Yesterday's Son

by A. C. Crispin

  "Very well, Tie them again." The Romulan guards busied themselves. When the two Federation officers were once again tied, gagged and blindfolded, Tal said, "I think that I have convinced you that we are in earnest here. I leave you to think about this: I will return in a short while, with a device that has been newly developed by our scientists—so newly developed that it hasn't been tried on a Human. There is, they tell me, a small chance that its effects will be permanent. The device is a neural exciter—one that can be adjusted to generate impulses to the nervous system. It is capable of generating degrees of sensation from a slight tickling to the pain felt by one who is being burned alive."

  Tal poked Kirk with his foot. "The advantage to this device is that electric and submotor impulses cause the entire effect. The victim is never physically hurt at all. Although test animals and humanoid … volunteers … seemed to go mad a high percentage of the time. The device can be used again and again, with no lowering of efficiency. What you will feel, Captain, will cause you to tell me everything. There will be no end to the pain—not even in death, as there was for your scientists. I wish the Glory Quest had arrived in time for us to use it yesterday … there'd be no need for all of this now."

  He paused, then said quietly, "You know your limits, Kirk. Even the bravest man has a breaking point—you will tell. The only question is when, and how much you can endure. Think about it."

  Chapter XVII

  The Enterprise was taking a beating. The Romulan ships surrounded and harried her, as they would a wounded lioness, taking care to stay out of range of her fangs. She'd destroyed two, and the Lexington had gotten another, but her starboard deflectors were gone. The next shot she took there would split her shining hide. Wesley was keeping the Lexington carefully positioned to cover her against a starboard assault, but his forward deflectors were in bad shape.

  Chief Engineer Scott had wisely fought a running battle; depending on his ship's superior firepower and speed, he'd blasted and retreated, and swung back to fire again. The battle had ranged in a rough ellipse around Gateway, but the Romulans were wary now, and less quick to follow when the Federation ships sped away. They knew the Star Fleet vessels wouldn't go far.

  Scott shifted uneasily in the command chair. He didn't like sitting here; never had. It was his duty, and he did it well, but his first love was the Enterprise. It was physical pain to feel her engines straining, hear the, damage reports coming in.

  "B-Deck reports an explosion caused by leakage of fumes into the bulkheads, Mr. Scott. Damage-repair unit notified."

  Scotty nodded at Uhura, turned back to Ensign Chekov, who was manning Spock's sensors. "Any report on that one the Lexington winged during that last pass, lad?"

  "Aye, sir. They seem to be vobbling. I think their gyro system must be out. I'm also picking up some radiation leakage … could be the power pile, sir."

  "Good. I doubt we'll have t' worry about that one again."

  Sulu turned. "Mr. Scott, sir. They're beginning another circling maneuver."

  The Chief Engineer switched his attention to the forward viewscreen. The six navigable Romulan ships were turning, forming themselves into a wedge. Scott was puzzled at first, then realized the purpose of the configuration. They intended to drive the point of the wedge between the Enterprise and the Lexington. Once separated, the two ships would be unable to compensate for each other's lost deflectors.

  "Helm hard over t' starboard, zero four five point six, mark."

  "Aye, Mr. Scott." Sulu's fingers flickered over his controls.

  The Lexington was moving also, closing to port. The two vessels looked like massive, yet graceful dancers. They swung together, bobbing slightly as their aft deflector shields touched intermittently, repulsing each other with an aurora borealis shimmer. Scott smiled. "Good piloting, Mr. Sulu. Let' em try and drive us apart noo."

  The enemy ships were still for a moment, then broke the wedge. They reformed into a rough circle, then suddenly split apart, heading for the two starships at maximum sublight speed. Three dived for the Enterprise's port side, and three for the Lexington's starboard side, phasers blossoming as they passed. The Federation ships were hampered from swinging their main phaser batteries toward the attackers by their proximity to each other. The Enterprise lurched under the impact of three direct hits; the Lexington took two.

  Sulu turned, grim-faced. "That did it for our port screens, sir."

  Scotty thought, drumming his fingers on the arm of the Captain's chair. "What would Jim Kirk do?" he mumbled under his breath. Mentally he added, Dinna rush, Scotty old lad. You're playing right into their hands, if you do. Take it slow … make 'em come t' us … His eyes narrowed at the thought, and he concentrated on the viewscreen.

  The Romulans were circling again, but, like hunters when the prey begins to stagger, they hadn't withdrawn as far this time. Scott straightened. "Range, Mr. Sulu?"

  "40,000 kilometers, sir."

  "Arm all photon torpedoes. Shut down the power in the forward phaser bank t' half-capacity. Shut it down altogether in the port banks. When they scan us, they'll think the damage caused an overload." At least I hope they will, he added silently.

  The helmsman turned back a moment later. "Photon torpedoes armed and tracking, Mr. Scott."

  "Aye, Mr. Sulu. We'll just wait for 'em. Right noo, they're thinkin' somethin' like, 'Noo how bad did we hurt 'em?' We'll give 'em their answer in a moment. Lieutenant Uhura, are you getting anything from the Lexington?"

  "Yes, Mr. Scott. Their photon torpedoes armed and tracking, also. They report starboard and forward deflectors lost on that last run."

  They waited. Finally the Romulan ships began to edge closer, almost drifting under short bursts of impulse power.

  "Range, Mr. Sulu?"

  "Thirty-five thousand kilometers, Mister Scott—and closing, sir."

  "Keep trackin' 'em, Mister."

  "Aye, sir."

  Scott shut his eyes and counted three, slowly. Then, "Fire, Mr. Sulu."

  The helmsman's hand flashed across his board. The Enterprise quivered slightly as each bank of torpedoes launched. Nobody breathed.

  Suddenly the viewscreen was illuminated by a brilliant white light. The bridge crew whooped briefly. Scott turned to Chekov. "Status, lad?"

  "Ve got one, sir! And the Lexington got annoder—I think the Lexington scored a second hit, but no measurable damage on that sheep."

  The Chief Engineer slumped back, watching the four remaining enemy ships wearily. It isna' going t' be enough, he thought. We've really pulled their teeth, but it's still two t' four, and we're hurt. He fancied that he could hear his ship panting, and silently apologized to her. Good try, lass, but …

  Uhura turned toward him, her voice jubilant. "Mr. Scott! We're being hailed, sir!"

  Chekov was gesturing wildly at the scanners. "Sheeps, sir! Five of them! Just entering this sector!"

  Chapter XVIII

  Zar was dreaming of death, and pain. The dreams spun and dissolved into each other, leaving no memory behind:

  He was sliding in frantic haste, knowing that it made no difference, the rope scoring his hands—and there was her body, hair flung fanwise over the ice, almost covering the unnatural angle of the neck. . . .

  He threw his arm over his throat as the vitha sprang, and felt the rip of the fangs. . . .

  Juan and Dave, torn bits of humanity, seen through McCoy's mind …

  The queer blankness—had it been dark, or light?—of that place—(where?). He'd been there after projecting his own death at the Romulan guards, when that summoning had come, drag-ging him back. The bond he couldn't ignore, whether or not he wished to—calling, with desperate force of will—calling …

  His eyes opened on darkness. The dream was gone, leaving nothing but that sense of—what?

  Memory rushed back. They'd been in the ruins, ready to go back to the time portal, and then he was here. He moved cautiously, felt the known ache of bruised nerves in his shoulder and realized what h
ad happened. As he moved, the pain in his shoulder lanced upward to his head and down into his middle. Nausea gagged him as he held his head with both hands, half-convinced it would roll off his shoulders if he didn't.

  "No …" His own agonized whisper startled him. "Not again. Please …" At the moment, even his own death seemed preferable to that involuntary sharing of another's.

  Anger saved him. When he concentrated on the anger and the shame of being left behind, the sickness was blotted out. Mentally, he built a pyre, heaped it high with every cold look, every withdrawal, every negative word; then torched it with that nerve pinch. The anger-flames were comforting, warming, driving out the sickness.

  Just as he reached a fever pitch of rage, though, something happened. It was like looking at one of those pictures Jan Sajii had, the kind where there were two outlines, but you could only see one at a time. The black and the white images—and somehow, as you stared, by some trick, there would be a whole new image fronting you. He fingered the blanket that had been pulled over him, and McCoy's words echoed, "Illogical as it may seem, all fathers tend to be over-protective. . . ."

  Anger was gone, burned away by understanding, and somehow Zar knew the reason behind that nerve pinch, understood Spock as he never had before, and a strange, sad pride grew out of that comprehension. The Vulcan had chosen to leave him behind—although the emotion Zar sensed his father felt for Kirk was strong, Kirk was not here, he was.

  When he was able to move, he stumbled out of the wrecked building, unable to endure the stink of death, and sat down on a boulder to think—to plan. They'd been captured, or were in immediate danger of some sort, but at the moment, were still alive. (Somehow he was sure that if Spock died, he'd know, apart from the concern he felt for the Captain.) Assuming that they were still alive, then the Romulan camp was the place to look first.

  He searched his pockets, found the phaser and his communicator. Having never used one before, he fumbled for a moment, but finally opened the channel, cleared his throat.

  "Enterprise? Lieutenant Uhura?"

  A crackle of static, then a startled contralto. "Zar? Wait until I scramble!" The voice faded out, was replaced after a brief interval by another.

  "Lad, is that you? Where are the captain and Mr. Spock?"

  "Scotty, they've been captured, I think. We need to go after them, now. They're in danger." Zar winced as pain flashed behind his temples.

  "But the cloakin' device is still up, lad. We canna' send the landin' party in blind. And how do ye know they're in danger? Did you escape?"

  "I didn't go with them." Zar bit his lip, frustrated, then remembered something. "Ask Doctor McCoy, he'll tell you that I know what I'm talking about. And I can get the landing party into the camp without being seen. Ask McCoy."

  After a short pause he heard the Scottish burr again. "All right, lad. I canna' leave myself, but I'll send down a party. They'll be joinin' you directly."

  Zar remembered something. "Is Doctor McCoy still there?"

  "Yes, I'm here. What is it?" The Doctor sounded impatient.

  "There's a bundle in the left-hand cabinet in my quarters. I'll be needing it. Can you send it down?"

  "Send it? Hell, I'll bring it. I'm not sitting up here biting my nails one minute longer. McCoy out."

  Zar closed the channel with relief, and waited for the others.

  The party was made up of six security people and Doctor McCoy, with Lieutenant Uhura commanding.

  "How are things aboard the Enterprise?" was Zar's first question, as he munched on an emergency rations wafer from Uhura's supplies.

  "We'd thought we'd had it for sure, then the Admiral and the other four ships showed up." Uhura replied, "We sustained a few injuries, but fortunately no deaths in the battle. The Romulan ships self-destructed immediately—we didn't take any prisoners."

  "I wonder if the Romulan forces here know about the outcome of the fight?" Phillips, one of the security force spoke up, methodically checking the extra charge for her phaser. "If they do, they'll be massed against us."

  "Unless their communications equipment is specially geared to penetrate that energy barrier, they can't know," Uhura said. "That cloaking device sets up bands of interference as bad as seli-irinium shielding. I wasn't able to pick up any transmissions directed at the camp from the enemy ships, either."

  "Good." Zar took a swallow of water. "Then our first move should be to get inside the perimeter again, and locate the Captain and Mr. Spock. I can find them … I think." He frowned slightly, rubbed futilely at the dirt on his face with an equally filthy hand. "But once we locate them, how do we get them out of the camp?"

  "We don't have the force for a direct assault," Uhura said thoughtfully, drawing patterns in the dust with a long fingernail. "Some sort of diversion would be our best answer. Preferably one that would destroy the cloaking device at the same time. That way, we could call for reinforcements afterward."

  "Do you have any idea what it looks like?" Zar asked.

  Uhura shook her head. "I saw the one we stole from the Romulans several years ago, but there's no guarantee this one will resemble it. But there's one thing …" The fingernail tapped against a rock as she considered, "It's bound to be large. Possibly too large to move easily. There's a good chance it's mounted in the landing craft."

  Zar nodded and stood up. "That gives us something to go on, then. And destroying their shuttle, even without the cloaking device in it, should be enough to cause our diversion. Let's go."

  Zar led them back inside the perimeter at a steady dogtrot, assuring them that there were no Romulans around.

  "They must believe their fleet destroyed or captured the Federation forces, and that they're safe," McCoy said, puffing a little as they crouched in the lee of a tumbled wall. "Or else they think we wouldn't dare mount an offensive as long as they hold Jim and Spock prisoner. Still, I don't like it. They may just be playing cat-and-mouse."

  Slanted brows drew together in a frown, and the gray eyes were puzzled. "Cat-and-mouse? Another game like poker?" Zar hazarded.

  "Sort of," Uhura smiled, then lowered her voice. "We can only keep going. Where is the Guardian in relation to here?"

  "About 60 meters that way," the young man said, pointing. "I brought us through the screen in a different area. I didn't think you'd want the others to see it, since the Captain said it was a secret."

  "Right." Uhura bit her lip. "Still, we should check and see if the force field has been activated. Doctor, you stay with the others, here. Zar and I will check the shielding."

  The two were back in a few minutes. "They got that far, anyway," Uhura said, relieved. "Now for the camp."

  The rescue party surveyed the Romulan forces from the shelter of a broken pavement that was located on a slight rise. "Nine tents, and a supply dump," Chu Wong, the ranking security officer whispered thoughtfully, his dark eyes narrowed even more than usual. "I'd estimate a force of about 80."

  Uhura was looking at the two shuttles positioned side by side directly across the camp from them. "Probably less, Lieutenant," she said, "unless they transported down another group and sent the other shuttle back."

  McCoy looked over at Zar, who was staring straight ahead, gray eyes unfocused. "Which tent are they in, son?"

  The younger man shivered, then blinked and his gaze cleared. "That one," he said confidently, "the third from the left end."

  "Are they both there?" McCoy asked.

  "Yes," Zar nodded. He'd picked up the Captain's emotional emanations easily, even though they were subdued, edged with pain. Spock's presence had been harder to sense, but he'd finally caught the concern, the continually logical evaluation of the situation. And pain, though masked, unacknowledged.

  "They must be under restraints," Zar breathed, "and the Captain is barely conscious. I think he's hurt. They're alone."

  "All right," Uhura thought for a moment. "Zar, if you can cause that diversion, we'll take care of the Captain and Mr. Spock. Do you think you can get i
n there and out without being seen?"

  Zar hefted his phaser and a faint smile bracketed the normally sober mouth, "Easily," he said, and McCoy had seen that touch of arrogance on another face. "Give me ten minutes, and then be ready to move—fast. You'll know when." With a hiss of fabric against stone, he was gone.

  Spock lay on the rock floor, feeling the cold seep upward into his body. In one way it was a blessing, for it numbed the pain of twisted arms and legs, of bonds pulled too tight, of the gag that made it agony to breathe. In another way, the cold itself was torture for him, he who felt perpetually chilled in temperatures humans regarded as comfortable. He closed his eyes, summoning strength, bringing the vedra prah controls into play, forcing his mind to acceptance of the discomfort, then negation of it. He was successful, to an extent, but the effort ate further into his physical reserves. Exhaustion was close, and when it set in …

  How much time had passed? Fatigue dulled his time sense, but yielded to disciplined concentration—twenty minutes and thirty seconds since Tal's departure. One hour and fourteen minutes exactly since their capture. And how many minutes until their deaths? He listened to the breathing beside him—regular, shallow—the Captain was either asleep, or unconscious. The Vulcan wished that he'd been able to leave Jim behind, too. He had no personal fear of death—it was simply a lack of biological existence, with either something or nothing following—but the thought of Kirk's death was a pain that mind-control could not block.

  Time—how much time did they have left? By now, Zar should have awakened, contacted the ship—he felt a stab of concern for the Enterprise—perhaps help was on the way? Reason overcame hope. It was unlikely—involuntarily his mind computed the odds—that anyone from the ship would know they'd been captured. Nobody would know of their deaths. . . .

  No. As the thought occurred, he knew it for error. One person would know, he was sure of it, despite all logic. Zar would feel their deaths, his death, through the bond, that link that was no longer something that could be accepted or denied, but existed, a fact, and therefore inarguable. Forged in mind, tempered in blood—the ancient Vulcan phrase ran through his mind, followed by its Human analogue—bone of my bone, flesh of my flesh …