by James Blish
Marplon spoke at last. "Is that truly Landru?"
"What's left of him," Spock said. "What's left of him after he built this machine and programmed it six thousand years ago."
Kirk addressed the machine. "Landru! The paradox!"
The humming fell dead. The voice, dully metallic now, said, "It will not resolve."
"You must create the good," Kirk said. That is the will of Landru—nothing else . . ."
"But there is evil," said the voice.
Then the evil must be destroyed. It is the prime directive. You are the evil."
The machine resumed its humming—a humming broken by hard, harsh clicks. Lights flashed wildly. "I think! I live!" said the machine.
"You say you are Landru!" Kirk shouted; "Then create the good! Destroy evil! Fulfill the prime directive!"
The hum rose to a roar. A drift of smoke waited up from a switch. Then a shower of sparks burst from the machine's metal face—and with the blast of exploding circuits, all its lights went out.
Kirk turned to the three awed Lawgivers. "All right, you can get rid of those robes now. If I were you, I'd start looking for real jobs." He opened the communicator. "Kirk to Enterprise. Come in, please."
Scott's voice was loud with relief. "Captain, are you all right?"
"Never mind about us. What about you?"
The heat rays have gone, and Mr. Sulu's back to normal."
"Excellent, Mr. Scott. Stand by to beam-up landing party." He returned the communicator to Spock. "Let's see what the others are doing, Mr. Spock. Mr. Marplon can finish up here."
His command chair seemed to welcome Kirk. He'd never thought of it as comfortable before. But he stretched in it, hands locked behind his neck as Spock left his station to stand beside him while he dictated his last notation into his Captain's log. "Sociologist Lindstrom is remaining behind on Beta 3000 with a party of experts who will help restore the culture to a human form. Kirk out."
Spock spoke thoughtfully. "Still, Captain, the late Landru was a marvelous feat of engineering. Imagine a computer capable of directing—literally directing—every act of millions of human beings."
"But only a machine, Mr. Spock. The original Landru programmed it with all his knowledge but he couldn't give it his wisdom, his compassion, his understanding—his soul, Mr. Spock."
"Sometimes you are predictably metaphysical, Captain. I prefer the concrete, the graspable, the provable."
"You would make a splendid computer, Mr. Spock."
Spock bowed. "That's very kind of you, sir."
Uhura spoke from behind them. "Captain . . . Mr. Lindstrom from the surface."
Kirk pushed a button. "Yes, Mr. Lindstrom."
"Just wanted to say good-bye, Captain."
"How are things going?"
"Couldn't be better!" The youngster's enthusiasm was like a triumphant shout in his ear. "Already this morning we've had half-a-dozen domestic quarrels and two genuine knock-down drag-outs. It may not be paradise—but it's certainly . . ."
"Human?" asked Kirk.
"Yes! And they're starting to think for themselves! Just give me and our people a few months and we'll have a going society on our hands!"
"One question, Mr. Lindstrom: Landru wanted to give his people peace and security and so programmed the machine. Then how do we account for so total an anomaly as the festival?"
"Sir, with the machine destroyed, we'll never have enough data to answer that one with any confidence—but I have a guess, and I feel almost certain it's the right one. Landru wanted to eliminate war, crime, disease, even personal dissension, and he succeeded. But he failed to allow for population control, and without that even an otherwise static society would soon suffer a declining standard of living, and eventual outright hunger. Clearly Landru wouldn't have wanted that either, but he made no allowances for it.
"So the machine devised its own: one night a year in which all forms of control were shut off, every moral law abrogated; even ordinary human decency was canceled out. One night of the worst kind of civil war, in which every person is the enemy of every other. I have no proof of this at all, sir—but it's just the sort of solution you'd expect from a machine, and furthermore, a machine that had been programmed to think of people as cells in a Body, of no importance at all as individuals." Suddenly Lindstrom's voice shook. "One night a year of total cancer . . . horrible! I hope I'm dead wrong, but there are precedents."
"That can hardly be fairly characterized as a guess," Spock said. "Ordinarily I do not expect close reasoning from sociologists, but from what I know of the way computers behave when they are given directives supported by insufficient data, I can find no flaw in Mr. Lindstrom's analysis. It should not distress him, for if it is valid—as I am convinced it is—he is indeed just the man to put it right."
"Thank you, Mr. Spock," Lindstrom's voice said. "I'll cherish that. Captain, do you concur?"
"I do indeed," Kirk said. "I have human misgivings which I know you share with me. All I can say now is it sounds promising. Good luck. Kirk out."
Kirk turned to his First Officer and looked at him in silence for a long time. At last he said, "Mr. Spock, if I didn't know you were above such human weaknesses as feelings of solemnity, I'd say you looked solemn. Are you feeling solemn, Mr. Spock?"
"I was merely meditating, sir. I was reflecting on the frequency with which mankind has wished for a world as peaceful and secure as the one Landru provided."
"Quite so, Mr. Spock. And see what happens when we get it! It's our luck and our curse that we're forced to grow, whether we like it or not"
"I have heard human beings say also, Captain, that it is also our joy."
"Our joy, Mr. Spock?"
There was no response, but, Kirk thought, Spock knew as well as any man that ancient human motto: Silence gives assent.
THE IMMUNITY SYNDROME
(Robert Sabaroff)
* * *
White beaches . . . suntanned women . . . mountains, their trout streams just asking for it . . . the lift of a surfboard to a breaking wave . . . familiar tree-shapes—that was shore leave on Starbase Six. And the exhausted crew of the Enterprise was on its way to it, unbelievably nearing it at long last. Kirk, remembering the taste of an open-air breakfast of rainbow trout, turned to give Sulu his final approach orders.
"Message from the base, sir," Uhura called. "Heavy interference. All I could get was the word 'Intrepid' and what sounded like a sector coordinate."
"Try them on another channel, Lieutenant."
McCoy said, "The Intrepid is manned by Vulcans only, isn't it, Jim?"
"I believe so." Kirk swung his chair around. "The crew of the Intrepid is Vulcan, isn't it, Mr. Spock? I seem to remember the Starship was made entirely Vulcan as a tribute to the skill of your people in arranging that truce with the Romulan Federation. It was an unusual honor."
Spock didn't answer. He didn't turn. But he'd straightened in his chair. Something in the movement disturbed Kirk. He got up and went over to the library-computer station. "Mr. Spock!" Still Spock sat, unmoving, silent. Kirk shook his shoulder. "Spock, what's wrong? Are you in pain?"
"The Intrepid is dead. I just felt it die."
Kirk looked at McCoy. McCoy shook his head, shrugging.
"Mr. Spock, you're tired," Kirk said. "Let Chekov take over your station."
"And the four hundred Vulcans aboard her are dead," Spock said.
McCoy said, "Come down to Sickbay, Spock."
Stone-faced, Spock said, "I am quite all right, Doctor. I know what I feel."
Kirk said, "Report to Sickbay, Mr. Spock. That's an order."
"Yes, Captain."
Kirk watched them move to the elevator. They'd all had it. Too many missions. Even Spock's superb stamina had its breaking point. Too many rough missions—and Vulcan logic itself could turn morbidly visionary. It was high time for shore leave.
"Captain, I have Starbase Six now," Uhura said.
Back in his chair, Kirk flipped a sw
itch. "Kirk here. Go ahead."
The bridge speaker spoke. "The last reported position of the Starship Intrepid was sector three nine J. You will divert immediately."
Kirk rubbed a hand over his chin before he reached for his own speaker. "The Enterprise has just completed the last of several very strenuous missions. The crew is tired. We're on our way for R and R. There must be another Starship in that sector."
"Negative. This is a rescue priority order. We have lost all contact with solar system Gamma Seven A. The Intrepid was investigating. Contact has now been lost with the Intrepid. Report progress."
"Order acknowledged," Kirk said. "Kirk out."
Sulu was staring at him in questioning dismay. Kirk snapped, "You heard the order, Mr. Sulu. Lay in a course for Gamma Seven A."
Chekov spoke from his console. Awe subdued his voice.
"Solar System Gamma Seven A is dead, Captain. My long-range scan of it shows—"
"Dead? What are you saying, Mr. Chekov? That is a fourth-magnitude star! Its system supports billions of inhabitants! Check your readings!"
"I have, sir. Gamma Seven A is dead."
In Sickbay Spock was saying, "I assure you, Doctor, I am quite all right. The pain was momentary."
McCoy sighed as he took his last diagnostic reading. "My instruments appear to agree with you if I can trust them with a crazy Vulcan anatomy. By the way, how can you be so sure the Intrepid is destroyed?"
"I felt it die," his patient said tonelessly.
"But I thought you had to be in physical contact with a subject to sense—"
"Dr. McCoy, even I, a half Vulcan, can sense the death screams of four hundred Vulcan minds crying out over distance between us."
McCoy shook his head. "It's beyond me."
Spock was shouldering back into his shirt. "I have noticed this insensitivity among wholly human beings. It is easier for you to feel the death of one fellow-creature than to feel the deaths of millions."
"Suffer the deaths of thy neighbors, eh, Spock? Is that what you want to wish on us?"
"It might have rendered your history a bit less bloody."
The intercom beeped. "Kirk here. Bones, is Spock all right? If he is, I need him on the bridge."
"Coming, Captain." Kirk met him at the elevator. "You may have been right. Contact with the Intrepid has been lost. It has also been lost with an entire solar system. Our scans show that Gamma Seven A is a dead star system."
"That is considerable news." Spock hurried over to his station and Kirk spoke to Uhura. "Any update from Starfleet?"
"I can't filter out the distortions. They're getting worse, sir."
A red light flashed on Sulu's panel. "Captain, the deflector shields just snapped on!"
"Slow down to warp three!" Kirk walked back to Spock. The Vulcan straightened from his stoop over his computer. "Indications of energy turbulence ahead, sir. Unable to analyze. I have never encountered such readings before."
The drama latent in the statement was so uncharacteristic of Spock that Kirk whirled to the main viewing screen. "Magnification factor three on screen!" he ordered.
Star-filled space—the usual vista. "Scan sector," he said. The starfield merely revealed itself from another angle and Sulu said, "Just what are we looking for, Captain?"
"I would assume," Spock said, "that."
A black shadow, roughly circular, had appeared on the screen.
"An interstellar dust cloud," Chekov suggested.
Kirk shook his head. "The stars have disappeared. They could be seen through a dust cloud, Mr. Chekov. How do you read it, Mr. Spock?"
"Analysis still eludes me, Captain. Sensors are feeding data to computers now. But whatever that dark zone is, my calculations place it directly on the course that would have brought it into contact with the Intrepid and the Gamma Seven A system."
"Are you saying it caused their deaths, Mr. Spock?"
"A possibility, Captain."
After a moment, Kirk nodded. "Hold present course but slow to warp factor one," he told Sulu. "Mr. Chekov, prepare to launch telemetry probe into that zone."
"Aye, sir." Chekov moved controls on his console. "Probe ready. Switching data feed to library-computer."
"Launch probe," Kirk said.
Chekov shoved a stud. "Probe launched."
An ear-shattering blast of static burst from the communications station. Its noise swelled into a crackling roar so fierce that it seemed to possess a physical substance—the substance and force of a giant's slap. It ended as abruptly as it had come. Uhura, dizzy, disoriented, was clinging to her chair.
"And what channel did that come in on?" Kirk said.
She had to make a visible effort to answer. "Telemetry . . . the channel from the probe, sir. There's no signal . . . at all now . . ."
"Mr. Spock, speculations?"
"I have none, Captain." Then Spock had leaped from his chair. Uhura, her arms dropped, limp, was slumped over her console. "Lieutenant!" He reached an arm around her, steadying her. "Dizzy," she whispered. "I'll . . . be all right in a minute."
The intercom beeped to McCoy's voice. "Jim, half the women on this ship have fainted. Reports in from all decks."
Kirk glanced at Uhura. "Maybe you'd better check Lieutenant Uhura. She just pulled out of a faint."
"Unless she's out now, keep her up there. I've got an emergency here."
"What's wrong?"
"Nothing organic. Just weakness, nervousness."
"Can you handle it?"
"I can give them stimulants to keep them on their feet."
A tired crew—and now this. Kirk looked at the screen. It offered no cheer. The black shadow now owned almost all of the screen. Hold position here, Mr. Sulu." He got up from his chair—and was hit by an attack of vertigo. He fought it down. "Mr. Spock, I want an update on that shadow ahead of us."
"No analysis, sir. Insufficient information."
Kirk smacked the computer console. "Mr. Spock. I have asked you three times for data on that thing and you have been unable to supply it. 'Insufficient information' won't do. It is your responsibility to deliver sufficient information at all times."
"I am aware of that, sir. But there is nothing in the computer banks on this phenomenon. It is beyond all previous experience."
Kirk looked at the hand that had struck Spock's console. "Weakness, nervousness." He was guilty on both counts. Even Spock couldn't elicit data from the computer banks that hadn't been put into them. "Sorry, Mr. Spock. Something seems to be infecting the entire ship. Let's go for reverse logic. If you can't tell me what that zone of darkness is, tell me what it isn't."
"It is not gaseous, liquid nor solid, despite the fact we can't see through it. It is not a galactic nebula like the Coal Sack. As it has activated our deflector shields, it seems to consist of some energy form—but none that the sensors can identify."
"And you said it is possible it killed the Intrepid and that solar system?"
"Yes, Captain."
Kirk turned to Uhura. "Lieutenant, inform Starfleet of our position and situation. Relay all relative information from computer banks." He paused. "Tell them we intend to probe further into the zone of darkness to gain further information."
"Yes, sir."
As he started back to his chair, he swayed under another wash of dizziness. Spock moved to him quickly and he clung for a moment to the muscular arm. "Thank you, Mr. Spock," he said. "I can make it now." He reached his chair. "Distance to the zone of darkness, Mr. Sulu?"
"One hundred thousand kilometers."
"Slow ahead, Mr. Sulu. Impulse power."
His head was still whirling. "Distance now, Mr. Sulu?"
"We penetrate the zone in one minute seven seconds, sir."
"Mr. Chekov, red alert. Stand by, phasers. Full power to deflector shields."
"Phasers standing by—deflectors at full power, sir."
Sound was emitted. It came slowly at first—and not from the communications station. It came from everywhere;
and as it built, its mounting tides of invisible shock waves reached everywhere. Their reverberations struck through the metal walls of the engineering section, rushing Scott to check his equipment. Horrified by his readings, he ran to his power levers to test them. Then, mercifully, the all-pervading racket subsided. Up on the bridge, bis hands still pressed to his ears, Sulu cried, "Captain—the screen!"
Blackness, total, had claimed it.
"Malfunction, Mr. Spock?"
"No, Captain. All systems working."
Kirk shook his head, trying to clear it. Around him people were still clutching at console rails for support. Kirk struck the intercom button. "Bones, things any better in Sickbay?"
"Worse. They're backed up into the corridor."
"Got anything that will help up here? I don't want anyone on the bridge folding at a critical moment."
"On my way. McCoy out."
Kirk pushed the intercom button again. "Kirk to Engineering. The power's dropped, Mr. Scott! What's happened?"
"We've lost five points of our energy reserve. The deflector shields have been weakened."
"Can you compensate, Scotty?"
"Yes, if we don't lose any more. Don't ask me how it happened."
Kirk spoke sharply. "I am asking you, mister. I need answers!"
McCoy's answer was an air-hypo. He hurried into the bridge with a nurse. As Kirk accepted the hissing injection, McCoy said, "It's a stimulant, Jim." As he adjusted the hypo for Sulu's shot, Kirk said, "Just how bad is it, Bones?"
"Two thirds of personnel are affected."
"This is a sick ship, Bones. We're picking up problems faster than we can solve them. It's as though we were in the middle of some creeping paralysis."
"Maybe we are," McCoy said. He left the command chair to continue his round with the hypo. Kirk got up to go to the computer station. "Mr. Spock, any analysis of that last noise outburst—the one that started to lose us power?"
Spock nodded. "The sound was the turbulence caused by our penetration of a boundary layer."