Star Trek 03

  AN EXTRAORDINARY JOURNEY

  INTO THE SUPERNATURAL!

  Seven chilling stories into the bizarre and unexpected with the crew of the starship Enterprise. Travel to the unknown regions of outer space, to worlds where unearthly powers can control human beings and where unspeakable horror becomes normal. Unimaginable new galaxies of strange beings, bizarre customs, unknown dangers and awesome excitement. A world threatened by tribbles, small and furry with no eyes or faces—only a mouth. A killer planet where time and place change by telepathy. A monster robot that smashes planets and digests them. An alien being who comes to Earth to start World War III.

  A GALACTIC TICKET TO INFINITE ADVENTURE.

  BASED ON THE EXCITING

  NEW NBC-TV SERIES CREATED

  BY GENE RODDENBERRY

  A NATIONAL GENERAL COMPANY

  STAR TREK 3

  A Bantam Book / published April 1969

  All rights reserved.

  Copyright © 1969 by Bantam Books, Inc.

  Copyright © 1969 by Paramount Pictues Corporation.

  This book may not be reproduced in whole or in part,

  by mimeograph or any other means,

  without permission in writing.

  Published simultaneously in the United States and Canada

  ISBN-13: 978-0553123128

  Bantam Books are published by Bantam Books, Inc., a subsidiary of Grosset & Dunlap, Inc. Its trade-mark, consisting of the words "Bantam Books" and the portrayal of a bantam, is registered in the United States Patent Office and in other countries. Marca Registrada. Bantam Books, Inc., 271 Madison Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10016.

  PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

  CONTENTS

  * * *

  PREFACE:

  THE TROUBLE WITH TRIBBLES*

  THE LAST GUNFIGHT

  THE DOOMSDAY MACHINE*

  ASSIGNMENT: EARTH

  MIRROR, MIRROR

  FRIDAY'S CHILD

  AMOK TIME*

  PREFACE:

  * * *

  Some Awards for Star Trek—and an Open Letter

  Science-fiction fans hold an annual World Convention, which is held in a different city every year (though it has been outside the United States only once so far, in London in 1965). The most recent one, in Berkeley, Calif., was the twenty-sixth.

  One of the many items on the program is the giving of achievement awards for the best s-f novel, novelette, short story and so on of the preceding year. These awards are statuettes called "Hugos," after the late Hugo Gernsback, who founded the first science-fiction magazine (Amazing Stories) in 1926.

  In recent years, one of the categories has been "Best Dramatic Presentation," but there have seldom been many nominations for this category, and at at least one convention the decision was, "No award."

  But since Star Trek came along, things have been different. At the 1967 convention in New York, the winner for Best Dramatic Presentation was Gene Roddenberry, not as originator and producer of Star Trek (though he was both), but as the author of the episode called "The Menagerie," which appeared during the show's first season.

  And in 1968, all four of the nominees for Best Dramatic Presentation were from Star Trek. Three of those scripts are adapted in this collection; I have indicated them by asterisks.

  What about the fourth? Well, the fourth was the actual Hugo winner, "The City at the Edge of Forever," by Harlan Ellison. It is not in this collection for the simple reason that I had already put it in the preceding book, STAR TREK TWO. And judging by my mail, it was the heavy favorite there, too—which is a separate matter, since s-f fandom and Star Trek fandom do not seem to overlap very much, certainly by no more than 10 per cent. The Hugo, by the way, was not Mr. Ellison's first award for that script; it was also voted the best single TV script of the year, regardless of category, by the television writers themselves. This award was given, however, not for the script as it ran on Star Trek, but for Mr. Ellison's original version, which had to be edited for the show—for one thing, it was too long. I mention this because readers of STAR TREK TWO may remember that in doing the adaptation of the script I tried to preserve what I thought were the best features of both versions. I feared that I might just have spoiled the whole thing in the process, but the readers' letters said not (and Mr. Ellison said not, too).

  There is more that ought to be said about the fan mail, partly because it is, I think, interesting in itself, and partly in the hope that the facts might influence those sponsors and network officials who put too much faith in TV rating services. Beginning in 1951, I have written twenty-seven published novels and short-story collections (and including a volume of essays on science fiction). All of these books are still in print but one, and one of them was itself a Hugo winner. In addition, I've written many short stories and other lands of material; the first one of these appeared early in 1940, and many have been anthologized—several of them repeatedly—in 58 different collections at last count. In 29 years my work has appeared in 18 different countries.

  I note these figures not to brag—well, not entirely, anyhow—but as background for one astonishing fact: I have received more mail about my two previous Star Trek books than I have about all my other work put together.

  I don't have to count the letters to establish this. All I have to do is look at the comparative thickness of two accordion file folders.

  These letters have been arriving at an average rate of two a day ever since January 1967. They make an astonishing collection. The writers range from children under 10, through college undergraduates (a large sub-group) to housewives. Not all the writers give their ages, of course, but enough of them do to make an adequate statistical sample, so I can say with fair confidence that the average age is 13. The medium age, however, is 15—that is, there are just as many writers over that age as there are under it.*

  *This difference shows that those over 15 are mostly young adults. The top stated age is 28.

  Most of them say that they have never read, or seen, any science fiction before Star Trek, or if they have, that they hadn't liked it. Some ask me to recommend other s-f books, or name some other books I have written. Still others announce a strong urge to write the stuff themselves, sometimes documented by accompanying manuscripts. In short, the evidence is strong that Star Trek has created an almost entirely new audience.

  For over a year I tried to answer every one of these letters, however briefly, but the inroads this made on my creative writing time became a serious matter and I had to give it up, with regrets. (To give up answering the letters, that is!) However, there is one answer that I found myself making over and over which I would like to repeat here. That is the answer I gave to people who sent me Star Trek short stories, outlines, suggestions for scripts for the show, or even complete scripts:

  "I have nothing to do with any aspect of the Star Trek show, including the selection of scripts. All I do is adapt some of the scripts into short stories. Furthermore, it is a firm rule of the producers that anyone even vaguely connected with the show who receives any sort of submission from anybody other than a recognized agent must return it unread, which is what I am doing in your case too. There are sound legal reasons for this which I'm sure you will understand.

  "Furthermore, if you want to sell science fiction, your chances would be considerably greater if you tried to write a completely original story for one of the magazines, rather than basing your work on the characters and back ground of an already famous TV show. Originality is valued more highly in science fiction than in any other branch of literature. Hence, no matter what your affection for the Star Trek characters—which I share—you will in the long run be better off creating your own."

  I have written those two paragraphs so many times that I coul
d practically set them to music. Another I have written almost as often goes like this:

  "I'm sorry, but I have no pictures from Star Trek to offer, nor can I send you a sample script—the scripts I have are the show's property, not mine. The place to write for further information is STAR TREK Enterprises, P.O. Box 38429, Hollywood, Calif. 90038. I myself have never been on the set, nor met any of the actors; and I have seen Mr. Roddenberry exactly three times, each time on a convention speakers' platform, along with about 800 other spectators."

  Today I would like to add to this: Before you write, try a book called The Making of Star Trek, by Stephen E. Whitfield and Gene Roddenberry. (Ballantine Books, New York, #73004-414 pages, 95¢.) It almost surely contains the information you are looking for—and lots of pictures, too.

  Finally: Thanks to all of you who suggested what scripts I might include in this book; I kept a tally, and abided by the voting. Thanks, too, to those who asked that I write an original Star Trek novel. Both the studio and Bantam agreed, somewhat to my surprise, that this was a good idea, so it's in the works.

  So, to those of you who have written to me and haven't gotten an answer, I hope you will accept this as an apology and an explanation. At the least, I think it answers the most frequently asked questions.

  JAMES BLISH

  Brooklyn, N.Y. 1968

  THE TROUBLE WITH TRIBBLES*

  (David Gerrold)

  *Hugo Award nominee

  * * *

  Nobody seems to know where tribbles come from, though obviously they are comfortable in oxygen-bearing air at Earthlike temperatures and pressures. Newborn tribbles are about an inch long; the largest one ever seen, about sixteen inches.

  A tribble looks a little like a cross between an angora cat and a beanbag. It has no arms or legs, no eyes, and in fact no face—only a mouth. It moves by rolling, by stretching and flexing like an inchworm, or by a peculiar throbbing which moves it along slowly but smoothly, rather like a snail. It does, however, have long fur, which comes in a variety of colors—beige, deep chocolate, gold, white, gold-green, auburn, cinnamon and dusky yellow.

  Tribbles are harmless. Absolutely, totally, completely, categorically, inarguably, utterly, one hundred per cent harmless . . .

  The Enterprise picked up a priority A-1 distress call from deep space station K-7 within a few moments after the big ship hove into sensor range. The station orbits Sherman's Planet, which is about three light years from the nearest Klingon outpost and hence well within the Klingon's sphere of influence—or the outpost was well within the Federation's sphere of influence, depending on how you looked at it.

  Both sides had claimed the planet. Although it was mostly barren, its position between the two political bodies was of considerable strategic importance. In the old days, one or the other would have grabbed it, and the other would have tried to jockey him off, at constant risk of war—a pastime the Klingons enjoyed.

  These days, however, there was the Organian peace treaty to take into account. Under its terms, Sherman's Planet would belong to whichever side could prove it could develop the planet most effectively.

  Under the circumstances, when a priority one distress call came from station K-7, the Enterprise could not be blamed for making for the station at Warp Six, with all hands at battle stations.

  But when the ship arrived there was no target. K-7 rolled majestically and peacefully around Sherman's Planet, menaced—if that is the word—by nothing within sensor range but a one-man scout ship which floated nearby, obviously in parking orbit.

  Baffled and irritated, Captain Kirk called the station's Commander Lurry, who refused any explanation except in person. He did so rather apologetically, but this did not placate Kirk in the least. He beamed over to the station with Spock, his First Officer—with orders to Sulu to keep the Enterprise at battle readiness.

  There were two other men in Commander Lurry's office when Kirk and Spock arrived. Kirk paid no attention to them.

  "Commander Lurry," he said, "you have sent out a priority one distress call. Please state the nature of your emergency."

  "Uh, Captain, please allow me to explain. We in fact have no emergency, yet."

  "Then you are in trouble," Kirk said grimly. "If there is no emergency, why did you order the call?"

  One of the two unknowns said, "I ordered it, Captain."

  "And who are you?"

  "Captain Kirk, this is Nilz Baris," Lurry said. "He's out here from Earth to take charge of the development project for Sherman's Planet."

  "And that gives you the authority to put a whole quadrant on defense alert?"

  "Mr. Baris," the second unknown said stiffly, "is the Federation Undersecretary for Agricultural Affairs in this quadrant."

  "A position with no military standing of which I am aware," Kirk said. "And who may you be, please?"

  "This is my assistant, Arne Darvin," Baris said. "Now, Captain, I want all available security guards to . . ."

  "I beg your pardon?" Kirk said. The way this trio had of answering questions for each other was not improving his temper, and thus far he had heard nothing even vaguely resembling an explanation.

  "I will try to make myself clear," the Undersecretary said. "I want all available security guards. I want them posted around the warehouse. Surely that's simple enough."

  "It's simple but it's far from clear. What warehouse?"

  "The warehouse with the quadrotriticale," Darvin said, recapturing the ball. Lifting an attache case to Lurry's desk, he extracted from it a small vial. From this he poured into his palm a few small seeds, which he handed to Baris, who in turn handed them to Kirk. The Captain inspected them briefly and then passed them on to Spock.

  "Wheat," he said. "What about it?"

  "Quadrotriticale is not wheat, Captain," Darvin said, with an audible sniff. "It is a newly developed form of trititicale."

  "That leaves me as much in the dark as before."

  "Trititicale is a high-yield per acre hybrid form of wheat and rye," Spock said quietly. "This appears to be a four-lobed rehybridization—a perennial, also, if I'm not mistaken. The root grain, triticale, traces its ancestry back to twentieth-century Canada."

  "Uh, yes," Baris said, looking a little startled.

  "And it is the only Earth grain that will grow on Sherman's Planet," Commander Lurry put in. "We have a warehouse of it here on the station. It's very important that the grain reach Sherman's Planet safely. Mr. Baris thinks that Klingon agents may try to sabotage it."

  "Nothing could be more likely," the Undersecretary said. "That grain is going to be the way the Federation proves its claim to Sherman's Planet. Obviously the Klingons will do anything they can to keep it from getting there. It must be protected. Do you understand? It must be protected."

  "So you issued a priority one distress call on behalf of a warehouse full of grain," Kirk said. "The only reason I don't arrest you on the spot is that I want the Federation to have Sherman's Planet as much as you do. Consider yourself lucky; misuse of the priority one channel is a Federation offense."

  "I did not misuse . . ."

  "Captain Kirk," Lurry interposed hurriedly, "couldn't you at least post a couple of guards? We do get a large number of ships passing through."

  This of course was true. After a moment, Kirk said, "Mr. Spock, what do you think?"

  "It would be a logical precaution, Captain."

  "Very well." Kirk took out his communicator. "Kirk to Enterprise . . . Lieutenant Uhura, secure from general quarters. Next, beam over two security guards. Have them report to Commander Lurry."

  "Yes, Captain."

  "Also, authorize shore leave for all off-duty personnel. Kirk out."

  "Only two?" Baris said, in something very like a fury. "Kirk, you're going to hear about this. I'm going to contact Starfleet Command."

  "Do that," Kirk said, staring at the Undersecretary icily. "But before you put in the call, I suggest that you pin back your ears. It will save Starfleet Command the troubl
e of doing it for you."

  The recreation area of K-7 was small, the shops little more than stalls surrounding a central mall formed by the intersection of a number of curving corridors. Space was at a premium.

  As Kirk and Spock entered the area, a number of crew members from the Enterprise materialized on the mall, including Uhura and Sulu. Kirk moved toward them.

  "I see you didn't waste any time getting over here," he said. "Mr. Sulu, we have a new specimen for your greenhouse. Mr. Spock?" The First Officer handed the grain over. "It's called . . ."

  "Quadrotriticale!" the helmsman said eagerly. "I've read about it, but I've never seen any till now!"

  "Come on, Sulu," Uhura said. "You can study it back aboard. Let's get in some shopping while we have the chance. Coming, Mr. Spock? Captain?"

  "Well, for a few minutes, anyhow. But not for long; I suspect there are some hot messages shooting back and forth in subspace along about now."

  The shop into which Uhura led them was vaguely cluttered and did not seem to specialize in anything in particular. Clearly it was one of those broker's establishments where spacemen on leave sold curios they had picked up on far planets, to help pay for their shore leaves—curios later resold to other spacemen for twice the price. This did not look like the best such shop Kirk had ever seen, but then, K-7 was not the best located of space stations, either.

  There was nobody else in it at the moment but a tall, raffish-looking red-haired civilian, who had an immense quantity of merchandise spread out over the counter, and a carryall sack at his feet.

  "No, absolutely not," the storekeeper was saying. "I've got enough Argilian flame gems to last me a lifetime. At the price I have to ask for them, hardly anybody on this junkyard can afford them."