The Captain's Oath

by Christopher L. Bennett

As for Spock . . . He may not have been a poker player, but Kirk knew from their chess games that he was meticulous, rational, a master of prediction and calculation. He saw the whole board and projected permutations dozens of moves ahead. If he took a risk, it was because he had calculated a high probability of success.

  More importantly, Spock was his first officer now. Trust between a captain and exec was intrinsic to the relationship. It was Spock’s job to be someone the captain could rely on—and it was the captain’s job to be someone the whole crew could rely on. This was the nature and the discipline of the service, intrinsic to the oaths the officers took to Starfleet and to one another. By trusting his captain, Spock had shown that he accepted that bond. How could Kirk do any less in return, least of all at the very start of their partnership?

  All this went through Kirk’s head in mere seconds. Once his resolve was settled, he returned to his command chair and took his place in it. “Negative, Mister Kelso. We will remain here and make sure that Spock and Sherev have the time they need to complete their work.”

  Mitchell turned to stare at Kirk. “Even if it means diverting the comets by force?”

  “Unless we get a call from the surface very soon, that’s going to be our only option.” The captain turned to the science station, which Kirk had ordered Lieutenant Sulu to operate in Spock’s absence, just in case matters came to this. “Mister Sulu, begin calculations for diverting the comets’ courses with tractor beams and phasers. I trust we don’t have to displace them too far.”

  The young, dark-haired physicist shook his head. “Negative, sir. It’s only the four largest ones intended to make it to the surface that we have to worry about, and even those are coming in on a shallow trajectory so that most of their volatiles will vaporize in the atmosphere before they hit. That means we only have to nudge them a little bit out of the way to miss the atmosphere completely.” He frowned. “Even so, that just means it’s possible, not easy. Diverting masses of that size this close to the planet . . . well, it’d be a lot easier if we’d done this days ago. But I’ll do my best, Captain.”

  “Very good.” Kirk swung the chair forward again. “Mister Kelso, arm phasers and initialize the tractor beam. Stand by for trajectory data from Sulu.”

  After an uneasy moment, Kelso rose from his seat and faced Kirk stiffly. “I’m sorry, Captain. I can’t do that.”

  Kirk stared. “Explain yourself, mister.”

  “With all due respect, Captain . . . I do not believe your orders are in keeping with our mission for Starfleet or our duties under the Prime Directive. I’m concerned that you’re acting out of personal loyalty to Doctor Sherev and failing to consider how this could damage our diplomatic relations with the Aulacri.”

  In the adjacent seat, Mitchell grew furious as Kelso spoke. “You’re way out of line, Lee!”

  “The captain ordered me to explain myself, sir!”

  Kirk held out a hand to Mitchell. “Yes, I did, Mister Kelso. But I am not obligated to explain my orders to you.”

  “No, sir, you are not. But I am obligated to refuse orders that I believe are illegal or unethical. Firing on the Aulacri comets could trigger a diplomatic crisis or even a war, and I cannot in good conscience be a part of that. Sir.”

  Kirk held Kelso’s gaze for a moment. He’d known the man was having difficulty adjusting to his new captain, but he hadn’t believed it would come to this. Still, it was a problem he had to deal with immediately.

  “Very well, Lieutenant Kelso. In that case, you are relieved of duty. Return to your quarters. We’ll discuss this later.”

  After a moment’s hesitation, Kelso threw brief, apologetic glances toward Mitchell and Sulu, but could not meet his captain’s eyes as he strode to the turbolift.

  Sulu rose from his seat at the science station. “Captain? My primary training is in flight control. I could complete my computations at the helm.”

  Kirk nodded. He was already aware of Sulu’s record as a pilot. “Man the helm, Mister Sulu.”

  Karabos II

  “How much time do we have left?”

  Spock’s voice betrayed a hint of annoyance at the increasing frequency with which Rhenas Sherev asked that question, but he managed to avoid calling attention to it. “Approximately one hour, twenty-seven minutes until the first surface impact event.”

  Sherev cocked her antennae thoughtfully as she turned back to examine the door before them. “Then we’d better solve this puzzle fast.”

  “Puzzle” was an accurate characterization of the locking mechanism the Karabosi had built into the door to the inner vault. It seemed the Karabosi had wanted to ensure that access to its contents would only be granted to beings intelligent and scientifically advanced enough to understand them—and they’d devised an ingenious mechanism, one simple and durable enough to remain functional over geologic time. “To review, then,” Spock said. He pointed to a small, glinting square of corrosion-proof metal in the door. “When power is fed into this electrical contact, it activates an electroluminescent diamond semiconductor within the door. The light shines through these three horizontal slots below, which are the correct size to contain the platinum data sheets in the outer library. Underneath the slots is a converse piezoelectric crystal sheathed in photoelectric material; when exposed to light, the crystal undergoes mechanical deformation that should release the inner locking mechanism.”

  “But just shining the light through the empty slots doesn’t do it,” Sherev said. “The photoelectric sheath is microstructured to respond only to the right pattern of light hitting its surface.”

  “Clearly we are meant to insert the three correct data sheets so that their microdots will align in such a way as to transmit the correct pattern of light. Our challenge is to determine which three out of two thousand, seven hundred and thirty data sheets are the correct ones. And our only clues are the symbols carved alongside the slots.”

  “Which seem to relate to Karabosi life sciences and genetic notation,” Sherev said. “That narrows it down.”

  “To seventy-nine data sheets. The number of distinct permutations of seventy-nine items taken three at a time is four hundred seventy-four thousand, four hundred seventy-four.”

  Sherev stared, amazed that he could do the computation in his head, though the number sounded so contrived that she almost wondered if he was making it up. “Well, some cultures think symmetrical numbers are good luck.”

  “Luck is an erroneous belief, particularly in this case. We would need to test ninety-two of the data sheets per second to complete them all in eighty-six minutes. We cannot rely on trial and error; we must select the correct sheets based on their contents. We are meant to deduce which sheets are indicated by which symbols.”

  “Then we’d better get to it.”

  They returned to the outer vault, clambering over the remains of the rockfall they had cleared through the application of the phaser bore and combined Vulcan and Andorian strength, then made their way to the section of the data-sheet archive indexed for life sciences. As they began withdrawing the sheets and laying them out for comparison, Sherev took advantage of the drudge work to ask a question that she’d been too busy to ask up to now. “Tell me something, Mister Spock. Just why did you, of all people, choose to stay behind? Why is it so important to you to find out what this mysterious link is between the Karabosi and the Aulacri?”

  He cocked a brow at her. “As a fellow scientist, you should understand the importance of the pursuit of knowledge.”

  She cocked an antenna right back. “And as a fellow scientist, I’m asking you to level with me about why this is personal for you. And don’t just say it’s logical. Logic is a method for solving problems, not the thing that sets the problems in the first place. Why is this a problem that you need to solve?”

  Spock continued to retrieve data sheets from their slotted rack and lay them out on the adjacent slab. For a moment, Sherev thought he was ignoring her question. Finally, he spoke. “I concede that m
y personal experience gives me insight into why this information could be vital to the Aulacri. It is an experience that I alone possess, for I am only half-Vulcan.”

  She studied him. Once it was pointed out, she could recognize the subtle variations from the Vulcan norm in his appearance, his scent, his electrical field. “The other half . . . human?”

  His eyes betrayed momentary surprise at her perceptiveness. “Correct.”

  “How is that even possible? The blood chemistry differences alone . . .”

  “Let us simply say that it required extensive medical intervention.”

  “We’re not so different, then.” She pointed a thumb at herself. “Four parents. Arranging a shelthreth—our reproductive ceremony—is a complicated thing, both finding four compatible people and, well, going through the actual mechanics of conception. It’s not something that happens easily, or by accident.” She smiled. “It’s a comforting feeling, I’ve always thought. To know that my parents went through such effort to have me—it proves they really wanted me. I guess you must feel the same.”

  Spock looked away. “I . . . do not indulge in sentiment. In answer to your original question . . . As a half-human raised on Vulcan, and later as a half-Vulcan serving in a predominantly human Starfleet, I have been faced throughout my life with questions of identity. I have had to make difficult choices about what heritage I would define myself by.”

  “You can’t just be both?”

  His eyes met hers again. “If I were to attempt that, it would not ‘just’ happen. It would be its own complex choice, requiring a full understanding of both heritages. All such choices require an understanding of who we are, what our origins and context are. They cannot be made well in the absence of true knowledge of our identity and history.”

  Sherev looked deeper into his eyes. “I understand. You believe the Aulacri deserve that true knowledge of their own history, so they can find their own answers to those questions.”

  “I believe it is every being’s right. I admit, there have been times, given the . . . complicated composition of my family, when I have found the barrage of conflicting messages about what it means to be Vulcan, or human, or some combination of the two, somewhat overwhelming. But at least I have been aware of my range of options. I believe it is better to have an excess of information to select from than a deficit. Imagine if we had only one of the data sheets we needed, rather than seventy-nine. At least this way, we have all the information we need to succeed; we must simply make our choices wisely.”

  Sherev looked at the multiple stacks of data sheets laid out before them on the slab. “ ‘Simply.’ Sure. Well, let’s get to it.”

  At first, they attempted to scan the microtext on the data sheets for symbol strings matching the symbols on the slots. But none had an exact match, and many contained all of the depicted symbols in different configurations. “It was unlikely to be that simple,” Spock said. “This is a test for our comprehension of the principles discussed in these sheets. We must deduce which sheets contain the formulas or operations that would result in the expressions carved beside the wall slots.”

  Sherev shook her head. “I’m afraid I’m a little rusty on the life sciences. Too used to studying what’s already dead. I’m also better at games of chance than logic puzzles.”

  “You have the training of a Starfleet science officer, Doctor, just as I do. Given the time pressure, it is counterproductive to underestimate yourself.”

  Sherev stared, trying to parse whether that had been a compliment or a chastisement. Oh, this one’s going to be a handful for Jim.

  But Spock was right—once she applied herself to the problem, her life-sciences training came back to her, and she was able to assist in spotting the necessary patterns. Between them, the two science officers deduced that each of the three sheets they needed contained several equations that could implicitly be combined in a certain way—a way hinted at by discussion on the other two sheets—that would produce a derived equation matching the pattern of the symbols by one of the wall slots. The exact expression could be obtained by plugging the sheet’s unique index number in as the undefined variable, a further confirmation that they had the right sheets.

  “Fascinating,” Spock said. “The three sheets we need pertain to the topics of genetics and cellular biology . . . reproduction and childhood development . . .” He turned to meet Sherev’s eyes. “And cloning.”

  Her antennae stiffened as the ramifications sank in. “We have to get those doors open right now.”

  U.S.S. Enterprise

  Deflecting the comets had been a real test of the Enterprise and her crew. Given more time, Kirk knew, it would have been easy for even a much smaller ship to nudge bodies of their mass away from their impact trajectories through the prolonged, gentle application of a tractor beam. But with barely an hour to spare, it was far more challenging. The ship needed to exert considerably greater force upon the comets to change their course so quickly, yet do so gently enough not to shatter them, which would make it far harder to divert the multiple smaller pieces. Even if not all the fragments reached the surface intact, the total amount of kinetic energy and heat they would separately impart to Karabos II’s atmosphere as they burned up within it would be the same, just spread out over a larger atmospheric volume—which could potentially be even more dangerous for Spock and Sherev on the surface.

  Lieutenant Sulu’s deflection strategy entailed a combination of wide-focus tractor beams, to spread out the acceleration evenly across the comets and minimize the fragmentation risk, and pinpoint-targeted phasers to bore into the comets’ surface, with the vaporized ice and rock erupting out of the bore holes like exhaust blasting out of rocket nozzles, imparting an extra degree of thrust. It was an impressive demonstration of the Enterprise’s power and precision, and of Sulu’s skill at wielding them. If Kirk couldn’t get things sorted out with Lee Kelso, he thought, then Sulu would make a fine replacement.

  As for Skovir and the Aulacri terraformers, it was fortunate that they only had a few small, unarmed ships, unable to put up any real resistance. They had made some brief attempts to place themselves in the Enterprise’s path, but space was big and open and the Enterprise was remarkably maneuverable for a ship of its mass, so Sulu had simply veered around them. Since then, they had merely kept pace with the comets and watched as they closed on Karabos II. Kirk had advised them to focus on tracking the smaller comets and ensuring they burned up in the upper atmosphere as planned. He hoped the water and nitrogen they restored to the planet would make a substantial difference to its habitability even without the impact winter.

  But as the operation continued and the comets drew inexorably closer to impact, Sulu’s normally cheerful manner grew increasingly solemn. Eventually he turned to Kirk and said, “Captain, we’ve managed to deflect the first three comets sufficiently, but I’m afraid there’s no time to complete deflection of the largest one. And the Karabosi vault is still within its projected impact zone.”

  Kirk threw a glance at the large comet on the main viewer, staring it down like an enemy ship. The irregular ovoid was wreathed in a wispy cloud of water and nitrogen vapor, trailing off into a tail as it was blown away by Karabos’s stellar wind, but being replenished by geysers that periodically burst from the surface as pockets of ice sublimated in the star’s heat. “Options?”

  Sulu spoke hesitantly. “There are still Aulacri thruster pods installed on the surface, sir. I didn’t propose using them before because I don’t know if they have enough fuel left, and because the surface conditions would be dangerously unstable this close to the star—even more so now, thanks to our phasers and tractors. It would be extremely risky, sir, but if we sent a team to the main thruster assembly and were able to reactivate it, we could operate the thrusters from there and gain the extra acceleration we needed to miss the atmosphere. But we’d have to do it within the next eighteen minutes.”

  Kirk turned to his chief engineer. “Mister Scott? Any other o
ptions?”

  The burly Scotsman replied with a grim, alarmed look on his face. “I’m afraid I can’t give you any, sir. Mister Sulu’s plan is dangerous, but it’s all we’ve got.”

  The captain turned to Mitchell, who shrugged. “A crazy, life-threatening gambit at the last minute? Of course I’m in.”

  “I can lead the team myself, sir,” Sulu said.

  “No, I need you where you are, Lieutenant. I’ll lead the team.”

  Mitchell stared at Kirk. “Jim, you’re needed here too.”

  “It’s settled, Mister Mitchell.” Kirk had been through this debate with him enough times over the years. He didn’t like ordering others to take risks he wasn’t willing to take himself. Especially in this case, when the mission was legally questionable to begin with. The responsibility, and the risk, had to fall on him. “I’m going.”

  “Okay—then so am I. You need someone backing you up, and we don’t need a navigator to tell us we’re heading straight for a planet.”

  Their eyes locked, but after a brief moment, Kirk nodded. “All right, Gary.”

  “You’ll need an engineer too, sir,” Scott said. “I volunteer.”

  “That’s not necessary, Mister Scott.”

  The other man tilted his head to the side. “With all due respect, sir, I’m not about to let my captain get himself killed in my second week aboard. I’d never live it down.”

  Kirk studied the man. Despite the humor in his words, Kirk realized that Scott was driven by a sense of personal responsibility not unlike his own. A chief engineer was as much a leader in his way as a captain, and even in their short time together, Kirk had already seen that Scott was the most hands-on chief engineer he’d ever served with. He smiled. “Very well, Mister Scott. You’re with us.”

  “Captain!” It was Lieutenant Alden at communications. “Message from the surface!”

  Kirk moved over to the rail by Alden’s station while Mitchell and Scott moved to wait by the turbolift. “Mister Spock?”

  “Yes, sir . . . but it’s hard to clear it up. The first comets are entering the atmosphere . . . there’s interference.”