The Captain's Daughter

by Peter David

  She sat down at the helm station, studying the controls. "Commander Demora Sulu, reporting for duty," she said, dropping her voice an octave and trying to sound official.

  She started touching controls at random. "Heading at two-ten mark three," she said briskly. "No Romulans. No Kling … wait! I see one coming" She pushed a button. "B-kow! Got you! Hmm! They were guarding that planet! Scanning the planet surface … Captain! It appears to be … an entirely new race of little blue squishy guys! And …"

  Suddenly she heard a rumbling. For a brief moment she thought there was an earthquake. Then her head snapped around and she saw the source: The large double doors through which she'd entered had just slid closed.

  She froze and looked back at the controls. Had she done that? She didn't think so, but she'd been touching pads and controls pretty much with abandon. "Hello?" she called cautiously, in such a small voice that she almost couldn't hear herself.

  Then the air around her crackled and she heard something. It was some sort of message, a voice speaking with tremendous urgency.

  "Imperative," it said. "This is the Kobayashi Maru, nineteen parsecs out of Altair Six. We've struck a gravitic mine and have lost all power." The transmission was awful, almost impossible to make out. "Our hull is penetrated and we have sustained many casualties …"

  Demora was frozen in her chair. It certainly sounded like a genuine transmission. Was anyone else hearing it? Of course, they had to be. Perhaps she was somehow picking up something coming through Starfleet Communicore. It wasn't all that far off, after all.

  Kobayashi Maru. That name sounded familiar for some reason. Her father had mentioned it at some point, but she couldn't remember exactly when. He'd told her about so many adventures, mentioned so many ships, that sometimes they seemed to blur together. Which one was the Kobayashi Maru again …?

  She looked toward the console from where the transmission was originating, as it continued, "Enterprise, our position is Gamma Hydra Section Ten."

  Enterprise? The ship was talking directly to the Enterprise? That would explain it. The Enterprise was running training maneuvers in the immediate sector. That's pretty much what it was used for these days. Her dad had grumbled about it from time to time, saying that it was a remarkable waste of an incredible ship, and she deserved better. He always called it "she," with enough affection that occasionally Demora even felt a little jealous.

  Was she going to hear the Enterprise's response? Or was this fluke picking up only one-half of the conversation?

  She heard the even fainter voice of the commander of the Kobayashi Maru as he said, "Hull penetrated! Life-support systems failing! Can you assist us, Enterprise? Can you assist us—?"

  Demora desperately wished she could be up there to help them. There was no doubt in her mind that they were going to be okay, however. If the Enterprise was on the job, they were as good as saved.

  She imagined herself at the helm, bringing the Enterprise within range of the stricken ship. "Just stay calm," she said with authority. "The Enterprise is on her way. Captain Hikaru Sulu commanding, Commander Demora Sulu at the helm." She punched in several commands at random. "Won't be any problem at—"

  The console exploded.

  Demora was blown backward and out of her chair, hitting the deck. All around her the lights were blinking red, alert sirens screeching.

  Oh my God, I broke it! Dad's gonna kill me! went through her terrified mind.

  Another console blew up. Demora shrieked, trying to back away from it, and then another one went. Smoke was pouring everywhere, flames dancing all around. She didn't know where to look first. The petrified girl clutched the arm of the command chair. "Heellppppp!" she howled. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry! Get me out of here!"

  And from what seemed an infinite distance, a voice said, "There's someone in there. Sir, I think there's someone in there!"

  And another voice, stronger, deeper, more authoritative, said, "Open it up. There's not supposed to be anyone there. Open it up, dammit!"

  There was the sound of gears shifting, and the double doors began to slide open.

  She dashed for them, her legs pumping, her heart pounding. And she ran squarely into someone who appeared to be an instructor … at least, she thought he was. Her eyes were tearing from her fear and mortification, not to mention the smoke.

  He halted her headlong flight by taking her firmly by the shoulders. "Who are you, young lady?"

  "I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" She was frantic.

  The red light from the alert was flickering across his face. "What's your name?"

  "D … Demora …"

  "Demora. What were you doing in there, Demora?"

  "I was …" Her body was trembling. "I was pretending I was a helmsman … like my father. . . ."

  "And your father is …?"

  "Going to be so mad!" she wailed. "Excuse me! I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" And she pulled away from him, running at full speed.

  The man watched her go, and a technician came up beside him. "I'm sorry, Admiral Kirk. I swear, I had no idea anyone was in there. I'd never have run the pyrotechnics systems check if I'd known that …"

  "It's all right, Tuchinsky," said Kirk. "She didn't seem hurt. Just scared half out of her mind. Find her, find out who she belongs to, and have her escorted out of the building, if you wouldn't mind."

  Kirk shook his head as Tuchinsky headed off after the frightened young girl. He had a feeling it would be quite a long time before she stuck her nose where it didn't belong.

  He glanced at the simulator and sighed. What an image that made: The Enterprise bridge with a kid at the helm.

  "That'll be the day," murmured Admiral Kirk.

  Tuchinsky didn't find Demora, try as he might, even after he searched the entire building. That was possibly because Demora was no longer in the building, which was fine by Tuchinsky. He went back to Admiral Kirk, told him the girl had scampered, and that was more than enough for Kirk. She'd probably gone running back to her parents, tail between her legs, with a valuable lesson learned.

  Demora, meantime, was crouched behind a hedge.

  She sat there, red-faced and mortified, her legs drawn up under her chin.

  "Excuse me."

  She looked up.

  The young man whom she'd been watching through the window—the groundskeeper—stood over her, looking down with a grave expression. "There's more comfortable places to sit, and a staggering percentage of them won't be in my way," he said sharply. He didn't sound like the type of person who suffered fools gladly.

  She didn't say anything. Instead she just got to her feet and began to walk away, her shoulders sloped.

  "Don't do that," he snapped.

  She stopped and turned, looking at him in confusion. "Don't do what?"

  "That defeated look. You're not defeated. You don't know what defeated is. You're too young for that."

  "I'm embarrassed. I screwed up."

  He stepped forward, took her chin and brusquely snapped her head right and left. "Hey! What're you doing?!" she demanded.

  "Looking for pointed ears or antennae or something like that. You got something like that?"

  "No!"

  "So you're human."

  "Yes!"

  "So you're a human and you screwed up. There's a news item for you." He shook his head and started to walk away.

  "Who the hell are you?" she demanded.

  "Boothby," he said.

  "Boothby. First name or last name?"

  "Who cares? Just shout Boothby. You either get me or my father, which is who you were looking for in the first place. My father's the groundskeeper here. I help him. Someday I'll be doing it myself. How's that for a legacy? A landscape filled with space cadets who tromp around on the grass or sit around being depressed." He shook his head. "Grumpy old man. Hope if I get like that, somebody just shoots me and puts me out of my misery."

  Too late, thought Demora. Out loud she said, "I'm not sitting around being depressed."

  "G
ood." He continued walking away.

  And she shouted after him, "And in case you hadn't noticed, I'm not a cadet!"

  "Not yet," he snorted, and disappeared around a corner.

  A deathly hush hung over dinner.

  Demora picked at her food as her father ate in total silence. "This food isn't cooked enough," she said tentatively.

  "It's sushi. This is as cooked as it gets" was his flat reply.

  She rolled her eyes. "I know, Dad. It was just a joke."

  "I don't feel very humorous tonight, if that's all right with you."

  "Will you look at me at least!" she said in exasperation.

  He looked at her, his face hard and set.

  "Okay, look somewhere else," she requested.

  But he didn't. Instead he kept his gaze leveled at her as he said, "Tell me, Demora … how do you think I reacted when I heard that some girl got into trouble in the Mark IV simulator? That she needlessly endangered her safety? That she plowed into Admiral Kirk when she went running pell-mell out of the simulator? How do you think I felt about that?"

  "I don't know."

  "I think you do."

  She blew air out of her mouth. "Angry. Embarrassed. I don't know."

  He leaned forward and said, "You gave me your word of honor. Of honor, Demora. Do you have any idea how much that means?"

  "I didn't mean to break my promise. It wasn't my fault! I …"

  And he slammed an open palm down on the table.

  Demora jumped, startled. In their years together, she had never, never seen him this angry. Indeed, hardly ever angry at all. His control, his calm, was truly remarkable. But it seemed to have deserted him now.

  "It wasn't just a promise! It was honor! And here you are trying to make excuses for it!" He got up from the table so angrily that he banged his knee against it. It caused him to hobble slightly as he pointed at the portraits of ancestors which adorned his wall. "Honor wasn't just a word to them! Not just a cheap promise to be tossed around and broken when they didn't feel like sticking to it! They fought for honor! They died for honor! I trusted you, and you proved not worthy of trust!"

  "What do you want from me, Dad?!" Demora shot back. "I said I screwed up! I said I was sorry! How many ways am I supposed to apologize, huh? What do you want me to do, throw myself on a sword because I made a mistake?"

  "I want you to realize how much the concept means to me, and why I'm so angry and disappointed that you've lived half your lifetime with me without truly understanding it! I've tried to conduct myself with that philosophy my entire adult life, and it means nothing to you! Nothing! Honor is why I'm still here! Because I took responsibility for you, which was the only honorable course open to me!"

  And it was at that moment that Sulu suddenly realized he'd said the wrong thing. Because Demora took a step back as if she'd been slapped. Her face looked cold and dark, and in a voice that cut to the heart, she said, "I thought you stayed because you loved me. Because you wanted to be with me, not because you had to be."

  Sulu, one of the most accomplished tactical officers in Starfleet, suddenly found himself on the defensive. "It was both, Demy," he said.

  She glared at him, the affectionate diminutive not having the desired effect. "I don't think it was both. I think it's just what you said it was."

  "They go together. There's a poem: 'I could not love thee dear, so much, loved I not honor more.'"

  "To hell with poetry." She pointed a trembling finger at the wall of portraits. "And to hell with them! You care more about a bunch of dead people than you do about me!"

  "That's not true."

  "It is!" She stomped her foot. "You should have just dumped me at that place up in Washington and been done with me!" And she stormed off into her room.

  "Sounds like a problem," said Uhura.

  Sulu looked at her image on the screen. Uhura was on Mars at the moment. As a lark, she had taken a brief leave of absence from Starfleet to take a job on a broadcast station on Mars's capital of Ares City.

  Sulu was speaking via direct link to her home. "So what do I do?" he asked.

  "You're asking me?"

  "Well … you're a woman."

  "Sulu! That's the nicest thing you've ever said to me." She flashed that high-voltage smile of hers.

  "I'm not sure what to say to her."

  "Tell her you know she's sorry, and you respect her feelings."

  "I don't know if that's going to be quite enough. What's the best way to let a female know you love her?"

  "Vertically or horizontally?"

  He gave her a dour look. "Vertically. Horizontally, and we're playing out a Greek tragedy."

  "Just tell her, Sulu."

  "She might feel I'm just saying it to try and mend fences."

  "Are you?"

  He paused. "Of course not."

  At that, Uhura paused. "Sulu … a suggestion. Protestations of love that are preceded by hesitancy are not the most convincing. 'Do you love me?' 'Ummmmm … yes.' You see how that can be a bit off-putting."

  "I know."

  "Talk to the girl. More important … listen to the girl.

  Reassure her. Just … work your way through it. You're dealing with a budding teenager. The explosions you get from matter and antimatter combining are nothing compared to parents clashing with adolescents. Understood?"

  "Understood." He nodded.

  "Good. Now go make peace with your daughter. After all, she's the only one you've got."

  He nodded as Uhura's picture blinked out. Then he rose, walked down the hallway, and knocked on Demora's door.

  "Yeah?" came from within.

  "Demora. I want to talk."

  "Who is it?"

  He glanced heavenward for strength. "It's your father." There was silence for a moment. Then the door slid open and Sulu walked in.

  Demora was lying on the bed, head propped up on her hands. Out of reflex, Sulu glanced at the pillow. No tearstains. Well, at least they were past that part.

  "Demy," he began.

  "I want to be in Starfleet."

  He still had his mouth open. It was left hanging that way for a moment before he remembered to close it. "Pardon?"

  "I said I want to be in Starfleet."

  He cleared off some scattered clothes from a chair and sat. "Since when, may I ask?"

  "Since for a long time. But … because of two things. First … because even though it was fake, still … when I was sitting at the helm of the Enterprise," and she made quotation marks with her fingers around the word "Enterprise," and continued, "I felt as if I … belonged there somehow. And I was thinking about what it would be like to really be up there, out there … trying to help people, or explore space … I think it's an incredible way to spend your life."

  "It is," he sighed. "And … the second reason?"

  "Because," she said evenly, "I want to make you proud of me."

  He stared at her. "That's not necessary. I mean … I'll be proud of you no matter what you do."

  "I know. But I think I want to do this."

  "Well, fortunately enough, it's not like this has to be decided today. It's food for thought at the moment. But I … appreciate the gesture."

  She went to him then, and they embraced. He'd never felt closer to his daughter than he did at that moment.

  And since he didn't see the sadness in her eyes, he didn't realize that he'd never been farther away.

  Chapter Twenty

  "HE STOLE THE Enterprise?"

  She stared at Janice Rand. They were in a park, seated on a bench, and Janice gestured for her to keep her voice down. When Demora had gotten out of school that day, Janice had been waiting for her. She'd met Janice a couple of times in the past, had brief and pleasant chats with her. None of those casual social interactions, however, had remotely prepared Demora for anything like this.

  Demora was fifteen years old. The growth spurt had kicked in a couple of years earlier, as her father had long predicted. She was a half a foo
t taller, and her body no longer could be mistaken for preadolescent, even if she'd been clothed in a potato sack. Her face had also lost the babyish look, and now had the sculpted features of a striking young woman. Now, though, Janice was worried that the teen was on the verge of an apoplectic seizure that would preclude her ever seeing sixteen.

  "He stole the Enterprise?" Demora said again. This time she managed to keep her voice to an appalled whisper. "What do you mean, stole. You can't just steal a starship. It's …"

  Clearly she was having trouble fully grasping the notion. It was hardly surprising, considering the hellacious past couple of months they'd had. She'd heard chapter and verse about the routine training mission that had turned into a duel to the death with a twentieth-century madman named Khan. She'd remembered the blood draining from her face as Chekov had described (over Sulu's protestations) their nail-biting escape from the Genesis torpedo … an escape made only at the cost of Mr. Spock's life.

  Maybe it had all been too much for him. Her father was out of practice for such life-and-death struggles.

  "We can say it was stress," Demora said quickly.

  Rand stared at her, confused. "What?"

  "Stress. You know. After that training mission, and Spock's death … then he found out that they were planning to decommission the Enterprise, and he just … snapped. Temporary insanity."

  But Janice was shaking her head. "Demora, it wasn't like that. It wasn't just some impulse thing. It was carefully planned."

  "You mean he planned out a whole—"

  "It wasn't just him."

  "It wasn't." Demora paused a moment, her face clouding. "Let me guess: the usual suspects."

  Rand nodded. "It had something to do with Spock … and with Dr. McCoy. I'm still a little hazy on the details. . . ."

  "Oh my God," said Demora, her face in her hands. "But … but how? You can't just waltz into spacedock and leave with a starship. Shouldn't someone have tried to stop them?"

  "Someone did try. Captain Styles of the Excelsior. But the Enterprise got away."