Star Trek: Gifts of the Gods (part 2) (standard:Fan Fiction, 2047 words) [2/2] show all parts
Author: Trek Fan	Added: Jun 29 2003	Views/Reads: 2650/1849	Part vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
Kirk and crew arrive at Shroud IV, where Harry Mudd is rumored to be selling illegal information. He's not going down without a fight, though.

Star Trek: Gifts of the Gods 

Part 2 

Kirk slowly stood in front of his chair, looking beyond the planet to
the vast and deceptively empty space surrounding it. “Slow to impulse 
and assume standard orbit, Mr. Sulu.” 

*** 

The landing party, consisting of Kirk, Spock, Dr. McCoy, and two
security guards, beamed down in a small clearing on the putrid surface 
of Shroud IV. The planet was virtually a barren wasteland, with only 
about 1% of the overall landmass registering on the ship's sensors as 
inhabited. Spock switched his tricorder on and began running his usual 
sensor readings as the security guards fanned out to create a defensive 
perimeter. 

“This place is hideous, Jim. That sky is one God-awful shade of red.”
McCoy was painfully right, of course. Both the sky above them and the 
soil beneath them were dark crimson, and the only other sources of 
color that they could see were large, gray rock formations slicing 
upward out of the ground and the surrounding gnarled, blackened shrubs 
“...if that's what you'd call these things...” McCoy added. The ship's 
surgeon picked at the branch of one of the low-lying shrubs, shaking 
his head and running a bioscan over the plants. 

“Indeed, Doctor, the planet does exhibit significantly lower levels of
habitable vicinage than most known populated planets. There are, 
however, many life forms registering on my tricorder, despite your 
gauche observations. There is an especially large concentration of life 
in a small structure approximately 45 meters to the east, and in 
another, larger structure approximately 60 meters to the northwest. The 
vegetation appears to be severely malnourished, a result of the poor 
mineral content of the soil and the thick atmospheric shroud 
interfering with any possible sunlight.” Spock switched his tricorder 
off and let it hang loosely at his side once he had finished his 
report. 

“Ok, let's make our way over to the larger structure. That's probably
where Harry Mudd will be, assuming he's still on Shroud. If memory 
serves, it used to be a bar.” Kirk motioned for Spock to lead the way. 
As usual, the Vulcan did not disappoint. Dozens of narrow passages led 
out of the clearing where the landing party had materialized, winding 
off into a network of mazes through the dense foliage surrounding them. 
Spock had already created a mental map of the paths and where they led, 
having run a thorough scan of the area on his tricorder upon arrival. 
He moved swiftly across the clearing and down one of the carved paths 
with the rest of the landing party, phasers set to stun, following 
closely behind. 

The larger of the two structures soon appeared before them like a giant
apparition stepping out of a thick, nauseating fog. The building was 
rectangular in structure, adhering to no apparent architectural scheme, 
and was made of plain, ugly stone. Kirk thought it more closely 
resembled a fortress than a bar, but a great neon sign next to the only 
door claimed otherwise. On another note, the sky had taken on a twinge 
of blackness in the few minutes that had passed since the landing party 
began fighting their way through the biting, snagging thickets, and a 
quick check with Enterprise had confirmed that a storm was moving in. 

“I want everyone to keep your eyes and ears open. If you locate Harry
Mudd, apprehend him as quietly and quickly as possible. Ensigns 
Hernandez and Rogers will hold position here in case he double backs 
and tries to make a quick getaway.” Kirk, satisfied with the response, 
moved toward the entrance. 

As the three senior officers approached the vile establishment, however,
a large gorilla-like creature stepped out of the door and blocked their 
way. It stood glaring over them, grinding its huge yellow teeth and 
snarling, while its odd-colored hair blew gently in the rancid wind. It 
wore the breastplate of some unified force, the rusted metal hinges 
creaking with every heavy breath. On the breast was an insignia that 
nobody recognized, but anyone could easily infer as to what the 
razor-sharp sword in its right hand stood for. 


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