Living Memory

by Christopher L. Bennett

  “Yes,” Kirk said. “ ‘Maltuvis’s Folly.’ The retaliation he provoked when he tried to invade your world proved critical to his undoing.”

  “More specifically, it was our Warborn who proved critical to Arcturus’s defense against the Saurian invaders, as they have in other times of crisis over the past several thousand years.”

  Kirk hesitated. “I admit my knowledge of the Warborn is limited. Some sort of… clone soldiers, weren’t they?”

  Rakatheema’s already wrinkled brow shifted downward into a frown. “Not clones, Admiral. A common misconception.”

  “My apologies.”

  “The Warborn are… a legacy of our ancient beginnings. As you say, our ancestors migrated from the innermost planet. They reengineered their genes to breed and mature rapidly to facilitate the settlement of our new homeworld. I, for instance, enrolled in Starfleet at the age of eight standard years.

  “However, our genome was also modified with the ability to accelerate our breeding even further in times of exceptional need, as a safeguard against colony collapse. Using certain pharmaceuticals and hormone boosters, we can induce the parthenogenetic breeding of large numbers of offspring that are born within weeks and mature within as little as sixteen months.

  “At times over our history on Arcturus IV, once our population grew and fragmented into nation-states, we would use this capability to breed vast armies, developing rapid learning techniques to educate them in the ways of war. We also invented religious traditions to teach them warfare as their sacred duty, and to instill that same sense of duty in their mothers so that they would willingly bear the strain and disruption of such accelerated multiple childbirth—and so they would be philosophical about mothering a whole race to die in our wars.” He looked down, his tone abashed.

  Kirk stared. “No wonder Maltuvis wanted your world.”

  “Yes. He dreamed of turning our Warborn into his shock troops to sweep across the galaxy. But he did not understand us. Nor was he the first in our history to invade us with similar intentions. Once we grew sick of our wars millennia ago and united as a people, the Warborn became our defense. Our religion evolved along with our culture: The Warborn, and we, came to see it as their sacred duty to fight only in defense of Arcturus against that which threatens it, for no other cause was sufficient to justify such a sacrifice. We would never have submitted to being used by another in that way. Once Maltuvis had fallen, we retired the Warborn who had survived. Nor did we consider joining the Federation until your diplomats convinced us that you had no interest in exploiting the Warborn in your own defense.”

  “We never would have asked for that,” Kirk said. “Even aside from the ethical quandary, our laws about genetic engineering are firm.”

  “Yes. Though technically all Arcturians are the products of ancient genetic engineering, the enhanced abilities of the Warborn arguably qualify them as a type of Augment. Plus, the notion of creating a race of people specifically as expendable troops was… incompatible with Federation ethics.” Rakatheema’s hooded eyes took on what seemed to be an embarrassed expression. “We had wrestled with the ethics of it ourselves for countless generations, but the custom was entrenched in our culture and traditions. It is an irony that our shorter generations compared to other humanoids make us slower to change as a society, for we mature so quickly that we have little time to question or challenge convention before we must take on the adult responsibility to carry it forward.

  “It took an outside nudge—the prospect of Federation membership—to make us finally act on our ambivalence and outlaw the creation of the Warborn.”

  Kirk leaned back in his seat. “Commander, while I find this history lesson fascinating, I assume you’re going to make it relevant to the present at some point.”

  “Yes, Admiral. You see, we thought we had finally put the Warborn in our past… until about two decades ago, when the Klingons invaded the Federation. I trust you know that history quite well, sir.”

  The observation required no reply. It had been twenty-three years before, when Kirk had been a young lieutenant on the Farragut. Ironically, that ship had come through the war intact, then lost its captain and half its crew to a gaseous alien creature barely a month after the armistice. Yet more than a few of Kirk’s friends and mentors from the Academy had died in the war or survived with something broken inside them. It was not a time that many in the Federation enjoyed reminiscing about.

  After a moment, Rakatheema went on. “As the war worsened, some in Starfleet and the Federation government came to our leaders and proposed breeding a new generation of Warborn to fight the Klingons. Their argument was that, as Arcturus had been a Federation member for nearly a century, fighting in the Federation’s defense would be merely an extension of the Warborn’s purpose. But our leaders did not agree. The tradition handed down over the centuries was that the sacred purpose of the Warborn, the only cause that could legitimize creating them to fight and die, was the defense of our own hard-won world. That we could not cheapen their sacrifice by allowing it for any other cause, lest we end up throwing their lives away as profligately as our ancestors did in the ancient wars.”

  Kirk studied him. “You don’t seem… entirely convinced.”

  The tips of the commander’s skin flaps flushed slightly in embarrassment. “Our traditions exist for good reason, sir, but I can see the merit in the Federation envoys’ argument. Indeed, their warnings were borne out. As the Klingons gained more and more ground over the months, our leaders began to fear that Arcturus was in danger of invasion. It seemed likely that the Klingons would either wish to exploit our Warborn as Maltuvis had tried to do… or simply exterminate all life on Arcturus to eliminate the threat.

  “Though the debate was fierce, the hawks won the day. With Federation officials choosing to look the other way, the ban was suspended and a new wave of Warborn was bred—tens of thousands in all, with the facilities readied for hundreds of thousands more if it came to that.”

  “But then the Klingon War ended,” Kirk prompted. “Chancellor L’Rell took power and declared a truce.”

  “Yes—before the Warborn had even reached full maturity. We had not needed them after all.

  “But what could we do with them? They were living, sentient beings. We could not simply dispose of them. Yet the rapid learning they had been given was oriented solely toward combat. How could we integrate them into a peaceful society? What purpose could they serve without the one they were born for?

  “Ultimately,” he continued wryly, “our leaders chose to defer the question until after their terms in office had ended. The young Warborn were placed in cryogenic stasis, and ever since, their little lives have been rounded with a sleep.”

  Kirk folded his hands before him. “ ‘If you be pleased, retire into my cell,’ ” he recited, “ ‘And there repose. A turn or two I’ll walk / To still my beating mind.’ ”

  Rakatheema beamed. “Well quoted, Admiral! Although their minds lay stilled for more than a turn or two. For twenty-two years, they have reposed in their frozen cells.” His smile swiftly faded. “Which is longer than the technology was designed to handle.”

  Kirk was taken aback. “The stasis has started to fail?”

  “Yes.” The commander’s voice was grim. “We lost over a hundred before we revived the rest. Now we have more than twenty thousand Warborn awake among us, with no war to fight, no purpose to fulfill. Military life is all they know, yet they are forbidden to fight except in defense of Arcturus IV.

  “We are a disciplined people, Admiral. We had to be in order to win our world, and that legacy has stayed with us. To live without purpose is no life for an Arcturian, least of all for a Warborn.”

  The admiral straightened in his chair. “I think I can guess what you came here to propose, Commander.”

  Rakatheema nodded. “Starfleet has military discipline, yet is primarily peaceful in its goals. I think that might be what the Warborn need: an education that embrace
s that military mindset yet redirects it toward constructive ends. Starfleet Academy could be the ideal outlet for them.”

  Kirk frowned. “But even if we employ every satellite campus in the Federation, the Academy can’t accommodate twenty thousand new recruits added to the existing student body.”

  “I don’t ask for that many, Admiral. I propose only a pilot program—a dozen or so Warborn to start, as proof of concept. If it proves viable, we bring in more. The rest can be returned to those stasis pods that remain viable, then gradually enrolled over the years ahead.”

  Rakatheema stood. “I know this is a large thing to ask, Admiral Kirk. I know there will be controversies, objections to admitting the equivalent of Augments into Starfleet. I’ve already met with such objections back home when I proposed this, as many fear that it might lead to Warborn serving in defense of the Federation instead of Arcturus.”

  “Is that where you wish it to lead, Commander?”

  The pale, hairless man fidgeted. “I wish merely for these people to find a home and a purpose in Starfleet. I hope that purpose remains peaceful… but there is merit to the idea that the defense of Arcturus and of the Federation are one and the same. Potentially, the Warborn could be a great benefit to both.” He held out his hands, palms forward. “Of course, I do not propose reactivating the program to create more of them. Merely to give the ones who now live a way of being useful. Of fulfilling the purpose they were born for in a way that is beneficial to everyone.

  “These are innocent people, Admiral… orphans of circumstance, needing a place where they can belong and feel useful. They are not expendable, no matter why they were created.”

  Kirk was quiet for several moments, absorbing it all. “You’ve given me a great deal to think about, Commander. I’m willing to consider it, but I’ll have to discuss it with Superintendent Chandra and the Academy board… probably with Starfleet Command as well. There’s a lot to sort through in this. I trust you have a more detailed written proposal…?”

  “Yes, sir.” Rakatheema handed Kirk a data card. “The specifics are on there. Admiral, I greatly appreciate your open mind.”

  “I’m always willing to listen, Commander. But make no mistake: this was the easy part.”

  Kirk residence

  San Francisco

  “An intriguing question,” Spock said as he perused the 3-D chessboard in Kirk’s fireplace nook, still set up as it had been when they had left off their last game. It was too warm for a fire this time of year, but the nook had quickly become their traditional place for chess, to accommodate the half-Vulcan captain’s dislike for cold. It also had the advantage of being away from the wide, curved row of windows that gazed out across San Francisco Bay toward the Marin Headlands, so that the lights and sounds from outside intruded less on the players’ concentration.

  “Certainly the Warborn’s plight is one I can comprehend,” Spock went on, projecting so Kirk could hear him clearly from the kitchen over the clinking of the china. “Outsiders to their culture by the nature of their birth… of their world, yet apart from it… seeking a place where their otherness will not be a hindrance.”

  Kirk came back into the living room, carrying a tea tray. “Then you think we should admit them to the Academy.”

  “I did not say that,” Spock replied as Kirk set the tray down beside the chessboard. “Empathy does not compel partisanship. It merely provides insight into all sides of a question.” Kirk finished pouring Spock’s cup and handed it to him. “Thank you, Jim. In this case, I can easily empathize with the other side as well. A race of soldiers that can be swiftly bred by the millions is a dangerous temptation. The potential for abuse is enormous.”

  “The Arcturians have managed to resist that temptation for over a century,” Kirk countered as he lifted his own teacup. “With one notable exception.”

  “Resisting temptation means nothing if the temptation is not present. The one time they were offered a justification, they took it.”

  “After resisting it as long as they could.”

  “True resistance does not yield.” Spock set down his cup. “In the Kolinahr ritual, there is a phase where one must remain completely silent for several months, acknowledging no others, even in their immediate presence. There is a phase where one must go with no more than the barest minimum of food and water for six weeks, even when meals are provided daily. There is a phase—”

  “I get the idea.”

  “There were many times while undertaking these rituals that my need grew desperate. I became convinced that I would not remain safe or even survive if I did not break the stricture. I felt certain that the cause was justified, that anyone would comprehend my need, that anyone would yield in the same circumstances.”

  Kirk sipped his tea. “But you didn’t yield.”

  “I understood that those feelings were the very temptations I needed to overcome. So I released them, and did not succumb.” The corner of his mouth turned up ever so slightly. “At least until I sensed V’Ger’s mind calling out. There, at the point of no return… I wavered.”

  “I think the entire population of Earth is grateful that you did. Along with the crew of the Enterprise.”

  “Still, it proved to me that my commitment to Kolinahr was not as absolute as I had believed.”

  “And you don’t think the Arcturians’ commitment to peace is as great as they believed.”

  “On the contrary—I am convinced it is as sincere as the Federation’s.” He lifted a brow. “And yet, when the temptation was sufficient, they yielded.”

  “You’re saying we could yield too. That having the Warborn in Starfleet would create too great a temptation to use them as they were bred to be used.” He reached toward the chessboard, fingers hesitating above one of the smallest pieces. “As pawns to be sacrificed.”

  “It is a risk that must surely be addressed. Starfleet’s martial drives are rarely as far from the surface as we would like to believe.” His eyes darted across the antique guns and armor pieces that adorned the walls of the nook. Kirk liked to think he collected and displayed them as a reminder of how far humans had come from their barbaric past, that such things were now seen only as historical curiosities and works of art rather than functional tools of destruction. Yet he understood how Spock could read a mixed message into his fascination with military history.

  “However,” Spock went on, mercifully leaving that question aside, “it would be no more fair to the Warborn to disregard their need for guidance—for a place where they can lead lives of purpose and fulfillment rather than being cast aside.

  “I found such a place in Starfleet. It is entirely possible that the Warborn could do so as well. But we must be certain of our own ability to resist temptation.”

  Setting down his teacup, Spock steepled his fingers before him and turned his full attention to the chessboard. “Shall we play, Jim?”

  Starfleet Academy

  Following his discussion with Spock, James Kirk decided to endorse Commander Rakatheema’s proposal regarding the Arcturian Warborn. The matter came up for debate at the next meeting of the Academy’s senior administrators, held in the office of Admiral Nensi Chandra, a white-haired, round-faced human who had served as superintendent of Starfleet Academy for the past eight years. Also present were Chandra’s subordinates: Kirk as commandant of cadets, responsible for the day-to-day supervision and discipline of the student body; Professor Blune, the full-figured Denobulan female who served as the civilian academic dean, overseeing the faculty and academic programs; and the lean, narrow-faced Captain T’Vari of Vulcan, Chandra’s chief of staff, who advised on daily operations and administration.

  Rakatheema was also on hand to make his case to the board, but Kirk was surprised to see the Arcturian commander joined by his direct superior, Admiral Lance Cartwright, the former captain of U.S.S. Ark Royal who now served as the head of Starfleet Security. “I’m here to add my endorsement to the commander’s proposal,” the tall, mahogany-skinned
admiral had explained to Kirk in his rich, booming voice. “Since it relates to questions of Federation security and defense, I asked to be included.”

  Kirk had a fairly clear idea where Cartwright’s thoughts were headed, for he had been considering similar possibilities. However, it would first be necessary to make the more basic case for the Warborn to Admiral Chandra and his other advisors.

  Chandra was an accomplished Starfleet veteran with more than fifty years of experience, having served as a science officer, captain, starbase commander, and Academy instructor and administrator. His path had crossed with Kirk’s a few times when the older man had been captain of the Kongo, most notably when he had sat on the board of Kirk’s court-martial for the negligent homicide of Lieutenant Commander Ben Finney. Kirk had never held that against him, of course; it was simply by chance that Chandra had been one of the command-rank officers available at Starbase 11 at the time, due to the Kongo being in for repairs. Indeed, once Spock had deduced that Finney had faked his death, the court-martial had been disbanded before Chandra or the other panelists had needed to make a decision. Over Kirk’s months as Academy commandant, he had found Superintendent Chandra to be a capable superior with the reliable judgment and breadth of perspective that came from decades of wide-ranging experience.

  As Commander Rakatheema stated his case to the panel, Chandra sat patiently with his hands resting on his hips, arms slightly akimbo—a familiar sight to Kirk from his court-martial, and more recently from numerous Academy meetings. Chandra was a contemplative man, not prone to speak unless he had something worth saying. When the Arcturian commander returned to his seat, however, Chandra folded his hands before him on the tabletop. “You have made an excellent case regarding what Starfleet service could do for the Warborn, Commander. However, the question remains: What could the Warborn do for Starfleet? By your own acknowledgment, their education to this point has been limited to knowledge and skills deemed necessary for combat. The ideal Academy candidate has a far more eclectic education.”