“I graduated early,” she said. “I’m taking a year off before I go to college. Dad arranged a job for me here so we could be a little closer.” There was too much for me to process.
“You must be very proud of her,” I said to Ben.
“Yes, Captain,” he said, a little too formally. Jamie picked up on the awkwardness.
“I’m lucky the Enterprise is here for so long,” she said. “I don’t think Dad and I have had this much time together since he was at the academy.”
“Well, I’ll let you get back to your meal,” I said. “It was great seeing you, Jamie.” Upon saying her name, I could see Ben scowl; it hurt him that he’d named her after me. As I walked back to join Spock and McCoy, I realized that this was still an open wound.
“The imposter’s back where he belongs. Let’s forget him,” I said. But I couldn’t forget him. He was back inside me, and I had all his memories. And they were monstrous. And I was beginning to understand what Pike had been talking about.
I’d been the victim of a transporter accident and been split into two people. But these weren’t two evenly split halves. I had never ascribed human intelligence to a machine before, but I couldn’t help but feel that the transporter itself decided to have some “fun” with the idea of good and evil. To use Freudian terminology, one half got both the id and the ego; he was brutal, savage, but also clever and resourceful. The other half had the morality, the superego. They were both me, and neither could live without the other.
We’d managed to keep what happened to me from most of the ship’s population; Spock rightly pointed out that if the crew saw me as this vulnerable and human, I’d lose the almost inpenetrable image of perfection that allowed a captain to command. We just referred to the savage half as “the imposter,” implying that some human or alien had taken on my form. The crew was familiar with the legend of the shape-shifting Chameloids, and now many believed they’d met one. But he was not an imposter. He was a part of myself.
Scotty and Spock had repaired the transporter, and my two halves were thrust back together. I was in command again, walking to my chair, when Yeoman Rand intercepted me.
My old yeoman, Bateson, had been promoted and transferred, and I hadn’t been happy when I’d been assigned an attractive female yeoman; McCoy joked that I didn’t trust myself. He was right; she was a compelling distraction. But whatever my personal attraction to her, I knew there was no hope for us; I was her commanding officer, and when one person wields that much power professionally over the other, it can’t lead to a real relationship.
But my savage half had no need to abide by this wisdom, or show Janice any respect. He tried to use the power of his position, and when she refused, he’d assaulted her, or tried to. And his memories were now mine. As I stood looking at her, I remembered what he, or rather, what I, had done to her; her screams, struggling in my grip. I was nauseous, angry. I wanted to go back in time and stop that monster, but I was the monster.
“Sir, the imposter told me what happened,” Rand said, quietly. I remember him telling her that I’d been split in half. She knew he wasn’t an imposter. She knew.
“I just want to say …” she said. “Well, I just want you to know …” She didn’t know what to say, but she wanted to make me feel better. I realized that she thought she understood, but she’d gotten it wrong; she thought the transporter made an evil Kirk. She really didn’t understand that the evil Kirk was always there in me. It was making me feel worse; I could barely look at her. But I smiled.
“Thank you, Yeoman.” I went to my command chair. I would try to face it, to accept it, but it was impossible.
“Lieutenant Robert Tomlinson and Ensign Angela Martine have requested a marriage ceremony,” Spock said, “and they would like you to perform it.” I laughed reflexively, then remembered Spock wouldn’t come all the way to my quarters to do a comedic bit. Once I realized he was serious, I had a different response.
“How wonderful,” I said, unable to control my sarcasm. I suppose I should’ve been touched, but for reasons I couldn’t quite identify, I found the whole thing annoying.
“We will have to schedule a time. Also, Ensign Martine is a Catholic,” Spock said, “and she wishes to have the ceremony reflect the traditions of that religion.” I knew nothing about the practices of ancient Earth religions.
“How different is Catholic than Christian?”
“They both come from the same root religion, but there are specific details of the wedding service—”
“Never mind,” I said. “Just have somebody write up what I’m supposed to say, and I’ll say it.” Tomlinson was currently the officer in charge of weapons control, and Martine was doing a tour in that department. I had specifically recruited Martine less than two years before; she graduated second in her class at the academy, had a wide range of specialties. I saw a lot of potential for her as a member of my crew. I didn’t initially understand why I had such a negative reaction to the idea of the two of them getting married, but I was silently determined to put a stop to it. “Have them report to me, immediately.”
“Yes sir,” Spock said, and left. A few minutes later, the door chime sounded, and Tomlinson and Martine came in. I had them sit opposite me on the other side of my desk. Tomlinson was boyish, friendly, and in my estimation wasn’t Martine’s equal. I wanted to talk them out of this.
“So, first, congratulations,” I said.
“Thank you, sir,” they both said, unintentionally in unison. Then they looked at each other and giggled.
“This is a big step. How long have you two …” I let the implication hang in the air for a moment. Tomlinson jumped right in.
“Not very long, sir,” he said. “I’ve strictly obeyed the rules regarding fraternization with subordinates.”
“Then forgive me, how do you know you want to get married?” It was a harsh thing to say, and Tomlinson wasn’t ready for it. He looked like I’d just killed his pet dog.
“We’re in love, sir,” Martine said.
“You have no doubts,” I said. “Because you will have to make sacrifices.”
“That is what love is about,” she said. And as a show of solidarity and love, she took Tomlinson’s hand.
And I felt like a fool. What was I trying to do? Break up a couple, because I was unconvinced of their love? I looked at these two young people and remembered the intensity of affection and desire. I realized I was jealous; I was envious that they’d found each other.
“Yes,” I said, chastised, “that is what love is about.” I took a pause, then added that I was honored to perform the service. As they thanked me and left my quarters, hand in hand, these two people reminded me of my parents. They bore no physical resemblance, but something about their feeling for each other evoked Mom and Dad.
Six days later, the wedding ceremony was interrupted by the Romulans.
A hundred years before, Earth engaged in a war with the enigmatic species. It was a war fought in space, on ships; no ground troops, no captives, against an enemy we never met face-to-face. The peace treaty was negotiated by subspace radio. Earth had defeated the Romulans and put them behind a Neutral Zone, cut off from the rest of the Galaxy. Outposts constructed on asteroids monitored the border, making sure the Romulans never crossed it. For a century we’d heard nothing from them, and then they came across with two new weapons: a working invisibility cloak for their ship and a catasrophically destructive plasma weapon, which they used to destroy our outposts. They were testing our resolve, looking for an easy victim. We’d engage them, and along the way, would discover a secret that would affect politics in the quadrant for decades to come.
“I believe I can get a look at their bridge,” Spock said, early on in our engagement with the invisible ship. He had intercepted a communication and was using his creative technical wizardry to follow the transmission back to its source. On our viewscreen, we got a look at the cramped control room of the Romulan ship and the face of its commander.
Pointed ears, slanted eyebrows, he could’ve been Spock’s father.
It was a revelation: the Vulcans and the Romulans were the same species—the Romulans an offshoot, a lost colony. It was fascinating to think about; when the war with the Romulans occurred, we had only known the Vulcans for a few decades. Would Earthmen and Vulcans been able to form a lasting friendship if this connection were known? It made me think that perhaps if it had been known, Starfleet Command might have kept it a secret all this time because of the negative connotations the war had for so many on Earth.*
I didn’t think it would matter a century later, though I was quickly proven wrong. My navigator, Lieutenant Stiles, whose ancestors had fought in that war, immediately decided upon seeing the Romulans that Spock was a spy.
I wasn’t having a lot of luck with navigators. Bailey had left after it became clear he wasn’t ready for the position. I’d tried a few others who weren’t up to snuff, and now here was Stiles, who showed the terrible judgment to openly insult his superior officer based on his looks. To Spock’s credit, he didn’t let it affect him. Or at least he said it didn’t. But I wasn’t going to have it; it was ridiculous, raw, and obvious bigotry, and as soon as I could replace Stiles, I would. But not in the middle of a crisis.
I was facing an invisible ship with a weapon that could pulverize large asteroids. I had to make sure the ship didn’t get home, or we’d be facing an all-out war. But I couldn’t cross the border without also risking a war that could be blamed on us. The Enterprise and the Romulan ship played a game of cat-and-mouse for hours. The commander of the enemy craft was clever, but his ship wasn’t the juggernaut it pretended to be; we learned that its power was drained by its invisibility field, and its weapon had a limited range. The Enterprise could beat it: we could outrun its weapon. But during the engagement I’d failed to stop them before they returned to their space; they’d made it to the other side of the border, a border I’d been ordered not to cross. I had to draw them back.
I decided on a risky strategy. We’d suffered damage at the hands of the enemy ship, so it wasn’t difficult to appear vulnerable. And though they’d made it into the Neutral Zone, I gambled that they wouldn’t resist the opportunity to finish us off. So I ordered us to play dead.
If they fell for it, we’d have little time to fire. They couldn’t fire their weapon while they were invisible, and we couldn’t fire until we could see them. I had to make sure we fired before they got off a shot. As a precaution I sent Stiles to help Tomlinson, who was manning the forward phaser control room by himself.
I sat looking at the viewscreen, waiting for the ship to appear. My shields were down, engine power at minimum. If that ship fired first, we wouldn’t be able to escape their plasma weapon. As I waited, I thought about the Enterprise and its 400 crewmen. They could all be dead in a moment, and it would be my fault. The seconds passed, and I became less sure of myself. I had a last-minute thought that maybe I should power up and warp away. That was the safer course. I was about to give that order when Sulu spoke up.
“Enemy vessel becoming visible,” he said. I was committed. I told the phaser control room to fire.
And nothing happened.
The enemy ship was getting closer. For some reason, Stiles and Tomlinson weren’t following my orders. I tamped down my panic, keyed in the public address system, and shouted for Stiles to fire. No response.
I looked up at the Romulan ship. It was so close now. I had the thought that I’d killed us all.
And then the phasers fired; the Romulan was hit.
What I didn’t know at the time was there had been an accident in the phaser control room, reactor coolant was leaking in and suffocating Stiles and Tomlinson. Fortunately, Spock was nearby, went into the control room, and fired the phasers. He then pulled Stiles out in time to save his life. I’d always thought Spock might have been overcompensating by choosing to get Stiles first. His choice had further ramifications.
Because Spock chose Stiles first, Tomlison died.
I later found Angela Martine in the chapel, praying. It was surprising to me that in this day and age people still found comfort from this. But I was in no position to criticize how this woman chose to grieve. She turned and saw me, then came to embrace me.
“It never makes any sense,” I said. “But you have to know there was a reason.” This seemed empty; to appeal to her patriotism, her service, but I really didn’t know what to say. Neither did she, and she soon left me alone in the chapel.
I looked up at the podium. I thought of the traditions of so many religions, where clergy, preaching from a similar podium, would offer comfort, protection, or motivation. And those clergy were required to sacrifice their personal lives to provide that comfort and motivation. They could help others achieve happiness and contentment, and the clergy’s only reward was that service. There was really no rest for them.
I understood that job. I left the room and got back to work.
“We have a request from Dr. Tom Leighton that we divert to Planet Q,” Spock said, at our morning meeting. “He reports it’s urgent.”
I hadn’t seen Tom since his wedding, five years before. He had grown into the image of his father, a bear of a man, but without the light touch. He still carried the burden of what had happened on Tarsus IV, even into adulthood. It had influenced his career path; he became an astroagricultural scientist, specifically devoting himself to the development of synthetic foods for Earth colonies. And he still wore the patch on half his face. But his career success and his marriage to a lovely, supportive woman had softened him somewhat. The wedding had been celebratory, and I saw some hope for happiness for my old friend.
“Planet Q is three light-years off our course,” I said.
“He reports he has discovered the formula for a synthetic food that could avert famine on Cygnia Minor,” Spock said.
This was a strange coincidence. Cygnia Minor was an Earth colony whose population growth had gone unchecked, and its arable land had been diminished because of uncontrolled development. It was off the major shipping routes, so a food crisis could develop there quickly, though it hadn’t yet; Starfleet and Federation colonies had been placed on alert to the situation less than a month before. The fact that Leighton already had a solution to the problem was unbelievable. But I had to follow it up.
“Inform Starfleet Command, and set course for Planet Q,” I said, and Spock left. I was always a little ambivalent about seeing Tom; it brought up a lot of memories that I’d pushed away, but I also felt a kinship and a responsibility to him.
When we arrived at the planet, I received a message for me to meet him at a theater in the capital city of Yu. I didn’t know what to make of it, but I beamed down. The city was modern and sprawling, with a large distinctive arch at the city’s entrance. I found my way to the theater, shaped like a giant silver chicken egg that lay on its side. There was a ticket waiting for me at the box office, and I went inside.
On the stage, the Acturian version of Shakespeare’s Macbeth was being performed. As I found my way to the empty seat, I gathered I’d missed a good portion of it, as Macbeth was already about to kill King Duncan.
Tom was already there, sitting in the seat next to me. He did not give me a warm greeting; he was concentrating on the stage. This whole thing seemed very strange. I was here to get a food synthetic, but he was going to make me sit through a three-hour play.
And then he told me to pay attention to the voice of the actor playing Macbeth.
“That’s Kodos the Executioner,” he said, his voice intense and angry. I was baffled. Was he saying Macbeth reminded him of Kodos? I looked at the actor. It had been almost a quarter century, and the man playing the part did bear a small resemblance. But it was unbelievable that Tom thought it actually was him. I started to think Tom brought me here under false pretenses.
At the intermission, I told Tom I didn’t have time to sit through a play. He took me back to his home where he told me the truth. There w
as no food synthetic; he had made it up to get me to Planet Q. Tom had seen this actor, Anton Karidian, and was sure he was Kodos. It made no sense. His theory was Governor Kodos had escaped death and was now traveling around the Galaxy acting in plays? My old friend, who I’d been through so much with, sounded insane.
Until Tom ended up dead. Murdered.
“Are you Kodos?” I was a few feet from Anton Karidian. He did evoke Kodos in some way. But my memory still wasn’t clear. I had only seen him the one time; he had towered over me, and I had been scared, in shock, crying. I didn’t fully remember what he looked like. But Tom was dead, and Tom had been sure.
“Do you believe that I am?” he said. I said that I did, but I still wasn’t sure. Circumstantial evidence had piled up. Karidian’s history began almost to the day that Kodos’s ended. And there had been deaths, seven people, all of whom had seen Kodos and knew what he looked like, each of whom died just when the Karidian players were nearby.
But I still wasn’t sure.
If this was Kodos, I thought, what a monster; what an ego. He killed thousands of people, escaped punishment, but rather than going into hiding, he performs on a stage; his need for attention outweighed all other considerations.
Tom had been murdered after telling me he was sure Karidian was Kodos. I’d found him, stabbed to death out near his home. I’d felt guilty for not believing him immediately, and I had become obsessed. I engineered the situation so Karidian and his players would travel on the Enterprise. I was going to find out if Tom was right, and if this was his killer, and his parents’ killer, and the killer of all those people I’d known as a child, I would have my revenge.
It was all coming back, the horror of Tarsus, of that night. I was confronted again with my helplessness in the face of evil.
So I became evil, and I went after Karidian in what I thought must be a weak spot.
I tried to seduce his 19-year-old daughter, Lenore.
The Autobiography of James T. Kirk Page 16
