STAR TREK: TOS - Enterprise, The First Adventure

by Vonda N. McIntyre

  “Certainly, Mr. Spock. Pardon me,” he said to Cockspur, concealing his relief. “Starship business.”

  “Pardon me, captain,” Spock said. “Perhaps I misspoke—”

  “No, no, not at all,” Jim said. “I mustn’t put leisure above a consultation with my first officer.”

  He nearly grabbed Commander Spock by the elbow to hurry him off and to keep him from wiping out Jim’s excuse to escape. But he restrained himself from putting hands on a Vulcan. He and Spock walked away from Cockspur’s captive audience.

  “I needed only a moment,” Spock said. “It was not my intention to take you from your ... pleasure.”

  [135] “My pleasure, Mr. Spock?” He laughed. “I heard Vulcans have an odd concept of pleasure.”

  “Regarding white to checkmate in three ...”

  “I apologize for barging in on your problem.”

  Spock raised one eyebrow. “Then ... white cannot checkmate in three moves?”

  “Yes, it can. Did you think I was making a joke?”

  “One can never be certain,” Spock said, “when a human being is making a joke.”

  “Usually we laugh,” Jim said.

  “Not invariably.”

  “No. Not invariably. Still, I wasn’t making a joke.”

  “If the captain will indulge me ... your comment has piqued my curiosity.”

  “In that case, of course I’ll play out the problem with you.” In the alcove, the chess pieces stood in the same positions. “Commander Spock, I thought Vulcans experienced no emotions. Yet you confess to curiosity.”

  “Curiosity is not an emotion, captain,” Spock said as they sat down, “but the impetus in the search for knowledge that distinguishes sentient creatures. Your move, captain.”

  Jim moved his queen’s knight.

  Spock regarded the chessboard. One black eyebrow tilted to a steeper slant. He stared at the positions as if he had shifted into computer mode, as if he were calculating the effects of every possible move of every piece on the board. Jim had seen the opening in a flash of insight. Now, abruptly doubtful, he searched the board for some overlooked move, some schoolchild error.

  Spock reached out. Jim forced himself to stay as collected as any Vulcan while he waited for Mr. Spock to make a move that Jim’s intuition had not taken into account.

  Spock tipped his king and let it settle back onto its squat base.

  “I resign,” Spock said.

  Jim wondered if he saw the barest hint of a frown, the barest suggestion of confusion, in the Vulcan’s expression.

  “Your move,” Spock said, “risked your queen and your knights. It was ... illogical.”

  “But effective,” Jim said.

  [136] “Indeed,” Spock said softly. “What mode of calculation do you use? Sinhawk, perhaps? Or a method of your own devising?”

  “One of my own devising, you might say. I didn’t calculate it, Spock. I saw it. Call it intuition, if you like. Or good luck.”

  “I do not believe in luck,” Spock said. “And I have no experience of ... intuition.”

  “Nevertheless, that’s my method of calculation.”

  Spock cleared the board.

  “Would you care,” Spock asked, “for a complete game?”

  Chapter 6

  WHEN JIM KIRK arrived on the bridge the next morning, he felt great. He had slept the night through without a recurrence of his persistent dreams of Ghioghe. Gary Mitchell was on his way to recovery, the Enterprise was purring along without a hitch, and Jim had won last night’s game of chess, nearly managing to crack Commander Spock’s taciturnity in the process.

  Jim felt pleased with himself. He was also sleepy. He wondered where Rand had gotten the incredible coffee she gave him yesterday. He wondered if there might be more of it somewhere.

  Today it was not Yeoman Rand’s fault that he got too little sleep. McCoy’s advice appeared to have worked. Jim had seen nothing of her this morning.

  No, his sleepiness was his own fault, and he did not care. He had traded half the night’s sleep for the hard-played chess game with Commander Spock. He had won with a flamboyant, one might even say reckless, series of moves. Mr. Spock had been winning until Jim’s final, exhilarating rally.

  Mr. Spock, already at the science officer’s station, showed no evidence of having been up till all hours.

  “Good morning, Commander Spock.”

  “Good morning, captain.”

  “I enjoyed our game last night.”

  “It was ...” Spock hesitated. “Most instructive.”

  Jim supposed that was as close as a Vulcan was likely to come to admitting he had enjoyed himself.

  [138] Jim thought back, trying to recall a moment when he had been on the bridge and Commander Spock had not. The science officer came early and stayed late. Maybe he wanted to demonstrate his devotion to his position as both science officer and second in command, to prove Admiral Noguchi had made the right decision.

  Or maybe, Jim thought, the two jobs are too much for any single person. Maybe Noguchi should have let me make my own choice. And maybe Commander Spock shouldn’t rub in the fact that I wasn’t allowed to.

  Jim received the reports of the bridge stations, which all boiled down to “nothing to report.” Engines and systems functioning normally. On course and on schedule. No urgent communications from Starfleet. No emergencies.

  At times like this, space travel could get boring. He wished something would happen.

  He wondered if Rand had begun setting up his meetings schedule. And where was she? She should report here first every morning, but he had neglected to mention that to her.

  He tried to reach her at the yeoman’s cabin. Though he had left orders for her to move into it immediately, computer registered no occupant.

  He checked his schedule. Computer showed one appointment today and nothing thereafter. He sighed, wondering if he had gotten himself stuck with a yeoman who did everything in a hysterical flurry at the last minute.

  Then he noticed whom his first appointment was with: Leonard McCoy.

  The turbo-lift opened. Yeoman Rand sidled to the environmental systems station and started to work.

  “Yeoman Rand,” Jim said stiffly.

  “Yes, captain?” she whispered.

  “About my schedule.”

  “Yes, sir, it’s right here, sir.”

  “But you made an appointment for me with Leonard McCoy,” he said. “Dr. McCoy and I have served together for years. Didn’t you notice that we both came to the Enterprise from the same ship?”

  “No, sir. He didn’t say—I’m sorry, sir.”

  Dammit, she was flinching and apologizing again. He [139] started to say something soothing. He suddenly became aware of her appearance.

  Her uniform easily two sizes too big, her hair rumpled—though how hair that short could contrive to rumple, he did not know—and her eyes watery, she huddled in the seat as if she could make herself disappear.

  “Yeoman Rand, are you all right?”

  “Yes, captain,” she said in a small voice.

  “What’s your excuse for your disheveled appearance?”

  “None, sir.”

  “Did you get my message about the yeoman’s cabin?”

  “Yes, sir, a few hours ago.”

  “Why haven’t you moved in?”

  “I’m sorry, sir, I ... I just haven’t.” Her voice grew even smaller.

  “Do it now. And don’t ever—I repeat, ever—show up on my bridge in anything even hinting at your current state of disrepair.”

  She looked at him, stricken, fighting back tears. She leaped to her feet and bolted into the lift.

  Uhura looked down at Captain Kirk. She found it hard to believe that anyone, under any circumstances, could speak to a child like Janice Rand in such a harsh tone. She put her station on standby.

  “Excuse me,” she said coldly. “I have a break coming.” She left without waiting for Kirk’s dismissal. The turbo-lift closed. �
��Take me wherever you took your last passenger,” Uhura said.

  The lift let her out into a deserted corridor, nowhere near crew quarters or officers’ territory. Uhura wondered what Janice was planning to do. In her current emotional state, maybe she was not planning anything. Maybe she just wanted to go somewhere, anywhere, away from the bridge.

  In the second briefing room she checked, Uhura found Janice crying uncontrollably with her head pillowed on her arms.

  “Janice, don’t cry. There, there, it’s all right.” Uhura sat beside her and put her arm around Janice’s shoulders.

  Janice flinched away, huddling in on herself, trying to stop crying and only making it worse.

  [140] “Everything’s all right. It’s going to be all right.” Uhura patted her shoulder and stroked the irregular fuzz of her hair.

  “I couldn’t help it!” Janice whispered, her voice shaky and broken. “I understand why Roswind hates me now, but she hated me before when she didn’t have any reason to, and it isn’t my fault.”

  “Of course it isn’t,” Uhura said. She had no idea what Janice was talking about, but she kept on offering reassurance until the child calmed down.

  After ten minutes or so, Janice cried herself out. Her face was red and her eyes swollen with tears and she sniffled occasionally. With her rough-chopped hair and her baggy uniform, she looked a mess. Uhura got a towel from the steward’s station in the corner and gave it to her.

  “Better now?” Uhura said. “Wipe your eyes. Blow your nose. There. Take a deep breath. Good. Now. Tell me what happened.”

  The words came out in a tumble. Janice had no conception of hazing. Sometime in her life she had decided, or had it demonstrated to her, that sticking up for herself was more dangerous than submitting to humiliation. This troubled Uhura; she wondered if Janice’s spirit had been crushed beyond recovery.

  “And then this morning,” Janice said, “I went back to the cabin to get my things and move, and I just lay down for a second, only I was so tired I fell asleep and when I woke up I was late, and I put my uniform on only it was the wrong uniform, I know I ordered the right one but it isn’t the one that was there when I lay down, and I didn’t know whether to order another one and wait, or put it on and go to work, and Roswind laughed till I could hardly think.” Her lips quivered. She hovered on the brink of tears. “She’s so beautiful and I admired her so much at first, but all she ever did was make fun of me and laugh.”

  “Why didn’t you just laugh, too?”

  Janice stared at her, uncomprehending. “I had to go to work.”

  “She was teasing you, Janice. Maybe she let it go farther than she meant—I hope that’s all it was—or maybe she’s the [141] sort of person who likes to see how far she can push you. Usually all you have to do is push back.”

  Janice said nothing. She sat very still, neither agreeing nor disagreeing, giving every indication of listening to what Uhura said to her. But the expression in her eyes was lost, distant, hopeless.

  “Where are you from, Janice?”

  “What? I’m sorry, I mean ...”

  “Where’s your home world?”

  “Oh,” she said, her voice rising into a brittle false cheer, “I’m from all over, we moved around a lot.”

  “Who’s we? Your family, your community? Where did you go?”

  “Why are you asking me all these questions?” Janice cried. “Why should you care, what do you need to know for?”

  “I care because it hurts me to see anyone as frightened as you are. I care because we have to work together, and we can’t if you act like a scared sixteen-year-old.”

  Janice gasped and her fair skin paled. Uhura feared she would faint. The child flung herself on her knees at Uhura’s feet.

  “How did you find out? Oh, please, please, don’t tell, don’t tell anyone—”

  “Janice—!”

  “Please, I’ll do anything! Just don’t tell!”

  “Janice, get up!” Embarrassed, horrified, Uhura practically dragged Janice up. “Stop it, now, stop it!”

  Janice jerked herself away from Uhura. “How did you find out?” she cried.

  Uhura realized what Janice believed. “Like a scared sixteen-year-old,” Uhura had said. Without meaning to, Uhura had discovered Janice’s secret.

  “That doesn’t matter,” Uhura said.

  “If you tell, I’ll kill myself! I’ll kill you! I’ll—”

  Uhura could not help but smile. She drew the terrified child into a hug. “Nobody’s killing anybody. Don’t be silly.”

  After a while, Janice’s sobs subsided. She huddled against Uhura as if she were starved for comfort.

  “However did you get into Starfleet at sixteen? They’re [142] pretty strict about that.” Starfleet would send younger cadets, officer candidates, on heavily supervised training cruises, but regulations permitted no human under seventeen to join the crew. Safeguards and double-checks prevented children of any sentient species from running away to join Starfleet on a lark.

  Whatever Janice Rand’s motives, she had not run away on a lark.

  “When I was little, my family moved,” Janice whispered. “The warp engines blew, and we had to travel through normal space. We accelerated almost to light-speed, so it only took us a few weeks of subjective time. But objective time, it was three years.”

  “Nobody ever corrected the records?”

  Janice shook her head.

  “I don’t see how you got away with it.” To Uhura, Janice did not look anywhere near twenty. She looked like a sixteen-year-old. But no one ever thought about her, no one ever asked.

  “I lied,” Janice said. “I’m scared to, because when people find out you’ve done it, they—they don’t like it. But I had to. People believe a big enough lie. They figure you’d never dare say it if it wasn’t true.”

  Uhura laughed, then sobered. “What are we going to do with you?”

  Janice’s eyes widened. “You are going to tell!”

  Appalled by the prospect of Janice’s falling on her knees again, Uhura tried to reassure her. But she was unwilling to promise not to send her home. “Don’t be so frightened. We need to talk. Would going home be so bad? You’re just a kid, Janice. You ought to be going to school, back with your family—”

  “No! I’ll never go back! You can’t make me!”

  “Don’t you think they’re worried about you? Wouldn’t they want to know you’re safe, no matter what happened, no matter what you did?”

  “I didn’t do anything!” Janice said. “But I will—I’ll make you put me in prison before I go back to Saweoure!”

  “I’m not putting anybody in prison, Janice, and I never heard of Saweoure.”

  “It’s where we ended up after the ship lost its warp drive. [143] We didn’t have enough money to get it fixed. We had to sell it and stay there. But you can’t just stay there if you don’t have any money. You have to be under somebody’s ‘protection.’ ” Quite calmly, Janice told her the rest of it.

  When she finished, Uhura felt near tears.

  “Janice ...” She took a deep breath. “What you’re describing is nothing but slavery! How is this allowed to go on? Hasn’t anyone tried to stop it?”

  Janice’s voice turned bitter. “How should I know? Maybe it’s easier for the Federation to think everything’s all right. Maybe everybody likes it that way so they keep it secret.”

  Uhura welcomed Janice’s bitterness and her anger, for it proved her spirit still existed. “How did you get away?”

  “I sneaked me and my brothers on board a cargo shuttle. We were too ignorant to know it was impossible. Once the shuttle got back to its mother ship, we stayed hidden. It wasn’t too hard. Then we hid in a crate of relief supplies, and when we landed we snuck into the Faience refugee camp—”

  “You snuck into Faience?” The camp was a horror story of mismanagement and malice in the middle of a systemwide disaster, and many people had died needlessly.

  Janice shrugged
. Uhura felt a certain awe at the coolness with which Janice faced her past, if not her present.

  “It was better than where we’d been,” Janice said. “Then Starfleet came to relocate us, and that’s when I found out I was legally three years older than I really am. I don’t have any records except my birth certificate.”

  “What about your brothers?”

  “They didn’t even have birth certificates. The officials at Faience patted us on the head and said, ‘Oh you poor children,’ and registered Ben and Sirri. Since I was of age, I got their guardianship. I found them a good school, and I joined Starfleet so I could pay for it.”

  Amazed that anyone could go through what Janice had endured and survive, Uhura tried to think of some words of encouragement.

  In the few seconds of silence, the young yeoman’s steadiness evaporated as she waited for still another person with complete power over her to determine her fate.

  [144] “I’m almost seventeen,” Janice whispered. “I mean I’m almost really seventeen, I think, as near as I can figure. I do my job, Uhura.” She hesitated. “I guess you wouldn’t know that from today, though.”

  “I think you should tell,” Uhura said.

  “No!”

  “I think you should testify before the Federation of Planets Rights Commission. I think you should try to stop what’s going on.”

  “I can’t.”

  “Janice—”

  “Uhura, you don’t understand! I committed a crime by sneaking on board that cargo ship.”

  “It’s illegal to prevent citizens from moving freely—”

  “But it isn’t illegal to charge a lot of money to get from one place to another, and I didn’t pay for a ticket. Stowing away is the same as hijacking, on Saweoure. If I testified, the officials would call me a criminal and a liar and a thief. And they’d be able to prove what they charged me with. I did all those things. Please don’t tell. Please.”

  “You should tell—you should tell the authorities what you told me.”

  “The authorities?” Janice said angrily. “Like who, for instance? Like Captain Kirk? He wouldn’t listen to me. He’d think I was just making something up.”

  Uhura hesitated. If she had found all this out while Captain Pike still commanded the Enterprise, she would not have hesitated to urge Janice to confide in him. But she did not know Kirk well enough to have any idea how he might react to Janice’s story. Janice certainly had little reason to have any confidence in his sympathy. Not after what had just happened.