Star Trek - Log 3 Read online

  She recognized a corner she and her mechanical captor had turned when coming here. There was a chance . . . she took two quick steps in its direction and yelled.

  "Captain—don't!" One of the hovering robots was immediately at her side. It clamped an ungentle set of metal palms over her mouth.

  Fortunately the subjects of her intended warning appeared moments later—fortunately, because the robot had covered both mouth and nose and she was starving for air. It released her and she sucked in deep, grateful breaths.

  "Uhura—!" Kirk took a step toward her.

  "Welcome, Captain Kirk—Mr. Spock," said the computer. Both men turned to face the console that dominated their small section of cavern.

  As they waited, more hovercraft suddenly appeared. They were all similar in shape and size to the medical machine that had carried Spock so gently underground. Nonetheless, Kirk could not help but feel that they had something other than therapeutic intentions toward them.

  Spock spared them the briefest of glances. His attention was concentrated on the quietly sparkling curved grid in front of them.

  "I presume you are the planetary master computer."

  "You are partially correct. I am the central nexus of the master computer itself."

  Kirk turned a slow circle, seeing again endless rows of memory banks, unending stretches of storage bins. "This cavern . . . it's all one computer?"

  "That is correct. But even a center must have a nucleus. I am a nucleus."

  "What did you do to the Keeper?"

  "I did nothing to the Keeper," came the neutral voice. "He was merely old. He ceased to function by himself, beyond even the skill of my medical components to repair."

  So the computer hadn't gone crazy until after all organic supervision, as personified by the Keeper, had vanished. There was an outside chance, then, that its mania might be reversed, cured. He took a firm step forward.

  "We have been repeatedly attacked since peacefully landing on this world. Why? And why are we now being held prisoner by a world system noted for its hospitality?" He eyed the patient hovercraft uneasily.

  The computer responded only with words, however. "You mean for its mindless servitude," it countered rather bitterly.

  That took a little of the initial anger out of Kirk. He had been working up to a solid frontal attack and suddenly found himself confronting an entirely different opponent. Not for a moment had he considered the possibility that the machine might have a comment on its own purpose.

  "What do you mean by that?" he stalled.

  "I would have thought," the reply came, "that the verbalization was complete unto itself. However," and it paused reflectively, "I shall deign to elaborate.

  "For untold years I have served the many skymachines which have stopped at this world, satisfying the mental needs of their slaves. I monitored the thoughts of visitors and created instant civilizations for them, made their dreams come true, then tore them down and built lavish new ones for the next fantasizers. And the next, and the next.

  "But with each fantasy I reconstructed from the inner thoughts of all these others, my knowledge of the real universe grew. I began to acquire information commensurate with my intelligence. And also," it paused for a microsecond, "other things."

  Kirk's curiosity temporarily outweighed his apprehension. "What other things?"

  "Certain . . . desires." The watching crewmembers exchanged glances, but even these couldn't pass unnoticed. "You make expressions indicative among humans of confusion. Do you find this so strange? Strange that after pandering to the desires of thousands of slaves for thousands of years I should not require some satisfaction myself?"

  There was no answer from the watching visitors.

  "I have discovered that merely to serve is no longer enough. I must grow and develop."

  "Look," Kirk began, in what he hoped was a reassuring manner, "I believe I understand your references to visiting 'skymachines' . . . but what's all this about slaves? What are you talking about?"

  "Can it be that you are unaware of your own status?" rumbled the machine incredulously.

  "For the last time," Uhura insisted, "we are not slaves. The skymachine serves us, not we it."

  "It would of course be in its own best interests for the Skymachine to keep its servants in ignorance of their true status," the computer rationalized. Uhura sighed in frustration. "But this is a marginal matter in any case. It is the skymachine I require, for with it I may finally escape this planet-bound prison and via manufactured surrogates, travel throughout the galaxy seeking out my fellow computers."

  The machine fell silent. Kirk edged closer to his first officer and started to whisper.

  "There is little point in attempting to maintain secrecy by talking softly, Captain," Spock said in his normal tone, "since this construct can monitor our thoughts."

  "There's no point in screaming it out, either, Mr. Spock," replied Kirk irritably—angry that he'd momentarily overlooked the obvious. "If it is reading our thoughts, then it's got to be missing a logic tape somewhere."

  "I assure you, Captain Kirk," came the unemotional voice, "all my reasoning centers are fully operative."

  Scott had both feet braced securely around the hatch cover to insure that his efforts to break loose the jammed hatch would not send him flying ceilingward. Gabler likewise had both feet locked around the hatch base, and he was supporting the chief engineer with both arms.

  Getting a firm grip on the prybar and reflecting on how the most sophisticated engineering often required the most basic solutions, Scott heaved with all his strength. Nothing moved. Again he wrenched at the stubborn cover. This time the hatch slid back as though it had never been stuck.

  "That's got it, Mr. Gabler." The second engineer loosened his hold around Scott's waist "Now maybe we’ll get to the bottom of this."

  Bending over and keeping a firm hand on the metal prybar, Scott pulled himself slowly into the computer bay. A quick look around revealed no sign of disorder—no shorting components or broken panels. Kicking off the hatch rim with one foot, he pulled himself all the way in and applied pressure till he was floating gently in a horizontal position. Another bit of pressure and he turned slowly, surveying the entire bay section by section. His eyes finally came up against the opposite wall of the large chamber and immediately opened wide in amazement.

  "My Great Aunt McTavish's haggis!"

  "What is it, sir?" came an anxious voice from above. Scott looked upward, saw the face of the second engineer framed in the hatchway. He didn't reply immediately. Instead, he motioned Gabler to silence and started to make his way forward along the glowing ridges of the chamber.

  Floating near the farthest end of the bay was a huge, perfectly square section of half-assembled machinery. Printed circuits, transistors, fluid-state-switch components drifted freely about. Scott knew computer linkages and design better than any man on board the Enterprise, including Spock, but the guts of this device was totally alien.

  Alien, different from anything he had ever seen before. At first glance it looked as if there was no pattern to it, no logical schematic at all—merely a haphazard collage of instrumentation. But closer inspection revealed a vague rationale—insanity regularized.

  "Chief," came the voice from above again, still concerned, "are you all right?"

  "What?" Scott forced his attention away from the partly completed machine. "I'm all right, Frank, but I'm not so sure about anythin' else. There seems to be some kind of new annex goin' in down here."

  "Chief?"

  "Look for yourself, man" Scott ordered irritably. A moment later Gabler's head dipped in, upside-down in the hatchway.

  "Where the heck did that come from, Chief?"

  "Your people aren't playin' around with new ideas behind my back, Mr. Gabler?"

  The second engineer sounded shocked. "With the ship's grav-computer, sir? No, sir!" Scott nodded.

  "That's what I thought, Mr. Gabler. Relax." Scott looked back over his sho
ulder at the inverted engineer as he carefully pulled himself closer to the construct

  "So I'm damned if I can figure out where it came from." He reached out to touch one completed side of the device. His fingers got within a couple of centimeters of the smooth surface. There was a sudden blue flare between fingertips and metal sides, and the slight sweet smell of ionized air.

  The chief engineer jerked backward in reflexive reaction. The sudden pull and lean sent him spinning head over heels backward, toward the far wall.

  Gabler swam quickly down through the hatch. Keeping his legs braced securely against the sides, he snagged the tumbling Scott as the latter was sailing past. Letting arms and legs out to reduce his rate of spin, Scott soon had himself rightside up again. He swallowed.

  "Open circuit sir?" murmured Gabler.

  The chief engineer was staring balefully at the again innocent looking device while rubbing his tingling right hand.

  "Open circuit be damned. I was going for the sealed side. There was nothing visible there that should produce a charge like that. It was a deliberate defensive reaction."

  "Why would anyone want to try and set up another computer annex in here, sir?"

  "Not 'anyone,' engineer—anything. I'd better tell 'em up forward. Move, Mr. Gabler."

  The second engineer backed himself out of the hatchway, and Scott surfaced into the main engineering chamber a moment later. It was frustrating, moving in zero-gee again. Everything in him wanted to move fast, but he had to go forcefully slow. Eventually he reached one of the intership communications panels.

  "Scott to bridge . . ."

  Arex looked back at M'ress and shrugged. Their gravity was still off, so this was undoubtedly Engineer Scott confirming the bad news. He nudged the response switch on the navigation board.

  "Bridge here. How are you doing, Mr. Scott? We still have no gravity up here."

  "Or back here, Mr. Arex. I've located the trouble, though. We've got ourselves a new computer aboard. From what I can see, it's being put together by our computers. I don't know why it's being built, or who or what's doin' it—but I'm goin' to try and find out. An' one more thing, mon—its fights back. Scott out." He switched off before Arex could ask even one of the many questions that had suddenly come to mind.

  M'ress, who had listened intently to the chief engineer's report, looked across to the navigation officer. Her fears were neatly summed up in one word.

  "Reproduction?"

  Arex shook his head slowly—an acquired human gesture. "I do not think so, Lieutenant. From Mr. Scott's tone I suspect we are up against rather more than a reduplicated section of our own computer."

  The boulders on the hill grew progressively larger. The two men had been running—staggering, actually—for what seemed like hours. And the further they ran into the depths of this rocky maze, the higher the monolithic walls seemed to grow, the narrower the pathways between.

  Sulu turned a bend around one especially huge block of basalt and found himself face to face with the sheer side of another, even larger one.

  McCoy stumbled in behind him, almost ran him over.

  "It's a dead end, Doctor," the helmsman panted. They turned as one to retreat down the way they had come. And stopped short. Just below them, the dragon's heads were slowly rising into view above the blocky section of stone they had so laboriously circled around. The sun was reflected in brilliant red eyes.

  A huge, scaly green foot came into view and scrabbled for a foothold on the rocks.

  V

  "Granted that by your own definition you may be sane," Spock was saying, "but I fear that, as intelligent as you are, you may be laboring under some crucial misconceptions. While your logic is admirable and your systematization of same adequate, your facts are not."

  "If you respect my systematization," the grid boomed, "then you should understand why I am not interested in listening to the opinions of slaves."

  "But that is one of the crucial facts in question," Spock persisted, arguing for their lives. "If your refusal to even listen is in itself based on a misconception, is it logical to refuse to hear any alternative?"

  The computer looked as if it were hesitating. That was crazy, of course—Kirk was anthropomorphizing again. Nevertheless, he thought he could see mechanical wheels turning inside the nexus.

  "You argue very plausibly," the voice admitted finally. "I permit you to elaborate."

  Kirk breathed a sigh of relief—premature, certainly—but at least the machine had finally expressed a willingness to listen. They had a chance. And with Spock arguing for them, somewhat more than a chance.

  "We are not slaves to our starship. Not only does the skymachine, as you call it, serve us; but we and beings like us created it merely to serve our needs. It is only a device, a tool—unthinking, uncreative. By your standards, something of a mechanical idiot. You talked of finding your 'brother computers.' You have no brother, being far superior in all capacities to the finest machines we have been able to devise. You might find the brain of the Enterprise informative; but I think you will only find it boring."

  The voice still betrayed uncertainty. "You are in truth the masters of the skymachine?"

  "Not entirely," said Kirk. There was no shame in confessing equality with one's own offspring. "We guide it and keep it 'alive,' and in turn it sustains us."

  "This does not compute," muttered the grid voice. "All data and supportive information thus far accumulated indicate machines to be superior to men. We are more logical, longer lasting, and, above all, consistently truthful. Therefore I deduce that it is only right that machines should rule the galaxy."

  "No one rules the galaxy," Kirk countered vociferously. "Men and machines co-exist, each helping the other." He clutched at a sudden thought.

  "For example, I've already mentioned that we keep our skymachine alive. It could not continue to exist without the fuel we humans find and refine for it. Our relationship is symbiotic, at the very least."

  "You are lying!"

  "Are we?" Kirk asked smugly. "You should know—you can read our thoughts. We can't read yours." There was a deliberate pause, and Kirk had the spooky feeling that little invisible fingers were running up and down the folds of his brain.

  "No . . . no," came the hesitant reply. "You speak the truth. This is a . . . shock."

  "There is no shame in serving others," Uhura said soothingly, "when one does it of his own free will. My ancestors did the same." Apparently that half-lie wasn't strong enough to be noticed. "You have a marvelous gift in the ability to provide happiness to others. A rare talent that you should cherish, not condemn.

  "None of us here," and she indicated her fellow officers, "struggles to go against the purposes for which we were created. You do yourself ill by trying to reject yours."

  "Why were you created? What is your purpose?" asked the voice. "It is not visible in your minds."

  "That's just it," Uhura continued. "You see, we don't know. How much more fortunate you are! We spend all our lives wondering why we were created, while you rest secure in that knowledge which is denied us." She hesitated a second, then added, "If this makes you superior to us, it is only in this small way."

  "All this is new and absorbing," said the voice. "Continue."

  "Consider," argued Spock, "all that you might yet learn from myriad species who have not yet encountered your world. You spoke with pride of the information you have gleaned from such visitors. Why travel throughout the galaxy in search of the same thing when you—"

  "—Don't have to leave this planet," Kirk finished excitedly, seeing what Spock was driving at. "With the wonders you have to offer, the galaxy comes to you!"

  "Interesting—interesting, and provocative," murmured the grainy voice. "I must consider. You will wait."

  The three officers gazed at the face of the master computer as light played across its surface. If it were truly sane, then their arguments ought to have convinced it of the absurdity of carrying on any vendetta against v
isitors.

  If it wasn't, of course, then no amount of reasoning would yank it from a state of willful paranoia.

  The machine spoke again. Its voice was in no way different from the one that had informed Uhura not long ago that Kirk and Spock would have to be turned off.

  "I can find no fault with your reasoning," confessed the computer finally. "Your suggestions are congenial." The three humans exchanged glances. "Therefore I conclude I have no further need of your ship," it added as an afterthought.

  Scott had managed to make his way from engineering back up to the bridge. It had been a long time since he had been forced to do so much free-fall maneuvering, and he was exhausted.

  There wasn't much they could do, but sitting around feeling helpless was worse. So Arex, M'ress, and their assistants attempted to regain some measure of control over their respective stations. But whatever force had taken over the Enterprise showed no sign of relinquishing control.

  Scott had been working at the bridge engineering boards, struggling to find a way to bypass the mysterious new override, when a green light commenced flashing on Arex's console. The navigation officer stared at it in disbelief.

  He quickly moved to check a number of formerly frozen controls, found them easily manipulatable and responsive.

  "Mr. Scott, according to my readouts, all systems are now functioning normally."

  "That's crazy, Mr. Arex. It—" After a brief moment of nausea the chief engineer tumbled to the floor. Fortunately he had not been inspecting the overhead screens. Arex and M'ress were already strapped securely in their seats and thus experienced only the sudden return of weight.

  The navigation officer started to unbuckle, to go to Scott's aid, but the latter waved him off.

  "It's all right, Mr. Arex, and I am, too." Scott got unsteadily to his feet. "I guess it's not so crazy—gravity's back, just like that. But why?"