Crucible: Kirk (23 page)

Since I could see nothing that would have reasonably impelled Spock to go back to Vulcan and try to completely eliminate his emotion, I wondered if I could develop that drive myself. But what form would that drive take? Once more, I looked to “The City on the Edge of Forever,” and again, that episode revealed something to me that I had never before realized.

When Kirk and Spock travel back in time through the Guardian of Forever in an attempt to avert the change McCoy made—or will make—to history, the first officer counsels his captain and friend that it is of paramount importance to restore—or maintain—the timeline. This appears quite clearly to be a core principle to Spock, one that he espoused quite plainly in an earlier first-season episode, “Tomorrow Is Yesterday.” It also seems reasonable: time and events have taken place, people have lived and died, and it would be unethical, perhaps even immoral, to alter those occurrences.

But then I considered the other occasions when Spock had traveled in time, and to my surprise, I saw that he had not always acted in concert with his professed convictions. In the animated episode “Yesteryear,” he intentionally alters the flow of history for the purpose of saving both his mother's life and his own. And in
The Voyage Home,
he actually suggests plucking humpback whales from the past and bringing them into the future in order to attempt to save the population of Earth from an attacking alien probe. In both instances, though Spock possessed positive intentions which ultimately bore the fruits of his labors, he nevertheless violated the principle of striving to keep the timeline intact. He never appeared to consider doing so through the course of events in “The City on the Edge of Forever,” nor did he search for any means of sparing Captain Kirk the terrible loss of Edith Keeler. Perhaps he wouldn't have been able to find a method of preserving the past without the death of Keeler, but he never even seemed to try.

This amounted to a subtle distinction in behavior, I knew, but one that I thought Spock and his acute, logical mind would discern. I also believed that Spock's understanding of what he had done—acting in opposition to principle when it suited him, but having failed to do so when it would have most benefited his best friend—could prey on him, particularly when provoked to think about it during extreme circumstances. Such circumstances, I thought, might include Jim Kirk's death.

It occurred to me then that, though Captain Kirk had passed away—at least as far as the people of the Federation knew—aboard the
Enterprise
-B, as seen in the film
Generations,
Spock's reaction to that loss had never been seen. Faced with his friend's death, perhaps the recollection of Spock's failure to even try to save the love of Kirk's life might resurface and push him to emotional distraction, perhaps even to the point where he would decide that he could no longer live with such intense feelings. And maybe a similar event had taken place at the end of the five-year mission as well, with Kirk believed dead and Spock having to face his guilt for having failed his friend in his time of need with Edith Keeler.

But if I chose to employ such a motivation for Spock at the end of the five-year mission, might that not also hold true when Kirk apparently died aboard the
Enterprise
-B? I saw then that I could explore Spock's
Kolinahr
not by going backward to the time between the Original Series and
The Motion Picture,
but by sending Spock to Vulcan to attempt a purging of his emotions a second time. In so doing, I could then also explain his first such experience, while at the same time moving the character forward from the continuity of the films.

By choosing this course for my storytelling, I understood that I would have to address Spock's emotional side, as well as his consistent decision to practice stoicism. I knew that the tale would be difficult to tell; investigating the feelings of a Vulcan, as well as the delicate nature of his guilt with Kirk, would not be easy. Still, I thought it a risk worth taking, in part because I recalled lines from the poem “Little Gidding,” by T. S. Eliot:

In my mind, the fire represented Spock's emotional life, his hidden, controlled passions, while the rose signified the perfect form of his logic. I also knew T. S. Eliot's first lines in that stanza:

That seemed perfect to me. I could explore Spock's internal battle between emotion and logic, attempt to deliver a richer, deeper understanding of the character, and yet not conclude with a Spock vastly different than the one everybody already knows, and who would later appear in
The Next Generation
. I knew that it would be a complex task, dealing with the feelings of a mostly impassive personality, an individual in whom intellect often won out over heart, but I thought it would be worth shining a light on Spock in this way. So I decided to give it a shot.

Finally, then, I came to the tale of Captain Kirk. All along, I had believed that this would be the easiest of the three novels to develop. As with the other two stories, I would root the tale within the series and tie it into “The City on the Edge of Forever.” As dramatic as Kirk's sacrifice of the woman of his dreams had been in that episode, there had never been any follow-up to it. Since “City” had taken place near the very end of the first season, and since Kirk's brother and sister-in-law had also died in the very next installment, I thought that I could go back to the ensuing period, before the next year of episodes, and examine the captain's reaction to such terrible losses in his life. What could be easier?

Except that I don't really enjoy doing things that are easy. And I certainly do not like doing the expected. I reasoned that since the first two novels of the trilogy would be such heavy character pieces, perhaps I should consider a more action-oriented story for Kirk. I would still want to tie it in to the other two books through the crucible of the events in “The City on the Edge of Forever,” but I wanted to find an unpredictable means of doing so. I looked at Kirk's life again, searching for the proper place to set my story, or at least to begin it.

Because of the impact his death would have on Spock in
The Fire and the Rose,
I found myself focusing on that incident. In
Generations,
Kirk acted nobly, agreeing to essentially eschew paradise and assist Picard in trying to stop Soran from causing the deaths of millions on Veridian IV. He and Picard succeeded, but Kirk perished in the attempt. A fitting end for the captain—selflessly saving lives—but I decided that I wanted him to save the universe just one more time.

But how could I do that? And how could I tie that in with Edith Keeler? Thinking about the events of
Generations,
and in particular about Kirk's time within the nexus, I considered the existence of Antonia, a woman with whom the captain had shared a serious relationship for two years, and whom he apparently regretted not having married. I remembered that when I'd seen the film for the first time, I'd felt disappointed that Kirk had not conjured up Edith Keeler within the nexus. I had always felt that Edith had been his one true love, and I so wanted that to be the case.

Maybe it was, though, I told myself. Maybe he had cared for Edith so much that even all those years later, even within the wonderfully illusory realm of the nexus, he could not face having lost her. And maybe he had loved Antonia, but ultimately hadn't married her because the memory of the love of his life remained too strong.

As I considered all of this, I saw a means of addressing it all, first employing the nexus as a narrative device, and then returning to the Guardian of Forever. Flashbacks suggested by the nexus would allow me to shine a light on Kirk's relationship with Antonia, and in so doing, reveal the deep impact that Edith's death had continued to have on him throughout the course of his life. I would leave the character as I had found him, dying essentially alone on a barren, alien world, the result of a final heroic act.

Once I had completed the outline and submitted it to my editor, Marco expressed some reservations about ending the fortieth-anniversary trilogy with a main character's death. I saw his point, even though I had envisioned writing that death in a stirring and positive way. It occurred to me then, though, that another avenue existed for Captain Kirk at the end of the book, a road he could take that would be, I thought, completely unexpected. I reframed the denouement of
The Star to Every Wandering
—a title I appropriated from a Shakespearean sonnet and that referred to true love—and then I set about writing the actual novels.

As I made my way through the first pages of the first book, I strived to keep all of the tales in mind so that I could tie them together at various points. I didn't really think much about the nature of the outlines initially, simply hoping that I had put together solid stories that would entertain and surprise readers. But as I continued along, I realized that I had actually crafted three unusual
Trek
stories. Marco felt the same way, and at a convention would later remark that I had told the stories within the trilogy in a way that had never before been tried in
Star Trek
novels.

As I've mentioned, I like to defy expectations, but I also felt a responsibility then to do something more explicit in terms of celebrating the anniversary of the Original Series. Early on in penning the first of the novels, I knew that I had made a number of references to TOS episodes, even going so far as to novelize and expand some scenes from the series itself. In thinking about how I could commemorate the show, the idea rose in my mind that I could attempt, through the course of the trilogy, to make a unique reference to
every
episode. Personally, I feel that continuity references can easily be overdone, and I don't usually like to make them in too obvious or too frequent a manner. But I thought that this special case merited a different perspective on my part.

And so I went back over the pages I'd already written and took notice of those references that I'd already made. The number already exceeded my expectations, and so I decided to go for it. I listed every single TOS episode—from the three seasons of the Original Series, to the two years of animated adventures, and through the seven feature films—and I began noting my exclusive references to each. In the end, I found a way to bring up every single episode, animated adventure, and film in a unique way. That is, a reference to, say, Lieutenant Kevin Riley would not be an example of such a reference because that character appeared in two episodes, “The Naked Time” and “The Conscience of the King.” On the other hand, an allusion to Governor Kodos of Tarsus IV would constitute such a reference, since that character (and planet) occurred only in the latter of those two episodes.

After I finished writing the three novels, I wondered—as I always do—how they would be received by the readers. I felt that I had once again defied expectations, but perhaps even more so than usual with my unorthodox stories. Would they work? Would readers be able to accept and enjoy what I had written?

I didn't know at that point, and as I sit putting these words down, I still don't. But I like challenging myself, and I hope that readers will enjoy the challenge I've set them as well, asking them to put aside any preconceived notions they might have about this trilogy and simply going along for the ride with an open mind. The
Star Trek
characters you all know and love are here, though perhaps in different settings and situations than you might have imagined. I've tried to take Kirk and Spock and McCoy on personal journeys, and I sincerely hope that you've enjoyed taking those journeys with them—and with me. For opening the pages of these books—as well as those of my other works—I thank you. A writer is nothing without readers. My whole purpose in putting pen to paper or pixels to screen is to reach people I don't even know, to offer brief moments of enjoyment in their lives, perhaps even occasionally to enrich them or to make them think, to
connect
with them on some level. I hope I've done that, and I am grateful to all of you for allowing me that opportunity.

Until next time…

In each of my last five novels, including the other two in the
Crucible
trilogy, I have commenced my acknowledgments by thanking my editor, Marco Palmieri. Well, nothing's changed. As a writer, I could not be more fortunate than I have been in working with Marco. He is so very good at his craft, and it is always a pleasure to have him toiling by my side. I consider him both an ally and an asset in my professional life, and a friend in my personal life. In so many ways, for so many reasons, Marco is simply the best.

I would also like to thank John Picacio, the talented artist who produced the beautiful triptych comprising the three covers for the
Crucible
books,
Provenance of Shadows, The Fire and the Rose,
and
The Star to Every Wandering
. His art speaks for itself, and if you'd like to see more, check out John's website, johnpicacio.com, or his new book,
Cover Story
:
The Art of John Picacio
. I had the good fortune of meeting John and spending some time with him at and after a recent convention, and he could not have been nicer or more friendly.

I would be remiss if I did not acknowledge the contributions of two men without whom this trilogy would not have been possible. During the tumultuous 1960s, Gene Roddenberry created
Star Trek,
and with it, a stage on which to tell stories of alien civilizations in the future, stories that actually addressed important societal issues on present-day Earth. On that stage, Harlan Ellison crafted his serious and poignant “The City on the Edge of Forever,” an episode that, even when I watch it today, causes me to experience chills during its heartrending climax. I am privileged to be allowed to write within Mr. Roddenberry's now-vast universe, and doubly so to coax my own tales out of Mr. Ellison's masterful story. At the same time, I wish to acknowledge all of the people who have contributed to the considerable creation that is
Star Trek
—from the production assistants, to the costumers, to the camera operators, to the writers and producers and directors, to each and every behind-the-scenes or onscreen individual who added to this wonderful mythos. I salute you.

Thanks also to Alex Rosenzweig, who once more came through for me with some critical
Star Trek
research. In this case, I am particularly grateful to him because he did so on such short notice. While some might think that details of the
Trek
universe are easy to find, that's not always the case, and especially not with respect to the subtle or complex pieces of information that I often seek. For
The Star to Every Wandering,
Alex graciously saved me a great deal of time and effort when I faced an impending deadline.

On a very personal note, I want to thank Mary and Bill Dunlap for their love and support through the years. We've shared many adventures together—from taking a tour of the National Baseball Hall of Fame in Cooperstown, New York, to attending Jeanette and Rich Thomas's blowouts on their vineyard in Lodi, California, from embarking on a manic cab ride through London, England, to experiencing a wild game on a soccer field that had been converted into a baseball diamond on a military base in the middle of the woods in Balashikha, Russia—and I certainly hope that we have many more. Mary and Bill are among my very favorite people in the world, and I always look forward to our time together.

Thanks too to Victoria and John Ratnaswamy for their friendship. John and I have also had our fair share of escapades over the years—from meeting a ship's captain somewhere in the Caribbean Sea, to making astronaut Jim Lovell's acquaintance at his son's restaurant in Lake Forest, Illinois, from visiting a mock-up of space station
Freedom
in Southern California, to participating in a pair of space shuttle mission simulations at the U.S. Space and Rocket Center in Huntsville, Alabama—and I trust that we have more to come. I adore Victoria and John, and I feel privileged to have them and their three wonderful children, Alec, Julia, and Lily, in my life.

I also wish to thank Kathy Golec for her long comradeship. We did time in the trenches together, and I managed to make it through relatively unscathed, at least in part due to her presence there with me. Kathy is a bright, vibrant woman whom I am lucky to count as a friend.

I also want to thank the United States Submarine Veterans, and in particular the men of Tang Base. Only a small percentage of the U.S. Navy serve as submariners, and they are indeed a unique breed. I am honored to be an associate member of Tang Base, and I have Walter Ragan to thank for inviting me aboard. Walter himself “rode the vents,” and I love listening to his stories about that time. He is a man of honor and integrity whom I treasure.

Thanks to Anita Smith for her constant love and support. Quick to smile and laugh, always willing to lend her assistance with anything, she is a pleasure to be around. Anita is a very special woman, somebody who improves my life simply by being in it.

I want to express my appreciation to Jennifer George as well. Her love and support never waver, and she makes my life not only easier and better in so many ways, but more fun too. I think the world of Jen, and I respect and admire her more than words can say.

Thank you to Patricia Walenista too. A touchstone for me, she is a woman of great character—not to mention being something of a character as well. Energetic and fun, supportive and loving, she is one of the most important people in my life.

Finally, I want to thank the universe at large for Karen Ragan-George. As many times as I have sung Karen's praises, both in the pages of my books and in my personal life, there are simply not enough melodies, not enough refrains, to do so sufficiently. Still, I can say that since Karen and I met, everything is different. All she asks of me is that wherever she goes, I go too, and I know that she'll always stand by me, come what may. Oh, and hers are the sweetest eyes I've ever seen.