Vulcan’s Soul Book II - Exiles

by Josepha Sherman

  Only a few people were absent: one healer tending a woman in labor; the pilot; the engineer on watch. But even they linked in to the discussion, which was broadcast to each of the surviving ships.

  “Now that we have demonstrated our ability to restore the ships to their original conditions,” said Vorealt, serving as a delegate both from engineering and the spaceborn, “I see no reason to leave them. The fleet has decided to remain in this system? Well enough. I have spoken to the other members of my family as well as to the families of others who were born during the journey. You call these ships ‘exile.’ We call them home. We can trade our ability to centralize records, to maintain and operate laboratories and manufacturing processes for which physical purity is necessary—without even the potential for contamination from an organic world—for whatever foodstuffs we cannot grow for ourselves. And for ores, metals, even finished parts. If you agree to trade, here we are, and here we remain.”

  He smiled sharply at the others in the compartment.

  “I do not think that the rest of you will decide where you wish to be as easily,” he said, then reached for a steaming cup. With power renewed, they had restored hydroponics. Once again, they could enjoy tea, not as a rare luxury, but as an amenity of civilized meetings.

  “What do people think of S’task’s proposal that we draw lots to allocate land on the two worlds?” Karatek asked.

  “That might work well on the more hospitable world, although I would ask what happens to the clans who draw the firefalls or part of a desert?”

  “We would be glad of desert lands,” said N’Maret. Newly appointed elder among the te-Vikram, she was the first woman to hold that office in her own right, rather than through her sons. “It appears poor in relation to the rest of the planet, but it offers access to water such as we have never known. And,” she added with a glint that made Karatek pay closer attention, “I would assume that if desert land is considered less desirable, there could be compensations. Such as a larger area, or rights-of-way to the oceans.”

  “And who would be willing to live in ice or fire?” asked Evoras, with his customary incisiveness. “My colleagues will, as usual, condemn my illogic, but it is a pity we cannot combine the two worlds. We could, if people would consent to establishing an outpost, say, in the narrow band between the bright side and the ice, but…I have been speaking to several of those who wish to remain on board the ships. They favor enlarging the tunnels that have already produced such fine ores and crystals and would offer to trade technology that, thus far, can only be produced on board the ships.”

  Vorealt positively grinned as he rose to back Evoras. “No doubt,” he added, “we would indeed be glad enough to sell advanced computer components or medicinals to you, but, because these products are time-consuming to create, we will be unable to produce these commodities in quantities sufficient to bring down the price. That will give us an economic advantage.” His smile broadened. “I can see a day when everyone who remains on board the ships could have substantial estates on the world below. Assuming we wanted them.”

  “But there is indeed metal downworld,” Serevan reminded his colleague. “The problem is getting at it. We could develop technologies for tapping the planet’s core, although I would prefer not to speculate what would happen if an accident occurred. At best, a second firefalls. At worst, we might crack the planet wide open.”

  T’Neithan shook her head. “Unless we break up one of the ships, we haven’t the metal for it, or for evolving ceramics technology sufficient to compensate for the limited metals. Given our current level of mining technology, I project that in 108.3 years, we would face the job of either restoring the habitable world—our new home—to its pristine state or seeking another planet altogether. On ethical issues, I would oppose a society predicated on consuming worlds, then moving on. We suffered the effects of that on Vulcan. It was deforested even in our day.”

  There was no point in thinking what had happened to Vulcan after so many years.

  “And we have already decided that we are staying in this system!” Vorealt pointed out.

  T’Olryn rose. “Do you not see the blind spot in your reasoning? Even at our current technological level, and without additional resources from any offworld mining operation, my opinion is that we can live better here than we did on Vulcan. This planet may be poor in minerals, but it is rich in living resources: fruits, berries, leguminous plants, and high-protein grain. For those of you”—her face took on a look of almost imperceptible disdain—“who consent to eat meat, the seas teem with fish, and the specimens you examined do not appear to contain any biohazards—although I would not want to hypothesize what they might do to your great-grandchildren.”

  “And your point is?”

  “Simplicity. You yourself have already described the ships as a surviving repository of technology.”

  “Those weren’t the words I would have chosen, but, yes…”

  “Let us reason together. If the ships are in a superior technological position, they would remain dependent on the products created on the planet and for those resources that it can supply. If an exchange is possible, and if the ships are going to mine, why need we seek a high level of technology on the planet below?”

  Vorealt shouted for recognition, backed by Avarak. Healers feared no one, but T’Olryn sat down quickly, lest Solor take up her cause.

  She raised her eyebrows as mutterings of agreement, even of enthusiasm, also were heard from the blocs of seats where the te-Vikram customarily gathered. Many had brought young children, and they had more young children than any other family group. They made no secret of their belief that life on board the great ships was unnatural; they were eager to settle downworld and increase the size of their families on land that could support them.

  Another problem in the generations to come, Karatek thought.

  Avarak leapt to his feet, visibly furious. “The people I speak for want to live as we did on Vulcan, not gather fruit and nuts and look at the great Shavokh in the sky! Your lecture on ethical primitivism is presumptuous. Besides which, I should think you would consider it illogical to change the subject, which is, simply, this: there are not enough minerals, let alone minerals close enough to the surface, for us to create and sustain a technological civilization or even the simpler, agrarian culture you advocate. Our supply of metal is strictly limited, because we would oppose plans to cannibalize one of the ships. Which one? Would you see Shavokh broken up? How about Rea’s Helm, our flagship? Even if we did, what would happen when that metal wore out, as it will when exposed to a natural environment? We only delay the problem, not solve it.”

  “There is,” Serevan said, “the other world.”

  Just because Karatek meditated every day and scrutinized every thought in the hope of expanding his mastery of his emotions, he hadn’t lost them, or the ability to perceive the emotions of others. Every time anyone mentioned the two-faced world, people’s faces and body language changed. Anger rose as if zenite fumes had seeped into the council meeting. But this wasn’t a matter of an industrial accident; hearing Serevan, who had survived the disastrous first mission to the dark side, speak of living there as a possibility aroused two emotions: fear and greed.

  “Look,” Serevan said, “our initial hypothesis was to build in the twilight zone, but seismic analysis showed too many planetary stresses all along it. So, we fell back on a next-best strategy: enlarging the excavations that my—” He paused, visibly struggling to control himself. “—mission initiated. We could establish a hermetically sealed area, hardened against quakes and cave-ins. From the elements trapped in the ice, we could distill water, create a breathable atmosphere, and set up hydroponics, although I suspect any mining facility would always depend on resources from the ship and the other world. If one were resigned to the hardships, I daresay people could manage living there for a short time.”

  “Who would willingly live in that ice?” cried N’Maret of the te-Vikram.

&nb
sp; “I observe for the record,” began Avarak, “that Serevan has established a working hypothesis for a colony, but failed to follow it to its logical conclusion: some of us are better than others in adapting to the hardships of that environment. When the zenite fumes jeopardized that mission, did you not see what I saw? That the two people who withstood the fumes and were able to bring the shuttle back were both students of Surak’s Analects? Not, of course, to mention part of T’Kehr Karatek’s family.”

  Sarissa rose too and leaned forward on the table. “Are you implying that T’Kehr Karatek was guilty of favoritism in assigning my consort and me to that mission? That is absurd.”

  Her voice fell to the sort of hiss that Karatek had just once heard a le-matya make before it screamed and leapt upon its prey. And she had to have heard that Avarak had accused Karatek of nepotism when he had ordered out the mission to rescue Solor’s crew.

  “Sarissa,” Karatek spoke softly.

  “I ask forgiveness.”

  “Granted, but it is time to seat yourself again.”

  Karatek rose. “Even a child would discern your implications, but I cannot dismiss them because they are logical. Serevan, am I correct that you propose establishing an installation under the ice and having it staffed by people working for, say, however many days, then being ferried off-planet, either back to the ships or to the other world?”

  “Correct, sir. That would enable us to exploit one world’s natural resources without damaging the other’s biosphere or subjecting one group of people to genetic damage.”

  Karatek nodded. Logic was good for many things, but very bad for evading responsibility when it was placed in one’s path. Night and day, he did not want to go back to the bad old days of radiation badges, quakes, and constant watchfulness back on Vulcan. He had renounced Vulcan as a way of trying to save it from being slagged in thermonuclear war: he had no desire to see this pristine new world gutted by strip-mining or cracked by using half-fledged deep-mining techniques. But he had been a city- dweller; the idea of a simple, agrarian lifestyle did not appeal to him.

  Some people had to settle on the cold world. Some had to settle there first. Avarak could not have given him and his family more of a challenge had he stood up at Solor’s Kal-if-fee, struck the gong, and challenged for possession of the woman T’Olryn—as he had, indeed, once threatened to do.

  “With position,” Karatek forced himself to breathe more easily, “comes responsibility. I have heard imputations that my family has traded on any status I might have as a leader on board this ship. To demonstrate that this is not the case, I speak now as Head of House. Given Serevan’s engineering expertise, I consider it only logical that he lead the first detachment of miners. My entire House will join him. I would urge those others who follow Surak’s teachings to follow us because our control renders us most able to follow decontamination procedures and emergency drills, and least vulnerable to industrial accidents such as those that jeopardized the shuttle.”

  He sat down, deliberately ignoring the murmurs of awe and regret, as if someone had just volunteered to rappel down the chasm that divided the peaks of Mount Seleya and test the magma that perpetually seethed below.

  Have I been maneuvered into making this offer?

  That does not matter, he told himself. It was the right thing to do. Even if he longed to rest in the beauty and security of a hard-won planet.

  He did not need S’task’s murmur of approval through the transmitter he wore to know that. He had long passed the need for that level of approbation.

  But Karatek could make that decision only for himself.

  “I trust,” he said, “that while my House and those allied to it labor for the benefit of all, those of you living in the open air will treat us fairly. It would be just if land were not only set aside for us, but if some of you began to improve it against our return.”

  Let N’Maret see that she was not the only one who was able to bargain!

  Thirty

  Now

  WATRAII HOMEWORLD STARDATE 54107.8

  “There,” Spock said as he and Chekov struggled out of the installation. Chekov’s initial wild burst of energy was long gone. By now, he clearly couldn’t hurry on any farther, and his eyes blazed with the frustration of knowing it.

  But we don’t have to run, or even walk, Spock thought with a sudden flash of relief.

  He wasn’t certain what type of vehicle was sitting on the gravel ahead of them. He knew only that it had already been started and presumably ran on electricity. Chekov, still clinging to his stolen Watraii weapons, used them to dispatch both Watraii who’d been staffing the vehicle with two quick blasts of fire and such casual ease that it almost alarmed Spock. He all but threw Chekov up into one of the seats and took what was clearly the driver’s seat.

  And then he and Chekov were speeding over the rocky landscape. The weather was growing increasingly worse, the sky darkening more than usual and the air prickling as though a major storm might be stirring, and the time allotted for the shuttle to lift off the Watraii homeworld was growing alarmingly close.

  Where are Ruanek and Data? Spock wondered. They must surely be as aware of the passing time as well. Where are they?

  All around Ruanek and Data, the whole Watraii world seemed to have gone mad with a deafening clanging and wailing of alarms. “Do not stop now, Ruanek,” Data exclaimed. “We must get away from the entire—”

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  “It does matter. Ruanek, if we do not get away from this area, right now, we are going to be—”

  “Look, let’s agree to something here and now.”

  “What?”

  “All right, we have alarms going off all over the place. We have search parties coming after us. We even have the artifact in our possession.” With that, Ruanek’s hand shot to his pack to make sure that the artifact actually was still in his possession. “And now, the Outer Dark take it all, we have accomplished our mission and we are going to go rescue Spock and Pavel Chekov.”

  “Agreed,” Data said without hesitation. “However, I have been unable to locate Ambassador Spock’s transponder with the tricorder.”

  “That’s all right—we know where they’re being held. Besides, I have a plan.”

  “I…see.” Data was clearly not particularly heartened by this news, but he said, “Go on.”

  “Well, this is one of the oldest tricks around, and I suspect every adventure vid on every planet with adventure vids has used it, but I doubt that the Watraii, isolated as they are, will ever have heard of it.”

  “Ruanek, please. Your plan.”

  “Remember those Watraii that we took out?”

  “Of course—oh.” Data blinked. “Do you truly believe that we can get away with such an ancient ruse as—”

  “It’s worth a gamble,” Ruanek retorted. “Come on!”

  He raced with Data back to the search team that they had eliminated. “Here,” Ruanek said, “this one should fit you.” He’d lost any squeamishness years ago as a Romulan soldier. “Ah, and this one should fit me. A mask for you, Data.” He paused, studying the android. “Yes, that’s perfect. You really do look like a Watraii, no insult meant.” He slipped on a mask himself. Ugh, it was clammy and chill. Heavy, too, far heavier than he would have expected to look at the things. And the Watraii wore these things every day.

  “Very well,” Ruanek said, “let’s join up with the others and hope there aren’t any secret Watraii passwords or handshakes. Once we break Spock and Admiral Chekov out,” Ruanek rushed on, glossing over the details of how they could do that, “we’ll head for Scotty and the shuttle.”

  And if this gamble works, it will still be there.

  If not, and they were stranded here…well, Ruanek thought, you couldn’t win every wager.

  They fell in with the first group of Watraii they found, trying to march with exactly the same precision as the others. This was surprisingly easy.

  Almost too easy, Ruanek though
t.

  But they didn’t get as far as the installation’s door. Their group was met by an officer—or so Ruanek assumed—who snapped, “The prisoners are missing!”

  That could only be Spock and Chekov.

  Too easy, indeed.

  The officer was staring at him. What was it, he wondered, what made him look different from everyone else? “You,” the officer snapped. “Code!”

  “Ah, sorry, I don’t remember. Got hit in the head—and you’re not buying that, are you?”

  As the Watraii closed in about them, Ruanek tore off his mask and used the heavy thing as a weapon, flailing about with it. Data followed suit. Apparently what they were doing was so against tradition it was almost sacrilegious, and the others backed off in shock—

  “Come on, Data!”

  They didn’t have a chance of making it all the way back to the Alexander Nevsky, not on foot and with the Watraii in close pursuit. But dammit, Ruanek thought, they were going to do their best. And at the least, well, he’d come a long way since being Ruanek of House Minor Strevon, but at least he could still face the Last Review unafraid if it came to that.

  T’Selis, I love you.

  The Watraii vehicle had been designed to get over rough terrain, but the climb up to the butte was almost too much for it. The engine whined and complained, and no matter how Spock tried to increase its speed, the vehicle slowed almost to a crawl.