by James Blish
"A—place?"
"With me." She touched his sleeve, his shoulder, then his neck, brushing lightly. "Romulan women are not like Vulcan females. We are not dedicated to pure logic and the sterility of non-emotion. Our people are warriors, often savage; but we are also many other—pleasant things."
"I was not aware of that aspect of Romulan society."
"As a Vulcan, you would study it," she said softly. "But as a human, you would find ways to appreciate it."
"You must believe me, I do appreciate it."
"I'm so glad. There is one final step to make the occasion complete. You will lead a small party of Romulans aboard the Enterprise. You will take your rightful place as its commander and lead the ship to a Romulan port—with my flagship at its side."
"Yes, of course," Spock said impatiently. "But not just this minute, surely. An hour from now will do—even better. Will it not, Commander?"
She actually laughed. "Yes, it will, Mr. Spock. And you do know that I have a first name."
"I was beginning to wonder."
She leaned forward and whispered. The word would have meant absolutely nothing to a human, but Spock recognized its roots without difficulty.
"How rare and how beautiful," he said. "But so incongruous when spoken by a soldier."
"If you will give me a moment, the soldier will transform herself into a woman." She rose, and he rose with her. Her hand trailed out of his, and a door closed behind her.
Spock turned his back to it, reached inside his runic, and brought out his communicator. Snapping it open, he said quietly, "Spock to Captain Kirk."
"Kirk here. I'm already on board—green skin, pointed ears, uniform and all. Do you have the information?"
"Yes, the device is down the first corridor to the left as you approach the Commander's office, closely guarded and off limits to all but authorized personnel."
"I'll get it. Will you be able to get back to the Enterprise without attracting their attention?"
"Unknown. At present . . ."
"Somebody coming. Out."
Spock replaced the communicator quickly, but it was a long minute before the Commander returned. The change was quite startling; compared to her appearance in uniform, she seemed now to be wearing hardly anything, although this was in part an illusion of contrast.
"Mr. Spock?" she said, posing. "Is my attire now more—appropriate?"
"More than that. It should actually stimulate our conversation."
She raised her hand, fingers parted in the Vulcan manner, and he followed suit. They touched each other's faces.
"It's hard to believe," she said, "that I could be so stirred by the touch of an alien hand."
"I too—must confess—that I am moved emotionally. I know it is illogical—but . . ."
"Spock, we need not question what we truly feel. Accept what is happening between us, even as I do."
"I question no further."
"Come, then." Taking his hand, she turned toward the other room.
The outside door buzzed stridently. Had Spock been fully human, he would have jumped.
"Commander!" Tal's voice called. "Permission to enter!"
"Not now, Tal."
"It is urgent, Commander."
She hesitated, looking at Spock, but her mood bad-been broken. She said; "Very well—you may enter."
There were two guards behind Tal. It would have been hard to say whether they were more surprised by Spock's presence or by their Commander's state of undress, but discipline reasserted itself almost at once.
"Commander. We have intercepted an alien transmission from aboard our own vessel."
"Triangulate and report."
"We have already done so, Commander. The source is in this room."
She stiffened and turned to Spock. Gazing levelly at her, he reached under his tunic. Tal and the guards drew their weapons. Moving very slowly, Spock brought, out his communicator and proffered it to her. Trancelike, without looking away from his face, she took the device. Then, suddenly, she seemed to awaken.
"The cloaking device! Send guards . . ."
"We thought of that also, Commander," Tal said. The slight stress on her title dripped with contempt. It was clear that he thought it would shortly pass to him. "It is gone."
"Full alert. Search all decks."
"That will be profitless, Commander," Spock said. "I do not believe you will find it."
Her response was a cry of shock. "You must be mad!"
"I assure you, I am quite sane."
"Why would you do this to me? What are you that you could do this?"
"I am," Spock said, not without some regret, "the First Officer of the Enterprise."
She struck him, full in the face. Nobody could have mistaken it for a caress. The blow would have dropped any human being like a felled ox.
He merely looked at her, his face calm. She glared back, and gradually her breathing became more even.
"Take him to my office. I shall join you shortly."
She was back in uniform now, and absolutely expressionless. "Execution for state criminals," she said, "is both painful and demeaning. I believe the details are unnecessary. The sentence will be carried out immediately after charges are recorded."
"I am not a Romulan subject," Spock said. "But if I am to be treated as one, I demand the Right of Statement first."
"So you know more about Romulan custom than you let appear. This increases your culpability. However, the right is granted."
"Thank you."
"Return to your station, Subcommander," she said to Tal. "The boarding action will begin on my order."
Tal saluted and left. The Commander took a weapon from her desk, and laid it before her. She seemed otherwise confident that Spock would make no ignominious attempts at escape; and indeed, even had the situation been as she thought, such an attempt would have been illogical.
"There is no time limit to the Right of Statement, but I will not appreciate many hours of listening to your defense."
"I will not require much time," Spock said. "No more than twenty minutes, I would say."
"It should take less time than that to find your ally who stole the cloaking device. You will not die alone." She tapped a button on the desk console. "Recording. The Romulan Right of Statement allows the condemned to make a statement of official record in defense or explanation of his crime. Commander Spock, Starfleet Officer and proven double agent, demands the right. Proceed, Commander Spock."
"My crimes are espionage, and aiding and abetting sabotage. To both of these I freely admit my guilt. However, Lords Praetori, I reject the charge of double agentry, with its further implication of treason. However I may have attempted to make the matter appear, and regardless of my degree of success in such a deception, I never at any point renounced my loyalty to the Federation, let alone swearing allegiance to the Romulan Empire.
"I was in fact acting throughout under sealed orders from Starfleet Command, whose nature was unknown to anyone aboard the Enterprise except, of course, Captain Kirk. These orders were to find out whether the Romulans had in fact developed a rumored cloaking device for their ships, and if so, to obtain it by any possible means. The means actually employed were worked out in secret by Captain Kirk and myself."
"And so," the Commander said with bitter contempt, "the story that Vulcans cannot lie is a myth after all."
"Of course, Commander. Complex interpersonal relationships among sentient beings absolutely require a certain amount of lying, for the protection of others and the good of the whole. Among humans such untruths are called 'white lies.' A man's honor in this area is measured by whether he can tell the difference between a white lie and a malicious one. It is a much more delicate matter than simply charging blindly ahead telling the truth at all times, no matter what injury the truth may sometimes do. And there are occasions, such as the present one, when one must weigh a lie which will cause personal injury against a truth which would endanger the good of the whole. You
r attempt to seduce and subvert me, Commander, was originally just that kind of choice. If it became something else, I am sorry, but such a danger is always present in such attempts."
"I can do without your pity," the Commander said, "and your little moral lecture. Pray proceed."
"As you wish. The oath I swore as a Starfleet officer is both explicit and binding. So long as I wear the uniform it is my duty to protect the security of the Federation. Clearly, your new cloaking device presents a threat to that security. I carried out my duty as my orders and my oath required."
"Everyone carries out his duty, Mr. Spock," the Commander said. "You state the obvious."
"There is no regulation concerning the content of the statement. May I continue?"
"Very well. Your twenty minutes are almost up."
"I trust that the time consumed by your interruptions and my answers to them will not be charged against me. Interrogation in the midst of a formal Statement is most irregular."
The Commander threw up her hands. "These endless quibbles! Will you kindly get back to the point?"
"Certainly. The Commander's appeal to my Vulcan loyalties, in the name of our remote common racial origin, was bound to fail; since beyond the historic tradition of Vulcan loyalty there is the combined Vulcan/Romulan history of obedience to duty—and Vulcan is, may I remind you, a member of the United Federation of Planets. In other words . . ."
Under his voice, a familiar hum began to grow in the room. The Commander realized Instantly what was happening—but instead of picking up the sidearm and firing, as she had plenty of time to do despite all Spock's droning attempt to dull her attention—she sprang forward and threw her arms around him. Then both were frozen in a torrent of sparks . . .
And both were in the Transporter Room of the Enterprise.
As the elevator doors opened onto the bridge, Kirk's voice boomed out.
"Throw the switch on that device, Scotty!"
"I did, sir," Scott's voice said. "It's not working."
The Commander looked in Kirk's direction and a muffled exclamation escaped her as Spock escorted her out. Kirk had not yet removed his Romulan Centurion's uniform, let alone bothered to change his skin color or have his surgically altered ears restored to normal human shape. Obviously, the other half of the plot was now all too clear to her.
Spock left her and crossed to his station. Behind him, her voice said steadily, "I would give you credit, Captain, for getting this far—but you will be dead in a moment and the credit would be gratuitous."
The Captain ignored her. "Lt. Uhura, open a channel to the Romulan command vessel; two-way visual contact."
"Right . . . I have Subcommander Tal, sir."
Tal seemed quite taken aback to see what appeared to be one of his own officers in the command chair, but must have realized in the next second that any Centurion he did not recognize had to be an imposter. He said almost instantly, "We have you under our main batteries, Enterprise. You cannot escape."
"This is Captain Kirk under this silly outfit. Hold your fire. We have your Commander with us."
Tal shot a look toward where his own main viewscreen evidently was located. "Commander!"
"Subcommander Tal," the woman said, "I am giving you a direct order. Obey it. Close and destroy!"
Uhura cut off transmission, but not fast enough. It was a risk that had had to be taken.
"Come on, Scotty, we've run out of time."
"Captain, I'm working as fast as I can."
"You see, Captain," the Commander said, "your effort is wasted."
"Mr. Spock. Distance from the Romulan vessels."
"One hundred fifty thousand kilometers and closing rapidly."
"Stand to phasers. You'll forgive me if I put up a fight, Commander."
"Of course," the woman said. "That is expected."
"One hundred thousand kilometers," Spock said. "They'll be within maximum range within six seconds . . . five . . . four . . ."
"Scott, throw the switch!"
"It'll likely overload, but . . ."
". . . two . . . one . . ."
"Functioning, Captain!"
"Mr. Chekov, change course to 318 mark 7, Warp Nine."
"Nine, sir? . . . Done."
Spock turned toward Kirk. "They have opened fire at where we were last, sir, but the cloaking device appears to be operating most effectively. And the Commander informed me that even their own sensors cannot track a vessel so equipped."
"Thank you, Mr. Spock," Kirk said in a heartfelt voice. He turned to the Commander. "We will leave you at a Federation outpost."
"You are most gracious, Captain. If I may be taken to your brig, I will take my place as your prisoner. Further attendance here is painful to me."
Kirk stood, very formal. "Mr. Spock, the honor of escorting the Commander to her quarters is yours."
The two opposing forces bowed formally to each other, and Spock led the Commander back toward the elevator. Behind them, Sulu's voice said, "Entering Neutral Zone, Captain."
"I'm sorry you were made an unwilling passenger," Spock said. "It was not intentional. All they really wanted was the cloaking device."
"They? And what did you want?"
"That is all I wanted when I went aboard your vessel."'
"And that is exactly all you came away with."
"You underestimate yourself, Commander."
She refused to hear the hidden meaning. "You realize that we will very soon learn to penetrate the cloaking device. After all, we discovered it; you only stole it."
"Obviously, military secrets are the most fleeting of all," he said. "I hope we exchange something more permanent."
She stepped into the elevator; but when Spock tried to follow her, she barred the way. "You made the choice."
"It was the only choice possible. Surely you would not have respected any other."
She looked at him for a long moment, and then smiled, slightly, sadly. "That will be our—secret. Get back to your duty. The guards had best take me from here."
Spock beckoned to two guards. She could probably incapacitate both in a matter of seconds, but they were well out of Transporter range of any of the Romulan ships now—and her mood did not seem to be one which would impel her to illogical action. In a way it was a pity that she obviously did not know that Vulcans were cyclical in their mating customs, and immune to sexual attraction at all other times. Or had she been counting on his human side? And—had she been right to do so?
The elevator swallowed her down. Spock went back to his post.
"Sickbay to Captain Kirk. If all the shouting's over up there, I want you to report to me."
"What for, Bones?"
"You're due in surgery again. As payment for the big act of irrationality you put over on me, I'm going to bob your ears."
Kirk grinned and touched the ears, which apparently he had forgotten in the heat of operations, and looked over at Spock.
"Please go, Captain," Spock said in a remote voice. "Somehow, they are not aesthetically pleasing on a human."
"Are you coming, Jim?" McCoy's voice said. "Or do you want to go through the rest of your life looking like your First Officer?"
And McCoy had the last word again.
A PIECE OF THE ACTION
(David P. Harmon and Gene L. Coon)
* * *
It was difficult to explain to Bela Okmyx, who called himself "Boss" of Dana Iotia Two, that though the message from the lost Horizon had been sent a hundred years ago, the Enterprise had only received it last month. For that matter, he did not seem to know what the "galaxy" meant, either.
Kirk did not know what he expected to find, but he was braced for anything. Subspace radio was not the only thing the Horizon had lacked. She had landed before the non-interference directive had come into effect, and while the Iotians were just at the beginnings of industrialization. And the Iotians had been reported to be extremely intelligent—and somewhat imitative. The Horizon might have changed their cultur
e drastically before her departure and shipwreck.
Still, the man called Boss seemed friendly enough. He didn't understand what "transported" meant either, in the technical sense, but readily suggested a rendezvous at an intersection marked by a big building with white columns in a public square where, he said, he would provide a reception committee. All quite standard, so far.
Kirk, Spock and McCoy beamed down, leaving Scott at the con. They materialized into a scene which might at first have been taken for an area in any of the older cities of present-day Earth, but with two significant exceptions; no children were visible, and all the adults, male and female alike, were wearing sidearms. Their dress was reminiscent of the United States of the early twentieth century.
This had barely registered when a sharp male voice behind them said, "Okay, you three. Let's see you petrify."
The officers turned to find themselves confronted by two men carrying clumsy two-handed weapons which Kirk recognized as a variant of the old submachine gun.
"Would you mind clarifying your statement, please?" Spock said.
"I want to see you turn to stone. Put your hands up over your head—or you ain't gonna have no head to put your hands over."
The two were standing close enough together so that Kirk could have stunned them both from the hip, but he disliked stopping situations before they had even begun to develop. He obeyed, his officers following suit.
The man who had spoken kept them covered while the other silently relieved them of their phasers and communicators. He seemed momentarily in doubt about McCoy's tricorder, but he took that, too. A few pedestrians stopped to watch; they seemed only mildly curious, and some of them even seemed to approve. Were these men policemen, then? They were dressed no differently from anyone else; perhaps more expensively and with more color, but that was all.
The silent man displayed his harvest to his spokesman. The latter took a phaser and examined it. "What's this?"
"Be very careful with that, please," Kirk said. "It's a weapon."
