galaxy.
"We survived day to day. Kort and Hunter took me back to the science station where there were, unbelievably some survivors. There, we had everything we needed to survive – food, water, medical supplies. Even light, which the poor wretches outside lacked. A scientist there with some training as a medic amputated my leg – it was badly crushed and he lacked the expertise to save it." Blackstone ignored McCoy's wince and continued.
"Our station was in an isolated, uninhabited part of the continent. It was six months before we started receiving visits from other survivors. We had to abandon the station – they would have killed us to take what they wanted. By then, the planet had shifted again and there was daylight for almost two hours a day. The rest of the time we had to rely on torches or firelight".
Blackstone gazed at the campfire. "Kort and Hunter saved my life more times than I can count, saved each other's lives too. The Ravikian survivors had reverted to savagery – many of them were half-crazed. Once, we fell into their hands for more than a week before we could escape." Blackstone closed his eyes. .
"It's alright, son. You don't need to tell us any more." McCoy said, kindly.
"I killed a man that week," Said Blackstone, "He was my first but not my last. I was sixteen years old, the age when Vulcans begin to learn seriously, the disciplines that will allow them to live a life in control of their emotions. I learned – other ways." He bowed his head.
"After we were rescued, I returned to Vulcan, eventually. It was necessary. I was developing strong telepathic abilities. I needed to learn the disciplines that would help me to shield. And I was troubled. I spent the next four years on Vulcan learning what I needed, but I no longer felt at home among my own people. After one has been in touch with one's emotions, so to speak, it is a hard habit to break. And so I am what you see today. Neither one thing or the other. At home nowhere."
Kirk and McCoy exchanged looks. Blackstone was nothing like their friend and yet his choice of words eerily echoed exactly those that Spock's mother, Amanda Grayson, had used to describe her son's lack of belonging in Vulcan or Human society.
"Seeing those horrors – the way people reacted under extreme conditions – the savagery, the brutality, it would almost make you believe that the Vulcans were right to drive out every vestige of emotion." McCoy commented to Kirk when Blackstone had retired. Kirk shook his head, "You of all people don't believe that, Bones." The medic shrugged and shook his head but he did not disagree.
Kirk sat by the fire until there was no warmth left and he shivered. Around him, everything was bathed in silver moonlight. He tried to imagine what it must have been like on Ravik, darkness swallowing the whole planet for weeks on end, then relenting and admitting a tantalising two hours of daylight to remind the survivors what they were missing.
He thought of what Blackstone had said about killing a man at the age of fifteen and wondered how he had accomplished such a feat. Vulcans, even adolescent ones, were strong and Blackstone had no doubt been under the tutelage of Hunter and Kort. Kort at least must have been a trained killer; he was, after all, a Klingon.
Kirk knew what it was like to be in situations where survival depended on the ability – and the willingness to kill. He shuddered in the chill night air, remembering some of those occasions –it was a harsh lesson for a fifteen year old to learn.
In the morning, not far from the Klingon shuttle, they found the remains of a dead Klingon. "You were right not to fancy his chances, Bones," Kirk said, grimly, regarding the corpse. He looked around. After so long a time, tracking the surviving Klingons would be difficult if not impossible. "Might as well toss a coin," he said heading off into the trees, following the river, more or less.
Blackstone saw them first and signalled to the others to take cover. From under the cover of some bushes, they watched as a troupe of hairy humanoids passed by, obviously on a hunting trip. They carried spears and stone axes and were clothed in animal skins. For the three men watching them, it was like being displaced in time, visiting the Palaeolithic period of their own planet and meeting the fabled cavemen face to face. "Do you think Spock encountered this lot?" McCoy asked.
"I'm sure he would find them – fascinating." Kirk answered and both men smiled. Blackstone was aware that they were sharing a memory of their friend and he looked away, scanning the surrounding area for more humanoids. As he did so, his eyes came to rest upon another set of eyes –looking out from a clump of bushes nearby. The owner of the eyes regarded him calmly and quizzically. Blackstone motioned to the others and they followed the direction of his gaze.
"Are you a friend of Mr Spock's?" The young girl asked for she had emerged from her hiding place and was staring at Blackstone. Kirk resisted the urge to rush at her and demand to know everything she knew about the Vulcan First Officer. As calmly as he could, he replied, "Yes, we're friends of Mr Spock. How do you know him?"
"My sister and I found him – he was badly hurt." McCoy stepped forward, concern in his face, "Do you know where he is? Can you take us to him?"
"The others took him."
"What others?" Kirk asked.
"I don't know who they are. We wanted to take him to Sylviana so that she could tend his wounds."
"This – Sylviana," Kirk asked, "Can you take us to her?" The girl held out a hand, trustingly. Kirk took it. McCoy whispered, "Bit young to be wandering around the woods alone, Jim, don't you think?"
The woman the girl referred to as Sylviana seemed unconcerned at seeing the child emerge from the woods with three grown men into a clearing where, strangely, she seemed to be sitting, waiting. She stepped forward to greet them showing no hint of fear. Kirk shook her outstretched hand.
"I am Sylviana." Kirk introduced himself and his companions.
"You are not from these parts, I think, Captain. There are many dangers in the Skarran woods."
"And yet, you allow your… daughter to wander alone in the forest," Kirk answered. Sylviana smiled.
"Mara and her sister, Reena can take care of themselves. I assure you, captain, they were in no danger."
Kirk looked to McCoy and Blackstone, trying to gauge their response to Sylviana. McCoy was in Southern gentleman mode, all smiles and graciousness. Blackstone was looking at them in a curious fashion, as though he did not quite believe that they were real. Something was niggling at Kirk, a hunch that came out of nowhere except a feeling that Sylviana and her daughters were not, could not be what they seemed.
Jim looked at the girl, Mara who had led them here. She was strikingly like Sylviana, beautiful, slender, fair-haired and pallid; the word that came to mind was, ethereal. Likewise her older sister, Reena, who stood at a slight distance, watching them with round, doleful eyes. If they were suddenly to dissolve into thin air, Kirk would not have been surprised. He was reminded of the fabled fairies and nymphs inhabiting the woods of Earth.
Kirk started, remembering when the landing party had first arrived on Skara and Spock had felt what he described as a 'presence' nearby. Spock and McCoy had talked about the wraiths of Talun V, insubstantial beings with no fixed form who communicated telepathically. They would still have registered on McCoy's instruments. What kind of creatures would fail to give a life reading? The word 'ghosts' formed in his mind even as he dismissed it.
"Excuse me." Jim said, "I need to speak with Dr McCoy."
"You okay, Jim?" asked McCoy, surprised.
At a distance, Kirk spoke in a hushed voice,
"As soon as you get an opportunity I'd like you to run your mediscanner over these three"
"Already tried." McCoy said, apologetically, "Darn thing must be malfunctioning. I didn't get any readings at all." Kirk stared at him.
"Run it over me." He said. McCoy complied with the request.
"Well I'll be – it's working now." He muttered. "You're perfectly normal. A little agitated."
"Bones, Bones. There's nothing wrong with your mediscanner. Think, when was the last time it failed to give you a reading when it should have?" McCoy looked perplexed. Clearly he believed that his instrument had merely been playing up. Then, the penny dropped. He looked from Kirk to where the women were conversing with Blackstone and back again, then pointed his mediscanner in their direction, hastily adjusting some controls. Kirk looked at the medic expectantly, "One perfectly healthy Vulcan." McCoy said. He looked at Kirk in disbelief, "No other life forms."
"They're not human." Kirk said, "What are they?"
"Non humans would register, Jim. They simply don't exist."
"Illusions?" Kirk said.
"As a rule, people don't see the same illusions."
"Then what?" Kirk asked, agitated. The word 'ghosts' presented itself again. McCoy shrugged, "I don't have an answer for you, Jim. I deal in flesh and blood, live beings who give me readings." The CMO stared at his mediscanner, shaking his head.
"Captain Kirk! Dr McCoy!" Blackstone's voice. Kirk and McCoy looked in his direction and saw that he was alone. They ran over.
"I cannot explain it. They suddenly began to dissolve in front of me – just vanished into thin air." All three looked around, scanning the immediate area for any sign of Sylviana and her daughters – if such they were – but they were nowhere to be seen.
"When we encountered Mara in the woods, I had not previously heard or sensed that she was there. I had heard and felt the presence of the Skarrans only. Mara must have been close by but I did not hear her. This troubled me at the time." Kirk and McCoy waited. It was obvious that Blackstone wanted to say more but was hesitant.
"Perhaps I failed to hear – or sense her as a separate being because she was one of them." He suggested, tentatively. Kirk understood his meaning instantly.
"A shape shifter?" he said. Blackstone nodded.
"Maybe so." McCoy allowed, "But that still doesn't explain why they didn't show up on my instruments. The Skarrans did. I scanned them as they walked by."
"Ghosts." Kirk voiced what he had been thinking. McCoy smiled, amusedly. Blackstone did not. "That is not as fanciful as it sounds." He said. "Ghosts or phantoms are a common element in the folklore of many cultures throughout the galaxy. However, a more rational explanation would be that they have the ability to mimic the genetic make-up of whatever creature they imitate making them indistinguishable from them."
"Can we be sure this is their world?" McCoy asked. It was a question none of them could answer.
"We have no way of knowing their intentions towards us, I advise caution." Kirk said and the others nodded in agreement.
They were losing the light. While there was still some left, they erected a tent and built a fire. All three were alert, as if expecting Sylviana or one of the girls to take shape from the shadows cast by Skara's moons. McCoy took the first watch. Kirk passed a restless few hours before taking over. George Woodhouse's story about his early friendship with Bob Caton was troubling him. It was the first time he had heard a negative comment about Admiral Caton. Stories about Caton tended to focus on his meteoric rise through the ranks, his achievements and accolades. Not a word about Caton the man. If he had left Woodhouse for dead to further his own career, that cast a long shadow over any subsequent achievements, in Kirk's book. What else might he have done to boost his career?
When Blackstone took over the last watch, Kirk asked him,
"What were Hunter and Kort working on on Ravik?"
"It was classified." Blackstone said, "But I was planning on telling you as it is probably relevant to what we are doing on Skara."
"Go on." Kirk said.
"They were working on an alien craft that had hyperwarp capacity. It had originated in a distant galaxy – this became clear when investigations were carried out as to the craft's origin." He continued,
"The craft was taken to Ravik shortly after its discovery and a team of scientists assigned to work on its power source."
"It had some kind of warp drive?" Blackstone nodded,
"Yes, but no dilithum to regulate the matter-anti-matter interchange. Instead, it had a completely unknown mineral performing that function. This mineral seemed to have other functions also that appeared to indicate that it was a key component in achieving hyperwarp" Blackstone continued,
Everything was lost in the disaster. Of all the scientists working on the project, only Hunter and Kort survived. Their work had been in the rudimentary stages – they were not even close to understanding how that alien craft was powered."
"Ravik, Curie. Kort and Hunter. Was the Curie destroyed because Kort and Hunter were on board? There's a bounty on your head, Blackstone, perhaps there was on theirs, too." Kirk was thinking aloud. Blackstone seemed about to speak, then stopped. "What is it?" Kirk asked, "Do you hear something."
"Hunter and Kort had a theory." The young Vulcan said, "Concerning Ravik" Something about his grave tone put Kirk on the alert, but the question forming in his mind seemed too obscene to ask.
"Are you about to suggest they believed that Ravik was attacked deliberately – to destroy the alien craft and the research centre?" Blackstone looked Kirk in the eyes and gave the slightest of nods.
"That is what Kort and Mark Hunter suspected."
"Makes it all seem a little less coincidental, doesn't it?" Kirk said.
"I told you that they and I have spent years following up leads, speaking to sources, putting the pieces of the puzzle of Ravik together. One name came up over and over. Admiral Ben Caton." Kirk started.
"That would make Caton a mass murderer on an unprecedented scale." He said.
"If Caton is here on Skara and your friend Spock and the others have fallen into his hands, they are in grave danger." Blackstone said. Then, seeing the look of alarm on the Captain's face, he added, "We will find him in time." Kirk nodded, hoping that his face did not betray his feelings.
In the morning McCoy woke early and saw with dismay that it had snowed in the night. It never snowed on Vulcan. McCoy now had an idea of Spock's condition and knew that wherever the Vulcan was on this world, he would also be cold. The doctor's mood was low. He had been unable to sleep after being wakened in the night and hearing Jim's theory. It was early still, not yet quite light and Jim and Blackstone were sleeping soundly in the tent. McCoy decided to stretch his legs and take a walk in the freshly fallen snow.
Cold air stabbed at his face immediately. It was at least ten degrees colder than the previous night. A snowflake landed on his cheek and dripped down like an icy tear. McCoy wiped it away. The grey sky was oppressive, still laden with pre-dawn darkness and swollen clouds ready to drop their burden of snow in an avalanche. Back on Earth the doctor had liked this early morning stillness, but on Skara, the gravid, brooding, quietness seemed unsettling, menacing even. In an effort to combat the gloom, he walked a little way but steps in any direction led inevitably into the encroaching forest with its dangers and secrets. Even with a hand covering the disruptor tucked into his belt, McCoy felt uneasy.
Was it because he and Jim were alone on this world without the thought of the Enterprise orbiting above them, Scotty standing by in case things went wrong? The fact that he had no access to a well-equipped sick-bay? He was worried about Spock that went without saying.
They had a kind of understanding, the Vulcan and he. Sure he liked to goad Spock, antagonise him, push him to the limit, but it was because he knew that Spock knew why he did it. Moreover, McCoy always appreciated when to stop, when he'd gone too far, touched a raw nerve, and if he pushed past that point, there was usually a reason. Mostly that was to force Spock to confront truths about himself.
What others might see as devilment, McCoy regarded as sound psychotherapeutic practice. Except, of course, those few occasions when he was bored, or intensely irritated by the Vulcan or when sheer devilment really was irresistible. And Spock was capable of defending himself – he gave as good as he got. The sparring between the two was becoming the stuff of legend.
On a sudden impulse, McCoy bent down and scooped up a handful of powdery snow, compressing it into a ball, which he aimed at the nearest tree. He watched, dissatisfied as it disintegrated, slipping down the bark in a silent, silvery shower.
"Good shot." Sylviana's voice, behind him. McCoy wondered how she had crept up on him without warning, then remembered – ghosts make no noise.
"Who said I was aiming for the tree?" he said, good-humouredly.
"You are up early. Couldn't sleep?" asked Sylviana. McCoy felt irritation.
"Who – or what - are you, really?" He asked. "According to my instruments, you don't exist." He looked at her squarely, challenging her to disagree. Sylviana smiled and nodded.
"I am a shape shifter. Mara and Reena are not children, nor are they my daughthers. We are this world's other sentient species. McCoy raised an eyebrow quizzically.
"The hairy creatures who are so populous on this world are more robust than we were – most of my people were killed by a virus that had no effect on them. Those of us who survived the virus were altered"
"Where is the evidence of your civilisation?" McCoy asked, suspiciously. Sylviana laughed, a tinkling, feminine sound that was as fragile as a crystal of snow.
"It is long gone, and with it most of the knowledge of my people." She said, "Some remnants remain, concealed by the forest. More often than not now we adopt the form of the the hairy creatures you call the Skarrans, and live amongst them. With our guidance, they are progressing fast. Long after my people are all gone, they will still be here."
"You said the virus changed you – in what way?" asked McCoy.
"It gave us the ability to alter our genetic make-up, to assume any form."
As she spoke, Sylviana seemed to lose substance and McCoy blinked, thinking it was a trick of the dawning light, but she was dissolving before his eyes. He cleared his throat, "I can see through you." He said, stretching a hand towards her. He was unsurprised when it passed straight through her evaporating form.
"Forgive me." Sylviana said, "I am tired, low in energy. I believe it is a condition comparable to your state of hunger. I am losing my physical form. "I require rest. Holding an unfamiliar shape for a long time can be exhausting."
This time Sylviana winked out of existence altogether and she did not come back. McCoy's unasked questions hung in the air, unanswered.
Had she told him the truth regarding her race's relationship with the less evolved hairy Skarrans? It was naïve, he knew to hope that all beings at the higher end of the evolutionary scale were benevolent towards lesser creatures. Ask any of the numerous species that had been rendered extinct by humans on Earth. Nor was intelligence any guarantee of moral superiority. Sylviana seemed to radiate a kind of goodness but how could he be sure that he was not simply being beguiled by the beauty of the physical form she had assumed?
.
McCoy walked back to the campsite, chilled to the bone. He woke the others and related what he had learned. There was no sign of Sylviana or the two girls when they left the encampment.
Like Spock, Blackstone was not made for snow and he shivered in the now freezing temperature. McCoy was cold too, and Jim was rubbing his hands together for warmth. There was warmer clothing in the hoverplane and they had little choice but to return there and kit themselves out for the weather.
"More time wasted, dammit," McCoy muttered under his breath, scowling at Blackstone, whose keen ears had picked up his words.
"We will find your friend." The young Vulcan said, reassuringly, his face revealing his compassion. McCoy held his gaze for a moment, then looked away distracted by a sound in the undergrowth. For a moment he fancied he saw a female shape begin to coalesce amidst the blazing foliage, but it must have been a trick of the light, for when he looked more closely, there was nothing there but leaves.