Spock Messiah

CHAPTER THREE

“That tears it,” Scott murmured. “You can see for yourself, sir, Mr. Spock is gone. Where, I dinna ken, but gone he is.”

“At the least, the locator circuit on his “communicator isn’t responding to our signal,” Kirk said. He thought for a moment. “I wonder if that radiation front could be interfering with our locating frequencies?”

“I’ll check,” Scott said. “We’ll see if Dawson’s communicator is responding.” He fed its frequency into the locator and pressed a button. Instantly, a series of bright green numerals appeared on the screen set in the face of the console.

“We’re getting through, at least,” Kirk said. “Check those against Dawson’s location.”

Scott nodded and bent over the console. A second later, a map of the city of Andros appeared on the viewing screen, a grid superimposed on it. When Dawson’s coordinates were compared against where the board said he was, a bright blip appeared in the exact center of a circled location.

“They check, sir,” Scott said. “That readout shows that Dawson is at the inn, and that’s where he’s supposed to be.”

Kirk took a long moment before replying. When he did, he spoke carefully. “Since the locator is working properly, Spock is either dead, unconscious, or he’s tampered with the communicator’s locator circuit. Considering the tinkering that was done up here, it seems likely he’s modified his communicator. But… why?”

“Now, Captain,” Scott said. “We’re not sure he altered the board. And what’s mair, it’s humanly impossible for a communicator to be tampered with, with what Mr. Spock has available to him down there.”

“He could have done it up here,” McCoy said.

“But, Doctor, a man’s communicator is his only link with the ship when he’s planet-side. It’d be crazy to disable the locator circuit.”

“Spock isn’t human,” Kirk observed dryly. “He can do almost anything he wants to and, in this case, it seems as though he doesn’t want us to find him.” He turned to McCoy. “Bones, why? That’s your department. Do you have any idea why Spock wouldn’t want his location known?”

“It might 4iave something to do with his not beaming up with the rest last night,” McCoy answered. “And then again, it might not. I should give up trying to figure out what makes Spock tick, I’ve tried long enough. He’s always taken care to keep the human side he inherited from his mother suppressed. It’s true that he always acts logically, but it’s usually such an alien logic that much of the time I don’t understand why he does what he does—unless he cares to explain, that is. When he does, his actions always make perfect sense. When he doesn’t, the man’s an enigma. Maybe that’s what makes him so attractive to women. They find him ‘fascinating,’ ” McCoy finished.

“Could his implant have anything to do with this?”

McCoy shook his head. “I don’t see how. When Spock came to sickbay to get his implant, Ensign George and I checked the profiles carefully and picked the one with the lowest emotional quotient. Even though he knew some of his dop’s emotion would come through the link, Spock said it was no problem.”

“Couldn’t you have altered the device to screen out all emotional input?” Kirk asked.

“Sure,” McCoy replied, “but then we would have defeated one of the most important purposes for using it, perfect mimicry of native behavior. Vulcans always react logically to events. With humans and Kyrosians, there’s an inevitable emotional component. Eliminate that, and you’ll start to call attention to yourself as someone odd and different—which is the last thing we want to happen to a survey party member who’s trying to pass as a native!”

McCoy went on, “Speck’s dop is a very proper, very respectable, and very unemotional merchant who owns a small pottery shop. There’s absolutely nothing in his profile to explain Spock’s present behavior. I picked it myself and Sara fed it in.”

“Then I guess we’ll have to assume that we have a normal Spock who has some good reason for getting himself lost,” Kirk said. “But when he returns, he’d better have a very logical explanation for his behavior. We can’t wait around here indefinitely. At the rate that radiation is peaking, I’ve got to get the Enterprise out of here before too long. I won’t endanger this ship because of some private whim of my first officer.”

Kirk paced the floor of the transporter room. “He knows something has happened to make us send out an emergency recall.” He paused suddenly. “Or does he? Bones, what if the tingler doesn’t work on a Vulcan? If he never received our message, he’d have no way of knowing that he’d have to cut short whatever he’s up to. He’d never disobey a direct order, no matter how important his project was.”

“It’s as you said before, Jim,” McCoy said grimly. “If he’s dead… but if he’s alive, he got the signal. There may be a lot of anatomical differences between humans and Vulcans—Spock’s heart being where his liver ought to be, among others—but a nerve is a nerve to both of us.”

“He could be a prisoner…” Scott said.

“We’ve got to know for sure,” Kirk said. “Scotty, is there anyway you could lock onto Spock’s tricorder? He took it with him.”

“Negative, sir,” replied the engineering officer. “A tricorder is too well shielded. There’s nae enou’ energy leakage to get a fix.”

“There has to be a way…” Kirk muttered, clenching his fists and resuming his anxious pacing of the transporter room.

As if on cue, the communicator on the transporter console bleeped, signaling a call from the survey party. Scott reached toward the board, but Kirk, who was a bit closer, jabbed down a finger.

“Kirk here. Any word of Spock?”

“Yes, sir.” Dawson’s voice sounded strained. “I think you’d better beam us up at once.”

“Is he with you?”

“No, sir, he—”

“Then do you know where he is?” Kirk interrupted.

“No, sir, but he sent a message. It’s addressed to you, Captain.”

“Well, he’s alive anyway. Bring ‘em up, Scotty.”

The engineer stepped to the board and placed his thick fingers on the phase controls. Moving them gently, he pushed them along the runner slots. A deep hum of power filled the transporter room, and, after a few seconds, as the hum built up, the shimmering effect of the transporter’s carrier wave appeared over five of the six circular plates on the stage. Five figures in Kyrosian dress stepped down. One of them approached Kirk and handed him a scroll tied with a brightly colored ribbon,

“Mr. Spock’s message, sir. An old beggar woman brought it to me at the inn.”

Kirk glanced at the parchment-like scroll. It was from Spock all right. Kirk’s name was written on the outside in lettering so precise that it could have been printed by a computer.

As Kirk untied the ribbon and opened the scroll, Scott watched as Dawson removed his garishly marked, close-fitting hood, displaying his newly-shaven head.

“What were you doing down there, Lieutenant? Playing trick or treat?”

Dawson grinned and rubbed his head. “My dop is a hillman, Commander. At least he was before he got kicked out of his clan for propositioning one of the chiefs wives. Andros is full of hillmen who have had their hoods lifted.”

“Who what?” Scott asked.

“Had their hoods lifted. Exposing the face is as taboo among the hill tribes as exposing the breasts once was back on Earth a few hundred years ago. On Kyros, once your face has been seen by an enemy, you’re wide open to any spell he wants to send your way. The worst punishment a clan can inflict on an erring member, aside from killing him, is to strip off his hood in public. Once his features are known, he usually would opt for immediate, permanent, self-imposed exile. Or commit suicide. Most of them get to Andros and live together in a slum, since no hill tribe will take a reject from another…”

Kirk’s voice suddenly halted further conversation. His face a frozen mask, he spoke in unnaturally calm, precise tones.

“Mr. Scott, please call the warp drive engine room and have your people check the status of the trilithium modulator crystals in the field damper circuits. Have them check stores to see if the replacements are there.”

“Now why would you be wanting the trilithium modules checked at a time like this?”

“Please carry out my orders, Mr. Scott,” Kirk said. Although he gave no hint of his inner turmoil, there was a quality to his voice that made Scott jump.

“Aye, aye, sir.”

“Jim, what the hell’s wrong?” McCoy asked. Kirk ignored him, staring at the scroll held in his hands.

Scott went to the communicator and began to snap orders to the duty officers in the warp drive engineering room. When they replied, their voices were high and excited. Scott turned to his captain, his broad face ashen.

“They’re gone! The replacements, too! Our warp drive is disabled!”

“Then Spock wasn’t bluffing,” Kirk said in a low voice. His steady eyes looked first at his engineering officer and then at the ship’s surgeon.

“Gentlemen,” he continued in the same slow, measured tones, “I regret to inform you that the Enterprise and her crew are at the mercy of a madman. Mr. Spock has gone insane.”

His face expressionless, he began to read aloud from the parchment-like scroll while his officers stared at him in shock.

Stardate 6718.1 Captain Kirk:

No longer the void. No longer the frigid wanderings through empty corridors of self. I have been touched. I have been anointed. I have seen.

There are gods, and they move in mysterious ways; and the strangest of these is that they should select a poor human-Vulcan hybrid as the agent through which their will is to be done. Kyros reeks with sin; flame and sword shall cleanse it, though persuasion is the first commandment. First, Andros, and then, as my forces grow, city after city until the whole planet is united into one people governed by the divine law.

You will say that in doing this I am violating General Order Number One. So be it. I obey a higher law. I realize that you, who have not been touched by the light, will feel compelled to use your resources to attempt to thwart my mission.

I do not underestimate the mighty forces the Enterprise can bring to bear. I have therefore taken steps to ensure that you and your ship remain neutral in the coming struggle between good and evil. I have disabled the warp drive by removing the trilithium modulator crystals from the field damper circuits. These I have placed in my tricorder. I have altered its circuits in such a way that any manifestation of phaser energy or communicator frequencies will result in their immediate destruction.

It may be that once Kyros is purged, the gods will wish to use the Enterprise to bring the light to other systems. Their will in this matter has not yet been revealed to me. For the moment, you will remain in orbit and be prepared to render such assistance to my mission as I and the gods deem necessary.

That which the gods have ordained must come to pass. Be happy that you have been granted a small place in the carrying out of their will.

Let there be peace between us,

The Messiah (once known as Spock).

When Kirk finished reading, he raised his eyes slowly, saying quietly, “We have a problem, gentlemen. Please have all department heads meet me in the briefing room in five minutes.” With that, he turned and left the transporter room, his thoughts boiling with worry and fear for the mad Vulcan.

Every seat in the briefing room was occupied when Kirk entered and took his place at the head of the long table. Grim faces and worried eyes told that McCoy and Scott had been unable to keep the news to themselves. Several excited questions were flung at Kirk. He raised a hand for silence and in slow, measured tones, began to speak.

“Gentlemen, no problem is incapable of a solution if approached in a calm, logical way. Our situation isn’t good, but we’ve been in worse ones and won through to safety. Let me first make a brief situational analysis, then we’ll consider what is to be done.

“Mr. Scott, am I correct in assuming that with the modulator crystals gone, the warp drive is inoperable?”

“Aye, sir,” Scott replied, almost in tears at what had been done to his beloved engines. “The crystals are isotopes of our main drive dilithium crystals, and they keep the matter/anti-matter damper field stable. Wi’oot the field, the reaction would go critical in nanoseconds and there’d be naething left of the Enterprise but a burning ball of plasma!”

“So we’re stranded,” Kirk said flatly. “And with our sub-space radio out, there’s no way we can summon help. Mr. Helman, has there been any change in the forecast of when that front will peak?”

“Only for the worse now, sir,” the second science officer replied, shaking his head somberly. “I checked the computer not long ago and the probability is now .98 that radiation will reach one hundred rad by 20:00 hours, eight days from now. Duration estimate, according to the computer, has bottomed out at one month.”

Kirk leaned back in his chair and surveyed the sober-faced officers.

“It would seem then, gentlemen,” he said, “that circumstances limit us to two possible courses of action. First, we can abandon ship, an action I intend to use only as a final resort. If we do beam down, we’ll never be able to return to the ship. By the time the storm is over, she will be hopelessly—and permanently—radioactive. Further, if we are faced with abandoning ship, we won’t be able to take any of the usual survival gear with us. Since there are no uninhabited lands below, we would shortly be in contact with the native population. Thus, any use of, or display of any of our advanced technology would be a violation of General Order One.”

The room was silent as space as Kirk went on. “Therefore, about all we’d be able to take with us are the clothes on our backs—and they’d be Kyrosian clothes, at that—which means there’d be little we could do to resist Spock’s plans to dominate Kyros. He obviously intends to disregard General Order One, and his ultimatum implies that he wouldn’t scruple to use his vast scientific knowledge. Metallurgy down there is advanced enough to make the production of crude firearms a definite possibility. And finally, to make our situation even worse, it may well be that our last position report never got through to Starfleet because of the sub-space radiation front. Our chances of rescue, then, are exceedingly slim.

“The only alternative we have is to find Spock and retrieve the trilithium modules before our eight days are up. I suggest we proceed to that consideration immediately. Dr. McCoy.”

“Yes, sir?”

“Something has obviously gone wrong with Mr. Spock’s implant. Will you please review the procedure and the profile of his native link? We might make our job easier that way.”

“Certainly, sir,” McCoy said. He walked to the computer terminal at the other end of the conference table, sat in front of it and pushed a button. A visual monitor on the bulkhead was revealed behind a sliding panel. He punched another button and the low hum of the activated terminal filled the room.

“Computer…” McCoy began.

“Recording.”

“I want access to all medical records on the telescan project.”

“Working.”

“Display the profile of Commander Spock’s Kyrosian link.”

“Working,” the computer replied again. A moment later, the monitor screen was filled with the glowing green lines of the Kyrosian personality profile.

McCoy rose partway out of his seat. “My god!” he exploded.

“What’s the matter, Bones?” Kirk asked, moving toward the monitor screen.

“That’s the profile of a madman! If Spock is hooked into that, no wonder he’s acting like he is! But how…?” Regaining a little composure, McCoy reseated himself.

“Computer, scan for error,” he demanded in a shaky voice.

“There is no error.”

McCoy stared at Kirk.

“Computer,” Kirk said, “identify that profile.”

The computer began to speak. “Name, Chag Gara. Age, forty-three. Origin, hill clan, Tara. Subject is a paranoid who believes he has been chosen by the tribal gods to lead a crusade to unify Kyros’ city-states under a theocratic government with himself as head. Subject has been able to attract a certain following among the unsophisticated, superstitious hill tribes. Probability is that subject induces highly emotional state in listeners. Biographical data in medical banks indicates subject has been in Andros for several weeks attempting to enlist the city-dwellers in his crusade. His low general intelligence and inability to order his thoughts logically have mitigated against the use of the same tactics in Andros which were moderately successful in the hills. Except for a small scattering of unstable urbanites, subject is considered a mentally disturbed fanatic and has been received with hostility and derision. Probability is .87 that subject will resort to military action. The nearest analogs in data banks are: Mohammed, founder Islam, approximately A.D. 600, planet Sol 3; Stur, founder Thirty Tribes, Year of Blood, planet Vulcan; Nerid…”

“Stop,” Kirk ordered. “Estimate probability of Chag Gara’s success.”

“Probability is point zero zero zero one seven,” the computer replied.

Kirk stared coldly at the chief medical officer.

“Dr. McCoy, I believe an explanation is in order. Why was my first officer linked to an alien lunatic?”

The other didn’t seem to hear the question. He sat staring at the profile, his face still registering shock and dismay. “The implications,” he muttered, “the implications…”

“Implications later,” snapped the captain. “I want to know what happened!”

McCoy shook his head in bewilderment. “I haven’t the slightest idea. That profile is almost the complete opposite of what we selected for Spock. Somehow, they must have gotten switched and he was tuned to a profile in our reject file.”

“How could that have happened?” Kirk demanded, his voice frosty.

“It couldn’t have! When Ensign George beamed up with the personality scans she made from the inn, she, Nurse Chapel, and I sorted and cataloged them according to whether they would be suitable or not. We even took physical build into account, because there is a relationship between it and behavior. We stored the rejects in the medical library for future study and then began the matching process. I personally cross-indexed each profile with the survey party member with whom it was going to be linked and placed the magcards in the tuner.” He gestured toward the screen. “This… this is impossible!”

“Impossible or not,” Kirk said, “we’re faced with a deliberate act of sabotage. I want everyone who had any connection with the telescan project up here on the double. If there has been any violation of Starfleet regulations which has resulted in a violation of General

Order Number One, there’s going to be an immediate court-martial.”

McCoy turned to the communicator. On ship-wide call, he said, “Dr. Mbenga, Nurse Chapel, and Ensign George: report to the briefing room at once.”

“I don’t think you realize the implications of what has happened, Captain,” McCoy said, facing Kirk. “Watch. Computer.”

“Recording.”

“Display Commander Spock’s personality profile.”

“Working,” the computer replied, and a complex graph replaced that of the Kyrosian hillman.

“Let me explain what this shows about Spock,” McCoy said, once more in control of himself. “We can ignore most of this,” he said, as he gestured to the complex electronic graph. “Only five areas are of immediate concern. Computer, bar graph the IQ, LQ, EQ, DQ, and SQ. Wipe the rest.”

The screen blanked for a second, then a new configuration appeared.

“Observe, gentlemen,” McCoy began, pointing to the first bar. “Spock’s intelligence quotient almost runs off the scale. He has a high genius rating, higher than most Vulcans and much higher than humans. His LQ—logic quotient, that is—which measures his ability to apply his intelligence to the logical solution of problems, is equally high.” He pointed to the second bar. “The man is an organic computer. Once supplied with sufficient data, he always arrives at the optimum solution.”

“Why the lecture?” Kirk asked. “We know all that.”

“You’ll see my point in a minute, Captain. In contrast,” he pointed again, “his emotional quotient is extremely low. If he were a pure Vulcan, it would be zero. His DQ is.”

“DQ?” asked Kirk.

“Delusional quotient. That’s a measurement of the extent to which personal beliefs interfere with the perception of objective reality. His sensuality quotient, for obvious reasons of Vulcan physiology, is also zero. Mr.

Spock is incapable of any sexual feelings except for widely spaced periods of intense arousal. And now, to the point. Computer.”

“Recording.”

“Bar graph the same characteristics of subject Kyrosian Chag Gara.”

“Working.”

Another graph appeared on the screen.

“You will note here,” McCoy said, “a profile that is almost diametrically opposed to our first officer’s. Very low IQ, an almost nonexistent LQ, but an abnormally high EQ, DQ, and SQ. From the last, I’d surmise that he preaches a paradise for the faithful that is full of beautiful and eager houris. I’d also bet that he spends as much time chasing women as he does preaching,” McCoy concluded.

“I’m afraid to see what’s coming next,” Kirk said soberly.

In reply, McCoy nodded. He spoke to the computer. “Computer… superimpose Spock’s graph on the one now snowing.”

There was a collective gasp from the somber group as the new image appeared. Each of the five bars reached almost to the top of the scale.

“And that, gentlemen, is what we’re up against. Spock is locked into a delusional syndrome from which he can’t escape. He knows the gods have chosen him as an instrument of their will, and he will apply all of his vast intellectual resources to carry it out. Unless we stop him before his movement acquires momentum, his hordes will sweep across Kyros converting or killing.”

Kirk smashed his fist down on the desk.

“You assured me the implants were foolproof! You said you checked Spock carefully!” he said to McCoy accusingly.

“They are, when used properly, Captain,” McCoy replied defensively. “But they were never designed for a match-up like this. At the moment of linkage between Spock and Gara, there must have been an emotional surge that blew the input filter stage. In that instant, that delusional pattern was imprinted on Spock’s brain, and he knew himself to be the chosen of the gods.” McCoy paused for a moment and glanced at the assembled men and women.

“It wasn’t our first officer who was prowling the ship the night before last. It was the Messiah!”