Star Trek
Light as Love, Dark as Death
by Robert J. Roberts
(rroberts@cityofhornell.com)

Light as Love, Dark as Death

“I will love the light for it shows me the way
yet I will endure the darkness because it shows me the stars.”
Og Mandino

KAREN ANGAVU IS in agony.

Every instant is an epoch of pain, an age of anguish. She can see no end to it, as she lies there in her bed and sobs. Her heart is in pieces and it seems Karen Angavu will never be whole again.

She is wrong, of course.

The gasping sobs slowly expire. A few moments more, and Karen Angavu is on her feet, drying her eyes. She reaches for the little jar of compound from Elas that, upon application, hides the telltale signs of distress. She gently smoothes the cream along the flawless mocha-colored skin above and below her eyes and, in the mirror, watches as first the puffiness disappears, then her red eyes. The compound is miraculous; all of her female friends aboard the Enterprise use it as needed, and more than a few men, too. Nobody wants to be as inexpressive as Mister Spock, but neither is anyone comfortable serving alongside an emotional wreck.

A tug on the beige tunic here, a smoothing of the fabric there, and Yeoman Karen Angavu is ready to report for duty. She will be as crisp and efficient as ever. None of her colleagues in Operations will detect her emotional trauma. They will not be able to tell that Yeoman Angavu’s tumultuous relationship with Lieutenant Connors Leslie is dead, with no chance of resurrection.

She leaves her room with her head up tries her best to look as though she is self-assured.

IT IS KIRK’S fault, in an off-hand way. Connors Leslie is such an ardent admirer of James T. Kirk that during her on-again, off-again relationship with Leslie, Karen Angavu often felt she was part of a bizarre love triangle.

It is because of Kirk, and Leslie’s desire to emulate him, that Leslie has bounced from Operations to Science to Security. “If I’m going to be a great captain,” Connors told Karen early in their affair, “I have to know every job on the ship.” His recent promotion to lieutenant has only intensified his idolization of Kirk, Karen thinks.

With Connors’ eyes so firmly fixed on the captain’s chair, Karen felt invisible.

It has been a week since their final, explosive fight. Since then, she has scrupulously avoided the bar and rec room where Connors hangs out with friends like Brent and Hadley. Connors, in turn, shuns Karen’s favorite places on the ship. Neither wants to see the other.

Yet, Karen Angavu, as a communications officer, must work in close proximity with Kirk. Such familiarity breeds a mounting contempt in Karen. Almost everything Kirk does – from the slightest lift of his eyebrows to his swaggering entrance into the bridge – disgusts Karen. She considers Kirk the most arrogant of asses. Especially aggravating is his cocksure flirting with anything in a skirt; Angavu bristles when she recalls how Leslie once expressed admiration for Kirk’s prodigious philandering.

Her sentiments are hidden. On the bridge, Yeoman Angavu deftly handles incoming and outgoing communication with no sign of the animosity she bears toward the captain. Even with her closest friends, with tongue loosened by Draylaxian whiskey, she does not betray the depth of her loathing for Kirk (although she has no qualms about describing Connors Leslie in abhorrent terms). Most of Karen’s friends, male and female alike, have high regard for Captain Kirk; some of the girls have even stronger feelings.

Last night, Doris Atkins – a fellow yeoman and close friend – said something that upset Angavu. “Karen,” Doris said with a casual flip of her long blonde hair, “I think you’re fighting your attraction to Captain Jimmy.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” asked Karen.

“You and Kirk. I can see it happening.”

“That’s not funny, Doris.”

“Regardless, it’s true.”

“It’s not. Why anyone would want Kirk’s fifteen minutes of passion is beyond me.”

Doris Atkins wisely let the subject drop. A day later, her point still nettles Karen Angavu.

THE JUNIOR OFFICERS and crew of the Enterprise have a saying: “There isn’t an unknown body that Kirk won’t visit.” Most interpret it strictly as a dirty jest, but some argue the axiom truly reflects Kirk’s urge to explore strange new worlds. Bitter Karen Angavu thinks it actually portrays Kirk’s burning vainglory to be the 23rd-century Columbus.

The Class D planetoid looms on the main viewscreen, ugly and alone, and the Enterprise’s data banks contain nothing about it. Cautious Federation starship captains might do only cursory scans of the satellite, record its position, and make plans for a follow-up visit.

Not Kirk. He immediately organizes a landing party, under his leadership. Kirk barks out the names of those he wants to join him: Lieutenant D’Amato, a geologist; Lieutenant Bama, an astrophysicist; crewmen Fields and Grant; and – staring directly at her – Yeoman Angavu. Karen slides out her chair without comment and makes her way to the transporter.

Why me? she wonders.

Spock confirms the planetoid’s surface lacks breathable air, so the party dons silver EV suits that shimmer even before the transporter’s Heisenberg compensators dematerializes them into twinkling quantum.

Karen fights the nausea that follows reassembling on the planetoid surface. Repeated trips through a transporter are part of Starfleet training, but Angavu has never grown accustomed to the queasy after-effects.

Kirk, of course, is a rock. He handles teleportation as easily as other people wash their hands. Kirk stands atop a small rise in the dusty surface – the only one of us who doesn’t look asinine in an EV suit, Karen thinks – and he surveys the barren, lifeless vista. There is nothing but sand, ridges, impact craters, and a few boulders. Everything glows a dull reddish-orange under the planetoid’s type 3 sun. There is no wind.

D’Amato and Bama immediately flip open their tricorders and take readings, while Fields and Grant have their phasers ready. Kirk, meanwhile, sprints ahead, cresting one dune and then another before the others can catch up.

The five of them patrol for a considerable length of time. Bama and D’Amato, chattering together like squirrels, peg the planetoid’s age at six billion years. No signs of life at all, they insist.

The wry tone in Kirk’s voice comes across clearly in Angavu’s earpiece: “You know,” he says, “it’s always at the point where you guys insist that no lifeforms are present that I end up getting my ass kicked.”

The other men chuckle. Even Karen has to admit Kirk has a good sense of humor.

“Be that as it may, Captain, I’m pretty confident in labeling this as a dead world,” Bama says.

“Perhaps we may find something interesting if we fan out just a little,” Kirk says.

Great idea, Angavu thinks. I need a break from these guys. A cluster of large boulders dots a distant horizon. “Captain,” Karen says, “I’m going to check out that formation.”

Kirk turns and looks directly at her. Karen thinks she sees concern in his face underneath the visor. “I want Grant to go with you,” he says.

I don’t want your help and I don’t want you, Karen thinks savagely.

But she maintains her composure and instead says, in as light a tone as she can manage, “I’ll be fine, Captain. I’ll keep in touch.”

Kirk jabs a gloved finger at her. “No risks, Yeoman. Keep your eyes open and wait for backup at the first hint of trouble. I mean it.”

“Aye, Captain,” Angavu says. She spins and bounces away in the light gravity of the dead world.

THE BOULDERS ARE the detritus of a long-ago celestial detonation. Some were widely scattered, but several of them landed on top of, and next to, one another, thus forming a crevice barely large enough for a person to enter. That is exactly what Yeoman Karen Angavu intends to do.

She does not like this assignment. She does not like being with Kirk on this unwanted world, not while she is reeling from the most devastating relationship she has ever known. Karen Angavu would rather be back on the ship working, or drinking, or crying, or laughing, or running into Connors Leslie in a corridor, or just about anything other than traipsing across a hellishly hot satellite.

She peers inside the crevice, and then shines a light into its inky darkness. She sees nothing. Karen gets on her knees and crawls through the coarse sand. Once through the crevice, she finds there is room enough only to turn around and sit on her haunches.

Well, she thinks, this is cozy.

She is comfortable in the cramped, dark space. It feels good to be out of the sun and its fuzzy orange glow. It feels good to be away from Jim Kirk and his Boys Club.

So this is where life has taken me, Angavu thinks. A broken-hearted explorer who hides in the rocks.

She analyzes that thought and decides it is pitiful. Karen wants no one’s pity, least of all her own. She resolves to pull herself through the emotional wreckage of Connors Leslie and to emerge a stronger woman.

“Yeoman Angavu?” Kirk’s voice crackles in her ear. It startles Karen.

“Yes, sir?”

“Your location and status, please.”

Karen turns on a light to read her coordinates and report them to Kirk. “I’m checking out a fissure in a rock formation. Nothing to report here,” she says crisply.

“Understood,” Kirk responds. “Please rejoin us.”

“Aye, Captain.”

Karen snaps shut the communicator and gets on all fours. She will have to be in this undignified position to back out of the small space. Just then, she sees a flash of light against the far wall. Angavu checks her suit light; it is off. The light streaks again. Karen is aware that she is holding her breath and her heart is pounding.

The light is still, no longer streaking to either side of the crevice’s interior. Angavu gets a good, long look at it. It is shaped like a small ball and looks three-dimensional. It is white with a bright gold perimeter. It is about an arm’s length directly in front of Karen’s visor, and she has the strong sensation that this orb of light is studying her.

Karen extends a hand. The light moves away, but only slightly. Then it advances slowly until it hovers around her hand. The light flutters over the outstretched arm, and then circles her head, finally pausing in front of her visor.

It’s beautiful, Karen Angavu thinks.

She gets off her knees and sits again on the sandy floor of the tight crevice. She holds out both hands, arms slightly bent, like a child in supplication. The light bounces from one hand to another before slowly circling her body and her head playfully.

It’s intelligent, Karen realizes. It’s like a pet.

The EV suit prevents the light-ball from alighting directly on her skin, but even through the protective fabric, Karen experiences a surge of euphoria. The little ball of light is making her feel wonderful.

This is unbelievable, Karen thinks. She is in a happy daze.

The light zips down her arm and back to the cradle of her palm.

You’re my Dancer, Karen says to the light. That’s what I’m naming you.

Suddenly, spheres of light flow in from nowhere. There are dozens of them in all sizes, ranging from tinier than Dancer to nearly twice the size of Karen’s head. The variety of their colors is dazzling; every hue imaginable is represented.

The armada of glowing orbs surrounds Dancer, who bobs excitedly. The biggest of the lights – a white one with an aquamarine rim – advances on her until she can see nothing else, and then it zips down the length of her body. It returns up her body, slowly this time, and circles her chest several times. Karen has the distinct impression that she is being caressed.

I’ll call you Big Boy, Karen thinks.

Big Boy twinkles. Dancer continues to eagerly hop. All of the lights surge around her. Faster and faster, they circle, until their colors blend into an undulating rainbow. The thick wave of light comes closer and closer, until it is on her suit and riding over it at unimaginable speed. The non-corporeal creatures send her a message that penetrates the environmental suit, through her skin, and into her brain. The lights tell her the story of their existence. Karen detects not only the intelligence of the lights, but also their profound joy. They have a purity of love that is light-years beyond what she knew with Connors Leslie. Karen feels herself melting into the ocean of colored light. She is a child again. She is carefree. She is a feather floating on a warm breeze. It is so overwhelming …

“Yeoman Angavu!”

It is Kirk’s voice, snapping through her earpiece.

Karen finds it difficult to speak. Her tongue feels thick and heavy.

“Yeoman, do you read me?”

Angavu forces herself to respond: “Aye, Captain.”

“Where are you? Are you in trouble?” Kirk asks. His voice is agitated.

“The lights. The lights.”

“Yeoman?”

“The lights. So beautiful.”

A pause, then Kirk shouts, “Don’t move, Yeoman! We’ll be right there!”

Karen Angavu no longer hears and no longer cares. The lights, now separated again into dozens of balls, have located where her helmet threads into the body of the EV suit. The seam is airtight and yet the lights are squeezing through it. They are inside her helmet now, flooding it with their color. Their warmth and love melt on her skin, and Karen Angavu slips away in bliss.

KIRK AND THE other four men find the immobile body of Yeoman Karen Angavu on the floor of an unbearably small crevice. Grant reaches in to clutch an arm while Fields grabs another, and together they drag her out. Karen’s eyes are wide open. Kirk sees no sign of stress or anxiety on her face. Bama has a medical tricorder out.

“She’s gone, Captain,” Bama says.

“Damn,” murmurs Kirk.

KIRK, FIRST OFFICER Spock, and Doctor Leonard McCoy are holding a conference in the chief medical office. The mood is glum.

“Something happened to the seal on her suit, Jim,” McCoy says. “Air leaked out slowly but surely.”

“And the lights that she was talking about?” asks Kirk.

“A common hallucination of the oxygen-deprived,” McCoy says.

Kirk turns to Spock. “How can a seal be blown? Don’t we check those suits?”

“Indeed, Captain,” Spock says as an eyebrow arches. “The suits are checked routinely, both manually and electronically. Even in Yeoman Angavu’s case, the breach we detected in the helmet-suit seal is infinitesimal. Quite frankly, it is difficult to believe enough air could leak out of there to cause death.”

McCoy gestures an arm out to the sheet-draped body in the adjoining infirmary. “Would you like to examine her, your majesty?” McCoy sneers.

“I respect your diagnosis, Doctor,” Spock says.

Kirk ignores their bantering. He is weary at the thought of bidding adieu to yet another person under his command. Too many have died since this mission began, and each succeeding loss is worse than the one before. It shook Kirk to his core to comfort the hysterical Lieutenant Leslie upon informing him of Karen Angavu’s death on the unnamed planetoid.

KAREN ANGAVU FLICKERS and flutters. Dancer is at her side. Big Boy is with her, too. Millions and millions of lights are with her in this flowing harmony. In their unspoken language, the endless motion is called The Stream – a communal river of love and elation and worship.

No coaxing from Dancer and Big Boy and the others was needed for Karen to shed her containment suit of flesh, thus freeing her inner light. All they had to do was tell her how it was done.

Why did you choose me? Karen asked The Stream.

Your pain was a beacon, Dancer replied.

The Stream swirls across the planetoid. Now that she is a being of pure light, Karen observes differently: What she thought was a bare, lifeless plain of sand and craters actually is a globe bubbling with soaring lights and prisms and lenses and reflective surfaces … all imperceptible to the limited human eye.

There is no strife here. There is no suffering. There are no broken hearts.

Thank you, Jim Kirk, for bringing me here, she thinks.

The being that was Karen Angavu is in ecstasy.