Sulu tilted his head noncommittally, but he was smiling. “There might just be at that, sir.”
“You’ve caught the bug, Mr. Sulu. My condolences.”
“Thank you, Captain.” The smile grew, but it was hesitant, as Sulu’s eyes went to Chekov. This was one side of command Sulu hadn’t tasted yet. But Chekov hoped it wouldn’t dissuade him when he inevitably did. He’d always thought Sulu would make a great captain.
“In fact, Sulu, I’ve been thinking,” Kirk went on. “As I’m sure you know, Starfleet gives its captains a certain latitude in the kind of command structure they choose for their ships, and I’ve always favored a fairly loose chain of command. But maybe it’s time to try something new. How would you like to be the Enterprise’s official second officer?”
“Second officer?” Sulu’s eyes grew wide.
Kirk shrugged. “It wouldn’t really be that different from your current duties, just a little more definitive. And it would free up Scotty to focus more on getting the kinks worked out of this new ship… on a permanent basis, not just for the shakedown.”
“Thank you, sir. I… think I’d like that.”
“Don’t think,” Kirk said sharply. “Know.”
After a second, Sulu nodded more firmly. “Yes, sir. I accept.”
“Good. You’ll make a fine captain someday.” He paused, then did a take. “But not on this ship. She’s mine.”
Sulu beamed. “I wouldn’t have it any other way, sir.”
Everyone clustered around to congratulate Sulu, with Uuvu’ it offering to take bets on how long it would take him to become captain of the Enterprise. Cella DiFalco in particular seemed to have gotten over her crush on Kirk, judging from the way she was looking at Sulu. Chekov drifted away, not begrudging Sulu the attention and celebration. He recognized now that he and Sulu were growing apart as they followed their own paths. They might not even remain on the same ship in years to come, he realized, especially not if Chekov continued his pursuit of the command track. Which, despite his pain and guilt at the loss of Zaand, Chekov knew that he would. Because he was too much of a cynic to think the galaxy could get by without starship captains—and too much of an idealist to resist the challenge.
* * *
Kirk gave McCoy a dirty look. “So you’re telling me that the only reason you’re staying with the Enterprise is because Natira turned you down?”
He’d invited Spock and McCoy to share a drink in his quarters, something they hadn’t done for a long time. Spock was abstaining from the drink as usual, but seemed to appreciate the company. But McCoy was fidgeting. “It’s not like that, Jim. I just didn’t want to walk out on her again. Not when things seemed to be working out.” He quirked a brow. Kirk had always been amused that his two friends both had the habit of raising a single eyebrow, but each in his own distinct way—a smooth, sustained lift for Spock, a convulsive up-and-down for McCoy. Their whole personalities summed up in one facial tic. “Actually, I guess I’m feeling a bit relieved. Bein’ married to a planetary head of state isn’t exactly my speed. You know how I hate wearin’ formal clothes.”
Spock raised his own brow now, and Kirk stifled a chuckle. “And being chief medical officer on a Starfleet vessel?” the Vulcan asked.
“I seem to be gettin’ the hang of it again,” McCoy said with a hint of smugness. “Spring Rain’s going to make a full recovery. The brain damage was limited, maybe a slight loss of memory and motor function, but”—he looked at his Saurian brandy—“no worse than drinkin’ this stuff for a few decades will do.” Kirk froze with the glass at his lips, and nonchalantly set it down as McCoy went on. “And I think I learned more from those crew physicals than I thought. Crewman Kick came in with a digestive problem this morning, and I had him fixed up in no time. And I tell you, a seven-foot-long caterpillar’s got a lot of digestive tract.” Kirk cleared his throat, grateful he’d already put his drink down.
“So what about you, Spock?” McCoy asked. “If you’re still havin’ trouble with your meditation, I’d be happy to take another look under the ol’ hood.”
“Thank you, Doctor, but I am meditating satisfactorily once again. I found many answers during my meld with Dovraku.”
McCoy stared. “Dovraku gave you answers? Don’t tell me you’re gonna start burning incense in front of the computer core.” He grunted. “Not as if you don’t already worship the blasted thing.”
“He provided only a negative example, Doctor. But it did force me to confront certain issues of my own.” Somewhat to Kirk’s surprise, Spock went on to tell them some of what he’d experienced in the meld, about Dovraku’s father and his own. The old Spock would have considered it a private matter. Hell, the old Spock would have avoided it altogether, which seemed to be the point. “I believe this is what lay at the root of my difficulties with control and meditation—my subconscious guilt and fear over how Sarek would judge my recent decisions.”
“Hell, isn’t that what I told you three weeks ago, Spock?” McCoy asked. “That you were nervous about tellin’ your father?”
“It is not the same thing at all, Dr. McCoy. You suggested that I was failing to confront the question of how to inform Sarek. I replied that I was in fact confronting that question, but had not yet reached a decision. What I now recognize is why I was unable to do so. It is a crucial distinction.”
“Hunh. You haven’t changed that much at all, Spock. You’re still too stubborn to admit it when I’m right.”
“I am still awaiting an opportunity to discover how I would react to your being right, Doctor.” Before McCoy could parse the insult fully, Spock turned to Kirk. “In any case, Captain, I would like to request a leave of absence once we return to Federation space. I… am somewhat overdue for a talk with my parents.”
Kirk nodded. “Of course. Sulu can stand in as acting first officer—it’ll be good experience for him.”
McCoy shook his head. “Parents. Fathers. It all comes down to them, doesn’t it? The things we do in life… most of the time we’re either runnin’ toward or away from our parents. Hell, if you think about it, even V’Ger was basically just tryin’ to feel a parent’s touch. Even without any emotion at all, it knew on some level that it was missing that.”
Kirk pondered the thought for a moment, then looked at Spock. “Speaking of which… have you had any further mental contact with V’Ger? Or… the Voyager?” he corrected, remembering Spock’s nickname for the evolved entity.
“None, sir. I was never entirely sure whether I was sensing the Voyager itself or merely an echo in my own mind. But I no longer have any sensation of contact at all. If it was a genuine contact, then since it occurred, the Voyager has either traveled or evolved beyond my ability to detect. And… I believe I have gotten all I needed from the contact.” At Kirk’s thoughtful look, he added, “Did you have a specific question?”
“I was just wondering… could you tell if Decker was happy?”
Spock pondered. “Insofar as he still existed as a distinct being… I believe so, Jim.”
Kirk smiled just a bit. “Somehow… I figured as much.”
“And you, Jim?” Spock asked. “Are you satisfied with your current situation?”
After a moment, Kirk replied, “I’m not sure, Spock. I no longer doubt that I did the right thing in taking the Enterprise back.” He glanced at McCoy, but the doctor didn’t challenge the statement. “But… I’m still not sure the crew feels that way. I don’t think I managed to do very much on this mission to win their confidence. You stopped Dovraku, Sulu kept the ship safe, Bones saved Spring Rain. What did I do?”
“You ordered me to research Yonada’s history and find a common ground to unite the factions—a decision which proved instrumental in resolving the crisis.”
“He’s right, Jim,” McCoy said. “Maybe it wasn’t the kind of flashy, last-minute heroism that interstellar legends are made of, but it was the right call at the right time.” The doctor tilted his head. “As for the rest… well, Jim,
you did one of the most important things any leader can do. Something Natira finally learned how to do, too.”
“What’s that?”
“You trusted your people. Gave them room to use their own judgment. And if you want to win their trust, I don’t know a better way to start.”
Kirk pondered his words, remembering what he had said to Zaand back on Yonada. “You have to give trust to get it,” he murmured. “It’s always a risk.”
“And aren’t you the one who always says risk is our business?”
“I never say that.”
McCoy glared at him. “Do you mock me, sir?”
“Never. I’m a captain, not a comedian.”
Spock raised a cutting brow, and there was a twinkle in his eye. “I am forced to agree, sir.”
Kirk laughed. After a moment, McCoy joined him. Spock contented himself with a serene smile—but that was enough.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
At the age of five and a half, Christopher L. Bennett discovered Star Trek, and it changed his life forever by introducing him to space, science, and speculative fiction. Spock became his childhood role model, which didn’t work out so well; but he came to recognize the value of emotion at about the same time Spock did in Star Trek: The Motion Picture. That personal resonance helped make TMP his favorite Trek movie, and has made Ex Machina a tale very close to his heart. The fact that it’s his first published novel doesn’t hurt either.
Christopher has made two separate passes through the University of Cincinnati, thereby putting off real life as long as possible, and earned a B.S. in physics and a B.A. with high honors in history in the process. His published works include “Aggravated Vehicular Genocide” in the November 1998 Analog; “Among the Wild Cybers of Cybele” in the December 2000 Analog; Star Trek: S. C. E. #29: Aftermath, available in eBook form; and “…Loved I Not Honor More” in the Deep Space Nine: Prophecy and Change anthology. More information and cat pictures can be found at http://home.fuse.net/ChristopherLBennett/.
The author is not the same Christopher Bennett whose father is Star Trek movie producer Harve Bennett, though he is apparently a cousin of paleontologist Chris Bennett. You can see why he uses the “L.”
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