SPOCK'S BRAIN
(Lee Cronin)
The curiously elegant spaceship depicted on the Enterprise screen had failed to respond to any hailing frequency or to approved interstellar symbols.
Nor was its shape familiar. Scanning it, Spock said, "Design unidentified. Ion propulsion, neutron conversion of a unique technology."
Kirk said, "Magnification Ten, Mr. Chekov."
But the close-up revealed the ship as mysterious as before—a long, slender, needle-thin splinter of glow against the blackness of space.
"Well, Scotty?"
"It beats me, Captain. I've never seen anything like it. But isn't she a beauty?" He whistled in awed admiration. "And ion propulsion at that. Whoever they are, they could show us a thing or two."
"Life form readings, Mr. Spock?"
"One, sir. Humanoid or similar. Low level of activity. Life support systems functioning. Interior atmosphere conventional nitrogen oxygen." He peered more closely at his scanner. "Just a minute, Captain . . ."
"Yes, Mr. Spock?"
"Instruments indicate a transferal beam emanating from the humanoid life form."
"Directed to where?"
"To here sir—the bridge of the Enterprise."
People moved uneasily at their stations. Kirk spoke into the intercom. "Security guard! To the bridge!"
But even as he issued the order, a figure had begun to take shape among them. It gathered substance. A superbly beautiful woman stood in the precise center of the bridge. She was clad in a short, flowing, iridescent tunic, a human woman in all aspects save in her extraordinary loveliness. On her arm she wore a bracelet, studded with varicolored cabochon jewels or buttons. She was smiling faintly.
Her appearance, no Transporter Room materialization, was as mysterious as the ship.
Kirk spoke. "I am Captain James T. Kirk. This is the Starship Enterprise."
She pressed a button on the bracelet. There was a humming sound. The bridge lights dimmed, brightened, dimmed again; and with the look of amazement still on their faces, Kirk, Spock and Scott went stiff, paralyzed. Then they crumpled to the floor. The humming sound passed out into the corridor. Again, lights flickered. Three running security guards stumbled—and fell. The humming grew louder. It moved into Sickbay where McCoy and Nurse Chapel were examining a patient. Once more, lights faded. When they brightened, McCoy, the nurse and the patient had slumped into unconsciousness.
Silence flowed in on the Enterprise.
Still smiling, the beautiful intruder glanced down at Kirk. She stepped over him to examine Scott's face. Then she left him to approach Spock. The smile grew in radiance as she stooped over him.
Nobody was ever to estimate accurately the duration of their tranced state. Gradually, as awareness returned to Kirk, he saw that other heads around him had recovered the power to lift themselves.
"What—where—" he asked disconnectedly.
Sulu put the question. "What happened?"
Kirk pulled himself back up into his command chair.
"Status, Mr. Sulu?"
Mechanically Sulu checked his board. "No change from the last reading, sir."
"Mr. Spock?"
There was no Mr. Spock at The Vulcan's station to reply. Perplexed, Kirk looked at Scott. "The girl," Scott said dazedly, "she's gone, too."
"Yes," Kirk said, "that girl . . ."
His intercom buzzed. "Jim! Jim! Get down here to Sickbay! Right now! Jim, hurry!"
McCoy's voice had an urgency that was threaded with horror. In Sickbay the Enterprise's physician was trying to force himself to look at his own handiwork. Within its life function chamber, he had encased Spock's motionless body with a transparent bubble device. There was a small wrapping about the upper part of the cranium. Frenziedly working at his adjustment levers, he said, "Now?"
Nurse Chapel, at her small panel, nodded. She threw a switch that set lights to blinking. "It's functioning," she said, her voice weak with relief.
"Thank God."
McCoy was leaning back against the table as Kirk burst through the door.
"Bones, what in the name of—" Kirk broke off. He had seen through the transparency of the bubble. "Spock!" He glanced swiftly at the life indicator. It showed a very low level. "Well?" he demanded harshly.
It was Nurse Chapel who answered him. "I found him lying on the table when I recovered consciousness."
"Like this?"
"No," McCoy said. "Not like this."
"Well, what happened?"
"I don't know!" McCoy shouted.
"You've got him under complete life support at total levels. Was he dead?"
McCoy raised himself by a hand pushed down on the table. "It starts there," he said.
"Damn you, Bones, talk!"
"He was worse than dead."
"What do you mean?"
"Jim—" McCoy spoke pleadingly as though he were appealing for mercy from his own sense of helplessness. "Jim—his brain is gone."
"Go ahead."
"Technically, the greatest job I ever saw. Every nerve ending of the brain neatly sealed. Nothing torn, nothing ripped. No bleeding. A surgical miracle."
"Spock's brain—" Kirk said, fighting for control.
"Gone." McCoy had given up on professional composure. His voice broke. "Spock—his incredible Vulcan physique survived until I could get the support system to take over. The body lives—but it has no mind."
"The girl," Kirk said.
"What girl?"
"She took it. I don't know where—or why. But she took Spock's brain."
"Jim . . ."
"How long can you keep the body functioning?"
"Several days at the most. And I can't guarantee that."
"That's not good enough, Bones."
"If it had happened to any of us, I could say indefinitely. But Vulcan physiology limits what I can do. Spock's body is much more dependent than ours on that tremendous brain of his for life support."
"I ask you—how long, Dr. McCoy. I have to know."
Wearily, McCoy reached for the chart. "He suffered a loss of cerebral spinal fluid in the operation. Reserves are minimal. Spock's T-Negative blood supply—two total exchanges." He looked up from the chart. "Three days—no more."
Kirk moved over to the bubble. He could feel his heart cringe at the sight of the paper-white face inside it. Spock, the friend, the dear companion through a thousand hazards—Spock, the always reliable thinker, the reasonable one, the always reasonable and loyal one.
"All right, then—I've got three days."
At the naked anguish in his face, McCoy motioned the nurse to leave them alone.
"Jim, are you hoping to restore him his brain? How are you going to find it? Where are you going to look? Through the entire galaxy?"
"I'll find it."
"Even if you do find it, a brain can't be replaced with present surgical techniques."
"If it was taken, it can be put back. Obviously, there are techniques."
"I don't know them!" The cry was wrenched from McCoy.
"The thief who took it has the knowledge. I'll force it out of her! So help me, I'll get it out of her!"
It was Sulu who located the ion trail of the mystery ship.
"Look, Mr. Scott. I've got it again!"
Scott was jotting numbers down on the board in his hand. "Aye, an ion trail. It's from that ship of hers all right."
"Where does it lead, Mr. Chekov?" Kirk asked.
Chekov studied the panel at Spock's library computer. "It leads to system Sigma Draconis, sir."
"Lock on," Kirk said. "Maximum speed without losing the trail, Mr. Sulu."
"Aye, Captain. Warp six."
"Mr. Chekov, a complete readout on Sigma Draconis."
Sulu turned to Kirk. "Arrival, seven terrestrial hours, twenty-five minutes at warp six, sir."
"No mistake about the trail, Scotty?"
"No mistake, Captain."
Chekov called from Spock's station. "Coming into scanning range of the Sigma Draconis system, sir."
Alarm rang in Sulu's voice. "Captain, I've lost the trail!"
Kirk leaped from his chair. "You've lost the trail to Spock?"
"It's gone, sir. At warp six there was a sudden deactioned shift."
"No excuses, if you please," Kirk said. "All right, her trail is gone. But she was heading into this star system. She must be somewhere in it." He moved to Chekov. "Put a schematic of Sigma Draconis on the viewing screen."
The nine planets comprising the system took shape and position on the screen. "Readout, Mr. Chekov," Kirk said.
"Sun, spectral type, G9. Three Class M planets showing sapient life. First planet rated number 5 on the industrial scale. Second Class M planet rated number 6."
"Earth equivalent, approximately 2030," Kirk estimated.
Scott broke in. "But that ship, Captain. Either it was thousands of years ahead of us—or the most incredible design fluke in history."
"Third Class M planet, Mr. Chekov?"
"Aye, sir. No signs of industrial development. Rated number 2 on the industrial scale of 20. At last report in a glacial age. Sapient life plentiful but on a most primitive level." Chekov turned around to face Kirk. "Of course, sir, in none of these cases has a detailed Federation survey been made. All the information is the result of long-range scanning and preliminary contact reports. We don't know how accurate it is."
"Understood, Mr. Chekov. There are three Class M planets, not one of which owns the capability of launching an interstellar flight. Yet one of them has obviously accomplished it."
Chekov, who had been punching up reports on the whirring computer, was too puzzled by the last one to note Kirk's irony. He compared it with what he saw on the screen before he said, "Captain, its odd. I'm picking up high-energy generation on Planet 7."
"That's the primitive glaciated one, isn't it?"
"Yes, sir,"
"Its source, Mr. Chekov?"
"It could be natural—volcanic activity, steam, any of a dozen sources, sir. But the pulsations are very regular."
"Surface readings again?"
"No signs of organized civilization. Primitive humanoids in small groups. Apparently a routine hunter-predator stage of social development."
"With very regular pulsations of generated energy?"
"I can't explain it, Captain."
Kirk turned to address all members of the bridge crew. "This time," he said, "there is no time for mistakes. We've got to pick the right planet, go there—and get what we came for. Mr. Chekov, your recommendation."
"Planet 3, sir. It's closest and the heaviest population."
Scott said, "With a technological rating of 5, it couldn't have put that ship we saw into space."
"None of these planets could," Chekov said.
"You've got to put your money where the odds are," Scott retorted. "Captain, my guess is Planet 4. Technologically it's ahead of 3."
"Yes," Kirk said. "But ion propulsion is beyond even our technology. Can you really credit theirs with its development?"
Uhura spoke up. "And what would they want with Mr. Spock's brain?"
"What?" Kirk said.
"I said what would they want with Mr. Spock's brain? What use could they make of it? Why should they want it?"
Kirk stared at her. "A very interesting question, Lieutenant. Why indeed should they want it? Planet 7. It's glaciated, you say, Mr. Chekov?"
"Yes, sir. For several thousand years at least. Only the tropical zone is ice-free—and that would be bitterly cold. Humanoids exist on it; but only under very trying conditions."
"But the energy, Mr. Chekov. It's there."
"Yes, sir. It doesn't make sense—but it's there."
Kirk sat back in his chair. Three days—and Spock's body would be a dead one. Choice. Choice again. Decision again—command decision. He made it.
"I'm taking a landing party down to Planet 7," he said.
Scott stirred uncomfortably.
"Well, Mr. Scott?"
"Nothing, sir."
"Very well. We'll transport down immediately."
Kirk had seen some bleak landscapes in his time; but this one, he thought, would take the cake at any galactic fair.
What vegetation there was scarcely deserved the name, sparse as it was, brown, crackling under the feet with hardened frost. No green, just rocks, black under the sprinkling of snow that clung to their harsh crags, their crannies. A constant icy wind blew. He shivered, hoping that the rest of his party—McCoy, Scott, Chekov and two security guards—were as grateful as he was for their lightweight, thermal cold-weather clothing.
"Readings, Mr. Scott." His warm breath congealed in a mist as he spoke.
"Scattered life forms, widely spaced. Humanoid all right. On the large side."
"Watch out for them. They are primitives. Readout, please, Mr. Chekov."
Chekov unslung his tricorder, and went to work on the rocky plateau where they had materialized. His explorations acquired a witness. Above him was an escarpment, broken by a gulch, sheltered by an overhang of stunted scrub. A fur-clad figure, armed with a crude knobbed club, had scrambled through the gulch; and was lying now, belly flat, at the edge of the cliff to peer through the overhang at what went on below.
Chekov returned to his party. "No structures, Captain. No surface consumption of energy or generation of it. Atmosphere OK. Temperature—say a high maximum of forty. Livable."
"If you've got a thick skin," McCoy said.
The figure on the cliff had been joined by several other skin-clad creatures, their faces hidden by parkalike hoods. They moved, gathering, from rock to rock as though closing in. Most carried the heavy clubs. One bore a spear.
"Captain!" Chekov cried. "There's someone—something up there. There—up on that cliff . . ."
"Phasers on stun," Kirk ordered. "Fire only on my signal."
Chekov looked up again from his tricorder. "I register six of them, sir. Humanoids. Big."
"Remember, I want one of them conscious," Kirk said.
As he spoke, a huge man, savagely bearded, rose up on the cliff; and swinging his club in an arc over his head, hurled it downward. It struck a security guard a glancing blow. He yelled in surprise and alarm. The alarm in the yell brought the other five to their feet. They all clambered up to shower the Enterprise with rocks and clubs.
Aiming his phaser at one of them, Kirk fired. The man fell and rolled down the cliffs slope, stunned. Shouting to each other, the rest disappeared.
The prisoner belonged to a hardheaded lot. Consciousness returned to him with astonishing swiftness. He struggled to rise, but Scott seized him with a judo hold that suggested the reprisal of pain for struggle. The man (and he was a man) subsided. He looked up at Kirk, terror in his eyes. Extending his empty hands in a gesture of friendship, Kirk said, "We mean you no harm. We are not enemies. We want to be your friends."
The terror in the eyes abated slightly. Kirk spoke again. "We will not hurt you. We only want to talk to you. Let him go, Mr. Scott."
"Captain, he could twist your head off."
"Let him go," Kirk repeated.
The man said, "You are not The Others?"
"No," Kirk said. "We are not The Others. We come from a far place."
"You are small like The Others. I could break you in two."
"But you won't," Kirk said. "We are men. Like you. Why did you attack us?"
"When The Others come, we fight. We thought you were The Others."
"Who are The Others?"
"They are the givers of pain and delight."
"Do they live here with you?"
"They come."
"Where do you see them when they come?"
The man spread his arms wide. "Everywhere. On the hunt, when we eat, at the time of sleep."
"The Others—where do they come from?"
Kirk got a heavy stare. "Do they come from the sky?" he asked.
"They are here. You will see. They will come for you. They come for all like us."
"Jim, ask him about women," McCoy said. He spoke to the man himself. "Do The Others come for your women, too?"
"Women?"
"The females of our kind," Kirk said.
The man shrugged. "Your words say nothing."
Kirk tried again. "We are looking for a—lost friend."
"If he is here, The Others have him."
"Will you take us where we can find The Others?"
"No one wants to find The Others."
"We do. Take us to them and we will let you go."
"Captain!" Chekov, his tricorder switched to full power, was pointing excitedly to the ground. "Right where we're standing, there's a foundation below the surface! And masonry debris! There are registrations all over the place!"
"Buildings?"
"Unquestionably, sir. Immensely old and completely buried. I don't know how our sensors misread them."
"Then somewhere below us is where The Others live," Kirk said. "Mr. Scott, check it out."
Scott and a guard were moving away when a hoarse cry came from the fur-clad man. "Don't go!" he screamed. "Don't go!"
Chekov and McCoy tried to calm him. He refused calm. He pulled madly out of their hold, shrieking with terror. "Release him," Kirk said. They obeyed.
"Don't go!" The last warning was almost a sob. Then he was gone, frantically hauling himself back up the cliff. Chekov said, "What have these Others done to cause such fear?"
"We may know soon enough," was McCoy's sober reply.
"Bones, what was it he said The Others give? It was 'pain and delight,' wasn't it?"
"A peculiar mixture, Jim."
"Everything's peculiar," Kirk said. "A dead and buried city on a planet in the glacial age . . ."
"And a man," said Chekov, "who doesn't know the meaning of the word 'women.' "
"There's a thread somewhere that ties it all together," Kirk said thoughtfully. "Right now I wish I had Spock here to find it for me. No offense, Mr. Chekov."
Chekov said fervently, "I wish it, too, sir."
"It's beginning to look as though your hunch was right, Jim. If there was a city here, maybe millions of years ago . . ."
Kirk nodded. "Then it could have developed a science capable of building that ship we saw."
"Captain, over here, sir." Scott and a security guard were standing near a spur of rock jutting out from the cliff. Under it was an opening, large enough to make entrance accessible to even one of the huge, shaggy, fur-clad men. It led into a cave. Or a room. Or something else. "I've looked inside," Scott said. "There's food in there, Captain."
"Food?"
"And a whole pile of other stuff. Some kind of cache. You'd better look, sir."
The place was about twelve feet square. It should have been dark. It wasn't. It was quite light enough to see the food, mounds of it, laid out neatly along one wall. Furs were stacked against another along with clubs, metal knives, tools, hatchets. "A storehouse," McCoy said, "for our muscular friends."
"I don't think so, Bones."
Kirk picked up a crude metal ax. "Forged," he said, "tempered. Our savage brothers did not make this." He returned to the cave's entrance to run his fingers along its edges. They were smooth. He came slowly back to examine the place more closely. Then he saw it—a light which alternately glowed and faded. It came from a small cell set into the wall behind the piled food. He waited. The light went into glow—and shot a beam across the food to a cell in the opposite wall.
"Scotty, Bones," he called. As they approached him, he barred their forward movement with an arm. The light glowed—and he gestured toward the beam. "What do you think?"
"It could be a warning device to keep those beast boys away from the food," Scott said.
"You think that beam could kill?" McCoy asked him.
"It very well might."
"How about this?" Kirk looked thoughtful. "The food is a lure to bring those primitive men into this place."
"In that case, Captain, the beam might be serving as a signal of their arrival."
"And this cave," Kirk said, "could be a trap."
"It could trap us, too, then, Captain," Chekov said nervously.
"Yes," Kirk said. "So you and the security team will remain at the entrance. We will maintain contact with you. If you don't hear from us within five hours, you will return to the Enterprise and contact Starfleet Command. Understood?"
"Yes, sir."
"Then return to the entrance."
"Yes, sir."
At Kirk's nod, Scott and McCoy checked their communicators. McCoy slung his tricorder over his shoulder. Then all three stepped over the beam. Kirk turned. Behind them metal doors had dropped over the cave's entrance.
"Phasers on stun," he said.
A loud hum broke the silence. Its pitch increased to a whine—and the whole cave moved bodily under their feet, descending as a descending elevator descends. It continued its smooth downward plunge; and Scott, checking his tricorder, said, "Captain, that power we picked up before—we're getting closer to it."
"A lot of power?" Kirk asked.
"Enough to push this planet out of orbit."
The whining noise was diminishing. "Natural or artificial, Mr. Scott?"
"Artificial, I'd say, sir."
"And the source?"
"Either a nuclear pile a hundred miles wide or . . ."
"Or what, Mr. Scott?"
"Ion power."
Kirk smiled thinly. Ion power—it had stolen Spock. He had to fight against an uprush of rage. Then he decided to let it happen to him. He'd use it to sharpen every sense he had. He succeeded. The door of the cave-elevator had been fitted so deftly into it that he alone spotted it before it slid silently open. A young girl was facing them. Kirk's eyes looked for and found the button-studded bracelet on her arm. Her face had tightened in surprise and fear. But before she could stab at her bracelet, Kirk fired his phaser. She fell.
Scott stood guard while Kirk removed the bracelet. "Is she all right, Bones?" he asked as McCoy rose from her stunned body.
"I'll have her talking in a minute—if she talks."
The pretty eyelids opened. At once her right hand went to her left arm. Kirk dangled the bracelet in her face. "We've had enough of that trick," he said.
She was instantly on her feet to make a grab for the bracelet. As McCoy's firm hold convinced her of her helplessness, she said, "You do not belong here. You are not morg."
Kirk ignored that. "Take us to the one in charge," he said. "We must talk to him."
"Him? What is him?" said the girl. "I am Luma and I know no him."
"Who is in charge here?" Kirk's patience was slipping. "Where is the brain? Where was it taken? Do you understand me?"
"You do not belong here. You are not morg or eymorg. I know nothing about a brain."
"I'll say you don't!" Kirk said. "I have no time for stupid lies!"
"Jim—she's not lying. I've checked her. She really doesn't know." McCoy reslung his tricorder over his shoulder; and the girl seized her moment to make a wild dash for a door at the end of the corridor. Kirk caught her just as she reached it, but she had managed to press a photo cell built into the door jamb. Spinning her around, he barred her way through it.
"What is this place?" he demanded.
"This place is here."
"Who are you?"
"I say before I am Luma. I am eymorg. You are not eymorg. You are not morg. What you are I do not understand."
"Well," Kirk said, "they certainly seem to be in bad need of brains around here. Watch her, Scotty."
"You'll get nothing out of that one, Captain. She's got the mind of a child."
"Then she's got a sister who isn't retarded!" Kirk said. "One that she can take us to! I've had all I'm taking of these pleas of ignorance!"
He flipped the dial on his communicator. "Captain Kirk to Chekov—Kirk to Chekov. Come in, Mr. Chekov!"
There was no response. He altered the dial adjustment and tried again. "Kirk to Chekov. Come in, Mr. Chekov . . ."
"Fascinating. Activity without end. But with no volition—fascinating."
Kirk froze. A chill shook him from head to feet. It was Spock's voice, familiar, loved, speaking very slowly.
"Fascinat—" Kirk shouted into the communicator. "Spock! Spock! Is that you?"
"Captain? Captain Kirk?"
"Yes, Spock! Yes!"
"It's good to hear a voice, especially yours."
Wordless, his hands shaking, Kirk handed his communicator to McCoy. Joy in his voice, McCoy cried, "Where are you, Spock? We're coming to get you!"
"Is that you, Dr. McCoy? Are you with the Captain?"
"Where else would I be?" In his turn McCoy silently passed the communicator to Scott.
"Where are you, Mr. Spock?"
"Engineer Scott, too? Unfortunately, I do not know where I am."
Kirk grabbed the communicator. "We'll get to you, Spock. It won't be long. Hold on."
"Good. Captain. It seems most unlikely that I will be able to get to you."
McCoy spoke again. "If you don't know where you are, do you know what they're doing with you? That could help us."
"Sorry, Doctor. I have not been able to achieve any insight into that."
"They are using you for something," insisted McCoy.
"Perhaps you are right. At the moment I do not feel useful. Functional in some ways—but not useful."
"Spock," Kirk said, "keep concentrating. The use they are making of you will determine where they have you. Keep concentrating on the use they are making of you—and we'll get to you."
The door beside them slid open. Two of the shaggy men came through it. Metal bands encircled their brows. They were welded into other bands that passed over their heads and down to cup their chins. Behind them stood the beautiful passenger of the ion-propelled spaceship.
She motioned the men toward Kirk, McCoy and Scott. They didn't move. She pushed a red stud on her bracelet. The banded men writhed in torment. In a paroxysm of mixed pain and frustrated fury, they charged the Enterprise party. McCoy, caught off guard, felt a rib crack under the pressure of two massively muscular arms. Kirk had pulled free of his attacker's grip. He bent his back under the next maddened assault and his man slid over it into a somersault. He found his phaser, fired it—and the morg, the man, lay still. Then he felled Scott's adversary with a karate blow.
This time the beautiful lady chose to depress a yellow button on her bracelet. Kirk's phaser dropped from his hand as unconsciousness flooded over him. Like the two morgs, like Scott and McCoy, he lay still.
The five male bodies, helplessly stretched at her feet, pleased the lady. When the girl Luma joined her, the spectacle pleased her, too.
It was a woman's world under the planet's surface.
In its Council Chamber, women, all physically attractive, sat at a T-shaped table. As the still triumphantly smiling lady took her place at its head, they rose, bowed and caroled, "Honor to Kara the Leader!" Beside each woman knelt a man, sleek, well fed, docile as a eunuch. Occasionally a woman stroked a man as one pats a well-housebroken pet.
At Kara's signal a door opened. Two of the muscular kitten-men pushed Kirk, McCoy and Scott into the room and up to the head of the table. The metal bands had now been fixed to their heads. Their masculinity caused a stir among the women; but it was the response, not of adult women, but of children on their first visit to a zoo.
Scott was the first to recognize Kara. "She's the one who came to the Enterprise" he whispered to Kirk.
Kirk nodded. "It's the smile I remember," he said.
She spoke. "You have a thing to say?" she asked pleasantly.
"Just one thing," Kirk said. "What have you done with the brain of my First Officer?"
"We do not know your First Officer."
"His brain," Kirk said. "You have Spock's brain."
Something registered in what passed for Kara's brain. "Ah, yes! Brain! you spoke to Luma also of brain. We do not understand."
They are retardates, Kirk thought. Getting through to whatever gray matter existed in that beautiful head was going to be tough. Temper, temper! he said to himself. Speaking slowly, very distinctly, "You were on my Starship," he said. "You were there to take Spock's brain. What's more, you took it. So what's this talk of not understanding what I mean by brain?"
"We do not know these things you speak of. We are only here below and here above. This is our place. You are not a morg. You are stranger."
Kirk's temper refused to heed his exhortation. "You came to my ship . . ."
McCoy put a restraining hand on his arm. "Jim, she may not remember. Or even really know. Dissociation may be complete. One thing is sure. She never performed that operation."
"If it required intelligence, she certainly didn't," Kirk said.
Kara pointed to Luma. "You hurt her. It is not permitted again to hurt anyone."
"We are sorry," Kirk said. "We did not wish to hurt."
"You wish to return to your home? You may go."
Kirk rallied all the charm he'd occasionally been accused of possessing. "We wish to stay here with you. We wish to learn from you. And tell you about us. Then we will not be stranger."
The women were delighted. They smiled and nodded at each other. McCoy decided to toss his charm into the pot. "Above," he said, "it is cold, harsh. Below here with you, it is warm. Perhaps it is your beauty that freshens the air."
They liked that, too. They liked it so much that Scott was encouraged to say, "There is no sun. Yet there is light—the light of your loveliness."
Kirk had lost his last shred of patience. "I want to meet those in charge," he said.
"In charge?" echoed Kara.
She looked so puzzled that he added, "The leader of your people."
"Leader? I am Leader. There is no other."
Dumbfounded, Scott said, "Who runs your machines?"
Kirk drew a deep breath. "This is a complex place," he said. "Who controls it?"
"Control?" she said. "Controller?"
The shocked look on her face told him the word had meaning for her. He tried to subdue his rising excitement. "Controller! Yes! That is right. We would like to meet—to see your controller!"
Kara's fury was as abrupt as it was intense. "It is not permitted! Never! Controller is apart, alone! We serve Controller! No other is permitted near!"
"We intend no harm," Kirk said hastily.
But he had exploded a volcano. "You have come to destroy us!" Kara screamed. The women around her, infected by her panic, twittered like birds at the approach of a snake. They all rose, their fingers reaching for their bracelets. Appalled, Kirk cried, "No! No! We do not come to destroy you! We are not destroyers!" McCoy came to stand beside him. He put all the reassurance at his disposal into his voice. "All we want," he said, "is to talk to somebody about Spock's brain."
"Brain! And again, brain! What is brain? It is Controller, is it not?"
McCoy said, "Well, yes. In a way it is. The human brain controls the individual's functions." He was beginning to suspect the significance of the hysteria. He looked at Kirk. "And the controlling power of the Vulcan brain, Jim, is extraordinarily powerful."
Scott, too, had realized that Kara identified the word "brain" with controlling power. "Is it possible they are using Spock's brain to—" He didn't complete the sentence.
"The fact that it is a Vulcan brain makes it possible," McCoy said.
Kirk suddenly flung himself to his knees. "Great Leader! We have come from a far place to learn from your Controller . . ."
"You lie! You have come to take the Controller! You have said this!"
Still on his knees, Kirk said, "He is our friend. We beg you to take us to him."
But the fright in the women's faces had increased. One began to sob. Kara stood up. "Quiet! There is no need to fear. We know they can be prevented." The women refused consolation. As though the very sight of the Enterprise men filled them with horror, they pushed their benches back and fled the Council Chamber.
Kirk made a leap for Kara. "You must take us to him!" he shouted.
She touched the red stud on her bracelet. The bands cupping their heads were suddenly clawed with fiery spindles. They stabbed their temples with an excruciating agony that obliterated thought, the memory of Spock, of the Enterprise, the world itself. The torture widened, spread to their throats, their chests, devouring their breath. Choking, Kirk tore at the band and collapsed. Beside him, McCoy and Scott had lost consciousness.
"I must learn what to do!" Kara cried. "Keep them here!"
Her two servant morgs hesitated. She moved a finger toward her bracelet. The gesture was sufficient. They lumbered over to the slumped bodies to take up guard positions on either side of them.
The pain had ceased. Kirk opened his eyes to see McCoy stir feebly. "Are you all right, Bones?" McCoy nodded, his eyes bloodshot. "I—I wouldn't have believed the human body could have survived such pain," he whispered. Revived, Scott was pulling at his headband. "They're attached to us by a magnetic lock of some kind."
"No wonder the morgs are so obedient," Kirk said. He struggled back to his feet. "What beats me is how this place is kept functioning. What keeps the air pure and the temperature equable?"
"It's clearly not the men," McCoy said. "They live on the frozen surface like beasts. So it must be the women. They live down here with all the comforts of an advanced society."
"Not one of those women could have set up the complex that keeps the place going," Scott said. "That would call on engineering genius. There is no sign of genius in these females."
"They're smart enough to have evolved these headbands," Kirk said. "What a way to maintain control over men!"
" 'Pain and delight,' " McCoy quoted. "I'm sure you've noticed the delight aspect in these surroundings, Jim."
"Yes. Beauty, sex, warmth, food—and all of them under the command of the women."
"And how does Spock's brain fit into this woman-commanded underground?" Scott asked.
Kirk didn't answer. The guard morgs had left them to go and stand at a corner table. On it, neatly arranged, were their tricorders and communicators. Only their phasers were missing. "Bones," Kirk said, "do you see what I see over there?"
"The equipment is only there, Jim, because the women don't understand its use."
"Gentlemen," Kirk said, "wouldn't you say that science holds the answer to the problem of recovering our equipment?"
"Aye," Scott said. "Let's go, Captain!"
They went for the morgs. Kirk gripped the jaw of one in a hard press. There was a bellow of pain. Terrified that it had been heard, the other morg looked apprehensively toward the door. Then he made a jump for Scott. Both guards were paragons of muscular strength; but their long training in docility had destroyed their ability to use it effectively. Kirk downed his Goliath with a jab to the throat. Scott's rabbit punch disposed of the other rabbit. Scientific fighting indeed held the answer to their problem. Within forty seconds the two guards were out for the count.
Kirk hastily adjusted the high-power dial on his communicator. "Spock! Spock! This channel reached you. Come in, Spock! Kirk here."
"Yes, Captain." It was Spock's voice. "I am also here. But I begin to feel extended almost to infinity. Have you returned to the Enterprise?"
"No! We were just temporarily out of—communication."
"You have not been seriously injured, I trust?"
"No! Spock, have you discovered what use you are being put to? Is it medical or . . ."
"I am not sure, sir. I seem to have a body that stretches into endlessness."
"Body?" Scott blurted. "You have no body!"
"No body? But then what am I?"
"You are a disembodied brain," McCoy said.
"Really? Fascinating. That could explain much. My medulla oblongata is apparently directing my breathing, pumping my blood and maintaining a normal physiological temperature."
"Spock," McCoy said, "keeping a detached brain alive is a medical miracle. But keeping it functioning, that's impossible."
"I would agree with you, Doctor, if it were not the present fact. It seems incontrovertible that my brain is functioning, does it not?"
"It does, Spock, I must admit. And gladly, for once."
"How was the operation accomplished?"
"We don't know."
"Then why are you endangering your lives by coming here?"
"We've come to take you back," Kirk said.
"Back where? To my body?"
"Yes, Spock."
"Thoughtful, Captain. But probably impractical. My body . . ."
McCoy took the communicator. "Don't you think I had the sense to slap it into our life support chamber?"
"Of course. But I do not believe you own the skill or knowledge to replace a brain, Doctor. That skill does not yet exist in the galaxy."
Kirk removed the communicator from McCoy. "The skill that removed the brain exists right here. The skill to replace it may exist here, too."
"Captain, how much time has elapsed since my brain was removed?"
"Forty-eight hours."
"Sir, Dr. McCoy must have told you that seventy-two hours is the maximum my body can be . . ."
"I know, Spock. That leaves us fourteen hours."
"It seems all too brief a time to develop the required skill, Captain."
"Very brief. One question, Spock. Pain causing bands have been fixed to our heads. Do you know how to get us free of them? They have to come off."
"I shall consider it, sir," the voice said.
"Give it top priority. And stay with us, Spock. Kirk out."
They moved cautiously out of the Council Chamber into the corridor. It was empty. Kirk spoke soberly. "As the lady said, gentlemen, we are not morg. We are disciplined men, intelligent, committed to a purpose. We will remain committed to it in spite of any pain inflicted upon us."
His communicator crackled. "I have the answer for you, Captain. Your pain bands are manually controlled. A blue button on a bracelet releases them. That doesn't make much sense but . . ."
"Oh yes, it does," Kirk said. "Thank you, Spock."
A blue button. He must remember. They were extremely color-prone in this place. The ornamented door at the end of the corridor blazed with color like a stained-glass window. It seemed to possess other qualities. Though they were approaching it slowly, McCoy's tricorder had begun to buzz loudly. With every careful step they took, the volume increased in intensity until McCoy said, "I'm tuning out. The power is too great for the tricorder."
"Spock," Kirk said into his communicator, "do you know whether you are close to the power source?"
"I can't tell that. But you, Captain, are very close to it."
It was a credible statement. Near now to the elaborate door, they could see that its colored bosses were radiating a dazzling luminescence. They pushed it open to be faced by a wall banked with shining instrumentation. The room might have been the laboratory of magicians versed in the mysteries of some arcane technology. Another wall was a gigantic control board, topped by a helmetlike device. Near it a large black box set on a metallic pedestal was massed with photoelectric cells, all adjusted to correspond to similar cells on the control board. They flashed together in a constant interchange of energy.
Kara, her body taut, was standing before the black box, her back to them.
She heard them, despite their care. She whirled, her hand instantly touching her bracelet. The agony seared them, ripping a scream from Scott. They stumbled on, their legs rubber, their chests on fire. Kirk reached her, tore her hand from her bracelet and wrenched it off her arm. The blue button. He pressed it—and then: headbands snapped. Kara gave a wild cry.
It echoed and reechoed endlessly. Then they saw what stretched beyond the room—a vast machinery that extended for hundreds of underground miles, utterly alien, gleaming, no element in its panels and coils familiar. Awed into silence, Scott finally found his voice. "Captain, it is the ultimate. I think that is an air recirculation unit—but I'm not sure. I'm not even sure this is a hydroponic regulator. It all seems to have been contrived for life support—but it's a work of genius that is beyond me."
Kirk had his eyes on the black box. It glittered under the light rays that streamed to it from all sections of the great control board. How he knew what he knew he didn't know. He walked up to it. "Spock," he said, “you are in a black box tied with light rays to a complex control panel."
The voice sounded very close. "Incredible!" it said.
"Spock, you said you were breathing, pumping blood, maintaining temperature. Are you also recirculating air, running heating systems, purifying water?"
"Indeed, Captain, that is exactly what I'm doing."
Kara had broken free of McCoy's grip. Frenzied, she rushed at Kirk, trying to push him away from the box. He seized her; and she sagged, screaming, "We will die! You must not take the Controller! We will die! The Controller is young, powerful—perfect!"
"Extremely flattering," said the black box.
She flung herself to the floor, groping for Kirk's knees. "Leave him with us! He will give life to us for ten thousand years!"
"You will find another Controller," Kirk said.
She was sobbing. "There exists no other in the world. The old one is finished. Our new one must stay with us!"
Spock's voice spoke. "Captain, there seem to be rather complex problems. My brain is maintaining life for a large population. Remove it—and the life support systems it supports come to a stop."
McCoy looked somber. "Jim, here his brain is alive. If you remove it from the connections that are feeding it now to turn it over to me, it may die."
"That is the risk," Spock said. "Captain, much as I long for reunion with you and the Enterprise, the prospect of betraying such a dependent society is disturbing to a conscience like mine."
"Rubbish!" said Kirk. "Pure rationalization. It's always provoked by a weeping woman. She took your brain out—and she can put it back!" He shook Kara roughly. "How did you remove the brain?"
"I do not know."
"She couldn't know, Jim. Her mental faculties are almost atrophied. The Controller has done all her thinking for her."
"She took it out!" Kirk shouted. He shook Kara again. "How did you do it?"
"It was—the old knowledge," she whimpered.
"How did you get the knowledge?"
"I put—the teacher on my head."
"What teacher?"
She pointed to the helmetlike device. "What did you do with it?" Kirk demanded. "Show us!"
She shrieked in horror. "It is forbidden! The ancients forbade it. Only on the command of the ancients can I know."
"Show us," Kirk said.
Hysterical tears swelling her face, Kara got to her feet, went to the control board and reached for the helmet. Lifting it reverently down, she slowly lowered it over her head. Over the sobs that convulsed her, Spock's voice said, "If I may explain, Captain. She referred to the taped storehouse of knowledge accumulated by the builders of this place. It is a most impressive store. I scan it. The tapes are circuited to lead into the helmet. When placed over the head of the priestess leader, their information penetrates her mind. It is used rarely—and only when predetermined by the builders."
It was another credible statement. Under the helmet, Kara's face had changed. It had been wiped clean of her infantile hysteria. Into her eyes had come a searching look, the alertness of active thinking. Even her voice had taken on the vibrancy of intelligence. She spoke with clipped clarity. "That explanation is essentially correct. However, the Controller gives no credit to me, I deserve it. I provide the means by which the knowledge is used. Without me, Captain of the Enterprise . . ."
This Kara was a woman to take into account. McCoy acknowledged the difference. "That is true. Without you the miracle that has kept Spock's brain alive could not have occurred."
She bowed with dignity. "Thank you, Doctor."
Kirk said, "We all appreciate your contribution."
"Good," she said. "Then you will also appreciate your own contribution—this . . ."
A phaser was in her hand.
"Captain!" Scott cried. "It's on the kill mark!"
"So it is," she said. "And that is the knowledge you have given to me—how to kill!"
Kirk was the first to rally. "You knew how to kill before we came. You are killing Spock by keeping his brain."
She laughed. "The Controller die? He will live ten thousand years!"
"But Spock will be dead. Even now his body is dying. Soon it will be too late to restore him life."
"No. Only the vessel that once contained the Controller will be dead."
"But the body and the brain comprise a being," Kirk said.
The phaser didn't waver in its aim. Above it, her eyes were very bright. "Spare me such opinions. You will stay here quietly with me until the vessel is dead. Then we shall say goodbye and you can return to your ship."
"Your ancients are using you to murder," Kirk said.
She smiled. "Their commandment is being obeyed."
"Commandments older than your ancients' forbid murder," Kirk said.
She was shaken by the cold intensity of his voice. "Why do you not understand? My people need their Controller more then you need your friend."
A sense of the righteousness of his wrath swept over Kirk like a great wave. For the first time in his life he understood the meaning of "towering" rage. It seemed to lift him up to a great height. He extended a finger at her. "No one may take the life of another. Not for any purpose. It is not allowed."
He stepped forward. The phaser lifted. Then it drooped. Behind her, Scott quietly reached an arm over her shoulder—and took the phaser. Her eyes filled with silent tears.
"The commandment," she whispered, "should be fulfilled."
"You will help us," Kirk said. "How long does the knowledge last?"
"Three kyras," she said.
"You will restore what you stole," Kirk said.
"And betray my people? No."
"Jim—if the helmet worked for her, it might work for me." McCoy moved to Kara, lifted the helmet from her head—and Spock's voice spoke. "The configurations of her brain are alien, Doctor. It could burn your brain right out."
"I am a surgeon. If I can learn these techniques, I might retain them."
"Bones, how long can we keep the brain functioning once we remove it from its current environment?"
"Five or six hours."
"When it's tied to our life support system, will it give us any more time?"
"A few more hours."
Spock's voice said, "I cannot allow such risk to the Doctor."
McCoy handed the helmet to Kirk. He went to the box. "Spock, Spock, didn't you hear me? I may retain the memory of these techniques to pass on to the world! Isn't that worth the risk to me? You would take such a risk! Would you deny the same right to me?"
Kirk said, "Take the helmet, Bones. Put it on."
Slowly McCoy lowered the device over his head. From the black box words came. "Mr. Scott, go to the left lower quarter of the control board . . ."
"Yes, sir.
"Have you located a small lever in that sector?"
"Yes, Mr. Spock."
"Depress it exactly two notches and force it sharply into the slit on the right."
A low humming sounded. As power moved from the control board into the helmet's circuitry, McCoy's hand went to his throat. His body and his face seemed to disconnect. His face glowed as though he'd been struck with some final illumination, but his body convulsed in torture. Then he blacked out and keeled over. Scott hastily pulled the lever back into its original position, then he and Kirk rushed to McCoy and gently lifted the helmet from his head. Kirk sat down, holding the unconscious body—and McCoy's eyes opened.
The vagueness in them disappeared. They began to brighten, first in wonder, then in exaltation. He gave a great shout of pure joy. "Of course—of course—a child could do it. A little child could do it!"
"Good luck to you, Dr. McCoy," said the black box.
In the Enterprise's Sickbay, the operating room had been prepared.
Spock lay on its sheet-shrouded table, a shield screening the upper section of his head. Behind the shield, Nurse Chapel, a look of amazement on her face, was concentrated on every move made by the surgical instruments in McCoy's rubber-gloved hands. He was working with an authority she'd never seen before in a human surgeon. She took the time to wish that Kirk and Scott could see what she was privileged to see. But they, with Kara, had been placed behind a grille.
She went to the grille to whisper to Kirk. "Captain, don't worry. It's not to be believed—the way he's fusing ganglia, nerve endings, even individual nerves almost too small to see—and as if he'd been doing it all his life."
"How much longer?" Kirk said.
"I can't tell, sir. He's going so much faster than is humanly possible."
"Time is important," he said. "There's no way of knowing how long we can count on this increased surgical knowledge to last."
Kara suddenly sobbed. Kirk placed an arm about her shoulder. "What is it?" he said.
"You will have him back. But we are destroyed."
He led her out into the corridor. "No," he said, "you are not destroyed. You'll have no Controller and that will be fine. You will have to come up from below and live on the surface."
"We will die in the cold."
"No, you won't. We will help you until you can help yourselves. You will build houses. You'll learn to keep warm by working to keep warm. You'll learn how to be women instead of hothouse plants."
"Captain Kirk!"
Nurse Chapel was at the Sickbay door. "You'd better come quickly, sir!"
McCoy had stopped working. He had backed away from the operating table. He looked sick. "I—can't I—I can't . . ."
"He's forgetting, Captain," said Nurse Chapel.
"Bones!" Kirk called through the grille.
McCoy stumbled toward him. "All the ganglia—the nerves—a million of them—what am I supposed to do with them? The thalamus—the pallium . . ."
"Bones! You can't stop now!"
Nurse Chapel, her eyes on the life support indicator, said, "Doctor—the cerebral spinal fluid is almost exhausted."
McCoy groaned. "But—I don't know what to do. It's gone—I don't remember—no one can replace a brain!"
"But you could, Bones! It was child's play just a short while ago!"
"It's all gone, Jim. He's going to die—and I can't stop it!"
"Dr. McCoy."
Half-strangled, choked, it was nevertheless Spock's voice. They stared at the body on the sheeted table. McCoy was astounded into asking, "Spock, did you speak? How did you speak?"
"If you will finish connecting my vocal cords, I may be able to help."
McCoy rushed behind the shield. He chose an instrument. Then he discarded it, picked up another one and gave a brisk order to Nurse Chapel. Spock suddenly coughed. The voice came a little stronger. "Good, One thing at a time. Now, Doctor, try the sonic separator. No discouragement . . ."
"No, Spock—it's been like trying to thread a needle with a sledgehammer."
"No discouragement," Spock repeated. "I already have feeling, sensation. Now stimulate the nerve endings and observe the reactions. I shall tell you when the probe is correct. When I tell you, seal the endings with the trilaser connector."
Kirk spoke to McCoy. "Well?"
His answer came in a slight hum from behind the shield. Through the grille, he could see Spock's arms move, moving normally, up and down, bending normally at the elbow.
"Very good," Spock said. "Now, Doctor, please move to reconnect the major blood vessels. Begin with the carotid artery."
His face drawn with strain, McCoy glanced over at Kirk. "Even if this works," he said, "I'll never live it down—this confounded Vulcan telling me how to operate!"
Relief swamped Kirk. They were back at the old bickering. McCoy had paused to allow Nurse Chapel to wipe the sweat from his forehead. He returned to work and Spock said, "They are sealed, Doctor."
"Are they, Bones?"
McCoy raised his head. "How do I know? He knows. I've probably made a thousand mistakes—sealing individual nerve endings, joining ganglia. The fluid balance is right but—I don't know."
Nurse Chapel was wiping his forehead again when Spock's eyelids flickered. The eyes opened. Spock lifted his head and his eyebrows went up into the arch McCoy thought never to see again. He shouted, "Jim!"
Kirk strode behind the shield. Spock was sitting up. "Gentlemen," he said, "it is a pleasure to see you again."
"Spock—Spock," Kirk said—and swallowed. "How do you feel?"
"On the whole, I believe I am quite fit, sir."
He started to get off the table. "For the Lord's sake, take it easy!" Kirk yelled.
Spock winced under a twinge of pain. "Perhaps you are right, Captain. I seem to have something of a headache. Perhaps I had better close my eyes."
"You are going to sleep and sleep and sleep," Kirk said.
Spock sleepily closed his eyes and immediately opened them in obvious surprise. "The eyelids work," he said. "Fascinating! It would seem, Doctor, that few of your connections were made in error."
"I performed a miracle of surgery on you to get you back into one piece," McCoy said.
"Doctor, I regret that I was unable to provide you with a blueprint."
McCoy turned to Kirk. "What I'll never know is why I reconnected his mouth to his brain."
Scott came out of the bridge elevator.
"Our technical aid teams have been beamed down to Planet 7, Captain."
"First reports, Mr. Scott?"
Scott rubbed his chin. "Well, sir, restoring friendly relations between its males and females won't be easy. Neither sex trusts the other one."
"How very human," commented Spock.
"And very cold," McCoy put in. "Especially the women. However, the aid parties have provided the ladies with a tool for procuring food, furs and fuel from the men."
"Oh?" Kirk turned from one to the other. "Money?"
"No, sir," Scott said. "Perfume."
"I'm not given to predictions, gentlemen, but I'll venture one now," Kirk told them. "The sexual conflict on Planet 7 will be a short one."
"I fail to see what facts you base your prediction on, Captain," Spock said.
"On long, cold winter nights, Mr. Spock—on the fact that cuddling is so much warmer than wood fires."
"Cuddling, sir?"
"A human predilection, Spock," McCoy said. "We don't expect you to know about it."
"Of course not, Doctor. It is a well-known fact that we Vulcans propagate our race by mail." He grinned.
"Spock!" McCoy shouted. "You smiled! No, by George, you positively grinned!"
"Another tribute to your surgery, Doctor. I was endeavoring to sneeze."
"Well, of all the ungrateful patients I—" McCoy began indignantly. It was with a real effort that Kirk maintained the gravity that seemed appropriate to the old, familiar, comfortable occasion. And sure enough, Spock nodded politely to the outraged McCoy and returned to his station.
In the end, Kirk couldn't maintain it. He laughed—a laugh of delighted affection. To the smiling Sulu beside him, he said, "We're through here, Mr. Sulu. Warp factor three."