Duty, Honor, Redemption

by Novelization by Vonda N. McIntyre

  “Hurry up!” Jim whispered angrily.

  “The prefix code?” Spock asked.

  “It’s all we’ve got.”

  “Admiral,” Khan said, “you try my patience.”

  “We’re finding it, Khan! You know how much damage you inflicted on my ship. You’ve got to give us time!”

  “Time, James Kirk? You showed me that time is not a luxury, but a torture. You have forty-five seconds.”

  Mister Sulu turned toward Kirk. “Reliant’s completed its maneuver, sir—we’re lined up in their sights, and they’re coming back.”

  Saavik found the information Kirk sought, but could see no way it could be of use. “I don’t understand—”

  “You’ve got to learn why things work on a starship, not just how.” Kirk turned back to Khan, trying to put real conviction in his dissembling. “It’s coming through right now, Khan—”

  “The prefix code is one-six-three-zero-nine,” Spock said.

  He set quickly to work. Saavik watched the prefix code thread its way through the schematics and dissolve Reliant’s defenses. She understood suddenly what Kirk intended to do: transfer control of Reliant to the Enterprise and lower its shields.

  “You have thirty seconds,” Khan said, lingering over each word.

  “His intelligence is extraordinary,” Spock said. “If he has changed the code…”

  “Spock, wait for my signal,” Kirk said urgently. “Too soon, and he’ll figure it out; he’ll raise the shields again….”

  Spock nodded, and Kirk turned back to the viewscreen.

  “Khan, how do I know you’ll keep your word?”

  “Keep my word, Admiral? I gave you no word to keep. You have no alternative.”

  “I see your point…” Kirk said. “Mister Spock, is the data ready?”

  “Yes, Admiral.”

  “Khan, stand by to receive our transmission.” He glanced down at Sulu. “Mister Sulu—?”

  “Phasers locked….” Sulu said quietly.

  “Your time is up, Admiral,” Kahn said.

  “Here it comes—we’re transmitting right now. Mister Spock?”

  Spock stabbed the code through to Reliant and followed it instantly with the command to lower shields.

  Saavik’s monitor changed. “Shields down, Admiral!”

  “Fire!” James Kirk shouted as Khan, on the viewscreen, cried, “What—? Joachim, raise them—Where’s the override?”

  Mister Sulu bled off all the power the crippled ship could bear and slammed it through to the phasers.

  A thin bright hue of light sprang into existence, connecting Enterprise and Reliant with a lethal filament. Reliant’s hull glowed scarlet just at its bridge.

  On the viewscreen, Khan cried out in rage and pain as his ship shuddered around him. His transmission faded and the Enterprise’s viewscreen lost him.

  “You did it, Admiral!” Sulu said.

  “I didn’t do a damn thing—I got caught with my britches down. Damn, damn, I must be going senile.” He glanced up at Saavik and shook his head.

  “Lieutenant Saavik, you just keep on quoting regulations. Spock, come with me—we have to find out how bad the damage is.”

  He strode to the turbolift; Spock followed. The doors closed—

  Joachim bore Khan’s hoarse rage as quietly, and with as much pain, as he would have borne the lash.

  “Fire! Fire! Joachim, you fool! Why don’t you fire!”

  “I cannot, Khan. They damaged the photon controls and the warp drive. We must withdraw.”

  “No!”

  “My lord, we must, we have no choice. We must repair the ship. Enterprise cannot escape.” He wanted to close his eyes, he wanted to sleep, but he was afraid of his memories and terrified of his dreams. He felt sick unto death of killing and revenge.

  —the lift dropped, and the doors opened at the level of the engine room. Kirk took one step forward and stopped, aghast.

  “Scotty! My God!”

  The engineer stood trembling, spattered with blood, holding Peter Preston in his arms. The boy lay limp, his eyes closed, blood flowing steadily from his nose and mouth.

  “I canna reach Doctor McCoy, I canna get through; I must get the boy to sickbay—” Tears tracked the soot on his face. He staggered into the lift. Kirk and Spock caught him. Kirk steadied him while Spock took the child gently from his arms.

  “Sickbay!” Kirk yelled.

  The turbolift accelerated.

  Spock stepped onto the bridge. His shirt was bloody—red blood, darkening to brown: not his own.

  Saavik did not show the relief she felt. In silence, Spock joined her at the science officer’s station. As Saavik continued to coordinate the work of the repair crews, Spock slid a roster into the input drive. The information quickly sorted itself across the screen: ENGINE ROOM CREW: SLIGHTLY INJURED. SERIOUSLY INJURED. CRITICAL.

  PETER PRESTON.

  Saavik caught her breath. Spock glanced at her—she felt his gaze but could not meet it.

  Saavik’s hands began to tremble. She stared at them, thinking, this is shameful. You shame yourself and your teacher: must you bring even more humiliation to Vulcans?

  Her vision blurred. She squeezed her eyes closed.

  “Lieutenant Saavik,” Spock said.

  “Yes, Captain,” she whispered.

  “Take this list to Doctor McCoy.”

  She swallowed hard and tried to make her eyes focus on the sheet Spock handed her.

  The engine room casualty list—? Doctor McCoy had no use whatever for it: indeed it had just come from him.

  “Captain—?”

  “Please do not argue, Lieutenant,” Spock said. His cold tone revealed nothing. “The assignment should take you no more than fifteen minutes; the bridge can spare you no longer.”

  She stood up and took the copy from his hand. Her fingers clenched on it, crumpling the paper. She looked into Spock’s eyes.

  “The bridge can spare you no longer, Lieutenant,” he said again. “Go quickly. I am sorry.”

  She fled.

  McCoy worked desperately over Preston. He had to keep intensifying the anesthetic field, for the boy struggled toward consciousness.

  The life-sign sensors would not stabilize. No matter what McCoy did, the boy’s physical condition deteriorated. Lacerations, a couple of broken bones, some internal injuries with considerable loss of blood, a hairline fracture of the skull: nothing very serious. But Preston had been directly beneath the coolantgas leak. Everything depended on how much he had breathed and how long he had been within the cloud before the ventilators cleared it.

  McCoy cursed. The damned technicians claimed nothing else but this wretched, corrosive, teratogenic, gamma-emitting poison had a high enough specific heat to protect the engines against meltdown. Well, they also claimed its protection was fail-safe.

  “Doctor Chapel!” he yelled. “Where’s the damned analysis?”

  Scott watched him from outside the operating room; the engineer slumped against the glass.

  Chris Chapel came in, and McCoy knew the results from her expression.

  She handed him the analysis of Preston’s blood and tissue chemistry. “I’m sorry, Leonard,” she said.

  He shook his head grimly. Several of the life-sign indicators were already close to zero, and the boy had begun to bleed internally, massively, far worse than before: the sutures were not holding. And would not. The cell structure had already started to deteriorate.

  “I knew it already, Chris. I only hoped…”

  He withdrew from the operating field and changed the anesthetic mode from general to local. Preston began to come to, but he would not feel any pain.

  When McCoy looked up again, Jim Kirk stood next to Scott, gripping his shoulder.

  McCoy shook his head.

  Scott burst into the operating theater. Kirk followed.

  “Doctor McCoy, can ye no’—” His voice broke.

  “It’s coolant poisoning, Scotty,” McCoy sai
d. “I’m sorry. It would be possible to keep him alive for another half hour, at most—I can’t do that to him.”

  Scott started to protest, then stopped. He knew as well as any doctor, perhaps better, the effects of the poison. He went to Preston’s side and touched the boy’s forehead gently.

  Preston slowly opened his eyes.

  “Peter,” Scott said, “lad, I dinna mean—” He stopped. Tears spilled down his cheeks.

  Kirk leaned over the boy.

  “Mister Preston,” he said.

  “Is…is the word given?” Peter stared upward, intent on a scene that existed in his sight alone.

  “The word is given,” Kirk said. “Warp speed.”

  “Aye…” Peter whispered.

  Saavik stopped at the door to sickbay. She was too late.

  Mister Scott came out of the operating room, flanked and half-supported by Admiral Kirk and Doctor McCoy. He was crying. Behind them, Peter’s body lay on the operating table.

  Doctor Chapel drew a sheet over Peter’s face.

  Saavik hurled the crumpled list to the floor, turned, and bolted down the corridor. She flung herself into the first room she came to and fumbled to lock the door behind her.

  In the darkened empty conference chamber, she tried to calm her breathing; she fought to control the impossible surge of grief and rage that took her.

  It isn’t fair! she cried in her mind. It isn’t fair! He was only a child!

  She clenched her hands around the top of a chair. As if she were still on Hellguard, she flung back her head and screamed.

  For an instant the madness owned her. She wrenched the chair from the deck, twisting and shearing the bolts, and flung it across the room. It crashed against the bulkhead, dented the metal, and rebounded halfway to her.

  When Saavik knew anything again, she was crouched in a corner, huddled and trembling. She raised her head.

  Darkness raised no barriers to her; she saw the damage she had done.

  She was so weak she could control herself once more. Slowly she rose; slowly, without looking back, she left the conference room.

  Mister Scott was unable to speak for some minutes. Finally he looked up at Jim Kirk.

  “Why?”

  Jim looked sadly at Cadet Preston’s body. “Khan wants to kill me for passing sentence on him fifteen years ago…and he doesn’t care who stands between him and vengeance.”

  “Scotty,” McCoy said, “I’m sorry.”

  “He stayed at his post,” Scott said. “When my other trainees broke, he stayed.”

  “If he hadn’t, we’d be space by now,” Kirk said.

  “Bridge to Admiral Kirk,” Spock said over the intercom.

  Kirk hurried to open the channel. “Kirk here.”

  “The engine room reports auxiliary power restored. We can proceed on impulse engines.”

  Kirk rubbed his temples, drawing himself away from Mister Scott’s despair, back to the ship and the whole crew’s peril. “Best speed to Regulus I, Mister Spock.” He sat on his heels beside Scott. “Scotty, I’m sorry, I’ve got to know—can you get the main engines back online?”

  “I…I dinna think so, sir….”

  “Scotty—”

  “…but ye’ll have my best…” He stood up, moving apathetically, speaking by rote. “I know ye tried, Doctor….” He left sick bay like a sleepwalker.

  “Damn,” McCoy muttered.

  “Are you all right?”

  McCoy shrugged; weariness lay over him. “I’ve lost patients before, Jim; God help me, I’ve even lost kids before. Damn! Jim, Khan lured you here, that’s the only way any of this makes sense! He must have used your name to threaten Genesis—but how did he find out about it?”

  “I don’t know—and I’m a lot more worried about keeping him from laying his hands on it. You said it yourself: With a big enough bang, he could rearrange the universe.”

  “There may still be time. You gave as good as you got.”

  “I got beat. We’re only alive because I knew something about these ships that he didn’t.” Jim sighed. “And because one fourteen-year-old kid…” He stopped.

  “Shit,” he said, and left sick bay.

  Seven

  The Enterprise limped to Regulus I, its crews working nonstop to repair the damage done by Khan. By the time they reached Spacelab, Jim Kirk was able to stop worrying about the immediate fate of his starship; but he became more and more concerned about what he would find at their destination. The space station maintained complete radio silence.

  Mister Sulu slid the Enterprise into orbit around Regulus I.

  “Orbit stabilized, sir.”

  “Thanks, Mister Sulu. Commander Uhura, would you try again?”

  “Aye, sir. Enterprise to Regulus I Spacelab, come in, Spacelab. Come in, please….” She received the same reply she had received to every one of the many transmissions she had made in the hours since Doctor Marcus’s original call: nothing. “Enterprise to Spacelab, come in, Spacelab. This is the U.S.S. Enterprise. Please respond….” She turned to Kirk. “There’s no response at all, sir.”

  “Sensors, Captain?”

  “The sensors are inoperative, Admiral,” Spock said. “There is no way to tell what is inside the station.”

  “And no way of knowing if Reliant is still nearby, either,” Kirk said.

  “That is correct, Admiral.”

  “Blind…as a Tiberian bat,” Kirk said softly. “What about Regulus I?”

  “Class D planetoid, quite unremarkable: no appreciable tectonic activity. It is essentially a very large rock.”

  “Reliant could be hiding behind that rock.”

  “A distinct possibility, Admiral.”

  Kirk opened a channel to the engine room. “Scotty, do we have enough power for the transporters?”

  “Just barely, sir.” The engineer’s voice sounded tired and lifeless.

  “Thanks, Scotty.”

  Jim Kirk took his spectacles out of his belt pouch, looked at them, unfolded them, turned them over, then folded them again and put them away.

  “I’m going down to Spacelab.”

  “Jim,” Doctor McCoy said, “Khan could be down there!”

  “He’s been there, Bones, and he hasn’t found what he wants. Can you spare someone? There may be people hurt.”

  “I can spare me,” the doctor said.

  “I beg your pardon, Admiral,” Saavik said, “but general order fifteen specifically prohibits the entry of a flag officer into a hazardous area without armed escort.”

  “There is no such regulation,” Kirk said. That was easier than arguing with her.

  She began to speak, stopped, then frowned, trying to decide how to respond to such a bald-faced representation of a lie as the truth.

  On the other hand, Kirk thought, she had a point.

  “But if you want to check out a phaser, Lieutenant Saavik, you’re welcome to join the party. Mister Spock, the ship is yours.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  “You and Mister Scott keep me up-to-date on the damage reports.” He got up and started for the turbolift.

  “Jim—” Spock said.

  Jim Kirk glanced at his old friend.

  “—be careful.”

  Jim nodded, with a grin, and left.

  Doctor McCoy materialized inside the station’s main laboratory with his phaser drawn, the safety off.

  Some position for a doctor to be in, he thought—ready to shoot off somebody’s head. Jim materialized beside him, at an angle, and Saavik behind them both, so they formed a small protective circle.

  “Hello!” Jim yelled. “Anybody here?”

  The station replied with the echoes of abandonment and silence.

  Saavik went to the main computer and turned it on. She spoke to it, but it did not answer her, a sure sign of a badly crashed system.

  “Very little remains in any of the computers, Admiral,” she said after working with it for a few moments. “The online memories have been w
iped almost clean.” She loaded the single remaining file, started it running, and watched it for several minutes.

  McCoy pulled out his tricorder and scanned the immediate area. He thought he saw a blip—but, no, it faded before he could get a reading on it.

  “Sir….” Saavik said.

  “Yes, Lieutenant?” Kirk replied.

  “This is extremely odd. Only a single program remains. It is very large. It is…unique in my experience.”

  She stood back so Kirk and McCoy could look at the screen display.

  “I can make nothing of it.”

  They frowned at the sizzling, sparking, colorful graphics.

  “Another Genesis simulation?” McCoy said doubtfully.

  “No….” Kirk said. “My God, Bones, it’s a game—if that’s all Khan found when he got here…” He shook his head. “Phasers on stun. Move out. And be careful.”

  McCoy moved cautiously down the hall. The lights were very dim, the shadows heavy. Spacelab was enormous: besides the project scientists Spock regarded so highly, the satellite supported and housed several hundred technicians and support personnel. Most of them were on leave now, but there still should be eight or ten people here. So where—?

  He caught his breath: a scratching noise, a faint beep from his tricorder. He turned slowly.

  A white lab rat, free in the hallway, blinked at him from a dim corner, scrabbled around, and fled, its claws slipping on the tiles.

  “I’m with you, friend,” McCoy muttered.

  Feeling a little easier, he continued. He glanced into the rooms he passed, finding nothing but offices, a small lounge, sophisticated but familiar equipment for a number of fields of study.

  If they had to search the entire station, room by room, it would take days. McCoy decided to return to the main lab to see if Jim or Saavik had found anyone.

  He opened one last door. Beyond, it was dark.

  The hair on the back of his neck prickled. He took a step inside. No strange sound, no strange sight—why did he feel so uneasy?

  The smell: sharp, salty, metallic. He smelled blood.

  He turned, and a cold hand gently slapped against his face.

  “Lights!” he cried, jumping back. His foot slipped, and he fell.