Lekur led them into a large chamber containing a holographic display of the entire Web of Worlds, which indeed spanned the entire girth of Cherela and a significant distance north and south of the equator. The individual world modules, artificial habitats the size of continents, were tiny circles in the display. Lekur manipulated the control column beneath the projection, bringing up magnified views. He selected one specific inset image, and the entire chamber around them transformed to match, immersing them in a realistic simulation of the environment. In this way, Lekur proudly showed off many of the Web’s terrains one after the other: a majestic forest of red-leafed trees that dwarfed Earth’s sequoias; a broad grassy plain so flat and wide it made Iowa seem hilly; a sulfurous, volcanic landscape where it seemed nothing could live, but where cities of obsidian spires could be seen; a hollow module that was nothing but open sky and kilometers-high towers with large winged aliens flying among them. “Whatever your world is like, we can build it for you. Repopulate it with samples of your native flora and fauna. We have thousands of species here that are extinct elsewhere in the galaxy. Many of our modules aren’t even populated—they’re purely nature preserves. Safe from the dangers of the galaxy beyond.”
“What about the dangers of being inside a Jovian atmosphere?” Kirk asked. “Those winds and lightning storms are nothing to sneeze at. And holding all these worldlets up with antigravs—what if something goes wrong?”
“Don’t underestimate the brilliance of Linnik design,” Tirak said proudly, “especially when supplemented with the knowledge of dozens of other civilizations. The Web is a perfect homeostatic system—self-sustaining, self-repairing, drawing on the planet’s own magnetic field for its power.”
“That’s right,” Lekur said, shutting down the holographic environment projection and returning the chamber to its normal appearance, with the schematic of Cherela once again hovering in its center. “Every module has its own independent levitation and life-support systems. And even if one were to fail, it could draw on the others around it. As for the wind and lightning, we draw on those for power too. They make us stronger, not weaker.”
“And yet all this remains virtually undetectable from orbit,” Spock said. “Your thermal and magnetic signature is masked, your signal leakage all but nonexistent, and your influence on the planet’s circulation patterns is suppressed.”
The Bogosrin nodded. “All part of the camouflage. Everything’s balanced, nothing wasted. We live in harmony with Cherela, and she hides us in return.”
“But you’re not completely invisible,” Uhura said. “We picked up signal leakage from orbit. We noticed that the cloud patterns were off. That’s how we found you.”
Lekur made an uneasy grumbling noise in his throat. “Yes, we have some minor fluctuations occasionally. Once in a generation, really. Only to be expected in a system that’s twelve thousand years old. We swap out all the parts, of course, keep everything new, but sometimes we lag behind a bit. It’s sheer chance you were here when it happened. And as you pointed out, you’d never have heard the signal leakage if you hadn’t been orbiting so close.” He turned to Kirk. “Not very sane to go for a bath in that radiation soup.”
“We didn’t exactly have a lot of options,” the captain replied.
“Yes,” Tirak said. “The Dassik. We are all fortunate that they have not yet followed you down.”
“Our camouflage has held for twelve millennia,” Lekur countered. “It won’t fail us now.”
“There,” Aranow said. “You can see the value of being hidden here.”
“For a little while, maybe,” Kirk said. “But for twelve thousand years? Don’t you ever feel that old Tessegri wanderlust? Want to go out into the galaxy and explore?”
Aranow shrugged. “Why should I? There are hundreds of worlds to explore here. More than a lifetime’s worth to get to know. There are still modules I’ve never been to.”
It seemed to Kirk that she answered a bit defensively, as if trying to convince herself as much as him. “But what about new places? New peoples?”
“Our cultures grow and evolve over time, as any do,” Tirak said. He gestured to encompass the module they occupied. “Visit Syletir in a hundred years and it will not be the Syletir it is today.” Aranow nodded, seeming reassured.
“And we do occasionally gain new members,” Nisu said, stepping forward. “Refugees from lost worlds. Sometimes they make their way here . . . sometimes we seek them out.”
“Is that part of the function of the orbships?” Spock asked.
“Yes,” Nisu replied. “To seek those in need of our help, or those who might help us. The more friends we have on our borders, the safer we are from invasion.”
“But you don’t trust your friends enough to invite them home,” Bailey commented.
Tirak responded in kind to the edge in the lieutenant’s voice. “Trust must be earned, Lieutenant. And that takes time. Our relations with your Federation of Planets are still tentative. Normally we do not invite alien ambassadors into our space as . . . readily . . . as Balok did.”
Kirk studied him. “You sound as though you disapprove of his action.”
The Linnik gave a calculated smile. “That is between Balok and us, and he has not yet seen fit to return to Cherela.”
“He was under Dassik pursuit,” Bailey reminded the triumvir. “I’m sure he wouldn’t want to risk leading them here.”
“Unless he has already done so.”
“A moment ago, you were accusing us of doing so.”
Tirak maintained his mask of diplomacy, though Kirk could sense the effort it took. “I grant that we cannot yet be sure who is responsible. But understand: We must guard our borders carefully. The galaxy beyond is full of threats. Now that the Dassik are back, attacking our ships and our people, we must be more cautious than ever.”
“The Dassik are attacking other ships and peoples as well, Triumvir,” Kirk pointed out. “They pose a potential threat to our Federation and its allies. So we have a mutual interest.”
“That is true,” Nisu pointed out. “You have fought the Dassik and seen the aftermath of their attacks on others. We have received the Fesarius crew’s report on their battle, but it could be of value to study your records of the attacks. We might learn something of use in defending against them.”
Kirk considered. “Under our present circumstances, an exchange of information about the Dassik seems like a good idea. Triumvirs, may I suggest we all adjourn to the Enterprise to review its logs? Perhaps share a meal while we’re at it? Now that you’ve extended us the hospitality of showing us your Web of Worlds, I’d be happy to return the favor and show you my ship.”
“Yes!” Aranow cried, then caught herself and went on, only slightly more subdued. “I think that would be lovely. Don’t you, Zan? Tirak?”
“I’m always interested in new technology,” Lekur said.
Tirak was slower to respond. “Very well,” he finally agreed. “Aside from the intelligence on the Dassik, it is only appropriate to acquaint ourselves with our guests. After all . . . you may be here for some time.”
Five
Nisu insisted on accompanying the triumvirs on their tour of the Enterprise. Although she could sense that Kirk and his crew meant them no harm, it was still her obligation to protect them. And she had to admit there was a certain appeal to seeing a place that was new not only to her, but to everyone else on Cherela. To be sure, there were members of the First who traveled beyond Cherela’s clouds in orbships to visit the First Federation’s various research outposts, mining stations, and the like; but those places still used the familiar designs of Linnik-Bogosrin technology, and contact with outsiders was kept to a minimum for fear of exposure. As a rule, the First preferred to remain on Cherela, where the life and culture of their worlds survived. The sight of the battered, barren worlds they had once called home was too depressing. N
isu had never even considered leaving Cherela; the barrenness of the void was too disturbing for one like her, who thrived on her connection to living minds. So the opportunity to visit an alien starship that had come to the Web was rare and intriguing.
Triumvir Aranow relished the experience the most, devouring the sights and sounds and smells of the Enterprise, its stark, angular chambers and corridors with their vivid colors and minimalist design sense, and its crew with their bright, crisp uniforms—although she wondered aloud why the males insisted on covering their legs in those drab, restrictive black garments rather than freeing them for easy movement like the females did. She also pressed Kirk eagerly for the details of his many adventures and discoveries, though her excited chatter made it difficult for him to get a word in.
For his part, Triumvir Lekur was most interested in the ship and its technologies, and he bonded right away with Engineer Scott, who proudly showed off the Enterprise as though he’d designed her himself. Tirak, however, was less impressed, noting the inferiority of most of Starfleet’s technologies—except for their weapons, whose effectiveness was clearly demonstrated in the data from the ship’s battles with the Dassik. The triumvir pointed out that the First Federation had not needed to advance its weapons technology greatly because it usually avoided combat. Kirk insisted that his people’s weapons were meant for defense only, reminding Tirak that a civilization that did not rely on concealment needed other means to protect its people. Tirak had other concerns about the treatment of the United Federation’s citizenry, though, questioning the predominance of humans and males in the ship’s crew complement, particularly in its command echelons. Kirk explained it as mere happenstance, referring to sister vessels with more diverse command crews, but conceded that there was room for improvement. Nisu could sense his sincerity, and she appreciated his ability to admit imperfections in himself and his people. But Tirak was clearly unconvinced.
Once the triumvirs and Nisu had beamed back to the regional governmental headquarters, Aranow attempted to soften Tirak’s resistance. “I like them. They’d make a good addition to the community.”
“Hmm,” Lekur mused. “Do you think they’ll want their own world module? Not quite enough of them to justify it, but we could make a small one.”
“You would have them live among us?” Tirak challenged.
“The Web has welcomed refugees for millennia,” Aranow reminded him.
“Those we have vetted carefully. Those we have invited, in the knowledge that they posed no threat. These are armed interlopers who have brought the violence of the outer galaxy to our doorstep. Who may have brought the Dassik to our doorstep. How can we trust them? If they are to remain at all, they must remain sequestered.”
“If they stay,” Nisu reminded him. “Pardon my interruption, Triumvir, but surely the matter has not been decided yet.”
“That’s right,” Aranow said.
“Well, we can’t let the galaxy know about the Web,” Lekur countered.
“They can be trusted,” Aranow told her Bogosrin counterpart. “Remember what Kirk said? The Prime Directive? Noninterference. We can ask them to respect our secret. And they will.”
Tirak shook his head. “While I am uneasy with letting them remain, I fear releasing them even more. You saw how much pride they take in being explorers, how they boasted of their discoveries. The Web is surely the greatest discovery they have ever made. I do not trust them to keep our secret.”
Aranow’s tail twitched. “Would that be so bad? To be known? To be able to travel? See the galaxy?”
Lekur put a massive hand on her back. “Our ancestors saw the galaxy, Ara. It saw them back. And it hunted them down and devoured them.” He turned her to face him, his powerful, clawed digits handling her bare blue shoulders as delicately as they would his most sensitive tools. The laconic Bogosrin, a sturdy, dependable member of the Triumvirate for over a dozen election cycles, had taken to the much younger Tessegri like a daughter. Or perhaps more like a son. Bogosrin females were significantly bigger and sturdier than their males, so massive that they generally had to walk on all fours. They considered it an insult to be treated delicately. “Besides, what do they have out there that we can’t build better in here?”
Aranow looked up at him, her eyes wistful. “The stars.”
“Pah. A star’s just a Jovian that ate too much hydrogen and got a mighty case of heartburn.” His words evoked laughter from Aranow.
But Nisu could still sense her uncertainty about compelling the Enterprise crew to remain. “There is another concern, Triumvir Aranow,” the chief protector said. “The Dassik. They will not give up easily. If we allow Kirk and his crew to leave, we could be sending them to their doom.”
“Worse,” Tirak added, “the Dassik may capture and question them, forcing them to reveal our existence. Then we would surely be conquered, and all that we have built would be destroyed.” Nisu fidgeted, uneasy that Tirak made it seem they spoke as one. He had been her mentor once, taking her under his wing and keeping her with him as he rose through the Council to the Triumvirate. At first, she had been honored, revering Tirak as a member of the species who had saved her own people and so many others from extinction. It had blinded her for far too long to his ambition, to his willingness to manipulate others for his own advantage. She had done her best to separate herself from him, to learn to think for herself, and she did not enjoy the fact that he still regarded her as an automatic ally.
“That reminds me,” Lekur growled. “I’ve got to get back to riding herd on those repair crews. Letting the atmosphere regulation break down at a time like this . . . sheer incompetence.” Lekur Zan was normally the most easygoing of individuals, except when shoddy engineering was involved.
Aranow clutched his hand, though she had nowhere near the strength to hold it if Lekur didn’t let her. “Come on, Zan. You’re a politician, not a builder. All these cycles, you still forget.”
“Hey. I’m a builder to the core. I just build policy these days. And now I need to go build terror in the hearts of the repair crews so we can get rid of those anomalies in the clouds. Lazy mother-clingers, should’ve gotten a simple circulation problem fixed by now.” He rumbled deep in his throat, and Nisu could feel the floor vibrate under her feet. “I just hope these new Dassik are as stupid as the old ones were.”
Nisu met his gaze, projecting reassurance. “Do not worry, Triumvir. We are not defenseless, and we have had twelve thousand years to prepare. If they descend here, we can make them just as helpless as we made the Enterprise. If need be, we can tear their ships apart.”
Lekur was reassured, but Aranow was not. She studied Nisu carefully. “Will we do the same to the Enterprise? If Kirk refuses to stay?”
“Not while they are aboard it,” Nisu told her. “Believe me, I want them as friends as much as you do.”
Aranow bit her lip. “I suppose. Still, I’d feel bad for Spock. The only one of his kind among us.”
Nisu winced at her words. She had felt Spock’s deep loneliness on the starship’s bridge—his sense of belonging nowhere, of being torn between two worlds. Beneath his surface layer of reason and control, she had sensed deep pain, doubt, and a lack of hope for the future. It had been Spock’s outcast state that had touched her heart and persuaded her that the intruders deserved compassion rather than hostility. Nisu had lost her own parents when she was young, casualties in a freak storm that had torn apart an old, under-maintained conduit while their shuttle had flown through it. That loss had broken her out of her complacency and led her to devote her life to guarding against threats from within and without. But that vigilance had done little to assuage her own loneliness, the same loneliness that had left her vulnerable to Tirak’s manipulation. Spock was a kindred spirit, and it saddened her to think of condemning him to a life even more solitary than her own.
Tirak, typically, showed no such concern. “We must consider
our own community foremost, Aranow. We are the First, the rightful occupants and defenders of this space. Countless lives depend on our ability to protect them from external threats.”
“The Enterprise is not a threat,” Aranow insisted.
The elder Linnik gazed up at her. “That assumption is a threat in itself, Triumvir.”
“So what are you saying? You don’t want them to leave. You don’t want them to stay. What else is there?”
Tirak kept his own counsel. But Nisu did not like what she sensed beneath his silence.
* * *
The Web of Worlds kept forcing Jim Kirk to reevaluate his sense of scale.
When Kirk had come to the Tessegri world module at Triumvir Aranow’s invitation, it had initially appeared to him through its overhead dome as an expansive cityscape surrounding a large interior green space, like a more circular version of Manhattan Island with a disproportionately large Central Park. But he had forgotten that the module was over a thousand kilometers across. Once Aranow had met him and begun to show him around, he’d realized that every structure he’d seen as a building was in fact an entire arcology, an enclosed, ziggurat-shaped city unto itself. Even the narrowest “alley” between arcologies was an open tract wider than Central Park, largely greened over but crosshatched with numerous broad, tree-lined boulevards and overhead light-rail tracks. It wouldn’t be an insult to call the Tessegri a pedestrian people; the boulevards were filled with sleek, long-limbed, tailed bodies in various shades of blue, eschewing the light rail and aircars favored by the other First species in the crowd and simply running or jogging toward their destinations, or merely moving for its own sake. As a rule, they wore little, for their constant exertion kept them warm; Aranow’s limb-baring, semibackless tunic was comparatively modest. The boulevard where Kirk and Aranow jogged now was more like a skywalk writ large; visible in the distance, some of the tracts between argosies formed immense, gently sloping ramps descending to lower levels of this three-dimensional megalopolis. But the glimpses of the lower levels that he could see in the distance showed that they were not dark or gloomy; the arcologies and boulevards were designed to admit abundant light into the spaces below, often by reflecting it off the arcologies’ great windows.
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