Spock found Miranda Jones in the courtyard of the main villa, at the center of a group of humans seated lotus style on the ground in meditation. He noted that she was attired only in light robes like the others; her sensor web was not in evidence. Nonetheless, she raised her head and smiled at his approach.
“Welcome, Mister Spock,” she said, rising gracefully to her feet and stepping toward him, the group parting around her as she did so. “Or should I say ‘Captain Spock’? I suppose congratulations are in order.”
“There is little to congratulate,” Spock demurred, “for the position was chosen for me through the decisions of others. I see it merely as a career adjustment.”
“I congratulate the career that made you worthy of the choice, Spock. I remember commenting not that long ago that you could easily have earned a captaincy well before now.”
She began to stroll around the courtyard, with Spock accompanying her. “And Cap— Admiral Kirk? How is he taking to his ‘career adjustment’?”
“It is too early to tell, for we are both taking leave before beginning our new positions. However, he seems to welcome the challenge of administering Starfleet Academy. I believe he will excel at it.”
“Of the two of you, I would’ve expected you to be the one taking a scholarly path.”
“James Kirk never ceases to be a man of surprises.”
“So I’ve found.” She tilted her head. “When we first met, I found him superficial, arrogant, and manipulative. When Kollos and I melded with you, we saw another side to him through your eyes. We were grateful for the insight. We …”
She trailed off, and Spock sensed the depth of the loss that still preoccupied her. “I apologize. I have reminded you of a source of pain.”
Jones smiled up at him sadly. “No, it’s all right, Spock. I miss Kollos deeply, but the last thing I want is to stop thinking about him. After nine years together, there is still much of him in me, and I want to preserve that as much as I can.”
Spock nodded gravely. “I believe I understand.”
“Although being among the New Humans has been a godsend. They really have made remarkable strides in developing their telepathy. It’s like they’re starting to evolve toward a communal consciousness, something like the corporate intelligence of Kollos and myself. It’s not as strong, not a complete union, but it’s a very real connection nonetheless. It’s helped me feel like part of something greater again, and I’ve needed that.” She sighed. “Going back to Medusa would’ve just been too painful a reminder, so I’m grateful I have them. And I’ve been able to help them in turn, to cope with their grief at the loss of their members aboard the Enterprise, and the loss of the Aenar.”
“Then I am gratified that you—and they—have found that source of comfort.”
They had reached a path along a craggy cliff that overlooked the Mediterranean below, with the coast of North Africa visible on the horizon. At the base of the cliff, plainly visible through the clear, pure water, several nude humans frolicked with a small pod of dolphins. Curiously, he extended his psionic senses, catching an echo of communication between the two species. “Fascinating. They have achieved telepathic communication with cetaceans.”
“Oh, yes, the dolphins. They have such … lyrical minds. Although they can be startlingly feral, and have little respect for boundaries.”
“It is quite remarkable how far the New Humans have come in advancing their telepathic proficiency in only the past few years. Has there been any progress in determining an explanation for the phenomenon?”
Jones shrugged. “The prevailing theory, as you know, is that V’Ger’s ascension somehow jumpstarted their psychic evolution.”
“Which seems unlikely,” Spock replied. “Similar increases in telepathic rating among human populations have been reported on multiple planets in the Federation, not merely on Earth.”
She gave him a skeptical look. “Didn’t you feel V’Ger’s mind calling out to you when it was still dozens of parsecs away? You know as well as anyone that some forms of psionic communication are independent of distance, based in nonlocal quantum entanglement.”
“That is true. But then, why does the effect only manifest in humans?”
“Perhaps Willard Decker’s involvement had something to do with it.”
“Perhaps. But it is still puzzling.”
“I prefer to call it wondrous.” She smiled. “At last, I don’t have to feel like the only one of my kind.”
Spock studied her, absorbing her words. “In that case, Doctor Jones, I am gratified for you. And it will be intriguing to see how the New Human community continues to evolve.”
* * *
Once Miranda Jones saw off Spock’s shuttle a short while later, Arsène Xiang approached her. “Some of us wish he could have stayed longer,” the tall, gray-haired New Human communicated to her silently. “His mind is strong and serene. We could learn much from him.”
She smiled at him. Xiang had little to learn; he was almost as powerful as she was by now. Indeed, she had chosen him to travel to Regulus and help organize the sizable New Human population there as she had done for the Earth community.
“We could,” she sent back. “But he’s too curious about the mystery of New Human abilities.”
“Is that so bad?” Xiang challenged. “It would be wise to recruit more allies. And fellow telepaths—”
“This isn’t their struggle,” Miranda told him. “Besides … would Spock even be an ally if he knew the truth about us?”
2279
Nine
Starfleet Academy, San Francisco
Three months later
“All the comforts of home,” Leonard McCoy said as he surveyed the Mark IV bridge simulator, which Kirk was showing off to him after its latest upgrade. “It looks just like the Enterprise now. Feeling homesick?”
Kirk smiled, one hand resting casually on the back of the command chair. “Don’t forget, I still have the real thing at my beck and call. This is for the cadets. Since they’ll be doing field training on the Enterprise under Spock, they should be familiarized on an equivalent bridge. Among others, of course.” He gestured vaguely toward the other simulator rooms that shared this wing of the Starfleet Training Command building’s second floor, each customized to represent a different bridge configuration.
McCoy shook his head. “Spock as a teacher. Those cadets are in for a rough ride.”
“Just the way it should be,” Kirk snapped with a gleam in his eyes. “You can’t bring out the best in people by going easy on them.”
“Think or sink, right?” McCoy said. He’d heard the stories about Kirk’s Academy lectures as a lieutenant.
“Exactly. Space won’t go easy on these kids, so we can’t either.”
McCoy peered warily beneath the consoles. “So does that mean they still have live charges for the Kobayashi Maru test?”
Kirk smiled. “They’re holographic now. Mostly.”
The doctor peered at him sidelong. “Knowing how you’ve always felt about that test, I’m surprised you haven’t gotten rid of it.”
The admiral grew more serious. “If I were the dictator instead of just the commandant, I would. But I’m answerable to the superintendent and Starfleet Command. And given how … infamous … my own history with the Kobayashi Maru is,” he went on with a shrug, “any argument I made in favor of changing or eliminating it would be unlikely to go over well.”
“So you’re just gonna roll over and help administer a test you think is wrong?” McCoy studied him closely. For all of Kirk’s insistence that he’d arranged things more to his liking this time, McCoy remained skeptical that a man like him could ever be true to himself in an administrative post, even with the occasional special mission to break the monotony. So the idea that Kirk would merely play along with a policy he disagreed with, rather than finding some way to bend the letter of the law until he could convince his superiors to rewrite it, struck him as cause for concern.
“Fo
r now,” Kirk replied, not exactly reassuring McCoy. “I think it does have its uses. After all, I found a way around it once. It’s only a matter of time before some creative young cadet finds a new way to beat it.” He smiled. “Why shouldn’t they have the same chance I had?”
The doctor looked at him askance as Kirk worked the control to open the sliding panel at the front of the simulator, then led McCoy out into the access corridor beyond. “So the commandant in charge of student performance and discipline is saying he’s in favor of cheating. I may not be crazy about you having this job, Jim,” he said as he followed the admiral down the few steps to the exit door, “but there are better ways to lose it.”
“I would never endorse cheating,” Kirk replied lightly. “Except for a good cause.”
The heavy double doors slid open and they exited into the corridor beyond, the bright blue sky through the windows startling the part of McCoy’s subconscious that had been lulled into believing he was back on the Enterprise. As they reached the elevator lobby—an inviting atrium lushly adorned with vegetation and antique celestial spheres and maps from the Federation founder worlds—they were intercepted by a striking, dark-haired woman in her late thirties, wearing commander’s bars on her shoulder strap. “Admiral Kirk! I’ve been hoping to have a talk with you.”
“Certainly, Anjani.” He turned to McCoy. “Doctor Leonard McCoy, this is Commander Anjani Desai, professor of ethics. Commander, my dear friend Doctor McCoy.”
She shook McCoy’s hand and offered a quick, dazzling smile, but the dazzle was incidental; she quickly turned back to Kirk and addressed her concern. “I’ve been wondering about these new problems you proposed for discussion in Command Ethics. They’re a bit … abstract.”
“In what way?” Kirk asked.
“Well … a command officer being flung back in time and having to decide whether to allow the death of an innocent whose survival would lead to Hitler or Ferris being victorious? Or encountering an alien intervention in Earth’s past and having to decide whether it had been necessary to bring about known history?”
Kirk’s gaze was cryptic. “You don’t think they’re challenging enough questions?”
“I don’t think they’re situations our students have any realistic chance of encountering,” Desai argued, though her tone toward Kirk remained amiable—not an unusual phenomenon among women speaking to James Kirk, McCoy had noted with some envy over the years. “After all, this is Command Ethics, not pure philosophy; my job is to prepare future officers for situations they could realistically encounter. But these scenarios are more like the stuff of fiction. I mean, sure, I’ve heard Captain Xon’s physics lectures about how any faster-than-light drive is also potentially a time machine, but I know there are also prohibitive practical obstacles to surviving a temporal warp. Any crew that did get caught in one would have to worry more about being vaporized by runaway Hawking radiation than by whether or not to shoot baby Hitler or whatever.”
McCoy blinked at the commander’s words. He sometimes forgot that the reality of time travel was still classified—that for most people outside the admiralty and the civilian Department of Temporal Investigations, the prospect of hopping back through the centuries was still a matter of conjecture rather than the veritable routine it had become for the Enterprise crew over the years. After all, if more people knew it was achievable in practice, it would create more risk of people traveling back to remake history to their liking.
Of course, Kirk gave away nothing of this. “Anjani, we may not know how to overcome those obstacles, but the galaxy is full of civilizations far more advanced and ancient than we are. There’s always the possibility that a crew could run afoul of the artifacts of such a civilization and find itself dealing with that seemingly impossible situation—and the impossible choices it forces them to make.”
Desai nodded thoughtfully. “When you put it that way, Admiral, I can see the value. It’s a reach, perhaps, but it’s a good point that we should be prepared for the effects of technology beyond our own state of the art.”
“I’m glad you understand.”
She narrowed her big, dark eyes, tilting her head at him. “Still … a couple of those examples you proposed were oddly specific.”
McCoy cleared his throat. “Jim’s always been an avid reader. Like you said, it’s the stuff of fiction.”
That seemed to satisfy her; she thanked Kirk and stepped into the lift. The admiral and McCoy gazed after her for a few moments. “I think she likes you, Jim,” the doctor said. “Hell, she could’ve just sent you a memo.”
Kirk gave him a sour look. “She’s under my command, Bones. It wouldn’t be appropriate.”
“That’s a fair point,” McCoy conceded. “Still, now that you’re more settled, Jim, you should give some thought to things other than work. Putting yourself back in circulation, finding that special someone.”
“Bones, you’re a doctor, not a matchmaker.”
“I’m just saying—we’re in San Francisco. It can’t be that hard to meet single women. You could join a club, meet people who share your interests. Find a book club, or go horseback riding.”
Kirk pondered. “I have been thinking of taking up mountain climbing. Or orbital skydiving.”
McCoy rolled his eyes. “Damn it, Jim, I’m trying to arrange a date, not a funeral.”
U.S.S. Enterprise
In orbit of Vulcan
“So now that you have your own ship,” Saavik asked, “that means you can come to visit me whenever you want?”
Captain Spock studied his protégée as she peered over the railing of the upper level of the Enterprise’s main engineering complex, observing the bustle of the technicians working below to install new consoles along its formerly bare walls. He was unsure whether the illogical premise Saavik posited was motivated by genuine need or was an attempt to indulge in humor. She was sixteen standard years of age now, still a child in Vulcan terms but old enough to have mastered basic reasoning. However, the chaotic formative years she had endured on the abandoned Hellguard colony had delayed her education until Spock had rescued her and taken responsibility for her rehabilitation. She had come far in the five years since, but echoes of that fierce, lonely child on Hellguard still emerged in her every now and then.
He chose to fall back on answering the question as literally posed. “It does not, Saavikam. The Enterprise’s service to Starfleet Academy and its special assignments for Admiral Kirk make only intermittent demands on our time. In the interim, we operate as a pure research vessel or as a testbed for prototype technologies. It is in that latter capacity that we have come to Vulcan.”
She pointed below. “Those are the prototypes you will test?”
“No; the new consoles are redundant manual monitor and control systems for cadet training purposes. In normal practice, a modern starship’s automation can achieve most tasks with far more efficiency than living beings, so control interfaces for the crew can be simplified. However, that does not provide cadet crews with adequate training in basic procedures.”
Saavik was skeptical. “Why train them for what they won’t need?”
“As preparation for emergencies when the automation fails. Or for circumstances where it may be necessary to crew a less advanced starship, whether an older Starfleet or civilian craft or one of non-Federation manufacture.”
Spock reflected on Commander Scott’s tirade against the despoiling of his beautiful engine room with these bulky workstations, lamenting at seeing what he had characterized as “a regal lady gussied up like a cheap showgirl.” The engineer had also soundly ridiculed the retrofitting of the torpedo room with an antiquated manual loading system as an alternative to its normal automated loading, insisting that it was one step away from reverting to gunpowder cannons and round shot. Perhaps Scott’s displeasure at the alterations to the Enterprise was the reason for his recent transfer to the Asimov, though Spock was certain he would return once that ship’s research mission was complete
and Scott’s temper had cooled—though Spock could not reliably estimate which of those events would occur first.
Saavik appeared similarly unconvinced, and he wondered if Amanda was coddling her too much (something Sarek would certainly never do). “I would have expected more sympathy from you, Saavikam. You have always taken pride in the strength and resourcefulness you retain from your upbringing in decidedly primitive conditions.”
The girl’s expression grew sour. “I had to. And all I wanted was to get out. But when people never had to live that way, they always think they want to, and they invent cleaned-up versions that let them pretend they’re tough.” She allowed an ominous smile to show on her face. “Once I’m a cadet, I’ll show them real toughness.”
“I have no doubt you will,” Spock said. “But please try to make allowances for their fragility.”
“I promise nothing.”
As Spock led Saavik around the narrow balcony to the turbolift doors, he said, “In fact, the primary upgrade we are testing is a prototype for a new defensive shield system, replacing the current force-field coils. It is intended to combine the thorough coverage of the force-field envelope with the strength of a standard deflector grid, allowing a single system to do the work of both.”
Saavik frowned up at him as they entered the lift. “That’s stupid. It’s better to have two layers of protection than one.”
“The new system is believed to have sufficient redundancies to compensate. It also requires significantly less power than the current dual system, making it easier to maintain in battle.” Seeing her continued skeptical expression, he added, “For now, at least, the Enterprise will be retaining its standard deflector grid underneath the upgraded shield envelope. What humans refer to as a ‘belt and suspenders’ approach—an antiquated metaphor for redundancy.”
The Higher Frontier Page 14
