A/N: Star Trek belongs to Paramount Viacom. Lonely Planet belongs to BBC Worldwide. Fact-checking and helpful sticky-notes belong to the ever-kind Dizdayn.


IX. The Center

It took Spock the better part of five minutes to alter which senses his brain primarily relied upon for navigation. He had decent eyesight, more adaptable than the average Vulcan vision due to his human genes, but it was still far better suited to bright desert sunlight than the dark tunnels and caves beneath the sands. The glow of the phosphorescent lamps gave the narrow passage a two-dimensional cast, and Spock cracked his forehead against the low, uneven roof before he adjusted his walk to compensate. He tried to lean more heavily on touch, feeling his way with his feet, and on hearing. The echoes had a distinctive pattern, and their footfalls resonated and were reflected by the rock in a unique way for every step. After a while, his ears began to pick up the patterns. It was a very primitive sort of echolocation, but it prevented him from smacking into the walls.

Kirk was doing alright for himself as well. He'd approached moving on uneven footing with inadequate lighting in the same way he approached all challenges; overcoming through sheer obliviousness that there were other outcomes to the situation than success. The bruises on his shins from the first clumsy minutes must have been smarting, but he trailed doggedly along behind Daelus, easily keeping up with the Phaetan. How their guide was faring, Spock couldn't tell; Kirk's body shadowed out all but glimpses, which appeared in snippets around the captain's dark outline. Spock caught a flash of scalp by Kirk's ear, then a red-clad arm by his elbow. Occasionally, Daelus would reach out to touch the wall, brushing his fingers along the rock as though searching for something. Then he'd continue on. The tunnel sloped downwards in fits and starts - there were plain, even stretches that plunged into mad slopes, before evening out again. It was a bit like someone had blindfolded an architect and then asked them to draw a staircase. Once in a while, the passage they were in would split or merge with another, and every time Daelus would reach for the wall then continue on without the slightest doubt or hesitation. Spock memorized the path they took, hoping it wouldn't be necessary to know how to get out on his own.

"Five hundred and twice ten years ago, we did not have the metal, or the energy we have now." Half an hour had passed when Daelus first began speaking. There was a split-second's confusion before Spock realized it was Daelus; in the Spore, his tone had been, if cautious, fiercely invested in the conversation; like he'd hand-picked every word and was fighting to keep his enthusiasm contained. Now, he spoke in a flat voice, devoid of any emotion. He'd learned the story by heart.

"We stayed here, out of the suns. It was easy. There is no well-done heat. When the suns slept, we'd walk out in our earthcuts and find kitchen gardens, lots of food. The Marin was always the map for us. We'd look sky-wise and see crystals in the black, and she'd tell us that they were bonfires of other worlds. She said we'd see them right close when we learned to fly. As we came out of the earthcuts, we went up. She said it will preserve everything."

Dealus trailed off, seemingly lost in thought.

"How old are you?" Kirk asked. "You said 'we'. Were you alive back then?"

"Not hardly," the Phaetan said. "I am three ten and four years? Twice ten and six of ours. They told me we'd looked sky-wise. When the stories are true, it's always 'we'."

The Phaetans counted a year as the time elapsed between the suns overlapped on the sky. Callisto seemed slightly larger than Arcas by virtue of being closer (actually, Arcas' mass exceeded that of the other sun by 3,84%) and as such, the Phaetans could have chosen to synchronize their year to the movement of Phaeton Eta around Callisto the way humans synchronized theirs to that of Sol. However, the Phaetan days and seasons were strongly influenced by Arcas' movement - the second sun had integrated itself into their culture to the degree it was hard to tell if they had any concept of the fact that it wasn't part of their solar system. Their days were 7.2 hours longer than Terran days; Spock found the discrepancy an unwanted complication as it would continue to wreak havoc on the sleeping cycles of his shipmates, as well as force him to keep track of two internal clocks instead of just the usual Federation Standard. Interestingly enough, Daelus' age in Phaetan years seemed to match up with his earlier assessment of youth.

Spock wasn't sure whether it was due to this gap in timelines, the fact that they were cut off from the suns or if there was some third factor at work impeding on his thought processes, but as they continued, he began to lose his grip on the seconds. Losing exact time felt more like being blinded than the decent into darkness had.

Spock distracted himself by examining the geology of the passages. Despite the fact that the rock did not resemble the volcanic stone of Earth, he presumed the underground system had been formed in a similar manner. There were caves, round and smooth on the inside, air bubbles embedded in rock. Ores of different colors began to pervade the walls as they continued, and the floor became covered with a thin sheen of water. It was slippery, and Kirk managed to nearly fall and crack his head several times before mastering a more gliding walk less prone to pitching him into unwanted cartwheels. Fungus began to grow in the corners where the rock was craggy, where the passage had been carved or where it was a fissure, instead of springing from interlocked air bubbles. Still, to a human, there would be little noticeable difference to the carved and the natural parts of the passage; Spock wondered if Kirk knew when they passed from one to the next.

The first truly obvious sign of change was heralded by a ghostly blue glow. Spock thought a delayed chemical reaction was taking place in Daelus' lantern; the light was the same color, and came from ahead, lending the scene greater detail. The tunnel widened, and they stepped into a great cavern. The sudden abundance of space was a weight off Spock's shoulders; it was as if he'd been carrying all those tons of rock above him without realizing it. It was one of the bubble caverns, like the dozens they'd passed through, only twenty times bigger. The bottom of it dipped dramatically, forming a natural bowl, with ten or so tunnels branching off halfway across the far wall. It was difficult to tell how deep the bowl was exactly, as it was filled with water. An underground lake, glowing phosphorescent. The entire cavern was illuminated by it and Spock's eyes ached at the sudden brightness; his pupils couldn't contract quick enough to compensate. He thought of the viscous liquid in his lantern and second guessed his assumption that the lake consisted of water. Then his eyes grew accustomed, and he noted the carpet of entwined stems and leaves covering the rock below the surface of the lake. The plants were cerulean, and shaggy in a way that made Spock want to give them a haircut after he was done taking samples to figure out why they were glowing.

He held his lamp up for comparison. There was no doubt about it; the light was the same. The liquid inside was a plant extract of some kind, essence of glowgrass. It sounded like a name Kirk would give it, so Spock mentally corrected it to poaceaean petroleum, which, while more professional, was no less silly. The relief of space was obviously getting to him.

Spock watched as Kirk tensed for a moment, his eyes flickering around the room. Reassured, the captain spread his arms wide, stretched, and spun like a top. There was a brief flash of a grin then Kirk brought himself to a halt by grabbing on to Spock's shoulder.

"God, it's amazing," he said.

Daelus nodded, eyes shining. "Amazing," he echoed.

Spock remembered his assurance in bringing them there, belied by the small touches to the wall all the way. "This is the first time you have visited this location."

Daelus nodded. "It's... not somewhere to walk lightly. It's an odd path. We walk here once a life, if we're unlucky."

"I can't believe this is a punishment," Kirk said.

"It's not. It's..." Daelus cocked his head, as though listening for the right word. "It's a'quhr." The universal translator gave the word a pass, and Spock thought of Uhura.

"Something to do because it's well-done," Daelus clarified. He didn't look entirely satisfied with the translation but left it there.

"How did you know how to find this?" Kirk asked.

"Markers, embedded in the rock," Spock said.

"The Marin mapped it for us." Daelus was still staring at the lake as though he couldn't quite believe it was real.

"Us - you, me and Spock - or we?" Kirk sounded genuinely curious.

"We. When we left to go up."

"Well." Kirk smiled. "It really is beautiful. Thank you for taking us. We're absolutely honored."

Daelus gave him a curious glance. "We've uncompleted the walk. Rest, eat, and we'll walk more."

They had walked for seven hours, near as Spock could tell, and were miles under the desert. He wasn't tired yet, and Kirk showed only faint signs of fatigue, but it seemed neglectful to exclude the preoccupation of those left in Aegle and on the Enterprise his prognosis of how long they could continue. Besides, they had been walking steadily downwards since they began. The return journey would likely be much more exhausting.

"How far are we from our current objective?" he asked.

"Two hours, mayhaply?" Daelus settled on a smooth patch of stone near the shore. "Do not skinnydip your fingers. The plants aren't healthful." He looked up at the others, looking oddly worried. "Are you wanting to go back now?"

"Not at all," Kirk reassured him.

"We will sleep on the repeat. I do not want to wear your shoes all out. It would be a poor host thing to do."

"We're fine, Daelus." Kirk settled in beside the Phaetan and pulled his water flask and an oiled piece of cloth out of his pack. "I can eat this, right?" He didn't wait for confirmation, apparently recognizing the spongy green vegetable from the diplomatic dinner.

Spock crouched down by the shore of the lake to examine the plants. He spared a wistful thought for his tricorder and sample jars. With any luck, he might be able to bring some of the petroleum back, at least. It had to be some chemical reaction with the water that brought about the light; Daelus had added water to the oil to make it glow. The air seemed marginally fresher in the cave, it was possible that the plants split the water to its components of hydrogen and oxygen, and used the resultant energy in a showy fashion to attract, or repel, animals. What was fascinating was that Daelus couldn't have added more than a thimbleful of water to their lanterns, and yet they were still glowing; it would be an extremely energy-efficient light source. Energy, and the conservation of it, was always an issue in space.

"Don't skinnydip," Daelus reminded him. "Your skinny will welt and melt."

"I was merely observing." Spock joined the others, selecting a dry red root from his pack to chew. Despite the depth and the rock walls, the temperature was only moderately brisk. Spock shivered as the heat from the exercise faded, and crossed his legs. The chill was not at a dangerous level, only uncomfortable, so he could safely block it out.

Daelus was twitching as well, though it seemed too erratic to be a product of the environment; he looked as though he was on the verge of saying something, only to bite it back.

"Touch Kirk," he finally said, hesitant. "A friend said you do not use your hands to fly your Starship. How do you feel her then?"

Kirk tucked his knees up under his chin and considered the question. "I don't, not in that way. The Enterprise is much too big for me to have direct control over every part of her. We use computers - you have computers, right? You read the Federations nets, so I assumed -"

Daelus hummed. "We innovated them," he said cheerfully.

Kirk snorted. "You can say that. Went right through all the filters. Anyway, we use computers for some tasks on the ship. Parts of navigation, shielding systems, life support - like the line you called up on the windscreen. That simplifies things a bit. There are still way too many systems for one person to keep track of, so we delegate: if you're good at building things, you work with the engines. If you're good at plotting courses and calculating things, you navigate. Spock here -" he bumped Spock's shoulder with his own "- Spock figures things out for us, like which planets are safe to land on. And he's second in command, which means he actively assists the captain and is on continuous standby to take command should anything happen to me."

That was the Starfleet regulations' definition of his job. Spock had memorized it and copied it down in his private log several times during his first month on the Enterprise. In the weeks following the Narada debacle, he found it helpful with daily reminders that he was to assist Kirk in his madcap schemes. Air-locking the captain until he came to his senses had seemed the more logical alternative. Six months later, he'd been cross-referencing the data of earlier entries for emotional patterns and aberrations. It'd been difficult not to smile. The log entry for the following day had read:

Addendum to Starfleet regulation B-42, subclause A.

In addition to the duties outlined for the first officer in the above paragraph, let it be noted that the position entails, in the words of Doctor McCoy, "Bailing Jim out of alligator pits a dozen times a week."

Spock couldn't decide which was worse; when the alligators in question wanted to kill Kirk or when Kirk accidentally married them.

Daelus was looking at him with renewed interest, though, so Spock just nodded serenely. "I assist where I am needed," he said.

"Everyone reads a bit of the ship." Daelus ran a hand through his braids, contemplative. "The mapper, the engine-listener, the windlooker. You talk with the fingerfrisbee navigation?" he asked Kirk.

"Sometimes. Usually, our, um, Touch? That's the word? Does that. Sulu. He's very good - you'd like him."

"Then whatfor is your purpose?"

"A little of everything," Kirk said. "I decide what we're to do. Like how your brain keeps track of your arms, and legs, and mouth. I make sure we work as a single organism." He frowned. "Wow, that sounded dictatorial. Of course we don't think alike, but we sometimes need to act as one when things go bad."

"He reads the crew," Spock interjected. "He keeps us safe and ensures we do not lose sight of our fundamental values or goals. That is the function of the captain."

Daelus hummed, gazing out over the lake, apparently lost in thought. Kirk shrugged vaguely when Spock looked to him for direction. They'd given Daelus a small amount of information on their importance to the landing party, nothing the Phaetans wouldn't already know from their trawls across the Fednet. Curiously, Daelus seemed less informed about other cultures and technology than Crius, Epia and the Marin had been; it suggested a definite hierarchy of information, as well as a certain amount of caution.

"Like Epia," Daelus muttered. "She reads people. She keeps us safe."

"She's an excellent ambassador," Kirk offered, diplomatic smile back in place. Apparently, the sight of Daelus obviously processing information brought the fact that he'd be reporting to his superiors when they returned to Aegle back in full focus. "Best dancer I've ever seen. If you see her, tell her that offer to go clubbing is still standing."

Daelus' expression was somewhere between a question mark and a profound suspicion of what the word 'clubbing' could entail.

"Mayhaply," he said. "I could learn to be a Starship Touch. Then we could go a'clubbing safely." A pause. "I'm a superlative Touch," he added.

"Yeah. I know. You'd be welcome aboard the Enterprise."

Kirk had gotten - well, if not wise, at least better at recognizing potential minefields. Spock bit back what felt oddly like pride for his friend. Epia was obviously a soft spot for Daelus. Not exploiting it was kind in a way Spock hadn't been sure Kirk could be kind.

"You know," Kirk had dug out his water flask and was fingering absentmindedly at the lid. "On Earth, we have these academies. They teach you all you'd ever dreamed of about flying. I whined about all the work they made us do while I was there. I can't even remember the individual assignments anymore -" he threw Spock a sidelong glance "- save one or two, but the good stuff sticks. I used to think that space was a sucking black void, something that ate all you cared about in the world. Seeing all those people, from all over the universe, walking together, learning together - it changes you. It makes you a part of something bigger than all your own fucked up issues." Kirk shoved the bottle back in his bag, seemingly unaware that he'd not even taken a sip. "I'll take you there one day. You should see it for yourself. I bet Starfleet would have a place for you."

"I-" Daelus swallowed. "Thank you. I'm not certain of the possibleness, but likewise, thank you."

"No problem." Kirk coughed. "Should we get going, now? I want to get back before Bones stages a rescue mission."

"Positive." Daelus was on his feet in the hurried manner of someone vaguely uncomfortable. He rubbed his forearm nervously and scuffed at the ground while the other two gathered their things.

"Mayhaply," he said, "if you neverever doublefingercross promise not to informify the others-"

"Promise," Kirk said quickly. Spock held up a solemn hand, and Daelus gave them a brilliant smile.

"Touch Kirk, would you like to fly a Spore?"


After the time they'd spent in the spacious lake cave, the passage Daelus lead them along seemed to constrict around them. Spock dismissed this as a psychological phenomenon until the top of his head scraped against a particularly vicious stalactite. He hadn't been paying adequate attention to his surroundings. Kirk was regaling Daelus with various anecdotes from the Academy, and Spock found himself dragged into the conversation to prevent the Phaetan from getting the wrong idea of Starfleet altogether.

(Spock, I can't believe no-one ever mentioned Mudslug Monday to you. Didn't you wonder why all your students showed up to class purple?)

Spock hadn't wondered. 43% of Starfleet cadets were of non-Terran origin, and with all the odd pheromones being emitted, these things happened occasionally.

Despite throwing off his echolocation, the discussion answered one of his unasked questions. Daelus was young and inexperienced. Crius or Epia would have been the obvious choice to take foreign dignitaries on a tour of the Phaeton underground. They wouldn't make inadvertent slips of the tongue or accidentally insult anyone. At first, Spock had assumed the choice of guide was because Daelus had the basic qualifications to get them to their destination - namely the ability to fly a Spore, and the physical condition to walk for hours in semi-darkness. By allowing Kirk to fly for part of the return journey without training, Daelus had rendered the first part of the theory invalid. Without it, the second part seemed a weak justification. Crius might have problems with the descent, but Epia was almost as young as Daelus and had the same tensile physique.

However, Daelus and Kirk obviously enjoyed each other's company. They shared an honest exuberance for flying and were both slightly reckless. The Marin couldn't have picked a better diplomat for the task; Spock and Kirk were both putting their lives in Daelus' hands. It was the gift Sorel had mentioned would be needed to restart negotiations. Unqualified trust on the Starfleet delegation's side, and in return, they were trusted with something sacred to the Phaetans.

The conversation petered out as the floor grew gradually steeper and slipperier. Spock estimated them to be on the final stretch; it was as if the tunnel, having tried for hours to dissuade them from continuing, was pulling out every weapon in its arsenal for a final attempt. The roof and walls fell in uneven waves, worn smooth by the dripping water. The thought occurred to him that perhaps it wasn't a tunnel as much as it was a cone. They'd just keep crawling through an ever-tightening space until they couldn't go any further. Or worse: the tunnel would get wider and smaller in never ending circles, they'd been led down here to be trapped in a Moebius strip of damp and darkness. The air was heavy in his lungs. When he breathed in, it ran thick and sticky as porridge down his trachea. There wasn't enough oxygen; there was too much water, and the endless rock above must have compressed the air somehow, rendering it a liquid.

Ahead of him, Kirk slipped, and Spock caught him by the arm. He let him go as soon as the other man regained his balance. Kirk's footsteps were growing sloppy and uneven, the half-crouched ramble was much more exhausting than walking upright.

When Kirk slipped again, Spock kept a hand on his elbow. It didn't take long after that before they were forced to crawl forwards on their hands and knees.

Daelus showed them how to attach their lanterns to the strap of their packs. "It didn't use to be like this," he whispered. "Bits dropped. Avalanche."

Kirk's breath hitched and Spock ran a hand up across the arch of the ceiling. The stone was smooth as silk beneath his touch, and he ran rapid calculations in his head.

"The structural integrity is acceptable," he said. "Without adequate equipment, the conclusion is based on insufficient data and is at best questionable, but I do not believe we are in danger."

"Thanks, Spock," whispered Kirk.

From that point on, Spock regularly checked the arch of the tunnel. It grew harder and harder as his fingers lost sensation. The rock was cold, and like the air, the sensation seemed liquid, running up through his fingertips through his veins to his heart. He was wracked with full body tremors, and ahead of him, Kirk's teeth were chattering. Daelus seemed marginally better off, though he was keeping up a steady litany. Bits were in Standard, reassurances - blink and you'll miss the distance to arriving. It's a rolling stone's throw. I'm a superlative Touch, the excellentest there is, you'll be safe - and bits were in Phaetan. It sounded like he was praying, though the sound was too faint for the universal translators to pick up the sounds. It was almost a relief when small pebbles began to lodge in Spock's hands and knees. Even though it stung, it was a change. The rock around them had long since faded from the deep violet of the lake cave to a jet black that, more than anything else, told him how deep they'd stumbled along in a daze for what seemed like an eternity. Finally, Spock's hand reached out and met something warm and soft, curved to fit his palm. It took him a moment to realize it was Kirk's leg. Kirk had stopped; he was blocking up the passage ahead of him.

"Oh," Kirk whispered.

Daelus unfolded himself with creaking bones, stepping from the mouth of the tunnel into the black beyond, and Spock leaned over Kirk's shoulder, wanting to see what they were seeing, what they'd crawled though hell for.

There was nothing.

Absolutely nothing.

Daelus was standing tall, his lantern illuminating a great sphere around him. The light splashed an irregular circle along the floor, easily a hundred meters across, and it didn't even touch the far wall of the cavern. Spock couldn't see it all, but he felt it; the solemn immensity of the space, the lantern no bigger than a candle in a mess hall.

"Where are we?" Kirk asked. The quiet question carried and ricocheted off the walls.

Daelus didn't answer. He held his light up high and began walking away from them.

"Perhaps we should move," Spock suggested.

Kirk stayed where he was, curled up against the tunnel wall. "Just give me a moment."

Spock maneuvered himself opposite Kirk, setting his lantern between them. Kirk rubbed his hands on his trousers, removing the worst of the grime. His shirt and pants were damaged beyond repair - there were large smears of mud, coffee-brown on his command golds, and the knees of his pants were worn straight through the enforced layers of cloth. Skin shone eerily in the blue lighting, with swollen red scratches criss-crossing across the kneecaps. His pupils were blown, and he reminded Spock of a lemur, or an owl, some small creature that emerged at night to hunt, wild-eyed and on constant watch for larger predators.

"The cave I used to live in. It wasn't very big," Kirk said. "We - I'd go out at night sometimes."

"Open spaces make you feel vulnerable."

Kirk shrugged. "No. I just got into the habit of listening first. Checking for traps and such."

Spock thought of flying, of canyons and tripping off cliffs, and nodded. He was no stranger to illogical fear. "I will assist you. My hearing is superior to that of humans."

Kirk's hand found his ankle, but the captain didn't say anything. Spock listened. There were three heartbeats, two of which were fast, one which was inhumanly slow, one set of muted footsteps fading into the distance and the steady drip-drip-drip of water like the ticking of a clock.

Suddenly, Kirk's grip tightened. "Look."

Daelus had reached the far side of the cavern, and where the light of his lantern fell on the cave wall, bands of silver flickered. At first they reflected the light wanly, like the moon, then they grew brighter and brighter until they were a clear white. The light sped along the ores in the rock like flame along spilled petrol, branching out in an incandescent net. It grew across the ceiling, which soared hundreds of meters above them, and along the walls. True to Spock's instincts, the room was immense. The Enterprise could have fit in the oblong cave without more than a few minor scratches. Unable to resist, Spock stepped out into the open, running has hand across the rock as he did so. The glowing bands were cool to the touch.

"Fuck me," Kirk declared solemnly. He stood beside Spock, head tilted all the way back, following the progress of the light. "This is not what I was expecting."

Daelus was pacing the perimeter, heading back towards them. His footsteps were soft; thick patches of moss covered the rock beneath them. The plants were emerald green and looked soft as down, Spock wished he could curl up on it sleep for a week. In a sad sort of compromise, he bent to run his hand over them.

"I really hope this is where we were going," Kirk said to Daelus when he reached them. "Because honestly, I don't see how you could fit anything bigger down here without ending up knee deep in lava."

"This is the Centre," Daelus confirmed. He shut his eyelids and held up his hand as if he was trying very hard to dredge up a specific memory and didn't want to be interrupted.

"This is..." he trailed off then tried again. "This is where we came from, and where we return to. No matter how high or far we go, we will always return home. That is the heart of who we are." He opened his eyes again and gave them a small smile. "Epia translated that for me. It's a particle part of the stories. She says that when she carries the Marin and feeds her to the moss, she wants me to hold the lantern as her third hand."

"Feeds her to the...?" Kirk moved to a bare spot of rock.

"When we leave our coils amongst the pushed daisies, we burn. The Marin burns too, and her ashes are returned. We lived in these caves before we flew. We take her ashes back for all of us and go back to the caves in our hearts with her."

Kirk coughed. "You might want to stop petting the moss, Spock."

"Understand that we are scared, Touch Kirk." Daelus gestured at the light above, the plants, the huge dome of rock. "We might forget who we are. We might fall so far into the stars we can't find our way back. We are the people of the Marin, and we neverever forget."

Kirk spoke softly, "I'm not asking you to give anything up. I'm asking you to see how much more there is out there. You can't shut out the rest of the galaxy forever." He gestured at Spock. "Meeting other perspectives doesn't make you lose yours. It helps you define it."

Daelus hummed.

Something was nagging at Spock. "You summoned us," he said. "Why now? Haste does not seem to be in the nature of your people. The Federation would not have initiated contact until you discovered Warp technology. Why do you endeavor to hasten a future you fear?"

"We wanted it on our terminology."

"The Prime Directive forbids us to negotiate in any other manner."

"It's never good when one party has all the water and knows the others will just go thirsty if they don't talk." Daelus tugged uncomfortably at his sleeve. "The Marin told me to informify you. She reads sentences of your intentions on the nets, just a word of a whole book, and she likes you best of all the Enterprisers."

"You need us," Kirk said. "We have something that can help you, and you need us. What is it?"

"A great explosion," Daelus said.

Spock could read the surprise in every line of Kirk's posture and took care to keep it out of his own. He'd been expecting something along the lines of 'penicillin' or 'geological equipment to locate underground reservoirs of water'. 'A great explosion' seemed a very Human request.

"Sorry?" Kirk said. "Not that I object to explosions on general principle but... what?"

"We watch the skies. Phaeton Eta is like a Spore hanging just right in the magnet's field. If you hit it, it goes into one sun or another." Daelus explained this with the patience of someone explaining to a child that yes, fire is hot, and yes, if you stick your fingers into it, it will burn you.

Kirk frowned. "Nope, you lost me at the part where the planet's like a Spore, so you want to blow something up."

Spock got it, though.

Several unrelated things snapped together in his head to form a complete picture.

"Three point two Terran years," he said. "You took us here so we could appreciate the entirety of what would be lost."

Daelus smiled at him.

Kirk looked from one to the other. "Your planet is going to verge off course," he ventured. "Into a sun. Which is bad."

"In three point two Terran years, an asteroid will impact with the surface of the planet, throwing it off course. Yes, Captain, it is bad."

Daelus shook his head. "No, it's perfect. We watched your documentarial films about Armageddon, and when you hid your best Touches and Marins in caves like ours to survive. We'll blow it up like you did."

"I'm not sure those were documentaries, Daelus," Kirk said sheepishly. "But it's a good idea."

Spock shook his head. "The asteroid in question is too large. If we attempted to blow it up, the chances of every resulting piece of debris avoiding the planet would be five-hundred forty-seven to one. The result would be the same. We do not have the technology to store red matter, which would be required to vaporize the asteroid completely."

Kirk pursed his lips as if to whistle then thought better of it. "Are you sure? How the hell do you know that?"

Spock raised an eyebrow. "Our navigator sent me a report two days ago detailing the properties of asteroid Hikaru-Pavel. He has yet to calculate the exact trajectory of his discovery. I am basing my calculations on its location relative to Phaeton Eta, as well as the gravitational fields of the surrounding celestial bodies."

"But you're magic," Daelus insisted. "You have Starships and beams of light and - and we'll help. We have technology."

"Yeah. There's got to be something." Kirk looked like he did when asked to make a particularly difficult call.

"The Vulcan Science Academy has researched hypothetical situations such as this," Spock said. Even though new research into the subject was put on hold, the studies would still be available in the backup databanks of the Federation.

"The VSA's too wrapped up in its own survival to help." Spock recognized the flint in Kirk's voice from the first time he'd taken the Kobayashi Maru. "We might be able to do something, but we're going to need your cooperation."

"Promise you'll help," said Daelus.

"If you help us, we'll help you. As your allies, that would be our duty."

Spock glanced at Kirk. He didn't believe that Kirk would leave the Phaetans to die if they refused to negotiate a treaty, but with the safety of his crew hanging in the balance, Kirk was obviously willing to discard Starfleet regulations to make sure the negotiations succeeded. Blackmail was immoral, whether Kirk intended to follow through or not.

"We'll help," Daelus promised. "Our Marin told me to say this: We'll help. We'll sign your paper, and you'll keep us safe. And when you produce the black sheep, you'll all fly back home safe and happy. Or we all die together." He blinked once, very slowly. "I am sorry, Touch Kirk, but these are our terms."