“Sir?” Now she felt confused.
“A crush, for humans, is something like falling in love; however, it occurs only in very young members of the species and is looked upon with great amusement by older members.”
The reasons for Peter’s behavior suddenly became much clearer. If this was what he was too embarrassed to tell her about, no wonder. She was well aware how much he disliked being laughed at.
Spock continued. “You must deal with it as best you can, as gently as you can. Human beings are very vulnerable in these matters, and very easily hurt. And, as you quite correctly pointed out, it would be improper—”
Saavik felt both shocked and uncomfortable. “Mister Spock,” she said, returning to the title she had used for him for many years, “Peter is a child. And even if falling in love is a flaw of human nature, it is not one of Vulcan nature.”
“But you are not a Vulcan,” Spock said.
Saavik dropped her fork clattering onto her plate and stood up so fast that her chair rattled across the floor.
“Sit down,” Spock said gently.
Unwillingly, she obeyed.
“Saavik, do not misunderstand me. Your behavior as regards Cadet Preston is completely proper—I entertain no doubts of that. I am not concerned with him for the moment, but with you.”
“I’ve tried to learn Vulcan ways,” she said. “If you will tell me where I’ve failed—”
“Nor are we speaking of failure.”
“I—I don’t understand.”
“I chose the Vulcan path when I was very young. For many years, I considered it the best, indeed the only, possible choice for any reasoning being. But…” He stopped for a moment, then appeared to change the subject. “I spoke to you of tolerance and understanding—”
Saavik nodded.
“I have come to realize that what is proper for one being may not be correct for another. In fact, it may be destructive. The choice is more difficult for someone with two cultures—”
“I have only one!”
“—who must choose between them, or choose to follow another’s lead, or choose a path that is unique. You are unique, Saavik.”
“Mister Spock, what does this have to do with Peter Preston?”
“It has nothing at all to do with Mister Preston.”
“Then what are you trying to say to me?”
“What I am trying to say—and I am perhaps not the most competent person to say it, but there is no other—is that some of the decisions you make about your life may differ from what I might decide, or even from what I might advise. You should be prepared for this possibility, so that you do not reject it when it appears. Do you understand?”
She was about to tell him that she did not, but she felt sufficiently disturbed and uneasy—as, to her surprise, Mister Spock also appeared to feel—that she wanted to end the conversation.
“I’d like to think about what you’ve said, Captain.” Saavik put herself, and Spock, back into their relationship of commander and subordinate.
“Very good, Lieutenant,” he said, acquiescing to the change.
She stood up. “I must get back to the bridge, sir.”
“Dismissed, Lieutenant.”
She started to go, then turned back. “Sir—what about Cadet Preston’s tutorial?”
Spock folded his hands and considered the question. “It must resume, of course. However, Mister Scott has made a statement about the condition of the engine room which would be indelicate to challenge. I will wait a day or two, then suggest that the lessons continue. Do you find that agreeable?”
“Yes, sir. Thank you.”
Saavik returned to her post. She had a great deal to think about.
Five
Peter Preston stood stiffly at attention. His shoulders ached. He had been there close to an hour, waiting for Commander Scott to inspect—for the third time today—the calibration of Peter’s control console.
This is getting old real fast, Peter thought.
His uncle had not cracked a smile or spoken to him in anything but a completely impersonal tone for two days. He was showing considerable displeasure in work that before the training cruise—and before their disagreement—he had unstintingly approved. Just now he was unsatisfied with Peter’s maintenance of the console.
Finally the engineer strode over and stopped in front of him.
“Ye ha’ stood here a considerable while, Cadet, are ye so sure this is fixed that ye can afford to waste time lounging?”
“The console was ready at eleven hundred hours as you ordered, sir.”
“So, ye think this time ye ha’ it working properly, do ye?”
“Aye, sir.”
“We’ll see abou’ that.”
Commander Scott ran it through a diagnostic or two.
“Nay,” he said, “now ye ha’ a field imbalance, ye’ve overcompensated. Calibrate it again, Cadet.”
In a hesitation of a fraction of a second, Peter thought, Dannan said there are times when you have to stick up for yourself, but there are times when you have to prove you can take whatever they can dish out.
“Aye, sir,” Peter said. “Sorry, sir.”
“As well ye’ might be. Will ye try to do it right?”
“Aye, sir.”
This is definitely one of those times when you have to prove you can take it, Peter thought.
And I can take it, too.
He set to work on the console again.
He was still at it when the trainees came back from lunch. Grenni sat down at his station.
“Hey, Pres,” he said out of the side of his mouth, “the Old Man’s really got it in for you today, doesn’t he?”
“Why’re you talking like you’re in an old prison movie?” Peter said. “He’s not going to put you on bread and water just for talking to me.”
“You never know.”
Peter snorted.
“I told you you shouldn’t have pulled that dumb stunt with the admiral,” Grenni said.
“Yeah, and I guess you’ll keep on telling me, huh?” Peter said. Grenni had all the self-righteousness of twenty-twenty hindsight. That was getting as old as Uncle Montgomery’s bad humor.
“Geez, Pres, you’re working so hard it makes me tired just to watch you,” Grenni said.
“Don’t worry,” Peter told him. “You won’t have to endure the torture much longer. Commander Scott’s tantrums never last more than three days. Or hadn’t you noticed?”
“No,” Grenni said, “I hadn’t noticed. But then I haven’t had the opportunity to observe him like some people—not being his nephew and all.”
Damn, Peter thought. Grenni heard, and that means even if nobody else did, they all know now. Damn.
“Enterprise to Regulus I Spacelab, come in, Spacelab. Doctor Marcus, please respond.”
Uhura’s transmissions met with no reply.
She glanced up at Spock.
“It’s no use. There’s just nothing there.”
“But the transmissions are no longer jammed?”
“No, there’s no jamming—no nothing.”
Spock turned to Kirk, back in his old familiar place on the bridge.
“There are two possibilities, Admiral,” Spock said. “That they are unwilling to respond, or that they are unable to respond.”
“How long—?”
“We will reach Spacelab in twelve hours and forty-three minutes at our present speed.”
Kirk folded his arms and hunched down in the captain’s chair. “ ‘Give up Genesis,’ she said. What in God’s name does that mean? Give it up to whom?”
“It might help my analysis if I knew what Genesis was,” Spock said.
Kirk wrestled with conflicting duties, conflicting necessities.
“You’re right,” he said finally. “Something’s happened—something serious. It would be dangerous not to tell you.” He stood up. “Uhura, please ask Doctor McCoy to join us in my quarters. Lieutenant Saavik, you have the conn.”
<
br /> The three officers gathered in Jim Kirk’s cabin. Spock and McCoy waited while Kirk proved himself to the highest security safeguards.
“Computer,” he said. “Security procedure: access to Project Genesis summary.”
“Identify for retinal scan,” the computer replied.
“Admiral James T. Kirk, Starfleet General Staff. Security Class One.”
An instant’s pulse of bright light recorded his eyes’ patterns; then the screen blinked in filtered colors as the computer ran its comparison programs.
“Security clearance Class One: granted.”
“Summary, please,” Kirk said.
The computer flashed messages to itself across its screen for several more seconds, until finally an approval overlay masked the safeguards and encodings.
The summary tape began. Carol Marcus, in her lab, faced the camera.
Kirk recognized her son at the next table. David resembled his mother strongly: slender, with high cheekbones, very fair. His curly hair was more gold, while Carol’s was ash blond, but they had the same eyes.
Jim had met David Marcus once, years ago, by chance. He recalled the encounter with no particular pleasure. Though David Marcus did not seem to have anything personal against Jim Kirk—for which Jim was grateful if only for the sake of his memories of Carol—the young scientist clearly had little use for military personnel.
Carol faced the camera like an adversary and began to speak.
“I’m Doctor Carol Marcus, director of the Project Genesis team at Regulus I Spacelab. Genesis is a procedure by which the molecular structure of matter is broken down, not into subatomic parts as in nuclear fission, or even into elementary particles, but into subelementary particle-waves. These can then, by manipulation of the various nuclear forces, be restructured into anything else of similar mass.”
“Fascinating,” Spock said.
“Wait,” said Kirk.
“Stage one of the experiment has been completed here in the lab. We will attempt stage two underground. Stage three involves the process on a planetary scale, as projected by the following computer simulation.”
The tape switched to the sharp-edged ultrarealistic scenes of computer graphics.
“We intend to introduce the Genesis device via torpedo into an astronomical body of Earth’s mass or smaller.”
A gray barren cratered world appeared on the screen.
“The planet will be scrupulously researched to preclude the disruption of any life forms or pre-biotics.”
Jim, who had already seen the tape, watched the reactions of Spock and McCoy. Relaxed and intent, Spock took in the information. McCoy sat on the edge of his chair, leaning forward, scowling as the images progressed before him.
“When the torpedo impacts the chosen target,” Carol said, “the Genesis effect begins.”
On the screen, the planet quivered; then, just perceptibly, it expanded. For an instant, it glowed as intensely as a star.
“The Genesis wave dissociates matter into a homogeneous mass of real and virtual sub-elementary particles.”
The forces of gravity and rotation warred, until it became clear that no structure remained to the planet at all.
“The sub-elementaries reaggregate instantaneously.”
An entire world had become a translucent cloud. The mass spread into a disk and almost as quickly coalesced again, reenacting planetary evolution at a billion times the speed.
“Precisely what they reform into depends on the complexity of the quantum resonances of the original Genesis wave, and on the available mass. If sufficient matter is present, the programming permits an entire star system to be formed. The simulation, however, deals only with the reorganization of a planetary body.”
The sphere solidified, transformed into a new world of continents, islands, oceans. Clouds misted the globe in pinwheel weather patterns.
“In other words,” Carol said, “the results are completely under our control. In this simulation, a barren rock becomes a world with water, atmosphere, and a functioning ecosystem capable of sustaining most known forms of carbon-based life.”
Wherever the clouds thinned, they revealed a tinge of green.
“It represents only a fraction of the potential that Genesis offers, if these experiments are pursued to their conclusion.”
An eerily earthly world revolved silently before them on the screen.
“When we consider the problems of population and food supply, the value of the process becomes clear. In addition, it removes the technical difficulties and the ethical problems of interfering with a natural evolutionary system in order to serve the needs of the inhabitants of a separate evolutionary system.”
Carol Marcus returned to the screen.
“This concludes the demonstration tape. I and my colleagues, Jedda Adzhin-Dall, Vance Madison, Delwin March, Zinaida Chitirih-Ra-Payjh, and David Marcus, thank you for your attention.”
The tape ended.
“It literally is genesis,” Spock said.
“The power,” Kirk said, “of creation.”
“Have they proceeded with their experiments?”
“Carol made the tape a year ago. The team got the Federation grant they were applying for, so I assume they’ve reached phase two by now.”
“Dear Lord…” McCoy said. He looked up, stricken. “Are we—can we control this? Suppose it hadn’t been a lifeless satellite? Suppose that thing were used on an inhabited world?”
“It would,” Spock said, “destroy all life in favor of its new matrix.”
“Its ‘new matrix’? Spock, have you any idea what you’re saying?”
“I was not attempting to evaluate its ethical implications, Doctor.”
“The ethical implications of complete destruction!”
Spock regarded him quizzically. “You forget, Doctor McCoy, that sentient beings have had, and used, weapons of complete destruction for thousands of years. Historically it has always been easier to destroy than to create.”
“Not anymore!” McCoy cried. “Now you can do both at once! One of our myths said Earth was created in six days, now, watch out! Here comes Genesis! We’ll do it for you in six minutes!”
“Any form of power, in the wrong hands—”
“Whose are the right hands, my cold-blooded friend? Are you in favor of these experiments?”
“Gentlemen—” Kirk said.
“Really, Doctor McCoy, you cannot ban knowledge because you distrust its implications. Civilization can be considered an attempt to control new knowledge for the common good. The intent of this experiment is creation, not destruction. Logic—”
“Don’t give me logic! My God! A force that destroys, yet leaves what was destroyed still usable? Spock, that’s the most attractive weapon imaginable. We’re talking about Armageddon! Complete, universal, candy-coated Armageddon!”
“Knock it off!” Kirk said. “Both of you. Genesis is already here, Spock, you don’t need to argue for its existence.”
McCoy started to speak but Kirk swung around and silenced him with a look.
“Bones, you don’t need to argue how dangerous it might be if it falls into the wrong hands. We know that. And it may already have happened. I need you both—and not at each other’s throats.”
Spock and McCoy looked at each other.
“Truce, Doctor?” Spock said.
Grudgingly, McCoy replied, “Truce.” Then he added, “Besides, that was a simulation. The whole idea’s preposterous—it probably won’t even work in real life.”
“On the contrary, the probability of success appears extremely high.”
“And how would you know, Spock? You haven’t known about it any longer than I have.”
“That is true. But Marcus is an excellent scientist, and her research team carries impressive credentials.”
“Do you know them, Spock?” Kirk asked.
“Adzhin-Dall is a quantum physicist and Chitirih-Ra-Payjh is a mathematician. Neither is well known because t
heir work is not translatable from the original Deltan. But the work itself contains fascinating implications. As for Madison and March, I encountered them some two years ago, at a symposium they attended immediately after attaining their doctoral degrees.” He spoke rather dryly because their presentation had been, to say the least, unique.
A decade before, Jaine and Nervek had done the theoretical work in “kindergarten physics”—so-called because it dealt with sub-elementary particles.
Madison and March experimentally validated the theory. Their first breakthrough was the dissolution of elementary particles into sub-elementary particles.
Quarks have fractional charge of one-third or two-thirds, and attributes such as charm and strangeness. The sub-elementary particles had fractional charge as well: four-ninths and one-ninth, the squares of the charges of the quark. According to Madison, they could be sorted further by “five unmistakable marks,” which the team had proposed designating taste, tardiness, humor, cleanliness, and ambition.
All this had begun to sound peculiarly familiar to Spock. He searched his memory for resonances. Just as he finally came upon the proper reference, March took over to offer terminology for the particles themselves.
When March recited several stanzas of a poem by a Terran nonsense writer, half the audience responded with delighted laughter and the other half with offended silence.
Spock maintained his reserve, but in truth he had been very tempted to smile.
“We’d like to propose that the sub-elementary particles be designated ‘snarks’ and ‘boojums,’ ” March had said. “When we picked the names, we didn’t realize quite how appropriate they were. But after we worked on the math for a while we discovered that the two entities are actually images of one another, one real, one virtual.” He displayed on the auditorium screen a set of formulae, a transformation that proved the mathematical equivalence of the two separate particle-waves.
“Now,” March said with a completely straight face, “and with apologies to Lewis Carroll:
“In the midst of the word we were trying to say,
In the midst of our laughter and glee,
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