Star Trek 06
Page 1
Kirk, Spock and the others of the Enterprise find a deadly Eden, discover elemental life forces and planetary death wishes, and even meet Abraham Lincoln and Genghis Khan, as they speed through space on new assignments into the unknown.
BASED ON THE EXCITING
NEW NBC-TV SERIES CREATED
BY GENE RODENBERRY
A NATIONAL GENERAL COMPANY
STAR TREK 6
A Bantam Book / published April 1972
All rights reserved.
Copyright © 1972 by Bantam Books, Inc.
Copyright © 1972 by Paramount Pictues Corporation.
This book may not be reproduced in whole or in part,
by mimeograph or any other means,
without permission in writing.
Published simultaneously in the United States and Canada
ISBN-13: 978-0553138740
Bantam Books are published by Bantam Books, Inc., a subsidiary of Grosset & Dunlap, Inc. Its trade-mark, consisting of the words "Bantam Books" and the portrayal of a bantam, is registered in the United States Patent Office and in other countries. Marca Registrada. Bantam Books, Inc., 271 Madison Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10016.
PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
Contents
* * *
PREFACE
THE SAVAGE CURTAIN
THE LIGHTS OF ZETAR
THE APPLE
BY ANY OTHER NAME
THE CLOUD MINDERS
THE MARK OF GIDEON
Preface:
* * *
The fan mail continues to pour in, listing favorite shows, making helpful suggestions and occasionally catching errors. (To reply to one persistent complaint, it was not I who made Kirk address McCoy as "Doc" instead of "Bones" in "Spock Must Die!" I know better than that; but there are several editorial hands laid on the manuscript after mine before it reaches the printer.) I am grateful for them all, including the pats on the back.
One recent letter was so extraordinary, however, that I think it deserves passing on. With permission, I quote the important part of it:
JAMES BLISH
By an interesting coincidence I happen to be Captain [Pierre D.] Kirk. This being the case, the men of my last command built a rather elaborate "organization within an organization" based on the series. My jeep was slightly altered so that its registration numbers appeared as NCC-1701. Our weapons were referred to as phasers and our radio communication procedures were patterned after those of the Star Fleet. Our call signs corresponded to the various sections and personalities of the crew of the Enterprise.
My junior officers picked up the names of the more recognizable regular characters in the series. My executive officer made an excellent Spock in that he physically as well as temperamentally resembled the Vulcan. The men wanted him to get an "ear job" but he drew the line at this.
As you can see, the men of the 363rd [Transportation Company, U.S. Army] went to some lengths to identify with the Star Trek series. This was quite an effective means to maintain morale in the present unpleasantness in Indochina.
The series, by the way, is one of the most popular shown in the Republic of Viet Nam—a great favorite of both the American forces and the Viet-Namese people.
Turning to the point of this letter—about eight months ago I was in command of an armed convoy en route from An Khe in the central highlands to Da Nang on the Northern coast. As we proceeded along route QL #1, which the late Bernard Fall referred to as "the Street without Joy," we were engaged by snipers, which usually served as the prelude to an ambush.
Deciding to run through the suspected area, I signaled my gun trucks to cover our cargo vehicles, and then via my jeep radio I announced: "Attention Viet Cong. We are the Federation Starship Enterprise and you are now in deep trouble. Phaser banks-charge your phasers and fire on my order."
This comment was directed at my gun trucks to serve to fire them up for what promised to be a tight situation, but to my surprise the radio exploded into a torrent of frantic jabbering in Viet-Namese and moments later the sniping ceased and we continued through without incident.
The only thing I can assume is that the V. C. were monitoring our broadcast transmissions, had seen the show on television and thought that we were in fact the Enterprise,
Under the circumstances I can readily understand this reluctance to engage us in a fight. Happily I can report that despite their initial sniper activity no casualties were suffered by the crew of the Enterprise.
I had heard of other organizations patterned on the show, including an entire high school in Buffalo, N.Y., where disliked teachers are assigned to the Romulans or the Klingons; but this is the first time I have ever heard of a television series actually saving lives (on both sides, for that matter).
Which only goes to show all over again that it pays to read the fan mail, even though I can't answer it.
JAMES BLISH
Harpsden (Henley)
Oxon., England
THE SAVAGE CURTAIN
(Gene Roddenberry and Arthur Heinemann)
* * *
The planet, newly discovered in an uncharted area of space, was clearly not a Class M world. The atmosphere boiled with poisonous reds and greens; the surface was molten lava.
And yet, from one small area Spock picked up persistent readings of carbon cycle life forms—and artificial power being generated in quantities great enough to support a considerable civilization. Hailing on all frequencies at first produced nothing . . . and then, suddenly, the Enterprise was being scanned, an incredibly swift and deep probe.
Kirk barely had time to call for alert status when the probing was over. Almost immediately afterward, the image of the planet on the main viewing screen dissolved into a swirling jumble of colors. These slowly gathered together into a face and figure, entirely human, dressed in clothing like those worn in the mid-1800's on Earth. He was sitting on nothing and with nothing visible behind him, as though in limbo. His expression was benign and calm.
"Captain Kirk, I believe?" the figure said. "A pleasure to make your acquaintance, sir."
Kirk, Spock and McCoy stared incredulously at the familiar figure. Finally, Kirk motioned to Uhura.
"Your voice-telegraph device is quite unnecessary, Captain," the figure said. "Do I gather that you recognize me?"
"I . . . recognize what you appear to be."
"And appearances can be quite deceiving." The figure smiled. "But not in this case, James Kirk. I am Abraham Lincoln."
Kirk considered this incredible claim and apparition, and then turned to his First Officer. "Spock?"
"Fascinating, Captain."
"I've been described in many ways, Mr. Spock," the smiling man said, "but never with that word."
"I was requesting your analysis of this, Mr. Spock."
"They did scan us and our vessel," Spock said, "and doubtless obtained sufficient information to present this illusion."
"Illusion?" the figure said. "Captain, will you permit me to come aboard your vessel? No doubt you have devices which can test my reality."
After a moment's hesitation, Kirk said, "We'd be honored to have you aboard, Mr. President."
The figure reached into its vest pocket, pulled out a large watch on a heavy gold chain and snapped the lid open. "Do you still measure time in minutes?"
"Yes, sir."
Then you should be over my position in . . . twelve and a half minutes. Until then, Captain . . ." The image on the screen rippled, dissolved and re-formed itself as the planet. Amid the hot reds and poisonous greens of the atmosphere there was now a spot of soft blue. Spock leaned into his hooded viewer.
"An area of approximately a thousand square kilometers, sir," he said. "It's completely Earthlike, including an oxygen-nitrogen
atmosphere."
"He called it to the second, sir," Chekov added. "We'll be over it in exactly twelve minutes now."
Kirk touched the intercom button. "Security. Send a detachment to the Transport Room immediately. Phaser side arms—but be prepared also to give presidential honors. Captain out."
"Jim," McCoy said, "you don't really believe he's Abraham Lincoln?"
"It's obvious he believes it, Bones." Kirk stood up. "Mr. Spock, Doctor, full dress uniforms, please. Mr. Sulu, the con is yours."
In the Transporter Room, Security Chief Dickenson had assembled two security guards, phasers at port. Dickenson himself sported white boots and belt, plus a traditional bos'n's whistle on a gold chain.
Engineering Officer Scott, in full kilt, entered and moved to the Transporter console, fuming. "Full dress! Presidential honors! What's all this nonsense, Mr. Dickenson?"
"I understand President Lincoln is coming aboard, sir."
Scott whirled. "Are you daft, man?"
"All I know, sir, is what the Captain tells me, sir," Dickenson said uncomfortably. "And he said he'd have the hide of the first man who so much as smiles."
McCoy entered, also in full dress, with his tricorder over his shoulder. Scott eyed him dourly; McCoy gave back stare for stare.
"I'd have expected sanity from the ship's surgeon, at least." Scott irritably punched controls on the console. "President Lincoln, indeed! No doubt followed by Louis of France and Robert the Bruce."
Kirk and Spock had come in in time to catch this last remark.
"And if so, Mr. Scott, we'll execute appropriate honors to each," Kirk said. "Gentlemen, I don't believe for a moment that Abraham Lincoln is actually coming aboard. But we are dealing with an unknown and apparently quite advanced life form. Until we know . . . well, when in Rome, we do as the Romans do."
"Bridge to Transporter Room," Chekov's voice said over the intercom. "One minute to overhead position."
"Locking onto something," Scott said. He looked closer, and then gestured at the panel. "Does that appear human to you, Mr. Spock?"
Spock joined him and inspected the console. "Fascinating! . . . For a moment it appeared almost mineral. Like living rock, with heavy fore-claws . . . Settling down into completely human readings now."
"We can beam it aboard any time now, Captain," Scott said.
"Set for traditional ruffles and flourishes. Security, stand ready."
"Phaser team, set for heavy stun," Dickenson said. "Honor guard, ready."
The two security men posted themselves on opposite sides of the Transporter chamber, weapons set, raised and aimed. The four men comprising the honor guard snapped into parade rest. Dickenson raised his whistle to his lips.
"Energize."
The sparkling column appeared, solidified, vanished. The figure left standing there seemed to be inarguably Abraham Lincoln, dressed in the well-remembered 19th century suit, bearded, his face registering the sad wisdom of his presidential years.
Dickenson blew his whistle. Spock pushed a panel button and everyone came to attention. Ruffles and flourishes filled the air.
"Salute!" Kirk said. Everyone did except the two guards, whose phasers remained ready. Lincoln, too, stood gravely at attention through the music. Then Kirk said, "Two!," broke the salute and stepped forward.
"The USS Enterprise is honored to have you aboard, Mr. President."
"Strange," Lincoln said, stepping down. "Where are the musicians?"
"Taped music, sir. Starships on detached service do not carry full honor detachments."
"Taped music? Perhaps Mr. Spock will be good enough to explain that to me later." Lincoln extended a hand to Kirk. "A most interesting way to come aboard, Captain. What was the device used?"
"A matter-energy scrambler sir. The molecules of your body were converted to energy, and beamed to this chamber where they were reconverted to their original pattern."
Lincoln hesitated. "Well, since I am obviously here and quite whole, whatever you mean apparently works very well indeed." He looked at the two guards. "If those are weapons, gentlemen, you may lower them. At my age, I'm afraid I'm not very dangerous."
"Readings, fully human, sir," McCoy said.
Kirk signaled the guards to holster their weapons, and then introduced everyone present.
"Please stand at ease, gentlemen," Lincoln said. "I hope to talk to each of you, but meanwhile, your Captain is consumed with questions and I shall do my utmost to answer them. And I trust your duties will permit time to answer some of mine. At your service, Captain."
"Mr. Spock." Kirk led his First Officer and his guest off toward the Briefing Room.
"A marvel," Lincoln said. "A total marvel. I can hardly credit my eyes. We thought our Monitor the most formidable vessel imaginable—an iron ship that floated on water! You can imagine my amazement at an iron ship that floats on air."
"Mr. President—"
"Yes, Captain. Forgive my excitement at the novelty of all this."
"Sir . . . I find some of your comments hard to equate with other statements. For example, you are not at all surprised at the existence of this vessel. But you then exhibit only a 19th century knowledge about it—for example, stating that this vessel 'floats on air.' "
"I don't understand. What does your vessel float on, Captain?"
Kirk exchanged a look with Spock and said patiently, "Sir, the atmosphere surrounding any planet is a relatively thin envelope."
Lincoln appeared genuinely puzzled. Spock went on: "Given our present altitude, sir, and a present speed converting to 19,271 Earth miles per Earth hour, our velocity counterbalances the pull of this planet's gravity, creating equal but opposite forces which maintain us in orbit."
This was quite a distance away from the real physical situation, but Spock had evidently decided to choose terms which might be familiar to a 19th century educated man, rather than having to explain what was meant by free fall through a matter-distorted space-time matrix. But even the simplification did not work.
"When the choice is between honesty and disguising ignorance," Lincoln said, "a wise man chooses the former. I haven't the faintest idea what you said."
"With all respect, sir, that still does not answer my question," Kirk said. "For example, you knew my name. How is it you know some things about us but not others?"
"Bless me! Yes, I do see the contradiction," Lincoln said, frowning. "Please believe I have neither desire nor intention to deceive you, gentlemen. I must have been told these things, but I . . . I cannot recall when or where."
"Can you guess who it might have been, sir?" Spock said. "What others exist on the planet's surface with you?"
"Others? What others do you mean?"
"That's clearly not Earth down there, Mr. President," Kirk said. "Or do you believe that it is?"
"Strange," Lincoln said thoughtfully, "I never considered that before. No, I do not claim it to be Earth."
"Less than thirty minutes ago, the temperature and atmosphere at any point down there would have made your existence in this form impossible."
"You don't say! I can only assure you that I am what I appear to be, gentlemen: an all too common variety of Homo sapiens. Either way, I am too ordinary, James. I am surprised you've always thought so highly of me. The errors, the unforgivable errors I made. McClellan at first appeared to me a veritable Napoleon; Grant seemed a whisky-befuddled barbarian . . ." He shook his head. "There were so many things I could have done to end the war earlier, to save so many lives, so much suffering . . ."
"I'm sure you did all you could—"
"Why do you stop, James? Afraid of showing compassion? It is the noblest of qualities . . . I am certain there is an answer to these contradictions you point up so well." His frown suddenly dissolved. "Yes, that's it, of course. You are both invited to disembark with me. You will receive the answers down there. There is no need to hurry your decision, Captain. I am most anxious to inspect a vessel which at least appears to float on air."
Lincoln looked around again. "Fascinating!" he said to Spock, smiling. "If I may borrow your favorite word."
"I'm flattered, sir."
"The smile lends attraction to your features, Mr. Spock."
Kirk turned, but Spock's face was as stony as always. I'm afraid you're mistaken, sir," Kirk said. "Mr. Spock never smiles."
"Indeed?" Lincoln offered no further comment. Had he seen something behind Spock's expression? It would be in character.
They went up to the bridge, where the main viewing screen still showed a segment of the planet below them. Lincoln stared at it in awe, while Sulu and Chekov stared at him.
"Good Lord!"
"As I recall," Kirk said, "your Union Army observation balloons were tethered six hundred or so feet high, sir. We're six hundred forty-three miles above this planet."
"You can measure great distances that closely?"
"We do, sir," Spock said, moving to his station and checking his instruments. "Six hundred forty-three miles, two thousand twenty-one feet, two point zero four inches at this moment, in your old-style measurement."
"Bless me."
Uhura came onto the bridge. "Excuse me, Captain—"
"What a charming Negress," Lincoln said, then added quickly, "Oh, forgive me, my dear. I know that in my day some used that term as a description of property."
"Why should I object to the term, sir?" Uhura said, smiling. In our century, we've learned not to fear words."
Kirk said, "May I present our communications officer, Lt. Uhura."
Lincoln shook hands with her, returning the smile. "The foolishness of my own century had me apologizing where no offense was given."