by James Blish
Garth seated himself upon the throne. "And now, guards, remove our beloved consort and our heir apparent, so that they may conclude their vital roles in this ritual."
They took Marta out first. As she was surrounded, she she began to keen—an eerie, wailing dirge that chilled Kirk's blood. They had her hands pinned behind her back.
Then the Tellarite and the Andorian were prodding him out of the refectory, through a different door. He saw at once where he was being driven: back to the control room. Behind him, the music crashed out again, and the guards marched him along in step.
"Listen to me," he said urgently, under cover of the noise. "This may be your only chance."
They poked him with their phasers. The door to the control room loomed ahead.
"Garth will destroy all of us if you don't help me stop him," Kirk continued to the air before him. "He's using you. All he wants is power for himself. I brought you something that might have cured you, but he destroyed it."
There was no answer. Why did he continue to try reasoning with these madmen, anyhow? But at the moment there seemed to be nothing else to try.
The control room was empty. The closing of the door cut the music off. The blades of the force-field switch gleamed invitingly only a few yards away.
"If I can get a patrol in here, they'll bring more of the medicine. Garth will be finished and all of us will be safe again. Safe, and well."
Stolidly, one of the guards waved him to a chair. Kirk shrugged and sat down. There was what seemed to be an immensely long wait.
Then Garth came in, still in uniform but no longer wearing the crown. In one hand he was carrying a small flask packed with glittering crystals.
"Well done," he said to the guards. "Kirk, your resistance has now reached the point of outright stupidity, and is a considerable inconvenience to us. We propose to take sterner measures."
"If it's any further inconvenience to you, I'll be happy to cooperate."
"We shall see. Let us first introduce you to our latest invention." He tossed the flask into the air and caught it with the other hand. "This is an explosive, Captain, the most powerful one in history. Or, let us be accurate, the most powerful of all chemical explosives. This flask can vaporize the entire station; in fact, the crater it would leave would crack the crust of the planet. We trust you do not doubt our word."
"You were quite capable of such a discovery in the past," Kirk said. "I have every reason to believe you still are."
"Good. Here!" Suddenly, Garth tossed the flask to one of the guards. Since the man had only one hand free to catch it, he very nearly dropped it. He was in great haste to throw it back to Garth, who resumed juggling it, laughing.
"How are your nerves, Captain?"
"Excellent, thank you. If it happens to me, it happens to you. That's all I need to know."
"Then we are halfway toward a solution already," Garth said. "Actually, dropping the flask would not so much as break it; the explosive must be set off electrically, from the board. But in fact, I am quite prepared to do so. Do you see why?"
"I can see that you're bluffing."
"Then your logic is deficient. Perhaps we need your friend Spock to help you reason. He is a logical man. Yes, a very logical man." Garth looked briefly at the guards. "Go and bring the Vulcan here to us."
The guards went out. Kirk felt the first surge of real hope in days. To the best of bis knowledge, Spock—the real Spock—had not been taken out of his cell since his first imprisonment, when he had been confronted with impossible odds; and, being logical, had allowed himself to be taken. But in hand-to-hand combat, he was also a machine of outright inhuman efficiency. Sending only two guards to fetch him—and on top of that, aliens who probably had no experience with either the human or the Vulcan styles of infighting—was folly; or so he had to hope.
"In the meantime, Captain, let us expose the logic of the situation to you. It is your responsibility to preserve Federation lives and property—not only your life, Mr. Spock's, Governor Cory's, but that of everyone here, even including our own. You need not confirm this; as a sometime officer of the Federation—as our uniform should remind you—this was once our responsibility as well"
"It still is," Kirk said stonily.
"We have higher responsibilities now. Above all, a responsibility to our destiny. To this, you hold the key. We cannot advance further until we are in command of the Enterprise. Nor can we expect another such opportunity to arise in the practicable future. It might be said, in short, that if you remain stubborn, we no longer have a future, and are under no further responsibility toward it. Do you follow us so far?"
Kirk was a good distance ahead of him by now, and not at all liking what he found there. Even Spock, he suspected, would have to concede that the trap was indeed logical, however insane.
There was a buzz from the console. Moving sidewise, Garth activated a screen. Kirk could not see what it showed, but Garth obligingly told him.
"Your Vulcan friend is a most ingenious fellow. He has somehow disposed of my associates—who will suffer for their inefficiency—and is coming this way, armed. This could be most amusing."
"The joke is entirely on you," Kirk said. "You'll have no chance to play logic games now. Whichever one of us you shoot first, the other one will have you."
"Our training was as good as yours; the outcome is by no means so inevitable. Indeed, it suggests an even better scheme."
Garth moved behind Kirk, out of sight. This moved him away from the console, which he evidently reconsidered, for a moment later he went back to it—changed.
There were now two Captain Kirks. Even the uniforms were in a nearly identical state of wear and tear now. Smiling, Garth threw in all his previous cards; he even put his phaser out of reach.
Kirk tensed to spring. At the same instant, the door shot open and Spock crouched in it, phaser ready. He seemed prepared for anything except, possibly, what he found; he actually blinked in surprise.
"That's Garth," Garth said urgently, pointing. "Blast him!"
"Hold it, Spock! The madman wants you to shoot me!"
"Look at us carefully, Spock. Can't you tell I'm your Captain?"
"Queen to Queen Three," Spock said.
"I won't answer that. It's the one thing he wants to know."
"Very clever, Garth. I was about to say the same thing."
Spock, keeping both Kirks under the gun, crossed to the master switch.
"What are you doing?"
"Arranging to beam down a patrol," Spock said. "I should be interested to hear any objections."
"They'll walk into a trap."
"That's true, Spock. Garth can destroy the whole station instantly if he wants."
The double agreement halted the Science Officer. After a moment he said, "What maneuver did we use to defeat the Romulan torchship off Tau Centi?"
"Conchrane deceleration."
"A standard maneuver with an enemy faster than one's self. Every Starship Captain knows that."
"Agreed, Captain," Spock said to both. "Or Captains. Gentlemen, whichever one of you is Captain Garth must at this moment be expending a great deal of energy to maintain the image of Captain Kirk. That energy level cannot be maintained indefinitely. Since I am half Vulcan, I can outwait you; I have time."
"I propose a simpler solution. Shoot us both."
"Wait, Spock! I agree, he's quite right. But you must shoot to kill. It's the only way to ensure the safety of the Enterprise."
Instantly, Spock whirled on Garth and fired. Kirk sprang to the console.
"Kirk to Enterprise . . ."
"Scott here. Queen to Queen's Level Three."
"Queen to King's Level One."
"Aye aye, sir. Orders?"
"Beam down Dr. McCoy with the new drug supply—and the security guards with him."
"Aye, sir. Scott out."
Kirk turned. "Well done, Mr. Spock. Did you damage either of the guards seriously?"
"I fear I broke the
Tellarite's arm."
"A trifle. Help me haul this hulk to the treatment room."
Garth, still unconscious, was in the same chair he had once proposed to use as an instrument of torture; Cory had stripped it of his modifications.
"Dr. McCoy, how long does this drug need to take effect?"
"Reversal of arterial and brain damage begins at once, but the rate depends on the individual. I'd say you could start as soon as—great looping comets!"
Garth had still been mimicking Kirk, even while Stunned, a further evidence of his enormous personal drive. But now the change back was beginning; Kirk had forgotten that McCoy hadn't seen the process before.
"All right," McCoy said, swallowing. "Start now."
The chair whined, almost inaudibly. Then Cory cut it off. "That's all I dare give him for a starter."
Garth's eyes opened. They were peaceful but vacant, as though he had no mind left at all. They passed from one captor to another, without recognition. He began to whimper.
Kirk leaned toward him. "Captain."
Garth's moans stopped. He looked pleadingly up at Kirk.
"Captain Garth—I'm James Kirk. Perhaps you remember me."
Garth's expression, or lack of it, did not change. He looked toward Spock, and frowned slightly.
"I am a Federation Science Officer, Captain," Spock said.
"We are from the Starship Enterprise," Kirk said. "I am her Captain."
Garth looked back at Kirk, long and hard. Something was awakening in him, after all. He struggled to speak. Finally the mumbled words became clear.
"Federation—Starship . . ."
"Yes, sir. The Enterprise."
Cory was watching closely. Garth slowly reached out his hand. Kirk took it.
"A—privilege, sir. My ship is—no, cancel that. I have no ship. I am a Fleet Captain."
"My honor, Captain."
"That's enough," Cory said. He put his arms under Garth's and helped him from the chair. "Thank you, gentlemen. I can manage him now, and the rest of them, I'm sure."
As they moved off, Garth turned for a last look at Kirk. It was now alarmingly penetrating, but still puzzled. "Should I know you, sir?" he asked.
Time for a new beginning. "No, Captain—no."
He was led out. Looking after him, Kirk said, Tell me something, Mr. Spock."
"Yes, Captain."
"Why was it so impossible to tell the difference between us?"
"It was not impossible, Captain. Our presence here is proof of that."
"Yes, and congratulations. But what took you so long?"
"The interval of uncertainty was actually fairly brief, Captain. It only seemed long—to you. As I threatened then, I could have waited you both out, but you made that unnecessary by proposing that I kill both of you. It was not a decision Garth could have made."
Kirk felt a faint chill. "Excuse me, Mr. Spock, but I think that's wrong. He had only just finished readying himself to destroy not only both of us, but the whole station."
"Yes, Captain, I believe he was capable of that. It would have been a grand immolation of his whole scheme. But to die by himself, ignominiously, leaving followers behind to see his defeat—no, I do not believe megalomaniacs think like that."
"I see. Well, there's no doubt about how you think."
"Indeed, sir?"
"Yes, indeed—fast. Very fast." Kirk raised his communicator. "Kirk to Enterprise. Three to beam up, Scotty."
"King," Spock added without a trace of a smile, "to King's Level One."
THE THOLIAN WEB
(Judy Burns and Chet Richards)
* * *
The bridge was at full muster—Kirk, Scott, Spock, Uhura, Chekov, Sulu—and extremely tense. The Enterprise was in unsurveyed territory, approaching the last reported position of the Starship Defiant, which had vanished without a trace three weeks ago.
"Captain," Spock said, "I have lost the use of all sensors. Were I to believe these readings, space itself is breaking up around us."
"A major failure?"
"Not in the sensors, sir; I have run a complete systems check. The failure is mine; I simply do not know how to interpret these reports."
"Captain," Scott added, "there may be no connection, but we're losing power in the warp engines."
"How bad is it?"
"We can hardly feel it now, but it's richt abnormal all the same. I canna find the cause."
Now it was Chekov's turn. "Captain, we have visual detection of an object dead ahead. It looks like a star-ship."
It did, at that, but not a starship in any condition to which they were accustomed. It was visibly shimmering.
"Mr. Spock, what's wrong with it?"
"Nonexistence, to put the matter in a word, Captain. There is virtually no radar return, mass analysis, radiation traces. We see it, but the sensors indicate it isn't there."
"Mr. Chekov, narrow the field and see if you can bring up the identification numbers. It's the Defiant, all right. Mr. Sulu, impulse engines only. Close to Transporter range. Lieutenant Uhura, open a hailing channel."
"I've been trying to raise them, sir, but there's no response."
Chekov shifted the viewing angle again. The other ship showed no gaping holes or other signs of damage. It was just ghostly—and silent.
"Within Transporter range, sir."
"Thanks, Mr. Sulu. Lieutenant, order Dr. McCoy to the Transporter Room. Mr. Spock, Mr. Chekov, I'll want you as well. Environment suits all around; O'Neil to handle the Transporter. Take over, Mr. Scott."
The Transporter was locked onto the bridge of the Defiant. The lighting there turned out to be extremely subdued; even some monitor lights were not functioning. But the situation was all too visible, nonetheless.
A man somewhat older than Kirk, wearing a captain's stripes, lay dead in his command chair, a number one phaser clutched in one hand. The other hand was twisted in the hair of a junior officer. The junior was also dead, with both his hands locked around the Captain's neck.
Chekov was the first to speak. "Has there ever been a mutiny on a starship before?"
"Technically," Spock said, "the refusal of Captain Garth's fleet to follow his orders when he became insane was a mutiny. But there has never been any record of an occurrence like this."
McCoy stopped to examine the bodies. "The Captain's neck is broken, Jim."
"This ship is still functioning," Spock said after a quick check of the communications console. "It is logical to assume that the mutineers are somewhere aboard. Yet the sensors show no sign of life anywhere in the vessel."
"Odd," Kirk said reflectively. "Very odd. Spock, you stay here with me. Chekov, get down to Life Support and Engineering. Dr. McCoy, check out sickbay. I want some answers."
The two men moved off. As they did so, Scott's voice sounded in Kirk's helmet. "Captain, Mr. Sulu reports that he can't get an accurate fix on the Defiant, but it seems to be drifting away. Should he correct for range?"
Still odder. How could one ship be moving relative to the other when neither was under power? "Keep us within beaming range, but not too close."
"Chekov reporting, Captain. All dead in Life Support and in Engineering as well."
"Right. Get back up here. Bones?"
"More bodies, Jim. Proximate cause of deaths, various forms of violence. In short, I'd say they killed each other."
"Could a mental disease possibly have inflicted all of the crew at once?"
"It may still be here, sir," Chekov said, reappearing. "I feel pretty funny myself—headachy, dizzy."
"I can't answer the question," McCoy's voice said. "According to the medical log, even the ship's surgeon here didn't really know what was going on. The best I can do for you is take all the readings I can get and analyze them later. Now what the devil . . .?"
"Bones! What's happening?"
There was a brief silence. Then: "Jim, this ship's beginning to dissolve! I just put my hand right through a corpse—and then through the wall next to
him."
"Get back up here on the double. Kirk to Enterprise. Mr. Scott, stand by to beam us back."
"Captain, I can't. Not all at once, at least."
"What do you mean? What's going on over there?"
"Nothing we can understand," Scott's voice said grimly. "The Defiant is fading out, and it's—well, something is ripping the innards out of our own ship. It's jamming our Transporter frequencies. We've got only three working, and I can't be sure about those. One of you has got to wait."
"Request permission to remain," Spock said. "I could be completing the data."
"It's more important to get what you already have into analysis on the Enterprise. Don't argue. I'll probably be right after you."
But he was not. Within moments after Spock, Chekov and McCoy materialized aboard the Enterprise, the Defiant had vanished.
Scott was at the consoles with the Transporter officer. Spock joined them, removing his helmet, and scanned the board.
"See anything I don't?" Scott said.
"Apparently not. Everything is negative."
McCoy took off his own helmet. "But he's got to be out there somewhere. If the Transporter won't grab him, what about the shuttlecraft? There must be some way to pick him up."
"There is no present trace of the Captain, Doctor," Spock said evenly. "The only next possible action is to feed the computer our data and see what conclusions can be drawn."
The computer was the fastest of its kind, but the wait seemed frustratingly long all the same. At last its pleasantly feminine voice said: "Integrated."
"Compute the next period of spatial interphase," Spock told it.
"Two hours, twelve minutes."
Spock shut the machine off. Scott was staring at him, aghast. "Is that how long we have to wait before we can pick up the Captain? But, Spock, I don't think I can hold the ship in place that long. The power leak is unbalanced and I haven't been able to trace it, let alone stop it."
"You will have to keep trying," Spock said. "The fabric of space is very weak here. If we disturb it, there will be no chance of retrieving the Captain alive."
Chekov was looking baffled; worse, he was looking positively ill. "I don't understand," he said. "What's so special about this region of space?"
