The Face of the Unknown

by Christopher L. Bennett

  “The Dassik are out there even now!” Tirak insisted. “They will destroy us. If not physically, then by destroying the foundations of the people’s trust in the Linnik. I will not allow you to reveal the truth!”

  This time, Balok merely shook his head instead of laughing. “You really think I care about what happened thousands of years in the past? The past is over, my friend. It’s gone. That’s why they call it the past. What’s important is the future. Not what we did before, but what we’ll do next. And how much ‘next’ we have left to do it in.”

  “Our heritage is what defines us, Balok. We are the First.”

  “And we have long welcomed others who were not the First. The Fiilestii were some of the last to join our Federation. Yet now you use them as your rallying cry against outsiders. Can’t you see the problem there?”

  “It doesn’t matter if it makes sense, Commander. It’s what the people need to hear. Frightened people need clear, simple reassurances, not complicated truths.”

  Balok looked him over with contempt. “Which is no doubt why you’re so eager to make the people afraid. It makes them so much easier to control—especially when you don’t have the truth on your side.”

  * * *

  “So the Dassik and the Linnik are members of the same genus,” Spock said as he slowly paced the cell, organizing and interpreting what Koust and Kirk had explained to him. “At first, a single species like the Dassik, large and predatory. But a mutation led to a neotenous offshoot, the Linnik. Their extended juvenile period enhanced their neurological development, giving them higher intelligence while preempting the emergence of the heightened aggression and physical defenses of the adult Dassik form. Thus, the Dassik were able to enslave them and compel them to use their intelligence and fine motor skills to build the Dassik’s civilization and eventually their starfaring capability.”

  “That is correct,” Koust said without pride. “The early Dassik were . . . crude creatures. They could have achieved little without the Linnik’s cunning. And that was their eventual downfall.”

  “From what Koust tells me,” Kirk explained, “the Linnik eventually developed a bioweapon that would have the same effect on Dassik biology as their own mutation. The Dassik who were exposed to the compound gave birth to children who never grew up. That is, they matured sexually and were able to reproduce, but they never matured in other ways, never developed the Dassik’s size or aggressiveness. They were no bigger or stronger than the Linnik themselves, and so once the mature Dassik died out, their neotenous offspring couldn’t pose a threat. The Linnik were able to take control of their ships and weapons and overpower them easily.”

  “But they did not destroy them.”

  “Not all of us,” Koust said. “Even in our diminished state, they were too weak for that.”

  Kirk threw him a look. “Or maybe they saw too much of themselves in what you’d become. Maybe they hoped you’d become like them someday.”

  “In either case,” Koust grudgingly went on, “they stranded us on an uninhabited planet, far from the space we had ruled. They left us there and forgot about us.”

  “Not entirely,” Spock pointed out. “They retain legends of the Dassik menace to this day. You are the monsters in their tales to frighten children. Their ship commanders use your image and reputation to intimidate potentially hostile outsiders.”

  Koust’s ghoulish features took on a disquieting grin. “Really! Perhaps I should be flattered. Or perhaps I should be angry that they stole our very faces from us and kept them for their own use.”

  “Even so,” Spock went on, “the Dassik clearly did not remain neotenous. How did you revert to your original form?”

  “The betrayers brought that on themselves,” Koust told him. “Kirk thinks they hoped we would become like them one day? Well, we did, though not as they expected. Like them, we grew more intelligent. We learned to reason, to build, to invent. But we did not lose our aggression or our resentment at what had been inflicted on our race. We learned, invented, and experimented, and finally we found a way to reverse the mutation. We could grow into adult Dassik again—but with the same intelligence we had gained in our exile. And so, in time, we were able to reinvent spaceflight on our own.”

  “Whereupon you resumed your ancient practices of raiding and conquest,” Spock replied dryly. “Could you find no better application for your empowered intellects?”

  “We are not what we were, Vulcan! Yes, we are still hunters. That is a part of our nature that was denied to us for too long by the betrayers, and so we must not abandon it now that we are ourselves again. But we are not the undisciplined brutes of the past. We seek to be strong, yes, but only to hold our own against the powers of the galaxy. To win respect and make it clear we are no easy prey for Klingons or Romulans or whatever else is out there.”

  Kirk had heard much of this from Koust before, but there were questions the young hunter had not yet answered to his satisfaction. “Forgive me, Koust,” he said, “but that doesn’t explain your belligerence toward the First Federation. You’re not trying to win their respect, but to inflict revenge. Do the modern Linnik, let alone their allies, deserve to be punished for the actions of their forebears twelve millennia ago?”

  The Dassik growled. “You do not understand, Kirk. What we seek is more urgent than mere revenge.” He paused, fidgeting, before he continued in a quieter voice. “Our reengineering of our genes . . . it is unstable. Fewer Dassik survive to adulthood with each generation. In order to fix the problem, we must understand what the ­betrayers did to us originally before we can reverse it for good. Without that knowledge, the Dassik will truly go extinct.”

  Kirk stared in horror at this revelation. He glanced over to Spock, seeing the solemn, unspoken empathy in the Vulcan’s eyes, and drew strength from it. “Koust . . . I’m sorry. That’s a terrible burden to bear. But . . . the Linnik didn’t let you die before. If they knew . . .”

  “We did try, Kirk. We swallowed our pride and attempted to contact their leaders. But they would not even admit that our species were kin. They will never face what they did to us. Not willingly. Not unless we take the knowledge from them by force.” He glared at Spock. “I see your disapproval, Vulcan. Do not judge us. It is no greater than the violence they inflicted on our entire race.”

  The rumble that ran through the prison complex served to punctuate Koust’s bitter words—and to change the subject rather decisively. “Clearly there’s a lot of bad blood here,” Kirk said, “and we’re not going to work through it right now. For the moment, I think we need to focus on our more immediate survival.” He smiled. “How about it, Spock? You up for another prison break?”

  His friend pondered. “In the interests of salvaging our relations with the First Federation, I would ideally prefer to seek our release through proper legal channels. However, under the circumstances, our odds of surviving long enough to gain release in that fashion are slim. Escape is the best option.” He looked over at the neighboring cell. “Is Mister Koust to be included in our escape?”

  “Absolutely. We jailbirds have to stick together.”

  “Very well, then. That gives us more options.”

  Koust stared at them both. “You speak as if breaking out of prison were something you did every day.”

  Kirk traded a wry look with his first officer. “Sometimes it feels that way. But on the plus side, I’d like to think we’ve gotten pretty good at it by now.”

  “Perhaps,” Spock acknowledged. “However, it might prove more efficient in the long run if we improved our skills at staying out of prison in the first place.”

  * * *

  In the wake of Spock’s arrest, Montgomery Scott ­ordered Sulu and Bailey to continue working with the dissidents to install the remote override devices in the Web’s control network, while Scott and his engineers continued to focus on repairing the Enterprise. But the ­dissiden
ts’ ­efforts soon ran up against a new problem. “The ­triumvirs are inflaming the people against us,” Ne-Kewii snarled once she and Sulu had returned to the ship after an abortive foray. “Tirak has announced that we are responsible for causing the disruptions. He has called us terrorists, employed by outside powers to attack the Web from within.”

  “We were almost caught by an angry mob,” a still-breathless Sulu added, slumping against the bridge railing while Ne-Kewii paced on the upper deck behind him. “It’s getting ugly out there, Mister Scott.”

  “Aye,” the chief engineer replied with a nod. “I’ve heard from the dock administrator—it seems she’s under pressure to kick us out or let us be boarded. She’s a good egg, refusin’ to bend to them, but I’m hopin’ we’ll be in good enough shape to brave the winds before much longer, so we can take the heat off of her.”

  “Your regard for our people is commendable, Scott,” Ne-Kewii said. “If only our own leaders had the same decency. I have heard reports of an ‘accident’ in prison that threatened your captain’s life. With the people’s anger growing worse, I fear for his safety and Mister Spock’s.”

  Scott absorbed the information gravely. “Well, then. All the more reason to get the Enterprise back in fightin’ form as soon as possible. Since it seems the crew won’t be goin’ anywhere in the current climate, that means we’ll have more hands to do the work here.”

  “You are not in this alone, remember,” the Fiilestii told him. “Commander Balok is in prison as well, and he may also be in danger. My people have resources we can use in an escape.”

  Scott was reluctant to ask others to endanger themselves on his own crew’s behalf. But with one of the dissidents’ own leaders at stake—particularly a fellow connoisseur of fine libations such as Balok—how could he deny them? Besides, loath though he was to admit it, the Enterprise was not yet ready to go to the aid of its captain and first officer. So what choice did he have? “All right, then. As of now, Mister Sulu, our priority is to break the captain and Mister Spock out of jail and bring them safely home.”

  “Aye, sir,” Sulu said. “And if I may say so, it’s about damn time too.”

  “That you may, Sulu. And you speak for both of us.”

  * * *

  “Grun, you fool!” War Leader Vraq’s image on the communications screen was much clearer this time—and far more unpleasant for Grun to behold. “Allowing yourself to be duped by that crudely faked transmission. That . . . thing looked nothing like me! There is no excuse for this incompetence!”

  Grun seethed at his superior’s dismissal. “But, War Leader, this proves I was right to remain! There is something important here that the betrayers wish to divert us from!”

  “And that gave you the right to disobey what you believed were my orders?”

  “I—well, of course I suspected trickery immediately, War Leader! So naturally I—”

  “Naturally you contacted my squadron and requested verification of the orders?”

  “That . . . that was the task of the cluster ship I sent to you!” Grun extemporized. “More urgent discoveries demanded my attention. Our scans affirmed that there is more down there than just the Starfleet vessel. There are multiple energy sources below the clouds—some of them quite large.”

  He cursed that fool Koust for not returning from his scouting mission. Grun was not troubled by the loss of Koust himself, who had been a member of Dral’s subtier and thus a potential threat to Grun’s authority. But it meant he still lacked necessary intelligence on the enemy below the clouds. Grun hadn’t wanted to risk losing more warriors and pilot vessels, and automated probes would never survive the harsh atmosphere. And he certainly wasn’t foolish enough to take what remained of the cluster ship down against an unknown enemy in unknown conditions.

  “If you have found the enemy, then why have you not struck?” Vraq demanded.

  “The conditions make it difficult to narrow down their locations amid the vastness of the planet, War Leader. We could waste all our firepower on an ocean of hydrogen and do no damage to the enemy. But my sensor officer is working to refine his scan algorithms. In time, he will be able to deduce the pattern and determine where the targets can be found.”

  In fact, Remv was having more trouble localizing the targets than Grun let on. More anomalies had been found, but they were proving too erratic to allow a positive fix. If the failures continued, Grun could simply kill Remv, but he wasn’t sure if anyone else in the cluster ships’ remaining crew possessed a comparable skill level with the instruments. Yet admitting to Vraq that he needed outside help would be a confession of weakness and a probable death sentence for himself.

  “Tell him to work quickly, Grun, for your sake,” Vraq boomed. “My squadron is en route to your location. Clearly a great secret lies within the gas planet—one that is too big for you to handle on your own. If you succeed in locating this enemy by the time we arrive, it may mitigate your failure. So commands the War Leader!”

  Once the screen went dark, Grun bellowed and paced within the tight confines of the command pod, ignoring the terrorized looks from the crew. Expecting to be eviscerated by an enraged Force Leader at any moment might finally provoke some measure of competence from them.

  After his rage subsided to a low simmer, Grun pondered the dilemma. He had to find a way to conquer the betrayers before Vraq’s squadron arrived. He had to ensure that history would see him, not that posturing, condescending Vraq, as the savior of the Dassik. And patience would not serve him anymore. He would need something quick and decisive. If only there were a weapon that would let him strike at the enemy without knowing their precise location . . .

  “Yes!” he roared. “I have it!”

  Rhuld ventured closer, perhaps heartened by Grun’s suddenly improved mood. “What is it, Force Leader?” the second asked.

  “The solution, Rhuld! A way to bring the betrayers to their knees now, without waiting for reinforcements that may come too late.” He did not bother to specify for what they might be too late; all that mattered was to instill a sense of urgency in the crew.

  “I await your insight, Force Leader.”

  That was a nice bit of sycophancy. Grun approved. “You have studied the histories of our ancient wars, yes? Before we took to the stars?”

  “What there is of them, sir. But much of it is mere legend.”

  “The names and events, maybe, but not the tactics. Not the weapons. Do you remember the weapons used in ocean warfare?”

  He explained the modification to the cube missiles that he had in mind, and Rhuld’s eyes widened. “It is a bold idea. But . . .”

  One thing Grun was not patient with was hesitation in his men. “But what, Second?”

  “Force Leader . . . what you suggest is . . . there would be very little control. If the betrayers are down there, we run the risk of destroying them before we can obtain the information we need from them.”

  Grun snarled. “Fah! You sound like your predecessor. All second-guessing and doubts, no commitment to act! We must take risks if we are to win!”

  “Force Leader, what we risk is the future of our entire race. If ever there was a cause for caution—”

  He struck Rhuld across his sniveling face. “For cowardice, you mean! We do not need their secrets. We are as smart as they are now! We made ourselves dangerous again, lifted ourselves out of the planetary muck again, without needing them to hold our hands! It is our strength, our ruthlessness, that will let us win! Do you understand?”

  Rhuld lowered his head. “Of course, Force Leader. I exist only to serve you.”

  Grun smiled. “Yes, you do. Now carry out my orders! And if it means the destruction of everything down there in the clouds . . . then so be it!” So long as it comes at my talons instead of Vraq’s!

  Twelve

  “I have it!” Koust said. “The two of you pretend to get into a f
ight, and when the guard comes in, you jump him.”

  Kirk and Spock exchanged a long-suffering look. Amateurs, Kirk thought. “Koust,” he said apologetically, “the Web has only been isolated for twelve thousand years.”

  “So . . . you think they’d know that one.”

  “It seems likely,” Spock told him.

  “Perhaps one of you could pretend to be ill.” The others both stared at him. “What?”

  Kirk sighed. “Let’s face it, we don’t have a lot of options here. I mean, there’s no door. Just a wall they beam in and out. Now, if there were some way to break it . . . maybe find a way to detach one of the cots and smash it into the wall . . .”

  “I’m sure the cell is designed to prevent such actions,” Spock said. “Besides—if we did break out of this cell by force, we would never be able to reach the transporter controls before being intercepted. Our escape will require finesse and subtlety.”

  “Well, that’s something the First would never expect from the likes of Koust and me,” Kirk said. “So what did you have in mind?”

  That brow went up again. “I am considering options.”

  No further ideas were forthcoming for a time—which was just as well, for the guard, a massive Niatoko with dark brown scales, came by a few minutes later. Once he (or she, for all Kirk could tell) had departed, Spock ­furrowed his brow. “The guards appear to make their rounds once every forty-seven minutes.”

  Koust stared. “How can you know that without a chronometer?”

  “You get used to it,” Kirk told the Dassik. “Go on, Spock.”