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For my mother, Margaret, who set me on the path. And for my wife, Linzi, who continues to keep me on it.

Historian’s Note

The main events begin just four days after the Starship Enterprise rescues the Federation from V’Ger in 2273 (Star Trek: The Motion Picture).

The courage of life is often a less dramatic spectacle than the courage of a final moment; but it is no less a magnificent mixture of triumph and tragedy.

—John F. Kennedy

Chapter 1

SAN FRANCISCO FLEET YARDS

It had been a long time since he’d seen the ship as empty as this; at least eight years, maybe more. Not since he’d first assumed command of the Enterprise after Chris Pike had James Kirk known her to be so completely devoid of life.

For some inexplicable reason the ship reminded the admiral of a once bustling family home that had long been abandoned: all its members gone, dust sheets thrown across every surface, curtains torn down.

It just felt wrong.

Kirk sighed. His mood was already foul this morning, and these kinds of thoughts only soured it further.

He stood at the port in his quarters, watching the tiny worker bee nudge itself slowly around, spinning carefully on its axis until its nose was pointing down toward the hull of the Enterprise. The maintenance craft looked so small and fragile, like a child’s toy, as it spun silently in the amber glow of the drydock’s floodlights.

Ever since his encounter with V’Ger, Kirk had found himself unable to sleep. He had tried, but the pale, sepulchral faces of Will Decker and Ilia had swum up out of the darkness the moment he closed his eyes.

The admiral had spent most of that morning pacing the deck of his quarters like a caged animal, a data card clutched in his fist.

Aunt Hanna.

Kirk knew it had to be from her even before he’d looked. Hanna Kirk was one of the few people he knew who still believed in the printed word.

“Subspace communications,” Hanna would say, “everyone can listen in. When I have something to say to you, Jimmy . . . Jim, I only want you to hear it.”

An image of his aunt sprang into his mind’s eye, as clear and tangible as the view outside his quarters. It is summertime—for some reason, it’s always summertime when he thinks of his aunt and uncle. Hanna is sitting in the old wooden rocker on the back porch of the farmhouse, a glass of Draylax fire tea beside her, as she enters a letter to some seldom-seen family member. After a while she looks up, giving him a sly wink. “I’m too old to change now, Jimmy.”

Kirk smiled fondly at this image, then he suddenly remembered the contents of his aunt’s letter, and the smile quickly slipped from his lips.

“It’s Peter, Jim. It’s almost like he’s slowly retreating from the world,” Hanna had written. “Abner tries to talk to him, but Peter won’t have any of it. He just clams up, won’t say a word, not to Abner, nor to me. Not that we see much of him anyhow—he spends most of his time out in the toolshed tinkering—we only really see him at mealtimes.”

The long and the short of it was, she wanted Kirk to shuttle out to the family farm, spend a few days with them, and speak to Peter, if he had a mind to.

“I remember you saying that you’ve got some shore leave coming up, and I really think it might do Peter some good if he saw his uncle Jim. It’s been such a long time, and you’re a link to his father. Abner thinks you’re the only one Peter will talk to.”

No matter how hard he tried, Kirk couldn’t think of a single thing that he might say to Peter, and certainly nothing that Abner and Hanna hadn’t probably said to him a hundred times already.

What could he say to a teenage boy who had lost everything because he had failed to get to Deneva in time? Right now the admiral wished he could shut himself away like Peter had.

Kirk knew what was causing his inability to sleep. It was not that Ilia had been killed and that Decker had sacrificed himself for the good of the Federation, but the inescapable fact that, as the captain of the Enterprise, Kirk had accepted these deaths so readily.

After all these years, why did the death of a crew member sit so easily? Were they just collateral damage, a means to ensuring the safety of the Federation?

No one joined Starfleet blind to the dangers of the service. Everyone accepted the risk. What troubled him was: When did he become immune to loss?

Kirk had known that he wanted to be the captain of his own starship from the moment he’d been posted to the Republic, all those years ago.

So why had he so foolishly accepted a promotion off the bridge? The second he’d stepped inside his office on his first day as the chief of Starfleet Operations, he realized that he had made a mistake.

As the CSO, his duties were overseeing trade routes and ambassadorial exchange programs, and dealing with entitled Federation bureaucrats. Kirk tried, but he never had the patience for stuffed shirts. He knew that his talents were wasted at Starfleet Command. He knew that he had to get back to what he did best, and that meant getting the Enterprise back.

So he’d pushed for her, and pushed hard. It had worked.

Admiral Nogura relented. Kirk would get the Enterprise and Decker would be moved to the Jerusalem. A fine ship, but she wasn’t the Enterprise, the flagship of the fleet. This way there would be no disgrace associated with Decker’s lateral move, no raised eyebrows or awkward questions. It would be seen as a routine reassignment, something common among starship commanders.

Then V’Ger came, and all of Kirk’s careful planning had gone out the window. Emergency procedures had been instigated in order to give Kirk command of the Enterprise. Starfleet Command had temporarily demoted Decker to commander and executive officer, humiliating him in front of the crew.

Was that why he had chosen to go with Ilia, to become one with the living machine entity V’Ger, despite not knowing what would happen to him?

Whatever the reason, Kirk had let him. As a Starfleet officer, it was his first duty to protect Earth.

The admiral continued for a time in this somber line of thought, making no acknowledgment when the door signal chimed. Not until it rang a second time did he call out for the person to enter.

He knew who it was, without looking. Kirk waited for the door to slide shut behind his first officer before he spoke.

“Punctual as ever, Mister Spock,” Kirk said. “It’s good to know that amidst all the chaos, there is a universal constant.”

“Chaos, Admiral?” Spock asked, a little confused. Then realization dawned. “Are you referring to the repairs of the Enterprise? I agree. It is a considerable disruption. However, the crew seem to be coping admirably.”

Kirk smiled. “I would expect nothing less.”

“As of 0700, a total of 372 personnel have disembarked, leaving a skeleton crew of fifty, consisting mostly of engineering staff, heads of departments, and a small security detail.”

“Thank you for your report, Commander. Is there anything else?” Kirk winced at the abruptness of his own words. He hadn’t meant to be curt, but he was keen to be on his own for a while.

“There was one other matter, sir,” Spock said. “I will not be on the afternoon shuttle. I will not be going to Earth.” Spock hesitated for a moment, before adding, “Instead I will be returning to Vulcan.”

Kirk finally glanced up. “I see. No problems, I hope?”

At first Spock appeared reluctant to answer. Eventually he said, “There are certain . . . personal matters that need my attention before the Enterprise departs.”

Kirk waited, but when he realized that his first officer intended to say no more on the subject, he nodded his understanding. “Will you be taking the ambassadorial shuttle?”

The Vulcan explained, “Yes. The Potemkin is currently on training exercises in the Tau Ceti system; I will rendezvous with her there. The Potemkin will take me on to Vulcan.”

“Isn’t that Syvar’s ship?” Kirk asked.

“That is correct. Although I have never met Captain Syvar, he is, by all accounts, a fascinating commander,” Spock said.

“And the fact that he’s a fellow Vulcan hasn’t colored your opinion?” Kirk teased, a smile pushing at the corners of his mouth.

If the comment offended Spock in any way, he didn’t show it. Instead he raised an eyebrow. “Not at all. My comments were not meant to be in any way boastful, but a statement of fact. I am well acquainted with the Starfleet reports on the Neutral Zone incursion by the Klingons four years ago, and with Syvar’s diplomatic efforts to stop the crisis from escalating into full-scale war.”

“I met him at a dinner last year,” Kirk told him. “He’s a most remarkable man—who spoke highly of you, as I recall.”

The compliment, Kirk noticed, had a curious effect upon Spock. The Vulcan clasped his hands somewhat fussily behind his back, then shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other. He seemed to be at a loss for words.

“May I inquire as to whether you will be staying on board?” he asked at last.

The question brought Kirk’s attention back to Hanna’s letter, and once more he rolled the data card around in his hand. He caught himself and put the card down on his desk.

“You’re not the only one who’s decided to go home,” Kirk explained.

“You will be returning to San Francisco?”

This made Kirk smile. “Not at the moment. I’m going to spend some time on the family farm in Iowa. I had intended to stay and oversee the final repairs with Mister Scott, but I have been ‘advised’ by Starfleet Command to go on shore leave.”

“ ‘Advised’?” Spock asked, pronouncing the word as though it were alien to him.

Kirk thought about this for a second, then said, “Perhaps ‘encouraged’ would be a better word. Admiral Rameau thought I could do with a little R and R before the official shakedown. Scotty is quite capable of taking care of things without me looking over his shoulder.”

“Understood,” Spock said, deciding not to pursue the matter further. Instead, he changed the subject. “I will be remaining on board until the last of the crew have disembarked. Once the handover is complete, I will take the shuttle to Kaferia II.”

“Then I wish you bon voyage, Mister Spock.”

The first officer bobbed his head briefly in acknowledgment, and Kirk returned his gaze back to the scene outside his cabin port.

There was silence for a moment.

When Spock failed to either speak or exit the cabin, Kirk knew there were more than thoughts of home on the Vulcan’s mind. Yet, despite the fact that he had no stomach for any conversation, Kirk moved away from the port once more, turning his back on the maintenance pods and service craft that buzzed ceaselessly across the hull of the massive starship, and gave his first officer his full attention.

“Is there something else?” he asked, knowing full well there was.

There was a sudden, unexpected awkwardness to Spock’s demeanor that would have been amusing to Kirk had the circumstances been different.

“I have been speaking with Doctor McCoy,” Spock ventured cautiously.

“Oh?”

“He mentioned that you seemed . . . restless of late,” Spock said. “Ever since our encounter with the V’Ger entity.”

Kirk said, “He did suggest shooting me with a dart full of Paq M, but I thought that might look undignified in front of the crew.”

Spock remained silent, the joke going over his head.

Mentioning the powerful animal tranquilizer had been Kirk’s attempt to lighten the mood, hopefully to distract his first officer enough to alter the direction of the conversation. But he knew it wasn’t going to work, so Kirk said, “That was a joke, Spock.”

The Vulcan set his head at a slight angle and peered at his friend. “Indeed,” he said at last. “The doctor also mentioned your continued failed attempts at levity.”

“It would appear that the good doctor has become quite vocal on the subject of my well-being,” said Kirk. “Remind me to have a word with him sometime about doctor-patient confidentiality.”

“I have found that it is a common practice among humans to attempt to mask one’s problems and shortcomings with humor. It is a most curious practice. American author and humorist Samuel Langhorne Clemens once observed that humor is merely a—”

Kirk waved an impatient hand at the Vulcan. “I’m quite familiar with Twain’s work, thank you, Mister Spock. Please, get to the point.”

“I also have noticed your increasing restlessness,” Spock told him. “Doctor McCoy and I disagree on the cause of your anxiety. The doctor believes it to be pent-up frustration brought about by what he terms ‘the best years of your life wasted sitting behind a desk.’ I believe it to be something else.”

Kirk peered across at his friend. For a man who claimed to be in control of his emotions, to have locked away all those frivolous, distracting facets of the human side of his nature, Spock was milking this for all it was worth. He was almost as bad as McCoy.

The beginnings of a smile fluttered across Kirk’s mouth. He’d been convinced for a long time now that Spock and McCoy were two sides of the same coin: both very different men but frighteningly similar in so many ways.

What was the phrase Kirk’s mother had always used when describing her two boys? Cut from the same cloth. That was it.

“Jimmy, there’s no doubt that you and George are brothers,” she’d tell him with a smile when they both came home from swimming in the creek, their clothes crumpled and muddy, their damp hair glinting in the late afternoon sun, their shoes clutched in their hands, their socks rolled up into balls and stuffed in their shoes. “A pair of ragamuffins cut from the same cloth, you are. Just like your father at your age.”

It was also true of Spock and McCoy. Two men, born on two very different worlds, light-years apart, yet cut from the same cloth—or, at least, material so similar that the differences were only apparent upon closer scrutiny.

“And what does my first officer believe to be wrong with me?” Kirk asked with a smile.

Spock said, “Your current mood stems from the recent loss of Commander Decker and Lieutenant Ilia. Or, more specifically, you feel responsible for their deaths.”

• • •

When the call came through from Starfleet Medical, Lieutenant Commander Hikaru Sulu almost missed it.

He had quite a lot on his mind at that precise moment. It was almost the start of his shore leave and he was about to return home to San Francisco, back to Susan Ling and their unborn child, albeit very briefly.

If he managed to get a place on the 1300 shuttle he’d have almost two whole weeks to spend relaxing.

This should have made Sulu happy, but, strangely, it didn’t.

He was tired, for starters, and his head felt thick and fuzzy from the whiskey he had drunk in Commander Scott’s cabin the night before—or, rather, from the amount he’d drunk. The Scotsman could put his liquor away, no doubt about it. No matter how hard he’d tried to match the engineer glass for glass, Sulu had been unable to keep up the pace.

“Practice, laddie!” Scott had told him as he emptied his glass in one smooth motion, then reached for the bottle to pour two more generous tots. “It’s all down ta practice.”

Scott had invited Sulu to his quarters with the express purpose of “whetting the baby’s head.” And raising a toast or two to his beloved ship’s next five-year mission. The engineer was particularly happy about the latter, not least because he would be personally overseeing the forthcoming repairs and resupplies.

Not that either man had really needed an excuse to waste an hour or two over a glass of Aldebaran whiskey. There was little to do aboard ship, now that the handover was so close. All the nonessential crew sections had been powered down, including the recreation areas.

The engineer had suggested a wee dram, “To see in the new and to see out the old, in the Scottish tradition.”

“The baby’s not due for another four and a half months,” Sulu had told him. “And the Enterprise is not scheduled to launch for another four weeks.”

“Aye, but we’ll not get the chance once shore leave is over,” Scotty had said. “We’ll be too busy getting the old girl shipshape. Besides, the bairn’ll be out in the world almost six months before you’ll have another chance to stop and raise a glass to the wee one.”

That’s when it had really struck home.

Sulu had thought about it before, obviously. He was a Starfleet officer who was about to become a father for the first time. But to hear it out of the blue made it all seem . . . well, so real.

Really real.

His baby, his first child, and he was about to abandon it before it was even born. Okay, maybe abandon was too harsh a word, but to an impartial observer, he seemed perfectly content to just disappear across the galaxy at a very important time. He’d be there occasionally, during the brief periods of shore leave, but he wouldn’t be there to share in all the really important stuff: feeding, tantrums, the sleepless nights, and the first tottering steps across the kitchen floor.

Weren’t the first years of a child’s life the most crucially important for bonding with its parents? Sulu was sure he’d heard that somewhere, probably from Doctor McCoy; either that or he’d read it in that book on parenting Uhura had given him. Whether it was true or not, those years were certainly crucial to him, and he was going to miss them.

Sulu rested his elbows on his desk, chin on both fists, and tried his best to tune out Pavel Chekov’s excited jabbering. The Russian had been talking virtually nonstop for the past twenty minutes. He’d appeared at Sulu’s door clutching breakfast in one hand and a data slate with a map of his beloved Russia in the other, and it was starting to make the dull, aching throb in Sulu’s head much, much worse.

An early start—that’s what Chekov had told him was needed. Get the day’s duties out of the way as swiftly and efficiently as possible. They could be down in the shuttlebay early enough to guarantee a place on the first flight to Earth.

“Of course, if we shuttle into Smolensk it would then give us enough time to take a tube across country to Podolsk, but we do run the risk of missing Uhura’s connection,” Chekov was saying, somewhere in the background. “If only she was flying out to southern Africa after our trip across Russia, as I’d originally suggested, then we would not have this problem. We could have had enough time to take the passenger express up to Tula and Ryazan first. But did she listen to me? No, of course she didn’t, no one ever listens to me.”

Sulu sighed wistfully as he gazed about his empty cabin. Every personal item that belonged to the helmsman, everything that he had hung up on the walls and arranged upon shelves to hide the bland characterlessness and uniformity of a starship cabin, was now packed carefully into three holdalls stacked neatly along the bulkhead by the door.

“Tell me again why we have to pack up every single item and cart it all down to Earth with us.”

Chekov glanced up quickly from the map. He frowned. “You know exactly why we have to take our belongings with us.”

“Because, my dear Hikaru, they need to do a sweep of the entire ship, and the equipment uses a high-frequency radiation field.”

This new voice was female and seemed to come from directly behind them, momentarily startling both men.

Nyota Uhura was standing in the open doorway of Sulu’s quarters, one hand resting lightly on the doorframe. Instead of her pastel yellow uniform she was clad in a light mauve tunic and skirt, a white silk sash tied loosely around her waist.

“Unless you want to be wearing irradiated underwear for the next five years, I’d follow orders,” she said.

“What’s with the civvies?” Sulu asked, waving a hand at her clothes. “You know, if I wasn’t such a nice person, and I didn’t have a million and one things to do, I’d put you on report.”

“Maybe some of us aren’t on duty anymore,” Uhura said. “Maybe some of us are so wonderfully efficient that they finished up all their duties last night and handed over to Yard Control, leaving them free to catch the shuttle this afternoon.”

“That is not fair,” Chekov said.

“I think someone’s a little jealous,” Uhura said, a smile on her lips.

Chekov bristled. “Pah! Not at all. Everybody knows that working in communications is child’s play. A Drac’nen tree monkey could operate that equipment with three of its six arms tied behind its back. Now, weapons, on the other hand—that is a skilled post.”

Uhura took the bait. All jocular pretenses were cast aside as she stormed into the room to confront her Russian colleague.

It was at that point that Sulu, in a moment of crystal clarity, suddenly realized how their forthcoming trip together was about to play out: Chekov and Uhura constantly baiting each other until, inevitably, one would flare up and all-out war would be declared, leaving him to play the role of peacekeeper.

He blamed Susan. It had been her idea that he go on the trip with them. At the time it had seemed like a good idea and he’d readily agreed. Now he wasn’t so sure.

“You should take Hikaru with you,” Susan had said, the last time the four of them had been together for dinner. “He’ll only be getting under my feet by the second week of shore leave.”

Sulu had almost choked on his sushi. He’d glanced across the table to find Susan smiling at him.

“It’ll be much better for you than hanging around the house,” she had told him. “You’ll have plenty of time to do that once the bump here puts in an appearance.”

Uhura and Chekov continued to bicker like little kids in a school yard, causing Sulu to throw his hands up in desperation. He really wasn’t in the mood for this, not today. The dull, throbbing pain in his head was showing the first signs of becoming a migraine, and the breakfast he’d just shared with Chekov was sitting heavily in his stomach.

For a brief second he felt like walking out and leaving them to it.

“Will you two knock it off!” Sulu shouted. “If you think for one minute that I’m going to play nursemaid to the pair of you for seven days, then you’re sadly mistaken. I’m starting to regret ever agreeing to come on this trip. You know, I just wish that I had an excuse not to—”

The communication console on the far wall trilled softly, interrupting him.

“San Francisco Yard to Lieutenant Commander Sulu.”

Instinctively Sulu straightened in his chair, snapping to attention regardless of the fact that he couldn’t be seen by the caller.

“Sulu here.”

“Sir, there’s an urgent transmission for you from a Doctor Hautala at Starfleet Medical, San Francisco.”

A ripple of panic ran through Sulu’s body like an electrical charge, leaving a strange coppery taste at the back of his throat. His first thought was that something had happened to Susan: an accident, while she was out.

His second thought was: The baby!

At first Sulu was unable to speak, his mouth silently opening and closing like a landed fish. Finally he looked to Uhura for help.

“Put the doctor through, please,” Uhura said, stepping in quickly. Then, to the ship’s computer, she said, “Viewer on.”

The screen on the wall to their right sprang immediately to life. A gaunt, dark-haired woman in her mid- to late thirties was staring out at them, the hustle and bustle of hospital life going about its business behind her.

“Commander Sulu?” the doctor asked when it became apparent that none of the three officers were about to introduce themselves.

“I’m Commander Sulu,” he said, slowly climbing to his feet. His legs felt numb beneath him, so he reached out toward the desk for support.

“Doctor Linzi Hautala, Starfleet Medical, San Francisco.”

Sulu swallowed. “Is this about—Susan? I need to know, is she . . .” Here he paused, not knowing how to end the sentence. He couldn’t bring himself to say “Is she dead?” or “Is she seriously hurt?” He finally asked, “Is she okay?”

“She’s stable, Commander. She was rushed to Emergency about fifteen minutes ago with what was thought to be severe Braxton Hicks. She’s gone into labor.”

“But . . . but that’s not possible,” Sulu replied. “The baby’s not due for another four and a half months. Doctor Oliver assured Susan at her last visit . . .”

“I’m sure he did, Commander, but Susan waited too long for us to medically intervene. The baby’s on its way and you need to get yourself down here as soon as you can.”

“I’m on my way. Thank you, Doctor,” Sulu murmured. His voice now sounded odd, almost lifeless, as though a switch in his head had flipped and the words were coming from some scratchy, automatic recording.

Hautala cut the link and the screen went dead. In the silence that followed Uhura whispered, “Viewer off.”

As soon as the conversation was over, Sulu slumped back down into his chair like a marionette whose strings had been cut.

Slowly, Sulu glanced across at his friends; he felt suddenly very small and fragile.

Very carefully the helmsman cleared his throat and said, “I guess I should be careful what I wish for, huh?”

• • •

The turbolift doors slid shut with a soft whoosh of air, immediately sealing the two men within a cocoon of contemplative silence. Neither of them had spoken since leaving Kirk’s quarters, and there was a growing air of uneasiness between the two old friends.

He was not sure why, but since Spock’s return to the Enterprise, Kirk had noticed a renewed sense of awkwardness between them. Naturally, this surprised him, not least because he’d assumed that they’d put that behind them. Spock had served under Chris Pike for so long that Kirk had assumed the Vulcan would find it difficult to accept him. But Kirk had been wrong and Spock had shown nothing but unswerving loyalty to him since the first moment that Kirk had stepped onto the bridge.

He found it strange to be feeling this unease again after all these years. It was as though the two had only recently met and the V’Ger incident had been their first mission.

Yet, in a way, this was true.

Kirk had not seen his old friend since he’d left Starfleet some two and a half years before. Spock had not given him an explanation for why he had resigned his commission and returned to Vulcan. He’d mentioned something about Kolinahr, which, at the time, had meant very little to Kirk. It wasn’t until later, during his time at Starfleet Operations, that he researched the ancient Vulcan ritual.

The admiral wondered if something had gone wrong. Why else would Spock have returned to Starfleet and requested a return to active duty aboard the Enterprise? Kirk had tried to raise the subject with Spock while they were heading to Earth for repairs. He hoped that the mind-meld with V’Ger might encourage him to open up, but the Vulcan had remained adamantly tight lipped.

As the turbolift continued its ascent through the decks toward the main bridge, Spock suddenly reached forward and touched the control panel, bringing them to an abrupt halt.

“Admiral.” Spock stopped, then began again: “Jim, may I speak freely?”

“Of course,” Kirk replied warily. “What’s on your mind?”

Spock said, “I feel that I must clarify my earlier statement.”

“I see.”

It seemed that Spock was determined to have this conversation after all, despite his commander’s reluctance.

“I fear that I may have been somewhat tactless in regard to the deaths of Commander Decker and Lieutenant Ilia,” Spock admitted. “I believe that my attempt to engage you in a discussion on the subject may have gone slightly awry.”

Kirk stared at him for a good long while before replying. “In other words, you were only trying to help but ended up putting your foot in it?”

“A rather crude metaphor, but an apt one, nevertheless,” Spock said. “If I have upset you, then I offer my sincerest apologies. It was not my intention.”

“I know you were only trying to help, Spock. I also know that I’ve been preoccupied since the V’Ger mission.” He smiled at his friend. “It’s not been easy for any of us. A lot of water has flowed under many bridges since we last served together. I guess we’re all a little rusty at this.”

Once again Spock reached out a hand, only this time it was to clutch the admiral’s arm. The gesture was meant to be comforting, to reassure his old friend, but its execution was clumsy, the grip just that little bit too hard.

“Jim, you made the correct decision. In my opinion your judgment was sound; there was no other option open to you. Commander Decker wanted to be with Ilia, and joining with V’Ger was his only way to do so. Whether Decker is now alive or dead, it was his choice and his alone.”

“Thank you, Spock,” the admiral said. He knew now that the awkwardness between himself and Spock was his fault.

One more thing, Kirk thought

By the time the turbolift had reached the bridge, all he wanted was for the day to be over and done with, and to escape, to be as far away from the Enterprise as was possible.

Chapter 2

STARFLEET ORBITAL SHUTTLE

“How long’s it gonna take?”

Leonard McCoy shifted impatiently in his seat, trying desperately to resist the urge to drum his fingers against the sleek buckle of his safety harness. McCoy hated riding in these orbital shuttles. “Boneshakers,” he called them. Or “flying tin cans.” It all depended on his mood at the time. Either way, having to use the things to get to, and from, the Enterprise scared him out of his wits.

“There’s nothing to worry about,” Scott had assured him the last time McCoy had raised the subject in the mess. “They may be a wee bit rickety, but they’re as tough and as solid as a fully armored Gorn warrior. You’ll come to no harm in one of those beasties.”

McCoy was unconvinced. He had similar misgivings about transporters. If one of those were to malfunction, they could unzip you faster than a man peeling a banana, and before you realized what was happening you would be lying in a pool of your own organs. The doctor had been assured countless times over the years that the transporter was safe. But he knew full well the Enterprise’s new, improved transporters had malfunctioned recently, killing Commander Sonak and Vice Admiral Lori Ciana.

For the fifth time since boarding the shuttle, McCoy checked that the buckle on his harness was secure and the emergency life-support mask was fully primed and in working order.

“For heaven’s sake, can’t you relax, Bones?”

Kirk was becoming irritated by McCoy’s constant fussing and fidgeting. It was difficult enough flying with him at the best of times, but today he was practically unbearable.

“I just don’t like the idea that there are only a few inches of metal between me and a sheer drop,” McCoy confessed. “It’s bad enough having your molecules scattered around the galaxy at faster than the speed of light, but having to be locked up in these damn contraptions . . . ”

Kirk shook his head. “How long have you been in Starfleet?”

“Too damn long,” McCoy growled.

“Exactly. When a Starfleet engineer of Mister Scott’s caliber says you will be okay, you will be,” Kirk told him.

At the extreme lower edge of the forward port, a white, wispy canopy of cloud was taking shape. The nose of the orbital shuttle had begun to tilt sharply downward, dropping a dozen kilometers before leveling.

McCoy gripped the armrests of his chair as his stomach lurched violently, despite the artificial gravity, with each dip and rise that the shuttle made.

“I hate it when it does that,” he murmured from between tightly clamped lips. “Makes my stomach feel like it’s doing loop-the-loops.”

Despite himself, Kirk smiled. “You didn’t have to come. You could have stayed on board the Enterprise with Mr Scott.”

McCoy ignored the playful gibe. “What I want to know is why, for the past few days, you and Spock have been stalking around the Enterprise with faces longer than the Antares Nebula.”

“We have our reasons, Bones,” Kirk said. “Let’s just leave it at that.”

“Come to think of it, where is Spock?”

“On his way to Vulcan,” Kirk said.

“Vulcan?” McCoy repeated. “I thought he’d decided to turn his back on all that Vulcan mystical stuff.”

Kirk just shrugged. “Maybe he has and maybe he hasn’t. Spock didn’t say what it was all about, and I didn’t feel that it was my place to ask him.” He paused, then turned slowly toward his friend with a smile. “ ‘Vulcan mystical stuff’? Kolinahr is an ancient Vulcan rite—”

“He’s trying to eradicate his emotions, his human half,” McCoy said.

The admiral was reminded that McCoy might play the “old country doctor,” but he was one of the best medical officers in the fleet. “Touché, Doctor.” Hoping to distract McCoy, Kirk asked, “How is Joanna?”

McCoy thought for a moment. “Fine. She and my grandson are meeting me in Atlanta.”

“Joanna had a son? Bones, that’s wonderful.”

“He’ll be coming up to his fourth birthday pretty soon. Was only a baby when I saw him last,” McCoy said, with a faint trace of sadness in his voice. “My own damn fault—I shouldn’t leave it so long between visits. I’m a stubborn old fool who’s set in his ways, and most of the time the only person I’m hurting is myself.”

Kirk stared silently across at his chief medical officer. “We’re all guilty of stubbornness to one degree or another, Bones. I guess that’s why we’re all going home: to try to fix things that have broken somewhere along the line.”

Kirk turned toward the port and watched the cold black sliver of space slowly turn a deep rich shade of blue. The canopy of ivory-white clouds was drawing ever closer. The admiral could now see the gleam of the sun dancing across San Francisco Bay as they neared Starfleet Headquarters.

“I only hope I’m not too late,” Kirk whispered to himself.

SAN FRANCISCO

Four and a half months premature!

The words wheeled incessantly through Sulu’s mind like a rodent in a squeaky running wheel. He hopped out of the taxi and made his way slowly down the sidewalk toward the nest of tall buildings.

Four and a half months!

The Starfleet Medical building was nothing like Sulu had expected. It wasn’t the usual Federation architecture. It was a red-brick building, vast and clearly ancient, but somehow modern. Had it been part of the ancient base . . . the Presidio?

He spent the first fifteen minutes trying to find the reception desk. When he finally found it, the attendants gave him a complicated set of directions that led him up several flights of stairs and along a seemingly endless corridor to a vast new wing on the other side of the facility.

Sulu gave the woman behind the desk his details and then took a seat in the waiting area as he was instructed.

He hadn’t been waiting long when Doctor Linzi Hautala, the chief ob-gyn officer, appeared from one of the side rooms a little way down the corridor. She strode across to meet him.

Hautala was all smiles as she approached, which for some reason made Sulu feel all the more anxious. He started to rise, but the doctor indicated for him to stay seated.

“Lieutenant Commander Sulu,” she said, taking the seat next to him. “Doctor Hautala.”

Sulu nodded. “Please, I need to know what’s happening with Susan and the baby.”

“She’s fine,” Hautala told him, “though understandably exhausted. We’ve given her a mild sedative and she’s sleeping now.”

“The baby?” Sulu asked, fighting down a sudden wave of panic.

The doctor hesitated, her smile faltering slightly. It was only the briefest flicker, but Sulu saw it nevertheless.

“You have a beautiful little baby girl, Commander. As I told you, we could not safely stop the labor. Obviously, as she’s a preterm birth, there is a chance of complications. She’s in the NICU. We’ll monitor her condition closely for the next few weeks.”

A violent flush of panic rose from the pit of Sulu’s stomach, threatening to engulf him. Doctor Hautala must have seen it in his eyes, for she reached across and placed a hand gently upon his arm.

“Please, you mustn’t worry yourself needlessly, this is all routine procedure. The coming days will be critical for your daughter. But both mother and daughter are stable and as comfortable as we can possibly make them. They are in the best hands.”

My new daughter.

The words sounded strange when he thought about them. Later, when he was away from the hospital and back in Susan’s apartment, he would say those three words out loud, over and over. My. New. Daughter.

My daughter.

He had a daughter. He, Hikaru Sulu, was a father. Yesterday they were only a couple, but today they were a family.

Doctor Hautala patted him gently on the knee, then climbed to her feet, the smile firmly on her lips.

“So, would you like to see her?” she asked.

Sulu stared up at the doctor, eyes wide. “I . . . I can see her now?”

“I can’t see any reason why not,” Hautala said. “We’ll need to get you in a mask and gown; after that, I’ll take you to the NICU so you can meet your daughter.”

U.S.S. POTEMKIN

The transporter chief snapped to attention the moment Spock had finished materializing, causing him to raise an amused eyebrow in response. As he stepped down from the platform, the transporter room door slid open and a very young, very pale lieutenant stepped into the room. He stopped a few meters away from Spock, shifting his weight awkwardly from one foot to the other as though he were unsure how to proceed.

“Permission to come aboard,” Spock said, breaking the silence.

“Permission granted, Commander,” the pale young man replied. “Good afternoon, sir, I am Lieutenant Gareth MacNeil. The captain has asked me to apologize for his absence but he is currently in a meeting with the security team on the station. He has asked me to show you to your quarters.”

The lieutenant turned and began to make his way back toward the corridor. When his Vulcan guest failed to follow, MacNeil clattered to an abrupt halt, pausing comically, frozen in midstep. He gestured nervously toward the door.

“Please, this way, sir. We have assigned you a suite; a meditation stone has been provided should you wish to prepare yourself mentally on the journey home. Or you may simply wish to rest—the choice is yours.”

“Your attentiveness and generosity are most appreciated,” Spock told him. “But quite unnecessary. The captain need not have gone to so much trouble. The journey is a relatively short one.”

MacNeil glanced toward the door again, as though hoping to find help there. When none came he began, “But the captain, he’s—”

“On the orbiting station below,” Spock finished the sentence for him. “You have already informed me of this.”

The lieutenant’s mouth flapped silently open and closed for a brief moment. Then he seemed to regain his composure.

“Does my presence aboard the Potemkin make you nervous, Lieutenant?” Spock asked.

“Yes, sir.” MacNeil’s eyes widened as he realized what he’d blurted out. “I mean, no. Well, yes, you do make me nervous, but not in the way you’re probably thinking.”

In response Spock clasped his hands behind his back and tilted his head quizzically, waiting for the young officer to compose himself.

After a while Lieutenant MacNeil tried again: “What I mean to say is, I’m nervous because you’re Commander Spock: Ambassador Sarek’s son and first officer aboard the Enterprise, the flagship of Starfleet, commanded by James T. Kirk. I read about your missions as a kid—it was what made me want to enroll in Starfleet Academy.”

“Have I lived up to your lofty expectations, Mister MacNeil?” Spock asked suddenly.

“Uh . . . uh . . . well . . .” MacNeil stammered.

But before the man could say any more, Spock continued: “Believe me, Lieutenant, it is always a mistake to meet your hero. Many years ago I was afforded the opportunity of spending three weeks aboard a terraforming vessel with the celebrated agronomist and biotechnician Elliot Tarrall. His proposal for developing closed-system exofarming on the outer colonies was a work of inspired brilliance and required reading when I was at the Academy. During my time aboard ship, I made three attempts at engaging Doctor Tarrall in conversation regarding sustainable development, and each time I found him to be rude, arrogant, self-opinionated, and more than a little narcissistic.”

Spock motioned toward the doors behind Lieutenant MacNeil. “I believe you were about to show me the way to my quarters.”

Somewhat nervously, Lieutenant MacNeil led the Vulcan commander out of the transporter room and into the corridor.

• • •

The short, somewhat rotund Vulcan seemed to appear from out of nowhere. The crowd of off-duty crew members parted before him like dissolving mist as he stepped forward, his hand already raised in the traditional Vulcan salute.

“Live long and prosper, Commander Spock. I am Syvar, captain of the Potemkin. It is an honor to have you on my ship.”

Spock returned the salute. “Peace and long life. The honor is mine, Captain. The Potemkin is a fine ship. I have been made most welcome, particularly by Lieutenant MacNeil.”

“A most promising officer,” Syvar returned.

“He has not been aboard the Potemkin long?” Spock asked.

“He was assigned to us two days ago. First time aboard a starship. He was a communications officer on Starbase 35, since graduating from the Academy eighteen months ago. After the V’Ger event,” Syvar said, “he requested a transfer. He felt that he ‘needed to get out from behind a desk and make a difference.’ ”

These words sounded all too familiar to Spock. “I have heard another human voicing a similar sentiment of late.”

“Lieutenant MacNeil is learning quickly, and I am satisfied with his progress.” Syvar leaned in closer, his manner almost conspiratorial. “When you have a crew that is seventy-five percent Vulcan, one realizes that there are certain preconceptions. I prefer not to be the ‘exception that proves the rule,’ as the old Earth saying goes.”

“Indeed,” Spock replied.

The Vulcan captain swept a hand at the empty patch of floor in front of the observation port at the other end of the recreation deck. The two men began to make their way through the crowd.

“I am surprised to find you here, Commander, rather than in your quarters preparing yourself,” Syvar said.

There was something in the captain’s words, a curious tone, that caused Spock to stop suddenly in his tracks.

It took Syvar a moment to realize that his guest was no longer walking beside him. After hesitating for a second, he returned, stopping in front of Spock.

“What would I wish to prepare myself for, Captain?” Spock asked at last.

“Now that the crisis has passed and you are returning to Vulcan,” Syvar said, “there can be only one reason.”

Spock nodded thoughtfully at this, suddenly comprehending the captain’s words. “Now I understand: the generously appointed quarters, the meditation stone, even volunteering the Potemkin.”

The Vulcan captain clasped his hands behind his back and peered up at his guest. “I wanted the honor of escorting you personally. Call it an indulgence on my part.”

Spock leveled a quizzical expression at the man opposite him and waited for him to explain.

“I once undertook the Kolinahr ritual,” Syvar explained. “No one more than I understands, or fully appreciates, the discipline and devotion to which you have committed yourself in the pursuit of total logic.”

“You climbed the steps?” Spock asked.

Syvar nodded slowly, and when he replied, Spock noted that there was a touch of sadness in the captain’s voice. “I did, but I did not have the will. I failed.” Syvar directed a stern gaze at the Enterprise’s first officer. “You have been given a second chance, an opportunity to return and complete the ritual. For the masters to allow such a thing is unprecedented. But, then, you are Sarek’s son—”

“You are mistaken, Syvar,” Spock said, cutting off the Vulcan captain. “I do not return to Vulcan to continue Kolinahr, but the opposite.”

Frowning, Syvar said, “I do not understand. The V’Ger threat is nullified. The Enterprise is safely in spacedock, surely your business with Starfleet is concluded.”

“The crew has been granted two weeks’ shore leave while the Enterprise is readied for relaunch,” Spock told him.

There was a marked change in Syvar’s demeanor. The broad shoulders encased in the white, short-sleeved tunic slowly began to slump, and he folded his thick arms behind him. The captain was displaying Vulcan disappointment in his honored guest.

“Why would you choose to abandon Kolinahr?” Syvar asked.

Spock took time to consider the captain’s words. “As much as I wanted it, it did not want me.”

Chapter 3

IOWA

Daylight was filling the skies as James Kirk stepped down from the shuttle and onto the winding dirt track that led to the Kirk farm. The last few heavy drops of rain had ended, freshening the fields.

He glanced down at his chrono: 08:55 Central Time.

Iowa was two hours ahead.

When he’d boarded the connecting shuttle back in San Francisco, Kirk had miscalculated, assuming that he’d arrive in Iowa before seven in the morning, just as the family were starting their morning chores. The moment he realized his error he’d sent a message off to Hanna, letting her know when he’d be arriving.

But Kirk didn’t tell her the reason why. He knew his mistake would really tickle his aunt. Also, he’d never hear the last of it, especially from Uncle Abner.

It was an easy mistake to make, especially when you worked at Starfleet Operations and seldom left the San Francisco area. Starship captains were used to Command contacting them at all hours of the ship’s “day.” Starship clocks were synced to local bases and, if time permitted, the cities on the planets they visited. It was easy to forget about planetary time differences.

It was a long time since Kirk had been back to the old family farm, six or seven years, not since the memorial for Sam and Aurelan. They’d been attacked and killed by a swarm of neural parasitic creatures while living on Deneva. Peter had survived, but he had lost both of his parents in horrific circumstances.

Was that why he had avoided the farm? Too many ghosts?

• • •

Of course, there were the good memories too, of happier times when he and Sam were kids. Swimming in the creek when the weather was hot. The tire swing hanging from the branches of the big gnarled old bur oak that grew at the edge of the water, just at the spot where the banks began to narrow.

There was the time when Kirk was seven years old, Sam would have been eleven. They were playing explorers in the old barn on the top of the hill behind the farm. Sam was Zefram Cochrane. He always insisted on being Zefram Cochrane when they were playing explorers, and he’d never let anyone else be him. Kirk was Lil’ Sloane. He didn’t know who Lil’ Sloane was, not back then, but Sam told him that Lil’ was Cochrane’s right-hand man.

“Lil’ was this huge guy,” Sam told him with a knowing smile, throwing his arms out to either side of him, to show he meant big.

“Was he a giant?” Kirk asked.

Sam nodded eagerly at this. “As good as. He was nearly as tall as the old barn door. That’s why they called him Lil’ Sloane, as a joke. And he was loyal too! In fact, he was Zefram’s right-hand man.” Sam squinted down at his little brother then, asking, “Do you know what a right-hand man is, Jimmy?”

Kirk didn’t know, so he shook his head.

“A right-hand man is like your best pal,” Sam explained. “He goes everywhere you go, keeps you company when you’re away from home, sticks up for you against bad people.”

“Like you and me, Sammy?” Kirk asked.

“Yeah, just like you and me.”

It wasn’t until the next year in school that Kirk discovered that Lil’ Sloane was in fact Lily Sloane, a woman of normal stature, who’d helped Cochrane build the Phoenix, the first warp-capable craft. He never got Sam back for that one.

Once when they were playing in the old barn loft—only it wasn’t a loft, it was the surface of an alien planet on which Cochrane and Sloane had crash-landed—Kirk accidentally fell through a rotting rail. He tumbled down the loft stairs, crashing onto the floor below. He hit his head and broke his wrist. Sam flew down the stairs, and when he saw that his brother was hurt, he carried him all the way back down the hill and back to the house.

They did not play in the old barn again that summer. Kirk wanted to, but Sam said no, that it was too dangerous. He said that last time they’d been lucky, and that if one of them fell out of the loft this time, someone could be killed.

• • •

Kirk paused by the water’s edge, at the spot where he and his brother used to swim. The old oak was still there, but the tire swing was long gone. Looking carefully, he could see the section of branch where the rope had worn the bark away. The water was low at this time of year, the flow nowhere near the raging torrent it would become once the last of the winter thaw had filled it. At the moment it was a trickle, splashing across the four big stones that formed a rough path from one side of the bank to the other.

“Stepping-stones,” Sam had called them, although it took more than a step to get from one stone to the other, as Kirk discovered to his peril many times, when he missed his footing and fell into the water. To a seven-year-old James Kirk, the distance between each of those stones sometimes felt like the width of the Grand Canyon.

From where he stood, Kirk had only to turn his head to the left to see the old barn standing on the hill beyond the farmstead. It was in ruins now, nothing more than a weed-choked rotting frame, with no roof and gaping, broken windows.

“Race you,” Sam would shout over his shoulder as they tore across the fields toward the hill. “Race you, Jimmy Slowpoke. Race you!”

Kirk sighed. He hadn’t realized it until that very moment, but the wound was still wide open. The memory of his brother’s death was still raw.

Too many ghosts.

• • •

“It’s just not me, Jim, I can’t. I just can’t.”

“Four years in the Academy. One year on a ship—and you’re done?”

“Jim, give it a rest!” Sam shouted. “I’m done with Starfleet!”

“Sam, all you ever talked about was exploring. How Starfleet was the perfect way to become—”

“A famous explorer. It’s not me, Jim. Flying around in a tin can, letting someone else do all the exploration, handing me samples to study. I wanted to be out there, getting my hands dirty, doing it myself. I’m joining a scientific study to an Andorian colony, and Aurelan is joining me. We want to start a family, another thing that we can’t do in Starfleet: I’d have to leave them for months or years on end.” Sam bent down and started skipping stones across the stream.

“Baby brother, you were born to be in Starfleet, to be a starship captain.”

Sam turned and told him, “I just have this feeling, Jimmy, that if I don’t do it now, I might never get the chance.”

• • •

There was a splash in the water down to his left, and Kirk turned in time to see a momentary flash of color. It broke the surface, then was gone. A brook trout, Kirk decided. Sam and he had caught enough of them out of that stream.

He adjusted the straps at his shoulders, shifting the weight of the bag until it was a little more comfortable, then continued up the dirt road. After a time he came to a natural bend in the path, which afforded him a much better view of the old farmhouse sitting in the clearing beyond.

Out in the front yard he could see Abner’s dog, a shaggy old bluetick coonhound, Benchley, lying sprawled on the porch, his tongue lolling wetly from the corner of his mouth. The dog raised his head at Kirk’s approach and let out a rather listless aulf-ing sound that was probably the closest thing to an actual bark the ancient dog could muster.

Yet he was an excellent early warning system. In response to the sound, the front door opened and Abner’s wife, Hanna, appeared, wiping her hands on the towel that was draped over one shoulder.

She raised a hand and waved, then quickly ducked back inside before Kirk could respond.

Aunt Hanna reappeared, shuffling out of the door onto the porch, coming to a halt beside the old coonhound. Standing there with her hands on her hips, she reminded Kirk of his mother, and just for a second he was a child again, on the razor’s edge of puberty.

His brother had just been accepted to Starfleet Academy. Kirk had been out in the toolshed, looking for the right spanner to fix the flow valve on his ground-hopper. Sam stepped out onto the porch in his cadet uniform. His mother was standing beside him, tears streaming down her cheeks; she looked so proud and sad, all at the same time. She placed a hand upon her elder son’s shoulder and told him how smart he looked.

“What do you reckon, Jimmy? Do you think I could be a famous explorer just like Zefram Cochrane?” Sam asked him with a smile.

And in that moment, Kirk would have given anything to be away from there: with McCoy and his daughter in Georgia, or back aboard the Enterprise overseeing the refit with Scotty.

Anywhere, it didn’t matter to him, as long as it wasn’t here.

Chapter 4

STARFLEET MEDICAL

SAN FRANCISCO

“She looks so tiny, so fragile.”

Sulu rested his forehead on the surface of the glass, the palm of his hand resting on top, as he stared down at his daughter.

“Just so . . . tiny,” he repeated.

Beside him, Doctor Linzi Hautala remained respectfully silent, allowing the new father to have this special moment with his child.

Around them the ward staff went about their business, checking on the dozens of other babies all housed in similar incubators that were arranged around the room. But Sulu barely registered their presence; the room may as well have been completely empty save for himself, Doctor Hautala, and his daughter.

“It’s not until you see another human being like this, so small and helpless, that you realize how life can be so . . . well, fragile.” Sulu laughed, feeling a little bit self-conscious that every time he opened his mouth he kept spouting clichés. “I guess you must hear this a lot from new parents? Guy becomes a father for the first time, suddenly he turns into a philosopher.”

“I hear a lot of things, Commander,” Hautala told him. “Some of it good, some of it not so. Parents deciding the careers of their children before they’ve even been out of the womb for a single day, fathers claiming that the child can’t be theirs because it doesn’t look like them—we even had one man, an evolutionary biologist, who took one look at his brand-new eight-hour-old daughter, then broke down in a flood of tears claiming she was a divine miracle. Different people react to becoming parents in wildly different ways. Go easy on yourself for the moment, you’re just human.” She pointed at the small bundle lying in the incubator in front of them. “Now that she’s here, your life will never be the same again.”

What the doctor was trying to tell him, Sulu realized, was exactly what Scott had been saying to him.

His new daughter was going to change his life. The thing was, it wasn’t only his life anymore. Everything began to change the day he and Susan talked about having a baby.

Sulu had known the conversation was coming for a while, ever since they’d attended a friend’s baby-welcoming party the previous summer in Anchorage. Being just a couple wasn’t enough any longer. They’d both been silent in the shuttle ride back, although perhaps preoccupied would have been a more appropriate word.

It wasn’t just Susan who’d been affected; Sulu had found himself bitten by the baby bug too.

It wasn’t an easy feeling to describe—as a matter of fact, Sulu wasn’t completely sure he could explain. All he knew was that suddenly it felt like something was missing, something important. It began to play on their minds like an itch that was just too far out of reach to be scratched.

“I’ve been thinking, maybe it’s time we had a baby,” Susan announced, apropos of nothing, one night while they were lying in bed. “Well, what I mean to say is, I’ll have the baby. Your part pretty much stops after the conception.”

She sat up then, and the overhead lights came on in response to her movement. “I’m serious, Hikaru.”

“Hey!” The light was almost blinding, causing Sulu to pull the covers up over his head. “Computer, reset light parameters.”

“Please specify required setting.”

“Anything, I don’t care. Just turn it down a little.”

“Computer, reduce lighting by thirty percent,” Susan said, then she reached over and pulled the covers from his head. “No hiding from me, mister. We should talk about this.”

“Do we have to do this now? I’ve got to be up early in the morning; I promised Mister Scott I’d fly him across to the shipyards,” Sulu said.

But Susan was adamant. “This can’t wait.”

“Look, Suze, we talked about this, we agreed that we don’t have the time for a baby right now. You said that things were really starting to happen for you down in Biomechanics, and with the Enterprise refit coming along quicker than they’d anticipated, there’s talk that the launch date could be brought forward to next year.”

“I know, but—”

“It’s just not practical,” Sulu told her. “You know that. It’s not that I don’t want to be a dad . . .”

Susan looked up at him then, her eyes wide with surprise. A smile tugging her lips.

Sulu held his hands up, as though surrendering. “Yeah, okay, I admit it, ever since seeing Beth and Gil with their new son . . .”

“I knew it!” Susan slapped him playfully on the arm. “I knew the sight of all those toddlers running around the place would melt even your icy heart!”

“But this would be different, Suze,” he said. “This would be ours, for keeps—no giving it back at the end of the day. It’s one thing going to parties where the kids are other people’s and we can leave once we’ve had enough. You said that you didn’t want a stranger raising your child. So who would be looking after the baby during the day when you’re down at the lab? I’ll be flying around the galaxy studying wormholes and escorting peace delegations to Babel. My mother really isn’t up to—”

Susan shrugged. “I could always give up the lab.”

Her words stunned him into silence. She had said them so calmly, so matter-of-factly, that just for the briefest of seconds she sounded to Sulu like the strongest, bravest person he had ever known.

That was the first time he’d realized how serious Susan had been about the idea of motherhood, and that’s when he’d known that they were about to become parents.

Sulu felt a hand rest lightly on his shoulder and he glanced up from the incubator. Doctor Hautala was standing at his side, a tight, concerned smile on her face.

“You look exhausted. Go home and get some rest,” she ordered.

“But they need me,” Sulu said, jerking his chin toward the baby. “She might need me.”

“But you won’t be any use to either of them if you’re exhausted.” Hautala carefully turned him away from the baby. “Come on, Commander, it’s time you got some sleep. Doctor’s orders.”

Reluctantly, Sulu allowed the doctor to guide him out of the room, but not without one last backward glance over his shoulder at the tiny, sleeping form of his new daughter.

VULCAN

When the shuttlecraft touched down at the port north of ShiKahr, there was only one person waiting on the edge of the platform: Amanda, wife of Sarek. Spock strode over to his mother, leaned down, and kissed her on the cheek.

“Spock,” Amanda said in greeting.

“Mother.”

“Our shuttle is just outside the gate.” Amanda turned and led her son through the darkened tunnel.

Spock could feel the welcoming heat of Vulcan enveloping him; the early morning sky was just beginning to lighten.

As they stepped into the small shuttle, Amanda activated the coordinates for home. With a faint, almost imperceptible vibration, the small craft rose and headed to the ancient outskirts of the city.

Once they were airborne, Amanda turned to her son. “No uniform?”

“I did not want to call attention to my arrival, Mother.”

“No, of course not.”

He recognized the tone of her voice from his childhood; he had heard the same tone used on his father many times. “Do you think my greeting may have undermined my intent?”

“I’m afraid it might have. Then having your mother there to meet you—”

“You are not the only human on Vulcan.”

Amanda smiled at Spock. “No, but I’m the only one who was kissed by her son on his homecoming.”

“You have asked many times for me to do so,” he said.

“Spock, I’m not going to be distracted: What’s wrong?”

“Mother, I cannot continue with the Kolinahr.”

Spock watched his mother study him. Her face was lined, her hair gray, yet she looked younger than her years. Spock realized it was her smile. Small, contained, fleeting; however, it lit up her face. “Well, maybe you can go into the family business.”

Chapter 5

IOWA

James Kirk unpacked the small collection of clothes from his bag, washed, and then padded silently down the stairs to grab some coffee.

Much to his surprise, Hanna was waiting for him in the kitchen at the end of the hall, a freshly brewed pot of coffee sitting on the countertop.

The table sat in the open floor space to one side of the kitchen, with five mismatched chairs pushed around it. One had been pulled out just a little, indicating that Kirk should just go right ahead and sit himself down.

“You’ll have to excuse us; it’s not often we sit down together at breakfast,” Hanna explained. “But I thought I’d wait for you before I start my day.”

“To tell you the truth, I didn’t think anyone would be here,” Kirk said.

Hanna glanced across at the kitchen clock; it was just a little shy of quarter past nine. “Your uncle Abner was up and out of here an hour before you arrived. They’ve been threatening a storm for the last few days, so Abner wants to get the lightning shield up and working again, just in case.”

His aunt finished off the last of the dishes, then dried her hands on a towel that hung on a brass hook by the stove. With her kitchen chores done, she crossed to the counter and poured two cups of fresh coffee, setting one down in front of Kirk.

“You look like you could use one of these,” Hanna said with a wink as she settled herself into a chair opposite. “Maybe I’ll sit and join you for a few minutes, although don’t tell Abner or he’ll say I’m slacking.”

“My lips are sealed,” Kirk promised.

The coffee was good and just how he remembered it: hot and black, with the faintest hint of chicory. Some things never change.

He felt the rising urge to flee, the need to be away from here, to be safely aboard a shuttle and on his way back to the Enterprise. Kirk took a couple of good, deep breaths and kept a lid on it.

“I know that letter coming out of the blue was probably the last thing you needed right now, what with you just getting your ship back, and . . .”

Kirk looked across the table at his aunt; she was frowning down at the table, seemingly distracted by the coffee cup that she was twisting in her hands. Kirk said nothing. It wasn’t that he didn’t know what to say to her, but he knew that if he gave her enough time she’d get to her point.

“Abner and I didn’t know what else to do. Your folks never had any problems like this when you and George were boys.” Hanna glanced up, the frown straightening out a little. “Your minds were made up long before either of you had reached Peter’s age.”

“For Sam,” Kirk said, “it was always the Academy, no question.”

“Do you remember the first time he came home in his cadet uniform?” Hanna asked.

Kirk nodded. “He asked me if he looked like a famous explorer.”

“Your mother was so proud, she took a hundred pictures of him standing out there in the front yard,” Hanna said. “Sent them to everyone she knew. He cut a handsome figure.”

“Knowing that he’d graduate from the Academy, that he’d be out there . . .” Kirk stopped, finding it hard to go on.

“And you?” Hanna asked him.

Kirk shook his head wearily. “I wanted to go to the Academy. I wanted to join Starfleet, serve aboard a starship, command my own vessel, but . . .” He thought about it, then shrugged. “It’s hard to explain. Sam and I felt things very differently. When we were growing up, Sam always knew the things he was going to do, knew they were going to happen for him.”

“If Peter had a fraction of that Kirk confidence, then we wouldn’t need you here, Jimmy,” Hanna said.

“Peter’s inherited many fine qualities from his father,” Kirk pointed out.

“And what about your boy?” Hanna asked. “What qualities has he inherited from his father?”

Kirk shifted uncomfortably in his seat, taking a thoughtful sip of coffee before answering. “You’d have to ask Carol about that. I’ve not seen David since they left for the New Berlin colony.”

“She’s not letting you see him?” Hanna asked.

“No, it’s not . . .” Kirk shook his head.

“Jim . . .”

“It’s probably for the best,” Kirk told her. “Starship captains do not make good fathers. My home has always been up there.” He jerked his head toward the sky.

“You’ve got command of the Enterprise again. Must be a comfort,” Hanna said.

Kirk dropped his eyes, silently staring at the last dregs of coffee swilling around the bottom of his cup. At long last, he said, “What makes you so sure that I can get through to Peter?”

“You’re the one Peter went to when he had a bee in his bonnet about something, even when his mom and dad were alive. I dunno what you’d care to call it.” Hanna spread her hands out, palms up, knowing how uncomfortable her nephew would be with the sentiment.

“Hero worship?” Kirk said.

“You were there when his parents were killed, your ship was the one that saved him, the Enterprise carried his parents’ bodies home. Maybe that affected Peter more than we realize.”

Kirk nodded in understanding. Deep down the thought troubled him greatly. He’d already made a complete mess of it with his own son; he didn’t want to make it two-for-two with Peter. But if Abner and Hanna felt that he would have better luck getting through to Peter, then who was he to argue?

He pushed his chair back and made for the kitchen door, placing his empty cup in the sink as he passed. Before he could reach for the screen-door handle, Hanna called out, “Jimmy?”

When Kirk turned toward his aunt, she was already up on her feet and heading over to him. Grasping him by the shoulders, she looked up into his eyes.

“Why are you still in Starfleet?” she asked him.

The question took Kirk by surprise. “What?”

“Don’t you try to lie to me, James Tiberius Kirk. Whenever you had a problem at home, who’d you come to?”

Just for a second Kirk felt like a young boy again, the seven-year-old Jimmy Kirk.

“I know you. I can see you are troubled, and your response to my letter . . . not my Jimmy. What’s wrong?” Hanna asked.

“I love serving in Starfleet. I’m a good starship commander. I’m just not sure that I can be trusted with so many lives.”

V’GER

Despite the chaos, the endless, swirling patterns of color are hypnotic.

To Sulu’s left the navigator screams as a bank of relay controls explodes outward, showering them with red-hot shards. It sounds like Ilia, but that’s impossible because Ilia is already dead, killed by the column of blinding white light, the V’Ger probe.

Sulu tries to turn his head, to see if she’s hurt, but he can’t tear his eyes away from the forward viewscreen.

The alien is immense, unstoppable, gathering itself before them like some gigantic storm cloud, preparing to unleash its destructive energy upon them.

There is a cold flash of blue somewhere ahead, followed by another, then another, and three bolts of plasma energy race away from the center of the cloud toward the fleet of starships.

We are dying out here. We are all dying.

On the viewscreen the Exeter is on fire, spinning wildly out of control as a volley of ice-blue plasma energy bolts slams into its hull, cracking the reinforced skin of the ship like an egg.

As he watches, the Constellation moves in, trying to position itself between the dying starships and the alien cloud, attempting to deflect some of the disruptive energy bolts. But they are too powerful. It’s all in vain. The first bolt punches a hole through the saucer section, the second rips the starboard nacelle clean off its strut.

And now the immense cloud is turning, directing its attention elsewhere as it leaves the Constellation to die.

First it brings those unstoppable bolts to bear on the Lexington, tearing its saucer in half with a single, well-timed shot, then it moves on toward the Yorktown.

All of space is a graveyard, a vast, never-ending vista of twisted metal and frozen bodies.

That is when Sulu realizes that only the Enterprise is left.

The cloud turns again, causing the insanely beautiful patterns of blues and silvers and whites to dance once more.

But something is happening.

The thick covering of cloud starts to change color, racing violently through the vast spectrum of varying shades and hues until it finally settles upon a pale, almost colorless gray. Before Sulu’s eyes the outer shell begins to ripple, then to undulate, until, at last, it falls apart, peeling away like chunks of dead flesh.

There is only the machine left.

Black light crackles and sparks across its smooth, alien architecture as the machine begins to edge steadily forward, closing the distance between itself and the Enterprise.

From behind him the captain orders full reverse, and Sulu reaches obediently forward for the controls.

But he is too late.

A circle of long, cylindrical spires slides silently out of the vast machine’s maw. Energy erupts across the length of its skin once more, followed by another series of blue flashes.

Four bolts of plasma energy explode from the tips of the cylindrical spires and race toward the Enterprise.

The first bolt strikes the ship just above engineering, tearing the entire aft section away from the saucer, causing her to go into a tailspin. The second and third bolts scream past, missing the spiraling ship by mere meters. The fourth bolt skims across the skin of the saucer section, ripping up the exterior panels as it goes, exposing the decks beneath to the harsh subzero temperatures of space.

And now the Enterprise is diving . . .

Down.

Down.

Down through the thin halo of Earth’s upper atmosphere, dragging a fiery tail behind it like some immense comet.

On the viewscreen San Francisco is in flames—his home, his family, his friends, all in ruins—destroyed by V’Ger’s orbital bombing. The Golden Gate Bridge is gone; nothing is left but twisted lumps of severed metal. The waters that separate the San Francisco and Marin Peninsulas are a writhing cauldron of smoke and vapor.

Sulu clings desperately to the arm of his chair as the ship begins to shake itself apart around him.

And above it all, the sound of someone screaming and screaming and screaming . . .

And Sulu suddenly realizes that it is him.

SAN FRANCISCO

At first he didn’t know where he was.

When Sulu snapped awake from the nightmare, the darkness was so unexpected, and so absolute, that it caused him to panic momentarily. He pulled himself quickly into a sitting position, clawing frantically at the bare boards beneath him.

The overhead lights sprang on, bathing the room in a soft, amber glow.

He was in San Francisco, Susan’s apartment.

He must have fallen asleep, and the computer had automatically cycled down the lights when it had detected no activity after forty minutes. He made a mental note to reset the autofunction.

Sulu wiped a shaking hand across his forehead and felt the cold sheen of sweat that coated his skin.

That was four nights in a row that he’d had that dream, and it was always the same.

No, that wasn’t strictly true.

It always started the same way, but this was the first time the Enterprise had been destroyed. Usually they were able to turn tail and run before V’Ger was able to fire its plasma energy bolts, but not this time, not tonight.

And that wasn’t the only thing that had been different: This time V’Ger had behaved differently.

Before it had just been a cloud that attacked the Federation fleet, but tonight it had revealed itself to him. Not the actual nucleus—the NASA spacecraft that had originally been known as Voyager 6—but the entire machine entity that the inhabitants of the Machine Planet had built around it: the thing that had become V’Ger.

He hated having this dream. It was one of the reasons he didn’t want to come back to the apartment.

One of many reasons.

It had taken him a few minutes to flag down a taxi outside the Starfleet Medical facility, but once aboard he’d fished out his Starfleet ID and fed it into the driver interface.

“Good evening, Lieutenant Commander Hikaru Sulu. Please state your destination.”

“1738 Ocean Avenue.” Sulu paused, before adding, “And take the scenic route.”

“Scenic route? Please clarify.”

Sulu sighed. “It means I’m not in any hurry to get there.”

The taxi driver was a machine and didn’t understand his intentions. It took the most direct route and dropped him outside the apartment building in a mere ten minutes.

He considered not going inside straightaway, perhaps going for a walk up toward Junipero, maybe even stopping off at a bar along the way. But it was starting to get cold and a tangle of fog was rolling in off the bay, so he thought better of it.

Sulu wasn’t convinced that he was going to get into the apartment at first. The security system’s retina scanner seemed to be acting up, and it took Sulu several attempts before the computer accepted his retinal print and opened the front door.

It was cold inside the apartment, and there was a faint whiff of lubrication wafting out of the air filters, making him think of the engineering section on board the Enterprise.

There was something lying on the ground, just inside the door, causing Sulu to stumble and almost trip as he fumbled his way clumsily through the dark.

The computer, detecting his presence, activated the overhead lights, illuminating the length of the hallway and piping in a selection of calming music through the speakers.

“Music off!” Sulu ordered, snatching up Susan’s carelessly discarded shoes from the floor and tossing them into the hall closet.

Just like Susan, Sulu thought with a smile. Never puts her shoes away in the closet. No matter how many times he had asked her to.

“Good evening, Hikaru,” the computer chimed in cheerfully. “There are fifteen messages awaiting your attention. Would you like me to play them for you?”

“Definitely not.” Sulu was in no mood to be answering a lot of questions about Susan and the baby at this time of night, even if they were well meaning.

Sulu padded down the hallway, heading for the living room, when he stopped suddenly outside an open door. The lights were off, but the shutters on the windows must have been open, for moonlight spilled into the room, throwing a spotlight upon the only piece of furniture that currently occupied it.

He hesitated, looking away toward the hall table, the coat stand, the closet—anywhere, as long as he wasn’t looking at that thing sitting on the floor in there.

Sulu glanced back in through the doorway again. It was still there.

A voice inside his head was screaming, Do you really want to be doing this? I mean, now, of all times?

He knew it was a really bad idea even as he reached out and placed a hand on the door, pushing it open the rest of the way.

When the overhead lights flickered on, revealing the half-finished nursery, Sulu was almost blinded by the whiteness of the newly painted walls. The last time he’d been here, this had still been what Suze called the laundry room.

Laundry room. Yeah, right.

It always made him smile to hear her call it that. Susan liked to give names to everything. There’d been nothing in the room except for a cleaner and an old fold-out table; there was little room for anything else.

But the room looked different now, bigger, definitely cleaner. Susan had been busy while he was away.

Standing dead center was the crib, the one her parents had given them as a gift not long after Susan had told them she was pregnant. There was a teddy bear sitting inside.

Sulu reached in and picked up the toy. He sat down on the bare nursery floor, with his legs crossed and his back against the front panel of the crib.

That’s when the tears came.

For a while he just sat there, with the bear in his hands, letting the tears come. Sulu thought that if he tried to stem them, he’d just burst like a dam and he’d only have to go through it all again. Most probably in a hospital, in front of Susan, and that’s the last thing either of them needed right now. Susan would be tired and emotional too; she needed his support.

And the baby. She needed to feel that they were there for her. She wouldn’t understand it, not on any conscious level, but instinctually, she’d know.

Sulu lifted his head from the crib and stared up at the smooth, featureless surface of the ceiling. It too was newly painted, white and gleaming, just like the walls.

He knew that he wouldn’t be able to close his eyes and sleep, not tonight. If he did, then all he would see would be that tiny, fragile baby lying motionless in the incubator. The only indication that she was alive, that she was fighting for her life, was the steady, almost imperceptible rise and fall of her chest.

She needed him.

Susan needed him.

And in two weeks he was going to leave. Board the Enterprise and disappear out of their lives for five years.

Did that make him a bad father? A bad husband?

His mama, Demora Sulu, had been the first female Starfleet officer to be given command of a starbase. It was a newly installed one, located near the Romulan Neutral Zone.

One night his mother had come home a very different woman, Sulu remembered. She was ecstatic and excited. They had always been proud of Mama, especially his papa. But that night there had been something else, something that Sulu could feel mixed in with the joy and celebrations.

At first Sulu had not understood what it was; not until much later did he realize that his mama had been frightened. Terrified, even. Not for herself, or for the two hundred plus people that would be serving under her, but for her family—especially for Hikaru.

His mama had stepped out onto the porch and watched him play for a while, one hand resting on the railing, the other cradling what his parents used to call a “grown-up drink.”

The sun was starting to go down and a cool breeze was drifting in off the water. His mama called him over and asked him to take a seat next to her on the bench.

“Now, you know that Starfleet has asked Mama to run a starbase for them,” she said softly.

Sulu nodded. He knew what that meant, all right. “Starbase 718. There’s over two hundred men and women on it. Papa told me. You’ll be able to shout at them and tell them what to do.”

“That’s right. Although, hopefully, I won’t need to shout,” she said with a smile. “But being a starbase commander means much more than just telling people what to do. You need to be quick-thinking, and to have your wits about you at all times. You make the wrong decision, and it affects more than just you. It affects everyone, even the people back here on Earth.”

Sulu’s eyes were wide and unblinking as he listened to his mother. “Will you have to make decisions like that, ones that affect the whole crew?”

“Almost every day.” His mama paused here, her hand lightly stroking his hair. “It also means that I’m going to have to be away from you and Papa for a while too. The starbase is very, very far away, near a part of the galaxy where a race called the Romulans live. Do you understand?”

Sulu nodded again. He understood what his mama meant.

“But I don’t want you to worry. I’ll be coming back to see you and Papa as often as I can, I promise.”

“You won’t forget about us, will you, Mama?” Sulu asked, tears spilling from his eyes and running down his face.

And as his mama hugged him and held him tightly, he knew that she’d never forget him, ever.

“Hikaru-bō, how could I ever forget about you?” she asked. “When you are the most beautiful and precious thing to me in the whole universe?”

You’re right, Mama, Sulu thought now. She is the most beautiful and precious thing to me in the whole universe, and I won’t forget about her, ever. I’m sure she’ll understand why I go away, just like I understood, all those years ago.

Eventually Sulu closed his eyes, and the image of his mama began to float away into the darkness. A few minutes later, Sulu drifted down after her.

Somewhere, inside that darkness, V’Ger was waiting for him.

SHIKAHR, VULCAN

Spock felt restless whenever he returned to his parents’ home on Vulcan, and this time was no exception.

He found his parents’ company to be quite stimulating. However, to use an inaccurate human expression, the house held too many memories for him.

Spock had spent the last forty-five minutes walking slowly through the house. He walked through each and every room, in a set order, from the basement to the second floor, counting his footsteps as he went. It was a unique system, a technique he had developed when he was a boy for focusing his mind. The regularity and rhythm of his steps, the slowly rising count, had a calming effect upon his thought processes. It allowed him to sort through his problems with reasoned clarity.

This morning his impending meeting with the Kolinahr master weighed heavily on his mind.

The fact that it still took him thirteen steps to cross the kitchen, and that there were still fourteen steps up from the conservatory to the bedrooms, just as there had been that last day before he left for the Academy, didn’t help. The precise pattern, the counted steps, the steady climb to the roof, the return to his father’s library: In the past, Spock had always found clarity. However, his mind was still in a state of agitation about the meeting, and, rather than turning toward the library, Spock decided to go out on the roof terrace.

Situated on the eastern side of the house, the terrace was a wide paved area overlooking the vast expanse of the Forge. He was not expecting to find his mother out here so early in the morning; usually she took her early morning tea and P’eltac cake in the dining room. The fact that Amanda might have been waiting for him, looking to help, did not enter Spock’s head.

“Good morning, Mother,” Spock said, announcing himself. “I am surprised to find you up so early. I hope my own inability to sleep didn’t disturb you.”

Amanda smiled. “Were you unable to sleep? I didn’t notice. I often come out onto the terrace. I like to catch the dawn.”

“Indeed. The suns rising in the northern hemisphere can be most illuminating at this time of year,” Spock said.

Amanda giggled, causing Spock to raise an eyebrow.

“Did I say something amusing?” he asked.

“Oh, come on, Spock. Sunrise can be ‘most illuminating’: Are you telling me you didn’t mean that as a joke?”

He thought carefully about his words for a moment, then shook his head. “It was not meant to be a witticism. However, I can see how a double meaning could be extrapolated from the statement.”

This time Amanda laughed long and hard, causing her son to stare at her in puzzlement for several minutes.

“Oh, Spock, how I’ve missed you.” She patted the bench beside her. “Please, sit with me awhile.”

Spock did as he was bidden. Amanda sipped her tea, surreptitiously studying her son.

“Mother, may I ask you a question?” Spock asked tentatively.

“Of course,” she told him. “You don’t need my permission. I am your mother, not your superior officer.”

She was teasing, of course, but, as usual, it passed by Spock unnoticed.

“You said that you have missed me.”

“That is correct,” Amanda agreed.

“The implication being that there has been no other adverse effects by my sudden absence,” said Spock.

“None that spring immediately to mind,” Amanda said. “Is there anything specific you are referring to?”

There was a slight pause, as though Spock were steeling himself. “Do you consider my abandonment of Kolinahr to be an embarrassment?”

Suddenly Amanda turned and faced her son.

“Oh, Spock, no,” she said tenderly. “There is nothing you could do that would be an embarrassment to me. You are my son, and I am fiercely proud of you.”

For a moment, Spock appeared unable to speak, as though her words had moved him deeply. Then he cleared his throat, and the moment was gone.

“If I recall correctly, it was the same when I was a boy,” he told her. “You were always the one who told me that I should be proud of my Vulcan and human heritage. I was unique, that the other boys were merely . . . envious. I always felt that my father was disappointed in me, that he would have preferred a son who was wholly Vulcan.”

“That’s simply not true. Your father has always been proud of you, even if he hasn’t said so. It’s true that your father and I see things differently, from time to time, but that is true of any marriage.” Amanda regarded her son carefully, then said, “What are you asking me, Spock?”

“If you had ever seen something, experienced something, that had made you question everything you believed in, everything that you had spent your whole life striving to be: Would that mean that your life had been meaningless, wasted even?”

The question was preposterous, illogical. Spock knew it before it had even left his lips; as such he expected his mother to instantly dismiss it. Yet Amanda considered her son’s words carefully before she answered him.

“I remember a six-year-old boy, who was so sick of being bullied by the other boys at school, and so determined to make his father proud of him, he decided to prove that he was Vulcan by becoming a Kir’Shara scholar. The fact that one had to be ten years old to take the exam didn’t faze this little boy. He was so bright and resolute, he believed he would pass the test and be the youngest scholar ever admitted to study the Kir’Shara. The master was a kind and gentle man, and when he heard that the little boy wanted to become a scholar, to show that he was truly Vulcan, he allowed him to take the test.”

Spock raised an eyebrow. “I fail to see the relevance of your story.”

“Even though you weren’t accepted, it didn’t matter. Your father was so proud of you for trying.” Amanda saw the look that flashed across her son’s face and immediately waved it away. “Yes, I know, there were many disagreements over the years. Your father is proud of you, of the man you have become. You are our son, Spock, and it doesn’t matter what you do, or where you go. Nothing will ever change that. Question the things in your life, as we all do—Sarek included. It’s what helps us change, adapt, become better people.”

“My father once questioned his own beliefs?” Spock sounded surprised.

At first Amanda appeared a little hesitant to answer, as though fearing that she might be overreaching.

“A long time ago. At first we were just friends walking in the Vulcan embassy grounds, or talking while exploring Golden Gate Park. Sarek never spoke of it, nor did I, but I knew what was happening. It took your father time to reconcile the feelings that he had for me. At one point I even thought that he had decided to never see me again, rather than acknowledge his love for me. But I was wrong. Sarek was working up the courage to propose to me. In public, when we were first married, he would claim our marriage was merely a ‘logical decision’ on his part: The Vulcan ambassador to the Federation was taking a human wife in order to understand humans, to come to terms with their more flamboyant eccentricities. But we knew the truth: The prim and proper, highly logical Vulcan had fallen in love. Spock, you can trust me when I say that if you find that you need to do something else, to be something different, I know your father will understand.”

Spock nodded silently, processing what his mother had said. He climbed to his feet, turning toward the house. After a few steps he stopped and turned back to Amanda.

“Is it possible that you are displaying the all-too-common human characteristic of oversentimentality? Assigning misplaced human emotions to my father’s actions?”

“Perhaps,” Amanda replied. “Or perhaps Sarek is not what he seems. Maybe, by choosing to marry a human woman and siring a half-human child, it’s possible that he believes that the Vulcan way might sometimes be wrong.”

Spock thought about this as he walked back to the house.

Chapter 6

IOWA

Kirk found Uncle Abner out by the farm’s westernmost boundaries, kneeling in front of the lightning shield’s substation, replacing broken circuits. The old man stopped as he approached, climbing to his feet and tugging off his hat. He waved it cheerfully in the air before wiping the sweat from his forehead and jamming it back down onto his head.

“Jimmy, my boy,” Abner called delightedly. “Hanna said you were on your way to see us today. Didn’t think we’d see you until much later, though.”

“It would seem that I’m not needed aboard my own ship,” Kirk said playfully. “That’s what you get for having the most efficient and dedicated chief engineer in the entire fleet.”

“Would that be the Scottish lad?” Abner asked.

Despite himself, Kirk let out a quick laugh. “I’d hardly call him a ‘lad.’ Although I’m sure he’d thank you kindly for the compliment.”

“You’d better watch out or he’ll be after stealing that captain’s chair right from under you,” Abner teased.

“Never,” Kirk said. “Scotty is only happy when he’s tinkering with his engines.”

“Tell you the truth, I could do with a fella like that right now. This baby has got me stumped, I won’t lie.” Abner pointed a spanner at the section of substation open in front of him.

Kirk bent forward, peering at the machine; he could feel his uncle studying him. When Kirk straightened up he knew what was coming.

“I hear you lost a couple of people during that V’Ger business.”

Kirk said nothing for a moment or two, then nodded. “My executive officer and navigator.”

“Must be hard, having them taken away like that. I take my hat off to Starfleet: I sure couldn’t handle responsibility like that,” Abner confessed.

“I’m just thankful we were able to stop it in time, otherwise things could have been a lot worse,” Kirk said.

Abner nodded in agreement. “D’you remember Andy Kinderman and his family? Used to live in that Victorian over in the next county? That was before they moved to that XJ340 planet, out by Campbell’s World.”

Kirk had not heard that name for years, not since before Sam had left for the Academy. They’d let Andy join in their game of explorers once or twice. Andy never wanted to be a human explorer, which was too boring, he’d declare. He’d always chosen to be the Vulcan xenobiologist S’alya.

“Andy Kinderman. Wasn’t he assigned to the Darwin as their chief biologist?” Kirk asked.

“Got himself reassigned once or twice since then. Last time was five months ago. Decided he was sick of being on a ship, disappearing for months on end. He wanted to be nearer to his family, or at least within shuttle distance.” Abner paused, and there was a genuine sadness in his eyes. “He thought he’d get himself posted to a monitoring station for a little while, nice change, regular shore leave. He told his dad that he wanted to spend more time with them, now that they were getting on in years. Died a week ago, along with the rest of the crew, on the Epsilon Nine station when that V’Ger decided to blow it out of existence.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know.”

Abner glanced across at Kirk, then quickly looked away again. “He knew the risks of being out there, just the same as that navigator and executive officer of yours.”

The old man pointed off to the west, down toward an old dirt-track path that led away from the farmhouse and into the dark line of trees at the foot of the hill.

“I remember one weekend when you and George and Andy decided that you wanted to go out tracking in those woods. Packed up your old three-man tent intending on camping out for the night. Your pa said that it was going to rain, but that didn’t deter George none. He said, ‘We’re explorers, and real explorers brave all kinds of weathers on all kinds of planets.’ ”

Kirk smiled. He remembered that weekend well. “Sam said that ‘a little drop of rain wasn’t going to stop us from exploring the woods.’ ”

• • •

“But why do we have to spend the whole night out here?” Andy asked. They’d been walking for almost an hour; he’d worn new hiking boots, and his feet were getting sore.

“We’re explorers,” Sam explained. “And to be an explorer you have to, you know, explore.”

This made Jimmy giggle. “Yeah, whoever heard of a famous explorer just sitting at home and reading about places?”

“Exactly.” Sam nodded. “Like Jimmy said, you can’t just read about them, you have to go to them. So that’s what we’re doing: going to them.”

“But there might be bears in here,” Andy said wearily.

“That’s okay—Jimmy’s brought his phaser with him. If any bears show up, he’ll deal with them.”

Andy’s eyes grew wide with surprise. “What, you’ve got a real phaser? Your father lets you play with a real phaser?”

Sam rolled his eyes. “Well, obviously, it’s not a real phaser. We’re not dumb enough to play with one of those.”

“No. Uh-uh,” Jimmy agreed. “Pa would be awful mad with us if we had a real phaser. He says they’re too dangerous.”

“Jimmy’s got one that shoots little pellets,” Sam said. “So I took a bag of ball bearings from the toolshed before we left. Any bear that tries to eat us will get a gutful of metal.”

• • •

“It rained,” Kirk said, remembering the cold night they’d all spent out there in the woods.

“Made no difference, though. You three stuck it out, just like George said you would.” Abner glanced across at Kirk, and there was that look of sadness. “I wish Peter was more like you and your brother. He used to be, when he was younger, but since he lost his family . . . it’s like we’re living with a different boy.”

“Losing someone is hard enough at the best of times, but when you’re only a boy . . .”

“It’s been six years, Jim. I’m not saying he should have gotten over it by now, but he should be dealing with it.” Abner thought about it for a second, then said, “It’s like he’s not alive anymore, just going through the motions, like some kind of automaton. He’s just repeating a set program: get up, eat, go to school, tinker in the shed, eat, sleep.”

“Aunt Hanna says that you’d like me to talk with him,” Kirk said.

Abner swallowed. It was obvious he was feeling uncomfortable. “We didn’t want to ask, believe me. In fact, when Hanna first raised the subject of writing to you, I was against it. I thought it was unfair to drag you halfway across the quadrant, but when we heard that the Enterprise would be coming home . . . We just didn’t know what else to do.”

“I’m not exactly sure what it is you want me to say to him,” Kirk confessed.

“Tell you the truth, we don’t know either. Your aunt and I are just clutching at straws.”

“Thanks, Abner,” Kirk said.

“Hell, you’re a Starfleet admiral; you’ve faced worse things than a teenage boy. I’m sure you’ll think of something,” Abner said with a smile.

Kirk looked back toward the hill, at the dark line of trees standing sentinel at its base, the dirt path like a fading scar, disappearing between them.

Of the three there was only him left now. No Sam, no Andy, just him. What was he supposed to tell Peter?

• • •

The family dinner did not go well.

To be fair, it wasn’t all Peter’s fault. A lot of the blame was Abner’s. It was true that the old man was just trying to help the boy get himself back on the right track, only Kirk wished he weren’t so damned pushy about it.

But, if he was being honest with himself, pushiness did seem to be a Kirk family trait.

Peter barely spoke during the meal. He’d said hello to Kirk when he’d sat down, but after that it was mostly just “please” and “thank you.” He even avoided eye contact whenever possible.

Kirk couldn’t really blame him. The last time they’d seen each other, he’d been captain of the ship that was transporting him and his parents’ bodies back from Deneva. And the time before that . . . well, even Kirk couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen Peter.

Not that his brother had been any better at staying in touch.

Peter was almost twenty-two months old before Sam had gotten around to contacting his brother, via a subspace message.

His elder brother had been living on Theta Anterial II for a while, and he’d certainly changed. He looked broader now—not just in the face but across the chest, as though the living was good out there on the colony worlds. His hair was starting to thin, the color lightening in patches at the temples in preparation for the inevitable onslaught of gray.

“Hey, Jimmy-Boy, I want you to say hello to your nephew, Peter,” Sam said, waving into the pickup. “Peter, say hi to your uncle Jim.”

But the boy on his lap wasn’t listening. He was too intent on the small model starship that was gripped in his short chubby fingers.

“Whoa! How did he get so big?” Kirk asked. “Aurelan only gave birth to the little fella a few months ago.”

On the screen his elder brother shook his head, and for a second the image began to break up. Kirk leaned forward, adjusting the signal booster, which thankfully fixed the problem.

“Been nearly two years now, Jimmy. Hard to believe, huh?” Sam bounced the boy up and down on his knee, and Peter began to giggle happily.

Kirk was shocked. “Two years?”

“Especially out here, the days are six hours shorter.” When Kirk didn’t laugh, Sam said, “That was a joke, knucklehead.”

What was it Spock had told him this morning? “I have found that it is a common practice among humans to attempt to mask one’s problems and shortcomings with humor.”

When he was younger, Kirk had been keen to learn everything he could from his older brother. It seemed the trick of hiding the truth from those you loved was just one of the many lessons he had learned. Sam had been the perfect teacher.

Now at dinner Peter had chosen to sit quietly throughout the meal while the others talked. Kirk wasn’t even sure the boy was listening. Once or twice he saw Peter glance across at them, probably just checking that he wasn’t being spoken to. His nephew might have had no desire to join in their conversation, but it was obvious to Kirk that Peter took care not to upset or offend those around him by making them think he was ignoring them.

The silence would have continued unabated had the subject of Starfleet Academy not been raised.

“So, it looks like I’ll be losing my right-hand man in a few months,” Uncle Abner declared to those gathered around the table.

Peter glanced up quickly, a troubled look on his face.

“Abner, maybe this isn’t the time . . .” Hanna began to say.

Abner waved a dismissive hand at her. “Nonsense, there couldn’t be a better time. We have one man sitting at the table whose Starfleet career is the stuff of legend, and another who has the potential to have one every bit as important.”

Kirk looked from Abner to Peter, then back again. “What’s this all about?”

“Peter applied for Starfleet Academy at the beginning of the year, and he got a reply from them last week. He’s been accepted.”

Kirk beamed across at his nephew. “This is wonderful news, Peter. Your mother and father would be very proud of you.”

“Yeah? Well, we’ll never know because they’re both dead.”

At first everyone around the table was shocked into silence. None of them was prepared to believe that the words had come from Peter’s mouth, let alone that they were aimed at James Kirk.

Hanna was the first to recover herself.

“Peter, that’s no way to speak to your uncle,” she admonished. “He was only congratulating you.”

“No, that’s okay.” Kirk raised both hands, palms outward, as if to say I’m fine, I’m not hurt.

“That’s kind of you, Jim, but it’s not okay,” Abner said, his eyes on Peter. “It was downright uncalled for. Your uncle Jim was being gracious.”

“I’m sure Peter had his reasons for saying what he did.” Kirk could see that there was an argument brewing, and he was doing everything he could to defuse the situation.

“If he did, then I’d sure as hell like to hear them, because he wasn’t brought up to talk to people like that,” Abner said.

“Nobody knows how I was brought up—no one,” Peter said, suddenly losing his temper. “Not you, not Uncle Jim, not even my own mom and dad. No one’s ever stopped long enough to ask me.”

Abner shook his head. “What are you talking about?”

“Please, Ab,” Hanna warned.

“No, if the boy’s got something to say, then let him speak,” Abner said.

Peter pushed his plate away, then stood up. “May I be excused from the table now, please, Aunt Hanna?”

“No,” said Abner. “You still haven’t explained yourself.”

“Yes, of course you can,” Hanna said as she picked up his half-empty plate. “But don’t you be too long out in that shed.”

The door clicked shut and Peter was gone.

Abner was furious. “Why the hell did you just excuse him, Han? We can’t have him talking to folk like that.”

“The boy’s upset and you know it,” she replied. “Shouting at him isn’t going to do any good. Never has done in the past. Just leave him be.”

“Maybe I should speak to him now,” Kirk said suddenly, surprising himself.

Abner nodded curtly and said, “If you wouldn’t mind, Jim, we’d both be most obliged. The boy’s not been paying attention to us for a while, but maybe he’ll listen to you some, seeing as you’re—”

“An admiral in Starfleet?” Kirk interrupted.

“Well, I was going to say his father’s brother, but I’m sure that’ll help, too,” Abner told him.

• • •

A knot of slate-gray clouds was sliding slowly across the evening sky, swallowing up the expanse of rich dark blue as they went. Kirk stepped out of the house and into the yard. The wind was starting to pick up, howling down the narrow walkway between the barn and the toolshed, kicking the dust up around his feet.

The trouble with Uncle Abner was that he was too much like Kirk’s father, a dyed-in-the-wool traditionalist who liked things done his way or not at all. He understood men like Abner—that’s what living with his father had taught him. Kirk prided himself on his ability to talk to any green crew, to calm their fears, to steady their nerves. However, a teenage boy who was still suffering the mental torment of his family’s death, that was a different matter entirely.

Kirk had expected to corner his nephew in the toolshed, but the boy wasn’t there. Instead, he found Peter in the barn, tending to the horses. Kirk slipped inside and pulled the door closed against the wind.

“He’s magnificent,” Kirk said, pointing to the pure black stallion that Peter was grooming. “What’s his name?”

It took Peter so long to answer him that Kirk began to think the young boy might be ignoring him.

“His name’s Airdancer,” Peter said at last.

“Good name.”

“I helped deliver—Uncle Abner said I could name him,” Peter told him.

“He reminds me of a horse my father used to own when I was your age. Black Jack. Only he had a patch of white just here.” Kirk placed a finger on the horse’s forehead. “He was a spirited beast too. My father would only let me ride him while he was there. He used to say that if Black Jack attempted to bolt, he’d try to throw me, and I could end up with a broken back.”

Peter glanced across at Kirk. “You used to ride horses?”

Kirk nodded. “Still do, when I get the chance.”

“I never knew you were interested in horses, Uncle Jim. I mean, no one ever told me.”

“I’m a man with hidden depths,” he said with a smile.

Kirk wandered over to the nearby enclosure and patted a white-and-gray mare firmly on the nose. In reply, the horse flicked her ears and snorted.

“That’s Bella,” Peter informed him. “She likes being scratched behind the ear, but only when the mood takes her. Other times she can get kind of cranky.”

Like Airdancer, Bella was a very noble-looking creature, and obviously well looked after. Kirk assumed—somewhat incorrectly—that this and the toolshed were Peter’s refuge from what he saw as the old man’s disappointment.

A sudden gust of wind rattled at the door and the horses became restless. Peter leaned across and placed a soothing hand on Airdancer’s forehead.

“Easy, boy,” he whispered into the ear of the black stallion. “It’s just the wind, there’s no need to fret.” Then to Kirk he said, “There’s a storm coming. The horses are usually the first to know it. I hope Uncle Abner got that lightning shield fixed.”

“The big one out by the old dirt track?” Kirk said, without turning his attention away from the mare.

Peter nodded. “Been down for a while now. It doesn’t usually matter, but this time of year the fields are dry, so even the smallest spark can start the fires raging. That’s bad enough, but once the wind picks up like this . . .”

Kirk waited for the boy to continue, but when it became obvious that there was no more, he said, “This is quite a sanctuary you have here. When I wanted to get away from prying eyes and awkward questions, I used to come here sometimes too and talk to the horses.”

At first Peter said nothing; he just continued brushing down the stallion as though his uncle had not spoken.

“Of course, it wasn’t just the adults. I also had an older brother who would tease me to the point of distraction whenever he was in the mood,” Kirk continued. “Sometimes it made me feel like the loneliest person in the world. Silly, isn’t it? Here I was, surrounded by family, animals, and friends, and yet there were times when it was almost as if there was no one that I could talk to, no one who could understand me, understand who I was, what I wanted to be.”

“But you grew up and became a famous admiral in Starfleet,” Peter said, still not looking up.

“And you’d think it would all suddenly change, wouldn’t you? That suddenly everyone magically understood you, and all that loneliness and insecurity would just melt away, faster than ice in the desert.” Kirk held his arms out, indicating the barn around him. “And yet here I am, seeking sanctuary in this old barn as I once did, hiding away from my friends and colleagues, and talking to horses. So much for the famous Starfleet admiral.”

“But you saved us all, didn’t you?” Peter asked. “You saved Earth from destruction by V’Ger.”

“But that doesn’t mean there wasn’t a price to pay,” Kirk said sadly. “Trust me, there usually is in situations like that.”

“You mean Commander Decker and Lieutenant Ilia?” Peter asked.

“Yes,” Kirk said. “But I began paying the price long before V’Ger.”

Now he had Peter’s full attention. Slowly, the boy lowered the grooming brush in his hand, the horse’s coat all but forgotten.

“Were you scared?”

The question came completely out of the blue, catching Kirk off-guard. He turned away from the white-and-gray mare, looking across at his nephew.

“Scared?”

“When V’Ger came,” Peter explained. “Yours was the only ship Command sent to intercept it. There was no one else, just the Enterprise. You must have been scared.”

Just for a second, Kirk was back on the bridge of the Enterprise, his hands raised in front of his face, the light and heat from the V’Ger probe almost unbearable as it slowly twists and swirls around the bridge crew like a mini-tornado, searching, probing, learning. The probe tries to drain the computer banks, ripping out every file, every technical schematic and Starfleet communiqué it can find. Spock steps forward and smashes the station, effectively starving the probe of knowledge.

Then it turns, spinning and gyrating its way across the bridge to Ilia at the navigation station. It reaches out a tentative tongue of energy, tasting the biological makeup of the carbon-based life-form in front of it. Frightened, the Deltan turns and tries to run, but the probe reaches out again, freezing her in her tracks. It has decided that it needs her, that V’Ger needs the creature’s knowledge, its likeness.

The probe begins to pulse sickeningly. There is a blinding flash of light.

Kirk blinked several times, in a desperate attempt to dislodge the image from his mind’s eye. He looked at his nephew. “Yes, I was scared.”

“That you were going to die?” Peter asked.

“No. Scared that my crew might die if I did the wrong thing, gave the wrong order,” Kirk told him. “I knew the Enterprise was all that stood in V’Ger’s way. Everyone was depending on me to do the right thing. That was infinitely more terrifying than facing your own mortality.”

“I couldn’t do that. That’s what Uncle Abner doesn’t understand. He thinks I’ve lost interest, that I’ve no ambition, but he’s wrong. I want to do these things, I really do, I’m just . . .” Peter stopped.

Kirk finished the sentence for him. “Scared?”

“Before Deneva, before my parents were killed, I used to see everything as an exciting adventure—all those other worlds, those other life-forms and civilizations. My father used to say that there are as many new worlds with new, undiscovered life walking on their surfaces as there are grains of sand on the beach. I used to find that the most exciting thing ever. But now it just frightens me. They frighten me.”

“Starfleet prepares you, trains you, and gives you the experience that you need to be able to go out there,” Kirk offered.

“When my father was posted to a new planet he’d always come home, sit us down, and talk for hours about the new things we’d see there and all the new people we’d meet,” Peter said. “For me it was the most exciting time of my life. I knew, even from an early age, that I wanted to be an explorer just like my father.” A sudden sadness filled his eyes. “Then we joined the colony on Deneva and those neural parasites killed everyone. I’ve never been so scared in my whole life. I thought I was going to die. Then the Enterprise turned up, you saved . . . You took me onto the bridge and sat me in the captain’s chair, in your chair, and just being on a starship made me feel so safe and secure. I knew that I had to join Starfleet. But when V’Ger came, it reminded me of those parasites, and how my family died. There’re all these different creatures out there who just want to hurt and kill for no other reason than they can. I don’t want to be a part of that, not now, not ever.”

Knowing that he would have to choose his next words with extreme care, Kirk said, “I’m not going to lie to you, Peter. There are life-forms that will do anything, justify any action, in their attempt to destroy everything that we hold dear. But that’s just a tiny fraction. Our universe holds wonders and beauty that are just waiting to be discovered. One of my best friends is what could be called a creature from ‘out there.’ If it wasn’t for him and his compassion and kindness, I wouldn’t be alive. Without our friendship with the Vulcans and the other members of the Federation, our lives would be so different than they are today. The Andorians stood by our side during the Romulan War. You know this, Peter: ‘Aliens’ have made our lives better. They’ve strengthened the Federation, opened up countless wonders to us. There’ll always be a neural parasite or a V’Ger entity for us to deal with, but they only serve to remind us how important Starfleet is. We extend the hand of friendship on behalf of the Federation to everyone we meet. It’s who we are.”

Kirk stopped, taken by the enormity of his own words. This hardly sounded like a man who, for the past ninety-six hours, had been doubting his abilities.

He had told himself that what had happened to Ilia was not his fault, that she had just been a victim of circumstance. He had no way of knowing exactly what that energy probe was, nor how to stop it. Everyone had assumed that it was nonhostile, that it had been sent by V’Ger to scan the Enterprise’s memory banks and then return with the information about Starfleet and Earth. But then V’Ger had arbitrarily decided that assimilating one of the ship’s crew into the machine’s consciousness would be a better way to understand carbon-based life-forms.

Will Decker, on the other hand, was a different matter entirely.

Kirk knew he was at fault. Yes, Decker was guilty of disobeying a direct order, but Kirk was guilty of allowing him to do so.

Maybe Spock was right: Maybe he’d made the correct decision, or the only decision he could have made. If he’d made Decker return to the Enterprise, forcibly removed him from V’Ger, from Ilia, would he have thanked him for it? Would Decker have seen it as saving his life? Or as just one more thing that Admiral Kirk had selfishly taken away from him?

First the Enterprise, then Ilia.

“Jim, I want this. As much as you wanted the Enterprise, I want this.” Those had been Decker’s final words before being absorbed by the V’Ger entity.

Had Decker been referring to Ilia, or V’Ger?

“Sometimes making unpleasant decisions is unavoidable,” Kirk told his nephew, still thinking about Will Decker. Had he decided not to fight Decker because the sacrifice would save them all?

“The Academy teaches you, and you learn how to accept the burden of your decisions and how to live with the consequences. Serving in Starfleet opens you up to wonder. You’ll know the joy of discovery, the things you lost when your parents were killed.

“Maybe you should stop fearing the leap, and just take it.”

Chapter 7

SAN FRANCISCO

After breakfast Sulu decided to check the fifteen messages that were waiting for him.

There was one from Uhura and Chekov, sending their love to Susan and the new baby—which at least cheered him up.

“If it’s a boy you should call him Pavel,” Chekov suggested. “A good strong name: Pavel Sulu.”

In response, Sulu could hear Uhura slapping him on the arm, saying, “You can’t call a child Pavel Sulu, it sounds like a cake.”

One was from his mama and papa in Okinawa. The rest were from his aunts and uncles. More people he seldom saw, because of duty or distance.

Sulu told the computer to answer all of the aunt and uncle messages with “Thank you for your kindness. Susan and the baby are doing fine. I will get back to you soon.” He told the computer not to answer his parents: He’d reply to them personally when he got back to the apartment that night.

Then Sulu washed, shaved, and changed his clothes before catching a taxi across to the Starfleet Medical facility.

This time he made his way straight to the new wing and gave his name to the person behind the desk, who told him that Susan was now awake and visiting their daughter down in the NICU.

Sulu had not been expecting this. He thought he’d have to take a seat again and wait for the doctor, and only after talking about Susan’s condition would he be allowed to see her.

He remembered the way from last time. Straight down the corridor, down two flights of stairs, and then immediately to the left. He took his time, rehearsing what he was going to say to Susan as he went.

What if she blamed herself for their daughter’s premature arrival? How the hell do you tell someone who has been carrying another life around inside them for the past three months, feeding it, protecting it, giving it somewhere safe to grow and develop, that they’re not responsible?

Sulu stopped outside the door to the NICU and for one absurd moment considered turning right around and walking out of the hospital.

But he didn’t.

Susan was sitting in a rocker over by their daughter’s incubator, one hand gently stroking the thick mop of dark hair.

“I’ve been thinking about names for her,” Susan said as he took his place on the other side of the incubator.

Sulu looked at his daughter. “Really?”

“She needs a name, Hikaru,” Susan told him simply. “I’d hate to think that . . .” She paused, struggling to get herself under control. “She needs a name.”

For someone who had been through so much in the last twenty-four hours, Susan was showing a surprising amount of strength and determination. It was there in her eyes. He’d always admired her; right now he wished he could be more like her. Susan had gotten it from her mother, Emma Ling, who had always been a tough little cookie, real scrappy.

Sulu smiled, desperately wishing for a healthy dose of that strength right now. “Okay, so what should we call her? You said you were thinking about giving her your mom’s name, Emma. What about that, Emma?”

Susan shook her head. “Nice idea, but Philly already named her baby that. I was thinking Demora, after your mother.”

“My mother? Where did that come from?”

“I was thinking this morning that it would be a good omen to give her a strong name,” Susan said. “Seeing as she needs all the help she can get right now.”

Sulu looked down at his daughter, studying her for a long moment. Even like this, lying in the incubator amidst a web of monitors, she looked beautiful, perfect—so much so that it almost took his breath away.

“I’m just glad she hasn’t got the Sulu nose,” he said at last.

“She’s got your hair, though,” Susan said.

Sulu laughed and shook his head. “No, not fine enough to be mine. That’s my mother’s hair.”

“Well, what do you think?” his wife asked.

Sulu glanced up from the incubator and he grinned, his eyes moist. “If that’s what you want, then it’s okay with me. Demora it is.”

“Demora Emma,” Susan said.

“Demora Emma,” he echoed.

They repeated it a few more times, each time making them giggle like naughty children. When they said the name out loud like that it sounded a little strange, like saying a familiar word over and over again until it loses all meaning. It would take a little bit of getting used to, but as long as they were given the time, Sulu would be happy to wait.

“Well, what do you know, my daughter has a name,” Sulu said, and for the first time since arriving home he was happy.

VULCAN

Out on the high plateau the suns were just starting to set. The evening had been warm and still, and the ceremonial robes that Spock was wearing were heavy and uncomfortable in the heat.

The skimmer came to rest at the foot of the temple on Mount Seleya, and Spock was immediately shown into the meditation area by a rather striking priestess.

“Have we met before?” Spock asked the priestess, once they had entered the chamber and the door was closed firmly behind them.

“We have,” she said, a hint of reticence in her voice. “I was once betrothed to you.”

Spock’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly. “You are . . .T’Pring.”

It had not been meant as a question but a statement of fact. The priestess nodded her acknowledgment.

“And the other . . . the one you chose?”

“Stonn,” the priestess informed him. “We are no longer a pair.”

“That is most unfortunate,” Spock said.

“No matter. The woman that I was has ceased to be,” she said. “I gave myself to the Kolinahr and such matters are unimportant to me.”

The priestess gestured toward the meditation stone that sat on a raised dais at the far end of the chamber.

“You will be summoned by the master in due course. Until then you may use the meditation stone to help center yourself and compose your thoughts.”

And with that, T’Pring turned and left Spock alone in the chamber.

His former bondmate’s appearance at this time was interesting, but the notion that it could be in any way coincidental was dismissed by Spock. Logic dictated that she had been tasked with greeting Spock upon his arrival, undoubtedly as a representation by the masters of what he could still achieve. To Spock, she was an example of what would never be.

Spock thought this was an emotional decision on the part of the masters, and he was curious as to why. He purposely took a seat on the bench farthest away from the meditation stone and waited for the chief acolyte to call him in. He considered his actions to be both logical and unambiguous: a protest, a measured retaliation against the decision to use T’Pring to sway him.

When the acolyte finally appeared he gestured for Spock to follow, leading him up a narrow set of stone steps to the chambers, where the master was waiting for him.

The chamber was ancient and sparsely decorated, lit only by a handful of flambeaux that hung from lanterns around the room. The walls and ceiling were hewn from the ancient rock of the mountain’s interior. The impression was that they were standing inside the living body of the mountain. Seated to one side of the dancing fire pit was Master T’Sai, the old Vulcan who had acted as his personal guide throughout the Kolinahr ritual.

She motioned for him to enter and take his place on a seat opposite her.

Spock sat down in front of the fire, hands clasped neatly in his lap, and waited for Master T’Sai to speak.

“I sense a raging conflict inside you, Spock, son of Sarek,” Master T’Sai said, her stony, almost plaintive voice echoing about the ancient room. “The likes of which I have not felt since you gave yourself to Kolinahr over two years ago. You did not find the answers in the stars, as you had hoped?”

Spock raised an eyebrow. “I did indeed find answers, Master T’Sai, but there were also many questions that accompanied them.”

“That is usually the case,” T’Sai said simply. “You are not here to account for your abandoning of Kolinahr.”

There was a long moment of silence, and at last Spock shook his head.

“I left for reasons that I thought were sound at the time. To try and explain them to you now, to attempt to give any excuse for my actions, would be a waste of your time and mine.”

“You do not regret your decision?” T’Sai asked.

Spock considered his answer carefully before he spoke: “I neither regret returning to Starfleet, nor my encounter with the entity known as V’Ger.”

T’Sai nodded slowly. “As it should be. There is no disgrace in failing. Many a Vulcan has stood before me unable or unwilling to give themselves completely to logic. Sarek was one of them.”

Spock was surprised by Master T’Sai’s revelation, but he did not show it. Instead, he said, “I do believe, however, that my subsequent departure from Vulcan was hasty. In hindsight, there are certain things I would have handled . . . differently.”

“It is not these things that have brought you back to Vulcan, back here to my chambers?” T’Sai asked.

“That is quite correct,” Spock said.

“Speak, Spock, and I will hear your words. Although whether I have any answers for you remains to be seen.”

Spock acknowledged the old master’s words with a slight nod of his head. He knew that this was more than politeness on her part, more than mere curiosity as to what he might have to say.

“The fact that I am half human has been a concern of mine since I was a small boy. I have always embraced my Vulcan half, denying my human heritage. I have striven to accept all of Sarek’s teachings in all things. But in doing so, I denied the principle of IDIC. I set aside my own . . . diversity.

“I believe it was my connection to humanity that allowed my Vulcan half to link with the V’Ger entity. Whether this is true I do not know, nor will I ever. Nevertheless, when I first felt V’Ger’s presence, no one could have been more unprepared than I. It was a most curious sensation. I suddenly felt afraid—not for myself, but for Earth, and for her people.”

Spock hesitated for a moment, as though unsure whether to continue, his eyes cast toward the flames that danced and twisted in the fire pit.

“Once the Enterprise was inside the cloud, I mind-melded with V’Ger. I expected to encounter a totally alien mind, implacable and unfathomable. But what I discovered was a kindred spirit: a being who was unsure of what it was—it lacked both identity and direction. V’Ger was a machine that had no choice other than to be a machine. However, I am free to choose, to experience friendship, love, and companionship.

“For many years I have ignored the wisdom of my mother, who wanted me to embrace everything I am. I chose to listen to the council of my father, to follow the teachings of Surak.

“Since my joining with V’Ger, I have begun to question whether I have been wrong all these years, if I should have also embraced my human ancestry, as my mother would have had me do.

“V’Ger asked, ‘Is this it? Is this all that I am?’ Its answer was a resounding yes. I too have found my answer there.”

There was a long moment of silence as Master T’Sai considered Spock’s words. The light from the flames sparkled in her eyes as she stared across the fire toward him.

“I cannot begin to understand this conflict that rages within you. As a Vulcan, I find the idea of untempered emotion to be abhorrent. Our ancestors did away with emotions. Many would consider what you are suggesting an unwanted reminder of a much darker, brutal time.

“In all the years I have watched you, Spock, you have carried yourself with great dignity and fortitude. You have the potential to be more than what you are. I have no comparisons to go by, but it would be illogical for you to pursue just the one aspect of your ancestry.”

The master stared at Spock for a moment, her long, bony fingers templed together in quiet contemplation.

“There is only one question that must be asked,” T’Sai said at last. “Since your encounter with V’Ger, what do you consider yourself to be?”

Spock’s voice was strong and clear as he replied, “I am more than Vulcan.”

• • •

Standing in the warmth of midday, the waves of heat radiating off the roof terrace, he felt comfortable, familiar. He was Vulcan, and this was his home. He may feel the burning fires of the Pon farr coursing through his body every seven years, but he also found the compulsion, the need, for friendship equally. Serving on the Enterprise had opened Spock’s eyes to the importance of both the mental and the physical. It was not something he had expected. As a consequence, he had not understood how important both interactions were. It wasn’t until after he had left the Enterprise that he felt its absence.

“If it had not been V’Ger, my son, it would have been something else.”

Sarek’s words had been expertly timed; it was as though he had been reading Spock’s mind.

Spock allowed the older Vulcan to get closer before speaking. “You anticipated this?”

“It was only logical that by serving in Starfleet your human half would be awakened,” Sarek replied. “You were living and working among them.”

“I must congratulate your powers of deduction. I admit that it was not a situation that I had even entertained,” Spock said.

“You forget, I know only too well how tempting the allure of the human spirit can be.”

Spock waited for Sarek to extrapolate further but was disappointed when his father remained silent.

“The Kolinahr ritual—”

“Was not for you, my son,” Sarek finished the sentence for him. “It is not for everyone.”

“Master T’Sai told me that you were unsuccessful,” Spock said.

Sarek fixed Spock with an unblinking gaze. “Did she also tell you why I failed?”

“She did not, and I did not feel it prudent to ask,” Spock explained.

“I do not consider the matter to be a private one,” Sarek assured him. “I had thought the idea of a complete purging of emotions worth striving for. However, once I started . . . I realized I could not continue.”

“Do you believe that you made the correct choice?” Spock asked.

“I do,” Sarek said. “I was sent to Earth, perhaps to show me the error of my choice—I was never told. I met and married Amanda; without her my life would be far less satisfying.”

Sarek raised his hand in the traditional salute—fingers together to form a V. Spock mirrored the salute.

Sarek lowered his hand, stepping closer to his son. “I did not agree with your decision to join Starfleet. But I have always believed Starfleet to be a fine organization. And my son is the first officer assigned to its flagship.” Sarek paused, unable or unwilling to proceed.

“Thank you, Father.”

Sarek nodded. “One does not thank logic.”

“No, sir, one does not.”

“Is there a message you wish me to give to your mother?”

Spock considered the question for a minute, then said, “Tell her, ‘Thank you.’ ”

Sarek inclined his head to indicate his understanding, then turned and disappeared back into the house.

IOWA

Aunt Hanna told Kirk that a message was waiting for him when he got back to the house. She ushered him toward a small home office in the former pantry at the end of the hall.

“You know I don’t have much to do with these things,” she said as they entered the office.

Kirk saw that it was a prerecorded message sent from New Berlin colony.

“It’s from Carol,” Kirk told her.

“Is something up with David?” Hanna asked.

“No, nothing’s wrong. Carol sends me messages from time to time, letting me know how David’s getting on, sending me pictures so I can see how much he’s grown.”

“That’s sweet.”

“I guess I should consider myself fortunate. Even from a distance, I get to see my son growing up. That’s something Sam will never get to do.”

“That’s true. You gonna play it?”

“Yes.”

“Well, don’t be too long. There’s a storm on its way, and the station sometimes shuts itself down if there’s lightning in the air.”

“I’ll watch it in a minute.”

That was over three hours ago.

Now here he was, sitting in the attic in the center of a pile of boxes, pulling out various items from his past in a vain attempt to put off what he knew he should do. His boxes held no answers on how to reach his nephew; he wouldn’t find Sam in them telling him what to do.

No, he needed to focus.

With a sigh, Kirk dragged himself untidily to his feet.

The boxes were pushed back into the alcove under the eaves one by one. Kirk then made his way back down the steps.

How old is David now, anyway? Ten? Eleven?

He tried to think back, to remember when he and Carol had first started dating. Not that Carol would have called it that.

“You call this ‘dating,’ Jim?” she had said to him once. “Not seeing a girl for months on end and then suddenly dropping onto her doorstep unannounced with a bottle of Romulan ale and a lascivious smile?”

Thinking about it, it was two years before he took command of the Enterprise, so that would make David ten years old.

Had it really been a decade already?

Slowly, Kirk padded down the stairs to the hallway and to the office, then pulled the door shut. The comm was old, like the rest of the farmhouse, and Kirk barely remembered how to activate it.

The panel trilled softly and the screen flashed up: “Message Waiting.”

“Please state identification,” the comm asked.

“James T. Kirk, admiral, Starfleet,” Kirk told it.

“Please stand by.”

The words on the screen changed from “Message Waiting” to “Transmit.” It stayed like that for a while.

For a brief second, guilt almost got the better of him as Kirk had a sudden overwhelming urge to reach forward and switch the comm off. He probably would have if Carol hadn’t finally appeared, a data slate cradled in one hand.

She was smiling, a good sign.

“Well, well, if it isn’t the wanderer himself, James T. Kirk. Hey, Jim, just a quick message to keep you updated on how David is getting along. Well, what to tell you . . .”

She paused, blowing out her cheeks in exasperation as she attempted to put her thoughts in order.

“Well, first off, Cal-Tech Prep has accepted David’s application. Did I tell you he was applying in my last message? I’m pretty sure I did. Anyway, he applied last month and they’ve accepted him. Two years before he starts. He’ll have to keep his grades up. But for—” Carol paused, then shook her head. “I’m not worried.

“He’s asked if he can go skiing in Switzerland next winter. There’s a whole bunch of friends going with their parents, and he’s been asked if he can go. I’ve told him I’ll think about it, but I’m not too keen on the idea of a load of eleven-year-old kids hurtling down a mountain at high speeds. David is a good skier, but I won’t be able to get the time off and get back to Earth. He’d be going without me, and you know what a worrier I can be.

“Sometimes I worry that I’m spending too much time at the lab, that I’m neglecting him. Don’t get me wrong: We get plenty of time together, especially on the weekends. David seems happy . . .”

Carol stopped and thought about things for a moment or two. Then she threw up her hands.

“Well, you know me: the eternal worrier, even when things are ticking along nicely. It’s just that we’re really busy here at the moment, desperately trying to get approval for a couple of projects. I’m concerned that if David needs me, or if he’s got a problem that he really needs to talk to someone about, that he would keep it to himself.

“A little bird tells me that you’re back on the Enterprise. James Kirk behind a desk . . . I can’t imagine that, somehow.”

There was a brief trilling from somewhere inside her apartment, causing Carol to glance around.

“Look, Jim, I gotta go, but I just want to say thank you for respecting my wishes and not contacting David. I know it must be hard for you—don’t imagine for a second that I don’t understand that, because I really do. I just think it’s for the best right now. I’m not saying it’s always . . . And, hey, who knows? Maybe one day, when I tell him everything about you, he might look you up, take you to a bar, and have a beer with his father. But, for now . . . thank you.

“I’ve attached a couple of files to this transmission, a few pictures of David out on his snowboard last birthday, and there’s a vid of the hiking party . . . At least, I think it’s the hiking party . . . Anyway, take a look for yourself and enjoy. Until next time, Jim. Marcus out.”

Carol leaned forward and cut the connection. The screen winked momentarily to black, then the standard Starfleet “End of Transmission” took its place.

After a few seconds, Kirk reached forward and powered down the machine.

Chapter 8

IOWA

He was awakened by shouting.

He hadn’t meant to fall asleep. He’d just wanted a few minutes to himself after Carol’s message, so he’d gone upstairs to his room.

Kirk had created a data card, and he’d carried it up to his room so he could use his data slate in private. There were over two dozen pictures attached to the message, some of David with friends, others with Carol, but most were just of David on his own. He’d grown so much since the last message, and it surprised Kirk how much David now looked like Kirk’s father, David’s grandfather. He had cycled through the collection two or three times.

The shouting was coming from somewhere under his window, and Kirk swung himself off the bed and padded across to take a look. The storm was over the farm, darkening the sky. Rain had started, and thunderheads were booming overhead.

Kirk saw the smoke first, drifting across the yard like a thick pall of sea mist. Then he spotted Peter down in the yard, pelting headlong across the dirt, an extinguisher clutched in one hand. He disappeared into the noxious black fumes without a second’s hesitation.

Kirk pulled on his shoes and raced downstairs, yanking open the back door, and ran out into the yard.

A flash of color in the smoke up ahead caught his eye.

“Peter, wait!” Kirk choked out before the smoke pushed him backward. It stung his face, caused him to stumble to his knees.

By the time Kirk had managed to rub his streaming eyes and clear his vision, the twisting black cloud had swallowed up most of the yard between the house and the barn. Peter was nowhere in sight.

There was a scream behind him. Aunt Hanna stumbled out the back door, one hand clutching a cloth to her mouth, the other pointing listlessly toward the streaming column of smoke.

Kirk stopped his aunt from running toward the burning barn. He shook her as gently as he could and tried to maneuver her back into the house, but the old woman was surprisingly strong and refused to budge.

Hanna suddenly realized who it was standing in front of her, and her eyes widened in shock.

“Peter,” she managed to say at last. “Jim, where is he? Please tell me he’s not . . .”

“He’ll be all right,” Kirk said firmly. “Go back inside, Aunt Hanna, and alert the fire department. We need a crew here now!” At first she refused to move, so Kirk gave her a gentle shove. “Go now, Aunt Hanna!” She snapped out of it and disappeared into the house.

For Kirk, the worst part wasn’t that he could hardly breathe, nor that he had been rendered half blind. No, the worst part was that the closer he inched to the flaming barn, the thicker the smoke grew.

What I really need right now is a respirator from the Enterprise, Kirk thought. Or an EV suit.

Kirk placed a hand upon the rough wooden wall of the toolshed and pushed himself forward. From here he could just make out the flickering flames through the thick barrier of smoke, and he could even feel its heat.

He took a few more unsteady paces forward, his hands held out in front of him like a man walking in his sleep, and was almost knocked to the ground by a bolting horse.

Someone had reached out and gripped him roughly by the forearm, dragging him out of the horse’s path just in time.

Kirk looked up to find Uncle Abner staring down at him, a spotty old bandanna tied across his nose and mouth, making him look like a train robber from an ancient Western.

“Where’s . . . where’s Peter?” Kirk asked, erupting into a fit of coughing.

“I thought I’d fixed that shield, swore I’d got it working again.” When Abner spoke it was like he wasn’t really there, like he was talking in his sleep.

Kirk shook himself free of the old man’s grip and staggered in the direction of the barn.

The entrance was a curtain of pure flame; the door hinges had warped and bent in the intense heat. They had given way, and now both enormous doors were ablaze.

Looking for another way in, Kirk noticed Abner was standing behind him with an ax in his hand. His uncle was staring into the flame as though mesmerized, his green eyes standing out against his soot-blackened face.

“Abner!” he shouted, but at first the old man didn’t react. It wasn’t until Kirk grabbed him and shook him that his uncle noticed he was there.

“Peter,” he asked, as soon as he had the man’s attention, “where’s Peter?”

Abner, still dazed, pointed with his ax into the unbroken sheet of flames in front of them.

“He’s . . . he’s in there?” Kirk asked incredulously. “You let him go in there?”

“I tried to stop him, but he wouldn’t listen,” Abner explained. “He said he had to save the horses.”

Without thinking, Kirk pushed the old man aside, took a few paces backward, covered his face with his arms as best he could, and leapt headlong through the burning doorway.

• • •

Kirk hit the stable floor with enough force to drive the breath from his body, and then he immediately began to roll. He tumbled over and over through the thin dusting of hay and feed, stopping only when his back connected sharply with the far wall.

The interior of the barn was unbearably hot, although the layer of smoke was not quite so dense, which made it a little easier for him to breathe.

At the other end he could see Peter frantically kicking at one of the stall doors, desperately trying to help the trapped animal within.

Kirk dragged himself upright and ran forward to help the boy.

Peter hardly registered his uncle’s presence as he continued to kick at the door with every ounce of strength he had.

“Bella is in there,” he said, as he paused for breath, pointing across at the big shot-bolt. “The bolt’s warped.”

“Together, it’s the only way,” Kirk shouted, and Peter nodded his understanding.

As Peter kicked at the door, Kirk ran at it. The first attempt didn’t seem to have any effect, but the third time Kirk felt wood give.

The moment they broke through Peter reached out and pushed his uncle aside, out of the path of the panicking horse. With the other hand he caught the animal’s mane and held her firm until she started to calm a little.

“We can’t get out that way, not with the horse,” Kirk said, gesturing back toward the twisting curtain of flame.

“No other choice. The back way is blocked.” Peter jerked his head toward the extinguisher at his feet as he attempted to soothe the horse. “Take that and point it at the fire. If you can create a gap in the fire long enough, I can get Bella through.”

“How?” Kirk asked.

“If I cover her eyes it should calm her down enough for me to lead her out,” Peter told him.

Kirk shook his head. “That’s crazy.”

“It’s the only way I can get her to go through,” Peter replied. “She trusts me, she knows I won’t let her get hurt. You have to trust me. I know her. I know all the horses on this farm. I know what they’re capable of.”

Kirk knew that there wasn’t any time to argue, even if he could think of a better way for them to get out. By now the fire would be spreading its way across the roof above, eating its way through the support timbers. Who knew how long before the whole lot came crashing down upon their heads?

“Okay,” Kirk told Peter. “You’re in command.”

With that, Kirk scooped up the extinguisher and ran toward the flaming doors of the barn, while Peter took a firm hold of Bella.

• • •

The last of the fire had been extinguished and the emergency crew were packing their equipment back into the flyer when Kirk went to check on Peter.

His nephew was tending to the horses, as Kirk knew he would be, soothing them as best he could after the day’s traumatic events.

The horse that had nearly run Kirk down outside the stable was the stallion Airdancer. Peter had housed him at the back of the makeshift barn, inside an odd little enclosure he’d cleverly constructed from sheets of reinforced polycarbon.

Peter was standing beside him, gently running a hand up and down the animal’s nose and whispering softly into his ear. From time to time his nostrils would flare and his eyes would rove furtively, but for the most part the stallion remained calm and still.

Kirk stopped a little way off, keeping his voice as low and as soothing as possible, trying not to spook the animal that Peter had taken so long to quiet down.

“I just wanted to thank you for saving my life back there,” Kirk said.

“Uncle Abner says I was damn foolish,” Peter said.

“He’s just spooked,” Kirk said. “I thought you were very brave.”

Peter looked up, a little startled. “Did you really think we were going to die back there?”

“Didn’t you?” Kirk asked him.

The boy shrugged. “I dunno. Not really. I guess it just didn’t really enter my mind. I was too busy thinking about the horses to worry about if I was in danger.”

“And here I’m thinking that you are afraid of the unknown,” Kirk said.

Peter frowned. “It was only fire. Why should I be afraid of that?”

“Your father was.”

The boy turned and looked Kirk in the eyes, the young horse forgotten. “My father was afraid of fire?”

Kirk said, “Don’t sound so surprised. We’re all afraid of something, every last one of us.”

“You included?” asked Peter.

“Me included,” echoed Kirk.

“What are you afraid of?” Peter asked.

Kirk leaned back against the makeshift barrier and considered the question carefully. “Being useless. If I’d stayed behind that desk in Starfleet Operations, I would have become useless, a piece of furniture. I’d be a curious old relic to be dusted off and trotted out on special occasions, but not ever to be used.”

“Uncle Jim, did you really think you were going to die back there?” asked Peter again.

Kirk sighed. Peter deserved a frank answer. “There were a few moments that were particularly hairy, but you had it under control, and I trusted you. That’s what being in command is all about. It’s something I learned at the Academy.” Kirk winked at his nephew. “Although I’d say on that subject there’s not much the Academy could teach you.”

“It could have been avoided if the lightning shield had been fixed,” Peter said.

“I don’t think Uncle Abner knows how to fix it.”

“It’s simple, really,” Peter told him. “You just need to make sure that you regulate the energy pulse correctly, otherwise it burns out the relays.”

“Sounds like you should go and help him fix it,” Kirk said.

“I’ve offered, but Uncle Abner doesn’t like me touching the farm equipment. He says I’m just poking around, making things worse,” said Peter.

“Peter, don’t sulk, just show him. I know you’ve earned his respect today.”

Chapter 9

SAN FRANCISCO

Perhaps it was the night in the holding cell that had helped, or the fact that he was now sober. Whatever it was, Sulu was able to reflect on the previous night’s incident with amazing clarity. He knew it had been a bad idea to go out to a bar.

His first inkling that the evening was not going as planned was when he suddenly found himself sitting in a bar over on Fourth, nursing his third whiskey, while surrounded on all sides by his belongings.

The loud-mouthed engineer was just the icing on the cake.

In Sulu’s defense, he’d been quietly minding his own business in the corner of the bar when the engineer had swaggered in with a bunch of his friends. It was obvious they were on the first day of shore leave.

The thought of another night alone in the apartment had filled Sulu with dread.

He knew that he couldn’t do it. He was not up to it. All this was still too new, too raw. Sulu had collected his belongings—they were still standing unpacked in the hallway—and locked the door behind him.

On a whim, Sulu took a left onto Main Street instead of going to the shuttleport, and he walked up to Schar’s on Fourth. He had no idea why he’d chosen the place; he’d not been there since Uhura and Scotty had joined him and Susan for dinner last year.

Any port in the storm, Sulu thought as he dumped his bags, sitting down at a corner table with a whiskey.

He’d made up his mind: He was going back to the Enterprise.

But, then, was it ever in doubt?

Sulu had known that he’d choose the Enterprise, even before the shuttle had brought him to San Francisco. He couldn’t explain how or why he’d known this. No, it was only something you could understand once you’d served.

Susan had known it. How could she not? One look around the apartment proved it. Susan had made a home for herself and Demora. There was nothing of his there.

“You know I’m not going to stop you, Hikaru,” she told him as they sat beside the incubator with their daughter. “You’ve made your mind up, there’s nothing more to be said. Go.”

“If I didn’t go back to the Enterprise, what else could I possibly do?” Sulu asked. “Daily freight runs from Earth to Saturn, or teaching at the Academy? That’s not me, Suze.”

“Look, I’m fine with this, honestly. Go. Just don’t expect us to put our lives on hold, waiting for you to return,” Susan said.

Sulu had only planned on sticking around Schar’s for one drink; after that he was going to gather up his belongings, take a walk down toward the bay, maybe sit by the water’s edge, then a taxi back to Starfleet Headquarters.

But he was on his third drink when the loud-mouthed engineer came in.

“You want a drink, friend?”

Sulu had not been paying attention to his surroundings; he was just staring into his half-empty glass and thinking about Demora and the look on Susan’s face.

“Hey, you, traveling man, I’m talking to you!”

Sulu looked up, toward the source of the voice.

“Yeah, you! You want a drink?”

Sulu shook his head. “No. But thanks all the same.”

The engineer frowned as though he didn’t quite understand what the other man had said to him.

“I’m offering you a free drink here, pal. I’d grab the offer while you can.”

“No, I’m fine, thanks,” Sulu said again. “I’m done after this one.”

The engineer swaggered over and stuffed himself into the chair opposite Sulu.

“Hey, you don’t want to go yet, my friend. The night is still young, and there are a good dozen or so bars between here and the waterfront. What do you say you gather up all of your bags here and come along with us, sample their delights?”

Sulu cocked his head to one side and said, “You just got here, on shore leave, right?”

“A couple of hours ago, why?” the engineer asked.

“And I’m guessing that the first place you hit as soon as the taxi landed was the Century Bar directly opposite the shuttleport.”

The engineer’s eyes narrowed slightly.

“After that you dropped in for one in Galactic North’s, the Absolution, House of Neptune, and Diamond’s on the way here. Am I right?” Sulu asked.

The engineer regarded him in silence for a moment before turning to his friends at the bar.

“Hey, guys, looks like we’ve got our own personal stalker over here. You been keeping tabs on us?”

The group at the bar laughed, and the engineer gave Sulu a teasing look.

“Listen, I don’t mean to be rude,” Sulu said. “But I’ve got one or two things on my mind at the moment, and I’d rather just have a couple of quiet drinks and then take in some air. No offense. I’m sure you’re a real stand-up guy. Some other time?”

If the engineer was insulted by Sulu’s refusal, he did an excellent job of hiding it. “Sure, no problem. I understand. I’ll leave you to it. But if you change your mind I’m just over there.”

The engineer got up to leave. “If you want me to give your ball-and-chain a call and ask if it’s okay, then I’d be happy to.” Then he winked playfully at his colleagues.

That’s when Sulu looked up from his drink.

He sat on the hard bench in the security cell, with his head in his hands, trying not to think about what happened next. If it hadn’t been for Starfleet Security at the far table stepping in when they did, things could have been a lot worse.

Sulu glanced around the tiny interior of the cell and swore beneath his breath.

Things were a lot worse.

There was a soft trilling from the direction of the cell door, and Sulu glanced up in time to see the force field drop.

He recognized the Security officer immediately.

“Good morning, Commander. Are we feeling bright-eyed and bushy-tailed this morning?” she asked with a smile.

“I’m alive and still in one piece,” Sulu replied sheepishly. “Probably best just to leave it at that for now.”

“Do you think you can manage to stumble home?”

Sulu frowned. “You mean I’m not being charged?”

“You’d better ask your commanding officer,” the Security officer said. “He’s waiting outside.”

Commander Spock was waiting for him by a taxi as Sulu stepped out of the detention building and into the bright midmorning sunshine. The Vulcan greeted him with a single arched eyebrow and gestured for the helmsman to climb aboard.

Once he was inside, the door hissed shut and the taxi began to climb, banking around sharply until its nose was pointing in the direction of the Golden Gate Bridge.

“Excuse me, sir,” Sulu said, breaking the silence. “Are we going back to the Enterprise?”

The Vulcan regarded him for a moment, then said, “The ship is not ready. You have five days of leave remaining. I believe you have family obligations.”

This time it was Sulu’s turn to raise an eyebrow. “ ‘Obligations,’ sir?”

“Yes.” Spock offered no further comment.

After a while Sulu said, “Mister Spock, I thought you were spending your leave on Vulcan.”

“You are quite correct,” Spock said. “However, as my business there was concluded, I returned to Earth to spend time with friends.”

“How did you know where I was?” Sulu began.

“The journey from Vulcan is long,” Spock explained. “I had Starfleet Command forward all reports directly to my quarters. I was somewhat surprised to see your name on one of the detention reports. It stated you were being held for brawling in a San Francisco bar. Most unlike you. I did briefly consider that Command was in error.”

“I didn’t go out looking for a fight, Mister Spock,” Sulu said. “In fact, I tried my best to defuse the situation, but I guess I just wasn’t thinking clearly.”

“Indeed. I have observed that humans who are in a similar situation, their first reaction, rather than try and cope with their problems, is to flee,” Spock said.

Spock was suddenly aware of the awkward silence and quickly added, “That was not meant as a criticism nor an insult, merely an observation. The choice to remain in Starfleet or leave is always a painful one, especially when one has already made up their mind.”

“I know it was the right choice for me, but it doesn’t stop me from feeling so guilty,” Sulu said.

“You are not unique, Commander. Although I do believe you will feel guilt.”

“How can I leave them?” Sulu asked.

The taxi began to bank sharply as it started its descent toward Ocean Avenue.

“That is who you are, it is what you are,” Spock told him.

There was a slight shudder beneath Sulu’s feet as the taxi touched down outside Susan’s apartment building. The door slid open in front of him, and Sulu gathered up his luggage and stepped out.

On the sidewalk, his belongings at his feet, Sulu stared up at the apartment building as though it were some huge, slavering hungry beast and he was the only man who could slay it.

From behind him Spock said, “Sometimes we must do things that, although they might feel wrong, we know they are right.”

Finally Sulu turned and stared up at the Vulcan officer.

Spock told him, “I suggest you use the time remaining on your leave getting to know your daughter.”

The taxi door snapped shut. Sulu took a few hasty steps back as the little craft lifted up, the air shimmering brightly beneath.

He continued to watch it until it had disappeared over the west side of town. Sulu picked up his bags, turned, and walked into the apartment building.

IOWA

James Kirk flipped the communicator open and waited for it to automatically hail the open frequency.

“Kirk to Galileo.”

“Galileo. Go ahead, Admiral.”

“I’m ready at the pickup point.”

“Aye, sir. Our current ETA is four minutes.”

“Understood. Kirk out.”

He flipped the communicator closed and tucked it back into the pocket of his jeans, then he slung the bag off his shoulder and placed it at his feet.

He heard the sound of running feet approaching up the dirt path.

“Uncle Jim! Uncle Jim!”

Peter came tearing down the track toward him, and for a second or two Kirk was convinced that he wasn’t going to stop in time, but he came skidding to a halt just a meter away.

“Don’t tell me,” Kirk said. “I left a pair of socks in my room.”

His words made Peter smile, and Kirk thought, You’ve made this kid smile. You’re hot, Jimmy-Boy!

“I wanted to ask you something before you went back to the Enterprise,” Peter said. “It’s about my father.”

Kirk’s smile became just that little bit wider. “If I can help, you know I will.”

“Why did my father become a biologist?” he asked. “I mean, why didn’t he stay in Starfleet?”

“He told me that as a biologist, he felt like he was helping all of the Federation. That was the difference between us: Your father had the choice of Starfleet or everyone, and he’d chosen the more noble option.”

Peter considered his words carefully.

“Do you enjoy commanding your own ship?” Peter asked.

Kirk took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “It is what I was meant to do. I’ve always felt that in my heart. Your father did too.”

“Did . . . did my dad ever tell you what he wanted me to be?”

“Aside from happy and healthy?” Kirk thought about this for a moment, then shook his head. “He didn’t care, as long as you were doing what you wanted to and you were happy. The question is: What do you want to be?”

The boy considered Kirk’s question. “I’m not sure. When I was younger I wanted to be a biologist like Dad. Sometimes he’d let me help out—nothing too dangerous, using the library index, labeling the specimens—but it was fun, and I enjoyed it.”

“And now?” Kirk prompted.

Peter shrugged. “I think I want to join Starfleet, but . . .”

“You know, for someone who says he’s frightened of the great unknown, what you did in the stable the other day was one of the bravest things I’ve ever seen,” Kirk told him.

This made Peter smile once more, and in that fleeting moment he saw Sam from all those years ago, when he was Peter’s age, dressed in his cadet’s uniform.

“Not really,” Peter said. “I just know those horses, that’s all. I’ve grown up with them, helped Uncle Abner train them. I guess I just know how they’ll react.”

“Peter, the secret to being a good captain is knowing your crew, knowing how they’ll react, and how far you can push them.” Kirk pointed back up the path, toward the farm. “Like you did with Bella. You knew you could get her out if you covered her eyes, that she’d trust you with her life. A good captain knows that if he can alter the situation to his advantage, he can get the best out of his crew, just like you did.”

“What if it’s a situation he’s never experienced before, one which his crew has no experience of?” Peter asked.

Kirk confessed, “I wing it.”

This made the boy laugh, and the sound was like music to Kirk’s ears. It sounded like the laugh of someone who hadn’t laughed in a long time.

“If I succeed at the Academy, do you think I could command my own ship?” Peter asked.

“Yes, I think you could.”

From somewhere beyond the trees Kirk could hear the sound of the shuttlecraft approaching, and he reached down to pick his bag up off the ground.

They moved back as the shuttle maneuvered itself onto the patch of ground in front of them, kicking up spumes of dust.

Once it was down, Kirk climbed aboard, stopping only to hand his bag to an ensign. He turned back to Peter. “Courage isn’t about not being afraid, it’s about being afraid but doing the right thing. Your father was afraid of going to the Academy, leaving his family, and of being so far from home. But look what he found: your mother and then you. He was courageous, and from what I saw the other day, so are you. Please think about it, Peter.”

“What about you?” Peter shouted over the noise of the engines.

“What about me?” Kirk asked.

“Were you afraid too?”

Kirk thought carefully about the question.

“Terrified,” he shouted back, although he was smiling at the memories.

The Galileo lifted off from the ground and performed a neat pirouette in the air. Peter Kirk stood and watched it accelerate sharply over the trees before it disappeared.

Acknowledgments

Once again thanks are in order to a string of very kind and talented people, without whom this book would not be in your hands . . .

A hearty thanks must go to Una McCormack, James Swallow, Paul Simpson, Robert Dick, Lee Harris, Margaret Clark, and Ed Schlesinger, all of whom we shall file here under the heading “Support Team.”

Also thanks to Margaret and Ken Harrison and Bill and Janet Croke for tea, cakes, Sunday lunches, games nights, and for not being too cross when I was too busy to turn up for family gatherings.

And, most of all, to my wife, Linzi, for her seemingly limitless patience, support, and love.

About the Author

Scott Harrison is an award-winning scriptwriter and novelist whose books include the Capcom novel Remember Me: The Pandora Archive, Blake’s 7: Archangel, and the forthcoming hard-SF novella Fall of Tithonus for Tor Books. For audio he has written the New York Award–winning play Sometime Never, The Confessions of Dorian Gray: The Houses In Between, and Blake’s 7: Epitaph. He lives by the sea with his wife and an ever-growing stack of books that he’ll probably never get around to reading.

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This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

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ISBN 978-1-4767-5635-6

Contents

Historian’s Note

Epigraph

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Acknowledgments

About the Author