by Greg Cox
“Ow!”
Fontana shook her head. “Boy, you really are out of it, aren’t you?” She grabbed his ankle and pulled him back down to the center of the airlock. “No uncontrolled takeoffs, remember?” She held him steady while he worked his arms into the sleeves. The texture was different from that of his Starfleet uniform, rougher and more loose-fitting, but he supposed it would have to do. She zipped him into the suit. “Okay, that’s more like it.”
“Thanks.”
While it was mildly embarrassing to need help dressing himself, he appreciated her assistance and her obvious concern for his well-being. He couldn’t help noticing that both she and the mystery woman were quite attractive, something Shaun’s body noticed as well. He thought back again to that time he had switched bodies with Janice Lester.
At least I’m the right gender this time.
“Let’s get you to the infirmary,” O’Herlihy said. “Where I can conduct a proper exam.”
Kirk had no idea where that was, so he let the others guide him out of the airlock into the habitat module beyond the cargo bay. Weightless, he didn’t need to be supported, but both women took him by the arm regardless. Fontana watched him as if she half expected him to pass out at any minute. The other woman kept up a stream of friendly chatter. Kirk waited in vain for someone to address her by name.
“Oh, here’s your lucky charm back.” Fontana removed a pair of antique dog tags from her neck and placed them around Kirk’s. “I kept them safe for you, as promised.”
He didn’t peek at the name on the tags. That might have been suspicious.
“Thanks.”
With space at a premium, the infirmary seemed to serve as gym, mess, and rec area as well. Kirk looked about for a bed or examination table, then realized that there was no need for such furnishings in zero g. A padded mattress, with Velcro straps, was mounted on one wall, at a right angle to a nearby treadmill. There was no sign of a fully equipped biobed.
Not exactly sickbay, he thought.
“Over here, please,” O’Herlihy said. “Make yourself comfortable, Shaun.”
Kirk sat down on the pad, at a ninety-degree angle to the floor, and strapped a belt across his lap to stay in place, while the doctor retrieved what looked like a primitive medkit from a steel cabinet. The instruments inside the case were also strapped down to keep them from drifting away. Kirk winced at the sight of antique syringes, thermometers, and surgical supplies. He could just imagine what McCoy would have to say about such barbaric medical apparatus. There didn’t even seem to be a standard medical scanner or hypospray.
“All right,” O’Herlihy said. “If you ladies will leave me alone with my patient.”
“Roger that,” Fontana said. She took the other woman by the arm and guided her out of the infirmary. Kirk got the distinct impression that there was no love lost between them. “I’ll be in the cockpit. Page me if you need me.”
“Will do,” the doctor said.
To Kirk’s relief, the exam was both basic and relatively painless. He was a bit taken aback when O’Herlihy jabbed a needle in his arm to take a blood sample, but he acted as though such bloodletting was routine. Certainly, it stung less than a Klingon agonizer. He wasn’t too worried that the doctor would figure out what had really happened. Mind transference was practically unheard of even in his own time. He couldn’t imagine that twenty-first-century medicine was equipped to detect it. Even McCoy had been unable to prove that Janice had taken over my body.
“Well, you seem more or less undamaged,” O’Herlihy pronounced at last. “I’m still recommending a couple of days’ rest before you resume your full duties, but mostly just as a precaution. You had a fairly serious shock.”
You have no idea, Kirk thought. Still, he was glad to hear that Shaun Christopher’s body was apparently in working order. He flexed his arm experimentally. At least his new body seemed to be fit enough, although a bit stiffer and more wrinkled than he would have preferred.
How old was Shaun again?
He wondered what had become of Shaun’s own consciousness. If we’ve truly switched bodies, does that mean that Shaun is in my body and my time?
He wished he knew what was happening — or, to be more precise, would happen — aboard the Enterprise more than two hundred years from now.
What will become of my ship?
Thirteen
2270
Captain’s log. Stardate 7104.2. First Officer Spock reporting.
I have assumed temporary command of the Enterprise following Captain Kirk’s traumatic encounter with the alien probe. Although our mission to render assistance to the endangered Skagway colony, and perhaps find a way to avert the disaster, remains paramount, I cannot help wondering what effect the probe has had on the captain’s mental state.
Spock entered sickbay, where he found McCoy waiting for him just inside the doorway. The doctor’s office preceded the examination rooms and recovery wards beyond. Spock didn’t waste time with pleasantries. “You asked for me, Doctor?”
“That’s right,” McCoy grumbled. “About time you got here.”
Spock felt a touch of impatience himself. He had been called away from other pressing duties, most notably the challenging task of saving the Skagway colony from total destruction. “If this is urgent, it might have been more efficient simply to transmit your report to the bridge.”
McCoy snorted. “I think you need to see this for yourself.”
That remains to be determined, Spock thought. He was uncertain why humans placed so much value on direct visual observations when eyewitness accounts were often notoriously inaccurate. Still, his curiosity had been piqued, and he remained concerned about Kirk’s condition. More than one hour and sixteen minutes had passed since he had placed the captain in McCoy’s care. By now, Kirk should have recovered from the nerve pinch. Spock could only wonder if he had recovered from his contact with the probe as well.
“How is your patient, Doctor?”
McCoy remained stubbornly uninformative. “Let me show you.”
The doctor led Spock to a private examination room adjacent to the primary ward. The chamber was sometimes used to quarantine patients who needed to be kept isolated from the rest of sickbay. Spock found Kirk strapped to a bed, under restraint. A diagnostic screen above the bed monitored his vital signs, which appeared to be normal for an adult human male of Kirk’s age and conditioning. Nurse Christine Chapel watched over the patient. A highly emotional woman, even by human standards, she could not conceal her anxiety, although Spock had no reason to expect this to affect her performance. She was the ship’s senior nurse, after all, and had served aboard the Enterprise since the onset of its current voyages. Kirk lay silently on the bed, his eyes closed. His fingers drummed irritably against the sheets. Spock could not immediately determine if he was conscious or not.
“How is he, Nurse?” McCoy asked.
“A bit calmer,” she reported, “but… the same.”
An unnecessarily cryptic diagnosis, Spock mused. He trusted that more concrete data would be forthcoming soon. Minus any more attempts at drama.
Their voices roused Kirk, who opened his eyes and lifted his head from the pillow. His gaze zeroed in on Spock. His fists clenched at his sides. Only the restraints holding him down kept him from jumping off the bed and perhaps engaging Spock in a physical confrontation.
This was not an encouraging sign.
“You again,” Kirk snarled. “What did you do to me before?”
Spock assumed that he was referring to the nerve pinch. “My apologies. You were resisting our efforts to assist you. It seemed necessary at the time.”
“Necessary?” Kirk challenged. “Is that what you call it?”
“This is Mr. Spock,” McCoy said, intervening. “Our first officer.”’
Spock frowned. That the doctor found it necessary to introduce him indicated that Kirk’s memory was still impaired. Don’t you know me, Jim?
Kirk regarded him warily. �
��And is he… human?”
“I am Vulcan,” Spock stated. “As you should be aware.”
“And why the hell should I know you’re a Vulcan, whatever that is?”
“Because you are Captain James T. Kirk of the U.S.S. Enterprise, and we have served together for some time.”
“Oh, God, not that again!” Kirk threw his head back, visibly agitated. “I already told the doc here. I’m not this Kirk person. I’ve never even heard the name before today.” He tugged on his bonds. “I keep telling you. You’ve got the wrong guy!”
Chapel gave Spock a sympathetic look, as though she feared that Kirk’s failure to recognize him might have hurt Spock’s feelings. Despite her considerable skills and intelligence, she had always tended to underestimate his control over his emotions. If he was being completely honest with himself, though, he did find the captain’s current behavior troubling.
He turned to McCoy for answers. “Amnesia, Doctor?”
“More than that, I’m afraid.” McCoy addressed his patient. “Tell Mr. Spock who you think you are.”
“I don’t think anything!” Kirk insisted. “I am Colonel Shaun Christopher, commander of the U.S.S. Lewis & Clark, and I demand that you return me to my ship.”
An arched eyebrow betrayed Spock’s surprise. Of all of the eventualities he had considered regarding the probe’s effect on the captain, this had not been among them.
“You see what I mean?” McCoy said.
For once, Spock was not certain what to think. He gestured to McCoy that he wished to converse in private. They moved to the other end of the cabin and lowered their voices.
“Interesting,” he observed, even as Kirk glared at them as if they were strangers. Spock consulted the doctor. “A delusion?”
“You tell me,” McCoy said. “I assume you recognize the name.”
“My memory is unimpaired, Doctor.” Spock easily retrieved the relevant data. “Shaun Geoffrey Christopher, son of Captain John Christopher of the United States Air Force, circa the late twentieth century.”
He recalled the incident well. Exactly three years, ten months, and twenty-three days ago, the Enterprise and its crew had been accidentally transported back to Earth orbit in the year 1969. During that unplanned sojourn in the past, they had been forced to beam aboard an American jet pilot who had been in pursuit of what had then been termed an “unidentified flying object.” Captain Christopher had been a reluctant guest aboard the ship for a time, until it was discovered that he needed to be returned to his life in order to father Shaun Christopher, the future commander of Earth’s first manned mission to Saturn. Ultimately, a means was devised to beam John Christopher back to the precise moment he had been plucked from his aircraft, so that he would have no memory of his time aboard the Enterprise, which had returned to its own era shortly thereafter. Spock had given the incident little thought since.
“I don’t get it,” McCoy confessed. “Why Shaun Christopher, of all people? We never even met him. Just his father.”
“A valid question,” Spock said.
While the Earth — Saturn mission of 2020 was certainly an important milestone in the history of human space exploration, he was not aware that it held any special significance to Kirk, aside from their brief acquaintance with Colonel Christopher’s father, and even that was now some years in the past. Kirk had been involved in any number of equally memorable encounters since. Why had he not fixated on, say, Zefram Cochrane, Commodore Matt Decker, or Apollo?
“I have not heard the captain speak of either Christopher recently,” Spock noted. “Have you, Doctor?”
“Can’t say that I have.” McCoy scratched his head. “Heck, if Jim was going to go off his rocker and think he was some famous historical figure, you’d think he’d fixate on Abraham Lincoln… or maybe Casanova.”
The object of their discussion grew restive. “You there!” Kirk fought in vain against his restraints. “Stop talking about me like I’m not even here. I’ve told you who I am. Now I want to know who exactly you people are and what I’m doing here!”
Spock returned to the foot of Kirk’s bed. “My apologies.” He started to call Kirk Captain but caught himself. It would not do to upset Kirk further. “I assure you, we find the present situation equally as puzzling as you do, perhaps even more so. May I ask what your last memory was before you found yourself in our transporter room?”
Kirk eyed him suspiciously. “Don’t you know that?”
“Indulge my curiosity,” Spock said calmly. “There is still much about your presence here that we do not entirely comprehend. Any data you can provide may ultimately benefit us all.”
“Hmm.” Kirk mulled it over for a few moments. “Okay. I’m not sure what your angle is, but I’ll play along. I was conducting an EVA to retrieve what appeared to be an artificial space probe of unknown origin. I had just made contact with the object when there was a sudden flash… and I found myself with you and your buddies in your so-called transporter room.” His brow furrowed. “What does that mean, anyway? Are you telling me you have some sort of teleportation device?”
“Affirmative,” Spock stated. He found Kirk’s unusual narrative intriguing, although it bore little resemblance to the actual circumstances of the captain’s injury. “You encountered the probe in space? Where precisely?”
“In orbit around Saturn, naturally.” His eyes widened in alarm. “Wait! Aren’t we there anymore?” He tried to sit up, only to be forcibly reminded of his restraints. “Where in the universe are we? Where is my ship?”
Spock chose not to answer those questions, uncertain how Kirk might react in his present state of mind. Instead, he continued his interrogation. “And you believe yourself to be in the year 202 °C.E., as reckoned by traditional Earth calendars?”
“Of course! Why shouldn’t I?”
“Why, indeed.”
Spock contemplated what he had just heard. The captain’s delusion appeared to be remarkably consistent, aside from the fact that there was no record of the real Shaun Christopher ever encountering an alien probe on his mission to Saturn centuries ago. Humanity had not made conclusive contact with another sentient species until First Contact some forty-three years later. Had Kirk interpolated the probe into his fantasy of being Colonel Christopher? Spock was not certain why Kirk should do so, but the human unconscious, as he understood it, was even more irrational and unpredictable than their surface thoughts. It might require a specialist trained in abnormal human psychology to explain the nature of this obsession fully. Spock was more concerned with how to restore the captain to himself. He wondered what might be required to dispel the delusion.
“Doctor, a word.”
He stepped away from the bed to confer with McCoy once more.
“Have you attempted to confront him with his true identity?” Spock asked. “Perhaps via the simple expedient of a mirror?”
“I considered that,” McCoy said. “But I wasn’t sure if that would make things better or worse. His mental state seems precarious enough as it is.”
Spock swiftly weighed the pros and cons. Now was no time for a protracted course of psychological treatment. “Do it,” he instructed. “The ship requires its captain.”
“I don’t know,” McCoy said hesitantly. “Are you sure that’s wise?”
“Your reservations are duly noted, Doctor. I will take full responsibility for any consequences.”
“I don’t care if my butt is covered,” McCoy protested. “I want to do what’s right for Jim!”
“As do I, Doctor. And the captain deserves a chance to recognize himself.”
McCoy shook his head dolefully. “All right. If you say so.” He resigned himself to the prospect. “God help me, I’m not sure what else to do.”
Antique medical instruments were displayed on the walls of sickbay. McCoy retrieved a small hand mirror from one frame. “Physicians once used mirrors like this one to determine whether patients were still breathing,” he explained, perhaps to take his m
ind off what they were about to attempt. He shrugged his shoulders. “At least we don’t have to worry about that, I suppose. Aside from his case of mistaken identity, he seems fit enough. Just confused and agitated.”
“Wouldn’t you be, Doctor, if you awoke thinking you were someone else? From a completely different time and place?”
“Good point.”
Spock stood back, observing carefully, while McCoy returned to Kirk’s bedside. The doctor held the mirror behind his back and conferred briefly with Nurse Chapel before speaking gently to his patient.
“Capt— I mean, Colonel, I’m going to show you something. There’s no reason to be alarmed. I just want you to look in a mirror and tell me what you see.”
“Fine,” Kirk said sullenly. “Knock yourself out.”
McCoy brought out the mirror and held it up to Kirk. Chapel stood by with a sedative, just in case.
This proved a wise precaution. A look of utter shock and horror came over Kirk’s face as he spied his reflection in the glass. The blood drained from his features, so that he looked as white as a mugato. His jaw dropped.
“Nooo!” he wailed. “That’s not me!” He tried to reach for his face, but his arms were still strapped down. “My face! What have you done to it?” He thrashed wildly against his bonds and stared down at his body, which was still clad in the uniform of a Starfleet captain. He didn’t seem to recognize his own hands or clothing. “Oh, my God! What have you done to me!”
His face was contorted. His eyes bulged from their sockets. Veins stood out against his neck. Spittle flew from his lips. He averted his eyes, unwilling to look at the mirror anymore.
“That’s not me! I’m Shaun Christopher! Shaun Christopher, I tell you!”
“Nurse!” McCoy barked. “Sedative!”
“Yes, Doctor!”
She handed him the hypospray, and he placed it against Kirk’s jugular. A hiss signaled the release of the drug. Kirk’s eyelids drooped, and he sagged against the bed. His straining limbs fell still.
