STAR TREK - TOS - 11 - The Yesterday Saga Book One - Yesterday's Son

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THE ROMULAN THREAT

CLOSES IN …

ZAR!

Spock felt an irrational impulse—to comfort his son. He reached out a hand, shook his shoulder gently.

“Stop it, Zar.”

Zar gasped, then ignored him. “I’m scared. I hate them. I’m going to die. ... Die. ...” His body stiffened,

then the clenched hands loosened, and he tumbled over. ...

Shocked, Spock stared at him. He went to the limp figure. He pulled his son’s head into his lap, felt his

throat—a flutter, very slight. ... His fingers went to the temples. ... Probing, reaching, calling desperately

the name, over and over. ... Zar! Zar! Finally. ... Zar!

PUBLISHED BY POCKET BOOKS NEW YORK

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.

AnotherOriginal publication of POCKET BOOKS

POCKET BOOKS, a division of Simon & Schuster, Inc. 1230 Avenue of the Americas,

New York, N.Y. 10020

This Book is Published by Pocket Books, a Division of Simon & Schuster, Inc., Under Exclusive

License from Paramount Pictures Corporation, The Trademark Owner.

For information address Pocket Books, 1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, N.Y. 10020

ISBN: 0-671-60550-X

First Pocket Books printing August, 1983

10 9 8 7 6 5

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

STAR TREK is a Trademark of Paramount Pictures Corporation Registered in the U.S. Patent and

Trademark Office.

Printed in the U.S.A.

Dedicated to my two wonderful grandmothers,

with thanks for a lifetime of love and kindness;

and to my own son, Jason Paul Crispin

Contents

Acknowledgments.7

Introduction.8

Prologue.9

Chapter I11

Chapter II14

Chapter III16

Chapter IV..18

Chapter V..21

Chapter VI24

Chapter VII28

Chapter VIII33

Chapter IX..39

Chapter X..42

Chapter XI46

Chapter XII52

Chapter XIII55

Chapter XIV..60

Chapter XV..62

Chapter XVI65

Chapter XVII69

Chapter XVIII71

Chapter XIX..75

Epilogue.78

About the Author79

About the e-Book.80

Acknowledgments

I’ve always wanted to look at the acknowledgments page of a book someday and read: “I did itall

myself! “But I couldn’t say that here, because I owe many people thanks for their help in completing and

marketingYesterday’s Son.

For their help in writing, editing, and proofing, my thanks to:

Debby Marshall, the best friend a writer ever had ...

O’Malley, the Red Queen, (“Whocares, Ann?Nobody cares about a dumb detail like that; it doesn’t

advance thestory. Out! Off with its head!”), who is a terrific editor—but don’t ask her to spell ...

Hope and George Tickell, my mother and father, who proofed and photocopied ...

Faith E. Treadwell, my sister, who read and commented ...

Jamie and NormanJette, for the lesson in physics ...

Sam R. Covington, for teaching me the value of research ...

Robert B. and I. Lois Pleas, for well-considered comments on a stranger’s work ...

Beverly Volker, a fine editor, and a good person to Contact ...

Randy L. Crispin, my husband, for giving me a reason to write ...

Delma Frankel, that “deadeye” proofreader who turned out to be full of surprises ...

And, for moral support and encouragement during the long years of uncertainty:

Andre Norton, who has enchanted so many people with uncountable wonders ...

Jacqueline Lichtenberg, not only a good writer, but also a kind and gracious person who goes out of her

way to help others get a start ...

Anne Moroz, who finally found a safe place ...

Teresa L. Bigbee, who puts up with writers and their attendant insanity with good grace, a sense of

humor, and many helpful comments and suggestions ...

Mary M. Schmidt, and Lynxie, of course ...

Howard Weinstein, amateur psychotherapist, but truly pro writer ...

John McCall, professional fiction consultant, and a good one ...

And, finally, a special acknowledgment to Shoshana (Susie) Hathaway, for giving me the idea, a long

time ago, in a newly rediscovered Universe ...

Introduction

In the Author’s Notes to my own STAR TREK novel,The Covenant of the Crown, I mentioned that

I’ve made quite a few friends through STAR TREK, many of whom also want to be writers.

Ann Crispin is one of those friends, andYesterday’s Son, her first book, is a monument to patience.

I met Ann at the 1979 August Party Convention near Washington, D.C., where I’d unveiled the

just-completedCovenant by reading chapters to audiences. Ann wasverrrry pregnant at the time, and I

think we bumped into each other (figuratively ... orwas it literally?) in the typically crowded, incredibly

slow convention elevator.

I really don’t recall exactly what we talked about—that’s no reflection on Ann, just the fact that much of

my time at conventions is spent talking about writing. Many fans are excellent writers, trying to build up

the nerve to submit their work professionally.

I’m not a parent, but I’d imagine that sending out your first would-be pro story is even worse than

sending your child to the first day of kindergarten. After all, most kids survive their first day of

school—very few get mailed back with rejection slips. But most first storiesdo meet that ignominious fate.

And so it is that many writers never get up the gumption to take that risk. By the time we met in the

elevator, Ann had already submittedYesterday’s Son and, not having heard a word from Pocket[10]

Books, was getting anxious. Ann tells me she “hassled” me “rudely” for encouraging fans to try their

hands at pro writing, insisting that previously unpublished writers wouldn’t get the time of day from

big-time publishers and editors.

It is with a great sigh of relief that I blow Ann a big Bronx cheer and say, “I told you so!”

Not thateveryone can do what Ann has done—scoring with her first-ever pro submission. I like to share

my own writing experiences, offering what’s happened in my pursuit of this odd excuse for a career as an

example. I was lucky enough to sellThe Pirates of Orion to the animated STAR TREK TV series when

I was 19 years old ... and then I didn’t sell anything for five years ... five very sobering years.

So I’m no superstar writer. But I had a large enough ego to think I could tell stories well enough for

other people to want to pay to read them.And if I could sell a story, maybe other semi-egotistical

wishful thinkers can, too.

That’s probably what I told Ann, and she listened—poor fool! She thought about it for a while, then

called me several months later to talk some more. And called a few months after that ... and a few

months after that ...

At that stage, I should point out, our commiseration had become mutual. While Ann was grinding her

teeth and awaiting the life-or-death final word on her manuscript, I was going through seemingly endless

delays in the publication of my already-purchased-and-paid-for STAR TREK book. Long-distance

phone calls aren’t cheap, but they’re usually cheaper than psychiatry, so I figure I saved Ann a lot of

money over those next couple of years.

And both our vigils had happy endings.Covenant came out in December 1981, and has been very well

received. Several months after that, Ann got the word from Pocket Books—Yesterday’s Sonwas “go

for launch!”

[11]In July 1982, Ann sent me a manuscript copy to read. After the first two chapters, I knew it was a

winner. The rest of the book did not let me down. And I was convinced it should have its coming-out as

my book did, having chapters read at a convention.

Quite frankly, Ann was chicken. She didn’t think she should read it because no one would be able to

hear the words over the racket caused by her chattering teeth. Secretly, I was glad—because that meantI

would have the distinct pleasure of reading those opening chapters to a packed ballroom at Summer

Media Fest ’82 in Arlington, Virginia.

That audience loved what they heard, but you are far luckier than they were ... foryou get to read the

whole book, and you’ll be glad you did!

Howard Weinstein

September 1982

P.S. If you write to Ann c/o Pocket Books, and you’d like an answer from her, please be sure to

enclose a stamped, self-addressed envelope. New authors aren’t rich enough to afford hundreds of

return-postage stamps!

Prologue

Doctor McCoy picked up his rook and plunked it down again, taking one of his opponent’s pawns.

“Get out of that one if you can,” he said, sitting back confidently. The man on the other side of the

chessboard raised a quizzical eyebrow.

“An interesting move ...” Spock conceded, and lapsed into an unmoving study of the board.

McCoy smiled. Spock had agreed to a game of the old-fashioned, two-dimensional chess when the

Doctor suggested it. Now the Vulcan was discovering that McCoy’s moves, though occasionally erratic,

could be inspired, and a challenge to his logical mind. McCoy hadn’t been captain of the chess team in

med school for nothing.

While the First Officer mulled over his Queen’s predicament, McCoy glanced idly around the recreation

room. It was filled with crew members reading, playing cards or chess, or talking in groups. His gaze

stopped on the face of a pretty young Ensign. The Doctor searched his mind for her name, recalled it.

Teresa McNair. Straight out of the Academy, barely a day over twenty-three. Nice brown hair, green

eyes. She had her nose in a micro-reader, scanning the material with careful scrutiny. As he watched,

enjoying the long, slender legs curled up underneath her, she stopped the reader with a quick gesture and

sat up. Tearing off two long strips of readout paper, she got up and walked straight toward him.

McCoy gave a guilty start, realizing he’d been staring, and turned away. A moment later, McNair[14]

appeared at Spock’s elbow. “Excuse me, Mr. Spock.”

The First Officer looked up. “Yes, Ensign?”

“Sir, would you please confirm a fact for me? I thought it was well-established that early Vulcan

colonization was confined to the area closest to the Romulan Neutral Zone?” McNair’s voice rose,

making it a question.

“That’s correct, Ensign.” Spock was patience itself, but hardly inviting.

“Then do you know of any explanation for this?” She placed the large readout in front of the Vulcan and

continued, “This photo came from archeological data published about the Beta Niobe system. That’s

clear at the other end of the explored portion of the Galaxy, and if there was no Vulcan colonization ...”

McNair sounded puzzled as she trailed off.

McCoy saw something flicker across Spock’s face at the mention of Beta Niobe. He vainly tried to

place it ... no use, too many planets, too many suns. You had to be a biological computer like the Vulcan

to remember half of them.

Spock scanned the sheet, eyes narrowed. The Doctor looked up at McNair. “Beta Niobe? Can’t place

it, but it sounds familiar.”

The Ensign grinned at him and responded, “It should, Doctor. TheEnterprise was the ship detailed to

warn the people of Sarpeidon that Beta Niobe was ready to nova. I believe you were one of the landing

party. There was a huge library complex on the planet. Our computers scanned and recorded the

information in it before Sarpeidon was destroyed. The archeological information I was studying came

right out of the Atoz Library.” She turned back to Spock, who was still studying the readout. “Neutron

dating places the cave paintings you can see as circa 5,000 years old—Sarpeidon’s last ice age. This is

an enlargement of the face you can see on the left.” She spread another sheet in front of the First Officer.

[15]Spock leaned forward, face a carven mask, and McCoy was alerted by his complete withdrawal.

The Doctor edged around in his seat to study the photos.

The one nearest him showed a cave wall, gray, with reddish highlights. The first painting was a hunting

scene. Two figures—humanoid—faced two large creatures. One looked like a lion with a skinny neck

and long fur. The other stood on its hind legs, and resembled a bear that had been made to order by a

committee. Floppy ears, long snout—it should have looked comical, but not with a mouthful of tusks, and

a height nearly twice that of the hunters.

On the far left side of the wall there was another, smaller painting of a single face. McCoy craned his

neck to see the other photo, the blowup of that face.

Glowing ghostly white against the dark stone of the cave wall, it seemed to float in front of the Doctor’s

incredulous eyes. Two slanting eyes, a jagged lock of bushy dark hair, a nose, a mouth. The style was

primitive but arresting, and the features were executed with meticulous care. Including the pointed ears.

McCoy looked at Spock, whose expression was more remote then ever. The Doctor’s mouth was dry,

and his voice cracked on the words. “Sarpeidon? It’s been two years since we ...” He trailed off and sat

back, biting his lip. Spock turned to McNair.

“Perhaps a genetic anomaly, or racial offshoot with interesting parallel development. Or, possibly, a

representation of some mythical being. Remember Pan, from Terran folklore. I’d appreciate it if you’d

allow me to look at that tape when you’re finished, Ensign.” The Vulcan’s voice was completely normal.

McNair nodded and left, taking the readouts with her.

Spock turned back to his chess partner. “If you don’t mind, Doctor, I should like to return to our game,

as I go on duty in forty-five point three minutes. I’ve thought of a way to negate your interesting, but

illogical campaign.”

[16]McCoy’s eyes narrowed. “It’s your move, Spock. Or had you forgotten?”

The Vulcan barely glanced at the board, as he quickly moved a bishop. The Doctor didn’t miss the

tremor, immediately stilled, in the lean fingers.

McCoy took the hint, and pulled his chair back around. “Never doubted you’d beat me for a moment,

Spock. All that logic has got to be good forsomething.”

But McCoy won the game.

Chapter I

Captain’s Personal LogStardate 6324.09

“Our current assignment of charting Sector 70.2 of this unexplored quadrant has been proceeding

uneventfully—so uneventfully that I’ve been resorting to simulated battle drills and abandon-ship

exercises to keep up my crew’s efficiency. Everyone is looking forward to our scheduled inspection and

repair detail at Star Base 11, and most of the crew have requested leave. Morale is high—partially

because of the party planned for the evening we dock. The only members of my crew who aren’t space

happy are my Chief Medical Officer and my First Officer. Both have been remarkably quiet for the past

two days. I haven’t questioned either of them, but I intend to if this behavior continues.”

TheEnterprise, starship of the heavy cruiser class, glided serenely through space, unmindful of the

excitement caused by her approaching overhaul at Star Base 11. Most of the crew, however, were

polishing up assorted skills for the party. Lieutenant Sulu and Yeoman Phillips were giving an exhibition of

fencing. The choral group was rehearsing some slightly raunchy—and slightly true—ballads about the

Captain. (He was carefully remaining unaware of them.)

And the Little Theatre was stagingH.M.S. Pinafore. The production was directed by Lieutenant Uhura,

and Chief Engineer Scott, who had a fine[18]baritone, was singing the part of Captain Corcoran. Kirk,

Scotty and Uhura were discussing the operetta one afternoon at lunch, when McCoy joined them.

“Have a seat, Bones.” Kirk took a determined bite from a large green salad and sipped his skim milk.

“I’m going to turn into a rabbit if you keep putting me on these diets. And then I have to watch while

Scotty gorges himself on Black Forest cake!”

The Chief Engineer swallowed and grinned. “A man’s got t’ keep up his strength if he’s going t’ work all

day and then rehearse all night!”

“Actually, Captain,” Uhura said, tapping a manicured nail thoughtfully against her dark cheek, “we ought

to update the production a bit, don’t you think? Rewrite Gilbert and Sullivan to make it more ...

contemporary. For instance, why not set the operetta aboard theEnterprise, and rename it?U.S.S.

Enterprise has just as much ring asH.M.S. Pinafore. And thenyou could sing the Captain’s part!”

Kirk chuckled, hummed a few bars, then broke into song. “And I’m never ever sick in space ...” he

warbled, innocent of key. Uhura and Scotty chimed in.

“What, never?”

“No, never!”

“What,never?”

Well ... hardly ever ...” Kirk broke off and grinned at McCoy. “What about it, Bones? Have I got a

future in the opera? The singing idol of Star Fleet, huh?”

McCoy rolled his eyes. “In my professional opinion, you should’ve had your larynx removed at birth to

prevent that possibility. As a starship Captain you’ll get by. As a singer ... sorry, Jim.”

Kirk shook his head ruefully. “Another great career, nipped in the bud by lack of encouragement.” He

glanced at the chrono, stood up. “Got to get back to the bridge. Coming, Doctor?”

When they reached the relative privacy of the corridor, he asked casually, “What’s up, Bones?”

[19]McCoy shook his head and didn’t answer. Instead he asked, “Do you remember a planet

Sarpeidon we visited two years ago?”

The Captain gave him a sharp glance. “It took me weeks to get the smell of that medieval jail out of my

nose. And that crazy old Mr. Atoz ... What about it?”

Again the Doctor didn’t answer. After a long pause, he queried, “Did Spock ever talk to you about

what happened to us back there?”

“No, as I recall, both of you were pretty quiet about the whole experience. From the official report you

logged, I gathered there was a woman back in that ice age who saved your lives. What was her name?”

McCoy hesitated. “Zarabeth. Have you seen Spock lately?”

“No. Should I have? He’s been off-duty for the past 36 hours.” Hazel eyes scanned the Doctor’s face,

concerned. “Sure you can’t talk about it?”

McCoy avoided the steady gaze. “Nothing to talk about, Captain. I’ll see you later.”

Kirk stared at the empty corridor, tempted to follow and pursue the subject, but finally continued on his

way. McCoy might not care to admit it, but he shared a certain kinship with Spock. If he didn’t want to

talk, he couldn’t be persuaded.

The bridge was quiet and reassuring. Kirk dropped into his command chair, scanning the clipboard of

reports, but one part of his mind was counting the minutes until Spock appeared for duty. The best First

Officer in the fleet ... yes, he was that, for sure. What could McCoy have been hinting at, harking back to

Sarpeidon? And that woman? Was he talking about himself? Somehow, Kirk thought not. But Spock

wouldn’t get mixed up with a woman ... at least he never had, except forOmicron CetiIII, and those

spores ... funny, he’d always thought there was something besides the damned spores working[20]on the

Vulcan ... and of course, there was T’Pring ... but that was different. ...

The Captain jerked to attention, mind racing. It was 1301, and Spock was one minute late for duty.

Impossible! But the computer tie-in flashed confirmation beneath his fingers.

Behind Kirk, the bridge door hissed shut, and Spock was standing by the command chair, hands

clasped behind his back.

“Mr. Spock, is anything wrong? You’re late.” The Captain’s voice was quiet, concerned.

“I regret my tardiness, sir. It won’t happen again.” The Vulcan’s eyes were distant as they fixed

themselves on a point three centimeters above Kirk’s left eyebrow.

Sighing inwardly, the Captain gave up, knowing from long experience that Spock would talk when he

was ready—if ever. He stood up and said formally, “You have the con, Mr. Spock. I’m due for an

inspection of the hydroponics lab at 0815. Report anything unusual. This sector has been charted as

having some good-sized radiation storms.”

The Captain left the bridge, aware of a nagging prickle of disquiet at the back of his neck. Spock would

have called it illogical—Kirk called it a hunch.

Kirk continued to worry during the next three days, as Spock’s and McCoy’s silence continued. He

took out his frustrations on the training android in the self-defense section of the gym.

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摘要：

THEROMULANTHREATCLOSESIN…ZAR! Spockfeltanirrationalimpulse—tocomforthisson.Hereachedoutahand,shookhisshouldergently.“Stopit,Zar.”Zargasped,thenignoredhim.“I’mscared.Ihatethem.I’mgoingtodie....Die....”Hisbodystiffened,thentheclenchedhandsloosened,andhetumbledover....Shocked,Spockstaredathim.Hewenttot...

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STAR TREK - TOS - 11 - The Yesterday Saga Book One - Yesterday's Son

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