Crisis On Centaurus

by Brad Ferguson

  "I hate crowds, don't you?" she whispered.

  Kirk grinned. After that, he felt much better. Kirk and Joanna walked hand-in-hand all the way out of the concourse.

  The leave turned out to be the finest of Kirk's life. McCoy made good on his promise to show Kirk some woods; the McCoys and Kirk borrowed the Witherses' recreational flitter and soared over vastnesses of virgin wilderness. Centaurus's population was growing rapidly but, as yet, most of the people on the planet lived in or near the cities on the northern continent's east and west coasts. New Europe had cities, too: They were established and growing on the southern continent's east coast, and farming complexes were located close to all developed areas.

  But everything else on Centaurus was virtually untouched by humans.

  Seeds from Earth, brought by the original settlers, had been scattered by the winds and had wandered all over the northern continent, New America; terrestrial elms and maples grew and prospered among Centaurian flapjacks and blackapples. Earthly fauna, selected and brought to Centaurus by skilled Federation ecologists, scampered through the great northern wilderness along with native treeturtles and woodscats.

  Kirk saw waterfalls a thousand meters high hidden in mountain ranges that stood five times taller. He saw endless hectares of vibrantly green growth interspersed with the cool blue of freshwater lakes and the clean, light gray of rock that had boiled out of Centaurus's core in ages past. Once, Kirk glimpsed an Earth deer leap and bound safely away from the attack of a Centaurian werebear; Joanna had seen that, too, and had squealed with glee as the deer escaped.

  But it was not until the three friends flew over a valley about a thousand kilometers west of New Athens that Kirk fell in love.

  Kirk had never found it within himself to love a piece of land. His eyes had always been on the stars, and he had always been grateful that he lived in a century when he could soar among them. Kirk was, at heart, a wanderer; he'd never been willing to settle down in any one particular place. He was loyal to the ship on which he served, and to the Federation he had vowed to defend. But the Federation was an abstract thing; it wasn't real, any more than the United Nations had once been real. He deeply respected the history and founding philosophy of his native United States, although the strong patriotism his American ancestors had once felt had faded along with nationalism itself.

  But he fell in love with this unknown piece of land at first sight.

  "Bones?" Kirk asked, pointing down toward the valley. "What's that down there?"

  "Dunno, Jim," McCoy replied, glancing down at his control board. "It's not named on the navigation map. I guess it's unclaimed. Pretty, isn't it?"

  "Let's land," Kirk said. McCoy glanced at him—and saw the fascination on his face. With a small smile, McCoy slapped the autolanding controls, and the flitter settled gently to the ground. The three got out.

  They had landed on the lip of a small palisade overlooking the valley. A clean, swift river ran from north to south through the virgin heart of the area. The hills were festooned with nature's best bunting: the riot of reds, yellows and golds that comes with autumn, be it on Earth or Centaurus. Kirk could see foliage rustle here and there as animals ran freely through the pass on some unknowable business. All around him the mountains flowed into hills, which gently melted into glades and dells and pastures. It was a vista of natural loveliness.

  Kirk had found his place.

  "Bones?" he asked. "What are the coordinates here?"

  "On the autotracker, Jim. Why?"

  Kirk paused. "I want to stake a claim."

  Ensign Kirk returned to the valley three times in the following weeks. The first two times he'd flown there alone, bringing with him some primitive camping equipment but no comb, razor or Starfleet uniform. Kirk camped for about four days each time, drinking in the scenery and the peace of the place. On his third trip Kirk brought along a particularly attractive Starfleet nurse from New Athens Medical Complex, where Kirk had had his final medical debriefing a few days after arriving on Centaurus. They'd stayed for a week. It had turned out to be a fine week; the nurse enjoyed camping—and campfires.

  Several days After that, and with assistance from Fred Withers, Kirk hired a good lawyer and formed a one-man corporation under Centaurian law. Starstruck Inc., a not-for-profit corporation owned entirely by one James Tiberius Kirk, bought two thousand hectares in the valley at a very favorable price. Kirk's deed to that land became one of his most prized possessions; he would, much later, fold it small and keep it tucked in the lid of the case that held his Medal of Honor.

  All too soon Kirk's leave ended, and he promised the Witherses and Joanna that he'd make time for frequent visits from then on. He rejoined the Farragut and soon got back into the ebb and flow of his job as tac weapons officer.

  But that phase of Kirk's career came to an abrupt and tragic end when Captain Garrovick and fully half the Farragut's crew died at Tycho IV after an attack by a living cosmic cloud. Kirk, a member of the Tycho IV landing party, could never understand why he had survived when so many others had died; it was a question that would bother him for many years to come.

  But one of the things Kirk had done was to send a brief subspace message to his lawyer in New Athens. It read simply: REGISTER NAME CHANGE OF PLOT TO GARROVICK VALLEY IMMEDIATELY. KIRK.It had been done.

  * * *

  As Kirk's career advanced, so did his salary. Starfleet pays its top officers an almost embarrassing amount of money in recognition of their superior skills, the hazards they face, and the responsibilities of their duties. Most officers Kirk had met simply allowed the bulk of their pay to pile up in a Federation bank.

  But Kirk split his income. A generous portion went to provide a trust for his only living relatives, the family of his brother, Sam. When Sam and his wife, Aurelan, died, Kirk transferred the trust to their young son, Peter. But most of the rest of Kirk's money was banked with his New Athens lawyer, earmarked for land acquisition in and around Garrovick Valley. Kirk gave his lawyer loose instructions for investment and growth; Kirk believed in letting his subordinates exercise full authority within logical limits, and Kirk viewed his lawyer as just that—a civilian subordinate.

  Twelve years after Kirk's first trip to Centaurus, Starstruck Inc. owned all of Garrovick Valley and the banks of the Farragut River all the way back to its source, thirty kilometers farther north, and for another thirty kilometers downstream. Kirk also owned all exploitation rights in the valley and the land around the Farragut; this guaranteed that no one could touch his property or the river that flowed through it. The lawyer reported frequent offers from land developers and real estate brokers to buy Garrovick Valley at a handsome price—Centaurus's wilderness was opening up rapidly—but Kirk refused to sell. He frequently congratulated himself on his foresight in securing all rights to protect the valley.

  Kirk had had a log cabin built on the site where he and the McCoys had first landed the flitter. Kirk was not a mountain man; the cabin was small but had its own independent utilities. Power came from a small geothermal generator hidden not far from the cabin, and water came from the river. Kirk's cabin had a septic tank, too; he was unwilling to run a waste pipe into the Farragut and sully that clean, clear river. It was also the only log cabin in the Federation with its own subspace communications link to Starfleet Command; it had been installed when Kirk had gotten the Enterprise.

  Kirk resisted the temptation to name the cabin the "Captain's Log"; he did not name it anything. He preferred, instead, to think of the valley and everything in it as his place, just as he had when he had first found it.

  Captain Kirk had not been back to his valley since assuming command of the Enterprise; starship captains cannot take a couple of months' leave and disappear into the woods. While he and the McCoys had stayed there together several times, they had not done so since Bones McCoy had come aboard the Enterprise as chief medical officer. Joanna was free to use the place, too—but now twenty-one, she was terribly busy with her cou
rses as a first-year student at New Athens Medical Complex. Kirk had often wanted to take Spock there—Spock would like it, Kirk often thought, because he's able to see the beauty in such things—but Kirk had not yet had the chance to do that, either.

  But Captain Kirk, content, knew that one day far in the future, he'd have a place to go when space was done with him, and he with space.

  Chapter Four:

  The Enterprise

  CAPTAIN KIRK SAT silently in his command chair on the nearly dark, still-weightless bridge of the crippled Enterprise, a third and final Alpha-Red message from Admiral Bull Buchinsky in his hand. After a moment Kirk stirred—and noticed his bridge crew looking apprehensively at him. Even Spock seemed a bit … disturbed. Kirk took a breath, and began.

  "We've received some very bad news," Kirk said. "There's been an … incident … a tragedy … on Alpha Centauri IV, the planet Centaurus. The spaceport at the capital, New Athens, has been destroyed, and the city itself has been very badly damaged. Starfleet says the blast was caused by the annihilation of matter—a matter-antimatter explosion. We don't know yet if it was an accident or not."

  The bridge crew was shocked; Kirk noticed Uhura's eyes begin to fill with tears. Kirk noted that even his self-controlled Vulcan science officer seemed—taken aback? Or did it just seem that way, in the gloom? And Lieutenant Siderakis's face had gone extraordinarily pale; even in the dim light, Kirk could see him shaking. Then the captain remembered. Siderakis was a Centaurian native who'd thrown a well-attended party belowdecks last year on his planet's Founders Day.

  "Lieutenant Uhura," Kirk said softly, "if you can get the computers to cooperate, I need a list of all ship's personnel who are legal residents of Centaurus or who have families living there. I'd like to inform those people first, before I make a general announcement. But, first, call Mr. Sulu up here early to relieve Mr. Siderakis. Then get me Mr. Scott, please."

  Uhura nodded. "Aye, aye, Captain." After a pause she said, "Mr. Scott's on frequency four."

  Kirk thumbed a button on the armrest of his command chair. "Scotty? Give me a status report."

  "Lookin' better all th' time, Cap'n," the engineering officer replied. "I was just about t' call ye. With your permission, I'd like t' activate a one-fiftieth G field. I believe we can hold our gravity now, sir, but thot 'n all other important ship's systems will have t' remain under manual control. I fear we'll need a complete overhaul of th' computer complex. I nae know what th' cause of our problems is yet, but I think we can deal wi' th' effects all right."

  "Very well, Mr. Scott," Kirk said. "Gravity on."

  "Aye, aye, sir."

  Kirk felt a slight somethingness wash over him, as gentle as a feather floating in a summer breeze. The captain noticed himself settling slowly into his chair—and that, around the bridge, objects floating in mid-air began to descend to the floor. The 0.02 G field Scott was generating would prevent any of the thousands of objects floating around the ship from crashing abruptly to the floor. At that slight weight, an object two meters in the air would take about four and a half leisurely seconds to settle gently to the deck—instead of crashing abruptly in three-fifths of a second, as it would under full gravity.

  "All right, Scotty," Kirk said after a moment. "Everything seems to be back where it belongs—so let's take it up to a full G."

  "Right ye are, Cap'n," Scotty said. "Comin' up."

  Kirk felt the added weight pour smoothly into him. He flexed an arm and liked the way he could feel the pull of gravity against his muscle movement.

  "One G precisely, Cap'n," came Scott's voice. "Also, ye might have noticed 'tis gettin' warmer; thot little trick we've been workin' on with th' heaters in th' ducts seems t'be effective."

  "I have noticed that, Mr. Scott, and thank you. Navigational status?"

  "We can go where'er ye want us t' go, Cap'n—but if we're goin' t' be goin' there too fast, the matter-antimatter intermix will require careful watchin'."

  "Be prepared to watch the engines closely, then, Mr. Scott; I'll want our best speed in a few minutes."

  "Aye, aye, Cap'n."

  "Back to you later, Scotty. Kirk out."

  A moment later the turbolift doors squeaked open and Sulu walked onto the bridge. Uhura motioned Sulu over to her communications station and, whispering, gave him the story quickly. Sulu's eyes widened in shock. He glanced quickly at Siderakis, who now was staring fiercely at the bridge viewscreen, tears rolling down his cheeks.

  Sulu walked over to Siderakis and put a friendly hand on his shoulder. The Centaurian bowed his head and his shoulders began to shake with quiet sobs. Sulu bent close to Siderakis's ear and murmured something; Siderakis visibly got a grip on himself, nodded, rose, and headed for the turbolift. Kirk watched him go.

  "Peter," Kirk called after him. "We'll do our best. I promise you."

  Siderakis paused and looked at the captain. He nodded his appreciation but, not trusting himself to speak, walked silently to the turbolift. The doors slid open to receive him and closed quickly behind him.

  The bridge lights suddenly came back on.

  "Aye, thot's got 'er," rumbled Chief MacPherson from the Engineering station, breaking the silence. "Cap'n, ye have yer lights back, but I had t' use th' audio backup circuits between here an' th' recreation deck. I figured ye might not be needin' those as much as ye'd be needin' th' lights . . . ?"

  "You figured correctly, Chief. Many thanks."

  "No trouble, Cap'n." MacPherson turned back to his station.

  "Captain?" Uhura said. "I have that list you wanted." She rose from her seat and walked down into the command well to hand the computer printout to Kirk. There was the glistening of great pain in her eyes.

  "I see you've read the names," Kirk said quietly.

  Uhura nodded. Kirk's name was on the list as a Centaurian landowner, and Dr. McCoy's was there as well, as both a declared resident of the planet and as the father and brother of Centaurian citizens. The names of McCoy and Siderakis, as well as three or four others out of the total of twelve, were asterisked because they had close relatives in the New Athens area.

  "I'm so sorry for your pain, sir," Uhura said to Kirk. "I hope Dr. McCoy's daughter is safe."

  For a moment Uhura's pain came into Kirk's eyes, but with a conscious effort the captain put the hurt aside … at least for a while. "Thank you, Lieutenant." He gave her a small smile, and rose.

  "Navigator, plot a course for Centaurus. Best speed. Helm, lay in it and proceed at your discretion."

  "Aye, aye, Captain," Sulu and Chekov replied together.

  "Mr. Sulu, you have the conn," Kirk added. "Mr. Spock is busy. I'll be down in Sickbay."

  The turbolift doors closed behind the captain, as everyone watched him go. Only then did Uhura lean forward and cover her face with her hands.

  And so did Sulu, but not until after he'd taken Kirk's seat and ordered warp five.

  Dr. Leonard McCoy was busily at work, setting his twenty-seventh bone of the morning … this one a broken third metatarsal in a cargo handler's right foot. The doctor used a compression cast at three atmospheres pressure—enough to guarantee that the break would be held rigid, and strong enough to allow the cargoman to return to light duty. McCoy was a big believer in work-as-therapy.

  The doors slid open and Captain Kirk entered. McCoy caught sight of him. "Hello, Jim," McCoy greeted him. "Thanks for getting the gravity back. The swabbies will be cleaning up around here for a week, though." McCoy finished inflating the cast, gave a few words of warning to the cargoman, and signed a treatment form. Then McCoy turned to Kirk, and saw something in his eyes.

  "What's the matter?" McCoy asked apprehensively.

  "Bones … take a break and talk to me," Kirk said quietly.

  "Nurse Chapel," McCoy said over his shoulder, still looking at Kirk, "take the next patient. I'll be gone for a few minutes." The doctor wiped his hands on a towel and, dropping it on the deck, followed Kirk out of Sickbay and into the medical library, jus
t across the corridor. No one else was inside. The library doors shut behind them.

  A few minutes later the library doors opened again and the two men emerged. McCoy walked briskly back to work; Kirk watched the Sickbay doors slide shut behind him. How very much like him, Kirk thought.

  Bones McCoy did his job and said nothing outside the line of duty for quite a while.

  Soon after that, Kirk had Uhura summon everyone on her list of Centaurians to a special briefing in the ship's small theater—where plays were staged, lectures delivered and where, in the very happiest times, Kirk performed marriages. At the briefing the captain noticed the presence of Nurse Constance Iziharry, who'd been treating Chekov's injured eye on the bridge. Like the nine others attending, Iziharry had the hurt, almost puzzled look of someone suddenly stricken by grief and uncertainty.

  The captain gave his ship's Centaurians the news as kindly as he could manage, but with no gloss or other attempt to soften it. Kirk assured them that the Enterprise would do all it could to relieve the suffering of their home planet, and that he was sure they would do their part as well. There were tears but, Kirk noted gratefully, they were gentle tears of mourning and sadness, not of hysteria or hopelessness. They were the kind of tears that would allow a tough job to get done.

  Captain's log, stardate 7513.5:

  For the time being, at least, things seem to be under control. We are proceeding at warp five for Centaurus. The matter-antimatter intermix for the warp engines seems balanced, even under tricky manual control; most of the ship's computers are still down. Gravity remains constant at a nominal one G; ship's inboard temperature is holding steady at 21.6 standard degrees, thanks to Mr. Scott's quick work with the duct heaters. Humidity is high because of all the free water we'd had circulating throughout the ship; I am a bit worried about corrosion in components—particularly wiring—never meant to withstand unusually high amounts of moisture.