Kirk smiled at the metaphor. Leaning against the bulkhead, he thought about it. And thought some more.
After all, it had been along time—for both of them. People could change a great deal in all that time.
Or they could not change at all.
"Well?" McCoy probed.
The captain looked at him. He didn't know what to say.
The doctor chuckled. "Knowing you, I'll take that as a yes."
David tried not to show how tired he was as he tramped into the warm, domed quarters he shared with his mother. She was sitting in the section reserved for their personal computer, no doubt going over some calculations that had eluded her during the workday.
Hearing him come in, she turned and smiled. "There you are."
The tone of her voice sent a bolt of fear up his spine. Had she found out where he'd been? Had someone squealed?
"What do you mean?" he got out.
She pointed to the chronometer that hung from one of the gently curving walls. "It's nearly dinnertime. You're cutting it pretty close these days, young man."
David breathed a sigh of relief—though actually, he mused, he might have been more relieved if she had found out. Then he wouldn't have to keep it secret from her.
For as long as he could remember, his mother had been his best friend. Sometimes, when they'd lived in colonies without other children, she'd been his only friend. He hated not being able to tell her about the crevice.
But there was no way he was going to tattle. He liked the company of the other children here at Beta Canzandia, despite their not always being real nice to him. Even Riordan wasn't so bad to have around, compared to having no one to play with at all.
"So what did you do after school today?" his mother asked. "Anything interesting?"
David shrugged. "You know. Hung out with the other kids."
Her eyes lost some of their good humor. "How's that Timmy Riordan treating you?"
"Fine, Mom, just fine." Pulling down on the zipper of his parka, he took it off and hung it up. "Really."
His mother looked at him. She seemed to see something there. "Are you sure? I'm not shy, you know. I could talk to his parents ag—"
David held up his hands. "No!" he said a little too loudly. And then, "It's all right. We get along just great now."
She didn't look convinced. You're sure, Lamb?"
Inwardly, he shivered. "I'm sure, Mom. And you said you wouldn't call me that anymore."
His mother chuckled. "That's right, I forgot. You're too big to be called Lamb. Too much of a man, now that you've turned ten."
"Come on, Mom. Give a guy a break."
For a moment, she looked wistful. He'd seen her look that way before, but never when she knew he was looking back.
"All right," she agreed. "I'll give a guy a break. But first the guy's got to go wash up for dinner."
David started to do that, grateful that she'd hadn't pressed him any harder about the day's activities. Or for that matter, about Timmy Riordan.
Then something weird happened. He stopped halfway to the washroom, as if he couldn't make himself move any farther. "Hey, Mom?"
Shut up, he told himself. What are you doing? You had it made in the shade!
His mother turned to face him again. "Yes?"
The boy swallowed. "Mom, do I need a father? You know, to become a man?"
Her face seemed to lose some of its color. "A father," she repeated, trying without success to sound as cheerful as she had before. "Where did that come from?"
He frowned. Why couldn't he have kept his mouth shut? "I heard somebody talking about it today, saying that fathers were important things to have and all." He licked his lips. "And I wondered if maybe I should have one, like the other kids."
His mother sighed. "I knew something was wrong. The kids were giving you a hard time, weren't they?"
David nodded. "Sort of."
She got up from her work station, came over to him, and put her arms around him. "I know it's not easy being different, but you've got to make the best of it. You've got to remember that you're as good as you think you are—not as good as they think you are."
He nodded some more, but it didn't help as much as his mother intended. He didn't want to be different. He wanted a father—if not his real one, the one that had died a long time ago, then someone else.
His mother held him away and looked at him. "You understand what I'm saying, right? Father or no father, you're still the best kid around."
"I understand," he got out. But more than he'd ever wanted anything in his life, David Marcus yearned for a man he could look up to.
Chapter Three
DARK AND UNPOPULATED, the bridge of the Kadn'ra seemed more spartan than ever, more passionately Klingon, as Vheled entered it and took his place in the captain's chair. On the forward viewscreen, there was an image of Alalpech'ch, the vassal world where he and his crew had laid over while their ship was being equipped with an improved grade of photon torpedo launchers.
Not that any improvement mattered a damn, in the long run. Battles were waged by captains and crews, not machines.
Stretching his long arms and legs, he could still feel the dull pain of his half-healed wounds, acquired in the course of a bloody brawl in one of Alalpech'ch's public drinking houses. Even if his crew had not emerged victorious against the scraggly Kamorh'dag cowards they'd encountered there—victory being measured by the relative number of men still standing at the end—the brawl would have been the highlight of his down time.
Vheled, captain of the Kad'nra, loved to shed Kamorh'dag blood. It was his greatest pleasure in life to show those high-and-mighty—northerners—scheming puris like Kiruc of the Faz'rahn clan—how a real Klingon carried himself. He smiled at the memory of the stocky, broad-shouldered Kamorh'dag who'd pulled out his dagger, hoping to skewer Vheled on it, only to be skewered himself on a broken chair leg.
But enough of such pleasantries, he told himself Now it was time to pursue more weighty matters, to continue on the path of glory he'd been blazing since he entered the imperial fleet. Bringing his fist down with a thud on one of the metal studs in his armrest, he altered the picture on the viewscreen.
Instead of the curving, cloud-strewn horizon of Alalpech'ch, it showed the familiar countenance of Dumeric, his maternal uncle—and the newest member of the high council. Dumeric was an older version of Vheled—dark, swaggering, and powerful, especially for one who had so many threads of gray in his hair. His smile was thin-lipped, his gaze intense; a nearby torch cast a red glow over one side of his craggy face.
"Ah. Right on time, nephew. Your punctuality is to be commended."
Vheled inclined his head. "I am your servant," he said, reeling off the proper response.
"Good." A beat. "You are certain this channel is secure?"
"It is secure," Vheled assured him. "I have checked it myself; I would stake my life on it."
His uncle grunted. "You already have. If the Kamorh'dag intercept this communication, not only the Kad'nra but our entire movement will be at risk."
"I understand," Vheled confirmed. "And I maintain, there is nothing to fear."
Dumeric leaned back in his seat. He was ensconced in the shadowy, stone-walled library of his estate on Tiv'ranisch Island, off the coast of the southern continent.
Vheled had been there on a number of occasions, the most recent of them less than a year before. He recognized the crossed red-metal blades on the wall behind his uncle, presented to him for bravery during the Ia'kriich campaigns. Of course, that was a long time ago, before the Gevish'rae were organized enough to be perceived as a threat to the emperor.
"You have heard of the world called Pheranna?"
Vheled thought for a moment. "In the nineteenth ring, yes? The sector disputed by the Federation?" Of course, the Klingons had no real claim on the place, and privately they recognized the fact. Vheled had placed an ironic emphasis on the word.
"That is the one. The humans and t
heir allies call it Beta Canzandia Three." He licked his lips. "According to our spies, they have established an important research colony there."
Vheled looked at him. "In what way important?"
"They are developing a technology to remake barren planets in the mold of the human homeworld—as incredible as it may sound. Their goal on Pheranna, it seems, is to carry this out in bits and pieces. But once they have learned all they need to learn there, they intend to alter entire worlds."
The captain of the Kad'nra shook his head. "Alter them—to resemble their homeworld. How is such thing possible?"
"I told you it sounded incredible." Dumeric's brows knit. "Of course, it is entirely possible the project will end in failure. Nonetheless, the emperor is curious about this sort of technology. He wants it seized while it is still within easy reach of the empire."
Vheled shrugged, as if to say the emperor's whims are his own. No technology really mattered unless it could be used as a weapon against one's enemies.
"What has this to do with me?" he asked his uncle.
Dumeric smiled savagely. "Regardless of what you or I may think, the emperor attaches great importance to this objective. He has said so in council." The older man tilted his head to one side. "Originally, Kapronek wished to assign the mission to one of his kinsmen. I argued, however, that no one is better suited to such a task than my nephew."
Vheled touched a soreness at his temple, where he'd been bludgeoned with something in the course of the brawl. It was certainly true—not only was he a better captain than the emperor's kin, he was somewhat more familiar with the sector in question.
And should his mission be a successful one, it could only enhance the standing of the Gevish'rae in the Great Hall. On the other hand …
"I know what you're thinking," Dumeric said. "The Kamorh'dag will not exactly cheer you on. Quite likely, they will try to thwart you—even humiliate you, if at all possible—all the while making sure not to give away their hand in it. After all, as much as your triumph will strengthen our position in the empire, a failure would knock us down twice as far. People will say the Gevish'rae can't be trusted with anything important. The Kamorh'dag were right, they'll say, to keep the reins of government all to themselves." His tip curled. "That is why we dare not falter. It is why I have chosen you—because I know you will prevail, no matter what the Federation and the Kamorh'dag throw against you."
Vheled acknowledged the praise with a quick nod of his shaggy head. He didn't like being a pawn in Dumeric's council games. All this plotting, it seemed to him, had little to do with the way of the warrior.
However, these were political times; one had to accept the lot one was given. And besides, it was a chance to rub Kapronek's Kamorh'dag nose in the dirt.
Pounding his chest with his closed fist, Vheled responded: "It is my duty to serve my emperor's pleasure."
Dumeric chuckled dryly. "See to it," he advised, "that you don't please him too much."
As Kirk came out onto the bridge, he half expected to see Farquhar waiting for him there. He was pleasantly surprised to be in error.
Spock was sitting in the captain's seat. Noticing Kirk's arrival, he stood and moved to one side.
"Thank you, Spock. I trust nothing unusual took place while I was gone."
The Vulcan turned to face the forward viewscreen, where the stars were streaming by at nearly four hundred times the speed of light. "Actually," he said, without the slightest hint of annoyance in his voice, "there was one event worth noting."
As he took his seat, the captain had a sneaking suspicion what it might be. "Don't tell me. Ambassador Farquhar filed an official protest, claiming that our travel at warp six reflects an inappropriately casual attitude toward the problem on Alpha Maluria Six. Or something to that effect."
"The word he used was cavalier," the first officer remarked.
Spock's nostrils flared. Not many people would have noticed, but Kirk did.
The captain tapped his fingertips on his armrest. "I see."
"Will that be all, sir?"
Kirk gave the Vulcan a look of empathy. The ambassador was trying all their souls, even the nonhuman ones. "Yes. That'll be all, Spock."
Without another word—as if he didn't trust himself to utter one without giving away his feelings of vexation—the first officer turned and left the bridge.
The captain shook his head. He almost wished he'd never been given the Beta Canzandia mission. Then they'd be heading directly for Alpha Maluria, and the ambassador wouldn't have anything to complain about.
But then, if they hadn't been assigned Beta Canzandia, he wouldn't have had a chance to see Carol Marcus again. And that, at least, was something he was looking forward to.
"Carol?"
She looked up at the sound of her name and saw Dr. Boudreau standing at the open entrance to the roofless enclosure. He was smiling genially, but as soon as he saw the look of concern on her face, his smile faded.
Everything all right?" he asked, his breath freezing.
She frowned. "It's the fireblossoms."
Actually, she had something else on her mind as well. She'd been thinking of David and what he'd said to her before dinner the night before. But that wasn't something she wanted to discuss with the colony administrator.
Boudreau's eyes narrowed as he stooped to come inside. His gray thermal jumpsuit bent stiffly; the material was still new. "The Klingon specimens? I thought they were doing so well."
Carol grunted. "They're doing fine. The problem is, they're turning out to be lousy neighbors. Everything around them is dying."
The colony administrator grunted as he approached. "Lousy neighbors—like the Klingons themselves, from what I understand." Kneeling beside her, he touched one of the long, deep blue petals of the nearest fireblossom, accidentally brushing against the plant's prickly-looking stamen as well. A gray-blue dust came off on his gloved fingertips. "Too bad. Are you going to take them out of the mix?"
She shook her head. "No. They're still outdistancing all our hybrids in terms of growth and oxygen production. Which is a bit strange, considering they come from such a humid place, and there's so little water here. Tenuda and Harcum were right in their assessments of the fireblossom. It's turning out to be incredibly hardy—incredibly tenacious."
"Furthering the comparison with the Klingons themselves," Boudreau commented. "So what will you do? Transplant its neighbors instead, and try others?"
She nodded. "That's what I was thinking. You disagree?"
"Not in the least," he said. "But keep in mind adaptability and oxygen production are of no use if the damned things won't coexist with Terran plants when the time comes. Our ultimate goal, remember, is to terraform; the fireblossom, or whatever else we come up with, is just a natural means of speeding up the process."
Carol didn't really have to be reminded of their objective. Nor, she was sure, did the colony administrator believe otherwise. But like many scientists she had known, Boudreau had the habit of repeating his aims out loud. Maybe he thought that made them more tangible somehow.
Boudreau tried to blow the fireblossom dust off his fingers, but some of it remained. With a look of resignation, he wiped it off on the front of his jumpsuit, where it was barely visible. "Even its pollen is stubborn," he commented dryly.
Carol chuckled. "Apparently." She got up and brushed the red-orange dirt off her own thermal garment; it left a bit of a stain. "So, what brings you out here so early in the day? I thought you hated the cold."
"I do," he confirmed. "But I just had some news, and I wanted to tell you before someone else did. We're expecting visitors."
She looked at him; a moment later, understanding dawned. "Medical exams, right? Is it time for those already? I feel like we just got here."
Boudreau shook his head. "It's time. In fact, it's past time. And our health isn't going to be the only subject under examination. They'll also be checking on our scientific progress."
Carol crossed h
er arms over her chest, realizing a moment later that she'd executed the classic defensive posture. In recognition of the fact, she let her hands drop to her hips.
But it was too late. The colony administrator had seen the gesture and read it for what it was. "You're not exactly looking forward to the scrutiny, are you?" he asked.
She sighed. "Maybe not. I've always got it in the back of my mind that the Federation's agenda might be different from our own. I mean, look how long and hard we had to campaign to get our funding, and all of a sudden we got twice what we asked for. What made them decide suddenly that terraforming should be a priority? Just a bureaucratic coincidence? Or some purpose we haven't been told about?" A pause. "I know how paranoid that must sound, but . . ." She shrugged. "What can I say? I can't help but think that way."
Boudreau regarded her sympathetically. "I have never been able to figure out Federation research policy myself. It's best, I've found, not to even try. It just taxes the brain, which is better used for other endeavors."
She smiled ruefully. "I guess you're right. Which ship is it, anyway?"
She was sure Boudreau knew the reason for her question. It was said that the relative importance of the ship visiting a colony was an indication of the esteem in which the Federation held that colony—and therefore its chances of continuing its research.
"The omens are good," he told her. "It's the Enterprise."
Carol felt a shiver run through her. "Oh?" she responded.
Boudreau tilted his head to one side. "You mean it's not a good omen? Isn't the Enterprise a Constellation-class vessel?"
She waved away any suggestion to the contrary. "Yes, it is. And it's most certainly a good sign."
"But?"
"There is no but. It's just that I know the ship's captain. A man named Jim Kirk."
"Really? I've never heard you mention him."
She turned back to the fireblossom. "I knew him a long time ago," she said. And then: "A very long time ago."
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