When he’d finished eating, McCoy washed and dried his dishes, then went into the living room. Sitting down on the sofa, he picked up the novel he’d begun reading earlier in the week, The Catcher in the Rye, by J.D. Salinger. He found the picaresque tale thoroughly engaging, providing fascinating insights not only into young human males, but into twentieth-century American civilization.
He read for a little while, then looked up and, seeing the time, decided to turn on the television set to check on the news of the day. Instead of the regular evening broadcasts, though, he saw a grim fellow seated at a desk and leaning over a microphone. Behind him stood an easel with a large outline of the east coast of the United States placed on it. Circles marked several points on the map, labeled New York; Philadelphia; Washington, D.C.; Richmond; Charlotte; and Charleston. A blue star sat beside Boston, and a red one by Atlanta. The sense that something terrible had happened suddenly gripped McCoy. As best he could, he tried to focus on the words of the newscaster.
“…scrambled up and down the coast, and appear to have repelled most of the Axis air forces back out to sea. There are reports of major naval battles at this hour, in both the Atlantic and Pacific Oceans.”
McCoy sat motionless on the sofa, unable to move, almost unable even to breathe.
“Once more, massive airborne attacks were launched by the Axis on the United States late this afternoon. At cities up and down the eastern and western seaboards, our air force and navy engaged the attackers, and for the most part destroyed them or turned them back. But in Boston, Massachusetts, and Atlanta, Georgia, German aircraft penetrated American defenses and dropped bombs on both cities. While the bomb in Boston appears to have failed, the one in Atlanta did not.”
McCoy shot to his feet, as though he could take some action to undo what had happened. Instead, he simply stood and stared at the television screen.
“At five-thirteen this afternoon, Eastern Time, what appears to have been an atomic bomb detonated above the city. Reports from the area are understandably sketchy, but from what we’re told, downtown Atlanta has essentially ceased to exist, with at least twenty square miles of the city completely destroyed. Preliminary estimates put the number of dead at—” The newsman’s voice trembled as he read from a sheet of paper in his hands. “—put the number of dead at more than fifty thousand, and the number of injured at more than seventy thousand.”
McCoy staggered backward, until his legs struck the sofa and he fell back onto the cushions. On the television, the newscaster continued talking, and as though at a remove, McCoy heard that hostilities had resumed in Europe and that some of the most intense fighting of the war was taking place right now in both the Atlantic and the Pacific. President Truman had already addressed Congress and he would speak to the American people on television tonight at nine o’clock. McCoy heard all of that, but his mind was elsewhere.
Lynn, he thought as tears streamed down his face. She was probably in a movie theater…
Unless she’d for some reason opted not to stay in Atlanta tonight, as she’d initially decided. Perhaps she’d left the city in advance of the bombing. Perhaps she made her way back home even now…
McCoy knew that he was deluding himself, knew that Lynn had already been lost. Like her husband before her, she had been killed in a war that should have ended a decade ago. And he could do nothing about it.
But he had to try.
Foolishly, with virtually no hope of success, McCoy stood up again, grabbed his keys, and ran out to his car, headed for Atlanta. Less than an hour later, though, out on US 123, he found the route south blocked as thousands of people filled the roads leading away from the Dogwood City. Unable to proceed in his car, and with no sense in attempting to continue on foot, he parked for a while on the side of the road and scanned the faces of people as they made their way past. Lynn was not among them, and finally McCoy turned around and returned home.
He mourned deep into the night.
Forty-Nine
2290
As a server carried a silver tray past, she reached up and snatched a flute from atop it. She’d seen the menu of beverages being served, and recognized the bright orange liquid. She sipped from the elegant glass, the slightly sweet tranya sliding easily down her throat.
Peering around and seeing so many Starfleet dress uniforms in the reception hall, she felt out of place. Though she’d left the service five years ago, she’d still spent far more time in it than out of it. At the same time, she enjoyed dressing up, considering how much of her days she spent wearing a plain, white—and unflattering—smock. For this evening, she’d chosen a black gown, with scrolling beadwork along the bottom half of the skirt and along the three-quarter sleeves. A scarlet chemisette added a dash of color and matched her hair.
As she sipped at her tranya, she slowly moved about the room, slipping past the clusters of prominent scientists and other dignitaries present. Finding herself along one of the three transparent walls—the tall ceiling had also been fabricated of some clear material—she gazed out at the countryside. The hall in which she stood had been constructed at the summit of the tallest hill in the area, providing a fine view of the numerous university buildings illuminated along the surrounding slopes. The beauty of the star-speckled firmament peered down on the proceedings from above, and within the room, a series of large, expertly crafted sculptures added to the splendor of the scene. The statues, some abstract, some not, depicted various scientific concepts: evolution, the big bang, the probability wave function, the unified field theory, and the like.
Suddenly, she felt a gentle pressure at her elbow, the touch of a hand. At once, her heart seemed to somersault inside her chest. Unprepared, she turned, because she could do nothing else. Silently, she chastised herself, knowing that this could happen, that it likely would happen—
Except that when she turned, she didn’t find who she’d expected to. “Doctor,” said the dignified, black-haired man before her. “It’s been a long time.”
“Hikaru,” she said. “What a pleasure to see you.” He looked dashing in his formal habiliments. She moved forward and gave him a quick hug. When she stepped back, she asked not about him, but—rather rudely, she would realize later—about his crewmates. “I assume that all of the Enterprise’s senior staff are here.” She’d seen Captain Kirk across the room earlier, and she knew that Mr. Spock would of course be here.
“I assume so too,” Sulu said with a smile. “But I’m no longer on board the Enterprise.”
“No?” she asked, and then she noticed the insignia on the epaulet adorning his right shoulder. “Captain Sulu,” she said, impressed. “Congratulations. When did this happen?”
“The promotion came through about a month back,” he said. “But I actually took command of the Excelsior just a few days ago.”
“A few days ago?” she said, then teased, “And already you’re taking in social events?”
“R.H.I.P., Doctor,” Sulu said with a smile.
“In my line of work,” she said, “that stands for relativistic heavy ion physics.”
Sulu chuckled. “In this case, I meant rank has its privileges.”
“Ah, now that makes more sense,” she said. “So you must be very excited about this opportunity.”
“I am,” he said. “We’re about to embark on—”
“Pardon me,” came a voice from beside them. She and Sulu both turned to see Leonard standing there, resplendent in his dress whites. His hair had begun to gray along the front edges she saw, a look that she thought reinforced the handsomeness of his masculine features. “Tonia,” he said, “it’s nice to see you.”
“It’s nice to see you, Leonard,” she said. Her heart, calm just a second ago, now resumed its gymnastic maneuvers. She resolved that, once she returned to Earth, she would have it removed.
“I’m sorry to interrupt,” he said, looking at Sulu for a moment too, obviously to include him in the apology. “I saw you standing here and…well, they’re going
to come drag me out of here in a couple of minutes and I just wanted to make sure I had a chance to see you.”
“I’m glad you did,” Barrows said.
“I’ll let you two chat then,” Sulu said, and he beat a gracious retreat.
“I think we made him uncomfortable,” Leonard said, looking after Sulu.
“Speak for yourself,” Barrows said jokingly. “Hikaru was enjoying talking with me.”
“Yes, well, who wouldn’t?” Leonard said.
You wouldn’t, Barrows thought, surprised at how quickly her bitterness had come back. She suppressed the emotion, angry with herself for feeling such a thing for even a moment. She thought that she’d long ago forgiven Leonard for hurting her, not once, but twice. Maybe I haven’t quite forgiven myself, she realized.
“So how have you been?” Leonard asked. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, obviously nervous. She wondered if that had more to do with him seeing her or with him about to be the center of attention.
“I’ve been doing very well, thank you,” Barrows said. “And you, clearly you’ve had some great successes.” She pointed in the direction of the hall’s single opaque wall, beyond which sat the auditorium in which Leonard and Spock would soon be presented the Zee-Magnees Prize.
“I want you to know,” Leonard said very seriously, “that when the university formally told me that they were presenting Spock and me with this award, I contacted their Scientific Advisory Board to tell them of the contributions that you and Dorsant and Olga made when we worked together at Starfleet Medical.”
“I know,” she said. “The board actually contacted all three of us and wanted to know if we felt entitled to any recognition. None of us did.”
“But you did contribute,” Leonard said.
“Minimally,” Barrows said. “At best, we eliminated some avenues of exploration and experimentation. Nothing on a par with what you and Mister Spock accomplished.”
“That’s very generous of you,” Leonard said. “And I really appreciate that you’ve come for the ceremony.” Something beeped twice, much like a communicator. Leonard reached down to the side of his waist and took hold of a small clear cylinder there. As he did, it beeped twice again, then tinted green. “That’s my signal. I’ve got to get going,” he said. Again, he shuffled from one foot to the other, plainly uncomfortable. “Listen, when I saw you here, Tonia…well, I was very happy and I was hoping that maybe we could talk, have a drink after the presentation.”
Barrows felt one side of her mouth curl upward, pleased by the offer, even as it seemed wildly presumptuous. “No, thank you,” she said. “I came for the presentation only. I hadn’t even planned to see you; I left that to fate. I’m very proud of you, Leonard, proud of your wonderful achievements, but other than that, I’m afraid I don’t really have very much to say to you.”
Leonard smiled, but she could see that the expression contained no joy. “I understand,” he said. “I’m glad you came, and I’m glad that I at least got to see you.”
Barrows lifted her glass in salute. “Congratulations to you and Spock, Leonard,” she said. He turned and walked away, heading toward the auditorium. She watched him go, weaving his way through those assembled, until finally she lost sight of him.
Then she downed the rest of her tranya and went looking for another.
McCoy sat quietly with Spock in the waiting room. The simple, sparsely furnished space contained only a few chairs and a table with refreshments, as plain a place as the reception hall had been spectacular. Where the hosts and their many guests had provided a constant buzz of conversation, here silence held lease.
Peering over at Spock, McCoy actually considered approaching him to discuss the knot of emotions roiling within him. Though the Vulcan still outwardly presented himself as an unfeeling, logical individual, he seemed more at ease with his human heritage and characteristics these days than ever he had before. McCoy had no doubt that his friend would be willing to listen to his troubles, but he found that he simply couldn’t bring himself to talk about them—not because of Spock, but because of himself.
McCoy had been speaking with Commander Randi Bryce, a Starfleet biologist he’d met years ago, when he’d peered across the room and seen Hikaru Sulu. Freshly promoted to captain and assigned to command the Excelsior, Sulu had only a few days ago left the Enterprise to begin a three-year mission into the Beta Quadrant with his new ship and crew. At this point, he should’ve been light-years away, and so McCoy had wanted to thank him for somehow finagling his way to the presentation ceremony. The doctor felt tremendously gratified that so many friends, shipmates, and colleagues had chosen to be in attendance. Joanna too had made the long voyage from Mantilles to be here.
When he’d finished talking with Commander Bryce, he’d looked again for Sulu. He’d spotted the new captain and had made his way almost all the way across the hall to him before realizing that he stood talking with Tonia. Seeing her caused an immediate, visceral reaction within McCoy, a little something like a lightning strike. He’d been surprised by the intensity of his emotion—and at the longing for Tonia that he’d felt. Why hadn’t they stayed together? he’d asked himself.
But of course he had left her—twice. It had nothing to do with Tonia, he knew. It had only to do with him.
“Doctor,” Spock said, his voice, though low, still fracturing the quiet of the room. “You seem preoccupied. May I inquire, is everything all right?” For somebody who almost never displayed emotion himself, Spock certainly had developed some skill in reading the feelings of others.
“Everything’s fine,” he lied. “I must just be nervous about going out on that stage.”
“But you have chaired symposia, made presentations at Starfleet and Starfleet Medical,” Spock said, “and never when I have seen you in those settings have I perceived any anxiety on your part.”
“Are you calling me a liar, Spock?” McCoy asked lightly.
Spock arched an eyebrow. “I merely seek to point out that the reason you offer for your evident disquiet is at odds with your past behavior. Perhaps something else is troubling you, something of which you are not consciously aware.”
“So now you’re an expert in human behavior?” McCoy said, actually impressed by Spock’s perception and insight.
“As you have never tired of observing, Doctor,” he said, “I am half human.”
“Aren’t we all?” McCoy muttered.
“I do not think I understand that reference,” Spock said.
“I’m not sure I do either,” McCoy said. He stood from his chair and walked over to the table on which food and drink had been placed. He selected a pick and speared a piece of pineapple from a plate of assorted fruits. Turning toward Spock, he said, “I saw Tonia Barrows this evening. I spoke with her.”
Spock tilted his head ever so slightly to one side. “And this is causing you anxiety?” he asked.
“I guess it is,” McCoy admitted. He popped the pineapple into his mouth. After swallowing it, he said, “We haven’t seen each other in a long time, and we didn’t exactly part on the best possible terms.”
“I see,” said Spock. “Is Doctor Barrows angry or upset with you then?”
“No,” McCoy said. “No, I don’t think so. She was very cordial when we spoke. And of course she’s here for the big event.” McCoy paused and then said, “By the way, she offers you her congratulations.”
Spock bowed his head in acknowledgment, then asked, “Are you upset with Doctor Barrows or disapproving of her presence here tonight?”
“No, not at all,” McCoy said. “She’s never given me any reason to be upset with her, and I’m very touched that she made the effort to be here.”
“Then I fail to see what the difficulty is,” Spock said. He stood up and walked over beside McCoy. Lifting a crystal pitcher from the table, he poured himself a glass of water.
“I don’t even know if I see what the difficulty is,” McCoy said.
Spock sipped from
his water, then said, “It has always been my understanding, based on things you yourself have said, that it was you who put an end to your romantic relationship with Doctor Barrows.”
“It was,” McCoy said. He tossed the tiny pick into a recycling bin set up beside the table. “Even back on the Enterprise all those years ago, even though she transferred off the ship, it was me who really made that necessary.” He padded back across the room and sat down in his chair again.
“Could it be, perhaps, that you feel guilt for having hurt somebody about whom you once cared a great deal?” Spock asked.
“Maybe,” McCoy allowed. “But to tell you the truth, Spock, that’s something I’ve been used to feeling for a very long time.”
“I see,” Spock said, and his voice seemed to carry with it a measure of empathy McCoy found both unexpected and touching. “Is there any chance then that you still harbor amorous feelings for Doctor Barrows?”
“It would never work,” McCoy said automatically.
Both of Spock’s eyebrows went up on his forehead this time. “Doctor,” he said, and then stopped and started again. “Leonard, I must point out that you did not actually answer the question I asked.”
“No, I suppose I didn’t,” McCoy said, now essentially forced to think about the issue Spock had posed him. “Maybe responding the way I did really does answer your question.”
“Or perhaps the answer you provided points out a different question that you need to ask yourself,” Spock suggested.
Crucible: McCoy Page 63
