STAR TREK - TOS - 17 - Star Trek III - The Search For Spock ·

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SEARCH FOR SPOCK
BY
VONDA MCINTYRE
Paramount Pictures Presents a Harve
Bennett Production
STAR TREKS iii THE SEARCH FOR
SPOCK Starring WILLIAM SHATNER DEFOREST
KELLEY Co-Starring
JAMES DOOHAN GEORGE TAKEI
WALTER KOENIG NICHELLE NICHOLS
MERRITT BUTRICK CHRISTOPHER LLOYD
Executive Consultant GENE RODDENBERRY
Music by JAMES HORNER
, Executive Producer GARY
NARDINO
Visual Effects by INDUSTRIAL LIGHT and
MAGIC
Based on STAR TREK Created by GENE
RODDENBERRY Written and Produced by HARVE
BENN-THAT I I Directed by LEONARD NIMOY
Read the novel from POCKET BOOKS DOLBY
MPAA PANAVISION tilde A Paramount
Picture Copyright at were MCMLGGOOGGIV
by Paramount Pictures Corporation All rights
reserved STAR TREK is a registered trademark
of Paramount Pictures Corporation THE
SERR-THave FOR SPOLK Uonen n.m tilde 'm
tilde RE R BARR BELL NOUEI
PUBLISHED BY POCKET BOOKS NEW
YORK Distributed in Canada by PaperJacks
Ltd., a Licensee of the trademarks of Simon
and Schuster, Inc. This novel is a work of fiction.
Names, characters, places and incidents are either the
product of the author's imagination or are used
fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual
events or locales or persons, living or dead,
is entirely coincidental.
Another Original publication of POCKET
BOOKS
POCKET BOOKS, a division cf. Simon
and Schuster, Inc. J 1230 Avenue of the
Americas, New York, N.y. 10020
(tilde In Canada distributed by Paperbacks
Ltd., cow 330 Steeicase Road, Markham,
Ontario
Copyright 01984 by Paramount Pictures
Corporation. All Righh Reserved.
All rights reserved, including the right
to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form
whatsoever. For information address Pocket Books,
1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York,
N.y. 10020
This Book Is Published By Pocket
Books, A Division Of Simon and Schuster,
Inc., Under Exclusive License From Paramount
Pictures Corporation, The Trademark Owner.
ISBN 0-671-49500-3 First Pocket
Books Science Fiction printing June, 1984
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
POCKET and colophon are registered
trademarks of Simon and Schuster, Inc.
STAR TREK. Is A Trademark Of
Paramount Pictures Corporation Registered In
the U.s. Patent and Trademark Office.
Printed in Canada
.
tilde betilde THE BERRY 5PO[N
Chapter 1
Spock was dead.
The company of the Enterprtse gathered together on the
recreation deck to remember their friend.
Dr. Leonard McCoy, ship's surgeon,
moved half a pace into the circle. As he raised
his glass in a final toast, he glanced at each of
his compatriots in turn.
Admiral James Kirk and Dr. Carol
Marcus stood on either side of Carol's grown
son, David Marcus. David was Jim's son,
as well, unknown until now, but now acknowledged.
Commander Uhura, Chief Engineer Montgomery
Scott, Commander Pavel Chekov, and Hikaru
Sulu, recently promoted to captain, had
clustered together along one arc of the circle. Every
member of the ship's company showed the strain of the harrowing
past few days, except Lieutenant Saavik.
Her Vulcan training required her to be
imperturbable, and so she appeared. If her
Romulan upbringing gave her the capacity to feel
STAR TREK 111
grief or loss or anger at the death of
Spock, her teacher, McCoy could see no shadow
of the emotions.
McCoy had known the rest of the ship's company, the
trainees, only a short time, not even long enough
to learn their names. He knew for sure only that they
were terribly young.
"To Spock," McCoy said. "He gave his
life for ours."
"To Spock," they replied in unison, except
for Jim, who brought his attention back to the ship from
some other time, some other place, a thousand
light-years distant.
A moment after the others had spoken, he said,
"To Spock."
Everyone else drank. McCoy put his glass
to his lips. The pungent odor of Kentucky
bourbon rose around his face. He grimaced. The
liquor was raw and new, straight out of the ship's
synthesiser. He had nothing better. The Enterpr
tilde se's mission had been an emergency, an
unexpected voyage into tragedy, and Leonard
McCoy had come most poorly prepared.
He lowered the drink without tasting it.
"To Peter," Montgomery Scott said.
His young nephew, Cadet Peter Preston, had
also died in the battle that took Spock's life.
Scott made as if to say more, could not get out the
words, and instead drained his glass in one gulp.
Again, McCoy could not bring himself to choke down any
liquor.
When all the glasses had been refilled,
David Marcus stepped forward.
"To our friends on Spacelab," he said.
McCoy pretended to drink. He felt as if the
alcohol fumes alone were making him drunk.
When no one else came forwardto propose a
toast, the quiet circle dissolved into small
groups. Almost everyone had begun to feel the effects
of the liquor, but the drinking was a futile effort
to numb their grief.
The Search For Spock
Whose stupid idea was it to have a wake, anyway?
McCoy wondered. Who thought this
would help? And then he remembered, Oh, right, it
was me and Scott.
He orbited the serving table. It gleamed with an
array of bottles. He picked one up, paying little
attention to what it was, and filled another
glass. McCoy and Scott had spent all day
preparing for the wake. The synthesiser had tried
to keep up with their programming, but it was badly
overloaded. Ethyl alcohol was a simple enough
chemical, but the congeners any decent liquor
required were foreign to the ship's data banks.
Everything smelled the same strong and rough.
Montgomery Scott beetled toward McCoy,
stopped, and gazed blankly at the table full of
half-emptied bottles. McCoy picked one at
random and handed it to the ships chief engineer.
"That's scotch," he said. "Or anyway,
close enough."
Scott's eyes were glazed with exhaustion and
grief.
"I recall a time, when the lad was nobbut a
bairn, that he. . ." Scott stopped, unable
to continue the story. "I recall a time when Mr.
Spock..." He stopped again and drank straight from
the bottle, choking on the first gulp, but swallowing and
swallowing again. Obsession and compulsion drove him.
He and McCoy had
planned the wake and insisted on holding it, though
it was foreign to the traditions of most of the people on board
and quite alien to the traditions of one of its
subjects.
"This isna helping, doctor," Scotty said.
"I canna bear it any longer."
McCoy climbed onto a chair. Looking
down, he hesitated. The deck lay
ridiculously far away and at a strange angle,
as if the artificial gravity had gone on the
blink. McCoy steadied himself and stepped up on the
table, placing his feet carefully between bottles bright
STAR TREK 111
with amber. Then he remembered an alien liquor
called "amber" by Earth people. He had not ordered it from
the synthesiser because it required the inclusion of an
alien insect to bring out its fullest flavor, like
wormwood in absinthe. McCoy felt vaguely
sick.
His foot brushed one of the bottles quite gently,
he thought and the bottle crashed onto its side. It
spun around and its contents gurgled out, spilling across
the table, splashing on the floor. McCoy ignored
it.
"This is a wake, not a funeral!" he said, then
stopped, confused. Somehow that sounded wrong. He
started again. "We're here to celebrate the lives of
our friends not to mourn their deaths!" Everyone was
looking at him. That bothered him until he thought,
Why did you get up on the table, if you didn't
want everyone to look at you?
"Grief," McCoy said slowly, "is not
logical."
"Bones," Jim Kirk said from below and slightly
behind him, "come down from there."
Even in his odd mental state, McCoy could
hear the edge in Kirk's voice. I backslash
venty years of friendship, and Kirk was still perfectly
capable of pulling rank. McCoy turned and
staggered. Jim grabbed his forearm and tightened his grip
more than necessary.
"Whatever possessed you to say such a thing?"
Kirk said angrily. Even the anger was
insufficient to hide the pain.
"Don't know what you mean," McCoy said.
Permitting Admiral Kirk to help him, he
stepped down from the table with careful dignity.
David Marcus had inherited his mother's tolerance
for alcohol. He had drunk several shots of some
concoction as powerful and as tasteless as everclear.
Despite a certain remoteness to his perceptions,
he felt
The Search For Spock
desperately sober. His hands remained
rock-steady, and his step was sure.
McCoy and Scott had insisted, cajoled,
ordered, and bullied until nearly the whole ship's
company congregated in the recreation hall for this
ridiculous wake. Alone or in pairs, people stood
scattered throughout the enormous chamber. Across the
room, Dr. McCoy and Admiral Kirk
exchanged words. Kirk looked both angry and
concerned. McCoy adopted a belligerent air.
They're both completely pickled, David
thought. Fixed like microscope slides. James
T. Kirk, hero of the galaxy, is drunk. My
illegitimate father is drunk.
David had not yet quite come to terms with the recent
revelation of his parentage.
"Dr. Marcus his
David started. He had been so deep in thought that
he had-not noticed Captain Sulu's approach.
"It'd probably be easier if everybody just
called me David," he said.
"David, then," Sulu said. "I understand that I
owe you some thanks."
David looked at him blankly.
"For saving my life?" Sulu said, with a
bit of a smile.
David blushed. He automatically glanced at
Sulu's hands, which had been badly seared by the
electrical shock from which David had revived him.
The artificial skin covering the burns glistened
slightly.
Sulu turned his hands palm-up. "This comes off
in a couple of days there won't even be any
scars."
"I almost killed you," David said.
'iWhat?"
"It's true I did resuscitation o n you.
It's also true that I did it wrong. I'd never
done it before. I'm not a medical doctor, I'm
only a biochemist."
"Nevertheless, I'm alive because of what you did.
STAR TREK 111
Whether you erred or not, you kept me from death or
brain damage."
"I still screwed up." Like I may have screwed
up everything I've done for the last two years,
David thought.
"It might not matter to you," Sulu said. "But it
makes some difference to me." He turned
away.
David blushed again, realising how churlish and
self-cantered he had sounded. "Captain . . .
uh . . ." He had no idea how to apologise.
Sulu stopped and faced David again.
"David," he said, carefully and kindly, "I
want to give you some advice. When we get back
to Earth, you and your mother are going to be the center of some
very concentrated attention. Some of it will be critical,
some of it will be flattering. At first you'll think the
abuse is the hardest thing to take. But after a while,
you'll see that handling compliments gracefully is an
order of magnitude more difficult." He paused.
David looked at the floor, then raised his
head and met Sulu's gaze.
"But I need to learn to do it?" David asked.
"Yes," Sulu said. "You do."
"I'm sorry," David said. "I really am
glad you're okay. I didn't mean to sound
indifferent. After they took you to sick bay I
realised I'd done the procedure wrong. I
didn't know if you'd make it."
"Dr. Chapel assures me that I'll make
it."
David noticed that Sulu avoided
mentioning McCoy, but thought better of saying so. He
had stuck his foot in his mouth far enough for one day.
"I'm glad I could do something," David said.
Sulu nodded and walked away. David had not
noticed if Sulu drank during the toasts, but the
young captain appeared to be completely sober.
The Search For Spock
He might be the only sober person on the ship
right now, David thought.
But then David saw Lieutenant Saavik,
all alone, watching the party without expression. He
watched her, in turn, for several minutes. Back
on Regulus I, she had told him that Spock was
the most important influence in her life. He had
rescued her from the short, brutal life that a
halfbreedchild on an abandoned Romulan
colony world could look forward to. Spock had
overseen her education. He had nominated her to a
place in the Starfleet Academy. He was,
David sup- posed, the nearest thing she had to a
family. That was a delicate subject. She
seldom discussed how the cross that produced her must
have come about.
David walked up quietly behind her.
"Hello, David," she said, without
turning, as he opened his mouth to speak.
"Hi," he said, trying to pretend she had not
startled him with her preternatural senses. "Can I
get you a drink?"
"No. I never drink alcohol."
"Why not?"
"It has an unfortunate effect on me."
"But that's the whole point. It would help you
loosen up. It would help you forget."
"Forget what?"
"Grief. Sadness. Mr. Spock's death."
"I am a Vulcan. I experience neither grief
nor sadness."
"You're not all Vulcan."
She ignored the comment. "In order to forget Mr.
Spock's death, David, I would have to forget Mr.
Spock. That, I cannot do. I do not wish to.
Memories of him are all around me. At times it
is as if he was She stopped. "I will not forget
him," she said.
STAR TREK 111
"I didn't mean you should try. I just meant that a
drink might make you feel better."
"As I explained, its effects on me
are not salutary."
"What happens?"
"You do not want to know."
"Sure I do. I'm a scientist, remember?
Always on the lookout for something to investigate."
She looked him in the eye and said,
straight-faced, "It causes me to regress.
It permits the Romulan elements of my character to
predominate."
David grinned. "Oh, yeah? Sounds interesting
to me."
"You would not like it."
"Never know until you try."
"Have you ever met a Romulan?"
"Nope."
"You are," she said drily, "quite fortunate."
Carol Marcus felt very much alone at Mr.
Spock's wake. She sat on the arm of a couch,
concealed by the subdued light and shadows of a corner of the
room. She felt grateful for the translucent
wall that alcohol put between her and the other people, between her
and her own emotions. She knew that the purpose of a
wake was to release emotions, but she held her
grief in tight check. If she loosed it, she was
afraid she would go mad.
The pitiful gathering insulted the memory of her
friends more than exalting it. Perhaps Mr. Scott and
Dr. McCoy believed it adequate for Captain
Spock and Mr. Scott's young nephew. But the
mourning of a few veteran Starfleet members and a
surreptitiously drunken class of cadets,
barely more than children, gave Carol no comfort for the
loss of her friends on the Spacelab team. She
kept expecting to hear Del March's
The Search For Spock
cheerful profanity, or Zinaida
Chitirih-Ra-Payjh's soft and musical
laugh. She expected Jedda Adzhin-Dall
to stride past, cloaked in the glow of a Deltan's
unavoidable sexual attraction. And she expected
at every moment to hear Vance
Madison's low, beautiful voice, or to glance
across the room and meet his gaze, or to reach out and
touch his gentle hand.
None of those things would ever happen again. Her
collaborators, her friends, were dead, murdered in
vengeance for someone else's error.
Jim Kirk managed to get McCoy down from the
table and away from the center of attention before the
doctor had made too much of a fuss, and, Kirk
hoped, without making a fool of either of them.
"I think you've drunk too much, Bones," he
said.
"Me?" McCoy said. "I haven't had nearly
enough."
Kirk tried to restrain his anger at McCoy's
juvenile behavior. "Why don't you get some
sleep? You'll feel better in the moming."
"I'll feel awful in the morning, Jim-boy.
And the morning after that, and his
"You'll feel worse if you have to deal with a
hangover and the results of a big mouth."
McCoy frowned at him blearily, obviously
not understanding. Kirk felt a twinge of unease.
McCoy generally made sense, even when he had had
a few too many. In fact, his usual reaction
to tipsiness was to become more direct and pithier.
Kirk glanced around, seeking Chris Chapel. He
hoped that between them they might get McCoy either
sobered up or asleep. Chapel was nowhere to be
seen. He could hardly blame her for avoiding the
wake. He wished he were somewhere else himself. He
had come only because McCoy insisted. Jim
supposed Chris had decided that the hard time
STAR TREK In
McCoy and Scotty would give her for absenting
herself would be less unpleasant than attending. Jim
suspected she was right.
"Come on, Bones," he said. Back in sick
bay, the doctor might be persuaded to prescribe
himself a hangover remedy and go to bed.
"Not going anywhere," McCoy said. He
shrugged his arm from Kirk's grasp. "Going over
there." He walked slowly and carefully to an
armchair and settled into it as if he planned
to remain till dawn. Getting him to his cabin now
would create a major scene. On the other hand,
McCoy no longer looked in the mood to make
proclamations. Jim sighed and left him where he
was.
Jim wandered over to Carol. She was alone,
surrounded by shadows. They had barely had time to talk
since meeting again. Jim was not
altogether sure she wanted to talk to him. He did
want to talk to her, though, about her life since they
last had seen each other, twenty years ago. But
mostly he wanted to talk to her about David. Jim
was getting used to the idea of having a grown
son. He was beginning to like the idea of coming to know the young
man.
"Hi, Carol," he said.
"Jim."
Her voice was calm and controlled. He
remembered that she had always been able to drink
everybody under the table and never even show it.
"I was thinking about Spacelab," she said. "And the
people I left behind. Especially his
"You did fantastic work there, you and David."
"It wasn't just us, it was the whole team. I never
worked with such an incredible group before. We got
intoxicated on each other's ideas. I could guide
it, but Vance was the catalyst. He was extraordinary
his
"Spock spoke highly of them all," Jim
said. It
The Search For Spock
surprised him, to be able to say his friend's name so
easily.
"dance was the only one who could keep his partner from
going off the deep end. He had a sort of inner
stillness and calm that his
"They were the ones who designed computer
games on the side? A couple of the cadets were
talking about them."
"dis . . that affected us all."
"David and our Lieutenant Saavik seem
to be hitting it off pretty well," Jim said.
David and Saavik stood together on the other side
of the recreation hall, talking quietly.
"I suppose so," Carol said without expression.
"She has a lot of promise Spock had great
confidence in her."
"Yes."
"I'm sorry I had to meet David and you and
I had to meet again in such unhappy
circumstances," he said.
The look in her eyes was cold and bitter and
full of pain.
"That's one way to put it," she said.
"Carol his
"I'm going to bed," she said abruptly. She
stood up and strode out of the recreation room.
Jim followed her. "I'll walk you to your
cabin," he said. He took her silence for
acquiescence.
With some curiosity, Saavik watched Admiral
Kirk and Dr. Marcus leave together. Of
course she knew that they had been intimate many
years before. She wondered if they intended to resume
their relationship. She had observed the customs of
younger humans, students, while she was in the
Academy, however, and
STAR TREK 111
she now noted the absence of any indication of strong
attraction between Marcus and Kirk. Perhaps older
humans observed different customs, or perhaps these
two individuals were simply shy. Mr. Spock
had told her that she must learn to understand human beings.
As a project for her continuing education in their
comprehension, she resolved to study the admiral and the
doctor closely and see what transpired.
After Dr. Marcus and the admiral left the
recreation hall, Saavik returned her attention
to the gathering as a whole. She wondered if there were
something in particular she was supposed to do. Keeping
her own customs after the deaths of Mr. Spock and
Peter Preston, she had watched over their bodies
摘要：

SEARCHFORSPOCKBYVONDAMCINTYREParamountPicturesPresentsaHarveBennettProductionSTARTREKSiiiTHESEARCHFORSPOCKStarringWILLIAMSHATNERDEFORESTKELLEYCo-StarringJAMESDOOHANGEORGETAKEIWALTERKOENIGNICHELLENICHOLSMERRITTBUTRICKCHRISTOPHERLLOYDExecutiveConsultantGENERODDENBERRYMusicbyJAMESHORNER,ExecutiveProduc...

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