SquidgeWorld Archive

The Sound of Drums
by Jungle Kitty

Kirk swung the axe in a wide arc and brought it down straight through the heart of the log. The sound startled the birds out of the trees, and as they fled into the cloudless sky, he paused to savor the almost impossibly fine morning. The sun, unhampered by mist or clouds, had just cleared the top of the trees, and in that shower of light, the cabin and its surroundings seemed to snap to attention.

But the sunlight, however striking, wasn't enough to warm the breeze, and as he returned to his task with renewed vigor, he remembered McCoy's warning: "The calendar may say it's spring, but the Georgia mountains don't shake off winter on anybody's schedule but their own."

Determined to chop enough firewood to cover his needs with plenty left over to thank Bones for the use of the cabin, he set another log on the block and raised the axe, but in midswing, he smelled the faint aroma of something burning. Dropping the axe, he hurried into the cabin where he saw a billow of smoke rising from a frying pan on the stove. He grabbed the pan and held it under the tap as he called out, "Looks like someone was trying to cook some eggs."

After a moment, a voice from upstairs replied, "I'll be right down."

"How can you walk away from cooking breakfast?" he muttered.

He had planned on making breakfast himself, but she had obviously beaten him to it--if you could call this abandoned effort "making breakfast." As he scraped the eggs from the pan, he puzzled over her odd behavior. Although he was frequently amazed by what she could coax out of a synthesizer, he knew that actual cooking had never held much interest for her. But still, to walk away from--

"I was cold."

Suzanne was standing at the bottom of the stairs, one hand resting on the newel post and the other hidden behind the heavy folds of her robe. As she approached him, she raised her hand to reveal his uniform. The hanger dangled from her fingertips as if she was deliberately trying to distance herself from the smooth red fabric.

"I went upstairs to get my robe and look what I found in the back of the closet." She smiled falsely. "It doesn't even have any dust on it. In fact, it looks like it's just been pressed."

One-handed, he cracked an egg into the pan. "I can't go to the launch of the Enterprise-B in civvies."

"So you've decided to go."

"Yes."

"When were you planning to tell me?"

"I thought I'd surprise you."

"Hmm." It was a non-committal sound. She draped the uniform over a chair, joined him at the counter, and examined the contents of the skillet. "You're full of surprises this morning, aren't you? Katerian eggs. My favorite."

"Prepared just the way you like them. Get me the dill, will you? Second shelf--"

"Right behind the oregano. I know. Trying to soften the blow, are you?"

"No, not at all. You're the one who kept saying I should go--"

"I said you *would* go."

"In either case, you should be pleased to be proven right. Here, stir this, will you?" He handed her the pan and went to the cabinet.

"So we're having my favorite breakfast in honor of me being right."

He chuckled as he searched the cupboard until he found the bread. "You think you have it all figured out."

"So this isn't our 'Suzanne is right and don't you forget it' breakfast?"

He dropped three slices of bread into the toaster. "No, this is our 'it's a beautiful Saturday morning and aren't we lucky Bones let us use his cabin' breakfast."

"And it has nothing to do with cutting the trip short so you can be at the launch on Monday."

"Not a thing."

Another non-committal "Hmm."

"But if you want to talk about the launch--" he said.

"Ah ha!"

"I know I initially turned down the invitation, but I changed my mind." He waited for a response, but she merely sniffed the eggs and sprinkled more dill into the pan. "Don't you want me to tell you why?"

"I know why." She elbowed him away from the stove as she turned up the heat. "I knew something like this was coming as soon as they named that ship. She's the Enterprise, and nothing else matters. Not the fact that Command is using you to get attention from the media, or that Finnegan is probably congratulating himself on setting you up to witness someone else in command of--"

"Toast," he said mildly.

"What?"

"Toast. It just popped. Butter it, will you?"

If the look she gave him could have made a noise, it would have been a disgruntled snarl.

"Suzanne, I'm well aware of the perverse pleasure my attendance will give Finnegan, but that has nothing to do with--oh damn, the eggs are burning."

He cleaned out the skillet and started over, and for the few moments, the only sounds in the kitchen were those of toast being buttered and eggs being cracked.

She took the toast to the table, and when she set down the plate, there was an implied "Attention!" to the sharp clack. He watched with amusement as she squared his uniform on the hanger. Then she began, "Fig said--"

"Fig. You know, I've been listening to you repeat Fig's theories for more years than I care to count and--"

"She said you'd change your mind. She said it wouldn't take you long to realize how important it is for you to be there."

"Fig thought it was important," he repeated thoughtfully. Suzanne's friend had a theory for every occasion and her rate of accuracy was too high to be ignored. "Did she say why?"

"She said it's because..." She ran her fingers through her hair and mumbled, "Because you're a living legend."

He couldn't help grinning. "Fig thinks I'm a living legend?"

"No, of course not. She meant other people think you are. People like her nephew. He's assigned to the Enterprise. According to Fig, the entire crew was crushed when they heard that you weren't going to be there."

"So she thinks I should go so they won't be disappointed."

"No. Well, sort of. It's a young crew, some of them going out on their first deep-space assignment. They want to be on the bridge with Captain Kirk."

"Harriman is the skipper."

"Harriman doesn't count. Fig says that people need heroes, and you're theirs." She looked at him with a sad smile. "She's right, isn't she?"

"No. For once, Fig is wrong. I'm not going to the launch to be anyone's hero. I'm going because--"

He stopped, suddenly and fully aware of how hard his self-appointed task would be on Monday. If it was this difficult to
explain to Suzanne...

"For the past month," he said, "I've been watching you get ready to retire. You've got everything in order for your replacement, you've submitted your final reports, you're pretending you don't know about the party they're planning. You're getting ready to move on. I thought I'd done that, but I was wrong."

"I don't understand."

"You will, very soon. Your last day is going to be hard, Brat, harder than you can imagine, but don't duck any of it, no matter how much it hurts."

"What are you talking about?"

Suzanne was standing on the other side of the counter, concern clouding her face. He took the skillet off the heat and gave her a smile intended to reassure. She wasn't buying it. Outside, he heard a hawk cry and took that as an admonition to just get on with it. He drew a breath that he hoped would gather the words he needed, but before he could begin speaking, she came around the counter and touched his arm, and then the words came easily.

"I'm going to the Enterprise-B to say goodbye. I never did that. I performed my final inspection, I went to the stand-down party, I shook hands all around. But when I left the ship, I didn't look back and I didn't go to spacedock to watch as they powered her down. I let her die alone. She deserved better than that. I have a duty to see her namesake off."

"Jim." She said his name carefully, almost teasing. "We're talking about a ship."

Happy to follow her lead, he raised a warning finger. "Let's not kid ourselves. We're talking about the other woman in my life."

"Oh, let's *really* not kid ourselves. I'm the other woman in your life, and we're talking about how you treated your ex."

He chuckled. "Yes, I guess we are. But don't worry. I'll be there when they power you down." He kissed her lightly and held her for a long moment, enjoying the familiar fit of her body to his. "So does any of this make sense?"

"Yes. Goodbyes are important. I'm the galactic expert on living with unfinished business, remember?"

Kirk fought down a sudden anger. d'Lain's revenge had been two-pronged, and during the years they'd spent apart, she'd lived with what she sardonically referred to as "unfinished business." Oh yes, she understood the need for endings. Even a painful one would have been a mercy.

He held her close, wishing there was a curse strong enough to damn d'Lain as fully as he deserved, and as for words of comfort, they'd tried them all and found that nothing worked as well as simply being together.

For a brief moment, she seemed content to stay in his arms, but then she hugged him hard, ended the embrace, and said, "Go to the launch. Give the old girl a kiss on the hull if that's what it will take. Just promise me this won't turn into another five-year mission."

He gave her a sharp look and returned the skillet to the stove. "You don't know me as well as you think you do."

"Yes, I do. That's why I won't be surprised when I end up eating dinner alone Monday night."

Realizing that she had finally given him the lead-in he needed, he began busily pushing the eggs around, and in his best offhand manner, he said, "Brandt, exactly when do you stand down?"

"Two weeks."

"Forgive me for saying so, but it's not a minute too soon. If your deductive skills were as sharp as they used to be, you wouldn't be worried about dinner on Monday."

"Explain."

She was wary, he could see that, but she hadn't figured out what to be wary of. He decided to play her for a bit before reeling her in.

"Gladly. This morning, you had two encounters with the unexpected- -Katerian eggs and a uniform. You were correct about the
significance of the uniform, but you assumed the eggs were also mixed up in it, when in fact the eggs, although unexpected, have no connection with the uniform--unless we spill on it. But I digress. In short, my dear Watson--I mean Brat--the eggs are your insurance against eating dinner alone."

"I know I'll regret this, but go on."

"You see, when a man sneaks Katerian eggs into a cabin in the Georgia woods so he can surprise a woman with her favorite
breakfast--when he gets up early to chop wood so they can have a romantic encounter in front of a fire--when he gets a small-town florist to import Kyrosian wildflowers so she'll have a wedding bouquet--"

"What?"

"--when a man does all that, he's not thinking about a starship."

He could not have been more pleased with her astonishment as she sputtered, "Are you proposing?"

He sighed. "You really are slipping. Yes, I am proposing. Marriage. To you. Tomorrow afternoon, if you say yes. Then back to San Francisco as husband and wife. And if I fail to show up for dinner on Monday, you'll get everything I own when you sue me for desertion."

"You don't own anything."

"Irrelevant and immaterial. Just answer the question."

She cocked her head. "Isn't it traditional to break it off with the old girlfriend *before* you marry the new one?"

"Since when are we traditional?" He forestalled her response with a long kiss, an embrace a little on the forceful side, and then a low whisper. "Tomorrow. Yes?"

"Jim, the eggs are burning!"

"Forget the eggs. No breakfast until I get an answer. Are we getting married tomorrow?"

After a moment's hesitation, she laughed. "Sure, why not?"

It was his turn to be stunned. "'Sure, why not?' It's that easy?"

"Yes." She was warm and soft in his arms, and this time, she seemed quite content to stay there. "It's finally that easy."

***

Kirk swung the axe in a wide arc and brought it down straight through the heart of the log. The sound startled the birds out of the trees, and as they fled into the cloudless sky, he paused to savor the almost impossibly fine morning. The sunlight cut a sharp path over the top of the trees but the mountain air held to its own schedule and refused to be warmed.

Feeling a chill against his damp skin, he returned to his task with renewed vigor. He set another log on the block and raised the axe, but in midswing, he smelled the faint aroma of something burning. Dropping the axe, he hurried toward the cabin. As he threw open the door, a cloud of smoke swarmed around him. He put his hands out and groped his way along the bulkhead. The emergency lights were barely visible through the smoke, but they wouldn't have been much use to him anyway. These weren't the Engineering decks he could have navigated blindfolded.

Harriman's Enterprise, not his. But his responsibility nonetheless.

The ship rocked to starboard and his old reflexes kicked in just in time to keep him from being thrown off the catwalk. After regaining his balance, he continued moving forward as quickly as he dared. Sector 21-Alpha, Sulu's daughter had said. That should be just below his present position. He slid down a ladder and saw the deflector control room ahead.

As he rushed in, he was blinded by a flash of light. An eager voice shrilled, 'How does it feel to be back on the Enterprise bridge?'

The bridge? No, I have to get to Engineering--

'Captain Kirk! Can I ask you--'

'We'd like to know how you feel about--'

'Excuse me! There will be plenty of time for questions.'

He turned toward the new voice, noting that it seemed to be trying a little too hard to establish its authority.

'I'm Captain John Harriman.'

The crush of people backed off, revealing the bridge crew of the Enterprise-B busily preparing to leave spacedock.

'I just want you to know how excited we all are to have a group of living legends among us.'

Living legends. He shot a warning look to the man on his right, even though he knew Bones's amusement would not be contained.

Bones? Well, of course. And there was Spock on his left, just as it should be. And Scotty and Chekov behind them.

'Excuse me, Captain, this is the first starship Enterprise in thirty years without James T. Kirk in command. How do you feel about that, sir?'

Oh, just fine. I'm glad to be here to send her on her way.

'And what have you been doing since you retired?'

The reporter's persistence grated and he brushed past her as he said, Keeping busy.

'Captain Kirk--'

'Why don't we give the captain a chance to look around first?'

Harriman again. It was about time the man took charge of his own bridge. And Kirk wanted a chance to look around, see what changes they'd made, and maybe--

Then he saw it. The captain's chair. Empty. Waiting.

The reporters' voices faded away and his thoughts thundered in his head.

My chair! My ship, my crew...

Spock, McCoy--his friends and anchors. Uhura at the communications console, Scotty at the engineering station, Sulu at the helm-- well, it wouldn't be the Enterprise with Sulu at the helm, without any of them. Living legends--bull! They were simply the best damn officers in the Fleet, bar none. And they were beaming with pride, happy to be reunited once more and eager to share the adventure.

Take us out, he said as he took the center seat.

'Sir, I'm picking up a distress signal.'

Already? He thought they'd cleared the asteroid belt before receiving the hail from the Kobayashi Maru. Wait, he was getting everything mixed up. This was the Enterprise. The Enterprise-B, not the Kobayashi Maru simulation.

Oh, of course! It's the Academy dream.

'Sir? The distress signal?'

Go ahead, Lieutenant.

The transmission was barely audible over the static.

'Kobayashi Maru, your message is breaking up. Can you boost your signal?'

It's not the Kobayashi Maru, Lieutenant.

'I'll try another frequency, sir.'

'Are you going after her, Jim?'

Gary?

'Sir, Neutral Zone dead ahead.'

Plot an intercept course to that ship. We're going in.

'Aye aye, sir!' Brandt shot him a quick grin from the navigation console.

Brandt? Yes, definitely the Academy dream. Nothing to get wound up about. Everyone has it. It's just a question of riding it out until you wake up. But everything was moving forward so quickly, he felt the tide of events sweeping him along.

'Sir, the signal is coming through clearly now.'

Just the Academy dream...

Let's hear it, Lieutenant.

A gentle chime sounded, and he was plunged into darkness.

***

Kirk swung the axe in a wide arc and brought it down straight through the heart of the log. The sound startled the birds out of the trees, and as they fled into the cloudless sky, he paused to savor the almost impossibly fine morning. The sunlight had cut a sharp path over the top of the trees, but the mountain air held to its own schedule and refused to be warmed.

Feeling a chill against his damp skin, he returned to his task with renewed vigor. He set another log on the block and raised the axe, but in midswing, he smelled the faint aroma of something burning, but before he could react, his axe came down.

The log shattered into a thousand pieces that disappeared into the flames that suddenly surrounded him. A blast of heat drove him back from the edge of the cliff and with Kruge's scream still ringing in his ears, he looked around and saw a world being consumed by flames, beautiful and awful in its death throes.

On his final step over the top of the ridge, the ground behind him gave way as the nearby trees exploded into flames and were swallowed by the disintegrating earth. Nearly blinded by smoke, he groped his way forward, stumbling over rocks until he reached the unconscious man and knelt down beside him.

Was it truly Spock? How was it possible?

But there was no time for questions. The fire was closing in. He pulled Spock to his feet and opened the Klingon communicator. He was about to shout the order he'd heard Kruge give moments earlier when he stopped.

This isn't real, he thought. It's a memory. Not deja vu, something more powerful...

The flames blazed on but they no longer moved toward him. It was almost as if they were waiting for a cue, waiting for him and Spock to dematerialize before claiming the last of the open terrain.

The ground rumbled and he held Spock tightly as he struggled to keep his feet. He flipped open the communicator again, and it chimed softly.

What? No piece of Klingon equipment would make that sound--

Everything went dark.

***

Kirk swung the axe in a wide arc and brought it down straight through the heart of the log. The sound startled the birds out of the trees, and as they fled into the cloudless sky, he paused to savor the almost impossibly fine morning. The sunlight had cut a sharp path over the top of the trees, but the mountain air held to its own schedule and refused to be warmed.

Feeling a chill against his damp skin, he returned to his task with renewed vigor. He set another log on the block and raised the axe, but in midswing, he smelled the sharp aroma of pinewood burning.

He saw a small campfire on the ground before him, and when he looked around, there were shadows on the leather skins that lined the inside of the tepee. Two men were seated on the ground. He sat down across from them as the older one spoke.

'Our legend predicts such danger and promises that the wise ones who planted us here will send a god to save us, one who can rouse the temple's spirit and make the sky grow quiet. Can you do this?'

I came from the temple as Miramanee said and it was a beginning for me here, but I came from the sky too. And I can't remember. I need time...

The words came easily but he felt removed from them, as if he were both participant and observer.

I need time, he repeated.

A wind swept through the tent, pushing smoke in his direction. His eyes burning, he turned away and felt a soft touch on his arm.

'Here there is much time...for everything.'

Miramanee?

The men, the tent, the fire--gone. The air was now rich with the mingled aromas of pine trees, honeysuckle and orange blossom. Birds sang overhead, a lake sparkled in the distance, and kneeling beside him--

'Yes, my husband?'

Lost love, lost life, lost innocence. He drew her close, felt her warm skin against his own, whispered her name again.

Let this last, he prayed. Let me just have this.

She pulled back and smiled shyly.

'I bear your child.'

He stared into her eyes, overwhelmed with joy and wonderment. Then laughing, he lowered her to the grass and kissed her. As he moved his mouth lower, she murmured, 'Your child. Your child, Jim.'

Jim? Miramanee had never known that name.

He lifted his head and saw Suzanne.

This isn't how it happened. What's going on here?

'You know.'

No, I don't!

'Fig has a theory--'

The ground began shaking and he scrambled to his feet. He pulled her up beside him, and suddenly they were surrounded by a frightened crowd.

'Captain, I'd appreciate any suggestions you may have,' Harriman said.

Why are they so sure I can help them?

Miramanee clutched at his arm. 'There is nothing you cannot do, my husband.'

We'll go to the caves. It'll be safe there.

Salesh pushed his way to the front of the crowd, his face twisted with hatred. 'The caves? Surely a legend can do more than that for his people.'

'People need heroes, Jim.' Suzanne's words but Miramanee's voice.

'What do you wait for, *god*? Your robes?'

Suzanne held out his uniform. 'You're a living legend,' she said.

STOP IT! I WANT ANSWERS!

'If you could remember your exact words, Captain.'

Spock?

'Yes, Captain. If you could remember your exact words.'

Give me your communicator.

Spock obeyed and as Kirk flipped the device open, it chimed softly.

***

Darkness. But why? Where was everyone? For that matter, where was he?

He told himself to remain calm, try to think clearly. What was the last thing he remembered, the last thing he was sure of?

Engineering. The deflector control room. He had slammed his hand against the wall comm and shouted, "That's it! Let's go!" Then the bulkhead in front of him disappeared and--

Kirk swung the axe in a wide arc--

Kirk swung the axe--

Kirk--

NO!

Captain Harriman! he shouted.

'Right here, Captain.'

Why is it so dark? Is something wrong with my eyes? Is this sickbay?

Harriman hesitated. 'Sickbay? Yes, it is.'

Of course. He could feel the biobed beneath him. The diagnostic monitors--why hadn't he heard them earlier?--beeped and hummed just as they always had.

'Just relax. Give yourself a little time.'

Did I hit my head?

'No, no. Just relax--'

Stop telling me to relax and explain what's going on here!

'There's nothing to explain.'

There sure as hell is. The last thing I remember--

'Captain, all your questions will be answered in due time.'

I'm not going to lie here in sickbay waiting for--

'Of course not. No one likes being in sickbay. Why don't we go for a walk? Let's take a look around.'

At what? Where are we?

Suddenly there was fresh air, birds singing, a lake in the distance...

How did you do that?

'I don't know what you're talking about.'

This place! The cabin! The trees! I was here earlier...

'Is that what you want?'

I want an explanation. There was a ship and an explosion--

'No, Captain, there was no explosion. The rescue went off without a hitch. No casualties.'

That's impossible. I saw the El-Aurian ships destroyed--

'Maybe you should sit down, Captain. Here, your old chair. Yeoman, bring the captain a cup of coffee--'

Be quiet.

'I beg your pardon?'

I'm trying to think. Just be quiet.

'Yeoman, perhaps you can tell the captain what he wants to know.'

The young woman was unfamiliar, but the unwavering faith in her dark eyes revealed her identity even before she spoke.

'Tell? But a god knows everything.'

Not this one.

To that, there was no response other than the quiet he had requested. And in the quiet, a thought formed in his mind.

He could have anything he wanted.

***

Anything he wanted.

Much later, he would wonder how he had come to that conclusion. Spock would have pointed out the lack of supporting evidence, McCoy would have already started conjuring mint juleps out of the air, and Suzanne would have rolled her eyes and said, Sure, Jim, anything you want.

But he knew it was true. In the deepest core of his being, he knew that this truth required no proving. It simply was.

How long did he ponder that? He couldn't say, but when he thought to look around, Harriman and Miramanee were gone and everything was dark once more. But the air around him was alive with--was it anticipation? Something like it, at least.

Anything he wanted.

He could be any place, any time, with anyone, doing anything. But in his nearly sixty-five years, he'd done most of it, and he didn't feel like doing the rest alone.

He had not yet put words to that thought, not even in his mind, when the figures began appearing, silent and translucent.

Spock...

Bones...

The half-formed phantoms watched him, waiting for him to--to what? Breathe life into them? That was another thought he hadn't completed before he knew it was right.

Then Spock and Bones were joined by others, slowly at first.

Suzanne... Sam... Gary...

And then quickly--his mother, his father, Gary, David--

The etching of each new companion began before the last one had finished materializing, and mingled among his friend and family were some who were less distinct--women he'd met only in dreams, heroes who had lived long before he was born.

It was exhilarating and a little unsettling to see it all before him--his history, his fantasies, and the chance to live them both.

*Name it.*

The Academy, he whispered or thought he did.

The gathering crowd faded into nothingness, and the Academy began rising from the ground, its buildings pulling themselves up out of the earth. Trees sprang up, instantly ripe with spring. He reached down and felt the grass growing, rising up to tickle his hand. He heard a raucous laugh and when he turned in that direction, Fig quickly materialized to fit it. The sound of running footsteps became TJ Durant racing toward the life sciences building. Captain DeMarc appeared, holding an assignment disk, about to say, 'Good work, Mister Kirk.' Commander Finney was there, telling him he'd recommended him to teach a history class, and Finnegan, baiting him with--No. No Finnegan. Blip! End of Finnegan.

Then Suzanne was running toward him, bursting with excitement because she'd been approved for command school. She'd barely begun waving her admission under his nose when Gary appeared at his side, slapped him on the back and said, 'Couldn't you have told me that you'd rigged the Kobayashi Maru? I could have cleaned up with a few discreet wagers.'

The three of them were together again, impossibly young and pleased with themselves, confident that the future that would turn out exactly as they'd planned.

He threw back his head and laughed. Anything he wanted!

After that, it was easy, trying on his old life and changing it to fit. The years he'd spent apart from Suzanne? Gone. Blip! d'Lain Kevnan had gone to his grave with his thirst for revenge unsatisfied. Hell, d'Lain never happened! Blip and double-blip!

He felt the chains of memory slip away as his laughter filled the open space.

Anything he wanted!

First and foremost: the Enterprise. *His* Enterprise. Spock on his right, Bones on his left, and his crew all around. Sulu, Uhura, Chekov, Scotty--the bridge crew that had been more his than any before or since. Challenge, danger, fulfillment. Adventures among the stars, stranger and even more exciting that those he'd actually lived.

And when he wanted adventure of a different kind, there was Suzanne. Just as challenging, fulfilling, and yes, even dangerous in her way.

Whatever he wanted. Whenever he wanted it. Suzanne, the Enterprise. Neither had ever slipped from his grasp or belonged to another. Both were his.

Both? Well, why not?

Before he even chuckle over his own greediness, it was satisfied.

Suzanne beamed aboard, flush with success from her latest assignment. As they left the transporter room, the doors opened onto the steep downhill pitch of Divisadero Street. San Francisco Bay glittered in the distance and an evening breeze teased them with sultry jazz and the scent of Rigellian spice rolls. A short walk north, then up three flights of stairs, and the doors to his quarters whooshed open as if they'd been holding their breath in anticipation of their arrival. Suzanne squeezed his hand as they stepped across the threshold into what might once have been his quarters, but now--now the two cramped rooms and their stark decor had been replaced by the apartment he and Suzanne had shared, perfect in every detail, right down to the spot above the fireplace that he'd missed the first time they'd painted. Late- night sounds drifted through the open windows and mingled with the comfortable hum of the warp engines. And the night went on forever because it was the best, the most important, it was the night when he'd finally reclaimed all d'Lain had stolen.

d'Lain. Damn him! And damn the shadowy half-life Kirk had endured because of him!

With that curse, it all came back to him, newly fresh and horrifying, and he knew his reunion with Suzanne couldn't have happened without the pain and sorrow that had preceded it. But that was the reality, wasn't it? Or was it merely the past?

The present was what mattered, and maybe it *was* a crazy-quilt concoction, but which was better? Which was real? And did it even matter?

*Captain to the bridge.*

When he got there, he found Christopher Pike sitting in the center seat. Chris, healthy and whole.

'No, I'm not,' Pike said, and somewhere in the distance, a soft chime sounded.

I don't understand, Kirk said but he did.

It hurt when Pike said, 'Get off my bridge,' and it all vanished.

Hours, days, eons later, he found himself on a plain as empty and still as death. The sky, if indeed it was a sky, was the same color as the ground beneath him, and he left no footprints where he walked.

It took him some time to decide that the life he remembered, however implausible, was more probable than a "captain's woman" on loan from Special Ops and an Enterprise full of restaurants, pets, and jazz bands. The sorrows he'd known were worth it because they were part of the life that was his alone.

I need my pain, he whispered.

He knew he'd said those words before but he couldn't remember when or under what circumstances. There had been a Vulcan--what was his name, Sy-something--he had offered...offered what?

An end to pain. Kirk had instinctively known what that meant and he recognized it now.

This is death, he thought. The pain is gone, but so is everything else. I'm dead, and there's nothing else.

*Name it.*

Suddenly there was a humming all around him, a potential that was more than a promise, it was as stubborn and undeniable as life itself. It filled the vacuum with more possibilities than could be explored in a thousand lifetimes.

*Name it.*

So he did. He named every person he'd ever cared for, everyone he'd wanted to meet but never did, every enticing path he'd turned away from, every place that had been exciting or pleasant, every unremembered dream that had left him feeling happy and sad at the same time. And they were all there, bursting with life, more real than real. He moved through them, living each in its turn and all of them at once. And it was joy, more than joy, it was freedom from want and pain and loss. It was all real and he let himself believe it was real because he was dead and what else could he do?

Ping!

It always ended like that. He'd round a corner or step off the turbolift and see Christopher Pike, his disfigured face empty of all emotion except for the heavy sadness in his unblinking eyes.

Ping! went the mechanism that allowed Pike to communicate. Just once, for yes.

But what was the question?

Pike's gaze was fixed somewhere behind Kirk. He turned and saw a Talosian on the main screen, the corners of his mouth barely turning up as he nodded at Kirk.

'Captain Pike has an illusion and--'

Kirk grasped at the memory, trying to recall the rest, but a new adventure always started before the Talosian could finish his sentence. Uhura would announce an incoming distress call or Suzanne would pull him into an embrace, and the Talosian's unfinished message was forgotten until next time.

How many next times occurred over the next millennium or two, he didn't know--he was only vaguely aware that he'd played out this scenario many times before--but at last, some instinct rose from its long sleep and told him to go on the offensive. At the first sight of the Talosian, he ordered Uhura to cut the transmission. Then he turned to Pike and said, I don't know what you are--a memory, a dream--but I don't want you here. You're not real.

Ping!

Pike, Uhura, the rest of the crew--all winked out of existence. He was alone on the bridge and he had his answer.

'Captain Pike has an illusion and--' The Talosian's parting words floated ghostlike across his memory.

I HAVE REALITY! he shouted.

It felt strange to be angry, strange and good.

Then he was back on the empty plain, knowing that any moment now, a new crop of pleasures would bloom. Yes, the earth was already pushing up, the air swelled with hazy figures, and the wind carried echoes that would give them voice.

No!

The half-formed illusions melted away as the ground fell back into dry blisters.

'What are you doing out here all alone, Jimmy?'

Go away, Mom, I don't want you here.

And she was gone. Blip! Just like Finnegan.

He thought about that for some time, more time than he could imagine and also less, so perhaps he never thought about it at all. Perhaps he just knew. He was alone, more than alone, he was the only reality in a fantasy that made the Shore Leave planet and Talos and the tricks of Dr. Adams's chair look like amateurish stage effects.

I've always known that I would die alone, he remembered saying. But he hadn't expected to stay that way.

'It is illogical to be alone if one does not wish to be, when companionship is so readily available.'

A well-remembered voice, and it was accompanied by another that was equally welcome, despite its exasperated tone.

'Damn it, Spock, why can't you just say, Hello, we're here?'

The parched earth cracked open and heaved out a sharp-edged chair. The air behind it turned red, the gaudiest, most optimistic red he'd ever seen, and then it parted with a whoosh and all the familiar sounds followed in its wake, beep, gurgle, whistle, 'Your signature, sir?'

Spock and McCoy took shape quickly, almost as if they were being rushed into actuality before, before...

Before Kirk could think about it, before he could remind himself that milk poured into a hat does not change into doves, not really.

Go away, I don't want you here.

He didn't say it, not even a breath of a whisper, but the scene disappeared. Spock? Blip! McCoy? Blip! The Enterprise, his crew, his life...Blip!

I won't have you here. In my memories, you're real, more real than this sideshow.

*Name it.*

Maybe the words waited for a response from him, maybe they didn't. Maybe they felt him deliberately withholding his wishes, maybe they knew he'd decided to be their no-win scenario. In any case, they acted without his consent, conjuring up worlds to discover, civilizations to save, enemies to outwit and always--always the companions to share the adventure. When he slept, he woke with the clean scent of dawn all around him and Suzanne beside him, her voice morning-hoarse as she whispered his name.

He learned to be very quick at banishing the ghost-plays before they got started, but it was exhausting. How long could he say no to paradise? Because he knew that's what was being offered, someone's idea of paradise, an Eden designed by some well- intentioned wizard with unlimited patience and resources.

He thought of Lazarus trapped forever between two dimensions with a madman.

There was a purpose to that! he shouted. There's no purpose to this!

*Name it.*

It took him a while--perhaps an eon or two, Spock would know to the minute--No, don't think about Spock--but he finally came up with a solution--if he could pull it off. Could he make up a story and believe in it strongly enough to convince this power that he wanted that life above all else? On Melkot, they'd survived gunfire by refusing to believe in the bullets. Surely he could imagine a scenario with all the trappings of happiness, a pretense whose meaninglessness wouldn't sully the life he'd lived.

Could he create a lie strong enough to fool the madness that ruled this place?

Worth a try.

*Name it.*

***

The answer came easily, a remembered conversation, the lethargy of after-lovemaking, damp skin against wilted sheets, Suzanne stumbling over a confession.

"JT, when we were apart, I kept waiting to hear that you'd found someone else."

"But I didn't."

"No."

"And you were glad." He gave her a playful pinch.

"No, I wasn't. Well, maybe a little at first. Stop pinching me!"

"You deserve worse than pinching. Rejoicing in my misery."

"It wasn't like that."

"What was it like?"

"I kept telling myself, 'He'll find someone, so be ready. It's going to hurt.' I thought I'd better get used to the idea of you and someone else, so I made up a girlfriend for you and I kept thinking about the two of you together until it didn't hurt anymoreß. That's when I finally saw how unfair it was that you ended up with so little when you'd given so much. So I started wishing for you to find someone like..."

"Like who?"

"Not like anyone, really. She was a fantasy."

"Tell me about her."

"She was beautiful. Tall, graceful. Long brown hair. Big bosom. She loved horses. She could sing on pitch. She could cook without a synthesizer. She was sweet and considerate and generally a better person than I am. Except not as good in bed."

"Oh, thanks a lot."

"I think it was damn generous of me under the circumstances."

"Did she have a name?"

***

Antonia.

It was a good lie, a great lie. Maybe because Suzanne had half-imagined her into reality already, maybe because she had been thinking about his happiness when she did it. Maybe that's why being with Antonia didn't feel like betrayal. She had never been real and never would be, so it hurt nothing and dishonored no one to spend eternity with her.

He imagined a cabin in the woods with a bedroom upstairs that caught the morning sun. He imagined sharing it with a woman who had never existed. He imagined their life together and moved in, carefully hiding his true self from whatever made his imaginings real.

It wasn't paradise, but it wasn't hell.

He didn't know how long it took--but by then he was used to time having no meaning--but one evening, as they sat together under the stars, he felt a change in the air as if an oppressive humidity had lifted. Smiling, he pulled Antonia closer--what had once been a deliberate action had finally become a habit--and he relaxed as much as he dared. The stubborn architect of his existence had retreated into the distance, finally satisfied that it had satisfied him.

After that, he barely had to think about maintaining the fiction. It seemed genuine and he went along with it. His past was buried deep within himself and as long as it stayed there, the situation was manageable, even pleasant. Only at night--he felt another presence then, not malevolent or suspicious, just meddlesome, like an over-protective guardian creeping around the edges of his consciousness. He'd force himself to wake from dreams of the life he'd lived, knowing that if he didn't, they would soon become the raw materials of a new house of mirrors.

He became good at it and that was really all that mattered.

Together, he and Antonia went for long rides on horseback. Once they found a city to the north. It was unfamiliar but when he wished it away--just to see what would happen--it stayed.

'It must be there for someone else,' Antonia said but when he questioned her, she didn't know what she'd meant by it.

After that, she insisted they stay on 'their mountain.' He'd almost said, You can't want that, I don't want you to want that, but it had been ten thousand lifetimes since anyone had said no to him and he enjoyed the novelty of it.

He began exploring on his own, long trips that took him off the mountain for days at a time with no one but his horse for companionship. He half-hoped Antonia would bitch him out when he got back but she never did. He found some interesting places, places that he couldn't wish away but could never find again. An emerald ocean where the beach was covered in amber gelstones, a high white tower overlooking a meadow of silvery grass, a wilderness populated by animals he didn't recognize. He never found the owners of those places either. Yes, owners. He had begun to believe there were others like him, each living in a world of his own imagining.

What would he say if he met someone?

The instant he wondered about that, a man came around the bend in the road. He doffed his hat, revealing a grizzled but friendly face and cried 'Hello there!' Disgusted, Kirk wished him away and rode on through the empty space.

Eventually--what a convenient word to express the passage of non-time--eventually he became uneasy about entering someone else's paradise. It made him feel like a thief sneaking around in other people's houses and he vowed to stick closer to home. But then a morning would dawn that truly felt like morning--fresh, new, ripe for exploration. He'd step out of the cabin and feel a quickening in his blood. The thought of encountering something that hadn't come from within himself would draw him to the barn and he'd saddle up and ride out to see what was over the ridge.

It was on just such a morning that everything changed.

***

Kirk swung the axe in a wide arc and brought it down straight through the heart of the log. The sound startled the birds out of the trees, and as they fled into the cloudless sky, he paused to savor the almost impossibly fine morning. The sunlight had cut a sharp path over the top of the trees, but the mountain air held to its own schedule and refused to be warmed.

A chilly breeze swept past him and he thought he heard a whisper.

"Kirk. James T. Kirk."

He set another log on the block, still smiling but no longer happy. His senses on full alert, he lifted the axe and split the log cleanly.

Come on, he silently coaxed his unseen companion. Show yourself.

Obligingly, a man stepped out from the trees. He was almost completely bald with sharp, intelligent features and a bit of an aesthete about him. He was wearing a uniform, not one that Kirk recognized but still he knew. And he knew something else that he had no business knowing--it was a Starfleet uniform.

Kirk put on an air of casual friendliness, as if uniformed men came out of the trees every morning. "Beautiful day."

"Yes, it certainly is."

Crisp, clear enunciation. There was nothing casual or accidental about this illusion. It had a purpose. He felt a shiver go up his spine and reminded himself that he could wish it away. But for now...

"Would you mind?" he asked, gesturing at a nearby log.

"Oh." The man set the log on the block and stepped back as Kirk raised the axe. "Captain, I'm wondering, do you realize--"

Kirk brought the axe down hard and smiled, genuinely this time. He would enjoy this. A Starfleet uniform, someone addressing him as 'Captain'--tempting, yes, but even more than that. It was different. And intriguing. He didn't know this man. He hadn't even been wishing for company. If anything, he'd been enjoying the solitude. So where had he come from?

Kirk had wanted answers for longer than he could remember. Perhaps if he let this play out, he'd finally have them.

"Hold on a moment," he said. "Do you smell something burning?"

He hurried into the cabin where a cloud of smoke was rising from a pan on the stove.

"Looks like somebody was trying to cook some eggs," he said, his voice false and his mind working fast.

Until he knew why he was being subjected to this deception, he'd keep playing the role he'd chosen. He was almost glad to be able to use the backstory he'd made up, somehow knowing that the Jim Kirk who lived with Antonia had to have a past as well as a present.

"Come on in," he said. "It's all right. It's my house. At least it used to be. I sold it years ago."

Do actors feel like this, he wondered, when they're performing? Half-believing their own pretense, proud that they'd almost convinced themselves? He'd never owned a house in his life. Houses were for other people, people who stayed put.

"I'm Captain Jean-Luc Picard of the starship--" The man hesitated. Kirk could almost have said the next word for him, but like a good actor, he refrained from stepping on a fellow performer's line. "--Enterprise."

A clock chimed, not far off, but very close. Startled, Kirk looked around for the source. There, on the mantle, among the books and pictures.

"The clock," he murmured. He reached out and touched it, remembering the last time he'd held it, the last night on the Enterprise. "I gave this clock to Bones."

The man was speaking again, but Kirk barely heard him.

"I'm from what you would consider the future. The twenty-fourth century."

A strange man claiming to be captain of the Enterprise, a familiar clock whose chime doesn't ring down the curtain...What could it mean?

He heard a dog bark and turned to see a tan Doberman sitting in the doorway.

"Butler!" He went to the dog and knelt down in front of him. "How can you be here?" he asked, too stunned to keep his question to himself. Butler was his favorite of the dogs on the Kirk farm, run by his nephew Peter for over twenty years. But-- "He's been dead seven years."

The dog licked his face and as Kirk allowed himself to enjoy the moment, a voice called from upstairs.

"Come on, Jim, I'm starving! How long are you going to be rattling around in that kitchen?"

That voice, secretly longed for but banished even in dreams. He was aware that he reacted visibly but remembered at the last moment to stick to the script.

"Antonia." He turned to the man--what did he say his name was? Picard? "What are you talking about? The future? This is the past! This is nine years ago."

On a nearby table, he saw a small chest. He opened it and lifted out a velvet pouch, knowing what keepsake would be inside. He slid it out slowly. A picture. Sunday afternoon, a chapel in rural Georgia, husband and wife. A sprig of Kyrosian wildflower was tucked into a corner of the frame.

"The day I--" He caught himself just in time. "--told her I was going back to Starfleet." Half-dreaming, he wandered into the kitchen and picked up two eggs. "These are Katerian eggs--her favorite."

Shut up, shut up! he told himself. Don't bring Suzanne into this-- don't bring in anything real. But after seeing the picture, he couldn't help remembering the morning in Bones's cabin, and the words came pouring out unbidden. "I was preparing them to soften the blow."

"I know how real this must seem to you, but it's not." Picard again. Oh, that was a smooth move. Finally admitting it wasn't real! If Kirk had had any doubts that he was being tested, they disappeared. "This isn't really your house. We're both of us caught up in some kind of temporal nexus."

A temporal nexus. Kirk thought about that as he broke the eggs into the pan. That actually made sense. He remembered someone aboard the Enterprise-B saying something about phasing in and out. "Phasing in and out of what?" Harriman had asked.

In and out of time or space or a dream? All three? Did it matter?

But how did Picard fit in? And who was he, if not someone out of Kirk's own imagination? He glanced up at the clock.

Time. Play for time. Take it all in your stride and he'll work that much harder to convince you. You'll get answers that way.

"Dill," he said abruptly.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Dillweed. In the cabinet. Second shelf to the left. Behind the oregano."

Picard followed directions, but didn't everyone in this Nexus?

"How long have you been here?"

Kirk almost laughed. You're here to answer my questions, mister, not the other way around.

"I don't know. I was aboard the Enterprise-B in the deflector control room and--Stir this, will you?" He went to the cupboard and drew out a tray, already laid out and apparently just waiting for him to come get it. "The bulkhead in front of me disappeared, and then I found myself out there just now, chopping wood, right before you walked up." He took the pan out of Picard's hands. "Thanks."

"Look." Picard's voice had taken on an impatient edge. Interesting. Kirk couldn't remember the last time he'd heard anything like that. He dished the eggs out onto a plate as Picard continued, "History records that you died saving the Enterprise-B from an energy ribbon eighty years ago."

"You say this is the twenty-fourth Century. And I'm dead."

"Not exactly. As I said, this is some kind of--"

"--temporal nexus. Yes, I heard you."

"I--"

"Something is missing."

The toast popped up right on cue. He edged past Picard and retrieved it. After putting a rose in a bud vase on the breakfast tray, he started toward the stairs, thinking that if it really was Suzanne up there instead of his temporal calendar girl, she'd take one look at the flower and tell him he'd come to the wrong bedroom. Which in this case could well be the truth.

He quickened his step, eager to find out who was upstairs waiting for him, but stopped when he realized that Picard was pursuing him. Yes, actual pursuit! Good. Let him think he's losing you and he'll spill. He's bound to.

"Captain, look! I need your help. I want you to leave the Nexus with me. We have to go back to a planet. Veridian 3. We have to stop a man called Soran from destroying a star. Millions of lives are at stake."

Kirk turned slowly, his thoughts in turmoil. He'd never heard of Veridian 3 or Soran. He'd never heard any of this before. But Picard's demand had the ring of familiarity, and more than that-- it had the ring of truth.

What the hell was going on?

It doesn't matter, he told himself. It's just another tricked-out carnival act. Convince him that you're perfectly happy in the paradise you've concocted and he'll go away.

"You say history considers me dead. Who am I to argue with history?" he asked lightly.

"You're a Starfleet officer. You have a duty--"

"I don't need to be lectured by you. I was out saving the galaxy when your grandfather was in diapers. Besides which, I think the galaxy owes me one."

He started up the stairs once more but stopped short. If this Nexus had been studying him for all this time, it would know he wouldn't turn from duty's call, not that easily. It was the call to duty that had put him here.

"All right." He went to Picard, his mind improvising only a few words ahead of his mouth. "I was like you once, so worried about duty and obligation I couldn't see past my own uniform. And what did it get me? An empty house."

He let a note of sadness creep into his voice and found that it was real. Echoes of words he'd said in another lifetime mocked him.

'My life that might have been.'

'A house with all the children gone.'

An empty house, an empty world. But so was this latest offering from the Nexus. Picard mouthed words he knew and blustered with the appropriate authority but--

I'm on to you, *Captain.*

He smiled as he said, "Not this time." He was genuinely pleased to see the dismay on Picard's face. "This time I'm going to walk up these stairs, march into that bedroom and tell Antonia I want to marry her. This time it's going to be different."

He strode through the bedroom door. If a scene was what was called for to put an end to this ridiculous test, by God, he'd bring the house down. But Picard was right behind him, and both men stared at their unexpected surroundings.

"This is not your bedroom."

Oh, good, Kirk's inner voice mocked. At last they've thought to provide a tour guide.

As if he wouldn't recognize this place. Some of the happiest moments of his childhood had been spent here.

"No. It's better."

"Better?"

"This is my uncle's barn in Idaho. I took this horse out for a ride eleven years ago on a spring day. Like this one."

Eleven years ago? Fifty would be more accurate. He'd taken the horse without permission and escaped a list of chores and his tattletale cousins. Invigorated by the memory, he threw open the stable door. If a twelve-year-old boy can duck an unwanted lecture that easily, why was he standing around listening to this man?

"If I'm right--" He grinned at Picard, anticipating the man's reaction to the line of bull he was about to spin. "--this is the day I met Antonia. This Nexus of yours--I can start all over again and do things right from day one."

He swung up onto the mare and rode out, feeling the same rush of freedom he'd felt so long ago as he had ridden away from the cries of "Jimmy! We're telling!"

Together, he and the horse pounded across the open land. Trees, grass, birds--all went by in a blur. He urged the horse on, faster and faster, until they were approaching the gorge. Just as he remembered it! It was forbidden by his aunt and promised by his uncle.

'Soon, Jimmy, maybe next summer. Not today.'

Yes, today. He kicked the horse in the sides, crouched low, and sailed over the crevice, not thinking about the danger, not thinking what might happen if he changed his mind or if the horse balked. As a twelve-year-old would-be outlaw, he'd just done it, and now, repeating the act as a grown man on the wrong side of middle age, he felt the same thrill. Flight, freedom, and the heady rush of his own audacity. As he reined in the horse, he realized he'd been scared to death but he'd done it. Not quite believing it, he turned the horse, spurred her into a gallop and did it again.

He looked back and wondered if they could take it one more time. Then he heard another horse approaching.

Picard. He knew before he looked. On horseback, coming after him, just as his uncle had. But his uncle had smiled as he approached and Picard didn't. The grim determination in his posture ended Kirk's happiness more soundly than the chiming of the clock ever had. Feeling the flush of victory fading, he angrily wished the illusion away.

Picard kept coming. Which meant... Impossible. But undeniable. Picard was real.

In all his time here, he'd never found another real being, yet somehow Picard had found him. What did that say about Kirk and what he'd been doing?

The joke was on him after all. He could have anything he wanted and yet he'd never thought to demand the only thing that really meant anything. Life. He'd thought he was fooling the Nexus when he was only fooling himself, congratulating himself on a phony victory over an enemy who didn't really exist.

As he rode towards Picard, he was chilled by the thought of how close he had come to rejecting the one true thing offered to him.

"I must have jumped that fifty times," he said. "Scared the hell out of me each time. Except this time. Because it isn't real."

In the distance, a horse neighed and both men looked up. Atop the ridge was a woman on horseback, silhouetted against the morning sun.

"Antonia," Picard said.

As he gazed up at her, Kirk realized he hadn't failed, not entirely. If Antonia was here now, when he was about to leave, that meant that the Nexus believed she was the key to his happiness. He had pulled off the greatest bluff of his life and that was a victory of some kind.

"She isn't real either, is she?" Kirk said. "Nothing here is. Nothing here matters. You know maybe this isn't about an empty house. Maybe it's about that empty chair on the bridge of the Enterprise. Ever since I left Starfleet, I haven't made a difference." He nudged the horse and she sidestepped toward Picard. He'd always wanted a horse that responded so well and her compliance made him realize that there were aspects of the Nexus he would miss. "Captain of the Enterprise, hm?"

"That's right."

"Close to retirement?"

"I'm not planning on it."

"Let me tell you something. Don't. Don't let them promote you, don't let them transfer you, don't let them do anything that takes you off the bridge of that ship, because while you're there, you can make a difference."

"Come back with me. Help me stop Soran. Make a difference again."

He nudged his horse again and they circled to the other side of Picard's mount.

"Who am I to argue with the captain of the Enterprise? What's the name of that planet--Veridian 3?"

"Yes."

"I take it the odds are against us and the situation is grim."

"You could say that."

"You know, if Spock were here, he'd say that I was an irrational, illogical human being by taking on a mission like that."

He smiled as he realized he was now needling himself in Spock's absence. Next I'll do a Georgia accent and call myself Jim boy, he thought. Then he realized that in the past five minutes, he had spoken both Spock's and McCoy's names and neither had materialized. He should have known Picard was real when the clock's chime hadn't plunged him into darkness or heralded an appearance by Chris Pike.

Promising to kick himself later for his stupidity, he said, "Sounds like fun."

He turned to take one last wondering look at the puzzle that had kept him occupied for eighty years. He knew he would spend a long time trying to figure out what had been going on here. Picard seemed like he knew more than he was letting on. But first things first--save Veridian 3 and meet the twenty-fourth century.

The twenty-fourth century. Would anyone he knew still be alive? Spock almost certainly. But McCoy, Suzanne...

His eyes scanned the top of the ridge. The woman was still there. No, wait. Not the same woman and not on horseback. His throat tightened as the wind ruffled her short curls. Suzanne. He didn't dare say her name aloud, didn't want his voice to betray the rush of emotion.

He was aware of Picard beside him, eager to take on Soran once more, this time with Kirk's help. Yet there was Suzanne, and now that he knew he could leave... Why not leave in a different way than Picard intended? Why not return to his own time and live out the rest of his life with her?

She held out her hand, and he thought, Yes. I want you. I want us.

The sun dazzled his vision and then he felt her touch, her fingers closing around his and pulling him along. A cold wind snapped at him and he said just what he'd said eighty years ago, no, not eighty years, just the night before.

"Is this what you dragged me out of bed for?"

"Absolutely." Her hand slipped out of his and he knew she was running on ahead. "Come on! We've only got a couple minutes!"

His vision cleared and he found himself surrounded by tiny spikes of light, some from the tall lamps that lined the pier, others strung across the bandstand, and the rest made up of stars and their reflections in the water.

Suzanne was at the edge of the nearly empty dance floor, holding her arms out, her feet already tracing the steps. He took her in his arms and they began moving together to the unhurried music.

"Look." She pointed to the clock tower. "It's almost midnight."

"What happens then? Back to mice and pumpkins?"

"In two minutes, our wedding day will be over. I want us to have one dance."

As she nestled closer, the Jim Kirk who lived this moment in his memory was engulfed by a deep sorrow for the one who had lived it in truth. That man hadn't known how short-lived his happiness would be. Two minutes to midnight--what did it matter? He had been certain they would have many dances, many nights, many years.

He held her closer, thinking, Do it right, not from day one, but from this day. Tell her. Say 'I'm not going to the Enterprise-B.'

"Suzanne."

She turned her face up to his. The smile on her lips was waiting to be kissed away.

"I'm--"

The clock began to chime.

"No!"

He quickly scanned the pier, seeking an escape or at least a shelter from the clock's lowing boom.

"Look!" he heard a man say. "A falling star!"

The star's flame was impossibly bright, and he crushed Suzanne to his chest and pressed his face to her hair.

"Oh, make a wish!" a woman cried. "Hurry!"

"Too late. It's gone now."

He looked up and saw only the gentlest specks of light. The star had burned itself out, leaving not even a ghost of a trail. Then he realized there was no one in his arms and the clock had finished chiming.

He was astride the horse once more, staring up at the ridge. Suzanne was still there, a shadow against the morning sky.

I've made my choice, he thought. I'm not going to the Enterprise-B or Veridian 3. The galaxy *does* owe me one. Picard will manage Soran. He'll just go back earlier and take him by surprise.

He was about to spur his horse forward when the figure on the ridge held out her hand again and this time, she was holding out his uniform, just as she had that spring morning when the air was fresh and new and he'd been cooking Katerian eggs.

This isn't my imagination, he thought. I'm not making this up.

Somehow it truly was Suzanne on the ridge, in spirit if not in the flesh. Strip away all the illusions and she was still there, offering him his truest self, just as she had so many years ago during the roaring argument that followed their escape from Nevaris

"A hero isn't an easy person to love," she'd said, her tears shocking him as her anger hadn't, "but I do. And on the day you die, the only comfort I'll have is knowing you were true to yourself and I had the courage to love you for it."

True to himself. The uniform and all that went with it, including the empty house and no beach to walk on. That had been his destiny and nothing had ever turned him away from it for more than a handful of months, not even his love for Suzanne. It hurt to think that she had known that and had loved him in spite of it, had even taken pride in it. But she wouldn't have had it any other way, and that had always drawn him back to her just as it kept him from charging up the ridge now.

You were right, sweetheart, he thought. Goodbyes are important. This is ours.

He closed his eyes and remembered the fiery passion that had been ignited so many years ago, the joys and sorrows that had followed, the love and laughter, the fights and forgivings, and finally, he remembered holding her in his arms in the chilly night air, her body soft and warm against his as they moved together, complete, perfect, and finally that easy.

When he opened his eyes, she was gone.

He turned the horse and had ridden only a few feet with Picard when the air opened up before them and a blinding light came pouring out. Then there was heat and dust and a madman who desperately wanted to return to the paradise Kirk had rejected.

[The End]

"Maybe we weren't meant for paradise. Maybe we were meant to fight our way through, struggle, claw our way up, scratch for every inch of the way. Maybe we can't stroll to the music of the lute, we must march to the sound of drums."
- Kirk, This Side of Paradise