by James Blish
Sulu looked at the wall niches emptied of their sculptures.
"No," he said.
Trelane gave him an Oriental bow from the waist. "Yes, it is so much more fitting, Honorable Guest." He paused, catching a mirrored glimpse of his well-padded calves in their leg-hose; and the fatuous look of self-admiration on his face exploded the last remnants of De Salle's control.
"You little—!" he snarled and charged Trelane.
Kirk cried out a warning but it came too late. Trelane had made his hand wave—and once again, De Salle went stiff, immovable. Interestedly, Trelane circled him, peering into his frozen face. "Ah, what primitive fury! He is the very soul of sublime savagery!"
Kirk said, "Trelane, let him go." He repeated the sentence. "I said, 'Let him go!' "
Trelane stared at him. Then he nodded. "Yes, of course. I forget I must not frighten you too much. But then, you must not provoke me again. For your own sake, I warn you. I am sometimes quite short-tempered." There came another slight move of his hand; and De Salle relaxed the hands that had been reaching for Trelane's throat. Kirk clamped a firm hold on him. Sulu, seizing his other arm, whispered harshly, "De Salle, we don't even have our phasers!"
"Come, everyone!" Trelane, over at the table, pointed to chairs. "Let us forget your bad manners! Let us be full of merry talk and sallies of wit! See, here are victuals to delight the palate and brave company to delight the mind!" Pouring brandy, he offered glasses to McCoy and Sulu. "Partake, good Doctor. And you, Honorable Guest, you likee, too." Then it was the turns of De Salle and Jaeger. "Allons, enfants! Zum Kampf, mein Herr!"
His men looked tensely at Kirk. Nodding at the table, he said, "Play along. That's an order!"
As they began to pick halfheartedly at the lavish array of food, Kirk, Spock beside him, was giving Trelane a look of deep concentration. What was the secret of his power? Vain, silly, a showoff and braggart, he yet possessed the secret that had enabled him to establish a habitable enclave on an uninhabitable planet and to do what he said he could do—transport matter at will. In the florid face and features, there was no indication of the acute intelligence required to evolve his tricks. In fact, his look of fatuity was more pronounced than ever as, turning to Kirk, he said, "I fear you are derelict in your social duty, Captain. You have not yet introduced me to the charming contingent of your crew."
There was a small silence before Kirk spoke to Uhura and Teresa. "This is—General Trelane."
"Retired," Trelane corrected him. "However, if you prefer, dear ladies, you may address me simply as the lonely Squire of Gothos."
Still introducing, Kirk said, "This lady is Uhura, our communications officer . . ."
Trelane went to her, took her hand and bowed over it. "A Nubian prize, eh, Captain? Taken no doubt in one of your raids of conquest. She has the same melting eyes of the Queen of Sheba . . . the same lovely skin color . . ."
With a poorly disguised shudder, Uhura pulled her hand free; and unfazed, brashly melodramatic as ever, Trelane turned to Teresa. "And this lady?" Hand over heart, he burst into recitation.
"Is this the face that launched a thousand ships
And burnt the topless towers of Ilium?
Fair Helen, make me immortal with a kiss!"
Teresa flushed, stepping back; and Kirk, to distract Trelane's unwelcome attention from her, went on quickly. "Yeoman Teresa Ross. You've met Mr. Spock, our Science Officer." Trelane looked Spock up and down. "You realize," he said, "it is only in deference to the Captain that I brought you down?"
"Affirmative," Spock said.
"I don't think I like your tone. It's most challenging. Is that what you're doing—challenging me?"
"I object to you," Spock said. "I object to intellect without discipline; to power without purpose."
"Why, Mr. Spock," cried Trelane, "you do have a saving grace! You're ill mannered . . . the human half of you, no doubt. But I am wasting time . . ." He grabbed Teresa's hands. "Come, my wood nymph! Dance with your swain! And you, dear Nubian beauty, give us some sprightly music!"
"I do not know how to play this instrument," Uhura said.
"Of course you do!"
Uhura looked at Kirk. Then, turning, she fingered the harpsichord keyboard; and was startled to hear the rush of notes ripple from under her hands. Trelane swept Teresa into his arms and burst into a wildly gyrating waltz with her.
"Captain, how far do we go along with this charade?"
It was Sulu's question. Kirk's response was tightly grim. "Until we can think our way out of here. Meanwhile, we'll accept his hospitality . . ."
McCoy snorted with disgust. "Hospitality!" He replaced his laden plate on the table. "You should try his food, Jim. Straw would be tastier than this pheasant. As to the brandy in this glass, plain water has more taste. Nothing he has served has any taste at all."
Spock spoke meditatively. "Food that has no flavor. Wine that has no taste. Fire that gives no heat Added up, it would seem to suggest that, though Trelane knows all the Earth forms, he knows nothing whatever of their substance."
"And if he's that fallible, he can't be all-powerful. That means he's got something helping him."
"I agree, sir," Spock said.
"A machine. A device—something which does these things for him." Kirk's eyes narrowed as he watched the cavorting Trelane halt his dance briefly in order to adore himself in the walled mirror. "Ah, my dear," he cried to Teresa, "don't we make a graceful pair . . . except for one small detail. That dress you wear hardly matches this charming scene!" Then, Trelane, his eyes fixed on the mirror, lifted that hand of his. Teresa vanished—and immediately reappeared. She was wearing the billowing silks of a luxurious eighteenth-century gown. Diamond bracelets sparkled on her gloved arm; and in her hair glittered a pointed tiara of brilliants.
"Now that's more what we want!" Trelane shouted in delight. "I, the dashing warrior—and you, his elegant lady!"
It was another too impressive demonstration of his extraordinary powers. McCoy's voice was tight. "Three thousand years ago, he would have been considered a god . . . a little god of war." He gave a short, angry laugh. "How surprised the ancients would have been to see—not the grim-visaged brute they visualized as a war god—but a strutting dandy, spreading his peacock's tail in a mirror!"
Kirk echoed the word. "Mirror. That mirror is part of his audience. It's a piece of his ego. He never wanders far from it"
"Is it ego?" Spock said. "Or something else?"
"Explain," Kirk said.
"The mirror," Spock said.
"What about it?"
"As you said, sir, he never gets much distance away from it. I suppose it could be just vanity."
"No, Mr. Spock. He's vain enough—but vanity can't account for his dependence on the mirror." He paused. "What kind of machine could do these things?"
Spock said, "An extremely sophisticated one. In addition to the power to create matter from energy, to guide its shape and motion by thought waves, it would have to have a vast memory bank."
Kirk nodded. "Like a computer. Would you say a machine small enough to be contained in this room could be responsible for maintaining this atmosphere, this house?"
"No, Captain. I think not. Such a device would by necessity be immense—immensely powerful to successfully resist the planet's natural atmosphere."
"Good," Kirk said. "I agree. And that leaves me free . . ."
"Free for what, Captain?"
"To do something which will seem very strange to you, Mr. Spock. Don't think that the strain has got me down. I know exactly what I'm doing."
"Which is—?"
For the first tone since meeting the Squire of Gothos, Kirk grinned. "I am going to turn his lights off at their source, Mr. Spock." Then he fell silent. As Trelane waltzed by them with Teresa, he spoke again with unusual loudness. "Nobody is to be too upset by what you see. I am addressing my own people. The actions of this being are those of an immature, unbalanced mind!"
Abruptly, Trela
ne stopped prancing. "I overheard that last remark. I'm afraid I'll have to dispense with you, Captain." As the arm began to lift, Kirk said, "You only heard part of it. I was just getting started, Trelane!"
The creature's eyes brightened with curiosity. "Ok?"
"Yes," Kirk said. "I want you to leave my crewmen alone! And my crewwomen, too!" He reached for Teresa, pulled her away from Trelane, and lifting her, set her down behind him. Then he wheeled to face her. "You're not to dance with him anymore! I don't like it!"
First, he snatched the diamond tiara from her hair. Then he reached for the bracelets, peeling them off her arm along with her white glove. Flushing, the girl cried, "Captain, please don't think . . ."
Trelane gave a chortle of pleasure. "Why, I believe the good captain is jealous of me!"
"Believe what you like," Kirk said. "Just keep your hands off her!"
Trelane was staring at him. "How curiously human," he said. "How wonderfully barbaric!"
Taut, no longer acting, Kirk said, "I've had enough of your attentions to her!"
"Of course you have. After all, it's the root of the matter, isn't it, Captain? We males fight for the attention, the admiration, the possession of women—"
Kirk struck him across the face with Teresa's glove. "If fighting is what you want, you'll have it!"
Trelane gave a leap of joy. "You mean—you are challenging me to a duel?" Eyes dancing, he cried, "This is even better than I'd planned. I shall not shirk an affair of honor!" Skipping like a lamb in spring, he ran over to the gleaming box that hung among the weapons displayed over the fireplace. He removed it, lifting its lid. "A matched set," he said. "A matched set exactly like the one that slew your heroic Alexander Hamilton."
Bowing, he presented the box to Kirk. On its velvet lining reposed two curve-handled, flintlock dueling pistols.
Trelane took one. He pointed it at Kirk's head. "Captain," he said, "it may momentarily interest you to know that I never miss my target."
He moved over to take up his position at one side of the room. As he checked the mechanism of his pistol, McCoy, Sulu and the others gathered in an anxious group behind Kirk. He waved them back, thinking, "I know what I'll have to report to the log. Weaponless, powerless, our only hope of escape with the Enterprise is playing his games with this retardate of Gothos." He looked up from the absurdity of the ancient dueling pistol. His adversary had a look of rapturous enchantment on his face.
"Fascinating!" he cried ecstatically. "I stand on a Field of Honor. I am party to an actual human duel!"
"Are you ready, Trelane?"
"Quite ready, Captain. We shall test each other's courage—and then—"the voice thickened—"we shall see . . ."
Kirk started to lift his pistol when Trelane cried, "Wait! As the one challenged, I claim the right of the first shot"
"We shoot together," Kirk said.
Trelane was querulous. "It's my game—and my rules." Raising his gun, he aimed it straight at Spock. "But if you need to be persuaded . . ."
When you were dealing with a moral idiot, it was morally idiotic to take heroic stands. "All right," Kirk said. "You shoot first."
"Captain—" Spock was pretesting. But Kirk had already lowered his pistol. And Trelane, craving the heroic limelight momentarily focused on Kirk, raised his gun above his head and fired a shot harmlessly into the ceiling.
He was so enraptured by the glory of the figure he cut in his own imagination that he couldn't contain his pleasure. "And now, Captain—how do you say it?—my fate is in your hands." He shut his eyes with a beatific smile; and tearing open his shirt front, exposed his chest to whatever shot, whatever Fate had in store for him.
What Fate had in store for him was surprise. Instead of sending a bullet into Trelane's chest, Kirk sent one, smack! into the center of the mirror on the wall. The glass shattered. And explosively, from behind it, burst a tangle of electronic circuitry, mingled with broken grids and wire-disgorging cables. Something flashed, hissing viciously, spitting blue sparks.
Trelane screamed. He ran to the spark-showering mirror, screaming, "What have you done? What have you done?"
"The machine of power," Spock said very quietly.
It burned out quickly. Above their heads, the rows of candles in the chandelier flickered and died. A grayish, bleak twilight crept into the room. In the grate, the heatless fire was extinct, its passing marked only by a puff of evil-smelling smoke.
Trelane shrieked at the sight of the suddenly dead room. "You've ruined everything!" He sank down on the harpsichord bench; and his elbows, leaned back against its keyboard, evoked a hideously discordant jangle, shrill, ear-splitting.
Beside Kirk, struggling with his communicator, De Salle said, "Captain, subspace interference is clearing . . ."
"Contact the ship!"
Trelane had partially recovered himself. Still torn between contempt for Kirk and admiration, the Squire of Gothos indulged himself in an objective comment. "The remarkable treachery of the human species," he said—and getting up, walked over to the wall bedecked with the blackened ruins of the mirror. Watching him, Kirk said, "Go on, Trelane! Look at it! It's over! Your power is blanked out! You're finished?"
For the first time, genuine feeling triumphed over the emotional theatricality of the Squire of Gothos. He looked somberly at Kirk. "You have earned my wrath," he said. "Go back to your ship! Go back to it! Then prepare. All of you, you are dead men . . . you in particular, Captain Kirk!"
He had begun to move toward the burnt space which had held the wall mirror. As he reached it, he was gone. Kirk, just a step behind him, was brought up against a blank wall. He stepped back from it, turning to his people. "Everyone! We're getting out of here—and now!"
His voice was hoarse as he spoke into his communicator. "This is the captain, Enterprise! Commence beaming us up! Make it maximum speed!"
Scott gave their beam-up maximum speed. Kirk left the Transporter Room for the bridge with the same variety of leg haste. In his chair, he quickly reached for the intercom. "Scotty, full power acceleration from orbit!"
"Full power, sir."
The ship leaped forward, and on the viewing screen the crescent-shaped bulk that was Gothos began to dwindle in size.
Kirk said, "Set course for Colony Beta Six, Mr. Sulu."
"Laid in, sir."
"Warp Factor One at the earliest possible moment."
Sulu said, "Standing by to warp, sir."
Uhura, back with her panels, turned. "Shall I send a full report to Space Fleet Command, Captain?"
Kirk frowned. "Not yet. Not until we're well out of his range. Our beam might be traced."
Spock spoke from his computer post. "Can we know what his range is, sir?"
"We can make an educated guess. At this point—" Kirk had strode over to Spock's assortment of star maps and was directing a forefinger at a spot on one of them. "This is where we first detected the solar system." He was about to return to his chair when he noted Teresa, still wearing the panniered gown of flowered silk. His look of admiration roused her to the realization of its incongruity.
"Sir," she said, "may I take a moment to change, now that the ball is over?"
Kirk smiled at her. "You may—but you'll have to give up that highly becoming garment for scientific analysis, Yeoman Ross."
She flushed. And he tore his eyes away from the vision she made to look back at the viewing screen. Gothos had grown smaller and smaller. Even as he watched, it was lost to sight.
Uhura, the relaxation of her relief in her voice, said, "Still no sign of pursuit, sir. Instruments clear."
Sulu, turning his head, said, "Captain, we are about to warp"—and at the same moment De Salle gave a shout.
"Screen, sir! Large body ahead!"
Just a moment ago the screen had been empty. Kirk stared at its new inhabitant; and De Salle, jumping to his feet, yelled, "Collision course, sir!"
Tight-lipped, Kirk said, "Helm hard to port!"
The bridge cre
w staggered under the push by the sharp turn. All eyes were fixed on the screen where the crescent-shaped image loomed larger and larger. Then the Enterprise had veered away from it. A mutter came from the stunned De Salle. "That was the planet Gothos," he said.
Kirk whirled to Sulu. "Mr. Sulu, have we been going in a circle?"
"No, sir! All instruments show on course . . ."
De Salle gave another yell. "It's Gothos again, Captain!"
The planet had once more appeared on the screen. Kirk barked the evasive order—and again people staggered under the centrifugal force of the ship's abrupt turn. The image of the planet, shrunken on the screen, suddenly enlarged once again. Without order, Sulu put the ship into a vertiginous turn-maneuver. As they came out of it, Spock said, "Cat and mouse game."
"With Trelane the cat," Kirk said tightly.
De Salle, his capacity for intense reaction exhausted, said, low-voiced, "There it is, sir—dead ahead . . ."
On the screen the planet showed red, wreathed by fiery mists. It seemed to boil, noxious, hideously ulcerous, with its eruptive skin. Kirk, his jaw set, spoke, "Ninety degrees starboard, Mr. Sulu!"
But though Sulu moved his helm controls, the planet held its place on the screen, always increasing its size.
"We're turning, Captain," Sulu cried. "We're turning—but we're not veering away from it!"
Kirk shouted. "Ninety subport, Mr. Sulu. Adjust!"
What was happening on the screen continued to happen on it. Desperate, Sulu cried, "A complete turn, sir—and we're still accelerating toward the planet!"
Dry as dust, Spock said, "Or it toward us."
Kirk was staring in silence at the screen. "That's it!" he said. He wheeled his chair around. "We will decelerate into orbit! We will return to orbit! Prepare the Transporter Room!"
McCoy spoke for the first time. "You're not going down there, Captain! You can't do it, Jim!"
Kirk got up. "I am going down, Doctor McCoy. And I am going to delight my eyes again with the sight of our whimsical General Trelane. And if it takes wringing his neck to make him let my ship go . . ." He was at the bridge elevator. "Mr. Spock, stand by communicators. If you receive no message from me in one hour, leave this vicinity. At once. Without any sentimental turning back for me."
