Disclaimer: It isn't mine. You know what I'm talking about.
Well. Here we are, one more time. I think I'll reply at the beginning again. Not because anyone else dies, just…because. So here goes:
Ael: Pleased to be of assistance for your story. I'll expect fifteen-percent royalties on it, of course…just kidding, I'll count the laugh I got from the first part of your review as my payment and leave it at that.
Mzsnaz: The suspense is rather over, isn't it? But I figure the last two chapters should be used for easing down from the climax and tying up points to get to the end. The "tin-plated god" line was from Trouble with Tribbles, which I was watching while working on that chapter. Ah, what will Lowell be like when he awakes? Read on.
Mickey Leek: Thank you for the compliments to my writing! No sling-shotting, unfortunately, but we will settle remaining issues.
AliciaF: Thank you so much for the lovely review! And though Kirk may be gone, at least they're remembering him right.
Jennifer: My goodness, you analyzed Kirk's death (or lack thereof) rather thoroughly. I'll give you this: IF I write a sequel (I make no promises) Kirk will be back, and Spock'll be the one to find him. However, for all intents and purposes, eyes shut or open, Kirk died in the explosion. Of course, you can always imagine him on the Isle of Avalon if you like.
Crazy Elleth: Some of the logic in illogic. So true.
Kyer: "the most plausible ending to your story"—That's pretty much how I felt on it; this was the only ending that made sense to me. And I'm glad you prefer it to Generations! I was trying hard to give him the death he deserves…as opposed to certain bridges…
Emp: Made plenty of sense. And Spock's finally showing the nicer side we all know he has, yes.
Unrealistic: Spock and Harry were rather nice in the last one, weren't they? And that's not the last for either of them. Read on. And as for Lowell, also read on.
Alania: Oo China? Way cool! And definitely a valid excuse! I'm glad you like the ending…not that you liked Kirk's death because you didn't, but that you liked it as an ending, if that makes sense. It always seemed inevitable to me, at least. And Starfleet can ask the Sharks the name of their leader and they will, but by the time it comes out the press will have already made a big fuss about how heroic Jim Kirk was, so they can't just turn around and start presenting him as the villain when the truth comes out. As for Lowell, read on.
Beedrill: Funny you should ask about the tribbles. Not because they show up, because they don't, but…well, there's the definite potential for them in the Enterprise's future. You'll see, I think. Oh wow, I thought it was just my friends who said "squee." I promise more "squee"-worthy scenes coming up.
PearlGirl: No problem on belated review, China and FF-screw-ups are good excuses. Ah yes, Spock has to say "fascinating" some time. I'm so glad you don't think it was cheesy! I'm always afraid I'll edge into that. Emotions are harder than humor, for me anyway.
Samantha: "they just couldn't NOT love Jim, could they?"—[sighs in tone usually reserved for Johnny Depp] Yeah… And good call on Nogura. He's really the only one who cares about Lowell, and Kirk's the only one remotely interested in him. I feel kinda the same way about ending…happy, but also sorta sad. But, all good things…so on to the last chapter.
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CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
Things were slowly settling back into a normalcy that had not been seen on the Enterprise for a week. After the call to Starfleet, the Enterprise was directed to the nearest Starfleet outpost, there to see about any remaining repairs, transferring the Sharks, medical for Captain Lowell, and word on their next mission. Aboard the ship, there was a definite return to normal duties, business, and order. And yet, it was a thoughtful crew going about those duties. In a week, the crew had gotten Kirk thinking of new ideas, of dreams and of destinies. And in his last words, Kirk had gotten the crew thinking of those things too. And so things were settling, but slowly. And there were a few unusual events left to handle.
The day after Kirk's death, Spock came into Sickbay. He was not ill or injured, and it was not time for his annual medical checkup, yet he was there. Such a thing was unheard of.
"Is Dr. McCoy in?" Spock asked the nearest nurse.
She looked at him, eyes wide with surprise. "Um…he's in his office…I'll get him."
McCoy came out a few minutes later, mastering his surprise somewhat better than his nurse. "Something I can do for you, Spock?"
"I was writing out my report to Starfleet, and I have a question."
"Okay…" McCoy said dubiously. "Fire away."
Spock's eyebrow rose. "Fire—"
"Just ask the question," McCoy said hastily.
"Very well. What does it mean to 'throw the book' at someone?"
Whatever McCoy had expected, that wasn't it. "What?"
"Mr. Kirk instructed me to 'throw the book' at the Sharks. I am, however, unfamiliar with the phrase."
"Oh. Well, it just means to get the full penalty of the law on them."
"I see. Thank you." Spock turned to go.
"He did say that, didn't he?" McCoy mused.
Spock paused. "He did."
"Except for Harry."
"Yes. Except for Harry."
They reached the Starfleet outpost three days later and put into orbit around the planet. The Sharks were slated to be transferred into custody of the Starfleet colony in the afternoon. In the morning, McCoy visited the brig.
"Morning, Simmons," McCoy said pleasantly to the guard on duty. "How's that knee of yours?"
"Much better, Doctor, thanks."
"Good, glad to hear it. Listen, I need Harry Mudd briefly. Medical business, nothing too serious. Could you get him out for me?"
Simmons at once grew nervous, a condition he was very familiar with. "Oh, uh, I don't know, Doctor, letting a prisoner out of the brig, that's not exactly…"
McCoy smiled. "Come on now, Simmons. I'm chief medical officer. Surely I have the necessary authorization."
"Oh, well…yeah, I guess so…okay, Doctor." Simmons dropped the forcefield, and singled Harry out from the crowd of Sharks within.
"Thank you," McCoy said brightly to Simmons, grasped Harry by the upper arm, and propelled him down the corridor.
"I'm not sick, you know," Harry told him as they walked on.
"Fine."
"I'm really not," Harry added a corridor later.
"Okay."
Two corridors after that, Harry ventured to point out, "This…isn't the way to Sickbay, is it?"
"No," McCoy said without explanation.
And on arriving: "This is the transporter room…"
"Yes," McCoy agreed. He pulled Harry within, and turned to Spock, who was standing behind the controls. "Ready?"
Spock made several adjustments to the controls, then nodded. "I have set the transporter to take effect in ten seconds. We had best take our places."
Spock stepped onto the transporter padd, and McCoy followed, dragging the reluctant and confused Harry along.
"Now wait a minute," Harry protested, "just what's—"
The transporters whirred and sparkled, and Harry finished his sentence on the planet.
"—going on here?" Harry demanded.
"We are letting you go," Spock said simply.
"You're what?"
McCoy handed the bewildered Harry a stack of credits. "Here's enough money to get you onto a transport off planet. Get out of here as fast as you can, and don't ever come back."
Harry's hand closed automatically on the money, but he didn't move. He looked at them suspiciously. "Why are you doing this?"
It was Spock who explained. "Before his death, Mr. Kirk made the statement that the Sharks all deserve whatever the Federation justice system decrees for them. I believe him. You, however, and you alone, he singled out with the assertion that you are, I quote, 'not really a bad guy.' We have chosen to believe him on this as well."
"It's simple, really. We're giving you the chance to run," McCoy said quietly. "So go, and don't ever tell anyone about this, because we'll deny it."
"Oh, right, right, naturally." Harry turned to go, but then paused to glance back. "Um…I appreciate this. What you're doing for me."
"We're not doing it for you," McCoy said, expression grim.
"Yeah. I know. But anyway…thank you."
McCoy's face lightened into a smile. "You better go," he advised, "before Spock here remembers that this isn't entirely logical."
Harry went.
The record showed that Harry Mudd escaped after being removed from the brig for a medical check, and was subsequently able to enter an empty transporter room, beam down to the surface, and thus disappear into the galaxy. A regrettable but hardly preventable incident. That afternoon, the remainder of the Sharks were transferred to the holding facility on the planet, there to await a trial.
Captain Lowell was transferred to the medical facility on the planet the same day the Sharks were transferred to the holding facility. The medical facility was fully up-to-date, and they had on hand that complex and bulky machine for treating neural trauma that McCoy had been referencing for days. And, as per McCoy's frequent assertions, with the right facilities Lowell's injuries were no great problem. He was treated at one o'clock, and by three o'clock he was awake and coherent. A nurse on the surface contacted McCoy when Lowell awoke (as McCoy had gone back up to the ship after the actual procedure) and McCoy beamed back down to check on the captain.
"Well, Captain, you were out quite awhile. How do you feel?" McCoy asked Lowell.
"My head hurts," Lowell admitted.
"Only to be expected after neural trauma," McCoy said briskly, mind back on the ship with the papers he had left when he beamed down to check Lowell.
"So, how long was I out, anyway?" Lowell asked.
"Ten days," McCoy said absently, checking readings on the biobed monitors. No apparent problems.
Lowell stared at him. "Ten days? Really?"
McCoy shrugged. "Well, like I said, neural trauma. You had an injury to your lower cranium, and could have been out a lot longer if not for the treatment here. Lucky you didn't get that injury ten years ago."
"Yeah, I guess so." Lowell lapsed into a meditative silence.
McCoy glanced down from the monitors and looked at Lowell for a moment, not quite sure what he was expecting or hoping for. Unable to quite define the feeling he was having, he asked the best question he could think of. "So, are you planning to ask about the ship any time soon?" He managed to keep all but a trace of reproach out of his voice.
Lowell didn't even notice the reproach, but smiled and said, "Oh, I assumed it was fine, since—"
"She," McCoy said automatically. "You mean, 'she was fine.'"
The smile broadened a little. "Doctor, I never took you for superstitious."
"It's not a matter of superstition, Captain. Ships are women."
"Well, yes, I suppose that's how the tradition goes," Lowell acknowledged. "But I don't remember you particularly holding to this idea ten days ago."
"I picked it up somewhere."
"Hmm. Well, anyway, I assumed she was fine, since we're both here, after all."
"Right," McCoy said noncommittally. "And she is fine. We survived without you. Somehow."
Lowell completely missed the undertone to the statement. "Fine, then. So tell me, did we catch the pirates?"
McCoy looked away. "Yeah. We caught them."
"Good! Nogura must be thrilled."
"Fairly. Listen, I should get back to the ship…"
Lowell didn't have any particular objections. "Sure, I understand. Say, it's probably going to be rather boring down here, could you get someone to send down my book?"
"War and Peace?"
"That's the one."
"I'll see about it." McCoy turned to go.
"Hey, Doctor," Lowell called, "one more question and I'll let you get back to the Enterprise."
McCoy paused by the door. "What's that?"
"While I was out for ten days…did I miss anything important?"
McCoy looked over his shoulder at Lowell for a long moment. His mind ran over all the events of the last ten days, all the things that could be said in response to that question. And then, considering who he was talking to, and who he would be talking about, he realized there was really only one answer.
"No," McCoy said quietly, "nothing important at all."
It was after that that things truly began to settle back into their normal ways. As McCoy had predicted, Lowell made a full and rapid recovery. Within three days of waking up he was back in his command chair as though he'd never left it. And life went on.
The final results of the Sharks' trial took several months to decide, yet in the end were completely predictable: all the Sharks (excepting of course Harry) ended up in various penal colonies for varying lengths of time. The Enterprise crew provided valuable evidence at the trials, and nearly every Shark was wanted for past crimes anyway. The name of their leader naturally came out during the trials, but, as predicted, by then James T. Kirk had reached hero stature in the public eye and was immune from hanging in the news.
The crew was a little subdued for a while, a little more thoughtful. Several people requested transfers to other ships, ships that were farther from the center of things, that were out on the fringes where things happened. For the most part though, people stayed where they were. They looked at the stars a little differently, thought of dreams and ideas for a while, and then, gradually, came to a realization. Life hadn't changed. Their missions hadn't changed, their daily duties hadn't changed. For a brief period they had been at the center of something truly exciting. That wasn't the standard beforehand, and it wasn't the standard after, and they found themselves under an onslaught of normalcy. Things seemed a bit flat for awhile, but then old habits filled in. They retained a tendency to think just a little bit more on why they were out among the stars to begin with, but otherwise and in all practical respects, life as it had always been soon returned.
Not everything was quite the same, though. Dr. McCoy was a bit more irritable than he used to be, and word was out that it was a bad idea to mention pirates of any sort to him. Mr. Spock, in the midst of a disparaging thought about humans, sometimes had to stop and privately acknowledge to himself that some humans, at least, had their positive sides.
But aside from these few exceptions, life went on just as it always had. Admiral Nogura soon informed them of their next mission. Upon hearing that they were delivering grain to a colony world, Lowell beamed at his bridge crew and commented that it was nice to have things back to normal. No one answered. If anyone, particularly at the back of the bridge, at the navigator's station, or down in Sickbay, chanced to think a little wistfully of a man with flashing eyes and a cocky grin who probably would have been outraged by something as mundane as delivering grain, they didn't speak of it.
And life went on. It wasn't glorious, but the people were nice, they did good work, shore leaves were frequent, and you couldn't beat the paycheck.
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There is an epilogue.