The Autobiography of James T. Kirk

by David A. Goodman

  I ordered Sulu to execute a course near where the readings were, but staying on our side of the zone. We hadn’t had any specific trouble from the Klingons in a while, but if they had use of cloaking technology, they would have a tactical advantage, and they might decide to violate the treaty.

  We reached the closest coordinates to the reading we could without crossing the Neutral Zone, and could detect that the displacements were following a straight course moving along the border but not crossing it. I ordered a parallel course at the same speed. If the ships were cloaked, I wanted them to know that we knew they were there. I had to admit the possibility of engaging the Klingons excited me. It was dangerous, but I was confident in my ability to deal with them.

  After a few tense hours tracking the course of the displacements, Uhura turned to me. We were being hailed, but from an unknown source. I turned to Spock.

  “I think we got their attention,” I said. “Put them on, Uhura.”

  On the viewscreen, the stars were replaced by Kor. He was on the bridge of his ship. I hadn’t seen him since our encounter on Organia. He looked somewhat older, had put on a little weight. His hair was longer and thicker, as the Klingons were now wearing it, and was mostly gray. He still looked dangerous, intimidating; he gave me his greasiest smile.

  “Captain Kirk,” he said.

  “Commander Kor,” I said.

  “Oh, I wouldn’t expect you to know this,” he said, “but I’m a general now.” He looked me over carefully, then gave me a look of insincere sympathy. “Sorry to see your superiors don’t value you to the same degree.”

  I smiled and decided not to give in to this by explaining I’d already been an admiral. Instead I inquired about where he was calling from and told him that we weren’t detecting a ship in the area. He said that it wasn’t important where he was, then made an unusual pledge.

  “Captain,” he said, “you have my word of honor as a Klingon warrior that, wherever I am, it does not concern you or the Federation. I would encourage you to move away from the Neutral Zone, however, as it may provoke a reaction you do not intend.” I looked at him. He was trying to tell me something. I signaled Uhura to cut off the transmission, and turned to Spock.

  “Duplicity is not outside the Klingon code of behavior,” he said. “But I do not think he’s involved in an action against the Federation.”

  “I agree, sir,” Sulu said. “He wouldn’t have given himself away.”

  I decided that we might be giving him away. He was worried that, by tracking his course, we were calling attention to his position to whoever his intended target was. I had Spock plot a possible destination based on the course information we already had.

  “It would seem, Captain,” Spock said, “that they are headed for Romulus.”

  Were the Klingons starting a war with the Romulans? Is that what we’d stumbled onto? A surprise attack? It would make sense. The Organian Peace Treaty had tied the Klingons’ hands as far as the Federation was concerned, and the policy of containment by Starfleet had worked. The Klingons needed resources, and the Romulans had a lot of valuable worlds.

  I reopened communications and told Kor we were leaving the area. I then told Uhura to get Admiral Nogura on the line, and went to my quarters to talk to him in private.

  “We had intelligence that the Klingons were building new ships,” Nogura said on the viewscreen. “This, however, is a complete surprise.”

  “Do you think this is a result of them straining their resources to keep up with our defenses on the border?” I said.

  “Who knows?” he said. “And who cares? This doesn’t concern us.” I felt, however, that it did. I suggested that there was an opportunity here. The Klingons wouldn’t reach Romulus for another 24 hours. They were about to engage in a war that could cost millions, or even billions, of lives. It seemed like this gave us leverage with both parties. But Nogura wasn’t interested.

  “It’s a moot point,” he said. “The Prime Directive says we can’t interfere with the internal politics of another government.” I could see from his expression that he was using this as a dodge, hiding behind principles to serve a less than noble end. I could also see he had no patience for my suggestions. The relationship between us had become very strained; what I’d done to get the Enterprise back had created a serious rift. But I still tried to do my job and pushed a little harder, suggesting he take it to the Federation Council, who might have success if they pursued a quiet and careful diplomacy that would serve the entire quadrant.

  “I think what would serve the quadrant,” he said, “is if they wiped each other out. The matter is closed. Nogura out.” This was worrisome; Nogura had always had hawkish instincts, but sitting by and letting our enemies kill each other indicated a cold-bloodedness that I didn’t expect. I had no love for the Klingons or the Romulans, but war didn’t serve anyone. Yet there was nothing I could do about it.

  I went about my work, and a few days later on the bridge, Uhura said she was receiving battle transmissions.

  “They’re Romulan, sir,” she said. “Romulus is under attack.”

  Everyone on the bridge looked at me. My orders were clear; we couldn’t interfere. And I didn’t know what I would even do if we could. I could see, though, the crew expected me to do something.

  “Very well,” I said. “Inform Starfleet Command, and continue to monitor those frequencies. We’ll continue on course to Starbase 10.” I sat in my chair. There was a war going on, and we weren’t invited. It was good news that the Federation wasn’t involved, but it also gave me a sense of helplessness. I convinced myself I was angry that Starfleet was no longer the instrument of peace and civilization I believed it to be. In fact, upon reflection, I was craving action, but the Galaxy had changed. I wasn’t sure I belonged out there anymore.

  “Mr. Chekov would like a transfer,” Spock said. It was during our morning meeting.

  “What? Why?”

  “There is an opening on the U.S.S. Reliant that he would like to pursue.”

  I’d had Chekov as a member of the Enterprise crew for now almost ten years. He’d grown from an eager, hardworking navigator to a very capable head of security and weapons control. He’d received his promotions through the ranks from ensign to lieutenant commander at a little better than the average pace, so I couldn’t begin to understand why he’d want to leave. Spock called for him, and he quickly arrived. The position he was seeking on Reliant was first officer, definitely a step up. I couldn’t match it, but still wanted to make a pitch for him to stay. Maybe we could give him more responsibilities, different duties. But Chekov smiled and cut me off.

  “Sir,” he said, “please don’t misunderstand me. I have cherished my time serving with you, but I feel that my career is standing still. I’m not embarrassed to admit to some ambition, and I think I am being honest when I say I will never be captain of this ship, or even first officer. There are too many people ahead of me.” I was about to jump in and disagree with him, when I noticed Spock and the acknowledgment in his expression. And I had to accept the truth of what Chekov was saying.

  For an ambitious officer, the Enterprise was a dead-end job. I wasn’t going anywhere, and as long as I was here, Spock was staying, Scotty wasn’t leaving, and Sulu and Uhura were more senior than Chekov.

  “Fair enough, Mr. Chekov,” I said. “I’ll approve the transfer.”

  It started me thinking about what I was accomplishing on the Enterprise. There were a lot of people aboard who were qualified to command. And I was keeping them all here, all to keep myself comfortable.

  It turned out Chekov got off the Enterprise just in time.

  We finished our second five-year mission with a lot less fanfare than the first. On our way back to Earth, I did what I could for the crew. I felt both Spock and Sulu should make the captains’ list and get ships of their own. I put Uhura and McCoy in for promotions and told them both that they were free to leave if they wanted to. I didn’t quite know what was next for me, b
ut I planned on staying with the Enterprise.

  When we reached Earth, I was called into Nogura’s office. Cartwright and Morrow were there. It might’ve been a friendly reunion, but Nogura got right to business.

  “I’m giving Spock the Enterprise,” he said. I could see the other two admirals avoiding eye contact with me. I wasn’t sure what that meant.

  “Sir, I’d still like to stay in command,” I said.

  “We need you here,” Nogura said. “I’m making you fleet captain. Congratulations.” Fleet captain. I remembered when they gave that rank to Pike, he said it was a desk job, one without influence. Nogura was mocking me and wasn’t trying to hide it.

  He was done with me; I’d played his game and lost. He’d used my five-year mission to keep me out of the way while he undoubtedly scrubbed any evidence of wrongdoing involving the incident on Dimorous. Now, he was sticking me at a desk, where I would stay for the remainder of my career, influencing nothing. I only saw one way out.

  “You resigned? You let him win?” I wasn’t sure I’d ever seen McCoy this angry.

  “Bones, I’d already lost,” I said. We were at an outdoor cafe in the Embarcadero. Nogura, I found out, wasn’t just putting me out to pasture; he wasn’t accepting the transfers of any officers off the Enterprise. They would all have to stay there, or resign their commissions. He’d made Spock captain, which was the only way he could justify taking the ship away from me. Scotty’s, Sulu’s, and Uhura’s careers would advance no further, at least as long as Nogura was in charge. He understood revenge; it pained me to admit that my political posturing had cost not just me but the people closest to me.

  McCoy asked me what I was going to do. I was 43, there was plenty I could still do. I was going to start by taking over my uncle’s farm. He scoffed at the prospect.

  “You’re not going to be happy on a farm.”

  “What are you talking about? I grew up on a farm, remember?”

  “No you didn’t,” he said. “You grew up in outer space. I was there.” I laughed, but it was a little joyless.

  I moved to the farm and life quickly got quiet. My parents visited a lot, with Sam’s youngest sons, who were now rambunctious nine-year-olds. Peter had gone off to the academy, now the fourth generation in our family to make it. I spent a lot of time working in the fields like I did as a boy, then rode horses for recreation. I supposed I’d earned a vacation, and I took it.

  But I was a little lost. I’d been in Starfleet since I was 17; I had not experienced adult life without the organization determining how I was going to spend every day.

  I got restless on the farm pretty quickly and decided to travel. I acquired a shuttlecraft and took an extended tour of the Solar System, visiting sites I had never seen. But several months later I found myself in an environment suit exploring an impact crater on Jupiter’s moon Ganymede, and all I could think was how bored I was. This wasn’t exploration; it was tourism and couldn’t match the excitement of discovering new worlds. So I went home.

  I thought a lot about Carol and David, and made a small effort to track them down. Unfortunately, I couldn’t find them; Carol was involved with some kind of confidential project, and my contacts couldn’t (or wouldn’t) tell me where she was.

  I eventually found a rhythm. I did farm work, some teaching at the academy, and a little consulting to the ship builders on Utopia Planitia. Before I knew it, four years had passed. I knew I would need to find some kind of replacement for the discipline of the service, or I would slip into old age very quickly. One day while on a horseback ride, I inadvertently found it.

  I saw another rider up on a hill. It was a woman. I rode up to her.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m a little lost. I hope I’m not trespassing.” She was striking, tall and thin, with long brown hair and dark brown eyes to go with an olive complexion. She was also a fair amount younger than me.

  “We like to share,” I said. “I’m Jim Kirk.”

  “Antonia Slavotori,” she said. She asked me to show her the way out of there. I asked if she’d mind joining me for lunch first. She smiled.

  “I’ve already eaten,” she said. “If you could just give me directions.” She was shutting me down. I told her I would happily lead her out. I rode with her for a while.

  She wasn’t from Idaho; she was only visiting, buying a horse from one of my neighbors, who’d let her take it out for a ride. She lived somewhere in California, but withheld details of exactly where. As we rode together, I realized she had no idea who I was; that was unusual, as my exploits had gained me some notoriety. I somehow found this compelling, and I stayed with her far longer than I had to. When we reached the farm where she’d picked up the horse, I asked if I could see her again. Again, she smiled.

  “Probably not,” she said, and then rode off.

  However, I was not deterred. She’d given me her name, and finding out more about her gave me a goal, albeit a short-term and lighthearted one. I took her as kind of a mission, and I decided to try to see her again. If she rejected me again, I would move on.

  Her name was somewhat unusual, and the fact that she mentioned California made her easy to track down. I thought showing up at her home would be somewhat unnerving, but I saw that a designer with her name had a studio in somewhere called Lone Pine. About two weeks after I met her, I took a trip.

  I beamed into the sleepy little town at the base of Mt. Whitney, beautiful, as even in April snow covered the nearby peaks. I found Antonia’s studio attached to an ancient building called the Old Lone Pine Hotel. It was spartan and clean, with modern furniture that had a rustic touch. She sat at a drafting computer in the back, and when I walked in she looked up. It took her a minute to place me, and then she was incredulous.

  “What the hell are you doing here?”

  “I was interested in buying some furniture.” She laughed. I asked her to show me her work. It wasn’t really my area of expertise, but her designs intrigued me, and I was fascinated hearing her talk about her techniques and influences. After a while, I asked if she would finally join me for lunch.

  “Look, Jim, I’m flattered,” she said. “But I don’t want to mislead you. I’m with someone.” I felt like an idiot; for some reason, that had never occurred to me. I realized I’d given it everything I had, and decided to leave, but this time she stopped me. She invited me to join her and her boyfriend at their house for lunch. At this point, I figured why not.

  She contacted her beau to let him know she was bringing company, then drove me up to a large cabin set up on the mountain. Set against the hillside, surrounded by trees, it was a lovely, peaceful setting. Her boyfriend met us at the door, with no shirt, holding the leash of a handsome Great Dane. I think he meant to present a picture that would mark his territory and intimidate me, but it really didn’t work. I introduced myself, and once I said my name, his entire demeanor changed.

  “Wait a second,” he said. “You’re Captain James Kirk!” This came as a surprise to both Antonia and me. Whatever slightly threatening persona he’d tried to affect was now history. He turned to her and sounded like a screeching teenager. “You didn’t tell me you knew him!”

  “I don’t know him!” she said. But he wasn’t interested in talking to her anymore.

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t introduce myself, Captain. Lieutenant Commander J. T. Esteban.”

  Esteban hurriedly ushered me in, leaving a bemused Antonia in his wake. I turned, and she and I shared a quiet laugh at the absurdity of it.

  Three months later, Esteban had gotten a plum posting, so I bought his house. He also gave me the dog, whose name was Butler. Antonia, however, immediately moved out.

  Four months after that, she moved back in.

  She wasn’t like the women I’d become involved with over the years. The “swagger” I tended to employ with other women didn’t seem to interest her, and it took a long time before she would agree to see me romantically. She was 34 and had never gone into space; she paid no att
ention to Starfleet, and didn’t seem interested in it. The only thing she found appealing about other worlds was the food that got exported to Earth. There was something about the relationship that reminded me of the one I had with Edith: I wasn’t a starship captain to Antonia, I was just Jim.

  We stayed in Lone Pine for almost two years together. I had lost touch with almost everyone at Starfleet, though Bones made a consistent effort to call. I thought I might marry Antonia; I didn’t know whether I was truly in love with her the way I was with Edith or Carol, but I was very comfortable. Pursuing a romantic relationship over everything else was a new experience for me, and it gave my life the purpose it was lacking.

  On a day in July, while Antonia was out at her studio, I was about to walk Butler, when I was surprised to see Harry Morrow walking up the path. He was wearing civilian clothes.

  “Harry,” I said. “I don’t remember the last time I saw you out of uniform.”

  “I didn’t want to draw attention,” he said. “Admirals tend to attract junior officers.” He was friendly but had a grave air about him. I took him back to the house and poured us some coffee while we engaged in a little small talk. Finally, he got to the point.

  “Nogura is gone,” Morrow said. “Resigned.” I felt an unabashed pleasure at this news; Nogura had fouled my memories of serving in Starfleet. I asked what happened.

  “Before the Organians forced peace on us,” Morrow said, “Nogura was making contingency plans for an invasion of Klingon space.” When I discovered the truth about the genetically engineered creatures on Dimorous, I thought it involved a possible invasion tactic. But I had also assumed that he’d gotten rid of all the evidence. Morrow confirmed that he had, but he made the mistake of trying to do it again. He’d moved a lot of Starfleet resources to the border with the Klingons, with the expressed purpose of pursuing his containment strategy, forcing them to spend and build to defend the border. But then Nogura started drawing up plans for an incursion.