Star Trek 06

by James Blish

  "I know now precisely where the Captain is being held." A stunned silence gripped the crew.

  "Leave it to Spock, every time," whispered Uhura. Scott nodded.

  ". . . If he is at the same place to which we transported him," Spock went on.

  "They would not dare to harm him in the Council Chamber!" The Admiral was outraged.

  "That is not where the Captain is, Admiral. He is being held nearby."

  "Well! You have now answered What and Where. I now await your explanation of Why."

  "Since this planet is shielded from our sensors, by Federation agreement, Admiral, we cannot possibly establish that without on-the-spot investigation."

  "Mhm. What evidence have you that the Captain's life is threatened?"

  "Why else would they keep him?"

  "I'm afraid that's not good enough, Mr. Spock. Permission denied."

  Spock took a deep breath, fists clenched. "I wish personally to go on record that this decision is completely arbitrary."

  "So noted." The screen blipped off.

  "Diplomats!" exploded Scott. "What did you mean, Mr. Spock? Didn't we beam the Captain into the Council Chamber?"

  "Quiet, please!" Mr. Spock broke through the agitated babble. "No, Mr. Scott, Gideon supplied us with two different sets of coordinates; one for the Captain, and one for our . . . er . . . recent guest." As Scott looked doubtful, he said, 'The Captain's Log is evidence enough—I hope." He turned to the ship's memory. The crew stared at the numbers on the readout.

  "You're right, Mr. Spock!"

  "Look at that!"

  "What kind of finagle is this?" Scott turned to Spock, hands on hips and a glare in his eye.

  "What now, Mr. Spock?" said McCoy. "Are we to sit here and wait with our hands folded for the Captain to reappear?"

  "This is typical of top echelon isolation." Spock's dry voice conveyed disgust. "They are too far away from the elements that influence crew morale."

  "At times like this I don't think they remember that there is such a thing," said McCoy furiously.

  "It is unfortunate. But for the first time in my career, I am forced to violate a direct order from Starfleet."

  "Hear, hear!" shouted Scott. That's absolutely the right decision, Spock. I'm with you!"

  "One hundred percent!" That was Chekov; it was very clear that if Starfleet Command could but hear them the entire crew would be tried for insubordination—at the least.

  "I shall beam down there at once." Spock's resolute calm stirred everybody into action; positions were taken.

  "Mr. Scott, the con is yours."

  "Aye, but ye'll be needing me along," said Scott, protesting.

  "The Captain will be needing all of you at your posts." This reminder had the desired effect; subdued, Scott headed for the elevator behind Spock.

  "It might be taken as an invasion," McCoy whispered to Scott. "I'll pick up my medical tricorder and meet you in the Transporter Room, Mr. Spock."

  "No, Dr. McCoy; I cannot assume responsibility for ordering a fellow officer to violate a Starfleet directive. I go alone."

  "Well, that's just about the worst decision you'll ever make, Spock," grumbled McCoy. "I hope you won't regret it."

  As he entered the elevator, Spock said, "I'm sure this won't take long." McCoy held out his hand in a good-luck gesture. Spock shook it solemnly, and the doors closed.

  "Isn't that just what Captain Kirk said?"

  Chekov's words echoed in the suddenly quiet room.

  Odona wandered around Sickbay, fingering pieces of equipment, peering curiously at instruments, spelling out the names of chemicals.

  "If I can find a medical tricorder I'll be cured in no time," said Kirk, rummaging in a cabinet.

  "Cured?"

  "My arm," said Kirk patiently. "The pain would be gone."

  "Oh. What will happen if you do not find it? Will you become sick? Will you, uh, die?"

  Kirk looked at her, astonished. "Of this little scratch? Of course not. It would heal itself, eventually. It's just a simple . . ." He looked closely at the little wound.

  "Or is it?" Recollections of biological sampling, blood tests, other scientifically motivated wounds went through his mind. Had someone wanted something of his tissues? Well, there was no telling. He turned back to the cabinet.

  "All this is needed to cure those who are . . . sick?" Odona was examining the autoclave. Kirk nodded.

  "It is cruel. Why are they not allowed to die?"

  "What did you say?"

  "Why don't you let them die?"

  Her hand lay on the cauterizer; Kirk jumped.

  "Don't touch that!"

  He was a fraction of a second too late; Odona had bumped the switch; a jet of flame streaked out. Kirk jerked her away from the machine and switched off the flame in one motion.

  "Are you hurt?"

  "Just my hand." Odona had not even blinked, had not cried out. Was this a spartan self-control—or something else?"

  "Let me see it." She covered her damaged hand.

  "It's nothing."

  He pulled the hand gently but firmly into the light. Her forefinger was burnt completely away.

  "My God!" Kirk's grip tightened with sympathetic horror. She withdrew her hand.

  "The pain is already gone. Don't worry." Her voice was quite calm.

  "Sutures . . . it's already cauterized . . . shock . . ." Kirk plunged at the cabinet.

  "Wait." She was utterly unperturbed. "It's already healing."

  Kirk glanced at the hand she held out to him and lurched into the cabinet door. A tiny forefinger had already appeared where a moment ago had been a raw wound. As he goggled, the finger grew before his eyes. In a matter of minutes Odona's hand was as whole as ever.

  "See?" she said. "Why did you worry so much? This is strange to you?"

  "Regeneration . . ." he muttered. "Injuries heal themselves?'

  "Just as your arm will," she said, reassuringly.

  "No. I have never seen anything like this before. Do all your people have this capacity?"

  "Of course."

  "They do not fall sick. Or die."

  Once again the fleeting expression of panic swept over her face.

  "That is why they long for death," Kirk said slowly, gazing at her. "So many, no one ever dying . . ."

  He became aware of a sound—a sound not due to his own or Odona's movements. It grew in his consciousness to a steady throb.

  "Do you hear that?" he asked. Odona nodded. Kirk prowled the room, listening at the walls for the direction of the sound. He checked his watch; it timed at seventy-two beats per minute. Odona put her hand to her forehead.

  "It sounds like an engine,'' she offered.

  "The ship's engine makes no sound."

  "But there is something wrong with the equipment. Could that be it?"

  "I know every sound on this ship; this is coming from outside," said Kirk, trying to recollect what the timing had reminded him about.

  "Is it a storm?"

  "We wouldn't hear a storm in here. Come along, it's not coming from here, at any rate."

  They moved cautiously along the corridor, Kirk leading the girl by the hand. Her hand was cold, and a little damp. She must be terrified. The pulse of sound went on, no louder and no less. Kirk stopped at a viewing port in the observation corridor.

  "We can see outside from here—if it works." He depressed a button. Nothing happened. He reached for the manual control lever. The panel slid open.

  To his horrified amazement, the port was filled with the faces he had imagined when Odona had burst out with her passionate yearning for solitude. Silently screaming, the faces filled his vision with distress and longing. He fell back a step, glanced at Odona. When he looked at the screen again it showed only the still and starlit skies.

  Sharply he asked, "What did you see?"

  "People . . . the faces of people; and stars."

  She turned to him, pale. "What is it? What's happening?"

 
The sound stopped as suddenly as it had begun. He remembered; the beat had been identical with the human heartbeat. Thousands of people outside the ship, pressing against it with their bodies.

  "You said we were moving through space."

  "Yes."

  "Then there couldn't really be people out there."

  "There could," Kirk said grimly. "Someone could be creating an illusion in our minds. Why would they want to do that, Odona?"

  She shrank from him. He saw that her forehead was beaded with perspiration.

  "I don't know. I don't know anything. Why do you ask me?"

  "I wonder . . . if we were convinced of a location, we would stop searching. We might be content: to stay here, mightn't we?"

  "Be . . . content." Odona's pallor belied her calm. Suddenly he was irritated and tired of trickery.

  "Where is my crew, girl? Are they dead? Have you killed them to have the ship to yourself ?"

  She shivered in his grasp, scarlet patches flaming her cheeks. Her sapphire eyes had lost their sparkle, looked dull and sunken.

  "No, no, I don't know anything. Please, Captain, something strange is happening to me. I never felt like this . . ."

  "Neither have I," said Kirk, as cold as ice.

  "Am I sick? Is this . . . dying?" she whispered, clinging to a doorframe. Her weight fell on Kirk's arms as he gripped her firmly.

  "You do not know of sickness," he said. "You have none on your planet. What kind of . . ."

  "Now there will be . . . sickness, now there will be death!" Her voice died in a whisper as she fainted, smiling.

  "What the blue . . ." Kirk caught her. Bearing her in his arms he started straight back to Sickbay. As he approached the door he was arrested by the sound of pounding feet coming down the corridor.

  "Hodin!"

  Guards surrounded him as Hodin ponderously walked toward Kirk and his burden.

  "Yes, Captain. Our experiment has passed the first stage."

  The explanation would have to wait.

  "Let me by," he said urgently. "I must help her."

  "No," said Hodin, quietly. "We do not want any of your medicines."

  "But she's very ill. Look at her—she needs help, and at once."

  "We are grateful for her illness. Thank you, Captain. You have done more than you know for us."

  Kirk thought they must be mad. He looked at Odona. Her eyelids fluttered. Hodin spoke gravely.

  "My dear daughter, you have done well." He took the limp form from Kirk and turned away. The deputation closed in around the baffled Captain.

  "Guard him well, we shall need him for a long time," called Hodin over his shoulder.

  In total perplexity Kirk marched along with his guard. What had happened to his crew? This corridor along which they were now walking was unfamiliar; not aboard the Enterprise, then. Well, where was the Enterprise? Why did this diplomat want his daughter to die? Perhaps he could take comfort from the fact that he alone had been tricked; perhaps crew and ship were safe elsewhere. They drew near to the "Captain's Quarters" and he heard voices. He halted, despite the guards' effort to press him along.

  "I must see him," came the faint tone of Odona.

  "Yes, yes. But now you must lie still." Hodin's voice had lost some of its smoothness. "Do you feel great pain?"

  "My arms . . . and . . . thighs . . ."

  Avid, yet tender, Hodin said, "What is it like?"

  "It is like . . . like when we have seen that the people have no hope, Father. You felt . . . great despair. Your heart was heavy because you could do nothing. It is like that."

  "You have great courage, my daughter. I am very proud of you." Hodin closed the door softly behind him. Kirk stepped toward him anxiously.

  "Let me see her."

  "Not yet."

  "You don't know what illness she has. Maybe I can tell."

  Hodin looked at him gravely. "We know. She has Vegan choriomeningitis."

  "Oh, my God." Kirk stepped back; "If she is not treated at once, within twenty-four hours, she will die. I know; it nearly killed me."

  Hodin nodded. "Yes, Captain. We learned of your medical history, as we did the plan of a starship, during the negotiations. We brought you here to obtain the microorganisms."

  "So that's how my arm was hurt."

  "My apologies. As you have learned, we have no medical practitioners. We were unforgivably awkward to have inflicted pain on you . . ."

  "You mean you deliberately infected your own daughter . . ." Overcome with fury, Kirk turned on his guards. His right fist shot out and caught one in the midriff; as he doubled up with a grunt, Kirk lashed out at the other and leaped for the door of Odona's sickroom. But the first man had recovered and dived at Kirk's feet, bringing him down; the second guard pulled him roughly up and dragged him back to Hodin.

  "We do not wish to hurt you. You will see her as soon as we are certain she is susceptible."

  "You are mad!" cried Kirk in frustrated rage.

  "No, Captain. We are desperate. Bring him along to the Council Chamber."

  The chamber was a scene of excited chatter, the deputies of Gideon's government descending upon Hodin, demanding, "How is she? What has happened?"

  Hodin waved them to their places around the table. Kirk was brought forward between his guards.

  "Your report to the Federation was a tissue of lies," he said angrily. "You described Gideon as a Paradise."

  "And so it was . . . once. A long time ago it was as we described it. In the germ-free atmosphere of Gideon people flourished in physical and spiritual perfection, Captain. The life-span was extended and extended, until finally death comes only to the very ancient, when regeneration is no longer possible.

  These gifts, Captain, have been our reward for respecting life."

  "Most people would envy you."

  "We no longer find this condition enviable. Births have increased our population until Gideon is encased in a living mass of beings without rest, without peace, without joy."

  "Then why have you not introduced measures to make your people sterile?"

  "They do not work," said Hodin simply. "All known techniques are defeated by our organs' capacity to regenerate, like my daughter's hand."

  "There are other ways to prevent conception, however."

  "This is our dilemma, Captain. Life is sacred to our people. This is the one unshakable tradition. Yet we pay for the gifts that the worship of life has brought us, and the price is very heavy. Because of our overwhelming love of life we have the gifts of regeneration and longevity."

  "And misery."

  "That is the contradiction."

  "The reality, Hodin."

  Hodin flinched. He turned his back for a moment, then walked back and forth, the tortured confusion of his mind all too apparent.

  "What are we to do? We cannot deny the truth of what has shaped us as we are. We are not capable of interfering with the Creation we love so deeply. It is against our natures."

  "Yet you can kill your own daughter. How can you Justify that?"

  "We are not killing her. It is the disease that will or will not kill her; this is not under our control. The opportunity came to us, perhaps as a gift; we have seized upon it to readjust the life cycle of this planet. My daughter had hoped you might be brought to feel the agony of Gideon, Captain. It is impossible; no stranger could realize the horror of existence.

  "I will not ask you to understand my personal grief; nor will I parade it to gain your cooperation." Hodin had stopped pacing, and faced Kirk proudly.

  "My daughter has won my pride, as she has always had my love. She has freely chosen to take this chance with her life, as all the people of Gideon are free to choose. And she cannot be sure she is right."

  This virus is rare. Where do you intend to get it?" said Kirk, grappling with the first of these problems that he felt able to handle.

  The smooth diplomatic mask slipped over Hodin's face. Kirk was suddenly wary.

  "Your blood will prov
ide it, Captain. You will be staying here."

  Kirk slammed the table with the flat of his hand.

  "Not me, Hodin. You have other ways to solve your problem. I do not offer my Me for this purpose at all; I have other commitments. And I have other hopes for Odona than death."

  "My daughter hoped you would love her—enough to stay."

  Kirk looked hard at him. "What passed between your daughter and me was between us alone."

  "She pleaded with you to stay."

  "You watched us, didn't you?"

  Hodin bowed his head in admission. "We are desperate. And privacy is perhaps of less concern to us than to you."

  "I'm desperate too, you . . ."

  Kirk was interrupted by a buzzer. A message was delivered to Hodin, who raised his head in proud sorrow.

  "You may go to her now. She is calling for you. You cannot leave quite yet, Captain, can you?"

  "Spock to Enterprise. Spock to Enterprise."

  "Scott here, Mr. Spock."

  "Mr. Scott, I am speaking to you from the bridge of the Enterprise."

  "Ye're what, man?"

  "Speaking from the bridge of the Enterprise, Mr. Scott.

  "Those were the coordinates you gave me!"

  "They were correct. I am apparently on an exact duplicate of the Enterprise."

  "What's that? Is it in orbit?"

  "You could say so; Gideon is in orbit, this ship is on Gideon."

  "Weel, that's a beginning, Spock. What about the Captain?"

  "I'm sure he's somewhere here, Mr. Scott. I'm picking up life readings locally. Spock over and out."

  Kirk knelt by the side of the bunk where Odona lay, flushed with fever, her cloud of silvery black hair tarnished and lifeless. He looked up at Hodin.

  "If you do not let me get Dr. McCoy it will soon be too late for her."

  "We have told you, Captain Kirk. It is her wish and mine that there be no interference with the natural development of this precious virus."

  "What is the matter with you? If she lives, her blood would contain the virus just as mine does. She doesn't have to die."

  "She must die. Our people must believe in this escape."

  "She is so young . . ."

  "Because she is young she will be an inspiration to our people. Don't you see, Captain, she will become a symbol for others to follow? In time, Gideon will once again be the Paradise it was . . ."