Duty, Honor, Redemption

by Novelization by Vonda N. McIntyre

  Saavik snapped the communicator closed and slapped it back in place on her belt.

  “What is wrong with you?” Saavik had begun to get used to David’s impulsive actions. Until now he had never seemed maliciously irresponsible.

  The transporter beam glowed; the boxes of Genesis records sparkled and disappeared.

  Saavik dragged David around till she could reach her phaser. It had fallen into a tangle of vines. She had to rip it loose from the tendrils that had curled around it. The pungent scent rose up to enclose her.

  She felt dizzy. She shoved the phaser against her belt and fumbled for the communicator.

  “Saavik to Enterprise. Beam us up.”

  “One moment, please, Lieutenant. We have to clear the platforms.”

  “Quickly!” She slipped to her knees. The stone floor of the tunnel felt very hard and cold. Tiny tendrils of David’s beautiful vines dug into the solid rock. Saavik struggled to her feet. Her grip on David’s hand loosened and he came toward her, reaching again for her phaser.

  The transporter beam enveloped and dematerialized them.

  Jim Kirk stormed into the transporter room just as Lieutenant Saavik and David appeared on the platform among the piles of boxes that the cadet had shoved untidily aside.

  David and Saavik were holding hands.

  Charming, I’m sure, Kirk thought, but hardly the place or time—and damned foolish to do while being transported. Lucky neither had lost an arm.

  “I take it you have something to say to me, young man,” Kirk said to David.

  The young scientist pulled his hand free of Saavik’s and strode forward to meet his father.

  “You bet I do.”

  Behind them, Saavik took one step forward and felt her knees begin to buckle. Before she could fall, she sat down quickly on the edge of the platform. David and the admiral argued, David resentfully, the admiral indignantly, neither listening to the other. Saavik stopped listening to both of them.

  “Saavik, are you okay?” The cadet crouched beside her, concerned.

  “Yes…of course.” She had to draw on all her Vulcan training to find enough strength to rise. She had not had much sleep in the past several days, but she should be able to function effectively for much longer without rest. She had done so before, in practice. She felt ashamed and embarrassed.

  “Admiral,” she said. Neither he nor David heard her. “Admiral Kirk!” she said more loudly, breaking into the argument.

  Kirk swung around to face her. “What is it, Lieutenant?”

  “May I be dismissed? I must prepare to transfer to the Grissom.”

  “All right, yes. Dismissed.”

  Saavik sat in her cabin, grateful for its dry warmth and the dim, scarlet-tinged light. Her preparations remained incomplete, but she needed a moment to collect herself and to think about her own and David’s inexplicable behavior.

  Absently she drew her phaser and plucked away the delicate pink tendrils. Many climbing plants have the ability to coil themselves around whatever solid object they contact. This species moved quickly, but she had seen others that were faster. Its ability to probe into solid rock was exceptional—if she had seen what she thought she saw. She wished for time to explore Regulus I. She was, she thought, nearly as anxious as David to know the full results of the Genesis programs.

  Saavik lifted a crushed vine-leaf to her nose to experience again the dazzling scent. The fragrance twined around her like the tendrils around her phaser.

  Dizziness hit her. Saavik jerked the leaf away. She gazed at it, frowning. She put it aside, went to the synthesizer panel, and requested the ship’s computer to send her a sampling envelope. When it appeared, she swept together all the bits of David’s vine. Repressing the wish to inhale their redolent essence, she sealed them within the clear plastic.

  Jim Kirk folded his arms across his chest. “David, I don’t understand what you’re so angry about. Carol said she didn’t want to go back to the Mutara sector—naturally I assumed you didn’t want to go, either.”

  “You should have asked me,” David said stubbornly. He felt tremendously relieved that his mother was not willing to return yet, and terrified and angry that he might be forbidden to do so. “I’ll tell you why you expect me to do exactly what she does—it’s because everybody you know has jumped when you said ‘frog’ for so long that you don’t think anybody has a mind of their own!”

  Jim chuckled. “You don’t know the people I know, if you think that. Look, I’ve apologized—I don’t see that there’s much else I can do, if you’re determined to sulk.”

  “You can send me out on Grissom.”

  Jim hesitated. “Are you sure that’s wise?”

  “Why isn’t it wise?”

  “I just thought…”

  David glared at him belligerently. Jim took a moment to sort through his own feelings.

  “I’ll be honest with you, David. I was hoping you’d stay on board the Enterprise. I’ve wanted a chance to talk to you. I can’t make up for all the years that I didn’t know you—”

  “No,” David said coldly. “You can’t.”

  Taken aback by David’s reaction, Jim said, “Whether you like it or not, I am your father.”

  “You can’t spend twenty years ignoring my existence—”

  “David, I didn’t—”

  “—and just waltz in and expect me to shower you with filial piety!”

  “All I want is for us to try to be friends.”

  “It’s too late! It’s too damned late for you to come along and try to make friends with me!”

  They were getting nowhere; they were succeeding only in antagonizing each other. Jim decided to try to defuse the argument until they both could cool down.

  “I hope you’re wrong, David,” he said. “But I think I understand why you’re angry and disappointed. I hope someday you can forgive me, or even accept me. In the meantime let’s try at least to be civil to each other. For your mother’s sake.”

  “For my mother’s sake! Since when did you give a damn about my mother?”

  “You aren’t going to let up, are you?” Jim was both angry and hurt. Every concession he had tried to make, David had thrown back in his face. “Get your things together—Grissom warps out of orbit in an hour.”

  He stalked out of the room.

  David knocked softly on the door of his mother’s cabin. He waited, then knocked again. The door finally slid open. Darkness faced him.

  “Mother?”

  “Yes, David.” Her voice was very quiet.

  “Your things that were down inside the cave—I brought them back up with me.”

  “Thank you.” She turned on a light.

  “They told me you didn’t want to go back to the Mutara sector.”

  “No,” she said. “Not now. I can’t, not now.”

  “I volunteered to. I think it’s important that one of us be in the reconnaissance party.”

  She looked at him in silence.

  “I understand why you want to go back to Earth,” David said. “I should, too, probably.”

  “I’d hoped…” she said softly.

  “Mother, this is essential. Somebody’s got to keep an eye on Starfleet. To be sure they tell the truth about what happened out there. We can’t just let them have free rein, not after everything that’s happened.”

  “I know,” she said. “You’re right that one of us should go. Probably both of us should.”

  “No!” he said quickly, then forced his voice back under control when she reacted to his intensity. “It isn’t going to be anything but a fast survey. Somebody’s got to keep them honest, but it won’t take both of us. Mother, I’m leaving you to do the hard job all alone—”

  “I have to do it alone,” she said. “It’s only that I’ve been afraid…”

  “Of what?”

  “There’s a reason I never told you Jim Kirk is your father, David. There are a lot of reasons, but the main one was selfish.”

 
“I don’t understand.”

  “I was afraid that if you found out that your father was a starship captain, you’d be off on the next ship, flying around the galaxy, and I’d never see you again.” She sighed. “I told Jim I want you in my world, not in his. But I should have let you make the decision.”

  “What decision?” He laughed. “Mother, can you really see me on the crew of this ship?” He jerked to attention. “Yessir. Aye-aye sir. I’ll be glad to swab the poop deck, sir.” Slowly and deliberately, he crossed his eyes.

  Carol could not help but laugh. “I don’t think starships have poop decks, David.”

  “They’d probably invent one just for me to swab. I’d never make it in the military.”

  “Only…”

  “What?”

  “You’ve met your father, and you’re about to go off on a starship.”

  “Yeah, but note carefully that it isn’t his starship. Honest, Mom, I’m not going to up and join Starfleet.” He hugged her. “I won’t even be gone very long. Promise.”

  “I know.”

  “They’re leaving soon. I better go.”

  “Good-bye, David. Be careful.”

  “I almost forgot—” He reached under his shirt and drew out a folded piece of drafting fabric. “Our Starfleet friends sealed the Genesis records, but I insisted on checking them over before they locked them away. I didn’t know if they’d let either of us in there again. Who knows who they’ll turn everything over to, back on Earth. So…” The shiny, silvery material slipped out of its folds and lay soft and unwrinkled in his hands. Dark blue lines and stippling marked it. “I stole this for you when nobody was looking.” He handed her the map of the second phase of Genesis.

  After drawing the map of the ecosystem for Regulus I, Vance Madison had made a copy for each member of the team. They had all contributed to the plan, and they had all been looking forward to comparing the map with the eventual outcome. The vines in the staging area hinted at greatly divergent results. David wondered if he—if anyone—would ever get the chance to explore Regulus I’s interior.

  Carol took the map from him and smoothed it out across her lap.

  “David…thank you.” She touched the outer reaches of the map, near the north pole. Inside the shell of the world, centrifugal acceleration created an artificial gravity. But as one curved around toward the poles, the force would become more acutely angled to the surface. The radius of spin would shorten. Thus one would seem to be climbing up an increasingly steeper hill, against a steadily decreasing force.

  The team had left the odd environment of the poles almost uncolonized by their creations, for they had primarily been interested in inventing life forms that would be useful on a new world. Carol was rather pleased with her silk heather, and Yoshi had suggested the cornucopia tree, which produced several different kinds of fruit at each season. Vance had invented a small carnivore that he fancifully named the white rabbit, and Del responded by designing the March hare. Its main distinction, he claimed, was complete lunacy. The way he described it, it sounded like a cross between a howler monkey and a gecko. Carol smiled, thinking that it was characteristic of the two young men to design a “rabbit” that was not a rabbit, and a “hare” that was not a hare. When they presented their creations at the weekly design meeting, Carol had laughed and threatened to make up something they could call the mad hatter.

  None of those creations lived out toward the poles. At the very top of the map, in spidery script, Vance had written “Here be dragons.”

  “I wonder if there really are dragons,” Carol said softly.

  Saavik arrived in the transporter room, ready to beam on board Grissom, but found herself all alone. As she was punctual, she felt it safe to assume the others had not left without her.

  Waiting in the empty, dim transporter room, she sought something to occupy her mind. Someone spoke her name.

  “Captain—?” She turned around, looking for the speaker.

  No one else had yet entered the room. The deep shadows offered no hiding places.

  “Who is there?” she said.

  It occurred to her that someone might be trying to play a joke on her, though no one had ever done so before. No one had ever even told jokes to her. Until a few days ago she had considered them completely frivolous, and thus beneath notice. Jokes could be based in cruelty, she knew, but it was usually a sort of benign cruelty.

  Cruel it would be, and not the least bit benign, to play a joke on Saavik by calling out her name, in Mister Spock’s voice.

  “Saavikam—”

  She clapped her hands over her ears. The voice spoke in Vulcan, using a Vulcan form of address.

  “Saavikam, why did you leave me on Genesis?”

  The voice was audible only to her.

  It was not a joke.

  “Mister Spock,” she whispered, “why are you not at peace? I watched over you, and I sent your body into the new world. I thought that would please you…”

  She heard voices in the corridor. Bringing herself back to some semblance of composure, she pulled her hands from her face and straightened her tunic.

  Admiral Kirk and Captain Esteban entered.

  “Hello, Lieutenant,” the Admiral said. “I see you’re on time. Think how much we could get done, J.T., if we were as organized and imperturbable as Lieutenant Saavik.”

  Nothing Kirk had said to Saavik required a reply, so she remained silent. She felt neither organized nor imperturbable.

  This time she did feel as if she were going mad.

  Saavik had experienced mind-meld several times during her life, most often with Spock. The touch of his mind was the first civilized experience she had ever had. The touch of a mind was unique. It was impossible to mistake the mind of a person one had touched for that of any other sentient being, strange or familiar. Yet the voice Saavik had felt, the consciousness that had just cried out to her, had felt like Mister Spock’s. Which it could not have been.

  “You’re very quiet, Lieutenant. Are you having second thoughts about this mission? You did volunteer, you know—you can change your mind.”

  “No!” she said more forcefully than she had intended.

  He gave her a quizzical look, not precisely a remonstration, but not approval either.

  “No, sir,” she said in a more collected tone. “I believe it is extremely important for me to go on this mission.”

  “Very well. Where the devil is David?”

  “He’d better hurry along if he’s coming,” Esteban said. “I can’t wait all day.”

  “Is David coming, Admiral?” Saavik asked.

  “He better be,” Kirk said. “He read me the riot act about not asking him in the first place.”

  At that moment David strode in, a small pack slung over his shoulder.

  “We were just about to give up on you,” Kirk said.

  “I was saying good-bye to my mother,” David said. “Any objections?”

  “None at all,” Kirk said mildly.

  Kirk shook hands with Captain Esteban.

  “Good to see you again, J.T. Let’s not leave it so long before we cross paths again.”

  “We’ll be back in a month or six weeks, Jim.”

  “We’ll plan to get together then.” Kirk turned to Saavik and, to her surprise, extended his hand to her. She shook it gingerly.

  “Good luck, Lieutenant. Take care of my son.”

  “Aye, sir,” she said, and wondered how many layers a human being, accustomed to the ambiguities and “little jokes” of Standard, would find in his order.

  “David.”

  Kirk reached out to his son. When David warily grasped his hand, Kirk drew the young man toward him and into a bear hug.

  “Take care of yourself, son,” he said.

  David extricated himself rather less gracefully than he might. David’s mercurial character, Saavik thought, was not ready to forgive what had passed between him and the admiral.

  “Don’t worry,” David said
. “There’s nothing dangerous in the Mutara sector anymore. Nothing dangerous at all.”

  Kirk watched the young people—Esteban, David, and Saavik—vanish from the transporter platform. Off into the unknown. He did wish he were going with them.

  Instead, he called the bridge and asked Commander Sulu to warp out of orbit and head back toward Earth. Then Kirk himself headed for sickbay.

  McCoy was up and working. His façade was excellent, but Kirk could tell it was only a façade. To Kirk, McCoy appeared pale and fragile and distracted, despite the gentle joke he made with an injured young cadet, despite the steadiness of his hands and the certainty of his voice.

  “Good morning, Bones,” Kirk said. “Talk to you in your office?”

  “Hi, Jim. Sure. One minute.”

  McCoy joined him in the office as soon as he had finished with his patient.

  “What’s up? Need a good hangover remedy?”

  “I might ask you the same question.”

  McCoy gave up his jocular pose. “But I wasn’t—” He stopped. “Never mind. It doesn’t matter. I owe you an apology anyway. Scotty wanted to have a wake for his nephew, and I thought, Why not include Spock? All I can say is it seemed like a good idea at the time.”

  “It’s over and done,” Jim said. “If I’d thought about it I probably would have put my foot down before the whole thing got up any momentum. My only excuse is I had other things on my mind. But I’m worried about you. Last night, you were acting…odd.”

  “Odd?” McCoy chuckled. “I’m not surprised. The synthesizers aren’t quite up to decent liquor.”

  Kirk frowned, detecting a false note in McCoy’s dismissal of last night’s events.

  “I don’t mean drunk. You didn’t act drunk.”

  “I didn’t?” McCoy exclaimed, all too heartily. “I must be out of practice.”

  “Don’t you remember what you said?”

  “About what?”

  “You stood up on a table and said ‘Grief is not logical’ in a pretty damned good imitation of Spock’s voice. That isn’t your usual sort of…humor.”

  “That isn’t humor of any sort,” McCoy said. “I must have been farther gone than I thought.”

  “Tell me what’s wrong,” Jim said. “Bones, let me help.”