Star Trek: The Original Series - 162 - Shadow of the Machine (3 page)

“Thank you, Spock,” the admiral said. He knew now that the awkwardness between himself and Spock was his fault.

One more thing
, Kirk thought

By the time the turbolift had reached the bridge, all he wanted was for the day to be over and done with, and to escape, to be as far away from the
Enterprise
as was possible.

Chapter 2

STARFLEET ORBITAL SHUTTLE

“How long’s it gonna take?”

Leonard McCoy shifted impatiently in his seat, trying desperately to resist the urge to drum his fingers against the sleek buckle of his safety harness. McCoy hated riding in these orbital shuttles. “Boneshakers,” he called them. Or “flying tin cans.” It all depended on his mood at the time. Either way, having to use the things to get to, and from, the
Enterprise
scared him out of his wits.

“There’s nothing to worry about,” Scott had assured him the last time McCoy had raised the subject in the mess. “They may be a wee bit rickety, but they’re as tough and as solid as a fully armored Gorn warrior. You’ll come to no harm in one of those beasties.”

McCoy was unconvinced. He had similar misgivings about transporters. If one of those were to malfunction, they could unzip you faster than a man peeling a banana, and before you realized what was happening you would be lying in a pool of your own organs. The doctor had been assured countless times over the years that the transporter was safe. But he knew full well the
Enterprise
’s new, improved transporters had malfunctioned recently, killing Commander Sonak and Vice Admiral Lori Ciana.

For the fifth time since boarding the shuttle, McCoy checked that the buckle on his harness was secure and the emergency life-support mask was fully primed and in working order.

“For heaven’s sake, can’t you relax, Bones?”

Kirk was becoming irritated by McCoy’s constant fussing and fidgeting. It was difficult enough flying with him at the best of times, but today he was practically unbearable.

“I just don’t like the idea that there are only a few inches of metal between me and a sheer drop,” McCoy confessed. “It’s bad enough having your molecules scattered around the galaxy at faster than the speed of light, but having to be locked up in these damn contraptions . . . ”

Kirk shook his head. “How long have you been in Starfleet?”

“Too damn long,” McCoy growled.

“Exactly. When a Starfleet engineer of Mister Scott’s caliber says you will be okay, you will be,” Kirk told him.

At the extreme lower edge of the forward port, a white, wispy canopy of cloud was taking shape. The nose of the orbital shuttle had begun to tilt sharply downward, dropping a dozen kilometers before leveling.

McCoy gripped the armrests of his chair as his stomach lurched violently, despite the artificial gravity, with each dip and rise that the shuttle made.

“I hate it when it does that,” he murmured from between tightly clamped lips. “Makes my stomach feel like it’s doing loop-the-loops.”

Despite himself, Kirk smiled. “You didn’t have to come. You could have stayed on board the
Enterprise
with Mr Scott.”

McCoy ignored the playful gibe. “What I want to know is why, for the past few days, you and Spock have been stalking around the
Enterprise
with faces longer than the Antares Nebula.”

“We have our reasons, Bones,” Kirk said. “Let’s just leave it at that.”

“Come to think of it, where
is
Spock?”

“On his way to Vulcan,” Kirk said.

“Vulcan?” McCoy repeated. “I thought he’d decided to turn his back on all that Vulcan mystical stuff.”

Kirk just shrugged. “Maybe he has and maybe he hasn’t. Spock didn’t say what it was all about, and I didn’t feel that it was my place to ask him.” He paused, then turned slowly toward his friend with a smile. “ ‘Vulcan mystical stuff’?
Kolinahr
is an ancient Vulcan rite—”

“He’s trying to eradicate his emotions, his human half,” McCoy said.

The admiral was reminded that McCoy might play the “old country doctor,” but he was one of the best medical officers in the fleet. “
Touché
, Doctor.” Hoping to distract McCoy, Kirk asked, “How is Joanna?”

McCoy thought for a moment. “Fine. She and my grandson are meeting me in Atlanta.”

“Joanna had a son? Bones, that’s wonderful.”

“He’ll be coming up to his fourth birthday pretty soon. Was only a baby when I saw him last,” McCoy said, with a faint trace of sadness in his voice. “My own damn fault—I shouldn’t leave it so long between visits. I’m a stubborn old fool who’s set in his ways, and most of the time the only person I’m hurting is myself.”

Kirk stared silently across at his chief medical officer. “We’re all guilty of stubbornness to one degree or another, Bones. I guess that’s why we’re all going home: to try to fix things that have broken somewhere along the line.”

Kirk turned toward the port and watched the cold black sliver of space slowly turn a deep rich shade of blue. The canopy of ivory-white clouds was drawing ever closer. The admiral could now see the gleam of the sun dancing across San Francisco Bay as they neared Starfleet Headquarters.

“I only hope I’m not too late,” Kirk whispered to himself.

SAN FRANCISCO

Four and a half months premature!

The words wheeled incessantly through Sulu’s mind like a rodent in a squeaky running wheel. He hopped out of the taxi and made his way slowly down the sidewalk toward the nest of tall buildings.

Four and a half months!

The Starfleet Medical building was nothing like Sulu had expected. It wasn’t the usual Federation architecture. It was a red-brick building, vast and clearly ancient, but somehow modern. Had it been part of the ancient base . . . the Presidio?

He spent the first fifteen minutes trying to find the reception desk. When he finally found it, the attendants gave him a complicated set of directions that led him up several flights of stairs and along a seemingly endless corridor to a vast new wing on the other side of the facility.

Sulu gave the woman behind the desk his details and then took a seat in the waiting area as he was instructed.

He hadn’t been waiting long when Doctor Linzi Hautala, the chief ob-gyn officer, appeared from one of the side rooms a little way down the corridor. She strode across to meet him.

Hautala was all smiles as she approached, which for some reason made Sulu feel all the more anxious. He started to rise, but the doctor indicated for him to stay seated.

“Lieutenant Commander Sulu,” she said, taking the seat next to him. “Doctor Hautala.”

Sulu nodded. “Please, I need to know what’s happening with Susan and the baby.”

“She’s fine,” Hautala told him, “though understandably exhausted. We’ve given her a mild sedative and she’s sleeping now.”

“The baby?” Sulu asked, fighting down a sudden wave of panic.

The doctor hesitated, her smile faltering slightly. It was only the briefest flicker, but Sulu saw it nevertheless.

“You have a beautiful little baby girl, Commander. As I told you, we could not safely stop the labor. Obviously, as she’s a preterm birth, there is a chance of complications. She’s in the NICU. We’ll monitor her condition closely for the next few weeks.”

A violent flush of panic rose from the pit of Sulu’s stomach, threatening to engulf him. Doctor Hautala must have seen it in his eyes, for she reached across and placed a hand gently upon his arm.

“Please, you mustn’t worry yourself needlessly, this is all routine procedure. The coming days will be critical for your daughter. But both mother and daughter are stable and as comfortable as we can possibly make them. They are in the best hands.”

My new daughter.

The words sounded strange when he thought about them. Later, when he was away from the hospital and back in Susan’s apartment, he would say those three words out loud, over and over.
My. New. Daughter.

My daughter.

He had a daughter. He, Hikaru Sulu, was a father. Yesterday they were only a couple, but today they were a family.

Doctor Hautala patted him gently on the knee, then climbed to her feet, the smile firmly on her lips.

“So, would you like to see her?” she asked.

Sulu stared up at the doctor, eyes wide. “I . . . I can see her now?”

“I can’t see any reason why not,” Hautala said. “We’ll need to get you in a mask and gown; after that, I’ll take you to the NICU so you can meet your daughter.”

U.S.S. POTEMKIN

The transporter chief snapped to attention the moment Spock had finished materializing, causing him to raise an amused eyebrow in response. As he stepped down from the platform, the transporter room door slid open and a very young, very pale lieutenant stepped into the room. He stopped a few meters away from Spock, shifting his weight awkwardly from one foot to the other as though he were unsure how to proceed.

“Permission to come aboard,” Spock said, breaking the silence.

“Permission granted, Commander,” the pale young man replied. “Good afternoon, sir, I am Lieutenant Gareth MacNeil. The captain has asked me to apologize for his absence but he is currently in a meeting with the security team on the station. He has asked me to show you to your quarters.”

The lieutenant turned and began to make his way back toward the corridor. When his Vulcan guest failed to follow, MacNeil clattered to an abrupt halt, pausing comically, frozen in midstep. He gestured nervously toward the door.

“Please, this way, sir. We have assigned you a suite; a meditation stone has been provided should you wish to prepare yourself mentally on the journey home. Or you may simply wish to rest—the choice is yours.”

“Your attentiveness and generosity are most appreciated,” Spock told him. “But quite unnecessary. The captain need not have gone to so much trouble. The journey is a relatively short one.”

MacNeil glanced toward the door again, as though hoping to find help there. When none came he began, “But the captain, he’s—”

“On the orbiting station below,” Spock finished the sentence for him. “You have already informed me of this.”

The lieutenant’s mouth flapped silently open and closed for a brief moment. Then he seemed to regain his composure.

“Does my presence aboard the
Potemkin
make you nervous, Lieutenant?” Spock asked.

“Yes, sir.” MacNeil’s eyes widened as he realized what he’d blurted out. “I mean, no. Well, yes, you do make me nervous, but not in the way you’re probably thinking.”

In response Spock clasped his hands behind his back and tilted his head quizzically, waiting for the young officer to compose himself.

After a while Lieutenant MacNeil tried again: “What I mean to say is, I’m nervous because you’re Commander Spock: Ambassador Sarek’s son and first officer aboard the
Enterprise
, the flagship of Starfleet, commanded by James T. Kirk. I read about your missions as a kid—it was what made me want to enroll in Starfleet Academy.”

“Have I lived up to your lofty expectations, Mister MacNeil?” Spock asked suddenly.

“Uh . . . uh . . . well . . .” MacNeil stammered.

But before the man could say any more, Spock continued: “Believe me, Lieutenant, it is always a mistake to meet your hero. Many years ago I was afforded the opportunity of spending three weeks aboard a terraforming vessel with the celebrated agronomist and biotechnician Elliot Tarrall. His proposal for developing closed-system exofarming on the outer colonies was a work of inspired brilliance and required reading when I was at the Academy. During my time aboard ship, I made three attempts at engaging Doctor Tarrall in conversation regarding sustainable development, and each time I found him to be rude, arrogant, self-opinionated, and more than a little narcissistic.”

Spock motioned toward the doors behind Lieutenant MacNeil. “I believe you were about to show me the way to my quarters.”

Somewhat nervously, Lieutenant MacNeil led the Vulcan commander out of the transporter room and into the corridor.

• • •

The short, somewhat rotund Vulcan seemed to appear from out of nowhere. The crowd of off-duty crew members parted before him like dissolving mist as he stepped forward, his hand already raised in the traditional Vulcan salute.

“Live long and prosper, Commander Spock. I am Syvar, captain of the
Potemkin.
It is an honor to have you on my ship.”

Spock returned the salute. “Peace and long life. The honor is mine, Captain. The
Potemkin
is a fine ship. I have been made most welcome, particularly by Lieutenant MacNeil.”

“A most promising officer,” Syvar returned.

“He has not been aboard the
Potemkin
long?” Spock asked.

“He was assigned to us two days ago. First time aboard a starship. He was a communications officer on Starbase 35, since graduating from the Academy eighteen months ago. After the V’Ger event,” Syvar said, “he requested a transfer. He felt that he ‘needed to get out from behind a desk and make a difference.’ ”

These words sounded all too familiar to Spock. “I have heard another human voicing a similar sentiment of late.”

“Lieutenant MacNeil is learning quickly, and I am satisfied with his progress.” Syvar leaned in closer, his manner almost conspiratorial. “When you have a crew that is seventy-five percent Vulcan, one realizes that there are certain
preconceptions
. I prefer not to be the ‘exception that proves the rule,’ as the old Earth saying goes.”

“Indeed,” Spock replied.

The Vulcan captain swept a hand at the empty patch of floor in front of the observation port at the other end of the recreation deck. The two men began to make their way through the crowd.

“I am surprised to find you here, Commander, rather than in your quarters preparing yourself,” Syvar said.

There was something in the captain’s words, a curious tone, that caused Spock to stop suddenly in his tracks.

It took Syvar a moment to realize that his guest was no longer walking beside him. After hesitating for a second, he returned, stopping in front of Spock.

“What would I wish to prepare
myself for, Captain?” Spock asked at last.

“Now that the crisis has passed and you are returning to Vulcan,” Syvar said, “there can be only one reason.”

Spock nodded thoughtfully at this, suddenly comprehending the captain’s words. “Now I understand: the generously appointed quarters, the meditation stone, even volunteering the
Potemkin
.”