Star Trek - Pandora Principle

by Pandora Principle

  "No, Saavikam, the commander was returning your compliment."

  "I don't understand."

  "Humans consider remarks about their personal appearances to be either compliments or insults. How they distinguish one from the other is very complicated, since it depends upon the degree of flattery involved and the current fashion of the moment. Tricky ground, Saavikam. Best avoided altogether."

  "Oh. I am relieved I gave no offense, but I intended no compliment, Mr. Spock. I believe I was being entirely objective. Games are very important to the humans, aren't they?"

  "Yes, Saavikam, they are indeed, frequently to the exclusion of all else. It is illogical, of course."

  I wouldn't have missed this for anything, Uhura decided. That kid's not giving Spock a minute's peace-and he's as happy as a clam. Just goes to show: with Spock, you never know.

  ". yes, Saavikam, we can come back," he said as they started to leave. "Commander, I am expecting a call from Headquarters within the hour. By then I should be in my quarters. I trust you will withstand the excitement of coming home."

  "And the same to you, Mr. Spock." Uhura grinned.

  Saavik nodded politely, choosing not to hazard another conversation, but she murmured in Vulcan as they waited for the lift. "Mr. Spock, what is the significance of coming home? Why does it cause excitement?"

  "Now that is also very complicated, Saavik."

  Uhura couldn't stop chuckling after they were gone.

  . no, you just never know.

  * * *

  It was going to storm.

  Kirk's footsteps sounded loud on the paved, tree-lined walk that led toward Starfleet Headquarters. A flicker of lightning lit up the low blanket of clouds moving over the bay, and he began counting off the seconds. At one-thousand-and-nine, thunder shuddered in the distance. All around him the sweet seductive smells of a spring night beckoned: flowers in bloom, new-mown grass, and that peculiar, charged scent in the air just before a storm.

  Earth in the spring, nowhere else quite like it. And suddenly he was seized by a homesick, irrational desire-to get the hell back to his ship. The brightly lit Plaza lay before him, and he ducked behind a tree feeling a little foolish.

  From the landing site someone was crossing the square, guiding a shipping container on antigrav handles. Kirk could see her brown bouncy hair shine under the lights and wondered what she looked like up close. At night you went in by the front door if you didn't have priority access from the shuttledock-or if you didn't want your ID in its entry computer. He waited until she'd gone inside, waited a moment more, then crossed the Plaza and climbed the wide granite steps of Starfleet Headquarters.

  The outer doors opened and with a familiar hiss slid closed behind him. Through the inner doors Kirk nodded to the ensign on duty at the front desk and strode briskly to the bank of lifts.

  "Admiral. Admiral Kirk-sir!"

  Damn.

  "It's really you-sir!" The ensign was standing at attention, blushing to the roots of his carroty hair. He was also goggling at Kirk with undisguised awe. Kirk sighed.

  "Evening, Ensign," he said, wondering how in blazes he could cover his tracks. "Yes, last time I checked, it really was me. Why? Am I wanted-dead or alive?" The ensign's face got redder.

  "No, sir! Not that I know of-I mean-" The boy was in agony. Kirk took pity on him and cracked a smile. "I mean I read about you in history class, sir. Never thought I'd get to meet you!"

  "History?" Much worse than being wanted dead or alive! "Ancient or modern?" Kirk asked a bit sharply.

  "Uh." The ensign wasn't sure. "Organian Peace Treaty, sir."

  "Oh. Well, don't believe everything you read-and I see you do a lot of reading. That's against regulations, you know." The ensign stared aghast at the book in his left hand, a traitorous forefinger still marking the place. Kirk opened his palm for it like a schoolmaster confiscating a slingshot. "Let's see what's more exciting than pulling desk duty at night."

  "Kid's book, sir," mumbled the ensign, embarrassed. "Present for my little brother. I saw it in an antique shop and spent my whole. well, sir, then I just couldn't put it down."

  Kirk held the book in his hands, and for a moment the years fell away. It looked nothing like his own copy-real paper, that one was, with some of the pages cracking away and missing part of its leather binding. This one was a late 21st century, acrylo-laminated, guaranteed-never-to-wear-out edition, but the title hadn't changed in four hundred years: Treasure Island, by Robert Louis Stevenson. And the words on the flyleaf were still the same:

  If sailor tales to sailor tunes, Storm and adventure, heat and cold, If schooners, islands, and maroons, And Buccaneers and buried Gold, And all the old romance, retold Exactly in the ancient way, Can please, as me they pleased of old, The wiser youngsters of today.

  "Lucky little brother," said Kirk wistfully as he handed it back. "I've a good mind to confiscate this, Ensign-and read it myself-but I was a little brother once. Besides, if you're a fast reader, you might finish it before you go off duty."

  "Aye-aye, sir! Thank you, sir!" The boy glowed with pleasure and set about redeeming himself. "Uh, if you'll just sign right here, sir, I'll announce you."

  "Well. be against regulations not to, now wouldn't it?" Kirk grinned shamelessly. "Thing is, see, this is sort of a surprise. I'd hate to spill the beans too soon. What's your name, Ensign?"

  "Richards! Sir!"

  "You putting in for starship assignment, Richards?"

  "Yes, sir!"

  "Fine, fine. I like a man who knows a good book when he sees one." Kirk winked broadly and escaped. And I should be shot for that, he thought, but he won't breathe a word. Richards. Nice kid, good book, lucky little brother-I'll remember.

  A few minutes later he stepped through a door four hundred feet underground into a level of Starfleet few officers even knew existed. Only two other starship captains had ever had clearance all the way down to "the Vault."

  The huge, subterranean complex was deserted, as Kirk knew it would be. This was the giant brain, the nerve center of Starfleet Command; its self-contained, independent life-support could sustain two thousand people forever if necessary. But the Vault's day-to-day inhabitants were machines, and except for occasional maintenance crews, no one ever came here. In the silent, half-lit gloom, bank after bank of screens monitored the deployment of the fleet, the security status in all sectors of the Federation, data dumps from every starbase in the explored galaxy, and incoming telemetry from probes and sensors of what lay beyond. The main missions room upstairs was replicated here in miniature with a vast array of tactical displays. Over a century ago, at the height of the Romulan conflict, the Vault was hollowed out of bedrock under the old Starfleet building for impenetrability, secrecy, and survival if Earth should come under attack. That, of course, had never happened. But not all planets were the home of Starfleet, and even after a hundred years of peace, not all star systems were friendly neighbors.

  While diplomats served in the front lines at embassies and councils, while starships patrolled the outposts and perimeters of the neutral zones, while the scales of galactic peace balanced, tipped and balanced again, far beneath the streets of San Francisco the air was always fresh. The food synthesizers were always maintained, and the data flowed in a never-ending torrent. Because peace could never be taken for granted, because Starfleet had to protect that peace, and because someone had to think the unthinkable-the Vault was designed for war.

  Kirk hated the place.

  But he could work here undisturbed. He could tap into any data bank in Starfleet undetected, and no one except a worshipful ensign would ever know he'd been here-until he was long gone.

  Piece of cake! he congratulated himself, as he sat down at a terminal near the door. "Computer, access current Admiralty records. Any pending orders for Captain James T. Kirk."

  "IDENTIFY FOR RETINA SCAN," a metallic, vaguely masculine voice instructed. Kirk sat through his third in the last three minutes. The computer confi
rmed his ID and displayed a few printed lines. Kirk swore freely and long.

  There it was: his ground assignment to HQ, his commendation, even a date for the decoration ceremony. Every single important thing in his whole life, all shot to hell by some crisp green words on a little black screen.

  "Not this time, Nogura!" he whispered through clenched teeth. "Computer, stick that back up the Admiral's. database."

  "INSTRUCTIONS NOT CLEAR. PLEASE REPEAT."

  "Reappend that file! Delete my request to view it! Delete that request, and delete my access to all data from this terminal. Route my entry through Debriefing, Records Office, fourth floor, terminal two." That should do it, he thought.

  Kirk leaned back in the chair, linked his hands behind his head, and propped his feet up nonchalantly on the counter. "Open new file," he said. "Incident report."

  In the Exo-Science lab on the 18th floor of Starfleet Headquarters, Drs. Goldman and Rakir were kissing. This wasn't unusual. The most difficult challenge of Janet Goldman's already distinguished career was keeping her hands off her colleague when other people were around-but no one was around just now. It was silly anyway, since the whole department knew they were actually going to get married, and everyone thought that was delightfully traditional and very sweet. Janet Goldman thought so, too.

  But El-Idorn Rakir was shy, easily embarrassed, and culturally. well, quaint. His people always were, even to the extreme of celibacy until after a formal exchange of vows. She caressed Rakir's smooth, noble face and sighed. Oh, yes, if he believed they must now be married. then far be it from Janet Goldman to infringe upon another being's cultural integrity!

  They were so absorbed in interspecies communication that they didn't hear the courtesy chime, or the door when it opened.

  "Excuse me?. Excuse me!" Jessie Korbet stood in the doorway, her hand on a floating shipping container.

  "This better be important, Ensign." Goldman made no effort to stop, but Rakir extricated himself and tried to look busy.

  "It is," Korbet said. "It's your delivery from Spacedock." They stared at her blankly. "You're the duty scientists tonight? You're supposed to confirm delivery with a Mr. Spock on the Enterprise. Dock didn't post this on your update?"

  "Oh, I'm sure they did," Goldman said quickly. "Must've slipped my mind. So what did Spock send us?"

  "We do not know, because we did not see our update," Rakir informed Korbet with a guilty glance at the dark message screen.

  No kidding, thought Korbet. She held the container while they lifted its contents out with antigravs and set it on the counter.

  "What is it?" breathed Rakir. "It is beautiful!"

  They all stared into the clear, rectangular object, where a point of light coalesced and broke apart, expanding in a turning geometric design, shimmering in a vibrant rainbow of the color spectrum. When the pattern filled the box, the light seemed to bend. Color and line folded back in on themselves and diminished to a glowing point of light that began the cycle again.

  "Don't know," said Korbet, "but it sure is pretty, isn't it? Came off that Romulan ship Enterprise brought in tonight. I guess they can't figure it out."

  "Not even Spock? Wow! Bet I can!" Goldman grinned. "Let's put it under the Infrascan. Then we'd better call him. How come he didn't do this himself?"

  "I don't know that either, Doctors, but I've got to get going. Another of those things goes out to Life City, and there's a storm coming in fast. Traffic'll be a mess."

  "Have a safe trip, Ensign. Hope you beat the storm."

  "Thanks, Doctors. Don't work too hard, now," Korbet winked. Goldman laughed, and Rakir blushed as the door closed.

  Then Goldman went on staring into the box. Its flickering lights played across her face. "Look at this, Dorn. C'mon over here," she invited, "and I'll show you something."

  "You show me many things, my Janet," he hesitated, then moved cautiously to her side, "and all of them distract me. Perhaps we should call the Mr. Spock."

  "In a minute. Now, look at that-gotcha!" she giggled.

  "Oh, you are devious, my Janet." Rakir began to laugh too. And when they stopped laughing, they started kissing again.

  Jessie Korbet's shuttle climbed above the storm. A bright full moon shone down on the boiling blanket of cloud, but up here the air was calm and still. She checked the monitor on her cargo hold: all safe and sound.

  Tonight's my lucky night, she thought. He's cute, that Bobby Harper-and nice, really nice. I have a good feeling about him.

  She always listened to those feelings-and to that little voice that came from somewhere beyond the Ops manuals and instrument checks. Instinct or intuition, "flying by the seat of your pants" or just plain good timing-whatever anyone called it, in the end it was luck. Jessie Korbet believed in luck. And so far, luck believed in Jessie Korbet.

  Life City's domes were in sight, and the storm was far behind as she crossed the moonlit peaks of the Panamint mountains.

  A stopover tonight at Life City-and tomorrow, another visit with Bobby Harper.

  ". and you are all settled in now at the Academy, Saavikam? Is there anything you require?" In the dim warmth of Spock's cabin, Saavik wrenched her eyes away from the chess set on his desk to answer his question. Her formality tonight pleased him. He knew she would rather be out of her chair inspecting his possessions and asking questions of her own. Paradoxically this also pleased him.

  "Yes, Mr. Spock, I am all settled in now. And everything is provided by Starfleet. There is nothing I require."

  Spock studied her over his steepled fingertips. She was looking well, a far cry from that emaciated, dangerous, furious urchin of Hellguard. And although it was irrelevant, Uhura was entirely correct.

  "Nevertheless, there may be some things which you do not precisely require, but which would be of benefit to you, or simply pleasure. If so, you are to obtain them. Your credit balance is adequate for any contingency, Saavikam. You need not have booked your passage here on a cargo freighter."

  "The credits were not the reason, Mr. Spock-the flight time was the longest. I like being on a ship, you know. It seems to matter more where people are going than where they came from."

  "Quite so, Saavikam. May I ask how you chose to account to Starfleet for the latter? If you prefer, I need not know."

  "I. I decided to claim the Act of Privacy." She knotted her fingers together in her lap, avoiding his gaze. "It was just as you said. The tape is made unwitnessed, sealed, and classified-not even in the Academy files. They asked what planets I have visited for medical reasons, but only in the last three years. I am grateful for this law, but. the humans assume I am Vulcan. If I do not correct them, is that telling a lie?"

  "No. Humans make many erroneous assumptions, and although they allow for the privacy required by other species, to them it is a somewhat relative term. You must define it for yourself."

  "But to them every term is relative," she sighed. "Human speech is very difficult-riddled with idioms, even when issuing orders. And that could present grave problems, 'if you catch my drift!' I learned that one yesterday."

  "You are not obliged, however, to overwork it, or to participate in their eccentricities. Idioms are only. the tip of the iceberg, as it were. You must study their emotions as well."

  "Yes. And I chose a subject for that very purpose, Mr. Spock. It-" she frowned, took a deep breath, "-is a game."

  "Ah. You observe the humans' reactions to it?"

  "Yes. I also. participate."

  ?

  She sighed again. "I knew you would say that."

  "I have said nothing, Saavikam. yet. What is this game, and how did you come to choose it?"

  That was the difficult part to explain. The sun was so hot that day, the sky so blue and perfect when she walked across the playing fields on her way from the Registrar's office. She found herself remembering an orange sky, jagged mountains, and acrid, choking dust. She hated remembering that. She hated all those questions she could never answer: Date of bir
th? Parent(s) name(s)? Present homeworld? And as she walked, she wondered how it would feel to know those answers and not be ashamed, how it would feel to. belong.

  A crowd of people gathered around white lines drawn on the ground, many humans and an odd assortment of aliens. Some took turns swinging a stick, while one of them threw a small white ball-and threw it very badly. Saavik watched a long time before approaching the two humans who seemed to be in authority.

  ". so Koji can catch. We'll play that cadet at third."

  "But Coach, he can't run!"

  "So? He can reach, can't he? Whaddaya want from me?"

  "But Coach, we got no pitching-'less you count that Walker kid. Leastways he can throw straight."

  "Yeah, but if he ever finds the plate, they'll cream him."