“I shall do so, Captain,” Rrelthiz said. “Your concern is most gracious.”
With a final nod, the Vulcan excused himself and left the lounge. Rrelthiz turned back to gaze at the Enterprise, feeling a surge of mingled anticipation and apprehension. Despite her brave words to her nest-father and Spock, she was worried. What if something goes wrong? The honor of my species will be resting upon me. It is a great responsibility. Am I ready for it? What if I become ill? No one aboard knows anything about treating my kind. What if I make some kind of irreparable social blunder? I could cause a diplomatic incident….
“Nest-Goddess,” she whispered softly, “help me to bring honor to my people. Help me be strong, help me be wise….”
Spock stood on the engineering deck of the Enterprise, regarding the gaggle of white-coated Starfleet technicians with a raised eyebrow. “Mr. Rollins, with all due respect, forty—eight hours is not an extensive testing period in which to determine the efficacy of new food synthesizer programming and equipment. Food and water are essential to life support. I question your logic in installing new equipment when we are setting out on an extended training cruise.”
The head technician, Rollins, shook his head. “But Captain Spock, this equipment isn’t really new. We’ve just added a few new wrinkles to the existing synthesizers. We’ve made them more efficient and given them greater variety. Your trainee crew consists of a higher than average percentage of nonhuman cadets. This will be a perfect opportunity for them to enjoy a variety of their own native dishes, instead of having to be content with rations.”
Spock fixed the balding human with a skeptical look. “Mr. Rollins, I would prefer to test new equipment during a shorter, shakedown cruise. Not a two-month mapping mission. We will have to rely on the synthesizers for this voyage…. We are not going to be carrying a galley crew. Logic dictates that you select another ship to test your ‘new wrinkles.’”
“Captain Spock…” Rollins hesitated. “Tell you what, let me prove to you that the revamped synthesizers work just as well—as a matter of fact, much better—than the old ones. Eat your evening meal aboard ship tonight, and request the synthesizer to prepare any kind of Vulcan food you’d like. If you’re not pleased with the results, we’ll put your old synthesizers back before you ship out tomorrow.”
Spock hesitated in turn, considering. Finally he nodded. “Very well, Mr. Rollins. I shall do as you suggest.”
The Vulcan was busy for the next few hours, overseeing the final preparations for the cruise. His trainees were beaming aboard to spend tonight in their new quarters, and the corridors were filled with bustling, chattering youngsters, excited to be aboard the legendary vessel.
Finally, he finished the last of his preliminary checks and keyed the intercom. A voice responded almost immediately. “Cadet Saavik here.”
Spock addressed her in Vulcan, so she would know immediately that this was not an official dialogue. “Good evening, Saavikam. I must test the new food synthesizer equipment tonight, so I wondered … are you available to join me for dinner in my cabin?”
“That would be agreeable, my teacher,” she responded, immediately.
“At 1900 hours, then? What would you prefer for your meal? You may choose anything you wish, the technicians tell me. Even Vulcan cuisine.”
“Really? That will be … interesting.”
Saavik had been to Vulcan only a few times, but she had professed to enjoy the food when she was there. When Spock had first rescued her, she’d eaten meat, but as soon as she realized that her mentor, and his people, did not, she had adopted Vulcan food ethics. Good Vulcan cuisine was not easy to come by on Earth. Humans tended not to appreciate it.
“I’ll have t’miirq soup, braised anwoa sprouts on wafer-toast … and iced Vulcan fruits. Is that enough of a test?”
“That should be sufficiently challenging, yes. I shall see you then.”
During the next two hours, Spock found himself actually anticipating the evening. Lately his and his protégée’s schedules had not been conducive to spending much time together. It was … refreshing … to speak his native tongue with a good listener. He found himself standing before his closet, staring in at the duty uniforms neatly hung there, the dress uniform beside them. And his Vulcan clothing. Tonight we will eat the food of my homeworld, he thought, reaching for one of his black robes. It seems appropriate to dress for the occasion.
Minutes later, when he heard the door chime, he said immediately, in Vulcan, “Enter.”
The door slid open, to reveal Saavik, also clad in Vulcan garb. She wore a dark red tunic and trousers. Her hair was pulled back, but not pinned up. A silvery earring hung from her left earlobe, glimmering faintly in the light of the many candles. The cadet’s eyes widened as she took in the traditional table settings and the elegant repast spread before her. Soft music from a Vulcan harpist made a barely heard accompaniment.
“Be welcome to my table,” Spock said, formally, seating her.
She glanced up at him, and a faint smile touched her mouth. “The blessings of logic upon this house,” she replied. “Thank you for your hospitality, my teacher.” They ate, sampling each dish, and, despite his apprehensions, Spock was impressed. “I shall inform Technician Rollins that his new synthesizers are working well,” he said. “More braised sprouts?”
“Thank you, I will,” she replied, helping herself. “This is as well prepared as that restaurant near the Vulcan consulate in San Francisco.”
“Indeed,” Spock said. “I must agree.” He gazed appreciatively at Saavik, thinking that the informal hairstyle was more esthetically pleasing than pinning her hair up tightly. Her freed tresses softly brushed her shoulders, shining with good health. The curve of her revealed ear was delicate, like the shell of a veren….
He realized that he had been staring only when she turned to regard him, her eyebrow going up. “What is it?” she asked. “Is something wrong, my teacher?”
Spock blinked, then looked down at his plate. “Nothing at all, Saavikam,” he replied. “I believe it is time to serve the iced fruits.”
When she started to get up, he motioned her back. “Please … allow me. This was my invitation.”
Again that faint smile touched her mouth, and was gone, almost before he could be sure he saw it. “Very well,” she said softly.
After the fruits had been served, Spock cast about for a subject, because suddenly the silence seemed almost … loud. “Were you aware that we will be hosting a Carreon on this cruise, Saavikam?”
She nodded. “Yes, I met Rrelthiz today. We chatted for a while, and she asked if she could interview me. She’s particularly interested in meeting the nonhuman cadets. Her people have been relatively isolated prior to Federation first contact, and she’s fascinated by all the different species.”
“Did she seem to be settling in well?”
“Yes, I believe so.”
Spock nodded, satisfied. “More fruit, Saavikam?”
“This, the formal part of my interview, is concluded,” Rrelthiz said. “I thank you, Cadet Saavik, for your cooperation.” With a stab of her taloned forefinger, she shut off her recording device. “There! As the humans would speak, ‘that is that.’”
Saavik nodded at the alien, thinking that, while the formal part of Rrelthiz’s interview might be over, the alien was almost certainly not done asking questions. Rrelthiz asks a great many questions … nearly as many as I ask my teacher, Saavik realized. I am fortunate that Mr. Spock has so much patience with questions…. The Starfleet cadet sat cross-legged on a cushion in the Enterprise’s observation lounge, and Rrelthiz sat beside her. As both interviewer and interviewee relaxed, the Carreon reclined on another cushion. Her oiled skin shone faintly in the dimmed illumination. The huge viewport was filled with slowly moving stars, shining steadily because there was no atmosphere here to make them twinkle. In space one could make out the colors of those stars … red, white, yellow, blue-white….
The Enterprise was
two weeks into her mapping mission, and so far the work had proceeded without incident. Some of the cadets were beginning to chafe at the unvarying routine, and Spock and the other senior crew members had had to quash more than one rowdy party. But their mission was on schedule, which was the important thing.
Rrelthiz stared out the viewport for a long time, then suddenly raised her arm, her taloned digit pointing. “There, I can see it!”
Saavik turned around. “Your home star?”
“Yes, it must be, the little yellow star it is, left of the star the Federation catalogues call Procyon. Shhhh…” she sighed. “In my native words, we call her Ailannq … the Bright Mother…. I miss her, and I miss my world. Humans call this feeling to be sick of home, yes?”
“Homesick,” Saavik corrected absently. She squinted, thinking that Carreon vision must be excellent. Finally, by using her peripheral vision, she was able to make it out.
“Friend Saavik, which of all those is your home star?”
The cadet hesitated. “Rrelthiz, I have no home star. I was raised on a world that does not, for all practical purposes, exist now. It was a terrible place. I am glad that it is dead and gone.” Rrelthiz is easy to talk to, she realized. I have mentioned Hellguard to perhaps three people in my entire life…. “I watched my home planet die and rejoiced to see it destroyed. In doing so, I regained my honor.”
“Honor is an important concept to my people, too,” Rrelthiz said. “We believe in honor, and revenge … and, when we have committed a wrong, we believe in reparation.”
She almost sounds Romulan, Saavik thought.
The little Carreon put out her taloned hand, rested it on Saavik’s fingers. Her flesh was cool, almost chilly, and rather damp. “Friend Saavik, sorry indeed I feel to make you speak of such a place. Please accept my apologies.”
Saavik shook her head. “It is of no matter, and no apologies are needed, Rrelthiz. I wished to speak of it to you, so I did. Besides … Vulcan and Earth have become my home now. I am content.”
Saavik realized that was literally true. She was indeed more … content … than she had been in a long time. It was a pleasure to be able to see her mentor every day, to have him tutor her privately, answer her unending questions, and even to be able to play chess several nights each week. Thinking about playing chess with Spock made her frown slightly. She glanced over at Rrelthiz. “Something … odd … happened last night.”
The little alien gazed at her out of neon-blue eyes. “Odd? What was that, Saavik?”
“I defeated Mr. Spock at chess.”
“Is that the first time you have ever done so?”
“No,” Saavik said. “But it is the first time I have done so in only ten moves. His game was definitely off. I wonder if he was feeling well.”
“Perhaps he should see Doctor Mukaro,” Rrelthiz suggested. “I have been in sickbay most days, reviewing material on all of the species who are serving aboard ship, and we have chatted several times. He seems like a good Healer, competent physician, and kind. He tells me this will be his last voyage, that he will be … what is the word … resigning … no, that is not it….”
“Retiring?”
“Yes, that is it. But about Mr. Spock … health check, he has had one recently?”
Saavik shook her head. “He tends to avoid them, as do I.” And no wonder, she thought, considering Doctor McCoy’s penchant for asking personal questions … illogical ones. “Last night I asked him whether he was well, and he said he was … and then congratulated me on playing exceptionally well. Except … that was not true. I played no better than I do most of the times we play together.”
“Perhaps the captain was distracted,” Rrelthiz. “Missing his home, his family? Is he mated?”
Saavik shook her head. “He has a mother and father, cousins, but no … he has no close family. And no mate.”
“How odd,” Rrelthiz said. “Unless … are you and he old enough to be mated, friend Saavik? Or does sexual maturity among Vulcans come late in life, as it does for some species?”
Spock and I? Mates? The thought shocked her, until Saavik realized that this was just another instance of Rrelthiz innocently mixing up Standard syntax. Universal translators were not foolproof. For some reason her face grew hot, and she spoke with more than a touch of asperity. “Captain Spock is certainly of sufficient maturity to have taken a mate,” she said curtly. “As am I, I suppose.”
Rrelthiz was studying her in the dimness. “My question … it made you uncomfortable? Something offensive, I said? I am sorry—”
“No, you said nothing wrong,” Saavik said, studying the toes of her Starfleet-issue boots. “I … I do not know why the captain has no mate. I have never asked him.” And why not, when I have asked so many other questions? she wondered. Some of them quite personal indeed. Why have we never discussed that subject? Why do I feel that I would rather discuss almost anything else in the universe—including my childhood on Hellguard—than that subject? Most illogical!
“And you, friend Saavik?”
Saavik was finally able to look at the Carreon. “I have no mate because I was not raised on Vulcan, and thus was not betrothed at a young age, as many Vulcan children are.”
“Do you regret that?”
Saavik allowed herself a small smile. “Not at all, friend Rrelthiz. If I ever choose to mate, I shall want to do the choosing myself. Besides … my career in Starfleet is of primary importance to me now, and for many years to come.” She quickly changed the subject. “Your hand … what happened?” she asked, looking down at Rrelthiz’s fingers and pointing to a synth-flesh “bandage” that glimmered pale against the alien’s black skin.
“Another accident,” the Talaerian said. “These days I am subject to clumsiness, I fear. Sliding doors to my quarters yesterday nearly lost me my tail.” She smoothed the whiplike appendage gingerly, and Saavik saw it bore a slight kink. “Then this morning I was experimenting with the food synthesizers and foolishly did not realize that requested items came already encased in containers. I was holding a glass beaker in the unit when I activated it. The beaker broke and cut my hand. It is not serious. Just one of a series of small accidents that have plagued me as I attempt to adjust to the different kinds of technology used by your Federation, as well as the higher gravity aboard ship.”
Saavik nodded. “I remember the first time Mr. Spock showed me a synthesizer, and I realized I could eat whenever I wished. I made myself quite ill.” And Spock took care of me…. Hastily, she turned her mind away from thoughts of the past. “Friend Rrelthiz … have you ever played chess?”
“No, Saavik, but learning is of much value and pleasure. Teach me?”
“Certainly.”
“Sir, the duty roster for your signature…”
Hearing a note of strain in the Trainee Yeoman’s voice, Spock glanced up at the young man. Cadet Goldman was obviously in distress … eyes glazed, his jaw working, a sheen of sweat making his face glisten in the bridge lights. “Cadet?” Spock said. “You do not appear well.”
Goldman shook his head, obviously struggling to maintain his demeanor. “Captain, I’m sorry … I suddenly … feel sick … as if…” He grimaced, then turned away, clapping his hand over his mouth. He staggered toward the bridge doors, but tripped on the step and landed on his knees, vomiting.
The Vulcan slapped the intercom. “Sickbay, Doctor Mukaro to the bridge.”
“Captain?” an uncertain young voice responded, “I’m sorry, Sir, the doctor is … indisposed. He’s sick, Sir.”
“Send a med-tech to the bridge immediately, then,” Spock said, heading for the retching trainee. He supported the young man as he heaved, and the bridge crew of human cadets milled around, distressed, some gagging softly in sympathy. Only Saavik had the presence of mind to run a tricorder over Goldman. She shook her head. “His temperature is at a dangerous level for a human, Captain,” she said. “He needs immediate treatment.”
The bridge doors slid open, and the yo
ung med-tech rushed in, medical kit in hand. Despite her youth, she was efficient, administering a hypospray, then overseeing Goldman being carried out on a litter. The cadet was moaning, barely conscious, doubled up with cramps.
As soon as Goldman was on his way to sickbay and Spock had summoned the cleaning equipment, he turned to the young med-tech, whose ebony features were tight with anxiety. “Nurse Nbanga, a cadet said that Doctor Mukaro had also been taken ill?”
“Yes, Captain Spock. Sir, his symptoms are identical,” she replied.
“Then we must consider that they have been afflicted with the same illness,” Spock said. “Please report to me on their status. Notify me if any additional cases occur.”
“Aye, Captain.”
As the Nurse left the bridge, Spock stood gazing after her, and his dark eyes were troubled.
Over the next six hours, twenty-five more cases turned up, and the rate of illness was increasing. Spock summoned Saavik, whom he’d appointed acting science officer, and Doctor Rrelthiz, who was now the closest thing the ship contained to a certified physician, to Doctor Mukaro’s office for a briefing. After Nurse Nbanga had filled them in on the rapid spread of the condition and its severity, the Vulcan reviewed the medical data. “These med-scan readings do not correlate to any known human illness,” he said, as he finished the report. “The onset is so sudden, and so violent.”
Saavik raised an eyebrow. “A sudden onset. Could we be dealing with a poison, rather than a viral agent? Something introduced into the food or water? We have new synthesizers. Could someone have tampered with them during their installation? Introduced a slow-acting poison? Could this be sabotage?”
Spock shook his head. “That was the first thing I checked. Logic dictated that since Starfleet had just installed new synthesizer equipment, a malfunction—either deliberate or accidental—was a possibility. With that in mind, Chief Engineer Jaansen and I ran complete diagnostics on all of the new equipment as soon as Goldman collapsed. The synthesizers are functioning normally. We checked for any anomalous chemicals and found nothing.”
Star Trek: Enterprise Logs Page 19
