“CHRISTINE,” Leonard McCoy said to Nurse Chapel, “you take charge here. I’m going to the bridge.”
Christine Chapel nodded. “I hate to say it,” she said, “but I agree with Myra Coles. I hope the captain can get Spock out of there.”
McCoy left sickbay and hurried down the corridor toward the lift. With the recovering crew members ready to return to duty, and no medical emergencies requiring his attention, he wasn’t needed in sickbay for the moment. He had been listening to the exchanges over the intercom as he worked. Jim Kirk sounded as though he hadn’t gotten enough rest, and that Coles woman surely wasn’t making things any easier for him. Neither was Spock. McCoy couldn’t tell which of the two annoyed him more, Myra Coles for sniping at Jim about problems he was already well aware of, or that blasted Vulcan for insisting on unnecessary further exploration of the mobile.
McCoy sighed as he entered the lift. In all fairness to Spock, he thought, Jim was probably just as curious about the alien as Spock was. He admitted to himself that he was growing more intrigued by the thing. Even Myra Coles probably wanted to learn more about the mobile, but her duty to her people would outweigh any curiosity she felt.
The captain was standing by the library and computer station, conferring with Ali Massoud and Cathe Tekakwitha, as McCoy came onto the bridge. Myra Coles and young Wellesley Warren stood near Uhura.
The Tyrtaean woman glanced at McCoy. “Greetings,” she said, and he could hear the irritation and weariness in her voice.
McCoy inclined his head to her. Warren smiled tentatively at him; Coles frowned.
“The captain has already acknowledged that he’s probably going to have to destroy that thing.” Myra Coles waved a hand at the viewscreen image of the asteroid. “But he insists on postponing any action against it for as long as possible.”
“I’ve been listening in, ma’am,” McCoy said, drawling the words slightly.
Kirk left the science station and returned to his post, nodding at McCoy as he passed him.
“Mr. Sulu,” Kirk said as he sat down, “set a course to parallel the mobile’s path into the sun, and prepare a spread of photon torpedoes to strike in four quadrants and dead center, but upon my order only.”
“Aye, aye, Captain.”
“Mr. Spock?” Kirk said.
“Yes, Captain,” the Vulcan’s voice replied. “We must be prepared for all eventualities.”
Myra Coles asked, “So why haven’t you beamed your first officer out of there?”
The low pitch and extremely measured tones of Kirk’s voice told McCoy that Jim was working hard to contain his annoyance. “Be assured that I will risk neither my first officer nor your world, if the danger is clear.”
“Will you risk a developing world on your hunch?” Myra Coles asked. “Even the smallest danger is too much to risk. We can’t just wait and see what happens when our sun swallows this thing.”
“Miss Coles,” Kirk said, still in the same measured voice, “I’m well aware of what it means to weigh possibilities. If I make a mistake, you and your people won’t be the only ones affected. My ship and my command are also at risk, as they are with all my most important decisions. I could lose both my command and the Enterprise if Starfleet finds my judgment here mistaken.”
Maybe that will shut her up, McCoy thought. In spite of himself, he felt some sympathy for Coles; reason was on her side, even if she wasn’t helping the situation much by hectoring the captain.
“I see,” she said, “but—”
“I’m well aware,” the captain continued, raising his voice slightly, “that the population of a planet can’t be risked in favor of an unknown. I have no more time to discuss this, Miss Coles. If you don’t shut up and keep out of my way, you will be escorted from the bridge and restricted to your quarters.”
Myra Coles paled. The sudden look on her face was one of outrage, but she was silent.
“Captain,” Spock’s voice said then, “I will be finished exploring this second sector soon, and if I do not find a control center or another way to divert the mobile from its course, we should let nothing stand in the way of the Tyrtaean colony’s safety.”
Well, McCoy thought with some surprise, Spock and he were actually in complete accord.
“Then we are all agreed, Captain?” Myra Coles said, sounding more subdued.
“Mr. Scott,” Kirk said.
“Aye, Captain.”
“Beam Spock out as soon as he gives you the word. Mr. Spock—can we conclude with certainty that the collision of this unknown with the star will produce adverse effects on Tyrtaeus II?”
“We cannot know that with absolute certainty,” Spock replied. “We do know that the mobile does possess an advanced field-effect drive system, one that may affect stellar bodies. Perhaps it will not affect them in a way that would put a planetary environment at risk, but we cannot be certain of that. A star is massive enough to swallow and obliterate just about anything without being affected.”
“Certainty isn’t the point,” Myra Coles muttered, so softly that McCoy could barely hear her. “This risk doesn’t have to be taken. It shouldn’t be taken.”
“When you’re finished with that sector, Spock,” Kirk said, “I can give you four more hours.”
“Six hours are what we agreed upon earlier,” the Vulcan’s voice murmured, “and almost two have passed.” McCoy saw the look in Coles’s gray eyes and knew what she was thinking —that even that time was too much.
“Four hours,” Kirk said, “and out you come. Mister Scott, return to engineering and monitor developments from there. Mister Kyle, beam Commander Spock out when it’s time.”
* * *
Kirk gazed at the viewscreen for a while, then looked up as McCoy approached his command station. The physician had a conspiratorial look on his face. McCoy glanced aft at Myra Coles, then said in a whisper, “I could probably dream up a reason for getting her off the bridge for a while. Another medical scan, maybe—after all, the stress of space travel—”
“Don’t bother, Bones.” Kirk preferred to have Myra there; she could snipe at him all she liked as long as she did not interfere with anything crucial. He did not want her to think that he was making decisions behind her back; he would not give her a chance to claim later that he had treated her unfairly, ignored her advice, or had not properly considered the interests of her people. She deserved some consideration for that. She had put her trust in the Federation, and had been its advocate on her world. He would have to do his best not to betray that larger trust.
“Captain!” Tristram Lund shouted from engineering. “The asteroid’s thrown up its field again.”
“Confirmed,” Ali Massoud said from his station aft. “Sensor display here shows the same thing.”
“Let me see that, laddie,” Scott’s voice said over the communicator. Kirk waited, knowing what the chief engineer would tell him. “It’s true,” Scotty continued. “The field’s up, and we canna’ transport anything through it without grave risk. The field density readings are very clear about that. They exceed all safeties!”
“Spock, did you hear that?” Kirk asked. “Come out physically, through the lock.”
There was no reply.
“Spock! Can you hear me?”
“The channel is still open, Captain,” Uhura said.
“Spock!”
“Spock here.”
“Can you hear me?” Kirk asked.
“Yes,” Spock responded. “My communicator link was cut off, but the field does not seem to affect my suit’s subspace channel.”
“The field is still up, Mr. Spock,” Scott said. “You’ll have to get out of there on your own.”
Kirk gripped the arms of his chair. “Spock, can you find your way back to the shuttle?”
“Yes, Captain. I read its position clearly.”
“Leave now. That’s an order.” He waited for Myra Coles to say something. Mercifully, she was silent.
“Captain,” Massoud called out from his station. Almost simultaneously, Kirk heard Scott’s voice on the intercom.
“Go ahead, Scotty,” Kirk said.
“The worldlet’s acceleration is increasing,” the engineer said. “We’re losing even more time, Captain.”
Kirk’s fingers tightened on his armrests. Next to him, McCoy cursed softly. He could almost hear what Myra Coles was thinking, what she would say at any moment now. You’ll let it go into the sun, Captain, rather than kill one of your officers. You’ll put Spock’s life above that of my world. What will you do if he can’t get out in time? Will you destroy the mobile then? You should have listened to me, you should have brought him out….
It was all taking on an air of inevitability, he thought. One by one, the doors to reasonable choices were closing.
Who was it, he found himself wondering, that had said, “Life must be lived forward, but understood backwards.” He had a better way to put it: “Fate is what you see looking back. Looking ahead, you don’t see as much.”
Well, he told himself, he was looking ahead, and he still had some moves left to make.
* * *
Uhura turned in her seat and looked up at Myra Coles. The Tyrtaean woman was standing stiffly, hands clasped, watching the viewscreen with empty gray eyes that seemed to be expecting the worst. Uhura saw that she had finally realized how grave the situation was, that there was nothing she could say now that would change anything for the better. Myra had at last understood the dilemma Captain Kirk and his first officer faced, that was now theirs alone to solve—if they could.
Myra moved closer to her aide. “Exile,” Uhura heard the woman say in an undertone to Wellesley. “That’s what this may mean. I’m one of our leaders—people will be much harder on me, much quicker to pass sentence. I know I shouldn’t care about that now, but I do.”
Exile, Uhura thought. She recalled her last day in Callinus, when Wellesley and two of the more friendly Tyrtaeans had invited her and Cathe Tekakwitha to dine with them. The food was plain, as always, but the other people in the tavern had been friendly—by Tyrtaean standards. Wellesley’s two comrades had requested a song from her, and then the talk had turned to the civil order that predominated in Tyrtaean life.
“I must compliment you on that,” Tekakwitha had said. “This has to be one of the safest places in the galaxy. As far as I can tell, you have almost no crime at all, even without any prisons or police.”
“What would be the point?” Wellesley responded. “No Tyrtaean would want to show anyone that he wants something so much he’d steal it. There’s little to steal anyway. Rape, murder, assault—they all grow out of impulses we work hard to control. Most of us also live in small towns and settlements, where we can observe what’s going on. We all make sure that our dwellings and work places are secure, and we all know how to defend ourselves.”
“Fact is,” one of his friends added, “we can be our own police. No one’s going to depend on somebody else to get him out of trouble. And the penalty for serious offenses is something no sane person would risk.”
Uhura was curious. “And what is that?” she asked.
“Exile to the northern continent,” Wellesley said, averting his eyes. “No one survives it.” He had clearly not wanted to say much more, and Uhura, after checking some records later, had wondered why there was no mention of the punishment in the Tyrtaean chronicles.
The Tyrtaean leader glanced at Wellesley, took a step toward the lift, then stopped and stood very still. It seemed that she was not going to leave the bridge after all. Uhura turned back to her console. Myra would remain there, she knew, a witness to events, ready to give her version of what had passed afterward.
“What if Spock can’t get out in time?” Myra murmured. Uhura turned toward her again. “What then? Will James actually destroy the mobile with him on board?”
“You heard what he said,” Uhura replied. “The captain will do whatever he has to do.”
Myra Coles took a breath. “When this is over, James will not be able to say what suits him. I made my protests. They will be on record. There will be two of us to tell the truth.” The woman sounded as though she was already preparing her own defense.
* * *
“Spock,” the captain’s voice said inside his helmet, “the asteroid’s acceleration is still steadily increasing.”
“Understood, Captain.” Spock, moving through an irregular black corridor, still could not accept that the alien mobile was without an accessible control area. His reason kept insisting that finding such a facility would present the simplest solution to the mobile’s sunward plunge. Otherwise, he would have to conclude that the vessel was out of control, with no intelligence in command except decaying systems; or that the mobile’s life-forms were intent on self-destruction, that they in fact wished to collide with the sun.
Suicides, Spock thought, are usually beyond thinking of what might happen to anyone around them.
“Are you on your way to the shuttlecraft?” Kirk asked.
“I will make my way there presently.” Spock glanced at his tricorder reading. “‘The reading for life-forms is now stronger than ever, Captain. Moving ahead for a look.”
He went slowly up the jagged black passageway. He was sure that his perceptions had been affected by the alien construct; several times, when he had been in the more open areas of the mobile, he had reached out with his hands toward a jagged pyramid or strange green shape, thinking that it was within reach, only to discover that it lay far beyond his grasp. Once he had come up against a wall that he had not been able to see clearly in the intensity of black and green. He was losing his sense of perspective.
Suddenly he realized that he was lost in this corridor.
“Spock,” Kirk said more insistently, “the rate of acceleration is continuing to increase. There is no longer time left for exploration. Get out now.”
“Yes, Captain.” He hurried forward and made one turn, then another. The corridor grew tighter. He seemed to be having more trouble breathing, and imagined the walls suddenly closing in on him and crushing him; that was part of the sensation that human beings called claustrophobia. A third bend in the hallway brought him into a narrowing that he could not push through; his shoulders caught between the walls. He saw a way through up ahead, but he could not reach it even if he took off his protective suit.
Farther up the corridor there was life, registering clearly on his tricorder display, without revealing what sort of life it might be. It frustrated him to think that a control area for the mobile might be just ahead, where he might be able to alter the alien vessel’s course, and that he could not reach it.
“Mr. Kyle,” Spock said, “can you increase power for a moment, lock on, and beam me forward of my present position fifty meters?”
“Negative,” Kyle replied. “I wouldn’t try to lock on through the field even if I could see your position.”
Fifty meters, Spock thought, might make all the difference to save the mobile. Even if he was transported imperfectly, all that would matter would be the completion of the task. One life—
“Is there a chance the field might lift for a moment?” Kirk’s voice asked.
“Negative!” Scott shouted from his station. “The field’s intensified, and the mobile’s rate of acceleration is still increasing. That field is obviously part of its drive system.”
“Spock, come out,” the captain said. “Get out now.”
Spock backed out of the tight passageway. “Heading toward the shuttle now,” he said.
* * *
It was taking Spock longer than he had expected to get back to the lock where he had left the shuttlecraft. The twisting black pathways and black and green corridors were taking their toll; twice he had taken a wrong turn, even with his tricorder to guide him.
Very well, he told himself; if his vision could not aid him, then he might have better luck by not relying on it.
He closed his eyes, feeling his way along the corridor with his hands. As he moved, the sensations of disorientation and dislocation eased a little. At last he came to a turn that felt oddly familiar, and opened his eyes.
“Captain,” Spock said slowly, recognizing the area, “I am now at the air lock.”
“You don’t have a moment to lose,” Kirk replied.
The lock was a flat, ebony surface surrounded by a metallic border of green, irregular in shape, resembling a distorted pentagon. Spock ran his hands along the border, looking for a button or panel, but found nothing. Perhaps the air lock’s controls were not physical ones.
“There seems no way to trigger the lock,” Spock said. “Mr. Kyle, can you beam me into the shuttlecraft now?”
“No, Commander Spock.”
“That damned field’s still up,” Scott added wearily, “and it’s growing stronger.” Spock could not tell if Scott was still in engineering or had returned to the transporter room. “We can’t beam you out.”
“Use your phaser,” Kirk said. “That’s an order—you have no choice.”
“Yes, Captain.” Spock was already reaching for his phaser; he set it to the proper intensity, then aimed it at the doorway. “Firing now.”
The beam shot out with its familiar hissing whine of ionization and stood like a bright drill against the black surface—
—without effect.
Spock lowered the phaser for a moment, raised it to the maximum setting, then opened fire again. The beam stood bravely against the alien hull, whining until the power pack drained and died.
“Captain,” Spock said, “I cannot cut myself free. My phaser is exhausted.”
“And we still canna’ beam you out,” Scott said with dismay in his voice.
“Stand by,” Kirk said, and Spock already knew what the captain had in mind. “Mr. Spock, move back from your position. We’re going to recall the shuttle, to get it out of the way, then use the ship’s phasers to open the mobile and get you out. We’ll send the shuttlecraft back for you after that.”
Spock left the entryway and made his way back down the passage.
* * *
McCoy was about to say that he had a feeling it wouldn’t work, that it would be too easy, that Jim had waited too long, that he should have kept Spock from going into the mobile in the first place. But he kept silent, knowing that any remarks he made now would accomplish exactly nothing.
The alien mobile seemed to be waiting on the screen as the Enterprise readied to bore away with its phasers.
“Spock, brace yourself,” Kirk said.
“Ready, Captain,” Spock replied.
Myra Coles had come forward to stand near McCoy; he saw the doubt and fear in her face.
“He’s very trusting,” she murmured. “Spock, I mean. It’s in his voice. He so obviously believes that James will get him out of there.”
He was about to say that she was reading too much into Spock’s usual expressionless tone, but restrained himself. “I suppose he does,” McCoy said at last. It was nothing new.
“And James won’t let him die.”
McCoy was silent. He knew that the captain would make the right decision if Tyrtaeus II was in danger; he would not risk imperiling millions of lives for Spock’s sake. But, as usual, Jim would do everything he could to find another way, to bend the rules. He’d blackmail God or the Devil if he had to, McCoy thought, to get his own way; it was the kind of persistence that wore away mountains with drops of water.
“Open fire, Mr. Sulu,” Kirk ordered.
Sulu’s hands moved over his console. “Phasers locked on target, Captain.”
The beam reached out across the silence of space and splashed against the alien.
“Cease fire,” Kirk said.
“Aye, aye, sir.”
The beam winked out, and the screen view pulled in for a closer look. There was no sign of an opening, no sign of any damage.
“Fire again, Sulu,” Kirk said, “and hold on target for thirty seconds.”
“Yes, sir. Engaging now.” The beam shot out and stood against the moving worldlet as the Enterprise stood off in its position.
“Captain,” Tekakwitha called out from her station aft, “the object’s velocity is increasing. It’s at half our impulse-power speed right now—it’s extraordinary.”
“Only six hours from the sun’s corona,” Massoud added.
“Confirmed,” Scott said from engineering.
“Fire again,” Kirk commanded, raising his voice. “Hold for two minutes this time.”
Again the beam lashed the alien. Myra Coles leaned forward, her eyes wide. McCoy was certain that everyone on the bridge had probably guessed the implications of what they were seeing. If full power from the ship’s phasers was having so little effect, then striking with photon torpedoes might not do any better. The alien would not be easily destroyed.
As the beam shut down again, with no effect, Spock said, “You must fire photon torpedoes within the next hour to have any hope of diverting the object’s course … or of destroying it in time.”
The Vulcan might be pronouncing his own death sentence. McCoy lowered his eyes for a moment, wondering if Jim would be capable of acting.
No one on the bridge spoke for a long time. At last Kirk said, “Keep pace and ready the torpedo spread.”
I should have known better, McCoy told himself. James Tiberius Kirk would sacrifice Spock, if necessary, to do his duty. What that would do to his innards, McCoy did not want to know, but the captain would meet his responsibility to the people of Tyrtaeus II. He glanced at the Coles woman and saw that her gray eyes were glistening, as if filling with tears at the prospect of what was coming. Reserved as she was, she would still weep for her people—and, he suspected, she would also shed a tear for Spock.
Kirk looked toward McCoy, then back to the viewscreen. “Spock,” he said, “we’re going to fire the barrage.”
“I understand, Captain.”
“Fire!” Kirk shouted, almost as if cursing at himself.
The photon torpedoes shot out like swift electric eels through the black of space, and struck the mobile’s rocky surface. McCoy tensed, expecting to see the rocky surface wounded and the mobile pushed off its course.
But the asteroid was still on the screen, seemingly immovable and invulnerable. McCoy heard Kirk’s stifled sigh of relief precede his own. Sulu turned for a moment to look at the captain, his face betraying his relief; he would not be Spock’s executioner after all.
“Wait!” Massoud shouted from his station. “The torpedoes had some effect after all! We have a course change that will put the mobile into a solar orbit.”
“What?” Myra Coles said, clasping her hands tightly in front of her.
Kirk was very still. “Spock, are you there?” he asked after a moment.
“Yes, Captain. I felt some vibration from the torpedoes, but the area around me seems unaffected. Tricorder readings indicate no damage to this section of the mobile.”
“Captain.” The low-pitched voice over the communicator had the sound of resignation and despair. It was Scotty’s voice, and McCoy suddenly knew what the engineer did not want to say. “The damned thing is correcting its course again. Heading back into the sun.”
“Oh, no,” Myra Coles said softly, “oh, no.” Again McCoy wondered if she was thinking of Spock’s fate or of what might now happen to her world. He wanted to believe she was thinking of both.
Wellesley Warren came to her side, looking concerned. “It will be so terrible for him,” McCoy heard her whisper to her aide, and he wondered if she was speaking of Spock or of the captain.
Kirk got to his feet. “It’s not over yet,” he said, staring coldly at the screen. McCoy felt the captain’s determination move through the bridge like a force of nature.
“But what can you do?” Myra Coles moved past McCoy and toward Kirk. “If the torpedoes couldn’t stop it—”
“I was prepared to do what had to be done,” Kirk said in a toneless voice, “even if it meant the death of … of one of my crew. That ought to convince you that I also had the interests of your people at heart.”
“I wasn’t thinking of that, James. I never doubted that you did. How I wish …” She bowed her head. She would be thinking, McCoy thought, that if Jim had listened to her, he might not now be facing this dilemma. Maybe he had provoked the thing into defending itself by going inside it in the first place. Maybe he should have acted earlier.
“Spock,” Kirk asked, “how can the mobile resist phaser fire and photon torpedoes?”
“Unknown, Captain. Its hull would have to be carbon neutronium at the very least, but with mass and inertia completely neutralized, to move as it does. I am speculating, of course.”
“Jim,” McCoy said then, “you’ve got to get him out of there. That thing’s going into the sun, and nothing can stop it.”
“Spock?” Kirk asked. “Any suggestions?”
“The only possibility for changing its course now,” Spock answered, “is still to find some controls aboard this vessel.”
But there weren’t any controls, McCoy thought, realizing that Spock would probably be lost after all. He had been shielded from the photon torpedo barrage, but there was no way that he could survive the hell of the sun.