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

by Vonda N. McIntyre (Novelization)

  “I’ll put it in the Monster,” Del said.

  “Oh, I see,” Carol said smiling. “This whole thing is a ploy for you guys to get room to play in the main machine.”

  “You got it,” Vance said.

  They all laughed again. They had been working forty-eight hours straight. Del felt punchy with exhaustion and marvelously silly.

  Carol patted Vance’s hand and stood up. “Thank you,” she said. “That feels a lot better.”

  “You’re welcome,” he said. “You looked like you needed it.”

  Zinaida entered the lab.

  Over the past year, Del had got used to working with her, but he never had managed to get over a sharp thrill of attraction and desire whenever he saw her. Deltans affected humans that way. The stimulus was general rather than individual. Del understood it intellectually. Getting the message through to his body was another thing.

  No Deltan would ever permit her- or himself to become physically involved with a human being. The idea was ethically inconceivable, for no human could tolerate the intensity of the intimacy.

  Dreaming never hurt anyone, though, and sometimes Del dreamed about Zinaida Chitirih-Ra-Payjh; in his dreams he could pretend that he was different, that he could provide whatever she asked and survive whatever she offered.

  The Deltans, Zinaida and Jedda both, were unfailingly cordial to the humans on the station; they comported themselves with an aloofness and propriety more characteristic of Vulcans than of the uninhibited sensualists Deltans were said to be. They seldom touched each other in public, and never anyone else. [112] They kept a protective wall of detachment between themselves and their vulnerable co-workers, most of whom were acutely curious to know what it was they did in private, but who knew better than to ask.

  Zinaida greeted them and turned on the subspace communicator. Ever since the call from Reliant, one or another of the scientists tried to contact the Federation every hour or so. Except for Carol’s half-completed transmission to James Kirk, no one had met with any success.

  This time it was just the same. Zinaida shrugged, turned off the communicator, and joined her teammates by the computer.

  “Genesis is about ready,” she said to Carol. “David and Jedda thought you would want to be there.”

  Her eyebrows were as delicate and expressive as bird wings, and her lashes were long and thick. Her eyes were large, a clear aquamarine blue flecked with bright silver, the most beautiful eyes Del had ever seen.

  “Thanks, Zinaida,” Carol said. “We’ll get it out of here—then I guess all we can do is wait.” She left the lab.

  Del knew she still hoped Reliant might be called off: if it was, they would not have to purge the computer memories. Once that was done, getting everything back on-line would be a major undertaking. The last thing they planned to do before fleeing was to let the liquid hydrogen tanks—the bubble baths—purge themselves into space. The equipment only worked when it was supercooled; at room temperature, it deteriorated rapidly. Rebuilding would take a lot of time.

  Jan, the steward, came in a moment after Carol left.

  “Yoshi wants to know what anybody wants him to bring in the way of food.”

  Yoshi, the cook, had put off his leave till the rest of the station personnel returned from holiday. He was convinced the scientists would kill themselves with food poisoning or malnutrition if they were left completely to their own devices.

  [113] “He really shouldn’t have to worry about it,” Del said.

  Jan shrugged cheerfully. “Well, you know Yoshi.”

  “How about sashimi?” Del said.

  “Yechh,” said Vance.

  “I think he had in mind croissants and fruit and coffee.”

  “Jan, why did he put you to the trouble of asking, if he’d already decided?”

  “I don’t know. I guess so you have the illusion of being in charge of your own fate. Do you know when we’re going? Or how long we’ll be?”

  “No to both questions. We may be gone for a while.

  Maybe you ought to tell him we suggested pemmican.”

  “Hell, no,” Jan said. “If I do, he’ll figure out a way to make some, and it sounds even worse than sashimi.”

  After Jan left, Del poured himself a cup of coffee, wandered down to his office, and checked to be sure he had got all his lab notes. The top of his desk was clear for the first time since he came to Spacelab. The office felt bare and deserted, as if he were moving out permanently. The framed piece of calligraphy on the wall was the only thing left: he saw no need to put it away, and it seemed silly to take it. He read it over for the first time in quite a while:

  Come, listen, my men, while I tell you again

  The five unmistakable marks

  By which you may know, wheresoever you go,

  The warranted genuine Snarks.

  Let us take them in order. The first is the taste,

  Which is meagre and hollow, but crisp:

  Like a coat that is rather too tight in the waist,

  With a flavor of Will-o-the-Wisp.

  Its habit of getting up late you’ll agree

  That it carries too far, when I say

  That it frequently breakfasts at five-o’clock tea,

  And dines on the following day.

  [114] The third is its slowness in taking a jest.

  Should you happen to venture on one,

  It will sigh like a thing that is deeply distressed:

  And it always looks grave at a pun.

  The fourth is its fondness for bathing-machines,

  Which it constantly carries about,

  And believes that they add to the beauty of scenes—

  A sentiment open to doubt.

  The fifth is ambition. It next will be right

  To describe each particular batch:

  Distinguishing those that have feathers, and bite,

  From those that have whiskers, and scratch.

  For although common Snarks do no manner of harm,

  Yet I feel it my duty to say

  Some are Boojums—

  —Lewis Carroll

  “The Hunting of the Snark”

  Del sat on the corner of his desk and sipped his coffee. Exhaustion was beginning to catch up with him, dissolving the fine thrill of defiance into doubt.

  Vance came in and straddled a chair, folding his arms across its back. Del waited, but his partner did not say anything. He reached for Del’s cup. Del handed it to him and Vance drank some of the coffee. He had always had a lot more endurance than Del, but even he was beginning to look tired.

  “I can’t figure out what to take.”

  “I don’t know, either,” Del said. “A toothbrush and a lot of books?”

  Vance smiled, but without much conviction. He drank some more of Del’s coffee, grimaced, and handed back the cup. “How many times has that stuff boiled?”

  “Sorry. I forgot to turn down the heat.”

  [115] Vance suddenly frowned and looked around the room. “Little brother ...” he said.

  Del started. Vance had not called him that since high school.

  “Little brother, this is all bullshit, you know.”

  “I don’t know. What are you talking about?”

  “If the military decides to take Genesis, they will, and there’s not a damned thing we’ll be able to do about it.”

  “There’s got to be! You’re beginning to sound like Dave.”

  “For all our Lewis Carroll recitations, for all our doing our amateur comedian number at seminars—hell, even for all the fun we’ve had—we’ve been hiding out from the implications of our work. This has been inevitable since the minute we figured out how to break up quarks en masse without a cyclotron.”

  “What are you saying we ought to do? Just turn everything over to Reliant when it gets here?”

  “No! Gods, Del, no.”

  “Sorry,” Del said sincerely. He knew Vance better than that. “That was a stupid thing to say. I’m sorry
.”

  “I mean the exact opposite. Only ... I don’t really know what I mean by meaning the exact opposite. Except, we can’t let them have it. No matter what.”

  All of a sudden the lights started flashing on and off, on and off, and a siren howled. Vance jumped to his feet.

  “What the hell—!”

  “That’s the emergency alarm!” Del said.

  They sprinted out of Del’s office.

  Something must have happened when they tried to move Genesis, Del thought.

  Vance, with his longer stride, was ten meters ahead of him by the time they reached the main lab. He ran into the room—

  Two strangers stepped out of hiding and held phasers on him. He stopped and raised his hands but kept on [116] walking forward, drawing their attention farther into the lab and away from the corridor. Del ducked into a doorway and pressed himself against the shadows, taking the chance his friend had given him.

  “What the hell is going on?” he heard Vance say. “Who are you people?”

  “We’ve come for Genesis.”

  Damn, Del thought. We spent the last two days running around in a fit of paranoia about the military, and not one of us thought to wonder if they were telling the truth about arriving in three days.

  He opened the door behind him, slipped into the dark room, and locked the door. He felt his way to the communications console and keyed it on.

  “Hi, Del,” David said cheerfully. “Can you wait a minute? We’re just about to move.”

  “No!” Del whispered urgently. “Dave, keep your voice down. They’re here! They’ve got Vance and Zinaida.”

  “What?”

  “They lied to us! They’re here already. Get Genesis out, fast.”

  He heard a strange noise in the corridor, searched his mind for what the sound could be, and identified it: a tricorder.

  “Dave, dammit, they’re tracking me! Get Genesis out, and get out yourselves before they find you, too!”

  “But—”

  “Don’t argue! Look, they’re not gonna hurt us. What can they do? Maybe dump us in a brig someplace. Somebody’s got to be loose to tell the Federation what’s going on. To get us out if they try to keep us incommunicado. Go!”

  “Okay.”

  Del slammed off the intercom and accessed the main computer. He had to wipe the memories before he got caught. The tricorder hummed louder.

  The computer came on line.

  “Ok,” it said.

  [117] “Liquid hydrogen tanks, purge protocol,” Del said softly.

  The door rattled.

  “We know you’re in there! Come out at once!”

  “That’s a safeguarded routine,” the computer said.

  “I know,” Del said.

  “Ok. Which tanks do you wish to purge?”

  Somebody banged on the locked door, but it held. Del answered the computer’s questions as quickly and as softly as he could speak. As a safety precaution, the liquid hydrogen tanks would not accept the purge command without several codes and a number of overrides. Del assured the program that he wanted everything purged except for one memory bath.

  The banging and thumping grew louder. He was almost done.

  “All right!” he yelled. “All right, I’m coming.” They didn’t hear him, or they didn’t believe him, or they didn’t care.

  “What?” the computer said.

  “I wasn’t talking to you that time.”

  “Ok. Codes acceptable. Safeguards overridden. Purge routine ready. Please say your identity password.”

  “March Hare,” Del said.

  “Ok. Purge initiated.”

  A moment later, the computer’s memory began to fail, and the system crashed.

  A laser-blaster exploded the door inward. The concussion nearly knocked Del to the floor. He grabbed at the console and turned it off. The screen’s glow faded as the invaders rushed him.

  He raised his hands in surrender.

  The tanks were venting into space. In about one minute, nothing at all would be left in any of the station’s computers. Except Mad Rabbit Productions’ Boojum Hunt.

  Four strangers came through the ruined door, three with phasers, one with a blaster.

  [118] “Come with us.” The one with the blaster gestured toward the exit.

  Del raised his hands a little higher. “All right, all right,” he said to her. “I told you I was coming.”

  They herded him into the main lab. About twenty people guarded Vance, Zinaida, Jan, and Yoshi. The strangers, rough and wild, sure did not look like Starfleet personnel.

  Vance gave Del a questioning glance. Del nodded very slightly: mission accomplished.

  A white-haired, cruel-faced man stood up and approached them. Nearly as tall as Vance, he was arrogant and elegant despite his ragged clothing.

  “I’ve come for Genesis,” he said. “Where is it?”

  “The scientists shipped out of here a couple hours ago,” Vance said. “They didn’t tell us where they went or what they took. We’re just technicians.”

  The leader of the group turned to one of his people.

  Del recognized Pavel Chekov, and cursed under his breath. Captain Terrell stood a bit farther back in the group. Neither appeared to be a prisoner—in fact, they both carried phasers.

  “Is this true, Mr. Chekov?”

  “No, Khan.” Pale and blank-looking, Chekov spoke without expression.

  “Who is he?” Khan gestured toward Vance.

  “Dr. Vance Madison.”

  Khan took a step toward him. Two of his people grabbed Vance’s arms. Del saw what was coming and fought to go to Vance’s aid. One of the people behind him put a choke-hold on him.

  Khan struck Vance a violent backhand blow to the face, flinging him against his captors. Dazed, Vance shook his head. He straightened up. A thin trickle of blood ran down his chin.

  “Do not lie to me again, Dr. Madison.”

  Khan went back to questioning Chekov.

  “Who are these others?”

  Chekov said he did not know Yoshi or Jan, but he [119] identified Zinaida and Del. Del tried to figure out what was going on. What were Chekov and Terrell doing with this bunch of pirates?

  “You can save yourselves a great deal of unpleasantness by cooperating,” Khan said.

  No one spoke.

  “My lord—”

  “Yes, Joachim?”

  “There’s nothing in the computer but this.”

  Khan joined Joachim and gazed down at the computer screen. At first he smiled. That scared Del, because it indicated that Khan had either seen Carol’s grant application or otherwise knew a good deal about Genesis. The opening Boojum graphics closely resembled a Genesis simulation.

  Del looked across at Vance, worried about him.

  “You okay?”

  The woman behind Del tightened her hold on his throat so that he shut up. But Vance nodded. The dazed look, at least, had disappeared.

  Khan suddenly shouted, incoherent with rage. “A game!” he screamed. “What do you mean, a game!”

  Yoshi was the nearest to him of the station personnel. Khan swung around and grabbed him.

  “A game! Where is Genesis?” He picked Yoshi up and shook him violently.

  “I don’t know!”

  “He’s telling the truth! Leave him alone!” Vance struggled but could not get free.

  Khan set Yoshi down gently.

  “This one knows nothing of Genesis?” he asked kindly.

  “That’s right. Whatever you’re after, Jan and Yoshi have nothing to do with it. Leave them alone.”

  Khan drew a knife from his belt. Before anyone understood what he planned, he grabbed Yoshi by the hair, jerked his head back, and cut his throat. Yoshi did not even cry out. Blood spurted across the room. Warm droplets spattered Del’s cheek.

  [120] “My God!”

  Someone—one of Khan’s own people—screamed. Khan reached for Jan. Del wrenched himself out of his captors’ hands and lun
ged. The knife flashed again. Jan’s scream stopped suddenly, and arterial blood sprayed out. Del grabbed Khan, who turned smoothly and expertly and sank his blade to its hilt in Del’s side.

  “Del!” Vance cried.

  Del felt the warmth of the blade, but no pain: he thought it had slid along his skin just beneath his ribs.

  He grappled with Khan, straining to reach his throat, but was outnumbered. Within a few seconds, they had powered him to the floor. That was the worst show he’d put up since the last time Vance dragged him drunk and stoned and bruised out of a bar and made him promise to quit mixing recreational drugs. He had kept the promise, too.

  Weird to remember that now.

  He pushed himself to his hands and knees.

  Someone kicked him.

  Del cried out in shock and surprise at the pain. He fell, then rolled over onto his back. The ceiling lights glared in his eyes. Everyone was staring at him, Khan with a faint smile. Del put his hand to his side, which should have ached, but which hurt with a high, throbbing pain.

  His hand came away soaked with blood. That was the first time he realized Khan had stabbed him.

  They dragged him to his feet. His knees felt weak, and he was dizzy.

  Four people barely succeeded in holding Vance down.

  Khan stood just near enough to tempt Del to kick at him, just far enough away to make any attempt futile and stupid. Del pressed his hand hard against the knife wound. It was very deep. Blood flowed steadily against the pressure.

  Yoshi was dead, but Jan moved weakly, bleeding pulsebeats. Someone moved to help him.

  [121] “Leave him!” Khan snarled.” “Let him die; he is worthless to me.” He gestured at Del. “Hold his arms.”

  They already held him tightly, but they forced his hands behind his back. The wound bled more freely.

  Khan turned away and strolled to a nearby workbench. “Your laboratory is excellently equipped,” he said matter-of-factly, while everyone else in the room, even his people, stared horrified at Jan slowly bleeding to death.

  “My God,” Vance whispered in fury. “You’re insane!” He strained around. “Chekov! Terrell! You can’t just stand there and let him die!”