“Good, good.”
Spock hesitated, which was unusual for him. “However unnecessary, it is convenient that you are here. I trust you have heard of the most recent vacuum flare event?”
“Near Delta IV, yes. Fortunately harmless, but it disproves Chekov’s theory about a link to past Enterprise missions. It looked promising after Vega Colony.” The Enterprise’s itinerary for the preceding several years had never included the Deltan star system.
“In fact, Admiral,” Spock replied, “I believe this new datum not only supports Commander Chekov’s hypothesis, but allows refining it to identify the exact common factor unifying the events.” Again he showed that odd hesitation. “If you will accompany me to my quarters, Admiral? Until I am more certain, it would be best to discuss this in private.”
Spock led the admiral up one deck to the captain’s cabin. Spock kept his quarters softly lit and sparsely furnished, the better to facilitate quiet contemplation. The primary decoration was a large mural of the Vulcan IDIC emblem assembled from hundreds of small metal disks; Spock had told Kirk once that he mentally associated each disk with a specific person from his past, meditating on each in turn to reflect how their diverse influences had combined to shape the course of his life. Next to it, the small cylindrical dining nook had been converted into a meditation alcove, for Spock rarely entertained guests or took elaborate meals.
Spock did, however, respect human conventions enough to offer Kirk a beverage. Kirk brushed it off and said, “Just tell me, Spock. What have you figured out that’s so sensitive?”
The Vulcan captain sat at his work desk in the corner and steepled his fingers. “As you are aware, Jim, we had not been able to determine a single common factor among the previous systems struck by vacuum flares. Though they were all visited by the Enterprise in reverse sequence, and all contain relatively advanced worlds in regular contact with the Federation, the list excluded numerous worlds that fit those same parameters. Therefore, any hope of predicting future flares relies upon identifying some additional variable shared only by those systems. Yet the ones we could discern appeared trivial: all entailed layovers of several days, all entailed vessel maintenance and resupply, all entailed shore leave for at least a portion of the crew.”
“All routine matters.” Kirk stopped there, resisting the impulse to insist that Spock get to his point. He knew Spock well enough by now to understand that the captain wished to restate the parameters of the problem clearly as the first stage of his methodical analysis.
“So it would seem,” Spock said, “but that creates a dangerous temptation to dismiss data that could be significant. Consider, Jim: Though the Enterprise is the unifying variable in all these incidents, the vacuum flares appear to be aimed instead, however imperfectly, at the planets the ship visited—never at any point in interstellar space, even ones where the Enterprise spent a considerable amount of time.
“It stands to reason, therefore, that the key lies with something that occurred on those planets while the Enterprise visited them.”
“I see what you’re getting at, Spock.” Kirk began to pace the room. “If some… cosmic force is sending these flares… then it’s not targeting the ship, but one or more of its crew. Somebody who left the ship at each of those ports, and did something to attract its attention.”
“Or did something that triggered some form of natural outburst as a delayed reaction,” Spock countered. “It is still too early to make assumptions regarding the causal factor; I am merely proposing a correlation.”
“Of course. But it does narrow it down. It’s not about the Enterprise, but about the people aboard her.” He snapped his fingers and pointed. “That’s why the Deltan system is significant. The Enterprise didn’t go there, but one of the crew did.”
Spock nodded. “Upon having this insight, I reviewed the duty rosters to compile a list of personnel who went ashore at every one of the systems affected by the flares. I was able to narrow it down to eleven people, including you and myself, but no further.”
“How many had previously visited Delta?”
“Within a year prior to the Enterprise’s visit to Vega Colony, records show only two.” He worked his console, bringing up a personnel file displaying a familiar square-jawed face. “Lieutenant Vincent DeSalle made a layover in the system in late 2265, only long enough for a brief sightseeing tour.”
The next file he displayed featured a far more familiar and stunning face. “And Lieutenant Nyota Uhura spent a week on Delta IV in early 2266, while the Enterprise was undergoing repairs and refitting following its return from the galactic rim.”
Kirk leaned forward. “Uhura? How could this have anything to do with her?”
“I have no hypothesis at this time, Jim. However, the records do show that Uhura spent at least several hours on the surface of every affected planet, often more than a day—during which her activities were unaccounted for.”
The admiral threw him a look. “Spock… it’s shore leave. Your activities are supposed to be unaccounted for. What Uhura does in her free time is her own affair.”
Spock raised a brow. “It seems unlikely that the type of activity you implicitly refer to would have any connection to the vacuum flare phenomenon—despite colorful human metaphors pertaining to fireworks and seismic upheavals.”
Kirk flushed. “I only meant that we have no business assuming anything untoward from the simple fact that she acted in private.”
“Again, no assumption is intended.” Spock inflected the word “assumption” as if referring to something vile. “I am merely defining what is known and what is still unknown. Uhura is the one variable shared by every vacuum flare incident to date, as is the fact that she was on each planet for a significant amount of time with her activities undocumented. Therefore, it is plausible that something she did during that unaccounted time is connected in some way to the vacuum flares—most likely in some way she is unaware of, or she would have recognized the pattern herself and notified us.”
“Then we need to contact her. Find out if she can remember anything she did during those leaves.”
“Certainly that is the next logical step. As is compiling a list of her previous shore visits to worlds that fit the parameters, so that we may predict future flare sites and have advance warning—or at least rule out this hypothesis if its predictions prove incorrect.”
The admiral shook his head. “I’m not sure whether to hope it’s right or wrong. We need a way to predict future flares, and ideally to learn what causes them, before they start doing serious damage. But if it turns out that they have some connection to Uhura, what could that mean to her? Or about her?”
Spock held his gaze. “Now you understand why I did not wish to publicize this until we can be sure. The natural human temptation is to speculate, to imagine dire possibilities to fill the gaps in our knowledge. Commander Uhura deserves the benefit of the doubt as we seek more information.”
“Of course, of course, Spock. You’re right.”
Still, as he thought about it now, it struck Kirk that there had always been something mysterious about Nyota Uhura. For all her outward warmth, she was a very private individual. He had come to think of her as a trusted colleague, even a friend, though more casually than he was with Spock or McCoy, or than she was with Sulu and Chekov. Yet on reflection, there was still a great deal he did not know about her personal life.
His first reaction had been disbelief that Uhura could be involved in anything connected to the vacuum flares—anything on the level of a cosmic mystery this great. But was that simply because he had always taken her for granted? What depths might she possess that he had never discovered?
Starfleet Academy
“I need to take the Enterprise out.”
Superintendent Chandra studied Kirk patiently from behind the neatly organized desk in his office. “Already?”
“You’re aware of the apparent connection of the vacuum flare phenomenon to past Enterprise missions,
” Kirk said. Chandra nodded. “Captain Spock and I believe that a former member of our crew aboard the Asimov could provide a vital insight, and it would be faster to rendezvous with them in the Enterprise than to call them back to Earth.”
“And this can’t be done over subspace?”
Kirk paused. “It could be… involved. We have a tentative idea of a connection, but it might take extensive discussion and analysis, working together, to determine what it means.”
“Hmm.” Chandra nodded as he thought it over. “That sounds reasonable. Sending the Enterprise under Captain Spock is a sensible approach.” The senior admiral’s gaze pierced him. “But why do you need to be there?”
Kirk hesitated, which Chandra took as an answer. “I have accepted the nature of your arrangement with Admiral Morrow. I understand your position that your skills are still useful in the field. Some of us take more comfortably to administration than others.” Chandra gestured around him at his office, adorned with paraphernalia of his family, the Academy, and San Francisco, all conveying the sense of a man securely nested in his place.
“But I accepted it with the understanding that you would find a reasonable balance between your Academy responsibilities and your occasional special assignments. I am not convinced you have been sufficiently dedicated to that balance, Jim. You are taking field assignments that do not require your presence, when you should be back here concentrating on your commitments as commandant.
“Particularly now, with the tensions surrounding the Warborn cadets. It was largely at your urging that we accepted them, after all. You have an obligation to see this through.”
“I understand that, sir. But this shouldn’t take more than a few days—”
“To reach the Asimov, perhaps. But if your consultation with your crew member does produce a useful insight, it will probably be best to act on it promptly. This could be an open-ended venture. So I ask again, Jim.” Chandra leaned forward. “Does the Enterprise actually need James Kirk aboard it on this mission?”
Kirk tried to think of a reply that wouldn’t seem self-serving. The very fact that he needed to try told him the answer. He lowered his head. “No, sir. You’re right. I’m needed here. And I have full confidence in Captain Spock’s ability to fulfill the mission on his own.”
Chandra nodded, smiling a bit to ease the tension. “Very good. Have Captain Spock contact me about the mission parameters. If he deems it safe enough, he can select a senior cadet crew and make it a training mission.”
“I don’t see why it shouldn’t be, sir.” Kirk stopped himself. “But I’ll leave that to Spock to decide.”
Chandra smiled wider, a bit wistfully. “Get used to saying that, Jim. A flag officer has to learn to delegate. You’ve been on the other side of that often enough, I’m sure. You don’t want to become the stereotype of the imperious admiral getting in the way of the captains trying to do their jobs.”
“Fair enough, sir. I’ll keep that in mind.”
Kirk found he did not feel too disappointed as he left the superintendent’s office. To be honest, part of him was grateful for being grounded. Tomorrow was the day Ashley Janith-Lau was scheduled to meet the Warborn Arcturians and observe them in their classes. It was a relief that he would not have to miss her second visit. He was very much looking forward to spending more time in the peace activist’s charming company, even if they did disagree on quite a few issues.
If anything, Janith-Lau’s arguments in favor of pacifism reminded Kirk of a number of his past debates with Spock over the years—debates that had helped him temper his own martial impulses and stay true to his aspirations to be a better man. He and Spock had formed an enduring partnership based on their differences. Perhaps that could be possible with someone else as well.
* * *
The next morning, Kirk and Commander Rakatheema met Ashley Janith-Lau outside a common area in Hernandez Hall, the Warborn students’ dormitory. The peace activist had come with two other members of her organization, a diminutive Vulcan woman named T’Sena and a portly Argelian man named Rogo.
“They’re all waiting inside, Admiral, as you ordered,” Rakatheema reported. He directed a glare toward Janith-Lau’s group, his jowly features making it seem especially lugubrious. “I’m still not convinced this is a good idea, sir. These cadets are having a difficult enough time feeling accepted. I’ve seen the doctor’s speeches stirring up fear and mistrust toward them.”
Doctor Janith-Lau lowered her gaze, not attempting to dispute his characterization. Kirk answered in her stead. “Then you should welcome her visit, Commander. The best antidote to fear is understanding. That’s what we’re here to build.”
Rakatheema frowned at the doctor again. “I hope you’re right, Admiral. All these cadets want is the chance to prove themselves, the same as any other cadet. And that means to prove what they can do—not to constantly justify their very existence.”
This time, Janith-Lau didn’t look away. Her tone was calm and relaxed, but there was steel behind it. “In that case, Commander, we should let them speak for themselves, shouldn’t we?” She moved past him, offering a courteous smile. “Shall we go in?”
Kirk hastened to follow her inside the lounge, concerned at how the Warborn cadets would react to the sight of her. Indeed, he found them already facing her tensely. As Rakatheema and the other two activists came in behind Kirk, one of the Warborn stepped forward and circled Janith-Lau, sizing up the slighter woman as if she were an opponent in a sparring match. “So you’re the peace doctor.” Kirk recognized her voice and manner—it was the female called Portia. He was still learning to differentiate the Warborn by their identifying decorations and subtle differences of face, build, and body language, but Portia’s intensity made her stand out from the pack. “The one who doesn’t think we have the right to exist.”
The largest Warborn, Bertram, shrugged. “Our existence isn’t a right. It’s an accident. If she’s afraid of us, she’s not wrong.”
“Both of you, stand down.” The speaker was the one called Horatio, memorable for his charisma and the de facto leadership role he seemed to have adopted. Kirk saw command potential in him, and that perception was reinforced as Horatio stepped forward, greeting Janith-Lau with an extended hand. “Doctor. I’m Horatio. I appreciate your willingness to meet with us and gain our perspective on this pilot program. I want you to know that I admire your commitment to peace. Protecting the peace of our people is the purpose we were created to serve. There is no higher calling.”
“I appreciate it, Horatio.” Janith-Lau shook his hand, then turned to take in the others. “I want you all to know that it isn’t your existence we object to. Our concern is merely that you not be exploited—that your lives not be devalued or jeopardized in service to others’ agendas.”
“Many in the Federation are uneasy with the apparent trend toward militarization in Starfleet,” T’Sena added. “There is concern that your recruitment may have a hidden agenda behind it.”
Janith-Lau resumed the thread. “Admiral Kirk assures me that the goal is just the opposite—to help you find a peaceful, constructive way to contribute your skills. I certainly want to believe that’s true, and I and my colleagues look forward to seeing what your classroom experience is like. I hope that over the day, we’ll be able to hear from you about your experiences here so far, and your expectations and goals for what lies ahead.”
Many of the Warborn cadets looked skeptical, as did Rakatheema—and both of Janith-Lau’s colleagues. But class time was drawing near, so the group headed off to their various courses, with the activists splitting up accordingly.
Kirk went with Janith-Lau to observe Horatio’s first course of the day, Federation History 101. By accident or design, Professor Sunderland’s lecture today was about Surak’s Reformation on Vulcan, one of the known galaxy’s most successful and enduring peace movements. Once the dark-bearded historian finished summarizing the turbulent process by which Vulcan had embraced peace (for the sh
eer number of planets whose histories were covered in this overview left little time for in-depth examination), he looked over the class and asked, “Why do you suppose it is that Surak’s philosophy of logic has endured planetwide for nearly two thousand years, while other peace movements in other worlds and times have failed?”
Most of the students were reluctant to speak first, as was common in elementary courses. But Horatio wasted little time filling the gap. “I believe it was the power and clarity of Surak’s message. The fact that he committed his whole existence to his cause, that he laid down his own life to save his people, showed the depth of his faith, and inspired others to follow.”
One of the Vulcan students, a young male named Vekal, bristled in that cool, disciplined way that Vulcans bristled. “Surak’s philosophy is not a religion.”
Horatio met his eyes evenly. “I did not say ‘religion.’ I said ‘faith’—a pure, unshakable commitment to one’s purpose, a certainty so absolute that it outweighs one’s own life in importance. He did not just say that the needs of the many outweighed the needs of the one—he demonstrated it through self-abnegation.”
Vekal only appeared more disturbed. “It sounds as if you intend to liken Surak’s sacrifice to your own people’s created purpose to die for Arcturus. It is not comparable. First, you were made to kill, which Surak would not do under any provocation. Second, you did not choose to sacrifice yourself; you were engineered for that purpose by others.”
“And I have faith in that purpose, because it was done in the name of Arcturus. That is my choice.” Horatio continued before Vekal could reply. “And that purpose is not to kill, certainly not as an end in itself. It is to protect—in whatever way we must.”
Sunderland brought the debate to a halt to continue the lecture, but Kirk studied Janith-Lau as she pondered the exchange. She noted his scrutiny and smiled. “He’s an interesting fellow. There’s something very familiar about his passion for his ideals, even if I don’t agree with his methods.”
Living Memory Page 9
