Star Trek Into Darkness

by Alan Dean Foster

  A glance at his main readout alarmed McCoy. “Jim, your vitals are spiking, and we’re not even off the ground. Calm down.”

  Kirk whirled around to face the doctor. “I’m not gonna take ethics lessons from an emotionless robot who—”

  “Reverting to childish name-calling suggests you are defensive,” Spock observed calmly, “which suggests you therefore find my opinion valid—any ass-pulling-out-of notwithstanding.”

  At that moment, Kirk would have given a great deal to be waiting for liftoff on an entirely different shuttlecraft. “I didn’t ask for your opinion.” Reaching up, he swatted at the tricorder McCoy was passing across his field of view. “You think my vitals are up now? If you don’t get that thing out of my face . . . ”

  Resigned, Spock concluded his polemic. “Captain, our mission is, by its very definition, immoral. Perhaps once we are on board and under way, you might find the requisite time to reach the same conclusion on your own, as it is amply apparent that you are not going to listen to me—or to anyone else.”

  Spock might have been finished, but Kirk was not. He had plenty more to say and would have done so enthusiastically—had not his line of sight suddenly been interrupted by something considerably more interesting than McCoy’s instruments.

  As the door was about to close prior to departure, a last, late arrival stepped aboard. After being cleared by the irritated ensign, the blond, blue-eyed newcomer made her way through the shuttle until she stood confronting the bemused Kirk. Trim and athletic, she smiled down at him.

  “Captain Kirk? Science Officer Carol Wallace. I’ve been assigned to the Enterprise by Admiral Marcus.”

  Realizing he was expected to respond, Kirk kept his reply cool. “Isn’t it a bit unusual, Wallace, for a senior ship’s officer to be transferred aboard at essentially the last minute?”

  “As you are aware, Captain, certain recent events have resulted in an atypical acceleration of asset application. It seems that I’m included.”

  Spock made an odd sound deep in his throat. “You requested an additional science officer, Captain?”

  “I wish I had.” Looking forward, a bemused but not displeased Kirk raised his voice. “I’m sure that’s everyone for the Enterprise, Ensign. You can seal the door.”

  The officer hesitated only briefly before complying, thereby ensuring there would be no more surprises. This one, Kirk felt, was enough.

  Moving closer, the newcomer passed her tablet to him. He skimmed the visible words silently until he came to one particular paragraph that caused him to comment aloud.

  “Lieutenant Carol Wallace. Advanced doctorates in applied physics, astrophysics, materials science. Starfleet specialist in advanced weapons systems.”

  “Impressive credentials,” Spock commented without rancor.

  “Thank you,” she told him.

  “Though redundant now that I am back aboard the Enterprise,” the Vulcan concluded.

  Gesturing at the empty space between himself and his science officer, Kirk offered the new arrival a welcoming smile. “Have a seat, Doctor.” Working her way across in front of the captain, Wallace settled herself into the restraints. Preoccupied with securing herself, she did not notice that the other science officer was eyeing her in a manner that, even for a notably dispassionate Vulcan, might have been construed as something less than welcoming.

  As the shuttle rose skyward on its preprogrammed path, the sprawling metropolis of Greater San Francisco fell away below. Brown and green land gave way to the immense expanse of the deep blue Pacific, which in turn surrendered to the darkness of space and thousands of unwinking stars.

  Pressed into his restraints, Kirk closed his eyes and inhaled. This was as near as he could come to breathing vacuum. Soon he would be on the Enterprise again and, hopefully not long thereafter, powering through deep space on warp drive. Once far from Earth and Starfleet headquarters, he would be at liberty to cope with the still-developing situation surrounding John Harrison as best he saw fit. There would be no one looking over his shoulder as he made necessary decisions on the spot. No admirals, no senior functionaries. He would be free.

  Free from everything, he reminded himself pragmatically, except his responsibilities.

  The source of those responsibilities appeared not long after the shuttle cleared the ionosphere: the immense orbiting facility that was Starfleet dock. As the shuttlecraft slowed on approach, Kirk was able to pick out his ship waiting in place. Like worker ants attending a queen, a swarm of small support craft darted silently around her, preparing and supplying her for imminent departure. A small smile creased his face. There were other ships in dock, but like anyone thoroughly smitten, he had eyes only for his beloved.

  As far as James T. Kirk was concerned, there was only one ship in Starfleet, and her name was Enterprise.

  VII

  The Enterprise was being prepped for departure as per standard procedure, but on the sealed interior cargo deck near where the shuttle docked, there was turmoil. Like a whirlwind trapped in place, this rotated around the ship’s chief engineer, who was railing loudly at a pair of patently unhappy but persistent security officers. The streamlined white-and-gray object of Scott’s consternation rested on a hover pallet floating beside the two immovable visitors.

  “No. Absolutely not. I’m not signing anything!” Angrily he passed a transparent info tablet back to the nearer of the two officers. “I’m not puttin’ me retina stamp on anything that’s a blind delivery, especially on behalf of a load like this!” With a glance, he indicated the hovering pallet. Following his gaze, Kirk decided that he could sympathize with the chief engineer’s position.

  The pallet was stacked with gleaming photon torpedoes of a design and type unknown to him—the new weapon described by Admiral Marcus.

  “Get those bloody things off my ship!” As Scott started to turn away from the unwanted cargo, he caught sight of the newly arrived Kirk. “Captain!”

  Taking a deep breath and flanked by Spock, Kirk prepared to deal with the altercation.

  “Mr. Scott,” he said calmly. “Is there a problem?”

  “You bet your . . .!” The chief engineer calmed himself with an effort. “Aye, sir—there’s a ‘problem.’ ” He gestured forcefully in the direction of the two security officers. “I was just attempting to explain”—he glanced at Spock—“in the most calm and rational way possible, that I cannot authorize additional weapons comin’ aboard unless I know exactly what’s inside them.” He gestured at the pallet and its coldly ominous load. “Especially when those weapons are of a new and unfamiliar type.”

  “Mr. Scott raises another concern,” Spock began.

  Kirk did not give the science officer an opportunity to elaborate. “Mr. Spock, report to the bridge. Now, if you please.”

  “Yes, Captain.”

  While his expression betrayed no reaction, the Vulcan’s body language indicated that he was unhappy with the summary dismissal. Nevertheless, he complied.

  As soon as his first officer was out of earshot, Kirk turned back to his chief of engineering. “Mr. Scott, I understand your concerns, I sympathize with your position, and I admire your adherence to procedure—but we need those torpedoes on board.”

  Scott was openly puzzled. “Pardon me, Captain, but—why? The Enterprise is fully armed. There’s not enough spare room in the weapons bay for a catapult, much less a load this size.”

  Kirk smiled. “I’m sure you can find space, Mr. Scott.”

  “It isn’t even that, sir. Photon torpedoes run on their own miniaturized drives, each specific to a type an’ model.” Once more he gestured at the pallet’s heavy load. “But I kinna get a readin’ on any o’ these because their drive compartments are shielded. And the sections that are supposed to be open to inspection and repair are combination locked down. I could force one, but without knowin’ the specifics of what’s inside, I dinna think that’s an especially good idea. Not while the device in question is aboard ship, anyway.”
He nodded at the nearest of the two security officers. “I asked to have the operational specs transferred over, and when I did”—the chief jerked a thumb at the man standing behind him—“he said—”

  “It’s classified,” the officer finished for him.

  “ ‘That’s classified,’ ” Scott echoed. “To which I said: No specs, no signature.” His voice turned pleading. “You talk to them, Captain. Try to make them see reason from an engineering standpoint. Each of these little ship-busting packages has its own drive. If I don’t know the specs on those drives, how am I supposed to be certain that when they’re activated, they won’t interfere with the Enterprise’s own drive, or some other critical component of the ship?”

  “Come on, Scotty,” Kirk urged him. “D’you really think Starfleet would put a new type of torpedo on one of its vessels without first testing to make sure it wouldn’t cause any problems?”

  “I’m sure they’ve tested it, Captain.” The chief drew himself up. “And just maybe me refusal to blindly accept them is part o’ that same testin’. I dinna know what tests Starfleet has run on them or with them, but I do know that none o’ them ’ave been run on the Enterprise, and I’m not ’avin’ those things on me ship unless I know what’s inside them besides maybe gerbils runnin’ nowhere inside little metal wheels!”

  Sulu’s voice sounded from above. “Captain, the ship’s ready for departure on your orders.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Sulu! Scotty—”

  The chief took a step backward. “If you’ll excuse me, Captain, I’ve got a core to prime.” Looking to his right, he barked at his first assistant. Checking storage instructions imprinted on its topside, the stubby Roylan was straddling one of the torpedoes. “What are you bloody gapin’ at, Keenser? Get down!” Turning, he strode off toward Engineering with the silent alien ensign trailing behind and struggling to keep up. Thoughts churning, Kirk watched Scott in silence until he was interrupted by the senior of the two insistent security personnel.

  “Captain? We need a decision regarding this cargo.”

  “I know what you need. I’m trying to decide what I need. Stand by.”

  Behind him, an unhappy McCoy looked up from his recorder. “Jim, these numbers aren’t good.”

  Looking up the corridor, Kirk raised his voice. “Scotty . . . dammit!” When no response was forthcoming, he hurried off in the chief’s wake, leaving a more than usually perturbed McCoy behind.

  Kirk did not catch up to Scott until he reached Engineering itself, at which point he just did manage to intercept the chief before he disappeared among the Enterprise’s imposing drive components. Unable to flee openly, Ensign Keenser had to content himself with keeping as clear as possible of the two senior officers.

  “Mr. Scott, I need you to approve those new weapons. They have special properties that may prove essential to the success of our mission. We can’t leave without them, and as chief engineer, you’re the only one who can authorize their loading. I can countersign for them. So could Mr. Spock. But Security won’t relinquish them without your okay.”

  The two men regarded each other for a long moment. Then Scott turned and pointed with deliberation. “D’you know what that is, Captain?”

  Kirk did not bother to look in the indicated direction. “No, Mr. Scott. As captain of a starship, how could I possibly be familiar with her propulsion system? Let me think a moment now. Could you be referring to the ship’s food-processing facilities? Her hygienics systems? Or might you just possibly, just maybe, be indicating the warp core?” His tone hardened. “I don’t have time for a lecture, Scotty, especially about aspects of ship technology with which I am more than marginally familiar. We have to—”

  “It’s not only the warp core, Captain: It’s a matter-antimatter catastrophe waiting to happen. I dinna know what kind of mini-drive propels those new torpedoes, but ’tis reasonable to assume they would be more powerful than those they replace. Or differently configured. Otherwise they wouldn’t be very ‘new,’ now would they?”

  Kirk found himself hesitating. “Go on.”

  “More powerful drives implies the use of more powerful magnetic containment fields for the intermix. Dependin’ on how they’re utilized and the nature of the payload they’re carryin’, they could generate a greater magnetic field shift when they’re activated than any earlier models. That could create an interaction with the main core’s containment fields. Consider, Captain: In a combat situation where all weapons are armed, we’d be dealin’ with six dozen photon torpedoes of a new type about whose individual drive containment fields I know nothing and to whose relevant specifications I am being denied access. If their activation interferes in any way with the core containment field, we could lose the ship.”

  Kirk fought for patience. “Mr. Scott, do you still think Starfleet would let new weapons on a vessel if they hadn’t first been fully tested to ensure that such an event was impossible?”

  “I guess I dinna ’ave your confidence in ground-based laboratory testin’, Captain. This whole mission is a rush job. The crew were rushed back to the ship, the ship is being rushed out of orbit, and these bloody bang-sticks are bein’ rushed on board.” He shook his head. “Maybe it’s a fault o’ me trainin’, but I’ve this congenital dislike o’ bein’ rushed. Especially when it involves new weapons systems and potential warp core breaches. Letting those things on the Enterprise is the last straw.”

  Kirk frowned. “I’m missing something, Mr. Scott. What was the first straw?”

  “What was . . . ?” The chief engineer struggled to contain himself. “There are plenty of straws. A middle straw was Starfleet confiscatin’ my transwarp equation and now some madman’s using it to hop across the galaxy. Where do you think he got it?”

  Kirk was running out of time as well as patience. “Put your personal issues with Starfleet aside, Scotty. As you yourself just pointed out, this is not a typical mission. We have our orders.”

  “That’s what scares me. The more atypical a job, the less I trust it. This is clearly a military operation. Those torpedoes make it so. C’mon, Captain. I mean, six dozen torpedoes? Of an entirely new type? In addition to our standard complement of weaponry? Is this what we are now? Because I thought we were explorers, I thought we boldly went where no man has g—”

  Knowing his chief engineer as well as he did, Kirk also knew this unresolved debate could go on for hours. He did not have hours. He was charged with taking the Enterprise out now. Nor did he want to linger and perhaps give Starfleet Command the opportunity to countermand Marcus’s directive. While he understood Scott’s position and empathized with his concern, he would not give in to it. Like everyone else on board, the chief would simply have to find a way to cope with an unusual situation.

  “Mr. Scott, I’m not interested in arguing the matter any further. Sign for the torpedoes. That’s an order.”

  “An order, sir? You’re asking me to violate me own principles, t’go against me own judgment?”

  “Don’t make such a major issue out of it, Scotty. It’s just a pallet of new weaponry. Such deliveries are made all the time.”

  “I kinna sign for them.” The chief folded his arms across his chest. “I’d be twa bubbles aff the center if I did.”

  Kirk was equally adamant. “You will sign for them, Mr. Scott. You have no choice in this matter.”

  “Is that so, Captain? You’re right about one thing: I do have no choice. No choice but t’resign me duties.”

  It was the one response Kirk had not anticipated, and his surprise was evident. “Scotty. Come on, you can’t be serious.”

  “As you say, you leave me no choice, Captain.”

  More frustrated than angry, Kirk consulted his own quietly beeping information tablet. It was filling up fast with queries, requests, and demands for decisions only the ship’s captain could make. “You’re not leaving me a choice. I don’t have time—”

  “D’you accept me resignation or not?”

  Kirk tri
ed one more time. “Will you as chief engineer sign for those torpedoes?”

  “I will not.”

  “Then I accept your resignation. You are relieved of duty, Mr. Scott.”

  The chief looked shocked. This quickly gave way to a flush of anger, which he repressed, and finally to unabashed concern, which he did not.

  “Jim—for the love a’ God, whatever happens, do not use those torpedoes.”

  With that, Scott handed over his work tablet, turned, and strode away without so much as a backward glance. He did, however, throw a murderous glare in the direction of Keenser. There being no need for additional explanation of the chief engineer’s mood or meaning, Keenser likewise turned in his tablet and fell in beside his superior.

  Kirk was left to wonder what he had just done. There wasn’t a better chief engineer in Starfleet than Montgomery Scott, and he had just accepted the older man’s resignation. Where was he going to find even a halfway suitable replacement? He had only moments in which to do so, not days or weeks. Even a competent chief would need time to familiarize himself with the Enterprise. Though platforms were unified across classes of ships, each vessel had its own peculiarities, its own modifications and upgrades that were specific to it. Furthermore, if he put in a request now, scarcely moments before scheduled departure, Starfleet was going to want to know why. Conflict between a captain and his chief engineer was unlikely to inspire confidence, and if word of Scott’s resignation got out, it might jeopardize the entire mission.

  What was it Marcus had recalled that Pike had said about James T. Kirk? That he was impetuous? Had he just demonstrated that particular flaw?

  Time. Dammit, he had no time. Especially for nonsense like this. No matter the nature of a mission, insubordination could not be tolerated. Not even from Montgomery Scott. He had given his chief engineer a direct order, and it had been rebuffed. Despite what he believed, it was Scott who had been the one with choices. In contrast, Kirk had none.