Strange New Worlds IV
This book consists of works of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the authors’ imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
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ISBN-13: 978-0-7434-2258-1
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Contents
A Little More Action
TG Theodore
Prodigal Father
Robert J. Mendenhall
Missed
Pat Detmer
Tears for Eternity
Lynda Martinez Foley
Countdown
Mary Sweeney
First Star I See Tonight
Victoria Grant
Scotty’s Song
Michael J. Jasper
The Name of the Cat [FIRST PRIZE]
Steven Scott Ripley
Flight 19
Alan James Garbers
The Promise
Shane Zeranski
Flash Point
E. Catherine Tobler
Prodigal Son
Tonya D. Price
Seeing Forever
Jeff Suess
Captain Proton and the Orb of Bajor
Jonathan Bridge
Isolation Ward 4 [THIRD PRIZE]
Kevin G. Summers
Iridium-7-Tetrahydroxate Crystals Are a Girl’s Best Friend
Bill Stuart
Uninvited Admirals
Penny A. Proctor
Return
Chuck Anderson
Black Hats
William Leisner
Personal Log
Kevin Killiany
Welcome Home
Diana Kornfeld
Shadows, in the Dark [SECOND PRIZE]
Ilsa J. Bick
Contest Rules
About the Contributors
A Little More Action
TG Theodore
It was raining hard that Friday in the City by the Bay.
So hard, in fact, I couldn’t even hear myself walk.
Their sun had taken a powder behind some pretty ugly clouds. And I was taking a beating—a wet beating.
I flipped up the damp collar on my trusty, tan trenchcoat and pulled down the brim of my hat. It didn’t help much, but I didn’t care.
This case had taken me across half the quadrant and to dozens of planets. What was a little rain compared with what happened to me on Sigma Omicron VII? I could still feel the lumps on my noggin from that place.
But no matter where I went, each time he had managed to stay one jump ahead of me.
Sure, I could have tried the direct approach, but I didn’t want to give myself away. My business with this guy was private. The stakes were too high and if word got out what I was doing a lot of people could get hurt—mainly me.
My briefcase was getting heavier by the minute. But I wasn’t getting paid to complain. I had business to attend to—big business.
And the sooner I unloaded the goods, the better. I was getting five hundred a day, plus expenses. But all that money wouldn’t mean much if I ended up at the bottom of a river, or on the wrong side of a shuttlebay door.
Then I saw it. The place looked like a cement flying saucer.
The rain kept most of the people away, but not me. I doublechecked the heater I was packing and headed for the front door.
A couple of uniformed goons gave me the once-over—twice.
I went up to the desk and there she was—a hot, blond, blueeyed number in a red uniform. She had legs all the way up to her hemline—and then some. And I could tell there was more than hair spray between those ears.
Before I could open my mouth, an alarm went off. I reached for my piece, but the goons were too fast for me.
One of ’em grabbed my heater. But he just started laughing and handed it back to me.
“Sorry, sir. We thought you had a weapon.”
What’d they think it was—a peashooter? I put the piece back into its holster, straightened my coat, and looked back at the beautiful doll. She looked up at me with them big baby blues and said, “May I help you, sir?”
No one had called me sir in a long, long time. I took another second or two just to enjoy the view. “Yeah, honey. I’m lookin’ for somebody and was wonderin’ if you could do me a favor?”
Her peepers got wider and I noticed a trace of a smile on those ruby smackers of hers.
“I say something funny, sweetheart?”
She giggled.
It would have been cute except for the fact I knew she was laughing at me. They all laugh at me. People can be awfully cruel when they find out who you are.
And just who am I?
I’m a private detective.
An Iotian dick.
Admiral James Kirk looked out at the violent storm over the bay. The view from his new apartment was magnificent. It included not only Starfleet Headquarters, the Golden Gate Bridge, and Alcatraz Park, but part of the western horizon as well.
Kirk had waited two years for this apartment. It once was the home of the Betelgeusean ambassador. But when the diplomat was recalled to his home planet, Kirk used a little influence and moved right in.
In the few weeks he had been there, Kirk had already decorated the rounded and concave walls with his renowned collection of antiques—mostly weapons and various other relics of Earth’s warrior past. But among the reminders of humankind’s less civilized moments were souvenirs of hope as well.
Certainly his collection of tools from the Kirk farm in Iowa were symbols of Earth’s proud agricultural history. And Kirk’s library contained not only the works of famous generals and war figures, but of poets and philosophers as well.
Like Kirk, his apartment was a symphony of contradictions.
Despite the inclement weather at the moment, he loved looking out the windows. As he watched the swirls of darkened clouds, his gaze stopped on the bridge and he wondered if anyone had ever been bold enough to fly a shuttle under it in a storm since he did it during his Academy days. No, not in this weather. No one would fly anywhere near the bridge in weather like this.
The admiral turned away from the storm to see Leonard McCoy scowling at the contents of a rather small book. “What’s wrong, Bones? A big word?”
McCoy didn’t acknowledge the question—or the sarcasm. Kirk suspected it was deliberate and walked over to his friend. He noticed the title of the book—The Big Goodbye.
“It’s a detective mystery, Bones. The second in a series. Dixon Hill. Not great, but not bad if you like pulp novels.”
McCoy arched an eyebrow. “What in blazes is a ‘pulp’ novel?”
Kirk smiled. If anyone lived in the present, it was McCoy. The past was gone and with it, many memories McCoy would just as soon leave there. “I really don’t t
hink you’re here for a crash course in literature, now, are you?”
The doctor gently closed the book and took special care to return it exactly to its former spot. He knew that, while his friend might have been reckless in space, when it came to his home Jim Kirk was downright retentive about everything being in its proper place. The Kirk family farm was the cleanest, most orderly farm McCoy had ever seen.
“Where’s that Vulcan?” growled McCoy. “He knows we won’t start eating without him. His last night before he leaves for Vulcan and he’s deliberately making me wait.”
Kirk smiled. “Well, with the storm outside, it might take a while to get to a transporter.”
McCoy snatched up a goodly number of hors d’oeuvres. “His father is the ambassador to Vulcan. Sarek helped start the Federation! You think Spock could just buy some bean dip and beam over here without waiting in line.”
“Remember, he’s a civilian now, Bones. He probably wants to explore doing things other civilians do as a civilian.”
The two friends paused for a moment. They didn’t know when they would again see Spock after he left Earth. The former captain was being quite private about his future plans and the doctor and the admiral had successfully avoided this topic all night. The pause seemed interminable. Mercifully, the door chime sounded. Kirk walked over to the door. “I believe the bean dip has arrived.”
The doors whooshed open to reveal one extremely windblown Vulcan, slightly damp, carrying a small package. Without ceremony, he offered it to Kirk. “Your pastelike mixture of crushed bipodal seeds and other chemicals, Jim.”
Kirk gestured for the civilian Spock to enter. “Thank you, Spock.” The doors closed as the Vulcan entered the main room. “Spock, you’re wet. What happened?”
He was oblivious of the fact that one large lock of his black cowlick was sticking straight up. “Obviously I was exposed to the rather excessive precipitation and wind velocity San Francisco is currently experiencing.”
McCoy smiled at the uncharacteristic appearance of his friend. Never in his many years of knowing Spock had McCoy seen the Vulcan so completely unkempt. “You mean you got rained on, Spock.”
“I believe that is what I just said, Doctor. I was in the place of purchase when the unsecured doors were blown open by the storm, allowing some wind and rain to make contact with many consumers. Myself among them.”
McCoy did all he could to stifle an out-and-out guffaw. “That’s a new look for you, Spock. I like it.”
Kirk shot a glare at McCoy. He pointed to an inner room of the apartment. “In there, Spock. You can dry off in there.”
“Thank you, Admiral. Excuse me.”
And without sacrificing an ounce of dignity, Spock disappeared from view. McCoy could contain himself no longer and nearly doubled over in laughter. Kirk tried to maintain his scowl of disapproval but suddenly burst into tears himself.
“Kirk. I’m lookin’ for Kirk.”
From the look on the doll’s face, I might as well have been speaking Orion. All them Feds were the same. They looked at me like I was from another planet—which I was, of course. But—heck, you know what I mean.
“Which Kirk would that be, sir?”
I didn’t expect that answer. “Kirk. The Big Guy. Hangs around with a weird guy named Spocko and a doc or somethin’. Can’t steer a flivver to save his life.”
The corners of those luscious lips turned up into an amazing smile. “Ah, that would be Admiral James Kirk.”
“Yeah. That sounds like the guy. Can I see him?”
She worked her panel like a coronet man works his horn. I didn’t mind the wait, though—not as long as she was the one I was waitin’ on. She finally looked up and flashed her pearlies again.
“I’m sorry, but Admiral Kirk isn’t here right now. You might try his private residence. But I’m afraid I can’t give out that information without some identification, sir.”
Smart. She was smart, too. I reached into my inside pocket, produced my ID, and held it out to her. “It’s a lousy picture, but it’s me.”
Her smile disappeared for a second. “Oh. I see that you’re—Could you wait a few seconds, please?”
Was she kidding? I’d wait a week in that rain for her. “No problem.”
She pushed a bunch of buttons on her desk and spoke real quiet like. I reached for a cigarette, but what I found in my pocket wouldn’t light for days. I looked at the two goons, who were more interested in what was going on than they should be. “So, what are you lookin’ at?”
That got ’em. They turned away.
The doll stood up and smiled at me. “I’ve been instructed by Admiral Morrow himself to give you the information you’re requesting. As a matter of fact, the admiral would like to escort you personally to Admiral Kirk’s residence.”
Hey, now this was more like it. “He would, huh? Tell me, honey, does this Morrow guy drink? I’d like to buy him a beer when this is over. And if you’re not busy later, I’d like to buy you one, too.”
Hey, it was worth a shot. We don’t have dames like her at home.
I left with the address and the admiral—and without a date.
“Mr. Spock, I believe your search for food was a complete success. We could have just replicated some bean dip, you know.”
The Vulcan was now back to his usual impeccable appearance. His Vulcan outer robe was as dry as his home planet, and not a single hair was out of place on his head. He crossed over to the builtin bar, where Kirk was pouring a familiar orange concoction. “Thank you, Admiral. I know of your and Dr. McCoy’s fondness for nonreplicated food. So I deduced that the ‘real thing’ would be preferable.”
McCoy smiled. “Well, that was downright courteous of you, Spock. Thank you.”
Spock understood why McCoy was smiling. He was quick to deflate his friend’s teasing. “May I remind you, Doctor, that courtesy is not an emotion.”
It worked. McCoy frowned and went to pour himself another mint julep. “Oh. Right.”
Kirk handed a short flute of room-temperature tranya to Spock.
“Thank you, Admiral.”
Kirk picked up a small shot glass of Romulan ale. “Spock, this is dinner. In my new apartment. Call me Jim.”
McCoy raised his glass. “To your new place, Jim. May you never see it again because you’re going to return to starship duty where you belong.”
“Bones, you know I’m never going back.”
“Right. And I’m giving up medicine. And to you, Spock. May you find whatever it is you may be looking for that you didn’t find in Starfleet. L’Chaim.”
Spock nodded appreciatively. McCoy downed a large portion of his julep and relished the sweet aftertaste in his mouth.
Spock sipped his tranya and seemed quite satisfied.
Kirk started to sip his Romulan ale when his door chimed again.
Spock looked at Kirk. “That must be Admiral Morrow, Jim.”
Kirk chugged the rest of his ale, let his eyes refocus, and then quickly stashed the bottle behind a panel in the bar. He tried to speak matter-of-factly. “Yes. I’ll go let him in.”
The admiral walked over to his front door. McCoy walked over to Spock. “I assume that Admiral Morrow does not partake of Romulan ale.”
“It is illegal, Doctor. I don’t think either of us would wish Admiral Kirk to be arrested—much less in his own home.”
McCoy stared into his glass and swished the remainder of the julep in it. “No, Spock. That would definitely put a damper on the party.”
“Indeed.”
Kirk’s door whooshed open and there stood Admiral Morrow and someone out of a history book. “Hello, Jim. Sorry I’m late. I brought someone who’s been anxious to meet you. I hope you don’t mind.”
I was so close I could spit on him. But I didn’t. I saw two more boys in the room. I recognized Spocko because of his ears. I figured the other guy must be the Doc. I held out my briefcase. This was all finally gonna be over, and not a moment too soon. No time
for pleasantries. Hey, business was business.
“Kirk, the Boys sent me. I got something for—”
“The Boys? I’m afraid I don’t know any—”
What was he—nuts or something? “The Boys. You know—the Syndicate?”
Spocko jumped in. “Admiral, I believe this gentleman is from Sigma Iotia. Am I correct, sir?”
No doubt as to who was the real brains in the Federation here. “Yeah. Yeah, I am.”
“Oh, brother.” The Doc thought I didn’t see him roll his eyes, but I did. “I knew this would come back to haunt us.” He headed back to what looked like the bar.
Kirk played nice at first. “Please, gentlemen, do come in. Welcome to my new home. May I offer you a drink?”
This Admiral Morrow guy (who wasn’t a bad john, but a little stuffy) stepped into the fancy digs. I took a few steps, too. “Nothin’ for me, thanks. I’m workin’.”
Morrow joined the Doc at the bar. Kirk just kinda stood there for a minute. He looked like a confused cow or something. “Um, forgive me for being blunt, but you’re a long way from home. Why do you need to see me?”
What—did this Kirk guy go to finishing school or something? I had no idea what he just said to me. I didn’t come half a quadrant to be insulted—if that’s what it was, I mean. So I figured maybe I should stand up to him and tell him what was on my mind. “What was that, Kirk?”
Spocko walked over to us and leaned into Kirk. “Perhaps, ‘boss,’ if you speak to the gentleman in his own vernacular.”
Kirk nodded and turned to me. He hunched his shoulders and dropped the fancy accent he had been using. “Whaddaya want here?”
That was more like it. That’s the Kirk I had heard about for all these years. “Hey, when no one showed up to collect your cut of the Syndicate’s profits, we started gettin’ worried. We didn’t want ya to think we was tryin’ to cut you out or anything. After what you did to us last time, we—”
Kirk stepped forward, like he wanted to keep things on the Q.T. “Look, I’d just as soon forget about the display of technology we resorted to.”