by James Blish
"Then it must be on automatic controls," contributed Scott.
Spock nodded. "And its builders—or passengers—are dead."
Chekov said, "Course of asteroid—I mean spaceship—241 mark 17."
Spock had stooped swiftly to his console. He pushed several controls. Then he looked up. "Sir, that reading Ensign Chekov just gave us puts the asteroid ship on a collision course with planet Daran V!"
"Daran V!" Kirk stared at him. "My memory banks say that's an inhabited planet, Mr. Spock!"
"Yes, sir. Population, approximately three billion,' seven hundred and twenty-four million." He paused, glancing back at his console panel. "Estimated time of impact: thirteen months, six days."
"Well," Kirk said. "That's a pretty extensive population." He whirled to Sulu. "Mr. Sulu, match Enterprise speed with the asteroid ship's. Mr. Spock and I are transporting aboard her. Mr. Scott, you have the con."
They entered the Transporter Room to see Christine Chapel handing his tricorder to McCoy. "A lot can happen in a year," she was saying. "Give yourself every minute of it."
"Thanks," McCoy said, and slung the tricorder over his shoulder. Ignoring Kirk and Spock, he stepped up on the Transporter platform, taking position on one of its circles.
Kirk walked over to him. "Bones," he said, "Spock and I will handle this one."
"Without me?" McCoy said. "You'll never make it back here without me."
"I feel it would be wiser if . . ."
"I'm fine, thank you, Captain," McCoy brushed him off. "I want to go."
So that was how Bones wanted it played. He wasn't fatally ill. The word terminal might never have been spoken. "All right, Bones. You're probably right. If we make it back here, we'll need you with us." He took up his own position on the platform between Spock and McCoy.
They arrived on a land area of the asteroid ship. As though land on an asteroid weren't strange enough, strange plants, coiling black tendrils abounded, their strange roots sunk in deep, smoking fissures. High mountains shouldered up in the distance. Otherwise, the view showed only rubble and pockmarked rocks.
McCoy said, "You'd swear you were on a planet's surface."
Spock tossed away a stone he'd examined. "The question is, why make a ship look like a planet?"
"You wouldn't even know you were on a spaceship." Kirk jerked his com unit from his belt. "Kirk to Enterprise."
"Scott here, Captain."
"Transported without incident. Kirk out." He rehung his communicator on his belt, and was moving forward when, to his far left, his eye caught the glint of sunlight on metal. "Over there," he said. "Look . . ."
It was a row of metal cylinders. They were all about eight feet high, their width almost matching their height, and regularly spaced fifty feet apart. The men approached the nearest one, examining it carefully without touching it. "No apparent opening," Kirk observed.
"Spock, you found no intelligent life forms," McCoy said, "but surely these are evidence of . . ."
"This asteroid ship is ten thousand years old, Doctor. They may be evidence of the existence of some previous life forms." He checked his tricorder. "Certainly, there are no signs of life now."
They eyed the enigmatic cylinder again before they walked on to the next one. It was a duplicate of the first. As they reached the third, the two cylinders behind them suddenly opened, disgorging two groups of men, clad in shaggy homespun. Armed with short daggers and broadswords, they moved silently, trailing the Enterprise trio. A slim and beautiful woman followed them. She halted as the men charged.
The struggle was quick and violent. Outnumbered, Spock took several blows from sword hilts before he dropped to the ground, half-conscious. McCoy, head down, rushed a man off his feet, the momentum of his plunge crashing him into the woman. Her eyes widened in a surprise that contained no fear. Startled by her beauty, McCoy was brought up short, taking in the lustrous black hair piled on her head in fantastic loops, her glittering black leotard-like garment. Then he was stunned by a smash on the head. Kirk, going down under a swarming attack, saw the broadsword lifting up over McCoy and yelled, "Bones!"
The woman raised her right hand.
The broadsword was stayed in midstroke. McCoy was pulled to his feet. He shook his head, trying to clear it. Vaguely, he became aware of hands fumbling at his belt. Then his arms were jerked behind his back. Disarmed of phasers and communicators, he, Kirk and Spock were herded over to the woman.
"These are your weapons?" she asked, holding their belts in her right hand.
"Yes," Kirk said. "Of a kind. Weapons and communication devices. Let me help my friend!" He struggled to pull free. The woman made a commanding gesture.
Released, he rushed over to the still groggy McCoy. "Bones, are you all right?"
"I—I think so, Jim."
The woman's dark eyes were on McCoy. "I am called Natira," she told him. "I am the High Priestess of the People. Welcome to the world of Yonada."
"We have received more desirable welcomes," Kirk said.
She ignored him. "Bring them!" she ordered their guards.
She led the way to an open cylinder. They were in an apparently endless, lighted corridor, lined by curious people in their homespun clothing. As Natira passed them, they bowed deeply. She was nearing an arched portal. It was flanked by two ornately decorated pillars, their carvings suggestive of a form of writing, cut deep into the stone. Natira, bowing herself, touched some hidden device that opened the massive door. But keen-eyed Spock had registered its location. He had also observed the writing.
The large room they entered was dim, its sole light a glow that shone from under its central dais. Its rich ornamentation matched that of the portal. "You will kneel," Natira said.
There was no point, Kirk thought, in making an issue of it. He nodded at Spock and McCoy. They knelt. Natira, stepping onto the dais, turned to what was clearly an altar. Etched into its stone was a design that resembled a solar system. As Natira fell to her knees before the altar, light filled the room.
McCoy, his voice lowered, said, "She called this the world. These people don't know they're on a spaceship," Kirk nodded. "Possible. The ship's been in flight for a long time."
"That writing," Spock said, "resembles the lexicography of the Fabrini."
But Natira, her arms upraised, was speaking. "O Oracle of the People, O most wise and most perfect, strangers have come to our world. They bear instruments we do not understand."
Light blazed from the altar. As though it had strengthened her to ask the question, she rose to her feet, turned and said, "Who are you?"
"I am Captain Kirk of the Starship Enterprise. This is Dr. McCoy, our Medical Officer. Mr. Spock is my First Officer."
"And for what reason do you visit this world?"
The word "world" again. Kirk and McCoy exchanged a look.
"We come in friendship," Kirk said.
The sound of thunder crashed from the altar. A booming echo of the thunder, the voice of the Oracle spoke.
"Learn what it means to be our enemy. Learn what that means before you learn what it means to be our friend."
Lightning flashed. The three Enterprise men were felled to the floor by a near lethal charge of electricity'
McCoy was taking too long to recover consciousness. He continued to lay, white-faced, in a sleeping alcove of their lavishly decorated guest quarters. Spock, who had been trying to work out muscle spasms in his shoulders, joined Kirk at McCoy's couch.
"He must have suffered an excessively intense electrical shock," he said.
"No. I don't think that's it," Kirk said. He reached for McCoy's pulse. Spock, aware of the deep concern in Kirk's face, was puzzled. "Nothing else could have caused this, sir." He paused. "That is—nothing that has occurred down here."
Kirk glanced up at Spock. He knew that the Vulcan had sensed something of the real cause of his anxiety. "The shock was unusually serious because of McCoy's weakened condition," he said.
"May I ask precisely
what is troubling the Doctor?"
"Yes, Mr. Spock. He'd never tell you himself. But now I think he'd want you to know. He has xenopolycythemia."
Spock stiffened. After a long moment, he said quietly, "I know of the disease, Captain."
"Then you know there's nothing that can be done." As he spoke, McCoy stirred. His eyes opened. Kirk stooped over him. "How is it now, Bones?"
"All right," McCoy said. He sat up, pulling himself rapidly together. "How are you, Spock?"
"Fine, thank you. The Captain and I must have received a less violent electrical charge."
Falsely hearty, McCoy said, "That Oracle really got to me. I must be especially susceptible to his magic spells."
"Spock knows," Kirk said. "I told him, Bones."
There was relief in McCoy's face. He stood up. "Hadn't we better find this ship's control room and get these people off their collision course?"
"You're in no shape to be up," Kirk said.
"Ridiculous!" McCoy said. "I'm up!"
Kirk saw one of the alcove's curtains sway. He strode . to it, jerking it aside. A shabby old man, fear in his face, was huddled against the wall. He peered into Kirk's face. What he saw in it must have reassured him. He moved away from the wall, hesitated, took some powder from a pouch hung over his shoulder. "For strength," he said. He held out the pouch to them. "Many of us have felt the power of our Oracle. This powder will be of benefit. You are not of Yonada."
"No," Kirk said gently. "We come from outside your world."
The old hand reached out to touch Kirk's arm. "You are as we are?"
"The same," Kirk said.
"You are the first to come here. I am ignorant. Tell me of the outside."
"What do you wish to know?"
"Where is outside?"
Kirk pointed skyward. "It's up there."
The filmed eyes glanced up at the ceiling. Like a child put off by an adult lie, the old man looked back at Kirk in mixed disbelief and disappointment. Kirk smiled at him. "The outside is up there and all around."
"So they say, also," the old man said sadly. "Years ago, I climbed the mountains, even though it is forbidden."
"Why is it forbidden?" Kirk asked.
"I am not sure. But things are not as they teach us—for the world is hollow and I have touched the sky."
The voice had sunk into a terrified whisper. As he uttered the last words, the old man screamed in sudden agony, clutching at his temples. He collapsed in a sprawled heap on the floor. Horrified, Kirk saw a spot on one temple flash into a pulsating glow. Then the flare died.
McCoy examined the spot. "Something under the skin." He moved the shabby homespun to check the heart. "Jim, he's dead."
Kirk looked down at the heap. " 'For the world is hollow and I have touched the sky.' What an epitaph for a human life!"
Spock said, "He said it was forbidden to climb the mountains."
"Of course it's forbidden," Kirk said. "If you climbed the mountains, you might discover you were living in an asteroid spaceship, not in the world at all. That I'll bet is the forbidden knowledge."
"What happened?"
It was Natira. She had entered their quarters with two women bearing platters of fruit and wine. At the sight of the crumpled body, their faces convulsed with terror. But Natira knelt down beside it.
"We don't know what happened," Kirk told her. "He suddenly screamed in pain—and died."
She bent her head in prayer. "Forgive him, O Oracle, most wise and most perfect. He was an old man—and old men are sometimes foolish." She rose to her feet. "But it is written that those of the People who sin or speak evil will be punished."
The severity in her face softened into sadness. She touched a wall button. To the guards who entered she said, "Take him away—gently. He served well and for many years." Then she spoke to the women. "Place the food on the table and go."
As the door closed behind them, she crossed to McCoy. "You do not seem well. It is distressing to me."
"No," he said. "I am all right."
"It is the wish of the Oracle that you now be treated as honored guests. I will serve you with my own hands." But the tray she arranged with fruit and wine was taken to McCoy. When she left them to prepare the other trays, Kirk said, "You seem favored, Bones."
"Indeed, Doctor," Spock said, "the lady has shown a preference for you from the beginning."
"Nobody can blame her for that," McCoy retorted.
"Personally," Kirk said, "I find her taste questionable." McCoy, sipping wine, said, "My charm has always been fatal," but Kirk noted that his eyes were nevertheless fixed on the graceful bend of the woman at the table. "If it's so fatal," he said, "why don't you arrange to spend some time alone with the lady? Then Spock and I might find a chance to locate the power controls of this place."
Natira was back, holding two goblets of wine. "It is time that our other guests refresh themselves."
Kirk lifted his goblet. "To our good friends of Yonada."
"We are most interested in your world," Spock said.
"That pleases us."
"Then perhaps you wouldn't mind if we looked around a bit," Kirk ventured.
"You will be safe," she said. "The People know of you now."
McCoy coughed uncomfortably. She went to him swiftly. "I do not think you are yet strong enough to look around with your friends."
"Perhaps not," he smiled.
"Then why not remain here? Rest—and we will talk."
She was beautiful. "I should like that," McCoy said.
She turned to Kirk. "But you—you and Mr. Spock—you are free to go about and meet our People."
"Thank you," he said. "We appreciate your looking after Dr. McCoy."
"Not at all," she inclined her head. "We shall make him well." She saw them to the door. Then she hastened back to McCoy. As she sat down on the couch beside him, he said, "I am curious. How did the Oracle punish the old man?"
The dark lashes lowered. "I—cannot tell you now."
"There's some way by which the Oracle knows what you say, isn't there?"
"What we say—what we think. The Oracle knows the minds and hearts of all the People."
McCoy's forehead creased with a worried frown.
Concerned, Natira extended a white hand that tried to stroke the frown away. "I did not know you would be hurt so badly."
"Perhaps we had to learn the power of the Oracle."
"McCoy. There is something I must say. Since the moment I saw you—" She took a deep breath. "It is not the custom of the People to hide their feelings."
McCoy said to himself, Watch your step, boy. But to her, he said, "Honesty is usually wisdom."
"Is there a woman for you?" she asked.
He could smell the fragrance of the lustrous black hair near his shoulder. This woman was truthful as well as beautiful. So he gave her the truth. "No," he said. "No, there isn't."
The lashes lifted—and he got the full impact of her open femininity. "Does McCoy find me attractive?"
"Yes," he said. "I do. I do indeed."
She took his face between her hands, looking deep into his eyes. "I hope you men of space—of other worlds, hold truth as dear as we do."
Watching his step was becoming difficult. "We do," he said.
"It is dear to me," she said. "So I wish you to stay here on Yonada. I want you for my mate."
McCoy took one of the hands from his face and kissed it. The Eagle Scout in him whispered, Brother, douse this campfire. But in him was also a man under sentence of death; a man with one year to live—one with a new, very intense desire to make that last year count. He turned the hand over to kiss its palm. "But we are strangers to each other," he said.
"Is it not the nature of men and women—that pleasure lies in learning about each other?"
"Yes."
"Then let the thought rest in your heart, McCoy, while I tell you about the Promise. In the fullness of time, the People will reach a new world, rich, green, so lovely to
the eyes it will fill them with tears of joy. You can share that new world with me. You shall be its master because you'll be my master."
"When will you reach this new world?"
"Soon. The Oracle will only say—soon."
There was an innocence about her that opened his heart. Incredibly, he heard himself cry out, "Natira, Natira, if you only knew how much I've needed a future!"
"You have been lonely," she said. She picked up the wine glass and held it to his lips. "It is all over, the loneliness. There shall be no more loneliness for you."
He drank and set the glass aside. "Natira—there's something I must tell you . . ."
"Sssh," she said. "There is nothing you need to say."
"But there is."
She removed the hand she had placed over his mouth. "Then tell me, if the telling is such a need."
"I am ill," he said. "I have an illness for which there is no cure. I have one year to live, Natira."
The dark eyes did not flinch. "A year can be a lifetime, McCoy."
"It is my entire lifetime."
"Until I saw you my heart was empty. It sustained my life—and nothing more. Now it sings. I am grateful for the feeling that you have made it feel whether it lasts for a day—a month—a year—whatever time the Creators give to us."
He took her in his arms.
Kirk and Spock were meeting curious looks as they walked down a corridor of the asteroid ship. The more people they encountered, the clearer it became they had no inkling of the real nature of their world. Spock said, "Whoever built this ship must have given them a religion that would control their curiosity."
"Judging by the old man, suppressing curiosity is handled very directly," Kirk said. They had reached the portal of the Oracle Room. Pretending to a casual interest in its carved stone pillars, Spock eyed them keenly. "Yes," he said, "the writing is that of the Fabrini. I can read it."
"Fabrina?" Kirk said. "Didn't the sun of the Fabrina system go nova and destroy its planets?"
"It did, Captain. Toward the end, the Fabrini lived underground as the people do here."
