“We’ll certainly try that, Spock,” Kirk said, and McCoy heard hope in the captain’s voice. “We’ll get you out.”
“I realize,” Spock continued, “that such a plan may be unworkable. But before I can act more specifically, I must study the controls in here—if the objects on this wall before me are controls. Perhaps one of them commands the entrance to this station.”
Or perhaps not, McCoy thought, wanting to wish away his skepticism; he had seen Spock and Kirk confront and overcome too many seemingly insurmountable difficulties in the past to discount their chances of even a partial success. Still, a barrier might rise one day that could not be breached, a knot tighten that could not be loosened, an end come that could not be undone. But not now, he told himself anxiously as he watched the sun on the screen; not yet.
McCoy struggled with his doubts. Jim had spoken to his trapped friend as if summoning Lazarus forth from a tomb of fire and light. But Lazarus had come out by way of a miracle.
* * *
The waiting was nearly unbearable, but Kirk refused to count the minutes. He had ordered Sulu and Riley to be prepared to launch a probe toward the sun. He listened as Scotty reported again from engineering. There were, according to Scotty, still no signs of disturbances in the sun; Massoud confirmed the engineer’s observations.
That was good news, Kirk told himself, trying to believe it. As long as nothing changed, Spock was still safe.
“Spock to Enterprise.”
Uhura tensed at her station and adjusted her earpiece with one hand.
Kirk sat down again at his station. “Kirk here.”
“Captain, I have been unable to find anything that might be a set of controls.”
Kirk tensed. “The probe is ready, Spock. We’ve set the coordinates to follow the path by which you entered. Shall we send it in?”
“Yes. I now suspect that the warp window opens automatically to receive any vessels approaching at those coordinates.”
“It had better open,” Kirk said. “Launch the probe, Mr. Sulu.”
“Probe away,” Sulu said.
The screen showed a small object whisk away from the ship and lose itself in the glare of the sun. Long before it got close enough to be destroyed, it would enter the coordinate window, Kirk hoped, and penetrate to where Spock was trapped—if the window opened automatically. Doing it was the only way to find out if Spock was right.
“Tracking the probe, Captain,” Riley said.
Kirk sat back and waited, trying not to worry about how Spock would escape if the probe met a fiery end and a shuttle could not be sent in to get him.
“It’s penetrated the sun’s corona,” Riley added after a few moments.
“It must be inside,” Scotty said over the communicator, “since our sensors show no evidence that it’s been destroyed. If it had, by now it would be no more than vapor inside the sun’s photosphere, but there’s no sign of that.”
“But, sir,” Massoud said from his station, “isn’t it possible that it could have been destroyed beyond the reach of our sensors, somewhere inside?”
“Mr. Spock?” Kirk’s hands tightened on the arms of his chair. “Any sign of that probe at your end?”
“Scanning now, Captain.” There was a long pause before the Vulcan said, “The probe is registering on my tricorder, in an area just outside the mobile, and it appears to be undamaged.”
Kirk felt some of the tension leave his body. “Good. We’ll prepare a shuttlecraft to go in unmanned. Board it and get out of there at once.”
There was no way to foresee what complications any delay would bring. Maybe the alien portal would close permanently; maybe its mechanism would trap the probe, the shuttlecraft, and the alien mobile for good. Spock might not be able to leave, or might die in the attempt.
“I shall leave as soon as the shuttlecraft arrives,” Spock said slowly, “although it would be most interesting to stay and explore a while longer. The interior of this mobile grows more fascinating the longer I am here.”
“Is it safe, Mr. Spock?” Uhura asked.
“I see no obvious danger now, Lieutenant.”
Kirk drew his brows together. Spock did not sound like himself; he seemed distracted.
“Mr. Spock?” Kirk said firmly.
“Yes, Captain?”
There it was again—that odd bewildered tone that did not sound at all like his Vulcan friend.
“Once you’re out,” Kirk said, “we can consider going in again, although we can’t be sure the window will stay open. Do you have an idea of what keeps it open?”
“Haven’t you and Spock pushed your luck enough?” Myra Coles asked.
Kirk was almost relieved to hear the sharp, angry tone in her voice once more. “I take risks, Miss Coles. I do not push my luck. I will get Spock out, and then consider what to do based on what he has discovered.”
She sighed. “If the sun actually remains unaffected by that mobile, Captain, we’ll be a lot luckier than we deserve to be.”
“You heard Miss Coles, Spock,” Kirk said. “She has a point. Still, I imagine that Starfleet will want this sun-core station explored if the entryway remains open. Do you see anything inside the mobile that might control it?”
“I am endeavoring to find … something …”
“Spock, we’re launching the shuttlecraft. You have only as much time as it takes to arrive.”
Spock had again sounded disoriented. Kirk tapped his fingers on his armrests, then said, “Be ready as soon as it’s inside. Board it at once—any more investigation will have to wait until another time. Is that clear?”
There was no answer.
“Spock? Answer me!”
“The channel is wide open,” Uhura said. “It’s just … it’s almost as if there’s no one at the other end.” Her fingers danced across her console. “Mr. Spock. Mr. Spock, can you hear me?”
“Spock!” Kirk shouted, afraid suddenly that his first officer might have lost consciousness and was lying there, unable to communicate. Perhaps the alien controls had protective mechanisms rigged to injure anyone who tried to manipulate them. He might be severely hurt, or even dead.
“Spock, answer,” Kirk said more softly as he stood up. “Spock? Spock!”
He waited for his friend to respond.
“Hold the shuttlecraft,” Kirk said at last, sitting down again. “It won’t do him any good if he can’t get inside.”
He considered what to do next.
“Shuttlecraft holding,” Scotty said.
The bridge was silent, waiting for his next order.
“Do we send the craft, Captain?” Scotty asked, “or keep holding?”
“No—shut it down,” Kirk said.
Chapter Eleven
AS SPOCK FACED the alien panel, he sensed that something was attempting to raise him up … to what? Knowledge that would forever quiet his curiosity? Another state of being?
Part of his mind advised caution. Spock felt no fear, only uneasiness and an increased awareness of danger far greater than a threat to his life. Yet he could not draw away from the panel. As he placed his hand against it, he felt malleable and suddenly drained of will—
—and he was walking across an empty, red plain beneath a warming, red sun. His equipment was gone, but he was still clothed in his Starfleet uniform. The clothing felt different on his body, as if it did not quite fit. He looked down and saw that his boots had vanished; the red grass was cool underneath his bare feet.
His legs carried him over the countryside. He tried to stop, to turn back, but his body would not obey him, as if he had never been still and his motion was the realization of some deeply repressed wish.
He gazed around at the rolling land, then noticed a black forest to his right; sable-colored leaves that resembled ferns hung from twisted black limbs growing out of cylindrical black trunks. Above the forest, on a hill, sat a strange orange structure of cylinders and walls. At his left, a green river drained into an emerald lake. Somehow, h
e could also see the lake within himself, even though the quiet, green body of water—or a liquid that resembled water—remained before his eyes.
This, Spock concluded from that clue, was the secret of the alien mobile: it was a support system for a virtual civilization, one that had long ago turned its back on the given physical universe. But it was impossible for that civilization to reject reality completely; so its people had constructed a mobile that would have access to as much energy as the culture would ever need, by drawing it from suns.
As his mind began to search for additional confirmation of his conclusion, Spock saw a group of humanoid shapes emerge from the forest. They came quickly toward him across the red field, violating the familiar laws of motion and perspective; they seemed to be in one place, then appeared suddenly in another much closer to him, with no discernible movement in between. That odd perception seemed further verification of the nature of the artifice that held him. He found himself moving toward the beings in a long, flowing motion that reminded him of both song and dance, in the largo style so beloved of his mother, and he wondered why his motion should so differ.
Yet in what seemed only a moment, he was face to face with the alien delegation. He was about to lift one arm in greeting, then hesitated, wondering if they might interpret the gesture as a threat.
The beings were plain, hairless bipeds, with ageless, flat, humanlike faces and large, dark eyes. There were six of them, all near his own height, and he suspected that this was their true appearance, although they might have come to him in any guise. The fact that they had not done so, that they had not appeared to him in a completely alien form, indicated a desire to allay his fears.
What do you want of us?
The unspoken question insisted, without Spock’s sensing it in any particular language.
Why did you disturb our life?
Spock frowned. What he was feeling now was similar to the sensations of a mind-meld, but with too many barriers for him to read more than conscious surface thoughts.
It was an accident, he replied silently. Our aim was exploration. We thought at first that this was an abandoned artifact, with no living beings inside, but a scan with our instruments revealed that there were life-forms aboard. We tried to communicate with you, and did not attempt to enter your vehicle until we had failed in those efforts. We feared that you might perish in the sun, and also that your entry into the sun might pose a danger to one of the inhabited planets in this system.
Spock felt them assenting to him. It seemed to him that they understood, that in fact they were rapidly grasping his thoughts and learning his mind as he attempted to convey to them why he was here.
As he waited, Spock was again struck by the alien beauty of the artifice around him. It was a second nature, an inner landscape into which these people had moved. He could not tell if the vista resembled the world of their evolutionary origin or if it was an environment they had imagined. He wondered what they did here, how they lived, how they might gather new knowledge about the outward universe from such an inward perspective. And he concluded that they would not look outside, that they might no longer be interested in anything beyond the reality they had fashioned.
For this, they relied on the mobile’s artificial intelligence, Spock realized. As caretaker of their world, its task was to acquire vast amounts of energy to synthesize, out of the mind-stuff of its charges, whatever they might wish. Enormous amounts of information had to be processed to maintain this world of what seemed to be parks of rest and culture, spacious estates set in a mental landscape. The mobile’s intelligence, its interface with the universe of origins, was still following its directive—to keep its people alive—and that was why it was here, inside the Tyrtaean sun.
We understand.
That thought seemed to come to Spock from the entire delegation.
Will you be leaving soon? they asked him.
I expect to, Spock replied.
He wondered if the mobile’s entrance into the sun involved previously existing stations, set up remotely for this very eventuality, or whether the pocket was set up as needed just before the arrival of the vessel.
There was no answer to his curiosity.
Suddenly he looked up and saw a shadow sweep across half the sky. The group of humanoids swayed slightly, and it seemed to him that they were disturbed by the dark specter. At once their questioning reached into him, as if he had caused the shadow.
What is it you fear? Spock asked.
That shadow is something outside, trying to reach us. Do you know who or what this might be?
You have nothing to fear, Spock responded. My companions are merely searching for me.
And they will not harm us?
There is no reason for them to harm you. Once they understand your… way, you will not be disturbed. Spock restrained his thoughts for a moment. He had almost said plight, because that was how virtual worlds were regarded in Federation directives, as fantasies in which their dreamers were transfixed.
Plight?
He realized that they had glimpsed the word he had tried to take back.
Plight? the alien minds repeated. We do not regard it so. As long as we have enough energy to live in our creations, to become our creations, we do not look back to our origins. That universe is only one among infinite possibilities, and not to be preferred to one of our own making.
Debatable, Spock thought, but he would not argue the matter. He recalled the Talosians, who had been withering away inside their illusory world. And yet, in an act of mercy, he had taken his former commanding officer, Captain Christopher Pike, to them. On Talos IV, the crippled and physically broken Pike would have the illusion of physical health and strength, as long as he never left the planet. But Spock had also known that such a world was a trap, and that the Federation had been right to forbid its starships ever to travel to Talos IV.
You are kind in what you did for your former superior, but very wrong about us. We differ from the world you remember with so much distrust. We know the difference between dream and reality, between illusion and brute matter—and we have chosen to raise our worlds against the outside …
Spock was unable to object as the alien thoughts raced ahead of him.
… but we do not neglect our knowledge of the universe that surrounds ours. We see the story in your mind, which proclaims that the book of life is the story of intelligent life’s war with nature, the struggle between village and jungle, between city and barren wilderness, between habitat and desert. We have known the given world, and have come to prefer our own. We will not wither and die, but we do demand to be left alone in safety.
I understand, Spock insisted. We adhere to a prime directive, which commands us not to interfere with the development of other societies.
But then Spock’s curiosity was roused once more, and he asked:
You said “worlds,” in the plural. Are there more of your mobiles in the galaxy?
He felt hesitation, then reluctance, as if someone was trying to shield his/her thoughts. Then the answer came:
As you would say, that is a manner of speaking. Our worlds exist one within the other, growing forever inward as the need arises … in the manner of the artifacts called Russian dolls that you have just brought to mind.
Spock had been thinking exactly that, seeing the wooden figures nested inside one another.
Magnificent, he replied. I am most impressed.
Calm flowed through Spock. Do not be concerned, the aliens whispered to him. It is the common weakness of those who give themselves to subduing infinity.
What do you mean? Spock asked.
The infinite, given universe cannot be subdued, or finally understood. It is an insult to the very reason that you so prize, and with which you attempt an endless task. It is better to seek within, and remake what can be remade.
But the outside remains, Spock objected. It stands off, implacable and other.
That may not always be so. …
* * *
“There’s no choice,” Kirk said. “We must send in a manned shuttlecraft. If Spock’s hurt, he may need help getting aboard.”
“I’m willing to go,” Wellesley Warren said.
Myra Coles glanced at her aide. “I won’t try to stop you, Wellesley,” she said, “but I’m certain that the captain will.”
“You’re right,” Kirk admitted. “This is work for Starfleet personnel.”
“I volunteer, sir,” Sulu said.
“And I’ll go, too,” Uhura called out from her station. “You might need a communications officer aboard if—”
“No,” Kirk replied. “One person in the shuttle is enough.” He longed to go himself, but his place was on the Enterprise. He had violated standard procedures too often, as Spock had tirelessly pointed out.
“The shuttlecraft is ready, Captain,” Scotty said from engineering, “and I’m willing to take her in myself.”
McCoy moved closer to Kirk’s command station. “May I remind you,” the medical officer said, “that the buddy system is always a wise idea. Whoever you send as pilot, someone ought to go with him. Spock may be badly injured and need emergency medical treatment—so I’m the logical choice.”
“Christine Chapel would do just as well,” Kirk said, “or anyone else on your medical staff. I don’t need to send you, Bones.”
McCoy leaned over Kirk. “I know what you’re thinking, Jim,” the physician said in a low voice. “But you and I both know that you’d rest easier if you had me there. Right?” His voice fell to a whisper. “For God’s sake, Jim—he’s our friend.”
Kirk glanced back at Uhura and saw that she had heard. She nodded, and Kirk said, “Very well, Bones. It’s you and …” He paused. Not Sulu. He knew then what his choice had to be, and caution be damned. “It’s you and me.”
Myra Coles seemed about to object, but everyone else on the bridge was silent.
As he looked around at their faces, Kirk realized that they all knew it had to be this way. Only those who were closest would risk everything and do their utmost. For a moment Kirk was reminded of trial by combat, the medieval practice according to which the victor was presumed to be innocent because he had the most to lose. Strength flowed from the purest motives, by the gift of divine grace. Yes, we understand, the faces of his crew said. You must go. You have no choice.
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