Star Trek 01

by James Blish

  "Miri," he said. "Listen to me. You've got to listen to me."

  She turned her head away. He reached out and grabbed her by the chin, much more roughly than he had wanted to, and forced her to look at him. He was dimly aware that he was anything but pretty—bearded, covered with sweat and dirt, eyes rimmed and netted with red, mouth working with the effort to say words that would not come out straight.

  "We've... only got a few hours left. Us, and all of you... you, and your friends. And... we may be wrong. After that, no grups, and no onlies... no one ... forever and ever. Give me back just one of those... machines, those communicators. Do you want the blood of a whole world on your hands? Think, Miri—think for once in your life!"

  Her eyes darted away. She was looking toward Janice. He forced her to look back at him. "Now, Miri. Now. Now."

  She drew a long, shuddering breath. "I'll—try to get you one," she said. Then she twisted out of his grasp and vanished.

  "We can't wait any longer," McCoy's voice said calmly. "Even if we had the computer's verdict, we couldn't do anything with it. We have to go ahead."

  "I will bet you a year's pay," Spock said, "that the antitoxoid is fatal in itself."

  In a haze of pain, Kirk could see McCoy grinning tightly, like a skull. "You're on," he said. "The disease certainly is. But if I lose, Mr. Spock, how will you collect?"

  He raised his hand.

  "Stop!" Kirk croaked. He was too late—even supposing that McCoy in this last extremity would have obeyed his captain. This was McCoy's world, his universe of discourse. The hypo hissed against the surgeon's bared, blue-suffused arm.

  Calmly, McCoy laid the injector down on the table, and sat down. "Done," he said. "I don't feel a thing." His eyes rolled upward in their sockets, and he took a firm hold on the edge of the table. "You see ... gentlemen ... it's all perfectly..."

  His head fell forward.

  "Help me carry him," Kirk said, in a dead voice. Together, he and Spock carried the surgeon to the nearest cot. McCoy's face, except for the botches, was waxlike; he looked peaceful for the first time in days. Kirk sat down on the edge of the cot beside him and tried his pulse. It was wild and erratic, but still there.

  "I... don't see how the antitoxoid could have hit him that fast," Spock said. His own voice sounded like a whisper from beyond the grave.

  "He could only have passed out. I'm about ready, myself. Damn the man's stubbornness."

  "Knowledge," Spock said remotely, "has its privileges."

  This meant nothing to Kirk. Spock was full of these gnomic utterances; presumably they were Vulcanian. There was a peculiar hubbub in Kirk's ears, as though the visual fuzziness was about to be counterpointed by an aural one.

  Spock said, "I seem to be on the verge myself—closer than I thought. The hallucinations have begun."

  Wearily, Kirk looked around. Then he goggled. If Spock was having a hallucination, so was Kirk. He wondered if it was the same one.

  A procession of children was coming into the room, led by Miri. They were of all sizes and shapes, from toddlers up to about the age of twelve. They looked as though they had been living in a department store. Some of the older boys wore tuxedos; some were in military uniforms; some in scaled-down starmen's clothes; some in very loud and mismatched sports clothes. The girls were a somewhat better matched lot, since almost all of them were wearing some form of party dress, several of them trailing opera cloaks and loaded with jewelry. Dominating them all was a tall, red-headed boy—or no, that wasn't his own hair, it was a wig, long at the back and sides and with bangs, from which the price-tag still dangled. Behind him hopped a fat little boy who was carrying, on a velvet throw-pillow, what appeared to be a crown.

  It was like some mad vision of the Children's Crusade. But what was maddest about it was that the children were loaded with equipment—the landing party's equipment. There were the three communicators—Janice and the security guards hadn't carried any; there were the two missing tricorders—McCoy had kept his in the lab; and the red-wigged boy even had a phaser slung at his hip. It was a measure of how exhausted they had all been, even back then, that they hadn't realized one of the deadly objects was missing. Kirk wondered whether the boy had tried it, and if so, whether he had hurt anybody with it.

  The boy saw him looking at it, and somehow divined his thought.

  "I used it on Louise," he said gravely. "I had to. She went grup all at once, while we were playing school. She was—only a little older than me."

  He unbuckled the weapon and held it out: Numbly, Kirk took it. The other children moved to the long table and solemnly began to pile the rest of the equipment on it. Miri came tentatively to Kirk.

  "I'm sorry," she said. "It was wrong and I shouldn't have. I had a hard time, trying to make Jahn understand that it wasn't a foolie any more." She looked sideways at the waxy figure of McCoy. "Is it too late?"

  "It may be," Kirk whispered; that was all the voice he could muster. "Mr. Spock, do you think you can still read the data to Farrell?"

  "I'll try, sir."

  Farrell was astonished and relieved, and demanded explanations. Spock cut him short and read him the figures. Then there was nothing to do but wait while the material was processed. Kirk went back to looking at McCoy, and Miri joined him. He realized dimly that, for all the trouble she had caused, her decision to bring the communicators back had been a giant step toward growing up. It would be a shame to lose her now, Miri most of all in the springtime of her promise—a springtime for which she had waited three sordid centuries. He put his arm around her, and she looked up at him gratefully.

  Was it another failure of vision, or were the blotches on McCoy fading a little? No, some of them were definitely smaller and had lost color. "Mr. Spock," he said, "come here and check me on something."

  Spock looked and nodded. "Retreating," he said. "Now if there are no serious side-effects—" The buzz of his communicator interrupted him. "Spock here."

  "Farrell to landing party. The identification is correct, repeat, correct. Congratulations. Do you mean to tell me you boiled down all that mass of bits and pieces with nothing but a bio-comp?"

  Kirk and Spock exchanged tired grins. "No," Spock said, "we did it all in Doctor McCoy's head. Over and out."

  "The bio-comp did help," Kirk said. He reached out and patted the squat machine. "Nice kitty."

  McCoy stirred. He was trying to sit up, his expression dazed.

  "Begging your pardon, Doctor," Kirk said. "If you've rested sufficently, I believe the administration of injections is your department."

  "It worked?" McCoy said huskily.

  "It worked fine, the ship's computer says it's the right stuff, and you are the hero of the hour, you pig-headed idiot."

  They left the system a week later, having given all the antitoxoid the ship's resources could produce. Together with Farrell, the erstwhile landing party stood on the bridge of the Enterprise, watching the planet retreat.

  "I'm still a little uneasy about it," Janice Rand said. "No matter how old they are chronologically, they're still just children. And to leave them there with just a medical team to help them—"

  "They haven't lived all those years for nothing," Kirk said. "Look at the difficult thing Miri did. They'll catch on fast, with only a minimum of guidance. Besides, I've already had Lieutenant Uhura get the word back to Earth... If that planet had had subspace radio, they would have been saved a lot of their agony. But it hadn't been invented when the original colonists left... Space Central will send teachers, technicians, administrators—"

  "—And truant officers, I presume," McCoy said.

  "No doubt. The kids will be all right."

  Janice Rand said slowly: "Miri... she... really loved you, you know, Captain. That was why she played that trick on you."

  "I know," Kirk said. "And I'm duly flattered. But I'll tell you a secret, Yeoman Rand. I make it a policy never to get involved with women older than I am."

  THE CONSCIENCE OF THE KI
NG

  (Barry Trivers)

  * * *

  "A curious experience," Kirk said. "I've seen Macbeth in everything from bearskins to uniforms, but never before in Arcturian dress. I suppose an actor has to adapt to all kinds of audiences."

  "This one has," Dr. Leighton said. He exchanged a glance with Martha Leighton; there was an undertone in his voice which Kirk could not fathom. There seemed to be no reason for it. The Leightons' garden, under the bright sun of the Arcturian system, was warm and pleasant; their hospitality, including last night's play, had been unexceptionable. But time was passing, and old friends or no, Kirk had to be back on duty shortly.

  "Karidian has an enormous reputation," he said, "and obviously he's earned it. But now, Tom, we'd better get down to business. I've been told this new synthetic of yours is something we badly need."

  "There is no synthetic," Leighton said heavily. "I want you to think about Karidian. About his voice in particular. You should remember it; you were there."

  "I was where?" Kirk said, annoyed. "At the play?"

  "No," Leighton said, his crippled, hunched body stiring restlessly in its lounger. "On Tarsus IV, during the Rebellion. Of course it was twenty years ago, but you couldn't have forgotten. My family murdered—and your friends. And you saw Kodos—and heard him, too."

  "Do you mean to tell me," Kirk said slowly, "that you called me three light-years off my course just to accuse an actor of being Kodos the Executioner? What am I supposed to put in my log? That you lied? That you diverted a starship with false information?"

  "It's not false. Karidian is Kodos."

  "That's not what I'm talking about. I'm talking about your invented story about the synthetic food process. Anyhow, Kodos is dead."

  "Is he?" Leighton said. "A body burned beyond recognition—what kind of evidence is that? And there are so few witnesses left, Jim: you, and I, and perhaps six or seven others, people who actually saw Kodos and heard his voice. You may have forgotten, but I never will."

  Kirk turned to Martha, but she said gently: "I can't tell him anything, Jim. Once he heard Karidian's voice, it all came back. I can hardly blame him. From all accounts, that was a bloody business . . . and Tom wasn't just a witness. He was a victim."

  "No, I know that," Kirk said. "But vengeance won't help, either—and I can't allow the whole Enterprise to be sidetracked on a personal vendetta, no matter how I feel about it."

  "And what about justice?" Leighton said. "If Kodos is still alive, oughtn't he to pay? Or at least be taken out of circulation—before he contrives another massacre? Four thousand people, Jim!"

  "You have a point," Kirk admitted reluctantly. "All right, I'll go this far: Let me check the ship's library computer and see what we have on both men. If your notion's just a wild hare, that's probably the quickest way to find out. If it isn't—well, I'll listen further."

  "Fair enough," Leighton said.

  Kirk pulled out his communicator and called the Enterprise. "Library computer . . . Give me everything you have on a man named or known as Kodos the Executioner. After that, a check on an actor named Anton Karidian."

  "Working," the computer's voice said. Then: "Kodos the Executioner. Deputy Commander, forces of Rebellion, Tarsus IV, twenty terrestrial years ago. Population of eight thousand Earth colonists struck by famine after fungus blight largely destroyed food supply. Kodos used situation to implement private theories of eugenics, slaughtered fifty per cent of colony population. Sought by Earth forces when rebellion overcome. Burned body found and case closed. Biographical data—"

  "Skip that," Kirk said. "Go on."

  "Karidian, Anton. Director and leading man of traveling company of actors, sponsored by Interstellar Cultural Exchange project. Touring official installations for past nine years. Daughter, Lenore, nineteen years old, now leading lady of troupe. Karidian a recluse, has given notice current tour is to be his last. Credits—"

  "Skip that too. Data on his pre-acting years?"

  "None available. That is total information." Kirk put the communicator away slowly. "Well, well," he said. "I still think it's probably a wild hare, Tom . . . but I think I'd better go to tonight's performance, too."

  After the performance, Kirk went backstage, which was dingy and traditional, and knocked on the door with the star on it. In a moment, Lenore Karidian opened it, still beautiful, though not as bizarre as she had looked as an Arcturian Lady Macbeth. She raised her eyebrows.

  "I saw your performance tonight," Kirk said. "And last night, too. I just want to . . . extend my appreciation to you and to Karidian."

  "Thank you," she said, politely. "My father will be delighted, Mr . . .?"

  "Capt. James Kirk, the starship Enterprise."

  That told, he could tell; that and the fact that he had seen the show two nights running. She said: "We're honored. I'll carry your message to father."

  "Can't I see him personally?"

  "I'm sorry, Captain Kirk. He sees no one personally."

  "An actor turning away his admirers? That's very unusual."

  "Karidian is an unusual man."

  "Then I'll talk with Lady Macbeth," Kirk said. "If you've no objections. May I come in?"

  "Why . . . of course." She moved out of the way. In side, the dressing room was a clutter of theatrical trunks, all packed and ready to be moved. "I'm sorry I have nothing to offer you."

  Kirk stared directly at her, smiling. "You're being unnecessarily modest."

  She smiled back. "As you see, everything is packed Next we play two performances on Benecia, if the Astral Queen can get us there; we leave tonight."

  "She's a good ship," Kirk said. "Do you enjoy your work?"

  "Mostly. But, to play the classics, in these times, when most people prefer absurd three-V serials . . . it isn't always as rewarding as it could be."

  "But you continue," Kirk said.

  "Oh yes," she said, with what seemed to be a trace of bitterness. "My father feels that we owe it to the public. Not that the public cares."

  "They cared tonight. You were very convincing as Lady Macbeth."

  "Thank you. And as Lenore Karidian?"

  "I'm impressed." He paused an instant. "I think I'd like to see you again."

  "Professionally?"

  "Not necessarily."

  "I . . . think I'd like that. Unfortunately, we must keep to our schedule."

  "Schedules aren't always as rigid as they seem," Kirk said. "Shall we see what happens?"

  "Very well. And hope for the best."

  The response was promising, if ambiguous, but Kirk had no chance to explore it further. Suddenly his communicator was beeping insistently.

  "Excuse me," he said. "That's my ship calling . . . Kirk here."

  "Spock calling, Captain. Something I felt you should know immediately. Dr. Leighton is dead."

  "Dead? Are you sure?"

  "Absolutely," Spock's voice said. "We just had word from Q Central. He was murdered—stabbed to death."

  Slowly, Kirk put the device back in his hip pocket. Lenore was watching him. Her face showed nothing but grave sympathy.

  "I'll have to go," he said. "Perhaps you'll hear from me later."

  "I quite understand. I hope so."

  Kirk went directly to the Leightons' apartment. The body was still there, unattended except by Martha, but it told him nothing; he was not an expert in such matters. He took Martha's hand gently.

  "He really died the first day those players arrived," she said, very quietly. "Memory killed him. Jim . . . do you suppose survivors ever really recover from a tragedy?"

  "I'm deeply sorry, Martha."

  "He was convinced the moment we saw that man arrive," she said. "Twenty years since the terror, but he was sure Karidian was the man. Is that possible, Jim? Is he Kodos, after all?"

  "I don't know. But I'm trying to find out."

  "Twenty years and he still had nightmares. I'd wake him and he'd tell me he still heard the screams of the innocent—the silence of the.
executed. They never told him what happened to the rest of his family."

  "I'm afraid there's not much doubt about that," Kirk said.

  "It's the not knowing, Jim—whether the people you love are dead or alive. When you know, you mourn, but the wound heals and you go on. When you don't—every dawn is a funeral. That's what killed my husband, Jim, not the knife . . . But with him, I know."

  She managed a small smile and Kirk squeezed her hand convulsively. "It's all right," she said, as if she were the one who had to do the comforting. "At least he has peace now. He never really had it before. I suppose we'll never know who killed him."

  "I," Kirk said, "am damn well going to find out."

  "It doesn't matter. I've had enough of all this passion for vengeance. It's time to let it all rest. More than time." Suddenly the tears welled up. "But I shan't forget him. Never."

  Kirk stomped aboard ship in so obvious a white fury that nobody dared even to speak to him. Going directly to his quarters, he barked into the intercom: "Uhura!"

  "Yes, Captain," the Communications Officer responded, her normally firm voice softened almost to a squeak.

  "Put me through to Captain Daly, the Astral Queen, on orbit station. And put it on scramble."

  "Yes, sir . . . He's on, sir."

  "John, this is Jim Kirk. Can you do me a little favor?"

  "I owe you a dozen," Daly's voice said. "And two dozen drinks, too. Name your poison."

  "Thanks. I want you to pass up your pickup here."

  "You mean strand all them actors?"

  "Just that," Kirk said. "I'll take them on. And if there's any trouble, the responsibility is mine."

  "Will do."

  "I appreciate it. I'll explain later—I hope. Over and out . . . Lieutenant Uhura, now I want the library computer."

  "Library."

  "Reference the Kodos file. I'm told there were eight or nine survivors of the massacre who were actual eyewitnesses. I want their names and status."