Yesterday's Son Read online

  Kirk stared at the empty corridor, tempted to follow and pursue the subject, but finally continued on his way. McCoy might not care to admit it, but he shared a certain kinship with Spock. If he didn't want to talk, he couldn't be persuaded.

  The bridge was quiet and reassuring. Kirk dropped into his command chair, scanning the clipboard of reports, but one part of his mind was counting the minutes until Spock appeared for duty. The best First Officer in the fleet … yes, he was that, for sure. What could McCoy have been hinting at, harking back to Sarpeidon? And that woman? Was he talking about himself? Somehow, Kirk thought not. But Spock wouldn't get mixed up with a woman … at least he never had, except for Omicron Ceti III, and those spores … funny, he'd always thought there was something besides the damned spores working on the Vulcan … and of course, there was T'Pring … but that was different. . . .

  The Captain jerked to attention, mind racing. It was 1301, and Spock was one minute late for duty. Impossible! But the computer tie-in flashed confirmation beneath his fingers.

  Behind Kirk, the bridge door hissed shut, and Spock was standing by the command chair, hands clasped behind his back.

  "Mr. Spock, is anything wrong? You're late." The Captain's voice was quiet, concerned.

  "I regret my tardiness, sir. It won't happen again." The Vulcan's eyes were distant as they fixed themselves on a point three centimeters above Kirk's left eyebrow.

  Sighing inwardly, the Captain gave up, knowing from long experience that Spock would talk when he was ready—if ever. He stood up and said formally, "You have the con, Mr. Spock. I'm due for an inspection of the hydroponics lab at 0815. Report anything unusual. This sector has been charted as having some good-sized radiation storms."

  The Captain left the bridge, aware of a nagging prickle of disquiet at the back of his neck. Spock would have called it illogical—Kirk called it a hunch.

  Kirk continued to worry during the next three days, as Spock's and McCoy's silence continued. He took out his frustrations on the training android in the self-defense section of the gym.

  He was relaxing in his cabin after one particularly strenuous workout, sprawled facedown across his bunk, reading. The volume was one of Kirk's own cherished bound books. "The kind of book you can hold in your hands," as Sam Cogley had put it. The lawyer had introduced him to the hobby of collecting "real" books, and Kirk had found this remarkably well-preserved copy of an old favorite in an antique shop on Canopus IV. He was absorbed in the adventures of Captain Nemo and the Nautilus when the door signal flashed.

  "Come in," Kirk put the book back into its protective cover when the door slid open to reveal his First Officer. He waved an arm invitingly at a chair. "Sit down. Would you like some Saurian brandy?"

  Spock shook his head at the brandy bottle, and Kirk poured a small shot for himself. He sat down opposite the Vulcan, cradling the snifter in his hands, and waited.

  Spock hesitated for a long moment. "You've been expecting to see me."

  The Captain nodded. When the Vulcan didn't continue, he said, "I've known something is wrong for several days. First McCoy clammed up, then you. I can tell it's serious. Want to talk about it?"

  Spock looked away, absorbed in a painting of the Enterprise that hung on the opposite wall. Kirk had to strain to hear him. "I must request leave for an indeterminate amount of time. It is … a family matter."

  The Captain took a slow sip of the brandy, and studied his friend. The Vulcan looked tired; there were new lines around his eyes, and an aura of disquiet had replaced the usual calm control. Kirk listened intently, waiting for Spock's next words, and was suddenly conscious of something subliminal seeping into his mind, touching, and for a moment he was feeling deep resolution, mixed with guilt and shame. He held his breath, trying to look inward, to focus … and the contact, if contact it was, and not his imagination, was gone.

  Spock was staring at him. "Jim—you're not telephathic, I know, but for a moment—"

  "I know. I felt it too—for a moment. Long enough to know that you're determined to go, and that the situation, whatever it is, is pretty bad. But you're going to have to tell me the rest in words, Spock."

  "If I could, I would share this with you, Jim. But I am responsible for this … problem. I must solve it alone."

  "Something tells me that you're going to attempt something really hazardous. Am I right?"

  Spock looked down at his hands, repeated, "I must go alone. Please don't ask me to explain why."

  Kirk leaned forward, gripped the Vulcan's shoulder, and shook it. "I don't know what the problem is, but I know why you won't tell me. You're concerned that if I find out how dangerous this project is, I'll insist on going with you. You're right. I am."

  The First Officer shook his head, and his voice was hard. "I will not allow it. I can't take the responsibility for your life, too. I am going alone."

  Kirk set the snifter down with a thump. "Dammit, Spock, you don't have to tell me anything if you don't want to, but you'll have to desert to get off this ship without me."

  Spock's jaw tightened, and his eyes held anger. Kirk stared into those eyes unflinching, and wondered where in hell Spock was going. Obviously, McCoy knew more than he was telling—Sarpeidon? But that planet doesn't exist in the present. It blew up. The present … and the past … the woman … and the face on the wall of the cave … Cave? Face?

  Kirk straightened. The image in his mind was clear—a Vulcan face painted on a cave wall—nothing he'd ever seen before. "I got it that time, Spock. Call it empathy, telepathy, what you will, I know, now. This has to do with … biology, doesn't it?"

  The Vulcan nodded mutely, then leaned his head in his hands. His voice was strained. "Yes. My barriers must be slipping, if I could broadcast that loudly. Of course, we've been mind-linked, but … I'm tired, that must be it. . . ."

  "Never mind the explanations. I know, and it doesn't matter how." Kirk looked at the Vulcan and breathed, "It's incredible … 5,000 years ago in that frozen hell …"

  "Zarabeth bore my child." Spock finished for him.

  They stared at each other for a long moment, and finally the Captain stirred. "Maybe there's another explanation. Maybe Zarabeth painted you. You can't be sure. . . ."

  "I am sure. The face on the wall shows unmistakable Vulcan characteristics, but it's not my face. The eyes are different. The hair is longer. The features are those of an adolescent, or not much older. There are other things. The artifacts found in the cave along with the paintings show a higher level of civilization than the evolving race in that hemisphere had yet achieved. Traces of worked metal—a stone lamp that used animal fat. Anachronisms in that time period."

  Kirk was convinced, but shook his head. "Tormenting yourself over a child that lived and died 5,000 years ago doesn't make sense. There's nothing you can do about it."

  Spock looked at him calmly. "I am going back to get him."

  The Captain didn't know what he'd been expecting, but it wasn't this. "But … Spock … how?" Even as he said the words, a sudden, still-painful memory bit at him. "All is as it once was … let me be your gateway. . . ." He took another swallow and felt the brandy burn his throat. "The Guardian of Forever, you're going to use it to go back."

  The Vulcan nodded.

  "Spock, that planet's been declared off-limits, except for the archeological expedition. They won't let you get near it, let alone go through. To get permission to use the Guardian would take a lot of clout—probably by someone the rank of a planetary governor, at least. . . ." He thought for a second, then answered himself again. "T'Pau."

  "A logical deduction, Captain."

  Kirk thought of T'Pau, tiny, frail, ancient … but packing enough authority in one request to override a Star Fleet Admiral's orders. Yes, she had the clout, all right. Would she use it?

  Kirk said as much. The First Officer looked grim. "She will intercede, when I tell her the reason. The family is all-important on Vulcan. Family loyalties overrule even planetary law. Vu
lcan is virtually governed by an oligarchy composed of several prominent families. Mine is one of them. And T'Pau will not let one of the family live and die alone, far from his people."

  "I don't envy you your mission, Spock," the Captain shook his head. "I wouldn't want to have to explain this to her."

  "I am not looking forward to it, I assure you. But it must be done. It's my duty." Spock stood up, hesitated. "I assume that my request for leave can be approved immediately? We can divert to Andros in the Antares system with a loss of only one hour and thirty-two point four minutes."

  Kirk nodded and got to his feet. "It's settled. I'll have your leave request processed immediately. If we drop you off on Andros, you should be about a week getting to Vulcan. . . . Getting clearance and returning to Star Base 11 should take you about another ten days. Good thing we've got that overhaul coming up. . . . Yes, that'll work … I'll be ready to go when you return. With luck, we'll be back before the final inspection is finished. Well? What are you standing there for?"

  "Captain, I must go alone—I absolutely refuse—"

  Kirk cut him off in mid-sentence. "It's settled. Blackmail, Mr. Spock. I don't go, you don't get leave. Simple as that."

  "This could be hazardous. . . . I can't allow you to risk …"

  "Quit arguing. And quit trying to wrap me in cotton. Humans may not be as strong as Vulcans, but that doesn't give you a right to tell me what I can and can't do. After all, who's in command here?" Kirk glanced at the chrono. "You've got forty-five minutes to get ready. I'll see you in two and a half weeks. Move!"

  Spock found that he'd responded to the snap of that last order automatically, and was standing in the corridor looking at a closed door. He shook his head ruefully, and hurried off to pack.

  Chapter II

  Midday on Vulcan. The heat swirled around Spock as he materialized on the crest of a ridge, and he stood soaking it in for a moment, sniffing appreciatively at the thin air. Its dryness felt wonderful after the cold fog that passed for atmosphere aboard the transport freighter. Overhead, the sky flamed as 40 Eridani reached its zenith. The white sand reflected the heat back in a searing glare, and the rocks and vegetation shimmered.

  Spock skirted the low, sprawling building, heading for the visitor's entrance on the south side of the living complex. He didn't intend to announce his arrival, though it had been more than a year since he'd since his parents. He felt a twinge of guilt, visualizing their disappointment if they discovered his visit; repressed it. Amanda would want to know the reason for his sudden arrival, and how long he was going to stay, and Sarek would expect him to tour the estates. He'd be swamped with family duties, and there would be questions. . . .

  Inside, he keyed his request for an audience with T'Pau, then waited impatiently, forcing calmness over his features, curbing his body to stillness. Finally the screen beside him lighted with the characters of his first name, the one used only by family, and then only on name-days and religious holidays. He'd used it deliberately, knowing T'Pau would recognize its import, and respect his request for privacy. Directed to one of the clandestine inner passages that led to T'Pau's sitting room, he threaded the narrow darkness quickly, then silently entered the chamber. He was alone with the only person to ever turn down a seat on the Federation Council.

  She was seated on a low divan, with a rug across her knees. Her hair was still black, except for two white streaks running through it, but her face was even more lined and withered than he remembered.

  T'Pau saluted him formally, holding out one hand in the "V" signal of greeting. The spidery old fingers trembled a bit. She's aged, Spock thought, returning the greeting. "Live long and prosper, T'Pau."

  "Why hast thou come in secrecy, and with no warning, Spock? Thy behavior is hardly courteous to thy parents." She spoke with a lisping inflection, voice barely above a whisper. She had not asked him to sit down, and that was a bad sign.

  "I beg forgiveness, T'Pau. The reason for my visit is private—something I could discuss with you only. I seek your help, and your silence." His voice was level. Sharp obsidian eyes that belied the wizened face scrutinized him, and abruptly she nodded and gestured him to a seat. Spock sat down cross-legged on the hassock.

  "I will hold thy silence. Speak."

  "Several years ago, I went with my Captain and McCoy, whom you know, on a mission to warn the people of Sarpeidon that their planet's sun was about to nova. We discovered that all of the inhabitants had taken refuge in the past. Through an accident, McCoy and I were transported back in time to the planet's ice age. We were freezing to death, when a young woman appeared and led us to shelter. Her name was Zarabeth, and she had been exiled alone to the past through the actions of an enemy. She was trapped there due to a special conditioning process.

  "I was—affected by the time change. I reverted to what our ancestors were, 5,000 years ago. Barbaric—I ate meat. And I sired a child on Zarabeth. I did not know it until a few days ago."

  He'd seen revulsion in her eyes as he confessed to eating meat, then she was impassive once more. She remained silent for a long moment, then stirred.

  "Thy behavior was certainly no credit to thy family. But it is illogical to dwell on the sins of the past. Why has thou come to me?"

  "I cannot leave my child to die alone on a planet never meant for our kind. I must bring him home, to the family. I will bring Zarabeth back, too, if I can reverse her conditioning. I owe her a chance to live. I request that you contact the Federation Council and arrange for me to use the Guardian of Forever. It's a time portal that can send me back there, to Sarpeidon's past. I have to try."

  T'Pau considered for a long moment, eyes hooded. "Yes. Thee must try. This child will be thy heir if thee dies without further issue. And thee has not entered kunat kalifee with another. We must protect the succession."

  Spock realized he had been holding his breath, and let it out slowly. The worst was over.

  "I've prepared a report stating all the information you will need to contact the Council, T'Pau. It gives the specifics of the case, and the code signs to identify the time portal. It names the search-party members, and the possible number of persons transported from the past. If your request is denied, send a subspace message to Captain Kirk on the Enterprise."

  She took the document and looked at him. "I will contact the Council immediately. Do thou be careful. What will thee do when thee finds them?"

  Spock paused, at a loss. He hadn't thought beyond the bare fact of the child's existence, and his duty. "I'll bring them back to the present, and …" he hesitated again.

  Her glance was sharp. "I take it that means thee hast not thought that far ahead? Remember, Spock. This son of yours is a person. Each being has its own dignity and life. Allow thy son this dignity. He is thy issue—but not thee. Remember our symbol," she touched the IDIC medal hanging on her shrunken chest. "Treasure the differences, as well as the similarities."

  Spock didn't understand her words, except intellectually. He nodded absently, preoccupied with the logistics of getting himself out of the house and to the spaceport without being recognized. At T'Pau's signal, he rose, saluted her. "I thank you, T'Pau. Have I your leave?"

  She nodded, looking suddenly weary. "Thee hast leave to go, Spock. I will have Sandar take thee to the spaceport. I will not inform thy parents of thy visit, but remember this: if thee is successful, they will know, and so will all our people. Thee must accept what thou has done; for thy good, and for the good of thy child. Live long and prosper, Spock." She returned his salute, and beckoned to Sandar, her aide, who had appeared as if by magic.

  Spock bowed slightly. "Peace and long life, T'Pau." In silence, he left the chamber.

  Chapter III

  Kirk sat in the section of the rec deck that had temporarily been converted into a theater, watching H.M.S. Pinafore, but his attention wasn't on the stage. Tonight his ship had docked at Star Base 11, and Spock was overdue. Tomorrow morning at 0900, the Star Fleet technicians would swarm aboard f
or her two-week inspection and repair detail. If Spock and he didn't get started within twenty-four hours, they couldn't make it halfway across the sector to the Guardian and back within the alotted time, and the scheduled date to report for duty might find the Enterprise without her First Officer and her Captain.

  Of course, it was entirely possible that she would be without them even if they left this minute. During Spock's absence, Kirk had studied the cave paintings and all the available data on Sarpeidon's ice age. It seemed likely that if somehow the climate missed killing you, the wildlife would cheerfully oblige. The chances of anyone surviving in that environment seemed remote—especially a child.

  Kirk had considered trying to talk Spock out of this crazy venture, but abandoned the idea when he recalled the look in the Vulcan's eyes. And he couldn't let him go alone.

  The audience around him was standing and applauding enthusiastically. The Captain hastily joined them and watched Scotty dash backstage and drag a reluctant Uhura out to take a bow. The crew roared when the Chief Engineer gave the Chief Communications Officer a resounding kiss. As Kirk stood among his cheering crew, he saw the person he'd been waiting for enter the rec deck through one of the side entrances and stand searching the faces.

  Spock stood braced against the bulkhead as Kirk joined him, as though his body might fall without the support. The normally impeccably-groomed fringe of dark bangs was rumpled, and the face beneath looked more exhausted than the last time Kirk had seen the Vulcan.

  "You look terrible! What the hell have you been—" Kirk began, then interrupted himself. "We've got to hurry, or we'll miss that supply shuttle. I've got our gear in my quarters. All set on your end?"

  In Kirk's quarters, both officers changed into durable scouting coveralls, and packed their camping and cold-weather gear into kits. "I raided sickbay when McCoy was out last week, and got a medical kit together." Kirk said. "Should we bring phasers? Mine didn't work last time we were on Sarpeidon."