“Go on, Ensign,” Kirk prompted.
“Yes, sir,” Ensign George replied. “Once the link was established, it wasn’t long before I had convinced myself that linking Mr. Spock with an equally emotional native might have the same effect on him as it did on me. Being half-human, his long frigid periods could be as much the result of psychological conditioning as of physiological factors. So I switched profiles.”
“And found you were right,” McCoy murmured.
“Yes,” she confirmed in an unemotional voice. “When we beamed down with the rest of the party that first morning, it just took an exchange of glances to communicate what we both had in mind. As soon as the others left…”
“You don’t have to go on, Sara,” McCoy interrupted.
“Your injection is still blocking my sub-cortical structures, Doctor,” she said. “At the moment, I have no feelings about it. It is of clinical interest only.”
In spite of her words, she paused. Her face worked slightly, twitching with shame, alternating with a smile.
“We took off our clothes and made love. We were like two rutting cats. My old self looked on in horror and disgust at my body’s violation; but my new self reveled in it, craved it, and was satisfied.” Her voice lowered as she paused again.
“I would suggest, Captain,” she began again after a moment, “that my implant be removed as soon as possible. Otherwise, I will find some way to get back down to Kyros and find Mr. Spock. I want…” Her voice suddenly trailed off and she slumped forward.
McCoy made a quick check. “Respiration and pulse normal,” he announced. “I gave her a high dose and it’s finally hit her central nervous system. No harm done, but she’ll be out for an hour or so.” McCoy went to the intraship communicator, called sickbay and ordered a stretcher party to the briefing room. As the unconscious woman was borne away a few minutes later, and when the captain and doctor were alone, Kirk turned a shocked face to McCoy.
“Bones, she had to be hallucinating! Spock and I have served together for years. He could no more behave in the way she described than he could fly!”
“Our Mr. Spock couldn’t,” McCoy agreed. “The creature that now inhabits his body is a different matter.”
The reconvened emergency council had come to an end. Kirk rose from his chair and looked soberly around the conference table.
“It is agreed, then, that since Mr. Spock has disappeared, our only chance is to locate Chag Gara. If we can get him up here, Dr. McCoy assures me that electronically augmented crash psycho-therapy can erase his delusional patterns in hours. Once they stop feeding across the link, Spock will return to normal and, realizing what he has done, rejoin the ship immediately with the trilithium modules.”
“Somewhat abashed, I imagine,” McCoy said dryly. “It’s going to be most interesting to hear him comment on his recent behavior.”
“Finding Chag Gara shouldn’t be too difficult,” Kirk continued. “He’s conspicuous, and is unaware of what has been going on. Since his main weakness is women, we’ll lure him to the inn with Ensign George. McCoy will inject him and we’ll beam up.”
Lieutenant Uhura raised her hand. “But Captain,” she said, “you told us that Sara admitted she would have one thought in mind when Dr. McCoy’s injection wore off; she’d want to get back to Kyros and resume her—” the black officer paused a moment—“‘relationship’ with Mr. Spock. How do you expect her to follow your orders and not her new feelings?”
“Good question,” Kirk said. “Dr. McCoy will be working on that problem soon. By removing Ensign George’s implant and adding another filter stage, the emotional input from her dop will be reduced to a manageable level. She’ll be ready for duty tomorrow morning. At that time, Dr. McCoy, Ensign George, and I will beam down. The rest of you will stand by for any action necessary.”
“One last question, Captain,” Lieutenant Commander Scott said. “What if things dinna work out as planned? If Spock has those birkies making guns…” Scott trailed off, staring at Kirk.
There was a long silence. When Kirk finally answered, his voice was stiff, betraying his strenuous efforts to control his inner anguish.
“If worst comes to worst, Mr. Scott, and we can’t stop Spock the way we plan, we must attempt to restore the culture to what it was before we came by excising the infection. By any means.”
Kirk surveyed the grim-faced personnel, his own face a frozen mask.
“Dismissed.”
CHAPTER FIVE
Captain’s log: Stardate 6721.3:
The investigation into Spock’s sudden insanity has revealed a disturbing consequence of the cephalic implant experiment.
Feedback from the subconscious of her dop caused Ensign Sara George, one of the members of the survey party, to switch the programming for Commander Spock, giving him an unstable, highly emotional “host.”
Dr. McCoy and I are preparing to beam down, search for, and capture the Kyrosian to whom Spock is linked. Ensign George will accompany us, and McCoy feels it will be therapeutic. I do not hold Ensign George responsible for her actions while under the influence of her dop and have ordered her to act as our interpreter and guide since the time involved for McCoy and I to receive implants would consume nearly a day, a day which Kyros cannot afford.
Kirk released the button on the console of the transporter, shutting off the log channel. He was dressed in the uniform of a Kyrosian sea captain from the western islands: knee-length white shorts, sandals, and a vest-like upper garment with a short cape attached to the shoulders. The vest was held shut by a heavy gold chain with a dark blue stone, the symbol of his rank, dangling from a fob. At his waist was a soft, animal-skin pouch containing money in the form of triangularly-cut gold coins. Also at his waist was a short, heavy club.
“Where is Ensign George?” Kirk asked, glancing at McCoy. McCoy, dressed similarly to Kirk except that his chain was made of leather, merely shrugged.
“I just hope we don’t get arrested for passing Scotty’s funny money,” the doctor said, touching his pouch.
“Och, Doctor,” Scott retorted from the transporter console. “It’s as gude as gold… in fact, it is.”
Kirk smiled slightly. He approached the wall-mounted communicator and was about to issue a ship-wide call for the ensign, when she walked through the opening doors of the transporter room. Her small, trim figure was wrapped in the chiton-like garment characteristic of Kyrosian women.
“I’m sorry, Captain, I couldn’t find my comb.” Her hand touched the elaborate comb which rose a full fifteen centimeters above her long, black hair. It curved over her head from ear to ear and a short veil dangled from it, just brushing the nape of her neck.
“Beats me how you could miss it,” McCoy muttered.
The woman gave the doctor a grimace, but stepped toward the transporter stage. Kirk turned toward Scott, who waited patiently at the console.
“Are the inn’s coordinates locked in, Scotty?”
“Aye, Captain,” Scott replied crisply.
“Whoops!” McCoy said suddenly, glancing down at the pale hairy legs extending below the cuffs of his shorts.
“What’s wrong?” Kirk asked.
“Costume slipping. Unless I only stood night watches, these legs of mine are much too pale for a seafaring man.” McCoy stepped off the transporter stage and hurried out.
A few minutes later, he returned with his skin tinted a deep mahogany brown. “There. Shall we proceed?”
