works_in_space

It had all gone wrong. Gorkon was dead. Hopes for peace were dashed. And Captain James Kirk was sitting in a cold unlit holding cell aboard a Klingon Bird of Prey. For the moment, he was separated from Bonea. And he was fairly certain his life would be over soon.

The Klingons wanted blood. And only that they were desperate for Federation help prevented a summary execution, Jim was sure. Instead, he was told there would be a trial. A fair trail? Almost definitely not. Like any dictatorship, they had reasons to put on a show. But it would be just that. At the end, he would be executed. No doubt for every perceived crime he'd ever committed against the Empire. After which, the war would try to start again until the Organians stopped it, as they did thirty years ago.

Jim stared into Gorkon's face as the chancellor was dying, wounds too great for Bones to fix, wounds too alien for Bones to understand. And in Gorkon's eyes, there was no hate. How was that possible? Didn't Gorkon think that his old foes were betraying him? Maybe Gorkon simply came to understand that this is how things would be. But Jim did not believe that. Not anymore.

The state dinner was a disaster...no, it was only a mess, given what came afterwards. But at no time did Gorkon lose his composure. Or his sense of perspective. It could be possible for a cunning enemy to play his opponents. Jim didn't sense that, though. Klingons tend to wear their hearts on their sleeves. And Gorkon's eyes...there was no hate. No guile. Only resolve. And a love of his people. Was Gorkon different?

And had Jim, through his actions or through his inactions, forgotten what he was supposed to do as a Starfleet officer? He was an explorer. And by boxing off the Klingons, was he failing to explore what Gorkon called "the undiscovered country" of peace?

Jim didn't know. He felt like he didn't know anything today.

He felt old.

"Captain." Another new Klingon face (and anyone who said "they all look" alike was not just a blatant racist but blind).

"Yes? Hear to hose down my cell?" Jim wasn't sure what tone to take. Mild annoyance and a touch of sarcasm would do, even if the translators wouldn't pick it all up.

"I am Colonel Worf. Your lawyer." The words were translated by a device mounted on Worf's belt. Handy, that.

"Lawyer? I get to defend myself? How sporting."

The lawyer glared for a moment, but grew calm quickly. "Under the codes of interstellar law that allowed us to arrest you, you are entitled to a trial. And to a defense."

"After which I'll be executed." Worf was silent for a moment.

"It is a possibility. But I have reviewed the evidence, and there is room to cast doubt."

Jim's turn to be silent. Work continued.

"I know you do not think that you will receive a fair hearing. Were our circumstances reversed, I would feel the same way. But despite what you might think of us, Captain, we DO believe in the rule of law." There was some small contempt in Worf's tone, as if he was sure the Federation didn't. But also that look in his eye. The same one as Gorkon had. Of...honesty?

"And how do you intend to prove your case? Am I innocent until proven guilty?"

"Ah. The idea that the burden of proof is on the prosecutor. No, we do not operate that way. The burden of proof is on the judges. They alone get to determine the facts based on the evidence provided by both sides. There is no presumption of guilt or of innocent." Jim weighed this. It made sense in a way. It was nothing like what he had seen in his own life.

"And who are these judges?"

"Men of honor. Men like yourself who have served their whole lives and have been rewarded with other duties that present new challenges."

"So the courtroom is war by another name?"

Worf presented a predatory but not entirely unfriendly grin. "Life is war by another name. But the judges do not treat your trial, or any others, as a battlefield. Even if General Change might." Jim gasped.

"He's the prosecutor? And you say I have a chance?" He struggled to contain his anger.

"General Chang is NOT the judge. Be thankful for that. Be thankful that we did NOT execute you in anger. Be thankful that we do not have such luxuries."

There was a long silence.

"Captain, you do not understand our ways. Any more than we understand yours. But we both believe in justice. And in law. And such beliefs mean that you are entitled to a fair hearing, and a defense. We do not have to like each other for that to happen. We simply need to work together. And you need to trust me."

"And can I trust you? Can I trust any Klingon after everything that's happened?" His anger was rising.

"No." Worf paced in the corridor. "Nothing is simple now. But if there is to be peace, the Federation must accept that we will have our justice. And the Klingons must accept that it will be fair."

"What are you saying, Colonel?" Jim didn't think he would hear the word "peace" again.

"Q'Onos is too far gone for us to posture and bluff and scowl the way you and Korr and Kang did in your youth. We demand that the Federation allow us to try you as we see fit. But it MUST be done in a way to show that once Gorkon's death has been accounted for, we can still negotiate."

Jim understood. The show was for the Klingon public, or the part that mattered in terms of politics. And for the Federation. So that everyone would be mollified. And there could be negotiations after all.

"So I'm to be sacrificed on the altar of peace? I never thought that would be my fate."

Another long silence from Worf. If nothing else, he chose his words carefully.

"It is possible. Maybe even likely. But understand, Captain, that I AM a lawyer. With all the authority and rights that go with the profession. I was assigned your case because I am a good lawyer. And I have seen enough evidence to suggest that you are not guilty."

"You believe I didn't do it?"

"What I believe does not matter. Facts matter." One more pause. "And the facts say that the great Captain James Kirk, when he intends to kill someone, is not that subtle. And does not return to the scene of the crime, as I believe the saying goes." How do the Klingons know so much Earth culture? And why, Jim wondered, does the Federation know so little of them? Where did we go wrong?

No matter. For the first time since he beamed over to the Klingon ship, Jim felt a flicker of hope.

"That is the saying. And I guess I will take that as a compliment."

"It is intended as one. Your reputation is widely known. Many hate you. But other have what could be called respect." Whether Worf was counted in either group was unclear.

"And what about Bones...Dr. McCoy?"

"He is to be be my client as well. But the case against him is different. He stands accused of malpractice in his failure to save the chancellor. That might be harder to dispell.

"But I will give it my all for him as well."

Jim was not satisfied with any of this. But it would have to do.

"Colonel, can I ask you a question?"

"I reserve the right to not answer." Not a whit of humor in that reply. Or at least Jim thought that. Who knew what Klingons found funny?

"Do you really want peace?"

"Peace is not the natural state of creation. And the Klingon Empire has long thrived on battle. But sometimes the battle must change. Our war is not with you now. It is with time. Someday, after we have saved our race, our empire, we might seek war again. Today, the only course of action is peace with the Federation.

"And you, Captain?" Jim was tempted to decline to reply, to turn the table on Worf. But he didn't think that would be fair.

"Honestly? I don't know. Ask me again if I survive."

And with that, the interview was over, Worf left with just the hint of a smile, and Jim tried to sleep.

Enterprise had come home. Possibly for the last time. Possibly not. The rumors that had been brewing for weeks were everywhere. Something had happened. To the Klingons. Or the Romulans. Or both. Or the Orion pirates. Or someone. And a ship once destined for early retirement was needed again. Or at least needed enough that the ship's crew was up to a full complement. Including, to Jim's surprise, a Vulcan science officer.

Alas, it was clear that even if his ship was not being mothballed, Jim and the bridge crew were. Uhura had taken a post at the Academy, Scotty had bought a boat and was talking about moving off Earth entirely, Chekov was desperately trying to find a new posting, Bones took over for Atlanta to see his family and to grouse, and Spock was...somewhere. Within two days of arriving back on Earth, Spock vanished on some new assignment. Again, rumor had some suggestions about what it was. All of them pointed at Ambassador Sarek, fully re-established on Earth and already rumored to be involved in high level talks of some sort.

It was all very confusing. To Jim, to everyone from his ship and everyone at Starfleet HQ. But it was also disheartening, for so much to be going on and for him to know nothing. It wasn't like this back in the day. When he was young and the ship he commanded was the real Enterprise. He didn't hear rumors. He received communiques, memoranda, facts. Now he was just another officer.

No, he wasn't even that. His ship was being taken from him. Whatever was about to happen, it would happen without him. He was done for. Might as well follow Uhura's lead and go back to the Academy. Or give up the uniform once and for all. If they didn't want him, why should he want them?

Except he never wanted them. He wanted his ship. And his command. And his opportunity to explore. And the uniform represented all of that. There was no way he'd give that back. And if he didn't give that up, maybe there was a little hope he could get one last ride on his ship.

But he wasn't counting on it.

Still, there were still rumors everyplace in San Francisco. Including one that there's be some sort of announcement soon, within the week. If nothing else, he'd finally know what was going on.

For now, Jim would head to his apartment, look at the world going by, and maybe head out for a drink. To the one place where he wouldn't hear more rumors.

There was peace. True peace. Not the sort that requires huge armies with banks of phasers to make it happen. But the sort that comes from simply deciding “we aren’t going to go war, ever.” The sort that comes from Klingons and Romulans alike realizing that the galaxy is large enough for their empires to expand and still leave other races alone. The sort that comes from a love of life so vast that it encompasses all of creation.

The sort Jim is seeing today. For today, they’re removing the photon torpedoes from the Enterprise. Yes, the phasers remain, since such things serve a purpose in navigating the harsher regions of space, but the torpedo, like its nautical ancestor, is only good for killing. For war. And is thus outmoded.

Jim worries a little that he’s also outmoded. All those years that he spent defending the Federation, and now that part of his career is over. He’s not sure that there’s a place in the fleet for him now. He wonders if he should step aside and let the next generation, a generation that will never know war,

It takes a while for him to see that the next generation is looking to him and to his peers. Even as the torpedoes leave the ship, they are seeking guidance, asking questions, wanting to here how it was on the frontier. Not because they want to know what it was like to stare down the Klingons. But because Kirk and Spock and McCoy and the whole crew were out there first. The newly minted officers will now a better tomorrow, but it will be some time till they go where Jim boldly went before they were born.

Jim returns to the bridge after the last weapon is gone. The crew is here, as they have been for so long. Sulu is accompanied by his daughter, almost old enough to go to the Academy but already able to handle her father’s tasks. Chekov gives the order to seal the torpedo tubes for the last time. Bones smiles, for once thinking that maybe there is intelligent life in the universe. Spock is as enigmatic as ever, though Jim is sure he spots a hint of a grin. “Mister Sulu…and Mister Sulu…set a course.”

“Aye, sir,” both say in unison. The ship breaks orbit around Babel, once merely a neutral site for Federation conferences but now to be known as the site of the Great Peace Accords. Soon planetary space is behind them, but they are not alone. Behind them are a dozen colony ships. Three from Earth, three from Vulcan, three from O’Onos, three from Romulus. Peace is only the first step. Next comes making a new world.

The former house of George and Winona Kirk sits quietly, much of its furniture under synthetic dust cloths. The light of an Iowa morning is diffuse as the polarized glass of the windows keeps the rooms bright but not too much so. The hum of the household control system is faint, and outside there is only the distant buzz of automated tractors a kilometer away.

The back door opens, but there's no one outside. For a moment, the noise and bustle of a bar can be hear, the scents of beer and wine and people wafting through. Two people enter, and let the door close. The room is again silent.

"Welcome to Iowa, Teyla." Jim smiles at his guest as their eyes adjust to the light of the large kitchen.

The Enterprise-A was in orbit around Bajor. From space and at the surface, it was a beautiful world. But after just four days there, Jim was ready to leave. Oh, it wasn’t that he wasn’t made to feel welcome. The Bajoran government, and the world’s religious leaders, treated him and his crew with respect and with cordiality. The receptions were well attended, and the food was of the highest quality. But a diplomat can tell when he’s wanted, and when he’s perhaps better off elsewhere.

Bajor had nothing against him, Starfleet, or the Federation. Trade was welcome. All ships, even heavily armed cruisers, could visit. The peaceful relations between the Federation and Bajor were strong. But the idea that Bajor would even consider joining the Federation seemed impossible. They were content to coexist. It wasn’t quite insularity so much as just assurance that such an alliance was not in the best interests of Bajor. And that the Prophets didn’t approve.

That bothered Jim more than he wished. Every race, every individual, had a right to his or her or its beliefs. The Vulcans believed in a single God with more certainty than any human ever could. But to let these unseen “prophets” guide interstellar relations seemed foolish. Perhaps even primitive. Never mind that from what he had heard of the “tears of the Prophets,” they were little more than artifacts of another race. Surely the Bajorans, with their ancient civilization, with art and culture the equal of any world, could think for themselves.

There must be, he thought as he looked out the window of the observation deck, more than meets the eye. But it wasn’t his place to question them. He was only able to talk about the benefits of membership, and perhaps of the risks of war with Cardassia, perceived by many in Starfleet as a potential threat while it was in an expansionist phase again. And he did that, and the Bajorans smiled and nodded.

They would be leaving orbit in two days, for a return trip that would take over a month. Ten weeks travel time in total, towards what end? To test the new ship? To test its crew? Or to test its captain? Things had changed since the five-year missions. The Federation was larger, its ships were a key part of a delicate web of diplomats, soldiers and explorers, and assignments weren’t always glamorous. Or interesting, it would seem.

But Jim guessed there was a message here for him. A message from those who wished he would just go away. “This is your career now. No more seeking out new worlds. That’s for younger men. That’s for those who play by our rules.” It offended him so much that such people could rise unquestioned within the fleet. And it worried him that he was on Earth for years and never saw it coming.

But he wouldn’t give in so fast. He’d live with the dull assignments if he had to. And then he would remind them of his record. Make his voice heard. And go exploring again.

He reached to the comm on the nearest wall. “Commander Sulu.”

“Aye, sir.”

“Have you given any thought to our route back to Earth?” There was a silence, but he could imagine Sulu’s smile.

“Aye, Captain. And it seems that there are a few rather interesting phenomena we should be careful of.”

“I thought there might be. Have you plotted the careful course?”

“I anticipated this request, Captain.”

“Very good. Captain out.”

Well, he thought, as he looked out to see a Bajoran sunrise, maybe the trip back will be a bit less dull.

Shortly before Captain Kirk's shift was to begin, he got a call from a vet in Montana. Butler, his great dane these last nine years, was dying. The old dog's heart simply gave out, as happened ofter with larger breeds. And even with medical and technological advances, even with the ability to clone a new heart from the old, there was little that could be done for a dog that wouldn't bring it to confusion and pain.

So Jim said his goodbyes to Butler, who seemed only a shell and not the cheerful, frisky beast of so many years ago. And he gave the word to the doctor to put his old friend to sleep. Only the unexpected but welcome presence of Antonia, who loved Butler as much as Jim did, made it bearable. It was strange to see her for the first time since they broke off their relationship, but it was good to know that the connections they had were not totally lost, even if the commitment was. They watched as Butler closed his eyes for the last time, and later toasted his memory over coffee in a small cafe near the vet's office in Helena.

Afterwards, he stopped by his uncle's ranch, and made arrangements for Butler to be buried in the woods where Jim first met him, an enthusiastic pup chasing Jim's horse for days. He didn't usually think about whether your buried pets, but it seemed right. Jim made a point of not checking on the other Great Danes on the ranch, many the children and grandchildren of Butler. Today wasn't a day to do that.

At night, Jim toaated Butler's memory again, with McCoy and with something stronger. He already missed Butler, but took solace from knowing that this time, the loss of a friend was not untimely, was sad but not tragic. And he knew that at some point, when he visited the ranch, or when he checked back on the cabin he and Antonia once shared, he'd be waiting to hear a bark from the distance, and there wouldn't be any.

James T. Kirk, it is the judgment of this Council that you be reduced in rank to Captain…and that as a consequence of your new rank, you be given the duties for which you have repeatedly demonstrated unswerving ability: the command of a starship.

Captain James T. Kirk truly did not expect the events of the day. He thought he would get honorable discharge, his pension, and his last goodbyes to life in the Fleet, after which he would be offered a consultancy in the President’s office. A decent ending, if still an ending. That he would get to be a captain again? He never imagined it was possible. And that he would get a new Enterprise? No, it wasn’t his Enterprise. The smells and sounds were not the same. That chair was too new. But implicit in the name was the honor. An honor he would rather have not earned the way he did, but one he could live with. Now and forever, he was captain of the Enterprise. There were worse fates.

But the day brought other surprises. Gillian…he didn’t think she would be at the hearing. Jim told Antonia she didn’t have to come, after all. It was just a formality. And then they change his life again and instead of his lover there was another woman. A woman he could not deny feeling attracted to. A woman he even flirted with. (“I don’t have your phone number”? What ever made him say that out loud?) His big moment, and he had to call Antonia to tell her what happened. And that he would be late for supper since they were showing him his new ship. She tried to be happy. No, she was happy. For him. But he didn’t think she wanted to hear about his ship.

How would he handle that? He was at a loss at the moment for ideas. But that would wait a little while. Right now, he was on a starship again, his crew at their stations, the engines pushing to Warp 5 on a quick spin around the neighborhood, out to AlphaCent and back.

__________

“How’s she handle, Mister Sulu?”

“Like a dream, Captain. Though I’m finding some of the Ops datastream a bit sluggish.

“I can confirm that, Keptin.” Jim tried not to smile to broadly as being called “Keptin” again. He missed it. “I think the main CPU might need a good deal of fine-tuning. And some of the other readouts show glitches as well.”

“It goes with bein’ a new ship, gentlemen,” Scotty piped in from his new engine room. “I’ve seen it before. And if they’re askin' us to do the shakedown cruise, we’re all goin' to see it a lot.”

“You’d rather they get someone else to do it, Mister Scott,” Jim asked.

“Not on yer life, Captain.” A new challenge for the old engineer, no doubt.

“Mister Uhura, patch us through to AlphaCent Flight Control. Arrange for an orbit at Cent-VII. Oh, and see if you can get through to Dulcimer’s Bistro in Cochranetown. I think we’ve earned a decent meal.”

"Yes, Sir," Uhura said with a big smile. "And is the captain buying?"

"No, I think this one is on Bones."

"What are you talking about, Jim?" The good doctor, who had been sitting at an empty station and staying quiet, made his presence known.

"Six months ago you bet me that at least the two of us would end up in prison. I think I took that bet."

"You weren't serious. I wasn't serious!" Bones was on his feet, but he knew he wouldn't win.

"Dulcimer's isn't that pricey. And I'm sure you can afford it on a ship's surgeon's salary."

"I should have retired again when I had the chance."

Spock stood silently at his station, observing. Humans, it seemed, still fascinated him.

The ship made orbit around 2 pm local time in Cochranetown, impulse engines handling perfectly. "My friends, I will meet you in the transporter room in 10 minutes." Jim rose, told the turbolift to the ship's observation deck, and stared at the starscape. He was home.

Fleet Admiral Lucius George Cartwright did not have an easy time of it in his first three months as Commander of Starfleet. Replacing the disgraced Fleet Admiral Morrow in the wake of the theft and destruction of Enterprise, Cartwright was left to clean that mess up, prepare for possible war with the Klingons, and oversee an accelerated program of starship refits and construction. He never doubted that he could face the challenges of the post, but he was tired constantly, rarely saw his family, and wondered if anyone in the Federation Council ever listened to him.

When the Whalesong Incident and its aftermath took control of his life, he was almost grateful. Yes, there would be pressure from all corners to coordinate relief efforts, to repair damaged ships, and to provide answers regarding the Probe, but no one would give him grief about anything else. For a week. But once the situation was, if not normal, at least stable, he had hard choices to to make about how many ships to send to the Neutral Zone (in case the Klingons got any ideas about a weakened Earth or Starfleet), which starships would get priority refits, and what to do with James T. Kirk. There were times Cartwright longed to be back on Starbase duty.

It didn't help his mood when he received a communique from the Federation President about the Kirk situation. Till this point, the President stayed out of Cartwright's path, as he had with Morrow and with Starfleet in general. But now, he was getting involved, and made it clear that it would be "in the best interests of the Federation and Starfleet" to move Kirk's trial from Starfleet authority to that of the Council itself. There was nothing Cartwright could do. Oh, he could protest to the President, or to the Commander-in-Chief. But a protest to any civilian authority carried the risk of being insubordinate, and a protest to the CinC would be ignored. (Cartwright was of the opinion that his superior was little more than a figurehead these days, content to tour the quadrant and leave him all the work.) So he kept his mouth shut.

It wasn't that Kirk didn't deserve some praise for his actions. Or that he would throw the book at a man with a record as long and glorious as James T. Kirk. But Cartwright knew how things would likely go. Instead of a discharge from the service, Kirk would probably get a slap on the wrist and maybe a demotion, and then go right on being the public face of Starfleet. Here would be the image all of the Federation saw: a rule-breaker, a renegade who undermined discipline even while seemingly teaching it, a symbol of Starfleet as adventurers and not as sober-minded, dedicated beings of both thought and action. Yes, there was a place for men like Kirk. But that place was under the command of those who would restrain him. And anticipate his behavior. (Morrow earned his forced exit in Cartwright's view by not seeing the possibilities of Kirk's actions.)

Clearly, the problem lay not with Kirk. He took advantage of the system that existed. He'd be a fool not to. No, the problem was in that civilian authority misunderstood Starfleet. Misunderstood the rules, and the roles, and the mission. And while Cartwright knew that the system required he accept the chain of command established in a democratic state centuries ago, he began to doubt the long-term capability of the Federation Council to do what was right instead of what was expedient.

For the moment, he placed his concerns aside. And had his aide send a message to Admiral Kirk and his crew, informing them that the Federation Council was exercising its right to transfer jurisdiction of a court martial from Starfleet to itself, and that a date for a hearing on the matter would be set shortly.

-----

Jim stared at the screen. He tried not to gape. But he was totally silent for three minutes before Antonia asked what was wrong.

"Nothing's wrong. Nothing at all." And for the first time in months, he allowed himself to hope.

Later, after an enjoyable dinner and a walk in the cool of the evening, Jim wondered if Cartwright was having kittens over this decision. He allowed himself a tiny smile about this before putting it out of his mind.

The alien probe had left. The storms abated, the seas calmed, and the power grid reactivated. The Earth was saved. And James T. Kirk was a hero.

------

Within three hours of the probe's departure, at least eight divisions of Starfleet had named the event the Whalesong Incident. That name spread fast through the fleet, and to the media and the public. It would be under that name it would be known to future generations. And it would be that name that would appear on countless memos and reports over the next year.

Earth had taken a serious blow. In terms of the human toll, it wasn't nearly as bad as it could have been. Thousands were injured or killed by the storms or by power failures in life support systems and aircar engines. But the engineering trend of building tech with redundant features and back-up power sources bore itself out, and situations that could have been fatal were merely hazardous. Still, many hospitals were overwhelmed, and United Earth Medical and Starfleet Medical spend days moving personnel and equipment around the globe.

In terms of the infrastructure, things were not as good. Unlike the Xindi Incursion, which killed millions but only impacted the Florida Peninsula, the effects were felt everywhere. Storm damage kept repair crews occupied for months, most notably at the Thames and Everglades Seawalls. Efforts made in the 21st century to mitigate global warming needed to be recreated in some regions, though the upgrade that this required was perceived by some as a major benefit. Millions had to be evacuated short-term, thousands for most of the next year. Under-utilized space stations became filled to capacity, and a few younger colonies on Luna and Mars had population booms.

Earth's technological infrastructure was more easily repaired, but at a cost of several million credits devoted to restoring any data lost during the incident. Back-up systems and servers functioned as they were supposed to, but unforeseen compatibility issues and internal miscommunication between UE, UFP and Starfleet officials and private information services complicated things.

The greatest damage, though, was in space. While Luna was outside the scope of the probe's energies, thousands of ships in its wake were affected. Many ships - mainly those of the fleet and of Terran and Martian defense and law enforcement - were able to find some way to maintain life support but a few lost many or all crew. Older freighters and passenger vessels fared worse, and the grim task of towing derelict ships home fell to Terran defense. At least one freighter relied too much on its force fields for shielding, and was left vulnerable to the meteor that destroyed it, and one small passenger ship lost altitude and burned up on reentry over the Pacific.

Despite all this, despite the challenges that would keep a world busy, Earth was in a functional state in two weeks. The memorials for those lost were held, the plans for rebuilding were made, help poured from across the Federation, and life moved on.

------

It didn't hurt that Earth had a hero. It was true that many were scared of a probe that came and left and that could easily return again. And that some mourned for all that mankind let be lost during the extinctions of the past. "We brought this on ourselves," a few would say.

But most fixated on the sudden arrival of a Klingon warship piloted by the crew of the most successful of all starships. Was it true, they asked, that Kirk had traveled back in time? Where did he get that ship? Was he really a traitor, or was that all a cover? Where was Kirk, anyway?

From the minute he arrived to a standing ovation at Starfleet headquarters, Jim wanted to run back to Vulcan. After the first five year mission, he had dodged his moderate amount of fame by letting them promote him and then shield him from the public. Admirals were never as acclaimed as captains. (Was that why he took the promotion? He hoped not.) After he faced V'ger, he ran away from any acclaim by taking his ship as far away as he could go, and convincing Starfleet to let him have another five year mission. That was long enough for everyone to forget him. But this time, there was little hope of avoiding it.

So naturally, after a lengthy debriefing, followed by a curt request that he not leave the planet again, Jim fled to Yosemite. "Jim, you can't just go," Bones declared as though Jim were out of his mind to escape the media and the officials and the extra scrutiny. (Jim thought that Bones secretly liked being in the spotlight so he could tell everyone off.) "Why not? Everyone is too busy cleaning up to care right now. I'm sure when they're ready to throw the book at us, they'll let me know. Till then, I am going to get some rest. And maybe after that I'll call the PIO." Jim knew very well that the Public Information Officer was going to hate being left to her own devices. He didn't care.

And so he left San Francisco behind, as well as his crew. He told them to all go home, to slide off the viewscreen and let Starfleet pick a time to call the hearing. Till then, they'd all earned a break. They'd all earned the adulation he was getting, in fact, but he was aware that it would never happen. There are captains and they is everyone else, and never mind that he was not a captain in rank. The people knew the truth.

He arrived at Yosemite in a rented aircar, as the sun was setting. Just seeing the place made him feel better, calmer. Temporal anomalies disguised as bars and as Scottish woods could be useful, but this was the only place he could relax. All he needed to do was get inside, place an order for some food, and call Antonia. It had been such a whirlwind that he still hadn't found a moment to call her. That would change now, he told himself.

But he never made that call. For standing at the door was a tall, somewhat stocky woman in early middle age with curly blonde hair, shiny brown eyes, and a smile as wide as the Grand Canyon. "Welcome home, hero," she said as she threw her arms around Jim and kissed him.

They might be some benefits to being a legend, he thought as he closed the door...

Jim looked up at the night sky. Vulcan was close enough to Earth that he could find the stars he knew his whole life with ease. And even some of the constellations were there. But it wasn't Earth's sky. So he would study it one last night.

He wouldn't miss Vulcan. He never missed any of the worlds he visited, never even missed Earth. The stars were his home. But he would always give a thought to this harsh world for sheltering him. Jim only knew one Vulcan well till now. The months spent with Sarek and his entourage expanded his sesne of this race. For all their claims of absolute logic and self-control, they were still capable of great passion. Applied logically, of course. That they would stand up to Starfleet, that they would go to the lengths they had for Spock and for Spock's friends, that surprised him. And impressed him.

And he began to see how Amanda Grayson could leave Earth for Sarek and his world. No, Sarek was not as prone to moments of unexpected emotion and pride the way Spock was. But there was, under that reserve, a love for his son and for his wife that Amanda clearly saw. He envied them a little. Even were he to marry Antonia, he doubted there would be the same bond.

Jim tried to find the one star he couldn't see from Earth. Not at night, anyway. He remembered the first time he found Sol from space, a raw cadet on his first training voyage. Over thirty years earlier, on the Stalwart. Then, as now, the Homestar, the center of man's universe from the time of Copernicus and Galileo till that of Edwin Hubble, was just another star. And Earth? Well, it wasn't even visible. He wasn't sure how much it counted for.

Tomorrow, he would return to that planet. His best guess? He would not leave it again for some time. And though Antonia was there, though friends and colleagues were there, he would give anything to change this fate. Anything but what he gave to create it.

He lay back on the sands of Vulcan and looked for Sirius, then Polaris, and finally Rigel.