The Face of the Unknown

by Christopher L. Bennett

  McCoy’s grudging silence indicated his acceptance of Spock’s argument. Still, the first officer could see the skepticism in his pale blue eyes—the unspoken conviction that if Kirk were here, he could devise a better plan than Spock could manage. Privately, Spock conceded that the doctor was probably correct. Once again, he found himself thrust into command of the Enterprise, at a time when his sense of his inadequacy for that position was stronger than ever.

  But perhaps reminding Nisu of their prior discussions, of her attempts to help him and his act of faith in sharing his concerns for the future with her, would aid in convincing her to trust his message in turn. Not, perhaps, an entirely honest way to deal with a being who had been consistently benign and considerate toward him. But it would be misguided to place sentiment above the survival of the Enterprise and the Web of Worlds. Surely Nisu would see the logic of that . . . in time.

  * * *

  “I am grateful that you came to see me,” Nisu told Spock as they sat together. She had chosen to combine their meeting with a meal at what she described as the finest vegetarian restaurant in the Tessegri world module—a promising sign in the wake of her aloof, mistrustful reaction toward him earlier. They sat on a terrace overlooking the interior of one of the module’s great arcologies, an indoor city as brightly lit and lively as any urban area Spock had ever seen. “I wish to apologize for my coldness toward you before. It was wrong to let recent events drive a wedge between us. You were not responsible for what occurred, Spock. Once I had time to process my shock and anger, to look beyond them, I was able to realize what a difficult position you must be in now . . . forced once more to take on a responsibility you do not desire, and in a time of such crisis.”

  “Your understanding is appreciated, Nisu,” he told her. “But the responsibility remains the same, regardless of its impact upon me. I know you understand that. I do not believe it was easy or desirable for you to board our ship a second time and place Captain Kirk under arrest. You did what your duty required of you under the circumstances.”

  “I have no regrets about that.” Her sharp tone softened a moment later as she granted him a concession: “If he does prove guilty under the law, that is.”

  “It is gratifying that you keep that in mind.”

  “I didn’t come here to talk about your captain, Spock.” She placed her hand atop his. “It’s important to me that you know you are still welcome here in the Web. Whatever the future holds . . . this can be a home for you, if you let it.”

  “A most . . . hospitable sentiment, Nisu,” Spock replied. His gratitude was genuine, but he could not indulge it now. He withdrew his hand, steepled it against his other one, and continued in more businesslike tones. “However, it presupposes that the Web will continue to exist. I have come across research that casts that supposition into doubt.”

  He went on to speak to Nisu about the dissidents’ research, dissembling about how and where he came across it. It was not a lie; he had personally tracked down the research on the Web’s information network and evaluated the data presented therein, data identical to what Kasan Tor had given him. He merely omitted mentioning his direct contact with the dissidents themselves.

  Still, Nisu’s gaze soon hardened as she recognized what he was describing. “We are of course aware of these ­allegations. They are based on faulty data and assumptions. They’re the work of fearmongers who spin doomsday scenarios as a way of protesting the Council’s policies.”

  “I understand why you would have reason to doubt the objectivity of dissenters within your own society, Nisu. However, I am concerned only with scientific truth. You may trust me when I tell you that I have analyzed these findings in considerable detail and find them to be ­persuasive.”

  “What would you have us do, then? Shut off the defenses that have kept us safe and hidden for twelve thousand years? Expose ourselves while a Dassik blockade circles above us, ready to attack?”

  “You have the orbships for protection.”

  “They are few, and they are miners and freighters, not combat vessels.”

  “They are still powerful, and intimidating in their way. If nothing else, you could surround Cherela with your radiation buoys.”

  Nisu laughed. “This planet is already surrounded by an intense radiation belt. It provides some defense, but not enough, or you would never have made it through.”

  “True—but the radiation belt does not actively pursue starships and block their progress. And other defenses could be easily devised and implemented. The advantage of the First Federation is its compactness. It would be far easier, and require far fewer vessels, to defend the Web than to defend a comparable population living on ­multiple M-class planets.”

  “And the sheer concentration of people and resources, all openly here in one place, would make it an irresistible target for the Dassik. They will stop at nothing to avenge themselves upon us. At least now, with the Web a secret, we can permit some traffic between Cherela and the stars beyond. Once that secret got out, the Dassik would not allow us a moment’s peace. We would be truly besieged here.”

  “Unless you could negotiate a peace with the Dassik.”

  “They are incapable of it. Do you think we never tried? It is the Kisaja way to seek communication. But the Dassik were too savage, too low in intelligence to be persuaded. They corrupted my ancestors’ abilities, used them as overseers—slaves to help the Dassik control the rest of the slaves.” She sighed, gathering herself. “I apologize for my display of emotion, Spock. The scars of our history run deep. When each generation can feel their parents’ pain directly . . . it lingers.”

  “I understand, Nisu. However, that awareness of the distant past must not blind you to the threat the entire Web faces in the present.”

  “The present—and future—of the Web is my overriding concern as well. I know what you cannot know, Spock, what I pray you will never know: how terrible it is to see one’s entire homeworld destroyed. Our concealment is the only thing that has saved us from that fate.”

  “It saved you twelve millennia ago. It does not follow that modern threats require the same solution—or that a solution that worked once under different conditions cannot become a danger in the present.

  “All I ask is that you allow me to present my findings to you. No dissident rhetoric, no polemics or appeals to emotion, simply the raw science.”

  After a moment’s consideration, Nisu agreed. Spock led her through the data, the equations, and the results of his simulations as they dined. Spock had only a small salad and finished it off as efficiently as he could, wishing to minimize the distraction from his presentation. Nisu listened patiently, asking cogent and reasonable questions, until he reached the point where he demonstrated how the dissidents’ model predicted a collapse like that of Fiilestii. “And thus you see that the very attempt to cancel the instability of the antigrav system by channeling power from elsewhere in the Web actually amplified the chaos within the system and—”

  “Stop!” Nisu said, looking at him angrily. “No bias, no polemics? Please. All of this is just to try to convince me that your captain was not to blame for the deaths of nearly four thousand people!”

  Spock frowned. “While that is a corollary of these findings, it is an incidental point. It has no bearing on the underlying mathematics—”

  “Don’t lie to me, Spock. I can feel it within you. You’re not objective when it comes to the welfare of your captain. He is the one unwavering certainty in your life. You’d do anything to rescue him.”

  “Nisu, you have seen for yourself how the evidence leads to these conclusions. You raised no objection prior to this point.”

  “All I have seen is that you’ve constructed a theory that fits what you want to be true. Numbers can be made to say anything, Spock. It’s what’s in your heart that tells the tale.” She rose stiffly from the table. “To think I was willing to believe y
ou sincerely wished to confide in me. You’re no better than any other outsider! Playing on our connection to use me for your own ends! Is it any wonder we hide from the likes of you?”

  Nisu ordered one of her lieutenants to escort Spock back to the Enterprise, refusing to speak with him again. Spock was nonplussed by her burst of emotional volatility. It was surprising to see in an individual who had seemed so reasonable and level-headed before—and to receive such hostility from one with whom he had experienced such a close rapport.

  But later, when he relayed the conversation to Bailey in the lieutenant’s guest quarters aboard the Enterprise (leaving out the more private elements), the young human grasped the situation readily. “She’s afraid, Spock. Afraid of what she doesn’t understand and can’t control. She’s so afraid of taking chances on the unknown that it blinds her to the danger that’s right beneath her feet.”

  “Hmm. Then perhaps you were correct,” Spock said, “and I should allow you to attempt to persuade the Council of the First.”

  Bailey chuckled. “Actually, Mister Spock, after what you just told me, I’ve changed my mind. I mean . . . the Kisaja are the ones who are supposed to be good at listening, at empathizing. If even she’s too paranoid to open her mind, there’s no way the triumvirs will listen to me. They didn’t even want me to be here.”

  “Still, at least the attempt should be made.”

  “Fine. I’m willing to try, Spock. But we’re going to need some other plan to save the Web if and when I strike out.”

  Spock quirked a brow. “Yes, Mister Bailey. I had already concluded that myself.”

  Bailey studied him. “You’re going to find a way to override the Web controls, aren’t you? To shut down the concealment grid ourselves?”

  “I cannot confirm that supposition.”

  “But didn’t you say that would risk making things even more unstable?”

  “I now believe that to be a manageable risk. And the risk of inaction is greater.”

  “And what about the Dassik?”

  “The First Federation has defenses, such as the radiation buoys, which it chooses not to deploy around Cherela in order to maintain concealment. I believe the risk from the Dassik would also be manageable. But the collapse of the Web of Worlds if we do nothing is not a risk—it is a virtual certainty.”

  “Then I know what Balok would say,” the lieutenant replied, setting his jaw. “Do whatever you have to. Even if it means bringing down the government.”

  * * *

  Kirk did not have to wait long for Tirak and Mure to make their move. He was near the end of his next solitary session in the exercise yard, a spacious rectangular chamber at one edge of the saucer-like prison module. Overhead, an arched skylight followed the curve of the outer shell and afforded a splendid view of Cherela’s atmosphere, which was currently roiling with another vast thunderstorm. The skylight was thick enough to damp the clamor of the thunder to tolerable levels, but even so, Kirk almost missed the sound of the transporter beam behind him. Just in time, he whirled to see Koust materializing meters away, with nothing between them but empty air. The young Dassik soldier was panting, but not from exertion as Kirk was. From the haunted look in Koust’s slitted eyes, Kirk could tell he had just been undergoing another mind-probing session with Mure, surely fighting the intrusion with all his might. And now, when the Dassik was at his most beleaguered and enraged, they had given him a target he could strike at freely—one who was already fatigued from a lengthy workout. Kirk wondered how Mure intended to justify the “accident” that had put them both in the exercise yard at the same time. Perhaps he would blame it on the electrical storm.

  “Koust, wait,” Kirk attempted, but the Dassik was already charging. It was clear in his eyes that there was no chance of negotiation. If the towering predator got a solid grip on Kirk, he was as good as finished. So he had to strike preemptively. He dodged right and aimed a roundhouse blow at Koust’s head. But the Dassik moved fast, grabbing his arm and swinging him around into the nearby wall. Kirk’s right shoulder absorbed much of the impact, but the blow to his head was still jarring. Dazed, he slid to the floor.

  He recovered in time to see Koust running at him, pulling back a fist to slam into him with pile-driver force. He barely dodged the blow, which left a dent in the cushioned flooring. Kirk rolled to his hands and knees and kicked out sideways, driving his right foot into Koust’s temple. The Dassik’s hand shot out and clamped crushingly hard around his right leg. Kirk twisted his torso forward and fired several quick punches into the nerve cluster below his opponent’s shoulder, finally managing to relax Koust’s grip. He then delivered another kick to his foe’s pointed chin, dazing Koust enough to let Kirk break free, tumble to his feet, and gain some distance. Running hurt; he’d avoided a broken tibia by maybe one second, but his leg was far from undamaged.

  Koust didn’t stay dazed for long, and in moments he was lunging forward again. He moved lightning-fast, slamming Kirk into another wall. The Dassik pulled back his right arm for a killing blow to the neck, but Kirk was able to block it in time and twist it aside, delivering a nerve-cluster blow that caused the arm to fall limp.

  But Dassik, it seemed, were ambidextrous—or at least this one was. Koust readily pulled back his left arm to finish the job the right had begun. Kirk slammed his right fist into Koust’s solar plexus, then jerked it up to impact his chin again. Koust staggered back and Kirk leaped free, shaking out his hand and praying that none of his fingers were broken.

  Amazingly, the Dassik was still on his feet, striding toward Kirk with undiminished purpose. Kirk was impressed with his endurance . . . and unsure whether he could stop this giant.

  Luckily, Kirk was now in position to use the exercise machines for cover, darting behind them and dodging to keep them between himself and the Dassik as the latter attempted to circle around them. “Koust, listen to me,” he urged. “I know you’re hurt. I know you’re frightened. But you need to think.”

  “I fear no one!” the young warrior cried. “Least of all you.”

  “I’m not your enemy, Koust. Think about it. I know they’ve hurt you, enraged you. You want revenge. But think, Koust. Why would they fill you with rage and then send you here? Send you after me? Is that something they would do if I were their spy?”

  Koust paused for a moment, then shook it off, lunging for Kirk and getting himself tangled in the cables of one of the machines. “No. You are my enemy! Your ship battled ours!”

  “Only in self-defense, like I’m doing now. But we prefer to solve our problems with talking. And so do most of the people in the First Federation. But right now, they’re frightened and angry, just like you. They want to find someone they can lash out at, someone they can blame for all their problems. They imagine that if they make them go away, then their problems will go away too.

  “That’s why Tirak and the warden sent us here, Koust. They want us to be those someones. They want you to kill me so they’ll have an excuse to kill you. So they can use their people’s anger for their own advantage. So they can earn their people’s gratitude and obedience without having to do the hard work of actually solving their problems.”

  Koust finally wrenched himself free. “Why should I trust you, human?” he demanded, circling the machine.

  Kirk was about to retreat behind another machine—but he stopped himself. “Because I’m ready to trust you, Koust. I’ve been watching you. You haven’t said much, but I can see you watching, listening, thinking. I’m convinced you’re more than the mindless savage the Firsts think you are.” Taking a step forward, he lowered his hands and spread them out to his sides, palms open. “And I’m willing to stake my life on it.”

  Koust watched him warily for a long moment. Then the Dassik erupted. Almost faster than Kirk could see, Koust’s left hand was around his throat, holding him aloft. Kirk struggled to break free . . . then simply struggled to breathe.<
br />
  But then those wiry, clawed fingers were gone from his throat, and he was able to gasp for air once again. He found himself on his knees . . . and there were those same fingers, extended to help him to his feet.

  Kirk placed his hand in Koust’s and clasped it firmly as the Dassik drew him upward. “It takes great courage,” Koust said slowly, “to choose not to fight when you are in clear danger.”

  It was meant as praise for Kirk . . . but also as a declaration of the Dassik’s own intent. In that spirit, Kirk clapped Koust’s shoulder and nodded. “Yes. It does.”

  “Then it is time,” Koust told him, “that we finally talked.”

  Eleven

  At last, the Enterprise was nearly shipshape once again. It did Montgomery Scott’s heart good to see the system readouts returning to normal one by one. The Web dissidents had been of great help, managing to create high-quality replacement parts to Scott’s specifications and even improving on them in some cases.

  The tricky part had been repairing the port nacelle without the Web officials catching on. The Enterprise was designed so that most repairs and maintenance could be done from inside the hull, but the damage sustained by the port Bussard collector and intercoolers was extensive enough to require EVA maneuvers to complete the large-scale structural work. It was tricky to find ways to pull that off while making it look like merely superficial repairs. The dissident engineer Kasan Tor came up with a clever solution, designing some of the larger replacement parts to be easily assembled from smaller components so that they could be smuggled through the maintenance conduits inside the nacelle and pieced together in situ. Scott had to admire the technical ingenuity of these folks.

  And so he was in a receptive mood when Commander Spock and the dissident Ne-Kewii (the one who looked like a griffin, or maybe a sphinx—a griffosphinx?) approached him in private with a proposal that would let him repay the dissidents for their help. Still, what they asked of him was rather . . . monumental. “Override the whole weather-control grid?” he asked in a stunned whisper, cognizant of how his voice would echo through the engineering complex if he raised it too loud. “Across the whole planet at once? You don’t think small, do you, Mister Spock?”