HE HAD FAILED his friend. Kirk knew that he would carry the burden of that knowledge for the rest of his life. Unjustly, for him it would outweigh the bitterness the Tyrtaeans would feel if their world and environment were irretrievably damaged or lost, and the almost inevitable court-martial if that happened. His will remained strong, but he wondered if he would have the heart to defend himself, to make the case that his actions had been justified. He thought of the court-martial that had been instituted against him not long ago, when he had been unjustly accused of causing an Enterprise crewman’s death. He had thought that might be the end of his career. Spock had saved him that time, by discovering that the starship’s computer programming had been altered, and that the crewman, who was working out a grudge against Kirk, was still alive, hiding aboard the starship.
“I am sorry, James.”
He turned and looked into Myra Coles’s face.
“About Commander Spock,” she continued.
“It wouldn’t have happened if I’d followed your advice,” he said.
“I wasn’t going to say that.” She looked away. “If our sun is affected, and my world suffers because of that, my people will look for someone to blame. They know that Starfleet will deal with you, but my fate will be in their hands. They’ll remember that Aristocles and I insisted that one of us be here to help in exploring the mobile, and that I was here to advise you. Many will remember how I always defended our ties with the Federation. That you didn’t listen to me and didn’t follow my advice may not be enough to redeem me in their eyes.”
Kirk said, “You’ll lose the next election, I suppose.” He said it as gently as he could.
Wellesley Warren stepped closer to her. “That would be the least of Myra’s problems, Captain,” the young man said. “When a Tyrtaean commits a grave offense against society—and, believe me, it happens rarely—the punishment is exile.”
“Exile?” Kirk asked.
Warren looked uncomfortable. “The accused is tried in a public place before a jury of sixteen Tyrtaeans.” He spoke in a monotone. “He must make his own case and speak in his own defense. Anyone who wishes may come forward to offer evidence, either for or against him. If a majority on the jury votes against him, the offender is taken to our northern continent, where the climate is extremely harsh, and given only a few tools, weapons, and some provisions. Anyone who can survive alone there for five years will have his offense forgiven, and is welcomed back into society. Only one person has ever survived exile.” Warren paused for a moment. “You see, we Tyrtaeans are a practical people, and such a punishment is much simpler than building a prison or devising original forms of execution—practical also in that anyone who survives exile has demonstrated his self-reliance, earned forgiveness, and proven his worth to the rest of us.”
“There’s nothing about such a punishment in your public records,” Kirk said.
“Of course not. What would be the point? If the offender is exiled, it’s best to forget him. If he lives and is forgiven, why keep a record of his offense? There again, we are practical.”
“Some offenders choose not to struggle on,” Myra said softly. “There are rumors that several committed suicide in the early months of their exile. Suicide would have been their final act of self-determination.”
“Myra,” Kirk said softly, and put his hand on her shoulder for a moment, but he could not speak.
Spock would perish and the solar output might be affected. Even a tractor beam at full power would not be able to stop an object accelerating to well beyond two hundred kilometers per second. The best that could be hoped for would be that the star would swallow the alien artifact and there would be no further consequences. He would escape his court-martial and Myra would not be punished by exile. She would still lose much—the next election for sure, and perhaps also the debate with those who wanted to found an independent Tyrtaean colony, but at least she would have her life; and all he would lose was whatever knowledge the mobile might have yielded, and his closest comrade.
No, Kirk told himself, I refuse to accept even that.
He sat down at his station again. “Spock, can you hear me?”
“Yes, Captain.”
“Tell me what you think of this wild supposition. If this thing can resist photon torpedoes and phaser fire, and is made of the kind of materials we think it is, is it possible that it could resist this sun’s interior?”
“Perhaps, Captain. But this vessel’s interior will reach extreme temperatures unless there are systems in place of which we know nothing as yet. I doubt that I could survive even if the object maintains its integrity for a time. At best, if it could resist heat and pressure indefinitely, I would still be trapped inside without provisions and little prospect of escape.”
“Yes, of course,” Kirk said, feeling the hopelessness creep back into him once more. He was useless; he could do nothing; there was nothing to be done. No, he told himself. To admit defeat now would only ensure that he lost in the end.
“I will attempt one more stratagem,” Spock said, “in the time I have left. I propose to go back to the narrowing passage without my utility suit and attempt to push through to the forward section of the mobile. There is still a slight chance of finding controls there and altering the alien vessel’s course.”
“Do it, then.” Any course of action was preferable to doing nothing at all. “In the meantime,” Kirk continued, “we’ll give the mobile another shove with our impulse booster. It’s worth a try. Scotty, do you hear me?”
“Aye, Captain. Ready to do it now.”
The people on the bridge were silent, waiting through long minutes as the booster gave the mobile its invisible push.
“It’s not working,” Scotty said at last. “The object is still correcting its course for the sun.”
Kirk said, “Then try to pull it off course with our tractor beam.”
“That might change its course slightly, but the same thing will happen. It’ll just return to its present course, and we’ll only drain our power.”
“Mr. Scott is correct,” Spock said.
“Do it anyway,” Kirk said. “That’s an order, Scotty.”
“Readying now,” Scotty said.
Kirk looked around the bridge. Both Janice Rand and Tonia Barrows were coming out of the lift. The two yeomen would be concerned for Spock, but Kirk guessed that wasn’t the only reason they had come to the bridge together. They would also be wondering how their captain was holding up under the strain. Yeoman Barrows hurried to McCoy’s side; Yeoman Rand moved to Kirk’s right.
“Tractor beam locking on,” Scotty announced.
“Confirmed,” Sulu said.
“Pull back at half,” Kirk ordered.
He saw no change on the screen. The alien remained a silent affront.
“Pull at full,” Kirk said.
“Pulling at full,” Sulu replied.
“No luck,” Scotty called out from engineering. “It keeps resisting.”
“Continue,” Kirk said, glancing at McCoy. The expression on the doctor’s face was one of compassion, for a colleague who was trying in vain to raise the dead.
“Maintaining at maximum,” Sulu replied.
“It just won’t budge!” Scotty shouted.
“Exceed safeties,” Kirk ordered. “Put as much power as possible into the tractor.”
“Aye, sir,” Scotty said.
“Exceeding,” Sulu answered.
“Hold,” Kirk commanded. “Scotty, can we get another tractor on it?”
“Not on this short notice, Captain!”
“Then give it all the power we have.”
After a moment, the lights on the bridge went out, and the emergencies came on.
“No luck,” Scotty said. “And even if we could move it off course, it will only correct.”
“Release,” Kirk said, then sat back.
The main lights came on as the emergencies winked out.
“Jim, are you all right?” McCoy asked.
Kirk nodded at him, then at Yeoman Rand. “I’m fine,” he said, trying to sound as though he meant it.
“It’s astonishing!” Scotty cried from engineering. “That thing insists on heading for the hellfire!”
Kirk heard the anguish and frustration in Scotty’s voice. The frustration was that of an engineer who could not get his way. The anguish was for Spock.
* * *
Spock took off his utility suit, then removed his backpack and portable equipment from it. After attaching his communicator and now-useless phaser to his belt and slipping his tricorder case over his shoulder, he picked up the backpack and made his way again to the place where the life-form readings had been strongest. It was logical to conclude that somewhere on this mobile some intelligence was attempting to avoid the coming catastrophe.
He came to the narrowing of the passageway and began to squeeze through to the turn. He pushed through, careful not to become wedged between the walls, then took his communicator from his belt, set the channel to tie into the subspace communicator core backpack, and flipped it open. The communicator should have enough range to work through the backpack, which he would leave here.
“Captain,” Spock said, “I have reached an open right hand turn, and am going forward.” The walls of the narrow passageway were slippery, almost wet, and felt as though they might either close on him or suddenly give way. “The walls have an odd texture to them, but that may make it easier for me to pass through.”
“Noted,” Kirk responded. “Spock, we’re …” The captain was silent.
“Captain?”
“We’re going to have to change course within two hours.”
“I understand. Spock out.”
He squeezed through the passage, then checked the temperature reading with his tricorder, expecting to see a slight rise, but there was nothing. Close enough to the sun, this green and black interior would become a geometrical inferno. His Vulcan physiology made him able to tolerate fairly high temperatures by human standards, but beyond his own limits he would surely die. When the mobile entered the sun, he would be far beyond all limits.
He moved through the corridor slowly. Ahead, he saw a strange glow—odd because there seemed to be a tinge of blue in the green. He narrowed his eyes, studying the slightly different color of the glow until he was sure that what he saw was not an illusion. He closed his eyes and felt his way along the passageway, and suddenly sensed that he was nearing—what?
Spock opened his eyes. He stood in front of an open, oval entrance. Quickly, he took more readings with his tricorder. Life-forms—and the readings were stronger than ever.
He stepped inside and found himself in a domelike interior. He turned, looking around the chamber, then took measurements with his tricorder. Although the circumference of the floor looked circular, it was actually an oval, and near its center a heptagonal panel jutted from the floor’s black surface.
As he approached, his tricorder readings told him that it was four meters high and a half-meter thick. Light streaked across its surface. This, according to his tricorder, was the source of the life-form readings.
The lights flickered and darted like ghostly fish through a solid ocean, and Spock hypothesized that, to one degree or another, they might be capable of motion through the solid material of the mobile. That would account for some of the tricorder’s earlier readings. The life-forms inside the heptagonal wall might be the remains of the mobile’s artificial intelligences; or perhaps they were what was left of the builders themselves, who had translated themselves into their artifact.
It occurred to Spock at that moment that the alien forms might be living in a kind of subjectively eternal hell, trapped in their suffering for eons, but had finally been able to steer their container, their ancient instrumentality, toward the release of death. Perhaps their creators had abandoned them, left them to evolve fortuitously into a greater, more painful awareness. The Enterprise, he realized again, might very well be engaged in a struggle with an alien bent on suicide.
* * *
Kirk sat at his command station, considering what else to attempt, then got to his feet and turned aft. “Massoud,” he said to the science officer, “would it be possible to punch a hole in that field and beam Spock out?”
Massoud replied, “Picking up a material object and maintaining its integrity through such a field is a formidable problem. He’d be scrambled, at best.”
“I wager we’d lose the subject completely,” Scotty added from engineering. “We canna’ take the chance.”
“How about trying with something inanimate,” Kirk said, “just to give us an idea of what’s possible.”
“Aye,” Scotty responded, “we could try that.”
“We must try everything,” Kirk insisted. Myra Coles was staring fixedly at him; Yeoman Barrows moved closer to the Tyrtaean woman, as if preparing to restrain her. But Myra would not give vent to her feelings now; the situation seemed to have finally defeated her, as it might soon defeat them all.
“Send Spock an extra phaser,” Kirk said. “He might need it.”
“Phaser ready to be beamed to the mobile,” Kyle said from the transporter room. “Locking on.”
“Kirk to Spock,” Kirk said. “We’re sending you a present.”
“I will remain at this position until I receive it, Captain,” Spock replied.
Kirk caught the eye of Wellesley Warren; the young man gazed back with sympathy. Kirk imagined what lay ahead: the loss of Spock, changes in the solar output caused by the alien mobile, he and Myra Coles engaged in their dance of accusation and counter-accusation when a court-martial hearing was called. She would have to argue that he and the Enterprise crew should have left the mobile alone, that they had thoughtlessly triggered responses in the alien unknown, that he had ignored her advice. And she would be right, up to a point, knowing that she would have to make such arguments before her people in order to have any chance of saving herself.
But exploring the unknown, especially alien artifacts, was a standing Starfleet order. And it might turn out that Tyrtaeus II would be unaffected by the alien’s plunge into the sun.
He sat down at his station. “Kirk to Spock.”
“Did you get what we sent you?”
“Yes, Captain, and the phaser appears to be intact.”
“Mr. Scott, listen carefully.” Kirk took a breath. “As a last resort, could we risk beaming Spock out, at full power and scanning resolution?”
“I wouldn’t do that,” Scotty said. “It’s too risky.”
“But he’ll die anyway if he’s left there.”
“True, Captain,” Spock said. “I believe that we are now at the point where almost any action or inaction is likely to lead to my demise.” He was silent for a moment. “I must report that the phaser you beamed in to me is devoid of its charge. Coming through the heavy field around this mobile has apparently drained it.”
“Then that’s that,” Scotty muttered.
“Spock,” Kirk continued, “do you want us to try to beam you out at the last minute?”
Moments passed with no answer.
“It will be your decision,” Kirk added. A knot twisted inside him.
“Negative, Captain. At best, I would be stored as scrambled or incomplete information in the transporter, with almost no chance of regaining coherence.”
“Good God, man!” McCoy burst out. “Do you prefer a certain death?”
“A nearly certain death, Doctor.” Spock’s voice seemed a bit fainter. “There is still a chance—a very small one, to be sure, but a chance—that I can find some sort of control panel.”
“Captain,” Scotty cut in, “the mobile’s field density is increasing, and its acceleration is increasing by a factor of five each second.”
“Spock?” Kirk said. “Spock? Can you hear me?” There was no answer, and he knew what Scotty’s next words would be.
“The field’s cut off the subspace link, Captain,” the chief engineer continued, “and the mobile is leaving us behind. We’re at full impulse now. It’ll hit the sun in less than half an hour.”
* * *
Spock stood before the alien panel, studying his tricorder readings. By now, the sun would be very near, and yet the temperature inside the mobile remained steady. He knew that as the mobile entered the sun, it would begin to ablate material from its outer surface, until the inner shells were reached. Heat would be expected to increase at any time now, until everything inside was incinerated. The asteroid would burst like a kernel of popcorn and be dispersed as a gas in the upper reaches of the solar atmosphere.
He did not have much time left.
His reason kept insisting that his only hope for survival was in this alien panel, assuming that it was a control center of some kind. But the panel might be a device beyond his power to comprehend, a purely aesthetic artifact, or even a virtual world in which the alien life-forms lived, oblivious to their coming fate.
Spock put his hand against the panel, and suddenly the chamber darkened. An image of the space around the mobile appeared on the inside of the oval surface, covering it completely. Stars shone, and the sun of Tyrtaeus II was near enough now to take up a quarter of the field. The Enterprise, hanging nearby like an ornament, still paced the mobile, but he knew that very soon it would have to turn away. These stellar images were all in a dim, black and white monochrome. This was another sign of how unlike humans and Vulcans the builders of this artifact must have been; the display had clearly been built for beings with a very different visual physiology.
Strangely, as the sun ate up the field of view in the oval chamber, his tncorder did not register any change in temperature. He checked the readings often, certain that the tricorder was not malfunctioning, and concluded that this lack of temperature increase had to be caused by a temporary benefit offered by the alien technology. Even if the mobile resisted disintegration for a time as it entered the sun, the buildup of heat inside it would be unstoppable, at least by any cooling system that he knew.
With this artifact’s endurance, Spock thought, he might live long enough to see the mobile engulfed—from the inside—as the entire inner viewing surface of the oval chamber became a sheet of seething, falsely cold light.
He continued to gaze at the chamber’s starry display. At last he saw the bright bauble that was the Enterprise begin to pull back, and he knew that his end was very near….
* * *
“Captain,” Scotty cried from engineering, “that damned thing is still accelerating, like a spear shooting straight for the sun!”
Kirk did not answer as he searched for a way out of the dilemma, a way out for Spock. The Vulcan had to come out. It was as simple as that: he had to come out. It could be done easily, by simply reaching in through the alien field and grabbing him—mangling him in the process. He would be out: hopelessly damaged but out. Repairable? Kirk asked himself if he dared try it, even if Spock refused.
“Scotty, how close can we go in?”
“A ways still, but what’s the point? There’s nothing we can do.”
Nothing, Kirk thought, except to pull Spock out through a shredder.
“Scotty, can we still transport through that thing’s field?”
The engineer did not answer for a few moments.
“Scotty?”
“No, Captain. Nothing can get through now, in any way. It’s a wall.”
Kirk sat back and took a deep breath. Even that slim hope was gone.
“Pull away, Mister Sulu,” Kirk ordered, his voice breaking. “There’s nothing more we can do here.”
Sulu obeyed the order.
As the Enterprise pulled back, the alien mobile seemed to become fixed on the bright disk of the sun, a dark spot becoming smaller with each second.
It became a point, and seemed to hang there for an eternity. Kirk did not have the heart to order further magnification of the object carrying his friend to a blazing death.
The black point winked out.
Janice Rand bowed her head.
“Oh, no,” whispered Tonia Barrows. Kirk felt a hand grip his shoulder and knew it was McCoy’s. Looking up, Kirk saw that the physician was not only struggling to contain his own feelings, but also worrying about his captain’s mental state.
And then the bridge was silent, except for the intermittent beeping of its instruments, and Kirk had the foolish notion that this was the hushed silence before some cosmic surprise party, when all the goodness in the universe would leap out of the darkness and reverse this tragedy. The loss of Spock became even more painful as he tried to imagine the foreboding and fear that would already be preying on the minds of Myra Coles and Wellesley Warren. Whatever now happened to this sun could not be prevented. His mostly diplomatic mission to Tyrtaeus II, so routine in the beginning, had failed in a way that he could not have anticipated; and he would not have Spock at his side to deal with the consequences.
He tried to see ahead to what those might be: the evacuation of a colony; court-martial; the end of his career; an all-too-human bitterness which would be with him for the rest of his life.