CAPTAIN KIRK SAT silently in his command chair on the nearly dark, still-weightless bridge of the crippled Enterprise, a third and final Alpha-Red message from Admiral Bull Buchinsky in his hand. After a moment Kirk stirred—and noticed his bridge crew looking apprehensively at him. Even Spock seemed a bit … disturbed. Kirk took a breath, and began.
"We've received some very bad news," Kirk said. "There's been an … incident … a tragedy … on Alpha Centauri IV, the planet Centaurus. The spaceport at the capital, New Athens, has been destroyed, and the city itself has been very badly damaged. Starfleet says the blast was caused by the annihilation of matter—a matter-antimatter explosion. We don't know yet if it was an accident or not."
The bridge crew was shocked; Kirk noticed Uhura's eyes begin to fill with tears. Kirk noted that even his self-controlled Vulcan science officer seemed—taken aback? Or did it just seem that way, in the gloom? And Lieutenant Siderakis's face had gone extraordinarily pale; even in the dim light, Kirk could see him shaking. Then the captain remembered. Siderakis was a Centaurian native who'd thrown a well-attended party belowdecks last year on his planet's Founders Day.
"Lieutenant Uhura," Kirk said softly, "if you can get the computers to cooperate, I need a list of all ship's personnel who are legal residents of Centaurus or who have families living there. I'd like to inform those people first, before I make a general announcement. But, first, call Mr. Sulu up here early to relieve Mr. Siderakis. Then get me Mr. Scott, please."
Uhura nodded. "Aye, aye, Captain." After a pause she said, "Mr. Scott's on frequency four."
Kirk thumbed a button on the armrest of his command chair. "Scotty? Give me a status report."
"Lookin' better all th' time, Cap'n," the engineering officer replied. "I was just about t' call ye. With your permission, I'd like t' activate a one-fiftieth G field. I believe we can hold our gravity now, sir, but thot 'n all other important ship's systems will have t' remain under manual control. I fear we'll need a complete overhaul of th' computer complex. I nae know what th' cause of our problems is yet, but I think we can deal wi' th' effects all right."
"Very well, Mr. Scott," Kirk said. "Gravity on."
"Aye, aye, sir."
Kirk felt a slight somethingness wash over him, as gentle as a feather floating in a summer breeze. The captain noticed himself settling slowly into his chair—and that, around the bridge, objects floating in mid-air began to descend to the floor. The 0.02 G field Scott was generating would prevent any of the thousands of objects floating around the ship from crashing abruptly to the floor. At that slight weight, an object two meters in the air would take about four and a half leisurely seconds to settle gently to the deck—instead of crashing abruptly in three-fifths of a second, as it would under full gravity.
"All right, Scotty," Kirk said after a moment. "Everything seems to be back where it belongs—so let's take it up to a full G."
"Right ye are, Cap'n," Scotty said. "Comin' up."
Kirk felt the added weight pour smoothly into him. He flexed an arm and liked the way he could feel the pull of gravity against his muscle movement.
"One G precisely, Cap'n," came Scott's voice. "Also, ye might have noticed 'tis gettin' warmer; thot little trick we've been workin' on with th' heaters in th' ducts seems t'be effective."
"I have noticed that, Mr. Scott, and thank you. Navigational status?"
"We can go where'er ye want us t' go, Cap'n—but if we're goin' t' be goin' there too fast, the matter-antimatter intermix will require careful watchin'."
"Be prepared to watch the engines closely, then, Mr. Scott; I'll want our best speed in a few minutes."
"Aye, aye, Cap'n."
"Back to you later, Scotty. Kirk out."
A moment later the turbolift doors squeaked open and Sulu walked onto the bridge. Uhura motioned Sulu over to her communications station and, whispering, gave him the story quickly. Sulu's eyes widened in shock. He glanced quickly at Siderakis, who now was staring fiercely at the bridge viewscreen, tears rolling down his cheeks.
Sulu walked over to Siderakis and put a friendly hand on his shoulder. The Centaurian bowed his head and his shoulders began to shake with quiet sobs. Sulu bent close to Siderakis's ear and murmured something; Siderakis visibly got a grip on himself, nodded, rose, and headed for the turbolift. Kirk watched him go.
"Peter," Kirk called after him. "We'll do our best. I promise you."
Siderakis paused and looked at the captain. He nodded his appreciation but, not trusting himself to speak, walked silently to the turbolift. The doors slid open to receive him and closed quickly behind him.
The bridge lights suddenly came back on.
"Aye, thot's got 'er," rumbled Chief MacPherson from the Engineering station, breaking the silence. "Cap'n, ye have yer lights back, but I had t' use th' audio backup circuits between here an' th' recreation deck. I figured ye might not be needin' those as much as ye'd be needin' th' lights . . . ?"
"You figured correctly, Chief. Many thanks."
"No trouble, Cap'n." MacPherson turned back to his station.
"Captain?" Uhura said. "I have that list you wanted." She rose from her seat and walked down into the command well to hand the computer printout to Kirk. There was the glistening of great pain in her eyes.
"I see you've read the names," Kirk said quietly.
Uhura nodded. Kirk's name was on the list as a Centaurian landowner, and Dr. McCoy's was there as well, as both a declared resident of the planet and as the father and brother of Centaurian citizens. The names of McCoy and Siderakis, as well as three or four others out of the total of twelve, were asterisked because they had close relatives in the New Athens area.
"I'm so sorry for your pain, sir," Uhura said to Kirk. "I hope Dr. McCoy's daughter is safe."
For a moment Uhura's pain came into Kirk's eyes, but with a conscious effort the captain put the hurt aside … at least for a while. "Thank you, Lieutenant." He gave her a small smile, and rose.
"Navigator, plot a course for Centaurus. Best speed. Helm, lay in it and proceed at your discretion."
"Aye, aye, Captain," Sulu and Chekov replied together.
"Mr. Sulu, you have the conn," Kirk added. "Mr. Spock is busy. I'll be down in Sickbay."
The turbolift doors closed behind the captain, as everyone watched him go. Only then did Uhura lean forward and cover her face with her hands.
And so did Sulu, but not until after he'd taken Kirk's seat and ordered warp five.
Dr. Leonard McCoy was busily at work, setting his twenty-seventh bone of the morning … this one a broken third metatarsal in a cargo handler's right foot. The doctor used a compression cast at three atmospheres pressure—enough to guarantee that the break would be held rigid, and strong enough to allow the cargoman to return to light duty. McCoy was a big believer in work-as-therapy.
The doors slid open and Captain Kirk entered. McCoy caught sight of him. "Hello, Jim," McCoy greeted him. "Thanks for getting the gravity back. The swabbies will be cleaning up around here for a week, though." McCoy finished inflating the cast, gave a few words of warning to the cargoman, and signed a treatment form. Then McCoy turned to Kirk, and saw something in his eyes.
"What's the matter?" McCoy asked apprehensively.
"Bones … take a break and talk to me," Kirk said quietly.
"Nurse Chapel," McCoy said over his shoulder, still looking at Kirk, "take the next patient. I'll be gone for a few minutes." The doctor wiped his hands on a towel and, dropping it on the deck, followed Kirk out of Sickbay and into the medical library, just across the corridor. No one else was inside. The library doors shut behind them.
A few minutes later the library doors opened again and the two men emerged. McCoy walked briskly back to work; Kirk watched the Sickbay doors slide shut behind him. How very much like him, Kirk thought.
Bones McCoy did his job and said nothing outside the line of duty for quite a while.
Soon after that, Kirk had Uhura summon everyone on her list of Centaurians to a special briefing in the ship's small theater—where plays were staged, lectures delivered and where, in the very happiest times, Kirk performed marriages. At the briefing the captain noticed the presence of Nurse Constance Iziharry, who'd been treating Chekov's injured eye on the bridge. Like the nine others attending, Iziharry had the hurt, almost puzzled look of someone suddenly stricken by grief and uncertainty.
The captain gave his ship's Centaurians the news as kindly as he could manage, but with no gloss or other attempt to soften it. Kirk assured them that the Enterprise would do all it could to relieve the suffering of their home planet, and that he was sure they would do their part as well. There were tears but, Kirk noted gratefully, they were gentle tears of mourning and sadness, not of hysteria or hopelessness. They were the kind of tears that would allow a tough job to get done.
Captain's log, stardate 7513.5:
For the time being, at least, things seem to be under control. We are proceeding at warp five for Centaurus. The matter-antimatter intermix for the warp engines seems balanced, even under tricky manual control; most of the ship's computers are still down. Gravity remains constant at a nominal one G; ship's inboard temperature is holding steady at 21.6 standard degrees, thanks to Mr. Scott's quick work with the duct heaters. Humidity is high because of all the free water we'd had circulating throughout the ship; I am a bit worried about corrosion in components—particularly wiring—never meant to withstand unusually high amounts of moisture.
With the ship reasonably secure and well under way, I now feel free to hold a formal briefing regarding our mission to Centaurus.
At Kirk's summons, those department heads who would be working in the Centaurian rescue effort gathered in Briefing Room B. Spock, in his dual role as first officer and science officer, was there, of course; Alec MacPherson represented Engineering, since Montgomery Scott could not be spared from his watch on the warp engines; Dr. M'Benga, Bones McCoy's chief assistant, represented Medical; Uhura was there for Communications; and a bandaged, black-eyed Pavel Chekov was there for Navigation and Ship's Systems. Their initial shock had been replaced by numbness at the scope of the horror in New Athens. Kirk could see that numbness in their faces—except, of course, for Spock's; the Vulcan was—outwardly, at least—unperturbed. Such loss of life, such waste, must sicken him, Kirk thought. How does he control himself? I've never understood it—and sometimes, like now, I envy him that control. So might Bones, I think. Oh, Joanna. . . .
With a conscious effort Kirk broke that train of thought. Standing at the head of the briefing table, he looked over the expectant faces of those waiting for him to say something, to give them some guidance. It was clear to Kirk that none of them knew, or cared, that he knew nothing more at this point than they did. They needed the captain now, the superman in the gold shirt—not the vulnerable Jim Kirk who was aghast at the tragedy in New Athens and almost sick with worry about what might have happened to Joanna McCoy. They didn't want, or need, the human Jim Kirk who bled for his friend Bones, Joanna's father, who was working like a dog in Sickbay to keep his grief from overwhelming him.
The captain took a breath and began.
"Thank you all for coming," Kirk said. "I wanted to go over with you just what I've been told about the situation on Centaurus, what I propose to do about it, and what help we might expect."
Kirk had brought with him the printout of Bull Buchinsky's long third Alpha-Red message; he took a quick look at it again. "Communications with Centaurus are out. The first indication we had of the disaster at New Athens was a total loss of routine communications with the Starfleet office at the spaceport. At the same time, the Federation Foreign Office lost touch with its consulate in the downtown section of the city itself. A trade group—the Amsterdam and New Athens Precious Metals and Stones Consortium—reported a loss of its private subspace communications lines at the same instant. Other loss-of-signal reports are still coming in.
"At about the same time, Starbase Seven, located a little less than six light-months from Centaurus, noted large tachyonic readings from the direction of the planet, indicating that there had been an explosion caused by annihilation materials—that is, the uncontrolled merging of matter and antimatter. This flood of tachyons was our first indication that something terrible had occurred on Centaurus. If the ship's computers had been up to par, we'd have noticed it ourselves. That burst of infinitely fast particles crossed the universe from one end to the other, instantly.
"Tracing back, and given the reports of communications losses by Starfleet, the Foreign Office and that trade group, it was determined that the radius of total destruction was between six and ten kilometers. Subsequent reports have confirmed this. A computer simulation of what must have followed indicates that the city of New Athens itself, although located at some distance from the spaceport, was largely destroyed by heat and blast effects."
Kirk paused.
"Starfleet estimates the number of dead at more than nine hundred thousand," he said bluntly. There was a sharp intake of breath around the table. Spock closed his eyes.
The captain continued. "The number of injured is probably less … if only because most of those affected by the blast were killed outright. Radiation will be a problem. I must also point out that tachyonic interference is blocking all subspace communication with Centaurus. Starbase Seven reported getting a weak, almost incoherent signal from the planetary government office at McIverton—that's a coastal city three thousand kilometers west of New Athens—but the signal faded completely as tachyonic levels rose. Starfleet notes that a lightspeed signal—radio, for instance—will easily penetrate a tachyonic blanket. However, no ship is close enough to Centaurus to have received such a lightspeed signal yet. As we approach, we'll monitor all lightspeed radio frequencies for Centaurian traffic. Lieutenant Uhura, they might be using some pretty old stuff: AM, low-band shortwave, ham operator bands, laser and so forth."
"I'll be looking everywhere for them, Captain," Uhura said.
Kirk gathered his thoughts. "That's all we know about the situation at this moment. Our orders are to provide whatever relief we can to the civilian population and investigate the circumstances of the accident. If arrests are warranted, Starfleet's ordered us to bring any suspects back to Earth for trial before a Federation court. Federation law supersedes planetary authority in cases involving the possession or use of annihilation materials. As for why we've gotten the job—well, while Centaurus is not in our assigned quadrant, of course, the Constitution is in drydock for resupply and renewal of her warp engines; we were the next closest ship."
"Captain?" MacPherson broke in. "Beggin' yer pardon, but ye know we've got problems belowdecks. Will Starfleet be sendin' any help our way?"
Kirk nodded. "That's my next point, Chief. Starfleet is sending the Hood to Centaurus as soon as she can be released from her current mission; the Hood will also be taking over the Constitution's patrol duties once she's gotten a handle on the tragedy in New Athens. Unfortunately, the Hood won't be available for at least a week, perhaps two. No other cruisers are available."
MacPherson shrugged. "An' I say, who needs 'em, anyway? Don't wurry, Cap'n; me 'n Scotty'll hold things together for ye."
"Thank you, Chief," Kirk said, amused—despite the circumstances—by the big Scot's show of confidence. "Let me add that private agencies are dispatching aid to Centaurus. The first vessel is due there by stardate 7514.0—a Red Cross rescue ship, the Sakharov—"
"Ah!" came Chekov's pleased voice. "Russian!"
"Well," Kirk said, "Eurasian Union, anyway—and manned by doctors and nurses from most Eurasian countries, under Federation auspices. Also on the way are the British Confederacy's Edith Cavell and the USA's Thomas Dooley. Those two will arrive soon after the Sakharov. We'll pull in soon after the Dooley. Unfortunately, it seems the Federation has no ships of its own capable of delivering medical aid on a massive scale, such as will be needed on Centaurus—but some of Earth's remaining national governments do, as do nations on other Federation worlds. Earth, of course, is the closest major Federation planet to Centaurus, so Earth ships will get there first."
"It is a matter of nationalistic pride, Captain," Spock observed. "Although all Earth nations are now members of the Federation and are subordinate to it, there still remain points of national honor. One of these points is a nation's ability to deliver humanitarian aid when and where needed. I must say it is a constructive outgrowth of the old nationalism. It will certainly serve the people of New Athens."
"Thank you, Mr. Spock," Kirk said. "That leads me to ask you, Dr. M'Benga, just what kind of aid the Enterprise herself can give to Centaurus."
The tall African shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "I'm afraid the Enterprise can't do much in the way of patient care," the doctor said regretfully. "We simply aren't equipped to handle more than a few serious cases at any one time. We'll work hard—but there are only a certain number of patient beds aboard. Perhaps our biggest contribution might be to transport the more severely injured to competent health care facilities, perhaps on Earth and the Jovian satellites; we must assume Centaurian health care facilities will be swamped with the injured. But, Captain, we may be talking about treating hundreds of thousands of burn and radiation cases. I don't know what we can do about all of them." M'Benga suddenly looked miserable.
"How many do you think we can transport?" Kirk asked.
"Perhaps eleven or twelve hundred at a time," M'Benga replied, "if we crowd them into the corridors. I would not hesitate to do that, Captain, if it would save lives—but some patients will certainly require stasis fields to keep their conditions from deteriorating. How can we provide so many field generators—and even if we could, how are we to monitor them without perfect computer control? I fear we would be killing those we are trying to save. If I might, Captain, I'd like to ask a question of Mr. Chekov."
"Please go ahead."
"Thank you," M'Benga said. "Mr. Chekov, at our fastest safe speed, how long would it take for us to go from Centaurus to Sol?"
Chekov thought about it. "A little over four light-years at warp six, if Mr. Scott can hold our speed—"
"He can!" MacPherson said emphatically.
"Then I would say not more than two days, Doctor."
M'Benga sighed; he waved his lithe hands. "Do you see, Captain? It is the mathematics. Figure a day, if not longer, to get a load of patients aboard and make them comfortable. Two days' journey to the Sol system and its fine hospitals, and two days back. Then we do it all over again. If we estimate five hundred thousand people injured severely enough to require hospitalization—and I think that is a conservative estimate—then it will take six years to transport everyone to Sol. And that assumes we are at work every day. I believe this morning's unfortunate events with the ship's computers proves we cannot rely on being operational day in and day out for six years."
"I'm afraid you're right," Kirk said. "Your conclusions?"
M'Benga sighed. "Captain, we cannot deliver aid to everyone on Centaurus who will need it. No one can. The logistics of the problem are insurmountable. There is not enough transportation in the Federation to bring all the patients to the hospitals quickly enough—and there are not enough hospitals in the Federation to handle all the patients. As hard as it may be, we and the Red Cross ships must limit aid to those we can help the most. When these patients are well, they can assist us in helping the next group of patients, and so on. I see no other way."
Kirk said, "But some of the ones we skip over will die."
"Yes," M'Benga said. "Some will die without treatment. God help us. Captain, it is all just so overwhelming!" M'Benga sagged wearily in his seat. "I will be up many nights because of this—and not because of the work I will do on Centaurus, but because of the work I will not do." The doctor fell silent and stared at the overhead.
No one knew quite what to say, except Spock.
"Dr. M'Benga," the Vulcan began, "I speak as one who has had sufficient reason to appreciate your medical skills. I consider it fortunate that a specialist in Vulcan medicine is assigned to the Enterprise. That fact has saved my life at least once."
M'Benga stopped gazing at the ceiling and looked at the Vulcan. This was the closest Spock had ever come to thanking him.
"Permit me, on that basis, to ask you a question," Spock continued. "Do you allow yourself to dwell on the patients you have not saved during the course of your career?"
M'Benga looked surprised. "No, Commander. I regret losing a patient—but I must keep my mind clear so that I may treat the next. If I did not have such an attitude, I could not function."
Spock nodded. "Precisely. I would expect the same answer from Dr. McCoy, if he were present at this meeting. Without considering the number of victims who are sure to need treatment on New Athens, Doctor, are you certain you could do your duty toward those patients you could treat?"
"Certainly, Mr. Spock."
Spock gestured slightly. "I do not see that you have a moral dilemma here, Dr. M'Benga. You cannot possibly treat half a million people. This ship cannot accommodate that many. Yet this ship is bound for Centaurus, and she will do her best once she is there. You must come to realize that a healed, healthy patient is just that—a healthy patient, one who has benefited from your skill. He does not represent a number of patients you could not help; he represents only himself. If all of us do not see the situation in this light, then there is no reason for this ship to go to Centaurus at all."
M'Benga looked down at the table. "Mr. Spock," he said, "I thank you for your words. They make a good deal of sense. I will do my best, we all will—yet I am still frightened, if you will pardon me, of the magnitude of the job we must do."
Spock nodded. "But if we are dissuaded from our duty by the size of our task, then we are beaten. I do not propose to be beaten—particularly by a group of mass murderers."
Captain Kirk looked at Spock. "'Mass murderers,' Spock? What makes you say that? We have no word on that."
Spock said, "I have been considering the circumstances of the explosion, Captain. It could not have been accidental. There are no antimatter power plants on Centaurus, and none are under construction. The Centaurians have breeder reactors using a uranium-plutonium cycle. We can also dismiss the possibility of a ship accident at the spaceport. While ships equipped with warp drive store antimatter aboard for fuel and weapons, no warp-capable ship ever lands on a planet. Even if a warp-drive ship were to crash into a planetary surface at terminal speed, its antimatter supply would be protected from contact with matter by an unbreachable series of magnetic fields; the antimatter can always be recovered safely. We have had such cases happen. Impulse-only craft, such as shuttlecraft, do land—but such craft do not use antimatter for fuel or weapons. Further, spaceports do not store antimatter; starbases do, for reasons of safety. There was no antimatter 'fuel depot' at the spaceport. Therefore, I conclude that any antimatter at the spaceport had to have been brought there on purpose, for use in an annihilation device."
"Who, then, Mr. Spock? Who did it?" Uhura asked.
"Unknown, Lieutenant. Annihilation weapons can be created quite easily once one has the antimatter, which, I must point out, is quite difficult and costly to make. No individual or terrorist group is capable of manufacturing antimatter. This effectively limits the possession of antimatter to military organizations under strict Federation security. Also, no theft of antimatter has been reported; I would venture to think no theft is likely to have happened. But the construction of an annihilation device, once antimatter has been obtained, is not difficult. We ourselves built one with comparative ease to destroy the cosmic cloud on Tycho IV—and, of course, we routinely load antimatter for use in our photon torpedoes. But I believe I can partially answer the question of who did not bomb New Athens."
Kirk had a thought. "The Klingons didn't."
"Correct, Captain," Spock said. "The Klingons could not have been responsible. Any attack by the Empire against us would fall under the list of actions proscribed by the Organian Peace Treaty. We do not know how the Organians enforce the treaty they imposed on us and the Klingons; we know only that they do. I presume they would not have allowed an attack on New Athens. The Klingons would have been stopped."
"The Romulans, then?" Chekov suggested.
"Unlikely, Ensign," Spock said. "The Romulans are certainly capable of building and delivering an annihilation device to Centaurus—but what would it gain them? There are far more likely targets—the Federation capital at Geneva, for instance, or Starfleet headquarters in San Francisco. New Athens is—was—merely the capital of a successful colony. It had little or no military importance. The Romulans must also realize that any such attack would bring a quick Federation response—one that they would find devastating. The Federation has many more ships and much more firepower than do the Romulans."
"Well, then, Spock? Who did it?" Kirk prompted, echoing Uhura's question.
"There is not enough data yet to place the blame for the attack, Captain," Spock said. "I said only that I know who did not bomb New Athens. But I must note that this is the first attack on a civilian city with a weapon of mass destruction since Earth's Eugenics Wars. Through all history, such weapons have been in the hands of military forces alone."
Spock paused. "Now it appears that, despite all safeguards, someone else has them."