The Abode of Life

by Lee Correy

  "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 transporter/traveler 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 Mercans—and 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," 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: hope! Not if we get back, but when we get back! I was beginning to lose hope!"

  "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-Mercan, am not willing to pay!"

  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-and-relaxation' 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 I'll 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 what 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 …" 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 Vulcan-Romulan 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 Lenos," 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 re
semblance to the Vulcan-Romulan humanoid genetic group. . . ."

  "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 …" 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 order 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—first 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!"