Kirk recalled that he hadn’t returned home until late, and when he had, he certainly hadn’t found a message from Antonia waiting for him. But then, he hadn’t watched any messages at all, had he? He remembered now that he hadn’t even checked the terminal when he’d gotten home, but had simply fallen into bed after his long day. The next morning, he’d left the apartment as soon as he’d risen, headed for the Enterprise-B ceremony.

Antonia did leave me a message, Kirk thought. He simply hadn’t seen it. The realization saddened him, even though he knew it wouldn’t have made any difference in his life; just hours later, he would be lost in the nexus. Except that I’m still alive now, he thought, and although he could not respond to Antonia, he did take some solace in the notion that she seemed to have let go of her anger for the pain he’d caused her.

Kirk padded back across the den to the computer terminal. He called up a menu of options and selected the disabling of the system’s monitor and alert functions. Although he knew that his counterpart would not check for any messages tonight or tomorrow morning, Kirk did not want to risk somebody contacting him during the time that his counterpart did spend in the apartment. In particular, he wanted to avoid any communication with Admiral Sinclair-Alexander, in which she might ask how he had enjoyed his tour of the Enterprise-B today. He thought that unlikely, but wished to take no chances.

Once he’d disabled the terminal, Kirk picked up the carryall and took it into the bedroom. There, he emptied the bag and then stripped, tossing all of the clothes into the recycler but for his uniform. After dressing in his official attire, he pulled out the jacket of one of the three uniforms hanging in the back of the closet. He also replaced the carryall where he had found it.

After retrieving the blue data card from the den, Kirk waited for the morning to pass. Just before noon, he left the apartment, headed for Starfleet Headquarters. From there, he would transport up to the Enterprise-B, from which, if all went according to plan, he would not return.

FOURTEEN

2293

As he lay in what amounted to a launch bay, Jim Kirk could not help thinking of the many probes and photon torpedoes he’d ordered fired during his Starfleet career. Though he knew and understood the process that would begin his descent to Earth, it nevertheless felt strange to be configured like a projectile. It also reminded him of the few times he’d had to abandon ship in an escape pod.

Within Kirk’s helmet, he heard the words of the dive controller, checking readiness. Kirk studied the readouts on the inside of his visor, then confirmed his status. The controller acknowledged, executed a scan of his own that he narrated, then initiated a countdown.

As Kirk listened to the numbers ticking down, he worked to keep his breathing and heart rate at acceptable levels. He felt more nervous than he’d expected to, particularly considering his long career in space and the several times that he’d had to perform extravehicular activities. Of course, his training had always essentially warned him away from circumstances similar to those upon which he was about to embark.

At last, the controller reached zero in his countdown. Kirk did not feel the acceleration, but he could at first measure his progress through the tube visually, though the surface of the metal around him soon became nothing more than a blur. His arms folded across his chest and held tightly against himself, he waited for the moment when he would leave the orbital platform.

When finally he shot out into space, the moment exhilarated him in a way even greater than he’d expected. He had launched into Earth’s night above the Arabian Peninsula. To his right, he saw a spectacular array of stars, seeming so close that he felt as though he could simply reach out and touch them. To his left, the planet of his birth spun through the void, sprawls of light sparkling across its surface.

Launched opposite the direction of the platform’s orbit, Kirk had actually been decelerated with respect to the planet’s surface. As he arced above the northern coast of Africa, he knew that he began to fall toward the Earth, though he could not immediately perceive that motion. The dive controller made contact with him, and Kirk quickly checked his readouts to verify his optimal status. He noted the transporter recall on the inside of his helmet showed green, available to him with a flick of his chin or tongue. Another had been placed within his right glove, he knew, on the back of his hand. Should he encounter any problems, he could be back within the orbital platform in just seconds, either through his own action or that of the controller, who would monitor his entire descent.

For nearly an hour, Kirk seemed to float free above the Earth. As many light-years as he’d traveled, as many exotic locales as he’d visited, he didn’t know if he’d ever seen a more breathtaking vista. He had been born on the great blue marble below him, and that fact counted for something on an instinctive level.

By degrees, he became aware of falling from space, the Earth growing larger below him. He examined his display and saw that indeed he’d begun to experience the effects of the atmosphere. He twisted his body around so that he would descend feet first.

As Kirk sailed across the coast of Morocco and out over the Atlantic Ocean, he saw the terminator ahead. The line separating day from night made it appear as though some great being had draped a curtain over the world there. Kirk soared in that direction, the atmospheric drag beginning to slow him more dramatically, his passage through the air growing noisy. He felt a slight increase in the heat within his dive suit, and a glance at his readings showed a sharp increase in its outer temperature. He peered down across his body and saw that the blue heat-resistant tiles lining the exterior of his suit had begun to glow red.

I’ve become a meteor, Kirk thought, imagining the view of his reentry from the ground.

It took nearly another hour for him to cross the ocean and the eastern coast of North America, finally approaching the heartland. His dive suit cooled as he slowed to terminal velocity. As he at last arrived in Kansas airspace, he changed his attitude once more, dropping facedown into a spread-eagle position. He felt the full resistance of the atmosphere now, and he used it to adjust his descent. He shifted his arms and legs based on the readings in his helmet, which now coordinated his location with respect to the homing beacon on the ground.

At four kilometers up, Kirk began paying strict attention to his altitude. Almost a minute later, one and a quarter kilometers above the ground, he deployed his parachute. His harness tugged slightly on his torso, but not nearly as much as he’d expected. He looked upward at his chute and saw that it hadn’t fully unfolded, its lines tangled. Kirk quickly moved his legs in a cycling motion, and almost immediately, the lines straightened and the rectangular parachute unfurled completely. The rush of the air quieted and a strange sort of peace enveloped him.

As he neared the ground close to his target, he saw Scotty and Chekov gazing skyward and pointing in his direction. Kirk steered near them, proud to have navigated so well to his landing zone. He peered directly beneath him as he came down the final dozen or so meters, and the ground seemed to jump up toward him in stages, his eyes unable to make total sense of what they saw without a dimensional referent.

His feet struck the ground hard, but he bent his knees and dropped, taking the impact without incident. He quickly turned to pull in his lines and gather his parachute, but he saw that Scotty and Chekov had already taken hold of the canopy and had begun to fold it together. After signaling his safe landing to the dive controller, Kirk reached up and pulled off his helmet.