Thirteen

Kirk piloted Copernicus into Varba II’s seething atmosphere. They couldn’t waste time cruising above the planet anymore, not after Saavik had sensed Spock dying. Kirk’s plan was still to home in on the source of the warning beacon and hope that the landing party had managed to make it to their original destination before running into problems. From there, he could expand the search area in ever-widening circles until, with any luck, he detected some sign of Galileo or its passengers. The thick fog and lack of sensors made spotting the lost party something of a long shot, but it was one Kirk was willing to take.

Spock said I make a habit of beating the odds, Kirk thought. Let’s hope he was right.

Saavik stirred to his left, murmuring something in Vulcan. He glanced at her and was surprised to see a single tear trickling down her cheek, just like at Spock’s funeral a few years back. He wanted to think that was a good sign, that it demonstrated that her link to Spock was getting stronger, but the tear came with ominous associations, too. He had no desire to eulogize his friend again.

The planet’s roiling, mustard-hued atmosphere was even stormier than anticipated. Serious crosswinds rocked Copernicus, eliciting startled responses from the security team seated behind Kirk in the shuttlecraft’s passenger compartment. The bumpy ride disturbed Saavik, too, breaking her trance. Her eyes opened, although they still seemed a little unfocused. She glanced around uncertainly, as though not entirely sure of her surroundings. Kirk hoped she hadn’t lost the link completely.

“Captain?” she said.

“Sorry, we’re running into some heavy turbulence.” He tried to level out their flight, but the cyclonic winds resisted him. A powerful gust tipped Copernicus sharply to port, tossing its passengers to one side, before Kirk managed to stabilize the shuttlecraft. He felt like he was trying to fly a starship through an ion storm. “I’d better fire up the shields.”

He reached for the deflector controls, only to be halted by Saavik, who abruptly took hold of his wrist. Her grip was cold and sweaty, but firm enough to restrain him. He could feel her Vulcan strength; it was easy to forget that, lacking a half-portion of humanity, she was probably even stronger than Spock.

“Don’t,” she said emphatically.

Kirk was puzzled. “Why?”

“I don’t know,” she confessed, loosening her grip somewhat. “But I . . . feel . . . that it would not be wise.”

Kirk eyed her curiously. It wasn’t often that a Vulcan acted on behalf of a mere hunch, so he was inclined to pay attention when one did. “Is this something you’re picking up from Spock?”

“Possibly,” she said. “Probably.”

“Then that’s good enough for me.” He didn’t like the idea of flying through the storm without any shields, but they would just have to rely on the shuttlecraft’s sturdy hull and solid construction—not to mention his own slightly rusty piloting skills. He reminded himself of the multiple layers of protection built into the shuttle’s hull and outer plating. “Do you still sense him? Do you know where he is?”

“I believe so.” She let go of his wrist and turned to face the viewport. All that could be seen at the moment were the churning yellow storm clouds, but the color returned to her face and her eyes came back into focus. Resolution entered her voice, and she wiped the stray tear from her cheek. “Kindly turn the navigational controls over to me.”

Kirk did so, even as the storm continued to toss them about. He bounced in his chair and felt sorry for the crewmen seated in the back. Fortunately, he had never been prone to airsickness. His bigger concern was that the violent weather conditions would complicate their rescue mission.

“You certain about this?”

“This is about feelings, not logic. There is nothing certain about feelings, Captain.” A wry smile lifted her lips. “Why else do you think wiser Vulcans shun them?”

“Wisdom be damned,” Kirk said. “Let’s go find our friends.”

They dived deeper into the fog.