Authors: Alan Dean Foster
"By all means, communicate," McCoy mumbled, in no mood for diplomacy. His resistance had faded to an occasional weak blow directed at the clasping coil. "Tell it I'm getting dizzy."
"Try, Spock," urged Kirk. "If we concentrate on the same thought, try to pool our effort . . . Try to think
at
it, tell it to release McCoy and put him—"
They never got the opportunity to try. Kirk's voice and concurrent thoughts were interrupted as the other two Lactrans reached into the alcove, one lifting Kirk and the other Spock. They started toward the far end of the vast chamber.
A large section of the far wall appeared to be constructed of the same silvery material as the transportation cylinder. They paused before it and waited while it slid upward. That action Kirk was prepared for.
What he was not prepared for was the sight on the other side.
He had expected to enter another chamber. Now he blinked as he found himself out in open air and bright sunlight once again, moving rapidly forward.
He glanced down. They were traveling on a moving road or sidewalk of some kind. At the moment it was devoid of any other travelers.
Immense buildings slid past on either side of the roadway. All were constructed of simple gently curved squares and rectangles. There wasn't a single straight line to be seen. Perhaps the Lactrans attached no importance to architecture on merely
efficient
principles.
Kirk realized that the buildings were constructed with the same simpleness and lack of external ornamentation as their hosts.
Despite the oversized proportions of the structures they moved through and the smoothness of the moving roadway, Kirk estimated they had traveled a respectable distance when they finally emerged from the intensively developed area into a vast open plain.
The abruptness of the shift was startling. One minute they were passing through the depths of the monstrous city and the next found themselves in open country.
At least, it
looked
like open country.
Their speed increased. Kirk saw that the broad countryside was actually compartmentalized, divided into sometimes radically varying ecologies. For kilometers it seemed they passed nothing but arboreal creatures—some of the fliers were recognizable, some less so, and a few that utilized exotic methods to defy gravity teased Kirk's curiosity in passing.
Moving beyond, they entered a region of broad fields dotted with trees and flowering shrubs. One such section of grassland proved to be inhabited by a small herd of unicorns, as neat and appealing as if they had just stepped from the pages of an illustrated fairy tale.
"So much for mythology," McCoy commented sadly, as they passed a horned stallion nuzzling its mate.
"Using a nonspecies standard of appreciation, I confess I find them strangely attractive" was Spock's only comment.
"Something even more intriguing coming up, gentlemen," Kirk called to them.
They turned their attention forward, to where the moving roadway executed a sharp turn. At the end of the bend was a new habitat at once more familiar and at the same time more alien than anything they had yet encountered. Three small cottages, as perfect as if they had just been transported whole from Earth to Vulcan, were grouped neatly to the right of the roadway. Kirk took in the carefully planned details as their speed slowed.
Each house had its own swimming pool, handball court, and other accouterments. The emphasis, he noted, was on providing plenty of opportunity and equipment for physical exercise. Each complex was set in a well-landscaped garden.
Having thoroughly studied the arrangement, the officers were not at all surprised when they stopped next to it. They found themselves deposited on the grass nearest the roadway.
A gentle nudge from one of those incredibly versatile and powerful tails urged Kirk forward. As he couldn't very well resist, he accepted the prod and took a few steps onto the lawn.
"Better to do what they want—for now, anyway," he murmured to the others. "We'll figure this out, given time." He turned, as did Spock and McCoy.
The three Lactrans rested there, just off the roadway, conveying the unmistakable impression of watching without eyes. Kirk, receiving the vague feeling that he was expected to do something, walked directly toward them, slowly. A couple of steps were sufficient to bring him up against the expected resilience of the invisible field.
"Our cage has been resurrected again, Bones." No reply. He turned. "Bones?"
McCoy was absorbed in a detailed examination of the ground, but he glanced up at Kirk's second query. There was a hint of genuine surprise in his tone.
"This is real grass, Jim. Real Earth-type common grass. Real soil, too. Though I wouldn't bet on how deep it goes."
"Exactly," agreed Spock from nearby, where he was engaged in cursory study of a rosebush. "This area has been laboriously prepared for human types."
"How's that again, Spock?" McCoy prompted, struggling to classify what looked like an Earth-type weed.
"We are now apparently exhibits in this zoo."
"Zoo? Exhibits?" McCoy straightened, botany temporarily forgotten. "Well, I'm no exhibit."
"Keeper-animal relationships have always been fluid, Bones," observed Kirk, "even on Earth. We have one category for ourselves and one for most other animals. But then there are the primates and the cetaceans. Intelligent behavior is often a question of artificially applied standards. Maybe the dolphins consider us part of
their
zoo. On this world I think we ought to be flattered if they've put us into the latter category. In any case, they've taken the precaution of putting us behind bars."
"Perhaps we can find out something from our fellow specimens," Spock observed. "I do not believe they could erect this elaborate habitat for us in such an incredibly brief period, despite their technology. They are not gods."
"Fellow specimens?" McCoy echoed in confusion. Then he looked in the direction Spock indicated.
A uniformed man and woman were coming toward them from the farthest of the cottages, walking quickly, the excitement plain on their faces.
"Hello!" the man called as they drew close. "I'm Lieutenant Commander Louis Markel. This is our primary biologist, Lieutenant Randy Bryce. We're darned happy to see you, whoever you are."
"James Kirk, captain of the U.S.S.
Enterprise
. My first officer, Mr. Spock, and chief physician, Dr. McCoy."
"Pleasure beyond words, Captain," Bryce said, her voice high, almost birdlike. "We received your communicator call and acknowledged as best we could."
"Which wasn't as thorough as it should have been," admonished McCoy, taking in their surroundings with a wave of one arm. "Why didn't you warn us, at least to say you'd encountered intelligent life?"
Bryce looked at once resentful and dejected. "We didn't have time to warn you." She sighed. "Every now and then they'll let us have this or that piece of equipment to play with. We can use it, under their special supervision, of course. Our hosts may look clumsy, but they can move with astonishing speed when they want to.
"We're kept under constant mental supervision. There may not be any of them in sight, but you can't escape the feeling of being studied. Everything they give us is operational . . . except our phasers, of course. We never know which bit of equipment they'll give us next, or when they'll take it back. When we think we can conceal our true intentions from them, by thinking nonsense thoughts for a while, we work on ways to produce an effective weapon using cannibalized components from scientific equipment—tricorders and so on.
"We were just lucky enough to have a communicator when your call came in, and we decided to answer immediately. We didn't know if you'd be able to receive us again, or how long they'd let us keep the communicator."
"The reason we replied with a directional distress signal instead of with an elaborate warning," Markel put in, "was because we felt a nonverbal communication had a better chance of being ignored." He shook his head. "These creatures are far too perceptive for that. They knew what we were thinking, despite our best efforts to mask our thoughts. Or perhaps our unconcealable excitement worried them, or made them nervous. Anyhow, the communicator was taken away immediately and deactivated."
"You mentioned, Commander, that they provide you with certain items of scientific equipment from time to time," Spock said. "I could certainly use my tricorder."
Markel shook his head and smiled apologetically. "Not a chance, sir. They're kept on a special exhibit table beyond the force wall. We get awfully nervous when a new bunch of patrons or scientists or whatever our visitors are show up and start playing with them. We don't know if we're ever going to see them again in one piece."
Kirk had scanned the cottages earlier from their position by the roadway. Now he lowered his tone as he spoke to Markel.
"There were six of you on the survey roster."
Bryce swallowed and stared at the unattainable blue sky to their left. "We didn't beam down in time to save the others." Kirk eyed her questioningly, and she shook her head in response to his unasked question.
"No, we don't think the Lactrans had anything to do with it. They've been too solicitous of our own welfare." She looked up at him. "You've encountered some of the other inhabitants of this zoo?"
Kirk nodded slowly.
"Well, the only reason we're alive and here to talk to you now is because the Lactrans got to us before some of their exhibits did." She shrugged helplessly. "The others weren't as lucky."
"Or unlucky," Markel corrected philosophically, "if you consider our chances of getting out of this place."
"Don't be so pessimistic, Commander," Kirk urged. "Eventually, my people may locate us. Considering the technology we've seen so far, I'm not sure a forcible attempt at rescue would be a wise idea. I'm
hoping
we can find another way out before Engineer Scott becomes impatient with our continued silence."
Markel's expression eloquently indicated how he felt about that possibility.
"There should be one other member of your group, then," commented Spock.
"Oh, Lieutenant Randolph's in the end house," Bryce told them. "She's running a high fever, and we can't seem to bring it down. The Lactrans don't take any notice of our entreaties—shouted, written, or otherwise. I suspect they don't consider her illness severe enough. And while we're well-supplied with food, they give us nothing in the way of medical supplies."
"I'll check her out," McCoy said reassuringly. "It would be ironic if our captors didn't help because they were afraid of wrongly treating a valuable specimen." He looked grim. "Or maybe they're afraid you might try suicide. A quick dose of some medicine could kill you before they could interfere. Has anyone . . .?"
Bryce looked back at him steadily. "I'd be a liar if I said the thought hadn't crossed my mind."
McCoy nodded, his expression carefully neutral. "Maybe I can at least diagnose what's wrong with her, but I can't do anything else. Not without my medical kit."
Kirk spoke to Markel as Lieutenant Bryce led McCoy toward the house the three survivors had moved into. "What have you learned about the Lactrans, Commander? You've had a lot more time to study them than we have. All we've been able to determine is that they run this zoo, are telepathic, and possess a very high level of technology. How high we've no way of estimating."
Markel looked disappointed. "I'm afraid we haven't learned much we can add to that, sir. It's difficult to study another culture from behind bars. Particularly when you're being studied yourself. We're not fond of the switch. Also, we were captured and brought here at night.
"But we did see enough to know that this zoo"—and he made encompassing motions with both hands—"is so enormous as to be unbelievable. The only boundaries we saw before we were brought to this place were manufactured ones. There's plenty to hint that the majority of the city is built underground."
Spock made a Vulcan sound indicative of surprise.
"That implies a metropolis of truly gargantuan extent, Commander Markel. On what do you base such an assumption?"
"On what we saw before we were brought here, and on the fact that despite these creatures being obviously diurnal, there were many days when we traveled through the city without seeing a single one besides our hosts."
"And I don't see any now," admitted Kirk, looking around. "That means that if we could slip clear of this force field, we'd have a certain amount of freedom and a good chance of regaining our communicators and phasers. That's a considerable 'if,' however. Have you made any attempts to escape?"
Markel made a muffled sound. "Oh sure." He scooped up a handful of pebbles and spoke as he chucked them into the air. They traveled only a short distance before coming up against the force field and dropping vertically to the ground. "A dozen different ways, a few of them bordering on the insane.
"For example, we tried using one of our communicators, when they allowed us one, to cause a disruption in the field. You can imagine how well we did with that one. We tried the inevitable tunnel." He half smiled, but there was bitterness in it. "I suppose we ought to have guessed that wouldn't work when they permitted us to continue. We couldn't very well hide the work.
"The force wall extends as far below the surface as you're willing to dig. Then we all tried going on a hunger strike. All that brought about was a steady change in our meals. There was nothing to indicate that the Lactrans regarded it as anything like a voluntary protest by intelligent beings. We decided to give it up before we actually starved to death." He threw the final pebble, hard. "Nothing worked. I think we were getting a little crazy when we received your broadcast."
"Have you tried to communicate?" wondered Spock.
"Naturally, sir. Constantly, endlessly. We've tried talking to them, writing, thinking at them, rearranging the landscaping—everything. As far as we can tell, the only response we've been able to generate with our combined efforts is an occasional peculiar quivering movement on the front part of their bodies. I'm afraid I'm not much on quiver semantics."