Star Trek: Duty, Honor, Redemption (8 page)

Saavik felt some satisfaction with the intellectual exercise of her analysis; it remained to be seen if it was accurate.

Admiral Kirk strode along before the line, giving each trainee a stern yet not unfriendly glance. Spock and Scott accompanied him.

“And who is this?” Kirk said, stopping in front of the child.

Peter drew himself up so straight and serious that Saavik wanted to smile. He was blond and very fair; under the admiral’s inspection his face turned bright pink. He was a sweet child, so enthusiastic he practically glowed, so proud to be in space at fourteen that he lived within a radiating sphere of joy that could not help but affect those around him.

Even Saavik.

Now, undergoing his very first admiral’s inspection, Peter replied to Kirk breathlessly, “Cadet First Class Peter Preston, engineer’s mate,
sir!
” He saluted stiffly, fast, and with great eagerness.

Kirk smiled, came to attention, and saluted in the same style.

If he laughs at Peter,
Saavik thought,
I shall certainly rip out his liver.

The civilized part of her, taking over again after the infinitesimal lapse, replied: You most certainly shall not; besides—do you even know where the liver is in a human?

“Is this your first training voyage, Mister Preston?”

“Yes, sir!”

“I see. In that case, I think we should start the inspection with the engine room.”

“Aye, sir!”

“I dinna doubt ye’ll find all in order,” Mister Scott said.

“We shall see you on the bridge, Admiral,” the captain said.

“Very good, Mister Spock.”

Engineer Scott started toward the turbolift with Kirk; the engine room company followed. Peter flashed Saavik a quick, delighted grin, and hurried after them.

The rest of the ship’s personnel dispersed quickly to attend their posts. Spock and Saavik left for the bridge.

“Have you any observations to make, Lieutenant Saavik?” Spock asked.

“The admiral is…not quite what I expected, Captain.”

“And what did you expect?”

Saavik paused in thought. What
had
she expected? Spock held James Kirk in high regard, and she had based her preconceptions almost entirely on this fact. I expected him to be like Spock, she thought. But he resembles him not at all.

“He’s very…human….”

“You must remember that, as a member of Starfleet, you are unlikely ever to escape the presence of humans, or their influence. Tolerance is essential; in addition, it is logical.”

“You are my mentor, Captain. Your instruction has been invaluable to me—indeed, it is indispensable.” They stepped into the main turbo-lift.

“Bridge,” Spock said. “Saavik, no one exists who has experiences and heritage similar enough to yours to advise you competently. Even I can only tell you that, as a Vulcan and a Romulan in a world of humans, you are forever a stranger. You will have to deal with strangers who may, at times, seem incomprehensible to you.”

“Captain,” Saavik said carefully, “I confess that I had not expected the admiral to be quite so representative of his culture. However, I intended no prejudice against Admiral Kirk, nor intolerance of human beings.”

The doors to the turbolift opened onto the bridge, ending the conversation.

Peter Preston stood at attention next to the control console that was his responsibility. It was the second backup system for auxiliary power, and its maintenance records showed that except for testing, it had not even been directly on-line for two years. Nevertheless, Peter had checked out every circuit and every memory nexus and every byte of its data base a dozen times over. Sometimes, late at night when the ship was docked without even a skeleton crew on duty, Peter came down and ran his console through its diagnostic programs. He loved being here all alone in the enormous engine room with the echoes of tremendous energy fluxes scintillating around him.

Peter stood last in line for inspection. He could hardly bear the wait. He knew his console was in perfect shape. But what if Admiral Kirk found something wrong? What if—

The admiral stopped in front of him, looked him up and down, and drew one finger along the edge of the console. Looking for dust? There definitely was not any dust.

“I believe you’ll find everything shipshape, Admiral,” Peter said, and immediately wished he had kept his mouth shut.

“Oh, do you?” Kirk said sternly. “Mister Preston, do you have any idea, any idea at all, how often I’ve had to listen to Mister Scott tell me that one more warp factor will blow the ship to bits?”

“Uh, no sir,” Peter said, quite startled.

“Mister Preston, do you know how they refer to the
Enterprise
in the officers’ mess?”

“Uh, no sir,” Peter said again, and then thought,
Brilliant line, kid. Why don’t you use it one more time and make a
really
good impression?

“Why, they call it ‘the flying deathtrap.’ And they aren’t referring to the food.”

“Sir, that’s not true! This is the best ship in the whole Starfleet!”

The admiral started to smile, and Mister Scott chuckled. Peter felt the blood rising to his face.
Oh, no,
he thought,
I fell for it; Dannan warned me, and I
still
fell for it.
Dannan, his oldest sister, was already a commander; she was twelve years older than he, and he had absorbed her stories, practically through his skin, since before he could remember. If she saw him now, he knew she would tease him about looking like a ripe tomato, he blushed so hard. That is, if she would even speak to him once she found out he’d acted like such a dope.

“And begging the admiral’s pardon,
sir,
” Peter said, “but the only person who couldn’t see the truth about this ship would have to be as blind as a Tiberian bat!
Sir.
”

Kirk looked at him for a moment. Then he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small spidery little construction of glass and gold wire. He unfolded it, balanced it on his nose, hooked some of the wires around his ears, peered closely through the lenses at the console and over the tops of the lenses at the rest of the engine room, and finally turned to Peter again.

“By God, you’re right, Mister Preston. It
is
a good ship.”

Doctor McCoy laughed, and so did Mister Scott. For a horrible moment, Peter was afraid one of the three men was going to reach out and pat him on the head, but they spared him that. As they walked away he could not help but hear their conversation.

“Scotty, your cadet’s a tiger.”

“My sister’s youngest, Admiral.”

Oh, no,
Peter thought,
why did he have to tell the admiral he’s my uncle?
Peter himself had told no one in the training group, and he had hoped that neither had Uncle Montgomery. Peter valued his uncle’s advice and love and even his occasional crotchetiness, but things would have been easier, clearer somehow, if he were training under someone unrelated to him.

“Crazy to get to space,” Mister Scott said. “Always has been.”

“Every youngster’s fancy,” Admiral Kirk said. “I seem to remember it myself.”

They stopped at the far end of the engine room; the admiral listened as Mister Scott pointed out improvements added since Kirk’s last visit.

Peter ducked out of line, sprinted to the tool bay, rummaged around in his bin for a moment, and hurried to his place again.

At the console next to him, Grenni glanced at him sidelong and muttered, “What the hell you doin’, Pres? We’re not dismissed yet.”

“You’ll see,” Peter whispered.

Kirk and Scott and McCoy strolled back along the length of the engine room. When they reached Peter, the cadet saluted hard.

Kirk stopped. “Yes, Mister Preston?”

Peter offered him a complicated instrument.

“I believe the admiral asked after this?”

Kirk inspected it.

“What is it, Mister Preston?”

“Why, sir, it’s a left-handed spanner, of course.”

Mister Scott looked completely and utterly shocked. The admiral’s mouth twitched. Doctor McCoy choked down a smile, then gave up and started to laugh. After a moment, Kirk followed suit. Mister Scott managed nothing better than a stiff, grim smile. Peter watched them with his very best total-innocent look.

“Mister Scott,” Kirk said, but he was laughing too hard to continue. Finally he stopped and wiped his eyes. “Mister Scott, I think we’d better get these kids on their training cruise before they take over completely. Are your engines up to a little trip?”

“Just give the word, Admiral.”

“Mister Scott, the word is given.”

“Aye, sir.”

Kirk handed the “left-handed spanner” back to Peter and started away. A few steps later, he glanced over his shoulder and winked.

As soon as the turbolift doors slid closed, Jim Kirk collapsed into laughter again. “Do you believe it, Bones?” He was laughing so hard he had to pause between every phrase. “God, what a terrific kid. A left-handed spanner!” Jim wiped the tears from his eyes. “I deserved that one, didn’t I? I forgot how much I hated being teased when I was his age.”

“Yes, once in a while we old goats need to be reminded how things were back in the mists of prehistory.”

Kirk’s amusement subsided abruptly. He
still
disliked being teased, and McCoy was well aware of the fact. Jim frowned, not knowing how to take McCoy’s comment. “Bridge,” he said to the turbolift voice sensor.

“What about the rest of your inspection…Admiral?” McCoy said. He let the tone of his voice creep over into not completely benign mockery. Needling Jim Kirk was one of the few ways to get him to take a good hard look at himself.

Getting him drunk certainly had not worked.

“I’ll finish it later, Doctor,” Jim said mildly. “After we’re under way.”

“Jim, do you really think that a three-week training cruise once a year is going to make up for forty-nine other weeks of pushing paper? Do you think it’s going to keep you from driving yourself crazy?”

“I thought we got this conversation over with last night,” Jim said. “You want to know something? It’s getting extremely tedious.”

“Yeah, concern from one’s friends is a bore, isn’t it?”

“Sometimes it is,” Jim said. “You’re a lot better surgeon than you are a psychotherapist.”

The turbolift doors opened, and McCoy repressed a curse. A few more minutes and he might have made some kind of breakthrough with Jim.

Or got myself punched in the mouth,
he thought.
Some breakthrough.

Admiral Kirk stepped out onto the bridge of the
Enterprise,
and Doctor McCoy followed him.

McCoy had to admit it was pleasant to be back. He nodded to Uhura, and she smiled at him. Mister Sulu had the helm, though just now it appeared that Lieutenant Saavik, first officer and science officer for the training cruise, would be piloting the
Enterprise
for practice. The main difference, of course, was that now Mister Spock was the captain. He did not relinquish his place to Kirk; to do so would be improper. Heaven forbid that Spock might do anything improper.

“Admiral on the bridge!” Mister Sulu said.

“As you were,” Kirk said before anyone could stand up or salute.

“Starfleet Operations to
Enterprise.
You are cleared for departure.”

“Lieutenant Saavik,” Spock said, “clear all moorings.”

“Aye, sir.”

She set to work. Kirk and McCoy descended to the lower bridge.

“Greetings, Admiral.” Spock nodded to McCoy as well. “Doctor McCoy. I trust the inspection went well.”

“Yes, Captain, I’m very impressed,” Kirk said.

“Moorings clear, Captain,” Saavik said.

“Thank you, Lieutenant.” Spock paused a moment and then his eyes got that hooded look that McCoy had learned in self-defense to recognize.

“Lieutenant Saavik,” Spock said, “how many times have you piloted a starship out of Spacedock?”

“One hundred ninety-three, sir,” Saavik said promptly. And then added: “In simulation.”

Kirk absolutely froze.

“In real-world circumstances,” Saavik said, “never.”

McCoy got the distinct impression that Jim Kirk simultaneously thought of two possible courses of action. The first was to pitch Spock out of the captain’s seat and order Mister Sulu to take the helm. The second was to do nothing. He chose the latter. But it was close to a photo finish.

You damned leprechaun!
McCoy directed the delighted thought at Spock.
Vulcan discipline, indeed!