by James Blish
Kirk spoke. "I am . . . Sargon."
His voice had deepened. And his bearing had changed, permeated as by the calm, gently austere dignity that had characterized the personality of Sargon.
McCoy yelled, "Where's our Captain? Where's Jim Kirk?"
"Here, Bones." The voice of Sargon-Kirk was gentle as a mother soothing a frightened infant. "Your loved Captain, is unharmed. I have taken his body for the moment to demonstrate to you—"
McCoy had drawn his phaser. "No! No, I do not go along with this! Back where you were, Sargon, whatever you are!"
"What do you propose to do with your phaser?" It was the mild voice of Spock. "That's still Jim's body."
McCoy's shoulders slumped. Then he saw that the incorporated Sargon was slowly becoming aware of Kirk's body. It expanded its chest; its head was flung up as the deliciousness of air was inhaled; its arms flexed—and a cry burst from it.
"Lungs . . . lungs savoring breath again! Eyes seeing colors again! A heart pumping arteries surging with young blood!" A hand touched the other one in wonder. "To feel again after half a million years!" Kirk's body turned, his own smile on its lips. "Your Captain has an excellent corpus, Doctor! I compliment both of you on the condition in which it has been maintained."
"And your plans for it?" Spock's voice was toneless. "Can you exchange places again when you wish?"
Sargon-Kirk didn't answer. Instead, he moved to the receptacle with its frail glow of light. Pointing to it, he said, "Have no fear. Your Captain is quite unharmed in there." The dim flicker slightly brightened. "See? He hears, he knows, he is aware of all we do and say. But his mind cannot generate the energy to speak from the globe as I did."
Spock, who had been using his tricorder, called "Doctor!" McCoy paled as he saw its readings. "The creature is killing him!" he shouted. "Heartbeat almost double, temperature one hundred and four degrees!"
"Sargon, what is it you want of us?" Spock demanded.
Kirk's eyes studied them silently. Finally Sargon's words came. "There are other receptacles in the next room; they contain two more of us who have survived. You, Anne Mulhall, and you, Mr. Spock—we shall require your bodies for them. We must have your bodies and Captain Kirk's in order to live again."
It had come to all of them that Kirk was no longer Kirk but an individual stronger, wiser, infused with a dominant intelligence beyond the reach of any of them. Waved into the next room, they obediently moved into it. Its shelved walls held many receptacles; but of them all, only two still shone with light. Kirk's deeper voice said, "Yes, only two of us still live. The others are blackened by death but these two still shine—Hanoch and Thalassa." He caressed one of the lighted globes. "Thalassa, my Thalassa, I am pleased you survived with me. Half a million years have been almost too long to wait."
Spock said, "Sargon, when that struggle came that destroyed your planet . . ."
"A few of the best minds were chosen to survive. We built these chambers and preserved our essence here in this fashion." He touched the Thalassa globe with tenderness. "My wife, as you may have guessed. And Hanoch from the other, enemy side in the struggle. By then we had all realized our mistake."
He paused. "We knew the seeds we had planted on other planets had taken root. And we knew you would one day build vessels as we did—that you would come here."
"What was your task in that globe out there?" Spock said.
To search the heavens with my mind . . . probing, waiting, probing. And finally my mind touched something—your ship bringing you here."
"So you could thieve our bodies from us!" Anne cried.
He looked at her, the centuries of gathered wisdom in his eyes contrasting eerily with the youth of Kirk's face. "To steal your bodies? No, no. You misunderstand, my children. To borrow them. We ask you to only lend them to us for a short time."
"To destroy them!" cried McCoy. "Just as you're burning that one up right now! Spock, the heartbeat reading is now 262! And the whole metabolic rate is just as high! My medical tricorder—"
"I shall return your Captain's body before its limit has been reached, Doctor."
"What is the purpose of this borrowing?" Spock said.
"To build . . ." Suddenly, Sargon-Kirk swayed. Then he straightened. To build humanoid robots. We must borrow your bodies only long enough to have the use of your hands, your fingers."
Spock turned to the others. "I understand," he said. "They will construct mechanical bodies for themselves and move their minds into them. That accomplished, they will return our bodies to us."
Anne interposed. "We have engineers, technicians. Why can't they build the robot bodies for you?"
"No. Our methods, the skill required, goes far beyond your abilities." He swayed again, staggering, and Spock put out an arm to support him. His breath, was coining hard and the Vulcan had to stoop to hear his whisper. "It is . . . time. Help me back to your . . . Captain."
With McCoy at his other side, he stumbled back into the big bare room. Weakly, he waved them aside to stand alone by the receptacle, eyes closed. This time the flare of light flashed from him—and abruptly, the globe was again alive with a pulsating brilliance. The knees of the borrowed body gave way and Anne Mulhall rushed to it, her arms outstretched. They closed around its shoulders and its eyelids fluttered open. "Captain Kirk?" she said tentatively.
The skipper of the Enterprise smiled at her, his eyes on her face.
"Jim . . . is it you?" cried McCoy.
Kirk didn't speak, his gaze still deep in the sapphire eyes. Hurriedly, McCoy checked him with his medical tricorder. "Good—good, fine! Metabolic rate back to normall"
Spock went to him. "Captain, do you remember what happened? Do you remember any part of it?"
"What? Oh. Oh, yes, yes. Sargon borrowed my body." He gestured to the globe. "I was there, floating . . . floating in time and space."
"You take it damned casually!" McCoy said. "However, you don't seem harmed . . . physically at least."
Kirk, wholly himself again, suddenly seemed to realize how matter-of-factly he was accepting his extraordinary experience. "Spock, I remember all now! As Sargon and I exchanged—for an instant we were one. I know him. I know now exactly what he is and what he wants. And I do not fear him."
Anne had withdrawn her embrace. "Captain, I'm afraid I must agree with Dr. McCoy. You could be suffering mental effects from this—a kind of euphoria."
"There's a way to check my conviction about Sargon." He turned to Spock. "I—I hate to ask it, Mr. Spock, knowing as I do what it costs you."
"Vulcan mind-melding?" McCoy said. "Are you willing, Spock?"
Spock took time to answer. Finally, he nodded gravely. Then, with care, he began to ready himself for the ordeal, breathing deeply, massaging chest muscles. Kirk, turning to the globe, said, "Sargon, we—"
"I understand. I am prepared."
It began. The globe's brilliance increased and, with it, the strain on Spock's anguished concentration. His breath grew harsh and his neck muscles taut. Words started to come like those of a man in a dream or a nightmare. ". . . there is a world . . . not physical. The mind reaches . . grows to encompass . . . to understand beyond understanding . . . growing . . . beyond comprehension . . . beyond . . . beyond . . . beyond..."
Kirk flashed an alarmed look at McCoy. It had never been so hard. They started forward—but Spock himself was now breaking away from the meld. He drew a deep lungful of breath, shaking, weak, eyes dazed.
"Spock?" Kirk cried.
The voice still held the awe of inexpressible experience. "Captain, I cannot say . . . what I have seen. The—the knowledge . . . the beauty of perfect reason . . . the incredible goodness . . . the unbelievable glory of ageless wisdom . . . the pure goodness of what Sargon is . . ."
Anne was the first to break the silence. "Beauty? Perfect reason? Pure goodness?"
Kirk nodded. "Beyond imagination."
Spock, still shaken, whispered, "It . . . will take me . . . time to absorb all I
have learned . . . all I have felt
"Yes," Kirk said. Instinctively he turned to the receptacle. "Sargon . . ." he said. The word might have been "Father".
"I understand, my son. Go to your vessel. All who are involved must agree to this. After all these centuries, we can wait a few more hours."
McCoy strode to the globe. "And if we decide against you?"
"Then you may go as freely as you came."
Leonard McCoy was out of his depth. He looked from Spock to Kirk, feeling himself to be the alien in a world no longer familiar to him. He had never been so uncertain of himself in his life.
"You are going to what?"
Scott had leaned over the Briefing Room table, his face incredulous. Kirk, quite composed, sat beside the grim-jawed McCoy. He smiled at Scott; and his Chief Engineer, Highland blood boiling, cried, "Are they all right in the head, Doctor?"
"No comment," McCoy said.
"It's a simple transference of our minds and theirs, Scotty," Kirk said.
"Nothing to it," McCoy said. "It happens every day."
Kirk ignored him. "I want your approval, Scotty. You'll have to do all the work with them, furnishing all they need to build the android robots. That is, you'll only seem to be working with us—with our bodies. But they'll be inside of them and we will be . . ." The explanation was getting complicated. Kirk flinched under the cold Scottish steel of Scott's eyes. "We'll be . . . in their receptacles," he finished lamely.
He sounded mad to his own ears. Where had fled that supremely sane self-possession of Sargon's that his body had entertained so briefly? He struggled to recover some shred of it; and McCoy cried, "Where they'll be, Scott, is floating in a ball! Just drifting sweetly in a ball of nothing! Indecent is what it is—indecent!"
Spock spoke. "Once inside their robot forms, Engineer, they will restore our bodies. They can leave this planet and travel back with us. With their massive knowledge, mankind can leap ahead ten thousand years."
"Bones," Kirk said, "they'll show us medical miracles you've never dreamed possible. And engineering advances, Scotty! Vessels this size with engines no larger than a walnut!"
"You're joking," Scott said gruffly.
"No," Spock said. "I myself saw that and more in Sargon's mind. I encountered an infinity of a goodness and knowledge that—that at this moment still staggers me."
"Many a fine man crushes ants underfoot without even knowing it." McCoy's voice shook. "They're giants and we're insects beside them, Jim. They could destroy us without meaning to."
Scott was musing aloud. "A Starship engine the size of a walnut?" He shrugged. "Impossible. But I suppose there's no harm in looking over diagrams on it . . ."
"And all he wants for these miracles is the body of our ship's Captain," McCoy said. "And that of our next in command, too. Coincidence? Anybody want to bet?"
"They have selected us, Bones, as the most compatible bodies."
"And your attitude on that, Dr. Mulhall?" McCoy demanded.
"If we all agree," Anne said steadily, "I am willing to host Thalassa's mind. I am a scientist. The opportunity is an extraordinary one for experimentation and observation."
"Bones, you can stop this right now by voting 'no'. That's why I called you all here. We'll all be deeply involved. It must be unanimous."
McCoy slammed the table. "Then I still want one question answered! Why? Not a list of possible miracles—but an understandable, simple, basic 'why' that doesn't ignore all the possible dangers. Let's not kid ourselves! There's much danger potential in this thing!"
They used to say, Bones, that if man were meant to fly, he'd have wings. But he did fly." Kirk's voice deepened with his earnestness. "In fact, human existence has been a long story of faint-hearted warnings not to push any further, not to learn, not to strive, not to grow. I don't believe we can stop, Bones. Do you want to return to the days when your profession operated with scalpels—and sewed up the patients with catgut?"
He paused, looking at the faces around the table. "Yes, I'm in command. I can order this. I haven't done so. Dr. McCoy is performing his duty. He is right to point out the enormous danger potential in such close contact with intelligence as fantastically advanced as this. My point is that the potential for new knowledge is also enormous. Risk is our business. That's what this Starship is all about! It is why we're aboard her!"
He leaned forward in his chair, his eyes searching faces. "You may dissent without prejudice. Do I hear a negative vote?"
There was none. He rose to his feet. "Mr. Scott, stand by to bring the three receptacles aboard."
In Sickbay the three beds had been arranged for Kirk, Spock, and Anne. A shining globe had been placed beside each one. McCoy, Christine Chapel beside him, stood at the body-function panels, his clipboard in hand. He turned to the nurse. "You must know," he said, "that with the transfer, the extreme power of the alien minds will drive heart action dangerously high. All body functions will race at many times normal metabolism. These panels must be monitored most carefully."
The situation had shaken Christine. She made a successful effort to recover her professionalism. "Yes, sir," she said.
McCoy spoke to Kirk. "We're about as ready as we'll ever be."
Kirk turned his head to the globe beside him. "Ready, Sargon."
There came the thrilling sound preceding transfer. The three globes grew active, light building and fluctuating inside them. Then the three flares flashed from them to the bodies lying on the beds. Anne's trembled as Thalassa entered it. Christine moved quickly to check it. Hanoch-Spock sat up, stretching in delight at the feel of a body. Beside each bed the globes' light had dimmed to a faint flicker. McCoy was concentrated on Kirk's body-function panel; and Christine, leaving Thalassa-Anne, moved in to check Hanoch-Spock. To her amazement, he smiled at her, his eyes taking her in with lusty appreciation. Where was the cool, cerebral Spock?
She turned hastily to his body panel. What she read alarmed her. "Metabolic rates are double and rising, Doctor."
Hanoch-Spock spoke. "A delicious woman . . . a delicious sight to awaken to after half a million years."
Disconcerted, Christine said, "Thank you."
But Hanoch-Spock was looking beyond her now to where Thalassa-Anne was sitting up in bed, raven hair about her shoulders, the blue eyes shining as she savored the forgotten feeling of life. "I—I didn't remember what it felt like . . . to breathe—to breathe like this!" She turned. "Sargon? Where's Sargon?"
Sargon-Kirk rose and went to her. "Here . . . in this body, Thalassa." With a becoming dignity, threaded with joy in the awakening of long-forgotten senses, she smiled at him, "The body does not displease me, my husband. It is not unlike that which was your own."
"I am pleased by your pleasure, my love."
She had become aware of her hands. Tentatively, she reached one up to caress his cheek. "After so long," she whispered. "It's been so long, Sargon."
His arms were around her. Christine averted her eyes as their lips met. There was something infinitely touching in this embrace, longed for but deferred for half a million years. They separated and Christine said, "I'm sorry . . . I'm here . . ."
Thalassa-Anne extended a gentle hand. "You are not intruding, my child. As a woman, you know my wondrous gratitude at touching him who is mine again. Do you have a man?"
"No. I—I . . ." Despite herself, Christine found her eyes moving to Spock, forgetting for the moment that it was Hanoch who inhabited him. She flushed. "No, I . . . do not have that need. I have my work." She took a hasty reading of the body-function panel. Had Hanoch-Spock noticed that look?
Thalassa-Anne spoke quietly to Sargon. "How cruel. May I help her, my husband?"
"It would be so easy to give all of them happiness, Thalassa." He shook his head gently. "But we must not interfere in their lives."
More aggressive than the others, Hanoch-Spock was already circling the room, examining its equipment. He turned to find McCoy watching him. "An excellent body, Doctor. It se
ems I received the best of the three." He extended his arms, flexing Spock's superb biceps. "Strength, hearing, eyesight, all above the human norm. I'm surprised the Vulcans never conquered your race."
"Vulcans prize peace above all, Hanoch."
"Of course. Of course. Just as do we."
But McCoy had seen Thalassa-Anne sink back on her pillow. "Nurse!"
The lovely alien whispered, "A wave of heat suddenly . . . I feel . . ."
Christine caught her as she sagged, drawing in the support of another pillow behind her. McCoy was assisting her when he saw Sargon-Kirk begin to slump. As he supported him to his bed, he said, "Hanoch, you'd better go back to bed, too."
But Spock's metabolism had not yet been affected. Hanoch said, "Unnecessary at present, Doctor. My Vulcan body is accustomed to higher metabolism."
Christine tore her eyes from him to check Thalassa-Anne's body-function panel. Its readings were alarmingly high. McCoy rushed to the bed at the nurse's call. Then he whirled to the bed that held Sargon-Kirk. "It won't work, Sargon! You've got to get out of them before you kill them!"
The answer came weakly. "We will . . . vacate them . . . until you can administer . . . a metabolic-reduction injection."
"A what?" McCoy demanded.
Hanoch-Spock joined him at the bed, looking down at Kirk's sweaty forehead. "I will prepare the formula, Sargon," he said.
"Hanoch . . . your own condition . . ."
"I can maintain this body for several more hours, Sargon, Do not be anxious."
"Then . . . Thalassa and I . . . will now return to our confinement."
Beside the beds of Kirk and Anne the globes flared with light again. But Hanoch-Spock, still incarnate, gave his dim one a look of repulsion. He turned from Kirk's bed to speak to McCoy. "I shall need help to prepare the formula. Your nurse will assist me, Doctor, in your pharmacology laboratory."
Christine looked at McCoy. He couldn't tell himself that he was confronted by a command decision. That had already been made by Kirk. The decision facing him merely implemented his Captain's wish. He nodded reluctantly—and Christine followed Hanoch-Spock out of Sickbay.