by James Blish
The approach to the rock mountain's craggy escarpments made harsh going for Mitchell and Elizabeth. The sharp black stones and slithery blue sand which composed the terrain of Delta Vega had not been created for pleasant afternoon strolls. As a sudden breeze blew sand into her face, Elizabeth panted, "It—it would take a miracle to survive here."
"Sit down," Mitchell said. "I'll make one." He made a gesture. The blue sand around them darkened into the rich brown of loam. It shifted to give way to an upspring of bubbling water. The scaly, brass-colored vegetation turned green. From a patch of it, the leafy trunk of a peach tree rose up. Fruit hung from its boughs. Mitchell bent to drink from the spring.
When she had quenched her thirst, he said, "You'll share this power, too. As you develop, you'll feel like me, able to make a world into anything you want it to be. Soon we will fully control our bodies. We'll never grow old. You're woman enough now to like that. Always young, as beautiful as you desire to be . . ."
He suddenly stiffened.
"What's wrong?" she asked anxiously.
"A visitor," he said. "A very foolish visitor."
"Who is it?"
"You'll enjoy playing God, Elizabeth."
A splinter of unnamable fear jabbed her. He laughed at the look on her face. "Blasphemy scares you?" He flung his arms wide, the silver hands outspread. "Let there be food! Give me Kaferian apples, world, my world!"
A squat, odd shaped tree appeared, heavy with huge red fruit. Mitchell, detaching an apple from it, bit into it, its rich yellow juice running down his silver chin. "Whenever we'd stop at that planet, I'd stock up on these," he said. "What is your wish? Just speak it."
Her answer came in the form of a slow, thoughtful question. "How much have I changed, Gary?"
But he wasn't listening. He had turned to concentrate his gaze on the still unseen figure of Kirk clambering over boulders, the heavy weight of the phaser rifle on his shoulder.
Mitchell spoke. "Can you hear me, James? You can't see me, I know. So let me comfort you. You're on the right path. You'll see me soon. Soon enough."
Kirk stopped. He had heard the words. How, he didn't know. He started to unlimber the rifle when he realized that Mitchell wasn't there. He resumed climbing.
"It's Captain Kirk," Elizabeth said as though speaking to herself. "In my mind I can see him."
"Go and meet him," Mitchell said. "Talk to him. Now that you're changing, you've got to discover how unimportant they are."
Hesitating, she stepped forward. Kirk sensed the presence on the shallow cliff above him, grabbed his rifle—and recognized the girl. Climbing up to her, he saw the hard silver of her eyes for the first time.
"Yes," she said. "It just took a little longer for it to happen to me."
Kirk lowered the rifle. "You've got to help me stop it, Dr. Dehner. Before it goes too far with you, too."
"I've already gone far enough to—to realize what he's doing is right. It's right for us."
"And for humans?" Kirk said. "You're still partly human—or you wouldn't be with him."
She looked away from him. Without certainty, she said, "Earth is—really unimportant. Before long, we'll be where it would take millions of years of learning for humans to reach."
"How will he learn if he skips over those millions of years?" Kirk said. "You don't know. You can't know. He won't have lived through them!"
"Please" she said. "Go back while you can!"
"You heard him joke about compassion. Above all a god needs compassion, Elizabeth."
"Go back!" she shouted.
"You were a psychiatrist," Kirk said. "You know the savage we all keep buried—the primitive self we dare not expose. But he'll dare to expose his! In God's name, Doctor, make your prognosis!"
Her face was tortured. Then she whispered, "He's coming!"
But he was already here. He ignored Kirk to speak to the girl. "I'm disappointed in you, Elizabeth. You still have doubts."
Whipping up his rifle, Kirk fired it at him. A fiery beam lanced out of it and struck him full in the chest. Its redness faded. Mitchell raised a finger. The rifle tore from Kirk's grasp to clatter on the stones beside him.
Time passed. Then Mitchell broke the silence. "I have been meditating," he said. "I have been reflecting upon the death of an old friend. His death and his honorable burial."
Kirk turned. Behind him, brown earth was scooping itself out into the neat shape of a grave. Elizabeth stared at Mitchell in unbelief. Trembling, she looked back at the grave. At its head stood a tidy, white military cross bearing the inscription "James R. Kirk. C1277.1 to 1313.7."
A grinding sound came from overhead. Kirk looked up. A huge, rectangular rock slab was detaching itself from the cliff wall. It wobbled for a moment. Then it teetered into position directly above the grave.
Elizabeth screamed. "No, Gary, no!"
"You still like what you're seeing?" Kirk asked her.
"Time to pray, Captain," Mitchell said.
"To you?" Kirk said. "Not to both of you?"
The silver finger pointed at him. He was struck to his knees by the flash that darted from it. He remained on his knees, his eyes on the girl. "This is a jealous god, Elizabeth. In the end there will be one of you."
"Your last chance, Kirk!"
Elizabeth tensed. Sparks suddenly crackled between her and Mitchell. He reeled, recovered—and extended a silver hand toward her. A storm of sparks broke from it. She staggered, moaning with pain. But the energy drain had told on Mitchell. For a single second his eyes went blue. Then they were impervious silver once more. And once more the silver hand was extended toward the girl. A fiery mantle of sparks engulfed her. She crumpled. "Hurry," she whispered to Kirk. "There's—so little time."
The second outlay of energy had been expensive. Realizing his weakness, Mitchell turned to run. Kirk hurled himself forward and made a grab for his legs. A booted foot caught him in the chest. Then Mitchell seized a jagged rock. Kirk dodged the blow and closed with him.
"Gary, listen! For this moment you are human again . . ."
"It's gone now!" On a new surge of power, Mitchell smashed Kirk down with a silver fist.
He hit the ground hard, almost falling into the open grave. Then Mitchell was on him. In dizzy changes his face turned from silver to flesh. The silver won. Wrestling with him, Kirk could feel his whole body transforming itself into metal. He wrenched himself free, and had reached the rifle when Mitchell ripped an edged section of rock from the outcropping above them. It brushed his shoulder at the same moment he fired the rifle.
The beam missed Mitchell. But it struck the soft blue sand beneath the overhanging slab of rock that was to be his tombstone. It toppled and fell toward the grave.
"Gary!" Kirk shouted. "Look out!"
It was too late. Stumbling backward, Mitchell tripped. The rock slab hit him, tumbling him into the grave. A cloud of blue dust rose. When it settled, it had filled the letters etched into the broken white military cross.
Kirk kneed himself over to Elizabeth. The silver had gone from her eyes. "It's—all over, isn't it?" The voice was so weak that he had to stoop to hear it. Her head lolled over Kirk's arm. She was dead.
He got to his feet, a lonely stranger on a strange planet in a strange galaxy. But his communicator was familiar.
He spoke into it, his voice very tired. "Kirk to Enterprise. Come in, Enterprise."
It was almost as strange to be back in his command chair. He'd been a far way. The magnetic space storm—Delta Vega—Mitchell's death—Kelso's—were they all events that had occurred in a dream? The new control panels around him were blinking as steadily as though they were the old ones. It was good to see Spock just standing there beside him.
"Ready to leave orbit, sir," Scott called from Kelso's old position.
"Engage," Kirk said. He switched on his Captain's log. "Add to official casualties, Dr. Elizabeth Dehner. Be it noted that she gave her life in performance of her duty. And Lieutenant Commander Gary Mitche
ll. The same notation."
He looked at Spock. "After all, he didn't ask for what happened to him. I want his service record to end that way."
Spock's Mephisto features were tranquil. "I felt for him, too, sir, strange to say."
Kirk eyed him speculatively. "Watch yourself, Mr. Spock," he said. "Your compassion is showing."
WOLF IN THE FOLD
(Robert Bloch)
* * *
The planet Argelius boasted the most popular Venusbergs in the galaxy. And spacemen's favorite was a café that featured the bellydancing of the lushly exotic Kara. The other lovely women who companioned its male guests at their tables were an old, if still pleasing story to Kirk and McCoy. But they were a blissfully new one to Scott. He sat with them, glancing around him, enraptured. Then his eyes returned to Kara's sinuous grace as she twisted it on the dance floor, her transparent gold skirt swirling around her.
Beaming, Scott said unnecessarily, "I like Argelius."
"Very little about it not to like," Kirk said.
"You mean to tell me these women, these beauties—I mean, all this is . . ."
"The Argelians think very highly of pleasure," Kirk told him.
McCoy laughed. "There's an understatement if ever I heard one! This is a completely hedonistic society."
"Like Kara, Scotty?" Kirk asked.
There was a fervent "Aye!" from Scott, at which Kirk said, "Good. I've invited her to join us. It occurred to me you might like to meet her."
"Now that's what I call a Captain!" Scott exclaimed. "Always thinking of his men."
"You're not drinking, Jim," McCoy said. "The few polyesters in this native extract—good for the soul. Not to mention the body."
"I don't suppose a little loosener-upper would hurt." Kirk sipped his drink.
Scott, his eyes on Kara, said, "Mr. Spock should see us now."
McCoy snorted. "He'd just be 'fascinated' by the picturesque folk costumes in the place."
Kara had come to a spinning stop, her hands slanted over her eyes in the immemorially seductive gesture of simulated prudery. The café's dimness lit with sparks as though someone had released a swarm of fireflies. Scott pounded enthusiastically on the table.
Amused, Kirk said, "It's an Argelian custom to demonstrate one's approval by blinking delight lights."
"You telling an old Glasgow pub crawler how to applaud, Captain?" Scott said. Then all three men rose from their table. Kara was gliding toward them. As she approached, Kirk noted a young man at the bar. He had shoved his drink aside, his face darkened by a scowl. It deepened when Scott seated the girl beside him. Suddenly the scowler seized his drink, drained it and walked out of the café. Nor was the dancer's elderly musician pleased by the warmth of her smile at Scott. Laying aside his flutelike instrument, he averted his eyes from their table.
Scott, oblivious of everything but Kara's nearness, leaned forward to place his hand over hers.
"Tis a fine foggy night tonight," he said. "Did anyone ever tell you about the grand fogs we have in Edinburgh?"
"Never a word," she said. "But I'm dying to learn."
"Then why don't I show you? There's naught like a walk in a fog with a bonny lass."
"Or a handsome gentleman. Why don't we go?"
The sun on Scott's face would have dispersed even an Edinburgh fog. Kara's hand still in his, he got up. "You don't mind, do you?" he asked the others. "I might even get back to the ship on time."
"Don't hurry, Scotty," Kirk said. "Relax and enjoy yourself. That's what Argelius is all about."
He looked thoughtfully after them as they left. "My work is never done, Bones."
"My work, Jim. This is strictly prescription stuff. That explosion that threw Scotty against the bulkhead was caused by a woman."
"You're sure the physical damage is all cleared up?"
"Yes. But the psychological damage? I didn't like his resentment of all women after it happened."
"I defy any man to stay angry at women on a planet like this."
"When Scotty gets back to the ship, Jim, he may hate you for making him leave Argelius. But I'll bet my professional reputation he'll be finished with any lingering dislike of women."
"Well," Kirk said, "I think we've accomplished what we came here for. Bones, there's a spot across town where the women are so . . ."
"I know the place," McCoy interrupted. "Let's go."
The fog outside was thicker than they had expected. Light from the door they opened was diffused against coils of clammy mist that made it hard to choose direction. Kirk hesitated.
"I think we bear left," he said. But the turn they took led them into an alley. They had paused, about to retrace their steps, when a woman's agonized scream tore the silent darkness before them. "It came from there!" Kirk shouted, and plunged deeper into the foggy alley, McCoy at his heels. They both stopped at the sound of heavy breathing. Kirk took a forward step only to stop again. He had stumbled over a body.
It was sprawled, face down, on the damp paving. The back of the cloak it wore was ripped by venomous slashes.
McCoy, kneeling beside it, lifted the head. After a long moment, he raised a face that was blanched with horror. "It's Kara," he said. "Dead. Stabbed a dozen times."
The heavy breathing sound came again. They ran toward it. Scott was crouched against the alley wall. He stared at them unseeingly, his face twisted into a grimace. In his hands he held a long, sharp knife. It was wet with blood.
The café had got rid of its customers, and bright lights had replaced its dimness. Unspeaking, Kirk and McCoy stood beside the table where Scott sat, huddled, his face in his hands. Like Scott, they made no move when the pudgy, round-faced man who faced them said, "Argelius is the last planet in the galaxy where I'd expect a thing like this to happen. I'm at a loss to explain it, gentlemen."
"We are just as shocked as you are, Mr. Hengist," Kirk assured him.
"If this were my home planet, Rigel IV," Hengist was saying, "I'd have a dozen investigators at my disposal as Chief City Administrator. But they don't exist here."
"Then you are not a native Argelian, sir?" McCoy asked.
"No. Argelius hires its administrative officers from other planets. Its people's virtue is gentleness, not efficiency."
"You can count," Kirk told him, "on our complete cooperation. We will conduct ourselves according to your local laws."
"That's the trouble," Hengist frowned. "There are no laws to deal with a thing like this. Ancient traditions, of course, dating back before the great Argelian Awakening. But they're rather barbaric. I can't be expected to put your Mr. Scott to torture."
"We might be able to help," Kirk suggested. "We have equipment on the Enterprise which would help us get at the facts."
Hengist shook his head. "That's quite impossible, Captain, quite impossible. The investigation must take place here."
He picked up the murder knife from the table, looking down at the broken figure of Scott. "Mr. Scott—Mr. Scott, kindly rouse yourself! Are you sure you've never seen this knife before?"
Scott stared, dull eyed, at the knife.
Kirk spoke sharply. "Answer him, Scott!"
"I—don't remember," Scott said.
Hengist made a gesture of impatience. He looked at Kirk. "You can scarcely call that helpful, Captain!"
Kirk pulled up a chair beside Scott. "Scotty," he said quietly, "you left the café with the girl. You remember that, don't you? What happened next?"
The dull eyes turned to him. "We were walking—the fog. I was ahead of her, trying to lead the way. Then—then I heard her scream. I remember starting to turn—"
His face contorted. Then words burst out of him. "I can't remember another thing!"
Beckoning to McCoy, Kirk got up from the chair. "Well, Bones?" he said.
"If he says he can't remember, he probably doesn't. You know Scotty."
"I also know a murder has been committed—and that we found him with a bloody knife in his hand."
"That proves nothing," McCoy said. "Surely you don't think . . ."
"What I think doesn't make any difference! We're guests here! A member of my crew is under suspicion!"
"But you don't throw him to the wolves!" cried McCoy.
"I've got a diplomatic responsibility, Bones. This happened under Argelian jurisdiction. If they want to arrest Scotty, put him through trial here—even convict him, I've got to go along with them." He paused. "Besides, this business of not remembering . . ."
"Jim, he's just recovering from a very severe concussion! Partial amnesia after a thing like that is not only possible, it's probable. Especially under great stress."
"It's out of my hands, Bones. We'll do all that we can—but only under Argelian laws. There's Hengist at him again. Let's get back."
The pudgy man had replaced the knife on the table. "Not very promising, Captain Kirk. Your man still insists he remembers nothing. But my detector readings show his fingerprints on the murder weapon."
"Mr. Hengist," said Kirk, "other people left this café at about the same time Mr. Scott and the girl did."
"So I've been told by the staff. Those people will be located and questioned. But the outlook for your friend is pretty grim. I'm a man who prides himself on doing his job well. This crime will be solved and its perpetrator punished!"
"What is the law in such cases, Mr. Hengist?"
A deep voice spoke. "The Law of Argelius, sir, is love."
Kirk turned. A tall, white baked, distinguished man had entered the café. A woman, almost as tall, was with him. Slim, elegant, her black hair touched with gray at the temples, the quiet gravity of her composure was impressive. Hengist bowed deeply to them both.
"Gentlemen," he said, "our Prefect—Jaris. Sir, Captain Kirk and Dr. McCoy."
Presenting the beautiful woman, Jaris said, "My wife, Sybo."
She inclined her head. "And this man at the table is Scott," Hengist said. "The one I told you about in my message."
Jaris's tranquil eyes studied Scott's face. "He does not look like a man capable of murder. Still, it has been so long since—" The deep voice spoke to Kirk and McCoy. "Gentlemen, before our great awakening hundreds of years ago, we had ways of learning the truth in such matters. We will return to them."
