The Autobiography of James T. Kirk (14 page)

“I guess you were lucky those barbarians could help you out.”

“They’re not barbarians, sir,” I said. “This is an amazing species …”

“It’s nice to know we’re not the only worthwhile people in the Galaxy.” Garrovick signed off, and I realized the lesson he’d taught me. I felt ashamed, embarrassed. I closed my communicator and turned to see Tyree had found me. He looked confused.

“Were you speaking to a god?”

“No,” I said. I wanted to tell him the truth, but the Prime Directive was clear. Of course, if I didn’t tell him the truth, his imagination might lead to a worse kind of contamination. I had gotten to know this man in the past few days, he had saved the life of my crewman, and he was my friend. I felt there was a third alternative.

“Tyree … can you keep a secret?”

It turns out he could.

The experience with Tyree and the Hill People helped me grow as an officer. I had faced what was probably my most terrible experience in Starfleet up to that point—I’d almost lost someone under my command. I couldn’t imagine anything worse. Fate would soon punish me for my lack of vision.

A few months later, I’d been rotated to weapons control. Though I’d been trained in space combat, in my year and a half of service in Starfleet, I’d seen none. We were in orbit around the fourth planet in the Tycho star system. A landing party had been sent to chart the planet’s surface, which was devoid of life, or so we thought.

“Red alert!” The captain’s voice came over the intercom. “Shields up, phaser control report status!” I was manning weapons control along with Chief Metlay and Crewman Press. They reported that all weapons were charged and ready.

“Bridge, this is phaser control. All weapons show ready.” As I said this, the monitor in front of me displayed what was on the bridge views-creen. I saw the planet, but couldn’t make out anything else. Then I noticed what looked like one of the clouds in the atmosphere moving up into space. It was headed directly toward the ship. This was my target? A cloud? (I would find out later that this “cloud” had attacked and killed our landing party, but at this moment in time, I had no idea what I was even looking at.)

“Phasers, lock on target,” Garrovick said. I immediately tied in the tracking system and brought the cloud into the center of my range finder. Sensors showed me the cloud was made out of dikironium. Its gaseous nature made it difficult for the computer to lock on it.

“Sir, I can’t get a definite lock,” I said. It was moving much faster now, growing on the screen.

“Fire phasers!” Garrovick said. I looked at the cloud. It now filled the viewscreen. It was at point-blank range. I paused for just a second, tried to figure out what the hell I was even looking at. And then it was gone. I pressed the fire button, but it was too late.

“Sir,” Chief Metlay said, “something’s entered the main phaser bank emitter …”

What he said was technically impossible; only forms of energy could pass through the emitter. But before I could figure out what was going on, Metlay and Press were surrounded by white gas, leaking out of their consoles. There was the distinct odor of something very sweet, like honey. And then Metlay and Press immediately fell to the floor choking.

I ran to my console.

“Weapons control to bridge! It’s in the ship! Repeat, it’s in the ship! I’m sealing this section.”

Whatever this gas was, I knew I had to keep it from getting to the rest of the
Farragut
. I began to activate the locks on the emergency bulkheads to seal off the section. I was only about halfway done when the sweet odor got stronger.

And then it was on me. It was as though I was drowning in a vat of syrup. I couldn’t breathe. I started to lose consciousness, and as I did, I heard something. It wasn’t a voice. It was in my head.

“I will feed here …”

I don’t know how long I had been out. I had been vaguely aware of people talking, the red alert klaxon, and then quiet. But it was all distorted, a haze. And then I felt a hypo in my neck, and I slowly regained consciousness.

My vision focused, and I found I was in sickbay. First Officer Coto was standing over my bed, along with Dr. Piper. The lights were dim. There was a medical device on my arm.

“You’re getting blood transfusions,” Piper said to me. “But you’ll be fine.”

I tried to ask about the cloud, to explain what happened.

“It’s off the ship,” Coto said. His voice was heavy; there was no relief in it.

“It was … a creature,” I said.

Coto and Piper exchanged a look.

“What do you mean?” Piper said.

“I could feel … it thinking,” I said. “It wanted to feed off us …” From Coto’s look, he didn’t believe me. Piper, however, was considering it.

“It would explain some things,” the doctor said. “It didn’t just dissipate through the ship like an uncontrolled gas,” he said. “It took only red corpuscles from its victims. First the landing party, then the two crewmen in weapons control, but Kirk was left alive. The attacks happened in spurts—a few people at a time were killed—for lack of a better analogy, its stomach got full.”

“Wait … attacks?” I said. “How many people?”

Piper realized he had been talking too much. He gave Coto an apologetic look.

“Please tell me,” I said.

“Over 200,” Coto said. Half the crew.

“The captain?” I asked even though I knew the answer.

“He’s dead,” Coto said.

“I’m sorry …” I choked it out. “I’m so sorry …”

“It’s not your fault,” he said. “Staying in the weapons control room to seal off the section saved the ship …”

I couldn’t hear him. All those people, and Captain Garrovick, dead because I didn’t fire in time. I felt myself starting to cry and turned away.

“Get some rest, Lieutenant,” Coto said, and he turned and left.

The
Farragut
limped to Starbase 12 with half a crew for repairs, resupply, and restaffing. I spent two weeks in a rehabilitation facility. The creature had taken most of the red corpuscles from my body, and it took a long time before my body healed. Mental health was going to take a lot longer.

Commander Coto and Dr. Piper both came to see me during my rehabilitation. They hadn’t given Coto the promotion to captain, but he was still in temporary command and, as such, was supervising the restaffing of the ship. He had gotten approval to offer me the position of chief navigator. I said yes, although I was unsure. He told me my duties would be very light for a long time; it would take weeks for such a large number of crew replacements to make their way to Starbase 12.

Once I was released from the hospital, rather than return to the ship, I took quarters on the base. It was the first time since the academy that I lived on a planet, and it was a welcome change. Starbase 12 was a state-of-the-art facility, providing storage and repair services, and surrounded by living and recreational accommodations. About 4,000 Starfleet personnel and their families lived there.

My room was in a bungalow in the single officers’ living area, two-story buildings set on winding pathways among rolling grass and trees. The apartment was efficient and clean, with its own kitchen, but I took most of my meals either in the officers’ mess or one of the small restaurants and bars that civilians and interplanetary traders had set up on the base. I found myself imbibing a lot during this period; the only way I could go to sleep was drunk, and even so my sleep was fitful and disturbed by nightmares.

A particular favorite haunt of mine was called Feezal’s. It was run by a friendly proprietor whose race I wasn’t familiar with. He had a large skull with ridges on the sides of his cheeks and forehead, which might have seemed threatening, except for his constant joviality. He said his name was “Sim,” but I suspected he wasn’t telling the truth. He seemed very old and would gently deflect any attempt on my part to get him to divulge anything personal, including what planet he was from. The only thing he would tell me about himself was that the bar was named after one of his wives.

He, however, did show a lot of interest in me, asking me lots of questions about my life and history, and it was therapeutic to talk to someone. He had lost a close friend on Tarsus, which led to several discussions on whether Kodos was really dead. There were galactic rumors that he’d gotten away. Sim seemed to always know what I needed, and one evening, he amazed me by introducing me to a young woman, whom I immediately recognized.

“Hello, Jim!” she said.

I’d met Carol Marcus at the academy, where she worked as a lab assistant while she finished her doctorate in molecular biology. We had had a short, casual fling that came to an end when I graduated.

Upon seeing her I was immediately sorry it hadn’t continued. She was very attractive, blond, petite—which I guess was my type—and very smart. In the intervening years, Carol had gotten her doctorate and was now part of a research project using Starfleet facilities at the base. I felt myself drawn to her immediately. She was warm and attentive, flattered by my renewed interest, and our relationship reignited.

The restaffing of the
Farragut
dragged on for weeks, and I didn’t mind. I would serve a shift on the
Farragut
for eight hours a day, then return to the starbase, where Carol and I would spend the rest of our time. I moved into her apartment, and we had a rapport that was both passionate and easy. We’d spend our free time rock climbing and horseback riding, we’d cook together and read together. I stopped drinking as much, and the nightmares, though they didn’t go away completely, faded. I was settled and happy. And I didn’t want it to end.

“Will you marry me?” I said one morning while we were still in bed.

“Jim,” she said. “Wait … what?”

“I want to marry you,” I said. “I want to be with you.”

“Jim … I love you … but I can’t leave my work …”

“Then I’ll leave mine,” I said, and thought I meant it. “I’ll ask for a base posting. We can make this work. I want to have a family with you.”

“It’s … what I want too,” she said, and kissed me. I called the ship and asked one of the junior officers to cover my shift, and we stayed together all day.

The next morning, I arrived for my shift on the
Farragut
. The ship was busier now; as chief navigator, I also had crewmen who reported to me. I saw Commander Coto in his quarters, and told him I wanted reassignment to the starbase. He looked at me in weary acceptance. He’d known about my relationship with Carol and said he’d been expecting this.

“Look, Jim,” he said, “I’m not going to try to talk you out of it. But you’re an exceptional Starfleet officer. Assuming I get command, I’m going to need men like you I can rely on to help me protect the lives of this crew.”

“I’m sorry, sir,” I said. “I’ve made up my mind.” But I hadn’t. I had committed myself to Carol, and that’s what drove me to say what I said. But Coto had an effect, and I felt a responsibility to help him and the crew. Coto asked me to at least delay my transfer until the final replacements arrived, which would still be a few weeks. I agreed.

As time went on, I became more conflicted about my decision. I was enjoying my time with Carol, but I felt the pull of life aboard the ship. And, as new crewmen reported to the
Farragut
, I became cognizant of my importance; a lot of them were fresh from the academy, and though I’d only been out less than two years, I was surprised that the experiences even in that short a time gave me a wealth of knowledge to share. I also found that, in grieving for the loss of Captain Garrovick and my shipmates, I had renewed my determination to serve, to correct the mistake I had made. I should’ve been talking about this to Carol, but I knew it would hurt her.