by James Blish
"Equip four men with phaser twos set for Disruptor effect. Report to the Transporter Room in five minutes. You will accompany me to the planet surface."
It was Garrovick who took the first tricorder reading of the terrain where the team materialized. Suddenly, he called to Kirk. "Sir, the reading is changing!"
Kirk crossed to him swiftly. Nodding, he examined the tricorder. "Spock was right," he said. "See—there's been a molecular shift."
"A di-kironium reading now, sir. Bearing is 94 mark 7, angle of elevation 6 degrees. Holding stationary."
Kirk pointed to a lift in the ground. "Behind that rise. Take two men and approach it from the right. I'll take two around the other way. As soon as you sight the creature, fire with full phasers. Remember—it's extremely dangerous."
Garrovick looked at the hill nervously. "Yes . . . sir." The words were spoken tightly. Kirk glanced at the tense young face. Then, turning, he said, "Swanson and Bardoli, come with me."
Garrovick and his two men had climbed the rise when he noticed that it fell to a deep gully. His men fanned out past the ravine. Garrovick stood still for a moment, staring down into it. Then, making his decision, he descended it, moving forward cautiously. Suddenly the white vapor gathered before him. Startled, taken off-guard by its foglike appearance, he stared at it, uncertain. Then he aimed his phaser and fired. The slice of its beam was a second too. late. The cloud was gone.
Kirk yelled, "A phaser shot!" Racing toward the hill, he shouted, "Come on!"
He found Garrovick scrambling up the side of the gully, his eyes fixed on something ahead of him. "Garrovick, did you—?" He stopped short as he saw what Garrovick was crawling toward. The two men of his patrol lay motionless on the ground.
Kirk ran to the nearest one. When Garrovick joined him, his young face turned smeary with shock and misery. The features that stared up sightlessly from the ground were bone-white.
Kirk was alone in the Briefing Room. It felt good to be alone. Alone, it was easier to hold on to his conviction that the murderous creature which had killed five of his crewmen was the same one that had decimated the crew of the U.S.S. Farragut twelve years before in another quadrant of the galaxy. Five men. Sickbay had the unconscious survivor of Garrovick's team under treatment; but its transfusion had been unable to save the life of Rizzo. The thing was, he wasn't really alone. You never were. Always, you had the unspoken thoughts of other people to companion you. And he had the unspoken thoughts of Spock and McCoy to keep him company. Neither one credited the creature with its malignancy nor its intelligence. Moreover, they disapproved his decision to remain here and fight it to the death. And maybe they were right. Had he made a reliable command decision—or an emotional one?
He'd laid his forearms on the Briefing Room table. Now he lifted his head from them as Spock, followed by McCoy and Garrovick, entered. Spock and McCoy both gave him sharply appraising looks as they sat down. They tried to appear as though they hadn't—but they had. In his turn, Kirk tried to appear as though he hadn't noticed the looks.
He opened the session. "We've studied your report, Mr. Garrovick. I believe Mr. Spock has a question."
Spock said, "What was the size of the creature, Ensign?"
"I'd estimate it measured from ten to sixty cubic meters, sir. It changed size, fluctuated as it moved."
"Composition?"
"It was like a gaseous cloud, sir. Parts of it I could see through; other parts seemed more dense."
McCoy spoke. "Ensign, did you 'sense' any intelligence in this gaseous cloud?"
"Did I what, sir?"
"Did you get any subconscious impression that it was a creature? A living, thinking thing rather than just a strange cloud of chemical elements?"
"No, sir."
Kirk eyed Garrovick who twisted uncomfortably. "Ensign, you never came into actual contact with it, did you?"
"No, I didn't, sir. I was the furthest away." He paused. "It came out of nowhere, it seemed. It hovered a moment, then moved toward the nearest man. Fast, incredibly fast."
Kirk shoved a pencil on the table. "Did you say it hovered?"
"Yes, sir."
"You fired at it, didn't you?"
"Yes, sir."
"How close were you to the creature?"
"About twenty yards, sir."
"And you missed a hovering, large target at that distance?"
"Yes, sir. I . . . well, I didn't fire while it was hovering."
"Do you mean that you froze?"
"Not exactly, sir."
"Then tell us what you mean exactly."
"I was startled . . . maybe only for a second or so. And then by the time I fired, it—well, it was already moving."
Kirk's tone was curt. "Do you have any additional information for us?"
"No, sir. I only—hesitated for a second or so, sir. I'm sorry."
"Ensign, you're relieved of all duties and confined to your quarters until further notice."
Garrovick straightened. "Yes, sir."
McCoy's eyes followed him to the closing door. "You were a little hard on him, Jim."
"He froze. One of his men was killed. The other will probably die."
"Captain," Spock began.
Kirk rose. "You'll both be filing reports, gentlemen. Make your comments and recommendations then." He crossed briskly to the door. As he slammed it behind him, McCoy and Spock were left to stare at each other.
Garrovick's room was as dark as his discouragement. He found the light switch affixed to its panel with its labeled temperature gauges and other controls. Above the panel was an open-close switch marked "Ventilation Filter By-Pass." Garrovick, closing his eyes to all circumstances of his surroundings, gave himself up to his depression.
Back on the bridge, Kirk was greeted by another message from the Yorktown requesting information on the rendezvous. He ignored it; and Scott, approaching him, said, "While we wait, Captain, I've taken the liberty of cleaning the radioactive disposal vent on the number-two impulse engine. But we'll be ready to leave orbit in under half an hour."
"We're not leaving orbit, Engineer. Not that quickly."
Scott didn't take the hint. "The medicine for the Theta Seven colony is not only desperately needed, Captain, but has a limited stability. And—"
Kirk wheeled. "I am," he said, "familiar with the situation, Engineer. And I'm getting a little tired of my officers conspiring against me to force—" He broke off at the look on Scott's face. "Forgive me, Scotty. I shouldn't have used the word 'conspiring'."
"Agreed, sir."
Kirk strode over to Chekov. "Scanner readings?"
"Nothing, sir. Continuing to scan."
"Mr. Chekov, you're aware it may be able to change its composition? Are you scanning for any unusual movements? Any type of gaseous cloud?"
"We've run a full scanner probe twice, sir."
"Then do it twenty times if that's what it takes!"He barked the words and left the bridge to his shocked personnel.
Garrovick wasn't the only victim of depression. McCoy, viewing an autopsy tape, pulled it out of its slot, controlling an impulse to throw it to the floor. When Spock entered his office, he spoke no word of greeting.
"I hope I'm not disturbing you, Doctor."
"Interrupting another autopsy report is no disturbance, Spock. It's a relief."
"I need your advice," Spock said.
"Then I need a drink," said McCoy.
"I don't follow your reasoning, Doctor."
"You want advice from me? You must be kidding."
"I never joke. Perhaps I should rephrase my statement. I require an opinion. There are many aspects of human irrationality I do not yet comprehend. Obsession for one. The persistent, singleminded fixation on one idea."
"Jim and his creature?"
"Precisely. Have you studied the incident involving the U.S.S. Farragut?"
"With all these deaths and injuries, I've barely had time to scan them."
"Fortunately, I read fast," Spock said. "To summarize
those records, I can inform you, Doctor, that almost half the crew, including the Captain, was annihilated. The Captain's name was Garrovick."
McCoy gave a startled whistle. "The same as our Ensign?"
"His father," Spock said. "I have the Farragut file here with me."
"Then there's more," McCoy said.
Spock nodded gravely. "A great deal more. Among the survivors of the disaster was a young officer on one of his first deep-space assignments." He nodded again at McCoy's look. "Yes, James T. Kirk," he said—and dropped the cartridge he held into the viewer. "And there's still more. I think you'd better study this record, Doctor."
Twenty minutes later McCoy sought the quarters of James T. Kirk, formerly of the U.S.S. Farragut. There was no response to the buzz at their door. McCoy opened it. "Mind if I come in, Jim?"
Kirk was lying on his bed, staring at the ceiling. He made no move. He spoke no word. Then, with a bound, he was off the bed to flip the switch on the wall communicator. "Kirk to bridge. Scanner report?"
Chekov's filtered voice said, "Continuing scanning, sir. No unusual readings."
"Maintain search. Kirk out." He turned from the communicator and jammed his right fist into his left hand. "It can't just vanish!" he cried.
"Sometimes they do if we're lucky." McCoy sat down. "Monsters come in many forms, Jim. And know what's the greatest monster of them all? Guilt, known or unknown."
Kirk's jaw hardened. "Get to the point."
"Jim . . . a young officer exposed to unknown dangers for the first time is under tremendous emotional stress. We all know how—"
"Ensign Garrovick is a ship command decision, Doctor. You're straying out of your field."
"I was speaking," McCoy said, "of Lieutenant James T. Kirk of the Starship Farragut."
Kirk stared at him. He didn't speak, and McCoy went on. "Twelve years ago you were the young officer at the phaser station when something attacked your ship. According to the tape, this young officer insisted on blaming himself—"
"I delayed my fire at it!"
McCoy spoke sharply. "You had a normal, human emotion! Surprise! You were startled. You delayed firing for the grand total of perhaps two seconds!"
Kirk's face had grown drawn with remembered anguish. "If I hadn't delayed, the thing would have been destroyed!"
"The ship's exec didn't think so. His log entry is quite clear on the subject. He reported, 'Lieutenant Kirk is a fine officer who performed with uncommon bravery.' "
"I killed nearly two hundred men!"
McCoy's voice was very quiet. "Captain Garrovick was important to you, wasn't he?"
Kirk's shoulders slumped. He sank down on his bed, wringing his hands. "He was my commanding officer from the day I left the Academy. He was one of the finest men I ever knew." He leaped to his feet again. "I could have destroyed it! If I'd fired soon enough that first time . . ."
"You don't know that, Jim! You can't know it! Any more than you can know young Garrovick could have destroyed it."
Kirks face was wiped clean of all emotions but torture. "I owe it to this ship . . ."
"To be so tormented by a memory . . . Jim, you can't destroy a boy because you see him as yourself as you were twelve years ago. You'll destroy yourself, your brilliant career."
"I've got to kill this thing! Don't ask me how I know that. I just know it."
McCoy eyed Kirk for a long moment. Then he rose and moved to the door, pressing the control that opened it. "Come in, Mr. Spock," he said.
Kirk whirled, crying, "Bones, don't push our friendship past the point that—"
McCoy interrupted. "This is professional, Captain. I am preparing a medical log entry on my estimate of the physical and emotional condition of a Starship's Captain. I require a witness of command rank."
Kirk's eyes swung from one of them to the other. Time—an infinity of it—went by. His voice when he spoke was edged with fury. "Do I understand, Doctor—and you, Commander Spock, that both or either of you believe me unfit or incapacitated?"
Spock said, "Correctly phrased as recommended in the manual, Captain. Our reply as also recommended is: Sir, we have noticed in your recent behavior items which, on the surface, seem unusual. We respectfully ask your permission to inquire further and—"
"Blast! Forget the manual!" Kirk shouted. "Ask your questions!"
Imperturbable, Spock said, "The U.S.S. Yorktown is now waiting for us at the appointed rendezvous, Captain. It carries perishable drugs which—"
Kirk ran a trembling hand over his forehead. "The news has a familiar ring, Commander."
McCoy said, "They need those vaccines on Theta Seven, Jim. Why are we delaying here?"
"Because I know what I know," Kirk said. "The creature that attacked the Farragut twelve years ago is the same—"
"Creature?" Spock said.
"Yes. My report was in the tape. As it attacked us twelve years ago, just as I lost consciousness, I could feel the intelligence of the thing; I could sense it thinking, planning."
"You say you could 'sense' its intelligence, Captain. How?" Spock said. "Did it communicate with you?"
McCoy broke in. "You state that it happened just as you lost consciousness. The semi-conscious mind is a tricky thing, Jim. A man can never be sure how much was real, how much was semi-conscious fancy."
"Real or unreal, Bones, it was deadly, lethal."
"No doubt of that," McCoy said.
"And if it is the same creature I met twelve years ago on a planet over a thousand light years from here?"
"Obviously, Captain, if it is an intelligent creature, if it is the same one, if therefore it is capable of space travel, it could pose a grave threat to inhabited planets."
"A lot of 'ifs,' Commander, I agree. But in my command judgment they still outweigh other factors. 'Intuition,' however illogical, Commander Spock, is recognized as a command prerogative."
"Jim, we're not trying to gang up on you."
"You haven't, Doctor. You've indicated a proper concern. You've both done your duty. May I be informed now of what medical log entry you intend to make?"
Spock and McCoy exchanged glances. "Jim," McCoy began.
Kirk smiled. "You've been bluffing, gentlemen. I'm calling your bluff."
Spock spoke. "This was totally my idea, Captain. Dr. McCoy's human affection for you makes him completely incapable of—"
McCoy interrupted. "My affection for him! I like that! Why, I practically had to sandbag you into this!" He turned to Kirk. "Jim, we were just using this to try and talk some sense into—"
The communicator beeped with the intercom signal. Chekov's excited voice said, "Bridge to Captain! Come in, Captain!"
Kirk was at the grill in a second flat. "Kirk here, Mr. Chekov."
"I have a reading on the—whatever it is, Captain! It's leaving the planet surface and heading into space!"
It was the measure of Kirk's nature that no triumph whatever colored the tone of his orders. "All decks, red alert! Prepare to leave orbit!"
Then he was gone out his door.
Gone out his door on a wild goose chase. Only what Kirk and the Enterprise chased through the labyrinths of trackless space was no wild goose. It was subtle as a cobra, swift as a mamba in its flight from the Enterprise, leading the Starship ever farther from its meeting with the Yorktown and its mission of mercy.
On the bridge they all knew what was at stake. The thing had twice changed its course in a malevolent, deliberate effort to mislead. Kirk was exhilarated past anxiety. But Scott was worried. "Captain, we can't maintain Warp 8 speed much longer. Pressures are approaching a critical point."
"Range, Mr. Chekov?" Kirk said.
"Point zero four light years ahead, sir. Our phasers won't reach it."
Spock spoke. "Captain, we're barely closing on it. We could be pursuing it for days."
"If necessary," Kirk said. He turned. "Do what you can to increase our speed, Mr. Scott."
"Aye, sir."
"Let's see it," Kirk
said.
Chekov hit a button. "Magnification twelve, sir. There, sir! Got it on the screen!"
It was moving across the screen like an elongated comet, a coiling vortex floating amidst whirling vapors.
"How do you read it, Mr. Spock?"
"Conflicting data, sir. It seems to be in a borderline state between matter and energy. It can possibly utilize gravitational fields for propulsion."
"You don't find that sophisticated, Mr. Spock?"
"Extremely efficient, Captain." He paused. "Whether it indicates intelligence is another matter."
Chekov had got a red light on his console. "Open hatch on number-two impulse engine, sir. Mr. Scott was doing a clean-up job on it."
"Turn off the alarm," Kirk said. "We won't be using the impulse engines."
Scott turned from his station. "Captain! We can't do it! If we hold this speed, she'll blow up any minute!"
Kirk swallowed the pill of reality. "All right," he said. "Reduce to Warp Six."
In Garrovick's quarters the door buzzer sounded and Christine Chapel entered, carrying a dinner tray.
"Thank you," Garrovick said. "I'm not hungry."
"Dr. McCoy's orders."
"What's happening?" Garrovick said.
"Are we still chasing that thing half across the galaxy? Yes, we are. Has the Captain lost his sense of balance? Maybe. Is the crew about ready to explode? Positively. You're lucky to be out of it, Ensign."
Garrovick's voice was acid with bitterness. "Out of it? I caused it."
She calmly continued to spread food before him. "You know that's true, don't you?" he said. "If I'd fired my phaser quickly enough back on Argus Ten, none of this would have happened."
"Self-pity is a poor appetizer," she said. Try the soup instead."
"I don't want it."
"If you don't eat," she told him, "Dr. McCoy will have you hauled down to Sickbay and make me feed you intravenously. I don't want to do that, either." Garrovick feebly returned her smile, nodded in defeat, and began to pick at his food. But it was no good. As the door closed behind her, a burst of frustration overwhelmed him. He dashed a cup of coffee he'd just poured against the wall. It hit the panel. Shattering against the switch of the ventilation filter by-pass, it knocked it to the open position.