Sixteen

A bosun’s whistle signaled an incoming message. Kirk activated the comm unit on Doctor McCoy’s desk in sickbay. “Kirk here.”

“Sorry to interrupt you, Captain,” Uhura’s voice said, “but I’ve finally managed to translate the warning signal in its entirety. Do you want to hear it?” She paused at the other end of the line. “Or is it a bad time?”

Kirk and Saavik were keeping vigil in McCoy’s office while the doctor and his staff treated Spock in the intensive-care ward. Chekov and Darwa had already been checked out and discharged, after being treated for minor cuts and bruises and dehydration; they were currently recovering in their respective quarters, but Kirk had no intention of budging from sickbay until he knew if Spock was going to be okay. Saavik had asked to be permitted to wait with him, and Kirk had readily assented. She’d earned that privilege and then some.

“Go ahead, Uhura,” he instructed. “Patch it through to the main terminal on Doctor McCoy’s desk.”

“Aye, sir. Coming through now.”

Kirk sat down at the desk in front of the monitor, while Saavik scooted her own chair closer. She had remained comfortably seated through their vigil. Vulcans apparently did not pace.

The screen came alive with a cascade of visual snow that was oddly reminiscent of the shimmering yellow fog on Varba II. An androgynous voice, possessing an odd, lilting accent that Kirk was pretty sure he’d never heard before, emanated from the static:

“Attention and beware. This is High Mariner Johhuj of the long-range interstellar explorer Quantum Valence, addressing all future travelers to this baneful system. By the time you receive this, I and my surviving crew will be long gone, undone by the many hidden perils that render the second planet in this system a deathtrap to be avoided at all costs. If you value your lives and safety, attempt no landing here. Our own ship, damaged irreparably upon entering the planet’s treacherous atmosphere, will never see the stark serenity of space again. My valiant crew, despite their courage and fortitude, is outnumbered by the relentless predators that have already woefully depleted our numbers. There is no hope for us, but you still have the opportunity to avoid our dire fate. Heed my words, tomorrow’s travelers, and turn away from this malignant and unforgiving world. Do not suffer the same doom that has befallen us. Take care, and journey on.”

The voice fell silent, trailing off into silence. Kirk paged Uhura. “Is that all of it?”

“Aye, Captain.” Her face appeared on the monitor. “As nearly as I can tell, the message is more than three hundred Earth-years old.” She shook her head sadly. “It’s heartbreaking, isn’t it, sir?”

“Very much so,” Kirk agreed, “but their determination to warn others speaks well of their people and their character. I would have liked to have met that captain and crew.”

It was strange to realize that Johhuj and his fellow explorers had met their end three centuries earlier, long before the birth of the Federation. Humanity would have still been making its first tentative steps into a new frontier back then.

“In theory, the remains of their vessel might still be found at the signal’s point of origin,” Saavik pointed out. “Perhaps further investigation is indicated—with the proper precautions, naturally.”

“Another day, maybe,” Kirk said, “but not today.” He was more than ready to heed Johhuj’s warning and leave Varba II behind, but perhaps there was still one more task to complete before they could truly take their leave of the deadly planet. “Uhura, place a warning beacon of our own in orbit above Varba II, transmitting in all major galactic languages known to us. Facing certain death, High Mariner Johhuj went out of his way to try to make certain that no future explorers suffered his tragic fate. The least we can do is further that selfless gesture.”

Especially since the Enterprise had lost two of its own to Varba II as well. This struck Kirk as a fitting way to honor Fisher’s and Yost’s sacrifice and to ensure that the two officers had not died in vain.

“Absolutely, sir,” Uhura responded. “I’ll see to it at once.”

“Thank you, Commander,” Kirk said. “In the meantime, tell Mister Scott to set a course for Musgrave IV, maximum warp. Seems to me that we’ve got some impatient diplomats to deliver.”

“They’re a little less impatient since Scotty broke out his private stock of spirits, Captain, but I’ll see that he gets the message.” Uhura paused before signing off. “Captain, if you don’t mind my asking, how is Mister Spock?”

Kirk sympathized with her concern. “The doctor is still with him. I’ll keep you posted. Kirk out.”

He rose from his seat at the desk and strode restlessly around the office. Unlike Vulcans, humans did pace when anxious. He was completing his fifth circuit of the room when the door whisked open and McCoy appeared in the doorway.

“All right,” he said. “You can come see him now.”

The doctor had showered and changed into a set of fresh scrubs, but he was still distinctly the worse for wear after his own ordeal on the planet. Dark pouches hung under his eyes, and minor cuts and scratches added extra character to his weathered features. He clutched a mug of black coffee as though his life depended on it. Kirk guessed that McCoy, who had scarcely rested since returning to the Enterprise, was himself in need of a hearty meal and a good, long sleep.

But, to be honest, Kirk was more worried about Spock at the moment.

“How is he, Bones?”

McCoy shrugged, the casual gesture boding well. The doctor did not have the mournful air of a concerned physician preparing to deliver bad news. “See for yourself.”

He led them into the recovery ward, where they found Spock sitting up in bed. He looked wan and weary, but much better than he had on Copernicus before. The life-signs monitor above his head gave no immediate cause for alarm. He lifted his gaze from his bed’s built-in library access terminal, which he had been employing when they walked in. Various nurses and medics quietly went about their business nearby.

“Captain,” Spock greeted his guests, “Lieutenant.”

Kirk felt Saavik relax, all but imperceptibly, beside him. Perhaps she had been pacing inside.

“Spock,” he replied. “You’re looking more like your old self. How are you feeling?”

There was a time when Spock would have objected to the word “feeling,” but not anymore. He answered the question without any caveats. “Inconveniently weak, and experiencing a certain bodily discomfort, but the good doctor assures me that I can expect to make a full recovery.”

“If you don’t overexert yourself and follow your doctor’s directions.” McCoy approached the bed to take a closer look at the life-signs display. “It was touch-and-go there for a while. Spock had lost an absurd amount of blood, and, as you know, he has a rather exotic blood type, even by Vulcan standards.”

“T-negative,” Saavik said. “I regret that I was not a suitable donor.”

“It is not our blood type that we share, Saavik-kam. I believe I owe my life to a deeper connection between us.”

Their gazes met, momentarily excluding the two humans, and Kirk wondered if he would ever truly comprehend what had passed between them when their minds had reached out and found each other just in time to save Spock. Probably not, he guessed. It’s a Vulcan thing.

“I am pleased to find you well,” Saavik said finally, “and that I was able to render what assistance I could.”

Spock nodded in acknowledgment, saying no more.

“In any event,” McCoy said, breaking a suddenly awkward silence, “in the absence of another green-blooded donor, I resorted to pharmaceutical means to accelerate Spock’s own blood production in order to replenish his supply, using a modern variation of the same drug I gave him on our way to the Babel Conference way back when.”

Kirk recalled the occasion. Spock’s father had required major surgery while aboard the Enterprise and Spock had needed to provide a dangerous quantity of blood for transfusion purposes. They had nearly lost both men at the time.

“Of course, the drug’s not nearly as experimental as it was twenty years ago,” McCoy added, “which spoiled some of the suspense.”

Spock regarded the doctor with amusement. “My apologies if my medical emergency was not sufficiently stimulating for you, Doctor.”

“I’ll let it go this time,” McCoy said. “Heck, after what went on down on that fog planet, I may never complain about your freakish green blood again.”

“Somehow I doubt that, Doctor.”

McCoy thought it over.

“Yeah. Me, too.”