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They had been winning.
The Klingon commander was fearless – like most of his ilk. He was also reckless – again like most of his ilk. Kirk grinned, letting the admittedly atavistic battle glee course through him. He knew things were going their way now, unmistakably so.
Of course, the Klingons could turn and flee…But if this guy was one of the rare few who would have the common sense to do that, he wouldn’t have engaged the starship in battle to begin with.
“Shields holding at sixty five percent.”
“And theirs?”
“Thirty three. Fluctuating.”
“We’ve almost got them.” He leaned over to the intercom “Transporter room, stand by to snatch the Klingon Bridge crew the instant their shields fold. We don’t want them self destructing, not this close by.”
“Captain” the sudden urgency in Spock’s voice alarmed him more than the Klingon ship’s appearance had. “A vessel decloaking.”
Chekov gave a sharp cry as his own console registered the new presence. The viewscreen split, to give equal views of both the Klingon vessel and this new unknown quantity – whatever it was.
A small vessel. Tiny, in fact. Couldn’t be much bigger than a shuttle. And from the look of it, not being piloted by a particularly steady or experienced hand.
“It just came out of warp.”
Kirk could guess what had happened. the little ship – whoever it belonged to – had probably overshot its mark, took a little too long to slow down, coming out of warp. And found itself in the middle of an all out firefight
.”Can we lower shields just long enough to beam them aboard?”
“No, captain!” Scotty yelled through the intercom. “We’re holding our own now, but lower shields and one lucky hit’ll blast us all to kingdom come!”
Before anything else could be said, it was already too late. They couldn’t be sure exactly which phaser rays hit the little ship – theirs or the Klingons’. Either case, the effect was the same.
If the newcomer had shields of any sort, they were definitely not upto the task of warding off a full power hit from a starship’s – or battle cruiser’s – phasers. One second it was there, the next second there was a flash of bright light, and then it was gone. Vaporized.
“Oh God.” Uhura murmured.
Kirk opened his mouth, not quite sure what he was about to say, but that moment, everything froze. No, not everything, of course, they could still move. But the consoles, the weapons, the shields. All froze up. The Enterprise was dead in the water.
“What the-“
“The shields are going down!”
Across the bridge, fingers flew across suddenly silent consoles, trying frantically to restore power, to undo whatever had been done to their ship
. “The Klingons…”
“They’re caught too, Captain!” Uhura, who had been monitoring the communications from the other ship, turned to him. “They’re not doing this.”
The firefight, raging a moment ago, had now ceased utterly. The starscape was silent, placid once again. The two cruisers hung helpless before each other. The sensors were still working.
“Captain-“
Spock didn’t need to complete what he was saying. This time the vessel that decloaked between the rivals was no helpless shuttle. Every eye on the bridge was riveted to this new wild card. It was huge. Huge enough to dwarf both combatants. And from the current display, their tech was correspondingly impressive. Kirk’s mind raced through potential scenarios at warp speed. Was this the parent ship of the destroyed shuttle?
“Approximately three hundred life forms aboard, Captain” Spock said “They do not correspond to any known species.”
“Uhura, try to hail them.”
“No response, Captain.”
“They’re firing on the Klingons!”
Chekov’s exclamation was far from being necessary. They watched as silver white rays shot from the newcomer, enveloping the battle cruiser.
“Their shields are gone, too…”
For a moment it looked like the strange weapon was completely ineffective – there wasn’t even a scratch on the Klingon ship when the glow faded…
“Captain” Spock’s voice was perfectly emotionless “There are no more life signs registering aboard the Klingon ship.”
A long moment of horrified silence as they realized what had happened. A weapon that could massacre an entire crew of Klingon warriors in an instant without even leaving a mark on the ship hull. A weapon that was, in all likelihood, about to be turned on them. Suddenly, the Communications Console lit up.
“Receiving a hail, sir. Audio only.”
The voice that came from the stranger was coldly furious, sonorous.
“You have been judged guilty of massacre of innocents, by evidence of our eyes. We offer you the same chance we offered the other ship – whoever rules among you, offer justification, if you have any, for the bloody deed. If unjustified, the others’ fate shall be yours, as well.”
Kirk could feel every eye on him. Okay. So this was the deal. Again. Talk your way out. talk our way out. Fine. Not the first time, and hopefully, not the last time. Talking was one part of this job he had barely needed training for.
………………………………..
Three minutes in, he was no longer feeling so sure.
“Unacceptable. You may desist. You have been heard and judged. “ A slight pause.”Guilty.”
Kirk nodded calmly, though he knew the other couldn’t see him. One card left to play. Only one.
“If so, I am the one who bears that guilt. I am the one who gave the order for the battle. The blood of your people is upon my hands and mine alone. Spare the innocent.”
That was the last thing he remembered saying. There was a slight tingling sensation like a rough transporter beam, and then he was standing in the midst of a completely white, windowless, doorless room.
“What-“
The sonorous voice boomed out again.
“Your justification has been accepted – partly.”
“Partly-“
“You bear the harshest guilt, but neither are your people innocent. The harshest punishment shall be yours.” Then there was only silence, for what felt like hours, but was probably just minutes. “Your punishment will now commence.”
Kirk braced himself for whatever was coming, but all that came was the tingling transporter effect again. He was back on the Bridge.
It took him one interminable moment to realize what he was seeing, and even longer to force his mind to accept what his eyes told it.
Sulu and Chekov were the ones in his direct line of sight. The helmsman lay slumped over his console, face down, both hands still on the controls in a dead man’s grip.
Chekov was on the floor, having fallen off his chair when..when whatever it was…hit. The ensign’s young earnest face was frozen in a silent scream, his last emotion on this side of mortality, sheer terror (or was it agony? Or both?), etched deep.
Kirk, feeling a scream building in his own throat, forced himself to keep looking. To glance around the Bridge.
Uhura. Crumpled next to her console. He could see only part of her face from where she lay. Blood – now dried – pooled beneath her face, having dripped down from where she must have bit into her tongue.
“Spock…”
For a moment, he couldn’t bring himself to look in the direction of the Science console, knowing instinctively what he would find there. knowing, yes, but also hoping. Silence. Unbroken silence, except for the sound of his own voice. And his own breathing. None of the others breathed.
He was kneeling by the Vulcan’s side, feeling for a pulse. Despite being able to see quite clearly that the First Officer wasn’t breathing, none of them were breathing, they were just so still.
Unconscious people don’t look that still. Comatose people don’t look that still. Even braindead bodies stuck on lifesupport don’t go completely still – they still have some stem reflexes left. Only the dead – the really, completely dead – go that still.
Spock too, had been at his console till the last moment. From the way he lay, it looked like he had been trying to reach up, reach the console, even after he collapsed, as if he believed there was still something to do, something to be tried, just give us a minute more, a few seconds more…
“You can’t be dead.” This time, he wasn’t talking to just Spock. He was on his feet, his eyes wandering over the bridge again.” You can’t be dead. They said…. The punishment was to be mine… Not you..”
In one frantic lunge, he was at Spock’s station, scanning the ship for lifesigns. Maybe they judged only the Bridge crew..
“No” Kirk whispered.
The computer knew no mercy, only cold facts. And cold facts were all it could offer the young captain – including the fact that he was the only being aboard who still drew breath.
The viewscreen changed to display images from all over the ship. The Engineering room – Scotty… Sickbay – Bones, Chapel… All lay where they had fallen, the faces which he could see twisted in that final agony. His crew. The best crew in the fleet. Gone. All gone. Dead. And he lived. The harshest punishment… Not death, but life…
Kirk sank to his knees, shudders wracking his body, his mind churning. He was not sure how long he remained so. It may have been minutes, may have been hours. A cold grey haze seemed to have descended over his mind and his senses.
That was okay. More than okay. Good. He didn’t mind. Let it stay. Let it drown him, if that was the deal. In the haze, everything was comfortingly far away. He knew something was wrong, something terrible had happened, but not what. Or who or where he was, for that matter.
…………………………..
“Starbase Seven, this is Captain James T Kirk of USS Enterprise.”
His voice was steady, completely blank of emotion. Even Spock’s voice, in his most Vulcan moments, had never been so toneless. That tone would be enough to warn the Starbase Communications officer that something had gone very wrong aboard the ship that was hailing them. the captain didn’t send out direct messages – that was the role of the ship’s communication officer. If a captain was hailing them direct, that probably meant there was no one left to man the communications console. And if the captain in question was clearly in shock…
“Captain, this is Starbase Seven” the voice at the other end was calm too, but this was the calm of the 911 dispatcher.
Kirk explained. Calmly, matter of factly. Going over what had happened, step by step. Not leaving anything out. A precise, professional report.
“Spock would be proud of me” he added, with a laugh that turned into a sob.
“I’m sure he would be” the Communications officer (whose name was Adrian Gorschev) agreed. “Captain, I think you-“
Kirk cut the connection. He had done his part. Turned in the report.
Right now, a group of starbase officials would be clustered around Adrian, going over the report. Subspace messages would be flying to and fro, determining the nearest ship, whether it’d be better to divert a starship (was there one in this sector…) or to just send out the Base’s own salvage crews.
He had been at the receiving end of such messages. He knew the feeling. The pit of dread in your stomach knowing someone like you fucked up, someone like you ran into something he was too slow or too stupid to handle, or just had plain bad luck, knowing if it could happen to that other guy it could happen to you, to your crew.
“But we never believe that, do we?” he asked the silent bridge. “We never believe that. It’s always going to be someone else. We’re always going to be the ones bringing help, tearing away to the rescue at top warp. This can’t happen to us…We have to believe that.. You called that illogical, didn’t you, Spock?”
The Klingon ship still hung silent and dead before him, clearly visible on the viewscreen. Dead. His crew, theirs, everyone. Was that moment of triumph, the primal glee of knowing you had conquered, just hours ago?
No, not even hours. One hour. And a few minutes. Spock would probably have had it down to the last second. His eyes went to the motionless figure of the Vulcan, slumped against the console. He had looked so graceful, elegant, in life…lying crumpled there like that…
All of them – young, brilliant, the best of the best… And he remained, the one who had condemned them to this. The one who had had the chance to save them all and failed. If he had found the right words to say, if he had managed to explain, if he had persuaded them…
Grief doesn’t always burn. Sometimes it numbs. The next few hours went past in a haze.
He put the ship on autopilot. The computers could keep her afloat in position for a long time, more than long enough for the salvagers to get to her. Lowered the temperatures every where except the Bridge to cryopreservation levels. Keep them…the bodies…undamaged. Undamaged?
The Bridge crew…Not right to leave them sprawled like broken ragdolls.
He carried them, one by one, to their cabins, now at freezing temperatures. Hold them there. till the salvagers come. Not rescue. No one left to rescue.
He took Spock’s body last, carried him in his arms to the cabin where they had spent so many hours over chess games, over post-mission discussions, or just chatting.
He tried not to look at the chessboard, set ready for the next game. The red draping, the slight scent of incense that burned before what looked like (but couldn’t be, because it would be illogical) a shrine, the collection of antique weapons adorning the wall as a reminder of the savage past that was still too close for comfort.
That statue…a carving of the Vulcan god of death. No longer worshipped, but a symbol, a work of art, another reminder. Death. The end. Something you can’t run away from, even at warp speed. Waiting. Patient, silent, knowing that the final victory would be his, after all, that no matter how many battles you won, he would still win the war.
The cabin temperature was dropping steadily, as the computer lowered the environment settings to preserve what was left of her daring crew.
He considered just staying there, staying beside Spock. Hypothermia would set in soon, would have finished with him and put an end to this whole sorry mess before that other crew, those who would have to clean up the slaughter, arrived. It was a very inviting prospect.
“You still have something left to do.”
The voice sounded so much like Spock that for a moment hope surged in his heart. But no. The Vulcan lay still and dead before him, the only part of him that remained that inexorable voice in his mind.
“You cannot desert your station. Not even now. Especially not now.”
“If I was any good at that station, you would be on the Bridge now, arguing with Bones. Not…Not..”
He choked on a sob. The voice remained silent, having presented its argument. You can’t desert your station. The Bridge must not be left unattended. You can’t leave her of your own choice, can’t leave her, your silver lady, with only corpses to keep her company.
He wanted to go to Sickbay, go to Bones, but didn’t quite dare to.
He would have to walk through the silent corridors, walk past heaven knows how many corpses of his crew, corpses of people who had trusted him till their last breath was wrenched out of them by whatever inhuman force the strangers had unleashed. He had to stay at his station, stay alive, a little longer. If he had to look at more corpses, the temptation would be too much.
He couldn’t desert his post. Hold on to that. Just a little longer. Then you can end it, then you can go to them. catch up with them, tell them they had deserved a better captain. Someone who would have been worthy of their trust. Someone who could have saved them.
The Bridge looked so vast when empty. So…alien. He had spent nearly every day of the past three years here, but it looked utterly alien to him at this moment.
Empty. Desolate. The Bridge of a Starship was never meant to be silent. He could never remember silence here, even during the tensest of Red Alerts or the dullest of star chartings.
Always, the brisk commands, the tense councils of war, the briefings for which there never was time to go down to the official conference rooms, the whispered remarks among the junior officers, Spock and Bones arguing over something or the other, sometimes Uhura humming a tune under her breath… He looked down at the bloodstain where the lovely communications officer had lain, and felt his breath catch in his throat again.
The Command chair. He couldn’t bear to sit down there. not again. Never again. His command was over, his crew gone. He had forfeited his right to that chair when he had left them to die.
He just stood before the viewscreen, watching the starscape, watching the Klingon ship drift past like the corpse of a sea monster. He envied the Klingon captain who had been his foe for those few fevered minutes. At least he had gone down with his crew.
The communications panel was blazing with lights as the starbase sent in repeated hails. They would have a counselor there by now, a crisis specialist, someone to talk him through. Someone who would try to soothe, try to convince him he had done his duty. Try to convince him of all the things they themselves wouldn’t believe. He went over to the console. There was something he did need to know.
“Enterprise to Starbase seven”
His voice sounded unfamiliar to his own ears. The voice of a man decades older. A broken man.
“Captain-“
“How long?”
“How..”
“How long till the salvage crew arrives?”
No pause to check anything. They must have been trying to relay this info for a while.
“The rescue ship will be arriving in ten hours, Captain. It’s USS Saratoga-“
He cut off contact. USS Saratoga. Of all the ships… Captained by the Enterprise’s former First Officer, Una, known to everyone aboard as Number One. Spock’s mentor. Captain Pike’s second in command. If, as every one had expected, she had inherited the captaincy of Enterprise… If it had been up to her to save them.. He pushed that thought out of his mind.
Ten hours. Both too long and too short a time. There was so much to do. the final duties. Spock was right. (Wasn’t he, always?) There were some duties that couldn’t be left undone.
Captain James T Kirk, survivor of the Tarsus massacre, survivor and victor of a hundred battles, was calmly, matter of factly, preparing to kill himself. there was no one single point where he made the decision, unless it was the moment he rematerialized aboard his ship to find his Bridge manned by corpses of his crew. it just seemed natural. the only option.
He had killed his people, killed them with his incompetence as surely as the attackers had done with their weapons. It was the least he could do to follow them, as they had followed him unquestioningly into so many missions, so many risks that had seemed downright insane.
Now all that remained where the messages. The reports. There was time now, for all those reports he had delayed filling, the paperwork that had exasperated him. Ignoring the starscape outside, the dead Klingon ship, and the silence of his Bridge, he worked steadily away at the PADD, making his final reports.
He was not sure just when he began to hallucinate his first officer’s presence. Spock was there, beside him, calm and unshakeable as ever. He didn’t speak – if he did, Kirk couldn’t hear him.
But he was there, which was the only reason the young captain managed to last out those interminable hours. More than once he had been tempted just to reach for his phaser, just get it over with. But the Vulcan’s steady gaze seemed to warn him away.
. You can’t desert your post, not till it is all done with.
The worst were the messages – the final ‘letters’ that had to be sent to those who had died under his watch. A task that had never failed to leave him feeling as if he had been torn in half.
Most of those letters had been dictated with Spock, or more commonly, Bones, nearby, not saying anything, just being there, and that had been enough to get him through the ordeal. Now… Well, Spock was still here, in a way, even if it was just an echo conjured up by his bleeding mind.
All the letters. For all of them, all the parents and children and lovers left behind. Commendations for the fallen. An apology that could do no one any good, any relief, but had to be given, all the same. He had left the worst for the last.
For Joanna. For Sarek and Amanda.
He somehow managed to get through the first, telling this teenager he had never met, but had heard so much about, how her father had died, what he had been, how much they all owed him, not even a fraction of all that needed to be said, but all he could say.
Now…Sarek. Amanda.
The ambassador who had been so set against his son joining the fleet, who had only reconciled with him less than a year ago after almost two decades of estrangement. The human woman who had chosen a life amid an alien world, who was in a world where grief, even grief for her only child, could not be shown, would not be understood.
He couldn’t do it. couldn’t tell them. How to put it all into words, how to find any words..
“I can’t” he looked up at Spock. “I’m sorry. I can’t. I just can’t.”
He almost felt the pressure of a gentle hand on his shoulder, saw a softening in the dark eyes. Heard the whispered words which he couldn’t quite make out.
………………………………….
Ten hours. Not long enough to make all the goodbyes, all the apologies. The USS Saratoga, gleaming silver, gleaming with life and light and sound, hovered in the viewscreen.
Captain Una’s voice, requesting permission to board. That was his cue, wasn’t it? His finger tightened on the phaser’s trigger. Set to kill. Another body, the only body left on the Bridge.
After a few more requests, they would beam in. the shields had been lowered. The ship she had served aboard, the first officer who had been the shy ensign she had taken under her wing… What was she thinking now, that cool, logical woman? What was she thinking, of the young fool who had doomed those who had once been her people?
Fingers on the trigger. Just an inch more of pressure, an instant’s pain… Would there be pain? Couldn’t be worse than this burning which was eating him alive now.
“Captain!”
Spock’s voice. Clear and loud. A slim, cold hand closing around his own, trying to pull the phaser away from him.
“You aren’t here. You’re gone. This is just me, just whatever blasted part of me that’s too scared to die, too scared to pay the damn price.”
“Or the part that is not too scared to live.”
Cold voice, cold eyes, relentless.
“Spock, let me go.”
“No.”
“You can’t stop me. Not for good. Not for ever. I am not staying, Spock. Not going to stay back alone.”
“I can stop you for now. That would be enough.”
Captain Una’s voice. Asking to be beamed aboard. Kirk heard himself assent.
“Come on.”
Spock was still there, leading him to the turbolift, to the transporter room. He hadn’t let go of the phaser. Once they came aboard, they would take it from him, of course. They would know what he was planning. Spock was holding out his hand for the phaser, silently asking him to hand it over.
“You have to. Please, Jim. You have to. I can’t do anything more, it is almost too late. Please.”
Spock’s voice and expression had changed, revealing genuine fear for him, openly pleading. It was that which forced the decision, even though he knew, no matter what he may tell this apparition, that if he handed over the phaser now he was choosing to live. Choosing the fate worse than death.
“Jim…”
This was not Spock. This was just a hallucination called up by his cowardly mind. He couldn’t help it, though. He couldn’t deny a last request from one who seemed so much like Spock. He let the phaser drop to the deck.
………………………………………
“Jim!”
A familiar voice, one he thought he would never hear again. The darkness dissolved into lighter grey, then into splashes of color, which resolved into a concerned face hovering over him.
“Jim, can you hear me? Come on, kid. Look at me.”
Another voice, calm and unhurried.
“He is no longer in any danger, Doctor.”
“And how would you know-“
“Because I was in his mind a moment ago.”
He barely dared to breathe, to believe.
“Spock? Bones?”
“Who else?” McCoy scowled, glaring at him. “Of all the…No, don’t get up till I tell you, your heart damn near stopped a moment ago-“
But he was already on his feet, eyes wide. Looking around, listening. The sounds again, the voices, his people.. He staggered, and strong slim hands eased him back into bed
. “It was not real, Captain.”
“You…you are..”
“We’re fine” McCoy declared. “You’re the one who damn near checked out, Vulcan mind voodoo or no, cut it pretty fine.”
“The illusion they had induced was almost too strong for me to break through” Spock said, an apology in his voice. “I barely managed to reach through to you in time.”
“It… It was their punishment? The illusions?”
“I believe their intention was to drive you to take your own life. If you had killed yourself in the illusion..”
“But you got through to me in time..”
“Just in time” McCoy was scowling at them both, but evidently trying to hide a relieved grin.