Yesterday Son (9 page)

His client looked confused. “Pardon?”

“Archaic reference. I’ll explain later. Something you said a few minutes ago is bothering me. How could you ‘feel fear’ at the vitha? What does that mean?”

“It’s what I tried to do to ... Mr. Spock, when I thought you were going to find my cave. His mind was too strong for my fear. And three of you was too many to affect.”

“You mean you can project your own emotions as a form of defense?”

“I don’t know how I do it. If I’m frightened or angry, I can ... focus my mind on a person or animal—if the animal is a higher life form—and I can make the fear and anger I feel go into the other mind. If I try hard, I can make the fear so strong that the animal will leave. The time the vitha attacked me, I was sure I was going to die, and my fear and anger as I struggled with her were so strong that I killed her. At least, that’s what I think happened. I lost consciousness from the pain, and when I came to, she was dead—and my knife was still in its sheath. But I was never able to project that strongly again.”

“Is this something you learned from Zarabeth?”

“No. She told me that some of the members of her family could sense emotions and communicate them to others, but she couldn’t do it herself.”

“What about reading thoughts—ideas?” Zar thought for a careful moment before answering. “Sometimes, when you touch me ... I can tell what you’re thinking. Only a flash, then it’s gone.
[69]
Today,
when I was with others for the first time, I had to block it out, because the impressions were confusing. When I was small, I learned to tell what my mother was thinking, but she, told me it wasn’t polite to do that without her permission.”

So,
thought McCoy,
Zar may have inherited some of the Vulcan telepathic ability
—
in addition to whatever this fear projection is. Have to test him when we get back to the ship.
He busied himself with comb and scissors, and stepped back after a few more minutes to admire his handiwork. “Not bad. Now let’s get rid of the beard.”

A few minutes later, the younger man ran his hands over his head, then rubbed his chin. “I feel cold on my neck.”

“That’s not surprising,” McCoy said absently, studying the newly revealed features.
I
can see his mother there, in the jaw and mouth, but mostly
... He shook his head. “Come on,” he said, gathering up the scissors. “Let’s clean up, then we’ll get something to eat.”

The gray eyes lighted at the mention of food.

The kitchen was filled with appetizing odors when they arrived. Kirk and Spock were there ahead of them, sitting at the large table with Doctor Vargas and the rest of the archeologists. Zar hesitated just inside the door, suddenly conscious of all the eyes focused on him. Looking at more faces that he’d ever seen in his life, he felt his heart begin to slam, even though there was nothing to fight, nothing to flee. His eyes searched desperately for familiarity, found the Captain’s face, and then Spock’s, but there was no reassurance in their expressions—only shock.

McCoy put a hand on his shoulder, and Zar started at the touch. “Sit over here, son.” The younger man was relieved to be moving, relieved to sit down next to the Doctor, escaping the stares he didn’t understand. There was silence for a long moment, then Doctor Vargas cleared her throat.

“I didn’t realize that family resemblances among
[70]
Vulcans were so marked, Mr. Spock. How are you two related?”

The First Officer’s voice was normal, but he didn’t meet the archeologist’s eyes. “Family connections on Vulcan are complicated. The term is untranslatable.”

There’s another lie,
thought McCoy, and glanced at Zar. The younger man stared at Spock, expressionless, but the Doctor knew that he’d picked up on the evasion, if not the reason for it.

The buzz of conversation started back up, and McCoy passed bowls of food to his
protégé. Zar
mentally compared the amount of food on the table with the number of people, and served himself only a small portion—he’d made do with less, many times. McCoy, noticing this, asked, “Aren’t you hungry? There’s plenty more where this came from.”

“Enough for everyone?” The younger man looked skeptical.

“Sure. Go ahead—have as much as you want.” McCoy passed him another bowl. Hesitantly, the young man served himself, then began to eat, slowly, handling the knife and fork efficiently, but mimicking the others at the table when it came to using the serving utensils. McCoy noticed that Zar copied Spock’s choice of food.

When the meal was over, Doctor Vargas invited them to join the others in the recreation room, explaining that several of the archeologists played musical instruments, and they usually held an
informal
concert every evening.

As they found seats, Kirk whispered to McCoy, “You did that deliberately, Bones. Cutting his hair like Spock’s, I mean.”

The Medical Officer grinned, unrepentant. “Sure I did,” he returned, “Spock can always use a little shaking up. Did you see his face when Zar walked in? No emotions, hell.”

“It shook
me
up. I wonder what the reaction will be when we get back to the
Enterprise!”

“They won’t suspect the truth, because of the age
[71]
difference, but ...” McCoy stopped, realizing that the concert was ready to begin.

The archeologists performed well, especially Vargas, who played the violin. Zar was enthralled by the music, McCoy saw. When the session ended, the younger man examined the violin with rapt attention, though he didn’t venture to touch it. “How does it work?” he wanted to know.

Vargas smiled, and caressed the shining wood. “It would take me a long time to explain it all, Zar.
Longer
than you’ll be here, because Mr. Spock says you’ll be leaving on the supply ship tomorrow morning, But if you read up on violins, you’ll be glad you got a chance to see this one. It’s a genuine
Stradivarius—
one of about a hundred that still exist outside museums. I had to get a special permit to be allowed to keep it for personal use, and it took me years to save the money to buy it.”

Spock, who had been sitting nearby, came over and studied the instrument. “A well-preserved example, Doctor Vargas. The tone is excellent.”

“Do you play, Mr. Spock?” she asked.

“I did, at one time ... but it has been years.”

“By the way, thank you for repairing the communications device.”

“It was no trouble. It needs a complete overhaul, however,” The Vulcan turned to Zar. “I would like to talk to you for a moment.”

When they reached the library, and privacy, Spock gestured the younger man to a seat. “It will not be easy to explain your presence when we reach the
Enterprise
,” he began, without preamble. “Due to your ... appearance, people will regard you as Vulcan, and expect certain behavior from you. I believe that the best course is for you to study Vulcan history and customs so that you’ll know what’s expected of you. I will begin teaching you the language as soon as you feel ready to learn.”

He paused, then took out several microspools. “These will give you some basic information.”

[72]
Zar couldn’t think of anything to say, so he remained silent.

Spock raised an eyebrow. “You
can
read?”

“Yes.” Zar replied shortly, stung. “My mother was a teacher, among other things, before she was exiled. Didn’t you know that?”

The lean, saturnine face was remote. “No.”

“She knew a lot about you ...”

Spock stood up. “I see no logic in reviewing the past. When you’ve finished those tapes, I will set up a plan for your education. Good night.”

After the Vulcan left, Zar continued to sit, uncertain of his next move. It had been a long day—was it only this morning he’d awakened on the ledge above the strangers’ camp? He eyed the kitchen table, considered curling up underneath it. He would probably go unobserved—but perhaps it would not be polite. His eyes were beginning to close in spite of himself when McCoy found him.

“There you are. I came to show you where you can bunk tonight.”

He followed the Doctor to the recreation room, where a sleeping bag was spread. “I’m afraid you’ll have to make do on the floor, with the rest of us. It isn’t often the archeologists have visitors, and there aren’t many extra beds. These sleeping bags aren’t too bad, though. They’ve got foam inserts, and heating controls.” McCoy demonstrated. “So you shouldn’t be too uncomfortable.”

Zar was amused. “Doctor McCoy, last night I slept on a rock and ice ledge that was not much wider than I am, with nothing but my fur cloak for covering. I’ll be fine here.”

“I see your point. Well, good night, then.” McCoy turned to leave, and on impulse, looked back. “Zar ...”

“Yes?”

“Don’t let Spock’s ... attitude bother you. That’s just the way it is, with Vulcans.”

The younger man shook his head ruefully, and
[73]
sighed. “I should have expected nothing else. My mother told me that he was cold and silent when she first met him, but that later, he was loving and gentle to her. He doesn’t know me yet. I must prove myself, as she did.”

McCoy was startled, but recovered quickly. With a reassuring smile, he said good night again. Somehow he couldn’t face the thought of sleep, so he went outside.

With the cold wind lifting his hair, and the starlight easy on his eyes, he paced slowly, considering. His first impulse had been to tell Zar the entire story of the atavachron and its effect on the Vulcan’s metabolism and reactions. Somehow, he couldn’t bring himself to disillusion the younger man ... and Spock wouldn’t appreciate the interference. But still ... he shook his head, remembering the Vulcan’s expression as he looked at Zarabeth, just before they left her behind, there in that icy inferno. Of course she’d tell Zar about a different Spock than the one he’d met today.
Loving and gentle
...
Damn.
...

McCoy leaned against the building, reflecting grimly that Zar’
s
rescue was going to cause a lot more problems for the young man than it had solved.

The return trip aboard the supply ship was uneventful and routinely boring for everyone—except Zar, who spent hours staring at the stars through the viewport. When he wasn’t studying the tapes Spock had given him, he was underfoot in the control cabin. The First Officer of the transport, a Tellarite female named Gythyy, took a shine to him, and began teaching him the rudiments of piloting. Although he lacked the advanced mathematics necessary for the navigational computations, he proved adept at seat-of-the-pants maneuvering.

When the
Enterprise
personnel disembarked, Gythyy embraced her pupil roughly, after the custom of her people, and turned to the three officers. “This boy of yours is plenty smart. If the Federation doesn’t want him, send him back to me. I could train him to be the best pilot in the whole quadrant!”

As they walked down the loading ramp, Zar turned to Spock eagerly. “Did you hear her? She said—”

“Tellarites are notoriously given to overstatement,” the Vulcan said matter-of-factly.

Visibly deflated, Zar’s voice was subdued. “I’ve finished the tapes, sir.”

Spock nodded. “I am designing a course of study for you that should allow you to attain the levels expected of a general studies university graduate. I would not recommend specialization until you have completed it.”

Doctor McCoy was busy explaining the orderly
[75]
pandemonium of Star Base 11 when Kirk and Spock returned from the administration offices.

Waving a clipboard of readouts, Kirk announced, “Our clearance and bill of health ... And new orders. Taxi duty, ferrying an experimental strain of honeybee to Sirena, across this sector. Ever do any beekeeping, Bones?”

McCoy shook his head. “No, can’t say I’ve had any contact with the little devils since I accidentally sat on one at the Sunday School picnic when I was twelve. I got the worst end of that deal!”

The two men laughed, and Zar asked, puzzled, “What’s a bee?”

An explanation of the life and habits of
Hymenoptera Apis mellifera
(delivered by Spock) occupied them until they were beamed up to the
Enterprise.

The Captain drew an appreciative breath, looking around his ship. She was quiet, and still relatively deserted. He walked over to the transporter controls and flipped a couple, nodded his head at her quietly efficient hum. Glancing at the maintenance reports, he opened a channel.

“Computer,” announced a mechanical-sounding female from the bulkheads around them. Zar jumped.

“Run a complete check on all systems, with special emphasis on those that were overhauled. Give me a verbal report on general status and follow up with a readout to be delivered to me when I key for it.”

“Working,” commented the voice. After a second’s pause, it said, “All systems answer with an efficiency rating of plus 95 or better. Do you wish a breakdown by individual system?”

“Not at this time. I’ll key for it in a few minutes. Provide copies upon request to Department Heads, Mr. Spock, and Chief Engineer Scott. Also duplicates to the maintenance authorities. Kirk out.” He turned to Spock, who was standing beside him. “I thought I’d assign Zar to bunk in with some of the unmarried security men.”