Crucible: Kirk (5 page)

As he brought Tom Telegraph to a halt in front of the woman, Kirk said, “Pardon me?”

“I said, ‘That was foolish,'” the woman repeated.

“Oh, I heard you,” Kirk said with a slight grin, naturally flirting with her. “It just seemed like a curious way to say hello.”

“Maybe that's because I wasn't actually trying to say hello,” the woman told him. She offered no expression on her face, and Kirk couldn't gauge the seriousness or lightness of her disposition.

“I see,” he said. “You just wanted to administer a scolding.”

“No, not a scolding,” the woman said. “More a judgment about your poor horsemanship. I suppose I was just trying to protect a life.”

“Thanks,” Kirk said, his grin widening as he contemplated the number of times his life had been in far greater jeopardy than when he'd taken Tom Telegraph over the ravine. “But I don't think my life really needed protecting.”

“Maybe, maybe not,” the woman said with a shrug. “But I wasn't talking about
your
life. I was talking about the horse's.”

“Of course,” Kirk said, feeling the smile fade from his face. At first, he'd thought the woman difficult to read, but now her attitude seemed both clear enough and harsh enough.

“Look, I'm not trying to start an argument here,” she said after a moment, her tone at least somewhat conciliatory. “It's just that I watched you ride at full gallop and jump that gulch. You must've seen it, and yet you didn't bother to pull up and examine it in order to make sure that your horse could make it safely across.”

“We've made this jump before,” Kirk said, reaching forward and patting Tom Telegraph on the side of the neck.

“Not today, you haven't,” the woman persisted. “I've been around here for a while, so I know this is your first time out this morning. Which means that even if you have made this jump before, you didn't know if the conditions had changed, if maybe the gulch had widened, its banks eroded by the weather. Maybe you made the jump two weeks ago, but this week, it's half a meter wider. Your horse could've fallen and been very badly injured or even killed.”

Kirk nodded as she spoke. “Actually, I was out here two days ago,” he said when she had finished. “We haven't had any rain since then, and no earthquakes or tornadoes or other serious weather events. And before I jumped, I took note of the plank.” He pointed back down toward the ravine, and the woman peered in that direction. “I actually placed that there myself as an obvious visual measurement of the ravine's width. When I saw it there, I knew that the gap hadn't grown.”

The woman looked back over at him. A bit sheepishly, she said, “I suppose that's logical.”

Kirk burst into laughter, surprising himself with the force of his amusement. The woman tilted her head to one side and looked at him with obvious curiosity.

“I'm not entirely sure why you find that funny,” she said.

“It's a long story,” Kirk said.
Really long,
he thought, since Spock had served as his first officer for more than a dozen years. “For what it's worth, though, I do appreciate your concern.”

“Remember,” the woman said, “my concern was for your horse.”

“That's why I appreciate it,” Kirk said. “This is Tom Telegraph.” He brushed his fingers along the horse's mane.

“Interesting name,” the woman observed.

“It has an old history,” Kirk said.

“Well, this is Romeo,” she said, gesturing to her own steed. “Also an old history.”

Kirk nodded in understanding.
“The Most Excellent and Lamentable Tragedy of Romeo and Juliet,”
he said, naming Shakespeare's play. Then, quoting when Romeo first laid eyes on Juliet, he added, “‘The measure done, I'll watch her place of stand,/And, touching hers, make blessèd my rude hand.'” He leaned forward in his saddle and offered his own hand to the woman. “I'm Jim—” He hesitated, not wanting to reveal his renowned identity. Too often, people judged him by his reputation and not by their own experiences with him. Still, he had already started to introduce himself, and he would not lie. “Kirk,” he finished.

The woman reached over and shook his hand. “I'm Antonia…long pause…Salvatori,” she said.

“Sarcasm?” he said. “So early in our relationship?” He also noted with satisfaction that Ms. Salvatori didn't seem to know who he was.

“Consider it a step up from scolding,” she said.

“I'll do that,” Kirk said, realizing that he felt an attraction to this woman. “I take it that you live around here.”

“All right.”

Kirk blinked. “Uh, that was a question,” he said.

“Oh,” Salvatori said. “Well, then, yes I live around here.”

“What do you do?” Kirk asked.

“I live around here,” Salvatori said with what seemed like willful obtuseness.

“This conversation isn't going well, is it?” Kirk said. “Why do I get the feeling I'd have more success chatting with your horse?”

Salvatori shrugged again, this time with just one shoulder. “It's your choice,” she said. While her expression did not change, Kirk thought he detected a hint of mischief in her eyes.

“For now, I'll stick with you,” he said. “So do you live a life of complete leisure, or do you provide some benefit to society other than with your beauty?”

“Flattery will get you nowhere,” Salvatori told him. “But I'm a hippiater.” When he furrowed his brow at the word, she said, “It's an old term for a horse doctor. I'm a veterinarian, but I specialize in our four-legged friends here.” She stroked the side of Romeo's neck.

“No wonder you were worried about that jump,” Kirk said, motioning back toward the ravine. “You didn't want another patient.”

Salvatori peered down the hill, her features tensing. “I hate to think what a fall into that gulch would've done to Tom Telegraph.”

“Not to mention to me,” Kirk teased.

“That jump was your choice, not the horse's,” Salvatori said, seemingly serious again. She regarded Kirk for a long moment before working the reins and pulling Romeo around to her right, heading him away from the ravine. “Well, safe riding, Mister Kirk,” she said.

“Wait,” Kirk called, struck by the impulse that, beyond the attraction he felt for this woman, he actually wanted to get to know her. “You didn't even tell me what town you live in.” Although this section of Idaho remained only moderately populated, a number of towns and small cities spread across the hills and plains within riding distance.

Salvatori peered back over her shoulder at Kirk. “No,” she said, at last offering him a smile. “I didn't.” Then she took Romeo into a gallop and raced away.

For just a moment, Kirk considered riding after her. Her smile had given him the impression that, after he'd effectively proclaimed his interest in her, she had sped away as something of a challenge to him. He liked that. He liked challenges, but he also liked bending them to his own terms. If Dr. Salvatori did indeed practice veterinary medicine in the area, he should have no trouble locating her.

Kirk turned Tom Telegraph back the way he and the horse had come. It had been an interesting morning, and he found himself for the first time in a long time open to new possibilities—and not only
open
to new possibilities, but
anxious
for them.

Halfway down the hill, Kirk urged Tom Telegraph into a gallop. Once more, they successfully leaped the ravine. This time, Kirk's heart beat faster not simply from fear, but from the memory of Antonia's smile.

(2282/2267)

Kirk observed from the cover of the foliage as his other self descended the hill and jumped the ravine again atop Tom Telegraph. The horse and rider passed his location without taking any apparent notice of him—if he even could be noticed. Kirk still lacked an understanding of how the nexus functioned.

He moved to watch his alter ego gallop away, presumably back to the farmhouse, but as Kirk turned, his surroundings changed. Once more, he felt disoriented. As had been the case when he'd looked around from the door of his vacation home and suddenly found himself in his uncle's barn, he experienced no transporter effect or anything that suggested a loss of consciousness, he spied no flashes of light or any morphing of objects. He simply no longer stood outside in the Idaho daylight. Instead, a white marble column rose before him, all the way up to an ornate ceiling. Reflexively, he looked back to where the ravine had been, but now he saw only a three-walled recess. A long, narrow table there contained a collection of busts carved from some dark green stone. Above the table hung a colorful tapestry depicting what appeared to be a chariot race, and to either side, in the corners of the space, statues perched atop pedestals. The column behind which Kirk stood paired with another to form an entrance to the recess.

The setting seemed familiar, though he could not quite place it. He peered cautiously out from behind the column to the rest of the room. At its center, five chairs encircled a small table, its surface covered with dishes of fruit and meat, golden goblets, and a gold-accented glass vessel containing a dark red liquid. The skins of animals spread across the floor, and artwork and plush red drapes provided additional ornamentation. A brace of columns had been erected at the center of each of the room's other three walls; those to the left and right bordered double doors, while those on the far side led into a sleeping alcove.

But while Kirk's location had changed, the presence of the other Kirk had not. He no longer rode Tom Telegraph, but instead sat on the bed in the alcove, still wearing his jacketless Starfleet uniform. Kirk decided to step out from behind the column and attempt to speak with his alternate self in an effort to determine the full nature of his—of
their
—circumstances. Before he could, though, he saw another person across the room. A woman with long blonde hair emerged from the alcove, wearing a gleaming gold outfit that covered only select portions of her anatomy.

Drusilla,
Kirk recalled. She had been a slave on the fourth world of planetary system 892, where an industrialized version of the Roman Empire existed in a stunning instance of Hodgkins's Law of Parallel Planet Development. Kirk and the
Enterprise
crew had tracked the debris of the long-missing survey vessel
Beagle
back to that world. There, Kirk had led Spock and McCoy on a landing party to the surface, where they had discovered that the ship's captain, R. M. Merrick, had transported down his entire crew of forty-seven, where many of them had died in forced gladiatorial combat. In further violation of the Prime Directive, Merrick had also become a significant part of the planet's pre-warp society, taking the position of first citizen.

While the other Kirk lay back on the bed, Drusilla crossed the room to one set of doors and exited the room. The moment she had gone, the other Kirk bolted up and began searching his surroundings. Kirk remembered that once Drusilla had left, he'd hunted through the room for anything that might be of use to him. He, Spock, and McCoy had been taken captive by the Romans and sentenced to die by their leader.

As Kirk watched, though, he noticed that the alternate Kirk appeared very focused in his search, as though he sought not simply anything that could help him, but something specific. After a short time, he seemed to find what he'd been looking for: a writing implement and a paper tablet. This had not happened during Kirk's actual visit to planet 892-IV.

The other Kirk began writing at once, and Kirk speculated that he outlined directions for Merrick. Looking back on the entire incident now, Kirk recalled that the traitorous captain had stolen back from the Romans one of the
Enterprise
landing party's communicators, indicating his change of heart about what he had done. Later, in fact, he had helped Kirk, Spock, and McCoy escape the despotic civilization, though at the cost of his own life. Kirk regretted that he hadn't been able to bring Merrick back to the Federation to stand trial, not just for violating the Prime Directive, but also for his betrayal of the
Beagle
crew and his hand in their deaths. If Kirk could relive those events, knowing how they had ultimately transpired, he thought he would do what he supposed the other Kirk did now, namely detail a plan for Merrick that would see him leave this world with the landing party.

When the other Kirk finished writing, he tore a small piece of paper from the tablet. After replacing the writing implement and tablet back where he'd found them, he folded the note into a small square, then tucked it into the fleshy crook at the base of his thumb. He then returned to the sleeping alcove and lay back on the bed.

Minutes passed, and Kirk tried to recollect how long he had pretended to sleep. While he hadn't written a note to Merrick, he had searched the room and looked for a means of escape. He remembered now that he had eventually heard somebody approaching, which had driven him back into bed, where he had feigned slumber.

Now, Kirk heard a set of doors open, and he carefully peered from behind the column to see two armed guards step into the room and take up positions there. A moment later, the Roman leader entered. Heavyset and garbed in a glittery green tunic, Proconsul Claudius Marcus moved and acted with the confidence of an egocentric dictator. A coat of arms emblazoned the front of his left shoulder. Once in the room, he gazed around, then crossed to the sleeping alcove, where he lifted a boot onto the bench at the foot of the bed. “Captain,” he said.

The other Kirk started and looked up, as though just roused from sleep. He quickly sat up on the edge of the bed, but he said nothing.

“I'm sorry I was detained,” said Claudius Marcus. “Shall we have our little talk now?” He swung his foot to the floor and walked toward the table at the center of the room, and the other Kirk followed. “So far on this planet we've kept you rather busy. I don't wonder you slept through the afternoon.” Kirk recalled the proconsul's curious attempt at discretion, considering that the Roman leader had known that Kirk could've dozed for only a few minutes, after Drusilla had left.

Claudius Marcus sat down and poured red wine into a goblet. He offered it to the other Kirk, who shook his head. “Uh, by the way, one of the communicators we took from you is missing,” the proconsul said. “Was it my pretty Drusilla by any chance?” As he spoke, First Citizen Merikus—the erstwhile Captain Merrick—entered and approached the table. “See if he has it,” the proconsul ordered. While the slight-of-stature Merrick patted the other Kirk down, performing a cursory search for the device, Claudius Marcus added about Drusilla, “Not that I would have punished her.” With a laugh, he said, “I would blame you. You're a Roman, Kirk, or you should've been.” He then asked Merrick, “It's not on his person?”

“No, Proconsul,” Merrick said.

With an expansive wave of his arms, Claudius Marcus said to the other Kirk, “I
am
sorry I was detained. I trust there was nothing further you required.”

Behind the column, Kirk remembered how Drusilla had wanted to pass the time with him, claiming that she had been told to act as his slave. The sensitivity the proconsul tried to project seemed overdone and even juvenile.

As Kirk had all those years ago, the other Kirk said, “Nothing, except perhaps an explanation.”

“Because you're a man, I owe you that,” the proconsul said. “You must die shortly, and because you
are
a man.” He peered up at the first citizen and said, “Would you leave us, Merrick? The thoughts of one man to another cannot possibly interest you.” Although Claudius Marcus had evidently received help from Merrick during the former Federation captain's six years on the planet, the proconsul's words clearly indicated his contempt for him.

As Merrick turned to go, the other Kirk shifted his weight and seemed to accidentally brush against him. The
Enterprise
captain appeared to reach up automatically to steady himself, his hands briefly touching the first citizen. Though from his vantage behind the column, Kirk could not see it, he had no doubt that his alter ego had just passed his note to Merrick.

As the old
Beagle
captain departed, the other Kirk looked after him. “Because you are a man, I gave you some last hours as a man,” Claudius Marcus said, obviously explaining the rationale for Drusilla's presence during Kirk's detention here.

“I appreciate that,” the other Kirk said.

“Unfortunately, we must demonstrate defiance is intolerable,” the proconsul said.

“Of course,” the other Kirk said.

“But I've learned to respect you,” Claudius Marcus told him. “I promise you, you will die easily, quickly.”

“I thank you,” the other Kirk said. “And my friends?” Kirk recalled that Spock and McCoy had been taken back to a jail cell after surviving a turn in the gladiatorial arena.

“When their time comes, the same, of course,” the proconsul said. He held his goblet up to the other Kirk as though offering him a toast, then drank from it. “Guards!” he called. The two uniformed, helmeted men marched from the door to stand on either side of the other Kirk. They both carried automatic projectile weapons. Claudius Marcus rose from his chair. “Take him to the arena,” he said. “Oh, we've preempted fifteen minutes on the early show for you, in full color. We guarantee you a splendid audience.”

“Before I go,” the other Kirk said, “may I have a few moments to myself, to make peace with my god?” Still observing from behind the column, Kirk recognized the ploy, which likely confirmed the nature of what his counterpart had written to Merrick.

“Your god, Kirk?” said the proconsul. “I must confess to surprise. The gods are simply tools we use to manipulate the masses. Haven't your people advanced beyond the need for religion?”

“So much for respecting me as a man,” the other Kirk said. The words and tone had been perfectly delivered, Kirk thought, to exact the action needed of the proconsul.

“Very well,” Claudius Marcus said. “I grant you your time.” He gestured toward the sleeping alcove, and the other Kirk started toward it. “You have a few moments only,” the proconsul said, “so speak to your god quickly.”

The other Kirk acknowledged Claudius Marcus with a nod before stepping over beside the bed. There, he kneeled down and folded his hands together, bowing his head as though in prayer. The proconsul and his two guards waited, speaking among themselves as seconds passed, then a minute, then two. Kirk thought that perhaps the other Kirk's plan had failed, but then he heard the telltale whine of the transporter beam. Clearly Merrick had followed the instructions he'd been passed, which doubtless had told him to use the purloined communicator to contact the
Enterprise
and provide Scotty with the relative locations of Kirk, Spock, and McCoy in order to beam them all up to the ship.

Kirk watched as his alter ego's image sparkled gold with the transporter effect. “Guards!” Claudius Marcus yelled, pointing, but too late. As the armed men moved into position and raised their weapons, the outline of the other Kirk had already begun to fade.

And then with it, so too did the entire scene, a different setting gradually starting to appear in its place. It felt to Kirk as though his surroundings had begun to dissolve about him and then re-form. In an instant, he recalled the first time he had ever beamed anywhere, and how, as a child, he'd actually believed that the transporter had functioned by breaking down the universe, moving it, then reconstituting it about him. With reminiscence came memories of his parents, still a force in his life despite having died so many years ago.

As the next reproduced locale within the nexus solidified into existence, Kirk expected to see the family farm where he'd grown up in Iowa, or maybe the scene of his grandfather's funeral, the event that had necessitated his first trip by transporter. But Kirk clearly no longer controlled what he experienced within the nexus, if he even ever had. Rather, as he shook his head in an attempt to clear it, he saw lush vegetation forming all around him. Through it, at the edge of a clearing, he saw the other Kirk—still in his crimson uniform, still without his jacket—along with Spock, Pavel Chekov, Yeoman Landon, and security guards Marple and Kaplan. All those members of the landing party wore the uniforms Starfleet had issued them during Kirk's original command of the
Enterprise,
Spock in the blue of the sciences division, Chekov in the gold of command, and the others in the red of engineering and services.