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 hopelessly in love with the tall, handsome Vulcan. She was a sensible woman, though, and knew that any relationship other than a purely professional one was impossible. But every time he came near her, a wave of desire washed through her that she found hard to control, but did… somehow.
“I… I wouldn’t do anything to harm Mr. Spock. I’ve had enough tragedy in my life,” she went on, referring to her years’ long search for a man she had once loved who had been lost on a space expedition, and the heartbreak and horror that came when she finally found him.
See: “What Are Little Girls Made Of?” STAR TREK 11, Bantam Books, 1975
Kirk considered the woman’s words. As he looked into her strained and worried face, he thought: True, but infatuation can make the best of us do strange things. Could she have hoped that linkage with a highly emotional Kyrosian mind would make Spock react to her femininity in human terms? Kirk rejected that thought almost as soon as it entered his mind. She would be no more capable of doing that than McCoy would be of administering an aphrodisiac to a woman he desired.
And that left only the petite newcomer, Ensign George. Though she had a pertly attractive face and a provocatively rounded body, the few brief contacts Kirk had had with her since she joined the Enterprise had given him the impression of a person so involved in her work that there was no place for anything else. But now, as she looked at him, there was a new quality about her, a smoldering sensuality that Kirk’s maleness couldn’t help reacting to.
“Well, Ensign?” Kirk said.
“I had nothing to do with whatever happened to Mr. Spock,” she said defiantly. “Somehow, the magcards must have gotten mixed up. I wasn’t even in the operating room when the link was activated.”
“More than a mix-up is involved here,” Kirk said coldly. “Someone took Chag Gara’s profile from the medical library, wiped the one that had been originally selected for Spock, and deliberately imprinted Gara’s personality pattern. Since the visual identification printout on the card was that of the original subject, neither Dr. McCoy nor Lieutenant Chapel had any way of knowing that a switch was made.”
“You seem to have found me guilty already, Captain,” she replied.
“Are you?” Kirk demanded.
The woman’s composure remained unruffled. “Chapel knows how to run the equipment,” she said coolly, “and she knows how to read profiles. Maybe Gara’s sensuality quotient gave her a bright idea. Her feelings about Spock are no real secret; she turns into a quivering schoolgirl every time he comes in sight.”
Lieutenant Chapel’s eyes brimmed with tears at the accusation, but her voice retained a bite as she glared at the smaller woman. “You’re lying. You had the opportunity, too, and the motive. I’ve seen you near Spock…” Turning to the men, she said. “You both know I’d never… never do anything like that.”
“Of course, Christine,” McCoy replied softly.
Another five minutes of interrogation brought nothing but continued denials.
“We’re getting no place,” Kirk said, glancing at the digital chronometer on one bulkhead impatiently, “and we have much more important matters to attend to. Dr. Mbenga, Lieutenant Chapel, you are excused. Ensign George, consider yourself under arrest. You will remain in your quarters until a board of court-martial can be convened.”
The girl shrugged and started to rise.
“I think we’ve overlooked something important,” McCoy said, making a restraining gesture. “With your permission, Captain, I think I may be able to clear this matter up in a few minutes.”
Kirk glanced at the chronometer again, then gave a nod.
“Dr. Mbenga,” McCoy directed, “will you please go to sickbay and get me a spray hypo of 200 milligrams of neo-chlorprothixene.”
As the black physician left, Kirk looked at McCoy with a puzzled expression.
“What’s all this?”
“I’ve been working quite closely with Sara the last few weeks, but she hasn’t been the same person since she received her dop,” McCoy replied. “Until now, I thought the dop effect was only minor, but her behavior during the last half hour indicates a major change. Her dop’s behavior pattern must be so different from her own that a major psychic distortion has taken place. I’m going to inject her with a fast-acting ataractic—”