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