Star Trek: The Original Series - 162 - Shadow of the Machine (9 page)

“I do,” Sarek said. “I was sent to Earth, perhaps to show me the error of my choice—I was never told. I met and married Amanda; without her my life would be far less satisfying.”

Sarek raised his hand in the traditional salute—fingers together to form a
V
. Spock mirrored the salute.

Sarek lowered his hand, stepping closer to his son. “I did not agree with your decision to join Starfleet. But I have always believed Starfleet to be a fine organization. And my son is the first officer assigned to its flagship.” Sarek paused, unable or unwilling to proceed.

“Thank you, Father.”

Sarek nodded. “One does not thank logic.”

“No, sir, one does not.”

“Is there a message you wish me to give to your mother?”

Spock considered the question for a minute, then said, “Tell her, ‘Thank you.’ ”

Sarek inclined his head to indicate his understanding, then turned and disappeared back into the house.

IOWA

Aunt Hanna told Kirk that a message was waiting for him when he got back to the house. She ushered him toward a small home office in the former pantry at the end of the hall.

“You know I don’t have much to do with these things,” she said as they entered the office.

Kirk saw that it was a prerecorded message sent from New Berlin colony.

“It’s from Carol,” Kirk told her.

“Is something up with David?” Hanna asked.

“No, nothing’s wrong. Carol sends me messages from time to time, letting me know how David’s getting on, sending me pictures so I can see how much he’s grown.”

“That’s sweet.”

“I guess I should consider myself fortunate. Even from a distance, I get to see my son growing up. That’s something Sam will never get to do.”

“That’s true. You gonna play it?”

“Yes.”

“Well, don’t be too long. There’s a storm on its way, and the station sometimes shuts itself down if there’s lightning in the air.”

“I’ll watch it in a minute.”

That was over three hours ago.

Now here he was, sitting in the attic in the center of a pile of boxes, pulling out various items from his past in a vain attempt to put off what he knew he should do. His boxes held no answers on how to reach his nephew; he wouldn’t find Sam in them telling him what to do.

No, he needed to focus.

With a sigh, Kirk dragged himself untidily to his feet.

The boxes were pushed back into the alcove under the eaves one by one. Kirk then made his way back down the steps.

How old is David now, anyway? Ten? Eleven?

He tried to think back, to remember when he and Carol had first started dating. Not that Carol would have called it that.

“You call this ‘dating,’ Jim?” she had said to him once. “Not seeing a girl for months on end and then suddenly dropping onto her doorstep unannounced with a bottle of Romulan ale and a lascivious smile?”

Thinking about it, it was two years before he took command of the
Enterprise
, so that would make David ten years old.

Had it really been a decade already?

Slowly, Kirk padded down the stairs to the hallway and to the office, then pulled the door shut. The comm was old, like the rest of the farmhouse, and Kirk barely remembered how to activate it.

The panel trilled softly and the screen flashed up: “Message Waiting.”

“Please state identification,”
the comm asked.

“James T. Kirk, admiral, Starfleet,” Kirk told it.

“Please stand by.”

The words on the screen changed from “Message Waiting” to “Transmit.” It stayed like that for a while.

For a brief second, guilt almost got the better of him as Kirk had a sudden overwhelming urge to reach forward and switch the comm off. He probably would have if Carol hadn’t finally appeared, a data slate cradled in one hand.

She was smiling, a good sign.

“Well, well, if it isn’t the wanderer himself, James T. Kirk. Hey, Jim, just a quick message to keep you updated on how David is getting along. Well, what to tell you . . .”

She paused, blowing out her cheeks in exasperation as she attempted to put her thoughts in order.

“Well, first off, Cal-Tech Prep has accepted David’s application. Did I tell you he was applying in my last message? I’m pretty sure I did. Anyway, he applied last month and they’ve accepted him. Two years before he starts. He’ll have to keep his grades up. But for
—
”
Carol paused, then shook her head.
“I’m not worried
.

“He’s asked if he can go skiing in Switzerland next winter. There’s a whole bunch of friends going with their parents, and he’s been asked if he can go. I’ve told him I’ll think about it, but I’m not too keen on the idea of a load of eleven-year-old kids hurtling down a mountain at high speeds. David is a good skier, but I won’t be able to get the time off and get back to Earth. He’d be going without me, and you know what a worrier I can be.

“Sometimes I worry that I’m spending too much time at the lab, that I’m neglecting him. Don’t get me wrong: We get plenty of time together, especially on the weekends. David seems happy . . .”

Carol stopped and thought about things for a moment or two. Then she threw up her hands.

“Well, you know me: the eternal worrier, even when things are ticking along nicely. It’s just that we’re really busy here at the moment, desperately trying to get approval for a couple of projects. I’m concerned that if David needs me, or if he’s got a problem that he really needs to talk to someone about, that he would keep it to himself.

“A little bird tells me that you’re back on the
Enterprise
. James Kirk behind a desk . . . I can’t imagine that, somehow.”

There was a brief trilling from somewhere inside her apartment, causing Carol to glance around.

“Look, Jim, I gotta go, but I just want to say thank you for respecting my wishes and not contacting David. I know it must be hard for you—don’t imagine for a second that I don’t understand that, because I really do. I just think it’s for the best right now. I’m not saying it’s always . . . And, hey, who knows? Maybe one day, when I tell him everything about you, he might look you up, take you to a bar, and have a beer with his father. But, for now . . . thank you.

“I’ve attached a couple of files to this transmission, a few pictures of David out on his snowboard last birthday, and there’s a vid of the hiking party . . . At least, I think it’s the hiking party . . . Anyway, take a look for yourself and enjoy. Until next time, Jim. Marcus out.”

Carol leaned forward and cut the connection. The screen winked momentarily to black, then the standard Starfleet “End of Transmission” took its place.

After a few seconds, Kirk reached forward and powered down the machine.

Chapter 8

IOWA

He was awakened by shouting.

He hadn’t meant to fall asleep. He’d just wanted a few minutes to himself after Carol’s message, so he’d gone upstairs to his room.

Kirk had created a data card, and he’d carried it up to his room so he could use his data slate in private. There were over two dozen pictures attached to the message, some of David with friends, others with Carol, but most were just of David on his own. He’d grown so much since the last message, and it surprised Kirk how much David now looked like Kirk’s father, David’s grandfather. He had cycled through the collection two or three times.

The shouting was coming from somewhere under his window, and Kirk swung himself off the bed and padded across to take a look. The storm was over the farm, darkening the sky. Rain had started, and thunderheads were booming overhead.

Kirk saw the smoke first, drifting across the yard like a thick pall of sea mist. Then he spotted Peter down in the yard, pelting headlong across the dirt, an extinguisher clutched in one hand. He disappeared into the noxious black fumes without a second’s hesitation.

Kirk pulled on his shoes and raced downstairs, yanking open the back door, and ran out into the yard.

A flash of color in the smoke up ahead caught his eye.

“Peter, wait!” Kirk choked out before the smoke pushed him backward. It stung his face, caused him to stumble to his knees.

By the time Kirk had managed to rub his streaming eyes and clear his vision, the twisting black cloud had swallowed up most of the yard between the house and the barn. Peter was nowhere in sight.

There was a scream behind him. Aunt Hanna stumbled out the back door, one hand clutching a cloth to her mouth, the other pointing listlessly toward the streaming column of smoke.

Kirk stopped his aunt from running toward the burning barn. He shook her as gently as he could and tried to maneuver her back into the house, but the old woman was surprisingly strong and refused to budge.

Hanna suddenly realized who it was standing in front of her, and her eyes widened in shock.

“Peter,” she managed to say at last. “Jim, where is he? Please tell me he’s not . . .”

“He’ll be all right,” Kirk said firmly. “Go back inside, Aunt Hanna, and alert the fire department. We need a crew here now!” At first she refused to move, so Kirk gave her a gentle shove. “Go now, Aunt Hanna!” She snapped out of it and disappeared into the house.

For Kirk, the worst part wasn’t that he could hardly breathe, nor that he had been rendered half blind. No, the worst part was that the closer he inched to the flaming barn, the thicker the smoke grew.

What I really need right now is a respirator from the
Enterprise, Kirk thought.
Or an EV suit.

Kirk placed a hand upon the rough wooden wall of the toolshed and pushed himself forward. From here he could just make out the flickering flames through the thick barrier of smoke, and he could even feel its heat.

He took a few more unsteady paces forward, his hands held out in front of him like a man walking in his sleep, and was almost knocked to the ground by a bolting horse.

Someone had reached out and gripped him roughly by the forearm, dragging him out of the horse’s path just in time.

Kirk looked up to find Uncle Abner staring down at him, a spotty old bandanna tied across his nose and mouth, making him look like a train robber from an ancient Western.

“Where’s . . . where’s Peter?” Kirk asked, erupting into a fit of coughing.

“I thought I’d fixed that shield, swore I’d got it working again.” When Abner spoke it was like he wasn’t really there, like he was talking in his sleep.

Kirk shook himself free of the old man’s grip and staggered in the direction of the barn.

The entrance was a curtain of pure flame; the door hinges had warped and bent in the intense heat. They had given way, and now both enormous doors were ablaze.

Looking for another way in, Kirk noticed Abner was standing behind him with an ax in his hand. His uncle was staring into the flame as though mesmerized, his green eyes standing out against his soot-blackened face.

“Abner!” he shouted, but at first the old man didn’t react. It wasn’t until Kirk grabbed him and shook him that his uncle noticed he was there.

“Peter,” he asked, as soon as he had the man’s attention, “where’s Peter?”

Abner, still dazed, pointed with his ax into the unbroken sheet of flames in front of them.

“He’s . . . he’s in there?” Kirk asked incredulously. “You let him go in there?”

“I tried to stop him, but he wouldn’t listen,” Abner explained. “He said he had to save the horses.”

Without thinking, Kirk pushed the old man aside, took a few paces backward, covered his face with his arms as best he could, and leapt headlong through the burning doorway.

• • •

Kirk hit the stable floor with enough force to drive the breath from his body, and then he immediately began to roll. He tumbled over and over through the thin dusting of hay and feed, stopping only when his back connected sharply with the far wall.

The interior of the barn was unbearably hot, although the layer of smoke was not quite so dense, which made it a little easier for him to breathe.

At the other end he could see Peter frantically kicking at one of the stall doors, desperately trying to help the trapped animal within.

Kirk dragged himself upright and ran forward to help the boy.

Peter hardly registered his uncle’s presence as he continued to kick at the door with every ounce of strength he had.

“Bella is in there,” he said, as he paused for breath, pointing across at the big shot-bolt. “The bolt’s warped.”

“Together, it’s the only way,” Kirk shouted, and Peter nodded his understanding.

As Peter kicked at the door, Kirk ran at it. The first attempt didn’t seem to have any effect, but the third time Kirk felt wood give.

The moment they broke through Peter reached out and pushed his uncle aside, out of the path of the panicking horse. With the other hand he caught the animal’s mane and held her firm until she started to calm a little.

“We can’t get out that way, not with the horse,” Kirk said, gesturing back toward the twisting curtain of flame.

“No other choice. The back way is blocked.” Peter jerked his head toward the extinguisher at his feet as he attempted to soothe the horse. “Take that and point it at the fire. If you can create a gap in the fire long enough, I can get Bella through.”

“How?” Kirk asked.

“If I cover her eyes it should calm her down enough for me to lead her out,” Peter told him.

Kirk shook his head. “That’s crazy.”

“It’s the only way I can get her to go through,” Peter replied. “She trusts me, she knows I won’t let her get hurt. You have to trust me. I know her. I know all the horses on this farm. I know what they’re capable of.”

Kirk knew that there wasn’t any time to argue, even if he
could
think of a better way for them to get out. By now the fire would be spreading its way across the roof above, eating its way through the support timbers. Who knew how long before the whole lot came crashing down upon their heads?

“Okay,” Kirk told Peter. “You’re in command.”

With that, Kirk scooped up the extinguisher and ran toward the flaming doors of the barn, while Peter took a firm hold of Bella.

• • •

The last of the fire had been extinguished and the emergency crew were packing their equipment back into the flyer when Kirk went to check on Peter.

His nephew was tending to the horses, as Kirk knew he would be, soothing them as best he could after the day’s traumatic events.

The horse that had nearly run Kirk down outside the stable was the stallion Airdancer. Peter had housed him at the back of the makeshift barn, inside an odd little enclosure he’d cleverly constructed from sheets of reinforced polycarbon.

Peter was standing beside him, gently running a hand up and down the animal’s nose and whispering softly into his ear. From time to time his nostrils would flare and his eyes would rove furtively, but for the most part the stallion remained calm and still.

Kirk stopped a little way off, keeping his voice as low and as soothing as possible, trying not to spook the animal that Peter had taken so long to quiet down.

“I just wanted to thank you for saving my life back there,” Kirk said.

“Uncle Abner says I was damn foolish,” Peter said.

“He’s just spooked,” Kirk said. “I thought you were very brave.”

Peter looked up, a little startled. “Did you really think we were going to die back there?”

“Didn’t you?” Kirk asked him.

The boy shrugged. “I dunno. Not really. I guess it just didn’t really enter my mind. I was too busy thinking about the horses to worry about if I was in danger.”

“And here I’m thinking that you are afraid of the unknown,” Kirk said.

Peter frowned. “It was only fire. Why should I be afraid of that?”

“Your father was.”

The boy turned and looked Kirk in the eyes, the young horse forgotten. “My father was afraid of fire?”

Kirk said, “Don’t sound so surprised. We’re all afraid of something, every last one of us.”

“You included?” asked Peter.

“Me included,” echoed Kirk.

“What are you afraid of?” Peter asked.

Kirk leaned back against the makeshift barrier and considered the question carefully. “Being useless. If I’d stayed behind that desk in Starfleet Operations, I would have become useless, a piece of furniture. I’d be a curious old relic to be dusted off and trotted out on special occasions, but not ever to be used.”

“Uncle Jim, did you really think you were going to die back there?” asked Peter again.

Kirk sighed. Peter deserved a frank answer. “There were a few moments that were particularly hairy, but you had it under control, and I trusted you. That’s what being in command is all about. It’s something I learned at the Academy.” Kirk winked at his nephew. “Although I’d say on that subject there’s not much the Academy could teach you.”

“It could have been avoided if the lightning shield had been fixed,” Peter said.

“I don’t think Uncle Abner knows how to fix it.”

“It’s simple, really,” Peter told him. “You just need to make sure that you regulate the energy pulse correctly, otherwise it burns out the relays.”

“Sounds like you should go and help him fix it,” Kirk said.

“I’ve offered, but Uncle Abner doesn’t like me touching the farm equipment. He says I’m just poking around, making things worse,” said Peter.

“Peter, don’t sulk, just show him. I know you’ve earned his respect today.”