Yesterday's Son

by A. C. Crispin

  Zar shook his head. "Even if I thought I could, I wouldn't go under those conditions, If we both fired together …"

  "Too much noise—the next pair would be on us in seconds. Frankly, I doubt I could outrun them, even with a head start. These are Romulans we're dealing with … not Humans. We have no advantage."

  "How long …"

  "Fourteen point four minutes."

  They lay quietly, watching the soldiers as they stood, hands resting on the butts of their weapons. Spock felt the seconds ticking by in his head, and bit his lip. Inexorably, the equation built itself in his mind, and the only logical outcome for any action they took at this moment was death. He found himself trying to reason whether death by phaser bolt was preferable to death by cataclysm when the planet was sliced apart—and shook his head, frustrated. There must be another alternative!

  Zar narrowed his eyes, looking past the guards. Just beyond them he could see the distortion of the cloaking device. The sight tantalized him … safety, only a few meters away, and he was going to die within sight of it. In a very few minutes, now, lying here in the dust. He slithered backward until he could crouch behind a rock and peer at the enemy. Seconds ticked by in his head. Gathering … building. He was going to die. Those Romulans out there were killing him. He hated them. He was going to die, not long from now. Stronger—building, gathering . . . . Die. Like Dave and Juan … like the guard he'd killed. . . . He could feel the death. . . .

  When he realized his companion was no longer beside him, the Vulcan wriggled back until he could see him. Zar was crouched, fingers digging at the rock, breathing in gasps, his upper lip beaded with sweat. "I'm going to die," the whisper reached the Vulcan like the rattle of ipanki leaves in the wind. "I'm frightened … I hate them … I'm going to die."

  Spock was sickened, and at the same time, he felt an irrational impulse to comfort his son. He reached out a hand, shook his shoulder, gently. "Stop it, Zar."

  "Shut up," Zar gasped, then ignored him. He mumbled again, a litany, "I'm scared. I hate them. I'm going to die … death …" His gaze fastened on the guards, eyes wide, glazing. "Die …" His body stiffened, then the hands clenched on the rock loosened, and he tumbled over bonelessly.

  Shocked, Spock stared at him, then in reflex looked at the guards. They were sprawled, not moving.

  Nightmare-slow, he scrambled over to the limp figure, touched the wrist. Nothing, He pulled his son's head into his lap, felt his throat—a flutter, very slight … His fingers went to the temples. Summoning his mind, he concentrated, finally picked up the kar-selan mind-activity. Secondary—weak, very weak. But there. He took a long breath.

  Probing, reaching, calling. The name, over and over, for as ancient magic would have it, the name is the identity. Zar—Zar—Gateway faded, the rocks were gone. The pain in his hands erased. Zar—Finally … he … touched! ZAR!

  His son stirred and moaned under his hands. "Quiet," he ordered. "You did it. Lie still for a second."

  Spock drew another deep breath, closed his eyes momentarily. When he opened them, Zar was looking at him, gray eyes still clouded, unfocused.

  "Can you move? The way is open, if we go quietly. We haven't much time."

  The young man nodded, tried to speak, failed. Gathering himself, his teeth fastened on his lip, then he moved.

  "Good … take it easy … come on. . . ." Spock put an arm under his shoulders, heaved. Zar's legs buckled for a second, then steadied. They stumbled, wavering, past the guards. Neither looked at the Romulans.

  A short distance past the cloaking device perimeter, the younger man's natural resiliency began to return. He shook off the Vulcan's arm, and walked by himself. They had five minutes left.

  Chapter XVI

  Gateway was quiet, its winds hushed for once, as if in anticipation of its extinction. Kirk, using his distance lenses, surveyed the area for the fourth time, McCoy paced in a circle, counting seconds in his head, afraid to look at his chrono. Kirk scanned the area again, then took out his communicator, opened the hailing channel, heard the now-familiar crackle of distortion that had been his only answer for the past five hours. Five agonizing hours since he'd awakened, still tired, to find that there had been no word, no signal from Spock. Giving the horizon one last examination, he put his distance lenses away, opened another channel.

  "Kirk to Enterprise."

  "Enterprise. Uhura here."

  "Lieutenant, prepare to beam up the landing party. Order Mr. Scott to …" Something in the ruins of the archeologists' camp caught his eye. "Belay that. Beam up Doctor McCoy and the security team. I'll follow in a second. Tell Mr. Scott to stand by to initiate destruction sequence 10. Kirk out."

  McCoy swung to face him, "Jim, I've got to stay—" the transporter beam caught him and he and the security personnel were gone.

  The Captain walked a few paces toward the ruined building, and stooped to gather up the object that had attracted his attention. The satin gleam of polished wood, marred by a scratch and a broken string—but still in miraculously preserved condition—Doctor Vargas' Stradivarius. Kirk held it, remembering the evening when he'd heard its music, and tenderly wrapped it in a torn remnant of cloth. Holding the violin under his arm, he took out his communicator, hesitated, checked his chrono. Two more minutes, he promised himself. That was a minute over the deadline. He would fight the urge to extend it even further, he knew, when the two minutes were up. But he'd fought himself before, since he'd become Captain, and won.

  Kirk spent the two minutes thinking about Spock, wondering what had happened. Incidents raced through his mind, flashed and were gone, like the winding patterns of a stream. Spock … hanging upside down in that ridiculous tree, grinning … bending over his sensors … or a chessboard … "Fascinating"… a man of honor in two Universes … Spock … staggering toward him, smeared with ashy dust …

  Kirk's eyes widened, and he began to run.

  "Where have you been? What kept you?" The Captain grabbed the Vulcan by the shoulders, shook him, then steadied him as he swayed. "You don't know how glad I am to—" he broke off, looking at Spock's companion, then hastily took his arm, supporting Zar as he staggered. Moving slowly, the three headed back toward the camp.

  "I have to report failure, Captain. We were unable to trigger the force field. Unfortunately, they've landed one of their ships within a few meters of the Guardian—though they seem to be taking no notice of it. The Romulans returned before I had time to turn on the unit, and we were forced to hide while they searched the area."

  Zar stumbled, lurched, pulling Kirk off balance. Bracing himself, the Captain lowered the younger man onto a large boulder, and took out his communicator. "Kirk to Enterprise."

  "Enterprise. Lieutenant Commander Scott."

  "Scotty, I found them, alive. Three to beam up."

  A pause instead of the expected assent. Then, "There's been a bit o' trouble here, sir. We just picked them up on our scanners. Ten Romulan warships, comin' fast They'll be in range in less than a minute, Captain. I've ordered the shields up. Shall I drop them t' beam you aboard?"

  Kirk's voice was tight. "Under no circumstances drop those shields. Try to hold them off. Those Federation ships should be arriving any minute. Between you and the Lexington you ought to be all right. Were they able to fix the Lexington's shields?"

  "Aye, Captain. I just talked with Commodore Wesley. Don't worry, sir. We'll be fine. There isna' a ship built can hold a candle t' the Enterprise in a fight."

  "I know, Scotty. Good luck. Signal me as soon as … when you can, Scotty."

  "Scott out."

  Kirk snapped his communicator shut with a decisive click. "That's it. we're stuck here, gentlemen. My ship up there, fighting, and I'm not with her. Ten to two isn't good odds."

  Spock surveyed his Captain's grim expression, then said, "Lieutenant Commander Scott is a fine officer and a good tactician. No one knows the Enterprise better—except for you, Jim."

  "I know. And you're right about Scotty
. I suppose the situation could be worse—but frankly I can't think how."

  The three sat silently for a moment, then Kirk straightened purposefully. "I brought some supplies. Are you hungry?"

  "Water?" Zar said, taking an interest in the proceedings for the first time. They shared water and emergency rations in silence. Kirk watched the sky, as though imagining the battle that must be taking place thousands of kilometers away, in space.

  "Captain," the Vulcan said suddenly. "As long as we are here, the only logical course of action is to return and trigger the force field. With three phasers, we stand a much better chance."

  Kirk looked at him. "You mean three times zero doesn't still equal zero? It did while I was in school. If they're already alerted, they'll be waiting for us. It'll be suicide."

  "You are correct, although somewhat flamboyant in your manner of expression, Captain. However, now that the Romulan fleet is in the area, we can't chance them having more sophisticated detection equipment than the landing craft have with them. If the battle goes against the two starships …"

  "We'll be dead anyway. I see your point. If we can activate that force field, it could buy the Federation fleet extra time … which could make all the difference." The Captain stood up. "All right. You rested enough to start?"

  "Yes," responded two voices. The First Officer glanced at Zar as they rose. The food and water had helped, but the younger man was still pale, and there were dark smudges beneath his eyes.

  Kirk looked at both of them. "Which of you is going to figure the odds against us this time?"

  Spock raised an eyebrow, and something glinted in the dark eyes. "This time, Captain, the odds against us are a mere three thousand, five hundred and seventy-nine point zero-four-five to one."

  "Terrific. A regular cakewalk."

  Two left eyebrows rose at Kirk's comment, Zar said it. "Cakewalk, Captain?"

  Kirk groaned. "McCoy predicted that this was going to happen—I should've listened to him. Two of you is two too many. Come on, let's go."

  Zar nodded. "I read a poem about this kind of situation a couple of weeks ago. It was called Horatius at the—" he sagged limply, eyes rolling back in his head. Spock released the nerve pinch, grabbed him as he fell. Swinging an arm under the younger man's knees, he picked him up easily.

  Kirk watched the Vulcan knowingly, and a smile softened his mouth. "That raises the odds, Mr. Spock."

  The Vulcan returned his friend's look, eyes level. "No, Jim. I calculated them that way from the beginning." Turning, he headed for the camp building. The Captain picked up the supplies and the cloth-wrapped violin, and followed him.

  When he caught up, just outside the ruined camp, Kirk said, voice carefully casual, "I hope you realize how he's going to take this when he wakes up."

  Spock nodded. "That's why I'm hurrying. I don't intend to be here when he regains consciousness. He must outweigh me by thirteen kilos."

  Kirk grinned.

  The Vulcan placed the unconscious form inside the wrecked structure, searched for a moment, then dropped a scorched blanket over him. The Captain placed his bundle beside the young man. "Hope he takes this with him when he beams up."

  "What is it?"

  "Doctor Vargas' violin. Does he still have his communicator?"

  Stooping, Spock checked the pockets of the coverall. "Yes."

  "Let's go, then."

  The First Officer led them back along the same path he and Zar had come only a few minutes before. They crossed the perimeter screen at the same point, passing the two guards, still lying face down, Kirk gave them a quick glance, and whispered, as they stole along, "Stunned?"

  Spock didn't look around, and his answer reached the Captain faintly. "Dead—I think."

  "You?" Kirk avoided a large rock, dropped down beside the Vulcan to scan the ground in front of them.

  "Zar."

  The Captain whistled under his breath.

  It took the Science Officer only five minutes to activate the force field unit. The two carefully hid the external evidence of the shield's presence, then turned back toward the perimeter. They had nearly reached it when they heard a shout. Kirk stopped. "They must've found those guards. I'm afraid we've had it, Mr. Spock. Feel like recalculating those odds?"

  "I know a hiding place. This way, Captain."

  If it hadn't been been for Kirk's uniform, they might have pulled it off again, A flash from a Romulan beamer caught the gold braid, and they were dragged from their cramped niche. Their captors wasted neither time nor speech—the two officers were bound, and escorted under heavy guard into the Romulan encampment.

  It was a large camp, Kirk saw, concentrating on memorizing the layout. Nine plasta-tents set up in a rough circle, with what he speculated was a supply and ammunitions dump in the center. Two ships, one of them larger than the other, were located on the far side of the camp. The ship near the Guardian had been gone when they set up the force field—Kirk hoped that meant that the enemy remained unaware of the time portal.

  A slap between the shoulders sent him stumbling into the largest of the plasta-tents, and another slap sent him crashing to the rock floor. He lay, face ground into the gritty surface, as his ankles were bound, then attached to the cords that confined his wrists. Raising his head by the simple expedient of a hand in his hair, one of the guards gagged him. From the scuffling sounds on his left, he deduced that Spock was receiving the same treatment. A blindfold followed the gag, and then the sound of receding footsteps. Some extra sense, however, told him that he and Spock were not alone—there must be a guard with them. Somebody's taking no chances … Kirk thought.

  He tugged at his bonds, abandoned the attempt immediately. Whoever had tied him was an expert, and had also taken the precaution of running a loop around his throat. Any struggle to release himself would strangle him. Deprived of sensory impressions, he fought the urge to speculate on his fate—or his ship's. The Enterprise would be all right—he had to believe that, or he was licked before the fight even started.

  After a short interval, he heard footsteps behind him again, then a hand dragged his head up. The blindfold was pulled down, and Kirk squinted, blinded by sudden light. There was a soft, in-drawn breath, then a voice—somehow familiar?—"Untie him and remove his gag. Turn the Vulcan over and let him watch this."

  A moment later he was free, rubbing at his wrists, eyes adjusting to the tent's light. He could see a figure in front of him, lean, with a narrow foxy face, and the insignia of a full Commander. Kirk blinked, narrowed his eyes. The quasi-familiar voice came again, "Don't you recognize me, Captain Kirk? I know you. The Romulan Empire has no love for you, and I even less. We have a personal score to settle. You destroyed my Commander's honor." He straightened and saluted formally. "Commander Tal, at your service."

  The Romulan moved over and performed a second inspection on Spock. "Commander Spock. The Empire once issued a writ for your execution, on the charges of treason and sabotage. That writ has never been cancelled." Tal began to pace the length of the tent, talking. "Your capture is fortunate, for it seemed our mission here was going to fail. We haven't been able to locate the Federation installation on this planet—nothing but a group of weak antiquarians, digging in these endless ruins. Clever of the Federation, to mask a military secret in that fashion … but you betrayed yourselves when you assigned a full-time starship patrol." The Romulan Commander beckoned, and a burly Centurion moved to stand in front of Kirk, arms swinging loosely, deliberately, by his sides. Tal continued after a moment.

  "Captain Kirk, I respect your intelligence. You know that we are strong. We pride ourselves on being the military power that will rule this Galaxy—and soon. That is because we act, not out of cruelty, as do the Klingons, but out of efficiency. So. I say to you now, let us be efficient about this. You already know that I will have you killed if you do not tell me what the Federation is hiding here. Your death will be, needless to say, unpleasant. I'm sure you realize that is an understatement. Why not te
ll me now, and I promise on my honor as a soldier that I will see that you live. You may even be allowed to rejoin your people, with none the wiser, but I cannot guarantee that. But you will live, and you will still enjoy living. I'll give you two of your solar minutes to think about it."

  Tal waited patiently. The silence dragged by, and then the Romulan spoke again. "Your decision, Captain?"

  Kirk stared at him, muscles taut in anticipation. Tal nodded, not displeased, and signaled to the burly soldier. "Stay away from his head—I want him able to talk." The guard grunted an assent, clenching his fist. After the third blow, the Captain's knees buckled. He hung limply in the guard's hands, gasping, arms weakly trying to cradle the pain in his middle, until they dropped him to lie again on the floor. Tal shrugged, and the guards moved to untie the Vulcan's gag.

  The Romulan's voice changed from its impersonal monotone, deepened, became colder. "Commander Spock, it would please me personally to see you receive the same, but I know the futility of that. Vulcans can block pain, and even destroy themselves rather than betray a secret. It is impossible for us to wrench from you what you do not wish to give—but perhaps you will decide to be reasonable. . . ." He glanced at Kirk, then back at the First Officer. "Tell us, and spare your Captain more of the same. Otherwise, he will die before your eyes, knowing that you could have saved him, if he would not save himself."

  Spock stared stonily at the Romulan officer's left knee. Tal clenched his fist. "You have no loyalty at all, do you, Vulcan? You care no more for your Captain than you did for my Commander …" His hand raised, trembled, then he shook his head. "I'll look forward to your dying." He paused, then resumed more calmly, "Tell me, which one of you killed my guard? Frankly, I doubt that the Captain would have the strength to overpower a trained Romulan—so it must have been you. What about the other two? If you tell me what kills that makes no noise and leaves no mark, I can at least try to intercede for you. . . ."

  Silence.