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When the first Strange New Worlds volume came out, I was persuaded by folks in my sf/fantasy writer's workshop to submit a story. I did. I received a note from editor Dean Wesley Smith that it almost made the cut and that I should submit more in the future. I never did. Here's the story that almost made the cut.
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In Essence Nothing
I tell you, Jim, the only enjoyable thing about everyone thinking you were dead was Sulu challenging Spock to a duel.
See, with you stuck in spatial interphase, and Spock trying to run the ship while everyone was going mad, I had to insist that he take just one duty shift off to eat and relax -- Vulcan physiology or no, he wasn’t going to be any use to the ship and the crew with low blood sugar, and the Tholians weren’t going anywhere. So he sat down with some plomeek soup, and I sat at the same table with a big plate of ribs, because I know it irritates him to watch me eat meat. I was feeling somewhat surly, if you can believe it.
So I looked that pointy-eared walking computer right in the eye, and I said, “We’re going to have to hold a formal ceremony. Make it official. The crew needs it, and protocol demands it.” I realize this is somewhat sensitive, Jim, but you have to hear it like it was.
And he looked up at me with that cold reptilian stare that always gets my gander up, and I could almost swear I saw his nictating eyelids blink at me -- you know he does that just to annoy me. “You are merely stating the obvious, Doctor,” he said in that slow, deliberate way of his. I was almost tempted to point out the split infinitive. “I have already made a decision to that effect. The memorial will be held in the ship’s chapel before the next shift.” And he went back to passively eating his soup.
Well, this made me mad, so I started in on him. “And how does this make you feel, Spock? How does it feel to bury your friend and take his command?” Granted, I’d been saying words to that effect during the whole ordeal, but you know me, Jim. If a point needs to be belabored, I’ll beat that horse until it looks like an autopsy.
And do you know what he said to me? Honest to God, Jim, he looked up from his bowl and said, “We are not burying Captain Kirk, Doctor. He’s trapped in interphase.”
Well, I was about to make some pithy comment about how he had merely stated the obvious when Lt. Sulu approached the table.
“Mr. Spock,” he said, “May I have a word with you?”
Spock just looked up at him and gave a curt nod, like words were too illogical for a response or something, and if Sulu bristled at it I didn’t notice. Instead, our helmsman stood there, rigid as you please, and said, “Mr. Spock, as a matter of honor, I must formally challenge you to a duel.”
So, while I was busy climbing back into my chair, Spock just looked at him with one eyebrow raised. “Mr. Sulu, such an activity is against Starfleet regulations.”
“I am aware of that, sir.”
Spock studied the lieutenant very carefully, and I figured he would just dismiss Sulu and forget about it. But I was wrong, oddly enough. “You are aware that dueling has been considered an illegal activity by humans for centuries.”
Sulu was apparently ready to face rhetoric with rhetoric, and appeared quite unaware of the attention he was attracting. “And you are aware, sir, that there are several formal dueling codes on Vulcan that are still practiced, and virtual duels have been used to settle disputes on several colony worlds for over a hundred--”
“Mr. Sulu,” interrupted that green-blooded half-br-- sorry, Jim, I’ll get to the point -- “Mr. Sulu,” he said, “the dueling codes on Vulcan are very ritualized and for specific purposes. What possible reason do you have for this challenge that would apply to this situation?”
“I think it’s the interphase affecting him,” I commented, setting down a rib I’d just finished gnawing clean. “Sulu, maybe you should come down to sickbay.”
“I’m fine, Doctor. I know what I’m doing.” He turned to face Spock, and by now a crowd had gathered around us. “Sir, it is a personal tradition that I formally challenge any commanding officer before I serve under him. It is a tradition I adopted when I studied ancient Vulcan culture -- your people have something similar, I believe.”
“It is an old practice,” said Spock, nodding thoughtfully. “I take it this is something you did with Captain Kirk?”
Sulu grinned infectiously at the memory, just like you are now. “When I first came on board as ship’s physicist. It’s a matter of record. And as acting commander, it is your responsibility the Captain is lost in interphase. If I am to serve under you as Captain, then for my own honor to be satisfied, we must fight. It is as ancient a tradition.” And to punctuate this, he gave Spock one of those formal Japanese bows he does on those rare occasions when he hints at his heritage.
Well, Spock didn’t know what to make of all this, apparently, and like I said, by this time a crowd had gathered. Tension was rather high all over the ship, as you can well expect, what with Scotty working furiously to get the engines back up before the Tholians completed their damned energy web, you being dead or missing or whatever, and people like poor Chekov cracking up all over the ship because of the spatial interphase. And Spock was pretty much being the tyrant he was when we lost you on Mirimanee’s planet -- or it felt like he was, anyway. So the crew was looking for any excuse to relax.
Whatever the motivation that logic-obsessed half-alien mind of his came up with, Spock finally turned to Mr. Sulu, his voice measured and precise as always. “Name your time and place.”
Mr. Sulu’s grin exploded into a full-fledged smile, and I swear I heard one crewman gasp. It might have been me. “The gymnasium on Deck Sixteen. One half hour.” He cocked his head and scrutinized Spock carefully. “As the challenged, you have the choice of weapon.”
Spock nodded and regarded our young lieutenant. “If memory serves, you are something of an afficionado of the swashbuckling classics. Rapiers and main-gauche will serve.” I don’t think Sulu’s smile could get any wider.
And then Spock turned to me, Jim, and I couldn’t believe what he said next. “It is customary for there to be a second in these matters, Doctor. Would you agree to act as mine?”
“Spock,” I said, “I wouldn’t miss this if that web collapsed on us in the next ten minutes.” This is the man -- well, half-man, half duotronic circuit -- that I was ready to punch in the mouth not fifteen minutes before. You know, Jim, without you there, Spock and I came close to killing each other.
Now, it did bother me a little that Spock was willing to just drop everything and engage Sulu in a swordfight in the middle of this crisis situation. But, after all, I was the one who insisted he take some time off to relax. And who knows what Spock does on his time off? He’s so damned private, maybe physical exercise is something he enjoys as well as reading science journals, and we just never see it. He’s always in great shape, so he must exercise sometime.
So, an hour later, I met up with Spock on Deck Sixteen. And we found Sulu there in the middle of this big crowd of off-duty crewmen, because by then everyone had heard about it. And Sulu was practicing, right? In full D’Artagnan regalia, complete with the blousy shirt, the knee-length leather boots and matching ostrich-plumed hat -- the whole deal. I swear to you, Jim, if that man wasn’t able to fly this ship through the eye of a needle, I’d have him up for psychiatric evaluation faster than the kick from a swig of Saurian brandy. He’s always been too damned quiet, if you ask me, and people like that worry me.
And Spock, of course, just took this all in classic Vulcan stride, like this is how he expects Sulu to always look. He looked at Sulu’s rapier -- some authentic Italian thing from the Sixteenth century, with twisty metal all around the hilt, or whatever you call the handle. Hilt? Okay. I took fencing as an elective back at the Academy, but I barely passed, none of it stuck, and the whole experience was nothing like what Spock and Sulu were about to do. But like I said, he looked at the rapier and matching main-gauche, which is that left-handed parrying dagger -- well, you might know that, Jim, but I didn’t know it, and you can be sure Spock told me all about it on the way to the gym -- and said, “I trust you have adequate weaponry for me?”
“Indeed,” said Sulu, and the geologist, Lt. D’Amato, who was acting as his second, brought this long mahogany case over with this rapier and main-gauche that matched Sulu’s. Did you know he collected them? Well, I didn’t, and I’ve got to tell you, Jim, given the degree of hostility all over the ship, I was rather nervous at the sight of naked steel, even if it was supposed to be a controlled setting. I mean, what if the interphase affected either of them in the middle of the duel, right?
But they both ignored my protests -- even Spock refused to see the logic of what I had to say. No, really, Jim, laugh all you want, but he just wouldn’t listen to me. And it’s not like I nagged him or anything.
Anyway, so Spock stripped off his uniform shirt and took a few practice lunges, and from what I remember of fencing, his form looked pretty damned good, but Sulu was obviously in practice. I thought to myself, this was going to be interesting -- comparing Spock’s analytical strategy and brute force over Sulu’s skill and guile. The crowd tensed the moment Sulu chuckled and said, “En garde, monsieur.” I had a momentary flashback to the situation over Psi 2000.
They circled one another, their swords slicing at each other cautiously, their eyes locked. Then Sulu began a series of quick attacks and feints, designed, I guess, to test how serious Spock was with this whole duel. He obviously forgot about the superior Vulcan strength, because Spock deflected each blow, then stepped in and bound their blades at the hilt. “You have considerable skill, Lieutenant,” he said, which I thought was pretty uncharacteristic of Spock, quite frankly. And then he pushed Sulu away, knocking him off-balance.
Sulu just grinned, though, and regained his footing in time to avoid Spock’s follow-up. “Whereas you are quite strong, sir,” he said, parrying a thrust to his midsection with the main-gauche while slicing past Spock’s defenses. “But strength isn’t everything, is it?” If Spock hadn’t twisted away in time, it could have punctured his heart, and it was then that I was glad that I’d brought a med kit with me.
The two fought like that for what must have been ten, fifteen minutes, with Spock getting the upper hand on a purely physical level, while Sulu would dance around and barely make contact, twisting out of Spock’s way -- it almost looked like he was taunting our Science Officer, and without even breaking a sweat. And the crew watching them loved it. It was a mistake on Sulu’s part.
Jim, I was fooled as well -- after watching them, I figured Spock was just not used to using a weapon like that. I mean, even after watching him attack you with that lirpa, I always thought of him as slow and brutish -- let’s face it, he’s a big, slow-moving, powerful Vulcan who’s much better at computing decimals of pi than melee combat, right?
Wrong.
Jim, I swear to you by the Great Bird of the Galaxy that Vulcan was only toying with Sulu. After testing him for those five or ten minutes, that computer brain of his must have analyzed every move the helmsman had, every nuance of Sulu’s technique, and was now ready. He was a flurry of movement, delicate, lightning-quick, graceful. No-one saw it coming.
Except, of course, Sulu. Mr. Fencing Master.
He countered every move. Spock’s blade would slice through Sulu’s defenses, and Sulu’s main-gauche would be there instantly to parry. Sulu would whirl about with a group of attacks, and Spock would simply catch the helmsman’s blade in his sword and main-gauche and force him away. It was amazing. Every single crewmember observing that battle was absolutely riveted, and rightly so. Jim, it was savage poetry in steel, and I never saw anything like it.
I’m not going to tell you who won.
Nope. No, I’m going to let one of them tell you. It doesn’t matter, anyway. And I’ll tell you why. Because everyone involved -- the crew, me, the both of them -- needed the fight, not the victory. They needed the release. The tension had mounted so much during this whole crisis that no-one, even those not affected by the interphase, could think clearly anymore. They needed something that was fun, to take their minds off the Tholians and off your death. And you know, I think Sulu saw that need, and I think that’s why he initiated the duel. That young man’s full of surprises and insight, Jim. I wouldn’t be surprised if he makes Captain himself one day.
So I talked to Spock immediately after, of course, as we walked back to his cabin. “Spock,” I said, “what was all that about, anyway? Here we are in a crisis situation, the Captain’s dead, the ship’s about to be destroyed, the crew on the brink of mutiny -- and you’re fighting a duel with a junior officer. Why?”
He looked at me carefully as we entered the turbolift. “Because, Doctor, it would be illogical to restrict myself to a particular mode of thinking -- strategically unsound. I must always be open to new possibilities. In this situation, the rush of adrenaline I received fighting the duel with Lt. Sulu has given me a new clarity of thought. It has enabled me to develop new strategies to take with the Tholians, strategies I shall implement once we are finished with the memorial ceremony. Surely you can see the need for this.”
“Damned right,” I said. “You were feeling a little tense and needed to blow off some steam.”
“Doctor, it grows tiresome to constantly remind you that I am a Vulcan. I do not require ‘blowing off steam.’” You know, if he was still Captain, I think he just might have made a standing order to restrict me from alluding to his emotional state. Which, as far as I recall, is completely against regulation. Not that I would have stopped doing it anyway, of course -- someone has to keep Spock in line.
Oh, yes, and I talked to Sulu when I gave him his dose of diluted theragen, and I asked him about the whole code of honor thing. I said, “How often have you switched Captains that you’ve had to fight this duel?”
“Oh, I’ve only ever sparred with Captain Kirk before,” he said, “and that was always at his request.”
“You mean you made that all up about this being an ancient tradition?”
And he looks me straight in the eye, and gave me that contagious grin, and says, “Ancient traditions have to start somehow, Doctor.”
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