Star Trek: Duty, Honor, Redemption (22 page)

Doctor McCoy chuckled. “Why, Lieutenant, you’re lookin’ at the only Starfleet cadet ever to beat that simulation.”

“I almost got myself tossed out of the Academy, too,” Jim said. He thought about the time, took out his glasses, and looked at his chronometer again. Not quite yet.

“How did you beat it?”

“I reprogrammed the simulation so I could save the ship.”

“What?”

Jim felt rather amused to have startled Saavik so thoroughly.

“I changed the conditions of the test.” He smiled. He was not a wizard computer programmer himself; fortunately one of his Academy classmates not only was, but could never resist a challenge. It was Jim, though, who had staged the commando raid—or cat burglary, since no one figured out what he had done till quite a while later—on the supposedly secure storage facility where the simulation programs were kept, in order to substitute his version for Starfleet’s.

“The instructor couldn’t decide whether to die laughing or blow her stack. I think she finally flipped a coin. I received a commendation for original thinking.” With a smile, he shrugged. “I don’t like to lose.”

“Then you evaded the purpose of the simulation: you never faced death.”

“Well, I took the test twice before I decided to do something about it, so I suppose you could say I faced death. I just never had to accept it.”

“Until now.”

“Saavik, we each face death every day we’re alive.”

Now it
was
time. He picked up his communicator and opened it.

“Kirk to
Enterprise.
Come in, Mister Spock.”

“
Enterprise
to Kirk, Spock here.”

Saavik started violently and leaped to her feet.

“It’s two hours, Spock. Are you about ready?”

“On schedule, Admiral. I will compute your coordinates and beam you aboard. Spock out.”

Everyone was staring at him in shock. Kirk shrugged contritely.

“I told you,” he said. “I don’t like to lose.”

He joined the flower garland into a circle and placed it gently on Carol’s hair.

“Energize,” Spock said to Transporter Chief Janice Rand. She focused the beam on the party in the middle of Regulus I, increased the power to compensate for several kilometers of solid rock, and energized.

Spock had deduced Kirk’s assumptions and intentions. The science officer was curious to know the results of the second stage of Genesis. He suspected that parts of what had been created within the planetoid would be most interesting, considering the odd sense of humor of the team of Madison and March.

He hoped to be able to see it himself and, seeing it, honor the memory of their lives and their work.

The admiral materialized on the transporter platform, and behind him Doctor McCoy and Doctor Marcus, senior, then Lieutenant Saavik and Doctor Marcus, junior, supporting Pavel Chekov between them.

Spock raised one eyebrow. The admiral wore a flower over his ear, while Doctor Carol Marcus wore a floral wreath.

The planetoid must be most interesting, indeed.

Saavik finished saying something interrupted by the beaming process. “—the damage report. The
Enterprise
was immobilized.”

“Come, now, Lieutenant,” the admiral said kindly. “You’re the one who keeps telling me to go by the book.”

Kirk suddenly noticed what Spock was looking at, began to blush, and removed the flower. He gallantly offered it to Lieutenant Saavik—who had no idea what to do with it, as no one had ever given her a flower before—and stepped down from the platform.

“Hello, Mister Spock,” Kirk said. “You remember Doctor Marcus—” he presented Carol Marcus, “—and I believe you met David before he also became Doctor Marcus.”

David Marcus nodded to Spock and helped Saavik carry Chekov down.

“Certainly,” Spock said. “Welcome to the
Enterprise.
I was most impressed by your presentation.”

“Thank you, Mister Spock,” Carol Marcus said. “I wish it were turning out better.”

Even Spock could see the effects of strain and exhaustion in her face; the deaths on Spacelab must of course have affected her far more than they did him, not only because she was human and he Vulcan, but because she had been far better acquainted with the people who had died. Words of condolence were such a trivial response to a loss of this magnitude that Spock refused to attempt any.

Doctor McCoy went immediately to the intercom and ordered a medical team and stretcher from sickbay.

“By the book—?” Saavik said.

“Regulation forty-six-A: ‘During battle…’ ”

“ ‘…no uncoded messages on an open channel,’ ” Saavik said; and then, to Spock, “It seems very near a lie….”

“It was a code, Lieutenant,” he said. “Unfortunately the code required some exaggeration of the truth.”

She did not answer; he knew she was troubled by the difference between a lie and a figurative interpretation of reality. He knew precisely how she felt. It had taken him a long time to understand that in some cases no objective difference existed, and that any explanation lay completely within circumstances.

“We only needed hours, Saavik, not days,” Kirk said. “But now we have minutes instead of hours. We’d better make use of them.”

“Yes, sir,” she said, unconvinced.

The medical team arrived, and Saavik eased Commander Chekov to the stretcher. She looked at the flower in her hand for a moment, then placed it carefully beside him.

“Jim, I’m taking Chekov to sickbay,” McCoy said.

“Take good care of him, Bones.”

“What can we do?” Carol Marcus asked.

“Carol, it’s going to be chaos on the bridge in a few minutes,” Kirk said apologetically. “I’ve got to get up there.”

“Doctors Marcus,” McCoy said, “I can put you both to work. Come with me.”

Kirk, Spock, and Saavik hurried toward the bridge. Kirk stopped at the first turbolift, but Spock kept going.

“The lifts are inoperative below C-deck,” Spock said, and opened the door to the emergency stairs. He climbed them three at a time.

“What
is
working around here?”

“Very little, Admiral. Main power is partially restored….”

“Is that
all?
”

“We could do no more in two hours. Mister Scott’s crew is trying to complete repairs.”

They reached C-deck. Spock and Saavik entered the lift. Kirk was breathing hard. He paused a moment in the corridor, wiped his face on his sleeve, and got into the cage.

“Damned desk job,” he said softly. “Bridge.”

The lift accelerated upward.

James Kirk stepped out onto the bridge of his ship. It still showed the effects of the earlier skirmish, but he could see immediately that most functions had been restored.

Mister Sulu, at his old place at the helm, glanced over his shoulder when the lift doors opened.

“Admiral on the bridge!” he said immediately.

“Battle stations,” Kirk said.

The Klaxon sounded; the lights dimmed down to deep red.

“Tactical, Mister Sulu, if you please.”

“Aye, sir.”

The viewscreen flipped over into a polar view of Regulus I, showing the orbits of Spacelab,
Reliant,
and the
Enterprise.
The two starships were in opposition, one on either side of the planetoid.
Reliant
’s delta-vee coordinates changed as they watched, revealing that Khan’s ship had begun a search.

“Our scanners are undependable at best,” Spock said. “Spacelab’s scanners, however, are fully operational; they are transmitting the position of
Reliant.
”

“Very good, Mister Spock.”

Reliant
suddenly accelerated at full impulse power.

“Uh-oh,” Kirk said.

It would slingshot itself around Regulus I; unless the
Enterprise
accelerated, too, and continued to chase and flee the other ship, around and around the planetoid, his ship would soon be a target again. And with the engines in the shape they were in, they could not stay hidden for long.

“
Reliant
can both outrun and outgun us,” Spock said calmly. “There is, however, the Mutara Nebula….”

Kirk took out his glasses and put them on to study the displays. He opened a channel to the engine room.

“Mister Scott—the Mutara Nebula. Can you get us inside?”

“Sir, the overload warnings are lit up like a Christmas tree; the main energizer bypasses willna take much strain. Dinna gi’ us too many bumps.”

“No promises, Mister Scott. Give me all you’ve got.”

“Admiral,” Saavik said, “within the nebula, the gas clouds will interfere with our tacticals. Visuals will not function. In addition, ionization will disrupt our shields.”

Kirk glanced over the rim of his spectacles at Saavik, then at Spock. Spock raised one eyebrow.

“Precisely, Lieutenant: the odds will then be even,” the Vulcan said.

The crew had taken their battle stations, pushing the bridge into controlled pandemonium. The dimmed lights cast strange shadows; computer screens glowed in eerie colors. Kirk watched the tactical display.
Reliant
was moving so fast it would round the planet’s horizon in a few minutes and have the
Enterprise
in line-of-sight. Kirk wanted to be out of phaser and torpedo range yet remain a tempting target.

“Admiral,” Saavik asked, “what happens if
Reliant
fails to follow us into the nebula?”

Kirk laughed, though with very little humor. “That’s the least of our worries. Khan will follow us.”

“Remind me, Lieutenant,” Spock said, “to discuss with you the human ego.”

“Mister Scott,” Kirk said into the intercom, “are you ready?”

“As ready as I can be, Admiral.”

“Mister Sulu.”

“Course plotted, sir: Mutara Nebula.”

“Accelerate at full impulse power—” he hesitated until only a few degrees of arc remained before
Reliant
’s orbit would carry it within sight of the
Enterprise, “—now!”

On the viewscreen, the coordinates defining his ship’s linear acceleration increased instantaneously by orders of magnitude. The
Enterprise
sped out of orbit.

A moment later,
Reliant
rounded the limb of Regulus, and its course and speed altered radically.

“They’ve spotted us,” Mister Sulu said.

Doctor McCoy had nearly finished the workup on Pavel Chekov when the battle stations alarm sounded. He experienced an all too familiar tightening in his stomach. For a long time, he had believed his reaction was as simple as fear, but eventually, the better he knew himself, he realized that it was at least as much the loathing he felt for having to patch up—sometimes to lose—young people who should never have been injured in the first place. Usually they were not as young as Peter Preston…but they were seldom very much older.

At least—to McCoy’s astonishment and relief—Pavel Chekov had a good chance of recovering. The horrible creature had insinuated its long and narrow length into his skull, to be sure; but although it had penetrated the dura mater, the arachnoid membrane, and the pia mater, all the way to the cerebrum itself, it had not, at the time of its departure, actually destroyed any brain tissue. Instead it had nestled itself in the sulci between the brain’s convolutions. No doubt it would have done more damage had it remained much longer, but as it was Chekov should convalesce as if from a severe concussion. McCoy found no evidence of infection. Pavel Chekov was a very fortunate man.

The ship shuddered around him.

“What was that?” David Marcus had been pacing back and forth through sick bay, nervous as a cat, haunted. Just now there was very little to do. If they were lucky, things would continue that way.

“Impulse engines,” McCoy said.

“What does that mean?”

“Well, son, I expect it means the chase is on.”

“I’m going up there.”

“To the bridge? No, you’re not. You’d just be in the way. Best stay here, David.”

“Dammit—there must be something I can do.”

“There isn’t,” McCoy said. “Nor anything I can do. All we can do is wait for them to start shooting at each other, and wish we could keep them from doing it. That’s the trouble with this job.”

Khan chuckled at the pitiful attempt of the
Enterprise
to evade him.
Reliant,
accelerating under full impulse power, streaked out of orbit after James Kirk’s crippled ship.

“So,” he said to Joachim. “They are not so wounded as they wished us to believe. The hunt will be better than I thought, my friend.”