Star Trek Into Darkness

by Alan Dean Foster

  The admiral considered carefully. “What if you don’t get out in time?”

  Kirk shrugged. “Then we’ll have to shoot back. I didn’t say the plan was perfect.” His grin this time was lopsided. “We’ll tell ’em we experienced a severe navigational malfunction and got lost.” The grin vanished. “Harrison is there, sir. He might not stay there for long, so we have to act fast. Starfleet can’t formally go after him—but I can. Please, sir.”

  Spock stepped forward. “While I am unable to engage in nonrational pleading, Admiral, I would like to second Captain Kirk’s suggestion.”

  “ ‘Captain’ Kirk?” Marcus’s eyebrows rose. “You presume too much, gentlemen.” Having said that, he studied both men carefully for a moment before continuing. “Mr. Kirk, Mr. Spock: I am going to share something with you that is not to be repeated outside this room.” Both men stood expectantly, conscious of the seriousness in the admiral’s tone and manner.

  “All-out war with the Klingons is inevitable, Mr. Kirk. If you ask me, it’s already begun.” At his gesture, the room was filled with surveillance imagery: different types of Klingon warships, armed Klingon soldiers, worlds, statistics, and more. Eyeing the display, Marcus sniffed derisively. “ ‘Diplomacy’ and ‘friendship’ don’t seem to have a place in the Klingon vocabulary. In fact, there’s a whole section that might be labeled ‘getting along with others’ that seems to be missing from their culture.

  “Since we first learned of their existence, the Klingon Empire has conquered and occupied two inhabited worlds that we know of: worlds populated by sentient species with no burning racial desire other than to be left alone. The Klingons don’t like to leave other species alone. In their mind, pacificity is a sign of weakness, and weakness is something to be exploited. They’ve fired on our ships half a dozen times, always on the flimsiest of reasons. When we have the temerity to fire back, they withdraw, recalculate, and if necessary, offer up whatever excuses they think we’ll accept. Our diplomats hem and haw but, being diplomats, end up coming to agreements.” His tone hardened.

  “Those ‘agreements’ will last only until the Klingons believe they’ve achieved an overwhelming superiority in firepower. Then there’ll be another ‘accident,’ only this time there’ll be no more agreements. They’ll come straight at us, and they won’t stop until they get to Earth itself. The galactic clock is ticking, gentlemen. They’re coming our way, and I’ll be damned if we’re not gonna be ready for them.” His gaze fixed on Spock. “We intend to see to it, Mr. Spock, that what happened to your world will never happen again, to Earth or anywhere else.” He paused to let his breath catch up with his thoughts.

  “London—that was not an ‘archive.’ It was the staging area for a top-secret branch of Starfleet research and development called ‘Section 31’—as innocuous a designation as could be applied. The scientists, engineers, and military far-seers there were tasked with developing defensive technology as well as training operatives to gather intelligence on the Klingons and any other potential enemies who mean to do us harm.”

  As he spoke, images from the destroyed Section 31 facility appeared in the air above his desk. They were followed by a plethora of research material on the Klingon Empire: its ships, weapons, statistics, and much more.

  “I’m sure you realize, gentlemen,” Marcus continued, “that the galaxy is not an inherently benign place. In addition to dangerous natural phenomena, there are hostile intelligences out there who have reasons of their own for wishing to see the influence of the Federation reduced—or eliminated entirely. It is the task of Starfleet never to let down our guard against such entities.”

  “I thought our task was to seek out and explore,” Spock injected pointedly.

  Marcus nodded agreement. “Indeed it is, Mr. Spock. Also to be wary of what we find when we seek out and explore. Starfleet’s approach has always been to extend the hand of greeting and friendship to whoever we may encounter—while keeping a fully charged phaser ready in our back pocket.” Once again he shook his head dubiously. “Extend both hands to the Klingons, and they’re likely to come back missing a finger or two. Plans are being made to defeat them, by any means necessary.” Visual information on the Klingon Empire was abruptly replaced by a personnel file: that of Thomas Harewood.

  “But Harrison somehow coerced a Section 31 officer to sacrifice his own life and detonate a device that destroyed the facility and killed innocent men and women. We don’t know why Harrison turned against us.” Marcus stared off into the distance, momentarily focusing his thoughts on another matter entirely before snapping back to his current surroundings. “He was one of our best agents. You cannot imagine how talented and valuable he was. One might almost say unique.”

  Kirk felt no sympathy. “Well, now he’s a fugitive mass murderer, and I’d like your permission to take him out.”

  The admiral almost smiled. “ ‘Take him out’? You are very young, Mr. Kirk. In fact, I would go so far as to say your response sounds a bit—Klingonish. Starfleet isn’t about vendettas, sir.”

  “Maybe it should be,” the younger man shot back. “Maybe if the Klingons thought we were more like them—instead of, say, the inhabitants of those two worlds they recently occupied—they’d show us a little more respect and stop shooting at our ships. I’m all for diplomacy, first and foremost, but there’s a time for talk and a time for stalk.”

  “Straightforwardly put. I’d have expected nothing less. Pike always said you were one of our best and brightest. Also one of our most . . . impetuous? I think that’s the word he used. You should have heard him defend you. He’s the one who talked you into joining Starfleet, wasn’t he?”

  Kirk swallowed. “Yes, sir. If not for him . . . ” His voice trailed away.

  Marcus’s tone softened. “Did he ever tell you who talked him into joining?”

  The younger officer looked up sharply. Eyes met, understanding and emotion were exchanged in silence. Without anything more being said, an existing wall abruptly vanished. Looking on, Spock could analyze and comprehend what had just happened, even if he himself could not participate in the wordless exchange.

  “His death is on me.” Marcus spoke more softly than at any time since the two other officers had entered the room. “And yours can’t be. I won’t allow that. Harrison has cost Starfleet too many fine officers. I will not see your name added to that list. The Klingon homeworld—really, now. I’m not letting you get anywhere near that planet. Not even if the object is to ‘take out’ John Harrison.” He started to turn away. “We’ll deal with him through other means. There are less-known diplomatic channels that—”

  “Please, sir,” Kirk interrupted. “Diplomacy—if he declares his presence to the Klingons and tells them what he’s done, they’ll view him as an ally. He’s just one rogue human, sure, but he’s one who’s accomplished something that would accrue considerable merit to any of them had they carried out such a stealthy attack. It would be just like them to grant him diplomatic immunity and parade him at a conference, or use him for general propaganda purposes. He has to be . . . excised . . . so that can’t happen.” He went quiet for a moment before adding, “ ‘Vendetta’ aside, there are practical reasons why he has to be dealt with as soon as possible.”

  Marcus thought it over. He had apparently made up his mind—but that didn’t mean it could not be changed. His attention turned to the quiet science officer who had spoken little but heard everything.

  “Mr. Spock, you said the city he’s hiding in is uninhabited?”

  “Affirmative, sir. And has been for quite some time. On the map of Qo’noS, it’s an empty place: abandoned, deserted, and unvisited.”

  Marcus nodded to himself. “As part of our extended defensive strategy, Section 31 has developed a number of new, highly advanced weapons systems. One of these is a new kind of photon torpedo: long-range and undetectable. It’s designed to be invisible to Klingon sensors.”

  “ ‘Designed to be.’ ” Spock cons
idered this. “Is it?”

  Marcus didn’t smile. “In all the computer simulations, it has functioned as intended. In a real combat situation—we have yet to find out.” His gaze flicked from man to Vulcan. “You’re going to have the opportunity to find out. Mr. Kirk, you will proceed to locate John Harrison. I don’t want you hurt, but I want you to take him out. When you have conclusively established his position and, provided he remains isolated from his unknowing Klingon hosts, you lock onto his position, you fire, you kill him, then you haul ass.”

  Straightening, Kirk repressed a smile. “Yes, sir.”

  “Good.”

  Spock was noticeably less enthusiastic about this meeting of human minds. “Admiral, it is to be presupposed that the Klingons will look less than understandingly at the launching of photon torpedoes at their homeworld from a Federation vessel.”

  “As would we if the situation were reversed, Mr. Spock. However, if the torpedoes work as intended, no trace of their passage will be detectable. Klingon sensors might detect the presence of the Enterprise. They will have no way of connecting it with a detonation on an uninhabited portion of their planet. If all goes as hoped, the Enterprise will be in and away before they can even register its presence.” He caught his breath before adding, “As you may know, Qo’noS has one major moon, Praxis, which is a center of energy production. There are also a number of smaller moonlets and planetoids. Too small to bother colonizing even with automatic stations; plenty large enough to conceal a single starship visually, electromagnetically, and gravitationally from sensors on both Qo’noS and Praxis. If you can emerge from warp space at appropriate predetermined coordinates behind one of these, the Klingons won’t notice you. A patrol would eventually, but you should be in and out before that happens.” His gaze shifted from Kirk to Spock. “Nobody suggests this is going to be easy. But it’s possible. It’s doable.”

  Kirk threw the Vulcan a look that said See? before turning back to Marcus. He was all business now. Very professional. Almost un-Kirk-like. “Permission to reinstate Mr. Spock as my first officer.”

  The object of this request regarded his former commander in obvious surprise. But he did not object.

  “Granted,” Marcus replied matter-of-factly. “Anything else?”

  “No, sir. Thank you, sir.”

  “After you enter Klingon space, you may feel otherwise.” Marcus paused. “No further questions, gentlemen? Then—good luck.”

  * * *

  The massive shuttle hangar was a hive of activity: technicians going over final checkouts, shuttle crews preparing for departure, dozens of personnel comparing notes and assignments, supplies being prepared for loading. The hum and clank and whir of automatics combined with the buzz of conversation to create a symphony of expectancy: human and alien voices blending into a single chorus that subsumed any individual concerns. Haste was paramount and laggards not tolerated. If you didn’t quickly find out where you were going and what you were supposed to do, you were liable to be left behind.

  A man on a mission, James Kirk strode through the confusion, parting lesser ranks with a distinct lack of patience. Some of those he nudged aside started to protest, then recognized him and made way. His reputation preceded him.

  Less impressed, one man fell in step alongside the newly reinstated captain. In place of awe, admiration, or just plain trepidation, the newcomer’s face showed unrestrained annoyance.

  “Jim. I waited and waited. Where the hell were you?”

  “Waited? For what?” Kirk responded to Leonard McCoy’s unconcealed irritation without slowing his stride.

  “For the going-away banquet Starfleet’s female contingent prepared in your honor.” The doctor rolled his eyes. “For your pre-departure medical exam—what’d you think? You didn’t show up.” He didn’t try to hide his dismay. “Jim, ten hours ago you were in a damn firefight. Subsequent to which you were never checked out. Now you’re resuming command of the Enterprise without so much as having your blood pressure taken. What kind of ship’s doctor do you think I am? It’s my duty to—”

  Kirk cut him off. “Bones, I’m fine.”

  Forgoing argument, McCoy reached out and brought Kirk to a stop by grabbing his arm. Concern replaced exasperation as he lowered his voice.

  “The hell you are.”

  For just an instant, McCoy saw something unguarded and real in his friend’s face. Sorrow, perhaps, or regret, or both. Then the instinctive cockiness returned full strength as Kirk shrugged indifferently.

  “You wanna examine me? Examine me. But not until we’re under way.”

  McCoy sighed heavily. “And the point of giving you a check-up when we’re already halfway to who knows where would be what?” His frustration threatened to boil over. “I may do it anyway, just to satisfy myself.”

  Kirk had to grin. “Satisfy yourself about what? Whether I’m crazy or not?”

  “No, I already know the answer to that one.” He gestured. “C’mon, move, Captain. You’re holding up the queue.”

  With a nod to one ensign and a word to another, Kirk checked himself onto the shuttle. McCoy was right behind him, but delayed in order to examine the first ensign’s eyes, which struck the doctor as unnaturally dilated. While the two of them argued over what the ensign might have ingested or imbibed the previous night, Kirk wandered deeper into the compact vessel. He was not surprised to find his science officer already seated and ready for liftoff.

  “Status report, Mr. Spock?”

  “I am pleased to report that I am well, Captain, and that I have completed all appropriate pre-departure—”

  “Not you,” an exasperated Kirk muttered. “I can see your status well enough. I meant the ship.” He slipped into the empty seat near the Vulcan.

  “The Enterprise should be ready for departure by the time we arrive. I anticipate no delays in leaving orbit.”

  Kirk nodded approvingly and would have continued but was interrupted as McCoy arrived laden with a handful of medical instrumentation.

  “Hey.” Kirk leaned to one side in his seat as the doctor, utilizing a small scanner, commenced his examination. “I said you could do this once we were under way.”

  McCoy replied without lifting his eye from the device he was passing across Kirk’s face. “Technically, as soon as the last door closes, we’re officially under way. You want to lodge a complaint about my reasoning, file it with Starfleet Medical once we return.” The device slid downward. “In the meantime, open your mouth and stick out your tongue so I can scan your teeth.”

  As a reluctant but defeated Kirk complied, Spock embraced the opportunity to convey something he had meant to say ever since they had left Marcus’s presence.

  “Captain. I would be remiss were I not to thank you for requesting my reinstatement to the Enterprise. While I could as easily have remained with Captain Abbott’s ship or requested assignment to another vessel, my preference is to serve aboard the Enterprise in the company of a crew with whom I am already familiar.”

  McCoy spoke without looking up from his work. “If you’re going to say something about ‘familiarity breeding contempt,’ I may be forced to make a note in your official medical record.”

  “I would not think of doing such a thing, Doctor. The very notion leads me to suggest that after you are through examining the captain, you might consider examining yourself for symptoms of paranoia.”

  “It’s not paranoia if the object of one’s concern is omnipresent.”

  Ignoring this, Spock returned his attention to Kirk. “It would also be remiss of me if I did not now strongly object to our mission parameters.”

  Turning away from the new device that McCoy was pressing to his neck, Kirk glared at his science officer. “Of course it would,” he said dryly. “Consider your objection so noted.”

  “There is more.”

  “And he thinks I’m paranoid,” McCoy muttered, but under his breath.

  “While I harbor only the ultimate disdain and contempt for th
e individual known as John Harrison, and desire strongly that he receive the punishment due him, I must point out that there is no Starfleet regulation that condemns a man to die without a trial—no matter how egregious his offenses. On a completely different matter of concern, I must say again that preemptively firing one or more torpedoes at the Klingon homeworld goes against every—”

  McCoy removed the reading device and gaped at Kirk. “Wait a minute. I was told this was a priority operation, but—we’re firing torpedoes at the Klingons?”

  “No—technically, yes, but no. Because we’re actually—look, Bones, it’ll be explained in detail once we’re at warp and clear of Earth’s system.” Angry at himself for having disclosed a portion of their still-secret mission, Kirk muttered an irritated response to his first officer. “Look, you yourself said the area’s uninhabited. And there’s only going to be one casualty. And in case you weren’t listening, our orders have nothing to do with Starfleet regulations.”

  Spock was not to be dissuaded. “Regulations aside . . . ”

  Kirk looked sharply back at him. “ ‘Regulations aside’? When did you ever put regulations aside, Spock—even for the sake of discussion?”

  “What I mean to say, Captain, is that however justification for our mission may be rationalized, such an action is morally wrong.”

  Kirk barked a humorless laugh. “Regulations aside, pulling your ass out of a volcano on the verge of erupting was morally right and I didn’t get any points for that either. As it seems that I’m wrong no matter what I do, I’d just as soon go with something that has a worthwhile purpose.”