Star Trek - Log 8 by Alan Dean Foster Read Free Book Online Page B

Everything they give us is operational . . . except our phasers, of course. We never know which bit of equipment they'll give us next, or when they'll take it back. When we think we can conceal our true intentions from them, by thinking nonsense thoughts for a while, we work on ways to produce an effective weapon using cannibalized components from scientific equipment—tricorders and so on.
    "We were just lucky enough to have a communicator when your call came in, and we decided to answer immediately. We didn't know if you'd be able to receive us again, or how long they'd let us keep the communicator."
    "The reason we replied with a directional distress signal instead of with an elaborate warning," Markel put in, "was because we felt a nonverbal communication had a better chance of being ignored." He shook his head. "These creatures are far too perceptive for that. They knew what we were thinking, despite our best efforts to mask our thoughts. Or perhaps our unconcealable excitement worried them, or made them nervous. Anyhow, the communicator was taken away immediately and deactivated."
    "You mentioned, Commander, that they provide you with certain items of scientific equipment from time to time," Spock said. "I could certainly use my tricorder."
    Markel shook his head and smiled apologetically. "Not a chance, sir. They're kept on a special exhibit table beyond the force wall. We get awfully nervous when a new bunch of patrons or scientists or whatever our visitors are show up and start playing with them. We don't know if we're ever going to see them again in one piece."
    Kirk had scanned the cottages earlier from their position by the roadway. Now he lowered his tone as he spoke to Markel.
    "There were six of you on the survey roster."
    Bryce swallowed and stared at the unattainable blue sky to their left. "We didn't beam down in time to save the others." Kirk eyed her questioningly, and she shook her head in response to his unasked question.
    "No, we don't think the Lactrans had anything to do with it. They've been too solicitous of our own welfare." She looked up at him. "You've encountered some of the other inhabitants of this zoo?"
    Kirk nodded slowly.
    "Well, the only reason we're alive and here to talk to you now is because the Lactrans got to us before some of their exhibits did." She shrugged helplessly. "The others weren't as lucky."
    "Or unlucky," Markel corrected philosophically, "if you consider our chances of getting out of this place."
    "Don't be so pessimistic, Commander," Kirk urged. "Eventually, my people may locate us. Considering the technology we've seen so far, I'm not sure a forcible attempt at rescue would be a wise idea. I'm hoping we can find another way out before Engineer Scott becomes impatient with our continued silence."
    Markel's expression eloquently indicated how he felt about that possibility.
    "There should be one other member of your group, then," commented Spock.
    "Oh, Lieutenant Randolph's in the end house," Bryce told them. "She's running a high fever, and we can't seem to bring it down. The Lactrans don't take any notice of our entreaties—shouted, written, or otherwise. I suspect they don't consider her illness severe enough. And while we're well-supplied with food, they give us nothing in the way of medical supplies."
    "I'll check her out," McCoy said reassuringly. "It would be ironic if our captors didn't help because they were afraid of wrongly treating a valuable specimen." He looked grim. "Or maybe they're afraid you might try suicide. A quick dose of some medicine could kill you before they could interfere. Has anyone . . .?"
    Bryce looked back at him steadily. "I'd be a liar if I said the thought hadn't crossed my mind."
    McCoy nodded, his expression carefully neutral. "Maybe I can at least diagnose what's wrong with her, but I can't do anything else. Not without my medical kit."
    Kirk spoke to Markel as Lieutenant Bryce led McCoy toward the house the three survivors had moved