“WHERE THE HELL are the damn cops?”
Dr. Cynthia McPhillips bit off each word with barely restrained rage. She ran a hand through her dark, short-shag hair and watched droplets from the mist outside trickle down the large bay window of the Federation science outpost on Akkalla.
Dr. Naw-Rocki reacted with a quizzical expression as he joined McPhillips at the window. “Cops,” the seven-foot-tall alien echoed. “Unfamiliar word. Neology? Or perhaps colloquialism?” His multifaceted amber eyes blinked expectantly, and he smoothed his blue-green, downy skin.
“Old Terran word for police or security forces.”
“Ahh, understanding,” Naw-Rocki said in a voice incongruously prissy for a being of his size. “Assistance certainly required for our return to dwelling.”
They heard the door to the lab open, and Dr. Enzo Piretti, the third member of their team, came in. He shrugged out of his rain gear, grabbed a towel and rubbed his white hair and beard, which offered stark contrast against his deeply tanned skin.
McPhillips occasionally envied his color, even though she knew it was largely a product of Mediterranean genes. Sunburn was hardly a concern on Akkalla, and she’d grown tired of seeing her own ashen complexion in the mirror each morning. She’d also had her fill of humidity-frizzed hair and thought now and then that she’d like her next duty station to be someplace truly arid.
“Any interesting data on the instruments, Enzo?”
“Yeah, boss. Big surprise—it’s raining,” he said.
“Thanks. I hadn’t noticed. We’ve been here four hundred and three days. It’s rained all or part of three hundred and eighty-nine of ’em. But who’s counting?”
“That’s the news from the back,” Piretti said. “What’s going on out front?”
“See for yourself,” McPhillips said in disgust, waving toward the mist-coated glass.
Piretti stepped forward to see a line of perhaps a hundred Akkallans positioned atop the massive seawall protecting the stretch of shore from high tides and heavy surf. They effectively blocked the path leading from the science station to the slip where the researchers’ mag boats were moored. Many carried signs inviting the Federation researchers to leave the planet as hastily as possible, condemning the offworlders as sinners, or warning of unpleasant fates awaiting them if they lingered on a planet where they were obviously not wanted. Empty-handed protesters pumped hostile fists into the air with growing fervor.
Piretti whistled. “Getting worse every day.”
Naw-Rocki nodded solemnly. “First time departure has been obstructed.”
“That’s why I called the Grolian Guard. I want some official protection for us, or there’ll be hell to pay when the Enterprise gets here,” said McPhillips.
“So where are our friendly neighborhood Grolian Guards, anyway?” Piretti asked.
“Damned if I know. I called twice. If we don’t see some results in about five minutes, I’m going to call again. I’m building up to a real good blowup.” She began pacing in front of the window, always keeping her eye on the scene outside.
Piretti sat back in a recliner at his desk. “What a group. A seventy-year-old Italian—”
“Descended from Roman emperors,” Cynthia McPhillips interjected.
“Hey, I swear it’s the truth!”
“Uh-huh.”
“—a seven-foot blue-green guy from Rannica III, and a woman ecologist in charge who’s spent the past year fighting with every Akkallan authority every day and twice on Sunday,” Piretti finished. “And what do we have to show for our four hundred and three days?”
“Survivalness,” Naw-Rocki said wryly.
“Something to be said for that,” Piretti agreed.
“We’ve got nothing to be ashamed of,” McPhillips said. “We would’ve had a lot more to show if the damn government didn’t put us on a short leash.”
“But is that going to be enough when the Enterprise gets here to evaluate us? Do we get our extension, or do we get yanked home?” Piretti wondered. “Maybe it’s better if we leave with the starship, considering—” He jerked a thumb toward the crowd outside.
McPhillips shook her head in frustration. “Dammit, Enzo, we’re so close to confirming this new life form. I know it’s not what we came to study, but it’s damn exciting. I’d hate to lose the chance to follow the trail.”
“Y’know what gets me, Cindy,” Piretti said. “What made the Akkallan scientists and the students from the Collegium hate us so much?”
Naw-Rocki raised a spindly blue-green finger. “Probable speculation: government disinformation.”
“Can’t argue with that,” said McPhillips. “Where else could the entire Collegium get the idea that we were conspiring with the government against them? On a world where the government controls every medium of communication, keeps offworlders in separate compounds, and won’t let us even talk to the native scientists … dammit! If only we could’ve worked together …”
“Things I won’t miss about Akkalla,” Piretti said, pausing to consider. “The weather, the government … the weather … umm, the weather.”
“Naw, tell us again what the weather’s like on your planet.”
The towering alien allowed his eyes to slip closed in a moment of fanciful escape home. “Perpetual choice. We modulate patterns completely.”
Enzo laughed. “That settles it—I’m headed for Rannica III as soon as the Enterprise gets us out of here. I just wish we hadn’t been outta direct touch for so long.” His smile faded.
Cindy McPhillips widened her brown eyes in feigned amazement. “What? But the Publican’s office assured us that all our messages were relayed to the Federation Science Council on the government subspace channel. And they swore they gave us all the messages sent to us. Don’t you believe them?”
Enzo Piretti growled a skeptical-sounding response in Italian. McPhillips wished she knew the language, but the tone was more than enough to make his feelings clear.
“We never should’ve let ’em close down our subspace transmitter,” he said.
“Negative choice in that matter,” Naw-Rocki said. “A common vernacular expression exists on Rannica. I find it somewhat appropriate.”
The others waited several moments for him to share the Rannican maxim, but Naw-Rocki just moved the tip of his pointed tongue along his lips, which they knew by now meant he was thinking.
“Well, you gonna tell us?” Piretti prompted. “And is this one gonna make any sense to us, or is it gonna be like most of the others you come up with?”
“This is cause for hesitation—attempting most applicable translation.” He took a deep breath, then decided to try what he’d come up with. “When mastig says, ‘Don’t worry, I may not consume you until later’—worry. Oh, mastig is like, uhh, your legendary dragon. Existence, however, confirmed.”
“Mildly appropriate,” said McPhillips. “You’re getting the hang of English, Naw.”
The downy alien smiled. “Appreciation expressed.”
“Well,” McPhillips said, “we’ve only got two more days to teach you, assuming the Enterprise is on time.”
Enzo shook his head. “And would we know if she wasn’t gonna be? I doubt it.”
McPhillips leaned on the window sill, admiring the chiaroscuro of the Akkallan sky, a work painted by nature from a palette of grays ranging from glowering to silvery, clouds that all at once swirled with the fury of storms and floated gently on the mildest of mists. “You know, this can be a really beautiful planet, in spite of everything.” She glanced at the wall clock. “Their five minutes are up. I’m calling the damn Grolian Guard office again.”
She stalked toward the communications panel.
“Cindy, arrival,” said Naw-Rocki.
Out in the lagoon, a pair of sleek silver police cutters cruised up to the dock extending from the seawall, search-lights slicing the gloom of twilight, loudspeakers broadcasting a warning for the protesters to disperse. The three scientists watched as the path was slowly cleared. Within a few minutes, a guardsman dressed in lightweight gray body armor and clear helmet entered the lab. Cynthia greeted him with a snarl.
“It’s about time you got here. We’ve been under siege for an hour—that’s three of your hexos. I had to call for help twice. We’re representatives of the United Federation of Planets, of which Akkalla is a member. I expect better protection for the duration of our stay.”
The guardsman remained at polite attention, then spoke through the mouthscreen in his helmet. “The only way to completely ensure your protection is to place you and your science team under house arrest in a secure facility.”
“You mean prison,” said Piretti. “And I get the feeling your Publican would like to do that anyway—and not for our protection.”
“I’m not a policy setter or a magister or an overlord of the Continental Synod,” the guardsman said simply. “I’m just doing my job. And if you’re ready, we’ll escort you to the residential compound.”
Dr. McPhillips glanced at her friends. “We’re ready.” As they followed the guardsman down spiral metal steps and out into the damp evening, Enzo Piretti whispered to his colleagues, “I hope the Enterprise can find us when she gets here. She may not, if we’re in prison by then … or dead.”
“All right, Sulu, who’s this one great love of your life?” asked Lieutenant Seena Maybri. Her tall, foxlike ears perked sharply, and her gray saucer eyes narrowed, losing their natural innocence for a moment, replacing it with a suspicion that Lieutenant Commander Hikaru Sulu, chief helmsman of the starship Enterprise, had been teasing her for the past half-hour of their lunch together. She turned away petulantly to stare out the wide viewing port of the observation deck, missing the smile that played across his lips—the smile that would have confirmed her suspicion.
“Ahh, the impatience of youth,” Sulu said in sage tones.
She glanced back, but by then he was poker-faced again. “Oh, I’m not that young—and I’ll bet there never was any great love.”
“When your brother Sahji wrote to ask me to look after you, he never told me you were so cynical.” He slumped back into deep couch cushions and pouted.
Maybri’s slender shoulders and ears drooped in unison. “Oh, don’t look hurt, Sulu. You’re too old to get away with that. So stop it—it doesn’t work with me—and besides, you know I can’t stand it when you look hurt.”
It had indeed worked, and his face brightened. “So you want to hear the sad story?”
“No, I do not.”
“Well, do you want to know her name?”
She hesitated, wanting to say no and yes at the same time. Instead she said nothing. Sulu jumped into the breach.
“Well, okay then, if you really don’t want to—”
“Tell me her name,” Maybri said, her whispery voice as insistent as it ever got.
He hesitated. “Wellll, it’s not exactly a her …”
Her foot tapped impatiently, and Maybri’s skin began shading from normal pink to the deep red displayed by Erithians under stress. The color almost matched her uniform jacket. “Then what is it?”
“It’s an it.”
“The love of your life is an it. My brother warned me Terrans can be rather strange. Now tell me—this is your last chance.”
Sulu dipped his head, and she lowered her own to see if he was hiding a smirk. “Chocolate,” he said quietly.
Maybri cocked her head like a confused puppy. “The love of your life is a food substance?”
This ended Sulu’s self-control. He let out a short burst of machine-gun laughter, enough to fill the lounge area and cause other crew members to pause in their own quiet contemplations and conversations. Sulu’s trademark laugh was as infectious as any space plague, though with fortunately more pleasant effects—smiles spread throughout the deck.
Sulu reined in his laughter, though he continued to be amused by Maybri’s attempt at looking stern. Her color faded back to pink again, and her ears settled at half-mast. Her feathery hair fluttered the way it often did when she was distracted. She shook her head as if at a small child telling tall tales. “A food substance …”
“Solid ambrosia,” he corrected.
She shrugged. “We’ve managed without it on Erithia.”
His oriental eyes widened. “You’ve never had any? We’ll have to remedy that.” His voice lowered to a conspiratorial pitch, and he reached inside his tunic, taking out a small morsel which he carefully unwrapped. “I happen to have a secret cache of the best chocolate in the galaxy. It’s from Shoratoa IV. Don’t tell anybody.” His eyes darted from side to side, scanning for spies. Then he snapped off a chunk and placed it in her palm. “Don’t chew it—savor it.”
She did as she was told, swishing the piece around in her mouth. She swallowed and looked at him blankly. “So?”
“That’s all—so?”
She shrugged again. “I guess it’s an acquired taste. How did you acquire it?”
“I think it was prenatal. I just always loved chocolate. There’s an old term for people like me: chocoholic.”
“What was the sad story you threatened to tell me?” she asked dubiously.
“Hey, I was telling the truth. The sad story was, loving chocolate more than life itself made me, uh, a tad on the chubby side. When I was kid, I got two nicknames hung on me: Hefty Hikaru and Sizable Sulu.”
Maybri laughed. “Obviously those don’t apply anymore. What happened?”
“Human children can be cruel, and it got to me. I had too much pride to keep being the butt of everybody’s jokes—so I got interested in sports to prove myself. Not only did I turn out to be a fencing and track star and get lots of girls—which is very important to teenage boys—I also lost lots of weight.”
“No more Sizable Sulu.” Maybri’s delicate lips pursed thoughtfully. “Are all Terrans this odd?”
Sulu grinned. “No odder than you Erithians, though your brother always said that came from living on a desert planet.”
“Did I tell you I got a subspace call from him last week?”
“No. How is he and where is he?”
“He’s fine, he’s temporarily assigned to Mars Base, and he said to say hello to you. He really appreciates your being my surrogate big brother. I do, too.”
Sulu spread his hands. “That’s what friends are for. Y’know, I haven’t seen Sahji in … God, it must be over five years.”
Sulu grew pensive as he turned toward the viewing port. Outside, in the profound blackness of deep space, the stars danced like lights on a distant shore. “That’s the one bad thing about spending your life in space, making warp-speed jaunts around the galaxy. You get to miss people at home, people who’d be just a transporter beam or a shuttle hop away if you were on the same planet as they were.”
With a supportive touch, Maybri reached out to rest her hand lightly on his. “I guess I’m too new at this to feel that way. Two months out, everything’s still so exciting I don’t notice anything else.”
After an awkward silence, the young lieutenant licked her lips. “Uh … could I have another piece of that chocolate substance?”
Sulu’s eyes lit like a preacher about to baptize a convert. “Aha—I knew you’d be hooked.”
“Who said anything about hooked? I’m just doing what any good scientist should do—repeating an experiment and comparing the results.”
“Uh-huh.” He broke off another dark shard and gave it to her.
With a measuring look, she held it inches from her face. “Kind of a small piece, Sulu.”
“Like I said, hooked.”
Her eyes widened in protest. Before she could defend herself, the intercom whistled and Communications Officer Uhura’s precise voice came from the speaker. “Lieutenant Maybri, to the briefing room, please.”
“Maybri here, Commander Uhura. Do you know what it’s about?”
“Something to do with your assignment at Akkalla. Admiral Kirk has some changes to discuss with the landing party.”
Maybri frowned. “Thank you. On my way.” She stood in place for an extra moment, then noticed Sulu had stepped next to her.
“Don’t look so worried,” he said.
Her hair fluttered, betraying her nervousness, and her skin tone began darkening again. “I can’t help it. I keep expecting Admiral Kirk to discover that somebody made a mistake and I don’t really belong on a starship as my first duty post.”
“Of course you do,” Sulu said, placing a friendly arm around her shoulders. “To begin with, there aren’t that many biologists qualified to deal with unusual ecologies. And you’re rated as one of the best.”
“But that’s book learning and computer simulations.” She gestured weakly out the viewport toward the dusting of stars. “Those are real planets.”
“And you’re a real biologist. A strange one from Erithia, maybe, but a good one.”
She forced a smile, and they left the lounge together, headed for the nearest turbolift. The doors slid open, then shut behind them. “Deck 6,” Sulu said. The lift hummed and accelerated smoothly through its maze of shafts and tubes.
“Oh, I hope I haven’t been bumped for someone more experienced,” Maybri said softly. “Akkalla is my favorite sort of planet.”
“What’s that?”
“Ninety-eight percent water. Aquarian worlds are just the most interesting!”
“How does someone from a planet that’s mostly sand get interested in water worlds?”
“Change of pace, I guess,” she said brightly.
The lift module opened on Deck 6, and they stepped out.
“Hey, Sulu?”
“Yeah?”
Chewing her lip nervously, she sidled up to him. “Um, do you think I could, uh—”
“Yes,” he said with a tolerant half-smile, “you can have a whole chocolate bar all to yourself.”
She blinked in surprise. “How did you know that’s what I was going to ask?”
“Like I said, hooked.”
With a satisfied gait, he strolled the other way. It wasn’t until he was out of sight that she heard his reverberating laugh. “Hooked,” she mumbled, shaking her head.
Charging around a corner, Maybri gasped as she barely avoided slamming full-steam into Dr. McCoy. She stuttered an apology and felt her skin shading toward its darkest red.
McCoy smiled reassuringly. “No harm done. An old ship’s surgeon should know to stand aside when there’re young officers on the loose. I think we’re headed to the same place.” He paused. “You know, Lieutenant, that skin darkening of yours is rather unusual.”
Her color had begun fading back to normal, but now it hovered at a medium hue. “It’s also a big pain,” she blurted.
“How do you mean—unless it’s something you’d rather not talk about …”
She sighed as they continued walking toward the meeting. “It’s not that. It’s just that, well, how would you like it if every time you were under stress, or some stimulus was causing your body to produce extra heat, everyone could tell just by looking at you? I feel like a neon tube fish from Spyrion VII. And I feel so different from everyone else on board.”
McCoy gave a professional nod. “But you didn’t feel that way back home on Erithia?”
“It wasn’t unusual there.”
“Yes.”
“Well, y’know, we humans can tell a lot about each other’s reactions just by looking.”
“Not like this,” Maybri said glumly.
“Maybe not to your eye, because you’re not used to it. But I can look at any human on this ship and I can detect stress, embarrassment, excitement. Don’t even need my tricorder.”
Maybri’s glumness shifted to interest. “Really? How?”
“Blushing, perspiration, darting eyes, rapid respiration, dry lips—lots of ways. So, y’see, you’re no more of an open book than the rest of us are.”
“Maybe,” she smiled. “But I still wish I didn’t blush quite so vividly.”
They arrived at the briefing room. Chekov, Spock, Chief Engineer Scott, and Admiral Kirk were already seated. Kirk cleared his throat. “Let’s get right to it. Starfleet has ordered a change in our current mission. An emergency situation has developed on Vestra 5, and we’re the ship assigned to help. Mr. Spock?”
The Vulcan science officer inserted a data cassette into the computer console at his end of the table, and a chart of the Vestran system lit the main viewscreen on the wall. “The Vestran star system is located in Sector R-973, with only one inhabited planet. Vestra V is Class M, with a civilization development level of point nine, Type A—”
“For the noncomputers among us,” McCoy said, “how ’bout a translation into English, Mr. Spock?”
Spock’s eyebrow raised just slightly. “Rudimentary interstellar spaceflight capability, advanced technological culture, society presently at peace. Vestra 5 is not a member of the Federation, but nearby Federation planets do have extensive trade and other relations with it. In fact, Vestra has been invited to join the Federation on two occasions, with the most recent negotiations eleven solar months ago.”
“What’re they hesitatin’ about?” asked Scott.
“Seems the Vestrans are the independent sort,” Kirk said. “They just aren’t sure about any alliance. But the vote was closer the second time, and the Federation feels the next vote’ll turn things around. They want Vestra as a member, and that’s why our mission is so important. Spock, explain the emergency, please.”
“Aberrational weather patterns have caused severe drought conditions in the planet’s primary farming regions. The pattern has persisted for three years now, and despite massive irrigation projects, attempts at meteorological modification, and stringent water conservation, they have been unable to reverse a serious reductive trend in agricultural output.”
McCoy scratched his nose. “In other words, they’re facin’ starvation.”
“I believe that is what I said. As a result, they have asked the Federation for humanitarian assistance.” Spock touched a computer key, changing the viewer image to a star chart indicating an essentially linear course between the starship’s present location, Starbase 18, Vestra V, and finally the Akkallan system. “Quantities of food, seeds engineered for rapid germination and growth in arid environments, and techno-agricultural teams are now being gathered at Starbase 18. Our original course had us bypassing starbase by point six three light years. However, we are the closest ship, and we can easily divert. We will then proceed directly to Vestra to deliver the aid.”
Lieutenant Maybri glanced quickly at the other officers, all considerably senior to her. She wondered if it was her place to ask questions, but she spoke up before thought could lead to timidity. “Sir, what about our assignment at Akkalla?”
“The Science Ministry still needs the evaluation in a hurry. They’ve got deadlines on setting next year’s budget, and they’ve got to know what projects warrant continued funding. So, when we dock at Starbase 18, Mr. Spock’ll take a scout shuttle to Akkalla and start the evaluation. The Enterprise’ll rendezvous with the evaluation team as soon as we’re done at Vestra 5.”
“You said ‘evaluation team,’ sir,” Maybri said. “I’d like to volunteer.”
“Sorry, lieutenant. Mr. Spock will be taking only one other crew member along—Mr. Chekov.”
The young Russian reacted with slight surprise. “Thank you, Admiral. I was beginning to wonder why I was included in the briefing.”
Kirk chuckled. “Did you think I was planning to ignore your request to get back into sciences a bit more?”
“I didn’t really know, sir.”
Chekov happily followed the Vulcan out, and Maybri watched them go, looking not at all pleased. Her skin began darkening, but she kept quiet.
“While we’re on the topic, why am I in on this briefing, Jim?” asked McCoy.
“Because I’m going to need you on Vestra, Bones.”
“Crop failure, irrigation, reseeding? I’m a doctor, not a gardener.”
“We don’t actually know how bad the medical situation is. Starfleet should have more for us when we get to starbase. But the plan is for us to take a large medical team to work with local health authorities on combating the complications brought on by malnutrition. You’ll be supervising.”
“My favorite activity, Jim. I’m sure there’ll be tons of reports—”
“Sorry, Bones. The bureaucracy demands its due.”
McCoy shook his head ruefully. “We may have replaced paper, but we’ll never escape paper work.”
“Scotty,” Kirk said, “it’s up to you to make sure we’ve got room for all the supplies and equipment. Once we’re orbiting Vestra, we’ve got to be efficient. We’ll be making use of all shuttlecraft, and we’ll be beaming people and crates all over the planet. I need you to keep things organized.”
“Aye, sir, we’ll keep on top o’ everything.”
As Scott headed toward the door, McCoy got to his feet. “Am I dismissed too, Jim? Or do you have some other bureaucratic torture you’d like to inflict on an old country doctor?”
Kirk raised a thumb. “Get out of here, Bones. Lieutenant, you’re—”
“Sir,” she said, cutting him off, “I’d like to have a word with you in private, if you don’t mind.”
“Fine. Now’s as good a time as any.”
McCoy ambled out with Scott. “If anybody needs me, I’ll be in sickbay—sharpening pencils.”
“What’s on your mind, lieutenant?” Kirk asked when they were alone.
“The evaluation team chosen to go to Akkalla, sir.”
Kirk’s lips tightened. “Are you questioning my judgment, Lieutenant Maybri?”
Now I’ve done it, she thought, certain she was turning the darkest shade she’d ever been. Insulting the admiral. There goes any chance I ever had for fieldwork. I’ll be locked in a lab until I’m a hundred.
“Relax,” Kirk said, amusement twinkling in his hazel eyes as his expression softened. “I was just testing your resolve a bit. You’re allowed to question the judgment of any superior officer, as long as you’ve got a good reason to back it up—and you don’t get any notions of mutiny.”
“Well, sir, it’s not that I’m questioning your judgment, exactly. It’s just that I’m very knowledgeable about planets like Akkalla,” she said, managing to push a little forcefulness into her voice. “I’ve done a lot of preparation for the original evaluation, and I believe I should still be going … sir.”
Kirk leaned back and crossed his arms. “Another thing you should realize, lieutenant. Superior officers don’t owe anyone any explanations for command decisions. But that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t ask. At times you may get one—like now, for instance. Chekov is going because he has broader experience than you do. My choice is no reflection on your abilities or record. In fact, your friend Sulu made sure I knew just how fine your Academy record is.”
Maybri closed her eyes in embarrassment. “I’ll kill him.”
Kirk grinned. “Don’t—I need my senior officers to give me their judgments, the benefits of their experience. Based on everything I’ve heard about you, I’d like to think you might be one of those senior officers in the future. At any rate, I know this was going to be your first field assignment, and I know you’re disappointed, but it’s only a delay, not a cancellation. You’ll have your chance to tackle Akkallan ecology once the Enterprise finishes up at Vestra. Meanwhile, I think Spock and Chekov could use your help in programming their evaluation sequence. That’s an order, Maybri.”
“Yes, sir … and thank you.”
“Dismissed.”
Kirk watched her go, eagerness in every step. When the door shut behind her and he was by himself, he thought about all the eager young officers he’d had under his command—Chekov, Sulu, Uhura, Reilly—more names than he could recall. He’d watched those young officers come through their baptisms of fire, seen coltish exuberance tempered by hard-won wisdom. Kirk also thought about the officers who’d died under his command. Those names he would never forget. He could still visualize every letter he’d ever had to send to a home world where a grieving family waited, seeking a reason for something that seemed senseless…. Sorry to inform you of the death of … A fine and dedicated officer who made the ultimate sacrifice in support of our shared quest for knowledge and peace. I share your loss, and wish you comfort in your time of grief …
With a chilled shiver, Kirk shook himself free of the specters, though just for the moment. The older he got, the more easily they came to call on his subconscious.
“I don’t want to write any more letters like that,” he said softly. Then, almost without thinking, he found himself caressing the cold surface of the table, seeking solace from the heart of the Enterprise herself, the gallant lady who’d been his partner through so many trials. He knew he was trying to use her to fill a cold, dark place in his own heart, a space he’d discovered only recently. Or perhaps it had always been there, and he’d only lately been able to admit to the existence of that small spot of emptiness.
Why should it be there? he asked, aware it was a question only he could answer.
James T. Kirk had become virtually everything his destiny had promised. On balance, given the chance to live life over again, he’d follow the same course. Still, there was that empty corner inside, a hidden sanctuary he wasn’t yet able to summon the courage to enter. But he’d peeked, fleetingly, long enough to glimpse a message written there in ghostly relief. Home, it said. Maybe it’s time to go home …
Perhaps soon, but not yet. For now, there was work to do. Jim Kirk left the briefing room and headed for a chamber where he never felt the emptiness—the bridge of the starship Enterprise.