STAR TREK: TOS #7 - Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan

by Vonda N. McIntyre (Novelization)

  Rain the night before had left the day 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 thunder-heads, Mount Shasta.

  The shuttle continued its ascent. Distance blurred the evidence of civilization, even of life, stripping the [59] 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 on 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 Space Dock 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, Mr. 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 Mr. 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, Captain.”

  Hikaru glanced down at the shiny new braid on his uniform. He was not quite used to it yet.

  [60] “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, Captain. 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 were by chance thinking of something else, Hikaru felt it would be more politic not to remind him of the other.

  [61] “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 command, 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, Captain Sulu.”

  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.”

  [62] When Sulu had completed the preparations, Kirk caught his gaze again.

  “By the way, Captain, 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. It’s not very long till the end of the month—when you take command of Excelsior.”

  “I’m ready, sir. I’ve looked forward to it for a long time.”

  “I know. I took a lot of pleasure in personally cutting the orders for your first command.”

  “Thank you, Admiral.”

  “But I’m still grateful to have you at the helm for three weeks.” 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, “Mr. Sulu, I don’t believe those kids can steer.”

  Lieutenant Saavik watched Enterprise Shuttle Seven as it settled into its transport moorings; its pilot—Captain 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 [63] 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, S
aavik 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, Mr. Scott,” he said to the chief engineer. “You old spacedog, Scotty, are you well?”

  “Aye, Admiral. I had a wee bout, but Dr. 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 [64] 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?

  Mr. Scott glanced at Dr. 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,” Mr. 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. Mr. Scott and Dr. McCoy knew of some event in Mr. Scott’s life that the admiral wished to know, but which Mr. Scott would be embarrassed to reveal. Dr. 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 were 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 which could not help but affect those around him.

  [65] 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.

  Kirk smiled, came to attention, and saluted in the same style.

  If he laughs at Peter, Saavik thought, I shall certainly rip out his liver.

  The civilized part of her, taking over again after the infinitesimal lapse, replied: You most certainly shall not; besides—do you even know where the liver is in a human?

  “Is this your first training voyage, Mr. Preston?”

  “Yes, sir!”

  “I see. In that case, I think we should start the inspection with the engine room.”

  “Aye, sir!”

  “I dinna doubt ye’ll find all in order,” Mr. Scott said.

  “We shall see you on the bridge, Admiral,” the captain said.

  “Very good, Mr. Spock.”

  Engineer Scott started toward the turbo-lift with Kirk; the engine room company followed. Peter flashed Saavik a quick, delighted grin, and hurried after them.

  The rest of the ship’s personnel dispersed quickly to attend their posts. Spock and Saavik left for the bridge.

  “Have you any observations to make, Lieutenant Saavik?” Spock asked.

  “The admiral is ... not quite what I expected, Captain.”

  .”And what did you expect?”

  Saavik paused in thought. What had she expected? Spock held James Kirk in high regard, and she had based her preconceptions almost entirely on this fact. I expected him to be like Spock, she thought. But he resembles him not at all.

  “He’s very ... human. ...”

  “You must remember that, as a member of Starfleet, [66] you are unlikely ever to escape the presence of humans, or their influence. Tolerance is essential; in addition, it is logical.”

  “You are my mentor, Captain. Your instruction has been invaluable to me—indeed, it is indispensable.” They stepped into the main turbo-lift.

  “Bridge,” Spock said. “Saavik, no one exists who has experiences and heritage similar enough to yours to advise you competently. Even I can only tell you that, as a Vulcan and a Romulan in a world of humans, you are forever a stranger. You will have to deal with strangers who may, at times, seem incomprehensible to you.”

  “Captain,” Saavik said carefully, “I confess that I had not expected the admiral to be quite so representative of his culture. However, I intended no prejudice against Admiral Kirk, nor intolerance of human beings.”

  The doors to the turbo-lift opened onto the bridge, ending the conversation.

  Peter Preston stood at attention next to the control console that was his responsibility. It was the second backup system for auxiliary power, and its maintenance records showed that except for testing, it had not even been directly on-line for two years. Nevertheless, Peter had checked out every circuit and every memory nexus and every byte of its data base a dozen times over. Sometimes, late at night when the ship was docked without even a skeleton crew on duty, Peter came down and ran his console through its diagnostic programs. He loved being here all alone in the enormous engine room with the echoes of tremendous energy fluxes scintillating around him.

  Peter stood last in line for inspection. He could hardly bear the wait. He knew his console was in perfect shape. But what if Admiral Kirk found something wrong? What if—

  The admiral stopped in front of him, looked him up [67] and down, and drew one finger along the edge of the console. Looking for dust? There definitely was not any dust.

  “I believe you’ll find everything shipshape, Admiral,” Peter said, and immediately wished he had kept his mouth shut.

  “Oh, do you?” Kirk said sternly. “Mr. Preston, do you have any idea, any idea at all, how often I’ve had to listen to Mr. Scott tell me that one more warp factor will blow the ship to bits?”

  “Uh, no sir,” Peter said, quite startled.

  “Mr. Preston, do you know how they refer to the Enterprise in the officers’ mess?”

  “Uh, no sir,” Peter said again, and then thought, brilliant line, kid. Why don’t you use it one more time and make a really good impression?

  “Why, they call it ‘the flying deathtrap.’ And they aren’t referring to the food.”

  “Sir, that’s not true! This is the best ship in the whole Starfleet!”

  The admiral started to smile, and Mr. Scott chuckled. Peter felt the blood rising to his face. Oh, no, he though
t, I fell for it; Dannan warned me, and I still fell for it. Dannan, his oldest sister, was already a commander; she was twelve years older than he, and he had absorbed her stories, practically through his skin, since before he could remember. If she saw him now, he knew she would tease him about looking like a ripe tomato, he blushed so hard. That is, if she would even speak to him once she found out he’d acted like such a dope.

  “And begging the admiral’s pardon, sir,” Peter said, “but the only person who couldn’t see the truth about this ship would have to be as blind as a Tiberian bat! Sir.”

  Kirk looked at him for a moment. Then he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small spidery little construction of glass and gold wire. He unfolded it, balanced it on his nose, hooked some of the wires [68] around his ears, peered closely through the lenses at the console and over the tops of the lenses at the rest of the engine room, and finally turned to Peter again.

  “By God, you’re right, Mr. Preston. It is a good ship.”

  Dr. McCoy laughed, and so did Mr. Scott. For a horrible moment, Peter was afraid one of the three men was going to reach out and pat him on the head, but they spared him that. As they walked away, he could not help but hear their conversation.

  “Scotty, your cadet’s a tiger.”

  “My sister’s youngest, Admiral.”

  Oh, no, Peter thought, why did he have to tell the admiral he’s my uncle? Peter himself had told no one in the training group, and he had hoped that Uncle Montgomery hadn’t, either. Peter valued his uncle’s advice and love and even his occasional crotchetiness, but things would have been easier, clearer somehow, if he were training under someone unrelated to him.

  “Crazy to get to space,” Mr. Scott said. “Always has been.”

  “Every youngster’s fancy,” Admiral Kirk said. “I seem to remember it myself.”

  They stopped at the far end of the engine room; the admiral listened as Mr. Scott pointed out improvements added since Kirk’s last visit.

  Peter ducked out of line, sprinted to the tool bay, rummaged around in his bin for a moment, and hurried to his place again.

  At the console next to him, Grenni glanced at him sidelong and muttered, “What the hell you doin’, Pres? We’re not dismissed yet.”