Pike glanced at him, wondering if Spock were making a joke. He decided he was not.
The turbolift had reached the uppermost quarters deck, and the doors snapped open. Spock’s own quarters lay down the corridor to the left. Pike turned right, and Spock followed him along the curving corridor to the farthest door. Pike keyed his admission code into the pad on the wall, and the door obediently slid open. The suite inside was exactly the same size as Spock’s, a fact he noted and approved. He was well aware the official captain’s quarters on the Enterprise consisted of a three-room suite. Pike obviously had rejected it in favor of this smaller area, placing himself no better than his other senior officers.
The main room was plainly but comfortably furnished, all softly muted pastels. Spock noted approvingly the large cache of books on the shelves. From where he stood, he could read a number of the titles. Fiction and poetry mingled with nonfiction, technical manuals, and fleet regulations. Pike settled himself in an armchair and gestured Spock to a seat opposite him. “We push off in twenty-four hours, Mr. Spock. You’ll be relieving Lieutenant Commander Davies at [60] the science station and as second officer. When do you think you’ll report ready?”
“If the commander would like to leave, sir, I could relieve him now.”
Pike leaned forward, his blue eyes glittering with interest. “You haven’t even toured the ship yet, Spock. Do you really think you’re ready to take over?”
“Sir, I have studied every piece of information on the Enterprise that exists in Starfleet’s open records. En route from Vulcan to Earth, I also accessed and reviewed the logs of all her missions to date. And, of course, I am well acquainted with the science station since that has been my area of expertise since Academy graduation.”
“With honors,” Pike said dryly.
“Yes, sir.”
“And you undoubtedly studied the personnel list of the science officers who will be serving under you.”
“Not the service jackets, of course. They are not files open for inspection from outside. However, I planned to do that as soon as this interview is over. I have looked over the ship’s reports of current personnel performance which are a matter of log reports in the science section.”
Pike leaned back in his chair. “So there is something you don’t know, after all, Mr. Spock.”
“Sir?”
“You’ll have another new science officer on board, reporting in from service on the U.S.S. Musashi. An astrobiologist—and a Vulcan. Lieutenant T’Pris.”
Spock’s eyebrows lifted, then he quickly pulled his expression back to its usual solemnity. “I will examine her records with interest, sir. I am sure I will find [61] the lieutenant has served with distinction to date and that she plans to continue to do so.”
“Do I detect just a little prejudice toward Vulcans here?” Pike’s eyes were smiling as he asked the question.
Spock’s dark eyes met the captain’s, and a hint of humor hovered there as he replied. “No more so than toward humans, sir. There are qualities in both races which I admire.”
Lieutenant Bob Brien was a tall, lean man, almost six feet four, with a head of dark curly hair. Mischievous blue eyes twinkled beneath dark brows, and a cheerful smile frequently turned up the corners of his mouth. He returned to quarters promptly at sixteen hundred and found Scott unpacking the last of his possessions and neatly stowing them away.
“Montgomery Scott? Bob Brien.” He held out his hand to the other engineer, and the two men shook. “Welcome aboard.”
“Thanks. Sorry I dinna get down to engineering. There was the captain’s welcoming, and then I found I have the graveyard shift tonight. I thought I’d best spend the time getting unpacked and set up here before I report on duty. I did do a review of the ship’s engine maintenance schedule and current status ...”
“You’ll be fine. Chief Engineer Barry is a top hand, and she’ll be there to brief you. Say, what do they call you? Monty?”
“Scotty.” He shrugged and laid on his accent just a little more than usual. “It’s a natural, I suppose.”
Brien laughed in acknowledgment. “Scotty, then. I have a little welcoming for you myself.” He turned to [62] his side of the suite, rummaged in a drawer, and came out with an odd-shaped bottle of clear liquid.
“Well, I do appreciate a wee drop now and then,” Scott said. He studied the bottle curiously. “No label.”
“Nope.” Brien set out two glasses and took the bottle from Scott.
“Is it what I think it is, then?”
“The best engine-room hooch you’ve ever tasted.”
“Ah.” Scott grinned at his new roommate. “Now, there’s a subject on which I am an expert.” Heavy drinking of any kind was frowned upon by Starfleet, of course. But long tradition had established the existence of engine-room hooch, and no one minded very much if bottles of the stuff were made and consumed for special occasions. Scott himself had headed up an undergraduate band of engineers at the Academy which had built and operated a busy little still in the generator room of the Administration Building that the superintendent had never discovered. Or, at least, the superintendent never admitted he had discovered it. It had been rumored the super liked a drop of the product himself now and then. Scott’s primary concern was always his duty and his engines, but he never refused an opportunity to turn his hand to a little spirit making if time allowed and it didn’t interfere with his responsibilities.
Scott took the proffered glass with its splash of clear liquid and upended it, downing the shot in one swallow. As the taste hit home, he nearly choked. “What the devil have you done to it?” he spluttered, gasping for air.
“What d’you mean? This is good stuff.”
[63] “If you like drinkin’ bog water. Good grief, man, have you never had any fine liquor?”
Brien seemed offended. “Well, I admit it’s the first bottle, but this is supposed to be the best in the fleet. We got the recipe from the Lionheart, and everybody knows their reputation for it is top of the line.”
Scott snorted and set the glass down as if it were contaminated. “Everybody knows you don’t give away your formula. And it’s clear to me Lionheart didn’t.” He sighed. “Well, I can see there’s work to be done on this. But just to get us off on the right foot, let me offer you something better.”
He went to his closet and lifted down a precious bottle of Glenlivet. “Now, this will give you a taste of the better.” He poured a splash into two fresh glasses and held one out to Brien.
The other man sipped and smiled appreciatively. “Of course, that’s real whiskey.”
“Laddie, when I turn my hand to engine-room hooch, you won’t be able to tell the difference.”
Brien’s grin widened. He reached out and touched his glass to Scott’s. “Welcome aboard the Enterprise, Scotty.”
Spock’s inspection of the science section was brisk and efficient. Lieutenant Commander Davies was happy to be relieved almost a full day ahead of time and only mildly surprised to discover that Spock required the most minimum of briefings to be brought up to date on the section. Davies left the Vulcan to the examination of personnel service jackets and hurried to his quarters to prepare to leave ship.
The service records of the crew members and [64] officers under him generally pleased Spock, though he expected no less than quality from anyone assigned to the Enterprise. He had just scanned Lieutenant T’Pris’s records when the door of the science office swished open behind him. There was a soft-voiced “Pardon me, sir” behind him, and he turned to see the Vulcan woman standing serenely at the entrance.
“Lieutenant T’Pris. I am Lieutenant Spock.”
She nodded slightly. “Yes, sir. I have the duty watch this shift.”
Spock gestured her forward. “Please come in. There is very little for you to do except routine monitoring while we are in spacedock. I assume you will have some research projects in work once we are embarked.”
She moved toward him gracefully, with
the gentle glide of the classically trained Vulcan woman. She must have received instruction in the ancient ways when she was a child. Some families still believed in such traditions. Spock wondered whether or not she had felt the clash between the old arts and the far more technological and scientific teachings of the Academy. Her records indicated little of her personal background, but Spock recognized her house name as an ancient one, quite as old as his. Her family had an honorable heritage, first as military leaders when Vulcans embraced a more savage civilization, and then as advocates and counselors when Vulcan philosophy turned to logic and peace.
T’Pris had excellent academic achievement marks, as expected, and a commendable four-year service record. Spock also noted she was a widow of just over a year. Her husband, Lieutenant Sepel, had been [65] killed in a violent alien encounter on Lindoria while both were serving on the Musashi. There were no specifics in regard to her husband’s death in T’Pris’s records. He recalled a few vague references to the incident, but none of the details. The few facts about it that had reached the Artemis had only mentioned the ambush of the landing party from the Musashi. In any event, it would have been discourteous of Spock to mention her bereavement. Such mention would have to come from her.
Spock could not help noticing that the woman herself was striking—taller than most Vulcan women, less well endowed in figure than T’Pring but slender and upright as a young willow. She had a classic Vulcan beauty, pitch-black hair wound in braids like a crown about her head and eyes of deep brown. Spock glanced away from her, suddenly aware of the subtle and clean scent of a Vulcan herbal soap she must favor in her bath.
“I completed all my research projects of the moment on the Musashi. I am sure new ones will present themselves on this ship.” She held out her hand to him. “I am pleased to be serving with you, Spock of the house of Surak and the noble clan Talek-sen-deen.”
He touched her hand, gently pressing his right index finger against her slim one to acknowledge the ritual greeting. He was startled by the sudden electric feeling that shot through him, and he had to make an effort to steady his voice as he replied, “And I am pleased to be serving with you, T’Pris of the house of Sidak and the noble clan Ansa-sen-tar.”
She did not seem to have been affected by the [66] touching of their hands as he had. “I hope I am not indiscreet in acknowledging family, Mr. Spock,” she said gravely.
“Acknowledging family is our tradition,” Spock responded quietly. He realized he was still touching her hand and pulled his away. “There are so few Vulcans in the fleet that the traditions are welcome.”
The gentle smile that touched her face was beautiful. “If there are so few of us, then we must view each one as precious. Is that not so, Mr. Spock?”
Spock paused, thinking it over, mulling the consequences of what he would reply. Finally, he nodded. “Yes, Lieutenant. I would say that is so.”
Chapter Five
THE BRIDGE WAS a busy place at any time, but especially so when the Enterprise was maneuvering for space. In addition to the usual duty complement, the chief medical officer, Dr. Philip Boyce, had also secured a place to watch the main viewscreen as Pike crisply gave the orders that nosed the great ship out of the spacedock. The curve of the Earth below glittered bright blue under scattered cloud cover, and the doctor sighed softly as it slipped out of sight.
Boyce had enjoyed his stay at home during the time the Enterprise had been in spacedock undergoing equipment upgrades and taking on new personnel. Odd how he always regarded his ramshackle bungalow on Cape Cod as home, despite the fact that he only got to occupy it for a month or so out of every several years. Alicia had passed away so early in their marriage that it seemed he had always been a bachelor. He had never cared to marry again after her death, [68] but he had escorted his share of attractive ladies in his many tours of duty. He never brought any of them home to the Cape. He spent endless hours fishing when he was there, sometimes surf casting and sometimes from a small dinghy he liked to putt around in. He had felt there was little sense in planting a garden which was impossible for him to maintain and which would suffer from the blasting sea winds that roared across the Cape, especially in winter, but he enjoyed growing things. As a result, his personal quarters on ships always sported in place of pride several shallow tubs of earth, arrangements of small stones and carefully cultured and clipped grass, and graceful bonsai trees. He favored oak, birch, and maple.
Idly, he wondered if Chris Pike had had a satisfactory shore leave. The captain had been anxious to return home himself when they had docked, but Boyce had noticed a reluctance to discuss his trip when he came aboard to resume command of the Enterprise. Well, Chris’ll bring it up if he wants to talk about it, Boyce thought. He had served with Pike for four years now and felt he knew him about as well as most senior officers knew each other. Often, Pike would use him as a sounding board on personal matters, things that were eating at him. And things did get to the captain, despite the cool, in-control persona he normally projected for the benefit of the crew. Doubt seldom seemed to intrude on Pike; but personal relationships, an awareness that sometimes he had to ignore his humanity in order to command, these bothered him.
Nothing seemed to be troubling him at this moment, however. Pike sat straight-backed in the [69] command chair, alert to the tone and rhythms of the bridge instruments as the Enterprise finally cleared the dock. The sensors were busy, scanning far ahead, searching for clear space. Pike’s voice quietly gave the maneuvering orders to Number One operating the helm console.
“Impulse power, Number One.”
“Impulse power, aye.”
Her long, slim fingers played swiftly over the panel, and the Enterprise began to pick up speed.
“Plot course to transit Sol system to jumpoff point.”
“Course plotted, sir,” Lieutenant Andela replied promptly from the navigation console beside Number One.
The ship leaped ahead, swiftly beginning the traverse of the system. Pike sat back in his chair and glanced over at the tall, lean, hawk-faced doctor. “Well, Phil, on our way again.”
“Areta.” Boyce shrugged. “We’ve made the trip before.”
Pike grinned and shook his head. “You old space hound. You never even set foot on the planet.”
“And whose fault is that? You were the one who got to go down and have a look ’round planetside. That doesn’t obviate the fact that most of us went along with you on the trip to and from Areta.”
Pike turned in his chair to look at Spock, busy at his science station. “Mr. Spock, for those on board who did not make the earlier trip to Areta, would you care to brief them on our destination?”
“Yes, sir.” Spock moved his fingers over several control areas on his library-computer console, and the [70] image of Areta flashed up on the main viewscreen and all other screens keyed to it. Spock’s quiet, clipped voice was enhanced by the ship’s intercom system as he concisely outlined the salient facts about the planet.
“Beta Circinus III, called Areta by its natives, is a Class M planet. One thousand four hundred fifty-seven years ago, warring factions unleashed a nuclear holocaust that devastated large areas of its surface. The planet has begun to regenerate itself but still has a vast expanse of what are called hotlands, radioactive wastes that are completely uninhabitable. The native populace itself is divided into three types, descendants of the original inhabitants, all of whom have survived on their own terms: townspeople, wandering tribes of nomads, and mutants. The mutants are the outcasts of the planet and are reported to be dangerous in the extreme. At this time, all three native classes are isolated from and highly hostile to each other. However, a few trade contacts between townspeople and nomads were established four years ago, largely through the efforts of Captain Pike. It is Starfleet’s feeling that this civilization can again become viable and achieve harmony and growth if interaction between the functioning societies on the planet can be achieved, especially through trade.”
“
Thank you, Mr. Spock,” Pike said. “That is our mission to the planet—to extend and enhance acceptance of mutual cooperation and trade between at least the nomads and the townspeople. My previous efforts were accompanied by a good deal of luck, which I’m hoping will hold through my next visit.”
[71] “That’s what I said,” Boyce snorted. “You’re the only one who gets to go planetside.”
The chief of security was not happy about the prospect of the captain beaming down alone to a planet surface. Lieutenant Commander Orloff had his four section commanders in his office, trying to come up with other alternatives they could present to the captain. Orloff was a short man, just squeaking past Starfleet height requirements, but taut and physically fit as a man a decade younger than his own thirty-eight years. The three lieutenants and one lieutenant (j.g.) who watched him stalking back and forth privately thought Orloff was taking this a little too seriously.
“Sir,” Lieutenant Myoki Takahara pointed out, “the captain has beamed down to Areta alone once before.”
“And he admits it was sheer luck that he linked up with a nomad tribe that were inclined to be friendly,” Orloff shot back.
The dark-eyed officer glanced across at Daniel Reed and arched her eyebrow, the equivalent of a shrug for her. Reed frowned slightly, acknowledging the still pacing Orloff with a brief jerk of his head. “He did take precautions, sir.”
“Certainly. He had survey team studies of native costume, charts of nomad movements, a recording of language analyzed and translated. Do you know how sketchy that information is when you’re on the ground, mister? When you’re on your own and flipping out a communicator just might get you killed, let [72] alone what seeing that piece of technology could do to mess up the native civilization?”
Lieutenant (j.g.) Endel was a Kelyan, a reptilian humanoid with grayish scaly skin, a long, sinuous body, and a face incapable of a smile. Still, something about his bright, beady eyes suggested humor as he studied his superior officer. “Commander, none of our suggestions has been useful to you. Perhaps you have some plan of your own in mind to persuade the captain that he should not make this second appearance on Areta alone.”
STAR TREK: TOS #44 - Vulcan's Glory Page 5