by Tony Daniel
With a deft movement, the man withdrew the sword from the L’rah’hane’s chest, then, with a wicked sideways thrust, lopped into the pirate’s neck. The L’rah’hane fell—fell, Kirk was fairly certain, never to rise again.
The human victor quickly spun, looking over the situation on the alien craft’s bridge. It seemed to Kirk’s practiced eye to be some sort of control room, at least. The man on the viewscreen saw another man beset by a L’rah’hane and, sword held high, stormed to his aid.
With the nearby action gone, Kirk could see that the entire bridge, or whatever it was, was filled with humans fighting L’rah’hane. Some of the humans were in regulation science officer blue—the outpost was nominally under the purview of Starfleet—but others were in the garb of the man with the sword. And other, even more outlandish, costumes.
And that man with the sword . . .
It began to register on Kirk.
Not any man.
A man he recognized.
A man he knew from his own history lessons, his own personal studies.
A hero of his, in fact.
“Lieutenant Uhura, can you set up two-way communication?”
“Yes, sir, just a moment,” she replied, her fingers nimbly touching several controls. “I believe you are on the L’rah’hane vessel’s viewscreen now, Captain.”
Kirk felt frustrated. Here he was visually linked to a fight—overlooking that fight as if he were some sort of disembodied referee, no less. And it was a fight to the finish, a fight in which he knew he could make a difference were he there—yet he couldn’t take part, could do nothing but await the outcome.
Soon, the fighting humans overcame the last of the L’rah’hane. Several humans lay dead or wounded, as well.
The man with the sword came back into view. He bent down and picked up a hat—a tricorn hat—that had evidently fallen off in the fighting, and placed it on his head. Then the man reached over and tapped the center of his own display. It must be the size of a small monitor, Kirk reflected. His suddenly enormous finger filled up a quarter of the Enterprise’s viewscreeen.
“Is this one of those playback devices?”
“I suspect it to be a transceiver, General,” said a voice off to the side, in a Scottish brogue that was even deeper than Montgomery Scott’s. “We are likely in communication with the man on the screen.”
The man turned back to Kirk, his face now filling the Enterprise viewscreen.
There was no doubt who this person looked like.
George Washington.
* * *
“Captain, we are detecting multiple life pods launching away on the other three disabled L’rah’hane ships,” said Spock.
Kirk turned his attention from the viewscreen.
“We are out of phaser range for the moment, Captain,” Sulu said.
“We’re not going to fire anyway,” Kirk said. “We don’t know if there are any more prisoners on those pods.”
“They appear to be converging and traveling in convoy deeper into the nebula.”
“All right, we’ll return to this problem later,” Kirk said, motioning Uhura to cut the viewscreen feed from the L’rah’hane ship’s bridge. “Turn us about, helmsman. Mister Spock, as soon as possible, scan those ships. I want to know if there are any Federation personnel on them.”
“Coming into range in fifteen point four seconds, Captain.” Spock looked down into his sensor scope. “Signs of human life aboard all three vessels.”
“Get a tractor beam on those ships,” Kirk said. “We’re bringing them back to the other one, and then we’ll deal with boarding and evacuation one at a time, but first I need to have a talk with—” Kirk shook his head. He couldn’t believe he was going to say it. “—George Washington.”
* * *
“Whom do I have the honor of addressing?” the humanoid who looked like George Washington asked, somewhat stiffly. Kirk had reestablished contact with the L’rah’hane ship, its bridge on the viewscreen.
There was no doubt. The resemblance was uncanny.
“James T. Kirk,” Kirk replied. “I’m captain of the United Federation of Planets Starship Enterprise. Who or what are you?”
The man nodded. “Captain Kirk, sir. Is it to you we owe the distraction of the pirate L’rah’hane that allowed our escape?”
“We engaged in a firefight with the vessel you’re on, yes.”
“Please accept my deepest gratitude,” said the man. “Captain, we require assistance. Several of our number are wounded. Alas, three are dead. Also, the children of the outpost personnel are here, and they have not eaten in over two days. They are liberated, but remain in the holding area where we were kept.”
Kirk turned to Spock. “Transporter?”
“Out of the question in this particular region, sir. We are in a radiant hotspot in the nebula.”
Kirk suppressed a rueful smile. “Best cover I could find at the time.”
“Undoubtedly.” Spock nodded in agreement, then cocked his head to indicate he’d thought of something else. “Captain, there is a risk even at this close range of radiation poisoning should we deploy a shuttlecraft for docking,” the first officer continued. “But I believe the nebula’s radiation can be mitigated if Mister Scott will extend our shields to encompass the L’rah’hane vessel. There are what I believe are docking collars available on the L’rah’hane craft, so a shuttlecraft would be a safe option. There is a further problem, however—”
“Yes?”
“The L’rah’hane shields remain in operation, although at depleted power. They will have to come down in order for our shuttles to approach, much less to dock.”
“Do they, now?” said the man on the viewscreen. “Mister Watt, can you help us with this problem?”
I’ll call him George Washington for the time being, Kirk thought. But I won’t for one minute forget that whatever it is, it cannot be Washington.
“Aye, I can indeed, General,” said the voice with the brogue. It came from the left of Washington. “I was watchin’ these birds pretty closely when they fiddled with their controls.” Yet another man in the garb of an eighteenth-century gentleman moved to a console in the background. With him was a woman in modern-day garb and with hair in a Federation style indicating she was likely one of the station scientists. Together they studied the controls and briefly consulted. The Scotsman adjusted a fader and flipped a switch. “That should do it.”
“L’rah’hane shields are down,” Spock reported.
Kirk touched a control on his command chair. “Kirk to hangar deck, ready all craft.” Kirk touched another control. “Medical and security team to the hangar deck.”
“We’ll bring over the children and your wounded first,” Kirk told the man on the screen.
The other nodded. “We are obliged, Captain Kirk,” he said. “This has been a most unpleasant voyage, as you can imagine.”
“We’ll try to make it a better one back to the outpost,” said Kirk. “Sir, please state for the record your name and title.”
“My title? I did not know this formality was required.”
“It isn’t,” Kirk said. “Your Mister Watt called you ‘general.’ ”
“Yes, James may be a stubborn Scotsman, but he’s loyal to the Crown. He refuses to recognize my civilian rank.”
“Which would be—what?”
“I can hardly refuse one whose actions released us from our holding pens. When the L’rah’hane power failed, the pen energy doors were no more, allowing our escape plan to come to fruition”
“If you please, your name, sir?”
The man straightened up, stared a crystal-clear, gray-eyed stare at Kirk, and removed his hat. He made a partial bow. “I am George Washington.”
“The George Washington.”
“I am the president of the United States of America.”
“Former president,” Kirk replied.
“For me it does not seem that way,” the other replied. “In my own perce
ption, I am president still.”
“We’re talking about the George Washington from the American Revolutionary War?”
“Captain, we both know that is an impossibility.”
“Then who or what are you?”
“Perhaps we should discuss this another time, outside of this accursed nebula, and face-to-face—”
“I want answers now!” said Kirk. “I see something that cannot be, and it makes me very wary of sending my people in harm’s way.”
Washington nodded. “I take your point, Captain,” he replied. “Very well. I believe you have guessed who and what I am already, in any case.”
Kirk sighed.
I thought I’d seen the last of this annoying species, but I suppose it was too good to be true.
“You’re Excalbian.”
“Yes, Captain.”
“What do you want from us this time? Is this some sort of experiment with the L’rah’hane and the outpost personnel? Are you still playing your sadistic game of torture to understand the difference between good and evil?”
“Not at all, Captain,” the Excalbian Washington answered. “That is a lesson that I, for one, learned well. Please accept my assurances that we former prisoners on this ship were truly in the slave pens of these creatures, whatever they are called. We were in need of help. We still are. I appeal to you to aid us. I will, of course, answer any and all questions you may have when my people are taken care of.”
Kirk frowned. “You have the ability to manipulate minds and matter. Why don’t you help them yourself?”
“Alas, this is no longer true. That is something I must discuss with you, Captain,” Washington replied. “You see, I have had my ability to transform stripped from me. I am, for all intents and purposes, as you see me now.”
“What I see is a human being. I see George Washington.”
“Captain, I am trapped in this form. At this point, I am as close to being George Washington as I am to being a semi-liquid mind inhabiting the magma currents of my former planet’s interior.” Washington glanced to the side, and a look of concern passed over his face. “Excuse me a moment—”
He turned from the screen and helped a wounded man to his feet. The other clutched a hand to a wound in his shoulder. It looked to be a nasty laser burn. He was dressed in what seemed to be the garb of a Napoleonic soldier.
No, thought Kirk. Not any Napoleonic soldier. That’s Napoleon, of course.
Washington turned to face Kirk.
The man’s eyes wrinkled, and his lips curled into a smile, although he still did not open his mouth to expose his teeth. “For the moment, whatever you believe, I assure you that I am most happy to be free once again. I have long believed that freedom ought to be the natural state of all men.”
“So it should,” Kirk replied.
A light flashed on Kirk’s command chair, and Scott’s voice came over the ship’s intraship. “Hangar deck to bridge.”
Kirk activated his side of the intraship. “Bridge here.”
“Captain, first shuttlecraft is away. Given the range, it should be docking in only a few minutes.”
“Eight point nine two,” Spock said.
“Thank you, Mister Scott. Deploy second shuttlecraft.” He looked up again at the viewscreen, considered.
“All right,” he said. “I’m prepared to talk. But this had better be good.”
“The only thing I can do is tell you the truth,” Washington answered. “I have always found that sufficient to any circumstance.”
Five
The remaining humans on the other ships proved to be Federation scientists. A security team arriving by shuttlecraft had freed them out of slave pens, which were really no more than transformed cargo holds.
All that remained, it seemed, were the Excalbians on the L’rah’hane flagship. So far not one had shown up on the Enterprise, despite multiple runs.
Kirk had asked the outpost commander to come to the bridge immediately when she arrived. The bridge turbolift door slid open, and a tall woman dressed in Starfleet science blues entered the deck. Her clothing had seen better days. It was filthy and torn in several spots. The woman was dark skinned and had an unmistakable intensity about her that was immediately noticeable. She did not wait for Kirk to speak but piped up herself.
“Commander Imelda Contreras, director of the Federation and Starfleet joint task force stationed on science outpost Zeta Gibraltar, Captain.”
Kirk stood, and Contreras quickly moved across to him and extended her hand. Kirk shook it in greeting.
“Captain James T. Kirk of the Starship Enterprise, Commander.”
Contreras nodded. “I can’t tell you how glad we all are to be on your ship, Captain.”
“I can imagine. We’ll arrange for quarters for all of your personnel on our journey back to Zeta Gibraltar. We should arrive in only a few hours, but perhaps you’d like the opportunity to change and freshen up.”
“We would indeed,” replied Contreras. “It will take a long ’fresher session to wash the stench of those slave pens off me. I don’t want to be judgmental—oh hell, of course I want to be judgmental—every one of those pirates smelled like they’d bathed in a jar of ammonia mixed into a rancid tub of vomit.”
“I’m sorry you had to deal with that, Commander,” Kirk replied, with an empathetic smile. “I would, however, like to speak with you as soon as possible. I have . . . questions. I’m sure you know what some of those questions might be.”
Contreras nodded.
Kirk’s command chair intraship whistled and Mister Scott’s unmistakable accent came over the speaker. “Hangar deck to Captain Kirk.”
“Excuse me a moment,” Kirk said to Contreras. He thumbed the intraship control. “Mister Scott.”
“Sir, we have evacuated all Federation personnel from the L’rah’hane vessels.”
“Very good, Mister Scott.”
“I repeat: all Federation personnel,” Scott continued. “Those others are refusing to come.”
“Do they give a reason?”
“No, sir,” Scott replied. “I don’t know what this means, but they said to ask Mister Washington.”
“I’m pretty sure I know what it means, Scotty,” Kirk replied. “Stand by.”
He shut down the audio feed, then turned back to the viewscreen.
“Uhura,” Kirk said with a sigh.
* * *
In a moment Kirk was once again face-to-face with the Excalbian George Washington.
“I thought we were going to have our long talk, Mister President?” He let a trace of irony slip into his voice, especially when he used the man’s alleged title. “Why are your people refusing to get onto the shuttlecraft?”
Instead of replying directly, Washington braced himself as if he had an oration to deliver. When he spoke, the words did indeed come out quite loud and resonant. “Captain, may I humbly beg your permission to remain on board with my people and serve as your prize crew. I am sure that, with Mister Watt’s able assistance, we can bring this ship back safely to the science outpost.”
“Mister President, my people are trained Starfleet officers and extremely capable when it comes to handling a ship, especially through the tumultuous space of the Vara Nebula.”
“Sir, I ask you to consult with Commander Imelda Contreras. She will vouch for our good intentions.”
Kirk motioned for Uhura to cut the audio, then turned to Contreras. “Commander?”
“He liberated us from some very nasty confinement cells,” Contreras said. “I understand your reluctance, but I trust him.”
“He’s Excalbian, Commander. Are you aware of what that means?”
“I am,” said Contreras. “Next to you, I am probably the Federation’s leading expert on the Excalbians.”
“They have no morals. They make a point of the fact that they have no concept of good or evil.”
“I believe that these Excalbians are different,” Contreras replied. “Captain, he’s a proven
leader. I, for one, trust this version of George Washington—whoever or whatever he is.”
Kirk turned back to the viewscreen. “Lieutenant,” he said to Uhura.
“Aye, sir.”
“Mister . . . President, I am sending over my helmsman, Lieutenant Sulu, along with a team of security personnel for your protection and his. There may be more L’rah’hane surprises lying in wait. Will you agree to this arrangement?”
“Of course, Captain Kirk. My highest priority is to prove the goodwill of my fellow Excalbians and our virtuous intentions toward you and the Federation.”
“All right. You’ll get your chance,” Kirk said. “We’ll be in touch. Kirk out.”
Uhura expertly cut the signal. Kirk sat a moment, considering, then turned to Sulu. “Mister Sulu, I want you to keep an eye on whatever is going on over there, and be ready to take action if anything seems irregular.”
“Yes sir, I understand,” Sulu answered.
“Then get down to the hangar deck,” Kirk said. “We need to start back before the L’rah’hane find us out here and start shooting.
“Mister Chekov, get those other L’rah’hane ships in alignment. Tractor them back with us. I want to go over those ships with a fine-tooth comb so we can find out exactly what we’re dealing with should the L’rah’hane come back in greater numbers.”
“Aye, sir.”
“Note our location, and let’s get out of here.” He looked back to the viewscreen, which was now filled with a view of the nebula interior as seen from the Enterprise. “We need to bring our people home.”
Six
Captain’s Log, Stardate 6097.4. We have returned to Zeta Gibraltar after confronting and defeating a four-ship contingent of L’rah’hane pirates in the Vara Nebula. The battle was little more than a skirmish, as the Enterprise thoroughly outclassed the L’rah’hane vessels. We return with the science personnel from the Zeta Gibraltar outpost. We also have in tow three L’rah’hane pirate ships, and a fourth piloted by a prize crew led by Mister Sulu and commanded by an Excalbian who bears an exact resemblance to George Washington. I have beamed to the surface to oversee the repatriation of the station personnel and to meet the Excalbians firsthand. My first priority: secure the outpost and its personnel.