Star Trek 05

by James Blish

  Then there was the hissing snap of a phaser, and the robot vanished.

  Spock appeared from around the corner of the massive machine where Kirk had tried to ambush M-4, stowing his phaser.

  "Whew," Kirk said. "Thank you, Mr. Spock."

  "Fortunately the robot was too intent on you to deactivate my phaser," Spock said. "Dr. McCoy and Mr. Flint have returned with the ryetalyn."

  Was Rayna all right? Kirk went to her. She seemed unharmed. Suddenly she lifted a hand to touch his lips. Then she turned away, wide-eyed, deep in troubled thoughts.

  They were back in the central room—Spock, Rayna, and a very angry Kirk. Flint was quite calm. Behind his back, Spock had his tricorder out and aimed at him.

  "M-4 was programmed to defend this household, and its members," Flint said calmly. "No doubt I should have altered its instructions, to allow for unauthorized but predictable actions on your part. It thought you were attacking Rayna. A misinterpretation."

  Kirk was far from sure he bought that explanation. He took a step toward Flint.

  "If it was around now, it might interpret quite correctly . . ."

  Whirrrr.

  The machine was back—or an exact duplicate of it, floating watchfully near Flint.

  "Too useful a device to be without, really," Flint said. "I created another. Go to the laboratory, M-5."

  Spock stowed his tricorder over his shoulder. "Matter from energy," he said. "An almost instantaneous manufacture, no doubt, in which your robot was duplicated from an existing matrix."

  Flint nodded, but he did not take his eyes from Kirk.

  "Be thankful that you did not attack me, Captain. I might have accepted battle—and I have twice your physical strength."

  "In your own words, that might be an interesting test of power."

  "How childish he is, Rayna. Would you call him brave—or a fool?"

  "I am glad he did not die," Rayna said in a low voice.

  "Of course. Death, when unnecessary, is tragic. Captain, Dr. McCoy is in the laboratory with the new ryetalyn. He is satisfied as to its purity. I suggest that you wait here, patiently—safely. You have seen that my defense systems operate automatically—and not always in accordance with my wishes."

  Kirk felt a certain lack of conviction about this last clause.

  Flint put his hand on Rayna's arm. "Come, Rayna."

  After a last, long look at Kirk, she allowed herself to be led up the ramp. Scowling, Kirk took a stubborn step after them, but Spock held him back.

  "I don't like the way he orders her around," Kirk said.

  "Since we are dependent upon Mr. Flint for the ryetalyn, I might respectfully suggest, Captain, that you pay less attention to the young lady, should you encounter her again. Our host's interests do not appear to be confined to art and science."

  "He loves her?" Kirk said.

  "Strongly indicated."

  "Jealousy! That could explain the attack. But still—he seemed to want us to be together; the billiards game—he suggested that we dance . . ."

  "It would seem to defy the logic of the human male, as I understand it."

  After an uneasy moment, Kirk brought out his communicator. "Kirk to Enterprise. Mr. Scott, report on the Rigellian fever."

  "Nearly everybody aboard has got it, sir. We're working a skeleton crew, and waiting for the antitoxin."

  "A little while longer, Scotty. Report on computer search."

  "No record of Mr. Flint. He simply seems to have no past. The planet was purchased thirty years ago by a Mr. Nova, a wealthy financier and recluse."

  "Run a check on Rayna Kapec. Status: legal ward, after death of parents."

  "Aye, Captain."

  As Kirk slowly put the communicator away, Spock said, "There is still a greater mystery. I was able to secure a tricorder scan of Mr. Flint, while you and he were involved in belligerence. He is human. But there are bio-physical peculiarities. Certain body-function readings are disproportionate. For one thing, extreme age is indicated—on the order of six thousand years."

  "Six thousand! He doesn't look it, not by a couple of decimal places. Can you confirm that, Mr. Spock?"

  "I shall program the readings into Dr. McCoy's medical computer when we return to the ship."

  "Time factor?"

  "We must commence antitoxin injections within two hours and eighteen minutes, or the epidemic will prove fatal to us all."

  Kirk frowned. "Why is the processing taking so long this time?"

  "The delay would seem to be possibly deliberate."

  "Yes," Kirk said grimly. "As if he were keeping us here for some reason."

  "Most strange. While Mr. Flint seems to wish us to linger, he is apprehensive. It is logical to assume that he knows our every move—that he has us monitored."

  The communicator beeped. "Kirk here."

  "Scott, sir. There's no record of a Rayna Kapec in the Federation legal banks."

  "No award of custody?"

  "No background on her at all, in any computer bank. Like Flint."

  "Thanks, Scotty. Kirk out. Like Flint. People without a past. By what authority is she here, then? What hold does he have over her?"

  "I would suggest," Spock said, "that our immediate concern is the ryetalyn."

  "Let's find McCoy."

  As they headed for the door, Rayna entered. She seemed to be agitated. "Captain!" she called.

  "Go ahead, Spock, I'll meet you in the laboratory."

  When they were alone, Rayna said, "I have come to say goodbye."

  "I don't want to say goodbye."

  "I am glad that you will live."

  Kirk studied her. She seemed innocent, uncertain, yet underneath there was a kind of urgency. She stood motionless, as if in the grip of farces she did not understand.

  He went to her. "I know now why I have lived." He put his arms around her and kissed her. This second kiss was much longer than the first, and her response suddenly lost its innocence.

  "Come with us," Kirk said hoarsely.

  "My place . . ."

  "Is where you want to be. Where do you want to be?"

  "With you."

  "Always."

  "Here," she said.

  "No, come with me. I promise you happiness."

  "I have known security here."

  "Childhood ends. You love me, not Flint."

  For a long moment she was absolutely silent, hardly even seemed to breathe. Then she broke free of his arms and ran off. Kirk stared after her, and then started off to the laboratory, his heart still pounding.

  The moment Kirk entered, McCoy said, "Flint lied to us. The ryetalyn isn't here."

  "But I am picking up readings on the tricorder, Captain," Spock said. "The ryetalin is apparently behind that door."

  The door toward which the tricorder was aimed was the same one Rayna had said Flint had forbidden her to enter.

  "Why is Flint playing tricks on us?" Kirk demanded, suddenly furious at the constant multiplication of mysteries. "Apparently we're supposed to go in and get it—if we can! Let's not disappoint the chessmaster. Phasers on full!"

  But as the weapons came out, the door began to rumble open of its own accord. A constant, low hum of power was audible from inside it.

  Kirk lead the way. The ryetalyn cubes were conspicuously visible on a table. Kirk went toward them in triumph, but his attention was caught by a draped body encased on a slab. The slab carried a sign which read: "RAYNA 16."

  The body was the supine form of a woman. The face was not quite human; it resembled dead white clay, beautifully sculptured and somehow unfinished. Nevertheless, it was clearly Rayna's.

  Hung on the other side of the case was a clipboard with notes attached. Most of the scribbles seemed to be mathematical.

  As if in a dream, Kirk moved on to a similar case. The figure in it was less finished than the first. Its face seemed to show marks of sculpture; the features were more crudely defined. Still, it too was Rayna's—RAYNA 17.

  "Phy
sically human," McCoy said in a low voice, "yet not human. These are earlier versions. Jim—she's an android!"

  "Created here, by my hand," Flint's voice said from the doorway. "Here, the centuries of loneliness were to end."

  "Centuries?" Kirk said.

  "Your collection of Leonardo da Vinci masterpieces, Mr. Flint," Spock said. "Many appear to have been recently painted—on contemporary canvas, with contemporary materials. And on your piano, a waltz by Johannes Brahms, an unknown work, in manuscript, written with modern ink—yet absolutely authentic, as are the paintings . . ."

  "I am Brahms," Flint said.

  "And da Vinci"

  "Yes."

  "How many other names shall we call you?" Spock asked.

  "Solomon, Alexander, Lazarus, Methuselah, Merlin, Abramson—a hundred other names you do not know."

  "You were born . . . ?"

  "In that region of Earth later called Mesopotamia—in the year 3034 b.c., as the millennia are now reckoned. I was Akharin—a soldier, a bully and a fool. I fell in battle, pierced to the heart—and did not die."

  "A mutation," McCoy said, fascinated. "Instant tissue regeneration—and apparently a perfect, unchanging balance between anabolism and katabolism. You learned you were immortal . . ."

  "And to conceal it: to settle and live some portion of a life; to pretend to age—and then move on, before my nature was suspected. One night I would vanish, or fake my demise."

  "Your wealth, your intellect, the product of centuries of study and acquisition," Spock said. "You knew the greatest minds of history . . ."

  "Galileo," Flint said. "Moses. Socrates. Jesus. And I have married a hundred times. Selected, loved, cherished—caressed a smoothness, inhaled a brief fragrance—then age, death, the taste of dust. Do you understand?"

  "You wanted a perfect woman," Spock said. "An ultimate woman, as brilliant, as immortal, as yourself. Your mate for all time."

  "Designed by my heart," Flint said. "I could not love her more."

  "Spock," Kirk whispered, "you knew."

  "Readings were not decisive. However, Mr. Flint's, choice of a planet rich in ryetalyn—I had hoped I was wrong."

  "Why didn't you tell me?" Kirk asked harshly.

  "What would you have said?"

  "That you were wrong," Kirk said, "wrong. Yes, I see."

  "You met perfection," Flint said. "Helplessly, you loved it. But you cannot love an android, Captain. I love her; she is my handiwork—my property—she is what I desire."

  "And you put the ryetalyn in here to teach me this," Kirk said. "Does she know?"

  "She will never know."

  Kirk said tiredly, "Let's go, Mr. Spock."

  "You will stay," Flint said.

  "Why?"

  "We have also learned what he is, Captain."

  "Yes," said Flint. "If you leave, the curious would follow—the foolish, the meddlers, the officials, the seekers. My privacy was my own; its invasion be on your head."

  "We can remain silent," Spock suggested.

  "The disaster of intervention, Mr. Spock. I've known it—I will not risk it again." Flint's hand went to a small control box on his belt.

  Kirk whipped out his communicator. Flint smiled, almost sadly. "They cannot answer, Captain. See."

  A column of swirling light began to form slowly in a clear area of the life chamber. As it brightened, the form of the Enterprise was revealed, floating a few feet above the floor, tiny familiar lights blinking.

  "No!" Kirk cried.

  "The test of power," Flint said "You had no chance."

  "My crew . . ."

  "It is time for you to join them."

  Kirk felt sick. "You'd—wipe out—four hundred lives? Why?"

  "I have seen a hundred million fall. I know Death better than any man; I have tossed enemies into his grasp. But I know mercy. Your crew is not dead, but suspended."

  "Worse than dead," Kirk said savagely. "Restore them! Restore my ship!"

  "In time. A thousand—two thousand years. You will see the future, Captain Kirk." Flint looked at the Enterprise. "A fine instrument. Perhaps I may learn something from it."

  "You have been such men?" Kirk said. "Known and created such beauty? Watched your race evolve from cruelty and barbarism, throughout your enormous life! Yet now, you would do this to us?"

  "The flowers of my past. I hold the nettles of the present. I am Flint—with my needs."

  "What needs?"

  "Tonight I have seen—something wondrous. Something I have waited for—labored for. Nothing must endanger it. At last, Rayna's emotions have stirred to life. Now they will turn to me, in this solitude which I preserve."

  "No," said Rayna's voice. They all spun around.

  "Rayna!" Flint said in astonishment. "How much have you heard?"

  "You must not do this to them!"

  "I must." Flint's hand moved implacably back to the belt device.

  "Rayna," Spock said. "What will you feel for him—when we are gone?"

  She did not reply, but the expression of betrayal, tragedy, and bitter hatred which she turned on Flint was answer enough.

  All emotions are engaged, Mr. Flint," Spock said. "Harm us, and she hates you."

  "Give me my ship," Kirk said coldly. "Your secret is safe with us."

  Flint looked at Kirk levelly. Then there was the slightest suggestion of a shrug; here was a man who had lost battles before. He touched the belt control again.

  The column of light with the toy Enterprise in it faded and vanished.

  "That's why you delayed processing the ryetalyn," Kirk said, in a low, bitter voice. "You realized what was happening. You kept us together—me, Rayna—because I could make her emotions come alive. Now you're going to just take over!"

  "I shall take what is mine—when she comes to me," Flint said. "We are mated, Captain. Alike immortal. You must forget your feelings in this matter, which is quite impossible for you."

  "Impossible from the beginning," Kirk said in growing fury. "Yet you used me. I can't love her—but I do love her! And she loves me!"

  Flint sprang. He was quick, but Kirk evaded him. The two combatants began circling like animals. As Kirk passed Spock, the First Officer seized his arm.

  "Your primitive impulses cannot alter the situation."

  "You wouldn't understand! We're fighting over a woman!"

  "You are not," Spock said, "for she is not."

  Kirk stepped back, turning his pains out toward his adversary. "Pointless, Mr. Flint."

  "I will not be the cause of all this," Rayna said, in a voice both fiery and shaken. "I will not! I choose! I choose! Where I want to go—what I want to do! I choose!"

  "I choose for you," Flint said.

  "No longer!"

  "Rayna . . ."

  "No. Don't order me! No one can order me!"

  Kirk looked at her in awe, and it seemed as though Flint was feeling the same sensation. He extended a hand toward her, and she turned from it. He dropped the hand slowly, staring at her.

  "She's human," Kirk said. "Down to the last blood cell, she's human. Down to the last thought, hope, aspiration, emotion. You and I have created human life—and the human spirit is free. You have no power of ownership. She can do as she wishes."

  "No man beats me," Flint said coldly.

  "I don't want to beat you," Kirk said wearily. "There's no test of power here. Rayna belongs to herself now. She claims her human right of choice—to do as she will, think as she will, be as she will."

  Finally Flint gave a tired nod. "I have fought for that also. What does she choose?"

  "Come with me," Kirk said to her.

  "Stay," said Flint.

  There were tears in her eyes. "I was not human," she whispered. "Now, I love—I love . . ."

  She moved slowly forward toward the two waiting men. She seemed exhausted. She stumbled once, and then, suddenly, fell.

  McCoy was at her side in an instant, feeling for her pulse. Flint also knelt. Slowly, McC
oy shook his head.

  It hit Kirk like a blow in the stomach. "What—happened?" he asked.

  "She loved you, Captain," Spock said gently, "and also Flint, as a mentor, even a father. There was not time enough to adjust to the awful powers and contradictions of her newfound emotions. She could not bear to hurt either of you. The joy of love made her human; its agony destroyed her." In his voice there was a note of calm accusation. "'The hand of God was duplicated. A life was created. But then—you demanded ideal response—for which God still waits."

  Flint bowed his head, a broken man. "You can't die, we will live forever—together." He sobbed. "Rayna—child . . ."

  Kirk's hand moved, almost blindly, to his shoulder.

  Kirk sat at his desk in his own cabin, in half light, exhausted, brooding. The door opened and Spock came in.

  "Spock," Kirk said, and looked away.

  "The epidemic is reduced and no longer a threat. The Enterprise is on course 513 mark seven, as you ordered."

  "The very young and lonely man—the very old and lonely man—we put on a pretty poor show, didn't we?" He bowed his head. "If only I could forget . . ."

  His head went down on his arms. He was asleep.

  McCoy entered in full cry. "Jim, those tricorder readings of Mr. Flint are finally correlated. Methuselah is dying . . ."

  Then he noticed Kirk's position, and added in a low voice, "Thank Heaven—sleeping at last."

  "Your report, Doctor?" Spock said.

  "Flint. In leaving Earth; with its complex of fields in which he was formed and with which he was in perfect balance, he sacrificed immortality. He'll live the remainder of a normal life-span—and die."

  "That day, I shall mourn. Does he know?"

  "I told him myself. He intends to devote his last years, and his gigantic abilities, to improving the human condition. Who knows what he might come up with?"

  "Indeed," Spock said.

  "That's all, I guess. I'll tell Jim when he wakes up, or you can." He looked at Kirk with deep sympathy. "Considering his opponent's longevity—truly an eternal triangle. You wouldn't understand, would you, Spock? I'm sorrier for you than I am for him. You'll never know the things love can drive a man to—the ecstasies, the miseries, the broken rules, the desperate chances—the glorious failures, and the glorious victories—because the word love isn't written in your book."