“I . . . I don’t understand.”
Ejah nodded. “I know. Just . . . don’t try to seek out a place without fear. It’s a part of you, and you mustn’t deny it. One day, you will find that, and it won’t be real. Accept what you are, Saru. That’s where your peace is.” She withdrew and limped away, leaving him speechless.
“Lieutenant?” He looked up to see Yashae standing over him. “In your own time, sir.”
He nodded and climbed aboard. “We’re done here.”
• • •
The Yang detached from the star-freighter’s hull and fell away, turning nimbly about its axis to aim back toward the Shenzhou.
Saru slipped into the copilot’s chair next to Ensign Weeton as the junior officer worked the controls, guiding them through the sea of wreckage that was still settling into an orbital band above the abandoned sanctuary planet.
“Wow,” offered the ensign, glancing down at the transport ship’s exterior hull. “Looks way worse from out here.”
Saru had to admit Weeton was right. The big vessel had weathered damage that a ship of its kind should never have been subjected to. It would take weeks for the craft to become fully spaceworthy again, and there was some irony in the fact that the Shenzhou’s engineering crews would once more be helping out with the repairs.
“With all due respect,” said Subin, “somebody else can go over there and do the work this time. I want to get back to my own ship for a while.” She smiled wistfully. “I really need a sonic shower.”
“You really do,” Yashae added dryly.
“And a decent meal,” said Weeton, with feeling. “And after that I’m going to put in a request to remove my name from the landing party rotation for a few months.”
“Agreed,” said Saru.
Weeton gave him an odd look as he altered course to avoid a large chunk of broken hull metal. “Pardon me, Lieutenant, but is the captain going to be happy to see you?” He went on before Saru could answer. “I mean, let’s be honest here, you are in pretty big trouble, sir. Captain Georgiou is reasonable, but do you really think she’ll be—?”
Saru spoke over him. “Yes, thank you for reminding me, Ensign.” He put hard emphasis on Weeton’s rank. “Your tact is as nuanced as ever.”
“Oh. Sorry, sir.” The human shifted in his seat and brought the shuttle around, lining them up with an open bay on the Shenzhou’s primary hull. “I was just trying to be supportive, you know? And we’re, ah, coming in to land.”
“I trust you’ll handle that with more finesse.” Saru resisted the temptation to fold his arms defensively across his chest as he watched the bay grow larger through the canopy. The fact that Weeton was undoubtedly right did nothing to improve the Kelpien’s mood.
The Yang slowed as it pushed through the force field holding the shuttlebay’s atmosphere in place, and the craft turned gently as it settled to the deck. A pair of uniformed figures were waiting for them on the landing apron, both standing at attention. Captain Georgiou and Lieutenant Burnham.
“Y’know,” offered Weeton, seeing them too, “on second thought? It, uh, probably won’t be as bad as all that.”
I am not going to wait to find out. The instant the shuttle’s skids bumped to a halt on the deck, Saru was rising from his chair and marching back down the cabin, reaching the hatch at the rear before it had even finished sliding open. He strode straight toward the captain and ignored the look Burnham was giving him, refusing to flinch away from Georgiou’s hard-eyed gaze.
Only a few days earlier, he had been in this exact spot, expecting a very similar conversation. The entire scenario felt unpleasantly familiar and ten times worse.
“Lieutenant Saru and landing party, reporting in,” he said stiffly. “Mission accomplished.”
“Oh, I’ll be the judge of that,” said the captain, and she turned her back on him, beckoning with one finger. “With me, Mister Saru. You’ve got quite a bit of explaining to do.”
As he trailed after her, Saru couldn’t stop himself from giving Burnham a sideways look. The human woman displayed a very Vulcan raised eyebrow, and an expression that said Good luck; you’re going to need it.
• • •
The turbolift ride down to the bridge was exactly as uncomfortable as Georgiou wanted it to be, and she imagined that for the errant lieutenant it appeared to last for hours.
When the doors opened to deposit them on the Shenzhou’s bridge deck, she walked straight across to her ready room without waiting to see if Saru was following her, but from the corner of her eye the captain saw the sober look that her first officer gave the Kelpien. Good. I want Saru to sweat this a little.
She took the seat behind her desk and didn’t offer him one. “Privacy,” she said to the air, and the ready room’s transparent doors turned frost white and opaque.
Standing at attention, Saru reminded her of a Terran greyhound she had seen as a child. Ropy and long of limb, he couldn’t hide the nervous energy that was running through him even if he wanted to. She didn’t need to tell him what mistakes he had made; he already knew. But for the record, it would have to be said.
“You’re out of uniform,” she began, noting that his delta-shield insignia was missing.
“I’m afraid so,” he replied. “I apologize.”
“From where I’m standing, that’s the least of your infractions, mister. Start from the beginning,” Georgiou told him, “from the point where you decided to follow your own initiative instead of Starfleet protocol.”
Saru colored slightly, but he gave a small nod and cleared his throat. She listened in silence for the next ten minutes, taking in everything he said without interrupting or requesting clarification. If anything, that seemed to unnerve the lieutenant even more.
He talked about his good intentions toward the situation with the Gorlan refugees, the unexpected hijacking, and the guilt that weighed upon him from the troubling choices he had been forced to make in collusion with Madoh’s plans. He talked about the Peliar captain Nathal and her people, and the discovery he had made among the Gorlans. Saru dwelled on the subject of the hub—the girl called Ejah—and the gift she had, and suddenly Georgiou understood what the lieutenant had meant about “Gorlan predictive abilities.” It was a fascinating insight, one she intended to follow up at a later date, but for now she let it pass.
Saru went on, explaining how they had managed to regain control of the freighter after the rescue of the other Gorlans from the sanctuary world, and the new tensions that event had brought forth. Then there was Admiral Tauh and his warship, and she could guess at how the rest of it played out with the intervention of the Tholians. Part of Georgiou felt a silent dread as she realized how close the Shenzhou had come to arriving too late. She pushed away all thought of what might have awaited them had the ship been delayed.
The lieutenant’s replay of events petered out. “You know the rest, Captain.” He took a breath. “I am ready to accept whatever penalty you see fit.”
She decided not to address the questions that were no doubt uppermost in the Kelpien’s mind, not right away. “I spoke to Doctor Nambue just before you returned to the ship. He’s quite busy with the patients you brought him. We’ve had to convert cargo bay one into a temporary hospital ward for the Gorlan and Peliar wounded. But in a way, I think it will be good for them. There’s nothing like a hardship shared to bridge the gulf between two peoples. And you’ll be glad to know that Lieutenant Commander Johar is already awake. I understand he’s annoyed he missed out on all the excitement.” She leaned back in her chair. “I am sure he’ll have opinions on how he would have handled things over there.”
“Better than I,” Saru said, frowning and staring at the deck.
Georgiou shook her head. “Don’t wallow in self-pity, Lieutenant. You’re better than that.”
Saru’s head snapped up. It wasn’t the response he had expected. “I made a lot of mistakes,” he added.
“Yes, you did,” she agreed. “What did you
learn from them?”
“I am . . . uncertain . . .” He faltered. Saru was trying to figure out the right thing to say, the thing he thought Georgiou wanted to hear, and she shook her head.
“What did you learn?” She sounded out each word. “Something of value, I hope. That at least would be a saving grace for this whole incident.”
The captain was deliberately pushing him, and he responded with a barely concealed flash of anger. “Perhaps if Lieutenant Burnham had been on that ship instead of me—”
Georgiou didn’t let him finish. “You think I would be going easier on her?” When Saru hesitated to give an answer, she didn’t relent. “Speak freely, Mister Saru. I won’t have it any other way.”
“Yes.” He bit out the word. “Yes, Captain, I believe you would. I believe you favor her over me.”
This is what I wanted. The truth. Georgiou wanted to smile but she didn’t; instead, keeping her tone level, she said, “I do not play favorites with my crew, Lieutenant. I might stimulate competition among them, but that’s all. I never meant you to think that . . .” She paused. “If you feel you’re slipping behind another officer’s performance, that’s on you, not her.”
His annoyance faded. “I tried to be more like Burnham, but that was the wrong thing to do.”
“Of course it was,” Georgiou said, not unkindly. “I don’t need two Michael Burnhams on my ship. I need a Burnham and I need a Saru.” She stood up and walked around the desk. “I am convinced both of you have the makings of excellent officers, perhaps even captains one day. But you’re not there yet, not by a long shot. You need tempering, both of you.” She let that lie, then went on. “If we are being brutally honest . . .”
“I would prefer it,” Saru said meekly.
“You and Lieutenant Burnham are far more alike than either of you wants to admit.” She gestured toward the door leading back to the bridge. “Michael is strong willed, opinionated, and intelligent . . . but that Vulcan upbringing of hers, the very thing that granted her all that, is also her weakness. She’s strong, but she’s brittle. Burnham needs to reconnect with her human side. And she’s getting there.” Georgiou met Saru’s pale blue eyes. “As for you? Well, you’re just as willful, emphatic, and smart, but you’re in conflict with your innate Kelpien nature. You want to be aloof, but you want to please. You have an ego, but you are willing to subsume it for the greater good.” The captain wandered past him, to the ready room’s port, and looked out at the starscape. “Saru, I want you to find the path amid those points. I want you to learn to walk the line between who you were and who you can be. If you don’t, you will never achieve your full potential.”
“It is not easy for me,” he admitted, moving to stand next to her. “I thought I was ready to make those kind of command decisions. I was . . . mistaken.”
“Really?” Georgiou smiled slightly. “Lieutenant, you always think you are ready right up until you’re not. The difference is, when confronted with that reality, the poor officers sink and the good ones swim. You kept swimming. You found solutions. Against every setback, you did not waver. You strove to make the nonviolent choice every time.” She prodded him in the chest. “Not because of weakness, but because of strength.”
“I did what I thought was right,” he offered.
The captain lost herself in the view outside, seeing the distant starlight flash of the wreckage from the battle in orbit. “Violent responses are the quick and easy reaction, the refuge of the belligerent, like the Tholians. Starfleet will answer that in kind when we have to, but we always, always seek the other path if we can. That’s the oath we swore to uphold when we put on these colors.” She ran a hand over her collar. “You upheld that oath. But I won’t lie, Saru, the way you got there was . . . shall we be generous and say unconventional?” His color deepened as she went on. “But you still did it. Thousands of people are alive now because of that. And perhaps hundreds of thousands more on the Peliar moons will rethink their attitudes to the Gorlans because of an example you set.”
She waited for Saru to find his way to a reply. “I admit, the experience of being isolated from my own kind drove me in this. I know what it is to feel lost. I know how it feels to need the charity of others in order to survive.”
Georgiou nodded but said nothing. She knew some of the story of how the Kelpien had come to leave his homeworld, of the Starfleet officers who had given Saru a chance when his own kind had turned their backs on him.
“I saw something of myself in the Gorlans,” he explained. “And the Peliars too. I have seen how fears can divide people. But they can also be overcome, they can be a force with which to unite.” A reluctant smile pulled at his thin lips. “And no one understands the nature of fear better than a Kelpien.”
The captain gave him a nod. “It’s a mess out here, Lieutenant. But that’s how it goes. On the edge of Federation space, things are never as clean-cut as they seem in an Academy class. We find our way through and we move forward.” She reached out and touched him on his shoulder. Saru’s eyes widened. He was slowly catching up to the realization that Georgiou wasn’t going to put him in the brig and demand his resignation. “I am standing you down for the next twenty-four hours, along with Weeton and all the others. Take a rest, you’ve earned it. And then I recommend you write a full and most highly detailed report.”
“And Starfleet Command . . . ?”
“I’ll speak with Admiral Terral. I’ll explain it to him . . . logically.” She jutted her chin toward the door. “You’re dismissed, Lieutenant.”
He nodded gratefully and walked away.
“Saru,” she called as the doors hissed open. “Despite what you may think, you did well,” she offered.
“Thank you, Captain.” He nodded again. “I’ll do better next time.”
“I know you will.”
• • •
Saru very carefully made certain not to make eye contact with anyone on the bridge in the short walk to the turbolift, and when the doors closed he managed to call out his deck in a low sigh before slumping against the wall.
His heart was still racing when he got back to his cabin and into the cool, quiet embrace of his personal space. It was odd how something as seemingly simple as a conversation with another sentient being could strike him with the same near panic as being chased by a predator—but then, Captain Philippa Georgiou was equally formidable in her own unique way.
“Waking from standby mode,” said a familiar, artificial female voice. “Do you wish to reset?”
“No!” Saru said, with more force than he expected. “In fact, suspend all use of simulation program until otherwise ordered!”
“Confirmed.” The computer gave an answering beep.
He took a deep breath, using it to center himself—and immediately Saru sensed something was wrong. It wasn’t the same creeping discomfort he’d experienced back when the holographic simulator had been populating his cabin with unexpected dangers; this was a more subtle sense of something not quite right.
He turned in place, taking in the room, and then he had it. “Someone has been in here while I was gone,” Saru said aloud. He scowled and moved toward the shelf where his personal effects lay, his eyes drawn first to the three-dimensional chess board in one corner. The pieces were still where he had left them, in the positions of a classic el-Mitra Exchange opening.
Saru was reaching for them when the door chimed, and he froze. “Who’s there?”
“It’s me,” said a woman’s voice through the closed door, and Saru immediately knew exactly who it was that had invaded his privacy.
“Enter,” he snapped, turning to Burnham as she took a cautious step into the room.
“Saru,” she said, by way of a greeting. She halted on the threshold, looking around warily, and then the Kelpien was certain his instinct had been correct.
“Do come in,” he said, with a sniff. “Again.”
“Is that hologram going to attack me if I do?”
“I tu
rned it off.” Still, she hesitated. “Now you’re reluctant to enter? Please make up your mind, Lieutenant.”
She stepped all the way in, and the door closed behind her. “I came to apologize, Saru, for what you have obviously already figured out. I suppose I should have known—”
“That Kelpiens have an unerring sense for the invasion of their personal spaces? Yes, you should. Perhaps you can add that to whatever report you are writing on me!” He said the last half mockingly, but then, off the expression on the human’s face, he realized how close he was to the truth. “You are writing a report on me?”
“No,” insisted Burnham. She gave an exasperated sigh. “It’s not like that. It’s just, after the freighter was hijacked and the Shenzhou was attacked, there were questions that came up. About you.”
He stiffened, torn between a sudden need to ask what those questions had been and the fear of knowing the answers. “You can rest assured,” Saru began, “that I have taken full responsibility for the damage inflicted on this vessel.”
“Commander ch’Theloh wanted to make sure there was no question of you being under any kind of outside influence or suffering from any mental impairment,” insisted Burnham. “Believe me, he would have had this place dismantled down to the bulkheads.”
“Let me guess. You intervened? You offered to search my quarters and violate my privacy for him? How generous of you.”
“I’m sorry I had to do it,” she countered. “And perhaps the order was questionable, but I came here because I wanted to protect you!” Burnham came closer. “You can’t be surprised that it happened. You never open up to your crewmates, Saru. You’re standoffish, and people see that as unfriendly. No one knows what to think about you, and that can breed suspicion in someone like ch’Theloh.”
He faltered. “It’s not . . .” He stopped and tried again. “I am not a people person.”
Burnham’s expression softened. “Saru, I know you think like me. I know you want to get ahead in Starfleet, but to do that you’ll have to meet people halfway. You know, actually try to make some friends?”
Star Trek: Discovery: Fear Itself Page 27