MRS. FILE WAS a large, cheerful, comfortable woman with gray hair that hung down her back in a neat braid. She wore old-fashioned eyeglasses and smelled of violet water. She had been left in charge of the Children's Center until a replacement for Voltmer could be found. Ramsey quietly relayed to Kirk a rumor that there was a proposal to make her position permanent. Ramsey's own admiration for Voltmer had waned as the full extent of his abuses became known.
Mrs. File and her staff met Kirk and the men who had come down with him in the recreation room. It seemed greatly changed to Kirk. It was cheerfully lit, and light poured through its large fiberglass windows. A light that was natural. And not too bright. It had been a gray day the last time Kirk visited this place. In every possible way.
But it was the presence of the Onlies in the room that really altered it, made it seem a completely different place. They shouted to each other, and argued and giggled and squealed as they played on the floor, wrestling, building block towers and crystal jigsaw towers, challenging each other to pocket laser-set battles, building bridges between the low tables and the children-size chairs out of stretch string.
A few pressed their faces against the windows, stared out at the land covered with moss and ferns. It was land that had been scarred, devastated during the war of the adults, and that over the centuries nature had reclaimed. The Children's Center was built hundreds of miles from the city in which they had lived as scavengers during those years.
As Kirk looked about him, he remembered the faces, even the names of some of them. And how they had looked when he first encountered them, grimy and smudged and dressed in rags. They had been distrustful of the Grups from the Enterprise, and slowly given their trust. How remarkable that they could still trust adults, could still enjoy themselves, lose themselves in play, after the betrayals they'd known here. The stubborn childish determination to live, and love. An ash-blond little girl had thrown her arms around his legs when he arrived, and many of the children greeted him cheerfully, and with recognition.
Spock was standing by Mrs. File with his hands clasped together behind his back, relating to her how Rhea had saved Pal in her final moments. Though Pal had seemed unaware and unresponsive at the time, his memory had recorded it.
"Yes, Rhea was a courageous girl, and very gifted," the woman said. "The sheer stupidity of such a loss, such an utter waste is what baffles me the most."
Kirk, gazing round, became preoccupied once again with another baffling loss. The death of another courageous Only. As if reading his thoughts, a boy of thirteen or so, physically, with a pinched freckled face, walked up to Kirk and said accusingly, "You're Miri's Grup, aren't you? But you never came back to see her. She said you would come for her one day and take her away from here."
"Tomi," Mrs. File said quickly, "go see if you can help those little fellows make a hammock out of stretch string." She bustled him off toward the cluster of smaller boys and turned back to Kirk apologetically.
"You know, Captain Kirk, Miri did often speak of you, but I believe she was happy on the Program, and she was planning next year to go away to school to train to be a teacher. Your influence on her and the other children was only positive."
Kirk knew her words were meant to take the sting out of what the boy had said. She couldn't know how badly it stung. Glancing around the room again, Kirk saw Flint on the floor with some of the youngest children, looking ridiculous and undignified in a floppy green hat, apparently engaged in a game of peekaboo. The sight did not lift Kirk's spirits.
"Yes," he said. "Well. I take it that the chair in the 'treatment room' is being dismantled?"
Mrs. File's face clouded. "Yes, it has been dismantled, Captain. And I must assure you that I and the rest of the staff had no idea of the extent to which Dr. Voltmer was abusing the minds of the children. Though we did suspect, somewhat, I suppose. It explains much of their erratic behavior. Makes things clearer. Voltmer is on Starbase Twelve now, waiting to stand trial for malpractice, falsifying records, perhaps even child abuse."
Kirk pictured Voltmer's fleshy face and ingratiating smile. He imagined the man standing before a Federation subcommittee hearing charges read against him. It brought Kirk a dull satisfaction, to think of it.
Mrs. File turned to Spock. "Your report on the damage done to Pal's mind was most enlightening. It appears, Captain, that once again the Onlies are greatly indebted to you and your men."
Kirk's eyes found Pal sitting in a corner of the room, piling glo-rocks in a bucket with several little girls. "Take care of them," he said softly to Mrs. File. He flipped open his communicator. "Mr. Scott. Stand by to beam up the landing party."
McCoy had found his conversations with the staff of the Children's Center interesting and informative. He felt sure that Pal was now in sensitive, caring hands. The children were being questioned about their experiences in Voltmer's chair, something Voltmer had discouraged when he was in charge. A formal investigation, on the strength of Spock's report, was under way.
The doctor felt eager to discuss some of what Mrs. File had told him with the captain. But when he called up to the bridge from sickbay, Spock was in command. The Enterprise was heading back toward Flint's private planet to return their remarkable guest to his study, solitude, and creative work.
Kirk's absence from the bridge made McCoy feel uneasy. Spock had taken the doctor aside and mentioned to him days earlier that Kirk and Spock had been talking; the captain now knew something of what had occurred on Flint's planet, and he accepted not knowing everything. His peace of mind had improved; but he still seemed depressed, moody, during their visit to the planet of the Onlies. McCoy left Nurse Chapel in charge of sickbay once again, and set out in search of Kirk.
The captain was not in his quarters, not in a recreation room or the gym, not in the main library or gardens, or in his favorite mess hall. McCoy found him at last on the ship's largest observation deck. The cavernous room was dark, and the cool air blew through it as if through an empty stadium. The walls were windows, encasing darkness and flecks of light, the galaxy dizzyingly receding around it on all sides. The giant room was simply constructed to be an amphitheater for the stars.
The lone figure it contained looked as small as a gladiator in a giant ring. Kirk was leaning his hand against one of the colossal windows. In his other hand he held a long tall glass of Rigellian whiskey. McCoy walked toward him, and his footsteps, his voice when he spoke, echoed through the chamber.
"Is this a private party, Captain? Or can anyone drink away his troubles here?"
Kirk did not look at him. "Well, Doctor. You've found me out, have you?"
"Looks like it. There were a few things I wanted to discuss with you, pass on to you. But they can wait."
Now Kirk turned to face him. "No, no. Tell me. I'm interested."
McCoy scratched his head. "Well, it's just that I had a talk with Mrs. File, while we were on the planet. About the question of how fast the Onlies age, among other things. She said that in the future it will be up to the children themselves, whether they decide to stay children, or whether they choose to take the shots to make them grow. She says that a surprising number say they want to grow up now. Pal included."
After mulling this over, Kirk asked, "And what did she have to say about Pal, about his condition?"
"Why, she says he seems to be in better shape now than he was in before he was kidnapped by the Onlies who stole the Sparrow. Apparently, Spock's mind-meld undid a great deal of the damage done by Voltmer and his cronies, with their chair."
"Good, good." Kirk took another drink of whiskey.
McCoy hesitated, then told him the next bit of news. "File also said they're looking into the possibility of homes for some of the Onlies that plan on growing up at a normal rate—sending them to a foster family environment, away from the Center. Since the Center doesn't seem to be doing them all that much good. And Flint—"
Kirk's eyes flicked to meet his.
"Flint has expressed an interest to me in adopting Pal. Helping the boy adjust from seeming immortality to the process of aging. He says that it's a process that he himself knows and understands, now."
"Flint?" Kirk said. "Thinks he can raise a child alone on that cold, dry, sad planet of his?"
"Well, I saw him playing with some of the children, Jim. There may be more fun in him than you realize."
"Yes, I saw him too. Are you sure his sudden rapid aging hasn't made him senile? Does he want Pal to share his second childhood with him? Is that it?" Kirk heard the bitterness and rancor in his voice and it startled him. He looked down. "I'm not being fair, Bones. And I know it."
"You must remember," McCoy said gently, "that all his sons and daughters on Earth have long since died, centuries ago. And Flint has not dared to stay in touch with their descendants. Any of us could be of his family. None of us is, for certain."
"Of course, Bones, of course. I'm hardly an objective judge or a worthy judge of such a great man. And I can barely back up a single negative thing that I might say about him." Kirk laughed hollowly, then grew serious. "And I do appreciate who he is. He's certainly entitled to some personal happiness, if he can get it, in his final years."
The doctor took another step toward him. "Jim, if you don't mind me pryin', what brought you down here all alone?"
"I was just taking some time out to think. To think and survey my record."
"Well, it's quite a record. One of the most impressive in the fleet." McCoy spoke with quiet earnestness. "And you did everything you could against the Klingons, and to save the children in this last crazy—"
Kirk laughed and shook his head. "Oh no. Not that record. No, Bones, I'm talking about conquests. And betrayals. Love enough to last a lifetime. That's given a week to prove itself. Soft night music. Drowned out by a computer's hum."
"The life of a sailor, Jim."
"Yes, it is." Kirk raised his glass, as if in a toast. "A girl in every port. And a heartache for every girl. Water, water everywhere …"
"And you've had too much to drink," McCoy said sharply, and took the glass away from him. After a moment, he drained it of its contents, and said thoughtfully, "Not bad stuff, this."
"Not bad at all, is it? Scotty gave it to me. After I convinced him I wasn't in the mood for Scotch."
They stood in silence for a moment, in the darkness, under the observation deck's great dome. Finally, McCoy said, "Jim, sometimes we all get …"
"I know, Bones, I know. And it doesn't mean anything. I wouldn't trade my life, this life, this ship for …" He looked around. "Just look at this ship that we're aboard, Bones. And look, look at the stars."
Again the officers of the Enterprise assembled in the transporter room, this time to bid farewell to Flint. He had refused Kirk's offer of a banquet in his honor and said only that he was anxious to return to his work.
"If I am to understand the communication from your Starfleet Command," he said to Kirk, "it appears the Klingons have not, through Kreth's experiences, learned enough to penetrate my cloaking device."
"No. Although seeing our use of fluorescence must have given them a clue."
"Ah, yes," Flint said. "Therefore, I hope to modify the Flint device so that it will screen out and disguise particles that collect around it, such as fluorescent dust. This will, hopefully, make it impenetrable once again."
Kirk smiled. "Unless you, sir, are called in again to crack it."
Flint's glance acknowledged the compliment. "It is a bizarre game, trying to confound oneself." He turned to McCoy. "Doctor. Has there been any further word on whether the Children's Center will permit me to take Pal as my legal ward?"
McCoy looked itchy and uncomfortable as he stood at attention in his dress uniform. "It's under discussion, sir," he replied. "Pal is receptive to the idea. It seems to have become a symbol of status among the Onlies, the idea of having a 'Grup' of one's own. The main concern of the Center, though, is that Pal might be better off with other children about."
"Yes," Flint said, and paused. Then he said, "The planet of the Onlies is large, and, but for the Center, is now unoccupied. Is this not the case?"
McCoy looked uncertain, but Spock nodded. "Most of the planet was rendered uninhabitable by the genocide unleashed by the people of that world, in their madness, centuries ago. Devastation by fire, primitive bombs, and nuclear and chemical weapons. But, in areas like the site of the Center and hundreds of miles around it, all harmful elements have been broken down or washed away. Moss and woodland have taken them over. On other continents—"
"That's enough, Spock," McCoy cut in. "Mr. Flint didn't ask for a blow-by-blow geographical report on the planet's environment."
"This habitable land near the Center, Mr. Spock," Flint said. "Is it for sale?"
"That is unknown to me," Spock replied.
"Well," said Flint, "perhaps Pal will be able to gain a legal guardian and still have access to the Children's Center and his old friends. I've always been partial to moss-covered landscapes."
Of course, you can buy and sell anything you want to, Kirk thought, love, family, planets, a man of your prestige can … He winced, and told himself that now, at last, he would put away his unreasonable hatred of Flint and see him as a man with the joys and the tragedies, the strengths and the weaknesses of any man. Except on a colossal scale.
Flint stepped onto the transporter platform, where M-7 already hung, over one of the back pads, waiting patiently. "I thank you, Captain, gentlemen, for your hospitality."
"We thank you, of course, for all you've done," Kirk said stiffly. As Flint settled on a transporter pad, Kirk gave the order, "Energize!" and Flint and his robot companion dissolved and faded from view.
"It would be a good thing if he was to move to a place less isolated," McCoy remarked. "He's developing a few physical problems. Arthritis, a slight liver condition—nothing too serious. But in a few years, it won't really be safe for him on that planet all by himself. I as much as told him so."
"Indeed," Spock said. "Mr. Flint is a galactic resource of the highest order."
Searching his feelings, Kirk knew that he still had not forgiven Flint for his nameless crimes. He was glad that he would no longer have to force himself to treat well this man whom every foolish instinct told him to despise.
Spock gave him news which intruded on his thoughts. "Starfleet reports, Captain, that Boaco Six has expressed new interest in good relations. The admiral wishes us to proceed there now at top speed, and resume our diplomatic mission."
Kirk walked to a console by the door and flicked the switch. "Mr. Chekov, plot a course back toward Boaco Six."