Fortune's Favoured Child - Part Two
They rematerialised in a room they did not recognise and, in the
startled silence that followed the unexpected transport, they all
heard the sound of Kirk's dispirited, "Oh god, what now?" His
voice was scarcely more than a whisper.
McCoy was still moving forward as the beam released him,
calming words on his lips, his hand stretched out to his friend but
Kirk turned to him and his angry glare killed stone dead any idea
McCoy might have had that he could help and he faltered to a stop.
Out of the corner of his eye he could see Spock surreptitiously
staunching the blood from a split lip, as Kirk wandered away from
them all into a corner of their prison and, leaning against a wall,
slid down onto the floor and buried his face in his hands.
The prison itself was a bright, bare room approximately 15 metres
square. It was harshly lit by square panels in the ceiling and there
was not a single protruding object or surface to be seen. There
was also no door. They checked quickly and found that the
transporter had somehow relieved them of every item of equipment
they had managed to grab including their phasers, tricorders and
the medical kit.
McCoy walked past Spock, apparently aimlessly, and without
speaking looked up and checked the cut. Spock removed his hand
and let him see that the bleeding had stopped; both of them were
careful not to draw any attention to the injury.
Stone raised his voice. "I am Commodore Theodore Stone,
representing the United Federation of Planets, we are on a peaceful
mission. Please identify yourselves." There was no reply although
similar messages were repeated in the twenty-three different
languages the prisoners could muster between them.
They examined the room, one wall panel swung aside but lead
only to hygiene facilities and a smaller panel revealed a food
replicator. This gave rise to a little hope until Spock discovered
that it was a free-standing unit, unconnected to the main ship
computer. When tested it responded to commands in English and
provided a range of basic food stuffs suitable for Vulcans and
humans. Latches in the walls released panels that dropped down
to form two tiers of bare but adequate bunks.
Gathering in the centre of the room, they pooled their research.
The most obvious fact was that this was no Federation vessel.
There was no physical exit so the only way in or out was by
intraship beaming, a dangerous procedure Federation ships only
ever used in emergencies. On the other hand, the food replicator
was the V20L model standard in smaller Starfleet vessels, although
the taps in the hygiene unit produced the fine, upward spray
favoured by Andorians.
Mr Scott voiced the suspicion that had occurred to most of
them. "Orions - the whole ship must be built from parts
scavenged from half a dozen worlds."
The Enterprise crew, who knew nothing of the blow aboard the
cutter, turned instinctively towards their strangely silent Captain;
suddenly realising that, unusually for him, he had taken no part
in the investigation. He was still sitting on the floor at the far end
of the room, back to the wall, arms round his raised knees,
forehead resting on them.
Worried by this unusual passivity, almost more than he was by
the violence or their dangerous situation, McCoy went up to him,
wishing whoever was in charge round here hadn't taken his
medical kit. He had a nasty feeling he was going to need it.
"Jim?" he said gently and stretched out a hand.
Although Kirk could not have seen the gesture, he flinched and
raised his head slightly. "Leave me alone!" His voice was so angry
that McCoy jerked back as though stung. Kirk tightened his grip
on his knees and pressed his forehead back down onto them. He
seemed to be trying to make himself small, to disappear into
himself, to hide.
To the Enterprise crew at least it was a chilling sight, so many
times the only thing that had stood between them all and death
had been their Captain; in this simple, elegantly effective captivity
what little hope they had might well rest on those suddenly,
shockingly, bowed shoulders.
Stone spoke into the silence, perhaps trying to assert his authority.
"Well, if we can't get out, we'll just have to wait and see what
they want."
Part of what "they" wanted became obvious a few seconds later
when McCoy vanished in a haze of transporter sparkles.
"That was a Klingon transporter," remarked Spock as the doctor
disappeared. Once again the Enterprise crew looked to their
captain and once again they were disappointed of any reaction.
"Aye well, I suppose we can only wait and see," said Mr Scott
and he too sat down, followed after a few seconds by everyone
else, some on the floor, some on released bunks. There were a
few desultory attempts at conversation, some paced up and
down their cell, one or two tried to eat but gradually silence fell
and they waited anxiously to see whether the Doctor would be
returned or whether one of them would be the next to be swept
away.
Kirk never moved and nobody quite dared to approach him
although once or twice Spock, and Spock alone, heard his voice,
repeating over and over again, softly and vehemently, the words
he had shouted aboard the cutter. "I can't. I can't. I can't."
It was two hours later that Doctor McCoy reappeared, his tunic
stained with blood, his medical kit in his hand. They crowded
round him anxiously but he waved them away. "I'm all right," he
said testily. "The blood isn't mine." Schneider passed him a cup of
what the replicator called coffee, and he nodded his thanks.
"They're pirates all right, mostly Orions with a few other
humanoids of different types. There's been an explosion in the
engine room, eight dead and thirteen injured including their medic
and almost all the engineering crew. This blasted ship isn't going
anywhere until they can repair it and I don't think there's anyone
left who knows how. Hell, unless I can patch up a few of the
wounded, there's barely enough left to work the ship at all."
A knowing smile passed over Mr Scott's face. If their captors
needed help he might be next to be swept away and if he was,
getting control of the ship would be no trouble at all. There was
half a dozen different ways of doing it, and he'd been consoling
himself with that fact for the last couple of hours, ever since the
noise of the engines had told him something was badly wrong with
them. "There's never been one of those scum I'd let near ma
engine-room," he said loudly for the benefit of anyone listening in.
There was no reaction.
McCoy drank and grimaced at the taste. "I've been shoved back in
here because there aren't enough of them left to watch me," he said
wearily. "I'll be taken back when one of the injured needs me." He
glanced round their prison looking for Kirk, the only person who
had not come forward to greet him. He found the Captain still
sitting on the floor, his forehead resting on his bent knees.
McCoy had spent the last two hours in a state of almost complete
terror. He had been alone and surrounded by enemies; two of the
injured belonged to no species he had ever encountered before
and his anxiety for them had both fed off and amplified his fears
for himself and his friends. He entirely forgot Kirk's reaction to
his last question and reached for the familiar security of knowing
that the Captain had some scheme, some plan that would get
them all out of this mess. "What do we do now, Jim?" he asked.
There was a long silence then the bent shoulders heaved as a
huge, shuddering breath was drawn in and released. The fair head
lifted. "You know what? People have been asking me that since
I was thirteen." His voice took on a high-pitched, singsong whine
that gradually grew in volume. "Whadda we do now, Jimmy?
Whadda we do now, Lieutenant? Whadda we do now,
Commander? Whadda we do now, Captain? Always the same
stupid, fucking question - and you know what? This time I don't
know what to do. For once someone else is gonna have to sort
it all out."
McCoy recoiled from the friend he hardly recognised. The quiet,
troubled but wholly professional Captain of the Enterprise had
vanished, leaving this tense, angry, exhausted stranger.
"I'm tired of being the one who plots and plans, I'm tired of being
the one who bluffs and schemes and most of all I'm tired of being
the one whose fault it is. I can't... not any more, I can't..."
He bowed his head, his fists clenched at the back of his neck, the
knuckles white. "You don't know what it's like," his voice was so
low, they could hardly hear it. "Watching the dead and the
maimed parading through your dreams, and every crisis
wondering - will this be the time the rabbit stays in the hat? Will
this be the time when it doesn't work? And the letters... dear
god... the letters. 'Dear Mrs Mitchell, Dear Mr Kelso, Dear Mr
and Mrs Galloway'," he looked up and the distress in his eyes was
more than McCoy could bear and he had to look away. "No more,
d'you hear me, NO MORE!"
He scrambled to his feet to face Spock. "You don't want
command? Well, hot news - neither do I!" He dragged off his
shirt and held it at arms' length. "Who wants to be captain?" There
was no reply and he tossed the shirt into a corner.
Too shocked to reply, nobody spoke and with a muttered curse he
turned away from them to stand leaning against the wall, his
position a mirror-image of the one he had taken up outside the
Transporter Hall on Starbase Eleven, except this time his free
hand clenched and unclenched, his breathing harsh in the dead
silence, suppressed violence in every line of his body.
Unusually for Kirk he was wearing his undershirt, and the sight of
him, all in black, the hard muscles of his back and shoulders
flexing, was both strange and menacing. Suddenly his right hand
lashed out and he punched the wall - hard. There was a collective
hiss of in-drawn breath as every human in the room winced.
Nobody had any idea how to react. To the Enterprise crew at
least, the idea of their Captain in such emotional distress that he
would relinquish command was so foreign to them that, far from
wanting to help him, they were conscious of nothing so much as
a feeling of betrayal.
McCoy, on the other hand, was ready - indeed anxious - to help,
he just did not know how. Although he had been half-expecting
such a breakdown for weeks, he still found himself utterly
unprepared for it, and he realised that, subconsciously, he had been
relying on his friend's strength all along. Disgust at his own lack
of ordinary, clinical forethought added itself to the ugly mess of
shame and regret he was already carrying.
Kirk was still leaning against the wall, and after a moment Spock
approached him, although his face bore its accustomed lack of
expression, nobody in the room doubted his concern. However,
before he could say anything, Kirk whirled round to face him.
"Spock, if you say I'm being illogical so help me I'll hit you again."
*Again?* Suddenly they all noticed the dark, olive bruise round
the Vulcan's mouth. *Did that mean...?*
Spock, however, appeared unaffected by the snarled threat.
"There would be little point in my saying what you so obviously
already know. However, as your First Officer, I feel I should point
out that it may be in your best interests to allow Doctor McCoy to
administer a sedative. Your emotional condition.."
Kirk sagged back against the wall and began to laugh, and there was
a thin, metallic thread of hysteria in the sound. "Good Ol' Spock,
give him a problem and he'll give you a polysyllabic solution. Tell
me, Commander, is it my emotional condition that worries you
or is it the fact that I'm broadcasting great, big chunks of nasty,
dirty, human emotion all over your nice, clean Vulcan psyche?"
Although the muscles of Spock's face never moved, the
impression of recoil was plain to even the most insensitive.
Commodore Stone was sitting on one of the lower bunks, trying
to gather his scattered wits. It was over 15 years since he had
been on a field mission, he no idea what to do about their
captivity, and he realised to his disgust that he too had been
relying on Kirk to get them all out of this mess. He looked up
and saw the situation was getting out of hand. Dammit they were
supposed to be trained personnel, it was time they started acting
like it! He got to his feet. "For heaven sakes, Kirk, pull yourself
together, this isn't the time or..."
"Teddy," interrupted Kirk "why don't you..." The expression was
graphic, anatomical and obscene and the Enterprise crew at least
were shocked to the core. Not by the words, they'd all heard
worse, but by the fact that it was Kirk who was using them.
Some of them had known him for years, Scott and McCoy over
ten, and none of them, in all that time, had ever heard him use
even the mildest of expletives - an odd prudishness in a notably
unprudish man. The sudden descent into profanity underlined the
change in him in a way almost nothing else could have done.
Kirk turned away from them, and in two strides Stone was behind
him, grabbing his shoulder. "Don't you dare..."
Kirk swung round, shaking the hand off violently. "Or what
Teddy?" He was a head shorter and twenty pounds lighter than
Stone, but the Commodore took an involuntary step backwards as
their eyes met. There was something feral and dangerous about
Kirk as he advanced on the older man, forcing him back and back
again and, to his astonishment, Stone realised he was actually
afraid of him. The simple, natural authority that came to Kirk as
easily as breathing seemed to have mutated into something just as
commanding but infinitely less wholesome.
Scott was forcibly reminded of the transporter accident that had
divided the Captain and of the 'wolf' that had prowled the corridors
of the Enterprise, hungry, wrathful and uncontrolled. They had
all treated the gentle half of Kirk as his true self, but now Scott
realised for the first time just how much a part of Kirk the wolf
truly was. They had all been so relieved by the successful
refusion, they had forgotten that the wolf still lived. It had been
confined but it was not dead and, for the first time since the
accident, Scott saw the wolf again.
Riveted by the battle for dominance in the centre of their prison,
no-one spoke, and Stone realised he had forfeited something by his
retreat. Somehow he had relinquished control and what was
more, Kirk knew it. His lip curled as Stone's fists clenched.
"Don't even think it, Teddy," he said, softly, contemptuously and
then turned his back on Stone, his confidence in his own safety
another insult.
He tugged at the collar of his T-shirt, it was stiflingly hot in the
room, and went over to the replicator. "Water, quarter litre,
cold." He drank thirstily, spilling some of the water down his
chest. Then he repeated his order and stood, leaning against the
wall drinking and watching them, baleful and silent.
McCoy could stand it no longer. Friendship, medical ethics, the
duty to heal, the discipline of the service and sheer, honest-to-god
love, finally combined to carry him past his own problems. He
went over to his troubled friend and, turning his back on their
cell-mates to offer at least the illusion of privacy, stretched out a
hand and said gently, "Jim, don't do this to yourself. I'm your
doctor and your friend, please - let me help."
Kirk went white. The tumbler fell from hands grown suddenly
clumsy and bounced across the floor with a hollow clatter as
Kirk gasped like a man suddenly plunged into ice-cold water.
Recognising the symptoms of shock, the doctor lunged forward
but, before he could do anything, Kirk hauled himself upright
by an effort of will so immense it was practically visible and flung
out a hand to stop him getting any closer. "Stay back, you stupid
bastard," he shouted. "Haven't you done enough?"
END of 3/7
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Newsgroups: alt.startrek.creative
Subject: REP: Fortune's Favoured Child [PG-13] (TOS) 4/7
From: Jess inEngland <Use-Author-Address-Header@[127.1]>
Date: Mon, 3 May 1999 06:11:39 -0700 (PDT)
Cc: mail2news_nospam-19990503-alt.startrek.creative.erotica.moderated@anon.lcs.mit.edu
--------
REP: Fortune's Favoured Child [PG-13] (TOS) 4/7
Rated PG-13 for bad language only - no sex and next to no physical
violence.
FORTUNE'S FAVOURED CHILD 4/7
By Jess
At the far side of the cell, Calcroft went cold as she suddenly
realised who Kirk reminded her of, and why this was all
happening. "I've just worked out who you are," she said into the
shocked silence. "You're George Kirk's son, aren't you?"
It was obvious that she did not consider the relationship a
recommendation.
He swung round to face her and his expression was not pleasant
"Oh, so you knew good ol' George did you?" he said silkily.
"We served together on the Zuhkov," she replied, trying not to
think about the terrible night on Argelius when it had taken four
of them to drag him off that poor musician.
"Nasty son of a bitch, wasn't he?" said Kirk and smiled bitterly at
her surprise. "You think you had it tough serving with him on a
starship? You ought to have tried being his kid in a two-room
apartment in New Chicago."
He stumbled backwards to sit on one of the bunks, the anger and
tension suddenly and obviously overwhelmed by some deeper
emotion. "Poor old Sam," he said after a few seconds, his voice
so soft that McCoy half-suspected Kirk had forgotten they were
there. "He always felt so guilty he got to stay with Mom after
the divorce and I had to go with Dad. God knows Mom was
no prize in the parental stakes but compared to Dad ..." His
voice trailed away, and there was a moment's fascinated,
horrified silence as they all watched the somehow indecent
spectacle of a normally reticent man revealing a previously hidden
pain. "And at least she felt *something* for Sam."
He shuddered and looked up at them. "D'you know what she said
when I had to tell her he was dead? She said ..." his face worked.
"She sa...."
Abruptly his mood swung back to anger. "Aw to hell with it," he
said thickly as he jumped up and strode over to the replicator.
They parted before him, half afraid, half repulsed, and he punched
the "on" switch with the side of his fist. "Scotch."
The machine was noisier than it should have been, probably due
to poor maintenance, but eventually an androgynous voice
ground out, "Not recognised."
"Alcohol."
"Not recognised"
"Ethyl alcohol as human intoxicant." To Uhura his dogged
persistence and his failure to get angry at the continued denial
were as horrible as anything that had happened. She had always
seen his determination as a positive, life-saving thing; for the first
time she realised what such strength of will might do when
harnessed to the drive to self-destruction.
The machine whirred and clattered and announced, "That
programme is not available on this unit."
"Oh no? We'll see about that." Kirk turned from the machine and,
taking McCoy's medical kit, emptied its contents onto one of the
bunks. Ignoring the Doctor's startled protests, he took the medical
laser cutter and a bladed scalpel and prised the face plate off the
replicator. He contemplated its guts for a moment then reached
inside and for the next five minutes worked on the machine, his
face intent, cursing occasionally at the pain from his injured hand,
ignoring questions and protests. Then he repeated his order.
The mechanism had grown even noisier but it obediently produced
a bottle of colourless liquid.
"I thought that was supposed to be impossible," Engineer
Riccordi whispered to a fascinated Mr Scott.
Kirk sniffed at the bottle. "I always knew there was a good reason
why I majored in engineering," he said and, before anyone could
intervene, he took a swig of whatever it contained. McCoy darted
forward as Kirk coughed down his mouthful of "human
intoxicant" and hurriedly scanned the bottle. Well, at least it wasn't
actively toxic but the alcohol content was enormous.
Kirk ignored him and, grabbing the edge of one of the upper
bunks, swung himself up to sit, back to the wall, one knee bent
up, the other leg extended, surveying them from above with an
ugly expression, part scorn and part amusement. He took another,
more cautious, mouthful and grinned nastily. "So, whadda we do
now, people?" he said.
There was no reply, and after a moment, drawn by a common
unease, they all gathered at the other end of the room, talking in
hushed whispers, for some reason unwilling to let him hear.
"What on earth has got intae him?" Scott asked the question in all
their minds.
"I'll tell you what's gotten into him," said Stone, his normal, quiet,
dignity swept away by sheer rage. " He's cracked up. They
promoted him too young and he's cracked up."
There was an instinctive murmur of protest that died as they all
heard Kirk coughing through another mouthful of liquor. Too
many of them were remembering the way the Captain had been
over the last few weeks. His unhappiness, perhaps even misery
was not too strong a word, had been noticed by everyone and,
while nobody had known what to do about it, more than one of
them was uneasily conscious that they had not tried to do
anything. Anger, guilt, and fear washed over the group.
Stone, without the same reasons for loyalty as the Enterprise
crew, was merely angry. "I promise you one thing, after this he's
finished in Starfleet. When we get back, I'll be calling for another
court-martial; and this time I want to watch while they break
him into little pieces and throw him out with the rest of the
garbage."
"Might I suggest, Commodore, that the question of *what* we do
when we get out be postponed until we have discovered *how* to
get out." Only the Enterprise command crew recognised Spock's
cold formality as anger and Stone's indignation died in the face of
the uncomfortable truth that there was literally no way out of
their confinement until someone outside released them.
The next half hour was wasted in an attempt to break one of the
ceiling lighting-panels in the hope of gaining access to some sort
of maintenance crawlway behind. The attempt failed, the mere
fact that the panel was translucent did not mean that it was any
more fragile than the walls. An attempt to use the laser cutter
merely exhausted its charge long before any appreciable damage
was done.
As they worked, Kirk watched them and drank his "human
intoxicant" and prophesied failure with an amused contempt that
was maddening.
When his prophecies were fulfilled and they were finally obliged
to admit defeat, a renewed wave of hopelessness swept the prison
cell, and it was Schneider who stumbled over to where Kirk sat,
apparently enjoying their failure. "Captain..." The young man
actually put his hands out in a gesture of supplication.
Kirk laughed and took another swig - by now he was very drunk
indeed. "Sorry kiddies," he said coldly. "Daddy isn't playing
today." Although he was one of the youngest people in the room,
more than one of his fellow prisoners felt the sudden, odd
conviction that Kirk was indeed older and more experienced than
any of them, and that he was privy to unpleasant truths that they
had never been told.
Stone elbowed Schneider aside and looked up into a familiar face,
flushed with an unfamiliar danger. "What the hell do you think
you are playing at Kirk? This isn't a game." Stone looked about
ready to hit him.
Kirk grinned and rolled over onto his back, one knee raised, the
other leg across it, foot swinging. "Oh yes it is Teddy, and you
know what? Somebody else can have my go - I don't want it."
McCoy came to stand at Stone's shoulder; the urge, the need to
understand and heal smothering his fear and guilt. "Jim, what in
god's name do you think you're doing to yourself?" he asked.
Kirk turned his head and met his friend's eyes at a distance of
only a few inches. He smiled with what appeared to be genuine
amusement. "Can't you tell? I've given up. I'm running away and
I'm not going to stop until I find myself a nice beach somewhere,
where the sun is hot and the sea is warm and the only decision I
have to make is whether or not to get out of bed in the morning."
Spock allowed himself a sudden recollection of Kirk during the
Psi 2000 incident; distraught, feverish, tiredly yearning for a quiet
beach to walk on. Hurriedly he clamped his shields down hard.
"Running away!" McCoy was shocked. "That's not like you."
Kirk rolled on to his side to face the doctor, propping himself up
on one elbow. "How the hell do you know what I'm like?" he said
angrily. "Shit even I don't know what I'm like any more. I've
spent so long pretending to be the Big, Bold Captain I can't
remember who or what I am underneath." He drew in a deep
breath and glared at them. "You don't get it do you? You all
expect me to keep on taking it and taking it like some stupid,
fucking kid's toy - knock it down and it comes back for more."
The words were pouring out now, charged with the anger that
comes from truths too long unspoken. "And I did take it, for
years and years I took it. I broke my bones and I spilt my blood.
I turned my back on my chances for home and family. I killed my
enemies and when the time came I even killed my friends.
I took it, I took it all and what has it got me? Nightmares, scar
tissue and enough guilt to sink a fucking battleship. I have no
home. I have no family. I have *nobody* - do you have any idea
what that's like? In the last six weeks I have lost the only two
people in my entire life who ever loved me for me; not for the
strength they could leech out of me, not for what I could do
for them, not because I looked after them, just me for me."
McCoy reacted angrily, stung by the imputation that his friendship
was just another dependency. "That's damn unfair!" he said.
Kirk's smile sent chills down McCoy's spine. "Oh yes Doctor, I
was forgetting. You're my friend, aren't you? In fact, we're such
great friends you haven't been near me in weeks." McCoy
turned away from the sardonic glare that was almost a blow in
itself.
Kirk dropped onto his back and stared at the ceiling. "That's what
Sam and Edith had in common - they didn't want anything from
me, they didn't need me, they just loved me. Not the pretty face or
the honour student or the rising young officer or the captain -
just me, just Jimmy, the frightened, lonely sonovabitch in the
captain's stripes."
He looked over the Doctor's head and caught Uhura's eye. "You
don't like that, do you Lieutenant? The idea that I get scared."
The sudden change of target was so unexpected she flinched.
"Oh no, everyone's allowed to be afraid but the Captain." He
began to laugh, an ugly, drunken sound. "I bet you thought I
had you turn off the medalarm in my cabin in case it picked up
when I... had company. No, the truth is, Lieutenant, I had it
turned off because I have nightmares and some nights, all alone
with nothing but the noise of the fucking air-conditioning for
company, I scream myself awake."
He turned on Calcroft's young ensign. "They don't tell you about
the dreams when you train for command, do they Ensign Malik?
They ought to." His eyes were dark with remembered horrors,
his voice hushed. "I've lost count of the nights I've killed Gary,
the times I've seen that Romulan die, the times I've watched that
liner go down."
He shuddered and drank deeply from the bottle. Then he looked
over to assess their reactions and chuckled maliciously. "Sorry
kiddies, is Daddy frightening you? Not easy is it, finding out
Daddy has feet of clay? Fucking difficult things to walk on too.
One day you're walking along, minding your own business and
suddenly *crash* there goes Kirk - a legend in his own lifetime!"
He took another swig, looked at them and burst out laughing so
hard he choked, the liquor spurting from his mouth and down his
nose. He spluttered and coughed and, blowing his nose into his
hand, wiped it on his undershirt, a repulsive gesture that turned
Riccordi's stomach. "You should see your faces! You all look
like someone just told you there's no Santa Claus!" The bottle
dropped unheeded from his hand and smashed on the floor.
"Time to grow up, kiddies." He struggled up into a sitting position
and rubbed his hands together in imitation of a famous TriV
storyteller all the humans had seen as children. "Now let me see
- what other illusions can I shatter? I know, shall I tell you why
I don't deserve the gratitude of the Karagai? That's a real good
story."
The smile hardened. "I get to accept the gratitude of an entire
fucking planet, millions of 'em kneeling to me wherever I go,
calling me Ma'atahai. Do you know what it means? 'Beloved of
the people'." He snorted derisively. "Those poor, dumb smucks
even gave me a medal - the Karagite Order of Heroism - pretty
little thing - neat but not gaudy. Never wear it. I wanted to refuse
it but Starfleet wouldn't let me, not even when I told them what I'd
done. I got a fucking medal because I chose to let four hundred
sixty-three men, women and children die needlessly, and the
really good part is that they got to die over an open comm link
so I could hear them scream. Boy, have I had some juicy dreams
out of that one!" The flippancy jarred horribly.
McCoy leaned forward, he had looked up the Karagai after Spock
had explained the incident in the Transporter Hall, maybe this was
something he could do to help. "Jim, nobody but you blames you
for the liner. The inquiry exonerated you completely while you
were still in hospital. The geothermal plant had to be your first
priority, if you hadn't shut it down the entire planet would have
been uninhabitable within hours. There was no way you could
have known there would have been time to save the liner first.
You didn't have enough information to take that sort of risk."
Then gently but insistently. "Think how many lives you saved on
that miserable ball of dirt."
"And think how many I didn't save, Doctor." With heavily,
ironic emphasis on the title. "Even the Karagai don't remember
the dead but I do, I remember them all." He stared at his boots.
"Abbott D, Abramovitch B, Ackland R, A-deral, A-diman,
A-dipak, A-nestera, A-nesterai, A-parinal, Ashok K...."
"My god man, you don't mean you memorised them!" McCoy
was horrified. Kirk had been a mere lieutenant during the incident
on Karag, had he really been carrying the scars from it all these
years without anybody noticing?
"Yup, all the way through to Z-karinam and Zubin F. Every time
I start believing Starfleet PR, every time they give me another
fucking medal, I remember them." He glanced across at Spock.
"There ought to be at least one person in the Universe who
doesn't believe all that crap, don't you agree Commander?" He
flung the question at the Vulcan who did not reply.
Kirk shrugged. "You don't like that story? Never mind there's
plenty more where that came from. Shall I tell you what I had
to do to stay alive on Tarsus? I was only 13 so that one's
*real* good nightmare fodder, especially the bit about how Tom
Leighton lost half his face. Or what about the truth of what
happened to the Farragut?"
Desperate to stop the stream of shaming gibberish McCoy
palmed his hypo from the bunk below the Captain.
Kirk, however, noticed. "Put that down Doctor or I'll break your
fucking neck," he snarled.
Fortune's Favoured Child - Part Three