THE COVENANT OF THE CROWN

by Howard Weinstein

  And Kailyn truly felt like a tourist. She was awed by the vastness of the Enterprise, and by Captain Kirk’s sure grasp of every detail of every operation.

  “It only seems like he knows everything,” McCoy whispered, loudly enough for Kirk to overhear.

  “Right” Kirk nodded. “Actually, Dr. McCoy knows everything.”

  The group laughed and moved on—nearly running head-on into Sulu and Chekov jogging around a corridor junction.

  “Whoa, gentlemen! Theres a place for this, and it’s not all over the ship.”

  Sulu breathed lightly as he answered with a sheepish smile. “Sorry, sir. But Chekov just wasn’t getting into the spirit of running on the treadmill track. I think he needs to feel the breeze through his hair, watch the scenery pass by . . .”

  McCoy regarded the wheezing security chief, doubled over and collapsed against the wall. “Personally, I think he needs a stretcher.”

  “Oh, he’s just getting warmed up,” said Sulu. He nudged Chekov on the shoulder, almost knocking him over. “Another mile or so, and then back to the gym for a little fencing. Come on, Chekov. Rest too long and you’ll get cramps. See you all later.” Sulu leaped ahead and disappeared around the corner.

  Chekov leaned away from the sympathetic wall, swaying for a moment. “With friends like this, who needs Klingons?”

  He staggered away and Kirk resumed the tour.

  So many resources at his disposal, Kailyn thought. So many people and skills at his fingertips. She’d never been on anything like this starship, except a planet, a world. That’s what the Enteprise was, in reality—a self-contained world, and Kirk was its king.

  He surveys it with such confidence, such pleasure, she marveled. He was sovereign ruler here, as Kailyn would have to be. As her ailing father had been years ago. She wondered if he had taken to command as comfortably as Kirk seemed to. Would the mantle of responsibility and power ever fit so well on her?

  King Stevvin fell asleep shortly after returning to his quarters; McCoy paused a moment to check the monitors, and he didn’t like what they told him. The strain of the tour probably hadn’t made any difference, but the King of Shad was slipping slowly closer to death. The doctor kept it to himself as Kirk headed up to the bridge, and Kailyn went to her own cabin, adjacent to her father’s, to rest.

  McCoy stalked into his office and watched the door slide shut, cutting him off from the corridor with a perfunctory hiss. “Dammit,” he grumbled. “No doors to slam on this ship.” And so he pounded his fist on the nearest countertop instead; but it wasn’t the same and he longed for an old-fashioned slammable door and the room-shaking crash it would make.

  His annoyance stemmed from two sources—the first, his inability to do anything about the King’s inevitable demise. The second . . . the second made his blood run cold. He’d looked at Stevvin in the wheelchair—and he’d seen himself, an old man, helpless as a babe . . . being fed, or trundled from place to place. He looked in the mirror again, at the wrinkles collected by years of too many late hours in too many labs, regrets lingering from his ill-fated marriage, worries about his daughter Joanna, now grown and practically a stranger to him, the taste of a few extra drinks he could’ve passed up.

  Water under the bridge, he thought with a mental shrug. Even Vulcans get wrinkles. Besides, facial creases don’t mean I’m old. It’s what you think you are—and right now, I think I’m old. Hell, what would I do if a woman came in here right now and—

  The question was interrupted by the office door sliding open. Kailyn entered and looked about like a nervous sparrow.

  “Dr. McCoy,” she blurted, “I want to learn how to give myself the holulin injections.”

  McCoy frowned. “Not now, Kailyn,” he said, more gruffly than he’d intended. “I’ve got some things I—”

  Before he could complete the thought, she was gone, as quietly and unexpectedly as she’d come, and he found himself staring at the closing door.

  Dammit. Why the hell did I do that? He shook his head ruefully. So a woman walks in and I send her right back out again. Wait a minute—she’s just a girl, and the King’s daughter to boot. And that doesn’t count.

  He rolled his eyes. Of course it counts. She came for help, and you’re too busy feeling sorry for yourself.

  “Sometimes you’re an incredible jackass, McCoy,” he said out loud, and quickly went out to find Kailyn.

  It took some effort, but with a combination of Southern charm and fatherly coaxing, McCoy managed to convince Kailyn to come back to the office. He was surprised at how little she knew of her own serious illness, and he determined that self-injection would have to wait until he could give her as comprehensive a medical education as possible before they left the Enterprise to search for the Crown.

  But if her specific knowledge of choriocytosis was limited, her ability to absorb and understand physiological facts and their interrelationhips was nothing short of remarkable. McCoy figured she must have had the equivalent of a university master’s degree, taught entirely by the King during the long wait on Orand, and his admiration of both father and daughter grew. As the complexity of their lessons increased, so did Kailyn’s enthusiasm.

  McCoy was preparing the next study tape when Kailyn arrived early for their session. She took a seat while he transferred several diagrams from the computer file on choriocytosis, and she listened closely to the music cassette playing in the background. The piece had a subtle Latin rhythm, intricate instrumental harmonies alternating with a lusty flourish of brass.

  “Melendez,” Kailyn said after a few minutes.

  McCoy looked up from his computer terminal. “Hmm?”

  “Melendez. Carlos Juan Melendez . . . the composer.”

  McCoy laughed. “How do you know an early-twenty-first-century Earth musician from Texas?”

  “I love music. I was one of those children who took lessons and couldn’t get enough to keep me happy. I wanted to learn every instrument we had—and a few we didn’t.”

  “I’m beginning to think there’s nothing you can’t do.”

  Kailyn closed her eyes and sighed. “I still can’t give myself the injections.”

  “Don’t worry. It’s just a mental block,” he said, putting an arm around her. “Everybody’s got their little quirks. To this day, I still can’t swallow a pill without something to wash it down—like brandy.”

  She smiled a not very convincing smile and leaned her head on his shoulder. He inhaled the garden-fresh fragrance of her hair, and felt a little less elderly for the first time since the birthday party.

  “Where’s Dr. McCoy?” asked Kirk.

  Christine Chapel’s preoccupation with a lab work-up on the King was momentarily disrupted. “With his shadow,” she said absently.

  “His what?”

  “I mean, I think he went with Kailyn to visit her father, Captain.”

  Kirk nodded. “By the way, I did hear you the first time. Exactly what did that mean?”

  “Nothing, sir.”

  “Ahh. It just sort of . . . slipped out.”

  “Something like that, sir.”

  Kirk bounced on his heels for a moment, gazing expectantly at Chapel. Clearly, she was torn between saying what she really had on her mind or crawling into the nearest test tube in the hopes that Captain Kirk would go away and forget her slip. But he stayed, and finally she couldn’t stand the silence.

  “I’m not trying to gossip, Captain, but she always seems to be around him. He goes to the labs, she’s with him. To the ships mess, she’s at his table. The only times she’s not around him are when she’s with her father.”

  “It doesn’t seem to be any cause for alarm, does it?”

  “I guess not, sir.”

  “Besides, McCoy’s a good father figure, isn’t he?”

  “I wouldn’t know, Captain,” Chapel said with a slight blush coming to her cheeks. “And I’m not so sure she thinks of him in a completely fatherly way.”

  Kirk suppressed
a smile. “Well, maybe it’ll make him feel a little more youthful, having a young lady pay attention to him.”

  “As long as he doesn’t get carried away.”

  “Are you afraid he’s not aware of what’s happening? He is a pretty fair psychologist.”

  “Captain, you know as well as I do that physicians don’t always heal themselves.”

  “Touché, Doctor. I’ll mention it to McCoy—when I can find him without the young lady.”

  “Discreetly please, sir,” she implored.

  “I’ll do my best.”

  “Christine put you up to this, didn’t she, Jim?”

  “That’s ridiculous, Bones,” Kirk said quickly.

  “Not if I know Chapel,” McCoy countered, sitting on his bunk and pulling his boots off with one grunt per foot. He rubbed his toes to restore circulation. “They should get a new podiatric specialist to design some decent boots for Star Fleet.”

  “I’m not here to discuss your feet.”

  “No, you’re here to discuss my private life,” McCoy snapped.

  “Calm down. Your private life isn’t the problem.”

  “There isn’t any problem!”

  “But there could be if you get involved with Kailyn in any way.”

  McCoy stood up abruptly, began pacing, and abandoned all efforts at hiding his annoyance. “So we eat a couple of meals together, listen to some music, go over the implications of her illness . . . is that so terrible? Look, Jim, I want that girl to be able to administer her own shots by the time we leave this ship. To do it, I’ve got to get her to trust me. If that means being nice to her and getting to know her, well, dammit, that’s what I’ll do.”

  “And is that what you’re doing?”

  “Yes!” said McCoy, waving his arms. “Good lord, if I questioned everything you did that I thought was a little screwy, neither of us would ever get a stitch of work done.”

  Kirk eyed his ship’s surgeon, then pursed his lips. “Now, that’s the diplomatic Leonard McCoy explanation I was waiting to hear.”

  McCoy shook his head. “Get out of here and let me get my beauty sleep. Lord knows, at my age I need it.”

  Kirk’s own rest period was the type to add wrinkles and subtract years—most of it spent tossing and turning, willing his eyes to stay closed, then opening them the moment his mind wandered from the task of sleeping to the vagaries of their mission. Any further thoughts of slumber were destroyed by the whistle of the intercom.

  “Bridge to Captain Kirk,” said Sulu.

  Kirk leaned over and touched the switch. “Kirk here, Mr. Sulu. What’s up—other than me?”

  “Sorry to disturb you, sir, but we thought you’d want to know we’re being followed by a Klingon cruiser.”

  Kirk rolled to his feet and grabbed his shirt off the bed in a single move. “On my way.”

  The bridge was calm and quiet as Kirk stepped out of the turbolift. “Report,” he said, looking first to Sulu, who commanded this watch.

  “No hostile action on their part, sir. They’re just hovering out there, almost out of sensor range. We tried some leisurely evasive maneuvers. They’re not exactly following us to the letter, but every time we’d lose them, they’d turn up again in a minute or two.”

  “Any communications, Uhura?”

  “Nothing, Captain. I hailed them on all frequencies . . . no response.”

  “I guess they had nothing to say,” Kirk said as he eased into the command seat.

  “Shall I try them again, sir?”

  “No. We know they’re there. That’s all we need to know right now. Chekov, keep an eye on them. I wouldn’t want to lose them.”

  Kirk sat back. So, they’ve taken the bait . . . doing exactly what we hoped they’d do. But it’s just too easy. We’ll have to stay sharp—Klingons are rarely so cooperative.

  Chapter Six

  McCoy and Kailyn stood side by side, gazing out the recreation deck’s huge observation port. From their perch near the stern of the main saucer section, they could see the Engineering hull below and the Enteprise’s slender engine nacelles fanning out gracefully, bathed in the gentle glow of the ship’s own floodlights.

  Kailyn seemed determined to find out everything about McCoy’s past, where he’d been, what he’d done, whom he’d known, how he’d come to be a physician with Star Fleet. And he enjoyed answering the questions.

  Eventually, she wrapped one arm around his waist, and he noticed that she was leaning on him for support. She was pale.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “My stomach’s a little queasy,” she said with a lopsided, little-girl smile. “This is the first time I realized we’re out in the middle of space on a tiny little ship.”

  “I’d hardly call the Enterprise tiny.”

  Kailyn leaned forward, pressing up against the port window. The ship was moving, of course, but she had the strangest sensation that they were suspended among the stars, just another heavenly body. The stars . . . so many of them, wherever she might look, set like unblinking jewels strewn across the infinite darkness. So many of them—yet, they seemed uncrowded, unhurried as they moved ever farther from the center of the Universe on a journey that had commenced with the beginning of all things, the beginning of time.

  She drifted out of her reverie, back to McCoy, who watched with a mixture of fascination and concern.

  “What were you thinking about, Kailyn?”

  She shrugged. “I don’t know. A lot of things. There’s so much out there. When we went to Orand, I was so young, I didn’t even realize what was happening.”

  “You mean being out in space?”

  She nodded.

  McCoy chuckled. “Everybody’s like this on their first space voyage. You think you know what it’ll be like—until you’re actually on that ship and get out in the middle of nowhere. I’ve had more space rookies stumble into my office—all of a sudden, reality hits them, and they get this look on their faces . . .”

  He pressed his nose to hers and his eyes bugged out, like a surprised insect. Kailyn couldn’t help laughing, and he stepped back, his hands on her shoulders.

  “Now, that’s more like it. You’re too young not to laugh more.”

  But her smile suddenly faded and she lowered her eyes. McCoy touched her cheek. “What is it?”

  She didn’t look up. “Am I too young?”

  “For what?”

  “For everything. To be Queen of Shad . . . to give my own shots . . .” There was a long pause. “To love someone.”

  Now it was McCoy’s turn for a lingering moment of silence. To love someone—did she mean him? Poppycock. Now I’m thinking like Christine. Before he could formulate a response, the intercom whistled urgently.

  “Dr. McCoy,” said Uhura’s voice. “Report to sick bay immediately. Dr. McCoy, to sick bay, please.” Her tone said emergency without using the word, and McCoy reflexively grabbed Kailyn’s hand and pulled her toward the turbolift.

  The captain and Spock stood outside the doctor’s office ready to intercept him. When Kirk saw Kailyn with McCoy, his jaw tightened for just a second; there was no way to protect her.

  “Bones, it’s the King.” Then he turned and led the way down the corridor to Stevvin’s quarters.

  Kailyn held fast to McCoy’s hand, her mind racing from thought to thought, careening between fear, resignation and a determination to keep her wits about her. Tears formed in her eyes, but stayed there.

  Dr. Chapel and a medical aide were already at the King’s bedside, administering an injection and oxygen. They stepped smoothly aside when McCoy entered, and Chapel delivered a succinct report. Kailyn watched and listened dully, absorbing blurred impressions, clearly hearing only two words: “Heart failure.”

  Kirk guided Kailyn back toward a corner of the room, and they stood with Spock as the medical team worked with no wasted motions or words. The life-function indicators above the bed jumped and sagged erratically. Chapel placed a portable heart-lung machine over the K
ing’s chest, while the med tech adjusted the oxygen feed. McCoy punched several control buttons when Chapel nodded to him, and the cardio-stimulator began a steady pulse, its green light blinking evenly.

  “Pulse and pressure stabilized, Doctor,” Chapel said finally.

  “Breathing on his own,” the med tech added.

  McCoy stepped back and wiped his forehead. “Leave the cardio-stimulator in place for now, Doctor. Keep an eye on the readouts.”

  Chapel nodded and she and the young aide exited. For the first time, McCoy looked at Kailyn. She broke away from Kirk and buried her face on McCoy’s shoulder. He nodded to Kirk and Spock and they left McCoy and Kailyn alone. For a long time, he held her, and the only sounds were her sniffling and the faint beating of the cardio-stimulator.

  Kailyn’s eyes were red-rimmed, but she was all business for the strategy session with McCoy, Spock and Captain Kirk in the main briefing room. The details of the mission were raked over one more time. Kirk wanted to be certain not only that she knew the location of the Crown on Sigma 1212, but that she was psychologically ready for the task. After an hour, he sent her back to her cabin to rest.

  “Opinions, gentlemen?” he asked, when she had gone.

  “I think she’s ready,” McCoy said. “She seems to have gained a lot of self-confidence over these last three days, Jim. I was especially pleased by the way she bounced back from that crisis with her father this afternoon.”

  “I must differ, Captain,” Spock said.

  “Spock” snapped McCoy, “this is no time for nitpicking.”

  Spock ignored McCoy and addressed Kirk directly.

  “The young lady was disturbed to a great degree during the medical emergency. She seems unready to accept that her father will not live much longer, and I am forced to point out that this does not bode well for her ability to function without his support.”

  McCoy jumped to his feet. “Jim, she was upset,” he argued. “That’s normal—for a human, Mr. Spock. You both saw her here. She was clearheaded and alert, and I think that’s pretty admirable under the circumstances.” He sat back again. “I think this afternoon, seeing that equipment used on her father, was the first time Kailyn really faced the fact that he’s dying. Oh, she understood it intellectually before, but emotionally it just hit her all at once. She cried, but she bounced back.”