The Face of the Unknown

by Christopher L. Bennett

  After a while, Kirk began to wonder if the triumvirs were intentionally making him wait as a show of contempt. But he realized that might be uncharitable when he felt a deep rumble through his feet. The world module wasn’t shaking or swaying, but there was definitely a vibration, one not unlike those he’d felt going through the Enterprise’s deck during the storm. Whatever was keeping the triumvirs from seeing him, it wasn’t just capriciousness or spite.

  Kirk saw one of the protectors—a member of the Niatoko, as the reptilian humanoid species was known—step away and talk on his comm for a moment. When he returned, Kirk ventured to ask the burly brown protector, “Is anything wrong?” The Niatoko might as well have been a statue for all the response Kirk got.

  He repeated the question once Triumvirs Aranow and Tirak finally arrived. “It is nothing to concern you,” the latter said, his voice soft but cold.

  “Just the storms,” Aranow elaborated, unable to ­resist speaking even though she was reluctant to meet his eyes. “A temporary instability in the weather grid. Zan—­Triumvir Lekur is attending to it.”

  “A consequence of the destruction you caused, Captain Kirk,” said Tirak. “The loss of a world module disrupts the equilibrium of the Web, the careful atmospheric and thermal balance that maintains our concealment. As a result, Cherela is experiencing unusually powerful storms.”

  Kirk frowned. “With all due respect, Triumvir . . . wasn’t it an unusually powerful storm that caused the collapse in the first place?”

  “Individual such storms occur often,” came the Linnik’s hard-edged reply. “But they are not subsiding as they normally would. We will restore equilibrium in time. We know what we are doing.”

  Kirk quashed his impulse to fire off a retort. He didn’t have the moral high ground here. “All right,” he said. “I just want to be sure my crew will be safe.”

  “We won’t let any harm come to them,” Aranow said.

  “So long as they follow the laws of the Web,” Tirak added. “And cooperate in our legal proceedings against you.”

  “Our Prime Directive requires us to respect local laws. I promise you, there won’t be any interference with your legal process.”

  “Very well,” Tirak said. “You will be remanded to the Nepara penal module until your trial can be scheduled. At the moment, more pressing matters occupy us.”

  “Wait . . . how long a delay are we talking about here? The Enterprise crew has other responsibilities, a larger mission to get back to.”

  “That is something they will no longer have to concern themselves with.”

  Kirk stared. Aranow turned away, which was more revealing than the controlled expression on Tirak’s lined but boyish face. “Now, hold on! Nisu assured me you wouldn’t penalize my crew for my actions! You can’t hold them here as prisoners!”

  “It’s not like that,” Aranow said, speaking more slowly than he’d ever heard her. “They’ll be free to travel wherever they want . . . within the Web. Hundreds of worlds to explore. Enough to last them a lifetime.”

  “You’ve seen the mood out there,” he countered. “Would my crew be safe if they left the ship?”

  “We cannot let them go now,” Tirak said. “Not when our concealment is so vulnerable. We must preserve the secret of our existence.”

  Kirk’s jaw stiffened. “You never intended to let us go, did you?”

  “It’s for their own safety,” Aranow said. “Your crew. Their ship is crippled. They couldn’t survive. Not against the Dassik.” Her eyes roved around the room, focusing everywhere but on his face. “The anger will die down in time. Then your people will be safe here. Free and safe, for as long as they live.”

  He stepped forward until she couldn’t look away. The big Niatoko advanced on him, but Tirak halted the protector with a gesture. Kirk met the Tessegri’s eyes imploringly. “Aranow . . . there’s more to life than safety.”

  Her gaze hardened. “That’s the kind of thinking that gets people killed.”

  Nine

  The Enterprise was in rough shape. Commander Scott was doing all he could to repair the vessel, but there were limits. Many of the spare dilithium crystals installed to replace those burned out in the battle with the Dassik had been burned out in turn themselves, so that the remaining reserve of crystals and relay components was only sufficient to repair half of the power circuits. The nacelle damage, meanwhile, was the kind that would take a spacedock to repair properly. A makeshift job could be done; it was, of course, a bad idea to design a starship that could not restore its own warp capability at least well enough to reach a repair base. But restoring the nacelle to combat specs, ensuring that it would not weaken or blow out during pursuit or battle, was beyond what the crew could achieve without external support and replacement parts.

  The irony was that the Enterprise was currently in a dry dock, one belonging to a highly advanced, warp-­capable civilization with abundant resources and technical skill. They had been permitted its use for shelter from the elements following Kirk’s arrest. Yet they were prohibited from using its facilities to perform any actual repairs.

  “It is a matter of security,” Nisu explained—or ­rationalized—over the bridge viewscreen when Spock requested assistance. “Neither your safety nor ours can be assured if we allow the Enterprise to leave Cherela at the present time. To ensure your cooperation, we must ­regrettably make an exception to our hospitality and decline your requests for repair assistance.”

  Spock steepled his fingers before him, his elbows resting on the arms of the command chair. He studied Nisu’s visage on the viewscreen, although he could sense nothing from its digital re-creation of her eyes. Her tone and manner were clear enough, though. The Kisaja chief protector was stiff and formal toward him, treating him like a stranger. The trust that had formed so easily between them before was suspended, if not destroyed. Perhaps Nisu believed she had been too hasty in extending it to him.

  But such personal matters were beside the point in the current situation. He kept his own tone suitably formal as he replied. “We have no intention of leaving Cherela without our captain. Yet you have not only confined the Enterprise to this dock, you have confined its crew aboard the ship itself. How long do you expect this state of affairs to continue?”

  Her reply was measured. “You are welcome to stay as our guests for as long as may be needed. However, given current . . . tensions, it is best if you remain aboard your own vessel for the time being. Once tempers have cooled, you will again be free to travel anywhere you wish within the Web—supervised, of course, for your safety until . . . until you become more familiar with your new environs.”

  He considered her words. “Very well. Your . . . hospitality is appreciated, Nisu. I intend to demonstrate to you that we are still worthy of it.” Her expression did not waver. Taking the hint, he went on, “For the moment, though, we must concentrate on our repairs. Spock out.”

  On the upper deck to Spock’s left, Lieutenant Bailey clenched the hand rail tensely, displeased that Spock had closed the channel before allowing him to speak. “With all due respect, sir, you’re not just going to give in to them, are you? They have the captain prisoner! We should be mounting a rescue, not arranging for tourist visas!”

  Spock turned the command chair to face the young human and held his gaze calmly. “Mister Bailey, you, more than any of us, are familiar with the First Federation citizens’ proclivities toward defensiveness and caution. Many of them are already holding us accountable for the Fiilestii collapse. How do you suppose they would react to an armed raid on our part against their government facilities? At this point, our best option is to avoid antagonizing the local authorities until their tempers have had a chance to cool, as Nisu said. Perhaps then we can negotiate for the captain’s release.”

  Rising from the chair, he went on. “In the meantime, our priority must be our own vessel. We are badly damaged in
a hostile physical environment, our relationship with our hosts is tenuous at best, and the planet remains under siege from above. Whatever course of action we take, we shall need an intact ship to carry it out. We need our shields, our weapons, and our engines.”

  “Aye, sir,” Scott said. “And when you say engines . . .”

  “Warp and impulse, Commander.”

  “Wait a minute,” Bailey said. “Why would we need warp engines? We can’t abandon Captain Kirk!”

  “Think it through, Mister Bailey. The First Federation’s technology surpasses ours significantly in many respects, and their resources here on Cherela surpass ours insurmountably. Rescuing the captain would accomplish little if we lacked the ability to leave this planet upon doing so.”

  That silenced the young ambassador. After a moment, he descended the steps and spoke more softly. “You’re right, Spock. I’m sorry. It’s just . . . I’m the one they should’ve taken. It was my suggestion to tie our power to theirs. I was reckless, and it cost thousands of lives. I’m still as much of a hothead as I ever was. And the captain shouldn’t be punished for that.”

  “First of all, Mister Bailey, we do not yet have a complete enough assessment of the event to say for sure that our actions were responsible. Second, even if they were, the responsibility is not yours. It was the captain’s choice to act on your suggestion.”

  “But you don’t understand, Spock. I played on our history. Three years ago, he convinced me it was worth taking risks to help others. I used those same ideas to sell him on my plan because I knew it would resonate.”

  “Even so, Captain Kirk does not blindly follow the suggestions of others, nor is he easily manipulated by nostalgia. He acted on your proposal because he concluded that the risk was worth taking. Had he not deemed it so, he would have rejected the plan.”

  “And come up with something better.”

  “Or nothing at all. Captain Kirk is not infallible, Lieutenant. He makes his share of mistakes. But he does not dwell on them. Instead, he focuses on moving forward and avoiding their repetition in the future. Do you understand, Mister Bailey?”

  After a moment, Bailey nodded. “Yes, sir. I understand.”

  * * *

  As soon as Koust saw the enemy vessel emerging from the haze, he opened fire.

  He had been ready, determined not to be taken by surprise. This planet’s endless expanse of ugly blue haze threatened to lull a hunter’s senses into complacency, but Koust would not fall victim. He knew he was here to prove himself or die in the attempt. Or possibly both. He had almost died several times merely getting this far; the fierce winds and lightning in this planet’s upper atmosphere had almost torn his pilot vessel apart. But his flying skills and sheer determination (with, admittedly, considerable help from the vessel’s sturdy construction and overpowered engines) had brought him through that challenge, and now he faced his next enemy without fear or hesitation.

  But his reflex to fire had been hasty. He had failed to gauge the actual size of the object he approached, thinking it much smaller and closer than it actually was. His disruptor bolt dissipated, scattered and absorbed by dozens of kilometers of hydrogen and methane, before it reached its target. The structure was huge, larger than any space station Koust had ever seen. He swore an oath and flew toward it even faster. He had sacrificed the element of surprise; he had to make up for it by closing to an effective combat range. One of the betrayers or their allies would no doubt run away and wait for another chance to sneak in, but a Dassik hunter charged in fearlessly and counted on his enemy’s shock and alarm at the sight.

  Before Koust could make it very far, though, his ship was caught in a tractor beam and dragged to a halt. He tried every move he knew to break free of it. But then his controls began to shut down, their power disrupted by some external interference. He was caught from all directions, it seemed, and there was no enemy in range to fire upon. He fired at the distant station anyway, hoping enough energy would get through to do at least some damage.

  Then he heard his hull groaning and screeching as the beams began to pull it apart. “No, I will not be defeated like this!” Koust cried. His mission was too important. The secrets of the betrayers were nearly in his grasp! He could not let them conquer him so easily. He was better than that. The Dassik were so much more than they had been in ancient times. He had to prove that now, to earn survival for himself and his people.

  But his power systems were still shutting down, his weapons useless, his hull starting to disintegrate. There was only one way left to gain a victory over the betrayers. And so he reached for the self-destruct controls. It seemed redundant with the pilot vessel shrieking its last around him, but a torn-open vessel could still be studied for Dassik technological and military secrets. A vessel blown to atoms could not. And in this dense atmosphere, the self-destruct warhead would cause a mighty fireball, shock wave, and electromagnetic pulse, perhaps enough to inflict some damage on the standoffish foe. Thus he would score a blow against the betrayers, leaving a wound that those who came after him could exploit.

  But before Koust could key in the destruct sequence, he felt himself dissolving in a transporter beam. The enemy would not even grant him this victory.

  As soon as he was whole again, he roared. Looking around for his enemy, he spotted a tall female with a short-furred golden head and vast blue eyes. She stood on the outside of the confinement chamber that now held him. “Release me!” he demanded. He drew his dagger and struck at the clear wall between them with its clubbed hilt. Repeated blows had no effect, so he inverted it and pried at the door seam with the blade. “I will kill you!” he cried, though his assault on the door had no ­effect. Finally he drew his disruptor pistol and fired at the female’s face. But the weapon was dead.

  The female tilted her head. “Forgive me for not responding in your language,” she said in the tongue of the Linnik. “Your hostility creates a resistance to communication. Are you familiar with this tongue?”

  Of course—one of the legendary Kisaja. He had not been convinced they were real. “Yes,” he replied in the same inferior language. Its sounds and forms had changed somewhat since the races had last met, but the form she used was archaic enough that he could follow it.

  “Good. Tell me: How much have you seen?”

  “Enough,” Koust replied. “Your base hidden under the clouds. So this is where the Kisaja went to ground. One more refuge for the cowards of the ‘First Federation.’ But now we know it is here. We shall seize it and strip the location of the betrayers themselves from its databanks! Then we will hunt them for sport!”

  The Kisaja female retained her control, but Koust could see her tension subsiding. “I see. You know nothing. But of course, we cannot return you now.” She gestured to a subordinate at a console. “Perhaps with another race, we could come to an understanding. But with you—”

  He pre-empted her. “There can be no understanding between us. Not until you understand we are your ­masters.”

  The female actually smirked. “You’re just as insecure and bullying as the Dassik ever were. I’ve really had enough of overconfident types today.” She turned to her minion. “Why not put him in Nepara, next to our other guest? See how well they get along.” The two of them chuckled, and moments later, Koust felt himself dematerializing again.

  He arrived in a chamber large enough to hold his pilot vessel, under a broad, clear dome that looked out onto the blue emptiness. To his outrage, he had been rematerialized naked, stripped of all his armor and weapons. But a simple jumpsuit materialized next to him, and once he donned it, he found it was exactly his size, as though the transporter beam had taken his measurements and instantly synthesized a garment.

  Walking to the edges of the chamber and ­surveying the view through the dome, he saw he was atop a saucer-­

  shaped structure reminiscent of the forward hull of the Starfleet ship Grun was seeki
ng, though ­significantly larger. It hung alone in the vast, empty sky. Three heavy cables, no wider than his waist, stretched out from its edges and vanished into the distance. As far as he could tell, there was nothing beneath the structure either. Certainly it was nowhere near the ­immense ­station Koust had seen before.

  “Do not move.” The voice made Koust whirl. In the center of the room, an elevator platform was rising from a circular gap in the floor. A Kisaja male appeared, this one with silver head fur and purple eyes. He was accompanied by two enormous guards of species Koust didn’t recognize and would have taken for animals if not for the sidearms they bore. Koust began to charge, but the guards brought their weapons to bear faster than he would have expected from creatures of such bulk. He came to a halt. “You can gain nothing by resisting,” the Kisaja said. “As you’ve seen, you’re worlds away from anywhere. This is the Nepara penal module, and I am Mure, its warden. No one enters or leaves this place unless I will it. There is no escape.”

  “There is always death.”

  Mure gave him a condescending smile. “If that were what you wanted, you wouldn’t have stopped just now. Perhaps you’re not as mindlessly savage as the rest of your race—though I doubt it. Now come with us.”

  The weak creature’s insult rankled him, but he would not give his jailer the satisfaction of confirming his beliefs. Grudgingly, Koust let them lead him onto the elevator and down into what he now recognized as a prison. He tried to get a sense of the place, but the guards blocked his view with their bulk, and it didn’t take long to reach his cell. It was a simple enough cell, its walls translucent with transparent portions. The guards dematerialized the door, pushed him through, then rematerialized it, sealing him in. The cell’s accommodations were basic but comfortable, a luxury suite compared to his bunk aboard the cluster ship.