Star Trek 12

by James Blish

  McCoy gestured to the speaking panel. "And I'm worried about Bailey. Navigator's position is rough enough on a seasoned man—"

  Kirk's interruption was short and impatient. "I think he'll cut it."

  "How so sure? Because you spotted something you liked in him . . . something familiar like yourself fifteen years ago?"

  Irritated, Kirk was about to silence McCoy when he was silenced himself by Bailey's "On the double, deck five! Give me a green light!"

  "Suppose you could have promoted him too fast? Listen to his voice, Jim . . ."

  Once more Bailey's voice won McCoy a reprieve. "Condition alert . . . battle stations . . ."

  The alert signal was still shrilling in the elevator when its doors opened on a corridor of running crew members, but Bailey's commands followed Kirk into his cabin. "Engineering deck five, report. Phaser crews, come on, let's get on with it!"

  In a chair, eyes closed, drained and fatigued, Kirk listened. Clearly Bailey was enjoying the delegation of command. A kid playing with a terrible responsibility. As to himself, was he tired of it? Maybe. Choice, he thought, was an illusion. Untried and in moral darkness, one was impelled in a direction by unconscious forces beyond one's comprehension; by idealisms that turned out to be egotisms, a drive, for instance, not toward the harmonious music of the spheres, but to the glamor of a Starship command. And you were properly punished for such self-delusion by the absolute aloneness of command's heavy obligation.

  "Here, Jim."

  He took the drink McCoy handed him. "What's next? More humanism? 'They're not machines, Jim'?"

  "They're—"

  "I've heard you say that man is superior to any machines, Bones."

  "I never said that either!" McCoy snapped.

  At the flash of a red light on his cabin's panel, Kirk rose. "Kirk here."

  Spock said, "Exercise rating, Captain. Ninety-four percent."

  "Let's try for a hundred, Mr. Spock."

  For the unflawed. Nothing less than human perfection could satisfy a Starship Captain. "I am tired," he thought. "I ought to be selling charter flights to Mars." And the door opened. Janice Rand, carrying a tray covered by a white cloth, bypassed Kirk and McCoy to place it on the desk beside the Captain's chair.

  Kirk questioned her with frowning eyebrows.

  Removing the cloth, she said, "It's past time you ate something, sir."

  "What the devil? Green leaves? Am I a herbivore?"

  The girl indicated McCoy. "Dietary salad, sir. Dr. McCoy changed your diet card. I thought you knew."

  From the cabin's panel, Bailey said, "This is the bridge. All decks prepare for better reaction time on second simulated attack."

  Kirk, regarding the salad with loathing, picked up a fork, picked at it as Janice, a shade too professional, unfolded his napkin.

  McCoy said, "Your weight was up a couple of pounds. Remember?"

  Kirk, grabbing the napkin, threw it to the desk. "Will you stop hovering over me, Yeoman?"

  "I just wanted to change it if it's not . . . all right, sir."

  Kirk looked into the young, earnest, feminine gray eyes. A moment passed before he said, "It's . . . fine. Bring the doctor some too."

  McCoy contemplated his feet. "No, thank you. I never eat until the crew eats."

  Yeoman Rand poured some liquid into the glass on the tray.

  Watching her, Kirk spread his left hand's ringers over his forehead and right eye. Politely he said, "All right, Yeoman. Thank you."

  As she closed the door back of her, he closed his eyes. "Bones, when I find the Headquarters genius who assigned me a female yeoman—"

  "She's very attractive. You don't trust yourself?"

  He could, of course, Kirk thought, dash the glass of liquid into McCoy's face. That would quiet him down, discouraging transfer of his own male yens to other men who didn't feel them. But he was too tired to do a good job of it.

  "I'm married," he said. "And a faithful husband. My girl is called the Enterprise. And the first mistake this other female, this yeoman makes—"

  McCoy smiled, shaking his head. "She won't," he said.

  Bailey spoke again from the cabin's panel. "Engineering decks alert. Phaser crews, let's—"

  The alarm signal crushed his voice. Then as the panel's red light flashed on-off, Sulu, too controlled, said, interrupting, "Countermand that! All decks to battle stations! This is for real. Repeat. All decks to battle stations. This is for real."

  The red light on the panel buzzed.

  Kirk said, "Kirk here."

  Spock's filtered and uninflected voice said, "Sensors are picking up something ahead of us, Captain."

  "Coming," Kirk said.

  In the bridge, Spock, bent over his hooded viewer, lifted his head from it long enough to report to his Captain, "Exceptionally strong contact but not visual yet."

  A silent Kirk watched him stoop again to appraise his dials and controls, and, frowning, punch in new coordinates. Their results inspected, Spock said tonelessly, "Distance spectograph . . . metallic; similar to cube . . . much greater energy reading."

  Turning, Kirk said, "Screen on." But all it showed was stars arranged in a design which to human eyes was also random, undesigned. Then Sulu called, "There, sir!"

  Kirk saw it too—a tiny speck of light already developing size even as he looked at it, a tightness beginning to constrict his chest as he said, "Half speed. Prepare for evasive action."

  Sulu responded. "Reducing speed to Warp Two, sir."

  The next moment, the Enterprise bridge seemed to upend, shuddering, twisting like a toy in the hand of a giant imbecile child. A guard at the door fell, sliding nearly the length of the deck before he caught hold of a cabinet handle. People grabbed at anything and everything that seemed to offer stability—their chair legs, console counters, steel files.

  Spock, back in his seat, said, "Tractor beam, sir. It's got us—tight."

  A recovered Sulu spoke. "Engines overloading, sir."

  "All engines stop," Kirk said.

  "All engines stopped, sir."

  Kirk, resting his head against the back of the command chair, looked at the screen again where the light speck was magnifying into a shape.

  "Object decelerating, sir," Bailey said.

  At his library computer, Spock was getting results from his inputs. "Size and mass of the object—" he paused, shaking his head. "This must be wrong. I'm getting a faulty reading."

  Kirk, resolving his conflict between his obsession with what the screen showed and his urge to ask Spock what he'd discovered about it, said, "Phaser crews stand by."

  The thing on the screen had enlarged into a mass that should have made some identification of it possible; but like the cube, the image was too alien in appearance to make any judgment of it reliable. What it absurdly seemed, to be was a rounded cluster of balls, each growing bigger as it neared. Curious and unbelieving, Kirk could see the cell-like sections pulsing with inner light.

  As though to herself, Uhura whispered, "It's not true."

  Spock, his eyes on the screen said, "No, I'm afraid my reading was accurate, sir."

  The huge screen was rapidly becoming a formidable reporter. In the lower quadrant of its frame, the immense Enterprise hung motionless, and in the distance, the other ship (for it was a ship) was still small but was continuously growing. Soon it matched the size of the Enterprise in the opposite quadrant; but discontent with equality of mass, it increased its own, and went on increasing it until it was twice as large as the Starship, occupying the entire frame of the screen. When the alien vessel had completely dwarfed the Enterprise, it was so monstrous that only a part of it could be seen on the screen.

  The bridge crew was stunned, struck down into awe as it contemplated the imaged Colossus. Spock alone regarded it with an interest as lively as it was intense.

  Kirk spoke quietly. "Mass, Mr. Sulu."

  The amazed Sulu said "Shooooosh!" Then registering Kirk's glance, added, "The reading goes off m
y scale, sir. It must be a mile in diameter."

  Spock murmured, "Fascinating!"

  "Reduce image," Kirk said.

  Bailey was too dumbstruck to act, so Sulu, leaning across to his console, turned a switch. Gradually, the vastness of the screened shape diminished until the frame could hold it in its total form.

  "Lieutenant Uhura, ship to ship," Kirk said.

  "Hailing frequencies open, sir."

  Kirk reached for his speaker. "This is the United Earth Ship Enterprise. We convey greetings and await your reply."

  They were allowed to wait. Then Bailey, who had put on earphones, suddenly straightened. He froze, staring, his face blanched, his mouth slack and open.

  "What is it, Mr. Bailey?"

  The navigator turned his appalled face. "Message, sir . . . coming over my navigation beam." He swallowed, listened, clutching the earphones close to his head. Kirk looked away from him to address his Communications Officer.

  "Pick it up, Lieutenant Uhura."

  "Switching, sir."

  The replay of the message, amplified, struck the bridge with an incoherent cataract of roar; but Kirk, joining Spock to listen, was finally able to discern words in what had been bedlam.

  ". . . and trespassed into our star systems. This is Balok, Commander of the Flagship Fesarius of the First Federation . . . Your vessel, obviously the product of a primitive and savage civilization, having ignored a warning buoy of the First Federation, then destroyed it, has demonstrated that your intention is not peaceful . . ."

  The voice, issuing from a larynx of iron, paused before adding, "We are now considering disposition of your ship and the life aboard."

  "Ship to ship," Kirk said.

  "Hailing frequencies open, sir."

  Kirk, whose own voice, filtered, and amplified, sounded strange, spoke composedly. "This is the Captain of the U.S.S. Enterprise. The warning nature of your space buoy was unknown to us: our vessel was blocked by it and when we attempted to disengage—"

  A squealing feedback, taking over, drowned his last sentence; and though Spock could see that his lips were still moving, only the squeal could be heard.

  It stopped as Uhura, in obedience to a gesture from Kirk, cut the frequency. He stood silent beside Spock as the Vulcan's computer burst into a frenzy of red lights. Pulling at switches, twisting dials as though he were trying to shut something off, the Science Officer said, "Captain . . . we are being invaded by exceptionally strong sensor probes. Everywhere . . . our electrical systems . . . our engines . . . even our cabins and labs."

  Amplified, the harsh voice of the Fesarius commander grated again throughout the bridge. "No further communication will be accepted. If there is the slightest hostile move, your vessel will be destroyed immediately."

  Silence fell over the bridge personnel. Long experience in the unimaginable, training and self-discipline, though well indoctrinated, failed to rescue them from the paralysis induced by Balok's threat. Kirk was the first to move, walking to his command chair, aware as he'd been a thousand times before of his crew's eyes on him, hopeful, expectant, the miracle maker.

  A couple of console lights faded and went dark. Spock, working at his panel, called, "They're shutting off some of our systems, sir. Brilliant! I'd like to study, their methods."

  As Kirk leaned forward in his chair, the humming of the bridge relays and servo-motors lost rhythm before going still.

  "Mr. Spock," Kirk said, "does our recorder marker have all this on its tapes?"

  "Enough to alert other ships, sir."

  "Mr. Bailey, dispatch recorder marker."

  Bailey merely stared at Kirk. Then as though the look in them had released him from some witchcraft, he made the proper adjustments on his panel; and wetting his dry lips, said, "Recorder marker ejected, sir."

  "And it's on course," Spock said, lifting his head from his viewer. "Heading back the way we—"

  White light flared from the screen, washing living faces with deathly pallor. Then another shock wave struck, tilting the Starship and once more compelling the bridge people to clutch at any available support. One hand outstretched to Sulu's console, the other hiding his eyes, Bailey whispered, "Oh, my God."

  It was the moment Balok chose to make his deafening announcement. "Your record marker has been destroyed." Then came a second's reprieve before he added, "You have been examined. Regretfully, your ship must be destroyed."

  Fury flamed in Kirk, a rage so violent that his knuckles whitened on his command chair's arms as he fought to pull it back to hitherto unknown deeps within himself. Vaguely, he heard Bailey give a sob.

  The Fesarius commander was clearly enjoying his role of cat with mouse.

  "Your ending will be painless. We make assumption you have a deity, or deities, or some such beliefs which comfort you. We therefore grant you ten Earth time periods known as minutes to make preparation. We will not alter our decision; we will not accept communication. Upon any evasive or hostile move, you will be instantly destroyed."

  Kirk had won his struggle. The fury of rage had retreated to give way to a fury of thinking. Over at his station, Spock, working intently with his dials, said, "Might be interesting to see what they look like. If I can locate where that voice is coming from—"

  Behind his command chair, the elevator doors must have opened, for McCoy and Scott hurried over to him, anxious inquiry in their faces.

  "Jim . . . Balok . . . his message . . . it was heard all over the ship."

  Someday, Kirk thought, I'll count up the ways used by my crew members to say to me, "Come on, Captain. You've got all the rabbits in the hat. We need one now. Pull it out." And the truth was, he had pulled many out. Oh, yes, there'd been the defeats—the failures to establish the bond of a common life between him and an alien race—yet, more often, he had succeeded in creating the sense of shared life. And those of his crew who hadn't seen him do it had been told about it.

  So he had something going for him. Yet this was a hard one. Where did you find the right words for people with ten minutes to live, healthy young people denied the gradual, benevolent sense debilities with which age prepared one for the eternal stillness—sightlessness, deafness, unawareness of touch?

  "Jim . . ." McCoy said again.

  Nodding, he hit his intercom switch.

  "Captain to crew."

  And speaking, said the words that had come to him, perhaps from the same deeps whence his rage had come.

  "Those who have served for long on this vessel have encountered apparently inimical and alien life forms. So they know that the greatest danger facing us is . . . ourselves and our irrational fear of the unknown . . ."

  In his own ears, his voice sounded firm and steady. Why? He went on.

  "But there is no such thing as the unknown. There are only things temporarily hidden, temporarily not understood—and therefore temporarily feared. In most cases, we have found that an intelligence capable of a civilization is capable of comprehending peaceful gestures. Certainly, a life form advanced enough for space travel is advanced enough to eventually recognize our motives. All decks stand by. Captain out."

  As he turned, he saw that Uhura's lustrous black eyes were tear-filled.

  If to one of his people he had made sense, it was enough.

  "Ship to ship, Lieutenant Uhura."

  "Hailing frequencies open, sir."

  Reaching for his speaker, he said, "This is the Captain of the Enterprise. We came here seeking friendship and have no wish to trespass. To demonstrate our goodwill, our vessel will return the way it came. But if attacked—"

  Once more the squealing feedback killed his voice; and once more he motioned for cut of the circuit.

  "Mr. Bailey, lay in a course away."

  "What? . . . Course? What . . .?"

  Sulu leaned past the shaken Bailey to move a couple of levers on his console.

  "Course plotted and laid in, sir."

  "Engage, Mr. Sulu. Warp Factor One."

  "Warp Factor�
�" Sulu began, and, frantically working his own controls, wheeled to Kirk.

  "There's no response, Captain!"

  "Switch to impulse!"

  "All engine systems show dead, sir. And weapon systems."

  Spock called, "Switching to screen, sir! I think I can get something visual."

  He achieved it.

  On the screen, the star background began to ripple like a sea flecked by plankton's phosphorescence. Then it dissolved into a still rippling but gradually firming shape—the distorted yet fairly distinct image of what could only have been Balok. The creature's long, drooping face was set in what seemed to be a permanently grotesque grimace, the nostrils of his bulbous nose upturned to expose blood-red flesh, a space-clown out of nightmare. As to his eyes, they explained the cat-mouse game-green balls, thrust out, black-slitted.

  The thick lips moved.

  "You are wasting time and effort. There is no escape. You have eight Earth minutes left."

  The picture, wavering, blanked out.

  Spock's tone was that of an astronomy professor explaining "black holes" to a classroom of freshmen. "I was curious to see how they appeared, sir."

  God bless Spock, Kirk thought, almost smiling. "Yes, of course you were."

  Bailey, lurching to his feet, screamed.

  "I don't understand this at all! Spock's wasting time—everyone else just hangs around! Somebody's got to do something!"

  McCoy went to him quickly. "Easy, boy, easy."

  "What do they want from us, Doctor? Let's find out what they want us to do!"

  Kirk's casual tone was all the more impressive for its unimpressedness.

  "They want us to lose our heads, Mr. Bailey. Don't accommodate them."

  "We've only got eight minutes left!"

  Sulu said, "Seven and forty-one seconds."

  Bailey spun, his eyes following Sulu's to the clock on the helmsman's instrument panel. Set to count off minutes and seconds, the minute hand held to "seven" while the second hand moved from "39" to "38" to "37."