Read Online Star Trek - Log 8 by Alan Dean Foster - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Alan Dean Foster
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Captain!"
His concentration broken by the interruption, McCoy turned and left the house through the back door, along with Spock, Markel, and Bryce. They were just in time to see the Lactran who had left, or possibly another one, withdrawing its multiple-ended tail from the force-field boundary. At a corresponding point inside was a pile of exotic but nourishing-looking fruit and vegetables.
"Food—different food, and it's not feeding time," a puzzled Markel observed.
"I think I understand," began Kirk. "They must have sensed Dr. McCoy's projection of want, of need, and interpreted it as a desire for food. The strength of the projection might explain the new offerings. Possibly they feel we require a different diet than you, at least at the beginning of our captivity." He considered the pile of edibles carefully.
"That means that their telepathic sense is less than perfect, or they would have given us the medical supplies. I'm sorry they didn't, but at the same time it would be foolish to say I'm not glad to see a hint or two of imperfection on our captors' part."
"It's nice to have confirmation of that fact, Jim," agreed McCoy tiredly, "but I could have told you that already. And while you might think me a reactionary anthropomorphist, I can also assure you that they're not pretty." He wiped perspiration from his brow. The steady concentration had exhausted him, though in a fashion different from the way such strains affected Spock.
Logic ordered no rest, however, as Spock suggested, "I believe we should all concentrate on the need for Dr. McCoy's medikit, emphasizing our intention to use it only to help preserve one of our members."
Markel shrugged. "Worth a try."
All five of them went silent, some with eyes closed, others staring hard at the slowly retreating Lactran, each using the method which seemed most effective to him.
The subject of this concentration responded with satisfying suddenness. It turned to regard them quietly, then sidled over to the oddly curved display table.
Wavering over the metal, the tail hesitated over several objects before picking up . . . the captain's phaser! For a wild moment Kirk thought that one of their weapons might be returned to them. Similar thoughts occurred to several of the others.
Either because of their thoughts or because of the Lactran's own knowledge, the bulky alien immediately put the weapon down. Kirk cursed himself for giving in so childishly to the offensive image his mind must have conjured up. He resumed concentrating twice as hard on McCoy's medikit.
The Lactran's next choice was more assured. It picked up the necessary container. Handling it as delicately as if it were the prize glass sculpture of a master, it moved toward them and set the kit on the lawn behind the house.
Kirk watched the entire procedure intensely, but there was nothing to indicate any button depressed or lever moved to deactivate that section of the force field.
Still, someone somewhere must have done exactly that. He couldn't believe that the Lactrans possessed the physiological ability to walk through their own restraining field with impunity.
He mused on the problem while the others made a run for the precious medikit, lest the alien change its mind and return to snatch it from them.
"No telling when they'll decide we've had it long enough," Markel explained as they ran toward it. "We've been permitted to keep other equipment anywhere from a few hours to a week."
As McCoy anxiously examined the kit and the others crowded around him, Kirk walked on past to study the section of force wall the Lactran had inserted it through.
"It's all here—no damage and nothing altered," declared McCoy finally. "They haven't removed any of the emergency ampoules, either."
"Unfortunately, nothing's changed here, either," Kirk replied. "The field's back on." He stared outward, looking longingly at the table laden with phasers and other equipment, their own as well as that brought by the survey
His concentration broken by the interruption, McCoy turned and left the house through the back door, along with Spock, Markel, and Bryce. They were just in time to see the Lactran who had left, or possibly another one, withdrawing its multiple-ended tail from the force-field boundary. At a corresponding point inside was a pile of exotic but nourishing-looking fruit and vegetables.
"Food—different food, and it's not feeding time," a puzzled Markel observed.
"I think I understand," began Kirk. "They must have sensed Dr. McCoy's projection of want, of need, and interpreted it as a desire for food. The strength of the projection might explain the new offerings. Possibly they feel we require a different diet than you, at least at the beginning of our captivity." He considered the pile of edibles carefully.
"That means that their telepathic sense is less than perfect, or they would have given us the medical supplies. I'm sorry they didn't, but at the same time it would be foolish to say I'm not glad to see a hint or two of imperfection on our captors' part."
"It's nice to have confirmation of that fact, Jim," agreed McCoy tiredly, "but I could have told you that already. And while you might think me a reactionary anthropomorphist, I can also assure you that they're not pretty." He wiped perspiration from his brow. The steady concentration had exhausted him, though in a fashion different from the way such strains affected Spock.
Logic ordered no rest, however, as Spock suggested, "I believe we should all concentrate on the need for Dr. McCoy's medikit, emphasizing our intention to use it only to help preserve one of our members."
Markel shrugged. "Worth a try."
All five of them went silent, some with eyes closed, others staring hard at the slowly retreating Lactran, each using the method which seemed most effective to him.
The subject of this concentration responded with satisfying suddenness. It turned to regard them quietly, then sidled over to the oddly curved display table.
Wavering over the metal, the tail hesitated over several objects before picking up . . . the captain's phaser! For a wild moment Kirk thought that one of their weapons might be returned to them. Similar thoughts occurred to several of the others.
Either because of their thoughts or because of the Lactran's own knowledge, the bulky alien immediately put the weapon down. Kirk cursed himself for giving in so childishly to the offensive image his mind must have conjured up. He resumed concentrating twice as hard on McCoy's medikit.
The Lactran's next choice was more assured. It picked up the necessary container. Handling it as delicately as if it were the prize glass sculpture of a master, it moved toward them and set the kit on the lawn behind the house.
Kirk watched the entire procedure intensely, but there was nothing to indicate any button depressed or lever moved to deactivate that section of the force field.
Still, someone somewhere must have done exactly that. He couldn't believe that the Lactrans possessed the physiological ability to walk through their own restraining field with impunity.
He mused on the problem while the others made a run for the precious medikit, lest the alien change its mind and return to snatch it from them.
"No telling when they'll decide we've had it long enough," Markel explained as they ran toward it. "We've been permitted to keep other equipment anywhere from a few hours to a week."
As McCoy anxiously examined the kit and the others crowded around him, Kirk walked on past to study the section of force wall the Lactran had inserted it through.
"It's all here—no damage and nothing altered," declared McCoy finally. "They haven't removed any of the emergency ampoules, either."
"Unfortunately, nothing's changed here, either," Kirk replied. "The field's back on." He stared outward, looking longingly at the table laden with phasers and other equipment, their own as well as that brought by the survey
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