Star Trek 08

by James Blish

  "Is she all right?" Kirk asked.

  "She will be. I'll stay with her."

  Kirk said, "Mr. Spock—the Fabrina inset."

  They were crossing to the monolith when the Oracle spoke, a fierce anger in its voice. "You blaspheme the temple!"

  Kirk turned. "We do this for the survival of Yonada's people."

  "You are forbidden to gaze at the Book!"

  "We must consult it to help the people!"

  "The punishment is death."

  Kirk looked back at McCoy. "Bones?"

  "Depress the side section," McCoy said.

  A blast of heat struck them. Around them the walls had turned a radiant red. Even as he pressed the side of the monolith, the air he breathed was scorching Kirk's lungs. But the inset had slid open. He seized the book and passed it to Spock. "It must contain the plan. Is it indexed?"

  "Yes, Captain. Here's the page . . ."

  Yellow, brittle with age, the page's parchment showed the same idealized sun, the same planet placements as the altar design and the inset. Arrows pointed to three of the planets. Spock translated the Fabrini writing at the top of the page. "Apply pressure simultaneously to the planets indicated."

  The walls were glowing hotter. Spock tossed the book aside and they raced for the altar plaque. As Kirk pushed at the three planets, the altar moved forward. Then it stopped. Spock slid into the space behind it Before he followed him, Kirk turned back to McCoy and Natira. "Let's get out of this heat," he called.

  Spock had found a short passageway. As he approached its end wall, it lifted. At once he heard the hum of electronic power. A light shone on a button crowded console. Spock studied it for a moment. Then he pressed a button. The light went out. "I've neutralized that heating element!" he called back to the others.

  The heat in the Oracle Room rapidly cooled. Kirk and McCoy sat Natira down against an altar wall. "You'll be all right here now," Kirk said. "The Oracle can no longer punish."

  He saw her rest her glossy head against McCoy's shoulder. Looking up at him, she said, "Your friends have ended the punishments?" He nodded. "And will they send this—this ship on to the place of the Promise?"

  "Yes," he said. "That is their promise. Now I must help them. Come with me."

  "No," she said.

  "There is nothing to fear now, Natira. So come. We must hurry to join them."

  "No. I cannot go with you." She paused. "It is not fear that holds me. I now understand the great purpose of our fathers. I must honor it, McCoy."

  He stared at her in unbelief. "You mean to stay here—on Yonada?"

  "I must remain with my people throughout our great journey."

  "Natira, trust me! The Oracle will not harm us!"

  "I stay because it is what I must do," she said.

  "I will not leave you," McCoy said.

  "Will McCoy stay here to die?"

  The question shocked him into silence. He fell to his knees beside her. "Natira, you have given me reason to wish to live. But wishing is not enough. I must search through the universe to cure myself—and all those like me. I wanted you with me—with me . . ."

  "This is my universe," she said. "You came here to save my people. Shall I abandon them?"

  "I love you," McCoy said.

  She kissed him. "If it is permitted, perhaps one day you, too, will see the land of our Promise . . ."

  It was goodbye. And he knew it. He reached for her blindly through a mist of tears.

  In the asteroid ship's control room, Spock had located a weakness in one of its consoles' eight tubes.

  "Enough to turn it off course?" Kirk asked.

  "Yes, Captain. The engine can take a check." Kirk, studying control panels, was reminded of those of the Enterprise. "A very simple problem," Spock called from the engine room. "And comparatively easy to repair."

  He came back, holding one hand out stiffly. "I think we can now attempt the course correction, sir."

  "What was wrong?"

  "In creating a completely natural environment for the people on this ship, its builders included many life forms—including insects. A control jet in there was blocked by a hornets' nest."

  "You're not serious, Mr. Spock?"

  Spock held up a forefinger. It was swollen to twice its normal size. "I destroyed the nest," he said. "In doing so, I was stung." He sat down, resuming his watch of the console instruments. "The guidance system is taking over, sir. I think we can revert to automatic controls."

  "She's steady on course now," Kirk said.

  They released the manual controls and were heading back to the Oracle Room when Spock stopped at a screened console of complex design. "Knowledge files," he said. "Those banks are filled with the total knowledge of the Fabrini. I presume they were prepared for the people to consult when they reach their destination." He left Kirk to examine the console more closely. "They seem to have amassed a great deal of medical knowledge."

  Unslinging his tricorder, he slipped a taped disk into it. He passed it over the console. "The knowledge of the builders of this ship could be extremely valuable—even though it is ten thousand years old."

  McCoy spoke from behind them. "Gentlemen, are we ready to return to the Enterprise?"

  Kirk stared at him. It was best to ask no questions, he thought. "Yes, Bones, we are," he said. He flipped open his com unit. "Kirk to Enterprise. Landing party ready to beam aboard."

  The screen in Sickbay held a series of chemical formulas in the Fabrini writing. Kirk and Spock, watching Christine Chapel prepare another airhypo injection, saw that her hands were shaking. She noticed it, too. To quiet her agitation, she glanced at the life indicators at the head of McCoy's bed. The steady blinking of their lights steadied her. She thrust the airhypo into a green liquid.

  "Not another one?" McCoy said as she approached his bed. He made a face as the hypo took effect. But already it had made a fast change in the life support panel.

  "Excellent, Doctor," Christine said. "You're quite able to see for yourself. The white corpuscle count is back to normal." She reached an arm under his shoulders to help him check the panel behind him. He still looked pained.

  "Tell me, Doctor," Kirk wanted to know. "Why are cures so often as painful as the disease?"

  "Jim, that is a very sore subject with medical men."

  "Dr. McCoy," Spock said reprovingly, "it seems that the Fabrini cure for granulation of the hemoglobin has seriously damaged your gift for witty repartee."

  Nurse Chapel had filled the hypo again. "This is the last one, Doctor."

  Spock, his eyes on the life support panel, achieved a Vulcan triumph. Joy radiated from his impassive face. "Your hemoglobin count is now completely normal, Doctor. So the flow of oxygen to all the cells of your body is again up to its abundantly energetic level."

  McCoy sat up. "Spock, I owe this to you. Had you " not brought back that Fabrini knowledge . . ."

  "My translation abilities are one of my most minor accomplishments," Spock said. "If you consider my major ones, Doctor . . ."

  "I wonder if there's a Fabrini cure for a swelled head," McCoy speculated.

  Kirk intervened. "Bones, the Fabrini descendants are, scheduled to debark on their promised planet in exactly fourteen months and seven days."

  The grin left McCoy's face. He looked at Kirk.

  "Yes," Kirk said. "I expect you'd like to see the Fabrini descendants again to thank them personally. So I've arranged to be in the vicinity of their new home at the time of their arrival. You will want to be there to welcome them, won't you?"

  "Thank you, Jim," McCoy said. "Thank you very much."

  Table of Contents

  CONTENTS

  SPOCK'S BRAIN

  THE ENEMY WITHIN

  CATSPAW

  WHERE NO MAN HAS GONE BEFORE

  WOLF IN THE FOLD

  FOR THE WORLD IS HOLLOW AND I HAVE TOUCHED THE SKY

  nter>