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!”
CHAPTER FOUR
Dr. Mbenga, a graying, stocky black; Lieutenant Christine Chapel, a tall, willowy blonde; and Ensign Sara George, a small, shapely woman with a long fall of lustrous black hair, were waiting in the corridor outside of the briefing room. As the door hissed open and the sober-faced officers filed out, Kirk beckoned the three in. Once McCoy’s staff was seated at the conference table, Kirk quickly outlined the happenings of the past hour.
“… and one of you,” he concluded coldly, “has not only placed the Enterprise in extreme jeopardy, but has turned a mad wolf loose in a fold of defenseless sheep. General Order One is explicit; no action may be taken by any agent of Starfleet Command which can in any way affect the normal development of an alien planet. Although we may not approve of the institutions of a native society, we have no right to intervene and direct history in the way we feel it should go. Earth’s own past is a tragic record of the consequences of a technologically advanced culture imposing its values and life-style on less advanced people. There would be no question in the mind of any board of inquiry that, as a consequence of the Enterprise’s visit and of the action of one of you, a force has been released on Kyros which threatens to transform the planet into an ugly theocratic state ruled by a mad genius. The snip’s department heads will reconvene shortly to try to arrive at a course of action. In the meantime, I’m going to find out which of you is responsible for transforming my first officer into a madman. Dr. Mbenga, we’ll start with you. Please describe your role in the programming.”
The scholarly black frowned, looked at Kirk thoughtfully and said, “I’m afraid I can’t be of much help. I had nothing to do with program selection and the subsequent telepathic linkage. I’m a surgeon, Captain. I prepared the patients by drilling a small cavity in the right mastoid behind the ear. Once’ Dr. McCoy had tuned the implant to a particular native profile, inserted it, then checked to see that a telepathic link had been established, I performed the necessary microsurgery to close the incision. That was the extent of my involvement.”
“He’s right, Jim,” McCoy said. “I had Nurse Chapel supervise the actual programming.”
“Christine?” Kirk asked.
The attractive blonde nurse cast a nervous glance at Ensign George, who returned the look with one of disdain. She faced Kirk, seemingly on the verge of tears. “I did do the profile feedins, Captain,” she began in a choked voice, “but each time I checked the profile printout on the magcard to be sure there was no mistake on the matching. I… I was… es… especially careful when Mr. Spock’s turn came. Dr. McCoy… understands why…” she glanced appealingly at the chief surgeon.
He nodded sympathetically. Like many female crew members aboard the starship, Lieutenant Chapel was
