The Abode of Life

by

LEE CORREY

POCKET BOOKS New York London

Toronto Sydney Tokyo

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters,

places and

incidents are either the product of the author's

imagination or are

used fictitiously. Any resemblance

to actual events or locales or

persons, living or dead, is entirely

coincidental.

An Original Publication of POCKET

BOOKS

POCKET BOOKS, a division of Simon and

Schuster Inc. 1230

Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY

Copyright (c 1982 Paramount Pictures.

All Rights Reserved.

STAR TREK is a Registered Trademark of

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to reproduce this book or

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address

Pocket Books, 1230 Avenue of the

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ISBN: 0-671-70596-2

First Pocket Books printing May 1982

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POCKET and colophon are registered

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Inc.

Printed in the U.s.a. TO CAROLYN AND

LEW

"May I call to your attention,

Captain, that our present course takes

us disturbingly near the reported gravitational

turbulence reported

by Federation ships in this sector of the Orion

Arm?" As usual, Spock

was both punctilious and logically correct in his

assessment of the

situation. Captain James T. Kirk turned

in his command seat and

glanced at where his Vulcan First Officer was

looking at him from

the navigation station of the Bridge of the USS

Enterprise. Kirk

smiled. "I am, Mister Spock. May I

call to your attention the fact

that Star Fleet Command sent the Enterprise out here

to investigate

that reported gravitational turbulence?" He

looked thoughtful for a

moment, then added, "I was told it would be an

easy,

straightforward scientific exploration mission

to make up for the fact

that we've seen more than our share of Klingons

lately . . . ."

"I was present at the mission briefing,

Captain," Spock reminded him.

"Then why the note of caution?" Kirk wanted

to know. "Probably,"

said Doctor Leonard "Bones" McCoy as

he stepped onto the Bridge

from the turbolift, "because our Science Officer

needs to inject a bit

of

speculative hazard into a mission that's turned

out to be nothing but

a boring tour of largely uncharted space. As a

respite from continual

action, this RandR scientific exploration

mission's driving your crew

batty, Jim." "I'll second that," Sulu

remarked from the helm.

"We've held the same heading now for seven

watches . . . ."

Kirk smiled. His people needed the rest and relaxation

they termed

"boredom." It had been a rough tour out on the

edge of the Organian

Treaty Zone. Not even a month of shore leave

on Starbase 4 had

eliminated his own fatigue. And he was certain the

rest of the crew

was no better off than he. Kirk had actually

looked forward to

their current mission: cruising along the inner edge

of the Orion

Arm, taking data. They were far from Kfingons and

Romulans. His

crew needed the break that a purely scientific

measurement and

charting mission would involve. "Be that as it may,

steady as she

goes, Mister Sulu," Kirk gently told his

helmsman. "And don't get

too lax. I might become difficult and pull

an emergency phaser

drill to keep you on your toes." "The crew would

welcome it," McCoy

said. "Jim, I know we've had some difficult

missions recently, but

this crew thrives on such things. Give them a

long and uneventful

assignment such as this, and they'll go soft on you."

"That I

doubt," the Captain of the Enterprise

said. "Lieutenant Uhura, you

don't seem to be bored." Uhura removed the

receiver unit from her

ear and smiled at her commanding officer, a definite

breach of her

usual efficient Bridge behavior.

"Actually, Captain, handling

routine communications has been a welcome

change. My division needs

to regain its proficiency in handling standard,

normal procedures

again. And do you realize I haven't had to open a

hailing frequency

even once since we left Starbase Four?"

Kirk chuckled at that,

remembering the one time his

comm officer almost broke under stress and complained

about incessant

and repeated opening of hailing frequencies. "Quite

seriously,

Captain," Spock persisted, "we are

penetrating totally unexplored

space where we are not precisely certain of the

shape of space

caused by gravitational anomalies. The data

returned by the Scout Ship

Phoenix were quite incomplete because they did not

penetrate as closely to

the edge of the arm as our course has already taken

us."

Kirk sensed that something was bothering Spock.

"What seems to be the basis

for your concern, Spock? You didn't appear to be

disturbed during the

mission briefing at Starbase Four.

Explain."

"I had insufficient time to thoroughly study the

data during that briefing,

which was exactly as its name implied: brief. In

fact, too brief in

relationship to the possible hazards we might

face," Spock explained. He

turned to the library computer console and called up

an image of the

galactic sector in which the Enterprise was

currently operating. Kirk rose

from his seat and came over to Spock's side to get

a better view of what

his Science Officer was trying to explain.

He found that McCoy was at his

side as well.

Projected on the screen was the known galactic

region from Mark lOD to Mark

25D. The computer image of the Enterprise was

shown skirting the inner edge

of the Orion Arm about 10 kiloparsecs from

Starbase 4. Spock didn't bother

to use the electronic cursor to point to what he

was talking about; he

merely used one of his long Vulcan fingers. "As

we already know from our

extensive experience in crossing the void between the

Orion Arm and the

outer Perseus Arm of the Galaxy, there's usually

considerable gravitational

turbulence at the edges of galactic spiral

arms. This turbulence is

analogous to that which one would see when mixing a

granular material with

a liquid using a circular motion."

"Analogous, but not the same, because analogies

never bear a one-to-one relationship with the real

universe," Kirk pointed

out.

"True. However, the Federation has charted the

zones of maximum

gravitational turbulence in the rift void between

Starbases One, Ten, and

Eleven and the Outpost Colonies at the edge of the

Romulan Treaty Zone . .

. and traffic consisting of both Star Fleet and

commercial vessels

carefully avoids these zones. There's no

acceptable theory concerning the

gravitational turbulence on the edges of

galactic arms at this time.

However, I suspect that such turbulence is

caused by the fact that, unlike

stellar motions in the galactic arms themselves,

stellar motions at the

edge of the galactic arms are almost random in

nature. In turn, this would

produce interacting gravitational fields which,

essentially, distort the

fabric of space itself." Spock turned to his

Captain and added, "Of course,

this verbal description is extremely

imprecise because of the semantic

illogic of our language. I've not

yet been able to formulate a logical

mathematical model of this hypothesis, but I'd

be happy to show you the

mathematical model that I've managed

to derive thus far, imprecise as it

may be at this time ....

his

Kirk held up his hand. "Spare me, Spock.

When it comes to field tensors and

translational dynamic matrices, I struggled

through them at the Academy and

understand them. But when you can get your hypothesis

into such a shape

that you can explain it in the imprecise words of

language, it means you've

got your hooks into it."

"I beg your pardon?" Spock put in,

raising one eyebrow.

"I think what the Captain's trying to tell you,

Spock, is that words

sometimes convey a more meaningful explanation of the real

world than

mathematics," McCoy said with the usual

cynical tone in his voice that

arose when he confronted the logical

Vulcan on such matters. "A long time

ago, I learned that mathematics

will tell you only the logical consequences of your

initial assumptions . .

. and since assumptions are rarely logical, the

mathematical results that

come from illogical assumptions are garbage."

Spock's other eyebrow went up. "Doctor,

I see no reason for you to insult

me. I fully realize that you prefer to protect

the image of your medical

art as an arcane activity not subject to the

logic of science, but there

are some aspects of the universe quite logically

predictable by means of

mathematics .... Otherwise, we'd be unable

to navigate anywhere in space."

"Gentlemen," Kirk broke into what was

obviously growing into another basic

philosophical confrontation between his Science

Officer and his Medical

Officer, "shall we confine such discussions to the ward

room, please?

Spock, what are you really trying to tell me?

Speculate if you have to. But

specify." It came out as an order.

Spock reacted suitably. "If we continue

on our present heading, we have

once chance in three hundred

sixty-four-point-six-seven of entering a

sector of highly warped space caused by this

gravitational turbulence. I

cannot predict the consequences."

"As I told you, speculate," Kirk

snapped.

"Space may be warped or even folded

by gravitational turbulence. We

probably wouldn't be able to detect such a folding

until we'd crossed it,

because our sensors aren't optimized for such work. It

would've been more

logical for Star Fleet Command to send a

properly equipped exploration ship

out here instead of a heavy cruiser such as the

Enterprise. However, I

realize that one does not argue with Star Fleet

Command. Because we

couldn't detect such a fold in space, we could

end up crossing a

"discontinuity" that might transport this

ship over very large distances in

unknown directions. And it might be very

uncomfortable. I'd venture to

predict that it might overstress the structure

of the ship ....

his

"And with no advance warning?" Kirk wanted to know.

"Perhaps some indications. As we grow nearer to the

zone of greatest

turbulence, we could expect to experience some

effects."

"Such as?"

The whole structure of the Enterprise suddenly

bucked, shuddered, then

steadied again. It was enough to throw McCoy to the deck,

but both Spock

and Kirk managed to grab the console and the bridge

rail respectively.

"Such as that, Captain. Only much worse."

Kirk was back at his command seat immediately.

"Sections report. Damage?"

Uhura's calm and professional reply came

at once over the chatter of

intership communications from all departments.

"Negative damage, Captain.

A few people shaken up."

"Helm and navigation, negative damage,"

Sulu reported. "Holding course."

McCoy was on his way to the turbolift.

"They'll need me in Sick Bay," he

muttered, and was gone.

Scotty's voice chimed in over the intercom,

"Negative damage in

Engineering, Captain. But that was a horrendous

jolt! Did we ram something?

Or was it a pothole in the road to the stars?"

"I don't know, Scotty!" Kirk shot

back. "Stand by. Steady as she goes,

everyone." He turned to Spock. "Well,

Mister Spock?"

Spock was busy at his library computer console,

peering into the hooded

viewer. "As I suspected, Captain. A

gravitational anomaly due to

interstellar turbulence."

"An anomaly strong enough to affect a ship of the

size of the Enterprise

cruising at Warp Factor Four?"

"Affirmative, Captain. And more to come if we

follow this course," Spock

warned him. "The Phoenix data are somewhat

out-of-date since the stars and

the turbulence vortex centers seem to have shifted

since

they probed this area several years ago. I'd

suggest extreme prudence in

proceeding further, Captain. I can't predict

what we'll encounter in the way

of space strains."

When Kirk had to make a decision, he could

make one fast. "Sulu, reduce

speed to Warp Factor Two, same course.

Mister Spock, sensors at maximum

sensitivity and range. We'll continue, since

it's our mission to explore

these gravitational anomalies and chart them if

possible. Other ships will

follow in our track because this sector of the

Federation's territory has

yet to be explored and opened to colonization.

Lieutenant Uhura, Yellow

Alert, please. And have Mister Spock prepare

a data dump for transmission

to Starbase Four." What Kirk did not add

to this was that the data

transmission to Starbase 4 was a hedge against the

Enterprise running into

trouble further along. Under such conditions, the data

would at least get

back to Star Fleet Command, where it would be

available to others.

He punched a control on the arm of his seat.

"All hands, this is the

Captain," he announced, his voice ringing through the

passageways and

compartments of the ship. "As you're all aware,

we're on a scientific

exploration mission that has a good chance of holding

surprises such as the

one we just encountered. That was only a mild

gravitational anomaly,

something we were sent out here to chart. There will be others

to come. And

it's likely to be a bit bouncy. Please

secure all frangible materials and

fixtures. And be prepared for sudden jolts.

We're proceeding at reduced

Warp Factor to minimize any future

shocks. Carry on."

He punched off the circuit and looked

around the Bridge. They were a good

crew. Each of them was busy at his post, doing

what was required with a

cool and professional efficiency. "Mister

Spock, will you put on the main

screen the computer analysis of space strains

ahead based on gravitational

sensor findings, please? And steady as she goes,

Mister Sulu . . . ."

Captain's Log: Stardate 5064.4

What started out as a re/l scientific mission

has

turned into one with some danger associated with

it as I should have suspected. Any time we ven

ture into uncharted sectors of the Galaxy, we

must

anticipate and be prepared for the unexpected. In

this case, we knew the gravitational anomalies

were here, and they've been one of the basic

reasons why the Federation hasn't established out

posts, colonies, or Starbases across the

interarm

void in the Sagittarius Arm. We haven't

encoun

tered any further gravitational

anomalies, but we'll

proceed with care, approaching the inner edge of

the Orion Arm gradually, taking data as we

go. In

a way, this possible hazard benefits my crew

be

cause they were beginning to become bored and

restless with routine. Because this new hazard

involves the Enterprise against the universe rather

than against hostile life forms such as Klingons,

Romulans, and others that we've encountered in

the past, it's indeed a form of "relaxation" for us

because it's different and allows us to pit our minds

against the forces of nature rather than against the

forces of alien life forms. Naturally, this is

proba

bly most exciting to Mister Spock, who's been

engaged in an almost compulsive display of contin

uing work with the sensors and the ship's computer, taking and

evaluating data with what is for

Spook an almost feverish intensity of effort.

It's

been more than ten watches since he's left his

post

on the Bridge. Doctor McCoy

seems unworried

about this continued activity on Spock's part,

advising me that Vulcans often show the

capability

to work for long periods of time without what we

would consider to be "rest," especially when the

activity involves such logical and cerebral

work as

Spock is now engrossed in.

There were a few more jolts, none greater than the first

that had shaken

the Enterprise. The crew was almost beginning to get

used to them. The

first jolt had sent seven crew members to Sick

Bay with bruises, cuts, and

contusions. The second one caught only two people

unprepared. After that,

the shocks seemed to become part of the ship's

routine, a sudden and unex-

pected happening that served to keep people on their toes

and alert.

Spock was recording and analyzing copious

amounts of data. A continuous

series of data-dump messages went out over

subspace radio to Starbase 4, an

activity that kept Uhura busy.

Things had almost settled down to routine again as the

Enterprise cruised

along the inner edge of the Orion Arm. On one

side of her, toward the Orion

Arm, the sky was full of stars, while on the other

there was but a band of

wan light from the millions of stars of the

Sagittarius Arm across the 800

parsecs of the interarm void.

Then it happened.

Kirk was resting in his quarters when the wall

opposite his bunk appeared

to shimmer and wave as if it had been made from

gelatin. He felt a burst of

nausea pass through his body such as he'd once

experienced when he'd been

through a transporter that was badly out of phase.

The next thing he knew,

he was flattened to the overhead, then dropped

roughly back into his bed

with a thump that caused the bunk supports to complain

with a groan of

stressed material. There were other noises that

accompanied this severe

overload of the ship's gravitational-field

generators, noises from both the

ship and the crew that penetrated the bulkheads of his

cabin. Groggily,

sick to his stomach, and very much shaken, he rolled

to the floor and

managed to stand up. He slammed his palm down

on the wall intercom switch.

"Bridge, this is the Captain. Report!"

The intercom was dead.

Only then did Kirk realize that the emergency

lighting was now on. He

staggered as the ship's internal field struggled

to reestablish itself

again. When he got to the door to his cabin, it

wouldn't open; he smashed

the emergency latch cover and opened it manually.

The ship's corridors were full of moans,

cries of pain, and screams of

anguish. Kirk shut them out of his mind; he

couldn't stop to help any of

his crew right then; he had to get to the Bridge.

The paramedic crews from

McCoy's department would be along soon to take

care of the injured. Kirk

had the entire ship to worry about.

The turbolifts were not operating, so Kirk

resorted to the companionways

and gangways. It had been a long time since

he'd entered the Bridge through

the emergency doors, which he had to operate

manually. What he found when

he stepped onto the Bridge was disarray.

Sulu was sprawled on the floor beside his post.

Uhura was also injured,

holding her elbows and trying vainly and

valiantly to respond to distress

signals and calls coming into her station from all over

the ship. Spock had

taken over Sulu's post next to a battered

Ensign Chekov, who was bleeding

from a deep cut across his forehead. Scotty, with his

uniform tunic torn,

was desperately working at the engineering station.

Kirk knelt next to Sulu momentarily, only

long enough to learn that his

helmsman was still breathing. Then he snapped

to Spock, "Report." .

"Extreme gravitational anomaly," Spock

managed to get out. "Actually, a

"fold' in the fabric of space, so to speak.

There was no way to tell that

it was coming, because we have no sensors that can detect

such a thing."

"Injuries?"

"We don't know. The ship's fields went down

momentarily, actually reversed

themselves, then came back. Communications are out in

some sectors of the

ship," Spock fired back.

"Uhura." Kirk got to her side. "Anything

broken? Are you badly hurt?"

"I . . . I hit the ceiling," she mumbled.

"When I came back down, I landed

on both elbows. I wasn't ready for it . . .

or I would've relaxed and

rolled with it .... I don't know if anything's

broken .... My arms just

hurt terribly . . . ."

Kirk punched a button on her panel.

"Sick Bay, this is the Bridge. McCoy?"

"Jim, I'll have a team up there just as quickly as

I can," McCoy's harried

voice came back. "There're injuries all

over the ship." And the circuit was

cut from the other end.

Kirk did not react to this curt reply from his

medical officer. He knew

that McCoy was under terrific pressure at the

moment. There'd be a

paramedic team to the Bridge as soon as

McCoy could get things organized.

Yeoman Rand appeared through the emergency exit

of the Bridge. She was

disheveled but apparently unhurt. "Yeoman,

are you all right?" Kirk wanted

to know.

"Yes, sir. I thought I would be needed most

here," Janice Rand replied.

"You are indeed. Take over emergency medical

aid to Uhura, then Chekov,

then Sulu," Kirk ordered. He turned

to Scotty, knowing that Janice Rand

would handle the Bridge-crew injuries without

further attention from him.

"Scotty, engineering status report," Kirk

snapped.

The engineer was shaking his head sadly as he took

reports coming in from

his engineering department. "Minor damage

to the ship's structure, Captain.

We have life support, impulse power, and one

warp drive unit functioning.

There's considerable damage to the second warp

drive unit, the full extent

of which I dinna know yet."

"Can we make warp speed?" Kirk wanted

to know.

"Aye, but with only one unit, the best I can

give ye is Warp Factor "I backslash vo

. . . and that's full-out with the good unit wide open

. . . and subject to

possible breakdown, since I haven't had the

chance to check for possible

damage there," the Engineering Officer replied, not

looking up from the

engineering consoles.

"Mister Chekov, take the helm," Kirk

ordered. "All engines stop. Let her

drift in space until we find out where we are.

Mister Spock, give me a

position. Where are we?"

Spock moved from the helm and walked back to his

library computer console.

Kirk joined him, watching his first officer

bring systems back on line and

check them out. "Captain, the Stellar Inertial

Navigation System has

completely lost alignment. We still have the

galactic time base pulse in

operation, and the course record and data banks

appear to be secure. I may

be able to reconstruct what happened. But as you can

see, the course-record

data bank indicates a major discontinuity."

"Which means that somehow the Enterprise has jumped

through normal space,"

Kirk added.

"Quite correct. As I pointed out earlier, the

gravitational anomalies in

this area could create what amounts to a fold in 'the

fabric of space," the

Vulcan continued. "According to the data here, that is

exactly what has

happened. We were thrown across such a fold in

space, caused by an

extremely strong gravitational anomaly, almost

like jumping through a black

hole or Dirac discontinuity."

"Spare me the theory, Mister Spock.

Right now, I need to know where we

are," Kirk told his First Officer, his first

thoughts being of the ship and

its crew. "We can run over the theory later when

we know where we are and

where we're going."

"I'll put a visual panoramic scan on

the main screen," Spock remarked. He

then addressed the ship's computer in the verbal command

mode, "Computer,

scan and analyze the visual, ultraviolet,

and X-ray spectra of the stars in

the panoramic sensor scan. Match and

identify any known star groups and give

me a hard copy printout of same. Store the

data for possible use in

realigning the SINS."

"Working," the computer's vocoder-created female

voice replied tonelessly.

Kirk turned to watch the scan on the screen.

"Let's have full magnification

and image intensification, Mister Spock. It

doesn't look like there are any

stars out there at all."

And there weren't.

At full intensity, the best the scanners could

pick up was the faint band

of light emanating from the stars in the galactic

plane.

"Reporting," the ship's computer voice said.

"No known star groupings are

recognized. Further instructions, please."

"Computer, run analyses of selected star

groups assuming a ship

displacement of several hundred parsecs toward the

center of the Galaxy and

adjusting stellar parallax accordingly," Spock

ordered.

"Working."

"Are we still in the Galaxy, Mister Spock?"

Kirk wanted to know.

"Affirmative. I have the Shapley Center

identified," Spock remarked, gazing

into the hooded viewer of the library computer console.

"But there's

considerable interstellar dust along the plane of the

Galaxy. Therefore,

I'm having great difficulty identifying any

known star groups. I'll need at

least two recognizable stellar reference

points in addition to the Shapley

Center before we can realign the SINS."

"But where in the Galaxy are we?"

"I can't give you a precise answer yet,

Captain."

"Speculate, then."

"Very well. We jumped an estimated distance of

about three hundred parsecs,

and we appear to be in

the void between the Orion and Sagittarius Arms.

This is totally unknown and

unexplored space, Captain. I can't

locate a single individual star at this

time."

Yeoman Janice Rand stepped up to Kirk and

reported, "Sir, I've stopped the

bleeding from the cut on Mister Chekov's forehead,

and Lieutenant Uhura's

arms appear to be only bruised, not broken. I

gave her a mild analgesic

injection into each forearm. That will ease the pain

until Doctor McCoy can

make a professional examination. But we'll have

to get Mister Sulu to Sick

Bay as quickly as we can get a medical

team up here."

"How about it, Lieutenant?" Kirk asked

gently. "Can you continue to run

your post temporarily?"

"Yes, sir. I hurt, but not badly enough to ask

to be relieved."

"Good. First, raise Starbase Four and report

what's happened. Then get me

a summary of internal damage and injury

reports."

"Right away, sir." Although Uhura's face

showed that she was indeed

injured, she stuck to her post, inserted the receiver in

her ear, and began

to attempt to communicate with Starbase 4.

"Three hundred parsecs," Kirk mused, doing

the calculations in his head.

"That's a long trip at Warp Factor

'Itvo . . . ."

"One hundred twenty-two-point-two-five

real-time years, to be precise,

Captain," Spock put in.

"And that's just to get out of this void and back into the

Orion Arm,"

James T. Kirk added. "Scotty,

we've got to get that warp drive unit

repaired and back on line."

"Aye." The Engineering Officer nodded. "We

can't crawl across the galaxy

with only one unit working. We'll all be old and

gray by the time we get

back to Starbase Four."

"What will it take to fix the warp drive unit?"

Kirk wanted to know.

"I canna tell ye yet," Scotty

replied. "My first priority is to make sure

that all internal systems are functioning, and

we've just about got

everything back now. I'll get to work examining the

warp drive unit. I'll

have an answer for ye shortly."

The doors to the turbolift swished open, and

Bones McCoy entered with a

team of four paramedics.

"Well, it's about time," Ensign Chekov

remarked.

"Half the crew injured, most of the turbolifts

out, and you expect

ambulance service?" McCoy snapped,

obviously under pressure and rushed to

a far greater extent than he liked. He looked

around. "Who's hurt here?"

"Better get Sulu down to Sick Bay right

away," Kirk pointed out. "And Uhura

and Chekov both got banged up..,

McCoy was at Sulu's side at once, his

medical sensor out and checking the

Helm Officer. "You're right. He's got

internal injuries. How about you,

Uhura?"

The Communications Officer was busy at her

console, and she didn't hear the

doctor's question. McCoy walked over to examine

her, and she seemed

oblivious of him. Finally, she spoke to Kirk.

"Captain, I'm sorry, but I

can't raise Starbase Four. In fact, I

can't raise anything on subspace

frequencies, not even the usual data exchange

buzz or the ship-to-ship

channels. Nothing but Jansky noise and

subspace whistles."

"Which means I'd better get busy on that

drive unit or we'll be out here in

the middle of nowhere forever," Scott

remarked, heading for the turbolift.

"I'm going down to Engineering, Captain. I'll

let you know the status of

the other drive unit as quickly as I can." And he

was gone.

Kirk looked at his First Officer. "Spock,

I hope you can get that SINS unit

aligned again. In the meantime, Mister Chekov,

put the Shapley Center on

our stern and hold a course directly away from

it back toward the

Orion Arm. Make Warp Factor One. I

don't want to overstrain our remaining

warp drive unit." "Aye, aye, sir."

Captain's Log, supplemental

We are limping back toward home, the Orion

Arm of the Galaxy, at Warp Factor

One. By random matrix techniques, Spock

and the ship's computer have located

us approximately three hundred sixtyfive

parsecs into the interarm void

between the Orion and Sagittarius Arms at

galactic coordinate Mark

twenty-one-point-zero-one and a distance of

approximately sixteen hundred

parsecs from Starbase Four. This extreme

distance, plus the presence of

considerable interstellar dust along the galactic

plane at the edge of the

Orion Arm, explains Lieutenant

Uhura's inability to raise Starbase Four on

subspace radio. Commander Spock has

managed to complete a rough realignment

of the SINS, providing us with rudimentary

navigational capability. Sensor

probes out to the limit of range have located a

few Population Two stars

scattered through the interarm void, but we're not

close enough to any of

them to determine whether or not they possess

planets .... And we're going

to have to find a planet or a planetoid to orbit

in order for Lieutenant

Commander Scott to effect repairs to our second

warp drive unit, which is

completely inoperable. In fact, its repair will

require materials that Scott

will have to extract from a material source in order

to fabricate parts.

Without a second warp drive unit,

we're doomed to crawl across the interarm

void for perhaps years before we are able to get a

distress signal to

Federation facilities. On the other hand, the

jump interrupted a data-dump

transmission to Starbase Four, which means that Star

Fleet Command

knows the Enterprise is in trouble somewhere. We can

only hope that a

search-and-rescue mission will be dispatched, which is the

reason why I've

instructed Lieutenant Uhura to broadcast an

assistance call on all

Federation emergency frequencies. However, since

we can't count on getting

any help, we must do the best we can to save

ourselves, because I will not

abandon the Enterprise even if we happened

to discover a habitable planet

but were unable to repair our warp drive. We'll

get home with our data . .

. and I will do everything I can to ensure that it

doesn't take forever to

do it ....

Most of the superficial damage had been

repaired, the injured had been

treated, but the Enterprise continued to limp along

at Warp Factor One with

all sensors operating at the extreme limits

of their ranges. Kirk spent

most of his time on the Bridge during the next

several watches. He couldn't

bring himself to admit the possibility of an

extremely long voyage back to

the charted and populated Orion Arm. It

wasn't his training but his

experience that gave him a totally nonlogical

gut feeling that something

was certain to happen to change the existing situation

for the better. He'd

been in too many tight spots and through too many

emergency situations. Not

only did he have to maintain a personal

appearance of hope for the morale

of his crew, but his own personal makeup wouldn't

permit him to do

otherwise.

He knew the only thing he could really count on was

change.

Sooner or later, something was bound to turn

up to alter the present

predicament.

And it did.

It was Uhura who spotted it. "Captain," she

remarked to him in the middle

of the sixth watch since the jump, "I'm picking

up something very strange."

fingers were delicately adjusting controls on her

comm console. Anticipating

her commander's question, she went on, "It's very weak,

but it has all the

characteristics of radiation from a transporter system

. . . except it's

behaving as though it were a side-lobe transmission

or even a suppressed

carrier side-band . . . and it's continuous, not

sporadic and intermittent

as it would be if a single transporter were operating

on sequential objects.

It's as though there were many transporters working almost

constantly . . .

."

Kirk had turned his seat to face her console.

"There isn't anything we know

of in the Galaxy that puts out the characteristic

transmission pattern of

a transporter, is there, Lieutenant?"

"No, sir. That's a very special scan and

phase pattern."

"That's what I thought. It's not natural. Can you

get a fix on it?"

"Affirmative, Captain. Shall I patch the

data to the logic and integrating

unit of the ship's computer as a sensor input?"

"Yes. Mister Chekov, man the

library-computer position until Spock gets

here," Kirk snapped. "Get us a course line

on the source of that

transporter radiation. If it's coming from the

interarm void, it means

somebody lives around here and uses

transporters." He slapped the all-call

switch on the arm of his seat. "Commander Spock,

report to the Bridge on

the double."

Chekov, plastiskin covering the gash on his

forehead, was working the

computer already. "I have a preliminary course

line, Captain. The

transporter radiation source appears

to be coming from Bearing zero-seven,

Mark ninety. No range data."

"Lieutenant Kyle," Kirk addressed the

helmsman, "turn to Bearing

zero-seven, Mark ninety. Put that source on

our nose. Maintain Warp Factor

One. That transporter-type radiation can be coming

only from a

nonnatural source, which means an intelligent

life form somewhere nearby,

which may mean an inhabited planet. And that means

Scotty may be able to get

our warp drive repaired. Uhura, Yellow

Alert until we find out what or who

is responsible for that transporter radiation."

"Lieutenant Uhura, you deserve a

commendation," Kirk said as they watched

the image of the planet grow on. the screen.

"Thank you, Captain, but I didn't discover this

planet. I merely noticed

the unusual transporter signals coming from it,"

Uhura pointed out.

"Yes, but you didn't dismiss the data as

spurious," Kirk reminded her.

"This star shouldn't be here, and should not have a

single planet orbiting

it."

Doctor McCoy, whose hard work over the past

few days had patched up most of

the crew, merely watched from the side of Kirk's

command seat but couldn't

refrain from commenting, "The universe is not only

stranger than we think;

it is stranger than we can possibly imagine."

"I believe," Spock said from the library

computer console, "that your

statement was made back in the twentieth century,

Doctor . . . ."

"Probably," McCoy replied. "In my

experience, I've found very few ideas or

concepts that're original. Everybody seems

to reinvent the square wheel at

one time or another."

"Well, regardless of the philosophy,

gentlemen,

we've located a highly unusual situation,"

James Kirk observed. "And it'll

likely permit us to save ourselves and get the

Enterprise back into

Federation territory."

"But we are in Federation territory, Captain,"

Sulu said. "The UFP

Negotiated Exploration Treaty permits

exploration out to 4750 parsecs from

Sol, and we're certainly well within that

boundary."

"I stand corrected, Mister Sulu. Amend my

statement to read "explored"

Federation territory." Kirk was relieved, and

both his expression and mood

showed it. The planet looming up on the screen

looked too good to be true.

It had polar caps, a cloud-rifted

atmosphere, abundant oceans, and several

continents. It appeared to be Type M,

terrestrial in nature, a rocky planet

with water and an atmosphere. Spock had

diverted his efforts from

determining a precise location of the Enterprise

because their newly

discovered planet was becoming extremely interesting

as the ship came

within range that permitted accurate sensor

readings.

"How about it, Mister Spock? Any

interesting data to report yet?"

Spock's head was buried in the hood of the

library computer console.

However, he looked up, jotted a few notes

on a pad, and turned to his

captain. "My survey is superficial,

Captain, but I do have some preliminary

data that are rather fascinating . . . ."

"Well, don't keep us in suspense,

Spock," McCoy snapped.

Spock ignored the ship's doctor, or at

least he gave the impression of so

doing, which probably angered McCoy more than if

Spock had made some

numbing, ultralogical retort. "The mean

planetary diameter is nine thousand

seven hundred fifty kilometers, and its

surface gravity appears to be

seven-point-eight-four meters per second

squared . . . or about

eight-tenths of a standard gee. I'll have better

data once we establish

standard orbit. My preliminary data indicate

the plan-

et's in an orbit

point-nine-three-seven-five astronomical

units from its

primary, with an orbital eccentricity of

zero-point-nine-eight. Other data

which are highly preliminary include an inclination

of the spin axis to the

orbital plane of only a bit more than

twelve degrees. Length of its solar

day is twenty-six hours, twelve minutes, and

thirty-four seconds with a

probable error of five-point-six-eight

percent. I'd estimate the length of

its year at three hundred eight days, four

hours, and seventeen minutes with

a probable error of plus or minus

thirty-five minutes."

"Close enough for Federation work," Sulu mumbled

to himself.

"Good." Kirk sounded excited. "Any

atmospheric data yet?"

"Negative. I anticipate acquiring said

data within an hour after achieving

standard orbit."

"And what are all those numbers supposed

to indicate?" McCoy wanted to

know. "Spock, you're certainly capable of

presenting an outstanding

snow-job-was

"I beg your pardon?"

Kirk glanced at his ship's doctor, well

aware of the rivalry between the

highly logical and scientific First Officer

and the pragmatic, emotional,

and also scientific Medical Officer. "Snow

doesn't exist on Vulcan," Kirk

gently told the doctor. "Actually, the

numbers are telling me a great deal,

Bones, just as your biosensor numbers reveal the

condition of your patient

to you in Sick Bay. For example, take the

diameter and the surface gravity.

The combination of the two tells me that it's a rocky

planet, definitely

Type M, and the gravity's strong enough to hold

atmospheric gases such as

oxygen and nitrogen. Its distance from the star and the

eccentricity of its

orbit tell me that it's probably warm enough for

our use. There're polar

caps, oceans, and clouds. All of these

data combine to tell me that liquid

water and atmospheric water vapor exist. The

axial tilt-about half that of

Earth-also tells me that it

doesn't have pronounced seasons, so the polar

caps probably don't change

size. This also means reasonably mild

planetary weather. Do you agree with

my speculation, Mister Spock?"

Spock thought a moment. "Your conclusions may be

a bit hasty, Captain. In

general, I'd agree with you. It appears to be a

warm, comfortable planet

with abundant water, which probably means

luxurious plant growth . . .

which in turn means some sort of animallike

life to provide a balanced

ecology. Because of the large extent of the oceans which

serve as a heat

sink, I'd suspect that the general planetary

climate is very steady, with

no violent weather patterns. However-was

"However," Kirk broke in, "every time we come

upon a new planet, we find

out how little we really know about

planetology."

"Quite true, Captain. There's a disturbing

factor that I haven't

mentioned."

"And that is?"

"This is a Class G3 star, Captain, which is

very much like Sol. However, it

appears to possess the characteristics of an

irregular variable star."

"You mean it's likely to blow up on us?"

McCoy wanted to know.

"No, Doctor," Spock said with great

patience. "It

means the stellar constant its output of radiant

energy

and stellar particles from its thermonuclear

processes

is slightly unstable. It varies to an

as-yet-unknown

degree. I'm not certain at this time whether this star

will increase or decrease its output, and I'm

unaware of

the triggers that cause the change."

"In other words, Bones," Kirk remarked, "this

star has the hiccups."

"Well, it certainly couldn't be too unstable

too often," McCoy pointed out,

indicating the greens and browns of the continents as they

appeared on the

screen. "It'd burn or freeze everything right

off the surface of that

"I suspect our landing parties are going to find

some rather unusual flora

and fauna that have adapted to these stellar changes,"

Spock pointed out.

Kirk nodded. "I agree. We've certainly

made an outstanding discovery here

. . . an isolated planet orbiting an

irregular variable star in the

interarm void. It'll undoubtedly provide the

Federation with a good new

facility on a trade route that'll eventually

develop through the void to

the Sagittarius Arm. While Scotty and his

engineering gang work on the warp

drive, we'll occupy our time with the most complete

survey we can make of

this place."

"There's another disturbing factor, Captain,"

Spock remarked.

"Well?"

"The transporter radiation."

Uhura piped in at this point. "The closer we

get to the planet, the

stronger the transporter radiation becomes. It's

almost as though there's

a planet-wide network of transporters working

almost constantly down there.

There's no interruption of the signals. There's

none of the phase and scan

buildup we'd expect from the irregular

transporter use here on the Enter-

prise. It almost reminds me of the nearly constant

transporter activity

around San Francisco and Star Fleet

Headquarters on Earth."

Kirk thought about this for a moment, watching the image

of the planet

continue to grow on the screen as the Enterprise

approached it. "Any signs

of intelligent life, Spock?"

"Affirmative, sir: the transporter

radiation."

"How about cities?"

"We're still too far out, Captain."

"Any communications activity in the

electromagnetic or subspace spectra?"

"Negative, Captain," Uhura reported.

"I've been sweep-scanning from ten

kiloHertz to a hundred gigaHertz in the

electromagnetic spectrum and

keeping very close watch on the subspace

spectrum. There's

nothing, sir. No radiation at all. Just

background noise from the star

itself. If there's intelligent life down there using

transporters, the

absence of communication radiation is very unusual."

"Spock, do sensor scans detect any

vehicles moving in the planet's

atmosphere, or space vehicles operating beyond

the atmosphere?"

"Negative, Captain."

"Why," Kirk thought aloud, "is there apparently

intelligent life down there

advanced enough to have transporter-type technology,

but no communications

activity and no space travel? What sort

of a life form are we going to

encounter that could develop on an

extremely isolated planet around an

irregular variable star located several hundred

parsecs from any other

star?"

"As I believe the doctor mentioned earlier,"

Spock observed, "the universe

is usually stranger than we can imagine."

"And the crew of the Enterprise should've learned that

by now, shouldn't

we?" Kirk replied, standing up and looking over

Sulu's shoulder. "Mister

Sulu, please put our defensive screens up

in case whoever's on that planet

does indeed have some sort of space defense

system and decides to take a

potshot at us as an unannounced and unwelcomed

intruder into their

isolation. I'll not risk the ship in that regard.

And put your phaser crews

on standby alert. Assume standard orbit and

secure underway operations.

When we get a better picture of what's going

on down there, we'll organize

a landing party to beam down. In the meantime, Mister

Spock, continue your

planetary survey activity. We're going

to need all the data we can get

before we can beam down. There're a lot of questions that

I'd like to have

answered before we go down there because, above all, we

have to keep

General Order Number One clearly in mind

if we're dealing with an

intelligent species that's been this isolated .

. . ."

Captain's Log: Stardate 5067.7

The Enterprise has been in standard orbit around

this planet for four

watches. Sensor probes indicate the presence

of a wide variety of life

forms, but there's no visible transportation

activity on the planetary

surface below. There're no ships plying the

oceans, no aircraft in the

atmosphere, and no space-travel activity.

Yet we see evidence of farms,

villages, and even some cities-although I'd

hesitate to call them "cities"

as we know them. And there's no communications

activity in the

electromagnetic or subspace spectra.

Something lives on this planet, some

species that's advanced enough to develop

transporter technology and the

energy sources required to power such a system.

We haven't spotted the

energy sources yet, either, although they might be

passive solar types.

Both Lieutenant Commander Scott and Commander

Spock believe that any

culture possessing transporter technology

would be able to assist us in the

repair of the warp drive unit. If not, there're

obviously mineral resources

that Scott could use for raw materials to complete

his repairs because he

reports that the warp drive unit can't be

repaired without fabricating new

components . . . and we don't have them aboard.

Therefore, we're going to

have to utilize the resources of this planet in one

manner or another.

However-and I specifically want to go on

record in this regard-I'm faced

with a dilemma. If there's intelligent

life on this planet-as there indeed

seems to be, although they're ignoring us in

orbit-how are we going to make

contact with them and permit Scott to repair our

ship without violating the

Prime Directive?

On the other hand, we may find a sufficiently

advanced culture here that

we'll have to establish

preliminary diplomatic relations between the Fed-

eration and their political organizations.

This dilemma isn't firm. Spock's

acquired

enough data on the planet at this point to permit us

to take an initial landing party down to its

surface.

Therefore, I'm beaming down with the initial

landing party on the next orbit. This is the only

way

we can get the answers that we must have.

The landing party convened in the transporter room.

Kirk glanced at each of

them-Scotty, Bones McCoy, and Yeoman

Janice Rand. All had beamed down to

alien and possibly dangerous planets

before. They were professionals, and

they knew what they were doing. Kirk had left

Spock with the conn, and he

could therefore dismiss the welfare of the Enterprise from

his mind and

concentrate on the job that had to be done: facing the

unknown.

Lieutenant Kyle at the transporter

controls was apprehensive. Sweat stood

out on his forehead as he manipulated the controls.

"Captain, I'm having a

lot of trouble selecting a suitable

refnaterialization point for your party

down there. The transporter traffic is

terrific on the surface."

Scotty stepped over to assist him. "Lad,

find a hole, lock on it, and beam

us when you get phase lock," he told the young

officer. "Since there's

absolutely no communicator traffic down

there, you should be able to lock

on any of our communicators at any time to beam

us back up. Keep your data

channel to Lieutenant Uhura open."

"Do you see any problem with beaming us

back up if necessary, Scotty?" Kirk

wanted to know.

The engineer rejoined the landing party. "Negative,

Captain. I've trained

these people well; they'll be able to cut through to us all

right."

"Very well." Kirk looked around at his party.

"Let's go. 99

They took their places on the transporter

platform. "Energize," Kirk

snapped.

Kyle hesitated, worked some controls.

"Well, mister?" Kirk asked the transporter

officer.

"Looking for a suitable break in the traffic down

there to get you through,

sir. There it is! Energizing."

The landing party materialized in a beautiful

gardenlike glade with a small

pond fed by gurgling water from a brook. Trees

arched overhead into a blue

and cloudless sky. There were artifacts tastefully

placed here and

there-benches, seats, tables, and what appeared to be

statuary.

Kirk found himself not three meters from a beautiful

humanoid woman nearly

a head taller than he. She was dressed in a

loose-fitting short white tunic

belted at her thin waist. Hung over her

shoulder on a baldric was a hand

weapon that looked like a pistol. Although she was

tall and slender almost

to the point of being somewhat gangly, the alien

woman was otherwise

totally humanoid except for her golden

bronze skin color.

She looked stunned as Kirk and the landing party

materialized in front of

her.

"Captain, look out!" Janice Rand cried.

And the landing party discovered that they had a welcoming

committee of two

others, apparently young males with similar dress

and appearance to the

woman.

Except that they were positioned on both sides of the

landing party with

hand weapons drawn and pointed at each other . .

. and the landing party.

"Cover!" Kirk yelled quite unnecessarily,

because the other three members

of the landing party had already reacted according to their training.

Along

with Kirk, they dropped and rolled, bringing out hand

phasers as they did

so.

Two nearly simultaneous explosions from the

humanoids' handguns shook the

glade. There was the solid sound of a projectile

hitting one of the trees,

followed by the whistling of another projectile

ricocheting off some surface

to warble off into the distance.

White smoke having the smell of rotten eggs,

the characteristic odor of

exploded black gunpowder, filled the air.

By the time it cleared

sufficiently, Kirk and his landing party were on their

feet again, phasers

out, and crouched in a position ready for action-all

except McCoy, who had

his tricorder out rather than his hand phaser.

There came a shout in an alien language from the

woman, who withdrew her

hand weapon very slowly, grasped what appeared

to be the metal barrel, and

proffered the complex breech and grip end toward

Kirk.

The two young men followed suit, except that they

merely dropped their

weapons to the grass and extended their hands before them,

palms upward and

touching at the edges.

The actions of the three humanoid aliens were

obviously ones of surrender

and submission.

One of the young men said something in an unknown

language.

"Translators," Kirk ordered, clipping his

Universal Translator to the front

of his tunic. "Bones, they look humanoid.

How about it?"

"No question about it," McCoy replied, studying the

tricorder display. "But

the preliminary scan doesn't match with any of the

other known galactic

humanoid species. First guess is that they're

as similar to humans as

Romulans are to Vulcans."

Kirk reached forward and carefully took the hand

weapon offered to him by

the humanoid woman while Scotty stooped

down to retrieve one of the

discharged weapons. Kirk had no time to do more than

glance at the weapon

he held, but his Academy training and

familiarity with hand weapons, both

ancient and modern, told him a great deal from that

quick glance.

The weapon was a pistol with a short, unrifled

barrel

having a bore approximately fifteen

millimeters in diameter. It was fired by

a percussion hammer, and Kirk could see no

means for semiautomatic

operation. It was single-shot and breech-loading.

The really strange thing about it was its total lack

of any sighting

mechanisms-no front blade or pin sight, and

no rear notch or peep sights.

There was no way to accurately aim the weapon.

"Well, Proctors, aren't you going to take

us?" one of the young men said,

his words being rendered understandable by Kirk's

Translator.

"Orun, I told you the Proctors had

discovered our link with the Technic,"

the young woman snapped. "But, no, you and Othol

had to get into an affair

of honor intead!"

"Othol implied I'd broken faith with the

Technic," one of the young men

replied angrily. Surprisingly, he was even

taller than the woman or the

other young man, and he wore a bright green cloth

headband rather than the

yellow one of the other male to hold back his long

black hair. "I had no

recourse under the Code but to seek satisfaction

. . . which has been

carried out."

"Yes, but the cost!" the young woman said. "The

Proctors have taken us."

"Hold on," Kirk broke in. "We're not

"Proctors." We're visitors."

The shorter of the two men, the one called Othol,

looked very suspicious at

this remark. "Visitors? From where? You don't

look like us. You don't dress

like others we know. And your equipment is different.

You must therefore be

a specially bred unit of Proctors." He

offered his hands, palms up and

wrists together. "So, go ahead and take us,

Proctors."

"We are not Proctors," Kirk repeated.

"We're visitors."

"How can that be possible?" Othol asked.

The young woman broke in at this point. "Othol,

they may be right. Do you

hear his strange words coming from his mouth, then

familiar words coming

of the device on his tunic? Do you see the

equipment the woman and the other

man have, some sort of unknown sensing device,

probing us?"

"But where else could they come from?" Othol wanted

to know. "This is the

Abode of Life in the Universe. There is no

other place, Delin."

"What's the name of this world?" Kirk suddenly

asked.

"Mercan," was the sound that came from Delin, the

woman.

"The Abode of Life," were the words that came from

Kirk's Translator.

"Jim," McCoy put in, "it makes sense.

They have no moon, no other planets,

only their star, and they can't see any other stars

here, even on the

darkest night. The concept of the inhabited galaxy

isn't part of their

thinking. When Spock analyzes this language,

I'll bet he finds there're no

words for "star" or "star flight' or

"astronomy." And if you haven't got

words for it, you don't think about it."

Naturally, McCoy's Translator stuttered

and voiced the Federation words

relating to astronomy as he spoke them; even the

simple Translator had

already determined through its programming that these

concepts didn't exist

in the structure of this new language.

Orun, the tall one, had been listening and now

spoke up. "Delin may be

right, Othol. Their speaking devices are something

I've never seen before,

and I'm aware of all of the advanced work

of the Technic. And the device

has just spoken our words mixed with words that have no

meaning. These

people can't be from the Abode of Life."

"Not from Mercan? Don't tell me that you

believe that new hypothesis of

Partan's that Mercan came from the Ribbon of

Night and that we didn't

originate here?" Othol fired back.

But Delin obviously didn't want to get into a

discussion at the moment. She

appeared to be worried about something. "You're not

Proctors?"

"We'rcomence not Proctors," Kirk repeated.

"I'm Jim Kirk. This is Janice Rand."

The word "yeoman" wouldn't translate. "This is

medical expert Doctor McCoy.

And this is my Technic, Montgomery Scott.

We're visitors. We do indeed come

from the Ribbon of Night. We need assistance from

your Technic. In return

for your assistance, we may be able to offer you

valuable information for

your Technic." Kirk didn't yet fully

understand the social organization

they'd stepped into, but he was reasonably certain

that the "Technic" was

the organization of scientists and engineers, the ones

who'd developed and

built the transporter system in use on

Mercan. These tall, ectomorphic

humanoids were a golden find, and it was highly

probable that they were not

so primitive that they couldn't be brought into the

Federation. Their lack

of cosmological concepts bothered him, however,

because such a thing could

serve as a major stumbling block to acceptance

by the Federation. In

addition, it might mean that Kirk would be violating

General Order Number

One, the Prime Directive.

In fact, he was well aware that he may have already

done so.

"If you're not Proctors," Delin told him,

"then you're in great danger from

the Guardians. You must come with us at once. We

were expecting Proctors

and would have left here if Othol and Orun had not

been required by the

Code to seek redress because of an impolite

remark. Come!"

There was the unmistakable ringing song of

transporter materialization that

suddenly filled the air of the glade.

"Too late!" Othol yelled, grabbing

Delin's handgun from Kirk and diving for

cover behind a statuelike object.

A squad of black-helmeted, armored, and armed

men, their very tall and lean

bodies covered with bulletproof plates and each

with a sigil of authority

on

his shoulder, materialized in strategic locations

around the glade.

"Proctors!" Orun warned, started to run, and

then stopped in his tracks as

one of the black-garbed forms fired a handgun

twice over his head,

obviously with deliberate intent to miss and warn

that the next shot might

find its target.

And the landing party from the Enterprise suddenly found

themselves

completely surrounded by tall armed men,

each with a handgun pointed at

them.

It would have been difficult for anyone to tell which

group was the most

surprised-the four from the Federation landing party or the

ten armed and

armored Proctors of Mercan. Both stood there

and stared at one another for

a split second.

It was Kirk who broke the momentary silence

by snapping the order to his

people, "Put away your phasers." This remark was

immediately rendered in

the Mercan language by his Translator,

except for the word "phaser," for

which there was no Mercan equivalent. Kirk was

counting on that, because

the landing party slipped their phasers back under their

tunics.

At the Academy many years ago, Kirk had

been exposed to ancient gunpowder

firearms, had worked with them, and knew what kind of

physical havoc their

projectiles could wreak. Unlike the clean

disruptive energy bolt of a

phaser at partial power, a firearm's bullet

did extensive localized damage

as it tore through tissue, with its shock wave

literally blasting living

flesh apart. He didn't want McCoy to have

to cope with such injuries to the

landing party at this time and under these conditions.

"Stand. Don't move," came the order from a

large

Proctor who was armored and medallioned to a

greater degree than the others,

indicative of the fact that he was probably the

leader. But he was obviously

as mystified as Delin, Orun, and Othol had

been a few minutes earlier when

these strangers had materialized in their midst.

"Great Abode!" the Proctor leader muttered

in awed tones that he could not

disguise. "These Technic people are becoming stranger

by the day . . . and

obtaining more advanced equipment all the time."

"We're not Technic people." Kirk directed his

remark at the Proctor squad

leader. "In fact, we're not Mercans.

We're visitors."

There was dead silence as the Proctor leader tried

to evaluate the

situation. It was obvious that he was confused.

He'd come expecting only

the three young Mercans, not this group of four

strangely dressed, short,

and highly varied people carrying strange equipment and

speaking strange

sounds that became words through a small device they

carried. Furthermore,

they carried no handguns, only strange pouches

of equipment that buzzed and

hummed and sang as they were pointed at the

Proctor squad.

"Who are you?" the Proctor leader asked

imperiously. "What part of the

Abode are you from?"

Kirk had nothing in his hands. He spread them

palms up before him to show

that he carried no weapon. "I'm James

Kirk, the leader of this group. We're

visitors to Mercan." The word "visitors" was

rendered by the Translator as

"guestssttravellersstwanderersstsearchers" before it

ran out of synonyms

searching its newly created self-program of the

structure of the Mercan

language.

The Proctor leader turned to Orun. "We've

come to escort you, Orun, along

with your companions Othol and Delin, under the

orders of Guardian One

Pallar. You three are charged with conduct contrary

to the Code because of

your open advocacy of the Technic of

which you're members. The Guardians can no longer

tolerate this disruption

of the Code of the Abode. Now, who are these

Technic people? Why do they

look this way, and why are they dressed in this

fashion? Why do they speak

a strange tongue?"

"They're not Technic; they're visitors, as

they claim," the young Mercan

replied. "I'll readily admit that I'm of the

Technic, but I also truthfully

state to you that these people are not Technic. They

materialized here only

a short time before you and your squad arrived,

Proctor Lenos . . . . And

I certainly feel honored to think that we're so

important that the Prime

Proctor himself would lead the squad to apprehend

us."

"Your disrespectful attitude will change with

retraining," Proctor Lenos

remarked. "Otherwise, I'd demand that you defend

yourself here and now ....

And I'm ordered to bring the three of you

to Celerbitan alive, not with

bullets in your hearts." He looked around at

the four from the Enterprise,

unsure of exactly what to do. "We'll take

the four of you back with us as

well. The Guardians will certainly want to see

what the Technic has managed

to accomplish in total secrecy."

"Translator, stop," Kirk ordered his

device quietly, causing it to cease

translating his words into the Mercan language.

To the three other members

of the crew of the Enterprise he said, "No

resistance. No violence. We'll

go with them. Obviously, the Proctors are the

police, and we happen to be

in the hands of the police chief of these parts."

"Maybe the chief of police can get us to the

chief of government, whatever

that may be," McCoy suggested.

"That's exactly what I had in mind," Kirk

said. "We keep it calm. Scotty,

please keep that temper of yours under control; your

job is technology

assessment."

Proctor Lenos was beginning to fidget, not being

able to understand what

Kirk was saying. Kirk sensed this

and ordered his Translator back into action.

"Please excuse me, Proctor

Lenos," Kirk said with the most punctilious

manners and a slight diplomatic

bow. The highly stilted and overly polite

language of Mercan made it easier

for Kirk to phrase his sentences so the

Translator would reply in stilted

terms. He didn't like their language with its

overly formal structure. But

there it was; what could he do but work with it? "I had

to give instructions

to my people not to offer any objection

to accompanying you. We'll be most

happy to go with you and meet your Guardians."

This willing cooperation was apparently commonplace

to Proctor Lenos. He

turned his armored head and looked around. "Orun,

where are your compan-

ions?"

There was a definite smile on Orun's face.

"Why, Proctor Lenos, I suspect

they managed to stroll away in the confusion caused

by your confrontation

with these strange people."

There was obvious frustration in Lenos" voice.

"We'll get them. If

necessary, we'll monitor all transporter

activity until we get them."

"That's a large order, Proctor," Orun

reminded him. "What's the current use

rate? More than a thousand million individual

transports from one place to

another daily?"

"We have means," Lenos said darkly. Then

to Kirk he said, "I have no

warrant to return you to Celerbitan, James

Kirk. However, I exercise my

authority as Prime Proctor to require your

presence at Celerbitan before

Guardian One because of your unusual appearance and

equipment."

Kirk said nothing. He couldn't. He didn't

even know what the rules were.

But he knew that he'd find out quickly at

Celerbitan, if that was the

planetary seat of the political power base . .

. and he was now quite aware

of the existence of an exceptional power base: the

Guardians; who must be

the rulers, because there

was a police organization, the Proctors, whose

job must obviously entail

enforcing the dictates of the political leaders.

But he also knew that he might be wrong. On more

than a thousand worlds of

the Federation, there were many more than a thousand different

ways that

intelligent beings organized themselves. He couldn't

expect to find a

situation here, developed in isolation, that would have

any similarity to

anything he knew.

But these Mercanians were humanoid, and all

humanoid species shared a

number of things in common, including political

power bases sustained by

threat of physical force for noncompliance with

political and social rules.

He didn't think he could be totally wrong on that

one.

Strangely, the Proctors didn't search the

landingparty members, nor did

they attempt to take the tricorders that both

Janice Rand and Bones McCoy

kept running, sensing, and recording. Kirk

guessed this was probably

because none of the landing party carried anything that appeared

to the

Proctors to be weapons.

"Stand by to travel," Proctor Lenos ordered,

removing a control unit from

his equipment-laden baldric. Scotty's

attention was riveted on the control

unit as he attempted to fathom its use and

construction. Kirk also looked

closely at it, while Janice Rand focused

the attention of her tricorder on

it.

The Prime Proctor rubbed his finger across

various portions of the small,

palm-sized unit . . . and they were somewhere else.

The first words spoken were McCoy's: "I knew

these people weren't

civilized. Anybody who'd use a

transporter to get around the surface of a

planet can't possibly be civilized."

"Quiet, Bones," Kirk snapped. "You're

in no position to object."

"I dinna believe it," Scotty breathed.

"They must have developed

transporter technology at a very high level

indeed. The Proctor required no

communication

with a main transporter crew, and the system

delivered us here where there's

no transporter. We must have gone through one or more

relays en route . . .

."

Scotty was right. They weren't in a transporter

room or unit but had

materialized in the foyer of a grand edifice. It

was a huge hall open on

three sides, its roof supported by massive

pillars and columns of a com-

pletely unique design fabricated of

metals with beautiful sheens and

textures. The building was perched atop a high

hill on an island, because

all around was an ocean.

It reminded Kirk of the view from the Acropolis

at Athens on Earth.

But this edifice was not the Temple of Diana on

the Acropolis, nor did it

resemble it in any way. These Mercans were not at

the same technical level

of ancient Greece, because from the building alone

Kirk knew they'd

mastered advanced technology in several areas

comalth without closer

inspection he couldn't determine the exact

degree. Their architecture was

an indication of their distechnology, even though it was

totally alien, as

could be expected in a civilization that had

developed in complete

isolation.

Almost as soon as the entire party

materialized, Proctor Lenos announced,

"I'll notify Guardian One of your presence

here. Please make yourselves

comfortable, and please don't hesitate to ask my

Proctors to bring you

anything you may require. I also request that you

don't attempt to run away

. . . because this squad of Proctors is my

personal squad . . . and they

don't miss."

And he strode down one of the hallways of the huge

building.

Kirk looked at his landing party. They appeared

to be as mystified as he at

the polite and mannered way they'd been treated

by what obviously were the

police. It had never happened to him this way before.

He switched off his

Translator.

"Well, we've certainly discovered ourselves a

dandy

little planet." Scotty was the first to speak up.

"With the sort of

transporter technology they've got, plus

what I can see from their

buildings, their clothes, and their weapons, they may

be our equals in

engineering in some areas."

"Do you think it's advanced enough that they could help

repair the warp

drive, Scotty?" Kirk wanted to know.

"I haven't seen their energy sources. I dinna

ken if they have

matter-antimatter technology or not. But with

transporter technology like

theirs, they obviously have the industrial base that'd

be useful in helping

me rebuild that warp drive . . . even if they

don't know what a warp drive

is ......

"Captain," Janice Rand put in, "Commander

Scott mentioned a lack of

technology in communications and transportation

systems. If the Mercans

have a planetwide transporter system, why would

they need communications or

a transportation system? They already have both in

their transporter

system. If they want to talk to somebody, they just

transport to where that

person is. If they need to ship freight or

cargo anywhere on the planet,

they put it through a transporter . . . ."

"Which means they've got very powerful energy

systems," Scotty pointed out.

"That may mean that they've already got

matterantimatter," Kirk observed.

"No, Captain, they could do it with ordinary

hydrogen fusion," Scotty

pointed out. "That's why I dinna ken if they've

got the energy sources. But

they've got energy, all right. No question about that."

"Bones," Kirk said, turning to his ship's

doctor, "any data? Are these

people really as closely related to humans as they

appear to be? If so, how

did they get out here in the middle of the Galactic

interarm void?"

"One question at a time," McCoy replied. He

looked down at his medical

tricorder. "I don't know the details of

internal structure and physiology

yet. And it would

be of great help to have blood and tissue samples

for analysis back in Sick

Bay. I could give you a solid answer under those

conditions. But they look

like kissin' cousins to us. They appear to have

muscular structure,

articulation, and sensors similar to ours. They're

probably tall and skinny

because the gravity here is eight-tenths standard and the

climate is

generally warm and semitropical over most of the

planet."

"How about my second question?" Kirk wanted

to know.

"I'm glad you asked that question," McCoy

replied slowly. "Are there any

other questions? Seriously, I don't know, and I

wish I did."

"Maybe we should just ask them where they came from,"

Janice Rand

suggested.

"That's a good idea, Yeoman," Kirk said.

He turned on his Translator and

walked slowly over to the edge of the building, where

he could look out

over what was obviously a city spread out below and

around the hill. He

turned to Orun and asked, "Is this

Celerbitan?"

Orun nodded. "It's the headquarters of the

Guardians and the Proctors ....

You're really from some other place, aren't you?"

"What I've told you is true," Kirk

replied. "We don't come from Mercan."

"But where do you come from, then?"

"Probably the same place your ancestors

did. Where did Mercan begin? How

did it start? Where did the Mercan people come from?"

"You don't know the story of the Creation of the

Abode?" Orun asked

incredulously. Then he nodded. "Of course, if

you come from somewhere else,

you couldn't know."

"Where did you come from?"

"From the Spiral of Life that's duplicated by the

spiral of the basic

chemistry of life itself," Orun explained, then

paused. "Some call it the

Ribbon of Night because that's the only time it can be

seen in the

sky. We, the Technic, believe that the ancient

legend may be true because

there's some evidence now that the Ribbon of Night

or Spiral of Life is made

up of a very large number of suns like our own,

except that we don't

understand why we can't see them as suns like ours.

Some of the Technic

believe that it's like a light that's seen from many

steps away and gets

smaller as you take more steps away from it."

It suddenly occurred to Kirk that he was dealing with a

completely new

phenomenon here. "Steps" and lesser dimensions were

all that the Mercans

now possessed. They didn't need distance

dimensions when a transporter

could take them around their planet in a fraction of a

second.

A world without distance!

And a universe without astronomy, insofar as the

Mercans were concerned.

What other fascinating mysteries did this

unusual civilization of humanlike

beings hold?

It would be a bonanza for Federation

xenosociologists.

And if the Sagittarius Arm was the direction of the

future expansion of the

Federation in its efforts to colonize and populate

those parts of the

Galaxy, Mercan would become an important

way station on the trade routes

between the Arms.

And it could destroy Mercan.

Kirk couldn't help thinking of other cases on

ancient Earth where unique

cultures developed in isolation had been

totally and completely destroyed

by newcomers.

He didn't want Mercan to go the route of the

Aztecs or the Incas.

He knew that his first task, therefore, was in conflict

with his

responsibilities as the commanding officer of the

Enterprise. As the

Captain, it was his obligation to arrange for the

repairs to his ship. But

as the ranking representative of the United

Federation of Planets.and

operating under the dictum of the Prime

Directive, he

had to put aside for the moment his starship-command

responsibilities.

He had to unravel the social aspects of this

Mercan culture first. Was

Mercan ready for the Federation and the changes that

relations with the

Federation would bring? Or would he have to manage

to get the Enterprise

repaired and somehow leave without disrupting this

civilization, leaving

the inevitable decision on interaction up to the

Federation?

Kirk strolled casually back to his companions

and

turned off his Translator. "I don't know

exactly what

we've gotten into here," he told his party. "But

we will

not repeat, not-violate General Order Number

One

until we find out more about Mercan."

"I agree with you, Jim," McCoy put in.

"I've been watching and listening,

too. This place, this culture, these people, are

unique. We should disturb

them as little as possible until we have more data."

"But I've got a warp drive engine up there that

has to be repaired," Scotty

complained, "or we're going to stay here for a very long

time indeed. And

sooner or later these Mercans are going to discover

the Enterprise orbiting

over their heads. How can we help but disturb them

then, eh?"

"Scotty, for all we know, the Mercans may have

the transporter technology

to reach up there to the Enterprise and simply

transmute it into a signal

that won't materialize anywhere . . . ever,"

Kirk warned.

"Aye, there's that," the engineer admitted.

"Yeoman, ho* about your input here from the

woman's point of view?" Kirk

wanted to know.

"Captain, we've probably already disrupted this

culture by simply beaming

down a landing party," Yeoman Rand replied

thoughtfully. "But unless we're

very careful, I think it could turn into a situation like

a woman trying to

raise a feral child . . ."

"Go on," Kirk prompted her when she paused.

"A feral child doesn't have cultural

programming,"

Janice Rand explained. "No matter what we

do, we've changed things already.

And this feral culture could react to us in a way

we can't anticipate. In

other words, Captain, my woman's intuition

tells me that we're in great

danger . . . ."

Yeoman Janice Rand was correct.

Kirk wasn't surprised to see Proctor

Lenos return with another tall but

older man who stepped up to the landing party and said in

a cordial tone,

"Welcome to Celerbitan and to the Guardian

Villa. I'm Pallar, Guardian One

of the Abode."

The punctilious, mannered, diplomatic, and

almost stilted words of greeting

nearly caught Kirk off guard. Then the reason

for it dawned upon him. Even

Pallar, the Guardian One of Mercan, carried

a visible holstered firearm.

In a culture with a code duello such as this one,

it's a necessity that a

person have the most gracious manners, even

to strangers. Boorish actions

can't be tolerated in a close society such as the

Mercans possessed, a

society that was truly planet-wide because of their

transporter system.

A Mercan was required to back up his manners

with his life.

It put another trump card in Kirk's hand .

. . because the entire

Enterprise landing party was not visibly armed.

Or so he thought.

Kirk returned the greeting with equal good

manners.

"Guardian Pallar, I'm Captain James

T. Kirk." He introduced each of the

other three members of the landing party, then went on,

"Thank you for your

kind welcome to Celerbitan. We're very

pleased to be here because we've been

in great trouble and have come to Celerbitan to request

your gracious

assistance."

Pallar adjusted the baldric over his shoulder.

In common with the other

Mercans, except the Proctors, he was

dressed rather simply in a tunic

belted at the waist, a headband of a bright color

and intricate design, and

a baldric or bandolier over his left shoulder

with a number of pouches

attached to it. His firearm hung from this baldric

at his right thigh. On

a planet such as Mercan, with little axial tilt,

large oceans, and no

pronounced seasonal change, clothing for warmth

wouldn't be required, just

as on Vulcan. However, this culture was

different because it apparently

didn't embrace elaboration and intricate

decoration as did the Vulcan

culture.

Well, Kirk thought, each culture's

different, and that's what makes the

universe so interesting.

Pallar's hawklike face betrayed no emotion

as he looked carefully at each

of the landing party in turn, then came

to Orun. "You appear well, Orun.

Ah, why is it that when a person becomes

responsible-old he often strays

from the tenets of the Code of the Abode? Orun,

your activities with the

Technic and those of the Technic itself are beginning

to threaten the peace

and tranquillity of the Abode. I asked

Proctor Lenos to bring you to

Celerbitan under a Proctor warrant issued

by the Guardian Justice because

I want to speak to you about your activities and those

of the Technic."

"Guardian One, I have nothing that I would speak

of under any circumstances

or conditions," Orun replied with strained

gentility.

"We'll see. We're patient. The Sun of the

Abode will not always remain this

quiet . . . and there's the question of admission to the

Keeps . . ."

Pallar said calmly.

He turned to Kirk. "In the meantime,

Captain Kirk,

I'm told that your group was found with

Orun and his companions. You all

have strange names, strange appearances, strange

clothing, and strange

speech. I also see that you go about unarmed. All

of you must be Technic

constructs or products of Technic

development."

"Guardian One, we're not of the Technic,"

Kirk told him quickly and with

sincerity. "I'm permitted under my code of

conduct to reveal to you as

Guardian One, the unquestioned leader of the Abode,

that we don't come from

Mercan. We're from another place. We're

anxious not to disrupt the way of

life here, and I'm certain you're concerned about that

possibility. I be-

lieve our discussion won't go further than this

group until we've both

determined that our presence here won't cause

problems with the Code of the

Abode."

Pallar did not say anything for a moment. This was

certainly not the

response he had expected from Kirk.

"You're not of the Abode?" Pallar said

slowly. "If not . . . and if . . ." He

stopped.

"I certainly understand why you feel that you're alone

in a vast and empty

universe. I've seen your night sky," Kirk

told the Mercan leader. "There's

nothing in that night sky to tell you differently. But

do you know that

Mercan probably came from what you call the

Ribbon of Night? Do you know

what makes the Ribbon glow in the sky at

night?"

"You're a strange person, Captain Kirk,"

Pallar observed. "Everyone on the

Abode knows that we once came from the Ribbon of

Night a long time ago. And

the Ribbon of Night's probably composed of

vitaliar rocks such as we have

on the Abode that glow naturally of their own

accord in the dark. The Abode

is rich in these rocks that are used in our power

systems. Therefore, the

Ribbon of Night must be composed of uncountable

pieces of such rock ranged

all around the sky. It's the place-where we

originated because there's

where the energy and the power existed to create

Mercaniad the Sun and

Mercan the Abode . . . and all

the life that's on the Abode. It's our destiny

to maintain this unique thing

called life in an endless night of nothing

except the dim glow of our

heritage."

"Guardian Pallar," Kirk said, taking the

plunge, "I told you that the four

of us are not from the Abode, and you can see that for

yourself. We come in

a giant travelling device from the Ribbon of

Night, which contains billions

upon billions of suns such as Mercaniad and

billions of worlds such as the

Abode. You can't see these suns as individual

lights because of your great

distance from them. The Ribbon of Night teems with

life on worlds like the

Abode. You are not alone."

Pallar said nothing and did not move. But Kirk

saw Proctor Lenos stiffen.

Orun, on the other hand, became visibly

excited, as though he were hearing

the confirmation of things he had tentatively started

to believe.

"Technic heresy," Lenos growled.

Pallar held up his hand. "Indeed, it sounds like

that. Captain Kirk, what

you say flies against all logic, reason, and

evidence. You speak in the

words of the Technic, but with such interesting new

interpretations that I,

as Guardian One of the Code of the Abode, must

learn more about these new

Technic beliefs in order to properly refute

them. I have no recourse but to

believe that you and your three companions are

important new developments

of the Technic, perhaps the creation of beings that can withstand

the

Ordeal without requiring the protection of the

Keeps. It's obvious to me

that the Technic capabilities are not yet

perfect, for they've created in

you a species of being that is mentally incomplete

. . . and therefore I

must consider the four of you less than sane by the

standards of the Code.

I don't insult you deliberately, even though

all four of you are not armed

. . . which is another interesting Technic warping

of the Code. As Guardian

One, I therefore require that you not be permitted

to utilize the traveler

and that you remain on Celerbitan so all the

Guardians may meet with you.

Please surrender

your traveler controls to Proctor Lenos." His

hand was on the butt of his

sidearm as he said this, because he was well aware of the

fact that he might

have insulted these four strangers and therefore be

required to defend

himself, Guardian or not.

But Kirk and his party made no move whatsoever.

"We don't carry anything of

that sort," the Captain of the Enterprise told the

Mercan leader, aware of

the fact that he'd run up against a barrier he

couldn't hope to overcome

immediately.

Pallar asked his chief Proctor, "Lenos, do

they carry traveler controls?"

"They carry strange devices, but nothing that I

recognize as traveler

controls."

To Kirk, Pallar spoke apologetically.

"I must ask the Proctors to search

you physically to ensure you don't have traveler

controls that would enable

you to leave Celerbitan."

Kirk shrugged and smiled. "We're your guests,

Pallar. Why should we want to

leave? You're the one we wish to speak with. You're

obviously the leader

among leaders, and you're the only one who can

possibly help us."

Kirk and the three others probably could have taken

the Proctor squad in

hand-to-hand, but it might have led to potentially

irreversible

consequences. There was some communication now between

Kirk and Pallar;

Kirk's full intention was to keep that channel of

communication open and to

expand it. He was curious about the

Technic, but whoever the Technic was,

they were not the supreme political power on the

planet. Pallar was . . .

or at least represented the group that was.

So he silently signaled his landing party

to submit to search without

resistance. They were a trained and disciplined landing

party. He hardly

needed to let them know.

The Proctors, of course, came up with the

equipment that each of the

landing party had-hand phasers,

communicators, McCoy's medical kit, and the

tricorders.

Pallar looked at each of them carefully. "Do

you recognize any of these

Technic devices, Proctor Lenos?"

"Guardian Pallar, I've made it my

business to become acquainted with all

Technic devices," Lenos told him with some

confusion in his voice as he

turned each device over in his hands. "I

don't recognize any of these.

There is nothing here that resembles anything I've

seen before. And there's

no device that remotely resembles a traveler

control."

Pallar was obviously in a quandary. Any of the

devices might be

lethal-either in the hands of these four strange people . .

. or if taken

from them. Any of these devices might have

surveillance or probing

characteristics--or might even detonate after a set

period of time if taken

from them. There was nothing that resembled a Mercan

weapon. But he asked

anyway, "Captain Kirk, please explain

these devices to me."

Kirk indicated the tricorder. "This device

has been analyzing and recording

the various characteristics of the Abode for our future

study so we may get

to know you better and thus not disrupt your culture.

These"--Kirk

indicated the phasers-"are protection for us against

things on the Abode

that may be dangerous to us. And these"-he pointed to the

communicators--

"could be considered as a means for us

to indicate status to one another."

Kirk had couched his words carefully in positive

semantic terminology he

hoped would be acceptable to Pallar.

It was. "I see nothing here that could be dangerous

to us. But I must give

you a careful warning. Should you attempt any

violence, the results would

certainly require the immediate services of your

health expert here. I see

no reason to strip you of your sigils of

recognition and status . . . and

there's certainly noth-

ing here on Celerbitan that we would object

to having recorded and analyzed

by your devices, for I'm certain that anyone,

Technic or not, knows

everything there is to know about Celerbitan . . .

except for the Mysteries

of Mercaniad, which reside only in the minds of the

Guardians. Lenos, please

see to it that all of them have comfortable quarters . . .

including Orun,

who shall also be our guest as he tells us about these

four new Technic

people. But monitor all traveler activity into their

quarters; we don't want

any Technic people to materialize and try to assist

them in any sort of

violent escape . . . ." He turned

to Orun and put forth his hand. "Orun,

please surrender your traveler control to me. The

Guardian One has the right

to restrict your freedom by Guardian warrant

under the Code."

Orun gave the older man a small hand-held

device similar to the one Lenos

had used to transport all of them

to Celerbitan, but he gave it up with

obvious reluctance.

Pallar then went on, addressing them all,

"It's my intention and my duty to

call a conclave of the Guardians on

Celerbitan to investigate you and your

three companions, James Kirk. We'd

planned only to warrant the reeducation

of Orun and his compatriots . . . and we'll do

that after we've had the

opportunity to learn more of you and study what must be

done to prevent you

and others like yourself from disrupting the Code of the

Abode. You'll be

given comfortable quarters and permitted the freedom

of Celerbitan, since

it's not possible to leave this island without using the

traveler, whose

use is prohibited to all of you. Orun, you

may remain with your strange

Technic companions."

With that, the Guardian One placed both hands before

his long face, then

separated them sideways, obviously the Mercan

gesture of greeting and/or

farewell.

"Whew!" Scotty breathed. "Talk about

longwinded . . ."

"Scotty, you're betraying the fact that you're

only a

few generations removed from Gaelic savagery,"

McCoy remarked.

"Doctor, under different circumstances, we

might have a little workout in

the ship's gym because of that remark . . . ."

"See what I mean?" McCoy said with a

smile. "We don't have the Mercan code

duello, but we have our own code, don't we?"

Kirk flashed them the hand signal to be quiet.

They were led by Lenos and the Proctors to what might

best be termed a

villa overlooking the wine-dark sea of Mercan

not far from the Guardian

Villa. There, the Proctors simply left

them.

"Strangest jail I've ever seen," McCoy

remarked, noting that there were no

bars on the windows and no latched and bolted

doors.

Kirk was investigating everything he could, and said as

he checked doors to

see where they led, "What did we expect?

There's not a boat or ship on that

ocean. There's not an aircraft in the air.

There's no way we can leave

here. And the Guardians have such ubiquitous power

through their Proctors

that we'd be cut down in a moment if we tried

any violence . . . which

isn't to our purposes anyway. We aren't in

any danger at the moment, and

we're being treated well by our standards as

well as by theirs. And we've

established a channel of communications with the top

man on the planet.

We're in better shape than we were a few days

ago, when the best we could

do was to limp along at Warp Factor Two with the

anticipation of several

years to get home."

"So, what do we do now?" McCoy wanted

to know.

"Wait and gather data," Kirk explained.

"Each of you has a specialty plus

an individual viewpoint. You'll each come up

with different data and with

different interpretations of what you see. Together we

may be able to come

up with some sort of rational answer to what's going

on here."

"But I've got a crippled star ship up there in

orbit that needs repair,"

Scotty complained.

"Is there any danger that the Enterprise is going

to malfunction by

orbiting this planet for a few days or weeks,

Scotty?"

"No, but we canna go anywhere, and I canna

get that warp drive unit

repaired if we just sit here."

"Scotty, you've got a whole new

technology to decipher," Kirk pointed out

to his engineer. "You may not be able to repair that

warp drive unit here

unless you can unravel the Mercan technology

to find out what parts of it

can be useful to you. You've got a tremendous job

to do," Kirk reminded

him.

"Right you are. Thank ye for puttin' things back

in perspective, Captain."

Kirk whipped out his communicator and snapped its

cover open. "Enterprise,

this is Kirk."

"Go ahead, Captain," Uhura's voice

came back.

"We're under house arrest by the humanoids living

on this planet," Kirk

reported. "We're all right. We're located

on a large island apparently in

the middle of one of the oceans in their planetary

capital called

Celerbitan. Have Mister Spock pinpoint our

location from this transmission.

Now, stand by for a verbal report as well as a

playback of our tricorder

data."

For the next several minutes Kirk gave a

verbal report into his

communicator. Then he used the communicator

to transmit a data dump from

the tricorders of Janice Rand, McCoy, and

Scotty.

Spock's voice came from the communicator after

this was completed. "I have

all the data in the library computer, Captain,

and I shall analyze it along

with all additional data you send up. I must

say, this is a fascinating

discovery."

"Do you mean you're excited, Spock?" Kirk

asked.

"Sir, my terns were most precise. And it will be

interesting to compare

this Mercan culture against those we already know of .

. . ."

"Undoubtedly, Mister Spock. But in

the meantime, we've got to study and

unravel this culture. We've got to make

repairs here, and what we find out

Mercan will determine how we go about the job,"

Kirk told his First Officer

over the communicator. "We'll feed data to you

as often as we can. And

please communicate any interesting. findings or

correlations you come up

with."

"Of course, Captain," Spock's voice

replied. "In the meantime; I'll also

keep watch on this irregular variable star . . .

which is far from being

stable in any regard. I'm running computer

analyses now in hopes I can warn

you of any impending increase in its stellar output

that might create a

hazard to you on the surface or to the Enterprise

here in standard orbit."

"Very well, Spock. Let me know the moment you

have any data on the star .

. . which is called Mercaniad, by the way."

"Very good, Captain. I'll tag the computer

data with that name and so list

it in the stellar catalog."

"That's all for now. Kirk out."

Orun, the young Mercan, had been watching this with

fascination. "You are

not from the Abode," he said, his voice tinged with an

emotion that might

be termed jubilation . . . although Kirk could find

no reason why Orun

would be jubilant.

"I told you the truth," Kirk remarked.

Orun was both excited and apparently overjoyed,

but yet disturbed. "I have

heard the Technic theories, and I have believed

them . . . but to find out

that they are apparently true gives me a very

strange feeling . . . ."

"We know what you mean," McCoy told him

gently. "The truth sometimes hurts

a great deal . . . ."

"Where do you come from? How did you travel here?"

Orun began to ask, his

questions almost falling over one another in his anxiety

to learn.

Kirk sat down on one of the chairs that had been

designed for the longer,

lankier Mercan physiology; it wasn't very

comfortable for him because the

seat was so high that his legs barely touched the

floor.."...Orun," he told

the young Mercan, "we'll tell you and the

Guardians everything. But, before

we can explain to

you in words and terms that you'll understand, we have to know

something

about the Abode. and about those of you who live here.

We've seen many

places like the Abode and we know of many people and many

living things from

all these places. To explain them to you so that it'll

mean something, we

must know what you believe, how you think, and how you

live your lives.

Otherwise, we might tell you things in a way that

you simply couldn't

understand. So . . . sit down. We have lots of

time. Tell us about Mercan .

. . the Guardians, the Proctors, the

Technic . . . the stories and legends

about where you came from and where all this began. Tell

us your stories .

. . ."

Captain's Log, recorded into a tricorder

on Mercan, exact stardate unknown

at this moment.

Orun has spent a long time telling us about

Mercan. A lot of what he's said

amounts to something similar to the fairy tales,

legends, and religious

stories that we tell our own children. They're fables

and parables. But

there isn't the wide variety of stories from

Mercan that there are on Earth,

because there's something totally unique here on

Mercan: one single,

planet-wide culture with little variety or

variation caused by regional

differences because the Mercans have had their

transporter system now for

generations. This has leveled out their planetary

culture .... It's going

to keep xeno-sociologists of the Federation busy

for a long time to come .

. . if our initial contact here doesn't

disturb the culture so deeply that

it destroys this unique discovery. I

keep thinking of two cultures of Earth

that were so completely destroyed that practically none

of their heritage

remains: the Mayas and the Carthaginians. None

of us dare make a mistake,

because if we do, two possibilities face us.

Either we'll never get the

cooperation of

the Mercans to repair the Enterprise, in which

case this data will sit here

until another Federation starship discovers this world.

Or we'll impact this

culture so strongly that it'll shatter . . . and

I'll have destroyed a

people in order to save my command ....

Orun's story was recorded word for word on

Janice Rand's tricorder. The

transcript was later relayed into the library

computer of the Enterprise,

including the comments, questions, and interjections of

Kirk, Janice Rand,

Scotty, and McCoy.

Orun began, "We in the Technic now have

different interpretations of the

original story of the Beginning than that

approved by the Guardians because

we began to discover new meanings to parts of the old

legends. We agree on

many parts of these legends, so I'll tell you the

original stories we're

all told, starting when we're crawling-old,

playing-old, and learning-old."

Janice Rand interrupted with, "Is that how you

determine your physical

ages-by referring to the most obvious actions a

person exhibits during

certain periods of life?"

"Of course. Is there any other way to do it?"

Orun asked her in return.

The yeoman made a quiet aside remark

into her tricorder: "Mercans don't

count physical age in terms of revolutions of

Mercan around Mercaniad.

Question: Is this because the irregular variable characteristics

of

Mercaniad also alter its gravitational constant,

thereby changing the

length of time required for Mercan to

complete an orbit? Or is it because the lack of

tilt to the poles reduces

the impact of the seasons? Does this mean a lack

of time awareness and time

concepts? The language contains tenses, but no

time references."

Orun continued, "There was a Beginning of Energy in

Disorder. From this

Disordered Energy, Mercaniad formed from Energy that

slowly began to be

organized. It swept through the Ribbon of

Night, accumulating Energy as it

did so and following the evolving Spiral of

Life, the vortex or helix

motion that is the motion and form of all. During this

long journey through

the Ribbon of Night, accumulating the energy and

matter it would later need

to serve as the energy source for the Abode of

Life, Mercaniad's energy

attracted the additional matter to form the Abode

of Life. And once the

Abode of Life had formed, Mercaniad's

helix path swept away all other

matter and energy, leaving only Mercaniad and

Mercan to form the basic

foundation for the Abode of Life. And

Life was created on the Abode,

including our forebears. Once everything was

available on the Abode of

Life, the Great Change took place.

Mercaniad and Mercan were thrust from

the Ribbon of Night into the void, where we could

begin our work as

custodians of the Abode of Life. Mercaniad

became changeable, challenging

us in order to keep our wits sharp . . . ."

"Were there always one people on the Abode?" Kirk

asked. "Or were you once

divided into many groups?"

"We were divided until the Guardians

organized themselves at Meslan on the

north straits of Fron Midan, where they formed

a group whose early history

is much like that of the Technic today," Orun

explained. He reached into a

pouch of his baldric and brought forth a small

cube. He triggered it in

some manner that Kirk didn't see, and the cube

began to unfold itself into

a color relief map that Kirk recognized was

the planet itself.

Topologically, it was possible to do such a thing,

comb Kirk didn't

understand how. However, it alerted him to the fact that the

Mercans

may have achieved much of their current technology,

including their traveler

system, from a basic foundation of topological

mathematics.

One of the continents of Mercan was wasp-waisted with

an inland sea, Fron

Midan; that was closed to the west by a slim

peninsula and on the east by

a large island forming a northern strait,

dominated by a city symbol called

Meslan, and on the south by an islandcity symbol

named Sandar. It was easy

for Kirk to see how the Mercans at both

Meslan and Sandar could dominate

and control seagoing trade into and out of this inland sea

which was, for

practical purposes, the only one on the

planet. Furthermore, Fron Midan

straddled the equator.

"The original Guardians discovered two things.

The first of these was the

secret to the Mystery of Mercaniad."

"What's that?" Kirk wanted to know.

"Mercaniad is changeable to challenge us and

to remove from the Abode those

who are not intelligent enough to seek deep shelter

when it begins to enter

a period of increased activity we call the

Ordeal. Until the Guardians

learned how to predict the coming of the Ordeal of

Mercaniad, millions of

us were killed during every Ordeal . . . all

except those who managed to

find deep shelter in the Abode."

"What's the nature of this Ordeal?" Doctor

McCoy spoke up. "Is it extreme

heat, extreme cold, or some other change?

Does it kill everything on the

surface of the Abode?"

"It's not simple, as we of the Technic have found

out," Orun went on. "The

Ordeal strikes down Mercans. It kills us

outright very soon after it

begins. The Ordeal is only partially heat;

there's something else to it

that we don't understand yet. But the

Technic is working on it."

"Sounds like a combination of increased activity across

the entire

electromagnetic spectrum," Scotty

observed, "all the way from the

microwaves up through

infrared to the ultraviolet and perhaps to X rays

as well."

"Spock will get the answer to that one," McCoy

pointed out. "But what does

the Ordeal do to the rest of the life on the

Abode?"

"Our animals sometimes die, but most of them begin

a Long Rest. They stop

where they are and enter a state of reduced life

force."

"Hibernation caused by elevated temperatures

or increased levels of

electromagnetic radiation," McCoy

muttered. "That's an interesting

variation on the hibernation syndrome . . . ."

"But do Meman people go into a similar Long

Rest?" Kirk wondered.

"No," Orun replied. "And we don't know

why . . . yet. Some of the Technic

have a very tentative hypothesis that we dare not

speak of outside the

Technic organization. There are some who are

beginning to think that the

Mercan people came to the Abode after life was formed

here, perhaps to act

as custodians . . . ."

"We keep running into something like this all through this

portion of the

Galaxy," Kirk remarked. "The basic

humanoid group is everywhere, with

differences only in minor characteristics. Orun, there

may be more truth to

your Technic hypothesis than you realize.

We've seen it ourselves, and we

still haven't pieced together what originally caused the

Galaxy to be popu-

lated by humanoid forms, all related to one

another in various ways. But

please go on. And please pardon our

interruptions of your tale with these

asides and observations."

"It's no offense," the Mercan replied.

"I'm learning as much as you are.

Some of it's difficult to accept, but .

. . I suppose that sooner or later

we must all put away our dreams and

fantasies of our playing-old lives . .

. and perhaps we'll have to do it all our lives from now

on."

"You're beginning to understand something all of us have had

to learn the

hard way," McCoy observed.

"You said that the Guardians discovered the Mystery of

Mercaniad," Kirk put

in. "How did this give them their Abode-wide

political power?"

"At first, they simply chose those they would permit

into their original

Keep. But they couldn't maintain a secret like that

forever because of the

other very powerful group from Sandar, here on the island

dominating the

southern straits into Fron Midan." Orun

indicated his map. "The history is

long and complex. I can tell you briefly that those

original Guardians from

Meslan who knew the Mystery of Mercaniad

made an agreement with those

people from Sandar who become the

Proctorate. And together they were able

to unify the whole of the Abode because the Guardians

developed the

traveler many, many generations ago from the knowledge they had

uncovered

as a result of their studies of the Great Change

that flung Mercaniad and

the Abode out of the Ribbon of Night."

Scotty was shaking his head. "How did they

manage to start from nothing and

develop a transporter?"

"Are you so certain that they started from nothing, Mister

Scott?" Janice

Rand observed.

"What are ye getting at?"

"How much technology has Homo sapiens on

Earth developed and then forgotten

as we've progressed? For example, I can't

dress a deerskin to make a coat.

And I doubt that you can chip a flint spearpoint .

. . ."

"You're right, lass."

"Federation teams can dig into that aspect later,"

Kirk pointed out. Then

he said to Orun, "So the Guardians

developed the traveler and made an

agreement with those who become the Proctors . .

. and together they

unified the Abode?"

Orun didn't nod; he simply raised his

head quickly in the Mercan manner of

signifying agreement. "You understand very well and very

quickly."

"We know similar stories on other abodes,

Orun," the star-ship captain told

him.

"It's a long story and not a very happy one,"

Orun went on. "There were

many who died because they were denied access to the Keeps

by the

Proctors."

"About these Keeps .... What are they and where are

they located?" Kirk

wanted to know.

"They were built a very long time ago by the

Guardians, and they're located

deep under the oceans comSel Anthol, Sel

Ethan, and Sel Mican. There are no

actual entrances. Only the Guardians and the

Proctors know the traveler

coordinates so that people can go there during the

Ordeal."

"A very neat system of keeping people under control,"

Scotty remarked.

"Look at it another way," McCoy

suggested. "It's their way of maintaining

social order . . . ."

"Or the status quo, was Scotty added.

"Is there much of a difference?" McCoy wanted

to know.

"There is," Orun broke in. "I understand what

you mean. But you must

understand that much of the social order on the Abode

is maintained by

people themselves through the Code of the Abode, which

requires we maintain

proper respect for each other as the basis of our

very lives . . . ." And

he patted his sidearm hanging from its loose

holster on his baldric.

"That doesn't make sense to me, Orun,"

Janice Rand said. "How can you

revere, respect, and maintain life when you're

permitted and even

encouraged to take each other's lives?"

"How do you do it in your abode?" Orun wanted

to know.

"Well, we have laws and judges and trials and

. . ."

Orun patted his sidearm again. "So do we. Our

sidearms are used only in

personal affairs. However, if I'd managed

to kill Othol during the

engagement that was in progress when you traveled

to us, I would've had

to answer to the Proctorate for the correctness of

my action, with the

possibility of final appeal and review by the

Guardians. And the Proctorate

also serves to maintain social order where large

groups of people are

involved . . . ."

"And that's the reason why Lenos was after you as part

of the Technic?"

Kirk knew this questionand-answer session was giving him

only superficial

answers . . . but it was telling him enough about the

strange culture of

the Abode that he could begin to think about options

available to him. "Did

the Technic split with the Guardians over

matters of interpretation of the

Code of the Abode, Orun?"

"No, the Technic grew from our everyday work

supplying each other with

food, water, shelter, health, and the rest of the

elements that make up our

commerce with one another. That portion of our lives

is of no concern to

the Guardians or the Proctorate."

"Well, I'll be . . ." McCoy started

to say, then brought himself up short.

"Free enterprise operating in what seems to be

a scientific-religious

police regime."

"We've seen stranger arrangements," Yeoman

Rand reminded him.

"Which all goes to prove that almost any social

system will work . . .

except that some seem to work better than others,"

Kirk observed. "Orun, if

the Technic grew from what all of you learned in the

marketplace, what is

the Technic group and why are the Guardians

apparently upset about it?"

"The Technic didn't concern the Guardians when

we started only a few

generations ago," Orun told Kirk. "But the

Technic has grown. It's now

larger than the Guardian organization. But, more

important, the accu-

mulating findings of the Technic are leading us to ask

questions about the

age-old teachings of the Guardians. Pallar

fears us because of what we're

learning and because we're starting to question some of the accepted

portions of the Code. of the Abode."

"And what are you learning, Orun? What is the

Technic heresy that I've

heard both Pallar and Lenos speak about?"

Kirk asked.

"We've developed new materials that are

different from the metals we dig

from the Abode, things that are made from living

materials and other things

that are made from basic nonliving chemicals.

We have entirely new

health-maintenance and disease-control materials. And

we can do things with

life that the Guardians don't understand.

We've discovered the laws of

genetics and we've delved into cell chemistry.

A lot of this came from our

efforts to develop better grain and fruit

crops for the steppes of Lacan,

Canol, Badan, Eronde, and particularly

Sinant. We now have food crops that

can't be damaged by the Ordeal. And we've

discovered that the story about

the Spiral of Life is correct: the basic

chemicals of life are formed in a

double spiral"

"The DNA and RNA molecules," McCoy

put in.

"So we think that the old story of the Beginning is

perhaps more correct

and actual than allegorical," Orun

explained. "We did come from the Ribbon

of Night, but we don't know why the story also

calls it the Spiral of Life

.... If we came from there, is the Ribbon

really only like the glowing

vitaliar rocks of Lessan, Partan, and

Othan? If we came from there as life

already, is there perhaps other life out there in

the Ribbon, too? That's

our current thinking and some of the questions we have in the

Technic."

Kirk thought for a long moment before he finally said,

"What do you think

about our story, Orun?"

"I believe what you say."

"Does it bother you?"

"No. As far as I am concerned, it doesn't

contradict any of our basic

beliefs at all . . . and it certainly

doesn't conflict with the Code of the

Abode. None of you have violated the Code,

even though you go about unarmed

. . . ."

"We're not unarmed," Kirk admitted. "We

carry weapons, but none of you

recognized them as weap-

ons . . . so we'll just leave it at that. You have

my word that we'll not

use our weapons except to protect ourselves.

We can also do a lot of other

things that you don't know about, but we aren't here on the

Abode to change

things or to show off our powers. We're

here because of an accident to our

traveling device very much like the ancient event that

threw Mercaniad and

Mercan out of the Ribbon of Night. We could

travel from Celerbitan and back

to our traveling device at any time we wished,

but that wouldn't do us any

good right now. We need to find out more about you and the

Abode because we

badly need your help. In return, if it works

out properly, we may be able to

offer the people of the Abode a great number of very good

things by

rejoining you with the other life abodes that exist in the

Ribbon of Night."

"In other words, Orun, you are not alone in the

Universe," Dr. McCoy added.

Orun thought about this, too. "I can't speak for the

rest of the Technic .

. . and certainly not for the Guardians. We'll have

to see. Pallar is

extremely suspicious of the four of you and sees

you as a new threat from

the Technic."

"I don't understand why the Guardians

fear the Technic and want to hold

your group down," Janice Rand said. "You could

learn so much from one

another."

"The Guardians fear that the Technic will

certainly discover the Mystery of

Mercaniad if we keep on learning and growing.

And once the Technic does

that, the Guardians have only the Proctorate

left . . . and who knows in

which direction the Proctorate will go when that

happens?"

"But certainly the Guardians must keep up with the

technical progress

you're making in the Technic. The Guardians could

solve the problem very

simply by admitting the Technic into the fold."

"I don't believe that idea has ever occurred

to the Guardians. I'm fairly

certain that such an idea has not

been considered by the Technic, because we're afraid

the Guardians would try

to stop us from learning new things and from trying to find out

where we

really came from," Orun observed with some

surprise. "I think it would be

very difficult for the Guardians to do that. They

appear to be linked too

closely with the existing Code of the Abode because they

are the Guardians

of that. They forecast the Coming of the Ordeal of

Mercaniad and they are

the final court of appeal in our society."

"In other words, your Guardians have become high

priests of a

semireligion," McCoy growled.

The Translator had great difficulty

interpreting and rendering McCoy's

statement in the Mercan language. McCoy's

unit stuttered, stammered, and

finally went silent without completing the translation.

Orun didn't get the

meaning of the doctor's statement at all, but the

rest of the Enterprise

landing party did ....

Kirk sighed and. looked at the others. "Well,

it certainly looks like we've

stepped right into the middle of a rather delicate

social triangle . . .

and at just the wrong moment. Pallar's

already looking at us as part of the

Technic and a threat to his group."

"The Guardians may not be able to help us

anyway, Captain," Scotty pointed

out. "If they don't involve themselves with the

technology of this world,

the best they can do is get in our way. I think

we're going to have to deal

with the Technic if we want help. Certainly

no high priest is going to get

that damaged warp drive repaired by chanting some

arcane words over it. If

that could be done, I'd carry some experienced

witches as part of my

Engineering Department . . . which might not be a bad

idea for the future,

by the way, because I recall watching witches work in

the far-off days of

my youth"

"Don't go mystic on me, Scotty," Kirk

snapped, knowing full well that his

Engineering Officer wouldn't. The Captain of the

Enterprise bit his lip and

thought for a moment. "We're in rather bad shape if

we want. to

request help from the Technic . . . because the

Guardians seem to have us

under house arrest. How are we going to get to the

Technic under these

circumstances?"

Orun smiled, which involved drawing- his lips

back to expose his white

teeth. A Mercan's smile was humanoid, but

it was a gross exaggeration of

the wide variations of a smile developed on

Earth. "We won't have to get to

the Technic, James Kirk. They'll come to us.

I don't know how, but they

will. Delin and Othol were not taken by the

Proctors. . . and I'm certain

they returned to the Technic with news of your

arrival. I fully expect that

we'll be rescued right out from under the noses of the

Guardians and the

Proctorate, because the Technic has a few

tricks of their own."

Kirk knew then that his worst fears were being

realized. He was being drawn

inexorably into the social fabric of this

strange, isolated world, whether

he wanted to or not. The accidental visit of the

Enterprise to this lost

planet couldn't help "but disrupt the social

order here, especially when

that social order was plunging toward a major

change created by the con-

frontation of two groups in what was a universal

syndrome of societal

growth: change versus the status quo.

The Mercans on the Abode of Life were

maturing out of a social adolescence

into an era of logic and reason, following the paths

well-documented by

other civilizations on other worlds.

Kirk happened to have stumbled into the situation at the

most critical

moment in time.

And he didn't quite know how he was going to handle it.

"Mister Spock, what did you think of that last

tricorder transmission for

the library computer?" Kirk asked his First

Officer over the communicator.

"It was quite adequate, Captain. No data

dropouts, and the transmission

quality was . . ."

Kirk sighed and often wished that his First Officer were

not so highly

logical that every statement was taken in its literal

meaning. "Mister

Spock, I was inquiring about your reaction to its

contents . . . ."

"My apologies, sir. Federation language

is often imprecise and nonlogical.

To answer your question, Captain, I suspect that

we have indeed found a

lost planet," Spock's voice came back.

"Everything points to the strong

possibility that Mercaniad and its planet were

thrust into the interarm

void by the same sort of gravitational anomaly

that caused our problems

with the Enterprise. I also suspect that the

gravitational strain placed

upon Mercaniad by the transition was the cause of

its current instability

as an irregular variable."

"In short, it shook up that star a bit, too."

"Quite correct, sir."

"Any comments on the humanoid inhabitants?"

"That's Doctor McCoy's department,

Captain. But

it's no surprise to find a remnant of the

general humanoid life form here-if

this star system did come from the Orion Arm, as we

suspect-since this life

form seems to have been seeded rather randomly throughout this

sector of the

Galaxy. I would indeed like to beam down and compare

it to the culture of

Vulcan . . . ."

"In due time, Spock. Our appearance alone

has been enough to shake up the

Mercans. They're having enough trouble adjusting to us,

so I don't want you

to beam down just yet. I'm sure you understand . .

." Kirk didn't go any

further along that line of thought. He wasn't

afraid of insulting Spock by

reference to the Vulcan's highly different

appearance. Kirk was instead

counting on the possibility of using Spock at a

later point if it really

became necessary to convince the Guardians of the

ubiquitous nature of life

in the Galaxy ....

But he was getting tired of waiting. Several days

passed during which

nothing happened. Pallar didn't reappear, and

they didn't see Lenos again.

The quarters afforded them were comfortable and pleasant,

although the

landing party from the Enterprise had some difficulty

really becoming

comfortable in quarters designed for humanoids more

than two meters tall

with very long legs.

They were well-fed, although the food was different from that

on the

Enterprise. And it was for this reason that Kirk had

brought Doctor McCoy

along. The party's intestinal flora was

incompatible with the Mercan food,

a situation that was commonplace in interstellar

exploration and even in

intersteller commerce. Bones McCoy was

completely prepared to handle this

contingency. The landing party found themselves

incapacitated by Proxmire's

Syndrome for only a few hours.

They were free to wander at will around the city

and island of Celerbitan,

which was just about the only entertainment available to them.

Orun had

shown them the Merc4n equivalent of books--

small cubes like

Orun's map of Mercan that unfolded

into sequential sheets of paperlike

substance with printing on the sheets in the

as-yet-undeciphered Mercan

written symbols that looked so much like Arabic

script on Earth.

Scotty asked for-and got Mercan scientific

and

technical books, then discovered to his disgust that

he

couldn't read them, much less even understand the

drawings, symbols, and schematics which followed

a

totally different set of conventionalized standards

than

he was familiar with.

"It's gibberish," the engineer complained. "I never

thought I'd come up

against a technology I couldn't understand. But I

canna even get started

with Mercan technology."

"What seems to be the big problem, Scotty?"

Kirk wanted to know.

"There is no time base . . . ."

"What?"

"Our basic measurements are distance, mass, and

time. The Mercans have no

concept of time. They use force, mass, and distance

with their "time" unit

derived from the work equation . . . which makes it

all very messy to

handle."

"Somewhat like the number system in the Russian and

French languages on

Earth," Kirk observed.

"Eh?"

"Counting in either of those Earth languages is

complicated," Kirk pointed

out. "But it certainly didn't keep scientists

who used those languages from

coming up with some outstanding work in mathematics,

science, and

technology. Obviously the Mercans have

overcome what appears to be a

serious mental problem to us."

"That they have . . . but their transporter

technology may turn out to be

neglected technology, Captain."

"Oh? What do you mean by that?"

Scotty thought a moment before he tried to explain.

"Well, you know the

engineer's outlook on any system:

If it's working, let it alone! The traveler

system's been working for them

in a perfectly satisfactory manner insofar

as they're concerned, so they're

following the same approach. Why should they try

to improve it? It's

working. Therefore, their technology in that field has

degenerated to the

level needed only to repair and maintain the

system . . . which is always a

considerably lower-level technology than that

required to design and build

it in the first place."

"Well, do you think the Technic might have some

additional information that

the Guardians don't have?"

"Undoubtedly . . . but we've yet to get to know

the Technic and their level

of technical sophistication, Captain. In the

meantime, I've got to try to

decipher this mess of pottage . . . ."

Kirk shook his head. "Transmit your data

up to Spock. He's got the library

computer to work with. It shouldn't take him very long

to come up with a

conversion program."

The four of them, escorted by Orun, walked about

the "City" of Celerbitan.

There were no transportation vehicles on the

streets, and Kirk finally got

used to the almost continual ringing of transporter

activity as people and

goods appeared and disappeared around them. How did

they know where to

transport to?

That question was answered when Orun's cubical

topological map of the Abode

turned out to be the Transporter Directory.

Orun had only to indicate on

the map with his finger the place where he wished to go,

and the basic

coordinates were displayed, the map folded and

unfolded to depict the

intended destination in even greater detail on a

smaller scale, and the

coordinates more refined by continued passes through the

Directory.

It was obvious that the Mercans possessed the

electronics capability to

build sophisticated picocomputers . . .

because that's exactly what the

Traveler Directory turned out to be.

However, Orun couldn't use the traveler because his

control unit had been

taken from him.

And this really locked them up in the City of

Celerbitan and confined them

to the island itself, which was several dozen kilometers in

extent in all

directions. They were imprisoned as securely as

if there had been bars on

the windows of their quarters.

No wonder Pallar wasn't concerned over the

possibility that they'd get

away.

Celerbitan wasn't the Earth equivalent of a

medieval city. It was so spread

out that it resembled no city Kirk had

ever seen. There were no real

streets. With the traveler, nobody needed

streets. The best term that Kirk

could find to describe Celerbitan was "a

randomized collection of

structures used by people."

It rained every night, but the days remained sunny and

warm. It was a

typical bland maritime climate with even

temperatures and a lack of harsh

temperature extremes. Scotty found it

unexciting. McCoy said it reminded

him of a series of nice summer days on the

Georgia coast.

Celerbitan revealed that the Mercan civilization

was extremely advanced and

at least the equivalent of that of Earth,

Vulcan, Ahzdar, or Heimal. The

Mercans were in control of most of the forces of

nature on their planet,

and they were using natural resources and energy for.

their social needs.

They possessed all four of the Kahn

Criteria: the extractive industries,

the manufacturing industries, the

service industries, and the quarternary

activities "done for their own sake."

To some extent, the delay of several days that

permitted Kirk to look into

the culture of Mercan lifted a great weight from

his mind.

If the Mercans could psychologically accept the

fact that they were not the

sole abode of life in the universe without

causing the entire fabric of

their civilization to come apart, Kirk felt certain

that Mercan would be-

come part of the Federation in an expeditious manner.

The big question was: Would the Guardians accept the

real truth and adjust

or adapt to it? And how about the Proctors?

McCoy was also busy. His medical tricorder

was almost constantly in use. He

complained to Kirk, "With all this data, I really

need to have my Sick Bay

lab to work with. The raw data is fascinating, but

I need my more

sophisticated facilities on the ship."

"Why, Bones," Kirk kidded him, "I always

thought that you were the

practical-country-doctor type who really

didn't need all that fancy

technology to make a diagnosis."

"When working with humans, that's the case, Jim.

But I can't even do a

blood-chemistry work-up without the lab. And that's

an absolute necessity

when dealing with an alien life form. Look." He

held up a small vial full

of reddish-tan fluid. "I got Orun

to permit me to take a blood sample. Here

it is: Mercan blood! I need to get back

to my lab with it . . . and soon,

in case some of these blood components and groups

begin to break down."

"Bones, I can't let you transport back to the

ship," Kirk told him. "Pallar

would want to know where you went . . . and I don't

know if he has the

ability to throw some sort of a shield around us

to prevent us from being

transported out of here in a hurry if we had

to later on-was

"Captain," Scotty interrupted the discussion,

"there's nothing to prevent

us from transporting that blood sample back up

to the ship. We just take it

some place in the City other than our quarters,

hide it, have the

transporter crew lock on the coordinates

when we hide it, and then let them

transport it back up to the ship after we've

gotten back to our quarters."

"Good idea, Scotty. Pallar may be

monitoring transporter activity around

our quarters or around us when we're scouting through the

city . . . but if

Orun's right, he can't monitor all the

transporter activity all over this

planet." He turned back to McCoy. "If

we get Orun's blood sample up there,

can Doctor M'Benga and Nurse Chapel

handle it?"

"Why, sure. M'Benga's a good biochemist,

and Nurse Chapel certainly knows

that lab inside and out," McCoy replied with a

grin.

"Let's go," Kirk snapped.

They found a quiet part of Celerbitan with an

open, grassy field. Kirk and

McCoy stepped. out into the field, and Kirk

called on his communicator,

"Enterprise, this is Kirk. Uhura, get

Spock on."

"Right away, sir."

"Spock here, Captain."

"Lock the transporter on the coordinates of

this transmission. You will be

beaming up a small vial of Mercan blood for

lab analysis by M'Benga and

Nurse Chapel. We'll leave the vial in this

spot once you've locked the

transporter on it. But don't transport it

for thirty minutes, to give us

time to get back to our quarters. Is that clear,

Mister Spock?"

"Quite clear, Captain. The transporter room

reports it has locked onto your

coordinates."

Thirty minutes later, back in their quarters

near the Guardian Villa, Kirk

heard his communicator bleep. "Kirk here,"

he snapped into it.

"Captain, this is Spock. The transfer of the

blood sample is complete."

"Any problem, Spock?"

"None, sir, except the usual trouble trying

to work through the incredible

amount of transporter activity on the

planet."

"Well, they use their travelers to go everywhere

here," Kirk pointed out.

"We can only hope that the Guardians weren't

monitoring anything being

beamed from that park clearing. Have Doctor

M'Benga get to work on that

blood sample as quickly as possible and get the

data to Doctor McCoy when

he's finished."

On one trip through Celerbitan, Orun was

insistent that the four from the

Enterprise obtain sidearms.

"You're openly unarmed," the Mercan pointed out.

"Do you know what that

means?"

"Orun, I told you we're armed," Kirk

reminded him. "But what does it mean

to go about unarmed here?"

"It means that you think so little of life that you're

unwilling to protect

even your own. It means that you cannot be offered

ordinary courtesies

because you're obviously unwilling to back up your

own actions with your

life if necessary."

There seemed to be a basic paradox, a touch of

illogic, or a contradiction

in Orun's statement, but Kirk was not about to argue

it. He knew that one

does not question another's cultural beliefs of that

sort. He could and

would question the Mercan belief that they were the sole

abode of life in

the universe because he felt that he could

substantiate his argument.

Questioning or arguing the gun-toting convention was another

matter.

"Only children less than responsible-old can go

about unarmed without being

considered as outcasts," Orun went on. "The

only reason why you haven't

been accosted and made to yield is that I'm with you

and that you look and

dress differently. This has confused people. But I

can't guarantee that it

will continue to do so, because we're certain to meet

someone who'll

discount your appearance and the fact that I, an armed

citizen, have

stooped so low as to accompany you ....99

"We'll arm ourselves," Kirk told him without

hesitation. "But how do we do

it? What do we trade for the firearms?" The

Mercans must have some concept

of money because of their planet-wide commerce.

Kirk hadn't seen it. And he

didn't have any of it.

Orun answered his question by taking them to a firearms

shop. The Mercan

selected four of the best weapons, complete with

metal-cased cartridge

ammunition and baldrics. Orun simply

signed the chit.

"Who's paying for these?" Kirk still wanted to know.

"The Guardians," Orun told him with a

smile. "The

bankers will simply deduct the amount from the

Guardians' accounts and add

the amount to the accounts of the shopkeeper."

"Don't you exchange symbols of

value?"

"Why? The bankers keep the score."

"But suppose the Guardians won't permit the

transfer of money for this?"

"Then they'll take it out of my account, and the

bankers know my account

identification from my traveler control . . . which

is in the hands of the

Guardians right now."

The Mercans thus revealed to Kirk another

aspect of their culture that

would ease their way into membership in the Federation.

The Mercans not

only had the concept of money, but of credit or

money that exists in the

future. Furthermore, they had computers capable

of keeping track, and

therefore needed no "hard money" such as gold. Some

computer technology

would, of course, be a technical fallout of the

traveler system . . . or a

precedent of it.

Although McCoy normally carried a hand phaser

on a landing party such as

this, the doctor objected to wearing the

firearm. "Jim, I'm a healer, not

a killer. I'm probably going to end up taking

some of these steel

projectiles out of one of you before all this is

over, anyway, and I don't

think a medical man should go around with a deadly

weapon in view."

"Were any of your ancestors medical men,

Bones?" Kirk Asked.

"Of course. Even back before the American

Civil War, a lot of the Georgia

McCoys were doctors. My family has a

proud history of healers in our family

tree, suh."

"Then I would suspect," Kirk went on

gently, "that many of your honored

ancestors not only carried swords in

antebellum days, but also carried

pistols when that was part of the accouterments of a Southern

gentleman

.... Bones, you can keep it unloaded if you

want, but you should wear it,

because I don't want you

to be treated as an untouchable in this civilization.

When in Rome . . ."

McCoy sighed in resignation and slung the

baldric over his shoulder. "I

know. When in Rome, the thing to do is to shoot

Roman candles . . . ."

Janice Rand offered no objection to carrying the

heavy weapon. She'd seen

what Kirk had seen, and she knew the meaning of the

weapon in this culture.

"I may never shoot it, Captain. I prefer

to use my hand phaser if it

becomes necessary to protect myself."

Kirk knew she would, and that she wouldn't

hesitate to use either the

Mercan sidearm or her hand phaser if it

became necessary. Having had Yeoman

Janice Rand along on several landing parties on

some very nasty planets,

Kirk knew she was perfectly capable of shooting

first-and very

accurately-and questioning later if the occasion should

require.

As Kirk had noticed shortly after beaming down

and getting his first look

at a Mercan "social-purpose weapon," it

was fairly crude by the standards

of gunpowder firearms. It had a barrel of good

steel about thirty

centimeters long with a bore of about fifteen

centimeters. The barrel was

smooth-bored, not rifled. The bullet was short

for its caliber, made of

steel, and round-nosed-not a very accurate

projectile for use in an

unrifled firearm, because it would have a tendency

to tumble in flight at

any range beyond a few dozen meters. The

cartridge case was steel,

untapered, and had what appeared to be a

center-fired primer. The

propellant was plain, well-made black

powder of a grade Scotty called

"FFFF-GO." The weapon was singleshot, with a

simple push-turn-lock bolt. It

was not well-balanced in Kirk's hand.

Furthermore, there were no sights on

it.

The Mercan social-purpose weapon was

inaccurate, difficult to use, and

deadly only if the bullet happened to hit a

vital organ. This was borne out

when Orun took them to a practice range.

At ten paces-about ten

meters--accepted by the Mercans as the standard

distance where one squared off against an opponent,

only Kirk could hit the

silhouette target the size of a Mercan.

McCoy passed up the opportunity for

target practice, saying that he wouldn't be using

the weapon under any

circumstances. Besides, he found himself busy

attending to the sore wrist of

Janice Rand caused by the tremendous recoil

of the hand weapon.

"It makes a lot of noise and leaves a big

cloud of stinkin' smoke smellin'

of hydrogen sulfide, but ye can't hit a thing with

it. It wasn't really

designed to be lethal. Either Sulu or I could

make a better firearm than

this in the ship's machine shop. . . or we could

modify this one so that

it'd be accurate with a muzzle velocity that'd

really hit hard," Scotty

observed. "However, it does one thing very well

indeed: it gives ye the

satisfaction of having complied with the rules . . .

loudly and

vigorously."

"Which means we'd better not give these people hand

phasers until they give

up dueling," McCoy observed, "or there'll be

wholesale slaughter on this

planet."

They had visitors waiting for them when they

returned to their quarters

below the Guardian Villa. Pallar was there with

six other Guardians, three

of whom were Mercan women.

"Good day, James Kirk . . . Janice

Rand . . . Leonard McCoy . . .

Montgomery Scott . . . Orun ar

Partan," Pallar greeted them as they entered

their villa.

"Good day, Pallar." Kirk returned the

greeting as graciously and politely

as Pallar. "We were not aware that you were to visit

us. I'm sorry that we

weren't here. I hope you haven't waited long."

"Not at all. No offense, James Kirk,"

Pallar replied. The long-winded

mannerisms of Mercan bothered Kirk, but he

remembered that he was now armed

with a Mercan sidearm, a fact that was not lost upon

fllar.

"Ah, I see that you are again armed . . . ."

"No, Pallar, we're armed with your weapons for the

first time, because we didn't wish to violate one of the

basic customs of

Mercan," Kirk explained. "We haven't

met your colleagues, Pallar."

The Guardian One rectified this immediately,

introducing each as a Guardian

of varying rank-Tombah, Noal, and Johon were

the men; the women were

introduced as Aldys, Parna, and Jona.

Pallar did not elaborate on their

rank or their individual interest or

specialty. However, Kirk did note that

none of them were introduced by any name other than

what appeared to be

their Mercan given name, in contrast to Orun, who

bore the lineage name of

"ar Partan." Someday, Kirk thought, he'd get

all the customs sorted out.

However, he wasn't even certain of

all the customs of a well-known place

such as Vulcan yet. The xenosociologists were

certainly going to have a

field day on Mercan, if the Guardians would

permit it.

"And to what do we owe this visit?" Kirk wanted

to know.

"My colleagues here are experts and

specialists in both the operations of

the Technic and in the history and interpretation of the

Code of the Abode,

particularly as it relates to our legends of the

Beginning," Pallar

explained. "We wish to question you about your origin and the

Technic

procedures that produced you."

"Guardian Pallar," Orun spoke up,

"I'm a member of the Technic and proud of

it. I tell you in all truth that these four are not

of the Technic, nor did

the Technic produce them through bio-engineering."

"That's quite impossible!" Guardian Johon

snapped. "They're obviously not

normal Mercans. Look at them! They're

short. They're more heavily built.

They don't have our skin color. And they're

dressed in clothing that's

different from anything worn anywhere on the Abode.

If they're not the

result of Technic work, where else could they have

come from?"

"Guardian Johon," Kirk snapped, his hand

going to the butt of the Mercan

pistol he now wore at his right

side. The Guardian who had spoken so sharply

reacted in a like manner. "Your

Code requires that a person be ready to back

up his manners with his life;

we are now prepared to do so if necessary. Your

Code, if I understand it

correctly, also requires that a person speak

the truth as he knows it. I'll

tell you the truth as the four of us know it. If

you'll accept it as the

truth after you hear it, even though it may strike

at the very roots of your

basic beliefs, we can then proceed to discuss

what we can do so that the

facts we present to you may have the least impact

upon your way of life.

Will you listen?"

"We'll listen, Technic," said the woman

Guardian Parna. "However, be aware

of the fact that we believe the Technic capable of

manipulating minds as

well as physical bodies."

"We're capable of doing neither," Orun put

in. "What we're able to do with

animals is one thing. With people, our technology

isn't to that point yet

. . . and probably won't get there . . . ."

"These four mutants tell us otherwise,"

Guardian Noal growled.

Kirk faced him as well. "Will you listen,

Guardian?"

"Reluctantly, James Kirk."

The star-ship captain turned to their leader,

Guardian One Pallar. "Your

Code speaks of manners and polite treatment of

people, Pallar. The actions

of your Guardians seem to be otherwise. We

haven't threatened you, even

though we're capable of controlling power far beyond

anything I've yet seen

on the Abode. We wish to cooperate,

yet we're answered with insults. We

have no desire to unduly disturb the life of

Mercan, and we offer to assist

you in reducing the effects of our visit here. I

have no interest in seeing

either the Guardians or the Technic prevail in

the struggle that seems to

be growing between your two groups. I don't

expect you to change your

beliefs at once, but I'd like the opportunity

to tell you who we are, where

we came from, and why we're here on the Abode.

Under those

conditions, will you instruct your colleagues to withhold

their comments and

attempt to maintain open . minds?"

"Tell us your tale, James Kirk. My

revered colleagues, I entreat you to

listen so that we may discuss it later."

It was probably one of the most difficult tasks

ever faced by Captain James

T. Kirk of the USS Enterprise. He'd

encountered more advanced races, such as

the Organians, as well as primitive

humanoid races, like those on Neural.

He'd dealt with Klingons, Romulans, and other

alien creatures, such as the

Horta. But never before had he encountered an

advanced, sophisticated

humanoid culture like that of Mercan, isolated

from the rest of the Galaxy

since beyond the memory of any inhabitant and

relying only on legends that

had probably been garbled far beyond their original

meanings by telling and

retelling over the ages. Insofar as there was time

at Star Fleet Academy,

he'd been exposed to many aspects of

xeno-sociology and diplomacy, even to

the extent of running simulations of hypothetical

incidents.

There were going to have to be some changes made in the

Academy curriculum

in this regard, Kirk thought. He knew he was

literally facing the Mercan

equivalent of the Holy Inquisition here . . .

and it had been a long time

since Earth humans had had to undergo such an

ordeal. As he recalled, it

took 346 years for religious leaders

on Earth to pardon and

forgive Galileo. Kirk hoped that it wouldn't

take that long on Mercan.

Kirk began by asking, "Your legends of the

Beginning say that Mercaniad and

the Abode came from the Ribbon of Night,

sometimes called the Spiral of

Life, correct?"

Pallar nodded. "Our remote ancestors came

from the Ribbon of Night once the

Abode was completely equipped to serve as the

Abode of Life in the Universe

. . . and it's been our duty to maintain the

Abode of Life as the sole

place where life exists in the Universe . . .

."

"But all this started in the Ribbon, right?" Kirk

persisted.

"Unquestionably," Tombah interjected. "I've

made a study of the ancient

legends from the remnants of the records that are still

in our sacred

possession here. There's no question of the fact that

Mercaniad and the

Abode, with everything on the Abode as you

see it today, once came from the

Ribbon of Night."

"And, Guardian Tombah, since you're a

recognized expert on the subject, how

were Mercaniad and the Abode formed in the Ribbon?"

Kirk persisted, trying

the approach of asking questions in such a way that the

answers of the

Guardians would eventually lead them to the final

conclusions Kirk

desired--an old trick of debate that he'd

learned the hard way from

Lieutenant Commander John Woods, one of the

most irascible and brilliant of

his professors at the Academy those long years

ago.

"By accretion of the glowing rocks of vitaliar

material of which the Ribbon

is composed," the Guardian replied without

pause. "Much of the Abode is

made up of this vitaliar material. The same

phenomenon that causes vitaliar

to glow with light in the dark provided the energy

to assemble the basic

building blocks of life, the spiral

molecules that contain the genetic code

. . . ."

"Have you been able to duplicate this process?"

Kirk wanted to know.

"Of course not. We are here to ensure that life

survives, not to attempt to

duplicate it other than by natural

processes," Tombah snapped back.

"The Technic has done so," Orun put in.

"It is no secret that we can now

reproduce the spiral molecule from basic

chemicals. However, we cannot yet

assemble such molecules to produce a living

organism as simple as a

mud-worm."

"Why, that is a gross violation of the Code of the

Abode!" It was the first

time that the woman Aldys had spoken up, and it was

with high indignation.

"We are creating life, not destroying it,"

Orun pointed out.

Pallar raised his hand. "Honored colleagues

and guests. We, the Guardians,

came here today to ask questions and get answers.

Instead, we have been

answering questions. And we have been telling these

Technic people things

that every Mercan knows from the time of learning-old.

James Kirk, you're

intelligent and clever. But we will ask the questions."

"Honored Guardian," Kirk fired back,

"you gave us permission to tell our

story of where we came from. You didn't

stipulate how we were to tell that

story. I choose to do so by an ancient

technique known to us as the

Socratic Method. When I finish, you'll know

where we come from and why. May

I proceed?"

"You speak of methods we know not of," Aldys

replied.

"In that case, perhaps you'll learn as much from us as

we're learning from

you, leading to a closer friendship because of shared

information," Kirk

said smoothly. "I'm certain that Guardians

don't stop learning things once

they have attained the status of Guardianship."

"Proceed, James Kirk. Whether your story

is true or not, I must state a

fascination for your logical thinking processes,"

Pallar admitted.

"I wish Spock had heard that," McCoy

muttered to himself.

"Very well, Guardians of the Code of the

Abode, the four of us look

different and speak differently because we came from the

same place that

you came from: the Ribbon of Night, which is truly

the Spiral of Life

because it contains billions of stars like Mercaniad

and places like the

Abode." Kirk held up his hand to quell the

explosion of emotional comments

that started to come from all the Guardians at this

remark. "This

information doesn't invalidate the Code of the

Abode. The Abode is indeed

the only place where life exists in this part of the

Universe. But life

does exist elsewhere in the Ribbon of Night where

your ancestors came from.

Some of this life is similar to you-as you can see.

We all come from an

abode called Earth or Sol III.

There are several hundred more of us who

together have come to the Abode by accident from the Ribbon

of Light in the

same manner that Mercaniad and the Abode were

transported here. Our

traveling world that we built ourselves is in your sky

now, and we can make

it visible to you tonight as it passes overhead.

We're prepared to prove to

you, Guardians, the truth of every word I've said.

Doctor Leonard McCoy is

prepared to work with your Guardian medical and health

experts to show you

that we're similar to you and yet different . . .

."

"This is gross nonsense!" Johon snorted.

"Guardian Pallar, must we listen

to such obvious fabrications of untruths that fly in

the face of the Code

of the Abode and all our legends and truths of the

Beginning?"

"There is nothing incompatible between your beliefs and

what I've told

you," Kirk put in quickly. "It is perhaps an

extension of your

beliefs-additional information, if you will. But we have

no intention of

attempting to jmdermine your authority on the

Abode or to destroy your

cultural heritage because that is contrary to our

basic code of behavior."

"The Technic manipulation of their bodies and

minds has rendered them all

quite insane, Guardian Pallar," Noal broke

in. "I submit that it's quite

proper for us to detain them as animals and

to undertake a thorough

biological examination of them in order to assess

this latest Technic

development. Since there are four of them, this

provides us with sufficient

samples to perform autopsies on one or two of

them while at the same time

leaving live ones for psychological probing . .

. ."

"Over my dead body!" Scotty growled.

"Shut up, Scotty. That's the way it may

be," Kirk told him quietly.

"It's gettin' a bit out-o'-hand, Captain.

Time we showed them what we can

do."

"No, Scotty, they'll just consider it to be

another Technic development

that they didn't know about," McCoy observed.

"Don't worry, they're not going to use us as

guinea pigs," Kirk promised.

But he knew he was going to have to think fast to work his

way out of this

one. If he couldn't work with the Guardians as the

political-social leaders

of this planet, he'd have to work with the unknown

Technic, whose only

contact with them at this point was their fellow

prisoner, Orun.

But why hadn't the Technic shown up to rescue

Orun?

Pallar was still considering the remark from Guardian

Noal. "That would

take a full conclave of the Guardians.

Permission to do such things to a

life form that so closely resembles us would be a

matter of utmost concern

and would require considerable discussion. I cannot

order what you suggest,

Guardian Noal."

"Then I request that messengers be sent to convene

the Guardian Group,"

Noal replied.

The Guardian woman Parna held up both

hands and spoke for the first time.

"Guardian One, it will be difficult to comply with

Guardian Noal's request.

Observations of Mercaniad indicate that a

major Ordeal will occur before

we'll be able to convene. Our efforts

will have to be diverted to the Protection of Life

against the Ordeal. We

must begin moving people into the Keeps before Mercaniad

dips below the

horizon at Celerbitan tomorrow."

"Duty before all else," Pallar sighed.

"I therefore suggest that these Technic constructs be

detained in the

Guardian Keep until the Ordeal is

finished. Then we may proceed with our

conclave and studies," Guardian Jona

suggested.

"I have a better idea," Guardian Noal

put in. "As the Guardian expert on

health and medicine, I submit to you that

these constructs may have been

designed by the Technic to withstand the Ordeal. I

think we should leave

two of them on the surface to find out if this is

true and take two of them

into our Keep for later study. If two of them

survive on the surface, we'll

still have four to work with. If they don't, we'll have

two of them that

have been protected in our Keep."

Kirk felt that it was time to assert himself as a

Mercan if that was how

the Guardians were going to treat him. "Guardian

Noal," Kirk growled,

slowly and deliberately moving his hand toward the

butt of the pistol hung

from the baldric at his right side. "The four of us

take offense at being

labeled animals. We demand an immediate

apology or satisfaction. All four

of us demand this!" He noted with pleasure that

Scotty took the hint and

had moved his hand to his gun, followed by Janice

Rand and Bones McCoy.

Pallar quickly stepped between Kirk and

Noal. "Guardian Noal! You will

refrain from such comments! Even if these four are

Technic constructs, they

are still Mercan and are behaving according to the Code of the

Abode . . .

regardless of their beliefs. They are much too

valuable to be allowed to

engage in a duel with you or anyone else. Should

you prevail over any of

them, I would be forced to declare that you had destroyed a

valuable

individual and that you had provoked the engagement.

Unhand your weapons,

all of you!"

"I don't understand your classification of them as

valuable, Guardian One," Noal said,

removing his hand from his gun.

There was a sly look on Pallar's long face.

"Consider it in this light,

fellow Guardians: they are Technic people. As

Guardians, we have the

age-old right to deny traveling to the Keeps during

the Ordeal. We will

therefore deny them this right . . . and deny Orun as

well. The

consequences will certainly fall in our favor . .

. ."

"Of course." Guardian Johan brightened.

"If we make this known-and it will

be the first time in many Ordeals that persons were denied

the safety of

the Keeps-the Technic is certain to attempt

to rescue them."

"At which point we'll be able to secure additional

Technic people for

questioning, perhaps some whom we do not know of at this time,"

Guardian

Jona added.

"And if they're not rescued by the Technic,

we'll find out whether or not

these Technic constructs can withstand the Ordeal

outside the Keeps,"

Guardian Noal said with head held high in

approval. "However, may I suggest

that we deny the Keeps to only two of them,

Guardian One? If they don't

survive, we'll still have two."

"Who do you suggest should be denied?" Pallar

asked.

"James Kirk, who's voiced these

heretical statements, and the obvious

Technic member of the group, Engineer

Montgomery Scott," Tombah

recommended.

"Very well," Pallar said in obvious conclusion,

and drew himself up to his

imposing full height. "It is the ruling of the

Guardian Leaders One through

Seven that James Kirk, Montgomery

Scott, and Orun ar Pathan be denied the

protection of the Keeps during the forthcoming

Ordeal because of their

refusal to fully accept the tenets of the Code

of the Abode and their

belief in the heresies of the Technic. So be it!"

He spread his hands

before the five literal prisoners, mannered as

usual in the Mercan tradition, and added, "We

must now unfortunately take

our leave. Proctor Lenos and his squad will

arrive for McCoy and Rand

shortly after Mercaniad rises tomorrow."

Immediately the Guardian group left, Kirk

took out his communicator and

flipped it open. "Enterprise, this is

Kirk. Let me speak with Mister

Spock."

"Spock here, Captain."

"Things aren't going as well as expected, Mister

Spock."

"Indeed? It appears that the system's star is

getting ready to drastically

increase its stellar constant."

"Aha! So you found out about that independently?"

"Of course, Captain. The normal monitoring

of the stellar wind, the

gravitational pulsing, the neutrino flux, and the

density of the flocculi

are standard measurements of stellar instability.

These data plus other

factors permit me to estimate that the

probability of the star undergoing

an unstable phase is almost unity."

"Do you have any estimate of the possible intensity

of the flare-up,

Spock?"

"Negative, sir. It appears that there will be

moderate increases in the

emissivity of the star in the infrared, visible

light, and ultraviolet

wavelengths. I'm not certain of any increase in

gamma radiation. However,

some of the data are unusual because I've not been

able to correlate them

with any radiation that is normally produced by a

Class G star."

"There may be a lot of things about Mercaniad that

are unusual because it

got bounced around in that space fold, Spock."

"True, Captain, but I haven't been able

to ascertain any increased

radiation levels beyond those I mentioned . . . and

they shouldn't be of a

level that will cause permanent harm to humanoid

life forms, although

surface conditions may become uncomfortable from

an environmental point of

view."

"Well, Spock, let me know, because Scotty

and I

have been banished from the protective Keeps,

although they're going to let

McCoy and Yeoman Rand into the Keeps as

experimental controls . . . ."

"I take it, sir, that they didn't

believe your story and that they've

decided to experiment upon you as unusual life

forms?"

"As you would say, quite correct. Is there any

possibility that this

stellar flare-up will damage the Enterprise?"

"I need to confer with Mr. Scott, Captain.

I'm not certain that we have

enough power in the remaining dilithium crystals."

"Scotty, confer with Mister Spock on your

communicator," Kirk remarked. He

listened for a moment as the engineer talked with the

Science Officer. What

he heard was not encouraging.

Finally Scott reported to Kirk, "Spock and

I agree, based on the data he's

relayed to me. The ship's shields will certainly

withstand the increased

stellar radiation from the infrared up through the gamma

rays, provided the

intensity increase in orbit doesn't exceed a

fivetimes increase for more

than fifty hours. Beyond that point, we begin

to drain the remaining

dilithium reserves rapidly."

"Do we have enough reserves to move the Enterprise

far enough away from

Mercaniad to get it out of danger if

Mercaniad's radiation should exceed

that level and duration?" Kirk asked.

"Negative, Captain," Spock's voice

came back through the communicator.

"Such a maneuver would gravely deplete the

remaining dilithium crystals

that we'll absolutely require to return to the

Orion Arm, where we may be

able to call for assistance from Star Fleet Command."

"Unless we can find dilithium crystals here on

Mercan," Scott added.

The situation was getting more difficult all the time.

The Guardians and

their Proctors were going to split up

his landing party, which would mean that the Guardians would have

two

hostages-Janice Rand and McCoy. He and

Scotty, with Orun's help, could prob-

ably manage to survive the Ordeal, even if

it meant transporting up to the

ship when it got too bad on the surface of

Mercan. But not even Spock was

certain that the ship would survive the flare-up of

Mercaniad if the star

became too energetic or if the flare-up lasted

too long. And there was no

way to know at this time.

Plus there was some strange data that not even

Spock could evaluate

concerning the forthcoming flare-up, data that could make

things worse..

"Spock, can the transporter room lock on this

signal? We may have to get

Yeoman Rand and Doctor McCoy out of here,

regardless of the circumstances

with the Guardians. Scotty and I have to stay here,

on the assumption that

the Technic is going to attempt a rescue

during or before the Ordeal." It

was a decision that Kirk didn't like to make, but

he felt he couldn't

afford to have his landing party split up, putting his

Medical Officer and

a woman member of his crew in the hands of the

Guardians and Proctors in an

unknown place, the Keeps .... At least, not

while some of the Guardians

believed them to be animals and therefore suitable for

vivisection.

"Captain," Spock replied from the

Enterprise, "you're surrounded by so much

transporter activity on the surface in your

present location that

Lieutenant Kyle can't hold

dematerialization lock on any of you. And this

transporter activity appears to be increasing,

[*macr]

"There's going to be a lot of transporter

activity down here in the next

twenty-four hours, Spock. The powers-that-be

are moving the whole

population of the planet into the deep Keeps

underneath the oceans, using

the planetary transporter system."

"I have the transporter room on heel-to-toe

watches

and Yellow Alert," Spock replied.

"We'll attempt to get de-mat locks on you

and hold them for as long as we can under the

circumstances, Captain. But

you must realize that we may not be able to transport

immediately at any

given time."

"We'll keep that in mind, Mister Spock. But

I'm also concerned about some

of that unusual data you've picked up coming from

Mercaniad. Any further

analysis on it?"

"Negative, Captain."

"Very well, speculate. What does it look

like?"

"Nothing I have seen from a Class G star," the

Science Officer reported.

"But it bears some resemblance to some of the rare and

little-understood

emissions that come from some Class K stars . . .

."

"Jim," Bones McCoy, who had been listening

to the conversation next to

Kirk, said seriously, "that sounds like Berthold

Rays . . . ."

"You may be right, Doctor McCoy,"

Spock's voice replied.

"But from a Class G star, they may have effects

we don't know about.

Berthold Rays themselves are bad enough!"

McCoy added. "Incapacitation

after several hours' exposure, followed

by tissue disintegration during the

agonal period, followed by death within

seventy-two hours."

"If that's true," Scotty put in, "it

means that the people aboard the

Enterprise are in trouble, because that's hard

radiation, and it takes a

lot of shield power to stop it. We may not have

enough."

The situation was indeed deteriorating. Kirk had

a last-ditch course of

action, one that he was extremely reluctant

to take. He could shift into

the "conquistador mode," putting on a show of

force with the phasers of the

Enterprise and perhaps even bringing down the shuttle

craft. He didn't want

to do that. He had to work something out because the Mercans

could be far

too important to the Federation. In addition, the

prohibi-

tion against a flagrant violation of General

Order Number One ran deep

within him. The Prime Directive is

violated only in the most extreme cases,

when all alternatives have failed.

All of the alternatives hadn't failed yet, but

they were disappearing

rapidly.

"Captain Kirk, I am not going to go with those

Proctors to some suboceanic

cave as an experimental animal unless you give

me a direct order to do so,"

Yeoman Janice Rand said firmly.

"Neither am I, Jim," McCoy added. "What

kind of nonsense is this, anyway?

As a doctor, I'm the one who's supposed to do

the biopsies and autopsies,

not the other way around."

"James Kirk, I'm certain the Technic is

aware of our predicament," Orun put

in. "Delin and Othol have undoubtedly given their

full reports by now, and

we may even be under surveillance by the Technic.

They may be waiting for

the proper opportunity to come to us with traveler

controls so that we may

join them in our own Keeps . . . which are a great

improvement over those

of the Guardians and Proctors because of what

we've learned about the

nature of the Ordeal . . . ."

Kirk made up his mind right then. "We're not

going to let Pallar and Lenos

split us up," he stated flatly. "In the first

place, we're a team, and

that's why each of you was selected for this landing.

Second, if the

Technic does attempt to make contact with us as

Orun claims they will, I

want all of us to be there . . . and I do not

want to have to search a whole planet to find the other

half of my landing

party."

It was a direction that Kirk didn't want

to take, but the actions of the

Guardians in not accepting even part of the truth of

his story were forcing

him in that direction. However, he began to see

new options opening up for

him as a result. He would have to walk a fine

line between the conquistador

and the diplomat, but his new options did permit

him to utilize all of the

power that he'd reluctantly held in check up

to that point.

"Right now," Kirk went on, "we're going

to stop being cooperative. We're

going to start giving the Guardians some problems .

. . and that means

making ourselves very hard to find. The next step in the

process is making

ourselves very difficult to handle for the Proctors."

He pulled his hand

phaser from under his tunic. "Everyone, check

phasers on stun . . . and we

use them if the Proctors try to stop us."

"Now you're talking!" Scotty put in with a

smile.

"I was beginning to wonder what it would take to bring

you back to-being

Captain James T. Kirk," Bones

McCoy added. "You certainly waited long

enough to take action. I was getting a little bit

worried about you, Jim."

Kirk ignored McCoy's comments. "Orun,

I take it the Proctors have no real

way of locating us if we leave here," Kirk

questioned their Mercan

companion.

"That's true. They'll have to search for us, but they can

do it by

traveling to many places quickly, completing a search

that would otherwise

take a long period if they had to walk."

"We'll still make it as difficult as possible for

them. How about the

Technic? Will they have the same trouble finding us?"

"I don't think so, but I don't know everything that

the Technic possesses

in this regard . . . ."

"Which means that they can locate us if they want

to," Kirk snapped. "All

right, everyone, let's go.

Orun, lead the way and take us to a place that

they won't think to look for

us."

Kirk was back in action, and his landing party was

glad of it.

As they left the villa, Kirk flipped open his

communicator. "Enterprise,

this is Kirk."

"Uhura here, Captain."

"Inform Mister Spock that we're leaving

our host's villa. They're

threatening to split us up. We're going to make

ourselves hard to find, so

even Spock may have trouble locating our

coordinates."

"He's already having trouble, sir," the

Communications Officer's voice

reported. "The transporter activity on the

planet is increasing rapidly."

"It's going to slack off by sunset,

Celerbitan time, Uhura.- By that time,

the population will be in the Keeps, and Mercaniad

will be well along into

its current phase of instability. We'll

keep in touch. Kirk out."

Captain's Log, supplemental, stardate

unknown, inputted on a tricorder

somewhere on the Mercan cityisland of Celerbitan.

It's not easy to hide from Proctors. They

seem to be everywhere in

Celerbitan, passing the word to people and urging them

to transport into the

Keeps. The Keep for Celerbitan appears

to be in the depths of a very large

ocean called Sel Ethan directly

south of this island chain. As a result of

our uniforms and our different appearance, we're

holed up in what appears

to be a large warehouse full of pallets,

boxes, and other packed goods in

the foothills north of the main city and the

Guardian Villa. Orun suggested

that we obtain some Mercan clothing, but I vetoed

this because there's no

way that we can look like Mercans, even in their

simple loose-fitting

clothing. We're just too short for

anyone to mistake us for Mercans. It's time and

effort that would have been

wasted anyway, because even if we were taken as

Mercans, the Proctors would

try to herd us into the Keep . . . and there we'd

certainly be discovered.

We're well hidden now, and most of the local

population of this area has

been evacuated already. We have water in a stream

that runs past this

warehouse and through a semitropical forest

outside, so we can hold on for

quite some time with our emergency rations.

However, Orun fully expects us

to be contacted by the Technic before sunset tomorrow. As

far as we know,

the Proctors haven't followed us here. Our

tricorders show no life-form

activity within a kilometer or so that would

indicate Proctor presence.

Another supplemental report, sundown, one

Mercan day before the Guardians

predicted the start of the Ordeal. Looking at

Mercaniad through the haze of

the ocean air on the horizon, it becomes quite

apparent that something is

happening to the star. It has sun spots large enough

to be seen with the

naked eye. Even at the bottom of this

atmosphere it's possible to see

extensive prominences beginning to extend from the

photosphere around its

disc. I don't think anyone has watched the

antics of a Class G irregular

variable at this range before. I hope Mister

Spock is getting copious data.

Spock was. Kirk's communicator whistled

at him about midnight, awakening

him from a rather fitful sleep on some fluffy

plasticlike bags of fiber

product stored in one part of the warehouse. He

pulled out his

communicator, flipped it open, and told it

softly, "Kirk here." "Spook,

Captain. I have some bad news."

"I've been afraid of that, Mister Spock.

But give me the specifics."

"The stellar activity is increasing at a much

greater rate than I'd

anticipated or than the computer had calculated

on the basis of available

data. We have thirty hours and

seventeen-point-five minutes until the

stellar activity will theoretically peak, and it may

hold that intensity

for as long as sixty-two hours, plus or minus

forty hours as a three-sigma

value. The maximum stellar activity will

raise the spectral classification

of Mercaniad to Class Fl . . . far above

our original expectations . . . ."

"That's trouble," Scotty's voice cameeathrough the

gloom of the darkened

warehouse near Kirk. He moved over toward

Kirk. "That'll drain our power

reserves to the critical point. We canna

make it through with the

Enterprise at this distance from the star."

"Quite correct, Mister Scott," Spock's

voice came back, emotionless as

usual. "There is only one chance in four thousand

nine hundred and

eighty-seven-pointnine-five that the shields of the

Enterprise will offer

sufficient protection for the crew, and we can

anticipate at least

two-thirds of the crew being overcome. It is not

simply a matter of

electromagnetic spectrum radiation from the

infrared through gamma rays,

Captain. The unusual radiation you ordered me

to speculate about earlier is

now increasing to the point where I can begin to analyze

it."

"Berthold Rays, Mister Spock?" Kirk

wanted to know.

"Not precisely, since Berthold Rays have

been known to emanate only from

Class K stars," the Science Officer went

on. "It appears to be a far more

energetic form of Berthold radiation with a very high

energy content."

Kirk discovered that McCoy was also awake now and

at his other side. "Which

means that the effects will be intensified, and that the

agonal period will

not only

occur sooner but be more traumatic," the doctor

put in. "That's enough to

fry us for certain, except in a very deep cave,

and it certainly isn't going

to be healthy for anybody on the ship, Jim."

"And celestial mechanics won't let us just

park the ship in orbit in the

shadow of the planet for that long. Mercan has no

natural satellite and no

Lagrangian points." There appeared to be

only one option now open to the

captain of the star ship Enterprise. "Spock, as

quickly as you can get any

sort of transporter lock on us, beam us all

up. We'll simply have to use

the energy to pull us away from Mercaniad

until things calm down. When and

if they do, we'll have to deal with the Mercans in the

best way that we can

at that time. But I will not risk the lives of the

crew and the safety of

the ship. Mister Spock, five to beam up."

He started to get to his feet, and the others

followed suit, assuming

locations for transporting. Janice Rand

awakened Orun and pointed out where

he was to stand.

"Captain, I believe there is an

alternative," Spock's voice came back.

"This star is in a transition state at the moment.

There's one chance in

seventeen-point-three that we may be able to dampen

the intensity of its

flare-up, and one chance in three hundred

fourteenpoint-seven-nine that we

may be able to stabilize it permanently as a

Class GO star."

"What do you have in mind, Spock?"

"My analysis indicates that an additional

energy input of quite small

proportions-a trigger effect, as it

were-will damp the runaway nuclear and

gravitational surges within the star," the Vulcan

reported. "Captain, I

propose to put two photon torpedoes

into Mercaniad, one at each stellar

pole simultaneously, with each traveling at

Warp Factor Two. Those

torpedoes will be deep within the star before the star can

react to them.

I will fuse the photon torpedoes for delayed

detonation so their energy

release occurs deep in the stellar core . . .

."

"You spoke of a very long chance that it would dampen the

activity, Spock.

What are some of the other possibilities?"

Kirk queried, because he had

detected a note of hesitancy in Spock's

voice that only he, the Captain,

would have noticed because of years of close association

with the

half-Vulcansthalf-human.

Spock was silent for a moment. "There is one chance

in four hundred and

ten-point-three that the photon

torpedoes will cause Mercaniad to nova . .

. ."

"I don't like those odds, Mister Spock.

We're almost better off doing

nothing at all rather than trying to tickle an

irregular variable star."

"Sir, as I stated, there is an excellent

chance that this action will

dampen this stellar flare-up. The chances of causing

the star to either

stabilize or nova are of the same order of

magnitude, but are far greater

than damping it. Your alternative, sir, is

to beam aboard so that we can

withdraw and return when the flare-up is over . .

. .

Kirk was used to making decisions firmly and

expeditiously when necessary.

He'd been evaluating the options in his mind even

as Spock reported to him

and proposed the star-busting operation. In view of

what he felt he had to

do-get his ship repaired, which-would require the

assistance of the

Mercans, which in turn would mean bringing

them into the Federation if they

would come-he came to a decision.

"Belay the order to beam up, Spock. You're

authorized to attempt to torpedo

Mercaniad. However, do it before local sunrise

here and be prepared to beam

us up on a moment's notice and jump at once

to maximum possible Warp Factor

if you do succeed in triggering a nova."

"I will have to compute the optimum time to dispatch the

photon torpedoes,

Captain. It may not be possible to do the job before

the star is in your

local sky down there. However, as I told you,

creating a nova is the

slimmest chance of all. But you can be assured that

I will take whatever

actions are necessary to save both

the landing party and the ship, should something go awry."

"I'm sure you will, Mister Spock," Kirk

told the communicator.

"He will," McCoy put in. He knew the

Vulcan, too. Spock wasn't a conniving

First Officer eager to assume command. He disliked

command as much as Kirk

relished it.

"Do I have your permission to proceed with the launching

of two photon

torpedoes at Mercaniad at my. discretion,

Captain?"

"Yes, Mister Spock, you do. Keep me

informed."

"And just remember, Spock, we're down here on

the surface without the

ship's shielding that you enjoy," McCoy

snapped.

"I presume that was Doctor McCoy,"

Spock's transmission replied. "Please

remind him that the ship's shielding isn't going to do

any of us up here

any good whatsoever if the torpedoing does not work

.... But also remind

him that I do not intend to fail. Spock out."

Orun was more than interested in the communicators.

"I've heard you speak

into those little devices, James Kirk, and I've

heard them speak back to

you. I haven't questioned you, since I was afraid that

my interest would

arouse the interest of the Guardians or

Proctors. What are they? Small

calculators that reply to you verbally instead of

by digital or analog

display?"

"I'll bet that your ancestors had them once,"

Kirk remarked. He showed his

communicator to Orun. "If I was on the other

side of Celerbitan, and you

wanted to talk to me, what would you do?"

"Why, I would simply use my traveler

control to query the Central Directory

concerning your location, and then I would merely

travel to where you

happened to be," the Mercan replied.

"Suppose you didn't have your traveler-control

unit? Suppose you were

caught as we are now without your traveler control?

How would you talk to

me?" Kirk persisted.

"I would not. I could not," Orun told him

bluntly.

"Ah, but we can. Since we don't have

travelers of the sort you use here on

Mercan-ours are of a different type-we've

developed these communication

units to pennit us to talk to each other instead of

traveling to see one

another when we want to talk. It saves a lot

of time."

"But who are you talking to?"

"To another person like myself in the traveling

device that brought us to

Mercan." Kirk flipped open the

communicator. "Enterprise, this is Kirk.

When is your next pass over the island chain where

we are located, Uhura?"

"One moment, Captain. Let me check with

Lieutenant Sulu .... Approximately

five minutes, Captain."

"Thank you, Uhura. Kirk out." He snapped

the cover shut and replaced it

under his tunic. "Orun, come outside. I want

to show you something."

The diurnal convection clouds that brought rain

to Celerbitan in the early

hours of every morning hadn't yet started to form. The

sky was still

relatively clear outside the warehouse.

Stretched across the sky was the

Orion Arm of the Galaxy, a murky

river of wan light whose individual stars

weren't visible to the naked eye. Kirk watched with

Orun for a moment. Then

he pointed off to the southwest. "There. Do you see

it?"

A bright, gleaming point of light was moving

southwest to northeast across

the sky at an angle of about five degrees to the

equator.

Much as Kirk was in control of himself, a lump

arose in his throat when he

saw that moving point of light. There she was, the

Enterprise. And here he

was on the ground. Unless he could manage to work

things out down here, his

ship was in trouble . . . perhaps even doomed.

Orun had a different reaction to seeing the moving

light in the sky. It was

probably the very first time he had ever seen anything

moving in the night

sky of

Mercan. "It . . . it is hard to believe!"

he whispered as he stood there

watching the Enterprise move across the Mercan

night sky in its standard

orbit. "I . . . I have believed your story,

James Kirk, because it's in

concert with things that I wanted to believe . . .

things that we were

discovering from our own searching into the ways of the

Universe .... But

it's different to actually see something like this and to know

that what we

believe is probably true . . . ."

"Son, I know how you feel." It was

McCoy's gentle voice from behind them.

"Sometimes it's difficult to accept the fact that

dreams and beliefs can

come true. When the world turns out the way you want

it to, it's sometimes

more frightening than if it had stayed the way it was."

"Aye." It was Scotty's voice. "Be

careful what you ask for, because you'll

get it . . . . was In the gloom, Kirk could

see that his engineer was

watching the bright light of the Enterprise pass across

the sky with a

wi/l longing of his own. Star Fleet people are

rarely at home on planets

....

"Will your traveling device come back over?"

Orun wanted to know when the

Enterprise disappeared below the horizon.

"Every two hours," Kirk said, but his

Transjator broke down on that

statement because, as Scotty had pointed out, the

Mercan language had no

time reference in its structure other than terms for

indefinite time

periods.

Orun looked around furtively. "I think we

had better get back inside," he

warned. "The Proctors have devices that can sense

our body heat. If they're

looking for us, they'll be doing it with infrared

sensors."

"Bones, any sign of activity on the

tricorder?" Kirk asked.

"Negative, Jim. Nothing except a few

small life forms in the thicket over

there."

"Orun's right, Captain. If the Proctors

have infrared

sensors, we're sitting ducks out here in the

open. At least the building

there masks our body-heat signatures,"

Scotty pointed out.

Back in the warehouse, Kirk decided they'd have

to do more than just hide

out there. They'd have to be prepared to detect any

Mercan approaching the

warehouse in the night, and they'd also have to be

prepared to defend

themselves against Proctors if necessary. "We've been

lax on our security

. . . especially since we're fugitives right

now," he said. "Bones, can you

set up for an omnidirectional life-forms

scan on your tricorder with an

alarm that will alert us if anybody comes near?"

"I think I can do that, Jim."

But nothing happened for the rest of the night. Kirk

managed only a fitful

sleep, anticipating the imminent beeping alarm

of McCoy's tricorder at any

moment. It seemed strange to him that the

Proctors were apparently so

ineffectual that five fugitives couldn't be

quickly located and

apprehended. He thought about this as he

tossed and turned, and it finally

occurred to him that the Proctors were probably more

pomp, show, and

bluster than an effective police force.

Kirk had gathered that the

Guardians had considerable political power over

the people of Mercan

because of the Guardian possession of the Mystery of the

Ordeal--the

ability to predict the flare-ups of the

Mercaniad irregular variable star.

This ability to predict natural activities

of a life-and-death nature to

all Mercan life would indeed bring in its wake

inevitable political power.

The Mercan culture, with its easy access

to travel around this world, had

enabled the Guardians to unify the planet as

Kirk had rarely seen before.

It was a classic case of One World, one people,

one culture, and one

political power base-just like Earth and Vulcan.

But as a result, the Mercans were so unified

by their Code, by their

obvious social need for the combined

astronomical predicting and judicial

activities of the Guardians, and the occasional

police activity of the

Proctorate, the Proctorate itself had almost

degenerated into an

organization whose only real function was to maintain

a show of force.

Mercanians were far too law-abiding.

When Kirk came to that conclusion, it answered a

lot of questions about

their treatment since arriving on Mercan.

No Mercan could conceive of walking away from a

house arrest. It was just

unthinkable.

Which meant that the Proctors were perhaps less of a

force to be reckoned

with than Kirk's own cultural bias had

originally been willing to admit.

The Proctors were not a planet-bound version of

Star Fleet. In essence, the

Proctors were just the Palace Guard, the

remnants of a true military force

backing up a political force. Once the

political force was so firmly

consolidated, the real need for the

Proctorate became less. The Proctors

were one step away from being ceremonial in nature.

And that, in turn, explained to Kirk's

satisfaction why the Guardians

appeared to be so inept and so confused in their handling

of their newly

arisen competition, the Technic. They just didn't

really remember how to

consolidate power once they had it. Their

Guardian power had been

uncontested for so long that they took it almost for

granted. The Guardians

couldn't handle the upstart Technic-whoever they

might bebecause other than

Orun, Kirk had no positive knowledge that such

group even existed on

Mercan.

Dawn came like a blast furnace.

There was no question in anyone's mind that the Ordeal was

about to

commence and that it would be an ordeal indeed.

It grew very hot very quickly as Mercaniad rose

above the horizon.

"Jim," McCoy pointed out, monitoring the

output of his tricorder, "if

something doesn't happen pretty quick, we're in

big trouble. Spock is

right: that star is emitting a very powerful form of

Berthold Rays. If we

don't get some shielding between us and that star

within a matter of hours, we might as well forget

the whole thing."

Kirk shook his head in frustration. His options were

rapidly disappearing

again. He couldn't wait for the invisible Technic;

they might not show up

at all. He couldn't count on Spock's

actions in torpedoing Mercaniad; it

might occur too late to save the party on the

ground from the lethal

effects of the radiation from Mercaniad. He had

to get his landing party

and Orun back to the Enterprise, where they had some

shielding.

"Enterprise, this is Kirk. Spock, we're

getting a bellyful of these

hyper-Berthold Rays down here," Kirk

snapped into his communicator. "When

are you scheduled to torpedo Mercaniad?"

"Optimum time would appear to be in ten

hours and forty minutes, Captain."

"That's too long. We'll fry down here. Beam

us up."

"Captain, transporter activity on the

Island of Celerbitan has increased

again with the coming of sunrise there," Spock reported

from the ship.

"There's so much activity that we may not be able

to beam you up at all."

"Have him get down to the transporter room

himself," Scotty suggested.

"Between Spock and Kyle, there's not two people on the

Enterprise right now

that know more about the transporter!"

"Mister Scott, I am in the transporter

room now," Spock's voice came back.

"We are trying to lock on you. We can't get a

scan-lock."

"I'll take my chances down here on Mercan with

Berthold Rays rather than

get scrambled in a bad transporter beaming,"

McCoy growled. "Unless Spock

gets a clear lock, beam up without me. It's

bad enough to go through that

thing when it's working right."

"As a matter of fact, Captain," Spock's

voice went on as though McCoy had

been completely ignored, "there is strong

transporter activity in the

immediate vicinity of your signal at this moment. I

would suggest

an immediate tricorder life-form scan around you at

once, because something

is beaming into your area now. And I can't beam you out

under those circum-

stances."

Through the walls of the warehouse, Kirk heard the

ringing song of a

transportersttraveler materialization.

Spock's words galvanized Kirk into action.

"Phasers out and on stun," Kirk snapped,

pulling his phaser from

beneath his tunic. "Rand, Bones, tricorder

sweep. Where are

they?"

"Outside the building, Captain," Janice

Rand reported, swinging

her tricorder around.

"How many?"

"Three of them, sir."

"Do we take up defensive positions in here?"

Scott wanted to

know.

"No, they might burn this place down around us.

They're still

materializing, so they aren't organized yet.

We'll attack before

they get the chance." Kirk headed toward one of the

big doors to

the warehouse. "Rand, McCoy, cover Scotty

and me. We'll go for

the stream and get them in cross fire. Once

we're down, we'll

cover for you."

Although Kirk was in a lighter gravity field

than standard, he

discovered that he didn't move faster than

Orun, who beat him to

the door, his Mercan single-shot firearm drawn

and ready to blast

away for effect if necessary. The Mercan assumed

a crouch in the

doorway, firearm held out in front of him with

both hands, ready

to fire.

But Orun dropped his gun to his side, then

holstered it just as Kirk and

Scott got ready to make their dash through the door

to the streambed.

"James Kirk, hold! Our visitors are

Delin and Othol with a Technic leader!"

Orun shouted. "They've come, just as I knew they

would."

Kirk held up his hand to his landing party and did

not put his phaser away.

"Orun, check them. Make certain they're

alone. This could be a Proctorate

trap."

"It's no trap," Orun told him. "Not with a

prominent Technic leader in the

group." The tall Mercan walked out into the glaring

sunlight toward the

group of three Mercans which was approaching the

warehouse from the forest

margin near the stream.

"Whew!" McCoy breathed a sigh of relief.

"Talk about the cavalry coming

over the hill to the rescue at the last moment . .

. ."

"You're an incurable romanticist,

Bones," Kirk remarked, securing his

phaser as he saw for himself that it was indeed the

rescue group that Orun

had forecast.

"Well, perhaps not at the last moment," the doctor

added, correcting

himself. "But another couple of hours in this growing

Berthold radiation

would have made it the last moment."

Kirk flipped open his communicator.

"Enterprise, this is Kirk. Spock, the

transporter activity you detected was a group

of three of their technical

people coming to rescue us."

"Thank you for reporting, Captain. We were

getting ready to beam you out of

there," Spock's voice replied.

"I don't think that will be necessary now, Spock.

We've made contact here

with the group that has the best chance of being able to help

Scotty."

"Very well, sir, but there is still considerable

transporter activity going

on within a ten-kilometer radius of your location,

alth.not enough to

prevent us from obtaining a good transporter lock

on you. Prudence

dictates that we maintain readiness here to beam up

a large party if

necessary," the First Officer of the Enterprise

suggested.

"Logical, Spock."

"Of course, Captain."

"Kirk, come!" Orun called out to them.

"Keep this channel open, Spock." He

turned to Janice Rand. "Yeoman, keep

your communicator open to Spock. Secure

phasers, everyone. Let's go meet

our rescuers."

Kirk recognized the woman Delin and the other

young Mercan, Othol, both of

whom had been present at their original

beam-down site. They greeted the

Federation party with palms up, the Mercan sign of

welcome. A tail Mercan

man, obviously older than the rest, with thinning

head hair and a spotty

loss of protective skin coloring on his high

cheekbones and other prominent

high points of his face, extended his

palms up to Kirk. "Welcome, James

Kirk. And welcome to your companions. I am

Thallan of the Technic Peers.

Please accept the apologies of the Technic for

not coming to your aid

before this, but we could not do so without creating a

confrontation with

the Proctorate . . . ."

"Your apologies are accepted, Thallan,"

Kirk told him, offering him palms

up in return. He started to introduce the

remainder of his landing party,

when Thallan interrupted.

"We know of them, James Kirk. Formal

introductions should wait until we

have traveled to the safety of our private Keep

under Eronde," the Technic

leader said. "We dare not stay out here too long

because Mercaniad is

becoming more active every moment. We're also in

danger of the Proctorate

discovering our traveling here, in spite of their

heavy activity in getting

the populace into the Keeps. . his

He handed a small device to Kirk

while Orun distributed others to the

Federation landing party. Kirk recognized it as a

Mercan traveler control.

"Thallan,

we're not from Mercan. We don't know how

to operate these."

Thallan nodded. "As I had expected from

Othol's report. Very well, if

you'll follow my instructions, we'll travel

to our Keep . . . ."

The Technic leader's brief lecture on

operation of the Mercan

transport-control unit was interrupted by the ringing

sound of multiple

transporter materializations around them.

Within seconds, the entire group was surrounded

by nine armed Proctors who

materialized with weapons drawn and ready.

Prime Proctor Lenos himself materialized not

five meters from Kirk and

Thallan.

"Long life to you, Thallan. And to Othol and

Delin as well," Lenos said

with just a touch of mockery in his voice. "We

knew that if we waited long

enough, you'd rise to the bait in this trap and

attempt to save your

Technic constructs. Now, hand me your traveler

controls, all of you. We are

going to travel together, but not to Eronde."

"Proctor Lenos, you have no right under the Code

to detain us," Thallan

protested, making no move to surrender his

traveling control.

"I'm operating under a warrant from the Guardian

One to detain these four

Technic constructs and any Mercan who is

accompanying them," Lenos replied

in less than cordial tones, the cultured

mannerisms of Mercan slipping away

under the increasing emotional strain of the encounter.

"They've made

insane statements to the Guardian Group leaders

concerning the truth of the

Code of the Abode and the accepted legends of the

Beginning. Hand me your

traveling control . . . ."

"They're not Technic constructs, nor are they

part of the Technic group,

Lenos," Thallan replied, still holding

his control. "I haven't seen them

before and know of them only what Othol and Delin here

have reported to

"They're not from the Abode, Lenos," Orun

repeated. "I've told the Guardian

One this fact. He doesn't believe me."

"This is why all of you must travel with me,"

Lenos commanded. "You are all

afflicted with this insanity and will require

retraining. We will travel

with you all to the Retraining Keep, where you'll be

examined by the

Guardians and subjected to retraining . . .

except that your deformed

constructs here will be used for medical studies . .

. ."

Insofar as Kirk was concerned, this was getting out of

hand again very

quickly, and the Proctorate trap he'd feared had

now been sprung and was

leading them into a worsening situation. In addition, it

was getting hot!

Beads of sweat stood out on the faces of the other

three members of his

party, and sweat ran down his own face and

into the corners of his eyes,

making it difficult for him to see without rubbing his

eyes. Now he knew

why the Mercans wore the headbands ....

It was a situation in which he was going to have to act.

Kirk turned his head to Janice Rand, who was

standing next to him. "Do you

have the comm channel open?"

"Yes, sir."

Kirk stepped between Lenos and Thallan and looked

up at the armored

Proctor, who towered above him. "Lenos, it is

time I proved to you that I'm

right!" He called loudly so that Janice Rand's

communicator would pick up

his voice, hoping as he did so that Lenos wouldn't

overreact. Lenos didn't;

he merely stared in disbelief as Kirk spoke.

"Enterprise, this is Kirk.

Spock, beam down immediately. Transporter

crew, stand by to beam the entire

group back aboard on my command."

He was counting on Spock's disciplined mind

to follow orders precisely and

immediately . . . and he was not disappointed.

Almost at once, there was the ringing of the transporter

beam from the

Enterprise off to his left. He hadn't

noticed before, but there was a

slight difference in the sound between the Mercan

traveler and the

Federation transporter unit.

Spock appeared, his gaunt form almost as tall as

the Mercans around him but

with his upswept eyebrows and pointed ears a

definite and obvious

difference. Spock had not only acted immediately but

also anticipated

Kirk's command, because he had a tricorder slung

over his shoulder and a

Type II hand phaser nestled in his right hand.

"Ladies and gentlemen of Mercan, permit me

to introduce the First Officer

of the star ship Enterprise and my

second-in-command, Mister Spock from

Vulcan . . . another abode of life,"

Kirk announced with exaggerated

politeness.

Thallan was obviously surprised by this appearance

of the Vulcan, but his

expression slowly turned into one of excitement and

pleasure as he drew his

lips back in a Mercan smile.

On the other hand, Proctor Lenos appeared

confused. He looked at Thallan,

then at Kirk, then at Spock. "How did you

do that?" Lenos asked in disbe-

lief. "We've put a traveling blockage in

the central traveler-control

system to prevent anyone from traveling here

except with my traveler code."

"There's a slight difference in the way our

traveler works, Lenos," Kirk

put in, taking a guess.

"Quite correct," Spock added. "We detected

the suppressor field and were

able to phase around it. And we're ready in the

ship, Captain, to take

whatever action is necessary."

Kirk took out his phaser and signaled his party

to do the same. "All of you

will travel with us. We have a Keep in the sky,

our traveling device which

is going around the Abode at this time. Lenos, you

and your Proctors will

please give us your firearms at once."

"We are the Proctors here! We give the

orders! Not you!" Lenos snarled,

reaching for his sidearm. "Proctors! Fire on

this construct!"

The Proctors didn't have a chance. One of them

raised his multi-round

long-barreled pistol, but that was as far as he got.

Spock reacted first.

The Proctor dropped to the ground, stunned

into unconsciousness by Spock's

phaser bolt.

By that time, Scotty and Janice Rand had

dropped four of the other Proctors

in the squad, using the stun setting on their hand

phasers.

Kirk didn't even have time to react, so

well-trained were his people.

There was absolute silence for a long moment while

the reality of what they

had just witnessed sank in for the remaining Mercan

Proctors . . . and for

the other Mercan people of the Technic group who were

there.

"Thank you, Spock," Kirk said.

Spock was resetting his phaser. He merely

raised his eyebrow.

"What . . . what happened to my Proctors?"

Lenos stammered, lowering his

firearm. The remaining three Proctors in his

squad, seeing their leader do

this, also lowered their weapons.

"They're merely unconscious. They'll be all

right in a short while," Kirk

said. "I told you we weren't from the Abode.

I'm sorry that it took

violence to demonstrate something to you that you could not

believe. Now,

hand us your weapons, Lenos. Thallan, if your

Technic people will keep

their weapons holstered, I won't require that you

surrender."

"James Kirk, you and your companions are

obviously not from the Abode, and

you possess technical power in weaponry far beyond

ours," the Technic

leader said. "We're at your mercy, sir."

"On the contrary, you are our guests," Kirk

replied smoothly. "And that

includes you, Lenos. We've got

seventeen to beam up, so we'll start with

the Proctors first in groups of six . . . ."

As Kirk had expected, the Mercans were totally

dazed when they materialized

aboard the Enterprise. This gave the ship's

security detachment time to

step onto the transporter stage, one man to a

proctor.

"Put the Proctor squad in detention

cabins," Kirk ordered. "Thallan, Orun,

Othol, Delin, Lenos. . . please come with

Commander Spock and me to the

Bridge. Scotty, you've got work to do conserving

power for our shields.

Bones, find out what happened to Orun's blood

sample and come to the Bridge

with the details as soon as you have them."

"Right you are, Captain," Scotty murmured,

and disappeared toward a

turbolift that would take him to the Engineering

Section.

"It's good to get back . . . and considerably

cooler, too!" was McCoy's

comment. "Now what's taken M'Benga so long with the

analysis of that

sample? . . ."

The Technic people seemed a good deal less

overwhelmed by the star ship

than Proctor Lenos, who gaped at everything.

There was no question about

it: there was fear in the Proctor's eyes. Kirk

knew that the Enterprise was

quite beyond the Proctor's comprehension. But both

Orun and Delin actually

seemed to be overjoyed at seeing the different

technology around them in

the star ship.

Kirk took them to the Bridge. As the

turbolift doors opened, Spock

immediately went to his library computer console.

Kirk waved his hand

around the Bridge. "Mercans, this is the control

center for our traveling

device."

"This is only a Technic mockery,"

Proctor Lenos objected. "Somehow,

somewhere on the Abode, Thallan, you've managed

to construct this very

unusual Keep. I must congratulate you on

doing a magnificent job. It's

certainly much more comfortable than the Guardian

Keeps . . . and shows

evidence of a technology far greater than anything

we or the Guardians had

ever suspected."

Thallan was looking around, obviously

impressed,

but in an intellectual sense rather than with the sense

of fear and

apprehension that Lenos was exhibiting. "Lenos,

you know that I'm one of the

oldest of the Technic group. You may not know that

I sit on the Technic Peer

Panel of Thirteen that provides advice and

guidance to others who have

declared for the Technic Belief. As a member of this

Panel, I know what's

being done on the Abode. Lenos, I speak the

truth, this is not of the

Technic!"

"But what else can it be?"

"Proctor Lenos, your mind is no different

than mine except that I have been

trained to accept and adapt to new ways, new

things, and new thoughts,"

Thallan told him. "You've been trained

to follow the orders of the

Guardians without question and to accept their dogma . .

. without

question. You may have a difficult time accepting the

reality of this

change that has come to Mercan from the Ribbon of

Light. You'll have to

learn to accept this change . . . or you will no

longer be able to function

as Prime Proctor. In fact, all of us are

going to have to learn how to

accept some changes we never anticipated, even

in our wildest heresies

about the Code."

That, of course, was precisely what was worrying

Captain James Kirk at the

moment.

But in spite of his concern over the possibility of

having violated General

Order Number One, Kirk's first thoughts were of

his command-the Enterprise

and her crew, who were now in mortal danger, with very

few options

available. In fact, Kirk had had

to narrow his range of options

considerably by the pressure, of events.

He did have a new option now, however. He had

the Prime Proctor of Mercan

aboard the Enterprise, for use, if not as a

hostage, then as a bargaining

point with Pallar and the rest of the Guardians once

the immediate problems

presented by the instability of Mercaniad were

solved. And he'd had to

bring aboard the star ship at least four

intelligent, technically cognizant

inhabitants, some of whom knew what they were

seeing on the Enterprise and

who'd be able to apply the Federation technology to the

technology of Mercan

once they returned to the planet. The point of

no return had passed; there

was no way that the Enterprise could ever leave

Mercan, irrespective of how

Scotty managed repairs, without leaving a

permanent alteration of the Mercan

culture behind. The door to any sort of

unobtrusive visit had irrevocably

closed behind Captain James T.

Kirk.

Regardless of the internal conflict within him, Kirk

had his priorities

sorted out and knew what had to be done. If these

priorities resulted in a

flagrant violation of the Prime Directive,

he was prepared to accept the

consequences . . . even if it meant losing command

of the star ship he had

to save as his first priority.

"Mister Spock," he asked his Science

Officer, leaving the Mercans for a

moment and stepping over to where Spock was working with the

library

computer console, "what is the situation with

Mercaniad?"

Spock did not divert his attention from the console.

"Captain, I've been

out of touch with the situation for several hours now because

of the need

to be present in the transporter room. I'm

updating myself at this time.

The best report I can provide right now is

sketchy at best."

"Well, give me what you've got,

Spock. What's that star doing?"

"Still increasing its emission constant across the entire

electromagnetic

spectrum and emitting an increasingly intense

quantity of what could be

termed hyper-Berthold Rays."

"How long before the ship's shielding might be

compromised?"

"Unknown at present, since I have not been able

to ascertain a definite

trend because of instabilities even in the

instabilities of this star," the

Vulcan replied unemotionally. "It's the first

Class G star of the irregular

variable type that we've had the opportunity

to investi-

gate and observe, Captain. The other Class

G stars of this type do not

behave this way because they're accompanied by one or

more very large

gas-giant planets like Jupiter which produce

a demonstrable effect because

of gravitational attractions."

"Mister Spock, do I have hours before I must

make a decision . . . or only

minutes?"

Spock stopped his work at the console, looked up

with his eyes focused on

nothing in particular, and thought for a long moment before

replying,

"Captain, my best estimate indicates that you

have seven-pointthree hours

before the radiation overcomes our shields. This is

assuming, of course,

that we're not able to launch the photon torpedoes

into the star as planned

before the radiation level becomes too great . . .

."

"Keep me informed, Mister Spock. If we have

to use some of our precious

power to pull back from Mercaniad, I want

to know as soon as possible so we

have time to evaluate all the options."

Spock's head was back in the hooded viewer of the

library computer console.

"Sir, you can rest assured that I will inform you of

any data as quickly as

I have it in hand."

Captain's Log: Stardate 5076.8

We can do nothing but wait for data from

Spock's observations.

I gave the Mercans a quick tour of the ship after

leaving the Bridge. The

Prime Directive has already been

compromised, and there was the chance that

I might learn something more about the level of

sophistication of these

isolated people. I'm encouraged, but the Mercans

may be learning more about

us than we are about them.

Once Thallan discovered what Spock was doing,

he and Othol began to

cooperate with Spock, providing an

unsuspected source of information on

past Ordeals and the behavior of Mercaniad for the

library computer to work

on.

I didn't suspect that Orun knew enough

physics to be of assistance to

Commander Scott . . . but he has. Orun is

down in Engineering with Command-

er Scott, advising the Engineering Officer of the

exact nature of the

radiation from Mercaniad so that the shields can be

selectively adjusted to

reject the most intense parts of the spectrum,

thus saving power. Delin's

in Sick Bay working with McCoy in the

laboratory, assisting him in a

complete biological work-up of the Mercans,

donating her own blood and

biopsy tissue samples as well as working

alongside Doctor McCoy in the

analysis, thus saving him considerable time.

These members of the Technic group on Mercan

are intellectually brilliant

people, and I wouldn't worry about the Prime

Directive and about the

possibility of bringing Mercan into the Federation if

I were assured that

all Mercans were of their quality of

intellectual sophistication. These

four are certainly our equals in many areas of

science and technology,

albeit sometimes from a totally different viewpoint

and approach, as one

might suspect from their isolation.

However, I know that all Mercans aren't like these

four Technics. Having

dealt with Pallar and his Guardian

group, I frankly face a problem that I

don't know how to solve, much less even how

to approach at this time. It

appears that the Guardians won't give up their

dogma about being the sole

abode of life in the universe. When these four

Technics get back to Mercan

with their acquired knowledge, they may feel strong enough

to attempt to

overthrow the Guardians. If this is the case,

I may have triggered a

planetary civil war . . . and I must take

full responsibility for having

done so if it occurs.

My big problem is Proctor Lenos, who

appears

to be in a state of shock at the moment after seeing

the Enterprise.

In fact, my biggest problem may be the

Proctorate led by Lenos and even

Lenos himself. He is not a stupid person. He

may well convince himself of

the reality of the Enterprise and of the subtle flaws

in the Code that

he's charged with enforcing. If he does

come around, which way will he go

and which way will he be able to take the Proctorate?

These must be considered as pure speculations inserted

into the record

merely to indicate the development of my own line

of thinking as we

proceed toward what appears to be an inevitable

confrontation that will

undoubtedly cause a drastic change in the

culture of Mercan.

I have insufficient data to take action here at this

time. In fact, I have

insufficient data to act at all until Mister

Spock reports ....

"Captain Kirk, Spock reporting," the

intercom unit over Kirk's bed barked.

Kirk hadn't realized he'd been so tired.

He'd just stretched out for a

moment . . . but a quick look at his chronometer

indicated he'd been asleep

for several hours. Shaking his head groggily, he

reached for the intercom

reply switch. "Kirk here."

"Captain, can you come to the Bridge at once,

ply"...[*macr]

"I'm on my way." Kirk didn't even

bother to ask why. If Spock wanted him to

come to the Bridge, it was because the Science Officer

either had something

he wanted to show to Kirk or something that he

didn't wish to entrust to

the security of the ship's intercom system.

It took Kirk less than a minute to get

to Spock's side on the Bridge. Both

Thallan and Othol were with Spock.

"Report, Mister Spock."

"Captain, request permission to launch the

photon torpedoes at once, sir."

"Of course, Mister Spock. Why do you need

my permission to take an action

I've already approved?" Kirk wanted to know.

"Because of negligence on my part as the Science

Officer," Spock replied

without emotion.

"Negligence? Explain."

"Sir, I was called away from this station

to provide the necessary

assistance to the transporter crews for your

rescue from the planetary

surface," Spock explained.

"During my absence from this post, the situation

with Mercaniad's instability got beyond my

control. It required all my time

since beaming up from the planet, plus the

assistance from the Technic

people here, to bring myself and the library computer

up-todate on the

Mercaniad situation . . . ."

"Spock, get to the point."

"I now have discovered that it's too late to damp the

flare-up of Mercaniad

by launching photon torpedoes into its core."

"What do you mean, Mister Spock?" Kirk

asked. "Specify."

"Mercaniad progressed into its flare-up far more

rapidly than I'd

anticipated," the Science Officer explained.

"Additional data provided to

me by Thallan and Othol have now been analyzed

by the ship's computer. I

have performed an independent analysis by linearizing

some of the data to

simplify the equations. My results agree with

those of the computer by a

factor of two-point-three-nine

percent, which is well within the limits of

agreement one should anticipate utilizing the

linearization methods I

adopted."

Kirk mulled this over for a moment. Then he

asked, "What would happen if we

sent those torpedoes in there now?"

"May I have approximately two-point-four

minutes to make the calculations,

Captain? They're exceedingly complex because we

are dealing with fusion

reactions under very unstable conditions ...ddment

"Get busy, Spock. Time's running out,"

Kirk told him, and got out of his

Science Officer's way, knowing better than

to bother Spock at a time like

this. He dropped into the command seat and punched the

intercom button. "Mister Scott, this is

Kirk. What are the latest estimates

on the shielding?"

"Captain, I dinna know if she'll hold for

another ten hours . . . which

isn't enough to protect us all the way through the

Ordeal . . . if Mister

Spock's numbers are right . . . which

they usually are. I can't keep these

shields up enough to stop all those hyper-Berthold

Rays, sir."

"Suppose you were to divert all available stand-by

power into the shields,

Scotty? Would they hold?"

"What would you like me to shut down, Captain?"

"As many internal systems as possible. As many

absolutely nonessential

circuits as you can drop off-line without getting us

into a situation where

we couldn't move in less than a few minutes'

start-up time again. Drop the

shields against ultraviolet; that won't get through

the hull, no matter how

strong it gets, and if it discolors the paint, so

what? Drop the level

against infrared, turn up the life-support

temperature controls to the

point where it endangers our electronics, and

let us sweat a little bit if

we have to."

"Aye, sir, will do! But that'll give us only

about four more hours of

protection .... And when we get through,

we won't have enough power left

aboard to boil water for tea."

"Scotty, just do the best you can . . . but maintain

only enough shielding

to keep us from being fried."

"It would help, Captain, if we could get

nearly all the crew as far from

the outer hull as possible," the Engineering Officer

suggested. "Mass

decreases the lethality of Berthold Rays .

. . ."

"Thanks, Scotty, we'll work on that one."

He switched off and directed his

next question to his helmsman and Security

Officer. "Mister Sulu, are you

prepared to activate the maximum-radiation

security procedure?"

"The "storm-cellar' program? Yes, sir.

But packing four hundred people into

a space usually occupied by

about fifty gets a little too cozy if we have

to stay in there for more than

twenty-four hours, sir. Sanitation gets to be

a problem, too . . . ."

"It may be discomfort or death, Mister

Sulu," Kirk reminded him.

"Yes, sir, I know that. We'll have

to evacuate the Bridge for the maximum

protection, Captain."

"I'm aware of that, Mister Sulu. What's the

problem, since you were

concerned enough to bring it to my attention?"

"We're getting a lot of stellar-proton and

chargedparticle flux, as well as

electromagnetic radiation and hyper-Berthold

Rays, sir. I'm having to ride

herd manually every minute on all our automatic

systems. One stellar proton

through the shielding and through one of the picocircuits in

the autopilot

. . . and we could be into the atmosphere below in

less than one orbit."

"So you're telling me that somebody's got to stay

up here and monitor the

automatic systems in the face of this extreme

stellar storm, is that

correct?"

"Yes, sir. And I'll stay."

Kirk thought about this for a moment. "No, Mister

Sulu. "Sacrifice'. is not

a word that's used in any of the Star Fleet

Regulations . . . and it's not

in my vocabulary, either. If it gets that bad,

we won't stay here. Mister

Chekov, plot a stand-by course of least-energy

that will take us far enough

from this blustering star for our shields to protect us."

"Aye, sir. I, too, would rather be alive and

short on power than to just

sit here and boil like a samovar," the navigator

replied with a wry smile,

then got down to work on plotting the course.

"Captain, I have numbers for your consideration

now," Spock announced from

the hooded viewer. "If we place two

proton torpedoes into the core of Mer-

caniad precisely twenty-three-point-one

minutes from now, there is one

chance in five-point-three that the star will stabilize

or damp its

flare-up. The alternative is

not an ordinary nova, sir, but a supernova

beginning with a core collapse,

progressing to a chromosphere and photosphere

-- blow-away, and culminating

with a total collapse into a neutron star that

worsens into a black hole."

"Recommendations, Spock?"

"With those odds, Captain, I would prefer to defer

any recommendations."

"No sporting blood, Mister Spock?"

Sulu asked rhetorically.

"Mister Sulu, Vulcans do not gamble,"

Spock reminded him.

"But I have to," Kirk pointed out. "I don't

like the odds, but I can't get

better ones. If we go, we'll go in a blaze

of glory. Otherwise, we've got

a reasonable chance of making it." Kirk paused a

moment. He knew that there

were other factors involved, including an entire

planet and its population

of millions of humanoids with a unique and

advanced civilization. They

would survive the Ordeal in the safety of their

suboceanic Keeps as they

had done for uncounted generations. But the USS

Enterprise and 430 people

aboard her, accompanied by a small contingent of

Mercans, would not

survive. There was no time for a detailed

analysis, nor time for any

agonizing appraisal. The decision had to be

made . . . and it had to b*

made now.

The situation facing James T. Kirk,

star-ship Captain, Star Fleet, United

Federation of Planets, was but one reason why there

are so few citizens of

the Federation who manage to ascend to the heights of

Starship Command.

"Mister Sulu, arm and prepare to launch two

photon torpedoes. Get fuze

settings and course coordinates from Mister

Spock. Execute immediately."

"Aye, sir."

"Data is on the weapon control bus,"

Spock announced.

"Launch when ready," Kirk said quietly,

well aware

of what he'd just said. He was doing more than merely

tinkering with the

workings of a star; that could be far less explosive in

the long run than

the tinkering he was doing with a humanoid

civilization, a tinkering he

could no longer avoid.

"Data is loaded. On-board guidance

read-back checks. Internal power." Sulu

manipulated switches. "Fire One.... One

away. Fire Two.... Two away."

The unmistakable sound of the launching of two

photon torpedoes rang

through the Bridge.

"Cross your fingers," Chekov muttered.

"Don't let Spock see you do it," Sulu

said to him

sotto voce.

"Uhura," Kirk said, turning his seat to face

his Communications Officer.

"Full library computer data dump into at least

three courier drones and get

them on their way toward the Orion Arm as

rapidly as feasible. If this star

goes supernova, I want some record of what

we did running ahead of that

"shock wave so that a Federation ship may

intercept it someday."

"Yes, sir. Shall I continue transmission of

routine distress signals on all

subspace channels?"

"By all means. Somebody may pick them up,"

Kirk remarked. "If Star Fleet

Command doesn't know we're in trouble out here,

they'll start wondering

where we are eventually. They're going to ask questions

about what happened

to the Enterprise, and if they happen to detect a

supernova out here,

they'll come looking . . . if they don't already have

something coming at

Warp Factor Eight anyway . . . ."

"Courier drones have been launched, Captain."

"Thank you, Lieutenant. Spock, the situation

on the torpedoes, please."

"Sensors are tracking both. They are both on

course. Impact simultaneously

at both stellar poles in . . .

four-point-three minutes . . . and

detonations will be nearly simultaneous with their

entry at Warp Factor

Two."

Kirk noticed Thallan and Othol standing beside

Spock now, both looking a bit bewildered.

"Thallaa, do you understand what

we've just done?"

"f Barely, James Kirk," the elder

Technic replied. "Your Translator devices

do not precisely convert the meanings of some words because

they do not

exist in our language. But I can manage

to follow most of it. My biggest

problem-,and I'm certain Othol shares it is the

fact that I'm having some

difficulty in adjusting my concepts of the

Universe to fit in with what I'm

seeing and hearing."

"Three-point-five minutes," Spock

announced.

"We've launched devices toward Mercaniad

that will penetrate the interior,"

Kirk attempted to explain. "Once inside,

they will release a great deal of

energy of a specific kind. If we've done it

properly, if the computer is

right, if all the data you've given us is

correct, and if we have a

considerable amount of luck-which is a word that

doesn't translate for you,

I know-the Ordeal will stop and

Mercaniad will settle down into a stable

condition hereafter. No more Ordeals. On the other

hand, if everything that

all of us know turns out to be wrong . . . or

if we didn't do everything

precisely right, Mereaniad will explode."

Thallan was silent for a moment. Then he asked,

"If Mercaniad explodes,

what will happen to the Abode?"

Kirk said nothing, just shook his head.

"You took that chance, a chance that you would destroy a

whole planet, a

whole people, a whole culture?" Othol wanted

to know.

"I had no alternative. If your Guardians

had cooperated, we might have

worked out some arrangement that could have eliminated all

of this," Kirk

observed.

"Why did you come to Mercan in the first place?"

Othol asked, suddenly

angry. "We were developing whole new ways

to live together. In three

generations, we would have changed all of the Abodel

Why did you

interfere?"

"In three generations, you would have discovered what we

already know,"

Spock added, "and you would

be trying this yourself. As a matter of fact, your

assistance to me has

taught me that you already have all of the basic data

to try it. You would

have found some factor that would drive you to it."

"But you signed the death warrant on a whole

planet without even asking us

about it!" Othol persisted.

"Othol, that "death warrant" includes everyone

on this ship as well. I had

no recourse but to make that decision. We

didn't come here deliberately. We

tried to interact with you in such a way that it would offer

the least

impact upon your way of life. But the

powers-thatbe on Mercan had closed

minds. I'm sorry. Anyway, the chances are in

favor of the action working,"

Kirk said. Inwardly, he didn't like it any

better than Othol did.

"Sometimes you don't have the luxury of time

enough to do things your own

way. Circumstances usually force your hand and

change things, whether you

want them to change right then or not."

"One minute," Spock announced.

"Sulu, give us the view of Mercaniad on the

main screen," Kirk ordered. His

Mercaniad was just rising over the limb of

Mercan, the Abode of Life. As it

came into full view, the disk of the star could be

seen to be pulsating,

sending out long streamers of filamentary prominence

material. Its surface

was mottled with sunspots. Invisible on the

screen was the stream of

charged particles which made up a greatly increased

stellar wind. Without

the shielding of the Enterprise, the human and

humanoid life aboard her

would have been blown out like the flame of a candle in a

wind.

"Thirty seconds. Torpedoes on course.

Sensors will lose them in ten seconds

as they begin to enter the corona."

"I'm not certain that I like the idea of

having a front-row seat for a

possible supernova," Chekov muttered.

"Fifteen seconds. Do you intend to warn the

crew, Captain?"

"Negative, Mister Spock. If it goes

supernova, those of us right here will

have only about two seconds to realize what's

happened. We're all

disciplined enough to expect the end at any moment

among the stars . . . ."

"Zero. Torpedoes have penetrated

Mercaniad," Spock announced.

The attention of everyone on the Bridge was

riveted on the forward

viewscreen, except for Spock, who had his

face buried in the hooded viewer

of the library computer console. Except for the

throbbing of the internal

systems of the star ship Enterprise, there was no

sound on the Bridge.

There was no change in the visual appearance of the

star on the viewscreen.

Kirk whirled in his seat and swarmed up

to Spock's console. "Any change,

Spock?"

Spock did not remove his face from the viewing

hood. "Negative, Captain.

The torpedoes released such a small amount of

energy compared to that of a

star that we'll not see any change for at least

nine minutes. Even a Class

G star is a very large mass and cannot change

immediately . . . unless it

goes supernova . . . which it has not done . .

. and which it is not going

to do after all, because it would have blown away its

photosphere by this

time."

There was a large sigh of relief that emanated from

Ensign Chekov, but Sulu

remained impassive as usual. Uhura, who was

a bit more emotional, merely

dropped her face into her hands as she closed her

eyes.

Kirk slapped the Vulcan on the shoulder in

obvious elation and relief. "You

did it, Spock!"

Only at that point did the Vulcan remove his

face from the viewing hood and

querulously raise one eyebrow.

"Sir, was there some doubt? The numbers were

right. They had to be right. Mathematics is a

logical science, Captain, and

the logic of our calculations was indisputable. The

probabilities were in

favor of this outcome. I really do not understand this

display of emotion.

Kirk shook his head. "Spock, you're

probably the first individual to tamper

with a star knowing full well that it could blow us all

away . . . and you

managed to do it. I'll certainly see to it that this

accomplishment of

yours is properly entered in your record, along

with a suitable

commendation for cool-headed logic . . . ."

"Captain, how is it possible to thank logic?"

Kirk-and the rest of the crew of the Enterprise on the

Bridge--couldn't

suppress laughter, which was not directed at

Spock's reply so much as it

was a release of the incredible tension of the past few

minutes.

It didn't take long after that to see that something was

indeed happening

to Mercaniad on the viewscreen. Spock

switched spectral response to look at

the star in both the ultraviolet and the X-ray

wavelengths, then had a look

at the stellar wind components and the stellar

magnetic and gravitic

fields. They were changing. It was patently

obvious that Mercaniad was no

longer pulsing, no longer shooting forth the stellar

fireworks of

prominences, and no longer increasing its output

by spurts of activity,

each greater than the last. It was settling down,

pulsing occasionally,

quieting slowly.

"Bridge, this is Engineering," Scotty's

voice broke through the quiet

activity of the control center. "Captain Kirk,

the radiation level's

dropping rapidly and the hyper-Berthold Rays

now have a decreased

intensity. If this keeps up, our screens are

going to hold with no increase

in power required to maintain protection. Don't

tell me that Spock was

wrong about Mercaniad?"

"Not at all, Scotty. As a matter of

fact, Spock is now the only Star Fleet

Science Officer who's managed to tickle a star

and get away with it," Kirk

replied with a smile.

"Did the photon torpedoes do the job?"

"They did indeed, Scotty. You can stand down from

shield-monitoring alert

now. Spock has probably got that errant star

quieted down to a well-behaved

Class G type."

"Orun says that's not possible," the engineer

came back. "No Ordeal has

been this short in duration."

"Tell him that things have changed, Scotty."

Captain's Log: Stardate 5077.5

Let the record show that it was the concept as well

as the actions of

Commander Spock, First Officer and Science

Officer, to attempt to stabilize

the irregular variable Class G star called

Mercaniad by a triggering input

of energy from two photon torpedoes. The chances

of success were marginal,

and the operation proceeded with my full authorization

and with my full

awareness of all of the possibilities, including

those associated with the

success of the venture. The able assistance and

willful cooperation of three

humanoid inhabitants of Mercan and members

of their Technic groupThallan,

Othol, and Orun-were vital in the execution of

this activity because they

provided much of the long-term data on

Mercaniad that was unavailable to

Spock and the library computer. The behavior of

Mercaniad during its

flare-ups, locally termed the Ordeal by the

Mercans, was also important data

that was provided by the three Mercan experts.

Although the activity was conceived and carried through

by Spock, it was

done with my full authority, and I accept full

responsibility for whatever

the consequences may be.

A continuous watch on Mercaniad since the

detonation of the photon

torpedoes in its core has revealed that

Spock's initial conclusions were

correct. The star is rapidly stabilizing

into what appears to be a regular

Class GO star with all the characteristics of stable

Class G stars

throughout our sector of the Galaxy. The output of

hyperBerthold Rays has

diminished to practically zero;

complete data on this heretofore unreported

phenomenon is stored in the

library computer for later analysis and

interpretation by Federation stellar

specialists.

However, this stabilization of Mercaniad will

undoubtedly result in the

destabilization of its humanoid civilization.

We have willfully destroyed

an irregular astronomical occurrence upon which the

stability of their

culture was based. Under the circumstances, I

had no alternative or option

available to me that would have permitted me to save the

Enterprise and her

crew from certain destruction. Therefore, I took

the responsibility upon

myself to openly and willfully violate the Prime

Directive and General

Order Number One, realizing in advance that any

stabilization of this star

would. alter the culture and life-style of the

humanoid inhabitants of

Mercan beyond any possibility of restitution.

My course of action in the immediate future is not

apparent to me at this

time. I have aboard the Enterprise leaders of two

of the three political

and social groups of the Mercan culture:

Prime Proctor Lenos and Technic

leader Thallan. It therefore appears to me that I

must attempt to convene

and moderate a meeting between the Guardians, the

Proctorate, and the

Technic in hopes of helping them create for

themselves a stable new order

on the planet in the total absence of the major

lever possessed by the

Guardians to maintain their position in the

culture: the Mystery of the

Ordeal, the Guardian ability to forecast with

accuracy the flare-ups of

Mercaniad.

Mercaniad will no longer create the Ordeal because

of our actions.

Although I may have saved the Enterprise and her

crew, I am forced to ask

myself the question: for what have I saved her?

The Mercan science and technology may certain-

ly be up to the task of providing Lieutenant

Commander Scott and the

Engineering Division with the necessary support to repair

the warp drive

unit that's required to permit us to. return

to the Orion Arm and Federation

Territory. But will the Mercans help us? Or

will their energies instead have

been diverted into a planet-wide civil war because

of my actions and

decisions?

The door signal on Kirk's cabin sounded.

"Come in," he called.

The door slid open with a swish, revealing

Spock's tall silhouette against

the ,passageway lights. Kirk did not get

up from where he lay stretched out

on his back on his bunk.

"I do not wish to disturb you, Captain."

"Come in, Spock. You aren't disturbing me."

The door slid shut behind the First Officer. "I

have some data that needs

to be brought to your attention, sir," Spock

began. "Your intercom seems to

be inoperative."

"I needed a few hours of quiet. I've been

thinking, Spock."

The First Officer's right eyebrow went up.

"Don't look so querulous, Spock. Even a

star-ship captain needs a few

moments of peace and quiet occasionally. And even a

star-ship captain can

engage in logical thinking. . ."

"I am well aware of the human need for

occasional quiet contemplation. That

is one trait shared by both humans and

Vulcans," Spock told him. "The ship

does not require your immediate attention in standard

orbit while we're

waiting for the Mercans to discover that the

Ordeal is over. However, I did have two

items for your consideration. One:

Mercaniad is settling down into a stable

Class GO star as predicted and will

attain stable status in approximately

eight-point-three hours. It will then

probably remain as a stable Class GO star for

nearly a billion years ....15

"That means that the Guardians will start to come out of

their holes to

find out what's going on," Kirk remarked. "And

we'll need a plan of action

by that time."

"True, Captain. But we are beginning

to detect occasional bursts of

transportersttraveler radiation on the surface

in the vicinity of

Celerbitan. The Guardians may be coming out

early, having already detected

the rapid decrease in stellar intensity."

Kirk sighed and sat up on the edge of his bunk.

"Thank you, Spock. That

data gives me a time frame within which I'm going

to have to work."

But Spock did not step toward the door once

he had given his report.

"Captain . . . Jim, you haven't been on the

Bridge for two watches, which

is highly unusual for you under circumstances such

as these. I presume

that, logically, you're extremely concerned over the

possibility of

violating General Order Number One in

addition to questioning whether or

not the Mercansand the Technic in particular-will

fight a civil war instead

of permitting us to help them in return for helping

us repair the warp

drive. Am I correct in my assessment of

your predicament?"

Kirk looked up at the tall officer who, with his

half-human and half-Vulcan

heritage, could often see deep within the thoughts of his

human colleagues

with an empathy beyond that possible to a human. It

wasn't often that Spock

permitted himself to address his very close friend

James Kirk by his given

name, even in private. In this regard, the First

Officer's manners were

quite Mercan in character. "Sit down, Spock.

You've pegged my problem

precisely. I may have handled this thing so

badly thus far that I don't

know if I can carry it

through from here . . . even if I forget the Prime

Directive entirely and

concentrate solely on saving the Enterprise and the

crew."

Spock didn't answer immediately, but appeared

to ponder his captain's words

carefully. Then he said, "Jim, we were placed

in a highly unusual position

by circumstances over which we had no control. You

had no alternative but

to act in an opportunistic fashion in your

handling this totally unique

Mercan culture . . . ."

"No, Spock, that's not entirely it," Kirk

objected with a wave of his hand.

"I should've listened more carefully to you when you warned

of the

gravitational anomalies near the rift . . .

."

It was obvious that Spock did not accept that

premise. "Totally

unpredictable. We were operating in uncharted

space . . . ."

"Be that as it may, we found the Mercan

civilization . . . and I operated

with the naive assumption that they were logical,

rational humanoids. I was

lulled into this by the extreme politeness of Mercan

social customs. I

didn't act forcefully enough or quickly enough. The

Mercans-the Guardians

in particular-are no more rational or logical than

any other humanoid race

. . . even Vulcans," he added guardedly.

"You are correct. Even Vulcans. It

requires years to achieve complete

control over emotions, even for a Vulcan. Very

few Vulcan Masters manage to

achieve complete, logical rationality in their

thought processes, even

after the long and arduous ordeal of the Kolinahr, was

Spock admitted. He

hesitated for a moment as though he were highly

reluctant to admit a

personal matter even to a friend as close as Jim

Kirk, the only human whom

he could call his t'hy'la. "It is my hope that

someday I shall be able to

return to Vulcan and study under the Masters

to achieve this total

rationality of logical thought . . . when we get

back."

Kirk rose to his feet. "Spock, there you have

what I was just in danger of

losing: hopel Not if we get back, but when we

get back! I was beginning to

lose hopel"

"I'm sorry. That's my mother's human

heritage making itself visible through

me," Spock apologized.

"But I needed to be reminded that it's one of our

human strengths," Kirk

told him. "I'd run out of options, Spock.

I could see only two paths open

to me."

Again the right eyebrow of the First Officer went up.

"And you believe

these to be . . . ?"

Kirk ticked them off on his fingers. "One: because

we have such a slim

chance of being able to repair the warp drive, I could

order the crew to

beam down to Mercan, where we might be

able to live out the rest of our

lives, perhaps working toward the repair of the drive,

perhaps just waiting

for the Federation star ship that will undoubtedly follow in

our track and

find this truant star system. Two: I've

violated the Prime Directive

already, so I could continue on this path and intervene

to an even greater

degree in what I'm sure is going to turn

into a civil war between the

Guardians and the Proctors on one side and the

Technic on the other. The

second option gives us a slim chance to get the

warp drive repaired

eventually if we back the Technic in the

overthrow of the status quo ....

And we'll win with our advanced weaponry. But the

damage, Spock! The damage

to the culture of Mercan is a price that even

I, a non equals Mercan, am not

willing to

payea[*macr]

Kirk fell silent. Spock continued to look

at him in anticipation. When Kirk

did not continue, Spock asked, "Why do you think

there are only those two

options?"

"They're the only ones I can foresee at this

moment with the information I

have in hand."

"There are more," Spock stated flatly. "As with

any consideration of future

activities, there's a continually branching

decision tree that lies ahead

. . . and that decision tree has more than the two

stems that you

mentioned, Jim."

"Do you have something to add?" Kirk wanted to

know. This was perhaps the longest private conversation

Kirk had ever had

with the taciturn First Officer.

"I do. There are two items that have been part of

our Star Fleet training

and education," Spock pointed out. "The first of these

is one that I have

seen you carry through on many occasions: One does not

capitulate until one

is absolutely certain that there are no further

alternatives. I believe

that Lieutenant William Burrows of the old

United States Navy, the

commanding officer of another USS Enterprise in

1813, said, "The colors

must never be struck." The second is one that

I've watched you inculcate

into young officers aboard this ship and is just as

important: Don't make

any decision concerning future action until and

unless it is absolutely

necessary to do so. If you will pardon me for bringing it

to your

attention, Jim, I detect that you have possibly

neglected both . . . ."

Kirk didn't reply for a long moment, then said,

"You're right, Spock."

"We were assigned to this mission on a

"rest-andrelaxation' basis," Spock

went on quietly. "We were all exhausted when

we began . . . and we have not

had the time or the circumstances that were anticipated

to permit us to

come back to the sort of alert duty status of which

we are normally

capable. In short, Jim, I believe

that Doctor McCoy would certainly confirm

the fact that you and many other human members of the

crew are still

fatigued . . . a physical and

psychological fact that's had a definite

bearing on performance . . . ."

"And you're not exhausted, too?

"No, I am not. As you know, I am capable of

greater endurance than humans."

"Okay, Spock, so much for the McCoy

approach . . . although I appreciate

that you brought it to my attention. I'm sure rll

get it from McCoy, once

Bones can break himself away from Sick Bay,"

Kirk observed. "What do you

believe our options are at this point?"

"Let's consider the facts," Spock said

persistently. "No matter whit we do

from this point, we've already

caused irrevocable changes in the Mercan

culture and life-style. Therefore,

the Prime Directive no longer has any

meaning or bearing on this case. It

cannot logically be considered as a valid

restraint."

"True. Unfortunate, but true."

"Perhaps not unfortunate. That assessment may be

premature. It depends on

how the Mercans are handled," Spock pointed out.

"The second fact is that

the Mercans have a well-advanced civilization

that's technically competent.

In my own judgment, based upon working with Thallan

and Othol since they

came aboard, I must report to you that they are

adaptable, intelligent, and

at least as advanced in most respects as nearly

every one of the present

members of the Federation were at the time they were contacted

and joined

the Federation."

"I'd sensed that in the Technic people we beamed

up," Kirk admitted. "But

you haven't tried to deal with the Guardians or the

Proctors, Spock.

They're as pigheaded and hidebound as any

high-priest class or military

caste we've ever run into."

"Perhaps. But I have spent some time with Prime

Proctor Lenos, too. He was

beamed aboard as a very confused man who had his

value system completely

destroyed by the Enterprise and the physical fact

that we were not from the

Abode of Life," Spock pointed out

quietly. "He needed help . . . and so did

the other members of his Proctor squad who have

been in detention since

coming aboard. Because of our remote similarity in

appearance, he sought me

out."

"I can understand that, Spock. We must be like

pygmies to them."

"There is more to it than ectomorphism," Spock

said. "Their militarism

really isn't military at all. It bears

faint resemblance to the Romulan

philosophy. It's not merely an approach that

uses the application of

physical force to uphold traditions, rules,

codes, and regulations; it's a

feeling of duty that you and I would understand, an

obligation freely taken

to guard, to

prevent harm, to rescue and succor in

addition to acting on behalf of the

Guardians."

Kirk thought for a moment about this, because it triggered a

memory deep

within him, something that once had been said at Star

Fleet Academy during

a discussion of paramilitary history. Ah,

yes! Lieutenant Robert Henley!

"You must remember," the military historian had

told him, "that all

military, paramilitary or police

organizations do not necessarily have to

be instruments for the application of physical force

to coerce desired

action. They can be like the classical model upon which

much of Star Fleet

is based: the old United States Coast

Guard . . . ."

"Then you think we can possibly work with Lenos?"

Kirk wanted to know.

"It is quite likely."

This was a new wrinkle in the situation, Kirk

realized. Perhaps with the

Proctorate teamed with the Technic, the

Guardians could be forced to . . .

No, that wouldn't work! Kirk wanted them

to establish a modified form of

the stable culture that they had originally found on

Mercan upon their

arrival . . . but without the important

parareligious factor of the

instability of Mercaniad.

"Stability . . . was Kirk muttered.

"Sir?"

"They must work out a system that will give them the

same sort of stability

they had, Spock."

"Agreed, Captain. Like all humanoids, they

are basically a violent race. On

Vulcan, . we exorcised emotions to overcome

our violent nature; the Mercans

have ritualized it in their code duello. Since

the destabilizing factor was

external-our accidental arrival here-perhaps an

external factor can also be

the new stabilizing factor," Spock suggested.

"Membership in the Federation?"

"Precisely, Captain."

"But are they ready for it? The Guardians . . .

the Proctorate . . . ?"

"Vulcan was brought into the Federation under similar

conditions, Captain,"

Spock reminded him. "One of the drivers was the

desire of both parties for

an exchange of valuable information not otherwise

obtainable!"

"Spock," Kirk said quietly, "you don't

know how much I value our

relationship and your logical inputs to my

decision-making process . . . ."

"It is my . . . duty, Captain."

"Do you have any recommendations concerning the

situation?"

"Captain, I am not qualified in matters of

interplanetary diplomacy . . .

."

"Dammit, Spock," Kirk reprimanded him

gently, "I'm asking for more of those

logical inputs."

Spock didn't reply immediately. Then he said,

"Parleys would seem to be in

order. A transfer of information is always a

helpful start in any

negotiation . . . ."

"Ummm . . . Spock, suppose the

Guardians won't talk?"

"Then, Captain, you may be reluctantly forced

to assume the role of a

benevolent dictator . . . ."

"A Hernando Cortes? Forget it, Spock.

I couldn't play that role."

"How about a Douglas MacArthur, sir?"

Before Kirk could reply to that, the door signal

activated. "Who is it?"

Kirk called, obviously irritated at an

interruption at this particular

moment, when he had established such an unusual

and helpful rapport with

Spock.

"Doctor McCoy, Captain. Are you all

right? Your intercom doesn't answer."

Kirk sighed. "Come in, Bones."

The door sighed open and McCoy entered. As the

door slid shut behind him,

the Medical Officer saw Spock. "Sorry.

Didn't mean to interrupt a

conference, gentlemen." Then he peered closely

at Kirk. "Are you all right,

Jim?"

"Tired, but otherwise functional,

Bones. Perturbed

and frustrated, perhaps, by the course of events, but

that's part of this

job."

"Better come down to Sick Bay and let me

check you over for possible side

effects of exposure to those hyper-Berthold

Rays."

"Has there been a problem with any of the other

members of the landing

party in that regard, Bones?" Kirk wanted

to know.

"Not so far. But I'd like to keep tabs on the

four of us."

"Heal yourself first, Bones. We've got some real

problems with Mercan,"

Kirk snapped at his Medical Officer, and was

immediately sorry he'd done

so.

"Well! Fatigue has caused a bit of

irritability-in my medical opinion,"

McCoy observed.

"Bones, if you came here to check on my

welfare, you've got your

diagnosis," Kirk told him

curtly.

"That was only part of the reason, Jim," the ship's

doctor admitted. "I

know the social situation with Mercan is bothering

you; I saw that down on

the planet." He indicated a report board in

his right hand. "I've got a

great deal of bio data now, thanks to Delin .

. . . And, Jim, if Delin is

an example of the level of intelligence and

technical know-how on Mercan,

these people are going to be very effective Federation

members. Why, they

know some things about bio-engineering we haven't even

thought about yet.

"I suspected as much," Spock put in,

raising the left eyebrow this time.

"Okay, Bones, brief me. Do you want to do

it here or in the Briefing Room?"

"Oh, this will do fine."

"Very well, report."

"Jim, the Mercans are so humanoid that we could

interbreed with them,"

Bones McCoy announced. "Just like the

Vulcans."

"I expected that, too," Spock remarked.

"And what logic led you to that conclusion, Spock?"

McCoy wanted to know.

"Bones, never mind. If we're that close to the

Mercans biologically, do you

have any data that might indicate their basic

heritage?" Kirk asked. "In

other words, were you able to determine from blood

analysis where they

could have come from?"

"Well, now, blood fractions don't tell the

whole story in this case," the

doctor went on. "Delin permitted us to perform

biopsies on her and allowed

us to conduct a complete medical work-up, including

internal scans. There's

a definite resemblance to Vulcan genetic

makeup, in spite of the fact that

there's little superficial resemblance in the

DNA. When we were down on

Mercan, I sensed they were more Vulcan than

human, which they are, in spite

of subtle differences in genetic and internal

structure. So the Mercans are

not of the basic root stock of humans.

In the galactic humanoid matrix,

they probably occupy a position between Vulcans

and humans, but they're

closer to the VulcanRomulan group. One thing

for certain: the Mercans are

going to cause great confusion in

xeno-anthropology. I tell you, Jim, this

has been as frustrating to me as it's been

exciting. With all apologies,

Spock, I think the Mercans are probably more

like humanized Vulcans."

Spock was nodding.

Kirk noticed it. "Spock, have you come to some

conclusions that McCoy and

I haven't because of your own background?"

"In a way, Captain. I suspected the

possible Vulcan humanoid branch

similarity in the Mercans the moment I first beamed

down. It was reinforced

during my meetings with Prime Proctor

Unos," Spock explained. He paused for

a few seconds, then added, "I was able to sense

. . . to achieve . . . to

accomplish . . . I'm sorry, but you have no

concept and therefore no

terminology to. describe it. There is a

Vulcan word, unpronounceable for

your speech mechanisms .... It

doesn't precisely mean "mind meld," which

you have seen me accomplish ....

The closest terminology that I can think of

to describe it is "mind touch,"

although that is also imprecise."

"Empathy?" McCoy volunteered.

"Something of that sort, Doctor. It's

undoubtedly the factor that caused me

to suspect the close resemblance to the

Vulcan-Romulan humanoid genetic

group ....

his

"All right," Kirk said, beginning to pace back

and forth in the cramped

space of his quarters, "now I'm beginning to get

a handle on how to proceed

here. We're going to attempt to parley. But I

want our team to consist of

myself, Spock, McCoy, and . . . was Kirk

thought for a moment. "And

Lieutenant Commander Montgomery Scott.

We'll speak first with the four

members of the Technic that are aboard. Then

we'll speak with Lenos and

three of the Proctors of his choice from his

personal squad that are

aboard. Spock, I want you and Doctor

McCoy to interface with Lenos and his

Proctors initially; I want you to give them a

complete tour of the

Enterprise with as much of an explanation of everything

as they are capable

of grasping. In particular, I want you to show and

explain to them our

weaponry and our transporter, Spock."

"Understood, sir."

"I'm going to hold parleys on the Enterprise

between the four of us and the

four Mercans of the Technic and of the Proctorate

. . . separately."

"Jim, I- know it helps you think, but this pacing

back and forth is not

only difficult here in your quarters with the two of

us present," McCoy

interrupted, "but it indicates your nerves are about

as taut as a tent rope

in the rain. I want you and Scotty

to work out together for thirty minutes

in the gym . . . today! That's a medical order,

suh."

Kirk had stopped his pacing. "Very well,

Doctor;" he snapped, knowing that

the ship's doctor was the only person aboard who

could give him a direct

relating to physical and mental health. "You're

right, I need it."

"So does Scotty," McCoy added.

Kirk pointed at the doctor. "But, Bones,

once we've completed those initial

parleys aboard, you're beaming back

to Celerbitan with us as part of the

landing party that goes to talk to the Guardians."

"Why me?" McCoy wanted to know. "Damned

if I want my molecules scrambled by

that transporter again."

"Because this time we're beaming down with the full intent

of forcing the

Guardians to parley-and this time I will not

hesitate to use force if

necessary," Kirk told him firmly. "If the

Guardians continue to be stubborn

and dogma-bound, there're going to be some

fireworks comfirst from the

Enterprise up here, then from the landing party on the

ground. And

considering the damage those Mercan muskets can

inflict if one of their

bullets ever hits one of us, I want to have a very

good medic on hand!"

The regular Briefing Room was not used for any

of the meetings with the

Mercans. Kirk chose instead to set up a

complete briefing and conference

room on Deck 11 in the Interconnecting

Dorsal of the ship. There was a

definite reason for this: the standard lounge on

Deck 11 had viewports on

both sides of the room through which the outside of the

Enterprise, the slow

march of the planet Mercan beneath the orbiting star

ship, and the brilliant

glow of the Orion and Sagittarius Arms of the

Galaxy or the disc of

Mercaniad, could be seen at all times by everyone

in the room. The

psychological impact was felt even by Kirk

the first time he walked in to

inspect the facilities before meeting there with the

Technic.

Kirk had gotten used to the claustrophilic

life to which every star

traveler must adapt. Serving aboard a star ship

means living in a closed

artificial environment with no actual view of the

outside universe except

as may be provided from time to time by viewscreens.

Kirk's duties rarely

permitted him to visit the lounge decks in the

Interconnecting Dorsal where

viewports were provided through which crew members

could actually see out

of their little artificial world.

So the visual impact of actually seeing

Mercan and

the glittering bands of fight of the Galactic Arms

was almost overwhelming,

even to him. He stepped out of the turbolift and

walked to the port side,

where he stood for a long moment, watching the blue,

white, green, and brown

surface of the Abode of Life slide past.

He turned to find Scotty at his

side.

"Captain," the Engineering Officer said softly in

a highly unusual

expression of Gaelic emotion, "sometimes I

dinna think we take enough time

to smell the flowers as we go tearin' around the

Galaxy . . . ."

If the setting had that sort of impact on

Lieutenant Commander Montgomery

Scott, who usually saw beauty in nothing

except engineering drawings and

operational manuals, Kirk knew that this was the

proper site for the

discussions with the Mercans . . . .

If only he could now manage to get Pallar

and the other Guardians up here

to see this without using force to do so!

Insofar as Kirk was concerned, there was no question about

it: he had to

force them to come here if necessary. If the Guardians

persisted in acting

like stubborn children, Kirk had resigned himself to the

fact that he would

have to rub their noses in it . . . hard.

He thought he knew what the reaction of the

Technic people would be, but

had serious doubts as to how Lenos and his

Proctors would behave. However,

Kirk underestimated the psychological impact

in both instances.

When Thallan, Delin, Othol, and Orun

stepped off the turbolift onto the

Deck 11 lounge, all four of them stopped

dead in their tracks at the sight

of the universe beyond the viewports on both

sides.

Kirk stepped forward to welcome Thallan, but

found that the Technic leader

was utterly stunned by the sight. The elderly

Mercan merely looked from

side to side, trying to fit what he was seeing

into his own concepts.

"Welcome, Thallan. There is your Abode of

Life," Kirk told him.

In spite of what was now an extensive

exposure to the Mercan language, none

of the people aboard the Enterprise had really learned

how to speak it, and

Translators were still used . . . although everyone was

getting used to

them by now and hardly noticed them except when the

devices failed to make

a translation and uttered the equivalent of a

stammer.

This was the case with Kirk's Translator when

Thallan gave vent to an

emotional quasi-religious phrase in the

Mercan language that simply would

not translate. Yet, from Thallan's tone of

voice, Kirk knew that the

Technic leader was emotionally stirred. He finally

pulled himself together

to the point where he said to Kirk, "I have spent my

life on the Abode,

working to justify the belief that there was more to the

universe and to

life than just the Abode .... I was elated when

we traveled to the

Enterprise, but it was just like working in the windowless

Keeps. Even the

viewscreens you have did not give me the feeling that

I'm getting now. Here

I am facing the reality of what I've mentally

believed all my life . . .

and it's almost too much for me to accept."

Kirk had timed the meeting carefully. As the

Mercans stood there in awe of

the sight before them, the white-bright disc of

Mercaniad touched the

curved horizon of Mercan, slipped below the

planet's limb, and splayed

bands of color in both directions through the

Mercanian atmosphere. As

quickly as it happened, it was gone.

And the brilliant bands of the Orion and

Sagittarius Arms of the Galaxy

became visible, brighter than the Mercans had ever

seen them before, now

that there was no atmosphere to attenuate the light.

"Thallan, why didn't you tell us it could be so

beautiful?" Delin wanted to

know.

"Because one cannot truly describe beauty that one

has never experienced .

. . ."

Othol was at the starboard viewports, looking out

at the galactic arms.

"There is where we came from. And,

Kirk, you say those are uncountable numbers of

suns like Mercaniad?"

"Some of them are bigger than a hundred

Mercaniads," Spock pointed out.

Thallan shook his head. He indicated the three

young Mercans. "They will

have an easier time adjusting to these new realities

than I, even though I

have thought about them for longer than they have lived."

"Honored guests of the United Federation of

Planets," Kirk said, the

Translator sounding out the full syllables of the

formal, stilted-sounding

Mercan language in response to Kirk's

use of the full formal Federation

language of diplomacy. "Please sit down

so that we may talk. I've asked

Mister Spock, Mister Scott, and Doctor

McCoy to join me so that your group

and my group may be of equal size and

importance. Yeoman Janice Rand won't

take part in our discussions but will make a record

of them for the mutual

use of both our groups, should we wish to refer

later to some matter we

have discussed. Is this arrangement satisfactory

to you?"

Kirk had deliberately elimated the usual

conference table because in the

entire time he had spent on the Abode, he'd

never once seen the Mercans sit

around a table. When he and the rest of the landing party had

been grilled

by Pallar and the Guardians, there'd been no table.

Kirk knew why. Everyone

was armed . . . including the four Star Fleet

officers and Yeoman Janice

Rand, all carrying Mark II hand phasers in

full view. In addition, Kirk

wore the Mercan sidearm that Orun had

purchased for him in Celerbitan.

Armed citizens operating under a code duello

could not confer in an

environment where part of them was hidden as it would be if

seated around

a table. Only Yeoman Rand was seated with a

small desk beside her on the

aft side of the deck. Nor could Kirk assume

that firearms would be placed

upon the table; he assumed that a sidearm in a

holster was the only

acceptable place for it to be when it

wasn't in social use by the Mercans.

He was right.

"Would you care for refreshment?" Kirk asked after

they had seated

themselves in a semicircle of seats facing one

another.

Thallan declined. "We assume you have asked us

to meet with you so that we

may discuss the new situation on the Abode

created by your arrival here and

your subsequent stabilization of Mercaniad."

"Partly," Kirk replied.

"I'm not certain that the four of us are authorized

or qualified to speak

for or on behalf of the Technic group in matters

involving the future

course of events on the Abode," Thallan

pointed out.

"Would you wish to return to the Abode at your

convenience to discuss

matters with your Technic Peers?" Kirk

asked. He was willing to do that for

any of the three groups, but he was not about to let them

go back down

without an escort from the Enterprise: a

group of selected security people.

"We can arrange that easily. But for now, we would

speak with you as

temporary representatives of the Technic

Peers. We also intend to speak

privately with a group from the Proctorate as

well as with a group of

Guardians here in this room where they can see what

everyone else has seen.

We'll then bring all three groups here to meet

together concerning your

future political arrangement on the Abode

while we of the United Federation

of Planets sit by to advise you concerning the

Federation, should you care

to apply for membership."

"You intend to bring these three Mercan groups

together?"

"We do. And we will not interfere with the deliberations

that must take

place between them."

"You don't intend to side with the Technic in bringing

about the new order

of things on Mercan?" Othol asked

incredulously.

"We don't live on the Abode. It's your

problem that you must solve

yourselves," Kirk explained. "Under the provisions

of our own code, we

can't intervene in your affairs on the Abode."

"But was Othol began.

"But, was Kirk broke in, "we can assist you

by showing you, the Proctorate,

and the Guardians how similar problems of living

together have been solved

on other abodes. That's one reason why I

asked you to meet with us now.

When the Proctorate and the Guardians each

meet privately with us, they'll

be told and shown the same things that we'll tell and

show you. But how we

tell and show you things will depend upon your answer to this

simple

question: Do you now believe that we came from the

Ribbon of Night out

there"...Kirk indicated the glowing spiral

galactic arms outside the starboard

viewports-"and that there might be other abodes

similar to yours there as

well?"

"Yes." All four Mercan Technics

answered together without hesitation.

"Good. That makes our job easier," Kirk

replied. "Each of us has worked

with the library computer of the Enterprise to assemble a

visual

presentation of the Universe as we now believe it

to be, accompanied by a

brief description of life on.some of the abodes

of the Federation and an

outline of our individual specialized fields

of knowledge. I'll discuss the

Federation and its history. Mister Spock will

give you a brief rundown on

the general level of scientific knowledge. Doctor

McCoy will discuss our.

medical technology as well as the life forms of

some of the abodes. And

Mister Scott will talk about our technology,

engineering, and the star ship

Enterprise. But this is not a unilateral

meeting. Once we have told you

about us, we want you to tell us about yourselves, about

Mercan, about the

Technic, and about your knowledge. Everything that we

do together must

always be a mutual exchange, and the first thing that we

must exchange in

order to achieve later agreement is information about

one another. Is this

agreed?"

Thallan looked upon the dark surface of his world

below, then out at the

galactic arms thrown across the black sky of

space. "I didn't expect that

you, with all

your power and weaponry, which far exceeds ours, would

meet us on an equal

level. Our own history is not devoid of

stories of conflicts and conquests

of the stronger over the weaker before the days of the Code

of the Abode

when the contests were brought down to the level of

individual

confrontations. James Kirk, you of the Federation

are not only stranger than

we originally thought you must be, but stranger than

we ever thought

possible."

"You're not describing just the Federation,

Thallan. That's the way we look

upon the entire Universe!"

Captain's Log: Stardate 5079.3

The plan of the meetings that was thrashed out between Mister

Spock, Doctor

McCoy, Mister Scott, and I may work after

all. I'm very encouraged after our

meeting with the four Mercan Technics . . . but

I have to keep reminding

myself that this is the easiest of the three Mercan

groups we're going to

meet. The Technic group will most certainly

make my job easier, even though

they're initially opposed to granting any position

to the Guardians in the

new arrangement; the Technic people aboard believe

that the Guardians' role

is no longer required and that the Technic can now

assume that mantle of

semipriesthood. But Thallan and the rest have

to mull over what they saw and

heard during the meeting . . . and they're not

stupid people. They all took

copious notes during our presentations, writing

furiously in that script of

theirs that appears so much like Arabic. Thallan

wants to return to the

surface, but I don't want to let any of them

off the ship until we've met

with the Guardians . . . which are going to be the

toughest of the three

groups to work with.

I'm trying very hard not to play the conquistador

role by leading these

people in any direction.

They've got to work out their differences them

selves. None of us aboard knows enough about the

Mercan civilization yet to force a viable

arrange

ment on them that would work, much less endure

long enough to prevent a planetary civil war. The

only thing I insist I must do is to keep

hammering

away at them, if necessary, to compromise and

come to an agreement. That is why these meetings

will take place here aboard the Enterprise, where

one disenchanted or stubborn faction can't go

storming out of the conference to whip up that civil

war. I won't let them off the ship to do it. I

must

make this work . . . or it will be a long time before

Star Fleet has the opportunity to listen to this

....

Kirk didn't meet Prime Proctor

Lenos and three of his Proctors on Deck 11,

as he had the Technic group. He showed up with

Spock, Scotty, and McCoy in

the staterooms where the Proctors were being kept in

security detention.

Basically, Kirk didn't want to take any

chances with the chief paramilitary

person of the Abode, although he knew that he'd be

required to follow

protocol. Therefore, the Federation group would

accompany the Proctors from

their detention staterooms along a well-planned

route to Deck 11 with ship

security personnel stationed inconspicuously

along the route . . . all

armed with phasers set for stun. The Federation group

wore full dress

uniforms, and both Kirk and Scotty carried their

Mercan sidearms in

addition to hand phasers in full view, Scotty

draping his baldric over his

shoulder and kilt.

"Proctor Lenos," Kirk announced as they

entered the Prime Proctor's

stateroom, "the four of us from the United Federation

of Planets would be

honored to have you and three of your chosen Proctors

accompany us to a

place where we may talk as equals concerning the

future of the Abode. This

will be a peaceful exchange of information between

equals. As such, we'll

return

your weapons to you for the meeting so that we may indeed

be equals. But our

code does not match your code, and I must tell

you that we'll permit no

violence on the part of the Proctor group. Will you

agree to meet under

those terms?" Kirk extended Lenos'

longbarreled Proctorate repeating firearm

butt-first toward the Prime Proctor.

Lenos looked the Federation group over carefully,

noting that each was

armed, some properly with Mercan weapons, and all

with the strange but

powerful weapons he did not understand. He also

noted that they'd dressed

differently than he'd seen them before; their clothing

bore more ornaments

and sigils of rank and was therefore obviously

attire worn when conferring

with those of extremely high position such as himself.

He stood up, reached

for his armored helmet, placed it upon his head, and

reached for the weapon

that Kirk extended toward him. "It is agreed.

I would prefer to talk and

exchange information than to sit in this room doing

nothing. There is much

that we must talk about, and much that I would like to know."

"There may be more to know than you're aware of,

Prime Proctor," Kirk told

him, releasing the weapon to him.

It was an unusual parade that strode through the

corridors and passageways

of the Enterprise to the turbolift-a column of

twos with each Proctor being

accompanied by one of the Federation parley group. The

security forces were

not in evidence.

When the turbolift door swished open on the

Deck 11 meeting room and Kirk

stepped out with Lenos at his side, the Prime

Proctor marched ten steps

into the room . . . and stopped. Fortunately, this

was far enough into the

room to permit the others to clear the turbolift.

Mercaniad shone through the starboard viewports, which

had been polarized

to cut down the glare.

On the port view, the Proctors could look

down and see the island of

Celerbitan passing beneath the orbit-

ing star ship. There would be no question in the mind of

any Mercan that

this was Celerbitan, for all who used the traveler

would have learned the

geography of the Abode through the Traveler

Directory. Again, Kirk's

planning group had thought through every detail of each

separate meeting,

and this one was timed to provide the proper impact

for the Proctors.

It overimpacted Lenos.

He slowly removed his helmet,

muttering something in a voice so low that

the Translators couldn't pick it up. His

helmet suddenly clattered to the

deck and he became ramrod-stiff, staring out the

viewports toward his home

planet for the first time, seeing and yet not wanting

to see.

Spock, who was right behind him, saw what had

happened to the Prime

Proctor. "Severe psychotrauma," the

Vulcan First Officer observed, and

stepped around in front of Lenos.

He was quickly joined by McCoy, who looked at

the Prime Proctor and said,

"He's probably on the edge of catatonia,

Spock."

Spock nodded, then placed his right hand over the

Prime Proctor's face. His

own face showed strain as he closed his eyes.

"Spock, no! You've never tried mind meld

with a Mercan before!" Kirk

objected. "They're close enough to you that you could-was

"Captain, Spock must try," McCoy

replied, because Spock was totally

concentrating on Lenos. "The Mercan's

gone into traumatic psycho-shock. He

can't permit himself to believe what he's seeing,

because his Proctorate

training won't allow it. Spock must break through

that . . . or you'll

never be able to confer with any Proctor up here."

A low moan came from Spock, who then began

to mumble Vulcan and Mercan

words. Finally he groaned, "Yes . . .

yes.... It is not all wrong . . . .

It is only part of what is true . . . . The

Abode is real . . . . You are

real.... This is real. . . ." He gave an

almost

explosive exhalation of breath, then opened his

eyes and removed his hand

from Lenos' forehead.

Lenos' eyes snapped open and he looked

directly at Spock. "You have been

very helpful, and I will not forget it, Spock."

Spock turned his head to Kirk and explained

quietly, "A Proctor cannot

permit himself to faint . . . ."

The other three Proctors did not go into the same

degree of psycho-shock as

Lenos, but one would not expect that from other than a

Proctor who had

exhibited the discipline and mental rigidity

to rise to the very top of

such a paramilitary organization. However,

McCoy and Spock spoke to each of

them quietly, more to assure themselves that there was no

problem than to

offer the sort of therapy that Spock had conducted

with Lenos.

When the eight sat down together, Kirk realized that

this would be a

meeting of paramilitary men rather than a meeting of

scientists, as with

the Technic group. It was fortunate for Kirk that

he was a star-ship

captain.

"We're meeting here," Kirk announced, "so that

you might see for yourselves

that I spoke the truth when I said we did not come

from the Abode but

traveled in a small world from the Ribbon of

Night."

"James Kirk," Prime Proctor Lenos

said with exaggerated lack of emotion

that was betrayed only by his eyes, "I could not

believe you then because

what I'd been taught to believe could not be

expanded to include the truth

of what you said. Now I see the Abode on one

side and Mercaniad on the

other . . . and I know for the first time that we're not

on the Abode. I

accept this as reality. I must therefore also accept the

other things that

you've said, even though they may conflict with what

I have known to be

truth . . . ."

"Prime Proctor," Kirk replied with

equal lack of emotion and curtness, "we

don't require that you or any Mercan change

your belief in the Code.

However,

the reality of the Universe will require you to add

new information to the

Code . . . which will not really change the Code very

much at all."

"Why do you wish to show us these things and to talk with

us?" Lenos wanted

to know. "With your power, your weapons, and

your traveling world, will you

be displacing the Guardians by force and require the

Proctorate . . . or do

you wish to discuss an arrangement with us for

participation in the

conflict in exchange for our services thereafter?"

"Neither. We meet because there are changes that you must

understand," Kirk

tried to explain. "The role of the Proctorate

need not be changed

drastically if suitable agreements can be reached

between the Technic, the

Guardians, and the Proctorate."

"I find it difficult to believe that you don't

intend to conquer and rule,"

Lenos said bluntly. "We haven't had

conflict and conquest on the Abode for

uncounted generations, but we have stories from the time before

the Code,

when such things occurred. You have the capability for

conquest. We would

fight, but we might not win. With my background and

training, I must tell

you that we haven't fought for so long that it would be

difficult for us at

first . . . then difficult for you later, even with

your capability."

Kirk said slowly and carefully, "We don't

choose to use our capability for

conquest except to prevent conflict between Mercans

because of the change."

There were times when the formal and stilted language

usage of Mercan had

its advantages, and this was one of them.

"What is this change you speak of?"

"Mercaniad will no longer create an Ordeal.

To save ourselves, we were

forced to tamper with Mercaniad to stabilize it.

There will be no further

need for the Guardian Mysteries of the Ordeal.

There will be no further

need for the Keeps. There would be no need for change

if only the Guardians

and the Proctorate knew this, but the Technic knows

it, too . . . and all

will know it soon," Kirk explained. "We're

speaking of this separately to

the Technic, to the Guardians, and to you, the

Proctorate. Then we'll bring

all three groups to the Enterprise so that

together you may discuss and work

out solutions for the change without having to resort

to conflict."

"You'd speak of this with the Technic?" Lenos asked

indignantly.

"We've done so because they knew of the change of

Mercaniad."

"An open conflict with the Technic would pose no

problem for the

Proctorate," Lenos boasted.

"So? You just told me that you hadn't fought for many

generations. Thallan

of the Technic has told us that the Technic is

capable of building and

using weapons superior to yours; they haven't

fought, either, so you're on

equal ground there. But they may have superior

weapons. Do you wish to risk

losing to them? Or would you be willing to talk about an

arrangement

first?" Kirk paused for a moment and added,

"Lenos, I have fought. I tell

you in truth that I'd rather come to an agreement

by talking than to fight.

I've seen my friends killed; I've

seen my enemies die. It doesn't produce

personal satisfaction for a paramilitary person

such as you or me to fight.

As Captain of the Enterprise, I'm trained

to fight if absolutely necessary

. . . but only if there's no other recourse!

Am I correct in saying that

your Proctorate training is the same?"

Lenos thought about this for a long moment during which he

watched

impassively as Mercaniad slipped behind the

edge of the Abode and the

Ribbon of Night became visible. Then he said,

"Captain James Kirk, at first

you were strange and different. Now I see that you and

your people only

appear to be different. We think alike in many

ways. I believe that we may

be able to work together to accomplish our real duty which

is the

prevention of conflict. Please tell me what you

recommend the first joint

action should be . . . ."

Kirk smiled. He'd won two out of three

now. "Prime

Proctor, I suspect we've both been

taught that the first action to take in

any operation is to obtain and evaluate information

upon which future action

may be soundly based. Is this correct?"

The Prime Proctor of the Abode of Life

inclined his head upward in the

Mercan gesture of affirmation.

"Then let us first exchange information about one

another so that we may

work together more soundly toward the goal of stabilizing

and expanding the

Code of the Abode."

Captain's Log: Stardate 5080.7

In a few minutes, I'll beam down with a landing

party to the island-city of

Celerbitan and the Guardian Villa on the

surface of Mercan, the Abode of

Life. This is probably the most critical

phase of our attempt to stabilize

the civilization of Mercan.

Our meeting with the Technic group led by Thallan

revealed that their

technology is welladvanced due to the copious

amounts of iron, aluminum,

and copper available on or near the surface of the

planet, with

high-quality lodes deep in the mantle, where the

Mercans built their Keeps

generations ago. These lodes and ore bodies have

been relatively

undisturbed because, without a large moon and tidal

strains, Mercan is a

tectonically stable planet with little movement of its

continental plates.

Thus, it's been easy for the Mercans to develop

the iron-based technology

we find on nearly all Type M planets

inhabited by humanoids.

Although the Mercans seem to have forgotten a lot of the

older technology

that preceded the

universal use of their traveler system, my

Engineering Officer believes that

the Technic possesses the necessary technology in

metallurgy, materials

science, and antimatter know-how to provide us with

raw materials and

finished parts built to Scott's specifications,

even though the Mercans

don't have antimatter warp drives yet. We

shouldn't expect that they'd

direct their technology toward star flight

anyway. They've developed anti-

matter as a compact power source for their traveler

system.

In the course of talking with the Technic members,

we learned that Mercan

is also rich in the basic material for an

antimatter energy system. The

Mercans call it "vitaliar," but Scott

says it's an alloy of several

elements of the matter-antimatter system. There

are also some low-quality

dilithium crystals on the planet, but the

Mercans never thought to use them

in their antimatter systems because they had

developed different but more

complex techniques. The use of the Mercan

dilithium crystals in our systems

would not produce the efficiencies we require .

. . but there're a lot of

these low-quality dilithium crystals on

Mercan if we wish to make some

modifications to use them. Scott's

looking into this now as an alternative

if we need additional dilithium crystals for

our return journey.

We might be able to effect repairs here without the

Guardians and without

establishing a restabilized civilization on

Mercan. But we'd save ourselves

and leave a shambles behind. With the technology

possessed by the Mercans,

there might be nothing left when we got back . .

. and I'm sure the

Federation will want to establish diplomatic

relations, if not offer

outright Federation membership to these people. Mercan is

in a critical

location to support future Federation exploration

and colonization of our

treaty-permitted sector of the Gal-

axy in the Sagittarius Arm. In addition, it

has valuable ore deposits; even

the low-grade dilithium crystals are of value

to commercial star ships that

don't operate at the high warp speeds of Star

Fleet vessels.

Eventually, perhaps in less than a

century, the Klingons are likely to work

their way this far toward the center of the Galaxy.

If we don't have Mercan

in the Federation, I know the Klingons would indeed

play the conquistador

role . . . if they left anything at all

except their own fleet base here.

I want to put my thoughts on record before beaming

down, because this is

a critical operation and I want a record

to remain, should something

happen.

But we're going down in force this time.

Lieutenant Commander Scott will

have the conn in my absence. My landing force will

consist of Mister Spock,

Doctor McCoy, Lieutenant Sulu, and

seven of our most experienced security

officers under Sulu's command. I intend to convince

Mar and the Guardians

to beam up willingly to meet in the ship. If they

won't agree to parley in

the Enterprise, I have Prime Proctor

Lenos as a hostage if I wish to use

him as such. I'd rather not, since he

appears to understand the situation

now and is willing to confer, however reluctantly,

with the Technic and the

Guardians. If Pallar abandons Lenos,

we'll get Pallar up here by force. We

may have to stun a few Proctors or even some

Guardians to do it.

At this point, I'm not averse to using coercion

in the form of physical

force to bring the Guardians to conference. We've

got too much to lose ....

In an unusual move, Kirk inspected the

landing force before beaming down,

wanting to make absolutely sure

of every detail because of the critical nature of this

mission.

"Spock, I want you to carry your hand phaser in

the open where it'll be

visible," Kirk told his First Officer, noting

that Spock had apparently

placed the Mark II phaser under his tunic, where

it would normally be

carried.

"Captain, a Vulcan never appears in

public visibly armed with a weapon

except in Kal-if-fee," Spock objected.

"On Mercan, you must appear visibly armed,"

Kirk ordered. "In the Mercan

culture, if you're not visibly armed, you're a

nobody."

"At your request, Captain, I will follow the

local custom," Spock replied.

"Are you sure I really have to wear this again?"

McCoy indicated his Mercan

sidearm. "I certainly don't intend to use

it."

"Wear it, Bones. It's your option to use it or

not. You're the medic on

this mission. Even though medics don't want

to fight, sometimes they have

to."

Kirk stepped up on the transporter stage

to look over his landing force.

"I'll repeat the general order for this mission,

gentlemen: if you have to

shoot, shoot to stun and not to kill, regardless of

what the Mercans do if

a fight breaks out. I don't feel it's necessary

to repeat any of our recent

briefing unless any of you have questions. If

you don't understand

something, ask now and not on Mercan, where we've

got to act in a unified

manner. So, for the last time, any questions?"

There were none.

Kirk stepped into a transporter locus and

quietly said, "Landing force,

prepare to beam down. Places, please."

Then, as everyone stood at the ready, Kirk

gave the command, "Energize."

Kirk had selected the spot where they had

materialized in the Guardian

Villa with Lenos and Orun those many days ago.

There was no one in sight.

"Follow me," Kirk snapped. "Security,

cover our rear and check each

alcove as we pass it." He strode toward the

corridor where he had seen

Pallar appear during their first encounter. It ended

in a heavy set of

double doors. Kirk merely pushed one open and

went through.

And found himself face to face with a seated circle of

about two dozen

Guardians, apparently in conference

session.

He strode into the chamber far enough to permit the rest

of his landing

force to get through the door behind him and array themselves

on either

side of him.

Pallar rose to greet him. "James Kirk,

welcome. We thought you'd perished

in the recent Ordeal along with Proctor Lenos

and his group."

Following Mercan custom, Kirk replied,

"Greetings, Pallar. We're all

alive and well, thank you. You may be pleased

to learn that Prime Proctor

Lenos and his group of Proctors, as well as

Thallan, Orun, Delin, and

" Othol, are alive and well, too."

"You were able to overcome the Proctors and find the

safety of a Keep?"

Pallar asked incredulously.

"Yes and no," Kirk told him. He still

carried his phaser in his hand, as

did the rest of his landing force. But the familiar

Mercan sidearm was

holstered at his side. "Our Keep is

in the sky . . . in the traveling

device we used to journey here from the Ribbon of

Night. Your Prime

Proctor and.the Technic group are there."

Guardian Noal, seated at Pallar's right, was

looking over the landing

force carefully. He sneered. "Pallar, he is

still insane, as before.

These biological constructs of the Technic are

obviously able to

withstand the Ordeal . . . but I'm truly

surprised at the variety of form

that the Technic has been able to achieve. Consider

the one with the

pointed ears . . . ."

"Pallar . . . Guardians . . . we

didn't come here to argue the reality

of our source with you," Kirk said

firmly. "A great change has come over

Mercaniad, and this change will create

drastic and sweeping changes in your civilization

here on the Abode."

"What do you know of Mercaniad?" Guardian

Parna asked, rising to her feet.

"Ah, you've noticed?" Kirk asked

the rhetorical question with a smile.

"Mister Spock here, a citizen of an abode

called Vulcan, will be happy to

explain it to you."

Spock looked directly at the Guardian

council and said in his usual

emotionless tone, "Mercaniad has been

stabilized. I calculated that the

placement of high-energy antimatter

explosives we call photon torpedoes in

the core of Mercaniad would damp the irregular

oscillations in its stellar

output. Therefore, I caused those two photon

torpedoes to be injected into

Mercaniad. Your sun is stabilized. There will

be no more Ordeals."

"How have you of the Technic been able to do this and

to determine this

outcome?" Parna asked directly.

"We aren't of the Technic," Kirk told her,

"but Spock knows stellar

physics. Mister Spock . . ."

"Your Mystery of Mercaniad is no mystery

to those of us in the Star Fleet

of the United Federation of Planets,"

Spock explained carefully. "Your

ancestors learned how to measure the critical

parameters such as neutrino

flux and gravito-inertial radiation, both of which

emanate from the stellar

core. I am certain that those instruments left to you

by your ancestor

Guardians will now show that there is minimal variation

in these parameters

. . . ."

"The Technic has learned the Mysteries of

Mercaniad," Guardian Tombah

growled.

"We aren't of the Technic," Kirk repeated.

"But the Technic knows of this

already. However, it doesn't make any difference.

With Mercaniad

stabilized, the Mysteries of Mercaniad no

longer have any validity."

"Pallar, I warned you!" Guardian Aldys

shouted at the Guardian One. "We

should have had the Proctor-

ate move against the Technic earlier, before they

learned. Now it is too

late!"

"The Technic didn't learn any of this from their

own experiments," Kirk

tried to point out. "They learned from us."

"The general populace doesn't know of this

yet," Pallar pointed out to his

colleagues. "There are only a few who know.

Aldys, you and Parna were very

effective in explaining why the recent Ordeal was

so short. So the citizens

of Mercan still believe in us. Therefore, fellow

Guardians of the Principle

Council, I submit to you that there is only one

thing that we can do at

this point. Do you agree?"

"Kill them!" Noal shouted.

"Destroy them before they can inform," Aldys put

in.

"Proctors!" Tombah yelled.

Three doors to the chamber flew open to reveal

Proctors in their openings.

Kirk was the first to fire. But the concentrated

phaser fire of the

lightning-fast security people dropped the other

Proctors almost

simultaneously.

The Guardian Johon, seeing this, reacted

instinctively by going for his

Mercan sidearm. Spock dropped him

instantly with a stun bolt from his hand

phaser.

"Hold!" Kirk shouted above what could become a

melee as he reset the output

of his phaser. With cool aim, he fired a

phaser bolt into the floor in

front of Pallar. The floor grew hot, then

blew up in an explosion of shards

driven by the vaporization of the latent water in the

flooring.

That stopped the confusion.

"We didn't come here to argue with you and your

Guardians, Pallar," Kirk

stated flatly. "We possess more weapon power

than you can possibly imagine!

This has been only an example of it. The

Proctors and Guardian Johon are

unhurt; they'll regain consciousness shortly.

All the Proctors on the.

Abode cannot

possibly stop us, because this time we've come in force

to show you the

truth of that fact."

Pallar stared at Kirk for a moment, then at each

member of the landing

force. "What do you want of us?" he finally

asked.

Another Proctor appeared in an open

doorway to the chamber, and the landing

force from the Enterprise heard a sound few of them

had ever experienced.

The Proctor fired as he had been trained to do:

the first shot went over

their heads. The explosion of the Proctor's

firearm was followed by the

slap sound of the bullet's shock wave as it

passed centimeters over their

heads. The Proctor was immediately stunned

to unconsciousness by a phaser

bolt from one of Kirk's security men.

"First of all, call off the Proctors before we

become angry and somebody

gets hurt," Kirk snapped with obvious

irritation in his tone.

As four more Proctors appeared in the

doorways, Pallar held up his hand to

them. "Cease, Proctors! Secure

your weapons!" the Guardian One ordered.

"Now, again, James Kirk, what do you want of

us?"

"You and three of your Guardians. You may

choose who accompanies you," Kirk

explained. "We'll travel to our Keep in the

sky for a meeting between us,

conducted in peace. Then, you'll meet with an

equal number of

representatives from the Proctorate and the

Technic in our Keep for the

purpose of working out between your groups a stable

social situation here

on the Abode."

"We have a stable situation," Guardian Jona

remarked.

"Not any longer," Kirk pointed out.

"Guardian Pallar, this is one of the most

elaborate and insane plots I have

ever encountered," Noal complained. "These Technic

constructs are not

sane."

"I presume that you're a medical expert,

Guardian Noal?" Kirk asked.

"I am."

"Permit me to introduce my medical expert,

Doctor Leonard McCoy." Kirk

indicated the ship's doctor.

"If you're wondering whether or not we're

Technic constructs," McCoy said

slowly, "I can easily show you data on blood

chemistry alone that proves

beyond a doubt that the Technic couldn't possibly

possess the technology to

create us. You're familiar with bloodchemistry

technology?"

"Of course. That's one of the most primitive of

medical technologies," Noal

replied in an insulted tone.

"Of course. No insult intended, Guardian,

so please stay away from your

sidearm," McCoy went on. "I'm a

medical man, not a warrior. You may kill

according to your Code when you have to, but I don't

follow that sort of a

code. But let me give you some basic data.

Your blood chemistry is based on

a hemoglobin molecule arranged around an

atom of copper. Well, the

hemoglobin of Mister Spock here from the

abode called Vulcan is also based

on copper. But the rest of us have a hemoglobin

molecule based on iron.

There're other differences in the blood groups, but

the hemoglobin fraction

is the easiest to check if you have any question about it."

There was a moment of hesitation on Noal's part

before he replied, "I would

like to look at your data, Doctor McCoy .

. . and perhaps I might want to

take some blood samples myself. Technic

biological know-how may be more

highly advanced than we know."

"It isn't," McCoy added with finality. "But

mine is. Come see for

yourself."

"And we're ready to prove to the rest of you that we

are who we say we

are," Kirk broke in, moving quickly into the

sudden opening in the

Guardians' stubborn beliefs created by their

medical expert's

condescension. "We have the power to simply step in

here and take over by

force, but that's not our code. We want

to repair our abode and return to

our people in the

Ribbon of Night. But you are the ones who are

going to have to continue to

live on the Abode, and you are the ones who are

going to have to solve your

own problems your own way. We are here to help you

if you want help. Or you

can try to solve your problems without what help

we're permitted to give

you. But you must solve those problems or your

civilization is going to come

apart very quickly without the unifying factor of the

Ordeal. Since our

arrival here by accident started this whole affair, and

since we had to

stabilize Mercaniad to save ourselves, we want

to see to it that our actions

do not totally destroy your civilization. Therefore,

we want you to meet on

the Enterprise to work out the details of the

transition to your new state

of affairs . . . which is now quite different than you

have ever dreamed

possible . . . ."

"You want us to confer in your Keep in the sky?

Ridiculous!" Tombah

laughed.

"Spock, how's our timing?" Kirk wanted

to know.

"Overhead in two minutes thirty-four

seconds, Captain."

"Have them stand by the phasers," Kirk ordered, then

turned back to Pallar.

"Come with us out into the open. We'll show you our

Keep in the sky as it

passes overhead."

The Guardian group looked at one another.

"Well, come along," Kirk urged. "Or are

you afraid I might be right? Are

you afraid to face the reality of the Universe?

Or do you intend to

continue living in a fantasy? You don't have

to leave the Guardian Villa to

see for yourselves. Come anywhere outside where you can

see the sky."

"This is most unusual," Guardian Parna

objected. "I know what's in the sky.

It's now after sunset, and we'll see nothing but

the Ribbon of Night."

"I can promise you more," Kirk put in. "Come

along and see for yourself."

Some of the Guardians came with more reluctance than

others. But Pallar led

the way at Kirk's side.

The high hill of the Guardian Villa

overlooked the island of Celerbltan and

the western skies of Mercan. Mercaniad had just

set, and there was a glow

across the entire western horizon.

"Enterprise, this is Kirk," the star-ship

Captain spoke into the

communicator he flipped up in front of his

face.

There was a look of astonishment on Pallar's

face as Scotty's voice came

back, "Scott here, Captain. We're comin'

over your horizon now."

"Okay, Scotty, light her up," Kirk

ordered, and turned to Sulu. "Mister

Sulu, take over."

Sulu flipped out his communicator.

"Enterprise, this is Sulu. Chekov, are

you standing by?"

"Affirmative, Sulu," Chekov's

voice replied. "We are tracking the targets

that you defined."

"Continue tracking. Stand by for further commands,"

Sulu told him, but did

not close his communicator.

Kirk was looking at the western sky and finally

saw it.

It was a brilliant, coruscating point of

light. Scotty was illuminating the

lower surface of the primary hull with laser light

, at various

frequencies, bouncing the laser illumination off the

ship's lower shields

to prevent loss of coherency. It made the

Enterprise shine and coruscate

with the characteristic corpuscular appearance of laser

illumination and

with the brilliance of a minus-five-magnitude star.

It changed colors as

Scotty changed the frequency of the laser

illumination.

"There's our sky Keep, Guardians," Kirk

pointed out.

It was impossible not to see it.

There were gasps from some of the Guardians.

The sight was totally new to

all of them. Some of them obviously grasped and

accepted it. Others were

obviously having trouble doing so.

"We have power aboard our Keep, the

Enterprise, that's greater than

anything you have known," Kirk said almost

pontifically to the Guardian

group. "And

we'll now prove it to you. Mister Sulu, you

may proceed with the

demonstration."

As the colored light that was the Enterprise rose

toward the zenith, Sulu

softly gave an order into his communicator.

"Chekov, this is Sulu. Set both

forward laser banks at broad dispersion, phase

lock, and fire a ten-second

burst at the ionosphere."

A glow emanated from the spot of light in the

sky. Then the whole evening

sky lit up as the phasers of the Enterprise

excited the ionosphere over

Celerbitan, producing a brilliant aurora

that laced the blackness with

streamers of orange and yellow light, spreading from

the point of light of

the Enterprise poleward in both directions.

It was a brilliant display of scientific

fireworks. It had been used before

to impress more primitive peoples than the

Mercans. Kirk was counting on it

to impress the Guardians in a different way,

since they were considerably

above the primitive level in intelligence and

civilization.

Then came the piece de resistance. "Port and

starboard phaser banks, tight

beam, phase lock, target the ocean five

kilometers west of Celerbitan,

two-second burst. Fire at will," Sulu

ordered.

Twin beams of incredibly white light emanated

from the Enterprise and

speared through the Mercan atmosphere, ionizing a

pathway as they

penetrated. They focused and struck the Sel

Ethan ocean five kilometers off

the west shore of Celerbitan, where the water

suddenly boiled. It didn't

last long-only two seconds comb it was enough

to boil a square kilometer of

ocean and leave a rising cloud of steam.

As the Guardians gaped at this obvious and

blatant display of star-ship

weapon power, Kirk said to Pallar, "That's the

Enterprise, our Keep in the

sky. Prime Proctor Lenos is there. So

are Thallan, Orun, Delin, and Othol.

We invite you to select three of your

Guardians and travel with us to the

Enterprise for discussions."

"How do I know that this isn't a trick

to eliminate us?" Pallar asked.

"You've demonstrated weaponry that could conquer the

Abode, causing a

conflict and conquest like those in the old legends."

"Conquest is not part of our code," Kirk

explained, then pointed out, "And

if we'd wanted to destroy you rather than to talk,

we could have done so at

any time since we arrived here . . . and with great

ease, as you just saw."

He displayed his communicator. "Youorigipally

believed this to be a sigil

of rank. It's more than that. It permits us

to talk with those on the

Enterprise. was He spoke into it.

"Enterprise, this is Kirk. Lieutenant

Uhura, please put Prime Proctor

Lenos on."

"Uh . . . Captain Kirk, this is the

Prime Proctor," came back a voice that

was unquestionably that of Lenos. It was also obvious that

he was unused to

any remote-communication device.

Kirk handed the communicator to Pallar. "Speak

to your Prime Proctor,

Guardian One. But be advised that Thallan is

also there and listening."

"Uh . . . Lenos, are you all right?"

"Yes, Guardian One. Will you be traveling here

for meetings?"

"Lenos, is it true?"

"It's true, Guardian One. I'm in the

Enterprise and watching the lights of

Celerbitan pass below me. I've already spoken

with Captain Kirk privately.

So has Thallan. Both of us urge you

to travel here with a Guardian

delegation for conferences. I'm convinced that our

future on the Abode is

at stake."

"You cannot speak for Thallan. Can he speak for

himself?"

"Yes, Guardian One, this is Thallan," the

voice of the Technic leader came

back. "I confirm everything that Prime

Proctor Lenos has just told you. We

of the Technic are willing to meet with the

Proctorate and the Guardians,

because a great change is upon us. There will be no more

Ordeals. But we

must speak together of

this and work out a peaceful solution. Otherwise, I

fear there will be

conflict, because your prime Guardian Purpose

no longer exists to hold

Mercan civilization together."

Pallar dropped the communicator to the floor.

"I refuse to permit any

discussions in which the Technic participates on an

equal footing with the

ancient and respected Guardians of the Code,"

he growled. "The Technic was

the cause of this, and the Technic must suffer the

consequences of

overthrowing the established ways of the Code . . .

."

Keeping his eyes on Pallar, Kirk bent down

and picked up the communicator.

Then he stood up and stared directly up at the

Guardian One. "Pallar, I've

tried to act with diplomacy and decorum. You've

replied time after time

with bigoted, biased replies and reactions.

I'm willing to forgive those

because I understand your background. But since you will not

cooperate

willingly, I regret to inform you that you have no

choice but to meet with

us and with the Proctorate and the Technic on the

Enterprise. Will you

choose the three Guardians who will accompany

you? Or shall I do it?"

The reaction from Pallar was instinctual. He

shouted, "Proctors! Help!"

"Landing force, Plan B," Kirk snapped.

The Enterprise landing force moved more quickly than the

Mercans because

the chosen members of the force had been thoroughly

briefed on what to do

when that order was given.

Kirk had preselected the Guardian conference

group that would accompany him

back to the Enterprise should Plan B need to be

implemented. With his

phaser on stun and accompanied by Spock and

Sulu, he dropped all the

Guardian group save Pallar, Tombah,

Noal, and Parna.

As he was doing this, the rest of the landing force formed a

precise

encompassing grid around the Guard-

ians, phasers at the ready for the Proctors who

did indeed show up in the

corridors leading to this outside balcony as

well as on the parapets above

it.

The Proctors got off a few shots. The

slugs whistled past, slammed into the

floor, and spalled chips and shards before

ricocheting off into the

darkness. But the Proctors' weapons were charged with

black powder; they

hadn't progressed to smokeless, flashless gun

propellants. As Lenos himself

had pointed out, it had been a long time since

there'd been any real

fighting on Mercan. The flash of the Proctors'

guns provided immediate

target information to Sulu's security men . . .

who didn't miss with their

phaser bolts.

"Enterprise, Kirk here. Plan B. Beam us

up now."

Nothing happened. The communicator had

obviously been damaged when Pallar

had dropped it.

Spock reacted at once, flipping out his own

communicator . . . only to have

a stray bullet from a Proctor gun slam it

out of his hands. The bullet went

through Spock's hand as well:

Even the stoic Spock could not suppress a cry

of anguish.

McCoy was at Spock's side immediately.

Spock was in obvious pain from the

slug that had literally shattered his right hand. But the

First Officer

didn't fall or faint; he tried to get his hand

phaser into his left hand to

use it. "Spock, stop that," McCoy snapped

at him. "You're wounded and out

of action. Shut up and quiet down so that I can

get to work on your hand."

It was Sulu who, in the midst of the fire fight,

got his communicator out

and transmitted the beam-up order.

To the utter amazement of the Proctors who had the

group under attack and

who were valiantly trying not to hit the

Guardians, the twelve from the

Enterprise and four Guardians dematerialized

before their eyes, leaving

nothing to shoot at.

"I'm sorry, Pallar," Kirk apologized

as their materialization in the

transporter room of the Enterprise was completed.

"You wouldn't come

willingly, so we had to bring you anyway. Whether

you know it or not, the

entire future of the Abode's at stake . . .

and the Guardians were the only

group standing in the way of resolving the

problem. I'm not going to let you

stand in the way of getting a stable culture

reestablished on the Abode."

Pallar looked around at the strange surroundings.

"This is your Keep in the

sky?"

"It is. And you're my guests," Kirk told

the four Guardians that had been

transported up.

"Spock, can you walk to the Sick Bay?"

McCoy said as he stepped off the

transporter locus with Spock.

Some of the yellowish color had drained from

Spock's face. It was obvious

he was in severe pain, but his stoic nature

wouldn't let him exhibit the

agony he felt in his right hand, from which green

blood dripped to the

transporter locus. "Yes, Doctor, I

believe I can. Captain, please carry on

without me until Doctor McCoy has

repaired the damage of this wound. Then

I will join you."

"We'll both join them as soon as 1 say

you're fit to do so, Spock. You're

my patient now," McCoy said as he escorted

the First Officer from the

transporter room.

Kirk turned back to the Guardians. "Please

follow me, Guardians. We have

much to show you . . . ."

Pallar shook his head. "You can't keep us here

against our will. And I

refuse to surrender my traveler control to you,

because a Guardian never

surrenders his traveler control, even to a

Proctor. We will all travel out

of here back to Celerbitan at once."

Kirk held up his hand. "I wouldn't advise

it, Pallar. Do your transporter

relays extend their capabilities into the

skies? You know that they don't,

and so do L" Kirk was frankly bluffing on this

one, but he based his bluff

on the fact that the Mercans had never considered

traveling or transporting

off the surface of Mercan. Therefore, he

surmised, their transporter system

probably couldn't reach out into standard orbit. "Do

you want to take the

chance of materializing high in the sky over the

Abode? If you do, you

won't have another chance; you'll die immediately."

"I don't believe you." It was Guardian

Tombah.

"You don't have to. I can show you," Kirk

replied. "I'll simply advise you

not to try it until you have a chance to see for yourself

what's involved.

If you decide to try, and if we can't rescue

you with our traveling device,

I'll get another Guardian from the Abode

to replace you in the meetings."

Tombah had his traveler control out, but he

hesitated before passing his

hand over it to activate it. Pallar remarked

to him, "James Kirk may be

correct, Tombah. Do you wish to risk your

life, knowing what happens to one

who attempts to use the traveler without full

coordinate information?

Please, Tombah, I don't wish to lose

you."

It was obvious to Kirk that Pallar was slowly

beginning to open his mind.

One thing for certain: Pallar was as basically

intelligent as Prime Proctor

Lenos. Leaders

don't rise to the top without a considerable amount of

intelligence and

wisdom, regardless of the culture in which they

live.

Kirk stepped down from the transporter platform.

"Please follow me,

Guardians. You'll not be asked to meet with the

Proctorate or the Technic

until you've had the chance to see what they've seen

and until you've also

had the chance to discuss its meaning and implications

among yourselves."

As the Guardians followed Kirk, accompanied

by Sulu, it was Guardian Tombah

who remarked, "This Keep doesn't look like

anything that I know the Technic

has been able to accomplish."

Stepping into the turbolift, Kirk told him,

"I told you we were not of the

Technic. And if you'll continue to look and

evaluate what you see, you'll

understand that this is the abode in which we've

come from the Ribbon of

Night."

"That remains to be seen," Guardian Parna

remarked with some hostility in

her voice.

"You'll see it," Sulu added.

They did. The turbolift stopped at Deck

11 in the Dorsal Connector, and the

group stepped out into the conference room set up in the

former crew

lounge.

The reaction of the Guardian group to the view through

the ports was

totally different from that of the Technic or the

Proctors.

Pallar and Noal went to the ports facing

Mercan, while Parna and Tombah

stood looking out through the dimmed polarized ports

toward Mercamad. They

said nothing for several long minutes while they

watched their home planet

pass beneath the star ship and the brilliant white

disc of Mercaniad march

across the sky, finally dipping below the planet's

limb. When the Ribbon of

Night became visible, Pallar turned to his

colleagues and remarked in a

quiet voice, "Fellow Guardians, we can

no longer refuse to face the facts

that are being presented to us. If we persist in our

old

beliefs, we will go down before the Technic's

onslaught upon the old ideas

because they now have the new information."

"I agree," Guardian Noal added. "It's

very difficult to accept the reality

of what we see . . . but we must do so in the

face of the possibility of

losing our own sanity . . . and whatever control

we may have left over the

peace and tranquillity of living on the Abode

. . . ."

"If I know Prime Proctor Lenos,"

Tombah put in, "I predict that he's

already accepted the new reality. He will not side with

us in any conflict

with the Technic . . . ."

"But how do we maintain and consolidate our

position in the face of this

new information?" Parna wanted to know.

"We accept it as an extension of the Code,"

Pallar tried to explain his

jumbled thoughts. He turned to Kirk. "James

Kirk, I apologize for our

actions."

"No apologies are necessary, Guardian

Pallar. It's difficult to accept new

information that may not totally agree with what one has

previously

believed to be true. My people have had to do it many

times in their

history as we have grown from savagery to the

interabode civilization of

the United Federation of Planets."

"I'm now very interested in your legend of the

United- Federation of

Planets," Pallar replied. "I'd like to hear

more about it."

"Please sit down." Kirk indicated the

circle of chairs. "We'll show you

what we've shown the Technic and the Proctorate

. . . ."

Captain's Log: Stardate 5081.3

All three groups are aboard the ship now, although

they're still isolated

from one another. We know

they're discussing the new situation among them-

selves. Thallan's asked to beam down

to Mercan to

talk with the other leaders of the Technic group. I

permitted him to go, accompanied by Orun and

Sulu. Apparently Prime Proctor

Lenos has absolute authority within the

Proctorate to make whatever

decisions he determines to be best, which is

understandable in a

paramilitary organization. The Guardian group

has not asked to beam down for

consultations with their organization. I was probably

correct in picking the

four Guardians that we beamed up; they're the

true leaders and top people in

the Guardian organization.

I've asked each of the three groups to indicate

to me when they're ready to

meet with the other two. I haven't placed a time

limit on this. However, if

it drags out for more than several days, we'll begin

applying pressure to

hold the joint meeting. But I'd like to have

each group work through their

own position, using their own logic and their own

intimate knowledge of

their position in the Mercan culture.

Spock advises me that this is the best way

to proceed. He cites the history

of several planets as precedents.

Addendum here: I want this log to include a

special commendation for both

Lieutenant Commander Spock and Doctor

Leonard McCoy, but for separate

actions. Spock is to be commended for his bravery

and behavior while

gravely wounded in the right hand by a Proctor

bullet; he was willing to

continue to fight even though he was obviously in

extreme pain and agony.

On the other hand, Doctor McCoy is to be

commended for the quick and

professional action on his part in coming to Spock's

aid under fire and for

a marathon session of seven hours in surgery

rebuilding Spock's right hand,

a feat that required an unusual knowledge of

Vulcan-human physiology and an

extreme competency in surgery. Spock has

been returned to duty, albeit with

his right hand covered with plastiskin to accelerate

healing.

There's nothing to do now but wait for the Mercans

to assimilate the data

we presented to them concerning the Federation and the

possible options

available to them in reorganizing themselves. At the

moment, time is not

critical. However, should news of the stabilization

of Mercaniad manage to

leak from the Guardians still on the planet or from the

ranks of the

Technic, some of whom may have already detected it,

we might be faced with

a time-critical situation. I sincerely hope

this doesn't happen. I'd rather

that the reorganization conference here on the

Enterprise proceed without

the pressure of an impending civil war . . .

.

The setting for the joint meeting was different from that for the

meetings

with the individual groups. Twelve

chairs were arranged in a precise circle

in the center of the room. Toward the forward end were

four more chairs

where Kirk, Spock, Scott, and McCoy would

sit under the Seal of the United

Federation of Planets on the bulkhead. And off

to the side was Yeoman

Janice Rand's desk and recorder. Kirk had

deliberately not included the

Federation contingent from the Enterprise in the circle

of twelve Mercans.

The protocol had been of concern to Kirk. Who

should be the first group to

arrive? The last? Would the order of entrance

imply ranking of a group?

Spock arrived at the most logical solution.

There was basically no protocol

to govern the situation, only logic, at which the

Vulcan was most adept.

When Spock had explained his proposal, even

McCoy couldn't resist giving

him the highest of all compliments, "Logical,

Spock. Brilliantly logical."

Spock merely raised his right eyebrow because it was

an unusual accolade

from the ship's doctor.

It was ethnic full-dress Star Fleet uniform

for Kirk, Spock, McCoy, and

Scott, uniforms that were formal

and similar to indicate that this was considered as an

extremely high-level

conference and with different dress to indicate a unity

in diversity among

members of the United Federation of Planets. And

all four Star Fleet

officers would be visibly armed, not with the Mercan

sidearms, but with the

hand phasers that were now recognized by the Mercans

to be sidearms highly

superior to those of the Abode.

Spock would escort Prime Proctor

Lenos. McCoy would escort Guardian One

Pallar. And Scott would escort Thallan,

of the Technic Peers. Thus

escorted, the three Mercans met for the first time

aboard the Enterprise

simultaneously at the turbolift that would carry

them to Deck 11.

As anticipated, the atmosphere at the initial

greetings at the turbolift

were extremely cool but punctiliously

correct in the Mercan fashion, even

between Pallar and Lenos. But the three Mercans

recognized that high

protocol was being observed here, something that they now

knew was as much

a part of the Federation's culture as it was on the

Abode. The Mercans knew

and understood this protocol, even though it was

strange to them.

The escorted leaders were met on Deck 11

by Captain James T. Kirk in full

dress uniform. Within seconds, the second

turbolift arrived with the

remaining three members of each Mercan group,

each group accompanied by a

single protocol escort from the security

division in full dress uniform.

However, the protocol escort didn't leave the

turbolift, which closed its

doors after depositing the Mercan groups.

The meeting had been choreographed as

precisely as a classical ballet. The

three Mercan groups found themselves seated in a

circle facing one another.

But before a single word was uttered, the anthem of the

United Federation

of Planets blared from audio transducers in the

ceiling of the conference

room. Simultaneously, Kirk and his officers

came to attention and faced the

UFP Seal.

It was a show loaded with schmaltz and ceremony .

. . and it was deliberate

on the part of the Star Fleet officers, who had

planned it carefully. The

Mercan groups knew right from the start that this conference

was theirs,

but that there was a higher organization, the UFP,

looking over their

shoulders. And, following the individual group

briefings the Mercans had

attended, all of them knew what the UFP was.

The Mercans probably didn't

understand what the anthem signified, because they'd heard

the music only

occasionally during the individual briefings, but they

certainly understood

manners, diplomacy, and protocol because of their

armed, polite society.

Whether or not all the Mercans really accepted the

reality of the UFP

remained to be seen, insofar as Kirk was concerned.

As the music faded, Kirk remained standing. "I

welcome the representative

groups of Mercan, the Abode of Life, to the

United Star Ship Enterprise of

the Star Fleet of the United Federation of

Planets," he began formally. "We

are honored to host this conference that is so vitally

important in the

reorganization of the structure of the civilization

of the Abode. We are at

your disposal for assistance of any sort. Should you

request it, we would

be honored to provide a counselor of your

choice from among the four of us

to act as moderator of your meeting. However,

since this meeting concerns

the affairs of the Abode, we must decline to act

in any manner to lead the

conference or otherwise provide active

direction of your deliberations. You

have grave problems to solve among yourselves . . .

and the solutions must

be the ones that you arrive at because you and your people on the

Abode

will be the ones who must henceforth live with those

solutions and their

consequences. Please feel free to proceed."

The Mercans looked at one another wordlessly for a

long minute after Kirk

sat down.

Then Pallar stood. "I would speak privately

with the people from the

Abode," he told Kirk. "It is my

understanding that none of you from the United Federation of

Planets speak

our language yet. If that is the case, would you

be kind enough to turn off

your language devices. If you do understand our

language, I request that the

four of you leave the conference room, along with

Yeoman Janice Rand, so

that we may speak privately."

"We haven't had time to learn your tongue,

Pallar. We'll turn off our

language translators until you signal us

that you wish them turned on

again," Kirk replied, reaching down

to switch off the Translator hung from

a chain around his neck like a pendant.

"Gentlemen," he told his officers,

"please turn off your Translators."

Pallar immediately sat down, and a polite,

softspoken conversation began

between the twelve Mercans. Kirk was worried.

He hadn't anticipated this.

"What's going on, Captain?" Scott wanted

to know. "Why would they want to

discuss something in private?"

"I don't know," Kirk said with an edginess in his

voice. "Yeoman Rand, are

the security guards standing by, just in case?"

"Yes, Captain," she replied. "Four of them

are in the turbolift at this

deck behind the closed doors. I have communication with

them."

"Good. Gentlemen, I presume your phasers

are on stun, just in case?"

"Captain," Spock put in quietly, "I

don't think that this is an illogical

act on their part at all. This is the first time that

any of these people

have had to face one another and talk their

way through a solution. I

submit to you that their request for privacy is an

act of face-saving on

their part. They do not wish to let us know of their

weakness: inexperience

at political and diplomatic bargaining and

compromise."

"I agree with Spock's analysis,"

McCoy added.

"I hope you're right," Kirk told them.

"There is too other logical explanation,"

Spock reminded him.

"Spock, sometimes things don't proceed

logically!" Scott interjected,

sounding strangely like Doctor McCoy. "The

only things that play by the

rules ail the time accordin' to logic are

engineering devices; they're

rational! Haven't you learned that humanoids

aren't rational?"

"I have, Mister Scott," Spock replied

coolly. "Humans, for example, are not

rational beings; they are rationalizing beings."

"I dinna ken whether I've just been insulted or

not!" Scott muttered.

"On the other hand, the Mercans are more like humans

with a Vulcan

background," Spock went on, unperturbed as

usual. "Their private discussion

is rational."

"I still suspect trouble," Scott admitted.

Pallar suddenly stood up again and, using sign

language, requested that the

Star Fleet officers turn on their

Translators.

"We must apologize for requesting privacy,"

the Guardian One began. "But

we're completely unfamiliar with the protocol and

means of conduct of a

meeting such as this. The twelve of us therefore

request the assistance of

the representatives of the United Federation of

Planets. Although you

refuse to lead us, you've stated that you'll assist

and advise. Is this

correct?"

Kirk nodded, and since he was not certain that

Pallar understood the

gesture, added, "You're correct, Guardian

One."

"Very well. It would be a great honor and we would

be greatly in your debt

if you would provide such assistance and advice.

The Technic requests that

Engineer Montgomery Scott join their group as

adviser, while the Proctorate

asks Lieutenant Commander Spock to sit with

them. The Guardians would

request that Doctor McCoy advise and

assist us. Together, our three groups

from the Abode request that Captain James

Kirk preside over this meeting as

moderator."

Simultaneously, all twelve Mercans

rose, moved

their chairs back to widen the circle, and left a

place where the Star Fleet

officers could place their chairs.

"This is a very unusual request," Kirk

began.

"This is a very unusual meeting," Thallan

added.

"And the circumstances are unique," Lenos put

in.

"We don't ask you to violate your

code of the Prime Directive and General

Order Number One," Pallar went on. "You

offered assistance. We're

requesting it in a way that we jointly believe will

help us the most."

This was a totally new slant to the meeting, and it

placed it in a

completely different perspective insofar as

Kirk was concerned. It put him

in charge of running the meeting, a position that

he'd attempted to avoid.

And it put his officers in the difficult position

of having to advise the

Mercan groups. It was not the way Kirk would have

wanted to see the meeting

proceed. He saw himself in the conquistador role

again, and he didn't like

it.

On the other hand, the Mercans themselves had

requested it after private

consultations among themselves. No wonder Pallar

had asked for privacy in

discussing it; the Guardian One had been afraid

that the other groups might

not agree, and this would have been viewed by the

Mercans as an insult to

the officers of the Enterprise.

But why had they jointly agreed to it so quickly, for

it

had taken them less than five minutes? And why

was

the meeting progressing so smoothly right from the

start? Why weren't there more objections from various

factions? Why wasn't there any obvious

argument?

And why had the Mercans agreed to-and in fact

insisted that the officers of the Enterprise assume

such

an active role in the discussions?

"I'll agree to act as moderator of the meeting,

which is a position in

which I won't be forced to impose my cultural

biases on the rest of you,"

Kirk replied with caution. "However, I can't

speak for my officers. It's up

to each of them to individually agree to advise and

assist the Mercan

groups as you've requested. But

before I ask them, please answer a question for me .

. . and don't be afraid

to speak truthfully, because I won't take offense

at the truthful answer.

Why have you requested us to step in to advise and

assist you in the

reestablishment of your cultural organization when

you know that we believe

you must do the job yourselves?"

Pallar spoke first. "We of the Guardians have

never had to do this before.

We don't know how to do it. We've discussed

matters with the Proctorate

before, but we've always been the ones who have given the

final directives,

even though those directives may have been based

on the recommendations of

the Proctorate."

"We don't know where to begin," Prime

Proctor Lenos went on. "We're like

children who have just become learning-old."

"We never expected that the awesome

responsibility of having to reorganize

our civilization would ever fall upon our shoulders,"

Thallan added. "In

the Technic, we were interested only in arriving at

the truth about

ourselves and the Universe. We had no anticipation

that our role would grow

to the point where we'd be called upon to actually run

the Abode."

"But why the sudden agreement to cooperate?"

Kirk wondered aloud.

"Didn't you want that when you established this

meeting and went through

the protocol as you did?" Pallar asked in

return.

"Of course. But I didn't think that you'd

agree to agree this quickly,"

Kirk admitted.

Thallan smiled the broad, toothy grin of a

Mercan. "Ah, just as we once

underestimated you, now you have underestimated us,

James Kirk."

"This is the only rational approach toward solving

the problems," Lenos

pointed out. "The other approach is to fight . .

. and we haven't fought

for a long time. And I really don't want

to fight, as we once discussed,

James Kirk."

"And since it's the only rational

approach, did you believe that we would

be any less rational than you humans and

Vulcans, once presented with

irrefutable data?" Pallar admitted. He

looked at Scott, Spock, and McCoy.

"Come, join us, we have much work to do. It will not be

easy. We will not

always agree with one another in the process of

establishing the solution.

But we need and want your help because you have, in your

own cultures,

solved some of the problems we face. We may not

adopt your solutions, but

we want to, know how and why you arrived at the

ones you did."

"It will be an honor to help you work toward a

logical solution," Spock

told them.

"I'll also consider it a personal honor and a

deep responsibility to advise

you as best I can," McCoy agreed.

"I'll also consider it a high honor

to participate with the Technic group,"

Scott put in.

Under the circumstances, Kirk was very

glad that Janice Rand had her

tricorder running to make a record of these

proceedings. He was once again

concerned over General Order Number One, but the

record would show that the

people of the Enterprise were asked to step in and help.

They took their

positions in the circle.

Then there was dead silence while the Mercans

simply looked at Kirk.

"Citizens of Mercan, begin," the Captain of the

Enterprise remarked

uneasily.

"Where?" Pallar asked.

"How do we start?" Thallan asked.

"What should be discussed first?" Lenos wanted

to know.

It was Kirk who didn't answer immediately.

How do you write the Constitution for Utopia?

He recalled the Star Fleet Academy

class in xenosociology in which they'd

tried to do just that, and it started out the same way: where

do you begin?

At the beginning, of course, he realized.

"The Guardians and the Proctorate

didn't always exist on the Abode," Kirk

pointed out. "Go back into your legends and

stories. Tell us what happened

and how the civilization of the Abode was established

as it was when we

arrived. Then, we'll go on from there.

Correction: you will go on from

there, because then you'll know how to start and in which

direction to go."

Captain's Log: Stardate 5099.5

It seems incredible that we've done it in ten

short days. It took fifty-five

delegates one hundred and twenty-two days

to draft the Constitution of the

United States of America in 1787 . . .

and even then it was an imperfect

document that required continual alteration for

centuries thereafter. And

it took over a hundred people, accompanied by staffs

totaling more than a

thousand assistants, nearly two years to draft

the Articles of Federation

of the UFP on Babel. More years of work were

needed to come up with the

statutes for the Interplanetary Court of

Justice and those regulating

interplanetary commerce.

But the twelve Mercans, assisted by four

officers of Star Fleet Command,

one yeoman, and the library computer of the USS

Enterprise, have, in ten

days, drafted what the Mercans proudly call

the Enterprise Agreement.

How good is it? How long will it last? I wish

I knew.

Unlike those who drafted the Constitution of the

USA, we had the knowledge

of the known uni-

verse available instantaneously at our

fingertips in the ship's computer

memory banks. Unlike the delegates to the

Babel Convention, there was only

one planet with three power groups involved.

Maybe this wasn't a hasty agreement after all.

Maybe it will work. But the

Mercans are going to have to find out for themselves because

they're the

ones who wrote the Enterprise Agreement, and

they're the ones who agreed to

abide by it. Scott, Spock,

McCoy, and I acted only as advisers,

providing

the inputs the Mercans wanted from the history of the

planets of the

Federation.

The Agreement isn't simple. After all, the

Mercan culture isn't simple. In

our short stay here, we haven't even started

to unravel it, much less expe-

rience a great deal of it. For example, the

Mercans possess highly

developed entertainment arts, both passive and

performing. They have an

educational system, but we haven't had the chance

to see it because we've

been too busy; it must be a good system, because it

trains their citizens

well in a complex planet-wide culture tied

together by the cheap and

instantly available traveler system. Mercan

is something like Earth might

have been if travel had turned out to be as

universal as communications

there.

The crux of the matter was going back to the

roots of the system that had

existed when we arrived here. I'll leave a lot

of the analysis up to the

Federation xeno-sociology and anthropology

teams who will follow. But it's

very simple and goes right back to the basic

definition of a social

organization, something we knew about on Earth for

centuries but which was

turned into a science when the first space colonies

provided a means to

test social systems in isolation. In any

social organization, an individual

relinquishes some basic rights in order

to participate it the greater

security of the group.

This requires some modification of individual

behavior, plus some means to

coerce an unwilling individual into the proper

mode of behavior. This

requires laws, rules, regulations, and

codes of behavior. I live under

several every day and don't even bother to think about

them. The Mercans

have lived under similar conditions for as long

as they can remember.

When the Mercans realized that the end of the Ordeal

would not require a

complete change of social organization, but a

modification of what already

existed, it was relatively simple, according to my

First Officer, Mister

Spock, who has already analyzed the outcome

to his logical satisfaction.

Once the Ordeal was no longer a factor in

Mercan life, none of the three

groups was either a challenge or a threat to the other.

The Guardians were just that: the guardians of the laws

of Mercan. It was

unfortunate that their remote ancestors, being the

intelligentsia of the

planet at the time, also discovered the Mysteries of

Mercaniad that

permitted them to predict the Ordeal. That grew

out of proportion with

respect to the real role of the Guardians; they

are the ones who enact and

interpret the rules of conduct between Mercans and

their various

institutions. Once the Guardians

understood that, they became the de facto

government of the Abode . . . as they really were

all along. And under the

provisions of the Agreement, they'll attempt

to expand their ranks. They

think they can do it by means of competitive examination

once they've

learned how our lawyers are trained and then

admitted to the legal practice

by examination. Well, we'll have to see how it works

for the Mercans . . .

.

The Proctorate, on the other hand, is the

Mercan equivalent of the social

organization that enforces the rules of social

conduct. Elsewhere, they

may be called the police, the military, the

guard, or Star Fleet. There was

not much need to change the Proctorate under the

Enterprise Agreement be-

cause they already have their own procedure for

selecting, training, and

admitting new members. I have no reservations

about the possibility of the

Proctors taking over; in the first

place, as Lenos admitted, they haven't

fought in a long time because the code duello takes

care of most of the

fighting urge of the Mercans of both sexes. (i

don't think I mentioned the

fact that the Mercan women, including Delin,

carry sidearms as well, and

that the Mercans protect their women but have no

chivalrous code that we

humans inherited from the Arabs.) I know why

Lenos and his Proctors chose

Spock to sit with them; like the Proctors,

Spock is basically a very violent

man who keeps his emotions under tight control and

who doesn't like to fight

. . . except during pon farr, when I

personally know that Spock can be very

violent indeed. And to some extent, I too understand

the Proctors. The

militarystnaval profession is a strange one

because of the reluctance of its

professional members to engage in the

activities of the profession.

The Technic, who thought they were the political

saviors of the Abode,

discovered when the chips were down they really didn't

want the job because

they were interested in things, not people. This isn't true

of all the

Technic members, because those who were the staunchest

anti-Guardian Tech-

nics would probably have made better

Guardians, even though they were

rebels. The Technic was afraid of the

Guardians who were afraid of the

Technic. After all, the Technic was discovering

things that didn't match

the dogma of the Guardians; the Guardians were

afraid that the Technic

knowledge would unseat them as "keepers of the faith," so they

tried to

suppress the Technic. They were a threat to each

other. In stabilizing

iad and removing the Ordeal as a factor in

Mercan life, we didn't realize

at that time we were removing that threat. The Technic

knows now that

they're free to investigate anything they want

to, but they also now realize

that this freedom of inquiry carries with it

the obligation to openly

disseminate what they learn, especially to the

Guardians, who, in turn, now

realize that they must modify the rules and codes

on the basis of new

information from the Technic.

I think it's stable. But I'm not sure. The

Enterprise Agreement includes

checks and balances, and one of the most important

of these is the,

willingness of the Mercans to accept the Articles of

Federation of the UFP.

Now, at last, we can get busy putting the

Enterprise into shape to return

to the Orion Arm. But the best that I can do is

look over Scott's shoulder

and try to smooth out diplomatic problems that

occur ....

"Captain, it isn't goin' to work. I canna

get these Technic people to

follow my instructions. They keep comin' up with

their own little

improvements," the Engineering Officer complained

to Kirk. "I give "em the

worn part . . . and they give me back

three exactly like it: worn out, even

to the scratch and rub marks!" "Well, what did

you tell them, Scotty?" Kirk

wanted to know.

"I told 'em to make me a new part just like the

old one."

"And they did, didn't they?" "I'll say they

did!"

"Why don't you give them a drawing instead?"

"Because their dimensional system is different and their

number system is

a mess, as I told ye before. Also, their

alloying techniques are

different."

"Have you tried showing them the warp drive and

explaining it to them? Wouldn't that help them understand

what you want from

them?"

"I did that, Captain," Scotty kept

complaining. "Othol understands it

perfectly, he says. And he keeps wantin"

to make improvements in my

engines."

"Well, they've taken a different cut at

antimatter power. Will some of the

improvements work?"

"I canna tell until we try to exceed

Warp Factor One. And if the

improvement doesn't work right, it's a kind of

final way to do testing. I

don't think you could call it "nondestructive

testing' under any set of

rules."

Kirk knew that this was just his engineer's way of

discharging tension,

although he didn't dismiss it entirely from his mind.

They were still a

long way from a Starbase, and the Enterprise had

to be able to sustain Warp

Factor Six once under way.

But Kirk was breathing a lot easier. The

remaining problems were mainly

technical in nature; they could be solved, given

enough time. And with the

Enterprise Agreement, time was no longer as

critical as it had been.

As a matter of fact, it gave Kirk the

opportunity to give his crew a little

of the "rest and relaxation" that their original

scientific survey mission

had been intended to provide. It would serve

another purpose as well,

because the Abode would be petitioning for membership in

the Federation .

. . and a shore leave by thoroughly briefed Star

Fleet personnel would pro-

vide an interesting two-way street of information and

understanding.

Since Enterprise personnel on the Abode

would be subject to the Code, the

obvious person to brief them on it was Lenos,

Prime Proctor of Mercan.

Lenos only had to do it once. Kirk assigned

Uhura to make a briefing tape

to be shown to all personnel before beaming down. This

tape not only

provided the necessary information on the ultrapolite

Mercan culture for

the Enterprise crew members-Jsome of whom were from

some planetary cultures

that were rather loose

and frank in comparison-but also gave Kirk a

valuable documentary to take

back.

Naturally, there were confrontations, as there

always are when two greatly

different cultures interface. But Kirk's

standing order was to wear hand

phasers in sight, set to stun, there being severe

penalties for those crew

members who fired a phaser on Mercan with any

other setting. In spite of

the crudity of the Mercan hand weapons, some of the

Mercans turned out to

be reasonably good marksmen. Bones McCoy

had to patch a few holes in some

of the crew members and remove steel slugs from

others, including the

scrutable Mister Sulu, who was not the samurai

he thought himself to be

....

But Sulu turned up with a magnificent

collection of Mercan hand weapons for

which he traded part of his collection of Earth

swords. Somehow he managed

to get several members of Scotty's harried

engineering crew to fit out a

crude shooting range down in the secondary

hull. Kirk didn't discover this

until much later, although Sulu regaled

his Captain with the glories of

collecting Mercan firearms.

Several weeks passed. The repairs to the warp

drive were indeed extensive

and were not ameliorated by the difficulties of

matching Star Fleet

technology with Mercan technology.

"I'm taking aboard a large quantity of these

lowgrade Mercan dilithium

crystals, Captain. We've made up a

unit that uses several of them in

parallel, and we can operate them as standby

units. I dinna want to trust

this long trip to dilithiums whose condition may have

been strained by the

gravitational jump that brought us here."

"When can we plan to get under way, Scotty?"

Kirk wanted to know. Things

seemed to be working out well on Mercan, and

Kirk wanted to get moving

again. The sooner they got back to Starbase 4

and the sooner the Federation

was able to send a ship back to Mercan, the better.

The Enterprise

Agreement might be work-

ing now, but only Kirk knew how fragile it

might become if the Federation

did not respond with its presence in short order.

Scott held up four fingers of his right hand.

"Four days . . . if I can

make this bloody Mercan technology match with

ours. We've got a lot of

testing to do ....

his

"Then everything's been basically repaired?"

"Aye, but I dinna ken it will work, Captain."

"Mister Scott, we will break orbit in six

watches and proceed under impulse

power so you can make your tests in an under-way

situation," Kirk

instructed him.

"Captain, if something blows, we're in trouble."

"It won't blow, Scotty. You're too good

an engineer to let that happen."

Any chance of engine trouble, Kirk knew, was

possible but remote. It would

be a concern until the ship passed Warp

Factor One, but Kirk was willing to

risk it.

He was far more concerned about the course

home. If they encountered any of

the extreme gravitational turbulence that had

brought them to the Abode in

the first place, it could mean real trouble with a

hay-wired warp drive

unit . . . which is what Kirk considered it to be

until Scott had the

chance to go over it very thoroughly with the sophisticated

equipment of

Starbase 4. He put Spock, Sulu, and

Chekov to work on the problem of

getting back to the Orion Arm in the safest and

most expeditious fashion.

"I see no problem, Captain," Spock

remarked in an offhand manner. "Having

once been through such a gravitational fold, I'm

aware of the sensor

indications that precede the event. As a result,

I can assure you that I

will be most vigilant indeed to ensure that it

doesn't happen again."

"I know that, Spock. But let's make sure."

The departure from Mercan was, as Kirk

expected and wanted it to be, formal

in the best sense of Mercan politeness.

The first ceremony took place in

the atrium of the Guardian Villa overlooking the

wine-dark sea

around Celerbitan. Gifts were exchanged first,

Kirk presenting Pallar with

a tricorder in reciprocation for an

elaborately decorated traveler control

from Pallar. That control unit would be of great

interest to Federation

technical people, and Kirk knew that the Technic

would pore over the

tricorder, giving Mercan its first

communicationsstinformation technology

other than the computers of its traveler,

commercial, and educational

systems. There were no flags, no anthems, no

twentyone-gun salutes; those

were not a part of Mercan protocol. But it was

different during the second

and final ceremony in the recreational garden on

Deck 8 in the Enterprise,

where Kirk, Spock, McCoy, and Scotty

beamed up with the Mercans. There was

an honor guard, the UFP banner, and an

anthem. Such things would be part of

the.diplomatic scene at UFP Headquarters,

and Kirk had no real choice but to

carry on the tradition here, in spite of its

wide divergence from that of

Mercan.

Kirk was not surprised when Pallar, Lenos, and

Thallan-representing the

three major organizations of Mercan presented

the two ambassadors pro tem

from Mercan to the Federation: Delin and Orun.

"I know you first met these two as young rebels with the

Technic," Pallar

explained, "but, as you understand now, they would have been

outstanding

Guardians except for their excessive

curiosity. Under the Enterprise

Agreement, it no longer makes a difference. I

believe they're open-minded

and intelligent enough to properly represent the

Abode to the Federation .

. . and I rather envy the things they're going to see and

learn about."

"We'll have stories to tell when we return,"

Delin promised.

"And this time I think you'll all believe

them," Orun added.

Once the three Mercan leaders had beamed back

down, Kirk reverted to his

role of star-ship captain with great relief. But

he did remember his

diplomatic role

enough to ask, "Delin, would you and Orun wish to watch

our departure from

the Bridge?"

He didn't need to ask.

In the command seat again, Kirk knew they were going

home in spite of the

strange and sometimes baffling repairs that Scotty

had made with Mercan

help. Kirk knew his ship. He knew she was

ready for star travel. He looked

around the Bridge with satisfaction. "Departments

report, please."

Chekov did not look up. "Course plotted and

laid in."

Sulu did turn and flash a brief smile at

Kirk. "Ready to leave orbit, sir."

Kirk punched a button on the arm of the seat.

"Mister Scott, how about it?"

"As ready as we'll ever be,

Captain."

Kirk turned to face Uhura, who was sitting

impassively at her console. "I'm

afraid we haven't kept you very busy on this

mission, Lieutenant," he

remarked.

"That's quite all right, Captain. I've enjoyed the

rest," Uhura replied

with a smile.

"Well, we'll get you busy again. Put

Mercan on the main screen and keep it

there as we leave orbit."

"Aye, sir."

Spock was sitting passively with his fingertips

together forming a steeple.

"Sir, the ship is ready in all respects for

star flight."

"Thank you, Mister Spock. Mister Sulu,

impulse power. Take us out of orbit.

Accelerate to Warp Factor Point-nine-five

and report reaching."

"All ahead on impulse power. We have left

orbit."

It was slow at first, but the image of Mercan.cd

be seen getting smaller

as the Enterprise moved gradually away from the

planet under impulse drive.

"You have a beautiful Abode," Kirk told the

two young diplomats. "I'm sure

that it'll be a most welcome member to the

Federation."

Orun's voice was a bit unsteady, and Kirk

noticed a tear in the corner of

Delin's eye. "It's not at all like

using the traveler for the first time; it is more like becoming

responsible-old and leaving home to make a new

home."

Delin merely rubbed her eye and added, "Well,

Orun, is it anything like you

imagined it to be in that argument that led to your

confrontation with

Othol . . and that was interrupted by the arrival of

Captain Kirk?"

The young Mercan looked at his companion. "No,

it's not. And please do

not remind me of that again, because I missed widely

. . . ."

"I'm glad that you did," Delin admitted. The

turbolift door swished

open and Bones McCoy walked in,

making his usual post-departure

visit to the Bridge, a ritual that he rarely

missed unless there

was serious work to be done in Sick Bay. He

stepped to the side of

the command seat and watched the image of Mercan grow

smaller on the

viewscreen. "Congratulations, Jim. It's not

every star-ship captain

who manages to bring a whole new civilization

into the Federation."

"Bones, it wasn't easy." "Knowing you, I

never had the

slightest doubt you'd manage to bring it off."

"I did."

"I know you did. I'm responsible for

periodically reviewing the

captain's log." Kirk nodded as he watched

Mercan grow smaller

on the screen. "Bones, in some ways, I still

feel like Hernando

Cortes or Francisco Pizarro ......

"Really? It seems to me that

there were other ship captains who discovered new

civilizations and

managed to arrange for the amalgamation of those

cultures into the

mainstream," McCoy observed quietly. "Have

you ever considered

comparing yourself to Commodore Matthew C. Perry

instead?" Spock

left his post at the library computer console and

walked over to

stand on the other side of the command seat from McCoy.

"If it will

make you feel any better, Captain, Mercan

had a very high

probabili-

ty of being discovered by the Federation, since it lies

directly in

the path of the Federation's exploration and colonization

efforts

into the Sagittarius Arm. Our own discovery of

Mercan falls well

within the three-sigma limit of the probability of

its discovery in

this century . . . . "And I suppose that bit

of statistical

gobbledygook also falls within the same

three-sigma limit you

quoted when you wanted to tickle Mercaniad,

Spock," McCoy

interjected acidly. "Doctor, I'm

surprised that you don't use more

statistical evaluation in your medical work. Although

I am

appreciative of your efforts in rebuilding my

right hand, I must

say I was appalled when you were not able to give me

any

probabilities concerning whether or not I would ever

be able to use it

agattn . . . ." "Spock, I don't run

my Sick Bay that way. When I

do a surgical-reconstruction job such as your

hand, I know it's

going to be all right. I don't need any

statistical analysis to

tell me whether or not I'm doing my job ....

Of course, your job

may be different . . . ." "Gentlemen . . .

gentlemen!" Kirk

remonstrated. "Let me add that it's obvious

neither of you learned

anything about tactful mannerisms from the

Mercan culture." "On

the contrary, Captain," Spock replied. "I

found the Mercan culture to

be highly logical. As Doctor McCoy

himself pointed out, the Mercans

are similar to Vulcans, especially in the realm

of logical thought

processes. And I might add, Captain, that

you handled the entire

situation on Mercan quite logically." "Thank you

for the

compliment, Mister Spock." "There is no

logical reason to thank

me, Captain." "Spock, there you go again!"

McCoy burst out in

frustration. "Can't you accept plain and simple

gratitude?"

"Doctor," Spock said slowly, "gratitude

is an emotion signifying

resentment, another irrational emotion."

OF LIFE 207

"Captain, we're approaching Warp Factor

Pointnine-five. Standing by

the warp drive," Sulu announced from the helm.

Kirk pushed the

intercom button for Engineering. "Scotty, how

did the tests come

out?" "I think she'll work, Captain." "Are you

positive,

Scotty?" There was a brief silence. "Aye,

Captain. I've done my

best on her. She's ready." "Forward view on

the main screen,"

Kirk snapped. "Forward view," Uhura

replied. The screen showed no

stars, only the band of the Orion Arm ahead.

"Helmsman,

accelerate to Warp Factor Trvo." "Coming

to Warp Factor Two."

There was just the briefest shudder in the Enterprise.

The band of

light that was the galactic arm spread in the

middle, widened into

the star bow of relativistic velocities, then

blinked into

nothingness, to be quickly replaced by the

computer-generated scene

as reconstructed from subspace stellar

emissions.

"Engineering, report." "She's running

beautifully, Captain," was

Scotty's obviously delighted reply.

"Mister Sulu, accelerate to

Warp Factor Six." Kirk rose from his command

seat. "We're going

home," he said quietly, as much to his ship as

to his crew.

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