Captain's Glory

30

S.S. BELLE REVE

STARDATE 58571.4

The Vulcan home system has no cloud of cometary debris. Over aeons, the gravitational dance of the Eridani stars has scattered all orbiting masses, except for the innermost planets that circled the largest of the three-Vulcan’s sun.

But like every other member of the Federation, in response to the threat of the Totality the Vulcans had established their own systemwide embargo. Thus, twelve light-hours out from its destination, the Belle Reve was challenged by Vulcan Space Central.

Kirk sat ready in his command chair as all eyes on the bridge turned to him, waiting for his reply, and his orders. Scott was at navigation, McCoy at tactical, Spock at Kirk’s side.

“What should I tell them?” Scott asked.

Kirk knew it didn’t matter what he said. The result would be the same no matter what reply he gave. “It’s been what, two hundred years or so since a Vulcan ship fired on an Earth vessel?”

Scott and McCoy looked alarmed, as if they expected Kirk to call for general quarters.

Spock replied with apparent disinterest. “Two hundred and twenty-seven point five seven years. It was at the time of the Vulcan Reformation.”

As always, even if he should be used to it by now, Kirk was in awe of Spock’s command of history.

“Let’s not have history repeat itself,” Kirk said. “Scotty, open a channel to Vulcan Space Central. Put it on the viewscreen.”

With relief, Scott acknowledged the order.

A reserved-looking Vulcan female with short white hair appeared on the screen. A moment later, she raised an eyebrow, high, which told Kirk he had shocked her.

“James T. Kirk?” the Vulcan inquired.

“Correct,” Kirk said. “I request passage for my ship and my crew.”

The Vulcan’s gaze shifted as she saw who else was on her screen. “Spock,” she said with a knowing edge.

Spock politely inclined his head to her, said nothing. Kirk had already let him know what he thought they’d be facing. Conversation was not required.

“Ultimate destination?” the Vulcan asked.

“What does logic tell you?” Kirk replied.

The Vulcan smiled then, confirming Kirk’s suspicions-she was no more a Vulcan than the security guards he had faced with Marinta.

“Drop out of warp at one million kilometers and continue at impulse,” she said. “You’ll be met by escort craft and directed to the proper coordinates.”

Kirk returned the woman’s smile. “Tell Norinda I’ll see her soon.”

The woman’s un-Vulcan smile faded. “She’ll be waiting, James. Vulcan Space Central, out.”

The viewscreen snapped back to a view of the stars at warp, one orange star at the center of the screen brighter than the others.

“Mister Scott,” Kirk said, “how long till we arrive?”

“Twenty-two minutes, sir.”

Kirk stood up from his chair, gave it a last look. “It’s fitting.”

Spock gave Kirk a curious look.

Kirk explained. “Passing command to Jean-Luc. From one captain of the Enterprise to another.”

“What’re you mumbling about this time?” McCoy asked. He pushed himself up from his duty station and joined Spock at Kirk’s side. He still hadn’t completely recovered from the strain of two days spent under four gravities.

“You’re just dropping me off, Bones. Then you’ll be letting Jean-Luc out of his cabin and giving him command of the ship.”

McCoy reacted with as much surprise as the duplicated Vulcan had shown-though in his case, he didn’t hide it. “Who came up with that harebrained scheme?” He stared fixedly at Spock as if he already knew the answer.

Kirk looked past Spock and McCoy. “Scotty, are we still being pursued?”

“Aye, that we are. Th’Enterprise is three hours behind and closing fast.”

“My fight’s with Norinda,” Kirk said to McCoy. “Jean-Luc’s fight… your fight… the whole Federation– “

“The Totality,” McCoy said in resignation.

“All I want is my son back.” Kirk put a hand on the arm of his chair. “The person who sits here, he needs to want more.”

McCoy snorted in disdain. “You think this tub and one starship can defeat the Totality?”

“It’s not one starship, Bones, it’s the Enterprise. Spock knows what to do. Jean-Luc will coordinate the ships. And in a little less than a day, the Totality will be an unpleasant memory and you’re going to be looking after Joseph again.”

McCoy furrowed his brow. “I don’t like the way you said that. Why aren’t you going to be looking after Joseph?”

Kirk had made his decision and his peace. He didn’t need to or want to talk about either. “There’s only one way Norinda’s going to release Joseph.” He knew how difficult this would be for his friends. “So his future is going to be up to you and Spock and Scotty because– “

“Don’t say it,” McCoy warned.

Kirk heard the anger in McCoy’s voice, the frustration, knew the love that both emotions sprang from.

But he had to tell his friends the truth.

“This time, I won’t be coming back.”

It was night in Shi’Kahr, and the boulevards were quiet.

Kirk had anticipated as much.

Tall buildings surrounded the plaza where Scott had beamed him, directly to the coordinates he’d been given. The buildings’ windows blazed with lights. The cityscape before him glowed with russet, red, and amber-the rich colors of the smooth-skinned towers that rose all around him. Their flowing corners and smooth contours harkening back through the centuries to the birth of Vulcan architecture, when primitive structures had been formed from simple clays and baked in the sun.

Vulcan would always be a world of tradition, ensured by the fact that mind-melds kept ancient memories alive for generations.

Kirk wondered if mind-melds were the reason this ancient city, Vulcan’s capital, was so quiet tonight.

Had the word gone out, flashing from mind to mind, that the governing authority no longer existed, its politicians and civil servants replaced by duplicates? Did Vulcans huddle in their homes, meditating, seeking the solace of logic in the face of the Totality? Or had the Totality’s own telepathic energies found Vulcans to be open receptors, their minds defenseless before an enemy that turned their own strengths, their own intellects, against them?

It was not a question he could answer. It was not a question he wanted to answer. There were others better equipped than he to undertake that struggle.

Tonight, in the vast and dark and silent city, he had only one goal, one purpose.

He walked across the empty plaza toward the glaring beacon of light that stood out so prominently from the subdued tones of Shi’Kahr.

Ahead of him, constructed with the bold angles and sharp corners of presumptuous human architecture, bathed by banks of light that matched the blue-white spectrum of Earth’s sun, was the great hall of Starfleet Command’s Joint Operations Center.

Vulcan Space Central was headquartered there.

And it was there, he’d been told as the Belle Reve had been escorted into orbit, that he was expected.

The warm dry wind of the Vulcan night made his dark jacket flutter. He heard the fabric snap against the inductance barrel of the gravity-projector weapon he carried strapped to his back.

Kirk’s boots made staccato echoes as he drew near the wide, brilliantly lit walkway that ran from the plaza to the building’s entrance.

No one barred his way.

Even the guard kiosks, usually staffed at all times, if only for ceremonial reasons, were empty.

Kirk glanced down at the combat tricorder strapped to his wrist.

He wasn’t even being scanned.

Either the Totality already knew everything there was to know about him and what he carried with him this night, or Norinda had decided that in no way could he ever represent a threat.

Kirk looked forward to changing her mind.

He entered the blinding white building, walking beneath the gleaming silver emblem of Starfleet Command.

One last time, he thought.

The entry hall was empty, and it shouldn’t have been.

On an ordinary day, or night, hundreds of beings would be in motion across the polished white marble floor, some hurrying, some walking slowly in hushed conversation, many in Starfleet uniforms, others in alien garb.

But it was as if Starfleet had already been defeated.

The only sound in the cavernous space was the white-noise rush of the fountain, where a cascade of clear water shimmered down a carved stone replica of the great seal of the Federation.

Kirk had been given no exact instructions, other than to arrive at this building. Another person might have waited in the desolate hall with its towering glass walls and arching, light-studded ceiling.

Not Kirk.

Since there was no one here to greet him, he walked directly to the moving stairways leading to the upper level. Banks of bronze-doored turbolifts were there. They would take him to the command level.

The moving stairways were motionless.

He took that to be a good sign because he knew they operated by gravity control. The Totality obviously had reason not to have operational gravity generators nearby.

Kirk climbed the sleek, static stairs.

As he reached the upper level, a single turbolift chimed.

Its open door was an invitation.

Kirk accepted, entered. The lift dropped.

The swift ride lasted thirty seconds, long enough to take him five hundred meters underground. Time enough for Kirk to recall that the Vulcans had been insulted when humans had insisted on burying Starfleet’s regional command center beneath half a kilometer of dispersal shielding. Where was the logic, Vulcans had protested, in thinking that an enemy could penetrate far enough into the Federation, and then far enough into the Vulcan home system, to be a threat to this center?

But after V’Ger had come within seconds of obliterating Earth, and the Vulcans had done a quick check of how many space probes they had lost mysteriously over the centuries, their objections quickly faded.

There was logic in being prudent, after all, they decided.

The turbolift door opened.

Kirk stepped into a small entrance foyer, saw a series of three varicolored emblems worked into the polished white floor.

One was a stylized IDIC showing Mount Selaya, marked with Vulcan script. Another was the Starfleet emblem. The last was a variation of the Federation seal, ringed in English and Vulcan script.

Kirk walked across them, heading for the sliding translucent partitions that shielded the command center beyond.

He had been here before, several times, and even as an active Starfleet captain, then admiral, he had been challenged by armed guards on this level.

Tonight, it was as deserted as the city above.

For a moment as he paused before the partitions, Kirk wondered if there were any Vulcans left at all on this world. Could it be possible that they had all been absorbed into the Totality?

The silhouette of a hand appeared on the partition directly in front of him, glowing green-the color of Vulcan blood and thus a sign of warning.

He placed his hand against the silhouette.

The partition slid open.

He stepped into the command center for Vulcan Space Central-a dark, domed room constructed like a stadium-size version of a starship’s bridge.

Kirk scanned the multiple display screens on the far side of the curved wall. Each screen-ten meters tall, fifteen wide-showed complex moving graphs and charts related to orbital space around Vulcan and her planetary system. Banks of silver-gray workstations rose in graduated tiers, ringing the outer wall, looking in to the center and to the main screens. And there, in the center, he counted nine chairs on a raised dais. Each of the chairs was balanced on a single pointed stalk instead of multiple legs-a rare case of Vulcan technology employed strictly for aesthetic effect. Each also had small display screens and input pads angled out from its arms.

Kirk knew that more than a hundred technicians, and Starfleet and Vulcan Planetary Defense personnel, should be working here at any given time.

But even this facility was deserted.

He stepped up on the dais.

On each of the nine chairs, the small display screens rolled with static, as if they had all been taken offline.

As if this center no longer served a purpose.

It took Kirk only a moment to decide that that was the message Norinda wanted to send him: According to the Totality, nothing here was necessary anymore.

That last thought had just settled in his mind when Norinda spoke quietly behind him.

“You’re right, James.”

Kirk jumped forward, spun around, swinging his gravity weapon from his back to aim it at—

Norinda wasn’t there.

He slowly turned on the dais. No sign of anyone.

Her voice fluttered in his ear again. “Why do you resist?”

Kirk snapped around.

No one. Nothing.

He was being toyed with. Taught a lesson.

“I’m not resisting,” he called out, and his words echoed in the empty room. “I’m here.”

“With a weapon?” He couldn’t tell where Norinda’s voice came from. It was as if she were invisible.

“We need to talk,” Kirk said. He pointed the weapon to the ceiling, keeping it ready, but not threatening.

“That’s all I’ve ever wanted,” Norinda said.

“Show yourself,” Kirk demanded.

Norinda’s light laughter echoed through the empty center. “Say what you truly mean, James.”

“Show me my son.”

“I’ll show you Joseph,” Norinda’s voice whispered. “But he’s not your son anymore….”

Those words constricted Kirk’s heart, even as the hiss of a sliding door spurred him to instant action.

He turned again, weapon held ready, to see light from a corridor flood into the room, capturing someone in silhouette and shadow before it.

The figure walked forward, familiar, but different.

The door slid shut, the glare of the outside light was ended.

“Joseph…?” Kirk said, in recognition, in doubt.

The dark skin was right, the dappling, the ridges… his mother’s gently upswept pointed ears.

But his son was taller, broader in the shoulders, no longer a child of twelve… older, a teenager, almost a man.

“Joseph,” Kirk said again as his son stepped up on the dais. “What’s happened to you?”

The boy-the youth-looked down at his hands as if seeing them for the first time and noticing that he had changed. “Nothing that isn’t supposed to,” he said.

His voice was deeper. His eyes dark, so like his mother’s.

“Father,” he said.

Somewhere in his being, Kirk registered the word as a form of address, not a term of endearment. Not the breathless shout of “Dad!” or the happy, childish cry of “Daddy!”

He had been apart from his son for less than a week, but it might as well have been five years.

Kirk quickly glanced around the command center again, saw no sign of Norinda. “It’s time to go,” he said.

But Teilani’s child, Kirk’s son, the sum total of their life and love and legacy, was no longer theirs. No longer Kirk’s.

“No,” Joseph said. “My place is here…”

Kirk could not drive the next words from existence.

“… with Norinda.”

And like a shadow becoming real, a shifting patch of darkness rose up from the dais and floated into a column that became the creature Kirk had met so long ago, in the Mandylion Rift.

Absolutely beguiling, enchanting, desirable, and deadly.

She laughed as she embraced Kirk’s son, and claimed him.

Kirk knew it was the sound of victory.