by James Blish
Kirk hastily adjusted the high-power dial on his communicator. "Spock! Spock! This channel reached you. Come in, Spock! Kirk here."
"Yes, Captain." It was Spock's voice. "I am also here. But I begin to feel extended almost to infinity. Have you returned to the Enterprise?"
"No! We were just temporarily out of—communication."
"You have not been seriously injured, I trust?"
"No! Spock, have you discovered what use you are being put to? Is it medical or . . ."
"I am not sure, sir. I seem to have a body that stretches into endlessness."
"Body?" Scott blurted. "You have no body!"
"No body? But then what am I?"
"You are a disembodied brain," McCoy said.
"Really? Fascinating. That could explain much. My medulla oblongata is apparently directing my breathing, pumping my blood and maintaining a normal physiological temperature."
"Spock," McCoy said, "keeping a detached brain alive is a medical miracle. But keeping it functioning, that's impossible."
"I would agree with you, Doctor, if it were not the present fact. It seems incontrovertible that my brain is functioning, does it not?"
"It does, Spock, I must admit. And gladly, for once."
"How was the operation accomplished?"
"We don't know."
"Then why are you endangering your lives by coming here?"
"We've come to take you back," Kirk said.
"Back where? To my body?"
"Yes, Spock."
"Thoughtful, Captain. But probably impractical. My body . . ."
McCoy took the communicator. "Don't you think I had the sense to slap it into our life support chamber?"
"Of course. But I do not believe you own the skill or knowledge to replace a brain, Doctor. That skill does not yet exist in the galaxy."
Kirk removed the communicator from McCoy. "The skill that removed the brain exists right here. The skill to replace it may exist here, too."
"Captain, how much time has elapsed since my brain was removed?"
"Forty-eight hours."
"Sir, Dr. McCoy must have told you that seventy-two hours is the maximum my body can be . . ."
"I know, Spock. That leaves us fourteen hours."
"It seems all too brief a time to develop the required skill, Captain."
"Very brief. One question, Spock. Pain causing bands have been fixed to our heads. Do you know how to get us free of them? They have to come off."
"I shall consider it, sir," the voice said.
"Give it top priority. And stay with us, Spock. Kirk out."
They moved cautiously out of the Council Chamber into the corridor. It was empty. Kirk spoke soberly. "As the lady said, gentlemen, we are not morg. We are disciplined men, intelligent, committed to a purpose. We will remain committed to it in spite of any pain inflicted upon us."
His communicator crackled. "I have the answer for you, Captain. Your pain bands are manually controlled. A blue button on a bracelet releases them. That doesn't make much sense but . . ."
"Oh yes, it does," Kirk said. "Thank you, Spock."
A blue button. He must remember. They were extremely color-prone in this place. The ornamented door at the end of the corridor blazed with color like a stained-glass window. It seemed to possess other qualities. Though they were approaching it slowly, McCoy's tricorder had begun to buzz loudly. With every careful step they took, the volume increased in intensity until McCoy said, "I'm tuning out. The power is too great for the tricorder."
"Spock," Kirk said into his communicator, "do you know whether you are close to the power source?"
"I can't tell that. But you, Captain, are very close to it."
It was a credible statement. Near now to the elaborate door, they could see that its colored bosses were radiating a dazzling luminescence. They pushed it open to be faced by a wall banked with shining instrumentation. The room might have been the laboratory of magicians versed in the mysteries of some arcane technology. Another wall was a gigantic control board, topped by a helmetlike device. Near it a large black box set on a metallic pedestal was massed with photoelectric cells, all adjusted to correspond to similar cells on the control board. They flashed together in a constant interchange of energy.
Kara, her body taut, was standing before the black box, her back to them.
She heard them, despite their care. She whirled, her hand instantly touching her bracelet. The agony seared them, ripping a scream from Scott. They stumbled on, their legs rubber, their chests on fire. Kirk reached her, tore her hand from her bracelet and wrenched it off her arm. The blue button. He pressed it—and then: headbands snapped. Kara gave a wild cry.
It echoed and reechoed endlessly. Then they saw what stretched beyond the room—a vast machinery that extended for hundreds of underground miles, utterly alien, gleaming, no element in its panels and coils familiar. Awed into silence, Scott finally found his voice. "Captain, it is the ultimate. I think that is an air recirculation unit—but I'm not sure. I'm not even sure this is a hydroponic regulator. It all seems to have been contrived for life support—but it's a work of genius that is beyond me."
Kirk had his eyes on the black box. It glittered under the light rays that streamed to it from all sections of the great control board. How he knew what he knew he didn't know. He walked up to it. "Spock," he said, “you are in a black box tied with light rays to a complex control panel."
The voice sounded very close. "Incredible!" it said.
"Spock, you said you were breathing, pumping blood, maintaining temperature. Are you also recirculating air, running heating systems, purifying water?"
"Indeed, Captain, that is exactly what I'm doing."
Kara had broken free of McCoy's grip. Frenzied, she rushed at Kirk, trying to push him away from the box. He seized her; and she sagged, screaming, "We will die! You must not take the Controller! We will die! The Controller is young, powerful—perfect!"
"Extremely flattering," said the black box.
She flung herself to the floor, groping for Kirk's knees. "Leave him with us! He will give life to us for ten thousand years!"
"You will find another Controller," Kirk said.
She was sobbing. "There exists no other in the world. The old one is finished. Our new one must stay with us!"
Spock's voice spoke. "Captain, there seem to be rather complex problems. My brain is maintaining life for a large population. Remove it—and the life support systems it supports come to a stop."
McCoy looked somber. "Jim, here his brain is alive. If you remove it from the connections that are feeding it now to turn it over to me, it may die."
"That is the risk," Spock said. "Captain, much as I long for reunion with you and the Enterprise, the prospect of betraying such a dependent society is disturbing to a conscience like mine."
"Rubbish!" said Kirk. "Pure rationalization. It's always provoked by a weeping woman. She took your brain out—and she can put it back!" He shook Kara roughly. "How did you remove the brain?"
"I do not know."
"She couldn't know, Jim. Her mental faculties are almost atrophied. The Controller has done all her thinking for her."
"She took it out!" Kirk shouted. He shook Kara again. "How did you do it?"
"It was—the old knowledge," she whimpered.
"How did you get the knowledge?"
"I put—the teacher on my head."
"What teacher?"
She pointed to the helmetlike device. "What did you do with it?" Kirk demanded. "Show us!"
She shrieked in horror. "It is forbidden! The ancients forbade it. Only on the command of the ancients can I know."
"Show us," Kirk said.
Hysterical tears swelling her face, Kara got to her feet, went to the control board and reached for the helmet. Lifting it reverently down, she slowly lowered it over her head. Over the sobs that convulsed her, Spock's voice said, "If I may explain, Captain. She referred to the taped storehouse of knowledge ac
cumulated by the builders of this place. It is a most impressive store. I scan it. The tapes are circuited to lead into the helmet. When placed over the head of the priestess leader, their information penetrates her mind. It is used rarely—and only when predetermined by the builders."
It was another credible statement. Under the helmet, Kara's face had changed. It had been wiped clean of her infantile hysteria. Into her eyes had come a searching look, the alertness of active thinking. Even her voice had taken on the vibrancy of intelligence. She spoke with clipped clarity. "That explanation is essentially correct. However, the Controller gives no credit to me, I deserve it. I provide the means by which the knowledge is used. Without me, Captain of the Enterprise . . ."
This Kara was a woman to take into account. McCoy acknowledged the difference. "That is true. Without you the miracle that has kept Spock's brain alive could not have occurred."
She bowed with dignity. "Thank you, Doctor."
Kirk said, "We all appreciate your contribution."
"Good," she said. "Then you will also appreciate your own contribution—this . . ."
A phaser was in her hand.
"Captain!" Scott cried. "It's on the kill mark!"
"So it is," she said. "And that is the knowledge you have given to me—how to kill!"
Kirk was the first to rally. "You knew how to kill before we came. You are killing Spock by keeping his brain."
She laughed. "The Controller die? He will live ten thousand years!"
"But Spock will be dead. Even now his body is dying. Soon it will be too late to restore him life."
"No. Only the vessel that once contained the Controller will be dead."
"But the body and the brain comprise a being," Kirk said.
The phaser didn't waver in its aim. Above it, her eyes were very bright. "Spare me such opinions. You will stay here quietly with me until the vessel is dead. Then we shall say goodbye and you can return to your ship."
"Your ancients are using you to murder," Kirk said.
She smiled. "Their commandment is being obeyed."
"Commandments older than your ancients' forbid murder," Kirk said.
She was shaken by the cold intensity of his voice. "Why do you not understand? My people need their Controller more then you need your friend."
A sense of the righteousness of his wrath swept over Kirk like a great wave. For the first time in his life he understood the meaning of "towering" rage. It seemed to lift him up to a great height. He extended a finger at her. "No one may take the life of another. Not for any purpose. It is not allowed."
He stepped forward. The phaser lifted. Then it drooped. Behind her, Scott quietly reached an arm over her shoulder—and took the phaser. Her eyes filled with silent tears.
"The commandment," she whispered, "should be fulfilled."
"You will help us," Kirk said. "How long does the knowledge last?"
"Three kyras," she said.
"You will restore what you stole," Kirk said.
"And betray my people? No."
"Jim—if the helmet worked for her, it might work for me." McCoy moved to Kara, lifted the helmet from her head—and Spock's voice spoke. "The configurations of her brain are alien, Doctor. It could burn your brain right out."
"I am a surgeon. If I can learn these techniques, I might retain them."
"Bones, how long can we keep the brain functioning once we remove it from its current environment?"
"Five or six hours."
"When it's tied to our life support system, will it give us any more time?"
"A few more hours."
Spock's voice said, "I cannot allow such risk to the Doctor."
McCoy handed the helmet to Kirk. He went to the box. "Spock, Spock, didn't you hear me? I may retain the memory of these techniques to pass on to the world! Isn't that worth the risk to me? You would take such a risk! Would you deny the same right to me?"
Kirk said, "Take the helmet, Bones. Put it on."
Slowly McCoy lowered the device over his head. From the black box words came. "Mr. Scott, go to the left lower quarter of the control board . . ."
"Yes, sir.
"Have you located a small lever in that sector?"
"Yes, Mr. Spock."
"Depress it exactly two notches and force it sharply into the slit on the right."
A low humming sounded. As power moved from the control board into the helmet's circuitry, McCoy's hand went to his throat. His body and his face seemed to disconnect. His face glowed as though he'd been struck with some final illumination, but his body convulsed in torture. Then he blacked out and keeled over. Scott hastily pulled the lever back into its original position, then he and Kirk rushed to McCoy and gently lifted the helmet from his head. Kirk sat down, holding the unconscious body—and McCoy's eyes opened.
The vagueness in them disappeared. They began to brighten, first in wonder, then in exaltation. He gave a great shout of pure joy. "Of course—of course—a child could do it. A little child could do it!"
"Good luck to you, Dr. McCoy," said the black box.
In the Enterprise's Sickbay, the operating room had been prepared.
Spock lay on its sheet-shrouded table, a shield screening the upper section of his head. Behind the shield, Nurse Chapel, a look of amazement on her face, was concentrated on every move made by the surgical instruments in McCoy's rubber-gloved hands. He was working with an authority she'd never seen before in a human surgeon. She took the time to wish that Kirk and Scott could see what she was privileged to see. But they, with Kara, had been placed behind a grille.
She went to the grille to whisper to Kirk. "Captain, don't worry. It's not to be believed—the way he's fusing ganglia, nerve endings, even individual nerves almost too small to see—and as if he'd been doing it all his life."
"How much longer?" Kirk said.
"I can't tell, sir. He's going so much faster than is humanly possible."
"Time is important," he said. "There's no way of knowing how long we can count on this increased surgical knowledge to last."
Kara suddenly sobbed. Kirk placed an arm about her shoulder. "What is it?" he said.
"You will have him back. But we are destroyed."
He led her out into the corridor. "No," he said, "you are not destroyed. You'll have no Controller and that will be fine. You will have to come up from below and live on the surface."
"We will die in the cold."
"No, you won't. We will help you until you can help yourselves. You will build houses. You'll learn to keep warm by working to keep warm. You'll learn how to be women instead of hothouse plants."
"Captain Kirk!"
Nurse Chapel was at the Sickbay door. "You'd better come quickly, sir!"
McCoy had stopped working. He had backed away from the operating table. He looked sick. "I—can't I—I can't . . ."
"He's forgetting, Captain," said Nurse Chapel.
"Bones!" Kirk called through the grille.
McCoy stumbled toward him. "All the ganglia—the nerves—a million of them—what am I supposed to do with them? The thalamus—the pallium . . ."
"Bones! You can't stop now!"
Nurse Chapel, her eyes on the life support indicator, said, "Doctor—the cerebral spinal fluid is almost exhausted."
McCoy groaned. "But—I don't know what to do. It's gone—I don't remember—no one can replace a brain!"
"But you could, Bones! It was child's play just a short while ago!"
"It's all gone, Jim. He's going to die—and I can't stop it!"
"Dr. McCoy."
Half-strangled, choked, it was nevertheless Spock's voice. They stared at the body on the sheeted table. McCoy was astounded into asking, "Spock, did you speak? How did you speak?"
"If you will finish connecting my vocal cords, I may be able to help."
McCoy rushed behind the shield. He chose an instrument. Then he discarded it, picked up another one and gave a brisk order to Nurse Chapel. Spock suddenly coughed. Th
e voice came a little stronger. "Good, One thing at a time. Now, Doctor, try the sonic separator. No discouragement . . ."
"No, Spock—it's been like trying to thread a needle with a sledgehammer."
"No discouragement," Spock repeated. "I already have feeling, sensation. Now stimulate the nerve endings and observe the reactions. I shall tell you when the probe is correct. When I tell you, seal the endings with the trilaser connector."
Kirk spoke to McCoy. "Well?"
His answer came in a slight hum from behind the shield. Through the grille, he could see Spock's arms move, moving normally, up and down, bending normally at the elbow.
"Very good," Spock said. "Now, Doctor, please move to reconnect the major blood vessels. Begin with the carotid artery."
His face drawn with strain, McCoy glanced over at Kirk. "Even if this works," he said, "I'll never live it down—this confounded Vulcan telling me how to operate!"
Relief swamped Kirk. They were back at the old bickering. McCoy had paused to allow Nurse Chapel to wipe the sweat from his forehead. He returned to work and Spock said, "They are sealed, Doctor."
"Are they, Bones?"
McCoy raised his head. "How do I know? He knows. I've probably made a thousand mistakes—sealing individual nerve endings, joining ganglia. The fluid balance is right but—I don't know."
Nurse Chapel was wiping his forehead again when Spock's eyelids flickered. The eyes opened. Spock lifted his head and his eyebrows went up into the arch McCoy thought never to see again. He shouted, "Jim!"
Kirk strode behind the shield. Spock was sitting up. "Gentlemen," he said, "it is a pleasure to see you again."
"Spock—Spock," Kirk said—and swallowed. "How do you feel?"
"On the whole, I believe I am quite fit, sir."
He started to get off the table. "For the Lord's sake, take it easy!" Kirk yelled.
Spock winced under a twinge of pain. "Perhaps you are right, Captain. I seem to have something of a headache. Perhaps I had better close my eyes."
