Scotty Wearing His Family Kilt on Star Trek Tos

  STAR Trek

Pocket Books

A Sectionalisation of Simon & Schuster, Inc.

1230 Artery of the Americas

New York, NY 10020

This volume is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 2009 past Paramount Pictures Corporation. © 2009 CBS Studios Inc.

STAR Expedition and related marks are trademarks of CBS Studios Inc. All Rights Reserved.

This book is published by Pocket Books, a division of Simon & Schuster, Inc., under exclusive license from CBS Studios Inc.

All rights reserved, including the correct to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever. For information address Pocket Books Subsidiary Rights Department, 1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020.

POCKET and colophon are registered trademarks of Simon & Schuster, Inc.

ISBN-13: 978-ane-4391-6339-9

ISBN-10: 1-4391-6339-ane

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STAR Expedition

Contents

I

II

III

Iv

V

VI

VII

Viii

IX

X

Eleven

XII

Xiii

Fourteen

XV

16

XVII

Eighteen

EPILOGUE

I

The star was a supergiant and very old. Over billions of years the forces that had powered it throughout its long life had finally exhausted themselves. At present it was falling in upon itself. The cataclysmic gravitational collapse triggered the spectacular explosion known every bit a supernova. What was left at the cadre of the supergiant was a neutron star, cold and dumbo and dead. Everything else was diddled outward, creating a brilliantly glowing stupor wave traveling at nearly a tenth the speed of calorie-free that swept up everything in its path. For a day or two this supernova remnant would shine more than brightly than any other corner of the milky way. A star had died.

Elsewhere in the cosmos, in an unremarkable corner of one galactic arm, a child was born. Such is the balance of existence.

Though his inflow was considerably less dramatic than the passing of the supergiant, information technology was in its own way no less remarkable. As some stars have unusual origins, so also did the squalling infant. At the moment this was not a concern of the pair of medical specialists who were attending the delivery. Reflecting likewise equally honoring their own ancient culture, the actual birthing was a combination of the traditional and the ultramodern. The former ensured that the occasion would be memorable for the female parent while the latter precluded whatever possibility of miscarriage. Though they had overseen hundreds of birthings, the medical team in attendance was especially focused on the one that was taking place this morning time. This was non because the male parent happened to be of high status and held various important positions inside the government.

It was because the mother—was different.

As she cleaned the newborn, the older of the two specialists noted the babe's steady breathing as well as the force with which he kicked. His occasional squalling rose above the soft traditional music that filled the room.

"He is strong, this one."

Advisedly she passed it to the female parent. Every bit she took her offspring in her arms, tears appeared at the corners of her optics and began to trickle downwards her polish cheeks.

"Hi," she whispered to her child.

Taking her superior aside, the younger specialist murmured softly as she studied the tender bonding—and the peculiar weeping.

"The infant is salubrious. Why does she cry?"

The older woman replied, as if information technology explained everything, "She is human."

It did explain everything.

A distant buzz caused both of them to turn. "Sarek arrives," the senior of the ii specialists observed.

His animate was labored from the haste with which he had traveled, but Sarek remained completely under control. In other words, for a new Vulcan father, he was normal. Though he regarded the wearied mother of their child without smiling, the pride and affection he felt shone clearly in his face.

Though they betrayed no emotion, all the attendants in the room strained for a better look. Details of the pregnancy and subsequent delivery were inappreciably conventional and the attendants' marvel was understandable.

As her respiration returned to normal, Amanda Grayson regarded her newborn proudly. Though she was the just human in the delivery chamber, she did not feel isolated or solitary. It was a state of diplomacy to which she had grown accustomed and one that she had willingly embraced. Besides, she was hardly alone. Sarek was there. Her husband was there.

And about time, too.

Pushing back his hood, Sarek approached the bed and knelt beside information technology. Having completed her duties, the medical specialist stepped back to let the parents their outset moment together as a complete family. Like her companions, the specialist said nothing. It was not her job to comment on the singular circumstances of the birth and certainly non the time to do so. Her task and those of her assembly was to bring newborns safely into the world. This they had done, with skill and precision and caring. Any personal opinions they might agree they kept entirely individual. To do otherwise would have been…impolitic.

Sarek knelt beside the bed. Abreast his married woman and kid.

"Well done."

Through the joy and pain she however managed a sardonic respond.

"Cheers."

The awkwardness of the moment caused him to momentarily look abroad.

"Your tone suggests disappointment. I fully sympathize. To exist absent at the critical moment was non my wish. The Science Quango required my presence for a session regarding…"

She interrupted him. "Don't practise that. You knew I wanted y'all here."

Catching the two birthing specialists exchanging a look, Sarek threw them i of his own that acquired both of them to hurriedly excuse themselves. Reaching across to a small-scale touchpad, he slid ane finger across the pressure-sensitive surface. The music that had filled the birthing chamber ceased.

"As you are aware, the Vulcan male person is traditionally not nowadays at the moment of delivery."

She was non mollified. "Well, traditionally I'yard the one giving nativity. I moved hither, to another planet, to be with you lot. I need you to be with me today. Holding my paw and telling me I'm doing peachy, even when I'k just—breathing the best I can."

For a long moment it was silent in the bedroom save for the baby'southward burbling and soft crying. Then Sarek moved as close to the bed as possible, equally close to his wife as possible, and lowered his vocalization.

"You lot are correct. Our dear has already proven itself stronger than tradition. I should accept been hither. I am sorry."

The grin that bankrupt out on her confront was radiant. Using her free hand she pulled him to her, and they kissed. Together, they contemplated the wonder they had brought into the world.

"Look—await at our boy. He'south so beautiful…."

"I had a thought," Sarek began.

"You lot often do." Her smile widened.

Even for a homo, she was incorrigible, he thought fondly. "I thought we might name the child subsequently one of our respected early on lodge-builders. His proper noun was Spock."

Regarding her hitting northward

ewborn, Amanda pondered the suggestion until Sarek began to stir uneasily.

"Your silence does not suggest overwhelming enthusiasm."

"No…" She hesitated a moment longer and and so her grinning returned. Reaching out, she lightly touched the baby'southward olfactory organ. "Spock. It's fine. Information technology's a proficient name. 'Spock.'"

"The child has your eyes," her hubby murmured lovingly.

Reaching over, she advisedly pulled aside the upper swaddling. Ane forefinger pushed gently at a withal-curled ear until information technology unfurled similar a tiny flower—a flower that was pink and pointed.

"And your ears," she added affectionately.

The UsaS. Kelvin was not alone. That bothered Helm Pierre Robau most equally much as the fact that it was presently sharing this role of Federation space with an every bit-however-unidentified intruder. Judging by his expression, Lieutenant Pitts was even more troubled; the other officer was conspicuously unsettled. Whether by something that was thus far inexplicable or something else, Robau could not tell.

Well, they should take some answers presently enough.

Even though Pitts had little of substance to say, he couldn't cease talking. Robau chose non to upbraid his subordinate. When excitement slammed upwardly against concern, information technology was best whenever possible to allow those submerged in the resultant mix the opportunity to vent. That way when an actual crisis did manifest itself, reason would have a ameliorate take chances of supplanting emotion.

"…We don't know why our sensors didn't detect the anomaly earlier. It doesn't make any sense, since its gravitational reading's off the charts. We should have picked it up at much greater range than we did. Our people are going crazy trying to classify it, an…"

Pitts's exposition continued as the lift doors parted to acknowledge both men to the Kelvin's span. No one at that place was taking their ease. Some were moving quickly from one station to another to check readouts or confer with their colleagues. Everywhere, hands and optics were in constant movement. Old reports were beingness processed and new queries initiated.

One twenty-four hours, Robau told himself, we'll be able to practise away completely with the primitive inputting of information via repeated digital impression and just talk to a ship's central information processing organisation about everything. But not yet. Vocalisation recognition applied science was fine for handling basic ship operations, only non for handling the immense complexities involved in directing the more intricate activities of a starship. A control wrongly interpreted past a toaster might result in burnt toast. A command wrongly interpreted by a starship every bit powerful every bit the Kelvin might result in consequences rather more serious. Starfleet was working on the problem, he knew, and such technology was improving past the day. For example, in that location was a new ship under structure that…

It wasn't his ship, he reminded himself as he approached the Kelvin's offset officeholder. Whatever they were facing, they would have to make do with existing engineering science.

"Study."

"Readings show gravitational distortions on an astronomic scale, Helm, but nosotros tin can't localize the source. I know that's contradictory, but the anomaly is irregular and—I don't know how else to say information technology—all over the place. We're still trying to identify a nexus and—" He broke off every bit his instruments demanded his attention. "Sir, new contact, bearing cipher-three-four."

An alarm began to sound throughout the bridge and the residual of the transport. Proximity alarm, Robau knew. But proximate to what? How could the Kelvin's sensors exist overwhelmed by a gravitational distortion they couldn't pinpoint?

Glancing in Robau's management, the helmsman imparted information that was as well an opinion. "Captain, we're a full light-yr outside the Klingon Neutral Zone. Unless this is another of their probes or provocations, it doesn't seem reasonable the distortion would take anything to do with the Empire."

Budgeted the helm, Robau directed his attending to the screen that showed the view from the forward sensors. There was zippo to be seen in that location but star field. However unless the Kelvin'due south instrumentation had been impossibly compromised or had otherwise suffered a massive failure of indeterminate cause, something was out there. Something imposing. And according to the sensors, not nearly as far distant as the readings suggested it ought to be.

"Could the bibelot be reflecting the presence of a new blazon of ship drive?"

"If information technology is originating from a vessel, then information technology's not Klingon, sir." The first officer was very certain. "The distortion that's existence generated doesn't match any recorded profile."

"As I said—something new, and so." Robau connected to study the forward view.

"Something dissimilar, anyhow," the scientific discipline officer murmured under his breath as he scrutinized his own instruments.

"At that place!" It was the communications chief who spoke first.

Ahead of the Kelvin a gigantic ring of free energy flared explosively to life. To many it looked similar a lightning tempest in space. That in itself would accept been enough to depict the attention of everyone on the bridge. But the dazzling disruption of otherwise empty space was not what stock-still the gaze of all who were present. Their attention was focused on the shape that was materializing from the center of the anomaly.

"Is that," the science officeholder whispered in awe, "a ship?"

Someone—or something'due south—idea of a ship continued to sally from the precise center of the circular gravitational distortion. And continued to sally. An immense construct of paralyzed geometry rendered solid in metal and composite and materials the Kelvin'due south sensors could non fully explain, it completely dwarfed the Federation vessel. Staring at it, the science officer was put in heed of a gigantic mutated squid that had been unable to terminate itself from growing more and more than tentacles than it needed. In vast sweeping curves of night material lit only intermittently by internal illumination, these "arms" curved toward the tiny Kelvin equally if reaching out to grab the much smaller ship.

"It looks," the science officeholder alleged, "as if whoever designed it couldn't stop building. I've been in a couple of historical structures similar that, where the owners just kept adding room after room without any thought as to whether or not they were needed or would ever be utilized." He nodded in the management of the forwards viewscreen. "I don't know what it is or where it came from, simply if it'south Klingon I'll eat a d'grand tahg points first."

While impressed by the intruder'south immensity, Robau was more concerned with its purpose. "Are they transmitting anything? On whatsoever frequency?"

Gazing at his console, the communications chief shook his head. "Negative, Captain. All hails meet with silence. Equally nigh as I tin can tell, they're non even talking to themselves."

As well quiet, Robau thought uneasily. Whoever was behind annihilation that large ought to have something to say. And the vessel, if that was indeed what it was, was showing too much internal illumination to suggest it might be a ghost send. Was its crew even now studying the Kelvin and thinking similar thoughts? It was hard to formulate whatsoever reasonable assumptions, given the paucity of data. Just as it was difficult to decide how to answer to the intruder's continuing silence.

"Keep hailing them. Yous're sure at that place'southward nil on the registry at all, not even speculation near an experimental arts and crafts of this size?"

"No, sir," replied the get-go officer.

Robau understood that putting up shields could be interpreted every bit a hostile gesture. But doing nothing could be a fatal i.

"Go to Yellowish Alert, shields upward."

"Shields up, yeah, sir!" As the tactical officer inputted the control, the relevant telltales on the bridge responded accordingly. Throughout the Kelvin meals were abased, conversations terminated, and amusement venues both general and private automatically shut down as the crew scrambled to battle stations.

The communications officer's frustration was articulate in his phonation. "Captain, they're even so not responding to our hails. Fifty-fifty if in that location's a language trouble, they ought to admit our abstracts."

Once once again Robau considered the possibility t

hat they were confronting a ghost ship. But if that was the example, then why had it emerged then about to them from the depths of the gravitational anomaly? Coincidence? Had the craft possessed a functioning crew on the other side of the anomaly that had merely just this moment gone silent?

"Maybe they can't," he hypothesized. "I know information technology's a radical configuration we're looking at, but I'd all the same recollect our sensors could discern any identifiable damage. Temper bleed, excessive radiation discharge, visible hull violation—something to indicate that they're disabled."

The showtime officeholder was quick to shoot down the possibility. "Negative. It may exist distinctively peculiar, sir, but information technology appears to exist intact."

Robau looked toward Pitts. "Lieutenant, signal all departments and add a special alert to scientific discipline detail. First contact protocols to be initiated. We might have someone new on the block."

Pitts nodded his comprehension. "Should we initiate a scan?"

Despite his desperate want to know more than about who or what they were confronting, Robau did not have to ponder the officer's question. He replied immediately.

"No. Could be seen as an human action of farther provocation. That they oasis't responded in a hostile style to us raising our shields is a positive sign. Let's build on that." He nodded toward the helmsman. "Take u.s.a. in for a closer look—prissy and dull. Passive scans only. No maneuvers that could be interpreted as aggressive."

Slowly and on impulse ability the Kelvin began to approach the gargantuan creation. Given the continuing lack of information, no one could even exist certain as yet that the visitor was a ship. For all they knew at this bespeak, it might be a comatose inorganic life-form. Despite himself the science officer again had visions of reaching tentacles.

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