Epilogue



"SECURE FROM RED ALERT. Establish contact with the shuttlecraft and have them report on any rescues and return to the ship as soon as possible. We need a damage-control party on the bridge."

The bridge gasped and spat around them, but there was a sense of control again. Pausing to cough out the acrid smoke that was tickling his lungs, James Kirk prowled his bridge and checked on his people one by one. In their sweat-streaked faces he saw the charity they offered him for the decision he had been forced to make, their willingness to do it all again if necessary, and a respect he found somehow saddening.

One by one they assured him they were all right and would now begin the slow process of piecing together the damaged systems that had brought them through all this alive.

There wasn't one of them who would jump ship at the next dock after all this. These were the kind of people who discovered themselves better for having fielded mortal danger. No matter the fright, they hadn't crouched scared or shrunk from the face of it or let it petrify them out of doing their jobs. Not even Donnier and Byers, who had found themselves in the wrong place at the wrong time, doing things they'd never imagined they would have to do. But if the ship had been wrecked under them, they'd have died with their hands on the halyards. That was something to write home about.

One by one he congratulated them, and finally made it around to Spock.

"Mr. Spock."

"Captain."

"Final analysis?"

"Zennor's ship has been completely decimated. Their dreadnought attachment was apparently a massive power factory, and once unshielded and ignited …"

Spock paused and shook his head, communicating silently the ferocity of such a chain reaction.

"I am certain it was very quick," he added.

Gratefully, Kirk made a small, inadequate nod. "Thank you. But Zennor made his own choice. I'm sorry it had to happen, but I won't blame myself."

Spock seemed relieved by that. "Both the shuttlecraft Columbia and Galileo are on final approach, and both report having picked up survivors from several Klingon lifepods. Galileo reports she's towing what may be a lifepod from Zennor's ship, but there are no life signs aboard."

"I want to have a look at that. Tell them not to open it until I get there."

"Yes, sir."

"Captain," McCoy interrupted, using his good hand to hold the communications earpiece to his ear. "General Kellen's requesting permission to come aboard."

Kirk glanced at him. "Fine. But tell him to come unarmed this time and expect to be under armed escort at all times."

McCoy paled at having to tell that to a Klingon general, but turned back to the board.

"Captain," Spock went on, "I have also picked up telemetry broadcast by Zennor just prior to the final explosion, but it has not been sorted out yet. The signals were scrambled and quite complex."

"Telemetry? Meant for us?"

"No, sir. I believe he meant it for broadcast back to his own people."

"Do you think the message got through?"

Spock canted his head to the side, then winced and straightened it again. "No way to tell I know it was successfully broadcast, but there was no evidence that the fissure opened to receive it. Still, their technology is largely an unknown."

"See if you can make any sense of it. I'll be on the flight deck. Have the general brought there when he comes aboard. McCoy, with me. And, Spock … thank you again."

Spock clasped his hands behind his back, a casual motion considering his condition. "My pleasure to serve, Captain. As always."


The flight deck was organized chaos. Well, havoc, to keep in the spirit of the occasion. The two newly returned shuttlecraft lay in the open rather than in their docking stalls, having just come in with their various acquired rescues and tows. Several Klingon lifepods littered the deck, in various conditions from pristine to burned and dented, unable even to sit on the deck without tilting.

Wounded Klingon soldiers, also in various conditions, sat or lay against every bulkhead. At first glance as he and McCoy entered, Kirk guessed there were over three hundred of them.

McCoy broke off immediately to collect reports from the dashing interns, nurses, and medics. Orderlies and ensigns moved about everywhere, passing out drinks and something to eat that made most of the Klingons sneer, but they were all eating whatever it was and trying to be polite.

Those who were conscious looked up at him suspiciously as he surveyed them and received reports from the shuttlecraft lieutenants. He saw in their eyes their fears, relying on rumors of the savagery inflicted by Starfleet on any prisoners of war. They didn't seem to have quite absorbed the fact that they were in fact allies for the moment and were in the care of their commodore.

"Lieutenant," Kirk greeted as the commander of the Galileo approached him with a manifest.

"Staaltenburg, sir."

"Yes, I remember. Eric."

"That's correct, sir."

"You're the one who reported picking up a pod from the big ship?"

"Yes, sir." Staaltenburg brushed his blond hair out of his eyes and led the way around to the other side of Galileo, where there lay a solid black pod without so much as a running light upon it. In the blackness of space, it would've been completely invisible if they hadn't been scanning for things about that size.

"We practically slammed into it, sir, before we realized it was there and wasn't an asteroid. I never heard of a lifepod that didn't want to be found. No life signs at all in there, by the way, sir. We've scanned it … no harmful rays or leaks, and there is an atmosphere in there, so it's properly pressurized. We can open it anytime you like."

"Do so."

Staaltenburg waved up two men who had been standing by, anticipating the order, who came in with phaser torches and went to work on the locking mechanism of the pod.

"Captain," Staaltenburg said then, and nodded toward the port side entryway.

Kirk turned.

General Kellen trundled toward him, flanked by two Starfleet Security guards.

"General," Kirk greeted, not particularly warmed up.

"Commodore. My men are being taken care of, I see," the wide Klingon said, glancing about at the rows of rescued soldiers. "I shall expect them to be completely cooperative."

"So far, so good," Kirk said.

Kellen faced him and looked over the tops of his glasses. "I congratulate you. You saved what is left of my fleet. You are the Kirk."

Unable to muster any mirth, the captain—commodore—bobbed his brows in response. He got a little jolt of satisfaction at being reinstalled as the resident buzzard of Starfleet.

"Thank you. You still have charges to face regarding the murder of a Starfleet serviceman and a guest of the Federation. Counsel will be provided if you require it."

Kellen made a small conciliatory bow. "I know. I shall face those charges boldly. I accept your offer of counsel, as it will go in my favor to have Federation lawyers speaking to a Federation court."

"Very wise, and probably true, General. There are considerable mitigating circumstances. Be forewarned that I take the death of my crewman very seriously and I intend to testify against you. However, I'll also testify that you stopped the assault on Capella Four and by doing that probably forestalled many other deaths. It'll be an interesting few months for us both, I think."

"I am ready. I confess that I do not understand what makes you humans fight. You did destroy them after all, but even though I told you what these people were, it took you a very long time to decide to act."

"On the contrary," Kirk pointed out, "I decided not to act rashly. That too is a decision. You were right about who they were, but you were wrong about what they were. No one is inherently evil. That comes only from the choices we make and the actions we take."

"Perhaps." Kellen's small eyes twinkled. "I wish you people would fight against us. What a grand war we could have!"

Kirk leered at him, now somewhat amused in spite of everything. He felt an unbidden grin pull at his cheeks. "Maybe someday, General."

"Sir!" Staaltenburg called. "It's open."

Kirk glanced around the vast, high-halled flight deck. "McCoy! Over here."

He waited for the doctor to join them, then nodded to Staaltenburg. "Go ahead, Lieutenant."

Together, Staaltenburg and the two other crewmen hauled open a very thick hatch on the black pod. There was no light inside, but only a slight gush of atmosphere as the pod equalized.

"Get a light," Staaltenburg ordered, and one of the crewmen passed him a handheld utility light.

The crewmen, the general, the doctor, and the commodore pressed into a half-circle and huddled up before the open hatch.

"Well, I'll be damned," McCoy spouted.

The light cast a bright blue-white glow inside the pod. There, with tiny faces in many shapes, their bodies stuffed with memories, lay carefully stacked what must have been over a thousand linen poppets.

Kirk looked at McCoy.

"Rag dolls?" Staaltenburg blurted. "They bothered to save a bunch of rag dolls?"

They stood back from the hatch, contemplating what they saw there.

"You want me to have these disposed of, sir?" the lieutenant offered, clearly aggravated that he'd gone to the trouble of capturing and towing in a pod that turned out to be stuffed with stuffed dolls.

Kirk gazed into the bubble of tiny sojourners and remembered a moment, a conversation, that might have flowered into something very good, had the past not thrown out its tripwire.

"No, Lieutenant. I want these carefully catalogued, then permanently stored in airtight containers. It's a trust I owe to a friend."

Staaltenburg frowned, then shrugged. "As you wish, sir."

The lieutenant and his men moved off to follow their assignment, and McCoy was watching Kirk. He was the only one who understood the strange order, and Kirk found comfort in that.

"Very nice, Captain," the doctor offered. "I don't know what else we can do."

"If that door ever opens again," Kirk said, "we may need a peace offering. And their families will want to … have those."

McCoy nodded. "Zennor would be glad to know you picked them up, Jim. In spite of everything, I believe that."

"Captain," Staaltenburg called from the bulkhead, and motioned at the comm unit. "Mr. Spock, sir."

McCoy followed as Kirk headed over to the port side, both of them a little too aware of that pod back there.

"Kirk here."

"Spock, sir," the baritone voice came through. "I have translated the telemetry. The message was launched at nearly warp twenty-five. I had believed such speed impossible, but they have somehow overcome that. I remind you there is still no way to know whether or not the message went through the fissure or will travel on its own to the other side of the galaxy."

"Go ahead, Mr. Spock. I think I'm beyond surprises."

"I hope so, sir. The message is from Zennor himself. It states, 'The Battle of Garamanus is lost. We have not survived, but this is our rightful place. Try again."