Disclaimer: I own 35 Star Trek books, every issue of Star Trek: The Magazine, three "anniversary specials" (25, 30, 35), two Star Trek calendars ('02 and '03) and a Data action figure. I don't own Star Trek.
At last! The long-awaited story of Kirk's turn to the dark side…rather than rambling on here, I'll just let you read. Remember that our last chapter closed with Kirk stalking out of Sickbay carrying a bottle of brandy…
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
McCoy was back in Sickbay early the next morning. He wasn't the only one. Kirk turned up in Sickbay early that morning as well.
"Good morning," McCoy said warily.
Kirk cut straight to the point. "I want to apologize. I was…a little irrational last night."
"A little," McCoy agreed dryly.
"And you know, everything I said…" Kirk shifted uncomfortably, scuffing the toe of his shoe along the floor. "Well, just forget it, all right? I was just talking…didn't really mean it, you know."
McCoy nodded. "I kind of thought that might be."
Neither one of them meant a word of it.
"Oh…and I wanted to return your brandy." Kirk extended the bottle to McCoy.
McCoy took at it, glanced at it. It was still full to the top. "You didn't drink any?" McCoy asked, surprised.
Kirk shrugged, claiming a chair nearby. "I was going to. But then a little voice in my head—a conscience type voice, not a schizophrenia type one—pointed out that it was illogical to drink to excess. And then another one put in that, logical or not, it was bad for my health. So here I am, with a full bottle of brandy." He grinned, amused. "I think you people are having an effect on me. Wonder if that's good or bad."
"If it keeps you sober it's probably good," McCoy tossed over his shoulder as he put the brandy back in its place. "Don't get me wrong, I'm the one with the quart of brandy in my cabinet, but an awful lot of paths to dissolution and criminal activity are paved with empty bottles." He glanced at Kirk. "What's yours paved with?"
"Stars," Kirk said promptly.
"Hardly the usual response," McCoy said with a dubious expression.
"I mean it. The stars are out here, so I'm out here. If the stars weren't here, I wouldn't be either. Though I suppose if the stars weren't out here, there wouldn't be an out here. Y'know?"
"No. It sounds very poetic, but it says nothing. I still haven't the faintest idea how you came to your life of crime," McCoy said lightly.
"What's it to you?"
"It's not anything to me. I'm just curious." McCoy gave him a thoughtful look. "I suspect you're an interesting person, Mr. Kirk."
"Jim."
"Pardon?"
"Jim. That's my name. You can call me Jim."
"All right." McCoy shrugged. "Well then, you're probably an interesting person, Jim—"
"Thank you."
"—provided I could get you to talk about yourself. Really, I can't figure you. I have no idea how you got from Iowa to the Sharks. Frankly, I don't know why you aren't still in Iowa."
This wasn't the first time McCoy has asked Kirk about this topic. But this morning, Kirk felt more inclined to answer. "I never planned to stay in Iowa. Well, for a brief period I did, after they threw me out of the Academy, but I eventually came out here anyway. And after a while I got bored with an honest living. So here I am."
McCoy was still back a few sentences. "Wait, they threw you out—"
"Don't ask. Please."
"Okay. So you…got bored with staying within the law?"
"Hauling cargo is boring," Kirk informed him.
"I'll just take your word on that. But…that's it? You got bored so you turned to crime?" McCoy was skeptical.
"I realized I was never going to get anywhere playing by the rules. So one day I decided I wasn't going to play by the rules anymore."
"Funny, I would've guessed there had been some more dramatic moment. Some great event that made you turn your back forever on an honest life," McCoy said idly. "It's the romantic in me."
"You mean one day, one crossroads, that changed my life forever?" Kirk looked McCoy straight in the eyes. "Nah, nothing like that," he said.
He lied. McCoy didn't know it, but of course Kirk did. Because there had been one day, one evening actually, that had changed everything forever…
It had been on a little planet called Albion. Respectable enough for Starfleet ships to stop there, but shady enough for the criminal network to operate extensively there too. Kirk and Harry had been in a bar that catered to both groups. Kirk had met Harry about six months previous, and they'd worked together on the same jobs of dubious legality since then. Nothing strictly illegal; legal, but dubiously so. Having just been paid off for the most recent job, they were blowing their credits in the bar.
Kirk had already had about one too many brandys when the Starfleet lieutenant walked by. Kirk had been sitting alone at the table at that moment. Harry was dancing with a particularly pretty brunette. They'd arm-wrestled over who got to dance with her. Kirk had won, as he always did, and Harry had cut in before the song was half over, as he always did. Unsurprised and undisturbed, Kirk had returned to his table just in time to have a drink spilled on him.
He'd been watching the lieutenant for a while already that evening. The kid stood out. He was the only Starfleet in the room just then, and to Kirk especially that gold shirt was like a beacon. The lieutenant had come in with a couple of friends earlier in the evening, but they'd continued on while the lieutenant had stayed to flirt with a waitress. He was crossing the room now, carrying his drink, and an unfortunate misstep bumped him into Kirk's table and splashed his drink on Kirk.
"Hey, I'm sorry," the lieutenant said at once, sincerely. "It was an accident, I tripped."
Kirk gave him a distinctly unfriendly look. "Of course it was."
The lieutenant was slightly unnerved. "Well…no harm done, right?"
"No."
"Good." The lieutenant smiled politely and turned to go.
"Very like Starfleet," Kirk said.
The lieutenant turned back. "Excuse me?"
"It's very like Starfleet," Kirk repeated, a hard edge in his voice. "A microcosm of the whole thing. Dumping drinks on the…lesser masses of the galaxy."
The kid's posture stiffened. Kirk was getting to him. "Do you have a problem with Starfleet?"
Kirk got to his feet. "Yes. I have a problem with Starfleet. I think they're a lot of two-faced dictators, controlling the galaxy and lording it over the rest of us mere mortals like they're some kind of gods."
The kid's hands balled into fists. "Take it back," he said tightly.
"Don't think I will. Because it's true. So you're in Starfleet. So you've got a starship. So you come waltzing in here in your fancy gold shirt like you're better than us."
By now half the bar was listening. Harry was frantically waving at Kirk to sit down and shut up, directions Kirk was ignoring.
The lieutenant glared at him. "You know something? You're right," he snapped. "I do think I'm better than you. Better than a drunken bar rat. Because I'm Starfleet. And because I fly a starship."
"I could fly a starship."
"You?" The kid sneered. "You'll never get close enough to a starship to spit on one."
Kirk hit him.
The kid went backwards, crashing into a table that broke beneath him.
"You go to hell," Kirk said, voice filled with fury.
The lieutenant rose to his feet slowly, meticulously dusted himself off, took one step forward, and punched Kirk right back. After that it was a free-for-all, as messy a barroom brawl as any, the other patrons hurriedly getting out of the way, then staying to watch.
It has to be admitted that Kirk drew his phaser first. They were facing off in a moment's pause, and Kirk pulled out his phaser.
Kirk grinned, somewhat maliciously. "Bet you thought only Starfleet had Starfleet phasers."
The lieutenant didn't answer. Not in words anyway. But his hand moved towards his own phaser. Kirk was faster.
The scarlet beam burned its way right through the gold shirt, turning the skin beneath to a blackened mass. The kid gave Kirk one surprised look, then slowly toppled backwards onto the barroom floor, eyes wide, staring without seeing at the ceiling.
The realization of what he had done did not come slowly to Kirk. It struck like a bolt of lightning, a horrible searing knowledge destroying in one terrible instant all of his bravado.
Kirk stared in horror. "It wasn't on stun," he said numbly. "It wasn't on stun." He dropped the phaser as though it had suddenly turned red-hot. "Oh my god, I killed him!"
Harry pushed through the rapidly fleeing crowd and grabbed him by the arm. "Now is not the time for prayers or regrets. Now is the time to run," he hissed.
"But…but I…"
"This place is going to be swarming with the law in minutes. If you don't want to spend the rest of your life in a penal colony for murder, trust me and RUN!"
Kirk swallowed hard, snatched up his phaser, and stumblingly followed after Harry, gradually getting his legs in order and picking up speed as he went.
They got away. Ducked out the door and into the cold night without a backward glance. But even without a final glance to cement the image in his mind, the cocky lieutenant with the brown eyes and the grin would haunt Jim Kirk for some time.
The first man he ever killed. Not the last. But the only one he had nightmares about. Kirk told himself he didn't know why that was so, and tried to leave it at that. Except the truth was, he did know why that particular man stuck with him.
Killing him had been a lot like killing himself. Because he had seen himself there, across the barroom. His careless grin, his dancing eyes, hell, even the way he looked at the waitress across the bar. It was all there on the lieutenant's face. And beneath it was the gold shirt Kirk wanted so desperately to wear. All of that was why he had picked the fight to begin with. And then the whole mess had escalated.
And Kirk had killed him. And, in a way, that had been the final shot it took to finally kill his dream. Oh sure, it had been pretty well dead for a couple of years by then, when he'd realized the galaxy wasn't as exciting, as glorious, as he'd thought. But killing the lieutenant had been the final lash, the final blow to make sure it was beaten down, not getting up again for another round.
And after that, well… He was trying to avoid being hauled off for murder, after all, and Harry knew some people who knew some people. And that's how they came to join the Sharks. A mere week earlier Kirk would have balked at it, but it hardly mattered now.
And life went on. It was only a few years before Kirk was running the Sharks. With two years of Starfleet training and an innate sense of command, put together with a strong desire to be the only kind of captain left to him, Kirk probably could have taken over even faster. A few years after that put him at the present…
Snapping fingers snapped Kirk out of the past. He blinked and reflexively jerked his head back from McCoy's hand.
McCoy was looking at him with a faintly amused expression. "You zoned out on me for a minute there, Jim."
Kirk shrugged. "I was thinking," he muttered. Still was, in fact. Still had most of his mind centered on a cocky Starfleet lieutenant he'd killed one day in what amounted to a stupid barroom brawl. He hadn't even known the kid's name. Something which had bothered him irrationally until he finally found someone to dig through Starfleet's database and find it for him a few years later…
McCoy's voice broke into his thoughts. "You weren't just thinking, you were off in another galaxy entirely, as far as how much attention you were paying to this one. Do you do that a lot? Could be a sign of too much stress. You should try relaxing more oft—"
"Say, Bones," Kirk interrupted, "did you ever know a guy named Gary Mitchell? Starfleet lieutenant, a little younger than me?"
McCoy's face creased in a frown, puzzled both by the name and the sudden and apparently random change of topic. "No…can't say I ever did. The name doesn't sound familiar anyway. Friend of yours?"
"No." Kirk stood up. "I have to go. See you later, Bones."
"See you…and it's McCoy," he added, clearly an afterthought.
Kirk nodded. "Right," he said without much interest, and left.
McCoy shook his head, wondering if he'd ever really understand Jim Kirk. It didn't seem likely.
~~~***~~~
So there you have it. The final story on Kirk's background. But don't vanish now, there's still the present to deal with…with more in store for Kirk.
ScifiMimi: Yes, Lowell is boring. I think everyone but him knows it. And thank you for the faithful reviewing!
MySchemingMind: Prime Directive, I love Prime Directive. The Reeves-Stevens are so good at one-liners, even in serious stories. And I refuse to accept that everyone would be happier with you in a coma; I have a friend who says things like that and I never accept it from her either 'cause it isn't true, and while I don't really know you, I doubt it's true of you either. And I'm glad you're understanding Kirk. McCoy's trying to. Spock and McCoy probably could retake the ship, I admit that and ask you to ignore it. It's probably impossible for Kirk to do what he's doing, i.e. controlling the ship (did I really just put "i.e."? Wow…) but if he didn't there would be no story. So figure, the Starfleet crew has no experience at this sort of thing (and they don't, in this universe), they have no effective leader (except maybe Spock who they really aren't very fond of) and they don't have the faintest idea how to work together. And, well, Kirk is intriguing. And I love getting into Kirk's head. Spock and McCoy are the most fun for dialogue (when they're normal) but Kirk's the most fun for his thinking.
Jennifer: Let's keep in mind drinking is never a good way to deal with pain. This has been the public service announcement of the day. : ) Glad you like the story, I'll keep at it until we come to the crashing conclusion.
Trekker-T: Y'know, I never thought of Kirk as a privateer, but I guess he kind of was. A privateer as defined as given a license to attack the ships of enemy nations, which I guess he had…at least, the Federation wouldn't freak if he happened to attack the Klingons. Although he also was a member of the navy-equivalent. And sure, the list of explorers is huge, but at least it's less than the list of names and numbers. As to the voiceprint, Reeves didn't encode it that specifically. The usual codes have to be open for any member of the crew to use, so anyone with Kirk's codes could control the computer.
Whatshername: Oh…were you a little anxious for this chapter?
Wedge: Ah yes, irony. Robert April replaced Garth of Izar in that speech for the sole purpose of having Kirk say "Captain James T. Kirk of the Starship Enterprise."
Alicia: I confess, I've never read War and Peace, so perhaps it is good. But it kind of has a reputation for being very long and very dull. The most boring book I've ever read was Tess of the D'Urbervilles. [shiver] School assignment.
Alania: Perhaps you have used "yummy" before. I'm not sure. And as he said, why would McCoy be on the bridge? He doesn't like Spock, and there's no Captain Kirk to go chat with and lean on his chair. So he sticks around Sickbay and the Mess Hall, and maybe Engineering since he's friends with Scotty. The joys of an alternate universe. It's fun to write details like that.
Unrealistic: Does it make me really bad to say I'm glad I'm getting an emotional reaction from you? 'Cause that is kind of the point of writing, except for comedy, where it's strictly a "make 'em laugh, make 'em laugh, make 'em laugh," situation, to quote Singin' in the Rain. I haven't read Preserver, though I did read The Return and Avenger. Good, but not enough McCoy.
Mzsnaz: I think FF scared everyone, maybe even itself. Very glad you're seeing the emotional depths, haven't done much writing of that nature before.
Samantha: The dream has always been a major thing in my perception of Kirk too, at least ever since I read Prime Directive. Great book, that. And I dunno if even Kirk would want to know Lowell if he ever met him…since Kirk's only known him as being unconscious, he can project his ideas of a Starship Captain onto him. Glad you're still enjoying this!
That's all. More with the Sharks next chapter, which will be up at the earliest opportunity.