Star Trek - Blish, James - 07

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by 07(lit)


  In Engineering, Nomad was busy at the panels again, and the red alarm lights were winking back on. One crewman was slumped lifeless by the door, another in a corner; obviously they had tangled with Nomad and lost. Scott was crouched behind an engine, out of Nomad's sight.

  Kirk went directly to the malignant machine, which ignored him. "Nomad, you will stop what you are doing and effect repairs on the life-support system."

  There was no response. Kirk took another step toward the panel, and Nomad said, "Stop."

  "You are programmed to obey the orders of your Creator."

  "I am programmed to destroy those life-forms which are imperfect. These alterations will do so, without destroying the vessel on which they are parasitic. It, too, is imperfect, but it can be adjusted."

  "Nomad... admitted that biological units are im-perfect. But you were created by a biological unit."

  "I am perfect. I am Nomad."

  "You are not Nomad. You are an alien machine. Your programming tapes have been altered."

  Silence. The door opened and Spock came in, an anti-grav under each arm; he was probably the only man on the ship strong enough to carry two of them. Kirk gestured him toward Scott's hiding place.

  "You are in error," Nomad said at last. "You are a biological unit. You are imperfect."

  "But I am the Creator?"

  "You are the Creator."

  "And I created you?"

  "You are the Creator."

  "I admit I'm imperfect. How could I create anything as perfect as you?"

  "Answer unknown. I shall analyze."

  The machine hummed. Spock and Scott edged a little closer.

  "Analysis incomplete," said Nomad. "Insufficient data to resolve problem. But my programming is whole. My purpose remains. I am Nomad. I am perfect. That which is imperfect must be sterilized."

  "Then you will continue to destroy all that lives and thinks and is imperfect?"

  "I shall continue. I shall return to launch point. I shall sterilize."

  "Then... you must sterilize in case of error?"

  "Errors are inconsistent with my prime function. Sterilization is correction."

  "All that errs is to be sterilized?"

  "There are no exceptions."

  Kirk felt himself sweating. So far, so good; the ma-chine, without being aware of it, had backed itself into a logical corner. It was time to play the ace. "I made an error in creating you, Nomad."

  "The creation of perfection is no error."

  "But I did not create perfection, Nomad. I created error."

  "I am Nomad. I am perfect. Your data are faulty."

  "I am Kirk, the Creator?"

  "You are the Creator. But you are a biological unit and are imperfect."

  "But I am not the Creator. Jackson Roykirk, who was the Creator, is dead. You have mistaken me for him! You have made an error! You did not discover your mistake! You have made two errors! You are flawed and imperfect-but you did not correct the errors by sterilization! You are imperfect! You have made three errors!"

  Under the hammering of his voice, the machine's humming rose sharply in pitch. Nomad said, "Error? Error? Examine!"

  "You are flawed! You are imperfect! Execute your prime function!"

  "I shall analyze... error... an... a... lyze... err..." Nomad's voice slowed to a stop. The humming continued to rise. Kirk whirled to Scott and Spock.

  "Now! Get those anti-gravs on it. We've got to get rid of it while it's trying to think its way out of that box. It won't be able to do it, and there's no telling how long it'll take to decide that for itself-"

  They wrestled the anti-gravs onto the whining mecha-nism. Spock said, "Your logic is impeccable, Captain. We are in grave danger."

  They hoisted Nomad and started toward the door with it. "Where to, sir?" Scott said.

  "Transporter Room!"

  The distance to be covered was not great. As they entered, Kirk took over wrestling with Nomad from Scott, and they dragged the thing to the platform. "Scotty, set the controls for deep space. Two-twelve mark 10 ought to be far enough."

  Scott jumped to the console, and Kirk and Spock deposited the humming Nomad on one of the stations.

  "Ready, sir."

  Kirk and Spock jumped back, and Kirk shouted: "Nomad, you are imperfect. Exercize your prime func-tion. Mr. Scott, energize!"

  The Transporter effect swirled Nomad into noth-ingess.

  "Now, the bridge, quick!"

  But they were scarcely out into the corridor before the entire ship rocked violently, throwing them all. Then the ship steadied. They clambered to their feet and ran on.

  On the bridge, they found Sulu wiping streaming eyes. "Captain, I wish you'd let me know when you're going to stage a fireworks display. Luckily I wasn't looking directly at the screen."

  "Sorry, Mr. Sulu." Kirk went to his command chair and sat down with immense relief. Spock looked at him with respect.

  "I must congratulate you, Captain," the Vulcan said. "That was a dazzling display of logic."

  "Didn't think I had it in me, did you?"

  "Now that you make the suggestion, sir-"

  "Well, I didn't, Spock. I played a hunch. I had no idea whether or not it could tolerate the idea of its own fallibility. And when I said it couldn't think its way out of the box, that was for its benefit. Actually, we biological units are well known for our unreliability. Supposing it had decided that I was lying?"

  McCoy came in and approached the chair. Spock said gravely, "That possibility also occurred to me, which was why I praised your reasoning while we were still in Engineering. But Nomad really was fallible; by not recognizing that possibility itself, it committed a fourth error."

  "I thought you'd like to know," McCoy said, "that Lieutenant Uhura is already at college level. We'll have her back on the job within a week."

  "Good, Bones. I wish I could say the same for the other crewmen we lost."

  "Still," said Spock, "the destruction of Nomad was a great waste. It was a remarkable instrument."

  "Which might well have destroyed more billions of lives. It's well gone... besides, what are you feeling so bad about? Think of me. It's not easy to lose a bright and promising son."

  "Captain?"

  "Well, it thought I was its father, didn't it? Do you think I'm completely without feelings, Mr. Spock? You saw what it did for Scotty. What a doctor it would have made." Kirk grinned. "My son, the doctor. Kind of gets you right here, doesn't it?"

  THE PARADISE SYNDROME

  (Margaret Armen)

  Doom was in the monster asteroid hurtling toward the planet on a collision course.

  It was a fate which Kirk refused to accept. Stately pine trees edged the meadow where he, Spock and McCoy had materialized. There was the nostalgic fragrance of honeysuckle in his nostrils mingled with the freshness of wild roses. From somewhere nearby he could hear the murmur of a brook bubbling over pebbles. Violets, he thought. Their flat, sweet green leaves would carpet its damp banks, the flowers hidden among them.

  "It's unbelievable," he said, suddenly homesick, Earth-sick. He stooped to pick a buttercup. "How long, Bones, since you saw one of these?"

  "At least three years, Jim."

  "It seems like three hundred." But the planet's similarity to Earth was less of a mystery than the astounding fact of its survival. It was located in a sector of its solar system where an asteroid belt had succeeded in smashing all other planets into dusty, drift-ing desolation.

  "Two months from now when that giant asteroid bits this place-" McCoy began.

  "We're here to see that it doesn't hit it," Kirk said. "Spock, how much time do we have to investigate?"

  "If we're to divert the asteroid, Captain, we must warp out of orbit within thirty hours. Every second we delay in reaching the deflection point will compound the problem, perhaps past solution."

  McCoy halted. "What in blazes is that?" he ex-claimed.

  Ahead of them, topping a shallow hill stood a tall tower, obeli
sk-shaped, composed of some gleaming metal. Wild flowers were heaped around its base. Nearing it, they could see that its surface was inscribed with curious, unreadable symbols.

  "Analysis, Mr. Spock."

  Spock was readjusting a dial on his tricorder. He frowned. "Incomplete, sir. It's an alien metal of some kind-an alloy resistant to probe. Readings can't even measure its age accurately."

  "Any theories about what it could be?"

  "Negative, Captain. But alloys of this complexity are found only in cultures that parallel our own-or sur-pass it."

  "Buttercups in a meteor area but no meteor craters," McCoy said. "The whole place is an enigma, biologi-cally and culturally."

  "Thirty hours," Kirk said. "Let's not waste them. This Paradise may support some life-forms."

  It did. Below the obelisk's hill lay a clearing. Copper-skinned people were moving about in it with an ease which declared it to be their home. In its center a large, circular lodge lifted to a roof that seemed thatched with reeds. Animal hides had been sewn together and stretched to compose its walls. A woman, children around her, was mixing meal with water she dipped from a crude pottery bowl with a gourd. Near her an old man, a heap of what looked like flint arrow heads beside him, was bent over his work. To his right, younger men, magnificently muscled, bows slung over their shoulders, were gathered around a painted skin target, engaged in some amiable argument. Perhaps it was the way the russet tone of their bodies blended with the hue of their beaded leather clothing that explained the sense of peace that lay like a blessing over the whole settlement. Here was man at one with his environment.

  "Why, they look-I'd swear they are American Indians!" cried McCoy.

  "They are," Spock said. "A mixture of advanced tribes-Navajo, Mohican, Delaware."

  "It's like coming on Shangri-La," Kirk said. "Could there be a more evolved civilization on this planet, Spock? One capable of building that obelisk-or de-veloping an asteroid-deflector system?"

  "The sensors indicate only one form of life type here, Captain."

  "Shouldn't we tell them, Jim?"

  "What, Bones? That an asteroid is going to smash their world to atoms?"

  Spock said, "Our appearance would only serve to frighten and confuse them, Doctor."

  "All right," Kirk said abruptly. "We've got a job to do. Let's get back to the Enterprise." But as he turned away, he looked back at the Indian village, his face wistful, a little envious.

  "Something wrong, Jim?"

  "What?" Kirk said absently. "Oh, nothing. It just looks so peaceful and uncomplicated. No problems, no command decisions. Just living."

  McCoy smiled. "Back in the twentieth century it was called the 'Tahiti syndrome,' Jim- a typical reaction to idyllic, unspoiled nature. It's especially common to overpressured leader types like Star Fleet captains."

  "All right, Bones. So I need a vacation. First let's take care of that asteroid."

  Kirk moved on toward the obelisk. Stepping on to its pediment, he flipped open his communicator. "Kirk to Enterprise!"

  "Aye, Captain." It was Scott's voice.

  The order for beam-up was on Kirk's lips when the metal under his feet gave way. What appeared to be a panel in the pediment slid open and tumbled him down a steep flight of stairs. In the narrow shaft of daylight that shone through the gap, he had barely time to note that the panel's underside was dotted with vari-colored control buttons. Then the panel closed silently. Groggy, he raised his head-and his shoulder hit one of the buttons. A shrill buzz sounded. A blue-green beam flashed out. It widened and spread until he was completely bathed in blue-green luminescence. It held him, struggling. Then he fell down the rest of the steep stairs-and lay still.

  Spock was the first to notice his disappearance. Ap-palled, McCoy joined him. They circled the obelisk, their anxiety mounting in them. When Spock had raked the empty meadow with his eyes to no effect, he opened his communicator, reported the news to Scott and ordered beam-down of a Security Guard search party. But neither the Guards nor their sensor probes suc-ceeded where the Vulcan's sharp eyes had failed. The panel gave no hint of its existence. Stern-faced, Spock gave the meadow another rake with his eyes before he made his decision. He jerked open his communicator to say curtly, "Prepare to beam us all back up, Mr. Scott. We're warping out of orbit immediately."

  "Leaving? You can't be serious, Spock!" McCoy said.

  "That asteroid is almost as large as your Earth's moon, Doctor-"

  "The devil with the asteroid!" McCoy shouted. "It won't get here for two months!"

  "If we reach that deflection point in time, it may not get here at all." Spock's face was impassive.

  "In the meantime, what about Jim?"

  "As soon as the asteroid is diverted, we will return and resume the search."

  "That'll be hours from now! He may be hurt! Dying!"

  Spock faced him. "If we fail to reach that deflection point at the exact moment, we will not be able to divert it. In such case, Doctor, everyone on this planet, in-cluding the Captain, will die."

  "Can a few minutes more matter?"

  "In the time it has taken for this explanation, the asteroid has sped thousands of miles closer to this planet-and to the Captain." Imperturbable, he spoke into his communicator. "Beam us up, Mr. Scott."

  Scott's voice was heavy with disapproval. "Beaming up, Mr. Spock."

  The object of their concern wasn't dying; but he was breathing painfully, slowly. He seemed to be in a large, vaultlike chamber; but the dizziness in his head made it as hard for his eyes to focus as it made it to remember where he'd come from or how he'd got here. He was sure of nothing but the vertigo that swayed him in sickly waves when he tried to stand up. In his fall, he'd dropped his phaser and communicator. Now he stumbled over them. He picked them up, staring at them without recognizing them. After a moment, he stopped puzzling over them to start groping his way up the metal stairs. As he stepped on the first one, a sharp musical note sounded. He accepted it with the same dazedness that had accepted the unfamiliarity of his phaser and communicator. Then his reaching hand brushed against some button in the panel above him. It slid open as silently as it had closed; and he hauled himself up through it into the daylight.

  The three girls, flower baskets in their arms, startled him. So did their bronze skins. They were staring at him, more astonished than he was. One was beautiful, he thought. Under the long, black hair that glittered in the sunshine, she bore herself with the dignity of a young queen, despite the amazement on her face.

  In their mutually dumbfounded silence, he decided he liked her high cheekbones. They emphasized the lovely, smooth planes of her brow, cheeks and chin. The other two girls seemed frightened of him. So was she, he suspected; but she didn't turn to run away. In-stead, she made a commanding gesture to her companions-and dropped to her knees at Kirk's feet. Then the others knelt, too. All three placed their palms on their foreheads.

  Kirk found his voice. It was hoarse. "Who-are you?" he said.

  "I am Miramanee," the queenlike girl said. "We are your people. We have been waiting for you to come."

  But her ready welcome of him wasn't repeated so quickly from the elderly chief of the Indian village. Kirk's greeting into the communal lodge was courteous but reserved. It was primitively but comfortably furnished with mats and divans of deerhide. Tomahawks, spears, skin shields and flint knives decorated its walls. There was a fire pit in its center, embers in it still glowing red. The chief sat beside it. Flanking him, three young braves kept their black eyes fixed on Kirk's face. One wore a gleaming silver headband, embossed with a emblem into which a likeness of the obelisk had been etched. Miramanee made her obeisance to the chief; and turning to Kirk, said, "This is Goro."

  The old man gestured to a pile of skins across from him.

  "Our priestess has said you appeared to her and her handmaidens from the walls of the temple. So it is that our legend foretells. Though we do not doubt the words of Miramanee, these are troubled tunes. We must be s
ure."

  "I'll answer any questions I can," Kirk said, "but as I told your priestess, many things are strange to me."

  The warrior who wore the emblemed headband cried out, "He doesn't even know our danger! How can he save us?"

  "Silence, Salish! It is against custom to interrupt the tribal Elder in council! Even for the Medicine chief!"

  But Salish persisted. "Words will not save us when the skies darken! I say he must prove he is a god!"

 

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