Star Trek 10

by James Blish

  Kirk nodded. "Thank you, Lieutenant. You'd better report to Sickbay yourself."

  "Aye, aye, sir."

  The image faded—and Ferris strode out of the elevator, his jaw set. "Captain Kirk, if you will check your chronometer, you will see it is exactly 2823.8. Your time is up."

  "Commissioner, my men are still out there," Kirk said.

  "So are the plague victims on New Paris! I now assume the authority granted me under Title Fifteen, Galactic Emergency Procedures. I order you to abandon search, Captain."

  Kirk said, "Shuttlecraft Columbus hasn't returned yet. I also have two search parties still out."

  "You have your orders, Captain. Recall your search parties and proceed to Makus III immediately."

  He was beaten.

  His voice was inflectionless as he spoke to Uhura. "Lieutenant, order the Transporter Room to beam up the search parties still on the surface. Attempt contact with the Columbus."

  "I'm in partial contact with them now, sir."

  "Have them return at once." He left the computer station to return to his command chair. "Mr. Sulu, prepare to abandon search. Set course for Makus III."

  Ferris left the bridge—and Kirk slumped back in his chair. There was nothing more to do, nothing more to say. Spock, McCoy, Scott—all dead, mercifully dead on that savage planet. Had their deaths been easy? Hardly. Uhura had to tell him twice that the sensor beams were working again.

  No time to mourn. No time, period.

  "The other systems?" he said to Uhura.

  "No, sir. Still too much interference."

  Sulu said, "Course set for Makus III, Captain."

  "Thank you, Mr. Sulu. Steady on post. Lieutenant Uhura, how long before the Columbus comes aboard?"

  "Twenty-three minutes, sir.".

  "Twenty-three minutes," Kirk said. Then, leaning his arms on his console, he cupped his chin in his hands.

  Yeoman Mears, no longer fresh-faced, but tired and worn, had failed again to contact the Enterprise, She snapped closed her communicator. "Nothing, sir," she told Spock. "Just ionic interference."

  He went to Scott. "How about weight?"

  Scott finished draining the last phaser. He looked up as he laid it aside. "If we shed every extra ounce of it, we may be able to achieve orbit."

  "How long can we keep it?"

  "A few hours. If we time it right, we could cut out of orbit with enough fuel for a controlled reentry."

  "To land here again? Not an attractive possibility."

  "We have very few alternatives," Scott said. He stooped to remove the drained phasers from the aisle as Boma and McCoy came from the aft compartment, carrying Gaetano's body.

  "How does it look outside?" McCoy asked.

  Spock glanced out the forward window. Then he spoke to Scott. "When can we lift off, Mr. Scott?"

  "Maybe eight minutes if the weight's right."

  Spock faced around from the window. "Doctor, Mr. Boma, the ship will lift off in exactly ten minutes. You have that long to bury Mr. Gaetano. It appears to be all clear outside, at least for the moment." He cautiously opened the hatch, peering around the crater. As he turned back inside, he said, "I shall assist you. Please hurry."

  Yeoman Mears moved down the aisle to where Scott, at the control console, was warming up its equipment. "Can we get off?" she said.

  "Oh, we can get off all right, lassie. But can we stay off? That's the question."

  "If we make orbit, the Enterprise will—"

  "By now," he said, "the Enterprise should be well on its way to Makus III."

  "Then . . . we're alone."

  "Not alone." He made a gesture toward the crater walls. "We've got some big hairy things out there to keep us company."

  It was the thought of the big, hairy things that had brought Kirk to his decision. He uncupped his chin from his hands. "Mr. Sulu, proceed on course as ordered for Makus III. At space normal speed."

  Sulu was startled. "But all systems report secured for warp factors, sir. Space normal speed?"

  "You heard me, Mr. Sulu. Lieutenant Uhura, order all sensor sections to direct beams aft, full function, continuous operation until further orders."

  Ferris, the paper man, had not specified warp speed.

  They'd dug the grave in the spongy soil. It was as they were filling the hole that they all heard the grating sound. Then from the mist-shrouded rocks above them came a piercing howl—a triumphant, roar as though the thing which had uttered it was beating its furry chest in token of victory.

  "Into the ship!" Spock shouted: "Take-off immediate!"

  A spear struck the grave. Another one grazed Boma's shoulder. Then the air was thick with them. Spock, racing toward the ship, saw a large axe of strange shape hit the ground. As he reached for it, a rock, hurtling down, crashed against his thigh. He struggled to rise but the wounded leg went out from under him. Dragging himself toward the ship, he yelled, "Lift off! Lift off!"

  Boma and McCoy were at the open hatch. They left it to run to him. He waved them back furiously. "No! Get back! Lift off!"

  They disobeyed. McCoy grabbed his shoulders—and a spear whizzed past his head. Half-carrying, half-pulling, they got Spock to the hatch and shoved him inside. Boma slammed it shut just as a giant body heaved at the craft, rocking it,

  Spock, clutching his injured leg, glared at his rescuers. "I told you to lift off!"

  McCoy, at work on the leg, said, "Don't be a fool, Spock. We couldn't leave you out there!" He paused. Once more, big rocks were hammering at the hull. Spock pushed McCoy away. "Can we lift off, Mr. Scott?"

  "We should be able to—but we're not moving!"

  Yeoman Mears screamed. In the port window beside her a bestial face, enormous, red-eyed was peering in at her. McCoy slammed the shutter down over the window. Spock was hobbling toward the console's seat. For a moment his delicate fingers flitted over the controls.

  "They seem to be holding us down," he said. "All systems are go—but we're not moving." His hand went out to another switch. Appalled, Scott cried, "What are you doing, man?"

  "The boosters."

  "We won't be able to hold orbit!"

  Spock moved the switch. The ship bucked. Needles quivered on the console. There was a last defiant crash on the hull, screams of baffled hate—and the Galileo shot up and out of the crater.

  Yeoman Mears burst into tears of relief. "We're rid of them . . . of that terrible place . . ."

  Spock spoke. "I must remind you all that we have yet to achieve orbit. Nor can we maintain it long. An hour from now we might well be right back where we started."

  But Spock's warning couldn't depress the hope roused by the familiar sight of star-filled space. McCoy, thoughtfully regarding the straight back in the console's seat, said, "Spock—back there—what held you back when we were attacked?"

  "A most intriguing artifact . . . a hand axe, Doctor, reminiscent of those used by the Lake People of Athos IV."

  "Even if you'd gotten it, you couldn't have brought it back with you. It must have weighed a hundred and fifty pounds."

  Spock looked around from the console, his face astounded. "You know, Doctor, until this moment, that never occurred to me."

  McCoy grunted. "An encouraging sign of humanity. It was a fool thing to do. It almost got you killed. If we hadn't come after you . . ."

  "By coming after me you caused a delay in our lift off. So you may well have destroyed what slim chance you have of survival. The logical thing was to leave me behind."

  McCoy sighed. "Well, you're back to normal. Remind me to tell you sometime how sick and tired I am of your logic."

  "I will, Doctor." He was scanning the console. "Orbit attitude in one minute, Mr. Scott. Fuel status?"

  "Fifteen pounds psi. Approximately enough for one complete orbit."

  "And after that?" McCoy said.

  Scott shook his head. "Tapping those boosters removed our last chance of making a soft landing."

  "You mean—a burn-up?" asked Boma.<
br />
  Spock said, "That is the usual end of a decaying orbit."

  McCoy got up and went to him. "Spock, can't we do anything?"

  He looked up. "The Enterprise is undoubtedly back on course for Makus III. I, for one, do not believe in angels. There won't be one around, Doctor, to bear us up on its wings."

  "Well, Spock . . . so ends your first command."

  "Yes. My first command."

  Scott said, "Orbit attitude attained, Mr. Spock. With present fuel that gives us about forty-five minutes."

  But Spock seemed singularly uninterested in the information. Nodding slightly, he stared at the console. Then he slowly turned his head to look at the others. They were all back there in their seats . . . McCoy, the girl, Boma—and Scott, standing by. And all of them, each in his own way, alone with the thought of the final extinction. But their eyes were on him as though he could magically avert it for them. If he'd been a sweating creature, Spock would have been wet with it. Instead, he was a Vulcan by training as well as inheritance, a being required to remain impervious to emotion. Now, in his half-human agony, he took refuge behind a mask of stone. His first and last command. His hand went out toward a switch.

  "Spock!" Scott shouted.

  He threw the switch. The ship trembled—and a blast of fire burst from its pods.

  "What's happened?" cried the girl.

  "He's jettisoned the fuel—and ignited it!" Scott yelled.

  Boma was on his feet. "Have you gone crazy, Spock?"

  "Perhaps, Mr. Boma."

  McCoy, licking his lips, girded himself for the question. "Scotty, how long do we have?"

  "Six minutes."

  At Sulu's cry Kirk turned his pain-drawn face. "Yes, Mr. Sulu?"

  "The screen, Captain! Something's back there! At Taurus II!"

  The strain had been too much for all of them. Sulu was hallucinating. "The screen," Kirk said. Then he looked at it. "Sensors, Mr. Sulu? A meteorite?"

  "No, sir. It's holding a lateral line! There it is again . . . on the screen. Captain, it's holding steady!"

  A streak of flame was moving against the blackness of space.

  Kirk exploded into action. "One hundred and eighty degrees about, Mr. Sulu! Lieutenant Uhura! Contact Transporter Room! All beams ready! Full normal speed!"

  On the screen the flame flickered—and died.

  And on the Galileo Spock sat unmoving. The heat had begun. He could sense the unbelieving eyes fixed on him—on his Satanic, alien ears. He had destroyed them. He was hardly aware of the hand, the human hand, that suddenly fell on his shoulder.

  "Ah, laddie," Scott said, "it was a good gamble. Maybe it was worth it."

  Somebody said, "I don't . . . understand."

  Scott whirled. "He turned the ship into a distress signal—a flare!"

  Spock said, "Even if there's no one out there to see it."

  Scott kept the hand on his shoulder. "The orbit's decaying. Thirty-six seconds to atmosphere."

  McCoy joined them. "It may be the last action you ever take, Spock—but it was all human."

  "Totally illogical, Doctor. There was no chance."

  "Which is exactly what I mean," McCoy said.

  A whining sound came. A wisp of smoke drifted from the control panel. Spock, reaching up, slid up the metal shutter on the forward window. The Galileo was on fire, glowing red to orange to pure white flame. Its prisoners tore at their throats, coughing as the aisle filled with hot smoke.

  Kirk, fingers crossed in the old Earth's plea to Lady Luck, said, "Activate Transporter beams!"

  Then he waited. A sweating creature, he could feel it breaking from every pore of his body. Sulu said, "Whatever it was, Captain, it just burned up in the atmosphere."

  "Yes. I can see for myself, Mr. Sulu."

  Behind him Uhura leaped from her chair. "Captain! Transporter Room reports five persons aboard! Alive and well!" "Alive, Lieutenant?"

  So the beams had caught them. In the searing heat of the Galileo, they had faded, breaking to the dazzle that had brought them home. Kirk covered his face with his hands. Then he lifted his head. "Mr. Sulu. Proceed on course for Makus III. Warp factor one."

  "Aye, aye, sir. Warp factor one."

  McCoy was whispering to Kirk. Then they both looked over to the computer station where Spock sat, composed, his eyes intent on his dials.

  "Mr. Spock?"

  "Yes, Captain."

  "When you ignited all your remaining fuel, you knew there was virtually no chance the flame would be seen. But you did it anyhow. Am I correct in defining that as an act of desperation?"

  "Yes, Captain."

  "Desperation is a highly emotional state of mind. How do you account for it in yourself?"

  "Quite simply, sir. I examined the problem from all angles. It was plainly hopeless. Logic informed me that the only possible action would have to be a desperate one. A logical decision, logically arrived at."

  "You mean, you reasoned it was time for an emotional outburst?"

  "I would not use those terms, sir, but those are essentially the facts."

  "You're not going to admit that for once in your life you committed a purely human, emotional act?"

  "No, sir."

  "Mr. Spock, you are a stubborn man."

  "Yes, sir."

  Kirk got up, started toward him, thought better of it. Grinning, he shook his head, himself accepting the logic of facts as they were. Spock caught the grin. His left eye-brow lifted.

  IS THERE IN TRUTH NO BEAUTY?

  (Jean Lisette Aroeste)

  * * *

  The civilian named Lawrence Marvick stepped from the Transporter platform of the Enterprise, aggression in every line of his square-jawed face. Kirk, moving forward to greet him, thought, What's the man afraid of? But his voice was smoothly cordial. "Welcome aboard, Mr. Marvick. I am James Kirk, the Cap—"

  Marvick cut him off. "Kirk, what are you doing here? You'll have to leave, you know, before the Medeusan Ambassador arrives!"

  "I am aware of that, Mr. Marvick. We have taken all precautions. This is Mr. Spock, our First Officer."

  Marvick eyed Spock briefly. "Oh yes, you're the Vulcan. It's all right for you to remain here but you, Kirk, and that other officer . . ."

  Scott came from the Transporter console to shake the guest's hand with enthusiasm. "Montgomery Scott, Chief Engineer, Mr. Marvick. Call me Scotty!"

  Recovering his hand, the new arrival addressed Spock. "Have you got your vizor? You must have it. Humans who get even a glimpse of Medeusans have gone insane."

  Spock bowed. "Thank you, Mr. Marvick. I shall be wearing the vizor."

  Marvick's authoritative manner was beginning to rile Kirk. "We mustn't keep the Ambassador waiting," he said. "Mr. Marvick, will you go with Mr. Scott now, please? You two should have a good deal in common."

  As Scott ushered the man out, Kirk heard him say, "It's a rare privilege to meet one of the designers of the Enterprise. I appreci—"

  The door closed and Kirk crossed to the intercom. "Lieutenant Uhura, inform the Ambassador and Dr. Jones that we're ready to beam them aboard." He turned to see Spock removing a red safety vizor from his belt. "You're sure that thing will work?"

  "It has proved entirely effective for Vulcans, sir."

  "It's your human half I'm worried about. Report to me when the Transport has been completed."

  "Yes, Captain."

  Left alone as the Captain returned to the bridge, Spock adjusted the vizor. It covered not only his eyes but the whole upper half of his face. At the Transporter console, he manipulated the beam-up buttons. On the platform, sparkles gradually assumed the slim shape of a young woman. The sheen of embroidery on her long, graceful gown matched her cloud of silver-blond hair. Beside her was a box of medium size. Removing her red vizor, she revealed black-lashed eyes of a vivid blue. Then, to Spock's astonishment, a white arm was lifted in the Vulcan salute.

  An eyebrow slightly raised, Spock returned it. "Welcome aboard, Ambassador Ko
llos," he said. "I am First Officer Spock."

  She stepped from the platform. "And I am Dr. Jones—Dr. Miranda Jones." She gestured to the box still on the platform. "The Ambassador is honored to meet you."

  Quiet and undisconcerted, Spock went to the box, affixing anti-gravs to it. When they were firmly clamped into place, he made his report to Kirk. "Ready to proceed, Captain."

  Kirk, on the bridge, swung to Uhura. "Lieutenant, open channels to all decks."

  "All channels open, sir."

  Kirk reached for his speaker. "This is the Captain. All ship's personnel, clearance plans now in effect. Vacate corridors immediately. The Ambassador will be escorted at once to his quarters." He moved an intercom button. "Mr. Spock, all decks are now clear. You may proceed."

  The box was clearly the habitat of the Medeusan Ambassador. As Spock lifted it carefully out of an elevator, he said, "Dr. Jones, may I offer you my congratulations on your assignment with Ambassador Kollos?"

  She bowed. "The assignment is not yet definite. It will depend upon my ability to achieve a true mind-link with the Ambassador."

  "You should find it a fascinating experience."

  A flicker of resentment flashed in her blue eyes. "I wasn't aware that anyone had ever succeeded in a mind-link with a Medeusan!"

  "Nobody has," Spock said. "I was merely referring to mind-links I have attempted with other species."

  "Surely," she said, "your duties as a Starship officer do not permit you the luxury of many such experiments!"

  He regarded her gravely. "My duties as a Starship officer permit me very few luxuries of any kind."

  She reached for a conciliatory tone. "You make it quite obvious that the Enterprise is your paramount interest." She paused before she added, "You know, Mr. Spock, I have heard you turned down this assignment with Ambassador Kollos."

  "I could not accept it," he said. "As you've pointed out, my life is here. And the Ambassador's quarters are also here." He indicated a cabin on their right.