My extra passenger was in a dock in a higher orbit. As we moved toward it, we got a good look at the majestic craft inside it.
“What ship is that?” McCoy said.
“That’s the Enterprise.” Unlike the Hotspur, it was sleek and clean.
“She’s a beauty,” McCoy said. “Who’s her captain?”
“Chris Pike,” I said. Pike was well-known among Starfleet as a wildly successful officer. He’d been in command of a Constitution-class ship for ten years, made dozens of first contacts, and charted many new worlds. The sector of space he was assigned to explore also put him into several skirmishes with the Klingons. The rest of us were envious of his accomplishments.
The yard command directed me to a port not on the ship, but on the webbed superstructure surrounding it. I docked the shuttle, and the hatch opened. On the other side stood a Starfleet lieutenant commander from an immediately recognizable species.
“Request permission to come aboard,” he said. I was surprised by his formality.
“Uh, permission granted, Mr…. ?”
“Lieutenant Commander Spock.” He calmly came aboard the shuttle-craft with his small suitcase. He stood near the helm station and looked down at me. Though I’d seen plenty of Vulcans in my life, I’d never gotten used to their ominous, almost frightening, appearance. The pointed ears, slanted eyebrows, and yellowish skin, however, always stood in stark contrast to their ultra-civilized, stoic demeanor.
“Will you need any assistance in piloting? I am rated for this craft.”
“Uh, no, thanks, have a seat.” He quietly took the seat in the cabin next to McCoy, who rolled his eyes at me. Spock seemed quite comfortable not learning our names.
“I’m Jim Kirk,” I said, then indicated McCoy. “This is Dr. Leonard McCoy.”
“I was aware of your identities before I came aboard.”
“Common courtesy would usually require asking our names anyway,” McCoy said.
“I unfortunately have not made a study of the redundancies involved in human etiquette,” Spock said. He said it very dryly; had he been human, I would’ve assumed he was being sarcastic, but in a Vulcan it was impossible to tell.
“Well, this is going to be a fun trip,” McCoy said.
“No offense taken, Mr. Spock,” I said, obviously not speaking for McCoy. “Strap yourselves in, we’re leaving.” I turned to the helm, and received clearance from the yard command as McCoy opened his crate.
“Anybody for a drink?”
“The consumption of inebriating beverages aboard shuttlecraft is forbidden under regulations,” Spock said.
“I bet you’re really good at making friends,” McCoy said.
“Friendship is a classification humans use to define emotional relationships,” Spock said. “It is not logical.”
“Yeah, well, obviously not for you,” McCoy said.
“Bones,” I said, my tone telling him to cut it out. The shuttle pulled away from the dock, and I took it out of orbit. We left Mars behind and began our three-hour voyage to Earth. For a long while it was silent, until that was broken by the sound of McCoy pouring himself another drink.
“Mr. Spock, are you posted aboard the Enterprise?” I said.
“Yes sir,” Spock said. “I am the science officer.”
“I see. How long have you served with Captain Pike?”
“Nine years, ten months, sixteen days,” Spock said. Vulcans didn’t make it easy to carry on light conversation.
“What a coincidence,” McCoy said. “That’s going to be the same length as this shuttle ride.”
“What brings you to Earth?” I said, ignoring McCoy. Whatever he was drinking was quickly making him impervious to authority.
“I’m visiting relatives on the North American continent, in a small town on the eastern coast called Grover’s Mill,” Spock said. That was strange; I wasn’t aware of a Vulcan population center on Earth in that area.
“Oh. Are they stationed there?” I said.
“No, they’re from there,” Spock said. It was then that I remembered that I’d heard of a half-human, half-Vulcan at the academy; we’d overlapped but never met. He must have been quite a student; Spock had already distinguished himself serving aboard a Constitution-class ship for a decade.
“So, you’re visiting your human relatives,” I said.
“Yes. The Enterprise will be in dry dock for some time,” Spock said. “It was at my mother’s request I visit her sister and niece.” He was a dutiful son. I wondered whether that was the Vulcan or human half.
“Wait,” McCoy said, speech slightly slurring. “You’ve got human relatives?”
“As I implied previously,” Spock said. “My mother is human.”
“And yet you’re still a rude son of a bitch,” McCoy said.
“If I am, Doctor,” Spock said, “it is a trait I share with billions of human beings.”
I thought about putting a stop to it, but it seemed quite clear that Spock didn’t need my help. And I was frankly starting to enjoy it.
They bickered for a while longer, but McCoy eventually settled into a nap, and Spock and I talked about the Enterprise’s refit. I was impressed by the amount of resources they were putting into the ship. The Constitution-class vessels got all the attention; ships like the Hotspur had to make do, until they were finally driven to the glue factory. I then asked the real question that was on my mind.
“Do you think Captain Pike is going to take her out for another five years?” An opening on a Constitution-class ship was rare.
“Such a mission would be beneficial to Starfleet and the Federation,” he said.
He hadn’t really answered my question. Maybe he knew something, maybe he didn’t, but he wasn’t going to help me. I had turned back to look at him for my next question, and thought I caught some emotion in his face, but it immediately evaporated.
“You like Captain Pike?”
“He’s an efficient commander,” he said. Served with him a decade, and showed no trace of any kind of sentiment. I moved back to the controls, suddenly jealous; Pike had been Spock’s commanding officer since he got out of the academy. Garrovick had died within a couple of years.
I then started asking him about some of the scientific discoveries the Enterprise had been a part of, and I had the sense that he was downplaying his own role in many of the missions. It was talking about this that we stumbled upon a surprising mutual “acquaintance.”
“… but that was due mostly to what Dr. Marcus and her department had made in the area of subatomic engineering—”
“Wait,” I said. “Carol Marcus? She was aboard the Enterprise?”
“For a short period,” Spock said. “Are you familiar with her work?”
“Somewhat,” I said.
I was almost unable to speak. Just the mention of Carol brought back the feelings for her and David. I was strangely jealous of this alien, just because he’d gotten to see her, to spend time with her.
“A capable scientist,” Spock said. I nodded and focused on the controls. Since I was no longer keeping the conversation going, we both fell into silence. I silently castigated myself; it was ridiculous to be bitter because Spock had gotten to work with Carol.
Earth appeared in the center of my view port, and we received reentry instructions. I brought us into a landing at Starfleet Headquarters, and I shook McCoy awake. He had slept off some of the effects of his drinking.
Spock thanked me for the ride and said a curt goodbye to the two of us.
“There’s a fun guy,” McCoy said, as we watched him walk off. I didn’t respond. I regretted my petulance over Carol, even though Spock hadn’t picked up on it. I didn’t know quite what to make of Spock then, but there was something compelling; he gave the impression of a man with a lot of character.
“Well, Jim,” McCoy said, “hard to say when we may see each other again.”
“It’s been a pleasure, Bones,” I said, as we shook hands. “Stay in touch.” He sm
iled, yet also looked mildly irritated.
“You’re determined to make that nickname stick, aren’t you?”
I laughed. We promised to get together again while we were both on Earth, and then I headed to the Sub Shuttle station.
I hadn’t been home in quite some time. The house seemed very small to me; I guess it loomed large in my memory, even though I’d grown to my full height while still living there. I had decided to walk from the Riverside transportation station; they knew I was coming, but I hadn’t given anyone a specific time when to expect me.
Sitting on the porch was a boy, about ten years old. He was the spitting image of my brother, Sam, at that age. He sat with his legs crossed, holding a magnifying glass. There were a couple of small insects on the porch in front of him.
“Any luck?” I said. He looked up at me.
“With what?”
“Burning them,” I said. He looked annoyed.
“I wasn’t burning them,” he said. “I was examining them.”
“I stand corrected,” I said. A scientist, just like his father. “You must be Peter. I’m Jim.”
“Oh, sorry,” he said, standing up and holding out his hand. “Nice to meet you, Uncle Jim.” The last time I’d seen Sam was shortly after he’d met Aurelan, whom he would marry. My missions in space had caused me to miss their wedding, as well as the birth of their son over ten years before. And now, here he was, in the flesh, healthy, curious. Before I could really take him in, everyone else was out on the porch, giving me warm hellos.
Sam was looking older, wearing a hearty mustache, though Aurelan was still stunning and youthful despite being the mother of a ten-year-old. But it was Dad and Mom that I really wasn’t ready for. I’d really been gone a long time; they were both gray. Dad had put on more weight, and Mom had taken some off; she still looked energetic, though slightly frail. She gave me a fierce hug, and Dad grabbed my shoulder.
“Welcome home, Captain,” he said, with a proud smile.
“Not a full captain yet, Dad,” I said, somewhat self-consciously.
“It’ll come,” he said. They all but pulled me inside the house.
We sat down to dinner, and I was peppered with questions about my time on the Hotspur. I did my best to appear relaxed, but it was difficult; I’d spent the last several years in a command position, never fully letting my guard down, and now it wasn’t coming easily. I had experienced a lot of stress that I hadn’t quite worked through yet, and I wasn’t willing to share stories that might bring it to the surface. I did my best to turn the attention to Sam and his family. Sam had continued work as a research biologist at the University of Chicago but was probably going to be transferred to a colony that specialized in research, either Earth Colony II or Deneva. Peter seemed excited about the idea of going into space. I found him the easiest to engage with for most of the evening.
“Do you stay in touch with Carol?” Mom said, later in the meal. She and Dad knew Carol and I had been serious, but I had never told them about David. Sam, however, did know, and I could feel him watching me as I answered. I’m sure he wasn’t comfortable keeping a secret from them.
“Not really,” I said. “I think we’ve both moved on.” I could sense Mom’s disappointment, though she didn’t express it. She’d met Carol briefly when I was at the academy, and they’d hit it off. Coincidentally, their work paths had crossed later. They had a lot in common and I think Mom had some hopes for a lasting relationship for me. Peter then came over with a large box.
“Uncle Jim,” Peter said, “Dad says you’re good at three-dimensional chess. You want to play me?”
I looked at the young boy, the image of my brother. Peter was eager, pleasant, and solicitous of my attention. I thought of another boy, who I didn’t know, who might by now be the image of me, and who would want the same things Peter wanted. I felt horrible, guilty.
“I’m sorry, pal,” I said, “I’m really beat. We’ll play tomorrow.” I tousled his hair, said a quick goodnight to everyone, and headed off to my room.
The next day I requisitioned quarters at Starfleet; I felt it would be too emotionally draining to stay at the farm, though I promised Mom and Dad I’d come back on the weekends, which I did.
The department of strategic planning and studies was housed, ironically, in the Archer Building, where about a decade before I’d impersonated a Starfleet officer. When I walked into the lobby now I was overcome with the feeling that I was still a fraud. I found my way to the offices on the tenth floor and reported to my commanding officer.
“Reporting for duty, Admiral,” I said. Behind the desk was Heihachiro Nogura, a man of Japanese descent, white-haired, diminutive but with a quiet authority.
“At ease,” Nogura said. “I hope you don’t mind a little time at a desk, Commander. I like to have officers in the department who have extensive field experience.”
“My pleasure, sir,” I said, lying.
“We’ve got a lot going on here, Kirk. I’m afraid you’re going to have to jump into the deep end.” He indicated a small stack of tapes on his desk. “Take those. I’m going to need a report as soon as possible.”
I was a little thrown. He wasn’t telling me what he wanted the report on, and that was obviously on purpose. It felt like I was back in the academy again, being tested. I picked up the tapes.
“Yes sir,” I said. “I’ll need someplace to work.”
Nogura had a yeoman show me to a cubicle with a desk, a simple setup with a computer and viewscreen. I sat down and started going through the tapes. They were excerpts from log entries of the commanders and officers on starships and starbases. A quick glance at the first few indicated encounters with Klingon ships and personnel. As I went through, I could see that the incidents were all in the past month. Not quite knowing what Nogura was looking for, I started collating the information, first on a graph of where the encounters took place, what the results of the encounters were, and what snippets of information the officers involved relayed about the Klingons’ attitudes and intentions. A lot of the entries were from Christopher Pike’s log; the sector of space the Enterprise was assigned covered a good portion of the border with the Klingons, and Pike had accumulated a lot of experience dealing with them. He had successfully survived several skirmishes with Klingon ships, but had lost multiple crew members in the battles.
The work was interesting enough that the days passed quickly. I got to know my colleagues in the department. Lance Cartwright, a few years my senior, was a full captain, having joined Nogura as his chief of staff after several years as captain of the Exeter. He was friendly and sharp, and was probably a few short years away from joining the Admiralty. Harry Morrow and William Smillie were commanders like me, and they considered this desk job one that they wanted. Though I was consumed with the assignment, I still felt the itch to get back on a bridge.
About a week in, I finished my report, and Nogura had me present it to the staff in his office. I went over the data that I pulled from the logs, and then summarized my conclusions.
“Within the time frame of the logs I reviewed, the Klingons appeared to be testing our response with aggressive moves in the disputed area of space that serves as the border between the Federation and their empire.”
“Do you have any theories as to the purpose of these tests?” Nogura said. From the way he asked it, I felt that he thought there was only one possible answer.
“Without any actual proof,” I said, “I would think it’s a prelude to invasion.”
“If that’s the case,” Cartwright said, “without the Enterprise on patrol in that sector, we are leaving ourselves wide open.”
“The Enterprise is in desperate need of a refit that will take at least eight months,” Morrow said. “The ship is 20 years old …”
“Then we need to reassign another starship to that sector,” Cartwright said.
“Uh, sir,” I said to Nogura, “I think there’s another solution. I’ve examined the Enterprise’s refit sch
edule, and it could be split into a two-month period and a six-month period. The components necessary for the second period could be sent to Starbase 11.”
“Why would we do that?” Cartwright said. “The Enterprise would still be out of action for those eight months.”
“Yes, but if we are careful to keep the shipment of the upgrade components as well as the personnel transfers a secret, it would appear to the Klingons that Starfleet has a shipbuilding capacity well outside the Sol System. If they were planning to invade, it would give them pause, forcing them to take it into consideration as part of their strategy.”
No one argued this point, which made me think it had landed. Nogura assigned me the task of determining how long it would take to ship the necessary components. I found out pretty quickly it was a much more difficult task than I originally thought; it would take over a year using the standard shipping routes to get all the material and personnel that far out. I presented my findings to Nogura but didn’t think it would go any further.
As the days passed, it became clear to me that this department was doing a lot more than studying strategy. Nogura was an influential admiral, and he was using his department to gently guide Starfleet and Federation policy, to great effect. Resources were being moved around, officers transferred and promoted as a result of recommendations coming out of the department. One day, Nogura brought me into his office. There was a captain there and a younger man in a cadet uniform.
“Jim Kirk, this is Matt Decker,” Nogura said, referencing the older man. I had heard of him; as a young lieutenant commander he’d fought a superior Klingon force to a standstill at Donatu V. Decker was shorter than me, but he had a rough presence, a force of personality that I felt immediately.
“Pleasure to meet you, Captain Decker,” I said.
“It’s commodore now,” Decker said. “I haven’t had a chance to change my braid.” Decker’s ship, the Constellation, had recently returned to Earth at the end of its five-year mission. I knew that Nogura had recommended Decker for promotion to commodore. He would keep command of his ship, but in case of a war with the Klingons, Decker’s flag rank would put him in immediate command of all the ships in his sector. It was a strategic promotion where Nogura put a like-minded officer in charge of resources on the projected front lines.
The Autobiography of James T. Kirk Page 13