           The Abode of Life

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  Begin Content
  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
Paramount Pictures.
  This book is published by Pocket Books, a
division of Simon and
  Schuster Inc., under exclusive license from
Paramount Pictures.
  All rights reserved, including the right
to reproduce this book or
  portions thereof in any form whatsoever. For information
address
  Pocket Books, 1230 Avenue of the
Americas, New York, NY 10020
  ISBN: 0-671-70596-2
  First Pocket Books printing May 1982
  16 15 14 13 12 11 10 9
  POCKET and colophon are registered
trademarks of Simon and Schuster
  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.


















 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
