Well, the results of the Strange New Worlds IV contest were
released on
While it may sound arrogant, I'm angry enough to say it anyway: It
was incredibly irritating to read Strange New Worlds III after its
publication this year, and discover only two or three stories I'd rate as equal
or superior to my own rejected "Justice Served."
To each their own, I thought. I'll simply buckle down and give them something even
better—something they wouldn't dare reject.
Both my various readers and I considered "Home Again" to
be that story.
The judges for Strange New Worlds IV, incomprehensibly,
found otherwise.
Whether my indignation is justified I'll leave for you to judge.
I made a number of extremely minor alterations to bring the tale
more into accord and relationship with Star Trek:
I hope you all like it.
"Home Again"
By Joseph Manno
Garth.
Even in my youth, the name my mother had given me never seemed
sufficient.
I suppose, in hindsight, psychologists—or as Starfleet is wont to
call them now, counselors—would probably interpret that as "my inherent
tendency towards self aggrandizement which left me vulnerable to megalomania
and other delusional behavior," or some such nonsense.
If you said, instead, that I was drunk with power, you might be
nearer the mark.
***
"You met him, didn't you?"
Lieutenant Commander Janice Rand's question, for some reason,
caught her captain by surprise.
"Actually, no," Hikaru Sulu replied. Unlike most Starfleet officers, who would
rather have exchanged insults—or fire—with the Klingons
than wear a dress uniform, Excelsior's commander looked both at ease and
resplendent in his Class A's.
It's that distinctly Japanese sobriety that does it,
"Captain Kirk and Mr. Spock went down to the planet's
surface. The rest of us spent our time on the outside looking in, trying to
punch a hole in the facility's security grid." Sulu
shook his head.
"From what they told me, it wasn't a pleasant
excursion."
***
I prefer to believe it wasn't entirely my fault; what man
wouldn't?
Once, I commanded a starship, the USS Constitution. I received glory and accolades for my
achievements, and was well satisfied with the name I'd felt I'd earned: Captain
Garth. My life could not have pleased me more.
The dangers faced by such men and women eventually overtook me…
and on Diomedes II, I was wounded unto death.
Considering what happened next, it would have been better had I died.
The nearest planet with medical facilities that might aid me was Antos IV. My crew transported me there with all haste, and
the Antosians took me in. They taught me the cellular
regeneration techniques that enabled me to save myself; they are a kind and
generous people.
Unfortunately, they didn't know what they'd done—what they'd
unleashed on the galaxy.
I was an explorer, and a man who pushed the envelope of knowledge
with my every waking breath. I was curious as to the limits of these newfound
abilities, and began to experiment with them during my convalescence.
This bore fruit—both sweet and bitter: I found that I could, with
difficulty, and a tremendous exertion of energy, alter my physical form to
approximate any humanoid I'd seen. Unbeknownst to me, though, the changes
wrought havoc with my mind as well as my body. I'd thought to amuse and amaze
my doctor with my newfound powers.
Instead, when I saw him wearing my
form—the one I'd stolen from him—I flew into a rage.
I cannot imagine how horrifying it must be to have the life choked
out of you by the image you see every day in the mirror.
***
"But all that was thirty years ago," Sulu
said firmly, "and dredging it up now, fifteen seconds before he beams
aboard, isn't going to help us conduct ourselves with the courtesy and regard
we'll require while ferrying him back to Izar,
Janice."
She nodded. "You're right. Sorry, Captain."
"Rigel IV is signaling ready for
transport, sir." Dimitri Valtane
was Excelsior's science officer, and seldom lacked an opinion on any
subject, yet had maintained a professional monotone ever since his captain had
mentioned their mission—and their passenger.
At Sulu's nod,
"I'm sure he's eager for home."
***
I've only ever felt at home on a starship.
To be specific, only that center seat on the bridge has given me
any comfort or ease. Some might say, I suppose, it's because that's the closest thing to a throne in the modern era—at least
in the Federation.
I can remember sitting on a throne, though. When I had proclaimed
myself "Lord Garth," and had styled myself "Emperor of the
Universe," I'd had my loyal subjects—my fellow madmen, that is—place a
chair on a table, and ascended to it. In my… affected
state of mind, it was just as legitimate a seat of power as those upon which
monarchs had reclined since the notion of rulership
began.
Even then, in that moment of delusional triumph, I knew it wasn't
enough. It was the wrong seat.
After what had gone, though, I thought I should never be at home
again.
***
Garth of Izar took in his surroundings
briefly, and then gave Excelsior's captain an understated smile.
What were you expecting, Hikaru? he asked himself. Did you think he
was going to leap off the pad, wild-eyed, and wrestle you for control of your
starship? You're as bad as…
"Permission to come aboard?"
After an infinitesimal pause, Sulu
answered, with all the warmth he could summon, "Granted. It's an honor to
command the starship selected to bring you home after such a long career of
service to the Federation, Ambassador."
They shook hands. Garth was old, but hardly enfeebled; his grip
was sure and his gaze steady.
"Excelsior's had some interesting advances, sir;
perhaps you'd enjoy a brief tour…?" its captain began.
"Forgive me, no, Captain," the older man replied.
"I believe I would prefer to simply be shown to my quarters, if it's not
too much inconvenience."
"Of course not, Ambassador. I'll conduct you myself."
On the surface, of course, that was an attempt to honor him.
Each understood, though, that beneath it laid the fact that many
of Excelsior's crew wouldn't want to do it.
***
After the… incidents, including the encounter with Captain Kirk
and Commander Spock at
Eventually, I made a full recovery.
There was none for my victims, of course: Dr. Mirab
of Antos IV; sweet, mad Marta; Commander Harris, whom
I'd shot like a dog when he'd dared defy my orders to destroy Antos IV.
I was, according to the
doctors, cured.
Unfortunately, cured and forgiven
are two entirely different things.
When I left Elba II, it was
with both assurances and caveats: Assurances that I was, indeed, a fully
functional member of Federation society; caveats that I would remain that way only if I refrained from
using the shape-shifting powers that had first caused my madness.
"The human mind is
simply not fully capable of assimilating the sensations and perceptions that
such a transformation entails, Garth," the specialist working with me had
said. He was a Chameloid—a shape-shifter—and he had
been instrumental in helping me reconcile possession of a power with the
inability to use it.
"To use a Terran
colloquialism," he'd told me, "you humans are just 'not built for
it.' You might have the will to use the power and ignore the whispers that will
invariably begin—the ones urging you down the path you took before—but it's unlikely. Best to simply avoid
temptation and renounce it altogether."
And so I did.
With a certification of my
sanity in hand, I went back to Starfleet and told them I was ready to resume my
duties.
I don't believe they were
prepared for that.
A myriad of opinions—some
public, more private—were expressed about my return, and what should be done
about it. A few believed that my cure should be taken at face value, and that I
should be restored to the task for which I'd been born: Command of a starship.
These were in the extreme
minority.
Most thought the idea of my
serving in Starfleet again, let alone in the "big chair," was
foolhardy at best, and dangerous at worst. I had gone off "the deep
end" (to use yet another Terran phrase) once. What would prevent it from
happening again?
This wounded me, but on
some level, I understood it. The citizens of the Federation must have complete
faith in their beloved starship captains. Circumstances had conspired to
deprive me of that unswerving loyalty I needed. Like it or not, it said without
words, I was no longer worthy.
At first, I could not
accept that.
***
Sulu drank his tea, and brooded
in the center seat.
It was obvious to him that
their guest had decided to sequester himself in the VIP quarters provided, as
opposed to inflicting his presence on Excelsior's crew. He'd remained
there, politely insisting he'd rather be alone, for three days.
I remember Captain Kirk
saying that Garth was the prototype for all that was good in starship captains.
How did he put it? "A legend… and deservedly so."
Now he's a sad old man… and
I've done nothing to help him.
Well, that's about to
change.
"Janice, you have the
bridge. I'm going to have a talk with the ambassador."
Sulu grinned in return.
"You know me too well, Commander."
***
Starfleet, in its
cleverness, found a way to reward me and deny me a place among the stars all at
once.
They made me an admiral;
unfortunately, they neglected to give me an assignment to go along with that
rank. When I indicated this small oversight to Vice Admiral Connelly, he told
me they were "endeavoring to find the right position to utilize my skills
to their fullest."
I accepted that—for the
first three months. I'd already had a nagging suspicion about Starfleet's
motivations, but refused to give it any credence. Finally, I had confronted the
new (at least new to me) Fleet Admiral, Hechechiro Nogura. He, to his credit, was honest with me.
The irony, of course, was
that it made the message even more painful.
"Garth, if it were
simply a matter of intellectually accepting the fact that you were not
responsible for your actions, and that you are now cured, I would give you a
vessel or a command immediately.
"But you and I both know it's not that
simple. The crew of a starship or starbase must feel instinctually that they
can trust their commander—that he will invariably do the right thing, no matter
what.
"It would take time
for such feelings to develop for you again, Garth—if at all."
I had heard from many that
Admiral Nogura was a hard man. The fact that he spoke
to me with such gentleness belied the indisputable nature of the truth he
revealed.
His kindness was
noteworthy, and I never forgot it: He offered me a position at Starfleet
Command, analyzing starship engagements for the purpose of gleaning new
tactical options that were perhaps missed during the battles themselves. I
would report directly to him, he told me. It was a task I could have done well.
Instead, proud and angry, I
resigned my commission.
***
"Come in."
Hikaru Sulu entered at Garth's invitation, and
seated himself after his host had done so.
"What do you require of me, Captain Sulu?"
"Nothing in particular, sir." The younger man chose his words with care. "I'd just hoped
we might talk… or perhaps have that tour now."
Garth smiled. It was a sly expression; Excelsior's
commander found himself thinking of James Kirk and his inscrutable bluffs.
"Your kindness does you credit, Captain, but I'm not unaware
of the impression most people have of me. I think it best I remain here."
Sulu grimaced slightly, and then shook his head as he stood.
"I hoped that you might join me on the bridge, Ambassador.
You belong there as much as…"
Suddenly the deck pitched out from beneath him, and he was sent
hurtling the length of the room—only to come to an abrupt stop against the far
bulkhead. Alert klaxons sounded even as the ship rolled again, and Sulu crashed to the floor in a limp heap.
Garth had been much more fortunate: The chair in which he'd been
sitting was bolted to the floor, and possessed ample armrests. Thus, he'd
ridden out the sudden shocks—instead of, like Sulu,
being part of the ride.
He moved immediately to the fallen captain's side, even as the
room's intercom came alive with the voice of the ship's executive officer,
Janice Rand.
"Bridge to Captain Sulu! We're under
attack!"
Excelsior's captain was
unconscious: Despite the hard-headedness of most starship commanders, Sulu hadn't fared well in his encounter with the stateroom
bulkhead. With a strength—and gentleness—most would have found surprising,
Garth of Izar lifted his fallen guest onto the bed
and arranged him as comfortably as he could.
"Captain!"
Garth stood and tapped the communicator on his desk.
"Sickbay, send a medical team to the Ambassador's quarters
when possible… he has a concussion. Low priority if there are more serious
injuries."
"Sickbay, acknowledged," came the prompt reply.
Then he redirected the comm's signal to
the bridge.
"Bridge…" said Garth of Izar.
"…I'm on my way."
He said it, though, with Hikaru Sulu's voice.
***
There was no question in my mind that what I had done was wrong,
but that did not stop me.
It was truly ironic. Never in the time since I'd renounced those
powers that had driven me to madness had I ever used them. I valued far too
much the restoration of my faculties.
When, though, the moment presented itself for me to again gain
command of a starship—if only for a few moments—my determination to resist
melted away in an instant.
"Destiny has surely given me this opportunity," I'd reasoned, as I traveled in the Excelsior's turbolift towards deck one. "Why else would he
have fallen in such a fashion?"
The chaos on the bridge lessened the moment I appeared. Evidently Sulu was a strong commander, well loved by his officers and
crew.
I could remember what that felt like. I envied him.
"Report," I snapped crisply. His temporary X-O,
"Three Axanari destroyers suddenly decloaked around us and opened fire with their disruptors.
Their commander demands the surrender of 'the war criminal Garth of Izar.'"
Though I wanted to savor the moment of again assuming the center
seat, I knew there was no time for such a thing.
"What is Excelsior's
condition?" I asked. Normally, when I'd duplicated someone, it had been
with at least a vague knowledge of his or her speech patterns. But I'd had no
intention of replacing Captain Sulu, and we'd barely
spoken in the three days I'd been aboard. Everything I said would thus be a
risk.
"We won't be running," she replied. "Our warp drive
is down; engineering says at least six hours for repairs. Sickbay reports 37
casualties—two fatalities.
"Give me ship-to-ship."
Rand went back to her station, and replied with the litany of comm
officers everywhere, "Hailing frequencies open."
"This is the USS Excelsior,"
I announced. Strangely enough, I did not want to call myself Captain Sulu. It seemed disrespectful, somehow.
The bulbous trio of Axanari warships was
replaced on the screen by the image of their task force commander.
He, too, was an old man. No doubt he had been a young man when Starfleet, under my leadership, defeated his
people near their home world.
"We have no quarrel with the Federation," he began
without preamble. I noted his voice quavered a bit as he spoke. "If
you surrender the criminal Garth of Izar, you will be
allowed to continue on your way."
I have always had an innately tactical mind. As I spoke to him, I'd
conceived of a way to utterly destroy all three of their ships… it would be
child's play, and again my name would ring out across the stars…
Angrily, I brushed the thought away. The Chameloid
had been right; the power did things to me. A wave of dizziness almost overcame
me, but I managed to suppress it.
I had to hurry.
"You're risking war with the Federation over an old man
who'll be dead in a matter of weeks?" I
asked him.
"We do not wish him to have those weeks. Garth of Izar will die at our hands."
This was my legacy: Hated by my enemies; feared by those I'd loved
and sworn to protect.
Again a wave of anger threatened to overwhelm me. These Axanari vessels, even the modern ones, had weaknesses that
could be exploited. I suppressed the urge to give orders that would result in
their destruction.
"Stand by," I told them. "We shall consider your
request."
It was becoming an effort to maintain Sulu's
form. I had not done anything of this sort in over three decades, and an old
man cannot casually achieve things a young man had found trying. My exultation
had carried me this far, but it would take me little further.
"Prepare to come to course 72, mark 38; full impulse on my
command, and stand by tractor beams," I ordered.
Sulu had definitely earned their trust: No one questioned my orders;
as a matter of fact, two or three of them assumed their captain had a stratagem
prepared. I smiled.
"Ready on 72, mark 38,"
answered the helmsman, Taroczy: He was uncertain.
"Tractor beams, standing by," said the weapons officer,
Mantovanni: His voice held an odd hint of approval, as if the young man had
read my intent. He was one to watch.
"Execute!"
As Excelsior lurched into sudden
movement, I watched with interest as the Axanari ships
reacted. They each fired a salvo, reducing the great starship's shields
further, and then they slid into pursuit themselves—each ship taking the course
I'd predicted for it.
They moved in unison, in their eagerness drawing dangerously close
together…
"Now! Tractor beams on each of the two lead ships! Pull them into each
other!"
It didn't take much of an effort from Excelsior's graviton emitters to accomplish my aims; their
inertia did much of the work. As they passed in close proximity, both sets of shields
flared, as each strove to overload the other.
For a moment, they'd rendered each other vulnerable.
"Photon torpedoes… fire,"
I ordered.
A perfectly placed spread punched through the destroyers' over
tasked screens, and left them each spinning out of control and venting plasma.
They would be reparable, but wouldn't threaten Excelsior for the duration of this encounter.
The third destroyer—that of the task
force's commander—withdrew at warp speed. He knew that one Axanari destroyer was no match for Sulu's
ship.
I leaned back in the captain's chair. The gesture was one of
necessity rather than satisfaction. I was spent. Tentatively, I attempted to
rise, but even that left me trembling. I had exhausted whatever reserves of
energy I'd had.
The door to the turbolift opened behind me. I heard
I heard only one thing more after that.
***
Sulu staggered onto the bridge.
When Dr. McAllister had revived him, he'd realized what was
occurring almost before he'd fully regained his senses. He'd shoved past the
CMO and practically sprinted for the deck five turbolift. He knew that calling
security was useless, considering the situation.
By the time he arrived, it was over.
"Captain!"
…where, suddenly, Garth of Izar had
appeared.
"Report," he demanded, even as he neared the imposter.
Janice Rand considered everything that had happened in the last
few moments, and replied, "He saved us all, Hikaru."
Sulu nodded grimly; somehow, he'd known.
The ambassador was barely conscious when the younger man reached
him.
Hikaru Sulu could think of nothing better to
say than, "Thank you, Captain Garth."
By the other man's smile, it must have been the right
thing.
***
From a great distance, I heard my name in that final moment.
Not Lord Garth…not even Garth of Izar…
…but Captain
Garth…
I am content.