Yesterday Son (6 page)

“We must be pretty far above sea level,” Kirk said. “The air feels thin.”

“You are correct, Captain. We are approximately 2000 meters above sea level, and this atmosphere is thinner than Earth normal. The gravity is 1.43 times
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that of Earth’s. You and Doctor McCoy should be careful until you become acclimated.”

“Got any tri-ox in your kit, Bones?” Kirk asked.

McCoy smiled. “You mean you trust me to give you another shot of that stuff?”

Spock stirred impatiently. “I suggest we set out. Remember to keep your face shields on.”

“Why? Doesn’t seem that cold, except for the wind.” Kirk said.

The Vulcan gestured with the tricorder. “My readings indicate that this area, typical of the tundra ecology, is teeming with insect life, similar to Earth mosquitoes. Let’s keep to the edge of the valley—remember that the cave was located along a ridge of some kind. It could be set in one of these cliffs. Also look for mineral deposits that could indicate the presence of hot springs. The cave was heated by one.”

“Spock, don’t you remember anything about the area from when you were here before? Landmarks? We could take weeks, just searching to decide if the Guardian put us down in the right place, or time.” Kirk surveyed the rough terrain, dismayed.

“Captain, we were in the middle of a blizzard, without protective clothing or face shields. Doctor McCoy was freezing to death, and I was attempting to carry him. It was impossible to memorize landmarks.” Spock was more than a bit exasperated.

“I guess that is asking a lot. We can only hope that the Guardian didn’t make a mistake. Bones, you go left, Spock, you can go right, and I’ll stay in the middle. Let’s keep in sight if possible. Let’s go.”

By the time Beta Niobe splashed the patches of snow crimson, the three men met back at their starting place. Kirk and McCoy, too tired to talk, gulped rations and crawled into their sleeping bags before the stars appeared. Spock, more accustomed to the higher gravity, sat outside the tent alone, until the cold drove him inside. None of them had seen
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anything that even hinted at intelligent life—only the desolate sameness of the tundra.

Two days passed, and the pattern of the first day was repeated. Search the valley and along the face of the glacier, meet back at a prearranged point for food, then, exhausted, sleep. Spock was the only one not affected by the altitude or the physical demands of the search. The mental strain was another thing. The First Officer looked drawn and haggard, and McCoy suspected he wasn’t sleeping much, a guess confirmed their third night on Sarpeidon.

The Doctor roused groggily at the echo of a distant combat, and heard the Vulcan dictating to his tricorder in a low voice. “... soil samples indicate that the permafrost layer is extensive, and the tundra-like ground covering shows the typical ‘patterned ground’ hexagonal configuration. Geologically—’ McCoy raised himself on an elbow.

“Spock, what the hell are you doing? What time is it?”

“It is zero-one-thirty-five point zero-two, local time, Doctor McCoy.”

“Why aren’t you asleep?”

“As you know, Vulcans can go without sleep for extended periods of time. I’m making notes on my tricorder scannings for a research paper, to be entitled, ‘Geological and Ecological Conditions—’

“Spock, what the
hell
are you doing?” Kirk interrupted.

“I regret that I disturbed you, Captain. I was dictating notes for a research paper.”

“Can’t you sleep?” Kirk sounded concerned. “Bones can give you something.”

McCoy reached for his medical kit in the dark, but Spock’s voice stopped him. “Unnecessary, Doctor. I can induce sleep if necessary—I won’t require one of your potions.”

The Medical Officer’s voice was peevish. “Well induce it then, and let us all get some rest.” He
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reached up and turned on the light, surveyed the First Officer critically. “Look at you—Vulcans don’t need sleep, my ass. You’re ready to drop.” His expression changed to one of concern. “You’re not helping that kid out there by staying awake worrying about him.”

Nobody had referred to the object of their search since they’d left the
Enterprise,
and Spock obviously found the Doctor’s bluntness painful. “It is easy for you to reach that conclusion, Doctor, since the reason for this mission is not your responsibility, it is mine. While recrimination is not logical, it is—”

“Unnecessary.” Kirk cut in. “Your situation is hardly unique, Mr. Spock. After all, the same kind of thing has been happening to men and women ever since we began visiting other planets. Even I have—” The Captain broke off as his two officers exchanged a sidelong glance. “What’s that supposed to mean?” he demanded.

“Nothing, Jim,” McCoy said, with studied innocence. “Nothing at all. I think we should get some more rest.”

It was the following afternoon when McCoy found the hot spring. He let out a yelp over his communicator that brought the others running. They found the Doctor sitting on his heels, looking at a depression in the rocks. Steam rose out of it, and the rock itself was encrusted with mineral deposits in bright reds, blues, greens and yellows. Spock scanned the area again, but reported no life-forms within range. They set out to follow the path of the underground river, as it wound along the base of the cliffs.

The excitement of locating the hot spring held them until sunset, when they made camp, but was gradually replaced by depression. Each of them knew that if they didn’t locate any concrete signs of life within the next two days, they would be forced to go back and try the Guardian again. After their meal, Kirk and McCoy played double solitaire for a while, but
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the game soon languished. Finally they all just sat, listening to the wind.

McCoy shivered. “Did you hook up the distort tonight, Spock?”

“Yes, Doctor. I have done so every night. Why?”

“Nothing—I have this feeling something’s watching us. This place gets on your nerves.” The Doctor abruptly cut, then shuffled the deck of cards with a snap that made them all jump.

Kirk nodded. “I know what you mean, Bones. I’ve been feeling the same way. Too much imagination—that wind’s enough to shake anybody. You’re lucky Vulcans are immune to it, Spock.”

The First Officer looked thoughtful. “Perhaps it is a result of fatigue, Captain, because the same impression has been in my mind—that something is watching us. It started several hours ago. ...”

Startled, Kirk and McCoy nodded corroboration. Spock raised an eyebrow. “Since all of us share the same impression, starting at about the same time, it is possible that we
are
under observation. A predator may be stalking us.”

“You’re probably right, Spock,” the Captain said. “We’ve been lucky we haven’t encountered any animal life before now. Tomorrow we’ll stay together. Make sure your phasers are fully charged.”

The next morning dawned as bright and clear as the three previous ones. “We’ve been lucky with the weather, anyway,” Kirk commented, as they picked their way along the rocky streambed, an icy counterpart to the boiling river that flowed beneath the cliff.

“We’ve been lucky with just about everything except finding the object of our search, Jim.” McCoy raised a sardonic eyebrow. “I’ll trade the good weather and the lack of predators for one sight of ...” Spock had stopped so suddenly that the Doctor bumped into him.

“I’m picking up something on my tricorder.” The
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Vulcan’s tone of voice, usually so matter-of-fact, betrayed excitement.

McCoy narrowed his eyes, scanning the ridge ahead of him. With a wordless exclamation, he pushed Spock out of his way and moved unerringly to a portion of the rocky wall. Running his hands over its ice-rimed surface, he turned his head to address the others. “I think this is where we came through the atavachron!”

The Vulcan was beside him in a few running steps. “You are correct, Doctor. That means that the cave is—” Spock broke off, conscious of an irrational dread.
He did not want to look for the cave.
Confused, he shook his head, feelings flooding his mind ...
fear
...
hate
...
anger
. ... He gasped, swayed, put both his hands to his head, no longer aware of his companions, feeling only those alien emotions. Alien! They came from outside his own mind ... an invasion. As his knees began to buckle from the assault, he marshalled himself and began to fight back.

Power! It was strong, but ...
the mind rules
...
my mind rules.
...
Mine!
The link snapped, and he was free, to find Kirk and McCoy holding his arms. Slowly his vision cleared, and he saw a dark opening in the rocks some distance away that he recognized. As he stared, a figure darted from behind a boulder and ran for the cave.

Somehow he had shaken off Kirk and McCoy, and was running himself, faster than he’d ever moved in his life. He could hear the others as they came pelting after him. Spock had nearly reached the cave opening when a rock caught him in the shoulder. He staggered, nearly fell, then Kirk and McCoy were beside him and they were all staring at the being that crouched, back against the cliff wall.

It was humanoid, but so swathed in furs that it was impossible to tell more. Spock stepped forward, and a snarl came from the recesses of the hood. The sound was not human.

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It’s Zarabeth,
thought McCoy.
Too tall for a child. She’s gone mad with the loneliness.
As he stepped in front of the Vulcan, opening his mouth to speak reassuringly, the ragged figure moved with the speed of desperation, and a good-sized rock caught the Doctor in the midsection. McCoy gasped and fell. Kirk leaped forward, saw the flash of a knife, lashed out with his foot, and heard the weapon ring against the wall. Hands fastened themselves around his throat. The Captain flung himself backward, one knee coming up viciously, felt his assailant twist to avoid the blow, and the steely fingers loosened. He dug his thumbs into the pressure points in the wrists, and when they slipped, rolled free, air scorching his throat. He struck out, trying to push away completely, felt teeth sink into his wrist, and then the creature sagged half on top of him, limp.

Spock released his hand from the junction of neck and shoulder, as the Captain scrambled up, rubbing his throat. “Bones all right?” he croaked, and saw McCoy staggering toward them, medical tricorder ready. They stood back as the Doctor ran his scanner over the mound of skins, then looked up. “Humanoid ... Vulcan ... and something else. Help me turn him over.”

The concealing hood fell back, to reveal the face, bearded, with long dark hair tied back. The face on the cave wall, but older, that of a man in his mid-twenties. McCoy sat back on his heels, staring. “Looks like we miscalculated a bit. ... But better late than never, I suppose.” He looked up at Spock, then back again at his unconscious patient. “The racial characteristics are unmistakable, aren’t they?”

Kirk couldn’t see Spock’s face, but the Vulcan sounded dazed, hesitant. “Perhaps we’d better move ... him ... into the cave. It will be warm there. ...”

The Captain waited for a second, but the other didn’t move, so he nodded to McCoy and the two of them carried the limp form into the cave. Kirk recognized the interior from the pictures, but his attention was mostly for Spock, who followed at a distance. As soon as they laid their burden on a pile of furs, he left the Doctor and turned back to his First Officer.

He’d removed his face shield, but his features were still a mask, skin stretched tight over bone, eyes blank, hooded.
He’s in shock,
Kirk thought, deeply concerned,
and that’s not so surprising. To find an adult when we expected a child
...
even to find anyone at all.
...
How would I feel—react? Probably the same.
... Hesitantly, he put a hand on his friend’s arm. Spock did not acknowledge the gesture outwardly, but there was an easing of tension in the muscles beneath Kirk’s fingers.

The Captain removed his face shield, pushed back his hood, then returned to McCoy and his patient. Beneath the furs, the young man wore a leather tunic, and McCoy had loosened the front lacings and bared the chest. Beneath a surface layer of dirt and black hair, bones and ribs showed clearly. The Doctor pressed several injections into his patient’s shoulder, and looked up at Kirk. “He should be coming around
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in a minute. He’s in remarkably good shape for someone who must’ve been living on the edge of starvation for years. It’s incredible he managed to survive at all. I wonder where Zarabeth is?”

“I don’t see another sleeping place,” Kirk said, glancing around. “Have you given him something to calm him down?” The Captain rubbed his bruised neck as McCoy swabbed the blood off his wrist. “I don’t care to take a chance on subduing him again.” He glanced across the cave at Spock, who was still turned away, and lowered his voice. “He’s inherited some of his father’s strength along with those ears.”

“I don’t think he’ll struggle when he sees our faces.” McCoy said, thoughtfully running his medical scanner. “I think he was frightened by our face shields—God knows that if you didn’t know what they were, you’d think they were our real features.” He turned his head, addressed the Vulcan. “He should’ve come around by now, Spock. Did you do anything to account for this prolonged unconsciousness?”