Star Trek: The Original Series - 147 - Devil’s Bargain (14 page)

The science officer had been in the shuttle bay to make sure that they were comfortable in their temporary quarters. He reported that the Horta were quite content with the arrangements that had been made. It was, in essence, a large cave much like those to which they were accustomed. The observation deck windows above the flight deck were made opaque in deference to the guests. The crew was asked to respect the Horta’s privacy. Light levels were lowered, and infrared fixtures had been installed. The Horta had poor eyesight—Kirk still wasn’t sure where on the Horta the eyes
were
—but what vision they had was mostly in the infrared spectrum.

“All right, Ensign Chekov, lay in a course for Vesbius,” said Kirk.

Chekov’s hand moved over his panel, activating the control interfaces and four-dimensional directional toggles. “Course laid in and ready, Captain.”

“Mister Sulu, take us back to Vesbius at warp factor eight.” Kirk let out a breath and sat back in his chair. As he sometimes did in the midst of executing a plan, the captain took a moment to evaluate his current course of action. The
Enterprise
was ferrying the Horta across interstellar space, so they could tunnel an asteroid; in his gut the captain knew this was the right decision. Instinct was an indefinable concept, but so necessary when one was out here on the edge of the frontier with only oneself and one’s crew to rely on. It was an ability that had served him well as a starship captain.

It had taken several hours for the transporter operations to be complete and to get the
Enterprise
under way. And in those hours, Kirk was shocked to find that the condition of Hannah Faber had seriously deteriorated.

The captain received McCoy’s report on the viewscreen in his own quarters where he’d gone to take a two-hour nap. He’d been running nonstop for over fifteen hours, but he felt he could afford only a short rest until they were under way.

“It’s like the planetary DNA is unchecked and out of balance inside her. Her body is beginning to reject the portions of her genome that are human,”
McCoy reported.

He recommended that she remain in sickbay indefinitely until the return, and Kirk readily agreed.

“Those bodyguards of hers aren’t doing so well either. Ferlein’s already in sickbay and out of commission. I’m keeping him sedated. That’s about the best I can do. Hox is showing signs of collapse, but so far, he’s hanging in there.”

“Major Merling?”

“He seems to be holding up all right,”
McCoy answered.
“He’s an immigrant, he’s got the Vesbian DNA like they all do. It’s just going to take a little longer to kill him.”

“Let’s try to make sure none of them die,” Kirk said. “Especially . . .”

McCoy softened his tone
. “I’ll do my best, Jim.”

“I know you will, Bones.”

“Rest,”
said McCoy.
“That’s a medical order.”

“Will do. Kirk out.” He turned off the viewscreen, lay back on his bed, and was soon out like a light, despite his worries. This was another ability Kirk had that had served him in good stead over the years: He was an expert at power napping.

•   •   •

Hannah Faber lay suffering and Kirk was reduced to visiting her in sickbay. Their time alone together was over.

The monitors of the
Enterprise
’s sickbay had never troubled Kirk before, but now they seemed oppressive to him, an assault on his senses when all he wanted to do was pay attention to Hannah. The monitors that hung above the beds seemed more harbingers of doom than medical instruments. He wished that Hannah could be anywhere else but here. Yet she required constant observation and instant support when her fading system needed boosting with an injection or infusion of yet another cocktail of chemicals designed to keep her alive just a little longer, until she could reestablish her quantum-entangled, seemingly mystical connection with her homeworld.

Hannah looked so drawn and sallow, and her voice was only a shadow of the strong, honeyed voice he remembered from only days before. And yet even in her collapsing state, Hannah was still very beautiful to Kirk. He found himself imagining what it would be like to spend years with her, to attend her through sicknesses, to know her as an old woman.

This thought was one that Kirk seldom allowed himself to think when it came to his other romances. As he was a Starfleet officer, any woman who signed on with him was signing on for a life of hardship and long absences. This was something he did not want to inflict on anyone who was not prepared for the consequences of loving a starship captain.

But here he was considering what a life with a woman who was absolutely and totally bound to her own planet would be like. Of one thing Kirk was certain: It would be very difficult. Seeing Hannah here in sickbay drove home to him that everything she had said about her condition and the condition of her world was correct: Vesbians would die if they had to be away from their planet for very long. He knew he was watching her die. However, Hannah had assured him that she was young and strong and that a seventeen-day voyage, while it might push the limits of Vesbian physiology, would not kill a healthy Vesbian. Kirk silently held her to that promise as he watched Hannah collapse into autoimmune chaos.

She remained conscious for the most part, and McCoy was able to alleviate the pain she must be feeling in some measure, but Hannah had insisted that nothing blur her mental processes. This meant that she spent long stretches awake, unable to sleep because of the slow burn of agony she felt within.

Kirk spent as much time as he could with her. They did not speak much, but he found that looking into Hannah’s eyes was a kind of communication. At one point she whispered into his ear: “I think you are saving me, Jim. I underestimated how bad this would be. If you were not here, I believe that I would have succumbed to it. Thank you, my dear captain.”

“You’re welcome, Hannah,” Kirk replied. He would have leaned down and kissed her, but he had found that any contact with her skin caused Hannah pain and bruising. So he contented himself with once again looking into her eyes with love, and hoping that she could perceive the depth of his feeling.

At times she was able to drift into a fitful sleep, and when McCoy was done with his duties, the doctor insisted he and Kirk share a drink, usually a shot of the Earth whiskey they both enjoyed.

McCoy, for his part, had not modified his reaction to the genetic manipulation on Vesbius. Kirk could see that Bones was not comfortable with his captain’s attraction to someone who was no longer entirely human. Kirk tried to alleviate McCoy’s concerns, but the doctor merely shrugged and said, “I’m sure that Lieutenant McGivers felt the same way when she fell in love with Khan.”

“Are you suggesting that, whatever my feelings, I am somehow betraying humanity by being with her?” asked Kirk. “Doctor, do I need to remind you that I have always carried out my duty?” The ancient streets of New York flashed before him. Her fair face caught in the headlights . . .
Edith
. Kirk rubbed his forehead.

“What I’m asking you to do is step back for a moment. What I’m suggesting is that your own human nature may be betraying you,” said McCoy.
“We are attracted as a species to perfect symmetry, perfect health, and perfect beauty. Hannah embodies those qualities. How much of Hannah’s loveliness is the result of genetic tinkering? How much of it is appearance rather than reality? When evolution produces a beauty, you understand that an enormous amount of collective experience is necessarily encoded into the same genome as the beauty. You might even call it a sort of wisdom. Can you state that a genetically engineered human beauty is anything other than a mask over who knows
what
kind of thing inside?”

Kirk nodded toward where Hannah lay. “Well, she’s not a beauty now, Bones, and I find my feelings have only deepened. The Vesbians denied that they have made any changes other than their correction for the autoimmune response within themselves.”

“Let’s say that I believe them,” said McCoy. “We know what the consequences were.”

Kirk knocked back his whiskey and slowly nodded. “I take your point, Doctor, but what’s done is done and apparently cannot be undone—at least not in time to save the population of the colony. All we can do is
our
duty to help, don’t you agree?”

“Does your duty include falling in love?”

Kirk looked up in surprise at the doctor. McCoy smiled and took a final sip of his own whiskey. “Just asking,” he said.

“It might,” said Kirk in reply. “Bones, it just might.” He held out his glass for another round.

•   •   •

Hikaru Sulu entered his favorite recreational room, rec room six on deck three, with a feeling of relief. This was the rec area with a dedicated connection to the ship computer’s library, and thus it offered a student as history-mad as Sulu plenty of material in which he might get lost in the glorious (if sometimes bloody) days of yore.

The last few days on the bridge had been some of the most difficult duty he’d ever pulled as helmsman. Keeping the
Enterprise
shooting through space at warp eight was not merely a matter of touching a few buttons and then letting her go. Maintaining course at such a speed, the upper end of what the
Enterprise
was capable of, required constant corrections at the controls. In conjunction with the ship computer, Sulu had had to fly her as he might a small craft. Hour after hour, he had not been able to let his attention wane even in the slightest, for it was quite possible that an uncorrected course error could rapidly escalate into a major crisis that might require precious hours to fix—hours that the people of Vesbius did not have to spare. He’d wanted to remain at the helm for another long shift today, but the captain had ordered him to take a breather.

Two days after the visit to Janus VI, he was still filled with thoughts of the strange underground warrens of the Horta. It had been a fascinating landing party, and Sulu wished to explore what was known about this incredible species. What he really wished he could do was to meet and speak to a Horta in the manner that Spock could. But, failing that, he at least wanted to be prepared when he would deal with them in person. The helmsman wanted to find out their likes and dislikes in order to do his duty, but also out of pure curiosity. He also wanted to find out if
any
other silicon-based species were in the data banks, even non-sentient ones, and how first contact with those species had been handled. The chance to encounter beings like the Horta was one of the reasons Sulu had signed on to Starfleet to begin with.

But when Sulu took his first step into the rec area toward the library, he heard a sniffing intake of breath and turned to see that Major Merling was sitting in a corner nearby having a drink.

“Oh, great, the Japanese are here!” he said in a contemptuous tone upon seeing Sulu enter. He shot the helmsman a look of displeasure, if not outright loathing.

What did I ever
do
to that guy to deserve this?
Sulu thought.
Not only that, but I’m pretty sure that Merling has some Asian ancestry. It’s clear from his appearance that he does.

Sulu turned to Merling and asked, “Have I done something to offend you, Major?”

The Vesbian snorted in disbelief. “You would ask me that, wouldn’t you? I suppose it means nothing to your sort.”

“What are you talking about?”

“The murder of your betters, that’s what I’m talking about,” said Merling. “What you Japanese weaklings did to the Chinese over the centuries is despicable.”

Sulu was not a confrontational sort, but he couldn’t ignore this jibe. There were at least ten other people in the rec room at the moment, and they were listening in as well, wondering how Sulu would respond.

Try to be reasonable,
Sulu thought.
Getting angry over what’s long passed serves no purpose.

Sulu walked across to Merling’s table and sat down across from the major.

“You’ve got to be joking,” said Sulu. “I’m from San Francisco. Anyway, that’s ancient history. Japan? China? Earth is united, and we’re in the Federation. We believe that people of all cultures must work together for the common good of the galaxy.”

True, he
did
find Japanese history fascinating, and sometimes he even imagined himself a modern-day samurai. In any case, Sulu was just as interested in his own ancestors’ more recent history, from their time spent in internment camps during
a particularly benighted moment for a frightened United States during Earth’s World War II to the rise of the Sulus as a prominent family in San Francisco.

He had a feeling Merling wouldn’t take the slightest interest in such matters were Sulu to bring them up, The major seemed to be lost in his own particular delusions at the moment.

Merling pushed back from the table as if to distance himself from Sulu.

“The common good?” said Merling with a laugh. “Humanity gave up on its own common good centuries ago. We stopped trying to make ourselves better and settled for mediocrity. And that’s what your Federation has gotten you: a galaxy of mediocrity. Well, you can have it.”

“I don’t accept your premise. The Federation strives to excel,” said Sulu. “I am proud to serve as a Starfleet officer and believe that we are doing good work.”

“That’s what you’ve been taught to believe by your masters,” Merling answered.

Sulu touched his own chin in puzzlement. “My . . . masters? And who might they be?”

“Those pointy-eared computers who never should’ve been allowed to join the Federation in the first place. Now
they
are the ones pulling the strings.”

“Are you talking about Vulcans?” Sulu said.

“I am indeed,” said Merling. “And speaking of genetic manipulation, take a look at the cold and calculated way they breed their stock.
They
know how to keep themselves in a dominant position over weaklings, humans and others.”