by James Blish
Shall I compare thee to a summer's day? Thou art more lovely and more temperate. Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May, And summer's lease hath all too . . .
"You wrote that?" Garth broke in, shouting.
"Yesterday, as a matter of fact."
"More lies. It was written by an Earthman named Shakespeare a long time ago."
"Which doesn't change the fact that I wrote it again yesterday. I think it's one of my best poems, don't you?"
Garth controlled his temper with an obvious effort. "Sit down, Marta, you waste everyone's time. Captain, if you really want her, you can have her."
"Most magnanimous," Kirk said drily.
"You will find that I am magnanimous to my friends—and merciless to my enemies. I want you, both of you, to be my friends."
"Upon what, precisely," Spock said, "will our friendship be based?"
"Upon the firmest of foundations—enlightened self-interest. You, Captain, are second only to me as the finest military commander in the Galaxy."
"That's flattering, but at present I'm primarily an explorer."
"As I have been too. I have charted more new worlds than any man in history."
"Neither of these records can help a man who has lost his judgment," Spock said coldly. "How could you, a Starship Fleet Captain, have believed that a Federation squadron would blindly obey an order to destroy the entire Antos race? That people is as famous for its benevolence as for its skill—as your own survival proves."
"That was my only miscalculation," Garth said. "I had risen above this decadent weakness, but my officers had not. My new officers, the men in this room, will obey me without question. As for you, you both have eyes but cannot see. The Galaxy surrounds us—limitless vistas—and yet the Federation would have us grub away like ants in a somewhat larger than usual anthill. But I am not an insect. I am a master, and will claim my realm."
"I agree," Kirk said, "that war is not always avoidable and that you were a great warrior. I studied your victory at Axanar when I was a cadet. It's required reading at the Academy to this day."
"Which is as it should be."
"Quite so. But my first visit to Axanar was as a newfledged lieutenant with the peace mission."
"Politicians and weaklings," Garth said. "They threw away my victory."
"No, they capped it with another. They were statesmen and humanitarians, and they had a dream—a dream that has become a reality and has spread throughout the stars. A dream that has made Mr. Spock and me brothers."
Garth smiled tightly and turned to Spock. "Do you feel that Captain Kirk is your brother?"
"Captain Kirk," Spock said, "speaks figuratively. But with due allowance for this, what he says is logical and I do, in fact, agree with it."
"Blind—truly blind. Captain Kirk is your commanding officer and you are his subordinate; the rest is sugar-coating. But you are a worthy commander in your own right, and in my fleet you will assuredly have a starship to command."
"Forgive me," Spock said, "but exactly where is your fleet?"
Garth made a sweeping gesture. "Out there—waiting for me; they will flock to my cause with good reason. Limitless wealth, limitless power, solar systems ruled by the elite. We, gentlemen, are that elite. We must take what is rightfully ours from the stultifying clutches of decadence."
Spock was studying Garth with the expression of a bacteriologist confronted by a germ he had thought long extinct. "You must be aware," he said, "that you are attempting to repeat the disaster that resulted in your becoming an inmate of this place."
"I was betrayed—and then treated barbarically."
"On the contrary, you were treated justly and with a compassion you displayed toward none of your intended victims. Logically, therefore, it would . . ."
Garth bounded to his feet with a strangled cry, pointing a trembling forefinger at Spock. All other sound in the hall stopped at once.
"Remove this—this walking computer!"
Spock was removed, none too gently. Kirk's abortive move to intervene was blocked by me smiling Marta, who had produced her phaser seemingly from nowhere.
Garth took the weapon from her, and instantly switched back to his parody of the affable host. "Won't you try some of this wine, Captain?"
"Thank you, but I prefer to join Mr. Spock."
"And I prefer that you remain here. We have many divertisements more diverting than Marta's poetry, I assure you. By the way, I assume you play chess?"
"Quite a lot. We have a running tournament aboard the Enterprise."
"Not unusual. How would you respond to Queen to Queen's Level Three?"
So—Garth had tried to fool Scotty and had been stopped by the code challenge; now he was fishing for the countersign. "There are, as you know, thousands of possible responses, especially if the move is not an opening one."
"I'm interested in only one."
"I can't for the life of me imagine which."
" 'For the life of me' is a well-chosen phrase," Garth said, smiling silkily. "It could literally come to that, Captain."
I doubt it. Dead I'm of no use to you at all."
"I could make you beg for death."
Kirk laughed. "Torture? You were Academy-trained, Garth. Suppose I attempted to break your conditioning by such means; would it work?"
"No," Garth admitted. "But observe, Captain, that Governor Cory is not Academy-trained, and furthermore has been weakened by his recent, ah, reverses. And among his medical equipment is a curious chair which was used in the rehabilitation process. As such it was quite painless, and, I might add, also useless. It made men docile, and hence of no use to me. I have added certain refinements to it which make it no longer painless—yet the pain can be prolonged indefinitely because there is no actual destruction of tissue."
"In the midnights of November," Marta said suddenly, "when the dead man's fair is nigh, and danger in the valley, and anger in the sky—I wrote that this morning."
"Very appropriate," Kirk said grimly.
"Tell him what he wants. Then we'll go away together."
Kirk's lips thinned. It was the old double device of the carrot and the stick, and in a very crude form, at that. But it wouldn't do to reject the carrot out of hand; the girl was obviously too unstable for that.
"Torturing Governor Cory," he said, "would be quite useless. I would simply force you to kill me; if you didn't, I would intervene."
"Phasers can be set to stun."
"If I am unconscious, I can't be blackmailed by Governor Cory's pain, can I?"
Garth glared at him for a long moment with unwinking eyes. Then a spasm of pure rage twisted his face. Raising the phaser, he leveled it at Kirk and fired point-blank.
Kirk awoke to a sound of liquid gurgling quietly. Then it stopped, and Kirk felt a cup of some sort being pressed to his lips. He swallowed automatically. Wine. Pretty good, too.
"Slowly," said a woman's voice. "Slowly, my darling."
That was Marta. He opened his eyes. He was lying on a divan with the girl sitting beside him, a goblet in her hands; there was a carafe on a small table nearby.
"Rest," she said. "You're in my room." She took his hand and kissed it gently, then stroked his face.
Kirk studied her. "So he's decided to give the carrot another try?"
"I don't understand you," she said. "I was terrified that he would put you in the Chair. I told him I would discover your secret. I lied. I would have told him anything to save you from the torment."
After a moment Kirk said, "I think you mean that."
"I do." She leaned forward and embraced him, sighing and clinging. "This is where I've longed to be. I think I knew I loved you the first moment I saw you."
Kirk disengaged himself gently. "I want to help you, Marta. If I can get back to the Enterprise, I'll be able to."
"It's not possible."
"There's a way," Kirk said. "If I can get to the control room and cut off the force field, Garth is finished."
&nb
sp; "Garth is my leader."
"And he'll lead you to your destruction. He has already destroyed the medicine that might have helped you. But I think my Ship's Surgeon has a sample he might be able to duplicate."
"I will help you in a little while," Marta said thoughtfully. "Your friend Spock will soon be here, and then we will see. I've arranged that much, at any rate."
Was there no predicting this girl? "How did you do it?"
"A convincing lie," she said, shrugging, "told to a guard who finds me desirable."
"Marta, let me help you, too. If I can get away from Garth, back aboard . . ."
She silenced him with a kiss, which he did not fight. When they separated, she was breathing hard and her eyes were glittering.
"There is a way," she said. "A way in which we can be together always. Where Garth cannot harm us. Trust me and believe in me, darling."
She kissed him again, clutching at him with almost animal intensity. At the same time, he became aware that her left hand was burrowing between the cushions of the divan. He pulled away, to discover a long, thin, wicked-looking knife which she had been about to drive into his back.
He shoved her away, hard. Almost at the same instant, Spock stepped into sight and seized her upper arms from behind.
She looked back over her shoulder. "You mustn't stop me," she said reasonably, reproachfully. "He is my love and so I must kill him. It is the only way to save him from Lord Garth."
Spock pinched her neck. The knife clattered to the floor as she slumped.
"Apparently," Spock said expressionlessly, "she has worked out an infallible method for ensuring male fidelity. An interesting aberration."
"I'm glad to see you, Mr. Spock."
"Thank you, Captain. I am now armed, and I assume we will try to reach the control room. Would you like the weapon?"
"No, I'm still a little shaky; you handle it. The room will be guarded."
"Then we will blast our way in."
That was surprisingly ferocious of Spock; perhaps the attempted murder of his Captain had shaken him momentarily? "Only if it's absolutely necessary, Mr. Spock. Meanwhile, set your phaser on 'stun.' "
"I have already done so, Captain."
They stepped cautiously out of the room, then were forced to duck back in again as footsteps approached. Once the inmates had passed, they stole out into the corridor.
The guard before the control room was the Tellarite. He seemed to be in some sort of trance; Spock stunned him as easily as shooting a sitting duck. Kirk scooped up the fallen man's phaser, and they stuffed the limp body into a nearby closet.
Kirk cautiously tried the door. "Unlocked," he whispered. "I'll kick it open; you go in ready to shoot."
"Yes, Captain."
They burst in; but the place was deserted. Spock strode to the master switch and threw it. "Force field now off, Captain."
Kirk stationed himself at the console and activated the communicator. "Kirk to Enterprise. Kirk to Enterprise."
"Here, Captain," Uhura's voice said. "Mr. Scott, it's Captain Kirk!"
The view screen lit to show Scotty's face. "Scott here, Captain. You had us worried."
Have Dr. McCoy synthesize a new supply of drug as fast as possible."
"Aye aye, sir."
"And I want a fully armed security detail here, Scotty, on the double."
"They're already in the Transporter Room."
"It would be better," Spock said, "if you were to return to the Enterprise at once."
"Why?" Kirk asked in astonishment.
"Your safety is vital to the ship. I can take charge of the security detail."
"I see," Kirk said. "Very well, Mr. Spock. Mr. Scott, beam me aboard on receipt of countersign."
"Aye, sir," the engineer said. "Queen to Queen's Level Three."
"Mr. Spock will give the countersign." Kirk leveled his phaser. "Go ahead, Spock—if that's who you are. Give him the countersign. You're supposed to know it."
"Security guard ready," Scott's voice said. "Mr. Sulu, lock into beamdown coordinates. Ensign Wyatt, ready to energize."
Spock reached for the master switch, his lineaments already changing into the less familiar ones of Garth. Kirk pulled his trigger. Nothing happened. The switch clicked home; the force field was reactivated.
"Blast away, Captain," Garth said. "I would not be fool enough to let you capture a charged phaser."
"Where is Spock? What have you done to him?"
"He is in his cell. And I have done nothing to him yet. But anything that does happen henceforth will be on your conscience—unless you give me the countersign."
"Captain Garth . . ."
"Lord Garth."
"No, sir. Captain—Starship Fleet Captain—is an honored title, and it was once yours."
"Quite true," Garth said, but this own phaser did not waver. "And I was the greatest of them all, wasn't I?"
"You were. But now you're a sick man."
Garth bristled. "I've never been more healthy."
"Think," Kirk said. "Think back. Try to remember what you were like before the accident that sent you to Antos IV."
"I—I can't remember," Garth said. "It's—almost as if I died and was reborn."
"But I remember you. You were always the finest of the Fleet Captains. You were the prototype, and a model for the rest of us."
"Yesss—I do remember that. It was a great responsibility—but one I was proud to bear."
"And you bore it well. Captain Garth, the disease that changed you is not your fault. Nor are you truly responsible for the things you've done since then—no matter how terrible they may seem to you, or to us."
"I don't want to hear any more of this," Garth said, but his voice was less decisive than his words. "You—you're weak, and you're trying to drain me of my strength."
"No! I want you to regain what you once had. I want you to go back to the greatness you lost."
For a moment Kirk thought he had been winning, but this was all too evidently the wrong tack. Garth stiffened, and the wavering phaser came back into line.
"I have never lost greatness! It was taken from me! But I shall be greater still. I am Lord Garth, Master of the Galaxy."
"Listen to me, dammit . . ."
"The others failed, but I will not. Alexander, Lee Kuan, Napoleon, Hitler, Krotus—all of them are dust, but I will triumph."
"Triumph or fail," Kirk said levelly, "you too will be dust."
"Not yet. Back to your cell, ex-Captain Kirk. Soon your doubts will be laid to rest. Out!"
The Tellarite and the Andorian came back for him the next day and hauled him out into the corridor, leaving Governor Cory behind. They brought him back to the refectory, where all the rest of Garth's followers—except Marta, who was not to be seen—were working to transform the hall from a banquet scene into some sort of ceremonial chamber. Garth was there, seemingly childishly happy, dividing his attention between Kirk and his minions.
"The throne must be higher—higher than anything else. Use that table as a pedestal. Welcome back, Captain. You will be needed for our coronation."
"Coronation?" Kirk said, a little dazed.
"I know that even a real throne is merely a chair, but the symbolism is important, don't you agree? And the crown will be only a token in itself; but it will serve as a standard around which our followers will rally."
"You have only a handful of men."
Garth smiled. "Others have begun with less, but none will have reached so far as we. Good, very good. Now we will want a royal carpet for our feet. That cloth will do nicely. The tread of our feet will sanctify it."
"And it will still be a tablecloth, stained by food and wine," Kirk said. "That's all."
"My dear Captain, you do refuse to enter into the spirit of the thing, don't you? Would you prefer a larger role in the ceremony? You could serve as a human sacrifice, for example."
"I'm sure I wouldn't enjoy the rest of it. And you seem to need me alive."
"Tha
t's true. All right. How about Crown Prince?"
"I'm not part of the family. Who were they again? Krotus, Alexander, Hitler, Genghis Khan and so forth?"
"Genghis Khan," Garth said reflectively. "I'd forgotten about him. Heir apparent, I believe, that's the proper role for you. Now we think we are ready. Excuse us for the moment, Captain."
Garth bowed grandly and went out. The guards remained alert; the Tellarite, who had been stunned in Garth's earlier attempt to trick the countersign out of Kirk, was regarding the Captain with especial vigilance—and no little animosity. Evidently he had forgotten, if he had ever known, that the whole charade had been arranged by Garth himself.
Suddenly the air shook with a blast of recorded music. Kirk did not have to be an expert to recognize it: it was, ironically, Ich bete an die Macht der Liebe, by somebody named Bortniansky, to which all Academy classes marched to their graduation.
The refectory doors were drawn aside, and Garth, not very resplendent in a cast-off uniform, entered solemnly, chin up, eyes hooded. Beneath his right arm was tucked a crown which looked as if it had been hastily cut from a piece of sheet metal. On his right arm was Marta, swathed in trailing bedsheets and looking decidedly subdued.
The other madmen dropped to their knees, and the cold nose of a phaser against the back of his neck reminded Kirk not to remain standing alone. It came just in time—he had been almost about to laugh.
Stepping slowly in time to the processional, the "royal" couple proceeded along the "carpet" to the "throne," which they mounted. Garth turned and signaled his followers to rise. The music stopped.
"Since there is no one here, or elsewhere in the known universe, mighty enough to perform such a ceremony," he said grandly, "we will perform it ourselves. Therefore, we hereby proclaim that we are Lord Garth, formerly of Izar, now Master-that-is-to-come of the Galaxy."
He settled the metal crown upon his own head. "And now, we designate our beloved Marta to be our consort."
Garth kissed her chastely on the forehead. She shrank away from him, but stood her ground. Carefully, he fastened around her throat what appeared to be a necklace with a diamond pendant; conceivably it held the diamond from Garth's own Fleet Captain clasp, but somehow Kirk doubted that.
