STAR TREK: TOS #7 - Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan
Page 21
“I must return to the bridge,” Saavik said. “It is my watch.”
[218] “Later on—can I buy you a cup of coffee?”
“That would be difficult: one cannot buy anything on board the Enterprise.”
“Sorry. That was kind of a joke.”
“Oh,” Saavik said, not understanding.
“I just meant, can we get together in a while? When you’re free?”
“I would like that,” Saavik said, rather surprised at her own reply and remembering what Mr. Spock had said about making her own choices.
“Great. See you soon.”
He hurried down the corridor, and Saavik returned to the bridge.
The admiral closed the door of his cabin behind him and leaned against it, desperately grateful that the ceremony was over. He wondered what Spock would have thought of it all: the ritual, the speeches. ... He would have said it was illogical, no doubt.
Jim Kirk unfastened his dress jacket, pulled it off, and pitched it angrily across the room. He dragged a bottle of brandy off the shelf and poured himself a shot. He glared at the amber liquor for a while, then shoved it away.
Too many ghosts hovered around him, and he did not want to draw them any closer by lowering his defenses with alcohol. He flung himself down on the couch. The blanket Carol had tucked around him the night before lay crumpled on the floor.
He smelled the pleasant, musty odor of old paper. He tried to ignore it, failed, and reached for the book Spock had given him. It was heavy and solid in his hands, the leather binding a little scuffed, the cut edges of the pages softly rough in his hands. Jim let it fall open. The print blurred.
He dug into his pockets for his glasses. When he finally found them, one of the lenses was shattered. Jim stared at the cracked, spidery pattern.
[219] “Damn!” he said. “Damn—” He laid the book very carefully on the table; he laid the glasses, half-folded, on top of it.
He covered his eyes.
The door chimed. At first he did not move; then he sat up, rubbed his face with both hands, and cleared his throat.
“Yes,” he said. “Come.”
The door opened. David Marcus came in, and the door slid closed behind him. Jim stood up, but then he had nowhere to go.
“Look, I don’t mean to intrude—” David said.
“Uh, no, that’s all right, it’s just that I ought to be on the bridge.”
David let him pass, but before Jim got to the door his son said, “Are you running away from me?”
Jim stopped and faced David again.
“Yes,” he said. “I guess I am.” He gestured for him to sit. David sat on the couch, and Jim sat in the chair angled toward it. They looked at each other uncomfortably for a while.
“Would you like a drink?” Jim asked.
David glanced at the abandoned snifter of brandy on the table; Jim realized how odd it must look.
“No,” David said. “But thanks, anyway.”
Jim tried to think of something to say to the stranger in his sitting room.
“I’m not exactly what you expected, am I?” David said.
“I didn’t expect anything,” Jim told him ruefully.
David’s grin was crooked, a little embarrassed. “That makes two of us.” His grin faded. “Are you okay?”
“What do you mean?”
“Lieutenant Saavik was right. ... You’ve never faced death.”
“Not like this,” Jim admitted reluctantly. “I never faced it—I cheated it; I played a trick and felt proud of [220] myself for it and got rewarded for my ingenuity.” He rubbed his eyes with one hand. “I know nothing,” he said.
“You told Saavik that how we face death is at least as important as how we face life.”
Jim frowned. “How do you know that?”
“She told me.”
“It was just words.”
“Maybe you ought to listen to them.”
“I’m trying, David.”
“So am I. The people who died on Spacelab were friends of mine.”
“I know,” Jim said. “David, I’m truly sorry.”
The uncomfortable silence crept over them again. David stood up.
“I want to apologize,” he said. “I misjudged you. And yesterday, when you tried to thank me—” He shrugged, embarrassed. “I’m sorry.”
“No,” Jim said. “You were perfectly correct. Being proud of someone is like taking some of the credit for what they do or how they act. I have no right to take any of the credit for you.”
He, too, stood up, as David appeared to be leaving.
“Then maybe I shouldn’t—” David stopped. Then he said, very fast, “What I really came here ‘to say is that I’m proud—proud to be your son.”
Jim was too startled to reply. David shrugged and strode toward the door.
“David—”
The young man swung abruptly back. “What?” he said with a harsh note in his voice.
Jim grabbed him and hugged him hard. After a moment, David returned the embrace.
Epilogue
On the bridge of the Enterprise, Lieutenant Saavik checked their course and prepared for warp speed. The viewscreen showed the Genesis world slowly shrinking behind them. Dr. McCoy and Dr. Marcus, senior, watched it and spoke together in low tones. Saavik worked at concentrating hard enough not to notice what they were saying. They were discussing the admiral, and it was quite clearly intended to be a private conversation.
The bridge doors opened. Saavik, in the captain’s chair, glanced around. She stood up.
“Admiral on the bridge!”
“At ease,” Jim Kirk said quickly. David Marcus followed him out of the turbo-lift.
Dr. McCoy and Carol Marcus glanced at each other. McCoy raised one eyebrow, and Carol gave him a quick smile.
“Hello, Bones,” Kirk said. “Hi, Carol. ...” He took her hand and squeezed it gently.
“On course to Alpha Ceti, Admiral,” Saavik said. “All is well.”
“Good.” He sat down. “Lieutenant, I believe you’re acquainted with my ... my son.”
“Yes, sir.” She caught David’s gaze. He blushed a little; to Saavik’s surprise, she did too.
“Would you show him around, please?”
“Certainly, sir.” She ushered David to the upper level of the bridge. When they reached the science [222] officer’s station, she said to him, softly, straight-faced, “I see that you did, after all, turn out to be a bastard.”
James Kirk heard her and stared at her, shocked.
“That is a ... ‘little joke,’ ” she said.
“A private one,” David added. “And the operative word is ‘dumb.’ ”
Saavik smiled; David laughed.
Jim Kirk smiled, too, if a bit quizzically.
McCoy leaned on the back of the captain’s chair, gazing at the viewscreen.
“Will you look at that,” he said. “It’s incredible. Think they’ll name it after you, Dr. Marcus?”
“Not if I can help it,” she said. “We’ll name it. For our friends.”
Jim thought about the book Spock had given him. He was remembering a line at the end: “It is a far, far better thing that I do, than I have ever done; it is a far, far better rest that I go to, than I have ever known.” He could not quite imagine Spock’s questing spirit finally at rest.
Carol put her hand on his. “Jim—?”
“I was just thinking of something. ... Something Spock tried to tell me on my birthday.”
“Jim, are you okay?” McCoy asked. “How do you feel?”
“I feel ...” He thought for a moment. The grief would be with him a long time, but there were a lot of good memories, too. “I feel young, Doctor, believe it or not. Reborn. As young as Carol’s new world.”
He glanced back at Lieutenant Saavik and at David.
“Set our course for the second star to the right, Lieutenant. ‘The second star to the right, and straight on till morning.’ ”
; He was ready to explain that that, too, was a little joke, but she surprised him.
[223] “Aye, sir.” Saavik sounded not the least bit perplexed. She changed the viewscreen; it sparkled into an image of the dense starfield ahead. “Warp factor three, Helm Officer.”
“Warp three, aye.”
The Enterprise leaped toward the distant stars.
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(NOV, 2003)—Scanned, proofed, and formatted by Bibliophile.