The Higher Frontier

by Christopher L. Bennett

  Thus, while Kirk was still determined to retain a starship command, he had accepted that it did not have to be with this crew, or even aboard this ship. Thirteen years ago, when he had been transferred to the Enterprise from the Sacagawea, he had been sure that he would never find a ship he loved as dearly as that stalwart little scout. But he had discovered an even deeper love for the Enterprise, and if that had happened once, maybe it could happen again with yet another ship. Or maybe he would simply command some other ship on a short-term mission, then return to the Enterprise when she was deemed ready for her next tour. But the rest of the crew deserved their chance to move on.

  As the Enterprise sailed through the Spacedock doors at last, Kirk rose from the command chair, and Spock and McCoy moved into their accustomed places at his side. “As if you’ve always been there, and always will,” a cherished voice said in his memory. He smiled at them both, and met the eyes of the rest of the bridge crew in turn.

  “My friends … welcome home. And thank you all for your service.”

  McCoy took a deep, satisfied breath. “Home at last. We could all certainly use the rest.” He then turned a wary eye on Kirk. “Just promise me that this time you’ve learned your lesson. That we’ll be back out here in a few months, once the engineers have gotten their fill.”

  “Don’t worry, Bones,” Kirk assured him. “This time, things will be different.”

  Starfleet Headquarters, San Francisco

  “The Academy?” Kirk stared at Harry Morrow across the latter’s desk, stunned by the admiral’s words. “Nogura wants me to be the commandant?”

  “I know it’s not what you hoped for, Jim,” Morrow said with a shrug. Behind him, the Golden Gate Bridge slowly emerged into view as the sun burned the morning fog away. “But Charlie Plaine’s sudden retirement was unexpected. The Narumiya Science Institute on Aldebaran III needed a new director, and he couldn’t pass up the opportunity to run his alma mater, to repay them for all they gave him.”

  Kirk nodded. “I can understand that.”

  “I’m glad to hear that, because you’re basically getting the same opportunity. Along with a promotion back to admiral, now that Charlie won’t be using his bars anymore.” Morrow’s fingers idly brushed the rank pin on the shoulder strap of his maroon uniform tunic. Kirk wondered why Starfleet’s quartermaster corps could never seem to stick with a uniform design for longer than a single five-year duty tour. He kept coming back home to find himself behind the fashion curve.

  “But why me?”

  “It’s not like you haven’t taught at the Academy before, Jim.”

  “Briefly, as a lieutenant.”

  “And effectively. I was in the same class as Gary Mitchell, remember? I took your course, and it was more challenging than most of the ones from veteran instructors.”

  In his mind, Kirk heard Gary Mitchell putting it more bluntly, as he always had: A stack of books with legs … In his class, you either think—or sink.

  Morrow leaned forward. “So just imagine how good you’d be now, after ten, twelve years as a starship captain.”

  “Close to fifteen, counting the Sacagawea.”

  Morrow waved it off. “The numbers don’t matter. The point is, you’ve achieved more in that time than many captains achieve in their entire careers. You have a wealth of experience to share with the next generation of officers. You could help shape the future of Starfleet.”

  Kirk had to admit to himself that the idea was intriguing. He hadn’t taken to administration the first time, when he had been making decisions about ships, resources, and personnel at a distance. But being the Academy’s commandant—essentially its dean of students—could be more hands-on, a post where he could work directly with the faculty and the cadets in their charge. It would be more like commanding a starship crew, but on a larger scale—and with far fewer funerals for the people under his authority. That part appealed to him greatly.

  The thought sobered him, and raised a question in his mind. “Is that all Nogura has in mind, Harry? The last time, he had me promoted for political reasons. Are you sure this isn’t about what happened with the Aenar and the Naazh?”

  Morrow’s gaze was steady. “You’re not being punished for that, Jim. If the Medusans had blamed you for the loss of Ambassador Kollos, you would’ve heard about it months ago. They were remarkably understanding about the whole affair. And I think the Andorian government mostly blamed itself for neglecting the Aenar—or rather, the electorate blamed them, and voted out any officials who’d try to put the blame on you to protect themselves.”

  The admiral stood and came around his desk, leaning on its forward edge and folding his hands before him. He smiled at Kirk. “Trust me, Jim, nobody’s punishing you for that incident except yourself. It was a heavy loss, sure, but one of the few among five years of remarkable successes—V’Ger, Lorina, Empyrea, Yannid VI, the Vedala incident … do I need to go on?” Kirk shook his head.

  “Bottom line, Jim, your orders have already been cut. You get six weeks’ leave, and then you report to the Academy as its new commandant. I know it’s not the starship posting you wanted, but orders are orders.” He shrugged. “If you’re really hell-bent on staying out there, you could always retire, like Charlie Plaine. I bet the Narumiya Institute would welcome an experienced captain for one of its research vessels.”

  The suggestion held little appeal for Kirk. He could imagine Spock being content doing pure research as a civilian, but Starfleet was in Kirk’s genes, going back to his great-grandparents aboard the Pioneer. He couldn’t imagine walking away from it. But he couldn’t imagine spending the rest of his career on the ground either.

  Fortunately, he’d had five years to think about what he’d do if he ever found himself in this position again. This time, he had a counteroffer ready. “I think there’s a better option, Harry. A way Nogura and I can both get what we want. But I may need your help to sell it to him.”

  Earth Spacedock

  “I knew it!” Leonard McCoy shouted. “This is Nogura’s revenge for the way you defied him five years ago. I knew he’d find a way to get you back behind a desk eventually.”

  “Easy, Bones,” Kirk replied. The two of them and Spock were in the upper level of one of the multistory lift cars that ran through Spacedock’s central travel core like oversized glass elevators. The five-kilometer-high, mushroom-shaped orbital station was so huge and busy that even the extensive network of normal turbolifts within it was not sufficient to accommodate the movement of its staff and visitors between its vertically stacked sections. The three of them were lucky to have this level of the car to themselves for the moment, but that could easily change.

  “Nogura can be demanding,” Kirk went on, “but he’s not vindictive or arbitrary. Whatever decisions he makes, they’re in the best interests of Starfleet as a whole.”

  “But not in the best interests of individual officers. Jim, we went through this the first time you were promoted. I resigned over it then! You’ll wither away behind a desk. You’ll never be happy without a starship to command.”

  “Bones.” His tone was firm enough to halt McCoy’s tirade. “Give me some credit for learning from experience. This isn’t like the last time. Yes, I’ll be an admiral again.” He smiled. “But the thing about flag officers is … we get to have flagships.”

  Spock raised an eyebrow. “Intriguing. ‘Flagship’ is normally a temporary designation for the vessel from which a flag officer commands a squadron of ships. Are you proposing a more permanent assignment?”

  The lift chimed to signal their arrival at their destination. The doors opened, and the three men strode out into the executive office complex that surrounded the travel core shaft. “Harry Morrow and I have already sold Nogura on the idea, though it took some doing. For the duration of my tenure as Academy commandant, the Enterprise will be attached to the Academy as the flagship of its contingent of training vessels, and therefore as my own flagship.”

  “Big deal,” M
cCoy said, still unconvinced. “So the Enterprise gets a fancy new title attached to it and sticks close to home, while you still sit behind a desk. How is that any different from before?”

  Kirk led the others through the exit into the large, domed recreational area beyond. This vast open space, more than a kilometer in diameter and nearly as high, was landscaped to resemble a variety of Earth terrains, with the sections subdivided by market streets representing a number of Earth’s major regional cultures. It might have seemed redundant for a station in Earth orbit to go to such lengths to duplicate Earth, when the real thing was just a transporter beam away. But the facility was for the benefit of wayfarers who were stopping off at Spacedock for brief periods and were unable or unwilling to go through the necessary customs and medical checks to be cleared for travel to Earth’s surface. As such, it was a version of Earth tailored for the expectations and convenience of offworld tourists—which could be endlessly amusing for an Earth native to experience.

  More to the point, the attempts of alien entrepreneurs to approximate terrestrial dining experiences in a manner suited to their species’ palates had occasionally spawned some intriguing fusion cuisines. Ever since Kirk’s old science officer Rhenas Sherev had introduced him to the phenomenon, Kirk had always taken the opportunity to sample Spacedock’s culinary scene whenever he returned to Earth after years away.

  For now, though, he simply strolled along the paths of the too-perfect pseudo-Earthly landscape, watching the way the alien tourists and itinerants around him drank it up like some exotic wonder, and enjoying the role reversal. “The difference,” he finally got around to explaining to McCoy, “is that neither I nor the Enterprise will stay idle. I’ve proven that I can do Starfleet more good in the field, and Nogura’s accepted that. So I’ll still be taking the ship out on periodic missions.”

  “Like what?” McCoy asked. “You mean like Academy training cruises, combat simulations, that sort of thing?”

  “Occasionally, but not just that. If I see a situation that needs to be addressed, a problem that needs a special touch or a particular expertise, then I’ll assemble an appropriate crew and command the mission. For instance, if there’s a medical crisis, I could call on you, Doctor Chapel, and other medical experts as needed. If it’s a delicate interspecies negotiation, I could bring Uhura and a team of top diplomats. Supported by a crew of upper-class cadets as part of their field training, as long as the mission isn’t too hazardous.” He tilted his head. “It won’t be quite the same as having all of us together on an ongoing basis, but it’s a chance for us to keep working together periodically on the Enterprise, with the flexibility to pursue other missions, or other interests, in the interim.” He gestured toward McCoy with an open hand. “You could work out of Starfleet Medical, Bones, and only go out on the ship when I needed you. No more drudgery of routine crew physicals, and you could go home to your cabin on weekends.”

  “It’s not me I’m worried about, Jim. This arrangement sounds good on paper, but how do you know Nogura will live up to his end of it? Or how do you know you won’t get so bogged down with grading exams and making lesson plans that you don’t have time to be a, a roving troubleshooter?”

  Kirk grinned at him. “For one thing, because I have faith that you’ll be there to drag me out of my office if I start to spend too much time there. For another, I have Harry Morrow on my side. He’ll be keeping an eye out for missions to send my way. And as commandant, I’ll get to restructure the Academy’s training protocols, so field assignments like these can be built into the curriculum. I’ll be doing both my jobs at once.”

  McCoy fell silent, appeased for now, but he still looked skeptical. Kirk was counting on that skepticism to keep him honest, as he always had.

  They soon reached the restaurant Kirk had been hoping to try, a Saurian take on Indian cuisine, reportedly so intensely spicy that human diners took their lives and sanity into their hands. McCoy griped about Kirk’s need to test himself to his limits even on leave, and settled for the salad. Kirk dared to sample their most infamous curry dish, which was so intense and consciousness-altering that he thought he had a momentary flashback to his time under Tristan Adams’s neural neutralizer. When he recovered, he saw Spock placidly consuming his with little more than a raised eyebrow and a verbal estimate of Scoville Heat Units.

  Afterward, as Kirk soothed his taste buds with a generous piece of Goan coconut cake topped with gatsu nuts from Sauria’s Vasakleyro rainforest, Spock returned to their earlier discussion. “One matter remains unaddressed. If the Enterprise is to be a flagship under your authority as an admiral, it will still require a captain of its own. Does Admiral Nogura or Admiral Morrow have a candidate in mind for that position?”

  Kirk smiled at him. “Getting to handpick my own captain is part of the deal. And I’m convinced there’s only one man for the job.” He held Spock’s gaze meaningfully.

  Finally the Vulcan caught on and pulled back in surprise. “You refer to me, Jim?”

  “I do, Spock. I want you to be captain of the Enterprise.”

  After a few moments of stunned silence, McCoy spoke up. “Well, don’t just sit there like a stone idol, say something, Spock!”

  Folding his hands before him, Spock replied slowly. “I will admit that I have been considering the possibility of late. While I have never sought command for myself, it was pointed out to me some months ago by Commander Thelin that command is not something we do for ourselves, but for others. I concede that there would be value in using my experience and knowledge to guide others—and in moving forward in the Starfleet hierarchy so that I do not impede others’ advancement.” He frowned. “But surely I could achieve that goal as an instructor at the Academy, for example. I would be more comfortable in a position that allowed me the opportunity to teach and to conduct research, rather than contend with the administrative and policy responsibilities of a starship commander.”

  “That’s the beauty of it, Spock. With the Enterprise attached to the Academy, you could do both. The special missions would only be occasional, on an as-needed basis. The rest of the time, the Enterprise could serve as a research and training vessel. The majority of the time, you could be a scientist and a teacher—while on special missions, you’d be under my command again, running the ship while I ran the mission. Not so different from being my first officer.”

  “Superficially, perhaps. Nonetheless, it would be different, in ways I cannot yet anticipate.” He gave a small sigh. “The truth of it is, I am content where I am. After my epiphany within V’Ger, I attained a new level of peace and personal enlightenment. I finally reconciled with the emotions I had struggled with for so long, and it was with the support of you and the rest of my crewmates that I was given the space to cultivate my new insights. While the past five years have not been without hardship and loss, they have been the greatest period of contentment and personal fulfillment in my life to date. While I intellectually understand that we have arrived at the end of that period in my life, I am irrationally reluctant to see it end.”

  Kirk and McCoy exchanged a look, unsure how to react. Even though Spock had come to accept his emotional side, it was still unusual for him to speak of it so openly.

  Finally, Kirk leaned forward to catch Spock’s eye. “I appreciate what you’re saying, Spock. I’m glad that I—that we were able to be a part of that safe environment for you, and I hate to see it come to an end too.

  “But consider this: You were able to achieve that contentment after V’Ger because you opened your mind to new options. As a result, you were able to grow and find a new, better equilibrium. So who’s to say that, if you take another chance on something new, you won’t find yourself even happier as a result?”

  Spock took in his words while Kirk finished off his coconut cake. “Very well,” he finally said. “I can think of no rational reason to refuse the promotion. Indeed, it could prove to be a worthy challenge. And it would allow us to continue our successful partnership.�
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  “So that’s a yes?”

  “Indeed. Yes, Jim. I accept command of the Enterprise.”

  McCoy shook his head. “Will wonders never cease? Well, congratulations, you old devil. You’ve come a long way since that little shuttlecraft on Taurus II.”

  Spock raised a scathing brow. “Indeed. Though I trust that I will have a more supportive crew than I had then.” McCoy winced, his silence conceding the point.

  Kirk chuckled and offered his hand to his former first officer. “Yes, congratulations—Captain Spock. Trust me: command will change your life in ways you can’t imagine.”

  Western Mediterranean

  The New Human enclave was idyllic even by Earth standards. As Spock climbed the path from the seaside shuttle landing platform toward the central villa at the peak of the diminutive private island, he observed numerous humans of a wide range of ages and ethnic subtypes mingling in close-knit groups, engaging in recreational activities or merely communing together in meditation, but all of them engaging in less raucous verbalization than was typical for socializing humans. In this warm Mediterranean climate, most were clad in light, gauzy robes in a variety of festive colors—though a number wore little or no clothing, their undress taken in stride by those around them. His own black Vulcan robes absorbed considerable heat from solar radiation, but that merely made him feel less chilled than he usually did in Earthly climes.

  One group walked alongside a pair of horses with small children riding them bareback, and another frolicked with several large, shaggy canines. Spock noted that the animals were without bridle or leash, appearing to respond to mere glances or head turns from the humans.

  As Spock passed, a number of the island denizens greeted him with smiles or expressions of polite curiosity and acceptance. Some raised hands in the Surakian salute, while a few put their fingers together in the egg symbol of One, which had been popular in the previous decade among transcendental or countercultural movements such as that of Doctor Sevrin. The New Human movement was, in part, an outgrowth of such groups, which naturally had attracted espers even before the coming of V’Ger and its resultant impact on human spiritual movements.