by James Blish
At last Kirk observed that Spock was holding a paper.
" 'We have a crew member who shows signs of stress and fatigue. Reaction time down nine to twelve percent. Associational rating norm minus three.' "
Concern penetrated the fog of Kirk's exhaustion. "That's much too low a rating," he said sharply.
" 'He is becoming irritable, inefficient, and quarrelsome. And yet he refuses to take rest and rehabilitation.' " Spock looked up. "He has the right, of course, but—"
"A crewman's rights end where the safety of the ship begins. That man will go ashore on my orders," said Kirk with annoyance. "What's his name?"
"James Kirk."
His head jerked up. That's what comes of giving orders before you have all the details. Inefficient. And they'd caught him fair and square.
Spock handed him the paper. "Enjoy yourself, Captain, it's an interesting planet. I believe you'll find it quite pleasant, very much like your Earth. The scouts have detected no life forms, artifacts or force fields of any kind; nothing but peace and sunlight and good air. You'll have no problems."
Kirk shrugged and finally smiled. "You win, Spock. I'll go."
Yeoman Barrows accompanied him down, and they materialized near two of the scouts.
"Rodriguez, Teller," Kirk acknowledged. "Everything all right?"
"Yes, sir," replied the dark boy, who was packing up a box of samples. "We've completed the specimen survey." The ensign with him was looking just a little wistful. Perhaps she was too tired to work.
"Sufficient, Mr. Rodriguez. Beam your reports up to Mr. Spock, and start enjoying yourselves."
The girl brightened. "Yes, sir!" said Rodriguez, handing her the tricorder. "Oh, sir, I think you'll find Dr. McCoy just over there."
Kirk looked "there," and all around him. "Restful here, isn't it? After what we've gone through, it's hard to believe a planet this beautiful exists."
"It is beautiful." The yeoman in the brief skirt twirled around. "So lovely and peaceful and—" she caught herself on the edge of burbling. "Oh, I mean—affirmative, Captain."
Kirk allowed himself a small smile at her youthful bounce, and he started toward McCoy with Yeoman Barrows. "McCoy? Where are you?"
The foliage was thick in this glade. "Over here!"
McCoy was still standing where he had seen what he had seen.
"Bones! Know any good rabbit jokes lately?" The doctor was not going to live that down for some time.
"Matter of fact, I do," said McCoy. His expression was too serious for comfort. "But this is not one of them. Look at this."
Kirk's smile faded as he followed McCoy's pointing finger. Tracks. On a planet without animals. Big tracks, in pairs. A hopping creature.
"I saw what I saw, Jim. Maybe I hallucinated it. But take a look here and tell me what you think."
"Aren't those prints kind of big for a rabbit?"
"Er—" McCoy looked a little sheepish. "As I reported, Captain, this was a most unusual rabbit."
Kirk dropped to his knees to study the footprints. "I admit I thought it was a joke. But these tracks are very real." The prints were far apart. It must have had long legs. A large hopping creature. "What about Sulu? Will he confirm what you saw?"
McCoy shook his head. "He was examining the flora at the time."
"I don't like this, Bones." Kirk flipped open his communicator. "Bridge. This is the Captain. Has the first shore party beamed down yet?"
"Negative, Captain. They're just about to start."
"Give them this message. Stand by. No one is to leave the ship until you hear further from me."
There was a brief delay before Uhura's voice came back with a dejected, "Aye, aye, sir."
McCoy protested. "Are you canceling the shore leave, Jim?"
"Until we find an explanation of this." He pointed at the enigmatic tracks.
"But the crew, they badly need rest."
"I know." said Kirk, feeling the weight of responsibility very heavily indeed. "But what you saw looked harmless. It probably is harmless, but before I bring my people down, I want proof that it is harmless."
McCoy was about to object that the worst that could happen would be an encounter with a pack of cards, when he was interrupted.
Shots. Gunshots.
So much for peace and tranquility; Kirk drew his phaser and started running. He stopped short as he found Sulu standing in a clearing, grinning happily and aiming at an innocent leaf.
Bang!
McCoy caught up with Kirk as he was saying wearily, "Mr. Sulu, what do you think you're doing?"
"Target shooting, Captain," said Sulu. "Isn't it a beauty? I don't have anything like this in my collection!"
"Where did you get it?"
"I found it. I know it's a crazy coincidence, but I've always wanted one. I found it lying right back there." He held it out proudly for Kirk's inspection. "An old-time Police Special, and in beautiful condition. Hasn't been a gun like this made in, oh, a couple of centuries. Look, it fires lead pellets propelled by expanding gases from a chemical explosion."
Sulu and his hobbies. "I've seen them before," said Kirk, remembering certain adventures when he had tangled with Earth's past history. He took the weapon and smiled at Sulu. One couldn't blame him, but—"I'll hang on to it. This fresh air seems to have made you a little trigger-happy."
Sulu looked disappointed but said only, "Yes, sir."
Yeoman Tonia Barrows was not interested in guns. As soon as she had seen that they were not confronted with an emergency, she had begun to wander. Now she called. "Sir! Dr. McCoy's rabbit. He must have come through here."
She pointed at a set of tracks, identical to the first, that crossed the clearing into the wood beyond.
Kirk examined the tracks. "Bones, are you certain your instruments showed no animal life on this planet?"
"Absolutely. No mammals, birds, insects, nothing.
I'm certain our readings weren't off, and yet . . ." He stared down at the perplexing prints.
Kirk sighed. "I'd like to believe this is an elaborate gag. But—" He stood up and looked toward the wood. "Yeoman Barrows, you accompany Mr. Sulu. Find out where those tracks come from." The pair turned to the shrubbery. "You come with me back to the glade, Doctor. I want another look at that area."
As they began walking back to the aquamarine lake, Kirk said with some bitterness, "This is becoming one very unusual shore leave."
McCoy said lightly, "It could be worse."
"How?"
"You could have seen that rabbit."
Kirk laughed in spite of his worry. "What's the matter, Bones? Getting a persecution complex?"
"I'm; starting to feel a little bit picked on, if that's what you mean," said McCoy ruefully.
"I know that feeling well. I had it at the Academy." They strolled on. McCoy noted with satisfaction that Kirk seemed a little less tense. "An upperclassman there—one practical joke after another, and always on me. My own personal devil, a guy by the name of Finnegan."
"And you, being a serious young cadet—?"
"Serious? Bones, I'll make a confession. I was absolutely grim. Which delighted Finnegan. He was the one to put a bowl of cold soup in your bed, a bucket of water propped on a half-open door. You never knew where he'd strike next."
McCoy thought, "And you're still sore about it, long past as it is."
"More tracks, Bones. Looks like your rabbit came from over there." McCoy stooped and looked at the ground. "A girl's footprints too, Jim. The blonde girl I saw chasing it."
"Bones, you follow the rabbit. I'll backtrack the girl. We'll meet on the other side of that hill." McCoy nodded. Kirk started walking along the line of small boot-prints. Little girls, rabbits, old-fashioned guns—whatever next?
He hadn't thought about that lout Finnegan in years. What a thorn in his flesh that man had been! He remembered the day . . .
Tall, broad-shouldered, with a challenging grin pasted on his map, a figure was waiting by the tree in front of him. Kirk blinked. "
Finnegan!"
The youth, dressed in Academy cadet uniform, swaggered up to him with a wicked laugh.
"Never know when I'm going to strike, eh, Jimmy boy?" The same faint brogue, the same cackling derision. As Kirk stood there, incredulous, he was jarred into accepting this reality by a sudden right to the jaw which knocked him flat. He got up slowly, staring at his old enemy who danced in a fighter's crouch, baiting him. "All right, Jimmy boy, go ahead. Lay one on me! Go ahead; that's what you've always wanted, isn't it?" It was. Kirk let go his disbelief and crouched. He was not going to pass up this chance to deal with this old batenoire at last. Red rage surged in him as he remembered all the bullying, the merciless persecution.
"Come on, come on!" sneered Finnegan. Kirk started at him.
"Let's do that one again!"
A woman screamed. Oh, hell. And he pulled his punch. Yeoman Barrows? He was the Captain. His yeoman was in danger. Hell. He ran toward the sound of the scream, with Finnegan calling after him, "Any excuse, Jim baby? Right? Run away, that's right!"
McCoy appeared from the underbrush, running.
"What was that?"
"Barrows. Come on."
They found the girl huddled against a tree. Her tunic was torn and her hair disheveled. She was alone and weeping hysterically.
"What happened?"
"I—I—I don't know. I mean—I do know," she sobbed. "I guess . . . I was following those tracks and . . . ohhh! There he was!"
"There who was?" snapped Kirk. This was no way for a trained crewman to give information.
"Him!" wailed the yeoman.
"Barrows, give me a report!"
She began to gain control of herself. "He had a cloak, sir. And—and a dagger with jewels on the handle."
McCoy was examining her. "Yeoman Barrows, are you sure you didn't imagine this?"
She pulled up the torn shoulder of her dress, suddenly embarrassed. "Captain, I know it sounds incredible." The men nodded. "But I didn't imagine it any more than I imagined he did this." She gestured with the ripped tunic.
"All right," said McCoy reassuringly. "We believe you. But who was your Don Juan, anyway?"
"How did you know?" she gasped.
"Know what?"
"It was so, you know, sort of—storybook, walking around this place." She sniffed, and went on rather shyly. "I was thinking, all a girl needs here is Don Juan. Just daydreaming. You know?" She looked at the officers hesitantly. "Like you might think of some girl you'd like to meet."
Kirk was not prepared to dwell on this. He looked around, missing something.
"Mr. Sulu was with you. Where is he?"
"Oh. He ran after . . . him. He—" But Sulu was nowhere in sight.
"Stay with her, Doctor." Kirk took off at a run.
"Mr. Sulu!" he called. "Sulu! Where are you?" There was no reply. He brushed through the undergrowth and into a clearing; here was a miniature desert-garden, with cactus flowers blooming. Still calling, he began searching among the rocks.
There were footsteps on his right. "Sulu?"
It was not Sulu. The young girl smiled, real roses on her dress stirring in the breeze. She came toward Kirk with memory in her eyes.
"Ruth." The memory kindled in the Captain. "You! How—I don't understand—"
"Jim, darling. It is me. It's Ruth." He had clamped that particular wound closed, forever. Somehow in the pressure of final examinations and qualifications and his first cruise, he had lost her, and put away the regrets.
"You don't think I'm real." He had even forgotten the gentleness of her voice. It all came flooding back with pain and longing. "But I am, darling, I am."
James Kirk's Ruth could not possibly exist here and now. But as she put her soft arms around his neck, he did not doubt her reality. He could not help but return her embrace.
He tried to resist; he took out his communicator. "Dr. McCoy, come in." But his eyes were fixed on Ruth. "McCoy, do you read me?"
She put the communicator to one side. "Think of nothing at all, darling, except our being together again." Her soft hair brushed his face.
"Ruth. How can it be you? You can't be here!"
She snuggled closer and looked up at him, her skin glowing in the sun. "It doesn't matter. Does it?"
Fifteen years ago. She still looked exactly the same, the fresh, young, gentle creature who had wept so bitterly at their last goodbye. She said again, "It doesn't matter. None of that matters, Jimmy."
His communicator beeped, cutting through his daze.
"Kirk here."
McCoy wanted to know if he had found Sulu.
"What?" She still wore her hair in a coronet of braids.
"Did you find Mr. Sulu?"
"Oh—no," said Kirk absently. "But I'm sure he's all right." She was dreaming into his eyes. "I mean, why shouldn't he be?"
"Captain, are you all right?"
"Oh, yes, I'm fine." The communicator seemed to float away by itself to the rock beside him. It beeped again.
He sighed, and acknowledged. "Yes, Mr. Rodriguez."
"Captain, a while ago, I saw . . . well, birds. Whole flocks of them."
"Don't you like birds, Mr. Rodriguez?" She was holding his hand in their special clasp.
"I like them fine, sir. But all our surveys showed—"
Kirk hadn't noticed the bird song that was coming from the forest. It had seemed to belong there.
"Offhand, Mr. Rodriguez, I'd say our instruments must be defective." It didn't really seem to matter. "There are indeed life forms on this planet." She nestled against his shoulder.
Rodriguez was being stubborn. "Sir, our survey couldn't have been that wrong."
Ruth moved a little away from him and regarded him with longing.
"Rodriguez, have all search parties rendezvous at the glade. I want some answers to all this."
"Aye, aye, sir." He couldn't let it happen again, lose her again. Nor could he abandon his crew to whatever dangers this mysterious planet held. Yearning and duty fought in his belly.
Ruth held out her hand to him and gave him a radiant smile. "You have to go."
"I don't want to." How he didn't want to!
This time, she did not weep. She bent toward him and said gently, "You'll see me again—if you want to." She kissed his cheek and backed away from him. He started after her.
"But I have to ask you—You haven't told me—"
"Do what you have to do. Then I'll be waiting, Jim." Would she? This time? He called her as she vanished into the wood. The communicator beeped again.
"Captain Kirk here." His eyes were still fixed on the gap between the trees where she had disappeared.
Mr. Spock said, "Captain, I am getting strange readings from the planet's surface. There seems to be a power field of some kind down there now."
"Specify."
"A highly sophisticated type of energy, Captain, which seems to have begun operating since we took our original readings. It is draining our power aboard ship and increasingly affecting communications."
"Can you pinpoint the source?" Kirk's attention was now reluctantly engaged.
"It could be beneath the planet's surface, but I cannot locate it precisely. Its patterns would indicate some sort of industrial activity."
Industrial activity? Here among the woods and fields? "Keep me posted, Mr. Spock. We'll continue our investigations from down here."
Investigations were proceeding slowly. Dr. McCoy sat with Yeoman Barrows under the birch tree. She was still clutching her torn tunic to her shoulder.
"Feeling better?"
She smiled. "A little. But I wouldn't want to be alone here."
"Why not?" McCoy gave a long, contented sigh. "It's a beautiful place. A little strange, I admit, but—"
"That's just it. It's almost too beautiful. I was thinking, before my tunic was even . . . torn, in a place like this, a girl should be dressed to match." Yeoman Barrows was showing an unsuspected streak of romanticism. "Let's see now . . . like a fairy-tale princ
ess, with lots of floaty stuff and a tall pointed hat with a veil."
McCoy looked down at her kindly. Then he looked again. She was really a lovely young woman. Funny he had never noticed before. Of course, she had been a patient.
She was really very pretty.
"I see what you mean. But then you'd have whole armies of Don Juans to fight off." She chuckled. "And me too."
She glanced up from lowered eyelids. "Is that a promise, Doctor?"
They began walking around the lake. The twittering of birds rilled the air, and the greenness of leaves burnished with sunlight filled their eyes.
"Oh!" On a bush, a heap of fabric was carelessly flung. White silks fluttered. "Oh, Doctor, they're lovely!" Yeoman Barrows picked up a stream of veiling.
"Yes, they are," agreed McCoy, looking at Yeoman Barrows's bright eyes.
She covered her face and peered at him over the veil. "Look at me!" She pirouetted lightly, and then promenaded, and spoke with mock seriousness. "A lady to be protected and fought for, a princess of the blood royal!"
What had taken him so long? "You are all of those things, and many more." He must have forgotten how to play, with all the heavy preoccupations of his work. Bless her, she had not. She was gay and vulnerable and lovely.
He took the costume from the shrub and pushed it into her arms. "They'd look even lovelier with you wearing them."
Her impish look changed suddenly to terror as she looked back at the bush. "Doctor, I'm afraid."
"Easy now," he said comfortingly as she buried her face in his shoulder. He could feel her trembling. He tried not to notice that her tunic had fallen from her shoulder. He felt a momentary stab of jealousy of that tedious "Don Juan" who had seen her first. "Look, I don't know what, or where or how, but the dress is here." He smiled down at her. "I'd like to see you in it."
She looked at the clothes doubtfully as she disengaged herself. She held the dress up in front of her; in spite of her qualms, she was obviously tempted. He nodded encouragement. She said, "All—all right!" and stepped around the bush. "But you stay right there—and don't peek!"
"My dear girl, I'm a doctor," said McCoy with dignity. "When I peek, it's in the line of duty."
Leonard McCoy, gentleman medic, found himself unable to avoid noticing the flinging of a tunic and the tantalizing motions that showed over the top of the shrubbery. His communicator sounded.