Part One
SPACEDOCK, EARTH
2293 Old Earth Date
ONE
In the captain's quarters aboard the Enterprise-A the
nautical clock chimed, breaking the silence to softly
mark the passage of time. James Kirk paused over the
suitcase open on his bunk, neatly folded civilian tunic in
hand, and straightened to listen. As he did, a second
clock--an antique mantelpiece, cased in polished dark
cherry and wound for the first time in years, specially for
this occasion--began to strike the hour.
Nineteen hundred hours. Spock and McCoy would be
arriving soon to accompany him on the long gauntlet of
traditional firewatch parties--the crew's celebration of
the last night aboard a vessel at the end of a long
mission.
Nineteen hundred hours, the sound of time moving
inexorably onward. The night had already begun and
would move all too swiftly to its inevitable conclusion.
Kirk dropped the tunic inside the suitcase and moved
over to the bulkhead to press a control, key in a code. A
panel slid up, and he retrieved a handful of small cases,
each of which hid a medal. He did not stop to examine
them, but placed them carefully in the suitcase, just as he
had done a handful of times before in his life, when he
had taken leave of the captain's quarters in the very
same fashion and wondered whether it might be his last.
He had wondered a lifetime ago, when he was still
young and the first starship named Enterprise had
returned to spacedock at the end of her five-year mis-
sion. He had been angry then at the realization that
Admiral Nogura was determined to force him into
accepting a promotion to the admiralty, and a desk job.
Now there was no anger, no frustration--only sadness
and an overwhelming sense of loss. And a faint stirring
of pride at the memory of when, all those years ago, he
had fought to get his ship back--had taken on
Heihachiro Nogura, the head of Starfleet himself, and
won.
This time, Kirk did not wonder whether this would be
the last night he would stand aboard the Enterprise as
her captain. There could be no doubt that it was. He and
the ship were both to be decommissioned, along with the
senior bridge crew: Spock, McCoy, Uhura--even Scot-
ty, who had chosen to take retirement rather than
remain in Starfleet without the opportunity to serve with
this particular crew.
There could be no more gambits, no more ploys to get
his ship back, to stave off the inevitable. He had ex-
hausted them all; and now he himself was exhausted
after fighting so many years to keep his command. He
absently massaged an aching muscle in his back, recently
injured while working in the mines on the Klingon penal
colony of Rura Penthe. He had not been able to bring
himself to trouble McCoy about it; it would have been
an admission of the truthmthat he was getting too old to
withstand the rigors of the captaincy.
He looked about for something else to pack, reached
for a holo on the dresser, and gazed into the smiling
countenance of his and Carol's son, David. David, too,
had fallen prey to time some years before, when he died
at Klingon hands. Kirk gently set the picture back down,
beside the mantel clock and antique paper book set aside
for the occasion. David's holo was always the first thing
he set in a cabin to make it his own, the last thing he
packed before leaving. It would stay on his dresser until
morning, when he packed it along with his captain's
uniform.
The intercom whistled; he winced at the twinge of
pain in his back as he wheeled abruptly to punch the
toggle and respond. "Kirk here."
A familiar feminine voice filtered through the grid.
"Uhura, Captain. I--"
He interrupted, "I thought you were supposed to be
on your way to a firewatch party, Commander."
"I am, sir." He could hear her smile. "But I had a few
minutes left, and I wanted to spend them on duty."
"Understood," Kirk said softly.
"Sir, the subspace interference has eased. I was finally
able to clear a channel to Starbase Twenty-three. I can
even get you that visual now--but I'm warning you, the
reception isn't that great."
"Uhura, you're a marvel."
"I know, sir."
"Patch it through to my quarters." Aware of the
sudden rapidity of his heartbeat, he strode over to the
viewer and watched a burst of visual static on the screen.
It resolved itself into the greenish and slightly fritzed
image of Carol Marcus, against a setting Jim recognized
as her hospital bed on the starbase. He had visited her
4 5
there once, before he was called away to what the media
were already calling the Khitomer mission--his and the
Enterprise-A's final mission. Carol had been almost
fatally wounded in an apparent Klingon attack; she had
been unconscious his entire stay, and he had left fearful
that he would never see her again.
He had promised himself that, if and when he had
another chance to speak to her, it would be to say that he
was coming home to her, never again to leave. The pain
of losing the Enterprise was eased by knowing that Carol
was all right, that she would be waiting for him.
"Carol?" The words came out in a rush. "Carol, thank
God, you have no idea how good it is to see you awake.
When I left you, I was so afraid--"
She spoke at the same time. "Jim. Oh, God, Jim, they
said the Klingons charged you with Gorkon's murder
and shipped you off to that terrible prison. I was so
afraid--"
They both broke off at the same instant and laughed
gently, delightedly. "It looks like you survived," Carol
said at last. It was hard to tell with the bad reception, but
she seemed the same shade of pastel green as her
normally golden hair, as the pillows propped behind
her--which gave him the impression that she was
terribly pale. Yet she seemed herself, and in her lap lay a
padd; she had been sitting up working.
He grinned. "Always. How about you?"
"Doctor tells me I can be out of here in a day, at most
two. So you're really all right?"
"I'm all right. Just out of a job, starting tomorrow. I'm
sitting in spacedock, Carol. They're decommissioning
us." He tried to sound cavalier, but the heaviness came
through despite his efforts.
IAK 1 Kr, ik wdr',l]ElXAl iL/l,lo
Her smile faded; she was silent a beat, then said, "I'm
truly sorry, Jim."
"It's not like I didn't see it coming." He shrugged and
ú '' O
managed a hghter tone. S ... what are you going to be
doing in a day or two?"
She brightened and straightened in her seat; he fan-
cied he detected a gleam of intensity in her eyes, the one
she always got when speaking about work that was
important to her. "I'm going to rebuild the Themis
research station, Jim. Now that things with the Klingons
are settling down--"
He cut her off. "Carol, you almost died. It's time to
take things easy, not to rush into a massive undertak-
ing."
Her lip quirked with fond exasperation. "You're one
to talk. How many times have you almost been killed?
And still I couldn't hold you back from that damned
ship of yours with a tractor beam--"
"Well, you've got the opportunity now." He tried to
keep the irony he felt from his tone. "I've got time on my
hands now. And I want to spend it with you."
"Well, of course. You know I'm always glad to see you,
Jim. But it won't be much of a vacation on Themis.
There's nothing to see except a scorched research
station .... "
"Dammit," he said lightly, "could you help me out
little here? I'm not talking about a weekend on
while you workú I'm talking about a honeymoon."
She released a startled little laugh, and despite
fuzzy reception, seemed to color a bit. "Jim,"
admonished, smiling, and with that one word
to convey, You're joking, right?
"I'm serious," he said. "Don't tell me you haven't
6 7
been expecting this." He had thought it had been clear to
her; he tried now vainly to recall the conversation, the
precise words they had used to state that they would
marry once he retired, but the specific memory eluded
him.
"I haven't been expecting this." Her smile vanished,
replaced by an expression of concern. "Jim, you know
the time we spend together is special to me, but... we
never said anything about legalities."
"I'm saying it now. I love you, Carol. I always thought
we'd be together once I retired. That we'd settle down.
You even said Marcuslabs could use someone like
me--"
"As for Marcuslabs, I'll hire you in a heartbeat, if you
want. You're someone with connections who could go all
over the galaxy facilitating the creation of new research
stations. Plenty of travel, a chance to practice your
diplomacy. But I wouldn't be able to travel with you."
She let go a long breath. "Jim, I love you, but you
couldn't settle down if you wanted to. You'll be on the
move, restless, looking for excitement until the day you
die. If you're suggesting we buy a little condo somewhere
and take up housekeeping--it'd be death for both of
US."
"I see," he said quietly.
"Jim, don't be hurt."
"No... no, you're right," he admitted weakly; what
was worse, he meant it. Somewhere, in the deepest
recesses of his mind, he had seen this very scene played
out before, had known it was coming--yet he still felt as
though the deck had been pulled from under his feet.
"I'm not hurt, just... tired. Looking for someplace to
rest. It's been a tough last mission."
"Then come see me. We should talk."
Behind him, the door chimed. He glanced toward it,
then back at Carol. "I have to go. Firewatch parties."
"I love you, Jim."
He touched the screen as if to take her hand, to hold
on to her--on to the present, but he could sense her and
time slipping away from him, like the ship on which he
stood.
The screen darkened; Kirk turned toward the door
and said, "Come."
Spock entered, carrying two packages--a smaller
stacked atop a larger, both precisely wrapped in colored
paper. He hesitated, looking reserved and somewhat
awkward, just inside the door.
"What's this?" Kirk gestured with feigned surprise at
packages.
th'e'A gift, sir." Spock handed him the larger box.
"Perhaps it is not the custom; but it seemed...
somehow appropriate to mark the end of our years of
service together."
Kirk smiled faintly, touched, and sat on his bunk to
open it. He removed the paper carefully; inside the box,
swathed in tissue, was a gleaming brass-and-polished-
wood sextant--a centuries-old tool sailors once used to
navigate by the stars.
"To help me find my way?" Kirk asked lightly, running
his fingers over it in admiration. "Spock--thank you.
It's beautiful ...." ,, ,,
As he spoke, the door chimed once more. Come,
Jim said, and McCoy entered.
There was a wide grin on the doctor's face and two
dust-covered flagons in his arms; but to Jim, the smile
seemed forced. Purple shadows had gathered beneath
McCoy's ice blue eyes; he looked as haggard as Kirk felt
after the hardships endured on Rura Penthe.
My God, Jim thought. He ~ old... and so am I.
"Well," McCoy said cheerfully, holding up the flasks.
"I see the Vulcan beat me to it. I, too, came bearing
gifts."
"Two bottles? I hope they're both for me." Kirk
squinted at them, wishing he had his spectacles.
"Not in the least." The doctor lifted one and blew on
the label; Kirk raised his hands to protect himself from
the approaching cloud of dust. "This one's oldest, so it's
yours."
Kirk took the bottle and smiled at the date on the
label.
"For auld lang syne," said McCoy, with the slightest
quaver in his voice; or was it Jim's imagination? "And
this one--"
He blew on the second bottle's label and handed it to
Spock.
"Why, Dr. McCoy," the Vulcan said with mild sur-
prise. "This is alcohol."
"Good old-fashioned Saurian brandy, to be precise,"
the doctor said with gusto. "Drink it and remember
me--and the importance of loosening up once in a
while."
"I shall," Spock replied. "If you will attempt to recall
the importance of logic when you gaze upon this." He
proffered McCoy the smaller package.
McCoy unwrapped it and lifted out a palm-sized circle
of burnished metal, on which was etched an intricate
maze of geometric design. He frowned at it. "It's lovely,
Spock .... But... what is it?"
"A Vulcan mandala. One contemplates it to quiet the
10
mind and emotions, in preparation for the reception of
logic."
"Oh. Thank you." McCoy slipped it into his jacket
pocket. "I'll be sure to look at it every time I need a little
logic. Now that you won't be around to provide it for
me...
"Gentlemen." Kirk rose and went over to the dresser.
"I'm no good at wrapping things, but... these are for
you." He handed the small paper book to Spock.
Spock looked down at the book and allowed the
merest ghost of a smile to pass over his features.
"Horatio Hornblower. Thank you, Captain." "To remember me by," Jim said.
McCoy lifted a brow. "Don't you think Don Juan
would have been a little more appropriate?"
"Watch your tongue, Doctor, or I'll keep your pres-
ent," Kirk retorted, gesturing toward the mantel clock.
"I was tempted to keep it anyway." He opened the
crystal face and set the minute hand back to the hour;
the clock began again to chime, a rich, melodic sound
that echoed faintly off the bulkheads.
Lips parted with delight, McCoy listened, clearly
enchanted.
"To remember the good times." Kirk smiled.
"Jim... it's beautiful. I think that's the finest present
anyone's ever given me--with the exception of my
grandkids, of course." The doctor's expression grew
suddenly somber as he gazed up at his friends. "I can't
imagine what life will be like without you two. It isn't
...
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