PROLOGUE

Seventy-eight years after history reported him dead, James T.
Kirk's journey had come to an end.
 He was going home.
 For the final time.
    On a mountain slope, far above the simple cairn o frocks that
was Kirk g grave, a lone figure stood in meditative silence, a
sentinel keeping jaithful watch.
    His elegant black robes shifted in the twilight breeze of
Veridian III. Their intricate embroidery spelled out the time-
less principles of logic in metallic threads and Vulcan script.
Those principles shimmered in the dying light of sunset.
    The sentinel's gaze remained fixed on the battered Starfleet
emblem that rested on the grave. In his expression, there was
no betrayal oJ' emotion, until his meditations were at an end
and proper decorum had been observed.
 Then a single tear welled up in the corner of his eye.
 Ambassador Spock didn't fight it.
    That battle between his two halves--Vulcan and human--
had been fought and won decades ago.
    Three weeks before this day, Spock had never known of this
planer's existence. Yet now he knew he wouM never be free of it.

    For history now recorded that it was on this world that James
T. Kirk had reappeared, only to die again.
    Spock's secondgrieving for his friend was far, far worse than
the first had ever been.
  What logic couM there be in that?
    Far below Spock, the setting sun drew long shadows from the
modest pile of rocks he watched over. In the air above those
shadows, five points of light sparkled to life.
    Spock looked on as the transporter beams resolved into five
Starfleet ofiScers.
    One he knew--William Riker, late of the Starship Enter-
prise. Elsewhere on this planet, lhat vessel's shattered wreckage
was being dismantled and removed by a team of Starfleet
engineers under Riker~ command. In accordance with the
Prime Directire, no trace of advanced technology could remain
behind. Should the future inhabitants of Veridian III~ sister
planet land here, they would discover nothing. Not even Kirk g
body.
    The four others with Riker formed the honor guard that
would travel with Spock back to Earth, for Kirk~ oJficial
interment. A hero ~ funeral.
    For all that Kirk had meant to the Federation, that honor
seemed trivial to Spoek. Yet what more could be done to
assuage the sorrow of those Kirk had touched when his spirit
had fled?
    Spock had passed through that last veil himself But because
of Kirk, he had returned.
    "You wouM do the same for me," Kirk had told him, long
ago on the summit of Mount Seleya, when Spock had been
reborn.
    Now the tear grew in Spock's eye because he knew he could
not. Though against all logic, he desired nothing else.
    At least, he knew, Kirk had not faced whatever lay beyond his
moment of death unaware of its coming.
    Spock knew his friend had confronted his fate and reconciled
himself to it, in that time between Kirk g return Jkom Khitomer

and the launching of the new Enterprise which had sealed his
fate.
    Spock took comfort from that knowledge. He found it to be
most logical.
    On the horizon, Veridian set and the stars shone forth from
the gathering dark. The day at last was done.
    The honor guard waited at attention by the grave. If all
proceeded according to schedule, at this moment, far overhead,
a starship wouM be shifting orbits, preparing to lock her
transporter on the remains beneath the stones.
    There couM be no Mount Seleya in Kirk's future. Logic,
therefore, directed Spock to seek solace not in what might lie
ahead, but in what had gone before.
      The tear slipped down his cheek. Spock watched it fall to the
dust of this world. Swallowed as if it had never existed.
 Except in his memories.
     So to his memories now he turned, to the.final adventure and
the revelations of those last days he had spent with his friend.
  When the journey of James 7: Kirk had been ending--
  --but was not yet over...

2                                                               3

ONE

Kirk didn't look back to the past--he slammed into it
running, diving, hitting the volcanic ash of Tycho IV shoulder
first, rolling to cover by Ensign Gait behind a jagged boulder.
    But the boulder hadn't been good cover for Galt. The
ensign was dead. Skin blue-white. Body locked in a final
contortion of pain.
    Kirk faltered. He was twenty-four years old, a lieutenant
three years out of the Academy. Ensign Gait had been only
nineteen. On his first mission. He had looked up to Kirk, and
Kirk hadn't protected him.
     The communicator at Kirk's side chirped and reflexes took
over, freeing him to act. He snapped it open. "Kirk here."
 "Where are those coordinates?"
    It was Garrovick. Kirk's captain hadn't beamed back to the
Farragut when he had had the chance, before the transporter
coils had overloaded. He had stayed with the wounded.
Waiting for the shuttlecraft. Still ten minutes away.
    "Scanning now," Kirk said. He forced himself to his feet,
exposing himself to whatever lay beyond the boulder.
Whatever had attacked the Farragut. Whatever dwelt among

the ashes of Tycho IV and was now picking off the Farragut's
crew, one by one.
    Kirk held his bulky tricorder before him like a shield. His
eyes darted from the readout to the surrounding terrain and
back again. Tycho Prime was setting. The horizon blazed with
the color of blood. But there were no readings.
    "Captain, there's nothing out there!" Kirk's voice betrayed
the tension he felt.
    But the voice on the communicator remained calm. "Stay
put and keep scanning, Lieutenant. You've got forward fire
control till the main sensors are back in operation."
    "Aye, sir," Kirk acknowledged. In standard orbit above
him, the Farragut's weapons were at his command. With no
sensors to guide them, Kirk was now their targeting system.
Somehow, the weight of that responsibility felt good.
    A distant scream cut through the dusk, ending too abruptly.
High-pitched. A woman.
    Kirk held his position, heart hammering. He fought the
urge to throw down his communicator and draw the laser
pistol at his side. Garrovick had given him his orders, and
there was nothing Kirk wouldn't do for his captain.
Garrovick was that kind of commander. That kind of man.
A figure ran for Kirk's boulder. It was nothing more than a
red-tinged silhouette against the sunset. Kirk quickly checked
his tricorder. The figure was human. Androvar Drake.
    The young lieutenant slid into position beside Kirk, out of
breath, laser drawn. His short, bristle-cut blond hair was
streaked with black volcanic ash. He glanced at Galt's body,
but he showed no more reaction to it than a Vulcan might.
 "That scream," Drake said, "it was Morgan."
    Even as Kirk felt the shock twist through his chest, he saw
the flicker of a smile on Drake's face. Faith Morgan was the
Farragut's weapons officer. For the last three months she had
shared Kirk's quarters. As his lover.

    Kirk wanted to grind Drake's smirk into the rocks of this
place.
    But he had his orders. Garrovick's orders. Starfleet orders.
There was nothing more he could do for Faith Morgan, but
the crew of the Farragut numbered four hundred. At least it
had, when the ship had first entered this system.
     Kirk waved his tricorder into the gloom. Still no readings.
He felt angry tears sting his eyes, but he fought them back.
 Before anything else, he was on duty.
    Drake clicked through the power levels on his weapon,
twisting the stubby barrel completely around to its highest
setting.
    Kirk reached out to stop him. "Lasers don't work on it."
One of the sentries had managed to gasp that into her
communicator before whatever it was had snuffed out her life.
    "The creature can change its molecular form," Drake
argued. "Maybe lasers can work on one form but not an-
other."
    Kirk rapidly changed the settings on his tricorder, scanned
again, looking for a target. "Garrovick says phasers will do
it." Phasers were the newest weapons in Starfleet's arsenal.
    Drake gestured dismissively with his laser. "What does
Garrovick know?"
    Kirk slapped his communicator to his side, grabbed Drake
by his collar, shoved him hard against the boulder. "He's the
captain," Kirk hissed. "He'll know how to get us out of this."
As far as Kirk was concerned, that was what starship captains
did. They were invincible. They had to be.
    Drake looked amused by Kirk's emotional outburst. He
smoothed his tunic where Kirk had crushed it. "He didn't do
so well in orbit, did he?"
    Kirk flipped open his communicator again, to keep his fist
off Drake's jaw. Drake wasn't worth it. Kirk had found that
out at Starfleet Academy. Their final after-class fight in the
antigrav gym had cost Kirk two demerits. Kirk had won,
barely. But the greater satisfaction had come when Kirk had

6                                                               7

edged out Drake by two percentiles and drawn first star duty
in their class.
    "Something caused a temporal shift in the sensor grid,"
Kirk said. It was the only explanation for how Garrovick had
been taken by surprise.
    Kirk had been on duty on the Farragut's bridge when it had
happened. The sensor boards had lit up as the ship had been
invaded by... something--a gas cloud, a creature? At the
time there had been no way to be certain.
    Garrovick had ordered shields to full strength. The creature
responded by somehow vanishing from the sensors' sensitivi-
ty range. At the same time, an impossible temporal phase shift
overloaded every key circuit in the Farragut. It might even
have been a defensive move on the creature's part. But
whatever had caused it, for a breathless hour it had seemed
the ship might not be able to hold her orbit.
    Garrovick had ordered the evacuation of all but a skeleton
flight crew. Then he had saved the ship. Invincible.
    But by then the creature had found the evacuation camp on
the surface of Tycho IV. And it was a creature, there could be
no doubt about that now. A creature that fed on the red blood
cells of humanoid life-forms. Like Gait. And Faith. And all
the others already cut down.
    On the surface, the creature methodically probed their
defenses. It overpowered their emergency force fields. With-
stood whatever the laser cannons could send into it. Envel-
oped everything with a sickly sweet smellrathe smell of death
on an already dying world.
    Immediately, Garrovick had beamed down to the heart of
the action, organizing the withdrawal of his crew. Fighting at
their side.
    Then, suddenly, halfway through the boarding process, the
ship's transporters had stopped functioning. Too strained by
the temporal overload and the first evacuation.
 Garrovick had called down the shuttlecraft.

 No one believed they would make it in time.
    But Kirk never doubted that Garrovick would save them.
Somehow.
 He was the captain.
 Something spiked on the tricorder's display.
    Kirk fine-tuned the reading. Di-kironium. It meant nothing
to him.
    But then an unwelcome fragrance reached out to him. Too
sweet. Overpowering.
 "It's coming back..." Kirk said.
    "Lieutenant!" Garrovick transmitted. "Where are those
readings?"
 Something moved out by the distant rocks.
     No--not moved--billowed. Roiled forward against the
scarlet sunset like a storm front from hell. "Kirk?!" Garrovick repeated.
    It was at this moment, in another time, another life, that
Lieutenant Kirk froze. Faced with certain death, weighed
down by the responsibility of his duty, he hesitated. But not this time.
    "Kirk to Farragut!" he shouted. "Target bearing thirty
meters due west this location! All phaser banks FIRE/"
    Instinctively Kirk charged Drake, forcing him down to
cover as well. A heartbeat later, the heavens of Tycho IV were
ripped open by twin lances of blue fire.
    Kirk felt the ground shake as the eerie harmonics of phased
energy tore apart the atoms of everything in its beam. He
smelled burnt dust, heat, the tang of ozone released by
atmospheric ionization. The barrage ended.
     Kirk peered past the edge of the boulder. A cloud of dust
was lit from within by the glow of superheated rocks. The creature was gone.
    "We did it," Kirk exulted. He brought his communicator
closer. "Captain Garrovickmwe..."

8                                                             9

      A wispy tendril of white vapor twisted from the dust cloud
 like a tornado forming in reverse.  Kirk stopped talking.
      The vapor stretched up from the ground, spinning faster,
rising along the ionization trail left by the phaser beams.
 Rising up to the Farragut.
  "Dear God..." Kirk whispered.
    He looked at Drake. Drake's eyes gleamed in the final trace
of light from the sunset. His expression was unreadable.
    "Kirk to Farragut! The creature is on an intercept course!
Get out of there!"
    Garrovick broke in on the transmission. "Farragut! Break
orbit! Maximum warp! Now!"
    The Farragut% science officer responded, her voice break-
ing up in static.
    "... shields down... coming in through... antimatter
containment is..."
 A new star blossomed directly overhead.
 "Farragut?" Garrovick said. "Farragut, come in..."
 Nothing. Not even static.
    Kirk stared up at the flickering pinpoint of light. Two
hundred crew. A Constitution-class starship. Reduced to one
dying star among so many.
    Now obscured by a slender coil of white vapor. Spiraling
down from the heavens.
 Coming back to claim them all.
    Drake laughed beside Kirk. "Great instincts, Jimbo. See
you in hell."
     The descending cloud creature was almost on them. Kirk
had run out of options. There was only one thing left to do.
 "End program," he said.
    Then the creature and Drake and Tycho IV dissolved into a
holographic haze, back to the past where they belonged...
 ú.. and Kirk no longer did.

va

10

    "Was the suit too heavy, sir?" The young Starfleet techni-
cian waited respectfully for Kirk's answer as Kirk slipped off
the bulky encounter helmet he had worn during the simula-
tion.
    In the cavernous room in the subbasement of the Cochrane
Physics Hall of Starfleet Academy, massive banks of machin-
ery hummed. The unpainted, generic blocks and platforms
that had recreated the rocky terrain of Tycho IV dutifully
reset themselves into yellow-gridded walls.
    Kirk's eyes ached where the visual input encoders had
pressed against them. His back ached from the weight of the
servo drivers that controlled the feedback web enclosing his
body. The entire holoenvironment encounter rig was too
heavy.
    But Kirk wasn't going to be the one who complained about
it.
    He made a conscious effort to stand straighter, move his
arms more quickly. He flashed a smile at the technician. "Felt
fine," he said lightly. "Almost as if I were back in my old
uniform."
    The technician grinned, impressed. As if all he ever heard
were complaints. He started disconnecting the feedback web.
    "You know," the technician said as if Kirk were a familiar
friend of his, "someday it should be possible to do away with
the suit entirely. Use focused tractor beams. Microgravity
control. Maybe even build some props with transporter
matter replication."
    Kirk groaned inwardly as he kept a patient smile on his
face. In addition to its weight, the suit chafed in places he
didn't want to rub with an audience around.
    He let the technician babble on happily about the wondrous
abilities of his gizmos and gadgets and the future of holo-
graphic simulations.
    He hoped the technician would think the sweat streaming
off his subject's forehead was the result of the encounter suit's

I1

skintight fit, and not the exertion that had left Kirk close to
exhaustion. Or the pain in his shoulder not letting him forget
the way he had hit the simulated ground and rolled behind the
simulated boulder.
    He thought it was too bad Starfleet engineers couldn't
simulate the feeling of indestructibility he had had in his
youth, when he could hit the real ground on a roll five times a
day and never feel the consequences.
    "Think of it," the technician continued with innocent
enthusiasm. "Just walk into an empty room in your ordinary
uniform and zapf Instantly you're surrounded by a
holoenvironment so realistic you can't tell the difference
between it and reality."
    Kirk flexed his hands, remembering the weight of the
old-fashioned tricorder he had carried during the simulation.
The way the fabric around Drake's neck had compressed in
his fist. All of it an illusion.
 "Trust me. It's very realistic now," Kirk said. He meant it.
 "So you can be sure that's what would have happened."
 Kirk didn't understand. "What would have happened?"
    "If you had fired at the cloud creature right away, instead of
hesitating the way you really did."
    Now Kirk understood. But he didn't want to talk about it.
He hadn't thought about Faith Morgan in years. But he had
never forgotten her. He would never forget any of them.
    "You see, by not firing the phasers right away," the techni-
cian persisted, "the creature only attacked those crew mem-
bers on the ground. The Farragut and everyone on her were
safe. But if you had fired right away--based on the comput-
er's reconstruction of the cloud creature's abilities, it would
have returned to the Farragut, destroyed her, then finished off
everyone else on the ground as well. So you did the right thing
the first time round."
    And Garrovick had died because of it, Kirk thought grimly.
He changed the subject. "It should make for a wonderful
training device."

    The technician gave him a bewildered look. "Training? I
guess. But how about for entertainment? The gaming possibil-
ities alone are endless."
    Kirk kicked off the heavy feedback boots that had made
him feel as if he had crunched across volcanic soil. "You
programmed all this for 'entertainment' purposes?" he
asked.
    The technician retained his puzzled expression as
he retrieved Kirk's feedback boots, balancing the entire
suit in an awkward position across his arms. "Sir, we've
programmed almost all your early exploits into the
system."
 "My exploits?"
    The technician nodded ardently. "This encounter with the
cloud creature of Tycho IV, and your destruction of it eleven
years later on stardate 3619.2. And stardate 3045.6--remem-
ber? Your encounter with the Metrons and hand-to-hand
battle with the Gorn. And 3468.1--when you escaped from
the alien on Pollux IV who claimed to be the Greek god
Adonais. We've almost got them all, sir. More coming online
each day."
    Kirk felt rattled. He couldn't recall a single stardate from
his first five-year mission on the Enterprise if his pension
depended on it. "But why?"
    The technician stared blankly at Kirk, as if he couldn't
understand why the question had been asked. "Sir... you're
a hero."
 "Oh." That again, Kirk thought.
 "Don't you feel that way, sir?"
    Kirk hesitated. He didn't want to say the wrong thing. This
young man had gone to a prodigious amount of effort to
re-create an incident from Kirk's past in Starfleet's proto-
type holographic encounter suite. In incredible detail, as well.
Even Kirk had forgotten the laser sidearms that used to be
standard Starfleet issue.

12                                                                                13

     He had, he admitted to himself, forgotten a great deal from
 those days.
      He smiled at the technician, trying to soften the blow.
 "Those... 'exploits,'" he began.  "Yes, sir?"
    "They were just my job," Kirk said simply. "A job I did a
long time ago."
    The technician regarded Kirk blankly for a moment, as if
unsure how to respond.
    "It was more than a job, sir. To us." With a nod he
indicated his fellow technicians in the control room overlook-
ing the encounter suite. Men and women, they were all the
technician's age. Younger than Kirk could ever imagine
having been. And all of them were lined up against the
viewport, watching Kirk's every move. It was disconcerting to
be under that close scrutiny.
    Kirk could see the dawn of disillusionment in the young
technician's eyes. "We'll never forget, sir."
    With that, the young man turned and walked back to the
control room.
    Kirk held out his hand to stop him. He wanted to
say something, anything, to erase the youth's disappoint-
ment.
 But he didn't know how.
 It wasn't the first time, either.
    The problem was with expectations, Kirk knew. For all that
it mattered to others, his past held little appeal for him. He
had always looked toward the future, toward new challenges,
not past accomplishments.
 But his future was running out.
    He was a starship captain without a starship. Unable to
look back, unable to go forward. Trapped in the present. Pent
up. Frustrated. Ready to go nova.
    It was an intolerable state for James T. Kirk. And he knew
he had to do something about it soon. Otherwise, he would

have to give up. And giving up had never been an option for
him.
    He'd rather die first, and Kirk was not yet ready to face that
final moment.
 Though in time, he knew, even a starship captain must die.

TWO

No one knew who had built the Dark Range Platform.
    The seemingly haphazard supports of the immense space
station stretched out like demented spiders' webs. Coiled
around a confusion of life-support spheres and cylinders
installed by a dozen races over the platform's millennia of
service.
    Once, it might have been a transfer point for vast flotillas of
starships. Some, perhaps, belonging to the Preservers them-
selves. It was that old.
    But now it was a backwater refueling stop. A starting point
for dreamers seeking fortune among the stars. A lair for the
smugglers and cutthroats who would steal that fortune from
them.
    Alone, it drifted in the dark between the stars. At relative
rest in the hinterlands of the Federation's frontier and the
Klingon Empire's Old Regions. As telling testimony to the
station's true worth, neither the Federation nor the Empire
claimed it.
    No one knew who had built Dark Range. What's more, no
one cared.
 But for Pavel Chekov on stardate 9854.1, it was the most

14                                                                                           15

important thing in his life. Because the grime-covered walls of
its access corridors might well be the last thing he would ever
see.

    The cold tip of the disruptor's emitter node dug deeper into
Chekov's temple.
      The leather-gloved hand tightened against his windpipe. It
was impossible to breathe.  That was the point.
    Kort, the one-eyed Klingon, breath reeking of bad gagh,
leaned in closer, finger tightening on the trigger stud, counting
down.
  "... hut... chorgh... soch..."
    In seven seconds, Chekov would be a cloud of disrupted
subatomic particles. His only thought: What wouM the cap-
tain do?
  "... jay... vagh . . ."
    Chekov struggled uselessly against the Klingon's thickly
muscled arm. "I vanted to get on with my life!" he gasped.
    Kort stopped counting. Narrowed his one good eye at his
captive. Infinitesimally lessened the tightness of his grip.
    "That is why you punched an admiral?" Kort asked. His
disbelief was evident. "Destroyed your career?" The deep
ridges in the Klingon's heavy brow furrowed all the way down
to the duranium plate that covered his useless eye socket.
    "Vat career? Starfleet had nothing more to offer me."
Chekov looked sideways along the barrel of the disruptor.
Kort's breath made him want to gag. But he had the Klingon's
attention as surely as the Klingon had his.
    "Thirty-three years I had given them," Chekov continued.
"And for vat? I vas still a commander--a commander.t
Always having to do vat the brass told me to do." The words
came easily to Chekov now. He wasn't even aware of the
disruptor's tip easing away from his temple. "'Readings, Mr.
Chekov.' 'Run a sensor sveep, Mr. Chekov.' Alvays in some-

one else's shadow. Never a chance for me. To show vhat I
could do."
    Along the length of the disruptor's barrel, Chekov met
Kort's icy one-eyed gaze. Held it. The weapon's ready light
pulsed silently, fully charged.
"I vanted to let go of it. I didn't vant to be angry anymore."
At last, Kort pulled the weapon back. But still held its aim
on Chekov's head. Still kept his hand on Chekov's throat.
Water dripped somewhere. The slippery decks rumbled with
the comings and goings of cargo shuttles from the nearby
bays. Chekov counted heartbeats. Waiting.
    Kort shot a glance across the shadowed corridor. To where
the two Andorians held Uhura.
    One delicate blue hand was clamped over Uhura's mouth.
A ceremonial dagger precisely indented the skin under her
jaw. The blade's silver sheen was marred by a pinprick of red
blood. Human blood.
 Kort nodded once.
 Uhura tensed.
    With great reluctance, the bulky Andorian in the fur vest
took the dagger away. The slender Andorian in chain mail
removed his hand from Uhura's face.
 It was Uhura's turn to gasp for breath.
    But still she couldn't move. The Andorians kept her pinned
to the bulkhead.
 "Is it true?" Kort asked Uhura.
    Uhura's eyes darted to Chekov. Chekov saw the same
thought hidden there. Knew what she was thinking.
    "Don't look at him.t" Kort shouted. His deep voice echoed
along the twisting corridor of pipes and conduits. Was swal-
lowed by the distant thrum of jury-rigged air purifiers and
gravity generators.
    Kort jabbed his disruptor back into Chekov's temple.
"Is... it... true?" he repeated.
 "Yes," Uhura said evenly. "For both of us."

16                                                                                 17

  Chekov counted ten heartbeats. An eternity.
     Then Kort reholstered his weapon. Motioned to the
 Andorians to release Uhura.
    Their antennae dipped in disappointment, but they did as
they were told.
    Kort grabbed Chekov by the shoulders. "So, even fabled
Starfleet is no different than the Empire's navy. Step on a
worm often enough, and even the lowliest will evolve wings!"
      Chekov didn't bother trying to follow Kort's idiom. He
only braced himself as the Klingon crushed him in a bear hug.
 Ten more heartbeats passed. Chekov felt dizzy.
    Kort released him. Gave him a pat on the cheek that was
more all open-handed punch.
  "They'll call you a traitor," Kort [)oomed.
    Chekov rubbed the side of his face, trying to lessen the
stinging. Unused to the stubble of beard that grew there.
"They have called me vorse."
  Kort looked at Uhura. "And you, the same."
    Uhura flashed a savage smile. Chekov could see Kort's
nostrils flare with interest.
  'Tve called them worse," Uhura said.
    Kort reached inside his belt and pulled out two identity
wafers.
    "How unfortunate you didn't see the errors of Starfleet's
ways a decade ago," the Klingon growled. He returned the
wafers to Chekov and Uhura. "Then, by now, perhaps it
would be the Empire gathering to gnaw at the Federation's
bones."
    Chekov slipped his forged identity wafer into a hidden
pocket on his coat. For all the wafer had cost, it had been
useless. Kort had been able to determine his and Uhura's true
identities in less than ten hours--effortlessly discovering they
both had left Starfleet under less than ideal circumstances six
short months ago.
 "I do not look upon vat ve are doing as gnawing the

Empire's bones," Chekov said. He adjusted the somber
civilian clothes he wore. Uhura did the same.
    Kort clamped an arm around Uhura's shoulder, drawing
her near. "Of course, the law of the juggled." He managed to
look almost wistful as he spoke. Not an easy task for a
Klingon. "Eat or be dinner." He frowned at Chekov. "Yours is
such an awkward language."
 Chekov shrugged. "Vat happens now?"
    Kort gave his new human friends a final painful squeeze
and then released them roughly, causing both to stumble back
into the Andorians.
    "Now," Kort said, "we do what we came here to do.
Business]"
    He began to stride down the corridor, heading for Dark
Range's habitat levels, his Andorians at his side. Kort's heavy,
metal-shod boots clattered with each step. Chekov and Uhura
took rapid double steps to keep up.
    "Weapons-grade antimatter," Kort began, counting off his
merchandise on his thick, hairy fingers. "Photon torpedoes--
still in their crates. Disruptor cells. Warp cores." He suddenly
stopped and spun around to leer at Uhura. "Dilithium
crystals!"
 "Vorthless," Chekov said.
 Kort looked astounded.
 "Ve can recrystallize them now."
    Kort shook his shaggy mane in wonder. "Oh, brave new
planet... how many times were our forces held back from
dealing you a decisive blow because we had no dilithium?"
    "Who cares?" Uhura interjected. "So far, all you've told us
about is low-level mat6riel we could get from any two-credit
smuggler. You told us you had access to generals."
    Kort grinned at Uhura. Chekov winced as he saw the
twitching tail tip of a single gagh worm still caught between
two of Kort's stained and yellow teeth.
 "In your language, the Empire is having a going-out-of-

18                                                                 19

business sale." Kort looked at Chekov. The grin vanished.
"You also say: You get what you pay for."
    "The people we represent are veil funded. If they vant
veapons-grade antimatter, they can get it from their own
contacts, direct from Starfleet."
  Kort waited. Uhura didn't disappoint him.
  "What we want is hardware," she said.
    Kort gestured broadly, making a joke of Uhura's request.
"But of course. A Bird-of-Prey? Maybe two?"
    "No secondhand Romulan junk," Chekov snapped. "A
cruiser."
  "K'tinga-class," Uhura added. "Maybe two."
  Kort's remaining eye widened.
    "Of course," Chekov said coolly, "if that is beyond
you. "
    Kort grabbed Chekov's arm as if to keep him from walking
away. "I had no idea," he said quickly. "When I found out
your documents were forged... that you were Starfleet..."
 "Ex-Starfleet," Uhura corrected.
 "I thought this was, in your language, a stung."
 "Sting," Chekov said.
 "A cruiser?" Kort asked.
    "Ve know there are generals who are... making them
awailable."
    Kort glowered. As if even a Klingon criminal had stan-
dards. As if somewhere beneath his avarice, his willingness to
deal in the debris of his collapsing Empire, there still beat the
heart of a patriot. Someone who still believed in his flag and
his ruler.
    Chekov wondered how much this transaction was really
costing the Klingon. What price could there be on lost
dreams?
 But this was not the time for sentimentú
    'With dilithium reserves so low," Chekov continued, "how
much good does a powerless cruiser do the Empire, anyvay?"
 Kort nodded. A serious expression clouded his dark face.

"Bones to be gnawed," he said. "With the Federation the
vulture for once." He glanced at the Andorians. Chekov could
sense that he had reached a decision.
    "Cargo Bay Twelve," Kort briskly told Chekov. He held up
two fingers. "Cha' rep."
 "Two hours," Chekov agreed.
    Kort nodded once to Uhura, then turned and clanked off
down the corridor. His two Andorians hurried after him.
    Uhura rubbed at the tiny scratch under her jaw. "Still think
this is a good idea?" she asked.
    "I enjoyed punching that admiral," Chekov answered with
a shrug. "Besides, ve might end up vith a Klingon battle
cruiser of our wery own."
    Uhura put a hand on her hip and frowned at her co-
conspirator. "And just what do you think you're going to do
with a Klingon battle cruiser?"
 Chekov smiled winningly. "A man can dream, can't he?"
    Uhura shook her head and patted Chekov's cheek. "You
keep dreaming, Pavel. That's what you're good at."
 She glanced up and down the corridor. They were alone.
    "Come on," she said. "We've got two hours to get our
credits together."
 But Chekov didn't move.
 "What?" Uhura asked him.
     "When Kort was getting ready to kill us... I saw vat you
vere thinking. In your eyes." Uhura waited.
 "You vere thinking: Vat vould the keptin do now?"
 She nodded, smiling. "The bluff worked, didn't it?"
 "Da. But I vonder vat the keptin is doing now?"
     Uhura pulled her cloak tighter around her. "If he's smart,
he's trying to find an admiral of his own to punch."
 Chekov was surprised. "And leave Starfleet?"
    "And get on with his life," Uhura said. "Which is what we
should do."
 She started up the corridor then, not waiting for Chekov.

20                                                                              21

    Chekov hung back for a moment, trying to think of Captain
Kirk no longer being part of Starfleet.
 It was easier to think of the Earth without the sun.
    But still, after all that Kirk had accomplished in his career,
what more could he want from Starfleet? What more could he
expect?
    A man could dream. But what dreams were left to a man
who had already captured so many of them?
 Chekov hurried along the corridor after Uhura.
 He hoped never to live so long that he ran out of dreams.
 He wished the same fate for his captain.

THREE

Despite the best efforts of human mind and machine, it still
rained without warning in San Francisco. Kirk liked that.
    Throughout the worlds of the Federation, Earth was hailed
as some ethereal fairyland. Home of perfection. Free of want.
Of need. Of disease. Of crime.
By the standards of the twentieth century, perhaps it was.
But every time some aspect of that perfect order broke
down--even something as inconsequential as a late-summer
thunderstorm arriving unannounced to thwart the Bureau of
Weather Management--a part of Kirk rejoiced. Who wanted to live in a perfect world?
 He had seen too many of them in his voyages.
 Perfection meant there were no more challenges.

22

It was as good a definition of death as Kirk could imagine.
He idly rocked the glass in his hand. Making the scotch
swirl. The ice cubes clink. Blending with the soft patter of the
raindrops on the window.
    Spock could probably make a poem out of it, Kirk thought.
The soft sounds of a sleeping city--San Francisco spread out
below him, distant lights shimmering in the rain, fading away
to nothing in the 3 A.M. mist. Now and then the slowly moving
running lights of a flying car, or a shuttle, floated past like a
firefly on an Iowa night.
 But poems weren't Kirk's way.
    He gulped a mouthful of scotch. Felt it burn his throat--ice
cold and fire hot at the same time. That was his poetry.
Sensation. Being alive. Imperfection in all its glory.
 The gray clouds above flashed with inner lightning.
    Kirk closed his eyes, waiting for the thunder to reach him.
Dreading it.
 Because it wasn't lightning. It wasn't thunder.
 She was calling to him.
 From up there.
    Bound in spacedock. Awaiting the order that would turn
her into scrap.
    The thunder came. Rumbled past him. Made the window
rattle.
 Kirk saw the face of a horse he had cherished, lifetimes ago.
    The look in the creature's eyes as it lay beyond the help of
twenty-third-century veterinary science.
 As Kirk's uncle had raised the short barrel of the laser rifle.
 He couldn't remember how old he had been. Eight? Ten?
    All he remembered was the horne's eye. Seeing in it the
knowledge of the oblivion to come.
    The horse had kicked feebly. Tried valiantly, heartbreak-
ingly, one more time to stand. Knowing somehow that if it
could just stand up one last time, then the man with the rifle
would leave and everything would be as it was.

23

     Tears streaming down his face, young Kirk, little Jimmy,
 had pulled on the horse's bridle, trying desperately to make it
 stand up. One last time.
    But the horse couldn't stand. Jimmy's aunt pulled him
gently away. He heard the soft pop of the laser. The last soft
whisper of the horse as...
  More lightning. More thunder.
      The Enterprise called out to him. Beyond the clouds.
Among the stars.
 One last time.
 Stand up.
  The man with the rifle.
  The knowledge of obliviom
  Alone...
  "Come back to bed, Jim."
    Kirk's eyes flew open. A flood of adrenaline shot through
him. He hadn't heard Carol come up behind him. He had
forgotten she was here.
  He made himself smile before he turned around to face her.
  It was her apartment, after all. Where he always returned.
  His safe harbor. His spacedock.
    Carol Marcus slipped a hand around Kirk's waist, snuggled
under his arm, watched the city with him.
    Kirk could see their reflections in the window. The smile
became real. Starfleet's heroic starship captain and the Fed-
eration's best molecular biologist, nothing more than two
middle-aged civilians in terry-cloth bathrobes. He wondered
what the young virtual-reality technician from this afternoon
would think.
    Then, in a sudden flash of lightning, he saw himself and
Carol as they had been when they were the technician's age.
So full of dreams, of promise. As Spock would say, so full of
possibilities.
    But as quickly as the lightning faded, their youth fled once
again.

24

    Kirk sighed. His shoulder hurt from the holographic simu-
lation this morning. He felt tired. He felt... old.
Carol hugged Kirk to her. "Thinking about the farm?"
Kirk shook his head. He had forgotten all about it, actually.
The advocates handling his parents' estate were after him to
decide what to do with the Kirk farm. His nephews had no
plans to return to Earth. Kirk was the only family member left
who might have an interest in maintaining it. But the de-
mands of the paperwork associated with the decision had
been incessant. Upsetting. Pushing any desire to deal with it
out of his mind.
    "They don't need a decision till the end of the month,"
Kirk said.
    They stood together in silence for a minute more. Far away,
the air-traffic warning lights on the Golden Gate Bridge
pulsed weakly through the mist.
 Carol nuzzled his shoulder. His bad one. Kirk winced.
 "It's all right," Carol said. "Really."
    Of all the troubles he faced in his cluttered, planetbound
life, Kirk knew what she meant. He didn't want to discuss it.
He drew away from her. Swallowed the rest of his scotch.
 Carol misunderstood his action. His silence.
 "It happens, Jim. lb every man. Sooner or later."
     Kirk could feel his cheeks burn. He knew his anger wasn't
right, but it didn't change the way he felt. He wasn't every man. He couldn't be.
    "Jim, I don't know what we are to each other after all these
years. More than friends. Certainly--" Carol reached out to
turn his face to hers. "--certainly lovers. But I do know we've
been through too much together for you to stand
there ... sulking."
 "I am not sulking."
 Carol's hand fell away from his face.
    "Getting up in the middle of the night to drink scotch and
stare out at the rain isn't my idea of having a good time."

25

    "I like scotch. And rain. Especially when it isn't pro-
grammed."
    Carol shook her head. Moved closer. "Come back to bed,"
she whispered.
    She moved her hand inside his robe, pushed against the tie
that held it in place, let it fall open.
    "We'll try again." She kissed his neck. "As many times as it
takes."
  She took him in her hand.
  But all was as it was before.
  The fire had fled as surely as their youth.
  Only ashes remained.
    "Carol, don't." Kirk pulled away, tied up his robe. He
turned away from her tears, unable to deal with them.
    "Why do you keep doing this to me? To us?" she asked,
voice breaking. "Why do you keep coming back?"
    Kirk stared out at the storm. He had already asked those
questions of himself. He had no answer.
 "What do you want?" Carol asked--demanded.
 But Kirk was too cold, too tired, too old to answer.
 Lightning flashed. The thunder would come.
 She cried out to him.
 One last time...
 "What do you want, Jim?"
 The thunder arrived, enveloped him. He tensed. Waiting.
 But it carried him nowhere.
    "I don't know," Kirk said. A voice of defeat. He faltered as
he heard it come from him, but could do nothing to temper it.
"Not anymore."
 Carol went back to her bedroom. Closed the door.
    Kirk poured another scotch. Turned a chair so it faced
toward the window.
 The rain lasted all night.
 Tears he couldn't shed.

FOUR

Chekov shivered. The cavernous Dark Range cargo bay was
that cold.
    There was no forcefield to hold in atmospheric pressure and
heat. Only large metal doors--uninsulated, obviously--a
hundred meters across. All the air would have to be pumped
out of the hold before those doors could be opened.
    There were no tractor beam nodes in the splotched and
flaking walls, either. Four shuttles were docked here--each
older and bearing more hull patches than the next. Each
would have to maneuver by station-keeping rockets or im-
pulse power to leave under manual control. One misstep, and
a bulkhead could be punctured, a door thrown out of align-
ment.
    Chekov studied the welded panels and mismatched, frost-
covered sheets of hull metal lining the hold. It appeared such
missteps were not infrequent.
    Disturbingly primitive, he decided. But then he remem-
bered how old the Dark Range was. It was surprising that
anything aboard it still worked at all.
    Beside him, by a stack of modular cargo crates marked with
Romulan warning symbols, Uhura pulled her collar up
around her neck. For a moment, her teeth chattered. Her
breath hung before her. One of the few working overhead
lights caught it perfectly, a pale vapor ghost glowing against
the hold's deep shadows.
 But their "banker" showed no sign of the cold. The

26                                                                             27

compact, young human woman stood three meters away with
her flight jacket open. As if ten degrees below freezing were
her body's natural setpoint.
    She noticed Chekov looking at her, returned his gaze.
Attractive, Chekov thought. Finely drawn features. Dark
complexion. A strong intelligence in her eyes. But a mouth
that was not used to smiling.
    As for her hair, that was hidden. She wore a tight flight hood
favored by pilots who spent too much time in microgravity
but didn't wish to shave their scalps.
    By now the banker's expression had become one of chal-
lenge. Chekov had looked at her too long.
  "Is there something you want?" she asked.
    Her code name was Jade--the only designation Chekov
and Uhura had been given. But Uhura had dubbed the
woman "the banker" early on. An old Earth term, Uhura
claimed. From the days when Earth had relied on money for
financial transactions.
    Chekov thought the term fitting. This far out on the
frontier, where the Federation's massively complex economy
had yet to be established, archaic institutions like banks had
reason for existing.
    In Jade's datacase were computer wafers holding enough
exchange credits to buy a small planet. To say nothing of a
Klingon battle fleet or two.
    Chekov and Uhura had come through with their part of the
bargain. Now it remained to be seen if their Klingon smuggler
would come through with his. And Kort was late.
    Chekov looked at the time readout on his chronograph--a
small pocket model with a few built-in sensor functions--the
closest the civilian market could get to a decent tricorder out
here. "Perhaps he is not going to show."
    Jade's dark eyes burned into him. "He'll show," she said.
"Even if he doesn't have access to battle cruisers, he won't be

able to resist making a grab for this." She held up her
datacase.
    "I hadn't thought of that," Chekov muttered softly to
Uhura.
"Maybe you're not cut out to be a criminal," Uhura said.
"Did you think of it?" Chekov asked indignantly. He felt
very much the criminal type, given all he had been through in
the past six months since leaving Starfleet.
    Uhura answered by pulling her cloak open long enough for
Chekov to see the full-slzed phaser II pistol attached to her
belt.
    Chekov was surprised. "That's illegal," he hissed. Not to
mention unsafe.
    But Uhura rolled her eyes. "So's buying Klingon military
hardware."
    Chekov had left his own phaser--a palm-sized type I--in
his quarters. With Kort's insistence on searching them at
every meeting, it was the simplest thing to do. But he was
regretting the decision.
    Jade raised her hand and motioned to Chekov and Uhura
to be silent.
    Uhura heard it first. A communications expert's trained
ears. As exceptional as any Vulcan's.
 "Footsteps," she whispered to Chekov.
    Chekov didn't hear them. He hadn't even heard a personnel
door open into the hold. So how could there be anyone else
here?
 Unless someone had set up an ambush.
    "Reach for the Hovrney," Kort thundered from behind
him. "And turn around. Slowly."
 Chekov sighed. He was getting tired of this. Six months.
    He turned with his hands held high. Uhura did the same
beside him.
    Kort and his two Andorians stood five meters away, all with
disruptors drawn. Kort's metal-shod boots were wrapped in

28                                                        29

packing foam and made no sound against the deck. A
banged-up Tellarite ore shuttle was directly behind them. The
blackened phaser streaks on her side suggested she had hauled
more than just ore in her day.
    "I thought ve vere going to do business," Chekov said. He
didn't have to feign annoyance.
  "Shut up or put down," Kort barked.
    "Put up or shut up," Uhura corrected. "Maybe you should
think about buying a Universal Trans--"
    Kort's disruptor beam bubbled the deck plate metal just in
front of Uhura's boots.
    Then he aimed directly at Uhura. "Prove to me you can
afford to buy what I have to sell."
      "Wery vell," Chekov said. He began to speak over his
shoulder. "This is... our banker..."
 But there was no one behind him.
 Jade was gone.
 "I have no time for Terran games," Kort snarled.
 "She vas just here," Chekov stammered.
 "Who?"
    A phaser whined. The large Andorian to Kort's side sud-
denly arched back. Burst into a blaze of blue energy.
    Chekov was appalled. The disintegration could only mean
that Jade was still here, and she had set her phaser to kill.
    Kort and the thin Andorian fan-fired their disruptors to
either side. Chekov hit the deck, rolling behind a Romulan
crate.
    Uhura's voice rang out in the cargo bay. "Don't even think
about it, mister!"
 Chekov peered around the crate.
 Uhura held her phaser on Kort and the Andorian.
So Kort and the Andorian held their disruptors on Uhura.
"Two to one," Kort said. "Even a Federation Qtalh like you
can figure those odds." But he kept glancing about. Still not
sure of the source of the first phaser blast.

    "Then I'll take one of you with me," Uhura said. "And I'm
not aiming at the Andorian."
Chekov saw the Andorian's antennae prick up with interest.
Kort took a step sideways and behind the Andorian.
The Andorian moved sideways, exposing Kort again.
Chekov calculated the trajectory he needed. He lobbed his
chronograph to the top of the Tettarite shuttle. It disappeared
nicely in the dark shadows, out of sight, then clattered on the
shuttle's hull.
    Kort and the Andorian spun, disruptors firing against the
shuttle's hull.
    The Andorian fell to the deck as Uhura's phaser stunned
him.
 "The odds just evened," Uhura said.
 "You led me into a trap," Kort hissed.
 Uhura's aim was unwavering. "You drew first."
    Chekov edged out from behind the crates, trying not to
make a sound. Whatever Jade was up to, he couldn't wait for
her. If Uhura could just keep Kort talking...
    "And why shouldn't I?" Kort exclaimed. "Starfleet Intelli-
gence agents everywhere. The Ernpire's own internal peace
forces turning on their own. It is not an easy time to be in
business for yourself."
    Chekov moved carefully, quietly. He could hear the grow-
ing sense of unease in the Klingon's voice. Uhura wasn't his
only adversary. He had to know there were at least two others
in the hold with him--Chekov, and whoever had fired the
fatal phaser blast.
    Chekov peered past the glaring lights at the docked shuttles.
Deep shadows stretched between haphazard stacks of crates.
Still no sign of Jade. Chekov didn't understand her tactics.
But he didn't waste time trying.
    Right now he had to disarm Kort before he could fire at
Uhura. Or before Jade could kill the Klingon.
 Unless one of the wild bursts Kort and the Andorian had

30                                                                           31

fired had managed to kill Jade instead. That could explain
why she hadn't fired again. It was easier than believing she
wanted Chekov and Uhura out of the way.
    Chekov eased between two large crates labeled FREEZE-DInED
STOMACHS in Klingon script. He didn't even want to think
what they might be for.
    All he could think of was Jade's datacase. Filled with credit
wafers. Enough to buy a small planet.
  A man could dream, Chekov decided.
  He squinted around the edge of a crate.
    Kort was one stack of crates over, backing up to the
Tellarite shuttle.
  He was near the pilot's hatch.
    Chekov understood what Kort was planning. Saw his
chance.
    "I suggest we withdraw," Kort shouted to Uhura. "Begin
negotiations again. By subspace."
 "Negotiations end here and now," Uhura answered.
      Kort's free hand came up behind him, feeling for the
shuttle's hull. Found it. Moved to the hatch controls.
 Chekov tensed. Muscles coiled.
 Kort pressed the activate control.
 The hatch puffed open.
    The Klingon couldn't help himself---at the sound of the
panel opening he had to check with just the barest movement
of his eye. The slightest diversion of his attention.
     Chekov sprang forth screaming--to startle Kort and to
warn Uhura not to fire. Somehow it worked.
    Kort swung his disruptor toward Chekov. But Chekov
plowed into his gut, bashing him backward.
    Chekov felt something crunch in his own neck as Kort's
massive body collapsed by the shuttle. He heard the Klingon's
heavy head slam against the hull with a clang, the disruptor
hitting the deck and clattering away, Uhura running forward.

 He heard the snick of a coiled knife springing to life.
 Knew what it meant.
 No Klingon ever carried just one weapon.
    Chekov also knew Uhura would never close the gap in time.
He braced himself for the bite of the knife as it pierced his
back. Thrusting for his heart, as he knew it must. He wondered what his captain would do.
    He was disappointed as he realized that this would be his
dying thought.
 But he didn't die.
 Kort grunted.
    Chekov opened his eyes. Looked up past Kort's bulk to see
Jade--crouched beside Kort, a phaser jammed against the
Klingon's thick neck, taking the uncoiled spring knife out of
his glove.
    Chekov got to his feet. Grimaced as a sharp pain from his
wrenched neck flashed down through his arm. But he was
alive, and Uhura was beside him.
    'What vere you thinking of?." Chekov yelled at Jade.
'Waiting so long?"
    But the young woman just stared coolly at him, then swung
her datacase onto Kort's chest. She popped it open, letting
Kort see the credit wafers it held.
 Kort strained to look into the case, almost comical.
    "You know I could kill you," Jade said. Her words formed
puffs of vapor. They swirled around the Klingon's shadowed
face.
    Kort coughed, then nodded once, as best he could under the
pressure of Jade's phaser.
    "But instead, I'm showing you more credits than you could
earn in a dozen lifetimes."
    Kort nodded again. His one eye strained to look up at his
captor. His brow glittered with sweat even in the space cold
air.
 "What does that tell you?" Jade asked.

32                                                                           33

  "B-business," Kort croaked. "You want to do business."
    "Very good. And some people say Klingons don't have the
brainstem of a mugato."
Kort's eye bulged at the insult, but he did nothing more.
Jade had accomplished what she had set out to do. Proven
she was in control. She pulled the datacase back, flicked it
shut, rocked back on her feet, stood up.
She motioned her phaser at Kort to stand as well.
Chekov didn't like it, but Uhura's eyes told him not to
interfere. They were merely intermediaries here. Now that
contact had been made, it was Jade's operation.
    "No more small talk," Jade said to Kort. "K'tinga-class
battle cruisers. How many can you get me?"
    Kort rose painfully to his feet. He staggered toward the
Tellarite shuttle. The stale smell of dried Tellarite ceremonial
mud wafted from the shuttle's open hatch.
    Kort eyed the datacase on the deck. More credits than he
could earn in a dozen lifetimes.
    He eyed the phaser in Jade's steady hand. Groaned in
defeat.
 "That... I cannot provide."
 Chekov and Uhura exchanged a look of shock.
 "Cannot... or will not?" Jade asked.
     Kort seemed to shrink in stature. He could not meet Jade's
eyes. He swallowed hard. "Cannot."
    Jade stared at the Klingon with unblinking intensity. Her
face revealed none of the thoughts that Chekov knew must be
spinning through her mind at warp speed.
    The time that had been wasted locating Kort. The credits
expended. The risks taken. And for what?
    Without taking her eyes off the Klingon, Jade spoke to
Chekov and Uhura. "Leave." She adjusted the setting on her
phaser. "I don't want any witnesses."
 Chekov froze. True, he wasn't used to thinking like a

34

criminal. But killing an unarmed prisoner? Such an act went
beyond any bounds he was prepared to accept, even in this
new life.
But before Chekov could object, Kort did. Shockingly.
"Please," the Klingon begged. He was so abject, so lacking
in Klingon spirit, that Chekov had to wonder what atrocities
Kort had encountered to lose his warrior's resolve and
training so absolutely.
 Klingons never begged.
 At least, a decade ago they didn't.
    Neither did they sell off parts of their Empire for quick
profit.
 Times were changing and Klingons with them.
    "There are other goods I can provide," Kort pleaded, hands
held together in supplication. "Weapons-grade antimatter.
Photon--"
    "Battle cruisers," Jade said implacably, repeating her de-
mand.
    "Surely... surely there is something more, out of all the
mighty works of the Empire... ?"
 Chekov couldn't believe it. The Klingon was groveling.
    But Jade was like a statue. Her phaser arm unwavering. Her
expression unchanging.
    "What else could something as miserable as you know
about the Empire's mighty works?" she said.
    The deck creaked, responding to some slow temperature
change. A flurry of ice particles slipped off one bulkhead and
rattled across the side of a shuttle in a far corner of the bay.
    To Chekov, Kort wore the expression of someone who had
sunk to the deepest level of Klingon hell.
    "I was a... datakeeper." Kort's rough voice was barely
audible. "For the Imperial Forecasters."
    Chekov saw Jade's cheek flutter as she tightened her jaw.
Just once. A strong reaction for her.
 "What level?" she asked.

35

     Chekov didn't understand the question. He had never
 heard of the Imperial Forecasters before. They sounded like
 Klingon meteorologists.
  "Crimson," Kort said wearily.
     For the briefest instant, the corner of Jade's mouth flickered
 up.
     "What is the path of the fourth-rank watch dragon?" she
 asked.
     Kort reacted to the question in astonishment. "You know
 the code?" he blurtedJn shock.
  "Answer me. If' you wish to live."
     "By Praxis' light, in seasons still to come." Kort intoned
 the phrases as if reciting poetry.
    "I believe you, datakeeper. Now tell me, and I will ask only
once, what was the secret in your Crimson Level that will
make me spare your life?"
  Kort tried to square his shoulders, but failed.
      "Chalchaj..." he whispered, two soft guttural exclama-
tions. To Chekov it sounded like a death rattle.  "Louder," Jade ordered.
  "Chalchaj, " Kort repeated. "Chalchaj ' qmey. "
    Chekov glanced at Uhura. Since the voyage to Camp
Khitomer, she had labored hard to improve her spoken
Klingon. But she looked puzzled. "Something about the sky
and children," she said under her breath, answering Chekov's
unspoken question. "But an odd construction."
    Chekov glanced back at Jade. It was his turn to be aston-
ished.
 She was smiling.
    It was as unnatural a sight as if he had seen Spock do the
same.
 "You know of the Chal?" Jade asked.
 Kort nodded without taking his gaze off the deck.
    Chekov instinctively knew that whatever the Klingon had
revealed to Jade, it had cost him the last scrap of his honor.

36

    But it must have done its job, because once again Jade
adjusted the setting on her phaser.
    Chekov wondered what secret the Klingon had just surren-
dered. He wondered how far he himself would have fallen,
what secrets he might have been tempted to reveal, if he had
been in Kort's place.
    Chekov knew Kirk would have found a way to cheat death.
Somehow. But was there a price that couldn't be paid,
shouldn't be paid, even to escape annihilation?
    Then, with a sudden rush of fear that matched exactly the
startled grip Uhura took of his arm, Chekov realized he would
never know the answer to that question.
 Jade was aiming her phaser directly at him.
    "No witnesses," she said, the horrible smile still on her
face.
 The blue beam was blinding.
    Chekov's last thought was to wonder what his captain
would have done.
    A grime-covered wall of Dark Range Platform was the last
thing he saw.

FIVE

The first time Kirk had entered the Great Hall in Starfleet
Headquarters, he had been a lowly lieutenant. Still two years
from his captaincy.
    He had been able to admire its grandeur then, uninter-
rupted. The soaring cathedral of its ceiling, hundreds of

                37

 meters high, its immense dining floor, its raised orchestra
 balcony framed 'r~y the Seal of the Federationma mosaic of
 stones indigenous to the founding worlds of that great under-
 taking.
     But most of all, Kirk had been able to gaze undisturbed at
 the Mural. There was a long-winded, bureaucratically in-
 spired plaque on the wall that gave its real title. But no one
 ever called it by that name. Let alone remembered it. Because
 no other name was needed.
     The Mural swept wondrously around the Great Hall's
 curved walls, tracing the evolution of humanity's journey to
 the stars. From Icarus and the Montgolfier brothers, through
 Apollo, Pathfinder, Cochrane's Bonaventure, to the first joint
 missions with Vulcan vessels.
    The Mural ended yet didn't end with the U.S.S. Constitu-
tion, the ship that had set the design standard for Kirk's own
Enterprise. There was still room for many more vessels past
that one, but the Mural itself was deliberately unfinished.
Its last fifty meters faded to the white of the artist's blank
canvas.
  The message was clear.
    Humanity's journey, like the artist's painting, would never
be finished.
    Kirk couldn't remember what had become of the artist,
though.
    But he had no time or opportunity to reflect on the
significance of that thought now. Two thousand dignitaries
filled the Great Hall this evening, and all of them knew him.
 Or thought they did.
 He had never gotten used to it.
    It had begun slowly enough, this rise to celebrity. At its
earliest stage, he would walk into a bar on a starbase, and a
suddenly waving hand would rise from a table filled with gold
shirts, beckoning him over.
 It was fellow officers who recognized him then. They had

38

seen his face on his edited logs, circulated throughout the
Fleet for general reference and review.
    Thatg Kirk of the Enterprise, they'd say. They'd buy him a
drink. What was Elaan of Troyius really like? What sort of
maneuvers did that Romulan vessel make out by the Neutral
Zone? The questions were unending, and at its earliest stage,
he was flattered.
    But then his recognition had moved beyond the Fleet.
Civilians began approaching him, asking the same questions,
seeking more details. Always details. After the incident with
V'Ger, the floodgates had opened. All Earth claimed to know
him. Most of the other worlds, too.
    Now Kirk couldn't go anywhere without detecting the
unsettling flash of recognition in strangers' eyes. All the more
intense because, unlike the sudden recognition awarded a new
sports star or politician, people had come to recognize him
over decades of his career.
    He was filed away in their brains with other long-term
acquaintances, the same memory slots given over to family
members and lifelong friends. So that's how they approached
him now. People like the young technician who had grown up
seeing his face in the news updates, reading of his adventures
--his job. They felt they knew all about him. He was their
friend. Their uncle. Their inspiration.
     Kirk would be the first to admit he was in their debt. By
 their support of Starfleet and the Federation, they made what
 he had done possible. And for that he would always be
 grateful.
     But the truth was, to Kirk, they were still no more than
 strangers.
     After the millionth question had been asked about Elaan,
 after the millionth question about some Romulan command-
 er, his reticence at appearing in public had little to do with the
 fact he could think of nothing new to say. It was more the
 feeling that there was nothing lonelier than a man with a

39

 million friends. For how could he ever return that true, yet
 false, debt of friendship?
     It was a no-win situation, and Kirk had learned painfully
 that the best way to deal with those was to avoid them at all
 costs. Even if it meant that some of those strangers who once
 thought of him as friend now thought of him as enemy.
      He had first paid that price long ago, and knew he would
 continue to pay it as long as people knew him.  Or thought they did.
     At least at a formal Starfleet reception, his stature was not
 unique or remarkable. Indeed, there were many whom Kirk
 himself recognized from having seen their news updates and
 read about their exploits. The mutual recognition they shared
 with Kirk was a secret signal of shared commiseration. They
 were members of the same exalted and beleaguered club,
 unable to voice their complaints about public adulation
 without appearing spoiled and unworthy.
     Kirk wondered if the others in the club knew the answer to
 the question that plagued him now. He wondered if there
 were any among them he could ever ask.  But, of course, there were.
     They approached him now. One who looked even more
 uncomfortable in his formal uniform than Kirk felt. And the
 other who wouldn't look uncomfortable in an Iron Maiden
with rats chewing at his toes.  Spock and McCoy.
      For an instant, Kirk felt a wave of relief wash over him.
Here was friendship he both understood and could return.
 "Good evening, Captain."
 Kirk grinned at Spock's greeting. So formal. So typical.
 "Hiya, Jim. Quite a spread, isn't it?"
    McCoy's smile was wider than Kirk's. And for good reason
from McCoy's standpoint, Kirk knew.
    The reception was a wonder to behold. The national
costumes of Starfleet's guests, along with the rainbow hues of
their skin--and fur, and scales, and feathers, and what-have-

40

you--were an explosion of color. Matched only by the
kaleidoscopic extravagance of the banquet tables laden with
the bounty of uncounted worlds.
    The only thing McCoy liked better than a good time was
seeing others having a good time, too.
    "Very impressive," Kirk answered. "Wouldn't you say, Mr.
Spock?"
    "Indeed," Spock admitted, with typical Vulcan detach-
ment.
    McCoy shook his head. "The biggest party to hit Starfleet in
ten years. The top ambassadors from the Federation and the
unaligned worlds. The Lunar Philharmonic up on the band-
stand. And all you can say is, 'Indeed'?"
 "What would you have me say, Doctor?"
    McCoy gave full vent to his exasperation. "That you're
having a good time."
  "That would be--"
  McCoy chimed in. "Don't say it. Illogical. I know."
  "Perhaps there is hope for you yet," Spock observed.
  McCoy rolled his eyes. "Don't count on it."
  Kirk caught Spock studying him. "Are you well, Captain?"
  "Isn't that my line?" McCoy said.
     Kirk held up his hand to quiet the doctor. Trust Spock to
 see right through him.
  "I didn't get much sleep last night."
  Spock nodded. "Yes. The rain was unprogrammed."
     "It wasn't the rain," Kirk said. He felt his mood sour as
 even the thought of last night reawakened the feelings he had
 wrestled with.
  McCoy seemed to understand what might have happened.
  "Wasn't Carol going to come tonight?"
  Kirk shrugged. Not much to say about that.
     McCoy did understand. "Why don't I get us some drinks,"
 he said.
  "As long as you're prescribing."
  McCoy started off through the crowd.

41

      Kirk took a breath. Preparing himself for what he wanted to
 say to Spock. To try out the waters.  But Spock beat him to it.
     "Captain, I will be leaving Starfleet at the end of the
 quarter."
     Kirk opened his mouth. Said nothing. That was going to be
 his line.
  "I will be joining the Vulcan Diplomatic Corps."
     "Ah," Kirk said, still containing his surprise. "The family
 business."
     Spock nodded thoughtfully. "I will be working with my
 father on a number of initiatives. Though the Romulan
 question is what I shall direct most of my efforts toward. It
 was a topic of considerable interest at the Khitomer
 conference."
  "The Romulan question?"
    "Unification," Spock said. "Vulcans and Romulans have
been apart too long."
    Kirk stifled a laugh of amazement. "Spock, that could
take... decades. If not a century."
    "I hope so, Captain. It would be interesting to see the
process concluded in my lifetime."
    Those simple words were like a slap to Kirk. Spock's Vulcan
heritage meant he was barely at the midpoint in his life.
Another century of full productive life was not out of the
question.
    Spock regarded Kirk with penetrating eyes. No secrets lost
between the two friends.
 "You had something to tell me?" Spock asked.
    "i'm... thinking of leaving Starfleet, too." Kirk regretted
the words as soon as he spoke them. They sounded foreign.
    "I was wondering how long it would take you to reach that
decision."
 "Then you think it's a good idea?"
 "It is not up to me to pass judgment on your plans."

 "So... you're saying you think 1 should stay?"
    Spock hesitated before replying. Choosing his words care-
fully, Kirk knew.
    "Captain, wherever your future happiness lies, it will not be
found in the pronouncements of others. Only you can make
that kind of decision."
 Kirk frowned. "You're not making this any easier."
 "Such decisions seldom are."
    McCoy barreled back through the crowd. "What deci-
sions?" He held two tumblers of thick blue liquid. Shoved one
into Kirk's hand.
 McCoy waited expectantly.
 Kirk stared dubiously at his drink.
    "Bones, 1 swore offRomulan ale a year ago. You were there,
remember?"
 McCoy narrowed one eye. "What decisions?"
    Spock looked innocently neutral. An expression he excelled
at.
    Kirk swallowed a shot of the ale. Surprised he had forgotten
how intensely it burned the gullet.
    "I've been think--" he began, then coughed. "I've been
thinking--"
    "CITIZENS OF THE FEDERATION AND ALL EX-
ALTED GUESTS!"
    The amplified voice boomed throughout the Great Hall,
instantly stopping each conversation.
    Kirk, Spock, and McCoy turned to the stage as did all the
others. A ten-meter-taU hologram of the Federation Council
president was projected above it. The president's holographic
arms stretched out to encompass everyone.
    The real president standing beneath the projection was a
small figure, almost obscured by the assembled heads and
other topmost limbs and protuberances of the guests standing
in front of Kirk. He was recognizable only by his long mane
and mustache of white hair.

42                                                                                  43

    Kirk was surprised to see a few Klingons in dress armor
near the stage as well. There appeared to be no end to the
Federation's attempts to reach out to the Empire.
    "ON BEHALF OF THE FEDERATION COUNCIL, I BID
YOU WELCOME."
 The president then began to repeat his greeting in Vulcan.
    McCoy whispered into Kirk's ear. "This should be good for
the next half hour. What decisions?"
    But Kirk didn't want to talk. Another figure was moving on
stage to join the president. For now, he was just outside the
focus of the holographic projector.
    But Kirk saw the figure's burgundy uniform jacket and
didn't have to see the admiral's bars on it to know who it
would be. Though at this distance he couldn't tell which
admiral it was.
 "Shhh, Bones," Kirk said. "That's got to be him."
    "Of course it is," McCoy said without shushing. "That's
what this whole wingding's for."
  Kirk sighed. "Well, I want to see who it is."
     "You mean you don't know? It's got to be the worst-kept
secret in Starfleet." "Bones..."
    "... GREAT PLEASURE TO ANNOUNCE, WITH THE
UNANIMOUS APPROVAL OF THE COUNCIL--"
    The president had switched back to Federation Standard.
He moved to the side. His hologram motioned to someone to
join him.
    "STARFLEET'S NEW, SUPREME COMMANDER IN
CHIEF--"
    The admiral stepped into the holographic projector's range.
His ten-meter-tall projection took shape like a giant invading
the hall.
    Kirk felt his stomach twist as he finally recognized the
admiral. It couldn't be true.
 "ADMIRAL ANDROVAR DRAKE!"
 The Great Hall thundered with applause.

 Kirk was stunned.
    The rival he had sworn never to forgive had just achieved an
impossible position. On the same day Kirk had decided to
give up the fight.
    McCoy's voice betrayed his interest in Kirk's obvious
discomfort. "You know him?"
    "In the Academy," Kirk said, struggling to sound offhand.
"Then on the Farragut."
    Kirk closed his eyes, saw Lieutenant Drake's sneering face
on Tycho IV, laughing at the death of Faith Morgan. Kirk saw
his own son, David, so innocently led into danger. "Is something wrong?" McCoy asked.
    Kirk knew everything was wrong. "If that's what's going to
run Starfleet," he said, "then I was right. It's time for me to
leave."

six

Chekov's first impression of death was that it was colder than
Siberia.
 He wasn't impressed.
 It also smelled like a Tellarite mudbath.
 That was when he decided he wasn't dead after all.
    But he couldn't move. And he couldn't see. And his body
ached with the all-too-familiar pains of a high-intensity
phaser stun.
    "She didn't kilt us," he said aloud. His voice was dry, raspy,
weak.

44                                                                                45

      "Thank you, Mr. Obvious." That voice was as weak as
Chekov's, but only a few centimeters away.  "Uhura? Vhere are veT'
    By now, Chekov had recovered sufficiently to know he was
fiat on his back on an ice-cold surface. His hands and legs
were expertly bound, immovable. Gray shapes began to melt
out of the darkness at the comers of his vision. Somewhere,
however dim, there was light.  "Listen," Uhura said.
    Chekov forced himself to concentrate on something other
than the pounding of his heart. At first he heard the thrum-
ming sounds of laboring equipment that told him he was still
on Deep Range Platform. That was a good sign.
    But there was some other sound there. Corning from above.
Directly above. Almost random. A faint clicking or tapping.
Getting stronger. Getting softer.
 He heard a muffled snort.
 The sounds made sense.
 Hoof steps.
 Chckov moaned.
    He and Uhura were under the Tellarite ore shuttle in the
cargo bay and its crew was on board. He could hear them
walking around in the shuttle's cabin.
    "HELP!" Chekov yelled. His eardrums rang. The shuttle's
lower hull was less than a handsbreadth above him.
    "Forget it," Uhura said. "They're Tellarites. They'll never
hear us through the hull plates."
     Chekov's mind raced with potential strategies. "Can you
hit the hull?" he asked. "Or kick it or something?" "l can't move," Uhura said. "Can you?"
    Chekov strained. It felt as if his legs and arms were bolted to
the deck.
 'Why has Jade done this to us?"
    "She said it herself. No witnesses. But it's clear she needs
bodies."

46

    "Da," Chekov sighed. It was clear. When the time came for
the shuttle to launch, whether or not it used maneuvering
rockets or impulse engines to lift off the deck, he and Uhura
would be scorched or irradiated to death. Presumably, what-
ever was holding them to the deck would be vaporized. And
whatever passed for law enforcement on Deep Range would
have two easily identifiable bodies. Death by misadventure.
Freeing their erstwhile partner, Jade, to pursue her purchase
of...
 "Vhat was it the Klingon said to her?"
    "Chalchaj 'qmey," Uhura said. "I still can't figure it out.
Probably a code name of some kind. Maybe a type of
experimental Klingon weapons system."
    "Then it makes no sense Jade has done this to us," Chekov
protested. "That's exactly vhat ve vere supposed to be buy-
ing."
"Not 'exactly,' Pavel. Otherwise we wouldn't be here."
Chekov didn't say anything. He listened for the Tellarites
above him. They had stopped moving around the cabin. A
bad sign. It meant they were strapped into their seats.
 Preparing for launch.
     "At least I figured out what the captain would do in a
situation like this," Uhura said. "Vhat?"
 "Have a backup plan."
 Chekov sighed. "Jade vas our backup plan."
    A hum began. It came from the shuttle. Systems coming
online.
    "At least," Chekov said, "vhatever propulsion system they
use, it vitl be quick."
    A new noise began. Closer, louder. A pulsing roar from
beneath the deck.
 "Wrong again, Pavel."
 Air pumps.
 The cargo bay was being depressurized.

47

    "Vonderful," Chekov said. "Suffocation and then incinera-
tion."
 "At least she's thorough."
     Chekov grunted as he suddenly strained every muscle
against his bonds. Nothing gave.
 He gasped for breath after his exertion.
 "I'11 miss you, Pavel."
 "It's not over yet," Chekov said.
     His gasping intensified, quickened. The hum from the
shuttle became muffled as the air pressure diminished.
 "The keptin vould never give up!"
    He fought once more against his bonds. He heard Uhura do
the same. The sounds of their struggles seemed to move
farther and farther away as the air grew thinner.
    Chekov's lungs ached. Black stars flared at the edges of his
vision. But he wouldn't give up either.
 He hated the idea of dying twice in one day.
    Next time, he told himself, he'd be sure to have a backup
plan.
 And then there was no more air to breathe.

SEVEN

In the end, Kirk had not left the reception and dinner for
Starfieet's new commander in chief. That would have been
admitting defeat. And Kirk never admitted defeat.
    Instead, he had had three Romulan ales, effectively chang-
ing the rules of the game.
 He simply no longer cared about Androvar Drake.
    After three Romulan ales, it was difficult to care about
anything.
 Or so he told himself.
    "Bones, you're supposed to be talking me out of this," Kirk
said.
    McCoy sat back in his chair, arms folded. The circular table
was littered with the remains of the coffee and dessert course.
Most of the guests were on the dance floor or talking in groups
by one of the bars. But Kirk, McCoy, and Spock still sat
together. Unspoken evidence of their knowledge that the
times when all three of them could share their company this
way were finite, and counting down.
 "Why'd you join Starfleet?" McCoy asked.
    Kirk grinned. Closed his eyes. Said the words so familiar to
every cadet. "Why did anyone? 'To seek out new life and new
civilizations...'"
    McCoy pushed back on his chair, making it teeter two-
legged, then rocked back with a thump. "And what are you
doing for Starfleet now?"

48                                                                                  49

     Kirk's grin faded. "Teaching. Consulting. Chairing com-
 mittees."
     McCoy's gaze fixed on Kirk. "And you want to be talked
 out of leaving?"
    Kirk didn't know the answer himself. Spock replied for
him. "I believe the captain is undecided at the moment,
because he has not yet determined what it is he should do
upon leaving Starfleet."
  "You 'believe' that, do you?" McCoy replied.
    Kirk poured himself another cup of coffee to take up the
fight against the Romulan ale. Hearing Spock and McCoy go
at it was like listening to a live version of the debates he had
been having with himself.
      Sure enough, Spock took up the baton. "Do you know what
you shall do upon your retirement from Starfleet, Doctor?"
  "Who said I was retiring?"
    Spock angled his head thoughtfully. "A man of your
years--"
    "Hold it right there! I might not have any of your damned
green blood in my veins, but sixty-seven isn't what it used to
be. I look at what passes for sickbay design in the new ships on
the drawing boards and I tell you, I'm not leaving Starfleet till
they carry me out. There's no heart to what they're thinking.
No thought given to what goes on between patient and doctor.
Someone's got to care about that part of it. And it looks like
I'm the one who's got the job."
    McCoy paused for breath. He saw that Kirk and Spock were
both watching him carefully.
    "Sorry," the doctor said tersely. He reached for the coffee.
"I tend to get a bit passionate about Medical's policies."
    Spock folded his hands together. "Which clearly accounts
for your decision to remain in Starfleet. There is still a job you
can do for the service which is useful, necessary, and for
which you feel passion."
 Spock looked then at Kirk.
 Kirk didn't have to hear him say it. It was that obvious.

    But Spock said it anyway. He was good at that. "In this
case, Captain, passion is the most logical answer to the
questions you are facing."
    McCoy rolled his eyes. "Now I've heard everything, Jim.
We're being lectured to about passion by a Vulcan."
    "Doctor, once again you remind me how little you know
about the true nature of my people."
    Kirk stared off across the Great Hall as Spock went on to
tell McCoy how Vulcans really did have emotions and simply
chose not to allow them to rule their lives.
    McCoy, of course, rose to the bait, hotly disputing Spock's
definitions.
They could go on for hours. On occasions, they had.
Without paying attention to the familiar arguments he had
heard over the years, Kirk was struck by how much just the
sounds of their voices brought an ease to him. As if he were a
child again, sitting at the table in his mother's kitchen for a
holiday meal, listening to his parents, grandparents, his
brother, aunts and uncles, and the cousins. Their competing
words raised in the noisy confusion of long acquaintance. The
bonds of family.
 That's what Spock and McCoy had become to him.
 Family.
    He was glad to have such friends in his life. Yet he knew
there had to be more ....
    Spock went on about Surak's teachings as McCoy snorted
dismissively.
    Kirk's attention wandered to the dance floor. A group of
Klingons stood off to the side, unsuccessfully trying to hide
their disdain for what passed as dancing on Earth.
    Kirk had been to a Klingon dance once. McCoy had ended
up giving him three protoplaser treatments to make the scars
fade.
 Klingons took the act of cutting in very literally.
    Then Kirk saw that familiar flash in one of the Klingon's
eyes. The Klingon recognized him, nodded at him--a sign of

50                                                            51

 respect. Kirk returned the gesture, marveling how the day had
 ever come when he actually felt respect in turn for a Klingon.
     But the events surrounding the attempted assassination at
 Camp Khitomer and the growing peace movement between
 the Federation and the Empire had changed many minds.
 Including his.
     Kirk supposed he should be glad that he was not totally set
 in his ways. That he could still entertain new thoughts, new
 ideas.
    Before Camp Khitomer, when Spock had told him that the
explosion of the Praxis moon meant the Klingon race might
perish, Kirk's first reaction had been to blurt out, Then let
them die.
    Almost at once he had realized how wrong those words
were. How hurtful. How unfeeling. But once spoken, there
had been no way to take them back, to soften their impact.
 He regretted those words still.
    Decades ago, he might have been unseasoned enough to
have said those words and meant them. But not now. His
voyages had not just been about making discoveries for the
Federation. He had made them for himself, as well. And
change had come because of what he had encountered, and
what he had learned.
    Kirk dreaded the day he would stop learning. Stop chang-
ing.
    His gaze continued to sweep the room as Spock and McCoy
companionably argued on in the background. He reflected on
change. On passion. Other people on the dance floor caught
his glance. Most smiled back at him. A few looked momentar-
ily startled, as if they had never expected to see so notable a
figure in the flesh. Kirk was used to all their reactions, had
seen them all a thousand times before.
    But then he found one person who was already looking
directly at him before he saw her. It was Kirk's turn to be
startled.
 But he didn't know why.

    Perhaps it was her eyes, he decided at first. Heavily lashed,
dark and enticing... if he had been a twenty-year-old cadet
he'd have been by her side in fifteen seconds. Ten seconds if he
wanted to beat Gary Mitchell to asking her to dinner.
    Then he was startled again as he suddenly realized those
haunting eyes belonged to a Klingon. Her dark hair, dramati-
cally swept back for the reception, revealed the ripples of her
high-ridged brow. Though, oddly, it was not as pronounced as
most females' he had seen.
 He understood why when he saw her ears.
 Pointed.
 Klingon and Vulcan.
    That was reason enough to be startled, Kirk decided. Just as
people sometimes took a few seconds to place his identity
after realizing that they recognized him, he decided his
scrutiny must have taken in the young woman's unusual
features, sensed the inherent contradiction of them, and then
paused just long enough for the facts to come to the attention
of his consciousness.
     Which meant he was doing to her exactly what he disliked
so much when it happened to him. He was staring.
 But she didn't seem to mind.
 In fact, she smiled at him.
 Not the giddy smile of someone recognizing a celebrity.
 But a smile of success. Of finding something lost.
    Kirk knew he shouldn't keep staring, but he couldn't not
stare.
    The smile transformed her face. Worked some magic that
he couldn't comprehend.
    Until his brain finally fought through the fog of Romulan
ale and spoke plainly to him: She's gorgeous. That's why
you're staring. She's the most beautiful woman in the Hall.
And she's letting you stare at her like a shuttle pilot who's been
on solo duty for the past two years.
 Kirk's mouth suddenly felt dry. He felt the faint rush of

52                                                           53

 what had been a familiar sensation when he had been a
 twenty-year-old cadet and the whole galaxy lay waiting for
 him. A lightness in his chest. A thrill of anticipation in his
 stomach.
     His brain kicked in again, like his own personal Spock
 offering observations untinged by emotion: You're thinking as
 if you're twenty again, and she isn't even that. You're old
 enough to be her father. Hell, you're old enough to be her
 grandfather.
     A dancing couple moved across his line of sight. The instant
 she was gone from his vision, Kirk shook his head, as ifa spell
 had been broken.
  "Don't you agree, Captain?" Spock asked.
    "If you do," McCoy countered, "I'm through giving you
advice."
    Kirk had no idea what his friends had been discussing. "I
think," he said cautiously, "the answer lies somewhere in the
middle."
  Spock and McCoy exchanged a look of surprise.
  "Fascinating," Spock said.
    But McCoy narrowed his eyes in disgust. "You didn't hear a
word we said, did you?"
    The music ended. The dancing couples on the floor began
to drift back to their tables. Kirk put his hand on McCoy's
arm, nodded out to the floor.
    "Bones, that young woman over there. In the long
dress..."
    Kirk saw only a flash of her glittering gown moving amid
the crush of people. His heart actually fluttered. She was
moving in his direction.
 "Where?" McCoy asked. "The one in red?"
    "No," Kirk said. "You can't miss her. She's half-Vulcan,
half-Klingon."
 "A most improbable combination," Spock said.
    McCoy frowned at Spock. "Look who's calling the kettle
black. Or in your case, green."

    Kirk turned to Spock. "She's right over them. Klingon
brow. Vulcan ears."
    "I see her," McCoy said brightly. "She's stunning. I wonder
whose daughter she is?"
    "Klingon-Romulan would be a more logical conclusion,"
Spock said.
    Kirk could barely keep up with the doubled conversation.
"Romulan?" he asked Spock. "At a Starfleet function?" He
turned to McCoy. "What do you mean, 'daughter'?"
    "Starfleet did invite several high-ranking Klingons to this
reception,"Spock said. "Undoubtedly invitations would have
gone out to the Romulan diplomatic missions as part of the
ongoing move toward openness."
    "She's very young, Jim," McCoy said. "Probably some
diplomat's child."
    Kirk's heart sank. "She's not that young." But he knew she
was.
 "Perhaps some diplomat's consort," Spook suggested.
 Kirk's heart hit bottom.
    McCoy gave him a quick look of understanding. "Oh, ho.
About to add 'cradle-snatching' to your list of crimes against
the Klingon Empire?"
    Kirk felt his cheeks start to burn. "i was pardoned," he
said. "So were you. All I was saying was that I thought she
was... exceptionally lovely. And I wondered who she was.
That's all. Completely innocent."
    McCoy pursed his lips to keep a grin from spreading across
his face.
 Kirk scanned the crowd. Whoever she was, she was gone.
    "If, indeed, she is a child of joint Klingon and Romulan
heritage, her beauty should come as no surprise," Spock said.
    "Is that so?" McCoy retorted. "In addition to passion,
you're suddenly an expert on beauty?"
    "The perception of beauty in most cultures is connected to
symmetry of features. Symmetry of features indicates that an
individual has not succumbed to any one of a number of

54                                                             55

 diseases which affect growth during childhood and adoles-
 cence. Therefore, beauty equals symmetry equals robustness.
 And hybrids generally take on the most positive attributes of
 their parents, becoming, as it were, exceptional specimens."
  "Such as yourself," McCoy stated dryly.
  "As always, Doctor, the depth of your logic impresses me."
    McCoy couldn't tell if he had just been tricked into
complimenting Spock.
  Kirk knew he had been.
      Then the woman appeared in the crowd, only a few tables
away, heading in Kirk's direction.
 "Bones, Spock--there she is."
 Kirk stood up as her eyes met his.
    She moved so gracefully, it was as if he were watching a
dancer perform.
    She was slim, lithe, but despite McCoy's speculations,
clearly a woman. No mere girl.
    For a moment as he rose to his feet, Kirk almost forgot how
old he had felt recently. He wanted desperately to know why
she was coming over to him. He wanted to hear her voice,
know her name. Know everything about her.
 Spock was right. Passion was his answer.
 But two tables over, she stopped.
    Her entrancing face clouded. Her delicate brow ridges
became much more pronounced, almost as if she were scowl-
ing.
 Kirk started to hold out his hand.
    But another hand came down on his shoulder, hard enough
to surprise him. Kirk turned just as he saw the woman do the
same--turn away.
 "Jimbo! Glad you could make it to my little party!"
 Kirk was face to face with Androvar Drake.
 His new commander in chief.
 "Admiral Drake" was all he said. He loathed "Jimbo."
 He glanced back over his shoulder.
 She was gone. Again.

56

 Drake poked him in the stomach.
 "Spending too much time behind a desk, Jimbo?"
    Kirk concentrated on not making his hands into fists.
Drake still kept his now white hair in a military bristle cut.
His sharp features had filled in since the years he had been in
Kirk's graduating class. The extra lines there, deeply etched,
were kept company by a thin ragged scar over his right
cheekbone. A protoplaser could take it away in a month. But
Drake had earned it in battle, the story went. He had taken
out a Klingon battle cruiser just before the Organian interven-
tion. That scar was his badge of honor.
 Or a relic from a bygone day, Kirk thought.
    Drake put his fists on his hips. "We've both come a long way
since the Academy, eh?"
    Kirk didn't want to get drawn into anything with Drake.
What had happened between them was long passed. David
was at rest and nothing could bring him back.
 "Congratulations," Kirk said simply.
 Drake took that as an opportunity to pump Kirk's hand.
    "Ever wonder what might have happened if you hadn't
taken the Enlerprise out again?"
    Kirk shook his head. As captains, both he and Drake had
taken out starships on five-year missions. Both had survived,
returning as heroes within months of each other and receiving
immediate promotion to the admiralty. And then, after
V'Ger, Kirk had been unable to resist the siren call of the
stars. He had turned his back on a career in Headquarters and
had gone back out.
 But Drake had remained.
    Now, twenty-three years later, Kirk was a captain again.
And Drake was still Drake. Even if he was commander in
chief of the entire Fleet.
    Four Romulan ales, Kirk thought, and I could probably get
away with belting him. No matter what his rank.
    But instead, he said, "May I introduce my friends--
Captain Spock, Dr. McCoy."

57

     Drake shook McCoy's hand. Then he respectfully raised his
 hand and gave Spock the Vulcan salute, instead of committing
 the faux pas of attempting to touch a Vulcan. Drake had
 obviously learned well during his years climbing the ladder at
 Headquarters.
     "Know them well," Drake said enigmatically. "Always
 followed your career, Jimbo." His lips tightened. "Always
 impressed you were able to accomplish so much,
 after... well, you know." He laughed with a tone of calcu-
 lated, hollow, camaraderie.
     But Kirk didn't respond, by word or by gesture. He could
 sense McCoy's glance of curiosity. He knew Spock would be
 equally intrigued by Drake's statement, though of course he
 wouldn't show it. But the past was the past.  Drake was running Starfleet now.
    Kirk had never wanted the job. But he knew in his heart
that it had always been a possibility. He couM have been
commander in chief. If he had stayed behind as Drake had.
Played the political games at Headquarters as well as he
played the games of life-and-death on the frontier.
    But Kirk hadn't chosen that path. It was no use thinking of
what might have been.
  "Can't stay long," Drake said.
  "Pity," Kirk replied.
    "But thought you might like to know--reviewed the Fleet
status logs. The Enterprise. Decommissioned next month."
    Kirk nodded, like hearing of a friend's terminal illness. "I
know."
 "Going to use it for wargames."
    McCoy frowned. "Starfleet hasn't fought wargames for
years."
    Drake shrugged. "An oversight I intend to correct." He
clapped Kirk on the shoulder, far too familiar. "The Enter-
prise will be a target ship. Try her out on a couple of the new
photon torpedoes. Mark VIIIs. Twin vortices." He winked at
Kirk. "Should go out in a real blaze of glory." His eyes were

cold. "Thought you might like that, stuck behind a desk and
all. At least something in your career will go out in a blaze of
glory."
 "Waste not, want not," Kirk said lightly.
    Drake laughed. "Good one." He started to go. "See you at
the decommissioning ceremony?"
 Kirk shook his head. 'T!I... be off planet."
    Drake winked again. "I'11 see that they save you a piece of
her. Put it on a plaque, mount it over the fireplace. Tell the
grandkids about--" Drake suddenly took on an expression of
feigned sadness. "Oh, sorry, Jimbo. Forgot about your son.
David, wasn't it? Klingons killing him, and that. There won't
be any grandkids, will there."
    With that, he was gone, swallowed into a crowd of well-
wishers.
"What the hell was that all about?" McCoy sputtered.
"We go back," Kirk said. "Too far." He sat down again,
more tired than when he had begun the evening. He looked
for the young woman, but she was gone, too. As he knew she
would be.
 As the Enterprise would soon be gone.
 As all things must go.
 Passion among them.
 McCoy and Spock exchanged a look of concern.
 "You want another drink, Jim?"
 Kirk shook his head. "I've had enough." It was late.
 He would never hear the sound of her voice.
 He would always remember Drake's.
 "I've had enough," he said again.
 He didn't mean Romulan ale.

58                                                                                   59

EIGHT

The outer doors in Cargo Bay Twelve opened before the
straining pumps had removed all of the atmosphere.
    A sudden storm of ice crystals plumed from the growing
gap between the moving doors.
    Inside the bay, loose debris swirled into empty space. The
shafts of light from the ceiling fixtures faded without dust and
moisture to define them.
    On some of the cargo pallets, sealed drums and crates
bulged in the absence of air pressure.
    But there were no squeals of metal or plastic to accompany
their deformations.
 There was only the silence of vacuum.
 Of space.
 Of death.
    The Tellarite ore shuttle in the cargo bay brought its
maneuvering systems online.
    Four thrusters on its battered lower hull vented pinpoint
streams of hyperaccelerated plasma to lift the shuttle against
the Platform's artificial gravity.
    Any organic material within range of that plasma was only
seconds from being carbonized.
    The Tellarite shuttle rotated. Its nose pointed toward the
open doors and the stars beyond. Its impulse ports glowed
briefly, pushing it forward.
 The plasma jets left blackened streaks on the deck plates.

60

 The shuttle launched.
 The doors ponderously closed behind it.
 Nothing lived in Cargo Bay Twelve.

    Payel Chekov clenched his eyes shut to prevent the mois-
ture coating them from sublimating in the vacuum. He gasped
desperately for a last lungful of oxygen.
 Air flooded his lungs so easily, he was shocked into opening
one eye.
     "Hikaru?"
    Captain Hikaru Sulu grinned down at his friends. He
offered both his hands to help them up.
    Chekov and Uhura slowly got to their feet. They were on a
transporter platform.
    Uhura's face tightened in confusion as she looked around.
"The Excelsior?" she asked.
    Sulu's laugh was deep and genuine. Then he took on a
serious expression. "I'm sorry. I know I shouldn't..." He
grinned at Chekov again. "But the expression on your
faces..."
    Chekov didn't share Sulu's good humor. He was still
shivering with the cold of space. His lungs still ached with the
effort of trying to breathe vacuum.
    Chekov's voice was coiled as tightly as a Klingon spring
knife. "How long have you been tracking us?"
 Sulu's smile melted in the force of Chekov's withering stare.
 "Pavei, calm down. You're safe now."
 "How long?"
 "Since the beginning of your mission," Sulu said.
    Chekov could hear his heart thunder in his ears. He
couldn't tell if he was shaking from the cold or from outrage.
    He hit his open hand against Sulu's shoulder. "So each time
ve faced a disruptor, each time ve were scared to death
someone vould catch on to us, you vere out here ready to
snatch us to safety?"

                61

  Sulu's eyes grew wide. He took a step back.
     But Chekov grabbed Sulu by his uniform jacket. "You
 bastard!" he shouted.
  Sulu pushed at Chekov's hand, trying to disengage.
  "Pavel, take it easy!"
     "Take it easy? Six months undercover! My friends and
 family thinking I'm a criminal! Living vith Klingons!And you
 want me to..." Chekov's outburst choked off in rage.
     There was only one way he could continue this conversa-
 tion.
  With a roar of anger he swung his fist into Sulu's nose.
     Sulu grunted and stumbled back, completely taken by
 surprise.
  A gout of blood exploded across his upper lip.
  Chekov kept his grip on Sulu's jacket. Held him up.
     'What vere ve to you? Chess pieces to be moved around? To
 be sacrificed?"
    On that last word, Chekov let Sulu have it again, this time
releasing his hold so Sulu fell back against the transporter
console.
  Uhura tugged at Chekov's arm, trying to hold him back.
  "Pavel! That's enough! Hikaru saved our lives!"
  But Chekov straight-armed Uhura out of his way.
  "Ve nearly died because of him!"
  He swung at Sulu again.
  But Sulu was ready this time.
    He brought up an arm to deflect Chekov's wild swing.
Leaned in with his shoulder to keep Chekov's center of gravity
moving forward.
Sent Chekov over his back to thud against the deck.
Now Sulu grabbed Chekov by his jacket, leaned over him.
"Listen to me, Pavel!" Sulu hissed. "My orders came from
Intelligence Oversight. Even the brass were excluded. If you
knew you were being monitored by the Excelsior, and any of
your Klingon contacts had used a mind-sifter to question your
stories about quitting Starfleet..."

62

    With the end of decades of military tension between the
Federation and the Klingon Empire, the Klingon armed
forces were falling into disarray. Weapons inventories were no
longer secure. This section of the galaxy was especially
vulnerable to the possible entry of Klingon armaments into
the open market.
    So Chekov and Uhura had sacrificed six months of their
Starfleet careers and brought shame to their friends and
families, who could not be told the truth. All to create a false
background establishing them as illegal weapons dealers with
extensive Starfleet connections.
    "Oversight had nothing to do vith leaving us there--
freezing to death--until the last second!"
 Chekov kicked up and caught Sulu on the back of his leg.
    Sulu let go of Chekov to jump away before he could lose his
balance.
    The two men faced each other, half-crouched. Chekov
looked for an opening like a barroom brawler. Sulu turned
sideways, hands positioned for the Vulcan sal-tor-fee defense.
    The two men circled each other warily. Sulu tried again.
"Pavel--you're overreacting. While you were on Dark Range,
I had to keep the Excelsior at forty thousand kilometers, right
at the transporter's maximum range." Chekov swung. Sulu parried.
    "I had to keep our sensors on their lowest setting so Kort
wouldn't detect them."
 Uhura tried to move between them again.
 "Stop it, Pavel. Listen to him."
    Sulu used Uhura's intervention to advance his argument.
He spoke rapidly over Uhura's shoulder. "Sensors showed
you two and Jade meeting with Kort and his Andorians in the
cargo bay. They showed the phaser emissions. But it wasn't
until the others left that I knew you were remaining behind.
And even then, because I was picking up life signs from you, I
couldn't be certain it wasn't part of some plan you'd put
together. Until the bay doors started to open."

63

  "You see?" Uhura asked Chekov.
  Some of Chekov's murderous rage began to diminish.
  But not all of it.
     "I had my orders," Sulu said. "I could only interfere if I
 thought you were in immediate danger of being killed."
     Uhura put her hands on Chekov's shoulders, holding him
 back. "He got us out, Pavel. He got us out as soon as he
 could."
     "We're on the same side," Sulu said. "Someone tried to kill
 you. Let's do something about it."
     Chekov couldn't speak. He wanted to punch a hole through
 a bulkhead.
  "It was Jade," Uhura said.
     Sulu looked stunned. "But this was her operation. She's
 supposed to be one of the top agents in Starfleet Intelligence."
 He wiped at the blood streaming from his nose. His face
 betrayed his surprise at how much there was.
    "Kort offered her something she couldn't refuse," Uhura
said grimly. She pushed Chekov back. "Take a couple of deep
breaths," she advised him.
    Chekov unclenched his fists. Felt his whole body tremble.
For six months he had believed that Uhura and he were living
on the brink of instant death. All because Sulu had his orders.
    He remained silent and sullen as Uhura told Sulu about the
enigmatic exchange between Kort and Jade in the cargo bay.
    When she had finished, Sulu walked around the transporter
console, carefully giving Chekov a wide berth. He hit a
control.
    "Computer: Identify a Klingon organization designated
'Imperial Forecasters.'"
    Without an instant of hesitation, the computer's distinctive
voice responded from a console speaker.
    "The Imperial Forecasters were a division of the Klingon
Strategic Operations Bureau."
 "What were their responsibilities?" Sulu asked.

    "Using advanced wargaming and simulation techniques,
they forecast probably outcomes to military scenarios."
    Chekov shrugged. "So, they vere military planners. The
Klingon Empire is a military culture."
    But Sulu wasn't finished. "Computer: In the context of the
Imperial Forecasters, what is the significance of the Crimson
Level?"
    "That classification corresponds to Starfleet's security clas-
sification, Ultra Secret."
    Sulu glanced at Chekov and Uhura. "Now it's getting
interesting." He addressed the computer again. "What as-
pects of military planning were the responsibility of the
Crimson Level?"
    Again, the computer didn't hesitate. "Doomsday scenar-
ios."
     Chekov heard Uhura's sharp intake of breath. He started to
pay attention to what the computer was saying. "Define," Sulu said.
    The computer complied. "Scenarios concerning the effects
of interplanetary famine, plague, and natural disasters on the
ability of Klingon colony worlds and protectorates to support
the Empire. Scenarios concerning the effects of political
upheaval on the ability of the High Council to govern the
Empire effectively. Scenarios concerning the effects of the
military defeat and subjugation of the Empire by its enemies,
on the ability of the Klingon race to survive."
    "Definitely high-level material," Uhura said. "I don't think
I'd like to know the Klingon response to the defeat of the
Empire."
    Sulu tapped a finger against the console. "In this context,
what significance do the following phrases have: 'the path of
the fourth-rank watch dragon,' and 'by Praxis' light, in
seasons still to come'?"
  "They are lines from the death poem of Molor."
  Before Sulu could ask another question, Uhura said, "That

64                                                                              65

 poem was in my upgrade courses. About fifteen hundred years
 ago, Kahless the Unforgettable defeated the tyrant Molor to
 found what became the Klingon Empire. It's considered a
 classic."
     Chekov walked over to the console. He felt drained. He
 chose not to look at Sulu. "Kort referred to the lines as a
 code," he said.
     Sulu did not respond to Chekov. He looked across the
 console at Uhura, instead. "Uhura, give the computer the
 Klingon phrase Jade found so interesting. I'll never be able to
 pronounce it."
     Uhura cleared her throat. "Computer: Translate the
 Klingon phrase chalchaj 'qmey."
      The computer complied at once. "Literally, the phrase
 translates as an archaic form of 'the sky's offspring.'"
  "That's close to what I thought," Uhura said.
    But the computer kept speaking. "In the context of the
death poem of Molor, the phrase translates as 'the children of
heaven,' referring to those who would inherit the lands
destroyed by Molor during his final war against Kahless and
his followers."
  Sulu shook his head. "More code words?"
    Chekov frowned. The Excelsior's captain was missing the
point. "Computer. Vhat does the phrase 'children of heaven'
mean in context of the Imperial Forecasters and the Crimson
Level?"
 This time the computer hesitated.
 "That is restricted information."
     Sulu gave Chekov a sardonic smile. "Computer: This is
Captain Hikaru Sulu. Confirm voiceprint identification."
 "Voiceprint identification confirmed."
    "Security access code Sulu alpha-alpha-omicron-alpha.
Identify the phrase."
 Another hesitation. "That information is restricted."
 It was Chekov's turn to smile. Sulu stared at the console in

66

indignation. "Computer, I'm a starship captain. I have a level
thirteen security clearance."
    "That information is restricted to security clearance level
seventeen."
    SUlu looked up in amazement. "I thought there were only
fifteen levels of clearance in all of Starfleet."
 "That is restricted information," the computer replied.
    Sulu unconsciously prodded his nose in thought. Chekov
was pleased to see it seemed tender.
    "A Klingon who was once involved in planning doomsday
scenarios for the Empire..." Sulu said, thinking aloud.
"Offers to share something so secret it's classified at one of
Starfleet's highest levels... to what he believes is an illegal
arms dealer."
    Chekov stated the obvious, wondering why Sulu didn't see
it. "It must be a veapon."
 "Something exotic," Uhura added.
    Sulu nodded. "And so terrible it would only be used in the
event the Empire was defeated."
    Chekov didn't like the implications. "There are those
who vould say that given the current state of the Empire,
it already has been defeated. Not by its enemies, but by
history."
      Sulu's scowl showed he didn't like the implications, either.
For the first time since their fight, he looked at Chekov.
 The tension was still thick between them.
    "You're saying that someone might be deciding to use this
weapon? Whatever it is?"
     "I think that's obvious, gentlemen," Uhura said, trying to
 keep the two men from making matters personal again.
 "Whatever kind of weapon the 'Children of Heaven' is, it
 was enough to make a top Starfleet Intelligence agent
 willing to kill two other agents, so she could get the secret
 for herself."
  "A renegade agent vith a Klingon doomsday veapon,"

67

 Chekov sputtered. "This is far beyond the objectives of our
 mission."
     "I agree," Sulu said. "You two will have to deliver a full
 report at once."
      "Take us to a secure communications station," Chek0v
 said. He began to walk toward the transporter room's doors.
  "No," Sulu said.
     Chekov turned to face him, ready to fight again if he
 had to.
  "Vhat do you mean, 'no'?"
     Six months of living like a criminal had had an effect on
 him.
     Sulu remained calm. "Not by subspace. I think we have to
 assume that a Starfleet Intelligence agent like Jade has full
 access to current codes. It might be best for her to think you
 two really are dead. Otherwise, she might take extra precau.
 tions to make certain Starfleet can't find her."
  "You want us to report in person?" Uhura asked.
    "I don't even want to consider what a Klingon doomsday
weapon might be capable of," Sulu said. "Their standard
armaments are bad enough." He toggled another control on
the console. "Captain to the bridge."
Sulu's science officer answered. "Bridge here, Captain."
"Lay in a course for Earth. Maximum warp. And maintain
a communications blackout. I don't want anyone to know
we're coming till we're there."
 The science officer acknowledged her orders. "Bridge out."
 "That serious?" Uhura said.
    "That serious," Sulu confirmed. "We're going to have to
take this to Admiral Drake himself."
    "Admiral Androwar Drake?" Chekov repeated. 'Why
him?"
 "He was just appointed commander in chief, Starfleet."
 Chekov glared at Sulu with incredulous disgust.
 Sulu's voice revealed he'd been unprepared for Chekov's

reaction. "Starfleet needed a new C in C to take over from the
acting chief who replaced Cartwright."
    Chekov headed for the transporter console and leaned
against it for support. This changed everything.
    Needing a replacement for Admiral Cartwright was old
news. Because of Captain Kirk and his crew, Cartwright had
been arrested at Camp Khitomer. He had been part of a
conspiracy to restart hostilities between the Federation and
the Klingon Empire.
    In the aftermath of that arrest, Starfleet had been shaken to
its core. Cartwright had been considered one of its ablest
leaders. For someone of his reputation and stellar accom-
plishments to have been promoted to a position of absolute
authority, while at the same time working against everything
the Federation and Starfleet stood for, had been a depressing
example of how far humanity still had to go. The twenty-third
century was evidently not as perfect as some wished to
believe.
    "What's this about?" Sulu asked cautiously, apparently
determined not to provoke Chekov again.
    Chekov chose his words carefully. "Drake is not
ú.. commander in chief material," was all he would say.
    Sulu's brow knitted in confusion. "What do you know that
the Federation Council doesn't?"
  But Chekov wouldn't answerú He couldn't.
     He feared that despite the years they had spent on the
 Enterprise, a void had opened between himself and Sulu.
     Chekov couldn't comment on Drake because Kirk had
 sworn him to secrecy.
  And Chekov's loyalty to Kirk was absolute.
  But Sulu was a starship captain now.
     He had been willing to risk his friends' lives to follow orders
 to the letter.
  Kirk would never have done that.
     To Chekov, that meant Sulu had lost the capacity to think
 for himself, to question authority.

68                                                                              69

    Which made him just the kind of officer who would blindly
follow the orders of criminals like Admiral Drake.
    Chekov left the transporter room without saying anything
more.
 As far as he was concerned, Sulu could no longer be trusted.

NINE

The instant Kirk had coalesced from the transporter beam, he
knew he had failed.  Again.
    It was not an impression he was used to. He had always
fought failure. He drew comfort from the certainty that this
aspect of him, at least, would never change.
    He shifted his boots in the sunbaked dust. He smelled the
heat of the place, heard the silence. Felt its weight. He fought
the impulse to grab his communicator and request an imme-
diate beam out.
    In the holographic environment simulator, he had found
there were no answers for him in the past.
    In the safe harbor of Carol Marcus's embrace, he had found
there were no answers for him in comfort and distraction.
    His Starfleet duties were little more than routine--filling
his days with detail that in the end amounted to nothing.
    His friends knew him well enough to support him, but
never pretended they could give him direction.
 So he had come here. To the final port in a fruitless mission.
 And again there was nothing for him.

    He might as well have stepped onto the sterile soil of a
lifeless world.
 But he was in Iowa.
 On the farm.
    Where he had been born. Where so long ago his father had
held his hand on summer nights and first shown him the stars
where he would find his first, best destiny.
    With unsparing insight, Kirk knew he no longer belonged
here, either. Hadn't for years.
    Nor did he belong to any of the other worlds he had
encountered in his travels.
    He had no starting point to return to, no final destination
that drew him.
 He had no home.
    Kirk inhaled deeply, sweeping the past from his mind, if
not his heart.
    He had often thought he could teach Spock a thing or two
about controlling emotions.
    He opened the front flap on his uniform jacket in a futile
gesture against the heat. He walked toward the farmhouse. He
tried not to remember how he once ran for it, bare feet kicking
up dust, or sometimes mud, depending on the season.
    His boots thudded on the worn wood of the porch steps. He
tried not to remember how he once raced up them, hands and
feet slapping the risers in giddy excitement, his brother Sam
charging right behind him, because their father had returned
from space.
    He put his hand on the quartz screen of the lockplate by the
front door. The scanning mechanism was a century old, an
anachronistic antique, like most of the fixtures in the house.
But it still worked.
 The door lock clicked.
 Kirk stepped into the front hall.
    His bootsteps echoed. The house was empty. All the
furniture long gone to cousins. He smiled fleetingly. His

70                                                                               71

 mother's three-hundred-year-old Amish rocker was in his
 nephew Peter's home on Deneva. What would its makers have
 thought to know the eventual fate of their work, hundreds of
 light-years from its birthplace?
     He looked around the too-quiet house, thinking about the
 fate of his work. His job.
If he left Starfleet, he wouldn't have even that anymore.
The summer sun blazed through the windows. The dusty
air was close and oppressive. Again, he turned away from his
memories, of so many other summers when this house had
been alive with hope and promise.  He went upstairs.
  His room was much smaller than he remembered.
    The doorframe still bore the marks his older brother had
made to measure Kirk's growth.
    Kirk ran his fingers over them, remembering how Sam had
gouged them into the wood with a penknife.
    His parents had protested each new mark Sam had added.
But George Kirk had never repaired the damage.
    His father had known. Memories were the markers of the
journey through life. It was necessary to know where you had
come from. Only then could you know where you were going.
     Kirk ran his hand along the smooth upper reaches of the
doorframe, where his height had never been recorded.
 He knew where he was going. All humans did.
 But how would he get there?
    What would the rest of his journey bring before its inevita-
ble end?
 Wood creaked downstairs.
 Kirk stopped breathing.
 Another, barely perceptible scrape on the bare floor below.
 The air in the old farmhouse was subtly different.
 There was someone else here.
 Kirk came alive.
 His hand reached instinctively for his belt and his phaser.

But, of course, there was no weapon there. Weapons were no
longer needed on this perfect Earth.
    His mind quickly sifted through options and strategies. The
intruder--how easily he fell into thinking like a starship
captain--was most likely one of the advocates handling his
parents' estate. That's why Kirk was here, after all. A final
visit before deciding whether or not to sell the place.
    But an advocate would have shouted out a greeting by now.
An advocate would make more noise, having nothing to hide.
    Kirk moved swiftly, silently, to the stairway. He knew the
location of every loose floorboard. Each step revealed the
depth of his education by experts in the martial arts of the
Klingons and the ancient patterns of Vulcan self-defense.
    Except for that damned nerve pinch, he had mastered them
all.
    The hallway was empty. He glided down the stairs, as silent
as a Vulcan. Even the dust was not disturbed, so knowing was
his step.
    He saw a shadow move across the hallway floor, just for an
instant blocking the sun. The intruder was in the kitchen.
    Kirk was aware of every nerve end. His heart was calm, his
breathing steady. But he was ready to uncoil. To be all that he
had trained to be. All that he had been born to be.
    Like smoke, he moved through the hallway of his home and
into the kitchen doorway.
    His hands were raised in the Klingon first position, his body
tensed for impact.
 He was prepared for anything.
 Except for what he saw.

72                                                                73

TEN

 Xhe.
  From the reception.
  Of the Klingon brow, the Romulan ears.
    She wore a black jumpsuit, so formfitting it would forever
lay McCoy's concerns to rest. This was no girl, this was a
a~oman--superbly muscled, an athlete by any standard. And
though her costume seemed designed only to emphasize her
form, there was something about it that might have made
Kirk think it was some type of uniform.  If Kirk had been able to think.
    But his only reaction to her was visceral, as it had been at
the reception.
  She exploded into his senses.
    "At last," she said. Her voice rich, low, filling the kitchen,
focusing Kirk's attention absolutely.
 Dimly, he thought he should say something.
    "Who... ?" But it was no good. His voice cracked, as if
unused for years. As if words were not needed.
    Her smile was instant. As if he had known her forever. As if
this were a reunion and not a first meeting.
    She moved toward him until she was so close, he could feel
the heat of her.
 "Teilani," she said.
    Her breath carried flowers and soft winds, erasing the
staleness of the empty house.
 Kirk's heart thundered. He tried to speak again.

74

 But she placed a hand to his face.
 "Shhh," she admonished.
    Her touch was incredible, both soft and bitingly electric at
the same time.
 The kitchen seemed to spin arOund Kirk.
    Her arms moved around him, one hand pressing into his
back, one hand forcing his head down, his lips to meet hers.
     He was aware of nothing but the weight of her body against
his. The yielding softness of her lips against his. The taste of her. The scent of her.
    He kissed her with an urgency he hadn't known in years,
crushing her to him, closer and closer, feeling her back arch in
response, until his body burned with the anticipation of the
only way an embrace this intense could end.
 It took that long for him to fully realize what he was doing.
 For his consciousness to catch up to his senses.
     With the clear thought that he would probably regret his
decision for the rest of his life, Kirk pushed her away.
 "No," he said.
    He felt her surprise. Her dark eyes seemed to glow with the
force of her energy. Or the sun from the kitchen windows.
"But, James, at the reception... I saw this in your eyes."
"Who are you?" he asked, keeping her away from him with
his hands on her shoulders, fighting the need to be over-
whelmed again.
    "Teilani." She repeated her name as if it alone explained
her existence.
    "No," Kirk said. "Who are you? Where are you from? What
are you doing in my parents' home?"
    She took a step closer. "Why do you resist what you know
your heart wants?"
    Kirk did want her. He wasn't fooling himself any more than
he was fooling her.
    But he had long ago learned that mere appetite could not be
allowed to rule his life.

75

     He had not needed Spock to teach him about balance in all
 things. It was his nature.
    He dropped his hands from her shoulders, moved back a
step.
  "How do you know me?"
  She laughed, the sound thrilling, exotic.
    "The whole galaxy knows you," she said simply, as if
explaining something to a beloved child.
    Kirk felt almost dizzy, intoxicated. He forced himself to
think about pheromone scents. Subsonic fields that might
affect his thought processes. Any one of dozens of possible
technological explanations for what had happened to him.
For how he felt.
      McCoy's voice echoed in his ear. The words still possessed
their bite. You're oM enough to be her grandfather.
 "You're not answering my questions," he said.
    She regarded him through half-closed eyes. The delicate tip
of her tongue played tantalizingly across her lips. Their
surface glistened. She moved a hand to the neck of her
jumpsuit, to the tiny control switch of the fabric sealer.
    "There's time enough for talk, later," she said, leaving no
doubt as to what she expected to happen now.
    She pressed a finger to the control. The fabric of her
jumpsuit parted down her neck. She lifted her finger, held it
poised, ready to part the fabric even more.
 Kirk willed himself to keep his eyes locked on hers.
 "There won't be a later," he said. "Unless you answer me
now."
 With that, everything changed.
    Teilani's smile this time was one that encouraged friend-
ship, not desire. She tugged once on her collar, an odd gesture.
Her jumpsuit stayed open, though. A casual look. Not neces-
sarily seductive.
 Hell, Kirk thought. She's seductive just standing there.
 "Ask me whatever you wish to know, James. I can have no

76

secrets from you." Then she turned her back to him and
walked to the window over the kitchen sink.
    Kirk's pupils automatically widened as his eyes traced the
unbroken line of the jumpsuit along her back, down her legs,
each curve undisguised. But he looked away. It was no time
for distraction.
    He moved to the other side of the kitchen, leaned against
the counter. The sunlight shining through the window over
the sink caught her hair in a mesmerizing interplay of light
and shadow.
    A halo, Kirk thought. As if his visitor were some mythic
creature descended from the heavens.
    "Why were you at the reception?" he asked, mentally
shrugging off the vision. The question seemed so prosaic for
one so celestial.
 "I was invited."
    She smiled again and this time he returned it, relaxing a
fraction. It was to be a game, he decided with relief. He could
deal with that. Enjoy it, even. The rules would give him a
badly needed focus.
 "And why were you invited?"
    "To celebrate the selection of Starlleet's new commander in
chief."
    "That's not what I meant," Kirk said. "Invitations went out
to Starfleet personnel, diplomats, industry leaders from the
Federation--"
    "And to the Klingon Empire," she continued. "The
Romulan Star Empire. The First Federation. The unaligned
worlds."
 "And which are you?"
    She looked down for a moment, as if the question were
difficult, required thought.
 "Unaligned," she said. "For now."
    That made no sense to Kirk. The heritage of her brow and
ears clearly said she was one of either the Klingon or Romulan

                77

empire. "But your... parents..." Kirk said, unsure as to
how blunt he could be. Despite Spock's logic, one of her
parents might even have been Vulcan.
    Teilani traced a finger along the sweep of one delicately
pointed ear. "Once, my home was a colony world." She
neglected to say of which empire. "We opted for...
independence, many years ago."
    Kirk's instincts instantly told him her statement was the
beginning of a story. Her initial, mind-dazzling approach to
him had been some sort of smoke screen. She had something
to tell him. Something she wanted from him.
     He was pleased he had turned her advances aside, seen
through her game before he knew it was even being played.
 Good instincts, he decided. At least they still worked.
    The afternoon was shaping up to be far more rewarding
than he had first thought when he had arrived.
 "Tell me, Teilani," Kirk began. "Why is it--"
 It was then the attack began.

ELEVEN

Kirk saw it like a slow-replay holoprojection.
    The kitchen window behind Teilani erupted in a starburst
of glittering glassire shards. Each glint and sparkle of sunlight
on the shattered fragments etched a pinpoint afterimage of
black against his eyes.
    A spray of green blood blossomed over her shoulder,
expanding like a galaxy in space.
 Her scream was low, drawn out, distorted.

 Her arc through the air seemed effortless.
    Kirk surged forward, trapped in dreamlike slow motion, as
if the air had thickened, as if the kitchen expanded to stretch
the distance between her and him.
    She hit the floor, hair flying. She slid. Moaned. Blood
smearing from the angry green gash atop her shoulder, the
black jumpsuit torn.
    Kirk heard the whistle of another projectile cutting through
the air.
 The far wall shuddered with a spray of plaster.
    But Kirk was not distracted from what he knew he must do.
Even as he scooped her into his arms, he assimilated the
details of the attack, calculated his response.
    Holding her securely, he burst through the kitchen door-
way, heading for the stairway.
    Teilani's eyes were shut tight with pain, though the bleeding
had stopped already.
    Kirk halted by the stairway, He heard footsteps running
outside. Teilani stayed limp in his arms.
    There were at least two attackers, Kirk knew. The angle of
the two projectile blasts had told him that--each from a
different location of cover. The first blast to hit the wall had
come from beside the barn.
    Kirk began to see his strategy. Projectile weapons meant the
attackers weren't local. Local farmers who kept weapons
preferred old-fashioned laser rifles. Times were slow to
change in Iowa.
    Projectile weapons also gave Kirk a clue to the attackers'
motives. He considered it rapidly. If they had wanted to
kidnap either Teilani or him, they'd be using phasers to stun
them. If they had just wanted to kill Teilani or him, they'd
have used more powerful phasers to disintegrate them.
    Their use of projectile weapons indicated they wanted to
kill someone, and have a body left to show for it. To prove that
the job had been done, or to teach others a lesson.
  Kirk could imagine there would be a few old-guard

78                                                                                       79

Klingons who would want to phaser him out of existence. He
knew there were others in the galaxy who'd pay to drag him
back to some alien world for a slow and painful death. There
were exceptions to every argument, Kirk knew, but he was
certain even Spock would conclude that whoever was charg-
ing up the porch stairs of his family farmhouse, they weren't
after James T. Kirk.
  They were after Teilani.
    He heard them fumble with the lockplate. They probably
had transmitters that could open any lock made in the past
fifty years. Kirk thanked his father for his love of antiques.
    His glance swept upward. The stairs. The Academy taught
that high ground was always preferable. But that meant it was
always expected.
    Kirk pushed his boot against a section of the wood paneling
that ran up the side of the stairway.
 A hidden, half-sized door popped open.
 The damp smell of the cellar enveloped him.
    It had been his playground as a child. He and his brother
had fought many valiant last stands there in endless games of
Humans and Romulans.
    He ducked down, forcing his way through the small door as
he heard a projectile blast the front door's ancient lockplate.
    He winced as he realized that with his injured shoulder he
could barely compensate for Teilani's added weight as he bent
over.
    He sat down heavily on the top step, still holding Teilani.
She stirred and looked up at him.
    He shook his head before she could speak, then reached out
to find the crosspiece he knew so well on the small door and
pulled it shut.
    The instant after the cellar door clicked shut, Kirk heard
the front door burst open.
 The enemy entered his house.
 He was surprised at the anger he felt.

     Two harsh voices spoke. Their speech was clipped. He
couldn't make out the language. But it wasn't human.
    Rapid footsteps rang out above them, past the hidden
basement door into the kitchen. Kirk eased Teilani to the step
below him. He placed a hand on her shoulder to guide her
down the wooden stairs, into the darkness.
    She moved silently. As if she was as classically trained as
Kirk.
 He followed behind her. Twelve steps down to the dirt floor.
     The footsteps were slower now, more cautious. They re-
traced their direction to the hidden doorway. Then stopped.
 Kirk nudged Teilani under the staircase.
    She didn't resist. She didn't speak. She followed his unspo-
ken orders. Whoever she was, Kirk guessed she wasn't a
civilian.
 His curiosity about her grew.
    Then the footsteps resumed, became fainter. They moved
upward, to the higher ground. Kirk was pleased. It meant the
attackers had been classically trained, too. It also meant they
didn't have anything resembling a tricorder that could scan
for life signs.
    Kirk smiled. This was going to be easy. He reached for his
belt. Brought out his communicator. Held the mute button as
he opened it, cutting off its distinctive chirp.
    In the pate light of its status indicators, Kirk and Teilani
looked at each other. Neither showed fear. There was only
intense expectation.
Kirk knew the feeling well. Every time he faced death.
Kirk moved closer to Teilani and put her arm around his
waist. He tapped the silent, emergency recall button on the
communicator. In seconds, the Starfleet transporter grid
would beam him and Teilani to an orbital station.
  He braced for the cool wash of the transporter beam.
  It didn't come.

80                                                                                      81

     Something thudded upstairs. He felt Teilani's arm tighten
 involuntarily around him. Classically trained for combat, he
 decided, but not experienced.
     He risked opening an audible communications channel to
 see what had gone wrong.
  For an instant, static hissed.
     Kirk closed the communicator. Whoever the attackers
 were, they had a subspace jammer operating nearby. The
 transporter wasn't going to save the day.  But that suited Kirk.
    The two intruders remained upstairs. Chances were they'd
been briefed on the type of structure they might find on a
human farm. That meant they'd know there was an attic to be
searched. Eventually, they'd think about a cellar as well.
    But chances also were they hadn't been given a full ground-
ing in human history, and how humans had responded to
various threats throughout the centuries.
    Kirk moved out from under the stairs, drawing Teilani out
with him. In the darkness, he guided her toward where he
knew the far wall would be. He lifted his feet only a
centimeter from the ground, sliding each forward slowly, just
in case any boxes or furniture still remained down here.
Without being told, Teilani matched her movements to his,
exactly.
    Though the farmhouse had been remodeled over the years,
and the decades, most of it dated from almost two hundred
and fifty years earlier. Good, solid, pre-World War III con-
struction.
    The Earth had been a different place then. Dark, paranoid,
no one certain if the human race would survive long enough
to use the incredible promise of Zefram Cochrane's startling
breakthrough of warp propulsion.
So humans had taken measures to insure their survival.
The day that little Jimmy and his brother had found the old
bomb shelter under their house had marked one of Kirk's
most exciting summers.

    Their parents hadn't wanted them playing down there, ten
meters beneath the side yard. But Kirk and his brother had
scavenged wood and plastic, rescued discarded furniture,
made it their secret starbase.
    And like all good secret starbases, it had secret entrances.
One from the house. And one from the barn.
    While the intruders investigated the high ground, Kirk and
Teilani would outflank them.
    Kirk reached out blindly and touched the cellar wall exactly
where he estimated it should be. He slid his fingers along the
rough polycrete, dislodging dust and old cobwebs, till he
found the edge of the tunnel door. It wasn't disguised. He
found the small handle. Twisted it. The door was stuck.
    He let go of Teilani, held one hand open and ready, then
tugged on the handle. With a crack of old paint, the door
popped open.
 Kirk heard Teilani take a sharp breath and hold it.
 He listened more carefully.
 Nothing.
    He had learned there was never any sense in hoping for the
best in these conditions. The intruders must have heard the
door open. They were just trying to decide from where the
sound had come.
    Kirk quickly reached into the tunnel and explored the
wall's surface. He found the switch. Light channels flickered
into subdued life on the ceiling,
    Kirk motioned for Teilani to go first. She crouched down to
fit under the tunnel's low ceiling and started forward.
    Kirk listened one last time for footsteps. They were coming
downstairs. Fast.
    He crouched. Entered the tunnel. Pulled the door shut
behind him. Threw the sliding lock.
 "Run," he said. The time for silence was over.
    They scrambled along the tunnel, passing through dark
sections where the light channels had finally given out. It

82                                                             83

 turned sharply at thirty meters, where the entrance to the
 bomb shelter was. Kirk felt it was a small victory. At least the
 enemy couldn't just pull open the door and fire wildly down
 the tunnel. Now he'd be able to hear them as they approached
 the turn.
     Teilani slowed as she saw the bomb shelter's entrance. But it
 was not Kirk's destination. If they entered the shelter, it
 would only be a trap. There would be nothing to prevent one
 attacker from remaining on guard outside while the other
 went for a phaser, which could easily burn through the heavy
 metal door.
    So Kirk urged Teilani to keep running. The door to the barn
entrance was dead ahead. Once there, she moved to the side
to let Kirk pass. He saw her frown, puzzled by the crude
attempts at Romulan words Kirk and his brother had written
on the tunnel wall in their childhood.
    Kirk didn't bother to listen for their pursuers in the tunnel.
He shoved open the door, pulled Teilani through, then closed
it behind them.
    They stood in a sunken stairwell, which was open to the
barn. Kirk looked up to the rafters overhead. Enough sunlight
filtered in through the old boards that he could see where he
was going.
    He sprinted up the polycrete stairs, no longer concerned
about noise. Teilani followed. At the top of the stairs, Kirk
paused, looked around. There were still some old hay bales by
the empty horse stalls. He headed for them.
    Together, he and Teilani tossed five bales into the stairwell.
The attackers would have to dig their way out once they
realized they couldn't open the door.
 "I don't hear them," Teilani whispered.
    For a brief moment, as he looked at her, Kirk couldn't help
noticing the incongruous strands of hay in her hair.
    "Maybe they haven't found the cellar yet," Kirk whispered
back. He reached out to brush away the straw, remembering

84

the romantic adventures he had had in this barn. All the hay
he had had brushed from his own hair.
 Then he heard the thud of a vehicle door outside.
    He crept to a narrow gap between two boards in the barn's
high wall. Teilani followed. Shoulder to shoulder they peered
out through the slit.
    An antigray car was parked in the yard, halfway between the
barn and the farmhouse. It was a late-model, self-drive rental,
the kind that could fly off the programmed flight paths.
    The attackers wore nondescript civilian clothes that would
not attract attention on any world. One, with bare, hard-
muscled arms and a long, sleeveless vest, sat in the passenger
side, intent on adjusting some piece of equipment on his lap.
The other, in a dull gray tunic, stood beside the open door,
holding ready a gleaming silver projectile gun, looking anx-
iously about.
    But their clothing, their weapons, and their equipment
weren't the important details Kirk focused on.
 His attackers' foreheads were furrowed like a Klingon's.
 But their ears were pointed.
    Just like Teilani. Youths, no older than she was. And in the
same superb state of fitness.
     "Do you know them?" Kirk whispered. For an instant, he
took his eyes off the youth with the gun. Teilani shook her head.
 Kirk wasn't certain if he could believe her.
 "But they're your people," he said.
 "There are many like I am. I don't know them all."
    "But you know who sent them," Kirk persisted. "Tell me
why they want you."
 Her dark eyes burned into him.
 "They don't want me, James. They want you."

85

YINl:LIm

 Kirk didn't believe her.
  There was no reason for these youths to pursue him.
  He didn't know them. Had never known anyone like them.
  "Why?", he asked.
    But close beside him, Teilani shook her head, held a fingerI
to her lips. Listened intently.
    The youths were talking. Kirk didn't understand a word, '~
Their words were too faint, their language unknown.     i
    But Teilani's ears were apparently as sensitive as Spock's.'
And she knew their language. "They think we might have
transported away," she whispered.
  "How could we? They're jamming my communicator."
  "That's what they're checking now."
    Kirk watched the two Klingon-Romulans in heated conver-
sation. The one in the vehicle slammed shut the cover of the
equipment on his lap. Kirk decided that was the subspace
jammer. They would have to know it was functioning proper.
ly. They'd have to know that he and Teilani were still
somewhere near.
    Kirk stared at the antigrav car. Suddenly realized what he
had missed.
 "How did you get here?" he asked her.
"Car," Teilani said. "I parked it down by the gate."
Kirk calculated the odds. The gate was three hundred
meters down the drive. Even at Teilani's age he couldn't
outrun a projectile over that distance.

86

    The youth in the car got out. Kirk watched the powerful
muscles in his arms flex impatiently as he also drew a
gleaming projectile gun from inside his vest.
    Now both youths stood in the yard, dark eyes sweeping the
area, weapons held ready.
 "They're going to find us," Kirk said softly.
 Teilani looked at him, alarmed. "You're giving up?"
    Kirk felt insulted. "No. I'm stating the inevitable. If we're
going to take control of the situation, we have to make them
find us under our terms, not theirs."
     Teilani raised an eyebrow in appreciation. Kirk almost
smiled at how familiar her expression was. "Tell me what to do," she said.
    Kirk looked around the barn. It was all so familiar. He and
Sam had saved the Federation a thousand times here.
 He decided the enemy wouldn't have a chance.

    It took less than a minute to set the trap. Baiting it would
not be any additional trouble. The Klingon-Romulans were
already beginning to move toward the barn.
    Kirk watched them from his vantage point high in the
hayloft. Teilani now crouched by the empty horse stalls. He
signaled to her. She ducked down, out of sight. Kirk tossed a
small piece of chipped polycrete so that it hit the barn door.
    Instantly both Klingon-Romulans fired at the door, splin-
tering its ancient wood. The barn reverberated with the twin
explosions.
    Then the youth in the gray tunic ran forward and kicked
away the remains of two barn boards, creating a new entrance
in the closed barn door.
He eased through slowly, gleaming weapon leading the way.
Then he was in the barn, looking all around.
"There is no escape!" the Klingon-Romulan called out, in
precise Federation Standard. There was no trace of any accent
Kirk could identify. "Accept your fate! Die honorably!"
 Kirk held his position, knowing he could not be seen. The

87

 youth's sentiments had more than a touch of Klingon sensibil-
 ity to them. But Kirk thought it interesting that the hunter
 had not called out the name of his intended prey--either Kirk
 or Teilani.
     The youth remained in position, unmoving. Kirk under-
 stood the strategy. Wait for your opponent to make a mistake.
     But mistakes were for the impatient young. Kirk didn't
 make them anymore.
  At least, not in situations like this.
In the end, Kirk's patience, and experience, won out.
The youth in gray said something over his shoulder, moved
farther into the barn. His partner edged warily through the
splintered door.
    Kirk waited till the two Klingon-Romulans stood shoulder
to shoulder, each checking a different angle of the barifs
interior. Then Kirk tossed his second chip of polycrete.
 It landed far back in the barn's depths.
      An instant after it bounced against a wooden post, two
explosions followed as the Klingon-Romulans fired.  Kirk was impressed by their reflexes.
      But the chip hadn't been intended to draw their fire. It was
Kirk's second signal to Teilani. She made her move.
    Like a molten shadow she flew from a stall, somersaulting
over the half-height door, flipping over, landing precisely on
her feet and continuing on.
    The barn rang with the sounds of explosions as the attack-
ers' shots traced Teilani's path, always a heartbeat behind.
    But Kirk didn't stop to admire her acrobatics. He had no
doubt she would end up vaulting onto the hay bales in the
sunken stairwell, safely out of range of any more explosive
shells. And by then, the enemy would no longer be a threat.
  Kirk would see to that.
  It was his turn.
 Leaping from the hayloft. Rocketing clown on the rope

88

looped an)und the old hay pulley. Pulling up his legs just so to
hit each Klingon-Romulan squarely in the back with each
boot.
    The bare-armed youth just started to turn in time. Just
managed to see Kirk's boot as it drove toward him.
    The wrenching impact sent shocks of fire along Kirk's legs
and up his back. His teeth clacked together, sending sparks of
pain flashing through his jaw.
    But the pain was easily ignored in the satisfaction of feeling
his enemies' bodies become unresisting deadweights as they
absorbed his charge.
     Kirk released the rope and landed running. He spun
around, ready to dive forward. And he had to dive.
    The youth in the gray tunic lay facedown on the barn's
polycrete floor. But his bare-armed partner was on his knees/
aiming his weapon.
    Kirk hit the floor on his shoulder. He gasped in shock as his
strained shoulder crunched on impact.
    Reflexively he slapped the ground to absorb his momentum
and spare further affront to his back and arm. The sudden
stop of his forward motion saved his life as an explosive shell
ripped out a hole in the polycrete just before him.
 The left side of his face stung with a spray of stone chips.
 Kirk jumped to his feet, ready to dodge again.
 The kneeling youth brought his weapon up.
    Teilani charged. Her bloodcurdling Klingon death cry filled
the barn. The youth's weapon wavered.
 That moment's distraction was all Kirk needed.
 He leapt forward.
     Teilani hit the floor and rolled at the exact instant a
projectile blasted through the air above her. Kirk hit the youth shoulder to chest.
    It was the final indignity to Kirk's challenged muscles.
Something tore in his shoulder. Kirk's teeth ground together.

89

He tasted blood from the cuts on his face. But still he grabbed
the bare-armed youth by the front of his vest and drove in
hard with a solid head butt.
    Stars flashed before Kirk's eyes with the sharp crack of his
forehead against the youth's heavy brow ridges.
    But green blood flooded from the attacker's nose. His dark
eyes lost focus.
 Kirk let go of the fabric of the vest.
 His adversary fell back with a moan.
    Kirk longed to do the same. But he settled for sitting back
on the floor, taking inventory of his aching joints and limbs.
    He was disgusted to hear himself wheeze as he fought to
recover his breath.
    Right now, he felt old enough to be Teilani's great-
grandfather.
    She knelt beside him. She held both attackers' weapons.
"You're hurt, James."
    Kirk laughed at the understatement. The action sent a new
wave of agony through his shoulder, forced him to gasp for
breath. But he laughed again.
 Teilani frowned. "You think this is... amusing?"
    Kirk shook his head, barely able to speak. "No..." he
gasped. "I was... I was just thinking... that I haven't
felt... this good... in years."
    He saw the baffled expression in her eyes. He couldn't help
it. Laughter welled up in him, uncontrollable.
 The pain only made it harder to stop.

THIRTEEN

When he felt he could breathe without setting fire to his
shoulder, Kirk stood. He even accepted Teilani's offered hand
to help him to his feet.
    For a moment, he felt light-headed. He didn't know if it was
from oxygen starvation or adrenaline letdown. He didn't
particularly care. From experience, he knew the sensation
would pass, so the sensation could be ignored.
    The first thing to be done was to consolidate his gains. He
knelt beside one of the felled Klingon-Romulans, opened his
vest, felt inside for an ID packet or set of credit wafers. But
only found a clip of microexplosive projectiles.
 Then Kirk realized that something wasn't right.
 He held his hand to the youth's chest.
 It wasn't moving.
    He put his fingers to the youth's neck. Felt nothing where a
human carotid artery would be. Moved farther back along the
jaw to where the Vulcan and Romulan equivalent would be,
Then pushed under the jaw for the Klingon pulse point.
 The attacker was dead.
 "I didn't hit him that hard," Kirk said.
    He went to the second youth, still facedown on the floor. He
rolled the body over. There was a small pool of coagulating
blood from the youth's mouth, a few splattered drops of it on
his gray tunic, but no more than would result from a split lip
or dislodged tooth.

90                                                                          91

 Yet this second youth was also dead.
  "No," Kirk protested. It made no sense.
    Teilani tried to comfort him. "But they were trying to kill
you, James."
    "That's not it," Kirk said. These were young men. Fit and
strong. They weren't meant to die from a blow to the jaw ora
kick to the back.
    It was becoming apparent to Kirk that he had seen too
much death in his years. More and more it sickened him to
play a part in adding to the universe's store of it.
    "Why were they trying to kill me?" Kirk asked. He felt the
need to make their deaths count for something. Anything. He
took Teilani by the shoulders again. "You owe me answers."
    But she touched his face again, held out a single finger
stained with red blood. Kirk's blood.
 "There's a medkit in my car," she said.
    Kirk looked down at the bodies of the two young Klingon-
Romulans. They weren't going anyplace. He nodded wearily.
He started for the barn door. Teilani quickly took hold of his
hand, as if to steady him. He didn't protest her action. In the
back of his mind came the terrible thought that he might
stumble without her support.
    Outside, Kirk paused before beginning the long walk to the
gate and Teilani's car. He drew in a deep breath. The air had
become sharper, sweeter, more intense than before.
 Kirk knew the reason for the change.
 Victory. Triumph. Life.
 His life.
    Will it always be this way? he wondered. Could he only find
purpose in cheating death? And how much longer would his
aging body let him cheat death? What would happen when his
reflexes could no longer achieve what his instincts demanded?
    An unwelcome memory surfaced. Captain Christopher
Pike in his life-support chair. A starship captain reduced to
little more than an inert receptacle for an imprisoned mind.
 Kirk never wanted to face that--the day the mind out-

stripped the body. But as he limped along the dirt driveway to
the gate, now with his arm around Teilani's shoulders, he had
to admit that his body was beginning to succumb to the
ravages of time.
    "Tell me, Teilani," he said, each word an unexpected effort.
"Why did they come here?"
 "So you would not be able to help me."
 "Help you do what?"
 "Bring peace to my world."
    She was almost as infuriating as Spock could be, answering
only the specific question, never volunteering additional
details.
 "Where is your world? What's its name?"
    Kirk caught Teilani smiling at him, affectionately. "Don't
try to change the subject again," he warned. He knew the
power over him that that smile unleashed.
    "l'm not. It's just that I know you must be in pain, yet you
still hunger for knowledge." She gave his hand a firm squeeze
that was not necessary for support. "I was right to choose
you."
    Kirk groaned. She was maddening in many ways. "For
what?"
    They were almost at the gate. Kirk could see a groundcar
parked behind it, on the shoulder of the country road. From a
nearby stand of chestnut trees, he heard cicadas whine in the
heat. Birds sang songs he remembered from childhood sum-
mers.
    Teilani paused imperceptibly. She seemed to come to some
decision. "My world has many designations, James, depend-
ing on whose charts it appears. But for those of us who were
born there, who live there, we call it Chal."
    She looked at him as if testing him for any prior knowledge
0fwhat she was about to tell him. But the name of her planet
meant nothing to Kirk.
    "It began as a colony," she continued. "A joint venture of
sorts. I think you can guess who its founders were."

92                                                                         93

  Kirk nodded. "The Klingons, and the Romulans."
    "One of many attempts to bring the two empires together."
Teilani frowned. "And a failure, like all the others."
    They were at the gate. Teilani carefully lifted Kirk's arm
from around her shoulders so she could walk ahead and open
the latch, swing the gate open. The gate wasn't a security
device. Just a simple barricade to keep neighbors' livestock
from wandering in.
    "You said you opted for independence," Kirk prompted
her. He fought to keep his balance without her young body to
lean on.
    "In the end, neither empire wanted us. So we chose to make
our own way."
As Teilani swung the gate open, its old hinges squealed.
Feeling sudden kinship with the antiquated gate, Kirk
awkwardly started for the groundcar. He squared his shoul-
ders as best he could, somehow resisting the humiliating
temptation to shuffle. He felt embarrassed by his condition.
Exhausted. Vulnerable.
    "I can't imagine either empire willingly giving up a colony
world," he said. "Not if there was a chance the other side
would claim it."
    They stood before the groundcar--another self-drive ren-
tal. It was a touring model with an extended hull, and wide
bench seats in the back under a clear viewing dome. Kirk
knew it was a favorite of tourists who crossed the light-years
to visit the Amish farms nearby.
    "As far as either empire knew at the time, my world had
nothing of value. Chal was nothing more than a failed
experiment from the past. More regrettable than exploitable."
    "At the time," Kirk repeated. "Then something has
changed?" He stood back as Teilani punched in the operating
code on the door. It swung up with a soft hiss of air.
    "Yes," she said, and Kirk was surprised to hear in that one
word the same weariness he felt. As if Teilani bore a burden
far beyond her years. She lifted the door all the way open so

Kirk could enter. As he gripped the side of the car to step
inside, he reflected on his new role--the one being protected,
not protecting. It was... different.
    Kirk chose a rear seat. Teilani entered a moment later and
took the driver's seat. She punched more controls on the dash.
Kirk felt cool air begin to circulate, cutting the heat that had
built up beneath the dome.
    Teilani pivoted the driver's seat around to face him, then
reached below to open a small compartment marked with a
red cross. The medkit was required equipment for all cars. An
example of the pervasive regulations that made Earth what it
was today.
    "There's trouble on your world now, isn't there," Kirk said.
He slipped easily into the diagnosis of conflict. The habit of
too many years. Too much experience. "Two factions, at least.
You represent one. Those people who tried to kill us, they
represent the other."
    Teilani laid out the contents of the medkit like a soldier.
She ripped open a sterile swab.
    "As you suspect, our world has something of value after all.
Something neither empire knew of. Some on Chal want to
profit from our past and our world's treasure. Pit both
empires against each other and side with whichever promises
the richer price." She fixed her lustrous eyes on Kirk. They
were mesmerizing in their clarity and unwavering gaze. "But
some of us don't want a return to the conflict and the violence
of the past. We cannot allow our world to be plundered and
exploited. Chal must be preserved for our children, and their
children. Not squandered."
    The spray hypo she held against his injured shoulder hissed
against his skin. A cool sensation of relief eased the shoulder's
pain.
    Kirk had no doubt which side Teilani was on. He thought it
odd that one so young should worry about the future. He
hadn't when he had been her age. There had only been the
eternal present for him. He tried to keep that same state of

94                                                                        95

mind these days, but it was more difficult with each passing
year.
 Teilani reached out to wipe his face. But he stopped her.
 "How about your shoulder?" he asked.
    She touched the tear in her jumpsuit, crusted with blood.
"It's fine," she said.
    Again, Kirk didn't take her word as given. He took the swab
from her, remembering the explosion of green that had burst
from her.
    "We'll look after you first," he said. "I've just got a few
scrapes."
    She tried to pull back, but he wouldn't let her. He braced
her shoulder with one hand, then used his other hand to begin
cleansing her wound with the swab.
 The dried green blood flaked away.
 Kirk stopped.
 There was no wound.
    Only a purplish green bruise and raised yellow welt. With
no indication that the skin had ever been broken or blood had
ever been spilled.
 "I saw you get shot," Kirk said.
 Teilani held his hand against her shoulder.
     "There was blood," Kirk said. "The projectile exploded.
Threw you across the kitchen. I know you were hurt."
 Teilani's eyes sought his. Held them.
 "I told you my world has a treasure, James."
    He pulled on the fabric of her jumpsuit, exposing her
shoulder, to be certain he was not mistaken.
    Except for the bruise and welt beneath the original tear, her
skin was unmarked and flawless.
  "How is this possible?" Kirk demanded.
    Teilani took his hand and held it to her shoulder. He could
feel her pulse.
    "This is the treasure of my world, James. The gift it bestova
on all who live there."

96

    Kirk felt the heat of her unblemished body warm his hand.
But a chill spread through him, too.
    "Come home to Chal with me, James. Come home with me
and save my world." Her eyes bore into his like phasers set to
an infinite power. "Come home, and be young forever."

FOURTEEN

When that impossible day came to an end, Kirk had no clear
memory of it.
 Too much had happened. Too much had changed.
    The bittersweet return to his boyhood home, perhaps for
the final time. The disturbing shock of urgent passion trig-
gered by Teilani's unexpected appearance. The fierce but
welcome fight to cheat death one more time. The rebirth that
followed survival. As it always followed.
 And then--Teilani's revelation.
 Of Chal and its secret.
    A world where youth was eternal. Where death had no
dominion.
    As Teilani had tended his wounds, she told him more of
Chal. Nameless to all but its colonists, poor in resources, a
water world with only vegetation and a handful of animal
species on its minuscule island landmasses. A distant, worth-
less world. On the farthest reaches of the two empires'
reluctantly shared, often disputed border.
    She had slipped off his jacket, his shirt. Her cool hands and
skillful fingers had probed the muscles of his shoulder. Kirk

97

had closed his eyes as her hands moved over him, kneading,
caressing, somehow taking away the fire and the pain.
    And then Teilani's touch had brought a sudden memory of
being in a different place, being soothed the same way.
    He smelled wood fire. Remembered Miramanee, the tribal
priestess on the Preserver planet. Saw her dark hair swaying
above him, bound by her headband, all that she wore. She
moved her hands across him in an ancient ritual of her
people, calling him Kirok, making him hers.
    The memory flashed through him in an instant and he was
with Teilani again. She told him of the fitful truce between the
empires. The selection of her nameless world as a place to
strengthen their bonds. In time, the empires had fallen apart
again. Trade broke off. The colony world had been aban-
doned.
    Eventually, even the founders left, returning to the more
familiar, profitable worlds of their youth. But their children
chose to remain behind with what was familiar to them.
Hybrids all, Klingon and Romulan. With the perversity of[
youth, they had determined to side with neither empire, to
strike off on their own.
    And they had. Forging a new home. A new culture. Working
for a distant future when they could bequeath an indepen-
dent, functioning world to their children.
    But Chal had changed their future. Even as their own
children grew to adulthood, that first generation did not age.
    Eventually, all had realized that illness never struck their
world. Inevitable accidents, provided they weren't instantly
fatal, resulted only in injuries that healed without trace.
Almost at once.
 Kirk moved his fingers across Teilani's unmarked shoulder.
 Less than an hour after being shot, her wound was gone
completely.                                          ,,
  It was Teilani's turn to close her eyes, to push her shoulder
  into Kirk's hand, sighing as their flesh again made contact and
  she guided his hand beneath the fabric of her clothing.

    "Chal needs a hero," she breathed into his ear. "I need a
hero. To show us how to defend ourselves from those who
would destroy us."
    Her lips brushed his neck. Her hands moved across his
back, delicately raking her sharp nails across his skin, awaken-
ing nerve endings to a heightened awareness of what it was
possible to feel.
    Kirk was engulfed by sensations he no longer wanted to
question, no longer was able to question.
    He moved his face against her shoulder, delighting in the
warm scent of her hair, the delicacy of each tiny thread of it
feathering the back of her neck.
    Another memory claimed him, pulling him from the here
and now. He was in his cabin on the Enlerprise, tangled in the
glittering bedspread. His lips trailed across the neck of
Marlena Moreau. In another universe, a dark reflection of his
own, she had been the captain's woman. His woman. In this
instant, her scent still clung to him, blending with Teilani's.
    Kirk brought himself back to the moment. Brushed his lips
across Teilani's. Savored her sweetness. "You could go to the
Federation Council," he said softly. "IfChal is unaligned, you
could petition for membership, for protectorate status."
    He listened to the words he said with a sense of unreality, as
if someone else were speaking. One hand slipped to her waist,
imprinting the feel and the shape of her into his senses.
    The past claimed him again. He felt the smooth skin of
Kelinda. The icy beauty of the Kelvan explorer afire with the
sensations he brought to her for the first time in her human
form.
    Kirk knew what it was like to be overwhelmed by unex-
pected desire, as he had overwhelmed Kelinda. Teilani re-
awakened those same sensations in him now, as her hands
caressed him.
    "We cannot go to the Federation," Teilani said, her breath
quickening in response to his own caress. Kirk felt as if two
strangers conversed in the car while two others communed in

98                                                                        99

an exchange far more primal. "We are too deep in Kling0n
territory, in Romulan territory, for either to accept a Federa.
tion claim."
    Her hand captured his. Raised it to her lips. Moved her so~
tongue against and between his fingers, taking his breath
away.
    "We must do this on our own," she whispered, "or not at
all."
    Her other hand sought the dash behind her, found a
control.
    Slowly, the viewing dome darkened into total opacity,
encasing them in a cocoon of silence and privacy. A universe
of their own.
 "All or nothing," she said. They were her final words.
 All else that followed was beyond language.
    Each sound she made, each move, propelled Kirk further
from himself, into a realm of inexpressible perception.
    He was as overwhelmed as he had been by the tears of the
Dohlman. Elaan of Troyius was within his arms again,
demanding lips crushing his with a passion he had never
encountered before.
 But which he now encountered again.
 Come home with me and be young forever.
     Teilani had reawakened the youth of his past, given purpose
to his present, and now she was giving him back his future.
  His future.
    In the soft lighting of the car, Teilani drew away from Kirk.
Once more, she held her finger to the fabric sealer control at
her neck, kept it there.
    This time, the fabric of her jumpsuit parted completely, fell
away from her, nothing hidden, all revealed.
 Kirk held his breath at the beauty of her perfection.
 She reached out for Kirk.
 He did not hesitate.
 He flew through the years--

1oo

    ú.. to the ruins of Triskelion and Shahna, the drill thrall, as
her mane of auburn hair engulfed them both...
    ... to the haunting, empty duplicate of the Enterprise,
where he was caught in the rapture of Odona's love, as she
sought to save the people of Gideon but lost her heart to Kirk
instead...
    ... to the hyperaccelerated realm of the Scalosians, where
Queen Deela's pulse fluttered in time with his own, each
second of passion stretched to last an hour... Teilani was one and all women to him.
 Each touch was familiar, calling forth cherished memories.
    Each kiss was unique, searing new pathways through his
senses.
    Her hands, her lips, her body kept him trembling on the
brink of an ecstasy he had never imagined.
 Until all thought was finally driven from his mind.
    Until all that could exist was the brilliant clarity of the
moment.
 A wave of cleansing resurrection.
 For the first time in years, he was truly alive.

    When Teilani adjusted the dome control again, the sky was
red with sunset.
    Kirk lay back on the bed they had made by folding the rear
seats together. He gazed up at the darkening sky.
    He knew the Enterprise was up there, as he always did. But
in the sanctity of this moment, he couldn't hear her call to
him.
 He was at peace.
    Teilani lay beside him, one hand tracing patterns on his
chest, radiant with the same peace Kirk felt, glowing with the
sheen of their exertions.
 "So it's true," she said in a languid voice.
    Kirk turned on his side. He ran his fingers through the satin
waves of her hair. "What is?"

101

    She raised herself up on one elbow to look at him directly.
Her smile became wicked, delightful. "What they say about
humans."
 She laughed and Kirk felt his cheeks redden.
 Suddenly she kissed him again. Deeply. Expertly.
 The effect was literally breathtaking.
    She rolled over on top of him. Held his face in both her
hands. Her nose brushed his as she covered him with kisses,
her hair falling forward in an enclosing curtain.
 The fragrance of her hair, her breath, swept over him.
 "Come back with me?" she asked.
    Kirk narrowed his eyes, as if to reduce the influence her
loveliness had on him. His finger lightly trailed along her
body, traced the swell of her breast where she pressed against
him, the curve of her hip. Flawless. Somehow more than
perfect. "Why does a planet blessed with people like you, need
someone like me?"
    A small smile flickered across her face. She pushed herself
up and sat back on him, knees tight against his sides. Her
hands moved down his chest. "Experience," she said. "I can
attest to its value."
 And then--
 mshe tickled him, both hands digging into his ribs in a
 move so sudden and unexpected that Kirk choked in surprise.
 He couldn't remember the last time that anyone had tried
 that.
 Years. Too many years.
    She collapsed in giggles atop him. He had no choice but to
burst into laughter as well. He reached up under her arms to
give as good as he got.
    The car rang with their laughter. Some part of Kirk thought
it was as if two children were playing. And what's wrong with
that? he asked himself.
    Out of breath, Teilani stopped her attack, lay upon him.
What had been playful one moment became intensely erotic
the next.

102

 Kirk felt exhilarated by the quick recovery of his desire.
     For one long delicious moment, they stared at each other,
each knowing where the next moment would lead. Then the viewing dome vibrated.
    Kirk recognized the sound that caused it. He pushed past
Teilani, sat up, stared into the sunset.
    Down by his parent's farmhouse, the attackers' antigray car
was taking off.
     Teilani held on to his arm, watching with him as the car
banked over the barn and sped off toward the north.
 "There must have been three of them," she said.
    Kirk stared after the car. "Then why didn't the third one
come after us, too?"
    Teilani's voice shook with a burst of anger, with hatred.
"Why do they want to destroy my world? Why do they do
anything?"
 She pressed her head against Kirk's chest.
 He held her close.
 There were no more questions in his mind.
 No more uncertainties.
 Time was slipping too quickly through his fingers.
 He would not let this second chance slip through as well.

103

FIFTEEN

Leonard McCoy was immune to the Parisian cityscape spread
out before him. It was aglow with entire galaxies of lights,
drawing the eye unerringly to the floodlights bathing the
newly restored Eiffel Tower. But the beauty of the ancient city
held no charm for him tonight. He scowled over his mint
julep.
    "Our ancestors had a descriptive medical term for what
you're going through, Jim."
    "Did they?" Kirk asked, without enthusiasm. He had just
finished telling his two closest friends about his intention to
resign from Starfleet and accompany Teilani to Chal. But the
evening was not progressing as smoothly as he had hoped. He
should have realized. Things seldom did when both Spock
and McCoy were involved.
    The doctor sourly regarded his drink. "They called it
'middle-aged crazy.'"
    By the kitchen alcove, Spock raised an eyebrow. "Indeed. A
most fitting description."
    Kirk slumped in his chair. An uncomfortable position
because it was Vulcan, and most Vulcan chairs were not
meant for anything other than ramrod-straight posture.
"Spock, not you, too."
    "What did you expect?" McCoy's exasperation was evi.
dent. It gave his voice an edgy tenseness that flattened the
friendly warmth of his Southern drawl. Even to Kirk it was

104

unsettling to hear strong emotions being voiced in the serene
sanctuary of Spock's quarters in the Vulcan Embassy.
    "I don't know what I expected," Kirk said. "But what I had
hoped was that... you'd wish me well."
    Spook handed Kirk a thimble-sized glass filled with a yellow
liquid. Kirk looked at it skeptically. It smelled like licorice.
"You keep the makings for McCoy's mint julep here, but no
scotch?"
    "The doctor is a frequent visitor," Spock said. "He main-
tains his own supply of refreshments."
    Kirk looked at his two friends. McCoy was a fiequent
visitor? Here? He felt out of touch, as if he had ignored the
people closest to him. After a few moment's thought, he
realized he had. And regretted it. But it was still time to move
on.
    "As you must know," Spock continued, "we, of course, do
support you in any decision you make and indeed wish you
well."
    "Even if we also think you're a horse's ass," McCoy
grumbled.
    Kirk couldn't take it anymore. "Didn't you hear a word I
said?" He jumped to his feet, began to pace. "I love her,
Bones."
    McCoy was not impressed. "Didn't you hear a word/said?
You're crazy!"
    Spock stepped between the two men as a mediator. "Cap-
tain, if I may, you say you are 'in love.' How are we to expect
that this time is different from any of the others?"
    Kirk stared at Spock, surprised by the bluntness of his
question. "The point is, I'm different. Don't you see..."
Kirk looked around at the plain gray walls of the Vulcan-
designed room. They were the same walls that confined his
existence, pressing in on him from all sides, restricting
movement and freedom and life itself. "Spock, I'm dying
here."

105

    McCoy couldn't let that go. "Speaking as your doctor: No,
you're not."
    Kirk ignored him. "That's not what I mean, and you know
it. My time's running out. Your time. Spock's time. This past
year it's been as if everyone expects me to sit in my rocker and
stare at the sunset and wait for night to bring an end to
everything. But now, Teilani's showing me... a new hori-
zon."
 "She's blinding you, is more like it," McCoy said.
    Kirk had no argument with that. "Yes, she is. And I love it. I
can't stop thinking about her, Bones. I can't stop remember-
ing what it's like to be with her."
    "Your hormone levels would probably short out my
tricorder."
    Kirk grinned. "Exactly. Can you know what it's like to feel
that way again? Bones, she's... incredible. Beyond incredi-
ble. I mean, when she--"
 McCoy turned away. "Spare me the details."
    But Kirk wouldn't let himself he ignored. He couldn't keep
Teilani bottled up inside him. "1 feel like I'm twenty again.
That thrill, that expectation, it's all come back to me. Each
morning. Each day. Each night. Everything is new again.
Everything, Bones."
 "The only thing that's new is the Enterprise-B."
 That stopped Kirk.
    McCoy was visibly working to hold in his anger, now.
"Almost finished. Up in spacedock. Going to be launched
within the year. And she's already been assigned to Captain
Harriman--not James T. Kirk."
    Kirk angrily rejected the diagnosis. It was too simplistic. He
felt his temper spiraling upward to match McCoy's. "You're
not listening to me. This is not about the Enterprise. This is
about me. My feelings. My needs." He turned to Spock.
"Spock, you know, don't you? We spoke of passion. You said
that's what I needed. And Teilani has made me feel that
again."

106

    "Of that, I have no doubt, Captain. But that same passion
has adversely affected your judgment."
    Kirk was astounded by Spock's blanket assessment. "Exact-
ly how has my judgment been affected?"
    "Have you stopped to consider what Teilani's motives in
this matter may be?"
 "Spock, what does it matter?"
 McCoy stepped to Spock's side.
 "It matters because she's using you, Jim."
    Kirk spread his arms wide. "Then let her use me. My God,
Bones. Do you know what it means to be useful again? You've
got medicine. Spock's got diplomacy. But what do I have?
What did I have until Teilani came to me and said her world
needs me?"
    McCoy shot Spock a sideways glance. "Well, I suppose it is
a more original line than, 'Come here often, sailor.'"
    Kirk didn't know how much more of this he wanted to hear.
"Bones, Spock himself confirmed everything Teilani told me.
The failed Klingon-Romulan colony. How neither side
claimed it. How it declared independence."
    "So she read the same handful of paragraphs in a Starfleet
almanac that Spock did," McCoy said dismissively. "Ha. No
one even knows the exact location of this Chal place."
    Spock steepled his fingers in a meditative pose. "To be fair,
Captain, the drastic nature of your intentions does not seem
to coincide with the apparent threat faced by Chal. I therefore
suspect you have not told us everything Teilani has revealed to
you about her world and its predicament."
    Kirk wore his best poker face, though he knew it had long
since stopped working on Spock and McCoy. "I've told you
everything that's pertinent. Some things, minor things, she
did tell me in confidence. There's no need to repeat them."
    He still found it difficult to believe in the amazing medical
properties Teilani claimed for her world.
    But if he dared tell anyone, even his friends, what Teilani
had told him about... being young forever, they'd lock him

107

up. The galaxy was littered with false fountains of youth. Not
to mention the con artists who fleeced those desperate enough
to believe in them. He had no intention of looking more
foolish to his friends than he apparently already did.
     "In confidence," McCoy sputtered in the midst of a sip.
"Pillow talk is more like it." "Bones, don't."
    McCoy slammed down his glass, as if he'd lost his taste for
his favorite drink. "And if I don't, who will? Face it, Jim,
you've got all the symptoms of someone escaping reality at
warp nine. We all know you need something to do. But to go
off, you'll excuse the expression, half-cocked with this
child--"
    Kirk faced McCoy as if facing an accuser, shouted back at
him, surprising himself as much as his friend. "She's an adult,
Bones. She knows what she's doing. Her planet has no defense
system, no military history. They need me... someone of
my experience to... set up a police force, show them how to
defend themselves, secure their world and their future."
    "And you think there aren't a thousand consulting compa-
nies on a hundred worlds that are better equipped to do that
than you? You don't think that the Federation would jump at
a chance to set up a joint peacekeeping operation with the
Klingons and the Romulans to improve relations?"
 "There are other considerations," Kirk insisted.
    "I'm sure there are. Her considerations!" McCoy held uo
his fingers as he counted them out. "Your reputation. Your
prestige. Your instant access to virtually any level of govern-
ment and industry in the Federation and almost anyplace else
you'd care to mention." McCoy's eyes were wide with indig-
nation. "How long do you think it's going to be before your
little playmate snuggles up to you in bed some night and asks
if you could set up a teeny-tiny meeting between her and some
planetary official? Or some industrialist that she couldn't get
to in ten years of negotiations?"
 "What's wrong with any of that?" Kirk demanded.

McCoy shook his head in pity. "She's a third your age."
"Which is how she makes me feel!" Kirk took a deep
breath. He hadn't wanted any ofthis to happen. "Bones, even
if everything you say is true, what's wrong with it?" Kirk
reached out to his friend, anger turning to a plea for under-
standing. "Teilani and I are both adults. We're both going into
this with our eyes wide open. If I can take five steps with her,
and then drop dead on the sixth, at least I will have had those
first five."
    Kirk turned to Spock. His Vulcan friend revealed no trace
of what he was thinking. "Spock, you understand what I'm
saying."
 "I do," Spock said.
    At last Kirk felt hope. Perhaps there was a way back from
this emotional precipice after all. "Then help me here. Help
Bones see that what I'm doing isn't wrong."
    But Spock shook his head. "I cannot. For in this instance, I
find myself in the unique position of agreeing with everything
Dr. McCoy has said."
    Those simple words, spoken so calmly, were more of a
shock to Kirk than if McCoy had come right out and punched
him.
 "Spock... no."
    "If you have been forthcoming with us, Captain, then I
must say your actions involving this woman are uncharacter-
istic, unsuitable, and ill-serving your past reputation and
accomplishments."
    Kirk stared at Spock. Mortified. In his own Vulcan way,
Spock was shouting at him, too.
    "To abandon Starfleet and your career in order to become
little more than a mercenary, apparently paid by the sexual
favors of a young woman about whom you know little or
nothing, is not an act of passion."
 "Then just what is it?" Kirk demanded hotly.
    "It is an act of desperation. And desperation is also an
emotion with which I am familiar."

108                                                                          109

    The silence in the room was physical, like a jungle to be
hacked through.
    "Spock," Kirk said quietly, "you once asked me if we had
grown so old that we had outlived our usefulness .... "
    "The times have changed, Captain. As have our abilities.
Our functions and our goals must change with them. To refuse
to accept the inevitable is the first step toward obsolescence,
and extinction."
    Suddenly, Kirk felt empty. There was no need to control his
emotions. He no longer felt anything. "What ifI don't want to
change?" His voice sounded flat to him. As if it came from a
great distance.
 "Then that would be... unfortunate."
     "Unfortunate..." Kirk said. Three decades of friendship
dissolving in that one spoken word. That one verdict.
    Kirk faced Spock, and then McCoy, and it was as if he
looked at strangers. Had they ever known him well? Had he
ever understood them so little?
    After almost thirty years, Kirk could think of nothing more
to say to Spock or McCoy.
    "It's late," Kirk said. He stared at them both, fixing them in
his memory. In case he might never see them again. "I have
to... take care of some loose ends."
     Spock and McCoy let him go. In silence. As if they, too,
could think of nothing more to say to him. Times had changed.
 Kirk continued on his journey.
 Alone.

SIXTEEN

With no hint of hyperbole, San Francisco Travelport called
itself "The Crossroads of the Galaxy." And rightly so.
    The vast central hall of the enormous complex echoed with
a symphony of travel and commerce--boarding calls, arrival
and departure times, lost-child announcements, commercial
messages in all the languages of Earth.
    Its very air was an overload of intermingled aromas--from
the precise harshness of filtered and reconditioned air, to the
exotic spices of food kiosks representing dozens of worlds,
and the complex tapestry of scents and perfumes from the
milling, passing crush of humanity and other species, in all
their varied forms.
    When Kirk had first come here as a boy to see his father off,
the sights and sounds of this crossroads had overwhelmed
him. Became magic to him. Claimed his imagination and his
heart forever.
    To step beyond any of the departure lounges was to go by
suborbital shuttle to anywhere in the world in less than an
hour. Or by impulse liner to the Moon in less than a day. The
Martian Colonies in less than a week.
    Or even by warp to the stars, for however long time itself
might last.
    But now, for all its romance, the teeming Travelport was
little more than a meaningless way station to him. One last
stop, one final obstacle to overcome before he could begin
what he had to do.

110                                                                                     111

    Instead of magic, today--his first day out of Starfleet since
enrolling in the Academy forty-four years agora Kirk saw only
aimlessness and confusion.
    Cut off from the Starfleet infrastructure and orbital trans-
porter grid he had come to accept as second nature, Kirk
almost felt as if Earth had become an alien planet.
    He had to think about how to do almost everything.
Without a Starfleet communicator on his belt, he had to
remember his personal transmitter code, how to access the
commercial data spectrum, even endure listening to advertis-
ing messages as his request was passed through the worldwide
computer nets.
 It took five times as long to do anything.
 Even leaving Earth was going to take hours.
    So the Travelport he had once associated with unlimited
possibilities had become nothing more than an infuriating
bottleneck.
 He knew what was beyond each of the departure lounges.
 He knew exactly where he wanted to go.
 But he couldn't just say "One to beam up" anymore.
 James T. Kirk was a civilian.
    As a student of anachronistic language constructions might
have put it, he thought it sucked.
    Finally, the computer screen Kirk stood before in the
Travelport's Public Communications Hub changed to show
his call had been put through.
     Kirk sighed. It was about time. He tensed for what was to
come. The conversation he had put off till the very last.
 But Carol Marcus wasn't home.
 Kirk relaxed.
    Carol could never be one of his "loose ends." They had
loved each other once. Made a son. Only time and the stars
had been able to pull them apart. Only heartbreak and
circumstance had been able to bring them back together.
 The memory of what had been between them still re-

112

mained. But it was clear to both of them now that that
memory was no longer enough.
    Kirk felt certain Teilani had nothing to do with his achiev-
ing this insight, except to accelerate his recognition of the
inevitable. It was time for Carol and him to continue their
own lives. Otherwise, both risked descending into the stultify-
ing abyss of habit and familiarity that had drawn him back to
her on his return from Khitomer, and the Enterprise's last
voyage.
    The computer screen waited for Kirk to indicate whether he
wished to leave a message or make a further call.
    Kirk hesitated. Carol deserved more than the brief fare-
wells he had recorded for his office staff at the Academy. But
he didn't know how much more than that he had to give right
now.
    In the end, instinct won out. Whenever the urge to hesitate
grew too strong in him, Kirk knew it was the signal that he
must take action. Only then could he continue to move
forward.
 He touched the message bar on the screen.
 The computer said ~ was recording.
    "Carol... I know what I want now." But how could he
explain it to her? "I... uh, you helped me find it." He felt
flustered. It was not like him to struggle for words. But all his
skills, all his bravado, evaporated when it came to facing and
expressing his own desires. "Thank you for... everything
you've brought to me, shared with me." He placed his hand
on the screen, picturing Carol on the other side, sometime
later this day, watching her messages, her fingers joining the
phantom images of his own. "I'll always love you," Kirk said.
A universe of emotion in that simple promise. Then he
disconnected.
    Maybe that was always part of the problem, be thought. He
loved them all. And always would.
 The insight made him stop and stare at the patient cornput-

113

er screen for a few silent moments. There was no question
that he knew the finality of his next action. What he was
leaving behind. Who he was leaving behind. Forever.
    But he was moving forward again. Contemplating the risks
and the chaos that might accompany the voyage only filled
him with anticipation, even excitement.
    With a lightness of being he had not felt since his return,
Kirk turned away from the computer. He headed toward the
central hall of the Travelport.
    Teilani waited for him there, under the holographic display
that showed the times and dates on Earth, the Moon, and
Mars.
 Her face lit up as she saw him emerge from the crowd.
    Kirk increased his stride, moving with purpose again. He
felt himself quicken in return.
 He didn't know what would happen next in his life.
    But here at the crossroads of the galaxy, he was no longer
without direction.

  Once again, Teilani surprised him.
    Kirk was beginning to think he should come to expect that
as normal.
    As it turned out, they didn't have to wait hours to book
last-minute passage on a shuttle. Teilani had a private yacht.
Standing by, already cleared for launch.
    Customs and immigration clearance was no more difficult
than slipping an ID wafer into a reader and having a retina
pattern confirmed.
    As Kirk and Teilani were swept along a moving walkway
toward a private shuttle pad, she told him that the simplified
procedures were part of the diplomatic privileges of her
invitation to Admiral Drake's reception the week before.
    That detail had been troubling Kirk. "If your world is so
distant, considered so inconsequential, why did the Federa-
tion decide to invite someone from Chal?" he asked.

!14

    "We're not unknown to the Federation, James. Over the
years we've set up specialized trade relations with various
groups. We do have accounts in most of the key interstellar
exchanges." She put her hand on his, where he held the
moving handrail. "And I asked to be invited. I'm sure the
Federation Protocol Office didn't have to think twice about
complying. It was a large reception, and an invitation to
delegates from Chal could be considered a gesture of good-
will. To both the Romulan and Klingon empires,"
    Kirk turned his hand over to grasp hers in his. They were
nearing the pad. He could smell fresh air blowing into the
transfer tunnel.
    "But you didn't talk to me at the reception," he said,
remembering his first glimpse of Teilani. When he had first
felt the need to be with her. Like this.
    "I wanted to. But you were with your friends. And the
admiral." Teilani shrugged.
    Kirk relived the moment Teilani had turned away--the
moment Androvar Drake had stopped at his table.
    "Do you know Admiral Drake?" he asked suddenly. He
couldn't be certain, but he thought he recalled seeing a flicker
of recognition in her eyes that night. Although those three
Romulan ales still cast a pall on a full recollection of the
evening.
 But Teilani said, "No."
    The walkway slowed and they stepped off. Teilani had no
luggage. Kirk carried a single, soft-sided bag. Inside were two
real books, a few treasured computer wafers with images of
friends and family, and a change of clothes. The contents of
the bag were all he truly wanted to take with him. A lifetime
distilled into less than four kilograms of idiosyncratic, per-
sonal belongings. Everything else he had collected over the
years was in long-term storage. The prospect of walking away
from so much of the accumulated detritus of life added to his
sense of liberation.

115

  They emerged from the tunnel, onto the tarmac.
     Teilani's sleek yacht was caught in a web of floodlights. Its
 smooth white hull glowed stark against the night.
    Kirk's eyes brightened. Starfleet craft were of necessity
designed for multipurpose applications, resulting in solid,
utilitarian designs.
    But the manufacturers of private spacecraft were under no
such restrictions.
    Teilani's yacht not only couMtravel at warp one, it lookedas
if it could. An aggressive set of double curves swept around
from the flight-deck windows to flow smoothly over the long
blisters of the miniaturized warp nacelles tracing the lower
edge of each side.
    "I like it," he said with understatement. He began to walk
around the yacht in the center of the pad, giving it a pilot's
traditional preflight visual inspection. Teilani accompanied
him. "But I've never flown anything like it."  "Oh, you don't have to fly it, James."
      Kirk froze as he passed by the flight deck. Not because of
what Teilani said, but because of what he saw.
 One of the attackers from the farm.
 Alive.
 Kirk instantly pushed Teilani behind him.
    The youth looked up, startled. He had been doing some-
thing inside an open access panel on the yacht's hull.
 Kirk rushed forward, pressing the advantage of surprise.
 "James, no!" Teilani shouted after him. "He's the pilot!"
    Kirk's upraised fist paused a split second. Just long enough
for Kirk to take in his target's features.
    He was one of Teilani's hybrid race--furrowed brow,
pointed ears. Young like her. Like the two attackers who had
tried to kill them.
    But in the brilliant glare of the floodlights, he also saw that
Teilani was right.
 Kirk had never seen this youth before. Though the pilot

116

resembled the attackers so strongly that Kirk at once won-
dered if he might be related to them.
    The shaken pilot held out a hand to Kirk. "I am Esys," he
said nervously. "It is a great honor to meet you, sir."
    Kirk slowly lowered his fist to take the offered hand. "I
apologize. Teilani and I had some--"
    "The attack, sir," Esys interrupted. "Yes, she told me. The
Anarchists are everywhere."
 "Anarchists?" Kirk asked.
    Teilani took Kirk's arm. "He means the people who are
against us. It's as good a word as any. They want to tear apart
our culture, yet offer nothing to replace it."
 Teilani saw the shadow of a smile cross Kirk's face.
 "Does that amuse you?" she asked.
    "Different worlds, different ways," Kirk said. "I was just
thinking that on Earth, it's more traditional that young people
like you are in favor of anarchy."
    "On Chal," Teilani said, "we are all young." Her eyes met
Kirk's and held them. "As you will be."
    Kirk's smile faded. He hadn't admitted that part of
Teilani's story to Spock and McCoy because he still couldn't
accept it himself. Because, if everything he had done since
meeting Teilani--abandoning his friends, giving up Starfleet,
hurting Carolmwas simply the result of a desperate desire to
recapture his youth at any cost, then his friends would be
proven right.
    James T. Kirk would be nothing more than a self-obsessed
fool who had selfishly gambled away everything he held dear
in a vain attempt to deny and delay the inescapable passage of
time.
    Kirk refused to so define himself. He knew he loved Teilani.
He wanted--needed--to be with her for whatever time
remained to him.
    That was what had driven him to abandon everything for
Chal.

117

 Passion. Not desperation.
    Love. Not an impossible dream of youth, however appeal-
ing, however real.
    But Kirk also knew, better than anyone, the greatest fear of
a man who had been a starship captain. That, in the end, he
was just like everyone else.
     Full of hope, rejecting doubt, Kirk held Teilani's hand
tightly as they boarded the yacht.
  He had made his decision.
  He chose the future.

SEVENTEEN

Teilani's yacht shot up through the night as if it had gone to
warp.
    Kirk was unprepared for the g-forces that slammed him
back into the copilot's seat.
    "What's wrong with your inertial dampers?" he asked,
trying not to sound as if he were gasping for breath.
    Esys shot him a glance. "Oh, sorry, sir." He ran his fingers
over some controls.
    A moment later, all sensation of movement vanished as the
inertial dampers absorbed and redirected the momentum of
everything within the speeding craft. Kirk shifted in his chair,
grateful he could breathe again.
    Esys shrugged apologetically. "I sort of keep the dampers
tuned down. So I can feel how I'm flying."
    Kirk nodded, feeling foolish. He used to do that himself at
the Academy. All young pilots did. Half the fun of flying

trainers had been to see who could set their dampers the
lowest. The resulting g-forces and inertia would wrench the
fledgling pilots against their seat harnesses and slam them
from side to side in the cramped, one-person flight cabins,
ideally without causing blackouts as blood rushed from the
bravest pilot's head. How had he forgotten what it was like to
be that young?
    Kirk felt Teilani put her hand on his arm, leaning forward
from the passenger seat behind him. "Not quite like
Starfleet?" she asked.
 "Just like Starfleet," Kirk answered.
    Through the flight-deck viewport, the last retreating wisps
of cloud were visible only because of the ocean of light from
San Francisco that dramatically lit them from below.
    Ahead, the stars brightened. As the yacht rose and the
atmosphere thinned, their twinkling ceased.
    Eyes fixed on the stars, Kirk felt an unexpected but familiar
sensation of anticipation come over him. He was going back.
Where he belonged.
    Though the manner in which he was returning was not
familiar.
    On this voyage, Kirk was a passenger. Teilani had still not
shared with him any details of the trip ahead of them. Because
she was still finalizing them, she had told him.
    Kirk turned in his seat to look at Teilani. "Is your ship as
impressive as your yacht?"
She nodded. "Even more, I'm told." She smiled playfully.
Kirk was coming to know her well enough that he recog-
nized her expression. She was deliberately withholding infor-
mation, making him work to obtain it. Making the
conversation a game.
    He liked that in her. He remembered doing the same when
he was her age--No/he warned himself. Don't start thinking
like that. Once a person was an adult, age should no longer
matter.

118                                                                               119

      But the inner voice in his head--perhaps Spock's, perhaps
McCoy's--told him he was wrong.  Again, he ignored it.
    He saw Teilani watching him carefully, as if she could
recognize his feelings through his expressions. He winked at
her, then settled back into his seat, eyes front.
 Esys handled the controls smoothly.
 The stars were crisp and unwavering.
 Kirk was back in space.
    With satisfaction, he watched the western seaboard of
North America recede on a flight-console viewscreen. He had
assumed they were headed for a low orbit to rendezvous with
Teilani's ship. But they were still climbing.
    Kirk spoke over his shoulder. "Is your ship in free orbit, or
docked?"
  "Docked," Teilani said.
    Kirk patiently folded his hands together. He tried to
concentrate on not thinking about how he would fly the yacht
if he were at the controls. Chal was several weeks away at
maximum warp. No doubt Teilani's ship had required servic-
ing for the voyage ahead.
    But judging from their continued ascent, Esys was taking
them past the orbital plane of most commercial spacedocks.
    "Are we going to the Moon?" Kirk asked. There were still
shipyards there, though most specialized in manufacturing
with lunar materials, rather than providing service and re-
pairs.
     He heard Teilani's amusement in her cryptic answer. "No."
Whatever was going on, she was enjoying herself.
 "Coming up on terminator," Esys announced.
    The stars shifted past the viewport as the yacht's orienta-
tion changed.
    Kirk saw the curve of the Earth below them, a dark
hemisphere wrapped in the glowing strands of transport ways.
At major hubs and intersections, vaguely defining the shape of

120

the continents they served, cities clumped like sparkling dew
on a spider's web.
    Above it all, the impossibly thin arc of Earth's atmosphere
began to stand out in a pale blue glow. The yacht hurtled
toward dawn at thousands of kilometers per hour.
     "On docking approach," Esys said. His eyes darted from
his controls to the viewport and back again. Kirk stared dead ahead, but saw nothing.
    At this speed, he didn't expect to. That's what sensors were
for.
    The curve of the atmosphere brightened. Kirk squinted at
the hotspot that announced where the sun would appear.
    Then the Earth's thin layer of air flashed red, flared
blue-white, and the sun was before them.
    In the sudden wash of that brilliant dawn, Kirk saw at last
his destination.
 He gasped. Teilani had struck again.
 Kirk was back where he belonged.
 Teilani's ship was the Enterprise.

EIGHTEEN

The mighty starship still bore the damage of her final battle
over Khitomer. Angry scorches marred her saucer and her
engineering hull. A double hull breach yawned wide on the
saucer where General Chang's final photon torpedo had
punched through her.
 Apart from her battle damage, empty gaps were apparent in

121

her main sensor array, where industrious Starfleet engineers
had reclaimed state-of-the-art equipment not permitted on
the civilian market.
    Her name was gone, too. Blasted from her hull by particle
etching beams, along with her registration numbers and
Starfleet colors.
  But there was no disguising her identity from Kirk.
  In his eyes, she was beautiful still.
  Gleaming white in the orbital dawn.
    A steed of incomparable heart, rising nobly on a mountain-
top, eager to renew the pursuit.
    "How... ?" Kirk began to ask. But his throat, his chest,
his heart were so full of emotion, he could say nothing more.
    Teilani left her seat and knelt by Kirk's. "My planet
negotiated for her, James."
    "But... she was going to be used in wargames." A blaze of
glory, Drake had told him.
    "A goodwill gesture on the Federation's part. She's to
become the first ship in Chal's planetary defense group."
Teilani lightly kissed Kirk's cheek as he marveled at the vision
she had arranged for him.
    But Kirk barely felt Teilani's caress as Esys guided the yacht
around the Enterprise. Lights burned in some of her decks,
though her running lights and sensor array were dark.
    "Of course," Teilani continued, "she's not quite the ship
you remember. The closest things to weapons she has are
navigational deflectors and tractor beams. Sensor capability
has been downgraded by fifty percent. The Fleet communica-
tions system has been replaced with a civilian model."
 What did any of that matter? It was the Enterprise.
    "But I thought you could live with those changes," Teilani
said.
    Kirk still had a hard time grasping the reality of what had
happened. "You own her now?" He turned to her. He had to
know.

122

    "She's yours, now, James. Free and clear. A gift from my
world. To you."
 "I... don't know what to say."
 "It's not what you say--it's what you'll do."
 At that moment, Kirk feared he would do anything.
 Esys guided the yacht toward the hangar bay.
 The Enterprise called out to Kirk.
 Beyond the clouds. Among the stars.
 One last time.
 And Kirk, at last, could answer that call.

    The turbolift doors parted and Kirk stepped onto the
bridge of the Enterprise for the first time in months. It was an
action he had never expected to take again.
    He sensed Teilani and Esys remain behind in the lift, giving
him this moment.
    Kirk paused on the upper deck, immersing himself in the
sensations of his return. The artificial gravity felt right. The
air smelled a bit too much like chemical cleansers, but the
temperature was set precisely where he preferred it. As if his
personal preference file had not been deleted from the ship's
computer.
    Overall, though, Teilani was right. The Enterprise was
different.
    Most noticeably, her warp generators were offline. He
missed the almost subliminal hum of them, vibrating through
every rigid part of the ship's superstructure.
    The bridge environment was quieter, too. Without the
background chatter of department heads and more than four
hundred crew working together. Replaced instead by the slow
flickering of the status lights on her new, automated control
stations.
    Uhura's communications board was just an empty hole in
the back wall. Her chair remained, but the extensive nerve
center of the Enterprise's comm system, linking her with

123

Starfleet and from there the universe, had been replaced with
a few gray boxes of ordinary switches and automated controls.
    Similar holes existed in the tactical console, where weapons
panels had been removed.
The Enterprise had a makeshift, unfinished feel to her.
But Kirk had seen her and her namesake in worse condi-
tion. Given the choice--and Kirk always made certain he was
given the choice--he preferred to think of his starship now as
half-built, not half-disassembled.
    The greatest change of all, though, was not in the hardware
of the vessel. It was in the crew.
 They were all Teilani's people.
    Young Klingon-Romulans in such robust and dynamic
health that Kirk felt another year older for each one he saw.
    They took up most of the control positions on the bridge.
Impossibly young, unlined faces working efficiently, with
total concentration. By now, their ridged Klingon brows
almost appeared to Kirk to be a natural match for their
sharply angled Romulan ears.
    There wasn't a Starfleet uniform in sight, either. They wore
a series of variations on what Kirk took to be the clothes of
their world--loose-fitting white trousers and tops, some with
sleeves, some without, some with splashes of color, some
unadorned. Yet the simplicity of the designs did nothing to
hide the perfect muscles that sculpted their lithe, lean forms.
    The young Chal crew nodded respectfully to Kirk as he
went to the center of the bridge. His chair, at least, hadn't
been changed or removed. He was glad. It always took too
long to get used to a new one.
 He sat in it. Put his hands on either arm.
 It felt good to be back.
 But not right.
 He glanced to his right.
 Spock's science station was dark.
 He idly tapped his finger above the control that would send

124

his voice to McCoy's sickbay. But he doubted anyone was
there to answer.
 Except ghosts.
    Kirk sighed. Teilani came down to the lower deck to stand
by him. He saw concern in her eyes. Esys took the navigator's
chair at the helm console.
 "Is something wrong?" Teilani asked.
 But before Kirk could answer, something changed.
 He held up his finger, asking Teilani to stay quiet.
 He leaned forward, ears straining.
 But it wasn't a sound. It was a vibration.
    The matter-antimatter reactor had just started up. The
warp engines were online again. As smooth as they had ever
been.
 The heart of the Enterprise had been restored.
 Kirk smiled.
     Some of his new young crew smiled back, though it was
clear they weren't sure what had prompted his reaction.
 Kirk studied his crew again.
    The oldest Chal he had seen was no more than twenty-five
standard years. But a matter-antimatter reactor like the one
that powered the Enterprise was a hellishly complex device
that could take at least that long to master.
    How could these children have brought this ship back to
life? Unless... ?
    Without looking, Kirk touched the control that opened a
line to the engine room.
 "Kirk to Engineering."
 "Scott, here, Captain."
    To Kirk, it was as right to hear the warm Scottish lilt in that
greeting as it was to be on the bridge again. And he wasn't
surprised to hear it, either. Perhaps because the Enterprise
and her engineer shared a bond as strong as his own with his
ship.
 "Mr. Scott, I thought you had retired."

125

 "Aye. So did I."
    Kirk grinned. He had long ago learned that Scotty was only
happy when he had something to complain about. "Then I
trust Starfleet came up with a suitable reward for duty above
and beyond."
 "Starfleet has nothin' t' do with me being here, Captain."
 That was surprising.
    "'Twas the lass. Teilani. Starfleet put her in touch with me,
and she told me what it was she was planning to do with the
Enterprise. I figured if the time wasn't quite right for the old
girl t' retire, then it wasn't quite right for me, either."
    Kirk wasn't going to argue with him. When was it ever right
to give up doing what you lived to do?
 "You've done a magnificent job with her, Scotty."
    "Och, ifye could see the shambles the reclamation team left
this engine room in, you'd call it a bloody miracle."
    "When you're involved, Mr. Scott, I always do. Glad to
have you aboard."
 Kirk was about to sign off, but Scott wasn't finished.
    "Captain, just so you know... th' Enterprise, sir... well,
she's..."
    Kirk knew what Scott was trying to say. The signs were
everywhere. "I know. She's been through a lot."
    "That's puttin' it mildly, sir." It was Scotty's turn to sigh.
"She was never repaired properly after that last go-round with
Chang. And the best parts of her, well, Starfleet's taken those
back. Left her in a kind of depleted condition, ifye know what
I mean."
    Kirk knew. "The question is, will she get us to Chal, Mr.
Scott?"
    "Aye, I'll see to that. But afterward ... I don't know if
she'll be up to much in th' way of planetary defense. Without
a complete overhaul, I mean."
 "And that's not very likely, is it, Mr. Scott?"
    The chief engineer sounded as if he were speaking about the
death of a dear friend. "This is an old design, sir. I'd never say

it to an admiral's face, but there was good reason for
scheduling her to be decommissioned."
 "Your secret's safe with me, Mr. Scott."
    Scott chuckled. "Aye. We oldsters have to stick t'gether,
don't we?"
 Kirk winced.
    "Warp power is online and ready when ye need it, Cap-
tain."
 "Thank you, Mr. Scott," Kirk said. "I think."
 "Scott out."
    Kirk caught Teilani's sly grin. But before he could say
anything, she took his hand, kissed it.
    "On Chal, none of that will matter anymore. Young,
old... everyone will be the same."
 "Did you tell Scotty what to expect there?"
 Teilani shook her head. "He'll find out when we arrive."
 "Will he be able to stay?"
 "If he wants to."
    It struck Kirk that what Teilani said was odd. Who
wouldn't want to stay on a planet where there was no aging,
and no death?
    Unless there was something else she hadn't told him. If
there was some price to be paid for what Chal offered.
    But he didn't care. There was a price to be paid for
everything, and for Teilani's love, no price was too high.
    "Are we expecting any more passengers or supplies?" Kirk
asked.
    Teilani shook her head. "You may give the word anytime,
James."
    Kirk faced forward. The Earth filled the viewscreen, clouds
white, oceans sparkling.
 A place he no longer belonged.
    "Mr. Su--" he began, then caught himself. "Mr. Esys, lay
in a course for Chal. Best possible speed."
    Esys adjusted the helm controls. "Course laid in, Mr.
Kirk."

126                                                               127

    Kirk shifted uncomfortably in his chair. He hadn't been
called "mister" since he had been an ensign.
    "Take us out of orbit," Kirk said. "Ahead, warp factor
one."
 The Enterprise hummed to life around him.
    The sensor image of Earth shrank in the viewscreen as he
left her at the speed of light.
 Once again, Kirk went where he had always gone before.
 Into the unknown,

Even as the Enterprise streaked from Earth and the heart of
Sector 001, the Excelsior returned.
    The sleek starship under Hikaru Sulu's command traveled
under a total communications blackout.
    Kirk's aging starship, rescued from her inglorious fate as an
expendable target, hurtled out of Sol system on a flight path
duly registered with the sector's traffic-control computers. As
commander of a civilian vessel, Kirk was under no obligation
to communicate with Starfleet Command.
    Within the faster-than-light infinities of warp space, the
Enterprise and the Excelsior passed each other by tens of
thousands of kilometers. Each ship registered as nothing more
than a nonthreatening sensor blip on the other's navigational-
hazard display.
    The encounter lasted less than a ten-thousandth of a
second.
    Then the Enterprise accelerated to warp seven and in a
heartbeat left the entire system light-hours behind.
    At the same time, the Excelsior dropped to sublight velocity
and put out a priority call to Starfleet Headquarters.
    Now traveling away from each other at millions of kilome.
ters per second, the commanders of both vessels had nonethe-
less committed themselves to a deadly collision course.

NINETEEN

Chekov found Androvar Drake's sprawling house in San
Francisco's old Presidio district vaguely unsettling.
 It wasn't a home, he decided. It was a military museum.
 Of the worst kind.
    Everywhere he looked in Drake's study, there was another
reminder of humans' ongoing need to subjugate one another.
Antique plasma guns. An entire suit of combat armor belong-
ing to a mid-twenty-first century Fourth World Mercenary,
complete with a drug-delivery inhaler mounted on its chest.
Battle flags from Colonel Green's genocidal campaigns. A set
of slowguns from some long-forgotten colonial uprising, in-
geniously designed to fire projectiles that would kill people
without puncturing environmental domes.
    Worst of all, each weapon, each emblem, each uniform, was
reverently displayed in elegant cabinets or mounted in spotlit
frames on the wood-paneled walls. As if each were a work of
art.
    Androvar Drake was a product of the past, Chekov decided.
Unfortunately, he was now one of the most powerful individ-
uals of the present.
 It was not a reassuring juxtaposition.
    Then Chekov was startled from his reverie by Admiral
Drake himself. "You don't approve of my collection, do you,
Commander?"
    Unlike his collection, Drake seemed surprisingly warm and
welcoming. He had greeted Chekov, Sulu, and Uhura as if

128                                                                            129

they were intimate friends. Prepared tea for them himself.
Ushered them from his private transporter pad into his study
only after taking them aside for a few moments to admire the
spectacular view over the Bay.
    "Your 'collection' does seem to concentrate on some of the
worst moments of history," Chekov said.
    Drake nodded, unperturbed. "Precisely its purpose." He
got up from behind his massive mahogany desk and opened a
display cabinet near a freestanding bookcase filled with real
books. He withdrew a small booklet containing several plastic
tickets, and handed it to Chekov.
    Chekov read the fine print on the tickets. "A ration book?"
he asked.
    "From Tarsus IV," Drake confirmed. "Half the colony.
Four thousand colonists. Massacred. Because the food supply
was destroyed. And Starfleet couldn't provide support in
time." He gestured to encompass the room. "Everything here.
A reminder of those dark times that have tried human souls
and dignity. Since the era of interstellar exploration began."
    Chekov studied Drake. The admiral's pale eyes were in-
tense. But Chekov saw no sign of compassion in his words.
    "Everything here. A reminder that we must not let any of it
happen again. That in my new position,/must not let any of it
happen again."
    Chekov handed back the ration booklet. Of course Drake
was good. He had to be. He had convinced the Council to put
him in total command of Starfleet. But he didn't fool Chekov.
    Chekov was certain Drake didn't keep that ration book
from Tarsus IV as a reminder of Starfleet's obligation to
provide for endangered colonies.
 James Kirk had been at Tarsus IV. As a young teenager.
    Kirk had seen the four thousand colonists massacred before
his eyes.
    Their deaths haunted the captain to this day. He had told
Chekov so.

     Chekov was convinced Drake kept that ration book because
it was a reminder of something that had hurt Kirk long ago.
 "A very admirable goal," Uhura said.
    She exchanged a look with Chekov. She wasn't convinced
by Drake's act, either.
    But Sulu avoided looking at Chekov. Publicly, he was
maintaining a more neutral demeanor, as befitting his rank.
But this past week on the Excelsior, he and Chekov had barely
spoken. That suited Chekov.
    "Then you understand why we requested this urgent meet-
ing with you," Sulu said, attempting to get Drake back on
topic.
    "Absolutely," Drake confirmed. "A rogue agent presents an
unacceptable risk to Starfleet's integrity. The mere possibility
of a Klingon superweapon going on the open market could
destabilize a dozen nonaligned systems. To say nothing of
what it might do to the ongoing peace process between the
Federation and the Empire."
    Drake placed the ration book back in its case, then returned
to his desk.
    Chekov, Uhura, and Sulu sat across from him, each in a
separate chair. Drake appeared to be thinking something
over. No one disturbed him.
 "You all have exemplary records," he said at last.
    No one responded. Chekov could sense a big "but" coming.
It was clear that Drake was leading up to something.
    "Commander Chekov, Commander Uhura, Starfleet recog-
nizes and especially appreciates your valor and self-sacrifice
in undertaking a potentially deadly covert assignment to stop
the flow of Klingon armaments to the illegal market. Captain
Sulu, your exploits on the Excelsior are carving a place in
history alongside Jim Kirk's himself."
    Chekov shot another glance at Uhura. He could see that she
also felt Drake was piling it on thick enough to choke a Gorn.
    "Which is why I have decided to bring you all on board
another, ultrasecret operation, already under way."

130                                                                            131

    Chekov was shocked. Knowing what he did about Drake, he
had been expecting Drake to thank them and say good-bye,
sweeping their concerns about Jade and the Klingon
superweapon into a black hole,
 "What kind of operation, sir?" Sulu asked.
    Drake's friendly attitude disappeared. He became distant
and formal. He pressed a control on the computer screen
beside him. Chekov saw a red light on the screen start to
blink.
    "I am now recording this conversation," Drake announced.
"Everything I am about to tell you is classified at the highest
level. If you cause to be made known anything of what you
learn here today, to any party other than those directly
connected to the operation, you will be subject to indefinite
solitary confinement in a Starfleet detention center. Before
you leave this meeting, you will be required to sign a formal
security oath agreeing to these conditions." Drake looked
each of them in the eye, beginning with Chekov. "Is that
clear? Please reply audibly."
    One by one, Chekov, Sulu, and Uhura stated that they
understood and agreed to the conditions Drake had set out.
    Chekov felt uneasy, not knowing what would follow. He
knew Uhura well enough to sense the same reticence in her.
    But there was no way to be certain what Sulu thought of this
escalation of the meeting.
    Drake held his finger over another desk control. "I am now
going to ask two other officers to join us. They are also
involved in this operation." He pressed the control. "Gentle-
men, if you would be so kind."
  A side door in the study opened inward.
     "Come in," Drake said. A small enigmatic smile flashed
 across his face for an instant. "I believe you all know each
 other."
  Chekov, Uhura, and Sulu instantly stood.
  The two other officers were Spock and Mc. J2oy.

    At any other time, an impromptu party might have begun as
the former Enterprise crewmates unexpectedly met again.
    But the surreal surroundings and Drake's presence pre-
cluded anything like that from even beginning.
    The admiral directed Spock and Mceoy to take their seats,
then began his briefing.
    "Bottom line: Admiral Cartwright and his co-conspirators
appear to have been the tip of the proverbial iceberg. I regret
to inform you that the entire Starfleet command structure
might be compromised by a cabal of senior officers. Traitors
who will stop at nothing to prevent the Federation from
achieving a secure peace agreement with the Klingon Em-
pire."
 Chekov was shocked.
    But Sulu asked the first and most obvious question. "Does
the Council know that?"
    Drake didn't appreciate the interruption. "That's why I was
selected commander in chief, Captain Sulu. Certainly there
were other candidates more qualified in areas of diplomacy
and exploration. But my background in security was consid-
ered essential to what the Fleet needs most under present
conditions."
    "And because you're drawing us in," Uhura added, "you
must think that this rogue agent, Jade, is somehow connected
to the renegade command officers."
    Spock nodded his head at Uhura. "A logical inference,
Commander. And a correct one."
    Sulu turned to Spock. "You already know what happened at
Dark Range Platform?"
    Again Spock nodded. "Admiral Drake shared your report
with us just prior to this meeting."
    Drake waved an imperious hand to silence them, deter-
mined not to allow any further interruptions or exchanges he
did not invite.
 "Because of the checks and balances in Starfleet Intelli-

132                                                             133

gence, it is almost impossible for an agent to go rogue," Drake
explained, "without some type of support from within
Starfleet itself."
    "Admiral, I don't understand," Sulu said. "Doesn't a rogue
agent, by definition, have to be acting alone?"
    But Drake shook his head. "Every computer record per-
taining to the agent code-named Jade has been selectively
deleted from Starfleet's databanks. We have no identification
picture, no fingerprints, no DNA structure. We will be able to
reconstruct a great deal of it. But the process will take weeks.
That all points to an inside accomplice."
    "Sir, are you seriously postulating a connection between a
rogue agent, a Klingon superweapon, and a conspiracy within
Starfleet?" Sulu asked.
    Spock calmly steepled his fingers. "Consider this, Captain
Sulu. Fortunately, the diplomats and negotiators for both the
Federation and the Klingon Empire are aware of the strong,
antireconciliation sentiments within their own camps. They
understand that random acts of terrorism undertaken by a
handful of detractors do not mean each government is not
committed to peace."
    Chekov felt himself begin to relax. It was almost soothing to
hear Spock lay out a rational explanation for something that
had so confused and upset him. He noticed that Drake also
seemed pleased by Spock's analysis, because the admiral let
Spock continue.
    "Consider, however," Spock continued, "what might hap.
pen if a Klingon 'doomsday' weapon were used. Not just to
destroy a ship or a colony, but to lay waste a planet. Perhaps
Earth or Vulcan itself. Consider also the ramifications of an
investigation into the use of the weapon. An investigation
which finds no evidence of any Klingon conspiracy to employ
it."
    Sulu understood what Spock's logic had described. "Be-
cause the weapon would have been used by a group within
Starfleet."

    "Precisely," Spock confirmed. "If an official investigation
cannot show any evidence of a Klingon conspiracy, then the
public conclusion must be that the investigation was con-
ducted in bad faith. That would logically lead to the further
conclusion that the weapon was therefore used with the
support of the Klingon government."
    "Damned if you do, damned if you don't," Uhura added.
"If the official investigation does find evidence of a Starfleet
conspiracy to use the weapon, then the public conclusion will
be that it was a Klingon plot to shift blame from the Empire."
    Spock proceeded to forge the remaining links in the chain
of logic. "In the confusion that would follow, the individual
worlds of the Federation would have to choose sides. No
doubt, some would withdraw. Treaties would be abrogated.
Trade agreements canceled. The Council would be in chaos."
    McCoy shook his head at Spock. "It's a wonder you can
ever sleep at night."
    Drake wrapped up the analysis with the ultimate conclu-
sion. "And under those conditions, the Federation would be
vulnerable to Klingon attack."
    "But surely the Klingons have no motive to attack us
anymore," Sulu said.
    Drake fixed him with a stern gaze. "The Empire has no
motive to attack a strong and secure Federation. But if they
see us begin to fall apart? If they think we would use an attack
on the Klingon Empire as a way to reunite our members.
Then the Empire will have no choice but to strike first."
    "And," Spock added, "knowing that is the likely Klingon
action, the conspirators still within Starfleet could convinc-
ingly argue that the Federation should therefore launch a
preemptive strike."
    "Good Lord," Dr. McCoy moaned. "It's World War III all
over again. Everyone trying to second guess everyone else."
    "Which is why Starfleet needs all of you to help stop that
Klingon weapon from falling into the wrong hands," Drake
concluded.

134                                                                                135

    Chekov started to ask if anyone had any idea what the
weapon code-named Children of Heaven might be. But he
stopped. He looked at McCoy and Spock.
    He had been so surprised to see them, and so pleased, that
he hadn't stopped to wonder why they were part of this
meeting.
     "Excuse me, Keptin Spock, I know vhy the rest of us are
here. But vhy are you and Dr. McCoy part of this operation?"
 McCoy and Spock looked to Drake.
    Drake looked uncomfortable. "This is an extremely diffi-
cult situation for me," he said.
 "For all of us," McCoy snapped.
    Drake continued. "I have been conducting an internal
investigation. A very discreet one. Attempting to ascertain the
sympathies of various Starfleet officers in sensitive positions.
Looking for at least one individual who is unquestionably
connected to the conspiracy within Starfleet to start a war
with the Klingon Empire."
 "And have you found someone?" Uhura asked.
 Drake nodded gravely. "I have."
 Chekov couldn't stand the suspense.
 "Veil, who is it?"
 Drake's answer struck Chekov like lightning.
 "James T. Kirk," the admiral said.

TWENTY

Chekov was outraged and didn't bother to hide it. "That is
impossible!"
    Drake raised his voice without shouting. His words echoed
off the hard,paneled walls of the study. "Don't you think
that's what I said?" Silence reigned.
 "But then," Drake said in a lowered voice, "I saw proof."
 "Pah," Chekov spat. "Vhat proof?."
 Slowly, almost reluctantly, Spock stood up.
    Drake pressed a control and a section of wall slid away to
reveal a display screen. There was a picture on it of a beautiful
young Klingon woman in a black jumpsuit. Or was she
Klingon?
    "The young woman's name," Spock said, "is Teilani. She is
a hybrid--hor parents were Klingon and Romulan."
    The picture changed. The young woman was now in a
formal gown, her dark hair swept up to reveal her pointed
ears. There was a large party of some sort going on behind her.
Chekov concluded these were surveillance images, likely
taken without the young woman's knowledge.
    "As far as Starfleet Intelligence can ascertain, despite her
relatively young age, she is a high-ranking official in her
planetary government."
 "What planet?" Uhura asked.
    "A colony world somewhere on the frontier between the
Ktingon and Romulan empires," Spock said. "Jointly settled

136                                                                                 137

by both empires approximately forty years ago, during one of
their sporadic periods of truce. The planet's name is Chal."
Spock gave Uhura a significant look. "A Klingon term for
'heaven.'"
 "The Children of Heaven," Uhura murmured.
    Spock continued. "Given what we know about the Crimson
Level of the Imperial Forecasters, it is logical to conclude that
some of their more extreme weapons were developed on
planets far removed from Klingon centers of population. In
the event something went wrong."
    McCoy muttered in disgust. "Same as testing fusion bombs
on Pacific islands in the twentieth century."
    "Precisely, Doctor. All evidence to date suggests the joint
Romulan-Klingon colony on Chal was the center for the
development, construction, and storage of a weapon. The
weapon was code-named Children of Heaven. It was intended
to be used only in the event of the total defeat of the Klingon
Empire."
    "But vhat does any of this have to do with Keptin Kirk?"
Chekov demanded.
 The picture changed again.
  Kirk and Teilani.
  Both in civilian clothes.
  Locked in each other's arms. Kissing.
    The background of the picture showed more civilians, some
carrying luggage. Chekov guessed it had been taken at a
travelport somewhere on Earth.
    "Three days ago, Jim Kirk resigned from Starfleet," Drake
said. "He didn't talk to anyone. He didn't deliver his resigna-
tion in person. He simply logged his resignation request onto
his personnel file, and left."
    Chekov found that difficult to believe. He knew the captain
had been scheduled to retire after returning from Khitomer.
But Kirk had since taken on so many committee appoint-
ments and teaching assignments that Chekov had decided
he'd have to stay in the Fleet forever, just to complete them.

 "Left?" Sulu asked. "For where?"
"Presumably, Chal," Spock answered. "Twenty hours ago."
Uhura stood up. "I, for one, don't like where this is going."
"Where do you see it going, Commander?" Drake asked.
"You're making the captain out to be one of your conspira-
tors. And that's ridiculous. Captain Kirk might have played
hard and fast with the rules in his day, but I refuse to believe
he's a traitor."
 "So do I," Chekov added. He stood to join Uhura.
    "As do I," Sulu agreed. He rose to his feet to stand with
Uhura and Chekov.
    But Drake told them to sit down again. That there was no
need for confrontation. "You'll get no argument from me. Jim
Kirk is one of the most dedicated officers ever to wear a
Starfleet uniform. But the point is, he's not wearing that
uniform anymore."
    Sulu reacted with exasperation. "A man like the captain
does not change his beliefs overnight."
    Chekov was gratified by Sulu's support of Kirk. He was also
surprised that he was willing to argue with his commander in
chief.
    "Usually, no," Drake agreed. "But look at that picture,
Captain. Jim is sixty-two years old. That woman is what,
maybe twenty?"
 "They are both adults," Chekov said stiffly.
    Drake looked at him with a pitying expression. "I'm not
going to pretend that Jim and I are close friends. But listen to
what Captain Spock has to say."
    Spock folded his hands behind his back. "The captain's
behavior in the week leading up to his resignation was
emotionally erratic."
    Uhura batted her eyes at Spock. "Maybe he's in love, Mr.
Spock."
 "He believes he is," Spock stated.
    Sulu shrugged. "For the captain, that could explain a great
deal."

138                                                                                139

 "But not treason," Chekov said firmly.
    "She is a very attractive young woman," Drake pointed out.
"And I regret to say that there sometimes comes a point in a
man's life when he begins to wonder if he is still attractive to
others. If he still has what it takes to--"
    "I am not prepared to believe that Keptin Kirk vould throw
avay everything he believed in because of... some pretty
face!" Chekov interrupted.
 "Teilani is only part of the bargain," Drake said.
 "Bargain?" Uhura repeated.
    "Kirk's new job is coordinator of Chal's planetary defenses.
His payment is a unique one. In fact, the only inducement his
psych profile suggests might cause him to abandon his most
deeply held convictions."
    "Believe me," Chekov scoffed, "there is nothing that
Keptin Kirk vould rant that badly."
    Spock cleared his throat. "Teilani's government has given
the captain the Enterprise."
Chekov's jaw dropped open. "Is that... possible?"
"She'd been decommissioned," Drake explained. "She was
slated to be a target in some field trials we're running. Then
one of the resource-management departments received an
inquiry about converting her to civilian use. Starfleet has a
long-standing commitment to recycling and reusing obsolete
equipment for the benefit of colony worlds, so Chal's request
was in order."
"That ship was part of him," Uhura said quietly.
Chekov felt as if Drake had somehow engineered all this.
He hated the look of false disappointment on the admiral's
face. Disappointment in James Kirk.
    "I trust you all agree that the gift of it to Kirk does put a
different light on his actions," Drake said. He looked directly
at Chekov. "Believe me, Commander, I'm not for a moment
suggesting that Jim has been a willing member of any
conspi racy i n Starfleet-- i f such a conspiracy real ly does exist.

But what I'm afraid the evidence does suggest is that he might
be being used by the conspirators."
    Drake settled back in his chair. "At least you must admit
the possibility that Jim might not be questioning this young
woman's motives too closely. His career was essentially over.
What did he have to look forward to0. Suddenly a beautiful
young woman comes into his life, gives him a purpose, and
hands over the one thing that means more to him than
anything else--his ship." Drake looked sternly at Chekov.
"Whatever else Jim Kirk has been in his day, he's still human.
That means he can make mistakes." Chekov didn't know what to say.
    What Drake said seemed plausible--for anyone except
James Kirk.
 But Spock was part of this. And McCoy.
    Could the captain, in the end, simply be someone who
finally made a wrong choice, blinded by the desire to have one
last adventure in life?
 Could Kirk really be that ordinary?
 "Admiral, what are Teilani's motives?" Sulu asked.
 Drake looked at Spock. Spock answered once again.
    "It is the admiral's belief that captain Kirk is being
deliberately manipulated as a pawn. Someone is using him in
an attempt to turn the Enterprise into a delivery system for
the Children of Heaven weapon. What that weapon is, where
it is intended to be used... these are questions which
Starfleet has yet to answer."
    But Chekov knew Spock well enough to read between the
lines of what he said.
 "Captain Spock, vhat are your beliefs?"
    Spock gave Chekov a look of total disinterest. "I am
puzzled that you ask that question, Commander Chekov.
Surely you know that under these speculative conditions,
personal beliefs are not logical."
 Chekov was in no mood to take that kind of evasion from

140                                                                                          141

Spock. He was surprised that Spock would even attempt to so
deflect him. But before he could press his questioning, he saw
something in Spock's eye... just what, he couldn't define.
 But they had served together for almost thirty years.
    Spock was sending him some kind of message, some kind
of--
     The realization of what was happening in this room sud-
denly burst through Chekov like a nova. Spock was lying.
    Chekov turned away from Spock and faced Drake. The
dynamics of this meeting were suddenly much clearer.
    Spock didn't trust Starfleet's new commander in chief
either.
    McCoy was being unnaturally quiet, so Chekov had to
assume that he was in unspoken agreement with Spock as
well.
    But Drake didn't appear to recognize Spock's distrust of
him. Which wasn't surprising. People who didn't know
Vulcans well tended to take them at face value. They even
believed the old story that ulcans never lied.
    But Chekov had learned that Vulcans were extremely
adaptable. Given the right motive, a logical motive which did
not involve personal gain, few Vulcans would have any
reservations about exaggerating or withholding information.
    And Chekov had absolute faith in Spock's motives, whatev-
er they might be.
    "So," Chekov said, playing Spock's game, "does Starfleet
consider Keptin Kirk to be a security risk?"
    "I hesitate to characterize the situation in that manner,"
Drake said disarmingly. As if he were trying to protect Kirk's
good name.
    Chekov caught Uhura's eye. He saw the doubt she hid there.
She had sensed what Spock was doing as well.
    Only Sulu remained an enigma. Chekov still had not
forgiven his friend for delaying Chekov's and Uhura's rescue
from Dark Range Platform. Unquestionably, each Starfleet

officer had a duty to follow orders. But on the frontier, days
and weeks away from command, Starfleet officers also had a
duty to adapt to emerging situations. Sulu's refusal to do
anything at Dark Range except folloTM the letter of his orders
unsettled Chekov. He no longer had any idea what Sulu was
thinking.
"How vouM you characterize it, Admiral?" Chekov asked.
Drake looked at the ceiling as if the right words might be
written there. "A potential security threat." He adopted a
rueful expression, as if he were saddened that Kirk's career
had come to this. "I know as well as you that Jim would never
willfully do anything harmful to Starfleet or the Federation.
But the evidence being what it is, we can't rule out any
inadvertent action on his part. Just think of the Starfleet
secrets he's had access to in his career."
    "If he represents such a 'potential' threat," Chekov said
bitterly, "then vhy the hell did Starfleet allow him to get the
Enterprise in the first place?"
     Drake looked at Sulu. "That's where you come in, Captain.
You people served with Kirk. No one knows him better."
 Sulu didn't understand. Neither did Chekov.
    Drake spoke as if making a confession. "We don't know
where Chal is."
    "But Spock told us," Uhura said. "In the Klingon-Romulan
frontier."
    "Which comprises more than thirty-three hundred stars,"
Drake said. "Remember: Chal was a product of the Klingons'
Crimson Level. Starfleet Intelligence has never come across
any reference to it in any computer records it's obtained from
Klingon or Romulan sources."
    "So Starfleet has made Captain Kirk a pawn as well," Sulu
reasoned. "And you want the Excelsior to track the Enterprise
in order to locate Chal."
    Drake nodded. "And then return with the Children of
Heaven. Whatever it is."
 "What about Captain Kirk?" Sulu asked.

142                                                                               143

"Oh, I want him back, too," Drake said. "Preferably alive."
For the first time in the meeting, Chekov was heartened to
see Sulu show an emotional response. "Are you saying
Captain Kirk is expendable?"
    Drake remained seated, his tone, calm. Though the sudden
chill in his voice was menacing. "Are you suggesting one man
is more important than the safety and security of the Federa-
tion? If you can't handle your assignment, Captain, tell me
now so I can put someone else in command of the Excelsior."
    Chekov wondered if Sulu still had the fire to question
authority. If the drive and desire for seeking the truth of the
matter, which had fueled his promotion to starship captain,
had survived the burden of command.
 But Spock defused any potential confrontation.
    "You must excuse Captain Sulu, Admiral. Dr. McCoy and I
have had ample opportunity to digest the current state of
affairs. But it is still a considerable shock to those who are new
to the operation."
    Drake's attitude softened. Slightly. "What do you say to
that, Captain?"
    Sulu took a breath. Stood at attention. "Captain Spock is
correct, sir. I apologize. Of course I will follow my orders,
track the Enterprise, and return to Earth with the Children of
Heaven and Captain Kirk."
    Chekov was disappointed but not surprised by Sulu's ready
capitulation.
     Drake leaned back in his chair. "Very good. When can you
be ready to leave?"
 "Four hours."
 "Make it two."
 "Yes, sir."
    Then Drake surveyed the others. "No doubt you will have
other technical questions, But before you ask them, Captain
Spock will provide you with background files on what we
know about Teilani, Chal, and the Imperial Forecasters. After

144

you sign your security oaths." Drake held a finger over the
record control on his computer screen.
 One by one, he looked at everyone else.
 No one had anything more to say.
    "l believe we're finished for now. Thank you, one and all.
And Godspeed." He stopped recording. The side door swung
open again. Spook led the way through it.
    Chekov was the last to leave. At the doorway, he looked
over his shoulder.
    Drake was looking at him as if he had expected Chekov to
turn around. He waved farewell as if they were friends.
    He's good, Chekov thought as he walked through the door
and heard it swing shut behind him. But the captain's better.
    Then the door clicked and Chekov heard the faint buzz of a
security screen.
 Drake had locked his study and sealed it with a forcefield.
 Chekov stared at the door.
    He wondered what secrets Drake was hiding behind it, and
from whom.

TWENTY-ONE

                     q~

The Excelsior was Sulu's ship, but at this moment everyone
looked to Spock.
    He, Chekov, Sulu, Uhura, and McCoy had gathered in a
briefing room as soon as they had beamed aboard the starship
from Drake's home.
 By unspoken agreement, no one had discussed their meet-

                145

ing with Drake. Until they could be sure they were in secure
surroundings.
    But as soon as the briefing-room doors slid shut, Spock
began speaking. He was framed against the room's large
display screen. A color schematic of the Excelsior filled it.
    "As I see it," he said without preamble, "we are faced with
three possibilities."
    Everyone settled back into his and her high-backed confer-
ence chair. They had all come to trust Spock's logic over the
years.
    "First, it may be that events are exactly as Admiral Drake
has described them to us. Captain Kirk, for personal reasons,
has become an unwitting pawn in an attempt to discover the
secret of a powerful Klingon doomsday weapon. The organiz-
ers of this attempt are members of a conspiracy within
Starfleet to stop the peace process between the Federation and
the Klingon Empire, and one member of that conspiracy is
the Starfleet Intelligence agent code-named Jade. When Jade
discovered information pertaining to the Children of Heaven,
Captain Kirk was put into motion as someone who could act
on that information to locate the weapon, without realizing
his role."
 "But put into motion by whom?" Sulu asked.
    "In the first scenario, by the alleged conspirators within
Starfleet." Spock explained. "However, the second possibility
is that Teilani's people themselves may be responsible for
involving the captain. When they learned that Starfleet Intel-
ligence had uncovered the location of the Chalchaj 'qmey,
they may have decided to seek the help of a protector. Captain
Kirk and the Enterprise make a most formidable first line of
defense."
 "And the third possibility?" Uhura asked.
"That nothing Admiral Drake said to us is correct."
"Are you saying the commander in chief of Starfleet lied to
us?" McCoy asked. He was the only one at the table who did
not appear to be reassured by Spock's analysis.

    "That cannot be discounted," Spock admitted. "Which is
why 1 did not offer any of these theories to Admiral Drake in
our meeting with him. However, it may simply be that the
admiral himself is not aware of the true state of affairs, and
passed on incorrect information without intent to mislead
US."
    McCoy wasn't happy with that answer, either. "But, if what
Drake told us is a lie, Spock, what's the truth?"
    Spock thought a moment before replying. "I believe the
truth is known only to one person involved in these events.
Captain Kirk."
"Is that what your damned logic dictates?" McCoy asked.
"Where the captain is concerned, logic seldom applies.
However, based on our past experience with him, it seems
reasonable that he is in some way driving these events, and
not merely an observer of them."
    "Captain Spock," Sulu said, "in light of these three possi-
bilities, can you suggest what our course of action should be?"
No matter what was discussed in this gathering, on this ship
the command decisions were Sulu's to make.
    "You should, of course, follow orders," Spock answered. "I
am not altogether comfortable with having to question the
motives of Starfleet's commander in chief. Making contact
with Captain Kirk is likely to help us discover the true state of
affairs."
    Chekov had reached his breaking point. Despite his prom-
ise to Kirk, he had to confide in someone. Who better than
those in this room?
    "Excuse me, Captain Spock," Chekov said, "but I feel it is
wery important that we do question Drake's motives. Espe-
cially since they somehow involve Captain Kirk." All eyes turned to Chekov.
    "Admiral Drake and the captain have had... their differ-
ences in the past," he began.
    "We know that," McCoy said. "Jim and Drake were in the
same class at the Academy. Served on the Farragut together."

146                                                                                       147

    A frown clouded McCoy's face. Everyone who had served
under Kirk on the Enterprise knew what had happened on the
Farragut. The Enterprise had almost suffered the same fate
when the deadly cloud creature had reappeared and threat.
ened her.
    "And after that, they ended up in separate postings,"
Chekov continued. "They became keptins vithin a month of
each other. Each vas assigned yon of the first twelve
Constitutionsclass starships."
    Sulu nodded appreciatively. The competition for those
early command positions had been fierce.
    "Each vent out on a five-year mission. They returned vithin
six months of each other. Both vere immediately promoted to
the admiralty."
    McCoy looked at Chekov with suspicion. "It sounds as if
you've compiled a dossier on Drake."
    Chekov folded his hands together on the table, knowing
what he was about to set in motion. "I have."
    But Sulu reacted with impatience. He didn't appear to be
interested in pursuing what Chekov had to say. "Then it
couldn't have amounted to anything. The results of any
investigation conducted by Starfleet Intelligence would have
been turned over to the Council. If you had turned up
anything that might indicate Drake wasn't fit to be C in C, he
wouldn't have gotten the job."
    "I didn't inwestigate Drake for Starfleet Intelligence,"
Chekov said. "I inwestigated him for Keptin Kirk."
    Spock gave Chekov a curious look. "Commander Chekov,
are we to understand that you used the facilities of Starfleet
Intelligence for a personal inquiry?"
    Chekov shrugged. "There is no one in this room who has
not bent the rules for the keptin."
    Uhura laughed. "Bent the rules? Pavel, we've demolished
them."
 "And ve have been justified each time."

    Spock took a chair at the table, giving the floor to Chekov.
"Please continue, Commander," he said.
    Chekov addressed everyone. "After their return, for two
and a half years Drake and Kirk vere posted to Headquarters.
Kirk vas chief of operations. Drake became a deputy chief in
Security Services."
    McCoy tried to speed along the account. "And after the
V'Ger incident, Jim took command of the Enterprise again
and gave up his career path at headquarters. This is ancient
history."
    Chekov waved a hand for emphasis. "But Admiral Drake
did not give up his career path. And, as often years ago, he vas
in charge of Starfleet's adwanced strategic technology dewel-
opment programs. Veapons research."
    Spock remained noncommittal. "Ten years ago, we could
have gone to war with the Klingons at any moment. Starfleet
has always had a military responsibility, and does to this
day."
    'Won of the projects Drake headed vas code-named Rising
Star."
    Spock shook his head. The name meant nothing to him.
Nor to anyone else in the briefing room.
    "It vas a feasibility study for deweloping veapons using
protomatter."
 That meant something to everyone.
    Protomatter was one of the most volatile forms of matter
known to exist. So hazardous that most ethical scientists had
long ago denounced its use in any type of research.
    But protomatter had been used in at least one notable
scientific project in recent memory. And had yielded predict-
ably tragic results.
 "Genesis?" McCoy asked.
    Chekov nodded. Project Genesis had been an ambitious
research program to develop a process by which uninhabita-
ble planets could become life-bearing. It had been directed by

148                                                             149

Dr. Carol Marcus, aided by her son--and Kirk's--David
Marcus.
    Though the initial results had been promising, the process
had been abandoned when it was discovered that the only
reason Genesis worked was because David Marcus had used
protomatter in the initializing matrix. All products of the
reaction were thereby rendered dangerously unstable.
    Spock seemed concerned by the implications of Chekov's
revelation. "I find it most difficult to accept that the Genesis
Project was a secret Starfleet weapons research program from
the beginning."
    "Genesis had nothing to do with Starfleet," Chekov said.
"It vas a legitimate scientific inwestigation, completely inde-
pendent of any military application or influence. Carol Mar-
cus vould not have pursued it under any other conditions.
But, after the keptin's son vas murdered by the Klingons, on
the Genesis Planet, Keptin Kirk became... obsessed. He
vanted to know everything about the project."
    "So he asked you to investigate Carol MarcusT' McC0y
asked. His skeptical tone said how unlikely he thought that
was.
    But Chekov said, "No. Only yon Genesis scientist acted
outside of the project's strict guidelines. The keptin's son."
Chekov stared down at his hands on the tabletop. He remem-
bered how distraught Kirk had been over David's death. "The
keptin asked me to find out how David had obtained the
protomatter he used in his vork."
Spock made the connection at once. "Admiral Drake."
"The admiral vas sharply critical of Starfieet's decision to
abandon protomatter veapons research. Yet, vhen it vas
abandoned, his department became responsible for storing
the protomatter Starfleet had already manufactured, until
means for its safe disposal could be deweloped."
    McCoy seemed as if he could barely stay seated. "And
you're saying Drake deliberately provided some of that

 protomatter to David Marcus, knowing it would be incorpo-
 rated into the Genesis Device?"
     "Exactly," Chekov said. His voice trembled with indigna-
 tion. "Just to see vhat vould happen. Veapons research by
 proxy."
    Spock was the only one at the table who remained calm.
"Commander Chekov, you have raised a series of most
disturbing allegations. If what you say is true, then Admiral
Drake could face a court-martial. Indeed, he shouM be
court-martialed. Why didn't you and the captain present your
findings to Command?"
    Chekov had wrestled with that question for almost a
decade. The answer was inadequate, but unavoidable. "Be-
cause Drake had spent sixteen years at Starfleet Headquar-
ters. He knew how its bureaucracy vorked better than anyone.
There vere no records that could be traced. No direct connec-
tion between David and Starfleet at any level. l don't believe
the keptin's son ever found out vhat the original source of his
protomatter vas."
    Uhura sat forward. "Pavel, does Captain Kirk believe
Drake is responsible for the death of his son?"
    "Not exactly," Chekov said. "He accepts that David
vas... his father's son. He made his own choices. Even if he
didn't have the experience to understand vhat might happen
because of them. But the keptin also knows that David might
not have been able to make the choices he did if Admiral
Drake had not been there, tempting him with protomatter to
begin vith."
 "What did you do with your report?" Spock asked.
 "I gave it to the keptin."
 "What did he do with it?"
    'What could be done? There vas no proof of any miscon-
duct on Admiral Drake's part. Shortly after the Genesis
Planet self-destructed, Starfleet disposed of its entire supply
of protomatter. Vonce that happened, there vas no ray to
determine if any of it had gone missing."

150                                                                          151

    "Didn't Starfleet try to find out where David had obtained
his protomatter?" McCoy asked.
    "Of course," Chekov said. "But because Admiral Drake vas
able to produce records showing that all of Staffleet's supply
vas accounted for before it vas destroyed, the Genesis
Investigation Committee didn't pursue that part of their
inwestigation. The official werdict vas that David had ob-
tained protomatter from an unknown source outside the
Federation. Possibly the Klingons."
    McCoy settled back in his chair, suddenly looking older
than his years. "Do you have any idea how serious these
charges are?"
    'Which is vhy I cannot believe the Council woted for
Drake."
    McCoy sighed, looked across the table at Spock. "So what
does this do to your logic?"
 "It appears to be an unrelated fact," Spock said.
 "How can it be?" Chekov demanded.
    "Even if everything you have told us is true, Commander,
Drake's in,"~tvement in the death of David Marcus could be
nothing more than a coincidence. If you had uncovered
evidence suggesting that Drake had deliberately provided
protomatter to David, knowing he was Jim's son, then a
causal connection to the current situation might be made."
 "What 'causal connection'?" McCoy asked.
    "That Admiral Drake specifically manipulated events to
propel Jim on his journey to Chal, knowing it would place
him in great danger."
 "It makes sense to me," Chekov said.
    "But it is not logical," Spock countered. "A rivalry stem-
ming from Academy days is hardly motive enough for what
you are attempting to accuse the admiral of. Without a motive
for the admiral's actions, his possible complicity in supplying
protomatter to David and Jim's involvement with the Chil-
dren of Heaven cannot be linked. We are, I regret to say, back

t52

 where we started from, with no indication Admiral Drake
 intends to do the captain harm."
    Chekov disagreed. "But Sulu's orders say ye're to enlist the
keptin's help in taking possession of the Children of Heawen,
vhatever it is. And if the keptin does not cooperate, then ve
are to use force."
    Sulu glanced at Chekov in annoyance. "I am aware of what
my orders entail, Commander."
    Everyone looked uncomfortable with that exchange. No
one at this table could ever conceive of a situation in which
they would take arms against Kirk.
 But Sulu was a Starfleet officer and a starship captain.
 Under orders.
    Chekov could no longer be sure what Sulu would do when
forced to choose between his personal wishes and his sworn
duty. Not after Dark Range.
    McCoy voiced the frustration Chekov felt. "So, what's the
key to all this, Spock?"
 "In what way, Doctor?"
    "What's the piece of information you need that'll tell you
what possibility we're dealing with here?"
    Spock looked thoughtful, as if he had never considered the
question before.
    "At the heart of these events is a single unexplained
coincidence," Spock finally said. "On the frontier, on Dark
Range Platform, a Starfleet Intelligence agent makes contact
with a Klingon who can tell her about the Chalchaj 'qmey.
That agent immediately goes rogue. At almost the exact same
time, a young Klingon-Romulan woman makes contact with
Captain Kirk, and invites him to journey to the presumed
location of the very same Children of Heaven."
    Spock looked around at everyone at the conference table.
He had their full attention. "There was ample time for Jade to
transmit a coded subspace message from Dark Range to
someone here on Earth. The question is: To whom?"

153

 Spock paused. No one spoke.
    "I believe if we can find out who the link is between Jade
and Teilani, then we will know the truth about Captain Kirk.
And Admiral Drake."
    "Unfortunately, we have no time to do that," Sulu said.
"We're leaving orbit in ninety minutes."
     "Then we must accept that we are on our own," Spock
concluded. "And finding Captain Kirk is our best strategy."
 Sulu stood. The meeting was over.
 Chekov could sense the conflict in the room.
    If the Excelsior found the Enterprise, everyone here would
have to follow orders and confront Kirk, pitting loyalty to
Starfleet against loyalty to the truth.
 It was a no-win scenario the equal of the Kobayashi Maru.
    But at least Chekov knew that comparison would give them
the clue they needed to find the proper action to take.
    As Captain Kirk had long ago shown them that, when
forced to choose between two equally undesirable options, the
only thing to do was to change the rules.
    All they had to do now was to figure out what game was
being played.
    As Chekov left the conference room, he thought again of
Admiral Drake's study. Of the sealed door.
 And of the secrets behind it.

TWENTY-TWO

Even as the door to Drake's study sealed itself behind its
forcefield, another door had opened. An inner door.
    Hidden behind the display case that held the uniform of a
Fourth World Mercenary.
    As Chekov and his crewmates signed their security oaths in
an anteroom, a woman had stepped through that hidden
door.
    She was compact, attractive, with finely drawn features and
dark complexion, a strong intelligence in her eyes. But her
mouth was not used to smiling.
     She still wore the flight suit and tight-fitting hood she had
worn on Dark Range Platform.
 Drake rose to greet her.
 "You heard?" he asked.
    The woman pulled off her flight hood, shaking loose her
dark hair.
 A streak of white blazed through it.
    The starkness of the color made the resemblance between
Drake and the woman more striking.
    Her code name had been Jade. But her real name was
Ariadne.
 Drake.
 Father and daughter.
 "I should have disintegrated them in the cargo bay when I

154                                                               155

had the chance," Ariadne said. "Or ejected them from the
airlock when I got rid of Kort."
 Then she kissed her father's cheek.
His eyes kindled with pride. For her and all she had done.
"No," he told her. "You did the right thing. If Chekov and
Uhura had disappeared altogether, Intelligence would have
launched a full investigation."
    Drake's daughter made a playful face. "You're saying
they're not going to investigate my disappearance from their
ranks?"
    She went to a small cabinet against the wall, pressed a
hidden switch. The cabinet unfolded into a bar.
    Drake joined her there, gloating. "No one even knows
you've disappeared, my dear. Kirk created such a paranoid
group ofofficers that they actually came to me first, convinced
no one else could be trusted. So the situation is contained.
Intelligence doesn't know any of you are back on Earth. They
think you're all still deep under cover, hunting Klingon
generals who've gone into business for themselves."
    The woman gave her father a snifter of brandy, poured the
same for herself, then lifted her glass in a toast to her father's
Success.
    "What if Kirk goes into business for himself?." She closed
her eyes, savoring the brandy's aroma. "We've been after the
Chalchaj ~mey for years. That pathetic Klingon on Dark
Range finally gave us the connection to Chal that we needed.
But now we're tossing a potential superweapon into Kirk's
lap."
    Drake sipped his brandy, unconcerned. "Kirk is a man of
the moment. He has no vision. So he'll do exactly what we
want him to do. Lead us to Chal. And to the Children of
Heaven. Then, one way or another, he'll be... superseded."
    Ariadne drank the contents of her glass in one quick toss. "I
still think torturing Teilani would have been simpler."
 Drake put down his snifter and rubbed at his face. He'd

156

 been working twenty-hour days since obtaining his new
 position.
    "That wouldn't have been wise. Or profitable. We tried
interrogating some of her compatriots right after Khitomer.
When the Chal first started inquiring about membership in
the Federation. No matter what we did to them, we learned
nothing to indicate any of them knew what their world is
sitting on. And they have incredible control over their auto-
nomic nervous systems. As soon as they realized there was no
escape, they literally willed themselves to death."
    Drake poured more brandy into Ariadne's glass, then his
own. "It was one thing for a few aides to disappear. Accidents
still do happen, even on Earth. But we can't risk Teilani
suddenly vanishing. Someone might start asking questions."
    Ariadne frowned. "'Willed themselves to death'? They're
half Klingon. They should have died trying to escape. How
could they commit suicide?"
    Drake patted her hand with paternal condescension.
"Klingons are animals, Ariadne. Never forget that."
    Drake stared up at a two-dimensional photoprint framed
above the bar. He was in it, much Younger. The handsome
woman beside him looked out with a face softened by love.
Together, they held a small girl on their laps. A streak of white
blazed through the child's dark hair.
    Drake's face darkened as he looked at the image of his wife.
The family he used to have.
 "Never forget that," he said again.
 "How did you manage to get Teilani to go after Kirk?"
    In a lightning change of mood, Drake winked at Ariadne. "I
told her to."
Ariadne laughed scornfully "And Kirk doesn't suspect?"
Drake shook his head. "I gave her his complete psych file.
Told her how sorry I was that Starfleet couldn't get involved
in defending a planet so deep in Klingon-Romulan territory.
But suggested--offthe record, mind you--that Kirk couldn't

157

refuse the challenge. As far as I can tell from the surveillance
we ran on him before they left, she's using everything in his
file. Pulling his strings as if he's her personal puppet."
"What if she tells him that recruiting him was your idea?"
"She won't. Kirk's a proud man. I made it clear to her that
if he got any hint that he's been manipulated into helping
Chal, he'd walk away at once."
    Ariadne walked over to an armchair, sat down, hooking one
leg over the arm, letting it swing. "How'd anyone that
predictable ever last so long in the service? Let alone com-
mand a starship?"
    Drake grinned, the smile of a predator. "Thirty years ago,
he was different. Would have ripped the throat out of a
Klingon with his teeth if he had to. But the years have not
been kind to Kirk." Drake chuckled. "I've done my best to
keep it that way."
    Ariadne gave her father a curious look. "Why so personal?
What did Kirk ever do to you?"
    Drake's eyes flamed with sudden anger. "This isn't person-
al! Kirk is the epitome of the cancer weakening Starfleet and
the Federation. To stay strong, we have to remain intact. Pure.
There's no more room for Klingons and aliens. Our borders
have to be secure. We have to look to ourselves, not to
outsiders. Cartwright knew that. But he wasn't careful."
    "At least Cartwright didn't talk about us at his trial,"
Ariadne said.
    "Only because he knows we're the last ones left of his
organization. If he ever dares breathe a word about us, he
knows he'll never get out of confinement." Drake sat back
down behind his desk. "We're Admiral Cartwright's last hope
for freedom. And we're the Federation's best hope for secu-
rity."
 "So what's Kirk?" Ariadne asked.
 "Debris. To be tossed aside by the waves of history."
    "From what I've heard, he doesn't sound the type to let
himself be tossed aside."

    "He doesn't have a choice anymore," Drake said with
venom in his voice. "Kirk's day is over. Starfleet knows it. His
friends know it. And I know it." He settled back in his chair,
hands clasped behind his head. "And I intend to see the
expression on Kirk's face when he knows it, too."
     "Whatever you've got planned for him," Ariadne said
dryly, "I'm glad to know it isn't personal." Drake frowned.
 Sometimes children could be such a burden.

TWENTY-THREE

Kirk missed his Starfleet sidebums.
    He had had them ever since the Academy. A tradition
whose origins were lost in time.
 But two days ago, Teilani had carefully shaved them off.
 Slowly. With a naked Klingon SeymoH blade.
 After covering him with hot lather.
    Kirk had heard stories of the SeyrnoH blade and how the
Klingons employed it. Not for cutting, but for delicate,
maddening, and indescribable scraping.
    He used to think it would be an experience he would never
have. Simply because he would never trust any Klingon to get
that close to him with a drawn knife.
 But Teilani was something different. Something special.
 And smart.
    She had told him that his Starfleet sideburns would cause
him to stand out where they were going.
 Not on Chal. But on Prestor V.

158                                                                               159

    It was a bleak, backwater planet just inside the boundaries
of the Klingon Empire, close to the Federation's watchposts.
    For generations, Prestor V's only industry had been
provided by the Klingon garrison that was stationed there.
But with the Empire's recent military cutbacks, the garrison
had been recalled.
    Prestor V then became the latest in a long list of planets to
look elsewhere for support in the new era of peace. So, like
many others before it, the colonial government solved its
problems by turning to institutionalized piracy and theft.
    Prestor V was also to be the Enterprise's first port of call on
her voyage to Chal.
  For supplies, Teilani had said. And equipment.
    She had explained everything to Kirk as she had drawn the
edge of the blade across his skin, awakening each nerve ending
with a combination of exquisite pressure and the constant
danger of serious injury.
    Kirk hadn't said much during the discussion. Teilani had
proven herself very resourceful in redirecting his attention.
    Meanwhile, the Enterprise had arrived at Prestor V on
schedule.
    Now Kirk and Scott sat at a wobbling table in a dingy
spaceport bar, on the outskirts of the planet's capital city.
They were waiting for Teilani to join them.
    Neither had their Starfleet sideburns anymore. Though
Scott had had to shave his off himself.
    Looking around the bar, Kirk could see that Teilani had
been correct in suggesting the sideburns go. It was not a
Starfleet-friendly environment.
    Like any good Klingon drinking establishment, this one
had a number of ears nailed to the wall behind the bartender's
station. Most of them human. Kirk wondered if any had
fallen to a SeymoH blade in the hands of a jealous lover.
    Probably not, he decided. Ifa spurned Klingon lover had a
SeymoH blade handy, an ear might not be the first trophy
taken.

    Kirk looked away from the collection of ears and smiled at
Scott.
 Scott smiled back.
 Both smiles were forced.
 The silence was awkward.
    "We haven't done this for a long time, have we?" Kirk said.
"Sit in a bar, wear civilian clothes for a change, have a few
drinks."
 "No," Scott agreed. "We haven't."
    Kirk sipped what passed for this planet's beer. Scott did the
same.
 More awkward silence.
    "After Khitomer, I got very busy," Kirk said. "At head-
quarters."
 "So I understand."
    Kirk couldn't stand the tension any longer. He used to like
touring alien bars with Mr. Scott.
 "Scotty, is there something wrong?"
 "Why? Should there be?"
    Kirk shrugged. He wasn't sure what he was trying to say. "I
don't know. It's just that... you and me... here in this
bar... shouldn't we be having... fun?"
    Scotty sighed noisily. The Prestor beer left an attractive
little fringe of blue foam on his mustache.
    "Captain, we've been traveling on th' Enterprise for th' past
eight days and you've barely said two words t' me that weren't
hayin' t' do with th' engines."
    Kirk grimaced. What could he say? "Scotty... I've
been ... busy."
    "Aye, sir, that ye have been." Scott poured a fresh glass of
the blue beer from the copper pitcher on the table. Something
small and green with too many legs shot out from beneath the
pitcher the instant Scott lifted it. "But the point of the matter
is, you're always busy."
    Kirk heard the recrimination in Scotty's tone. He knew he
couldn't make up for anything he might have done, or not

160                                                                                161

done in the past. But at least he could try and change things
for the future.
    "Mr. Scott, I am not busy now." Kirk raised his glass in a
toast. "I am sitting in this fine establishment hoping to have a
drink with an old friend."
      Scotty didn't look convinced, but he appreciated the effort.
He clinked his glass against Kirk's.  "To old times," Scott said.
  Kirk disagreed. "To new times."
      Scott countered with the one toast neither could argue with.
"To th' Enterprise. Th' finest ship Starfleet ever saw."
 "And to her crew," Kirk added.
      At least this time when silence followed, there was some
semblance of a connection between the two men.
 Kirk couldn't help himself.
 "So, how are the engines?"
    ScoWs eyes twinkled. There was a reason most of Kirk's
conversations with him revolved around technical matters.
    "I've had to rework th' intervalve couplings t' keep th'
power groupings online," Scott said. "And with th' new
disruptor cannons being installed, I've--"
 "Excuse me?" Kirk interrupted. "Disruptors?"
 "Aye," Scott said innocently.
    Kirk stared at his chief engineer. "Klingon disruptor
cannons... on the Enterprise?"
    "Captain, we don't have any phasers. Our tractor beams
have been downgraded. And all but one photon tube has been
welded over with duranium." Scott leaned forward and
dropped his voice. "Ifth' Enterprise is t' be part of a planetary
defense system, then she needs something t' defend herself
with, don't ye think?"
    Kirk couldn't argue with that. "But where did we get
disruptor cannons?"
    Scotty smiled. "Ask me nae questions, I'll tell ye nae lies.
Teilani was the one who did the dealing. Right here in this bar
I'm told."

"She bought them," Kirk said, not quite believing it.
"We're in Klingon territory, sir. And in Klingon territory,
currency is still widespread. As are a number of ex-offmers
who see nothing wrong in selling surplus equipment t' th'
highest bidders. Let me add that Teilani is quite th' negotia-
tor, too."
    Kirk smiled inwardly at that. He knew from experience that
she was skilled at getting her own way.
    "ls there anything else being installed on my ship I should
know about?"
    Scott scratched at his mustache. "A few antimatter pods.
Ten photon torpedoes. Twin disruptor cannons. Shield aug-
menters. Tractor enhancers." Scott looked at Kirk. "That's
about the lot."
    "That's just about everything Starfleet took out of her when
she was decommissioned."
    "Aye. 1 never would have thought it, but with th' new
equipment and a few more weeks' work, I should have th' old
girl back close t' her original condition."
"Except she'll have Klingon disruptors instead of phasers."
Scott finished off his glass of beer and wiped his mustache
free of foam. "The pieces all fit in the holes Starfleet left. So
why not? After all, there're not a great many Starfleet officers
willin' to sell off parts of their own Fleet."
    Don't be so sure, Kirk thought. He looked around the bar. It
was still fairly early in the evening and only half the tables
were filled. Almost all of the clientele were Klingon. None of
them appeared to be paying any attention to the two humans
sitting by themselves.
    Just the same, Kirk leaned forward and gave Scott a
conspiratorial whisper. "Does any of this refitting make sense
to you, Scotty?"
    The whisper made Scott nervous. He leaned forward to
speak in the same hushed tone. "Why not? Ye're got t' want t'
have a whole ship to command, don't ye?"
 "Chal is deep within the Klingon-Romulan frontier. At

162                                                                                 163

worst, we're going to face a few Orion pirates. As long as our
shields are up to strength, a few photon torpedoes are all we
need."
  "Teilani seems t' know what she wants."
  "Don't l know it," Kirk said with a smile.
    Scott poured the last of the blue beer from the copper
pitcher. Something thick and green plopped out of the pitcher
and into his glass. Scott eyed it warily. But it didn't move on
its own.
    "Could be that Teilani knows more about what t' expect
around Chal than we do," he suggested.
 "I have no doubt of that," Kirk agreed.
     Scott shrugged. "When in Rome." He upended his glass
and bravely swallowed the thick green sludge. Kirk flinched. "Scotty. How could you?"
    "Trust me, Captain. There's nothing that could be alive in a
brew as foul as this one."
    Kirk's first impulse was to thank Scotty for calling him
"captain" again. But he decided not to. The title had probably
just slipped out without Scott being aware of what he said.
    The surly Klingon bartender lumbered over to Kirk's table
with another battered copper pitcher of blue beer. She was old
and deeply wrinkled with a mane of pure white hair. Her
leather apron carried an ominous collection of stains. It
looked ready to burst from the pressure it exerted on her
massive breasts crammed under her armor chest plate.
     Kirk tried to send the pitcher back but the bartender
muttered that it was free. "Free?" Kirk asked.
    The bartender said any customer who ate the green sludge
got a free pitcher. It was house policy.
"What, exactly, is the green sludge?" Scott asked politely.
The bartender gaped at Scott in admiration. Her deeply
ridged brow rippled as her eyes widened. "You didn't know?"
she mumbled.
 Scott shook his head.

    The bartender erupted with a bone-chilling howl of
Klingon laughter, whomped Scott on the back, then went back
to her bar, still snorting in amazement. A look of panic crossed Scott's face.
    Kirk pushed the copper pitcher closer to the engineer.
"Drink up, Scotty. Who knows what you get for doing it
twice?"
     Before Scott could reply, Kirk suddenly felt familiar hands
move across his back and slide around his chest. He lost his breath as quickly as that.
    Teilani whirled him around and kissed him. Innovatively.
Thoroughly. But only for a second.
 It was her usual dramatic entrance.
    "I'm done," she announced as she dragged over a chair and
sat at the table.
    Her dark jumpsuit clung to her curves. Her exotic face was
flushed, vibrant with satisfaction. The energy she radiated
was nothing less than blinding. As always.
    Kirk felt the pull of her nearness, as if he were a moon
trapped in helpless orbit, drawn by irresistible force.
    "I didn't know you had anything more to do," he said. He
decided he could stare at her for hox~rs. He wondered how he
could ever have thought that a Klingon brow was ungainly, or
that pointed ears were alien.
    Both features looked perfect to him now, especially the way
they blended in Teilani.
    "The Enterprise is a big ship, James." She reached out to
pour herself a glass of beer. "She needs a great deal of
supplies."
    Scott held out a cautioning hand. "Careful of the sludge,
lass."
    "I know," Teilani told him. "If you accidentally eat any of
it, they have to give you a free pitcher to help dredge the
worms out of your system."
    Kirk was impressed by how quickly the color drained from
Scotty's face.

164                                                                                  165

  The engineer quickly excused himself.
    As soon as he was gone, Teilani reached across the table and
squeezed Kirk's hand.
 "Happy?" she asked.
  "Exhausted," Kirk answered.
    For all the time they had been spending in his quarters,
sleep had been a low priority for both of them.
 Teilani liked his answer. "Ready to start work?"
  Kirk was puzzled.
    "As coordinator of Chal's planetary defense force," Teilani
explained.
 "Now?" Kirk asked.
 Teilani's face became serious. "We're being followed."
    Kirk immediately glanced around the bar. No one was
overtly looking at them.
 "Not here," Teilani said. "In space."
 "Who?"
 "The people who went after you on the farm."
 "What sort of ship do they have?"
 "A Tholian starcruiser. Emerald class."
    Kirk knew the vessel well. A crystal-faceted teardrop hull,
similar to the ships that had once captured the Enterprise. A
crew of twenty, maximum cruising factor of seven point five,
exceptional shields. But little in the way of firepower.
 "We can outrun it," he said. "Or outright it."
 "Good," Teilani said. "Then I think we should outrun it."
 "We'll still meet up on Chal, won't we?"
 "Not if they don't think we're going there."
    Kirk didn't follow her reasoning. "Where else would they
think we were going?"
    Teilani wasn't taking this as seriously as Kirk thought she
should.
    "They're going to be able to track us here, to Prestor V,
easily. They're also going to find out about all the equipment
we've taken on board. So what we have to do is make them

think we've gone to another system, looking for spacedock
facilities. So we can install everything."
    "That means they don't know about Scotty," Kirk said.
"He could refit the ship holding his breath, walking her hull in
a pair of magnetic boots. No spacedock required."
    "But since they won't know Scotty, when we leave Prestor
V, I think we should set up a false trail. Just to give us some
extra time to... prepare for things on Chat."
     It was Kirk's turn to be serious. "You still haven't told me
what we're going to face on your homeworld." Teilani bit her lip, hesitating.
    "Scotty told me about all the weapons systems you were
having installed aboard the Enterprise. Is that why you
wanted me down here most of the day?"
 "James, no. I'm not hiding anything from you."
    Kirk believed her, if for no other reason than his heart
longed for her. "Then at least tell me who those weapons are
intended to be used against. I know it's not just a Tholian
starcruiser."
 Teilani looked away from him, making up her mind.
    "If things work out the way I hope," she said, "they won't
have to be used against anyone. Just the fact that we have
them should be enough to get the other side to the negotiating
table."
 "What other side?" Kirk asked.
     "The Anarchists, of course. Those among us who want to
destroy Chal." "How?"
 "By telling the galaxy what we have to offer."
    "If that's all they have to do, then why haven't they done it
already?" Kirk asked. "A few broadbeam subspace transmis-
sions and the whole quadrant would know about your world
in weeks."
    Teilani wrapped both hands around her glass of beer.
"They're not that fanatical, James. The Anarchists know Chal

166                                                                  167

could never withstand the billions who would come to it after
that kind of announcement. No, what they intend to do is
keep its location a secret, so they can sell access to Chal to a
select few."
 "Teilani, is that so wrong?"
    She lifted her chin in determination. "When you see Chal
you'll understand why even that level of exploitation is
intolerable."
    Kirk allowed himself to be completely captivated by her
eyes. "What is Chal like?"
    She eased forward over the table, until her lips brushed
against his, full of promise.
    "Ten more days," she whispered. "Then you'll see for
yourself."

TWENTY-FOUR

Ten days later, the Enterprise slipped into standard orbit of
Chal.
 Kirk almost felt like a boy again.
    He remembered the excitement he had felt on his first
school trip to Tranquility Base. The first time he had left
Earth to set foot on another world. This was better.
 He couldn't explain why.
    He stared through the forward viewport of Teilani's yacht
as the Enterprise's hangar doors ponderously opened.
    A welcoming blue glow--reflected light from the world
below--swept into the hangar deck.

    Kirk watched as Esys reset the yacht's controls for manual
flight. He saw the young Klingon-Romulan adjust the inertial
dampers to full strength.
 "That's all right," Kirk said. "Leave them at minimum."
 Kirk wanted to feel what it was like to fly to Chal.
    He felt Teilani touch his shoulder from the seat behind him,
understanding his excitement.
    The sleek yacht rose from the hangar deck, slowly floated
toward the open doors under automatic tractor-beam control.
     Passing from the hangar to space was like moving from the
darkness of a cave to a lustrous summer day. Chal was a sapphire before him.
    Rich deep blue beyond any word Kirk knew in any lan-
guage.
    An ocean world, ninety percent of her pure azure waters,
scrolled in elegant curlicues of brilliant white clouds.
    The yacht banked away from the Enterprise, moving down.
Kirk felt the shudder as Esys took control from the tractor
beam.
    The binary suns of Chal glinted from the world's vast
ocean, leaving dark spots in Kirk's vision.
    It was as if every summer day on every beach that ever was
had been collapsed into one perfect, shimmering blue mo-
ment.
    "What does 'Chai' mean?" Kirk asked. He had heard so
many different names for worlds that he had never thought to
ask.
 "Heaven," Teilani said.
 Kirk understood.
 He fell toward paradise.

    The yacht shook satisfyingly as it entered Chal's atmos-
phere.
    Kirk grinned along with Esys as the dampers did little to
dilute the sheer sensations of speed and descent.
 Ahead, on the distant horizon, rapidly losing its curve as

168                                                                               169

 they neared the surface, Kirk saw a string of islands rise from
 the sea.
     They were one of four archipelagoes that daubed the ocean
 like artist's brushstrokes.
     The largest island, in the archipelago closest the equator,
 was where the colony of Chal had first been founded, where its
 first and only city remained. It had a population of almost one
 thousand, Teilani said. Small enough that they had little
 impact on the world's ecology. That there was food enough
 for the taking, without requiring anyone to work in agricul-
 ture for more than a few weeks in any year.
    Neither was there much work required in the way of
support services or maintenance. The building materials used
and technological infrastructure the colony's founders had
installed were robust and capable of self-repair.
    By all accounts, to Kirk the colony sounded more like a
resort camp than a working community. It was almost as if
the Klingons and Romulans who had created the colony had
intended that their descendants would never have to work to
maintain their blissful existence.
    The air of Chal whistled past the yacht as Esys slowed the
craft to subsonic velocity.
  They flew a few hundred meters above the ocean.
      The main island rushed at them like a wave of green, held
apart from the ocean by a border of white sand. "Almost home," Teilani said.
    They raced along the shore, twisting and curving with it.
Completely inefficient, but unquestionably fun.
    Kirk watched deep jungle flash by to the side, highlighted
by vivid explosions of color from flowers that beggered those
of Earth.
    He saw a handful of ground vehicles parked on the beach
below them. Groupings of Chal looked up from the sand on
which they lay and from the water in which they swam.
    Sports and games were high among the pursuits enjoyed by
the Chal, Teilani had explained. Loosely organized commit-

tees arranged the minimal work schedules. A more formal
group of volunteers formed the planet's government, such
that it was. Teilani was the one responsible for maintaining
contact with other worlds.
    With no industry and no exports, Kirk was uncertain where
Chal's trade credits originally came from. Teilani had no
answers either. She had merely taken over her position,
inheriting a system set in place from the beginning. Comput-
ers provided almost all the suggestions and advice for running
the colony. And with only a thousand or so inhabitants to
cater to, with food and shelter and recreation abundant for
all, actual government involvement in anyone's daily life was
rare and inconsequential.
    Kirk was surprised that the colony had been provided with
such a stable organization from the beginning. Most colonies
served as laboratories for creating new forms of social interac-
tion.
    The yacht eased to the right, following the curve of the
shore. The city was before them.
    Nestled in green. Clear, clean stripes of beige and cream
and pale pink walls and roofs arranged like scattered
seashells, raised on a small outcropping of black volcanic
rock, caught in the jungle's edge, overlooking the sweep of a
protected harbor and kilometers of wide white beach.
    There was a central structure larger than any other
building--a covered stadium, Kirk guessed. But all around it,
everything was low and simple. Nothing more than two
stories. Nothing that could get in the way of the glorious
sunlight that bathed the scene.
 Esys brought the yacht around, slowing it gradually.
    Kirk saw a series of circular landing pads carved into the
black rock at the city's edge.
    Yellow concentric circles glowed. Numbers written in
Romulan script identified them.
 Gently, the yacht touched down.
 At the same instant, the yacht's hatch sprang open.

170                                                                               171

  Kirk gasped as the rich air of Chal flooded the cabin.
    He smelled the ocean, the flowers, the damp green of the
jungle.
    For a moment, he felt dizzy. His skin tingled. His heart
raced.
  Esys and Teilani were standing already.
  He pushed himself out of his seat.
 There was something different about the action.
 "What's your gravity here?" Kirk asked.
     Teilani smiled at him as she stood in the hatchway. Beyond
her, Kirk could see lush jungle fronds sway in the breeze.
 "Point nine eight," she said.
    Kirk worked it out. That only meant a difference in his
weight of about a kilogram and a half. Not enough to account
for the ease of movement he felt.
"Oxygen content of the atmosphere?" he asked.
Teilani's smile grew puzzled. "Twenty-one percent."
Again, just slightly off Earth normal. But not enough to
account for the undercurrent of energy surging through his
body. He felt a rush of exhilaration.
 "Are you all right, James?" Teilani asked.
    He joined her at the hatchway, swung her off her feet,
hugged her, smothered her laughing face with kisses. That was
his answer.
 Esys laughed as he passed them in the hatchway.
 Kirk knew he would hear a lot of laughter on this planet.
 He decided he was going to like it here.
 Everything was new.
 Because of Teilani.

TWENTY-FIVE

The Excelsior dropped from warp and smoothly banked on
impulse to enter standard orbit of Prestor V.
    On the spacious bridge, Chekov looked up from the security
officer's station. "Ve have them," he announced.
 Sulu swiveled in his center chair to look over at Spock.
 Spock had taken over the science station.
    Chekov knew some of Sulu's bridge crew hadn't been
pleased to relinquish their key positions to what were, after
all, interlopers. But the ease with which those of the Enter-
prise had fallen into their old routines was remarkable to
witness. It was as if not a day had gone by since their first
five-year mission.
    Even Lieutenant Janice Rand, once Captain Kirk's yeo-
man, now Sulu's communications officer, worked perfectly
with Uhura at the station they shared.
 Spock confirmed Chekov's readings.
    "Sensors are picking up impulse ionization readings consis-
tent with the Enterprise's engines. I estimate she was in orbit
here, within the past eight to twelve days."
 "Any idea how long she stayed?" Sulu asked.
    "Judging from the residual ionization trails, multiple or-
bits. Two to three days at least," Spock said.
    Sulu looked ahead at the main viewscreen. Prestor V was a
scabrous brown and purple planet below them. "Then that
means she did some business here."
  He tapped his finger on the side of his chair. Chekov could

172                                                                              173

see him working out the sequence of orders he was going to
give. The expression on his face, the position he assumed in
the chair, all reminded Chekov of Kirk.
    "Mr. Chekov," Sulu began, "continue an intensive sweep
for the Enterprise's warp signature. Just in case they remained
in orbit a few days longer and we can still pick up their warp
heading. Commander Uhura, contact all orbital docking
facilities. Ask if the Enterprise has booked space in them in
the past two weeks."
    "Ask?" Uhura said. "Sir, this is a Klingon borderworld. No
one's going to answer any questions a Starfleet ship asks."
    Chekov hid his smile as Sulu frowned, the rhythm of his
orders lost.
    "Very well," Sulu said with a sigh. "Find out what they use
for currency here, withdraw it from ship's stores, and assem-
ble landing parties to beam over to the docking platforms and
inquire about the Enterprise in person."
    "You mean, bribe the dockmasters," Uhura said, looking
for clarification.
  "Whatever it takes," Sulu acknowledged.
    He stood up to face the viewscreen. "The Enterprise came
here for a purpose. I'm going to guess it was to replace some of
the equipment Starfleet removed from her. So far there's been
no evidence that Captain Kirk has been trying to hide his
trail. But once the Enterprise was resupplied, he might have
changed tactics."
    Chekov thought Sulu was stating the obvious. If anything
was consistent about Kirk's tactics, it was the frequency with
which he changed them.
    Spock looked up from his science station. "Captain Sulu, if
Captain Kirk wished to replace all the equipment Starfleet
removed from the Enterprise, then that would include weap-
ons systems."
 "Of course," Sulu said.
    "Then I submit that he must have dealt in extralegal
channels."

    "It's a Klingon borderworld," Uhura reminded Spock.
"The whole planet is extralegal."
    Spock was unperturbed. "There are various levels of extra-
legal activity, Commander. To replace weapons systems, I
suggest Captain Kirk would have made contact with suppliers
close to the old Klingon garrison that was stationed on this
world. Logically, they would be the ones with access to any
military matfiriel that was left behind." "Or stolen," Chekov added.
    "As I said," Spock agreed, "there are various levels of
extralegal activity."
    Sulu nodded, surrendering to Spock's logic. "I'll want
landing parties to go to the surface, as well To look into
'extralegal' supply options." He glanced at Spock. "Will that
be sufficient?"
    "Again, the inhabitants of Prestor V might not be willing to
aid Starfleet personnel in their inquiries."
 "Undercover, Captain Spock?" Sulu asked.
 "That would be the logical approach."
    Sulu looked in Chekov's direction. Chekov could see what
the captain was thinking.
 "Payel, I believe you're our designated criminal," Sulu said.
 Chekov heard Uhura chuckle at her station.
    "All right," Chekov said. "But this time, I get to carry the
money."

174                                                                                          175

!! i~
i-f

TWENTY-SIX

 Kirk thundered across the sands of Chal.
    He stayed crouched and low in his saddle as his mount
pounded along the beach, sending billowing clouds &glitter-
ing sand flying with each hoofbeat.
    Teilani rode at his side, hair streaming in the wind of their
race.
  He caught her eye.
    The suns of Chal sparkled in her. The passion of their
contest. Of their lovemaking only an hour ago. The joy of
home. Everything united in that one expression that trans-
formed her face. Making her beauty transcendent.
She snapped her reins and yelled at her steed to spur it on.
The horselike creature, glossy brown and native to a distant
Romulan colony world, snorted and took off, its powerful legs
driving against the beach.
    Kirk urged his own mount on. He gulped down air as if he
had been drowning. He had never known breathing to be so
elemental an experience.
    Even as he closed the gap between them, Kirk wondered
what a thorough analysis of Chal's atmosphere would find. He
had only been here a single day, but had felt the planet's
influence from the moment he first landed.
 The treasure of this world, Teilani called it.
 Be young forever.
 Only a length ahead of him, Teilani guided her mount

176

around a jagged black rock and hauled back on the reins to
bring the race to an end.
    Kirk was still getting used to the creatures. They weren't the
same as the horses he was familiar with on Earth. He overshot
Teilani, had to circle back.
    She was waiting for him, resplendent in the simple white
clothes she wore. They were decoration more than protection
in Chal's benign climate--loose, open, innocently plain yet
captivatingly sexy.
    Kirk wore a version of the same. As did everyone else he
had met on Chal. Everything, even these clothes, was a
celebration here, of unfettered life and love.
    It seemed as if there was nothing to hide on this world.
Nothing to be denied.
     Kirk dismounted, went to Teilani. He was out of breath.
She teased him for it. Then apologized with a kiss. They walked to the water's edge.
    Gentle waves bordered by translucent foam lapped at the
white sand.
    Tiny flying creatures chased the water. Some skittered on
impossibly tiny feet, leaving delicate tracks in the sand.
Others glided gracefully on the soft breeze, skimming the cuff
of the gentle surf.
    On the horizon, brightly colored sails of small boats darted
swiftly between air and sea.
 This world wasn't a resort. It was a playground.
    Everything about it had been designed from the beginning
to offer a world without stress, without need.
    Kirk slipped his arm around Teilani. She leaned her head
on his shoulder.
    "Now I know why you want to keep this world a secret,"
Kirk told her.
 "Do you?" Teilani asked.
    Chal's binary suns hung like an hourglass in an unbroken
blue sky. The primary star was yellow-white, the smaller

177

 secondary orange-yellow. From space Kirk had seen the
 incandescent plasma bridge that joined the two, as the
 primary stripped off gases from the secondary that spiraled
 around it.
     But the light those suns cast on this alien shore was warm
 and inviting.
    "If people knew what it was like here, you'd be beach-to-
beach hotels and travelports inside a year," Kirk said. His
words seemed banal to him, in the face of such perfection.
    "And that would be the end of everything." She held him
closer. "But that's why you're here."
      Kirk looked into her eyes. The face of his old enemies--
Klingon and Romulan--improbably joined, looked back.
 But they were enemies no longer.
  In Teilani's arms, he had left the past behind.
    'Tm here because of you," Kirk said. He nuzzled her
wind-tossed hair. "You told me you needed someone to save
your world, remember? And then you brought me
to... heaven."
    She held his hand to the side of her face. Pressed her open
lips against his sun-warmed skin. "Were you expecting a war
zone?"
    "Some sign of imminent danger at least," Kirk said. His
fingers traced the ridges of her forehead.
 "There is danger all around us, James."
    "I thought the Enterprise would put an end to that. That
just her presence would bring the other side--the Anarchists
--to the negotiating table." He moved his fingers down the
side &her head, pushed her hair away from her ear, kissed its
curves, drinking in the intermingled scent of sun and sand
and sea and her.
 "But that's just here on Chal," she whispered into his ear.
 Her breath was warmer than the sun, melting him.
    Kirk ran his hands along her back, the silky fabric of her
light tunic no barrier to the softness of her skin. "You have
other enemies?" he asked.

    Teilani stepped back from him, holding his hands against
the sides of her waist.
    "You're feeling the effects of Chal, aren't you?" she asked,
as if she hadn't heard his question.
    "Yes," Kirk admitted. Nothing to hide, nothing denied. "I
feel...young...younger...more alive than I have
in ... years."
    "What is that worth, James? Not just to you, but to entire
planets? Entire empires?" She released his hands. Slowly
lifted her own hands to the neck of her tunic. "Youth is the
ultimate limited resource. Chal has survived these past years
because no one knew of her. But now, with the changes in the
Klingon Empire, the old secrets are being revealed."
    She unfastened the top closure on her tunic, moved down to
the second.
    "Chal cannot remain a secret for much longer. But to
survive, she must."
 The second closure parted.
 Her skin was intoxicating.
 Her tunic slipped from her shoulders.
 She was intoxicating.
 Kirk was undone.
 His hands encircled her. He brought his lips down to hers.
 But he didn't kiss her as she expected.
 "Is there something you aren't telling me?" he whispered.
 "Make love to me, James."
     She drew his own tunic from his shoulders, pushed it away
so their skin met as she pressed against him.
 "Who is your enemy?"
 "James, please."
 Her hands stroked his back. Their pressure hypnotic.
 But Kirk stepped back. Breaking contact.
 They stood, poised on the brink of their desires.
 "Teilani, I need to talk," Kirk said.
    Teasingly, she reached out for the drawstring of his pants.
"But 1 need you," she said.

178                                                                                             179

  Kirk surrendered. How could he not?
  With Teilani at his side, time had no meaning.
      They could talk whenever, love whenever, do whatever
their hearts desired, whenever and for as long as they wanted.
 Kirk had found his Eden.
  Perhaps, he thought, I have found my home.
  A deep rumble resonated through the air.
    Kirk turned to look past the jagged rock, along the beach
toward the city.
  It was kilometers away, hidden by a curve of jungle.
    But from behind that curve, a billowing fireball blossomed,
rising into the air on a trail of black smoke.
    Teilani's face was white with fear. Or rage. Kirk didn't
know.
    "They're attacking again!" she said. "They said they would
talk but they're attacking again/"
 "Who's attacking?" Kirk demanded. "The Anarchists?"
    "Yes," she said. "The Anarchists. The old ones. Our
parents."

TWENTY-SEVEN

Kirk stared at Teilani for a moment, then decided it was not
the time or place for more questions.
 He sprinted across the sand, back to his mount.
 In his saddlebag, he found his communicator.
 He flipped it open.
 "Kirk to Enterprise."
 Scott answered.

 Kirk gave his orders.
 Everything happened at once.
    Within seconds Kirk and Teilani were beamed from the
beach to the landing pads by the city. Right beside Teilani's
yacht.
    Kirk felt the heat from the new fireball that exploded not
more than a kilometer away in the jungle.
    Smoke wafted through the lush growth toward the simple
city buildings. He could hear screams and shouting voices
carried on the wind.
 A new transporter column sparkled into being.
 Kirk ran to it.
    He pulled on the jacket that lay atop the equipment Scott
had beamed down. He tossed the second one to Teilani. Then
he strapped on the equipment belt, adjusted the position of
the Klingon disruptor pistol that hung from it.
 He flipped open the screen on his tactical scanner.
 "Transmit," he said into his communicator.
 The screen came alive with moving dots of color.
    Teilani watched over his shoulder as she sealed her jacket.
"What is it, James?"
    "The Enterprise is sweeping the area with her sensors. This
screen shows the position of the attackers."
    There seemed to be twenty of them, moving in from the
jungle.
    He heard the whistle of a shell screaming through the sky.
Instinctively he pulled Teilani to the landing pad, hunched
over her.
    An explosion rocked the next pad, spraying shattered stones
to rattle off the hull of the yacht by Kirk.
    "Scotty," Kirk yelled into his communicator. "Can you
pick those shells off in flight?"
    "Negative, Captain. We don't have the precision aim we
used t'."
    Kirk dragged Teilani toward the shelter of the yacht. He
studied the screen.

180                                                                                              181

C .....

~: iZ',

  "What sort of defense does the city have?" he asked.
  Teilani looked helpless. "Hand disruptors. Projectile guns."
  "That's it?"
  She nodded, an expression of shock distorting her features.
  "What are they after?"
  Teilani stared blankly at him.
  "The Anarchists! What's their objective?"
    Teilani was frightened. Kirk filed her reaction. She hadn't
behaved this way when they had been under attack at the
farm.
    "Teilani! I can't help you unless you tell me what they're
trying to do!"
  "The power station," she said. "In the center of town."
  "The large domed building?"
  She nodded.
    Kirk found the building on the tactical screen. It was the
structure he had thought looked like a covered stadium.
The Anarchists were about three kilometers distant from it.
Whatever they were using to launch the explosive shells had
more than enough range to reach the station. The fact that
they weren't shelling it told Kirk their objective was to get to
the station, not destroy it.
 That made defense easier.
    "Scotty--can you lock transporters onto the twenty or so
life signs in the jungle to the north of the city?"
    That would be the easy way, Kirk knew. Transport all the
Anarchists directly to the Enterprise's brig.
    "Sorry, sir. The jungle is full of life signs, birds and animals
I'm guessing, and we just don't have precise enough control to
isolate the attackers. Unless ye could talk them int' carrying
communicators."
 "How about a low-intensity disruptor burst?"
    "Aye," Scott answered. "If ye don't mind knockin' out a
few wee beasties, too."
    Kirk looked at Teilani. "What are the life-forms here like?
Can they stand up to a stun setting?"

 "I... I think so," Teilani said.
    She flinched and shrank as another explosion rocked the
landing pads.
    Kirk coughed as a gust of fine powder and dirt rushed past
him.
 "Do it, Scotty."
    "Targeting now, Captain. Setting disruptor cannons to
lowest power. Ye might want to cover your eyes .... "
    A section of sky to the north of the city suddenly flared with
orange light.
 Kirk checked his tactical screen.
     The dots that represented the Anarchists were still there,
indicating they were still alive.
 But they weren't moving.
 "Good shooting, Mr. Scott."
 "Fish in a barrel, sir."
    Kirk told Scott to stand by, then flipped his communicator
closed. "It's over," he said to Teilani. The Enterprise had
worked her magic.
    "Only for now," she said. "They aren't the only ones who
threaten us."
 Kirk stood and brushed the dust from his jacket and pants.
 The jacket Teilani wore was too big for her.
    For just this moment, it made her look too much like a
young girl, frightened and alone.
    Kirk hugged her. With compassion this time and for no
other reason.
 "Vacation's over," he said gently to her. "No more secrets."
 He felt her nod against his chest.
 "Tell me everything," Kirk said.
 Teilani held nothing back.

182                                                                                183

TWENTY-EIGHT

It was night in Prestor V's main city. A light rain fell, coating
the corroded streets with an oily yellow sheen. The air stank
of sulfur.
    There were public streetlights lining all the thoroughfares in
the warehouse district surrounding the spaceport. But none of
them worked. The only light came from windows haphazardly
shuttered by twisted blast shields.
    The Klingon engineers who had built this city fifty years
earlier had not intended their temporary structures to last.
And they hadn't.
    Down one narrow street, a glowing sign sputtered and
sparked, creating a pool of flickering red light.
    Chekov paused in that light. To check out his "associates"
one last time.
  He was not filled with optimism.
    "Please," Chekov pleaded as he adjusted Dr. McCoy's
collar, "look more... menacing."
 "How am I supposed to do that?" McCoy grumbled.
    "Scowl," Chekov said. "Hunch your shoulders. Do some-
thing to make them think you're a vanted, desperate man."
    McCoy snapped the collar &his long dark coat even higher
around his neck, shoved his hands deep into his pocket. He
glared in an expression of... annoyance. Chekov sighed. He looked at Spock.
 Spock hesitated a moment, then snapped up his own collar.
 "How is this?" he asked.

184

 His neutral expression hadn't changed.
    "Perfect," Chekov said without enthusiasm. He hoped
Uhura was having better luck with her landing party on the
other side of the spaceport. "Come vith me." He led Spock and McCoy into the bar.
    The sulfurous smell from outside had permeated the low-
ceilinged room they entered. So had the mist.
    Chekov peered through it, counted the ears nailed up
behind the bar. He saw Spock and McCoy looking at them as
well.
 "At least," Chekov whispered, "none of them are pointed."
    "There's always a first time for everything," McCoy said
cheerfully, looking at Spock.
    Chekov walked over to an empty table and sat down, trying
to swagger as best he could.
    As Spock and McCoy joined him, a nearby table of
Klingons made a show of smelling a terrible odor and
changed to a table farther away.
    The bartender, a craggy old Klingon female with an explo-
sion of thick white hair, approached Chekov's table. Before
Chekov could order, she slapped down a copper pitcher filled
with something blue and foamy. Three chipped glasses fol-
lowed.
 "Two credits," the bartender wheezed.
Chekov thought, Here goes. He locked eyes with her.
"Federation credits? Vhat do you take us for?" Chekov
dropped a Klingon colonial coin on the wooden table. "Ve
deal only in talons."
    The bartender reached under her stained apron and
brought out a tiny scanner, no larger than one of McCoy's
medical sensors. She held the device over the coin. The
scanner glowed orange on one end.
 The bartender pocketed the scanner and the coin.
    "Anything else?" she growled. Her tone was slightly less
belligerent.

185

    Chekov motioned for the bartender to lean closer. "Ve are
in need of some... equipment."
    The bartender grunted. "This is a bar, not a shopping
mart."
    "Perhaps I misunderstood my friend's adwice," Chekov
said.
  The bartender eyed him suspiciously. "Who's your friend?"
    "Kort," Chekov said. He dropped his voice. "Of the
Imperial Forecasters."
    Chekov was pleased with the way in which the bartender
tried not to let her surprise show. "Kort! How is the old
bladder these days?" she asked.
    "Not too veil. Life on the Dark Range is getting...
difficult. His sources of supply are being compromised by
Starfleet Intelligence, and the Empire's own internal peace
forces."
 "And he sent you here?"
    Chekov could tell the bartender was intrigued, though still
not convinced. He played his final card.
    'What is the path of the fourth-rank ratch dragon?" he
asked her.
    The bartender's mouth sagged open in astonishment as
Chekov quoted the death poem of Molor.
    Chekov had no idea of the significance of the words. Only
that they had had a powerful effect on Kort when Jade had
used them in the cargo bay. Judging from the bartender's
reaction, they were still useful. 'Well?" Chekov prompted.
    "By Praxis' light, in seasons still to come," the bartender
muttered nervously.
    "Wery good," Chekov said. He placed five more talon coins
on the table and slid them toward the bartender.
    The bartender sat down, passed her arm over the coins.
They disappeared without so much as a single clink.
 Years of practice, Chekov decided.

    Then the bartender nodded her head at Spock and McCoy.
Strands of white hair fell over her eyes. "Who are they?"
    "I am a dealer in kevas and trillium," Spock said. "My
name is Sarin and I was bornre"
    Chekov kicked Spock's boot under the table, interrupting
his recitation of the backstory Chekov had created for him.
    "My talkative friend is... a client," Chekov explained.
"They both are."
 "A Vulcan?" the bartender asked. "For a client?"
    Chekov shrugged. "Times are tough. And a customer is a
customer."
    The bartender leaned closer over the table. She smelled
terrible.
 "So what do you need, friend of Kort?"
    "A starship," McCoy said brightly. Then he cleared his
throat, scowled unconvincingly. "A starship," he repeated in
a rougher tone.
 Chekov felt embarrassed. "Something discreet," he added.
    The bartender studied McCoy with a frown. "Another
dealer in kevas and trillium?"
    "That's vhat it says on the cargo manifests," Chekov
explained. "You see, for the most part, my clients' dealings
vith the authorities are wery cordial. They pay
the... 'inspection' fees, and the border patrols inspect only
the manifests."
    The bartender looked at Spock with a glimmer of respect.
"Smuggling, eh? An honorable profession."
     "Except," Chekov said, "border patrols are not the only
parties interested in my clients' shipments." "Orion pirates?" the bartender asked.
 "No yonder Kort likes you," Chekov said approvingly.
    The bartender looked pleased. "So... you're looking for
something to fight them off. A Bird-of-Prey?"
    Chekov lowered his voice conspiratorially. "Actually, ve
vere thinking of something that might stop a fight before it
even began."

186                                                                                187

  The bartender waited.
  Chekov also waited.
  He looked at McCoy.
  McCoy looked startled. He'd forgotten his line.
    "Oh," the doctor stumbled, "a starship! A Starfleet star-
ship."
    The Klingon reared back with a scornful laugh. She didn't
bother to keep her voice low. Several patrons looked at her
with curious expressions.
    "You come to the Klingon Empire to buy a Starfleet vessel?
You might as well go to Earth to buy a Qlghpej."
    Chekov had no idea what a Qlghpej was and had no desire
to find out. He spoke quickly to keep the bartender's interest
alive.
    "% understand there vas a Starfleet wessel here not too
long ago."
    The bartender's laughter died abruptly. She pushed her
long white hair back from her forehead with an indescribably
filthy hand. "So what if there were?"  "% vould like to... obtain it."
    "You and which spacefleet?" Her cooperation and respect
obviously had limits. Even for a friend of Kort's.
    Chekov pulled a small datacase from his jacket and flipped
it open like a communicator. There was a credit wafer inside.
The denomination on it was astronomical. And it was drawn
on a nonal;~ned repository.
    Chekov bared his teeth in what he hoped approximated the
Klingon style of smiling. "Kort suggested you might be the
person to arrange a boarding party."
    The bartender immediately checked to see that no eyes
were upon them. Then she reached out to touch the credit
wafer. Her eyes widened with avarice. Chekov snapped the
small case shut, then slipped it back inside his jacket.
    The bartender looked at him intently, obviously calculating
her chances on talcing the datacase by force.

188

 "Don't do anything you viii regret," Chekov warned.
 He waited for Spock to make his move.
    The bartender's hairy hands slid back across the table, as if
getting ready to pull something else out from behind her
apron.
 Chekov kicked Spock's boot again.
 "I said: Don't do anything you viii regret."
    Spock hurriedly opened his cloak to show the butt of a
phaser II.
 The bartender's hands stopped.
    "I've shown you ve can pay," Chekov stated. "Now... can
you deliwer?"
    The bartender nodded slowly. "I can field three ships.
Twenty soldiers per crew. Fully armed. The Starfleet vessel is
undercrewed, improperly armed. We can take it with a
minimum of damage. I guarantee it."
    Chekov remained calm. He hoped McCoy would remember
to do the same.
 "Then there vas a Starfleet wessel here recently."
    "In private hands," the bartender confirmed. She grinned
unpleasantly. Her stained teeth were as unpleasant as Kort's
had been. "Ripe pickings."
 "But only if ve know vhere it is now."
    Chekov pulled out another handful of metal talons. He held
them in his fist in front of the bartender.
     "The spacedocks at Deistin VIII," the bartender said
slowly, keeping her eyes fixed on Chekov's fist. "You're certain?" Chekov asked.
    The bartender nodded. "Her master came to this very bar."
She pointed two tables over. "Sat at that very table with his
female and his engineer. Talked about how hard it was going
to be to install the equipment they had purchased. How they
had to find facilities to refit their ship before they could
continue to wherever it was they were going."
 Chekov shook his head slowly. "I'd like to believe you. But

189

 people have been known to lie vhen so many talons are at
 stake."
  The bartender bared her ghastly teeth. But it was no smile.
  "Do you question my honor?"
    "That depends," Chekov said, deeply grateful for his six
months of experience in undercover negotiations, even if his
teacher had been Jade. "Describe the ship's master to me."
    Her face wrinkled in distaste. "He was... human. Pasty.
Pinkish. No fangs to speak of. A disgracefully smooth fore-
head, with not even a single ridge of a warrior." The bartend-
er shrugged dismissively. "What can 1 tell you? You all look
alike."
    'What about the others?" Chekov persisted. "The engi-
neer?"
    The bartender smacked her lips together. "Ah, now he was
more formidable. A large man, more powerful. True, his
forehead also lacked character, but he did wear a warrior's
mustache."
 "That sounds like Scotty," McCoy said.
 The bartender shot a suspicious glance at the doctor.
 "You know the people on the ship?"
    Chekov rubbed his hand over his face, thinking dark
thoughts about amateurs.
    But at least they had what they needed. Now all that
remained was getting out in one piece.
 "A lucky guess," Chekov said firmly. He began to stand.
    The bartender's hand shot out and grabbed the wrist of
Chekov's clenched fist.
    "The master of that ship was a Federation lackey," the
bartender snarled. "As was the engineer. So what does that
make you?" She stared at Spock and McCoy. "And your
clients?"
    "Ve are not looking for trouble," Chekov said evenly. He
looked at Spock and nodded.
    Spock took an interminably long moment to realize what
Chekov intended.

190

  He opened his cloak again to show his phaser.
 The bartender did not release Chekov's wrist.
    "Now you tell me," she hissed. "What is the path of the
fifth-rank watch dragon?" she asked.
    Chekov didn't have the slightest idea what the rest of the
code might be.
     The longer he went without speaking, the more twisted the
bartender's expression became. "Answer... or die!"
    Chekov could do nothing except wait for Spock to use his
phaser. If he remembered he was supposed to use it. Under-
cover work was turning out not to be among Spock's many
areas of expertise.
 But it was McCoy who acted first.
 "The path of the fifth-rank watch dragon is..." he began.
 The bartender looked at him. "Yesss?"
    "The yellow brick road/" McCoy hollered, and flipped the
table into the air.
    The copper pitcher smacked the bartender on her forehead,
sending forth an explosion of foam that turned her white hair
blue.
    The coins from Chekov's almost-numb hand clattered
against the upended table and scattered across the floor.
    All through the bar, chairs fell over and tables squealed as
customers leapt to their feet, drawing daggers and pistols and
even a few swords.
    The bartender still hadn't released Chekov's wrist. So
Chekov pulled her forward and chopped at her shoulder.
    She shrieked at him, nearly felling him with the foul blast of
her breath.
 A chair smashed into kindling against the back of her head.
 She spun around to confront her attacker.
    McCoy stared at the two small useless pieces of chair back
he still gripped.
 The bartender flung Chekov to the side and leapt at McCoy.

191

i,,,%

    McCoy threw the pieces of chair away as he jumped
backward.
    Chekov recovered and dove at the bartender's waist,
knocking her down before she could reach McCoy.
    With an earsplitting screech, she bucked wildly, knocking
him off her back.
    Chekov landed on another table, flattening it as he crashed
to floor.
    His lungs emptied of air in an explosive wheeze. He gaped
uselessly for a breath like a suffocating fish.
    The bartender loomed over him. Both hands plunged
beneath her apron and reemerged bearing ornate knife han-
dles.
    She flicked the handles and gleaming blades snicked into
position.
    Spock's hand came down on her shoulder, thumb and
forefinger poised for a nerve pinch.
 The bartender roared and shook Spock's hand free.
 Spock raised an eyebrow.
     The bartender elbowed him in the stomach, grabbed his
phaser, then tossed it across the room. Spock doubled over.
 She turned back to Chekov, hurled a knife.
    It thunked into the shattered tabletop beside his head. His
breath returned to him a split second later.
 The bartender raised her arm to throw again.
    Spock straightened up behind her, reached out, and tore a
strip from the top of her apron to expose the leather armor she
wore over her shoulder.
    The bartender wheeled, her arm descending on an arc
toward Spock's neck.
     McCoy grabbed at her arm, deflecting her aim, then hung
on gamely as she shook him back and forth, screaming.
  But McCoy didn't let go, even as he lost his footing.
  Then Spock attached himself to her other arm.

192

    Chekov decided if he lived through this night, he'd be able
to laugh at the image of the Klingon bartender draped with
McCoy and Spock. It looked like the performance of some
avant-garde dance troupe.
    Then Spock succeeded in snapping the armor off the
bartender's shoulder to gently squeeze the bare flesh at the
base of her neck.
    The bartender hit the floor a second later, landing on top of
McCoy.
    Chekov struggled to his feet, almost able to breathe nor-
really.
McCoy kicked and twisted to roll the bartender off him.
For the first time since the fight began, Chekov remembered
the others in the bar. He realized he should brace for another
attack. But all around them, the bar's other customers were
busy with their own fights. At least ten were under way that
Chekov could see.
 No one else cared about them or the bartender.
    Klingon death cries rang out in the establishment. Coins
changed hands as bets were made. A free-for-all raged on
behind the bar, where every drink was now on the house.
 Wood splintered. Glass shattered.
     Chekov looked back to Spock and McCoy, standing over
the bartender's unconscious form.
 They were arguing.
 Chekov couldn't believe it.
 "That's why you had the phaser, Spock!"
 "There were too many innocent bystanders, Doctor."
 "She was going to kill Chekov!"
    "Doctor, please. It was obvious she intended to maim him
first. His life was not in immediate danger."
     Chekov barreled toward the two officers, hooked his arms
through theirs, and dragged them toward the door.
 Neither seemed to notice.
 "You were going to let her break his arm?"

193

 "My nerve pinch stopped her."
 "On the third try!"
 Chekov burst through the door and onto the street.
 He inhaled deeply, desperate for fresh air.
    But he had forgotten about the sulfurous rain. He started
coughing.
 Spock supported him. McCoy thumped his back.
 "Good thing you had us along, isn't it," McCoy said.
 Chekov moaned. He reached for his communicator.
 "Chekov to Excelsior. Three to beam up."
    This part of the mission had succeeded, at least. They knew
where Captain Kirk had headed after leaving Prestor V.
    Somehow, Chekov hadn't expected that following the cap-
tain would be so easy.
    Unless, of course, Kirk had arranged things so it only
seemed to be easy.
    Chekov decided he wouldn't be surprised if that was the
truth of the matter.
    But what did continue to surprise him was that Spock and
McCoy kept up their argument even as the transporter
dissolved them.
    Some things never change, Chekov thought. But who would
want them to?

TWENTY-NINE

Kirk herted the crate of emergency shelter supplies, pivoted,
and threw it to the top of the cargo pallet.
    The stacking indentations on the modular crate's bottom
meshed with the matching pattern on the crate below it,
locking both into place. The pallet was full.
    Kirk wiped his hand across his forehead to clear the sweat
away. With so much work being done in the Enterprise's cargo
transporter room, the air was getting thick.
 But Kirk didn't mind the heat. It wasn't slowing him down.
 He rotated his shoulder, raising his arm over his head.
    There was no resistance from strained muscles or liga-
ments. Only ease of motion. Freedom.
 He slapped the side of the stack of crates.
 "This one's done," he told the transporter tech.
    The young Klingon-Romulan at the transporter console
activated her controls.
 The cargo pallet shimmered, then vanished.
    A moment later the youth reported that the base on the
planet's surface confirmed transport of supplies.
    Kirk clapped his hands together, turned to his work crew--
seven of Teilani's people. Their simple clothing, also
drenched in sweat, clung to their supple forms. But none of them looked tired.
 In fact, Kirk thought, they look the way I feel.
 Ready for more.

194                                                                                195

  "Two to go," he told them.
    They started eagerly for the doors leading to one of the
Enterprise's cargo bays.
 Kirk followed, falling in with their energetic stride.
 The doors to the corridor opened.
 Scott stepped in, scowling.
    Kirk hesitated in midstep. "You want to see me?" he asked,
already knowing the answer.
    Scott frowned. "I was lookin' for Bonnie Prince Charlie.
But I suppose ye'll have t' do."
     Kirk told the others in the cargo crew to continue without
him, then went into the corridor to find Mr. Scott. The engineer was waiting by a Jefferies tube.
    Kirk assessed Scott's mood as he approached, tried to make
light of it. "Scotty, you look as happy as a Klingon with a
fribble in his pants."
    The engineer was not amused. "We're not in Starfleet
anymore, sir."
 "That's right," Kirk agreed cautiously.
    "So I feel I'm within my rights to ask ye what in thunderin'
blue blazes is goin' on around here."
    Kirk felt relieved. He thought Scott was coming to him with
a serious problem.
 "Scotty, we're saving a world."
    "That's what Teilani told me when she offered me this job.
But I've nae seen any sign of any world-saving goin' on. All I
see is my diagnostics tellin' me th' poor transporter phase
coils are overloadin'. Captain, we've got shuttles for routine
cargo transport. Why not use them till I get th' Enterprise
back in trim?"
    Kirk leaned against the wall by the Jefferies tube. It seemed
odd to look down the Enterprise's corridor and not see any
Starfleet personnel moving through it. The ship felt deserted
with only a few dozen Chal aboard.
    "Teilani's city is under siege. The shuttles might be shot
at."

    "Under siege by who?" Scott asked. "I thought we were
supposed to be part of a planetary defense system for a world
establishing her independence. I tell ye, I'm not comfortable
with turnin' the Enterprise into a gunboat just to resolve some
local political squabble. It's nae right."
    Kirk understood Scott's position, but he felt his temper
rise, nonetheless. "First of all, Mr. Scott--the Enterprise has
never been, and will never be, a gunboat. And what Teilani's
world is facing is not some 'local political squabble.' They're
fighting for their lives down there."
    "But who~ fighting, Captain? I know ye keep wantin' me t'
beam down and look around for m'self, but there's so much
work t' be done up here..."
 Kirk could see that Scott was preparing to draw a line.
    "Captain, I have t' know that what we're doin' here is on the
up-and-up."
 "Scotty, you don't trust me?"
    The engineer looked pained. "Och, don't put it that way.
But the fact of th' matter is, th' way ye've been carrying on
with that young lass--"
 "She's not that young."
    "--I sometimes have t' wonder if ye know what ye're
doin'." Scott took a deep breath, as if what he had just said
had taken considerable effort. "Ye can see th' predicament
I'm in, can't ye?"
    Kirk decided there were only a handful of people in this
universe who could question him as Scott just did. The
engineer could be prickly at times, outright rude at others, but
the years they had spent together, fighting on the same side,
added up to a friendship between them that was deeper than
either would admit.
    Kirk put his hand on Scott's shoulder. "I apologize, Scotty.
You tried to tell me your concerns in the bar on Prestor V, and
I should have done a better job of listening. It's just that
you're so good at what you do, that sometimes I think you'd
do just as well without me."

196                                                                                            197

  "We're part of a team, sir."
    Kirk nodded. "And I have taken that for granted. Far too
often." He looked around at his beautiful, empty ship. For all
the accomplishments he had achieved with her, he was
beginning to realize he had missed a great many opportunities
as well.
  Kirk looked down at his clothes. He needed to change.
    "Walk with me, Scotty. I'll tell you everything Teilani's told
me."
    The captain and the engineer headed down the corridor
together. Kirk felt as if he were back in uniform, giving a
briefing.
     "Chal was originally a joint colony founded by Klingons
and Romulans during one of their truces." "Aye, that much is in th' computers."
    "But it has nothing in the way of exploitable resources. So
when tensions rose between the empires, both withdrew their
support."
    "Leaving the original colonists' children behind." Scott
seemed impatient. "I did know enough t' ask Teilani about
her world."
    Kirk and Scott came to a turbolift, waited for a car to arrive
and the doors to open.
    "They weren't left behind," Kirk said. "They chose to stay.
To their parents, it was a colony world, different from their
own. But to the first generation born there..." "Aye, 'twas their home."
The lift doors puffed open. Kirk and Scott entered.
"Deck Five," Kirk said. The turbolift sped up through the
ship as Kirk continued. "For forty years, they lived in peace,
completely ignored by the rest of the galaxy."
 "Because no one knew where they were," Scott said.
    The lift slowed, then stopped. The doors opened. Kirk and
Scott continued their walk.
    "Teilani doesn't know how, but all records of Chal's
location were purged from the central surveys of the two

empires. Some think it was a final gift from one of the original
colonists, to insure their children wouldn't be disturbed."
 "Wishful thinkin'," Scott said.
    "In any event, time passed Chal by. It became a forgotten
paradise."
 "With trouble brewin'."
 "I'm coming to that," Kirk said.
    They had arrived at his quarters. The doors opened. Kirk
saw Scott purse his lips disapprovingly at the disarray. But
there was nothing Kirk could do about that. He and Teilani
had been energetic in their use of the quarters, to say the least.
    Scott remained by the open doors while Kirk dug through
his closet, searching for fresh clothes.
    "As it turns out, Chal does have one resource that is
imminently exploitable. What to do about it caused a split
among its inhabitants. Along generational lines."
    "What kind of resource would that be?" Scott asked. "I've
looked at th' sensor results and I haven't seen anything worth
comin' all this way for."
    "Trust me," Kirk said. "It's there. If word gets out, then
both empires will want to restake their claim to it. Chal will be
torn apart."
    "No secret that powerful can be kept for long," Scott said
skeptically.
    Kirk found a set of civilian clothes he had brought from
Earth. He slipped them on. They felt looser.
    "In this case," Kirk said, "even the older generation who
wants to exploit the planet knows what would happen if they
went public. So they want to keep the secret to themselves,
too, and exploit it a little bit at a time. Sell what they have to
sell without letting anyone know where it came from."
 "But sell what?" Scott asked.
    Kirk continued to ignore Scott's questions. "Teilani is part
of the younger generation--those who don't want Chal to be
exploited at all. They fear that even controlled access to their
planet's treasure will eventually result in everyone finding out

198                                                                                 199

 about it. Leading to the same probability of war between the
 empires."
"Captain," Scott interrupted. "What is this 'treasure'?"
Kirk lifted a hand to restrain the engineer's questions. "For
now, Teilani's group is in control of the city and the small
spaceport and the subspace transmitting station. As long as
they maintain that control, the secret remains contained on
Chal. That's where we come in."
  "Are ye going t' tell me or not?"
    "The older generation who want to exploit Chal have
become anarchists. They're trying to tear down Chal's socie-
ty, cause chaos, so they can steal a spacecraft or take control of
the transmitting station. So far, they refuse to negotiate with
their children."
    Scott's face was nearly purple with frustration. "For pity's
sake, what aren't ye telling me, man?"
      Kirk adjusted his new shirt, turned on the fabric sealer to
close it. 'Tll tell you everything if you'll just be patient."
 Scott folded his arms with a huff.
    "Scotty, the Enterprise is here to get the Anarchists to the
bargaining table. You saw how easily we stopped the attack
this morning. You know very well that even with commercial
sensor equipment, the Enterprise can track down any group of
Anarchists on this planet. With her disruptors, she could
destroy them, too."
Scott looked alarmed. "Not while I'm aboard her."
"Relax, Scotty. I wouldn't allow that to happen either. Even
Teilani doesn't want that to happen. She simply wants to
make certain that the Anarchists stay confined to Chal and
eventually realize that they have to work out a compromise.
Because as long as the Enterprise is here, they can't possibly
win by violence."
    Scotty stroked his mustache. "So where does th' Prime
Directive fit int' all this?"
 "It doesn't," Kirk said. "Chal is an independent world with

warp technology. An authorized member of her government,
recognized by the Federation, has requested aid. The Prime
Direetive does not apply."
 "So we're here to stop a fight, not start one?"
 "Exactly."
    Scott threw his hands into the air. "So what's Chal got
that's so bloody valuable?"
    Kirk tugged on his shirt. "Notice anything different about
me, Scotty?"
    Scott didn't understand the question. "What? Other than
ye've been walkin' around like a schoolboy in a daze over
a... a schoolgirl."
    "Look at me," Kirk said. He swung his arms around in the
air.
 Scott blinked in total lack of comprehension.
    "Two weeks ago, I couldn't have done that," Kirk ex-
plained. He rubbed at his shoulder. "My shoulder had been
acting up. One too many jars and bumps, I guess. I was stiff,
sore."
    "Tell me about it," Scott said with sudden empathy. "My
knees need replacement and some days my back doesn't
loosen up till I've been on the go half the day."
    Kirk paused. He hadn't intended this to turn into a
comparison of old war stories.
    "The point is," he said, "I have full movement in both
shoulders now."
    Scott looked at Kirk, about to ask a question. But all he
could manage was, "So?"
    "Look at me, Scotty! I feel wonderful! Charged with energy!
Ready for... for anything! And I've only been on Chal for
three days."
    Scott tapped his foot against the carpeted deck. "I think
ye'd better spell this one out for me, sir."
    "It's the treasure of Chal, Scotty. Restoration. Rejuvena-
tion. Youth."

200                                                                                 201

!2,

     Scotty looked troubled. "Captain, no. You cannae believe
 that."
     "I don't have to believe, Scotty. I've been down there. I
 know how I feel."
     "I wish Dr. McCoy were here to give yea full medical scan.
 T' find out what they've been puttin' in your coffee."
    Kirk turned to the built-in desk, opened a drawer, pulled
out a Starfleet-issue medical tricorder.
  "That's what I thought. But look at these readings."
    Kirk handed the tricorder over to Scott. The engineer
scrolled through the display screens.
    "Nothing," Kirk said. "No drugs, no chemicals, no stimu-
lants natural or otherwise."
  Scott shut off the tricorder, handed it back.
  "It's Chal," Kirk said. "Just as Teilani said it would be."
  Scott thought for long moments.
    "Captain, I'm an engineer, not a doctor. But I cannae see
how such a thing could be possible without some terrible
price. And 1 cannae understand how you could fall for such a
swindle."
    Kirk carefully put the tricorder down. "It's not a swindle.
You've seen Teilani. You've seen the others like her. If you'd
just beam down and spend a day there yourself, you'd feel it,
too."
    Scott's eyes seemed to well up with tears. "Captain Kirk, I
know we've had our differences in th' past. But I've always
respected ye. And it tears me apart to see ye caught up in
this."
 "Caught up in what?"
 "Whatever it is this lass has clone t' ye."
 "Scotty, Teilani hasn't done anything to me. I love her.

 "How can yeT'
    Kirk didn't understand Scott's discomfort. "I know enough
to leave explanations for love to the poets."

202

    "That's not it. I mean, what do ye know about the lass?
Really know about her? Aye, she's young, attractive, I'm nae
blind to that. But how can ye think there can ever be anything
more than just... just this carryin' on like jackrabbits be-
tween yeT'
 Kirk frowned at Scotty's characterization.
    "Seriously," the engineer continued. "I've nothing t' say
one way or another about two grown people hayin' a fling
that's not hurtin' anyone else. But it's not just a fling t' ye.
Ye've thrown away your life, your career, your--"
    Kirk had had enough. "Scotty! I've moved on! I have a new
life now. A new mission."
    Scott shook his head with a sorrowful expression. "I don't
care how ye justify it t' yourself. But I know what I see. She's
pullin' your strings like you're herin"
    Kirk clenched his jaw, determined not to lose his temper
with Scott the way he had with Spock and McCoy. "Mr.
Scott--you're stepping over the line here."
    "Because you're refusin' to. I don't know. Maybe deep
inside ye know you're foolin' yourself, not thinkin' things
through. I hope so, 'cause it's not a pretty picture seein' ye
playin' the fool to her."
    Kirk took a deep breath. Thought of Chal's beaches and
jungles and piercingly blue skies. Felt calm returning. "Come
down with me, Scotty."
    But Scott drew back. "I'11 not be tormenting myself with
impossible dreams. We had our chance at youth. We used it
well. We pushed some boundaries, I'll admit. But now our day
is almost over. It's the nature of things, sir. We have t' accept
that."
    "Scotty--think of all the miracles we've seen in our voy-
ages. All the different ways that space and time and living
flesh have been changed and altered. What's wrong with
continuing to push at those boundaries? Why must we
accept... anything?"

                2O3

    Scott gave Kirk a look of abject pity. He spoke slowly,
sorrow in his voice. "Because otherwise, sir, we will surely go
mad, desperately seekin' that which we cannae have."
    Kirk didn't know what to say. The line Scott had drawn had
become a wall.
    "It appears I'm onboard for th' duration," Scott said stiffly.
"And I shall do my best t' keep this fine ship t'gether for ye.
But I will nae be a party t' attacks on anyone below. And I will
nae be leaving the Enterprise. Until ye come t' your senses."
 Scott turned to go.
 "Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm needed in th' engine room."
 The doors slid shut behind him.
  Kirk stood alone in his empty quarters.
 But Scott's words remained.
    Maybe deep inside you know you're fooling yourself not
thinking things through.
 Might it be true? Could it be?
    Kirk had always been the master of the bluff and the
well-crafted lie. How else had he survived for so long?
Cheated death so often?
    But what if he had taken that characteristic of survival and
pushed it that one step too far?
    What if he had come all this way, burned so many bridges,
because he was desperate for something he could never have
again?
 Could his friends be right?
    For all the times he had lied to others to wrest victory from
defeat, what if this time he was simply lying to himself?.
    Kirk had crossed half the sector to solve the mystery of
Chal.
 But now he feared he had found a mystery more profound.
 Himself.

THIRTY

Five light-years from the spacedocks at Deistin VIII, the
Excelsior dropped out of warp and came to relative stop.
 The trail of the Enterprise had abruptly disappeared.
    On the Excelsior's bridge, Chekov worked with Spock to
reconfigure the main sensors.
 Sulu waited impatiently in the center chair.
    But for all the increased activity on the bridge, no one was
surprised by what had happened.
    They had all served with Captain Kirk. They had seen him
cover his tracks too many times to think following him would
be easy.
    Chekov finished entering the final adjustments on his
tactical board. "Sensors reconfigured," he announced.
"Commencing scan," Spock said from his science station.
All waited while the Excelsior's elaborate system of sensors
probed the surrounding vacuum for any trace of the Enter-
prise's distinct warp signature. Almost imperceptible
distortions in subspace sometimes lingered after a starship's
passage at faster-than-light velocities, like the wake left by an
oceangoing vessel--sometimes for days.
    The Excelsior had followed just such a wake on a direct
course from Prestor V to Deistin VIII, precisely where the
Klingon bartender had said Kirk was taking his ship.
    Any other commander might have saved time by not
bothering to scan continuously for the Enterprise's warp

204                                                                               205

signature along the entire route until arriving at the ship's
stated destination.
    But Sulu had wisely tracked it all the way, waiting for it to
cease abruptly, as he knew it must.
    The instant it had, Kirk's crew immediately knew that this
was the point at which the Enterprise had left warp, changed
heading, and then continued on her way.
    Any other commander would have missed the end of the
trail and arrived at Deistin VIII. There, a day would have been
lost to frantic scanning to determine that the Enterprise had
never arrived. Then the commander would have been forced
to backtrack. Slowly. To find the point along the projected
route where the Enterprise had surreptitiously changed
course.
    By that time, the Enterprise's warp signature would have
faded into the natural background ebb and flow of subspace,
undetectable.
 But Sulu wasn't any other commander.
    "Sensors have made contact," Spock said. "Subspace dis-
turbance at bearing one four four mark twenty."
    Chekov confirmed the distortion pattern. "It is the Enter-
prise's varp signature."
    The helmsman, a young human, asked if he should lay in a
course to match the new trail.
    Chekov saw Sulu smile knowingly. "Negative, Mr. Curtis.
If I know Captain Kirk, we should find at least three warp
trails from this location."
 In the end, they found four.
    Kirk had looped back three times to muddy the subspace
waters, laying false trails.
    The most obvious trail to follow was on a bearing that
headed toward the Klingon-Romulan frontier, the general
location of Chal.
    Sulu discounted that one right away as being far too
obvious.
 Of the other three trails, one headed back to the Federation,

one to the Klingon Empire, and one straight out of the
galactic ecliptic.
    Sulu chose to follow the course heading for the Klingon
Empire, because who would ever believe Captain Kirk would
willingly return there? No one except his former crew, who
knew Kirk could be counted upon to do the unexpected.
    Chekov knew that if Sulu had guessed wrong, then within
six hours the warp trail would end with a return loop,
indicating it had been a false heading. Meanwhile, the Enter-
prise's real path would have become even more difficult to
locate.
 But Sulu hadn't gueased wrong.
    Five hours later, the Enterprise's trail ended again, but
without a return loop, indicating that Kirk had once again
dropped from warp to change course.
 This time, they found three possible trails.
 Chekov was impressed by Captain Kirk's efforts.
    But McCoy was puzzled. "Who did he think was following
him?" he muttered as he sat by Uhura's communications
post. "My ex-wife?"
    "Whoever it was," Sulu said, "he couldn't be expecting it to
be us. We'll find his pattern."
    Spock confirmed the method behind Kirk's evasive maneu-
vers. "It is a feint he has used in chess many times, to hide the
true focus of attack through misdirection."
    Chekov looked up from his tactical displays. "It is not like
the keptin to repeat himself."
 "No, it is not," Spock agreed.
    "Unless," McCoy suggested, "he laid down a series of
course changes that would throw everyone off his trail--
except for his friends."
    "An intriguing speculation," Spock allowed. "But given the
captain's somewhat erratic emotional state in his final days on
Earth, I find it... unlikely."
    Everyone looked at Sulu. It was time to choose which of the
three warp trails to follow.

206                                                                                 207

~27~

    "Logically, we should choose the trail that leads away from
the obvious choice," Spock suggested.
    McCoy stood behind Sulu's chair and objected. "C'mon,
Spock. Who the hell would know what the 'obvious' choice
was except someone who's spent the past thirty years wran-
gling with Jim over a chess board? You said it yourselfi Where
Jim's concerned, logic seldom applies."
    McCoy folded his arms and stared at Spock, as if daring
him to top his argumentú
 Sulu glanced back at McCoy, then at Spock again.
    Chekov had seen Kirk caught in the same position uncount-
able times.
 Logic versus gut feeling.
 Sulu made his decision.
    "Commander Spock, if we are seeing a repeat of one of
Captain Kirk's chess strategies, which trail is the obvious
one?"
 Spock gave the bearing.
    "Mr. Curtis," Sulu said, "lay in a course on that bearing.
Commander Chekov, resume tracing the Enterprise's warp
signature."
 The bridge crew acknowledged their orders.
 "Ahead, maximum warp," Sulu ordered.
    The Excelsior smoothly stretched into the infinite realms of
warp speed.
    McCoy beamed at Sulu. "You make a damned fine captain,
Sulu. Keep it up."
    Chekov knew the real purpose of what McCoy had said. He
glanced over at Spock.
 Spock betrayed no reaction to McCoy's dig.
    But Chekov suspected he was already plotting some form of
logical, unemotional revengeú After thirty years, how could he
not?
    Chekov smiled to himself. It was almost like being back on
the Enterprise.
 Then the Excelsior hit a brick wall.

 The main viewscreen flared orange white.
 Collision alarms sounded.
    The bridge lurched as the inertial dampers failed to keep up
with the ship's sudden loss of warp drive.
    An environmental station shorted out in an explosion of
sparks.
 Power to the bridge failed, then instantly reset.
 "What the hell was that?" Sulu said.
    Chekov pulled himself back to his tactical board. His
fingers flew over the controls. There was nothing...
nothing...
 ú.. and then, where there had been nothing-
 -there was something.
 The viewscreen showed it best.
    Three Klingon battle cruisers dropped from warp dead
ahead.
    "Damage is consistent with photon torpedo impact,"
Spock announced.
    "Captain," Uhura shouted over the alarms, "we are being
hailed."
 "Onscreen."
    Chekov's eyes widened as the viewscreen image changed to
show a Klingon bridge.
    The Klingon commander was young, eager eyes gleaming
viciously.
    "Federation starship," he barked. "You have intruded in
restricted Klingon space." His yellow teeth grinned through
his wispy beard.
 "Surrender... or diet"

208                                                                                    209

THIRTY-ONE

Kirk was one with the night.
    He leaned with his back against the rough bark of an alien
tree, listening to the sounds of the jungle around him.
    Eerie calls from night-feeding birds. The chitter and hissing
of unseen insects. The random rustle of leaves and branches
as arboreal creatures swung through the jungle's canopy
overhead.
    But he heard nothing that betrayed the presence of the
fifteen Chal who moved through the jungle with him, closing
in on the Anarchists' base. His soldiers.
    Kirk wished he could take credit for their training. But, in
truth, they had none.
    Instead, the Chal's innate abilities to move stealthily, to
follow orders, to think in tactical terms, all seemed to stem
from their childhood games.
    Elaborate games of hunts and chases through the jungle.
Intricate strategy and tactics played out with twigs and stones
on squares drawn into sand on the beach.
    As Teilani had explained those children's pastimes to him,
Kirk had first been astounded by the complexity of the
military concepts contained within them. But then he had
reminded himself that he wasn't dealing with a human
culture.
    Teilani and her people apparently had had a typical
Klingon and Romulan upbringing.

  They had learned their lessons well.
    In the jungle, a shadow moved toward Kirk. His hand
tightened on the grip of the disruptor at his side. Then relaxed
as a faint shaft of light from Chal's glimmering moon revealed
to him an unmistakable silhouette.
  Making not a sound, Teilani crept up beside him.
    Like Kirk, she wore the darkjumpsuit that was the uniform
of those who fought for Chal. Like Kirk, her face was
darkened with camouflage to better hide within the night.
    But unlike Kirk, this was the first time she had faced real
battle.
    With swift but cautious movements, Teilani brought out
her combat tricorder and showed its display to Kirk.
    Sixteen muted green dots were arranged in a half circle
around the target's coordinates.
 Each Chal was in position. Each of Kirk's soldiers.
 All that remained was for him to give the word.
    He hesitated on the brink of action, savoring the anticipa-
tion of the moment when his plans would be unleashed.
    The people of Chal had been in conflict for years. The
city-dwellers had the advantage of a defensible position and
hard technology. The Anarchists had the advantage of the
jungle and elaborate jamming devices.
    Only Mr. Scott's wizardry with the Enterprise's weakened
sensors had enabled Kirk to finally locate the Anarchists'
stronghold, two hundred kilometers from Chal's main city.
    But the stronghold was protected by a complex web of
sensor screens, forcefields, and jammers. Its presence ruled
out any attempt to stun its fighters by low-power disruptor fire
from orbit. Neither could Kirk capture them by transporter or
even beam in a sneak attack.
    High-powered disruptor beams could punch through the
relatively weak forcefields. Two photon torpedoes could deci-
mate the Anarchists' entire compound along with several
square kilometers of surrounding jungle.
 But that was not the reason Kirk had come to Chal.

210                                                                                   211

    Lasting peace and reconciliation were never a question of
brute force.
    He was here to bring both sides in the conflict together. And
the only way to accomplish that was by direct, physical
confrontation.
 Nothing could have pleased Kirk more.
    He slipped his disruptor from its holster and checked again
that it was at its stun setting.
    He looked at Teilani, saw the faint reflection of moonlight
in her eyes.
    She reached out to touch Kirk's face, a silent gesture of her
feelings. Her hand slid down to his neck. She tugged on the
collar of his jumpsuit as if adjusting it. "Now," he whispered.
    The Anarchists' first perimeter line was only twenty meters
ahead of them.
    Teilani cupped a hand to her mouth. She made the sound of
a nightfeeder, shrill and piercing. A sound that belonged to
the jungles of Chal.
 Then she made it again.
 The signal had been given.
     Kirk pushed away from the alien tree and began moving
carefully through the darkness. Teilani at his side.
    In his mind, Kirk saw his strategy played out as if looking
down at the levels of a chess board.
 Fortunately, Spock was not on the board's other side.
 The clearing came up before him.
    Because of the moon and the stars, the night sky of Chal was
slightly brighter than the stark black shadows of the surround-
ing trees and the Anarchists' watchtowers. The towers were
each five meters tall, roughly constructed of wood and vines.
Surveillance had shown that each held two guards, linked to
the perimeter sensor web.
 They were Kirk's first target.

    Teilani silently held her combat tricorder out for Kirk to
see.
     Its pale screen showed they were a meter from the first
sensor alarm threshold. Kirk nodded.
 Teilani repeated the nightfeeder's cry. Three times.
 Kirk counted down from five. Then charged forward.
    In his mind, he saw his soldiers move in perfect coordina-
tion with him.
    Instantly the jungle roared to life with disruptor firings as
each watchtower was hit by multiple beams.
     Cries of surprise followed as the Anarchists behind the
defensive perimeters heard the sensor alarms. Then there were explosions.
 Kirk recognized their distinctive sound.
    Microexplosive shells from projectile weapons like those
used by the attackers at the farm on Earth.
Those weapons had been his chief concern for this attack.
The jumpsuits used by the Chal contained an energy mesh
that could dissipate much of the force of a disruptor beam.
Even if the Anarchists set their weapons to kill, it would be
unlikely if any of Kirk's attacking force would suffer more
than a heavy stun.
 But the explosive shells could be fatal.
    It had been Teilani who told Kirk not to be overly worried
about them. The Anarchists were unskilled with weapons, she
said. They were unlikely to hit anyone they aimed at.
    That contradicted what Kirk had seen at the farm. But he
hadn't pressed the matter. If all went according to plan, the
Anarchists would have little time to fight back. Kirk ran past the closest watchtower.
    There was no covering fire from it. Its guards had been
stunned as planned.
 The first stage of the attack was complete.
 Ahead of them now was a wooden barricade reinforced

212                                                                                    213

with metal sheets from old shipping containers. Beyond it,
Scotty's low-resolution sensor scans had revealed a com-
pound of wooden huts--the Anarchists' camp.
    Teilani swung her projectile gun up. Fired a burst of shells
set for contact detonation.
    A section of the barricade disintegrated in flame. Over the
din surrounding them, Kirk could hear simultaneous explo-
sions nearby as the other Chal reached their sections of the
wood and metal structure.
    Before the smoke had thinned, Kirk had hurled himself
toward the opening. The blast-torn edges of wood crackled
with flames.
    Kirk leapt forward through the smoke and the fire, arms
outstretched.
    His trajectory carried him low even as he heard the whistle
of shells streak over him.
    He hit on his shoulder, flipped over, was firing his disruptor
even as he came to his feet.
    Three Anarchists dropped in the orange glow of the disrup-
tor beam.
 Kirk ran on.
    His breath came easily. His shoulder felt no different after
his fall and tumble.
 He exulted in his renewed vigor.
 He was twenty again.
 More explosions shattered the jungle night.
    An enormous fireball flared overhead as a munitions crate
erupted.
 Flickering red light played across the compound. He ran on.
    Kirk saw dark figures rushing about in confusion--the
Anarchists, completely taken by surprise.
    Kirk saw his soldiers--the Chal, efficiently picking off each
Anarchist with disruptor stuns.
    Kirk paused in the center of the storm he had unleashed. In
control. Triumphant.

214

 Teilani rushed to his side, combat tricorder in hand.
    "Each team is in!" she shouted in her excitement. "No
casualties!"
    Kirk flipped open his communicator. His voice strong and
clear. "Scotty--beam in the second wave!"
    Instantly the warble of transporter beams blended with the
cries and explosions of the compound.
    In groups of six, three more teams of Chal took form near
the breeched barricade.
    Each member of the second team carried medical tricorders
and multiple sets of prisoner restraints.
    As Kirk and his soldiers continued to mop up, his plan
dictated that the second wave would locate the stunned
Anarchists, then disarm and bind them.
    Four days ago, the Chal had made no effort to capture the
Anarchists who had attacked the city. As soon as they had
recovered from Scott's low-level disruptor stun, they had
disappeared back into the jungle. Under his leadership, Kirk
would not allow the Chal to make that mistake again.
 Both sides must be brought together.
     Teilani watched the second-wave teams fan out through the
compound. "Jamesmit's going perfectly." "It's not over yet," Kirk cautioned.
    "Soon," Teilani said. She ran off to help with the capture of
the Anarchists.
    Kirk checked the compound. The sounds of combat were
diminishing. But he saw four Anarchists run between two
huts. There was no sense of panic or confusion to their
movements. They knew where they were going, what they
were doing.
    Kirk recognized the signs of a counterattack in the making.
He sprinted toward the huts they had run between, slid to a
stop by the corner of one. Carefully peered around the edge.
 He heard an antigray generator come online.
 Kirk charged around the corner, swinging his disruptor up.

215

 Ten meters away, a hover truck lifted into the air.
    One Anarchist drove it. The other three operated the smart
cannon mounted on its cargo bed.
 The hover truck's headlight flared into life, blinding Kirk.
 He heard its impeller fans whine as it flew straight for him.
     Unable to see, he fired his disruptor, then dove to the side,
feeling the bulk of the speeding truck closing. He hit the ground hard.
    The scream of the hover truck's engine became the thun-
derous explosion of a wooden hut.
    Kirk looked up, realizing he had managed to stun the
driver.
 The truck was embedded in the ruins of a hut.
 One Anarchist leapt from the truck's cargo bed, saw Kirk.
 Ran at him.
    The disruptor had slipped from Kirk's hand, wrenched out
by the impact of his fall.
 Kirk saw it, out of reach.
 He rolled to the side, leapt to his feet.
 The Anarchist trained his projectile gun on him.
 He was just like any other Chal.
    Though an Anarchist, a member of the world's first genera-
tion, he looked no older than Teilani.
    But there was murderous rage in his eyes. He aimed his
weapon.
    Kirk was out of options. He knew a single shell from the
gun could tear him in half.
 There was only one thing to do.
 He charged.
    The Anarchist fired twice, point-blank, before Kirk
slammed into him.
 Kirk didn't even hear the whistle of the shells.
 He only felt the impact of his fist on the Anarchist's jaw.
 He only tasted the dust of the ground as they rolled against
it.

 The Anarchist swung his weapon for Kirk's head.
 Kirk blocked the blow, punched again.
    The Anarchist slumped back. The weapon fell from his
hand.
    Kirk smelled the acrid odor of the shells' propellant. He
looked down at his chest.
 The projectiles had missed.
    For an instant, Kirk saw Teilani spinning through the air in
his parents' barn, a string of projectile explosives missing her
by a heartbeat.
    Kirk reached up to his collar. Felt a small, curved, metal
tube coiled inside the fabric.
 Teilani had adjusted it just before the attack began.
     He saw her standing by the kitchen window, hand on her
collar, an instant before the projectile had hit her shoulder.
 Grazed her shoulder.
 Kirk's stomach tightened.
 What else was before him that he hadn't seen?
    In his mind, Spock, McCoy, and Scotty all seemed to
answer at once.
 And the answer they gave was Teilani.

216                                                                                 217

THIRTY-TWO

Kirk glanced around the Anarchists' compound. No other
Chal were nearby. The sounds of fighting had ended. The
battle had been fought and won.
    But Kirk knew a different war on Chal was still in progress.
The device hidden in his collar was proof of it.
     He hauled the unconscious Anarchist to his feet. Flipped
open his communicator.
 "Kirk to Enterprise."
 "Scott here, Captain."
    "I've got a prisoner with me, Scotty. I want you to beam us
both directly to the brig."
    Scott took so long to answer that Kirk almost added, Scotty,
that~ an order.
    "I take it there's more goin' on down there than you've told
me, isn't there?" Scott said.
    "Please, Mr. Scott." Kirk could hear footsteps approaching
from around the corner of the nearest hut.
 Scott sighed over the open channel. "Energizin'."
    The dark jungle compound dissolved around Kirk, chang-
ing into the bright, plain walls of the Enterprise's brig.
    Kirk's prisoner moaned, coming around. Kirk eased him
onto a bench in one of the holding cells, then stepped out and
activated the security field. Blue forcefield emitters glowed
around the cel!'s opening.
 The Anarchist shook his head, looked around. Saw Kirk.

Stared at him with hatred. Then pushed himself to his feet to
face his captor eye to eye.
  "Where have you brought me?"
    "You're on the Enterprise, "Kirk said. "A starship orbiting
Chal. My name's Kirk."
    The Anarchist blinked in surprise, took another look
around. "A Federation ship?"
 Kirk heard the fear in his prisoner's voice. Wondered why.
 "No. It's... a private ship. Serving Teilani."
    At the mention of Teilani, the Anarchist spit at Kirk's feet.
The spittle crackled as it hit the security forcefield and
vaporized.
    "You're in no danger," Kirk said. "After we've talked,
you're free to return to Chal."
    That confused the Anarchist. "Talk about what?" He eyed
Kirk warily.
 "To begin with, what's your name?"
 The Anarchist seemed puzzled by the question. "Torl."
 "Fine, Tort. How old are you?"
    Torl became even more confused. "In your standard years,
forty-two."
    Kirk studied his prisoner carefully, looking for any sign that
he was lying. Saw nothing. Only a youth no older than twenty.
    "Then it's true. There's something on Chal--in the air or
the water--that keeps people... young."
 Torl's mouth opened in astonishment. "What?"
    Kirk skipped a beat. He hadn't expected that reaction.
"You all look about the same age. Your generation, Teilani's
generation. Isn't that the result of living on your world?"
     Torl smiled with sudden knowledge. Baring his teeth, he
looked disconcertingly like a full-blooded Klingon. "Tell me what Teilani told you, human."
    It took Kirk only an instant to make his decision. As long as
Torl was locked in that cell, Kirk had nothing to lose by
revealing all that he knew. Or thought he knew.

218                                                                                  219

     "The colony on Chal was jointly founded by the Klingons
and the Romulans," Kirk began. "Correct."
 "It was deemed a failure, and abandoned by both sides."
 Torl snorted in derision. "It was an unqualified success."
    Kirk didn't see where that fit in. "Then why were you
abandoned by both Empires?"
 "We weren't abandoned. We were hidden."
 "Why?"
    Torl stepped closer to the security screen, as if conducting
his own examination of Kirk's honesty.
    "You really don't know who we are, do you?" Torl asked.
"You have no idea what we are."
    Kirk gestured with open hands, as if grasping for some truth
just out of reach.
    "You're the children of the original colonists--Klingon and
Romulan."
    "Children of the original colonists?!" Torl laughed. "Only
half correct. We are the Children of Heaven."
     "The children of... Chal?" Kirk asked, trying to reconcile
Teilani's revelations with what his prisoner was saying.
 Torl's smile disappeared. "The Chalchaj 'qmey."
    Kirk recognized the phrase as Klingon, but beyond that, it
meant nothing to him.
    Kirk's prisoner looked troubled. He held out a hand as if to
touch the almost invisible security screen. "Why are you here,
human? What business of yours is Chal?"
 "I'm trying to help stop the fighting."
 "Why?"
 "So this planet will be at peace."
 "Why?"
    Kirk took control of the conversation again. "Do you want
to keep fighting?"
    "No," Torl said simply. "I want to destroy Teilani and her
people. Then the fighting will stop."
 "So you can sell the secret of Chal to the rest of the galaxy."

    Toil struck out against the security screen in anger, then
flew back from the crackling impact.
    He collapsed onto the bench, looked up at Kirk, and
actually snarled.
 "Is that what she told you we were trying to do?"
 "Yes. That you want to exploit Chal."
    "Human, we want to bury Chal. To wipe it out of exis-
tence."
 "Why? It's a paradise."
 Torl jumped to his feet in rage. "It is an obscenity!"
    Kirk would not accept that. "I've been down there," he
argued. "I've felt its influence. It's one of the most beautiful
worlds I've ever seen. Filled with bright, healthy people."
 ToWs eyes smoldered with repressed fury. "At what cost?"
 "You tell me."
 Torl thought a moment. "Has she shown you the Armory?"
    Kirk shook his head. He had never heard of an armory on
Chal.
 "The large building. In the center of the city."
 "That's an amory? With weapons?"
 "If you believe truth is a weapon."
Kirk had had enough. "What is the truth?"
Unexpectedly, the prisoner's expression changed once
more. To mournful sorrow. "Evil, human. This world is not
chalchaj. It is chalwutlh. The underworld, not heaven." He
looked out at Kirk, his anger gone. "I don't know who you are
or why you're here, but you must know that peace grows
between our kind. The Klingon Empire and the Federation
reach out to each other. If their fragile efforts succeed, the
Romulans cannot stand against them. They must lay down
their arms as well. Do you believe that is a good thing?"
 "Yes."
    "Then for peace to have its chance, let this world die. And
all its secrets with it."
 "What secrets?" Kirk asked.
 Torl seemed to age before Kirk's eyes. His shoulders

220                                                                                   221

slumped. His hands hung loosely at his side. "For what I am
going to tell you, please forgive me. Remember that in the
decades past our people were manipulated by their rulers to
hate you. To consider your species as nothing more than
animals."
    He sat down on the bench. He leaned back wearily against
the wall. He began to weep.
    Kirk felt the hairs bristle on his arms. Tofi wept as if he was
torn apart by monumental anguish. Shame.
    "What secrets?" Kirk asked again, almost afraid of the
answer he was about to hear.
 Then a new voice rang out in the brig.
 "Mr. Kirk! Stand back?
     Kirk spun around. Two Chal stood in the doorway leading
to the corridor. Each held a disruptor, aimed past Kirk.
  Kirk recognized them.
 The attackers from the farm.
 The attackers who had died.
 He read their intent in their eyes.
    "No!" Kirk shouted. He stepped in front of Toil, blocking
the attackers' line of sight.
 One of them twisted the setting stud on his gun.
     An instant later, Kirk felt himself fly backward, each nerve
on fire with the all-too familiar sting of a disruptor set to stun.
 He fell into the security screen.
    A new wave of agony erupted against his back as he was
thrown forward again, ears ringing with the crackle of the
forcefield.
    He hit the deck hard, unable to use his arms to break his
fall.
 His chest was paralyzed. He couldn't breathe.
 The attackers walked past him.
    Lungs burning with unspeakable pain, Kirk forced himself
onto his back.
 Just in time to see two disruptor beams hit Torl.

    Just in time to see Torl fall back, body glowing with the
incandescent light of a heavy stun.
    The attackers looked down at Kirk. Reluctantly, they put
away their weapons.
 Kirk sensed a third person entering the brig.
 Teilani.
    Her face was still dark with camouflage. She knelt by him,
spoke softly.
    "It's over, James." He could barely hear her through the
ringing in his ears. "They're our prisoners now. All of them."
    Kirk was finally able to gasp for air. It tore through his lungs
like liquid fire. The deck spun beneath him. He felt himself
begin to fall.
 "Thanks to you, James," Teilani said. "We won."
    As the darkness claimed Kirk, he thought he could still hear
Torl weeping.

THIRTY-THREE

"Go to hell," Sulu said to the Klingon commander. To his
crew he added, "Go to red alert. Full power to shields.
Phasers on standby."
 The Excelsior prepared for battle.
    Chekov read his tactical displays. "All three cruisers have
locked veapons on us."
    Sulu stood to face the viewscreen. "Klingon commander. I
am Captain Sulu of the starship Excelsior. We are searching
for a Federation vessel under the authority of---"

222                                                                                 223

    "You have five seconds to lower your shields and prepare
for boarding," the Klingon snarled.
    Sulu ignored him. "Under the authority of Chancellor
Azetbur."
    The Klingon blinked. "How dare you invoke the name of
our chancellor for your foul crimes."
    "I say again--the Excelsior has full diplomatic clearance to
conduct her search in Klingon territory. Contact your central
command for verification. Then I'll be more than happy to
accept your apology." Sulu turned to Uhura. "Close the
channel."
    The viewscreen returned to an image of the three Klingon
vessels hanging ominously in space.
    "Veapons still locked on," Chekov said. He wondered how
far Sulu was prepared to push the confrontation. "You know,
the Excelsior can outrun them," he added, trying to be
helpful.
    Sulu sat back in his command chair. "I know the speed of
my own ship, Pavel. But where could we go? Deeper into
Klingon space, there're bound to be other cruisers in position
to intercept us. The only direction open to us is back to the
Federation. And then we'll have lost any chance of picking up
the Enterprise's warp trail."
    "I thought Admiral Drake personally cleared all this
through Azetbur," McCoy said.
    "Presumably, we're about to find out," Uhura said. "I'm
picking up a flurry of encrypted messages. They're all going
out from the Klingon lead ship. They're attempting to contact
their central command."
 "Can you decode?" Sulu asked.
    Janice Rand activated the translator subroutines. "That's
odd," she said. "It's an old code. We can crack it. Two
minutes, maybe three."
    "Any idea how long it will take for them to get a reply?"
Sulu asked.
 Chekov saw Uhura look to the ceiling as she worked out the

224

time and distance. "If they have to get a message all the way
back to their homeworld, it could take halfa day for a reply."
"We can't wait half a day," Sulu said.
    McCoy offered his opinion. "Since we can outrun them,
why not just keep going after the Enterprise? While they're
chasing us, they might hear back from command and call the
whole thing off."
    Spock rose from his science station. "Doctor, what if
Admiral Drake has not obtained the necessary clearance for
US?"
    McCoy spoke sharply. "What do you mean? He told us
himself that Azetbur had okayed the mission."
    "Admiral Drake has told us a number of things," Spock
said blandly. "That does not make them true."
    "It doesn't matter either way," Sulu said. "At the speed
we'd have to go to keep ahead of those ships, we wouldn't be
able to scan for the Enterprise's wake. If Captain Kirk
changed course again, we'd miss the changeover point com-
pletely."
    The bridge fell silent. It seemed there was nothing they
could do.
    A damage-control team arrived to begin replacing the
modular components of the damaged environmental station.
    The battle readiness of the Klingon cruisers remained
unchanged.
    Lieutenant Rand announced that the computer had de-
coded the Klingon's message to central command.
    "But... I don't understand," she said as she read the
results onscreen. "It's... just random bits."
    Sulu checked the screen over her shoulder. "Is it a code
within a code?"
    "Nothing the eomputer's seen before," Rand said. "Noth-
ing l've seen either."
    "Lieutenant, please transfer the output to my system,"
Spock said.
 Rand did so. Even Spock was puzzled.

225

    "The only logical way this message makes sense is if we
assume it is a prearranged signal. That is, it is not the content
of the message that is important, merely the fact that this
particular pattern has been sent."
    "But that would mean the Klingons were expecting to
intercept us," Sulu said. "Even though they claim to be
unaware of our mission."
  "Curiouser and curiouser," Spock agreed.
    Finally, ten minutes after the Klingon's message had been
sent, Uhura announced that a reply was returning. "There
must be a command ship nearby," she said.
  "The return message is in the same code," Rand reported.
    Sulu returned to his command chair. "On your toes,
everyone. What's happening, Uhura?"
    Uhura held her earpiece close. "Ship-to-ship commu-
nications... all encrypted... sounds like--" She looked up
in alarm. "Sir! They're initiating a countdown!"
    Sulu's hand hit the comm controls on his chair. "Engineer-
ing! I want--"
    Two of the Klingon cruisers disappeared from the
viewscreen.
    "Damn!" Chekov said as his sensors told him what had
happened. 'We've been englobed."
    At warp speed, the two cruisers had positioned themselves
120 degrees from the first and from each other, in a circle
around the Excelsior. The Excelsior could run. But the
Klingons had made sure that at least two or three photon
torpedoes would impact before she had reached her top
speed.
 "The Klingon commander is hailing us," Uhura said.
 Sulu glowered. "Open a channel."
    The Klingon commander reappeared on the viewscreen,
sprawled comfortably in his chair, a position of supreme
confidence.
 "Captain Sulu of the Starship Excelsior, "he said with mock

226

deference, "my central command has no record of any
diplomatic clearance being given to you or your vessel.
Therefore, I give you your choice. Prepare to be boarded. Or
prepare to die." The Klingon scratched delicately at his beard.
"And by the way, your ten seconds are up. So I would
appreciate hearing your answer--now.t"
    "Unfortunately," Sulu said, "I know you're lying. We
decoded your message. You didn't ask your central command
about--"
    "bah cha.t" the Klingon shouted, then disappeared from
the screen.
 "Torpedoes launched!" Chekov warned.
 Instantly, the Excelsior rocked with multiple impacts.
    "Shields at ninety percent!" Chekov reported. "They are
firing again!"
    Sulu jumped from his command chair and went to the
helm. 'TII take over, Mr. Curtis."
    The young helmsman left his position as Sulu slid into his
chair.
 The captain's fingers flew over the controls.
    "Engineering, prepare for warp pulse--on my mark!" Sulu
said.
    The Excelsior rocked again. The torpedoes were being
concentrated on screen overlaps, where the shields were
weakest.
    Chekov saw what was coming. The Klingons were going to
punch through the weakened areas of overlap with their
disruptors.
 "Keptin! Ve have to move!"
    "So they can send one up our tailpipe?" Sulu muttered as
he reset fine controls on the navigation board. "I don't think
SO."
    "Shields at seventy-eight percent? Chekov shouted. "Ve
are experiencing fluctuation feedback!"
 "Brace yourselves!" Sulu ordered.

227

 His finger jabbed at his board.
    Instantly the single cruiser on the viewscreen expanded as
the Excelsior accelerated for it at the speed of light.
    Chekov held on to his tactical board, bracing for the
moment of impact.
    But the Excelsior swept beneath the cruiser--missing its
shields by only the six meters Chekov read wonderingly from
his controls. Then the warp pulse ended. The Excelsior
lurched ninety degrees from her warp heading to bob up
behind the cruiser. Again Sulu's ship escaped devastating
impact with its shields by less than the length of a shuttle.
    For one instant, Chekov had no idea what Sulu was trying
to do, other than prove he was a madman.
 But then Chekov saw the torpedo traces on his board.
    Their targeting computers hadn't been able to make sense
of Sulu's maneuvers either. They were locked on to the--
    The viewscreen flared white as the K'tinga-class cruiser fell
victim to the torpedoes launched by its sister ships.
    Its shields had been tuned against Starfleet weapons, not
Klingon.
    Chekov cheered. He glanced at Sulu. 'Where did you learn
to fly like that?"
    Sulu looked pleased. "Captain Kirk once told me he had
always wanted to try that maneuver."
 The bridge angled as Sulu spun his ship around in place.
    The Excelsior's shields registered multiple hits from float-
ing debris--the wreckage of the destroyed cruiser.
    "Two-to-one odds we can handle easily," Sulu said. "Uhura
--open a channel, please."
    The cloud of debris was replaced by the astonished face of
the Klingon commander.
    "I'm not looking for a fight," Sulu said. "All I want you to
do is shut down your warp cores."
 "So we will be left here defenseless?" the Klingon sneered.
    "No," Sulu said patiently. "So I know it will take you at
least six hours to power up again before you can follow us."

    "I am willing to die!" the commander proclaimed with
clenched fist.
     "That is also an option," Sulu said. "Now, shut down your
warp cores. Or we will shut them down for you." He nodded at Uhura. She cut the channel.
    The viewscreen showed a long view with a Klingon cruiser
hanging in opposite comers.
 "Damage report?" Sulu asked.
    Chekov was unused to a starship's commander being beside
him at the helm.
    "No damage, Keptin. Shields at eighty-eight percent and
climbing."
 "Weapons status of the cruisers?"
    But before Chekov could report, his long-range sensor
display lit up.
    "Incoming wessel!" He had to check the readings twice.
"At... varp factor ten!"
 "Reinforcements?" Sulu asked.
 "l... don't know. It is such a small ship."
    "I recognize the configuration," Spock said unexpectedly.
"It is a Vulcan warp shuttle."
 "A shuttle? This far outT' McCoy asked.
    "At varp ten, Doctor, wery few places are far avay." Chekov
adjusted his sensors. "Coming into wisual range."
    The viewscreen image changed again to show the small,
angular craft on approach. Six of them in a row would barely
be as long as one of the Excelsior's warp nacelles.
"What kind of shuttle can reach warp ten?" McCoy asked.
As the shuttle came closer, Chekov adjusted the sensor
image to maximum magnification. The first detail he noticed
was a third nacelle in the center of the shuttle's propulsion
carriage, accounting for its improbable speed. Then he saw
the colors painted on its hull. 'Well, that answers that," he
said.
 It was a Starfleet vessel.

228                                                           229

     Uhura looked up from her station, hand to her earpiece.
 "The shuttle is hailing us, Captain."
  "What are the Klingons doing?" Sulu asked.
      Chekov scanned them. "Their varp cores are still online.
But no veapons are locked."
 "Onscreen," Sulu said.
 It was Drake.
    Chekov could see that the admiral was seated in the
shuttle's forward section. Other than the pilot who was off to
the side of the screen, there appeared to be no one else on
board.
    "Captain Sulu," the admiral said, "lower your shields so I
can dock."
    "Sir, we are involved in a firefight with two Klingon
cruisers. I must request that you withdraw to a safe distance."
    "Leave the Klingons to me, Captain. I've got a coded
message for them from their High Council." Drake adjusted
some controls on the console in front of him. "Stand by,
Excelsior."
     "The shuttle is transmitting to the Klingon ships," Uhura
said. "A new type of encryption code." "What's their response?" Sulu asked.
    Chekov watched his board. Conducted a second scan.
"They're... powering down their veapons. Keptin--they're
dropping their shields."
    Sulu stood up from his helm position. Mr. Curtis replaced
him at once. Chekov guessed the captain of this ship often
took control of her himself. Captain's privileges.
    "Admiral Drake," Sulu began, "may I ask what you're
doing here?"
    "I'11 come aboard as soon as I dock, Captain. The message
I've relayed to the Klingons explains the situation to them,
and gives them their orders." "Their orders, sir?"
    Drake grinned. Chekov hated the look of it, so patently
calculated. "It seems we've been caught up in the middle of

some typical Klingon skulduggery, Captain. The orders
Azetbur issued giving you diplomatic clearance were held up
by the homeworld's bureaucracy. These ships were just doing
their duty. But now they're ordered to escort us as we track
the Enterprise."
    Sulu looked appalled. "Sir, I don't think the commander is
going to want to escort us. We've just destroyed one of his
ships."
    "So I can see," Drake replied. "But, c'est la guerre. Now
lower your shields."
    Sulu went back to his command chair. "Mr. Curtis," he
said to the helmsman. "Bring the ship around to give the
admiral a straight path. Commander Chekov, lower the aft
shields--but only around the docking bay. Then raise them as
soon as the shuttle has docked."
    "Thank you, Captain Sulu," Drake acknowledged. The
viewscreen returned to an image of the shuttle moving closer,
its passenger cabin separating for docking.
    Sulu looked over to Spock. "Captain Spock, what would
you say the odds were for the commander in chief of Starfleet
to come this far into Klingon space without an entire flotilla
for security?"
 "Incalculable," Spock said.
    "What?" McCoy exclaimed. "Did I hear right? You're
admitting statistical defeat?"
    "Without all the facts at my disposal, Doctor, I cannot
begin to assess any of the reasons why Admiral Drake has
undertaken such a dangerous and apparently foolhardy mis-
sion in what can be considered enemy territory."
    "The shuttle has docked," Chekov said. "Shields are up.
Still no response from the Klingons."
    Sulu stood. "Captain Spock, Doctor McCoy, Commanders
Uhura and Chekov--I'd appreciate it if you would accompa-
ny me to greet the admiral. Mr. Curtis, you have the conn."
    The young helmsman took the center chair. The four
officers went with Sulu to the turbolift. Chekov understood

230                                                                                   231

that Sulu was hoping Drake was going to offer them another
briefing on their mission to find Captain Kirk.
    But Chekov wondered what good it would do. Drake's
presence had unquestionably changed the nature of their
original mission.
    The Excelsior and her crew were no longing tracking Kirk
for Starfleet and the good of the Federation.
    As far as Chekov could tell, they were hunting him for
Admiral Androvar Drake.

THIRTY-FOUR

Drake's shuttle thudded gently against the Excelsior's aft
airlock. The computer confirmed a solid docking.
    In the pilot's chair, Ariadne shut down the maneuvering
thrusters. She turned to her father.
    But he cut her off before she could begin again. "Don't
worry about it."
    "But they destroyed one of our cruisers. How are the
mercenaries going to react to that?"
    Drake got out of his passenger seat. "They've already
agreed to betray their empire. Besides, the loss of a third of
them means their payment isn't split as many ways. And we
can finish the mission with only two cruisers. Remember, the
Excelsior is on our side."
 "I wouldn't trust Sulu."
 "He's a Starfleet officer and I'm his commander in chief."
 "But he served with Kirk." Ariadne left her seat as well.

"Chekov and Uhura, the whole time we were undercover on
Dark Range, Kirk was all they talked about. I don't think you
understand the loyalty they have to him."
    "They're all good officers," Drake said. "Starfleet's finest.
The loyalty they have is to the chain of command."
    Drake took his daughter by her shoulders, smiled at her
warmly, no hint of calculation.
    "This is why I've worked so hard to get to this position. If I
have to, I can replace Sulu as commander of the Excelsior. I
can have his entire command crew thrown into the brig. I am
Starfleet."
 "That's what Cartwright and Colonel West thought."
 Drake's smile faded. "Every war has casualties."
    "The assassination at Khitomer was exposed because Cart-
wright underestimated Kirk."
    Drake looked aft as he heard the Excelsior's airlock hiss
open. He hugged his daughter.
    "Ariadne, ever since Kirk killed your mother, he has always
underestimated me."
    Ariadne stepped back from Drake. "Father, the Klingons
killed Mother."
    Drake's face hardened. "And Kirk let them get away with
it." He lifted his kit bag from its storage alcove behind the
passenger seat. "But once we have control of the Chalchaj
'qmey, once I can dangle that before our friends on the
Federation Council, war will be inevitable. The Klingon
Empire will be crushed. And Kirk and all his bleeding-heart
sympathizers with it."
    Drake handed Ariadne her flight helmet. "Keep that on,
and make certain all the comm imagers are offiine. I'll say my
pilot has to stay on alert status in the shuttle in case of
emergency evacuation."
    Ariadne pulled on her helmet, stuffed her hair into place
beneath it.
 Drake gave his daughter's hand a squeeze.

232                                                                                    233

 "I'm doing this for you," he said. "For the future."
    But even as he said that, Ariadne feared her father might
become a casualty of the past, fighting a war that had ended
years ago.

THIRTY-FIVE

In his dream, Kirk held his child in his arms.
    David. Three months old. So fragile. So full of life and
promise.
    The baby's tiny, perfect fist held Kirk's finger, squeezing
mightily.
    "Look at that grip," Kirk said. "Definitely going to be a
starship captain. I should probably reserve a space in the
Academy right now."
 But Carol Marcus didn't return Kirk's smile.
    She slipped her arm beneath David's thick blankets, lifted
him from Kirk's embrace.
 "When are you shipping out?" she asked.
    Kirk knew what was coming. He was prepared for it. "I
don't have to ship out, Carol."
 He could tell she didn't believe him.
    He tried to convince her. "Pike's ship, the Enterprise, she's
coming back. She's going to be in spacedock for more than a
year. They need an exec to handle the refit." "And then what?" Carol asked.
    Kirk didn't understand the question. "More than a year,
Carol. I can live here, on Earth. With you and David. Help
look after him. And you."

    Carol's lower lip trembled. She fought back tears. "And
then what? When the refit is over? Are you going to ship out
on the Enterprise?"
    Kirk didn't speak because she wouldn't like what he had to
say. If things went the way he planned, he'd be the Enterprise's
next captain.
    But speaking wasn't necessary. Carol read his answer in his
eyes. "I thought so."
    Kirk caressed his son's delicate scalp, silken with tiny blond
curls. "A year, Carol. Maybe two. With you and the baby."
     "It's not enough, Jim." She couldn't hold back the tears.
"He needs more than that. I need more than that."
 "Carol... I love you."
    She shook her head sadly. The baby stared up at her.
Fascinated by her tear-filled eyes. "That's not enough, either."
    This time Kirk didn't speak because he could think of
nothing to say. This couldn't be happening. Not to him.
 "I don't want you helping me," Carol said. "Or David."
 "I'm his father."
 "You fathered him. There's a difference."
 "Carol... don't."
    "I know what's right for my child, Jim. I don't want you
involved."
 "Carol, don't push me away."
    She looked at him with such pity that Kirk felt shocked.
"Jim, I don't have to push you away. Sooner or later, you'll go
away yourself. Don't you see that? Don't you know what that
does to me? What it will do to David?" Her voice rose in
distress.
 The baby began to cry.
    Kirk reached out for him but Carol hugged their baby
closer, gently rocking his small, bundled form.
    "I won't have my son raised by a ghost a thousand
light-years from home. I won't have him celebrate his birth-
days with month-old subspace messages." She closed her eyes,
wrapped herself around her child. "I won't have him look up

234                                                                                    235

at the stars and know his father died among them. I won't
have that."
    Kirk felt his heart torn from his chest. Every particle of him
cried out for him to fight. To reject this banishment.
    But he did love Carol. He knew she loved their child. And
because he wasn't certain what to do, he offered no resistance.
    Like a tumbling asteroid spinning away in space, he
watched as Carol and David fell from him and his life.
    The hole they left was never filled, but the pain it caused
strengthened him.
    That was the last time he ever let anyone take control from
him without a fight. That was the last time he let anyone make
his decisions for him.
    From that day, he had strived to do nothing that would
leave him with any regrets.
    Each day became his best day. Each goal achieved or he
knew the reason why.
    Two years later, he was the new captain of the Enterprise,
setting out on a five-year mission.
 Against incredible odds, he brought his ship home.
    And every time he faced defeat, every time he faced death,
he remembered the feel of his small son in his arms, so fragile,
so full of life and promise.
    Nothing can take that from me, he told himself. Life is too
precious. The promise of the future too vital.
    From the day that Carol had asked him to leave, each fight
had been for the children. Not just for his child, but for all
children. For the future, for everyone. There was nothing
more important.
 All he had to do was remember his baby in his arms.
 It was what Kirk remembered now.
 In his dream.
 Feeling a cool cloth press against his forehead.
 Smelling the rich jungle scents of Chal.
 His eyes fluttered open.
 A face hovered close to his.

 "Carol?" he asked uncertainly.
 The face came into focus.
 "Teilani," she said softly.
 As quickly as that, Kirk was alert.
 He had lost a battle. But the war continued.
    He rolled off the bed, pushing his way through the filmy
gauze that hung around it.
 He was in Teilani's house.
    Two walls were open to a sunlit courtyard surrounded by
dense green vegetation.
    The exotic birdlike creatures of Chal serenaded them from
nearby trees.
    He stood naked on the cool tiled floors. He moved his arms
and shoulders. No trace of any injury from the disruptor stun
or his fall against the security screen.
     Teilani slipped off the bed, wearing only a wrap of fabric as
transparent as the gauze around the bed. But her beauty had no effect on him.
 Kirk escalated the stakes, changed the rules.
    His heart ached more than he could bear, but Teilani was
the enemy now.
 "Where are my clothes?" he demanded.
     She smiled playfully, oblivious to his mood. "Come to bed,
James. I want to see if you've fully recovered." She reached out for him.
    But Kirk turned from her and went to a wooden chest.
Inside were his civilian clothes from Earth. He began to put
them on. He wished they were his Starfleet uniform.
 "James, what's wrong?"
    "The attackers at the farm--they were your people, not
Anarchists."
 Teilani moved closer to Kirk, slipped her arms around him.
 "How could they be? They tried to kill you."
 He twisted away from her. "That game's over."
    He looked around the spacious room. He saw his jumpsuit
lying with hers on a chair. Stormed over to it.

236                                                                                  237

    "They couldn't kill me," he said. He tore at the collar of the
jumpsuit. Ripped out the silver coil of metal hidden in it. He
pressed the activation switch on one end, saw a small ready
light glow.
    "Some sort of forcefield emitter, isn't it?" he said as he
threw it at her. "Diverts the projectiles. That's why you told
me not to worry about the projectile guns last night. That's
why you tugged on my collar just before we attackedinto turn
it on. And that's why I could be shot point-blank and not get
touched."
    Teilani stood her ground. "But, James, at the farm, you saw
me get shot."
    Kirk grabbed his shirt and yanked it over his head. "I saw
you tug on your collar just as you turned your back to the
window in the kitchen. A second later, the shot grazed your
shoulder. Wouldn't surprise me if you could dial the emitter
up and down like inertial dampers. Make the projectiles
swerve around you--or just nick you to make it look good."
    "You don't have to do this, James. The Anarchists' threat
has ended."
 Kirk pulled on his jacket, looked for his boots.
    Scott had been right. Deep inside, perhaps he had always
questioned Teilani and her motives. But he had been so
caught up in the adventure of being with her that he had
refused to question himself and his motives.
    "The Anarchist in the brig was shot by the same two Chal
who were at the farm. You must have some innate Vulcan
abilities on your Romulan side. Meditative control of the
autonomic system? Is that it? Make your heart stop for a few
minutes to fool the human into helping out?"
    Teilani still held to her injured innocence. "I haven't tried
to fool you."
    Kirk sat on the edge of the bed as he pulled on his boots. He
knew the anger he felt was at his own stupidity. But he
directed it at her. "You've lied to me from the beginning,
haven't you? From that first meeting on the farm."

 "You fell in love with me that day."
 "We made love," Kirk said. "There's a difference."
 '7 won't believe you don't care for me."
    Kirk reached out to touch her face. "I can see now how well
you played me. First, you threw yourself at me. But I said no.
So a minute later we're running for our lives, fighting side by
side... and then..."
    Teilani held his hand in place, kissed it. "And then you felt
what I felt."
    Kirk took his hand away. "You offered me a challenge when
I didn't have one. You offered me a chance to save a world.
That's my job, Teilani. It's what I do. Who I am. I couldn't
refuse you and you knew it."
    Teilani remained indignant. "Tell me you never loved me.
That you don't love me still."
    Kirk just felt embarrassed. "It made perfect sense to me
that something connected to the Romulans and Klingons was
something Starfleet couldn't get involved with. It made
perfect sense that there was something I could do as a
civilian."
    Teilani raised her voice. "I want to hear you say you don't
love me."
 Kirk didn't take his eyes from hers. '7 love my work."
 Teilani slapped him. Her Klingon nails raked his cheek.
    Kirk felt the scrapes she had left. Looked at the dabs of
blood on his fingers.
    "I can still help you," he said quietly. "There is a secret on
this world that I think even you don't know about."
    Teilani's face twisted in anger. "What lies did the Anarchist
tell you?"
 "Have you ever been in the Armory?" Kirk asked.
 He saw her flinch.
    "How you blinded me. How I let myself be blinded. That
first attack should have made me suspect it wasn't your power
station. If the Anarchists had really wanted to bring chaos to
your society, they would have concentrated their shelling on

238                                                                                  239

it, to destroy it. But they wanted to get to it. They wanted to
get inside. Why?"
  Teilani's jaw tightened. She looked ready to explode.
  "What's in there, Teilani?"
  She turned away from him. "I don't know."
  Kirk was surprised to sense that she was telling the truth.
    He went to her. Put his hands on her shoulders. "Then go
there with me."
 He felt her shiver.
    "Why won't you just accept that you've done what you were
supposed to do?" she said. "We've won! Chal is safe! You can
stay here and be young with me forever."
    Kirk turned her around to face him, looked down into her
eyes.
    "You don't know how much I want to do exactly that," Kirk
said gently. "But from what the Anarchist said, there might be
more to that secret of Chal, too."
     She leaned against him. Her head beneath his chin. "I know
you love me." He felt her tremble.
 "That's not enough," Kirk said.
 His communicator chirped.
    Kirk pulled it from his jacket, opened it, acknowledged the
call.
     "Scott here, Captain. I'm picking up vessels approaching at
high warp. At least two of them are Klingon." "Civilian?"
    "From their power curves, I'd have t' say they were battle
cruisers."
 "How soon till they're here, Scotty?"
    "Only six minutes. These sensors just aren't th' same as the
old ones."
     Teilani held a hand over the communicator. "You didn't
stop the Anarchists in time, after all." "In time for what?" Kirk asked.
 "What we feared. If they couldn't destroy us, then it was

240

just a matter of time before they approached someone who
could. Just as I approached someone I thought would be able
to save us."
 "Are those Klingon ships coming here to destroy Chal?"
    "That's why we wanted you to have a starship, fully armed
and shielded."
    "The truth would have been more useful than a starship,"
Kirk said. "The Federation is at peace with the Klingons. At
least we're trying to be."
 He pulled the communicator away from her.
 "Scotty, beam me directly to the bridge."
 "Will that be one to beam up?" Scott asked.
 Kirk stepped back from Teilani. "One, Mr. Scott."
    But as soon as he said those words, Kirk knew Teilani
would take them as a challenge.
 The beam dissolved him just as she fell into his arms.

THIRTY-SIX

"Put your eyes back in your head, Mr. Scott. I want you on
tactical."
    The engineer blinked in embarrassment as Teilani stepped
away from Kirk on the bridge of the Enterprise. Her transpar-
ent wrap offered little more than the suggestion of clothes.
 Kirk took the center chair.
    Esys was at the helm. Scott left the engineering substation
for tactical beside him. Two other Chal held positions at
communications and the science station. About twenty others

241

were scattered through the ship, in Engineering, the disruptor
banks, and the remaining photon-torpedo launch tube. Auto-
mated controls handled the rest of the ship.
  "Can you put the ships onscreen?" Kirk asked.
  Teilani came to stand by his chair.
    "Still beyond visual range," Scott said. "But two of them
are definitely Klingon battle cruisers."
    "Full power to shields, Mr. Scott. Any idea what the third
one is?"
      "'Tis not in th' database that came with th' sensors," Scott
said. "I'll try a manual scan."  "Um, Mr. Kirk?"
 Kirk turned to the Chal at communications.
 "I, uh, believe we're being hailed, sir."
    Kirk remained calm. "The third switch on the left. The
green one. That's it. Press it."
    The young Chal hit the right switch. Kirk now had control
of ship-to-ship communications from his chair.
    Kirk opened the channel and turned back to the
viewscreen.
 And nearly jumped from his chair.
 It was Sulu.
    "Captain Kirk," his former helmsman said. "Good to see
you again."
 Kirk saw Sulu react to Teilani's almost clothed presence.
 "Sulu--are you traveling with Klingons?"
 "We're being 'escorted,' sir."
    Kirk heard the qualification Sulu put on the word. "I see. ls
this a social visit?" he asked lightly.
    Sulu was about to answer, but his attention was caught by
something to the side, offscreen. Instead, he sat back as
someone else moved into view.
    Kirk gripped the arms of his chair so tightly the frame
creaked.
 Drake.
 "Hello, Jim."

 "Admiral."
    Kirk watched Drake's eyes move, obviously taking in
Teilani on the Excelsior's viewscreen. "I see you're enjoying
yourselfi As usual."
    "Th' ships have dropped from warp," Scotty announced.
"They're moving to match our orbit."
    Kirk shifted in his chair. More than anything, he wanted to
take Teilani aside for any information she could provide
explaining how Chal had come to be caught up between the
Klingon Empire and the Federation. But Kirk knew better
than to turn his back on Drake for an instant.
    "You're a long way from home, Admiral. Anything I should
know about?"
    Drake adopted a serious expression. Kirk visualized his fist
driving into the middle of it.
 "Sorry, Jim. This is Starfleet business."
    "Depending on whose charts you believe, this is either
Klingon or Romulan space."
    Drake's serious expression became stem. "I'm here under
the combined authority of Starfleet and the Klingon High
Council."
 "Authority to do what?" Kirk asked.
 "That's classified, Jim."
    Kirk tapped his fingers on the side of his chair. He could
wait.
    Drake remained silent for a few moments longer, then
spoke over his shoulder to Sulu.
"Captain, send down the security details to secure the city."
Kirk had no idea what Drake was up to, but for the simple
reason that it was something Drake wanted to do, Kirk was
going to stop him.
    "Mr. Scott, I want a level-seven photon discharge into the
ionosphere over the city."
    Scott didn't question the order. "Aye, sir." The bridge
rumbled with the launching of three photon torpedoes, one
after the other.

242                                                                                  243

    Kirk received his third surprise of the day when he heard
Spock's voice come from the Excelsior's bridge.
    "Admiral Drake, the Enterprise has created an area of high
ionization over the Chal city. We will be unable to beam
anyone down for at least twenty minutes." "Spock, is that you?"
    Spock stepped onscreen behind Sulu. "Greetings, Cap-
tain."
    Then McCoy stepped on from the other side. "Fancy
meeting you here." McCoy's eyes widened more than Scott's
as he saw Teilani.
    Kirk sat back in his chair, feeling that the odds might have
shifted back in his favor.
    But Drake cut in. "This isn't a reunion, Jim. This is a
Starfleet matter. I am ordering you to withdraw."
    "I am not a Starfleet officer. This is not a Starfleet vessel.
You are not in Federation space. Do I have to make it more
clear than that?"
 "Commander Krult," Drake said. "Cha ylghus.t"
    Scott spun around from his tactical board. "Captain, the
Klingons are bringing their weapons online."
    Drake grinned coldly. "Do I have to make it more clear to
you, Jim?" He stepped forward. "I am now advising you that
you are operating an illegally armed vessel in a restricted area
of Klingon space. Your actions here could set back the new era
of detente between the Federation and the Klingon Empire.
For that reason, I am suggesting you withdraw from this
system." He smiled in challenge. "Or face the consequences."
    Kirk had had enough. "Sulu, what is that pompous ass
going on about?"
    Drake raised his hand as if to give an order to fire. But Sulu
stepped down from his chair.
 "Admiral, if I could have a moment?" Sulu asked.
 Drake nodded curtly.
    "Captain Kirk," Sulu began. "I know this is an awkward
position for all of us to be in. But Starfleet is in possession of

classified information suggesting that Chal could pose a threat
to the peace process between the Federation and the Empire."
    Kirk knew his former crew well. Sulu wasn't lying. He was
incapable of lying.
 "What are your intentions?" Kirk asked.
    Sulu took a breath, clearly more uncomfortable than Kirk.
"My orders are to dispatch security teams to the planet's
surface and secure any war mat6riel we find. We do have the
authority from the Empire, sir."
    That information made several pieces fall together to form
a pattern. Drake wanted war mat6riel. The central structure
in the city was an armory. The Anarchist Kirk had questioned
in the Enterprise's brig seemed to think that the secrets
contained in that armory were worth destroying a planet for
peace to have a chance.
     "Just so I'm sure I understand, Sulu. You say you are to
secure whatever war mat~riel you find?" "Yes, sir."
    Kirk watched Drake carefully. The Anarchist had wanted
to destroy something. Drake wanted to obtain it.
    "Would this have anything to do with the Chalchaj 'qmey?"
Kirk asked.
    Teilani grabbed Kirk's arm at the same instant he saw
Drake's eyes darken.
 Sulu reacted as well.
    Kirk realized that while everyone else recognized what the
Klingon phrase meant, he himself was apparently not ex-
pected to.
    "What do you know about the Chalchaj 'qmey?" Drake said
coldly.
    "Enough to know that I'm not letting you get near it," Kirk
bluffed. "Captain Sulu, you are in violation of Chal orbital
space. I ask you to withdraw."
 Sulu bit his lip and looked at Drake.
    "Captain Sulu," Drake ordered. "The Enterprise is a threat
to this mission. I am ordering you to neutralize that threat."

244                                                                                   245

    Kirk ignored Drake. "Spock, talk some sense into the
admiral. The Federation recognizes Chal as an independent
world. Starfleet has no authority here."
    Spock displayed no sign of conflict. "Unfortunately, Cap-
tain, the Empire does not recognize Chal's independence.
However, the planet's cooperation in this matter might move
the High Council to change its view."
    "Spock, listen to me. If you proceed with what Drake is
planning, you'll be following orders, but you will not be doing
the right thing."
    Spock drew himself up, held his hands behind his back.
"Captain, with respect, sir. Can you be sure you are doing the
right thing?"
    McCoy turned to Spock. "Spock! Are you out of your
mind?"
    Spock kept his eyes locked on the hidden imager on the
Excelsior's bridge, so it was as if he stared directly at Kirk.
"Doctor, I merely point out that since none of us know
exactly what the Chalchaj 'qmey is, it hardly seems logical to
fight over it."
    Thank you, Spock, Kirk thought. Drake was on a fishing
expedition.
    On the Excelslot's bridge, Drake realized that Spock was
giving away secrets, too. "That's enough, Captain Spock." He
stared at Sulu. "Captain--you have your orders."
    For a moment, Sulu appeared torn by indecision. But
starship captains could not be indecisive. "Weapons officer,"
he said. "Target the Enterprise's impulse thrusters."
 "Sulu," Kirk warned. "Withdraw or be fired upon."
    McCoy threw up his hands in disgust. "Is everybody
crazy?"
 Sulu shook his head. "Captain Kirk, I'm sorry."
    Kirk knew Sulu had no choice. He was doing what he
thought was a reasonable compromise--disabling the Enter-
prise until the mystery could be solved. Any attempt on his

part to delay acting on Drake's orders would be mutiny.
Knowing Drake's excesses, it might even be treason.
    Kirk closed the channel to the Excelsior and brought a
tactical display up on the viewscreen. "Mr. Esys--set course
bearing eighty-five, mark zero."
 Esys started to turn in his chair. "But, that'll put us right
in--"

    "Do it, lad!" Scotty barked. "Th' captain knows what he's
doin'."
 "Full impulse, Mr. Scott. Now!"
The Enterprise shuddered as she blazed toward Chal.
Teilani held on to Kirk's chair as the bridge bucked and a
new sound rarely heard on a starship thundered through the
bulkheads--the scream of air being ripped asunder as the
ship descended through atmosphere.
 "Entering the zone of ionization," Scott confirmed.
 "How long can we stay in it, Scotty?"
 Scott had to shout to be heard over the howling wind.
 "Thirty seconds!"
 "James! What are you doing?"
    Kirk reached out for Teilani's hand, trying to reassure her.
"Disappearing," he said. "They won't be able to lock on to us
through the ionized area we made."
    "But for less than a minute?" Teilani said. "What good is
that?"
    "A few seconds will be long enough. Prepare for warp, Mr.
Scott."
    Kirk didn't hear Scott's reply. He thought it was just as
well.
    But Esys, who was not Starfleet-trained, questioned Kirk
again. "You can't go to warp in the atmosphere!"
    "Who would you rather believe, Mr. Esysmsomeone who's
done it, or the textbooks?" Kirk smiled at the young Chal.
"Set course bearing two four five, mark one eighty."
 Kirk saw Scott shake his head in despair.

246                                                                                 247

 "She'll hold, Scotty!" Kirk shouted.
 "Aye," Scott called back. "But will I?"
 "Warp one... now.t" Kirk commanded.
    The Enterprise groaned as she w~ suddenly torn from the
atmosphere of Chal at the speed of light, traveling back on a
reverse course that would put her only a few kilometers
behind the Excelsior and her Klingon escorts.
    "On standard orbit!" Scott shouted, still caught up in the
moment though the roar of rushing air had instantly stopped.
    "Take out those Klingons," Kirk said. "Photon torpedoes
--full spread."
    That was too much for Scott. Even he had to question
Kirk's plan now. "Sir, th' disruptors would have more of a
chancel"
 "No disruptors!" Kirk ordered. "Fire torpedoes!"
    Scott muttered again but four more torpedoes launched
sequentially, overloading the Klingons' aft shields.
    "They never saw us comin'!" the engineer exclaimed. Then
his tone changed abruptly as he added, "The Excelsior is
comin' about."
 "Put the Klingons between her and us, Mr. Esys."
    The Enterprise shuddered as Esys overcompensated and
almost collided with a battlecruiser.
 It swerved away, forcing the second cruiser to change
COurse.
    Kirk watched the chain reaction spread on the tactical
display. Now the careening Klingon ships were forcing the
Excelsior to pull back.
    But the first Klingon cruiser executed a roll to slide past the
second and began firing.
 The Enterprise absorbed the first shots easily.
 "Do I return fire?" Scott asked urgently.
 "Wait for the second cruiser to come about," Kirk said.
 "The Excelsior is locking phasers?'
 "Wait for the second cruiser, Mr. Scott .... "
 "They're getting ready to fire!" Scott warned.

ú 248

 Teilani's nails dug into Kirk's arm.
    The Enterprise shuddered as the second cruiser finally fired
along with the first.
 "Fire full disruptors!" Kirk shouted.
    The orange beams blasted forth from the Enterprise's
saucer.
    They passed through the first battle cruiser's shields as if
they weren't even there.
    Its bridge erupted into a tiny nova as the main hull began to
spiral away, passing into the beams hitting the second cruiser.
    Caught in those beams, the first cruiser's main hull blew
apart in a string of small explosions as her antimatter
containment bottles failed.
    But by absorbing the second set of beams, she let the second
cruiser escape.
 "What happened?" Teilani asked.
    "They assumed we had phasers," Kirk said, "and set their
shields accordingly." He sighed. "I always wanted to try
that."
 He reopened a channel to the Excelsior.
    Drake was in the command chair. His expression was the
same as it been on Tycho IV when he had told Kirk of Faith
Morgan's death.
 "Excelsior, "Kirk said. "Once again I ask you to withdraw."
    Drake's reply was emotionless. "You're dead, Kirk. Do you
hear me?"
    "Put Captain Sulu on," Kirk said. "I want to talk with
someone who's responsible."
    "Weapons officer," Drake ordered. "Retarget the Enter-
prise. All phasers on the bridge."
    "We took a beatin' in the atmosphere," Scott whispered.
"Shields won't hold more than a minute under all that."
    But with any luck, Kirk knew, the Enterprise wouldn't have
to face that fire. By changing his orders, Drake had just given
Sulu and his crew an opportunity to withdraw. Provided they
saw the situation the way Kirk did.

249

    "Admiral Drake," Kirk said, "am I to understand that you
have just given orders to destroy a ship belonging to a
sovereign world because it has tried to preserve its territorial
integrity?"
    "Your atoms will orbit Chal until its sun goes nova," Drake
promised.
    "Mr. Spock--isn't Admiral Drake's order a violation of
Starfleet general policy?"
    Spock stepped up beside Drake. He raised an eyebrow.
"Starfleet does specify that in matters of self-defense, Starfleet
vessels will respond to force with equal force, and no more."
 Good, Kirk thought. Spock knows where I'm going.
 "He attacked us," Drake told Spock.
    "No," Kirk corrected. "I attacked the Klingons. Mr. Spock,
has this vessel directed any fire toward the Excelsior, or any
other Starfleet vessel?"
 "No, sir, she has not."
    "So, in your opinion, is Admiral Drake justified in ordering
the Enterprise's destruction?"
    Spock nodded his head a fraction of a centimeter, letting
Kirk know he had found a way out.
    "Technically, a case could be made that the admiral's
orders are in violation of Starfleet command directives,"
Spock acknowledged.
    "Now, I know I'm no longer part of Starfleet," Kirk said as
he saw Drake smolder, "but in my day, such violations were
grounds for a general inquiry."
 "As they are today, sir," Spock agreed.
 "Fire!" Drake ordered.
 Kirk braced for impact.
 Nothing.
    "Fire, damn you!" Drake said as he sprang to his feet. "Fire
or you'll all be charged with mutiny!"
    Sulu returned to the viewscreen. "Admiral Drake, with
respect, sir. You are in violation of Starfleet command direc-

tives. I must request that you relinquish command of this
vessel in order that we may convene a general inquiry."
    "This won't work and you know it," Drake said. "We're in
battle."
 "Shut down the disruptors," Kirk ordered Scott.
    Sulu looked offscreen. "Commander Chekov, is the Excel-
sior in danger of attack by the Enterprise?"
    Chekov's there, too, Kirk thought. No wonder the Excelsior
didn't fire on Drake's command.
    "No, sir," Kirk heard Chekov reply. "The Enterprise's
disruptors are powered down."
    "Admiral, please," Sulu insisted. "I don't wish to invoke
General Order One-oh-four, Section C."
 Drake stared at Sulu. "You wouldn't dare."
    "He doesn't have to dare," McCoy said as he joined the line
of officers standing up to Drake. "I'm senior ship's surgeon
and I'd love to give you a medical exam to establish your
frame of mind."
    Chekov stepped onscreen. "I am viiling to testify about the
improper orders he gave me."
    Even Uhura was there. She joined Chekov. "I have placed
all bridge recordings on a message buoy, Captain Sulu, for
transmission to Starfleet Command."
    Kirk watched as Drake looked at each of the former
Enterprise officers assembled before him.
 Without any trace of emotion, he stepped down.
 "You will hold the inquiry now," he said to Sulu.
    "After we have withdrawn from this system." Sulu took
over his chair. "Captain Kirk, this could take several hours.
But I suspect we will be returning after that."
    "Understood, Captain Sulu," Kirk acknowledged. "Thank
you."
    "Thank you, sir. I didn't see how we could get out of that
one. Sulu out."
 The viewscreen flashed back to an image of Chal.

250                                                            251

  The Excelsior streaked away into warp.
    There was no trace of the second Klingon cruiser, only
debris from the first.
    Scott spun around in his chair. His forehead dripped with
sweat. "I swear ye have the luck o' th' d'vil."
    "Wrong afterworld, Mr. Scott," Kirk said. "This is heaven,
remember?"
  Kirk got up and went to Teilani.
    He tried to be gentle. "You know the lies have to end now,
don't you. Whatever you've been keeping from me, the
Federation knows about it. And the Klingons. How soon
before the Romulans get here? Who knows how many oth-
ers?"
 Teilani couldn't meet his eyes.
    "Teilani, your Anarchists had nothing to do with what just
happened here. The one I talked to yesterday was ready to die
rather than let anyone know what's in the Armory. Whatever
secrets you're trying to hide, you're no longer in control of
them. And that makes them dangerous." "I don't know what to do, James."
    He tilted her head up, to make her look at him, to see there
was no anger in his eyes.
    "I understand why you brought me here, now. To take care
of a problem you felt you couldn't. But it is Chal's problem.
Your problem. Not mine."
 Panic flashed through her eyes. "You're leaving?"
     "No," Kirk said. "But I can only help you. I can't take
responsibility for you. You have to do that for yourself."
 "How?" she asked.
    With that plaintive question, Kirk saw she was a child in so
many ways.
 But she could not remain a child forever.
 No one could.
 "What is the Chalchaj 'qmey?" Kirk asked.
    Teilani took a deep breath. "I... don't know, James.
It's... it's whatever is in the Armory."

 "And you've never been there?"
 She shook her head.
 "I'm afraid, James."
    "That's part of growing up," he said. "And that's what you
have to do, now. It's what all your people have to do."
 She held his hand, not to distract him, but for support.
 "Are you ever afraid?" she asked.
    Kirk smiled at her. He leaned down to whisper his secret
into her ear. "All the time."
 She looked at him in wonder.
 "I just don't let it get in the way."
    A new look came to Teilani's eyes. Kirk guessed it was
disillusionment. But there was nothing wrong with that.
Generally, that was what inspired people to make a change.
    Teilani looked down at her transparent wrap. "I suppose I
should get some clothes on," she said.
 "And then we'll go down to the armory?" Kirk asked.
 "Together," she said.
 Kirk took her hand.
 The future waited. This time, for both of them.

THIRTY-SEVEN

%.

When the Excelsior had withdrawn a light-year from Chal's
territorial space, the ship's main briefing room was set up for
a formal inquiry.
    The large display screen no longer showed the starship's
schematic. Instead, a series of still frames from the bridge
recorders filled the screen. They showed the sequence of

252                                                                                 253

events leading up to Suln's requesting that Drake step down
from command. Time codes ran under each image. Uhura
had been busy.
    Like the others gathered in the room, Chekov had not yet
taken his seat. Admiral Drake had still to arrive. Everyone
was too tense to pretend that what would happen next was
merely a formality.
  "So what are the odds this time, Spock?" McCoy asked.
     Uhura, Sulu, and Chekov ceased their own conversation,
waiting for Spock's reply. "For what, Doctor?"
 "For us getting away with this."
    Spock thought a moment. "If we analyze our present
situation according to regulations, we have done nothing
wrong. Therefore, there is nothing to 'get away with,' as you
put it."
 "And if we don't go by regulations?" McCoy prodded.
 "Anything is possible," Spock said.
    McCoy rolled his eyes. "Thank you for those reassuring
words."
 "They were not meant to reassure."
 "No kidding."
    "Doctor, even to you it should come as no surprise that we
are in a precarious position."
    "Well," McCoy said, "you were going to leave Starfleet
anyway, so what's a discharge a few months early going to
matter?"
    "I do not refer to our position within Starfleet. That is
covered by regulation and we were justified in pointing out to
Admiral Drake that his orders were inappropriate."
  "Then what do you mean by precarious?"
    "The admiral does not appear to be engaged in a Starfleet
mission."
 That got everyone's attention.
 Sulu sat down on the corner of the conference table. He

254

knew how Spock's mind worked. "What did we miss, Captain
Spock?"
    "When the admiral was confronting Captain Kirk, he
ordered our Klingon escorts to prepare to fire their torpe-
does," Spock said. "No matter how far along the peace
process is with the Empire, it is highly improbable that any
Klingon commander would place his ship in a position where
it would be expected to take orders from a Starfleet officer."
    Chekov remembered the readings on his tactical display.
"But Keptin Spock, as soon as the admiral gave that order, the
Klingon wessels did arm their torpedoes."
    "Precisely, Commander," Spock agreed. "Which I take as
evidence that the Klingon ships may be other than Klingon
armed forces."
 "Mercenaries," Uhura said. "In battle cruisers."
 "That has some significance to you?" Spock asked.
     "They vere our mission objectives," Chekov answered.
"When ve vere undercover." "Fascinating," Spock said.
    McCoy looked back and forth from Spock to Chekov and
Uhura, missing something. "The commander in chief of
Starfleet is commanding Klingon mercenary ships? How in
blazes does that happen?"
    "The answer to your question lies in the sequence of events,
Doctor. Following the events at Khitomer and the arrest of
Admiral Cartwright, Starfleet Intelligence began an intensive
effort to halt the sale of Klingon armaments on the illegal
markets. That effort was specifically directed at obtaining the
type of vessels now apparently under Admiral Drake's com-
mand." Spock looked at Chekov and Uhura. "During your
mission, were you successful in negotiating the sale of
Klingon battle cruisers?"
 "At least five attempts led to arrests," Uhura said.
 "Do you know the disposition of those vessels?"
 Chekov shrugged. "Ve vere used to initiate the deals. Jade

255

vould take over for the money negotiations, and then other
agents vould make the arrests."
    Spock nodded. "And because you were out of direct contact
with Starfleet, you had no way of knowing the end results of
your efforts."
 Uhura frowned. "Only what Jade told us."
    "So," Spock concluded, "the Klingon vessels accompany-
ing the admiral may have been obtained as a result of coopting
the efforts of Starfleet Intelligence."
    Sulu interrupted. "Captain Spock, with respect, sir, this is
all circumstantial."
 "What is?" Spock asked.
    "This case you seem to be building that Admiral Drake is
connected to Jade's efforts to get the Children of Heaven."
    "He is here," Spock said patiently. "If obtaining the
Children of Heaven were a Starfleet objective, there are many
other commanders to whom the task could have been dele-
gated. The fact that Drake is personally involved, backed by
Klingon mercenary ships, suggests this is not a Starfleet
operation."
    "You're forgetting, Captain Spock," Sulu said. "The admir-
al is also backed up by the Excelsior."
    "Vhat has happened to you?!" Chekov exploded. "Starfleet
gives you command of this ship and you lose your common
sense?"
    Sulu did not respond to Chekov's anger. "I worked hard for
this ship, Pavel. I respect the chain of command that gave it to
me."
 "It sounds more like you vorship them."
    Sulu got to his feet and jabbed a finger at Chekov. "Don't
push our friendship. Or your luck. I can understand the
pressure you've been under. But this isn't Dark Range any-
more. We're professionals who have a job to do."
    Uhura crossed her arms and stood shoulder to shoulder
with Chekov. "Then do it."

     Sulu seemed surprised that a confrontation was developing.
 "I am."
    McCoy put himself between Sulu on one side and Chekov
and Uhura on the other. "I don't think that's what she means,
Captain."
    For the first time, a glimmer of anger broke through Sulu's
professional detachment. "There is nothing going on here that
is not covered by regulations, Doctor. I ammwe are all
compelled to follow our orders until such time as conditions
warrant otherwise."
    Chekov took a step forward. As far as he was concerned,
Sulu might need another punch in the nose to get his thinking
in gear. "You're vorking for Drake, aren't you?"
    Sulu started forward, only to be restrained by McCoy. "I'm
working for Starfleet! The way you should be!"
    Chekov wasn't prepared to push past the doctor. He turned
to Spock. "Are you going to let him get avay vith this?"
 Without hesitation, Spock took up a position beside Sulu.
 Chekov was shocked.
     "Commander Chekov," Spock said, "I assure you Captain
Sulu's actions are logical, legal, and proper." "But are they right?" Chekov asked.
    "As he has pointed out," Spock explained, "all we have are
suspicions. Nothing concrete."
    McCoy kept his position in the middle. "What's it going to
take to convince you one way or the other, Spock?"
    "That will depend on Admiral Drake's next action. If it is
reasonable, then--"
    'Why must ve wait for him? Vhy can't ve take the next
action?" Chekov interrupted.
    McCoy flashed a strained smile at Chekov, trying to defuse
the tension. "Commander, perhaps you've been undercover
too long."
 "So now you're on his side?"
    "We're all on the same side. All that's going on here is a
disagreement over tactics."

256                                                                               257

    "There is no 'disagreement,'" Sulu said sternly. "This is my
ship. I'm in command."
    That was Chekov's breaking point. "And you're putting
Captain Kirk in danger!" He pushed forward, forcing McCoy
out of the way.
 Uhura grabbed at Chekov's uniform jacket.
 Sulu turned sideways, ready to defend himself.
 Spock pulled Sulu back, positioning himself before Chekov.
 One more second, and the first blow would be struck.
 The briefing room doors slid open.
 Everyone froze as Admiral Drake stepped in.
    For a moment, his eyes widened as he realized what he had
just interrupted.
    Then he brought his wide, insincere grin into play. "Nor-
mally, I'd say 'As you were.' But in this case, I think I'll just
ask everyone to take a seat."
    Chekov and Sulu exchanged an angry glance. Chekov
tugged on his jacket.
    He and Uhura sat at one end of the briefing table. Sulu and
Spock sat at the other. McCoy chose the middle.
    Drake walked over to the display screen, studying the
images. Then he turned to face his audience.
    "Those records won't be necessary," he said. "Captain
Sulu... all of you... I am prepared to acknowledge that
you were performing your duty when you... 'reminded' me
of Starfleet regulations."
    Instantly, Chekov knew Drake was setting them up for
something. His opening statement could only be a distraction.
    "However," Drake continued, "to perform my duty, I must
point out to you that there are certain diplomatic concerns at
stake here. Which I cannot reveal to you." Drake's eyes
narrowed as his smile vanished. "And, if I choose to, those
concerns are more than enough to authorize me to place all of
you in the brig pending court-martial."
    He looked them all in the eye again, then turned the smile
back on.

258

    "But I, for one, understand the mitigating circumstances of
the intense, personal loyalty you feel to your old captain. And
I salute you for it."
    Chekov was confused. Everything he had come to know
about Drake had led him to expect some form of censure, if
not punishment.
    McCoy voiced the confusion Chekov felt. "So what's the
purpose of this damned inquiry, Admiral?"
    Drake gestured magnanimously. "There is no inquiry.
Simple as that. Because this is a delicate situation, I will make
a full report to the Federation president and Chancellor
Azetbur, asking for their explicit direction. I will make their
responses known to you, so that you will understand the
reasoning behind your orders. Since that process will take at
least two days, in the meantime I will direct the Excelsior to
monitor the Enterprise's location. As long as the Enterprise
remains within the Chal system, we will stand by." "What if the Enterprise leaves?" Sulu asked.
    "Then we will follow. At a distance. Until we receive further
instructions. Is that acceptable, Captain Sulu?"
    The commander in chief of Starfleet had just asked a
captain if his orders were suitable. Chekov was glad to see
Sulu look uncomfortable.
 "It seems to fall within regulations," Sulu answered.
 "Vhat about the Klingons?" Chekov asked.
     Drake nodded, as if that were a question Chekov was within
his rights to ask. "They will stand by with us." No one said anything else.
     "Thank you for your... indulgence," Drake said, "in what
is a difficult situation." He headed for the doors. "That is all."
 In a moment, he was gone.
 The silence he had left behind was brittle.
    "Well?" McCoy asked Spock. "Was that reasonable
enough?"
 "Too reasonable," Spock said.
 McCoy sighed. "How can you be too reasonable?"

259

    "We challenged the admiral's authority and he has accepted
and excused it without a formal inquiry. That can only mean
he has something to hide."
"Or," Uhura said, "he's in a hurry to do something else."
"But what?" Sulu asked. "Think about what you're suggest-
ing. I mean, how can a traitor possibly be chosen by the
Federation Council to be Starfleet's commander in chief?.
Starfleet Intelligence would have to be..." Sulu hesitated.
He looked at Chekov, then glanced away.
    "It all comes back to Starfleet Intelligence, doesn't it?"
Chekov said darkly.
    "But how could Drake compromise the entire division so
quickly?" Sulu continued, speaking to himself as much as to
anyone else at the table. "He's only been C in C for a handful
of days."
    "Perhaps Admiral Drake is part of a larger process," Spock
suggested. "I for one would be most interested in knowing his
relationship with Admiral Cartwright."
    Sulu looked pained. "That first time we met with Drake. He
told us he suspected Starfleet Command had been infiltrated
by a cabal of senior officers. That Cartwright was just the tip."
    "Perhaps," Spock suggested, "that was one of the few times
when the admiral was telling us the truth. He only neglected
to mention that he himself was part of that cabal."
 "So vhat do ve do now?" Chekov asked.
 All eyes turned to Sulu.
 The Excelsior was his ship.
 The next move was up to him.
    Chekov wondered if he had the strength to make the right
one.

THIRTY-EIGHT

Kirk and Teilani took their positions on the transporter pads
in the Enterprise. Kirk still wore his civilian clothes, though
he was outfitted with a disruptor pistol, communicator, and
combat tricorder. Teilani wore her jumpsuit, similarly
equipped.
     In Kirk's eyes, the outfit added to her years. She looked
ready for a fight in a way she hadn't before the jungle assault.
 Innocence lost, Kirk thought.
    Scott adjusted his controls at the operator's console.
"Locked on t' the Armory's coordinates." He made a soft
whistle. "That's a large installation."
 "It's the biggest structure on Chal," Kirk said.
    "More than that, sir. It extends underground through
almost the entire city."
    Kirk looked at Teilani but saw no comprehension in her
eyes. "As far as we've ever been told, the Armory's our power
station," she said.
 "What about it, Scotty? Any sign of power generators?"
    "Aye. But they only make up about a fraction of what's
down there."
 "Any idea what is down there?"
    Scott looked puzzled. "Not with these sensors. Lots of
equipment. Most of it dormant." His puzzlement turned to a
frown. "That's a sly little trick." "What is?" Kirk asked.
 "They've got a transporter shield over the place. Hidden in

260                                                                                261

th' power generator fields so it would disperse any beam that
struck it before an operator could recover the signal."
    Kirk attention sha~ened. The sensor maps of the Armory's
exterior had revealed no entrances. Teilani had confirmed
that the Chal were aware of no way in.
    "Someone's gone t' a lot of trouble to keep visitors out,"
Scott said. His fingers tapped over the controls. "But the
modulation routines are fairly old-fashioned."
    "Forty years?" Kirk asked. That was when the colony had
been founded.
    "That would be about right," Scotty said absently. Then he
smiled. "We're through!"
 "No chance we'll be scattered?" Kirk asked.
 "None at all," Scott said proudly.
    "In that case, keep a lock on us the whole time we're down
there, and energize."
    The transporter chime grew as the surrounding room
seemed to break apart into glowing bits of energy.
    "Of course," Kirk heard Scotty's warbling voice say, "when
I say 'none,' I mean very little .... "
    Before Kirk could respond, a new location formed around
him.
 He saw it only in the glow from the transporter effect.
 When he felt solid, he was in utter darkness.
 "James?" Teilani asked from beside him.
     "I'm right here," Kirk said. "Don't move. We'll ask Mr.
Scott to beam down some lights and then..." Lights flickered overhead.
Far overhead. Two hundred meters at least, Kirk estimated.
A geodesic pattern of glowing light channels took form.
There was something odd about it, though. Their pattern was
precisely regular, but they only covered half the enormous
ceiling.
    Then they brightened enough that Kirk could see there was
something hanging above him, directly overhead, blocking
almost half the ceiling from his view.

    The light channels continued to intensify until the enclo-
sure Kirk and Teilani had transported to was as bright as day.
    The object above them was a Romulan Bird-of-Prey. An old
one.
    Kirk had seen one just like it, almost thirty years earlier,
when the first cloaked Romulan vessel had tested Federation
resolve at the Neutral Zone.
 Teilani stared up at it. "James, what is it?"
     "An old Romulan starship. But it can't possibly be here. It
must be a holoprojection of some sort."
 Kirk used his combat tricorder.
 The ship was real.
 "Why would they bury a starship?" Kirk asked.
 "James, look over there."
    One hundred meters away, new lights were coming on.
They seemed to originate from within a series of transparent
display cases which ringed the wide plaza on which Kirk and
Teilani now stood. Directly behind and on top of the display
cases, Kirk recognized Romulan data conduits. The flickering
status lights that lit the dull gray tubes indicated the presence
of a major computer complex.
    "There must be some type of life-form sensor operating,"
Kirk said. "When our presence was detected, the installation
was switched on." Kirk aimed his tricorder at the lit display
cases.
 "But why?" Teilani asked.
    Kirk's tricorder registered no energy sources other than the
light fixtures and the computer pathways. No explosives. No
booby traps.
 "Time to find out," he said.
    The floor they crossed was polished black stone. Kirk
recognized the patterns in it as the same in the rock around
Chal's city. Whatever the purpose of the structure they were
in, it had apparently been carved from solid rock.
    By the time Kirk saw what was in the first display case,
though, the Armory's purpose was becoming clearer.

262                                                                                 263

  "It's a museum," Kirk told Teilani.
     The display before them contained a mannequin outfitted
 in a Romulan warrior's uniform, again forty years old in style.
    Mounted beside it, a series of hand weapons were also on
exhibit, power cells removed.
    There was a white floor panel before the display case. Kirk's
tricorder identified a pressure mechanism under it. Teilani
tapped her foot against the panel.
    A voice spoke to them from a grille above the display case.
At the same time, a spotlight shone on the first weapon--a
small hand disruptor.
  "Is the voice Romulan?" Kirk asked.
  Teilani nodded. "It's explaining how to use the weapon."
    "I suppose your colony's founders didn't want you to lose
your heritage."
      The voice paused as the spotlight dimmed. Then a second
weapon was illuminated and the voice began again.
  "Unusual," Teilani said.
  "What?"
    "The last thing the recording said." She looked up at Kirk.
"There are ten thousand of those hand disruptors stored
here."
     "The Armory," Kirk murmured. The name suddenly made
perfect sense. "It's not a museum, it's a munitions dump."
 "For what purpose?"
 Kirk shrugged. What other purpose could there be. "War."
 "With whom?"
 Kirk tapped his chest. "With me. The Federation."
    He glanced down the curving wall of display cases. Many
held other mannequins. Some in environmental suits. Some
in camouflage.
    "Forty years ago, the Romulans and the Klingons must
have been preparing for an all-out war with the Federation. So
they founded Chal to be a secret supply base. In case the
Federation overwhelmed either or both empires, Chal could

supply a surviving force with the weapons they needed to
continue the fight."
 Teilani stared in at the Romulan weapons.
 Kirk watched her reflection in the clear panel.
 He could see what she was thinking.
 That she and her kind were one of those weapons.
 Teilani began walking along the curve of the cases.
    Each pressure panel she stepped on began an informational
sequence.
    Dozens of recorded Romulan voices whispered in the
Armory. Spotlights flared and dimmed on hand weapons,
medical equipment, computer consoles, ration containers,
navigation and communication devices, protective clothing,
tactical bombs, enough supplies for an army.
    Kirk stared up at the Bird-of-Prey. He could see the pylons
holding it in position. One of the display cases would no
doubt contain the information for opening the roof of the
Armory and flying the spacecraft skyward.
    He wouldn't be surprised to find a Klingon battle cruiser
down here, as well. Perhaps an entire section filled with
Klingon display cases.
    Teilani had moved ahead of him as he had studied the
starship.
 He saw her in front of the first display case in the series.
 Her hands were pressed against its clear viewing panel.
 He went to her side.
 It was the proof of her suspicions.
 What Kirk had expected.
 The mannequins were more lifelike in this display.
 A Romulan male and a Klingon female held a baby.
 The baby had a furrowed brow. Pointed ears.
    A holographic projection came to life. DNA molecules spun
within it. Separated, moved together in combination.
    Parts of the twisted molecule were trimmed by quick flashes
of atomically precise particle beams.

264                                                                                   265

    Another display showed egg cells being mechanically
opened by microscalpels, so their dark nucleii could be
replaced with new ones.
    "We were made," Teilani said. She looked at her hands.
"Genetically engineered."
      Kirk put his hand on her shoulder. Remembered how
quickly it had healed. Understood the reason why.
 "There is no shame in that, Teilani."
    She shrugged loose from his touch. Turned around the
corner.
  He gave her her privacy.
      He thought about the marks Sam had carved into the frame
of his bedroom door, charting his growth.  He remembered his father's wisdom.
      It was necessary to know where you had come from. Only
then could you know where you were going.
 This was the beginning for Teilani.
 He heard her gasp.
 Kirk sped around the corner.
    Another curve of display cases ran there, also backed by
enormous data conduits. Teilani leaned against the tenth case
along, her fist against the clear panel. Her cheek pressed
against it.
 Kirk glanced into the cases as he passed.
 Holographic images flashed before him.
 Federation starships laying waste to planets.
 Romulan and Klingon cities in ruins.
    Kirk recognized them as scenarios for battles feared but
never fought.
 In another case, another display.
 Klingon and Romulan bodies among the ruins.
    It was as if Kirk looked through a window he had never
known. Is this what had driven the two empires? This fear of
annihilation? Not knowing that the Federation would never
have pursued such destruction. That their fears were ground-
less.

    Among the holographically constructed ruins, Chal
emerged.
    Male and female Chal, combining the heritage of their
creators.
 Images flashed.
    The Chal worked among the ruins. Lived among the ruins.
Children played around them as the ruins were re-formed. As
a devastated world was rebuilt.
 As the holographic images of the Chal grew old.
    Kirk stopped a few meters from Teilani. "Don't you see,"
he said. "You're not genetically engineered to fight. You're
genetically engineered to thrive in environments polluted by
energy radiation, biological warfare agents. You're survi-
vors."
    Spock had said it that night at the reception in Starfleet's
Great Hall. Hybrids generally take on the most positive
attributes of their parents, becoming exceptional specimens.
    But when Teilani looked at him, tears streaked her young
face.
    "Teilani, no," Kirk said gently. He reached out to brush the
tears and the sorrow from her. "The people who founded this
colony loved you. You were their hope for the future. Even if
their civilization crumbled in a war that could never happen,
you, your brothers and sisters, would carry on to the future.
You are their children."
    Kirk understood the Klingon phrase now. Chalchaj 'qmey.
"The Children of Heaven," he said. "All that is good."
    But Teilani slowly shook her head. Turned back to the
display case. As if mesmerized by its contents.
    Kirk moved to her side. Placed an arm around her shoul-
ders.
 Looked in.
  Saw the holographic displays that so held her.
  Felt his stomach tighten.
  For what I am going to tell .you, please forgive me, Torl had

266                                                                                  267

said while captive in the Enterprise's brig. Remember that in
the decades past our people were manipulated by their rulers to
hate you. To consider your species as nothing more than
animals.
      Genetic engineering was only part of what made the Chal so
fit, so strong, so impervious to injury.
 There had also been operations.
 Transplants. Of tissues and organs.
 From humans.
  This case didn't project holographic simulations.
    They were actual real-time images of men and women,
some in forty-year-old Starfleet uniforms.
    Butchered. By alien surgeons. For the organic material
necessary to create each Child of Heaven.
  Teilani threw herself into Kirk's rigid arms.
  "Forgive me," she cried, racked with sobs.
  Torl had called this world an obscenity.
     For peace to have its chance, let this worm die. And all its
)secrets with it, he had pleaded.
  Kirk understood why now.
  So did Teiiani.
    "The Anarchists are right," she wept. "Chal must be
destroyed."
 Kirk turned his eyes from the atrocities before him.
 The origin of Chal could not be forgotten.
 Could never be forgotten.
 But the innocent could not be punished with the guilty.
 "No," Kirk told Teilani.
    She looked up at him in shock. Kirk went on, realizing
that each word he said to her was a word he should say to
himself.
    "Teilani, we're not responsible for the world we're born
into. Only for the world we leave when we die. So we have to
accept what's gone before us in the past, and work to change
the only thing we can--the future."

     Teilani's fingers pressed against the display case. "How can
I change this?" "You can't."
 "Then what's the point of anything?"
    Kirk remembered the words Scott had said. Because other-
wise, we will surely go mad, desperately seeking that which we
cannae have. He remembered what Spock had said. To refuse
to accept the inevitable is the first step toward obsolescence, and
extinction.
    Kirk wondered how he could have ignored his friends for
so long. To not see the treasures that were already part of his
life.
    "The point is to change what we can. To leave this universe
so that others can make it even better. And not to turn away
from the challenges it gives us."
    McCoy's words came back to him. The only thing that's new
is the Enterprise-B.
 For an instant, he saw the new ship's command chair.
    And in that instant, he knew he could ignore its siren
call.
 That chair would be Harriman's challenge.
 Kirk knew there would be others for himself.
 Not distractions. Not escapes.
 But work.
 His work.
 "Show me how, James. Show me how to not turn away."
    Kirk drew Teilani to him and held her close. Without the
passion of the past. But with love.
     "You already know how," he said gently. "Just by coming
down here, you showed you know how." And Kirk knew how, too.
     He had crossed the light-years to discover what he had
always known, but never understood.
 Life was for living.
 No more. No less.

268                                                                                 269

 And to wait for it to end, as it must, was to waste it.
 His horizon was near.
 But for the first time in his life, he felt ready to meet it.
 As he felt ready to meet all the challenges of his life.
 On his own terms.
    "I don't know if the Chal can live with their secret," Teilani
said. She forced a smile through her tears. "But I can help
them try."
 Kirk hugged Teitani.
 It was like holding a child in his arms.
 A child of the future.
 A future he had helped to survive.
    "Thank you, James. For being the hero we needed. That I
needed."
 He kissed her forehead. Her warrior's brow.
    "I should thank you," he said. "I suppose we both
should--"
    "Drop your weapons and raise your hands," a stranger
said.
    Kirk and Teilani spun around to face a human woman
whose drawn phaser was leveled at them.
    Kirk had no idea how long she might have been in the
Armory with them.
 "Who the hell are you?" Kirk asked.
    "What a fitting choice of words," the woman said. "I'm
Ariadne Drake. And that's where you're headed."

THIRTY-NINE

As soon as she voiced her name, Kirk saw the resemblance,
knew who she must be.
 "Can't your father fight his own battles?" Kirk asked.
    Ariadne flashed a smile, as cold and unfeeling as Kirk
remembered Androvar Drake's to be.
 "You aren't a battle, Kirk. You're a mopping-up exercise."
    She motioned with her phaser. Kirk recognized it as
Starfleet-issue.
 "Move away from the display case," Ariadne said.
 Teilani looked to Kirk. He shook his head.
 Teilani stood her ground.
    "Isn't that touching," Ariadne said. "You're willing to die
for him."
 "For my world," Teilani said defiantly.
    "What world? Chal is a test tube. And you're just a medical
experiment."
    Kirk knew he could never draw his disruptor fast enough to
drop Ariadne before she fired. So he calculated how many
steps it would take to reach her. When she could be expected
to fire, how he might roll to avoid it.
 But if she didn't track him, she'd be able to hit Teilani.
 He wasn't willing to risk that. Not at these odds.
 "1 won't say it again--move away from the case."
    Kirk held his place. The only reason he could see for why
Ariadne didn't shoot right away was because she was worried

270                                                                                            271

about damaging whatever was in the case. He thought he
could use that against her. "You'll never learn what's in it," he
said.
    "I already know what's there," Ariadne told him. She held
up a tricorder. More Starfleet equipment. "I've been watching
you and recording since you got here and activated the
displays. You see, they aren't triggered by human life signs.
Only by animals like her."
  "The Chal are not animals," Kirk said.
    Ariadne cool glance chilled him. "You've seen how they
were bred, how they were manufactured. If you can still
believe they're human, then my father was right about you.
You've lost whatever fire you had."
 "At least I haven't lost my mind," Kirk said.
 "But you've lost your honor."
    Kirk thought that was an odd thing to say. But Teilani
reacted more strongly.
    Of course, Kirk thought. Her Klingon upbringing. A charge
of lost honor was the ultimate insult.
    Ariadne was trying to break the bond they shared. Divide
and conquer.
 "That's a lie," Teilani warned.
    "It's the truth," Ariadne said. "He even lied to you about
why he came here."
    Involuntarily, Teilani glanced at Kirk. She had no experi-
ence in confrontations such as this.
 "She's just trying to provoke you," Kirk said.
    "Go ahead," Ariadne taunted, "ask him why he's here with
you."
 "He came because he loves me," Teilani said.
    Ariadne laughed. She gestured at Kirk with her phaser.
"Fool. He's been at war with the Klingon Empire--and the
Romulans--since before you were born."
    "That wafts over and done with," Kirk said. He looked at
Ariadne. "Put down your phaser. There's nothing here for
yOU."

"Oh, yes there is. I want what you came for. Eternal youth."
"There is no youth here," Kirk said. And with that he
finally accepted the truth for himselfi In a world undamaged
by war, Teilani and her people would stay young for decades.
It was in their genetic structure. But there was nothing on
Chal that he had not brought himself.
 Love. Excitement. Challenge.
 Passion.
 Spock had been right.
    Teilani looked at Kirk, confused. "But James, you said you
felt younger. You are younger."
    Kirk couldn't help smiling, in spite of Ariadne's phaser.
"You didn't give me any choice. Keeping up with you is like
training for a marathon."
    "He's lying to you," Ariadne sneered. "He's known all
about the Children of Heaven project from the beginning.
What it could mean to him."
    "It can mean nothing to me," Kirk said. "The Chal have
been genetically engineered for health and youth. Their
bodies' systems have been augmented by transplants."
    "Human transplants," Ariadne said with a terrible smile.
"And that works both ways."
 Kirk saw instantly what Ariadne meant.
 But Teilani didn't.
    "Eternal youth--from the combination of Klingon and
Romutan genetics, and human tissue," Ariadne explained.
"For the process to work on the Chal, their creators used
transplants from human donors of tissues that could not be
cloned. But humans already have those tissues. So for the
process to work on us, all we will need will be transplants
from the Chal."
 Teilani grabbed Kirk's arm. "James, is that true?"
 Kirk's expression confirmed her fears.
    "See?" Ariadne gloated. "That's all you are to Kirk. That's
all any of the Chal are to humans. Cattle. Bred as a source of
transplant tissues."

272                                                                                   273

      Teilani looked at Kirk with an expression of betrayal. "Did
you know about us?"  "No," Kirk said.
  "Ask him if he wanted youth," Ariadne said.
    Kirk didn't wait to be asked. "I came here because of you,
Teilani."
    "But who brought you to the Armory?" Ariadne asked.
"Kirk did. Because of the library computer. He knows it has
all the medical files he needs to understand the process that
created you. So he can be young forever."
 Teilani had no defenses against the poison Ariadne spewed.
    But Kirk did. And Kirk had heard the one piece of
information he had been missing.
    The library computer. Ariadne said he wanted the files in it.
Which meant she wanted the files.
    That was why she hadn't killed them where they stood.
Phaser emissions might disrupt the energy flow in the data
conduits that ringed the display cases.
 "For the last time," Ariadne said. "Move away."
    Kirk took Teilani into his arms. She fought against him but
he hissed a question into her ear.
 "How long can you stop your heart?"
 The question stopped her.
 "Step away from her!" Ariadne warned.
 "How long?" Kirk repeated.
 "Three minutes, maybe four," Teilani said.
 "If you want to know the truth, do it," Kirk whispered.
 "Now!" Ariadne shouted.
 Kirk stepped back from Teilani. "I had to say good-bye."
 Ariadne aimed her phaser.
 Kirk began to move to the side, away from the case.
 "You, too," Ariadne told Teilani.
 Teilani's eyes rolled up to show her whites.
 With a moan, she slumped to the floor.
    The attackers at the farm had used the same trick of
autonomic self-control to make Kirk think he had killed

274

them. So he would leave their bodies and allow them to
escape.
  "I'm not falling for that," Ariadne said. "If you--"
    In the absence of Klingon-Romulan life signs, the lights of
the Armory cut out.
  Instantly, Kirk was enveloped in absolute darkness.
    He heard Ariadne swear. Heard her phaser beep as she
adjusted its power settings.
  But by then his disruptor was in his hand and he fired.
  Full power.
    In the strobelike flashes of the weapon's discharge, the
display case exploded.
     Kirk dropped to the floor, skidded to the side as Ariadne
fired a stun burst where he had been standing. He fired again, into the data conduits.
    A chain reaction sped along the gray panels behind the row
of cases.
 Ariadne's voice rose with rage.
 Kirk changed position again.
 But this time Ariadne didn't fire.
    He heard her boots charge across the stone floor even as a
series of explosions blossomed at connecting points along the
data conduits.
 The lights in the Armory began to power up again.
 Kirk ran to Teilani as she returned to consciousness.
    She looked around in confusion, silently asking what
happened.
 "I destroyed the computer."
 Teilani stared at him intently, seeking truth. Seeking honor.
    "Then you've destroyed the secret that could have made
you young forever."
 Kirk thought of Torl's words.
 "But at what cost?"
 Kirk heard Ariadne curse.
 He left Teilani, ran to the woman.
 She had broken the transparent panel of a different display

275

case, stepped into it. There was a library computer console
inside. She was frantically trying to pull datachips from it.
 But flames flickered at its side. The metal was blistering hot.
 Ariadne's fingers were streaked with blood.
    Kirk reached through the shattered panel and pulled her
out.
 She kicked and struggled in his grip.
 "You fool! You don't know what you've done!"
 "Yes, I do," Kirk told her.
    He grabbed Ariadne's phaser from her belt. It was set to
kill. But before he could adjust it, he heard a transporter
cascade begin.
 Five meters away, four columns of light took form.
 Orange columns, not blue.
 Klingons.
 And Androvar Drake was with them.

FORTY

Kirk held the phaser to Ariadne's head.
    But the three Klingons aimed their disruptors at Kirk as if
Ariadne weren't present.
 The commander in chief of Starfleet simply smiled.
 "Go ahead, Jimbo. Press the firing stud."
 "At this range," Kirk warned, "even stun can be fatal."
    "C'est la guerre," the admiral said. "Isn't that right, Com-
mander Drake?"
    Ariadne didn't struggle against Kirk's chokehold. "I'm
ready to die for what I believe in."

    Admiral Drake folded his hands behind his back. "Like
father like daughter, eh, Jimbo?" He took a step forward.
    Kirk felt the heat from the flames in the shattered display
case behind him. Teilani ran to his side.
    One Klingon tracked her with his disruptor as if he were
computer-guided.
    "What's keeping you, Jimbo?" Drake taunted. "Oh, that's
right, I forgot. You're the fraud in Starfleet. The famous
starship captain who chokes when it counts."
    Kirk shoved the emitter node of the phaser against
Ariadne's temple, making her gasp with surprise. "I'm not in
Starfleet anymore. I've got nothing to lose."
    "Except your nerve. Isn't that right, Jimbo?" Drake ad-
vanced another step. "Like when you hesitated on Tycho IV?
You think Captain Garrovick would believe you now? Do you
think he'd believe you might actually do something?"
    "I did the right thing on Tycho IV, Drake. More than you
know."
 "What excuse have you got for the war, Jimbo?"
    Kirk didn't follow Drake's reasoning. He glanced at the
Klingons. One was making hand gestures to the other. A
battle code, Kirk knew. But he couldn't decipher it.
 "What war?"
    "The war," Drake said. "The great war that never hap-
pened. Because of you. And you don't even remember, do
you?"
    Kirk shook his head. The Klingons began to spread out,
keeping Kirk, Ariadne, and Teilani in their crossfire.
    Admiral Drake looked up at the distant ceiling, admiring
the Bird-of-Prey.
    "Twenty-seven, twenty-eight years ago. Stardate 3198.4.
Doesn't ring a bell? I was in the Kalinora Sector. Two Klingon
battle cruisers had picked off a Starfleet hospital ship. Said it
was on a spying mission." Drake looked back at Kirk.
Something had changed in him. His eyes were even colder,
emptier.

276                                                                                   277

"A spying mission, Jimbo. Women and children were on
that ship. My wife was on that ship."
    Kirk stepped back, closer to the flames. Teilani followed.
Ariadne didn't fight him. The curve of the display cases meant
the Klingons couldn't flank him. But Kirk knew that if Drake
really did believe his daughter was expendable, they could
drop Kirk at any moment.
    "The galaxy was different back then," Kirk said. "We were
on the brink of war."
    "Oh, we weren't on the brink of war, Jimbo. We were at
war. I chased those Klingon ships." Drake ran a finger along
his scar. "Got this blowing the first one out of space. Told
Starfleet what had happened. The Code One signal went out.
We were at war."
    Kirk remembered that. Not the date, but Starfleet's declara-
tion of war. It seemed fitting to Kirk that that low point in
Federation history had somehow been precipitated by Drake.
    Kirk tightened his grip around Ariadne's shoulders and
neck. It was clear that the Klingons were going to try and stun
him from different angles at once, hoping he wouldn't be able
to discharge the phaser in time. It was a risky strategy. A
disruptor stun made muscles contract. Even in the face of a
heavy disruptor fire, Kirk would be able to fire the phaser.
"That war never went anywhere," Kirk said.
    "Because of you," Drake shot back. A vein pulsed in his
neck. "You brought the Organians into the war. And the
Organians stopped it before it could begin. Before I could
punish the Klingons who had killed my wife."
    "If your Klingons fire now, you'll be killing your own
daughter."
    "But I'll be able to take revenge on the one responsible,
won't IT'
    For just an instant, Kirk wondered what it would be like to
tighten his arm against Ariadne's throat. To feel her struggle.
Go limp. Die by his hand. "You already have," he said
quietly.

278

           ~He A~He~ Oe eDeN

    Drake cocked his head, as if not quite understanding what
Kirk meant.
  Then Drake smiled.
  Genuinely.
    "Ah, you found out about David. The young man eager to
make a name for himself. Hungry for protomatter."
    An explosion echoed through the vast chamber. The
Klingons turned their heads to see a ball of flame roll along
the data conduit opposite Kirk's position. Whatever chain
reaction Kirk had set off inside the library computer, it was
spreading.
    But Drake was not distracted. His complcte attention
focused on Kirk. As it had been since they'd first met at the
Academy.
    "You should be proud of your son," Drake said. "Thanks to
his pioneering work and great sacrifices, Starfleet will be
resuming protomatter research. Under my direction. In fact,
when we test the first protobomb, you can be sure I'll give
David the public honor he's due."
"He was a child!" Kirk said. "He didn't know the risks!"
"Neither do you, Jimbo." Drake shook his head in scorn.
"Now, either kill my daughter or drop your weapon. For once
in your life, do something!"
    Kirk thought of David. He increased the pressure on the
firing stud.
 He wanted to see Drake broken.
 Defeated by the greatest loss a parent could know.
 As Kirk had been defeated on the Genesis Planet.
 And it would be so easy now.
 But at what cost?
 Kirk dropped the phaser, kicked it away. Released Ariadne.
 She hesitated a moment, then rushed to her father's side.
    Drake smirked at him. "'I always knew you were a coward,
Kirk."
    Teilani stayed with Kirk. Held his arm. Protected. Not
protecting.

279

    "I know what it's like to lose a child," Kirk said. "I won't be
a party to that. Even to stop you."
    Drake walked over to retrieve Ariadne's phaser. "I'm so
very deeply touched. As will be my associates in Starfleet
Command." Drake changed the setting on the phaser.
Pointed it at Kirk. "There're are seven of us left. Not even
Cartwright knew us all. Safer that way." "Who are they?" Kirk asked.
    "All you need to know is that they're patriots, dedicated to
keeping the Federation free of alien influences. We've had too
much of that recently." Drake waved the phaser at Teilani.
"That's all right, Teilani. The charade is over. You can come
back to me, now."
    Kirk knew Drake had said that only to hurt him. But then
he felt Teilani shrink closer to him.
    "That's right," Drake said with amusement. "She's been
working for me all along."
    Kirk looked into Teilani's eyes. The flames from the display
case and the data conduits flashed madly in them. Along with
the truth.
 "I'm sorry, James."
 It explained so much Kirk wasn't even surprised.
     "That's why you didn't approach me at the reception, isn't
it? Because Drake was with me. And you knew him."
 "He told me you wouldn't understand."
 "But I do."
    "My people needed help to survive the Anarchists' attacks.
My aides said the admiral was going to be the new command-
er of Starfleet. That I should go to him. But Drake said the
Federation couldn't get involved in a Klingon-Romulan mat-
ter. He said you were retiring. That you'd accept the chal-
lenge."
    "I gave her your psych file," Drake snickered. "You were an
open book."
    Kirk wouldn't give Drake the satisfaction of seeing how he
really felt.

    "You did what you had to do," he told Teilani. An innocent
pawn in a game between Kirk and an old enemy.
    She squeezed his hand. "But I did fall in love with you. You
must believe that."
Kirk raised her hand to his lips and kissed it. "I do."
Then Kirk turned to face Drake. "I think I can put the rest
together. How you needed someone not involved in Starfleet
to locate Chal."
 Drake nodded imperiously.
    "I'm curious. What were you going to do with the Children
of Heaven process?" Kirk asked. "Bribe Federation oflScials
with eternal youth? Get them to overturn treaties? Stop the
peace talks?"
    "Everyone has a price, Jimbo. Yours has always been your
vanity."
    "I think you're underestimating the people we have in
Starfleet," Kirk said. "They won't accept such outright ma-
nipulation."
    Drake's phaser never wavered. "Think again, Jimbo. Cart-
wright almost succeeded. Throw in a few assassinations, a
border incident or two, and the paranoia so recently buried in
humanity will come back in force. I guarantee it. I've made an
exhaustive study of it. Under my guidance, my vision, the
Federation will become stronger than ever before. It's the only
way it can survive."
    Kirk slipped his arm around Teilani, holding her closely to
him.
    "Study your history, Drake. If threats of war, bribery, and
murder are the only way the Federation can survive, then it
doesn't deserve to."
    Drake smiled. He handed his phaser to his daughter. "That
kind of attitude only proves your cowardice, Jimbo. You
know what your problem is? You just can't see the future.
Never have. Never will."
    Kirk's grip on Teilani was like duranium. "I can see the
future well enough." As if adjusting his collar, he tugged on

280                                                                               281

the lapel of his jacket. Drake didn't even blink at the tiny
movement. "That's why I didn't even think of coming here
without knowing how to get back."
 Drake frowned uneasily. He turned to his daughter.
 Then Kirk gave an order he had never given before.
 "Beam me up, Scotty."
    As the Armory dissolved into energy around him, Kirk had
the fleeting impression of a phaser beam crackling through
the space he had occupied a heartbeat before.
 But it had no effect on him or Teilani.
 Drake had lost his battle.
 Now it was time to make certain he lost the war.

FORTY-ONE

Kirk stepped down from the transporter platform the instant
the beam released him.
    "Scotty--tell whoever's on communications to raise the
Excelsior. We have to get a message to Starfleet Command
nOW."
    Scott grinned from behind the transporter console. "I think
ye'd better talk to communications yersetf, sir."
     Kirk wasn't in the mood for games. He hit the transmit
control on the console. "Kirk to bridge." "Spock here, Captain."
    "Spock?" Kirk slowly realized that he was standing with his
mouth open. "What are you doing here?"
 "It appears I am waiting for your orders."
 Kirk looked at Scott.

     Scott shrugged. "Captain Spock and the others thought ye
might need a wee bit o' help." "The others?"
 "Aye. It's like old home week, if ye ask me."
    Kirk told Teilani to follow him. He ran out the doors
toward the closest turbolift. He was on the bridge in less than
a minute.
    Spock was in the center chair, vacating it the instant Kirk
stepped from the turbolift.
 Uhura was at what was left of communications.
 Chekov was at tactical.
    And McCoy was trying to stay out of the way at the
engineering station. Which is exactly where Scott headed,
sending the doctor grumbling over to environmental.
 Kirk had to pause for a moment to take it all in.
 He was back.
 They were all back. Except for Sulu.
 "I... I don't know what to say," Kirk stammered.
    The Enterprise suddenly rocked with the impact of a direct
disruptor hit.
    "'Go to Red Alert' might be appropriate," Spock sug-
gested.
    Kirk jumped into his chair. "Red alert! Full shields!
Chekov--report!"
    "Drake has transported back to the Klingon wessel, Keptin!
He is attacking!"
    Kirk gripped the arms of his chair as the Enterprise rocked
again. "Mr. Esys, bring us about. Chekov, lock phase--
disruptors on Drake's ship. Spock--what happened after you
withdrew?"
    "Admiral Drake did not pursue our insubordination with a
formal inquiry."
 "Disruptors locked on, sir!"
 "See what they've got, Mr. Chekov. Fire!"
    On the main viewscreen, the Klingon battle cruiser shud-
dered as its shields flared in a sphere of glowing orange light.

282                                                                                283

    "Their shields are tuned to disruptor fire," Chekov re-
ported with disappointment.
 "Photon torpedoes, Mr. Chekov. Target their port nacelle."
     Kirk turned back to Spock. "Didn't hold an inquiry? So you
immediately knew he had something to hide."
 "Precisely," Spock said.
    McCoy stepped down behind Kirk's chair. Kirk twisted
around. "Teilani, may I introduce Dr. Leonard McCoy. Dr.
McCoy--Teilani."
    Teilani raised an amused eyebrow at Kirk as McCoy kissed
the back of her hand.
    "Charmed, m'dear," McCoy said with his best Southern
drawl.
 "James has told me a great deal about you, Doctor."
 "Very little of it is true, I can assure you."
 "Torpedoes loaded!" Chekov announced.
 "Fire at will."
    The inductance twang of the torpedo launcher echoed twice
in the bridge.
 Two explosions flared off the Klingon's shields.
 "Their shields are at ninety percent," Spock said. "As are
ours."
    "So we're evenly matched?" Kirk asked. He was surprised
at how good it felt to be back in the midst of action. Even
battle.
    "Not exactly," Spock said. "We do have the Excelsior
standing by."
 "Uhr' ~a, hail Captain Sulu."
 "Aye, Captain."
    An instant later, Sulu was on the main viewscreen. He
looked contrite.
 "Captain Kirk, I believe I owe you an apology."
    But Kirk would not accept it. "None needed, Captain Sulu.
I'm well aware of the chain of command. You handled a
difficult situation with--"

    Bridge lights flashed as a Klingon torpedo hit the Enter-
prise's shields.
 "No damage," Spock said.
    "Return fire, Mr. Chekov," Kirk ordered. Then he turned
his attention back to Sulu. "As I was saying, I'm well aware of
how awkward it is to be caught in the middle like that."
    Sulu looked relieved. "Thank you, sir. With Admiral Drake
on one side--"
     "Oh, I didn't mean Drake," Kirk interrupted. "I meant
Spock and McCoy." Sulu laughed.
    "You did what you had to do," Kirk continued, suddenly
serious. "As a starship captain, you had no other choice."
    "Our disruptors aren't making any dent in her shields,"
Chekov said. He looked at Kirk. Then at Sulu on the
viewscreen. For all they had been through, there were no hard
feelings between them.
    Chekov sighed. It seemed he still had a great deal to learn
about starship captains.
    "Captain Sulu, stand ready to make your presence known,"
Kirk said. "Uhura, hail the Klingon vessel."
    Sulu flickered off the viewscreen to be replaced by Drake,
calmly sitting in the Klingon ship's center chair.
    "Do you want to hear my terms for your surrender,
Jimbo?" Drake asked.
    "That won't be necessary, Drake. Captain Sulu, take out
the Klingon's nacelles, please."
     Drake gripped the sides of his chair as the Klingon bridge
twisted under the Excelsior's phaser barrage. Drake barked out commands in Klingon.
    Kirk heard photon torpedoes being launched over the
Klingon audio pickup.
 "The Excelsior is evading fire," Spock announced.
    "Very good," Kirk told the admiral. "But you can't keep up
firepower like that forever."

284                                                                                 285

    "I don't have to," Drake said. "As far as I'm concerned, you
lost this fight the day you arrived."
    The viewscreen cut back to an image of near space in Chal
orbit. Drake's battle cruiser began to bank.
 "His warp engines are powering up," Chekov said.
 Kirk was puzzled. It wasn't like Drake to run from a fight.
    Then the Klingon ship stretched into a rainbow streak and
was gone.
 "Heading, Mr. Chekov?"
 "Out of the system, sir. No obvious destination."
     Teilani grabbed Kirk and kissed him. Kirk saw McCoy and
Uhura's surprised reactions.
 But he didn't care.
 "James! You beat him!"
    "Not yet," Kirk said. He glanced over at Spock. "We have
to keep Drake from contacting any of his co-conspirators in
Starfleet Command. Start tracking him, Mr. Esys."
    Then Sulu came back onscreen. "Captain Kirk, are you
analyzing Drake's course?"
 Kirk looked down at Chekov. "Mr. Chekov?"
    Chekov shook his head. "These sensors can't track him at
high varp speed."
 "Is there a problem, Sulu?"
    Sulu looked as if there were. "I'm transmitting our sensor
readings to your science station."
    A few moments later, Spock looked up from his viewers.
After thirty years of friendship, Kirk could read the signs of
alarm in Spock's placid expression.
 "The admiral is moving into a slingshot trajectory."
 "No," McCoy said in shock.
 "What does that mean, James?"
    Kirk pounded his fist against the arm of his chair. "He's
attempting to go back through time. Probably to ambush us a
week ago, before I had a chance to destroy the library
computer in the Armory. That's what he meant when he said I
had lost the day I had arrived here."

 "Can he really go back to the past?"
    "Unfortunately." Kirk turned back to Sutu. "Captain Sulu,
has any ship of the Excelsior's design ever undergone a
temporal slingshot maneuver?"
 Grimly, Sulu shook his head.
 "The Enterprise has," Kirk said.
 "But not in its present configuration," Spock cautioned.
    "Close enough, Spock." Kirk held out his hand to Sulu.
"What do you say, Captain? One last time around the block?"
    Sulu grinned. "I always seem to say that. Stand by, Enter-
prise."
 3['he viewscreen jumped back to show Chal.
 "James, I don't understand."
    "Sulu has navigated us through the slingshot maneu-
ver several times," Kirk said. "Better drop shields, Mr. Che-
kov."
     A moment after Chekov's acknowledgment, a transporter
beam formed before the viewscreen. Sulu stepped from it.
     "Request permission to come aboard," he said. Then he
went straight to the navigator's station. Mr. Esys slipped out of his chair.
    "Captain Sulu," Kirk said. "Lay in an intercept course and
proceed."
    Sulu manipulated the helm controls like a concert pianist.
Chal fell away from the viewscreen and the stars began to
smear as the Enterprise jumped to warp.
    Scott leaned down by Kirk. "I dinna know if this is th' time
t' be tellin' ye, but I dinna think th' Enterprise can withstand a
temporal jump."
    Kirk felt like laughing. He was back in a life-or-death chase
on the bridge of the Enterprise, with his full command crew at
his side.
 All of them. Even Sulu.
    No matter what the future held, he knew he could not lose
today.

286                                                                                 287

    "With any luck, Mr. Scott, we'll intercept Drake before he
snaps around the sun."
    The bridge rumbled with the whine of the warp engines.
But the stars moved faster. The Enterprise still accelerated.
    "We're going to hit some gravimetric turbulence," Sulu
warned. "That's a binary sun."
    "The Klingon ship's not built for this kind of action," Kirk
said. "Just get us within disruptor range so we can spoil his
trajectory. Uhura, keep us in touch with the Excelsior. We'll
want her in position when Drake comes around the primary
star."
    Then Kirk kept his eyes fixed on the viewscreen. Chal's
binary suns began to fill it. Drake's vessel was a slender streak
of silver light heading between them.
 "Drake is close to temporal dislocation," Spock said.
 "Faster, Captain Sulu."
 The bridge began to vibrate.
 Scott's eyes widened nervously.
    Kirk winked at him. "She'll hold," he mouthed silently. He
could feel it.
 "Coming up on disruptor range," Chekov said.
    "Twenty seconds from temporal dislocation," Spock an-
nounced.
 "Lock disruptors," Kirk ordered.
    The viewscreen blazed with the yellow primary and orange
secondary sun. The plasma bridge between them writhed like
a living creature.
 "Fifteen seconds," Spock said.
 "Disruptors locked--but she's still out of range, Keptin."
    Kirk felt Teilani's hand tighten on his arm. "James, what
happens if Drake gets away?"
    "Don't worry, if he had escaped, we wouldn't be here to
chase him," Kirk said. "Right, Spock?"
    "Actually, Captain, no. This could just be an alternate
timeline in which the quantum probability waves--"

     Kirk held up his hand to stop his science officer. "You know
time travel gives me a headache, Spock." "Ten seconds," Spock said.
 "Entering the plasma bridge," Sulu shouted.
    On the viewscreen, the yellow primary rushed to one side as
the orange secondary rushed past the other.
    Now the screen was filled with twisting tendrils of super-
heated plasma--the surface of the smaller star being peeled
away by the awesome gravitational forces of the larger star.
    Slicing through those tendrils, Drake's ship was a dark
dagger.
 A warning chime sounded.
    "Shields at seventy-three percent and falling," Scott said.
"She canna take these temperatures for long."
 "Five..." Spock counted down. "Four... three..."
 "In range!"
 "Fire/"
The viewscreen flared with flickering disruptor feedback.
The Enterprise screamed as her frame twisted from her
passage through the plasma bridge and the opposing gravita-
tional fields of the stars.
 "Got her!" Chekov shouted.
     "Drake's ship has dropped from warp," Spock said. "He
did not achieve temporal dislocation." "Full magnification!"
    On the viewscreen, Drake's ship cartwheeled slowly
through the plasma streams, disappearing into a wall of
seething light.
    "Stay with her, Sulu." In the time it had taken Kirk to give
that order, the Enterprise had overshot Drake's crippled ship
by tens of thousands of kilometers. But Sulu brought the ship
around and dropped her to impulse speeds as well, returning
her to the point of last contact.
    Kirk scanned the glowing patterns of braided light on the
viewscreen. "Where is he?" Kirk asked.

288                                                                                 289

    "There is no sign of the Klingon ship, Captain. But our
sensor capabilities are degrading." There was unexpected
tension in Spock's voice. "We cannot scan more than a few
hundred kilometers in any direction."  "Any sign of debris?" Kirk asked.
    "The exterior temperature is in excess of thirty thousand
degrees Kelvin. If Drake's shields have failed, physical debris
would exist for only a few seconds at most." "Any sign that's what happened?"
    "No, sir," Spock said. "And no indication of an operative
impulse drive either."
    "Then we have to assume that he's in here with us. Either
lying in wait or needing rescue." Kirk shifted in his chair. He
wiped at the sweat on his forehead. It wasn't a good sign. The
bridge felt a good ten degrees warmer than usual. "How are
we doing, Scotty?"
    The engineer answered from his station behind Kirk. "Not
too well, sir. Our radiation shields can only take another
twenty minutes o' this punishment. So we'll have t' pull out in
ten."
    Kirk didn't understand. "Scotty, at full impulse we can be
out of the plasma in under thirty seconds."
    But Scott shook his head. "We canna go t' full impulse in
this kind of environment, sir. We canna afford to reduce our
shields even a tiny bit to vent our impulse exhaust, so we're
limited to no more than ten percent."
    Kirk knew better than to argue with Scott about absolutes.
"Did you hear that, Captain Sulu?" Kirk said. "We have ten
minutes to find Drake."
    McCoy moved around to where Kirk could see him. "Jim,
is that a good idea? What if he's already out of here? He could
be trying another slingshot run right now."
    "Unlikely, Doctor," Spock said from his science station.
"Drake knows the Excelsior is still on patrol. He will no
longer have the element of surprise on his side, and so cannot

reasonably expect to succeed in another attempt to sling-
shot."
    "So what are you saying, Spock? He's hanging around in
this garden spot looking for us?"
    "If his ship was not too badly damaged by our disruptor
blast, his shields and sensors will be up to full military
strength. He will, therefore, be in a position of strength in this
environment."
    McCoy frowned at Kirk. "If you need a translation, Jim, I
think that means we should get out of here."
     Kirk listened carefully to each word Spock and McCoy
said. But he didn't take his eyes off the viewscreen.  The plasma threads were hypnotic.
    They flowed past the Enterprise like glowing currents of
luminous water.
    Kirk thought of Chal. The way the waves rippled up on the
beach.
  The planet had been one type of paradise.
  But this ship was another.
  The one that counted.
  "Picking up something," Chekov said tentatively.
  Spock studied his readouts. "It could be a ship," he said.
  "But which one?" Kirk asked. "Drake's or the Excelsior?"
  "We should know in a moment ....     We're getting a
stronger--"
    Then the viewscreen flared brilliant white and even as Kirk
flew from his chair, he knew his ship had been hit by a photon
torpedo.

290                                                                                  291

FORTY-TWO

Ariadne turned around from her weapons station on the
bridge of the Klingon cruiser. "Direct hit?'
    Drake leaned forward in his command chair. His eyes
drank in the scintillating whorls and eddies of the plasma
bridge between the stars.
    And there--one dark spinning spot dead ahead--was the
Enterprise.
 With James T. Kirk trapped helplessly inside her.
 All that Drake hated. And feared.
 Small enough to be blotted out with his thumb.
  "QIH poj/" Drake commanded.
    The Klingon science officer analyzed his readings. "Dam-
age as follows... no impulse engines... shields at thirty-
three percent... failure estimated within five minutes."
    Drake sat back in his chair, overcome with contentment.
"Navigator, take us in. I want a clear view."
    The navigator hesitated only long enough that Drake knew
something was wrong. But the cruiser slipped forward, gently
buffeted by the jets of starstuff.
    "Admiral," the science officer said uncertainly, "may I
remind you that our shields are only at forty-two percent. We
cannot last much longer than the Federation vessel."
    "But we can last longer," Drake said. "Which means we can
last forever, compared with Kirk."
 Drake stepped down from his chair and stood behind his

daughter. Placed his hand on her shoulder. Felt her take his
hand in hers.
    "Now that you've met him," Drake said, "you understand,
don't you?"
 "Why you hate him?" Ariadne asked.
 Drake nodded.
She shrugged. "To tell the truth, he reminded me of you."
Drake's hand closed tighter and tighter on his daughter's
hand until she pulled it away from him. "Except for one
thing," he told her. "I am better than Kirk and always have
been. This day proves that. Finally."
    The Enterprise floated in the center of the screen, slowly
turning in the pressure of the raging plasma currents.
    "No inertial control," Drake said. "That means they're
putting all their power into shields."
    "Tuned to radiation only," the science officer confirmed.
"Sensors show artificial gravity is also off."
    "Ahh," Drake sighed happily. "Desperation." He looked
over his shoulder at the science officer. "What's the internal
temperature?"
 "In the bridge, thirty-seven degrees. Climbing rapidly."
    Drake smiled fiercely, not noticing the perspiration running
down his own face.
    "Admiral, our interior temperature is thirty-three degrees.
Also climbing rapidly."
    "Yes," Drake agreed. "But we have impulse power. We can
leave at any time."
    "Why don't we finish him off?." Ariadne asked. "Another
torpedo will overload his shields. Then we can leave with a
margin of safety."
    Drake nodded. He had raised his daughter properly. "Very
well. Stand by on torpedo. But hail Kirk for me. I want him to
know who's responsible. I want to be the last thing he sees."
 "The Enterprise is not responding."
    For an instant, disappointment flashed across Drake's face.
Then he brightened.

292                                                                                  293

 "So, he stayed a coward to the end."
 "Her shields are fluctuating."
 The Enterprise seemed to shimmer.
    "She's gone into overload," Ariadne said. Her tone was
even and colorless.
    Drake leaned forward, face now dripping with sweat, fists
clenched in expectation.
    "Yesss," he breathed. "You know I'm out here, Kirk...
doing this to you..."
 Plasma sparks jumped along the Enterprise's nacelles.
 Drake licked his lips.
    Ariadne kept up her calm commentary. "There go her
generators. Emergency batteries coming online. They'll only
be good for a few seconds."
 The port nacelle strut began to twist.
 "Structural integrity field is overcompensating."
 The nacelles flared, one after the other.
 "Hull breach!"
 The engineering hull blossomed into a tiny sun.
 "Antimatter release!"
 The saucer buckled.
     For a breathless moment, the bridge dome rose out of the
saucer's center as the outer rim shattered like ice.
 "Superheated overpressure..."
    And then the saucer tore itself apart like a starship made of
sand, crushed by an unstoppable wave.
    In seconds, all that remained of the Enterprise was a river of
sparkling, incandescent wreckage, flaring as the plasma re-
duced it to glowing, disassociated ions. Drake was exhausted.
 He stumbled back to his chair. His uniform was drenched.
 It was over.
 Kirk was defeated.
    Even running the Federation was going to be a letdown
after that.

            nc ^~ne~ ur e~eJ~

    "Navigator," Drake said, "plot a course to take us out of
here."
    "Uh, Admiral," the science officer said, "we are being
hailed."
    Drake shrugged. He had been expecting this. "The Excel-
sior?" he asked. Sulu was an annoyance, but he could be dealt
with.
 "No, sir. It's ... uh... it's Kirk."
 Ariadne paled as her father screamed.
 His anger was a match for the torrent of plasma they rode.

FORTY-THREE

Kirk stepped forward as Androvar Drake appeared on the
Excelsior's main viewscreen.
    It was the first time he had ever seen Drake overwhelmed by
emotion.
 "I saw you die!" Drake said.
    "No one died," Kirk told him. His command crew was at
his side, along with Teilani. They had been safely transported
from the Enterprise with her skeleton crew of Chal, minutes
before her shields failed, leaving her as a decoy to draw Drake
closer. "You only saw the Enterprise go out in a blaze of glory.
Just the way you wanted."
    Someone spoke to Drake on the Klingon bridge. But he
stared straight ahead, his eyes feverish. Fixed on Kirk as if
nothing else existed for him in the universe.
 "Admiral," Kirk said. "I want you to tune your shields to

294                                                                                  295

reflect radiation only. We're going to have to beam you and
your crew to the Excelsior."
"You couldn't fool a midshipman with that tactic, Jimbo."
"It's not a tactic. We're monitoring your shield status. They
won't last long enough to let you leave the plasma bridge. You
wanted to watch me die so much that you hesitated, Drake.
The same sin you accused me of. But in your case, it wasn't
the right thing to do." Kirk allowed himself the luxury of a
smile. "C'est la guerre."
Drake sat at rigid attention in his chair. A Klingon chair.
"Every time we've gone head-to-head, I've beaten you,
Jimbo. Now it's come down to whose vision of the Federation
is going to survive."
    Spock stepped up beside Kirk. "He has less than five
minutes of shields remaining."
 "Drake," Kirk said, "let's continue the debate over here."
 "You're the past, I'm the future. Always have been."
    Drake imperiously pointed his finger at someone offscreen.
Ariadne moved into view, said something into his ear.
    Chekov and Uhura both reacted with surprise. "That's
Jade," Uhura said.
 "The rogue agent," Chekov added.
    "She's Drake's daughter," Kirk said, so much becoming
clear. "Admiral, please--if not for yourself, then for your
crew. For your daughter."
    "Set a course for the rendezvous point," Drake said to
Ariadne. "We'll deal with the Excelsior when we've been
reinforced. Full impulse till we're out of the plasma. Then
maximum warp."
    "Admiral--you can't do that. Full impulse will overload
your shields in here."
    On the viewscreen, Ariadne turned to look out at Kirk. It
was impossible to tell what she was thinking.
    Kirk turned to his science officer. "Tell her, Spock. Tell her
what readings to look for."
 "Check the radiation pressure on your aft shields," Spock

said. "You will see it is out of balance and will not withstand
impulse venting."
  Ariadne looked at her father.
  He shook his head.
  "Get us out of here," he said.
 Ariadne moved offscreen.
    Kirk remembered her words in the Armory. I'm ready to die
./'or what I believe in.
 "Check the readings, Drake. Let me get you out of there."
 "So you can win?"
 Kirk knew Drake wasn't going to allow himself to be saved.
 "So your daughter--your child--won't die."
    A terrible smile twisted across Drake's sweat-covered face.
Kirk remembered it from Tycho IV. When they had been
surrounded by death. When Drake had believed they would
not survive because he had no faith in Captain Garrovick.
    "See you in hell, Jimbo." Drake pointed forward. His voice
was hoarse but sure. "Take us out."
    There was nothing more Kirk could do. He had no choice
but to accept the inevitable.
     Drake looked directly into the viewscreen. Kirk knew he
would be the last thing Drake would see. "Full im--"
 The image from the Klingon bridge winked out.
    The viewscreen showed the Klingon battle cruiser flare as
its shields failed.
    It seemed to expand in all directions at once, dissolving in a
shower of sparks.
 One of them was Drake.
 One of them was Drake's child.
     Teilani took Kirk's hand. "He believed you, James. About
the shields. I saw it in his eyes." "I know," Kirk said.
 "So why could he not accept your offer to save him?"
 Kirk stared at the coils and jets of the plasma stream.
 There was no trace of Drake's ship.
 No trace of the Enterprise.

296                                                                                297

     "Once, he was a starship captain," Kirk said. "And starship
captains think they're invincible." "Why, James?"
    Kirk smiled. Sadly. Proudly. He had always known the
answer to that question, but at this moment, in this place, it
meant more to him than it ever had before. Because it was lhe answer.
 "They have to be," he said. "It's their job."
 Trailing streamers of fire, the Excelsior came about.
 She flew for Chat.

FORTY-FOUR

As Chekov stepped onto the Excelsior's bridge, Chal was a
jewel on the main viewscreen, so brilliant she cast blue light
over the station-keeping crew.
    Mr. Scott was debating some fine point about warp balance
with the engineer.
 Uhura and Janice Rand were whispering together, laughing.
 Sulu was in his command chair, sipping tea.
    He glanced up at Chekov as Chekov stood beside him,
hands behind his back.
 "Have you been down there?" Sulu asked.
    Chekov shook his head. "Another time, perhaps." The
Excelsior had to be under way within the hour. A full session
of the Federation Council had been called to investigate
Drake's actions. Kirk was to be a key witness.
 "I hear it's a paradise," Sulu said.

 "Eden," Chekov agreed.
 They stared at the screen in silence.
    Chekov wondered what it was about humans that they
spent their lives looking for Edens, knowing it was the one
place they could never remain.
    After a few long moments, he cleared his throat. "I heard
you apologize to the keptin."
    Sulu put down his tea cup. So gently it didn't make a sound
against its saucer.
    "His view of the situation was correct," Sulu said. "I didn't
know it at the time. I should have." Sulu grinned for a
moment. "He is Captain Kirk, after all."
    "/ vould like to apologize," Chekov said abruptly. "To
yOU."
 Sulu looked at Chekov, perplexed.
    "For punching you," Chekov quickly explained. 'When you
saved us from Dark Range. And for arguing with you.
Doubting your command decisions. Trying to fight you again
vhen--"
    Sulu nodded, motioned for Chekov to stop. "I don't need a
list, Pavel."
    Chekov grimaced. Stopped talking. Rocked back on his
heels. "Veil, anyvay. I apologize."
    Sulu smiled as if to say the apology wasn't necessary. "I
think we all got on each other's nerves this time out."
    Chekov glanced back. Mr. Scott and Uhura were coming
over, apparently interested to know what Sulu and Chekov
were discussing.
 "You think by now ve'd be used to each other."
     Sulu stared across at the viewscreen. Chekov saw the way he
gripped the arms of his chair. The same way Captain Kirk did.
 Chekov had tried it once. Knew why Kirk and Sulu did it.
    So they could feel their ships. Sense the vibrations of the
engines. Feel a part of them.
 Sulu was born to sit in that chair.

298                                                                                299

    The captain of the Excelsior looked around to see his
friends gathered at his side. "Maybe when we're all together,
we need the captain to keep us from each other's throats," he
said.
    But Chekov shook his head. "No. I think maybe, ye're just a
family. Ve have had our good days. Ve have had our bad
ones."
 Chekov held out his hand in friendship.
    Sulu took it. "But mostly, we've had good ones, haven't
we?" he said.
 Scott and Uhura agreed.
    So did Chekov. "To tell the truth, looking back, they've all
been good. And the days ahead vill be even better."
    Sulu gave Chekov a skeptical look. "You think we'll all be
together again?" He looked out at the viewscreen, past Chal,
to the stars. "Out there?"
    The stars filled Chekov's eyes and lie smiled. "A man can
dream, can't he?"

FORTY-FIVE

The suns of Chal were setting.
 They cast long shadows on the beach.
 Kirk found Teilani there.
    She was sitting on a smooth, sea-polished log that was
half-buried in the sand. She wore the loose white tunic of
Chal, her legs drawn up, arms wrapped around them. Staring
out at the deepening red of the sky.

 He sat beside her. Wordlessly gave her his gift.
    She unwrapped the cloth he had bundled around the thin,
rectangular object.
 It was a metal plaque.
 The plaque.
    Kirk had pulled it from the bulkhead by the turbolift, just
before he had left the Enterprise for the final time.
    Just before he had consigned her to the flames and the stars
and all eternity.
 Teilani ran her fingers across the raised letters.
 "U.S.S. Enterprise," she read.
    Kirk heard the question in her voice. She didn't know what
the plaque meant. He wondered if anyone could truly know,
except for those who had served aboard her.
    She read the last line on the plaque aloud. "'To boldly go
where no man has gone before.'"
    "They're going to change that," Kirk said. "On the next
one."
    Half-built in spacedock. Assigned to Captain Harriman,
not Kirk.
 The way it should be.
    Teilani held the plaque to her heart. He could barely hear
her when she spoke. "I'm going to miss you."
    "The price we pay," Kirk said gently. "For loving what we
cannot keep forever."
 Teilani's eyes shone with unshed tears. "Do you love me?"
 Kirk kissed her cheek. "Yes," he said.
 "Then don't leave."
    Kirk held her. He had always known this moment would
come. Even when his heart had dared dream of eternal youth,
his mind had known that nothing truly lasted forever.
    The knowledge of death was the price to be paid for the
knowledge of being alive.
    "Chal needs you," Kirk said. "There'll be a Federation task
force here within the month. They'll work with you. Advise

300                                                           301

you. Help you do all that you must to make this world your
own."
 "Where do you belong, James?"
 He tapped his finger on the plaque.
    "A long time ago, Drake told me to keep this for my
grandchildren. A piece of the Enterprise to hang over the
fireplace."
 Kirk stood. He still had far to go.
    He touched her hair again. Shining waves. Remembered
their silk cascading around him.
    "When you have children," he said, "tell them about the
Enterprise. And her crew. To keep us alive here. Forever
young."
 She could hold her tears no longer.
 They ran from her face to the plaque _he held to her heart.
 "I promise," she said.
    Kirk gave her hand a final squeeze, a final sensation, a final
memory to keep in his heart.
    And then Kirk let go the dream, turned away, continued his
journey.
 Alone.
    Teilani watched Kirk as he walked away from her. From her
life. From her world.
    The long shadows of the setting suns made his footsteps in
the sand deep and dark, unmistakable.
    The stars above began to flicker in the twilight, as if guiding
his way.
    Teilani watched as Kirk dissolved into glittering light,
reclaimed by those stars, until only his footsteps remained.
    Though she knew she would never recapture what she had
lost this day, she felt the change Kirk had wrought within her.
So her tears were tempered with happiness, for she knew a
part of him would always be with her on Chal.
    As she left the beach, returning to her home, Teilani knew
exactly where she would hang the plaque.
 And in the years to come, she knew she would sit by the fire,

beneath that plaque, to tell the story of the ship
Enterprise.
 And her crew.
 And her captain.
 Who would live in her heart, forever.

called

FORTY-SIX

From his stateroom on the Excelsior, Kirk watched the stars
streak past him. He never tired of the sight. Spock and McCoy stood beside him.
 He watched their reflections in the viewport.
 As always, they were as entranced as he was.
     "After the investigations are completed, Starfleet will re-
quire a new commander in chief," Spock said. Kirk couldn't help himself. He laughed.
    "I do not think laughter is an appropriate response. You are
a logical choice."
    Kirk turned to his friends. "Spock, I don't want you even
suggesting it."
    McCoy pursed his lips. "And why's that? Because it's a job
for a younger man?"
    "No, Bones--because it's a job for a different man." Kirk
patted McCoy's shoulder. "Who knows? Maybe 1'11 take up
with another 'inappropriate' companion and head off to
Andromeda."
    McCoy frowned, looked at Spock. "Do you suppose he's
ever going to let us forget that fight?"
 "It was not a fight, Doctor. It was a difference of opinion.

302                                                                                 303

We have had them in the past and will undoubtedly have them
in the future."
    Kirk raised a cautionary finger. "Ah, but it was a legitimate
difference of opinion."
    Spock raised a skeptical eyebrow. "Hardly, Captain. As Dr.
McCoy and I had surmised, your relationship with the young
woman did not last."
    "Spock, nothing lasts. That's what makes everything... so
precious."
     McCoy looked bemused. "I might know an exception to
that nothing lasting forever business." Kirk and Spock waited expectantly.
    "Did you know some hotshots at the Academy have pro-
grammed your missions into their holographic simulators?"
    Kirk didn't react. "I, uh, might have heard something about
that. What's your point, Doctor?"
    "My point? Dear Lord, Jim--you've been digitized, re-
recorded, and holographically enhanced. Cadets will prob-
ably be watching you and your adventures for the next
hundred years."
    Kirk looked back to the stars. "You know, a month ago,
before Chal and Teilani, when I didn't know where I was
going in what remains of my life, I think I would have
resented that kind of attention." "And now?" Spock asked.
    "Now," Kirk said, "I only hope they enjoy those adven-
tures as much as I did."
 McCoy nodded sagely. Spock looked confused.
 All was as it should be.
    Kirk smiled at the sight of the three of them standing
together, reflected against the stars. Bound by a friendship
that surpassed all the years and all the adventures. Still boldly
going long after they had all thought their mission had
ended.
 No one could have predicted the adventures that had

brought them to this point. No one could predict the adven-
tures that still awaited them.
    But whatever the universe had in store for him next, for
however long his own journey continued, Kirk knew at last he
was ready to face it.
 Forever young.

ú -' 'orth Vancouver City Library

304                                                                                  305

EPILOGUE

Night had fallen, and the stars encompassed all the sky of
Veridian III.
    Some among them had watched over a child named Kirk, on
a farm in Iowa on Earth. Others had watched over a child
named Spock, on a mountain villa near the Plains of Gol on
Vulcan. Together, they watched over Veridian III tonight.
 Spock spoke softly to those stars now.
 '7 am now, and will always be, your friend."
 There was no logic to saying those words aloud.
 But it felt right.
 "Good-bye, Jim."
 A n era had ended.
 It was time for Spock to move on with his own journey.
    He glanced down the slope. The honor guard still stood by
Kirk's grave, almost imperceptible in the moonless night.
    Then Spock ~ ears heard the faint chirp of a communicator
badge. Riker spoke, his words indistinct on the night air.
    The starship that was to transport Kirkg remains was
overdue. No doubt, Spock concluded, Riker was receiving an
update.
 Spock g communicator vibrated silently against his wrist.

307

 "Spock here."
    It was Riker. His voice betrayed his emotions. "Ambassador,
there appears to be some trouble at the salvage site. I'm going
to have to ask you to remain here while we beam back to check
the situation."
    "Of course, Commander," Spock agreed. "What is the
nature of the trouble?"
    "I'm not sure," Riker replied. "It almost sounds as if
they're... under attack."
      The area around Kirk's grave lit up as Riker and the honor
guard were beamed away. Spock was intrigued.
    He glanced up at the stars, calculating the likely position of
ships in standard orbits.
     A few stars in that eeliptic moved. Streaks of multicolored
energy discharged between them.
 Starships in orbital battle.
 "Fascinating," Spock said.
    But except for the moving lights in the sky, the night
remained silent and still.
    Spock found a place to sit on a nearby rock, the better to
preserve his strength. He rearranged his robes, the better to
conserve his body heat.
  The battle in space still raged above him.
    As his eyes adapted to the distant discharges, he couM
identify the distinctive blue signature of Starfieet phasers.
    But the return fire was unidentifiable. He had never seen its
like before.
    The situation presented an interesting set of problems. In his
mind, Spock began to deconstruct them as a series of logical
arguments, attempting to identify likely attackers, their mo-
tives, tactics, and probable odds of success.
  But he was interrupted in his calculations.
     The night air thrummed. Something large was approaching
 through the sky.
  Spock rose to his feet. He scanned the dark horizon, trying to

identify any occultation of stars that wouM indicate the
presence of a fying craft operating without running lights.
  The thrumming increased.
 He couM see nothing, but his robes began to swirl around
him, blown about by some kind of backwash.
     Spock raised his hand to shieM his eyes from a rising
whirlwind of dust.
     Directly above him, the stars wavered, and then were Hacked
out by a silhouette of something he couldn't identify.
 A sudden light danced at the edge of his vision.
 He looked down the slope toward Kirk's grave.
    Amber rays spiked out from between the rocks of the simple
cairn.
    Above the thrumming and the wind, Spock heard an oddly
musical chime.
    The light emanating from Kirk g grave brightened, then
began to fade. Spock clearly heard the sounds of rocks falling
against themselves.
    The logic of this situation was inescapable, yet made no
sense.
Among the stars, the signs of a space battle had ended.
Above Spock, the watching stars returned and the thrum-
ming backwash vanished as suddenly as ira ship had gone to
warp.
    Spock drew an emergency light from his belt and made his
way down the slope to Kirk ~ grave.
 He played the light across the cairn.
 The rocks had fallen in.
 The grave was empty.
 Spock looked to the stars.
 "Jim...?" he said.
    It was not at all logical, but for a moment, a most improba-
ble thought came to him--
 Perhaps some journeys were never meant to end.
 There were always possibilities ....

308                                                                                   309