“We’ll know in a minute, gentlemen.”
The outline began to fill in, become solid. Gradually certain characteristics established themselves. The figure was bipedal, human, male. Effect solidified and the glowing mist became man. At the same time, Kyle deftly dropped the single remaining control lever all the way down and snapped off power.
No one spoke.
A simple coverall suit of rich brown wood colors clothed the man. Its top was inlaid with accenting gold thread. The garment was a mixture of the restrained and expensive. A lime-gold aura still surrounded him, the product of the life-support belt encircling his waist.
The new arrival looked them over briefly, then stepped off the platform and switched off his belt. The aura vanished. It was obvious that as a doctor, McCoy’s presence was superfluous. The survivor looked none the worse for wear after what must have been, at its mildest, a devastating ordeal.
Physically he seemed untouched, not so much as a scratch marring his attractive, famous features. Although now in his late thirties, his long absence had apparently not affected his athlete’s body. After half a decade of nonexistence he showed no signs of deprivation.
He smiled slightly—his famous smile.
“Incredible!” McCoy finally managed to stutter, breaking the silence. “It is him!”
“Carter Winston,” Kirk murmured, in tones usually reserved for addressing Starfleet admirals. It was appropriate. The man standing so composedly before them was a legend. Dead legends are not supposed to come back to life. The men grouped in the transporter room could be permitted a little awe.
Winston bestowed a curious, bemused glance on each of them in turn. A second later he showed that there was nothing the matter with his vocal cords, either.
“It seems you gentlemen know me.” Kirk stepped forward and shook his hand.
“There are few in the Federation who wouldn’t recognize you, sir. Even after all this time. It’s good to know you’re no longer a piece of history.
“I’m Captain James Kirk, commanding this vessel. It’s an honor to have you aboard the Enterprise.” He gestured in turn to each of the others.
“My first officer, Mr. Spock. Dr. McCoy, senior medical officer—” McCoy stepped forward and shook hands exuberantly.
“I’m especially honored to meet you, Mr. Winston. I expect your being alive means more to me than to the others. You see,” he hesitated slightly, “my daughter was going to school on Cerberus ten years ago, when the crop failure occurred.”
“Ah, yes,” Winston murmured, “Cerberus.”
McCoy looked over at Kirk, then back at Winston.
“It was estimated that fifty to sixty percent of the population would have starved If Winston, here, hadn’t used his—well, you remember the stories.
“Bureaucracy in the Cerberus Crisis moved at two speeds—dead slow and slower than dead. But Winston spent his personal fortune to bring in enough food and goods to carry the Cerberus II inhabitants through the danger period until those idiots,” and he spoke the word with as much bitterness as Kirk had ever heard from him, “at Administration got themselves straightened out.”
Kirk recalled the incident faintly and was impressed with the memory. He wasn’t as intimately acquainted with the Cerberus incident as McCoy, but he remembered some of the resulting tremors. There had been a real shakeup in certain sections of Starfleet Command. One of those rare instances where ministers and executives in high positions actually lost their jobs.
“One of the many stories I’ve heard about you, Mr. Winston. It’s a great pleasure for all of us to see you alive and well.”
“Thank you, gentlemen.” Winston smiled again, the same infectious grin that had more than once graced broadcast screens from the Far Arm to Earth itself—and had helped to build one of the greatest if most unstable fortunes of all time.
“I’d like to say it’s a pleasure to be on the Enterprise, but frankly, after what I’ve been through these last five years, it’d be a pleasure to be on board a pressurized bathtub.”
The four humans shared a convivial laugh. Spock waited and watched impatiently. There were a couple of things he badly wanted to say, and he had held his peace while jovial greetings had been exchanged.
“There is one person aboard who will be especially glad to learn that you are alive—Lieutenant Anne Nored of our Security Section.”
Winston kept his composure, but not enough to hide the shock he obviously felt.
“My fiancée! Anne’s aboard this ship?”
“Yes, doesn’t it please you?”
McCoy broke in before an astonished Winston had a chance to reply. “How did you know that, Mr. Spock?”
“As soon as it was determined that the craft we located was registered to Mr. Winston, I began processing information on him on the chance that he was the lone survivor. The information concerning his engagement to Lieutenant Nored was in the capsule summary the computer produced. It is a surprise to me too, doctor.” He turned back to Winston.
“We will notify her as soon as we have verified and processed your credentials, sir. If you have your identity tapes with you…?”
“Spock!” McCoy looked angry. “Of all the cold-blooded, inhospitable and inhuman requests I’ve ever heard—”
“I believe the regulations are quite clear on the matter, Doctor,” replied a composed Spock. “An immediate identity check and full medical examination are standard procedure in situations such, as this. Despite the unusual nature of the rescue, I find no reason for deviating from procedure.”
McCoy clearly felt otherwise and seemed prepared to say so. But Kirk, after a questioning glance at Spock, moved quickly to ease the awkward moment.
“Spock’s right, Bones. Be sensible.”
McCoy hesitated and still looked upset, but said nothing.
“And I understand, of course,” smiled Winston. “My credentials, Captain.” He reached into a suit pocket and withdrew a small microtape cassette. Kirk gave it a curious, cursory glance. Tape models had changed slightly in five years. If nothing else, the cassette Winston held out to him was genuine as to age.
“We’ll get through the formalities as rapidly as possible, Mr. Winston. Bones, why don’t you take our guest down to Sick Bay and run him through a standard medical check.”
McCoy nodded, smiled at Winston. “I was going to suggest a twelve-course meal first, but it would be a good idea to make sure your insides are in shape to appreciate it. I’ll make it fast, Mr. Winston.”
The two men left the chamber, chatting excitedly. McCoy was doing most of the talking as the elevator doors slid together in front of them, but that didn’t surprise Kirk. After all, a man can miss a lot of news in five years.
“Five years! It’s still hard to believe, Spock.”
“I know, Captain.” The two officers turned into the small briefing room. It was the nearest place to the transporter chamber that had the proper computer-access module.
“Nonetheless, he produced his identity tapes immediately. His actions so far have been perfectly normal. Oh, maybe he’s a bit composed for someone who’s been out of touch with civilization for five years, but—”
“It is a part of his character. Yes, Captain, everything seems to indicate that he is, indeed, Carter Winston.”
“We’ll know in a minute.” Kirk took a seat at the briefing table and activated a small switch set into the compact console in front of him.
“Ship’s log, please.” There was a short pause, then a soft beep indicating that the computer had recognized his voice and would now deign to record. Kirk spoke into the small grid set into the tabletop.
“Captain’s log, supplemental. The Enterprise has rescued a living legend—the foremost interstellar trader of our time, Carter Winston. Who, as I recall, has acquired a dozen fortunes, only to use his great wealth again and again to aid Federation colonies in times of need or disaster.
“Altogether a remarkable man and one who many people, myse
lf included, are glad to discover is still alive. We are in the process of carrying out standard post-rescue identification procedures.” He hit another switch, then slipped the microtape cassette into a slot that had suddenly appeared in the desk.
“Library computer—process identification tapes on male human known as Carter Winston. Verification of identity requested.” A three-sided viewscreen popped out of the desk top. It immediately displayed a set of fingerprints in triplicate. These were followed in rapid succession by a series of retinal patterns, oscilloscope readings, and other information.
“Working,” informed the slightly feminine machine voice. There was a muted hum.
“Identification positive,” it finally declaimed. Kirk gave an inward sigh. Of course, it was Carter Winston! The need for Spock’s logical mind to cross t’s and dot i’s had made him overcautious.
The computer continued. “Identification confirmation follows: fingerprints positive, voiceprints positive, retinal relief positive. All registration and documentation in order.”
“Original visual display, please.” The abstracts disappeared to be replaced by a hologram of Winston. Except for a few touches Kirk quickly ascribed to normal aging, it differed in no way from the man they had beamed aboard. An extra line here, a slight softening of flesh there. Both men studied the ’gram for another minute. Then Kirk hit the switch, and the tripartite screen sank back into the table.
He leaned back in the chair and gazed across the table at his first officer. “Well, everything checks out. So we have a distinguished passenger for a while. I expect he won’t exactly be a dull guest—ought to have one or two stories to tell.”
“It would seem so, Captain. I am much relieved.”
“You worry too much, Spock. And now, if you’ll excuse me—” Kirk moved briskly out of the chair. “It’s time for me to go and pollute myself with exotic combinations of protein solids and ethanol molecules.”
“Et tu, Captain? You were listening.”
Kirk only grinned as they exited the briefing room.
II
“If you’ll just lie down over there,” requested McCoy, indicating the nearby examination table. Winston hopped up on the slightly tilted platform. With the air of one thoroughly enjoying a relaxed position, he stretched out and put both hands under his head.
McCoy walked to a nearby cabinet and selected a compact general scanner.
“This won’t hurt a bit, Winston,” he said easily as he moved to stand next to the table. “Just a few minutes and we’ll be all through.” He smiled, flicked a switch on the scanner. Starting at the top of Winston’s head, McCoy moved the instrument down the man’s body, holding it roughly ten centimeters above him.
After passing over his feet, McCoy flicked the device off and checked the readouts. His smile slipped away and was replaced by a slight frown of puzzlement.
Winston noticed it, too. “Is there some problem, Doctor? Don’t tell me—I’m pregnant!”
McCoy managed a smile. “Scanner seems a little off. Just a second.” He adjusted dials, rechecked the readouts. “Calibration must be off,” he muttered to himself. He nudged the activation switch again and played the pickup over his own upper torso, examined the results. His puzzlement deepened.
Mumbling with the air of someone who’s just seen a ghost and prefers to pretend it wasn’t really there, he turned back to Winston.
“Let’s try it again.”
Once more the scanner was played down the survivor’s prone form. Once more the resultant numbers on the tiny gauges brought deepening confusion.
“Odd. Some slight deviations here and there I could understand. You’ve been isolated for five years. It’s no surprise that your body might have picked up some funny radiation, or something. A couple of abnormal readings are to be expected. It’s just that…” he looked down at Winston with a worried stare, “I’ve never gotten any readings quite like these from a human being before.”
Winston laughed easily, clearly amused by McCoy’s confusion. “Are you suggesting I’m not quite human, doctor? By the way, Merry Christmas.”
“Merry Christmas to you, Winston. No, of course not. Anyway, the differences are all fractional.” His smile returned. “Sometimes even the best medical instrumentation goes haywire. I don’t get to overhaul it with major hospital facilities very often. Must be the scanner.”
“Occasionally the transporter can do peculiar things to a body, too, leaving lingering effects that disappear as the internal structure readjusts. How are you feeling?”
Winston spread his hands, looked bemused. “Just great, Doc.”
“Well, then—”
“I beg your pardon, Dr. McCoy.” The doctor turned. Nurse Chapel had stepped into the examination room from the nearby reception area.
“What is it, Christine?”
“Doctor, the captain has been calling. He wants to know if the examination has been completed.”
“Ummm, yes, I suppose it has.”
“And doctor, Lt. Nored is waiting to see Mr. Winston—as soon as you’ve certified his medical status.”
“Thanks, Christine.” She smiled and left. McCoy turned back to Winston. “Well, I certainly don’t want to keep you from your fiancée.” He turned and yelled towards the open door. “Send her in, Christine.”
He offered Winston a last smile, one he also shared with the woman who passed him in the doorway.
She was dressed in the red uniform of a senior security officer. Not stunning, no, but she was damned attractive in an unassuming sort of way. As befitted a security officer, she was in excellent physical shape, which was more than could be said for her state of mind just then.
“Carter—”
She held herself pretty well in check until she was almost to him. Then her reserve cracked and she threw herself into his arms. Caught off-balance, his arms went around her automatically as he stumbled.
His own reaction was considerably less emotional. Calm, cool, and—something else. Something as yet undefinable.
She was alternately sobbing and talking a blue streak. He let her ramble on for several minutes before moving his hands up to her shoulders and pushing her gently away—gently, but firmly.
“I’m sorry, Anne.” The sorrow in his voice seemed genuine. “I never thought we would meet again.”
She studied his face. As she did so, her expression changed from one of relief and pleasure to one of confused uncertainty.
“What is it, Carter? What’s the matter?” Winston replied without hesitation.
“When I left on that final journey, Anne, I fully intended it to be my last. One supreme foray into unknown regions to bring my finances back to where they’d been before. After that, I would return and marry you. But my ship was disabled, and I crashed on the planet Vendor. I’m told I was lucky to have survived at all. The Vendorians managed to help me repair my ship. I left their world after four years of hard work, only to be disabled in space once again.”
“But you’ve been rescued, you’ve survived,” she almost shouted. “You’re alive and we’re together again! Nothing’s changed.” Winston looked away from her.
“Anne, I’ve changed. First there was the surgery—a lot of surgery. Skin grafts, bone regeneration, replacement of damaged organs with artificial ones, blood replacement. The Vendorians are excellent surgeons.” He smiled slightly at some distant memory. “They said I was more banged up than the ship.
“After they put me back together again, the Vendorians assigned one of their own people to look after me and nurse me back to health.”
All this was very interesting—fascinating, even—but it did nothing to explain Winston’s original statement.
“But you said you’ve changed, Carter. How? I don’t see any change.”
“It’s not a visible kind of change, Anne. It’s a kind that—” He paused. Abruptly he seemed to give up any attempt at further explanation.
“It’s over between us, Anne. I can’t really expla
in why, or how, but it’s over. I didn’t expect to have to go through this. All I can say now that it’s happened is that I can’t marry you, ever.” He continued to watch her quietly.
Her mouth moved but no sounds came out. Everything had happened so suddenly and seemingly so well. Even his first bits of explanation appeared to leave room for hope. Then he had abruptly grown firm and inflexible, hitting her with a declaration as blunt and cold as the dark side of the moon.
She turned and ran from the room, leaving Winston sitting alone on the cold examination table, staring after her.
Kirk had performed the ceremonial gesture of drinking with the crew—sharing their spirits, so to speak. But he’d returned to the bridge soon enough. Now he was back in the command chair, using a light-writer to mark orders on a glass plate lined with metal. A young yeoman, Ayers, stood to one side, awaiting the captain’s bidding.
Nodding in satisfaction, he read back over the orders, signed the plate and handed it to her.
“See these are delivered to the proper stations and processed through, Yeoman.” Ayers saluted and left the bridge.
A slight wave of dizziness assailed Kirk. He put a hand to his forehead. Possibly he’d overdone the annual Christmas camaraderie. He might be better off in his cabin for a while. It was one thing for the general crew to wander around mildly dazed during the holidays, but the captain was expected to remain cold sober at all times—in public, anyway.
“Take the conn, Mr. Spock. I’ll be in my cabin, completing the report on Winston’s rescue.”
“Very good, Captain.”
Kirk rose and headed for the bridge-elevator. Spock shifted from the library station and took over the command chair.
Kirk thought about the report as he made his way from the second elevator to his private quarters. He was still thinking about it after he’d kicked off his shoes and sat down at his desk. His finger activated the recorder, but for long moments he just sat and considered, unable to find anything to say. It was all so incredible, so utterly impossible.