Margaret Wander Bonanno - Unspoken Truth

It is all in the report, Captain.

Is it? Mironova mused. So you found Captain Spocks burial tube and discovered he was alive. How, exactly? Brushed the giant microbes off and felt compelled to take a peek at what ought to have been a moldering corpse? Or did he knock on the lid like a vampire? Sit up and ask for breakfast?

Saavik broke eye contact, looked down at her hands. Not precisely.

There was a very long silence. Mironova seemed satisfied.

Thats all Im going to get from you, isnt it? Youre discreet; I like that. All the same, if I werent shorthanded, Id throw you back in the pond. But if you must go back out again this soon, this promises to be a very tame mission. Youre correct; I do need a science officer. And my civilian scientist needs a babysitter. Youll do just fine in both capacities.

Before Saavik could ask what she meant, Mironova stood up abruptly, causing her to do the same. The interview was apparently over, and Mironova had made her decision. Based on what precisely, Saavik did not know.

Right, then. Were cleared to leave orbit in three days. Welcome aboard, Lieutenant!

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The main events in this story take place in 2286 (ACE), concurrent with the interstellar Probes incursion in the Sol system seeking humpback whales and the command crew of the Enterprise facing charges of the theft of that starship ( Star Trek IV: The Voyage Home ). It also relates events of Lieutenant Saaviks early years on Hellguard, the planet where she was found as a child by Spock ( Star Trek: The Pandora Principle ).

The lizard writhed against the blade. The movement was mere reflex; the creature was already dead, pinned to the cactus it had been crawling on. More than a decade out of practice, Saaviks eye was still keen, her hand unerring, the speed with which shed thrown the knife rendering it all but invisible until it struck home.

Reaching carefully between the deadly spines, she retrieved her prize. Pulling the small carcass free of the weapon that joined her present to her past, she wiped the blade clean on the hem of her robe and then, out of old habit, began with the lizards head: bit it off cleanly and, her eyes unfocused and glinting with a primeval strangeness, methodically began to chew.

Minutes later, except for trace DNA on the knife and a slight rise in Saaviks metabolic rate as she digested after a long fast, it was as if the lizard had never existed. Saavik would continue to hunt the night through, then seek shelter from the suns brutality during the day, even as she waited for her larger prey to come to her. Then she would do what she needed to do.

Her path, it seemed, had come full circle. If she had thought a life in Starfleet would protect her from her past, she had been mistaken. The soft-spoken, methodical young officer with the brilliant mind, the impeccable manners, the near obsession with rules and regulations was long gone. Her garments in tatters, her once luxuriant hair a snarled, dusty mass, dirt embedded in her nails and ingrained in her skin, a feral gleam in her eyes, she had regressed completely into the nightmare she had known as a child.

She might have left Hellguard, but Hellguard had never left her.

Captains Personal Log, Science Vessel Chaffee, Galina Mironova in command. Twenty-eight days ago, we made orbit around Vulcan with the intention of restocking and getting our final orders for what was to have been a simple missiona month or so of cataloging rocks and trees on an out-of-the-way world in the Deema system. That was before a spacefaring Probe looking for whales came marauding through the quadrant on its way to Earth and effectively grounded all nonessential missions until we got sorted out. Better late than never, we are finally cleared for departure, but now Im short a science officer. Or perhaps not. Today I interview one Lieutenant Saavik, whose reputation precedes her.

If I were impressed with surfaces, Id hire her on the spot, but I was a scientist long before I was a command officer, and consequently Ive a tendency to treat each mission like a chemistry experiment. The proper mix of reactants is essential. Were a small vessel with a handful of crew, little more than an extended family, and everyone has to get along. Sibling rivalry is to be frowned upon, but a little friendly competition can yield the best results.

Mironova stopped writing her personal log in her head and pretended to study Saaviks service jacket on her desk screen, though shed committed the important parts to memory before the young Vulcan officer had arrived.

Stop being clever or youll trip over your own metaphors! she cautioned herself. Bottom line, you want someone sober, sane, and unshakable to balance your lead civilian scientists peccadilloes, and here she is sitting across the desk from you. Get on with it!

Ordinarily, Lieutenant, Id refuse your request, Mironova said. What happened on Genesis had to have been traumatic, yet youve taken no leave time in which to process those events, despite Commands rather strong suggestion that you do so.