Collision Course

by William Shatner

  For some reason, that prompted further laughter from Kirk. It ended when a red-shirted guard appeared at the doorway.

  “Kirk—visitor.”

  Spock was fascinated to see how quickly Kirk went from expressing humor to concern.

  “Tell my father I’ll see him in the courtroom.”

  Spock was puzzled by the negativity he detected in the young human’s manner. He’d supposed Kirk’s relationship with his father would be more positive—not like his relationship with Sarek. Then again, having witnessed the speed of the human teenager’s changing emotions, perhaps the nature of their child-parent relationship also changed throughout the day.

  Spock did recall hearing that humans were prone to that—his own mother, of course, being a welcome exception to the general pattern.

  “It’s not your father,” the guard said with disinterest. He gestured to the side, and a human Spock had never seen stepped nervously into view.

  Again Kirk underwent a change in his emotional state. He jumped to his feet with joy, crying, “Sam!”

  Spock marveled that such beings had ever achieved a technological civilization.

  Kirk stood as close to the force field as he could, making sure he blocked Sam’s line of sight to Spock, and spoke in a barely audible whisper.

  “Keep your voice down—you wouldn’t believe how good this guy’s hearing is.”

  Sam didn’t look as if he cared. “Nice to see you, too.”

  Kirk knew time was limited. He and Spock were due in court in the next ten minutes. “Yeah, yeah, I know. How’d you get away?” Then, just before Sam began to answer, Kirk held a finger to his lips, mouthed, “No names!”

  Sam seemed distracted or nervous or tired, Kirk couldn’t be certain which.

  “Okay,” Sam said, “the guy let me go.”

  Kirk guessed the ‘guy’ in question was either Matthew or whoever Matthew had been listening to on his privacy earpiece. “Did the guy say why?”

  From the way Sam nodded, Kirk knew—his brother was nervous.

  “You can tell me,” Kirk prompted.

  “I’m supposed to convince you to stay in San Francisco.”

  “You mean, enlist.”

  Sam’s face tightened. “I know what that means to you, but…”

  Kirk hated the force field. He needed to touch his brother, to tell him it was going to be okay—that he would make everything okay for him, that he always would.

  “Talk to me, Sam. Why does he need me here? He’s got to know they dropped the case against Elissa. There’s nothing more I can tell him.”

  “Uh, the guy told me he still needed to know what Mallory said to you. About why the case was dropped.”

  “But I haven’t seen Mallory since I got back here.” Kirk tugged at his prisoner jumpsuit to illustrate his next point. “This didn’t exactly go as you-know-who planned.”

  “I don’t think it matters, Jimmy. The…the guy…says he’s almost finished here, and Dala—” Sam caught himself. “—his girlfriend said something about going away, so…so I think he’s getting ready to leave—you know, like Earth.”

  Kirk wasn’t getting it.

  “He wants to tie up loose ends.” Sam said in such a low voice Kirk had to strain to hear what he was saying over the hum of the force-field emitters. “That’s you and me, Jimmy. He’s going to kill us both.”

  Kirk blinked. Having seen Matthew in action on Tarsus IV, he knew that was possible, but—

  “Sam, listen…if he’s going off-planet, then he doesn’t have to do anything to us. If he’s a thief, no one’ll bother going after him. But if he’s a murderer…they’ll track one of those anywhere. This guy’s too smart to risk drawing that much heat.”

  Now Sam’s voice was so soft, Kirk had to read his lips. “He’s already killed some people.” He looked both ways along the corridor outside the hull, then mouthed the words, “Two Vulcans.”

  That made absolutely no sense to Kirk. He mouthed back, “What were Vulcans doing there?”

  Sam gestured palms up, indicating he didn’t know. “I saw him do it.”

  Kirk thought a minute, then he had it. “He faked it. He was just trying to shake you up.”

  Sam shook his head. “They disintegrated, Jimmy. He used that alien gun—you know the one.”

  That stopped Kirk. It was time to accept that events had moved far beyond anything he could handle on his own. “We gotta tell someone, Sam.”

  Sam’s reaction was instant panic. “No! We can’t! We’ve got to run! Go into hiding!”

  “Shhhh!” Kirk hissed.

  Sam dropped his voice to a desperate whisper. “I mean it, if we go to him, he’s going to kill us. And he’ll kill me if you go to New Zealand. But if you stay here, we can run away together. You know how to do that, Jimmy. I don’t!”

  “Get real, Sam,” Kirk said quietly. “If I run off with you, Ma—the guy—is the least of our worries. Starfleet will come after me. That’s who we have to tell! Wait till they hear the guy killed—” He mouthed the word “Vulcans!”

  Sam clasped his hands together, pleading. “Please, please listen to me. Enlist. Stay close. Then all we have to do is stay hidden long enough for the guy to leave. Then…then you can tell Starfleet anything you want. Just let him leave and we’ll be safe and Starfleet can go find him! You said that yourself!”

  Kirk hated it when someone—even Sam—used his own reasoning against him.

  But it was too late to say more. The guards were coming down the hallway with Commander Bearden and Lieutenant Commander Norse.

  “Please,” Sam said one last time, and then he was gone.

  As soon as the door deactivated and opened once again, Spock stepped up beside Kirk and looked at him with dead-calm intensity.

  It was as if the Vulcan had heard every word.

  No one in the world outside the holding cell seemed too interested in the fate of two teenagers in trouble. That was the first thing Kirk thought as he was led through the side door and into the antique courtroom.

  In the gallery, Kirk saw his father, regarding him today with sorrow instead of anger. Beside his father: Sam, his face drawn with worry. On another gallery bench, Kirk saw a single Vulcan, tall, distinguished, in a simple civilian suit.

  “Is that your father?” Kirk asked Spock as the two of them sat down at the defendant’s table.

  “No. He is Representative T’Rev, of the Federation Council.”

  “Is he here to talk some sense into you?”

  “I do not know. I have never met him.”

  Kirk scanned the other faces in the gallery. There weren’t many, and all belonged to humans, some of whom were in uniforms. He noted two civilians, but didn’t recognize them, so he decided they were here for some other case.

  As he wondered why neither of Spock’s parents had bothered to show up, Kirk realized the two Vulcan agents from the Garden of Venus weren’t present, either. But they had been present for the sentencing hearing.

  Two Vulcans, he thought. He leaned close to Spock, shoulder to shoulder, felt Spock ease away. “What happened to the two agents from your embassy? The guys who were here yesterday?”

  Spock turned to Kirk with laser-focused eyes.

  That was when Kirk knew. “You heard what my brother and I talked about.”

  Spock didn’t give Kirk the satisfaction of an emotional response. All he said was, “Every word.”

  Kirk grimaced. There was no way this Vulcan was going to keep anything secret. “We need to talk.”

  “Agreed.”

  Then the door by the judge’s bench opened and the yeoman in red stepped out to announce, “All rise.”

  Kirk, Spock, their legal officers, and the observers in the gallery stood as Judge Mahina Otago entered and took her place behind the bench. She spent a few moments making sure her padd was turned on, checked a set of documents with the yeoman, then tapped her gavel lightly.

  “Good morning, everyone. This court-martial is in se
ssion. Are we ready to proceed?”

  Bearden replied that he, his colleague, and the prisoners were ready.

  “Very good, Commander. Mr. Spock…have you had time to reflect on the options I presented to you yesterday?”

  “I have, Judge.”

  “What’s your choice?”

  “I choose to enlist in Starfleet.”

  “So ordered.” The judge tapped her gavel. “Anticipating your decision, I have spoken to the commandant of the STC, and he has agreed to assign you to a new squad of recruits who will begin indoctrination and basic training tomorrow. May I add that if you fail to live up to the duties and effort expected of you as an enlisted recruit, you will not be separated from the service, you will be sent immediately to New Zealand. Is that understood?”

  “Yes, Judge.”

  The judge looked relieved. “May I also say that I believe you have made a wise decision, and that, if you behave yourself, Starfleet is fortunate to have you.”

  “Indeed,” Spock said.

  Kirk suppressed a snort of disgust. As far as he could tell, anytime Spock didn’t know what to say, he said, “Indeed.”

  “And now, Mr. Kirk,” the judge said. “I understand you have an affinity for the South Pacific, and heavy construction.”

  Kirk looked straight ahead, no longer even trying to work out how he had reached this awful moment, this relinquishing of control.

  “Judge,” he said, forcing each word from his mouth, “I choose…to enlist in Starfleet.”

  Kirk caught the judge’s flash of surprise. From the corner of his eyes he could see his three tablemates staring at him.

  “You’ve had an epiphany, have you?”

  Kirk didn’t dare say what he wanted to say, lifted a trick from Spock. “Indeed.”

  The judge hesitated for only a moment. “So ordered.” She tapped her gavel. “Same warning goes for you. You won’t be given demerits or second warnings—you slip up even once, you’re off to New Zealand, too.”

  Then the judge recorded something on her padd and addressed Kirk’s legal officer. “Commander Bearden, I presume you and your colleague would like to appeal these sentences now.”

  Bearden pulled a file from a folder on the table. “Yes, Judge. We’ve prepared—”

  “I’ll save us all some time.” Otago tapped her gavel again. “Appeals denied.”

  “Judge!” Norse protested. “You can’t rule until we’ve made our presentation!”

  “I can do whatever I damn well please, Ms. Norse. But look on the bright side—without wasting any of your time or this court’s time, your appeals are now automatically bumped up to the review panel. Congratulations—you’ll get to argue your case before six admirals, and not just one.” The judge held her gavel over its stand. “Anything else?”

  No one spoke.

  “Very good.” She tapped her gavel. “We’re done here. Next case, Yeoman.”

  As everyone stood up from the table, the judge smiled at Kirk and Spock. “And Mr. Kirk, Mr. Spock—may I be the first to say welcome to Starfleet.”

  “Thank you, Judge,” Spock said.

  Kirk didn’t respond. He had just surrendered his life and his freedom to the enemy.

  And he didn’t know why he wasn’t as upset as he should be.

  32

  Mallory paused before the beat-up metal door. He could see four layers of different colored paint among the assorted dings and scratches. The security scanner above the frame was cracked and plainly not working. And the hallway with its sprayed-on carpet pattern didn’t look convincing even in the dim lighting from the flickering overhead panels. Plus, since entering the building on the street level five stories down, everything reeked of stale vegetable steaks.

  He could barely believe he was still on Earth. Almost two centuries since first contact with the Vulcans and the planet’s emergence from the long shadows of war and poverty, and there was still reconstruction to be done in what were euphemistically called the “historic neighborhoods” of major cities.

  He knocked.

  A few moments later, he heard a deep voice call out, “Who is it?”

  “Master Chief Joseph Kirk,” Mallory shouted back, “I’m Eugene Mallory, Starfleet Command.”

  Mallory heard the buzz of the security lock switching off, then the door opened a few centimeters, enough for him to see the powerfully built man on the other side, in neat civilian clothes but still with his regulation haircut and service sideburns shaved to a point.

  “ID,” Joe said brusquely.

  Mallory held up his case, activating it so his ID emerged. Then he waited because, unlike 99 percent of the people who ever saw that ID, Joe Kirk was actually examining it, and knew what to look for.

  “Department of General Services?” he said. “Never heard of it.”

  “We’re small,” Mallory conceded. “Special projects, mostly.”

  Joe took a closer look at Mallory. “ ‘Special projects’ could cover a lot of ground.”

  “Today, it covers your son, James. May I come in?”

  Joe stepped back from the door and opened it.

  Mallory was surprised when he crossed the threshold. Unlike the hallway, the apartment’s interior smelled strongly of disinfectant and cleanser. And for such a run-down building, the room he had entered was in surprisingly good shape. The drab walls could use some paint, but everything was sparkling and squared away. It could have been a large suite on a starship. Mallory guessed that a few days earlier, before Master Chief Petty Officer Joseph Kirk came to town, the apartment had looked quite different, and had smelled different, too.

  “I gather you’ve been busy,” Mallory said.

  “You have any kids?”

  “Two. Boy and girl. Younger than your sons, but…I can only imagine what my boy’s apartment will look like when he moves out.”

  Joe surveyed the apartment as if it still wasn’t up to his standards. “That’s what this one looked like, only worse.”

  Mallory saw the aquarium and the darting orange-and-white cloud of clownfish. “Nice aquarium. Are they James’s?”

  Joe went over to the tank, and the fish crowded close to him. “No, my other boy’s. George, or Sam, now…He’s decided he doesn’t like the name everyone’s been calling him since the day he was born.”

  Mallory heard the old anger in the man, yet watched how delicate his large hands were as he opened the aquarium’s cover and carefully sprinkled a precise amount of fish food for his appreciative audience.

  “Children get their own ideas,” Mallory commented, one father to another.

  Joe watched the fish. “Are you responsible for my Jimmy’s getting a chance to enlist?”

  Mallory debated breaking security on his plan. But Joe Kirk’s record in the fleet spoke for itself. The list of commendations alone ran three pages.

  Mallory asked the former Starfleet noncom a question he already knew the answer to. “You still have your security clearance?”

  Joe shot him a sidelong glance. “Is this a test?”

  Mallory didn’t answer.

  “If you’re as good as you seem to think you are, then you know I don’t,” Joe said. “I don’t do any consulting. I’m not in the reserves. I did my twenty, and I got out.”

  Mallory had no qualms about trusting the man. “Then let’s talk off the record.”

  “If that’s why you’re here.”

  Mallory was beginning to see where Kirk’s fierce independence had come from. “I’m the one who arranged for your son to be offered an opportunity to enlist.”

  Joe looked as if he still couldn’t believe it. “I didn’t think they did that anymore.”

  “Not in the civilian courts,” Mallory agreed. “But every now and then when some youngster with promise interferes with Starfleet property…well, usually it’s because they’ve got some interest in it. So instead of punishing them, we invite them in. Not every teenager has a clear idea of what he wants to do in life. Sometimes, all i
t takes is a little push in the right direction.”

  Joe put the container of fish food back on a tray of evenly arranged packages. “You think Jimmy has promise?”

  “That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.”

  “Grab a chair,” Joe said. “I got some beer in the cooler.”

  Mallory sat in a threadbare armchair that had seen better days, but had been realigned with a tightly folded blanket that served as an extra cushion.

  Joe came back from the kitchen alcove with two pouches of a local beer, tapped them on the serving table to make the pouches change shape and harden into cylinders, then peeled them open and handed one to his guest.

  Joe clinked his cylinder to Mallory’s. “May rudders govern and ships obey.”

  Mallory appreciated the traditional toast, offered one back. “Ourselves—because no one else is likely to concern themselves with our welfare.”

  Joe understood. “What ship did you serve on?”

  Mallory had served on a few. But there was only one that mattered at a time like this. “The Constitution. Before your day, though. I checked.”

  Joe approved, sat back on the couch. “How’d you get my boy to enlist?”

  “I think it’s something he’s always wanted.”

  Joe’s face darkened. “You don’t know him,”

  “I think I do,” Mallory said. “I’ve seen his files: from school, from the Riverside protectors, Star Cadets, Junior Explorers.”

  The mention of the children’s group made Joe smile.

  “And then something happened, didn’t it?”

  The smile faded, Joe said nothing, and just as Mahina Otago had recognized a particular kind of silence, so did Mallory. The topic he had just touched on was something Joe had sworn never to discuss.

  “I have access to a great many files in my department,” Mallory said easily. “So I think I’ve been able to fill in a few gaps in your son’s history. But when Starfleet makes a promise, we keep it. And I give you my word there is absolutely no mention of Tarsus IV in any of James’s records.”

  Joe put his beer on the table. There was no more friendliness or approval in him. “Then why mention it now?”