The Vulcan looked at him for a moment. Then he shook his head. “No, sir. I do not believe I have the slightest idea.”
The captain frowned. “You asked for a transfer, Commander. I’m hoping you’ll rescind that request and stay here on the Enterprise.” He shrugged. “Where you belong.”
Spock considered Kirk’s words for what seemed like a long time. Then he said, “In that case, I will stay.”
[253] Unexpectedly, the captain felt himself break into a grin. “Good. I mean, I’m happy to hear you say that, Commander. I mean ... well, never mind what I mean. I’ll see you later.”
The Vulcan nodded. “Aye, sir. Later, as you say.”
Leaving Spock behind, Kirk crossed sickbay again and made his last scheduled stop—his friend Gary’s bed. Of course, the navigator wasn’t in half the shape the Vulcan was in, but he was still doing fine.
“Captain Kirk,” said Gary. “As I live and barely breathe.”
The captain scowled. “Seems to me we did this already. You in the biobed, me coming to make sure you were still alive.”
The navigator pretended to think about it. “Now that you mention it, it does seem familiar. Except last time, as I recall, I saved your life. And this time ...”
Kirk held a hand up. “Let’s just say we’re even.”
Gary’s eyes widened. “Even? Not by a long shot. According to my records, I’ve saved your life seventeen more times than you’ve saved mine. So if I were you, I wouldn’t be resting on my laurels anytime soon.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” the captain told him.
“Although,” the navigator went on, “I will admit you did a pretty good job on those M’tachtar—even without your lucky rabbit’s foot.”
Kirk nodded, poker faced. “I guess I can make a few decisions on my own when I absolutely have to.”
Gary smiled. “I guess Resourceful is your middle name.”
[254] “No,” said the captain, recalling their old, private joke. “That’s Racquetball. Or is it Rhino?”
The navigator shrugged. “I forget.”
“So do I,” said Kirk.
They were silent for a moment. And neither of them had ever been uncomfortable with that kind of silence.
“Well,” said the captain, “I ought to get back to the bridge—before Dr. Piper grabs me and puts me on a biobed of my own. I’ll see you when you’re cleared for duty.”
“If I’m cleared for duty,” his friend returned. “I’m starting to like it here. I mean, I get to see more of Nurse Hinch.” And he winked.
Kirk shook his head. “You never learn, do you?”
“Never,” Gary told him.
Sighing, the captain took his leave of the navigator and headed for the exit doors. But as soon as they parted for him, he saw Phelana out in the corridor. Apparently, she had been called down for a physical as well.
“Commander Yudrin,” he said.
“Captain.” She inclined her head slightly, her antennae curled forward. Then she gazed at him with her big, black eyes.
“On your way to sickbay?” he asked innocently.
The Andorian nodded. “Unfortunately, yes.”
“You know,” Kirk said, “it’ll be a few days before we reach the nearest starbase. When you’re finally emancipated by Dr. Piper maybe we can catch up on old times.”
Phelana thought for a moment. Then she shook [255] her head. “I don’t think so, Captain. I’m trying to put one particular old time behind me.”
He looked at her, caught off-balance. “Oh?”
“Yes,” she said. “A time on a rooftop when I was just a cadet.” Her eyes brightened. “On the other hand, I’d love to discuss something else with you—say, over dinner.”
Kirk smiled. “And what is it, exactly, that you’d like to discuss?”
The Andorian smiled back at him. “New times.” Then she entered sickbay and left him standing there in the corridor.
He sighed. Sometimes, it seemed, people could put their past behind them ...
Chapter Twenty-one
AS THE MEMORY FADED, the captain heard the rain pattering with renewed intensity on the Mitchells’ window. Gary’s parents were waiting for him to say something, looking more concerned than ever.
The captain swallowed painfully, his throat dry as dust. He hated himself for shying away from his duty to these people. He was here to tell the Mitchells what they had a right to know, not to torture them even more than they had been tortured already.
Finally, he said it. “I killed your son.”
Gary’s parents stared at him, their expressions unchanged except for a little confusion around their eyes. “I beg your pardon?” Mr. Mitchell replied at last.
Kirk took a breath, then let it out slowly. “I killed your son,” he repeated at last, finding it didn’t come [257] out any easier the second time than the first. “I killed Gary.”
Mr. Mitchell chuckled uncomfortably and said, “What the devil are you talking about? Gary knew what he was getting into when he entered the Academy ... when he joined the Fleet.”
His throat constricting, the captain shook his head. “That’s not what I mean,” he told the Mitchells. “I mean I killed him. I ...” He searched desperately for words. “Gary died by my hands.”
This time, the Mitchells waited a little longer before they responded. “I don’t understand,” Gary’s mother said softly.
Mr. Mitchell shook his head. “Me, either.”
Kirk licked his lips. “We came across an energy barrier in space. It affected Gary ... changed him into some kind of ...” He pulled up short of calling his friend a monster. “It made him powerful beyond belief. He could absorb information at a fantastic rate, read people’s minds ... even manipulate objects over long distances.”
The Mitchells didn’t say anything in response. They just gaped, trying to get a handle on what he was telling them.
“And then, little by little,” the captain told them, “he changed in other ways as well. He became aloof, arrogant, cruel ... the very antithesis of the Gary we all knew. As much as I denied it at first, he became a danger to the Enterprise and her crew. So I sedated him and took him to a distant planetoid, where I planned to ...” Even thinking it made him feel ashamed. “Where I planned to abandon him.”
[258] “My god,” breathed Mrs. Mitchell. Her husband’s forehead creased, but he kept his silence.
Kirk looked down at his hands. “It didn’t work. He murdered one of my men and got out of the cell we put him in. I went after him with a phaser rifle, hoping I could put an end to him before he killed anyone else.”
He could have told them about Dehner and the way she and Gary had exchanged energy blasts. He could have told them about the grave Gary had dug for his friend and the boulder he had loosened from the cliff face. But at that point, the details didn’t seem to matter very much.
“He was much stronger than I was,” the captain noted, “but I saw an opportunity and I took advantage of it.” He looked up. “In the end, I was lucky—and he wasn’t.”
Outside the room, rain drummed on the window some more and thunder mumbled something unintelligible. The Mitchells looked dazed and pale, Gary’s mother more than his father.
Then, with shocking quickness, her expression changed into something hard and hateful. “You killed my boy!” she moaned, reddening with anger and resentment. “You killed my Gary!”
Mr. Mitchell put his hand on his wife’s hands. “Easy, Dana.”
Gary’s mother shook her head from side to side, her red-rimmed eyes fixed on Kirk. “Gary trusted you,” she sobbed, her voice rising in pitch with each accusatory word. “He thought you were his friend. And you found it in your heart to kill him?”
[259] The captain wanted very much to get out of that place. He would have given anything to escape Mrs. Mitchell’s withering glare. But he stayed where he was and endured whatever he had to endure—because, in the final analysis, everything Gary’s mother was telling him
was true.
His friend had trusted him, and he had betrayed that trust. Of course, he hadn’t had a choice in the matter, but that didn’t change anything. He had murdered Gary and now he was paying the penalty for it.
“I don’t know what to say,” he rasped.
“Yes, you do,” Mr. Mitchell told him.
Kirk regarded him. “Sir, I—”
“You know what to say,” the man insisted grimly. He turned to his wife. “You say that you were Gary’s friend, despite everything. And you say that if you killed him, it wasn’t because you wanted to. It was because there was nothing else you could do.”
Gary’s mother brought her hands up to her face and buried it in them, and shook as she let out a sorrow she hadn’t even known was inside her. Her husband ran his hand over her back and watched her sadly.
“And you say something else,” he told the captain, his voice little more than a whisper now. “You say you loved Gary so much, you couldn’t disgrace his memory by telling a lie about him. You loved him so much you had to come here and tell us the truth about our boy.”
Kirk saw Mr. Mitchell’s lip begin to tremble, and he found himself going over to the man to put his [260] arm around him. But before he could get there, Gary’s mother got up and intercepted him and cried in his arms.
“I’m sorry,” she said, wetting his uniform with her tears. “I’m so sorry, Jim. Can you ever forgive me?”
The captain stroked her hair. Could he forgive her? he wondered in amazement.
“It’s all right,” he said, swallowing back tears of his own as he gazed gratefully at Gary’s father.
Mr. Mitchell was still sitting on the couch, his eyes as red rimmed as his wife’s now. But he was smiling.
And the rain washed the windows with its fury, for the rest of the night and all the way to morning.
On the planet Heir’tzan, his bare feet cold on the pink marble below them, Perris Nodarh sighed deeply. The sound seemed to whisper through the Eastern Temple’s cavernous primary chamber, disturbing the rintzalaya birds that had gathered on the ledges beneath the chamber’s vaulted ceilings.
Perris’s attendant, who had been dressing him in a new white robe with blue trim, looked up at the telepath. “Is something wrong, Honored One?”
Perris gazed at the bright yellow eyes and scaly bronze skin of the attendant, who was too young to have waited on him the first time the telepath donned such a robe. Then he nodded.
“Something is wrong,” Perris confirmed.
“With your garment?” the attendant asked, concern etched in his face. Then the concern deepened. “Or with you, perhaps?”
It was a valid question. After all, the telepath was [261] getting on in years. He had not been young the first time he walked from the temple to the government center, and that had been fourteen years ago.
“I am fine,” Perris told his attendant. “In body, at least. But I must admit, my spirit is in some discomfort.”
The youth shook his head. “I don’t understand.”
The telepath smiled. “I received news this morning from a starship. Gary Mitchell perished on a distant world.”
His attendant’s brow creased as if with pain. “The Mitchell ... dead?” He shook his head, bewildered. “But how could he ... ?”
“Die?” said Perris, finishing the youth’s question. He remembered his human friend and savior, and shrugged. “We all die, Ataan. And the Mitchell led a dangerous life, always pitting himself against great terrors—just as he did here on Heir’tzan.”
He glanced at the western wall of the chamber, where some of the greatest events in Heiren history were depicted in a great mural. His eye naturally went to the vignette in which the Mitchell and the Kirk were shown battling festively-robed terrorists.
Had the Starfleet cadets not put their lives on the line, the telepath would never have reached the Eastern Temple and there would have been no Great Reconciliation. And this day, when all Heiren celebrated the reunion of their species, would never have come to pass.
His attendant swallowed. “I did not know, Honored One.”
Perris smiled down at him. “Only a very few of us have been made aware of the Mitchell’s passing, [262] Ataan—myself, the other Honored One, Primary Minister Lenna ... and now you.” He gazed at the arched entrance to the chamber, from which he would issue in a few minutes, re-enacting his historic journey to the Government House. “Though soon,” he went on, “everyone will know. After all, the Mitchell belongs to all of us.”
And so he did. But the telepath, who owed the human his life, would mourn him more than any other, he thought.
Seeing that his attendant was still distraught, Perris put a hand on the young man’s shoulder. “Come, Ataan. Finish your work. The Mitchell once went to great lengths to see this ceremony happen on time. I do not think he would want to see it delayed now.”
The attendant smiled at him. “As you say, Honored One.”
And under the telepath’s kindly but watchful eye, the youth went on with his ministrations.
The day of Gary’s funeral, the sun shone and the air smelled freshly washed. The rain of the night before was just a dream. Or at least, that was the way it felt to Kirk as he arrived at the simple, sandstone chapel where the service would be held.
The captain had walked the dozen or so blocks from his lodgings, figuring it was silly to call for a taxi to go such a short distance in such beautiful, crisp autumn weather. But that wasn’t his only reason for proceeding on foot. He had also needed the walk to settle himself inside.
Halfway up the chapel steps, he heard the call of a [263] familiar voice. Turning, he saw McCoy hastening to catch up with him.
“Dammit, Jim,” said his friend. “It’s not a race. Slow down, for petesakes.”
Kirk smiled. “Good to see you, Bones.”
The doctor looked at him. “So? Did you ... ?”
“Tell the Mitchells?” the captain finished for him. He nodded. “I did.”
McCoy frowned. “And?”
“And we’re all right,” Kirk told him. “All of us.”
The doctor grinned a sincere grin. “Well, that’s great, Jim. Really great. I’ll bet you feel worlds better now.”
“Worlds,” said the captain.
Suddenly, McCoy seemed to realize that something was missing. “Say, where’s your cast?” he inquired.
Kirk shrugged. “I didn’t feel like I had to wear it anymore. And don’t tell me it’s too soon to take it off.”
“Who, me?” the doctor exclaimed. “I’m the last one to advise anyone to carry any extra baggage.” He tilted his head in the direction of the arched chapel entrance. “Shall we?”
The captain eyed the entranceway. “I guess so,” he replied.
Then Kirk and McCoy walked up the last few steps together and went inside. And if the captain was a little nervous at what awaited him there, it was nothing compared to how nervous he would have felt if he hadn’t made his confession to Gary’s parents.
Then he got a look at the large, well-lit interior of [264] the place, and a sight met his eyes for which he hadn’t been the least bit prepared. He clutched the doctor’s arm and said “My god.”
McCoy took in the same sight and smiled. “How about that.”
The chapel was packed with people from wall to wall—not just with friends and relatives of the deceased, though there seemed to be plenty of them as well, but also with a small army of Starfleet officers and crewmen wearing the green or red or blue of their dress uniforms.
“Hey, look,” said the doctor. “It’s Miyko Tarsch ... from Starfleet Medical. I didn’t know he and Gary had even met.”
Kirk followed McCoy’s gaze and saw the Vobilite. “Yes,” he replied. “We served with him on the Republic.”
Then he realized that Tarsch wasn’t the only Republic officer in attendance. Captain Bannock, the ship’s retired commander, was present as well—his eyes as steely as ever, his leathery visage marked b
y an undiminished air of authority.
So was Jord Gorfinkel, Bannock’s science officer, his curly brown hair gone mostly gray. And jovial chief engineer Hogan Brown. And Commander Rodianos, barrel chested and olive skinned.
And Admiral Mangione, who had served on the Republic as first officer. She was there to see Gary off, too.
Nor did the list end there. Kirk saw Mark Piper seated along with Lieutenant Alden, Nurse Chapel and Yeoman Smith, not far from Scotty, Sulu and Stiles. And a group from the Constitution was a few [265] rows behind them—a group that included Captain Augenthaler, Commander Hirota, Dr. Velasquez, Lieutenant Borrik, and even security chief Gaynor.
McCoy leaned closer to him. “Do you know all these people? The Starfleet types, I mean?”
Swallowing back an unwelcome flood of emotion, the captain nodded. “I know them, all right.” He knew something else, too—that some of them were there for him as much as they were for Gary. They had come to pay their respects because the deceased was his best friend.
But that didn’t make their coming any less touching, and it didn’t make their numbers any less impressive. What’s more, Gary wouldn’t have cared why they had come—he simply would have marveled that they were there.
“Sir?” said a voice from behind him.
Kirk turned and saw the biggest surprise of all.
“Mr. Spock?” he said wonderingly.
The Vulcan showed no more emotion than usual. “I trust I am in time for the ceremony,” he responded.
“Very much in time,” the captain assured him.
Spock cocked an eyebrow. “You looked surprised,” he observed.
“I ...” Kirk shrugged. “I didn’t think you went in much for funeral services. I mean, back on the ship—”
“On the ship,” said the Vulcan, “it was necessary for someone to man the bridge. With the Enterprise in Earth orbit, it is no longer incumbent on me to perform that duty.”
“I see,” the captain replied. “Thank you for [266] clarifying that.” He turned to his companion. “Dr. McCoy, this is Mr. Spock, my first officer.”
The doctor extended his hand. “Good to meet you, Mr. Spock.”
STAR TREK: TOS #87 - My Brother's Keeper, Book Three - Enterprise Page 20