Star Trek - Blish, James - 09

by 09(lit)

  "At this rate of drain plus the draw on all systems- two hours, Captain."

  As Kirk got to his feet, another wave of weakness swept over him. It passed-and he moved over to the computer station. "We're trying to hold our distance, Mr. Spock. Have you yet ascertained what we are holding the distance from?"

  Spock, his eyes on his own screen, said, "I have not found out what that thing is, Captain. But it seems to have found us."

  Kirk wheeled to the bridge viewer. In the center of its blackness a bright object had become visible- bright, pulsating, elongated.

  Staring at it, Kirk said, "Mr. Chekov, prepare to launch a probe."

  Bent to his hooded computer, Spock said, "Very confused readings, Captain-but that object is definite-ly the source of the energy drains."

  "Mr. Chekov, launch probe," Kirk said.

  "Probe launched, sir. Impact in seven point three seconds."

  Without order Sulu began the countdown. "Six, five... four... three... two... one... now!"

  The ship trembled. Lights bunked. But that was all.

  "Mr. Chekov, do we still have contact with the probe?"

  "Yes, sir. Data being relayed to Mr. Spock."

  "Mr. Spock?"

  The Vulcan's head was hidden under the computer's mound. "Readings coming in now, Captain. Length, approximately eleven thousand miles. Varying in width from two thousand to three thousand miles. Outer layer strewn with space debris and other wastes. In-terior consists of protoplasm varying from a firmer gelatinous layer to a semi-fluid central mass."

  He withdrew his head from the computer. "Condi-tion... living."

  The faces around Kirk were stunned. He looked away from them and back at Spock. "Living," he said. Then, his voice very quiet, he said, "Magnifica-tion four, Mr. Sulu. On the main screen."

  He had expected a horror-and he received it. The screen held what might be a nightmare of some child who had played with a lab microscope-a monstrous, amoebalike protozoan. The gigantic nucleus throbbed, its chromosome bodies vaguely shadowed under its gelatinous, spotted skin. In open loathing, Kirk shut his eyes. But he could not dispel his searing memory of what continued to show on the screen.

  In Sickbay's lab, McCoy was parading a pictured series of one-celled creatures. On the small view-screen a paramecium, its cilia wriggling, came and went. Then McCoy said, "This is an amoeba."

  If life was movement, ingestion, the thing was alive, a microscopic inhabitant of stagnant pools. As Kirk watched, a pseudopod extended itself, groping but intent on a fragment of food. There was a blind greed in the creature that sickened Kirk.

  "I've seen them before," he said. "Like that, enlarged by microscope. But this thing out there is eleven thousand miles long! Are you saying that anything so huge is a single-celled animal?"

  "For lack of a better term, Jim. Huge as it is, it is a very simple form of life. And it can perform all the functions necessary to qualify it as a living organism. It can reproduce, receive sense impressions, act on them, and eat, though what its diet is I wouldn't know."

  "Energy," Spock said. "Energy drained from us. I would speculate that this unknown life form is invad-ing the galaxy like an infection."

  "Mr. Spock, the Intrepid died of this particular infec-tion. Why have we survived so long?'

  "The Intrepid must have come upon it when it was hungry, low in energy. We are not safe, Captain. We merely have a little more time than the Intrepid had."

  "Bones, this zone of darkness. Does the thing gene-rate it itself as some form of protection?"

  "That's one of the things we have to find out, Jim. We need a closer look at it."

  "The closer to it we get, the faster it eats our energy. We're barely staying alive at this distance from it."

  McCoy shut off his screen. "We could risk the shuttlecraft. With special shielding, it might-"

  "I'm not sending anybody anywhere near that thing! Unmanned probes will give us the information we need to destroy it."

  "I must differ with you, Captain," Spock said. "We have sent probes into it. They have told us some facts but not those we need to know. We're in no position to expend the power to take blind shots at it. We need a target."

  McCoy said, "One man could go in... pinpoint its vulnerable spots."

  "And the odds against his coming back?" Kirk cried. "How can I order anyone to take such a chance?"

  "Who mentioned orders?" McCoy demanded. "You've got yourself a volunteer, Jim, my boy. I've already done the preliminary work."

  "Bones, it's a suicide mission!"

  "Doctor, this thing has reflexes. The unmanned probe stung it when it entered. The lurch we felt was the turbulence of its reaction."

  "All right, Spock," McCoy said. "Then I'll have the sense to go slow when I penetrate it."

  Spock studied him. "There is a latent martyr in you, Doctor. It is an affliction that disqualifies you to undertake the mission."

  "Martyr?" McCoy yelled. "You think I intend to by-pass the chance to get into the greatest living laboratory ever?"

  "The Intrepid carried physicians and psychologists, Doctor. They died."

  "Just because Vulcans failed doesn't mean a human will."

  Kirk hit the table with his fist. "Will you both kindly shut up? I've told you! I'm not taking volun-teers!"

  "You don't think you're going, do you?" McCoy shouted.

  "I am a command pilot!" Kirk said. "And as such, I am the qualified person. So let's have an end of this!"

  "You have just disqualified yourself, Captain," Spock said. "As the command pilot you are indispensable. Nor are you the scientific specialist which I am."

  McCoy glared at Spock. "Jim, that organism con-tains chemical processes we've never seen before and may never, let's hope, see again. We could learn more in one day than-"

  "We don't have a day," Kirk said. "We have precise-ly one hour and thirty-five minutes. Then all our power is exhausted."

  "Jim..."

  "Captain..."

  Kirk whirled on them both. "I will decide who can best serve the success of this mission! When I have made my command decision-command decision, gentlemen-you will be notified."

  He turned on his heel and left them.

  The solitude of his quarters felt good. He closed the door behind him, unhooked his belt and with his back turned to the clock's face deliberately stretched himself out on his bunk. Relax. Let the quiet move up, inch by inch, from his feet to his throbbing head. Let go. If you could just let go, answers sometimes welled up from an untapped wisdom that resisted pushing. "God, let me relax," Kirk prayed.

  It was true. He was indispensable. There was no room in command authority for the heroics of phony modesty. As to Bones, he did have the medical-biologi-cal advantages he'd claimed. But Spock, the born athlete, the physical-fitness fanatic, the Vulcan logician and Science Officer, was both physically and emotionally better suited to withstand the stresses of such a mission. Yet who could know what invaluable dis-coveries Bones might make if he got his chance to make them? So it was up to him-Kirk. The choice was his. One of his friends had to be condemned to probable death. Which one?

  He drew a long shuddering breath. Then he reached out to the intercom over his head and shoved its button. "This is the Captain speaking. Dr. McCoy and Mr. Spock report to my quarters at once. Kirk out."

  The beep came as he sat up. "Engineering to Cap-tain Kirk."

  "Go ahead, Scotty."

  "You wanted to be kept informed of the power drain, sir. All levels have sunk to fifty percent. Still draining. We can maintain power for another hour and fifteen minutes."

  "Right, Scotty." He drew a hand over the bunk's coverlet, stared at the hand, and said, "Prepare the shuttlecraft for launching."

  "What's that, sir?"

  "You heard me, Scotty, Dr. McCoy will tell you what special equipment to install. Kirk out."

  Of course. The knock on his door. He got up and opened it. They were both standing there, their mutual antagonism weaving back a
nd forth between them. "Come in, gentlemen." There was no point, no time for suspense. "I'm sorry, Mr. Spock," Kirk said heavily.

  McCoy flashed a look of triumph at Spock. "Well, done, Jim," he said. "I'll get the last few things I need and-"

  Kirk stopped him in midstride. "Not you, Bones." He turned to Spock. "I'm sorry, Spock. I am sorry you are the best qualified to go."

  Spock nodded briefly. He didn't speak as he passed the crushed McCoy.

  The door to the hangar-deck elevator slid open. Spock moved aside to allow McCoy to precede him out of it. "Do not suffer so, Doctor. Professional cre-dentials are very valuable. But superior resistance to strain has occasionally proved more valuable."

  "Nothing has been proven yet!" McCoy controlled himself with an effort. "My DNA code analyzer will give you the fundamental structure of the organism. You'll need readings on three light wavelengths from the enzyme recorder,"

  "I am familiar with the equipment, Doctor. Time is passing. The shuttlecraft is ready."

  "You just won't let me share in this at all, will you, Spock?"

  "This is not a competition, Doctor. Kindly grant me my own kind of dignity."

  "Vulcan dignity? How can I grant you what I don't understand?"

  "Then employ one of your human superstitions. Wish me luck, Dr. McCoy."

  McCoy gave him a startled look. Without rejoinder, he shoved the button that opened the hangar-deck door. Beyond them the metallic skin of the chosen shuttlecraft gleamed dimly. Two technicians busied themselves with it, making some final arrangements. Spock, without looking back, walked through the hangar door. McCoy saw him climb into the craft. Then the door slid closed; McCoy, alone, muttered, "Good luck, Spock, damn you."

  Kirk, on the bridge, waited. Then Sulu turned. "All systems clear for shuttlecraft launch, sir."

  It was time to say the words. "Launch shuttlecraft."

  The light winked on Sulu's console. Spock was on his way. Alone. In space, alone. Committed-given over to what he, his Captain, had given him over to. Kirk heard the elevator whoosh open. McCoy came out of it. Kirk didn't turn. He said, "Lieutenant Uhura, channel telemetry directly to Mr. Chekov at the com-puter station."

  The bridge speaker spoke. "Shuttlecraft to Enter-prise."

  "Report, Mr. Spock."

  "The power drain is enormous and growing worse." Static crackled. "I am diverting all secondary power systems to the shields. I will continue communications as long as there is power to transmit."

  Spock would be huddled now, Kirk knew, over the craft's control panel. He'd be busy shutting off power systems. Somehow Scott had suddenly materialized beside his command chair. "Captain! He won't have power enough to get back if he diverts it to his shields!"

  "Spock," Kirk began.

  "I heard, Captain. We recognized that probability earlier. But you will need information communicated."

  "When do you estimate penetration?"

  "In one point three minutes. Brace yourselves. The area of penetration will no doubt be sensitive."

  What was Spock's screen showing? What was his closeup like? The details of the debris-mottled membrane, the enlarging granular structure of the pro-toplasm under it, two thousand miles thick?

  "Contact in six seconds," Spock's voice said.

  A tremor shook the Enterprise. That meant the mas-sive shock of impact for the shuttlecraft. Its lights would dim, alone in the dimness inside the thing. Kirk seized the microphone.

  "Report, Mr. Spock."

  Silence reported. Had Spock already lost conscious-ness? The organism would try to dislodge the craft. It would convulse, its convulsions sending its painful intruder into a spinning vortex of repeated shocks.

  "Spock..."

  The voice came, weak now. "I am undamaged, Captain... relay to Mr. Scott... I had three percent power reserve... before the shields stabilized. I... will proceed with my tests... The voice faded... then it returned. "Dr. McCoy... you would not... have survived this..."

  Kirk saw that McCoy's eyes were moist. "You wanna bet, Spock?" His voice broke on the name.

  "I am... moving very slowly now-establishing course toward... the nucleus."

  Chekov,... white-faced, called from the computer. "Sir, Mr. Spock has reduced his life support systems to bare minimum. I suppose to maintain communica-tions."

  Kirk's hand was wet on his microphone. "Spock, save your power for the shields."

  Static sputtered from the microphone. Between its cracklings, words could be heard. "My... calculations indicate-shields... only forty-seven minutes." More obliterating static. It quieted. "Identified... Chromo-some structure. Changes in it... reproduction process about to begin...."

  Ashen, McCoy cried, "Then there'll be two of these things!"

  "Spock...."

  Kirk got an earful of static. He waited. 'I... am having... some difficulty... ship control."

  Kirk looked away from the pain in McCoy's face. He waited again. As though it were warning of its waning usefulness, the mike spoke in jagged phrases. "... losing voice contact... transmitting... here are internal coordinates... chromosome bodies..."

  Uhura turned from her console. "Contact lost, sir. But I got the coordinates."

  "Captain!" It was Chekov. "The shuttlecraft shields are breaking! Fluctuations of energy inside the organism."

  "Aye," Scott said. "It's time he got out of there." There was nobody to look at but himself, Kirk thought. He was the man who had sent his best friend to death. He had sent Spock out to suffocate in the foul entrails of a primordial freak. That was a truth to somehow be lived with for the rest of his life. His chair lurched under him. The ship gave a shudder. Numbly, Kirk righted himself. Then, suddenly, in a blast of realization, he knew. "Bones!" The word tore from him in a shout. "He's alive! He's still alive! He made the craft kick the thing to force it to squirm -and let us know!"

  Uhura spoke. "Captain, I'm getting telemetry."

  "Mr. Chekov-telemetry analysis as it comes in."

  McCoy was still brooding on what reproduction of the organism meant. "According to Spock's tele-metry analysis, there are forty chromosomes in that nucleus ready to divide." He paused. "If the energy of this thing merely doubles, everybody and every-thing within a light year of it will be dead." He paced the length of the bridge and came back "Soon there will be two of it, four, eight, and more- a promise of a combined anti-life force that could encompass the entire galaxy."

  "That's what Spock knows, Bones. He knows. He knows we have no choice but to try and destroy it when he transmitted those coordinates of the chro-mosomes."

  Scott said, "Look at your panel, Captain. The pull from the thing is increasing. The drain on our shields is getting critical."

  "How much time, Scotty?"

  "Not more than an hour now, sir."

  "Shield power is an unconditional priority. Put all secondary systems on standby."

  "Aye, sir."

  "Bones, can we kill that thing without killing Spock? And ourselves, too?"

  "I don't know. It's a living cell. If we had an anti-biotic that-"

  "How many billions of kiloliters would it take?"

  "Okay, Jim. Okay."

  Uhura, her face radiant, turned from her console. "I'm receiving a message from Mr. Spock, sir. Low energy channel, faint but readable."

  "Give it to me, Lieutenant."

  "Faint" wasn't the word. Weak was. Very weak now. Spock said, "I... am losing life support... and minimal shield energy. The organism's nervous energy is... only maximal within protective membrane... interior... relatively insensitive... sufficient charge of... could destroy... tell Dr. McCoy... he should have wished... me luck..."

  The bridge people sensed the burden of the mes-sage. Silence fell, speech faltering at the realization that Spock was lost. Only the lowered hum of power-drained machinery made itself heard.

  Kirk lay unmoving on the couch in his quarters. Spock was dead. And to what point? If he'd been able to transmit his information on how to destroy t
he thing, he would have died for a purpose. But even that small joy had been denied to him. Spock was dead for no purpose at all, to no end that mattered to him.

  Without knocking, McCoy came in and sat down on the couch beside the motionless Kirk.

  "What's on your mind, Dr. McCoy?"

  "Spock," McCoy said. "Call me sentimental. I've been called worse things. I believe he's still alive out there in that mess of protoplasm."

  "He knew the odds when he went out. He knew so much. Now he's dead." Kirk lifted an arm into the air, contemplating the living hand at the end of it. "What is this thing? Not intelligent. At least, not yet."