Star Trek: Duty, Honor, Redemption (17 page)

Kirk looked at Spock, who met his gaze impassively; he glanced at Saavik, expecting—he did not know what to expect from Saavik. Her self-control was as impenetrable as Spock’s.

“On-screen,” Kirk said.

“Admiral…” Uhura said.

“Do it—while we still have time.”

The viewscreen changed slowly, pixel by pixel, filling in a new image that gradually took the form of a face.

“Khan!” Jim Kirk exclaimed.

“You remember, Admiral, after all these years. I cannot help but be touched. I feared you might have forgotten me. Of course
I
remember
you.
”

“What’s the meaning of this?” Kirk said angrily. “Where’s
Reliant
’s crew?”

“Have I not made my meaning plain?” Khan said dangerously. “I mean to avenge myself, Admiral. Upon you. I’ve deprived your ship of its power, and soon I intend to deprive you of your life.”

“
Reliant’
s maneuvering, sir,” Sulu said very quietly. “Coming around for another shot.”

“But I wanted you to know, as you die, who has beaten you: Khan Noonian Singh, the prince you tried to exile.”

“Khan, listen to me!” Kirk said. “If it’s me you want, I’ll beam aboard your ship. All I ask is that you spare my crew. You can do what you want to me!”

Khan lounged back, smiling pleasantly. He stretched his hands toward Kirk, palms up, as if weighing James Kirk, at his disposal, in one, against the
Enterprise
and Jim Kirk’s certain but more remote death, in the other.

“That is a most intriguing offer. It is—” his voice became low and dangerous, “—typical of your sterling character. I shall consider it.”

He paused for perhaps as much as a second.

“I accept your terms—”

Kirk stood up. Spock took one step toward him but halted when Kirk made an abrupt chopping gesture, back and down, with his hand.

“—with only a single addition. You will also turn over to me all data and material regarding Project Genesis.”

Jim Kirk forced himself not to react. “Genesis?” he said. “What’s that?”

“Don’t play with me, Kirk. My hand is on the phaser control.”

“I’ll have to put a search on it, Khan—give me some time. The computer damage—”

“I give you sixty seconds, Admiral.”

Kirk turned to Spock.

“You cannot give him Genesis, Admiral,” the Vulcan said.

Kirk spoke softly and out of range of the highly directional transmitter mike. “At least we know he hasn’t got it. Just keep nodding as though I’m giving orders. Lieutenant Saavik, punch up the data charts on
Reliant
’s command console. Hurry.”

“
Reliant
’s command—?”

“Hurry up!” Jim whispered angrily.

“The prefix code?” Spock asked.

“It’s all we’ve got.”

“Admiral,” Khan said, “you try my patience.”

“We’re finding it, Khan! You know how much damage you inflicted on my ship. You’ve got to give us time!”

“Time, James Kirk? You showed me that time is not a luxury, but a torture. You have forty-five seconds.”

Mister Sulu turned toward Kirk. “
Reliant
’s completed its maneuver, sir—we’re lined up in their sights, and they’re coming back.”

Saavik found the information Kirk sought, but could see no way it could be of use. “I don’t understand—”

“You’ve got to learn
why
things work on a starship, not just how.” Kirk turned back to Khan, trying to put real conviction in his dissembling. “It’s coming through right now, Khan—”

“The prefix code is one-six-three-zero-nine,” Spock said.

He set quickly to work. Saavik watched the prefix code thread its way through the schematics and dissolve
Reliant
’s defenses. She understood suddenly what Kirk intended to do: transfer control of
Reliant
to the
Enterprise
and lower its shields.

“You have thirty seconds,” Khan said, lingering over each word.

“His intelligence is extraordinary,” Spock said. “If he has changed the code…”

“Spock, wait for my signal,” Kirk said urgently. “Too soon, and he’ll figure it out; he’ll raise the shields again….”

Spock nodded, and Kirk turned back to the viewscreen.

“Khan, how do I know you’ll keep your word?”

“Keep my word, Admiral? I gave you no word to keep. You have no alternative.”

“I see your point…” Kirk said. “Mister Spock, is the data ready?”

“Yes, Admiral.”

“Khan, stand by to receive our transmission.” He glanced down at Sulu. “Mister Sulu—?”

“Phasers locked….” Sulu said quietly.

“Your time is up, Admiral,” Kahn said.

“Here it comes—we’re transmitting right now. Mister Spock?”

Spock stabbed the code through to
Reliant
and followed it instantly with the command to lower shields.

Saavik’s monitor changed. “Shields down, Admiral!”

“Fire!” James Kirk shouted as Khan, on the viewscreen, cried, “What—? Joachim, raise them—
Where’s the override?
”

Mister Sulu bled off all the power the crippled ship could bear and slammed it through to the phasers.

A thin bright hue of light sprang into existence, connecting
Enterprise
and
Reliant
with a lethal filament.
Reliant
’s hull glowed scarlet just at its bridge.

On the viewscreen, Khan cried out in rage and pain as his ship shuddered around him. His transmission faded and the
Enterprise
’s viewscreen lost him.

“You did it, Admiral!” Sulu said.

“I didn’t do a damn thing—I got caught with my britches down. Damn, damn, I must be going senile.” He glanced up at Saavik and shook his head.

“Lieutenant Saavik, you just keep on quoting regulations. Spock, come with me—we have to find out how bad the damage is.”

He strode to the turbolift; Spock followed. The doors closed—

Joachim bore Khan’s hoarse rage as quietly, and with as much pain, as he would have borne the lash.

“Fire! Fire! Joachim, you fool! Why don’t you fire!”

“I cannot, Khan. They damaged the photon controls and the warp drive. We must withdraw.”

“No!”

“My lord, we must, we have no choice. We must repair the ship.
Enterprise
cannot escape.” He wanted to close his eyes, he wanted to sleep, but he was afraid of his memories and terrified of his dreams. He felt sick unto death of killing and revenge.

—the lift dropped, and the doors opened at the level of the engine room. Kirk took one step forward and stopped, aghast.

“Scotty! My God!”

The engineer stood trembling, spattered with blood, holding Peter Preston in his arms. The boy lay limp, his eyes closed, blood flowing steadily from his nose and mouth.

“I canna reach Doctor McCoy, I canna get through; I must get the boy to sickbay—” Tears tracked the soot on his face. He staggered into the lift. Kirk and Spock caught him. Kirk steadied him while Spock took the child gently from his arms.

“Sickbay!” Kirk yelled.

The turbolift accelerated.

Spock stepped onto the bridge. His shirt was bloody—red blood, darkening to brown: not his own.

Saavik did not show the relief she felt. In silence, Spock joined her at the science officer’s station. As Saavik continued to coordinate the work of the repair crews, Spock slid a roster into the input drive. The information quickly sorted itself across the screen:
ENGINE ROOM CREW
:
SLIGHTLY INJURED
.
SERIOUSLY INJURED
.
CRITICAL
.

PETER PRESTON
.

Saavik caught her breath. Spock glanced at her—she felt his gaze but could not meet it.

Saavik’s hands began to tremble. She stared at them, thinking, this is shameful. You shame yourself and your teacher: must you bring even more humiliation to Vulcans?

Her vision blurred. She squeezed her eyes closed.

“Lieutenant Saavik,” Spock said.

“Yes, Captain,” she whispered.

“Take this list to Doctor McCoy.”

She swallowed hard and tried to make her eyes focus on the sheet Spock handed her.

The engine room casualty list—? Doctor McCoy had no use whatever for it: indeed it had just come from him.

“Captain—?”

“Please do not argue, Lieutenant,” Spock said. His cold tone revealed nothing. “The assignment should take you no more than fifteen minutes; the bridge can spare you no longer.”

She stood up and took the copy from his hand. Her fingers clenched on it, crumpling the paper. She looked into Spock’s eyes.

“The bridge can spare you no longer, Lieutenant,” he said again. “Go
quickly.
I am sorry.”

She fled.

McCoy worked desperately over Preston. He had to keep intensifying the anesthetic field, for the boy struggled toward consciousness.

The life-sign sensors would not stabilize. No matter what McCoy did, the boy’s physical condition deteriorated. Lacerations, a couple of broken bones, some internal injuries with considerable loss of blood, a hairline fracture of the skull: nothing very serious. But Preston had been directly beneath the coolantgas leak. Everything depended on how much he had breathed and how long he had been within the cloud before the ventilators cleared it.

McCoy cursed. The damned technicians claimed nothing else but this wretched, corrosive, teratogenic, gamma-emitting
poison
had a high enough specific heat to protect the engines against meltdown. Well, they also claimed its protection was fail-safe.

“Doctor Chapel!” he yelled. “Where’s the damned analysis?”

Scott watched him from outside the operating room; the engineer slumped against the glass.

Chris Chapel came in, and McCoy knew the results from her expression.

She handed him the analysis of Preston’s blood and tissue chemistry. “I’m sorry, Leonard,” she said.

He shook his head grimly. Several of the life-sign indicators were already close to zero, and the boy had begun to bleed internally, massively, far worse than before: the sutures were not holding. And would not. The cell structure had already started to deteriorate.

“I knew it already, Chris. I only hoped…”

He withdrew from the operating field and changed the anesthetic mode from general to local. Preston began to come to, but he would not feel any pain.

When McCoy looked up again, Jim Kirk stood next to Scott, gripping his shoulder.

McCoy shook his head.

Scott burst into the operating theater. Kirk followed.

“Doctor McCoy, can ye no’—” His voice broke.

“It’s coolant poisoning, Scotty,” McCoy said. “I’m sorry. It would be possible to keep him alive for another half hour, at most—I
can’t
do that to him.”

Scott started to protest, then stopped. He knew as well as any doctor, perhaps better, the effects of the poison. He went to Preston’s side and touched the boy’s forehead gently.

Preston slowly opened his eyes.

“Peter,” Scott said, “lad, I dinna mean—” He stopped. Tears spilled down his cheeks.

Kirk leaned over the boy.

“Mister Preston,” he said.

“Is…is the word given?” Peter stared upward, intent on a scene that existed in his sight alone.

“The word is given,” Kirk said. “Warp speed.”

“Aye…” Peter whispered.

Saavik stopped at the door to sickbay. She was too late.

Mister Scott came out of the operating room, flanked and half-supported by Admiral Kirk and Doctor McCoy. He was crying. Behind them, Peter’s body lay on the operating table.

Doctor Chapel drew a sheet over Peter’s face.

Saavik hurled the crumpled list to the floor, turned, and bolted down the corridor. She flung herself into the first room she came to and fumbled to lock the door behind her.

In the darkened empty conference chamber, she tried to calm her breathing; she fought to control the impossible surge of grief and rage that took her.

It isn’t fair!
she cried in her mind.
It isn’t fair! He was only a child!

She clenched her hands around the top of a chair. As if she were still on Hellguard, she flung back her head and screamed.

For an instant the madness owned her. She wrenched the chair from the deck, twisting and shearing the bolts, and flung it across the room. It crashed against the bulkhead, dented the metal, and rebounded halfway to her.