Star Trek - Pandora Principle

by Pandora Principle

  Saavik wondered what he meant by that. Since she'd never had a home and she had no other possessions, it was not possible to agree. She saw nothing wrong with her room the way it was. Perhaps he intended to be kind, a quality she sought to develop in herself. Not knowing how to respond, she simply stood there until mercifully he went away. Unpacking didn't take long.

  When she sat down to work her thoughts were disturbed by a faint but (to her ears) distinct exchange taking place in the next room. It was proper to ignore it, but that was easier said than done. Those voices were human. And Saavik was curious. So she'd listened, at first alarmed, then utterly confused.

  The occupant of the next room was announcing loudly that her life was over because she was unable to locate something called her CoffeeTech. Her male companion said to forget about it, come here and have-some-fun! She accused him of being insensitive; she had lost her CoffeeTech-how could she have fun? He offered to show her, but she was too distraught: without her CoffeeTech how could she stay up? He would show her that too; he could stay up-all night if necessary! She wished he would get serious; what she needed was a CoffeeTech! He, dammit, would buy her a new one if she would come here this instant-or she could go drink Starfleet coffee like everybody else. That sludge? From the slot on the wall? He was a beast to even suggest it! And no, she would not come here-she'd rather be caught dead! Why, there was just no telling what a beast. like him. might. do.

  Caught dead. Saavik shivered remembering that careless phrase. She felt an unreasoning surge of anger at these pampered foolish humans who required luxuries and possessions to survive, and who didn't know the meaning of the words they used.

  But those words were their own. Could they not speak their language as they wished? Why should that make her angry?

  Suddenly she felt confused. Out of place. Very much alone.

  And perhaps her room was too empty.

  On her comm station lay the tape of a message waiting for her when she first arrived. Having played it twice already, she found no logical reason to hear it once again-and suspected that there was none. But she dropped it in a slot, touched a key, and sat down to watch. The shifting squares and code patterns rearranged themselves into a familiar, craggy face on her screen, and a hand lifted in the traditional Vulcan greeting.

  "Live long and prosper, Cadet Saavik," the image said. "I trust this finds you in good health and on schedule. You are now a cadet, first class, of Starfleet Academy. I congratulate you, and I am confident that you will attain even more distinction in your studies than you did on your entrance examinations.

  "Regarding compliance with Starfleet's information directive: We have discussed the options available to you when you report to the Registrar. I feel it my duty to remind you once more that claiming your Vulcan family and citizenship-and thus avoiding the question of your birthworld-is a simple matter of requesting the antigen scan. That is always your choice and your right. You have overcome much and accomplished much already in life. Your reluctance to reveal this to Starfleet or to Vulcan is somewhat understandable. But your refusal to acknowledge it to yourself is illogical. Your achievements do you credit, and one must face the facts, Cadet Saavik, even when they are pleasant.

  "For everything there is a first time, Saavikam, and many are in store for you. Your greatest challenge at Starfleet will not be classwork, for which you are well-prepared, but learning to communicate and work with humans. Our physical forms are similar, but their concerns and thought processes are vastly different. To you humans will seem irrational, frivolous, full of contradictions and continually exasperating-all of which is true. They are also inventive, capable of greatness, and worthy of study. Try to employ benevolence and tolerance in your dealings with them. Should these attributes momentarily elude you, practice removing your thoughts to reflect upon the principle of Infinite Diversity. I find that sometimes helps.

  "No doubt you already have many questions, and no doubt you are about to ask them all. I suspect it is futile to recommend that you rest in preparation for your day tomorrow. Nevertheless, I shall do so all the same. You have attained a desired goal, Cadet Saavik. Tomorrow you embark upon a new journey. Good night, Saavikam. Live long and prosper."

  Saavik froze the image and stared at it for a long time. Outside the rain had stopped. The sky was growing light, all pink and golden in a watery dawn. A scented breeze drifted through her open window, where the branches of a tree hung dripping, heavy with blooms. And in the morning stillness a bird began to sing.

  On this extravagant planet even the trees had flowers.

  She touched a key, and the face faded from her screen. Saavik knew no words to explain it, but now everything seemed changed: she no longer felt angry or confused, only like an explorer on a strange new world. And her room wasn't empty anymore.

  No, Cadet Saavik had no need of possessions; she had quite enough to do just keeping track of herself.

  She removed the tape, put it away carefully, and opened her comm channel with a series of destination codes. Another mode of address was proper now, she reminded herself, as she straightened her uniform again and remembered to push back her hair.

  BEGIN MESSAGE, the screen read, and Cadet Saavik sat tall and proud. She raised her hand and gazed into the recorder's lens.

  "Live long and prosper, Spock," she said. "I am beginning my first day at Starfleet Academy."

  ". and I would appreciate further discussion of the term fun,' which seems to be the underlying basis of human behavior. On that subject, I have a number of questions."

  Spock left his quarters on the Enterprise and walked down Deck 5's empty corridor, turning his reply tape thoughtfully in his hand. The lift opened, and still deep in thought he stepped inside. As so often in recent years, he'd spent his meditation hour today answering Saavik's questions. Curiously, the effect was much the same. Perhaps it was also curious that this thought occurred to him only when there was no time to wonder why.

  The turbolift opened, and Spock stepped onto the bridge. Pleading glances from senior crew told him the situation had not changed: their monotonous, uneventful patrol was adversely affecting the captain; the captain was adversely affecting everyone else, and the problem was compounded by his constant presence on the bridge.

  "Commander Uhura," Spock murmured, "at your convenience, could you do me a favor?" He placed the tape on her console.

  "Certainly, Mr. Spock. Where this time?"

  "To Starfleet Academy, Complex Three. The terminal access is encoded. Thank you, Commander." No doubt Uhura had puzzled for years over his daily messages, but she'd never asked what they contained. Admirable restraint-for a human.

  "You're welcome, Mr. Spock, and-" her eyes slid toward the captain "-welcome to the bridge."

  "Indeed," Spock said with a sigh.

  Admiral James T. Kirk fidgeted in the command chair, tapping his thumbnail against his teeth and staring at the uneventful starfield on the screen-as if staring hard enough might produce some action. Not trouble, of course not. But some reason to justify sending Enterprise-and himself, dammit-or a certain Admiral might start cutting orders for a certain Acting Starship Captain to get back behind a desk at HQ, where the only challenge in life was how to stay awake in those damn staff meetings.

  "Captain?"

  "Spock-" Kirk spun around. "Early, aren't you?"

  "No, Captain. And you have been on the bridge for sixteen point two five hours. As there appears no immediate cause for concern, I thought perhaps you could. use the time."

  "To do what?"

  "Perhaps some. fun, Captain: a leisure activity, an intellectual pursuit, an athletic exercise-"

  "Captain." Uhura turned from her board. "Message incoming from Starbase Ten. One-way Priority. Would you like to take that in your quarters, sir?" she suggested hopefully.

  "I would not. Put it on, Uhura, we'll all take a look."

  "Welcome to the sector, Jim." The kindly face of Commodore Stocker filled the screen. "We've got
an errand for you. Our probes are tracking an unidentified vessel approaching Federation space-sublight speed. No cloak, no signal, no response to our attempts at contact. It's not one of ours, and commercial lines report all craft accounted for. Given its nonaggressive posture, we doubt the Romulans are involved-but we'd appreciate it if you'd take a look. Proceed at your discretion, Captain, but ID that ship. Coordinates and probe data follow. Report back ASAP. And thanks, Jim."

  This is more like it, Kirk thought as the probe's data flashed on the screen. "Mr. Sulu," he said, "lay in a course. Uhura, tell the Commodore we're on our way." He stabbed a button on the armrest. "Scotty, can we go to warp five with no problem?"

  "Aye, sir, but-"

  "We've got a ship heading in from the Neutral Zone on impulse. It won't acknowledge, and Starbase wants an ID."

  "I don't wonder, sir! Standin' by."

  "Sulu?"

  "Course plotted and laid in, sir."

  "ETA von hour, tventy minutes, Keptin," Chekov added.

  "Long- and short-range sensor sweeps, Mr. Spock. If the Romulans are out there, I want to know before we run into them-and before they duck behind their cloaking screens. Monitor that ship, Uhura-and keep your ears open."

  "Aye-aye, sir!" Uhura turned to her board, smiling.

  "Here we go then. Warp five.". yes, much more like it. He watched the view on the main screen freeze for an instant, then burst apart and streak away in trailing rainbows of light as Enterprise plunged into the stars.

  "Having fun, Captain?" his first officer murmured in passing.

  "Fun, Spock?" Kirk turned, outraged innocence itself. "This could be very dangerous, you know. We're ordered off course, that ship has no business in the Zone, any Treaty violations get hung around my neck-and you ask me if I'm having fun?"

  "I. see what you mean, Captain."

  "I'm so glad you do, Mr. Spock." Kirk leaned back, and a slow, satisfied grin spread across his face. "Hell yes, I'm having fun," he said softly.

  The blaring klaxon finally stopped. Battle stations stood ready. The image on the screen grew steadily as Enterprise, her shields raised, nudged closer and closer. Everyone waited. In the tension on the bridge the only sound was a single, patient voice.

  ". this is U.S.S. Enterprise. please respond. Federation vessel Enterprise, requesting communications. please respond."

  It plowed through space, running lights on, ports glowing, ship's beacon winking eerily as it turned atop the bridge and sliced the surrounding gloom.

  Enterprise's sensors reached into the Neutral Zone and detailed the menacing lines, the space-worn hull, and the yellows, reds and greens of its feather-painted wings. A giant bird of prey had ventured far from its hunting ground-somewhere in the Romulan Empire.

  And far from the light of suns or inhabited worlds, the two ships approached an invisible line, first drawn a century ago by grateful astrogators on their starcharts in the carnage and ruin at the end of the Romulan War. A mutual border had been impossible then; it still was. From those final, bloody battles that drove the Romulans homeward in defeat, a treaty was born-and a neutral zone, into which incursion by either side technically constituted an Act of War. Satellites and substations ringed its narrow corridor. Signal buoys warned straying ships away. Although the Zone had been violated often in recent years by Romulan raids on Federation space, "occasionally breached" by Starfleet on missions of rescue and espionage, routinely ignored by merchants, smugglers, and pirates-both the Federation and the Empire patched and clung to their fraying net with determined vigilance. Because in a hundred years no one had thought of a better way. And because the alternative was war.

  ". please respond. this is the U.S.S. Enterprise."

  "Full stop, Mr. Sulu. This is close enough." Kirk's eyes were riveted on the screen. "Report!"

  "Romulan Bird of Prey, sir," Sulu said. "Plasma and photon torpedoes."

  "Spock, what's on sensors?"

  ". I am reading. no life aboard, Captain."

  "I can't believe that."

  "Nor could I. I scanned it twice, and-"

  "Once more, Spock. For luck."

  Spock began to repeat the futile procedure.

  ". please respond. Captain," Uhura turned, still listening intently, "they aren't jamming us. I'm getting chatter from their instruments, only. no response, sir."

  "Third scan, Captain," murmured Spock. "No life aboard."

  Kirk took a deep breath, let it out slowly. "All decks, this is the captain. Go to Yellow Alert and stand by. Spock? It doesn't look damaged. Life-support failure? What?"

  "The hull has not been breached, Captain. Seals and airlocks are intact, radiation levels normal. Life-support systems are functioning." Spock frowned at his viewer, mysteries annoyed him.

  "Chekov, Sulu, keep scanning. Any shadow of anything. If they're out there behind a cloaking screen-"

  "We'll get it, sir. We know what to look for."

  Of course they did; Spock had trained them. And sensors were upgraded during Enterprise's refit: a cloaked ship on short-range scan produced a negative visual echo, a slight distortion in the field. Since a cloaking device was limited over distances to sublight speeds, they should have fair warning of any approach.

  Kirk looked up to find Spock standing beside him. "Something wiped out that ship, Spock," he said quietly. "And we've got to find out what."

  Kirk waited until the Romulan ship had drifted across the Neutral Zone: then he had Spock, McCoy, and Mr. Scott beam over to the Romulan ship in full environmental suits, phasers set on stun.

  The three officers materialized to a glimpse of lifeless bodies through a haze of vaporous red smoke, which immediately fogged their faceplates. Spock began reading his tricorder's data, a catalogue of chemical toxins.

  Scott said it faster. "Phaser coolant, Captain, enough to choke a regiment. A leak's got into the system. I'm tracin' it, sir." He groped his way to a well in the deck and descended its ladder.

  McCoy ran a gloved hand over his visor and knelt beside a corpse in battle dress. "Dammit, Jim, this one's just a kid."

  "Four dead on the bridge, Captain," Spock reported, "none above the rank of sub-commander. Senior officers must have been below. I see no sign of emergency life-support packs." He began examining various stations and panels, "and controls regulating airflow are inoperative. They were unable to vent the substance, but the board does not register a coolant leak. I cannot give you visual; those circuits have been disabled. Weapons are on line, all systems on automatic, and their course is locked into the helm. Sir, this ship is on a direct heading for Starbase Ten."

  "Is it now? An attack gone wrong, Spock?"

  "It would seem so. Apparently, they went sublight when the malfunction was detected. One torpedo bay has opened and closed."

  "Jettisoned log buoy?"

  "Possibly. For that and other reasons, I should like to interrogate the computer. Romulans are aggressive, not foolhardy. Launching a single ship at Starbase Ten simply is not logical."

  "All of them kids, Jim." McCoy ran his scanner over the fourth body and sat back on his heels. "Dead at least two days. There's no doubt about what killed them. Coolant gas is so toxic they never had a chance. God, this ship's a mess! How the hell-"

  "Worse'n a mess!" Scott's angry voice came through the link. "Ruptured coolant line down here in engineering's what did it, sir. Exploded, where it runs along the air duct, and it's still leakin' into the system. No backups, no cutoffs, conduits rigged together any old how. A sorry sight, sir, but I'm sealin' off the line. The ship'll take hours to vent."

  "When you're finished, check out the engines, Scotty. Spock, leave the computer for now. Conduct a search. I want to know how many were aboard. You go with him, Bones. Make sure they all died for the same reason."

  "What about these bodies, Jim? They should go into stasis-"

  "Yes, Bones. We'll beam them over. Now get going."

  "Very well, Captain. We shall attempt to use the lift."


  They made their way across the bridge, waving away the fog that still swirled around them. McCoy reached the lift first.

  "Look here, Spock! What's this?" He pointed to a niche in the wall. Displayed inside it was a brightly glowing object. Spock came to observe and scanned it with his tricorder.

  "What's that, Bones?"

  "It is," Spock stated succinctly, "a three-dimensional, six-sided object with two sides of unequal length, approximately sixty by forty-five by thirty point five centimeters. A rectangular polyhedron, which apparently contains a luminescent, electromagnetic field, and which-"

  "Forget the geometry, Spock! Jim-it's a box. A clear box. Only pretty thing on this flea trap. It's got colored lights inside it, making spiral patterns. wonder how they did that?"