Crucible: McCoy

by David R. George III

“I’m sorry,” Jim said, obviously upset by the turn of events.

  “Captain, with all due respect, you didn’t make my choice to help try to rescue Spock,” Sulu said. “I made that choice. And if I had to do it all over again, I wouldn’t hesitate.”

  “We’d all do it again,” Uhura said, and everybody nodded their agreement.

  “Before my father departed Earth to return to Vulcan,” Spock said, “he told me that he considered my associates—all of you—people of good character. I told him that you are my friends.”

  Spock’s come a long way, McCoy thought. Though McCoy still teased him good-naturedly about his stoic Vulcan manner, in reality Spock had fundamentally grown comfortable with his human self. He still didn’t display his emotions in any flagrant way, but he obviously no longer had any problem in admitting to them, or in actually feeling them. This had been true for a long time now, but seemed to have become cemented in his personality after his friends had risked so much in order to save him.

  After a moment, Jim continued. “Starfleet Command is reluctant to return any of you to the positions you occupied immediately before all of this happened,” he said. “But they offered to reevaluate all of you for those positions in the future, should your records between then and now merit such appraisal.”

  “How far in the future?” Chekov asked.

  “And what do they expect us to do in the interim?” Uhura wanted to know.

  Jim took a deep breath and walked slowly forward, through the group, then turned to face everybody again. “They have offered an interesting opportunity.” Jim’s expression appeared to be a mixture of anticipation and amusement.

  “Well, what is it?” McCoy said. “Tell us.”

  “Starfleet Command has offered to let all of you join my crew,” he said. “They’re assigning me a vessel that right now has an almost full complement, except for senior staff positions.”

  McCoy looked around at his friends, from one to the next, and saw each of them doing the same. He spied surprise on their faces, and relief, and delight.

  “I’m in, Captain,” Sulu said.

  “And me, sir,” Scotty agreed.

  “Me too.” Uhura.

  “And me.” Chekov.

  Jim smiled, then looked over at the two men who hadn’t responded. “Spock? Bones?”

  “Captain Kirk,” Spock said, “I would consider it a great privilege to serve with you again.” Jim nodded, then turned all of his attention to McCoy.

  “After all these years,” the doctor said, “I think I’d have to consider it almost pathological behavior.”

  Jim’s face fell. “I’m sorry to hear you feel that way, Bones. I’d really hoped—”

  “Oh, I’m going to do it,” McCoy said with a smile. “I just think it’s pathological.”

  Sulu laughed, a staccato burst of loud, single breaths, and then everybody else laughed too—except, of course, Spock. When their clamor had died down, Jim announced, “We depart at thirteen hundred.”

  Three and a half hours later, after McCoy had secured a piece of the recovered bird of prey’s hull for analysis, the seven officers had boarded a shuttlepod, a work sledge now towing them through one of the space docks orbiting Earth. They still hadn’t been told to which vessel they had all been assigned, and they all peered anxiously through the forward viewport in anticipation of finding out. Around their pod, the bright lights of the dock’s enclosed interior shined like a backdrop of stars.

  Jim sighed heavily. “I wonder where we’re going to end up,” he said. He stood with Scotty, Uhura, and Chekov on the port side of the pod. Spock stood beside Jim at the front of the craft, and McCoy and Sulu sat behind the first officer.

  “Probably on an old ship,” Scotty speculated. “With engines that haven’t been properly tuned in years.” Though the engineer delivered the words like a lamentation, McCoy thought Scotty would actually enjoy such a scenario.

  “Not just an old ship,” Chekov said. “We’ll probably be on a garbage scow.”

  “You’re exaggerating,” Uhura said, “but I wouldn’t be surprised to find us making cargo runs between star systems.” They’d all signed up for an extended tour, which McCoy had hoped would mean another exploratory mission, but he realized that hauling shipments from place to place might also be a possibility.

  “I think you might be right, Uhura,” he said. He stood up, as did Sulu behind him. “The bureaucratic mentality is the only constant in the universe.” Jim glanced over at him. “We’ll get a freighter.”

  “With all respect, Doctor,” Sulu said, “I’m counting on Excelsior.”

  “Excelsior?” Scotty said indignantly. “Why in god’s name would you want that bucket of bolts?”

  “A ship is a ship,” Jim said.

  “Whatever you say, sir,” Scotty said. “Thy will be done.”

  The sledge ahead of them swung around to port, and their pod dutifully followed. Amazingly enough, McCoy saw that they now headed directly for Starfleet’s newest vessel, the so-called “Great Experiment,” the Excelsior, approaching it from its starboard side. The pod climbed upward and crossed over the ship’s primary hull. The sledge slid off to port, obviously releasing the shuttlepod onto automatic approach to the Excelsior.

  Except that they continued past the huge vessel, toward another stationed beyond it. An old Constitution-class starship, refitted sometime in the 2270s. Refitted then, and renamed now: U.S.S. Enterprise, NCC-1701-A. McCoy couldn’t believe it, and he couldn’t help smiling. He peered over at Jim and saw a look of perfect contentment.

  “My friends,” Jim said, “we’ve come home.”

  And McCoy knew that he was right.

  Forty-Six

  1949/1952

  The large package—about two feet wide, two feet deep, and a foot tall—sat on the sofa, wrapped in decorative red and white paper and adorned with a big white bow tied atop it. Lynn saw it as soon as she walked through the front door of Leonard’s house, and she felt an immediate swell of delight. She hadn’t thought he’d forgotten her birthday—he hadn’t in all the time she’d known him—but when he’d invited her over for supper tonight, he hadn’t mentioned the occasion.

  “Is that for me?” she asked, knowing full well that it must be.

  “Well, now, who else has a birthday today?” Leonard asked.

  “Oh, probably lots of people,” Lynn said, taking off her coat as she moved into the room. A fire burned in the hearth, warming the room nicely, a welcome change from the chilly weather outside. Lynn dropped her coat onto the sofa and looked down at the gift. The wide ribbon climbing up all four sides of the box had been knotted together into many loops, making it look less like a bow and more like a flower.

  “I guess this must be for one of those other people then,” Leonard teased as he followed her over to the sofa.

  “Oh,” Lynn said, swatting him lightly on the chest, then turning to look directly at him. “Can I open it now?” she asked.

  “Maybe you should wait until after supper,” Leonard suggested. “Or maybe I should just hold onto it until next year.” Lynn stuck out her lower lip in a version of a hangdog pout, and Leonard rolled his eyes. “If I’m gonna have to look at that face all night,” he said, “then you might as well go ahead and open it.”

  Lynn clapped her hands together happily and turned toward the sofa. As she reached for the package, she saw an envelope tucked beneath the bow. Picking it up, she read her name, written across the front in Leonard’s barely legible scribble. She lifted the flap of the envelope and pulled out the card. On the front, she saw a drawing of a horse trotting around with a sign around its neck that read, “Happy Birthday.” Below was printed, “Here’s Hoping That This Birthday’s a Dilly.” She opened the card to find a younger version of the horse on the front, with long, feminine eyelashes, along with the words, “For a Pretty Mare Who Still Looks Like a Filly.” At the bottom, Leonard had scrawled, “Dear Lynn, Your joy and radiance are an inspiration.” The sentim
ents touched her. She leaned in, pushed herself onto her toes, and kissed Leonard on the cheek.

  “I’m not sure how much of an inspiration or a filly I am,” she said, “but this old gray mare appreciates you saying so.” At forty-five, lines had begun to show around her mouth and eyes, and streaks of silver had started to appear in her hair. Until recently, she’d been plucking out the telltale strands, but as they’d become more numerous, she’d decided to simply wear her years with pride. After all, she’d earned them.

  “You’re hardly old and barely gray, and still pretty,” Leonard said, “and you really do inspire people.”

  Lynn shrugged. “I don’t know about that,” she said, “but I’m glad you think so.” She reached out and hugged him. Leonard didn’t have to say so, but Lynn knew that with his words he referred to her life after she’d lost Phil. It had been difficult at first and sometimes still was. She’d loved Phil and they’d been together a long time. But three years after his death, the hardest thing to accept had become the manner in which he had died: gunned down on a battlefield thousands of miles from home. She tried to take comfort in knowing that his loss at the Battle of Portmagee had helped liberate Ireland from the Nazis, which in turn had allowed the Allies to retake all of Great Britain. But war still raged around the globe, and sometimes the futility and senselessness of Phil’s death troubled her.

  As she so often had, though, Lynn let go of all of that right now. “Do you know what would really inspire me right now?” she asked Leonard.

  “Opening your present?” he said.

  “Good idea,” Lynn said. She set the card down on the arm of the sofa and reached for the box. As she attempted to slide the ribbon from around it, the box moved beneath her efforts. “It’s heavy,” she said, feeling its weight. “What could this possibly be?” She pulled the ribbon free, then found a flap and tore off the wrapping paper. Printing on the side of the cardboard box announced that it held Green Giant Tender Peas. “You got me cans of peas?” she said.

  Leonard shrugged. “If you don’t like them…”

  Confused, Lynn opened the box. Inside, she saw no canned vegetables, but instead, a thicket of balled-up newspaper pages. “What…?” she said, and started unpacking the paper, dropping it onto the floor. When she’d removed most of it, she spied a pair of red bricks in the bottom of the box. Between them lay another gift-wrapped package, this one smaller than her hand. “What’s this?” she said, picking it up and testing its weight. It felt very light.

  “Must be individually packed peas,” Leonard said with a smile.

  “Uh huh,” Lynn said. She ripped off the paper to uncover a flat, dark blue box, with the word Wintanna’s scripted across the top in silver letters. She’d never heard the name before. “What is this?” she asked again.

  “For goodness sake,” Leonard said, “open it and find out.”

  Lynn pulled off the cover to expose a layer of cottony material underneath. Lifting that up, she found a gold bracelet, into which half a dozen oval red stones had been set all around it. “Oh my,” she said, overwhelmed. “This is beautiful.” She slid her fingers beneath the bracelet and picked it up. She looked at it more closely, setting the box down atop her birthday card.

  “Those are garnets,” Leonard said.

  “My birthstone,” she replied, peering up at him with a smile. “And yours.” Leonard’s birthday also fell within January, she knew, just ten days after her own. He smiled back at her, obviously pleased by her reaction. Lynn owned almost no jewelry. Other than her wedding band, and Phil’s—both of which her mother had given to them—she had a locket with a broken chain that Mama had left to her, and a pair of colored-glass earrings she’d received for her eighteenth birthday from Auntie Louise. Certainly she had never possessed anything as lovely as what Leonard had just given her. “I don’t know what to say.”

  “Well, you could say, ‘Thank you,’ ” Leonard said.

  “Thank you,” Lynn said, and she stepped forward and embraced him. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.” She squeezed him tightly, grateful for his many years of friendship and support, most especially in the time since Phil had died.

  Pulling her face from his shoulder, she peered up at him. Leonard had lived in Hayden for nearly seventeen years now, and he looked as though he’d hardly aged at all. The lines on his face had become a bit more defined, maybe, but his dark hair hadn’t grayed at all. And even at almost fifty-nine years old, he appeared as fit as when he’d arrived in town at forty-two. Better, in fact, since he’d shown up on Tindal’s Lane with a limp, one arm in a sling, and a gash on his face.

  Before she made the conscious decision to do it, Lynn raised up onto her tiptoes and pressed her lips to Leonard’s. She closed her eyes and felt the soft heat of his mouth. For one breathtaking moment, he kissed her back, but then she felt his hands at her waist, gently but firmly pushing her away.

  “Lynn,” he said.

  “Leonard,” she replied, and she pushed forward to kiss him again. He stopped her and then stepped back. “Leonard, I thought…” she began, and then realized that she didn’t know what she thought. She only knew what she felt, and what she believed—or had believed—that Leonard felt as well.

  “It was just a gift,” he said.

  “What?” she said, shocked. She opened her hand to look at the bracelet. “This isn’t about my birthday present. It’s about us.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” Leonard said. “I figured you might’ve thought that I…that me giving you jewelry meant…I don’t know.”

  “I think it means you care about me,” Lynn said. “I think it means you like trying to make me happy.”

  “I do, of course,” he said. “But I didn’t mean for you to kiss me.”

  “Leonard,” she said, setting the bracelet back down into its box. “I didn’t kiss you like that because you gave me jewelry. I kissed you because I wanted to.” She considered saying more, and then she did. “I’ve wanted to for a long while now. This just seemed like the right time.”

  “Lynn,” Leonard said slowly, “I don’t think we should.”

  “For Heaven’s sake, why not?” she asked, but she thought she knew why: Phil. Lynn sighed, then reached down and moved the large box onto the floor. As she sat down on one end of the sofa, she pointed to the other end. “Sit with me,” she said.

  Leonard moved her coat onto a chair and then took a seat on the sofa, as far from her as possible, she couldn’t help but notice. “My daddy passed on when I was thirteen,” she said. “It was just me and my mama after that. Well, there were also a couple of other relatives who we hardly ever saw. But mostly it was just me and Mama. And then when I got married, she was left all alone.” Lynn paused, trying to find the right words to tell Leonard what she needed to tell him. “Even before I left, though, Mama was alone. She missed Pa something terrible.” Lynn remembered Leonard’s own family situation, which he’d once talked about, and she asked, “Wasn’t that the way with your pa, after your mama passed?”

  Leonard had no family anymore, Lynn recalled, and he spoke about his parents only rarely. Once, a long time ago, he’d told her and Phil that his ma had passed on while bringing him into the world, and that his pa had lived on for twenty-five years until a bad sickness had taken him. “My father,” Leonard said, looking down at this hands, “he eventually remarried, but yeah, he missed my mother for the rest of his life.”

  “At least your pa lived his life, though,” Lynn said. “My mama, she done good raising me by herself, but she wasn’t happy, and she was pretty much ready to let go of life for fifteen years, until she finally did.” She shifted herself closer to Leonard on the sofa and put her hand atop his. “I don’t want to be like that,” she said. “I don’t know how much time God’s gonna give me on this Earth, but however long it is, I want to be happy.”

  “I think that’s a good attitude,” Leonard said. “I really do.” He took his hand from beneath hers, stood up, and paced over to the fireplace. Th
ere, he took hold of an iron poker and stabbed at the logs crackling in the hearth, accomplishing very little other than moving away from her.

  “What about you, Leonard?” she asked.

  “I want you to be happy too,” he said.

  Lynn got up and walked over to him. She squatted down beside him and took the poker from his hand. “I mean, do you want to be happy?” She placed the poker with the other fireplace tools.

  “Of course I do,” he said, but again he looked away from her as he spoke. “And I am happy.”

  “That’s good,” Lynn said, although she didn’t know if she truly believed it. “I’m glad if you’re happy, but wouldn’t you be happier with me?”

  “I just…” Leonard said, and then he fled from her again, walking back over to stand by the sofa. “It’s not right,” he finished.

  “Beause of Phil?” she said. Lynn understood Leonard’s loyalty, but if she could move on in her life, why couldn’t he? “Phil loved me and you were his best friend. Don’t you think he’s looking down from Heaven and hoping that we take care of each other?”

  “Take care of each other, sure,” Leonard said. “I do try to look out for you, you know.”

  “I know,” Lynn said. She stood up, and the fire felt warm on her legs. “But I can’t believe you want me to keep being alone.”

  “I didn’t say that,” Leonard told her. “I can understand you wanting to find love again, and I hope you do.”

  “Thank you,” Lynn said. “That’s good to…” She didn’t finish her sentence as something occurred to her. Leonard didn’t want to become involved with her because she’d been married to Phil, but he didn’t mind if another man did? That didn’t make sense to her, unless—

  She walked back across the room to stand in front of Leonard again. “This isn’t about Phil, is it?” she asked.

  “It’s about you being Phil’s widow,” Leonard said, but she could see now that he wasn’t telling her the truth. Was he trying to spare her feelings, she wondered? Did he not care for her the way she cared for him…the way she thought he cared for her?