Star Trek Into Darkness by Alan Dean Foster
When he could speak again, Kirk replied, “No more than usual.” The image of the grinning doctor seemed to waver, then solidify afresh. “How’d you catch him?”
“I didn’t.”
As McCoy moved to one side, Kirk was able to see to the back of the hospital room. Another figure was standing there. As it now came nearer, it gradually moved into focus.
Captain and first officer regarded each other.
“You saved my life,” Kirk murmured, gazing up at his friend.
“You saved my life, Captain. And the lives of the entire crew and . . . ”
“Spock, just—thank you.”
There was only McCoy present to bear witness to the Vulcan’s reply, and to be shocked by it.
“You are welcome, Jim.”
* * *
Already locked in cryosleep, the body of the individual known as Khan was lowered into the capsule. No words were spoken as the cover was shut and sealed and the interior filled with an appropriate mixture of common and rare gases. Through the single transparent port, the eyes of the man imprisoned within stared out at a universe with which he could no longer interact. Could no longer affect. Could no longer harm.
Bored technicians moved the tube through a number of corridors until they reached the vault. High and imposing, it was filled with similar capsules: some contemporary, some of more ancient vintage. Save for the fact that those entombed within were not technically dead, it had the feel of a massive and little-visited crypt. The new visitor was placed in line next to a number of similarly occupied capsules. All looked alike—all seventy-two of them.
The technicians paused to make certain that the instrumentation responsible for maintaining the internal temperature of the new capsule was identical to that of the many hundreds surrounding it. Once they were satisfied, they departed. There was another arrival scheduled for later in the day, and they did not want it to overlap and interfere with their afternoon break.
High, heavy doors closed automatically behind them, sealing off much more than they knew.
* * *
The squadron came in low and fast above the city, flying in the missing-man formation. Only when they had passed and the six-person honor guard had completed the ceremony of formally folding the blue-and-white Starfleet flag did the man at the podium begin to speak to the assembled Starfleet personnel and civilians solemnly seated in the open square before him. Clad in the full dress uniform of a captain of the fleet, a fully recovered James Kirk spoke firmly and without hesitation.
“We are gathered here to pay our respects to fallen friends and family. We take solace in the knowledge that we honor those who lost their lives doing what they believed was right. And no matter what path they took, we hope that in death they can find forgiveness.”
Seated nearby, Carol Marcus raised a handkerchief to her eyes. Her father . . . Kirk’s words evoked the memory not of what he had become, but of what he had once been. For that as much as for her life, she was grateful.
“There will always be those who mean us harm,” Kirk continued. “We can never know from where or from whom those threats will emerge. But we have to take them as they come. Not long ago, Christopher Pike asked me what it meant to be the captain of a starship. At the time, I was unable to see that a captain takes responsibility for his mistakes as completely and wholly as he does his successes. That is the only way he can ever become—better.” He paused a moment to look out across the sea of faces that gazed back at him, silent and respectful not only of what he was saying, but of the man who was saying them. It was a new sensation for the speaker.
“We can all be better,” he went on, acutely aware of the importance of the moment. “That is the ideal upon which Starfleet was founded. It is who we are. It is what we must be again.”
Maybe it was because of all he had been forced to go through. Maybe it was because he had actually died. But the James T. Kirk who solemnly greeted Starfleet personnel and civilians alike following the services was not the same man who had steered forth the Starship Enterprise on its most recent voyage. The boldness, the inescapable tendency to impetuosity: All of that was still there, but now it was leavened by a new maturity. It was a strange feeling, but it felt . . . right.
EPILOGUE
Entering the bridge, Kirk grinned at the sight of Hikaru Sulu sitting in the command chair. The lieutenant started slightly at the captain’s salutation.
“Hard to get it out of your system once you’ve had a taste. Isn’t that right, Mr. Sulu?”
Hurrying to vacate the seat, Sulu adopted a wry smile as he moved to the helmsman’s station. “ ‘Captain’ does have a nice ring to it. Chair’s all yours, sir.”
Kirk settled himself into the now-familiar seat. There had been a time when he had been mildly reluctant to do so. No longer. Now he occupied the space as if he owned it. He would forever respect the chair.
Leaning slightly forward, he addressed the chair pickup. “Mr. Scott, how’s our core?”
The response came back without hesitation. “Purrin’ like a kitten, Captain,” the chief assured him, as nearby, Keenser moved to his duty station. “She’s ready for a long journey.”
“Excellent,” Kirk replied. Leaving the command station, he favored McCoy with a friendly clap on both arms. “Come on, Bones— It’s gonna be fun.”
“Five years in space,” the doctor growled under his breath. “God help me.”
“Dr. Marcus,” Kirk said to the woman seated at the secondary science station, “I’m glad you could be part of the family.”
She smiled warmly back at him. Very warmly. “Nice to have a family, Captain.” As he smiled broadly and headed back toward his chair, she followed him with her eyes, her thoughts her own.
Kirk halted beside his second-in-command.
“So. Where should we go, Spock?”
“As a mission of this duration has never before been attempted, I defer to your good judgment, Captain.” Turning and walking away, he returned to his own station.
Taking a seat, Kirk gazed anew out the forward port.
“Mr. Sulu—take us out.”
“Aye, Captain.”
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