Star Trek 12

by James Blish

  THE CORBOMITE MANEUVER

  (Jerry Sohl)

  * * *

  Spock was making a map of the galaxy's planet systems, a long and tedious job. However, six of the nine squares of his screen were finally lighted on photographic charts of the star fields already explored by the Enterprise. His camera clicked again, and the seventh square broke into lighted life, picturing the quadrant of starry space through which the Starship was moving. Observant, Bailey, the newly appointed navigator, young, unseasoned, a novice in Starfleet service, eyed the square with clumsily concealed impatience.

  "Three days of this, Mr. Spock. Other ships must have made star maps of some of this."

  Spock spoke gently. "Negative, Lieutenant. We're the first to reach this far. We—"

  He was interrupted by the siren shriek of the alarm; and Bailey, removing his eyes from Spock's screen, stared at the red light flashing on his own console. Leaning past him, Sulu called, "Sir! Contact with an object. It's moving toward us."

  Spock rose, and, striding swiftly to the empty command chair, said, "Deflectors! Full intensity."

  Half out of his chair, Bailey shouted, "And it's on collision course with us!"

  "Evasive maneuvers, Mr. Sulu," Spock said mildly.

  Working levers, Sulu took a reading of the results. "Object's changing direction with us, sir. Keeps on coming at us."

  Uhura's rich contralto spoke. "Getting no signal from it, sir."

  "And it's still on collision course with us!"

  The excitement in Bailey's voice contrasted only too vividly with the controlled, efficient composure of those of his bridge mates. Instead of registering the difference—and using it for improved self-discipline—he raised his voice to a near scream. "And our deflectors aren't stopping it!"

  Spock said, "Sound general alarm. All hands prepare—"

  Sulu broke in. "It's slowing down, sir."

  The calm Vulcan voice said, "Countermand general alarm. All engines full stop."

  "Visual contact!"

  It was Bailey's cry undertoned by a triumph mingled with a now open arrogance.

  As the Enterprise slowed to a stop, star movement halted with it. And on the bridge screen appeared a pinpoint of light that wasn't a star—an image which so swiftly expanded that the bridge's watchful eyes could identify it as a crystal-like cube, rotating, luminescent and resuming its speed toward them. Then suddenly, it too stopped, hanging in space as it slowly revolved on its unseen axis, an eerie montage of unearthly colors changing, merging and dividing as the thing turned its faces toward them.

  Spock looked away from it. "Ahead slow. Steer a course around it, Mr. Sulu."

  But the moment they began to move, the cube moved with them.

  "It's blocking the way!" Bailey roared. "Deliberately blocking it!"

  Spock turned tranquil eyes on him.

  "Quite unnecessary to raise your voice, Mr. Bailey. Unlike us, the object appears to lack hearing." Then addressing Sulu, he added, "Engines full stop. Sound the alert."

  The stridency of the alarm shrilled again. Smacking buttons, Sulu said, "Bridge to all decks. Condition alert. Captain Kirk to the bridge!"

  Kirk's well-muscled body was in shorts. McCoy had him lying on his back, arms pulling, legs pushing at an exercise device suspended from Sickbay's ceiling—a posture that hid the red light flashing over the door. McCoy noticed it; but absorbed in panel reports of Kirk's body functions, he decided not to mention it. It was his nightmare—persuading Kirk to submit to a medical exam. Yet monitoring the health of the elusive flea who was Captain of the Enterprise was his prime professional responsibility. Now was his rare, rare chance. And he didn't intend to lose it to the vagaries of electric lights—red, blue, yellow or any other color of the spectrum.

  Completing his readings, he switched off the exercise machine and said, "Winded, Jim?"

  Kirk slipped off the table. "If I were, you're the last person I'd tell—" and at the instant of speaking, registered the on-off flashing of the red light over the door. Racing to a panel, he switched it on and, pushing a knob, spoke into the intercom.

  "Kirk here. What goes on?"

  He learned.

  The small screen over the intercom showed Spock's face, its moving lips. "Take a look at this, Captain."

  Spock dissolved into a view of the slowly rotating cube. "Whatever it is," Spock's voice offered, "it's blocking our way. When we move, it moves too, sir."

  Snapping the screen dark, Kirk grabbed up a sweatshirt, a towel; and shouldering head first into the sweatshirt, emerged from it to whirl on McCoy.

  "You could see that light from where you were! Why didn't you say so?"

  "At least I finished a physical on you, didn't I? What am I, a doctor . . ."

  But Kirk was gone.

  Gathering up his instruments, McCoy completed his sentence to his own infinite reassurance and satisfaction. ". . . or a trolley car conductor? If I jumped every time a light blinked around here, I'd end up in a straightjacket."

  Outside, Kirk, accelerating his pace, passed racing crewmen as Sulu's voice came over the loudspeaker.

  "All decks alert. All hands to general quarters."

  Kirk, tightening the towel around his neck, headed for the turbo-car elevator at the end of the corridor. The doors whooshed closed behind him and he said, "Bridge."

  Relays whirred like crickets at the verbal instruction; and on the control panel, lights blinked as the car began its vertical ascent, the elevator hum growing with its increasing speed. But Kirk, chafing at the delay, pushed a button on the intercom panel.

  "Kirk to bridge."

  "Spock here, sir."

  "Any changes?"

  "Negative. Whatever it is, it seems to just want to hold us here."

  "I'll stop to change, then." And shutting off the intercom, spoke to the turbo-car. "Captain's quarters."

  Smoothly, the car braked; and when it resumed movement just as smoothly, altered its direction from vertical to horizontal.

  In the bridge, Spock was standing beside Bailey, whose eyes seemed hypnotized by the indefinably sinister cube shown on the screen. Jerking the young navigator out of his trance, he said, "All decks have reported, Mr. Bailey."

  Flushing, Bailey started.

  "Yes, sir," he said, and rousing, turned off the still flashing red light on his console.

  Spock, at his Vulcan coolest, said, "When the Captain arrives, he'll expect a report on—"

  "—on the cube's range and position. I'll have them by then, sir."

  As Spock gravely nodded, Bailey added, "Raising my voice back here, sir, didn't mean I was scared or couldn't do my job. It just means that I happen to have a human thing called an adrenalin gland."

  Spock paused, startled by the aggression of this backhanded reference to his alien origin. Then yet more solemn-faced, he nodded again at Bailey.

  "Sounds most inconvenient," he said. "Have you ever thought of having it removed?"

  He left Bailey for the command chair; and the red-faced navigator, aware of a poorly muffled guffaw from Sulu's station beside him, flushed still redder.

  "Very funny," he sneered.

  The choking Sulu recovered himself long enough to say breathlessly, "Kid . . . you try to cross brains with Spock—and he'll . . . cut you into pieces too small to find."

  "If I were the Captain—"

  "He's even rougher. But I'm warning you, brother. It comes as more of a shock because he's such a hell of a leader."

  The very rough Captain had opened his quarters door to see his yeoman laying out one of his uniforms. Unwinding the towel from his neck, he threw it at a chair and said, "Thank you, Yeoman."

  Apparently unruffled by his tone, Janice Rand said, "Yes, sir," and opening the door, closed it behind her as Kirk, yanking off his sweatshirt, shoved a switch on a panel under a small screen. "Captain to bridge."

  The screen lighted to the sight of his Science Officer's face who said, "Spock here, sir."

&nbs
p; "Any signs of life?"

  "Negative, sir."

  "Have you tried all hailing frequencies?"

  "Affirmative. No answer from the cube."

  Kirk pulled his uniform shirt into unwrinkled, precise position. "Have the department heads meet me on the bridge."

  "Already standing by, Captain."

  The cube was still revolving on its hypothetical axis, its alternating, unnameable colors reflected from the screen onto the human faces nearest it, making them unfamiliar. Tossing it a look, Kirk said, "Navigation?"

  "Distance to us," Bailey said, "fifteen hundred meters, position constant."

  "Helm?"

  "Sir, each of its edges measures one hundred seven meters. Mass, a little under eleven thousand tons."

  "Communications?"

  "Hailing frequencies still open, sir," Uhura said. "No message."

  "Mr. Spock?"

  "Sensor shows it is solid, sir; but its principal substances are unknown to us."

  "Engineering?"

  "Motive power . . ." Scott shrugged. "A solid. Beats me what makes it go, sir."

  Kirk smiled at him. "I'll buy speculation, Scotty."

  "And I'd sell if I had any. How a solid cube can sense us coming, block us, move when we move . . . ah dinna ken, sir, as my people used to say. That's my report."

  Kirk looked at McCoy. "Life Sciences?"

  "Same report, Jim. No chance of life existing inside a solid cube; but there must be some kind of external intelligence somewhere directing it."

  "Thank you, Bones."

  Bailey exploded.

  "We going to just let it hold us here, sir? We've got phaser weapons. I vote we blast it."

  Kirk turned to look at him. When he spoke, his voice was dry as withered leaves. "I'll keep that in mind, Mr. Bailey, when this becomes a democracy."

  He left his chair to move to the elevator, followed by other bridge people. Bailey, except for Sulu, was left standing alone beside his console.

  "See what I mean?" Sulu said. "Sit down."

  The enigmatic cube had held the Starship at bay for eighteen hours. Its origin, like its purpose, was still unknown to members of the exhausted crew, the eyes of Kirk, his officers and department heads bloodshot from study of star maps that consistently refused to show any habitable planet close enough to account for the mysterious object. In the Briefing Room, shoving aside the litter of graphs and computations on the table, he threw down his stylus and leaned back in his chair for a long stretch. Around him, others stifled yawns.

  "Anything further, gentlemen?" Kirk said.

  Spock spoke. "I believe it adds up to one of two possibilities. First, a space buoy of some kind—'flypaper,' sir."

  The word so puzzled the others that it roused them. But Kirk, nodding at Spock, said, "And you don't recommend sticking around."

  "Negative, Captain. It would make us look too weak."

  Uhura voiced the general perplexity. "I thought I'd learned English by now."

  Smiling, Kirk said, "Flypaper—a Nineteenth Century device—a paper Earth used to use covered with a sticky substance to trap insects which flew into it."

  Scholarly, solemn, Spock said, "More your Twentieth Century, I believe, sir."

  "Undoubtedly so, Mr. Spock," Kirk said.

  "Somebody out there doesn't like us," Sulu said.

  Kirk got to his feet, stretched again and sat down. "It's time for action, gentlemen. Mr. Bailey . . ."

  The headlong navigator swung a lever on his table panel. "Briefing Room to phaser gun crews—"

  "Countermand!" Kirk snapped, hitting a switch on his own panel. But his voice was unusually gentle as he addressed the now quaking Bailey. "Do you mind if I select the kind of action to be taken by my ship, Mr. Bailey?"

  "I'm sorry, sir. I thought you meant—"

  "Are you explaining, Mr. Bailey? When I want an explanation, I shall so inform you."

  The navigator wilted. Kirk went on. "Now, as I started to say, Mr. Bailey, plot us a spiral course away from the cube. Mr. Sulu, alert the Engine Room. We'll try pulling away from it."

  Kirk rose and, at the Briefing Room door, waited until Sulu had pushed a panel button, saying, "Helmsman to Engine Room. Stand by, all decks alert. We're going to try pulling away."

  In the bridge, a stricken Bailey punched in the spiral course and, without turning, said, "Course plotted and laid in, Captain."

  From his chair, Kirk glanced around at his busy bridge crew. Then looking at the screened cube, said, "Engage, Mr. Sulu. Quarter speed."

  Engine hum deepened; and as the Enterprise veered in its new curving course, stars slid sideways—but the cube kept exact pace with the ship.

  "Still blocking us, sir," Sulu said.

  "Then let's see if it'll give way. Ahead, half speed."

  "Point five-o, sir," Sulu said.

  With the increased speed, the cube loomed larger on the screen, rotating faster and its colors beginning to glow. Suddenly, warning lights burst into crimson on all control panels of the bridge, the cube now whirling dizzily, its colors growing in intensity.

  Spock looked up from his mounded viewer. "Radiation, sir. From the short end of the spectrum. And it’s becoming stronger."

  Kirk ordered the ship to a full stop. The stars came to a standstill. However, the cube, despite the Enterprise's stationary position, maintained its approach to the vessel, its colors flaring into violence.

  "It's still coming at us!" Bailey said. "Range ninety meters, Captain."

  His eyes on the screen, Kirk heard Spock say, "Radiation increasing, sir."

  "Power astern, half speed, Mr. Sulu."

  "Half speed, sir."

  The engines' hum returned as they began to move the ship backward, the maneuver, instead of discouraging the cube's pursuit, inciting it to higher speed.

  "Radiation nearing tolerance level, sir," Spock reported.

  Revolving into blur now, the cube's brilliant colors were flooding the bridge with their reflections, distorting faces with gaunt shadows and inhuman skin shades.

  "Still coming," Bailey said. "Gaining on us."

  Kirk said, "Engines astern, full speed."

  "Full speed, sir."

  Stars sped away as the ship accelerated rearward, though the cube merely grew in size on the screen, its fiery glow still brighter as it twisted wildly on its axis.

  "Range, seventy-one meters now, sir," Bailey said.

  Kirk addressed Sulu. "Helm, give us Warp power."

  Over the surge of Warp power added to the engine hum, Sulu said, "Warp One, sir."

  Spock's voice was toneless. "Radiation at the tolerance level, Captain."

  "Warp Two, sir," Sulu said.

  The deadly, spinning top still clung to them; and looking at his Captain, Sulu said, "Speed is now Warp Three, sir."

  "Radiation is passing tolerance level, Captain," Spock said. "Entering lethal zone."

  "Range fifty meters and still closing!"

  "Phaser crews stand ready," Kirk said.

  "Phaser crews report ready, sir," Bailey said.

  The stars were flying past in reversed movement as the cube, a blaze of viciously vivid colors, was closing the gap between it and the ship.

  "Lock phasers on target," Kirk said.

  Spock moved from his station to the command chair. "Radiation still growing. We can take only a few seconds more of it, sir."

  Nearest the screen, they both had to shield their eyes from their pursuer's fierce glare.

  "Phasers locked on target, sir," Bailey said. "Point blank range and closing."

  "Fire main phasers."

  The beams, striking the cube, exploded it, swamping the bridge in a blinding geyser of light. Then the blast waves hit, rocking the ship so that officers and crewmen had to grab at consoles to avoid being hurled to the deck. Bridge lights flickered, dimmed and the Enterprise hung motionless, a stilled, meaningless speck against the vast reaches of star-filled space.

  Kirk, considering his phas
ers' removal of the blockage, felt no elation. Now what? To probe on ahead was only too probably to invite attack, its source as unknown as the attacker. Had the mysterious cube been an envoy of some murderous space-psychopath? Was he then to risk his ship and his crew or turn back on his course? Restless, he joined Spock at his viewer.

  "How do they describe our mission, Mr. Spock? Ah, yes. 'To go where no man has gone before.' "

  "So it is said, Captain." The clear, straight eyes under the cocked brows met his. "However, sensors reveal nothing. No object, no contact in any direction."

  "Care to speculate on what we'll find if we go ahead?"

  "Speculate?" Spock shook his head. "I prefer logic, sir. We'll encounter the intelligence which sent the cube out."

  "Intelligence simply different from ours—or superior?"

  "Probably both. And if you're asking the logical decision to make—"

  "I'm not."

  Spock eyed him. "Has it occurred to you, sir, there is a certain inefficiency in questioning me about matters on which you've already made up your mind?"

  "But it gives me emotional security," Kirk told him, deadpan. He turned. "Set course ahead, Mr. Bailey."

  "Plotted and laid in, sir."

  "Engage," Kirk said.

  The engines whined up; and Sulu said, "Warp One, sir."

  Now that decision for ongoing had been made, it called for some protective reinforcement. Back at his command post, Kirk looked at his bridge personnel, his face stern, uncompromising. "Navigator," he said, "Phaser crews were sluggish, and you were slow in locking them into your directional beams. Helmsman, Engineering decks could have moved faster too. Mr. Spock will program a series of simulated attacks and evasion maneuvers."

  Focusing cold eyes on Bailey and Sulu, he said, "Keep repeating the exercises until I am satisfied, gentlemen."

  McCoy had been standing at the elevator doors, watching and listening. Now as Kirk approached them, he spoke quietly. "Your timing is lousy, Jim. The men are tired."

  "You're the one who says a little suffering is good for the soul."

  "I never say that!"

  As they stepped into the turbo-car, a look passed between them. McCoy had said it, would say it again—and they both knew it. He made no retort. Kirk said, "Captain's quarters," and the car began its descent as Bailey's voice came over its speaker. "This is the bridge. Engineering and Phaser decks, prepare for simulated attack. Repeat: simulated attack."