Strange New Worlds VIII

by Dean Wesley Smith

  “Flaws?”

  “Basically, you have too much compassion for your crew.”

  Kirk shook his head. “You consider compassion to be a character flaw?”

  “In our line of work, yes,” explained Wesley. “Instead of detonating the photon torpedoes as soon as you had the chance, you paused to say good-bye to your chief engineer. That hesitation almost prevented you from stopping the entity. That moment you became a liability to us.”

  Raising his hands, Kirk sighed. “Fine. If that’s a character flaw, then it’s one I’m proud to have. Now,” Kirk looked around impatiently, “how the hell do I get out of here?”

  “Oh, you can’t leave just yet, Jim,” stated Wesley as he stood.

  Irritated, Kirk faced Wesley again. “Why not?”

  “You know too much. And we can’t afford to have non–Section 31 personnel walking around with knowledge of our existence.”

  Kirk frowned at the commodore. “So, what happens now? Is this where I disappear, never to be seen again?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “How far are you willing to go to protect your existence, Wesley? Would you kill me?”

  The commodore laughed. “Really, Jim, we aren’t the Romulans. Do you think we’d terminate our own people just to keep us a secret?”

  “Based on what I’ve heard so far . . . in a heartbeat!”

  “I’m sorry you feel that way. But you can relax. No one’s going to harm you. We have other ways of preventing information from getting out.”

  Kirk frowned, immediately wary. “And what are they?”

  Suddenly, he felt the pressure of two fingers against the base of his neck. The Vulcan, he thought, as he lost all feeling in his body and slumped back into his chair.

  In the few seconds of awareness before the nerve pinch took full effect, Kirk heard the commodore say, “Nothing you need concern yourself with, Jim . . . . You won’t remember it anyway . . . .”

  * * *

  Opening his eyes, James T. Kirk looked around his hotel room—and wondered what the hell he was doing there.

  And then he remembered. He’d checked in the night before with a beautiful woman he met in the cantina. Shiana was her name.

  Sitting up, he checked the time. The chronometer read 1730 hours, which meant he’d slept through the entire day. Not something he did normally. He must have had a bit too much to drink the evening before.

  Standing, he paused as his head began to throb. Yes, he thought, I definitely had too much to drink.

  After a quick shower, Kirk walked through the hotel lobby. He wanted to get back to Enterprise as soon as possible. And if they didn’t have plans yet, maybe he could convince Spock and McCoy to join him for dinner.

  Glancing around, he noticed an older Vulcan gentleman with a streak of gray hair standing in the hotel lobby. For a brief moment he looked familiar. Very familiar.

  And then the feeling vanished.

  Shaking his head, Kirk entered the nearest transporter station. Repairs should be completed on Enterprise, and he was anxious to get back into space. There were only two more months until their five-year mission was officially over . . . and he wanted to spend every minute of them among the stars.

  Don’t Call Me Tiny

  Paul C. Tseng

  “Now get outta here, ya half-pint runt!”

  Hikaru hit the pavement and felt the sting of a skinned knee through his pants. Eric Monroe—the class bully, who stood a head and a half taller—pulled him up by the collar and slammed his back up against the schoolyard fence. Eric’s buddies looked on and laughed.

  “And next time, tell your mother to pack some beef teriyaki for lunch!” Eric shouted as he threw a half-eaten apple straight into Hikaru’s face. It was the apple Hikaru’s mother had packed in the lunch bag, which Eric had just ransacked. He wanted so desperately to wipe the spit from Eric’s cruel words off his face. But he didn’t dare. Hikaru just stood there, eyes wide open in fear, and didn’t flinch.

  “See you later, Tiny!”

  Hikaru felt the wind knocked out of him as Eric slammed his elbow into his gut. He waited till they were out of sight before he allowed himself to groan audibly and fall to the floor. It was the first day of middle school, and Eric Monroe, Hikaru’s worst nightmare, had somehow been promoted to the sixth grade along with the rest of the class. He had prayed all summer that Eric’s poor grades would force him to repeat the fifth grade, in their old primary school. But instead, Eric, who had already been bigger and taller than most of the other kids, not only had graduated and come to the same school as Hikaru, but had grown even more in height and formidableness. Of course, Eric had repeated the fourth and fifth grades, making him two years older than Hikaru, but that was beside the point.

  The real problem was that, while all the other boys had begun to grow, as boys did when they became adolescents, Hikaru still retained his diminutive stature. He felt left behind on the growth trail. It wasn’t any fun being the school pipsqueak, especially when Jenny Faulkner, the secret love of his life since third grade, had caught Eric’s fancy.

  Hikaru peeled himself off the schoolyard floor and noticed Jenny in the corner of his eye. She quickly turned and walked away. Hikaru wiped the spit, sweat, and tears from his face, gathered his padds, and limped off to class just as the late tone chimed. It was going to be a long day, and at this point all he wanted to do was to run home and lock himself in his room until he was ready for college!

  * * *

  “Hikaru. Come on, son, open the door!” his father called, gently knocking on the door to his bedroom. “Whatever it is, we can talk about it.”

  “Go away!” he shouted back. “I don’t want to talk!” Hikaru tried his best to sound upset, but the truth was that he rather enjoyed the attention and concern he solicited from his parents, especially from Dad. While his father kept pleading with him to open the door and talk, Hikaru posed before a mirror, bare-chested, and pretended to be a kenjutsu master. He wielded a toy samurai sword that Dad had given him for his tenth birthday.

  His mother, however, could see right through his wiles. A single, heavy thump on the door jolted Hikaru out of his fantasy.

  “Hikaru Sulu!” she said sharply. “You open this door right now!”

  He quickly dropped the sword and rushed to put his shirt back on. As loving as she was, his mother was not one to be trifled with; he knew that full well. Running to the door with one arm still not inside his sweater, Hikaru tripped over his backpack.

  “Are you all right, son?” Dad called out.

  “Stop fooling around and open the door!” Mom shouted.

  Still on his scraped knees, Hikaru reached up to turn the shiny old brass doorknob to his room. He didn’t even bother to fix his mussed hair or his left hand, still dangling out of the bottom of his sweater.

  “Hi, Mom. Hi, Dad,” he said as nonchalantly as he could while he stood up and finished getting dressed.

  Dad had always been soft on Hikaru, his only child and beloved son. Mom was the stricter parent. He loved and respected her for her strength and consistency.

  “Come on, Karu,” Dad said, using his childhood nickname. “Tell us what happened. We’re your parents and we care.”

  Mom folded her arms in front of her and gave him a stern look. “I’ve just finished making dinner, and it’s getting cold. Your poor father has been trying to talk with you all afternoon. Don’t play these games!”

  “Sorry, Dad. I didn’t mean any disrespect,” Hikaru started. “I just . . . ”

  But before he could finish, Dad came over and wrapped his arms around him. “It’s okay, son. You seemed so upset after your first day at school; I wanted to know what happened.”

  Dad was very different from all the other Sulus he’d known in his life. None of his uncles were as openly affectionate to their children as his father was to him. At times he found it embarrassing, but deep down it comforted Hikaru to know that he meant that much to him.

  “Aw, D
ad . . . come on!” he said, still muffled in his father’s arms.

  “Well, you talk to your father, but I expect you both down to eat in ten minutes,” Mom said, pragmatic as always. “Whatever the issue is, don’t try to hide from it. We can always find a solution, because . . . ”

  “I know, Mom. Sulus don’t run. They fly,” Hikaru recited, as if for the millionth time.

  Mom nodded her approval sternly and walked out of the room. His father sat down on the edge of Hikaru’s bed and looked at the toy samurai sword on the floor. He smiled and looked at his son. “So, tell me all about it.”

  Hikaru sighed and sat at the chair by his desk. He fidgeted with a toy replica of an old twenty-first-century F-16 fighter jet, pretending to fly it in the air.

  “You know, Dad, it’s the same old story,” Hikaru answered. “Eric Monroe’s still picking on me at school. He stole my lunch and roughed me up in front of everyone!”

  Hikaru saw his father’s jaw and fists clenching. He didn’t speak at first; perhaps he was trying his best to set an example by keeping his cool despite his fury. Finally, he let out a breath of exasperation.

  “Maybe I should have a talk with your school director about this Eric boy. I’ll not have anyone bullying . . . ”

  “No, Dad! It’s embarrassing enough as it is. Please, don’t come to school!” He still couldn’t shake the memories of his father holding his hand and walking him to school every morning. Finally, in fifth grade, he had insisted on walking by himself, like the rest of the kids. It had broken his father’s heart, which made Hikaru sad, but he was too busy fighting for his independence at the time to be concerned with anyone’s feelings but his own.

  “I understand, Hikaru,” Dad said with a kind smile. “You are becoming a man. You must fight your own battles, eh?”

  “Dad, I just need to . . . . Yeah, I need to handle this on my own.”

  Hikaru’s father scratched at his whiskery gray beard. The sound annoyed and comforted Hikaru at the same time. It annoyed him because the sound was darn irritating to the ears but it comforted him because he still remembered, as a little child, loving to rub and make scraping sounds with his little fingers against his daddy’s beard. Sometimes it had been the only way he could fall asleep, on those stormy, thundering nights when he could actually see from his window the lightning illuminate the Golden Gate Bridge.

  “So what do you plan to do about Eric?”

  Hikaru considered many possibilities. None of them fit well with the Sulu mantra of flying and not running.

  “I really don’t know,” he replied. “Gosh, Dad, Eric’s like six feet tall, and me? I’m just barely five!”

  “So you are thinking about fighting him?” Dad asked, leaning forward with curiosity.

  They both laughed, but Hikaru’s laughter was more out of anxiety than finding the proposition humorous. Dad’s countenance then became more severe.

  “Karu, I have always taught you to be brave, to be fair, and to be right, haven’t I?”

  Hikaru nodded.

  “There is a time for all things. Sometimes you have to fight, even though you know you can’t win—because it’s worth fighting for, even dying for.”

  Hikaru gulped. He had heard this speech before and was hoping that Dad wasn’t telling him to fight a bully who seemed twice his size.

  “But you have to ask yourself if what you are fighting for is worth dying for. Just what would you be fighting for . . . with Eric?”

  The question hit its mark and sank in deeply. Hikaru didn’t know how to answer. I’d be fighting for . . . my lunch? My dignity? My pride? Are those worth dying for?

  “I don’t know, exactly,” Hikaru answered. “I just hate getting picked on every day. I want him to stop.”

  Just then, Mom’s booming voice echoed through the hall. “Dinner’s ready! Hikaru, wash up and help me serve the rice!”

  He jumped to his feet and called back, “Coming!”

  “Remember, son, you will have to fight the battle in here first,” Dad said, pointing to Hikaru’s heart. “When you have won, then you will know what the next step is.”

  * * *

  The next morning, Hikaru felt a spring in his step as he walked to school. It was September in San Francisco; he could feel it in the cool brisk air and the warm sunshine on his back. He had left the events of yesterday behind him, hoping that today would be a peaceful—day; one without Eric Monroe.

  After dinner the previous evening, Hikaru had helped load the dishes into the sonic dishwasher while his mother had cleaned the rest of kitchen. She didn’t ask what he and his father had spoken about. In fact, she didn’t say much of anything at all, except just before he had finished his chores and left the kitchen.

  “Listen to your father,” she had said. “His words will guide you, years from now.”

  He wasn’t certain what that meant to him today, but it was good enough for him to have gotten it off his chest and to know he didn’t have to suffer through this in silence.

  About one block from school, he spotted Jenny Faulkner walking with some of her girlfriends. They were all giggling as Hikaru approached; all but Jenny. Maybe that was a good sign. She gave him a look of sympathy—or was it pity?

  “Hi, Jenny,” Hikaru said.

  “Hi.”

  “So how do you like our new school?”

  Jenny seemed a bit distracted, if not apprehensive. She kept looking over Hikaru’s shoulder, while the other girls continued to giggle. It made him downright antsy.

  “You should go, Hikaru,” Jenny said, her brow furrowing.

  “Go? Why?”

  The next thing he felt was an elbow in his back, and before he knew it he was flat on his face on the floor again.

  “Whoops!” snorted Eric. “Sorry, Tiny. You’re so small, I didn’t even see you!”

  From Hikaru’s perspective, with his lunch, books, and limbs sprawled across the ground, Eric looked like a giant. He watched helplessly as the bully bent down and rummaged through his lunch container.

  Eric tossed aside a metallic, rectangular box. Its lid popped off and all the steaming rice inside fell into the dirt. Eric took an apple and chewed on it, as he had the day before. With his mouth full of half-masticated fruit, he said, “Damn! . . . I thought I told you to have your mom pack beef teriyaki today, Rice Boy!”

  Hikaru would have slashed the bully to pieces with a samurai sword, if there had been one there for him to use—and if he had the courage to do it. He also fantasized about knocking Eric’s lights out with judo chops and karate drop-kicks. He had never worked up the nerve to ask his parents to send him to martial-arts classes, for fear of having to explain why he wanted to learn. After today, however, maybe he would ask. Then Hikaru thought of his strong, yet gentle, father. He wouldn’t approve of learning any form of art to use for violence or aggression.

  “You’d better get up, Tiny,” Eric scoffed. “You’ll be late for math class!”

  Then to Hikaru’s horror, he saw Eric put an arm around Jenny as they walked off to class together with the other girls. Hikaru wanted so badly to die right there on the floor that he didn’t notice that Jenny had turned back and looked sadly at him before disappearing into the school building with Eric.

  * * *

  “He what? What did you eat for lunch, then?”

  Hikaru was disconcerted that the most important issue for Mom, after learning what had happened in the morning, seemed to be the rice.

  “I just ate it without the rice! But you don’t understand! It’s Jenny Faulkner!”

  Mom sighed and shook her head. “Why don’t you just find a nice Japanese girl, eh?”

  “Mom!”

  The anger on her face softened. She smiled and walked over to Hikaru with open arms. Unlike with Dad, Hikaru didn’t mind her displays of affection, because they were so rare. He let her hug him and even hugged her back.

  “Listen to me,” she said. “I know that your dad is a very philosophical and wise man wh
o hates violence. But there are times you really have to defend yourself.”

  “But Mom, Eric’s huge! He’s a monster!”

  “Well then, why not just wear a sign that says ‘Beat me up, take a number’!”

  Nothing incensed Hikaru more than when his mother got “smart” with him. The worst part of it was that she was always right. He hated that.

  “You just don’t get it, Mom. Eric’s right, I am tiny!” And to culminate the self-pity, Hikaru frowned, looked out the window, and sighed. “I bet even Jenny thinks I’m nothing but a little bug to be squashed by him.”

  Mom grabbed him by the shoulder and spun him around to face her. “Now, you listen to me. We Sulus may not be physically very tall, but we are not little people!”

  “Mom, look at me! My feet don’t even touch the ground when I sit at the cafeteria tables!”

  “No one can look down on you without your permission, Hikaru!” She grabbed his hand and yanked his arm so hard that he let out an embarrassing yelp. “Now, you come here, boy! I’m going to teach you how to fight!”

  Hikaru followed his mother to the center of the living room and stared in disbelief as she pushed all the furniture aside. My God, she’s serious!

  Mom put her two fists up and began shifting from side to side. “Come on! Give me your best shot!”

  Mom was even tinier than he was, by at least two inches. Hikaru almost laughed, but he knew she was serious.

  “No way, Mom!”

  Then she approached him and took a swing, just nicking his chin.

  “Ow! Hey, that hurt!”

  “What’s the matter,” she said, taunting him. “Afraid of a girl?”

  Rubbing his chin, Hikaru couldn’t understand why she was antagonizing him like this. Sure, she had never been one to baby him when he was upset, but this was simply adversarial.

  Mom began circling him again. “Come on, fight!”

  “No! You’re crazy, Mom!”

  She nailed him with a punch in the gut.