STAR TREK - TOS - Best Destiny

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STAR TREK

BEST DESTINY

Diane Carey

POCKET BOOKS

New York London Toronto Sydney

Tokyo Singapore

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters,

places and incidents are

either products of the author's imagination or are used

fictitiously. Any

resemblance to actual events or locales or

persons, living or dead, is entirely

coincidental.

POCKET BOOKS, a division of Simon and

Schuster Inc.

1230 Avenue of the Americas, New

York, NY 10020

STAR TREK is a Registered Trademark of

Paramount Pictures.

This book is published by Pocket Books, a

division of

Simon and Schuster Inc., under exclusive

license from

Paramount Pictures.

this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.

For information address Pocket Books, 1230

Avenue

of the Americas, New York, NY 10020

Library of Congress Catalog Card Number

ISBN 0-671-79587-2

First Pocket Books hardcover printing

November 1992

POCKET and colophon are registered trademarks

Simon and Schuster Inc.

Printed in the U.s.a.

Dedicated to the young men and women

in the Vision Quest program, and to the crews of

the Schooners

New Way

and

Bill of Rights,

who prove that troubled youth can not only be saved .

they can save themselves

What you from your fathers have inherited,

Earn it, in order to possess it.

comGoethe

Commanding a starship is your first best destiny.

comCaptain Spock to Admiral James Kirk in

Star Trek II The Wrath of Khan

HISTORIAN'S NOTE

This story takes place shortly after the events

chronicled in

Star Trek VI The Undiscovered Country.

FOREWORD

Ahhhh! We're back and it sure feels good!

Diane and I have been on sabbatical for four

years from the Star

Trek universe, but we haven't been idle. We

traveled back in time to

write a three-book series set during the

American Civil War.

Though we are once more flying around in the future for

humanity's

best destiny, we're still working in the past-this time

James Kirk's

past.

At first we thought we would just swing back into Star

Trek,

concerned only about changes in Trek. We didn't

realize we were

bringing so many changes in ourselves.

Nor did we expect any connection between the genres

... but the

past and the future were way ahead of us. They had

something else

in mind.

After a few thousand pages of raking our

Civil-War-era characters

over the coals, the two of us found ourselves burgeoning

with

unexpected insight into what might have shaped the life

of Captain James Kirk. Tiny events, not

big ones, can ultimately make a hero,

or fail to make one. Suddenly the tiny

things were important, all

because we had become so sensitive to the small events

that shaped

our own history. In writing our Civil War

series,

Distant Drums,

Rise Defiant,

and

Hail Nation

(bantam Books, 1991, "92, '93),

Diane and I have been hammered by the very lesson

Star Trek

has

been trying to teach us all along.

Just as "the needs of the one outweigh the needs of the many,"

the

actions of the one can overwhelm the actions of the many.

Let me

show you how.

In 1861 the European aristocracy saw the New

World cracking in

two, and smiled. The Confederate States of

American, they felt, were the inevitable winners of the

conflict. History gurgled with examples

of weaker powers emerging victorious when defending

their home soil. More significant, however, it

seemed impossible to

drag the rebellious states back into a

"voluntary" union. To the European elite the

United States of America-the big experiment

in mob rule-was at an end. Now the Europeans

would be justified

in crushing any rising democratic sentiment on their

own continent. They'd simply point over here and

say, "See? Won't work."

Dismemberment of the United States was too tempting

for the European powers to ignore. By 1862

Britain and France were poised to recognize the

Confederacy and offer monetary and military aid to the

new country-fan those flames! Watch that nation

crumble!

They hedged their bets, however. They waited for one

big Confederate military victory to prove the

Confederacy's ability to not only survive

Northern aggression, but end it. In a daring move that

took advantage of infuriatingly timid Union

General McClellan's turtlelike military

pace, General Lee split his smaller army of

grays into three parts and invaded the North.

As the gods looked down upon the impending battle,

the odds against the

survival of western democracy were very long.

The gods and the aristocracy lost their collective

shirts that day!

The North was dealt a wild card. One of General

Lee's men lost a

few pieces of paper that contained a complete set of

orders for the

impending battle. Now, if a cow had happened upon

the orders and

eaten them, this would have come to nothing but a historically

insignificant belch. But instead, the lost orders

ended up in General

McClellan's hands, and the future history of the

world was changed.

With Lee's battle plans in hand, a blind man on

a three-legged horse could have led the Union Army

to a flashing victory and ended the war then and there.

Since it was McClellan who had the paper, the

Union managed only a stalemate.

Because that accident with the piece of paper and

McClellan's

xii

personality got together on the same day,

North and South had to endure three more years of

wartime carnage. The Confederate

Army was turned back and the European powers never

considered intervention so seriously again.

A minor incident in a day's work

...

a careless Confederate

courier can't keep his paws on a few pieces of

paper, so the United States of America

survives its greatest trial.

If not for this one clumsy moment, there might not be a

single

unified nation here today, but a handful of squabbling

nation-states

each jealously guarding its borders. We'd spend

our time suspicious

of every bit of trade, every law, every traveler, arguing

over who got

to take advantage of whom, who got to set which

rule, who should

patrol which road, who got to toll which river. We

would never have

been able to pull together to build a society or

nurse a flourishing

economy.

There would be no "we."

How different would the world look today if the United

States had not existed to play its role in the

economic and military

developments of the last century?

And what makes a hero? Single people can turn

events, even if they're not dropping battle

plans out of their map cases.

Later in the war President Lincoln finally found

a hero for his

war-weary country. A non-McClellan emerged,

willing to fight with

the firmness needed to end the civil conflict and

reunite the nation.

It was General U. S. (unconditional

Surrender) Grant. While Grant lacked

General Lee's military acuteness, he made

up for it with a pit bull's tenacity and the dispassion of a

surgeon.

If we were inventing Grant's past from scratch, as

we had the chance to do with Jim Kirk, would we create

a polished youth, a

successful collegiate, a square-shouldered

officer?

Probably. But history taught us something

else, just in time.

General Grant, later to become President

Grant, had no success early in life; in

fact, before the Civil War his life was marked by

failure after failure. He was completely out of

place in civilian life,

and could barely feed his family during those days without

a uniform. The war was Grant's last chance to avoid

stunning

mediocrity.

How might events have been different if Grant had

been success-

xiii

ful and wealthy at the advent of the war? Would he have

been as

driven toward success, having already had it?

Why was President Lincoln willing to take any

personal or

political risk to reunite the country? What is

it that forges heroes

like U. S. Grant, Abraham Lincoln, or,

as we have tried to

extrapolate, James T. Kirk?

Best Destiny

is a Star Trek historical novel. Like

the heroes of the

real-life past, we know much about the deeds of

Captain James

Kirk. Through the television series, movies,

books, and comics,

Kirk and crew have been dragged through and survived a

multitude

of adventures.

But why them? What in our characters' pasts gives them that

extra pinch of determination and guile it takes

to survive the trials

of space travel? What minor events and twists

of fate, like those in

the American Civil War, piled one upon another,

resulted in Captain Kirk rather than Chief

Surveyor Kirk, or Sixth Level

Accountant Kirk, or Mr. J. T. Kirk,

101 No Particular Avenue?

Best Destiny

is not a complete picture by any means. However,

Diane and I do hope we've developed an

insightful and entertaining

peek into the steel personality of James Kirk

while he was still raw

iron and coal.

So join us in the future, and explore the

Star Trek

past. If you

enjoy

Best Destiny,

perhaps we'll do more of the past

...

in the

future.

And don't throw away any marching orders that fall

into your

hands. They might affect the path to your own best

destiny.

Gregory Brodeur

USS

Enterprise

1701-A

United Federation of Planets Starship,

Constitution-Class

Naval Construction Contract 1701-A

Captain James T. Kirk, Commanding

"You'll retire with extraordinary honors and the

boundless gratitude

of an unfolding Federation. We have a real chance for

prosperity in

the galaxy... a large portion of that chance is due

to your vitality of

will, your fundamentally of purpose, and your belief in

us, Captain

Kirk."

"Thank you, Mr. President. I don't know

what to say."

On the starship's forward viewscreen, the president

of the

Federation took an uncustomary pause. His white

eyes never'

flickered within his whey complexion and the frame of

long,

chalk-white hair, but today hope did luminate in

them.

"still

could suggest something,"

he said,

"if you were willing."

An "aw-shucks" grin creased James Kirk's

face, and he fingered

the armrests of his command chair for one of the last times.

"Thank you again, sir," he said. "We've had our

time in the light.

It's time for others now."

The president offered his idea of a nod, barely a

movement at all.

His Deltan albinism made almost any expression

something only

the perceptive would notice.

"We shall speak again,"

he said,

"and privately raise a glass to

your career, sir, and to your officers. Starfleet

Command has

authorized Starbase One's interior occulting

light to flash in alter

nate white and gold, as salute to the

Enterprise.

I shall consider it my

privilege to sign your Bell Book personally in

note of arrival, as this

will be her last time coming in."

"When we return to Starbase One," Captain

Kirk pointed out.

"At your discretion. No authority will supersede your

own as to the

final cruise of the

Enterprise.

Enjoy it."

The president nodded his elegant shaggy head, those

alien eyes

seeming not to really see.

The screen suddenly went black. Only the audio

system operated

for a last few seconds, in the voice of an

official communications

person.

"United Federation of Planets, Office of the

President, Starbase One, out."

Captain James Kirk wagged a finger toward the

bridge communi

cations station, noted the acknowledgment, and settled

a little too

calmly back into his command chair.

"I want to speak to Mr. Scott," he said.

No one acknowledged him. No one wanted to.

Somehow proto

col didn't fit just then. A moment later the

communication tie-in on

the command chair's armrest spoke for itself.

"Scott here, sir."

"Condition of the ship, Scotty."

"Aye, sir. We've got all damaged decks

evacuated and sealed off

and isolated priority repairs. Warp engines are

fine. Cosmetic repairs

can wait, but I'll have the ship's engineering up

to full integrity

within twenty hours."

The captain leaned an elbow on that armrest and lowered

his

voice. "Mr. Scott. . . you understand the ship is

being decommis

sioned upon our return to Starbase One."

"still

do, sir. But if Starfleet Command is going

to retire a space-

worthy

Enterprise

without my corpse rotting in her hull, I

guarandamntee yeh they'll have pain doing it. I

intend to make them

go down on record as having decommissioned a

service-ready

starship."

Silence pooled on the bridge. There was no echo,

but there might

as well have been.

The captain was gazing at nothing, as though

preparing to follow

his vessel into that nothing. He and the chief engineer.

Their ship.

"I understand," he said. "You carry on, Mr.

Scott."

"Thank you, sir, I will and a half. Scott out."

The captain crossed his legs and leaned back as

though to digest

what he had heard, and what he had uttered back.

"Steady as she goes," he said to the helm before him.

On the quarterdeck behind him, a very thin man with eyes

the

color of water and hair that had gone merrily gray

felt his own

square features harden up. Dr. Leonard

McCoy had waited all his

life to become a country codger, and he was enjoying

it. He could

scowl openly at such exchanges. He could snarl

at anybody, and not

get hit in the mouth.

With an aggravated frown he stepped sideways to the

science

station, as he had a hundred times before in years past,

muttered again to the same person who had heard his

mutters those

hundred times.

"What can we say to him, Spock?" McCoy

began, easily loud

enough for the captain to hear.

A figure straightened inside the science station

cowl. The entire

bridge seemed to inhale as the alien presence

turned to the ship's

fore. Small, alert eyes brushed the bridge,

set in the triangular

features of his face that McCoy had once

regarded as hard, cold, built deliberately on

angles. Sober and thrifty-that underpinned

the study of being Vulcan.

How old was the Vulcan now? McCoy skimmed the

medical

records he kept handy in his mind and tried

to equate Vulcan years

with human years. Failed, as usual. They just

didn't equate. Spock's

straight hair, once stove-black, was now a

dignified sealskin gray.

His quill-straight brows were still dark, still

angled up and away, but

were shaggier than in his youth, though they still made the

Vulcan

look to McCoy as did all Vulcans-like tall,

skinny bats with

clothes on.

Add them to the one feature that had made Vulcans

so hard to

take seriously ... the elongated ears that came

to points. McCoy

had decided those ears were the reason Vulcans had

given up

emotion. They couldn't stand being teased.

Suddenly McCoy felt lucky to be standing beside this

man.

Despite the years of mutual antagonism, he

and Spock had been

through every form of effort, every kind of death, every kind of

life

together; each offered himself in sacrifice for the other time

after

time, and somehow they were both lucky enough to still be standing

there.

McCoy knew he was also lucky to be standing next

to the first

Vulcan in Starfleet, the first of what had turned

out to be many. The

Vulcans had always tried to be unimpressible and

self-contained, but because of this one, they had changed their

minds.

Because of the young Spock, the impertinent radical who

had

shunned his race's Olympian seclusion,

Vulcans no longer prided

themselves on inaccessibility. They'd discovered that

Starfleet,

though founded by those silly humans and still primarily

run by

them, wasn't quite the lawless fluster the Vulcans had

assigned

humanity in the past, and that it didn't cause

concussion to the art

of being Vulcan. In fact, they'd found out that

Starfleet emblemized

law in settled space, was counted upon by dozens of

defenseless

worlds in a touch-and-go galaxy. The Federation was the

great castle

that protected them, and Starfleet was its

knighthood.

Even enemies knew it. That was why there had been

affluent

peace for so long. Starfleet insisted upon it, had the

muscle to back

it up.

The Vulcans were now proud, yes, proud to be part

of Starfleet, to

actively defend the Federation, to participate in the

strength that

prosperity insisted upon, and they too bristled when that

path was

blocked. Those who had once turned their very straight

backs on

Spock in his Starfleet uniform now nudged their own

sons and

daughters into Starfleet Academy, eager to see

them answer a bugle

call they themselves had once rejected, and to see them

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COSTARTREKBESTDESTINYDianeCareyPOCKETBOOKSNewYorkLondonTorontoSydneyTokyoSingaporeThisbookisaworkoffiction.Names,characters,placesandincidentsareeitherproductsoftheauthor'simaginationorareusedfictitiously.Anyresemblancetoactualeventsorlocalesorpersons,livingordead,isentirelycoincidental.POCKETBOOKS,...

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