by Tony Daniel
“No offense taken, Representative Valek,” Kirk said.
“Please call me Valek. It will save time, and so long as we are clear on our hierarchical positions, the title is unnecessary.”
“All right, Valek,” Kirk replied. “Precisely what is ‘our task’?”
“To make a decision on whether or not to admit the Excalbian refugees currently located on Zeta Gibraltar as Federation citizens under the Federation Asylum Act.”
“They are Excalbians,” Kirk replied.
“Of course.”
“And this has been verified?”
Contreras broke in. “We used the records of Enterprise’s visit to Excalbia,” she said. “There are trace radioactive particles in our residents here that match the exact composition and distribution of Excalbian silicates as recorded by your sensor sweeps of the surface. We found, in essence, the fingerprint of Excalbian origin within them. And much else.”
“Shall we sit?” Valek said, motioning to the conference table.
Kirk took his place along one side and Valek chose to sit exactly across from him.
Guess she wants to keep an eye out for any insubordination, Kirk thought, and smiled wryly. Valek noticed his expression, but said nothing. Instead, she now answered Kirk’s early question.
“The Federation Council knew they were Excalbians,” Valek said. “As to how they came to Zeta Gibraltar, the answer is that they were brought here. By us.”
As Valek laid out the story, the Excalbians, in their present human forms, were discovered in the hold of a robotic mining transport that had malfunctioned and strayed into the exclusion zone around the Excalbian system. The craft eventually self-repaired and wound up at its destination. When the hold was opened, the Excalbians exited—all in the same form as they now appeared, as historical personages.
“Interestingly,” Valek said, “there were no furnishings inside the hold. Apparently, being confined to a smaller space suppressed their regeneration capacity.”
“When we gave them rooms here in the outpost,” Contreras said, “the standard furnishings began to disappear. In their place were what you’ve seen: four-poster beds, wardrobes, tapestries. We believe it is an autonomic response. We’ve experimented with quarters of different sizes. The process is self-limiting.”
“Fascinating,” said Spock. “They seem to imprint their surroundings.”
“They had very little room to affect their environment in that transport hold,” Valek said. “They were a bedraggled group when they emerged. When they realized they’d made it to Federation space, they immediately requested political asylum.”
“Wait a minute,” said Kirk. “Asylum from whom?”
“From Excalbia,” answered Valek. “They claimed to be fleeing oppression.”
“And the Federation bought their story?”
Valek paused a moment, obviously not agreeing with what she might consider simplistic wording. “The Federation did not,” she answered.
“That is why they are here, at Zeta Gibraltar?” said Spock. “This is a holding place until the Federation Council can arrive at a decision on what to do with them.”
“Essentially, yes,” Valek answered. “Although the secondary purpose of scientific study of their physiology and culture is also being pursued by the outpost team led by Commander Contreras.”
“That’s why the outpost is Starfleet,” said Kirk. “You need trained personnel to serve as security for the Excalbians.”
“In simple terms, yes,” replied Valek. “After your report on the L’rah’hane raid and capture of the Excalbians, the Federation Council has reasoned that they are not safe in this location, and a decision must be made. A special diplomatic corps commission was created by the Council Special Committee for Security and Frontier Intelligence to study the issue and provide recommendations. The commission is headed by Sarek of Vulcan and includes three other senior diplomats.”
“You’re Sarek’s person on the ground,” Kirk said. “The pointy end of the sword.”
Valek stared at Kirk a moment, evidently processing and assessing his colloquialism. It seemed to suit her, and she nodded agreement. “I was chosen to assess the situation and make a recommendation. During that evaluation process, I have been given plenipotentiary powers by the Special Committee for Security and Frontier Intelligence to include the entirety of the Gibraltar system. I shall make my recommendation, and I expect that, with suitable emendation by the appointed commission, it will be acted upon by the full Federation Council.”
“Excuse me, Valek,” said Spock, “your answer is somewhat vague. I must ask you to clarify what you might base this decision upon. There is no logical course of action without data on which to base it.”
Valek again gave Spock one of her cold pauses.
“My task is to decide whether or not to give the Excalbians—these Excalbians—political asylum within the Federation and put them on a path to full citizenship. That is the action upon which I will make my recommendation. And the basis of my decision is to be my personal judgment, Spock.”
“But why is this being done clandestinely?” Kirk said. “Surely this is a question that should be discussed openly by the full Council.”
“There is sufficient reason for this matter to remain sub rosa for the time being.”
“What is that reason?”
“I am not at liberty to discuss it.”
“I hope you can see how that makes my job difficult, Valek.”
“I do not follow you, Captain,” Valek replied.
“Obviously, there is a threat to this outpost. Based on the firepower we observed from the L’rah’hane pirates, the Montana may not be enough to provide protection. Until I receive further orders, the Enterprise will remain right where she is, in orbit around Zeta Gibraltar, until such time as I am convinced the danger has passed. We both have a decision to make. We must work together.”
“I could not agree more, Captain Kirk,” said Valek. “I have every intention of working closely with you. I hope you will work with me.”
“Certainly, Representative Valek,” Kirk replied.
She’s a bundle of contradictions, Kirk thought. First she comes on strong to make a point, then she gets reasonable and accommodating once she’s gotten her way. Yes, she’s learned how to use her “Vulcan-ness” to push her agenda among humans. Not many Vulcans would stoop to do that. And she’s quite good at it, apparently. She’s certainly got me eating out of her hand.
I think I’m beginning to like her.
“And Captain—”
“Yes?”
Valek put a hand on the table in front of her. Her fingers were of medium length, not long like Spock’s. She had extremely well-manicured nails cut short. And was that a trace of clear polish on them? Another Vulcan first, as far as Kirk was concerned.
Thrump, thrump.
She’s drumming her fingers, Kirk thought. I didn’t know Vulcans did that.
“—there is nothing in my instructions that prohibits you from gleaning whatever knowledge you might from the Excalbians. They are free beings, free to discuss whatever they wish.”
Kirk turned to his first officer. “Well, as long as we’re here, there are matters on this planetoid that need taking care of. Should the Enterprise be called away, I would not want to leave the outpost defenseless.”
“We didn’t think there was any threat for thousands of parsecs when we established this outpost,” Contreras said, shaking her head at Starfleet Command’s misjudgment. “Only in retrospect is it apparent we were relying far too much on dated information from robotic probes.”
“We have people trained in planetary defense. I want to bring some of them down.” He turned to Valek. “Would that be acceptable?”
“I can . . . see how that might be useful, yes.”
“I would also expect them to mingle with the Excalbians and learn as much as possible about them.”
“That also seems prudent,” Valek replied. “You wil
l share any pertinent findings with me, Captain.”
“Of course we will,” said Kirk. “Mister Spock.”
“Captain?”
“It looks like you’ll get your chess game with Benjamin Franklin after all.”
“Now, Captain, I have a request to make of you,” Valek said.
“Yes, Valek?”
“It is time we question the leader of the Excalbians. Since they have taken human form, I believe an interrogation practice that I learned of while working for Ambassador Sarek might be of use. It is an ancient human technique. Two interrogators are required, one taking an uncompromising position, the other seeming to yield more.”
“Yes, I’m familiar with it,” Kirk said with a smile. “I believe it was called ‘good cop, bad cop,’ in the vernacular.”
“A most clear and precise characterization,” Valek replied.
“So how would you recommend we implement this human technique, Valek?” Kirk asked.
Valek raised an eyebrow. “I’m surprised you have to ask, Captain,” she replied. “Isn’t it obvious? I am the bad cop.”
Eight
Kirk suggested, and Valek agreed, that putting George Washington into a bare interrogation chamber as she first proposed might defeat their purpose. Instead, he’d recommended that they meet the Excalbian in his own quarters, where he might be more at ease.
Washington had agreed readily enough. Kirk found himself sitting in the first office of an American president: a spartan room with two sturdy, unpadded chairs in front of a small writing desk no more than a half meter across. On the wall were several portraits, one of Washington’s wife, Martha. There was a large American Indian tobacco pipe beside a battered powder horn, both on a sideboard cabinet.
“From two very ill-starred military campaigns,” Washington said when he saw Kirk examining them.
“Braddock’s attack on Fort Duquesne?”
Washington smiled broadly, but still not showing his teeth—or lack thereof. “Impressive, Captain. Yes, the powder horn is a relic of General Braddock that I kept for sentimental reasons. I see you know American history.”
“I’m from Iowa,” Kirk said. When he noticed a confused look on Washington’s face, he added: “A state that was added to the Union after your time.”
“I see,” Washington said.
“And the pipe?”
Washington’s face clouded. “Fort Necessity,” he said. “It belonged to an Indian named Tanaghrisson. I keep it as a reminder that no matter how much success one has, disaster can be just around the corner.”
“A worthwhile lesson,” Kirk said.
Valek broke in. “Since I am not a product of Earth and have only an intellectual interest in its history, let’s get down to our business, gentlemen.”
Washington bowed his head and took one of the seats in front of the desk. Valek remained standing, and Kirk took the other. Then Valek moved around to the other side of the small writing desk, keeping the desk between herself and Washington.
“Seeing that your species threatened and brutalized the crew of a Starfleet vessel,” Valek stated matter-of-factly, “I’m afraid the Federation must place the burden upon you to prove that you are different.”
“Is that not guilt by association?” Washington said. “No matter.” He spread his hands before him. “I hope you can see by now that myself and my people are no threat. On the contrary, we wish to assimilate into the Federation as quickly as possible.”
“You’ll pardon me for questioning your sincerity,” Kirk replied, “but as you know, I have had personal dealings with Excalbians. I’d like to think you’ve turned over a new leaf, but in my experience, you like to toy with the lives of others.”
Washington nodded. “Yes, you do have reason to doubt us, Captain. As a matter of fact, you have reason to doubt me in particular.”
Here was something unexpected. Kirk was suddenly all ears, his intuition buzzing. He turned an inquisitive look toward Valek, but she shook her head. “Tell him,” she said to Washington.
“You in particular, you say? What do you mean?”
Washington took a deep breath and sighed. “We have met before, you and I, although I never properly introduced myself. I was too busy expounding on how fortunate you were to be part of a great philosophical experiment my species was engaging in.”
Recognition—and disgust—filled Kirk. “You’re it, aren’t you? The representative from the peanut gallery of Excalbians.”
“I do not exactly follow all your words, but I believe I understand what the idiom means,” Washington said. “You are correct. I was the one who spoke to you. My name, my Excalbian name, is Yarnek.”
“I’ll be damned. It is you, isn’t it? The very same creature we met.”
“Yes. I am Yarnek,” said the man. “But I am also George Washington. Truly, Captain, my life, and the lives of my compatriots, depends on my convincing you that this is so.”
“The last time I saw you, you were a steaming lump of magma with multiple eyes. I burned my hand when I touched you. And then you threatened to kill my crew and destroy my ship. You’ll pardon me if I need something more to go on than just your word of honor, Yarnek.”
Washington-Yarnek bowed his head. “You have every reason to doubt, Captain Kirk, but please hear me out.” He turned to Valek. “I understand some of these matters are classified, but I wish to make an explanation to Captain Kirk, whom I have personally wronged.”
“Very well,” Valek said. “Please continue.”
“Thank you,” Washington-Yarnek replied. “All I can do is apologize on behalf of my species for that regrettable incident on my home planet.” Washington-Yarnek’s voice grew more solemn. “And for the other incidents that followed. I wish I could say that it did not happen again, but I’m afraid it did. I could not stop it.”
“What are you talking about?” Kirk asked. “If anyone could, it’s you.”
“Not so, Captain,” replied Washington-Yarnek. “To explain why, I must tell you of what happened after the Enterprise left the system.”
* * *
For thousands of your years there had been unity in the Upper Stratum, the portion of planetary magma pool only a few kilometers from the surface. This was an area of complexity and change—to such an extent that consciousness itself could play upon and across its fiery surface. Here was the matrix of the Excalbian public sphere, the mental space in which individual minds could contend without burning out or absorbing their compatriots.
One million years ago, the Excalbian’s ancient ancestors had evolved as silicon-based creatures on the surface of the planet. Then, when individual intelligence was achieved, they had discovered a way to migrate inward. Twenty thousand years ago, this is where Excalbian civilization was born.
That collection of rocky bits of individual consciousness within the magma, the collective, was like, and unlike, a government. The subsurface heat layer was the physical substrate where great debates were hosted, but also a place filled with competing processes, coalitions, and great confabulations of the minds that had arisen from the deep magma that surrounded the planetary iron and nickel core.
They had not discarded their bodies at that time, but rather let their thinking processes spread out in the volcanic heat, and had become creatures more of mind than body, churning and burning in the boiling, bubbling interior of the planet.
Heat that their furious activity brought to the surface. The planet Excalbia had not begun as a hellhole of seething lava. That had been the doing of the planet’s only sentient species—and soon its only species at all.
As each individual migrated into the magmatic superstructure and began concentrating and organizing the heat, that structure had become more complex, less stable—and much more volatile. The planet had grown hotter and hotter, its interior heat released far more quickly than it would in a natural state. In the end, great magma flows had arisen and covered all the continents. The seas, which had once been beautiful and huge, eva
porated or were absorbed in the planet’s substrate.
All life except for the Excalbians, buried deep within the planet, perished in a holocaust of volcanic destruction.
Yet as the planet melted and boiled, its complexity grew. It took the Excalbians many thousand years, but eventually they learned how to not merely exist within the flow of heat and liquid rock, but to control the fundamental particles of matter on a quantum level. The Excalbians became manipulators of the reality around them.
For many, this seemed to be the equivalent of an ascent to godhood, and they behaved as if they were gods. Others saw the trap of solipsism and inwardness such power opened up. For if you could make anything and everything for yourself a reality, you might begin to think that thought was what formed the world, that perception was a form of creation. What began as a heresy over time grew to be considered common sense.
Excalbians were the only “real” thing, and the rest of the universe was a toy for the “real” people to play with.
Even in magmatic form, the Excalbians retained genders from their evolutionary past. But that was practically the only reminder that they had once been mere creatures. Good and evil as concepts melted away. Each could live in his or her virtual dream world. There was no need for morality, so concepts of “right” and “wrong” were forgotten.
Almost.
Then a strange thing happened. From the stars, a vessel arrived containing other life, other intelligences. This prompted a great debate within the complex swirl of magmatic uplift known as the collective—where presided the Excalbian ruling council. First was the question as to whether contact would be contaminating. It was decided that passive contact would likely be safe.
Reaching out to those other intelligences, it was discovered that their thoughts might be as easily read and mapped as might the churn and eddies of a magma storm or the radioactive transformation of the system’s sun—mapmaking, at which the Excalbians were already adept. Soon after contact, it became obvious that the new intelligences, these people of the “Federation” and “Starfleet,” as they styled themselves, were not aware that their thoughts were being charted. Even the “Vulcan” among them, whose mental subroutines were the most efficient and who had achieved a primitive level of quantum information transfer known as the “Vulcan mind meld,” was unaware of the mapping.
