Jim Ausfahl

November 29^th 2294

Commander Pavel Andreievich Chekov carefully put a couple more pieces of wood on the campfire around which he and his three friends were sitting. "Is coffee gone?"

Kirk shook his head. "There should be a couple of cups left, but it’s probably getting pretty strong by now."

"Is okay by me; coffee should be good and strong!"

"Rumor has it that Pavel prefers his coffee strong enough to dissolve the spoon," Reichard gibed.

"Although no doubt effective, it is a most unusual way of getting iron in his diet, Ken," Indri offered. "Personally, I am quite satisfied if the coffee will hold up the spoon without dissolving it." Indri poured himself a cup, and filled Chekov’s. Indri sniffed the brew. "Tolerable, but somewhat scorched. Shall I make fresh?"

"Might as well, I guess." Kirk shrugged. "The night’s still young, and I’m still not tired."

Chekov sipped his brew. "After you guzzled that last cup, I can see why. This would take the paint off a starship hull!"

Indri emptied the dregs out of the pot, rinsed it and started to fill it. "The surface of the hull of a starship is actually covered with a multi-component, electrically conductive, semi-solid polymer, Pavel. Strong as this coffee may be, it couldn’t harm it."

"It’s more or less a self-sealing layer, isn’t it?" Reichard asked.

"It sure is. The surface tension is incredibly high, causing the coating to close any small defects." To everyone’s surprise, it was Kirk speaking. "If it weren’t for the fact that its polar end adhered so tightly to the trititanium of the hull, the stuff would creep into a big ball, leaving the hull about bare. Conceptually, I suppose it’d be easiest to think of it as a cross between glass, glue and syrup."

Indri hung the pot over the fire. "I admit that I’m a little surprised that you know that much about it. No offense intended, but you usually leave that sort of thing to the likes of Spock, Scotty or me. What got you interested enough in the hull’s surface coat that you studied up on it?"

Kirk chuckled. "It’s a bit of a tale, guys, and a little weird."

"Weird is normal on Enterprise," Chekov said. "It can’t get too much weirder than some of the things we’ve been through."

"On a weird scale from one to ten, where would you put Bones and I wearing nothing but a skirt?"

"About a twelve. You don’t wear skirts, Cap’n—you chase them." Reichard grinned broadly, obviously pleased with his quick comeback. Everyone else got a good laugh with him, even Kirk.

Before the laughter died down, Kirk responded to the gibe. "Any other time, you’d have been right, but before it all wrapped up this time, I ended up decked out in essentially nothing but an over-glorified skirt and an oversized necklace. And the whole mess started out with a problem with the hull’s outer covering."

For an instant, the laughter was replaced by a stunned silence. Indri ultimately broke it. "You don’t think you’re going to get away with tantalizing us like that without telling us the story that connects it all, do you?"

Kirk shrugged. "I guess not. That is, if you’re sure you want to hear it?"

"Are you sure you don’t want us stuffing rocks in your sleeping bag?" Chekov demanded. "Because if you don’t tell us story, we won’t be able to sleep wondering, and won’t let you sleep either!"

Kirk’s laughter rang through the crisp night air. "Okay, okay, I get the point, Pavel. As I recall it, it was in 2280, right after we’d dealt with a nasty infestation at Outpost 7734. I was aboard the Enterprise as an observer for Starfleet Training Command. Spock was in command, of course. We were heading into a poorly explored area with a ship full of cadets, mainly to do a more detailed mapping and either break in the cadets, or just plain break them." Secretly pleased at the other’s interest, Kirk leaned back. "I suppose none of it would have happened if Scotty had been able to do the EVA..."

August 8^th 2280

Commander Montgomery Scott stepped out of the turbolift onto a balcony overlooking the main Engineering deck, watching the activity below him. He gripped the railing loosely, hoping that his facial expression was sufficiently enigmatic to conceal his frustration with the new crop of cadets. Their marks had been good enough in the Academy, but it was patently obvious that their ability to apply their book knowledge was woefully poor.

The Scotsman sighed. He’d hoped that having none of the more experienced officers on the shift would trigger them into using what they knew, but it apparently hadn’t. If this batch of cadets was going to amount to anything, there would have to be some rough drills.

One cadet, perhaps eight or nine meters away, caught his eye. The Human was removing a cover plate for a routine inspection of the duotronic control system for the ship’s main power supply. His hands were full, one with the wrench he’d used to remove the nuts, the other with the nuts that he’d removed. Despite that, he was wrestling the fifteen-kilo access cover solo. One hard bump and at least the nuts would be in the circuitry, and maybe the wrench and a corner of the cover. Infuriated, Scott felt his grip on the railing tighten. He raised his right hand to shout at the cadet and correct his atrocious lack of common sense.

Before Scotty could correct the cadet’s behavior, the communications system began bellowing "Impending collision!" The computer’s emotionless voice hadn’t even finished the first word when the Enterprise lurched violently, sending Scott flying over the railing. As he fell, he felt a tearing sensation in his left shoulder before he lost his grip. He continued his fall, his arms and legs flailing. The cadet lurched forward, only to be hurled backward by the explosive discharge his contact with the circuits had caused.

Even before he landed, Scott bellowed, "Get Medical down here now—that cadet’s burned." An instant later, the chief engineer hit the deck, hard. His right hip added searing waves of pain to the strident complaints of his left shoulder. As the main lights failed and the dim red of the emergency lights flickered on, Scott realized there would be no help forthcoming until power was restored. His first attempt to stand was greeted by further waves of pain that sent him collapsing back to the floor. Through the haze of his own pain, he saw the cadet, burned and unconscious. For an instant, he saw his nephew’s face. Gritting his teeth with determination, he levered himself erect. Despite the semi-light, Scotty could see that not a cadet was moving, all of them transfixed with fear.

"Well, d’ye think things are going to fix themselves? One o’ ye is down an’ not a one o’ ye has even looked t’see if he’s still alive." Scott began to move toward the exposed, sparking circuits. Oddly, it seemed to the engineer that the floor was canted. Even more annoying, his left shoulder wouldn’t move, and it felt like someone had kindled a bonfire in the small of his back. Refusing to yield to the pain, he reached the open access port.

"Well? Are any o’ ye alive?" The chief engineer reached in, retrieving the dropped wrench, his hand and the arm of his shirt repeatedly getting scorched by the electrical sparks the damaged board was throwing. As he reached around to trip the cutout to bypass the board, he noticed that his uniform was streaked with his own blood. Doggedly, he kept working with the circuitry, trying to restore some semblance of power. "Because if ye’re not moving in the next five seconds, when this mess is sorted out an’ I’m back in shape, I’m going to kill the lot of ye. Barehanded."

Whether it was the dire threat, or seeing the chief engineer doing battle with the damaged circuit board despite his obvious injuries, no one ever decided. Whatever it was, the cadets suddenly sprang into action. One headed for their fallen comrade, while another went for the emergency medical kit. The rest fanned out to assorted areas in the Engineering deck, doing what they could. Three descended on the Scotsman.

"Commander Scott," one of them said, levelly but forcefully, "You’re in no shape to be working on anything." The other two had grabbed him gently, and were trying to ease him away from the panel. "Give orders, and I’ll do what I can. I may not be as experienced as you are, but at least both of my arms work."

The chief engineer recognized the face: Jesse Running Bear, that was the name. He’d been shy, tentative, almost withdrawn before, despite receiving top marks at the academy. Scott’s reverie was interrupted by the brief sting of an antiseptic spray on the side of his face, and the cool pressure of a dressing being applied. Reluctantly, he let himself be pried away from the damage.

The cadet looked into the orifice. "This board’s shot, Commander. You’ve tripped the cutout?"

"Aye, laddie. You’ll be needing to replace it. There’s a functioning spare in Cabinet Seventeen, Bin K-Twelve," Scotty responded. One of the two cadets who had been supporting him disappeared at a run. "But you’ll be needing to do more than just replace the board."

The cadet nodded. "Of course, Commander. This is a category one power drop, with potential surge damage. Everyone else should be running checks on possibly damaged circuits, or they soon will be; the bypasses on the most critical ones will be in place before Jeff gets back with the board."

Jeff returned with the board in hand. "This should at least get us the lights and the turbolifts back."

Connectors were shifted from one board to the next, culminating in the board being eased into place. Cadet Running Bear looked Scott in the eye. "Ready to disconnect bypass. On your command. Sir!"

Commander Scott moved forward, scanning the board. "She looks ready, laddie. Put her on line."

The cadet reached in, toggling the bypass out of circuit. Within a second or two, the lights flickered on. Scarcely a minute later, McCoy and M’Benga exited the turbolift at a run. That a training cruise such as this carried two doctors was a rarity, but M’Benga had asked for the chance, and Captain Spock had granted his request. The immediate events seemed to make it obvious that two doctors should be required on all such voyages.

"What’s the matter with you cadets?" McCoy demanded, as he hurried to Scotty’s side. "Get Commander Scott on the deck. Can’t you engineers see the man is injured?"

Silently, the two cadets supporting Scotty gently lowered the Scotsman to the trititanium floor, and fled swiftly to other duties. Only Running Bear remained. McCoy ran the mediscanner over his friend, assessing his status. One eyebrow raised, McCoy looked the chief engineer in the eye. "What were you thinking, Scotty? You’ve got a dislocated left shoulder, an impacted fracture of your right hip, and compression fractures in two lumbar vertebrae, to say nothing of an ugly gash on your cheek." The hypospray hissed, delivering medication for the pain. "Among your other, lesser, injuries. Are you trying to get yourself killed? You had no business doing anything but lying still and waiting for medical help."

"Permission to speak. Sir!"

McCoy turned to the cadet. "Don’t you have something to fix? I’m busy trying to rescue a lunatic that thinks he can fix a starship when he’s in need of repair."

"Sir, if Commander Scott were down, would you let any injury you had sustained keep you from getting here to help him? Sir!"

Before McCoy could answer, Scott did. "Runnin’ Bear’s got a point, Doctor. Would ye not have been here t’ rescue a wounded cadet, even if ye’d had to crawl every centimeter of the way on broken legs? Ye know ye would, an’ that’s a fact. Ye canna fault me for doin’ the same for the Enterprise."

The doctor shook his head in resignation. "Okay, okay, you’re right, and I’ll grant you that. But you’re a mess, and you’re going to Sickbay whether you like it or not, you stubborn Scotsman." McCoy turned to the cadet. "Well? Did you have anything on your mind other than helping Scotty put me in my place?"

"Yes, sir. How soon will Commander Scott be able to return to duty, sir?"

"He’ll be as good as new in three days, maybe less."

"And Scotty. Sir?"

"I just told you. Weren’t you listening?"

"Not the commander, the burned cadet, sir, Scotty Anders. How is he?"

Somewhat embarrassed by his misunderstanding, McCoy looked over at M’Benga. "How about your charge over there, Ben?"

"Some second-degree burns, mainly his arms and a bit of his face, maybe ten percent of his body, max. Some first degree, no third. Knocked cold by the impact, with a small concussion. No fractures, no internal injuries. Twelve hours, twenty-four at the outside, and he’ll be fine."

McCoy looked up at the cadet. "Satisfied?"

"Yes, sir. Thank you. Sir!" The cadet disappeared back to the task of getting the Enterprise into shape.

McCoy stepped over to a wall communicator. "Sickbay. Marie?"

"Yes, Doctor McCoy?"

"We’ll need two litters to Engineering. Couple of injuries here are going to need carried. Get those medical trainees off their sorry sitters and get them down here on the double!"

"On our way, Doctor. Sickbay out."

Scott lifted himself up on his good arm, and looked around Engineering. The crisis seemed to have driven the cadets into applying what they’d learned, after all, especially Running Bear, who seemed to have taken charge of the situation. Scotty let McCoy ease him back onto the floor. "Aye, ‘tis cheap at twice the cost."

"I must not have been listening," McCoy responded, looking his friend in the eye. "I don’t think I understood you."

"Cheap at twice the price, Doctor. The damage to the Enterprise and my wee injury seem to have made yon cadets into buddin’ young starship engineers despite themselves." The chief engineer closed his eyes, contentedly. "That pain medication y’gave me must be grabbin’ hold, Doctor; I’m havin’ a bit o’ trouble concentratin’. If ye don’t mind, I think I’ll be takin’ a few winks." The engineer let his eyes close, an almost contented smile on his face.

Nurse Webb and four medical trainees arrived with two antigrav litters, as Scott dropped off. McCoy smiled, almost paternally. "Sleep tight, old friend." The wounded were loaded onto the litters, and moved into the turbolift, M’Benga, McCoy, Webb and a gaggle of medical trainees at their sides.

As the door to the turbolift closed, McCoy could hear Running Bear’s voice shouting at the other cadets. "Okay, gang, we’ve got exactly one chance to redeem ourselves in the Old Man’s eyes. If we don’t want to tend the engines of garbage scows for the rest of our lives, we’d better get started on..."

McCoy’s grin widened. It sounded like Engineering was still in good hands, even without the intrepid Montgomery Scott overseeing it.

*****

The dim and dull red of the emergency lights on the bridge of the Enterprise were suddenly replaced by the normal lighting. Admiral Kirk picked himself up off the deck, dusted off his pants and looked around; there didn’t seem to be anyone hurt.

"Captain Spock! What happened?"

"We appear to have hit an unidentified object, Admiral," said the captain of the Enterprise from the science station. The cadet stationed there was busy rubbing her temple over the nasty blow she’d taken from hitting the railing. "Although I am still endeavoring to refine its precise nature, superficial analysis indicates it was a very large number of small bodies linked to each other in a diffuse, irregular grid." The Vulcan studied the screen for an instant or two more. He looked back at the admiral. "It is the connection between the smaller bodies that rendered the deflectors unable to clear it from our path. What remains unclear is whether this is an artificial object or a living organism."

"Damage report?" Kirk asked.

"Minimal, Admiral; there appears to have been damage to power distribution in Engineering, which is apparently repaired. Hull integrity appears intact, but a visual inspection will be necessary to be completely certain."

"Uhura, get me Engineering."

Silently, the communications officer made the connection.

"Engineering. Cadet Running Bear. Sir!"

"This is Admiral Kirk. Get me Commander Scott, Cadet."

"He is unavailable, sir, unless you wish to contact him in Sickbay. He sustained significant injury, and is presently incapacitated. Doctor McCoy indicated that a full recovery is expected in two to three days. Sir! The situation in Engineering should be normalized shortly. The last of the systems potentially damaged by the power drop are being checked and should be back to full operation in the next ten minutes. Sir!"

A mixture of concern and amusement registered on Kirk’s face. The senior crewman in Engineering a cadet, and Scotty in Sickbay. He’s going to love that! Kirk grinned. And he didn’t think this batch of cadets had it in ‘em. Amazing what even a minor crisis can bring out of people. "Excellent, Cadet Running Bear. I’m sure Commander Scott will be pleased with your performance. Bridge out."

Kirk turned to the Vulcan. "Spock, with Scotty out of commission, you’re the best choice to inspect the hull for damage."

"I appear to be the most logical choice, Admiral, unless you wish to send a cadet out," Spock stood as he spoke. "As soon as Engineering is repaired, I will go extra-vehicular and perform the inspection."

*****

Once Spock was suited and outside the Enterprise, it was only a matter of minutes before he reached the area of the hull involved in the impact. Almost the entire leading edge of the dish was studded with small, virtually jet-black nodules, anywhere from just less than one to a bit over two centimeters in diameter. Between the nodules, there were thin lines of the same, jet-black material. As the Vulcan watched, one of the larger nodes suddenly split in two smaller nodes that began to drift apart, a thin line forming between them. Fascinated, Spock drifted closer, to try to obtain a sample. Kirk’s voice filled his helmet.

"Anything to report, Captain Spock?"

"It appears that the Enterprise has hit a most unusual living organism, Admiral," the Vulcan responded, bringing his tricorder to bear on the creatures. "Or, to be more precise, it would appear to be a colony of organisms. It also appears that the organisms are feeding on the material covering the hull." As he watched, Spock saw another nodule fission.

"Well, better get a sample on board so Life Sciences can find a way of eradicating it before it eats the hull bare."

"Naturally, Admiral." The Vulcan attempted to remove a section of the colony, but found it was beyond even his strength. Considering that the network had survived being rammed by the Enterprise, he found that unsurprising. After a moment’s consideration, Spock reset his phaser and used it to cut the connections between a number of the nodes. With the connections cut, it remained difficult to pry the nodules loose from the Enterprise, but not impossible.

Unbeknownst to the Vulcan, several of the larger nodules behind him burst, spraying a fine, dark powder into the space around him, as well as across the back of his suit. With his sample safely tucked in a specimen bag, he began the trip back to the air lock. "A sample is collected, Admiral. If Doctor McCoy could meet me near the lock, he could begin processing it immediately."

"Good enough, Spock. Bridge out."

Only moments passed before Spock entered the airlock. On the other side, one of the cadets was manning the controls, but not cycling the lock.

"If it would not be too much trouble, Cadet, I would appreciate your cycling the lock, so I can deliver this sample to Doctor McCoy."

The cadet shook his head. "I’m afraid I can’t comply, Captain Spock. Apparently your suit has been contaminated during your EVA. Sir! Decontamination will be necessary, but I’m not getting any clear reading on how to proceed."

McCoy stepped out of the turbolift, and joined the cadet at the console. "Hello again, Running Bear. We’ve got to stop meeting like this, or the admiral’s going to get suspicious. What seems to be the problem?"

The cadet pointed to the airlock readout. "Contamination, sir, and it is not clear to me how to proceed with the decontamination process."

After a moment or two of study, McCoy looked at Spock. "Think you can put up with a little phaser fire, Spock? The only thing I can see that’s going to handle this stuff is vaporizing it."

"The suit should protect me adequately, Doctor, unless you plan to use unexpectedly high energies or temperatures."

"Only to about 210ºC, I think, Spock, which won’t take a lot of juice. Ready?"

The Vulcan nodded. "Ready, Doctor. Cadet, commence on Doctor McCoy’s command."

McCoy gave Running Bear the nod, and for an instant, the air lock was filled with phaser fire. On the readout, it was obvious that the suit contamination had been vaporized adequately. The cadet cycled atmosphere into the lock. Once the pressure was up to ship’s norm, the Vulcan removed the helmet of his suit. In an instant, his face began showing large green welts, and the Vulcan began showing obvious signs of difficulty breathing.

"Get that helmet back on, Spock!" McCoy shouted. Without argument, the Vulcan complied, and McCoy hit the emergency cycle switch, letting the air in the lock vent. The pressure had barely dropped to zero before McCoy hit the emergency cycle again and again, repressurizing and depressurizing the lock three or four times in a matter of seconds. After the last repressurization, he opened the inner door and, with Running Bear’s assistance, dragged the Vulcan out. Through the helmet of his suit, McCoy could clearly see his friend’s face was a mass of green hives, and the Vulcan was struggling to breathe.

"Get a team here from medical, boy," McCoy ordered, tearing the helmet off Spock’s suit, and applying the hypospray to his exposed, green skin. "We’re going to need a litter, and I want M’Benga up here with it."

The cadet spoke briefly into the nearby wall communicator, and returned to help McCoy get Spock out of the EVA suit.

McCoy was worried; the first dose of halonephrine had hardly helped at all. Consulting his tricorder, he decided a second dose would be worth the risk, and followed it with a dose of quadrimethalone, hoping the immunosuppressant would break what was clearly a major allergic reaction.

Although only a moment or two passed before M’Benga arrived to assist, it seemed to McCoy like it had taken forever. "Worst allergic reaction I’ve seen in years, Ben."

Without responding, M’Benga knelt beside the Vulcan, mediscanner in hand. His ebony brow furrowed. "It’s bad, all right. How much quadrimethalone have you given him?"

"Thirty-five milligrams, and fifty micrograms of halonephrine on top."

M’Benga shook his head. "That should have done the trick, Len, but it sure hasn’t. Help me get him on the litter." The three men lifted Spock.

Once he was safely on the antigrav litter, McCoy scanned him again. "We’re losing ground, Ben. That’s not a healing trance I’m seeing." McCoy’s Hypospray hissed again. "I’m taking him up to a hundred of the quadrimethalone."

The Zulu nodded. "Yeah, and let’s just hope that buys us enough time to get him to Sickbay. Let’s move."

Before the two doctors and their charge could reach the turbolift, its door opened and disgorged half a dozen cadets in full protection suits, armed with decontamination equipment.

McCoy looked up. "Who invited you guys to the party?"

Running Bear moved toward the turbolift. "I did, sir. It seemed prudent, under the circumstances, sir."

McCoy turned on the cadet. "They’re supposed to help us fix Spock?"

"No, sir. With all due respect, I believe that your attempt to purge the air lock of whatever Captain Spock is having an allergic reaction to was only modestly successful." The cadet scratched himself. "Have you looked closely at your own hands, sir?"

M’Benga started scratching himself. "Don’t bother, Len. You’re growing hives, and so is this cadet. And if I’m not starting to break out, I’m much mistaken." M’Benga’s hypospray hissed, first against McCoy’s shoulder, and then Running Bear’s. "Let’s get out of here while we all can still breathe. Thank heavens we got a more dilute dose, that’s all I can say." M’Benga bared his shoulder.

McCoy got the point, and dosed his colleague with the quadrimethalone. Running Bear had the turbolift waiting; they all boarded.

Once they arrived in Sickbay, McCoy, M’Benga, Running Bear and Nurse Webb shifted Spock to the biomonitor bed. The indicators moved, reflecting Spock’s status.

"Looks like he’s dropped into the Vulcan Healing trance, Ben," McCoy opined. "Given that, his readings are pretty tolerable. For a Vulcan, anyhow." McCoy turned to the cadet, mediscanner in hand. "Looks like you’re settling down tolerably, Running Bear." The hypospray hissed, again. "That should take care of you. You’re banished to your cabin, for now. Be back here before you report for duty tomorrow."

"Yes, sir." Running Bear turned to leave. Before he reached the turbolift, another voice called him.

"Runnin’ Bear, before ye leave Sickbay, spare me a moment."

"Commander Scott?"

"Aye. Over here, laddie."

Obediently, the cadet moved to the biomonitor Scotty inhabited. He stood, silently, waiting for Scott to speak again.

After several moments, the chief engineer smiled. "I’ve checked things as best I can, while these sadists here in Sickbay have me trapped on this bed. Ye’ve got Engineerin’ back to rights. Once ye got movin’, you were magnificently adequate. For a cadet, that’s no mean achievement."

"It wasn’t just me, Commander Scott. The others all did their part, sir."

"No doubt, but you took charge when it was needed. With a little more time and experience, laddie, you just might make it as a starship engineer."

"Thank you, sir. Will that be all, sir?"

Before Scott could answer, McCoy poked his head around the corner. "I’m afraid not. We just got a call from the bridge. Jim, ah, that would be Admiral Kirk, wants a solution to the getting rid of the stuff that’s eating the paint off the hull, and he wants it now. You’re going to have to help rig something up so Scotty can see what Spock learned, and solve our little problem. Unless, of course, you relish the idea of repainting the Enterprise."

"That’s not paint, Doctor," Scott interjected. "It’s a..."

"Never mind what it is, Commander Scott," came a voice from the turbolift. Everyone turned to see Admiral Kirk moving toward them, a tricorder clutched in one hand. "You have my permission to lecture me on what it is to your heart’s content after you’ve made sure that it isn’t lunch for this space barnacle." Kirk handed the Scotsman the tricorder. "It’s Spock’s, and all decontaminated."

Scott grinned happily as he took the tricorder in his good arm. It was only a moment before he handed it back. "A wee pass through an oxygen-nitrogen atmosphere should do it. The hull can handle 1,000ºC without trouble, and 500ºC is more than enough. It’ll take passes from several angles, of course, to be sure we’ve not missed anything, but that’s about it."

"Bones, how long will Spock be out of commission?"

The doctor shrugged. "Hours, I’d guess. Why?"

"Given how fast that stuff is spreading, I’m not waiting for him," Kirk responded. "We’re just going to go for the closest adequate planet. Scotty, get a set of atmospheric passes planned. I’ll have Ensign Jaeger implement them."

Kirk turned to the turbolift and headed for the bridge.

McCoy turned to Running Bear. "Well, son, it looks like you’re not going to escape Medical as quickly as you planned. Scotty, he’s all yours. I’ve got a green-blooded patient to attend to." The doctor abandoned the pair.

"Well, Commander, it looks like you’re stuck with me," Running Bear remarked. "I don’t suppose you have your compuclipboard with you?"

"As it turns out, laddie, I’ve managed to convince one of the medical trainees that I couldn’t possibly recover without it. You’ll find it hidden in the pile of papers over there."

Without being asked, the cadet retrieved it. Within moments, the cadet and the chief engineer were wrangling over approaches as if they had worked together for years.

*****

On the bridge, Kirk sat uneasily in the center chair, waiting for a suitable planet to turn up. Knowing that the outer coating of the Enterprise was being eaten by an exotic life form made the wait all the less tolerable. Spock, Kirk was sure, could have found a planet more rapidly, but to expect the young Human trying to fill Spock’s place to be able to perform the same feats as the Vulcan could was totally irrational, and Kirk knew it. After what seemed like forever, Cadet Ising looked up from the science station.

"Got one, Admiral. Location transmitted to Navigation. Planet’s marvelously Earth-like. I’d say it actually could be colonized without much trouble."

"Good work, Mister Ising. Anything on the planet in the database?"

"Negative. Not surprising, since we’re the first thing other than an unmanned mapping probe out this way."

Kirk nodded and turned to Navigation. "Cadet O’Neill, how quickly can we get there at Warp Eight?"

"Warp Eight? Less than two hours, sir. Ising’s planet’s not too far."

"Get us there, O’Neill, the faster the better. Uhura, if you would let Commander Scott know that we will need his plans in just over an hour?"

"Of course, Admiral."

Kirk felt the warp engines shift into action. He settled into his chair contentedly, feeling like he was finally doing something.

*****

In Sickbay, Running Bear was holding up a tricorder that had been connected up to a nearby readout, so that Commander Scott could see. Kirk’s voice came over the communicator. "Well, Scotty, are you satisfied with the course laid out through the planet’s atmosphere?"

"Aye, Commander. It looks like it’ll do the job, with plenty of margin to spare."

"Excellent." Kirk’s voice changed tenor slightly as it was pumped through the whole ship. "Attention all hands. The Enterprise is about to enter a planetary atmosphere. All crewmembers will make sure their area is secure, and will secure themselves. Senior instructors, report when your area is secured."

Running Bear shifted to a readout, and strapped himself into the chair. "I’ll give you a running commentary on the hull temperature sensors, Commander Scott."

McCoy checked to be sure Running Bear was strapped in, strapping himself in securely as well. "We’re all secure in Sickbay, Jim."

"Good enough, Bones. Scotty, I’ll have Uhura leave the line open to the bridge. Holler if you think there’s trouble." The tenor of Kirk’s voice clearly indicated that he expected none, but wasn’t willing to take any chances.

"Aye, Admiral."

"Ensign Jaeger, initiate the atmospheric transit. Show me how good you are."

She turned with a bright smile. "Aye-aye, Admiral."

Within moments, the Enterprise began to shudder and shake as it drove its way through the atmosphere. Running Bear’s voice beat a cadence of its own, calling out the hull temperatures. "Leading edge at 135ºC, 147ºC, 211ºC, 354ºC, 397ºC, 426ºC…"

"We’re doin’ fine, Runnin’ Bear. What readings are you getting’ on the trailin’ edge?"

"Stabilizing at 238ºC, Commander. Leading edge stabilizing at 568ºC."

"Good enough. We should be shifting out of the atmosphere in a second or two."

Almost as if Scott’s comment had triggered it, the Enterprise suddenly stopped shuddering.

"Hull temperature dropping, Commander. Maximum down to 495ºC, to 477ºC, to 432ºC…"

Before another reading registered, the Enterprise began its second pass, this time backwards. Scotty smiled as the ship shuddered. "She’s a fine ship, Runnin’ Bear; she’ll weather this without trouble." The Scotsman relaxed visibly. "You can quit the running commentary on the temperature, laddie. She’s doin’ exactly what we projected. But let me know if the leadin’ edge gets over about 615ºC, mind you."

*****

Spock’s awareness floated in the profound state of heightened internal awareness that Humans called the Vulcan Healing Trance, the outside world almost totally shut out of his awareness. The allergic reaction had been severe. Despite the medication that had been given, the assault on his system had been almost disastrous and remedying the effects was neither easily nor swiftly done, but the task appeared complete. There were a few minor physiologic points that still needed checked, but on the whole, Spock was satisfied that he would return to his usual state of health when he returned from the trance.

Through the self-induced isolation from the outside world, the shuddering of the Enterprise beat its way into Spock’s awareness. Even in the depths of internal monitoring, the inappropriateness of the sensation was sufficiently severe that Spock started to shift back to normal awareness. For a moment, the shuddering stopped, but quickly started again. Snapping awake, the Vulcan realized that he had been strapped to the biomonitor. Releasing himself was not difficult; the straps were there to keep him from falling off, rather than to keep him restrained.

Absorbed as they were in staying strapped in place, or in monitoring the ship’s status, the others in the Sickbay failed to notice him as he lurched to the nearest readout. After strapping himself into the chair, Spock turned to the readout. It was only the task of a few moments to ascertain what was happening, and to shift his attention to the planet below. What he found distressed him sorely. Reporting the problem, he decided, could wait until the maneuver was finished; the damage had already been done. What might be needed would depend on decisions from Starfleet Command.

*****

As the Enterprise shuddered its way out of the atmosphere for the last time, Running Bear unbelted himself and walked over to Commander Scott’s biomonitor, carrying the modified tricorder. Scott’s fingers played over the controls as Running Bear held it.

"Well, laddie, it’ll take an inspection from outside t’be totally sure, but I’d say we’ve cleaned off the Enterprise, right enough." The Scotsman smiled. "I think things are just fine."

"Unfortunately, Chief Engineer Scott," Spock announced as he walked over to the engineer’s side, "the planet that the Enterprise has used to burn the hull clean is inhabited by a pre-technological civilization, and the Enterprise has performed its activities over what appears to be the capital city of the planet’s population."

Scott turned to face the Vulcan. "Spock! It’s good to see you up and healthy again!" There was a pregnant silence before the Scotsman continued. "How much problem could a wee bit of fireworks cause?"

"That remains to be determined, Commander Scott. However, considering that the civilization appears to be almost identical to your Earth’s Ancient Egypt, it could be quite considerable. Pre-technical civilizations, including Ancient Egypt, considered unusual occurrences in the sky as omens, usually omens of doom and disaster. There is the potential for considerable social disruption."

*****

Ptah-Hotep purposefully positioned himself where he would be difficult to spot, yet could still see the oncoming retinue of the Pharaoh clearly as it moved through the center of the city. There was no question in his mind that he was taking a major risk, coming from the nome that he governed to confront the Pharaoh, but he was certain that it was time. Around him, the crowd jostled, trying to catch a glimpse of the Divine Ruler’s golden chariot as it passed, not daring to look the Son of the Sun God in the face. Ptah-Hotep shook his head in frustration, wondering how even the uneducated commoners could believe such a ridiculous idea. Slowly, Pharaoh’s chariot came into view. As the chariot pulled level with him, Ptah-Hotep stepped out of the crowd, staring Pharaoh squarely in the face. Near the Pharaoh stood the hairless form of his Grand Vizier. Ptah-Hotep’s eyes locked with the Pharaoh’s.

"How dare you be here, Ptah-Hotep? You are banished to the Crocodile Nome by my Divine Command."

"The rumor had reached me, Pharaoh. Despite that, I’m here, and I’m looking you in the eye, and I’m still not dead. What do you plan to do about it? Call for fire in the sky or something?"

"Your life is forfeit for disobeying me."

"Oh, right, I forgot. Thanks ever so much for the reminder. Just as an aside, did you notice the crowds? In case you’ve forgotten, some of the little innovations I’ve developed have made the life of the common man a lot easier and a whole lot more pleasant lately; I’m pretty popular with the common folk right about now. What chances do you think your guards there have of taking me out before a rebellion starts? It’s time you talked to your ‘father’ up there in the sky, to see if the Sun will bail you out." Ptah-Hotep’s voice carried a hint of confident sarcasm in it.

Around him, Ptah-Hotep sensed the crowd moving away. He maintained a level gaze at Pharaoh’s painted face. Under the paint, the Pharaoh’s face writhed in fury. Ptah-Hotep smiled thinly, as the situation became increasingly tense. The Grand Vizier whispered in the Pharaoh’s ear, receiving a nod of agreement. At a gesture from the Grand Vizier, one of Pharaoh’s guards moved toward Ptah-Hotep. Two men from the crowd moved to block his path. "Let the Son of Ra prove his strength," the larger of the two men insisted. "The Divine One is not so feeble that he needs your aid, is he?"

The guard moved back, realizing that there was no chance of handling Ptah-Hotep while the crowd was still there. Ptah-Hotep stood, bearing the Pharaoh’s angry gaze without visible fear. "Ra does not seem to be willing to produce some sort of sign for you, Pharaoh. Could it be that the Divine Father of the Great House is no longer shining favorably upon you? Come, just a small demonstration, a light in the sky or something would do fine."

Scarcely had Ptah-Hotep’s challenge been uttered when the sky was streaked by a great blaze of light. Before the streak had faded, a second streak crossed the first, then another, and another. All around him, Ptah-Hotep saw the crowd falling to the ground in terror. Even the Pharaoh seemed astonished by the display in the sky. Again, the Grand Vizier whispered to the Pharaoh.

"Take him! Put him in the Royal Dungeons. We will deal with him later." Clearly, Pharaoh had decided to take advantage of the unexpected light show, and claim credit for it as best he could. There was nothing that Ptah-Hotep or any of his colleagues could do. He went without argument, hoping against hope that he could find a way out of his predicament.

*****

Ship’s Log, Stardate 8062.6

According to Captain Spock’s analysis of the situation on the planet below us, the atmospheric maneuver the Enterprise performed to rid its surface of the life form that was slowly removing the Enterprise’s outer covering may have significantly disrupted the civilization below. The civilization, and indeed even the language, of the people of this planet bears a striking resemblance to Egypt before the Hyksos invaded. It seems probable that we have stumbled across another cultural transplant made by the Preservers. Starfleet Command has been apprised of the situation. Doctor McCoy and I have been ordered to do a brief cultural survey, to assess the amount of damage done by the pyrotechnics the Enterprise created.

His skin now darkened to match that of the people of the planet, Kirk stepped out of the alcove in Sickbay where he had donned the attire he needed for the survey. "Spock, I hope that this is an attempt at humor. I’m much more comfortable chasing skirts than wearing them."

Before Spock could answer, Scotty’s voice came from the biomonitor bed he filled. "Och, you look fine, Admiral! ‘Tis not the material I’d use for a kilt, but it looks wonderful on you. You’ve definitely the legs for it, and no mistake."

Kirk favored the engineer with a glare that would have curdled milk. "It’s a good thing you’re flat on your back, Montgomery Scott, because if you weren’t, I might have to knock you there for that wisecrack." The admiral’s words were stern, but his face registered a half-hearted smile.

"Given the equatorial climate in which you will be working, Admiral," Spock interjected, "The garment is eminently practical. I conjecture that it is the temperatures that motivated the use of such a brief garment. Perhaps it would be more palatable if you thought of it as being a sarong."

At this juncture, McCoy came out of his alcove. Grinning lopsidedly, he looked Kirk over. "Tell you what, Jim. If you promise not to chase my skirt, I promise not to chase yours."

Kirk rolled his eyes. "You’ve got a deal, Bones. You’re not my type anyhow."

"Hey, Spock, how am I supposed to carry my mediscanner and kit and all? This ridiculous linen sarong hasn’t got a pocket anywhere."

"The custom on the surface is to use a bag; you will carry it slung over your shoulder, or hung on it." Before McCoy could make any further comment, Spock continued. "Unfortunately, to render it small enough to be easily concealed, the mediscanner you will carry will be somewhat primitive compared to what you are accustomed to using. You will both carry sufficient precious metal to make any purchases you may need, such as food, water and shelter. Money as such has not yet been developed; the precious metal will be weighed out to make the purchases. You will find nuggets of gold, silver and copper of an assortment of sizes to make that task easier."

"Scotty," Kirk asked, "what have you got rigged for communications?"

"I’ve had the lads down in Engineerin’ make up a couple of feance neck pieces for you and Doctor McCoy, Captain. You’ll only need to touch one of the bits of blue feance to talk; we’ll show you which one. Another one will let you and Doctor McCoy communicate securely with each other, unless someone on the planet can lip read English; it’ll silence anything you say otherwise. Translator’s built into it, too. All you’ll have to do is talk. It’ll use a field effect to sense what you’re saying, and a similar effect to make it sound like you’re saying whatever the translation is. It’ll work the same going the other way. Buildin’ it drove the cadets to their limits, especially managing to duplicate the feance. We’ll see how well they’ve done in a moment or two. Running Bear should be bringing them up soon enough."

While Scott was still speaking, Running Bear stepped out of the turbolift door, carrying the neckpieces. As soon as his superior officer finished speaking, Running Bear picked up. "On top of that, at M’Benga’s request, we’ve rigged these things to produce a high-pitched whine that he says will drive off any biting insects. Apparently the equivalent of malaria, dengue fever and an assortment of insect borne diseases are rampant on the surface. That should help protect you both from it."

"And M’Benga toughened the soles of our feet to the point where they are almost phaser-proof, Jim," McCoy added. "There are some obnoxious parasites and flukes we need protected from. That, and we’re going to be going around barefoot. I thought it’d be a good idea."

"I’m with you, Bones." Kirk turned to Spock. "Are there any other details, Spock?"

"I do not think so. Your neckpieces will also allow us to monitor your surroundings. The information gleaned will be used as an adjunct to your observations in assessing the situation." The Vulcan assisted Running Bear in putting the neckpieces onto the two men. "If you are ready, it is time to beam you down."

Kirk nodded his assent, and stepped to the turbolift.

******

Moments later, Kirk and McCoy materialized near a small sand dune. Kirk looked at the shadows for a moment. "C’mon, Bones. The road to the capital city is this way, over the dune. Their capital city should be off to the left." Confidently, Kirk led the way, McCoy following. The two men crested the dune, and started moving toward the city. Within moments, they were overtaken by an entourage with a gold encrusted chariot carrying two men in its midst. The bald one turned to his companion, pointing at Kirk and McCoy.

"It is certainly these two whose trail we saw on the dune, oh Great One. There can be no mistake about it: they have been spying on your tomb, with intent to rob you after you have joined your father, Ra, in the next life."

The Pharaoh nodded to his guards. "Take them. Imprison them. Let nothing be taken from them until they can be properly questioned and searched to find out what they have learned."

Kirk looked at the Grand Vizier, carefully avoiding looking at the Pharaoh. "Let the Grand Vizier not judge rashly of two strangers who had but left the road for a brief time to relieve themselves. We but sought a little privacy for our personal needs."

The Pharaoh looked at the Vizier, seemingly convinced. Shaking his head, the Vizier made it clear he was not. "If they had done as they say, Great One, why was there but one set of tracks in the sand, not two? Surely what they claim to have been doing does not take so long that the wind would erase their first set of tracks." The Vizier was obviously pleased with his response; so was the Pharaoh.

"Take them, as I have commanded." The Pharaoh looked at Kirk and McCoy. "When the questioners are done with you, you will wish you had more to tell them."

A bevy of guards bound Kirk and McCoy’s wrists, and forced them to march behind the chariot. It was clear to both men that the Pharaoh had no intention of slowing his progress to the city for their benefit.

*****

Although it seemed longer to the two men, it was only a matter of a couple of hours before they found themselves pushed into a dank, chilly, underground cell, its entrance closed by a door made of wood bars and closed with a bulky hardwood lock. The prison cell itself was bare, without so much as a pallet to sleep on. In one corner was a large terra cotta bowl, its shape declaring that it had been provided for sanitation. In the opposite corner, there was a pile of rags, near which stood a wooden bucket with a small amount of water.

McCoy shook his head, looking the environment over in the scant light of the oil lamp hanging in the corridor outside the cell. "Better let Uhura make the reservations next time, Jim. You sure botched the accommodations here!"

"At least we’ve got plenty of blankets, Bones." Kirk moved toward the pile, reaching for a blanket. "Such as they are, anyhow. Want one?"

Before McCoy could answer, the pile of blankets moved on its own, revealing another individual huddled under it. Kirk drew his hand back in surprise. "Who are you, and what do you think you’re doing here?"

The man smiled feebly, offering Kirk a blanket. "As to the first, I once was the Nomarch of the Crocodile Nome. Name’s Ptah-Hotep. As touches your second question, I seem to be rotting in the same cold, dank cell as you are, waiting for Pharaoh to decide what form of misery to inflict on me before he has me executed. I made the mistake of defying Pharaoh, and of looking him square in the face without dying. Terribly inconsiderate of me to do that, you know. If the sky hadn’t been streaked by some sort of freak event, I’d probably have gotten away with it, too. Such is life, I suppose. Oh, well, what did you do wrong?"

"Came across the wrong sand dune at the wrong time. Pharaoh and his Grand Vizier decided we’d been spying out his tomb, planning to rob him." McCoy shook his head. "Like I haven’t got better things to do with my life. Anyhow, he hit the roof and decided you needed us for company."

"Welcome to my humble dwelling." Ptah-Hotep got up, moving to the cell’s wooden bars. "Rats. The imbecile they use for a guard remembered to lock it." He moved back to his corner. "It’s sort of ironic, you know? Held in a cell by a lock I designed. If I didn’t expect to be executed, I could almost find humor in it."

Kirk walked over to the lock, bending close to look at it. Spock’s voice buzzed in his ears. "The mechanism is a simple two-pin lock, Admiral. With the writing stencils you and Doctor McCoy have in your pouch, it should be easily picked, when the time is ripe."

Kirk stood up again, turning to face Ptah-Hotep. "I can’t say I see a whole lot of humor in it. What do you figure Pharaoh is going to do with us?"

Ptah-Hotep scratched his neck. "Hard to say. I mean, since the new Grand Vizier moved into power, the Pharaoh has been increasingly bizarre, to the point of being utterly unpredictable anymore. Sometimes I wonder if he’s lost his mind."

"If his behavior today is any indication," McCoy responded, "he’s got bats in his belfry, at the very least."

"I’d still like your guess about what is in store for us." Kirk favored McCoy with a stare that demanded silence.

"Immediately, nothing; if I don’t miss my guess, we’re less than two hours from sunset. Short term, questioning, probably under torture. Long term, for all of us, and that’s about two, maybe three days at the most, I’d say public execution." Ptah-Hotep shrugged. "Probably not what you had in mind."

"Do we get fed? And if so, how soon?" Kirk was eyeing the lock out of the corner of his eye. Escape would require some careful timing around the potential arrival of the guards.

"Food comes only once a day, and that was hours ago. Next meal is tomorrow morning. Sorry."

"I’m not. Do guards come by often?"

"Try that again, will you? Preferably slowly?"

Shifting to face Ptah-Hotep more squarely, Kirk repeated himself. "Do guards come by this door often?"

For a moment, there was an uneasy silence. Ptah-Hotep finally answered. "No; the Pharaoh believes the lock and door are totally secure. So do I." He stared at Kirk for a moment or two more before continuing. "Where are you from, stranger?"

"A long ways away. We’re traders." The question had caught Kirk off guard.

Shaking his head, Ptah-Hotep stood in front of the admiral. "By your standards, I know I am probably woefully ignorant and perhaps little better than a savage, but I am definitely not stupid. What world are you from?"

"Don’t be ridiculous, man," McCoy sputtered in astonishment. "Where do you get that crazy idea?"

"Your lips, mainly. I’ve been watching them carefully when you talk. They say gibberish when they move, yet I hear clear speech. What manner of machine you have that changes your words into mine, I cannot imagine, yet clearly you have such. No one here has even dreamed of such machines. The logic is simple. As some of my secret society has conjectured, the stars must be suns to other planets, some of which are peopled. Given that you use machinery we cannot even dream of, I deduce you are from such a planet, and have traveled here. It’s all quite simple, isn’t it? Off hand, I’d be willing to bet that it was whatever you used to travel here that made that display in the sky. How am I doing?"

Before Kirk could answer, Spock’s voice buzzed in his ears. "I believe the Human phrase is, ‘Your cover is blown,’ Admiral. At this point, it might be prudent to enlist this individual’s assistance and deal with any cultural damage later."

Kirk pulled a wry face. The advice wasn’t to his liking, but he knew the Vulcan was right. "Okay, Ptah-Hotep. Maybe you’re right, maybe not. But that doesn’t change the fact that we’re trapped here with you. For now, what about throwing your lot in with us?"

"If you can get me out of here, I’m your man." Ptah-Hotep’s face registered a combination of hopefulness and patent disbelief.

McCoy smiled thinly. "Any chance the goon that shoved us in here can hear us?"

"Unlikely," Ptah-Hotep responded. "He’s almost nothing but mindless brawn; that’s the sort the Grand Vizier likes using for guards. I’ve convinced him this cell is haunted. He’ll be as far from here as he can be, and won’t be back until he has to be. That’s morning, with breakfast. If we’re lucky enough to live long enough to get breakfast."

Kirk nodded, and moved to the lock, extracting his writing stylus. "Bones, I need your writing tool, too. Time to get out of here." Obligingly, McCoy produced his stylus.

"It is a simple, two-tumbler lock mechanism, Admiral," Spock’s voice buzzed. "Crude, but by the limited technical standards of this planet, quite effective. Insert one stylus into the key hole." Kirk obeyed; for the next few minutes, Spock’s voice guided him as he moved first one stylus then the other to push the lock’s pins out of the way. On command, Kirk turned both instruments, opening the lock with a soft, wooden click. Triumphantly, he removed the styluses and then the lock, opening the door.

"After you, gentlemen!" Kirk bowed, sweeping his hand out the opened door.

Ptah-Hotep remained motionless as McCoy moved out of the cell. "Look, I’m thoroughly impressed that you managed to open what I thought was a fool-proof lock. However, as I recall it, there are a couple of large, rather muscular guards at the end of this corridor, neither of whom is likely to let us leave. If we get past them, there is a second set of guards at the exit from this rat hole. Have you got any idea how to get past them?"

"Weren’t you the one that said they like their guards strong and stupid? We’ll outsmart them. Come on, Bones. Time for some of your little tricks."

McCoy smiled evilly, reaching into his pouch. "You lure ‘em into range, Jim, and I’ll put them out."

Reluctant, but obviously curious, Ptah-Hotep exited the cell, locking the door shut before he followed as the two men crept down the corridor.

*****

At the end of the corridor, the two guards sat with their backs against the dungeon wall, trying to wash down the dry bread of their supper with a little water. From behind them, there came a plaintive moan.

"What’s that?"

"Jiggered if I know, or care. Gimme back that water jug, will you?"

"Sounded like a ghost, I tell you."

"Ah, just your imagination. You planning to hog that water?"

The guard gave his fellow the water jug. "I dunno. That one prisoner, the smart one, he said this place was haunted. Full of ghosts of prisoners that had died under torture, wanting to get back at any guard available." The moan reoccurred, louder and more mournful. "Especially when it was getting close to evening, which it is."

"You’ve been listening to too many children’s stories again. Let’s go back and make those prisoners wish they hadn’t got voices. Come on."

"Not on your life."

"Coward." The second guard disappeared down the corridor.

Several minutes passed with no sign of his fellow returning. Timidly, the first guard peeked around the corner, to see if his partner was returning. Kirk grabbed his head, pulling him into the corridor. Before he could gather his wits enough to yell, McCoy’s hypospray hissed against his neck. The guard slumped silently to the floor.

"C’mon, Bones. We’ve got another set of guards to take out. Ptah-Hotep, lead the way."

Silently, the threesome moved forward. For a few meters, there was nothing to obstruct their movement. Suddenly, the corridor turned sharply left, opening to a courtyard and their gate to freedom. Ptah-Hotep motioned the others to stop, pointing. Two more guards were clearly visible, amusing themselves with some game or other, their backs to the corridor.

Kirk nodded, briefly gesturing to McCoy, who nodded in reply. There was a brief, tense moment before Kirk sprang out into the courtyard, the doctor hard at his heels. With a single, swift blow, Kirk rabbit-punched the closer of the two guards, dropping him. As the second reached to deal with Kirk, McCoy’s hypospray hissed, dropping him. All three men ran out the gate.

"Follow me," Ptah-Hotep hissed. "Can’t count on having gotten out without being seen. Got to lose ourselves in the bazaar. I’ll get us to safety from there."

Making no further comment, Kirk and McCoy let Ptah-Hotep take the lead, dashing through a winding maze of what passed for streets. Without warning, Ptah-Hotep slowed down then strode confidently around a corner. Within moments, the threesome was slowly moving through the crowd.

Fascinated, Kirk looked around himself, his ears assaulted by the din of vendors hawking an incredible array of wares, his nose tempted by an immense selection of pungent, savory aromas. Barefoot children ran, screaming and laughing as they played, dark-eyed mothers doing their best to corral their energetic offspring and get them to home and bed. Progress was steady, but to Kirk’s tastes, painfully slow.

Spock’s voice buzzed in Kirk’s ear again. "Admiral, it appears that a squadron of guards from the Pharaoh’s prison is moving through the crowd toward you; from their path, I deduce that they have located you and are intent on your recapture. I believe that it would be wise to stage a diversion, if you can do so without being excessively conspicuous."

The admiral gritted his teeth in frustration. He was sure that the Vulcan was well aware of the almost self-contradictory nature of his request. To one side, and just ahead, he heard a pair of voices arguing. "But my family starves! If I were able to pay for the bread, I would not have tried to steal it."

"That’s what everyone says. I let you go today, tomorrow you beggars will steal me blind."

"What of my children?"

"What of mine, thief? If I have nothing to sell, they will starve."

It was a long shot, but Kirk thought he could exploit the situation to his advantage. "I’ll be back in a second, Bones. Gotta create a diversion." As quickly as he could, Kirk made his way to the conversation. A wiry, well-fed vendor was twisting the arm of a half-starved man who was clutching a round loaf of bread. "You, how much for the bread?"

Looking a little surprised, but hopeful, the vendor turned to Kirk. "The loaf is only worth a few grains of copper, good sir. But I have far finer loaves for one of a taste as discriminating as I am sure yours is."

"I couldn’t care less how much that loaf is worth; I meant all the bread you have." Fishing in his pouch, Kirk extracted a medium sized lump of gold. "Is this enough to buy all the baked goods you have left?"

Wide-eyed, the vendor nodded. "Indeed, esteemed one. And my booth, and my family as well."

"Good. Then I just bought everything you have left. Let this poor wretch go."

"Give this man the loaf he has bought, alley garbage," the vendor demanded, letting the starving man go.

Before the thief could respond, Kirk turned to him. "You, is your family close?"

The beggar nodded, fearful, his eyes firmly locked on the ground at his feet.

"Any other beggars you could summon?"

Again, the beggar nodded.

"Enough to eat all this bread?"

The beggar suddenly summoned courage to look Kirk in the eye. "If they cannot eat it all themselves, they can find others that will."

"This vendor’s bread is yours. Summon every beggar you can, now." Kirk tossed the lump of gold to the vendor. "Keep the change." Kirk melted into the crowd as quickly as he could. Even as he did, he could hear the clamor of the beggars scrambling to get what they could. He caught up with the others.

"Sweet trick, Jim." McCoy enthused. "Think it’ll be enough of a diversion?"

"Not a chance." It was Ptah-Hotep’s voice. "Pharaoh’s guards will get around it easily."

"Guess we’d better do a couple more, then, Bones. Go to it. Ptah, keep where we can see you." Kirk and McCoy rapidly moved to other food vendors. Ptah-Hotep moved equally swiftly to the first stall, sending beggars on to where Kirk and McCoy were making further purchases. Within moments, the whole market place was in an uproar, people clamoring to get their share of the largesse.

Spock’s voice buzzed again. "I believe that you have created sufficient diversion, Admiral. It appears that some of the guards have joined the rest of the populace in taking what they can."

Kirk almost sensed a hit of pleasure in the Vulcan’s voice. He caught up with Ptah-Hotep, and caught McCoy’s eye. "Let’s get out of here, to somewhere safe and hidden."

Without a further word, Ptah-Hotep rapidly guided the men through the rest of the market place, into a nearby dark alley, and into a half-hidden doorway.

Inside the doorway, the room was even darker than the dwindling light in the alley it led off. Feeling with his feet, Kirk stepped in, McCoy at his back. Once inside, he stood still, knowing that those inside the room would be using the fact that their eyes were adapted to the darker environment to study the threesome.

Silence reigned for a moment or two before a voice rang out. "Ptah-Hotep, I recognize you but not the two you have brought. Are you willing to vouch for them?"

"I recognize your voice, Che’fere. These are the ones that got me loose from the prison. I vouch for them with my life." Phah-Hotep chuckled. "I might as well, after all. If it weren’t for them, I would probably be dead before this time next week."

Another voice entered the conversation. "That’s all well and good, Ptah-Hotep, but can they be allowed to see what we have with us?"

"Qaqabu, I wouldn’t worry about them stealing any of our secrets, okay? Seems to me these folks know enough not to be interested in anything we could tell them. Come, they are hungry, and I suspect thirsty. For that matter, I wouldn’t mind a bite to eat myself. Pharaoh’s prison hospitality is none of the best."

Ptah-Hotep’s wry remark brought a soft round of laughter. "Well, just make sure the door is shut, then, and we’ll get some light."

Kirk heard the sound of the door closing behind him. Within moments, lamps were being lit. To his surprise, most of them were of well-wrought, mold-cast glass. He didn’t remember Ancient Egypt as having developed glassmaking to that degree, if at all. Certainly, he hadn’t seen any glassware for sale in the bazaar. In the steady light of the glass lamps, Kirk, McCoy and Ptah-Hotep made their way to a small table. The room was larger than he had expected, and was full of people. Clearly, Ptah-Hotep was well known to them, and knew them well.

"We’ve not much to offer, Ptah-Hotep," one of the folks commented. "Since you snubbed Pharaoh, we’ve had to keep our heads down. Our retreat here was too quick for most of us to grab any of our reserves to buy supplies, I’m afraid."

Kirk reached into his pouch again, producing a couple of silver nuggets. "If there’s anything left in the market, supper’s on me." Kirk offered the metal to the one who had spoken. The man made no move to take it.

"Go ahead, Che’fere. It’s safe enough." It was Ptah-Hotep’s voice. "He’s not an agent of the Pharaoh trying to buy his way into our confidence. Trust me."

Che’fere took the metal, handing it to two others. "Mer-‘Eb, T’aroy, see if there are any vendors still open, and buy what you can." He turned back. "Water, we have, I think. ‘Anch’ere! How about it?"

A stately, elder woman appeared out of nowhere, with a pitcher and a handful of glass mugs. "Fresh from the still, Che’fere. Nothing purer in the land."

McCoy smiled as he accepted the mug full of water. "Didn’t realize anyone had developed that little trick around here." He took a deep draught. "Water’s much safer that way, don’t you think?"

"Tastes better, too," Ptah-Hotep agreed, drinking deeply. "But you’re right; no one else here has developed the technique, or if they have, they haven’t bothered to use it. No one else has the ability to make the material we’ve used in the mugs, either. It’s one of our many little discoveries."

"I’m impressed," Kirk responded. "Why don’t you share these innovations? It would probably make life better for everyone."

From somewhere in the room, Kirk heard a derisive snort. "Yeah, right. What well did you slither out of? We tried that, stranger, three or for generations ago. It didn’t go over well. Someone realized that what we were doing implied we didn’t believe Pharaoh ran the universe, which did not make friends. What made it all the worse is that some of them openly admitted that; none of our society had believed it for generations, of course, but we’d kept our belief to ourselves. Man, that really didn’t make any friends, trust me. It sure influenced people, though. We had to become a secret society, just to survive. Once was enough."

"Some of us have managed to introduce a few things," Ptah-Hotep interjected. He turned to face Kirk and McCoy. "But Qaqabu is right. Society here is deeply resistant to change; always has been, and I don’t see that changing any time soon. At the first, it was probably a case of too much, too quickly."

Before Ptah-Hotep could expand on his thought, Mer-‘Eb and T’aroy returned, laden with food. "We bought what was left," Mer-‘Eb began unloading herself. "There wasn’t a whole lot."

Kirk, McCoy and Ptah-Hotep traded knowing glances, and smiled. After eating for several minutes, McCoy looked at Ptah-Hotep. "You said that your Pharaoh had been acting oddly. How about filling me in on it a little bit? Just being curious, you understand."

Another individual strode to the table. "I’ll do that for Ptah-Hotep, if you don’t mind."

"Go ahead, Snefru-Ch’af," Ptah-Hotep turned to face the doctor. "Snefru-Ch’af works in the Pharaoh’s palace; he’s been the source of a lot of the information that’s kept Pharaoh from catching us."

"Just the man I want to hear from," McCoy enthused. "Give me the palace gossip!"

Snefru-Ch’af pulled up a stool. "It’s not all gossip; seen some of it myself. Pharaoh, he’s been seen to go three, sometimes four nights without sleep lately. Doesn’t eat much, either; he’s been losing weight. If it weren’t for all the makeup he wears, he’d have circles under his eyes you could see from halfway across the desert. More than that, I’ve seen him suddenly break out in fits of fury or violence at folk around him without the slightest provocation. Half the time, when he’s in one of those rages, I’m about scared to death he’s going to keel over dead before it’s over. Eyes look funny, too—pupils are huge. He’s sweaty most of the time, even in the shade. Gets confused a lot; almost seems like he’s confused more than he’s not. And he can’t remember anything anymore, or so it seems. It’s almost like the Son of Ra is having some sort of mental sunset."

McCoy shook his head. Touching part of his neckpiece, he turned to face away from Snefru-Ch’af and Ptah-Hotep. "Jim, we got troubles. I couldn’t have described chronic cocaine toxicity any better myself, and I’ve studied it. We need to check that Vizier out; I’m suspicious that he may be poisoning the Pharoah."

Kirk cringed. Before he could reply, Spock’s voice buzzed in his ears. "Doctor McCoy’s logic is, for a change, unusually sound. Perhaps Snefru-Ch’af can find a way to smuggle you into the Pharaoh’s court."

Mentally, Kirk rolled his eyes. "I guess that proves Fudd’s Eighth Law: Life only looks simple if you are."

"Actually, Admiral," Spock’s voice buzzed, "I believe that is the corollary to Fudd’s Eighth Law; the law itself…"

"Never heard of Fudd," Ptah-Hotep replied, unaware of Spock’s response, mercifully sparing Kirk from hearing it. "But I agree with him. And I agree with Snefru-Ch’af. Something is deeply wrong with the Pharaoh, and I’d be surprised if the Grand Vizier isn’t at the bottom of it."

"So say many in the courts, Ptah-Hotep," Snefru-Ch’af agreed. "Yet no one seems to be able to do anything. If the Vizier is away for a while, Pharaoh is hardly better: eats everything in sight, unless he sleeps the day through. I’m not sure which is worse."

"That just confirms my suspicions, Jim." McCoy turned to Snefru-Ch’af. "Is there any way you could sneak us into where ever the Pharaoh is? I’m not sure, but maybe we could help."

"Not tonight." Snefru-Ch’af rubbed his chin for a moment. "As I remember it, I do believe that Pharaoh is supposed to appear in the Great Hall tomorrow morning, though, passing judgment on a handful of cases. There’s a secret passage we could use to get there, and get close to Pharaoh without being seen. Soon enough?"

"It’s fine," Kirk responded, taking control of the situation again. "I wouldn’t mind a night’s rest anyhow."

"You’ll have to move before sunrise," Ptah-Hotep interjected, "Unless you want to risk being seen in the streets. If Snefru-Ch’af is referring to the passage I think he is, it’s a ways away from here."

"Should we head there tonight?"

"Probably not," Snefru-Ch’af answered. "Too many rats to be safe to sleep there. The entrance is through a wall in a granary. Sleep here. Enough time to go in the dark hours before morning."

"Good enough," McCoy nodded. "Then how about showing us somewhere to sleep?"

Anche’re appeared out of nowhere again. "Follow me, gentlemen. We’ll have you wakened two hours before dawn."

Obediently, Kirk and McCoy allowed themselves to be led to a pair of straw-tic mattresses. Within moments, they were fast asleep.

*****

To Kirk, it seemed only a few moments had passed when he felt Snefru-Ch’af shaking his shoulder. "If you want a chance to eat before we leave, you’d best get moving."

Kirk rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and was on his feet following Snefru-Ch’af and Ptah-Hotep. McCoy was already munching on fruit and bread. The others joined him briefly, then began the trek through the winding alleys that ultimately lead to the entrance of the granary.

After a few moments fumbling with the door mechanism, Snefru-Ch’af led them to a non-descript area of wall behind the grain. He counted blocks on the wall and floor carefully. Satisfied, he put his weight on a section of floor then pushed a block on the wall. Silently, a door swiveled open, leading to a dark corridor.

"There’s your path. You’ll make better time if you keep one hand on the wall and the other on the fellow in front." Snefru-Ch’af turned his head slightly, to face Ptah-Hotep more squarely. "You take the lead, Ptah-Hotep; you keep one hand out in front. Once I let this door shut, it’s going to be totally dark. Don’t need you running into the wall on the far end."

"Aren’t you coming with us?" McCoy asked.

"He can’t," Ptah-Hotep interjected, answering for his friend. "He’s got to be there attending Pharaoh."

Snefru-Ch’af nodded. "And I need to move along briskly if I’m going to be where I belong on time, so get moving."

Ptah led the way, Kirk and McCoy behind him. As Snefru-Ch’af had warned them, the corridor went pitch black as soon as the door closed behind them. Spock’s voice buzzed in Kirk’s ear. "If you inspect your pouch, Admiral, you will find a small light source. I anticipated the possibility of it being needed. It is a deep enough red that it will not bright-adapt your vision."

Taking his hand off the wall, Kirk rummaged in his pouch. He found a small, almost spherical object with a switch on the single flat side. Kirk touched his feance necklet. "Thanks, Spock!" He toggled the switch, casting a dull, red glow around them.

Ptah-Hotep turned. "Marvelous. Light, but without flame. Who would have thought it possible? That will make this trip a lot faster."

"More pleasant, too," McCoy added. "C’mon!"

With the aid of the light, the trio made good time, reaching a blank wall at the end of the corridor in less than fifteen minutes’ walk. Centered in the wall was a door, with a lever close to it. In the door, there was a small peep-hole.

"Best put out the light, I think," Ptah-Hotep suggested. "On the whole, peep-holes usually work two ways. If folks are getting the hall ready for Pharaoh to hold court, we don’t need to be discovered."

Ptah-Hotep had not finished his comment before the light was extinguished. Through the peep-hole came a thin ray of light. Ptah-Hotep put his eye to it.

"Looks like this door’s going to open right behind a pillar behind and to the left of Pharaoh’s throne. We should be able to enter unseen, I think, unless someone’s in just the right place, looking just the right way."

"Could you put your hand over that thing for a minute, Ptah-Hotep? And when he does, turn that light of yours back on, Jim," McCoy asked. "I’ll bet there’s another place we can see out, if we can find it."

A moment later, the area was filled with the dull red of Kirk’s light. Almost immediately, McCoy began searching the wall to the right of the door. Just in from the corner, he found a small, loosely fit protrusion. Taking his cue from the doctor, Kirk searched the other side, finding an identical protrusion. The light went out. The stone protrusions came loose easily, revealing two more small portals to peer through.

On the other side of the wall, a long, narrow, colonnaded hall stretched toward the rising sun. Through openings above the closed doors, fingers of light from the rising sun were lighting the area. Early though the hour was, the hall was filled with people bustling about their assigned duties, making final preparation for Pharaoh’s arrival.

In the thick of the preparations, McCoy recognized Snefru-Ch’af hurrying from place to place, giving orders. Through side doors, what appeared to be an assortment of Court dignitaries, functionaries, petitioners and sycophants slowly streamed, to be ushered to their appropriate position.

A shout rang over the sound of the preparatory frenzy: "Pharaoh is coming!" Immediately, the bustle ended. Silence ruled the room, with all eyes but that of the watchman turned downward. At a signal from the watchman, the doors were thrown open. Four muscular, armed guards strode through, moving the crowd aside. Pharaoh, his Grand Vizier a step behind him, moved into the center of the square the guards made and walked grandly to the throne.

"Blast it all," McCoy hissed. "This stripped-down mediscanner can’t resolve clearly enough through this wall. All I can be sure of is that that Vizier registers too much copper."

Kirk touched his neckpiece. "Keep it down, Bones. We don’t need to be overheard."

McCoy touched the appropriate piece of feance. "I can’t swear to it, Jim, but it looks like that Vizier might just be a Romulan in disguise. The copper to iron ratio is suggestive, but it may just be from copper in the alloys in his jewelry; I need something more precise to be sure."

"Spock?"

"It is not possible to specifically identify the Grand Vizier, Admiral," the Vulcan’s voice buzzed. "Nor the Pharaoh. There is insufficient data to recognize their specific readings. The best that I can do using the sensors in your neckpieces and the scanner on the Enterprise is to confirm Doctor McCoy’s observation. Unfortunately, I am not able to triangulate with sufficient precision to identify the specific individual. You are too close to each other."

As the conversation had progressed, Pharaoh and his Grand Vizier had made their way to the throne. The Pharaoh sat, with the Vizier standing just to one side.

Kirk thought swiftly. His options were limited, the stakes seemed high, and he had a gut feeling that time was much more limited than it seemed. Pharaoh was dealing with cases brought before him, often making his decision before either side had done more than make a few comments. "Spock, we’re going to have to take our chances. McCoy and I will move to where we can touch the Grand Vizier and the Pharaoh. Beam us up, Pharaoh, Vizier and all, on my signal. Have Security stun them both the instant we’ve materialized."

"And have Nurse Webb and Doctor M’Benga there with a pair of litters," McCoy added.

"Admiral, the Prime Directive..."

"Is totally irrelevant if that hairless creep of a Grand Vizier is a Romulan, Spock," McCoy snapped.

"I am well aware of that, Doctor. Even if he is indigenous, however, I believe that the distortion we have inadvertently created may well have rendered the Prime Directive inapplicable." Spock returned, calmly. "On your order, Admiral."

Kirk turned to Ptah-Hotep. "Think we can get in without being noticed?"

"Matter of timing, I guess, assuming this door is as quiet as the other one." Ptah-Hotep shrugged. "What’ve we got to lose?"

"Bones?"

"Ready when you are, Jim."

Ptah-Hotep gently pulled the lever. Silently, the door swung open. McCoy and Kirk slipped out. Ptah-Hotep followed. As he did, the door slid silently in place behind them.

"What other cases remain, Vizier?" Pharaoh demanded. "I tire of this."

"Many, Great One, but the only ones of significance are the disposition of Ptah-Hotep, and of the two we caught in the desert yesterday, the ones spying out your tomb."

"Well, bring them out, then. Guards! To your task, swiftly."

There was a brief commotion a one end of the long hall. A court functionary came forward and groveled before the ruler. "Great Son of Ra, they cannot be brought. By some unholy magic, they have escaped their cell."

"Impossible!" the Grand Vizier snapped. "And even if it were possible, intolerable. Bring them at once."

Groveling, if possible, even more abjectly than before, the functionary said, "We cannot, oh wisest of mere mortals. We do not know where they are."

Pharaoh was clearly enraged. "You do not know where they are? Then away with you and find someone that knows."

Kirk and McCoy had moved from their place behind the pillar to where they could teach out to touch the Vizier and the Pharaoh. With the eyes of all but the Pharaoh focused on the floor, they only needed to move silently. Just as Pharaoh spat his order, Ptah-Hotep leaped into view from behind the pillar.

"I am here, Pharaoh!"

The Grand Vizier and the Pharaoh turned to face Ptah-Hotep. "How did you get here, Ptah-Hotep?" the Pharaoh demanded. "How did you…"

Kirk and McCoy reached out, touching Pharaoh and Vizier. "Now!" Kirk hissed. Just before the sparkle of the transporter started, Ptah-Hotep grabbed Kirk’s free arm. All five disappeared.

Instants later, the fivesome materialized on the transporter deck of the Enterprise. Two phasers fired, stunning the Pharoah and his Grand Vizier. McCoy, M’Benga and Webb moved toward them. Before they reached the unconscious pair, Ptah-Hotep’s voice rang out. "Don’t touch them!"

McCoy waved his fellow medical practitioners back. "What’s the matter? We’re just going to help them, for pity’s sake."

"Please! Just don’t move, just for a moment." Ptah-Hotep gingerly moved toward the fallen form of the Grand Vizier. Triumphantly, but cautiously, he took a long, thin copper-colored needle from the Vizier’s hand. "Do as you wish, now."

McCoy took off his neckpiece and began giving orders. Kirk looked at Ptah-Hotep. "Congratulations. You’ve just made the mess we’re in worse by getting here with us. The least you can do is tell me what on earth that thing is, and why it was so important that you retrieve it before anyone touched that pair."

"Not completely sure what it is, but the Vizier was pulling it out of hiding just before I interrupted." Ptah-Hotep stared at the needle momentarily. "I’m willing to bet that there is enough poison on it to kill twenty men."

Spock donned McCoy’s neckpiece. He turned his scanner on the object Ptah-Hotep was holding. "It is heavily coated with a material that appears to be remarkably rich in cocaine, as well as several highly toxic natural alkaloids. There are sufficient quantities of the assorted alkaloid poisons on it to kill at least a hundred Humans."

"Then it’s a good bet that he was planning to assassinate the Pharaoh." Kirk turned to face Ptah-Hotep. "Good job, Ptah-Hotep." He turned back to the Vulcan. "We might as well get him a translator, Spock. He’s seen and heard enough that it probably won’t make enough difference to amount to a mound of space dust."

"Engineering will bring one shortly, Admiral. It appears that Doctor McCoy wishes to talk to you."

Kirk nodded and removed his neckpiece. McCoy was laboring over the immobile form of the Pharaoh, looking thoroughly out of place in his Egyptian outfit. "This man is on the verge of collapse, Jim. Several poisons, not just cocaine. Someone’s been trying to kill him."

"The Vizier, Bones. Ptah-Hotep found a poison needle."

"Figures." McCoy dosed the Pharaoh again. "M’Benga says the Vizier is as Human as the Pharaoh. In fact, it looks very much like they’re actually brothers." He looked up for a moment. "Ben, you ready to shift to Sickbay?"

"Whenever you are, Leonard."

"Good. This one’s stabilized enough to get him there. Take over, will you? I need to get into uniform."

M’Benga corralled the two litters and his nurse into the turbolift and disappeared.

McCoy turned to face Kirk again. "Now what, Jim? It’s going to be twelve hours or more before we get the Pharaoh straightened out."

"Good question, Bones. Pharaoh, his henchman and Ptah-Hotep have seen more than they should have." He shook his head. "And there is a whole hall full of folks that saw that the five of us disappeared, even if they missed us leaving. We have to deal with them, too."

"Do you suppose I could convince you to count on my discretion?" The two turned to see Ptah-Hotep standing near them. "I give you my word that I shall say nothing of the magnificent machinery you have allowed me to see."

Kirk noticed a translator hanging from a cord around Ptah-Hotep’s neck. "Even if we did trust your word that leaves a major problem with several other folk."

"We might as well trust him, Jim," McCoy offered. "He starts talking about the transporter and the phasers, they’ll say he’s—what was that old euphemism for having gone crazy?—been touched by their gods."

Suddenly, Kirk’s eyes lit up. "Of course! Touched by their gods. I should have thought of it myself. Ptah-Hotep, come with me." Forgetting that he was still in Egyptian garb, he hustled Ptah-Hotep into the transporter. "Bones, you’re a genius. Engineering." The transporter door closed.

"I am?" The doctor shook his head, clearly baffled. "Well, of course I am. Now, if only I could figure out what I said that convinced you of that." He stepped up to the turbolift. "Maybe it’s because I’ve got the sense to get back into my uniform?"

*****

Loudly, Ptah-Hotep announced, "I am here, Pharaoh!"

The Grand Vizier and the Pharaoh turned to face Ptah-Hotep. "How did you get here, Ptah-Hotep?" the Pharaoh demanded. "How did you…"

Curiosity overcame training, and Snefru-Ch’af looked up just in time to see the Pharaoh, the Grand Vizier, Kirk, McCoy and Ptah-Hotep suddenly sparkle, then disappear. Whether it was his gasp of surprise or the fact that the Pharaoh’s voice cut off, mid-sentence, everyone else looked up, seeing the dais totally empty. Voices began to rise, and Snefru-Ch’af sensed that panic was about to erupt. "Everyone listen to me," he shouted at the top of his voice, "There is no need to panic. The Son of Ra has chosen to disappear, taking others with him. That the Divine One has done something we do not comprehend is no cause to panic." I hope, he added to himself. I’m not sure how I’m going to explain this to the others.

"Then what should we do?" one voice responded.

"We wait. What else can we do?"

*****

Kirk and Ptah-Hotep emerged in Engineering. To his surprise, he saw Commander Scott happily overseeing activities in Engineering. "Scotty! It’s good to see you back at your post."

"‘Tis good to be back; I’m thinking Doctor McCoy purposefully over-estimates the length of time it’ll take to get us back to work to make it look all the more amazing when he manages it." The engineer shook his head in mock puzzlement. "Can’t imagine where he might have picked up such a trick. It’s good to see you’re still in your kilt, Admiral. We’ll make a Scotsman out of you yet."

Suddenly realizing his state of apparel, Kirk decided that it was probably better to play along. "It’ll take a long time for me to get used to the draft, Montgomery Scott. Look, I need you to work up a holographic animation, starring McCoy, Ptah-Hotep and I." He turned to Ptah-Hotep. "We’re going to have to put all of you back; when and where do you think would be best?"

For several minutes, Ptah-Hotep pondered. "Temple of Ra, I’d say; there’s a large portico out front. Overlooks a really large plaza. Under the circumstances, I guess there’ll be a crowd there, waiting for some pronouncement or other."

Kirk nodded. "Tomorrow at dawn, then, at the portico. That should give us plenty of time. Scotty, here’s what I need..."

*****

Slowly, the Pharaoh opened his eyes. He remembered being in the Hall of Judgment, feeling worse than usual, wishing he could get it done and over with as quickly as possible. Ptah-Hotep had suddenly appeared out of nowhere and defied him again. There was a garbled memory of a strange room filled with even stranger appearing people, then blackness. As his vision cleared, he realized that he felt better than he had in months, perhaps even years.

Pharaoh blinked several times before he realized that it was totally dark. Before he could shout to summon servants to bring light, the silence was broken, and the darkness began to dissipate.

"Welcome, child." The voice was Kirk’s.

Pharaoh sat up and turned to face the voice. The room was now fully lit, revealing featureless sandstone walls, through one of which, a figure came. There was no mistaking the figure walking toward him. Though the body was Human, the head was that of a hawk, above which was the great, bright golden globe of the sun: it was Ra, the great Sun God. The being began to approach, slowly changing into a fully Human shape. Shaking his head, the Pharaoh stared at the form Ra had assumed. "Forgive me, Divine One, but though I know I have seen this form before, I do not recall where or when."

Kirk nodded. "You are forgiven, child. Heka tells me you were desperately ill." A man carrying a knife and a magic staff stepped into view, also coming through the wall. The image quickly changing into McCoy in his Egyptian outfit, carrying his tricorder and a hypospray. "Does his presence help you recall?"

"The two men in the desert! My Grand Vizier said you were planning to rob my tomb."

McCoy spoke. "He lied to you, boy. It’s not the first time, either. He’s the reason you’re here. He’s been slowly poisoning you." He shook his head in apparent agony. "You can’t imagine what it took to patch you up."

"Then... Then I’m not dead?" the Pharaoh stuttered.

"Does this look like the inside of your tomb?" Kirk asked.

"No, it doesn’t, Magnificent Ra," the Pharaoh responded.

"Of course not, for you are not dead." Kirk did his best to don a paternal smile. "You must return. I will send my servant with you."

Ptah-Hotep stepped into view, his eyes on the floor before him.

"You?" The Pharaoh’s voice betrayed his bewilderment. "But the Vizier said you were plotting to overthrow me."

"You see how the man has lied to you, child." Kirk put his hand on Ptah-Hotep’s shoulder. "He is among my ablest of servants. Too many of the people starve. An army of men who are poor enough and hungry enough to be desperate is what will overthrow you. This man is part of a plot to see those poor and hungry people given work and food. That will guard you, not topple you. The innovations he offers will make your throne strong, if you will work with him and his fellows."

"I did not know, Ra, or I would not have done as I have." Contrition was etched in the Pharaoh’s face.

"I know, child. Were it not so, I would have let you die at the Grand Vizier’s hand." Kirk produced the poisoned copper needle. "Here is the weapon Ptah-Hotep snatched from that evil one’s hand."

Pharaoh looked at Ptah-Hotep. "I am grateful."

"I am grateful to be able to serve you, Exalted One." Ptah-Hotep looked the Pharaoh in the face. "Such has always been my desire."

Turning back to Kirk, the Pharaoh asked, "The Grand Vizier, what of him?"

At Kirk’s gesture, the Grand Vizier was brought in by two others, also dressed in the Egyptian garb, with all his makeup and grand dress removed, wearing nothing but a set of shackles on his wrists and ankles, and the same skirt the others wore. "That will be for you to decide; he will be returned with you, for such justice as you choose to mete out."

"E’ay!" Clearly, the Pharaoh was surprised. "I thought you were dead."

"I’m the only one of us that survived your decision to remove all competition, older brother," the one time Vizier responded. "If I had been granted only a moment or two more, I would have ruled instead of you."

McCoy stepped forward. "Sleep, now. Soon, you will return whence you came, for a little longer." There was the hiss of a hypospray. Kirk and McCoy gently lay the Pharaoh back down. E’ay suffered a like fate. The hologram disappeared, replaced by the reality of the Sickbay.

Kirk turned to Spock. "Think he bought it?"

"It appears probable, Admiral," the Vulcan responded.

"Good. Scotty," Kirk turned to face his chief engineer, "You’ve outdone yourself, again."

"‘Twas no great task, Admiral," the Scotsman responded. "I’ve handled worse, under fire."

"As may be," Ptah-Hotep tossed in, "But I’m still impressed." He turned to Kirk. "I give you my word not to divulge what really happened here, Admiral, if you leave my memory intact."

"I’ll take you on your word, Ptah-Hotep." Kirk stuck out his hand. "Shake on it."

Slightly befuddled, Ptah-Hotep finally realized that the gesture was meant to seal the bargain, and took Kirk’s hand. The two men smiled at each other. "Thank you. I will treasure the memory."

*****

Snefru-Ch’af carefully found the doorway and entered it. A familiar voice rang out. "Welcome back! What’s the commotion out there over?"

"Pharaoh, the Grand Vizier, the two strangers, and Ptah-Hotep disappeared." Snefru-Ch’af shook his head. "I know it’s impossible, but it happened. I saw it myself."

Lamps were lit. Qaqabu stepped forward. "If you saw it, then it’s possible. What’s open for debate is how it happened, and how we’re going to turn it to our advantage."

Che’fere nodded agreement. "Probably the best thing to do is find out where the crowd finally goes to wait for his return, and see what we can agitate. Anyone else have any ideas?"

No one did. Quickly, they collected what they thought they might need and made their way out into the throng.

*****

At Ra’s Temple, the crowd began gathering a little before dawn. Pharaoh had been conspicuous by his absence, and his Vizier even more so. The rumor that Ra had taken Pharaoh and the Grand Vizier to his celestial home, and the undercurrent of suggestion that the event was due to ill behavior and smacked of Divine retribution had inflamed the crowd even more. As the noise and crowd grew, the hairless form of the High Priest of the Temple came out, the portico illuminated by torches carried by lesser acolytes.

"What brings you to the Temple of Ra so early, and so noisily?" he demanded.

Dozens of voices shouted, some one thing, some another. For several moments, chaos reigned, then one individual was pushed forward as spokesman: Snefru-Ch’af. "We were sort of wanting to know what’s going on, frankly. From what happened yesterday, we were hoping that you might be able to shed some light on it. I mean, it looked to those of us there like maybe Ra himself took Pharaoh."

"Perhaps he did; how would I know?" The High Priest shook his head. "Ra does not confide his secret designs to me. And from what I hear, Ra not only took his son home, but several others—including the Vizier, Ptah-Hotep and a pair of strangers."

"Maybe Ra was lonely and wanted some company!" shouted a lone voice from the crowd. Snefru-Ch’af turned, glaring at the crowd, as if to turn the one who had spoken to stone.

Snefru-Ch’af turned back to the High Priest. "That’s as may be. We’re still leaderless, no matter how you cut it. What are we supposed to do now? Wait for Ra himself to come down out of the sky and rule us personally?"

Just as Snefru-Ch’af spoke, a thin finger of light came from the east, announcing the rising of the sun. As the lone ray of light hit the front of the Temple, there was a sparkling effect, behind the High Priest. Three figures materialized. From the crowd, there was a gasp of shock and fear as they dropped their gaze to the ground: it was the Pharaoh, Ptah-Hotep and, shackled, the ex-Grand Vizier.

"My people!" Pharaoh’s voice rang out. "Do not fear to look on me. I have looked on the face of Ra and lived; I cannot believe that you would not fare as well looking at me." Slowly, the crowd looked up. "I have visited the world of Ra, and his servants. One who sought to harm me, and who has harmed you all, has been exposed by the mercy of Ra: he who was once my Grand Vizier. For the good of all, we must move forward: that is how I understand what Ra has told me…"

November 30^th 2294

Kirk stirred the fire before him with a stick. "I suppose, if the full story ever got out, I could be accused of breaking the Prime Directive, but surprisingly, what we did had amazingly little effect on the people down there. Oh, E’ay ended up in prison, where I guess he’ll spend the rest of his life, and Ptah-Hotep went back to running the Nome of the Crocodile. After that, things pretty well went back to the way they were." He sighed. "Water purification got started, and a few other innovations, particularly sanitary ones, but that was about it. A handful of anthropologists went, after learning the language so they could avoid needing translators, and from what I hear, Bones and I are now revered as apparitions of Heka and Ra."

"Other than that, nothing?" The voice was Reichard’s.

Kirk nodded. "Nothing else, at least at last account. Ptah-Hotep has kept his word, as far as we can tell, not that I doubted him."

"An entire people, locked into a ploddingly slow advance of technology." Indri shook his head, almost sorrowfully. "It seems such a pity, almost a waste."

"Da, Kyptin. Is terrible waste of Human potential."

For a few moments, Kirk stared into the fire, silently. "Is it, Pavel? Indri, I’m not sure I fully agree with you. How much havoc has been caused over time just because technology moved too fast for Humanity to mature with it? Think of the nuclear weaponry, think of the devastation of the environment driven by unrestrained manufacturing in the twentieth century, think of the devastating biological weapons of the Eugenics Wars, think of the outbreak of obesity-related diseases driven by the early days of home entertainment and computer games, think of the thousand and one other times Humankind has wandered down the wrong direction with technology just because we hadn’t thought through its significance before we unleashed it. Their pace may be slower, but maybe they’ll do a better job of coming to grips with the significance of their technological changes before they run pell-mell into more innovation, risking losing the good of what they already had."

Silently, the four men stared at the fire, haunted by the remark.

"Well, time to hit the sack," Kirk said. "Tomorrow, I’ve promised Chekov and Scotty to go orbital skydiving."

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