by James Blish
"All quiet here, Captain. Any problems there, sir?"
"We've lost Matthews. An accident, apparently. Tell the Enterprise to have a full security party stand by."
"Yes, sir."
"And inform Mr. Spock that we will both report in at hourly intervals. If you and I lose contact—or if he fails to hear from either of us—the security force is to be beamed down immediately. Kirk out"
He heard the snap-off of Rayburn's communicator. He couldn't hear what followed it—Rayburn's choking gurgle as the hairless creature's great arm lunged from the darkness to encircle his throat.
"This way, please," Brown was saying. "The illumination is automatic from here on."
It was a long walk. Brown appeared to feel a need to install himself as the interpreter of Korby's work. He dissertated. "The doctor has discovered that this planet's original inhabitants were forced to move underground as the warmth of their sun waned. When you were his student, Christine, you often heard him say that freedom of choice produced the human spirit. The culture of Exo III proved his theory. When its people were compelled to move from light to darkness, their culture also became choiceless, mechanistic. The doctor has found elements in it that will revolutionize the universe when removed from this cavernous environment."
The prediction struck Kirk as slightly grandiose. Polite Christine said, "That's fascinating."
"I thought you'd be interested," Brown said. "We have arrived, Captain."
The place of their arrival was a large and luxurious study. Though its walls were of rock, they were so finely polished they conveyed an impression of massive grandeur. Modern taste had been sensitively superimposed on the foundations constructed by the ancient race. In their five years of underground life, Korby and his staff had clearly undertaken to make themselves comfortable. And well supplied. There were huge cabinets of gleaming scientific instruments, archaeological tools, favorite artifacts found and cherished. Odd-looking doors led out of the room into other unseen ones. In one corner was a dining area complete with tables and chairs.
One of the doors opened. A girl came in, pale, slim, dark-haired. There was a serene innocence in her face that merited the word "lovely." Her lips moved in a smile that exposed her perfect teeth.
"I'm Andrea," she said. "You must be Christine. I've always thought it was a beautiful name."
Christine was unpleasantly startled. Youthfully innocent she might be, but the girl was nevertheless a woman. And why she was serving as hostess in Korby's personal study was a question his affianced wife was obviously asking herself.
Andrea was good as her job. She turned the lovely smile to Kirk. "And you must be Captain Kirk of the Starship Enterprise. I can't tell you how we appreciate your bringing Roger's fiancée to him."
Christine stiffened at the use of Korby's first name. "I don't remember Doctor Korby's mentioning an 'Andrea' as a member of his staff."
The smile didn't waver. "You are exactly as Roger described you. No wonder he's missed you so."
Such awareness of Korby's intimate emotions did nothing to alleviate Christine's growing resentment. Kirk, conscious of it, said, "Where is Doctor Korby?"
"Here, Captain." A strong-faced man, easily seen to be the man of the Enterprise photograph, had emerged from another door. Kirk was absurdly reminded of a theatrical buildup to the star's entrance. That Korby was the star, there was no mistaking. Kirk, himself accustomed to command, recognized the self-assurance in another commander. Korby, his hand extended, said, "I've been looking forward to meeting you."
Kirk had lost a crewman to a brutal death. He didn't like Brown. Nor had he lost his heart to Andrea. Ignoring the hand, he contented himself with saying, "And I to meeting you, sir."
"Roger . . ." Christine said.
"Christine . . . darling . . ."
She went to him. He bent to kiss her outstretched hands. Kirk, still wary, saw the honest joy in both their faces. It was a reunion that recovered two relationships—the intellectual bond of teacher and student, the bond of physical love between man and woman. Both loves still lived after all the years apart. So much was clear as they embraced—an embrace restrained in the others' presence but a double reunion that was real.
Christine lifted her head from his shoulder. Misty-eyed, she said, "I knew I'd find you."
He drew her back. "Forgive me, Captain. It's been a long time."
"There's no need to apologize, sir."
"The captain lost a man in the caverns, Doctor," Brown said.
There was no doubt of the horror on Korby's face. He released Christine to whirl on Brown. "What? How did it happen?"
"The pit near the outer junction. The edge must have given way."
Visibly shaken, Korby was silent. Then he spoke. "Captain, what can I say? I should have been there. I know the passages so well. I am sorry—so sorry."
"It isn't your fault, Doctor." Kirk had his communicator out. "Captain to Rayburn," he said. "Rayburn, report." As he waited for Rayburn's voice, he turned back to Korby. "I'll have to call my ship on a security confirmation. If you have any cargo requirements, any special needs, I'll be glad—"
"Captain!" Korby interrupted. His face was suddenly agitated. "I should much prefer—"
It was Kirk's turn to interrupt. He spoke loudly into the communicator. "Kirk to Rayburn. Rayburn, are you receiving me?"
He made an adjustment on the communicator and tried again. Then he gave himself a moment. "My other man has failed to respond, Doctor. It is now necessary that I call my ship . . ."
"No communications, Captain!"
It was Brown who had shouted. In his hand he held an old-style phaser rifle. It was aimed at Kirk's heart.
Aghast, Christine said, "Roger, what . . ."
"I'm sorry, dear," Korby said. "But if they should send down more people . . ."
Kirk, appalled by the sudden turn events had taken, realized that Andrea, rushing at him, had snatched the communicator from his hand.
"Roger!" Christine cried. "This man . . . this girl . . . Why do you allow . . .?”
"Your captain won't be harmed," Korby said hurriedly. "Christine, listen. You must admit the possibility that there are things here unknown to you but so vitally important that—"
"Doctor Korby!" Kirk shouted. "I have one man dead! Now I've got another one out of contact!"
"Take his weapon, Andrea," Korby said.
The girl began to circle Kirk to get at the phaser hung on the rear of his belt. He drew back—and Brown leveled the rifle at his forehead. Kirk grabbed for reason. "Doctor, I have a command to consider, crewmen, a Starship . . ."
"This is necessary, Captain. You will understand."
Kirk moved. He jerked out his phaser; and all in the same blur of action, ducked behind a heavy desk.
"Drop that rifle!" he said to Brown.
Instead, Brown's finger reached for the trigger. Kirk fired his phaser—and Brown fell.
Christine screamed, "Captain, behind you . . .!”
Her warning came too late. The hairless ape-thing had him by the arm. Under the fierce force of the grip, he was lifted high into the air, his whole body convulsed by the arm's agony. The phaser rang on the stone floor. Like a puppet, he kicked, helpless in the immense hand—and the other one struck him in the jaw. Christine screamed again. And he was dropped to fall, limp, half-conscious in a crumpled heap.
Christine, paralyzed with horror, stared vaguely around her as though seeking some answer to the incomprehensible. Then she saw what she had to see. Brown lay on the floor near Kirk, face upturned. There was no blood on the chest where the phaser beam had struck him. Instead, a metallic tangle of twisted dials and wires protruded from it . . . the infinitely complex circuitry required to animate an android robot.
Kirk found the strength to move his eyes. Then, he, too, saw what Christine had seen.
An anxious Spock was at Uhura's panel when she finally received Kirk's signal.
"Frequency open, sir," she told him, re
lief in her face.
He seized the speaker. "Spock here, Captain."
The familiar voice said, "Contact established with Doctor Korby."
"We were becoming concerned, Captain. Your check-in is overdue. Nor have we heard from your security team."
"There's no problem, Mr. Spock. They're with me. Return to ship will take about forty-eight hours. Doctor Korby's records and specimens will need careful packing."
"We can send down a work detail, sir."
"Korby has ample staff here. It's just that the work is quite delicate."
Abruptly Spock asked, "Captain . . . Is everything all right down there?"
Nothing was all right down there.
Spock had received no signal from Kirk. The captain of the Enterprise was sitting on a bunk in a detention chamber, watching as his voice issued from the mouth of the hairless ape-thing across the room. His communicator looked like a cigarette lighter in the creature's enormous paw. Korby was supervising its performance. He wasn't enjoying it. There was real concern for Kirk in his face. But real or unreal, Korby's feelings, his work, the man himself had ceased to matter to Kirk. The hot rage he felt had burned up all save the overriding fact that a neolithic savage was masquerading as commander of the Enterprise.
He tensed on the bunk. The bald thing noted it; and clicking the communicator off, prepared for muscle work.
"Please be still," Korby said. "If you move or cry out, Ruk may injure you. At least wait until you and I can talk together."
The communicator snapped back on. And a yet more anxious Spock said to Ruk, "Acknowledge, Captain. You sound tired."
Kirk heard his exact intonation come again from the flabby lips. "It's just the excitement of what we've found out, Mr. Spock. Korby's discoveries are scientifically amazing. All under control. Stand by for regular contact, Kirk out."
Ruk closed the communicator.
"This isn't a vain display, Captain," Korby said. "You know my reputation. Trust me."
"Yes, I know your reputation," Kirk said. "The whole galaxy knows who you are and what you used to stand for."
"There's so much you must learn before you make a judgment," Korby said. He turned to Ruk. "Andrea," he said tersely.
The loose mouth opened to say sweetly, "And you must be Captain Kirk of the Starship Enterprise."
There was horror in the sound of the girlish voice emerging from the bald grotesque across the room. Kirk's obvious repulsion pleased it. Ruk began to show off.
It was Korby's voice now, saving, "Forgive me, Captain. It's been a long time." Then it was Christine's turn. Ruk reproduced her precise emotional inflection in the words, "I knew I'd find you."
"Enough!" Korby said sharply. "You are not to mock Christine! You are never to harm her!"
"Or disobey an order from her?" Kirk said.
Korby rose to the challenge. To Ruk he said, "You will never disobey Christine's orders." He looked at Kirk. "Satisfied, Captain?" He came over to sit beside Kirk on the bunk. Ruk rose, menacing. Korby waved him back. "Give me just twenty-four hours to convince you, Captain."
"Must I be a prisoner to be convinced?"
"What would your first duty be on return to your ship? A report! Do you realize how many vital discoveries have been lost to laymen's superstitions, their ignorance?"
"Here is an ignorant layman's question for you, Doctor," Kirk said. "Where is my man I could not contact?"
"Ruk is programmed to protect my experiments. The logic of his machine-mind saw danger to me . . ."
"Where is my other crewman?" Kirk repeated.
Korby's voice was very quiet. "Ruk—destroyed them both, Captain. But totally against my wishes, believe me."
Kirk's fists clenched. He looked down at them; and deliberately relaxing them, swallowed. Putting interest into his voice, he said, "He's a robot, isn't he? Like Brown?"
Korby nodded to Ruk. The thing spoke heavily, dully. "More complex than Brown, much superior. The old ones made me."
Korby said, "Ruk was still tending the machinery when we arrived here. How many centuries old he is even Ruk doesn't know. With his help, with the records I could find, we built Brown."
"You've convinced me, Doctor," Kirk said. "You've convinced me that you're a very dangerous man . . ."
He pushed Korby off the bunk; and in a fast pivot, shoved him across the room at Ruk. Then he made a leap for the door. But Ruk was too quick for him. Moving with a surprising speed, the thing grabbed his arm and flung him back across the room. He struck the hard masonry of the wall, thrust against it to regain his feet—but the move was useless. He was seized and lifted, a toy in the gigantic hand.
"Careful, Ruk!" Korby shouted. "Gently!"
The vise-like grip eased. But Ruk's notion of gentleness left something to be desired. He cuffed Kirk across the head—and dropped him, unconscious.
"Where is Captain Kirk?"
Christine stopped pacing the length of Korby's study to put the question to an Andrea who'd suddenly appeared through a door. The sweetly innocent looked back at her, puzzled.
"You are concerned about the captain when you are with Roger again? I do not understand."
There was that familiar use of his name again. Christine was engulfed by a desolate sense of helplessness. She could understand nothing at all, not the man she had loved so long, his purpose nor his companions.
"Yes," she said. "I am much concerned about the captain."
With manifest sincerity, her voice wholly guileless, Andrea said, "How can you love Roger without trusting him?"
Christine didn't answer. The query had gone straight to the heart of her agony. She began her restless pacing again and Andrea said, "Why does it trouble you when I use the name 'Roger'?"
"It is sufficient that it does trouble her."
Korby had entered the study. Ruk was with him, the giant hand tight on Kirk's arm. The door hummed closed behind them; and Korby, moving to Andrea, said, "You will call me 'Doctor Korby' from now on."
She said, "Yes, Doctor Korby."
He took Christine's cold hand, smiling down into her eyes. "As you can see, dear, Captain Kirk is fine. He won't be harmed. What's at stake here simply makes it necessary to prevent his reporting to his ship. I need time to explain, to demonstrate to him—and to you. Shall we start with Andrea?"
"Yes," she said. "Do start with Andrea."
The girl spoke simply, openly. "I am like Doctor Brown—an android robot. You did not know?"
"Remarkable, isn't she?" Korby said. He looked, back at Kirk. "Notice the lifelike pigmentation, the variation in skin tones." He lifted Andrea's wrist. "The flesh has warmth. There's even a pulse, physical sensation . . ."
"Remarkable, indeed," Christine said.
The bitter irony in her voice got through to Korby. He released Andrea's wrist. "Darling," he said to Christine, "all I require for my purpose are obedience and awareness . . ."
It was an unfortunate choice of words. Christine walked away from him. For a moment he lost his self-assurance. Then he followed her. "Christine. You must realize that an android robot is like a computer. It does only what I program into it. As a trained scientist yourself, you must surely see . . ."
". . . that given a mechanical assistant, constructing a mechanical 'geisha' would be easy?"
Korby suddenly reached for Christine, pulling her close to him. "Do you think I could love a machine?" he demanded.
"Did you?" she said.
"Love can't exist where all is predictable! Christine, you must listen! Love must have imperfection—moments of worship, moments of hate. Andrea is as incapable of anger and fear as she is of love. She has no meaning for me. She simply obeys orders! Watch her . . ."
He spoke to Andrea. "Kiss Captain Kirk," he said.
She kissed Kirk.
"Now strike him," Korby said.
She slapped Kirk.
"You see, Christine? All she can do is what she's told to do. She's a sterile, a computer—a thing, not a woman." He
whirled to Kirk. "Have you nothing to say, Captain?"
"Yes, Doctor, I have something to say," Kirk said, "If these inventions of yours can only do what they're told to do, why did Brown attack me? Who told him to do it? For that matter, who told this thing"—he indicated Ruk—"to kill two of my men?"
Korby's face went closed, cold. Taking Christine's arm, he said, "Come with me, darling. You owe it to me." She looked at Kirk, the feeling of nightmare helplessness still heavier in her limbs. Then she went with Korby.
His laboratory was at the end of a lengthy corridor. It was spotlessly white. Cabinets of gleaming equipment shared its walls with banks of computer-like control panels. But its dominating feature was a large central turntable. It was flanked by two squat dynamos. Ruk was busy at the table. Into a scooped-out hollow in its top, he was fitting a mold of some greenish-brown stuff, roughly conformed to the height and breadth of a human body. As a cook pats dough into a bread pan, his gargantuan hands worked deftly to shape the mold into the indentation. It was when they reached for a shining, complicated mechanism suspended from the ceiling that Christine first noticed it. Then she saw there was a similar one hanging over the other side of the table. Ruk lowered the nearer device over the mold's midsection. Slowly the table began to turn.
Its opposite side slid into view. Kirk was lying on it, eyes closed, pressed down, immobile. The ceiling's other machine, descended over him, covered him from breast to thighs.
Pointing to it, Korby said proudly, "This is how we make an android robot."
With a signal to Ruk, he went over to a wall of control panels. He twisted a knob. Blue lights flashed deep, blinding, within the instrumentation that masked the alternately passing mold-form and the body of Kirk. The heavy dynamos glowed red, throbbing under impulses of power flowing to them from the control panel. When Korby made an adjustment to increase the turning speed of the table, a dizziness seized Christine. She leaned back against an equipment cabinet, her eyes shut against the vertigo. When she opened them, the blue lights were blazing, pulsating to the rhythm of a human heartbeat. And the table was spinning now, blurring the forms it held in a haze of speed so fast they appeared to be one.
