Collision Course

by William Shatner

  Griffyn gave her a playful tap on her backside, then pushed her away—not the response she’d wanted. “She’s really gone?”

  “They had her sign a confession. The end.”

  Griffyn sat back in his chair. His voice echoed in his office—there was little left in it but the old furniture. All the crates, carpets, and other accumulated goods of the past year were packed and gone, transported up to the orbiting Random Wave, the sleek little private transport he’d hired. Not much in the way of passenger amenities, though he wouldn’t need it for long. And it had a remarkably large payload bay with a recently upgraded cargo transporter certified for biological organisms.

  “So that’s it?” Zee asked. “It’s over?” She was in her Academy uniform. The long cloak she had used to cover it was folded on the old couch. She tugged down her gray shirt and sat on the edge of his desk, putting herself in easy reach, if he’d ever come to his senses.

  “Almost. But for you, it is.”

  She reached out, put a hand on his chest. “Then I can come with you.”

  He sat unmoving until she removed her hand. “You know that’s not going to happen.”

  Zee stared at him, feeling somehow abused. “I’ve done everything you’ve told me. That was the deal.”

  He reached up and took her chin in his hand. His grip was almost painful. Zee couldn’t twist away.

  “The deal isn’t over, little admiral. You’re home free on this one. You got us the dilithium. You got your idiot roommate to take the blame. You’re perfectly in place. Three years from now you’ll graduate, be assigned to Starfleet Command with a spotless record. Do you have any idea how valuable that makes you to the general?”

  “That wasn’t our deal.”

  Griffyn tightened his grip on her chin. Zee felt tears of pain sting her eyes. “Your only other option is to be dead. And that includes your family. You want to think that one over?” He released her and she almost lost her balance.

  Zee knew she had to respond, and do so quickly. Her options had run out when she had placed herself in the general’s power. But Griffyn could act. The general listened to him. All she had to do was give him incentive.

  “All I’m saying is I want to go with you, Griff. I want to be with you. Doing the general’s work on the frontier.”

  For once, Griffyn looked at her as if she meant something to him. “You don’t want to be out there. This is a good assignment. No one’s shooting at you. You’ve got a really good chance of not dying tomorrow.”

  “What about you?”

  The intensity of his gaze weakened Zee. She didn’t care what the dangers were. She had to follow him.

  “This went well. So when I get to base, I know the first thing the general’s going to do is send me out to do it again. And when I come back here, I’m going to need you again.”

  “I need you now,” she said, risking his ridicule, but incapable of hiding her feelings any longer.

  Griffyn stood and put his arms around her. “I know,” he said into her hair, the heat of his breath soothing and exciting at the same time. “When I come back. No Dala. We’ll be a team.”

  He stepped away, and Zee felt fluttery. “How long?” she asked.

  “Four months,” Griffyn said. “Six at the most. You should be on the Commandant’s List by then.”

  “Deal,” she said, already counting the days. But if she wasn’t leaving with him now, then she knew that to keep herself valuable, she’d have to leave the Pacific Rome soon to go to her seminar and continue the mind-numbing monotony of being a mid.

  Griffyn smiled. “I’ve just got one more thing to do before I go.” He tapped a control on his communicator. Zee heard running footsteps on the metal stairs outside the office, leading up from the cargo deck. A moment later, Matthew rushed in, sweating, stained with dirt and packing grease from the work he was overseeing below. “Yes, sir,” he said.

  “One last loose end to tie up. A family matter.”

  Griffyn looked at Zee, and winked. A trickle of fear ran through her suddenly, then just as quickly vanished as she knew whose time had come.

  The Kirk brothers.

  She’d kill them herself if Griffyn asked her.

  42

  Kirk decided he was getting used to this transporter business. He felt a slight lurch in his stomach as the system compensated for the change from Earth’s natural gravity to the artificial field he materialized in. And then…then it was as if nothing had happened at all.

  “You do this a lot?” he asked Spock.

  But the Vulcan was already on his way out of the transporter alcove. An amplified voice said, “Please clear the platform for incoming traffic.”

  Kirk leaped down after Spock and abruptly found himself in a stream of pedestrians, all moving to the right. He spotted Spock’s headgear through the shifting landscape of shoulders—civilian, uniformed, and even a few alien—and sprinted after him. To his right, he passed transporter alcove after alcove, and travelers who were in the process of disappearing or reappearing.

  The overlapping musical notes of the multiple beam-ins and beam-outs was magical. The constant ebb and flow of transporter light, the background hum of a hundred conversations, some in languages Kirk had never heard, all blended with nonstop announcements of arrivals and departures. He felt his heart race, his breath quicken. And his rapid breathing delivered scents to him he’d never experienced before—the sweat of humans who ate food grown in other ecosystems, the sweat of aliens whose chemistry had evolved on worlds a thousand light-years from Earth…Kirk’s pace slowed. He felt himself bumped to one side, then another. It was as if he’d been swept up in rapids of memory, and he had no desire to swim to clear waters.

  And then he felt a strong hand grip his arm and pull him to the side, out of the way of all the others who knew where they were going.

  “Are you quite all right?” Spock asked. He looked concerned.

  Kirk nodded, out of breath. “It’s just…I had forgotten, that’s all.”

  “Forgotten what?” Spock asked.

  The old United Earth Transportation Hub was a smaller orbiting platform, primarily for commercial traffic, but to thirteen-year-old Jimmy Kirk, it was a stepping-stone to the realm that filled his dreams and his heart.

  They had arrived by shuttle, father and son, and Jimmy had clutched his duffel all the way from Earth into orbit, and then again as he and his father had been cleared through customs, medical, and immigration.

  It was his father’s duffel, scuffed and mended with a faded Starfleet chevron and the names of three ships: three wondrous names that Jimmy still whispered each night before he slept.

  U.S.S. Atlantis. U.S.S. Ames. U.S.S. Constitution.

  They were the incantations of his childhood, and they had worked. Because here he was, looking through a viewport at a starship, not as grand as the ones whose names he’d learned so long ago, before he could recite the alphabet, but his starship—the one he would ride past all the planets and a thousand other stars, just like his father.

  “There she is, son,” his father said.

  And Jimmy gazed out at the craft, little more than a blunt cylinder with twin nacelles: the Mariner Princess.

  “She’s a good ship,” his father said, and put his arm around him, one last hug before the long absence and the missed birthday. “Tarsus is going to be quite an adventure for you. A lot of fun, a lot of hard work, and if I know you, the second you get back, you won’t be able to wait to go out there again.”

  Jimmy hung on every word, because what thirteen-year-old expects his father to lie to him?

  “Nothing,” Kirk told Spock. “I thought we were going to beam straight to the Enterprise.”

  Spock didn’t seemed convinced, but pointed to a large main exit. “We must proceed to the Starfleet levels first.”

  “Always a catch,” Kirk said, but he didn’t hesitate.

  Sam Kirk had run out of time and money. His brother was unreachable. His father’s l
ast message had come from Iowa, which meant he’d returned to the farm. That left him on his own again, alone in the city, with only Griffyn’s gang for company.

  Sam knew they would come for him. He knew Griffyn ruled his particular slice of Earth’s fading, almost nonexistent underworld by fear. If a weak underling defied him by not doing as he was told and got away with that, others would start ignoring him as well.

  I’ll become his example.

  Sam didn’t doubt for a moment that that was the fate Griffyn had planned for him. His mind filled with a gruesome image: His body would be found with a hundred shallow laser burns crisscrossing it, hung upside down beneath some pier. Somewhere where the type of people who had dealings with Griffyn and his kind would be the first to see it.

  The protectors wouldn’t find his body for days. By then, the word would have spread, and Griffyn’s lesson would have been communicated.

  Defy Griffyn, and this is what you can expect.

  But for all the time that Sam had worked for the gang leader, endured his insults and his threats, knowing that those who failed to do as ordered met foul ends, he had never actually planned a personal escape.

  His little brother would have, Sam knew. Of course, Jimmy never would have become involved with anyone like Griffyn, but show that kid a potentially dangerous situation, and his mind went to work on it, coming up with at least five different ways to backtrack or get out or simply avoid it. He was always figuring out the rules, Jimmy was, because when you knew all the rules, he’d say, then you’d know how to break them the right way.

  Sam could only break the rules the wrong way.

  And the rule he was breaking now was: Don’t return to a known location.

  He knew he was taking a terrible risk, but what else could he do? Hidden in his apartment was the thousand-credit wafer Griffyn had given him—the down payment for delivering Jimmy to the Pacific Rome. Sam had been afraid to carry it around with him. What if Griffyn asked for it back and he’d lost it when he blacked out in one of the establishments he liked to visit where the doors had no signs?

  But now Sam needed that money himself. He’d worked out a half-formed plan to travel to New Zealand, to the Starfleet penal colony. He was guessing Jimmy might turn up there.

  He pictured the look on Jimmy’s face when he saw that his first visitor at the colony was him. It would be great. They’d be able to make plans again. They’d both get another chance. Sam clung to the reassuring thought. It gave him something to look forward to.

  And then Sam reached the top of the emergency stairwell of his apartment building. He took a moment to steady his nerves, preparing to do one of the most dangerous things he’d ever done—enter his own apartment.

  The first thing Sam noticed was the smell. There really wasn’t one. Not a bad one, at least. Instead, his apartment smelled the way home had, years ago. Dad, he thought. The old man was obsessive when it came to keeping things shipshape.

  Sam knew enough not to turn on any lights. Not until he’d checked things out. So he waited inside the shuttered apartment, letting his eyes adjust to aquarium light and the faint glow of daylight coming through the slatted metal blinds. Gradually, he began to see the signs of his father’s handiwork—everything had been cleaned up and straightened out.

  At least he knew his fish had been cared for when he’d been hiding out. Joe Kirk would have seen to that.

  That thought brought another swiftly to his mind. Sam stopped, uncertain, sorry he’d used the block inhaler before starting up the stairs. The block made life feel easier, but it kept him from thinking straight.

  Who would look after his fish for him now?

  He couldn’t leave them. Jimmy would be in some place like New Zealand. Maybe, Sam thought, I should call Dad again. Better yet, Mom. She could talk Dad into coming back for my aquarium. They could probably arrange the money for a transporter trip, at least on the way back. That’d be easier on my fish.

  Sam felt better. He’d figured out a plan himself. He’d get the cee-wafer, pack a bag, then, when he was back on the street and out of danger, he’d call home, tell his parents about the fish. Everything would work out fine.

  He patted his jacket, felt the inhaler there. Maybe he should use it again, now that the problem with the fish was settled. That’d make packing easier. He pulled it out of his pocket.

  That’s when the hallway door behind him smashed open and he was thrown to the side.

  Before he could get up by himself, he was dragged to his feet. Two kids he’d never seen before. But they smelled like packing grease and the bay, so he could guess where they’d come from.

  One of them slapped his hand against a wall control, and the apartment filled with light as a third person entered.

  Matthew stopped in front of him. No laser rifle. He had the alien weapon, and he was pointing it at him.

  “Georgie.”

  Sam gave up then, as if a switch had been thrown or a circuit cut. “Just kill me now,” he said.

  “Aww, you’re not going to snivel? Beg? Try to cut a deal?”

  Sam shook his head. Without his brother or his dad, he had no way out of this, so why even bother.

  “Where’s the fun in that, Georgie? Griffyn told me we could have fun with you.”

  “I messed up, okay?” Sam said tonelessly. He was so tired. He felt the inhaler still in his hand, even though his hands were being held tight behind his back. He wondered if Matthew would let him use it one more time before they started to do whatever it was they were going to do to him. “I always mess up.”

  Matthew seemed disappointed. “You trying to become an honest man or something?”

  “No, I’m nothing.”

  Matthew looked at his two soldiers. “Well, this is going to be a dull afternoon.” He made an adjustment on the alien weapon. “Let’s liven things up.” He fired at the wall beside the kitchen alcove, scorching a framed poster for an exhibition of Tellarite mudsketches at the Exploratorium. The poster was ten years old. It had been there when Sam moved in.

  Matthew frowned at Sam’s lack of reaction. He fired into the couch, and a cushion exploded as the foam inside the fabric was released. Then he aimed at the aquarium.

  “Not the fish,” Sam said. His pulse fluttered. “C’mon.”

  Matthew brightened. “So you do care about something.”

  Sam tried to pull free from the kids but failed. “Matthew! You got me! That’s all Griffyn wants! Leave ’em alone!”

  “Gotta make you hurt somehow, Georgie. Griffyn’s orders.”

  He fired the weapon and a lance of energy shattered the tank, spraying sparks where the mechanics of the pump and the light were disrupted. A cloud of steam hissed, and superheated water erupted from the jagged hole. Quick flashes of shivering orange and white cascaded to the floor.

  Sam Kirk lost the capacity of rational thought.

  Using strength his captors had not suspected, Sam wrenched his arms free and with an inarticulate cry of rage, brought his elbow up to smash the nose of one kid and spun to lodge his fist in the gut of the other.

  Matthew just had time to lose his sneer as Sam lunged at him, using one arm to deflect the alien weapon as it swung toward its new target and the other hand to switch on the inhaler and spray its contents directly into Matthew’s face.

  Sam’s mindless charge took him forward, barreling Matthew over until they fell, Sam landing solidly on top of his would-be assassin, spraying even more of the block as Matthew desperately gulped for air, stunned by the unexpected impact and fall.

  Then Matthew’s flailing arms flopped unsteadily to the floor as the block took effect. He moaned, unhurt but incapable of coordinated movement.

  Sam heard movement behind him, spun around to see the two kids charge him, ready to take him down by themselves.

  But Sam had the alien weapon now and he fired it, sweeping back and forth, stunning his attackers and dropping them instantly.

  Still not thinking anything coherent,
weapon in hand, Sam rushed to the ruin of the tank. His fish lay motionless on the floor. Dead. Because of him. Because of what he’d let his life become.

  He couldn’t leave them there like that, so he emptied out a cylinder of fish food and carefully laid the tiny forms inside together. He put the container back in the aquarium, on the damp gravel, and rearranged a few of the rocks that had been their favorite places for hide and seek.

  A part of Sam knew that his fish had lasted this long only because Jimmy or Joe Kirk had taken care of them, just as they’d tried to take care of him. But he wasn’t a kid anymore, and his family couldn’t take care of his whole life.

  Grieving, Sam lifted his inhaler in his hand, shook it. He heard the liquid slosh inside, enough block for another dose or two. Enough to ease his pain for now.

  He knew Jimmy wouldn’t use the block. Jimmy would already be making plans to be sure that nothing bad like this ever happened again.

  It was a hard decision, and it surprised Sam that he could reach it without assistance. He put the inhaler in the damp gravel beside the container and said good-bye to both.

  A few minutes later, he had stuffed his bag with clothes, put the thousand-cee wafer in his pocket.

  The two kids were unconscious, breathing slowly. Matthew was singing some kind of song to himself, waving his fingers back and forth in front of his nose, oblivious to where he was and to the fact that Sam stood over him with a deadly alien weapon.

  It would be so easy, Sam knew, as easy as using the inhaler, to fire the weapon at Matthew and keep firing until the stun effect stopped his heart or paralyzed his lungs. That would pay him back for a year of abuse.

  But then, Sam thought, I’d really be the same as him. And what would Jimmy think of me?

  He dropped the weapon on the floor, drove his heel into its barrel until it snapped and released a small puff of smoke.

  He was finished here. It was time to make a real plan.