lostandfound-parttwo

Lost and Found - Part Two

Dinner that night was an unexpectedly jovial

affair. Kirk was determined to keep the occasion light

and the others, Scotty, Uhura, Chekov and Sulu took

their cue from him. He had dealt with the matter of

names the moment they arrived by the simple expedient

of kissing Uhura on the cheek and calling her by her first

name. However nobody felt able to reciprocate except

Mr Scott, who had known him as a cocky young ensign

and at the time had even outranked him.

So it was Scotty who raised the question that was

uppermost in all their minds. After a long leisurely meal

in which the talk had all been about old times and as they

sat over the brandy decanter, he took his courage in

both hands and asked, "Have ye decided what ye want

to do, Jim?"

Kirk's head was spinning slightly as a result of the

brandy after so long an abstinence but he did not pretend

not to understand. "I'm going back to Earth to stand trial."

He waited until the protests died down. "I know you want to

arrange an escape for me but if I'd wanted to do that I would

have run from 23 - wouldn't have been that difficult to jump

a ship and I could have done it without involving anyone

else."

He looked them, his face serene but still hopelessly

wearied. "I'm going back to see my family and to take what's

coming to me. I'm not as bad as I painted myself in that

broadcast but I deserve at least some what I'm going to get

- so don't waste too much pity on me." He grinned and

passed his hand over his bristling scalp. "I don't suppose

they can do anything to me much worse than this haircut -

practically counts as cruel and unusual punishment on its

own."

An appalled silence formed and he hurried to fill it,

"By the way, I've got a bone to pick with you, Scotty. How

could you persuade Madeleine Masterson to risk her

career like that?"

Mr Scott, like the old-fashioned officer and gentleman

that he was, accepted the decision and responded to it. "Sirr!"

His indignation was a beautifully judged parody of one of

his famous tirades in defence of his 'bairns'. "Are ye

insinuatin' that a laddie I trained couldn't disable a ship wi'out

being caught?"

Kirk shook his head and hastened to deny it. "Heavens

no! I wouldn't dare! And I suppose now I'm aboard Maddie

will suddenly find a way to make repairs."

"I wouldn't be a bit surprised."

"Tell me, what if it hadn't been the Hood?" He was

genuinely curious.

Scott smiled affectionately; did Kirk really not know how

much loyalty he had built up over the years? He leant forward

and patted him on the arm. "Jim, between us in this room - you,

me and Nyota here - we've got laddies on every ship in the

quadrant. There was no way they were goin' to avoid sendin

' th'Enterprise." He grinned evilly. "Mind you, y'know Tom

Styles is on the Lexington now? Well, I always thought his

plan to programme the food replicators to add a huge dose

of laxative t'everything was a wee bit on the crude side."

They all laughed and the moment passed. Kirk was

never quite sure how true that last bit had been.

The meal drew to a close after that, his fatigue was

obvious and nobody wanted to tax his strength.

Uhura was the last to leave and, as she passed him

in the doorway, she put her arms round him briefly and was

shocked to feel the fine tremors running through his body.

This was more of a strain than he was letting on.

A wave of almost intolerable compassion swept over

her and she nearly offered to stay. If anybody needed

someone to hold him through the night, it was James Kirk.

There had been a physical attraction between them

for years which neither of them had ever had any intention

of pursuing, not only because service regs disapproved but

also because they were both anxious not to ruin a first class,

professional relationship. However, at this moment, she could

see his need and it over rode her scruples.

She opened her mouth, hesitated and then closed it

again. She couldn't. It was too like admitting that he would never

be captain again, too much like giving up hope. She hugged

him hard and left.

Back in her own cabin she reflected on what she

had seen. She did not believe the half-confession he had

just made for an instant, recognising in it the familiar sound

of the captain taking up responsibility for things that were

not his fault. She must remember to have a word with Chekov,

he was scarcely more than a boy, she'd better make sure

he hadn't got the wrong idea.

During the next few days the crew got used to seeing

Kirk padding round the ship in casual clothes and a pair of

loafers Spock had somehow persuaded the fabricators to

disgorge. To the crew he appeared cheerful and grateful and

resigned. The clothes, the crew-cut hair and the fact that he

was a good twenty pounds underweight made him look

ridiculously young, like somebody's kid brother, but even

so hardly anybody could bring themselves to call him by

his first name. Indeed very few of the crew could bring

themselves to talk to him at all, daunted by both the scars

they could see and the knowledge that there must be

more, both physical and mental, that they could not.

He was, however, in no danger of mistaking this for

rejection because, time and again, in corridors and lifts

and Mess queues he found himself meeting crewmen

and women unable to express their feelings except

through gentle hands which patted his shoulder or

squeezed his arm or grasped his hand.

He never went to the Bridge, preferring to spend his

time wandering round the areas of the ship a captain never

gets much time to see. He even spent an entire day up a

Jeffries tube with Mr Scott, renewing the magnetic

interphase coils for the number two impulse engine.

Nobody doubted that he was saying goodbye to his ship.

McCoy and Spock waited to be confided in but it

never happened and eventually, driven by increasing

concern, the doctor, with a somewhat reluctant Spock in tow,

went in search of him. They found him in his quarters, rubbing

his head with a towel after yet another shower.

McCoy glared at him, angry, embarrassed and afraid.

He knew damn fine that, whatever he was about to hear, he

wouldn't like it. He also knew that it needed to be said so

he charged in headlong.

"Jim, you have to talk to us," he said crossly, "I don't

know what you've done and I don't much care but you have

to talk to somebody about it. I got the computer to monitor

the water use in here and it's four times higher than anybody

else's on the ship. Whatever it is you're washin' off, I want

to know about it and I want to know now!"

Spock winced internally at this tone but Kirk seemed

unoffended. He merely turned away and tossed the towel

into the disposal chute. "I was wondering how long it would

take you to come and badger me," he said calmly. "I don't

suppose it will do any good to say I'd rather not talk about it?"

"No."

"Thought not. Et tu Spock?"

"If you would rather not talk in my presence I would be

happy to leave you alone with the doctor."

"Hell no - that's not what I meant and you know it. For

someone who claims to know nothing about emotions, you're

getting entirely too good at knowing which of my buttons to

press. If I do talk about it - it'll be to the both of you. I'm just not

sure I want to talk to anyone."

McCoy pulled up a chair and settled down for a good

argument. "Look - what's the standard procedure following

a mission with casualties?" There was no answer so he

plunged on. "You debrief the people involved, find out what

went wrong, try to stop it happening again and try to stop

them feeling responsible for things they couldn't help - that's

all I want to do now."

Kirk was not about to give in that easily. "The two

situations are hardly analogous," he said stiffly.

"Why not? You sure look like one of the walking

wounded to me and you're bleeding guilt all over the ship."

Spock felt it was time to intervene. "Might I offer an

alternative view point? We are currently skirting the Neutral

Zone, Romulan incursions along the border have been

increasing over recent months and only the Federation's

enhanced shielding has protected ground-based

operations since then. Although I estimate the chances of

you actually being a traitor to be 3,589 to 1 against, the fact

remains that you must have told the Romulans something

and it would greatly assist me in my capacity as commander

of this vessel if I knew precisely what."

"3,589 to 1 eh?" Kirk couldn't help but be amused.

"Pretty good odds." He looked at them with an expression

that was half-affectionate, half-angry. "You two are getting

Machiavellian in your old ages - what is this, a variation on

good cop/bad cop? Bones appeals to my emotions and

you appeal to my command instincts?" He dropped into a

chair. "I don't know if I like being that predictable. I'm sure

as hell not that easy to manipulate."

McCoy could practically see the need to talk written

all over the stubborn face on the other side of the desk.

"OK," he said brutally. "It's straight emotional blackmail

time. Tell us because we're your friends and we're asking

you to."

"Oh for..."

An explosion of the rare but cataclysmic Kirk temper

seemed likely and Spock hurried to join in the doctor's

request. "Please Jim," he said simply and took up a chair

opposite his friend. His years with humans had taught him all

about their simple need to say out loud the things that weighed

upon them.

Kirk found his objections melting. It was a simple

request that said in effect - come and be helped. His

shoulders relaxed and he sighed. "Looks like I am that

easy to manipulate after all," he said eventually.

He ordered two mugs of coffee and one of the

pungent Vulcan brew Spock favoured from the replicator,

settled back in his chair. After a few seconds of tense

silence, he began to talk, his voice unconvincingly casual.

"OK let's start at Starbase 18. I went ashore to see

the Portmaster about those two men (Watson and

Ramirez wasn't it?) who'd gotten into a brawl shore-side.

As I was leaving I got a message that Doctor Matheus was

on the base and would like to see me. I'd been in

communication with him for years about Mrs Mitchell and

the message said he had good news. I didn't think twice

about it, there was some sort of medic's conference going

on and 18 is half a galaxy away from any danger, usually so

safe it's dull. I went to the hotel room I'd been told and got

jumped. I came to on a Romulan ship, the Tar'shevek."

He paused, this was even more difficult than he had

expected. Intellectually he knew all about the psychology of

trauma, he'd been carefully trained to help anyone under his

command who found themselves in this sort of situation,

but knowing he *should* talk was a long way from feeling

*able* to. The truth was he didn't want to remember, he

didn't want to have to put into words the things that had

happened to him and most of all, despite everything they

had said and done, he did not want to have to lay his

dishonour bare before his friends. The very thought of it

produced a wave of nausea and a horrible griping

sensation in the pit of his stomach.

On the other side of the table they watched him,

their eyes bright with concern. He tried to speak and

couldn't. He looked down and, when he looked up again,

his face was white and strained. "I'm not sure I can do

this," he said slowly. "I know it's stupid but you two have

such a ridiculously high opinion of me ...."

McCoy leaned over the desk; his exasperation only

partly feigned. "Listen to me, Jim-boy. Me n'Spock don't

care if you told the Romulans everything from the

combination of Komack's safe to the President's inside

leg measurement. We've both spent four and half of the

worst months of our lives worrying about you - now you're

back we don't give a plugged nickel about anything else.

You should tell us because it'll help you, it won't make a

blind bit of difference to us."

Kirk glanced at the Vulcan. "Colloquially expressed,"

began Spock and the other two joined in the chorus, "but

essentially correct." Kirk smiled; it was good to be home,

even if it wouldn't be for long. He got himself another mug

of coffee, wrapped his hands round the warmth and started

again.

"OK, OK I'm convinced." He took a deep breath and

deliberately unfocussed his eyes; he couldn't do this if he

had to watch their reactions.

"We all know the Regs. 'Regulation 143.3.2 - It is the

duty of every captured officer to escape if possible' - well it

wasn't. They weren't the military, every military organisation

I've ever met has a moral code of some kind, even if it appears

alien to us. This was the Tal'Shiar, Imperial Intelligence and

they had no concept of the civilised treatment of prisoners.

They didn't want me to escape so they broke my legs with a

grab-handle." His voice was dispassionate, if he told the

story as though it were someone else's perhaps he could

get through it. The open indignation of the doctor and Spock's

gradually increasing rigidity of body went unseen.

He took another deep breath and started quoting again,

"'Regulation 143.3.3 In the event that escape is impossible it

shall be the duty of every officer in possession, either physically

or mentally, of classified material to ensure that such material

does not fall into the hands of the enemy' . They call that the

suicide clause, though it doesn't say that in so many words.

I could have killed myself during the journey. They never, ever

left me alone but I could have used that technique I made

you tell me about Spock, the breathing thing."

Spock suppressed his reactions. That thought had

been almost the worst thing about the whole ordeal, not

knowing whether to be glad that he had taught his friend

the Vulcan technique for painless euthanasia and had

thereby given him a way to avoid the worst, or whether

to be sorry that it was he who had shown Jim how to die.

"I couldn't do it. I don't think it was fear of dying

because I already considered myself dead. They'd

question me, probably under torture and then kill me -

I knew that and I was ready for it. I just couldn't kill myself,

it was too like..." the scarred fingers flexed as though

grasping for the right words, "giving up before I had to.

I wish I thought it was courage - I've a nasty

feeling it was more like vanity, maybe I've built my

self-image up to the extent that I'd rather betray the

Federation than compromise it. 'I am Kirk - and if I

quit, I'll never hear the end of it'," he said wryly, quoting

practically the only two respectable lines of a scurrilous

lampoon which had circulated through the ship to great

applause a few months before his disappearance.

He shook his head and shrugged. "Maybe it was fear,

I don't know any more."

"I think I was on the ship for about three weeks, I

couldn't move. I was dependant on them for everything."

A nauseated expression appeared briefly and was

gone. "I don't know where we ended up because we

transported down at night. All I saw was a big courtyard

and a huge white building shaped a bit like the Tented Hall

on Vulcan, only larger and more flamboyant. I was expecting

something out of Edgar Alan Poe - you know, Bones - old

and dark and creepy. This was more like a hospital -

light, clean, efficient."

It was getting really difficult to talk now. "The first

few weeks were taken up with the standard sort of thing.

Sub-harmonics, subliminals, hypnosis, auto-suggestion,

sleep conditioning, DPR, sensory deprivation, drugs.

Surprisingly enough, the command conditioning worked -

it was all pretty horrible but none of it was unbearable."

He paused but forced himself to continue, "Then

there was a nasty attempt at a forced mind meld, a

weasily little bastard with a flat head and eyes like a

dead fish. You'd told me how to deal with that one,

Spock. I gathered up all the hate and anger that had

been building in me since they'd grabbed me, and I

rammed it down the link he built up after they'd tied me

down." He grinned wolfishly. "I don't know what it did

to him but they carried him out, bleeding from the nose

and ears and I never saw him again."

Despite himself he caught sight of McCoy's

shocked expression and became suddenly angry.

"Sorry Bones - I'm afraid 'Good Ol' Jim' is on vacation

right now. Maybe next week I'll start feeling sorry for

my enemies again but for the time being you'll just

have to put up with Jim the Sonovabitch, the one who

thinks the only good Romulan is a dead one."

The anger drained away and he rubbed his eyes

wearily and looked at them both. "Do you really want to

know all this?" He didn't wait for an answer. He just started

talking again and soon the words were pouring out in a

desperate, cathartic stream.

"There was a gap of about 60 hours, I think they

were waiting for some brass hat to come and decide

what to do next. Then two new people turned up, they

looked like middle-ranking bureaucrats, a man and a

woman, both about the same age as me. They looked

pretty harmless but I could see everybody was shit

scared of them and I soon found out why.

They were the Imperial Examiner-General and

her assistant sent specially from the Praetor's Household,

and they got down to the good ol' fashioned, down home,

physical torture. Near-drowning, electric shocks, beatings,

cold, heat, sleep deprivation, low intensity disrupters, white

noise, hanging - I've no idea how long it went on for, it

seemed to be eternal. The command conditioning crumbled.

After a while I would have killed myself if I could but by

then I lacked the physical co-ordination or the mental

control to do it. I hung on as long as I could and then I

talked." He paused and looked down at his hands; they

were shaking visibly. He stared at them for a long time

until the shaking subsided. He seemed to have run out

of the strength to go on.

"What did you tell them?" asked Spock gently.

Kirk sighed. "Garbage - a useless mishmash of

stuff they must know already, stuff it doesn't matter if they

know, stuff that was out of date the second I was listed

AWOL and outright lies. I knew what they wanted and

every moment of coherent thought I had I rehearsed my

answers. I invented them and I learnt them - like an actor

learning lines, like poetry learned by rote. I thought of

nothing else, literally nothing else, *ever*; from the first

day they grabbed me to the day I spilt my lying guts all

over the floor. Not the pain, not the ship, not my family,

not home, not you, not even my own life, just the lies. I

repeated them over and over and over again.

Sometimes starting in the middle or near the end,

sometimes in a different order, now backwards,

now forwards. Every moment of my waking life, every

conscious second, even when they were beating me,

even during this," he pointed at his shoulder.

He caught their eyes and they could see the

bone-deep anger in his. "Want to hear some?" He

began to recite in a wooden monotone, and after a few

seconds Spock recognised a description of the early

tests of a force field with shipwide shielding potential

which had been the talk of Federation weapons

experts a few months earlier. Later tests had proved

that the technology did not and could not work, indeed

Spock himself had been part of the group that had found

the scientific theory that lay behind that failure. He had

discussed the project with Kirk over the chess board

and Jim had evidently used those discussions as the

basis for an elaborate and elegant fraud which, if

pursued by the enemy, would entail them in months

of fruitless and highly expensive research.

The recitation continued for a few minutes, the

voice getting gradually louder and louder, and then it

was cut off suddenly. Kirk shook himself angrily. "I can't

forget it even now. It still rattles around in here." He struck

his forehead with a clenched fist. "Like an advertising

jingle or a song you can't get out of your head - only

there's hours and hours of it, fake ship movements,

fake command structures, fake codes, fake weapons...."

There was silence while they watched him drag

himself back under control. When he began to talk

again his voice was tight and clipped. "They taught us

that concentration will help you resist pain. The lies

probably did help me hang on but it was only a

postponement of the inevitable - sooner or later

you talk."

McCoy leant over. "Why are you so angry with

yourself?" he asked, perplexed. "You beat them. You told

them nothing and you didn't break!"

Kirk looked at him coldly. "Oh I broke, don't ever

doubt that," he said bitterly. "I broke, I had no choice.

These people are experts. Eventually, despite everything I did

and everything I was, they split me open like a rotten log

and I emptied out the lies I'd concocted because, by that

time, they were so much a part of me telling the lies was

easier than telling the truth. Without those lies I would have

told them everything I knew."

He seemed to be looking inwards at something only

he could see, the trembling in the hands started again and ,

to the fascinated horror of his friends, he began to rock

gently backwards and forwards, hugging himself.

"I thought they'd kill me then. I was desperate for it

and horrified when they didn't. I blacked out, I think for a

couple of days, and when I came to they were re-building

my face and hands, repairing the visible damage. The

governor of the prison came and said I had to make a

recording for the newsnets. I tried to think but I didn't

seem to have a mind left to do it with - I still thought they

were going to kill me and this seemed to be the only

chance I'd get of letting you two and my mother know

what had happened to me. They say not knowing is the

worst. Trouble was - there was a good chance that the

Tal'Shiar would rather keep it all quiet while they exploited

the information I'd given them."

He began to shiver and Spock rose, went to the

locker and gave him a woollen sweater. He tried to put

it on but the trembling was so bad eventually they

had to help him with it.

When he started to speak again his voice was so

low they could hardly hear it. "I knew I had to put on a good

show - make it so 'entertaining' that they wouldn't be able

to resist showing it - so I gave them....what you saw. I tried

to make some of it sound inherently implausible but I was

too far gone by then for much fine tuning. I knew you two

and Mom wouldn't believe it and you were the only people

I cared about by then, everything else had been killed

by the pain."

"Why do you think they let you go?" McCoy didn't

care but he wanted everything to come out.

Kirk shot an odd look at Spock and seemed to

hesitate. "I don't really know - I don't think there was *a*

reason. Partly because they thought they'd got everything

I had to tell them; partly because I was a loathsome

specimen by this stage, beneath anyone's dignity to kill,

and partly because, 'though the leadership caste are

merely exploiting the Warrior Ethic, it still plays well with

the public and sending me back was a chance for a big

gesture. You know - 'The Empire will not soil its hands

with the oathbreaker - we return him to you for his

punishment'."

He covered his eyes with his hand for a moment

and took a shuddering breath. "It may also have been

because I begged them not to."

"Why?" Spock was blessedly uncritical.

"Briar patch principal - I'd got to know how their

minds work by then." He smiled mirthlessly. "Nothing

like a couple of days with someone who's breaking your

metacarpals one by one for giving you cultural insight.

I was forsworn in their eyes, the lowest of the low and

whatever I didn't want was probably exactly what I

ought to get. I think that's why they fixed me up before

they sent me back. So what I'd done wouldn't be

obscured by the condition I was in."

He shrugged. "I didn't really think it would work but

after all the rest I didn't feel as though I could give up without

the effort, so I grovelled and pleaded not to be sent

back. I even..." He broke off, breathing deeply through the

nose. "No." There were some things no one should burden his

friends with.

"They started to fix me up, I thought they were just getting

me ready for another round of questioning. I forced myself to

memorise another set of lies for them. I had visions of an

endless series of questions and operations and more

questions. I could feel myself going mad. I even tried to make

it happen. Then one day they gave me a shot of something

and I woke up on 23. I'd lost all contact with reality by then, I

wasn't sure whether it was real or a Romulan fiction or a

hallucination, by that stage my dreams were often more

vivid and certainly a lot less painful than being awake. It

wasn't 'til I saw one of the guards was Jon-Jo Hasek who'd

been with me on the Republic that I realised I was back."

"I could see they all hated me. I don't blame them -

stuck out there on the edge of the Neutral Zone; front line

troops presented with a man who had sold them out for the

sake of his own miserable skin. Most of them were only

kids and at that age you always think you'd be ready to

'do or die'. Hell, even the doctor could scarcely bring himself

to touch me." McCoy made a furious mental note to contact

the Federation Bureau of Medical Ethics; there was no

excuse for negligence on this scale.

"I didn't think like that back there of course, I'd

stopped thinking at all, I was just.... lost. Both sets of lies

began to tangle and for some reason it seemed desperately

important to try to sort them out and keep them separate.

When they said the Enterprise was coming to get me I

broke down completely - I'd become convinced that

you'd despise me too." He put up a hand to stifle the

protests. "Why shouldn't you? I despised myself. It wasn't

until I came aboard I realised..." He shied away

from putting the great gift he had received into his own

words and took refuge in quotation. "That I was not to

be... 'cast into the outer darkness where there is

weeping and wailing and gnashing of teeth.'."

Finished at last, he put his elbows on the desk and

hid his face in his hands, not in shame but in simple exhaustion.

Something inside Spock's chest seemed to twist at the sight.

The ordeal he had just heard described filled him with a pity

and an anger he could not even begin to control and which

he only just managed to prevent appearing in his face.

However, while he could understand Jim's anger only too

well, he was baffled by the overwhelming sense of failure he

could almost see radiating in waves from the slumped figure

on the other side of the desk. Quietly, he did his best to

put the question into words.

"Why do you blame yourself?" he asked. "The kidnap

was not of your making, you told the Romulans nothing

and you returned. I do not see that you have done anything

with which to reproach yourself."

Kirk sat upright, responding almost automatically to

the request for information. "It was only luck, Spock. If they'd

been a little better at their filthy trade I'd have been unable

to stop them finding out anything they wanted to know. I

should have killed myself in the beginning - then there'd

have been no chance of me betraying anything."

"Jim!" It was McCoy's turn now. "Stop beating

yourself up for not giving in before you had to. That's what

you are and it's saved all our lives more times than I can

count. And as for it being luck that kept you from talking -

you've always made your own luck and a dam' good job

you've made of it too."

The Vulcan took up the argument. "You have always

demanded too much of yourself, you are only.."

There was a sudden flare of anger "Human? Believe

me Spock, I was only too well aware that any Vulcan could

have done better than I did."

Spock was undeterred. "I was going to say 'mortal'

and as for the rest you are incorrect. A Vulcan would have

caused his own death as soon as it became apparent that

there could be no hope of rescue. It would be illogical to

suffer pain in those circumstances." He paused and then

said, "Although I regret your pain I cannot regret the return

you purchased with it; nor do I believe that you yourself would

wish to die at the hands of your enemies if there was any

method by which you could avoid it."

Kirk swallowed and shook his head, ducking it to

hide his face. McCoy debated whether he had had enough

but decided to let things take their course, better get it all

out while he was in the mood to talk. It probably wouldn't

last. "So why the hell are we all acting like we're on our

way to a neck-tie party? You tell Starfleet you ran rings

round the Roms, they say 'well done Kirk, have another

medal' - end of story !"

Kirk looked at his friend wearily; so passionate; so

certain; so naive. "It doesn't work like that, Bones, you ought

to know that by now. Why should they believe me? And

even if they do and I get acquitted at the court-martial, the

acquittal won't be one tenth as good a story as the sight

of me on prime-time Tri-V betraying everything I'm

supposed to hold dear. The first was a 'Galactic Incident',

the second will be a closing half-minute on the late night

news. Wherever I go I'll find someone who knows the first

half of the story and doesn't know the rest. Can you really

see Starfleet sending me anywhere on that basis?"

He could see his two friends loking at him with

dismay; this accurate, cynical hopelessness was so

uncharacteristic neither man knew how to deal with it.

He stretched out a hand to them. "Hey, don't look

like that! After the hell I've been in - this trip - knowing

everybody aboard still accepts me, it's more than I ever

dared hope for. It's more than enough. Until four and a

half months ago I had the best life in the known

Universe, I can hardly complain about the price now."

McCoy was not convinced. He knew his friend

better than he knew himself. At the moment he believed

what he was saying, after what he had been through he

was entitled to a little resignation, a little exhaustion, but

it wouldn't last. In a few weeks or months or maybe even

years the longing would come back. The stars, the

unknown, a ship to call his own, all these things were

rooted so deep within him it would take more than the

Romulan Empire's worse to dig them out. He tried a

protest. "Surely you'll get some credit for spreading -

what's the jargon - black propaganda?"

Kirk smiled tiredly. "That's the real irony of it - if

I'd known a little more I could have done some real

damage. As it was, most of what I told them won't fool

them for more than a few weeks or months. They'll find

out about the new sensors some other way, they'll

improve their shielding and we'll have to find something

else to do to regain the upper-hand."

He yawned and stretched. "Mind you," he said,

"I'd like to be a fly in the shuttle when they try to find the

dilithium on Beratacri III." McCoy found his hopes

rising at this sign that even torture had not entirely

eradicated the schoolboy side of Kirk's sense of

humour. They had surveyed the planet over a year

ago and found nothing much except high winds, sand

and a parasitic fly with a craving for copper-based

blood. The Romulans would not enjoy the planet one little

bit.

McCoy tried again, half for his friend's sake and

half for his own. "Are you sure you're not being too dam'

pessimistic about this. You got away leaving the Romulans

with nothing but trash - that's gotta be worth something!"

"Oh, it'll make no difference. I know exactly what

Starfleet'll do - I've always known. If they think I'm guilty,

they'll try me and lock me up but if they think I'm innocent,

it'll be even worse."

The certainty in his voice was chilling and they were

forced to remember that here was a man who knew and

understood the inner workings of the organisation to which

they all belonged and who could predict with precision how it would

react.

"They'll tell me that it's my duty to let the misinformation

run its course, causing the maximum possible disruption to

the Empire, no matter how trivial that proves to be. They will

point out regretfully but firmly that, while they of course believe

me, nobody else ever will and that, unless I join the Orions,

I'll never sit in a captain's chair again. They'll try to persuade

me that my last sacrifice for the flag and my oath should be

to let myself be tried for a crime I haven't committed.

By that time Good Ol' Jim'll probably be back and he's

always been a sucker for that sort of talk, so there'll be a show

trial and I'll be sentenced to imprisonment in exile someplace

light years away from anywhere, where no one will ever go and

check. They'll take my medals off me in public and give 'em all

back in private, probably with one or two extra. Then they'll pay

me a lot of money which they'll call a pension but which

everybody involved will know is really conscience money

and ship me off permanently to somewhere isolated but

not unpleasant."

His mouth twisted bitterly. "And if I really lose all

self-respect they'll even supply me with a steady stream of

women paid to come out and spend a year or so sleeping

with me."

They all sat for a long time, a deeply wronged man and

his friends. None of them wanting to believe the worst but

all of them knowing it was all too likely to happen. Kirk felt

tired and empty but at least some of the tension that had

gripped him ever since he had arrived on board had

dissipated, now all he wanted was sleep. There was only

one last duty to perform and then he could let go. He

glanced at the chrono - 1.00 am ship's time. He looked at

the doctor, read his distress and knew there was nothing

he could do to alleviate it except send him to bed, so he

did.

Spock too got up to leave but caught sight of a quick

shake of the head and stayed behind. As soon as the

door closed behind a dejected McCoy, Kirk came round

the desk and looked up into the face some called impassive

but which he could read as easily as the Bridge screen.

"How much?" he asked quietly.

The Vulcan did not reply; he merely raised an eyebrow.

Kirk shook his head. "C'mon Spock, scar tissue isn't the

only thing I've picked up over the last few months. My

'conversational Romulan' improved by leaps and bounds.

I'm not up to Uhura's standard but I overheard them talking

and even I can work out what 'blood price' probably means.

You're the only person I know with the money to do it and the

brains to work out how. I wasn't sure until just now or I would

have said something sooner. So - how much did you pay for

me?"

Spock could not lie but did not want to tell the whole

truth. "Considerably less than I was prepared to," he said

calmly.

"Are you going to tell me how much?"

"No."

"Nor how you did it?"

"No - although in truth it was not difficult. Like all

military dictatorships the Empire is riddled with corruption

and there are always neutrals and renegades who are

prepared to trade over the Neutral Zone."

Kirk smiled slightly and bowed his head in

acknowledgement. "Very well," he said gravely. "I

shall not seek to devalue your gift by inquiring further;

still less by saying that you should not have made it.

You cannot hide behind the formula about 'a valuable

Starfleet officer' this time, my friend and brother, we

both know my career is over. This was for me and I'm

grateful and honoured."

Spock returned the bow and stood searching

for the right response. "You are my captain and my

friend," he said eventually. "All I have ever known of

friendship and community has been a gift from you.

The debt is all upon my side."

Then, before emotions got completely out of

control, he changed the subject. "Jim, I truly do not see

why you are in such distress, is there nothing I can do?"

Kirk looked him straight in the eye. "No, you can't

help with this," he said and sighed. "I want what I can't

have - I want to feel ..... decent again and I want to feel in

control of my life." Anger began to build again as he

remembered his helplessness, his jaw tightened and

his voice became harsh. "And most of all, right now I

want to find a fist fight and pound three kinds of shit out

of somebody."

Spock recoiled slightly from the violence in his

friend's voice and Kirk saw him do it and started to

apologise. Spock's raised hand stopped him, and

when the Vulcan spoke the deep voice was solemn,

the words a benediction.

"You have no reason to feel guilt about any of

this, my T'hy'la. What you see as weakness is merely

your inability to control the uncontrollable. You are still

the 'master of your fate and the captain of your soul', " he

said, paraphrasing an ancient poem they both knew,

"but you cannot command the actions of your enemies

nor can you govern the response of our superior officers.

Let them react how they will but be assured of this - to

those who know you, you are as you have always been,

a man we are proud to know and would be proud to serve

under once again."

He stood for a moment as though assessing the

effect of what he had said then, once assured that he had

struck home, he turned on his heel and left. Although

they never spoke of it again, Kirk never forgot the moment

and carried the words with him, like medals, until the day he

died.

First watch the next day began with Spock on the

Bridge and Kirk and McCoy in Sickbay; the doctor having

finally persuaded his friend that even Starfleet did not

expect him to risk blood poisoning from his wounds. McCoy

could see there had been as improvement, for one thing,

although Kirk still insisted on his own guilt, he had obviously

had his first decent night's sleep since he came aboard.

McCoy was just about to congratulate himself on the

success of his strategy when the shipwide speakers burst

into life.

"RED ALERT! RED ALERT! ALL HANDS TO

BATTLE STATIONS! THIS IS NOT A DRILL!"

He turned. "Hey, Jim..." he began and was just in time

to see Kirk dashing out of the door, struggling back into his

shirt as he ran. "Talk about Pavlovian responses," he muttered

as he joined his staff in preparing Sickbay for the worst.

Kirk entirely forgot about his demotion until the

moment he catapulted out of the turbolift to hear the security

man's delighted yell of "Captain on the Bridge." For a split

second he checked and then the pull was too strong; Spock

rising from the command chair, relief in every line of his

body; the happy grins exchanged between Sulu and Chekov;

the soft "Yes!" from Uhura; his own rising excitement. This

was where he belonged, this was something he could do

and do well. Starfleet would really have his guts for it and

he couldn't have cared less.

"OK Spock, what have we got?"

"Long range sensors have just detected signs of an

on-going battle ahead. Two Federation frigates, probably

Indomitable and Gustavus Adolphus engaged against

an unknown number of Romulan vessels of similar

configuration which are flickering in and out of a cloaked

condition, firing at will. The situation is complicated by the

presence of a civilian convoy consisting of a further four

vessels, including the liner Terran Princess. The frigates

are having to extend their shields over the civilian craft."

"Civilians! What the blazes are they doing out here?"

"I believe they may be colonists taking the direct

route to the new settlement on Epsilon Decani IV."

"Hell of a dangerous short cut! Uhura, can you track

the Romulans?"

"Not at this distance, sir, the other ships are masking

the readings and sir - I'm picking up a message to the

Gustavus from the Hood, it's a Code four, tight-band

micro-squirt. The Romulans won't have picked it up.

Message reads, 'Hang on we're coming - ETA five hours'."

Kirk bit at his knuckle in a familiar gesture that sent

a warm feeling running through her. *Of all the stupid things

to get emotional about,* she thought.

"They're not going to last that long. Can you find

the cloaked ships if we get closer?"

Her stomach plunged but she forced herself to

consider the problem. "Probably, given long enough -

but I can't guarantee it, sir."

He smiled, a huge, charming, reassuring grin. "One

of these days, Lieutenant, you're going to realise how

good you are and there'll be no holding you back." Then

he was all business again. "Get Palmer up here, she can

take comms while you're busy with Spock."

Spock came down from his station to the command

chair. "Captain," he said carefully, "I cannot advise engaging

the Romulans so close to the civilian vessels, in the event

of a matter/antimatter explosion, it is unlikely that the

frigates' shields would be sufficient to protect them."

"Then we'll have to draw them away, you two make

sure you don't lose them once you've tagged them. Scotty,

I want absolutely everything we've got to the shields as soon

as we drop out of warp, including the warp drive, the impulse

engines, the phasers and every non-essential system on

board. Just leave Sulu enough to correct for drift."

"Sirr! If the shields go we'll be dead in the water!"

Kirk smiled affectionately. He knew that and he knew

that Mr Scott knew that he knew, the engineer just wanted to

say it out loud. "Noted Mr Scott, now jump to it and I want

shield condition showing on the navigator's screen where

I can see it."

Mind now up to racing speed, he thumbed the

intercom. "Crewman Chakravati to the Bridge." He caught

sight of Spock looking at him with mildly bemused interest;

Chakravati was a low ranking member of the Quartermaster's

Department, notable only for a completely expressionless

face which in fact belied an unusually cheerful disposition.

"Chekov, plot me an intercept course, an elliptical

curve to bring us in from 2418 mark 7. Sulu, I want one of

the aft phasers ready to fire into the shields, 10 % power

and pulse it - I want those shields to shine." They hurried

to obey, an almost tangible excitement sweeping over them,

part relief, part trust and part terror. Whatever was going to

happen it surely wouldn't be dull.

Palmer arrived at a run and took up comms. Uhura

moved over to the console next to Spock's and began to

set up for the search they were about to make.

Kirk considered for a second; there was no going

back now. He threw the last of his caution to the winds,

pressed a button on the arm of his chair and spoke to the

ship.

"All hands, this is the captain." In Sickbay McCoy's

jubilant yell was heard two decks away. "There's a battle

going on and there are civilians involved. I'm going to try talking

so don't be surprised if nothing much happens for a while -

don't lose your edge, we could be fighting at any second."

He hesitated. *What the hell*, he thought, *I might never get

another chance to say it.* "What ever happens I'm proud and

grateful for this chance to serve with you again."

The ensuing silence was ruptured as Chakravati shot

onto the Bridge, impassive as ever with only the trembling

of his hands revealing his shock. Kirk swung the chair round

to look at him. "Don't look so worried, man; you're in no

more trouble than the rest of us." The crewman's hands

stopped trembling; there was something infectious about

the captain's ferocious high spirits. "You're going to be

the Enterprise's telepathic tracker - go sit at the

Environmental Control Station. If we get on screen

with the Romulans close your eyes and look inscrutable.

Every few minutes go and whisper in Mr Sulu's ear. The

Romulans think we're using specially trained telepaths

to track them while they're cloaked."

"Why on earth would they think a thing like that?"

Scott, looking up from his station, was openly baffled.

Kirk's eyes were dancing. "Somebody must have

told them - I can't think who. If they're all wearing lead-lined

helmets we'll know they believed it. Phaser programmed?"

"Aye sir."

"And course plotted, sir"

"Then take us in Mr Sulu, Warp 6 as long as it's safe,

then full impulse to five thousand K and all stop. Then

prepare some evasives. Chekov, I want the light show as

soon as we drop out of warp."

Spock looked up from his console, his eyes if not his

expression faintly alarmed. "Captain, if your intention is to

make the Romulans believe we have new shielding

technology it will not take them long to realise this is a

mere ruse."

"Doesn't have to last long, Spock. Just long enough for

you two to find the ships and for me to get 'em mad enough

to chase after us, we just have to keep them on the hop 'til

then. Uhura, anything yet?" She shook her head and he

swung the chair back to look at the screen. "Sulu?"

With the ease of long practice the unasked question

was answered. "Intercept in 2 minutes 12 seconds."

"Good. Listen up everyone. Sooner or later they're

going to try and use our old pre-fix code. Scotty, on my

signal I want you to repower the engines, Chekov, you turn

out the lights and Sulu, get us the hell out of there. Synchronise

between yourselves, you'll have about half a second to do it in."

Chekov wiped his sweating palms on the leg of his

pants and tried to cultivate some Vulcan calm. It didn't work.

On the Bridge of the Terran Princess, a terrified and

exhausted Captain Walker and his crew watched in

astonishment as, like an avenging angel, a ship coruscating

in silver and blue suddenly hurtled out of nowhere and joined

the battle.

His comms officer lifted a startled head and shouted

over the klaxon blare of the red alert, "It's the Enterprise!"

He touched a button and the Bridge heard a relaxed,

confident voice say with unmistakable relish, "This is Captain

James T Kirk of the USS Enterprise. Romulan Commanders

surrender or I'll blast you out of the stars."

Captain Walker blinked and a sudden wave of hope

swept over him, he forgot recent history and remembered

only the stories of victory snatched from the jaws of defeat,

the miraculous escapes, the lives saved. "Put this out

shipwide," he said, "let's give our passengers some hope.

Back on the Enterprise, Palmer was receiving. "Sir, I

have a Romulan Commander, visual." As he had hoped, the

shock of hearing who was in command had tempted someone

into contact.

"Uhura, have you traced the source?"

"Not yet, sir."

"On screen then." The picture wavered and steadied,

and there was a spontaneous and utterly genuine burst of

laughter; all the Romulans they could see were indeed

wearing cumbersome, metal helmets, not the light skull

caps known to be uniform for some lower ranks but

enormous clumsy artefacts with huge earpieces to

enable them to hear without loss of shielding.

Every ship in the area was picking up the

transmissions from both sides and the colonists, all

twenty-three thousand of them, were clustered round

the view screens in their ships. They saw a Romulan

commander, his face contorted with fury, confronting

a casually-dressed, young human who was obviously

trying hard not to laugh. A new legend began to form.

Kirk pulled himself together. "I'm sorry," he managed

eventually when he had command of his trembling lips,

"That was very rude - private joke I'm afraid." Beneath

the hectic thrum of adrenalin in his voice was the authentic

ring of amusement. Lieutenant Commander Bailey,

formerly of the Enterprise and now in command of the

Indomitable following the death of all his senior officers,

recognised a familiar note - Kirk was up to something.

His heart soared.

"Now, where was I?" The question was plainly

rhetorical. "Oh yes - surrender or I'll blast you out of the

stars." Kirk folded his hands and stared at the screen

with an air of cheerful expectation. A cloaked ship

shimmered into existence, let loose a shot and

recloaked. The Enterprise rocked and steadied.

Kirk ignored it. "Well, come along, I haven't got all day,

are you going to surrender or aren't you?"

The Romulan Commander sneered. "I surrender to

no man, least of all you, Oathbreaker!"

"Oathbreaker!" Kirk stared at the screen as though

he could not believe his ears. Then, when he spoke, his

voice was full of amused contempt. "You poor, sad sack,

son of a bitch," he said with gentle mockery, "you really

believed it all didn't you? You still do!"

He sat back, folded his arms and snorted with derision.

"For heavens sake, man, I'm a Starship captain. They don't

let just anybody drive one of these things you know. We're

trained to resist and I did. I realise people don't normally

survive the Imperial Examiner-General but then again," he

said, smiling sunnily, "I'm not normal. Have you any idea

how much it costs to find and train someone like me? Hell,

with that many credits you could buy a decent meal for

everyone on your planet."

He grinned and digressed infuriatingly. "Which

wouldn't be a bad idea, you people have terrible food.

Nobody expects haute cuisine in a torture chamber, but

how any sentient species can consider that t'reff stuff

edible is beyond me."

"Forswor..."

Kirk appeared irritated; he jumped to his feet.

"Messhetk!" he said harshly and the Romulan blinked

at the gross obscenity. "Did you really think all you had

to do was grab a Starship captain, jump up and down

on him for a couple of months and he'd tell you everything

he knew?" The scorn was laser-edged. "I don't know

which is worse, the insult or the stupidity."

Behind him he heard Uhura's voice say softly, "One,"

and swept on, warming to his subject and ignoring more

hits to the deflectors. "Think about it! If I am a traitor what

am I doing sitting in this chair?"

Then, with one of the disconcerting flashes of insight

that made people wonder if his esper rating was really as

low as he claimed, he seemed to read the Romulan's mind.

He leant forward, one hand on Sulu's shoulder and half-

whispered in conspiratorial fashion, "Unless this is all a bluff

to make you think the stuff I told your people was false when

in fact it's all true."

He paused for a moment's pregnant silence, then

straightened up and grinned happily. "In which case, is

the fact that I've mentioned the idea actually a cunning

double bluff?" He spread his hands as though inviting the

Romulan to join in the game. "And what's more, now that

I've mentioned that I've mentioned it, does that constitute

a *triple* bluff?" Behind him he heard somebody giggle

and had to bite his lip to prevent himself joining in, adrenalin-

fuelled hysteria was dangerously close.

The Romulan Commander, who had been wondering

about the possibility of just such a trick, was stung by both

the insight and the farcical nonsense Kirk had spun out of

the idea. He launched himself into an argument he should

have ignored. "You did not resist - you proclaimed your

faithlessness before the whole Empire."

Kirk dropped back into his chair laughing. "Commander,"

he said, "I don't care if the entire Romulan Empire thinks I eat

babies for breakfast, with a side order of strangled kittens. I

still came out ahead of the game." His tone was lightly taunting.

"After all - your people had me, I told them a complete load of

peltri droppings and not only did they believe me, they let me

go afterwards! Pretty dumb or what?" *Careful*, he thought, *this

is getting juvenile - you'll be sticking your tongue out next*.

Juvenile or not it seemed to be working; the other

enemy ships must have been monitoring the exchange

because they abandoned their original prey and

concentrated all their fire on the Enterprise. The

enhanced shields, boosted by the full power of a starship,

held. On the Federation frigates damage control parties

seized the respite and started on emergency repairs.

The Romulan Commander had the hunted look of

a man who has lost command of events. The forlorn,

stuttering wreck he had seen on the newsnets might never

have existed; the man on his screen exuded certainty,

authority and the confidence that comes from having the

upper hand. Doubt began to coil in his mind. The shield

readings were so peculiar ... He started as his second in

command cut off audio, leant forward and said something.

Kirk, effortlessly reading lips with a skill born out of

his terrified captivity, answered the question before it was

asked shocking the Romulans still further. "Yes, I am out

of uniform. Thanks to your food and the Imperial

Examiner-General none of mine fit any more, I didn't

expect an Admiral's inspection out here so I didn't bother

reprogramming the fabricator. Next question?"

Uhura's voice said "Two" as he grinned and launched

back into speech, no point in giving them time to catch their

breaths.

"Of course," he said cheerily, leaning back in the chair

and putting his hands in his pockets, "this really could be an

enormous bluff. Perhaps I am forsworn. Perhaps it was all

true - the stuff I told the Examiner-General. Perhaps when I

said just now I was lying - I was lying. Perhaps they only let me

out of the brig a few minutes ago because I'm so dam' good

at beating you people. Who knows?" He shrugged. "Perhaps

I'm not even the real Kirk."

He waited just long enough for startled speculation to

creep into the eyes on the screen then he reached up, grasped

the collar of his shirt and pulled it over his head in a single,

fluid movement. "Wrong again!" he said smugly and peered

down at the tattoo, "Impressive isn't it? I'd half a mind to keep

it as a souvenir until I realised they'd spelt my name wrong.

There is no 'hir' in Kirk!"

Sulu felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end;

there was something frightening about the Captain in this mode.

He knew that Kirk was monitoring not only Chekov's but also

his own display by the way a seemingly careless hand had

pressed him to one side when he had obscured the monitor;

Kirk was also listening to the by-play between Spock and

Uhura and at the same time controlling the Romulan

Commander, tantalising him with glimpses of the truth

but never giving him time to think, keeping him angry and

off balance and (most importantly of all) in communication.

By flaunting his identity, he had drawn the enemy ships

away from the other Federation vessels in the knowledge that,

for the time being at least, the Enterprise could stand it. What

he was doing was insanely dangerous, completely necessary

and utterly masterful.

The soft voice said, "Three"

Kirk was still talking, constantly needling, stoking the fury

he could see in the alien face on the screen. "By the Five and

the One," he said, using the ancient Romulan curse, his accent

very nearly perfect. "You people are such idiots! I bet you

even went looking for the Federation's secret dilithium dump

on Beratacri III." His voice laced the idea with just enough

melodrama to make it totally ludicrous.

McCoy crowding round the view screen in Sickbay with

his nurses watched with jubilation as, wearing his mutilation with

jaunty insouciance and in dramatic pictures that were being

recorded on the liner and would soon be flashed all over the

Federation, Kirk wrote himself back into the history books on

the side of the angels.

"Four"

"So, Commander, what you have to ask yourself is -

have we really got enhanced shields or is this a trick? Is Kirk

lying when he says he was lying then or is he lying when he

says he's telling the truth now" He hoped the translators

could keep up with this babble.

"Five and that's it." Quietly Uhura sent the final

co-ordinates to helm and weapons stations where computer

target-lock was engaged. Now everybody knew where the

enemy were and, thanks to the new equipment and the

skills of those who manned it, would not lose them when

the real fighting started.

Kirk checked the shield status; they couldn't last

much longer, time to wind this up. The inane grin was

starting to make his jaw ache but he plastered it back

over his face and gave the Romulans one last shove.

"Or maybe some of what I told your people was true

and some of it wasn't. After all we found you didn't we?

Was that luck or was it Chakravati here?" He waved an

airy hand towards the stone-faced crewman. "Has one of

you people left his helmet off and let his psi-waves leak

out or all you all wearing tea kettles on your head for

nothing." The Romulan visibly flinched at that last crack and

turned to snarl something to a crewman standing behind

him. This was it.

"Stand by Scotty." The words were breathed just below

the chair's audio pick-up level.

Palmer spoke behind him. "Incoming pre-fix code."

"No!" Kirk leaped to his feet, terror painted all over his

face. With pre-arranged precision Mr Scott re-routed the

energy back to his engines, Chekov dropped the 'light show'

and Sulu thrust the Enterprise forwards and 'down' under

the lead Romulan ship.

Within five seconds the Enterprise was surging through

hyper-space at warp seven, the pre-set evasive course a

seemingly random trail of twists and turns; within ten seconds

all the Romulan ships were tearing after them, weapons

blazing, half-believing that the end of the coruscating corona

meant that the enemy's shields were down.

Kirk stood, mock terror gone, his attention straining as

though he could actually force himself see what was happening

behind. "Are they all following us?"

"Affirmative."

"Do we have still have lock on them?" He shifted his

stance as a glancing blow to the shields rocked the ship.

"Affirmative."

"Spock, what's the spread?"

Spock leaned over his monitor and glanced into its

blue light, effortlessly he correlated the sensor readings and

the communications traffic and produced a figure that would

have taken most humans several minutes. "Eleven point five

light weeks."

"Damn, too far apart." Kirk stood for a few seconds,

rapidly running through and discarding strategies, then

decided.

"Chekov, I want a cluster of torpedoes jettisoned -

not fired - from the portside bays, timed to detonate as we

drop out of warp. Sulu, throw her into a double Moebius,

five million K diameter, minus 80 degrees to the galactic

plane. Signal when ready. We jettison and drop out of

warp the next near miss or hit to the shields."

By this time the whole Bridge crew were working at

the heightened pitch that only mortal danger produces.

Swiftly the men at helm and navigation performed the

necessary operations, working together, sharing their

data with the perfect harmony formed over their weeks

and months of service, neither of them waiting to work out

what was happening, both content to trust.

The great ship tumbled into a twisting loop, regular

enough for the computer to be able to calculate the

detonation time, complex enough to evade attack and to

hide its true form from the Romulans for the few seconds

necessary for the scheme to work.

Chekov's call of "Ready" and a massive hit to the

deflectors followed close on one another. The torpedo

explosion and warp dump which ensued appeared

simultaneous and the Romulan ships, believing their enemy

mortally wounded, closed for the kill as they too dropped

out of warp.

"Fire all phasers and starboard torpedoes." Spock

came and stood beside him, his presence indicative of

complete confidence in the strategy. "Portside torpedoes -

stand by. Mr Sulu continue evasives."

As he waited, Kirk felt the dawning creep of regret at the

back of his skull and realised that 'Good Ol' Jim' was back;

all those brave men and women; all those families he was

about to bereave. He knew that the choice between friend

and foe was no choice at all but still....

Watching on long range sensors the crews of the

Indomitable and the Gustavus Adolphus saw the Enterprise

burst into existence, the lancing dart of phaser fire, the comet

leap of torpedoes apparently into empty space and the

obscene blossom of antimatter explosions as the Romulan

ships, cloaked but only lightly shielded, flamed and died.

Kirk stared at the screen until he received formal

confirmation of the hits and then dropped back into his

chair; the draining away of adrenalin leaving him feeling

suddenly tired and depressed. He looked round for the shirt

he'd tossed aside; it was getting chilly.

"Scan for escape pods." There was no hope but he

gave the order anyway, then, "All decks, damage control

reports."

"No sign of survivors, Captain."

His lips tightened and after a few moments he asked

softly, "How many were there on those ships, Spock?"

"There is no accurate... "

"Spock." He was neither angry nor irritated; he merely

insisted on knowing.

"Approximately one thousand." Diagnosing his mood

with an expert eye, the Vulcan picked up the shirt and handed

it to his captain. "There are many thousands of men, women and

children on the colonists' ships," he said, "they are the innocents."

Kirk nodded in appreciation of the thought; there would

come a time when it would help, it wasn't now. "Okay Mr Sulu

take us back to the convoy, warp one."

The Bridge crew slumped in their seats, maintaining

just sufficient attention to guard against sudden attack. Only

now did they understand what they had been doing. Sulu,

clenching and unclenching fists that had locked, so fierce

had been his concentration, knew that he had seen an artist

at work. The difference between a master craftsman and

mere workmen demonstrated on a huge canvas, millions

of kilometres wide, a feat all the more remarkable because

of the hatred for death that lay beneath it.

He glanced behind him and saw the captain, grave-

faced and shivering slightly, and noticed his whole body

relax as the "No serious casualties" report came in. Suddenly

and for the first time, Sulu appreciated the duality at the heart

of command - the drive to save life only accomplished by

the risking and the taking of it. Half appalled, half exhilarated

at the prospect, he wondered if he was fit for the responsibility.

"Go to yellow alert." Kirk rubbed his eyes with the heels

of his hands as his yeoman, realising that civilian clothes would

not be as temperature responsive as a uniform, arrived with

coffee and a warm sweater. Despite his usual dislike of

"mother hens" he was grateful for both and said so.

The next few minutes were spent reviewing the

damage reports and Scotty's repair schedule, then he took a

drink of his coffee and called, "Listen up everybody."

The Bridge crew turned to the centre chair. "Well done," he

said simply and met each pair of eyes in succession for

a second of individual communication and appreciation;

spines stiffened.

Mr Scott, passing behind his chair, patted his shoulder,

an almost fatherly gesture, part congratulation, part consolation.

A few seconds later McCoy erupted into the busy quiet

of the Bridge, folded his arms and surveyed him sardonically.

The doctor knew exactly how he was feeling and set out to give

his own brand of comfort, working as ever on the counter-irritant

principle. "You read too many comic books as a kid. 'Surrender

or I'll blast you out of the stars!' indeed. I'm never gonna let you

hear the end of that one! Who do you think you are? The Last

Galactic Hero?"

"I was trying to get his goat." Despite his mood Kirk

found himself answering defensively. Spock opened his mouth

but Kirk glared at him. "And I don't need any 'Captain, what

does a Terran animal of the caprine variety have to do with

the situation' comments from you, Spock. Just once in a while

you two might like to consider letting me be depressed in

peace."

McCoy opened his mouth to argue but they were

interrupted. "Sir, I have the Indomitable and the Gustavus

calling." Uhura had reclaimed her station.

Kirk groaned, remembering his status. "I suppose it's

too late to go to the brig?" he said ruefully.

"Almost certainly," answered Spock calmly.

"Oh well, on screen." The stars vanished and were

replaced by a split screen showing the damaged Bridges

of the two frigates. Kirk flushed as, amidst the smoke, the

surviving officers could be seen standing and applauding.

Captain T'sao of the Gustavus was receiving treatment

to a shoulder wound but she still managed to salute. "Captain

Kirk," she began and from that first tiny step his acceptance

back amongst his peers began.

Whatever Starfleet Command itself would have done

was neatly pre-empted by a grateful Captain Walker who

quickly released his recordings of the ship to ship

transmissions to the media. The irresistible combination

of victory and humour under adversity soon ensured that

they were played, replayed and played again on Tri-V

and newsnet stations all over the Federation.

As McCoy pointed out, with ego-deflating accuracy,

the fact that the entire battle could be rerun between

commercial breaks probably didn't hurt either.

As the Enterprise made its way to Earth, throughout

the Federation the engagement was being analysed in

depth by public commentators and print medium columnists,

complete with diagrams and careful explanations of

exactly why the Romulans had become so enraged.

This very quickly developed into complimentary

examinations of the Enterprise's other missions; then

favourable articles began to appear in even the least

intellectual sections of the press; popular comedians

wrote the events into their routines; a regrettably vulgar

song about the incident became wildly popular; books

were written and politicians queued to applaud the victor

of what the media christened 'Kirk's Second Battle of the

Neutral Zone'.

Public opinion, always hungry for heroes and particularly

desperate for encouraging news from the dangerous

Romulan frontier, swung back in the captain's favour and,

by the time the ship arrived in Earth orbit, it was all over bar

the shouting.

Even before then, McCoy got permission to treat his

friend's remaining scars and injuries by the simple expedient

of leaking his complaint to the Medical Ethics Bureau to

the press complete with pictures. What he caustically

referred to as 'Permission to heal' came precisely twenty-

four hours after the story broke.

Hardly anybody, even among his worst enemies,

could believe in Kirk's guilt now that the military secrets he

was supposed to have betrayed were being laughed at on

every planet in the Federation. The massive publicity also

ensured that there could be no question of a show trial or

indeed of any disciplinary action against the Enterprise crew

as a whole. In the face of the victory and the lives saved

who could possibly object publicly to the relinquishment of

command to the man who had won that victory and saved

those lives?

There were those who ascribed his changing fortunes

to outrageous good luck or to the intervention of some deity

or other; the Communion of the Strictly Devout on Nova Sionis,

who had hated him ever since he refused to let them burn

one of his crew as a witch, even blamed the Prince of

Darkness. But those who knew him well recognised just

another demonstration of his gift for exploiting the turns

of fate and were grateful that, in saving others, he had

been able to save himself.

Those who knew him very well indeed even had

a sneaking suspicion that the battle might have been

deliberately fought in a way likely to catch the public eye

and thus pave the way for his return to active duty, especially

as Uhura reported a number of private conversations

between Captains Kirk and Walker. When taxed with this,

during one of the many riotous parties which the

various departments on board took turns in throwing

to celebrate his re-appointment as captain, he merely

laughed and declared himself flattered by the

compliment to his intelligence. A lot of people noted

that this was not actually a denial.

His court-martial was one of the shortest on record.

Afterwards Starfleet even gave him another medal, though

McCoy, catching sight of the expression on his face at

the presentation ceremony, was not surprised that he

never afterwards wore it.

However, if the Board of Inquiry had been a formality;

the public acclaim was a horrible embarrassment. The

day after one of the Tri-V gossip shows discovered and

announced that James T Kirk had received proposals of

marriage (or near equivalent) from 12,538 women, 2,794

men and almost 400 beings for whom the distinction was

irrelevant, Kirk decided he'd had enough.

During a hunted and desperate visit to Sickbay,

McCoy was bribed with shameless promises of improved

equipment and regular and uncomplaining attendance at

physicals to issue a bulletin:

"Doctor Leonard H. McCoy MD. FGIXM,

FGIXS Chief Medical Officer USS Enterprise.

With effect from 0900 hours today Captain Kirk is

confined to his quarters under quarantine. No shore

visits will be possible and all appointments are hereby

cancelled. Quarantine will remain in effect until after

ship's departure.

The captain is suffering from chicken pox."

THE END

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