Galileo to Enterprise
Stardate 2258.136
My dearest Nyota,
It pleases me that you derived so much satisfaction from my careful storage of your jungle boots. Please advise Captain Kirk that, had I taken all your offerings aboard, I would have expended fuel equivalent to 2.63 low orbital passes in ferrying the additional equipment here and back. I elected to conserve fuel at the expense of protecting my feet. If this choice proves to have negative consequences, you may ridicule me to your satisfaction upon my return. And if Mr. Scott does not realize that the shuttlecraft is equipped with a perfectly adequate homing beacon, he has no business being our chief engineer.
As the stardate of this message implies, I have achieved orbit around Emagious III. It distresses me to report that the atmosphere, while somewhat higher in concentration of nitrogen and methane than Earth baseline, appears entirely breathable, just as the long-range surveys had indicated. Furthermore, there is no significant interference from the atmosphere that prevents me from making acceptable scans of the planet's surface, or would lead one to conclude that communications would be interfered with in any way. Please console Captain Kirk and Mr. Scott as best you can.
I have only begun my initial low-orbit survey. There are three major landmasses in the southern region, two in the north. I am attaching preliminary scan data. I will send you another subspace pulse when I determine upon which continent I will set down first. Expect intermittent communications, as I anticipate spending much time exploring the surface on foot, and want to conserve the shuttlecraft's battery power as much as possible.
I am pleased that my replacement displays such an admirable devotion to her duty. I trust the days will pass with their customary alacrity.
Spock
* * *
Spock completed precisely 16 orbital passes before deciding upon his initial landing site. It was shoddy work by anyone's standards, but Spock was impatient to undertake his real purpose in visiting Emagious III. Although he believed that providing a concrete reason for his journey had significantly improved his chances of getting his leave approved, Spock had not come here to survey the planet.
He chose the largest of the three southern continents— the one whose land mass coincided most exactly with the planet's equatorial region. Emagious III was far wetter than Vulcan, but nearly as warm. He should be able to adapt to its requirements with reasonable ease.
Prudence dictated that he make a low aerial pass of the area he intended to traverse on foot. Spock might be impatient, but he didn't consider himself foolhardy. The fly-over revealed a nearly flat terrain covered with nearly flat vegetation. It seemed that, in Emagious III's higher gravity, few plant forms were willing to reach for the sky, at least in this region. Kilometer after kilometer revealed a rolling landscape of fungi, lichens, and plasmodial slime molds, their vivid colors muted by the predawn mist. Overall, the region appeared most conducive to his needs.
In the center of the newly surveyed area, he settled the Galileo onto its landing skids and powered down. He ran a detailed atmospheric check, followed by a routine scan for toxins. All readouts reported clear. He then took a tricorder reading, trying to determine if any of the large quadrupeds that he had noted during his last orbital pass lingered anywhere in the vicinity. Again, the readout showed negative.
He cracked the seal on the hatch. The hot, dry air of the shuttle's interior was replaced by a wave of warm, wet air, laced with the pungent scent of methane— doubtless the legacy of recent volcanic activity. Spock carried the tricorder with him, and ducked out the hatch to stand on the topmost step of the shuttlecraft.
He had landed near the solar terminator, the so-called "gray line" that separated the planet's day and night sides, to give himself the maximum daylight hours available to commence his activities. As a result, the silent land was still wrapped in twilight, tendrils of mist curling up from the ground to weave themselves hypnotically through the air.
Spock stepped down onto the terrain; the plantlife squelched under his boot. His foot landed with more force than he had anticipated. The increased gravity of the planet was evident, although not oppressive. Even so, Spock would have to be careful how he held himself until he adjusted to its demands.
He ran the tricorder over the groundcover to get an accurate reading. As suspected, many of the organisms were similar in structure to various forms of Labyrinthulomycota, intermixed with a substantial representation of individuals that were morphologically reminiscent of the Basidiomycota phylum of fungi. How fortunate.
After studying the readouts and finding nothing alarming, Spock broke off a piece of a specimen composed of a thick, flattened fruiting body that curled up at the edges. True to his plan, he had ingested nothing but water since his meal with Nyota four days ago. Now he touched this alien fragment to his tongue; it had a light, musky flavor. He put the piece into his mouth, and chewed.
The texture was somewhat rubbery, but in flavor it resembled the noble mushroom of the north Asian region of Earth. As was usual after a fast, the taste flooded his senses, almost intoxicating with its power. In addition to his body's response to nourishment was the mental exhilaration of tasting something entirely new, vaguely familiar aromas laced with strangeness.
A burst of energy surged through him and, with it, he felt the transformation—for with this act he had crossed the ineradicable step from being a mere observer to becoming a part of this world. It had happened; it was done. This new world was now a part of him, was even now being dispersed throughout his body by his bloodstream. Spock pondered the strangeness of life, how a person born on a desert planet parsecs away could now stand on a flattened alien landscape and sample a taste of mushroom.
He straightened and dusted his hands. Invigorating as the morsel was, he planned to partake of no more of it until it was patent that it produced no ill effects; with Spock's metabolism, that would take approximately 3 to 4 hours.
No matter. He had no particularly urgent need to eat. Now that Emagious III was proving so suitable for his needs, he was eager to get on with his plan.
He returned to the shuttlecraft and accessed the security locker. His phaser and communicator were inside; he would leave them here. The full-sized tricorder he had just used he added to the stash, then closed and locked the door. It was unlikely that any other spacefarers would happen upon the shuttlecraft in his absence, but Spock didn't want to let important equipment fall into the hands of some pirate if he could prevent it.
His uniform was next to go. He stripped it off, leaving his clothing in a neat pile in the pilot's chair. His boots he set side by side on the floor. He lifted his small pack out of the locker where he had stowed it. The ambient temperature was warm; it would grow hotter still as the day commenced. He wouldn't need much of the protective gear he'd brought with him.
He emptied the pack of clothing, setting the rolled bundle in the passenger seat where it magically expanded from its compact form into a complete wardrobe. From the pile, he selected his ultra-thin, all-weather shirt and a pair of long pants, in case he must bivouac somewhere. He rolled them into a tight bundle and opened the (now even smaller) pack. His portable medical kit, condenser, firestarter materials, Sulu's slingshot, and sonic repeller (because he had promised Nyota) were all tucked into their respective pockets to prevent their shifting. The multiplex tool and field tricorder nestled at the bottom of the pack; his bundle of clothing he tucked in on top.
He briefly debated taking a food supplement—then decided against it. Even if it turned out that the particular fungus he'd sampled proved disappointing, chances were that some of the native plantlife would be edible. His entire pack now weighed nearly three kilograms; he did not want the extra weight. In this gravity, his body weight alone added an extra 8.3 kilograms to every step; he must be cautious about overtaxing his joints. Even another half kilogram of nonessential weight could prove burdensome over the course of a long journey.
He returned to the passenger seat, and selected the items he meant to wear. The first was an article of clothing compressed neatly into a roll about the size of his little finger. He shook it open to reveal its shape. It was a Vulcan sahr-fek, named after the running vine it resembled and the act for which it was used. The sahr-fek was a kind of loincloth designed for long, rapid journeys over hot terrain. The functional part consisted of a thong secured by a slender flat band about the hips. Out of tradition, a flap of lightweight material, about a handspan wide, hung down at the front and back, the material extending a couple of centimeters below the crotch. The cloth had a base color of light brown, matching the material of the thong, but it was covered with bold patterns that indicated the symbols of his House, portrayed in muted colors.
He pulled the sahr-fek into place, then settled the pack to ride just above it, low on his hips. He jumped a couple of times and ran in place, then resettled some of the items in his pack and tried again. He was satisfied when the pack held snugly to the small of his back and the items within remained secure despite vigorous movement.
He next donned the footwear that Nyota had observed. They slipped onto his feet snugly, like a tough, second skin. The tops rose about ankle high—certainly sufficient protection in this environment. He stood, and jogged in place again to test the fit. He was ready.
He turned to the control panel. He had sent a subspace pulse to Nyota only the day before, in response to hers. The pulse would take approximately 3.3 solar days to reach the Enterprise given its present location, and the lag time would only increase as the Enterprise continued on her mission. Nyota would not have received his response yet, but it was imperative that he send another before receiving her reply. For Dr. McCoy was certainly correct; prevention was better than any cure. He must set her mind at rest so that he could rest in turn.
He elected to record audio only. Excessive personal modesty was no part of his make-up, but he did not want to raise questions in Nyota's mind as to why he was sitting mostly naked in a shuttlecraft.
"Galileo to Enterprise, Stardate 2458.137. My dearest Nyota, I have set down on the northernmost of the southern continents, approximately 2 degrees south of this planet's equator. Coordinates and aerial scan data are appended to this message. I am about to begin my on-site survey of the planet's surface. As previously stated, expect intermittent communications, as I will be conserving power. I will report again within approximately five days. Do not become alarmed if I do not immediately respond to a message. It is likely that I will make several forays from the shuttle, and possibly some of these might be of some duration. Initial field testing indicates that the vegetation is edible and the area insect-free. I regret to inform you that I have been unable to locate any bogs in the vicinity. I will remain vigilant in hopes that eventually one may appear. I trust that you are well, and are using the extra time to advantage. I look forward to our eventual reunion. Spock out."
Per standard procedure, Spock encrypted the message and its addendum, then sent it by low-priority subspace pulse. Nyota would receive it in approximately four days, depending on the Enterprise's location; he hoped it would quiet some of her inevitable concerns.
That task done, he went over the control panel and turned most of the systems completely off, leaving active only the homing beacon and the security system that would recognize his personal access code. His tracking device that would guide him back to the shuttle (in the unlikely event it would be needed) was built into his field tricorder. For the immediate future, he would be completely on his own, with only the items that he carried on his body to sustain him.
Spock set the hatch to close behind him, and once again stepped down onto the moist terrain. The give of the unusual ground-cover was pleasant against his feet; the warm air caressed his skin. Even as the hatch sealed itself behind him, Spock closed his eyes in gratitude.
Most citizens of the Federation considered Vulcans to be thinking machines. There was some truth to this view; Vulcans did tend to pride themselves on their speed and clarity of thought. But they were not merely thinking creatures, and this important addendum was too often overlooked. There were times where thought— logic, if you will— must be set aside. All things benefited from a rest, and the brain was no exception.
Some weeks ago, Spock had reached that point. Just as the mind could heal the body, so too could the body heal the mind. Spock had tried the former method, without success. Now it was time to invoke the latter—to simply shut down, and let nature take over. This was a time for thoughts to be suspended, to allow oneself to feel and experience nothing beyond the intake of breath, the tread of one's footfalls, the scents in the air and the textures beneath one's feet.
It was time to run.
A gleam of red streaked suddenly across the plain from the horizon, burnishing the floating banks of mist with a golden glow. Vapor began to smoke off the multicolored blotches that covered the dewy plain.
Spock put his back to the low-lying sun. Swiftly, strongly, he began to run.