Kirk nodded again. “The more I think about it, the more I wonder if Spock may have had a point.” He paused. “Also, there’s something else I’ve got to take into account.”
“What’s that?” Mitchell asked, honestly curious.
The captain frowned, obviously trying to figure out the best way to say it. “Spock told me I lean on you too much. He said I always go with your suggestions over those of other people.”
The navigator chuckled at the notion and stabbed another piece of pancake. “Maybe I’ve just got a knack for good suggestions,” he offered.
“As a matter of fact,” said Kirk, “I think you do. [78] But Spock’s my first officer, Mitch. I can’t have him thinking I prefer your advice to his—or to anyone else’s, for that matter.”
The captain leaned back in his chair. “If this expedition were a life-or-death matter, I suppose I’d be forced to go with whichever plan made the most sense to me—regardless of who came up with it. But considering this isn’t life or death, I’m going to take this opportunity to show Spock that I value his opinion.”
“Really,” said the navigator.
Kirk nodded. “Really.”
Mitchell thought about it for a moment ... and realized he wasn’t the least bit offended. And as for which sensor strategy they pursued ... his friend was right, of course. It wasn’t nearly a matter of life or death.
“All right,” he said. “You’re the boss.” And he inserted the piece of pancake into his mouth.
The captain regarded him warily. “No hard feelings?”
The navigator chewed, swallowed and shrugged. “And if there were?”
“I’ve already changed my mind once,” Kirk told him. “I’d have to say that’s my limit.”
Mitchell smiled at the remark. His friend’s sense of humor had improved quite a bit since their days at the Academy.
“I’ll tell you what,” said the navigator. “If you want me to take a backseat to Mr. Spock, I’ll do it. Just don’t leave me alone with Nurse Hinch anymore and I’ll do anything you want.”
[79] The captain nodded, looking more than a little grateful for his pal’s understanding. “It’s a deal,” he said mock seriously.
But Mitchell wasn’t done making his terms. “On the other hand,” he added, pointing a finger at Kirk, “don’t forget I’m around, okay? After all, I am your rabbit’s foot.”
Kirk looked at him. “My rabbit’s foot?”
“Your lucky horseshoe,” the navigator responded. “I mean, think about it. Where would you be without me? Lying in a street somewhere in Heir’at, the victim of scaly, orange dissidents? Or maybe part of a big, brown dragonhawk’s nest on Kiticha’a Four?”
“I see your point,” the captain told him.
“And more importantly,” his friend went on, “I’m the only officer on board who won’t hesitate to tell you when you’re wrong. You may not admit it, Jim, but you need someone like that.”
Kirk had to smile. “Sounds to me like you’re indispensable.”
“You don’t know the half of it,” Mitchell quipped.
“In that case,” said the captain, “I’ll have to remember not to give you any commendations that might draw attention. I wouldn’t want any of my colleagues snatching you away to serve as their first officer.”
The navigator made a derisive sound. “First officer?” he echoed. “Don’t make me laugh. Why would I want all that paperwork and responsibility when I’m perfectly happy the way I am?”
Kirk grunted. “That’s what you keep telling me.”
Mitchell downed the rest of his orange juice, then [80] pulled his napkin off his lap and placed it on the table. “Enough of this. Some of us have got to do some work around this ship.”
“Oh?” said the captain. “And you don’t call what I do work?”
His friend looked at him askance. “Come on, now ... be honest with me for a second. How hard is it to say ‘Set a course for Rigel Seven’? Or ‘Engage tractor beams, Mr. Kelso’? A monkey could do it.”
Kirk’s features hardened almost imperceptibly. “You’re coming dangerously close to insubordination,” he said. And then, in a slightly lighter tone, “I may have to keelhaul you, Commander.”
Mitchell grinned. Yes, the man’s sense of humor had definitely improved. And he was only too glad to take credit for it.
“Go ahead,” he told the captain as he got up and brought his plate and glass to the food slot. “That is, if you can find a keel on the old girl—which I tend to doubt.”
“Remind me to have one built for you,” Kirk responded.
The navigator chuckled again and waved off the remark. “See you on the bridge,” he told the captain.
“On the bridge,” Kirk echoed.
And on that note, Mitchell left the captain’s quarters.
Chapter Seven
KIRK WATCHED his door slide closed behind his friend with an exhalation of air, rather pleased at the way his day was starting out. After all, Gary could have made a fuss about his remarks, but he didn’t. He took the change in sensor strategy in stride.
And that was a good thing. Because in a sense, Kirk mused, the navigator had been his rabbit’s foot over the years—his ever-dependable good luck charm. With Gary’s timely assistance, the captain had gotten out of one tight spot after another long before either he or the other man had ever heard of a planet called Dimorus.
Without question, Gary’s presence over the years had been an asset, albeit sometimes in ways Kirk might not have expected. The man had proven his courage and resourcefulness time and again, and the rest of the captain’s command staff knew that.
[82] But Kirk didn’t want to depend on his friend to the exclusion of his other officers. He didn’t want to alienate any of them. That was why he was glad Gary hadn’t objected to taking a “backseat” to Spock.
For a moment, he thought he might have had to choose between his friendship with Gary Mitchell and the exigencies of command. And that was a choice he hoped he would never have to make.
Abruptly, his thoughts were interrupted by the sound of Alden’s voice over ship’s intercom. “Captain,” said the lieutenant, “I have a communication from Starfleet Command. It’s for your eyes only, sir.”
For your eyes only. Kirk hadn’t often heard that designation: He couldn’t help wondering what kind of situation had warranted it. Fortunately, he wouldn’t have to wait long to find out.
“Put it through,” he told Alden.
“Aye, sir,” came the response.
The captain made his way to his workstation, which sat atop his desk in another part of the room. The monitor screen showed him a field of blue with the United Federation of Planets symbol emblazoned in gold.
A moment later, the image on the captain’s monitor screen changed. Instead of the Starfleet insignia to which he had become accustomed, he was looking at a gray-haired woman in a rear admiral’s uniform.
What’s more, Kirk knew her, though she had changed a bit in the years since he had seen her last.
Her face, which he had once thought of as matronly looking, had grown sharper and sterner. Her hair, which she had pulled back into a bun, was even [83] grayer than before. And her expression, friendly in times past, was more businesslike than ever.
“Captain Kirk,” she said.
“Admiral Mangione,” he responded, his pulse beginning to race.
The first time the captain had encountered the woman, fourteen years earlier, she was serving as the first officer of the Republic—a Constitution-class vessel often used for cadet training missions. He and his friend Gary happened to take part in one of those missions.
One night, as the Republic skimmed along the Federation side of the Klingon neutral zone, Mangione used the ship’s intercom to confine Kirk and all his fellow cadets to their quarters. The order wasn’t lifted until the following morning, and none of the cadets were told what had taken place in the intervening hours.
Having been named a
full lieutenant by that time, Kirk did his best to put the matter out of his mind. Gary couldn’t do that, however. He became obsessed with trying to figure out what the first officer was keeping from them.
In the end, he convinced Kirk to help him sneak into the Republic’s sensor control room and hack into the logs of the night in question, so they could get an inkling of what all the fuss had been about. But they found that the logs had been wiped clean—a security measure so extreme it could only have been contemplated at the highest levels of Starfleet Command.
They withdrew from the room as quickly as they could. Nonetheless, they were apprehended by a [84] couple of command officers and brought to the Republic’s captain, a man named Bannock.
Gary was afraid that he had wrecked their chances of becoming Starfleet officers. However, they managed to get away with a slap on the wrist. The greater punishment was knowing they would probably never find out what had happened that night on the Republic.
Kirk had believed he would never hear anything about the incident again, much less have the mystery cleared up for him. Then, six or seven years later, he was serving as second officer on the Constitution when the ship received orders to follow a certain course—one which would eventually lead them to the Klingon neutral zone.
It was Gary, who was the ship’s navigator, who recognized where they were going. It was the same part of space the Republic had been headed for when Mangione confined the cadets to their quarters.
Soon after, the Constitution’s captain, whose name was Augenthaler, received another message—this time, from an Admiral Ellen Mangione. She gave him the set of coordinates that would serve as their destination.
By then, of course, Kirk and Gary had put the coordinates together with the name Mangione. They began to wonder if their mission had something to do with what had happened on the Republic, and whether they might live to see the mystery of that night revealed to them after all.
But none of their speculation—Kirk’s nor Gary’s—prepared them for what they saw when they reached the location in question. Suddenly, [85] their viewscreen was riveted on the image of a Klingon battle cruiser.
A Klingon ship ... in Federation space.
But as Augenthaler girded the Constitution for battle and started to close with the enemy, Admiral Mangione’s face filled his forward viewscreen. In no uncertain terms, she told the captain to power down his weapons and leave the vicinity immediately.
Augenthaler asked her if she knew there were Klingons in Federation space, but it didn’t seem to make much difference to her. Mangione simply repeated her orders to power down and withdraw.
Then, to add insult to injury, she added that no one present on the bridge at that moment was to discuss what he had seen with anyone—ever. And without a single word of explanation, she signed off.
So, far from being solved, the mystery had deepened. And neither Kirk nor Gary had seen Admiral Mangione again.
Yet there she was on the captain’s monitor screen. Again, he felt his curiosity coming back like a powerful liquor, setting every cell in his body ablaze. Every time he saw Mangione, he brushed against the dark, fluttering heart of one of Starfleet’s most closely guarded secrets.
“It’s good to see you again,” the captain told her, trying to keep his voice calm and even.
“Likewise,” she answered curtly.
“What can I do for you?” he asked Mangione.
Back on the Republic, the woman had seemed warm, understanding ... almost a mother figure to the cadets who served under her. Somewhere along the line, she had become quite the opposite.
[86] “I need a ride,” the admiral told him. “Some other old friends of yours will be coming along as well.”
“Coming along where?” Kirk inquired.
“I’m afraid that will have to remain classified for the time being,” Mangione advised him. “All you need to know is that we’ll be waiting for you at Starbase Thirty-one.”
“I see,” he said.
“When can we expect you?” she inquired.
Kirk performed a mental calculation. “At warp six, we can be there in less than a day.”
“That will be perfect,” the admiral told him. “I’ll see you when you arrive. Mangione out.”
As her image vanished from the screen, Kirk frowned. The woman was just as determined as ever to keep her secret, it seemed. However, he was determined as well.
After all, the captain had blown two chances to find out what had happened that night on the Republic fourteen years earlier. He would be damned if he was going to blow another one.
Gary Mitchell had already programmed the turbolift and was well on his way to the bridge when he heard his friend’s voice come to him via the Enterprise’s intercom system.
“Commander Mitchell, this is the captain. I need to speak with you immediately. And I do mean immediately.”
Considering how recently he had seen Kirk—a few minutes ago, at most—Mitchell had no idea what the man wanted. Maybe he’s going to ask me what size keel to order, the navigator mused.
[87] Nonetheless, he punched in a command. A fraction of a second later, the compartment came to a halt, the whine of its motors diminishing sharply and then stopping altogether.
“Go ahead,” he told Kirk. “I’m alone in here.”
“Brace yourself,” said the captain.
Mitchell wondered what his friend was up to. “For what?”
Kirk paused—for effect, it seemed. “I just spoke to Admiral Mangione,” he informed the navigator.
Mitchell wouldn’t have been more surprised if the floor dropped out from beneath him. “You didn’t.”
“I did,” the captain insisted. “An eyes only communication, no less.”
Eyes only, the navigator thought, his mind racing. But not classified. “So it’s up to you how much of that communication you care to share with your intrepid command staff.”
“That’s correct,” Kirk confirmed.
“And what did she want?” his friend asked.
“Get this,” said the captain. “She wants us to pick her up at Starbase Thirty-one. And not just her, but what she described as some other ‘old friends’ of mine.”
“Old friends?” Mitchell echoed, his curiosity reaching new heights.
“That’s what she said.”
“And why are we doing this, exactly?” the navigator wondered.
“Mangione told me that part was classified,” Kirk replied. “But naturally, I couldn’t help thinking—”
“That this has something to do with that night on [88] the Republic,” Mitchell blurted, finishing the thought for him.
Dammit, he thought. What if it does have something to do with that? After all these years, is it possible we’ll finally find out what that confinement-to-quarters business was all about?
“Exactly,” said the captain.
“When are we scheduled to arrive at Starbase Thirty-one?” the navigator inquired. Then he held up a hand, though Kirk couldn’t see him. “No, no, don’t tell me.” He made some quick calculations in his head. “Twenty-two hours, more or less?”
“That was my estimate as well,” his friend responded. “If you don’t mind getting up at an ungodly hour of the morning, I’d like you to help me greet the admiral and her entourage—whoever they are. After all, if they’re my old friends, they’re likely yours as well.”
Mitchell grunted. “Are you kidding? For something like this, I’d stay up all night. And it wouldn’t be the first time the old girl cost me a night’s sleep, now would it?”
“I guess not,” said Kirk. “Anyway, you’d better get going. And remember—not a word about what happened on the Republic or the Constitution to anyone. We were sworn to secrecy.”
“How can I forget?” asked the navigator.
“Good. I’ll see you in a few minutes.”
“Aye, sir,” Mitchell answered dutifully.
As the captain signed off, the navigator punched in another
command and sent the lift compartment moving again. Admiral Mangione, he thought, here [89] on the Enterprise. And not just her, but some of her cronies.
Mitchell rubbed his hands together greedily as the turbolift’s motors began to whine. This could be interesting, he told himself. It could be very interesting indeed.
Kirk stood between Spock and his friend Gary in front of the dark disc of the Enterprise’s transporter platform. The platform was empty, though the captain had been assured that wouldn’t be the case for long.
“Old friends,” the Vulcan mused.
“That’s what the admiral said,” Kirk returned.
“With whom you served on another vessel,” the first officer noted.
“That’s correct, Spock,” said the captain.
With his friend on one side of him and Spock on the other, Kirk felt as if he were performing a balancing act. His first impulse had been to bring Gary alone to the transporter room, considering he was likely to know Mangione and her companions as well as Kirk did.
However, after his conversation with the Vulcan, the captain was leery of making it seem he was excluding Spock from anything at all. So, in the hope of keeping peace, he had asked his first officer to report here as well.
“It can’t be Bannock,” Gary said, and not for the first time. “Bannock’s retired, right? And Gorfinkel too.”
“We’ll find out soon enough,” said Kirk.
[90] A moment later, as if to substantiate his prediction, the air in front of them rippled and shone with the transporter effect. Their visitors began to materialize—five of them in all.
Naturally, one of them was Admiral Mangione. She seemed to be a bit slimmer than the captain remembered, the effect no doubt enhanced by the tailored lines of her gold admiral’s uniform.
Broad-shouldered Andreas Rodianos stood at Mangione’s side. When Kirk first met him, the man had been the security chief on the Republic. In the fourteen years since, Rodianos had risen steadily through the ranks of Starfleet administration, though he didn’t seem to have aged much. To Kirk’s eye, he looked every bit as strong and fit as ever.
STAR TREK: TOS #87 - My Brother's Keeper, Book Three - Enterprise Page 7