Heads bobbed in agreement.
Kirk went on. “We know that such a configuration produces violent nova outbursts when one star comes into relatively close proximity to the other. As a result, we were prepared to turn our shield strength up a notch as we approached the system’s coordinates.”
“I sense a ‘but,’ ” said Gary.
The captain nodded. “You sense correctly, Mr. Mitchell. A little while ago, long-range sensors turned up something we were not prepared for—namely, a series of subspace wormholes.”
“A series?” Kelso repeated. “As in more than one?”
“More than one,” Kirk confirmed. “They range from less than a hundred meters to two thousand [65] meters in diameter. What’s more, they seem to be appearing and disappearing without following any obvious pattern.”
“Wormholes are by nature unpredictable,” Spock pointed out.
“So I’ve heard,” said the captain. “And if there were any inhabited planets in the system, we would certainly have cause for alarm. Fortunately, that’s not the case. We have only ourselves to worry about.”
“And you’d like to know what we have to do in order to worry a little less,” Piper ventured.
“Exactly,” said Kirk. “Suggestions?”
Alden frowned. “We’ll have to see if there’s any particle activity that precedes the appearance of one of the wormholes.” He smiled at Spock. “Maybe we can learn to predict the unpredictable.”
Poker faced as usual, the Vulcan shrugged. “We can certainly make the attempt,” he said.
“We dinnae know if these wormholes have any pull t’ them,” Scotty noted thoughtfully, “but just in case, we’ll divert as much power as possible t’ the impulse engines.”
“Good idea,” said the captain.
He knew full well that he couldn’t bring the Enterprise’s warp engines to bear anyway. Within the bounds of a solar system, especially one as complicated as Muhlari, a warp maneuver could wreak havoc.
“There’s another problem,” Sulu noted.
“What’s that?” asked Kirk.
“Our sensors,” the physicist replied, leaning forward in his chair. “With all the additional magnetic [66] fields and x-ray emissions we’re bound to encounter, we may end up getting in and out safely but never collecting the data we’re after.”
“He’s right,” said Scotty. “And what a pity it’d be. A cataclysmic star pair is rare enough. But one surrounded by wormholes ...” He shook his head. “It may be a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.”
“We will need to recalibrate the sensors,” Spock stated flatly. “By employing a wider spread of frequencies, we will increase our chances of gathering the data we require.”
That seemed to make sense as far as the captain was concerned. Then he saw his friend Gary shake his head in disagreement.
“By taking that tack,” the navigator said, “we’ll also be limiting ourselves in terms of how much data we can collect. We’re better off finding the right frequency and sticking with it.”
The Vulcan raised an eyebrow. “A risky maneuver.”
“Risk is our business,” Gary told him. He turned to Kirk again. “That’s my recommendation, sir.”
The captain considered the two options. It didn’t take him long to make his decision. “We’ll see if we can’t find the optimum frequency, as Mr. Mitchell suggests.” He included everyone present in a single glance. “I’ll need you to get to work immediately, gentlemen. We’ll be at Muhlari’s outer boundaries before we know it.”
His announcement was met with a chorus of affirmatives. Everyone appeared eager to get on with the task ahead—or rather, everyone except his first [67] officer. Spock seemed somewhat less than enthusiastic, his alien features utterly devoid of animation.
But then, he was a Vulcan, Kirk reflected. His people didn’t exactly wear their hearts on their sleeves, now did they?
The captain rose from his seat. “Dismissed,” he said.
His officers got up as well and filtered out of the briefing room. Spock was the last of them to approach the door. Kirk saw the Vulcan hesitate for a moment, as if he had determined that he wanted to say something else.
Then he made his exit, just like the others.
Chapter Six
HOURS AFTER the meeting in the briefing room was over, Spock still found himself mulling it over in his mind.
As a youth, he recalled as he negotiated the corridor that led to his quarters, he had been taught to avoid emotions like anger, jealousy, and resentment. He had aspired to be like Surak, the ancient Vulcan philosopher who taught that wisdom could only be achieved through the pursuit and application of logic.
Still, he thought, it was difficult not to feel dissatisfaction with a captain who had made what appeared to be the wrong choice. And it was even more difficult when that choice seemed to have been based on friendship rather than cold facts.
No, Spock told himself. I will not allow my emotions to rule me. I will accept the decisions of my [69] commanding officer as my duty demands, in accordance with the vows I have taken.
Besides, it was possible that he was wrong—both about the sensor strategy and the extent of Mitchell’s influence on Captain Kirk. It was possible that he was too close to the situation to be objective about it.
As Surak had taught, all perceptions were by their nature subjective—even those of a Vulcan Kolinahr master. All observations, Surak said, were colored by the observer’s unique set of experiences and expectations.
To be fair, the captain had been nearly flawless in his short stint as the captain of the Enterprise—as flawless as Captain Pike before him. Considering that Kirk had overcome every obstacle the galaxy placed in his path, it seemed more than likely he would overcome the obstacles presented by the Muhlari system as well.
I will contend with my resentment, Spock told himself. I will conquer my dissatisfaction. And by doing these things, I will demonstrate my devotion to the principles espoused by—
“Listen,” said a voice that came from around a bend in the corridor, “you know me. Normally, I mind my own business. But what I saw in that briefing room made it hard to do that.”
“Was it really that blatant?” asked another voice—one too high-pitched to be anything but female.
“It seemed that way to me,” said the first voice. “I mean, Spock’s suggestion sounded like the way to go. But when Mitchell offered an alternative, the captain backed him up—the way he always does.”
[70] “I don’t know,” the second voice responded. “I don’t see it the way—”
Suddenly, the voices’ owners came around the bend in the corridor and the Vulcan was able to identify them. When the pair saw him, they stopped short, no doubt uncomfortable with the possibility that Spock might have overheard their conversation.
“Mr. Alden,” said the first officer. Then he turned to Alden’s companion. “Yeoman Smith.”
“Mr. Spock,” the communications officer responded. He smiled. “I ... er, didn’t hear you coming.”
“Clearly,” said the Vulcan. “Or you would have refrained from discussing the events of the meeting Captain Kirk conducted earlier.”
“Mr. Spock,” Alden began, “I hope you won’t mention to the captain that I disagreed with his decision. It’s just that—”
“I will not mention it,” the first officer assured him.
Alden nodded. “Thank you, sir.”
“There is no need to thank me,” Spock told him. “I see nothing to be gained by quoting you.”
The humans weren’t sure of what to say about that. Finally, Alden said, “Well, thank you anyway.”
And with that, they continued along the corridor. The first officer watched them go for a moment, absorbing what he had heard. Then, instead of proceeding to his quarters as he had originally intended, he headed instead for the nearest turbolift.
The captain stood in the middle of the Enterprise’s large, white-walled gymnasium and tried to i
magine where he might fit a horizontal bar.
[71] After all, he had been rather expert at the apparatus back in his Academy days. And though it had been a while since Kirk had tried any of his old maneuvers, he believed he could still execute a triple flip if his life depended on it.
As he chuckled at the thought, the doors to the gym hissed open and someone walked in. Glancing over his shoulder, the captain saw that it was his Vulcan first officer.
“Mr. Spock,” he said, a bit surprised. “I didn’t know you were in the habit of using the gymnasium.”
“I am not,” the Vulcan responded succinctly, his voice echoing from bulkhead to bulkhead. “As it happens, I came here to speak with you, sir.”
“With me?” Kirk asked. “In that case, I hope you didn’t have too much trouble finding me.”
“It was not troublesome in the least,” Spock told him. “I merely set out to do it and then did it.”
The captain sighed. There were some things the Vulcan just didn’t get. The concept of trouble was one of them apparently.
He held his hands out. “What can I do for you, Mr. Spock?”
Kirk’s first officer didn’t answer his question—not directly, anyway. Instead, he said, “In the meeting you called earlier today, you ignored my recommendation regarding the ship’s sensors.”
The captain considered the remark—and found himself disagreeing with it. “I don’t believe I ignored it, Spock. I mulled it over as I would have any other recommendation. It just happened that, in the end, I decided to go with another option.”
The Vulcan frowned ever so slightly. “It has been [72] standard practice for you to ... go with another option, as you put it. And invariably, it is the option suggested by Mr. Mitchell that you decide to go with.”
Kirk was more than a little taken aback by the comment. “I wasn’t aware of that,” he said honestly.
“You sound skeptical,” Spock observed.
The captain shrugged. “I suppose I am.”
“Then I advise you to check the record,” said the Vulcan. “You will find it supports my contention.”
Kirk smiled to indicate his good intentions. “Even if that turned out to be so, Mr. Spock, there’s nothing personal in my decisions ... nothing for you to be concerned about, certainly.”
“I believe otherwise,” the first officer responded. “When I agreed to remain on the Enterprise as first officer, it was my understanding that I would be treated with the respect due a first officer. At the present time, that does not appear to be the case.”
The captain felt the sting of Spock’s remark—as the Vulcan had no doubt intended he should. “I’m sorry you feel that way,” he replied.
But Spock wasn’t done yet, it seemed. Not by a long shot. “Might I suggest,” he said, “that some other vessel might benefit more from my services at this time.”
Kirk absorbed the comment. “You’re requesting a transfer?”
“I am,” the Vulcan confirmed dispassionately, his features devoid of anger or any other emotion.
The captain frowned, knowing there was little he could say in response to that. “I’ll take it under consideration.”
“Thank you, sir,” Spock replied.
[73] Having had his say, the Vulcan didn’t linger. He left the way he had come. Kirk watched the gymnasium doors close with a whisper behind his first officer, then considered what the man had said.
It was true that the captain often felt more comfortable relying on Gary’s input. But then, he had good reason to feel that way.
For one thing, he had known Gary a long time—practically all of his adult life. A good part of that time, the two of them had worked side by side on one ship or another. They had learned to trust each other and to value each other’s advice—even when they declined to follow it.
Also, the first officer was a Vulcan—a member of an aloof and unemotional species. It was difficult for Kirk to place his faith in someone who thought strictly with his head and never with his heart.
In fact, when he took over the Enterprise from Christopher Pike, the captain hadn’t even considered making Spock his first officer. Then Pike had made a personal request. He had asked that the captain promote Spock, who was only a science officer at that time, to the position of exec.
Kirk could still have done as he pleased. However, he wasn’t about to ignore a recommendation from someone like Pike, who had blazed more trails and earned more honors than any captain before him.
So he had named the Vulcan his first officer, just as he had brought Gary aboard as his navigator, Piper as his CMO, and Kelso as his helmsman. Nor were any of them the slightest bit put off by the choice of an unheralded candidate like Spock.
And Gary was the least put off of all. After all, he [74] hadn’t been bucking for a promotion. The only ambition to which he had ever confessed was a desire to see the stars, and he could do that as well from the Enterprise’s navigation console as anywhere else.
The only feelings the captain hadn’t taken into account were those of the Vulcan himself. But he was so cold and distant, Kirk hadn’t imagined he had any feelings—much less that he would object to the situation, no matter how it turned out.
And up until a few moments ago, he hadn’t.
The captain looked at the doors again and heaved a sigh. Maybe Spock had a point. Maybe he was relying too heavily on his friend Gary for advice ... at the expense of the Vulcan and maybe even some of his other senior officers.
He would have to give the matter some more thought, he decided. And it wasn’t the only one he would have to ponder. After all, Spock had made a request of him, and he would expect an answer.
Do I give in to that request and let him walk? Kirk asked himself. Even if it’ll mean disappointing Chris Pike? Or do I try to hang on to Spock in the hope that I can still make this work?
Unfortunately, he would have to put the question of where to place the horizontal bar on hold. All of a sudden, he had a couple of more nettlesome problems to worry about.
Every Thursday morning since they had left Earth’s solar system, Gary Mitchell had had breakfast with his friend Jim in his captain’s quarters. It was an event the navigator had come to anticipate eagerly.
[75] It wasn’t because Kirk’s quarters were so much larger or more well-appointed than Mitchell’s, or because the food was better there, because none of that was the case. It was much more a matter of the informality that marked these occasions.
After all, the captain and his navigator were limited in what they could say to each other in public—Kirk more so than Mitchell. But there in the privacy of the captain’s quarters, they could say or do whatever they pleased and rest assured that no one would take them to task for it. They could bare their souls or act like giddy kids and know that it would never go any further than Kirk’s front door.
On Thursday mornings, Mitchell reflected, Jim Kirk could be a human being, with all the fallibility that it implied. He could forget that he was the captain of a starship for a moment and just be himself.
“So how are you feeling?” Kirk asked him from the other side of a black foldaway table.
As he awaited an answer, the captain dipped his spoon into a bowl of cereal and milk—what the navigator liked to call Kirk’s “farmboy breakfast.”
“Any complaints?” the captain prodded.
Mitchell shrugged. “Plenty. But none of them have anything to do with that dart I took for you.”
“Just checking,” said the other man.
“And don’t think I’m not appreciative,” his friend told him. He sprinkled some maple syrup on his steaming, golden brown stack of pancakes, which were already streaming with rivulets of melted butter. “The way Nurse Hinch was looking at me, I [76] figured she had brewed up a batch of her own poison in case the Dimoran stuff didn’t do the trick.”
Kirk rewarded him with a chuckle. “You think Nurse Hinch dislikes you enough to violate the oath she took?”
“I thin
k she dislikes me enough to steal a phaser and cut me to ribbons,” Mitchell gibed back. “I tell you, Jim, I got a chill every time the woman walked by my biobed.”
The captain shrugged. “It didn’t stop you from getting under her skin now and then.”
“Hey,” said the navigator, “I thought I could smoke her out—you know, get her to go after me with a chair or something.”
Kirk smiled at that and shook his head. “Honestly, Mitch, I don’t know why you pick on her so much. Nurse Hinch is a dedicated individual with a great deal to contribute.”
Mitchell grunted. “That’s what they said about Attila the Hun. It all depends on your perspective.”
The captain sighed. “You’re an evil man, Mitch. A very evil man.”
The navigator smiled. “Flattery will get you nowhere.”
After that, their conversation lapsed for a while, yielding to the necessary and not unenjoyable consumption of breakfast foods. The navigator ate his pancakes and his companion ate his cereal.
Nor did Mitchell feel at all uncomfortable with the silence. He knew Kirk too well to be uncomfortable with him in any circumstances. In the end, it was the captain who spoke up first.
[77] “Incidentally,” he said, “Mr. Spock came to see me.”
The navigator looked up at him, intrigued by the comment. “Did he?”
Kirk nodded. “Tracked me down in the gym. Seems he wasn’t exactly thrilled about what happened in that meeting yesterday.”
Mitchell wasn’t at all sure what the other man was talking about. “Something happened?” he asked.
“If you recall,” said the captain, “Spock presented an alternative to your sensor frequency plan.”
It took Mitchell a second or two to remember. “That’s right. And you rejected it, as I recall.”
“I did,” Kirk agreed. “But in retrospect, I think I may not have given it the consideration it deserved.”
The navigator tilted his head, wondering if he had heard his friend correctly. “Are you trying to tell me you’ve changed your mind?” he asked. “You, Captain Consistent?”
STAR TREK: TOS #87 - My Brother's Keeper, Book Three - Enterprise Page 6