CHAPTER THREE
Admiral Cheyon and Admiral K were sitting comfortably in McCoy’s home, discussing the vagaries of life and general problems in the Universe. McCoy stared mostly at his drink, as if answers might bubble up out of the liquid that he was holding. Their conversations ran the gambit of “the good ol’ days” to current headlines. Until, that was, K asked McCoy if he had any news concerning his Secret Little War.
McCoy swirled the liquid in his glass and chuckled. “So, they’re calling it my secret war, are they?” he thought. The Kelvan’s had been isolationist ever since they moved in and so their civil war wasn’t catching any headlines in any of the media, but secret wasn’t exactly how McCoy would have classified it.
“No, I haven’t heard anything new,” McCoy said. “Their system is still divided.”
“Divided? Hell, their system is so fractured it’s amazing it hasn’t fallen apart. The Vulcan listening post went silent, long range scans are turning up zip, we’ve lost six probes, and one ship, and you’ll have me believe that this is just your average little conflict?” K asked. “I don’t like this. I don’t like it one bit.”
“If the O’Kelvan,” Cheyon began, using their term for the original Kelvan, “win this war it could be the worst threat the Federation has ever faced.”
“Did you ever notice,” McCoy said, peering at the firelight through his glass and the brandy inside it. “It’s always the worst threat the Federation has ever faced?”
“This is no laughing matter, McCoy,” K said. “They may not out number us at this stage of the game, but their technology is so far advanced we wouldn’t stand a chance in a fair match.”
“What are you saying?” McCoy said.
“I’m saying, why don’t we go in there now and drop a little G-device in their system and let God sort it out,” K said.
McCoy bounded out his chair, pointing his finger at him. “My God, man! Is your answer to everything complete annihilation? Where’s your humanity? I never want to hear you threaten to use the Genesis Device again, regardless of the threat.”
“Easy, Doctor,” Cheyon said.
“Easy my ass,” McCoy said. “I’ve seen what that device can do up close and personal and there would be nothing left of that entire solar system. I will not sit here in secret collaboration with anyone who would even contemplate that as a solution.”
“Even if they revert to their original Kelvan ways?” K asked. “That one little colony could conquer this whole Galaxy within fifty years if they put their minds to it.”
“I will not support war based on a hypothetical and I will never support genocide,” McCoy repeated.
“By the time it becomes reality, we won’t have the ability to defend ourselves,” K argued. “And you can be sure this will fall on your head.”
“If I weren’t an old country doctor, I’d kick your…”
“So, you are still human enough to result to violence,” K said.
“That’s enough, K,” Cheyon said.
“Kirk welcomed them and the Federation sanctioned that action,” McCoy said. “It was the human thing to do. Right now, they are having a crisis, and the prime directive clearly outlines our roles in this conflict. We let them work it out.”
“And when the conflict moves out of their system?”
“We cross that bridge when we get there,” McCoy said, sitting back down.
The three of them were silent for a long time. K sighed. “We’re going to be commissioning a new starships soon. The first in a new class of ships, the Galaxy Class starship.”
“I’ve read the specs,” Cheyon said. “It’s the most advanced platform for deep space scientific research ever assembled.”
“One of these days, we’re going to improve ourselves right out of a job,” McCoy said. “Medical programs can do about anything. All they need next is to put a holographic face on it and poof, no more doctors. At this rate, we might even return to unmanned space flight. Just send out ships with holographic crews. New ships. New gadgets. What’s happening to our humanity?”
“It’s alive and well, thank you very much,” K said. “Every advance in technology frees us up from labor so we can devote more time to personal interest.”
“There’s nothing healthier than an honest days work,” McCoy said.
K chuckled and finished off his drink. “Here’s one for you. What happens when the holographic explorers we send out start coming back and demanding equal rights?”
“We’ll give them an apple and kick them out of the garden,” Cheyon said.
“What’s the first ship to be christened?” McCoy asked, changing the subject. He was pretty sure they didn’t want a lecture about how V’ger very nearly destroyed Earth looking for its creator. He wondered how that baby was doing.
“We’ve boiled it down to two,” Cheyon said. “It’ll either be the Constitution, or the Enterprise. I thought the three of us could decide that today.”
“I’m a bit biased,” McCoy admitted.
“No,” K said, his voice rich with sarcasm. “Not you.”
Cheyon and K clicked glasses, counting coup.
“Personally, after loosing the Enterprise C, I think we should give that name a rest,” Cheyon said. “Besides, every time we christen a ship Enterprise, the crew goes out of its way to top all the previous set records, and I hate putting that much stress on our personnel.”
“Nothing healthier than a little competition,” McCoy said. “It gives people something to aspire to.”
K grunted. “You’re a dreamer, McCoy. These grunts today aren’t half as strong and determined as we were.”
“My grandfather made the same observations about my father’s generation, as did my father about my generation,” McCoy said. “If this were a true trend, one would have expected the human race to be extinct by now.”
“Come on, McCoy. Even you have to admit that there is a human tendency for being spoiled when all your wants and needs are instantly gratified through replicator and holographic technologies,” K said. “The only thing these youths know is how to play simulations on a holo-grid, and they’re going to start putting these things on starships!”
“You saying there’s no hope for us?” McCoy asked.
“There’s always hope,” Cheyon said.
The meeting concluded, they said their farewells, and McCoy cleaned up after his guest, washing the glasses and plates by hand. He was in the process of drying his hands when the door chime rang. He went to the door and found the classic figure of death standing on the other side, a humanoid in a hooded robe. McCoy knew who it was before the stranger even dropped the hood.
“Are you death, or just a wandering Vulcan?” McCoy asked. “Spock! You old devil, you, get in here. How have you been?”
“I received a message that you wished to see me,” Spock said.
“A message?” McCoy asked.
“It said urgent,” Spock said.
“Urgent?” McCoy repeated and then he realized. “Spock, you’re just now responding to a message I sent nearly two years ago?”
“One year, nine months, and…”
“Would you please come in,” McCoy said.
Spock entered and McCoy closed the door behind him.
“Can I get you something to drink?” McCoy asked.
“Yes. Water would be nice,” Spock said.
McCoy did a double take. “You usually turn my hospitality down. Are you well, Spock?”
“Yes, Doctor, I am quite well,” Spock said. “And though I have treated your generosity in the past as if they were merely social conventions, I do recognize your sincerity in welcoming me to your home. That, and I am thirsty.”
McCoy actually laughed. “You’re developing a since of humor, after all these years.”
“I see no need to insult me, Doctor,” Spock said.
“Go in and make your self comfortable,” McCoy said. “Would you like something to eat?”
“Simply water for now, thank you,” Spock said.
Spock moved into the living area, inspecting the room. A holographic fire illuminated the fireplace, but gave off no true heat. Above the mantel was the Vulcan lute Spock had given Uhura. He was touching it as McCoy entered.
“She willed it to me,” McCoy said. “With a little note to remember to let more music into my life.”
Spock nodded, drank from the glass McCoy presented him, and then took a seat. He stared at the fake fire, part of him accepting the illusion, even though he could discern that the artificial crackling cycled through a loop, instead of being random noise.
“You and I are pretty much the only ones left,” McCoy said, sitting down. “We never did find out what happened to Scotty.”
“It is logical to suspect that Scotty has passed on,” Spock said.
“Well, there’s always hope,” McCoy said. “But, I bet you didn’t come all this way for a family reunion and gossip.”
“Indeed,” Spock said. “I apologize for not coming sooner, but I have been out of touch, and when I found your message in the que, its cryptic nature didn’t leave much in the way of explaining your need. Can I assume it was about Uhura?”
“No,” McCoy said. “I wasn’t on earth when she passed. But I suspect, given the time between when I wrote you and you received it, you are not here because of the message I sent.”
“You are becoming more logical as you advance in age,” Spock observed.
“And hanging out with Vulcans hasn’t helped,” McCoy said. Before Spock could respond to the quip, McCoy asked, “So, why are you here?”
Spock removed a PADD from a pocket in his robe, activated it, and handed it to McCoy. McCoy frowned, picked his reading glasses up from the table and examined the information.
“Another Aeneid,” McCoy read the title. “What is this? A lesson in mythology?”
“It is a modern rendition of this ancient story,” Spock said. “It is set in the 23rd century.”
“It’s been a long time since I’ve been in elementary school, Spock. So, why don’t you skip to the point you’re trying to make?”
“The original story, written in Latin, was about an archetype, Aneas who embodies the ideal Roman ethic, and will establish Rome itself. Another character, Queen Dido, is a woman ahead of her time, and is in love with Aneas. In order for Rome to come into being, Queen Dido must die. In this adaptation, Captain Kirk is Aneas, and Edith Keeler is Queen Dido. In order for the Federation to exist, Edith Keeler must die.”
McCoy sat his glasses down, surprised by how much sorrow that statement had evoked in him. To this day, he still regretted not being permitted to save Edith. “Why are you bringing this to me?”
“The story is about our situation. This is what happened to us,” Spock said.
“So?” McCoy said. “It isn’t as if people haven’t read our reports and turned some of those events into dramatizations.”
“Normally I would agree with you, Doctor,” Spock said. “Except for the fact that the person who wrote this has access to a great number of details which are not known to the public. Indeed, some of these details are only known to you and me.”
“What? Are you accusing me of selling our secrets?”
“No,” Spock said. “I am merely trying to understand this mystery. You could not have written this, for it was written in Latin, in classical verse. The person who wrote this is clearly a genius, his subject matter not withstanding.”
“Perhaps he just got lucky with details through being creative,” McCoy offered.
“I would have agreed with that speculation, had I not read the other stories available from this author,” Spock said. “Everything he has written is available on the Inter Stellar Net, and his last book just made the Federation’s number one list, drawing over one billion downloads.”
“Let me guess, it’s about us?”
“Yes,” Spock said. “It is titled, a Secret Little War.”
McCoy leaned forward, thinking back to his meeting with Admiral K and Cheyon. “It’s about the Kelvan?”
“You have read it?” Spock asked.
“No,” McCoy said, feeling somewhat annoyed by this discovery.
“It is written as fiction, the genre of horror,” Spock said. “And, indeed, if people were aware of just how many facts in this book are accurate, I suspect there would be pandemonium.”
“Facts like what?” McCoy asked.
“Facts like, the real reason behind the Kelvan leaving their home galaxy,” Spock said.
“Because of the radiation spreading throughout their galaxy, making life as they know it impossible,” McCoy said.
“More specifically, the fact that it is not a natural event, but rather a series of event created by a race who chose to commit suicide rather than be enslaved by the Kelvan,” Spock said. “This race created a type of doomsday machine that would travel about causing stars to go nova, consequently spreading the lethal radiation through out their galaxy. The fact the machine was first set off in the center of their galaxy where the stars were more abundant only exasperated the problem to the point where all life forms would be extinguished.”
“Dear god, this is fiction, right?” McCoy asked.
“Based on the number of facts and details that I know to be accurate, I can only speculate as to the nature of this suicidal race and the potential for its accuracy. At this point, I can neither confirm nor deny their existence. It would, however, explain some of the inconsistencies in the story the Kelvans gave us,” Spock said.
“So, we need to go talk to this author,” McCoy said.
“That was my intention. However, I have only been able to ascertain the author’s name. All other relevant information is restricted, which suggests to me that either the author is so reclusive that he has barred the computer from forwarding mail to him, or the computer recognizes the author as a minor, consequently limiting who has access to his personal information,” Spock said.
“Tammas Parkin Arblaster Garcia,” McCoy said.
Spock raised an eyebrow. “You have read his books?”
“No,” McCoy said.
Spock waited patiently for McCoy to explain himself. McCoy asked the computer to play a video file he recently received in the mail. A display beside the Vulcan lute activated. The video was of a young boy pretending to conduct an orchestra, which McCoy found rather humorous. The boy appeared not to be aware that his performance was being recorded. The music was the 1812 Overture and when the kid would stop conducting, the music stopped. During the interludes when the music stopped, the boy seemed to be scolding an offending section or musician. The scolding was silent, for the boy didn’t speak but simply adopted body postures that suggested he was a bit authoritarian in his manner. After he was satisfied with the correction, he would start conducting again and the music returned.
“Tammas Garcia, I presume,” Spock said.
“Yes, his parents sent me this to show me how much he loves music,” McCoy said. “He’s a musical genius, can play just about every instrument, and when he’s not practicing, he enjoys pretending to be a conductor.”
“Doctor,” Spock said. “Your lack of appreciation for the musical arts has blinded you to the fact that he is not pretending. Indeed, he is obviously running a very sophisticated musical simulation that requires a conductor to correct and improve the performance of the individual instruments and various sections. Computer, restart video from the beginning. The untrained ear, such as yours, doesn’t hear that the percussions are out of sync by not quite a fraction of a beat. He catches it three beats into this measure, stops the rehearsal, and corrects the issues by means I am not sure how, yet. Only then does he return to the music.”
“You’re telling me this is not pretend?” McCoy asked.
Spock stood up and approached the monitor. The boy had turned enough to reveal facial features. “Computer, freeze video. Increase magnification.” The image of Tammas’s head revealed a slight kink in the boy’s ear. “He is multi-special,” Spock observed.
“Biologically speaking, he’s one quarter Vulcan, three quarters human,” McCoy said. “Mentally, he may be part Kelvan, but it’s proven impossible to measure.”
“He looks familiar,” Spock said.
“He should,” McCoy said dryly. He then revealed to Spock the boy’s lineage, his medical history, and his plight.
Spock digested all the information without interrupting McCoy and when McCoy finished, he remained silent. “So, what’s going through that Vulcan brain of yours?” McCoy asked.
“It is imperative that I meet with Tammas,” Spock said.
“Now, just a dog-gone moment, Spock. I didn’t arrange for him to have a family just so we could go popping in there every time you and I get the urge play parents,” McCoy said. “Not to mention, the risk of blowing his cover.”
“I suspect, since he is publishing fiction of such caliber on the Inter Stellar Net, his cover was blown some time ago,” Spock said. “None the less, I believe I know why he seems incapable of speech, and if I am right, his mental health is at risk. To confirm my suspicions, I must meet with him, in person. If I am right, this will explain how it is he seems to know so much about our lives.”
“A mind meld?” McCoy asked.
“Telepathy, Doctor,” Spock said.
“Damn, I’m getting too old. Why didn’t I think of this?” McCoy said, coming to the edge of his seat.
“The same reason none of your recommended specialists did not see it,” Spock said. “Humans are simply not use to dealing with telepaths. Even when it is right in front of your face, you deny it as magical thinking. No doubt you personally assumed since not all of his Vulcan genes were active, he was not likely to be a telepath.”
McCoy actually slouched. “I’m sorry, Spock. I’ve really made a mess of this.”
Spock put a hand on his shoulder. “You are my friend, Doctor, and I find no fault with how this was handled. You were, after all, looking out for his well-being. None the less, we need to ascertain whether or not my suspicions are accurate and address the situation.”
“I will be reluctant to relocate Tammas,” McCoy said.
“A telepath needs to be raised with fellow telepaths,” Spock said. “However, until we ascertain the level of damage, if there is any, we need not worry about what steps must be taken to correct it.”
“We’ll need an excuse to pay a visit,” McCoy said, looking up to his friend.
Spock looked to the boy on the frozen image.
“If I am not mistaken, the High Counsel will be meeting in four weeks,” Spock said.
“And we are both honored members,” McCoy said. “I could arrange passage for us.”
“I believe the USS Fearless is available,” Spock said. “If we left tomorrow, we could arrive in time to be a part of the High Counsel session.”
The chime to the front door of the Garcia’s house was a quiet little tone, easily lost amongst the nebulous sounds of the piano. When it rang the first time, Tammas paused in the Debussy piece he was playing, waited, and then started the musical phrase over again. The door chime rang again and this time he stopped and stared at the door.
Natalia came out of the kitchen and headed towards the door. She seemed a bit cross when she looked at Tammas as she passed through the living room. “You can answer the door, you know,” she scolded.
Natalia pushed the button that unlocked the door, a little green light came on, and the door slid open to reveal Admiral McCoy standing on the other side. She immediately fell to hugging and kissing on him, even as he protested, and was so overwhelmed with her emotions that she didn’t immediately realize there was another person behind him. She became aware of the other person as he folded the hood back to reveal his face. She stepped back, wiped a tear from her eye, and then nearly fainted as she recognized the stranger. McCoy grabbed her arm as if to support her and when she found her strength returning in abundance, she had to resist her urge to hug McCoy’s companion.
“Damn it, Spock, how many times do I have to tell you not to scare people like that,” McCoy said.
“I’m sorry, Doctor Garcia. It was not my intention to alarm you,” Spock said.
Natalia tried her best to appear serious, as she raised her hand in a traditional Vulcan greeting.
“Ambassador Spock,” Natalia said. “It is a great honor to have you here at my home. Would you both please come in? Make yourselves comfortable in the living room.”
As they entered, Tammas stood up, staring hard at McCoy with concern. Natalia screamed for Jovet. Jovet came rushing up the stairs, yelling, “what?” with a look of disgust painted on her face that melted the moment she saw McCoy. She rushed to him and hugged him, her arms falling just above the waste.
“Uncle Bones, Uncle Bones…” she cried, all but ignoring Spock.
Natalia, meanwhile, had maneuvered to the table where she had left her PADD and placed a call to Juan. His face appeared just as he was turning to focus on his own monitor. She could see, judging by his face, that he was busy, but she didn’t care.
“Hey, honey, can I call you back?” he asked, looking up from his work.
“No!” Natalia answered, with an air of emergency. “I need you home, now. Use the transporter.”
“But…” Juan tried.
“Now!” Natalia said, disconnecting the link.
“That really isn’t necessary,” McCoy began, noticing what she was doing, even as he made himself at home on the couch, Jovet clinging to him like a conjoined twin.
It only took Juan a moment to step into the company transporter alcove, and from there, his trip took the amount of time it would take light to travel up to a relay satellite and bounce back down to his home coordinates. The golden, whispering lights faded leaving Juan a solid lone figure in the small space designated for transport use. He was about to yell what was up when he saw Admiral McCoy sitting on the couch with Jovet, and behind the couch, standing, was Ambassador Spock. Ambassador Spock was petting Darsam who was standing on the back of the couch. Natalia entered the living room with refreshments.
“What took you so long?” she asked Juan under her breath, no hint of humor in her voice, and a scolding look she shot directly to him. She quickly turned a welcoming, warm smile to Spock. “Please, Spock, will you sit down?”
Spock came slowly around the couch, moving as if each step required deliberate thought, or perhaps a blessing, turned, and sat on the edge of the couch. Darsam immediately went to the couch and then to Spock’s lap, where Spock continued to stroke the animal in a rhythmic pattern. Other than the petting of the cat, and an extreme sense of peace emanating from his presence, his strict posture might have indicated an urgency to leave. Jovet found herself in between Spock and McCoy. Though she knew Spock, because he, too, was on the counsel, and had occasionally visited before, she hadn’t established the rapport with him as she had with McCoy. Plus, she heard it was tabu to touch Vulcans without their permission and she was very inclined to honor that, but mostly out of a superstitious belief she had created. She feared that if she touched him he would instantly know all her secrets.
“And this year, at the beach festival, I’m entered in the model rocket contest,” Jovet was saying to McCoy. “I have a great design for a class two rocket. I can show you the plans if you want. Will you be at the festival? Please, please…”
“Honey, Uncle Bones is a busy man,” Juan said.
“I will endeavor to be at the festival this year,” McCoy said.
“Yes!” Jovet said, leaning harder into McCoy.
After Natalia set the refreshments in front of McCoy and Spock, she sat down in a chair near her husband. Tammas pushed himself into the same chair as Natalia, keeping a wary eye on McCoy. The conversation started with the usual inquiries about health and people they mutually knew. McCoy finally directed the conversation to Tammas.
“Oh, he’s doing well,” Natalia said. “We’ve learned to communicate with him through Morse Code. Tammas, why don’t you get your PADD and Code something to Uncle Bones and Ambassador Spock. Or better, play something on the piano for them. He’s proven to be such a musical genius…”
“He’s a trouble maker,” Jovet interrupted. “He keeps figuring out my codes and coming in my room. I don’t have any privacy and he’s always playing loud music, or using up all the bandwidth on the IS-Net.”
“Jovet,” Natalia interrupted her.
“It’s true!” Jovet said. “He’s in this Morse Code club, for the preservation of code and the proliferation of amateur subspace radio, and it just eats up all the bandwidth.”
“Jovet,” Natalia said, her voice a little quieter. Jovet frowned, but otherwise fell silent.
“Are Tammas’s dietary supplements working out?” McCoy asked.
“Yeah,” Natalia said, running her hand through Tammas’s hair. “But I’ve had to add a few things. I’m giving him some anti-depressant herbs, to counteract his tendency towards obsessive-compulsive disorder, and some synthetic proteins. The herbs don’t seem to be doing anything, though. The synthetic proteins are because we just can’t get him to eat any fresh meats. Once we had some range chickens and after Juan butchered one for dinner, Tammas relocated the remaining chickens to his secret cave hideout.”
While this conversation was going on, Spock had been observing Tammas. Though McCoy had told Spock that the boy was, biologically speaking, Spock’s great grandson, due to the Kelvan’s stealing his genetic code and using it to their own ends, the possibility that Tammas had acquired any latent telepathic abilities were slim, considering Spock wasn’t a full telepath. Spock watched as the boy tried desperately to get some answers from Natalia, but she wasn’t hearing him. He would push his hand against her chin, and she would gently redirect it. She finally held both of his hands still. Tammas tried to sit closer to her. He was all but shouting and Spock knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that Tammas was indeed a telepath. He could hear Tammas just as plain as he could hear the conversation between Natalia and McCoy.
Tammas’s pleas went, “Mom, he hasn’t come to take me away again, has he? I don’t want to leave here. Mom? Listen to me! I’m going to build a rocket, too, Jovet. Have you forgotten? I don’t want to play the Morse Code game. Juan, why are they here? It’s no secret, Jovet. You told me your pass code. Star wants to be in on the conversation, do you want me to open the comm. system?” In between his attempts to get through to his family, fragments of music would leak through his thoughts. One particular musical phrase kept repeating and he would talk back to it, saying, “Not now,” or, “Please, I’m trying to talk,” and then after a moment he would be aware that he was mentally humming it again, and cry, “Ahh, I hate that tune!” and would then focus on another melody until the old one was replaced. “The Laughing Vulcan and his Dog,” was the tune he was trying to suppress and he hated it even more than “The Old Grey Mare.”
Spock decided to transmit a thought. “Tammas, can you hear me?”
“Yes, I can hear you,” Tammas answered. “What, do you think I’m deaf?”
“I am glad you can hear me. My name is Spock,” Spock informed him.
Tammas’s eyes broke away from McCoy’s face and locked onto Spock’s eyes. He froze. He squeezed Natalia’s hand so hard that she made a noise.
“Tammas, please. We have guest. Now, stop that,” Natalia warned him.
Jovet stuck her tongue out at him.
“Do not be alarmed,” Spock told Tammas.
“You are not going to demand I play the Morse Code game to speak with you?” Tammas asked.
“We do not require that game to communicate,” Spock said.
“This is much easier,” Tammas said. “Even easier than the spelling game, or the hand sign games. I especially hate the hand sign game. They look so angry when they gesture. It’s very loud.”
“Why do you think the others require the games to communicate?” Spock asked.
“Because they are very strict. I think it is necessary for them to be strict because I am not their biological son,” Tammas explained. “You know, like in the fairy tale where the orphans are always required to perform menial tasks. It is for my own good.”
“I believe there is another explanation,” Spock said.
“I thought maybe they were deaf, but they hear and talk to Jovet,” Tammas said. “It is right that they do this. Jovet is Natalia’s child and she has to respond to her. I am not her child, so I must work. That is the way of the universe.”
“There is still another possibility,” Spock said.
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