Star Trek - Blish, James - 08 Read online

  "No, Scotty. We beamed it out into open space at the widest possible dispersion angle."

  "But it can't die!" McCoy said.

  "Perhaps not, Doctor," Spock said. "Indeed, its con-sciousness may survive for some time, but only in the form of billions of particles, separate bits of energy, forever drifting in space-powerless, shapeless and without sustenance. We know it must eat to remain alive."

  "And it will never feed again, not in the formless state it's in," Kirk said. "Finally, it will die." He looked at McCoy. "Bones-how long before that tranquilizer wears off?"

  "Oh, five or six hours, I guess. I certainly have given everyone a pretty good dose."

  "So I notice. Well, Mr. Spock, for the next few hours we'll have the happiest crew in space. But I doubt that we get much work done."

  "Sir," Spock said, "since, after all, we came to Argelius to rest, I see no reason why we shouldn't take advantage of it."

  "Let's go!" Scott cried enthusiastically.

  "Shore leave, Mr. Scott? You and Dr. McCoy have still to sleep off the effects of the last one. But we?" Kirk turned to Spock. "Mr. Spock, want to make the rounds of the Argelian fleshpots with me?"

  Spock's eyebrows rose. "Captain," he said stiffly, "I spoke of rest."

  "Ah," Kirk said. "So you did. My mistake, Mr. Spock."

  FOR THE WORLD IS HOLLOW AND I HAVE TOUCHED THE SKY

  (Rik Vollaerts)

  That "Bones" McCoy was a lonely man, Kirk knew. That he'd joined the service after some serious personal tragedy in his life, Kirk suspected. What he hadn't realized was the fierce pride in McCoy that made a virtual fetish of silence about any private pain. So he was startled by his violent reaction to the discovery that Nurse Chapel had exceeded what McCoy called her "professional authority."

  Entering Sickbay, Kirk found her close to tears. "You had no business to call Captain Kirk!" McCoy was storming at her. "You're excused! You may go to your quarters!"

  She blew her nose. "I'm a nurse first, Doctor-and a crew member of the Enterprise second," she said, chin firm under her reddened eyes.

  "I said you were excused, Nurse!"

  Christine swallowed. The hurt in her face was openly appealing. She blew her nose again, looking at Kirk, while McCoy said gruffly, "Christine, please-for God's sake, stop crying! I'll give the Captain a full report, I promise."

  She hurried out, and Kirk said, "Well, that was quite a dramatic little scene."

  McCoy squared his shoulders. "I've completed the standard physical examinations of the entire crew."

  "Good," Kirk said.

  "The crew is fit. I found nothing unusual-with one exception."

  "Serious?"

  "Terminal."

  Kirk, shocked, said, "You're sure?"

  "Positive. A rare blood disease. Affects one spaceship crew member in fifty thousand."

  "What is it?"

  "Xenopolycythemia. There is no cure."

  "Who?"

  "He has one year to live-at the outside chance. He should be relieved of duty as soon as possible." ,

  Kirk spoke quietly. "Who is it, Bones?"

  "The ship's chief medical officer."

  There was a pause. Then Kirk said, "You mean yourself?"

  McCoy reached for a colored tape cartridge on his desk. He stood at stiff attention as he handed it to Kirk. "That's the full report, sir. You'll want it quickly relayed to Starfleet Command-to arrange my replace-ment."

  Wordless, Kirk just looked at him, too stunned to speak. After a moment, he replaced the cartridge on the desk as though it had bit him. McCoy said, "I'll be most effective on the job in the time left to me if you will keep this to yourself."

  Kirk shook his head. "There must be something that can be done!"

  "There isn't." McCoy's voice was harsh. "I've kept up on all the research. I've told you!"

  The anguish on Kirk's face broke him. He sank down in the chair at his desk.

  "It's terminal, Jim. Terminal."

  Though red alert had been called on the Enterprise, Kirk was in his quarters. A "replacement" for Bones. Military language was a peculiar thing. How did one "replace" the experience of a human being-the inti-macy, the friendship forged out of a thousand shared dangers? "One year to live-at the outside chance." When you got down to the brass tacks of the human portion, you wished that speech had never been in-vented. But it had been. Like red alerts. They'd been invented, too. In order to remind you that you were Captain of a starship as well as the longtime comrade of a dying man.

  As he stepped from the bridge elevator, Spock silently rose from the command chair to relinquish it to him.

  "What is that stuff on the screen, Mr. Spock? Those moving pinpoints? A missile spread?"

  "A very archaic type, Captain. Sublight space."

  "Aye, and chemically fueled to boot, sir," Scott said.

  "Anything on communications, Lieutenant Uhura?"

  "Nothing, sir. All bands clear."

  "Course of the missiles, Mr. Spock?"

  "The Enterprise would appear to be their target, Captain."

  Prepare phaser banks. Yes. Two of them. He gave the order. "Get a fix, Mr. Chekov, on the missiles' point of origin."

  "Aye, Captain."

  "Mr. Sulu, fire phasers."

  The clutch of missiles exploded in a blinding flash. "Well, that's that," Kirk said. "Mr. Chekov, alter course to missile point of origin."

  "Course change laid in, sir."

  "Warp three, Mr. Sulu."

  Spock spoke from the computer station. "They were very ancient missiles, Captain. Sensor reading indicates an age of over ten thousand years."

  "Odd," said Kirk. "How could they still be func-tional?"

  "They evidently had an inertial guidance system that made any other communications control unnecessary."

  "And the warheads, Captain," Scott said. "Nuclear fusion type according to my readings."

  Spock spoke again. "We're approaching the coordi-nates of the hostile vessel, Captain."

  "Get it on the screen, Mr. Sulu."

  The term "vessel" seemed to be inappropriate. What had appeared on the screen was a huge asteroid. It was roughly round, jagged, its rocky mass pitted by thou-sands of years of meteor hits.

  "Mr. Spock, we've got maximum magnification. Is the object on the screen what it looks to be-an asteroid?"

  "Yes, sir. Some two hundred miles in diameter."

  "Could the hostile vessel be hiding behind it?"

  "Impossible, Captain. I've had that area under scan-ner constantly."

  "Then the missiles' point of origin is that asteroid?"

  "Yes, sir."

  Kirk got up and went to Spock's station. "Full sensor probe, Mr. Spock."

  After a moment, Spock withdrew his head from his computer's hood. "Typical asteroid chemically but it is not orbiting, Captain. It is pursuing an independent course through this solar system."

  "How can it?" Kirk said. "Unless it's powered-a spaceship!"

  Spock cocked an eyebrow in what for him was amazement. Then he said slowly, "It is under power- and correcting for all gravitational stresses." He dived under his hood again.

  "Power source?" Kirk asked.

  "Atomic, very archaic. Leaving a trail of debris and hard radiation."

  Kirk frowned briefly. "Plot the course of the as-teroid, Mr. Chekov."

  Once more Spock withdrew his head. "The asteroid's outer shell is hollow. It surrounds an independent inner core with a breathable atmosphere-sensors record no life forms."

  "Then it must be on automatic controls," contributed Scott.

  Spock nodded. "And its builders-or passengers- are dead."

  Chekov said, "Course of asteroid-I mean spaceship-241 mark 17."

  Spock had stooped swiftly to his console. He pushed several controls. Then he looked up. "Sir, that reading Ensign Chekov just gave us puts the asteroid ship on a collision course with planet Daran V!"

  "Daran V!" Kirk stared at him. "My memory banks say tha
t's an inhabited planet, Mr. Spock!"

  "Yes, sir. Population, approximately three billion,' seven hundred and twenty-four million." He paused, glancing back at his console panel. "Estimated time of impact: thirteen months, six days."

  "Well," Kirk said. "That's a pretty extensive popula-tion." He whirled to Sulu. "Mr. Sulu, match Enterprise speed with the asteroid ship's. Mr. Spock and I are transporting aboard her. Mr. Scott, you have the con."

  They entered the Transporter Room to see Christine Chapel handing his tricorder to McCoy. "A lot can happen in a year," she was saying. "Give yourself every minute of it."

  "Thanks," McCoy said, and slung the tricorder over his shoulder. Ignoring Kirk and Spock, he stepped up on the Transporter platform, taking position on one of its circles.

  Kirk walked over to him. "Bones," he said, "Spock and I will handle this one."

  "Without me?" McCoy said. "You'll never make it back here without me."

  "I feel it would be wiser if..."

  "I'm fine, thank you, Captain," McCoy brushed him off. "I want to go."

  So that was how Bones wanted it played. He wasn't fatally ill. The word terminal might never have been spoken. "All right, Bones. You're probably right. If we make it back here, we'll need you with us." He took up his own position on the platform between Spock and McCoy.

  They arrived on a land area of the asteroid ship. As though land on an asteroid weren't strange enough, strange plants, coiling black tendrils abounded, their strange roots sunk in deep, smoking fissures. High mountains shouldered up in the distance. Otherwise, the view showed only rubble and pockmarked rocks.

  McCoy said, "You'd swear you were on a planet's surface."

  Spock tossed away a stone he'd examined. "The question is, why make a ship look like a planet?"

  "You wouldn't even know you were on a spaceship." Kirk jerked his com unit from his belt. "Kirk to Enter-prise."

  "Scott here, Captain."

  "Transported without incident. Kirk out." He rehung his communicator on his belt, and was moving forward when, to his far left, his eye caught the glint of sunlight on metal. "Over there," he said. "Look..."

  It was a row of metal cylinders. They were all about eight feet high, their width almost matching their height, and regularly spaced fifty feet apart. The men ap-proached the nearest one, examining it carefully with-out touching it. "No apparent opening," Kirk observed.

  "Spock, you found no intelligent life forms," McCoy said, "but surely these are evidence of..."

  "This asteroid ship is ten thousand years old, Doc-tor. They may be evidence of the existence of some previous life forms." He checked his tricorder. "Cer-tainly, there are no signs of life now."

  They eyed the enigmatic cylinder again before they walked on to the next one. It was a duplicate of the first. As they reached the third, the two cylinders be-hind them suddenly opened, disgorging two groups of men, clad in shaggy homespun. Armed with short dag-gers and broadswords, they moved silently, trailing the Enterprise trio. A slim and beautiful woman followed them. She halted as the men charged.

  The struggle was quick and violent. Outnumbered, Spock took several blows from sword hilts before he dropped to the ground, half-conscious. McCoy, head down, rushed a man off his feet, the momentum of his plunge crashing him into the woman. Her eyes widened in a surprise that contained no fear. Startled by her beauty, McCoy was brought up short, taking in the lustrous black hair piled on her head in fantastic loops, her glittering black leotardlike garment. Then he was stunned by a smash on the head. Kirk, going down under a swarming attack, saw the broadsword lifting up over McCoy and yelled, "Bones!"

  The woman raised her right hand.

  The broadsword was stayed in midstroke. McCoy was pulled to his feet. He shook his head, trying to clear it. Vaguelv, he became aware of hands fumbling at his belt. Then his arms were jerked behind his back. Disarmed of phasers and communicators, he, Kirk and Spock were herded over to the woman.

  "These are your weapons?" she asked, holding their belts in her right hand.

  "Yes," Kirk said. "Of a kind. Weapons and commu-nication devices. Let me help my friend!" He struggled to pull free. The woman made a commanding gesture.

  Released, he rushed over to the still groggy McCoy. "Bones, are you all right?" "I-I think so, Jim."

  The woman's dark eyes were on McCoy. "I am called Natira," she told him. "I am the High Priestess of the People. Welcome to the world of Yonada."

  "We have received more desirable welcomes," Kirk said.

  She ignored him. "Bring them!" she ordered their guards.

  She led the way to an open cylinder. They were in an apparently endless, lighted corridor, lined by curious people in their homespun clothing. As Natira passed them, they bowed deeply. She was nearing an arched portal. It was flanked by two ornately decorated pillars, their carvings suggestive of a form of writing, cut deep into the stone. Natira, bowing herself, touched some hidden device that opened the massive door. But keen-eyed Spock had registered its location. He had also observed the writing.

  The large room they entered was dim, its sole light a glow that shone from under its central dais. Its rich ornamentation matched that of the portal. "You will kneel," Natira said.

  There was no point, Kirk thought, in making an issue of it. He nodded at Spock and McCoy. They knelt. Natira, stepping onto the dais, turned to what was clearly an altar. Etched into its stone was a design that resembled a solar system. As Natira fell to her knees before the altar, light filled the room.

  McCoy, his voice lowered, said, "She called this the world. These people don't know they're on a spaceship," Kirk nodded. "Possible. The ship's been in flight for a long time."

  "That writing," Spock said, "resembles the lexicography of the Fabrini."

  But Natira, her arms upraised, was speaking. "O Oracle of the People, O most wise and most perfect, strangers have come to our world. They bear instru-ments we do not understand."

  Light blazed from the altar. As though if had strengthened her to ask the question, she rose to her feet, turned and said, "Who are you?"

  "I am Captain Kirk of the Starship Enterprise. This is Dr. McCoy, our Medical Officer. Mr. Spock is my First Officer."

  "And for what reason do you visit this world?"

  The word "world" again. Kirk and McCoy ex-changed a look.

  "We come in friendship," Kirk said.

  The sound of thunder crashed from the altar. A boom-ing echo of the thunder, the voice of the Oracle spoke.

  "Learn what it means to be our enemy. Learn what that means before you learn what it means to be our friend."

  Lightning flashed. The three Enterprise men were felled to the floor by a near-lethal charge of electricity'

  McCoy was taking too long to recover consciousness. He continued to lay, white-faced, in a sleeping alcove of their lavishly decorated guest quarters. Spock, who had been trying to work out muscle spasms in his shoulders, joined Kirk at McCoy's couch.

  "He must have suffered an excessively intense electri-cal shock," he said.

  "No. I don't think that's it," Kirk said. He reached for McCoy's pulse. Spock, aware of the deep concern in Kirk's face, was puzzled. "Nothing else could have caused this, sir." He paused. "That is-nothing that has occurred down here."

  Kirk glanced up at Spock. He knew that the Vulcan had sensed something of the real cause of his anxiety. "The shock was unusually serious because of McCoy's weakened condition," he said.

  "May I ask precisely what is troubling the Doctor?"

  "Yes, Mr. Spock. He'd never tell you himself. But now I think he'd want you to know. He has xenopolycythemia."

  Spock stiffened. After a long moment, he said quiet-ly, "I know of the disease, Captain."

  "Then you know there's nothing that can be done." As he spoke, McCoy stirred. His eyes opened. Kirk stooped over him. "How is it now, Bones?"

  "All right," McCoy said. He sat up, pulling himself rapidly together. "How are you, Spock?"

 
"Fine, thank you. The Captain and I must have received a less violent electrical charge."

  Falsely hearty, McCoy said, "That Oracle really got to me. I must be especially susceptible to his magic spells."

  "Spock knows," Kirk said. "I told him, Bones."

  There was relief in McCoy's face. He stood up. "Hadn't we better find this ship's control room and get these people off their collision course?"