Star Trek_ Generations - J M. Dillard [22]
The klaxon ceased abruptly; the bridge went utterly still as all motion, all sound, ceased.
Along with his crew, Sulu sat and stared out at the stars, and the dark, silent future.
Leonard McCoy slipped quietly inside the interfaith chapel on the outer grounds of Starfleets San Francisco headquarters and took a seat near the back, where sunlight filtered through tall stained-glass windows, painting the chairs, the carpet, the backs of McCoys hands, blue, red, violet. The room was small, free of adornments, save for the large spray of fragrant calla lilies near the podium. Most importantly, it was silent, empty. The doctor had intentionally come forty-five minutes early, to have some private moments alone with his friend.
Not that Jim was here. It was a memorial service, not a funeral; Kirk had left behind no corpse, which seemed somehow fitting. The captain had simply dissolved into space, neat and clean.
McCoy settled back against the chair and released a sigh. He had slept little the night before; when he had, he had dreamt of Jim, returning to the long-distant time and place when the captain had disappeared while on the ghost ship Reliant. They had all thought he was dead then, too; but he wasnt, merely trapped in interstitial space.
In McCoys dream, Kirk was there again, floating eerily in his space suit, waving his arms just as he had done when, during spatial interphase, his wraithlike form had appeared on the bridge.
Only in the dream, Kirk wasnt gesturing for help, but waving in greeting. Smiling, his face split by a broad, euphoric grin. Inviting the doctor to join him. McCoy had wept with joy to see his friend happy and at peace, and had wakened with tears coursing down his cheeks.
There were times when the realization that Jim was truly gone filled him with bitter grief; yet those moments were fewer than those in which his pain was tempered by the knowledge that Jim had led a good life, an amazing life, and had accomplished more, enjoyed more, experienced more than most ever would.
The door opened softly; McCoy turned at the sound, and caught a quick flash of Spocks face in the crack. The Vulcan saw the doctor and retreated, began to close the door.
McCoy rose and stepped out into the aisle.
No … Dont go, Spock. Please. Come in …
Spock hesitated in the doorway. I do not wish to disturb you, Doctor.
If it were anyone else, Spock, Id want to be alone. And Id hoped never to meet you under these circumstances … but Im glad youre here. The sight of the Vulcan brought a surge of fresh grief, as McCoy realized that they could never again be a trio; Jim would never be with them again. Tears stung the back of McCoys eyes; he cleared his throat and gathered himself. He had thought he had grieved enough in private to be past suddenly welling upand hed promised himself firmly that he would not embarrass the Vulcan by crying in public. But he found himself fighting the urge to fall, weeping, on Spocks shoulder.
He managed an uncertain smile as Spock strode over, the rainbow colors reflected from the stained glass shifting over his solemn face. To the doctors utter astonishment, the Vulcan paused in front of him, then intentionally offered his hand. Doctor. I, too, regret the circumstance. But it is good to see you again.
McCoy gaped at the proffered hand a momentVulcans, touch telepaths, found physical contact with chaotically minded humans distressingthen gazed up at his friend and gratefully took it. Spocks grip was firm, feverishly warm, and seemed to McCoy to emanate such calm, compassionate strength that he found himself misting up again.
I cant believe it, the doctor said, with sudden anguish. Three days, and I just cant get used to it. l cant believe Jim is gone.
He is gone. Spocks tone was flat, with a faint trace of bitterness. Whether