Chekov said nothing.
“Foolish child.” As carefully as a father caressing a baby, Khan touched his cheek. His fingers stroked down to Pavel’s chin. Then he grabbed his jaw and brutally forced up his head.
Just as suddenly he spun away, grabbed Terrell by the throat, and jerked him off his feet.
“Why?”
Terrell shook his head. Khan gripped harder.
Choking, Terrell clawed at Khan’s gloved hand. Khan watched, a smile on his face, while the captain slowly and painfully lost consciousness.
“It does not please him to answer me,” Khan said. His lips curled in a cruelly simple smile. “Well, no matter.” He opened his fist, and Terrell’s limp body collapsed on the floor.
Chekov twisted, trying to free himself. The two men holding him nearly broke his arms. Chekov gasped. Terrell curled around himself, coughing. But at least he was alive.
“You’ll tell me willingly soon enough,” Khan said. He made a quick motion with his head. His people dragged Chekov and Terrell into the laboratory and dumped them next to the sand tank.
Khan strode past them, picked up a small strainer, and dipped it into the tank. He lifted it and sand showered out, sliding down through the mesh and flung up by the struggling of the creatures he had snared.
“Did you, perhaps, come exploring? Then let me introduce you to the only remaining species native to Alpha Ceti V.” He thrust the strainer in front of Chekov. “Ceti eels,” Khan said. The last of the sand spilled away. The two long, thin eels writhed together, lashing their tails and snapping their narrow pointed jaws. They were the sickly yellow of the sand. They had no eyes. “When our world became desert, only a desert creature could survive.” Khan took Chekov’s helmet from one of his people, an intense blond young man.
“Thank you, Joachim.” He tilted the strainer so one of the eels flopped into the helmet.
Joachim spilled the second eel into Terrell’s helmet.
“They killed, they slowly and horribly killed, twenty of my people,” Khan said. “One of them…was my wife.”
“Oh, no….” Chekov whispered. He remembered Lieutenant McGivers. She had been tall and beautiful and classically elegant, but, more important, kind and sweet and wise. He had only ever had one conversation with her, and that by chance—he was an ensign, assigned to the night watch, when she was on the Enterprise, and ensigns and officers did not mix much. But once, she had talked with him. For days afterward, he had wished he were older, more experienced, of a more equivalent rank…. He had wished many things.
When she left the Enterprise to go with Khan, Ensign Pavel Chekov had locked himself in his cabin and cried. How could she go with Khan? He had never understood. He did not understand now.
“You let her die,” he said.
Khan’s venomous glance transfixed him.
“You may blame her death on your Admiral Kirk,” he said. “Do you want to know how she died?” He swirled Chekov’s helmet in circles. Pavel could hear the eel sliding around inside. “The young eel enters its victim’s body, seeks out the brain, and entwines itself around the cerebral cortex. As a side effect, the prey becomes extremely susceptible to suggestion.” He came toward Chekov. “The eel grows, my dear Pavel Chekov, within the captive’s brain. First it causes madness. Then the host becomes paralyzed—unable to move, unable to feel anything but the twisting of the creature within the skull. I learned the progression well. I watched it happen…to my wife.”
He lingered over the description, articulating every word with care and precision, as if he were torturing himself, embracing the agony as a fitting punishment.
“Khan!” Pavel cried. “Captain Kirk was only doing his duty! Listen to me, please—”
“Indeed I will, Pavel Chekov, in a few moments you will speak to me as I wish.”
Pavel felt himself being pushed forward in a travesty of a bow.
He fought, but the guards forced him down. Khan let him look into his helmet, where the eel squirmed furiously.
“Now you must meet my pet, Mister Chekov. You will find that it is not…quite…domesticated….”
Khan slammed the helmet over Pavel’s head and locked it into its fastenings.
The eel tumbled against Pavel’s face, lashing his cheek with its tail. In a panic, he clawed at his faceplate. Khan stood before him, watching, smiling. Pavel grabbed the helmet latches, but Khan’s people pulled his hands away and held him still.
The eel, sensing the heat of a living body, ceased its frantic thrashing and began to crawl, probing purposefully with its sharp little snout. Pavel shook his head violently. The eel curled its body through his hair, anchoring itself, and continued its relentless search.
It curved down behind his ear, slid beneath the lobe, and glided up again.
It touched his eardrum.
He heard the rush of blood, and its flowing warmth caressed his cheek.
Then he felt the pain.
He screamed.
On board Reliant, Mister Kyle tried again and again to reach Terrell and Chekov. His voice was tight and strained.
“Reliant to Terrell, Reliant to Terrell, come in, Captain. Captain Terrell, please respond.”
“For gods’ sake, Kyle, stop it,” Beach said.
Kyle swung around on him. “Stoney, I can’t find them,” he said. “There’s no signal at all!” Several minutes had passed since the cry from Pavel Chekov. The sensor dials trembled in overload.
“I know. Muster a landing party. Full arms. Alert the transporter room. I’m beaming down right now.” He headed for the turbo-lift.
“Terrell to Reliant, Terrell to Reliant, come in, Reliant.”
Beach rushed back to the console.
“Reliant, Beach here. For gods’ sake, Clark, are you all right?”
The pause seemed slightly longer than the signal lag required, but Beach dismissed it as his own concern and relief.
“Everything’s fine, Commander, I’ll explain when I see you. We’re bringing several guests aboard. Prepare to beam up on my next signal.”
“Guests? Clark, what—?”
“Terrell out.”
Beach looked at Kyle, who was frowning.
“ ‘Guests’?” Kyle said.
“Maybe we are transplanting something.”
“Enterprise Shuttle Seven, you’re cleared for liftoff.”
“Roger, Seattle, we copy.” Commander Hikaru Sulu powered up the gravity fields, and the square little shuttlecraft rose smoothly from the vast expanse of the landing field.
He glanced around to make sure his passengers were all safely strapped in: Admiral Kirk, Doctor McCoy, Commander Uhura. Almost like the old days. Kirk was reading a book—was that a pair of spectacles he was wearing? It was, indeed—McCoy was making notes in a medical file, and Uhura was bent over a pocket computer, intent on the program she was writing.
Last night’s rain had left today crystal clear and gleaming. The shuttle gave a three-hundred-sixty-degree view of land so beautiful that Hikaru wanted to grab everyone in the shuttle and shake them till they looked: two ranges of mountains, the Cascades to the east and the Olympics to the west, gray and purple and glittering white; the long wide path of Puget Sound, leading north, studded with islands and sliced by the keen-edged wake of a hydrofoil. He rotated the shuttle one hundred eighty degrees to starboard, slowly, facing in turn the solitary volcanic peaks of Mount Baker, Mount Rainier, Mount St. Helens, steaming and smoking again after a two-hundred-year sleep, Mount Hood, and far to the south, rising through towering thunderheads, Mount Shasta.
The shuttle continued its ascent. Distance blurred the evidence of civilization, even of life, stripping the underlying geology bare, until the lithic history of lava flows, glacial advance, and orogeny lay clear before him. A lightning bolt flashed along Mount Shasta’s flank, arcing through the clouds.
And then the earth curved away beneath him, disappearing into the sun far to one side and into the great shadow of the terminator o
n the other.
Uhura reached out and brushed her fingertips against his arm. He glanced around. The computer lay abandoned beside her.
“Thank you,” she said very softly. “That was beautiful.”
Hikaru smiled, glad to have someone to share it with.
“My pleasure.”
She went back to her computer. He homed in on the Starfleet Spacedock beacon and engaged the autopilot. It would be a while before he had anything else to do. He stretched out in one of the passenger seats, where he could relax but still keep an eye on the control display.
The admiral closed his book and pushed his glasses to the top of his head.
“You look a bit the worse for wear, Mister Sulu—is that from yesterday?”
Hikaru touched the bruise above his cheekbone and grinned ruefully. “Yes, sir. I didn’t realize I’d got it till too late to do anything about it.”
“There’s one thing you can say about Mister Spock’s protégés: They’re always thorough.”
Hikaru laughed. “No matter what they’re doing. That was quite a show, wasn’t it?”
“It was, indeed. I didn’t get much chance to speak to you yesterday. It’s good to see you.”
“Thank you, sir. The feeling’s mutual.”
“And by the way, congratulations, Commander.”
Hikaru glanced down at the shiny new braid on his uniform. He was not quite used to it yet.
“Thank you, Admiral. You had a lot to do with it. I appreciate the encouragement you’ve given me all these years.”
Kirk shrugged. “You earned it, Commander. And I wasn’t the only commander you’ve had who put in a good word. Spock positively gushed. For Spock, anyway. And you got one of the two or three best recommendations I’ve ever seen from Hunter.”
“I appreciate your letting me know that, Admiral. Both their opinions mean a lot to me.”
Kirk glanced around the shuttle. “Almost like old times, isn’t it? Do you still keep in touch with your friend Commander Flynn?”
“Yes, sir—I saw her off this morning, in fact. She made captain, early last spring.”
“Of course she did, I’d forgotten. When the memory begins to go—” He stopped, then grinned, making it into a joke. But he had sounded terribly serious. “They gave her one of the new ships, didn’t they?”
“Yes, sir, Magellan. It left today.” It will be a long time before I see her again, Hikaru thought, with regret.
A long time. The new Galaxy-class ships were smaller than the Enterprise, but much faster. They were most efficient around warp twelve. Only three as yet existed: Andromeda, M-31, and Magellanic Clouds. Their purpose was very-long-range exploration; commanding such a mission was the career Mandala Flynn, who had been born and raised in space, had aimed for all her life.
Jim Kirk chuckled. Hikaru gave him a questioning glance.
“Do you remember what she said to me, at the officers’ reception the day she came on board the Enterprise?”
“Uh—I’m not sure, sir.” Actually he remembered it vividly, but if Admiral Kirk by chance was thinking of something else, Hikaru felt it would be more politic not to remind him of the other.
“I asked her what her plans were, and she looked me straight in the eye and said, ‘Captain, I want your job.’ ”
Hikaru could not repress a smile. Besides remembering that, he also remembered the shocked silence that had followed. Mandala had not meant it as a threat, of course, nor had Kirk taken it as one. Not exactly. But it had not been quite the best foot for a field-promoted officer, a mustang—someone who had worked up from the ranks—to start out on.
“She got it, too,” Kirk said softly, gazing out the window and seeing, perhaps, not the earth below or the angular chaos of the space station far ahead, but new worlds and past adventures.
“Sir? Do you mean you put in for a Galaxy ship?” Hikaru felt rather shocked, partly because if Kirk had applied, he must have been turned down, but even more that he had made the request in the first place.
“What? Oh, no. No, of course not. I didn’t mean that the way it sounded. She earned her promotion, just as you did yours. I don’t begrudge it to either of you.” He grinned. “But if I were ten years younger, she might have had a fight on her hands for one of the Galaxies.”
“I can’t quite imagine you anywhere but on the bridge of the Enterprise, Captain Kirk—uh, sorry—Admiral.”
“I think I consider that a compliment.”
The autopilot emitted a soft beep as it engaged the Spacedock’s guide beacon. Kirk nodded to Sulu, who returned to the controls, deactivated the autopilot, and engaged the navigational computer and communications system.
“Shuttle Seven to Enterprise. Admiral Kirk’s party on final approach.”
“Shuttle Seven, welcome to Enterprise. Prepare for docking.”
“Thank you, Enterprise, we copy.”
When Sulu had completed the preparations, Kirk caught his gaze again.
“By the way, Sulu, I must thank you for coming along.”
“I was delighted to get your request, Admiral. A chance to go back on board the Enterprise, to indulge in a bit of nostalgia—how could I pass it up?”
“Yes….” Kirk said thoughtfully. “Nevertheless, I remember how much there was to do, and how little time there seemed to be to do it in, just before I got the Enterprise.”
“I’ve looked forward to it for a long time.”
“I’m grateful to have you at the helm.” He grinned: for a moment the somber cloud of responsibility thinned, letting out a flash of Captain James Kirk of the Starship Enterprise. He leaned over and said, with mock confidentiality, “Mister Sulu, I don’t believe those kids can steer.”
Lieutenant Saavik watched Enterprise Shuttle Seven as it settled into its transport moorings; its pilot—Commander Sulu, she assumed—was excellent. The great doors of the starship’s landing bay slid closed, and air sighed in to pressurize the compartment.
The other trainees waited nervously for Admiral Kirk. Saavik remained outwardly impassive, though she felt uncomfortable about having to face Kirk after yesterday’s disaster. He had merely added to her humiliation by rating her well in the series of simulation exams. She believed he should have significantly downgraded her overall score because of her performance on the final test. She felt confused, and Saavik disliked confusion intensely.
Captain Spock knew far more about humans in general than Saavik thought she could ever hope to learn, and more about Admiral Kirk in particular. Perhaps he could explain Kirk’s motives. Since coming on board, though, Saavik had been too busy to ask him.
“Docking procedures completed,” the computer said.
“Prepare for inspection,” Spock said. “Open airlock.”
All the trainees came to rigid attention as the doors slid open. The computer, surrogate bo’sun, piped the admiral onto the ship. Kirk paused, saluted the Federation logo before him, and exchanged salutes with Spock.
“Permission to come aboard, Captain?”
“Permission granted, Admiral, and welcome.”
Kirk stepped on board the Enterprise.
“I believe you know my trainees,” Spock said. “Certainly they have come to know you.”
Kirk looked straight at Saavik. “Yes,” he said, “we’ve been through death and life together.”
Saavik maintained her composure, but only the techniques of biocontrol that Spock had taught her saved her from a furious blush. She could not make out Kirk’s tone at all. He might be attempting humor.
For the first ten years of her life, Saavik had never laughed; for the first ten years of her life, she had never seen anyone laugh unless they had caused another person pain.
Humor was not Saavik’s forte.
Kirk held her gaze a moment, then, when she did not respond, turned away.
“Hello, Mister Scott,” he said to the chief engineer. “You old spacedog, Scotty, are you well?”
“Aye, Admiral. I had a wee
bout, but Doctor McCoy pulled me through.”
“ ‘A wee bout’? A wee bout of what?”
Saavik paid particular attention to the interchange between the humans. Spock said their words were not necessarily significant. Observe their actions toward one another, their expressions. Assign at least as much importance to the tone of voice as to what is said.
The first thing that occurred after the admiral’s question was a pause. Inability to answer the question? Saavik dismissed that immediately. Surprise or confusion? Those were possibilities. Reluctance, perhaps?
Mister Scott glanced at Doctor McCoy—quickly, as if he hoped no one would notice. So: reluctance it was. McCoy returned his look, adding a slight shrug and a small smile.
“Er, shore leave, Admiral,” Mister Scott said.
“Ah,” Kirk said.
His tone indicated comprehension, though in fact his question had been not answered but avoided. Saavik dissected the encounter in her mind and put it back together as best she could. Mister Scott and Doctor McCoy knew of some event in Mister Scott’s life that the admiral wished to know, but which Mister Scott would be embarrassed to reveal. Doctor McCoy agreed, by his silence, to conspire in the concealment; the admiral, by his tone of understanding, had appeared to accede to their plan, yet put them both on notice that he intended to find out exactly what had happened, but at some more convenient, perhaps more private, time.
Saavik felt some satisfaction with the intellectual exercise of her analysis; it remained to be seen if it was accurate.
Admiral Kirk strode along before the line, giving each trainee a stern yet not unfriendly glance. Spock and Scott accompanied him.
“And who is this?” Kirk said, stopping in front of the child.
Peter drew himself up so straight and serious that Saavik wanted to smile. He was blond and very fair; under the admiral’s inspection his face turned bright pink. He was a sweet child, so enthusiastic he practically glowed, so proud to be in space at fourteen that he lived within a radiating sphere of joy that could not help but affect those around him.
Even Saavik.
Now, undergoing his very first admiral’s inspection, Peter replied to Kirk breathlessly, “Cadet First Class Peter Preston, engineer’s mate, sir!” He saluted stiffly, fast, and with great eagerness.
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