The Wrath of Khan

by Vonda N. McIntyre

  "That is wise." Spock stood up. "In any case, were the circumstances otherwise, logic would still dictate that the needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few."

  "Or the one?"

  "Admiral—" Spock said. He stopped, then began again. "Jim, you are my superior officer. But you are also my friend. I have been, and remain, yours. I am offering you the truth as I perceive it, for myself and for you."

  "Spock—" Kirk said quietly. He reached out.

  Spock drew back within himself.

  Kirk respected the change. He let his hand fall.

  "Will you come to the bridge? I didn't do much explaining, and I think your students wonder if I've mutinied."

  "Yes, Admiral. But perhaps we'd best talk with Mr. Scott first, so he may explain the situation to his cadets as well."

  That day at lunchtime, Saavik went to the cafeteria and got in line. All around her, her classmates speculated about the change in plan, the Enterprise's new course, the admiral's unusual move in taking over the ship. Saavik, too, wondered what all these abrupt changes meant. She leaned toward the view that it was another, more sophisticated, training simulation.

  A few minutes after the admiral's order, Captain Spock had returned to the bridge accompanying Admiral Kirk. He assured the crew that Kirk's action had his consent. Yet Saavik still felt uncomfortable about the whole procedure.

  She hesitated over her choice of lunch. She would have preferred steak tartare, but the captain considered eating meat—raw meat in particular—an uncivilized practice at best; consequently Saavik ordinarily chose something else when she was to take a meal in his company. She had tried for a long time to conform to the Vulcan ideal, vegetarianism, but had succeeded only in making herself thoroughly sick.

  She compromised, choosing an egg dish which came out of the galley in a profoundly bland state, but which could be made nearly palatable by the addition of a large amount of sesame oil and pippali, a fiery spice. Peter Preston had taken a taste of it once, and Saavik had not warned him to use it sparingly. She had had no idea of the effect it would have on a human being. Once he stopped coughing and drinking water and could talk again, he described it as "a sort of combination of distilled chili and nuclear fission."

  She wondered where Peter was. They occasionally ate together; but though now was his lunch break, he was not in the cafeteria.

  Saavik stopped beside Captain Spock's table. He was eating a salad.

  "May I join you, sir?"

  "Certainly, Lieutenant."

  She sat down and tried to think of a proper way to voice her concern about the admiral's having taken command of the Enterprise.

  "Lieutenant," Spock said, "how are Mr. Preston's lessons proceeding?"

  "Why—very well, sir. He's an excellent student and has a true aptitude for the subject."

  "I thought perhaps he might be finding the work too difficult."

  "I've seen no evidence of that, Captain."

  "Yet Mr. Scott has asked me to suspend Mr. Preston's tutorial."

  "Why?" Saavik asked, startled.

  "His explanation was that the engines require work, and that Preston's help is needed."

  "The engines," Saavik said, "just scored one hundred fifteen percent on the postoverhaul testing."

  "Precisely," Spock said. "I have considered other explanations. An attempt by Mr. Scott to shield Preston from overwork seemed a possibility."

  Saavik shook her head. "First, Captain, I believe Peter feels comfortable enough around me that he would let me know if he felt snowed under—"

  "'Snowed under'?"

  "Severely overworked. I beg your pardon. I did not intend to be imprecise."

  "I meant no criticism, Lieutenant—your progress in dealing with human beings can only be improved by learning their idioms."

  Saavik compared Scott's odd request to her earlier conversation with Peter. "I believe I know why Mr. Scott canceled Cadet Preston's tutorial."

  She explained what had happened.

  Spock considered. "The action seems somewhat extreme. Mr. Scott surely realizes that proper training is worth all manner of inconvenience—for student and teacher. Did Mr. Preston say anything else?"

  "He preferred not to repeat part of it. He said it was … 'too dumb.' He seemed embarrassed."

  "Indeed." Spock ate a few bites of his salad; Saavik tasted her lunch. She added more pippali.

  "Saavik," Spock said, "has the cadet shown any signs of serious attachment to you?"

  "What do you mean, sir?"

  "Does he express affection toward you?"

  "I suppose one might say that, Captain. He appeared quite relieved when I told him that I do not consider him a 'pest.' And I must confess …" she said, somewhat reluctantly, "I am … rather fond of him. He's a sweet-natured and conscientious child."

  "But he is," Spock said carefully, "a child."

  "Of course." Saavik wondered what Spock was leading up to.

  "Perhaps Mr. Scott is afraid his nephew is falling in love with you."

  "That's ridiculous!" Saavik said. "Even were it not highly improper, it would be impossible."

  "It would be improper. But not impossible, or even unlikely. It is, rather, a flaw of human nature. If Cadet Preston develops what humans call a 'crush' on you—"

  "Sir?" Now she felt confused.

  "A crush, for humans, is something like falling in love; however, it occurs only in very young members of the species and is looked upon with great amusement by older members."

  The reasons for Peter's behavior suddenly became much clearer. If this were what he was too embarrassed to tell her about, no wonder. She was well aware how much he disliked being laughed at.

  Spock continued. "You must deal with it as best you can, as gently as you can. Human beings are very vulnerable in these matters, and very easily hurt. And, as you quite correctly pointed out, it would be improper—"

  Saavik felt both shocked and uncomfortable. "Mr. Spock," she said, returning to the title she had used for him for many years, "Peter is a child. And even if falling in love is a flaw of human nature, it is not one of Vulcan nature."

  "But you are not a Vulcan," Spock said.

  Saavik dropped her fork clattering onto her plate and stood up so fast that her chair rattled across the floor.

  "Sit down," Spock said gently.

  Unwillingly, she obeyed.

  "Saavik, do not misunderstand me. Your behavior as regards Cadet Preston is completely proper—I entertain no doubts of that. I am not concerned with him for the moment, but with you."

  "I've tried to learn Vulcan ways," she said. "If you will tell me where I've failed—"

  "Nor are we speaking of failure."

  "I—I don't understand."

  "I chose the Vulcan path when I was very young. For many years, I considered it the best, indeed the only, possible choice for any reasoning being. But …" He stopped for a moment, then appeared to change the subject. "I spoke to you of tolerance and understanding—"

  Saavik nodded.

  "I have come to realize that what is proper for one being may not be correct for another. In fact, it may be destructive. The choice is more difficult for someone with two cultures—"

  "I have only one!"

  "—who must choose between them, or choose to follow another's lead, or choose a path that is unique. You are unique, Saavik."

  "Mr. Spock, what does this have to do with Peter Preston?"

  "It has nothing at all to do with Mr. Preston."

  "Then what are you trying to say to me?"

  "What I am trying to say—and I am perhaps not the most competent person to say it, but there is no other—is that some of the decisions you make about your life may differ from what I might decide, or even from what I might advise. You should be prepared for this possibility, so that you do not reject it when it appears. Do you understand?"

  She was about to tell him that she did not, but she felt sufficiently disturbed and uneasy—as, to her
surprise, Mr. Spock also appeared to feel—that she wanted to end the conversation.

  "I'd like to think about what you've said, Captain." Saavik put herself, and Spock, back into their relationship of commander and subordinate.

  "Very good, Lieutenant," he said, acquiescing to the change.

  She stood up. "I must get back to the bridge, sir."

  "Dismissed, Lieutenant."

  She started to go, then turned back. "Sir—what about Cadet Preston's tutorial?"

  Spock folded his hands and considered the question. "It must resume, of course. However, Mr. Scott has made a statement about the condition of the engine room which would be indelicate to challenge. I will wait a day or two, then suggest that the lessons continue. Do you find that agreeable?"

  "Yes, sir. Thank you."

  Saavik returned to her post. She had a great deal to think about.

  Chapter 5

  Peter Preston stood stiffly at attention. His shoulders ached. He had been there close to an hour, waiting for Commander Scott to inspect—for the third time today—the calibration of Peter's control console.

  This is getting old real fast, Peter thought.

  His uncle had not cracked a smile or spoken to him in anything but a completely impersonal tone for two days. He was showing considerable displeasure in work that before the training cruise—and before their disagreement—he had unstintingly approved. Just now he was unsatisfied with Peter's maintenance of the console.

  Finally the engineer strode over and stopped in front of him.

  "Ye ha' stood here a considerable while, Cadet, are ye so sure this is fixed that ye can afford to waste time lounging?"

  "The console was ready at eleven hundred hours as you ordered, sir."

  "So, ye think this time ye ha' it working properly, do ye?"

  "Aye, sir."

  "We'll see abou' that."

  Commander Scott ran it through a diagnostic or two.

  "Nay," he said, "now ye ha' a field imbalance, ye've overcompensated. Calibrate it again, Cadet."

  In a hesitation of a fraction of a second, Peter thought: Dannan said there are times when you have to stick up for yourself, but there are times when you have to prove you can take whatever they can dish out.

  "Aye, sir," Peter said, "Sorry, sir."

  "As well ye' might be. Will ye try to do it right?"

  "Aye, sir."

  This is definitely one of those times when you have to prove you can take it, Peter thought.

  And I can take it, too.

  He set to work on the console again.

  He was still at it when the trainees came back from lunch. Grenni sat down at his station.

  "Hey, Pres," he said out of the side of his mouth, "the Old Man's really got it in for you today, doesn't he?"

  "Why're you talking like you're in an old prison movie?" Peter said. "He's not going to put you on bread and water just for talking to me."

  "You never know."

  Peter snorted.

  "I told you you shouldn't have pulled that dumb stunt with the admiral," Grenni said.

  "Yeah, and I guess you'll keep on telling me, huh?" Peter said. Grenni had all the self-righteousness of twenty-twenty hindsight. That was getting as old as Uncle Montgomery's bad humor.

  "Geez, Pres, you're working so hard it makes me tired just to watch you," Grenni said.

  "Don't worry," Peter told him. "You won't have to endure the torture much longer. Commander Scott's tantrums never last more than three days. Or hadn't you noticed?"

  "No," Grenni said, "I hadn't noticed. But then I haven't had the opportunity to observe him like some people—not being his nephew and all."

  Damn, Peter thought. Grenni heard, and that means even if nobody else did, they all know now. Damn.

  "Enterprise to Regulus I Spacelab, come in, Spacelab. Dr. Marcus, please respond."

  Uhura's transmissions met with no reply.

  She glanced up at Spock.

  "It's no use. There's just nothing there."

  "But the transmissions are no longer jammed?"

  "No, there's no jamming—no nothing."

  Spock turned to Kirk, back in his old familiar place on the bridge.

  "There are two possibilities, Admiral," Spock said.

  "That they are unwilling to respond, or that they are unable to respond."

  "How long—?"

  "We will reach Spacelab in twelve hours and forty-three minutes at our present speed."

  Kirk folded his arms and hunched down in the captain's chair. "'Give up Genesis,' she said. What in God's name does that mean? Give it up to whom?"

  "It might help my analysis if I knew what Genesis was," Spock said.

  Kirk wrestled with conflicting duties, conflicting necessities.

  "You're right," he said finally. "Something's happened—something serious. It would be dangerous not to tell you." He stood up. "Uhura, please ask Dr. McCoy to join us in my quarters. Lieutenant Saavik, you have the conn."

  The three officers gathered in Jim Kirk's cabin. Spock and McCoy waited while Kirk proved himself to the highest security safeguards.

  "Computer," he said. "Security procedure: access to Project Genesis summary."

  "Identify for retinal scan," the computer replied.

  "Admiral James T. Kirk, Starfleet General Staff. Security Class One."

  An instant's pulse of bright light recorded his eyes' patterns; then the screen blinked in filtered colors as the computer ran its comparison programs.

  "Security clearance Class One: granted."

  "Summary, please," Kirk said.

  The computer flashed messages to itself across its screen for several more seconds, until finally an approval overlay masked the safeguards and encodings.

  The summary tape began. Carol Marcus, in her lab, faced the camera.

  Kirk recognized her son at the next table. David resembled his mother strongly: slender, with high cheekbones, very fair. His curly hair was more gold, while Carol's was ash blond, but they had the same eyes.

  Jim had met David Marcus once, years ago, by chance. He recalled the encounter with no particular pleasure. Though David Marcus did not seem to have anything personal against Jim Kirk—for which Jim was grateful if only for the sake of his memories of Carol—the young scientist clearly had little use for military personnel.

  Carol faced the camera like an adversary and began to speak.

  "I'm Dr. Carol Marcus, director of the Project Genesis team at Regulus I Spacelab. Genesis is a procedure by which the molecular structure of matter is broken down, not into subatomic parts as in nuclear fission, or even into elementary particles, but into sub-elementary particle-waves. These can then, by manipulation of the various nuclear forces, be restructured into anything else of similar mass."

  "Fascinating," Spock said.

  "Wait," said Kirk.

  "Stage one of the experiment has been completed here in the lab. We will attempt stage two underground. Stage three involves the process on a planetary scale, as projected by the following computer simulation."

  The tape switched to the sharp-edged ultrarealistic scenes of computer graphics.

  "We intend to introduce the Genesis device via torpedo into an astronomical body of Earth's mass or smaller."

  A gray barren, cratered world appeared on the screen.

  "The planet will be scrupulously researched to preclude the disruption of any life forms or pre-biotics."

  Jim, who had already seen the tape, watched the reactions of Spock and McCoy. Relaxed and intent, Spock took in the information. McCoy sat on the edge of his chair, leaning forward, scowling as the images progressed before him.

  "When the torpedo impacts the chosen target," Carol said, "the Genesis effect begins."

  On the screen, the planet quivered; then, just perceptibly, it expanded. For an instant, it glowed as intensely as a star.

  "The Genesis wave dissociates matter into a homogenous mass of real and virtual sub-elementary particles.
"

  The forces of gravity and rotation warred, until it became clear that no structure remained to the planet at all.

  "The sub-elementaries reaggregate instantaneously."

  An entire world had become a translucent cloud. The mass spread into a disk and almost as quickly coalesced again, reenacting planetary evolution at a billion times the speed.

  "Precisely what they reform into depends on the complexity of the quantum resonances of the original Genesis wave, and on the available mass. If sufficient matter is present, the programming permits an entire star system to be formed. The simulation, however, deals only with the reorganization of a planetary body."

  The sphere solidified, transformed into a new world of continents, islands, oceans. Clouds misted the globe in pinwheel weather patterns.

  "In other words," Carol said, "the results are completely under our control. In this simulation, a barren rock becomes a world with water, atmosphere, and a functioning ecosystem capable of sustaining most known forms of carbon-based life."

  Wherever the clouds thinned, they revealed a tinge of green.

  "It represents only a fraction of the potential that Genesis offers, if these experiments are pursued to their conclusion."

  An eerily earthly world revolved silently before them on the screen.

  "When we consider the problems of population and food supply, the value of the process becomes clear. In addition, it removes the technical difficulties and the ethical problems of interfering with a natural evolutionary system in order to serve the needs of the inhabitants of a separate evolutionary system."

  Carol Marcus returned to the screen.

  "This concludes the demonstration tape. I and my colleagues, Jedda Adzhin-Dall, Vance Madison, Delwin March, Zinaida Chitirih-Ra-Payjh, and David Marcus, thank you for your attention."

  The tape ended.

  "It literally is genesis," Spock said.

  "The power," Kirk said, "of creation."

  "Have they proceeded with their experiments?"

  "Carol made the tape a year ago. The team got the Federation grant they were applying for, so I assume they've reached phase two by now."

  "Dear lord …" McCoy said. He looked up, stricken. "Are we—can we control this? Suppose it hadn't been a lifeless satellite? Suppose that thing were used on an inhabited world?"