Star Trek 11

by James Blish

  But Spock was savoring the taste. "It is . . . somewhat stimulating." He paused. "And yes, Doctor, you seem to be moving very slowly. Fascinating."

  He winked out. McCoy sank down in a chair, his eyes on the vacancy where Spock had stood.

  Rael, his face intent, twisted a knob on his refrigerating mechanism. When it flared into red life, he adjusted another one. He nodded to himself as it began to pulsate, its throb dimming the lights of the life support unit. He touched his communicator medallion. "The arrangement is activated, Deela. Go to the Transporter Room and beam-down at once. The others have already left."

  Scott was at the console. Unseeing, unmoving, he didn't turn as Kirk entered the room with Deela. Time, time, Kirk thought—was there no way to gain more time? He looked at the Transporter platform that was to maroon him on Scalos, and Deela said, "Come, Captain. We are leaving your pretty ship. Your crew will be all right. You said so yourself."

  He smiled at her. "Know something?" he said. "I think I'll make sure of it." Then he caught her; and wrenching her weapon from her belt, ran for the door.

  She screamed into her medallion. "Rael! He broke away! He's armed—"

  "I'm ready for him!"

  Kirk, was racing down the corridor to life support, ducking the stony figures of his crewmen. The beam of a phaser lanced the darkness—and he brought up short. Then he saw Spock. They didn't speak. They didn't need to. A vicious ping came from the open life support door. Together, they dodged, split, and, weapons out, plunged through the door.

  Rael fired again, missed—and Kirk stunned him with Deela's weapon. At the same moment, Spock's phaser beam struck the Scalosian machine. It continued to flare and throb. Kirk aimed his weapon at it. It burst into flame, melted and was still.

  "Nice to see you, Mr. Spock," Kirk said.

  "Rael!"

  It was Deela. She ran to the slumped body, feeling for its heart. Satisfied, she kissed Rael's lips. Then she looked up at Kirk. "You're very clever, Captain. You tricked me. I should have known you'd never adjust." She had Rael in her arms. "What shall we expect from you?"

  "We could put you in suspended animation until we determine how to use you," he said. "What do you want us to do with you?"

  She was close to tears. "Oh, Captain, don't make a game of this! We've lost. You've won. Dispose of us."

  "If I send you back to Scalos, you'll undoubtedly play he same trick on the next space ship that passes."

  She was openly weeping now. "There'll never be another one come by. You'll warn them. Your Federation will quarantine this entire area."

  "I'm sure it will."

  "And we'll die out. We'll solve your problem that way. And ours."

  "Will you accept help?" Kirk said. "We can't be helped. I've told you . . ."

  "Madam," Spock said, "I respectfully suggest that as we are advanced beyond your rating on the Industrial Scale, we may be able to be of some help."

  "Our best people in the Federation will work on it. Will you accept our offer, Deela, and go in peace?"

  Clearly, there were aspects to Kirk's nature she had not suspected. She looked at him wonderingly. After a moment, the old mischief glinted in her green eyes. She shrugged. "What have we to lose?"

  She looked down at Rael. He was recovering consciousness. "We have lost," she told him quietly. "It is you and I who will transport down to Scalos." He smiled up at her. "Soon," he said. As they took their places on the platform, Deela turned to Kirk at the console. "Now about your problem, Captain. I note that your Vulcan friend, too, has been accelerated."

  Spock spoke. "If you will devote yourself exclusively to the concerns of Scalos, Madam, we shall be very happy to stay and take care of the Enterprise."

  "Spock," Kirk said, "remind me sometime to tell you how I've missed you."

  "Yes, Captain."

  "You could find life on Scalos very pleasant, Captain," Deela urged.

  "And brief," Kirk said.

  "Do I really displease you so much?"

  "I can think of nothing I'd like more than staying with you. Except staying alive."

  "Will you visit us, Captain?"

  "Energize!"

  "Captain . . . Captain . . . goodbye . . ." Spock had moved the controls. They dissolved—and were gone. Kirk stared at the empty platform a long moment. Then, turning briskly to Spock, he said, "And now, how do we get back?"

  "Doctor McCoy and I have synthesized a possible counteragent to the Scalosian water, sir. Regrettably, we lacked the opportunity to test it."

  "Then let's test it." He took the solution Spock gave him and swallowed it. Deela and Rael. It was all for the best. You couldn't have everything you wanted. Sex—a peculiar magnetic field. Her eyes . . . like wet green leaves . . .

  Preoccupied, he vaguely heard Spock say, "Your motion seems to be slowing down, sir."

  Kirk started to' speak. "Missssterrr . . . Spock!" He drew a deep breath. The counteragent had worked. They were back in their own time! Then, abruptly, he realized that Spock hadn't answered. He wheeled—and before his eyes, Spock vanished.

  "Spock! Spock, where are you?" Scott came through the door to halt in midstride, "Captain Kirk!" he yelled. "Where in blazes did you come from?"

  There was no cause to panic. Bones would have more of the counteragent. But Vulcan physiology was a tricky thing. What had worked for him would not necessarily work for Spock. What then? A permanent isolation in an accelerated universe? Kirk had whipped out his communicator before he remembered it was useless, dead as the ship itself. The bridge! He had to get to the bridge! Search parties? Futile. They couldn't see him. If Spock were there beside him, he, Kirk himself, couldn't see him.

  He ignored the bridge's hubbub of welcome. Passing Uhura's station, he snapped, "Lieutenant, try to set our recorder at maximum speed . . ."

  "Yes, sir." But the lights on her console had gone mad. The rapidity of their flashing turned them into blur. And all around him other boards and panels were affected by the same dementia. Suddenly, relief engulfed him. Grinning, he spoke to Scott. "I think we've found Mr. Spock. Lieutenant Uhura, are your circuits clearing?"

  Her face was startled. "Yes, sir."

  "Mr. Sulu?"

  "Clearing, sir."

  "Lieutenant Uhura, open all channels." He seized his mike. "Captain to crew. Repairs to the ship are being completed by Mr. Spock. We will resume normal operations . . . just about immediately."

  The air beside his chair seemed to thicken. It solidified. Kirk looked at the elegantly pointed ears. "Greetings, Mr. Spock. My compliments on your repair work."

  "Thank you, Captain. I have found it all a most fascinating experience."

  "I'm glad," Kirk said. "I'm glad on many counts." He got up to pace the round of the stations. "Malfunctions—any anywhere?" Faces beamed at him. He returned to his chair—and the viewing screen lit up. On it the five Scalosians came back into view, Deela's surpassing loveliness transcendent.

  "Sorry, sir," Uhura said. "I touched the tape button accidentally."

  He leaned back in his chair, eyes on the screen. Deela's face seemed to fill the world. The magnetic field between them—and susceptible to no analysis. The images winked off, leaving the screen blank.

  "Goodbye, Deela," he said softly.

  BREAD AND CIRCUSES

  (Gene Roddenberry and Gene L. Coon)

  * * *

  There was no doubt about it. The space debris spotted by the Enterprise scanners was all that was left of the Beagle, an S.S. survey vessel posted as missing for six years. A mixture of personal belongings and portions of instrumentation, the floating junk contained no evidence of human bodies. The conclusion was plain to Kirk. The Beagle's crew had managed to beam down to a planet before catastrophe had destroyed their ship.

  "Mr. Chekov," he said, "compute present drift of the wreckage."

  "Computed and on the board, sir."

  Kirk glanced at the figures. Then he rose and went to his Science officer. "Mr. Spock, assuming
that stuff has been drifting at the same speed and direction for six years . . .?"

  Spock completed a reading on his library computer. "It would have come from planet four in Star System eight nine two, directly ahead, Captain."

  Chekov called. "Only one-sixteenth parsec away, sir. We could be there in seconds!"

  Kirk nodded to him. "Standard orbit around the planet There may be survivors there, Mr. Chekov."

  Spock had more information on the lost Beagle. "She was a small Class Four stardrive vessel, crew of forty-seven, commanded by—" He withdrew his head from his hooded viewer. "I believe you know him, sir. Captain R. M. Merrick."

  "Yes, at the Academy." It had been a long time ago; and it wasn't too pleasant a memory at that. Merrick had been dropped in his fifth year. Rumor had it he'd gone into the merchant service. True or false, he'd known him. If, by some chance, Merrick was down there, abandoned on that star . . .

  Kirk turned to the bridge screen. They were coming up on the planet. The pinpoint of light it had been was enlarging, growing rounder, transforming itself into a bluish ball, not unlike Earth. But the oceans and land masses were different.

  He said so and Spock shook his head. "In shape only, Captain. The proportion of land to water is exactly as on your home planet. Density 5.5 . . . diameter 7917 at the equator . . . atmosphere 78% nitrogen, 21% oxygen. Again, exactly like Earth." He looked up, gesturing to his viewer-computer. "And I picked up indications of large cities."

  "Development?" Kirk said.

  "No signs of atomic energy yet. But far enough along for radio communications, power transportation, an excellent road system."

  Uhura slewed around from her station. "Captain! I think I can pick up something visual! A 'news broadcast' using a system I believe was once called 'video'."

  " 'Television' was the colloquial word," Spock observed.

  "Put it on the screen, Lieutenant," Kirk said. For a moment the bridge viewer held only the picture of the planet at orbital distance. Then, as Uhura made a new adjustment, the picture dissolved into the image of a city street—one that, apart from some subtle differences, could have been a city street of Earth's 1960's. Clearly a newscast, the scene showed onlookers in clothes of the period watching police herd up a small group of people in loin cloths.

  An announcer's voice, filtered, spoke from the screen.

  ". . . and in the Forum District today, police rounded up still another collection of dissidents. Authorities are as yet unable to explain these fresh outbreaks of treasonable disobediences by well-treated, well-protected slaves . . ."

  A shocked, amazed silence fell over the Enterprise bridge. But the bland announcer-voice went on. "And now, turning to the world of sports, we bring you taped reports of the arena games last night . . ."

  Two men appeared on the Starship's screen. They were naked except for leather aprons. Helmeted, carrying oblong shields, they were armed with ancient Roman swords. They advanced toward each other. One attacked—and the announcer's voice said, "The first heat involved amateurs, a pair of petty thieves from city prison. Conducted, however, with traditional weapons, it provided some amusement for a few moments . . ."

  The attacker saw his chance. He lunged, driving his sword into the heart of his opponent. To a background of noisy cheers, he stepped back from the bloody body, raising his sword in salute to the arena's galleries. Over the cheers, the announcer said, "The winner will meet another contestant in tonight's games. In the second heat we'll have a more professional display in the spirit of our splendid past, when gladiator Claudius Marcus killed the last of the barbarians, William B. Harrison, in an excellent example of . . ."

  Static crashed. The picture faded to be replaced by the planet view.

  An appalled Uhura, collecting herself, said, "Transmission lost, Captain. Shall I try to get it back?"

  Kirk didn't answer. Instead, both puzzled and astounded, he turned to Spock. "Slaves and gladiators? Some kind of Twentieth-century Rome?"

  Spock's face was unusually, grave as he lifted it from his computer. "Captain, the man described as the 'barbarian' is also listed here—Flight Officer William B. Harrison of the S.S. Beagle. At least there were survivors down there."

  A landing party. There was no alternative. Kirk wheeled. "Ready the Transporter Room, Mr. Sulu."

  They arrived at the base of a shallow canyon. Glancing up at the rocky overhang, Kirk said, "You could have selected a more attractive place, Mr. Spock."

  His first officer was already taking tricorder readings. "Practical, however, Captain. Unpopulated but close to that city we saw. We should not be observed." He looked up from his instrument. "Fascinating how similar is this atmosphere to. your Twentieth century's! Moderately industrialized pollution containing substantial amounts of carbon monoxide and partially consumed hydrocarbons."

  McCoy said, "The word was 'smog'."

  "I believe that was the term, Doctor. I had no idea you were such a historian."

  "I'm not. I just wanted to stop you before we got the whole lecture. Jim, do we know anything at all about this planet?"

  Kirk shook his head. "The Beagle was doing the first survey on this star sector when it disappeared."

  "Then the 'prime directive' is in full effect, Captain."

  "Yes, Mr. Spock. 'No identification of self or mission; no interference with social development of said planet'."

  McCoy nodded ruefully. "No references to space, to other worlds or more advanced civilizations." He grinned. "Once, just once, I'd like to land someplace and say, 'Behold, I am the Archangel Gabriel' . . ."

  Spock cocked a brow at Kirk's chuckle. "I fail to see any humor in such a masquerade."

  McCoy eyed him. "I guess because you could hardly claim to be an angel. But with those ears, Spock, if you landed somewhere carrying a pitchfork . . ."

  A rifle cracked. Its bullet kicked up the dust at Kirk's feet—and a male voice said, "Don't move! Hands in the air!"

  "Complete Earth parallel," Spock remarked, "The language here is English . . ."

  The second shot struck close to his feet.

  "I said don't move!" the voice shouted.

  "I think he means it, Mr. Spock," Kirk said.

  Spock looked down at the bullet mark. "That would seem to be evident, sir."

  They raised their hands. Above their heads, gravel scuffed to the sound of approaching feet. A big, burly man leaped down from the overhang. Three other men followed him. All wore ragged "slave" loincloths and the alert look of fugitives. Though their rifles were conventionally old-fashioned, they used them skillfully to cover the Enterprise trio. Their uniforms seemed to anger the big man. He glared at them with hostility and suspicion.

  "Who are you?" he said.

  Kirk spoke. "We come from another—'province'."

  The man was staring at Spock's ears. "Where are you from? Are those ears?"

  "I call them ears," Spock told him mildly.

  "Are you trying to be funny?"

  "Never," Spock assured him. He spoke to Kirk. "Colloquial Twentieth-century English. Truly an amazing parallel."

  Their captor was clearly baffled. Kirk undertook to enlighten him. "We come from a place quite a distance from here. I doubt if you've ever heard—"

  He was interrupted. Pointing to their clothing, the big leader turned to his men. "Uniforms. Probably some new Praetorian Guard unit." His eyes went back to Kirk. "I should kill you here and now . . . but Septimus would probably be displeased. You can take your hands down. Our rifles are at your backs. Move on!" He gestured ahead of them.

  They obeyed. After about twenty minutes of hard slugging over the rocky terrain, a man in a tattered loin-cloth stepped from behind a boulder, rifle at the ready.

  "Praetorian spies," the big man told him. "I'm taking them to Septimus."

  They were prodded through an entrance of a cave. In its dimness they saw that it held a number of people, the men loinclothed, the women in coarse tunics. At sight of the strangers, they all gathe
red around an elderly man. Under his gray hair, his features were distinguished and benign.

  "I didn't harm them, Septimus," the big man said. "Much as I wanted to."

  He received a quiet nod of approval. "Keep always in your mind, Flavius, that our way is peace."

  McCoy spoke. "For which we are grateful. We are men of peace ourselves."

  "Ah? Are you also children of the sun?"

  McCoy hesitated. "If you mean a worship of some sort, we represent many beliefs . . ."

  "There is only one true belief!" Flavius shouted. "They are Roman butchers sent by the First Citizen!"

  Kirk addressed him directly. "Are we like any Roman you ever saw?"

  "Then are you slaves like ourselves?" Septimus asked.

  "No. Our people do not believe in slavery."

  Flavius cried, "A Roman lie! We must kill them, Septimus!"

  Spock stepped forward. "Sir, we have come here looking for some friends. Forty-seven of them who . . ." he paused, the "prime directive" in mind . . . "were 'stranded' here six years ago. They wore clothing similar to ours. Have you heard of such men?"

  Nobody had. Flavius, still suspicious, said, "Septimus, I know killing is evil but sometimes it's necessary!"

  "No."

  "They've located our hiding-place! It's better that a few of them die than all of us!"

  One of Flavius' men spoke up. "He's right, Septimus. I don't care for myself, but I've brought my wife here, too, my children : . ."

  "If they don't die, Septimus, it's the same as if you killed us all yourself!"

  Flavius rallied more shouts of agreement. Kirk could see that Septimus was wavering. Rifles were lifting. "Wait," he said. "I can prove we're telling the truth! A small device, Flavius. I'll bring it out slowly . . ."

  Fingers were on triggers as he carefully reached for his communicator. He held it out so that it could be openly seen. Then, very slowly, he opened it and placed it to his lips. "Kirk to Enterprise. Come in . . ."

  Scott's filtered voice was audible in the cave's sudden silence. "Scott here, Captain."

  "Lock in on my transmission. Scan us."

  "Scanning, sir."