They slept for a long time in the slumber chamber. It was dimly lit, but filled with luxurious furnishings and ornamentation. Sawyer lay asleep on an enormous cushioned couch veiled with iridescent black curtains that cut him off from the rest of the room.634Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡCQR9lgHjJ9
A gold headband with a large blue gem set in its middle encircled his head. The gem did not sparkle in the dim light. His sleep had been deep and dreamless, but now he found himself stirring and trying to sit up.
The result of these efforts was a wave of dizziness that sent him falling back onto the cushions. A hand moved shakily to his head, touched, examined. He felt the headband. Experimentally he grabbed it as best he could and tugged. The pull failed to dislodge it. It was tight, too tight.
Both hands now. There didn't seem to be any kind of clasp or latch. Maybe he could force it apart along some hidden seam. Useless! It was locked firmly in place.
This time when he tried to sit up he managed it, thought it cost him another attack of dizziness. He felt vaguely nauseated. Once again he worked feebly at the headband.
That's when he heard the voice. It was urgent and anxious.
"Tom---Tom....!"
Funny, that sounded like Finn. But there was a subtle difference. Even when drunk the doctor's voice had never been that---well, that shaky.
A hand divided the smooth spun curtains. Finn stood framed in the opening, swaying like a tree in a thunderstorm. A headband similar to Sawyer's own was wrapped tightly around his forehead. Sawyer's eyes widened. His jaw fell.
"Huck---Spock---what's happened to you?"
"Not just to us, Tom," said Finn quietly in that old man's voice. "You too."
Sawyer swayed. Finn's statement penetrated---not without resistance. His hand came up to touch his own face. His hand--dry, wrinkled. Drier, less supple skin on his cheeks, loose folds of flesh around his neck, under his eyes---lines that didn't belong there. That hadn't been there, hours ago.
He couldn't see the white streak that ran through his hair, but Finn told him about it.
"You look about 50, Tom. I'd guess Bal's artificially advanced age at about the same, though he's got more years to play with than us."
"We've got to get out of here," Sawyer stuttered desperately. He'd once seen a man who'd lost his suit on Lorix, the hothouse world in the Denean system. The man had made it to a survival base. When the rescue team finally reached him, they found only a very large man-shaped fungus spotted with short, sprouting, brown tendrils.
Finn's seamed face was every bit as shocking.
He started to run for the remembered exit and pulled up, grabbing at his left leg. It seemed than in the past few hours he'd no only acquired wrinkled hands a face and a streak of white in his normally auburn hair, but also a mild case of bursitis.
He felt unbelievably helpless.634Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ5hy0UGOmfj
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Neytiri and Thatcher stared down at the readout screen of the main medical computer in Life Station. They mentally tried to urge the machine to greater speed. As though in response to their unvoiced pleas, a microtape cassette promptly popped out of the response slot.
Thatcher picked it up and both women moved to the desk playback table. She inserted the small plastic rectangle, hit the needed switch. She spoke to Neytiri as the machine automatically rewound the unplayed tape.
"The results of every scan, every probe made by the female science teams. If there's an answer, it'll be on this." The accompanying screen winked on and there was a little hum as the computer voice activated.
"Computer evaluating." The two officers took a deep breath. "Summation of recent medical and astrophysical scans, with analysis, as per request Head Nurse B. Thatcher."
Faint sounds of mechanical life followed. Each second took one hour. And then the voice finally came again, indifferent as it was authoritative.
"Probe is directed at ship from indicated planet, as initially surmised. Probe wavelengths are severely enervating to humanoid males. Prolonged exposure to probe's effects over a long period of time, or if signal is intensified according to figures shown on chart, can cause increasing weakness and accelerated aging to the point of death."
Thatcher made a slight strangled noise and Neytiri looked stunned.
"At least we've some idea now what we're dealing with," the communications officer said grimly. She directed her next words to the computer pickup. "How do we counter this effect?"
"Countering methodology not available. No projected medical antidote to hypothesized effects. Initiate search?"
"Initiate---and keep advised," ordered Neytiri sharply. She moved to the wall communicator as Thatcher ran through the figures once again.
"Lieutenant Neytiri to Security Officer Palmer." A middle-aged, efficient-looking woman appeared on the tiny intercraft screen.
"Palmer here. What's going on, Lieutenant? The men in my section have been..."
"....acting like lotus-eaters aver since we entered orbit, I know. I'll explain later, Palmer. Right now I want an all-female security team in the main transporter as of five minutes ago. All-female security teams are to be mobilized at every entrance to the transporter deck and in the shuttle bay. Anyone---especially any male---who attempts to transport down to the surface is to be placed in protective custody. I don't think any of them will become violent---we've no indications of that thus far. But instruct your people to be ready."
"Yes, Lieutenant, but..."
"You and Lt. M'Rott will be in command of the ship until I return. I'm taking down a security detail myself."
"As you say, Lieutenant." Palmer looked doubtful, but saluted briskly. Neytiri cut the transmission and turned to Thatcher; she found the head nurse staring at her with wide eyes.
"What are you planning, Neytiri?" The latter was already heading for the elevator.
"I'm taking command of this ship!"634Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡDrusYDkq6a
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Sawyer, Spock, Finn and Ross stood in the audience chamber facing the imposing dais. Eron sat there, watching there. Phari and the other women relaxed nearby, also watching. The men swayed weakly, the blue gems set in their headbands now glowing brightly.
Only Spock and Ross were a step above total collapse. Sawyer and Finn were in bad shape.
"We must return," the Esmeralda's first officer murmured tiredly, "to our duties aboard our ship." Next to him, Sawyer frowned uncertainly. He was clearly straining to remember---to remember---what?
Duties--that was it, duties. He looked up at the staring women. "Duties...I have..." He stumbled again as the jewel pulsed brightly and had to grab at Spock's arm for support. That arm was not what it should have been and as a result, both men nearly fell.
Eron spoke. She seemed genuinely sorry, no longer sufficient consolation to Sawyer and his men. "You cannot leave, Balus," she said slowly, "as we need you here. As the low waves of the Lia'a-nag work on your crew, they will come to feel as you do. They too are needed, and they too will join us here."
Sawyer drew himself up, finding a last reserve of strength somewhere. "We must go now." Turning toward the door he staggered off. Finn tried to follow and nearly collapsed. Again, it was Spock who steadied him.
"Block them!" Eron shouted.
The other women moved rapidly to form a barrier between Sawyer and the other officers, blocking their path to the main exit. Shaking with staging, suddenly increased weakness the men hesitated. They had nothing to fight with, their weapons having been taken from them while they slept.
"Together!" Sawyer gasped. Somehow they managed to rush the women. But the giantesses grabbed their arms and dragged them back easily. Their weakness seemed to increase sharply at the physical contact, and they grabbed at their headbands. One by one they slumped helplessly to the floor. On each man's forehead the blue gem shone with appalling intensity.634Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡubUKtPDttm
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On the bridge of the Esmeralda, Engineer Gordon lounged dreamily in the command chair. His eyes were focused on the viewing screen and the dreamworld that seemed to be depicted within. A constant flow of sensuous, beckoning images drifted back and forth in front of him.
The English "Pearly King" cap he now wore was tilted at a rakish angle. He was singing "Rule Brittania." Normally, Ko-Ko would have found the rendition distasteful and Zaith would have been indifferent. But both seemed to find Gordon's performance the greatest musical experience since Jesus Christ Superstar.
Neytiri and Thatcher entered from the turbo-lift. The lieutenant's gaze was drawn immediately to Gordon. The anthem approached its end as the two officers approached.
She'd been dreading this moment. How would Gordon react? regardless of any objections, he had to be removed from command---by force, in need be. In his present condition there was no telling what he might order. She hoped Thatcher wouldn't be forced to use the hypo secreted in her belt. There was no hesitation in her voice, however.
"Mr. Gordon, as senior lieutenant I'm taking responsibility for the safety of this ship!"
Gordon turned at these shocking words and stared up at her. There was an awkward silence. Neytiri fidgeted inwardly. Was the odd probe capable of inducing other emotions besides pleasure?
Apparently not. Gordon merely smiled absently up at her.
"Ah, how very thoughtful of you, love." He swiveled in his chair and returned his gaze to the viewscreen. Neytiri should have been relieved. Instead, she felt only disgust.
"Not as hard as I expected it might be. Damn! Whatever it is, it's really got its claws into them." She reached around the humming engineer and switched on the log 'corder.
Gordon made no move to interfere---not that he was in any position to offer resistance.
"Ship's log, supplemental. Lieutenant Neytiri recording.
"Due to Chief Engineer Gordon's euphoric state of mind, which precludes effective direction, I am assuming command of the Esmeralda in the absence of senior officers Sawyer, Spock, and Finn. I accept full responsibility for my actions.
"A detailed account of the events leading up to and dictating this action will be entered later." Off went the recorder and she added to Thatcher, "I hope. Becky, until further notice you will serve as chief medical officer."
"Yes, Lieutenant."634Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡVgK7UKJhm4
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In a little chamber somewhere inside the main temple, Sawyer, Finn, and Ross lay stretched out on a huge slumber platform. It was neither as spacious nor as lavishly furnished as their former "slumber chamber." All four were groggy from sleep.
They were apparently alone in the tiny, dark room. There was a little light, but it wasn't dark enough to prevent each man from seeing that his companions had aged even further in the past hour.
Finn's hair was now almost pure white, while Spock's eyebrows were salted with gray. There were deeper lines in Sawyer's face, heavy bags under his eyes. He rolled over on his side and studied the room.
"I thought they'd never leave."
"Indeed," agreed Spock. Experimentally, he stood, testing his aged muscles. Sawyer and Ross imitated him. Spock walked over and gestured at Finn's waist.
"Your med-kit, Doctor. Does it contain anything that might help us?"
Finn glanced down at the belt in surprise. Sure enough, his compact med-kit was still strapped in place and seemed to be intact.
"Weird. They took everything else, but they let me keep this."
"Because it cannot be used as either a weapon or for communications, Doctor."
"Now, how in blazes would they know that?"
"If their question to the device they call the Oxxa was phrased so as to only indicate those instruments, then the machine would, as is the nature of all machines, not volunteer additional information. We are lucky."
"Oh, we are, are we?" The doctor rolled his eyes.
"I have seen no evidence of practical medicine here," Spock continued. "This entire community of women is a most bizarre mixture of the ancient and supermodern. No doubt they assume your kit contains only food supplements or hygienic materials."
"And, speaking of hygienic..." Finn fumbled at his waist and pulled out a short, thick cylinder with tiny studded dials running down one side. "Transmycin. It ought to help. It's a powerful stimulant--but it'll name its price later. It's not the safest stuff in the world to use."
"If you want there to be a later for us, Huck, you damn well better use it." Sawyer slid off the platform. "I'll take the first shot."
Finn administered a dose to the captain's upper arm. Sawyer rubbed at his tingling bicep and began to examine their prison in detail. Finn continued handing out doses of the fast-working drug to Spock and then Ross.
Sawyer found the door, tried it. Not surprisingly, it refused to budge. A close examination of its edges revealed that it was designed to open outward.
"Locked," he offered unnecessarily. Finn placed the cylinder against his left arm and gave himself the last jolt. He started to replace the cylinder in the open medical pouch, but Spock stopped him. The science officer started examining the kit's contents with interest.
"What is this for, Doctor?" He lifted a thin piece of hinged metal from a plastic tube.
"Just a portable surgical probe, Spock. The tip's full of impulsors and fragment manipulators."
"If my theory is correct....." Spock opened the instrument to its full length and moved to the door. Sawyer stepped aside. In response to the captain's unvoiced question, Spock gestured at the door with the probe. "This seems to be a magnetic seal. If so, the slight output of the doctor's probe might be sufficient to disrupt the locking field."
He selected a narrow tip and inserted its slim prong into the nearly flush join of door and wall. Moving it up from the floor slowly, it rose until clicking against something set at eye level. Spock lifted an eyebrow in satisfaction. He activate the little power supply....
And nothing happened.
Manipulating it carefully, sometimes activating another setting, he turned and poked the impulsor prong to and fro against the lock.
There was no snap, no sound at all, in fact. The door panel moved quietly away, just far enough to let them squeeze out of the room. Spock gave the probe back to Finn who carefully refolded it and replaced it in its receptacle in the med-kit. They might have need to use it again.
Spock led the way with Sawyer and the others close behind. A shockingly short walk down the narrow corridor and they came to a thin curtain backed with brilliant light.
Sawyer edged ahead of Spock and glanced carefully around one edge of the thin fabric. They were back at the audience chamber. The cavernous room was deserted.
Putting finger to lips he led them forward, heading as fast as he could for the main entrance. The main entrance? Sawyer had a disturbing thought.
The doors had appeared to be automatic when they first entered. If they weren't, the four men would have had a terrible time trying to move them manually, even at full strength. He needn't have worried.
When they were less than 2 meters from the towering stone/metal, the thick doors started swinging aside. Quietly they moved down the outer steps.
Eron chose that moment to enter the audience chamber from a side corridor. She spotted them just as the doors started closing behind the fugitives.
"Assistance! Assistance!"
Already the four "old" men were in the garden that surrounding the temple. It was delicate, tasteful, maintained like a fine clock. However now the polished trees, the neatly pruned bushes, all looked threatening and alien.
Shortly they found themselves breathing with increasing difficulty. The transmycin was wearing off even sooner than Saywer had hoped.
"It's our aged bodies, Tom," gasped Finn. "The drug is less effective because it has so much less to work with."
They were losing strength rapidly. Already Spock had to help Finn. Sawyer found himself searching desperately for a cave, an easily climbable tree, any place that could serve as a temporary refuge. But the only asylum in sight was a huge urn magnificently inlaid with ceramic mosaic.
He gagged, then cleared his throat. "The big urn, it's the only place!" Then he turned to Finn.
"Huck, another dose of the drug." Finn shook a withered hand.
"Another shot in our present condition would be fatal, Tom. Even if I had it."
They hurried to the urn's base. The curving upper edge seemed to lower over their heads, the smooth convex sides an insurmountable barrier.
"I think I can make it," was all Spock said. He backed off a few steps, took a brief run, leaped, and managed to catch one of the big projecting handles near the top. He straggled and succeeded in pulling himself up to a sitting position on the outthrust handle.
A fast glance showed that the interior of the urn was spacious, relatively clean---and empty. It was covered with a heavy metal grid, but they should be able to move that. He locked his legs tightly around the handle and reached down.
With the others helping from below he was able to get Finn alongside. They had to hurry. Already the women were racing into the first trees, splitting up to cover the many paths.
Eron noticed a tiny flash of red that was part of no plant. She moved closer and saw it was a piece of torn fabric. Reaching down, she picked it free. No question, it was from one of the alien male's uniforms.
Turning, she cupped her hands and yelled, "Over here, this way!" Without waiting to see if her comrades had heard, she started up the path that curved 'round the bush. Long strides ate distance quickly---and time.
Once, she glanced at the sky. It was growing dark. A typical sudden Clooan storm was coming. The rain could aid the escape of the men. She would have to hurry.
Ross was lowered carefully into the urn. Finn was let down next. Quickly Sawyer helped lower Spock into the waiting hands of Finn and the security guard.
Then only Sawyer was left on top. He unhitched his legs from around the bracing handle and started forward, grabbing for the lip of the rim---he grabbed and missed. His fingers slipped on the slick surface. For a horrible moment he found himself sliding helplessly down the smooth porcelain.
Only a last, desperate grab enabled him to clutch the projecting handle. A supreme physical effort brought him back onto the top of the urn.
"Captain, are you all right?" came Ross's concerned voice. Sawyer couldn't spare the breath for a reply. He felt at least a thousand years old.
He made another, more careful approach to the opening. This time both hands got a firm grip on the rim. Pulling painfully and scrambling with his knees, he tried to pull himself up and over.
A sound came to his ears - the sound of running feet, getting closer. That was sufficient to spark a redoubled effort. A final, agonizing pull which closed the heavy grid over the opening - and he fell headfirst into the urn. Spock and Ross barely retained enough strength to keep him from smashing into the unyielding bottom.
Phari and two other women came into the little glade, searching every direction. There was no sunlight left in the gathering darkness to throw an accusing glare off the polished ceramic. The three separated and moved off in different directions.
Feeling more alone than he'd felt in his life, Sawyer stood inside the urn and listened to voices and footsteps moving back and forth outside the urn.
"They're not here, Eron," one voice exclaimed. The leader's reply came quickly.
"Come! They might have tried to return to the spot where they arrived!" Footfalls and voices faded into distance.
Inside the urn the officers exchanged relieved glances. That was when Sawyer, the temporary respite restoring a bit of his normal alertness, noticed something:
"Look at our headbands!" And sure enough, the once brilliant blue gems set in the hellish headbands were now only dull, faceted rocks. They no longer fluoresced with an alien internal heat. The men inspected each another carefully. Not one of the headbands showed any hint of light.
Spock had puzzled over the phenomenon of the glowing gems since he had first become aware of them. He'd formed a theory, and the present absence of light seemed to confirm it.
"I've noticed that the glow diminishes when the women are absent. I believe," he continued, his voice but not his words emotionless, "that they are polarized conductors of some sort, which transfer our vital energy to their bodies."
"Life-force feeders?" queried a doubtful Finn. "Among some primitive parasitic species it's been noted, yes, but here...?" He looked faintly sick.
Spock nodded. "That is the only explanation I can think of which ties our advanced - no, enforced - aging to these devices." He tapped his own headband.
"You may also recall, Doctor, that when we first encountered them, these women appeared slow-moving and listless. But as our own strength has failed, they have become far more energetic and vital."
"More alive," murmured Finn. "Yes, I see it now. Stupid of me not to see it before. Stupid!"
"Do not blame yourself, Doctor. You are in a far more weakened condition than I. Your powers of observation have decreased commensurate with your physical decline."634Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ2jMpRSFBrW
Sawyer looked thoughtful. "Spock, if they find us, how much longer would we have?"
"That would be impossible to estimate without a tricorder or medical computer to confirm, Captain, but we seem to be aging roughly ten years per day. More in the presence of the women. This is, of course, only an educated guess."
Nobody said anything. Nobody had to. Not after Finn voiced the feelings of all of them in one, taut sentence.
"Ten years per - in four days we'll all be dead!"
"Dead," Sawyer nodded angrily, "and useless to them. Not that they'll care. Eron said the other men of the Esmeralda would join us. They'll be lured, drawn down here by the probe and the pull of their own imaginations.634Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡd5d4sKgBEN
"We've got to contact the ship somehow. We need a communicator." Sawyer put a hand against the hard concave walls and made a testing leap for the rim. He came close, but the effort exhausted him so much that he almost collapsed. Obviously nobody was going to make it out of their hiding place without the help of the others.634Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡxusyVpEqYe
"I've retained more strength than any of you," said Spock, stating the obvious. Ross might have disputed him, but he chose not to. "My internal systems are different, Captain, my life span longer. It would be wiser if I go alone to the temple to try and find the communicators and contact the ship."634Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡN2fZBQbbyY
Sawyer found himself reluctantly agreeing. "One man would still a better chance of slipping past them than four. But..."634Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡeTHSgUHyn1
"It is the only logical course of action, Captain."634Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡQz1xQsezq1
Sawyer hesitated, searching for a better way. There was no route around the obvious, however. 634Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ4vuFkdjbnB
It took the combined remaining Ross and Sawyer to lift Spock until he could grip the outer rim and push aside the grid. Finn was too weak to offer other than moral support. Somehow Spock maintained his grasp, pulled himself up (pushing the grid back in place wo that the others would escape detection) and over the top.634Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡo9z1BuZMI5
Panting heavily, Spock rested there and surveyed the glade. Nobody was in sight, for which he was grateful---though he wouldn't have objected, say, to the sudden appearance of a heavily armed Vulcan peaceforcer car.634Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ1cbiDCyGvu
It took more of his fading reserves to lower himself safely and carefully to the ground. No logic in escaping their refuge only to break a leg while climbing down.634Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡwXw7rVE6uI
Moving as rapidly as he dared and trying to keep under cover all the way, he headed for the temple. Once a pair of giantesses crossed close in front of him and he was forced to crouch under a bush whose waxy red blossoms he admired more for their concealing size than for their color.634Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ5MG2dx9mDH
At least the Clooans didn't seem to have an extraordinary sense of smell.634Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡN9ypoDF56a
Once again it occurred to him that they seemed in no way up to creating the incredibly advanced sensory equipment which had been used on the men of the Esmeralda. There was only one explanation: forgotten knowledge was at work on this planet.634Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ0eKmAOvauy
Spock made it to the temple without further incident. Fortunately the doors were still open. Obviously this was the last place they expected the fugitives to return to. The urge to dash inside was overpowering, but he paused long enough to peer cautiously around one huge marblelike pillar. Nothing moved in the vast audience hall.634Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡgKGBWDMwDe
The corridors branching off from the main chamber also seemed to be deserted. All the women were outside, hunting them. Hunting him.634Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡdvXRTGypWF
A search of he first, luxurious slumber chamber produced nothing, not one piece of their missing equipment. A thorough inspection of the central dais from which Eron had greeted them proved equally fruitless. There were plenty of interesting devices around, but none of Fleet issue.
He was getting desperate when he passed the blue curtain hiding the Oxxa.
If the machine possessed some kind of internal alarm system to warn of unauthorized users, he'd given himself away. But they needed a communicator!
He thought, then hummed what he hoped was the correct note. The curtain didn't move. He didn't think it would shift aside manually. It was made of metal, not fabric, and looked heavy. He tried again, still without effect.
But the third whistle seemed to catch the pitch of Eron's voice precisely. Somewhere an ancient piece of machinery agreed. The azure screen slid aside, revealing a now transparent, empty cub. The Oxxa.
He hesitated. Would it respond to his voice. But Eron had spoken to it in terranglo and as much as offered them a chance to try it.
Was it true that it could answer any question?
"The equipment belonging to the men of the Esmeralda," he asked firmly, "where is it?"
There was no blur of shifting mists in the cub, no incomprehensible alien visual static. One moment the cube was as transparent as a block of lucite, the next it showed a three dimensional miniature of a familiar object---the dais at the far end of the audience chamber.
With one difference. There was a panel set into the left side of the platform's base, and it was open in the miniature. Spock wouldn't have known how to replace the curtain even if he'd wanted to. Anyway, he didn't have the time. He rushed to the dais.
One minute of frantic exploration around the paneled area revealed a big button set into the metal. He pressed it and the panel cover slid obediently aside, revealing the priceless treasure within.
Tricorders, phasers, rechargers---all their missing equipment was there. He fumbled first for a communicator, frowning when a first grab missed. His vision was getting weaker, and weaker.
A second try---and the compact device was firmly in hand! He flipped it open.
"Spock to Esmeralda." At that moment he felt rather than saw the crystal in his headband start to brighten. There was some residual heat putout by it after all. As the glow intensified he swayed, suddenly dizzy. Was he too weak even to talk anymore? Had he even uttered the distress call?
Neytiri's voice echoed back from the orbiting heaven of the starship.
"Esmeralda....Lieutenant Neytiri here! Spock, is that you? Spock!" He glanced toward the front of the chamber. There were footsteps.
Seven giantesses were just coming through the doors. Apparently they'd failed to locate Sawyer, Finn and Ross and were returning to ask aid of the Oxxa. They saw Spock. One shouted and they began to run forward. He tried to shake himself and spoke rapidly into the communicator.
"Request rescue party--all female, emphasize, all female!
"Repeat," he added desperately, summoning all his remaining strength. The room was starting to spin. "All female party...all...."
His knees buckled like soft cheese and he slumped to the stone floor. The women encircled him.
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