Star Trek 10

by James Blish

  Behind the screen a kneeling Spock was bathed again in the pure blue radiance. As Kollos vacated his mind, he bowed his head under an oppressive sense of bereavement. He could hear Kirk saying, "Give them our position, Lieutenant. Tell them we'll send a full report later."

  "Captain!"

  The horror in Sulu's voice spun Kirk around to the helm station. Spock's forgotten vizor lay in Sulu's hand.

  "Spock!" Kirk shouted. "Don't look! Cover your eyes!"

  His cry was lost in the scream that came from behind the screen.

  The shriek came again. Instinctively McCoy started toward the screen but was stopped dead in his tracks by Kirk's gesture of absolute command. "No! Don't move!"

  "But, Jim . . ."

  "No one is to move!" Kirk gave himself a moment to rally before he called, "Spock, are you all right?"

  Time moved sluggish and slow. Kirk waited for the seconds to crawl by. Then Spock, backing out from behind the screen, turned his face to them. It was both terrified and terrifying—totally insane.

  Kirk went to him, his hands outstretched. "It's all right now, Spock. You are safe with me."

  But Spock had been transported to an unreachable realm. Lowering his head, he lunged at Kirk, aiming a fatal blow. Kirk ducked—and Spock, his madness distractible and purposeless, ripped out a lever from a console, hurling it across the bridge. Roaring like a wounded beast, he raged through the room, smashing at people and objects. Kirk found position for a straight phaser shot and stunned him at close range.

  McCoy ran to the stilled body. Looking up, he cried, "He's hardly breathing, Jim! I must get him to Sickbay at once!"

  Again time crawled by. Spock, insane, perhaps dying there before Kirk's eyes. As Marvick had died. Kirk covered his face with his hands to shut out the sight of the deathly white face on Sickbay's examination table. That brain of Spock's, whose magnificent resources had wrung victories out of countless defeats, deranged, lost to the Enterprise, lost to the friends who loved him. Behind his hands, Kirk could feel the skin of his face drawing into lines of haggard agony.

  "Miranda," McCoy said. "Unless she reaches down into his mind and turns it outward to us, we will lose Spock, Jim."

  Kirk could bear the sight of the world again. "Vulcan mind techniques!" Then his heart cringed. "She tried to help Marvick. She couldn't. He's dead."

  "That was different. Marvick loved her."

  Kirk paced restlessly. "Would she so much as try? Spock is her rival. He felt her jealousy of him."

  "They were not rivals in love," McCoy said.

  Kirk looked at him. "No. That's true. Bones, I'm taking action. Don't interfere with it. No matter what happens." He strode to the door of Sickbay and closed it behind him.

  Miranda was in her cabin. And she knew what he'd come for. Telepathy, he thought grimly, had its advantages. It made explanation unnecessary. When she emerged from her bedroom, she was wearing a stark black tunic bare of the silver embroidery sensors. Truly blind now, she had to be guided to the door.

  McCoy had had the examination table tilted almost upright. Spock's waxen, unmoving body was strapped to it. Kirk led Miranda over to it. "Your mind-link with him," he said. "It must bring him back from wherever he is."

  Nearly as pale as Spock, she said, "You must leave us alone, Captain."

  At his desk McCoy didn't speak. Once more Kirk waited. If the memories of Spock's loyal valor would only stop returning . . . but they wouldn't stop. And what was going on in that examination room? Spock had spoken of her "thirst for power."

  Kirk walked into the examination room.

  She looked up at the sound of the opening door. "Dr. McCoy?"

  "It's I, the Captain."

  "I have no news for you." She paused. "His life processes are failing."

  The blue, blind eyes had groped for his. Kirk steeled himself against a wave of compassion for her. "And what are you doing about it?"

  "Why . . . what I can, of course."

  "It doesn't seem to be much!"

  It sparked a flash 'of anger from her. "No doubt you expect me to wake up your Sleeping Beauty with a kiss!"

  The compassion died in him. "It might be worth trying," he told her. "He's not a machine."

  "He is a Vulcan!" she cried.

  "Half of him. The other half is human—a half more human than you seem to be!"

  She faced him, rage working in her face. "Face reality, Captain Kirk. His mind has gone too deep even for me to reach."

  "And if you don't reach it, he will die. Isn't that what you want?"

  She stared at him wordlessly, her mouth open. Then, in a small, unbelieving voice, she said, "Why . . . that is a lie!"

  "You want him to die," Kirk said.

  He caught her by the arm. "What did you do on the bridge? Did you make him forget to vizor his eyes?"

  She wrenched her arm free. "You are insane."

  He seized it again, his jaw hard. "You know your rival! He made a mind-link with Kollos—exactly what you have never been able to do!"

  She struck at him, beating at his face with her fists. He immobilized her hands, holding her tight within the hard circle of his arms. "With my words," he said, "I will make you hear the ugliness Spock saw when his naked eyes looked at Kollos! Ugliness is deep in you, Miranda!"

  "Liar! Liar! Liar!" she screamed.

  "Listen to me. Your passion to see Kollos is madness. You are blind. You can never see him. Never! But Spock has seen him. And for that he must die. That's it, isn't it?"

  She twisted in his arms. "Sadistic, filthy liar . . ."

  "You smell of hatred. The stench of jealousy fills you. Why don't you strangle him as he lies there, helpless?"

  Strength drained out of her. "No . . . no . . . don't say any more, please."

  "Kollos knows what is hid your heart. You can lie to yourself—but you can't lie to Kollos."

  "Go away! Please . . . go away."

  Kirk released her. She staggered but he reached no hand to help her. The door closed behind him.

  In his office McCoy got up from his desk. Kirk sank into his chair and, leaning his arms on the desk, rested his head on them, shaken, exhausted.

  "Are you all right?" McCoy asked.

  Kirk didn't answer. McCoy laid a hand on the bowed shoulders. "What did you say to her, Jim?"

  Kirk lifted his head. "Maybe too much."

  "What is she doing in there? If she can't—"

  "Maybe I shouldn't have gone in, Bones."

  "Jim . . ."

  "I went at her in the dark. In her darkness. In her blindness. If he dies . . ."

  "Don't, Jim."

  "If he dies, how do I know I didn't kill him? How can I know she can stand to hear the truth?"

  In the room behind them, she had moved to Spock, her fingers probing at his temples. In a whisper choked with fury, she was saying, "This is to the death—or life for both of us. Do you hear me, Spock?"

  He was in a cavern, his eyes open. Over him hovered a Miranda, her hair a writhing nest of snakes. They hissed at him, their fangs dripping venom. He let it drip on his face. The Miranda laughed demoniacally. The venom stung. Then there were three Mirandas, chuckling with pleasure in his pain. When he put his hands over his ears to shut out the hideous chuckles, there were seven Mirandas. He groveled on his knees, clutching at his ears. The laughing stopped.

  But the Fury wasn't finished with him. The cavern was a pool. A Miranda had him by the throat. She was very strong and he was tired. The water of the pool closed over his head. She pushed it down . . . down. His hands felt heavy, clumsy, strangely disobedient. But at last they did his bidding and tore her grasp from his throat. The water still dragged at him. Then his soul moved. He stumbled out of the water's hold; and in a curious unsurprise, realized that the Miranda was helping him. He coughed frothy water from his lungs, and dreamily heard the Miranda say, "So you have decided to live after all. But there is one thing more—the madness . . ."

  A box lid was open, rad
iating a blue light he seemed to remember. He was about to look into the half-familiar box when its lid dropped.

  He was very tired. There was a door in front of him. On a last spurt of strength, he opened it.

  "Spock!"

  It was the voice of his dear Captain.

  Spock staggered to him. In his flood of returning sanity, he recognized McCoy. But as usual the Doctor was fussing. "You have no business to be out of bed! Sit here!"

  He sat. His Captain left him to go somewhere else, calling, "Miranda!"

  But if there had ever been a Miranda around, she was gone.

  With meticulous care Spock placed Kollos's habitat on the Transporter platform. His hands lingered on the box—a final communion. Kirk looked at the hands, his eyes warm with affection. Pointing to Spock, he smiled at the woman beside him. "I have you to thank for his life," he said.

  He spoke to a different Miranda—one transfigured by the same wondering innocence that had entered into Spock during his mind-link with Kollos. McCoy, moved by the new purity of her lovely face, said, "You now have what you wanted most, Miranda?"

  "Yes. I am one with Kollos."

  McCoy took her hand and kissed it. "I am truly sorry that you are leaving us."

  She stepped back to Kirk. "We have come to the end of an eventful trip, Captain."

  "I wasn't sure you'd even speak to me."

  The blue radiance of the box was in her blue eyes. "I have you to thank for my future. What you said has enabled me to see. I shall not need my sensors anymore."

  He lifted a white rose from the Transporter console. "My good-bye gift to you," he said.

  The rose against her cheek, she said, "I suppose it has thorns, Captain."

  "I never met a rose that didn't, Miranda."

  At the platform, Spock, in dress uniform, was wearing his IDIC. The girl touched it. "I understand the symbology, now, Mr. Spock. The marvel is in the infinite diversity of life."

  He met her eyes gravely. "And in the ways our differences can combine to create new truth and beauty;"

  She took her position on the platform as Spock adjusted his vizor for the last time. Then he lifted his hand in the Vulcan salute.

  She returned it. "Peace and long life to you, Mr. Spock," she said.

  "Peace and long life, Miranda."

  At the Transporter console, Kirk himself moved the dematerializing switches.

  A PRIVATE LITTLE WAR

  (Don Ingalls and Gene Roddenberry)

  * * *

  McCoy stretched his back muscles, tired from bending over his collection of soil, leaves and roots. Starfleet had something, he thought. This planet's plant culture just might be a medical El Dorado. But he was glad when his communicator beeped. This clearing in the forest was lonely.

  Kirk said, "How much longer, Bones?"

  "About another thirty minutes, Jim. You and Spock find anything?"

  "No sign of inhabitants so far. Continue collecting. Kirk out." As he closed his communicator, Spock pointed to the scuffled stones on the rocky ledge where they stood. "The apelike carnivore of the reports, Captain?"

  Kirk inspected the tracks. He straightened, nodding. "The gumato. But this spoor is several days old. No problem. They seldom stay in one place."

  Spock eyed the sweep of trees sloping downhill from their ledge. "Aside from that, you say it's a Garden of Eden, sir?"

  Kirk grinned. "So it seemed years ago to a brash young Lieutenant named Kirk in command of his first planet survey." He stiffened, hearing a branch break. Then he saw the people below moving along a narrow trail cut through the trees. With a shock of pleasure, he recognized their leader; and was about to shout "Tyree!" when his eye caught the glint of sun on a gun barrel. Guns—on this planet! He seized his phaser and Spock said quietly, "Use of our weapons was expressly forbidden, Captain."

  "Tyree is leading those people into ambush! He's the friend I lived with here!" He wheeled; and kicking hard at a rock outcropping, loosed it to send it careening down the slope. The ambusher's exploded from their concealing underbrush and Tyree cried, "Villagers!"

  His group broke, rushing for the trees' shelter. But one of the ambushers, turning, had seen Kirk and Spock. He yelled something to the other two; and all three ambushers burst into a fast run up the hill toward the Enterprise men. Then the first paused to place a flintlock musket against his shoulder. The bullet pinged past Kirk's ear to strike spray from the rock behind him. The man pulled up to reload—and the second villager fired. Hot metal tore into Spock.

  In his clearing McCoy heard the shots. Snatching his communicator, he opened it, crying, "Enterprise, alert! Alert! Stand by to beam up landing party!"

  Spock was down. Running to him, Kirk took one look at the wound; and grabbing his phaser, aimed it at their pursuers.

  "No . . . Captain . . ."

  "Spock, they'll be reloaded in a moment!"

  On a surge of agonized effort, Spock staggered to his feet. "No, I . . . can travel."

  Looking up, Kirk saw McCoy and cried, "Beam us up fast, Bones!" McCoy had his communicator open. "Now, Scotty! Spock's hurt! Have medics standing by!’"

  Kirk, supporting the half-conscious Spock, pulled him into a threesome with McCoy. As they dematerialized, the three villagers were left to stare at the sparkle into which they'd disappeared.

  An agitated Scott was at the Transporter platform to meet them. "What happened, Captain?"

  "Lead projectile. Old-style firearm. Tell those medics to bring the stretcher closer!"

  As the reeling Spock was eased onto it, Nurse Chapel and Doctor M'Benga hurried into the Transporter Room. McCoy, his eyes on Spock's torn chest, said, "Vitalizer B." Christine Chapel swiftly adjusted a hypo and McCoy pressed it, hissing, against Spock's limp arm. It was as she reached into her medikit that Spock subsided into unconsciousness. M'Benga, his medical scanner humming, passed it over the motionless body.

  Christine spoke to McCoy. "Pressure packet ready, Doctor."

  He took it; and lifting Spock's shirt, pushed it into the wound. "Lucky his heart's where his liver should be—or he'd be dead now." It wasn't a joke. His face was grim. "Set hypo for coradrenalin."

  As the syringe hissed again, Kirk spoke. "Bones, you can save him, can't you?"

  Without warning, alarm sirens shrieked. Sinister red lights flashed and Uhura's filtered voice said, "All decks, red alert! Battle stations! This is no drill. Battle stations! Red alert!"

  Kirk leaped to the intercom. "Bridge, this is the Captain."

  "Lieutenant Uhura, sir. We have a Klingon vessel on our screens."

  "On my way!"

  He was at the door when he brought up short. Looking back to where McCoy was working over Spock, he said, "Bones . . ."

  "I don't know, Jim!"

  Choices. Kirk opened the door to a corridor, hideous with the screech of sirens. They were screaming on the bridge, too. Chekov had taken Spock's position at the library computer; and Uhura, motionless at her board, was listening intently. Chekov looked up as Kirk, Scott on his heels, ran from the elevator. "No change of position, sir. They may not have seen us. We're holding the planet between us and the Klingon."

  Uhura moved in her chair. "Make that definite. They're sending a routine message to their home base. No mention of us, sir."

  "Then reduce to alert one, Lieutenant."

  She hit her intercom button. "All stations, go to yellow alert. Repeat, cancel battle stations. Remain on yellow alert."

  The sirens stilled. Kirk crossed to the helm, checked it; and turned to look at the viewing screen. All it held was the image of the planet.

  "Think you can keep us out of their sight, Scotty?"

  Scott moved a control on the helm. "I can try, sir."

  He spoke to Chekov. "Lock scanners into astrogation circuits."

  "Locking in, sir."

  "Message to Starbase, Captain?" Uhura asked.

  Kirk shook his head. "No point in giving ourselves away, Lieutenant. Not until we find out
what's going on."

  "We can hide for a while, Captain." Scott had turned from the helm. "But we may have to leave orbit to keep it up long."

  Kirk nodded. He went to his command position to hit the intercom button on his panel. "Captain to Sickbay."

  "McCoy here. I'll call you as soon as I know anything. I don't now. Sickbay out."

  So that was that. As they say, time would tell. Time alone would tell whether Spock would survive to live another day—or whether he wouldn't. Kirk struggled against an upsurge of panic. It wouldn't do. Another subject—one to take the mind off Spock's peril. He turned to Scott.

  "That Klingon is breaking the treaty," he said.

  "Not necessarily, sir. They've as much right to scientific missions here as we have."

  "Research is hardly the Klingon preoccupation."

  "True, Captain. But since that's a 'hands off' planet, you can't prove they're up to anything else."

  Kirk frowned. "When I left that planet seventeen years ago, the villagers down there had barely learned to forge iron into crude plows. But Spock was shot by a flintlock. How many centuries between those two developments?"

  Uhura answered. "On Earth about twelve centuries, sir."

  "On the other hand," Scott said, "a flintlock would be the first type firearm the inhabitants would normally develop."

  Kirk snapped, "I'm aware of that, Mr. Scott."

  Chekov spoke. "And, sir, the fact that Earth took twelve centuries doesn't mean they have to."

  Over at her board Uhura nodded. "We've seen development at different rates on different planets."

  "If it were the Klingons behind this, why didn't they give them breechloaders?" Scott asked. "Or machine guns? Or early hand lasers or—"

  Kirk interrupted, angry. "I made a simple comment. I didn't invite a debate."

  But Scott didn't waver. "Captain, you made a number of comments. And you've always insisted that we give you honest reactions. If that's changed, sir . . ."

  "It hasn't," Kirk said. He swung his chair around. "I'm sorry. I'm worried about Spock. And I'm concerned about something that's happened to what I once knew down there." He got up and made for the elevator. "You have the con, Scotty. I'll be waiting in Sickbay."