THE COVENANT OF THE CROWN

by Howard Weinstein

  “Did you mind being here, Kailyn?”

  They walked on through the garden. “It’s all I really know. I was only five when we left Shad.” Her eyes roamed over the greenery and rainbow of petals, seeking plants that might need extra attention. To Kirk, it was all a mass of leaves; to Kailyn, no detail, no drooping branch or encroaching weed, was too small to spot and tend to.

  Kailyn was twenty-three now, but she was small and delicate, her manner tentative and cautious, like a lost fawn. Her eyes were wide and dark brown, almost black. And they were always moving; not nervously, but more as if they possessed an overwhelming curiosity all their own. Kailyn herself seemed timid, but the eyes peered piercingly at all they could touch, searching, learning all they could. Most of all, they were sad, even when she wasn’t.

  “What did your father teach you?”

  “All about Shad—our history, how our family had ruled through times of feast and shortage, the Covenant with our people and our gods. How . . . how the Dynasty has to continue . . .”

  “Through you.”

  “I know.”

  “Then you know what your father has planned?”

  “Yes.” She reached down and slipped her hand into Kirk’s as they sat on a rough wooden bench. He noticed the first stars were twinkling in the midnight-blue twilight sky. “Oh, Uncle Jim, I love my father. I . . . I guess I worship him. He’s protected me all these years, been both mother and father, given me his dream.” She took a breath, then spoke in a small, halting voice. “But I don’t think I can do it. I don’t have his strength.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I feel it in him when he talks to me, even weak as he is now. I know he’s dying, but when he calls me in and we talk about what it’ll be like to be home again, he makes me believe. His strength makes me see what he sees. But . . . but when I leave him and come out here to watch the stars, I can’t feel it anymore. What will it be like when he’s gone, when I won’t be able to go in there and have him lift me up again?”

  “I don’t now, Kailyn.”

  This time, she did look into Kirk’s eyes, and there was a steadfastness in hers that made him want to say, You do have it . . . if only you could see into yourself . . . the strength is there. But she would have to discover that for herself.

  “He taught me history, my place in our religion, told me the feelings I should have. I don’t know why, but it wasn’t enough.”

  “Are you . . . afraid of being Queen?”

  “Yes.” It was a fast answer, almost a relief. Then her voice dropped to a whisper. “More than that . . . how does someone learn to be a savior?”

  “Those doubts aren’t the only thing,” McCoy said as he sat with Captain Kirk and Spock in the library. There’s another root to the problem, Jim. Kailyn has an incurable disease.”

  “What? What is it?”

  “Choriocytosis.”

  “But that almost killed Spock in a matter of days when he had it. If we hadn’t tracked down the Orion pirates and gotten that drug back—”

  “My case was acute” Spock said. “I believe Kailyn’s is chronic.”

  “That’s right. His case was caused by a virus, Jim. Kailyn’s is an inborn hormone deficiency. It’s pretty rare, but it’s treatable with daily injections. In addition, the disease affects different races in different ways.”

  Kirk recalled what he knew about choriocytosis from Spock’s almost fatal bout with it several years earlier, how the virus encased his copper-based blood cells, preventing them from carrying the oxygen needed for life functions. McCoy explained the variations between acute and chronic forms. Kailyn had inherited a recessive genetic condition that inhibited production of the hormone holulin—a substance present in the bodies of about a dozen humanoid species, though not Earth humans. Injections made up for the lack of holulin, keeping blood cells free of the suffocating shell-like membrane formed by choriocytosis.

  “As long as she takes the shots,” McCoy said, “she should live a fairly normal life, though some complications may set in during old age. It’s a little like diabetes was to humans before it was cured.”

  “If it went untreated, would it affect her the same as it did Spock?”

  “Yes. First unconsciousness, then coma, then death.”

  “There’s a ‘but’ in your voice, Bones.”

  “It gets worse under stress, and she’s going to be in for a lot of that, Jim. Holulin production can stop altogether and careful treatment is absolutely necessary.”

  “Is Kailyn fully aware of her condition and all that it entails, Doctor?” asked Spock.

  “Oh, she’s aware—but she thinks of herself as crippled because of it. She told me she’s afraid to give herself the injection. One of the servants does it. Chronic choriocytosis can be a big psychological barrier, and that’s what it is to her. If she can’t handle her own illness, Jim, how can she guide the destiny of a whole planet?”

  Kirk had no answer. Kailyn had one—deep within herself. But would she ever find it?

  Chapter Four

  . . . And it came to pass that the second god Dal saw the long table Keulane made; and Dal said “Was this made from one piece, whole, cut in a single stroke from the heart of the largest tree in the land?”

  Unbowed (for he feared not the god Dal), Keulane speak “Yes, and with my own hand. Let this table replace the field of battle. Let the people reveal their hearts with true words and not sword thrusts. Let this wood, from the tree’s heart, be the heart of Shad, one world united forever.”

  And Dal answered: “It shall be, Keulane. I shall give you dominion over Things and Creatures-Not-Man.”

  And the god Dal gave his blessing, rendering the sword of Keulane, that cut the tree in a single stroke, as Strength with dominion over Things and Creatures-Not-Man. Keulane added this to his dominions over Heaven, given by the fourth god Koh; and over Land and Sea, given by the third god Adar. It remained for him to gain the blessing of the first god Iyan, God among Gods, and dominion over Man.

  And so Keulane waited, for he felt it was his reward, but Iyan came not to him. At long last, Keulane cried out: “Have I not earned this?”

  A bolt of blinding light and roaring thunder smote the sword from Keulane’s hands, and he trembled at the voice of Iyan, God of Gods: “You are foolish, Keulane. No man can have dominion over Men. You can only guide them. We will not speak to you again in this life. We will never speak directly unto you again, but we will give you this.”

  And the hand of Iyan placed the Crown of Shad upon Keulane’s head. It was of silver, and of crystals, a pair whose inner depths were murky and fogged to the eye and mind of man. Do you hear and see my voice?”

  Keulane answered that he did, but he did not, for the eye and ears of his heart were closed by fear. Iyan knew, and he shook Keulane to his very soul. “Hear me!”

  And lo, the crystals of the Crown became clear through, with the blue of Heaven as their shade. And Keulane felt his heart open, and he saw clearly, and heard. He knew the echoes of the past, and felt the tides of Time. And he knew the roads the People of Shad would take, if only he could lead them there.

  “You have the Power of Times,” Iyan told him. “Thus shall you and your sons and daughters lead. Of the children you beget, only special ones in their time will have the Power. They will wear the Crown, the crystals will give them sight, and the People will hail them as Kings and Queens of the Covenant. . . .

  —Book of Shad,

  Verse of Keulane

  “I read it,” McCoy said, replacing the book on the library shelf. “But I’m not sure I believe it. It sounds like something out of the legends of King Arthur.”

  “On the contrary, it is more reminiscent of stories from your Earth bible,” Spock said. “Or Vulcan lore about Surak and the founding of our modern philosophy and way of life. Almost all religions and culture heritages share that common factor—a tendency to mythologize those elements that gave rise to them in the first place, blending
probable facts with a modicum of the supernatural or inexplicable.”

  “You’re right, now that I recall those Biblical stories,” Kirk said.

  “Does that mean you believe those tales about the Crown, and the crystals changing color?” McCoy asked. Before Kirk could answer, Spock jumped back in. “It is no less credible than Moses and the parting of the Red Sea, or Jesus feeding the multitudes, or Surak turning back the Army of Ten Thousand.”

  McCoy shook his head. “But all those stories have been explained in some scientific, rational way.”

  “So has the Crown of Shad. Before King Stevvin was forced to flee, some scientific research was done. The Power of Times is known to be an ESP—like phenomenon involving brain waves of a particular frequency and intensity. A person with the Power produces just the right brain waves to clear the electromagnetically sensitive crystals. This has been duplicated via computer simulation.”

  McCoy remained unconvinced, and Kirk half-smiled as the doctor parried. “But that still doesn’t explain the other part, the mystical hearing of the gods’ voices, that sixth sense of a fortune-teller.”

  “If you had carefully read the Book of Shad, Doctor, you would know that the Power does not open the mind to a literal foretelling of future events. It merely permits a sensing of the flow of people and things, somewhat more accurately than a mere educated guess. But I hardly expect you, as a nontelepathic creature, to fully grasp the concept,” Spock concluded.

  Kirk decided the discussion had gone on long enough. “It’s not important whether we believe in the Shaddan religion, but the people of Shad take it very seriously. The monarch of the Covenant is more than just a political leader. Whoever sits on that throne is also their religious leader, and they won’t accept someone who doesn’t wear the Crown as proof of the Power of Times.”

  It was that simple—the mysterious Crown had been on the head of every Shaddan ruler since Keulane, and no one could rule without it. But a pair of exceedingly large problems loomed in King Stevvin’s plan, and Kirk wasn’t sure which of the two might be worse.

  First, the King did not have the Crown. Because of its sacred significance, it was imperative that it never fall into the hands of the Mohd Alliance or the Klingon Empire. Thus, when he left Shad in the confusion of civil war, Stevvin had spirited the Crown away with him and hid it on a planet almost as far off the beaten track as Orand, in a location known to no one but himself. The spot was to be revealed to his successor only; had he or Kailyn died before returning to Shad, he would have taken the secret to his grave, ending the Dynasty forever.

  In order for Kailyn to be accepted as lawful Queen, the Crown had to be found and taken safely back to Shad along with the King’s daughter. This presented a complex problem of logistics—admittedly dangerous and shot through with chances for disaster, but one over which Kirk could still exert a fair amount of influence, if not outright control.

  The second puzzle however, had no tangible pieces for him to lay his hands upon. In fact, the only answer were within Kailyn. Did this young woman—more child than adult—possess the stuff of leadership, the will to complete what her father had set in motion? And most important of all, did she have the Power of Times?

  That they didn’t know, and wouldn’t, until and unless the Crown could be retrieved and placed upon her head, a head filled with self-doubt. Doubt that could overwhelm the Power even if she did have it.

  She was the last of her generation, the final scion of the royal family. And if she failed, that was it—no Power, no monarchy, no restoration of unity, no victory on Shad, no mission. On the frail shoulders of a frightened girl rested the future of her planet and all of Quadrant J-221.

  Chapter Five

  Captain’s Log: Star Date 7816.1

  We have completed step one of King Stevvin’s plan—the King, his daughter, and their four servants have left Orand on board the Enterprise, as expected by both Star Fleet Command and any Klingon agents who may have been watching. His royal highness has lived long enough to serve as an all-important decoy. The Klingons know the Crown must be retrieved, and they expect us to lead them to its hiding place—but we’ll do no such thing. While the Enterprise instead leads them on a circuitous wild goose chase, Mr. Spock and Dr. McCoy will take a specially outfitted shuttlecraft and accompany the King’s daughter to Sigma 1212, the icy world where Stevvin hid his sacred Crown eighteen years ago. If all goes well, the shuttle crew will retrieve the Crown, rendezvous with the Enterprise, and allow us to complete our mission of reunification. I hope King Stevvin can somehow live long enough to see his plan come to a successful end.

  There was no royal suite aboard the Enterprise, and if McCoy had his way, the King would have been in sick bay proper. But Kirk managed to effect a compromise—a diagnostic bed was set up in VIP quarters, giving the King privacy and comfort, and McCoy the constant monitoring of medical data he demanded. The surgeon knew the odds against Stevvin’s making it all the way to Shad, but he was going to try his damnedest to beat them.

  The King was reading when Kirk entered the cabin, and he smiled as the captain sat by the bedside. Kirk glanced at the computer screen.

  “Don Quixote?”

  “One of the best presents you ever gave me, James. I read that book so many times over these last years. I’d like to have met Cervantes. Any man who could have created such a dreamer as Quixote must have been very special.”

  “It’s always been one of my favorites, too,” Kirk agreed. Then he turned pensive. “I wonder if I would’ve had the courage he had, to hold on to those dreams when everything and everybody tried to snuff them out.”

  Stevvin laid a gnarled hand on Kirk’s arm. “You have that courage.”

  “You’re so sure of things . . .”

  The old man chuckled wryly and his eyes sparkled. “I look back on all the times I should have been sure, and wasn’t. And now I don’t have time for doubts. Maybe that was the source of Don Quixote’s strength—maybe the young can’t tilt at windmills because they have too much life to lose . . . the old man has no place to go but the next life. Why not die a little sooner than a little later?”

  Kirk’s brow furrowed. “The closer death comes, the less you fear it?”

  “So it seems. When I was your age, I never would’ve believed it. But when you give up little bits of yourself—eyesight goes, voice becomes hoarse, breathing’s a chore you’d consider avoiding, legs can’t take more than four steps without a rest, arms can’t carry a child anymore, even the mind begins to wander back to how it used to be—before you know it, there isn’t much left to give up. And then the fear goes, too—if you’re lucky.” He paused for a shallow breath, and Kirk could hear the lung-deep wheeze. “I’ve been lucky, James.”

  The King’s eyes slipped shut, and Kirk stood to leave. But Stevvin’s hand held him with a firm grip; Kirk smiled at that sign of life not yet surrendered.

  “Stay,” whispered Stevvin, and Kirk sat again. “Things are going well so far?”

  “So far.”

  The old King caught the hint of concern in Kirk’s voice. “You’re still uncertain about Kailyn.”

  Kirk wanted to say something reassuring, but that wasn’t how he truly felt, and he couldn’t lie to the King.

  “Even if the Crown proves she has the Power of Times, that’s no guarantee she can rule the planet. Not all children can do what their parents wish of them.”

  “True, it’s no certainty. In the end, it’s still the strength and qualities of the person on the throne. But don’t underestimate the Power and what it means. I know it sounds to an outsider like black magic, but it does exist and it does help one who possesses it transcend the human frailties we’re all born with. To use it, James, one must have absolute faith. Mine faltered—perhaps I caused my own downfall.” He shrugged his thin shoulders under the metallic sheen of the blanket. “But my belief was rekindled when I knew you were coming to take us back. I sensed that the life currents that carried us apart were
bringing us back together. It took me this long to comprehend that faith springs not just from gods—or from your one god—but from fellowmen as well. We must rely upon others—and be worthy of reliance ourselves. Kailyn will have to learn this if she’s to lead. I think she will.”

  In the silence, Kirk wondered—was it wisdom, or foolish faith? The intercom whistled and Kirk touched the button; McCoy’s frown filled the small screen.

  “Jim, you’re tiring out my patient. Your Highness, just because he’s the captain, don’t feel you can’t toss him out if you’d rather rest.”

  “On the contrary, Doctor, his visit has been refreshing. Like the chats we used to have back home.”

  “Well, okay for now. But my prescription says you need some sleep, your Highness. Vamoose, Jim.”

  “Dr. McCoy,” said Stevvin, “is there any room in that prescription for a spot of brandy?”

  McCoy lifted an eyebrow, and scratched his chin. “Jim, how do you say no to a royal patient?”

  “You don’t. You just bring the brandy to the royal cabin and fill a royal glass.”

  “Just this once,” McCoy said. “And right after, we’ll both leave said royal patient to get some shut-eye. Agreed, Captain?”

  “Yes, sir,” Kirk said, saluting the viewscreen. The page of Don Quixote grew bold again over McCoy’s fading image.

  “Do you think we could get him to agree to a tour of the ship?” asked Stevvin, with real anticipation in his tone.

  “I think that might be pressing our luck. But we’ll give it a try.”

  Much to Kirk’s surprise, his medical officer gave in on the tour idea, so long as he came along. Kailyn accompanied them as well, and they pushed Stevvin along in a wheelchair. There were no wheels, of course; the orthopedic support couch glided atop an anti-grav field, making the heaviest patient easy to maneuver. The King beamed with fatherly pride as Kirk played sightseeing guide at each stop.