Duty, Honor, Redemption

by Novelization by Vonda N. McIntyre

  Khan stood before Zinaida Chitirih-Ra-Payjh. She met his gaze without flinching; he seemed offended that she did not fear him.

  “My lord!” Joachim said when he could speak again. His voice shook. “Khan, they’re all too weak to stand against your force—”

  “So it seems….” Khan said softly.

  “There’s no need for you to…to…” Joachim stopped. He thrust the box into Khan’s hands. “She cannot keep Genesis from you now, my lord.” He held his breath, for he could not know how Khan would react.

  Khan opened the box, looked inside, and smiled. He set it down and put his arms around Joachim.

  “You know my needs better than I myself,” Khan said. “I’m grateful to you, Joachim; I could not love you more if you were my son.”

  He will be himself again, Joachim thought, close to tears. As soon as this is over….

  Khan broke the embrace gently and turned toward Zinaida Chitirih-Ra-Payjh.

  Deltans seek out intensity of experience. Zinaida, like most, had concentrated on the limits of pleasure. Some few Deltans preferred pain; Zinaida had always thought them quite mad. But here, now, she knew she had no other choice than to experience whatever came and learn what she could from it. Jedda and Carol and David needed time to get away. She must give it to them. Besides, Carol was convinced rescue was coming. Perhaps, if Zinaida were strong enough, she might even survive until then. She did not want to die. She thought out toward the empathic link between herself and Jedda, and touched it with reassurance. She knew that if she let him know what had happened, he would try to help her rather than escape.

  Khan’s hand darted into the box his aide had brought him. He drew it out again. He was holding, pinched between thumb and forefinger, a long, slender, snakelike creature. It probed the air blindly with its sharp snout.

  “Mister Chekov would tell you,” Khan said, “that the pain is brief.”

  Zinaida drew back in terror, realizing what they had done to Chekov and Terrell.

  This, she could not withstand.

  Khan’s people pushed her forward and turned her head to the side. The eel slithered across her smooth scalp and over her ear, still probing, searching.

  “Jedda—” she whispered. She thought to him all that had happened, so he would know there was no hope, so he would flee, and then she broke the link between herself and her lover forever.

  The eel punctured her eardrum. Zinaida screamed in pure horror and despair.

  She gave herself to the shadows.

  Carol and David and Jedda crept up the emergency stairs toward the main lab. Genesis was safe for the moment, but they were afraid for the others. No matter how reassuring Del had sounded over the intercom, Carol was sure she had, a few minutes later, heard the echo of a cry of pain and fear. David had heard something too. But Jedda kept insisting that everything was all right.

  “Dammit!” Carol said again. “Something’s happening up there and we can’t just run away and leave our friends. Not even to save Genesis!”

  “Del said—”

  “David, Del lives in a fantasy world half the time!” She wished Del were half as steady as Vance; she would be a lot less worried about them both. If Del tried unnecessary heroics, if the Starfleet people overreacted, he could get himself and everybody else up there in more trouble than they could handle.

  Carol reached the main level and opened the door at the top of the stairs just a crack.

  Zinaida’s terrified cry echoed through the hallway. Carol froze.

  Jedda’s knees buckled and he fell.

  “Jedda! What is it?”

  Carol knelt beside him. Jedda flung his arms across his face, trying to keep her from touching him. He rolled away from her, pushed himself to hands and knees, and slowly, painfully, got to his feet.

  “We must flee,” he said dully. “Zinaida is dead, Vance and Del are dead. We can’t help them.”

  “But you said—”

  “She was trying to protect us! But she’s gone! If we don’t run, they’ll find us, and take Genesis, and kill us!”

  They ran.

  Six

  That evening, Captain Spock and Doctor McCoy dined with Admiral Kirk in his quarters. Their argument about Genesis continued on and off, but not at such a high level of reciprocal abuse that Kirk became sufficiently irritated to tell them again to shut up.

  The intercom broke into the conversation.

  “Admiral,” Saavik said, “sensors indicate a vessel approaching us, closing fast.”

  “What do you make of it, Lieutenant?”

  “It’s one of ours, Admiral. Reliant.”

  “Why is Reliant here?” Spock said.

  Kirk wondered the same thing. Starfleet had said only the Enterprise was free and near enough to Spacelab to investigate Carol’s call.

  He hurried out of his cabin. Spock and McCoy followed.

  “Isn’t Pavel Chekov on Reliant?”

  They entered the turbolift. It rose.

  “I believe that is true, Admiral,” Spock said.

  The lift doors opened. Kirk stepped out onto the bridge and turned immediately to Uhura.

  “Reliant isn’t responding, sir,” she said.

  “Even the emergency channels…?”

  “No, sir,” she said, and tried again. “Enterprise to Reliant, come in, Reliant.”

  “Visual, Lieutenant Saavik.”

  “It’s just within range, Admiral.”

  Saavik turned the forward magnification up full. Reliant showed as a bare speck on the screen, but it was growing larger quickly.

  “Attempt visual communication,” Spock said.

  “Aye, sir.” Uhura brought the low-power visible light comm-laser online and aimed it toward Reliant’s receptors.

  “Maybe their comm systems have failed….” Kirk said doubtfully.

  “It would explain a great many things,” said Spock.

  Joachim, still numbed by what had happened back at the Spacelab, blankly watched the Enterprise grow on Reliant’s viewscreen.

  Behind him, Khan chuckled softly.

  With Terrell and Chekov gone, Khan was surrounded only by his own loyal people. Soon his revenge would be complete. Then—would he finally be free? Joachim feared the answer.

  “Reduce acceleration to one-half impulse power,” Khan said; and then, with a crooning, persuasive, ironic tone, “Let’s be friends….”

  “One-half impulse,” the helm officer said.

  The laser receptors registered a signal.

  “They’re requesting visual communications, Khan,” Joachim said.

  “Let them eat static.”

  “And they’re still running with shields down.”

  “Of course they are. Didn’t I just say we’re friends? Kirk, old friend, do you know the Klingon proverb, ‘Revenge is a dish best served cold?’ ”

  Joachim risked a glance at his leader. Khan was leaning forward with his hands clenched together into fists and his hair wild around his head; his eyes were deep with exhaustion and rage.

  “It is very cold in space,” Khan whispered.

  On the viewscreen of the Enterprise, Reliant’s image grew slowly.

  “Reliant’s delta-vee just decreased to one-half impulse power, Admiral,” Mister Sulu said.

  “Any evidence of damage?”

  “None, sir.”

  “Sir,” Saavik said, “if I may quote general order twelve: ‘On the approach of any vessel, when communications have not been established—’ ”

  “The admiral is aware of the regulations.”

  Saavik forced herself not to react. “Yes, sir,” she said stiffly.

  “This is damned peculiar,” Kirk said, almost to himself. “Yellow alert.”

  “Energize defense fields,” Saavik said.

  The Klaxon sounded; the lights dimmed. It took only a moment for the backup crew to arrive and staff their battle stations.

  “Transmission from Reliant, sir…. A moment…on the short-range b
and. They say their chambers coil is shorting out their main communications.”

  “Spock?”

  Spock bent down to scan Reliant.

  “They still haven’t raised their shields,” Joachim said. Everything that was happening seemed to exist at a very great distance. Only his memories stayed close to him, terrifyingly immediate, flashing into his vision every time he blinked or even let his attention drift: the expression in March’s eyes, the blood flowing down Madison’s face, the suicide of Chitirih-Ra-Payjh. And he could not forget what Madison had said to him.

  “Be careful, Joachim,” Khan said. “Not all at once. The engine room, lock on the engine room. Be prepared to fire.”

  Joachim obeyed. Two hundred years ago, he had given his word; so he obeyed.

  Spock studied the scan results. They were precisely the same as the first set: no evidence of damage.

  “Their coil emissions are normal, Admiral.” And then he saw the signal of a new change that was not normal. “Their shields are going up—”

  “Reliant’s phasers are locking!” Sulu said at the same moment.

  “Raise shields!” Kirk said. “Energize phasers, stand by to—”

  Reliant fired.

  Peter stood ready at his console, wishing, wishing desperately, that he had something he could really do. The ship was on battle alert, with the Klaxon alarm sounding around him and all the engine room crew—the veterans—hurrying to their places or already completely involved in their work. The trainees could only wait at their backup positions and watch. And a lowly cadet could only grit his teeth and try to pretend he was here for a reason.

  Till now, Peter had suspected that the whole trip was an elaborate charade, nothing more than a simulation with real equipment. But maybe he had been wrong. Surely, if this were another test, the veterans would stand back and let the trainees handle everything. Peter’s heart beat faster. He wondered how Saavik would analyze it, logically. It would be fun to talk to her about it as soon as it was over, whether or not it was for real! He had not even seen her since Commander Scott postponed his math lessons.

  Uncle Montgomery had told Captain Spock that Peter could not be spared because there was too much work in the engine room; but to Peter he said that the lessons would resume only when Peter “stopped neglecting his work.” Peter recognized the disparity as an attempt to teach him a lesson without damaging his record, which he appreciated—yet still resented, because he did not think that this was a lesson he needed to learn.

  He’ll quit in another day or so, Peter thought. Maybe even as soon as we’re finished with this. Whatever it is.

  From out of nowhere, a shock wave slammed him to the deck. A moment later, the noise of the explosion struck. As Peter scrambled up, metal shrieked and a great wind whipped past him. The breach in the hull sucked air from the engine room. An eerie silence clamped down and Peter feared his eardrums had burst. The emergency doors slid abruptly closed, and fresh air poured into the partially depressurized area. Sound returned: he could hear screams, and shrieks of pain, beyond the ringing in his ears.

  He grabbed the edges of his console to steady himself. The general alarms moaned at a low pitch.

  “Oh, my God!” Grenni cried. His console was alight with warnings. “Pres, we gotta get out of here—”

  Peter looked up. Right above them, a heat-transfer pipe hissed thick yellow-green smoke through a crack in the triple-layered unbreakable matrix of the tube. Peter watched with horror. Coolant leak was supposed to be impossible.

  The radiation signal flashed stroboscopically while the noxious-gas warning hooted. The poisonous coolant gas flooded the trainees’ area. Peter’s eyes burned. Grenni grabbed his arm and tried to pull him away as the rest of the group fled.

  “You’re online!” Peter cried.

  “Shit!” Grenni yelled. He broke and ran.

  Peter fumbled for his respirator. He could barely see by the time he got it on. His chest felt crushed.

  The primary control panel was damaged, and Lieutenant Kasatsuki lay unconscious on the deck. She was responsible for the auxiliary power main controls that Grenni and Peter were supposed to back up. Now, Grenni’s console blinked and beeped for attention. If no one did anything, auxiliary power would fail completely.

  The gas closed in around Peter as he overrode the hardware hierarchy and brought his own machine on-line. Despite the respirator, his eyes still teared and burned.

  The screams of pain and fear crashed over him like waves. Commander Scott shouted orders amid the chaos. Peter heard it all, but it was a light-year away; he felt almost as if he had merged with the Enterprise—his actions came so smoothly and he knew so easily and so certainly what he had to do.

  Back on the bridge, Jim Kirk had his hands full.

  “Mister Sulu—the shields!”

  “Trying, sir!”

  The intercom broke through the disorder.

  “Medical alert, engine room!”

  McCoy was already halfway to the turbolift. He plunged into it and disappeared.

  “I can’t get any power, sir,” Sulu said.

  Kirk slammed his hand down on an intercom button. “Scotty!”

  A cacophony spilled from the intercom as every channel on the ship tried to break through.

  “Uhura, turn off that damned noise!”

  She hit the main cutoff.

  Silence.

  “Mister Scott on discrete,” she said.

  “Scotty, let’s have it.”

  His voice sounded strange: throat mike, Jim thought. He’s wearing a respirator! What the hell happened down there?

  “We’re just hanging on, sir. The main energizers are out.”

  “Auxiliary power,” Kirk said. “Damage report.”

  The forward viewscreen switched over to a schematic display of the Enterprise, with a shockingly large red high-damage area spreading outward from the engine room. Kirk and Spock surveyed the report.

  “Their attack indicates detailed knowledge of our vulnerabilities,” Spock said.

  “But who are those guys? Reliant is under—who?”

  “Clark Terrell,” Spock said. “A highly regarded commander, one likely neither to go berserk nor to become the victim of a mutiny.”

  “Then who’s attacking us? And why?”

  “One thing is certain,” Spock said. “We cannot escape on auxiliary power.”

  “Visual!” Kirk snapped. The screen flashed into a forward view from the bridge. Reliant, very close, faced them head-on. “Mister Sulu, divert everything to the phasers.”

  “Too late—” Spock said.

  In the viewscreen, Reliant’s photon torpedoes streaked toward them with an awful inevitability.

  The blast of energy sizzled through the ship, searing and melting computer chips, blowing out screens, crashing whole systems. A fire broke out on the upper deck. The acrid odor of singed plastic and vaporized metals clouded the air.

  “Scotty!” Kirk yelled. “What have we got left?”

  “Only the batteries, sir. I can have auxiliary power in a few minutes—”

  “We haven’t got a few minutes. Can you give me phasers?”

  “No’ but a few shots, sir.”

  “Not enough,” Spock said, “against their shields.”

  “Who the hell are they?” Kirk said again.

  “Admiral,” Uhura said, “Commander, Reliant is signaling….” She hesitated. “He wishes to discuss…terms of our surrender.”

  Kirk looked at Spock, who met his gaze impassively; he glanced at Saavik, expecting—he did not know what to expect from Saavik. Her self-control was as impenetrable as Spock’s.

  “On-screen,” Kirk said.

  “Admiral…” Uhura said.

  “Do it—while we still have time.”

  The viewscreen changed slowly, pixel by pixel, filling in a new image that gradually took the form of a face.

  “Khan!” Jim Kirk exclaimed.

  “You remember, Admiral, after
all these years. I cannot help but be touched. I feared you might have forgotten me. Of course I remember you.”

  “What’s the meaning of this?” Kirk said angrily. “Where’s Reliant’s crew?”

  “Have I not made my meaning plain?” Khan said dangerously. “I mean to avenge myself, Admiral. Upon you. I’ve deprived your ship of its power, and soon I intend to deprive you of your life.”

  “Reliant’s maneuvering, sir,” Sulu said very quietly. “Coming around for another shot.”

  “But I wanted you to know, as you die, who has beaten you: Khan Noonian Singh, the prince you tried to exile.”

  “Khan, listen to me!” Kirk said. “If it’s me you want, I’ll beam aboard your ship. All I ask is that you spare my crew. You can do what you want to me!”

  Khan lounged back, smiling pleasantly. He stretched his hands toward Kirk, palms up, as if weighing James Kirk, at his disposal, in one, against the Enterprise and Jim Kirk’s certain but more remote death, in the other.

  “That is a most intriguing offer. It is—” his voice became low and dangerous, “—typical of your sterling character. I shall consider it.”

  He paused for perhaps as much as a second.

  “I accept your terms—”

  Kirk stood up. Spock took one step toward him but halted when Kirk made an abrupt chopping gesture, back and down, with his hand.

  “—with only a single addition. You will also turn over to me all data and material regarding Project Genesis.”

  Jim Kirk forced himself not to react. “Genesis?” he said. “What’s that?”

  “Don’t play with me, Kirk. My hand is on the phaser control.”

  “I’ll have to put a search on it, Khan—give me some time. The computer damage—”

  “I give you sixty seconds, Admiral.”

  Kirk turned to Spock.

  “You cannot give him Genesis, Admiral,” the Vulcan said.

  Kirk spoke softly and out of range of the highly directional transmitter mike. “At least we know he hasn’t got it. Just keep nodding as though I’m giving orders. Lieutenant Saavik, punch up the data charts on Reliant’s command console. Hurry.”

  “Reliant’s command—?”