by Greg Bear
"Mr. Veblen," Spock said, "the Galileo II requires the following kits." Spock recited twenty-six separate kit numbers, apparently from memory. Veblen took them down quickly, then handed them to Scott. Scott looked them over. Only five had anything to do with the shuttle, and none, surprisingly, with the hibernacula. "I am also interested in how the algorithms are adjusting to the new data. Has there been an advancement of model C in probability?"
Veblen's eyes widened. "There has indeed, Mr. Spock. Model C is now the prime model, with enhancements. The Ybakra—"
"Thank you, Mr. Veblen. Please expedite the delivery of the parts. Until the shuttle is repaired, we are confined to the station." Spock signed off and Scott shook his head.
"What are they requesting, Mr. Scott?" Veblen asked.
"Some of the kits will replace beam guide insulators in the shuttle instrument panels. That makes sense. But these other kits—they go together to create an Ybakra isolation field."
"For the sleepers?"
"I don't think so," Scott said. "Or Dr. McCoy would have mentioned field dimensions. I don't believe these will create a large enough field for two hibernacula."
Veblen hefted his notepad thoughtfully. "Model C, I believe, has been confirmed."
T'Prylla experienced the irritation at one remove, but Corona's indecision was more immediately distressing. She was jerked back and forth, sent first to do this, then that. She had never felt Corona so confused and uncertain. She worked for a time adding more machinery to the equipment in the research dome. Briefly, she saw Grake doing similar work. T'Kosa and Anauk, she sensed, were waiting outside the storage dome. T'Raus and Radak were nowhere to be seen.
The Vulcan children stood beneath the purple nebula sky, watching a horizon-to-horizon ribbon of green unwrap at zenith. It was nothing significant, simply the unveiling of a deeper region of gas, but it served for a moment to distract Corona. Of all the things in this strange, ancient realm, the clouds of dust and gas in the nebula were most pleasing. Their abstraction reminded it of …
But there was no conclusion to the thought. T'Raus touched the rock again and opened the Eye-to-Stars. Its goal was so close, but time was growing short. Where would the next appearance be?
The Eye-to-Stars was more than a telescope. It searched across probable universes, as well as the distances of space and time. The only probable universe it could not scan was on the line of present reality; Corona could not know the exact outcome of its work.
In the early years, Corona had sought out young, amorphous galaxies buried in hot clouds of gas—but had not found any. Instead, it had found evidence of its own handiwork, its own halting experiments and mistakes—buried in the ancient past, barely visible across the light-eons. After nine years of patient search, feeling a growing frustration and awareness of its limits, it had found the region where it would be most likely to make its next appearance, if it should fail in the Black Box Nebula.
In the beginning, it had had an easier time of things. Conditions had been hostile, but not nearly as hostile as they were now. Now, Corona had to rely on yet another unlikely conjunction of subspacial masses and collapsing protostars. Just such a region had been found by the Eye-to-Stars.
But it knew the opportunities there were unlikely to be as satisfying as those in the Black Box. In fact, nothing in all its strange travels could compare. The novelty of the situation lay not in the nebula itself—a rather typical starwomb—but in the Vulcan visitors, in living and intelligent beings made of matter. Corona had never encountered such before. It had no idea how widespread organic intelligence would be in the future, on the next leg of its journey. So getting the work done now was extremely important.
And all it needed was a few more hours, unhindered, a miniscule length of the bizarre dimension that time had become in this old corpse of a universe.
But how would it continue its work in the dome, and deal with the new, troublesome visitors?
It was this indecision which affected T'Prylla worst of all. Finally, Corona made a choice. The visitors were much too dangerous. They could destroy some of the most useful information it had gathered if they removed the sleepers. If they managed to repair the shuttle, the transfer would begin …
Corona had learned too late that humans resisted its intrusions even more than adult Vulcans. Only by slightly rearranging his qualities in the transporter beam had it been able to gain control of the one called Chekov, and that by a stroke of luck. The new half-Vulcan combined the worst properties of Vulcans and humans; the first few times in the beam had been insufficient to control Spock.
But Corona had learned from failures. If Spock used the transporter just one more time …
Scott had trouble controlling the direction of the beam. It veered wildly first one direction, then another. Veblen watched the chief engineer swearing and adjusting the control slides. There was nothing in the beam but a test device; the kits Spock had requested were stacked on two floating pallets near the transporter platform. "Is there any transporter effect?" Veblen asked Kirk.
"None yet," the captain replied. "Wait a minute … just a trace."
"Aligning the beam," Scott said grimly. "It whips about like a snake. The probe should be assembling … now."
"Here it comes," Kirk said. "It's intact!"
"Bringing it back," Scott said. When the probe had returned, he motioned for Shallert to position the pallets over the reference and number two disks.
"We're preparing to send the kits now," Veblen said. He checked the display on his portable terminal, hooked up to the ship's computers. The erratic beam behavior was being analyzed in detail to provide more data to confirm and expand on Model C.
"Whatever's mucking with the beam must be operating a field as wide as the planetoid itself," Scott said.
Veblen's display indicated the field was much wider than that, perhaps as much as a hundred thousand kilometers in diameter. The picture he was constructing of it showed a complex structure on several levels, operating in both status geometry, subspace and at least three fraction-space geodesics. The Enterprise's sensors were now alert to certain clues, sweeping deep into the Black Box, toward the murky triplet of infant stars.
"Sending now," Scott said. "And I'm glad it's not people I'm sending."
"Effect beginning," Kirk said. "We're getting two assembly patterns … they're forming. Down and intact!"
Scott cut the transporter beam and stretched his arms out to relieve muscle tension. He groaned and smiled at Veblen. "Like taking a boat through a storm," he said.
"A very interesting storm, too," Veblen said. "I'd certainly like to talk with Mr. Spock about it, but nobody seems willing to engage in a straight conversation down there."
The sensors had traced the origin of the field. Wrapped in an intense oblate spheroid of Ybakra radiation, the three young stars—orbiting each other across distances of hundreds of millions of miles—were themselves the source.
Chapter Seventeen
Kirk and Spock assembled the Ybakra cage within the shuttle's cargo compartment, without comment or any clue as to what they were planning. Indeed, to a great extent Kirk himself didn't know. When they were through, Chekov and McCoy inspected the device—Chekov paying particular attention. The shield was a cubic cage about two meters on a side, made of black pipe with smaller red cubes at each of the eight corners.
Mason sat on a fold-down chair opposite the cargo doors, watching the proceedings disconsolately. She had never felt so useless and out-of-place. They were obviously in trouble, but she wasn't a part of the team; they couldn't confide in her, or give her something to do. She was excess baggage. Chapel gave her a reassuring smile, but for all her sincerity it only deepened her distress.
"Now for a test," Kirk said. "We'll need somebody inside holding a tricorder. Bones?"
"Not me," McCoy said. "I outrank Chekov. Let him stand inside."
Chekov's face paled noticeably. Spock held the tricorder out to him, but he backed off a st
ep, hands raised.
"There's no danger," Kirk said, eyes narrowing. "It's just to protect the hibernacula."
There was no way out of it without raising a scene. For the first time, Chekov knew that the alien will within him was unable to control things completely. It contemplated creating a commotion in the dome, but decided the risks were too small to get upset about. It forced Chekov to smile.
He accepted the tricorder and stepped into the cage. "Switch on," Kirk said. Spock flipped a switch on the top of an upper cube. There was no sound or any other effect; the cube was simply cut off from exposure to Ybakra.
Chekov collapsed. McCoy instinctively made a move to enter the cube but Kirk restrained him. "Jim, he's—"
"Wait a moment, just a moment," Kirk said. "Spock?"
"I believe my hypothesis is correct, Jim. Ybakra radiation carries the controlling messages. Chekov has not been himself the past few hours." Spock stepped through the shield and knelt next to Chekov. The ensign's eyelids fluttered and opened and he stared at Spock with an expression of blissful relief. "Mr. Spock … bad, so very awful and horrible …"
Spock motioned for McCoy to join them. McCoy ran his tricorder over Chekov and pronounced him fit, but exhausted from severe nervous strain. "I've been fighting," Chekov said softly.
"Fighting what?" Kirk asked.
"Taking me over. Making me … I sabotaged, it sabotaged the shuttle …"
"We know," Kirk said. "Spock had switched the security recorders on. You were caught in the act. What does … it … feel like? What is it?"
"I don't know," Chekov said. "Deliberate, very large … angry, searching. I don't know." His eyes closed.
"He should be in the sickbay," McCoy said.
"He cannot be moved from the shield, or he will be controlled again," Spock said.
"When did it take him over?" Kirk asked.
"I believe I felt its presence just before I collapsed after transporting," Spock said. "I assume it was able to take command of Mr. Chekov in the transporter beam. That would explain the delay before his assembly on the Enterprise."
"Why didn't it take over all of us, then?" Kirk asked. His quick glance at Mason made her straighten in her seat. She was about to protest, but Spock cut her off.
"Perhaps it was adjusting to humans. So far, it has only controlled Vulcans. Much as I dislike the idea, it may have an easier time assuming control of Vulcans than humans … though why I was spared, I don't know."
"Your human blood, no doubt," McCoy said. "Does this mean everyone in the station is possessed?" He injected a nutritive restorer solution into Chekov's arm and stood up.
"That's what we have to assume," Kirk said. "By whom, or what … or to what end, is anybody's guess."
"We do know some things about the influence," Spock said. "It uses Ybakra radiation, which we have always thought to have a negligible effect on human nervous systems, and a relatively minor effect on Vulcans—unless, of course, high exposure occurs under cold storage conditions. Apparently the effect can be more profound. I have already notified Mr. Veblen that Model C has increased in probability—"
"What in the devil is 'Model C'?" McCoy asked.
"Mr. Veblen's stochastic algorithms produced some rather far-fetched models, which we originally rejected. Model C postulated that the inhabitants of the station had been taken over by some outside agency. The algorithm returned to the model when we fed it more information about Ybakra radiation and the behavior of station personnel. The model, I believe, is now confirmed."
"At least the ship is aware something's going on," Kirk said. "Do we dare tell them everything?"
Spock nodded. "It may already be too late to disguise our awareness. What we must do is take advantage of any confusion the being might be feeling, with the loss of its sole human puppet. We must bring one of the Vulcans here, by force if necessary. I would suggest T'Prylla."
"Any suggestions as to how?" McCoy asked.
"By gentle persuasion, if at all possible. If it still has doubts, we must play on them."
"How can I help?" Mason asked. Kirk turned and shook his head.
"By maintaining your objectivity," he said sharply. "You're an observer. Observe."
"Jim …" McCoy said, but Kirk waved his hand.
"We're in very deep trouble, Bones," he said. "I'll tender any apologies later."
In orbit around the planetoid, the Enterprise once again passed over the station within the two hundred kilometer limit. Radak appeared briefly in several of the ship's cabins and corridors, found them occupied, and finally materialized in a narrow, deserted service corridor below the ship's computer, between decks 8 and 9. Light cables and beam guides clustered thickly on the walls and ceiling. There was no artificial gravitation in the service corridor, so the boy floated for a moment while deciding what to do next.
Suddenly, as if a finger had been lopped off, Corona lost one of its extensions. The human called Chekov was no longer under its control.
Corona had focused too much of its attention on Radak. Things were happening on the station. Yet it could not just withdraw Radak from the Enterprise, not when there was such an opportunity to learn. If there was a way to control the ship itself, its problems would be over. It would be allowed to finish its work. But now the humans were approaching T'Prylla, and it could sense the Vulcan female was about to make her move.
Radak had been under the control of Corona for so long that it was possible to release the young Vulcan for hours at a stretch, to carry out commands already given. In a sense, Radak, T'Raus and Corona had developed together, and their relationship was fixed; without the young Vulcans, Corona would not have had a sense of place and time, not in the way these organic beings had. They acted as conduits through which it could perceive and interpret what the other Vulcans and humans did. Radak would be left aboard the ship to finish his task; Corona shifted its full attention to the station, but not in time to prevent further disaster.
"There is no need for me to inspect your work," T'Prylla said in the reshek corridor. Kirk and Spock stood on each side of her. McCoy and Mason stood behind them.
"We wish to demonstrate how safe the sleepers will be in the shuttle," Spock said.
"That is more for T'Kosa to determine," T'Prylla said. She looked at Spock, and for the briefest moment, Spock saw a glimmer of rebellious awareness, a personality behind the mask. T'Prylla's lips moved, saying "Force me," silently in Vulcan. The mask returned almost immediately.
"Nurse Chapel, take her left arm," Spock said. Chapel grabbed the arm and held it tightly. "Doctor, the right."
McCoy held the right and Spock reached for her shoulder. T'Prylla's body gave a sudden jerk and she slammed McCoy and Chapel against a bulkhead. Chapel fell back, stunned, and Kirk moved in to take her place. Mason jumped to one side as the recorder deftly maneuvered out of everybody's way. Spock grabbed T'Prylla's shoulder and pinched it sharply. Her upper body contorted but she did not collapse. McCoy brought out his subcutane and tried to place it against her arm. She whipped around violently, her breath ragged, her face darkening to brown. McCoy found his opening and the subcutane connected, injecting its tranquilizer. Kirk and McCoy released her and stepped back. She leaned against the bulkhead, chest heaving. She tried to stand straight but couldn't. It was awful to see her struggling, especially for Mason, who was reminded of an injured animal resisting the ministrations of its keepers. Then T'Prylla seemed to wilt. Nine years of almost constant possession could not prevent the action of McCoy's drug. Spock and McCoy caught her as she slumped.
"So much for subtle persuasion," McCoy said.
"We must get her to the shuttle immediately," Spock said. Kirk drew his phaser and set it for stun. With his other hand, he opened his communicator.
"Kirk to Enterprise."
"Enterprise. Uhura here, Captain."
"Move the ship out to a synchronous orbit. Now."
"Yes, sir."
"And tell Scott—"
The com
municator crackled. He adjusted it, but to no avail. "Interference," he said. On a hunch, he turned the phaser on a bulkhead and tried to fire it. The button produced no effect whatsoever.
"It is indeed a master of energy," Spock said. Kirk belted the useless weapon. He reached out to help Spock and McCoy lift T'Prylla; Mason lent her shoulder to Chapel.
Olaus had passed word to Scott; they still had a track on the intruder. Veblen came on the bridge with Shallert and they watched the forward screen as the ship's internal scanners displayed the unsecured sector.
"He's in the service corridor under the ship's computer," Scott said tersely. "Recognize him?"
"He's the one I saw in the transporter room," Shallert said. "Thought I was going crazy … until now. How did he get there?"
"I don't know," Scott said. "Mr. Olaus and I aren't quite sure what we should do with him."
"Tell security to stay away from him," Veblen said.
Scott looked at the staff officer with a dubious expression. "He's in the middle of the ship's most delicate equipment."
"They should at least stay out of sight. We're tracking him; we can stop him before he does anything disastrous, if that's what he's here for. We need to know more about him—or whatever's controlling him. What they want to do."
"I canna' accept that risk," Scott said. "Scott to security team A. Move into the corridor and attempt capture."
The service corridor formed a circle around and beneath the computer. Devereaux and his men had pressed themselves against the equipment insulation plates around the curve from where Radak floated. Now they gripped the guide ropes and pulled themselves swiftly and silently along.
Radak was aware there was trouble on the station, but he had been temporarily left to himself. He knew what he was looking for, and what he had to do when he found it—Corona could rely on Radak. He peered behind the beam guides for the ship's central data conduit, not yet aware of the security men approaching from behind.