The sequel to Price of the Phoenix is both better and worse than the original: better because anything would almost have to be better than it simply by not being it, worse because this is longer and attempts to double down on what made the first so horrible as a reading and would-be Star Trek experience. Better, in that at times it almost stumbles into an actual plot, a story in which characters perform actions, events occur, and things happen. Worse, in that the plot quickly devolves into more of the same: longing looks, poignant unspoken yearnings, meaningful glances, among more characters than before.
Now we know what is worse than inside jokes broadcasted to an unknowing public and all the embarrassments and awkwardnesses thereunto: inside fantasies broadcasted to an etc. etc. etc. For that's what this is, Sondra and Myrna's inside fantasy, chapter-like thing after chapter-like thing, glance after glance, soul-searing reflection after soul-searing reflection, near-verbatim conversation rehash after near-verbatim conversation rehash, again and again and again. And again.
In one sense, we (Star Trek fans) owe S & M a great debt: as mindboggling as it may be to think it, there actually was a time in human history in which these two were effectively in charge of the Star Trek universe. They were the ones keeping it alive, keeping it before the public, trying to expand it while the actors and NASA were more or less using it as window dressing and funding props (I say this with no animus or regret - it's not like anyone or anything else were giving DeForrest, Nichelle, or James much of anything else to do, professionally, by the mid-'70s). S & M, in a world of typewriter manuscripts and air mail postage stamp conference invitations, were fighting the good fight that Ms. Trimble fought before them, single-now-double-handedly reminding the nation, yea, the world that Star Trek is not just an optimistic science fiction show on a shoestring budget, it was (and is) an Idea - a great idea, of humanity reaching not just for what might be out there but for what could be in us, our potential not just to ignore or put side ancillary, external differences, but to embrace them as ways of unity, community, and assets to make us all better together at being human and, dare I say, loving our neighbor as ourself.
But this book isn't any of that, really. It's a painful series of glances, unspoken eroticisms, and rehashed conversations for over two hundred pages, in which the same characters, joined by a couple more, keep running into each other and their clones, in a vortex of plotless pseudo-emotion and yearnings. Worst, just when it seems like it might actually end, the epilogue says, "but wait, there could be more..." and nothing that any of the characters and we (the readers) went through for over two hundred pages that seem so much longer than even 700-some Thackery pages (and boy, those are long pages) really matters. Not in the sense of "it's an imaginary SF book" not mattering - we know it's ST, and it could matter either by being good ST or just a fun SF story. No, it doesn't matter because S & M, unwilling at the last moment to truly bring their inside fantasies that have transgressed the boundaries into public experience to an actual, meaningful narrative conclusion, instead hit the reset button and leave the door open for more, a non-ending ending of the worst kind.
Perhaps we should be grateful to Pocket Books not only for continuing the world of ST in literary form (I know, I know, they're not all bangers) but also saving S & M from themselves, saying "no more" to this version (these versionsl of Kirk, Spock, and the Romulans.
I was thinking of skipping over the first two dozen or so Pocket Books adventures that I've read a couple times already in my life, but now that I have reflected (too much) on S & M's '70s ST journey, it may be worthwhile to read them again, from a renewed appreciation of their efforts to keep ST alive in as deep a valley of a time as the '70s, and experience anew what they can do (yes, did, 40-some years ago) in the ST universe without the burden of being its lifesupport as well as its ardent, perhaps most zealous if not most genuine (though maybe that, too) fans.