Behind him a castle rose from a misty plain, its walls made from heavy gray stones. Mounted knights rode across a lowered drawbridge; Kirk thought he recognized Bones at the front of the pack, Romer behind him, then Spock and the rest of the landing party. A jolt and he was alone, floating in the void of deep space, only it was a negative version. The emptiness was pure dazzling white, the visible stars and planets black spots burning through the white. A jolt and he was on a windswept landscape that could only be the surface of Vulcan: sheer cliffs in the middle distance with what might have been the constructs of Vulcan hands atop them, vast unbroken plains of ruddy stone, an orange-red sky above. A jolt and he was back on the bridge of the Enterprise. But it was different, bigger, with dozens more display screens lining the walls. He didn’t recognize most of the bridge crew, or the uniforms they wore—belted red coats with white detailing, black pants and boots. Those he did know, Chekov and Spock and Uhura and Sulu, were older than the versions he served with.
