The Wrath of Khan

by Vonda N. McIntyre

  Jim Kirk chuckled. Hikaru gave him a questioning glance.

  "Do you remember what she said to me, at the officers' reception the day she came on board the Enterprise?"

  "Uh—I'm not sure, sir." Actually he remembered it vividly, but if Admiral Kirk by chance were thinking of something else, Hikaru felt it would be more politic not to remind him of the other.

  "I asked her what her plans were, and she looked me straight in the eye and said, 'Captain, I want your job.'"

  Hikaru could not repress a smile. Besides remembering that, he also remembered the shocked silence that had followed. Mandala had not meant it as a threat, of course, nor had Kirk taken it as one. Not exactly. But it had not been quite the best foot for a field-promoted officer, a mustang—someone who had worked up from the ranks—to start out on.

  "She got it, too," Kirk said softly, gazing out the window and seeing, perhaps, not the earth below or the angular chaos of the space station far ahead, but new worlds and past adventures.

  "Sir? Do you mean you put in for a Galaxy ship?" Hikaru felt rather shocked, partly because if Kirk had applied, he must have been turned down, but even more that he had made the request in the first place.

  "What? Oh, no. No, of course not. I didn't mean that the way it sounded. She earned her command, just as you did yours. I don't begrudge it to either of you." He grinned. "But if I were ten years younger, she might have had a fight on her hands for one of the Galaxies."

  "I can't quite imagine you anywhere but on the bridge of the Enterprise, Captain Kirk—uh, sorry—Admiral."

  "I think I consider that a compliment, Captain Sulu."

  The autopilot emitted a soft beep as it engaged the spacedock's guide beacon. Kirk nodded to Sulu, who returned to the controls, deactivated the autopilot, and engaged the navigational computer and communications system.

  "Shuttle Seven to Enterprise. Admiral Kirk's party on final approach."

  "Shuttle Seven, welcome to Enterprise. Prepare for docking."

  "Thank you, Enterprise, we copy."

  When Sulu had completed the preparations, Kirk caught his gaze again.

  "By the way, Captain, I must thank you for coming along."

  "I was delighted to get your request, Admiral. A chance to go back on board the Enterprise, to indulge in a bit of nostalgia—how could I pass it up?"

  "Yes. . . ." Kirk said thoughtfully. "Nevertheless, I remember how much there was to do, and how little time there seemed to be to do it in, just before I got the Enterprise. It's not very long till the end of the month—when you take command of Excelsior."

  "I'm ready, sir. I've looked forward to it for a long time."

  "I know. I took a lot of pleasure in personally cutting the orders for your first command."

  "Thank you, Admiral."

  "But I'm still grateful to have you at the helm for three weeks." He grinned: for a moment the somber cloud of responsibility thinned, letting out a flash of Captain James Kirk of the Starship Enterprise. He leaned over and said, with mock confidentiality, "Mr. Sulu, I don't believe those kids can steer."

  Lieutenant Saavik watched Enterprise Shuttle Seven as it settled into its transport moorings; its pilot—Captain Sulu, she assumed—was excellent. The great doors of the starship's landing bay slid closed, and air sighed in to pressurize the compartment.

  The other trainees waited nervously for Admiral Kirk. Saavik remained outwardly impassive, though she felt uncomfortable about having to face Kirk after yesterday's disaster. He had merely added to her humiliation by rating her well in the series of simulation exams. She believed he should have significantly downgraded her overall score because of her performance on the final test. She felt confused, and Saavik disliked confusion intensely.

  Captain Spock knew far more about humans in general than Saavik thought she could ever hope to learn, and more about Admiral Kirk in particular. Perhaps he could explain Kirk's motives. Since coming on board, though, Saavik had been too busy to ask him.

  "Docking procedures completed," the computer said.

  "Prepare for inspection," Spock said. "Open airlock."

  All the trainees came to rigid attention as the doors slid open. The computer, surrogate bo'sun, piped the Admiral onto the ship. Kirk paused, saluted the Federation logo before him, and exchanged salutes with Spock.

  "Permission to come aboard, Captain?"

  "Permission granted, Admiral, and welcome."

  Kirk stepped on board the Enterprise.

  "I believe you know my trainees," Spock said. "Certainly they have come to know you."

  Kirk looked straight at Saavik. "Yes," he said, "we've been through death and life together."

  Saavik maintained her composure, but only the techniques of biocontrol that Spock had taught her saved her from a furious blush. She could not make out Kirk's tone at all. He might be attempting humor.

  For the first ten years of her life, Saavik had never laughed; for the first ten years of her life, she had never seen anyone laugh unless they had caused another person pain.

  Humor was not Saavik's forte.

  Kirk held her gaze a moment, then, when she did not respond, turned away.

  "Hello, Mr. Scott," he said to the chief engineer. "You old spacedog, Scotty, are you well?"

  "Aye, Admiral. I had a wee bout, but Dr. McCoy pulled me through."

  "'A wee bout'? A wee bout of what?"

  Saavik paid particular attention to the interchange between the humans. Spock said their words were not necessarily significant. Observe their actions toward one another, their expressions. Assign at least as much importance to the tone of voice as to what is said.

  The first thing that occurred after the admiral's question was a pause. Inability to answer the question? Saavik dismissed that immediately. Surprise or confusion? Those were possibilities. Reluctance, perhaps?

  Mr. Scott glanced at Dr. McCoy—quickly, as if he hoped no one would notice. So: reluctance it was. McCoy returned his look, adding a slight shrug and a small smile.

  "Er, shore leave, Admiral," Mr. Scott said.

  "Ah," Kirk said.

  His tone indicated comprehension, though in fact his question had been not answered but avoided. Saavik dissected the encounter in her mind and put it back together as best she could. Mr. Scott and Dr. McCoy knew of some event in Mr. Scott's life that the admiral wished to know, but which Mr. Scott would be embarrassed to reveal. Dr. McCoy agreed, by his silence, to conspire in the concealment; the admiral, by his tone of understanding, had appeared to accede to their plan, yet put them both on notice that he intended to find out exactly what had happened, but at some more convenient, perhaps more private, time.

  Saavik felt some satisfaction with the intellectual exercise of her analysis; it remained to be seen if it were accurate.

  Admiral Kirk strode along before the line, giving each trainee a stern yet not unfriendly glance. Spock and Scott accompanied him.

  "And who is this?" Kirk said, stopping in front of the child.

  Peter drew himself up so straight and serious that Saavik wanted to smile. He was blond and very fair; under the admiral's inspection his face turned bright pink. He was a sweet child, so enthusiastic he practically glowed, so proud to be in space at fourteen that he lived within a radiating sphere of joy that could not help but affect those around him.

  Even Saavik.

  Now, undergoing his very first admiral's inspection, Peter replied to Kirk breathlessly. "Cadet First Class Peter Preston, engineer's mate, sir!" He saluted stiffly, fast, and with great eagerness.

  Kirk smiled, came to attention, and saluted in the same style.

  If he laughs at Peter, Saavik thought, I shall certainly rip out his liver.

  The civilized part of her, taking over again after the infinitesimal lapse, replied: You most certainly shall not; besides—do you even know where the liver is in a human?

  "Is this your first training voyage, Mr. Preston?"

  "Yes, sir!"

 
"I see. In that case, I think we should start the inspection with the engine room."

  "Aye, sir!"

  "I dinna doubt ye'll find all in order," Mr. Scott said.

  "We shall see you on the bridge, Admiral," the captain said.

  "Very good, Mr. Spock."

  Engineer Scott started toward the turbo-lift with Kirk; the engine room company followed. Peter flashed Saavik a quick, delighted grin, and hurried after them.

  The rest of the ship's personnel dispersed quickly to attend their posts. Spock and Saavik left for the bridge.

  "Have you any observations to make, Lieutenant Saavik?" Spock asked.

  "The admiral is … not quite what I expected, Captain."

  "And what did you expect?"

  Saavik paused in thought. What had she expected? Spock held James Kirk in high regard, and she had based her preconceptions almost entirely on this fact. I expected him to be like Spock, she thought. But he resembles him not at all.

  "He's very … human. . . ."

  "You must remember that, as a member of Starfleet, you are unlikely ever to escape the presence of humans, or their influence. Tolerance is essential; in addition, it is logical."

  "You are my mentor, Captain. Your instruction has been invaluable to me—indeed, it is indispensable." They stepped into the main turbo-lift.

  "Bridge," Spock said. "Saavik, no one exists who has experiences and heritage similar enough to yours to advise you competently. Even I can only tell you that, as a Vulcan and a Romulan in a world of humans, you are forever a stranger. You will have to deal with strangers who may, at times, seem incomprehensible to you."

  "Captain," Saavik said carefully, "I confess that I had not expected the admiral to be quite so representative of his culture. However, I intended no prejudice against Admiral Kirk, nor intolerance of human beings."

  The doors to the turbo-lift opened onto the bridge, ending the conversation.

  Peter Preston stood at attention next to the control console that was his responsibility. It was the second backup system for auxiliary power, and its maintenance records showed that except for testing, it had not even been directly on-line for two years. Nevertheless, Peter had checked out every circuit and every memory nexus and every byte of its data base a dozen times over. Sometimes, late at night when the ship was docked without even a skeleton crew on duty, Peter came down and ran his console through its diagnostic programs. He loved being here all alone in the enormous engine room with the echoes of tremendous energy fluxes scintillating around him.

  Peter stood last in line for inspection. He could hardly bear the wait. He knew his console was in perfect shape. But what if Admiral Kirk found something wrong? What if—

  The admiral stopped in front of him, looked him up and down, and drew one finger along the edge of the console. Looking for dust? There definitely was not any dust.

  "I believe you'll find everything shipshape, Admiral," Peter said, and immediately wished he had kept his mouth shut.

  "Oh, do you?" Kirk said sternly. "Mr. Preston, do you have any idea, any idea at all, how often I've had to listen to Mr. Scott tell me that one more warp factor will blow the ship to bits?"

  "Uh, no sir," Peter said, quite startled.

  "Mr. Preston, do you know how they refer to the Enterprise in the officers' mess?"

  "Uh, no sir," Peter said again, and then thought, brilliant line, kid. Why don't you use it one more time and make a really good impression?

  "Why, they call it 'the flying deathtrap.' And they aren't referring to the food."

  "Sir, that's not true! This is the best ship in the whole Starfleet!"

  The admiral started to smile, and Mr. Scott chuckled. Peter felt the blood rising to his face. Oh, no, he thought, I fell for it; Dannan warned me, and I still fell for it. Dannan, his oldest sister, was already a commander; she was twelve years older than he, and he had absorbed her stories, practically through his skin, since before he could remember. If she saw him now, he knew she would tease him about looking like a ripe tomato, he blushed so hard. That is, if she would even speak to him once she found out he'd acted like such a dope.

  "And begging the admiral's pardon, sir," Peter said, "but the only person who couldn't see the truth about this ship would have to be as blind as a Tiberian bat! Sir."

  Kirk looked at him for a moment. Then he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small spidery little construction of glass and gold wire. He unfolded it, balanced it on his nose, hooked some of the wires around his ears, peered closely through the lenses at the console and over the tops of the lenses at the rest of the engine room, and finally turned to Peter again.

  "By god, you're right, Mr. Preston. It is a good ship."

  Dr. McCoy laughed, and so did Mr. Scott. For a horrible moment, Peter was afraid one of the three men was going to reach out and pat him on the head, but they spared him that. As they walked away he could not help but hear their conversation.

  "Scotty, your cadet's a tiger."

  "My sister's youngest, Admiral."

  Oh, no, Peter thought, why did he have to tell the admiral he's my uncle? Peter himself had told no one in the training group, and he had hoped that neither had Uncle Montgomery. Peter valued his uncle's advice and love and even his occasional crotchetiness, but things would have been easier, clearer somehow, if he were training under someone unrelated to him.

  "Crazy to get to space," Mr. Scott said. "Always has been."

  "Every youngster's fancy," Admiral Kirk said. "I seem to remember it myself."

  They stopped at the far end of the engine room; the admiral listened as Mr. Scott pointed out improvements added since Kirk's last visit.

  Peter ducked out of line, sprinted to the tool bay, rummaged around in his bin for a moment, and hurried to his place again.

  At the console next to him, Grenni glanced at him sidelong and muttered, "What the hell you doin', Pres? We're not dismissed yet."

  "You'll see," Peter whispered.

  Kirk and Scott and McCoy strolled back along the length of the engine room. When they reached Peter, the cadet saluted hard.

  Kirk stopped. "Yes, Mr. Preston?"

  Peter offered him a complicated instrument.

  "I believe the admiral asked after this?"

  Kirk inspected it.

  "What is it, Mr. Preston?"

  "Why, sir, it's a left-handed spanner, of course."

  Mr. Scott looked completely and utterly shocked. The admiral's mouth twitched. Dr. McCoy choked down a smile, then gave up and started to laugh. After a moment, Kirk followed suit. Mr. Scott managed nothing better than a stiff, grim smile. Peter watched them with his very best total-innocent look.

  "Mr. Scott," Kirk said, but he was laughing too hard to continue. Finally he stopped and wiped his eyes. "Mr. Scott, I think we'd better get these kids on their training cruise before they take over completely. Are your engines up to a little trip?"

  "Just give the word, Admiral."

  "Mr. Scott, the word is given."

  "Aye, sir."

  Kirk handed the "left-handed spanner" back to Peter and started away. A few steps later, he glanced over his shoulder and winked.

  As soon as the turbo-lift doors slid closed, Jim Kirk collapsed into laughter again. "Do you believe it, Bones?" He was laughing so hard he had to pause between every phrase. "God, what a terrific kid. A left-handed spanner!" Jim wiped the tears from his eyes. "I deserved that one, didn't I? I forgot how much I hated being teased when I was his age."

  "Yes, once in a while we old goats need to be reminded how things were back in the mists of prehistory."

  Kirk's amusement subsided abruptly. He still disliked being teased, and McCoy was well aware of the fact. Jim frowned, not knowing how to take McCoy's comment. "Bridge," he said to the turbo-lift voice sensor.

  "What about the rest of your inspection … Admiral?" McCoy said. He let the tone of his voice creep over into not completely benign mockery. Needling Jim Kirk was one of the few wa
ys to get him to take a good hard look at himself.

  Getting him drunk certainly had not worked.

  "I'll finish it later, Doctor," Jim said mildly. "After we're under way."

  "Jim, do you really think that a three-week training cruise once a year is going to make up for forty-nine other weeks of pushing paper? Do you think it's going to keep you from driving yourself crazy?"

  "I thought we got this conversation over with last night," Jim said. "You want to know something? It's getting extremely tedious."

  "Yeah, concern from one's friends is a bore, isn't it?"

  "Sometimes it is," Jim said. "You're a lot better surgeon than you are a psychotherapist."

  The turbo-lift doors opened, and McCoy repressed a curse. A few more minutes and he might have made some kind of breakthrough with Jim.

  Or got myself punched in the mouth, he thought. Some breakthrough.

  Admiral Kirk stepped out onto the bridge of the Enterprise, and Dr. McCoy followed him.

  McCoy had to admit it was pleasant to be back. He nodded to Uhura, and she smiled at him. Mr. Sulu had the helm, though just now it appeared that Lieutenant Saavik, first officer and science officer for the training cruise, would be piloting the Enterprise for practice. The main difference, of course, was that now Mr. Spock was the captain. He did not relinquish his place to Kirk; to do so would be improper. Heaven forbid that Spock might do anything improper.

  "Admiral on the bridge!" Mr. Sulu said.

  "As you were," Kirk said before anyone could stand up or salute.

  "Starfleet Operations to Enterprise. You are cleared for departure."

  "Lieutenant Saavik, " Spock said, "clear all moorings."

  "Aye, sir."

  She set to work. Kirk and McCoy descended to the lower bridge.

  "Greetings, Admiral." Spock nodded to McCoy as well. "Dr. McCoy. I trust the inspection went well."

  "Yes, Captain, I'm very impressed," Kirk said.

  "Moorings clear, Captain," Saavik said.

  "Thank you, Lieutenant." Spock paused a moment, and then his eyes got that hooded look that McCoy had learned in self-defense to recognize.

  "Lieutenant Saavik," Spock said, "how many times have you piloted a starship out of spacedock?"