The Valiant Taste of Death . . .

Author's note: this story was an unsuccessful entrant in Pocket Books' Strange New Worlds IV contest. "Unsuccessful" is a relative term, however, because I consider this to be some of my best writing to date. I hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it.

The first thing he heard when he awoke was a rhythmic throbbing, beating in time with his heart. It was several long moments before he realized the sound was not entirely in his head. His memory teased him: it was a sound he had heard before, but not often, not recently.

With his eyes still closed, his environment felt both alien and familiar. Too warm, too moist. He felt too light, as well. Yet part of his mind insisted that this was normal. Not normal for him, another part was equally insistent.

"How is he, Bones?" The voice was human, male, and filled with concern.

"In the short run, he'll be fine, Captain. In the long run . . . I don't know. A lot will depend on him." The second voice was likewise human, male, and possibly even more concerned than the first. The voices were, he realized, coming from the next room. Humans frequently forgot how keen his hearing really was.

"Explain." That was the Captain . . . Kirk? Yes, Captain Kirk.

"The radiation burst damaged a part of his brain, one that regulates certain hormones. The result is usually a profound effect on the emotions." The other voice must be the Doctor . . . McCoy. "We don't know much about its workings because few patients volunteer to be guinea pigs---or live long."

That made the rhythmic throbbing speed up, and flushed the last cobwebs from Thalek's brain. He must be in Sickbay . . . The result of . . . An accident? Yes, there had been a failure in the Jeffries tube; a radiation leak that must have caught him in its path. The throbbing, he realized at last, was the heart monitor built into the bio bed he occupied. He opened his eyes for the first time, confirming his guess. The lighting was set to a human's idea of "subdued."

"What about his own people? Can't they do something for him?"

McCoy sighed. "I don't know, Jim. The records are sketchy, but there seems to be some sort of social stigma attached to such cases. Andorians don't seem to deal well with depression, and have an outright contempt for suicides, except in 'honorable battle.'"

"Depression? That's what this is about?" Kirk's voice hovered on the edge of disbelief.

"Clinical depression is very serious, Captain; deadly serious, even without a whole society calling it the 'coward's death.' I suspect a lot of Andorians who died a hero's death were actually suicides who went out in a blaze of glory, rather than live with the condition. I'll have to relieve him of duty until I can be certain he isn't a danger to others."

"'Others.' Why not until he is not a danger to himself?"

"He'll always be a danger to himself. Maybe we can help him deal with it, maybe not."

"That won't help his pride any."

McCoy grunted. "I know. Andorians are just as proud as Vulcans, and a lot more prickly about it. I think I can synthesize a hormone to keep the worst of the depression at bay, but if we don't handle him just right, we could lose him anyway."

"You think it's that serious?"

McCoy's voice went lower, as if to prevent Thalek from hearing even from the next room, but not low enough. "Remember how you felt when . . . When Edith Keeler died?"

Kirk grunted, both a sound of pain and answer.

"Now imagine feeling that way all the time, without any obvious reason for it. You came pretty close to resigning after that, don't tell me you didn't. You knew you'd done what you had to do and had good reason for feeling the way you did. You knew you'd eventually . . . Well, 'get over it' isn't the right phrase, but you knew you'd be able to go on, eventually. Our young lieutenant in there isn't going to get better. Ever. If the medications don't work . . ."

The silence that followed was most eloquent.

Thalek's next few weeks were filled with tedium. Dr. McCoy's efforts to synthesize the missing hormones alternated with counseling sessions, but the rest of the Andorian's time was spent lying in Sickbay. Reading was not enough to keep a young warrior's mind engaged, and his restlessness grew. In desperation, McCoy finally authorized Thalek to work out in the gym, where Thalek spent his time happily practicing unarmed combat with anyone who was willing.

It was during one such session that the Captain volunteered himself as a sparring partner. Thalek had speed and strength on his side, against Kirk's cunning and greater experience. They were surprisingly evenly matched.

For a change, there were no watchers on the sidelines. Thalek suspected that was not merely happenstance.

"McCoy tells me you're responding well to treatment," Kirk said as he threw a punch at Thalek's jaw.

"I haven't destroyed myself yet," Thalek conceded, deflecting the punch easily and countering with a kick.

Kirk dodged the worst of it, and captured Thalek's leg. Just as Kirk began to strike Thalek's knee with an elbow, the Andorian twisted to one side, hopped up and swept Kirk's feet out from under him with the free leg.

"How are you feeling?" Kirk asked as the two rolled free of each other.

"Like dying," the Andorian admitted, looking for a new opening. The two circled warily. "I can't concentrate, I sleep too much, and nothing seems to matter any more. It's like I'm circling at the edge of a black hole's gravity well, ever on the verge of being pulled in." He feinted a punch, which failed to draw Kirk out. "It takes all of my strength just to maintain my position."

"I've felt that way, too," Kirk said, eyes turning inward for a moment. Thalek struck during the moment of introspection. Kirk reacted as if he'd never been distracted at all and threw the Andorian over his shoulder.

Thalek tucked and rolled, coming to his feet with graceful ease. "But you eventually recovered," Thalek said accusingly. "I overheard you and the doctor speaking; I'm never going to recover from this." Thalek tried the direct approach and tackled Kirk. They grappled, each seeking an advantage.

"You can fight it," Kirk panted. "You can keep at it one day at a time. Minute by minute, if you have to. You don't have to give in." Kirk threw himself on Thalek's back, momentarily pinning him.

Thalek grabbed the back of Kirk's neck and a leg and simply stood. Kirk flailed about for a moment, trying to get a purchase. "You can only fight when you can get some leverage," Thalek said. "On the battlefield, it is a kindness to put a foe or even a friend out of their agony. Why is this any different?"

Thalek gently lowered Kirk to his feet, then bowed and walked to the showers. If the Captain called after him, Thalek carefully did not hear it.

"I was going through some Earth literature today, Doctor. One quote in particular stayed with me. 'Cowards die many times before their deaths; the valiant never taste of death but once.' So, your people have the same attitude towards this malady as mine do." Thalek threw McCoy a challenging look.

"I don't think Shakespeare knew anything of clinical depression, Lieutenant."

"Do you? Know what it feels like?"

"Not really," McCoy admitted. "No one can, who hasn't gone through it themselves."

"I have to do something I've never had to do before: I have to actively decide to live. Furthermore, I have to keep making that decision over and over again. The temptation to have done with decisions is more than you can know. It's almost more than can be borne."

"You're very strong, Lieutenant. I think you have it within you to succeed. And there's something I want you to know: whether you win this fight or not, I think you're one of the bravest people I know."

"'Bravery has no place where it can avail nothing.'" There was more sadness than irony in Thalek's voice.

"I refuse to swap quotations with a man who's just spent the whole day in the ship's library," McCoy said gruffly. "In fact, I'm kicking you out of my Sickbay. I've certified you fit for duty, effective tomorrow morning. Go on back to your quarters; you'll sleep better there anyway."

Thalek hid his surprise well, if not well enough to fool McCoy.

"My thanks, Doctor."

"Don't thank me; I need the bed for patients who are really sick."

Thalek could not resist an ironic look around the empty Sickbay before departing. McCoy chuckled and made shooing motions with his hands.

After the Andorian had left, McCoy got on the intercom to Kirk. "Jim, why don't you come down to Sickbay and listen to me blow off some steam?"

"I'm on my way."

Kirk walked in just minutes later. "It's pretty rare when you want to cry on my shoulder, Bones. Usually, you think it should be the other way around," Kirk said with a smile.

"I let Thalek go back on duty, but that's not what I'm worked up about."

"Oh, no? What, then?"

"I've tried contacting the medical authorities on his homeworld, and today's call was the last straw. I never saw a more smug, self-righteous group than this bunch! Vulcans at their worst are better!"

Kirk raised an eyebrow in ironic inquiry.

"They weren't interested in discussing the problem, going over my results, or even finding a treatment! One of them came right out and said that if I just left Thalek alone with a sharp knife, the problem would take care of itself! She also said it would be a kindness if I lied on the death certificate. 'Spare his clan the shame,' she said." McCoy looked like he wanted to spit.

"Andorians aren't exactly famous for their compassion, Bones. You know that."

"I didn't know it extended to their doctors, too. Damn it, Jim, they're acting like I'm talking dirty in church and it was somehow Thalek's fault. He didn't ask for what happened to him, but they're suggesting we just let nature take its course."

"I understand what you're saying, Bones, but what if that's the right thing to do? We are talking a different culture here."

McCoy stared at Kirk, his mouth hanging open. Kirk plowed on.

"If he was terminally ill, in constant pain, and if that's what he wanted, you'd ease his passing, wouldn't you? You'd leave no stone unturned, looking for alternatives, but if that was the last out, you'd do it."

"It's not the same, Jim, and you know it! He can live out a normal span, and he's not impaired or in physical pain."

Kirk broke in. "Physical pain. You yourself said he was in constant mental agony, and you know that it does impair his ability to lead a normal life. Problems with concentration, memory, sometimes even the ability to follow through on the simplest of tasks. That's not even talking about the side-effects of the medications he's on."

"I never thought I'd see the day when you of all people would suggest a man should just curl up and die!"

"And you're not seeing it now, either. Bones, all I'm saying is that maybe we don't have the right to make this decision for him."

"Jim, his judgment is impaired; he's not qualified to make life and death decisions."

"You just certified him fit for duty, Doctor! Either he's qualified to make life and death decisions like any other crewmember in an emergency, or he's not, in which case he's not fit for duty. Which is it, Doctor? As his commanding officer, I need to know."

McCoy stood his ground. "I have certified him fit for temporary duty, but I am also entering a recommendation that he be considered for medical retirement. It is my professional opinion that he is no longer capable of weathering the long-term stresses involved in a Starfleet career."

"That's not good enough, Doctor! You know as well as I do that the shame will kill him just as if we'd pulled the trigger ourselves."

"It's the best I can do, Captain! One day, he'll either take it into his head to go out quietly, or he'll seek what he considers an 'honorable death.' Are you willing to bet the lives of your crew that he can find a death that doesn't take some of them along for the ride? I'm not. I've got several choices, and not one of them is any good!"

"I'm sorry, Bones. Sometimes I forget that starship captains aren't the only ones forced to play god now and then." Kirk laid a sympathetic hand on his friend's shoulder.

Thalek returned to his quarters for the first time in several weeks, and promptly went to his dresser. Perhaps they hadn't thought to search his quarters, or perhaps they had decided to trust him, but they had not confiscated his "anger blade."

Like any Andorian over the age of eight, Thalek carried at least one knife whose sole purpose was to act as a meditation aid, especially in times of stress or anger. It was this knife that he now took from its place in his top dresser drawer.

Thalek removed the blade from its sheath, and got out the coarser of two hones, and putting the blade at a very shallow angle against the hone, began sharpening the knife.

He had heard how some humans used a candle's flame as a focus while meditating, and thought it a waste of time. What was there about a flame that would hold the mind against distractions? A sound, a movement caught at the corner of the eye, and suddenly you were no longer looking at the flame, your concentration broken.

Honing a blade, on the other hand, focussed the mind without binding the intellect, as meditation ought to function. And failure to ignore distractions while honing tended to provide its own punishment in short order.

As he worked, his mind ranged widely, considering the question Hamlet had put so succinctly, "to be, or not to be." He looked at it from as many angles as possible, painfully aware that his judgement was now skewed, that some viewpoints were harder, or even impossible to entertain now. In this new mental landscape, the pain of his depression loomed large. His self-worth was diminished, and the joys of living seemed small and mostly in the past.

Periodically, he would test the side of the blade opposite of the hone, feeling delicately for the small burr that would form as the metal grew thin enough to curl away from the hone. When the burr ran from tip to hilt, he reversed the blade and began the process anew on the other side of the blade.

The future, as he saw it, was bleak. No longer could he see the days of his life stretching into the years, but rather, he could see only a few weeks before they disappeared into a black fog. And always, on each and every day, was the fear of bringing shame on the name of his father and of clan Thalek. Gone was the joy of meeting new challenges head on, and defeating them as a warrior ought.

When the second burr had formed, he got out a finer hone, and alternated strokes on either side of the blade, with the angle between hone and blade now increased to approximately 23 degrees. He used scarcely more pressure than the weight of the blade itself, so as to avoid distorting the edge, now only a few molecules wide.

Dr. McCoy had told him that the damage was permanent, that Thalek could look forward to being on medications for the rest of his life. Thalek already knew from his own experience that there would be times when the medications were not enough. At such times, life itself became a nearly intolerable burden, an agony that his mind shied away from remembering too clearly, lest he sink into it anew.

After he counted to forty, twenty strokes on either side, he tested the edge. Not satisfied, he gave it another thirty alternating strokes, frowning in concentration. He tested the edge again, and grunted in satisfaction. Had he needed to shave, as a human does, his knife was now sharp enough for the task.

He studied the blade, a beautiful pattern of light and dark lines where the steel had been folded and folded yet again, much like Damascus steel. This finely crafted weapon was the equal of any task he might set it; any task at all.

His hands began to tremble, so hard that he actually dropped the knife on the table top. With an effort of will, he picked up the blade again, and setting it at a 90 degree angle on the coarse hone, he drew it hard across the surface. Three, four, six times he forced it across the hone's surface, destroying the keen edge he had just created, then let the knife fall again to the table's surface.

He sat, trembling, staring at the blade for a long time before he made himself sheathe it and put it and the hones away once more.

"Yellow alert! Yellow alert crews to battle stations!"

Even if the voice had not shocked Thalek awake, the alarm siren and flashing lights would have. He dressed in haste and went to this month's battle station, near the portside phaser control room. He was part of a damage control team, and they universally hated the phaser control room. On newer ships, it was an automated, unmanned area. Until she received the refit, the Enterprise's phasers would still be controlled by men and women who risked their lives in this nexus of control circuitry and coolant pumps. Only a few months before Thalek had come aboard, the ship's Executive Officer, Mr. Spock, had rescued a man from a phaser coolant leak in the starboard control room. Spock had not been able to save everyone.

"Red alert! All hands to battle stations!"

Now the remaining third of the crew was called to action as well. There was a shift in the sound of the engines, and Thalek could hear the phasers, previously brought to operating temperatures, charging up to battle readiness. Lighting shifted and flickered as non-essential systems were shut down and rarely used but well-maintained combat systems were powered up and made ready.

Without further warning, the deadly dance began. Only the bridge crew truly knew what was happening now, and everyone else waited tensely, hoping for action to relieve the tension, and hoping harder still that they would not be needed.

It had happened before: a bluff called, a few shots exchanged, and then sanity prevailed and the enemy retreated or surrendered rather than fight to the death.

Thalek felt the impact on the shields and heard the phaser's response. The dance continued for long minutes with no real difference. Then a hit leaked through weakened shields, and the first of the damage control parties sprang into action. Another leak, and Thalek's team was summoned to their own form of battle.

Later, perhaps hours, perhaps only minutes, the shield protecting his portion of the ship failed, and a direct hit was scored on the hull. Thalek's team and another worked frantically to seal the hull breach, aided by automated systems. Another, weaker hit, and part of Thalek's team was diverted with him back to the hated phaser control room.

Born under a dimmer, redder sun, Thalek's eyes adjusted the most quickly, and he spotted the bodies first, amidst the clouds of phaser coolant. One stirred, a midshipman who had reached his respirator in time, looked around wild-eyed, and ran for the door. One of the two with Thalek snatched at the student officer's arm and missed; both cursed him roundly as they turned to the damage and the wounded. If any of them got out of this alive to report him, that midshipman would not be graduating from the Academy.

Even as he fitted an unconscious man with a respirator, Thalek surveyed the damage. The phaser was still tracking its target, the 'Fire!' annunciator flashing wildly, but there was coolant leaking from three places. If the phaser were fired now, superheated coolant would fill the room like standing inside a flashtube when it discharged.

One of Thalek's people had removed her respirator and was "buddy-breathing" with a fallen crew member, their own respirator a melted mass that dripped from the wall where it had hung. She dragged the downed crew member out of the door, which now had to be opened manually to prevent further spread of the toxic coolant vapor. Her companion was dragging the remaining crew member out, although from the burns Thalek could see, it wasn't likely the injured woman would survive long.

Thalek himself was trying to rig a bypass so the phaser's charge could be fired safely. The safety of the ship might rest upon that shot, for all anyone down here could know. When his teammates had both stepped beyond the door, he threw the manual override that sealed them out, and himself in.

Breathing shallowly through his respirator, he ignored the pounding on the door behind him. For once, the Andorian ability to see farther into the infrared than humans was hampering him, for the coolant vapor was hot, and the very air about him seemed to glow, obscuring important details.

"Today is a good day to die," his father had once said, not knowing he echoed Earth's Native American warriors. Thalek's hand hovered over the phaser fire controls, the annunciator still flashing, still demanding. "I suspect a lot of Andorians who died a hero's death were actually suicides who went out in a blaze of glory, rather than live with the condition," McCoy's voice echoed in his mind.

"The greatest good for the greatest number," another voice suggested. "No one ever won a war by dying for his country; he won by making some other bastard die for his country," Patton countered.

"Courage is doing that which you are afraid of doing," an Andorian philosopher, among others, had noted. It was, Thalek thought, not much help to someone who was as afraid of living as he was of dying.

Thalek looked around in the glowing fog a moment. He had already ascertained that there was no way to bypass the coolant leaks. The alternatives were to fire the phaser, and die, or to shut down the coolant system, and the safeties would automatically prevent the phaser from being fired. The ship rocked under another titanic blow. "You need to get on with it," he muttered to himself. The heat was dizzying; if he did not leave soon, it would cook him alive.

He pulled off a panel and did things to the circuitry it was not designed to do. A portion flared and smoked, and certain lights went red. He shut down the coolant pumps, and closed the valves, and noted as he did that certain lights stayed lit, even as the toxic fumes ceased to pour from the damaged pipes. He nodded in satisfaction.

He hit a control, which caused a loud bang to sound overhead, then dove under the fire control panel. "Old age is not for sissies," a voice primly informed him as he reached up and hit the 'Fire' button. The phaser, still faithfully locked to its target, went off with a roar, and the world went black.

There was a rhythmic thumping that sounded familiar. As well it should, he realized after a moment, for it was the heart monitor on a diagnostic bed. He was back in Sickbay. He had, he found, mixed emotions on the subject, for it meant that he was still alive, and likely to stay that way for a while yet. On the other hand, that had been the plan . . .

This time, he could hear that he was not alone, for there were casualties from the recently concluded fight. The fight, he realized, that they must have won, for he was in a Federation starship's Sickbay, and not in an enemy's brig.

"I see you're still alive," McCoy announced, startling Thalek out of his reverie. "That could be temporary, depending on who gets their hands on you first," McCoy added with a chuckle.

"Oh?" It was the best he could muster.

"Well, your damage control team wants to throttle you for locking them out and nearly baking yourself alive before they could break open the door, the Captain is thinking of giving you a commendation for bravery and quick thinking under pressure, and Scotty either wants to break your neck or shake your hand. He hasn't made his mind up yet."

"Break my neck?" Thalek was muzzy and decided to concentrate on one problem at a time.

"He says that venting the coolant to vacuum just as you fired kept the phaser from outright exploding, and he reluctantly admits that the shot came at a good time. On the other hand, the phaser melted down completely, and it's going to take a month of solid work to replace it. Work he's going to assign you to help on, you being the proximate cause and all."

"Oh."

"I have questions of my own, Lieutenant, and while you're my captive audience, I'm going to get some answers. Why did you lock that door, for starters?"

"I was going to fire the phaser, and I did not want the others to die with me."

"Scotty tells me you weren't in much danger; you'd already sealed off the coolant pipes."

"I was not going to fire it with the coolant pipes sealed; with the pipes still leaking, it would have been like standing in the impulse engines when they fired up."

McCoy's face stilled into what he referred to as "his poker face." "What made you change your mind?"

"Some of it was things I had recently read, but mostly it was something you had said. You said that you thought many of our heroes might have died gloriously as the ultimate way of hiding their cowardice. You also said that you felt that I was brave, whether I won the fight or not. It made me realize that living, not dying, is the true test of our courage."

McCoy nodded slowly. "It takes a brave person to summon up the courage to face death once; how much braver, then is the person who must face it every day for the rest of their lives?"

Thalek nodded back. "There may yet come a day when my courage fails me, but there will be a thousand fights I've won before then. How many warriors may boast of a thousand wins before they die?"

Star Trek® is a registered property of Paramount Pictures, and all rights remain vested in Paramount Picures. No violation of Paramount's copyright, trademark, or licensing is intended.

All characters created by John A. Whiting are my sole property. Any resemblance to persons living or dead is possible, if I've created my characters well enough.

Revised -- Stardate 200012.23

Send any comments or suggestions to thalek@keyway.net