"Can I?" Kirk said. "Do you really believe that a collective could run this ship—or build her? The Enterprise flies on single thoughts from single minds, from the first man who tamed fire to the last one who tamed the fire of a starship."
The Ambassador smiled fractionally. "Are you certain, Captain? What if that individual creativity springs from a collective unconscious? What if your own strength as a commander comes from a unique unity? Your command crew is celebrated as having a rapport unmatched in Starfleet. What, Captain, if you are us?"
Kirk shook his head. "I'm not. We are not. Our kind of rapport is based on nothing more than an old four-letter word. Obsolete—but not extinct."
"Love, Captain? It is a fable—unless it is the love of Oneness, of the other as self. And if it is, then you are us." He looked at Spock. "Or do you claim that your ship has taught even a Vulcan to love?"
"Mr. Spock is what he is," Kirk said. "He is not a subject for discussion. I merely came to inform you that we will be detained, briefly, I trust, while we investigate the center of the starship disappearances. We will maintain subspace silence until we are through the dangerous sector. Until then you will confine your objections to my actions to direct statements to me, and keep your hostility and your zeal to your individual selves."
The Ambassador shook his head. "Captain Kirk, you are in many ways an admirable specimen of a limited species. But you must accept your own limitations. Could an amoeba understand the simplest multicelled animal? Would it ask that animal to disassemble itself periodically into its individual cells? Would it know that that would be death?"
For a moment Kirk looked at him, wondering. The Ambassador and his party still looked like individual beings. The temptation was to assume that they were merely that—perhaps with some modest mental link. But what if they really were a living thing, a new thing under the sun … ? What if he was the amoeba?
"Ambassador," Kirk said, "I am prepared to consider the possibility that you have something. What I am not prepared to do is to see it imposed by force, physical or mental. Not on Zaran. And not here."
Gailbraith looked at him with steel-gray appraising eyes. "Captain, the first multicelled animals must have absorbed a great many amoeba—curtailed their freedom, violated their individual amoeba rights. Doubtless the amoeba protested. But butterflies were born, and tigers, and men."
Kirk shook his head. "A man is not an amoeba. The argument of the good of the many or the good of the superior being has been made before—by every dictatorship."
"A dictatorship is not a Oneness. You would not know, Captain, until you have been a Part-Whole." He bowed fractionally. "I will show you."
He put his hand up toward Kirk. The forefinger parted from the other three in a V—not the Vulcan sign of paired fingers, but the hand sign of One, set apart from the Unity. Kirk knew it was an invitation to match it, palm to palm, and to share—thought? Feeling? Oneness?
There had been many times when he had not backed away from some form of mental contact—the Vulcan mind-meld, occasionally some other sharing. He was not set against the new, or he would not have been out here. But his deepest instinct rebelled against this—and he saw Spock's face set against it, almost as if he would move to intervene. Then the Vulcan did speak.
"Captain," Spock said, "I must point out that your exposure to an unknown, powerful group mental effect could require me to assume command."
Kirk measured the depth of the Vulcan's resistance by his willingness to say that in front of the Ambassador. "Mr. Spock is quite correct, Ambassador," Kirk said immediately. "No. Thank you. If I were not in command, possibly. I could afford the luxury."
Gailbraith smiled. "No, Captain, you could not."
Kirk looked at him and revised an estimate. There was something dangerous about the man, and something which could not be dismissed.
"Be that as it may, Ambassador, you and your people will refrain from drawing any member of my crew into a Part-Whole demonstration of any kind. Good day, Ambassador."
Kirk turned to leave. From around the corner of an alcove where some of Gailbraith's party had wandered off Kirk heard a peculiar strangled sound—not quite a scream. A man's scream.
He and Spock moved as one, charged through the alcove doors—
And saw Mr. Dobius, the seven-foot Tanian with bifurcated head—who could give Spock's Vulcan strength a workout—held by a slender girl.
It was a moment before they saw that the white-robed girl matched Mr. Dobius' big hand in the One-apart gesture the Ambassador had offered Kirk. Her other hand reached up to the back of Dobius' neck, and it was as if a current flowed which Dobius could not break. She was moving their separated forefingers toward a joining with the Unity of the other fingers.
"She must not complete the joining!" Spock snapped.
Kirk was a fraction ahead and couldn't have agreed more. He reached to pull the girl's hand away from Dobius.
He might as well have locked onto durasteel. Suddenly he sensed the power flowing through her—not her own but the power of a Oneness. Even as he had spoken to the Ambassador, the multiheaded Oneness had also been doing its work here.
Spock did not try to move the woman, even with his Vulcan strength. But he lifted Dobius bodily and flung him clear. The Tanian crumpled against a bulkhead.
And the girl turned on Kirk. For a moment he tried to ward her off gently. Then her hands closed on his temples and he could feel the flow of a current which somehow included the Ambassador and a lurching Copernican Revolution in the way Kirk saw things, as if indeed the amoeba saw that the Oneness was always at the center of things …
Kirk tried to hurl himself back, then felt chivalry go and tried simply to break her hold. But his arms were lead, his legs were melting …
Spock's hands closed on him and also lifted Kirk bodily away and around behind him as Spock turned to face the girl—and the Ambassador and his party who had come in behind her.
"That will do, Viana," the Ambassador said quietly. "The Vulcan has his own disciplines."
The green-eyed girl appraised Spock momentarily and bowed her head slightly. "A pity," she said.
Behind Spock Kirk felt in astonishment that his legs were failing him. He was crumpling to the deck. Suddenly it was not Spock but Gailbraith who moved—past Spock and locking on to Kirk's arm with one hand. It was not a way in which a man could stop another man from falling—even the Vulcan would not have tried it. And yet Kirk felt himself held up, lifted, supported as if by a living power which flowed into him through the touch. Then Spock turned and from somewhere Kirk managed to lock his legs into position and straighten away from Gailbraith's hold. It was like disconnecting a life-support system. For a moment Kirk crumpled against the wall. Spock moved in, but Kirk waved him off and reached for the intercom.
"Effective immediately," he said, "the Ambassador and his party will confine themselves to the VIP Guest Areas. There will be no fraternization with the Enterprise crew. Kirk out."
"You would deny a Federation Ambassador the freedom of a Federation starship?" Gailbraith said.
Kirk drew himself up. "I have known Federation Ambassadors of the stature of Sarek of Vulcan," he said. "Never have I known one who would order or condone the imposition of unwanted mental contact on an unwilling being. I intend to take that to the Federation Council."
Mr. Dobius came up to stand before Kirk. A Tanian, Kirk decided, should not attempt to look sheepish.
"Sir," Dobius said, "I have to report—I wasn't entirely unwilling. I just—I believe your expression would be—'got in over my head.' Sir."
Kirk looked up at him. "Mr. Dobius, you got in over both our heads—which in your case should have been rather more difficult. Report to Doctor McCoy."
"I'm all right, sir."
"You have been in mental contact with an alien life-form, Mr. Dobius. Report."
"Yes, sir."
Kirk turned back to Gailbraith. "My order stands. There is no being on this ship, with
the possible exception of Mr. Spock, who could be certain of standing against your Oneness. But I will see that no one is obliged to try." He nodded to Spock. "See that the doors close, Mr. Spock."
He saw the Vulcan advance on the Ambassador's party as if the peaceable Vulcan only wished the Ambassador would not step back. But the Ambassador's party saw something in Spock's eyes which must have made them decide against pushing their luck.
They stepped back and the doors closed in front of them. Spock pushed a lock signal.
He turned in time to catch Kirk's shoulders as he sagged.
But after an instant Kirk straightened against the wall and waved Spock off. "Don't fuss over me, Mr. Spock. I'm not quite a lost cause yet."
Spock's look did not soften. "Captain, I recommend you give me the con and report to Doctor McCoy."
Kirk pried himself off the wall. "In that case you would have to face Gailbraith's board of inquiry."
Spock shrugged.
Kirk grinned. "And you would do me out of a perfectly good outing to meet a Free Agent." He was able to walk more steadily now. "Transporter Room, ten minutes."
"Captain," Spock said, "you have been in mental contact with an alien being."
Kirk stopped. "Yes, Mr. Spock. I have." He looked at Spock. "Not for the first time, Spock." He turned away abruptly. "Ten minutes."
He could feel the Vulcan's eyes boring into his back.
Chapter 3
Dr. McCoy looked up to see Spock entering Sickbay wearing a look McCoy read as trouble, big trouble.
McCoy left Dobius on the diagnostic table with Chapel and gestured Spock into his private office.
"No physiological damage to Dobius that we can pinpoint," McCoy said.
"And mental damage?" Spock asked.
McCoy shrugged. "I doubt we'll detect any, but then—how would we know what to look for? There's not a lot of research on the new collective-consciousness entities. They themselves are not much interested. Or maybe they know in their own way without research. And we 'singletons' don't know where to begin."
"Doctor," Spock said, "you had better find out. The Captain has just had mental contact with such a collective-consciousness or multiple-life-form. I suspect now that he may have been under some mental pressure from it even before."
"What?" McCoy said.
"Doctor, it is pointless to try to keep the Captain's medical condition from me. He just collapsed in front of me."
McCoy reached for his med-kit. "In front of you? Then it's worse than I thought."
Spock stopped him. "Not yet. What is it?"
McCoy faced him squarely now. "Spock, I don't know. Stress, of course. You can kill anything by making it get ready to fight or run too often. Even a Starship Captain. But that doesn't seem to account for it fully. Sure, he was banged up lately on a few missions. God knows he's taken a terrible beating for years. But he's always bounced back. Now—" He shook his head.
Spock straightened. "Doctor, you and I have seen him hurt worse and under more stress. We have never seen him stopped. I suggest you consider what I suggested. An alien effect."
"But damn it, Spock," McCoy exploded, "to what purpose? And if it were from Gailbraith's party—what would we do about it?"
"Doctor," Spock said, "there is no public figure in the galaxy more resistant to the New Humans and other collectives' philosophies and life-styles than a Starship Captain—especially this Starship Captain, who is now known to the immediate galaxy. What would happen if Captain James T. Kirk became a New Human?"
McCoy looked at him incredulously. "Never happen, Spock. Not him."
"Leonard," Spock said gravely, "his own natural mental shielding has been eroded by necessary mental contact with aliens over the years, including me. Once or twice he has reached me spontaneously. Recently something has lowered his shields further. Possibly it is a cumulative effect. And possibly now it is a mental assault from Gailbraith's party. Unless I shield, I can feel the Captain's pain now. An immense weariness … a resistance to some pressure he cannot name … a wish for something he cannot have …"
Spock turned away. For a moment he stood with hands locked behind his back. Then he turned back to McCoy. "You cannot know the hunger for unity which can exist in one whose island self has begun to taste it, only to be cut off again."
McCoy stared at him, but Spock was moving toward the door. "I suggest that you perpetrate one of your famous deceptions, Doctor. 'Wangle' yourself an invitation to this landing party."
McCoy grabbed the med-kit and bolted after Spock. He tried to match the Vulcan's stride in the hall. "God damn it, Spock. You can't leave me hanging with that. Are you saying that your contacts with Jim, among other things, may have left him vulnerable to being absorbed by a collective?"
"I believe that is what I said."
"I don't buy it, Spock. He's the last man in the galaxy—"
"Doctor, he is the first. He always has been. If he has not so much explored inner space, it is because stars were at his feet. Now he has seen the strange new worlds. He has lost more than most men ever attempt—lost loves, lost friends, lost enemies. He has tasted forbidden fruit. And he has walked out on Eden, more than once. What if, once, he did not?"
Spock turned then, without a further word, into the Transporter Room.
Chapter 4
Kirk started to head for his cabin, then changed his mind. It was the first place Spock—or McCoy—would look, and his need now was to be alone.
Also, if he ever stopped—sat down, lay down—he was not sure how he would get moving again. He had perhaps ten minutes before the scout would be down and the coordinates available.
"Pool One," he said to the turbolift in abrupt decision. Moments later the turbolift decanted him in the small Pool/ Gym One—by common consent, though not by rule, normally used only by the command crew, occasionally by VIP guests. But it would be locked off from Gailbraith's contingent now by the isolation-lock Spock had thrown. The lock was used occasionally to isolate the VIP Quarters as a quarantine ward or isolation quarters for an inimical alien life-form.
That, Kirk thought, was quite possibly what they had aboard …
The Pool area was empty.
He stepped into a sonic shower and let its transporter dissolve his clothes away and do its revival program, which was virtually guaranteed to raise the dead. It played him an Alpha-Hypno tape as it did it, which assured him vocally and subliminally that he was feeling fine, better than before, better and better.
It lied.
He programmed for swimming and the transporter device obligingly draped him in net briefs and a towel. He went out and gave himself to the water. He did a lazy backstroke, little more than floating, but it would take some of the knots out of him. God knew how he could have been so deeply affected by that momentary touch of Oneness, but even now he felt empty, ravaged, and indelibly alone …
Suddenly his body convulsed around a cramp so massive that he could neither breathe nor move. It doubled him into a ball and his face was under water. His arms and legs went into spasm. He held his breath and made desperate efforts to pull toward the surface, the side of the pool. But he knew he wasn't making it.
What was it they said about never swimming alone? Damn fool. "Starship Captain Drowns in Bathtub …"
Part of a Oneness would not die that way—
Maybe he sent a kind of call. He was never certain …
He had held breath to the point beyond unconsciousness.
From some deep point of awareness he felt a massive strength reach him and lift him to the surface, move him with long strokes to the side of the pool and lift him with one arm up onto the side.
He began to relax then. There was only one strength of that kind on the Enterprise, and he was safe in its hands.
He felt breath pumped into his lungs and strong hands began to unknot the cramp. Then his lungs fought for breath and found their own rhythm, and the hands merely focused on making the spasmed muscles relax all over his
body.
Oddly, he felt a curious kind of warmth flowing from the hands, as if an overabundance of vitality were channeled directly into him. His knotted muscles eased, and some deeper level of pain seemed to ease, too.
Spock was always coming up with some new rabbit out of his Vulcan hat …
The warmth moved up Kirk's body to his face, his temples, and he felt a soothing, lulling flow of energy, an invitation, a welcome, an end to aloneness, a limitless vista, as if he looked through some great compound-eye, onto uncounted separate views of stars and faces, landscapes, and distant places … And within it all somewhere, one mind, shockingly powerful, with a plan for the galaxy.
He could not see the plan, but it was complex and subtle, based on observations made, inferences drawn, brilliant leaps of speculative logic and prediction. Somehow he saw a visual of the pattern of it, a great three-cornered battle, in which he and his were at one point, and two other great opposing forces were at the other two. Each of the opposing forces was a Oneness, the first controlled by one planner he knew, and the other by some force yet unknown. He did not find that strange. He saw a brilliant plan which overreached him. And somehow he had expected it.
What he had not expected was the seductive appeal of this merging. It would be so easy just to let go, accept, become a mind with a thousand eyes. Yes, and a thousand bodies, tuned to each other, sharing sensation and sensuality, forfeiting nothing—except perhaps some amoeba singularity.
For a long moment it seemed simple, natural, a direction of growth, and he moved easily to look out through one set of eyes, one facet of the great compound-eye of a new creature.
He looked down into his own face.
His face was pale and drawn. Long-fingered hands held it and gave it some urgent flow of life-force. For a moment he could look out also through the mind behind those eyes, appraising the contours of his face, the state of his being, the stubbornness of his resistance, the vulnerability of his solitude …
Triangle Page 2
