ON THE STARSHIPHood, the distress call was distinct and unmistakable.
This is Doctor Aaron Brown. Repeat, Doctor Aaron Brown, of the Roger Korby expedition. Do you read me? This is Doctor Aaron Brown. . . .
Communications Officer Alan Paultic swiveled in his seat, to face the command chair and Captain Martinez.
"It's a preset message, sir," said Paultic, "transmitting on several different frequencies. On some kind of loop, so that it repeats continuously." He made some quick calculations. "And it's coming from deep beneath the planet's surface."
Martinez peered at the forward monitor and the blue-white world depicted there. "Return the signal," he said finally. "Pertinent data, Lieutenant Banks?"
Science Officer Banks consulted with his computer terminal. Small, vivid lights flashed on and off, reflected on his dark, flawless skin.
"Its name is Exo III, Captain. Gravity one point one Earthnorm, atmosphere breathable. But the surface temperature is a hundred degrees below zero—which is why, I imagine, the signal's coming from beneath the surface."
"So it would seem," commented Martinez, thoughtfully. Banks' temples worked as he called up another file.
"Doctor Roger Korby. Known as the Pasteur of …"
Martinez held up a hand.
"Spare me that particular bio, Lieutenant. I'm quite familiar with Korby's work." He paused. "And Exo III was the world he disappeared on, wasn't it?"
"It was, Captain. But that was more than five years ago. Since then, three expeditions have failed to find him. The most recent was that of the Enterprise—only a few months ago."
Martinez glared at the viewscreen, as if he could wring some more information out of it. But the blue-white world just hung there, impassive.
"What about this Doctor Brown? Can we confirm that he was part of the expedition?"
Banks keyed in another callcode. The file sprang up on his terminal.
"He was indeed," said the science officer. "Aaron Brown. First accompanied Doctor Korby on Orion excavation, stardate—"
"Thank you," said Martinez. "That's quite enough, Lieutenant."
Banks bit his lip and punched the button that would clear his screen.
"Sir?" It was Paultic.
"Yes, Lieutenant?"
"Sir, I've made contact with Doctor Brown."
"Put it up on the screen, please, Paultic."
A moment later, an image coalesced on the monitor. The face they saw was a narrow one, with dark brows and graying temples.
"This is Doctor Aaron Brown," said the man on the screen. He smiled. "Whom do I have the pleasure of addressing?"
"Captain Joaquin Martinez, U.S.S. Hood," returned the captain. "What's your situation down there?"
"One of delight," said Brown. "It's been years since we've seen another human face."
"You mean you and Doctor Korby?"
Brown registered sadness.
"I'm afraid," he said, "that Doctor Korby died shortly after our crash landing here." He seemed to hesitate for a moment. "Only I and another of his assistants—Johann Zezel—survived."
Martinez grunted. "I'm sorry to hear about Doctor Korby. I'd admired him for some time."
"So did we all," said Brown.
"Paultic," said the captain, "make arrangements with engineering to have these men beamed up."
"Actually," Brown interjected, "there's more than ourselves to beam up. We've made some … fascinating discoveries down here, Captain. You'll no doubt want to take a look at them before we bring them on board."
"Discoveries?" echoed Martinez.
"Yes," said Brown. "Of a sensitive nature. I'm sure you understand."
Martinez frowned. "Of course. I'll beam down with a few of my officers as soon as we can get a fix on your coordinates."
Doctor Brown nodded. "Thank you, Captain. We'll be waiting."
The image faded.
"Captain," said Paultic, "Mister Berg says he's established the source of the signal. He's ready to transport."
"Good," said Martinez. "But tell him he'll be beaming down instead of up. A party of three—myself, First Officer Stuart, and Science Officer Banks."
Paultic relayed the information to the transporter room.
For a moment, Martinez just sat there—staring at the dark and featureless viewscreen, massaging the lower portion of his face.
Something bothered him—had, in fact, since they first received the distress call. Something he couldn't quite put his finger on.
It was more than the question of survival. Given sufficient supplies and equipment from their wrecked ship, Brown and—what was his name? Zezel?—could have kept themselves alive, he supposed. Even reconstructed the devices they'd used to send out the signal.
But why hadn't the other expeditions turned them up—heard the signal? Jim Kirk, captain of the Enterprise, was about as thorough as anyone he'd ever known. Why hadn't Kirk discovered them?
Perhaps, he told himself, they'd only recently gotten the communications equipment to work. Yes—that would be it, wouldn't it?
Just in case, however, he had Paultic put him through to security.
"Simmons here, sir."
"Stand by with a landing party, Mister Simmons. Ready to beam down at my request."
"Will do, sir."
"Thank you," said Martinez.
He felt a little better now. Standing, he turned over the conn.
As Kirk came into the chamber, Brown was swiveling away from the communications system.
"They are beaming down," said Brown.
"Yes," said Kirk. "I heard."
He noticed the expression of concern on Brown's face—the lines that converged at the bridge of his nose.
"Is something wrong?" asked Kirk.
"I don't think Martinez was entirely convinced by my performance. I wonder if he suspects … something."
Kirk shrugged. "And what if he does? Can he refuse to honor our request, knowing what kinds of 'discoveries' Doctor Korby's teams have unearthed in the past?"
"But if he believes something is amiss, will he not take precautions?"
"Some," conceded Kirk. "He'll be armed, for one thing. And he'll probably have a security force ready to beam down at a moment's notice."
"Then perhaps," suggested Brown, "we should alter our plan. If we were to—"
"No," said Kirk. The chamber rang with his response. "There will be no alterations. You will do exactly as I've instructed."
Brown looked at him. "Even Doctor Korby did not speak to me in that tone of voice."
"Doctor Korby failed," said Kirk. "I will succeed."
"Doctor Korby was the creator," said Brown.
Kirk regarded him, saw the anxiety etched deeply into his face.
It was the wrong time to antagonize Brown. Without him, Kirk could accomplish nothing.
"Of course," he agreed. "But his was the mind of a scientist—a philosopher. Not that of a military strategist."
After a moment, Brown relaxed. He seemed to accept the distinction.
"Now, go," said Kirk. "Our friends will be transported to the surface momentarily." He smiled. "We don't want to keep them waiting."
Dutifully, Brown stood and crossed the room. A moment later, the door opened and he was gone.
Kirk watched him go, glad once again that he had introduced an obedience protocol into the replication program. It would make matters so much easier.
Science Officer Jamal Banks hated the cold.
His first tour of duty had been in a floating exploration base on the polar seas of Rakatut Two. In a year and eight months, he'd never felt warm enough.
Now they stood just inside a cave—or rather, the outermost of a system of caves—the snow-and-ice terrain of Exo III rising and falling all around them, until it culminated in a hard, serrated ring of mountains. The sky was gray and flat, with only a dim, pinkish disk of a sun to lend any color to the place.
Banks shivered, despite the fact that a transparent barrier protected him from the frigid temperatures outside.
"Well," said Stuart, "what do you think?"
"We'll give them a few more minutes to show up," said the captain. He peered into the half-dark cave. "I'd hate to ask Berg to transport us down there. It'd be pretty tricky, and I've got no desire to become a permanent feature of the rock."
Banks, standing closest to the opening, heard something. A scraping, as of footfalls on a coarse and uneven surface.
"I think they're coming," he said.
Martinez didn't address any response at all to him. And that was fine as far as Banks was concerned. Being ignored, he'd decided a while ago, was far better than being ridiculed and belittled.
He still didn't understand why Martinez disliked him so. He was a good science officer—efficient, dedicated, all he was supposed to be. Yet the captain had had it in for him since he stepped on board the Hood.
Somehow, he'd rubbed Martinez the wrong way—right from the beginning. Or was there any truth to Vedra's theory about Banks's predecessor?
No matter. His transfer was about to come through. His friends in Starfleet had told him as much. And when it did, he'd no longer have to put up with Martinez.
The footfalls grew louder, closer. They saw a light flicker, then fill the cave.
A moment later, Doctor Brown appeared. He held his searchlight off to one side, so as not to blind them.
"Gentlemen," he said. He held out his hand to Martinez. "It is so good to see you."
Martinez took his hand, shook it.
"We were about to give up hope," he said.
Brown chuckled. "Just imagine what it's like to wait five years—and more." He glanced at Stuart and then at Banks. "Will you follow me?"
Stuart fell into line behind Brown, and Martinez came after him. Banks brought up the rear, as he'd fully expected.
The caves turned out to be beautiful, in a way. Brown's searchlight picked out purplish iridescences and quartzlike gleams among the dusky blue surfaces. The stalactites, of which there were many, seemed to glow a sullen red.
"Be careful where you walk," the archaeologist told them. "We're about to skirt the edge of a large pit. Not all the footing here is as solid as it appears."
As if for emphasis, Brown cast his light along the brink. Beyond it, Banks saw, there was nothing but black emptiness. The light couldn't begin to find the bottom.
He swallowed and hugged the opposite wall, keeping as far away from the pit as possible.
Their trek seemed to go on for some time. Banks glanced at his chronometer, saw that they'd been descending for more than an hour. It was no wonder Brown had been a little late.
Shortly thereafter, they began to pass through a series of arches. Banks couldn't get a very good look at them, because Brown held the only light, and he was up ahead. But it was plain that they weren't natural formations.
Nor could Brown and his companion have built them. For one thing, there were too many of the things. For a second, they couldn't have had the equipment.
Where, then, had the arches come from?
Martinez must have been wondering the same thing, because he asked Brown about it.
The archaeologist's voice carried well in the narrow corridor. "It seems, Captain, that they were fabricated by an indigenous race—one which may have lived on the surface before the sun here began to dim. At first, we speculated that the arches gave support to otherwise weak portions of the tunnels. After studying them, however, we've concluded that they are merely decorative."
Only a few minutes later, they came to a diamond-shaped slab of metal, seemingly embedded in the rock. Brown pressed his hand against a small plate to one side of it, and the slab moved—not unlike the doors on the Hood, Banks noted.
One by one, they passed inside.
"Nice place you've got here," said Stuart, surveying some sort of parlor. He glanced at Brown with those deep-set, pale green eyes of his. "Another leftover of the previous inhabitants?"
"The structure of the place, yes," said Brown. "But not much else. We were able to salvage a great deal from our ship." He gestured. "That computer, for instance. It controls the ventilation and lighting systems, among other things."
Martinez nodded. "Where's your colleague—Zezel?"
The captain looked uncomfortable down here, Banks observed. Trapped, in a way. And as usual, Stuart only echoed the mood of his superior.
The science officer saw nothing amiss, however. Only some rather interesting architecture.
"He must be in the next room," said Brown. "We should take a peek in there, in any case. That's where you'll find the discoveries to which I referred."
"Good," said Martinez. "Let's have a look."
Brown opened the door to the next chamber, and they followed him through. It hissed closed automatically behind them.
There was no sign of Zezel in there. But what they saw made them forget him for the moment.
"All right," said Martinez. "It's big enough. But what is it?"
Banks recoiled inwardly at his captain's brusqueness. Perhaps later, he could apologize to Doctor Brown.
"What it is," said the archaeologist, unruffled, "is a device for the creation of artificial life-forms."
Banks saw Martinez glance at Stuart.
Brown smiled a thin-lipped smile. "You seem incredulous, Captain. And to be honest, I don't blame you. But this machine can create life." He paused. "Perhaps a demonstration would change your mind. I promise you—you won't be disappointed."
The captain grunted. "Sure, go ahead. Demonstrate if you like."
"Thank you," said Brown. He traversed the room and opened a compartment near the wall. With some difficulty, he removed something large and grayish green, carried it over to a circular platform.
Banks felt a dryness in his throat. He had heard of instances in which artificial life had been created. Read reports. But to see such a thing, close up …
He watched carefully as Brown laid his shapeless burden on the platform, then brought the lock down across it.
The archaeologist looked up. "And now," he said, "I need a volunteer." He fixed his gaze on Martinez. "Captain?"
Martinez smiled. "Sorry. Machines break down. I don't want to be inside this one if that should happen. And I'd prefer not to place my men in that kind of danger either."
Brown looked a little sad. "I assure you," he said, "it's quite safe. We've tested it inside and out."
"I'm sure you have," said the captain. "But it doesn't change my mind."
"Sorry," said a voice. "I'm afraid we must insist."
Banks whirled, saw the figure standing directly behind them, in the shadows of the machine. It took him a moment to realize that it was holding some kind of weapon.
By that time, his fellow officers had gone for their phasers. There was a blast of yellow-white light, jolting Stuart off his feet. Martinez rolled, sending a red stunbeam in the newcomer's direction. But it missed, glancing off the stone wall of the cavern.
As the captain rose to a kneeling position, to get a better bead on his target, there was another, tighter blast—and his phaser went flying out of his hand.
Only then did Banks remember his own weapon. His heart thudding against his ribs, he reached for it.
But just as he drew it out, something clamped around his wrist. Something powerful, for suddenly the bones in it were close to breaking.
Banks screamed with the pain.
His hand opened reflexively and the phaser clattered to the floor. Then, abruptly, he was released. He fell to one knee, clutching his wrist to him like a wounded bird.
And looked up into the expressionless face of Doctor Brown. Through the haze of his pain, Banks wondered where the man could have gotten such strength.
Slowly, with the captain's help, Stuart got to his feet.
"Are you all right?" asked Martinez.
The first officer shrugged. "I've been worse. I guess he has a stun setting too."
Martinez glared at the man in the shadows. "Well, Zezel? Aren't you going to tell us what this is about?"
The man stepped clear of the shadows, his weapon still leveled at them. He was a handsome man, Caucasian, medium height and build.
And he looked naggingly familiar.
"Kirk?" whispered Martinez, taking an involuntary step forward. "Jim Kirk?"
The man with the weapon smiled. Charmingly, it seemed to Banks.
"Good to see you again, Joaquin. It's a pity it couldn't have been under more cordial circumstances."
Banks remembered now. The cocktail party on Starbase Five. James Kirk, commander of the Enterprise. But …
"I … I don't get it, Jim," said Martinez. "I just don't get it."
"You will," said Kirk. "Unless you take your hand away from your communicator."
Martinez frowned, did as he was instructed.
"Now," said Kirk, "over toward the platform. Move."
Martinez just stood there, watching his adversary. Hoping he could frustrate him into making a mistake.
Kirk made a quick adjustment in his weapon. "Move," he repeated evenly, training it on Stuart. "Or I'll kill your first officer."
"Don't do it, Captain," said Stuart.
Brown took a couple of steps toward Kirk. "If you harm him," he said, "it will make matters that much more difficult."
Kirk glanced at the archaeologist. "I don't need you to tell me that, Doctor." He looked back to Martinez. "Well?"
Reluctantly, the captain moved toward the platform.
Within minutes, Brown had him locked into place alongside the gray-green mass. Martinez struggled against the lock, saw that he'd have no success with it.
"You won't get away with this," he said. "Either of you." He craned his neck to look at Kirk. "I don't know what you think you're doing, but Starfleet won't look kindly on it."
"Starfleet," said Kirk, "won't know anything about it—until we've already carried out our purpose." He nodded to Brown, who stood now by a control console. The archaeologist pressed a series of buttons.
The platform began to turn.
"You wanted to know what our game was," said Kirk, over the growing hum of the machinery. "This will help to educate you."
He regarded Stuart, then Banks. His gaze was cold—ever so cold.
"And soon, gentlemen, you'll receive the same education."
The platform speeded up, until Martinez was nothing more than a blur.
Banks began to tremble.