Star Trek 03

by James Blish

  "Then if you weren't thinking of the danger, what were you thinking of?"

  "Of the nuisance," Spock said. "Having to deal with the same problem twice is untidy; it wastes time."

  Kirk thought back to those hours aboard the haunted hulk of the Constellation—and of the four hundred dead men on the devoured planet.

  "I," he said, "prefer my problems tidy. It saves lives."

  ASSIGNMENT: EARTH

  (Gene Roddenberry and Art Wallace)

  * * *

  Kirk viewed the conversion—however temporary and partial—of the Enterprise into a time machine with considerable misgivings. He had to recognize, of course, that an occasional assignment of this kind had become inevitable, the moment the laboratory types had had a chance to investigate the reports of the time-travel he, Spock and McCoy had been subjected to from the City on the edge of Forever, and the time-warp the whole ship had run into when it had hit the black star.

  But these two experiences had only made him more acutely aware of the special danger of time-travel: the danger that the tiniest of false moves could change the future—or what was for Kirk the present—and in the process wipe out Kirk, the Enterprise, the Federation itself. Hovering in orbit above the Earth of 1969, even in hiding behind deflector screens, was a hair-trigger situation.

  For that matter, that was why they were here, for 1969 had been a hair-trigger year. In Kirk's time, nobody really understood how the Earth had survived it. In the terrible scramble with which the year had ended, crucial documents had been lost; still others, it was strongly suspected, had been falsified. And it was not just the historians, but the Federation itself, that wanted to know the answers. They were possibly of military as well as political interest, and in a galaxy that contained the Klingon Empire as well as the Federation, they might be a good deal more than interesting.

  Which explained the vast expense of sending a whole starship back in time to monitor Earth communications. Nevertheless . . .

  His musings were interrupted by a faint but unmistakable shuddering of the deck of the bridge beneath his feet. What on Earth . . .

  "Alert status," he snapped. "Force shields maximum. Begin sensor scan. Any station with information, report."

  Immediately the telltale light for the Transporter Room went on and Kirk flipped the intercom switch.

  "Spock here, Captain. We are having transporter trouble; Mr. Scott just called me down to help."

  "You shouldn't be using the transporter at all!"

  "Nobody was, Captain. It went on by itself and we find we cannot shut it off. We seem accidentally to have intercepted someone else's transporter beam—and one a great deal more powerful than ours."

  "Mr. Spock, you know as well as I do that the twentieth century had no such device—" Again he was interrupted by the faint shudder. Spock's voice came back urgently:

  "Nevertheless, Captain, someone—or something—is beaming aboard this vessel."

  "I'll be right down."

  In the Transporter Room, Kirk found the situation as reported. All circuits were locked open; nothing Spock or Scott could do would close them. The familiar shimmering effect was already beginning in the transporter chamber.

  "For all its power," Spock said, "that beam is originating at least a thousand light years away."

  "Which," Scott added, "is a good deal farther than any transporter beam of our own century could reach."

  The ship shuddered again, more strongly than before. "Stop fighting it," Kirk said quietly. "Set up our own field for it and let it through. Obviously we'll have serious damage otherwise."

  "Aye, sir," Scott said. He worked quickly.

  The shimmering grew swiftly in brightness. A haze form appeared in it, and gradually took on solidity. Kirk stared, his jaw dropped.

  The figure they had pulled in. from incredibly deep space was that of a man impeccably dressed in a twentieth-century business suit. Nor was this all: in his arms he carried a sleek black cat, wearing a necklace collar of glittering white stones.

  "Security detail," Kirk said. "On the double."

  The stranger seemed as startled as Kirk was. He looked about the Transporter Room in baffled anger, rubbing the huge cat soothingly. The exotic element in no way detracted from his obvious personal force; he was tall, rugged, vital.

  "Why have you intercepted me?" he said at once. "Please identify yourselves."

  "You're aboard the United Spaceship Enterprise. I am Captain James Kirk, commanding."

  The black cat made a strange sound, rather like one of the many odd noises a Siamese cat can make, and yet somehow also not catlike at all.

  "I hear it, Isis," the stranger said. "A space vessel. But from what planet?"

  "Earth."

  "Impossible! At the present time Earth has no—" his voice trailed off as he became aware of Spock. Then, "Humans with a Vulcan! No wonder! You're from the future!"

  He dropped the cat and reached for the control panel in the transporter chamber. "You must beam me down onto Earth immediately. There's not a moment to . . ."

  The doors to the Transporter Room snapped open, admitting the ship's security chief and a guard, phasers drawn. At the sight of the weapons the strange man froze. The cat crouched as if for a spring, but the man said instantly, "Careful, Isis. Please listen to me carefully, all of you. My name is Gary Seven. I am a human being of the Twentieth Century. I have been living on another planet, far more advanced than the Earth is. I was beaming from there when you intercepted me."

  "Where is the planet?" Kirk said.

  "They wish their existence kept secret. In fact, it will remain unknown even in your time."

  "It's impossible to hide a whole planet," Scott said.

  "Impossible to you; not to them. Captain Kirk, I am of this time period. You are not. Interfere with me, and with what I must do down there, and you will change history. I am sure you have been thoroughly briefed on the consequence of that."

  "I have," Kirk said. "On the other hand, I know nothing about you—even about the truth of anything you've told me."

  "We don't have time for that. Every second you delay me is dangerous—this is the most critical year in Earth's history. My planet wants to ensure that Earth survives—an aim which should be of no small interest to you."

  Kirk shook his head. "The fact that you know the criticality of the year strongly suggests that you're from the future yourself. It's a risk I can't take until I have more information. I'm afraid I'm going to have to put you in security confinement for the time being."

  "You'll regret it."

  "Very possibly. Nevertheless, it's what I must do." He gestured to the security chief. The guard bent to pick up the cat, but Gary Seven stepped in his way.

  "If you handle Isis," he said, "you will regret that even more." He scooped up the cat himself and went out with the security detail.

  "I want a special eye kept on that man," Kirk said. "He went along far too docilely. Also, Mr. Spock, ask Dr. McCoy for a fast medical analysis of the prisoner. What I want to know is, is he human? And have the cat checked, too. It may tell us something further about Mr. Seven."

  "It seems remarkably intelligent," Spock commented. "As well as strikingly beautiful. All the same, a strange companion to be carrying across a thousand light years on what is supposed to be an urgent mission."

  "Exactly. Scotty, could that beam of his have carried him through time as well as space?"

  "The theory has always indicated that it's possible," Scott said, "but we've never been able to manage it. On the other hand, we've never been able to put that much power into a transporter beam."

  "In short, you don't know."

  "That's right, sir."

  "Very well. See if you can put the machinery back in order. Mr. Spock, please give the necessary orders and then join me on the bridge. We are going to need lots of computation."

  The computer said: "Present Earth crises fill an entire tape bank, Captain Kirk. The being Gary Seven could
be intervening for or against Earth in areas of overpopulation, bush wars, revolutions, critically dangerous bacteriological experiments, various emergent hate movements, rising air and water pollution . . ."

  "All right, stop," Kirk said. "What specific events are going on today?"

  "Excuse me, Captain," Spock said, "but that question will simply open another floodgate. There were half a hundred critical things going on almost every day during 1969. Library, give us the three most heavily weighted of today's events in the danger file."

  "There will be an important assassination today," the computer said promptly in its pleasant feminine voice. "An equally dangerous government coup in Asia Minor; and the launching of an orbital nuclear warhead platform by the United States countering a similar launch by a consortium of other powers."

  Kirk whistled. "Orbital nuclear devices were one of the greatest worries of this era, as I recall."

  "They were," Spock agreed. "Once the sky was full of orbiting H-bombs, the slightest miscalculation could have brought one of them accidentally down and set off a holocaust."

  "Sick bay to bridge," the intercom interrupted.

  "Kirk here. What is it, Bones?"

  "Jim, there isn't any prisoner in the brig. All I found there were the security chief and one guard, both of them acting as if they'd been hypnotized."

  "The Transporter Room!" Kirk shouted. "Quick!"

  But they were too late. There was nobody in the Transporter Room but a dazed Chief Engineer, and, a moment later, McCoy.

  "I was working with my head inside an open panel," Scott said, his voice still a little blurred, "when I heard someone come in. I turned and saw him with the cat under one arm and a thing like a writing stylus pointed at me."

  "A miniaturized stunner, no doubt," McCoy said.

  "Well, the next thing I knew, I was willing to do anything he asked me to. In fact I beamed him down to Earth myself. Somewhere in the back of my mind I knew I shouldn't, but I did it anyhow."

  There was a brief silence.

  "And so," Spock said at last, "human or alien, contemporary or future, he has gone to do what he came to do—and we still have no idea what it is."

  "We are going to find out," Kirk said. "Scotty, where did you beam him to?"

  "That I can't say, Captain. He set the coordinates himself, and put the recorder on wipe. I can give you an estimate, within about a thousand square meters."

  "If Spock and I beam down, working from the power consumption data alone, inside that thousand square meters, can you triangulate?"

  "Aye, I can do that," Scott said. "It still won't be very precise, but it ought at least to bring you within sighting distance of the man—or whatever he is."

  "It is also a major risk to history, Captain," Spock said.

  "Which is just why I want you and me to be the ones to go; we had had experience with this kind of operation before. We can't find any answers sitting up here. Have ship's stores prepare proper costumes. Scotty, stand by to beam us down."

  The spot where they materialized was a street on New York's upper East Side, not far from the canopied entrance of an elegant apartment building. It was a cold winter day, although there was no snow.

  "All right, Scotty," Kirk said into his communicator. "Lock in and check."

  "Correlated," Scott's voice said. "Readings indicate a greater altitude—approximately thirty meters higher."

  Kirk looked speculatively up the face of the building. Once they entered a maze like that, they might pass within whispering distance of their quarry, behind some door, and never know it.

  Nevertheless, they went into the lobby, found an elevator, and went up. At the prescribed heights, they stepped out into a hallway. Nothing but doors.

  "Altitude verified, Captain," Scott's voice said. "Proceed forty-one meters, two-four-seven degrees true."

  This maneuver wound them up in front of one of the doors, in no way different from any of the others. Kirk and Spock looked at each other. Then Kirk shrugged and pushed the doorbell button, which responded with a melodious chime.

  The door was opened by a pretty blonde girl in her early twenties. Kirk and Spock went in, fast.

  "Hey, what do you think you're doing?" the girl demanded. "You can't come breaking in . . ."

  "Where's Mr. Seven?" Kirk said sharply.

  "I don't know who you're talking about!"

  Kirk looked around. It was an ordinary Twentieth-Century living room as far as he could see, though perhaps somewhat on the sumptuous side. There was a closed door at the back. Spock pulled out his tricorder and scanned quickly, then pointed at the closed door. "In there, Captain."

  They rushed the door, but it was locked. As they tried to voice in, Kirk heard an unfamiliar, brief whirring sound behind him, and then the girl's voice, all in a rush: "Operator, 811 East 68th Street, Apartment 1212, send the police . . ."

  Kirk whirled and snatched the phone out of her hand. "No nonsense, Miss. Spock, burn the door open."

  The girl gasped as Spock produced his phaser and burned out the entire knob and lock assembly. They rushed in, forcing the girl to come with them.

  Here was another large room, also elegantly furnished. One wall was book-lined from a point about a meter from the floor to an equivalent distance from the ceiling. Under a large window was a heavy, ornate desk.

  There was no sign of Gary Seven or anybody else. Kirk noted that this seemed to surprise the girl as much as it did himself.

  Spock went to the desk, where there was a scatter of papers.

  "I'm warning you," the girl said, "I've already called the police."

  "Where is Mr. Seven?" Kirk demanded again. "Spock, is she Twentieth Century? Or one of Seven's people?"

  "Only Doctor McCoy could establish that, I'm afraid, Captain. But I think you will find these papers interesting. They are plans of the United States government's McKinley Rocket Base."

  "Aha. So the orbital platform launching is the critical event. Now how long do we . . ."

  The doorbell rang. The girl, catching them off guard, dashed for the door. Both men raced after her, Kirk reaching her first. As he grabbed her, she bit his hand, and them screamed.

  "Open up in there!" a male voice shouted in the hallway outside. "Police!" Then the door shook to a heavy blow.

  Spock too seized the girl. Kirk managed to get his communicator back into play. "Kirk to Enterprise. Wide scan, Scotty, we'll be moving. Now!"

  Another blow on the door, which burst open. Two policemen lunged in, guns drawn. Spock propelled the girl away from the group toward the library door.

  At the same instant, the apartment dissolved and all four of the men—Kirk, Spock, the policemen—were standing in the transporter chamber of the Enterprise. The policemen looked about, stunned, but Kirk and Spock raced off the platform instantly.

  "Scotty, reverse and energize!"

  The policemen faded and vanished.

  "Fine, fast work, Scotty."

  "That poor girl," Spock said, "is going to have a lot to explain."

  "I know it, but we've got something much more important to set right first. Let's have a look at those plans. Blazes, the launch is scheduled in forty minutes! Scotty, look at these. Here's a schematic layout of a rocket base. Can you get it on the viewscreen here?"

  "Easy, Captain. In fact, there's an old-style weather satellite in orbit below us; if I can bounce off that, I ought to get good closeups." He moved to the screen. In a moment, he had the base. An enormous, crude multistage rocket was already in launch position, being serviced by something Kirk dimly remembered was called a gantry crane.

  "If we could spot your man," Scott added, "I could lock on and beam him up."

  "The odds are that he is out of sight," Spock said. "Inside the rocket gantry, or at one of the control centers. I suppose he has a transporter hidden somewhere in that library of his. Otherwise I cannot account for his disappearance, seconds after the tricorder said he was there—or at least, somebody was there."
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  "Surely that base has security precautions," Kirk said.

  "So did we," Scott pointed out.

  "I see your point, Scotty. All right, continue visual scan, and stand by to beam us down again."

  "Won't be necessary, sir. There he is."

  And there indeed he was, at the top of the gantry. He had a panel off the side of the rocket and was working feverishly inside it. Nearby sat the black cat, watching with apparent interest.

  "Why does he take a pet with him on a dangerous job like that?" Spock said.

  "Immaterial now," Kirk said. "Scotty, yank him out of there!" ,

  It was done within seconds. Gary Seven raged, but there was nothing he could do with four phasers leveled on him.

  "Relieve him of that hypo and any other hardware he's carrying," Kirk said in a granite voice, "and then take him to the briefing room. This time, Mr. Seven, we are going to get some answers."

  "There's no time for that, you fool! The rocket will be launched in nine minutes—and I hadn't finished working on it!"

  "Take him along," Kirk said. "And Mr. Spock, put that cat in a separate cabin. Since it's so important for him to have her along, we'll see how well he stands up without her."

  Kirk interviewed Seven alone, but with all intercom circuits open, and standing instructions to intervene at discretion and/or report anything that seemed pertinent.

  There was no problem about getting Seven to talk. The words came out of him like water from a pressure hose.

  "I am what I say I am, a Twentieth-Century human being," he said urgently. "I was one of three agents on Earth. We were equipped with an advanced transporter, and a computer, both hidden behind the bookshelves in my library. I was returned to—where I came from—for final instructions. You intercepted me and caused a critical delay. When I escaped I found both my fellow agents had been killed in a simple automobile accident. I had to work fast, and, necessarily, alone. They need the help, Captain. A rival program of orbital nuclear platforms like this destroyed Omicron III a hundred years ago. It will destroy the Earth if it isn't stopped."