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!”
