STAR TREK: TOS #80 - The Joy Machine

by James Gunn

  “And that’s when you joined the rebels?”

  She nodded.

  “The Joy Machine has a great deal to answer for,” Kirk said. “But killing your father won’t solve anything.”

  “I know that,” Linda said. “You asked me back there”—she nodded toward the north—“if I fraternized. Arne and I—we had an understanding.”

  “It sounds as if your father looked like him.”

  “I’m not stupid,” she said. “Of course I know I was attracted to Arne because he was tall and bearded and older, and he loved me. But he loved freedom more, and I respected that. He wouldn’t desert me the way my father did, because he was firmly wedded to the goal of destroying the Joy Machine.”

  “People have a way of rationalizing their emotional needs,” Kirk said.

  “I know,” Linda said. “And I know that I really didn’t realize that it wasn’t love of freedom but hatred of the Machine that was the source of Arne’s dedication. He’s not my father. He’s not my lover, either. Not anymore. But renouncing him doesn’t make me whole.”

  “Nothing outside makes you whole,” Kirk said. “That arrives only when you come to terms with [183] what’s inside, when you accept what you are and who you are and grant yourself the right to make mistakes and still keep your self-respect.”

  “But don’t you see?” Linda said softly. “I can’t give up the thing that will make it all equal, that will correct all the balances of life.”

  “We all have to make sacrifices,” Kirk said. “If you agree to let me dismantle the bomb, you can inject me with the virus that you risked death to bring on board.”

  “I wasn’t going to take you up on your offer,” she said. “Are you sure?”

  He nodded. “And that means I will have to accept the Joy Machine’s offer of payday.”

  “Oh, Jim!” she said. “That means I may lose you, too.”

  “I’ve got to take that chance,” he said. “But I’m glad that you think I’m yours to lose.” He leaned toward her and kissed her.

  And she told him where to find the bomb.

  [subspace carrier wave transmission]

 
  computer = happiness>

  >happiness computer interrogate<

 

  >joy machine = human problem<

  Chapter Thirteen

  Virus

  KIRK FOUND THE BOMB in the engine room. He and Linda had to wait, unobtrusively, until the room, and the entrance to it, were clear. Linda stood guard while he entered. The other members of the crew, she told Kirk, might not be as easy to convince.

  “I didn’t think I’d be able to convince you,” Kirk said.

  “I didn’t think so either,” she said. “But I’ve decided to place my trust in you rather than in brute force. I hope I haven’t made a mistake.”

  Me too, Kirk said to himself.

  “But the others have no reason to trust you, and lots of reasons to distrust the Joy Machine and anyone who might be its agent, or who might be willing to sell them out to save themselves, or to save the Federation, or simply to get a payday.”

  Once he saw the bomb he understood why the engine room had been its logical location. Wires leading from the box were attached to terminals on the engine’s reactor. Somewhere on board the [186] Nautilus, perhaps in the control room, perhaps in the captain’s quarters, was a switch or a button that, once the bomb was armed, would send a signal to the engine. It would pour energy into the bomb to amplify its explosion, and the reactor itself would add to the bomb’s devastation.

  The entire arrangement was ingenious, and it had the potential to be several times as powerful as the nuclear device alone. Maybe it was even powerful enough to destroy Timshel City and the Joy Machine.

  Kirk said nothing of this to Linda. The reasons he had given her for dismantling the bomb were still valid and he might have little time alone with it. He found a screwdriver, a pair of wire cutters, and an infinitely adjustable wrench on a tool rack in the engine room, and went to work. He carefully detached the wires from the reactor. Then he unscrewed the lid of the wooden box and stared down at the maze of wires that surrounded a crude device fashioned from what he identified as the power cores of two reactors. They were encased in a metal sleeve fashioned from a stovepipe. A shaped explosive charge had been attached at one end to drive the two cores together.

  He looked down at the device in dismay. Bombs were one thing. They were put together with some precision, and it was possible to trace function and connection. This jury-rigged apparatus was a disaster waiting for an incautious move or the twitch of a nervous hand. Even if it had not been booby-trapped, the bomb might go off when one wire fell against another. And he had no way of knowing which wires led where and did what. The wires were colored, red and black and yellow, but there also were some green and some purple, as if the person who had put it together had used whatever had come to hand. What was the code?

  Finally, feeling a bit like Alexander the Great, he reached forward and put his wire cutter on the red [187] wire attached to the explosive charge, hoping it was the positive pole, hoping that old habits died hard, like old starship captains. He put his other hand on the wire, so that it would not fall against something else, and closed the wire cutter. The wire separated. Kirk waited for the explosion he would never hear. Nothing. Only the rasp of his inhalation as he breathed again.

  Carefully he led the red wire outside the box and held it there while he cut the black wire. It too came away. Then Kirk began work on the explosive charge itself, detaching four screws and separating it from the metal sleeve. He looked around the engine room and then, seeing no place to put it down where it might not be set off by some casual motion, he went to the door.

  “Is everything clear?” he asked Linda.

  “So far,” she whispered.

  “Watch the door,” he said, and brushed past her, the explosive cradled in his hands, and carefully made his way to the control room. He passed one member of the crew. “Trash,” he said, nodding at the thing in his hands. Another member of the crew was in the control room. “Trash,” he said, and climbed the ladder to the open hatchway, holding the explosive against his side with one hand while he climbed with the other, waiting for the explosion that would tear him apart.

  When he got to the top, he eased the explosive charge over the edge into the water and released it slowly. He waited for several minutes, but there was no explosion. He let out his breath again and returned to the engine room. “Okay,” he said shakily as he passed Linda.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked.

  “Nothing,” he assured her. “Nothing” was good. “Nothing” was wonderful. And she didn’t have to worry about how little he knew about primitive [188] atomic bombs, or how close they had come to being separated into their constituent atoms along with several kilometers of ocean and everything in it.

  Just in case, he placed the two reactor cores in far corners of the box, packed the wires and the metal sleeve between the two so that they would not rattle, fastened the two wires to the engine reactor on one end and to the metal sleeve on the other. He restored the lid and carefully screwed it back on the box. He put the box where he had found it and the tools back in their customary positions in the tool rack.

  He stood up and looked around. If there were someone on board other than Linda assigned the task of setting off the bomb if Linda failed, or was injured, the appearance of things as they ought to be might give them valuable minutes. And it was just possible that Johannsen had not intended the bomb as a last resort. Perhaps someone on board had been instructed to set it off as soon as they entered the harbor. Would they check on the bomb? Only, Kirk hoped, after it did not explode.

  Linda put her arms around him as he emerged from the engine room. She pressed him against the bulkhead and kissed him firmly. It was only as he began to respond, in surprise, that he heard footsteps and a crew member passed them, wit
h only a glance of surprise, or perhaps of jealousy, and entered the engine room.

  “Sorry,” Linda said.

  “I’m not,” Kirk said. But he looked back at the engine room with concern.

  Three more days of steady travel brought them to the entrance of the Timshel City harbor. The pain in Kirk’s left arm increased with each kilometer until he had to spend all of his time inside the metal hull of the Nautilus. There was no way to be alone with Linda, no way to avoid his concerns, no way to stop worrying about whether someone would discover [189] what he had done with the atomic device. He spent his time going over plans to deal with the Joy Machine, but none of them had any great probability of success. He was left with nothing but time to stare at his arm and the bracelet on his wrist that represented his indenture to the master he hoped to destroy. Before it destroyed them all.

  The Nautilus had traveled submerged for the past thousand kilometers. It was midnight when the ship poked its hull above the surface and fixed its position. Kirk did not go on deck.

  Paco had improved enough during the final day of travel to move into one of the hammocks, returning the captain’s cabin to Linda. Kirk knocked at the door.

  “Enter,” Linda said, and then, when Kirk came into the room, she looked up from her desk. “I’m sorry there has been no time when we could be alone.”

  “I know the problems of privacy,” Kirk said. “And the demands of command. In any case, the only thing I’ve come to collect is the virus.”

  “You don’t have to go through with it, you know,” Linda said.

  “It’s my job,” Kirk said. He rolled up the left sleeve of his work shirt.

  “I’m not certain—” she began.

  “It’s our best shot,” he said. “Let’s do it.”

  She went to the messroom refrigerator and removed the long black case she had gone back to the commons to recover. She opened it and took out a hypodermic filled with a pink fluid.

  “It’s going to make you sick,” she said.

  “I know,” Kirk said grimly. “Let’s hope it makes the Joy Machine just as sick.”

  She hesitated, and then, after swabbing his left upper arm with alcohol, inserted the needle and pressed down the plunger.

  “There,” she said faintly. “It’s done.”

  [190] Kirk rolled down his sleeve and pressed the magnetic closures together. “Now,” he said, “you might get me as close to shore as you can before I come on deck. I don’t think there’s much chance the Joy Machine doesn’t know we’re here, but a small chance is better than none.”

  They slipped into the harbor with their jets idling. All but one of the wampuses left them there, turning back to the open sea. The one remaining preceded them, riding high in the water as if shielding the Nautilus from discovery, sighing loudly and perhaps providing a protective screen of ultrasounds. Sheltered within the hull, Kirk had a feeling it was all useless. The realization that he had been an unwitting Judas goat had given him an unreasoning belief in the omniscience of the Joy Machine. He knew it wasn’t true. The Joy Machine couldn’t know everything, all the time. But he could not shake the suspicion that it was listening.

  “Now,” Linda whispered through the hatch.

  The plastic boat was waiting for him, already inflated. When he emerged from the protection of the hull, his arm began to throb with excruciating pain. Linda tried to precede him into it, but he caught her arm, his left arm hanging limp by his side to ease the pain. “You’re not going,” Kirk said.

  She held her head high. “I can help.”

  “You can help more by keeping your independence,” he said. “As soon as I’m gone, head back to where you left Johannsen. Watch out for the person who was supposed to set off the bomb.”

  “Me?” she said in surprise.

  “The other one. The one who was there in case you failed, or maybe even before you had a chance to fail. Get rid of the reactor cores somewhere. On an island, maybe. Bury them. Just don’t let them fall into Srinivasan’s hands. He could put them together again, given enough time and facilities.”

  She held on to his hand as if to keep him from [191] leaving. “You need someone to help you. You’ll be sick.”

  “I am sick,” he said. It was true. The virus had taken hold already. He felt feverish and light-headed. “But I can’t afford any more hostages, and I don’t want anyone involved who has reasons to hate the Joy Machine. Hate what it represents maybe, but not the Machine itself.”

  “I understand,” she said. “You don’t want me along. Well, that’s Marouk’s villa. The lights on the hill.”

  She turned and went back inside the ship. A moment later the hatch closed. Kirk had the urge to go after her, to explain, but he got into the plastic boat, careful to protect his arm. His vision was beginning to blur. He rubbed the back of his hand across his eyes and began paddling the boat slowly toward the shore. Behind him, so silently he wasn’t sure it was gone until he turned his head to look, the Nautilus slipped away.

  The wampus led him back to the beach at the base of Marouk’s villa, sighing. He got out and pulled the boat onto the shore. The sand crunched under his feet. He walked unsteadily toward the path that led to the top of the hill. It was almost as if the entire voyage had been a dream. Or an illness from which he was just awakening. He dreaded the moment when he had to open his eyes.

  Making his way up the path to Marouk’s villa with one arm hanging limply and the night sky spinning around his head was almost as difficult as making his way down the face of the glacier. When he reached the top he sat down on the edge of the patio and panted until his breathing got easier. He stood up. He stumbled toward the patio doors, but he bumped against a chair and knocked it over. It sounded like an explosion in the quiet night. He waited; no one came to investigate. He got to the doors and slid one of them [192] open, thankful that no one locked their doors on Timshel, even though the reason for Timshel’s casual attitude toward the possibility of crime was not the innate goodness of the Timshel way of life but the Joy Machine.

  He realized his mind was wandering as he stepped into the room he had left two weeks before. At that moment the lights came on. He shut his eyes against the brightness and then slitted them open, still dazzled.

  “Jim!” someone said from across the room. “You’re back!”

  It was Marouk’s voice. His face gradually swam into focus. He was standing near the living room entrance, his hand still on the light pad.

  “Hello, Kemal,” Kirk said. He was very tired. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could stand.

  “They let you go?”

  “The same way they took me,” Kirk said. “Sneakily, in the night. Can I sit down?” He weaved his way to the sofa.

  “You don’t look well,” Marouk said, moving quickly as if to help Kirk sit.

  But Kirk collapsed onto the sofa before Marouk could arrive. “I’m not well. Not well at all.”

  “Did they mistreat you?”

  Kirk looked up at the man he had thought was his friend. “I think I’ve contracted a virus,” he said.

  “Timshel is disease free,” Marouk said. “The good-health virus is universal.”

  “Must have been something we brought with us, then,” Kirk said.

  “I’ll make some coffee,” Marouk said, and left the room.

  Kirk sat as if in a feverish stupor, rubbing his forehead, trying to collect his thoughts. There was something he was supposed to do. ...

  When Marouk returned, two steaming cups in his [193] hands, Kirk said, “Where are my friends? Where are McCoy and Spock and Uhura?”

  Marouk handed him a cup. Kirk put it on the end table beside him and tried to warm his hands over the vapors rising from the cup. Suddenly his hands were cold, and his body was shivering.

  “They’ve been placed in confinement, Jim,” Marouk said. “There was nothing I could do.”

  “Jailed?” Kirk said. “Why?”

  “They refused to accept citizenship,” Mar
ouk said.

  “Like me.”

  “You were abducted before you had a chance to make a final decision,” Marouk said. “Then, too, they were accused of conspiracy to overthrow the government.”

  “The government?” Kirk said. “There is no government. There is only the Joy Machine. What were they doing?”

  “If they had been given the chance they would have been gathering information. Searching records. Performing experiments.”

  “What else would you expect them to do?” Kirk asked. It was all like a bad dream. His fellow officers had been jailed for what they might do; it was straight out of Kafka. The room was beginning to move around him. “They’re scientists and they’re interested in how things work. That only seems strange in a society where everyone seems dead from the neck up.”

  “I’m sorry, Jim,” Marouk said. “I tried to talk Wolff out of jailing them. After all, with a system as universally supported as ours, insurrection is unthinkable. Let them do what they wish, I said, but Wolff insisted that he had his orders from the Joy Machine, and he wouldn’t accept my orders to leave them free.”

  “Don’t forget, Kemal,” Kirk said, “I was abducted by a group violently opposed to the Joy Machine.”

  [194] Marouk shook his head. “A handful of dissidents,” he said. “Some people are constitutionally unable to be happy. Their small numbers are proof of the system’s success. They represent no threat.”

  “They had an atomic device that could have destroyed Timshel City.”

  “Could have?”

  “I dismantled it,” Kirk said.

  “I knew I could depend on you to do the right thing,” Marouk said.