CHAPTER ONE
For Admiral Leonard H. McCoy, getting up was pure habit. The alternative was not getting up, and one did not get to be a centurion without the formation of really great habits. Habit one, get up and get dressed. That didn’t mean he didn’t go about this task without mumbling. He would grumble about some minor ache or pain, which usually went away once he started moving, but mostly he tended to rant and rave about how cold it was in his quarters. The degree of crankiness was irrelevant to good health, generally speaking. Often, the more feisty ones lived longer. But habit, the formation of good health behaviors established in early life was the greatest predictor of a long life. You could get up and immediately get a shower, a cup of coffee, or do some sit ups to get the blood flowing, whatever you needed to do to make the transition from sleep to full awake, but either way, you had to get up. And get dressed. Especially when one’s room could double for a meat locker, he thought.
“Damn it,” he greeted his personal entourage as he entered the main cabin of his shuttle. “Who turned off all the heat?”
“Admiral, it’s 24 degrees Celsius,” Ms. Petason informed him.
“Did I ask for a weather briefing?” McCoy snapped. “Just turn the damn heat up.”
“Perhaps you would be more comfortable with your sweater on,” Ms. Petason encouraged with the same tone she might have used on a child.
“If I wanted a sweater…”
Mr. Cheem placed a mug of hot coffee in McCoy’s hands.
“Thank you,” McCoy said, soaking up the heat from the mug with his hands. He took a seat and held the cup as if he might sip from it, but for the moment he simply drew comfort from its warmth. “How long till we arrive at K7?”
“One hour, forty seven minutes, Admiral,” Mr. Cheem said.
“Okay,” McCoy said, holding his coffee cup out as if to make a point. “I don’t need to be reminded every few moments that I am an Admiral. My memory is still functioning. Also, along that same line, it is okay to round up to the nearest hour. I may have had a Vulcan katra imprinted on my brain, but I am still human.”
“You never did tell us why we’re going to K7,” Ms. Petason said.
“Must I have a reason?” McCoy asked. “Have I ever used up my vacation?”
“That’s just it, Ad… Leonard,” Ms. Petason said. “I would have thought if you were on vacation you would have chosen someplace warm, like a tropical beach or…”
“Why in the hell would I want to go to the tropics when you can just turn up the heat in my cabin?” McCoy asked.
“Scenery, perhaps, or maybe fresh air?” Ms. Petason tried.
“If fresh air is so good for you, how do you suppose I got to be this old?” McCoy asked, purposely contradicting everything he had ever said about fresh air. “An oxygen atom is an oxygen atom, no matter where it’s replicated.”
“Yes, Doctor,” Ms. Petason said.
“Why didn’t we take the Fleet shuttle? It’s much faster than this old can,” Mr. Cheem said.
“I required some privacy. No fleet, no paper work, no bureaucracy… You guys are lucky I brought you along,” McCoy said.
“More likely you couldn’t have escaped without us knowing and drawing the alarms,” Ms Petason said. “You’re more than a national treasure, you know.”
McCoy grumbled something under his breath, then started drinking his coffee.
At a hundred and fifteen years old, McCoy was still fully able to get around without a cane, and hardly looked a day over eighty. His mind was as sharp as it was sixty years ago, and, as he so often put it, it was a testament to daily exercise, good hygiene, eating right, and simply getting up every morning. Sure, he sometimes lamented the loss of agility and dexterity, but he was determined to live as naturally as possible, instead of constantly going through the rejuvenation process so many people were experimenting with these days. “If men were supposed to live forever, there would be no need for Doctors,” he would ramble.
As McCoy stepped over the threshold of the shuttle docking ring, one of his security guards made the mistake of offering him a guiding hand. The guard’s second waved him off, but the exchange didn’t go unnoticed by the lively eyes of McCoy.
“Why don’t you boys just wait for me here,” McCoy suggested.
“But sir…”
“I’ll make it an order if need be,” McCoy said. “I’ll be gone an hour or two. It’s not like I can get lost on a space station. Besides, I’ve been here before, and I know my way around. And I certainly didn’t get to be this old by being coddled. Now, stand down.”
The guards reluctantly retreated, and McCoy moved along on his own, without a real clue which way was what. The simple fact was that K7 had gone through some major renovations since he was last here, and it might as well have been a completely new station. Though one might think that a space station is a space station, seen one you’ve seen them all, they still tended to be designed and laid out for the comfort of those who most frequently used it. McCoy became a bit frustrated that the corridors didn’t seem to be as user friendly as most modern space stations, with computer guidance and wall maps. He became further annoyed as he approached the station security, as the funneling process for newly arriving guests was remarkable: remarkably bad. The process was slow and inefficient, mostly because the computerized forms of admittance procedures were purposely confusing. He got there by muddling through, as were most of the visitors.
The clerk processed the identification, saw nothing unusual, and gave him the green light to proceed.
“Son, I was supposed to meet someone at the bar,” McCoy said. “Can you point me in the right direction?”
“Sir, directory assistance can be found at the end of the hall,” the clerk said.
“I was asking you…”
“I know you old folks like to chat, but I’m busy. See the line?” the clerk remarked, pointing at the line of frustrated, impatient beings behind the Admiral.
“What is this world coming, too,” McCoy grumbled as he pushed on through.
“It’s not a world,” the clerk grumbled back. “It’s a space station. Just a place to pass through. I just hope I live long enough to just float around the universe from destination to destination… Next!”
McCoy had a few things to say to the man, but decided he would be casting pearls to swine. He muddled through a computer program that was supposed to be user friendly for anyone who had ever used a computer, only it wasn’t. He caught a lift up, exited, looked about, and came face to face with a young man, in his early twenties, bald, and wearing a poncho.
“You got a nickel?” the man asked.
“Only wooden ones,” McCoy said.
“Excellent, would you follow me, please?” the man asked.
McCoy was led to a room and ushered inside. The man excused himself, leaving McCoy contemplating the whole scene. It was all a mystery and he wasn’t fond of mysteries. He was pretty sure he was not in harms way, for there were certainly easier ways to kill an old man than to ask him to waltz into the lion’s den on his own power.
The place was immaculately kept, with only a few personal objects describing cultures McCoy was not immediately familiar with. Each piece was laid out to draw one’s attention to the next piece, and ultimately around the room and back to the first object. Only McCoy’s eyes didn’t make it that far. He stopped at the woman dressed in a flowing, blue robe, with ballooning sleeves that hid clasped hands in front of her. She wore a hat that fell heavy on the right side of her face, offing the symmetry just enough to produce a feeling that she was approachable if you wanted to talk to her. Her smile was eloquent, patient, and warm. It was the face of kindness and wisdom, as if she were a grandmother a hundred times over.
“Guinan!”
“Doctor McCoy,” she said, hugging him.
“Girl, you know better than that,” he said.
“Sorry,” she said. “Leonard. Thank you for coming on such short notice.”
“Anything for you,” McCoy said. “But why all this cloak and dagger?”
“Please, be seated. May I get you a drink? Saurian brandy, perhaps?” Guinan asked?
“You didn’t bring me all this way to get an old man drunk, now did you?” McCoy said, trying to lighten the mood.
“Old?” Guinan asked. “You’ll never be old!”
“Flattery will get you everywhere,” McCoy said, taking a seat on the couch. “But back to the cloak and dagger bit. Are you okay? Are you in trouble? This station can be a bit rough.”
“No, no, I’m okay,” Guinan said. She fetched a single shot glass and the bottle of Saurian brandy she had acquired just for McCoy. The brandy was a darker shade of blue than McCoy had ever seen, suggesting an older vintage. “But there is something…”
“I told you, anytime you want a job in Starfleet, I’ll set you up,” McCoy said. “You don’t have to run a bar.”
“I like running a bar,” Guinan said. “So many interesting people come to bars. Tell you what, you open a bar up on a Starship, and I’ll tend to it. As for why I called you, well, this is much bigger than my employment opportunities.”
“Is this a single or a double?” McCoy asked, indicating the brandy she had just handed him.
Guinan set the whole bottle on the coffee table in front of him.
“That bad?” he asked.
Guinan shrugged and offered a smile that suggested: “depends on your point of view.” McCoy recognized the gesture and downed his first drink. He set the empty glass next to the bottle and rested his hands in his lap.
“Okay, shoot,” McCoy said.
Guinan took a seat across from McCoy, sitting on the arm of the chair, posture straight. She rested her hands on her knees and thought for a moment, listening to the quietness of the room, feeling her heartbeat, and observing Admiral McCoy. There was still an edge of impatience about him, an urgency to resolve all conflicts and puzzles, but it had eased some since the first time she had met him. On hearing about Kirk’s death, Admiral McCoy had rushed out to intercept the Enterprise B as it crept back to Earth. He met first with his old shipmates and then examined the people who had been rescued. Some of them, Guinan included, were showing signs of melancholy, and a desperateness to return to the spatial anomaly, the Nexus. McCoy had managed to help her, even though he was grieving the loss of his dear friend: Captain James T Kirk.
“Do you remember a girl named Kelinda?” Guinan asked.
“I’ve met quite a few people in my days, so you are going to have to be more specific,” Admiral McCoy said.
“She was Kelvan,” Guinan said. “Apparently they hijacked your ship and dehydrated most of your crew down to their essential elements, a mass about this size…”
“Oh god, yes, I remember her now. That was some time ago…” McCoy said, his voice sounding reminiscent. They had turned the whole crew into polyhedra.
“I figured you would remember the dehydrating bit,” Guinan said.
“You’ve met her?” McCoy asked.
“I get around,” Guinan said.
“Indeed,” McCoy said, pouring himself another drink. He left it sitting on the table, though. “Go on.”
“As you may have heard, they are currently having a civil war on their planet,” Guinan said.
“I haven’t kept up, really,” Admiral McCoy said. “They pretty much became isolationist after colonizing that little planet we gave them. I remember their technology was greater than ours, and though they decided against conquering us, they did, conveniently, decide to employ some of our culture, the first one being the prime directive. They blocked any access we had to their technology with some vague talk about keeping a balance of power in this quadrant of the Galaxy. My personal slant is they haven’t given up their conquering ways and were just going to wait until they had the numbers to do it.”
“You’re not the only one to have suggested such a thing. There have been rumors that perhaps a Federation spy may have started the civil war in order to slow the ‘conquering urge’ down a bit,” Guinan said.
“Who told you that?” McCoy asked.
“I’m a listener. I hear things,” Guinan said.
“And so, you brought me all this way to discuss conspiracy theories you’ve been listening to?” McCoy said.
“Oh, no,” Guinan said. “This gets much more interesting.”
“How much more interesting can you get than a civil war and conspiracy theories?” McCoy asked.
“Let me continue to paint a picture for you,” Guinan said. “The civil war is between two factions. There is a third, but they’re a minor player, at the moment, anyway. One side is the modified Kelvans. These are the first generation Kelvan to become Human, all of whom you met. Some have decided to remain in human form. Kelinda is the head of this movement.”
“How is she by the way?” McCoy asked.
“Doesn’t look a day older than the day you first met her,” Guinan said.
“I suppose they’ll never learn what it means to be fully human, then,” McCoy lamented.
“The other faction,” Guinan continued. “Are taking a more conservative view of things, and believe everyone should return to the original Kelvan form.”
“You mean the whole giant monster thing with hundreds of tentacles and no emotions or senses, as we understand them anyway, just pure intellect?” Admiral McCoy asked.
“That’s them,” Guinan said. “Not really pleasant to look at, but, they have their place in the universe, too. Super intelligent, even if a bit controlling.”
“Umm,” McCoy grunted. “Here’s to diversity.” And downed a drink. He poured himself another glass and left it sitting. His attention drifted over to one of Guinan’s relics for a moment, and then he returned his gaze to her, signaling he had processed the information so far, and was ready to proceed.
“The Kelvans discovered that any offspring they produced while in human form were completely human,” Guinan continued. “There was no trace of their Kelvan physical or mental capabilities.”
“Of course. I told them as much,” McCoy said. “The Kelvin couldn’t fit on the Enterprise in their natural form, so in order to hijack the Enterprise, they had to assume human form. They were text book perfect, too, as I recall. They couldn’t have been better samples of the human genome if they were created in a lab. Anyway, since it would take nearly three hundred years to return back to their home world, only their descendants would have survived the trip, and naturally their offspring, being human, would not have anything in common with the creatures they were returning home to meet. They would be born human, develop as human, and die human.”
“Yes, but I guess they didn’t believe you, because Kelinda and her fellow Kelvan were still surprised to find that their children were alien to them. They were even more amazed when they discovered that their offspring could not be converted to the original Kelvan form. Oh, they could do it physically, turn their human children into Kelvan children, but the human mental capacity was insufficient to work the Kelvan physiology. Taking a human by birth and placing him into a Kelvan’s body was a terminal procedure, and it didn’t matter if it was a child or an adult. Apparently they can convert as many Kelvan into human without any detrimental side affects as they want, and they can change those individuals back, but any human offspring are human forever,” Guinan said.
“I told them that would probably be the case,” McCoy said. “I wonder how many had to die before they came to terms with that. Anyway, I guess you’re telling me that the traditionalist faction wants to maintain their Kelvan perspective, and the only way to do this is to remain Kelvan, or to only produce and raise children as Kelvan, and convert to human form when needed.”
“Basically, yes,” Guinan said. “But they didn’t give up on changing humans into Kelvan. There were some experiments at imprinting the Kelvan psychology on human subjects.”
McCoy took a drink and refilled his glass. He set the bottle down and kept the glass in his hand. The things different races subjected on their people, especially the children, had cease to amaze him long ago, but it still got him worked up.
Guinan continued, “It didn’t work too well. Adult humans who had Kelvan psychology imprinted onto their brains went crazy and died, and all the human infants that had this Kelvan psychological imprinting died, or were severely retarded at birth… with one exception.”
McCoy twirled the glass in his hands. He could discern the affects on his nervous system and he didn’t feel the need of any further medication. Guinan explained that the Kelvan procedure was analogous to taking a map of the neural network of a Kelvan and recreating that map on the human nervous system. In many respect, the Kelvan physiology and neural network was very similar to a cephalopod, like the octopus. The mental processing power needed for an octopus to camouflage itself was immense, and many humans figured it was the most likely candidate for evolving into sentience on Earth, given time. The Kelvan physiology was so elaborate that Spock noted on encountering the species in a mind meld that they were beyond emotions as we know it. He did not go into detailed specifics, but generally the Kelvan didn’t perceive things the way humans did. The nerve endings that terminated at the complex pigment structures in the Kelvan skin were necessary in order to camouflage itself, changing color and skin texture, that required tremendous amounts of mental processing power. It was true that its ability to camouflage itself surpassed the octopus two hundred fold, and was so adapt that when Kirk’s Away team had first arrived on the planet surface, no one had been able to see the Kelvan. They were beyond invisible, and then suddenly, they were there, in human form, walking amongst the immobilized members of the landing party. But they also needed the brain power just for intra-species communication, which was a combination of ultra high frequency sounds and pheromones, heavy on the pheromones.
What this boiled down to was that the Kelvan had a very different evolutionary tree, and no doubt an extremely alien environment compared to the environment that harbored the development of life on Earth, as well as much of the species in their quadrant. The Kelvan were probably the most alien compared to any other encounters that McCoy had had.
“It’s amazing to me that intelligent species evolve at all. All the so called smart ones, humans included, do the stupidest things,” McCoy said.
“Oh, it gets better,” Guinan assured him.
“Should I?” McCoy said, reaching for the bottle.
“You might want to be sober to digest the rest of this,” Guinan said.
McCoy nodded and put the empty glass down.
“Remember how you said the Kelvan were textbook perfect examples of the human genome?” Guinan asked.
“Yes,” McCoy said, sounding a bit annoyed. “There’s nothing wrong with my memory. And the only reason I considered them text book perfect is that they lacked the miscellaneous junk DNA. By eliminating that they had improved on the efficiency of their cellular metabolism. ”
“Well, in a way, they were too perfect, and in order to have a long line of viable offspring, they had to infuse genetic material from an outside human source. They didn’t want their offspring to have genetic disorders that sometimes occur from inbreeding, and they didn’t want the genetic disorders associated with multiple cloning.”
“Of course,” McCoy said. “So, who did they get to provide this infusion?”
“The Enterprise NCC 1701,” Guinan said.
The bedroom door opened and a child of about five years old walked into the living room. He looked to Guinan, then to McCoy, and back to Guinan. He held a stuffed animal that resembled a Black Footed Ferret.
“Admiral McCoy, I would like to introduce you to Jude,” Guinan said. “He’s the grandson four times removed of Kelinda and the grandson twice removed of the late Captain James T Kirk.”
Admiral McCoy laughed. It was the best laugh he had had in years and he couldn’t stop himself, even when his chest ached from laughing so hard. As he held himself, half reclined on the couch, he slowly managed to recover. Even Guinan chuckled. Jude only observed, one eyebrow slightly higher than the other. It was a look that reminded McCoy of Spock.
“Oh, Guinan,” McCoy finally managed. “Thank you. That was clever. You really had me going. Great build up. Excellent delivery.”
“I wasn’t being humorous,” Guinan said. Her smile could have been indicative that the jest was still on or that she was extremely serious. Even McCoy couldn’t read her all the time.
“Please,” McCoy said. “If I had a year for every person who claimed to be a direct descendant of Kirk, I wouldn’t even be born yet!”
Guinan nodded. “None the less, if you take a look at his genome, you will see he has genes from Kirk, and Ambassador Spock, and Captain Scot, and Captain Uhura, and Lieutenant Commander Janice Rand, but mostly, you. A DNA test would indicate you were his closest and immediate relative. More specifically, his father.”
McCoy stared at the child, incredulously. He looked to Guinan and searched the face for some hint of jest, found none, and poured himself a glass of brandy. He then took a swig from the bottle before setting it down hard on the table. He wanted to say something clever, to curse, to demonstrate some form of shock, but the longer he thought about it, the less surprising the situation seemed. Perhaps he was finally getting old.
“You know,” McCoy said, presently, “I’ve traveled all over the quadrant, and I have seen some pretty strange things, and done some even stranger things, and had all of these experiences, but even with all of that, I would have never guessed in a million years that I would be sitting here today with you while looking at a child that is related to me and half of the command crew of my ship!” McCoy rubbed his forehead. “I suppose now, the question is what is the child doing with you and what does any of this have to do with me?”
“Jude’s biological mother, or at least, the mother that carried him and gave birth to him, and I were friends. I was there visiting her on her estate before the war started to get heated. She asked me, in the event of her death, that I take Jude away and hold his identity secret. Secret from even Kelinda,” Guinan explained. “I was there when Lorena and her mate were killed. I barely avoided being killed myself, no doubt a story I will tell you when we have more time. Right now, my immediate need is to find Jude a place to live.”
“Damn it, Guinan, I’m a doctor, not a baby sitter!” McCoy snapped. “And I’m too old to start being a parent now.”
“Jude has some special needs which I am unable to provide for at this time, and, seeing how he is related to you, I thought you would want to be involved,” Guinan said.
“I’m not shirking responsibility here, but considering I was never consulted about the creation of this child, I don’t see how I should have any say in what happens to him now,” McCoy said.
“K7 isn’t a good environment for him,” Guinan said. “The war on Kelvan is ferocious, it may grow to encompass a larger area, and he has seen things a kid his age shouldn’t have seen. I think those things may have hurt him, or it may be that he’s mentally challenged, the by product of having Kelvan psychology imprinted on him while prenatal.”
McCoy shook his head, “Not to mention the mixing of Vulcan genes with human. What percentage?”
Guinan opened a cabinet and produced a medical tricorder. She handed it to McCoy who got up and ran a general sweep of the boy. He shook his head.
“Only five percent of the Vulcan genes seem to be active at this time, but he is going to need some supplements in his diet to help maintain his special chemistry. Everything else seems to be in order… No indications of mental trauma, but then, I would have to have a counselor speak with him,” McCoy said.
“He can’t speak,” Guinan said.
“What?” McCoy asked, doing another check. “I can find no physiological reason for him not being able to speak. I think we should get him to a developmental counselor.”
“Lorena begged me to keep this as discreet as possible for fear the Kelvan should learn that he’s still alive,” Guinan said. “And terminate him.”
“If she were any more discreet, I wouldn’t know about him!” McCoy snapped.
“If the traditionalist Kelvan discover he’s alive, they will hunt him down and kill him because he’s the direct heir to Kelinda’s estate,” Guinan said. “And, that third faction I mentioned, they would also want him dead simply because he survived the imprinting procedure. They recognize that they are descendants of Kelvan, but they want nothing to do with their heritage and have adopted a puritan perspective in their human form. They would consider Jude a threat, a threat that will be worse should Kelinda’s faction win the war. They don’t exactly vote for their leaders, and he would be in line, and potentially in favor of the modified Kelvan’s perspective.”
“Could Shakespeare himself have written a better plot for your life, Jude?” McCoy asked, shaking his head. “If Kirk were here, I suspect it would be damn the torpedoes and full speed ahead. Sigh. Perhaps, it would be better if Jude wasn’t aware of his lineage.”
“An orphanage isn’t an option,” Guinan said.
“It is an option, just not a favorable one,” McCoy said. “And a life in Fleet isn’t much better, always on the move. And I am too old, and don’t argue with me. I agree, stability will be a plus for him, especially if he is going to need special attention.”
Jude crossed over to Guinan, stood with his back to the couch, eyes on McCoy as if he were wary of the stranger. He pushed himself up into the seat next to Guinan. He leaned his head against her, squeezing the ferret. Guinan caressed his hair. He stared at McCoy as if McCoy were an alien.
“I know a place I can take him,” McCoy said at last.
“Family?” Guinan asked.
“Yes, family, in a nice out of the way sort of place,” McCoy said. “Their medical technology is rather advanced, so he won’t lack when it comes to medical care, but hopefully it will turn out that he’s just a late bloomer when it comes to speaking. It’s not unheard of in the halls of science, just unusual.”
“Even for five years old?” Guinan asked.
“Maybe there is a little bit of listener in him. Hell, they threw everyone else into him!” McCoy said.
“I hadn’t thought of that. Yes, he could be a listener,” Guinan mused, hugging Jude. “So, are you sure this is not inconvenient?”
“You dragged me all the way out here, drop a bomb, and expect me to go merrily about my way?’ McCoy asked. “Yes, it’s an inconvenience, but I am completely vested in this.”
“So am I,” Guinan said. “If you want me to go with him, I will quit K7.”
“No,” McCoy said. “If anyone knows of your friendship with Lorena, it wouldn’t be too hard to figure out where he is.”
“You have just as much of a connection with Kelinda as I do,” Guinna pointed out.
McCoy frowned. “I do. So if I do what I am planning, there will be no re-union with Kelinda and Jude until after he has become an adult. Once I get him placed with a family, I will not be moving him back and forth. I’ll have to change his name, and come up with some cover story.”
Guinan nodded. “I feel bad doing this. Lorena left me in charge, after all.”
“It’s the only way I see that we can guarantee his safety,” McCoy said. “It’s not like you’re abandoning him. What does Kelinda know about this?”
“True to Lorena’s wish, Kelinda believes Jude to be dead,” Guinan said. “I was asked to do everything possible to protect his life.”
“What kind of parents are we?” McCoy asked.
“The only ones he has,” Guinan said.
“Does he have any possessions?”
“No. Except the toy I gave him. We had to leave quite abruptly,” Guinan said.
“Well, then,” McCoy said, looking at his son. His son! He was almost too old to even pick him up! “Jude, why don’t you and I take a little trip?”
“Are you going to transport back?” Guinan asked.
“No,” McCoy said. “We’re trying not to draw attention to us, remember.”
“Still avoiding transporters, uh?” Guinan asked.
“I’m not avoiding them,” McCoy said. “I’m just stretching my legs. How else would you suggest I keep my youthful vigor and figure?”
Guinan and McCoy walked slowly back to his shuttle, filling their last moments together with gossip. Jude walked in front of them, occasionally hesitating at the strangeness of his surroundings. He found the smells the most overwhelming. Some were pleasant, with a hint of honey, or a taste of an unfamiliar, flowery scent. Others were pungent, crisp odors, like methane, that farm smell