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    Star Trek - TOS - 30 - DEMONS

    Page 6
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      surprised when McCoy called to say that working round the clock, the

      medical staff had managed to psycho scan only half the crew, and of

      those, all were normal.

      "So much for shore leave," Kirk said quietly.

      The remark had been too soft for others on the bridge to

      overhear--except, of course, for Spock. The Vulcan walked over to

      Kirk's side.

      "Captain," he said in a low voice, "for one guilty of murder charges,

      Vulcan would be a most difficult planet to escape from, particularly if

      security central were alerted to the problem and landing parties

      required to stay in groups of three or four."

      Kirk grunted. "If they were required to stay together the entire

      time--it might work." He smiled up at his first officer. "A logical

      solution, Mr. Spock, but I might be tempted to think that you're

      trying to convince me not to cancel shore leave for purely ulterior

      motives."

      Spock's expression was one of mild shock. "Sir, I was merely trying to

      be of assistance.. .."

      Kirk laughed briefly. "So be it. We're long overdue for a little R

      and R. Groups of four--no one is to be alone, not even for an

      instant."

      "That," said Spock, "is likely to prove interesting." He returned to

      his station and bent over his viewer.

      "Maybe it won't be so bad," Kirk mused, watching the planet rotate on

      the view screen. "Is there any place you would recommend, Spock, for

      out-of-towners looking for some purely human forms of entertainment?"

      Spock did not answer. He remained bent over his viewer.

      "Spock? Is there something wrong?" Kirk got out of his chair and went

      over to Spock's station.

      "There appear to be some abnormalities with Vulcan's atmosphere," Spock

      said, distracted, without looking up.

      "Abnormalities?"

      "It cannot be the instruments," Spock said. "I just ran diagnostics on

      them; they're in perfect working order. As I know the exact

      composition of Vulcan's atmosphere, I was scanning to test their

      calibration. I often do so as a matter of procedure--"

      "What sort of abnormalities, Spock?" Spock looked up and sighed. "My

      scanner registers the atmosphere as unusually dense. According to

      computer analysis, the chemical composition and consistency indicates

      that the atmosphere has become .. . split-pea soup." "Split-pea soup?"

      Kirk asked.

      "There is something I must talk to you about," Spock said. He and

      Anitra sat in the office in his quarters.

      "Then talk, sir," she said.

      "I do not understand the purpose of practical joking."

      "It's funny."

      Spock focused his gaze on her intently, and she shifted her chair; if

      she didn't know him better, she might think he was trying to intimidate

      her with that peculiar, nonthreatening but nonetheless frightening way

      Vulcans had. "You might think such jokes humorous, Dr. Lanter, but

      they can lead to serious outcomes."

      "Such as?" Anitra asked coolly.

      "Changing the readings of instruments at critical times when quick

      decisions must be made could lead to life-threatening situations. And

      personally humiliating the captain serves no purpose except to

      infuriate him and, should you be discovered to be the perpetrator,

      damage your career in Star Fleet." "What makes you think it's me?"

      Spock stared at her without answering, and she felt herself flushing in

      spite of herself.

      "And besides," she said, "maybe I'm not that concerned about my

      career."

      "I am at present," Spock said. "We cannot afford any interference with

      our mission."

      "All right, then, I apologize," she said, straight

      faced, then she suddenly covered her mouth with her hand. "But you

      have to admit, it was funny."

      Spock held her with that stony stare. "It is not necessary to

      apologize to me."

      "Then what do you want?"

      "Apologize to the captain."

      She blanched and lowered her hand. "You just said that we couldn't

      risk any interference--"

      "Ensign, he has ordered me to find the perpetrator. I could have told

      him that I knew who it was, but I would prefer you went to him

      voluntarily."

      "I see." She considered it for a moment. "I suppose in that case, I

      volunteer."

      Kirk was just about to step into the shower fully clothed--the sonic,

      that is, since he hadn't resorted to water showers since the fateful

      incident--when the buzzer sounded.

      It was Anitra Lanter.

      "Come in, Ensign." For a minute, he could not piece together why she

      was there.

      "I've come to c onfess, Captain," she said.

      She seemed contrite enough, but there was a hint of a smirk in her eyes

      that aggravated the hell out of him. "I see. Would you like to

      explain to me why you did it, Ensign?"

      She looked at the floor. Kirk was not sure if it was out of shame and

      regret, or simply an attempt to hide those dancing eyes. "I suppose I

      thought it was-funny, sir."

      "Funny," he echoed tonelessly. "Do you realize that you could be

      charged with breaking and entering a senior officer's quarters? And

      sabotage, for tampering

      with the communications board and Mr. Spock's computers?"

      "Yes, sir," she said in what Kirk judged to be a sincerely meek

      voice.

      "I could very easily slap you with ten demerits, Ensign, and have you

      decommissioned. Do you understand that?"

      "Yes, sir."

      "But that would be a waste of a very ingenious officer. Since you

      appear to be so good at manipulating the hardware around here, I'm

      going to give you a little project that you can do in your off-duty

      hours, to keep you out of trouble. Engineer Scott needs some help

      overhauling the engines. Have you ever overhauled engines, Ensign?"

      "No, sir. I guess I've just been lucky," she answered, without a trace

      of impudence.

      Kirk was beginning to experience some degree of satisfaction. For an

      experienced engineer, an overhaul might take a day--for an engineering

      genius like Scotty, several hours. A neophyte--ah, a neophyte might

      well take forever. "It's a project that usually requires two men and a

      full day's work. I'm sure those men would appreciate getting off early

      for shore leave. I'm going to let you do their work, Ensign--but you

      are not relieved of any of your other duties. You are to do it only

      when you are off duty. Understood?"

      "Understood. If I finish in time, may I take shore leave, sir?" she

      asked timidly.

      Kirk smiled sardonically. "Of course, Ensign." By that time, leave on

      Vulcan would be nothing more than a memory--one that she would

      definitely not share with the rest of the crew.

      She smiled suddenly and brilliantly at him. "Is that all, sir?"

      "That's all," Kirk said smugly. She would soon find it to be more than

      enough.

      Each day the trap came up empty, while the rosebushes were destroyed

      methodically, one by one. Two more dead animals were discovered and

      put into the incinerator.

      One evening after the guests had retired, Amanda
    went to speak with her

      husband. He had not gone to bed, of course, but was sitting in his

      study. It seemed he never came to bed at all these days.

      The door to Sarek's study opened in response to his wife's voice. Sarek

      watched her as she came in, and knew that she was quite agitated,

      although anyone else would not have been able to tell from her

      perfectly composed movements. Only her eyes betrayed her, and her

      lips, which were pressed together somewhat more tightly than usual.

      "Sarek," she began in a voice deceptively calm to the ear, "have you

      moved your father's ahn vahr for any reason?" The double-edged sword

      had been in Sarek's family for centuries and was displayed in a place

      of honor on the wall of the central room, an ancient reminder of

      Vulcan's warrior past. Please, Amanda's eyes begged numbly. Say yes.

      Say you took it to have it polished.

      "No," said Sarek. "Is it missing?"

      His wife's lips compressed even more. "Come with me," she said

      resolutely. "You must see this."

      Without question, Sarek rose and followed his wife to the central room.

      The ahn vahr was, indeed, missing

      from its customary place. But something even more bizarre .. . the

      portrait of Amanda and her son hung in its usual place--upside down.

      "Who would do this?" Amanda whispered. "Why would anyone here do

      something like this?" This was Vulcan, not Earth. Nothing irrational

      or insane had happened here in five thousand years, except in the

      tourist quarter .. . but not here.

      Sarek did not answer her. He walked over to the portrait and righted

      it, and after a time, he said, "I will implement the security screens

      and see to it that our guests are given the code."

      "Not Starnn," Amanda said quickly, in spite of herself. "Just Silek.

      Starnn doesn't need it; he always comes home with you, anyway."

      Sarek studied the bare spot on the wall. "As you wish, Amanda."

      No doubt it was the rigorous code of Vulcan hospitality that compelled

      Spock to invite Kirk and McCoy to visit his parents' home in ShiKahr.

      Kirk had accepted out of politeness, although he made it clear to Spock

      that at least a few hours' leave would be dedicated to less civilized

      pursuits. McCoy accepted out of a desire to keep an eye on Anitra;

      upon learning she would not be coming, he stewed silently on his

      transporter pad, thinking of the hours that he could have spent in one

      of the tourist bars in the capital.

      Scott was just on the verge of beaming them down when Anitra entered

      the transporter room. She gave them all a sprightly nod and took her

      place on the platform next to Spock.

      "Ensign Lanter." Kirk glowered at her. "I thought we had an

      agreement."

      She blinked innocently at him. "Is there a problem, sir? I thought

      you said that when I was finished overhauling the engines--"

      "Aye," Scott spoke up with enthusiasm before the captain could protest.

      "And I'd forgotten to thank ye, sir. It's glad I am you sent her to

      help out. I had no idea the ensign here was such an old salt at

      overhaulin' engines.. .."

      "I'm not, Mr. Scott," Anitra said quickly before Kirk could protest,

      but not before he shot her a withering look. "I swear, that's the

      first time I've ever helped to overhaul an engine."

      "You'll never get me to believe it," Scott said, addressing Kirk.

      "Captain, the woman's a phenomenon. She never asked a single question,

      just seemed to know what to do before I could get the words out of my

      mouth. And she did the job exactly as I woulda done it myself. Simply

      uncanny. It took half the time. I usually have to repeat myself a

      hundred times before a greenhorn understands what's goin' on."

      "I see," Kirk said heavily, without taking his eyes off of Lanter.

      "Well, I'm most grateful, sir, for your sendin' Dr. Lanter to help

      out."

      Anitra smiled her brilliant smile at them all; if there had been a

      trace of smugness in it, Kirk would have ordered her off the platform.

      As it was, he resigned himself to a stony, disapproving glare.

      For some reason, Scott was unable to get a fix on the interior of

      Spock's home, and they were required to

      beam down outside. This caused Kirk and McCoy to put an immediate,

      silent curse on Star Fleet and Komack in particular, for the climate

      could not, even with the most generous interpretation, be called

      inviting. It was early evening, just before sunset, the time when the

      afternoon winds were in full force. The breezes, if they could be

      called by such a gentle name, gave no relief from the 115 heat; indeed,

      they seemed hotter than the still air, and served only to punctuate the

      heat all the more, and to whip up sand, stinging human eyes.

      McCoy wondered aloud how such an advanced civilization could still be

      afflicted with sand streets.

      Spock paid him no heed, but held his hand before a small metal plate on

      the great stone wall which stood before them. He seemed rather

      surprised when nothing happened.

      "This may explain the problem with the transporter, Captain. I believe

      that the security system is on."

      Kirk wiped the perspiration from his forehead and left his hand there

      to shield his eyes from the sand. "I thought you said they were

      expecting us."

      Spock shrugged. "They are. Most unusual. My parents haven't used the

      security system for twenty years."

      "I hope you haven't forgotten the code," McCoy raised his voice in a

      rather ungracious tone over the howling wind. "I'd like to get out of

      this mess." Under his breath he muttered, "Hell of a place for R and

      R."

      Spock turned his face toward him and arched a brow, but did not answer.

      Instead, he touched the four corners of the metal plate in what seemed

      to be a random fashion. The massive gate slid open.

      The outside of the house was typically Vulcan in design--an

      unimpressive dome-shaped structure, the same as all Vulcan homes,

      whether they were built two thousand years ago, a hundred years ago or

      yesterday. Inside, the humans noticed with immediate relief that the

      house was cooler and not as dry--indeed, it was almost comfortable for

      a human, although not quite as cool as they would have liked.

      Naturally, thought Kirk, a human lives here, too.

      They walked through a long foyer into a large, open room, which was

      evidently used for entertaining guests.

      "Wait here," Spock told them, then disappeared.

      Kirk smiled; the house rather reminded him of his first officer. All

      Vulcan on the outside, but inside, there was definitely a human's

      touch an old upright piano, a comfortable-looking sofa of decidedly

      Terran design, and on the wall, near displays of fierce-looking Vulcan

      weaponry, a portrait of mother and son.

      Spock returned shortly. He wore a slight frown, which indicated that

      things were not as he had expected to find them. "I know that my

      mother is tutoring at this time. However, I had expected my father and

      some house guests to be present. Perhaps they were detained."

      Anitra was staring dreamily at the portrait. "Is this your mother?"


      Spock nodded. "Twenty-six years ago."

      "She's very beautiful."

      Spock grunted assent.

      "The polite thing to do is thank her, Spock," said McCoy.

      Spock raised his eyebrows in mild surprise. "I had

      no hand in it, Dr. McCoy. I can scarcely take credit." He looked

      distractedly at the wall for a moment. "Odd..."

      "What is it, Spock?" asked Kirk. "Something missing?"

      "Yes ... an antique. Perhaps my parents took it to be repaired. But I

      am failing in my duties as host. Please, sit down. Doctor, I am sure

      you would appreciate something alcoholic to drink."

      McCoy sat on the couch, surprised. "You mean, your parents stock

      liquor?"

      "They entertain frequently. And my mother has been known to imbibe

      occasionally. Whiskey? And you, Captain--a brandy?"

      Kirk and McCoy smiled and shrugged at each other from across the couch

      before nodding. Spock playing bartender. Perhaps this wouldn't be so

      unpleasant after all.

      "Dr. Lanter?"

      Anitra had wandered over to the far end of the room and stood gazing

     


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