Star Trek: Inception

by S. D. Perry

  “I think most reasonable people want that,” Kirk said. “But sometimes it doesn’t work out that way, despite our best efforts. We can only do our best. And as intelligent beings, we can work toward prioritizing what’s important—to all of us.”

  “ ‘All of us,’ ” Kent snapped. He’d wanted to talk to Carol Marcus, not this Starfleet poster boy. “Except the Martians. Why didn’t Starfleet warn the colonists about what could have happened if the corrupted solution had reached the fault line?”

  Kirk started to answer him and then stopped. “How did you know about that, Mister Kent? That information wasn’t broadcast.”

  Kent hesitated, then fumbled out an answer. “There’s information everywhere, if you know where to look for it. Redpeace is an environ mental organization devoted to protecting Mars, if you weren’t aware; we have some idea of her geology.”

  Kirk regarded him for an uncomfortable moment before speaking. “Not that you’re owed an explanation, sir, but Starfleet was following procedure. A premature announcement might have created panic. It was deemed appropriate to postpone notification until we had made every effort to contain the incident.”

  He sounded so reasonable, so sure of himself. Kent struggled for a response—hadn’t he spent his life finding ways to steer around such bland but poisonous rhetoric?—and could think of nothing. Anything he said would be so riddled with hypocrisy, he doubted he’d be able to choke it out. Instead, he turned back to Carol Marcus. She was why he’d come.

  So talk to her, Jess said. Really talk. Enough with the company line, my darling; make the connection.

  He cleared his throat and tried again. “Doctor, progress can hurt people. It can kill. Do you really want to end up responsible for some innocent’s death, a tragedy that could have been prevented if only someone had taken a bit more care?”

  “Of course not,” Carol said. “We should all take care, Mister Kent, in everything we do. And when the unthinkable happens, when some one dies in the name of some impersonal cause, some great stride forward by the many, it makes no difference to the people who loved that person. Maybe they try to make it have some greater meaning, to give their loved one’s death a purpose, to make his or her life worth something. But to me, life’s value is measured in the people it touches. And trying to turn a careless, terrible accident into a cause ?”

  She shook her head, met his gaze squarely. “I’m sorry, Mister Kent. It’s presumptuous of me to assume anything about you or your life. I’d like to say that what happened here wasn’t my fault, but in truth, if I’d taken more care, I might have been able to prevent it. All I can do is try and learn from my own mistakes. And be grateful that no one was hurt here today.”

  Kent was stunned by her willingness to take responsibility. He felt lost, suddenly, his reasons for coming here unclear. If he’d wanted to absolve himself of guilt, she’d just made it exponentially worse by laying it across her own shoulders.

  Confused and angry, he turned abruptly and began to walk down the hall, heading for the press conference, thinking that perhaps he wouldn’t attend at all. He could call Don, get him to fill in again.

  I shouldn’t have come here, he thought. Jess remained conspicuously silent.

  “Have a nice day, Mister Kent,” Kirk called after him. The commander’s tone was hard to read, but Kent thought he detected a mocking note in his voice. Considering his reasons for traveling to the lab, he thought there was a good chance that he deserved it.

  Fourteen

  Repperton had been smiling for a moment too long, but Carol couldn’t quite bring herself to urge him to continue. She clenched and unclenched her hands beneath her desk, waiting for the hammer to drop. From Repperton’s cues, it was inevitable.

  She’d wanted to put off the call, wanted to leave it alone until she’d found her equilibrium, but considering all that had happened, she thought that might take a while. And most of her team had displayed such loyalty. She’d been pulled aside by almost everyone before they’d even left Mars, each expressing a desire to continue with the work. She owed it to them to call Kraden as quickly as possible. Upon returning to Earth, they’d immediately transported to the university lab. She was in her tiny office now, one floor up from the lab, where her team waited for word. Now, staring at Repperton’s smug face, she wished she hadn’t been in such a hurry.

  “Yes, the preliminary stages didshow a great deal of promise,” he finally said. “Your initial testing was even more productive than we had hoped.”

  She didn’t have to wonder what he would say next. Still, she had to try and salvage what she could.

  “Mister Repperton, I’d like to think that Kraden would base their decision on the science. You saw the first-run results. If not for the sabotage, Inception would have worked perfectly.”

  “That may be true.” His smile was gone now. “But considering all the bad publicity we’ve had to endure, I’m sure you’ll understand why we cannot continue to fund your endeavor.”

  It was what she’d expected. “The public’s memory is short,” Carol said. “Perhaps in a year or so—”

  “The public’s memory is indeed short, Doctor Marcus, for small-scale scandals and political blunders, things that don’t involve the personal safety of Federation colonists.” Repperton had rehearsed this, no doubt. “I believe that this is one event that will stay fresh in the minds of many for years to come, even after they’ve forgotten what actually transpired. All they’ll remember was that Kraden funded an experiment that very nearly caused a catastrophe on Mars, never mind who was actually responsible. Our board has made the decision to stay away from Mars for a while. A long while.”

  “We could move to a DS lab—”

  His smile was anything but friendly. “Considering the judgment you displayed in dealing with our public relations department, Doctor, I’m sure you’ll understand why Kraden has also elected to distance ourselves from you, for the time being. Not to mention your less than stringent criteria for selecting your team members.”

  Carol’s fists unclenched. Well, that’s that, she thought. Never mind that Starfleet had already cleared her of negligence; she couldn’t argue with Repperton’s read of the situation. Kraden would be remembered as the perpetrator of the incident, and to some degree, that was her fault. “I understand,” she said.

  “Even if I personally wanted to fund your project, this is a board decision,” he added. “And it is a final one.”

  Carol nodded, made herself smile. The absurdity of these little societal norms were never more obvious than at times like these, but you couldn’t risk burning bridges.

  “Thank you for your time, Mister Repperton,” she said, tapping at the monitor’s controls before anything else could slip out.

  Thank you for rubbing it in, just a little bit more.

  Carol let herself cry for a moment, mourning Inception. It wasn’t entirely unexpected, but she’d still hoped, anyway. The data from the initial test runs was all over the links, her work being praised in spite of what had almost happened. She’d thought that Kraden might choose to take a stand. But she was young and dispensable, an unknown scientist with no serious credentials, working with a team of amateurs.

  The tears finally dried but stayed close. She’d been tearing up every other minute, it seemed, since ? since she’d become pregnant, she supposed. It didn’t help that she would say good-bye to Jim tomorrow, perhaps for the last time. And she still hadn’t told him the reason it was going to be so difficult. She still hadn’t told him that he was going to have a son, and she was fairly certain that she wouldn’t, not now. All of her promises to herself, that talk she’d had with Leila—when he’d come to the lab, when he’d stepped in to help her, she’d seen the real Jim Kirk and had realized the truth of him.

  Commander Kirk. And he’ll be a captain, soon enough. An admiral, someday, if he wants it. It was his very essence, it was what he loved to do. He was meant to fly around the galaxy, commanding his ship, negotiating wi
th exotic life-forms. Carol had no doubt that he would give it all up for a child, for their child. She just didn’t want to be the one to ask him to. She wiped her face, tried to shake away the resentment. It wasn’t his fault, not really. Being a father ? She just didn’t see it for him. Didn’t see it in him. It was a big decision, but she thought it was the right one. For now, at least.

  She took a few more moments to collect herself and then stood, steeling herself for what lay ahead. She had a lot of equipment to unpack and a team of good people waiting to hear that they were out of a job.

  Leila was somehow surprised to find her apartment just as she had left it. Of course, she hadn’t been gone long, and now that she lived by herself, there was no reason for anything to have been disturbed. Still, it felt as though an entire lifetime had passed since she had seen this room. She set her traveling cases on the floor near her bed and went straight to her computer.

  She checked her messages quickly, her heart sinking a little as she realized that Mister Spock hadn’t tried to contact her. She’d tried to contact him several times before leaving Mars, but he’d been unavailable. Finally, she’d nerved herself and left a brief message, asking him to call.

  Leila sat down and leisurely browsed through her messages, looking at various net links that some of her colleagues had passed along. She was tired, still recovering from the adrenaline binge of Inception, but it was early. Besides, she wanted the distraction—from Carol’s news about Kraden, mostly, but also from being alone. She was still getting used to living by herself, and wishing she could see Mister Spock didn’t help. His ship was surely still in dock, but he’d made it clear that he’d had no plans to return to Earth. It might be a while before they could meet again face-to-face. An article about biosynthetic pathways caught her eye, but she couldn’t focus on it. She marked it for later and switched off her monitor, deciding she might go to sleep early after all. Even after hearing that they were no longer a team, J.C. and Mac and the others had all pitched in to help Carol get the equipment unloaded. Trying to unpack all of it before nightfall had been daunting—not to mention depressing—and much of the work had been left for the following day. Leila meant to go back to help, so she might as well get enough rest.

  There was still plenty of coverage about the experiment, but she’d had enough of it for now. Josh Swanson, Whole Earth’s “masked man,” had been caught, thanks to Tamara Irwin’s tip-off; two of his accomplices were also being held. Tam was going to have to spend some time in a low-security facility, but at least she’d been cooperative enough to spare herself a worse fate. Even though she’d caused a lot of trouble for Carol, for all of them, Leila still felt bad for her. As strange as it seemed, she hadn’t meant any harm. She’d simply had the misfortune to fall in love with a man who only wanted to use her, and she had been too naïve to see it. Leila thought it must have been terribly difficult for her to turn her lover in, considering that she obviously still felt something for him.

  Whole Earth’s tampering had been so ill conceived it was being called a miracle that nobody had been hurt. From the press reports, it seemed that they hadn’t really had a coherent plan. Three of the activists had simply blundered into the university lab and messed with everything they could get their hands on. All three of them were now busily pointing fingers at each other, insisting that their own part in the sabotage had been minor.

  Of course, Leila knew it was hardly a miracle that the colonies had been saved. Mister Spock’s simple and ingenious idea—facilitating the insertion of an industrial force field by use of a starship’s transporters—had been responsible. Perhaps Carol or one of the Starfleet engineers would have thought of something similar, eventually, but the pressure of the situation had been stressful, to say the least, per haps clouding logic. It had taken a Vulcan mind to achieve the necessary clarity so quickly. She readied herself for bed and fell asleep thinking of him, wondering if she could ever hope to achieve such clarity.

  Leila had been asleep for about a half an hour when she was awakened by the chime of her computer. Reluctant to get up, she asked

  the computer to identify the caller. When the mechanical voice spoke Mister Spock’s name, she was on her feet in a flash, sitting in front of the computer and pushing her sleep-ruffled hair behind her ears before it could signal a second time. Her heart pounding, she answered the call, felt her stomach knot pleasantly at the sight of him.

  “Hello, Mister Spock,” she said.

  “Miss Kalomi. I hope I’m not disturbing you.”

  “Not at all. It’s ? I’m very glad you’ve called.”

  “I received a message earlier that you wished to speak with me. I attempted to contact you at the Martian laboratory but received a signal informing me that you and the other scientists had returned to Earth. I regret that I was unable to contact you until now, but it can be difficult for me to take personal time away from my duties to devote to correspondence.”

  “It’s quite all right, Mister Spock. I appreciate that you would return my call in the first place. I know you must be busy. I only wanted to thank you for helping us. Your advice almost certainly saved thousands of lives.”

  One of his eyebrows arched. “I did my duty, as a Starfleet officer and a scientist. It was only logical.”

  “Yes, of course. Still, I’d like to thank you, on behalf of Doctor Marcus and the rest of the team.”

  Spock bowed his head to one side, an acceptance. She smiled at him. Although he hadn’t specifically asked to remain anonymous, she hadn’t given his name out to anyone, saying only that she’d received her information from a friend. Mister Spock was obviously an extremely private person.

  “I am curious to know, Miss Kalomi, what the future course of action will be for your experiment.”

  Her smile faded. “I’m sorry to say that our experiment will not continue. Kraden has pulled their funding.”

  “That is regrettable. I believe your research would have yielded favorable results.”

  “I think so too.”

  He looked as though he meant to end the call, and Leila quickly tried to think of a means to extend the conversation.

  “I must admit, I have missed our conversations since we parted last,” she said.

  Spock nodded once. “Our time together was indeed stimulating.”

  She felt suddenly bold. “Does that mean you miss them too?”

  He gazed at her silently, apparently unsure how to reply. Leila searched for an appropriate follow-up, wanting to keep him a little longer.

  “Mister Spock, I feel compelled to thank you again for what you did. I know I’m repeating myself, but I ? I suppose it’s just good to see your face again. I wish I could speak with you in person.”

  “Does the communicator restrict your ability to speak freely?”

  “No, it doesn’t, it’s only a personal desire.” She felt her face growing hot. She wanted so badly to tell him how she felt, but if she would only make a fool of herself—

  “A personal desire?”

  “Yes. Yes, you see, Terrans—if we care for someone, if we enjoy his or her company, it’s more than just speaking, it’s more than seeing one another every once in a while—”

  “You speak of personal relationships between humans.” Spock’s tone was almost entirely inflectionless. “Friendships.”

  “Yes, friendships, but there’s more than that. You told me that Vulcans marry, that they—” She shouldn’t, she knew, but could not stop herself. “That they may prefer the company of one over another?”

  “That is correct, although I believe the purpose differs from that of humans, as well as the criteria. Humans tend to form relationships based on emotion, rather than tradition, procreation, or intellectual compatibility.”

  “That isn’t true,” Leila said. “Many humans rely on tradition when they form relationships, and a great part of human love relies on intellectual compatibility.”

  Spock didn’t respond, but the way he studied her, the se
arching expression of his gaze ? She kept talking, not sure if he was simply curious or if it was something more.

  “Don’t you feel ? don’t you believe that you and I are compatible, intellectually?”

  “You have a fine mind. As I’ve already stated, I found our conversations to be most stimulating.”

  “I feel stimulated by you. Intellectually and . . . otherwise.”

  He cocked his head slightly. “In what way do you mean, Miss Kalomi?”

  Her pulse was pounding at her throat. “I mean that I love you, Mister Spock. I’m in love with you.”

  He did not respond right away, and in the few impossibly long seconds that passed, she knew that she had made a mistake. Even if