STAR TREK: Strange New Worlds II

by Dean Wesley Smith (Editor)

  Marcus chuckled. “This is exactly the sort of moment Jim was at his best. A problem, a dramatic setting, a first contact—a seemingly impossible puzzle. He’d grin, and pull an answer out of thin air, like a soprano hitting a high C and going for a D as though it was child’s play. And the whole thing would be personal to him. I think he found life to be very, very personal.”

  Gillian nodded again. Then grinned. “Marcus, I owe you for this. You’re a genius.”

  “I know. How did I prove it this time?” Carol asked, as Gillian pulled the hood back over her hair.

  “You reminded me of child’s play. And Harpo’s play was song.”

  Five minutes later Gillian was clinging to Harpo’s fin, shouting music against the whale’s broad side. She had to go through “Please Release Me” a good dozen times. But Harpo finally got it.

  An hour later Harpo had managed to find some way to tell the aliens what Gillian needed them to know. Whatever had held the Nautilus let go, and the power in the shuttle came on.

  The first thing Gillian did was call the Hermes. The second thing was to test the universal translator by telling Harpo she’d missed him.

  [105] After that she was too busy talking to aliens to keep track of what she did next.

  On the trip back up through Pacifica’s waters, Carol Marcus asked, “What did they want? Why did they take Harpo, and us?”

  “They’re runaways. They were kidnapped from their own planet by Orion slavers, nearly two hundred years ago. They escaped with a ship and some stolen technology, and hid here, on a dead, sterile planet, where they thought they’d be safe. Then we came. They lay low, and hoped we’d leave. But then you set off the first Genesis explosion, and the storms began, and then Harpo came exploring, and his sonar detected the hollow behind the cliff. And they panicked. I don’t think they knew what they’d do, but they were too frightened not to do something.”

  “Then why didn’t they attack us, once they had us?”

  Gillian shrugged. “Because they’re not that kind of species. We didn’t attack them. So they didn’t attack us.” She pulled the nose of the Nautilus up, following Harpo and his entourage of aliens toward the surface. Even this deep she could see a glimmer of light. The effects of the first Genesis explosion were fading. Light was returning to Pacifica. To her that was a joy. To Carol Marcus it had to be a disappointment.

  “Are you sorry about how it turned out?” she asked. “Now that we know there are aliens here, Genesis is going to be put on hold for a while.”

  “No. Of course not. If I’d set off the second device, the accumulated energies might have overcome the aliens’ cloaks and shields. They might have died. As it is ...” [106] Marcus smiled. “As it is, this may be a godsend. With a new species, one that wants the world to be more habitable, there’s some extra push to attempt Genesis here on Pacifica. Uhura’s communications team says the aliens will let themselves be moved to an orbiting station while I finish the Genesis conversion—and then they can have first deed and title on the new colony. Or a place on another water world if it doesn’t work.” She didn’t sound as though she thought the second choice would be needed.

  Gillian was less sure, but let it pass. Instead she leaned back and watched Harpo’s shadow rise up through the waters above them, toward the pale shimmer of the surface. The storm above still raged on, but there was a difference between the dark of storm and the utter dark of the depths. She’d never forget that, now. “So you’ll get to finish the Genesis experiments. Is that going to be enough?”

  Doctor Marcus shrugged. “Enough? With a thousand things left to learn? It’s never enough. But it will suffice. For now.”

  It wasn’t what Gillian had really meant to ask. She’d wanted to ask if the other woman was happy. If she’d been recompensed for the loss of a son. The death of a lover. For the pain of her past, and the cool, armored silences of her present. For a lifetime being defined as the woman of a legend.

  Kirk’s women. Gillian had her whales, her colleagues ... and an unexpected family made up of Kirk’s other women. Those connections, the links that all passed through James Kirk, were a strange family. But in this time they were most of the family she had. She wanted to know that this one was happy.

  [107] She wasn’t sure. But Carol Marcus was busy, and fulfilled. For now that would suffice.

  And, Gillian thought, if her present was not as she had once dreamed, it too would suffice. She’d grabbed on to a transporter beam, a stranger’s waist, and a scant hope. She wasn’t defined by Kirk, or by history—but by a willingness to dare.

  Now she plunged up into the eternal peace of the Federation, to a familiar happily-ever-after she’d once only dreamed of.

  It wasn’t heaven. It wasn’t the Eden of Genesis. But it would suffice.

  Gillian Taylor grinned. Then she pulled up an old, old classic on the computer, and spent the rest of the trip up trying to explain Frank Zappa’s “Penguin in Bondage” to a woman of the modern world.

  Doctors Three

  Charles Skaggs

  What in blazes are they thinking?

  Admiral Leonard McCoy stared through the window of his Starfleet runabout vessel and watched in silent irritation as the ship approached the planet Jupiter. It had been two days since he had learned of the project to construct a holographic medical officer for use in emergency situations, and McCoy was bound and determined to voice his opinion on the subject to practically anyone he could find.

  The retired admiral’s personal campaign took him to the highest offices of Starfleet Medical, where three separate department heads had the misfortune to encounter the legendary force of nature. Although considerably slowed by his advanced age of 144, McCoy was still a man to be reckoned with if he was upset about something, and the idea of a holographic physician replacing human beings positively troubled him to no end.

  Following a clandestine series of private conversations between the department heads, Admiral McCoy was encouraged to visit the Holoprogramming Center on Jupiter Station. It was Starfleet Medical’s hope that by learning more about the development of the Emergency Medical [109] Hologram, McCoy would come to appreciate the project’s merit and eventually offer his public support. And just to give more credibility to the visit, a promising young ensign named Debbie Walter was assigned as McCoy’s official attaché, with strict orders to keep the admiral from being too disruptive.

  One almost had to feel sorry for her.

  “We’re coming up on Jupiter Station, Admiral,” announced Ensign Walter from the pilot’s seat of the Starfleet runabout Hippocrates. “Do you want me to beam you on ahead or would you like to wait until we dock?”

  McCoy smiled at her as he looked out at the orbiting space station coming slowly into view. “They didn’t tell you much about me, did they?”

  “Sir?”

  “Your superiors at Starfleet Medical. They didn’t tell you about the infamous Doctor Leonard McCoy and his lifelong hatred for that infernal device called a transporter?”

  Shaking her strawberry-blond head, Walter gave her passenger an innocent shrug. “I’m afraid I only received a quick briefing about you before we left, Admiral. However, many of your documented cases are required reading at the academy, and I understand that your neural grafting technique is still the practice.”

  “Hunh. Is that so?”

  “Yes, Admiral.”

  With a small sigh, McCoy returned his gaze to the approaching station. “Funny how they can fill you kids with all that stuff and still act like it’s perfectly fine to have your molecules scrambled all over space just to get from one point to another.”

  [110] Ensign Walter nodded along politely, despite her lack of sympathy for the admiral’s perspective. Checking her control panel once again, she looked back to find McCoy apparently lost in thought. “Sir?” she inquired. “Are you all right?”

  McCoy’s eyes blinked suddenly. “Hm? Oh. Sorry about that. I was just feeling bad about you getting stuck babysi
tting an old fool off on some damn personal crusade.”

  “Don’t worry about me, Admiral. I think I’ll survive the experience. Should I arm myself with a phaser in case you get out of hand?”

  “Couldn’t hurt.” McCoy grinned silently at the young woman’s attempt at humoring him. “Not to worry, Ensign. Despite my age, I’m still a Southern gentleman who knows how to behave himself with a lady.”

  “I’m going to hold you to that. In the meantime, why don’t you just sit back and enjoy the ride.”

  Might as well, thought McCoy as he slowly leaned back into his seat. I don’t expect I’ll enjoy my time on the station. ...

  After the Hippocrates docked at Landing Pad B, McCoy grabbed his walking cane and made his way through the airlock with Ensign Walter. Despite the exoskeleton braces he wore on his legs, he had reluctantly taken to using the cane almost two years earlier. McCoy had finally conceded that his frail body was in need of help in order to move about, which was a painful realization for him, a man who prided himself on his health and longevity. However, the more that he thought about the idea, he came to the conclusion that as long as he outlived that green-blooded Vulcan, it didn’t matter a damn what he used to get around.

  [111] McCoy and Walter emerged from the airlock and found a greeting party of three Starfleet officers waiting for them as they entered the station. Going by the pips denoting rank on each of their collars, Walter turned and faced the most senior officer, a slightly pudgy man in a burgundy-trimmed uniform. “Welcome to Jupiter Station,” the officer said in a warm, inviting voice. “I’m Commander David Clarke, commanding officer, and it’s a genuine honor to meet you, Admiral.”

  Glancing around the bustling space station, McCoy eventually returned the commander’s welcoming greeting. “Uh-huh.”

  Clarke was startled by McCoy’s apparent lack of interest “Um ... These are two of my officers,” he continued, motioning to a petite, smiling blonde and a taller, nervous-looking man. “Lieutenant Lynn White, my security chief, and Lieutenant Reginald Barclay, assistant to the Director of Holographic Imaging and Programming.”

  Lieutenant White merely nodded, while Barclay instantly began to struggle for words to express what he was feeling. “I ... I can’t believe you’re here. ...” he sputtered awkwardly. “You’re practically a living legend. ...”

  Looking up at the taller engineer, McCoy gazed firmly into Barclay’s face. “It’s better than being a dead one, boy. Now, are you the idiot who’s responsible for this cockamamie idea about using holograms as doctors?”

  Ensign Walter groaned inwardly as Barclay’s eyes widened in horror. “Um ... I ... No, Admiral,” Barclay began hesitantly. “Doctor Lewis Zimmerman is the idi—er, I mean, the designer of the EMH program. I’m just his assistant in charge of developing the EMH’s interpersonal skills.”

  [112] “Hunh. Is that a fact?” remarked McCoy, focusing his eyes upon the younger man. “You folks may be in more trouble than I thought.”

  Not knowing what else to do at this particular moment, Commander Clarke motioned his hand to indicate a nearby corridor. “Admiral, would you be interested in a tour of Jupiter Station?”

  “Not right now, Commander. I think I want to go and see what the devil this Zimmerman fella is up to.”

  Clarke glanced pleadingly over at Walter, who instantly comprehended the commander’s silent wish to keep McCoy away from disrupting Zimmerman’s work. “Admiral,” she spoke in a soothing tone, “perhaps you’d like to get settled into your quarters first? We can arrange a meeting with Doctor Zimmerman for first thing in the morning if you wish.”

  McCoy shook his head. “There’s plenty of time for that later. You know, I’ve seen and done an awful lot in my lifetime. I’ve held newborn babies delivered with my very own hands, witnessed entire worlds form and stars collapse, and watched in total helplessness as my closest friends and family were taken from me one by one. If there’s one thing I managed to learn through all that, it’s that you do things now, just in case you happen to wake up dead tomorrow.”

  A disturbing silence suddenly filled the docking bay at that moment, something which the admiral fully intended to use to his advantage. “Well, don’t just stand there, boy,” he said to Barclay with extreme casualness. “Let’s go see Doctor Zimmerman.”

  Completely befuddled by this point, Barclay looked over at Clarke for guidance, but the commander could only offer [113] a resigned shrug. “All ... all right, Admiral,” Barclay nodded. “If you’ll follow me ...”

  Walter sighed to herself and gently escorted McCoy to a nearby turbolift. Clarke, meanwhile, had no desire to experience the confrontation between McCoy and Zimmerman, so he gave the polite excuse of having to check station operations and left Lieutenant White to supervise things in his absence. Annoyed, but also jealous of Clarke’s hasty departure, White boarded the turbolift and quietly began muttering to herself. “ ‘Angels and ministers of grace, defend us ...’ ”

  McCoy grinned at the reference.

  Passing upward through several levels of the vast research station, the turbolift eventually stopped on Deck 10. Barclay led the others down a corridor to a rather unassuming door labeled “1013—Holographic Imaging and Programming” and motioned for everyone to wait outside. “I’ll just be a minute,” he explained. “Doctor Zimmerman is ... very specific about interruptions, so I’ll just let him know that you’re here.”

  After Barclay entered the research room, Walter turned to Lieutenant White and gestured with her head toward the door. “Is Doctor Zimmerman usually this hard to see?”

  “I’m not sure,” the chief of security replied. “No one usually wants to see him.”

  A few moments later, Barclay emerged from the room and the sound of someone bellowing “I don’t care who it is! Tell them I’m busy!” could be heard coming from inside. “Um ...” Barclay began nervously, “... this may not be a good time. The doctor is running through an important diagnostic right now and doesn’t want to be disturbed.”

  [114] “Oh, for crying out loud,” McCoy grumbled in extreme annoyance. “I don’t have time for these shenanigans. Out of the way, boy. This Zimmerman fella and I are gonna have a little chat.”

  “Admiral, I really don’t think that’s wise—”

  McCoy pointed a bony finger up at Barclay’s chin and glared at him with the spirit of a man in the prime of his life. “No. What’s not wise is you getting in my way and making excuses for some fool who wants to let a damn hologram operate on flesh-and-blood human beings. Now, I’m gonna give you two options here. You can let me in, or Ensign Walter and I can go back to Starfleet Medical and report that Zimmerman is being insubordinate by refusing an admiral access to his project.”

  Taking a moment to gather his thoughts, Barclay looked in Lieutenant White’s direction for guidance. “I’d stand aside, Reg,” she suggested. “Zimmerman could probably stand to have a little supervision.”

  “You ... you may have a point,” Barclay conceded, still feeling extremely uncertain about the idea, “I think I’m going to regret this.” He sighed and stepped away from the door.

  McCoy gave the engineer a pleased nod as he walked past and entered the lab. “Smart boy. There may be hope for you yet.”

  To Barclay’s surprise, he noticed Ensign Walter smiling fondly at him as she followed McCoy inside. It had been a long time since a woman had smiled that way toward him, and Barclay soon found himself returning the gesture in his typically awkward fashion. Lieutenant White, meanwhile, patted him on the shoulder with genuine appreciation. “So, [115] Reg ... do you want to bet on how many seconds it takes for Zimmerman and Admiral McCoy to try to kill each other?”

  Barclay released a slow, quiet moan and entered the lab once again.

  Inside, Dr. Lewis Zimmerman was busy losing himself in his work. Wearing his favorite lab coat over his Starfleet uniform, Zimmerman was regularly going back and forth across the room, checking and rechecking readouts from various control pan
els. As a result of all this activity, however, he failed to notice that he was no longer alone.

  McCoy studied Zimmerman for a moment, watching the programming specialist continue to work while remaining oblivious about the presence of others around him. Before Barclay could get his supervisor’s attention, McCoy uttered a sharp cough.

  The sound abruptly stopped Zimmerman in midpace, and he suddenly turned to locate the source of the disturbance. His face instantly formed a displeased scowl upon finding Barclay standing behind him with three others. “I thought I told you to tell them I was busy,” he snapped at Barclay.

  “I did,” Barclay explained, “but this is Admiral McCoy and his attaché, Ensign Walter. They’ve come from Starfleet Medical to look over the EMH program.”

  “Oh.” Zimmerman began to scratch the back of his receded hairline and looked at the elderly McCoy as if he were a bothersome gnat. “I wasn’t aware that Starfleet Medical was sending anyone to check up on me.”

  “Doctor, I told you about it this morning. You ... um ... said that Starfleet Medical could just go to—”

  “Never mind,” interrupted Zimmerman hastily. “Admiral ... McCoy, is it?” he inquired. “Well, it’s wonderful to meet [116] you, Admiral, but I’m afraid that I’ve reached a crucial juncture in the development of the EMH’s personal interaction matrix. I’ve got to stick to my schedule because Starfleet wants the EMH to be ready for the launch of the ... What was that ship’s name again?”

  “Voyager,” said Barclay helpfully.

  “Right. So, if you’ll excuse me, I really need to get back to my work. ...”

  “Hold on a minute there, Doctor,” McCoy called out as Zimmerman started to turn his back to the group. “I’ve got some concerns about this project of yours, and I didn’t come all this way just so I could look at your backside.”

  Zimmerman huffed a heavy sigh and turned around. “Admiral, I’ll be more than happy to hear about whatever you have to say some other time. If you talk with Mister Barclay here, he can relay your problems to me and I’ll make every effort to get back to you as soon as some time frees up.”