Star Trek 12

by James Blish

  Spock left his station to take his own place beside the command chair. "If Balok got a signal through to that mother ship of his, sir . . ."

  Kirk, nodding, said, "Right, Mr. Spock. We're not home yet."

  Uhura, swinging her chair around, bent her head to a turned switch on her console. "A signal, Captain . . . very weak." For several seconds, she just listened. Then she said, "It's Balok, sir, a distress signal to the Fesarius. His engines are out . . . his life-sustaining system isn't operating. He's repeating the message to the Fesarius."

  "Any reply, Lieutenant?"

  "Negative, sir. His signal is fading. It is so faint, I doubt if the mother ship could hear it."

  On the screen before Kirk, there hung Balok's little ball, once so charged with belligerent vitality but now helpless, dull—a black nothing against the star-strewn immensities of space. And about it was something of pathos, of minuscule tragedy like the disappearance down a whale's throat of the microscopic, one-celled lives inhabiting the seas.

  "Plot a course for it, Mr. Bailey," he said.

  Only Spock among his officers showed no surprise, not even the lift of an astonished eyebrow. Kirk, pushing his intercom button, reached for his mike to say, "This is the Captain speaking. The First Federation vessel is in distress. We're preparing to board."

  His crew had been persecuted by Balok, overworked, threatened, panicked. So the right words had to be found to explain the suggestion of mercy in his announcement; and choosing them, he went on: "There are lives at stake. By our standards 'alien lives'—but still lives. Captain out."

  Navigator Bailey, doing his best to keep the respectful awe out of his eyes said, "Course plotted and laid in, sir."

  "Ready the Transporter Room, Mr. Scott."

  After a moment's hesitation, Scott said, "Aye, sir," and walked toward the elevator as Kirk, turning to Sulu, said, "Bring us to within one hundred meters, Mr. Sulu. Ahead slow."

  Sighing, Sulu repeated the order and Kirk, glancing around him, saw that the still lingering dissatisfaction on the faces of his people was telling him that more right words were needed. He rose from his chair and, grasping its back, said, "Gentlemen, what is the mission of this vessel of ours? It is to seek out and make contact with life forms wherever we find them." He stopped, and, wheeling, pointed to the dark round little ship on the screen. "Life," he said, and after a long pause, hammered home his point. "An opportunity to demonstrate what our high-sounding words mean. Any questions?"

  As nobody spoke, he went on.

  "I'll take two men with me. Dr. McCoy to examine and treat the aliens if possible." He was at the elevator doors when he turned. "And you, Mr. Bailey."

  Astounded, Bailey managed a "Sir?"

  "The face of the unknown, Mr. Bailey. I think I owe you a look at it."

  Rising slowly from his seat, Bailey said, "Yes, sir."

  Spock had left his place too. "Request permission, sir, to—"

  "Denied, Mr. Spock. If I'm mistaken, if Balok's set a trap for us, I want you here."

  With Bailey, McCoy joined Kirk in the elevator, his medical bag in his hand. And to Kirk's "Transporter Room," the familiar relays clicked, lights flashing. After a moment, Kirk addressed McCoy, ignoring Bailey's fear-paled face. "You don't approve either, I suppose."

  McCoy shrugged. "I never ask your approval of my diagnoses."

  "Frightened, Mr. Bailey?" Kirk said.

  "Yes, sir."

  "Of what?"

  "Well, as far as knowing exactly—"

  "Precisely my point, Mr. Bailey."

  As the trio entered the Transporter Room, Scott, an assistant beside him, looked up from the transporter controls to warn, "It will be risky, sir. We're locked in on what appears to be a main deck."

  Nodding, Kirk said, "Air sample?"

  "Breathable, Captain. In fact, a slightly higher oxygen content than our own."

  "Ready, Doctor?" Kirk asked, turning to McCoy.

  "No, but you won't let that stop you."

  Bailey, last to enter the transport chamber, obediently stepped into the space Kirk indicated; and from the console across the Room, Scott, motioning them all to stoop, called, "On your hunkers, Captain. It reads pretty cramped over there."

  Kirk, satisfied that he and his companions were safely placed, said, "Energize!"

  With the hum of increasing power, the three dissolved into unidentifiable figures of light sparkles, the transporter effect subsiding, as they disappeared only to almost immediately materialize under a ceiling barely an inch above their heads. Around them was a subdued, soft lighting, probably indirect, but no sign whatever of smoke or trouble.

  Then still bending, the three stopped dead, dumb-struck by the luxury of the room before them. The floor was covered by a rich, deep-piled form of carpet, its gold color matched by draperies of what might have been velvet but wasn't. In the room's center, on a silver and jade-green chaise longue, a creature reclined. Was it Balok? The head was even larger than it had shown on the Enterprise screen, and its body had a curious limpness about it.

  It didn't move as they approached it. The goggle eyes in the huge, bloated head had no lids to blink but simply stared glassily at the opposite wall. When McCoy tapped the thing with his knuckles, it gave out a hollow sound; and nodding, McCoy said, "Jim, this is a . . . a dummy, a puppet of some kind."

  And the familiar harshness of Balok's voice said, "I have been waiting for you."

  At the sound of it, whey all wheeled.

  Kirk's first thought was, "I'm hallucinating." For the actual Balok was almost a child in size, less than four feet tall, chubby, warm and so cuddly in appearance that one could only marvel how his pudgy chest could accommodate the resonance of that voice. Smiling cherubically so that his rosy cheeks made little mounds under his twinkling eyes, he was sitting relaxedly in a small chair, robed in some shimmering turquoise material—anyway, some color of the blue-green family.

  "I'm Balok," he said. "Welcome aboard."

  Moving forward, Kirk let the phenomenon of the voice go to watch the childlike hand indicate three small armless chairs.

  "I'm Captain Kirk. I—"

  Interrupting, their host nodded. "—and McCoy and Bailey. Sit. Be comfortable."

  As the Enterprise men lowered themselves gingerly to the edges of what by Earth standards would be children's chairs, Balok pushed a button on the wall beside him. It slid open to make way for a servo unit bearing a bowl and four cups. Lifting a ladle, Balok dipped it into the bowl to fill the cups of his hospitality.

  "We must drink. This is tranya. I hope you relish it as much as I."

  "Commander Balok—" Kirk began, and was stilled by a wave of the little hand.

  "I know. I know," the voice grated. "A thousand questions. But first, the tranya."

  Midget though he was, this creature had deflected the Enterprise in its course, demoralized its crew with terrorizing threats and made a general nuisance of himself. Kirk accepted the cup he was handed but didn't drink. Nor did McCoy. Balok beamed at them. Lifting his own drink, he sipped from it. After a moment, Kirk and McCoy followed his example, Bailey, still uneasy and distrustful, preferring to merely hold his drink.

  The tranya was delicious, but as Kirk replaced his empty cup on the servo, his eyes veered to the chaise longue where the enormous, hideous head lolled idiotically, half-on and half-off its cushion. Noticing, Balok said, "My alter ego, so to speak, Captain. In your culture, he would be Mr. Hyde to my Jekyll. You must admit he's effective. You would never have been frightened by me. I also thought my distress signal quite clever." And with another seraphic smile, Balok added, "It was a pleasure testing you." Eyeing the manikin, Kirk said, "I see." Balok spoke earnestly. "I had to discover your real intentions, you see."

  "But you probed our memory banks . . ."

  "Your records could have been a deception on your part." As Balok spoke, he poured more tranya into his cup, offering to pour more for Kirk who declined. McCoy, however, accepted more dr
ink, asking, "And your crew, Commander?"

  Balok giggled. "Crew? I have no crew, Doctor. Just Mr. Hyde and me. I run everything from this small ship." The heavy voice became unexpectedly plaintive, the chubby face wistful. "But I miss company, conversation. Even an alien would be a welcome companion. Perhaps one of your men . . . for some period of time . . . an exchange of information, cultures . . ."

  The contrast between the powerful voice and its ingenuous confession of loneliness was appealing. Kirk was finding much to like in Balok and a considerable degree of sympathy for him, marooned here alone in space with the bogeyman puppet on the chaise longue.

  "Yes," he said. "Do you think we can find a volunteer, Mr. Bailey?"

  Bailey jumped from his child's chair with such enthusiasm that he hit his head on the ceiling.

  "Me, sir!" he cried eagerly. "I'd like to volunteer!"

  Kirk waited a long moment before he nodded, saying, "An excellent idea, Mr. Bailey."

  Unbelieving, Balok stared at the Enterprise navigator. "You will stay with me? Be my friend? You represent Earth's best, then?"

  Rubbing his head, Bailey protested. "No, sir. I'm not. I'll make plenty of mistakes."

  "And you'll learn more about us this way, Commander Balok," Kirk said. "As to me, I'll get back a better officer in return."

  Balok broke into open, joyous laughter so infectious that Kirk laughed too.

  "I see, Captain," he said. "We think much alike, you and I."

  Bailey, the decision made, swallowed his whole drink of tranya.

  As he finished it, Balok got to his small height; and moving grandly to the door, stood at it, waiting for his guests to join him. He looked up at them, towering over him, his face that of a child on Christmas morning. The next minute, he was all business again.

  "Now, before I bring back the Fesarius, let me show you my personal vessel. It is not often I have this pleasure."

  McCoy, following him through the door, shook his head with the wonder of it all, but Kirk and Bailey smiled at each other before they too stooped to move through the entranceway in the trail of robed child man.

  Pausing at another small door, Balok, turning, said "Yes, we're very much alike, Captain. Both proud of our ships."

  SHORE LEAVE

  (Theodore Sturgeon)

  * * *

  Captain James Kirk slumped in his chair and contemplated his viewscreen. At least this planet was not emitting torpedoes or mysterious signals, for once. He sincerely hoped it wouldn't start anything; he wasn't at all sure he could deal with another Problem. Even his mind felt sluggish.

  He became vaguely aware of footsteps nearing him; he couldn't allow himself to slouch like this. He straightened up with effort and felt a stab of pain in his back.

  "Anything from the landing party yet, Mr. Spock?"

  "They should be sending up a report momentarily, Captain." Spock glanced at him. "Is something wrong?"

  "Kink in my back. Yes, just about there."

  A strong hand touched, assessed and began to knead the spastic muscle. He could always rely on Spock.

  "Just a little higher. Ohh—yes. Just there, Spock. Harder—push hard . . ." But Spock was standing in front of him.

  "What—?" Her hands skillfully working, Yeoman Tonia Barrows smiled as he turned his head. He couldn't start using the female crew as personal masseuses. Damn. "Thank you, Yeoman," he said hastily. "That's sufficient." It had helped.

  "You need sleep, Captain," said the girl hesitantly. "If it's not out of line to suggest—"

  "I've had enough of that from Dr. McCoy. Thank you."

  Spock folded his arms. "And Dr. McCoy is completely correct, Captain. After what this crew has been through in the last few months, there's not a man aboard who doesn't need a rest."

  "Myself excepted, of course."

  Sometimes, Spock was almost insufferable. But Kirk didn't really have to remain on the bridge just now; he could be doing the ship's log from his be— . . . quarters, while he waited for the landing party to report.

  He fumbled the switch to "Record": "Captain's Log, Star Date Three-Oh-Two-Five point uh . . . three," he said wearily. "We are orbiting an inun—unan—uninhabited planet in the Omicron Delta Region. A planet remarkably like Earth—or how we remember Earth. Preliminary—preliminary reports make it sound too good to be true: flowers and trees, very restful." He yawned. "Pending the report from the scouts, I plan to authorize a snore—shore leave "

  Downstairs, the landing party was gratefully inhaling fresh air scented with herbs and flowers. Tall trees rustled gently in a light breeze. The sky was cornflower blue. How long since anyone aboard the Enterprise had had a chance to even notice weather, undistracted? McCoy wondered.

  There were no buildings; just the trees. No beings but themselves and the daisies; and the quiet. They never noticed the constant sounds of the ship's systems until they were not there.

  "It's beautiful," said Sulu, gazing at the forests and green meadows. "No animals, no people, no worries . . . just what the doctor ordered, right, Doctor?"

  "I couldn't have prescribed better," said McCoy happily. "We are one weary ship."

  "Do you think the Captain will give us shore leave here?"

  "Depends on my report, and those of the other scouts," said McCoy. "Oh!" He stopped short.

  Sulu followed his look. Ahead of them, a small lake lay like a jewel in a setting of emerald leaves. Flowering shrubs covered the banks, and a willow wept gracefully into the water.

  "You have to see this place to believe it," said McCoy with great delight. "It's like something out of . . . Alice in Wonderland! The Captain has to come down here!"

  Sulu nodded in total agreement. "He'd like it."

  "He needs it. You have your problems, and I have mine. He has his, plus ours plus those of four hundred and thirty other people." McCoy drifted toward the water, soaking up sun and warm air. Rapt in his wonderland, he barely remembered to look back at Sulu. "What are you doing?"

  Sulu was crouched over a plant, adjusting his tricorder. "Getting cell structure records—a blade of grass, a bush, a flower petal; with these, we can analyze the whole planet's biology."

  McCoy left him to it. He wasn't feeling at all analytical. He wandered down a faint path, absorbing peace, and wondering.

  "Oh! My paws and whiskers! I shall be late!"

  McCoy came to with a bang. Aural hallucinations, he diagnosed. He himself must be more tired than he had thought. Paws and whiskers, indeed. He turned very slowly.

  There it was. Running on twinkling hind feet. About four feet tall with white fur and long ears, pulling an old-fashioned turnip watch from its waist-coat pocket.

  "Tch!" The white rabbit disappeared through a gap in the dense shrubbery.

  McCoy shook his head. I didn't see that. I am quite, quite sure that I didn't see that, he told himself. The bushes behind him rustled.

  "Excuse me, sir," said the little girl in the pinafore, politely. "Have you seen a rawther large white Rabbit with a yellow wais' c't and white gloves hereabouts?"

  McCoy did not believe this either, of course. But in a stunned trance, he pointed after the rabbit.

  The little girl curtseyed and said, "Thank you veddy much," and disappeared after the rabbit.

  McCoy closed his eyes tight. "Sulu! SULU!"

  He wasn't going to look anymore. Let Sulu see things. He, McCoy, was not obliged to believe any impossible things after breakfast.

  "What is it? What's the matter?"

  "Did—did you see them?"

  "See what? I don't see anything," said Sulu, looking around. "What is it, Doctor?"

  McCoy gulped. "I—uh—" There was nothing to say. He followed Sulu helplessly.

  "Captain?"

  Somebody at the door. Wake up. Alert. Responsible. Blood, start circulating. You can do better than this. "Yes?"

  "Spock, Captain. I have the doctor's report on the crew."

  "Come in, Spock." Kirk dragged himself together and st
ood.

  "All systems are now on automatic, Captain, and skeleton standby crew is ready to relieve the bridge, Communications and Engineering." Spock was very businesslike.

  "We'll beam the starboard section down first, Mr. Spock. Which party would you like to go down with?"

  "Unnecessary in my case, Captain. On my planet, to rest is to rest, to cease using energy. To me, it is illogical to run up and down on green grass, using energy instead of saving it."

  Insufferable.

  The desk communicator sounded. "Kirk here."

  "Dr. McCoy is calling from the planet, sir."

  "Good. Open a channel, Lieutenant Uhura."

  "Captain," said McCoy. "Are you beaming down?"

  "I hadn't planned to, Bones. Why?"

  "Well," said McCoy, "either our scouting probes and detectors are malfunctioning, and all of us scouts getting careless and beauty-intoxicated, or I have to report myself unfit for duty."

  "Explain." Kirk quelled a wave of depression. A Problem. Either malfunctioning equipment or a malfunctioning staff. Great.

  "On this supposedly uninhabited planet," McCoy stated with great precision, "I just saw a large white rabbit pull a gold watch out of his vest pocket. Then he claimed he was late."

  Kirk burst out with relieved laughter. Not a Problem after all. "That's very good, Bones. Now I have one for you. The rabbit was followed by a little blonde girl, right?"

  "Er . . ." said McCoy. "As a matter of fact, she was . . . and they disappeared through a hole in the hedge!"

  Still chuckling, Kirk said, "I'll take your report under consideration, Doctor. Captain out." He turned to the baffled Spock. "That was a McCoy-pill, with a little mystery sugarcoating. He's trying to get me down there. But I won't swallow it."

  "Very well, Captain," said Spock. "There was something I came to discuss." Kirk looked at him. "I picked this up from Dr. McCoy's log."