Star Trek 12

by James Blish

  "I do not entertain hunches, Doctor. No transporter malfunction was responsible for the disappearance. They were not within the Gamma System. A focused beam of extremely high intensity energy was directed into the Gamma System from the binary system we are now approaching. No known natural phenomena would account for that beam. Does that not clarify the situation?"

  "No, Spock, it doesn't. That's just a fancy way of saying you're playing a hunch. My hunch is that they're still back on Gamma II—dead or alive. And I want to make another search."

  "Dr. McCoy speaks for me too, sir," Scott said.

  "Gentlemen, I am in command of this vessel. We will proceed on our present course—unless it is your intention to declare a mutiny."

  Spock received their glares unmoved. And for a moment, his two leading officers felt what they had often felt before: an awe of Spock. Unnumbered had been the times he had demonstrated his devotion to his Captain—a devotion now under cruel and lonely test. He would follow his own decision, unsupported, giving no sign whatever of any inward doubt of anxiety.

  Scott could feel his respect for Kirk's best friend growing, suddenly. As to McCoy, he fell back on bluster.

  "Who said anything about mutiny? You stubborn, pointed-eared . . . All right, but if we don't find them here, will you go back for another search of Gamma II?"

  "Agreed, Doctor. Mr. Scott, now can you give me Warp Seven?"

  "Aye. And perhaps a bit more."

  Spock spoke to the navigator. "Warp Seven, Ensign."

  Nourishment Interval. Shahna, unlocking the door of Kirk's stall, entered it without looking at him. As she set down the food container, Kirk said, "You're late."

  She nodded unhappily, still evading his eyes. He rose from his bench to take the container from her. "Are you disturbed about what happened today?"

  "Yes."

  "Because of me?"

  "You—you have made me feel very strange. If it were allowed, I would ask that you be given another Drill Thrall."

  He placed the container on the cubed stand. "I wouldn't like that, darling. I wouldn't like it at all."

  He opened his arms to her and she walked straight into them. For a moment, she tried to resist his lips but then hungrily responded to them. Gathering her to him more closely, he suddenly dealt her a short, hard uppercut on the chin. As she went limp, sagging in his arms, he swiftly lifted her and placed her on the bench. The key to his stall door was in her harness. He took it. Then glancing down at her, regret in his eyes, he gently kissed her forehead.

  "Sorry, Shahna. Sorry, darling."

  Turning quickly to the door, he pressed the key to its lock. Ten seconds later, he was at Chekov's cell, releasing him. To his whispered question, Kirk shook his head. "No, she's out cold. What about Lars and Tamoon?"

  "Uhura?"

  She was beside him too, now in the corridor. "I told him I didn't like the food. He's gone to report me."

  Chekov said, "Tamoon won't give us any trouble, either. But I think I've killed our romance."

  In Chekov's stall, the fanged creature was seated on the floor, bound with part of her own harness. A metal pot covered her head to the mouth to stifle any muffled objections.

  Kirk and Chekov exchanged grins, but Uhura ran forward to make sure the corridor was deserted. It was; and the three went quickly through its archway toward the gaming area.

  With lowered voice, Kirk said, "I think Galt's the only one who can operate the collars. If we can find our phasers, we can use the circuits to short the collars out."

  They had passed the central triangle when the Master Thrall made one of his sudden appearances.

  "Stay where you are, Captain."

  As Kirk hesitated, Galt closed his eyes. For a moment, the three slave collars glowed then went out.

  From a wall, their owner spoke in his unmistakable high-pitched voice. "Only a reminder, Captain. You Earthmen are most unusual . . . most stimulating."

  The next moment, they were surrounded by armed, sullen-faced Thralls.

  Ensign Haines was the only member of the bridge personnel who had her eyes on her console.

  "Standard orbit, Mr. Spock."

  Spock's eyes, like those of Scott and McCoy beside the command chair, were on the viewing screen. All watched the slowly rotating planet imaged on it.

  "Sensors indicate only one concentration of life forms—in the lower hemisphere on the largest land mass." Spock's voice was toneless. "Humanoid readings, however."

  "At least that gives our landing force a starting point," McCoy said.

  "There will be no landing force, Doctor. Assuming that the Captain and the others are still alive, it would be unwise to endanger them by beaming down a large contingent."

  "Well, we're not just going to leave them there while we sit here and wait, are we?"

  Spock, leaving the command chair, was back at his scanner. Straightening, he said, "Interesting. The sensors record no power source. It might be shielded."

  The strain was too much for McCoy. "Or it might be a wild-goose chase just as we've been telling you!"

  "I shall beam down," Spock said. "If I am unable to communicate, a landing force may be necessary. You must make that decision, Mr. Scott."

  "Well, Spock, if you're going into a lions' den, you'll need a Medical Officer."

  Getting to his feet, Spock said, "Daniel, as I recall, had only faith. But I welcome your company, Doctor. Mr. Scott, you are in command."

  "Aye, sir."

  Without warning, the piercing metallic voice reverberated throughout the ship. "No, Mr. Spock," said Provider One. "You will not leave the ship."

  A silence, heavy as lead, fell over the bridge.

  "What the de'il—" Scott began and broke off.

  Miles, miles, miles below the Enterprise, the voice had been heard by Kirk, Chekov and Uhura on the gaming board, guarded by Lars, Tamoon, Shahna and Galt.

  Provider One spoke again. "None of your control systems will operate."

  Kirk was moistening his dry lips with his tongue when McCoy's familiar voice came. "Spock, what the hell is going on?"

  Explanation there was none. How in the name of all the gods had the Providers arranged this simultaneous communication between their prisoners and his ship? Would his people hear him as clearly as he had heard McCoy?

  Maybe. "Welcome to Triskelion, gentlemen," he said.

  They did hear him. "Jim," McCoy cried, "is that you?"

  "Yes. By now it must be obvious to you that you were expected."

  Scott had been making a frantic check of controls. Finishing, he called, "It's true—what that thing said, Mr. Spock. Nothing will respond."

  Now there was a slight hint of amusement in Provider One's high voice. "Commendations, gentlemen. Your ingenuity in discovering the whereabouts of your companions is noteworthy."

  They'll be trying to locate the voice, Kirk thought, and will fail just as we have. Well, he'd tell them what he could.

  "What you are hearing, Mr. Spock, is a Provider."

  Provider One expanded his information. "We are known to our Thralls as Providers because we provide for all their needs. The term is easier for their limited mental abilities to comprehend, Mr. Spock."

  " 'Providing for their needs' means using Thralls—people stolen from every part of the galaxy—to fight each other while their owners gamble on the winner."

  Spock, always, charmed by the idiosyncrasies of alien civilizations, said, "Indeed? Fascinating, Captain."

  "Not in fact, Spock. These Providers lack even the courage to show themselves."

  Provider One was roused to say, "Your species has much curiosity. However, we knew that. You are interesting in many ways."

  The conversation had now become a dialogue between Kirk and his owner.

  "But you are afraid!"

  "You present no danger, Captain, while you wear the collar. And you will wear it for the rest of your life."

  Did they hear it on the Enterprise?

  "Th
en show yourselves!" Kirk shouted.

  His challenge was followed by a high, electronic whispering, followed in its turn by an acceptance of the dare.

  "There is no objection," said Provider One, and the next instant Kirk had vanished from the gaming board.

  He found himself in a circular chamber. To his left was a crookedly shaped window, but the chief feature of the room was a column, widened at its top to support a transparent case. Within it was what seemed to be three blobs of protoplasm, veined and pulsating. No. Unskulled brains. Disembodied intellects, carefully preserving themselves in the satanic pride of unfeeling intellect, active only in the cause of its absolute certitudes.

  Kirk left the column for the window and looked out on a vast underground complex, and too convoluted to divulge its details.

  "So that's your power source," he said. "Shielded by solid rock."

  "We are one-thousand of your meters beneath the surface," boasted Provider One.

  Back at the brain case, Kirk said, "Primary mental development . . . primitive evolution."

  And was promptly corrected by Provider Two. "That is not true, Captain. Once we had humanoid forms, but we evolved beyond them."

  Provider Three became self-defensive. "Through eons of devoting ourselves to intellectual pursuits, we became physically simple, the mentally superior brains you see before you."

  Kirk allowed his scorn to sharpen his voice. "A species which enslaves others is hardly superior—mentally or otherwise."

  He seemed to have touched Provider One on a raw place. "The Thralls are necessary to our games, Captain. We have found athletic competitions our sole diversion—the only thing which furnishes us with purpose."

  "An unproductive purpose," Kirk observed. "Most unworthy of the greatest intellects in the galaxy."

  The irony got through.

  "We only use inferior beings."

  "Inferior. Encased as you are, you don't get around much. We do. And we have found all life forms capable of superior development under proper guidance. Perhaps you're not so grandly evolved as you think."

  He disconcerted them into a moment of silence finally broken by Provider Three. "An interesting speculation, Captain. You and your people are most challenging."

  "Yes, most challenging," agreed Provider Two. "It was hoped that such new blood would stimulate our stock of Thralls. How unfortunate that you must be destroyed!"

  "Our destruction will only result in your own. You may control the Enterprise, but you cannot match the power of the entire Federation."

  Another raw place in Provider One. "Your ship will be shattered to bits by a magnetic storm. No communication with your base will be possible. Your fate will remain an eternal mystery to your Federation."

  Kirk gave no sign of his shocked dismay. Yet, in spite of it, he was thinking harder than he'd ever thought in his life. He laughed. "And you call yourselves 'superior'! Why, you're just run-of-the-mill murderers-killers without the spirit to really wager for the lives you take!"

  An electronic murmur of excitement came from the case.

  "Wager?" queried Provider One. "Explain yourself, Captain."

  Kirk drew himself up to his full height. "My people are the most enterprising, successful gamblers in the universe. We compete for everything—power . . . fame . . . women . . . whatever we desire. It is our nature to win! I offer as proof our exploration of this galaxy."

  "We are aware of your competitive abilities," pronounced Provider Three.

  "Very well. Then I am willing to wager right now—and with any weapon you choose—that my people can overcome any fair number of Thralls set against them."

  He'd been right. He'd caught them. Out of the case came the babble of bidding: "A hundred quatloos on the newcomers . . . two hundred against . . . four hundred against . . . five hundred for the newcomers . . . contest by multiple elimination!"

  "Wait! Wait! Hear me out!" Kirk cried.

  The voices stilled.

  "We do not wager for trifles like quatloos! The stakes must be high!"

  The silence prolonged itself until Provider One spoke. "Name your stakes, Captain."

  "If my people win, the Enterprise and all its crew will leave here in safety. Furthermore, all Thralls on this planet will be freed."

  "Anarchy! They would starve!"

  Kirk ignored the comment. "They will be educated and trained by you to establish a normal, self-governing culture."

  Incredulous, provider Three cried, "Thralls—govern themselves? Ridiculous!"

  "We have done this same thing with many, many cultures throughout the galaxy. Do you then confess you cannot do what we can?"

  "There is nothing we cannot do," Provider Two declared.

  "And if you lose, Captain?"

  It was Provider One's question, but he knew that the other two were waiting intently for his answer.

  There was only one to make, and he made it. "If we lose, we will stay here—the entire Enterprise crew—the most stubborn and determined competitors anywhere. We will become Thralls, taking part in your games and obeying all orders without rebellion. You will be assured of generations of the most exciting wagering you've ever had."

  A long silence passed before Provider One said, "Your stakes are indeed high, Captain."

  "Not for true gamesters!"

  The intellects once more conferred in their electronic mumble, their decision voiced by Provider Three. "We will accept your stakes on one condition, Captain."

  "Name it."

  "As leader of your people, your spirit seems most indomitable. We suggest you alone—pitted against three contestants of our choosing."

  "One against three? Those are pretty high odds, aren't they?"

  A vein throbbed in the brain of Provider Three as it gave a small, taunting chuckle. "Not for true gamesters, Captain!"

  Kirk shook his head. "Your terms are unfair."

  "On the contrary," Provider One said. "They are extremely fair inasmuch as your alternative is death."

  Kirk gave himself time—time to think, time to consider the future of the Enterprise crew under the domination of these intellects, time to weigh it against his own death. If had been his life, the Enterprise and its people. Without them, death would be welcome.

  "The wager is accepted," he said.

  "Galt will prepare you."

  It was extraordinary, the triumph the mere brain of Provider One could infuse into its thin, shrill voice. Then as abruptly as he'd appeared in the chamber, he was back in the gaming area, standing in the center triangle, faced by Lars, Kloog, Tamoon and Shahna.

  He took the staff Galt handed him. As he hefted it, gauging its weight, the sharpness of its blade, the curve of its hook, Provider One spoke from a wall.

  "Because you wager your skill for all your people, they will be permitted to watch the game's outcome on the ship's viewing screen."

  And at the same moment, he heard Scott shout, "Mr. Spock, look!"

  All right. They knew what he felt about them. So the fact that he was willing to die to preserve them would come as no surprise. Yet he wasn't prepared for the stricken voice of McCoy. "What in the name of Heaven is . . ."

  Scott's Highland realism spoke for him. "Heaven's got very little to do with this, Doctor."

  Spock held up a hand for silence. And all of them heard Provider One.

  "Captain, you will defend."

  "Jim, Jim," McCoy whispered.

  But Provider One had more to say.

  "Thralls must stay in the blue shapes. You will take the yellow ones, Captain. Touching an opponent's color deprives a contestant of one weapon. An opponent must be killed to be removed from the game. If only wounded, he is replaced by a fresh Thrall. Is that clear, Captain?"

  "Clear."

  "Very well. Begin."

  Galt had pushed a dagger into Kirk's belt. Then a hooked net was hung over his right shoulder and a whip shoved into his hand. Four weapons, counting the quarterstaff. But his opponents only carried one, p
lus their daggers. Kloog, Lars and a strange Thrall positioned themselves in the blue shapes. A very strange Thrall, a bald thing, purple-skinned, its nose two holes covered by flaps of tissue, flapping up and down over its elementary nostrils with its breathing.

  Kirk started with the staff.

  All three closed in on him simultaneously, forcing the Enterprise Captain to make a sweeping move from his yellow triangle in order to parry the bald thing's assault with its spear. Leaping from the triangle into a yellow circle, he drove Kloog into a blue hexagon. Like his physical agility, his mental ability was working faster than his opponents'.

  But at once Lars had rushed him with his net, and the bald Thrall, who'd fled around a yellow square, was slashing at him with its spear blade. Cool, now that the issue was finally joined, Kirk extended the hook of his own around Lars's ankle, downing him directly into the path of the oncoming Kloog. He felled the blond giant only to see the hairless alien strike at him again with its staff blade.

  A high jump lifted him from the circle, replacing him on the yellow triangle.

  Back on his feet, Lars raised his net. Its meshes engulfed Kirk, catching him; and Kloog, his gorilla jaw jutted, backed off for an effective blow with his whip. Kirk, drawing his dagger swiftly, cut himself free of the tangle, and Lars, unbelievingly, stumbled, staring idiotically at his torn weapon.

  Despite the bald Thrall's skill, its nose shields were flapping breathlessly. It ran up behind Kirk, snuffling like a pig at its trough; but whirling, Kirk had glimpsed a yellow pentagon to his left. He made its center and, turning, attacked the noseless thing with his staff, but it parried the strike with its own.

  Kirk, however, had parried higher. Kloog, combined fear and rage inciting him, saw his chance and lashed Kirk around the body with his stinging, curling whip. Kirk's staff broke—broke in half. He wheeled, spun out of the whip, and, leaping from the pentagon, flung his staff's new-made spear at Kloog. It struck in the matted hair of his chest, drawing blood. He retreated.

  Lars, with his ripped net, at once took up Kloog's position. Its uncut meshes fell over Kirk and Lars raised his dagger for the kill. Looking at the heavy blond face, merciless, Kirk said to himself, "So this is it. Okay, I die. But so does everybody else in the end."