by James Blish
"Mr. Spock," Decker said, "I'm formally notifying you that I am exercising my option under regulations as senior officer to assume command of the Enterprise. That thing has got to be destroyed."
"You attempted to destroy it before, sir," Spock said, "and it resulted in a wrecked ship and a dead crew. Clearly a single ship cannot combat that machine."
Decker winced, then stabbed a finger at Spock. "That will be all, Mr. Spock. You're relieved of command. Don't force me to relieve you of duty as well."
Spock got up. McCoy grabbed his arm. "Spock, you can't let him do this!"
"Unfortunately," Spock said, "Starfleet Order one-zero-four, Section B, reads, Paragraph A, 'In the absence of the . . .' "
"To blazes with regulations! How can you let him take command when you know he's wrong?"
"If you can officially certify Commodore Decker medically or psychologically unfit to command, I may relieve him under Section C."
"I can't do that," McCoy said. "He's as sound as any of us. I can say his present plan is crazy, but medically I'd have to classify that as a difference of opinion, not a diagnosis."
"Mr. Spock knows his duties under the regulation," Decker said. "Do you, Doctor?"
"Yes, sir," McCoy said disgustedly. "To go to Sickbay and wait for the casualties you're about to send me." He stalked out.
"Hard about and close," Decker said. "Full emergency power on deflectors. Stand by on main phaser banks."
On the viewscreen, the planet-killer began to grow in size. Decker stared at it with grim intensity, as though the combat to come was to be a personal one, hand-to-hand.
"In range, sir," Sulu reported.
"Fire phasers!"
The beams lanced out. It was a direct hit—but there seemed to be no effect at all. The beams simply bounced off.
In answer, a pencil of solid blue light leapt out of the maw of the planet-killer. The Enterprise seemed to stagger, and for a moment all the lights went down.
"Whew!" Sulu said. "What is that thing?"
"It's an anti-proton beam," Decker said in an abstracted voice. "It's what the machine cut the fourth planet up with."
"The deflectors weren't built to take it, sir," Spock said. "The next time, the generators may blow."
Decker paid no attention. "Keep closing and maintain phaser fire."
Spock studied his instruments. "Sir," he said, "sensors indicate that the robot's hull is neutronium—collapsed matter so dense that a cubic inch of it would weigh a ton. We could no more get a phaser beam through it than we could a matchstick. If we could somehow get a clear shot at the internal mechanism . . ."
"Now that's more like it, Mr. Spock. We'll cut right across the thing's funnel and ram a phaser beam down its throat. Helmsman, change course to intercept."
Sulu shifted the controls cautiously, obviously expecting another blow from the anti-proton beam; but evidently the monstrous mechanism had no objection to having this morsel sailing directly into its maw.
"Fire!"
The phasers cut loose. Sulu studied the screen intently.
"Those beams are just bouncing around inside," he reported. "We can't get a shot straight through."
"Close in."
"Sir," Spock said, "any closer and that anti-proton beam will go through our deflectors like tissue paper."
"We'll take the chance. Thousands of planets are at stake."
"Sir, there is no chance at all. It is pure suicide. And attempted suicide would be proof that you are psychologically unfit to command. Unless you give the order to veer off, I will relieve you on that basis."
"Vulcan logic!" Decker said in disgust. "Blackmail would be a more honest word. All right, helmsman, veer off—emergency impulse power."
"Commodore," Sulu said in a strained voice, "I can't veer off. That thing's got some kind of a tractor beam on us."
"Can it pull us in?"
"No, sir, we can manage a stand-off, for perhaps seven hours. In the meantime it can take pot shots at us whenever it likes."
On the engineers' bridge of the Constellation, the viewscreen finally lit. Kirk stared at what it showed with shock and disbelief. A gasp from behind him told him that Scott had just entered the bridge.
"Is Spock out of his mind?"
"I don't understand it either—I ordered evasive action. What's the situation below?"
"We've got the screens up, but they won't last more than a few hours, and they can't take a beating. As for the impulse drive, the best I can give you is one-third power. And at that I'll have to nurse it."
"Go ahead then. We've got to break up that death-dance out there somehow." As Scott left, Kirk once more tried his communicator. To his gratification, he got Lt. Uhura at once; evidently the Enterprise, too, had been making repairs. "Lieutenant, give me Mr. Spock, fast."
But the next voice said: "Enterprise to Kirk. Commodore Decker here."
"Decker? What's going on? Give me Mr. Spock!"
"I'm in command here, Captain. According to regulations, I assumed command on finding Mr. Spock reluctant to take proper action . . ."
"You mean you're the lunatic responsible for almost destroying my ship? Mr. Spock, if you can hear me, I give you a direct order to answer me."
"Spock here, Captain."
"Good. On my personal authority as Captain of the Enterprise, I order you to relieve Commodore Decker. Commodore, you may file a formal protest of the violation of regulations involved with Starfleet Command—if any of us live to reach a star base. In the meantime, Mr. Spock, if the Commodore resists being relieved, place him under arrest. Is that clear?"
"Not only is it clear," Spock's voice said, "but I have just done so. Your further orders, sir?"
"Get away from that machine!"
"Sir, we can't; we have been pegged by a tractor. The best we can do is prevent ourselves from being pulled inside it, for about the next six point five hours—or until it decides to shoot at us again."
"I was afraid of that. All right, I'm going to move the Constellation into your vicinity and see if I can distract the machine. With the power I've got available, it will take at least three hours. Is your transporter working again, too?"
"Yes, sir, but I assure you that you'd be no safer here than there."
"I'm aware of that, Mr. Spock. I just want to be sure you can beam me aboard once we're in range, so I can take command personally from the Commodore if he gives you any trouble. That's all for now. Kirk out."
Kirk set the Constellation in creaking motion and then thought a while. Finally he called Scott.
"How's the drive holding up, Scotty?"
"Under protest, I would say, sir," Scott responded. "But if you don't demand any violent maneuvers I think it'll stay in one piece."
"Very well. Now I need an engineering assessment. What would happen if the reactor were to go critical?"
"Why, Captain, you know as well as I do—a fusion explosion, of course."
"Yes, Scotty, but if this reactor were to do so, how big would the explosion be?"
"Oh," Scott's voice said. "That's easily answered, the potential is always on the faceplate of a ship's reactor; I'll just check it . . . The figure is 97.8 megatons."
"Would the resulting fireball be sufficient to disrupt a neutronium hull?"
"Neutronium, sir? You mean the planet-killer? What makes you think the hull is neutronium?"
"Because from this distance the Enterprise could have cut it into scrap metal by now if it weren't."
"Hmm—aye, that follows. Well, Captain, neutronium is formed in the cores of white dwarf stars, with fusion going on all around it. So I'd say the fireball would just push the machine away, rather than collapsing the hull. And sir, in a vacuum the fireball would be something like a hundred and fifty miles in diameter. That means it would envelop the Enterprise too—and we don't have a neutronium hull."
"That's true, but it isn't what I have in mind. Scotty, I want you to rig a thirty-second delayed detonation switch, so the reacto
r can be blown from up here on the engineers' bridge. Can do?"
"Aye, sir," Scott said. "But why . . ."
"Just rig it, fast. Then get yourself and the damage control party up here. Kirk to Enterprise."
"Spock here."
"Mr. Spock, I don't have any sensors over here worth mentioning, so I won't know when I'm in transporter range. The instant I am, let me know."
"Acknowledge. May I ask your intent, Captain?"
"Scotty is rigging a thirty-second delayed detonation switch on the impulse power reactor of the Constellation. I am going to pilot the vessel right down the planet-killer's throat—and you'll have thirty seconds to beam the five of us aboard the Enterprise before the reactor blows."
There was a brief pause. When Spock's voice returned, there actually seemed to be a faint trace of human concern in it. "Jim, thirty seconds is very fine timing. The transporter is not working at a hundred per cent efficiency; our repairs were necessarily rather hasty."
"That's a chance I'll have to take. However, it does change things a little. I'll want you to beam Mr. Scott and the damage control party over as soon as we are in range. I'll be the only one to stay aboard until the last minute."
"Acknowledge. Sir, may I point out two possible other flaws?"
While Spock was talking, Scott came into the room carrying a small black box. Mounted on it was a single three-position knife switch—that is, one with two slots for the blade, the third position being disengaged from either. He set it down on the panel in front of Kirk.
"Go ahead, Mr. Spock, your advice is half your value. Where are the flaws?"
"First, we cannot know the composition of the interior workings of the planet-killer. If they too are neutronium, nothing will happen except that it will get very hot inside there."
" 'Very hot' is certainly a mild way of putting it," Kirk said drily. "All right, Mr. Spock, to use logic right back at you, Proposition A: The planet-killer operates in a vacuum, which means most of its circuits are cryogenic. Heating them a few million degrees may be quite enough to knock it out. Proposition B: Pure neutronium cannot carry an elecrical current, because its electron shells are collapsed. Hence, many important parts of the planet-killer's interior cannot be neutronium. Conclusion: an interior fusion explosion will kill it. How is that for a syllogism?"
"It is not a syllogism at all, Captain, but a sorites; however, I agree that it is a sound one. My second objection is more serious. The planet-killer is open to space at one end, and that is the end facing us. The neutronium hull will confine the fireball and shoot it directly out of the funnel at the Enterprise in a tongue of flame hundreds of miles long. This is an undesirable outcome."
Kirk almost laughed, although there was nothing in the least funny about the objection itself. "Mr. Spock, if that happens, we will all die. But the planet-killer will have been destroyed. Our mandate is to protect Federation lives, property and Interests. Hence this outcome, as you call it, is in fact more desirable than undesirable."
"Now that," Spock said, "is a syllogism, and a sound one. Very well, Captain, I withdraw my objections."
When Kirk put down the communicator, he found Scott staring at him ruefully. "Your sense of humor," the engineer said ruefully, "comes out at the oddest times. Well, there is your detonator, Captain. When you pull the switch into the up position, it's armed. When you push it down into the other slot, you have thirty seconds until blooey!"
"Simple enough."
"Captain," Spock's voice came again. "The Constellation has just come within transporter range. However, when you are ready to have your party beam over, I suggest that you leave the bridge. We do not have fine enough control to pick four men out of five, and even if we did, we would not know which four of the five until it was too late."
"Very well, Mr. Spock. I will leave the bridge; make your pickup in sixty seconds."
He got up. As he was at the door, Scott said, "Take care, Jim."
"Scotty, I don't want to die, I assure you."
When he returned, the engineers' bridge was empty; but Scott's voice was still there. It was coming from the communicator, and it was using some rather ungentlemanly language.
"Scotty, what's the matter? Are you all right?"
"Aye, I'm all right, skipper, and so are we all—but the transporter blew under the load. I dinna ken hae lang it'll take to fix it."
The return of Scott's brogue told Kirk how serious the situation actually was. Kirk did not even say, "Well, do your best." It was unnecessary.
The next few hours were an almost intolerable mixture of loneliness and tension, while the monstrous shape of the planet-killer and its mothlike captive grew slowly on the screen.
Yet not once in all this time did the robot again fire its anti-proton beam, which probably would have gone through the Enterprise like a knife through cheese; the ship was using almost all her power in fighting against the tractor ray. That, Kirk supposed, was a present given them by the nature of machine intelligence; the robot, having settled on the course of drawing the Enterprise into itself—and, probably, having estimated that in such a struggle it could not lose, eventually—saw no reason to take any other action.
"Mr. Spock?"
"Yes, Captain."
"Don't fire on that thing again. Don't do anything to alter present circumstances—not even sneeze."
"I follow you, Captain. If we do not change the parameters, the machine mindlessly maintains the equation."
"Well, that's what I hope. How is the transporter coming?"
"Slowly. Mr. Scott says half its resistors are burned out. They are easy to replace individually, but so many is a time-consuming task."
"Computation?"
"We may have a most unreliable repair done when the Constellation is within a hundred miles of the robot. Sir, we also compute that one hundred miles is the limit of the robot's defensive envelope, inside which it takes offensive action against moving objects under power."
"Well, I can't very well shut off power. Let's just hope it's hungry."
The funnel swelled, much faster now. Kirk checked his watch, then poised his hand over the switch.
"Mr. Spock, I'm running out of time myself. Any luck now on the transporter?"
"It may work, Captain. I can predict no more."
"All right. Stand by."
The funnel now covered the entire star field; nothing else was to be seen but that metal throat. Still the robot had not fired.
"All right, Spock! Beam me aboard!"
He threw the switch. An instant later, the engineers' bridge of the doomed Constellation faded around him, and he found himself in the Transporter Room of the Enterprise. He raced to the nearest auxiliary viewscreen. Over the intercom, Spock's voice was counting: "Twenty-five seconds to detonation. Computer, mark at ten seconds and give us a fiftieth of a second warp drive at Warp One at second zero point five."
This order baffled Kirk for an instant; then he realized that he was still looking down the throat of the doomsday machine, and that Spock was hoping to make a short subspace jump away the instant the robot's tractor apparatus was consumed—if it was.
"Fifteen seconds. Mark. Five seconds. Four. Three. Two. One."
Flick!
Suddenly, on the auxiliary screen, the doomsday machine was thousands of miles away. The screen zoomed up the magnification to restore the image.
As it did so, a spear of intolerable light grew out of the mouth of the funnel. Promptly, Kirk ran for the elevators and the control room.
A silent group was watching the main viewscreen, including Commodore Decker. The tongue of flame was still growing. It now looked to be at least two hundred miles long. It would have consumed the Enterprise like a midge.
Then, gradually, it faded. Spock checked his board.
"Did it work?" Kirk demanded.
"I cannot tell yet, Captain. The radiation from the blast itself is too intense. But the very fact that we broke away indicates at least some damage . . . Ah,
the radiation is decaying. Now we shall see."
Kirk held his breath.
"Decay curve inflecting," Spock said. "The shape—yes, the curve is now exponential. All energy sources are deactivated. Captain, it is dead."
There was a pandemonium of cheering. Under cover of the noise, Decker moved over to Kirk.
"My last command," he said in a low voice. "But you were right, Captain Kirk. My apologies for usurping your command."
"You acted to save Federation lives and property, as I did. If you in turn are willing to drop your complaint against my overriding regulations—which you have every right to make—we'll say no more about it."
"Of course I'll drop it. But the Constellation is nevertheless my last command. I cannot forget that my first attempt to attack that thing cost four hundred lives—men who trusted me—and that I had the bad judgment to try it again with your men's lives. When a man stops learning, he's no longer fit to command."
"That," Kirk said, "is a judgment upon yourself that only you can make. My opinion is that it is a wise and responsible judgment. But it is only an opinion. Mr. Sulu?"
"Sir?"
"Let's get the dancing in the streets over with, and lay a course for Star Base Seventeen."
"Yes, sir." But the helmsman could not quite stop grinning. Spock, of course, never grinned, but he was looking, if possible, even more serious than usual.
"Mr. Spock, you strike me as a man who still has some reservations."
"Only one, Captain; and it is pure speculation."
"Nevertheless, let's hear it."
"Well, Captain, when two powers prepare forces of such magnitude against each other, it almost always means that they are at a state of technological parity; otherwise they would not take such risks of self-destruction."
"Meaning?"
"Meaning, sir, that the existence of one such doomsday machine implies the existence of another."
"I suppose that's possible," Kirk said slowly, repressing a shudder. "Though the second one may not have been launched in time. Well, Mr. Spock, supposing we were to hear of another? What would you do?"
Spock's eyebrows went up. "That is no problem, sir. I would feed it a fusion bomb disguised as a ship, or better still, an asteroid; that is not what concerned me. The danger, as such, can now be regarded as minimal, even if there is another such machine."