The Captain's Daughter

  He stepped out of the turbolift, and he could feel the difference in the atmosphere. Everyone was looking at him and, by the same token, trying to look away.

  Opting to take the initiative, Anik stepped forward and said, in her accented English, “Captain, the crew wishes to extend to you its condolences for the loss of your daughter.”

  He stood there for a moment, his hands draped behind his back. His voice sounded especially gravelly as he said, “I appreciate that. I appreciate the support from all of you. Some further news of interest to all of you, I’m sure: We’ll all be going home. Our current heading brings us close enough to Earth so that the readjustment in our schedule is minor. So crew members who have friends or family on Earth will have the opportunity to visit.”

  “That being the case, sir,” said Anik, “I would anticipate a considerable portion of the crew asking about the appropriateness or desirability of attending the funeral services.”

  Sulu gave it a moment’s thought with furrowed brow, and then shook his head. “If any of them happened to know Demora personally, then attending is, of course, their prerogative. But if anyone feels obliged purely out of deference to me . . . by all means, they should not. What they should do is go and spend some time with the people they love. I certainly think Demora would have far preferred that.”

  “Yes, sir,” said Anik, and there were nods of understanding from around the bridge as well.

  Sulu had been standing with his hands resting lightly on the back of his command chair. Now he moved around to the front and lowered himself into it.

  It was all in his imagination, he was sure, but all at once he felt his age . . . and older. He could swear his knees audibly creaked, and there was a pulling sensation in his thigh. His body mass seemed to have tripled, and it was all he could do to keep his head up.

  “Captain?”

  He suddenly realized that Anik was standing directly in front of him. Why was she doing that? Why had she walked around to be in front of him that way?

  “Yes, Commander?”

  Anik tilted her head slightly in that curious manner of hers. “We’re . . . awaiting your orders, sir.”

  “Oh. Of course.” He let out an unsteady sigh. “Set course for Earth.”

  “Course plotted and laid in, sir.”

  “Take us home, then.”

  He stared at the screen, not really registering the shift in the star patterns that indicated the great ship was coming around. Instead he was watching in wonderment as the screen seemed to waver and then blank out. Moments later another image appeared on it.

  It was a town. A town that Sulu had not seen for many, many years.

  By any definition, it was primitive . . . which was its entire charm.

  It was the last place that Sulu wanted to think of. For a moment he thought he was losing his mind, because, of course, it couldn’t possibly be that the town was there on the screen.

  He realized at that point just how badly he had slept, as if tossing and turning in premonition of things to come. He should just get off the bridge, get the hell off.

  But he didn’t want to just up and bolt. Go hide in his room like some upset child. He was the captain of the Excelsior. He could deal with this.

  To hell with it. He was not afraid of his memories. He was not afraid of thinking about the things he had done. It was many years since he hadn’t dwelt on that wild, insane, deliriously dangerous week . . . and yet, in odd contradiction, it had never really been far from his thoughts.

  And he had no regrets. No regrets over what had happened a little over twenty years ago. (Twenty years ago! Could it have been that long? An eyeblink it had been, certainly.)

  No regrets. None at all.

  Well . . .

  . . . maybe except for his deciding to listen to Chekov . . .

  SECTION TWO

  FIRST DATE

  Chapter Five

  “YOU KNOW the old Russian saying . . . be careful vat you vish for . . . you may get it,” said Chekov.

  Around them the streets of Demora bustled with activity. The air was thick with smells of cooking meat, and from all around them in the bazaar there were merchants hawking wares at the top of their lungs.

  As Chekov and Sulu made their way down the main boulevard, outrageous beggars, with eye patches or thick beards, would try to bum money off them, offering to do odd jobs, offering their children in trade . . . the absurdity of the attempts to get funds escalating with each passing moment.

  “I will be your eternal slave, sir! I will lick your boots until such time that it will give you pleasure to kick me in the teeth!” said one particularly aggressive fellow.

  “That sounds like a serious offer,” Chekov deadpanned, and looked to Sulu for confirmation.

  Sulu sighed and shook his head.

  Sternly, Chekov said, “Ve vill consider it and get back to you.”

  “Thank you, sir! Oh, thank you!” He bowed and scraped, shuffling off in the other direction.

  Sulu looked at Chekov with undisguised incredulity. “‘We’ll think about it and get back to you’?”

  Chekov shrugged. “He seemed sincere.”

  Sulu shook his head and quickened his stride, gliding smoothly between the crowds in that effortless way he had. Chekov, a bit more bull-in-China-shop, had to elbow his way through, wondering how in the world Sulu made it look so easy.

  “Slow down, Sulu!” said Chekov as he managed to get alongside the quickly moving officer. “You’re not soaking up the ambience!”

  “Ambience?” Sulu shook his head. “Chekov . . . how can you be interested in any of this? How can you make yourself a part of it? It’s all . . . it’s all nonsense!”

  “Life is nonsense. Anyvun who believes otherwise is kidding themselves. Here. Over here,” and, taking Sulu firmly by the arm, he indicated a small café.

  With a sigh, Sulu accompanied him, and moments later they were seated at a small table, watching the crowds of tourists hustling past.

  “This is ridiculous,” Sulu said again for what felt like the hundredth time since yesterday when they’d first arrived.

  “But you vished for something like this, just as I said before,” Chekov reminded him. “You said you vanted something exotic. Something adwenturous. Vell—?” He gestured around them to take in the scope of the city.

  “But Chekov,” said Sulu, leaning forward and sliding aside his cup of coffee. “Don’t you see? It’s all . . . manufactured.”

  He was correct, of course.

  It hadn’t happened overnight. The transformation of Demora from barren desert to tourist attraction had taken quite a few years. It had been a logical outgrowth of technology, however. After all, terraforming techniques were being used on far-off worlds to transform them into Earth-like environments. So it was only logical to use those same techniques to change sections of Earth as well . . . while maintaining some of the ambience of the surroundings.

  A group of private investors purchased one section of the Sahara and proceeded to transform it into an inhabitable area. Permanent sunblock satellites hovered several thousand feet above Demora, high enough to appear as nothing more than dots in the sky, but effectively moderating and screening out the intensity of the sun. Buried dearridizers made the air more breathable and added a bit of moisture . . . not so much that one completely lost the desert flavor, but sufficient that guests were not made to feel incredibly uncomfortable. The object, after all, was to show the folks a good time. Give them a feel for the mysterious, romantic, and adventurous cities such as the fabled Casablanca.

  Unlike a simple amusement park, however, Demora was a genuine city unto itself, populated by a variety of people.

  Some were employees of the owners. They were provided free room and board, spending their private time and off hours in plush subterranean apartment complexes. They were “actors,” in a sense. Hired to provide color and excitement for the tourists, portraying a variety of mysterious, shady, and ultimately entertainin
g denizens of Demora’s underbelly.

  Then there were genuine entrepreneurs. Most of them operated booths, stores, and shops in Demora. The management skimmed ten percent off the top, and also provided housing consisting of apartments of varying quality within the confines of Demora itself. It was a fun and colorful place for artists, craftsmen, or even would-be future moguls to operate. It was the closest thing available to stepping back in time and setting up shop. The shopkeepers even had their own alliance and union, voting on local affairs and considerations. A school had opened up to accommodate the small number of children living there as well.

  There was some concern over kids who were born and raised in the city. It hadn’t happened yet, but it was inevitable, and there was some debate over the ethical considerations involved. Imagine spending one’s developmental years in the isolated and unique environs of Demora and then, for whatever reason, leaving to go out into the “real” world. The culture shock would be staggering, and several hotly debated town meetings had done nothing to resolve the situation.

  Then there were the tourists, of course. Most of them were there on some sort of package deal, which included a stay in one of the elaborate luxury hotels that studded Demora. Interaction with the city’s population was 100 percent.

  Some tourists even tried to get into the swing of things by obtaining costumes for themselves, roaming the streets as beggars, musicians, petty conjurers, whatever caught their fancy. One young couple went there on their honeymoon, on a very tight budget. They staked out a street corner, and the young wife—in a scanty, gauze outfit—proceeded to put on belly-dancing displays while her husband cheerfully accompanied on drums. At the end of each show they’d pass a hat for credit chits. By the time they left, they were in better financial shape than they’d been in upon their arrival.

  There were even Demora employees who were “disguised” as run-of-the-mill tourists. They would seem normal at first, but if you spent any time at all with them, it quickly became apparent that they had some sort of mysterious dark side to them. Invariably they would lower their eyes in the midst of conversation, take on a cautioned, even frightened air, and mutter something along the lines of, “This is not a good time for us to talk. We’ll rendezvous later. Watch your back.” Then they’d vanish into the ever-present shadows of Demora, usually never to be seen again.

  The result of the mixed-bag population was that one could never quite take for granted whom one was interacting with. Might be a employee, a fellow tourist, an independent operator . . . whomever. It added to the excitement; to the feeling that no one was necessarily what they seemed, and that anything could happen.

  The city was walled, ostensibly to protect it from passing desert raiders. (The raiders attacked on cue Saturday at 1900 hours precisely. There were seats that could be purchased at some key points along the wall, as well as monitors for those who were feeling slightly less adventurous or slightly more economically minded.) Entrance to the city was through the main gate, where a nominal admission fee was charged. Nothing major, though; the organizers of Demora (unsurprisingly, headed up by one Mr. Demor) wanted to keep the entrance cost down. The better to put people at ease, so that the significant spending of credits could occur inside. After all, if visitors left half their budget at the front gate, they’d cling with greater urgency to the remainder. If admission, on the other hand, was only a small fraction of whatever credits visitors had available to them, they’d be feeling pretty flush upon entering the city . . . almost guaranteeing that they would wind up spending the entirety of their funds before their stay was over.

  Many things had changed about humanity over the course of centuries. The fundamental knack, however, of separating the fool and his money was a constant.

  At the moment, Sulu was feeling like something of a fool.

  “You said you vanted excitement,” said Chekov. “I don’t understand.”

  “No,” sighed Sulu. “I guess you wouldn’t.” He rose from the table and said, “I’ll see you back at the hotel, Chekov.”

  “At the hotel! But vy? The day is young!”

  But Sulu didn’t respond. Instead he simply walked away without so much as a backward glance.

  * * *

  Sulu sat on the veranda, watching the sun drift toward the horizon. It was a cloudless evening, as always. The temperature in the desert actually tended to get pretty cool. He was wearing loose clothing, the sleeves fluttering in the breeze. A drink was perched on the table next to him, but it was barely touched . . . the ice long melted, watering it down.

  He heard the door to the room swing open on squeaky hinges. It had taken him a while to grow accustomed to a door whose handle you had to turn to enter. Indeed, when they’d first arrived at the room, Sulu had unthinkingly walked right into the door in calm anticipation of it sliding open. This had gotten him a bruised nose and a snort of derisive laughter from Chekov.

  “Hello,” said Sulu without turning.

  He heard the door close again, and there was a soft grunt followed by the rustling of packages being set heavily onto a table. Then Chekov stepped over to his side.

  “Lovely,” said Chekov, looking out at the sunset. The sun was a red obelisk hanging in the sky. Then he said, “So . . . you vant to tell me vat’s on your mind?”

  “Not especially,” Sulu replied. He got up from the chair and walked over to survey Chekov’s acquisitions. A shirt or two, a garish statue, a small prayer mat, and a couple of other odds and ends. “You’ve been busy.”

  “Sulu,” said Chekov patiently, “vat is bothering you? I thought you vould love it here.”

  “Love it here?” Sulu looked at him skeptically. “Chekov . . . this place is a joke. Why couldn’t we have done something normal!”

  “That’s not vat you vanted, remember? I suggested that.” Chekov paced the room with wide strides, gesticulating for emphasis. “‘Vere is the adwenture in that, Chekov? Vere is the excitement? How can some quiet staring at mountains or natural vonders on Earth compare to vat vee have seen.‣ Remember saying all that?”

  “I remember saying it with more correct placement of ‘v‣ and ‘w,’” Sulu said half-seriously, getting a derisive snort from Chekov in response. He dropped down onto one of the twin beds. It was amazingly comfortable . . . more so than his bed on the Enterprise had been, in fact. He looked around the room, with the rattan furniture, the tiled walls, and the large ceiling fan turning leisurely overhead. “But I didn’t exactly have this place in mind.”

  “Vat did you have in mind? Ve both wisited our respective families. Ve deserve to do something fun while the Enterprise is being refitted. Earth is our home, Meester Sulu. Ve should enjoy it vile ve can.”

  “I don’t know about that.”

  Chekov stared at Sulu uncomprehendingly. “Pardon?”

  “Don’t you see, Pav? That’s part of the problem. I have this sense of . . . of disassociation. People like you, and other officers . . . you come back to Earth, and you feel like you’ve come home. But me . . . when I set foot on Earth, all I can do is think about leaving.”

  “I see,” he said slowly.

  “Do you?” asked Sulu. “It’s a hell of a way to be, Chekov. To find that I consider a starship to be more of a home than the world I was born on.”

  “But vy do you feel that vay?”

  “Because Earth is boring, Pav! The things we’ve seen and done . . . and then I come back here, and I do what? I sit and talk with my family and try to tell them about what I’ve experienced. They can barely grasp it, Chekov. How do you tell them about beings like Trelane, or Charlie Evans? How do I tell them that the world they knew vanished out of existence, and was replaced with a timeline where Hitler won World War Two? My mother asked me what a typical day for me was like. Well, let’s see, Mother. There was the typical day a madwoman switched minds with my commanding officer. Or the typical day we were face-to-face with a planet eater. ‘Oh, my, Hikaru, that sounds strenuous! Don’t you ever get shore leave???
? Well, certainly I do, Mother. And it can be relaxing, except when a samurai jumps out of nowhere and tries to cut me in half.”

  “Vat’s your point?” said Chekov with a rather dry tone.

  “The point? The point, Chekov, is that with all the new life-forms and new civilizations I’ve encountered . . . I come back to the planet of my birth, only to find that the people I love most in the world are alien to me. My shared experiences are all with people other than them . . . and those experiences have changed me. When you come back ‘home‣ there’s a certain expectation that you revert, mentally, to the way you used to be. But I can’t. I’ve been through too much. We’ve just come back from our five-year mission, and all I can think about is getting back out there as soon as the Enterprise refit is finished. When I first embarked on my career with Starfleet, the hardest decision I had to make was leaving my family, knowing it would be years until I saw them again . . . if I saw them again. That was so difficult for me, I can’t express it. It used to be that the greatest pride I took in myself was my family and lineage. Yet now, I sit with them and I get . . . bored. There’s no other word for it. Bored.”

  “Bored because you vant . . . vat?”

  “Because I want excitement. I want that feeling of being on the edge.” Sulu swung his legs down off the bed and strode back to the veranda. The sun was very low now in the sky, the sand gleaming red. And the stars . . . the stars were already becoming visible. He stared up longingly at them, studying the constellations, the positions, even making rapid-fire calculations of how long it would take to travel from one to the other. And he did it for no other reason than love of doing so.

  “When I sit at the helm of the Enterprise, any second . . . any second . . . something could happen. I’m on my toes every second of every minute on my watch. Waiting to see what the next thing we encounter will be; knowing that, sooner or later, something will happen. Something always does. How can I say all that to my family?”