by Tony Daniel
“Mister Sulu, take us back to Vesbius at warp factor eight.” Kirk let out a breath and sat back in his chair. As he sometimes did in the midst of executing a plan, the captain took a moment to evaluate his current course of action. The Enterprise was ferrying the Horta across interstellar space, so they could tunnel an asteroid; in his gut the captain knew this was the right decision. Instinct was an indefinable concept, but so necessary when one was out here on the edge of the frontier with only oneself and one’s crew to rely on. It was an ability that had served him well as a starship captain.
It had taken several hours for the transporter operations to be complete and to get the Enterprise under way. And in those hours, Kirk was shocked to find that the condition of Hannah Faber had seriously deteriorated.
The captain received McCoy’s report on the viewscreen in his own quarters where he’d gone to take a two-hour nap. He’d been running nonstop for over fifteen hours, but he felt he could afford only a short rest until they were under way.
“It’s like the planetary DNA is unchecked and out of balance inside her. Her body is beginning to reject the portions of her genome that are human,” McCoy reported.
He recommended that she remain in sickbay indefinitely until the return, and Kirk readily agreed.
“Those bodyguards of hers aren’t doing so well either. Ferlein’s already in sickbay and out of commission. I’m keeping him sedated. That’s about the best I can do. Hox is showing signs of collapse, but so far, he’s hanging in there.”
“Major Merling?”
“He seems to be holding up all right,” McCoy answered. “He’s an immigrant, he’s got the Vesbian DNA like they all do. It’s just going to take a little longer to kill him.”
“Let’s try to make sure none of them die,” Kirk said. “Especially . . .”
McCoy softened his tone. “I’ll do my best, Jim.”
“I know you will, Bones.”
“Rest,” said McCoy. “That’s a medical order.”
“Will do. Kirk out.” He turned off the viewscreen, lay back on his bed, and was soon out like a light, despite his worries. This was another ability Kirk had that had served him in good stead over the years: He was an expert at power napping.
• • •
Hannah Faber lay suffering and Kirk was reduced to visiting her in sickbay. Their time alone together was over.
The monitors of the Enterprise’s sickbay had never troubled Kirk before, but now they seemed oppressive to him, an assault on his senses when all he wanted to do was pay attention to Hannah. The monitors that hung above the beds seemed more harbingers of doom than medical instruments. He wished that Hannah could be anywhere else but here. Yet she required constant observation and instant support when her fading system needed boosting with an injection or infusion of yet another cocktail of chemicals designed to keep her alive just a little longer, until she could reestablish her quantum-entangled, seemingly mystical connection with her homeworld.
Hannah looked so drawn and sallow, and her voice was only a shadow of the strong, honeyed voice he remembered from only days before. And yet even in her collapsing state, Hannah was still very beautiful to Kirk. He found himself imagining what it would be like to spend years with her, to attend her through sicknesses, to know her as an old woman.
This thought was one that Kirk seldom allowed himself to think when it came to his other romances. As he was a Starfleet officer, any woman who signed on with him was signing on for a life of hardship and long absences. This was something he did not want to inflict on anyone who was not prepared for the consequences of loving a starship captain.
But here he was considering what a life with a woman who was absolutely and totally bound to her own planet would be like. Of one thing Kirk was certain: It would be very difficult. Seeing Hannah here in sickbay drove home to him that everything she had said about her condition and the condition of her world was correct: Vesbians would die if they had to be away from their planet for very long. He knew he was watching her die. However, Hannah had assured him that she was young and strong and that a seventeen-day voyage, while it might push the limits of Vesbian physiology, would not kill a healthy Vesbian. Kirk silently held her to that promise as he watched Hannah collapse into autoimmune chaos.
She remained conscious for the most part, and McCoy was able to alleviate the pain she must be feeling in some measure, but Hannah had insisted that nothing blur her mental processes. This meant that she spent long stretches awake, unable to sleep because of the slow burn of agony she felt within.
Kirk spent as much time as he could with her. They did not speak much, but he found that looking into Hannah’s eyes was a kind of communication. At one point she whispered into his ear: “I think you are saving me, Jim. I underestimated how bad this would be. If you were not here, I believe that I would have succumbed to it. Thank you, my dear captain.”
“You’re welcome, Hannah,” Kirk replied. He would have leaned down and kissed her, but he had found that any contact with her skin caused Hannah pain and bruising. So he contented himself with once again looking into her eyes with love, and hoping that she could perceive the depth of his feeling.
At times she was able to drift into a fitful sleep, and when McCoy was done with his duties, the doctor insisted he and Kirk share a drink, usually a shot of the Earth whiskey they both enjoyed.
McCoy, for his part, had not modified his reaction to the genetic manipulation on Vesbius. Kirk could see that Bones was not comfortable with his captain’s attraction to someone who was no longer entirely human. Kirk tried to alleviate McCoy’s concerns, but the doctor merely shrugged and said, “I’m sure that Lieutenant McGivers felt the same way when she fell in love with Khan.”
“Are you suggesting that, whatever my feelings, I am somehow betraying humanity by being with her?” asked Kirk. “Doctor, do I need to remind you that I have always carried out my duty?” The ancient streets of New York flashed before him. Her fair face caught in the headlights . . . Edith. Kirk rubbed his forehead.
“What I’m asking you to do is step back for a moment. What I’m suggesting is that your own human nature may be betraying you,” said McCoy. “We are attracted as a species to perfect symmetry, perfect health, and perfect beauty. Hannah embodies those qualities. How much of Hannah’s loveliness is the result of genetic tinkering? How much of it is appearance rather than reality? When evolution produces a beauty, you understand that an enormous amount of collective experience is necessarily encoded into the same genome as the beauty. You might even call it a sort of wisdom. Can you state that a genetically engineered human beauty is anything other than a mask over who knows what kind of thing inside?”
Kirk nodded toward where Hannah lay. “Well, she’s not a beauty now, Bones, and I find my feelings have only deepened. The Vesbians denied that they have made any changes other than their correction for the autoimmune response within themselves.”
“Let’s say that I believe them,” said McCoy. “We know what the consequences were.”
Kirk knocked back his whiskey and slowly nodded. “I take your point, Doctor, but what’s done is done and apparently cannot be undone—at least not in time to save the population of the colony. All we can do is our duty to help, don’t you agree?”
“Does your duty include falling in love?”
Kirk looked up in surprise at the doctor. McCoy smiled and took a final sip of his own whiskey. “Just asking,” he said.
“It might,” said Kirk in reply. “Bones, it just might.” He held out his glass for another round.
• • •
Hikaru Sulu entered his favorite recreational room, rec room six on deck three, with a feeling of relief. This was the rec area with a dedicated connection to the ship computer’s library, and thus it offered a student as history-mad as Sulu plenty of material in which he might get lost in the glorious (if sometimes bloody) days of yore.
The last few days on the bridge had been some of the most diffi
cult duty he’d ever pulled as helmsman. Keeping the Enterprise shooting through space at warp eight was not merely a matter of touching a few buttons and then letting her go. Maintaining course at such a speed, the upper end of what the Enterprise was capable of, required constant corrections at the controls. In conjunction with the ship computer, Sulu had had to fly her as he might a small craft. Hour after hour, he had not been able to let his attention wane even in the slightest, for it was quite possible that an uncorrected course error could rapidly escalate into a major crisis that might require precious hours to fix—hours that the people of Vesbius did not have to spare. He’d wanted to remain at the helm for another long shift today, but the captain had ordered him to take a breather.
Two days after the visit to Janus VI, he was still filled with thoughts of the strange underground warrens of the Horta. It had been a fascinating landing party, and Sulu wished to explore what was known about this incredible species. What he really wished he could do was to meet and speak to a Horta in the manner that Spock could. But, failing that, he at least wanted to be prepared when he would deal with them in person. The helmsman wanted to find out their likes and dislikes in order to do his duty, but also out of pure curiosity. He also wanted to find out if any other silicon-based species were in the data banks, even non-sentient ones, and how first contact with those species had been handled. The chance to encounter beings like the Horta was one of the reasons Sulu had signed on to Starfleet to begin with.
But when Sulu took his first step into the rec area toward the library, he heard a sniffing intake of breath and turned to see that Major Merling was sitting in a corner nearby having a drink.
“Oh, great, the Japanese are here!” he said in a contemptuous tone upon seeing Sulu enter. He shot the helmsman a look of displeasure, if not outright loathing.
What did I ever do to that guy to deserve this? Sulu thought. Not only that, but I’m pretty sure that Merling has some Asian ancestry. It’s clear from his appearance that he does.
Sulu turned to Merling and asked, “Have I done something to offend you, Major?”
The Vesbian snorted in disbelief. “You would ask me that, wouldn’t you? I suppose it means nothing to your sort.”
“What are you talking about?”
“The murder of your betters, that’s what I’m talking about,” said Merling. “What you Japanese weaklings did to the Chinese over the centuries is despicable.”
Sulu was not a confrontational sort, but he couldn’t ignore this jibe. There were at least ten other people in the rec room at the moment, and they were listening in as well, wondering how Sulu would respond.
Try to be reasonable, Sulu thought. Getting angry over what’s long passed serves no purpose.
Sulu walked across to Merling’s table and sat down across from the major.
“You’ve got to be joking,” said Sulu. “I’m from San Francisco. Anyway, that’s ancient history. Japan? China? Earth is united, and we’re in the Federation. We believe that people of all cultures must work together for the common good of the galaxy.”
True, he did find Japanese history fascinating, and sometimes he even imagined himself a modern-day samurai. In any case, Sulu was just as interested in his own ancestors’ more recent history, from their time spent in internment camps during a particularly benighted moment for a frightened United States during Earth’s World War II to the rise of the Sulus as a prominent family in San Francisco.
He had a feeling Merling wouldn’t take the slightest interest in such matters were Sulu to bring them up, The major seemed to be lost in his own particular delusions at the moment.
Merling pushed back from the table as if to distance himself from Sulu.
“The common good?” said Merling with a laugh. “Humanity gave up on its own common good centuries ago. We stopped trying to make ourselves better and settled for mediocrity. And that’s what your Federation has gotten you: a galaxy of mediocrity. Well, you can have it.”
“I don’t accept your premise. The Federation strives to excel,” said Sulu. “I am proud to serve as a Starfleet officer and believe that we are doing good work.”
“That’s what you’ve been taught to believe by your masters,” Merling answered.
Sulu touched his own chin in puzzlement. “My . . . masters? And who might they be?”
“Those pointy-eared computers who never should’ve been allowed to join the Federation in the first place. Now they are the ones pulling the strings.”
“Are you talking about Vulcans?” Sulu said.
“I am indeed,” said Merling. “And speaking of genetic manipulation, take a look at the cold and calculated way they breed their stock. They know how to keep themselves in a dominant position over weaklings, humans and others.”
“You’re a Vulcan Domination conspiracy theorist?” Sulu said in amazement. He had heard about such people, but he’d never met one before.
“It’s not a conspiracy when it’s right out there in the open for anyone to see who has eyes,” said Merling. “Only the cattle are too stupid to recognize that they’re being fattened up for a purpose.”
What a quack. But then Sulu considered an alternate explanation: Maybe this was some sort of adverse reaction to medication.
“Have you been taking your autoimmune vaccine?” Sulu asked.
“I have, and what the devil does that have to do with anything?”
“And you’ve experienced no . . . adverse reactions? Chief Advisor Faber has become quite ill, I believe.”
Merling nodded knowingly and chuckled. “The children of Vesbius. Greatness built into their genes—engineered—and yet they refuse to take the next step.”
“What would that be?”
“To throw off the Vulcan yoke,” spat out Merling. “To take humanity’s rightful place in the galaxy.”
“Major Merling,” Sulu said respectfully, “I think I’ll get to my library studies now.”
Sulu stood up and made to leave the table.
As quickly as the look of rage had passed over Merling’s face, he seemed to gain control and stifle it. “Please excuse me, Ensign—”
“Lieutenant.”
“Lieutenant, I mean,” Merling said. “Yes, I have to admit that I’m not feeling myself. The injections are perhaps starting to take their toll.”
“Can I help in any way?”
The snarling Merling returned as quickly as it had fled.
“I don’t want your aid, hinomoto oniko,” said Merling in a low voice. The ancient insult meant “son of a devil”—a Chinese slur against Japanese soldiers.
Sulu thought it more amusing than insulting. He shrugged. “You know, if all that you say is true, what could we ‘cattle’ do about it? It seems that you believe we are not even capable of becoming aware of our own situation.”
“I would say you ought to rise up against the bastards,” Merling said. “But it’s too late for that. That man Khan, he had the right idea. You met him, didn’t you?”
“I had that misfortune,” Sulu replied evenly. He put his hands on the back of the chair he stood behind.
Guess I’ll stay a little longer and jawbone with this maniac, he thought. It’s still possible I may be able to talk some reason into him after all.
Merling had brought up one of Sulu’s most distasteful memories.
He had felt an instant dislike for the product of the Earth Eugenics Wars that had been brought aboard the Enterprise. His aversion had begun even before Khan showed his true colors and attempted to take over the Enterprise, almost killing the captain in a decompression chamber before he could be stopped. Sulu’s admiration for Kirk had been stoked higher when the captain had sentenced the Augment to life on a harsh unsettled planet instead of handing him over to Starfleet. It had been a bold move, one that Sulu had not thought of and that had only increased his desire to learn by serving with such an extraordinary captain.
“If Khan had won his war all those centuries ago,” said Merling, “h
umanity might have been able to stand up to the Vulcans and not become their chattel.” Merling shook his head and took another drink from his glass. Sulu saw now that Merling was pretty far in his cups, and what he was listening to was more drunk rambling than coherent philosophy.
“Well, I must do a little research on a library computer,” said Sulu. “So if you’ll excuse me, Major.”
Merling abruptly stood up. He glared at Sulu.
“Go about your business, hinomoto oniko, and I’ll go about mine.”
For moment, Sulu believed that Merling might physically leap across the table and attack him. He was quite certain that he could take the major out with a couple of blows, but then he would have so much explaining to do and so much paperwork that it was not worth the satisfaction he would get from putting the major in his place.
But Merling had solved the problem for Sulu by breaking off his gaze and then stumbling out of the rec room. Sulu, still standing with his hands on the chair in front of the table where Merling had been, looked after the exiting major in befuddlement.
“Well, you sure are cool under fire, Lieutenant,” said one of the ensigns in the rec room. “I’d have been tempted to brain that moron.”
Sulu smiled. “Not enough brains there to knock out,” he replied. “And definitely not worth the effort to find them.”
There was muted laughter around the rec room, and Sulu made his way to his intended destination.
What a strange, unhappy man, he thought. I have a very bad feeling about him. Not unlike the feeling I had when I first saw the Botany Bay.
Sulu decided his Horta research could wait. He wasn’t sure what Merling might be up to—probably just slinking back to his cabin. But whatever it was, he was going to find out. And for that, a bit of research on Major Merling might be in order.
• • •
Major Merling stumbled down the corridor a few steps. When he got out of the line of sight of the rec room entrance, he straightened up and began walking in a sober manner.
So easy to fool the cattle, Merling thought to himself. Enjoyable as well.
It had been necessary that he appear drunk in order to establish an alibi for what he was going to do next. While Merling had once believed he had a ally in Kirk and the Enterprise—however misguided the Starfleet captain and his benighted crew actually were—it had soon become apparent that, while they were all for getting the Vesbians to evacuate the planet surface and find a new home, the reasons they wished to do this were counterproductive, to Merling and the Exos movement.
