Yesterday Son (8 page)

There was a faint blue-green glow ahead of him, and his light-starved eyes seized on it greedily. The light grew stronger, and finally they stepped out of the passage into an area lit faintly by that watery glow. Kirk heard McCoy’s indrawn breath.

The cavern was large, with irregular rocky walls. In the center of the chamber, light filtered rosy from a glimpse of sky high overhead that was touched by Beta Niobe’s setting rays. The rest of the cavern was
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shadowed by the thickness of the surrounding ice sheet, and the Captain could barely make out the thin glaze of ice that covered the walls and floor. The place was filled with a terrible, still cold. Kirk’s eyes were drawn to a small raised platform in the center.

She lay on one large fur robe, covered by another. Her hands were clasped together on her breast, and her eyes were closed. In the soft light, the frozen features bore a flush that mimicked life.

“Just as I remember her.” McCoy’s voice came softly from beside him. Kirk shivered, caught in the spell cast by that still face.

“She looks as if she could be awakened, if only ...” the Captain’s whisper trailed off. There was a rustle behind him, and he knew that Spock stood there, in the mouth of the tunnel. He resisted the urge to turn and look at the Vulcan.

Zar moved forward, and hesitated beside the platform for a long moment, loose hair hiding his features as he looked down at Zarabeth’s body. Then the grimy fingers touched the frozen cheek gently, and he stepped back and stood waiting.

Kirk drew his phaser, hesitated. It seemed inhuman to vaporize the body without a word. He touched McCoy’s arm, and the two of them walked over until they could look down at her. The Captain cleared his throat. “To whatever Being, Belief, or Ideal this person may have held in reverence, I commend her physical body.” He paused. “I’m sure her spirit was welcomed long ago.” Eyes stinging, he finished quietly, “I wish I had known her.”

McCoy stirred. “She was a very courageous and beautiful woman.”

There was a long silence. Kirk had released the safety and was about to fire his phaser when Spock’
s
voice came out of the shadows. “She was all the warmth in this world.” The Vulcan moved forward, phaser in hand. As Kirk and McCoy stepped back, he sighted carefully and fired. Platform and body glowed, expanding in a burst of incandescent glory.
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For a moment Zarabeth was outlined by a white fire, then the cavern was empty save for the living.

Spock dropped his arm and stood quietly as they filed past him to the mouth of the tunnel. Kirk thought he’d never seen him look so Vulcan—then he saw the eyes.

Zar stood, legs braced against the whip of the wind, gazing up at the Guardian and the stars above it, bright, unwinking, and close. Watching him, Kirk remembered his own first sight of alien stars—the awe, tightness in the gut, a shivery joy—and smiled. The younger man hesitantly touched the time portal, and looked at the central portion, which was clear. As Kirk and McCoy joined him, he turned to them.

“How does it work, Captain?”

Kirk looked rueful. “A good question, with no answer. Some of the best minds in the Federation have studied it, and they can’t agree. Ask Spock, he may have a theory. He was one of the ones selected to study it.”

The bearded face frowned thoughtfully. “When I touched it, I sensed life—but not like any I ever felt before.” He hesitated. “It ... communicated. ...” He shook his head, the frown deepening. “I can’t explain it.”

Kirk’s eyes widened, “What do you mean, you—” He trailed off at Zar’s emphatic headshake. They were interrupted suddenly by a now-familiar hail.

“Hey!” Doctor Vargas trotted into view. “You came back quicker than I—” she broke off, as she noticed the fourth member of their party. “You were successful!” Facing Zar, she looked up at him. “Greetings. I was expecting someone ... younger.”

Obviously confused, the younger man glanced at Spock, who stepped forward. “Doctor Vargas, this
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is Zar. We arrived at a later time period than we’d wished, and discovered an adult instead of the child we had anticipated. Zar, this is Doctor Vargas, head of the expedition that studies the time portal.”

Shyly, the young man nodded a greeting. Vargas’ gaze traveled over his clothing, obviously fascinated. “I’d like to talk to you before you leave, if you have the time. I’ve never seen leather clothing before that wasn’t rotted with age in some ancient tomb. It’s a wonderful opportunity for me to speak with someone who lived the way our ancestors did. Did you use gut for sewing? How did you tan the skins?”

Zar relaxed visibly at Vargas’ matter-of-fact acceptance. “I used gut for sewing—my mother had some metal needles, but I made my own out of bone after they broke. I brought some things with me—would you like to see?”

The three officers watched for a moment as the young man and the archeologist examined the implements from the past, then Spock excused himself and left the group, heading for the camp building. He’d gone only a few steps when Zar caught him with a few swift strides and blocked his way. “I must speak with you for a moment ... sir.”

“Yes?” The Vulcan raised an inquiring eyebrow.

“I’ve been thinking about the powers of the Guardian.” The gray eyes were level. “Now that I’m here, in the present, wouldn’t it be possible for
me
to go back in time, also? Perhaps I could ... be there to warn her, catch her before she fell. Save her before she died. If you could tell me how ...”

Spock was shaking his head. “It isn’t possible. What is
now,
must
be.
If you were to save her back then, you could not be here now, knowing she is dead. Language is inadequate to express the concepts involved. I can show you the equation later.” Something touched his eyes for a moment. “I am truly sorry.”

Disappointment flickered across the younger man’s features for a second, then Zar nodded. The First
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Officer looked over at Doctor Vargas, who was still examining the contents of the hide bundle. “Doctor Vargas—”

Vargas looked up. “Yes?”

“I must send a message by subspace radio. Is it possible to use the one at your camp?”

The plump little woman scrambled to her feet, brushing ashy dust off the knees of her brown coverall. “Certainly, Mr. Spock. I’ll show you where it is. As a matter of fact, perhaps you can help me with it. Our technician was injured last month in a fall while he was exploring the ruins, and had to be relocated to the nearest Star Base for treatment. We haven’t received a replacement yet, and some of the circuits on the communications equipment don’t seem to be working properly. Unfortunately, none of us is skilled enough to attempt repairs.”

“Communications equipment is not my specialty, but I will do what I can.” The Vulcan turned back to Zar. “Go with the Captain and Doctor McCoy. They will show you a place to wash and provide you with more suitable clothing.”

The younger man watched the First Officer leave, his expression wistful, before turning back to the others.

When they reached the camp building, Kirk departed in search of a spare coverall, and McCoy took his charge into the interior of the structure, noting the younger man’s wondering glance at the furnishings. He handled himself with aplomb, however, until they reached the recreation/spare room. As they entered, lights automatically came on. Zar jumped, landed crouching, knife in hand, eyes darting from side to side.

McCoy put out a reassuring hand. “Take it easy, son. The lights register body heat and turn on when we cross the doorway.”

The gray eyes were still wide. “Automatically?”

“Yeah, come outside for a second.”

They stepped back and the lights extinguished.
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McCoy’s charge stepped in, cautiously, and gave a wordless exclamation when the lights flared back up. He spent the next minute determining just how much of his body was necessary to cause the phenomenon. (A leg was enough, but a foot wasn’t apparently.)

The Doctor watched tolerantly, amused, and when the younger man had completed his experiment, introduced him to the marvels of indoor plumbing.

The shower facility finally caused his student to balk. “But water is to
drink,”
he argued. “There can’t be enough to waste like this!”

“We don’t have to melt water, Zar. We can make as much as we want. There’s plenty. How did you wash before?”

“In a bucket, sometimes. When my mother was alive, she made me wash more often, but lately—” One leather-clad shoulder moved in a slight shrug.

“Then it’s about time you got a thorough scrubbing. I assure you it only hurts for a little while, and you’re going to have to get used to it. This is primitive compared to the facilities aboard the
Enterprise,
and you’ll be using them!” A smile twitched at the corner of his mouth at the look of apprehension on the younger man’s face, and he forced himself to say sternly, “Now hurry up. The Captain will be back any minute. Remember, water controls here, soap there, warm air over on your right.” Turning to leave, he cast a last glance at his unwilling pupil.
“In. Now.”
he ordered, and closed the door.

The sputtering sounds that ensued from behind the door assured him that his instructions were being followed. McCoy grinned, remembering that he should have warned Zar to hold his breath when he submerged his head.

Kirk entered the room, carrying a bundle of clothing. He cocked his head at the splashing noises. “Everything all right in there?”

“I assume so. He was a little dubious, but when I told him that everyone on a starship did it, he gave in. Where’s Spock?”

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“He went off to send that message. I think it’s some sort of confirmation to T’Pau. Vargas told me he’s fixing those circuits.”

“He’s probably glad of the excuse to stay away. Where’s my medical kit?”

“I brought it.” The Captain handed the black case over.

“Good.” The Doctor took out several charges for his hypo. “Got to make sure he doesn’t end up with every bug from measles to Rigellian fever. He probably has no natural immunities. Nice kid, isn’t he? Friendly as a pup. I hate to think what a couple of weeks of Vulcan dehumanization is going to accomplish. Have you seen the way he watches Spock? He’s already begun to imitate him.”

“That’s natural, isn’t it? But I wouldn’t worry too much. There’s a lot of self-reliance there, and that’ll help. He’s got a lot of catching up to do, and Vulcan discipline may be just what he needs.”

McCoy snorted. “The only thing Vulcan discipline is good for is—” He broke off as the sounds from the shower ceased.

Kirk grinned and headed for the door. “I’ll leave you to get him dressed and barbered. After all, I’m a starship Captain—not a valet.”

Zar had no sooner emerged from the shower, minus dirt and clothing, before the Medical Officer gave him several shots. “What’s that for?” he wanted to know, tensing against the hiss of the hypospray.

“So you won’t catch anything from us in the way of diseases. There, that’s the last.” McCoy ran his scanner, and a professional eye, over his patient. Although thin to the point of emaciation, the Doctor was pleased to see that the muscle tone was good.
Like a horse in racing form,
McCoy thought,
rather than a starvation case. Good-sized shoulders
—
when he reaches his proper weight, he’ll mass more than Spock. How the hell did he get those scars?

The jagged rips were long-healed, but still very noticeable. One ran along the right forearm, from
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wrist to elbow. The other began on the outside of the right thigh and continued nearly to the knee. McCoy shook his head at the thought of what the original wounds must’ve looked like.

“Where’d you get these, son?” he asked, indicating the ridged keloids.

“I was attacked by a vitha. She had cubs, and I took shelter next to her lair in a storm. I fell asleep, and she returned and was on me before I had time to feel fear at her.”

The Doctor handed the younger man the clothes Kirk had provided, and as he helped with unfamiliar fastenings, continued, “What’s a vitha? Was that one of the animals you painted?”

“No. They’re very shy, and you seldom see them. Vicious when trapped, so I didn’t hunt them, usually. Their wounds fester easily—as I discovered.” He made shapes in the air. “About this tall, with big chests, and ears that—I could draw one, better than I can tell you.”

McCoy picked up a stylus and a pad of paper, and demonstrated how to use them. The long, lean fingers with their ragged nails sketched quickly, and produced a picture of a bizarre creature that looked to the Doctor like a combination of otter and goat. He recognized it—he’d seen a skeleton in the book on Sarpeidon’s past, and remembered it had been fully eight feet tall when balanced on its hind legs. “If that’s what they looked like, you were smart to stay away from them.” McCoy studied the hasty sketch further. The style was unsophisticated, but there was accuracy, and a suggestion of life and movement there. “I’ll have to introduce you to Jan Sajii when we get back to the
Enterprise.
He’s a pretty well-known artist, in addition to his work in xenobiology. Maybe he could give you a few pointers.”

Zar nodded. “I’d like that.”

McCoy took a pair of surgical scissors out of his med-kit, and motioned him to a chair. “It’s almost
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a shame to cut this,” he commented, hefting the black, slightly wavy mane that fell nearly to the younger man’s waist. “But current male fashion-especially aboard starships—decrees that it’s got to go.” Solemnly, he draped Zar with a sheet, and began to clip briskly. “Used to be that a surgeon spent a lot of his time being a barber. Can’t let the old-timers down.”