lacked the ability to do so, but because the rage that had now begun to build within him overwhelmed everything else. The last time he had seen the face now gazing earnestly back at him, it had been inside the transparent cockpit of a mortally crippled jumpship plunging to earth outside Starfleet headquarters in San Francisco.
Standing before him was the man who had slaughtered his surrogate father. Kirk lowered his gaze until it was focused on the gun that was pointed at him. Close to him now, Harrison smiled. The mass murderer looked none the worse for wear.
“I wouldn’t, Captain Kirk. I assure you my feet can move faster than your hands.” He gestured ever so slightly with the weapon that hung easily from one hand. “Not to mention a phaser blast. I’ll ask one last time: How many torpedoes?”
Recognizing the possibility of a foolish move on the part of an increasingly angry Kirk, one that would inarguably lead to disaster, Spock quickly answered for the still-dazed captain.
“Six dozen—seventy-two in all, as I recall from my one encounter with the manifest.”
Clearly the number meant something to Harrison. While noting the science officer’s response, the renegade shifted his attention back to Kirk.
Harrison pondered Spock’s reply for what seemed an excessive amount of time . . . at the conclusion of which he did something as extraordinary as anything that had come before. He dropped his weapon at Kirk’s feet and lowered his voice.
“In that case, I surrender.”
A dumbfounded Uhura looked over at Spock. If she was seeking enlightenment from the Vulcan, there was none to be found there, as the science officer was equally bewildered by Harrison’s action in voluntarily disarming himself. That did not prevent Spock from recovering his weapon and training it once more—and with greater alertness—on the unexpected prisoner.
After a moment’s hesitation, a glaring Kirk rose and moved forward, halting short of the man who had just put down his own weapon.
“On behalf of Christopher Pike,” he said tightly, “I accept your surrender.” Following which he struck out as hard as he could at their savior.
Blow after blow landed as adrenaline fueled a purging rage. Uhura tensed and Spock took a step forward, only to halt when it was apparent that the object of the captain’s fury was not fighting back. Harrison did not even raise his hands to defend himself. Making no attempt to ward off Kirk’s fury, Harrison occasionally stumbled once or twice, staggering backward under the repeated impact. Only when blood began to flow from his face did he reach up. Eyeing the red stain on his fingers, he smiled. His response was not contemptuous, not accusatory. More than anything, it smacked of the tone an exasperated adult might use with a child.
“Captain!” Uhura finally yelled.
It was his target’s expression that finally caused a grimacing, winded Kirk to cease his assault. His own knuckles were red, though whether from his blood or Harrison’s, he couldn’t tell. They were as numb as the rest of him. For a long moment the two men stood regarding each other, the only sound that of Qo’noS’s wind howling through the long-forsaken city.
Harrison eyed him pityingly, his voice soft. “Captain . . .”
Glancing down, Kirk considered the weapon Harrison had set aside. He could pick it up. One shot . . .
In the end, despite his personal grief and rage, James Kirk was still a Starfleet officer. His look, if not his response, was murderous as he glared back at Harrison. Turning, he headed in the direction of their waiting, empty ship.
“Cuff him,” he muttered, turning to walk away and leaving that task to Spock and Uhura. Having already put his hands on the traitor, Kirk did not trust himself to do so again.
“Captain’s Log, supplemental. For reasons unknown, our warp core has failed. We are stranded deep in enemy space. After an action on Qo’noS during which we lost a member of our crew, we now have in custody Commander John Harrison. This—man—has surrendered to us for reasons I don’t understand. Knowing full well it was our intention to capture, if not kill him, still he saved our lives. I don’t know why, but I intend to find out.
“Kirk out.”
Standing on the bridge, staring out at stars and nebulae, Kirk spoke without turning toward the interior.
“Lieutenant Uhura, did you let Starfleet know we have Harrison in custody?”
“Yes, sir,” she replied from the vicinity of the communications station. “No response yet.”
McCoy strove to keep up with Kirk as they moved