Star Trek Into Darkness Page 0,53

We have no schematics, no diagrams, no operating files. Without Mr. Scott on board, there’s no one appropriately qualified to pop open a newly designed four-ton stick of dynamite. Even our weapons specialists won’t attempt a break-in without explanatory software—or Mr. Scott’s expertise.”

“If I may offer a thought, Captain?”

Kirk eyed his science officer. “Always, Mr. Spock.”

“It has come to my attention that the admiral’s daughter also has an interest in the new torpedoes, and she is a weapons specialist. Perhaps she could be of some use.”

Kirk whirled. Captain and physician gawked at the Vulcan. “What?!” Kirk stared hard at his first officer. “What admiral’s daughter?”

“Carol Marcus,” Spock explained blithely. “Your new science officer concealed her true identity in order to be assigned to the Enterprise.”

Kirk made no attempt to conceal his bewilderment. “When were you going to tell me that?”

“When it became relevant,” a complacent Spock assured him. “As it just did.”

“Are the torpedoes in the weapons bay?”

Carol Marcus spoke without looking at Kirk as the two of them strode swiftly down the corridor. Meanwhile, a hundred questions raced through Kirk’s mind. Unfortunately, they were not neatly aligned, and the result was a jumble that prevented any one of them from coming to the fore in anything resembling a coherent fashion. It did not help that she plainly had an agenda of her own.

“Prepped and loaded for use in the weapons bay,” he informed her. Somehow, he thought, everything that had happened since the slaughter at Starfleet Headquarters seemed to keep coming back to the new weapons system. But why? “What are they? What’s so special about them other than that they’re supposed to be undetectable when in flight?”

She looked over at him. “I don’t know. That’s why I manipulated a transfer onto your ship—to find out.” Halting abruptly, she turned to face him, plainly embarrassed. “I do apologize for that, and I am sorry. I’m Carol Marcus.”

Yeah, I know. He extended a hand. “James Kirk.” Before he could add anything else, she whirled and resumed her rapid pace.

Fine, he thought. She’s apologized. He could only hope she was planning to be honest with him from now on. So . . . if her serious interest was in the new torpedoes, why was she heading toward the shuttle bay? He could have stopped her and asked, but found it potentially more revealing to let her lead the way. She made no attempt to evade his attention or leave him behind.

“I don’t understand,” he finally pressed her. “You’re investigating your own father? And how are you English?”

“He was stationed in London when I was born, but soon afterwards my parents split up. When I was old enough, I joined Starfleet to follow in his footsteps. I’m not particularly proud of using my connections, but it was the only way I could gain access to the diversity of programs he personally oversaw. He never seemed to mind. In fact, I think he encouraged my curiosity. We never kept things from each other. Not that I ever had much to conceal from him. Then”—she hesitated, uncertain how to proceed—“things . . . changed.”

“How so?” Kirk prompted her.

“I learned he was working with programs intended to develop new weapons. When I started my usual poking around, my security clearance was revoked.” She shook her head in disbelief, remembering. “There had never been a hint that I was doing anything wrong or that I was expressing an interest in something I shouldn’t have been inquiring about. One minute I had access to anything and everything to which my father was connected; the next, to nothing. As far as security was concerned, Starfleet cut me off completely. But that wasn’t the worst of it.”

“Go on,” he said gently. They were almost to the shuttle bay now.

“When I went to confront my father to find out what had happened, he wouldn’t even see me.” She made a small sound in her throat. “We’d been close, very close, my whole life, and suddenly he won’t see me. Wouldn’t talk via communicator, wouldn’t even acknowledge receipt of a simple message. But it didn’t stop me from trying to find out what had caused the rift. I suspected it might have something to do with his then-current project.

“I had to call in every favor I had ever earned. There were people, friends, who risked their careers to feed me information. I learned about the research on a new type of torpedo. Then, when I tried to dig a little deeper,