The BLTS Archive - The Hands We Are Dealt
by Francesca (mandelbrotset@my-deja.com)

---

Response to the challenge to write a story with two different
timelines, or two different versions of one character.

Disclaimer: I own nothing.  Paramount owns everything.  (Ok,
everything Star Trek related).  I own a few non-Trek things, like a
teddy bear and a fish tank.

Feedback: PLEASE   *any* feedback, good or bad, is desired. Send it to
either the list or my email address.

---

The howl of the wind drives the fear deeper.

I shiver and look across the barren plain in front of me.  Where
before I could just make out the roofs of our temporary base, there is
now only more dust.  Where before I could hear the distant murmur of
equipment, and sometimes even voices, there is only the hollow howling
of the wind.

I shiver again.

I am afraid to use the communicator in my hand, even though I know
eventually I must.  This is what I wanted.  I knew the risks. Why,
then, am I trembling? Why am I scared *now*, when it is too late?

I did what was right, I know it.  Oh, I didn't do what was *legally*
right; but a person can't always be bound by that.  Sometimes you have
to listen to the higher dictates of your conscience.  And I just
couldn't find it in myself to let a man who had done so much for me --
for all of us -- suffer as he had, not if I had it in me to stop it.

For a moment, I close my eyes, forget the howling wind, forget my
fear, and remember....

---

Captain James Kirk fascinated me from the moment I stepped aboard the
ship he commanded.  Ok, I'll admit it; he fascinated me long before
that, ever since I had first met him when I was ten and he was
thirteen. He didn't know me then, but I knew him.  Well, I knew *of*
him. Everyone on Tarsus knew of him. He was the one that had managed
to send the distress signal to Starfleet, and he was the one that had
helped save many hundreds of colonists.  I met him personally just
once, in the recreation room of one of the great starships at Tarsus
with the relief effort; even to my ten year old eyes, he looked weary,
burdened with responsibilities too much for any man, pain too much for
any soul.

I hadn't known what to do, struggling as I was with my own pain.  I
remember I shyly offered him the toy I had been trying to play  with.
It was all I had to offer. We didn't exchange any words, and I hadn't
seen him again until a week ago.

The thirteen year old boy I knew originally was almost hidden behind
the golden-haired man I met now, but I could still discern the same
burdens of duty and pain lining his eyes. It was subtle, but you don't
get to be one of Starfleet's top Special Intelligence agents by being
unobservant. Plus, James Kirk has been a ... special interest of mine
ever since I was ten.  Even though I had only studied him from afar, I
was incredibly attuned to the smallest of his emotional shifts.

Naturally, I didn't make it at all obvious what I was thinking, and I
didn't have to fake my delight at seeing him in person.  He was as
considerate and charming as I would have expected, but quite guarded.
And although his eyes were friendly, he couldn't really hide the
exhaustion and pain behind them.

I wasn't really surprised to see those emotions, though.  I knew he
had a brother on Deneva that had been killed only a month ago. And I
could read between at least *some* of the lines of his confidential
report regarding the Guardian.  I don't know what Kirk felt for the
Edith Keeler woman, but it couldn't have been *easy* to stand by and
allow a wonderful woman to die merely because of duty.

Why must the best of us always make the greatest sacrifices?

These thoughts plagued me for the entire five-day long journey from
Earth orbit to the Guardian of Forever.  Soon after receiving Kirk's
report, Starfleet had determined that the Guardian was so exceedingly
dangerous that preliminary study of it had best be carried out only
under the most rigid of secrecy.  In fact, rather than tell others of
the presence of the Guardian, Starfleet sent Kirk and the officers who
had been there, with me and three other "specialists" in tow.  We were
all ostensibly on indefinite shore leave, and our ship   an
about-to-be-decommissioned heavy cruiser -- had just been
decommissioned "a little early."  My job was to determine if the
Guardian could be safely studied, or if it had to be quarantined
entirely by Starfleet.

Kirk, although he was unaware of the particulars of my orders, clearly
hated this mission -- though he thought I couldn't tell.  He spent
much of his time in his makeshift quarters alone, or playing chess
with the Vulcan.  When he was in public, I rarely saw glimpses of the
laughter or charm for which he is famous.  To be honest, I was a
little disappointed, because I was looking forward to this opportunity
to get to know Kirk the person, not just Kirk the hero.  But mainly I
was saddened.

Why do the best of us have to make such great sacrifices?

My thoughts only turned farther a few days ago, when I overheard a
conversation between him and the Vulcan Spock.  I had been trying to
reconfigure the on-board computer to upload the latest archives from
the old-style video libraries on Memory Alpha.  They are a weakness of
mine, and I figured as long as I wasn't using the time to get to know
Kirk, I could at least entertain myself some other way.  So, anyway, I
was sprawled out underneath the main console in the hole of a
recreation room this ship had, when in walked Kirk and Spock.  They
didn't see me, and as soon as I could hear what they were saying, I
could no longer reveal myself.  It was a very private conversation.

" - I don't know, Spock," Kirk was saying spiritlessly.  "I sometimes
wonder if it's all worth it, all this, I mean."

"Explain, Jim."  The Vulcan's voice was deep and concerned.  Even I
could tell that, and I can't read Vulcans very well at all.

There was a big sigh, but no response.  Just when I had decided that
Kirk was not going to reply, I heard -- barely audibly -- "Sam is
dead. Edith is dead. You -- you almost died."

Huh?  When did Spock almost die?  Maybe my research hadn't been as
good as I had thought.

"But I am not dead, Jim," the deep voice reminded him.  Did I detect a
note of guilt in those stentorian tones?  "Thanks to you."

"I know.  But for how long?  This life we lead makes that a luxury,
not something I can count on.  I'm an old man, Spock, and I'm only 33.
I've lost too much.  I don't know if I can face losing more."

So much pain in that voice, so much pain.

Spock again. "You are the bravest man I know, Jim.  I do not doubt
that you will always find it in yourself to do what must be done and
to pay whatever price is required."

A quiet choke, then.  "But what if I don't *want* to pay a price
anymore? What if all I want is to settle down, not risk my family and
everyone I love every day by just doing what I do?  What if I'm not
*willing* to risk it any more?"

Spock's voice was almost inaudible.  "Are you really, Jim?  Do you
really see yourself living that way?"

A groan, then.  "I don't know.  I just don't know anymore.  I *do*
know I don't want to see you and Bones die, too.  Or have to make a
decision like I had to with Edith again.  And I know that eventually I
*will* have to."

"I will not die."

"You're pretty damn sure of that."

"If I die it will be living the life I want to live, in the way I want
to live it, next to the only people I want to live it with.  I can ask
for nothing more."

I could scarcely breathe.  Was this a *Vulcan* saying these words?  I
mean, I had known Kirk and Spock were reputedly very close friends
but Spock was damn near *passionate* when he said that.  Emotive,
even.

There was a long silence, then Kirk broke it again.  "Thank you," he
said softly.  "I don't know if it persuades me -- at least not
emotionally, where it counts -- but thank you.  For being here."

My nose was beginning to itch.  And I was *dying* to be able to see
them, not just hear them. But I couldn't move without them hearing.

And I was thinking again, as I had so often these past few days ...
why did he have to suffer so much?  Was there nothing I could do?  I
thought about it all during the interminable time under the console as
I waited for Kirk and Spock to finish sitting in silence and leave the
room.  I thought of it the whole next day as I studied, for the third
time, what little we knew about the Guardian of Forever.  And I
thought about it in my bunk at night, unable to sleep. I thought about
it continuously, and those thoughts brought me here.

---

Another gust of wind shook me out of my reverie.  The unopened
communicator glittered balefully in the feeble light of this planet's
sun.  /Get in control of yourself/, I told myself fiercely.  /You made
a decision -- now at least be strong enough to face its consequences/.

My heart in my throat, I signaled with the communicator.  Nothing
happened.

/Damn, oh damn/, I thought frantically.  /Either it's broken, or this
timeline is so different that communicator technology is radically
changed/.  The sinking feeling in my stomach was so severe it seemed
to drop all the way to my toes.

I tried the communicator again, and the blessed sound of its twitter
filled my ears.  Must've been so nervous the first time that I opened
it wrong. I almost didn't hear the sound of the voice welcoming me
because of the wash of relief that flooded my body.

"Enterprise here," the unfamiliar voice was saying, sounding puzzled.
"Please identify yourself."

The Enterprise, eh?  Not the heavy cruiser we had come in?  My
butterflies, which had just started to subside, fluttered anew. "This
is Specialist Araken," I said, trying to sound more confident than I
was.

A long pause, then a new voice, tough and gravelly.  I didn't
recognize this one either.  "Specialist Araken, what is your
affiliation?"

"What do you mean?" I asked uncertainly, feeling my assumptions
shifting under me like quicksand.  Why didn't they recognize me?
/Tell them as little as possible/.  "I'm a specialist under the
jurisdiction of the United Federation of Planets," I said, feeling my
way cautiously.  "May I speak with Captain Kirk?"

Another pause, even longer, during which the wind seemed to blow even
through my bones.  Then, to my great relief, the world disappeared in
a haze of golden sparkles.

I re-formed on a transporter pad looking very little different from
the one I had left, and for a wild second I dared hope that little had
changed after all.  The beings staring at me, though, quickly
dispelled that thought.  I recognized the Vulcan, Spock, little
changed -- although his gaze was certainly colder than I remembered.
But aside from him and Dr. McCoy, the room was full of strangers: a
thin, wiry man wore captain's gold.  His face was lined and grooved,
his eyes dark and darting.  Not unfriendly, but he definitely seemed
to meet the world with caution and cunning.  This, then, was probably
the owner of the gravelly voice.

I barely spared him and the other strangers a glance, however, because
my gaze was riveted on Dr. McCoy.  I remembered a vibrant, gentle man
with compassionate blue eyes, one who had become a tentative friend
over the course of our journey. I could now barely recognize that in
the crippled, disfigured man in front of me.  Hideous scar tissue
covered an entire half of his face, and he stood as if merely holding
the posture hurt.  Only his eyes were as I remembered -- brilliant
blue and compassionate as ever, but now that compassion was laced with
something else: fatigue, perhaps? Disillusionment?  I couldn't tell.

With a start, I realized that I had been staring for unforgivably
long. I drew myself up.  "Sir," I nodded at the man in gold, "I...
seem to be unexpected.  I am Specialist Araken."

The man stood, his black eyes missing nothing, before nodding stiffly.
"I am Captain Corley.  This is my First Officer Spock, CMO Dr. McCoy,
Engineer Koza, and Communications Officer Rawthak."

I managed to nod to each before the sheer unreality of this hit me
again. What had I done?  I attempted my most charming smile.  "You
must be wondering where I come from," I tried.

The captain's eyes didn't waver.  "Frankly, yes," he said bluntly.
"Our sensors just picked up your life sign a few minutes before you
signaled us."

Spock spoke up, his voice as cold and unmodulated as I had ever heard
it. "Evidence suggests that you emerged from the Guardian," he said,
appraising my response to the word.

How much was safe to tell them?  For an agonizing moment, I hesitated.
/You fool/, I berated myself. /Aren't things bad enough? Will you make
them worse by getting thrown into the brig and not figuring out
exactly what kind of universe this is?  You need their cooperation,
*not* their enmity, you idiot/.

"Yes," I finally acknowledged.  "I did."  Bite the bullet.  "I
desperately need to discuss this situation with you, sirs."

Corley nodded as Spock raised an eyebrow.  "Of course.  Spock -- could
you see that Araken is made comfortable, please?  On Deck 12."

Spock nodded and I found myself being taken by one firm Vulcan hand
and propelled outside of the transporter room.  I cooperated, only
hesitating slightly when we passed McCoy.  "Leonard," I said, the
familiar name falling out of my mouth.  "May I speak to you as well at
some point?"  I desperately wanted to talk to someone who -- at least
in the *other* reality -- had been a bit of a friend.

Leonard's eyes brightened with curiosity at my use of his personal
name, and he glanced at Corley, who nodded after a pause.
"Certainly," he said graciously.  "Although I can't promise much time
-- I'm pretty busy these days, you know."

I let myself be propelled stupidly the rest of the way out of the room
before the strangeness of that registered.  "Excuse me, Mr. Spock," I
asked.  "Why would the doctor be busy on this mission?  It's simple
research, and not medical research at that."

The Vulcan's eyebrow rose again. "Quite the contrary, Specialist," he
said, a note of surprise in his controlled voice.  "We are preparing
for tremendous casualties soon. As is the rest of the Federation."

---

The shaky feeling I had been dealing with ever since emerging from the
Guardian now felt like a permanent state of being, 15 hours later.  I
hadn't been able to sleep since arriving on this other Enterprise.
Where had I gone wrong?  The motives and ethics that had guided me
were sound, no matter how I tried to cut it.  How could something that
*helped* someone have such disastrous consequences?  How could the
universe rely so intrinsically on the sacrifice of one man?

I sighed and rested my head on the console, feeling the faint rumble
of the ship's powerful engines under my feet.  As I had assumed, my
quarters were a cross between VIP quarters and the brig; I was under
light guard, and my computer access was restricted to those portions
deemed non-essential.

Fortunately, part of my Special Intelligence training included
computer hacking.  I doubted anyone on board besides Spock was my
equal.  But I knew Spock was far too busy to be able to devote the
large amount of time necessary to decode my hacking.  I felt no qualms
of conscience; I had the best interests of the Federation at heart.

The news I was finding was not good.  I had looked up the previous
three years of this Enterprise's five-year mission.  Of the original
256 crewpeople, only 25 were still alive.  She had gone through three
captains -- one lost almost immediately, in an fight with the first
officer, who had been somehow transformed into a being with nearly
god-like powers.  That cataclysmic battle was the one responsible for
McCoy's wounds, and nearly destroyed the Enterprise. But they survived
and hobbled home -- only to have their next captain die 8 months later
in a skirmish with the First Federation.

Corley was the third captain, the last attempt of the Federation to
continue the five-year mission before lack of funding and lack of
support tabled it for good.  The Klingons, seeing the weakness of the
lead ship of the Federation, were posturing and threatening more than
ever.  But worst of all news by far was the infestation on Deneva,
which now raged, unstopped, through the Federation.  The casualties
Spock spoke so dismissingly of had already reached into the millions,
and seemed poised to grow exponentially.  The Enterprise was only at
the Guardian through a last-ditch attempt by Starfleet command to
evaluate whether or not they could avert the disaster by stopping it
in Deneva before it started.

And Kirk?  Apparently he was a private citizen living in Riverside,
Iowa. Happily married, by all reports, he had three children and was
an enormously successful entrepreneur.  He had never been to Tarsus
and never entered Starfleet Academy.

/You succeeded/, I reminded myself, but the victory echoed hollowly in
my chest.

I looked at my hand, startled to see that it was trembling.  These
past few days had certainly hurt my image of myself as a fairly
unflappable Special Intelligence officer.  But, then, the news I had
most recently seen was enough to make anyone tremble.  I -- rather,
the alternate me – was dead.  Killed at ten years of age in the famine
on Tarsus and Kodos' totalitarian control.  Apparently without Jimmy
Kirk to send a distress signal, the famine spread unchecked for three
more weeks that it was supposed to, and Kodos killed thousands more
people before he could be ultimately stopped.

The door chimed. It was probably Spock, again, coming to discuss the
situation further with me.  We hadn't covered much -- I was uncertain
how much to share about my timeline, and he certainly wasn't very
forthcoming.  Quickly I switched off the console -- no reason to give
him evidence of my hacking -- and announced "come."

But it was McCoy, his disfigured body hunched in the doorway.  I stood
quickly, motioning to a chair.  "Leonard! Please have a seat."

He slowly entered, then let himself relax in the chair.  Looking
closely, I could see that although he was certainly very scarred, his
hands moved in his lap as dexterously as ever, and his eyes were
enormously observant. They wandered over my room carefully before
coming to rest on me. "Specialist Araken," he said.

"Please... call me Pat," I said a trifle awkwardly.  "Can I get you
anything?"

His eyes never stopped analyzing me.  "I assume you know me from
whatever alternate universe you are from," he said quietly, "so you
probably know what I would like."

Ah.  A challenge. "Are you off-duty?"

He nodded his head.

"Mint julep, then," I suggested.

He smiled, and I couldn't help smiling back.  Some things were
apparently constants in every universe.

"So you guys have decided to believe me that I'm from an alternate
timeline?" I asked as ordered the ingredients from the replicator and
began to mix the drink.

He shrugged.  "Tentatively, yes.  Doesn't seem to be much better
explanation of you popping out of the Guardian like that."

I smiled again, then felt an unexpected wash of loneliness...
loneliness for the real McCoy, who would have said something very
similar. Perhaps this showed up in my expression, for Leonard asked
compassionately, "You ok?"

I closed my eyes. "Yeah, I'm fine."  Except I may have destroyed the
universe as I knew it.  "Just... it's catching up with me, is all."

His blue eyes narrowed. "If you don't mind my asking, what *were* you
trying to do with the Guardian?  That's powerful stuff to be playing
with."

"I know."  Now, more than ever, I realized that.  Then I sighed.  I
needed to start trusting someone.  "I was trying to help .. a friend."

He gave a low whistle.  "Must be quite a person if you would do *that*
to help them."

I sighed again.  "He was. Is."

"Who is he? Were you ordered to do it?"

I looked down, not able to bear seeing his quiet eyes on me.  "No," I
said painfully.  "No, I didn't, and now I really doubt that I did the
right thing."

"What did you do?"  Quietly, with no trace of judgement.  Suddenly I
was incredibly grateful for that.  I motioned toward the computer.
"Let me show you."

----

Three hours later, the brightness in Dr. MoCoy's eyes had dulled
somewhat, and my exhaustion was catching up with me.  "Good God," he
breathed for the thousandth time.  "I don't know whether to believe
the cockamamie fish story you told us, but I can't see what possible
reason you would have for lying."

I closed my eyes, feeling a wash of tiredness and depression settle
into me. "I have no reason to lie, believe me, Leonard."

He paused.  "We should probably get that cold-blooded excuse for a
computer up here, since this involves him," he pointed out.  I almost
smiled at the familiar name-calling, but it faded.  The insult had
sounded a bit more pointed than I remembered it.

"Are you two friends in this universe?" I asked casually after paging
the first officer.

He seemed surprised. "What - me and Spock?"  At my nod, he continued.
"Lord, no.  I suppose we have a bit in common -- we've both been here
since the beginning, after all, and I know I can trust him if it comes
down to that. But friends?  No one's friends with that computer.  He
won't let anyone close."

Recalling his cold exterior in the transporter room, I nodded.  It was
sad -- especially compared to the Spock I remembered conversing with
Kirk -- but not unexpected.

"Why do you ask?"

"Oh, nothing," I said as off-handedly as I could.  "Just that where
I'm from, he's very close friends with Kirk, and pretty good friends
with you, too, from what I hear."

McCoy gave a low whistle.  "Never would have believed it possible," he
said. "This Kirk must have been somebody."

The depression deepened.  "Yeah," I said.  "He sure was."

The door chimed, and I let Spock in.  His stood stiffly, his look
glacial.  I felt another pang of sorrow as I contrasted him with the
Spock I had been getting to know in my universe.  "Please sit, sir," I
suggested.  "I have a lot to tell you."

When I was done, he paused.  "What you have done is unethical in the
extreme," he suggested hollowly.

I couldn't help but take umbrage.  It must have been tiredness
catching up with me. "Excuse me, sir? I acted morally -- by trying to
do what was in my power to remove some of the pain from a man who, his
entire life, had done nothing but sacrifice himself for others."  I
paused, then said hotly, "Damn it, I couldn't just stand by and do
nothing, *knowing* I could help him."

Spock sat unmoved. "Where did you get the right to decide that for
him? Even if the consequences had been as you intended -- and I gather
that they are not -- you would still be in the wrong.  We Vulcans have
a saying: Kaiidth -- what is, is.  You would do well to remember it."

"Easy for you to say," I snapped.  "That sort of philosophy is
responsible for every time someone good stands aside and lets
something evil happen. I refuse to do that."

An eyebrow raised. "I see.  Then why did you not prevent *yourself*
from falling victim to the famine on Tarsus as well?"

The stress of the past few days made me angrier than I should have
been. "My family *lived* on Tarsus, dammit!  It was a lot easier to go
back and prevent Kirk from catching the last flight out there, than to
make my parents relocate!"

McCoy jumped in. "Quit arguing, both of you," he snapped.  "It's
getting us nowhere.  The question is what Pat is going to do now."

Spock suggested icily, "I do not comprehend the dilemma.  If
Specialist Araken had no difficulty tampering with the past before,
why is this time any different?"

My control cracked.  "Because I don't know if I acted right in the
first place," I said softly.  "Because I don't know if I would just
make things worse.  Because the timestream is a fragile thing for me
to be mucking around in it, again."

Silence fell, and in the silence Spock suggested, "Why don't we ask
Kirk?"

---

"Excuse me?" the man on the screen squinted at us.  "*Who* are you
again?"

This Kirk looked about five years younger than the one I had known,
though they were in fact the same age.  His eyes sparkled with health
and his suntanned face spoke of days spent in the sun of Earth rather
than the artificial lighting of starships.

I took a deep breath. "Excuse me for intruding, sir," I said.  "I am
Specialist Araken, and this is First Officer Spock of the Starship
Enterprise.  On my left is Dr. Leonard McCoy."

Kirk nodded, his eyes narrowing further.  But I could see him decide
to turn on the charm that had apparently helped him to create one of
the most successful service businesses on the North American
continent.  "I see.  I recognize some of you from the holo-vids," he
said.  "You don't need to call me sir, just Jim will do."

"Sorry, uh.. Jim," I said hastily.

"So, how can I help you?"

Spock spoke up. "We wish to ask you a few questions about your
personal life."  I cringed inwardly at the wording, and I could feel
Dr. McCoy wince beside me.

"That is," I stepped in hastily, "A mission we're on is sort of,
indirectly, uh.. associated with you."  Damn, I was doing this badly.

Kirk's face showed skepticism.  "I don't follow.  Am I suspected of
anything?"

"Oh no, nothing like that," I said.  "We just need to, uh, get to know
you better... to get some background on a person we're trying to
locate with similar history."

His skepticism increased further.  "I guess I figured Starfleet had
the resources to do that sort of research without involving private
citizens."

Damn.  Although this Kirk was clearly not a starship captain, his
instinct hadn't deserted him.  Not that it was hard to see through my
story. Beside me, McCoy said, "Hang on a moment, Mr. Kirk," and shut
off the sound on the connection.

"I believe we must tell him the truth," Spock suggested imperturbably.

"And then what, ask him if he wants his other life?" I asked
sarcastically. "What kind of question is that?"

McCoy turned glaring eyes on me. "What did *you* have in mind?" he
asked acerbically. "Calling him up for a friendly chat about the
weather?"

I felt my plan melting under his scorn.  "I just wanted to find out if
he is happy as he is now.  At least establish what I would be throwing
away if I tried to go back and stop myself from acting in the first
place.  And let *him* make the call, since it seems to be so important
to Mr. Spock here."

"Strange as this sounds, I agree with Spock," Leonard suggested. "You
-- we -- need to know everything we can before we act again."

/What choice do you have, Pat/? I asked myself. /They may be right/.
I sighed, and turned the sound back on.

"Sorry, Jim," I said smoothly.  "You're right, we're not on that kind
of mission."

Kirk nodded, but said no more.

"You see," I began awkwardly, then changed direction abruptly. "Are
you familiar with the concept of alternate universes?"

He nodded again, and an expression of affection crept into his eyes,
although he remained guarded.  "Yes, my son is really into science
fiction and he tells me all about it.  But I was under the impression
that's all it was - fiction."

I closed my eyes briefly, hoping desperately I was doing the right
thing. "Well, it mostly is," I said. "But I am actually from an
alternate timeline, and where I come from you are a key player in
Federation history."

His expression suggested he had just seen the last of my marbles
dribble out of my head and across the floor. "And I take it Mr. Spock
and Dr. McCoy are also part of this alternate timeline," he said
sarcastically. "Wait till I tell my wife about this call."

"Actually, we are not," Spock broke in.  "And I suggest you take
Specialist Araken very seriously.  As you know, Vulcans cannot lie,
and I attest to the truth of this tale."

Kirk paused, and with exaggerated patience nodded, humoring us. "So
why am *I* important?"

"We want to know if you are happy in this timeline," I said.

"That's an awfully personal -- and vague -- question to ask a complete
stranger," he said.

"I know.  But it's very important that we know."

"I still don't get it," he said evasively.

Dr. McCoy leaned forward. "*Please*," he said urgently.  "If I told
you, say, that in this other timeline you had saved thousands of
people over the course of your career -- and were perhaps responsible
for averting this infestation that is coming from Deneva -- what would
you say?"

Kirk's expression closed up, and I remembered that this man had
brother who had died on Deneva.  "Why are you telling me this?" he
asked, and this time all previous friendliness was gone.

"We need to know if you would choose that life," I said.

"What are you asking -- how hypothetical is this question?"  There was
a trace of fear in his voice, now.

I sighed.  "Rest assured, for you it *is* hypothetical," I said.  "But
it is very real for another Kirk somewhere."

He grinned tightly.  It was a grin with no humor in it whatsoever.
"What's the catch? You haven't told me that."

I hesitated.  "In this other universe, you are unmarried and have no
family. Although you have a few close friends you can trust your life
with, you are very burdened with the responsibility you bear and the
sacrifices you have had to make."

Kirk's face was completely closed now.  "I don't need to listen to
someone tell me this shit."  He reached for the connection.

"No, please, wait!" I said.  "Please, don't go."

Kirk shook his head in anger.  "I have no idea where you are coming
from, Specialist Araken or whoever you are, but you think you can just
waltz right in and tell me that my life is a mistake and my wife and
children shouldn't exist -- and you expect me to listen to it?  What
is the point of this?"  He looked deeply shaken.  I guess I would have
been too, if as a private citizen I had been approached by some of the
most famous names in the Federation with this news.  Damn, the number
of mistakes I was making on this mission was truly enormous.

Thankfully McCoy came to the rescue.  "Listen, Jim," he broke in with
his soft drawl.  "I don't blame you for being suspicious or nervous.
But we really mean you no harm, and whatever you answer will have
absolutely no effect on you.  We just really want to know what you
would choose."

Kirk still looked shaken, but he stayed on the connection.  Finally he
spoke, his words tight and controlled.  "This is like those questions
you ask yourself as a kid -- do I want heroism or happiness?" He shook
his head. "But everyone grows out of that and realizes that that's not
how life works.  It's never that cut-and-dried. I'm very happy with my
life.  I love my wife, I love my children, and I wouldn't give that
up. I wouldn't even think of it for a second."

"Even for the stars?" I asked softly.

"I decided when I was thirteen that my dreams of the stars were a
child's imagination," he said shortly, and leaned forward to break the
connection.

"Was that when you didn't go to Tarsus?" I asked quickly, seeing the
pattern.

He paused uncertainly, suspiciously.  "Yes, when I missed the ship to
Tarsus, and when famine broke out on it shortly after.  I decided that
it was a sign that I was safest on Earth -- wasn't meant to be out
there."

I was stunned into silence.  Oh, the webs we weave...

"How did you know about that?" he asked, shaken again.  "Who *are*
you?"

I took a deep breath. "We are... grateful," I said.  And after that,
there was really nothing more to say.

---

Ultimately, there was really no question what I should do.

I did everything I could to help in the other universe. Spock and
McCoy both assured me that my information regarding the infestations'
susceptibility to intense radiation could prove invaluable.  Knowing I
might be able to save some people here was turning out to be the only
salve to my soul for this mission, given how royally I had screwed up
everything else.

But when it came down to it, Spock was right.  No matter what my
motives were, no matter what I the consequences would have been, I had
been wrong to make the decision to remove that bit of Captain Kirk's
pain.  I knew firsthand how acute the happenings at Tarsus could lay
on a soul...images from my own childhood bothered me every day -- but
that did not give me the right to assume, as I had, that therefore I
could decide *for* him. And even if he *had* wanted me to do it, there
was immense danger involved in messing with history -- danger I now
realized we don't have the wisdom to mess with.

I would act, even though such an action went against the stated
desires of *this* Kirk.

So it came to pass that Spock, McCoy, and I stood awkwardly in the
cold wind that blew beside the Guardian.  Through its window I could
see the spaceport I had gone to the first time I tried to change the
past.  The two men in front of me glanced each other, made allies by
the situation as well as the unexpected revelation that there was a
universe in which they were true friends. Finally Spock spoke, and his
voice was gentler than I had ever heard it. "Specialist Araken," he
said. "Long life and prosperity to you."

I nodded.  "And to you."

Leonard grinned, then.  "Good luck -- and please don't visit us
again!"

I couldn't help laughing.  Then, before I could pause, I stepped
through the portal.

---

The stars look especially lonely tonight.  I lean against the cold
bulkhead in the recreation room, only meters away from the console I
hid under a few days ago.  This time, my thoughts swirl in different
directions, to a different Kirk.  Would he have accepted the choice I
finally made?  When it comes right down to it, is this universe worth
his happiness?

My musings are interrupted by the doors opening behind me.

"Excuse me," Kirk says.  He is holding a chessboard in his hands, and
Spock stands comfortably behind him.  The lines in his face are a bit
lessened, now, as he relaxes with his friend.  Or is that my
imagination?  "We didn't mean to intrude," the captain continues
smoothly.

"Oh, no problem," I say.  "I was just staring at the stars... feel
free to play your game."

Kirk comes around to stare out the bulkhead with me.  "They *are*
pretty spectacular, aren't they?" he asks rhetorically.  "Sometimes I
come down here and lose myself staring at them."

Startled at this unexpected confidence, I glance reflexively at Spock,
but he is busy setting up the chessboard.  "Yes, it tends to lead to
deep thoughts," I agree.

"Good ones, I hope."

I shrug noncommittally.  "Sometimes."

Kirk pauses.  "Listen, Specialist Araken -"

"Call me Pat, please."

"- Pat, then.  Sorry if I haven't been as welcoming as I could have
been these past few days.  I've been pretty stressed... it doesn't
mean anything about you or this mission."

I smile, unexpectedly touched.  "Seriously, sir, I completely
understand." More than you know.  I pause but can't resist asking, "Is
life going well for you, then?"

He raises his eyebrow, possibly at the personalness of the question,
but nods.  "Yes," he says thoughtfully.  "Yes, I think so.  Time heals
all wounds, you know."

"Great."  I stand awkwardly for a bit, then decide discretion is the
better part of valor and turn to leave.  "I'll leave you to your game,
then."

He nods in acknowledgement and turns to the chessboard.  The last
thing I see before the doors shut behind me is Kirk, silhouetted by
the stars he loves, exchanging an affectionate glance with his First
Officer and best friend.

I wonder what I would have chosen if I were him.  I wonder how much
*any* of us choose the hands we are dealt, or if we only play them the
best we can.

---

The End