McCoy trotted to join up with him again. “Jim. Why?” He swept an arm out in front of them as they walked. “You’d give all this up. Space. Exploration. The Enterprise. For what? A corner office at Starfleet Command? Bureaucracy and paperwork? A secretary? That’s everything you despise. Why, for God’s sake?”
The turbolift doors opened. Kirk stepped in, seized the interface grip and twisted it. “Bridge.”
The lift started. Kirk leaned against the wall. He felt as if the weight of the universe was pressing down on his shoulders. It was a weight familiar and constant. “There’s a reason these missions are only five years, Bones. I’m tired. Worn out. Beat.”
McCoy scrutinized him, a hand on a grip of his own. “So take some shore leave. I’ll write you a prescription.”
“I can’t do it anymore. I saw that with Janet. I can’t be responsible for all this anymore. Everyday I go out there. I see it in the eyes of the crew. That kid, Lanier, we just passed in the corridors. All of them. They look up to me. They trust me to hold their fates in my hands. To decide who will live … and will die.”
“You’re their captain, Jim. It’s your job.”
“How much of that can I take, Bones? How much can anyone take? I see them and I ask myself, which one will make it through their duty shift alive? And if they make it through today, what about tomorrow? Or the next day? Will I have to choose who lives and who dies? I don’t want to do that anymore.”
McCoy studied the floor. The light in the glass by his head flashed yellow, registering the decks they passed.
McCoy broke the silence. “It was Janet Lester, what happened with her brought this all on?”
“Not really. The camel’s last straw maybe, but no. There’s a whole list of Janet Lesters, Bones. Gary Mitchell. Ben Finney. Will Decker. Specialist Tomlinson. People who trusted me to be their friend, to be their captain, to protect them, to keep them alive. And I failed.”
Before McCoy could respond Kirk went on. “Do you have any idea how many letters of condolence I’ve written? How many parents or loved ones I’ve had to tell their son or their daughter, their wife or husband or brother or sister are dead. Died in the line of duty. Died because they put their lives in my hands and I failed them. How many?”
When McCoy didn’t answer, Kirk answered for him. “Fifty-eight. Thirteen point five percent of the total ship’s crew complement. You want a breakdown of officers to crew? Rank, names—”
“Now hold it a damned minute.” McCoy released the interface grip and the lift slid to a stop between decks. He let his words sink in before going on. “And how many people are here, alive and well, because of you? How many civilizations have been saved, how many wars averted, how many galaxies haven’t been destroyed because of James Kirk? How many?”
“It doesn’t make up for it, Bones.”
“Yes, Jim, it does.” McCoy stood face to face with him. “This isn’t about those who have died. Those few you couldn’t save. This is about Jim Kirk. About your doubts, your fears, your nightmares.”
His word hit like physical blows. He couldn’t close his eyes without seeing the faces—every single one of them—without hearing their accusations; he hadn’t done enough; if only he’d tried harder, if he’d worked harder, he could have saved them.
If only.
“Don’t look so surprised. I’m your physician, Jim, and your friend. I know how hard these things affect you. I know the depth of your guilt, your regrets, your doubts, the pain you feel over every one of these young men and women.
“And I also know you’re the most competent, most courageous man I’ve ever met. The best chance of survival those men and women ever had was being by the side of James T. Kirk.”
“Doesn’t change the facts, Bones. I put ’em in harm’s way and I got ’em killed.”
McCoy shook his head. “That’s way too egotistical for me. Circumstances put them there, Jim. Plain and simple. Those men and women were there because of their sense of duty, their sense of honor. It was their commitment to Starfleet, to the Federation that put them there. Not you.”
He stepped back, returned his hand to the grip. “But think about this while you’re beating yourself up. For every one of those men and women, the ones ripping your heart apart—and they should. It’s what makes you Jim Kirk. What makes you the damned fine starship captain you are. For every one of them there’s a hundred more examples where you made a difference, where people came out alive because of you, and only because of you. I’m one of them, a dozen times over.”
Kirk let that sink in. Intellectually he knew McCoy was right, no argument logically, but emotionally … that was a whole different story. He wasn’t Spock. He couldn’t shut it out, couldn’t suppress it. Each one ate at him, like a cancer, destroying him piece by little piece.
“You say a lot of those kids were killed by circumstances beyond their control, perhaps even beyond my control. You might be right too. But maybe, Bones, just maybe, I can change those circumstances. Change them so these kids do have a fighting chance against what they face. Maybe I can make a bigger difference than I can with one little ship, in one little corner of the universe.”
McCoy made a noise. “Flying a desk at Starfleet Command? Come on, Jim. Who you trying to kid?”
“Bones. I’m tired.”
They faced each other, McCoy clasped his shoulder. “You need a break, Jim. I understand that. Hell, maybe we all do. God knows I’ve thought about tossing in the towel myself. Retirement does sound damned inviting sometimes.”
“See.”
“But there’s a difference.”
Kirk waited.
“You’re not a doctor, Jim. You’re a starship captain.”
McCoy arched his eyebrows and looked around the lift, like he could see all of the Enterprise, from that one sweep of his eyes. “Hell, what do I know? Maybe this refit’s a good idea after all. Give everybody a break, some time. But think about this….”
Kirk had to prompt him. “Go on. Say it, Bones. Say what’s on your mind.”
“You take that promotion,” he looked around again for emphasis, “you give her up and you’ve lost her forever. Won’t be anything on God’s green earth that’ll get her back to you. You’ve thought about that?”
“I need to do this, Bones. I need to.”
McCoy nodded, twisted the interface grip. The turbolift ascended the four remaining decks to the bridge. The doors swished open and the familiar sights and sounds of the Enterprise bridge greeted them.
As the doors parted, heads turned. Spock, in the captain’s chair studying a padd, stood.
“I haven’t told anyone else yet,” Kirk said under his breath as he strolled onto the bridge.
McCoy nodded, following him to the captain’s chair. “Fine, but I still say it’s a mistake, Jim. Mark my words.”
Spock handed Kirk the data padd as he and McCoy stepped down into the command circle. “A mistake, Doctor?”
McCoy opened his mouth to speak.
Kirk shot him a look.
McCoy’s jaw snapped shut.
“A difference of opinion, that’s all.” Kirk dropped into his chair, pretending to study the padd. Spock took up his customary position to Kirk’s right. McCoy stood to his left, his hands clasped behind his back, rocking on his heels.
“Perhaps I can be of assistance?” Spock offered.
McCoy snapped his head around. Kirk silenced him with yet another glare as he waved a dismissive hand to Spock. “It’s nothing, Spock. Forget it.”
Unable to resist, McCoy leaned over, whispered in Kirk’s ear. “You give her up and you’ll never get her back.”
Spock raised an eyebrow.
“Enough!” Kirk compressed his lips into a tight line. “I’ve made my decision, Doctor. It’s over.” He passed the data padd back to Spock. “Helm.”
Sulu twisted in his seat. “Yes, sir.”
“Lay in a course.”
“Heading, Captain?”
Kirk stared at the infinite starscape on the viewer. He’d been so far, visited undiscovered worlds, encountered dozens of alien species, many of them first contacts, had crossed the galactic barrier … and gone beyond. And now it was over. Done. Finished.
“Sector zero-zero-one, Mister Sulu,” he said. “It’s time for us to go home.”
STAR TREK: THE NEXT GENERATION
Wired
Aimee Ford Foster
Aimee Ford Foster fled the cold, gray skies of Ohio eight years ago for sunny Florida where she lives with a husband, a daughter, a demon dog and the required writer’s cat. In the previous versions of her life, Aimee was a full-time sports writer, most notably during an eleven-year stint with The Blade in Toledo. Nowadays, she freelances when an editor, or an empty bank account, calls. Mostly, though, she plays mom to four-year-old Delaney. This is Aimee’s first professional fiction sale. An insufferably proud graduate of Ohio University’s journalism school, she would like to thank everyone that makes Strange New Worlds possible—with a special shout out to Dean. She would also like to thank her husband, Marvin, whose gentle criticism was essential to the story.
W ill Riker inhaled, taking in the fresh air and the scintillating view in one deep breath. Tall, colorful, gleaming buildings glittered in the brilliant orange light of the early afternoon sun.
Courtyard and walkways leading from the plaza he had picked as a beam-in site were immaculate and every piece of greenery was precisely trimmed. The word that came to Riker’s mind was marvelous. The only thing missing were the colonists the Enterprise was reestablishing contact with. Ursae Majoris Two was settled in the late twenty-first-century. Although the colony, known as ePlanet by the group from Earth’s North America who settled it, had early contact with Earth and United Earth Space Probe Agency, nothing had been heard from it for almost 150 years.
That had changed when the Enterprise picked up a looped transmission a week earlier, audio only.
“Can anyone hear me?”
Starfleet sent the Enterprise to investigate. Despite evidence of a highly evolved technology, and a large population, the ship had failed to make contact with anyone.
“Pretty, but definitely quiet,” Riker said to Troi. Data was busy scanning the area. Worf and two security guards were alert.
“Commander, it may be quiet, but as we found on the ship there are many life-sign readings in these buildings. And we are being scanned,” Data said.
“So, they know we’re here. Stay alert. Stay close. It’s their turn to make a move.”
“Aye, sir.”
After two tense, quiet minutes, Data’s tricorder beeped.
“We are about to have company, Commander. From that door,” the android said.
Riker turned to face the double doors set in a shining, blue building that sat at the farthest reaches of the courtyard. Over the doors, now sliding open, was the encryption: 3601 GATES BOULE VARD.
“Greetings, how may we help you?”
Riker stiffened and let his hand drift toward his phaser. The rest of the away team had a similar response to the creatures in front of them. The team clustered tighter, forming a better protective unit.
No one had pulled their phasers. Yet.
But Riker couldn’t keep his eyes off the beings in front of him. The two were human, vaguely anyway, with the required number of limbs on the usual torso.
Their faces were naked to the sun, but the rest of their heads were covered by a silver, metallic casing that glinted in the sun like the buildings. A tear-shaped attachment sat in one ear, with a delicate silver tendril reaching toward their mouths. Another arm reached to one eye. Riker couldn’t tell if the opaque shields there were coverings or implants. More tendrils snaked down their necks into their bright, loose tunics.
One was clad in royal blue, right down to his leggings and shoes. The other wore purple. Each wore a small device, about the size of a hand phaser, strapped to one tricep. Each had a large, cylindrical attachment in place of one hand and forearm.
To Riker they looked like a more refined version of the Borg.
“I’m Commander William Riker of the Starship Enterprise.”
“ “Ah, the Federation,” said the one in blue. “Come at last. I am Paulus. This is Willus. I am a representative on our ruling Conclave. Willus is my assistant. We are both direct descendents of the founders of City Zero-alpha.”
He waved his hand to indicate the surrounding city.
“You, of course, know what planet you’re on,” Paulus said.
Riker willed his stomach to unclench and took half a step forward. He had to look down to see into Paulus’ face. He was half a head shorter than Riker and much slimmer.
“Forgive me for gawking, but you look a lot like a race we’ve had some troubles with,” Riker said.
“You flatter us, Commander,” the purple-clad Willus said. “We know of the Borg, of course, but we are not Borg. We’re simply descendents of the humans that settled this planet several hundred years ago. I believe you are also human?”
“I am from Earth,” Riker hesitated and glanced at Troi. With a slight nod she gave him assurance that the Paulus was being truthful. “You just don’t look very human.”
Paulus smiled.
“No, I suppose I don’t.”
Data, who had been quietly scanning the two, stepped toward Riker.
“Commander, they are human,” the android said. “There is the typical percentage of genetic drift associated with colony settlers. Also, they are somewhat … robotic.”
Riker forced his hand to relax.
“I can see that, Data. Thank you.”
“We would be more than happy to share the history of our world and ourselves.” Willus gestured with what should have been his left hand, but was a sleek, silver appendage instead. “But we do not receive, nor desire, many visitors. Why are you here?”
Troi, at Riker’s left, shifted her stance slightly. Riker saw the movement and knew something wasn’t right.
“We’re here because we received a looped transmission from this planet,” Riker said, narrowing his eyes. “‘Can you hear me?’ We thought it was a distress call, emanating from this area. This is an Earth colony. We’re investigating.
“Now that we’re here, though, I am a bit confused. You obviously have the technological means to contact any passing ship. Yet you must have ignored our hail.
“Since we had no luck contacting anyone from orbit, the away team was sent down.”
While Riker was talking, activity in the city around them increased noticeably. Doors opened and closed as more brightly dressed ePlanetians assumed their daily activities. From somewhere in the distance, came the sound of children laughing and shouting.
“I know of no one in distress, Commander,” Paulus said. “Frankly, I would be surprised if this was anything other than a misunderstanding. We’re not interested in interstellar contact with the Federation or anyone else, which is why it was so difficult for you to try and reach anyone here.
“However, you and your comrades are free to explore our city, if only to satisfy your curiosity. I personally would be happy to answer any questions you may have, but Willus must return to Conclave headquarters.”
“Worf,” Riker said with a jerk of his head. “Take the security team. Explore. Data and Troi, you’re with me.”
Riker turned to follow Paulus into the blue building.
Willus, he noted, went in the other direction, disappearing into golden doors in a bright fuchsia building.
“Do you think the Captain would let the crew have shore leave here?” Ensign Jakaru said to Lieutenant Worf. “I’ve never seen anything like this.”
“Ensign, stay focused,” Worf grunted.
Focus? It wasn’t easy, not even for the Klingon.
Worf had led the team to the most populated area he scanned, which turned out to be an entertainment grid filled with shops that used live models in their display windows. Exotic aromas came in waves off food s
izzling in outdoor cook spaces. Music filled the space, as did people clad in the same kind of bright clothes Paulus and Willus had worn.
It was fantastic.
It was also fruitless.
Given the isolationist view voiced by Paulus, Worf didn’t expect to be greeted like an old friend. The truth was far worse. Vendors ignored the team when they entered any store. Conversation stopped abruptly when the team neared any cluster of people. When they stopped in a large square to observe the goings on, no one came within twenty-five meters.
“This is not going well,” Worf said as he reached for his comm badge. “Worf to Riker.”
“Riker here.”
“Commander, we are a bit … conspicuous. Suggestions.”
“Beam back to the Enterprise. Inform Captain Picard. He’ll take it from there.”
“Aye, sir.”
“Data, please join Worf back on the Enterprise,” Riker said.
He turned his attention back to Paulus. They were in a museum where a series of mosaics told the history of the planet.
“Sorry. So, your ancestors left Earth because they were unhappy with the way technology was being developed?”
“In essence, yes. They were interested in a more personal experience.”
“More personal, how?” Riker said, stopping in front of a mosaic that showed the exodus of six colony ships from Earth orbit. “This is nice.”
“Yes, thank you. It’s my favorite piece as well.”
“I like that one,” Troi said. She gestured to the opposite wall, which depicted the first crop of the new planet.
Paulus acknowledged her comment with a nod of the head.
“As I was saying, personal, as in on the person. Since we share a history, to a point, I won’t go into all the detail. Early in the twenty-first century though, humanity flirted with small electronics like music players and communication devices designed to be with you at all times. The overriding achievement was the proliferation of the Internet, of course, and how small it made the world.
“My forefathers wanted it to be smaller.”
Riker glanced at Troi, who appeared to have lost interest in the conversation. He knew better.
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