Living Memory

by Christopher L. Bennett

  Spock threw him a skeptical look. “If your concern is for your duties at Starfleet Academy, then may I recommend that you employ more selectivity regarding which special missions you choose to accompany personally? The professor, the commander, and I could have easily completed this task without your presence.”

  “I know, I know,” Kirk reassured him—not that Spock needed reassurance. “But for a sensitive mission like this, given what’s at stake…”

  “Understood.”

  Kirk smiled. “Besides, how could I pass up a reunion with my two favorite former science officers?”

  As if on cue, Cadet Lawler’s voice sounded over the landing bay intercom. “Shuttlecraft on final approach. Stand clear.”

  “Punctual as always,” Kirk said warmly.

  A glint of light moving against the starscape soon resolved into a boxy, wedge-shaped shuttlecraft that slid smoothly through the pressure curtain. The Georges Lemaître settled on the deck in front of Kirk and Spock, who stepped toward it as it powered down, its hull creaking and popping slightly as it warmed in the bay’s atmosphere.

  The side hatch opened, and a distinctive cane, its handle carved in the likeness of an Andorian atlirith, preceded its owner onto the deck. “Break out the good stuff, Jim,” Professor Rhenas Sherev said. “I feel like celebrating.”

  Kirk smiled at the small but strongly built Andorian shen who had been his science officer before Spock, on the Sacagawea an embarrassing number of years ago. “Glad to see you back in one piece, Rhen. I take it the handoff went well?”

  Sherev strode toward him easily. With the upgrades to her part-bionic leg over the years, her cane was no more than an affectation, but she liked the air of dignity it lent her—not that Kirk would ever consider her dignified after all the barhopping, poker hustling, and womanizing they’d done together on shore leaves over the years. “With minimal tension, considering the stakes. Nyota was a great help making sure there were no unfortunate mistranslations.”

  Kirk glanced over her shoulder to where Commander Nyota Uhura, dressed in a stylish civilian jacket and skirt, had now stepped down from the Lemaître’s hatch after securing the shuttle. “Commander. Welcome back.”

  “Glad to be back, sir. It was an intriguing opportunity to see another side to Romulan culture. I’m grateful that you and Captain Spock called on me.”

  “It has been agreeable to work with you once again, Commander,” Spock said. Uhura flashed him a brilliant smile. Kirk was reminded that the two of them had always seemed to have a natural rapport, one that had begun to form under Christopher Pike before Kirk succeeded him as captain of the Enterprise.

  “So the Sword of Renz Verus is on its way back where it belongs?” Kirk asked as he and Spock led Sherev and Uhura toward the starboard gangway.

  “Only about twelve decades late, but yes,” Sherev answered. “It would’ve been sooner without all this diplomatic tiptoeing and pretense.”

  “You understand why that was necessary,” Spock pointed out. “Given the heightened tensions of the past two years, direct involvement by the military on either side—”

  “Yes, yes—no need to prove Bones right about your tendency to state the obvious,” Sherev told him, not without affection. She had known Spock almost as long as Kirk had, though only intermittently.

  “You know patience isn’t my strong suit,” she went on as they passed through the door onto the gangway that ran along one side of the cavernous cargo bay. “I wish we could get to a point where we and the Romulans could just talk and work together, like Doctor T’Lesevek and I did down on Bright Tree.”

  “It has traditionally been easier for the scientific communities of rival powers to trust one another than it has been for their governments or militaries,” Spock observed. “Hence the value of back channels.”

  “I know. But if that kind of trust could’ve been extended much sooner, maybe we wouldn’t still be rivals today.”

  Kirk pondered Sherev’s words as he led the group into the turbolift whose freestanding shaft pierced the three-story volume of the cargo bay. It had been Sherev who had brought this mission to him at the Academy weeks ago, after the Sword of Renz Verus had been discovered in the estate of a deceased Andorian whose thavan—father, approximately—had been a veteran of the Battle of Cheron, in which the Andorian Imperial Guard had finally joined the fight alongside Earth’s Starfleet in the engagement that had ended the Earth-Romulan War. A number of the ships on the opposing side had been constructed at the historic Renz Verus Shipyards of Romulus, whose director had personally joined in the battle, bringing along the ancient sword that had been the traditional symbol of the shipyards for centuries. In the aftermath, an Andorian crew had found wreckage from the director’s ship and boarded it for salvage, and once the Romulans subsequently reclaimed what was left, they had found the iconic sword missing. During treaty negotiations, they had accused the Andorians of taking it and demanded its return, but the Imperial Guard insisted that no sword had been found; if it had existed, it must have been vaporized or lost to the vacuum of space. The Romulans had protested, but ultimately it had been incidental; their war had been with Earth, and accepting Earth’s terms of peace had been their best option to prevent further losses after their decisive defeat at Cheron. Still, according to recent Starfleet Intelligence reports, the clash over the sword had left many Romulans with a profound distrust toward the wartime allies and the Federation they had subsequently formed.

  Once the Andorian government had discovered that a member of their fleet had indeed plundered the sword and kept it as a family heirloom, the suggestion had been made to repatriate it to Romulus as a gesture of goodwill. Tensions between the two powers had been rising of late, a delayed side effect of the collapse of the brief Klingon-Romulan alliance earlier in the decade. In the years since the bloody Battle of Klach D’kel Brakt, the two empires had become bitter enemies, making the already warlike Romulan government even more paranoid and defensive and provoking a major buildup of the Romulan military. It had only been a matter of time before that spilled over into renewed hostility toward the Federation as well, and there had been several tense border incidents over the past two years. The hope was that returning the Sword of Renz Verus might improve diplomatic relations with Romulus and defuse further conflicts.

  But the mistrust between the two powers was still too strong, so Rhenas Sherev had suggested using the back channel Spock had mentioned, the universal fraternity of scientists that transcended politics. She had worked with Kirk to arrange a meeting between civilian representatives, including herself, at a neutral site unclaimed by either power. She and a leading subspace physicist employed at the Renz Verus Shipyards, a descendant of the wartime director, had met at the Selvidge Archive on the neutral planet Bright Tree in the sparsely populated Kaleb sector. Despite its human name, the archive was a multispecies research institute and library comparable to the Federation’s Memory Alpha, but pointedly independent of any state and open to all.

  Of course, both parties had been escorted by military vessels as a precaution, with both governments’ full knowledge. But maintaining the pretense of neutrality had been important, so the actual handoff had been performed by civilian representatives, with supporting military personnel attending unofficially in civilian attire (Kirk had no doubt that Uhura had had her own counterpart at the handoff). It had been a symbolic gesture, but then, the sword had been a powerful symbol to the Romulans. With luck, its repatriation would help build new trust between the powers, even if neither side openly admitted how the sword had come back to Renz Verus. The Romulans’ official story would be that Selvidge Archive researchers had discovered the sword drifting in space.

  This had been a straightforward mission, but perfect for the Enterprise in its current capacity. Kirk had accepted his second promotion to the admiralty and the position of Starfleet Academy commandant with the proviso that he would be assigned the Enterprise as his personal flagship under Spock’s comman
d, occasionally taking it out on special missions to ensure that Kirk’s talents in the field were not squandered behind a desk. Between such missions, the vessel served as an Academy training vessel and test bed for technology upgrades. Thus, as it was no longer active on the front lines, the Enterprise had been a suitably nonprovocative choice for this tentative peacemaking gesture.

  As much as Kirk had enjoyed the reunion with his old friend Sherev, he felt envious that she had been the one in the thick of things instead of him. He valued these special missions as a chance to keep his skills honed, yet this one, for all its political sensitivity, had been little more than a milk run from his perspective. The admiral knew he should be grateful that it had proceeded so smoothly, but he still wished he’d gotten to do more.

  Sherev, it seemed, felt differently. “Well,” she said, stretching languidly beside him, “I’m glad that’s all over. I’m eager to get back to my students.”

  Kirk met her eyes and smiled. “There’s still a place for you at the Academy, you know. We’d love to have you.”

  Her smile in return was patient and apologetic. “You know I have my own projects I can’t abandon. And I left the Starfleet part of my life behind a long time ago. Besides, you’ve already got a solid archaeology department under Scott Saslow.”

  “Solidity isn’t everything. You could shake things up in interesting ways.”

  She peered at him. “This isn’t just about you getting bored behind a desk again, is it? I thought this whole flagship gig was supposed to keep that from happening.”

  “Of course not. I enjoy my work. Guiding young minds, shaping the officers of tomorrow, shepherding research on the cutting edge… it’s all the best parts of starship duty without the danger and loneliness of the frontier.”

  “I’m sure it’s me you’re trying so hard to convince.”

  Kirk directed an affectionate glare her way, then decided to change the subject as the turbolift deposited them on D deck, housing the ship’s VIP and senior officers’ quarters. “And how about you, Commander?” he asked Uhura as they exited the lift. “Back to the Asimov?”

  “That’s right,” she said with a smile. “The work isn’t as varied or unpredictable as it was on the Enterprise, but I’m enjoying the chance to pursue a long-term research project.”

  “What was it again?” Sherev asked. “Charting subspace density anomalies?”

  “Yes, Professor. And using them to amplify sensor and communication beams through a form of gravitational lensing. We’re learning a lot about multidimensional subspace topology.”

  “If I interpret your results correctly,” Spock told her, “they suggest methods for predicting the locations of density variations that could be used to optimize effective warp velocities as well.”

  “I don’t want us to get ahead of ourselves, Captain. I’ve learned the value of being patient with long-term research like this.” Uhura gave a sigh that struck Kirk as slightly melancholy.

  “Of course. Still, the potential is intriguing.”

  Kirk envied the ability of the three scientists around him to find contentment in the slow, meticulous routines of their research. He did derive fulfillment from guiding the next generation of Starfleet officers, more so than he had as Chief of Starfleet Operations during his last stint on Earth. But he had to admit, it was a quieter life than what he’d become accustomed to on the Enterprise. These special missions helped keep things interesting, but in some ways they just sharpened the contrast with his everyday routine; when he returned home, he found himself wondering how long it would be until the next mission.

  He quashed those thoughts. It had been less than a year since he took the post; maybe he just needed a little more time to find his equilibrium. A new term would begin before long, bringing a whole new crop of students. That could provide interesting challenges of its own.

  Starfleet Academy

  San Francisco, Earth

  Leonard McCoy leaned casually against the side of the desk in Admiral Kirk’s office. “So as it turned out, your entire contribution to the mission was to hover over Spock on the bridge and sit in your quarters doing paperwork. You could’ve done that back here.”

  “It was a sensitive situation,” Kirk countered, scrolling idly through the list of proposed course catalog revisions on his desk monitor. “While it was best to maintain the pretense of a civilian exchange, it was important to show the Romulan government that we took the peace gesture seriously—that it had the attention and support of officers at the highest level.”

  McCoy scoffed. “Most convoluted excuse for a mission I ever heard. I’m just trying to decide if you did it to get out of trudging through that course catalog, or to get out of your blind date with Rosemarie Yeun.”

  “Rosemarie seems like a perfectly charming lady. I told her I’d be happy to reschedule.”

  “You knew she was shipping out this week to do a geological survey on that new colony world. Buzzelle or whatever.”

  “Basel. Like the one in Switzerland.” Kirk furrowed his brow, glancing up at the doctor. “Wasn’t Buzzelle your grandmother’s maiden name?”

  “Stop trying to change the subject. You can’t keep making excuses to get out of having a social life.”

  “Bones, you know as well as I do how unpredictable Starfleet life can be.” He glanced at the chronometer. “Although I do have a meeting scheduled with Commander Rakatheema from Starfleet Security in about two minutes. So can we talk about this later?”

  McCoy grew pensive. “Now that you mention it, there is a very attractive genetics researcher at Starfleet Medical who’s been dying to meet you, Jim. If you can find an evening free this week—”

  “Bones, just stop. I was being polite before. This obsession of yours with my romantic life has—”

  “Or your lack of one.”

  “Has got to stop. It’s not as though I’ve ever needed help connecting with women.”

  McCoy crossed his arms. “You’re starting to believe your reputation from the vid dramas. I know you better than that, Jim. Getting women interested in you has never been the problem. The problem is prying you away from your obsessive work ethic. And I don’t mean the occasional casual fling in the heat of a crisis. I mean opening yourself to the possibility, now that you’re settled down on Earth, of finding someone worth settling down with.”

  Kirk’s aide signaled from the outer office. “Admiral? Commander Rakatheema has arrived.”

  “Excellent, Lieutenant,” Kirk said with feeling. “Send him in, please.”

  “That was not two minutes,” McCoy said.

  “Some officers pride themselves on punctuality,” Kirk said. “You should try it sometime.”

  “Ha, ha. If I have to be insulted, I’ll just go find Spock so I can get it from an expert.”

  “Bones,” Kirk said, stopping him on the way out. “I appreciate your concern for my happiness. But it’s for me to work out on my own. All right?”

  McCoy’s expression showed his understanding, but not his surrender. “Like you said—we’ll talk about it later.”

  The doctor politely greeted Commander Rakatheema on the way out. The first time I can remember him showing politeness in this office, Kirk thought. The admiral wondered what the Arcturian commander would think if he knew how a younger, even less tactful McCoy had once described the people of Arcturus IV in Kirk’s hearing: “They look like half-melted waxwork sculptures of some other species.” Arcturians were pale, hairless humanoids whose heads, and to a lesser extent the rest of their bodies, were draped with irregular flaps of reddish-gray skin. Their sagging, jowly features were often perceived by other humanoids as somber or slothful, but Kirk knew them to be quite an energetic people, with a disciplined, military bent to their culture, but also an inquisitive, artistic nature.

  Rakatheema, who wore the dark green turtleneck of the security division under his brick-red uniform jacket, greeted Kirk with a smile and a firm handshake once the door closed behind McCoy. �
�Admiral Kirk. It’s an honor to meet you.”

  Kirk was never quite sure how to respond to that kind of praise, but the commander delivered it in such crisp, matter-of-fact tones that it didn’t feel obsequious. “Ah, thank you, Commander. Have a seat. Coffee? Tea?”

  “No, thank you, Admiral. I am adequately hydrated, and I know your time is finite.”

  Kirk nodded. “Very well, then. What can I do for you?”

  Despite his words, Rakatheema hesitated. “How much do you know about Arcturian history, sir?”

  The admiral thought it over. “I know the basics. Your distant ancestors migrated out from the first to the fourth planet of Arcturus when the star entered its giant phase. On first contact, you were interested in Earth’s experience dealing with climate change, because your own sun is still gradually warming.”

  Rakatheema smiled. “We were also quite taken with Earth poetry and music. Captain Shumar of the Essex introduced us to Shakespeare in that first exchange. The rhythms of the Bard of Avon’s language entranced us even before we understood it.”

  “I’ve heard it said that you were the first nonhuman species who mastered Elizabethan English before the modern variety.” Kirk kept his tone light, declining to mention that he had once seen the Karidian Players perform an Arcturian-designed production of Hamlet. He associated that performance with the real-life tragedies that had surrounded it, and he did not think the commander would appreciate hearing that his people reminded Kirk of the crimes of Kodos the Executioner.

  “I trust, then, that you know something of our experiences in the years between first contact and our application for Federation membership.”