Constellations

by Marco Palmieri

  “Leonard,” she said, “I don’t believe it.”

  “I probably shouldn’t, either,” McCoy replied, “but I know better. This isn’t the first time I’ve seen Jim wring a second chance out of a bad situation.” He reached into his robe and withdrew a small pouch and offered it to her. “A parting gift, I suppose. It’s not much, but you might be able to do some good with it.” She saw tears welling up in his eyes as he pulled her close, his voice trembling as he planted a soft kiss on her weathered forehead. “Take care of yourself, Revati.”

  Jendra stepped back from the shuttlecraft as McCoy climbed aboard, turning to wave once more to her before the hatch was closed. A moment later, she felt the rush of wind whipping her clothes and her hair as the vessel’s thrusters lifted it into the air and pushed it into the slowly brightening sky.

  As the echo of the departing shuttle’s engines faded, Jendra looked down at the pouch in her hand and opened its protective flap, only to find several vials of tablets. The labels on the vials identified the medicine as the hyronalin derivative she had lacked for these many weeks. While the medication would not reverse her condition, it certainly would allow her much more time among the Grennai than she might have hoped for.

  Given the extra time, she might even find a substitute remedy, she decided.

  Clutching the medication to her chest, Revati Jendra closed her eyes and offered silent thanks for the fortune that had been visited upon her.

  Leonard, my friend, your captain is hardly the only giver of second chances.

  The Landing Party

  Robert Greenberger

  Robert Greenberger

  In 1968 he snuck downstairs and saw his father watching a TV show where three colorful people were disappearing into thin air. That was his first glimpse of Star Trek, and it must have made an indelible impression because he has written about or for the series ever since. Articles for the school newspaper led to fanzine articles, and from there he wound up editing the Star Trek comic book for DC Comics. He began writing for the Star Trek fiction line in 1990 with the first of several collaborations. Since then, he has written four solo novels and a handful of short stories.

  Additionally, Bob has worked in the comic book business, logging twenty years with DC Comics and one year with Marvel. His various titles included Senior Editor and Director–Publishing Operations.

  He has written some original short fiction and over a dozen young adult nonfiction books on a wide variety of subjects.

  A lifelong New York Mets fan, he currently makes his home in Connecticut with his wife, Deb. His daughter, Kate, has fled home for Washington, D.C., and his son, Robbie, is attending college clear across the state. Learn more at www.bobgreenberger.com.

  Kirk wasn’t sure what they called the device in McCoy’s hand, but it seemed to be doing the job, quickly sealing closed the wound on Sulu’s left shoulder. The lieutenant, lying limp on the diagnostic bed, barely twitched in reaction to the device’s softly humming activity. Anxiously, Kirk stole glances at the monitor above the bed, reassuring himself the helmsman’s condition was as stable as the deep thump of the heart monitor suggested. He’d been standing in place for several minutes, watching in silence, knowing he needed to let the doctor do his job without interruption. For an idle moment, he was impressed by how quickly his new chief medical officer had stepped into the role. McCoy was older than Kirk, but not as old as Mark Piper, who was about to retire and had rotated off the Enterprise just weeks before.

  He’d been in command just over a year and still felt everyone was treating him like he was fresh out of the Academy. Surrounding himself with the older medic and even his first officer, Spock, made him self-conscious of his youth, which he had always seen as an advantage. Turning his attention back to Sulu, Kirk reminded himself that the lieutenant’s youth and strength were likewise assets at this critical time.

  McCoy accepted another device from Nurse Chapel, and the captain remained transfixed. He ignored Spock’s presence, which he felt behind him. Kirk couldn’t help but feel a flash of guilt, wondering whether, if Spock had been more persuasive, Sulu wouldn’t be lying on that bed. Had Kirk rushed to judgment, relying too much on his own instincts and too little on Spock’s logic? Still, another part of him recognized that if it wasn’t Sulu, it would be a different crewman on that bed, being put back together. What happened wasn’t Sulu’s fault.

  “That should do it,” McCoy suddenly said out loud. His instructions to Chapel had been low-voiced, demanding things Kirk couldn’t make out. But this remark was clearly intended for his guests.

  “What’s the prognosis?”

  “Well, Captain,” McCoy said, wiping his hands on a sterile cloth, Sulu’s blood turning the shiny blue fabric a dull purple, “while the lieutenant here has a lot of injuries, none of them are life-threatening. I’ve stitched him up, knit a few bones, and treated the rest. He needs forty-eight hours bed rest in sickbay and then maybe another day in his quarters before he’s fit for duty.”

  “So noted. Thank you, Doctor,” Kirk said.

  “I’m not done,” McCoy interrupted. Kirk gave him a quizzical look.

  “He was barely conscious when they brought him in here,” the doctor continued. “He managed to explain what had happened to him, and maybe it was the shock of the injuries, maybe not, but I’m certain this rattled him. A lot.”

  “Rattled?”

  “Jim, you sent him down there ill-prepared for that place and it shook him to his core. When I got him, he was scared to death. He’s likely got psychological injuries, and those may be harder to heal than the physical ones.”

  Kirk was thankful that the doctor stopped the harangue, but then saw that McCoy was staring at him. He could only imagine what expression he was projecting. Sucking in a lungful of air, he tried to calm his feelings.

  “Look,” McCoy said, “I don’t know this kid yet. In fact, I’m still learning about the entire crew, so I don’t have an informed opinion, just adding up my observations. When he awakens, I’ll talk to him and make a better evaluation.”

  “Thank you,” Kirk said quietly, flicking his eyes once more to Sulu’s body. He was reassured by the steady breathing.

  “Now get out of here, I have an autopsy to perform.”

  As the captain and first officer left, McCoy and Chapel gathered up their tools and cleaned up around the bed where Sulu lay still. He didn’t want to open his eyes, didn’t want to answer questions. Too many parts of his body were sore, too many parts felt numb from anesthetic, and besides, they were discussing him. He heard the conversation, every word, and had to agree with the doctor: He wasn’t prepared for that planet. In fact, he wasn’t sure he was prepared for his new career and was coming to regret his decision. Because of that lack of preparation, someone died. Maybe it should have been him.

  On the way to the turbolift, Kirk brooded. Everything about this landing party bothered him. He’d lost crew before, although he had to admit, he never imagined he’d lose as many since taking command. While he normally disliked comparing himself with the captains who had preceded him, he knew his mortality rate was higher than Chris Pike’s, and that angered him.

  “Computer, deck five,” Kirk ordered as the doors closed. “Mr. Spock, keep the ship in orbit another twenty-four hours. I want to make sure that planet is secure before we leave. I’m leaving you in command,” he said as his hand twisted the turbolift’s control wand.

  Spock merely nodded, keeping his comments to himself, which was just fine with the captain.

  The turbolift slowed to a stop, went horizontal for a few moments, and then resumed its vertical path. As the doors opened seconds later, Kirk stepped out, feeling his first officer’s eyes on his back.

  Eschewing the center seat for the moment, Spock sat in silent contemplation at his usual bridge station, his arms folded across his chest. He had ample time to begin his review of the tricorder records that had been taken on the surface below, the first logical step to understandi
ng what had transpired.

  With a few deft flicks of the controls to his left, Spock summoned the audiovisual transcripts from the three tricorders belonging to the landing party. Their contents had been automatically uploaded to the computer library banks as soon as the party returned to the ship. Three screens above Spock’s station flickered to life as the recordings began to play. As he adjusted the controls, modifying the playback speeds for his preference, Spock allowed his mind to review the recent past.

  Weeks ago, following a disastrous mission to the edge of the galaxy, three key personnel were lost in the line of duty: the ship’s helmsman, the senior navigator, and the ship’s psychiatrist. At a command staff meeting, Kirk reviewed the various staff openings that needed addressing. Piper’s retirement had already been in the works, but now Alden at communications had requested a transfer to be with his fiancée, and engineering had an opening. Spock, as first officer, was reviewing internal candidates for consideration before Kirk turned to Starfleet Command for fresh personnel. Kirk had made it clear, when he took command, that he always wanted to start looking internally, letting the crew know that advancement was possible during his tenure as captain.

  The command staff had determined the need to bring on at least a new engineer and communications officer, but decided on promoting Janice Rand to replace Smith as the captain’s yeoman. Kirk and Smith had not established a good working rapport, so Spock suggested a more experienced person in the role. Helm remained an open question as the meeting ended.

  A day later, Spock was finishing a meal when Kirk approached him in the mess, a smile on his face.

  “We may have solved our problem at helm,” Kirk said. “After yesterday’s meeting, Hikaru Sulu came to see me. He wants to move from astrophysics to the helm. I looked at his record. The kid has terrific scores.”

  “Indeed he does,” Spock said. In his mind, the move did not make sense to him or for the lieutenant.

  “I know that tone, Spock,” Kirk said, taking a seat. “You disapprove.”

  While Spock was still learning to “read” the captain, James T. Kirk had more rapidly learned to read the Vulcan. Uncertain if the mess hall was the best place for the conversation, he hesitated.

  “Go ahead, Spock,” Kirk encouraged.

  “Lieutenant Sulu has the makings of an exceptional scientist. His scores alone show an innate spatial sense that has been borne out by his work aboard the ship. The science staff responds well to him, and he is an excellent section leader. The lieutenant has what you might consider an unquenchable curiosity in a wide variety of subjects. He has taken, recently, to spending his off-hours in the botany lab, getting to know the various plants we have under observation.”

  “So, you discount his ability to move to the command track?”

  “On the contrary, if the lieutenant put his mind to it, he could make an excellent commander. However, I see him best serving this ship and Starfleet in the sciences.”

  “You said it yourself, Spock,” Kirk countered, his expression showing he relished the debate. “He’s interested in a great many things. Did you know he tested as a crack shot? Between that and his physical reports, he’d excel in security, too. Why trap him in one department? If we move him to the bridge, that would put him on the command track and his interests would be sated. We’d certainly get a better officer out of the deal.”

  “On the other hand, sir, he might also be what you humans call a jack-of-all-trades and master of none. By working with him in my department, we can get a specialist in a more focused number of fields, the yield being that we’d all benefit from his knowledge.”

  “But, Spock, he’s got a terrific feel for space, which would make him a gifted helmsman. His simulator scores were among the top in his class.”

  Spock cocked an eyebrow at Kirk, choosing to let the captain have the officer rather than create disharmony between them. “I see you have done your research and have given this a good deal of thought. Arguing with you further would not change your mind.”

  “You give in too easily,” Kirk said, still smiling.

  “Not at all, I merely know when an argument is no longer productive. You wish to make the transfer.”

  “Yes, I do. Helm is an important position and a strong part of the command staff. I want the crew to know that opportunities like this can happen. I’m not just picking a raw kid out of the lower decks. He’s already a section head so this is a logical step in his career, sideways as it seems to you.”

  “I’ll process the change orders and begin searching for a new astrophysicist.”

  Kirk nodded and stood, clearly enjoying the victory. As the captain strode out of the mess, Spock remained at the table. This captain was nothing like Christopher Pike, the only other captain he had served with. Pike was more cerebral, relying as much on experience as on the Starfleet guidelines. Kirk, though, seemed to count more on his intuition, seemingly ignoring logic in favor of what he referred to as his gut. While familiar with the human idiom, he remained perplexed why humans would still follow such irrational hunches over empirical evidence. Still, Kirk had proven a more than able commander, and studying him was endlessly fascinating.

  Given the Enterprise’s schedule, it was determined the ship could do without an astrophysicist for a short while, so Sulu was given an almost immediate transfer to the bridge. Spock, in his role of first officer, made certain the lieutenant was aware of bridge rules and operations. He even made Sulu go through simulations to test him on the helm during crisis scenarios. The captain had been correct; the lieutenant was a gifted pilot and passed with the highest marks yet recorded on the starship. Sulu smiled easily, his broad grin exposing white teeth, and he did so often, even during simulated crisis missions. He was clearly relishing the opportunity, and Spock recognized that the new helmsman was more like Kirk than he imagined. Perhaps it was self-recognition that informed the captain’s gut that Sulu would excel in his new post.

  Still, as part of the command track, Sulu would need experience taking the lead in various circumstances. He had already commanded the bridge for two gamma shifts without incident. Now he needed more seasoning with planetary experience, something astrophysics seldom offered.

  The Enterprise had encountered a star system with one Class-M planet, previously uncharted. Kirk had ordered the ship inside the system, and they had surveyed six outer planets before settling into orbit around the only one capable of supporting life. Sensors indicated the planet was devoid of any life-form more complex than lower flora and fauna. However, they had also detected ruins of a civilization, so something sentient had lived here once. The captain deemed the planet worthy of further exploration and cataloguing, and he also decided it was an ideal scenario to let Sulu lead his first landing party to the surface for initial fieldwork. Spock couldn’t argue with the reasoning and, in fact, supported the decision.

  “Mr. Sulu,” Kirk said, standing to the helm’s side, “we’ll beam three of you down and let you begin surveying. Sciences is all excited about some anomalous readings that turned up while surveying the asteroid belt. I’ve decided to give in to Mr. Spock and let them go take some samples and do the spectrographic analysis. We should be gone a total of twenty hours so you’ll spend the night below. At that point, I’ll expect an analysis and recommendations for how best to proceed studying this dead culture.”

  “Aye, sir,” Sulu said with a smile. His body language told Spock how anxious he was to get started. The Vulcan privately expressed the desire for the lieutenant to contain his emotions, but had grown to know the man well enough to know that would be a fruitless conversation.

  Spock had finished adjusting the controls, and on the left screen, he saw the recording taken by geologist Vanani Manprasad, with sociologist Christopher Lindstrom’s playback on the center screen. Sulu’s occupied the one to the far right.

  Sulu’s screen was filled with complex constructs, clearly some control panels for a facility. Spock took close-up readings and dete
rmined that the metallic composition of the technology included fairly ordinary composites seen on other worlds. That in itself might provide a clue to the culture’s origins, but that was for another time. Turning his attention to Lindstrom’s screen, he saw the readings indicating the size and shape of the facility. Adjusting his earpiece, Spock heard Lindstrom’s observation that the scale indicated the people were larger than the human norm. Spock concluded the facility the party landed at was some form of engineering control center. Based on the conduits leading in and out of the building, and the centralized way the conduits converged many meters below, this was a substation linked to a larger facility some distance away.

  Lindstrom’s fieldwork was up to its usual high standards. Sulu’s screen showed Manprasad, tinier than the two men, with jet-black hair pulled back in a ponytail, reaching out to take samples of the building itself.

  Spock folded his arms, his eyes scanning the three screens as the routine examination of the dead planet continued. His mind, efficiently processing the information, was also looking for clues and ways to prevent what was sure to come.

  Sulu didn’t realize he had passed out again until he opened his eyes and saw McCoy waving a scanner over his face. He had only met the new CMO once before and they didn’t really know one another, but the helmsman felt at ease under his gaze.

  “Will I live?” he croaked.

  “If you listen to your doctor, you’ll be back on the bridge in a few days.”

  “Days?” He heard the alarm in his voice. He worried that his absence would somehow hurt his reputation or future at the helm.

  McCoy cocked an eyebrow at him and nodded. He checked the monitor above Sulu and then placed a reassuring hand on his patient’s right shoulder, apparently the one part of him not sore. “Don’t worry about it. It could have been much worse.”