Dear fellow fen; writing a story like this one runs across a lot of stuff,
and makes many notes, and remembers many things one thought lost
in the RAM of one's brain. I thought some of you might be interested
in this stuff.
This is the fourth in a series of four: Out of the Big Black, Onto the
Deep Blue, Amid the Great Greys, and Under the Azure Skies.
Regarding the chapter headers: While I know perfectly well that
Jimmy Buffet is not "Caribbean" music, in much the same way most
"Chinese Food" in North America is not the food of China, it is fun.
Btw, if Jimmy Buffet does read this, we do PT-6 AND the Caribbean, floats AND wheels and we're available to work on that lovely amphib Caravan, N208JB...
Please excuse the log entries; you can puzzle them out if you try, but I
used real abbreviations a few times when discussing the weather.
Believe me, if you ignore them you won't miss much of the story, so
skim by if you wish! However, weather is an important part of life on
the ocean, and I personally am addicted to weather reports... okay, I'm
a weather geek. Comes from years of Air Traffic Control. .
Regarding the Atlantic Hurricane season: It starts in June, officially,
and ends in November, officially, but the locals all watch from July
thru October. A rare storm, like Lenny, will blow up big in late
November. Most travel from east to west, though late storms are
completely unpredictable – Lenny went west to east, as he formed
after the trades had changed. Hurricanes are named alphabetically,
and FYI the most named storms in a year was 18, the fewest 4, and the
average 9.7. The worst year on record was 1933, with 21 storms, so
even if they had all been named they could never have gotten to X, Y
or Z, even if we currently used those letters. However, our boys are
always falling into extraordinary conditions, and I postulated that with
global warming, more storms will be the norm in the future. I
personally have never crouched down under one of those things,
though last year we came close a couple of times. Hell hath no fury! I
loved watching the waves breaking over the second story deck of
Margueritaville, LOL!
For the most enquiring of minds who are unfamiliar with things
meteorological and nautical:
1 mile per hour = 0.864 knot
1 mile per hour = 1.609 kilometres per hour
1 mile per hour = 0.4470 meter per second
1 knot = 1.853 kilometres per hour
1 knot = 0.5148 meter per second
1 meter per second = 3.6 kilometres per hour
1 nautical mile = 1.1515 statute miles = 1.853 kilometres
Or, to put it simply, a nautical mile is 2000 meters while a statute
mile is 1,760. So a knot is faster than a mile per hour.
Language notes: Caribbean English is not like other English!! It's
far more musical, for one thing, almost as lyrical as Mandarin
Chinese or Punjabi. These people are singing as they speak.
Further: Creole, Kweyol, or Patois are spoken in most parts of the
Caribbean, though a Jamaican couldn't understand a Haitian
couldn't understand a Vincentian.. Kweyol/Patois is a different
language in every country, with some crossovers. In Turks &
Caicos they speak almost perfect English, in fact it's as close to
Canadian English as I have ever heard outside Canada, but then the
Turks are an aberration. Like in Martinique, where you would
assume you were in a tropical Paris much of the time, though in the
backcountry of Martinique, they speak a wonderful Creole. As I
assumed a reunification of Hispaniola for this tale; half Spanish,
half Creole/Kweyol French/African conglomerate (Dominican
Rep/Haiti), so I felt free to use Creole as the local dialect, and
some words span all cultures. A sort of lingua franca. "Cushie" is
local Windie Kweyol, from the French 'Couchez'. And 'do-
do' is from the French for 'sweet', and just means sweetheart, not
that other thing.
Apologies: Any Belongers who aren't pirates; seafarers for my
errors; cetacean researchers for my mythical whales, and a general
nod to the marvellous people of the Caribbean, who, though
'generally' are not hard working, are very hard playing!
NEW: Under the Azure Skies
Rae Trail
TOS/TNGx; K/S, P/Q implied; NC-17;A/U
Feedback: Live for it. Email me at: raetrail @ yahoo . ca
Archiving: ASCEM, Allslash, Marianne, others please ask.
Disclaimer: Paramount/Viacom own all things Trek. I mean
no infringement, and no money is made.
Notes: Sequel to Out of the Big Black & Onto the Deep Blue &
Amid the Great Greys
Summary: A scare on the high seas makes
Kirk & Spock rethink their lives.
Warnings: Unqualified acceptance of all loving relationships,
regardless of the sex of the lovers.
Out of the Big Black
My lover came back to me
Onto the Deep Blue
He will come again
Amid the Great Greys
We will sail the sea
Under the Azure Skies
We will come, and come again!
Beneath the Azure Skies
"Well the wind is blowing harder now
Fifty knots, or thereabouts
Whitecaps on the ocean
And I'm watchin' for water spouts
It's time to close the shutters
It's time to go inside....
And now I must confess
I could use some rest
I can't run at this pace very long
Yes, it's quite insane
I think it hurts my brain
But it cleans me out, and then I can go on."
Jimmy Buffet "Tryin' to Reason with the Hurricane Season"
Ship's log, Nov. 15, 2245est. Px:22'21"35N70'01"23W by GPS.
5th watch, storm watch. Wind 170 at 45G55Q80, rising. Pressure
992.2mb, falling. Sea State: 25 foot southerly swell, choppy,
whitecaps, vsby reduced in spray. Wx: Vsby 1.5 miles, dropping,
overcast, +RA ocnl TS. On deck: Jon, Kim, Andros. Ship
secured for storm, top masts, gaffs and jibbooms stowed on deck,
all crew and remaining non-crew in transporter sensitive PFDs.
Running north under storm jib and reefed main only, with a
following sea, trying to avoid being alee of Caicos Bank when this
thing hits. Tropical Storm Yvonne rapidly upgraded to Category 2
hurricane a few hours ago, turned north, and is advancing from
South Caicos at 8 knots. Too bad we're only doing about 6. New
forecast shows Yvonne could go to Category 4 before dawn.
Atlantic Coast Guard alerted and tracking us in case of emergency
beam-out. Damn, this is gonna hurt. North.
Kirk read the entry and made a quick one of his own, updating it 4
hours later. He pushed a hand through his salt-matted hair as he
finished and wrote: "North, please don't swear in the ship's log."
Yvonne! How many years did they get to the end of the fucking
alphabet with these things? When had "Y" been added to the
hurricane name-game? Weather control *still* couldn't affect
tropical weather, the heat and humidity were too intense for
moderation, without affecting local climatologic conditions in an
adverse way.
Worse, weather control could steer Tropical Depressions away
from populated landmasses, by setting up a good high-pressure
system. They frequently did, as long as the monsters were still
over water, thus saving the populations of Central America, less
often the Greater and Lesser Antilles, most of the Gulf Coast, and
the Floridians. And to hell with ships at sea.
The good of the many... Kirk checked the fastenings on his
personal flotation device and eyed the companionway narrowly.
The way CloudDance was moving it would be challenging just
getting on deck. 0200, what an ungodly hour to be awake. Spock
was meditating, unable to work while the ship was moving so
strangely. Not a sailor, despite his years aboard, he preferred to
sleep or meditate through bad weather in order to be rested when
he could work again. Besides, he was deep-monitoring the kids
through their joined parental bond, and a good thing too: Kirk
wouldn't have time to spare for any of them. CloudDance was
bucking like yearling stallion let out to play.
The boys thought it was fun. Kids, go figure.
He struggled up on deck, into the blackness, the howling wind and
the screaming rigging. Salt spray lashed his face, temporarily
blinding him. He slashed a hand across his eyes and stared hard
into the darkness. He didn't keep lights on deck; night-vision took
20 minutes to acquire and was necessary for night shift, especially
during a storm. It wouldn't take him that long, he'd been in
darkness before his log reading, and that had been done in red
light.
His eyes slowly picked out familiar objects. North was holding the
helm like a lifeline. Reminded, Kirk bent and fastened his own
lifeline before swaying over to her, holding the quickly strung
safety lines at every step.
"Report." He had to shout to be heard above the tumult.
"Still running ahead, same sail as before," North hollered in his
ear. "She's making big, Captain. My watch is below. Jon hasn't
come on deck yet. Demi's there," she pointed with her chin at the
little woman crouched in the relative calm of the windward bench
of the cockpit. Kirk had completely missed her in the darkness.
"I'm afraid we'll get pooped with this following sea."
"We've got to try to get east of the north quarters. If Yvonne hits
us, we'll be in trouble." He tired of shouting, and pushed against
her shoulder to take the wheel.
"I think Yvonne is already hitting us!" She relinquished the wheel
to him. It was like taking hold of the storm itself. Kirk set his grip
firmly; and bent his head to hear North's next words. "Am I
relieved?"
"I don't know. Do you feel relieved?" He grinned down at the
worried eyes.
She met his smile with one of her own, shook her head, and
brushed the streaming water out of her eyes. "See you in four
hours, Captain!" she shouted, then staggered below decks.
July, stand by. August, come she must. September, remember!
October, all over.
Obviously no one had told Yvonne that fetching little ditty. Kirk
felt the ship trying to dive under a wave and knew the next 4 hours
would be exhausting. He contemplated firing up the engines and
turning into the wind, but he was very close to the lead group of
the migrating Atlantic "A" pod, and didn't want to anger the
Blowfolk. Besides, if he kept running he just might get away. He
sighed and set his feet more firmly. "Demi!" he bellowed, and saw
the dark head come up.
She struggled to her feet and came to him; hand over hand on the
guardrail. "Sir?"
"Get us some coffee, and find Jon, we need three on deck. Make
sure Sue and Marcia are up and ready to work if we need them
later."
"Aye, Captain."
He fought like a demon to keep her running ahead of the wind,
surfing down the waves at 45 degrees to minimize the angle when
they hit the troughs. Twice they were pooped by huge waves,
breaking over the stern like the fist of the sea. Kirk's feet were
helplessly shoved out from under him and he had to swim, choking
on salt water, for several seconds before the deck came above
water again. He never felt afraid for himself, though he mentally
checked Spock and the boys both times before shouting for his
crews' condition. Then it was hand over hand to the helm again,
bring her stern to, and pray to Mother Ocean to spare his ship.
North fell hard during the second stern wave poop, and had to be
helped below. It was his fourth watch without a break and Kirk
felt a bit giddy; he'd thought CloudDance was going to somersault.
The whole ship was soaked, and poor Spock was worried about the
integrity of his equipment. Kirk didn't even want to think about
the contents of the galley lockers. Then Spock himself fell, trying
to get the boys netted into their bunks for the umpteenth time:
Kirk, at the wheel, went rigid with the sudden pain, but managed to
sweat through it with Spock's reassurance that it wasn't serious.
Everyone was sick. Kirk thanked god he'd sent Raven and the
scientists ashore, or the stench below would have been unbearable,
but you couldn't not be sick in this sea. Kirk had vomited twice,
and knew Spock had lost control once as well. North, Jon, Demi,
Kim, Andros, Marcia, Sue... They were all working or attempting
to rest on empty stomachs now. Except the boys, of course. It
seemed children could handle anything.
He had North helping him on the wheel as the wind rose over 75
knots, knowing he was minutes away from ordering them all to
abandon ship. Then he accidentally jibed her, trying to keep her
stern-on when a big gust attacked them from a new quarter.
Luckily the reefed main was already down, replaced by a
miniscule storm trysail on the foremast, just enough to give her
seaway, so the main and fore booms had been lashed down tight.
The whole ship rang like a bell as she dolphin-dove onto her
starboard railing and into the water. After, the trysail had to be cut
loose; it was in tatters and the lines were too tangled to save.
Mercifully the ship had come upright smartly after her brief dive
into the Atlantic and he didn't have to swim long. He brought her
around and ordered the engines started, abandoning the run, hoping
she would just keep afloat. He'd ask Spock to apologize to the
Blowfolk later.
Kirk knew there was more damage he couldn't see in the dark; the
wheel felt bad. He held on grimly. The sea rose to 80 feet,
dwarfing his ship, and he was opening his mouth to call for rescue
when Demi struggled on deck. "The glass is falling!" She was
shouting, right next to his ear, and grinning like a maniac. "She's
turned west! Wind down 5 knots! The glass is falling!"
"Tell the others!" He shouted, and she crawled away again.
Kirk's belief in miracles was renewed. Slowly the sea calmed,
slowly the wind switched quarters and fell. He was able to shut
down the engines and put up a fresh staysail on the mainmast.
Another 6 hours passed. Slowly but surely the storm made into a
gale; CloudDance could handle a gale practically on her own. Kirk
called for more sail, reset his course south, and was suddenly weak
in the knees. Another gamble, paid off.
*Pulled it out again, Jimmy*, he told himself. He relinquished the
wheel, North taking it easily in hand, and fell unconscious on his
soaked bed for 12 hours, still dressed in his oilskins.
* * * * *
But now I think about the good times
Down in the Caribbean sunshine
In my younger days I was so bad
Laughing about all the fun we had
Jimmy Buffet, "One Particular Harbour"
Ship's log, Nov.18 1345est. Px: 23'01"14N 71'18"22W,
confirmed by GPS. 2nd watch, storm watch ended. Yvonne
turned west and stalled against the continent (at last!) Wind: 110
at 40, steady. Pressure 983.1mb, rising. Sea State 14 feet, westerly
swell, light chop. Wx: vsby 10+ sky broken, frqt SHRA. Alpha
crew on deck, everyone else unconscious, who can blame them?
That was the roughest ride CloudDance has seen since we took her
out of Vancouver! Casualties: My damned foremast cracked
under storm trysail! More seriously North has a fractured tibia and
has been transported to Freeport for treatment, due back in three
hours. We still can't find our own medical gear. Spock has a
nasty black eye (when will he learn; "one hand for the ship"!), but
will accept no treatment. How logical is that? Sam and Jimmy
still think it was fun and have asked for lessons in tropical
meteorology. Cruising SW on a port reach now for Silver Shoals
under mainsail and main staysail only. New foremast will meet us
in Grand Turk. Bet the Humpies didn't even notice Yvonne.
This is a fine ship. We're shipping 150 litres an hour from that
single sprung board in the fo'c'sle, but the pumps are handling it
easily and I'm amazed the damage was so minor. If the leak
worsens I'll throw the portable field generator on it. I was
impressed with her when she weathered Fred off of Baha
California enroute to Panama two years ago, but that was nothing
like Yvonne! Worst year in recorded history for Atlantic
hurricanes, Spock informs me, and of course we had to be here.
Thank god we didn't get into the real winds, I'd have lost this ship
for sure. Raven beamed back aboard two hours ago and has
restored order to the galley: I'm looking forward to my first solid
meal in days. Kirk.
"Papa!" Sam raced into the salon, followed as always by his twin
brother. Jimmy didn't speak, just smiled at his papa and waited.
"Father says that you're going to go ashore in Turks, and I want to
know how much allowance I have so that I can buy a new FlyBoy
chip!"
Jim sighed internally and regarded his son with affection. Seven.
Was he this acquisitive at seven? Probably. "Well, considering
that Turks is a cultural preserve without any gaming shops, you're
out of luck."
"Oh." The brown eyes dropped, and Jim grinned at the pointed
ears poking out of the tousled blond hair. "Can we order one from
Miami?" Sam asked hopefully.
"You know my rule. No casual outboard shopping except for
food, other essentials, literature, and equipment for the ship. There
will be shopping trips in the future, Sam. Save your allowance.
You can buy your Father a present for the T'Kuht festival next
month."
The expression on Sam's face made it plain that spending his
money on other people wasn't what he wanted. Kirk ruffled Sam's
hair, and then looked at Jimmy. "What do you want to buy?"
The tanned face grew even more serious as Jimmy considered.
"Um... a book about monkeys."
"Did you try the 'net?"
"Yes, sir. But I would like a book. If I'm allowed."
"Monkeys."
Jimmy, like his papa, preferred bound books to computer
terminals, but more because they were solid to look at on the shelf
than from the feel of them in his hands. Quiet and thoughtful,
Jimmy was just as acquisitive as Sam but his purchases usually had
more interesting backgrounds. Sam was addicted to modern
pleasures; Jim was more interested in learning. "Father said that
Human people are descended from monkeys, and I want to learn
about it. I think evolution is fascinating. I learned about the
evolution of Vulcans while we were at school there. I learned
about the evolution of whales, of course, from the Matriarch, but I
would like to learn about my Human side, too."
"Your Father is right, and I'd be happy to buy you boys a book
about monkeys and the descent of man."
"You always get what you want."
"That's because I want the right things."
"Boys." The warning note in his voice stopped the argument
before it could begin. The year of Vulcan discipline had paid off,
though Kirk often wondered if the exchange had been worth the
results. "Why don't I get Jim a book about monkeys and the
descent of man, and Sam a book about early flying craft?
Atmospheric ones? They were very, very interesting and difficult
to handle. There are antiquarian clubs on Earth that still build and
fly them. FlyBoy is simple next to those things."
Sam looked put out, but nodded sourly. "I'm hungry."
"See Raven. He should have something for us by now. Off you
go, both of you."
"Can we go swimming later? Is the pod close by?"
"Probably, and I don't know. We have to get a satellite report on
their position. We'll be on the Shoal in 15 days though, after
repairs and shore leave in Port de Paix, and then you can swim all
you like. Okay? Now off you go." The boys scampered forward,
and Kirk sighed with pleasure. Parenting was fun. Most of the
time.
The year they'd spent on Vulcan had been the hardest year of his
life. He had known he would miss his boys, but not that their
absence would leave an aching hole in his belly that he just
couldn't fill. Before Jimmy and Sam his life had seemed
complete. Now he knew what completion really was. He'd be
damned and in hell before he would let them go away again, this
side of adulthood.
Kirk turned his attention to his log, realized he had nothing to add,
and went aft in search of his partner. He found Spock at his desk,
requesting the position of Atlantic "A" pod's forward group. /Nice
shiner/ he sent, and watched Spock's eyebrow climb. He laughed,
and lifted Spock's face to inspect the terrible bruise that covered
most of one cheek. /I wish I could take it away./
"I was deeply concerned about the boys." The bold statement
brought Kirk up short. "They are not your crew. We should have
sent them ashore during the storm."
"They didn't even throw up! Besides, I didn't want them to be
afraid of a little wind," Kirk responded. "You know that I would
have had us all beamed out if it had gotten worse. I had already
made the decision when the storm began to abate."
Spock didn't reply, and there was nothing coming down the Bond
between them. He'd shut himself off. It made Kirk feel lonely.
"You're really angry about this, aren't you?" Kirk asked.
"I am."
"Shit." Kirk let go of Spock and paced into their bedroom. He
took in the soaked mattress, leaning up against the wall to dry, the
aft windows that had shattered despite being tightly shuttered, the
various watery reminders of Yvonne. Their bedding and clothes
were being run through the sonic by one of the crew, he assumed.
Well, life on a sailing ship meant the occasional soaking, but how
to tell Spock this was only to be expected? After 8 years there
were, perhaps, too many assumptions on both sides. /We need to
meld, Spock. The Bond is obviously not communicating our
different takes on this. Or at least talk to me./
Silence met him. He walked back to where Spock was working
and put one hand on the Vulcan's shoulder. "Please. I hate to see
you upset and to know it's my fault."
Spock sighed, then rose and gestured toward the bedroom. Kirk
followed him, and sat down beside him on the barren bedspring.
Relaxed as the hot fingers found their familiar perches on his face.
Moments later the hand fell, and both men were looking rather
chagrined. /I hadn't realized, / Kirk began, at the same time that
Spock sent /I did not understand./ They gazed at one another, then
Kirk smiled. "Okay. You're right. In a storm like that it's hard to
know where the line is. Like on the Enterprise. There aren't any
rules; you just have to do the job. During the storm, I just couldn't
say 'die'; I love this ship too much. Next time we send the boys
ashore when it rises over 50, but we don't tell them why. A nice
quiet visit with their pal Raven's family, or up to visit Mike and
Ambar in Vancouver."
"Agreed. I apologize for my anger. I was hoping to master it
before I confronted you."
"Never mind. I look forward to your help next time. You'll be a
great helmsman when it blows that hard, and I miss you as my
'first'. North's good but she's not you." Jim leaned over and
kissed his mate's hot lips, stroking the silky black and grey hair
with one hand. Spock had let it grow, and it fell well between his
shoulder blades now.
Reluctantly Kirk stood up. "I wonder if our bed will be dry by
nightfall? Or should I just order a new one?"
"Order a new one," Spock replied, rising as well, "and send this
one in for recycling. I did not want to waste fresh water by rinsing
it, as the desalination plant is operating at minimal efficiency due
to salt water in the transtators. I think we are due for a new
mattress."
"Your wish is my command," Kirk replied, and swept a bow to the
taller man. "Where's the pod, by the way?"
"Approximately 15 nautical miles ahead. They passed us during
the storm. We'll catch up in 6.5 hours, present speed, although I
think our course may diverge from theirs somewhat sooner. The
younger females are swimming fast to their first mating, and there
is no point in being present for that. You know they will have no
time for us, and the bulls will be extremely aggressive."
Humpback males were kind of like Vulcans, mating. Blind to
anything else, and dangerous as hell if interrupted. Kirk smiled.
"Yeah. Ready to eat? Raven's been cooking up a storm... sorry.
Cooking since he got back aboard. I'm starved."
Spock smiled softly and nodded. "I would like to share a meal
with you. And order our new mattress."
"Mmmmm, and tonight we can break it in."
"I look forward to it."
* * * * *
"With these changes in Latitudes
Changes in attitudes,
Nothing remains quite the same
With all of our running and all of our cunning
If we couldn't laugh we would all go insane."
Jimmy Buffet "Changes in Latitudes"
Kirk grabbed his breath hard to keep from howling as his husband
came, hard, and almost nailed him through the bed. His own
orgasm had been staggering on for minutes and finished with a
sudden rush as Spock collapsed over him, every muscle suddenly
limp.
Wow.
Wow. /Three times in 12 hours. We ought to get a new mattress
more often. How long did you say we've been married?/
There was a confused sorting of thoughts from Spock, suffering
from hypoxia where his face was smothered in the pillow beside
Jim's ear. /I did not say. Is it relevant, Jim?/
/Only that it's supposed to get boring, I'm told. Sex. It's supposed
to get dull after a few years.../ / I could arrange that, if it is a
Human custom. However, I do not think that I would enjoy the
subterfuge./
Jim began to laugh, ejecting Spock's now flaccid penis as his
muscles convulsed. "Please, don't bother! I enjoy being the
exception that proves the rule."
"You continue to confuse me. One would think that with the kind
of Bond we enjoy, there would be very little you could do to
confuse me." Spock rolled slowly onto his side and let his limbs
collapse again. He raised a finger and traced Jim's jaw line, then
pulled the finger away as Jim turned his head to bite. "I love you."
"I love you too. More than ever. How long can that go on?" Jim
groaned as he sat up, noting that the sheets needed washing again
for the second time that morning. "I love how much sex we have
when we get south of 23. What is it about the tropics? May I
bring you a cloth?"
"I would appreciate it. Right now I do not feel inclined to move. I
am astonished that you can."
Kirk surveyed his partner. Lax on his right side, naked, covered in
tiny beads of sweat. Vulcans didn't sweat much, even in this heat,
and the beads were signs of extreme exertion. Kirk himself was
dripping. "I'll bring you a cloth. But I need a shower."
"I will shower too. Disregard the cloth. Just let me be still for a
moment. I cannot feel my legs."
Kirk laughed out loud and hopped out of bed. "I'll take that as a
compliment."
Half an hour later Kirk was on deck, whistling loudly, while he
prepared one of the inflatables to go ashore. The boys were below
with Spock, sorting through the detritus of their room left by
Yvonne.
There wasn't much 'grand' about Grand Turk. Flat, dry, and
scrubby, it lay baking in the November heat under a cloudless sky.
They set anchor off of her only marina, and Kirk took North and
Jon ashore to track down their new mast. It had been ordered and
transported, Miami Marine assured him, but the Caribbean was the
Caribbean and one never knew where things would end up.
Kirk tied the inflatable to the main dock and all three climbed out.
A small group of Belongers were lounging in the shade of a
scrappy palm tree, and the three made their way toward them. "I
don't see any hoist, you planning to step the new mast afloat?" Jon
offered, and Kirk nodded.
"We'll use the anti-grav, and Spock's low inertia tractor beam to
step it. The nearest hoist is in Port de Paix, but I hate sailing one
mast short." He sauntered easily along. The heat did not
encourage fast movement. In fact it inspired an urge to sit and
wait. "You don't want to do business here anyway, Jon. They rob
foreigners blind. Did you know that the main industry here for
hundreds of years was wracking?"
"Wracking? Huh?"
North laughed. "Salvaging ship wrecks. The locals had a bunch of
fake lighthouses set up, and used them to lure ships onto the reefs
just to salvage their cargos."
"Oh, come on, that must have been hundreds of years ago!"
"The mentality still stands," Kirk replied, his voice soft so as not to
carry to the Belongers. "You never came ashore last year, but
believe me, the mentality still exists. I think these people are
related to the Orions. Ahem. Good afternoon, gentlefolk." He
finished, letting his voice boom.
Several slow 'good afternoons' came back. A few of the men sat
up as the trio halted in front of them. Kirk considered his next
speech, and smiled broadly.
"No trouble from Yvonne?"
"No trouble here. Nothing to blow down. Storm surge hit North
Caicos pretty hard. Folks hurtin' up there." This slow speech
seemed to break the ice, and all the men began to talk about this
relative or that who had suffered from the storm. Kirk nodded and
commiserated. Finally the first man spoke again. "Charter boat?"
"No."
"Mmm." Glances were exchanged. A rich foreigner? Owned his
boat? Silence fell for several minutes. Kirk stood at ease, gazing
out over the turquoise water. Finally he sighed deeply and crossed
his arms.
"It's beautiful here," he lied. Well, the *ocean* was beautiful, at
least. "I need to track down the mast that was sent here for my
ship. We got hit pretty hard by Yvonne. Then maybe you'll let me
buy you all a beer."
Eyes opened slightly wider. "You sailed through Yvonne?"
"Not the worst of it. Cracked my foremast at 75 knots," he replied,
hoping to impress them. "It's a good ship. Deep Ocean Research
Group. We do whale research."
Well, that put paid to any handouts the men might be hoping for.
Everyone knew researchers were broke. Glances were exchanged,
shoulders fell. If a beer was all they could get, a beer it would be.
The spokesman stood up. "I believe I saw your mast up by my
house. Just over there."
Kirk, triumphant, followed him up the dusty limestone marl road,
his crewmates following behind and suppressing their own grins.
A few of the other men straggled behind; anything new on this
island was interesting. "What's your name, friend?" Kirk asked.
"Lyndon."
"Jim," he replied, and both stopped long enough to touch hands.
Other than that the short walk was made in silence.
The mast was almost completely hidden in some tall dry grass
behind Lyndon's house. No explanations were offered for how it
had gotten there. Jim, North and Jon attached the portable anti-
grav and lifted it to waist height, and all three inspected it
carefully. Once satisfied that it was premium quality and in good
condition, Kirk stood back. "You two herd it down to the dock,
then join my friends and I under that tree for a beer if you like.
Lyndon, where can a man buy a cold beer here?"
"I happen to have a case in my ice box. 20 credits, for you." 15
for anyone else, Kirk thought, but nodded and smiled.
"I think I can manage 20 credits for the man who kept my mast
safe for me." He made a show of rummaging in his pockets, then
called out; "Jon! You got a 20 on you?"
Jon sauntered back and slapped a 20-credit chip into Kirk's hand,
then returned to the mast. Kirk handed the chip to Lyndon, who
grinned broadly and disappeared into his house, returning seconds
later with a cold case of Jamaican beer. Kirk smiled in
appreciation, and they made their slow way back to the palm tree.
/James/ Kirk controlled his facial expression and sent an
inquisitive thought back to Spock. /I am hoping that the locals have
a HV player to sell. The boys have just discovered that theirs was
ruined during the storm./ /It'll be second hand, love. A year old at
least. There are no shops here./ /That is acceptable. Ours was 6
years old. If I desired a new one I would order from the mainland
and have it beamed. I will come ashore./
"So, you been at sea long with the whale researchers?" Lyndon
was asking.
"Eight years," Kirk replied. "First in the Pacific, the
Alaska/Hawaii group of Humpbacks. Moved over here two years
ago when they established the Grand Banks/Silver Shoals pod."
/Sure, love. Bring small denomination credit chips only, and all
your patience./ Jon was plodding back up toward him. "I like it
here much better, of course. Hawaii is so commercial." Damn, he
was lying through his teeth today!
"We try to retain our culture here, without any outside influence."
Kirk nodded affably.
"That is very wise," he agreed, ignoring the hypocrisy of their
allowing him to come ashore, and popped the seal on his beer just
as Jon walked up from the dock. "Jon, I just remembered that
Spock needs to come ashore. Can you take the new mast back
with North? Spock will be using the other inflatable, I'll ride back
with him." He handed the beer to Jon. His second nodded and just
walked away, wordless. Kirk thanked all gods for good, fast-
thinking, closed-mouth crew.
"We lost quite a bit of gear to Yvonne," he said mournfully,
cutting Spock in on the conversation.
Eyes widened again. Beers were gulped. Lyndon sighed sadly.
"Too bad. We have so little here, probably nothing a research boat
could use."
Kirk turned to him, all surprised delight. "Say, there might be
something you have... although probably not. This being a cultural
preserve." He sighed, and took a swig of his beer. He could hear
Spock's inflatable already, and was looking forward to the
Belongers' reactions to seeing a Vulcan. Probably never had one
here before. Spock had stayed aboard last year when they'd
stopped here. Kirk could imagine no reason for another Vulcan to
ever make landfall here.
"What might that be?"
"Well... it's for the children you understand. We have children on
board."
Children. Serious expressions were assumed all around. Children
were treated with deep respect here, and Belongers were likely to
be less piratical if children were involved. Lyndon drank some
beer, and then turned to Kirk again. "What might that be?" he
repeated.
"HV. They take a lot of their lessons that way. Their father
prepares them on his computer and they use the HV to review
them. But our HV got waterlogged when we got pooped the
second time."
Eyes widened in renewed respect at the notion of the ship
surviving more than one bad stern wave. Then Lyndon scowled.
"You had children aboard during Yvonne?"
"They had water-activated emergency transporter tokens on all the
time, I assure you. I would never endanger children." Kirk put a
hand over his heart and shook his head. "God forbid I should do
such a thing. But their father is Vulcan, and didn't want them to
acquire a fear of storms."/Spock, forgive my lies, and please
remember that these people are not all that favourably inclined
toward same-sex marriage, much less inter-species? Let me do the
talking?/ /Very well, James. I have 300 credits in small chips with
me. Do you think that will be sufficient?/ /It had better be!/
"Ah. Vulcan." Silence fell again. Beer was drunk. Most of them
hit the bottom of their bottles, and Kirk motioned generously that
they should have another. Spock was tying up at the dock, and as
he straightened and began to walk toward them Lyndon looked up.
"One kind scientist?"
"The best. Spock. He's the Vulcan. He's doing Humpback
liaison. Telepath, you know."
The men all looked at each other in alarm. Of course they knew
about Vulcans, knew they were touch telepaths, but the fact of
having any kind of telepath in their midst was rather upsetting.
"Uh, what's he want?"
"He's come about the HV, probably. As I said, the children are
his." Kirk finished his beer and put the bottle back in the case,
popped another. "Say, Lyndon, I bet he's got another 20 credits,"
he suggested, gesturing toward the almost empty case of beer.
"What do you say?"
Lyndon reflected, and then turned to his companion. "Johnny, you
got a case. Bring it down."
"Sure."
"Hey Spock. Meet my friend Lyndon. He kept our mast safe for
us. His friends," Kirk said, waving a hand. "Would you like a
beer?"
/?/ /Just say something really Vulcan, love/ Spock's face retained
its normal stony aspect, but Jim could feel his playfulness through
the bond. In his most Vulcan voice Spock intoned: "The ingestion
of alcohol is illogical."
"Sure. Pull up a piece of sand." He patted the sand beside him
and Spock swung down, his loose red silk shirt sexy as hell, Kirk
thought. With his lean frame, long black and grey pony tail and
stern features he looked more a pirate than anyone here. Kirk
himself was still shedding the ten kilos he gained every summer in
the chilly northern seas, and feeling anything but sexy. Still, he
was getting a tan, and slimming down, and in another two weeks
would be feeling svelte again. His appetite always dwindled in the
heat of the tropics. His appetite for food, anyway. "All well on
board?"
"Yes, Captain. The boys are swimming with Demi, and the rest of
the crew are working on removing the old foremast."
"Great." Silence descended again until Johnny returned with the
fresh case of beer, then Kirk cleared his throat. "I guess we'll just
have to bite the bullet and pay retail. God, I hate to pay retail for
an HV!"
"No rush, no worry, Cap'm," Lyndon said. "Just give us a minute,
man. All will be well." He motioned to two of the others and they
sauntered away slowly. /They're trying to decide which one of
them can do without an HV until grant time comes around again.
They get a yearly subsidy for specified luxury items. Part of the
cultural preserve program./ /Ah. Perhaps it would be better to just
order one from Miami and have it transported. I dislike disturbing
a cultural preserve, as it seems we are./ / Are you kidding? They
love every minute of it! Piracy *is* their culture!/ /I will have to
take your word for it. What is my role?/ /Refuse to pay more than
200. Period. You intimidate the hell out of them. Then I will
eventually settle for a bit more and everyone will be happy/
/Humans are so very peculiar. You included./ /Thank you, lover!
What a nice compliment!/
An hour later Kirk and Spock got into the inflatable with an almost
new HV player, and very seriously thanked their 'hosts'. Kirk, a
bit flown by the 3 beers he'd had and rather pleased by the whole
encounter, burst out laughing as soon as the boat was away from
the dock. "God, I love the Caribbean," he gasped.
"I found the whole episode rather appalling. Those people paid
nothing for this HV!"
"Ah, but they did, Spock. They pay all the time in being a cultural
preserve. Look at what they're missing! No higher education
unless they forsake their homeland, no regular access to other
cultures. The Lands that Time Forgot!" He began to laugh again.
"Don't forget, it's still an individual choice for them. Most of
these islands are in the same century you and I are. Though even
they only have two speeds; dead slow, and stop!"
"That is what I find so alarming. That the Turks Islanders have
made such an illogical choice of lifestyle. Just because it is hot for
Humans in the Caribbean does not mean that the locals cannot
work. These islands could easily prosper as salt production
centres, or with aqua-culture." Kirk only laughed harder. When
he had control of himself again he wiped his eyes, leaned over and
kissed Spock's cheek.
"Good lord, that would seriously cut into their lounging in the
shade time, Spock! You look so shocked! You should never put
together a sentence with the words 'work' and 'Caribbean' in it,
it's almost obscene..."
"Hmmm. That strikes me as racist, James. Something you usually
avoid."
"Not racism, Spock. Perhaps 'culturalism'. You stayed on the boat
last year. You'll see. Wait till we get to Port de Paix for our haul-
out. I spent lots of time here a hundred years ago, and there hasn't
been much change. And I'm not saying I see anything wrong with
it; sometimes I envy them."
* * * * *
This comes from deep in my soul
Your sweet love has taken control
I'll swim across the ocean if you tell me so
I'll take you to the Jump-up if you want to go
It's never too late to make a brand new start
I'm down on the knees of my heart
Down here, on the knees of my heart
Jimmy Buffet "Knees of my Heart"
Kirk woke suddenly, startled to find the bed absolutely still, the
ship quiet. Then he remembered; he was dry-docked in Port de
Paix, Hispaniola Republic. Shore leave while the sprung plank
was repaired and the hull scrapped and painted. Give the Humpies
some space to mate without endangering anyone. Perfect!
He sent a little thought tendril down his Bond, and Spock
responded from the boys' room. /Anyone aboard that can kid-sit
for a while, lover?/ he asked, and could feel Spock's small smile. /I
shall investigate. Please remain where you are./
Kirk's normal morning arousal surged and he stretched widely.
There was no one sexier than Kirk in the morning, or so Spock had
assured him on many occasions. His Vulcan husband's promise
'not to waste' this young body he'd been so miraculously granted
had held; sex never paled between them, children aside. They
didn't let Jimmy and Sam ruin their sex-lives; all of the crew
shared in the kid-sitting duties as required. Kirk rolled over and
got out the lube, anticipating a nice long fuck.
He wasn't disappointed. Spock padded in a couple of minutes later
and engaged both the privacy locks and the soundproofing, then
slowly began to disrobe. It didn't take long; the climate here
suited the Vulcan and he was dressed only in another of his loose
silk shirts, midnight blue this time, hanging over a loose blue wrap.
Kirk loved Spock in a wrap, skirt style. Especially because he
knew the Vulcan wore nothing underneath. He sometimes wished
that the whales spent less time in the cold northern waters and
more in the tropics.
Kirk favoured the wrap as well, but when they were sailing he
normally wore it 'kilted' between his legs, or donned shorts in
order to avoid getting the loose wrap caught in any of the rigging.
Though they all swam nude in the tropics, he disliked showing off
his most personal gear to the crew if he had to climb the rigging, or
if the wind lifted his skirts.
No fear of that in dry dock. He held out his hands and welcomed
Spock into the bed.
Spock had caught his mood, and reached immediately for the
lubricant, though he spent several minutes teasing Kirk to madness
with his fingers before pressing slowly and relentlessly into his
anus. Kirk breathed deeply, enjoying the filled-up feeling, then
gasped as Spock began to move. Each stroke was long and slow,
the double glans scrubbing Kirk's prostate on each in and out
motion, until he was nearly humming in pleasure. Then Spock
opened the meld wide, and Kirk fell into the swirl of feeling he
loved so much, unable to tell which sensations were his and which
belonged to his wonderful lover.
Their coupling was long and leisurely, each engrossed in the
sensations the other was feeling. Slow and languid, a full half hour
passing before Kirk suddenly became urgent and needed more.
Spock obliged, pressing his husband down and beginning to thrust
hard, one hand on Kirk's cock. Jim came with a groan and a shout,
gripping Spock tightly, almost violently. Spock's orgasm followed
almost at once, and the Vulcan fell over him, trembling. Jim felt a
continuing tremor somewhere in his inner right thigh as he pulled
Spock close.
"It just gets better," he whispered, running one hand through his
lover's hair, and Spock nodded against his shoulder.
"All the time. I cannot imagine how good it will be in twenty
years, it is already so perfect." Kirk felt his heart swelling.
"You say the nicest things," Kirk replied with a chuckle. They lay
in the slowly diminishing waves of pleasure for many long
minutes, and then Spock slowly sat up.
"Have you any plans for our shore leave?"
"Nothing particular. More of that, for certain!"
Spock smiled his secret, internal smile, and stroked Kirk's belly.
"I have been thinking about your comment, that I didn't come
ashore last year..."
"Well, you just did 'come' ashore!"
"James. I am serious. This is a side of Human culture I have not
experienced before, yet it is legendary among your people. Is it
possible to see more of it?"
Kirk sat up with a delighted smile. "Of course it is! In fact, too
bad it's not Carnival season on Hispaniola... but it *is* Friday...
let me take you to the jump-up."
"Jump-up?"
"Jump-up."
*
Spock looked serious and intrigued as he took in the sights and
sounds: Street vendors offering cold drinks, barbequed chicken
and pork, bowls of souse or saltfish, kebobs of kingfish or stewed
conch or grilled tuna, roasted corn and sweet bread-nuts and fresh
roasted ground-nuts, their stalls lining the narrow street for 3
blocks in each direction around the central square. The press of
Humanity with all its smells and motion was like the movement of
the ocean as they surged back and forth around the speakers; the
gigantic rack of speakers in the middle of the main intersection
blasting Soca and Calypso music. The acrid/sweet scent of ganja.
The cheerful smiles and the open sexual chatter. The tight-fitting,
brilliantly coloured clothes of the dancers. The ass-to-crotch
dancing, which was the closest thing to accepted public sex on
Earth.
At Kirk's request Spock was in long trousers and a sleeveless shirt
– the most common outfit for local men at jump-up. Kirk was
dressed in a similar outfit, his dark green, Spock's all black. They
fit in perfectly. Light-skinned they might be, but they wouldn't be
mistaken for first-time tourists; all of those were wearing short
pants, the Human ones at least. There was a scattering of
Andorians in the crowd, and a leaping, thumping gang of
Denebians who were partying harder than the locals.
A recent Carnival favourite came over the speakers and everyone
was suddenly dancing. Even the vendors and their clients, shifting
their weight from foot to foot and waving their arms. Kirk grinned
widely and pulled Spock toward a nearby bar with a raised
balcony. Hoping Spock could see what he saw; Humans being
utterly Human.
Spock took it all in, calm and still as ever, but Jim couldn't control
his feet and found himself crotch-to-ass with a pretty local lass,
dancing, his hands hanging at his sides. He wished Spock would
dance with him, but knew it wouldn't happen. Vulcan dignity
would not allow this kind of display. Through their Bond he knew
Spock understood the impulse to dance as Human, and acceptable.
Kirk laughed aloud. "You dance good!" he said into his unknown
partner's ear. "Sa ca fait, 'ti fi'?"
She turned her head and smiled, obviously surprised. "You speak
kweyol?"
"That much," he replied, holding up his little finger.
"I know one you like, gazza! You like cushie-cushie? You one
cute hom, do-do. Where you from?"
Kirk laughed again and addressed the real question first. "No, I
doan do cushie-cushie wit no girl I just met. I'm from here, now. I
work on a boat."
The girl kept smiling, and pressed her ass firmly into his crotch,
still dancing. "You *sure* no cushie-cushie?" she asked, her voice
both inviting and coy.
Kirk couldn't help but be aroused at the direct stimulation, and
stepped back, taking a deep breath. "My do-do would be plenty
vex, I do that! No way. Okay?"
She smiled back. "Okay. All is well." He moved back to dance
with her, and this time she kept her ass a good 2 centimetres from
his crotch. Now if only Spock would snug up to him the way he'd
snugged up with this unknown woman! It was just like he
remembered it from 100-plus years before. Nice that some things
never changed! The song segued into another, and Kirk returned
to Spock's side. /Shall we get a beer and some roast corn?/
/That would be acceptable/ Kirk could feel Spock's deep
fascination, the mind so recently involved in cetacean semantics
taking in everything, analyzing. /It reminds me of the Archons,
without the violence,/ he sent, and Kirk remembered Landru. /It is
kind of the same,/ Kirk replied, /only these people do this every
Friday, and for a solid week during Carnival. And there is rarely
any violence./ /It is strange. At the boatyard today, the workers
moved extremely slowly and inefficiently. The work they
accomplished could have been done at our Vancouver haul-out in a
quarter of the time. Yet they do not seem to lack for energy now./
Kirk chuckled. /Saving it up for Friday night. This party ends
when the sun comes up, without a single break in the beat./ /I
imagine that very little gets accomplished here on a Saturday/
/You got that right!/ They stopped before a small card table
holding a huge, battered cooler and a rusty barbeque on which corn
was roasting to a lovely caramelized golden brown over smoking
coals.
"Two beer, two corn," he told the old woman sitting behind the
table. In no sort of hurry she lifted the lid of the cooler and
gestured for Kirk to make his own selection, then lifted two of the
wood-skewered cobs and handed them across to Spock.
"How much?"
"You bring back my bottles?" she asked, looking him up and
down.
"Of course."
"Okay, ten, but you owe me two if you forget my bottles." Kirk
nodded, amused by Spock's thoughts stopping in mid-stream with
outrage at the complete illogic of the woman's statement. He
fished the correct chip out of his trousers and handed it over. He
and Spock exchanged a cob and a bottle, and turned back to the
party. Wordlessly they moved over to the side of a nearby
building and set the bottles on a window ledge so they could
concentrate on their corn and the crowd.
"Don't see you two out limin' very often," came a familiar voice,
as Jon materialized out of the crowd. Kirk just nodded, but Spock
perked up at the new word.
"Liming?" Spock enquired.
"Partying, sir. Idling in the street with friends. How's the corn,
Captain?"
Kirk gave it a thumbs up, busy with a full mouth. Jon nodded and
looked around appreciatively. "Seen the others around? No?
Okay, later then..." he wandered away again.
/You know, back in our 'Enterprise' days, you would have made
some kind of comment about this being an illogical waste of
energy./ He nudged Spock gently, and was rewarded by a raised
eyebrow as the Vulcan bit into his own cob.
/Having spent most of my life dealing with Humans, you
particularly, and other non-Vulcans, I do understand the need for.../
he paused, head cocked, looking for the right word. A rare event,
Spock searching for a word. /...Exuberant expressions of pleasure
to relieve mental stress. This form of dancing is also an excellent
aerobic exercise./
"Exercise, my ass! It's damned sexy!" Kirk replied. "Say, Mister,
I don't suppose I could talk you into a little cushie-cushie?"
This time both eyebrows went up, and Kirk laughed aloud. He bit
into his corn again and looked forward, with some anticipation, to
showing Spock more of the Caribbean.
* * * * *
Mother Mother Ocean,
I have heard your call
Wanted to sail upon your water
Since I was three feet tall
You've seen it all...
You've seen it all
Yes I am a pirate, 200 years too late
The cannons don't thunder, there's nothin' to plunder
I'm an over-forty victim of fate
Arriving too late,
Arriving too late...."
Jimmy Buffet, "A Pirate Looks at Forty"
In fact, the next afternoon, he was plagued by the thought of
exploration. Out of sheer boredom he took a fine-tuned phaser to
the residue of dying algae on CloudDance's hull, and with the still,
quiet mind the activity provided, he reviewed their current
lifestyle.
The Humpies had been well established here last year. The
History of the People and several decades of societal growth in the
Pacific had allowed the whales an almost seamless introduction
into their new home, and Spock's work had moved from the basic
to the esoteric in the last couple of years. Soon he'd be translating
their versions of 'Lear's Limericks', he thought. Well, not quite.
Spock's work was important, but he had enough material on chips
now, understood from his deep melds with the whales, to work for
years without speaking to another Humpback. Kirk swept the tight
beam over the fine old wood and considered.
8 years on the sea, chasing whales, and it had all been interesting.
It would probably continue to be interesting, but at 70 years old
Kirk wondered if it was time to settle down for a while. Sure, he
knew he looked late-thirties, but his life experience was still that of
an older Human. He'd explored the galaxy, but there was much
bracketing the oceans of his own world that he hadn't seen. And it
was Spock's world too, as a half Human. Certainly it was their
sons' world. Perhaps a few years of exploring the Caribbean
would be... fun.
*I've started to think like a rich man approaching retirement* he
thought, and suddenly stopped, shutting the phaser down. It was
an alarming thought. Frightening. Like Spock during Yvonne...
unexpected mistrust of what was going on around him and a desire
for some solid ground. He stared up at the rising bulge of his
ship's hull, and knew, at least, that he didn't want to leave her.
But did he want to leave DORGroup. Retire?
No. The fact that he was out here in 30 degree heat, stripped to a
wrap, dripping sweat in order to work on a shore leave day,
because he was bored, told him he wasn't ready to retire.
No. The answer was reassuringly solid, based somewhere deep
inside him. He didn't want to quit working entirely. Very well,
what did he want?
A home base that didn't move.
The idea surprised him. It must have been festering unheard for a
long time before coming to his forebrain like that. He loved
sailing.
A home base that wouldn't dive under the water during a
hurricane. That was immune to wind and storm surge.
He realized he wanted a library.
Library. Could life decisions be founded on such mundane things?
He could keep all the virtual books he would ever read on one
computer disc. His predilection for bound books didn't stop him
from reading if there weren't any. But there were others to
consider. There would be work for Spock, obviously, but for
himself... he may be approaching retirement but he wasn't there
yet. And the boys?
The boys. Maybe it was time to be a full time dad and stop relying
so much on his crew for childcare. And the kids would probably
profit from some regular interaction with other children.
Another startling thought. He examined it. Was it too strange for
his young hybrid sons' only close friends to be grownup Humans,
Vulcans and Cetaceans? They were thriving, intelligent and
fearless. They were far ahead of their Human age mates in
education and physical ability, or so it seemed to Kirk whenever he
ran into someone else with children the same age as Sam and Jim.
The boys were doing high-level mathematics and reading Dickens
and Surak. They spoke and thought in Standard, Vulcan,
Humpback, Bottlenose and Orca, and could telepathically converse
in the international patois both of the Caribbean and of the
Cetaceans. Yet they were still children; witness Sam with his
'Flyboy' game.
But could they ever fit in with Human children, as half-alien touch-
telepaths who had never lived on solid ground on this planet?
"Hey, Jim." Jim backed up enough to see Raven peering over the
railing at him. "You nuts, man? You're soaked! *And* it's noon!
You're gonna give yourself a stroke."
Jim grinned and nodded. "Just finishing cleaning her, so that we
can get her painted tomorrow. What's up?"
"Radio just squawked. Enterprise is in orbit, and Picard says he's
gonna come for supper. Seemed disappointed when I told him we
were dry docked."
Jim chuckled. "I'll bet he was. Well, if he wants to go sailing, he
can get Q to finish my hull for me."
"Done." Raven leapt back from the railing and Jim whirled around
to see the strange alien standing a couple of feet away, arms
crossed, smiling at him. "You're looking good, Jim. All sweaty
and manly."
"Q! Good to see you." He held out a hand and the entity shook it
heartily.
"Spirit of air, you scare me to death sometimes, Q," Raven called
down. "Can I bring you two a beer? Jim's trying to kill himself
down there, Q, it'd be a mercy to all of us if you'd just finish the
job for him."
"Bring the beer and stop coddling me, Raven."
"Aye aye, sir."
Q snapped his fingers and a pink paisley umbrella appeared,
shading a round table with two chairs pulled up to it. He settled
daintily and waved Kirk toward the other seat. "What is left to do?
I'd be happy to oblige. Jean-Luc was hoping to spend a week
sailing with you. I'd come along too, of course."
"More than welcome. The crew is on leave today, so we can't
launch until tomorrow anyway, even if she's finished. I just have
to complete the scraping of the hull, and she needs painting.
Proper painting, a primer coat to seal her, and three top coats of
good marine water resist."
"Colour?"
"All clear. I like to see the wood, you know that. Use something
that is good for the wood, please, Q."
Q nodded and gazed up at the big ship, then snapped his fingers
again. A second later she was glossy and shimmering in the sun.
"It's a pretty thing."
"Yes, she is. Thank you, Q. Now, tell me your news."
"Oh, no, you first." Raven came down the ladder with a small
cooler and plopped it at Kirk's feet, opened it and drew out two
bottles of beer. "Where is that gorgeous husband of yours, and my
two god-sons?"
"Spock's in town shopping for a few new items for the ship, and
the boys are at the market with North. You'll see them all at
supper. Raven, pull up a beer, and perhaps Q will oblige with a
third chair. Can you whip up something special for supper, for Q
and Jean-Luc?"
"I was just thinking I'd wander over to the fishing dock and see if
there is anything good enough for a minor deity."
"You'd earn my wrath for that one, Raven, if you weren't such a
good cook. How are the boys doing, anyway?" He snapped his
fingers and Raven settled into the chair that appeared, and then
reached down for a beer.
"Another message, Jim, speaking of the boys. North just checked
in. They're still at the market. The boys have discovered that
there's a beach festival tonight, some kinda flower festival, and
she's offering to take them. Says lots of kids will be there."
Kirk sighed, thoughts travelling back to his earlier meditations.
"Raven... as a Human who's seen a lot of children... are Sam and
Jim normal?"
Q snorted aloud, and Raven shot him a look of utter disbelief, but
Jim shook his head. "I mean, I know they're not. They can't be.
But is this life... are we..."
"Are you doing right by them?" Kirk nodded and took a long
swallow of beer. It felt like heaven going down, and he realized he
was very over-heated. He rolled the cold bottle over his chest, and
then held it to the back of his neck before swallowing again.
Raven sipped his own beer and was silent for a long minute, but
Kirk was used to his quartermaster's silences. Raven was one of
the most deliberate Humans Kirk had ever met, and he never spoke
thoughtlessly. Q crossed his legs and sat back in his chair,
observing them both with interest.
"It's hard to comment on, Jim. They're so unusual that it's
difficult to think of them as children, in the sense I know
'children'. Especially since they returned from Vulcan. If you had
tried to raise them ashore, in a normal school/home situation, I
think they would have suffered enormously and never developed
the potential that they have. You and Spock are tough parents to
live up to, but you've gifted those boys with the ability to do
anything in life, and you've given them the opportunity to grow up
in a situation that rarely ever bores them. No, I think you've done
right."
Kirk considered that, and realized it was true; Sam and Jim would
have been bored to tears, violence or apathy in the kind of school
system he'd grown up in. Hell, he himself had been a rebellious
teenager, and mostly because he'd been bored. He relaxed
slightly, and tested the waters further. "Do you think they ought to
have more interaction with kids their own age?"
"No." Raven said it so quickly that Kirk blinked at him in
surprise. "No, I don't think so. It'll only make them feel like
freaks."
Freaks. Kirk swallowed hard. It was a word he didn't like to use
when thinking about his boys. Raven continued. "I mean, can you
see Jim seriously discussing whale physiology and the History of
the People with a seven-year-old boy who is still engrossed in the
idea that Santa Claus might exist? Or Sam explaining to a pretty
eight-year-old girl how differential inertia is used in hard banking a
class one space shuttle?" Raven laughed and sipped his beer again.
"No, I think you're doing right by those boys. They'll want to
meet others, once they hit puberty. Any idea when that might be,
by the way?"
"Nope. Estimates vary. Anywhere from 10 to 30. I'm dreading it.
I just hope they can avoid the Pon Farr thing!" He took another
gulp of beer and let his mind roam. The possibilities were
interesting. Very interesting. "Thanks. You've given me some
things to think over."
"Welcome, Jim." Silence descended again, and then Raven, with
his uncanny insight, spoke again. "If you're thinking of going
ashore down here, I'll stay on for a while."
Kirk turned to him in surprise. "Where did that come from?"
Q thumped down his beer. "You can't give up sailing! Where will
Jean-Luc and I vacation when we're forced to come back to this
pathetic planet of yours?"
Raven stood up and smiled. "Jim doesn't ask questions. When he
does, the thoughts behind them are deep."
He sauntered back to the ladder and climbed aboard, leaving a
flabbergasted Kirk and an intrigued Q in his wake.
"Well, well, well." Q stood up and drained his own beer. "I'd best
get back to Jean-Luc. It looks like you have a few things to talk
about with your own partner."
"See you at sunset?"
"Yes."
* * * * *
The weather is here, I wish you were beautiful
The skies are too clear, life's so easy today
The beer is too cold, the daiquiris too fruitiful
There's no place like home when you're this far away
Jimmy Buffet, "The weather is here, wish you were
beautiful"
Spock sat perfectly still on the bed, eyes downcast, hands clasped
in his lap. Kirk felt an unexpected rush of total affection for his
partner, and the feeling down their bond brought Spock's eyes
back to his. /This revelation is not wholly unexpected/ /It felt very
sudden to me!/ /You have been increasingly restless this last year.
More 'risk-seeking'. Less content with our life aboard, and with
our work./
Through a deep meld they had shared all of Kirk's thoughts after
Spock had returned from town. On the idea of ceasing their
migratory life and settling into one area. On their sons. On
perhaps searching for the perfect island on which to build a home.
Kirk was lying on his side on the bed, waiting for more. Rushing
Spock about life decisions was pointless. Spock returned to his
perusal of his hands, then stood up and gazed at Jim for the space
of several breaths. /I will meditate. Will you be free to talk about
this in 3 hours?/
"Of course I will, love. I'll go and check the sails or something.
I'll be aboard. Just call."
"Very well." Instead of returning to his desk, Spock turned and
sank to his knees on the special carpet they kept beside their bed,
reached out and activated the small, shielded flame on the table
before him. His thoughts withdrew, and Kirk felt their link close
down. He always felt a bit alone when Spock meditated.
He didn't dig into the sail locker though. Instead he found a book
he'd read a dozen times before, a sailing adventure, and settled in
the cockpit to relax. It was a story about the America's Cup, a race
he longed to enter one day himself, and it always engrossed him.
But this time he set it down as soon as he opened it. Enter a race.
Race CloudDance? In what class? What race? Where? Then
heard Spock's mind-voice again; "more risk-seeking" Huh.
Another symptom? Was he having some kind of 70-year-old mid-
life crisis? He mentally smacked himself and turned back to the
book. He needed to wait for Spock to catch up. Only a couple of
hours.
"Jim?"
He sighed and closed the book again with a sigh of relief. "Up
here, North." His first mate poked her head over the side and
grinned at him. "Where are the boys?" He automatically sought
them in the parental bond, and found nothing alarming in their
minds.
"Still at the beach festival, safe in a tent with a bajillion kids
watching a truly bad mime. I had a hell of a time explaining the
concept of 'mime' to them, and they think it's the silliest thing
they have ever seen. There's going to be stilt dancers later that
they want to see. I just came back to change my clothes for the
evening. What's up?"
"What do you mean?"
"I mean Raven passed me on the road, looking all Native
American and mysterious, and told me he was going to buy some
fish and some ganja. That is ominous. What's up?"
Jim barked a laugh and shook his head. "I have the world's most
telepathic crew. Lord have mercy. Q and Picard are coming for
dinner, and he wants some fresh fish, that's all. Do you like the
Caribbean, North?"
"It is, surprisingly, very much like Alaska. Like a hot Alaska.
Yes. Why, you thinking of staying? That would certainly explain
the ganja." North clambered over the rail and flopped onto deck.
"Raven almost never indulges."
Kirk leaned back against the rail and crossed his feet. "Spock and
I have been discussing it. He has enough recorded material to last
a lifetime, and the pod will be passing for a couple of months every
year down here to answer his questions. He's meditating now, but
I expect..." he paused. What did he expect? "If we do settle down
here, would you be interested in staying on as CloudDance's
Master, and our chief of staff? Think it over. If you want to go
back to Alaska, or look for another boat to crew on, well, that's up
to you."
North screwed her face up tight and made little curlicues with her
lips for a minute. "That's sudden."
"It's not for sure."
"Let me think it over, Captain. I really dislike living ashore, or I
have in the past. You're an interesting family, and I love the boys.
There's more than one side to this idea." She nodded abruptly and
stood up. "Let me know. Meanwhile, I'll think about what I want
to do."
"All I can ask for."
"No problem. See you later, Jim."
**
"It was a hellish mission, Jim." Picard lazed back in the cockpit,
spinning his drink in his hands and enjoying the feel of the wind on
his face. The CloudDance was bounding toward the Virgins, a
detour from their regular schedule allowed by Q's assistance on the
ship and the Humpbacks continued mating. "I found myself
wishing, at several points, that I was your sort of captain. This is
absolutely delightful."
"You'd think twice if you'd been onboard during hurricane
Yvonne," Kirk replied sourly. Picard's description of the
Enterprise's encounter with the past and Borg had just stirred his
discontent. "Besides, if you and Enterprise hadn't been involved
I'd likely be running from the Borg now, too."
"Mmmm." Spock came up the companionway and they exchanged
greetings before the Vulcan settled beside Kirk at the helm. "So,
you're thinking of a lifestyle change."
"I admit I do appreciate the quiet when the other scientists are not
aboard," Spock said. "We have much to discuss before a final
decision is made. Where, exactly, has Q taken the children? I
sense a general hilarity that is rare in either of their characters."
Picard smiled. "It's an amusement park on Rigel Seven,
specifically designed to make children laugh. They'll be wound up
for days."
"Great." Kirk sighed. "They're a handful most of the time. Jon,
get over here and earn your living," he called as the young man
poked his head out of the forward hatch to hand something up to
North, on deck. A minute later he relinquished the helm and
flopped onto the bench on the other side of Spock. "At least
nothing can happen to them while they're with Q."
"He has proven an excellent babysitter," Spock agreed. Demi
popped out the cockpit hatch and he fixed her with a severe look,
which she returned with an impudent grin. Their relationship was
a constant amusement to Kirk. He especially loved it when Demi
stuck out her tongue at his husband; it left Spock nonplussed and
completely without a response every time.
"I finished backing up the secondary terminal, and Raven says
lunch is ready. You want me to bring it up here?"
"Thank you, that would be acceptable."
In a few minutes they were happily engrossed in lunch: conch
salad (conch-free for Spock), rice and peas, grilled garden-egg for
Spock and grilled kingfish for the Humans. Picard, via Q, had
thoughtfully supplied a couple of cases of wine, and the
chardonnay from his personal cellar, situated somewhere in Q
virtual space, was a nice match with the light Caribbean cuisine.
Picard finished quickly, and sat back again with a smile as Demi
took his tray away. "Jim, Spock, I have something to discuss with
you. A request for services. You can say no, of course."
Kirk felt his eyebrows rising, and expected Spock's were too.
"We're listening."
"It's a bit easier to ask, seeing as you are already contemplating
changing your own lifestyle. But... Well, I've received my
retirement orders. Let me begin there." He shifted as if
uncomfortable, and glanced up at Jon on the helm. "Would it be
possible to have this conversation in private?"
"Let's go down to our quarters," Kirk replied, standing up and
setting his tray on the bench. "Though I warn you, most things on
this ship take about 5 minutes to circulate, private or not. I think
they're learning telepathy from Spock and the boys."
Picard laughed and followed him down the companionway. In a
minute more they were seated in Spock's little office, and Picard
grew serious. "I have been offered a promotion to the Admiralty
as an alternative to retiring. Q and I have discussed it. At some
time in the future, I expect that Q and I will go off to explore the
universe, but I still feel I have something to contribute to StarFleet
and the Federation as a mortal human, and I am reluctant to lose an
opportunity to do so."
"Do you mean to say, you'll turn into a Q one day?" Kirk blinked
rapidly. "That's not something I ever considered."
"Someday I will become a lot more "Q-like" than I am now. I
have no intention of dying and leaving my perfect mate alone for
the rest of eternity, nor would I ask Q to become mortal and die
with me. In the meantime, I would like to come back and live on
Earth for a decade or two and devote my energy to the Admiralty.
I am seventy years old, Jim, and it is reasonable for them to
promote or retire me. They have tried to promote me several times
before."
"So, where do we fit into this? What's this request for services?"
"I have found myself admiring your lifestyle for the last years. I
read the scientific reports from this boat, and have a clipping
service that saves all the news reports about you and the
CloudDance. Q is absolutely adamant that he will not share an
apartment with me in San Francisco. However, we both would
enjoy a life in this part of the world, and we would like your advice
on where to live ashore... and we'd like some sailing experience."
Spock sat forward and steepled his hands. "Surely Q can
encompass all of that without any Human assistance."
"Yes, he certainly could. But as long as I remain a mortal Human,
I want to learn and experience in mortal Human fashion. I refuse
to allow my partnership with an all-powerful entity to rob me of
the pleasure that my birthright entitles me to." Picard smiled. "Q
may be very powerful, but there is great power in the process of
learning and the experience of exploration, for me. I still like to
learn slowly and through experience."
"You want to live on CloudDance for a bit, and explore the
Caribbean with us while you learn to sail," Kirk summarized.
"Yes. That is precisely what I would like to do. But I'll leave it
with you to think over."
/?/ /I agree/ "There is no need for us to think about your request,
Jean-Luc. We are contracted for another two months to finish the
research on the Silver Shoals pod, and after that we are free to
explore the islands until the northward migration, if we renew. If
that is a reasonable time frame for you, we would be pleased to
have you join us for an exploration of the Lesser Antilles
Federation, where perhaps we will all find our perfect island."
"Spock speaks for both of us," Kirk added. "You'd be welcome."
"Thank you both. I find myself looking forward to it enormously."
He tugged on his shirt and rose from his seat. "A couple of months
to get my affairs in order and hand off my command, and I'm due
a leave from StarFleet before I take up my duties in the
Admiralty."
Kirk smiled and rose as well, holding out his hand to be shaken.
"Your room will be ready."
Dear fellow fen; writing a story like this one runs across a lot of stuff,
and makes many notes, and remembers many things one thought lost
in the RAM of one's brain. I thought some of you might be interested
in this stuff.
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