CAPTAIN’S LOG—SUPPLEMENTAL:
Following Dr. McCoy’s examination of the dead Wwafida, the landing party has returned to the ship to analyze all the new data collected on the island called Suberein by the native inhabitants. As soon as Dr. McCoy and Science Officer Spock present their conclusions, I will have to decide if we have enough evidence to confront the Akkallan government—or to make a formal recommendation to the Federation for quick mediation.
KIRK, SPOCK, ZZEV and Llissa Kkayn, Maybri, and Greenberger sat around the table in the darkened briefing room while McCoy delivered his summary, complete with exhaustive illustrations from his tricorder scans of the deceased creature and subsequent computer-graphic diagrams and charts, all projected on the main viewscreen.
“—and there’s the blowhole that’s opened in the back of the neck,” he said, using the laser-pointer. “That would be the dorsal surface of an animal that swims. Internally, a preexisting branch of the trachea opens and connects the blowhole with the lungs. Next, you can see how membranes have developed between fingers and toes, with a corresponding growth of cartilage between finger and toe bones, giving the extremities extra length and flexibility, making hands into fins, and feet and legs into powerful flippers. Most body hair is shed, since that’d just cause aquadynamic drag—and on this cross-section, we see where an extra layer of insulating blubber develops, and the musculature is reshaped.”
“How old is it, Leonard?” Llissa asked.
“Well, based on interviews, the oldest people on the island are around forty, and I’d estimate this dead Wwafida is about twenty-five to thirty years older than that.”
“Bones,” Kirk said slowly, “is all this possible?”
“Ask me three days ago and I’d’ve said no. But now? Well, you’ve seen what I’ve seen. It’s hard to argue with it.”
“There are scientific precedents for such a metamorphosis,” Spock said. “In the standard model of evolution, indigenous life generally develops in planetary seas and migrates to land, with efficacious mutations enabling the transition. On earth, cetaceans—whales and dolphins—reversed the process and readapted to aquatic existence after millions of years as land-dwelling mammals.”
“Basic biology, Jim,” McCoy said helpfully. “In the course of prenatal development, the humanoid fetus goes through stages that resemble more primitive species, heading progressively toward the final birth stage. Just shows that any given creature can go through an awful lot of changes during its life span.”
“But Spock said it himself—it took whales millions of years to return to the sea and readapt. According to what we’ve been told, it takes these island people a matter of months.”
McCoy shrugged. “Well, it only takes nine months for a human fetus to go from conception to birth, and that’s makin’ a whole baby from scratch. There’s nothing in the rule book that says this Akkallan senescence can’t happen. Rare, yes—but impossible, no.”
Kirk thumped his elbows onto the table. “Then what causes this senescence—and why don’t all Akkallans go through it?”
“Computer,” McCoy said, “comparative diagrams of standard Akkallan physiology and Galeayan.”
The appropriate graphics were traced on the screen, and McCoy picked up the pointer again, flashing its pinpoint beam onto the images. “The only difference between one of Keema’s people and Llissa, other than increased height, is this—a small gland I found under the right arm of every person on Suberein. But Llissa doesn’t have it.”
“But we do,” she said. “It’s called the dgynt gland, and it’s removed at birth.”
McCoy looked at her. “It is? Why?”
“Custom. We name our infants in a ceremony a few days after birth, and that’s when the gland’s removed. It’s a simple, painless process—and up till now, our medical community believed the gland had no real function.”
“It goes back at least three thousand years,” Zzev added. “It started as a religious ceremony. When it’s removed, the gland is thrown into the ocean, kind of a symbolic sacrifice that sanctifies the new life by showing its devotion to Mother Sea.”
“Everybody on Akkalla has this gland removed?” Kirk asked.
Zzev nodded. “Even back when the mainland was run by a bunch of warlords always fighting each other, religion was never the issue. Because our continent is relatively small, we have only a single religion. The naming ceremony was something from the scriptures that became secular.”
“So—” Kirk asked, looking around the table, “does the dgynt gland cause the senescence?”
“I did some tests on the older Galeaya, and now the results make more sense,” McCoy replied. “Those still in their reproductive years have no dgynt hormone in their bloodstreams. But once they’re past the reproductive phase, they’ve got varying traces of it. And the farther they get past the end of the fertile cycle, the higher the level.”
“Indeed,” Spock said. “Then that would appear to be medical confirmation of our hypothesis.”
Kirk sat back. “You mean the simple act of removing this gland is what makes the difference?”
“That’s what it looks like,” McCoy said.
“If it wasn’t removed, then all Akkallans would change into Wwafida?” The question was rhetorical, and no one bothered to state the self-evident reply. “That means in prehistoric times, before the Akkallan religion started the naming ceremony, the seas must have been full of Wwafida.”
“And that must’ve been going on for at least a hundred thousand years,” Llissa said in numb tones.
“But why change a biological fact of life?” McCoy wondered. “Why did your religious leaders decide to do that? They must’ve had a reason.”
Llissa shook her head. “If they did, it’s been lost in time. Maybe they decided it was advantageous for civilization to have us live our whole lives on land. Maybe those scrolls we found’ll tell us something once we translate them.”
“So now,” Maybri said, “the only people who still go through the senescence are these stone-age islanders. The Akkallan government must’ve stumbled across them when they did those energy tests.”
“But why keep ’em a secret all these years?” Greenberger said. “If I suddenly found a whole new population of people who turned into sea creatures, I’d sure want to study ’em.”
“Maybe not,” Kirk dissented. “Not if you were a planetary ruler looking to protect the status quo. Think of the cultural implications of learning you’ve got a race of intelligent beings living in your ocean somewhere. And you’ve got a fresh new treaty with your neighboring world, supplying unlimited fuel for industrialization in exchange for unlimited fishing in those oceans.”
“Right,” said McCoy. “You couldn’t very well tell the Akkallan public, ‘Oh, by the way, those harvest ships are scooping up people who’ve changed into those legendary Wwafida you thought never really existed.’ I don’t think it would go over very well.”
“So, what do we do next, Jim?” said Llissa. “Take on the Publican?”
“If we could’ve preserved that dead Wwafida, we’d be able to. But we’ve still got no tangible proof.”
“We’ve got all our medical records,” McCoy protested. “I finally get somewhere, and you don’t even want to use it?”
“It’s not enough, Bones. Not for the Publican and Vvox. It might stand up in a fair court hearing, but I don’t think we can expect that here. If we could get one of Keema’s people going through the change—”
McCoy shook his head. “By my estimates, it’ll be at least five months before any of ’em are changed enough to prove all this.”
“There’s another problem, Kirk,” Zzev said. “The triteera migration is pretty much complete, and they’re not far from Suberein. This is the first time since the Chorymi broke the treaty that they’re going to have a crack at all those huge creatures.”
“How come they never harvested this far north before?”
“Because triteera not only feed here, they mate here too. Our government didn’t want the harvests to disrupt the triteera’s reproduction. So the treaty stated no harvesting of northern herds. Now with the treaty inoperative …”
“Admiral,” Spock said, “that answers a question I had as to why the harvest ships never found the Galeaya. Their paths never crossed. This is the season for the Galeaya to hunt triteera themselves. If, as we suspect, the Chorymi fleet raids these northern waters, the Galeaya are in grave danger. They stand not only to lose their annual catch of triteera, but should they be caught in a harvest zone, they may also lose the lives of their most accomplished fishermen. For a precarious population, those combined results could prove disastrous.”
“Jim,” McCoy said, “we’ve gotta do something.”
“What do you suggest, doctor?” Spock inquired.
“I don’t give a damn about the Akkallan government, but we have to at least help those people on the island. We’ve gotta stop the Chorymi raids.”
“Dr. McCoy,” Spock said gravely, “are you advocating a military confrontation?”
“If that’s what it takes, dammit, then yes. The Chorymi wouldn’t have the nerve to take on a starship.”
“Upon what do you base that assumption? To the Chorymi, the situation is desperate. Although it is unlikely they could inflict serious damage on the Enterprise, there is a more perilous possibility.”
“And what’s that, Spock?”
“We may be forced to fire on them, to disable their vessels, or even destroy one or more.”
“Action,” Kirk said, “that would cripple any chance the Federation has to mediate some sort of peaceful solution to the mess in this star system. A military confrontation must be avoided.”
“At all costs, Kirk?” Zzev demanded. “What good is power if you never use it?”
“I didn’t say at all costs, Dr. Kkayn. Whenever possible, the power of this starship is to be used as a deterrent and a persuasive prod, not a bludgeon.”
McCoy spread his hands in frustration. “Then what the hell are we gonna do—sit by and wait till this whole thing explodes?”
“We must construct an impregnable case,” Spock said calmly, “one that cannot be ignored by Federation authorities.”
“And the only way to do that,” McCoy said, his voice sapped by resignation, “is to find a living Wwafida, which we may never do.”
Zzev pounded a fist on the table. “Then let’s make one.” Questioning gazes turned his way, and he met them without flinching. “McCoy, your medical reports say the only physiological difference between mainland Akkallans and the Galeaya from Suberein is the dgynt gland. Can you synthesize the hormone?”
“I—I suppose so. What kind of question is that?”
“If there’s nothing else that keeps the rest of us from going through senescence, then I’m willing to take the dgynt hormone in concentrated doses and change myself into a Wwafida. Then you’ll have your living proof, and we can get on with toppling this slimy government and halting the harvests once and for all. And on top of all that, I’d be able to make contact with other Wwafida, and warn them about the harvest raid.”
McCoy stared at him. “Are you out of your waterlogged mind?”
“I’m offering you the solution to this quandary. I don’t hear anyone else coming up with a better one.”
“Kkayn,” McCoy argued, “you don’t have the slightest idea what this hormone could do to you.”
“Sure I do—turn me into a Wwafida.”
“Your body may not be prepared to accept the hormone.
That gland may not be dormant all during presenescence. The fact that the islanders are taller practically proves there’s something going on before they change completely. We fool with this stuff and it could kill you.”
“It’s my life, and I’m willing to take that risk. Instead of arguing with me, you should be going over all your medical data and learning everything you can to make sure you don’t kill me.”
“Bones.” Kirk’s tone was solemn. “Is it possible?”
Incredulous, McCoy spun to face the Admiral. “Jim, I’ve never treated a garden-variety, air-breathin’ Akkallan, let alone one who’s turning into a fish!”
“You sell yourself short,” Zzev said casually. “Your briefings prove you’re already pretty familiar with basic Akkallan physiology. Kirk obviously thinks you’re a competent physician. And Llissa can help you.”
She glared at her father. “What makes you think I agree with this idea of yours?”
“All right, Llissa,” said Kirk. “What do you think?”
“I agree with Leonard. It’s a crazy idea, and it’s likely that Zzev is going to wind up dead if we go through with it.”
“But if it could be done without putting your father’s life in danger, would you help?”
With her mouth twisted into a disapproving scowl, Llissa gave a nod distinctly lacking in enthusiasm.
“All right then,” Kirk said. “Bones, I won’t order you to do this. If you judge it’s an unsafe procedure, we’ll forget about it. All I ask is that you evaluate the idea with an open mind. Then give me your recommendation.”
“Evaluate,” McCoy grumbled sarcastically. “Then it’s up to me?”
“It’s up to you.” Jim smiled. “Aren’t you the one who used to claim you could cure a rainy day?”
McCoy snorted. “Damned lousy time to start quoting the gospel according to me …”
An hour later, Kirk sat in his quarters munching an apple, trying to relax. It wasn’t working. If McCoy found Zzev’s proposal unworkable, what options did they have? Not a hell of a lot. And even if the doctor said yes, was it still medical insanity?
Kirk’s door tone chimed. “Come.”
The door slid aside, and McCoy came in, looking hunched and grumpy. He plowed a hand through his hair and slumped into the recliner facing Kirk’s desk.
“I checked everything I could think of. Did computer simulations. God help me, I even asked Spock for his input.”
“And—”
“And it looks like the hormone treatment might work. By that I mean the treatment itself probably won’t kill him. But whether the creature he becomes’ll really be able to function as a completely adapted sea-dweller, I just don’t know. I—I wish we had another choice.”
“Do we?”
McCoy shrugged. “No. But I don’t mind telling you, I’m not comfortable with this plan, Jim. I feel like I’m some sort of Dr. Frankenstein, going against nature.”
“I wouldn’t say that, Bones.” Kirk paused. “In fact, I think you’re doing the opposite. The Akkallans’ve been going against nature ever since they started removing those glands thousands of years ago. You’re just using some genetic engineering tricks to help nature do what it used to do perfectly well on its own.”
McCoy chewed on that for a few seconds. “Hmm. Maybe you’re right. But I still don’t like it.”
“You don’t have to like it. All you have to do is—do it.”
“I guess. Well, I already have Dr. Chapel workin’ on manufacturing the required quantity of the hormone. We’re gonna need a big water tank in sickbay. I want Zzev Kkayn in there while we’re doing this. I want him close to emergency equipment, in case anything goes wrong.”
“I’ve got faith in you, Bones.”
McCoy’s eyebrows scrunched into a frown. “Well, I’m glad somebody does.”
“Okay. We’ll get on that water tank. Anything else you need?”
McCoy got up and headed for the door. “Anything else I need—” he muttered. “I need my head examined for getting into this.”
By McCoy’s best estimate, it would take seven days for Zzev Kkayn to change into a being minimally capable of physical survival in the open ocean—a timetable about which Zzev was not pleased. He insisted on an accelerated pace, claiming the Galeaya might not have seven days, certain that a massive Chorymi harvest fleet would strike well before that.
With Kirk’s backing, McCoy refused any course changes. As much as the ship’s surgeon wanted to help the friendly island people, this whole procedure still gave him a belly full of tension-churned acid. Sailing waters this uncharted, he wouldn’t abandon his instinct for caution when a life was at risk, even when the life belonged to someone as surly as Zzev.
By the end of the first day, McCoy was cursing himself for having such a well-developed sense of ethics. He’d ruled that, from the instant the treatments began, Zzev would have to be confined to sickbay. And McCoy was so nervous about the entire experiment, he barely left the medical section himself, despite the fact that this relentless proximity exposed him to the Akkallan’s constant carping. When McCoy retreated from the wardroom to his office to escape, Zzev promptly disregarded the doctor’s prescription for total bedrest until they could gauge the hormone’s effects, hopped off his bed, and padded after his quarry to continue the abusive barrage of criticism.
It was nearly dinnertime. Zzev had been quiet for the past twenty minutes, and McCoy took the opportunity to tug his boots off and put his feet up on the desktop. He’d just closed his eyes when the intercom whistled. For an instant, he thought of ignoring it, then reconsidered. “Sickbay.”
“That you, Bones?” Kirk’s face appeared on the desk screen.
“Who wants to know?”
Kirk grinned. “Tough day?”
“You don’t know how tough.”
“Tell me over dinner.”
“Thanks, Jim. But no thanks.”
“Just what do you think you’re doing?” said a new and accusatory voice from behind him.
McCoy clunked his feet to the floor as he spun around to see Christine Chapel glaring at him. “What d’you mean, what am I doing? I’m being an antisocial curmudgeon. You’re allowed once you reach my age.”
“Admiral,” Chapel said, addressing the intercom screen over McCoy’s shoulder, “he’ll be there.”
“Says who?” McCoy stood and found himself nose to nose with his associate.
“Says me. You’ve been cooped up here with that—patient— all day. You need a change of scenery. Go to dinner with the admiral.”
“Okay, okay,” McCoy sniffed. “But don’t expect me to be great company.”
Chapel shoved him toward the door. “Leonard, he’s known you too long to expect miracles.”
Kirk and McCoy sat alone in an isolated corner of the mess lounge, enjoying dessert and coffee.
“I’ve been good, haven’t I?” McCoy said around a mouthful of apple pie. “Haven’t talked about you-know-who for the whole meal.”
“Do you want to?”
“Sure. Why should I suffer alone?”
“Go ahead, doctor.”
“I will. That Akkallan is impossible. Nothing we do is right—or so he thinks—and he still hasn’t given up the idea of speeding up the treatments.”
“How’s it going so far, medically speaking?”
“Medically speaking, he’s a pain in my rear end. But the treatment seems to be working. Why don’t you come on down and take a look?”
When they were done with dinner, Kirk did just that, finding Zzev Kkayn sitting up in a sickbay bed, reading a book on the bedside library viewer. The diagnostic panel above him showed his body functions to be steady and strong.
“Where’s the water tank?” Kirk asked.
“That comes up here tomorrow,” said McCoy. “He’s not ready for it yet.”
Kirk looked the Akkallan over from head to toe. The changes, if any, weren’t yet apparent. “How’re you feeling?”
“Like a prisoner, Kirk.”
“This whole thing was your idea,” McCoy snapped. “But now that we’re doing it, we’re doing it my way. He’s feeling fine, Jim.”
“What’s happening to him? He looks the same to me.”
“Ahh, someone agrees with me!” Zzev said.
“Shut up. The changes aren’t visible yet, for the most part.” McCoy raked his fingers through Zzev’s hair, and several strands came out. “He’s starting to shed body hair. Hold up your hand, Zzev. Look—he’s starting to grow the membranes between digits. Toes, too. And there’re lots of internal things going on—buildup of blubber, alteration of muscles. It’s not instant, y’know.”
The sickbay door whooshed open, and Llissa entered from the corridor, a little surprised to see the crowd gathered. “Is he all right?”
“I’m fine. Everybody else get out of here. I want some privacy with my daughter.”
“You do?” McCoy brows arched suspiciously. “Since when?”
“Since now!” Zzev thundered. “Leave us alone.”
The others filed out, and Llissa stood a pace away, arms akimbo. “Well?” she said.
Zzev looked away. “Llissa—I know we haven’t had much of a family connection all these years, and—well, this may be our last chance. Once I’ve changed over, I’m not going to be dropping by for dinner on holidays, y’know.”
Llissa’s eyes narrowed. “That never bothered you before.”
“That was when it was voluntary. And maybe I was wrong and thick-headed. A man’s entitled to admit his mistakes, isn’t he?”
“Do you mean that?” Llissa asked.
“Partly.”
She snorted. “Which part?”
“Why does everything have to be an argument with you?”
She could see her father was having difficulty moving, and she came to the bedside. “Are you sure you’re all right? Are you in any pain?”
“I’m fine. It’s not pain exactly. It’s just that if I don’t move for a while, the next time I try to, my body isn’t the same as it was. I never get a chance to get used to the way everything feels.”
“Then maybe we’re going too fast. Once you’re out in the ocean, you’d better be functional, Zzev.”
“Don’t worry.”
“Did you really mean what you said?” she repeated. “Are you really sorry for all those years we didn’t have together?”
He didn’t answer right away. “Yes and no.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“If we’re talking about what I’ve done with my life, then no, I’m not sorry. If leaving Collegium and my family and friends behind was what I had to do to get certain things done, and done in my own way, then I’ve got no regrets.”
Llissa felt like dashing from the room, but she held her ground, and her dusky eyes bore into his. “That sounds pretty all-encompassing,” she said bitterly. “Where does the sorry part come in?” Her defensive tone of voice made it clear she didn’t expect much from his response.
“It’s all-encompassing because I don’t regret very much of my life. If I’d stayed, I’d’ve killed one of my so-called colleagues, or they’d have killed me.”
“Are we done here?” Her ire heated by several degrees.
“No, we’re not done. The part I do regret—deeply—is knowing that you became what you are—and that’s pretty damn impressive—without any help from me. Maybe even in spite of me. You’re my flesh and blood, Llissa, but that’s all we share.”
“You were there for fifteen years of my life. That counts for something.”
“But they weren’t good years. I don’t think I contributed much to you those years.”
“I don’t know. I was a pretty observant child.”
“So you observed me and learned what not to do, is that what you were going to say?”
She nodded. “Partly. But I also learned some positive things. Mother Sea, I can’t believe I’m about to say this—”
“Say what? Is this going to be some deep, dark revelation?”
She laughed. “Mm-hmm. I worshipped you when I was growing up.”
“You did?” He was genuinely stunned. “Why?”
“Oh, I don’t know. I’ve wondered about that a lot over the years. Maybe it’s because you were this angry whirlwind that other people were terrified of. But that didn’t keep them from looking to you for leadership.”
“I didn’t want to be their leader. I was never accused of being the most cooperative person in the place.”
“I knew that. Maybe I learned that a leader didn’t have to be loved to be a leader, and sometimes coercion was at least as important as cooperation.”
“Sounds strange coming from you, the queen of consensus,” he said, half-mocking, half-admiring.
“The trick I learned—but you never seemed to—was how to coerce people into going along with what I thought was best and get them to think it was their idea all the time. How come you never figured that out, Zzev?”
“Not in my nature.”
“It wasn’t in mine, either. But sometimes you’ve got to learn to go against your nature to reach your goals.”
“Not everyone’s capable of that. Lucky for you, you are.”
They were quiet for a few awkward moments, until Zzev cleared his throat.
“There’s something I need you to do for me—”
“I don’t think I like the sound of that.”
“Do we agree that we have to do something to stop the harvest raids?”
“And we are, thanks to your being crazy enough to try this.”
“We have to save the Wwafida and the people on Suberein.”
“Yes, yes—what are you getting at?”
“If the Chorymi come back and raid the north Boreal before I’m ready, then all of this won’t do a damn bit of good. We’ll be too late to save anybody or anything. The treatment is safe. I’m going through the senescence the same way Akkallans did for thousands of years.”
“So?”
“I want the treatment speeded up, but McCoy won’t do it.”
“And I’m sure he’s got good reasons.”
“He doesn’t. I’d do it myself—”
“You can’t,” Llissa said sharply. “If you had a strong negative reaction, you might die before anyone could get here to help you.”
“That’s why I want you to give me a more concentrated dose.”
“Oh, no, Zzev.”
“Yes, you’ve gotta do it! You’re taking a turn on monitor watch, right?”
“Yes, but I’m not—”
“That’s when you can do it. By the time someone comes to relieve you, the speed-up in adaptation will be done with, and we’ll have proved we can accelerate the treatment safely.”
“You’re asking me to—”
“I’m asking you to do what’s right, what we have to do.
Kirk and the others don’t have to do this. Akkalla’s not their world. They’re doing this because it’s their job, and maybe they’re going beyond the call of duty, but it’s still not their world. They don’t have the stakes we do, Llissa. It’s our home—we have to do more. We have to be willing to make the ultimate sacrifice!”
“Not if that sacrifice destroys whatever chances we have of accomplishing what we set out to do.”
“How do you know that? Nobody’s ever done this before. If you’re wrong—”
“I’m not wrong,” he said, his voice suddenly serene.
“What is this, another one of your infamous hunches?” she said with irony.
He nodded. “Is that enough for you?”
She spread her hands helplessly. “I don’t know. I—I can’t give you an answer yet. That’s going to have to be enough for you, at least for now.”
“But you haven’t ruled it out.”
“I guess not.”
“We don’t have much time, Llissa. You’ve got to make up your mind soon. If we don’t take the risk, we may be dooming ourselves to failure—and that could finish Akkalla.”
Without another word, Llissa hurried out of sickbay.
Kirk was startled to see Zzev Kkayn the following morning. The effects of the artificially induced senescence were readily apparent, and even McCoy seemed shaken after they examined the altered Akkallan.
“This is spooky, Jim. I’ve never done anything like this before.”
“Oh, come on, you did genetic modification.”
“That was different. With genetic modification, we knew what the results were gonna be. But this—”
“I know what you mean. It’s—weird—watching him change. It’s—it’s like peeking inside a cocoon.”
“But that’s all preordained by Mother Nature. We’re making this happen, and I—I’ve got no idea if we’re doing it right.”
Kirk’s forehead furrowed as he looked into his friend’s eyes, glimpsing the turmoil there. It was no secret that McCoy was an emotional man, but those emotions were usually used for particular effect, like tools for psychic surgery. For all his moods and outbursts, Kirk had always believed McCoy to be as soundly anchored and sure of himself as any being he’d ever known. It bothered him to see the doctor in this muddle of uncertainty, bothered him even more to know he’d brought it on by prodding McCoy into approving the experimental treatment.
“I’m sorry, Bones. I don’t know what to say.”
McCoy shrugged. “That makes two of us.”
Later in the day, they placed Zzev in the two-meter-high water tank constructed in the sickbay ward. To everyone’s great relief, he seemed perfectly at home, even pleased to be out of the diagnostic bed. Though not large, the tank gave him enough room to swim a bit and limber up his re-formed muscles. There were no noticeable complications, although, as McCoy phrased it in conversation with Kirk, “he’s still kind of like a tadpole.”
“Neither fish nor fowl?” Jim offered.
McCoy scowled at him. “You’re mangling my metaphor.”
Llissa volunteered for the overnight monitor shift, taking over from Dr. Chapel, who rubbed her sleepy eyes as she surrendered the chair at the medical console in McCoy’s office.
“No problems at all,” Chapel said brightly.
Llissa’s mouth twitched. “What?” she said in a distracted tone.
“I said no problems. He’s been fine all day.”
“Oh. That’s—that’s good.”
“Are you okay, Dr. Kkayn?”
Llissa stiffened, sitting straight-backed at the monitor panel. “Yes. I’m—I’m fine. Why do you ask?”
“You just seemed a little—I don’t know—jumpy.”
“Just tired, Dr. Chapel.”
“You don’t have to take this shift. We can get one of the staff to do it.”
“No, that’s okay. I’m fine.” She stretched her arms over her head. “I’m just not used to spending so much time in a spaceship.”
“Well, all right. If you need anything, you know how to use the intercom. Dr. McCoy and I can be back to sickbay in a few seconds. Call us anytime.”
Llissa watched Chapel leave and the door slide closed.
The glowing digital clockface confirmed for McCoy what his weary bones already knew. He’d been tossing and turning for four hours, with hardly a moment of actual rest. No matter how he tried to trick his mind into shutting down and not worrying about this crazy project being conducted in his sickbay, nothing worked. In fact, now that he gave it some thought, he must’ve fallen asleep for a while—since he could recall a nightmare about sharp-fanged fishmen ramming and capsizing his rowboat during an innocent fishing trip.
“Better to stay awake than go through that again,” he muttered.
The bedside intercom whistled and he heard Chapel’s urgent voice. “Dr. McCoy to sickbay—emergency!”
He punched the switch. “Coming.” Leaping out of a tangled blanket, he stripped off his sweaty nightclothes, yanked on a pair of pants, jammed his feet into slippers, threw his robe over his shoulders, and ran for sickbay.
The doors snapped open, and he skidded to a halt in the ward. Chapel and an aide were trying to hoist Zzev out of the tank—the Akkallan was in some sort of distress. “Get him out of there! I can’t work on a dying man in an aquarium!” McCoy joined the others on the catwalk rimming the tank and added his hand to the effort. “Where the hell is Llissa?” He spun around and saw her cowering across the room. “Get over here and help us.”
They got Zzev out of the tank, holding his dripping body in their arms as they lowered him to the floor, and carrying him to the nearest diagnostic bed. The indicators quivered erratically, and McCoy stared at them, trying to figure out what was happening to this creature turning ever more alien, ever more out of the surgeon’s realm of experience. “Llissa, get over here! Help me!”
She hurried over, her face pale, eyes hollow.
“What happened? What did you see on the monitors?”
“Nothing—nothing on the monitors,” she whispered.
“There must’ve been something. Dammit, he may be dying. I need something to go on!”
“It—it had nothing to do with the monitors. I know what happened. I—I gave him a double-concentration dose of the hormone.”
McCoy wheeled furiously on her. “Are you insane?”
Llissa’s composure returned; now that she’d made the terrible admission, it seemed easier to talk. “Zzev asked me to do it.”
“And you agreed?” Complete disbelief distorted McCoy’s face.
“Not right away.”
“Great. That’ll make this premeditated murder.”
“Leonard, do something—help him!”
“I don’t know what to do—” He grabbed a medi-scanner as much out of reflex as with any real idea of what to do, automatically thumbing the mode selector to tie the handheld device into the bedside display screen. He made several rapid passes over Zzev’s heaving, shivering body, then watched the charts, graphs, and numbers that flashed on the viewscreen.
“Dr. McCoy,” Chapel said in amazement, “his respiration and cardio rates are settling back to predicted levels. His system may be absorbing the extra dosage.”
McCoy looked down at Zzev’s face, now substantially changed by the middle stages of senescence. His mouth had elongated on the sides, and his upper lip and nose had extended into a slightly beaked formation. His neck had widened, giving the appearance that his head was mounted directly on increasingly sloped shoulders, forming a streamlined shape that could flow easily through water. The beaked mouth opened and closed, as if he was trying to speak, but eerie hisses and creaks were all that came out. Zzev rolled slightly onto his side, clearing the nearly complete blowhole on his back just below his head. The blowhole pulsed, and he tried to talk again. This time his words were understandable.
“Not her fault … did as I asked … best thing … dry … back in tank … sea creature now …”
“Dr. McCoy,” Chapel said, “his body tissues are becoming dehydrated. Look at the mottling on his skin.”
“Mmm—looks like he’s reached the point where he has to be in the water most of the time. That means if anything else goes wrong, I’ve gotta go in there with him, or we’ve gotta keep pouring water over him to keep him wet. Put him back in the tank, Christine. Get a couple of aides down here to help.”
McCoy clamped his hand roughly around Llissa’s wrist and dragged her out to his office. “That was a damn stupid thing to do.”
She tried to square her shoulders in defiance, but the ploy failed. “Maybe it was,” she said, dejected and bleary-eyed, “but it’s done.”
“Why did you do it? What could you’ve been thinking, after everything we said about needing to be cautious if we didn’t want to kill him?”
“I don’t know, Leonard.”
“Did he talk you into it?”
She stiffened. “No. He just articulated some things I guess I was already considering. Maybe there’s more of my father in me than I ever cared to admit.”
The door slid open, and an angry Jim Kirk stormed into the office, wearing his uniform pants and a black T-shirt pulled on over hair he hadn’t bothered to comb. “Chapel called me down. What in God’s name were you trying to do, Llissa?”
“Trying to save my planet, Jim,” she stated, summoning all her tattered dignity.
“By sabotaging McCoy’s treatment schedule?”
“No, of course not. But I started to think my father was right, that we couldn’t wait. If we did, it might be too late to help. I decided it’s our world, so it was our decision.”
“How is he, Bones?”
“How the hell am I supposed to know? For the moment, he seems to be stable. But I don’t have the slightest idea what the overdose’ll do to him in the long run.”
“Look,” Llissa said, “we knew from the outset that there was no control in this experiment, no sacred protocol. In the end, it was his life, and he wanted to take the added risk. I decided to go along.”
Kirk shook his head, not quite comprehending. “Well, what’s done is done. We’re stuck with the consequences, whatever they may be.”
“You all can go on back to sleep,” McCoy said. “I wasn’t sleeping anyway—I’ll spend the night in sickbay, just in case.”
“Okay,” said Kirk. “Call me if anything happens.” He started for the door, but Llissa lingered.
“I can’t sleep either, and besides, I’m the one who’s supposed to be on monitor duty.”
McCoy’s dirty look made her pause. But he held his tongue.
“So, unless I’m barred from sickbay, I’ll stay and keep you company. Hmm?”
He glowered at her. “Fine, as long as you don’t do anything I’ll want to strangle you for.”
“Promise.”
“Which I suppose isn’t binding.”
“Right.”
Kirk rubbed his bloodshot eyes. “I want you both alive in the morning—which, unfortunately, is only a couple of hours from now. Good night.”
The whistle of the intercom made Jim wince and tug the blanket over his face. His hand fumbled for the switch on the audio terminal. He emphatically did not want to face the bright light from the viewscreen right now. “Kirk here,” he mumbled.
“Good morning,” said McCoy’s voice. “Are you in the closet? I can barely hear you.”
Kirk slipped the blanket beneath his chin. “Is that better?”
“Yeah. Just thought I’d pass along some good news. Llissa’s damn fool meddling appears to have done no damage. In fact, the pace of senescence has speeded up quite a bit. I’d guess Zzev’ll be ready for the open seas by tomorrow.”
That made Jim sit up. “That’s three days early.”
“Yep. That means we’d better figure out exactly what we’re gonna do with him.”
“I’ll meet you in sickbay in a half-hour. Kirk out.”
“I’m worried about the glycoprotein level,” McCoy said. He, Kirk, Spock, and Llissa sat at the briefing-room table.
“The what—?” Kirk said, feeling ignorant.
“They’re proteins that act like a sort of biological antifreeze in animals that live in cold climates or cold water. They keep the cells from freezing solid. Otherwise, they’d rupture and destroy the tissue. Now, I’m not sure what the right level should be in a Wwafida, but I can’t help but feel that Zzev’s body’s been sluggish in building ’em up.”
“Well, we’ve still got a little time.”
“We’ve discovered another unforeseen development, Jim,” said Llissa.
It was difficult to tell from her tone just how serious this was, but Kirk braced himself. “What’s that?”
“My father’s lost the ability to communicate vocally.”
“It has to do with the rerouting of his respiratory system,” McCoy pitched in. “See, in making the dorsal blowhole the primary external breathing organ, air doesn’t pass over the vocal cords in the larynx anymore. Without that, he can’t speak the way humanoids like us normally do.”
“How much of a problem is that going to be? How do we communicate with him?”
“Evidently,” Spock said, “the Wwafida counteract the loss of vocalization in two ways. They are capable of producing a variety of whistles and clicks, which actually travel underwater with considerably greater efficiency than the sounds produced by our larynxes—”
“And the second way?” Kirk asked impatiently.
“They are able to communicate telepathically,” Spock replied. “I have already ascertained that I am able to establish contact with Dr. Kkayn over some distance.”
“We experimented,” McCoy said.
Kirk raised his eyebrows. “I see you all were busy before I got my wake-up call. All right, Spock. Present your plan.”
“We will utilize the Cousteau to transport Zzev directly to the seas off the island of Suberein. He will attempt to make contact with other Wwafida and inform them of the impending harvest raid.”
“Dammit,” Kirk growled, “why is he so set on risking his life to warn them of a raid that may not take place? And he may not even find any Wwafida. If anything happens to him, we’re back to square one. Llissa, can’t you try again to talk him out of this?”
“No, Jim, I can’t talk him out of it. He didn’t go through this just to become an exhibit. Contacting the Wwafida is very important to him. It’s the breakthrough he’s been working for.” She paused, then continued more quietly but just as passionately. “And he’s not the only one.”
“Then you agree with him? Even knowing how dangerous this is?”
“Yes, I do. There are lives at stake, Jim—the lives of the Wwafida are just as important as the lives of the people on Suberein and the lives of my friends at Collegium. And if contacting those Wwafida to warn them about the harvest can make a difference, then I think we should do it. As far as being back to square one, you’ve still got me. If my father dies, I’d be willing to undergo the same treatment. We’ll still have proof that senescence takes place and Wwafida are real.”
With a frustrated sigh, Kirk turned back to his science officer. “Recommendations on shuttle personnel.”
“Dr. McCoy, Llissa, Chekov, and myself. I will serve as our communications link with Zzev.”
“Approved,” Kirk said grudgingly. “But make sure Zzev understands we don’t want him searching the entire ocean for Wwafida. I don’t want you and the shuttle getting caught up in a Chorymi raid.”
“I will impress upon him the need for caution, Admiral.”
“We’ll be scanning, so we’ll be able to give you plenty of warning if a harvest fleet’s spotted, but that won’t do you any good if you’ve got to wait hours for him to get back to the ship. He’d better understand that if it’s necessary to save the shuttle and its crew, you’ll leave Akkalla without him.”
From his balcony at the Cloistered Tower, Publican Abben Ffaridor watched as an armada of thirty military cutters idled in the smooth water of Havensbay, gathered across the harbor at the base of the Citadel cliffs. It was dusk, and a veil of clouds turned the sky dark and melancholy. The fleet, built of the most heavily armed craft on Akkalla and commanded personally by Brigadier Jjenna Vvox, would be leaving port soon, bearing northwest. With no harvest raiders hitting the planet for nearly a week, Vvox had become convinced the enemy was waiting for the massing of the giant triteera in their northern feeding and mating grounds. She argued that this would be the time and place to make a convincing stand. If her combined force could turn back the hunting convoy, it would prove to the Chorymi that they couldn’t continue to raid Akkallan seas with impunity.
Ffaridor had timidly voiced doubt that the oceangoing vessels could turn away Chorymi spacecraft, but Vvox was certain previous defensive forays had failed because they’d lacked the firepower. This armada would write a different outcome altogether. With the Chorymi thus warned, she promised, she and Ffaridor would buy themselves the reprieve they needed to deal with the chaos caused by martial law and the imprisonment of legislators, scientists, and educators—and by the curfews, disruptions, and unrest still spreading like concentric shock waves from the radical actions they’d initiated.
This military mission, Vvox swore, would end the nightmare and bring on a new morning of light and progress by ridding them of the shadow and threat of more Chorymi raids.
Had he been able to foresee the consequences of what he’d done in recent weeks, Ffaridor might not have gone through with the grand plan to mold Akkalla’s government to fit the vision he and Vvox had nurtured and shared together. Together? Or had he been maneuvered by his brigadier? He could no longer separate fact from perception, no longer be sure of who’d been responsible for strategies that once seemed so promising and now had his rule teetering on the brink of a precipice no less perilous than the craggy bluffs that protected the harbor entrance below his balcony.
But it was too late for regrets. Nothing they’d done could be undone. Was it too late for prayers? As he watched the cutters glide in silence through the strait of Havensbay toward the open waters of the ocean, Ffaridor wondered if the nightmare was truly about to end—or if it had yet to begin.