by Tony Daniel
The rear of the tunnel rover was outfitted with a crane-like structure with a winch cable and a neutronic weight dangling on its end. The weight possessed a density nearly that of a thimble’s worth of neutron star material, and even in the light gravitation of the asteroid, it oriented itself at all times toward the asteroid’s center of gravity. Scotty deployed the antigrav crane to raise the heavy pounding device to the cocked position.
“All right, you Horta, better cover your ears or whatever it is you have, because I’m bringing the vibrations,” Scotty said. He knew the Horta understood what was about to happen and would do just that. He toggled the electromagnetic rails that slammed the weight down—the wave-producing mechanism was basically a rail gun that he was firing into the asteroid’s mass—and the resulting boom shook the little rover in its tracks. Scotty would be afraid of creating a cave-in in such circumstances had he not known of the skill with which the Horta made their tunnels. Nevertheless, bits and pieces of rock did break from the ceiling of the tunnel and rain down on his tunnel craft. The returning seismic wave registered almost instantaneously on Scott’s instruments, and with that his measurement in this sector was done. He spun the rover seat around on a lazy Susan–like apparatus he had rigged and faced the opposite direction, up-tunnel and ready to travel back out.
Behind him, though, the Horta dig gang appeared to be blocking the tunnel. They stood in front of the rover and did not retreat, as they normally would, into the side tunnels they had constructed for that purpose. One of the Horta was moving up and down in such a manner that was almost humorous to Scotty’s eyes, as if it were doing some sort of chicken dance. Scotty soon realized, however, that its purpose was serious, and that it was trying to signal him.
Now here’s a problem, Scotty thought. How am I gonna communicate with them after all our wigwag signals are exhausted?
But it proved to be a simple message after all. Scotty had worked out seismic signals for very basic words. And the word the Horta group was thumping in unison was clear and distinct. They wanted something and they wanted it now.
We want Spock!
• • •
“I dinna know why they want you, Mister Spock,” said Scotty over the subspace channel, “but it’s very clear to me that they do. And what I thought was just a few Horta asking me is now a general request. In fact, I don’t think they’ll do much more work until they speak to you.”
“Very well,” said Spock. “Did the Horta suggest a meeting place, or should I merely materialize on the planet’s surface?”
“They’ve hollowed out a resting area about halfway through the crust, a multisided chamber with lots of shallow depressions all around that I take to be more or less Horta bunk beds. I think that’s probably the best place to make contact,” replied Scott.
“Very well. I shall endeavor to answer their call,” Spock replied. “But this will take me away from critical readings on the planet surface that may give us clues as to the ability of the biosphere to survive.”
“Understood, Mister Spock,” said Scotty, “but I don’t think it can wait.”
“I will consult with the captain and we should be able to warp within beaming range immediately. Spock out.”
Well, I never heard that before, Scotty thought. Mister Spock has all the signs of being very, very irritated by these bairns and their request.
• • •
A great many Horta were gathered in the resting area about five hundred meters below the surface of the asteroid. There was no appreciable gravity on the asteroid. As a consequence, Horta dotted the resting chamber like bees in a hive, with no one way being “up” or “down.”
The chamber proved too deep for the transporter. Instead, Spock beamed down to the surface in an EV suit, where Scott and his tunnel rover met him. The Vulcan climbed aboard, and when the atmospheric bubble came down to cover them he was able to take off his helmet.
The trip down was an experience Spock would not soon forget. The engineer made full use of his rover’s speed. Spock supposed the human would’ve found the ride great fun. Spock himself found it . . . efficient.
As the rover slowed, they emerged from the tunnel into the resting area. The engineer looked down at the sensors. “What the—” Scott spun around and looked behind him.
“What is it, Mister Scott?”
“The Horta. they’ve sealed up the way we came from.” Scott turned back to his sensors. “And Mister Spock, can you beat this?”
“What?”
“I’m reading atmosphere out there. And pressure. They’ve managed to generate a Vulcan-like mix of atmospheric gases.”
“Is the pressure of sufficient strength to exit this rover?”
“Aye, it seems to be, but I don’t know if I would recommend—”
“Open the top up, Mister Scott,” Spock said.
“Are you sure, sir?”
Spock considered. He needed full physical contact for a mind meld. Perhaps the Horta understood this and had prepared for it.
“I am,” Spock replied. “Open the top on your rover, Mister Scott. I’m getting out.”
“Aye, sir.”
There was a pneumatic hiss, and then the thin Vulcan air that filled the chamber rushed in. Scott gasped for a moment before adjusting. For Spock, it felt like home.
Spock climbed out and with a push floated free of the rover. He did not possess enough mass to feel a gravitational effect within the asteroid.
A Horta approached and Spock removed one glove of his EV suit. He maneuvered into position to touch the Horta. Contact was immediately established—the Horta hive mind seemed to leap into being within Spock’s awareness.
He had arrived in the midst of discussion and argument.
Welcome to the Conclave, Speaker from the Stars, thought the familiar individual voice of Slider Dan. We have been awaiting your revered presence.
And what may I do to aid you? Spock thought in return.
This requires some explanation, Slider Dan thought-spoke. This rock is proving a harder chew than we first expected. It was very helpful for the human, Scott, to provide us with soft spots to latch on to, or we may never have found a quick and easy way into the heart of the rock.
Mister Scott is a most excellent engineer, Spock thought in reply.
He will go down as a hero for our generation, and we shall remember him for ten thousand years, the Horta responded. But now we have another problem—a problem that is likely beyond his ability to solve.
What is that? asked Spock.
It is an issue that in the past only the All Mother could have resolved. You see, the caste system itself is in question at the moment. We Horta are born to different castes with specialized genomic strengths. There are the Hole Diggers and there are the Tunnel Borers, there are the Gem Collectors, and the People of the Blasting Sand. Each of these is also his own self, and yet very much a part of a clan. Our clans are not getting along at the moment.
It seems complicated, thought-spoke Spock, but many societies have cultural differences and distinctions that they must deal with. You are young Horta. I have it on good faith from the All Mother herself that there is within each of you a collective memory that you must slowly learn to draw upon. This is exactly what the period of adolescence is for: to find your place within the Horta overmind, the part of your collective conscious that transcends the clan mind meld. Once you find that place as an individual, many of your group contentions will be resolved.
This may be true, Spock, but we have not found this overmind yet, and we do not have the All Mother with us. Here is the problem: The People of the Blasting Sand have a large disagreement with the Tunnel Borers. How this came about is difficult to pinpoint, but it was exacerbated when a group of Sand Blasters was relegated to the task of clearing away the detritus behind the Borers. The Borers believed it would be amusing to expel digestive waste products not into a privy tunnel—we usually cut these as side tunnels to our main excavations for just such a purpose
—but to expel some waste products into the broken regolith that must be cleared. The Sand Blasters were surprised and disgusted to find these ejecta mixed with their usual burden. They refused to carry it away.
Are you telling me that one group decided to defecate into the workspace of the other group? asked Spock.
That is essentially the case. But the Sand Blasters, instead of merely taking this insult as a stupid prank, allowed themselves to become offended for the honor of their clan, and a group of them attacked the Borers. It was a nasty fight. A great deal of rock was thrown and a great many acid scars were imparted and received.
Sadly, one of our number has been seriously injured as a result. More important, now the Tunnel Borers and the People of the Blasting Sand are at an impasse. They will not work together.
Spock arched an eyebrow and nodded. Will you allow me to examine the one who is injured? he said.
The gathered Horta moved to the side and revealed the injured one to Spock. It appeared, now that he understood the sexual differences, to be a large female. She had clearly been in a mishap; for there were gaps in her carapace where rivulets of the steaming ooze of magmalike interior fluid ran.
Spock bounced over to the Horta to examine her. The female shuffled away at his touch for a moment but then was still.
Peace, Spock thought. I seek only to aid you.
The Horta seemed to understand. Spock drew back and flipped open his communicator.
“Spock to Enterprise.”
“Enterprise here, Mister Spock.”
“Please have Doctor McCoy beam down to the asteroid,” said Spock. “And tell him to bring with him the exact bandaging material that he used during his mission to Janus VI.”
“Aye, sir, Mister Spock.”
Spock waited for the hail he knew was coming. It did not take long. His communicator bleated, and Spock flipped it open. “Yes, Doctor McCoy?”
“Well, you know it’s me,” said McCoy, “so I guess you know why I called. Spock, I’m a doctor, not a construction worker. I have no idea why that thermoconcrete worked, and I have no idea if it will work again.”
“Doctor, we have a wounded Horta here and she requires your assistance. You are the only experienced Horta physician in the Omega sector. As Captain Kirk said before: You are a healer, Doctor McCoy.”
McCoy sighed. “All right, Spock. I’ll be right down.”
Spock turned to Scott. “The matter seems urgent. This female Horta is in a great deal of pain. Will you link both our communicators in series, Mister Scott? I believe that will provide sufficient gain to provide a transporter lock for Doctor McCoy.”
“Aye, give me a second.” Spock handed the engineer his communicator and Scott quickly had the two linked on the same frequency. “Set.”
“We’re ready, Enterprise,” Scott said. “Send the good doctor along now.”
McCoy materialized with a bag of thermoconcrete and a bladder of water. Although movement was more difficult in the low-g cavern, with Scott’s aid, McCoy began his work.
And now to the larger matter at hand, Spock thought to the Horta. This clan contention must stop. We have no time to deal with such issues at the moment. It may be that the grievances on both sides are legitimate. The fact remains that this is not the time to seek retribution, or even justice, in this matter. We are at a critical phase of this operation. It must be completed. Many lives are in the balance. The pride of a particular clan, while very important, and perhaps even a necessary survival characteristic of your culture, must not take precedence over saving an entire population.
We must protest, thought an unfamiliar voice within the hive mind. This was the voice of one of the Horta that Spock had not heard individually before. We of the Sand Blasters must not stand in a lower ranking than the Tunnel Borers merely because they are better able to dig through rock. This ability does not mean that they are better in every way. Most of all, it does not mean that they should have a closer place to the All Mother! Since we are without the All Mother and you are the heir apparent, we wish to be made your honor clan. We see that the humans are more impressed with the showy Tunnel Borers, but there would be no holes that could be traversed without the clearing actions of the Blasters. We deserve to be your honor clan, and we will fight for the right.
Am I to understand, thought Spock, that the clans were ultimately fighting over me? That this has its roots in who will be my favorite?
Slider Dan, Spock’s usual contact, slid forward along a wall. By this point Spock was able to recognize him by the protuberances and markings of his exterior. The Horta thought-spoke within the hive mind, his voice resonant and distinct, somehow the most individual among the Horta.
Yes, Speaker from the Stars, that is the case, unfortunately. I am ashamed to say that we are perhaps not as advanced as you believe. Clans are fighting for status when the life of the world hangs in the balance. I am ashamed for us all, but it is better that we get this situation out in the open rather than hide it in dark tunnels where no one goes until it crawls out to bite us.
Spock turned to Scott and McCoy, who were busy treating the injured Horta of the Sand Blaster Clan. “Mister Scott, what would you do if you were presented with an argument among children, and the situation was such that you had to decide who was in the right, even when it seemed to you that no one was in the right? Or that there was no ‘right’ that might be determined?”
“Aye, that’s the dilemma of all parents everywhere,” Scott replied. “I don’t care if they’re Horta or Vulcan, Romulan, or Klingon. My old father would have said that you must make ’em understand that what they’re fighting about doesn’t matter a hill of beans to anybody else, and that it’s going to get them in a world of trouble if they don’t cut it out.”
“Mister Scott, there is wisdom in what you’ve said,” Spock replied. “In fact, it reminds me of a Vulcan proverb.”
“What’s that, Mister Spock?”
“Never cuddle with a sehlat until you can defeat it in battle.”
Mister Scott slowly nodded his head. “Aye, I suppose if I understood that in the least, I would agree with you. One other thing, Mister Spock.”
“Yes?”
“It might help if you give them something to . . . well, take their minds off their squabbles.”
Spock nodded. It was an excellent suggestion. “Thank you,” he said. “I now know what to do.”
He turned back to the assembled Horta. Here is a message from Speaker from the Stars, Spock thought. You ask me to decide which of the Horta clans I will place in a position of honor. That is, you inquired which of you I like better. The answer to this is that, as far as I am able, I like you all equally, and I respect and honor all of you each in your different way. That said, I must also point out to you that I am a Vulcan. Vulcans do not have emotions as you know them, and while I find you a curious and interesting species in many ways, I can never love you. I am simply incapable of doing this because of my physiological makeup. Your All Mother loves you, but I am not she. You must think of me more as your All Father. My attitude toward all of you is one of extreme emotional detachment.
The Horta shuffled a bit as if a tremor of distress had run through them. It could be that they had never been spoken to in such a manner before. How very unlike his own upbringing on Vulcan. Perhaps, Spock considered, they were quite used to being indulged by a loving All Mother with no corrective whatsoever. After all, they lived on a resource-rich planet with a caretaker who clearly doted upon them all.
You must think of me not as the All Mother, Spock intoned, but as the All Father.
How would his father, Sarek, put it? Spock wondered. He wasn’t certain, but one thing he knew: Sarek would speak logically and without mercy or pity in the slightest, especially toward his own children.
And as your All Father, I say to you: it is time to leave me to my work. It is time to go and find your own way. Frankly, I have other things to do than to come down here from my ship and settle your
petty differences. It may not occur to you, but I too have to work. And I shall tell you something else: my work gives me great satisfaction. I have no intention of losing that satisfaction in order to placate your wounded sense of clan honor.
The Horta tremor became agitation. Horta shuffled back and forth within the chamber, and a grinding and rustling clamor of rock against rock arose. Spock decided to press his point home.
Now that you are away from your mother, Spock intoned, it is incumbent upon you to find a way to handle your differences by yourselves. You must resolve your differences in a way that does not destroy your common purpose as well. But most of all, you must deal with your differences in a way that does not bother me. For, as I have explained, I have a great many matters that I must see to, and those matters are of great importance to your own place in this galaxy, and the future of Horta-kind in general. Make your peace now. The All Father demands it.
The rumbling din within the chamber became a roar as Spock’s thoughts made their way through the hive mind of the Horta.
It was Slider Dan who finally replied.
We wish to express our extreme apologies for having disturbed the All Father. We will find a way to overcome these differences among us without distracting you any further. What’s more, the fact that you consider each Horta as equal in our own way had never occurred to most of us. It was our understanding that one of us had to be the honor clan, and so contention was built into all that we did. You have shown us a new way.
You did not need me to find this way, Spock thought. It is fairly obvious and entirely logical. You each have separate strengths. Use them to make the whole greater, and not to tear the hive apart. And if you don’t do so, I will have to impose the appropriate punishment.
