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SCATTERED STARS II - Kay Wells

James Kirk, on the other hand, had a dozen reasons for his nervousness. At twenty-four, he was the youngest human ever in a senior class. Not even waiting one extra day, he had taken the entrance exam on his twenty-first birthday. And passed with the highest score ever obtained by a human. Then he proceeded to astound the Academy staff by completing the requirements in the same three years as Vulcans, rather than the four it had taken his human predecessors.

SUMMER VACATION - Karla Kelly

I once spent a summer on Earth as an exchange student, on a farm in Iowa with a family named Kirk. The father was a security director of a starbase, the mother a biologist. There were two children, Sam, away at college, and Jim, sixteen years old. Jim had a passion for space, an ambition to become a starship captain.

CAPTIVES - Gena Moretti

Vulcan's foremost ambassador arose from his meditation quite surprised to find he was still reluctant. I presume this is a weakness common to all parents, but I had thought to have more control.

THE MASTER OF TO'K'NEE - Susan Peacock

It was hot. The dry, airless hot of Vulcan in summer. Even at midnight, the air seemed to be a physical being, closing around the human like a coarse, woolen blanket, shutting out the sky and any coolness that might have escaped the scorching heat of the day. He was lost.

THE TAMER - Sarah B. Leonard

An unexpected sight met Kirk's eyes as he cantered into the yard of his ranch. The strangers themselves were quite unusual. A small dark woman, her chocolate skin set off with gold jewelry, her dark hair piled in intricate design, sat atop a delicate dapple gray mare. The second was an Oriental, small, wiry, and adorned with a multitude of knives. Impressive as these riders appeared, they paled under the strength of the third.

FALLEN STAR - A. T. Bush

The starship lurched sickeningly, powerful engines brought to emergency stop. Momentum propelled the cruiser on through the vast reaches of stardust. The far-flung solar systems spinning lazily were unmindful of the imminent disaster in their midst. Alarms wailed and were quickly muted, anxious crew scurried through the red-lit corridors or hovered over already dead monitors. When the final damage briefing concluded, the captain exchanged a meaningful look with the navigator and left the bridge to inform his single passenger of their doomed situation. And the baby, with the elegant ears, cried.

POETRY by Sue Cameron, Rachel Cavendish, Lillian Dwan, Karla Kelly, Michelle Perry, H.R. Radei, Kay Wells

COVERS by The Southern Cross.

ART by Dragon, Chris Soto, Kay Wells, Shellie Whild

September 1990