by Diane Duane
“Correct me if I’m wrong,” McCoy said, stretching as well, “but the debate format reminds me a lot of the format for the Romulan Right of Statement.”
Spock nodded. “There are striking similarities, which have been noticed before. There are of course differences—you are allowed to eat and sleep if you desire to, or to have a rest break—”
Bones grinned. “I think I’ll do all right,” he said. “The only question is whether the Vulcans have ever seen a good old-fashioned Southern-style filibuster.”
Spock’s eyebrows went up. “Don’t get carried away, Doctor,” he said. “If you tire out your audience with too many brilliant displays of illogic, you may force an early vote.”
“I’ll be careful,” McCoy said, as he got up. “I dare say I can keep them interested…and I have a little logic of my own.”
Spock nodded. “So I have seen…though I would never dare attempt to quantify it.”
“I just bet you wouldn’t,” Bones said. “’Night, Spock. Jim.”
“Good night,” they both said as McCoy ambled out.
When the door shut behind him, “Spock,” Jim said, “are there any indications of the odds shifting at all?”
“They are getting worse,” Spock said. “But I am becoming uncertain of the computer’s ability to predict odds accurately when there are so many variables involved.” He put one eyebrow up. “Such as the doctor.”
“Well,” Jim said, “we’ll just do our best. It’s all we can do.” He sighed, then yawned. “I have to admit,” he said, “I wish I could be a little fly on the wall when you have your talk with T’Pring.”
Spock looked at him oddly. “Why,” he said, “would you desire to be a fly? And specifically a small one?”
Jim laughed. “You know perfectly well what I mean.”
Spock looked at Jim sidelong, and allowed himself the smallest smile. “More often than I used to,” he said, “yes. Good night, Jim.”
“’Night, Spock.”
They met in the transporter room, the next morning, about half an hour before the session in the Halls of the Voice was due to commence. Spock was setting the transporter controls himself, from memory apparently. “Are you ready, gentlemen?”
“Ready, willing, and able,” Jim said.
“At least two out of three ain’t bad,” McCoy muttered.
They stepped up onto the pads and watched the room dissolve out around them. What they reappeared into was echoing dimness, and before they were even solid, Bones was complaining.
“You’ve done it again,” he said. “Why do your people go forsize all the time? Can’t you do anythingsmall?”
Spock looked resigned. The space in which they stood was, if anything, larger than the Hall of Pelasht had been, all made of a smooth, cool-colored, blue gray stone. The ceiling was as high as Pelasht’s and shafts cut through it let in the sunlight in bright slanting columns. “Why do Vulcans like to conduct their business in railroad stations?” McCoy muttered. “Can you just tell me that?”
Spock let out a breath. “I believe that what you are complaining about,” he said, “is pre-Reformation architecture. It did tend to the unnecessarily grand, at least according to present tastes. The room where the debates proper will be held is not this one, so you may relax, Doctor: you won’t have to shout.”
“Spock,” said Sarek’s voice from away off to one side. Regal in his dark ambassadorial robes, he came over to meet them.
“Father,” Spock said. “I was not expecting to see you here today: your testimony does not begin until tomorrow.”
“I had hoped to meet you before you went in, that is all.” Sarek’s eyes narrowed. “I have come across a piece of information that may or may not aid you in your assessments of matters: it is for you to judge.”
Spock inclined his head.
“I was interested in your revelation about T’Pring, Doctor, and so I made a discreet inquiry or two,” said Sarek. “It seems that Stonn is dead.”
Jim glanced at Bones and at Spock. “How did he die, sir?”
“Privacy seal was invoked on the information,” Sarek said.
“Which means,” Spock said quietly, “that it is likely to involveplak tow in some manner. There is almost no other reason for which the seal is invoked, not in these times.”
“Precisely,” Sarek said. “At any rate, T’Pring is now a free agent, released from any obligations laid upon her as a bondmate. I thought you should know.”
“Thank you, Father,” Spock said, and bowed slightly to him.
“I must go now: there are still things to be handled at the embassy and consulate. I hope you find the morning illuminating. Captain, Doctor.” And he was off, all dignity, though it was amazing how fast dignity could move when it had appointments elsewhere.
“Well, well, well,” Bones said softly.
“We should not begin discussing this here, Doctor,” Spock said: “it would be in execrable taste. Let us go into the Hall of the Voice and let them know we are present.”
They walked off toward one side of the great entry hall. “Where are we, physically?” McCoy said. “I must admit I didn’t check the map.”
“We are on the other side of shi’Kahr from Pelasht,” Spock said, “and possibly this will surprise you, but we are several hundred feet underground. The shafts are at ground level. This complex—va’ne’meLakhtit was originally called—”
“ ‘Hiding from the Rage,’ ” McCoy said.
“Yes. It was a refuge built for sunstorm weather—there was some of that just before Surak’s time, though not since. It was meant to hold the whole population of shi’Kahr and the environs, hence the size. These days it has been taken by the Academy and is used for the biggest lectures and meetings and for some ceremonial occasions.”
Spock led the way over to a group of doors, all of which stood open. There was a young woman standing there tapping away busily at a computer keyboard: as Spock approached she looked up and said, “Attendee or testifier?”
“Testifier. Spock.”
She tapped at the keyboard. “And you, sir?”
“The same. McCoy, Leonard E.”
“And you?”
“The same. Kirk, James T.”
She hardly looked up. “Row eight, seats one through three. Someone will be around to you with your schedule, sirs, and a program.”
“I want popcorn,” McCoy said suddenly.
The young woman looked up at him from underneath very pertly slanted brows and said calmly, “No eating in the auditorium, sir. Next?”
They headed into the auditorium. Spock was looking bemused: McCoy was grinning. “You cut it out,” Jim said. “Just for that, you’re not getting the aisle seat.”
“Spoilsport.”
The auditorium was indeed not as big as the hall they had beamed into, but it wasn’t exactly snug, either. It was built in the round—or perhaps carved would have been a better word, for the stone showed no joins whatever. More of the big shafts were cut in the thick ceiling, a group of them directly over the round stage in the center, and the seats sloped up and away on all sides. It was a design that the Greeks and Romans had found successful to work in, acoustically satisfying, and Jim felt as if he would have no trouble speaking there.Always assuming I can find the right things to say….
They found their seats, and the place filled up around them fairly quickly. There were a surprising number of non-Vulcans in attendance, but no more than about a thousand all told, in a place that could hold fifteen thousand easily. Vulcans filled the rest of those seats, silently, and Jim found himself suffering from the ridiculous feeling that he was being stared at.Well, the Fleet uniform is plain enough to see. And I’m here to be seen. Let ’em stare.
“Do they play the national anthem?” McCoy said, leaning over to whisper to Spock. He had gotten the aisle seat anyway.
“No,” Spock said softly, “nor does the fat lady sing, I am afraid. The debates will merely be called to order, and begin.�
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“Who’s on first?”
Jim looked quizzically at McCoy. “Maybe we should have gotten you that popcorn after all.”
The audience started to become quiet, as if they saw or heard some signal that Jim had missed. He looked around him, but saw nothing but impassive Vulcans everywhere.
Then one walked out onto the stage, and Jim winced a little. It was Shath.
“On behalf of the government of All Vulcan,” he said, “I declare these proceedings to be open. The debate will take the traditional form, and the proposal put is: That the planet Vulcan, and all its citizens, shall withdraw from the United Federation of Planets. Testifiers will please state their affiliation, their position on the proposal, and then make their statement. Proceedings may only be closed by the electorate, and the threshold number is one billion, eight hundred thousand. Opinion may be registered with the data and news networks carrying the proceedings.” Shath consulted a datapad that he was carrying. “Number one, please.”
There came a soft chiming sound from the far side of the audience, and Jim could see a lot of heads over there turn in curiosity. He smiled as a small, bright form like a giant twelve-legged glass spider clambered up onto the other side of the stage and spidered into the shafts of sunlight at the stage’s center.
“My name is K’s’t’lk,” she said, and her voice filled the place as the amp field found and focused on her. “I hold the recallable rank of Commander in the Starfleet of the United Federation of Planets. As regards the proposal: I say nay.”
She shuffled and chimed a little. “There is a traditional courtesy of this planet,” she said, “that in any gathering, the least hominid guest, to be made to feel most welcome, is asked to speak first: and I see you’ve done it to me again, since there are no Hortas, methane-breathers, or aphysical creatures here.” There was a slight rustle of amusement in the crowd. “Well,” she said, “at any rate, I thank you most kindly for the welcome, and with that formality out of the way, let me also say that I’m glad to be back here on the Academy grounds, here where I’ve read so many papers and been led to doubt my own sanity. Or to cause others to doubt theirs.”
She turned slightly to face another portion of the auditorium: or maybe this was simply a courtesy on her part to the hominids there, since K’s’t’lk’s eyes were spaced evenly on the top and sides of her dome-like body, and she could see equally well all around her without turning. A little storm of glitter shifted and moved with her as she turned in the brilliant sunlight. “I want to talk to you about the pursuit of science in the universe,” she said, “and its pursuit on Vulcan, and some of the things that have happened in the sciences since Vulcan joined the Federation, a hundred eighty years ago now. I said ‘nay’ to you just then because I counterpropose that the Federation has done Vulcan more good in the sciences than another thousand or five thousand years of isolation would have done her. You will pardon me,” she said, “if for the moment I stay out of the ethical mode. I have strong feelings about that as well, but today is for the sciences.”
She turned again, chiming. “You will doubtless hear enough people willing to tell you about all the things that Vulcan has done for the Federation,” she said. “And I will agree with all of them: the improvements in translator technology, on which practically ninety percent of our present technology rests; the extraordinary advances in medicine, especially in genetic engineering, at which Vulcan is more expert than almost any planet in known space; the pure researches in astronomy and cosmology and cosmogony, which have opened up more and more of space to the Federation’s starships; and so much more. Most of you have done your homework for this proceeding and know exactly what you’ve given us.” Her voice got a happy sound to it. “My own research fellows here have given me many a gift, many an astonishing insight, and I treasure that.
“Let me add this, however. The affiliate species of Starfleet, and perhaps most specifically the humans of Earth, have a gift to give the Vulcan species that is surely a match for any you give us. Human beings are especially good at making a scientist ask questions that they might not have asked otherwise. Unexpected questions, bizarre questions, even illogical questions. I know,” she said, at the rustle that went through the place then—a somewhat disgruntled sound. “Logic is important. But there are things in the world that logic is no good for.”
“Humans, mostly,” remarked someone somewhere in the audience. Jim was surprised. He was also surprised at the fact that the amp field seemed to focus instantly, as soon as one spoke above a certain voice level.
“That was an easy one,” K’s’t’lk said, sounding slightly amused. “They have things to teach you about humor, too. Even Surak had that, and he never said anything about feeling that it needed to be gotten rid of. There is more confusion about what Surak said, and didn’t say, and what it meant or didn’t mean, than I’ve ever seen about anything else on the planet.”
“You said you were going to stay in the scientific mode,” said another voice from somewhere.
“I am,” K’s’t’lk said. “I am talking about semantics. Surak was many things, and one of them was a top-flight semanticist: doubtless there are none as good working here today, since there seems to be so much difficulty working out what he meant. Anyway,” she said, “as I was saying, there are realms of the sciences where logic is useless, such as the so-called ‘non-causal’ sciences that are my primary study here. When cause does not necessarily follow effect, logic becomes a feeble reed to lean on. Yet put aside logic in dealing with these sciences, and suddenly great riches of results come pouring out of a universe that has been quite mulish and uncooperative while logic in the classic sense was being applied.
“I am saying,” she said, turning again, “that as regards the sciences, Terrans have something you need. For one hundred and eighty years Vulcan researchers have been availing themselves of that resource, whatever you choose to call it—creative illogic, the skewed viewpoint, the ‘aha’ experience. Turn them away, and you may say and do what you like, but your sciences will never be as effective, as nourishing to the spirit, as dangerous again. The danger, perhaps, is the key. Without the unpredictable, the mysterious, there is no joy in science. And the mad suggestions of Terrans are definitely part of the unpredictable—since they are part of a universe that we are beginning to realize is more sentient than we ever dreamed. To turn your backs on the voice that speaks through Terrans is to reject part of the Universe, speaking for itself as all things do, and your data will be incomplete forever.”
She paused, and laughed a little, a soft arpeggio of amusement that echoed from the walls. “I remember the last paper I wrote here,” she said, “on what the press later called the Elective Inversion drive for starships. My colleagues at the Academy were uncertain about most of the equations. Well, actually they thought most of them were crazy. They were willing, though, to make allowances for the basically different world-view of Hamalki mathematics. They also had to admit,” she said, with a smile in her voice, “that when we built our prototype drive apparatus, the equations worked. They were a little annoyed at first, if I remember right. So far, so good. But it took installing that apparatus in a human starship, and having it tinkered with by a human engineer with a genius for physical things, to make that drive come back from wherever it had gone when it went where no one had gone before.”
“That mission was the one that practically destroyed theStarship Enterprise, was it not?”
“I think quite a few of her missions may qualify for that description,” K’s’t’lk said. “I think you are implying that the apparatus was useless and a failure. Well, it was one of the more glorious failures that science has had lately. During that ‘failure’ we found out more about the structure of neighboring alterdimensionate space than anyhundred Vulcan hyperphysicists had told us for years. It needed the human variable to make it happen, and there is no better example of a wild success in my chosen field. I think that to purposely turn away from human influence
, to purposely reject an approach which produces useful results, simply because you dislike the style of the approach, or it makes you nervous, is to purposely limit what your sciences can achieve. And since the purpose of the study of science is to know the universe as completely as possible, then you are sabotaging that purpose at its root, and you might as well stop studying science entirely. It is illogic of a particularly distasteful kind, and frankly, I expected better of you people.”
There was a sort of cheerful scorn about the last statement, a sort of all-rightlet’s-fight! attitude, that produced an immediate response from the crowd. If it had been a group of humans, Jim wouldn’t have been particularly concerned; but the spectacle of a big group of Vulcans, usually so protocol-conscious and restrained, now interrupting one another and speaking with that icy clarity that meant extreme anger—
“It’s a regular free-for-all,” McCoy said under his breath to Jim, astonished, after a few minutes of listening to angry responses, and K’s’t’lk’s cheerful and somewhat angry responses to them. “This is what we’re going to have to deal with, huh?”
Jim nodded, wondering,Am I going to be able to keep my temper under control? There’s a lotof anger out there…. “Maybe you should slip me an Aerolev before Igo on,” he said, sotto voce.
McCoy snorted. “Drugs? You just do your deep breathing like the rest of us.”
There was some sort of argument going on now about “the active versus the passive mode” and “the life of physicality versus the life of the mind.” A Vulcan, a tall, respectable-looking gentleman, was speaking at some length about how too much involvement with the active life and physical reality was an error in balance, since even K’s’t’lk as a physicist would have to admit that the universe was almost all empty space, and nothing was real—
“Tenured,” McCoy whispered to Jim. Jim nodded.
