At that Achernar threw back his head and laughed. "No, friend Spock. No, I am not. I was only born a Romulan."
"To what world do you owe allegiance?"
"My world is my ship. My. allegiance," the word amused him, "is to a principle far more enduring than permits or empires."
"How noble, that is if Federation authorities share your views. I should be interested to hear them."
"Certainly. Governments obsess themselves with loyalties and regulations. I deal in reality. You see, people will always trade something for something, no matter who they are or where they live. And in all my travels, I find that everyone has a price. Now, may we speak plainly? Grateful as I am, your assistance could prove. awkward. And as it happens, I possess information of value to your Starfleet. It is, of course, for sale."
"Of course." So much for principles. "Yours, I fear, are sadly wanting. What is this information? What is its price? And what assurance will I have that it is accurate?"
"My information," said Achernar, "is the latest Romulan plot to bring your Federation to its knees. Interested?"
"Ah. A plot." Spock sighed in apparent boredom. "Rumored, no doubt. I must say, I am disappointed. You lack originality."
"A thousand pardons. Yes, plots are common in the Empire, common as cloaks, but I rather think you should hear this one. If I lack originality, the plan does not-and you lack knowledge of those you call your enemy. My price is modest: repair my ship, let me be about my business. My cargo is yours, call it a token of my gratitude. As for assurance, well, you must take my word-as I must take yours that my ship would not explode around me when I leave. Come now, friend Spock," he murmured, "I believe the risks are in your favor. Set aside these philosophical objections. I am a businessman, so let us do some business."
Spock appeared to weigh the matter carefully, then shook his head. "In conscience, Achernar, if that is in fact your name, I can make no agreement until I hear this 'plot' of which you speak. It could be last year's crisis, known to us already, or of no consequence at all. If it is none of those things, I may consider a bargain. The choice is yours."
Achernar laughed again. "I see you also are a businessman, friend Spock. Very well then, I accept. I shall even answer questions if I can. This much is what I know."
Three sobering hours later Spock rose from his chair. "Your ship," he said, "will be repaired. When our mission is completed you will be free to go. Until then, you may leave your quarters only when accompanied by security personnel and wearing a surveillance transmitter. Any attempt to remove it or to enter restricted areas will trigger a security alert and forfeit our arrangement. I trust you understand my caution."
"Of course," Achernar said graciously. "Most generous."
Spock started from the room, then paused at the door.
"And regarding your 'greater principle,' Achernar: not only is it morally bankrupt, it is simply incorrect. People do not always trade something for something. Sometimes they manipulate the trader. And sometimes they prefer what they already have. One day, in all your travels, you may find that out."
"And one day, friend Spock," Achernar smiled, "you may find something worth trading for. Then, I think, even you would pay the price. A pleasure doing business with you, friend Spock."
No, but it was enlightening, Spock decided on his way back to the bridge. That information was accurate, confirmed by events on Earth, and more: A secret military faction in the Romulan Empire had long been funding troops, ships, private missions-all without knowledge or consent of the government. That would explain the decades of diplomatic failures, broken contacts, each side certain the other was lying through its teeth. Now, with Earth hanging in the balance, the Empire's official intransigence and well-worn denials would not sit well with members of the Federation Council. And hours away from the Neutral Zone, on a covert mission under radio silence, Spock had no means of telling them that the Empire just might be speaking the truth. Or might not.
Was Achernar what he claimed to be, this man so disturbingly well-informed who would name no names? Why was that, if his only loyalty were to himself? And if his loyalty lay elsewhere, then friend Achernar would have little to lose by explaining the mousetrap to the mouse, once it was already sprung.
That evening Saavik sat in Dr. McCoy's consultation room doing her best to be polite, while he lectured her on the dangers of buried emotions, their relation to traumatic memory loss, and his peculiar belief that feelings were somehow beneficial. Saavik found this so absurd that she couldn't bring herself to discuss her own. At last he relinquished the tapes she'd asked for, muttering that someone must want to talk to him, and left her alone. The scans confirmed her memories of pain, but an hour of staring at them shed no light on how she came by those injuries.
She found Lieutenant Harper waiting outside.
"Hello, Saavik. I'm sorry about the other day. If you have time, I'd still like to talk to you."
She nodded. Perhaps it wouldn't take long.
"It's kind of a long story." He told it as they walked along. ". and the whole city died that night. My mother, people I've known all my life, and someone. someone very special I'd just met. All because of me."
Saavik listened, horrified. The lieutenant's tale struck a chord inside her, deep and frightening-and his honesty made her ashamed. It took courage, she realized, to speak of such a thing.
"I talk to Dr. McCoy about it every day. He says the mind protects itself in funny ways. Sometimes people feel guilty all their lives instead of admitting they couldn't've changed what happened, because that would be even scarier. At first I didn't believe that. I mean, I could have." he paused. "But that day we talked about Pandora, remember? I got to thinking-and you know what? I think Pandora was set up! The gods knew she was curious enough to open their box, and they knew exactly what was inside. So if she was set up. well, maybe Dr. McCoy's right. Maybe I was too. I have to live with what I did, and I don't know how to do that yet. But what you said helped me a lot. I just wanted to tell you."
"I believe," said Saavik, wanting to scream at the injustice of it all, "that the deaths of people you knew saved the lives of many you did not. But that is little comfort. Oh, you were set up, Mr. Harper. Your world was attacked. Your species' curiosity was part of a plan. You are not to blame, and you did not kill your city-the Romulans did. You must hate them for it. I do." The instant she said it she knew how wrong it sounded. Harper looked pensive. They reached the lift, and he held the door open for her. To cover her confusion she followed him inside.
"Well, I hate whoever did it, sure. But to hate a whole race of people I've never even met." He shook his head. "See, Mom wouldn't have wanted that. She always used to say, 'There is no them-only people.' And I guess I grew up believing it."
Oh, but there is a "them," Mr. Harper, thought Saavik. There is.
The lift opened onto the light and noise of the rec deck, and she hung back. "May I ask why we are here, Mr. Harper? My tutorial is in one hour."
"It's a party," he confessed, "and I didn't tell you earlier because I was afraid you'd say no. Tonight's our last chance to have some fun. C'mon, Saavik, I'd really like you to be there."
"I-I should prepare my lessons, but." Fun? An opportunity to observe it in progress? She had no experience with invitations or emotional appeals-and no experience in refusing them.
So on the ship's last night in Federation space, Saavik found herself at a party with the off-duty crew instead of studying.
She saw no evidence of "fun." All they did was eat. Large trays of exotic foods (far in excess of nutritional requirements) were piled on tables, and between mouthfuls all their talk was of the smuggler, his amazing ship and his illicit cargo. Chekov and Sulu called him a scoundrel in admiring tones and said he shouldn't be trusted. Uhura, who had run an errand to sickbay and actually seen him, said she'd never trust anyone that good-looking. Obo worked its way from lap to lap, drinking something fizzy, making slurping noises through its straw, and patting as many people a
s possible. No one seemed to mind. When Saavik's turn came, she was surprised to find that she didn't mind either.
"Mr. Obo," she looked into glowing eyes as the Belandrid sat down beside her, "I would like to ask a question. How do you effect repairs without first testing the equipment and without using tools? I saw you-"
"Eeeasy fix! Vvvery quick!"
"You do indeed. But how?"
"I'm afraid that's all you'll ever get," Harper said. "Those fingers get hot enough to solder metal, and they're so fine you can't see the real tips-but we don't know how Obo does it. Belandros has no technology at all. Obo just sort of picked this up."
"You are gifted, Mr. Obo."
Uhura had been strumming a guitar; now she began to sing-a new song, she told them, one she'd just written.
"'Good ship Earth,' your children say, 'We'll be leaving you someday, Bound for other worlds beyond your sky.'"
"And you are bbbeautiful, Saavik," Obo whispered. Soft, blue fingers tickled her own with warm, spidery tips.
"'Where we'll love the stars we roam, And sing of coming home, And know that we were always meant to fly.'"
The music went on, and Saavik realized that Obo was holding her hand. Notes seemed to flow in the air around her. Her mind flowed too, undisciplined, somehow at ease. Now Bobby Harper was smiling, Obo was stroking her cheek, and feelings she didn't understand were overloading her senses.
Colors and shapes swam before her eyes, intense, brilliant as the faces around her. Self-limiting, yes, and sometimes foolish, but. beautiful, she thought, as if she were seeing them for the first time, how they belong to each other. And for a moment, Saavik almost understood about humans and love and coming home. She wanted to tell them that. She wanted to tell them everything, to be part of them, to belong-
Saavik froze.
In the doorway stood a security guard with a tall man in a black cloak. He had silver hair, a fine-boned face, and pointed ears. His eyes scanned the room, came to rest on her and didn't look away. He smiled-and Saavik knew she was looking at the face of the enemy. Obo moved away. Saavik's heart was beating in her throat.
"Come in," said Uhura, and to Saavik's horror, she smiled too. "This is Achernar. He's the one we rescued. He been giving you any trouble, Nelson?"
"Nope," the burly guard grinned and shook his head. "He's a real gentleman. The doctor says he's too weak to be anything else."
"And much too grateful," said Achernar. "You saved my ship and may well have saved my life."
"We know," said Sulu casually. Uhura began performing introductions. Even as Saavik's senses righted themselves, it still seemed that the world was mad. They all studied the stranger with interest, except for Obo who had gone to sleep in Harper's lap. ". and this is Cadet Saavik."
"Ah, 'Little Cat,'" Achernar murmured, eyes boring into her.
A wave of killing instinct swept over Saavik, dizziness and raw fear. Her fingers dug into the table beside her chair, inches away from an unused knife on a tray. Someone asked him something, and he glanced away from her a moment. When he looked back, the knife rested hard and cold in her sleeve. No one saw. No one heard the pounding of her heart. "I must go," she said, rising.
"Oh, don't go now, Saavik," Uhura protested. "Is that what your name means? It's lovely."
"As its owner," smiled Achernar, mocking the hatred in her eyes. "And this ship," he smoothly changed the subject, "is full of wonders. I am not permitted access to your computers, but perhaps someone can enlighten me. What is our destination?"
"Sorry," said Sulu easily. "Orders."
"Sssecret!" Obo roused itself, blinked a bleary eye. "Ssspock said-"
"So what happened to your ship?" Sulu interrupted quickly, as Harper gave Obo a warning glare.
Achernar shrugged. "As I told Mr. Spock-"
"Ssstabilizer," Obo gurgled happily. "Easyfix-"
This time, Harper groaned out loud. "Obo."
"Whoops! Secret, Bobby?"
"Excuse me!" muttered Saavik, stepping over cushions and outstretched feet. "I really must go now." She was desperate to leave before they noticed she was shaking. The Romulan knew, she was certain, but he only watched, smiling his horrible smile. She made a hasty exit to a chorus of "thanks for coming" and "see you later," torn between fear for the humans and fear of what she might do if she stayed.
Back in her cabin, she locked her door, leaned against the wall, still shaking, and drew the knife from her sleeve. It gleamed dully in her hand, a blunt, useless thing. Revulsion and shame swept over her. In one blind moment of instinct she had betrayed years of Spock's teaching and trust; she had betrayed herself. She would throw it down the disposal chute right now, consign it to the ship's recyclers, wipe the object and the act out of her mind, and no one would ever-
The comm whistled, and her heart turned to ice. She jerked open the drawer of her small desk, flung the knife inside, and slammed it shut. Then she answered the call.
"You are sixteen minutes late for your tutorial, Saavik. Is there some difficulty of which I am unaware?"
"I. I apologize, Mr. Spock. I am on my way." She switched off, staring at the closed drawer, remembering that mocking face, remembering why she'd stolen a knife in the first place.
When she left she set the door to lock behind her.
". but he is Romulan!"
"Yes, Saavik. We know that."
"You knew? And you let him-how did you find out?"
"By medscan, of course. It registers the identifying blood component, a slight difference in the cellular-"
"Lock him up somewhere!"
"Saavik. He is under guard, and you are overwrought. For the moment I shall ignore your impertinence. Do you imagine that we take no precautions? Do you advocate incarceration for anyone aboard whose blood components-"
"Then lock me up as well! He is dangerous, Spock! Do not trust him! He will harm us if he can!"
Spock watched her closely. Her eyes glittered; feverish spots of color burned on her cheeks, and the look on her face was deadly. "Why do you say that? How will he harm us, Saavikam? You must tell me why you believe this."
"I-I don't know! But I am right! Listen to me, Spock! He is planning something! I saw it-in his eyes! I felt-oh, this will not sound logical to you, but that feeling has kept me alive! He is Romulan, and he knows. what I am. He said what my name means! Out loud! In front of everyone, just to-"
Spock raised his hand for silence and turned to the intercom. "Bridge, Spock here. Where is our subject now?"
"Rec deck, sir. Lounge area three. Sitting with-"
"Acknowledged. Spock out. you see, Saavikam, we do have the situation in hand. Now sit. Compose yourself. And explain why you were on the rec deck and not on time for our lessons." Spock's astringent presence was having its usual effect, and the Romulan was being watched by many people, here on this mighty ship.
Saavik's breathing slowed. Her fear began to seem irrational even to herself. "Cheering up Mr. Harper," she mumbled, shifting uncomfortably in her chair. "He asked me to their party. He said it would be fun, and I wished to observe that, but they never got around to it. They consumed no intoxicants, but they ate a lot of food and Lieutenant Commander Uhura sang a song." She fell silent.
"Are you concerned about tomorrow, Saavikam? Shall we speak of that?"
Tomorrow. Hellguard. "Will I remember when we get there?"
"There is no way of knowing, Saavikam."
"And what if I do? Can that place make-" she looked away, "-make me what I used to be? I mean, is it possible-"
"No. Do not fear your memories. What we learn makes us what we are. Life moves forward, Saavikam, and so must we. We cannot choose our pasts, only our futures. The past has no power over your progress. It has been lived. It is already behind you."
But it isn 't, she thought, it's ahead of me, waiting there on Hellguard. And I am so afraid. "Then tomorrow-what must I do?"
"What you must always do: determine your duty and accomplish the task. But tom
orrow," he said purposefully, "your duty is well-defined. You will follow my orders-at all times. Many lives depend upon what we find there. You must obey me, Saavikam, and there may be no time for questions. Do you understand?"
Saavik nodded. She saw a stolen knife lying in a drawer, the tiredness in Spock's eyes. She thought of all their nights of questions, answers, schools he'd found for her on worlds across the galaxy, study tapes that always came no matter from how far away. and how it felt, that learning. Always Spock, unfolding the secrets of the Universe from subatomic particles to the life cycles of the stars. and she wanted this night to last forever.
"But there is time now," he was saying. "I am not due on the bridge for five hours. We may spend them as you choose."
"Then I would like to study, as we always do. Tomorrow I might not. have time." He nodded his approval, settled back in his chair, switched on his viewer, and began on a stack of tapes. Saavik worked awhile in silence. "Mr. Spock? I would like to ask a question."
Star Trek - Pandora Principle Page 19
