Captain's Glory

8

THE GATEWAY, VULCAN

STARDATE 58562.5

Entering this desert was little different from stepping into a blast furnace, but to Kirk, the searing wind carried treasured memories and the promise of home.

That’s what Vulcan was to him now: a second home, his brother’s home.

He pulled back the hood of his cooling cloak to feel the force of that wind and catch the faint, ozone scent of distant sandfire storms.

“Is that wise?”

The holographic doctor stood with Kirk and Joseph on the viewing platform that was carved into an immense formation of wind-eroded rock. Far below was the haphazard community of low, round, sand-colored hostels and hotels that huddled together at the desert’s edge-their apparently random distribution unusual for Vulcan, a sign of the age of this place, pre-Surak and logic.

Tradition held that from the Gateway, Surak had begun his journey of enlightenment through the desert known as the Forge. From that crossing, taken more than two thousand years ago, the Vulcan pursuit of logic had arisen.

Though the holographic doctor didn’t require it, like Kirk and Joseph he also wore a cooling cloak of red-orange cloth over his projection of civilian clothes, the better to blend in with pilgrims and tourists. In the Doctor’s case, the sophisticated heat exchangers that were woven invisibly through the cloak’s coarse fabric were not switched on.

“Solar radiation levels are considerably higher than on Earth,” the hologram warned.

Kirk knew the Doctor meant well and forgave his concerns. Caution was undoubtedly part of his medical programming; inevitable, given his origins. After the first time they had met, Kirk had reviewed the Doctor’s design specifications. The hologram was a composite expert system incorporating the life experiences of at least forty-seven medical specialists.

“I’ve spent enough time here,” Kirk said. “I know when to go indoors.” He could have but didn’t add that it sometimes felt as if he’d spent lifetimes on this world-the residue, he knew, of mind-melds with Sarek and Spock that had left him with the echoes of memories from generations of Vulcans.

“Dad, can I try?”

His son was looking up at him through tinted eye-shields, his hands already on the edges of his own cooling cloak. Surprisingly, one of the few Vulcan physiological traits Joseph did not seem to have inherited was a protective inner eyelid.

Kirk nodded.

Joseph pulled back his hood and, just as Kirk had done, took a deep breath of the hot dry wind.

Kirk felt a pang of mortality when he saw his son duplicate his actions so precisely. It was another reminder that Joseph would be his living legacy, a reflection of all that he had been long after his own time had ended. Knowing that, Kirk had done all he could to ensure that Joseph would be exposed only to the good in him, to carry only that part forward. But sometimes he worried he hadn’t done enough. Joseph was a sponge for all that his father was, good and bad.

Fortunately, his son had other role models to emulate: Scott and McCoy and, until last year, Spock. Kirk could only trust that his friends’ guidance and examples would help balance those times when he himself hadn’t been at his best.

Joseph took another deep breath, frowned almost comically. “It smells like… engineering.”

Kirk understood the familiar scent that his son had detected. “Energy discharges,” he explained. He pointed out to the horizon. It shimmered with heat where the red of the sky smeared into the red of the land. “There’s a region out there where the planet’s magnetic field was distorted a long time ago.”

Kirk saw no need to tell his son the story of Vulcan’s ancient atomic wars right now, and how they had devastated this world. There’d be time enough to share those dark shadows of Vulcan’s history when he was older.

“It’s almost like a third magnetic pole. Disrupts most electrical and transtator current in the area, lets the absorbed energy leak out into the wind. Creates spectacular lightning displays in billowing clouds of sand.”

Kirk caught Joseph’s glance and remembered looking at his own father that way, wondering if there was anything the man didn’t know.

But for Kirk, hero worship was not required. He only wanted to be a father to his son. “I read all that in the guide padd. You should look at it tonight. Scotty could probably give you a hand with the equations for the energy interactions and…”

Joseph turned away with a familiar expression of impatience bordering on rudeness. Kirk leaned closer to him, dropped his voice so Joseph wouldn’t think he was being chastised in front of the doctor.

“You know our deal. Most children have to spend time in school. But as long as you’re on the Belle Reve, you– “

“You don’t have to turn everything into a lesson.”

Kirk saw the holographic doctor looking in the opposite direction, as if there was suddenly something utterly fascinating on the horizon.

“Joseph… what have I said about using that tone of voice?”

Joseph pressed his lips together, and Kirk could see he was determined not to admit any guilt. The boy’s features bore little actual resemblance to those of his father, but for a moment, seeing that defiant attitude in his son, Kirk might as well have been looking into a mirror.

“We can drop the subject for now,” Kirk said, falling back on a strategy that had worked before-sometimes, “as long as you agree we’ll discuss it tonight.”

Joseph hesitated for a moment, then conceded. “Yeah.”

Kirk moved to reward his limited success. He pulled a hotel voucher padd from his belt, tapped in a spending limit, then handed it to his son. “Why don’t you go get a jumja.” There was a confectionery stand at the base of the wide, carved stone stairway leading up to the platform. Vulcans didn’t have much of an appetite for sugar, but the stand did brisk business with offworlders.

Joseph’s struggle with pride was brief. He took the padd with a glimmer of a smile. “Thanks, Dad.” He looked past Kirk. “Doctor, would you like…” Joseph paused, awkward, as he remembered exactly what the Doctor was.

The Doctor smiled at the boy. “No, but thank you for asking.”

“Come right back,” Kirk said, and with that Joseph shot off in escape, expertly weaving through the crowd, cloak flapping behind him like a cape.

“You must find it an interesting experience,” the Doctor said.

“I can think of a few other adjectives that’d fit, but ‘interesting’ works, too.”

“Are thee Kirk?”

Kirk turned abruptly at the sound of his name, spoken with the soft, archaic accent of a Vulcan schooled in one of the planet’s ancient scholar’s dialects.

The Vulcan standing before him was female, clothed in a simple dark brown robe with a tan overvest. Most notably, though, her head was shaved. Kirk recognized the significance of both her clothing and appearance. They revealed that she was a Surakian. The school of logic to which she belonged was one of the most demanding in Vulcan tradition. Its adherents attained the Kolinahr through the strictest interpretation of Surak’s teachings. And that included the rejection of all personal possessions, all ornamentation, everything that was not necessary for the pursuit of knowledge.

Kirk also knew who she was. He bowed his head in respect. “Scholar T’Vrel. Thank you for seeing me.”

T’Vrel ignored Kirk’s statement, looked closely at the Doctor. “What are thee?”

“Like yourself, madam, I am a healer.”

T’Vrel’s neutral expression did not change, and Kirk realized that he couldn’t tell if she was fifty years old, or, instead, one or two centuries.

“Thou are not real,” T’Vrel said.

“I assure you, I am very much real,” the Doctor insisted. “My physical form is generated holographically, but– “

T’Vrel turned to Kirk as if the Doctor were no longer there. “Ask thy questions, Kirk,” she said.

“Is this the best place for our conversation?” Kirk replied. The message he’d received in response to his query to one of Spock’s ambassadorial apprentices had told him to meet T’Vrel on this platform. But meeting in such an exposed location and talking here were two different matters.

“There are many outworlders here. It is not unusual for Vulcans to be seen talking with them.”

Kirk decided that if T’Vrel was comfortable here, then so was he.

“I’ve been told you worked with Spock on Romulus,” he said.

T’Vrel did not respond.

Kirk had seen this form of Vulcan logic at work before. She would say something only to correct him, or to answer a question. He continued, unperturbed.

“You were with him when he was abducted by the Remans working for Norinda.”

“That name is not familiar.”

“She was the leader of the Jolan Movement on Remus.”

Again T’Vrel gave no response.

“I believe Norinda is also responsible for Spock’s disappearance.”

“Explain.”

Kirk tried his best to comply. “Despite appearances, she wasn’t… humanoid. I saw her dissolve into black dust… black smoke… black sand… something… a substance or phenomenon that then captured Spock and absorbed him into it.”

Though T’Vrel remained impassive, Kirk sensed the time she had allotted to him was rapidly diminishing.

“I also believe Spock’s not the only one who met that fate.”

“I have no time for what thee ‘believe.’ I meet with thee because thou are Spock’s friend. Ask a question, or end the conversation.”

“You asked me to explain.”

“Yet thee do not.”

“I believe Spock is still alive, and I believe the way to find him is to find Norinda.” Kirk felt secure in that statement, knowing Janeway had also reached the same conclusion.

T’Vrel angled her head by millimeters, and considering her lack of reaction thus far, to Kirk it was as if she had applauded in enthusiastic agreement. “Logical,” she said.

Hoping that T’Vrel’s response was acceptance of his explanation, Kirk finally asked his question.

“I’ve been given reason to suspect that Norinda, or others acting on her behalf, might be on Vulcan, attempting to do here what she attempted on Romulus and Remus. Are you aware of any political, philosophical, or academic movement on Vulcan that fits that profile?”

For the first time, T’Vrel took her attention away from Kirk and glanced around at the other Vulcans and aliens on the viewing platform. When she looked back at Kirk, she gave no indication of what she was thinking, yet from her next words, Kirk could guess.

“Come with me to my s’url.”

Kirk recognized the Vulcan word. T’Vrel had invited him to her school-the closest thing a Surakian had to a home.

“Of course. I’ll get my son,” Kirk said.

“This is not a matter for children.”

Kirk looked at the Doctor.

“I’ll be happy to take Joseph back to the ship,” the hologram said.

Kirk and the Doctor walked with T’Vrel toward the staircase. “I’ll just tell my son where I’m going.”

T’Vrel said nothing. Again, Kirk took her silence as acceptance.

At ground level, a noisy, grunting group of Tellarites jostled around the confectionery stand. While T’Vrel waited by an ornately carved stone baluster at the base of the staircase, Kirk and the Doctor squeezed past the Tellarites.

Kirk sighed. There was no sign of Joseph at the counter. He scanned the small plaza ringed by restaurants, shops, and hotel entrances.

“I don’t see him,” the Doctor said at Kirk’s side.

“He has a voucher padd,” Kirk said with a parent’s wisdom. “He’s probably in one of the shops.”

Kirk reached inside his cooling cloak and tapped the combadge pinned to his shirt. To all outward appearances, it was a plain silver disk with a manufacturer’s symbol embossed in its center, no different from any other civilian model. Inside, though, it had the latest Starfleet circuitry and could operate through subspace at ranges approaching several light-days. “Kirk to Joseph,” Kirk said.

He waited a few seconds, in no mood for his son’s games. Annoyed, he tapped the combadge again. “Kirk to Belle Reve.”

This time the reply was almost instantaneous. “Scott here, Captain.”

“Scotty, lock on to my signal and Joseph’s and tell me where he is.”

Kirk heard the engineer’s knowing laugh. “Up t’ his old tricks, is he?”

Kirk didn’t have time to explain. He didn’t know how long T’Vrel would wait. “Just stand by to beam him up along with the doctor.”

“Aye… I’ve got him. Five meters south of your position.”

“Five meters…” Kirk said. He looked south.

The confectionery stand.

Kirk checked that T’Vrel hadn’t left, then quickly walked back to the stand, certain Joseph was hiding behind it. The doctor helpfully skirted the Tellarites and went around the other side.

They met at the back. No Joseph.

Kirk tapped his combadge again. “Scotty, where’d he go?”

“Och, he hasn’t moved. You’re within two meters of him.”

Kirk looked around, truly puzzled, his frustration at Joseph’s timing tempered by his admiration for his son’s renowned skill at hiding.

He looked at the back of the confectionery stand. “He’s got to be inside.”

The Doctor pulled back the fabric drape concealing the gap between the stand’s sloped roof and its waist-high wooden wall.

Almost at once, the stand’s indignant Ferengi proprietor grabbed the drape away from the Doctor. “Customer service at the counter!”

The Doctor ignored the protest, tugged the drape open again, leaned over the wall to examine the stand.

Kirk saw the Ferengi draw back, then shove his hand forcefully at the Doctor’s shoulder to push him away. But the Doctor adjusted his holographic density so that the Ferengi’s hand passed through him.

Having attempted to shove a ghost, the Ferengi shrank back, squealing in fright. The Doctor ignored him, turned back to Kirk, shook his head.

Kirk didn’t understand. The only other thing back here was—

With a sudden surge of alarm, Kirk rushed to the waste container-a drum-shaped barrel a meter tall.

Kirk ripped the cover from it, looked down, felt true fear as he saw the hood of a cooling cloak.

“Joseph!” Kirk pulled up on the cloak, terrified of what might be beneath it.

But all he revealed was a sticky mound of confectionery wrappers and jumja sticks.

Kirk ran his hands down the empty cloak, felt Joseph’s combadge pinned to it, and nothing else.

His child was gone.