immaculate white shape hovered silently in the darkness beyond. The doctor read the pride and love in Jim Kirkâs face. âShe deserves the best officers. And the best doctor.â
McCoy studied the mighty starship as he considered Kirkâs offer. He contemplated living out among the stars once again. Unlike the stints heâd already served aboard the Republic , the Yegorov , and the Constitution âall three of which had started him, at best, somewhere near the middle of the sickbay totem poleâheâd hit the ground running as the head of a starshipâs medical department.
âItâs tempting, Jim. It really is.â
âSo why do I hear a âbutâ sneaking up on me?â
âBecause Iâm thinking about retiring from Starfleet.â
âRetiring? Come on, Bones, the surgeon general is at least twice your age.â
McCoy shook his head. âItâs not about age, and you know it. Itâs about being hamstrung by the damned bureaucracy. It happened during the Capellan mission ten years ago. And itâs happened to me at every posting where Starfleet deigned to put me in charge of anything.â
Kirkâs brow crumpled into a concerned frown. âBones, what the devil are you talking about?â
McCoy raised his hands and gesticulated, taking care not to knock over either of the drinks. âIâm talking about hierarchy over Hippocrates, Jim. I will never do that ever again.â
Then, over a second and third round of drinks, McCoy told Kirk the story of the months he spent on Capella IV.
Kirk listened attentively. After McCoy finished, the young captain sat in silence, processing what his friend had just confessed about matters of life and death, divided loyalties, and oaths in collision.
âBones,â Kirk said, âyou patched me up after my dustup with those Epsiloni pirates. I donât think anybody else could have done quite what you did. I need you aboard the Enterprise .â
McCoy nodded. But he needed to hear something more.
âI know the Capella mission put you in an impossible situation,â Kirk continued. âYou were forced to choose between that boy and your oath as a Starfleet officer.â
âYes,â McCoy said.
Kirkâs sharp hazel eyes locked on his. âDoctor McCoy, you have my word as a Starfleet officer that I will never do that.â
A broad smile crossed McCoyâs face before he could do anything about it.
âOkay,â he said. âIâm in.â
Epilogue
STARFLEET HEADQUARTERS, SAN FRANCISCO
Stardate 8130.6 (March 23, 2285)
âDespite your overly harsh self-evaluation,â Spock said, âyou must admit that your actions on Capella IVâboth as part of the Yegorov expedition and also some thirteen years later, when you took part in the Enterprise âs Capella missionâlaid the groundwork for the mutually beneficial relationship the Federation now enjoys with the Capellan people.â
âMaybe,â McCoy said. He felt much more comfortable trading barbs with the Vulcan than he did receiving either praise or solace from him. âStill, when that Capellan boy died, a part of me did as well. And itâs all because I let myself forget that Iâm a healer first and a Starfleet officer second. I swore from that day on to question any order that just doesnât smell right.â
âInteresting, Doctor,â Spock said, nodding sagely. âI find it difficult, if not impossible, to imagine you behaving any other way.â
A collegial silence stretched between the two old friends as McCoy wondered whether to take Spockâs comment as an insult or a compliment.
Ultimately, it didnât really matter. In fact, the story with which heâd regaled Spock over the past few hours had only been a prologue to the real purpose of his visit. A quick downward glance at the empty Romulan ale bottle in his handâthe remains of one of
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