“We’re at the Riverside shipyard inspecting construction of a new vessel. Shuttle for new recruits leaves tomorrow oh-six hundred.” He hesitated, then locked eyes one last time with the younger man standing across from him. “Your father was the captain of a starship for twelve minutes. He saved eight hundred lives, including your mother’s and yours. I dare you to do better.” Pivoting sharply, he headed for the door.
“Ooo,” Kirk muttered mockingly, “you dare me. What’s that—the playground version of Starfleet? Gonna take your uniforms and your bonus and go home if I don’t play?” But Pike was already through the door and out of earshot.
Which left a conflicted Kirk stewing in his own thoughts, and in more confusion than he would have thought possible.
Flat, featureless, and largely empty save for the isolated Starfleet installation, there was no denying that central Iowa was boring during the day. Exceeding all posted speed limits did not alleviate the boredom: excessive velocity only made the interminable vistas whip past faster. Iowa scenery cubed was still Iowa scenery dominated by endless fields of cornstalks and the occasional sleek grain tower. He had grown up with it, Kirk mused as he leaned forward on the spokeless electric cycle. That did not make it any less repetitious.
Like the fight last night. Different antagonists, different venue, similar outcome. As he sped southward, an uncomfortable vision presented itself: him, lying on the floor of another unnamed bar, in an unknown town, at some unspecified date in the future. Dazed, beat-up, and doing boozy complex calculations in his head for the amusement of laughing patrons in order to cadge a few credits to buy a bottle. It was not a pretty picture. With no one else present to bear the brunt of his trademark sarcasm, it did not seem quite so amusing as it had in the past.
Then there was the other past—the one that damned Captain Pike had dredged up. Anecdotes about the father he had never known. Tales of heroism. Stories of accomplishment. Parables of achievement. As the bike cruised along the otherwise empty road he glanced skyward. Blue was beautiful but empty, whereas the night sky was full of stars. Go outside after the moon had set and you could not escape them. His jaw clenched. What else couldn’t he escape? Until Pike had dredged it back up, Kirk had managed to escape his past.
Did he also want to escape his future?
The fence was not particularly high, but it was strongly charged. The invisible energy beams that hummed through the traditional metal latticework and rose higher than his head could not be interdicted without setting off multiple alarms. Vertically aimed beams meant that a would-be intruder could not simply soar over it. Kirk made no attempt to do so. Instead, he pulled up just outside the perimeter. Within, wrapped in a web of metal and composite scaffolding, a starship was under construction.
Its presence was no secret. Starfleet had chosen central Iowa as the site of this particular construction yard not only because of its proximity to Mississippi shipping and the industrial-commercial hubs of the Midwest but because if something blew, few people outside the yard itself would be at risk. There was ample room to work, plenty of territory for subsidiary firms and support industries to set up shop, and the ground was flat and tectonically stable.
His bike idling almost silently, Kirk gazed at the great ship. While the superstructure was largely finished, it was still a long way from being complete, and internal fitting out had barely begun. The service yard was filled with crates, containers, and boxes, some of them enormous, each stenciled or otherwise branded with the name of the new vessel for which their contents were destined.
U.S.S. ENTERPRISE
As he observed the flurry of activity, he sought the right words to describe the ship. She was the newest model and represented the latest Starfleet designs. Not that he paid regular attention to such things, oh no. He had been far more interested in which female performers happened to be dancing or singing at the regional bars. Physical beauty had always been important to him. That and natural charm, stance, and grace.
With a start he realized that he was unconsciously applying the same parameters to the ship under construction.
What the hell do you think you’re doing? he asked himself. You sleep on a starship, not with it. Why are you wasting your time here? What makes you think they’d accept an overage delinquent like yourself? Because one slumming Starfleet captain said so? You haven’t even contemplated filling out the necessary forms, let alone making formal application. Get away, get going, get gone.
Spinning the bike, he accelerated away from the fence and the inaccessible metal temptress within. But which way to go? Which way to flee? He was nauseous with indecision.
Just go, his inner self screamed. No particular direction. That-away.
In the heart of the construction and assembly complex, Captain Christopher Pike found his gaze sliding repeatedly toward the main gate. No reason why it should be so, he knew. No reason to expect anything out of the ordinary. Still…
The shuttle pilot wandered over. “We waiting for something, Cap’?”
Pike shook his head. “No. I guess not.” The pilot nodded and headed off in the direction of his waiting craft.
There was final data to check. Always more paperwork, even in the absence of paper. Reports to sign off on, statistics to confirm, requests to answer, procedures to follow…
He couldn’t wait to get out of the atmosphere.
Something was wending its way through the bustle toward him. A bike, a slick and elegant model, whirring powerfully. He did not recognize the machine, but its rider was familiar. Pike allowed himself a grin, and waited.
Dismounting, Kirk came toward him. The younger man carried no baggage save for unfulfilled expectations. He looked as cocky as he had that night in the bar, albeit somewhat less weather-beaten. As he strode purposefully toward Pike, a passing worker paused to glance in the direction of the parked bike.
“Nice ride.”
Without looking in the man’s direction Kirk tossed him the ignition and identification card. “Live it up.”
Reflexively catching the toss, the man gaped at him. “Hey, you kidding me…?” Kirk did not even look at him. Did not look back. In the course of some very serious introspection, he had made a significant discovery.
He was tired of objects.
Halting directly in front of Pike, he regarded the captain evenly. For a moment neither man said anything. For a moment neither needed to do so. A good deal passed between them without having to be put into words. Pike eventually broke the silence.
“How did you get in here? Past security?”
The attitude was still present. “Told ’em I was your nephew. Came to say good-bye, not enough time to fill out the necessary requests, and they could check me with a retina scan. The guard-in-charge had her buddies go over my bike while she checked me out personally.” Kirk grinned broadly. “Guard-in-charge was a gal. I can be very persuasive.”
“Yes,” Pike replied dryly, “I believe I saw ample evidence of that the other night.” Turning slightly, he indicated the waiting shuttle. “You’re here: that’s what matters. No time to fit you with a uniform, I’m afraid.”
“That’s all right,” Kirk assured him. “I’m not real big on uniforms. They tend to get in my face.”
“Nevertheless you’ll be required to wear one. And not, if you please, over your face. Any last questions before you board?”
“You mean like, any last wishes? Just one. What’s the Academy’s policy on fraternization between cadets?”
Pike didn’t crack a smile. “You’ll find out. Just like you’ll find out the Academy’s policy on everything else.”
Kirk started past him. “Won’t some poor psion-pusher get upset when I show up on board without appropriate paperwork?”
“If there’s any problem, use me as a reference,” Pike told him. “Just try not to reference me too often, okay?”
Smiling, Kirk snapped off a farewell salute. Or to be more precise, flicked one finger at the captain from the general
vicinity of his forehead. Then he was gone, lost among the crowd that was preparing the shuttle for departure. Left to his thoughts, Pike smiled to himself. He had not exactly countermanded proper procedure in recruiting young Kirk. More like danced around it.
He hoped fervently that it was not a decision he would come to regret.
Pushing his way past technicians and engineers, Kirk boarded the small spacecraft. It was crowded inside, the majority of seats already occupied by uniformed cadets. Some of them were non-human.
Pike probably thinks that includes me, he ruminated philosophically.
Uhura was there. Her reaction when she saw him among the other recruits was almost worth enlisting, he decided gleefully. One of the cadets seated nearby sported a bandaged nose, and Kirk remembered him from the earlier night’s altercation. He grinned cockily as he strode past. The rest of the smackdown bunch were present as well. As he walked by he repeated the casual finger salute with which he had farewelled Captain Pike.
“At ease, gentlemen.” He lingered near Uhura. “Never did get that first name.”
She fought to repress a grin and was only partly successful. “And you never will.”
A whine began to rise from the vessel’s stern. Time to find a seat slot or get off, he told himself. Locating an empty chair, he sat down and began to strap himself in. Behind and beneath him the seat’s integrated ergonomics responded to his presence by molding themselves to the back of his body. As he worked to prepare himself for liftoff, he was distracted by a commotion from the rear of the craft.
Florid-faced and clearly upset, a slightly older gentleman was being forced out of the bathroom by one of the shuttle’s crew. He looked to be about thirty, and his steady litany of complaint was tinged with an accent that identified his origins as southeastern North America. The expression he wore as he continued to protest was familiar to Kirk. Having himself been hauled before a judge on several occasions, he recognized it as the look common to all prisoners who had just been sentenced to an unexpectedly long spell in the regional lockup.
“Are you people deaf?” the objector was loudly declaiming. “I told you I don’t need a doctor, dammit! I am a doctor!”
Gently but firmly, the member of the shuttle’s crew was wrestling the man forward. “You need to find a seat. Sir, for your own safety, sit down, or I will make you sit down. Right now.”
“I had one,” the man insisted vociferously. “In the bathroom, with no ports. I suffer from aviaphobia, which, in case you don’t understand big words, means ‘fear of flying.’”
Wrenching the complainer around forcefully, the tight-lipped crew member pushed him in the direction of one of the few remaining empty seats. As this happened to be right next to Kirk, the frustrated protestor found himself dropping down beside the casually clad younger man. Muttering to himself, the dyspeptic newcomer adjusted his straps. When he was finished, he gripped both armrests so tightly his knuckles went white. Despite the shuttle’s excellent climate control, he was perspiring noticeably. He also, finally, took note of the unashamedly inquisitive passenger seated beside him. The greeting he offered was unconventional.
“I might throw up on you.”
Kirk replied pleasantly. “Nice to meet you, too. Wouldn’t be the first time someone’s thrown up on me.” He tapped his own armrest. “I think these things are pretty safe. Starfleet’s been using this model for a long time.”
“Don’t pander to me, kid,” his new neighbor growled. “One tiny crack in the hull and our blood boils in thirteen seconds. Unpredicted solar flare might strike when we leave the magnetosphere and cook us in our seats. Hell, some of the damn passengers are blue. Wait’ll you’re sitting pretty with a case of Andorian shingles, see if you’re still so relaxed when you’re bleeding from your eye sockets, tell me if you’re still feeling good when ship gravity fails and your intestines start wrapping themselves around your stomach, ask yourself—”
Sensing that the ghoulish recitation of potential physiological disasters was liable to continue until they reached their destination, Kirk tried to put a stop to it.
“I hate to break this to you, but Starfleet operates in space. Are you sure you didn’t apply for a position with the Chicago Transit Authority?”
His traveling companion subsided a little. “Yeah, well—my ex-wife took everything in the divorce. You’d think that a species that’s succeeded in reaching the stars could have managed by now to devise a more equitable method for dividing communal assets. Sometimes I think the Klingons have the right idea. Anyway, I got nowhere to go but up.”
Smiling, the younger man extended a hand. “Jim Kirk.”
The exasperated physician eyed him warily, then nodded and took the proffered hand. “Leonard McCoy.”
“Took everything?”
McCoy nodded again. “Yeah—everything of mine, including the planet. All I got left is the skeleton, and I wouldn’t be surprised if she put a lien out on that.”
The whine at the stern rose to a fevered pitch. The shuttle rocked slightly, rose to a predetermined height, and then swerved. As it cleared the construction and administration complex it accelerated rapidly, shoving its passengers back into their protective padding. From where he was seated Kirk had only a partial view out one of the ports. Beneath the ascending craft the surface of the Earth was falling away rapidly. Iowa was falling away rapidly. He settled himself back in his seat. He was leaving behind everything he had ever known, every vestige and reminder of his life to this point in time.
Good riddance.
V
Though the multiple kisses Kirk was deploying along the length of the body beneath him were going off like very tiny photon torpedoes, neither they nor the effect they were having were simulated. The exquisite feminine shape bucked and twisted beneath his hands and his lips. Moaning, she forced herself to push his head away as she raised her head to look down at him. Her eyes were bright, her lips red, and her skin as green as the fabled city of Oz.
“I can’t stand it anymore, Jim.”
His head hovering in the vicinity of her stomach, he grinned up at her. “That’s the general idea.”
Dropping down, he resumed his previous activity on her left leg and was soon advancing steadily northward. Lying back, she writhed in delight. A normal enough state of affairs for an Orion female, but one of which they never grew tired.
“How did you know?”
“Voodoo, baby, voodoo.”
She gasped, head thrown back and eyes half closed. “What—what is this ‘voodoo’?”
“Ancient secret Terran technology. Very complicated. I’ll elaborate on some other occasion.” His mouth moved against her. “One course of instruction at a time.”
Her lips parted in ecstasy. “You—you are amazing.”
He smiled to himself. “You just wait till we initiate warp drive.”
At which point the door to the dormitory room dinged softly and slid aside.
Sitting straight up on the bed, her green-swirled black underwear pulled taut against her, the Orion cadet looked wildly toward the front of the room. “Hide! Under the bed! Quick!”
Naked save for his underwear, he rolled to a hard landing on the floor. “Under the bed? Isn’t this kinda clichéd? I mean, I could…”
“Under the bed, now!”
Approaching from the front of the room, footsteps grew louder as he hurried to conceal himself. Peering out from his prone position, he saw feet enter. They were clad in black boots. That style, simple yet elegant—where did he know it from? And the legs that fit so precisely and perfectly and, yes, beautifully into them—didn’t he know them as well? At least they were neither male nor Orion.
“I thought you were taking finals,” his erstwhile paramour inquired. A bit too loudly, Kirk thought.
“I finished early. I was working in the language lab. We’re picking up a lot of chatter, something about a prison escape and a stolen vessel that destroyed an entire Klingon fleet. Why? What’s wrong?”
That was all it took for him to match the owner with the boots. The voice was as unforgettable as the legs. A skirt fell to the floor, followed by a shirt. Squirming against the floor in hopes of getting a better look, he tried to move forward without making any noise.
“We’ve been running simulations all week,” the green girl atop the mattress explained. “I’m just catching up on some rest. Tired. Very tired.” She yawned prodigiously.
It was not quite dramatic or loud enough to muffle the sound of something moving beneath her. Uhura’s expression contorted.
“We have a proverb where I come from. ‘A sweet taste does not remain forever in the mouth.’ Were you running simulations with the mouth-breather hiding under your bed? Or did you mean ‘stimulations’?”
Not in the least embarrassed despite being caught in flagrante delicto—or at least in dishabille—Kirk emerged from beneath the bed and stood up on the far side. Uhura’s underwear, he noted with a touch of regret, was disappointingly conventional.
“Hey, I got one, I got one,” he volunteered. “‘A man on the ground cannot fall.’”
She didn’t know whether to laugh or applaud. “That’s a South African proverb. I’m not from Southern Africa.”
He raised a hand, his voice solemn. “And thus by such stealthy means we draw ever nearer to your actual first name. Your hearing’s pretty good. You sure both your parents are human?”
She shook her head and sighed. “Get gone, Jim. It’s my ass too if Administration catches you in this room.” She nodded in his direction. “Never mind in that condition.”
“In what condi—oh.” Having the grace to finally look somewhat abashed, he began climbing into the pile of clothes that had been discarded on the far side of the bed. While he put on his clothes, Uhura addressed her roommate in Orion Prime. Already she had sufficient command of numerous alien humanoid tongues to render her tone disapproving. She was utterly indifferent to her current state of undress.
Star Trek Page 6
