Star Trek: Duty, Honor, Redemption (71 page)

“How,” the Vulcan said, “will playing cards help?”

Using the rearview mirror, Gillian watched the two men approach. She put the Rover in first gear and started to let out the clutch, then changed her mind and jammed the gearshift to reverse. She backed up the Rover and stopped.

“Well,” she said. “If it isn’t Robin Hood and Friar Tuck.”

“I’m afraid you have us confused with someone else,” the one in the maroon jacket said. “My name is Kirk, and his is Spock.”

She let the Rover ease forward to keep up with him. “Where’re you fellas heading?”

“Back to San Francisco,” Kirk said.

“That’s a long way to come, just to jump in and swim with the kiddies.”

“There’s no point in my trying to explain what I was doing. You wouldn’t believe me anyway.”

“I’ll buy that,” Gillian said. She nodded toward Spock. “And what about what he was trying to do?”

“He’s harmless!” Kirk said. “He had a good reason—” He cut himself off. “Look, back in the sixties he was in Berkeley. The free speech movement, and all that. I think…well, he did too much LDS.”

“LDS? Are you dyslexic, on top of everything else?” She sighed. A burnt-out druggie and his keeper. She felt sorry for them, now that she was sure they posed no danger to the humpbacks. “Let me give you a lift,” she said. She smiled ruefully. “I have a notorious weakness for hard-luck cases. That’s why I work with whales.”

“We don’t want to be any trouble,” Kirk said.

“You’ve already been that. Get in.”

Spock got in first, then Kirk slid in and slammed the door. Spock sat stiff and straight and silent. When Gillian reached for the gearshift, her hand brushed past his wrist. His body radiated heat, as if he had a high fever. But he did not look flushed. He drew away and slid his hands into the sleeves of his long white robe.

“Thanks for the ride,” Kirk said.

“Don’t mention it,” Gillian said. “And don’t try anything, either. I’ve got a tire iron right where I can get at it.”

“I appreciate it, but I don’t need help with a—tire iron?”

“You will, if—oh, never mind.”

“What’s that noise?”

“What noise?” She listened for a problem with the engine.

“That—” Kirk hummed a few notes off-key with the gravelly voice on the tape.

“That’s not noise, that’s Waylon Jennings!” She turned it down a little. “Don’t you like country-western?” She was used to that reaction from her colleagues. “There’s some rock in the box on the floor. Not much sixties, I’m afraid. Some Doors, though.”

Kirk moved the tape box and looked around. “I don’t see a door down here—oh.” He opened the glove compartment. Road maps folded inside out and emergency supplies spilled into his lap. Gillian lunged over and grabbed a handful of stuff and pushed it into the glove compartment.

“What is all this?”

“Just junk, shove it all back. I didn’t say ‘door,’ I said ‘Doors.’ How could you get through the sixties in Berkeley without knowing about the Doors?”

“I didn’t say I was at Berkeley, I said Spock was at Berkeley.”

“Yeah, but, still—”

“The Doors were a musical group, Admiral,” Spock said. “Mid-nineteen-sixties to—”

“Yes, Spock, I get the idea, thank you.”

“Want to hear something really different?” Gillian asked. “I’ve got some Kvern. And ‘Always Coming Home’ is in there someplace.”

“I’m not much on music,” Kirk said. “That’s more Mister Spock’s department. Can you turn it off? Then we could talk.”

“Oh. Well. All right.” She turned off the tape and waited for Kirk to start talking. She drove along for a time during which neither man spoke.

“So,” she said to Spock, determined to get some kind of straight information out of at least one of them, “you were at Berkeley.”

“I was not,” Spock said.

“Memory problems, too,” Kirk said.

“Uh-huh,” she said skeptically. “What about you? Where are you from?”

“I’m from Iowa.”

“A landlubber,” Gillian said.

“Not exactly.”

“Come on,” Gillian said. “What the hell were you boys really doing back there? Men’s club initiation? Swimming with whales on a dare? If that’s all, I’m going to be real disappointed. I hate the macho type.”

“Can I ask
you
something?” Kirk said suddenly.

She shrugged. “Go ahead.”

“What’s going to happen when you release the whales?”

Gillian clenched her hands on the wheel. “They’re going to have to take their chances.”

“What does that mean, exactly?” Kirk said. “ ‘Take their chances’?”

“It means that they’ll be at risk from whale hunters. Same as the rest of the humpbacks.”

“We are aware of whale hunters,” Spock said. “What I do not understand is the meaning of ‘endangered species,’ or the meaning of ‘protected,’ if hunting is still permitted.”

“The words mean just what they say,” Gillian said. “To people who agree with them. The trouble is, there isn’t any way to stop the people who
don’t
agree with them. A bunch of countries still allow whale hunting, and our government always seems to find it expedient not to object.” She frowned at Spock. “What did you mean when you said all that stuff back at the Institute about extinction?”

“I meant—”

Kirk interrupted. “He meant what you were saying on the tour. That if things keep on the way they’re going, humpbacks will disappear forever.”

“That’s not what he said, farm boy. He said, ‘Admiral, if we were to assume these whales are ours to do with as we please, we would be as guilty as those who
caused
’—past tense—‘their extinction.’ ” She waited. Kirk did not reply. “That
is
what he said.”

Spock turned to Kirk. “Are you sure,” he said, “that it is not time for a colorful idiom?”

Gillian ignored Spock. “You’re not one of those guys from the military, are you?” she said to Kirk. “Trying to teach whales to retrieve torpedoes or some dipshit stuff like that?”

“No, ma’am,” Kirk said sincerely. “No dipshit.”

“That’s something, anyway,” she said. “Or I’d’ve let you off right here.”

“Gracie is pregnant,” Spock said.

Gillian slammed on the brake and the clutch. Spock moved quickly, bracing one hand on the dashboard even before the tires squealed on the pavement. But the sudden stop flung Kirk forward.

“All right,” Gillian shouted. “Who are you? Don’t jerk me around anymore! I want to know how you know that!”

Kirk pushed himself back. He looked shaken. “We can’t tell you,” he said.

“You’d better—”

“Please. Just let me finish. I can tell you that we’re not in the military and that we intend no harm to the whales.” He leaned forward, one hand reaching out, open.

“Then—”

“In fact,” Kirk said, “we may be able to help—in ways that you can’t possibly imagine.”

“Or believe, I’ll bet,” Gillian said.

“Very likely. You’re not exactly catching us at our best.”

“That much is certain,” Spock said.

“That I
will
believe.” Gillian drove on in silence for a mile or so.

“You know,” Kirk said, his cheer sounding a little forced, “I’ve got a hunch we’d all be a lot happier talking over dinner. What do you say?”

Gillian wondered what she had let herself in for. If they were a danger to the whales, she ought to dump them out on the highway right now—except then she would not be able to keep an eye on them.

“You guys like Italian food?” she said.

They looked at each other as if they had no idea what she was talking about.

“No,” said Spock.

“Yes,” said Kirk.

Gillian sighed.

In the factory reception room, Montgomery Scott paced back and forth with unfeigned agitation. He pretended to be angry, but in truth he had a serious case of nerves.

He glanced at the door leading to the inner office. McCoy had been in there for a very long time.

In the manager’s office, Doctor Nichols peered at the screen of his small computer. He was middle-aged and balding, wearing glasses and a rumpled cardigan sweater. He used a fist-sized mechanical box with a button on top to flip through the plant schedule. Each click of the button put a new page on the screen. When he moved the box across the desktop, a pointer on the computer screen moved on an identical path. Nichols frowned with perplexity.

“I don’t understand why there’s nothing down here about your visit,” he said. “Usually the PR people are all too efficient.”

“But Professor Scott’s come all the way from Edinburgh to study your manufacturing methods. Obviously there’s been a mix-up, but the university said the invitation was all arranged. I should have checked—you know academics.”

“I do know academics,” Nichols said. “Used to be one myself, as a matter of fact.”

“Er…” Gliding over his
faux pas,
McCoy tried creative hysteria. “Professor Scott is a man of very strong temperament,” he said. “I don’t know if the university got its signals crossed, or he got the date wrong. All I know is that I’m responsible for bringing him here. If he came all this way and goes all the way back for nothing, I get to be responsible for that, too. Doctor Nichols, he’ll make my life a living hell.”

“We can’t have that,” Nichols said with a smile. “I think the office will survive without me for an hour or so. Wouldn’t do to have a visiting dignitary go back to Edinburgh with unpleasant memories of American hospitality, would it?” He rose and headed for the outer office. McCoy followed.

“Professor Scott,” Nichols said, extending his hand. “I’m Doctor Nichols, the plant manager.”

Scott stopped pacing and drew himself up, hands on his hips.

“I’m terribly sorry about the mix-up,” Nichols said, overlooking Scott’s snub. “Would you believe no one told me about your visit?”

Scott glared balefully at McCoy.

“I’ve tried to clear things up, Professor Scott,” McCoy said quickly. “They didn’t have any idea you were coming—”

“Dinna ha’ any idea!” Scott exclaimed. He used an impenetrable Scots burr. “D’ye mean t’ say I ha’ come millions o’ miles—”

Doctor Nichols smiled patiently. “Millions?”

“Now, professor, it’s only thousands,” McCoy said in a soothing tone. “It’s understandable that you’re upset, but let’s not exaggerate.”

“—thousands o’ miles, to go on a tour o’ inspection to which I was
invited
—and then ye mean to tell me ye never invited me i’ the first place? I demand—”

“Professor Scott, if you’ll just—”

“I demand to see the owners! I demand—”

“Professor, take it easy!” McCoy said. “Doctor Nichols is going to show us around himself.”

Scott stopped in the middle of a demand. “He is?”

“With pleasure,” Doctor Nichols said.

“That’s verra different,” Scott said.

“If you’ll follow me, Professor,” Nichols said.

“Aye,” Scott said. “That I will. And—’twould be all right if my assistant tags along as well?”

“Of course.”

Doctor Nichols led them from the receptionist’s office. Following him, Scott passed McCoy.

“Don’t bury yourself in the part,” McCoy muttered.

Sulu approached the plastics company’s big Huey, entranced. He had seen still photos and battered old film of this helicopter, but none had survived, even in museums, to his time. The Huey was as extinct as the humpback whale. He stroked one hand along its flank.

He climbed up and looked into the cockpit—incredible. Hardly any electronics at all, all the gauges and controls mechanical or hydraulic. Flying it would be like going back to horse-and-buggy days. And he had never driven a horse and buggy.

The craft’s engine cowling closed with a loud clang. Sulu heard footsteps.

“Can I help you?”

Sulu turned. “Hi.” He gestured toward the helicopter. “Huey 205, isn’t it?”

“Right on.” The young pilot wiped his hands on a greasy rag. “You fly?”

“Here and there,” Sulu said. He patted the helicopter’s side. “I flew something similar to this in my Academy days.”

“Then this is old stuff to you.”

“Old, maybe. But interesting.” He jumped to the ground and offered his hand. “I’m Sulu—with the international engineering conference tour?”

The pilot shook his hand. “I didn’t know about a tour. They just tell me fly here, fly there, don’t drop the merchandise. International, huh? Where you from? Japan?”

“Philippines,” Sulu said, just to be safe. He had Japanese in his ancestry, but more of his family came from the Philippines, and he knew far more of its history.

“Hey. You folks really did it. Repossessed your country. What about all the loot, though? Think that will ever make it home again?”