“So we may be forced to take more radical action,” Kasan said before Spock could question Balok further. “We can help you repair your ship. Ne-Kewii can smuggle the parts aboard if you tell us what you need. Then, once you’re ready, we can sabotage the tractor system long enough to let you get away. With some of our representatives aboard, that is.”
“That way,” Ne-Kewii added, “we can inform your Federation of the Web’s existence and make a formal request for aid. Once our secret is out, the government will have no reason to cling to its suicidal obsession with concealment.”
“That’s the optimistic outcome,” Kasan said. “More likely they’ll keep debating and denying until the Web is torn apart around them. At the very least,” he said, his gruff voice growing more solemn, “your Starfleet can help resettle those who get away, and some of our cultural legacy will survive.”
Spock could appreciate his sentiment, but at this point, everything the dissidents said was merely hearsay, and at least in Ne-Kewii’s case there was a clear ideological motive behind it. “I would appreciate the opportunity to review your scientific data on the system instabilities you describe,” he said. “Naturally we must verify your findings before we decide on a course of action.”
“Of course,” Balok said. “Take your time, Mister Spock. It’s not like the world is coming to an end or anything, after all. Oh, wait. Yes, it is.”
Kasan handed Spock a data cartridge. “Here’s our original research. Feel free to compare it against the copies on the Web’s information network. Whatever our problems, at least we have free speech.”
“For now,” Ne-Kewii interposed.
“But decide fast, Mister Spock—before we all run out of ground to stand on.”
Ten
Kirk’s fellow prisoner had not been very neighborly so far. The Dassik soldier had given up little beyond his name, Koust. He seemed youthful to Kirk, despite his cadaverous features and booming voice. His intense energy and pent-up rage reminded Kirk somewhat of the young David Bailey—not to mention the young Jim Kirk. But that rage had been an effective barrier to communication in this case. Koust had pegged Kirk as an enemy, the commander of the ship that his pack hunted, and the fact that they were both prisoners did not affect that perception. “You are Federation,” he had insisted, unimpressed by Kirk’s attempts to clarify the difference between First and United. “I am not a fool. You will not win my confidence. I will not tell you anything to pass along to your treacherous masters!” Stimulating conversation with a fellow prisoner was off the table, then.
Still, for the most part, this was one of the most clean and humane prisons Kirk had ever been thrown into. The accommodations were comfortable, there were reading and viewing materials available, the meals were adequate and healthy, and he was beamed to an exercise yard daily—although it had quickly become evident, in his first visit to the yard, that the rest of the prison’s population blamed him for the destruction of Fiilestii and would gladly take his punishment into their own hands. Thus, it had been necessary to keep Kirk in protective isolation. The prison warden, a purple-eyed Kisaja male named Mure, clearly held Kirk in the same contempt as the inmates did, judging from the willies Kirk felt when Mure’s gaze transfixed him for even a moment. But the warden followed the letter of his responsibilities and took the necessary steps to ensure Kirk’s safety, though he made it clear enough that he did so grudgingly. Kirk assumed the same was true for Koust, given that he and the Dassik were the only two inmates in the isolation wing. But their shared pariah status had not led to bonding.
This was not in itself an intolerable state of affairs. Though Kirk was gregarious by nature, he had schooled himself to discipline over his long years in Starfleet. There was a part of him that valued solitude and quiet contemplation, and he had nurtured that side of his character during his time at the Academy, enabling him to excel in his studies at the cost of being perceived as a humorless bookworm. Perhaps he had taken it a bit too far, but he had deemed it necessary to keep his more passionate and unruly side in check. In time, friends like Gary Mitchell and lovers like Carol Marcus had helped him to open up once more and find a healthy balance between the sides of his character. But his quiet, studious side still served him well in the solitary role of a starship commander, and it aided in coping with the solitude of his imprisonment now.
Still, there were more lives at stake than his own. Opening communication with a member of the Dassik, understanding what they believed and what they sought, could be key to resolving the current crisis and preventing a clash between the Dassik and the UFP.
So Kirk had continued speaking to Koust, attempting to make some sort of connection. He had monologued about his own life, his ship, his friends and colleagues, the worlds he had visited in the Federation and beyond. He had spoken of his youth on the farm in Iowa, of his father and mother and their own illustrious Starfleet careers, of his great-grandparents who had served aboard the U.S.S. Pioneer during the formative years of the Federation, of the more distant ancestor who’d commanded a lunar base and the one who’d been on an early manned mission to Venus. He had hoped that, by directing the conversation toward his own family history, he might encourage Koust to do the same. Warrior peoples often took pride in their lineages, and tales of the past would presumably be less strategically sensitive than current information.
Indeed, it was clear that Koust was tempted to react at times. Yet the young hunter held himself in check and revealed nothing. Kirk was surprised. The Firsts had characterized the Dassik as a feral people, relying on brute force and intimidation to compel more intelligent, disciplined species like the Linnik and Bogosrin to achieve the refined work of building a starfaring civilization. But then, those were tales passed down from twelve millennia in the past. Perhaps the Dassik had changed, or perhaps the tales had distorted the facts. At least he learned that much from Koust’s silence . . . though it underlined how much more he was failing to learn.
The real test of Koust’s refusal to speak was under way when Kirk was beamed back to his cell from his exercise period the following day. He arrived to find Mure standing outside the transparent wall of the Dassik’s cell, transfixing him with his gaze. Next to the Kisaja stood the diminutive figure of Triumvir Tirak, looking on in fascination as Koust sweated and shook, groaning through gritted teeth as the warden pressed him telepathically. Reflexively, Kirk pounded against the dividing barrier. “Stop it! You’re hurting him!”
Mure did not react, but Tirak looked up at Kirk in irritation. The Linnik triumvir stepped around Mure’s bulkier form to get closer to the captain. “Our methods inflict no pain,” Tirak insisted. “The Dassik is causing his own distress by resisting. Once he cooperates, he will no longer suffer.”
“Every torturer in history has said the same thing,” Kirk shot back. “It’s easy to inflict pain if you can pretend it’s not your own fault.”
“Says the man whose crew attempts to help him evade his culpability for the death of thousands.”
Kirk’s gaze didn’t falter. “If a fair trial concludes I am responsible, then I will face the penalty for that. But what has he done to warrant this treatment?”
“He is our first Dassik captive. We require intelligence about their numbers, their resources, their distribution. Our survival may depend on it. And as I said, our methods cause no harm—only his resistance does.”
“If it’s so humane, Tirak, then why haven’t you done the same to me?”
The triumvir’s expression made it clear he was tempted. Still, he said, “The crime you committed was well documented. My fellow triumvirs feel you have been cooperative . . . and they do not wish to court the disapproval of your Federation.”
“You don’t agree?”
It was startling to see such bitterness on such a childlike face. “I fear they are deaf to the anxiety of the masses. We are in the midst of a crisis—Dassik threatening us from ab
ove, disaster striking from within. The people are frightened. More, they are angry that this chaos has been brought to our safe haven of Cherela. This is not a time for tentative measures, for the slow and careful grind of the justice system. The people need prompt assurances. They need the source of their fears dealt with swiftly and decisively.”
“How, Tirak? By turning them against any convenient enemy? By firing them up to inflict cruelty on others? That’s not calming their fears, it’s feeding them.”
“I know what my people want, Kirk. I know what they need. My only goal is to give it to them—in spite of the restrictions imposed by laws formulated in gentler times.”
“So you admit that what Mure is doing to his prisoner is against the law. Do you hear that, Warden? You’re under no obligation to obey an unlawful order! Mure!”
The Kisaja’s huge violet eyes finally released Koust—and came to rest on Kirk. For a moment, he felt what Koust must have felt, the overpowering pressure on his mind. Even without resistance, it was invasive, violating, humiliating. More than that . . . he could feel the hatred that motivated it. While the effect lasted, he despised himself as deeply as Mure despised him. It was brief, but it left him shaken once the warden broke his gaze. Kirk understood: The warden was a willing accomplice. Tirak had simply given him permission to do what he had wished to do anyway.
“I’m still a witness,” Kirk gasped. “You can’t frighten me into keeping quiet about this. So unless you plan to kill me . . .”
“We have no death penalty, of course,” Tirak said. “We are not barbarians. Still . . . if you were to die, it would resolve the matter of Fiilestii without the need for a time-consuming trial, or for testimony that might confuse the people at a time when they need clarity.”
“You have very little faith in your own people, Tirak.”
“Oh, I have great faith in their principles, Captain. I know they would never tolerate anything so primitive as an execution—not at the hands of a First.” His gaze drifted over to Koust’s cell. “Of course, one cannot expect anything but primitive violence from a Dassik. See the hatred in his gaze. Even now, after you have defended him, he clearly wants you dead. If he were to get loose somehow . . . well, naturally we would take all necessary measures to subdue him, but conceivably we might not put him down in time. Tragic, to be sure, but it would simplify matters enormously.”
Kirk saw the glance that passed between Tirak and the warden, and he understood that this was not a hypothetical discussion. Getting through to Koust had just become more urgent than ever.
* * *
“The dissidents’ conclusions appear to be sound,” Spock told the rest of the senior staff seated around the table in the main briefing room. “Their theoretical model is more mathematically rigorous and more consistent with the documented evidence—presupposing the accuracy of data gathered before our arrival—than the model that serves as the basis for the government’s policies. While the government model may have been sound for the original Web, it has failed to adequately account for the exponential increase in system chaos that has accompanied its growing size and complexity over the centuries. The dissidents’ model predicted a world module collapse consistent with what we observed at Fiilestii, as well as the continued instability of Cherela’s atmosphere in the wake of that collapse. Their overall conclusion is most likely sound as well. The module collapse has triggered a runaway instability in the Web’s structural, magnetic, and gravitational balance and in Cherela’s atmosphere as well. The only way to reverse that instability is to shut down the process that is driving it, namely the atmospheric and magnetic regulation that keeps the Web concealed. If that does not occur within a fairly short span of time—years at most, possibly months—then the complete destruction of the Web of Worlds is inevitable within two decades.”
McCoy was torn between horror and relief. “Then Jim wasn’t responsible!” he said.
“Correct,” Spock told him. “However, convincing the triumvirs of that will be difficult. They are aware of this research and choose to dismiss it.”
“And these dissidents are hoping,” Lieutenant Uhura said, “that if the Web is revealed to the Federation anyway, it will obviate the need for concealment and force the government’s hand.”
“Correct.”
“I have to ask,” the communications officer continued, “what about the Prime Directive? We’re not supposed to take sides in a local dispute.”
“Even if there’s a whole civilization at stake?” McCoy protested, his eyes wide. “Not just one—dozens of civilizations! We can’t just stand by and let them destroy themselves!”
“Certainly not while they still hold Captain Kirk!” Chekov added.
“As it happens, Doctor,” Spock went on, “I was about to make that very point. For every regulation, there is an exception. That can be particularly true of the Prime Directive, given that each contact will be unique. Captain Kirk has always understood this.”
“But you haven’t always agreed with him,” McCoy riposted.
“Each case must be judged on its own merits, Doctor. In this case, I am not convinced the Prime Directive applies at all. Given that the government of the First Federation is holding us here against our will, that classifies them as a hostile power. General Order One does not prohibit us from defending ourselves against hostile acts. This is why, for instance, we were able to intervene in the war between Eminiar VII and Vendikar once our own crew was targeted for destruction.
“Therefore, I conclude that we are legally entitled to do whatever we must to liberate our ship and crew. If that means collaborating with the dissidents who are also at odds with the government, then that is a permissible choice.”
McCoy leaned forward. “For once, Spock, I like the way you’re thinking. But what about rescuing Jim? Surely boarding our ship and taking its captain prisoner is a hostile act too.”
“Undoubtedly, Doctor, and I will take proposals for Captain Kirk’s rescue under advisement. But there is another consideration. If we do free the captain, escape Cherela with the dissidents, and then assist them in publicizing the Web’s existence and pursuing their ends through diplomatic channels, it would likely be weeks or months before any significant results could be expected. However, given the growing instabilities within the system, I estimate a fifty-six percent probability that another world module will collapse within three weeks—and a forty-one percent probability of such a collapse within two weeks. The dissidents’ plan might save the majority of the Web, but millions of lives could be lost in the interim.”
“Is there a point to all this, Spock?” McCoy demanded.
“The point is that the sooner we can act, the better the odds for the Web. And we are at the greatest liberty to act so long as the government does not perceive us as an active threat—which they surely would the moment we attempted to rescue Captain Kirk. I am sure the captain would agree that the preservation of the Web is a higher priority than his own liberation.”
McCoy opened his mouth to argue, then stopped himself. He could not dispute that Kirk would always place others before himself.
“Wait a minute,” Sulu said. “If the Prime Directive’s off the table, then can’t we do more? Say, maybe find a way to break into their control systems and shut down the concealment protocols? We could save them ourselves.”
“That would be difficult, Lieutenant,” Spock answered. “The dissidents understand these systems far better than we do and have been unable to achieve the same ends.”
“But we could offer a new perspective,” Uhura said. “Mister Spock, you know everything there is to know about Federation computer systems. Maybe you could come up with some tricks they haven’t tried.”
Spock shook his head. “Their systems are more advanced than ours. There would be too great a risk of failing or even inadvertently worsening the problem.”
“There’s also
the risk from the Dassik,” Bailey put in. “Balok didn’t seem to think they were that great a threat, but we’ve seen how fragile the Web is, how little disruption it would take to cause another catastrophe. At the very least, we’d have to draw the Dassik away from this system before exposing the Web to discovery. If we just shut down the concealment grid now, the Web would be conquered or destroyed within days.”
“Could be,” McCoy said. “May be. Up against millions of lives that will probably be lost if we don’t do something.”
“Then let me do something,” Bailey urged. “I’m the ambassador, right? Let me try to reason with the First’s officials. If we offer independent corroboration of the dissidents’ findings, maybe we could convince them to take the threat more seriously. In combination with the offer of Federation protection,” he went on, “maybe it could change their minds.”
McCoy snorted. “Not likely. A politician’s a politician, anywhere you go in the galaxy.”
“At least we could try.”
“With all due respect to your abilities, Mister Bailey,” Spock said, “I am concerned that we may have already expended what diplomatic capital we have with the triumvirs in our attempts to negotiate the captain’s release. If we wish them to grant us an audience, we would need a way in.” He pondered. “Perhaps if I approached Nisu and reasoned with her, it might carry some weight. She would be able to sense my sincerity.”
“Wouldn’t she be able to sense it in the dissidents too?” McCoy asked.
“The dissidents have strong sentiments against the sitting government. That may color any Kisaja’s perceptions of their thoughts. As I lack an emotional bias on the issue, I may be able to convince Nisu, whereupon she could help persuade the triumvirs to consider your petition.”
McCoy grimaced. “Weren’t you the one just saying time was of the essence?”
“Indeed I was, Doctor. But we can do little until the Enterprise is repaired. Until then, we must make the most constructive use of our time that we can. And that means pursuing every avenue at our disposal.”
The Face of the Unknown Page 17
