STAR TREK: TOS #87 - My Brother's Keeper, Book Three - Enterprise
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The Vulcan considered McCoy’s hand for a moment, then looked up. “My people try to avoid physical contact.”
The doctor frowned and withdrew his hand. “Sorry about that,” he told Spock. “I’m a doctor, not a diplomat.”
The Vulcan nodded. “I can see that.”
McCoy looked at him askance. “And what’s that supposed to mean?”
“Your uniform,” Spock expanded, “is one that clearly represents the sciences. No one in Starfleet would mistake it for that of an individual in the diplomatic corps.”
“Ah,” said the doctor. “Of course.”
But he didn’t seem to quite accept the explanation. What’s more, thought Kirk, the first officer had had an edge in his voice that he didn’t think he had ever heard there before.
Clearly, there was an interesting interpersonal dynamic going on here. He couldn’t wait to see how it developed now that McCoy had agreed to take over as chief medical officer.
In fact, the captain was tempted to inform Spock of that fact then and there. And he might have done it if another old friend hadn’t chosen that moment to join them.
“Hello, James,” said a blue-skinned Andorian beauty in commander’s garb, her antennae bent all the way forward.
[267] Kirk smiled at her, beset suddenly by memories both pleasant and not so pleasant. “Phelana.”
The woman leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek. “I’m sorry about Gary,” she told him. “I’m going to miss him a lot. I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone quite like him.”
“I know what you mean,” the captain said.
Phelana looked at him, her eyes black and ever so willing to share his grief. “At least he died a hero. We can all be proud of that.”
Unfortunately, Kirk couldn’t tell her the truth about Gary’s death—not when the official record failed to mention the kind of being he had become, or how he had murdered Lee Kelso in cold blood, or how close he had come to taking over the Enterprise.
Gary hadn’t liked the idea of keeping secrets from anyone—and the captain didn’t either. But in this case, he didn’t really have a choice.
Then he saw the Mitchells beckoning to him from the front of the chapel, and he had to excuse himself. Making his way to the first row, he sat down beside Gary’s mother, who squeezed his hand.
“It’s a pretty big turnout,” said Mr. Mitchell.
“Bigger than I expected,” said Gary’s mother, who looked a little overwhelmed by it.
“Gary had a lot of friends,” Kirk noted.
“They must have come from pretty far away,” Mr. Mitchell observed.
“That they did,” said the captain.
Then the service got underway. Gary’s parents ascended to the podium and stood behind a handsome wooden lectern and thanked everyone for coming. They said they would miss their son, but it [268] was good to see that he lived on in the lives of so many other people.
After all, they pointed out, some people live longer than others. But a person’s life should be measured not in years, but in the ways it affects others—and by that standard, they told the assembled mourners, Gary’s life was as full as anyone’s.
Then they asked everyone to listen to what their son’s friend had to say about him because Jim Kirk knew Gary better than anyone. And as they left the podium, the captain climbed its steps in the opposite direction.
For a moment, as they passed one another, his eyes met the Mitchells’ and found reassurance in them. Go ahead, they seemed to say. Speak from your heart, son, and everything will be all right.
It was good advice, he thought.
Taking his place behind the wooden lectern, Kirk looked out over the sea of people. They waited patiently for him to begin, no doubt sympathizing with how hard it had to be for him.
But for the captain, the hardest part was over, and had been since late the night before. All he had to do now was send his friend off in style.
“Let me tell you about Gary Mitchell,” he began.
Spock seemed to sit up a little straighter in his seat. Lieutenant Borrik and Commander Rodianos appeared to do the same.
“Gary Mitchell,” he told them, “was a magician. Whether you loved the guy or hated him, you couldn’t argue with that. He could take a quiet rec lounge and stir it up with laughter in no time. There [269] was no feeling down when you were with Gary. It just wasn’t allowed. Every day, every minute, you had to be as full of life as he was.”
In the audience, Scotty nodded in agreement. So did Phelana and Captain Bannock and Dr. Velasquez.
“Let me tell you about Gary Mitchell,” the captain continued. “Gary Mitchell was a man of remarkable courage. He saved my life a dozen times ... though if you asked him about it, he probably would have told you it was twenty or thirty.”
That got a ripple of laughter. And from Hogan Brown, a great, broad smile of approval.
“But if you really want to know how brave he was,” said Kirk, “you should ask his adversaries. If they were here today, they would tell you he was the most dangerous foe they ever butted heads with. And why would that be? Because Gary didn’t know when to give up. He didn’t know ... or maybe just couldn’t accept ... that there was anything in the universe that could beat him if he tried hard enough.”
Judging by her expression, Admiral Mangione seemed to agree with that. The same went for Dr. Piper and Yeoman Smith and Chief Gaynor.
“Let me tell you about Gary Mitchell,” the captain went on. “Gary Mitchell was a teacher ... not in terms of cold, classroom facts, but in terms of what he was able to teach us about ourselves. I can tell you that he taught me a few things. He taught me to act on my instincts instead of going by the book [270] all the time. He taught me how important it was to make the tough decisions, the decisions no one else wants to make.”
He looked at Gary’s parents, who must have known what that last part meant. They were looking back at him with pride as well as sadness.
“At times,” Kirk continued, “I felt like I was a project of Gary’s as much as his colleague, a lump of clay in the hands of a talented sculptor. And because of what he gave me, he’ll always be a part of me.”
Sulu smiled at that. Augenthaler and Hirota, too.
“Let me tell you about Gary Mitchell,” the captain sighed, playing the refrain one last time. He raised his chin, swallowed back his grief, and made the point he had really come there to make—what, in the end, Gary would have wanted most to hear.
“Gary Mitchell,” he said, “was my friend.”
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