The gray eyes flicked to the Doctor’s face, then dropped. Zar’s voice this time was lower, as though the muscles in his throat were constricting, and he hesitated between words, obviously groping. Finally he stumbled through.
The First Officer raised an eyebrow. “You need to review that. Very well, what is meant by the critical angle of incidence?”
Long pause. McCoy found he was gripping the handle of his spoon as he stirred his now-cold coffee. The younger man thought intently, then his face hardened and his chin came up. “I don’t know, sir.”
“The critical angle of incidence ...” began Spock, and proceeded to lecture capably for the next four or five minutes. The Doctor glanced over at Scotty, who was listening with a credible amount of polite interest for one who had heard it all before.
Finally the lecture seemed to be drawing to a close. Spock finished with a two-sentence summary of the [95] topic, and stopped. Zar looked at the other two officers, paused for a beat, then slowly raised an eyebrow. “Fascinating,” he intoned.
The imitation was perfect, but there was nothing good-natured about it. There is mimicry, and there is mockery, and this, thought McCoy, is definitely mockery. It wasn’t lost on the Vulcan, who dropped his eyes, hastily picking up his fork.
The Doctor cleared his throat. “What do you think our next assignment will be Scotty?”
“Whatever it is, I hope it’ll be somethin’ wi’ a little excitement to it. I’m findin’ more thrills in my technical journals than I’m encounterin’ on this trip.”
Conversation continued desultorily between the Chief Engineer and the Medical Officer, until Scotty announced that he had duty and departed.
Spock, who was evidently finding the atmosphere uncomfortable, made another attempt. “I’ve finished reviewing your current assignment in biochemistry, Zar. Your answers were accurate, for the most part. If you have your next assignment ready I could—” Without a word, the younger man got up and left the table, heading for the food processors on the other side of the galley.
Embarrassed and concerned, McCoy attempted a light tone. “Never saw anyone with an appetite like that! He’d put Attila and all his Huns to shame!” Zar returned to the table with a large, meat-filled sandwich. Deliberately, he picked it up and began eating, ignoring everything around him.
When the Doctor was relating the incident to Kirk, later that day in sickbay, the Captain smiled at that point. McCoy shook his head. “It wasn’t funny, Jim. Zar ate it right in front of him. It was the worst insult he could give. You should have seen him—and you should have seen Spock!”
“Really bothered him?”
“Yeah. He got that look—you know the one, when he’s hurt and he won’t show it—and left. Zar just sat there until he was out of sight, then dropped the [96] food, and got out of there. I don’t mind telling you I’m worried about both of them. What could’ve caused Zar to do such an about-face?”
Kirk looked uneasy. “I think I know. I told him the truth the other day—about Spock, and the atavachron, and his relationship to Zarabeth.”
The Doctor whistled softly. “That could explain it—he took it really hard?”
“Yes. This is serious. I can’t risk allowing this kind of thing to affect Spock’s efficiency. He’s too valuable an officer. I feel sorry for Zar, but—hell, I feel sorry for Spock, too. But I’ve got a starship to run. This can’t go on.”
The bosun’s whistle filled the air. “Captain Kirk, acknowledge, please,” came Lieutenant Uhura’s contralto.
He thumbed a button on the sickbay communicator. “Kirk here.”
“Captain, I have a Priority One distress call, from sector 90.4. It’s in code, sir. For your eyes only.”
“On my way.” Kirk was out the door before McCoy was out of his seat.
Chapter X
The bridge doors slid open, and before Kirk stepped through, Uhura placed a coded readout in his hand. Sitting down, he flipped a switch on his command chair.
“Computer.”
“This is Captain Kirk. Do you have voice-print ID?”
“Identity acknowledged.”
“Lieutenant Uhura received a Priority One distress call with accompanying message. Scan, decode and translate to a readout, then erase the translation from your memory banks after I’ve received it.”
“Working.”
He sat tensely, resisting the urge to drum his fingers on the arm of the command chair. The bridge crew cast covert glances at him, but the Captain was oblivious, mind racing. Priority One from Sector 90.4 was ominous. That sector held only one thing of any importance—the Guardian of Forever.
A strip of readout spouted under his fingers. The translation read:
PRIORITY ONE
Stardate: 6381.7
FROM: NOG 1704, Starship Lexington, Commodore Robert Wesley, Commanding
TO: NCC 1701, Starship Enterprise, Captain James T. Kirk, Commanding
CURRENT ASSIGNMENT: Patrol of sector 90.4, code name, Gateway.
PROBLEM: Have picked up blips of three vessels at extreme range of subspace scanner, have identified intruders as originating from sector RN-30.2, Romulan Neutral Zone.
TENTATIVE IDENTIFICATION: Romulan warships.
ESTIMATED TIME OF CONTACT: 10.5 hours.
EVALUATION: Military engagement probable. Request immediate assistance.
MAYDAY—DISTRESS—MAYDAY—DISTRESS—MAYDAY—
Kirk too three deep breaths, closing his eyes, ordering his thinking. Straightening, he addressed Ensign Chekov, who was watching him expectantly, “Present course, Mr. Chekov?”
“Two-nine-zero mark five, sir.”
“Change course to seven-four-six mark six.”
“Aye, sir. ...” Chekov turned to his panel, turned back after a short pause. “Course laid in, sir.”
“Helm, ahead warp factor eight, Mr. Sulu.” The almond-shaped eyes widened, and Sulu made an adjustment. The barely perceptible vibrations of the ship suddenly increased. The Enterprise hummed. Kirk began counting seconds in his head. He’d reached eleven when the intercom flashed. Flipping the channel open, he smiled grimly. “Yes, Mr. Scott?”
The intercom was silent for a long moment, as Chief Engineer Scott evidently wondered if his Captain had developed telepathy. Finally, he spoke, voice subdued, “Captain. I suppose you’ve a good reason for taxin’ m’ poor engines like this?”
“A very good reason, Mr. Scott.”
“Aye, sir.” The Chief Engineer must have looked [99] at his stress readouts, because he said, “How long will we be runnin’ at this ungodly speed, sir?”
“About twelve hours, Mr. Scott. We’ll alternate with warp nine whenever the engines will take it.”
There was a long, reproachful silence, then a sigh. “Aye, sir.”
In spite of his anxiety, Kirk smiled. “Hold ’er together, Scotty. I’m calling a briefing in five minutes. Main briefing room. Kirk out.”
He heard the doors to the bridge, then Spock was standing beside him. The Vulcan ran a quick eye over the helm controls, and turned to him, inquiring without words.
Kirk nodded. “We’ve got a problem, Mr. Spock.” He handed the readout to the First Officer, who scanned it with a steadily ascending eyebrow. The Captain turned to Uhura. “Contact Doctor McCoy and inform him of the briefing. I’ll see you in the main briefing room in three minutes. Spock, with me.”
The room was hushed as Kirk summarized the situation, concluding. “We have an unusual problem here. We in this room made up the landing party that discovered the Guardian, and know its capabilities as a time portal. Therefore I caution you to remember that, to our crewmates, we are assisting the Lexington because of unauthorized Romulan entry into our space—and that’s all. No other crew member of either ship must learn about the Guardian. That includes Commodore Wesley and his officers. Is that clear?” Nods rippled around the table. “Good. I speculate that the entry of three vessels represents a scouting force only. Any other ideas?”
/> Spock steepled his fingers, then said slowly, “Captain, Romulan battle tactics are far from crude. These ships may be a diversionary force—masking the arrival of a fleet.”
Scotty was nodding. “Aye, sir. It’d be a good idea t’ increase th’ patrol along th’ Neutral Zone. At least [100] that way, we’d have some warnin’ if we have t’ face a larger force.”
Kirk looked thoughtful. “Lieutenant Uhura, send a complete report of the situation—including Mr. Scott’s advisement—to Star Fleet Command. Refer to the Guardian by the planet’s code name, Gateway. Send the message to Admiral Komack, code 11.”
“Aye, sir.”
“Mr. Scott, instruct the helm to go to yellow alert. Dismissed. Spock, please remain.”
The briefing room emptied rapidly.
The Captain looked at the Vulcan bleakly. “Any ideas, Spock?”
“Insufficient data at this time—as you well know, Captain.”
“Yes, I do know. It would be safer to holler for help throughput Star Fleet—but the secrecy surrounding the Guardian forbids that. After all, two starships ought to be able to handle three Romulans without any trouble. It’d arouse a lot of suspicion if I called in the cavalry over a burned-out sun and a few burned-out planets—one of which has a small archeological dig.”
“As soon as Admiral-Komack receives your communication, he will detail sufficient strength to this sector—he has the authority you lack.”
“I only hope we’re not too late. ... When I remember what one man did back in time, unintentionally, I shudder when I think about what the Romulans could do deliberately. The past is so damn fragile—which reminds me of something I’ve been wanting to talk to you about. What’s to become of Zar?”
The Vulcan looked blank. “What do you mean, Captain? Elucidate, please.”
“I mean that I’ve kept quiet and let him stay aboard the Enterprise until he became somewhat adjusted to modern society. It wouldn’t have been fair to him to turn him loose in a world he couldn’t cope with—nor would it have been fair to our society to turn Zar [101] loose on it, I’m afraid!” Kirk grinned, remembering the younger man’s first weeks aboard ship. “However, he’s caught up remarkably, and the fact remains that he’s a civilian. And, no matter how peaceful our intentions, this is still a military vessel—especially now. So what are your plans for him—assuming we get out of this?”
Spock considered for a long moment. “I don’t know, Captain. You are right, of course. It is against regulations for him to remain aboard the Enterprise.”
“What about Vulcan? You could take him yourself. You’ve still got enough leave for five men. Then he could stay with your parents—”
Spock was shaking his head. “No. Zar would be at a disadvantage on Vulcan. The climate, for one thing. The thin air, the heat, would make adjustment difficult.”
“As I recall, the air was pretty thin back there in that ice age. He’s healthy—he’d get used to the heat.”
“He’d need constant attendance and guardianship. Vulcan has an old, custom-ridden culture. He speaks the language, but he is not prepared for the social structure. It would be ... extremely difficult.”
“I don’t think you’re giving him enough credit. He’d adjust. I think it’d be just as difficult—maybe more—for you.”
Spock looked up. Kirk nodded. “Difficult for you, because there’s walking, talking proof that you’re not infallible. Difficult for him, because he’s krenath.”
The Vulcan’s eyes narrowed. “Where did you hear that word?”
“Zar mentioned it once. Said it means ‘shamed ones.’ Also, ‘bastard.’ ”
The First Officer’s eyes were hooded, unfathomable, his face an alien mask that Kirk had seen only once or twice before. “Zar doesn’t understand the semantic content. Nor do you.”
The Captain stood up. “Well, a discussion of semantics was not what I had in mind when I brought the subject up. I just wanted you to be aware that [102] the change will have to be made. When we go to yellow alert, tell him he’s confined to quarters—no, tell him to report to McCoy, in sickbay. That’s the best-shielded part of the ship, and Bones may need help in handling wounded, if there’s a fight.”
Spock raised an eyebrow. “If? Hostilities seem likely, Jim.”
“I’m afraid you’re right.”
Zar was confused and excited. He’d awakened from a restless sleep to find a message flashing on the screen in his quarters. Now, in response to Spock’s orders, he hurried through the corridors toward sickbay. The ship was strangely deserted, and a yellow light flashed from each signal panel. A contingent of security personnel, including his friend David, passed him at a dead run, as though he were invisible.
Sickbay was a scene of furious activity. Doctor McCoy, Nurse Chapel and the other medical personnel were checking and sorting supplies, and rigging temporary cots in the labs. McCoy looked up and saw the younger man standing hesitantly in the doorway. “Zar—glad you’re here. Go into the storage area and lug that old-fashioned coronary stimulator and the battery resuscitator into that corner there. If we lose power we may need them.”
The Chief Surgeon kept all of them scrambling for the next two hours, then straightened, looking around the transformed sickbay, and addressed his staff. “Guess that’s all we can do for now. Report back when we go to red alert. Zar, you stay here.”
When they were alone, the younger man looked wonderingly at the preparations. “What’s going to happen?”
“You mean nobody told you?”
“No, Mr. Spock just told me to come here and help you any way I could.”
“Well, Spock’s got a lot of things on his mind, I guess. We’ve received a distress call from the [103] Lexington, another Federation starship. She reported unauthorized entry of Romulan vessels into our space. When you’re talking about Romulans, that generally means an act of war.”
“War? You mean the Enterprise is going to fight?” The gray eyes gleamed.
“Probably, and don’t get any ideas about going up to the bridge. The Captain would toss you out on your pointed ear. You’re staying down here, where you’ll be out of the way. I can use those muscles of yours to help if there are casualties.”
“When will we fight?”
“I don’t know. We’d better get there soon, or our engines will burn out, and our first patient will be Scotty.”
“And I have to stay here? There’s nothing to see!”
McCoy sighed. “Bloodthirsty, aren’t you? Get this straight, Zar. There is absolutely nothing glamorous or thrilling about any war, and interstellar conflicts are no exception. You’ll realize that when you see your friends coming through that door—horizontally.”
“I’ve heard of the Romulans, but very little. They’re deadly and brutal enemies, according to what I’ve read. What are they like?”
McCoy’s grin was sardonic. “Go look in the mirror.”
“They’re Vulcans?”
“Not exactly. An offshoot of the parent stock that went their separate way long before Vulcans adopted their philosophy of peace and total objectivity. The Romulans are what the Vulcans were long ago—unprincipled and warlike. As far as we know, their culture is a kind of military theocracy. Not too unlike the ancient Spartans of Earth’s history.”
Zar nodded absently, suddenly withdrawn. “I’ve read of them. ‘With your shield or on it.’ Like the Japanese culture of the early twentieth century on Earth.”
McCoy’s eyes had narrowed, watching him. [104] “There was something about what I said just now that you didn’t like.” He rubbed thoughtfully at his chin. “Let’s see ... could it be the reference to the nature of Vulcans in the remote past? Say, 5,000 years ago?”
The Doctor didn’t miss the barely perceptible start, quickly replaced by a carefully neutral mask. The younger man twitched a shoulder in that annoying half-shrug. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“The hell you don’t. You’re a worse liar than Spock.
Jim told me he talked with you. I can imagine what you’re thinking about your father, but—”
“I’d rather not discuss it.” Zar interrupted. McCoy had seen that expression before, silent, stubborn, distant. It had plagued him for years on another face, and it angered him now.
“You acted like a ten-year-old today in the mess hall. God knows, I’m not usually put in the position of defending Spock, but you shouldn’t have insulted him, especially in front of me and Scotty. Grow up. Whatever happened back in that ice age on Sarpeidon has nothing to do with—”
“I said, I don’t want to discuss it!” The gray eyes were beginning to shine queerly, and the big hands with their lean, sinewy fingers clenched and unclenched. Against his will, McCoy found himself remembering how hard similar hands had felt as they locked themselves around his throat, felt again the damp rock of the cave wall against his back. A stir of fear (remembered, or present?) touched his spine like an icy splinter.
In spite of the fear—or because of it—McCoy felt his eyebrow climb, and heard the old cynical edge in his voice. “I’ve got a real talent for provoking supposedly logical, unemotional beings, don’t I? Or is it that they just can’t stand to hear the truth about themselves?”
Zar’s mouth tightened, then his shoulders sagged and he nodded wearily. “You’re right. I’m sorry about what happened. I wish I could tell him so, but [105] he’d just look at me, and I’d feel confused and stupid all over again. It’s like trying to move a mountain with your hands, and it’ll never be any different.” He shook his head. “As soon as the Enterprise makes port, I’ve got to leave.”
“Leave?” The Doctor forced a calm he didn’t feel, realizing suddenly how much he’d miss the younger man. “Where would you go?”
The gray eyes measured his concern, softened. “I’ve been thinking about it. I need a place where I can stand by myself, on my own. A place where what I am, the things I know how to do, would be needed, not a handicap. Maybe on one of the frontier planets ...” Something touched the corners of his mouth that wasn’t a smile. “I’ll let you know where. You’re almost the only one who would care—he certainly wouldn’t.”
STAR TREK: TOS #11 - The Yesterday Saga I - Yesterday's Son Page 9