Star Trek - Pandora Principle

by Pandora Principle

  "And the locked cellar?" Spock's glance shifted aft.

  "A transporter needs no keys. Sensors locate precious metal. But I only converted Tahn's ill-gotten gains. I never asked him where they came from. Such curiosity would be unseemly. No, I knew nothing of his absurd politics until he summoned me, certain his great leader had found him out, removed his gold, and appropriated the soldiers who could defend him. I could hardly contradict him, could I? So I sent him off with his troops. We planned to meet at Thieurrull, and I went about my business-but that cursed gold was too damned heavy. Ruined my stabilizer, and left me to the likes of Starfleet. I even tried to warn you, once I learned where you had taken us, but your doctor drugged and trussed me like a chicken rather than listen to good sense. This whole transaction," he complained peevishly, "has been nothing but politics from beginning to end. Avoid politics, friend Spock. They are dangerous, and very bad for business."

  "I abhor your business," Spock said, "but I take you at your word-against my better judgment. A question, if I may-"

  There was the whine of electric carts outside and the sound of footsteps, then a knock on the hatch's rim. "Your cargo, Mr. Achernar, and I did like you said with the. oh. Mr. Spock."

  "Mr. Nelson, gentlemen. Proceed." The security team loaded the contents of their carts into the hold, which now appeared as empty as before. It did not escape Spock's notice that two items were missing: the Romulan ale and the Glenlivet. He sighed and refrained from comment; for once, he simply didn't want to know.

  "Now," said Achernar when they were gone, "something still puzzles you, friend. What is your question?"

  "Why did you do it? Mr. Harper said you knew your ship was repaired. I am not clear on how you escaped from sickbay, but you could have come here instead of to the bridge. You took a risk."

  "Yes." Achernar's face softened. "And so did the little cat who set me free-against her better judgment. She dislikes me. She vowed," he recalled fondly, "that if harm came to your ship she would hunt me down and rip my heart out. Let us say that I believed her." He delved into a pocket and took out a coin. "Romulan gold," he murmured, holding it to the light. "None finer in all the galaxy. Give her this for me someday, to remind her of her worth." He laughed at Spock's hesitation and pressed it into the Vulcan's hand. "I shall deduct it from my commission, of course."

  "Of course. And someday perhaps she will appreciate it. Safe journey, Achernar. You did us a service."

  "I did. One that I expect to be returned should our paths cross again and should the need arise. As the humans say, friend Spock, you owe me. And unlike Vulcans," he grinned, "I call in my debts." He was still grinning when Spock reached the bottom of the ramp and turned back to lift his hand.

  "Live long, Achernar, and. prosper."

  "I endeavor to do both. Prosper, friend Spock. Live long!"

  Spock felt a sudden chill as the hatch swung closed. The hangar deck was cold; no doubt he was tired. From behind the observation window he watched the ship lift off, a black needle darting into a black night.

  ". yes, sir, that's what it says." Lieutenant-Adjutant Michaels stood nervously at Nogura's desk. "But your order went out already, sir! By now those ships-"

  "Where's the verification on this?" Nogura snapped, furiously calculating subspace time-lags and his fleet's distance from the Neutral Zone. "Are we sure it came from Enterprise?"

  "Confirmed, sir." Michaels keyed in the transmission data and analysis. "And she's not in enemy hands. This overrode every priority sequence in the network. Even if the Romulans had our new code, they couldn't do that. This was sent by an expert, Admiral. It repeats three times, each cross-ciphered by a different date-the date the Treaty was ratified, then the date Enterprise was commissioned, then. well, that's your birthday, isn't it, sir?"

  "Science got all this?"

  "Yes, sir. But it'll take a while to find enough of that stuff to pulverize and beam into the air supply-"

  The intercom shrilled: Komack. Again.

  Nogura stared at the data on his screen. A war was beginning, a hundred years of peace ending because a message came too late. If the message was right, that didn't need to happen. But if it was wrong-

  ". one moment, sir." Michaels covered the tiny sensor of the comm's remote with his finger. "Sir, Admiral Komack's shuttle is docking, and he wants to see you, sir-about why you delayed the attack. He wants to come up here. He wants to know what the, uh, hell you're doing. Sorry, sir. That's a quote."

  Nogura nodded. Across the room, his willow's branches stirred in a breeze from the air vent. Surviving. Bending. Constantly reminding him that life would be easier if its owner did the same. But trees weren't admirals. Life wasn't easy. And right now he'd rather be looking at an oak.

  "Turning some ships around," he said, reaching for his encoder, "is what the hell I'm doing. Tell him that, Michaels." He began tapping on the keys.

  "Aye, sir." The young adjutant gulped, muttered miserably into the comm and winced during its lengthy reply. Then he covered the sensor again. "Admiral, he-he says you can't do that, sir!"

  Nogura's fingers kept tapping; he didn't look up.

  "Sir, he says the Council voted! He says he'll write a report! He says-"

  "Michaels."

  "-sir?"

  "Put him on hold."

  Chapter Thirteen

  SAAVIK SAT IN a dark corner of the observation deck, where she'd spent the return voyage watching the stars, speaking to no one, and considering how her life had changed. Spock had not sent for her, and she felt no desire to hasten the moment; it would come soon enough. After days of soul-searching and casting some fiercely held assumptions aside, she found much to wonder about in this new life that lay before her. But of one thing she was certain: There was no place in Starfleet for her now, not for any cadet who disobeyed orders and assaulted her commanding officer. Regulations were quite specific on that point-and Spock was also bound by them, as she knew very well at the time. It changed nothing. She had done what she must, and he would do the same.

  Dr. McCoy appeared every day, ran his scanner over her, and examined the healing layer of syntheskin that covered her hands and arms. He made approving noises, sprayed something cold on her wounds, and showed a delicacy she never suspected he possessed by leaving her alone. Uhura came once, sat with her awhile, then touched her on the shoulder and went away again.

  And Bobby Harper brought her the news. He found her here that first night and every night since, and in his quiet, gentle way began to tell her of each day's events, never asking questions or expecting a response. She heard how Achernar was a legend now and Obo was a hero; and how halfway across the Neutral Zone, the whole Federation fleet turned back when the answer came in time.

  ". and it worked," Harper was telling her now. "Word came from some admiral today. HQ and Life City are open. Memorial services are tomorrow, and we're almost home. We made it, Saavik, we stopped a war. And Earth's safe again. So whatever you did back there, well, it made a difference. I just wanted you to know."

  Saavik was still silent, but Harper thought she seemed a little less distant than before. And she'd listened hard when he told her how Obo was getting well. So maybe it did some good to keep talking to her like this. She didn't seem to mind, but it was always hard to tell with Vulcans.

  "Funny, though, about that dust," he mused, settling back with her to watch the view. "Mr. Spock said it immunized the whole planet and he should have known. The machines that made the weapons weren't designed to keep the virus in, but to keep the dust out. All those iron and sulfur compounds-the air was full of 'em. But one, FeS2, actually breaks down the virus's molecular structure. Starfleet really was sitting on the answer, and so was Life City. See, in the old days people came out to California prospecting for gold, and lots of folks lost everything on good old FeS2. Iron pyrite. It sure looked pretty, but it wasn't the real thing. That's why they called it 'fool's gold.' I wonder what they'd think now if they knew it saved the world."


  "Mr. Harper," said Saavik softly, the first time she'd spoken in days, "I would like to ask a question. What do humans do when they. lose everything?"

  Harper wished he knew. He hadn't lost everything, of course; Obo was doing fine. But this morning Mr. Spock offered him a permanent assignment to the Enterprise, said to think it over and to let him know. There's nothing to go back to, he'd been telling himself all day. Mom's gone, and home won't ever be the same. and he had to quit seeing Jessie Korbet's face in his dreams and wishing for things that might have been. But there's Obo. What about Obo?.

  "Everything?" he put his mind to Saavik's question. "You mean like fortunes, or homes, or. people we love? Things like that?"

  "Yes." Saavik nodded, eyes on the stars. "Things like that."

  Harper thought about those prospectors and pioneers long ago. He thought about shining domes and childhood haunts and growing up in a city that made a thousand worlds his home. He thought about his mother, all those awards hanging in her office, all the work she never got to finish-and he thought about Obo. And suddenly he knew what he'd be telling Mr. Spock.

  "Well, when we lose everything," he said quietly, "we rebuild it, that's what we do. We begin again, and we start over as often as it takes. I almost forgot that. I had to decide something important today, and now I know what to do. Thanks, Saavik."

  "For what, Mr. Harper? You knew the answer."

  "But I didn't know I knew it," he smiled, "till you asked the right question. Humans aren't logical like Vulcans. We always look for happy endings. And when things don't turn out that way, we just try again. So we keep our old stories, like the one about Pandora, because we need to believe something was left inside that box. A chance to win, I guess, against all the evil in the world."

  "Hope."

  "Yeah. And sometimes we win. But other times. we sort of get rained out. Vulcans don't believe in hope, do they?"

  "I do not know. I have not experienced it, but there are many things I have not experienced. For myself," she said slowly, "I believe that people make their own evils-and the result is not a matter of chance. I believe a box opens, Mr. Harper, because that is its nature-and curiosity is ours. Trusting in gods does not keep it shut, and hope does not keep its evil from getting into the world. The only way to do that. is not to make the box."

  "But someone always does. You think people can change?"

  "I think those who look for happy endings must insist upon it. And I know people can change."

  "Now that," he smiled, "sounds a little like hope, Saavik."

  "No," she sighed, "it is very hard work. But every time I fail, I'll remember what you said, Mr. Harper. And I will begin again." she turned back to the stars, retreating into her own thoughts as she whispered to herself, ". as often as it takes."

  And after a while, Harper slipped away to find Mr. Spock. He still didn't know what happened to make her so sad. Come to think of it, he didn't know much about Saavik at all. Except that she was "the Photon Torpedo." He'd seen her pitch three perfect games without even wrinkling her uniform. And he didn't think someone with an arm like that would ever fail-at anything.

  "Spock, come take a look at this." McCoy bent over his scan. "I swear, that little critter's tougher than anybody thought. It's growing new fingers, see? Cellular regeneration's already advanced. Now how the hell does it do that?"

  Spock studied the screen a moment. "Easy fix, no doubt."

  "And very quick! But what happens to Obo now? And what will you do about Harper?"

  "Mr. Harper has asked for a transfer to Life City, and I shall expedite his request. His knowledge will prove invaluable during the restoration. I am recommending the Belandrid to the museum's authorities for a position there as well. So Mr. Obo's stated preference-to remain with Mr. Harper-stands every chance of being honored. I can see no logic in separating personnel who perform more efficiently together."

  "Well," McCoy said, relieved, "it's about time your logic made some sense!"

  Spock went to the door, then hesitated. For a Vulcan, McCoy thought, he was almost dithering. "Doctor," he finally said, "I came to inquire about Saavik. What is her condition?"

  "She won't have scars, if that's what you mean. Not on the outside anyway. As for what goes on in her head, you know better than. Spock? Won't she talk to you either? I just assumed-"

  "I have not seen her, Doctor. I have waited, but she has chosen to miss her tutorial every day since-"

  "Miss her. she got buried alive! Came within an inch of dying down there! And you worry about her goddamn schoolwork?"

  Spock stiffened. "I requested a medical opinion, Doctor."

  "And I'm giving you one! Not that you ever tell me what's going on! But my guess is that besides everything else, maybe she remembered whatever it was she forgot. And maybe it was just too much information, too fast. Give her a rest, Spock, for God's sake. She won't feel like learning anything for a while."

  "That is unacceptable," said Spock flatly.

  It was the last straw for McCoy. "Now you listen here, you green-blooded son of a Vulcan! You took her down there! You nearly got her killed! And now you don't have the decency to ask her how she's doing? Well, since you're so damn concerned, she's up on the observation deck, looking like her life is over! I don't know why, but you're the only person she gives a damn about. So get up there, and do whatever it takes to cheer her up! YOU HEAR ME?"

  "Surely a rhetorical question, Doctor. And as you correctly point out, I am ill-suited to the task. Which of course I knew in the first place." The bleakness in Spock's face took McCoy by surprise. His anger evaporated, leaving him gruffly apologetic.

  "Aw, you'll think of something. God knows you've had enough practice over the years. Just do what you always do, Spock." A note of affection crept into his voice. "Just. be yourself."

  Spock raised an eyebrow and considered this a moment. Then he turned and left McCoy talking to himself.

  "What am I saying? I just told the Big Bad Wolf to go cheer up Little Red Riding Hood!"

  A fine gold dust still swirled in the air at Starfleet Headquarters as workers in suits and masks went about the long process of cleaning up. Federation Plaza swarmed with shuttles landing empty, lifting off with sealed black coffins draped in Federation flags. The dead were going home for burial to cities on Earth and to worlds far away, with medals for their service and escorts to do them honor. But from all the tragedy had come one hopeful piece of news: For the first time in history, the Romulan government used a subspace channel to speak directly to the Federation Council. This unprecedented contact signaled new hope for a dialogue. They had not known of the plot, they said, until certain information came to light; the traitors had been dealt with; no one wanted war. So the peace of the galaxy, which teetered on the brink for a while, had righted itself again.

  In his Spacedock office Nogura frowned at his comm, where two security guards were checking in from Administration's Room 2103.

  "She wants to take what with her?"

  "A book, Admiral," Renn broke in, "just a book. Sir, we got a call from Starfleet Medical-I knew Admiral Kirk wasn't taking care of himself! Is he going to be all right, sir?"

  "Yes, Doctor. It's just exhaustion. What about that book?"

  "Well, they said he keeps talking in his sleep about a book and a little brother. And they asked if we knew what he meant. We don't, but this was the only book around. It belonged to that ensign who died at the front desk. So I asked Security to bring it over. We'd like to take it to him, sir."

  "All right. But you'll have to hurry. You two are going out to Life City. They need help restoring the exhibits-and a computer jockey. The hours will be better, I dare say. And you're both getting well-deserved commendations. Doctor, Mr. Kinski, your shuttle is waiting. You're dismissed, with thanks." Nogura switched off and took his next call. "Yes, Michaels?"

  "That ship's been decontaminated, Admiral. All the weapons are destroyed. They tested its fancy cloaking device. Didn't wo
rk, sir. Power drain blew all the warp enabler circuits. And Enterprise is in system, Admiral. She'll dock within the hour."

  "I'll be there."

  Nogura shut down the comm and went to water his bonsai, blooming now against the blue oceans of Earth. It was one task he never delegated, and he was leaving tonight. Tomorrow he would speak at the memorial service and dedicate a monument to Starfleet's fallen; he'd insisted on that. A new tree would grow in Federation Plaza. Nogura would plant it himself.

  And he'd made damn sure it would be an oak.

  ". but you can't quit now, Kinski," Renn argued. "Not when Life City needs us. That's just bad timing!"

  They sat in the shuttle's back seat as it climbed through the gathering clouds over San Francisco.

  "Admiral Kirk told me to think about it, and I have," Kinski declared. He was sounding much more sure of himself lately.