Mason sat quietly in her corner, noting the style of the meeting, and the often informal give-and-take between Kirk and his officers.
"No, Captain," Spock said, unperturbed. "We know very little about protostar formations of this sort, and with the silencing of the station in the Black Box, there have been no updates until now. The information relayed by the buoy is incomplete and highly inadequate. In short, the Enterprise will be entering unknown conditions, with unknown consequences."
"Yet again," McCoy said. "How cheering."
"You mentioned a problem, Doctor?"
"The equipment. It's easy enough to operate, even within the guidelines of those damned … excuse me, the guidelines of the monitors. It practically runs itself. But I don't think Starfleet has taken the monitors into account in evaluating this situation. The best way I can figure out to save the sleepers is to beam them up frozen, rescue their transient form-memories from the transporter and feed them into the vat, two by two. Mr. Veblen here will tell you the difficulties involved with computer storage of transient form-memories."
"Enormous difficulties, Captain," Lieutenant Veblen said.
"Such as, Mr. Veblen?"
"Transient form-memories are stored by a kind of quantum trick, Captain. There are well over a hundred and fifty million gigabytes of information needed to restore one human body after beaming. All of that is kept in fraction space storage for less than five minutes. It then deteriorates. Any attempt to re-beam from a deteriorated form-memory is disastrous. Until now, there were no facilities to provide a medical back-up for restoration with the failure of a transporter."
Kirk tapped his fingers on the table. Veblen saw, and swallowed back his expanding explanation. "Sir, we can store the memory of six transporter malfunction victims but we only have facilities to rebuild two at a time. To store any more, we'll have to use ship's computer memory, which operates on a different process entirely. If there are thirty sleepers on the station, we could put two of them per week into the TEREC. That would take—"
"Fifteen weeks."
"Which means we'd have to stay in orbit around the planetoid for at least the time necessary to retrieve all the sleepers. Or we could dump the entire Enterprise library to store the form memories."
"Against regulations, Mr. Veblen."
"Precisely."
"Why not beam them up frozen, then beam each into the unit as his time comes?"
"There's the rub, Jim," McCoy said. "With radiation damage, we can only risk transporting them once. The second time, they're dead."
"Was that the problem with regs you mentioned?"
"No. Even if we do get them up here, we'll have to program changes into the vats to restore their myelin sheaths. The monitors may not let me do that. I told you I wasn't sure the regs made much sense."
"You told me you didn't want to be a lawyer. Is there any reason why we can't ferry the sleepers up in the shuttlecraft?"
"There could be risks," McCoy said. "Hibernacula require very stable power sources, and constant low temperatures. We may have to take the chance, but I wish we had other choices."
"Gentlemen, is there anything further I should know before we begin our rescue mission?"
"Very likely, Captain, there are a great many things you should know," Spock said. "None of which we are able to tell you."
Mason made a note of that, as well, and underlined it twice. "Captain," she said as the officers stood to return to their duties. "Since this is such an unusual mission, am I to be dropped off on my planet before you depart?"
Kirk hardly looked at her as he passed. "Not unless you directly request it."
She watched him follow Spock out of the briefing room door, mentally kicking herself. She couldn't back down now. The man was so arrogant! Why couldn't he have made it easier on her, instead of throwing the ball in her court? She'd show herself to be a complete coward, and if she did come back to Yalbo, word would get around … and she would be accused of shaming them all. In front of nonhumans, too.
She gripped her notepad tightly, chewing on her lower lip and trying to still the nagging voice in the back of her mind, a voice saying she was too young, too inexperienced; saying that FNS had made a bad mistake sending her to the Enterprise.
Chapter Five
Kirk was eternally fascinated by the procedures for making the Enterprise ship—shape for a long voyage. He was as familiar with every action as a man watching his wife dress in the morning, and yet … it had that same sort of fascination, of responsibility mixed with a perverse and impossible kind of ownership. No individual could own a starship, any more than a man could actually own his wife. Still, the Enterprise was his. He wondered what the day would be like when he had to give her up, and whether, if any of his Starfleet colleagues assumed her command, they could possibly remain friends.
From the captain's chair, he watched preparations on the various displays accessible to him, the largest being the forward viewing screen. At the touch of his fingers—resting on buttons set into his chair arms—and at the sound of his voice, he could make the Enterprise come alive. Stroking …
He put such errant nonsense from his thoughts (and a good thing neither Spock nor McCoy could read minds at a distance) and concentrated on a report from Scott. The preventive maintenance procedures had been completed in record time, though they would still need four hours at warp two for the Jeffries refit.
Scott had suggested that three of his engineering crew receive notes of commendation. Kirk composed the notes on his command console and directed they be entered into the ship's record and individual crew files; Scott's recommendations were as good as gold, as far as he was concerned.
The Andorran, Lieutenant Yimasa, came on the bridge and took his position in the navigator's chair.
"The Enterprise is responsive, Captain," Sulu said, turning to grin at Kirk.
"Yes, indeed," Kirk said. His crew should have been on the edge, exhausted, ready for at least a month of shoreleave—yet here they were, seemingly eager, almost chipper. He felt a flood of warmth behind his eyes and blinked the emotion back.
"Fix your bearings, Mr. Sulu, Mr. Yimasa. Await my command to exit spacedock."
"Bearings fixed, Captain."
McCoy stepped up behind Kirk's chair and laid his hand on his shoulder. "Jim," he said softly. "I want to talk to you about the Mason girl."
"What about her?"
"Are you sure it's best—"
"Bones, she's a professional. Besides, Starfleet ordered that we should cooperate with the FNS."
"Jim, she's an outposter. She wouldn't know her way around a small town, much less the Enterprise, much less the Enterprise on an emergency rescue mission."
"I don't foresee any danger. Do you, Bones?"
"Every time we go someplace there's that potential."
"True enough. What makes you think she can't handle herself?"
"Instinct. I may be wrong, but she just doesn't look comfortable. Have you seen the way she looks at Spock and Yimasa?"
"There are no non-humans on Yalbo. They may be the first she's ever seen."
"I suspect the FNS picked her because she was the only one they could slip on the Enterprise before the shakedown. So I'm making my suggestion for two reasons—"
"What suggestion?"
"That we put her down on Yalbo now. Two reasons, Jim. She's not up to it, and I'm not sure I'd want the responsibility if I were you."
"I left it up to her. If I put her planetside now, both FNS and Starfleet would pin my ears back. She's FNS's choice. I must assume they know what they're doing."
"Hmph." McCoy looked highly dubious. "Did you happen to read the last story FNS did on a Starfleet vessel?"
"No. I'm not much for the dailies, Bones."
"A correspondent from Mars spent two days aboard a heavy duty freighter. By the time he was through, he'd unveiled rampant corruption, the possible existence of an unknown space plague and the general incompetence of the captain. None of w
hich charges, I might add, was regarded seriously by a special review board."
Kirk sighed. "Bones, she doesn't want to leave. I can't make her go. She has a job to do."
"Oh, she wants to leave; you just didn't give her any easy way out." McCoy's eyes widened. "Jim, you'd like her to stay, wouldn't you?"
Kirk regarded McCoy with a level stare. "Doctor, I have a ship to take out of spacedock. We can discuss this later, if you … haven't caught on by then." He turned his chair forward. McCoy straightened, shook his head and backed away a few steps. It was the doctor's policy to be on the bridge for the first hour or so of any voyage, whenever possible.
Nurse Chapel was in control of the sickbay, so he could indulge his little quirk.
"Engineering," Kirk said.
"Scott here, Captain."
"Outfitted and ready to sail, Mr. Scott?"
"Boilers at superheat, sir."
"Strain your gaskets, Mr. Scott."
"Aye, sir. Gaskets already strained."
Kirk smiled. "Dead slow, Mr. Sulu. Lieutenant Uhura, send our sincere thanks to the spacedock crew, and our compliments to the orbital advisory committee on Yalbo."
Mason came on the bridge, looking apprehensive.
Her recorder followed at a discreet distance. She fixed her eyes on the forward screen and stood beside McCoy. "Are we leaving?" she asked.
"Yes, ma'am."
"How long before we use warp drive?"
"Not long at all."
"Impulse power, Mr. Sulu," Kirk said. "All ahead full."
"Aye, Captain."
The Enterprise, heir to three thousand years of human and Vulcan experience on sea, sand and in space, had exited the spacedock with majestic slowness. Now she gently stretched the gravitational bonds of Yalbo and spiraled outward, lining up with the corkscrew magnetic fields of Yalbo's small yellow sun. Kirk could feel the vibration of the impulse engines, smooth enough but always coarse when compared with the steady power of the warp drive.
"Aligned for solar system exit, sir," Yimasa said.
"Very well. Warp one, Mr. Sulu."
Kirk felt his chest strain at the sensation of the Enterprise's sudden ignorance of gravitational bonds. She was now at the beck and call of a higher geometry, one which propelled her at just above the speed of light away from the tiny ochre planet of Yalbo, and away from her yellow star. Kirk briefly called up a virtual display of the outside view. The entire universe seemed compressed to a coruscating band of light, rotated and bent away from the direction of the view cameras. "Warp two and hold until Mr. Scott okays us for final warp sequencing," he said.
"Aye, Captain."
He switched the virtual display off. The forward screen now showed a computer simulated display of the stellar system and distant stars. When the Enterprise reached warp four, some of the closer stars themselves would appear to move on the display.
Kirk glanced at Mason, wondering if she was feeling what he felt. Like a tune in his bones, the warp drive sang, a beautiful siren pushing the ship faster in relation to status geometry—the home universe—yet retarding its speed in relation to the higher spaces they now traversed. The secret of the warp drive, in fact, was that it did not allow the Enterprise to reach an infinite speed in alien geometries, which would turn them all into a single tiny, very dead black hole.
"Welcome to warp drive, Mister Mason."
"Thank you, Captain. It's quite an experience." She wondered if she was going to be ill. And where was the science officer, the Vulcan? Wasn't he supposed to be on the bridge at a time like this? As if in psychic response, the elevator door opened and Spock stepped out, walking to his station at the computer console. Lieutenant Veblen followed, smiling at her in passing.
"At this speed, we'll exit your system in two hours," Kirk said. "I venture you've never traveled that fast before."
"I've never been off Yalbo until now. I'm just a country bumpkin, Captain." She was embarrassed by her own tone. "I hope to get sophisticated fast."
"Don't rush it, Mister Mason," Kirk said. "First experiences are to be savored."
"I'll savor them in my off-duty hours, Captain. And please call me Rowena."
"Certainly, Rowena. I see you've requested an interview with me in the ship's computer bay. Will 1600 hours be okay? If Scotty … Mr. Scott gets his refit done in time, we should be at warp maximum by then, and I can spare about fifteen minutes."
"I'll be there." She swallowed and decided she needed a place to sit down. Since there was no seat on the bridge not already taken, she returned to the elevator. As the doors closed, McCoy frowned and tapped his finger on the railing.
"Captain, Scott in engineering. We've finished the refit. She should take warp maximum without too many problems."
"What, no complete certainty?" Kirk asked.
"Nothing will go wrong that we won't be able to take care of," Scott said. "And if something does go wrong, you'll be the first to know. After us, Captain."
"Ready, Mr. Scott?"
"As we'll ever be."
"Good. Mr. Yimasa, final adjustment to bearings."
"Yes, sir. We'll exit the galactic arm in two hours ten seconds of ship's time. Catenary curve through four selected geometries as soon as we hit warp seven."
"Sequence us through warp five, Mr. Sulu."
"Sequencing."
The tune in his bones quickened its tempo.
"Three, Captain. Four. And … five."
"Sequence through warp eleven, Mr. Sulu. Mr. Yimasa, compute our entry point into Romulan neutral zone as soon as you can and put it on my console display."
"Warp six. Seven."
Kirk's eyes narrowed. "Eight," Sulu continued. "Nine. Ten. Maximum warp eleven, Captain."
Warp eleven was a special treat for James Kirk. The tune in his bones became a symphony. Secretly, he relished the thought of evading status geometry for seventeen days—even if the course did take them through contested territory. If they were lucky, they would spend less than an hour in the neutral zones …
That is, if they were not interfered with. He knew some of the Romulan and Kshatriyan commanders who patrolled those regions. Good officers, good commanders—and very anxious to test their abilities and their ships against his.
Ah, peace, he thought. Like seduction. Sometimes much more exciting than the act itself …
He made a mental note to set the sonic shower for a very cold cleansing before his next sleep period.
"What can you tell me about T'Prylla, Spock?"
Spock sat stolidly on his immaculate stone meditation plank, eyes closed, deep in the mathematical exercises he had taken up lately, conditional to his entry into the third stage of Vulcan life at age seventy-nine. Kirk knew he wasn't interrupting his friend; Vulcans had the remarkable ability to devote their attention to several things at once.
"She is a most extraordinary Vulcan, Captain. I regret not knowing her better. She has pioneered new ways of logic, ways heretofore regarded as unacceptable by the Spyorna. She mated outside of family pre-arrangements—"
"A tradition you've had difficulties with, if I recall," Kirk said ruefully.
Spock nodded his head to one side. "In my case, the contamination of human blood could be brought to account. But T'Prylla is pure Vulcan, and in many ways her approach harks back to a very famous Vulcan Strovadorz—a philosopher—named Skaren, who recommended the prevalence of inductive over deductive reasoning. Inductive reasoning is essential, but not a Vulcan's favorite."
"You're saying she uses feminine intuition?"
"A statement worthy of Dr. McCoy, Captain."
"Yes. My apologies. At the very least, she's been regarded as wayward."
"And quite brilliant. For Grake and T'Prylla not to have foreseen and prepared for the dangers of their research is highly unlikely. I must assume that something completely outside Vulcan and human experience has occurred in the Black Box Nebula. We must ready ourselves accordingly."
"How will we do that?"
"I have been studying Mr. Veblen's texts on the new computer systems. The principle of stochastic algorithm is quite intriguing. To set up a portion of the ship's computer which simply models possibility after possibility, always throwing in some unlikely variable, until it produces a situation which matches our own, could be quite helpful."
Kirk regarded the Vulcan for several minutes, thinking. In some ways, this was shaping up to be a routine rescue mission. But Spock's statements bothered him. They could certainly do worse than let Veblen loose—within limits. Kirk wasn't sure he trusted Veblen completely; he deviated from the Starfleet norm in much the same way Spock said T'Prylla deviated from the Vulcan norm. But setting aside a stochastic modeling program seemed reasonable enough.
"I'll get him working on it right away," Kirk said. He stood up. "We'll cross the Romulan neutral zone tomorrow at 1536 hours."
"1536 point 42," Spock said.
"Of course. Forgive my interruption."
"Krawkra," Spock said, a complex Vulcan term roughly equivalent to the Spanish de nada.
Chapter Six
The computer bay was a small room barely ten feet on a side, located several decks beneath the bridge in the Enterprise's saucer. The ship's main computer was lodged in the walls, which were little more than an inch thick. The room was empty save for a pedestal in the middle and a metal mesh pathway leading to the pedestal. Mason stood on the pathway, notepad in hand, bemused by the complete silence. Here, even the ineffable sensation of being in warp drive was missing. Kirk stood by the pedestal, waiting patiently for her next question. They were ten minutes into the interview and thus far Kirk had given only a precis of his career, which she had duly recorded, knowing she would have to go elsewhere to flesh it out. "I suppose we should get down to the inevitable."
"What might that be?" Kirk asked warily.
"How does a starship Captain feel, knowing that his every decision is going to be second-guessed by a machine?"
Kirk hated being diplomatic to the point of misleading, but this was clearly a time when evasion was necessary. "Starfleet has the interests of the Federation in mind. If a starship captain engages in erratic behavior, the monitors will act as a safeguard. They'll take away the captain's command. It's my duty not to be … erratic."