stories     fire in which we burn    IMPRESSIONS    there can be only none?    return of the borg First Impressions by Steve Anderson Writer.SGAcreative.com Published in Tales From the Promenade... and Beyond (1995), under the pseudonym Timothy Gerard. (c) 1989-2005, Steve Anderson, SGAcreative.com DISCLAIMER: This is a work of fan-fiction.  It is presented here solely for entertainment value, and is in no way meant to infringe upon copyrights, trademarks, or other intellectual property rights that may pertain to these characters, technologies, or other proprietary materials. Prologue     Chapter One     Chapter Two     Chapter Three Prologue The Admiral leaned back in his chair, looking out across the bridge of his ship and beaming with pride.  It had been an uphill battle to get this far, but they were going to make it.  He had, at first, been worried by the idea of trusting the colonists' lives to untrained crews, but the Governor was right: it was better to leave the professional pilots in their cryogenic sleep chambers for the duration of the journey and have them fresh when they arrived at the planet than to use them now for routine monitoring of automated shipboard systems and then end up stuck on the ships when the ships arrived at their destination and the pilots with enough training to handle the shuttles were all old and gray. The drawback, of course, was that untrained crewmembers responded less quickly in emergencies.  But, like the original survey team's ship, the colony ships seemed to be finding nothing but the smoothest of interstellar sailing.  The Admiral smiled to himself, his professional pessimism giving way, for once, to the overwhelming sense of hope permeating the ship. As if on cue, the deck of the bridge bucked under him and the entire ship began to groan, and then to scream, as immense pressures ripped and tore at its framework.  Startled out of his reverie, the Admiral was once again all professional.  Eyes darting about the bridge, impatient for the reports his crew should have been pouring forth since the first indication of trouble, he stewed for a moment in the command chair and then snapped out an order: "REPORT!" No one answered him.  Half the bridge crew was too stunned to move, and the rest of them were launching into what the Admiral thought of as 'research' mode, without any apparent concern for the possible threat to the ship or the other colonists on board.  Cursing under his breath, the Admiral lunged to the helm, pushing the navigator roughly aside, and took direct control of the ship himself. First, a look at what was going on.  Sensors were reporting a disturbance off the starboard bow.  He punched a few buttons and the main screen came alive with a visual scan in that direction.  The Admiral glanced at the screen, and his eyes went huge.   A whirling vortex, almost a tornado of pure energy, had formed in the midst of the convoy, seemingly coming out of nowhere, and was pulling at all three ships with so much force that the instruments could barely begin to measure it.  What they did manage to indicate was a set of gravometric shifts and swirls within the vortex, the like of which the Admiral had never seen. Whatever it was, though, it was pulling the ships in and there was absolutely nothing they could do to stop it.  According to the computer, the ships would enter the vortex in fifteen seconds... ten... five... And suddenly, they were back in open space.  It was as if nothing had happened.  "Computer," the Admiral said, resisting the urge to bite his lip, "Position report." The mechanical response was immediate.  "Unable to comply." "Explain." "Stars do not correspond to known charts." "Cause?" the Admiral prompted. "Unknown." "Theorize." "Possibility: vortex may have been a temporal wormhole." "Meaning we're in the same place, only at a different time?" "Correct." "All right, then, when are we?" "Initial calculations indicate current Earth year of approximately 3,000 B.C." "Three thousand.  B. C." "Approximately." "Oh, God." They'd really have to make it on their own now.  No matter what happened, there would be no turning back.  Going home was out of the question: if they'd been thrown back five thousand years, it would be a very, very long time before there'd be anyone out there fit to receive them back at Earth. The colonists would panic when they found out, and with all the difficulties involved in establishing a new colony, widespread panic was the last thing they could afford.  Much as he valued honor and honesty, the Admiral reluctantly decided, the colonists could not be allowed to know that they had travelled through time on their way here.  Only he and the Governor would know; they would keep the secret to themselves and hope that no one else ever caught on. Time passed.  The colony ships landed, and despite some hard times, the settlers survived their first year.  And their second. It was not until the eighth year that the real problems started.  As things went from bad to worse, the Admiral and the Governor were forced to use every bit of cunning and dialectical skill they possessed to hold off the colonists' demands that a beacon be sent back to Earth.  How could they tell them that no beacon they sent would be received?  How could they tell them that Ancient Greece hadn't even risen, much less fallen, yet?  They couldn't.  Not now.  Not with the colony hanging in the balance and the settlers on the brink of panic. Years later, on his death bed, the Admiral had a change of heart.  He was fading fast and he knew it.  He had no more than a few seconds left.  "I have to tell you something," he said to his only son.  "It's important." "Rest, Father," said his son. "No.  It's too important.  This cannot die with me." "You aren't going to die, Father!" "Son, listen to me.  The ships"--he broke off, racked with pain. "Yes, Father?  What about the ships?" "The ships," he gasped, struggling against an overwhelming sense of exhaustion, "went through...." And with that, he died. Chapter One Captain's Personal Log: Less than two weeks from the end of our five-year mission, and we get shuffled off to do some planetary surveys.  Nice home-coming. Kirk looked up from his monitor screen as his door chime sounded.  "Come," he said, and the door opened. Even before the door opened, Kirk knew who it was going to be.  The timing suggested it had to be a social call, either Spock or McCoy coming to talk with him about the reassignment and the approaching end of the mission.  And since Spock was up on the bridge "minding the store," as Kirk liked to call it.... McCoy let the door close behind him and stood quietly, watching and worrying as his friend and captain mused.  At last, when he guessed Kirk had sulked long enough, he spoke. "Jim, I--" he began, then paused to consider his next words. "Don't bother," Kirk interrupted. "Jim?" McCoy asked, concerned. "Bones," said Kirk, "I don't need to be consoled.  I don't need to be supported.  All I need is--"  He broke off. "Yes?" McCoy prompted. Kirk laughed.  "What I really need is a way to convince Delacroix that I'm really not out for his job." "Do you really think that's what this is all about?" "Yes, I do."  Kirk stood up and started to pace.  "Two weeks ago, word got out that Starfleet Command wants to promote me to Admiral once this tour is over.  The very next day, Delacroix introduced the charges against me.  And now," he concluded bitterly, whirling to face McCoy, "the Enterprise has been diverted from its scheduled mission to try to stop a war that could cost billions of lives, and given a glorious new mission, instead: filling in a few holes in a two-hundred-year-old planetary survey." "All right, all right, so the Farragut takes the diplomatic run instead.  You've solved more than your share of the galaxy's problems." "I know that.  It's just that, well, I'd like to go out with a bang instead of a whimper." "Hey, who knows, look at it this way: with the diplomatic mission, at least we knew what we were facing.  Here, well, maybe we'll discover that one of these planets is inhabited!  You never know." "Doctor, as Spock would say, that's not logical.  There are a few class M planets in the area, sure, but even the gaping holes in the planetary survey don't leave much doubt that there wasn't any sentient life in the system two hundred years ago, so the chances of it being there now are...."  Kirk shrugged. McCoy gave Kirk a look one part astonishment and two parts simple disbelief.  "The planetary survey doesn't leave much doubt?!?  For God's sake, Jim, the records don't even record the name the survey team gave the system!" Kirk shrugged.  "I know.  You're right, we don't know what we'll find.  But--"  He shrugged again. "Good."  McCoy grinned.  "For a minute there, I thought someone had beat me to it."  He waited for Kirk to look up, and then pulled a bottle of red liquid out from behind his back. Kirk smiled.  "What's the poison of the day, Doc?" "Romulan ale.  One of my better prescriptions." Kirk nodded, then laughed, stifling a smile. "What's so funny?" McCoy demanded. "I was just thinking.  Here I am, captain of the Federation's flagship, about to enjoy a highly illegal drink with my ship's doctor, who really should know better, and the only charge Delacroix could come up with based on my record was insanity." "I guess he just doesn't have a sense of humor." "I guess not."  Kirk took the glass McCoy poured him and raised it.   "To 'a naughty little boy.'" McCoy smiled and raised his glass.  "To 'a planet-eating doomsday machine.'" "To Chicago Mobs of the Twenties." "To our cut, you mean." "That, too." "To Abraham Lincoln, Surak, Colonel Greene, and the rest of them." "To 'Roman gladiators and Son-worshippers.'" "To Harry Mudd." "To Charlie." "To the Guardian of Forever." "To tribbles." McCoy grinned and raised his glass again.  "To Delacroix." Kirk returned the grin.  "Cheers." The two friends clinked their glasses together and drained them.  As the alcohol hit his system, Kirk gasped, then wheezed, "That's quite a prescription." "Only the best for you--" McCoy was cut off by the intercom's whistle.  Crossing to the desk, Kirk bent and turned on the screen.  "Kirk here." Spock's face appeared on the screen.  "Captain," he said, "we have found something you might find interesting." "What is it?" "There are three ships in orbit around the planet." "I'll be right there." Moments later, Kirk appeared on the bridge with McCoy in tow.  Spock vacated the center seat and crossed to his station. "What do your sensors say, Mr. Spock?" Kirk asked, settling into the command chair. Spock did not answer for a moment or two.  Finally, he turned around and said, "This is quite impossible.   The ships are in a stable, geosynchronous orbit; the orbit itself can tell us nothing about how long they have been here.  To all appearances, the ships appear to date from early twenty-first century Earth.  The materials, style, construction, and markings are all consistent with that dating." "Well," said Kirk, "that's odd, certainly, but it's not impossible.  Records from that period aren't anywhere near complete." "However," Spock continued, "the rate of decay--rust, pitting from interplanetary debris, and so forth--indicate that these ships have been unoccupied in their current orbit for the past five thousand years." Kirk goggled.  "Mr. Sulu," he said at last, "geosynchronous orbit.  Match orbit with those ships; I want a closer look." "Aye, captain," said the helmsman, and a few moments later, the Enterprise joined the other three ships in orbit. * * * * * On a remote hillside in the southern hemisphere of the planet stood a weathered human male.  He was the kind of man who would never be "old" even if he lived to be a thousand, but nonetheless, he looked tired, worn out from decades of doing more than anyone should ever be expected to do.  Opinions varied on his real importance to the planet, and his recent semi-retirement here in the south had sparked the old debate anew.  Many claimed that he was the second most powerful person on the planet, and certainly, his advice and counsel was widely sought and his opinion was respected, even revered, all across the planet.  Others, however, disagreed, and insisted that he was, in fact, the very most powerful person on the planet with no exceptions at all. Which was, he mused as he stood waiting for his turn at the telescope, rather remarkable, considering that he had never held or sought any political office.  His hats were many and various, however: advisor, spokesman, counselor, spy, musician, friend.  Somehow he always found time for that last one; it wasn't always easy, but he had made a name for himself as always being willing to go that extra mile for whoever needed his help. Having so much respect had its benefits, true, but it also had its pitfalls.  Wherever he was, whyever he was there, he was always expected to lead.  Even now. He had come here to the relatively quiet south to escape the pressures of life in his northern home; living right in the center of things was killing him, and he needed to get away from it.  So the mother of his son had forced him to come south--she had come, too, so it wasn't a complete loss--but her idea of getting him to relax was doomed to failure.   First, there was the fact that he didn't know how to slow down.  And now there was this archaeological dig, too.  What had begun as an accidental discovery had turned out to be the gateway to the planet's history--and to its future, as well. It had been a year since the digging had begun.  In that time, they had begun to put together a basic history of the world, one of the most important facets of which was that their history began on another world.  Their ancestors had come here from another planet around another star, making the trip in the ships that still shone in the southern sky like stars.  The people alive on the planet today were kin to people who could travel through deep space. Some of this they had worked out on their own; much of it, especially the parts about how these spacecraft operated and about star systems in particular, came from the ancient computer system they'd recovered.  The computer could, it seemed, communicate with the ship-stars above and get information from them.  Quite a handy trick to have at your disposal, especially for a culture which was otherwise on a technological level the computer labelled "equivalent to medieval-to-Renaissance with some aberrations," whatever that might mean. Anyway, the girl in front of him at the telescope was scrambling out of the way now.  He thanked her kindly and stepped forward, bending his aged back and squinting into the eyepiece.  After some adjustment of the focus--his eyes were starting to go, he was sorry to note--he managed to get a reasonably clear image. What he saw was white, metallic, and composed of a large disk with a large cylinder behind and below it and two slimmer cylinders behind that one.  It was obviously not natural, so he concluded it had to be a ship of some kind. Could he communicate with it, though?  He pondered on that subject for a moment or two, then finally decided it was worth a try. Five minutes later, he was in the computer room and he had logged in.  "Computer," he said, "there is a fourth ship now in orbit around this planet." The computer whirred and hummed for a moment, then replied, "Confirmed." "Can we communicate with it?" "If the ship happens to be monitoring our channel and if its crew happen to have a translator, yes." His voice shaking with excitement, he said the fateful words: "Let's try it." "Message to send?" The question caught him off-guard.  He had been so anxious to make contact, he had neglected to think through what he wanted to say.  What message, indeed?  Best to be friendly, of course.  The ageless man smiled softly to himself as an idea sprang to mind.  Everyone who was anyone on the planet would be there tomorrow, or whenever it happened... yes, that would be ideal. He flipped the computer's "Record" switch and began to speak. * * * * * Kirk sat in the command chair and waited, impatiently, for something to happen.  The three mysterious ships, apparently simultaneously two hundred years old and five thousand years old, were a mystery of just the sort he had been looking for, and now he was back to his usual self, impatient to find the clue that would help him to unravel the mystery and find its solution.  Unfortunately, he had a gut feeling that, this time, things would get considerably more mysterious before they got themselves sorted out and started making any kind of sense. He was right.  Just when he'd decided that the planet itself was of no importance and that the origin and purpose of the ships was only an academic, archaeological issue, Uhura turned from her board to face him.  "Captain," she said to his back, "we are being hailed." Kirk started.  "Hailed?" he repeated.  "By unoccupied ships?" "No, sir," Uhura responded, her voice full of at least as much surprise and confusion as his own had been.  "We're being hailed from the planet." "But that's impossible!  The survey team reported no intelligent life!" "I can't explain it, Captain," was Uhura's professional response, "but we are being hailed." Kirk shrugged, accepting the inconceivable truth.  "On screen." Uhura's fingers played across her console, and a moment later, static filled the screen and a piercing whine issued from the bridge speakers.  An ear-splitting second later, she managed to turn off the noise.  "Sorry, sir," she said.  "I'll try to decode and translate it." A few minutes later, Uhura looked up from her board again.  "Captain," she said, "I've only been able to translate part of the message.  It appears to be some sort of a computer code, but it doesn't correspond precisely with any computer language in our computer's databanks." "Very well, Lieutenant," said Kirk, "give me what you've got." "'I identify myself as. . . speaking for the. . . welcome you to our skies and invite you to visit our planet and see the hatching of the new clutch of eggs... sometime tomorrow.'  Coordinates are provided, Captain." "'See the hatching of a new clutch of eggs,'" Kirk repeated thoughtfully.  "Not humans, then.  So either those aren't their ships, or the ships aren't from Earth, after all."  He frowned suddenly, trying to make sense of the rest of the message.  "Any indication when tomorrow this hatching is supposed to occur, Lieutenant?" Uhura went over the transmission again, and then a third time to make sure.  "No, sir," she replied.  "I don't believe they transmitted any indication of time." Kirk frowned, then shrugged.  "Thank them for the invitation, and ask them when the hatching is supposed to take place." "Aye, sir," Uhura said, her fingers already flying across the controls at her console.  A few minutes later, a response came in, and she went over it, decoding it as well as she could.  "Captain," she reported, "response from the planet.  Apparently, our friend doesn't understand how we could not know when a hatching is about to occur, but he will signal us at the appropriate time tomorrow." Kirk nodded.  "Very well.  Mr. Spock, you have the bridge.  Continue mapping the other planets in the system; I'd also appreciate any new ideas about the ships or the planet itself." "Acknowledged, Captain," said the Vulcan, moving to the center seat as Kirk vacated it. "Now, doctor," Kirk said, leading McCoy into the turbolift, "I believe we have some unfinished business." Late the next afternoon, a signal came in from the planet.  Uhura had worked out most of the language by now and read the message with no apparent holes: "Sorry for the delay; we were having some technical problems here.  The Hatching will be getting underway any minute now.  Please hurry or you will be late." Fifteen minutes later, Kirk and Spock stood on the transporter platform, resplendent in their dress uniforms; this was, after all, a state occasion.  Behind the transporter console, Scotty readjusted the controls again and looked up.  "Coordinates set.  Ready to energize." "Energize," Kirk ordered, and his world went fuzzy with the accustomed hum of the transporter beam. Moments later, the fuzziness cleared and he was standing on the surface of the planet.  Kirk's first thought was that something was wrong with the ship's sensors; Sulu had recorded this planet as Class M with no really major deviations from a comfortable temperature, but already Kirk could feel the heat of the ground burning through his boots. Then he became aware of the people and the, well, creatures on the ledges all around the walls of this huge stone room.  On second thought, no, this wasn't really a room at all.  It was a cave, a big one.  A thought exploded in Kirk's mind and he looked down in a momentary panic; he had suddenly realized that he was, in fact, standing inside a volcano--that was the only explanation for both the heat of the ground beneath him and the nature of the walls of the cave. By an act of will, Kirk forced himself to calm down.  This certainly wasn't an active volcano, or all these people wouldn't have been here, or at least a few of them would have been looking worried.  No, it had to be safe. That worry laid to rest, he looked again at the people on the ledges.  They were dressed in fantastic garb, reminiscent of the medieval-renaissance style of legends and folktales even now in the twenty-third century.  They were all staring at him and at Spock, of course, but that was to be expected; they'd just seen the two Federation men materialize out of thin air. He turned his attention next to the creatures.  They were beasts the like of which he had never seen before, huge reptilian creatures with glistening wings in a profusion of colors: green, bronze, blue, white, gold.  They were astonishing.  Shaking his head in wonder, Kirk turned to comment on them to Spock. Spock, for his part, had a much better idea of why the people on the ledges were staring, or at least of part of the reason why they were staring.  He had started by looking around himself on the ground, and had been surprised to discover that he was surrounded by humanoid children and mammoth reptilian eggs.  Apparently this "Hatching" was some sort of a ritual; at least, the children all seemed to be treating it that way.  Looking up, he had noticed the people watching from the ledges, and concluded that he and Kirk had, indeed, interrupted a ritual. Anxious to preserve proper protocol, he had turned to suggest to the captain that they move out of the children's way when, suddenly, he felt a tap, almost a peck, on his lower leg.  Curious, he looked down... ...into the whirling red eyes of a wedge-headed creature whose bronze wings were still damp from its tenure within the egg that lay broken just behind it. Kirk turned to Spock just in time to see his first officer make eye contact with a small bronze creature by his feet.  Then the Vulcan seemed to melt, and suddenly the normally stoic first officer looked at his captain with undisguised wonder and joy on his face and said in obvious awe, "Captain, he says his name is Rhonth." Chapter Two Lessa, Weyrwoman of Benden Weyr and one of the most powerful people on Pern, stared at the hatching grounds in shock.  She wasn't surprised, exactly; she had been expecting the visitors from the ship, and she had known that their technology might be so great as to seem magical.  But still, to see them appear out of thin air like that, without the aid of a dragon!  It was astounding! The men themselves--both men, though, she noticed with a frown--were almost as amazing as their method of arrival here.  What were their tunics made of?  They looked so impressive!  No doubt they were intentionally fancy garments; Hatchings were formal occasions.  But that tall one in the blue tunic!  His ears!  "Fascinating," she mumbled to herself, smiling slightly, her diplomatic duties momentarily forgotten in the delight of the moment. And then the dragonet had pecked his leg and he had looked down and Impressed.  That had been the last thing she had expected.  But why did he and his friend look so surprised and confused?  Hadn't they ever attended a Hatching before?  Robinton had said that these star- travelers were kin to the Pernese; how could her kin be smart enough to be able to fly between the stars and still not know how to handle themselves on the Hatching grounds? Unless, of course, dragons were not as universal as humans were.  If dragons really were as unusual as all that, the tall one, the one who had Impressed, would have to remain here to learn the fine art of dragon care.  For the moment, though, the negotiations would have to wait; there were other eggs on the Hatching Grounds, and it would never do to interrupt a Hatching. But the men from the ship were obviously confused, at a loss, and making them uncomfortable would not be good for diplomacy.  Quietly grumbling about the burdens of command, Lessa hopped down from her ledge and picked her way across the hot sands to where the two men stood. The man in the gold tunic smiled wanly at her as she approached and asked tentatively, "Miss?  What's going on?" She smiled back, more decisively, and said, "It's a Hatching.  It's just started, so it will probably be going on for a few more minutes.  Ordinarily, weyrlings remain here until all the eggs have hatched, but we obviously need to talk, so if you two will follow me?  Oh," she added, turning to the tall one and nodding toward his dragonet, "and would you please bring your friend along?" Both men nodded, and she led them off the Hatching Grounds to where the meat for the dragonets was being kept.  "What is your name?" she asked the tall one, "and the name of your dragonet?" "My name is Spock," he said, "and if I might ask, what is a dragonet?" She pointed to the creature at his feet.  "That is a dragonet.  What is his name?" "He says his name is Rhonth." "Very well, then.  Spock," she pronounced carefully, nodding toward one of the bowls of meat set out for the weyrlings, "you must feed Rhonth until his birthing hunger is satisfied."  After giving the bowl a brief look of distaste, Spock seemed to decide he had no diplomatically acceptable alternative, and began feeding his dragonet. "From this moment on," Lessa continued, "as is our way with weyrlings--those who have Impressed dragons--your name shall be changed.  You shall be known as S'pock."  He raised one long eyebrow, but did not look up from where Rhonth, still hungry, awaited the next piece of meat. "And you," Lessa said, looking at the blond one in the gold tunic, "what is your name?" Bowing slightly and extending a hand, he replied, "Captain James T. Kirk of the Starship Enterprise." Lessa took his hand and frowned, trying to get the whole title straight in her head.  At last, she shook her head.  "That's quite a name.  Must I use it all?" He flashed her a quick smile.  "No, no, just call me Jim.  And you are?" "My name is Lessa.  I am the Weyrwoman of Benden Weyr." "'Weird woman?'" Jim asked.  "'Benden Weyr?'  Is that the name of this planet?" She sighed.  This was not going well.  Pronouncing her words carefully, she explained.  "I am the Weyrwoman, the one who pretty much runs things here in Benden Weyr.  Benden Weyr is this place here; the planet is called Pern." "I'm sorry," he said, slightly embarrassed.  "What precisely is a weyr?" "You really don't know much, do you?" Lessa said, then mumbled an apology.  "That," she explained, pointing to Rhonth and forcing herself to be patient, "is a dragonet.  It will grow to be a dragon.  A weyr is where dragons live.  I am the woman in charge of this Weyr." Kirk's mouth dropped open.  "Did you say, 'Dragons?'" * * * * * Back in his quarters, Kirk stared at McCoy and repeated weakly, "Dragons." McCoy coughed. "Dear God, Bones," Kirk blurted, "what is Starfleet going to think when I send in a revised galactic map with a legend reading, 'Here There Be Dragons'?" McCoy gave Kirk a rueful look.  "They're going to think you really are crazy." "Gee, thanks," Kirk grumbled.  "That's just what I needed to hear." McCoy shrugged.  It was the truth.  After a moment, he asked, "What does Spock think about all this?  Where is he, anyway?" Kirk sighed.  "That's the really rich part of this.  They say that, for the sake of this dragonet thing, which they insist is not a pet, he's going to have to stay, at least for a year, until it's fully grown.  And his name is now S'pock." "Wonderful," said McCoy.  "I'm sure Starfleet will be overjoyed to lose the best first officer in the fleet for a year."  A moment later, he added, "And don't you dare tell him I called him that." Kirk managed a chuckle.  "Wouldn't dream of it." McCoy narrowed his eyes.  "We do get him back a year from now, don't we?" Kirk shifted in his chair.  "Apparently, dragons and their riders become inseparable.  And fully grown dragons are huge.  We could probably fit one in the Enterprise's cargo holds, but only if it never moved, and it wouldn't be comfortable." "So we're basically talking about losing Spock forever." "It sure seems that way." "And we're also talking about you losing your commission to this insanity charge, because they're never going to believe in dragons." "Exactly." "This just gets better and better." A beep from the intercom cut off Kirk's reply.  Shaking his head, he turned back to the desk and keyed on the monitor screen.  "Kirk here." Uhura's face appeared on the screen.  "Captain, there's a message for you from Starfleet Command.  A preliminary hearing is to be held in one week's time.  Your presence is required.  That's it, Captain." He sighed.  "Thank you, Lieutenant."  Kirk switched off the screen. "Dragons," he muttered to himself.   "And Starfleet and insanity charges and the end of the mission.  When it rains, it pours." McCoy looked thoughtful for a moment.  "You know, Jim," he said, "I wish we could fit a dragon in the cargo bay.  I'd love to see Delacroix's face if you showed up at Starfleet Headquarters with a dragon in tow.  He'd pitch a fit." Kirk laughed in spite of himself.  "That he would, Bones.  That he would." The mirth only lasted for a few moments, and then Kirk leaned back in his chair again, looking defeated.  "What am I going to do, Bones?" he asked. McCoy tried desperately to think of something encouraging to say, but to no avail.  "I don't know, Jim. I'm just a country doctor." * * * * * Lessa surveyed the bowl of the Weyr and smiled.  The man who had introduced himself to her as Jim had decided that, as part of an effort to curb the rising tension on his ship--he had tried to explain to her what the problem was, but she really couldn't see how dragons could compromise anyone's credibility--at least a few of his officers could come down to the surface for a little rest and recreation. So, off at a corner table, the stranger named Scotty was sitting with Masterharper Robinton, who was introducing him to the finest in Benden wines.  At least, that was how it had started; by now, the "lesson" had turned into a drinking competition, and Scotty seemed to be almost a match for Robinton. In another corner, Menolly, who had accompanied Robinton to the Hatching and had remained afterwards to wait for a dragon-ride back to the Harper Hall, was deep in conversation with Uhura on the finer points of Pernese music.  The dark woman, it seemed, was quite a musician in her own right--if Lessa hadn't known better, she would have thought that Menolly was learning almost as much as she was teaching. And in the center of the room, a fencing match had broken out between F'lar and the visiting helmsman, Sulu.  Sulu's swordsmanship was exemplary, but F'lar was holding him off with a pair of knives; it was less a fight than a work of poetry in motion, Lessa decided, smiling again. Without warning, her pleasant mood was interrupted by the nearly simultaneous sounds of the trumpeting of a dragon outside and a voice inside her head: Ramoth, her queen dragon, speaking urgently to her.  +Lessa!+ Ramoth called.  +Thread falls over Istan, High Reaches, and Telgar!+ *That can't be, Ramoth,* Lessa responded.  *The next Threadfall isn't due until tomorrow afternoon, and that's supposed to be over the ocean.* +Forecast or no forecast, Thread falls now.  The Weyrs need help.  They cannot fight it all alone.+ *Very well.  Spread the word.*  As Ramoth began trumpeting warnings to the other dragons, Lessa raised her voice and called to the Weyr at large, "Everyone!  Thread is falling!  We must ride!" Despite their obvious confusion at the unexpected Threadfall, the riders dropped whatever they were doing and ran to get into their riding gear and onto their mounts, and the Weyrlings, including S'pock, ran to prepare the dragons for flight and flame. A moment later, after sparing a look at the inebriated Engineer who was his superior officer, Sulu ran up to Lessa and asked worriedly, "What is it?  What's wrong?" Lessa was already heading to her rooms to change into her riding gear herself, and so only answered over her shoulder, "Thread." The helmsman was confused.  "What's Thread?" he called after her. Lessa stopped short, rolling her eyes upward and muttering a few short syllables.   Turning back, she quickly explained: "Deadly spores from the Red Star, another planet in this system.  We must burn them out of the sky or they will eat everything but stone and metal." Sulu mumbled a response, but Lessa was already halfway up the stairs, rushing to be ready to take off with the rest of the dragonriders to perform their ancient duty of fighting Thread.  She heard the squawk of Sulu's communicator but wasted no time remaining behind to listen to what he had to say to his captain; she had work to do. * * * * * On the bridge of the Enterprise, Kirk scribbled a signature on the latest fuel-consumption report without really reading it and sighed.  Between establishing friendly relations with the people of Pern, confirming Spock's theory that the ships had passed through some sort of temporal rift on their way here, and keeping the crew upbeat but focused as the end of the mission quickly approached, there was more than enough to do here and now, but his attention kept returning to the upcoming board of inquiry. Kirk knew Starfleet Command fairly well, and while his record of defying orders certainly had not endeared him to them, he had a feeling that they trusted him enough to accept the fact that the more unlikely stories he had submitted in earlier reports were a combination of the cockeyed nature of the universe and a healthy sense of flamboyant drama, and not the fabrications of a deranged mind.  They would, in short, be perfectly willing to believe that Kirk was just a showman, and not a madman. Until, that was, he was forced to report having discovered dragons.  Dragons were fairy tales, myths, fictions.  They were, in the language of this planet, sun-dreams.  Kirk shook his head, at a loss.  What was he going to do? Once again, his reverie was cut short by an incoming communication.  "Captain," said the Lieutenant manning Communications in Uhura's absence, "call from the surface." "Patch it through," Kirk ordered, then pushed the button on the arm of his chair.  "Kirk here." "Captain," came Sulu's voice.  "Something's going on down here.  The planet seems to be under an attack of some kind.  According to Lessa, it's some kind of spores from the red planet we noticed on our way in.  Apparently, they'll eat through anything and everything but stone and metal." Kirk was instantly alert.   "Mr. Chekov," he said to the navigator, "tactical view." A moment later, a diagram of the planet Pern, the rogue planet, and the Enterprise appeared on the main screen.  Scattered between the rogue planet and Pern were thousands upon thousands of little streaks, apparently the spores Sulu had referred to.  "Sulu, Do they have any idea how to destroy them?" Kirk asked. "Yes, sir.  Apparently, the entire purpose of the existence of the dragons is to fight this 'Thread,' as they call it.  Fire will destroy the spores." "Understood.  Kirk out." Turning his attention back to the screen, Kirk said, "Mr. Chekov, plot an intercept course with the spores; ready phasers.  Lieutenant"--he turned his attention to the Lieutenant at the helm--"break fixed orbit; ahead one-quarter impulse." "One-quarter impulse, aye." The sound of the ship changed minutely but perceptibly as the Enterprise closed with the Thread spores, firing into their midst and destroying spore after spore.  Suddenly, Kirk's eye was caught by flashes of fire in the air above the planet.  He turned to the science station and addressed the Ensign manning that station, "Give me a visual on those bursts of fire.  Magnification times seven." The view on the screen changed from the tactical view to a close-up of the streaks of fire.  Kirk could almost but not quite make out what was going on.  "Increase magnification," he said. The Ensign complied, and suddenly Kirk could see the dragons flying among the falling strands--no wonder it was called Thread--charring the spores with their fiery breath and then suddenly disappearing, only to reappear moments later.  Kirk's eye caught on one dragon-rider in particular: a small person on a large golden dragon whose flame seemed to be coming from a cannister rather than from the dragon's mouth.  "Increase magnification; focus on upper right corner of the display," he ordered the Ensign, who again complied. His eyes had not deceived him.  It was Lessa on the back of Ramoth, fighting Thread with what looked to Kirk like a primitive flame-thrower. Trusting that Chekov and the ensign at the helm would not need his help, Kirk turned back to the Lieutenant at the communications console.  "Get me Lt. Sulu again," he ordered. "Yes, sir." A moment later, Sulu's voice again rose from the arm of Kirk's chair.  "Sulu here." "Mr. Sulu," said Kirk, "I had the impression from your tone that you had just gotten your briefing on Thread from Lessa a moment earlier.  Why did you wait to inform me of a potential hazard?" "I didn't, Captain.  Lessa had just explained on her way to change into her fighting clothes.  Why?" Kirk's eyes narrowed.  "You say she'd just left?" he repeated. "No, sir.  She was just on her way to change.  She's just leaving the weyr now." Kirk goggled.  "She's still there?" he asked, staring at the screen in wonder. "Yes, sir.  Do you need to speak with her?  She's in a hurry, but she can probably spare a moment or so." "No, no, that's perfectly fine, Mr. Sulu, let her get on with her work.  I'll talk to her later." And, he added to himself, when he did, he'd have to find out how the dragons disappeared and reappeared and how one woman could be in two places at the same time.  Because if the answer was what he thought it was, there might be a way of beating Delacroix after all. As Kirk closed the communication, a ghost of a smile was playing around the corners of his lips.  Yes, indeed, that would be absolutely perfect. Chapter Three "So," Kirk asked Lessa in the Weyr after she had finished tending to the wounded dragons and riders, "how did you do that?" "Well," she began in a tired voice, "dragons, and their smaller cousins, fire-lizards, are able to do something we call 'going Between.'  Essentially, what that means is that, any place you can visualize clearly enough, they can get there in about the time it takes for you to breathe three times." Kirk nodded tentative understanding.  "And what about your being in two places at the same time?" "Well, as I said, they can take you anywhere you can visualize.  They can also take you anywhen you visualize.  Thread had already started to fall, and it was doing incalculable damage, so we 'timed it' back a few hours to get it when it started." "I see," said Kirk, who thought he did.  "And how long does it take a dragon to grow to be big enough to fly, with its rider, and go Between?" "Oh, a year or so." "One more question.  Is there a range to this going 'Between' of yours?  Can a dragon go anywhere, or are there limits?" "Well, it can go anywhere on the planet, we know that much.  And F'nor, you met him, once made a jump to the Red Star." "The red star?" "The rogue planet." "Oh.  So in other words, probably not." "Right.  I mean, if they can go four hundred Turns back in time, they can certainly go a good distance through space.  Why?" "Oh, just wondering," said Kirk, but a grin was playing just under the surface of his serious expression.  The next time Lessa saw him, he was deep in conversation with S'pock. Two days later, the officers of the Enterprise broke orbit, leaving Pern and Spock--or rather, S'pock--behind.  As the months passed, Rhonth grew to be an impressive dragon, and his rider, possibly helped along by his already prodigious telepathic abilities, grew into a fine dragonrider.  As he grew to be more and more at ease with himself and with those around him, his musical tendencies came out.  Soon, he was jaunting off to join Robinton's harpers in rehearsal and the occasional Gather performance once every week or so. One year, six days, twelve hours, and fifteen minutes after the Enterprise had left orbit, S'pock tugged on his riding gloves and walked across the bowl of Benden Weyr for what would be the last time.  As he passed Lessa, he announced, "I am going to the Cove Hold," stopping to add, as he sometimes did, "Live long and prosper." "Peace and long life," she responded automatically, wondering why he was being so formal.  His jaunts to Cove Hold seldom lasted more than a few hours, and certainly didn't merit any kind of formal leave-taking, at least as far as she was concerned.  Concerned, Lessa looked up, but S'pock was already gone.  Shrugging off the strange encounter, she turned back to her work. When he had not returned the next afternoon, Lessa began to worry. One year, six days, twelve hours, and thirty-seven minutes after the Enterprise had left orbit, S'pock knocked on Masterharper Robinton's door. "Come in," came the harper's voice.  The voice, S'pock noted with satisfaction, was still as strong and vibrant as it had been ever since the Enterprise's original visit.  Before the ship had left, McCoy had beamed down to meet some of the locals, and after a single glance, he had made a beeline for Robinton and quietly run a tricorder scan.  And then, stubbornly ignoring any threat to the natural evolution of the planet's society--"how can my helping one man's health, even if it is someone as widely respected as this Robinton fellow, be any worse than Spock's staying?" he had wanted to know--the doctor had cured what ailed him.  He never would have admitted it to McCoy himself, but S'pock had been secretly relieved, even pleased, to see the improvement in the Masterharper. As S'pock opened the door, Zair, Robinton's fire-lizard, squawked a cry of greeting and flew across the room to land on the Vulcan's shoulder.  S'pock looked at the fire-lizard and smiled.  "Hello, Zair," he said.  Then, "And hello to you, too, Masterharper." "Greetings, S'pock," said Robinton, looking up from a table covered by papers outlining his latest project.  "What brings you here?" "I am on my way to an important meeting, Masterharper," S'pock said.  It was not precisely a lie.  "I was wondering if I might take Zair along." "Why?"  Robinton's voice was one of great curiosity. Apparently, he had picked up on S'pock's hesitation.  Either that, or he was just naturally curious about any sort of 'important meeting' that he didn't know about in advance. S'pock looked at Robinton and then slowly shook his head.  "I cannot say," he told the harper.  "I must not.  But it is important.  That much you may know.  And when Zair comes back to you, he will have the whole story.  I will give him what I can telepathically, and I have a small scroll for the rest and a thong with which to tie the scroll to his leg." "It sounds as if you will not be coming back," said Robinton. "I do not know if I will or not," said S'pock.  "Or at least, I do not know when I shall be back, if I ever do return." The Masterharper considered for a moment, then nodded.  "Very well, take Zair." Five minutes later, S'pock had met Rhonth in the middle of the clearing outside Cove Hold.  Rhonth bent his knee and S'pock climbed up onto the dragon's neck.  Rhonth sprang into the sky with Zair following closely behind and, a split second later, both were gone from view.   Robinton never saw S'pock again. * * * * * "All right, Scotty, you have your orders," said Kirk as he stood on the transporter platform, once again in his dress uniform but this time also carrying Spock's and a pair of Starfleet-issue heavy coats.  "Energize." "Aye, Captain," sighed the burly engineer from behind the transporter console.   A moment later, Kirk's figure disappeared from the platform.  Scotty checked to make sure Kirk had reappeared properly at the designated coordinates in the southern hemisphere of Pern, and then headed for the Bridge. "Set course for Earth," Scotty instructed Chekov as he sat down in the center seat. After a moment, the Russian said, "Course plotted and laid in, sair." "Ahead warp factor two." "Warp factor two, aye, sir," Sulu replied. The planet on the screen flashed by and then the Enterprise was in open space, heading for Earth at eight times the speed of light.  As the planet Pern faded into the distance, Scotty had time to reflect on how nearly the extra energy and the minor gravitational change made by the presence of the Enterprise had come to destroying that planet.  The scans had all shown the same thing; it wasn't quite clear how, but somehow the presence of the Enterprise had brought on that extra Threadfall.  Once the Enterprise had moved to a different orbit, the pattern of the fall had returned to normal. The trip to Earth would take about six hours at warp two.  There was no way the engineer was going to sit still for six hours just watching the stars go by.  "Mr. Sulu, you have the conn," he said, heading for the turbolift. The doors closed and he said, "Engineering."  Before the lift could move, however, he changed his mind.  "Belay that.  Shuttle bay."  He had to make sure that shuttle six was ready to go.  If there was a problem at the last minute, he could not afford to substitute another shuttle.  That was the one they had decided on, and that was the one it was going to have to be.  The Captain's life depended on it. Six and a half hours later, Scotty was piloting shuttlecraft six from the Enterprise to the grounds of Starfleet Headquarters.  Admiral Nogura, who ran Starfleet, had demanded to know why Kirk would not simply beam down, but had eventually been forced to concede that since the captain would not brook any disagreement on that point and would not otherwise attend the hearing, a shuttlecraft would have to do.  "Tell your captain," he had told Scotty, "that his refusal to speak with me will not reflect well upon him in that hearing.  Your captain's, er, flights of fancy are bad enough without the added charge of insubordination." "Yes, sir," Scotty had said, hoping that the Admiral would have changed his mind about that long before he would have a chance to speak with Kirk. Scotty landed the shuttlecraft neatly on the grass in front of Starfleet Headquarters, keyed open the hatch, and waited for the six security officers he'd brought along to form their two-line honor guard.  Then, breathing a silent prayer and absently straightening the tunic of his dress uniform, he stepped out.  Chin high, he marched forward between the two rows of security officers, then stood at attention in the center of the green. Nogura, flanked by Delacroix and another Admiral who Scotty could not identify, strode out of the building and stopped five meters away.  They did not look happy. * * * * * S'pock stood next to Rhonth's head, absently feeding the dragon firestones, rocks full of the minerals necessary for a dragon's system to produce flame, as he waited. He did not have to wait long.  Only five minutes after he had landed, Kirk arrived with the customary whine of the transporter beam. The Captain took a step toward S'pock and stopped, his eyes wide.  Looking up, and up, at the huge beast that had, only a few of his days earlier, been only a hatchling, he breathed, "That's Rhonth?" "Yes, Captain," S'pock confirmed.  "It has been a year.  For Rhonth and me, at least." "Yes, yes, I know, but...."  The captain trailed off, shaking his head.  At last, he brought his attention back to the present.  "I brought your uniform," he said, handing the Vulcan a bundle of blue and black clothing and one of the two jackets tucked under his arm. "Thank you," S'pock said, quickly changing into the dress uniform appropriate for his former role as a Starfleet officer.  Turning back to his earlier task, he offered his mount another lump of firestone, then quickly stepped out of the way as the dragon belched, a few licks of smoke and flame puffing from his mouth.  "There, I think that's enough." +Yes,+ Rhonth agreed, +I should say so.+ Moments later, Spock--now that he was back in his Starfleet uniform, he considered himself to be "Spock" rather than "S'pock"--sat astride Rhonth with Kirk behind him and Zair hovering overhead.  He double-checked that everything was ready, then zipped his coat.  "Hold on tight, sir," he said, and Rhonth leapt into the air.  Kirk's grasp tightened as the human instinctively looked down at the fast-retreating ground. "Shuttle six, Captain?" Spock asked over his shoulder. Kirk nodded, then said, "Yes, shuttle six.  With Scotty in front making a flourish." "Ready?" Kirk zipped his coat up to the neck, grasped Spock's waist even tighter, and said, "Ready." Spock concentrated briefly, got confirmation from Rhonth that he knew where to go, and then gave the command. And with that, the Captain and First Officer of the flagship of the United Federation of Planets, with the help of the dragon called Rhonth and accompanied by the fire- lizard named Zair, went Between. * * * * * "Well?" Admiral Delacroix demanded, glaring at Commander Scott.  "Where is your captain, the one who has discovered dragons?" Scotty grinned.  "I'm glad you asked," he replied, then turned and, with a flourish, pointed to the empty air above and beyond the shuttlecraft. A split second later, in an explosion of sight and sound, that empty space was filled with a huge, trumpeting creature with great bronze wings.  As the Admirals stared at this new arrival, it belched a great gout of flame and set gently down in front of the shuttlecraft, then bent its knee so that the two men on its back could step down onto the artificial grass.  When they were down, one of them patted the great beast's neck, and it flew to the top of the Headquarters building and perched there, apparently sunning itself.   The two men unzipped Starfleet-issue jackets to reveal Starfleet dress uniforms in gold and blue, respectively, and Scotty didn't have to look to know that Delacroix had gone pale.  Scotty forcibly bit down on the urge to grin as Kirk and Spock approached and he saw the fire-lizard sitting on Kirk's shoulder. "Gentlemen," Kirk said amiably as he finally reached the trio of Admirals.  "I believe you wanted to speak to me about the unbelievable things I've been telling you I've found on the planets my men and I have explored.  Especially the more fanciful things," he added, reaching his hand up to scratch the eye-ridge of the creature on his shoulder, "like dragons." "Yes, well, er," said Nogura, at a loss for words for what might have been the first time in his life.  "Admiral Delacroix?" he said at last, turning to the instigator of the whole hearing procedure, whose face had turned a fascinating shade that was part beet red, part ghostly white, and part sickly green.  "Erp," he said sagely. "Well," said Kirk, again stroking the little creature's eye ridge, "Let's get on with it." The hearing went quickly and, from Delacroix's point of view, not particularly well.  His evidence of Kirk's mental instability was, after all, little more than a listing of some of the stranger escapades of the Captain's career, together with the claim that much, if not all, of it could only have happened in a deranged imagination.  A few days ago, Starfleet Command had been willing to listen; now, though, with an honest-to-goodness dragon on the roof and a miniature dragon on the defendant's shoulder, the evidence didn't seem nearly so convincing.  Exasperated, Delacroix collapsed into his chair.   Nogura nodded, and spoke.  "Captain James T. Kirk," he announced, waiting for Kirk to stand, "you are found not guilty of the charges against you.  You will return to duty immediately." "Thank you, sir," Kirk said politely, breathing a small sigh of relief as the gavel finally sounded. Setting his jaw, Kirk stepped quickly out from behind his table and approached Delacroix.  "If you care," he said quietly, "I plan to remain a Captain for as long as I can.  I don't want to become an Admiral; I am where I want to be." Delacroix gave him a long look, then finally said, "Yes, I suppose that's true."  It was as close to apologizing as he had ever come.  It was also, quite probably, as close to apologizing as he ever would come. Before Kirk could respond, Delacroix had turned and stalked from the room; the Captain considered going after him, but Nogura spoke up from behind him: "Jim?" Instinctively snapping to attention, then forcing himself to relax, Kirk turned to face the small but powerful man.  "Admiral?" he said, his mind racing.  What could Nogura possibly want with him now? The Admiral nodded toward the fire-lizard on Kirk's shoulder, and suddenly the most powerful man in Starfleet seemed a human being just like anyone else.  "May I touch it?" Kirk grinned.  "Of course.  His name's Zair, and he loves to have his eye-ridge scratched." As a final reminder of the events of the day, Kirk left Starfleet Headquarters the same way he had come: on dragonback.  Scotty would follow with the Enterprise and pick up Kirk; under the circumstances, Nogura had had no choice but to accept Spock's resignation. As Rhonth took off, Kirk thought he felt the dragon straining; perhaps distance did mean something to dragons after all.  His thoughts were cut short by the brutal cold of Between. They popped back out of Between thirty meters above the sands of the Southern Continent of Pern, and now Kirk was sure; Rhonth really was laboring.  He dove for the ground, and S'pock, after an intense telepathic conversation with the dragon, shoved Kirk off and dove after the Captain himself a bare moment later.  Kirk had time to ask, "What?" before he hit the ground hard enough that the rest of his question was chopped off by the impact. Rhonth, visibly struggling now, just barely managed to avoid crashing into the ground.  He pulled up a little and then he was gone, back into Between. Confused, Kirk asked, "What happened, S'pock?" The Vulcan dragon-rider looked at his captain, obviously trying hard to control a raging sea of emotions.  "Rhonth is dead.  And my name is Spock.  I am no longer a dragon-rider.  My dragon is dead." The truth of that statement was horrible.  The Vulcan had become as one with his dragon; for either to lose the other was an unthinkable horror.  A dragon without a rider would fly into Between, never to return; a rider without a dragon would most certainly go mad from the pain and anguish of the loss. But between his human propensity for emotion and his Vulcan refusal to let emotions hold sway, Spock had long ago learned to build barriers, to keep the turmoil of emotions, even strong ones, at bay.  The emotions surging within him now were more powerful than any he had faced before, of course, but his discipline was at least enough to keep him sane for the short-term. In the long run, though, trying to stand against them indefinitely would most certainly drive him mad, and quite possibly even kill him.  His sanity, and even his survival, demanded that he develop even better barriers: that he do away with emotion, all emotion, once and for all.  He would banish his human side altogether; he would seek the Kolinahr. Struggling to keep his hand steady, Spock pulled out the small scroll he had told Robinton about and began to write: "Charges dropped.  Rhonth is dead.  I will become a Kolinahru.  Spock." * * * * * Masterharper Robinton studied the images in Zair's mind and the scroll itself, gleaning every detail he could, and then crossed to the sand table and began etching notes and chords in the sand.  This was worthy of a ballad. * * * * * The debate at Starfleet Command raged for weeks.  On the one hand, Pern was mostly a medieval society, Renaissance at best, and its contact with the 'modern' world should not have been allowed for decades, even centuries, to come.  Kirk, in short, had violated the Prime Directive. On the other hand, though, Pern might well be an Earth colony.  If the ships in orbit had travelled through time, it could be an immensely old colony, but it was still part of Earth and hence part of the Federation, and so the Prime Directive didn't apply. For that matter, some argued, regardless of whether or not Pern was an Earth colony, the Prime Directive still didn't apply.  Standard procedure dictated that first contact was permissible once space travel or interplanetary contact had been established, and the people of Pern had been having regular contact with beings from another planet for millennia.  It wasn't friendly contact, to be sure, but the war against Thread from the Red Star had shaped Pern's entire social and economic existence.  And, for that matter, despite their relative lack of mechanical technology, they had visited another planet--the Red Star--by using some of their biological technology. Moreover, the Enterprise's contact had started with a transmission from the planet, so it could hardly be Kirk's fault that he had responded.  And at any rate, the results of the Enterprise's contact, with the exception of causing a temporary increase in the rate of Threadfall, had been benign.  So perhaps forgiveness was in order. Eventually, Starfleet decided not to consider the Enterprise's contact a violation of the Prime Directive, but also decided that contact would be severely limited for the time being, as Pern was in a delicate stage of its development: the rediscovery of its past, and in the process, its creation of its future.  A cultural observation post was established, so that Starfleet could monitor events on the planet; in all probability, they would be, as a certain former Starfleet Commander would have said, "fascinating." That former Commander lived a quiet life on Vulcan, studying hard and working hard, striving to leave his emotional side behind.  Years later, he would be called away from the culmination of his studies to join together with the crew of the Enterprise once again in an effort to save the Earth from what would turn out to be a lost Voyager spacecraft.  And not too long after that, he would be killed and then reinstated in his body.  Only then, when he had forgotten his past and found himself a new future, would he be able to embrace both sides of his personality, the human and the Vulcan, and enjoy life without the painful memory of Rhonth, his dragon and his soul-mate for life. As for Kirk, he did, in the end, become an Admiral, though not by his own choice. But his story, and the stories of the rest of the Enterprise crew, have been told, are being told, and in all likelihood will continue to be told for some time to come, elsewhere. The End. Back to the top.