by James Blish
"Did you expect me to?"
Kor only grinned. At the same time, the door opened and Spock was thrust inside, followed by a Klingon lieutenant. To Kirk's enormous relief, his first officer looked perfectly normal.
"Well, lieutenant?"
"He is what he claims to be, Commander," the lieutenant said. "A Vulcan trader named Spock. And he really is trading in the other kind of trillium, the vegetable kind; it seems it has value here."
"Nothing else?"
"The usual apprehension. His main concern seems to be how he will carry on his business under our occupation. His mind is so undisciplined that he could hold nothing back."
"All right. Baroner, would you like to try our little truth-finder?"
"I don't even understand it."
"It's a mind-sifter," Kor said, "or a mind-ripper, depending on how much force is used. If necessary, we can empty a man's mind as if opening a spigot. Of course, what's left is more vegetable than human."
"You're proud of it?" Kirk said.
"All war weapons are unpleasant," Kor said. "Otherwise they would be useless."
"Mr. Spock, are you sure you're all right?"
"Perfectly, Baroner. However, it was a remarkable sensation."
"That's enough," Kor said, with a trace of suspicion in his voice. "Vulcan, you can go. But just bear in mind that you're an enemy alien, and will be under scrutiny at all times."
"Quite, Commander," Spock said. "I understand you very well."
"Baroner, return to your council and get that proclamation posted. Until the people know what's expected of them, it's up to you to keep the people in order."
"Or I will be killed," Kirk said.
"Precisely. I see that you too understand me very well."
Once in the street, Kirk glanced about quickly. Nobody was within earshot, or seemed to be following them. He said quietly to Spock, "That mind-sifter of theirs must not be quite the terror they think it is."
"I advise you not to underestimate it, Captain," Spock said. "I was able to resist it, partly with a little Vulcan discipline, partly by misdirection. But on the next higher setting, I am sure I would have been unable to protect myself."
"And I wouldn't last even that long. The question is now, how do we persuade these Organians to resist? To strike back, knock the Klingons off balance, maybe until the Federation fleet gets here?"
"Verbal persuasion seems to be ineffective," Spock said. "Perhaps a more direct approach?"
"My thought exactly. Didn't I see something that looked like a munitions dump near the citadel? I thought so. All right, let's try a little direct communication."
"The suggestion has merit. Would tonight do?"
"If you have no previous engagement," Kirk said. "Of course, we're short of tools."
"I am sure," Spock said, "the Klingons will provide whatever is necessary."
"It's a pleasure doing business with you, Mr. Spock."
The guards at the munitions depot were tough and highly trained, but nothing they had yet encountered on Organia had prepared them for anyone like Kirk and Spock. Two of them went quietly to sleep on duty within a few seconds of each other, were relieved of their phasers and locked in an empty storeroom, lovingly cocooned in baling wire.
Inside the dump, Kirk located a crate that seemed to contain some form of chemical explosive. He opened it. A few moments later, Spock appeared from the shadows.
"I have one of their sonic grenades," he murmured, "and I have improvised a delayed-action fuse. The combination should provide a most satisfactory display."
"Good. Fire away."
Spock made a pulling gesture, carefully tucked the grenade inside the crate, and ran, Kirk at his heels.
Three minutes later, the night lit up. Giant explosions rocked it, followed by strings of subsidiary explosions. Missiles flew in all directions. An immense cloud formed over the city, its underside flickering with the fires and detonations below it.
"You were right, Mr. Spock," Kirk said when the clamor had begun to die down. "A most satisfactory display. I only hope that the council draws the moral. Obviously they can't fight the Klingons directly, but they could make Organia useless to them."
"In the meantime," Spock said. "I earnestly suggest that we find ourselves a deep, deep hole, Captain. Somehow I cannot think that Commander Kor will believe the Organians did this."
"Nor do I. Let's vanish."
Perhaps one or both of them should have anticipated Kor's next move. Two hours later, in an empty, lightless hut near the outskirts of the village, they heard a distant, buzzing whine from the direction of the citadel.
"Phasers," Spock said.
"Yes, Klingon phasers—a lot of them, all being fired at once. Odd. It doesn't sound at all like a battle, or even a riot."
The answer came rumbling down the street outside within another hour, in the form of an armored vehicle. From a loudspeaker atop it, a recorded voice was bellowing:
"This is the military governor. In the courtyard of my headquarters, two hundred Organian hostages have just been killed. In two hours more, two hundred more will die, and two hundred more after that—until the two Federation spies are turned over to us. The blood of the hostages is on your hands. The executions will be carried on until the saboteurs are surrendered. This is the order of Kor. Attention, all subjects! This is the military governor. In the courtyard of my headquarters . . ."
Kirk and Spock were silent for a long time after the lumbering vehicle had become inaudible. At last Kirk whispered, appalled: "That tears it."
"Yes, Captain. And the Organians no more know where we are than Kor does. We must give ourselves up, and speedily."
"Wait a minute. Let me think."
"But all those lives . . ."
"I know, I know. We've got to turn ourselves in. But we've still got sidearms. Just possibly, we can force Kor to call the killings off."
"Unlikely, Captain," Spock said. "Commander Kor may be a mass murderer, but he is clearly also a soldier."
"In that case, we'll just have to do as much damage as we can and keep them busy until the fleet shows up. The Federation invested a lot of money in our training, Mr. Spock. I think they're about due for a small return."
Spock estimated the odds against making it all the way to Kor's office at "approximately" 7,824.7 to one; but surprise and the phasers—set to heavy stun force—both told in their favor. When they reached the door of Kor's office, it was open, and no alarm had sounded. They could see the commander inside, seated at his desk, hands over his face, brooding. It seemed almost possible that he did not relish butchering unarmed civilians. When he looked up and saw Spock and Kirk before him, phasers leveled, a look of interest and appreciation appeared on his face.
"Just stay seated, Commander," Kirk said. "Mr. Spock, cover the door."
"You have done well to get this far, through my guards."
"I am afraid," Spock said, "that many of them are no longer in perfect operating condition."
"The fortunes of war. What next?"
"We're here. Call off your executions."
"You have not surrendered," Kor said in a reasonable tone of voice. "Drop your weapons and I will call off the executions. Otherwise you have accomplished nothing."
"We can certainly kill you," Kirk said grimly. "You're the Klingon governor. That might put quite a crimp in your operations."
"Don't be hasty," Kor said. "You will be interested in knowing that a Federation fleet is due here within the hour. Our fleet is prepared to meet them. Shall we wait and see the results before you pull the trigger?"
"I don't plan to pull it at all unless you force me to."
"Sheer sentimentality—or at best, mercy. A useless emotion in wartime. It is not a Klingon weakness." Kor smiled. "Think of it. While we talk here, in space above us the destiny of the galaxy will be decided for the next ten thousand years. May I offer you a drink? We can toast the victory of the Klingon fleet."
"I would suggest that
you are premature," Spock said. "There are many possibilities."
"Commander," Kirk added, "we once had a nation on Earth called the Spartans—the finest warriors who ever walked our planet. They had their hour of conquest—but it was their chief opponent, Athens, who survived. Sparta knew only the arts of war. Athens was known as the mother of all the arts."
"A consoling analogy, but I think a little out of date," Kor said. "True, there is always some element of chance in a major war. Today we conquer; someday we may be defeated. But I am inclined to doubt it."
He rose. The phaser in Kirk's hand did not waver by a millimeter. Kor ignored it.
"Do you know why we are so strong?" Kor said. "Because we are a unit. Each of us is part of the greater whole. Always under surveillance. Even a commander like myself, always under surveillance, Captain. As you will note."
He waved toward the ceiling, smiling. Kirk did not look up.
"No doubt there's a scanner up there. However, Mr. Spock has the door covered, and I have you. At the first disturbance, I fire."
There was something remarkably like a yelp of dismay from Spock, and then the unmistakable sound of a phaser hitting the stone floor. Kirk whirled, trying to keep Kor simultaneously in the corner of his eye. At the same instant the door, which Spock had closed, burst open again and two Klingon soldiers charged in.
Kirk pulled the trigger. The phaser did not fire. Instead, it turned red hot in his hand. Instinctively, he threw it from him.
"Shoot!" Kor shouted. "Shoot, you blockheads!" There were at least five soldiers in the room now, but one after another they too dropped their weapons, which lay glowing quietly against the stone. After a moment of dismay, the guards charged. Kirk set himself and swung.
He could feel the flesh of his fist sear as it hit. A Klingon grabbed him from behind—then let go with a howl.
"Their bodies are hot!" one of the soldiers gasped. He was almost drowned out by a roar from the commander, who had tried to pick up a paper knife.
After that, for an eternal ten seconds, the enemies simply glared at each other incredulously. There was no sound but that of heavy breathing.
Then Ayelborne and Claymare came in. They were wearing their eternal smiles, which even Kirk had come to loathe.
"We are terribly sorry that we have been forced to interfere, gentlemen," Ayelborne said. "But we could not permit you to harm one another. There has been enough violence already."
"What are you talking about, you sheep?"
"We have put a stop to your brawling," Claymare said. "That is all."
"Let me get this straight," Kirk said slowly. "You put a stop to it? You? You mean you're going to slap our wrists?"
"Please, Captain," Claymare said. "You already know the answer. Not only your guns, but all instruments of destruction on this planet now have a potential surface temperature of three hundred and fifty degrees. Simple intent to use one renders it inoperative."
"My fleet . . ." Kor said.
"The same conditions exist upon both the opposing Starfleets," said Ayelborne. "There will be no battle."
"Ridiculous," Kor growled.
"I suggest you contact them. You too, Captain. Your ship is now within range of your communications device."
Kirk took out his communicator. "Kirk to Enterprise. Come in."
"Captain! Is that you?"
"Kirk here—report, Mr. Sulu."
"I don't know what to report, sir," Sulu's voice said. "We were just closing with the Klingon fleet when every control in the ship became too hot to handle. All except the communications board. If this is some new Klingon weapon, why didn't it disable that too?"
"I don't know," Kirk said heavily. "Stand by, Mr. Sulu. Ayelborne, how did you manage this?"
"I could not explain it to you with any hope of being understood, Captain. Suffice it to say that as I stand here, I also stand upon the bridge of your ship, upon the bridge of every ship, upon the home planet of the Klingon Empire, on the home planet of your Federation. Some of my energies I share with your weapons—I and the rest of my people. We are putting a stop to this insane war."
"How dare you?" Kor shouted.
"You can't just stop our fleet," Kirk said, equally angrily. "You've got no right . . ."
"What happens in space is none of your business . . ."
"It is being stopped," Ayelborne said. "Unless both sides agree to an immediate cessation of hostilities, all your armed forces, wherever they may be, will be totally disabled."
"We have legitimate grievances against the Klingons," Kirk said. "They've invaded our territory, killed our citizens . . ."
"The disputed areas are not your territory," Kor raged. "You were trying to hem us in, cut off vital supplies, strangle our trade."
"Look here," Kirk said to the Organians, fighting himself back to some semblance of control. "We didn't ask you to intervene, but you should be the first to side with us now. The two hundred hostages who were killed . . ."
"No one has died, Captain," Claymare said calmly. "No one has died here for uncounted thousands of years. Nor do we mean that anyone shall."
"Let me ask you, Captain, what it is that you are defending," Ayelborne added, gently, as if amused. "Is it the right to wage war? To kill millions of innocent people? To destroy life on a planetary scale? Is that the 'right' you refer to?"
"Well, I . . ." Kirk said, and stopped. "Of course, nobody wants war, but sometimes you have to fight. Eventually, I suppose, we . . ."
"Yes, eventually you would make peace," Ayelborne said. "But only after millions had died. We are bringing it about now. The fact is, in the future you and the Klingons will become fast friends. You will work together in great harmony."
"Nonsense!" Kor said. Kirk realized that he had been standing shoulder to shoulder with the Klingon and moved away hastily.
"Of course, you are most discordant now," Ayelborne said. "In fact, you will have to leave. The mere presence of beings like yourselves is acutely painful to us."
"What do you mean?" Kirk said. "You don't differ significantly from us, no matter what tricks you've mastered."
"Once we did not differ significantly," Claymare said. "But that was millions of years ago. Now we have developed beyond the need for physical bodies at all. This appearance is only for your convenience. Now we shall put it off."
"Hypnosis!" Kor cried. "Captain, those weapons may never have been hot at all! Grab them!"
Ayelborne and Claymare only smiled, and then they began to change. At first it was only a glow, becoming brighter and brighter, until they looked like metal statues in a furnace. Then the human shape faded. It was as if there were two suns in the room.
Kirk shut his eyes and covered them with both arms. He could still see the light. Finally, however, it began to fade.
The Organians were gone.
"Fascinating," Spock said. "Pure thought—or pure energy? In any event, totally incorporeal. Not life as we know it at all."
"But the planet," Kirk said. "The buildings—this citadel . . ."
"Probably the planet is real enough. But the rest, conventionalizations, no doubt, just as they said. Useless to them—points of reference for us. I should guess that they are as far above us on the evolutionary scale as we are above the amoeba."
There was a long silence. Finally, Kirk turned toward Kor.
"Well, Commander," he said, "I guess that takes care of the war. Since the Organians aren't going to let us fight, we might as well get started on being friends."
"Yes," Kor said. He thrust out his hand. "Still, in a way, Captain, it's all rather saddening."
"Saddening? Because they're so much more advanced than we are? But it took millions of years. Even the gods didn't spring into being overnight."
"No, that doesn't sadden me," Kor said. "I'm only sorry that they wouldn't let us fight." He sighed. "It would have been glorious."
COURT MARTIAL
(Don M. Mankiewicz and Steven W. Carabatsos)
*
* *
The Enterprise weathered the ion storm somehow, but one man was dead, and damage to the ship was considerable. Kirk was forced to order a nonscheduled lay-over for repairs at Star Base 11, a huge complex serving the dual role of graving dock and galactic command outpost.
He made a full report to the portmaster, Senior Captain Stone, a craggy Negro who had once been a flight officer himself; Kirk had known him in those days, though not well. The report, of course, had to include an affidavit in the matter of Records Officer Benjamin Finney, deceased, and Kirk turned that in last and only after long study. Stone noticed his hesitation, but was patient. At last he said, "That makes three times you've read it, Captain. Is there an error?"
"No," Kirk said, "but the death of a crewman . . . When you have to sign these affidavits, you relive the moment." He signed the paper and passed it to Stone.
"I know. But you can't fight Regulations. Now, let's see; the extract from your ship's computer log, confirming the deposition?"
"In the other folder."
"Good . . . though it's a great pity too. The service can't afford to lose men like Officer Finney. If he'd only gotten out of the pod in time . . ."
"I waited until the last possible moment," Kirk said. "The storm got worse. We were on double-red alert. I had to jettison."
The office door swung open suddenly. A young woman was standing there—young, and pretty, but obviously under great stress. She glared wildly at Kirk, who recognized her instantly.
"There you are!" she cried. "I wanted one more good look at you!"
"Jame!"
"Yes, Jame! And you're the man who killed my father!"
"Do you really think that?" Kirk said.
"More than that! I think you deliberately murdered him!"
"Jame, Jame, stop and think what you're saying." Kirk stepped toward her. "We were friends, you know that. I would no more have hurt your father than I'd hurt you."
"Friends! That's a lie! You never were! You hated him, all your life! And you finally killed him!"
