The Autobiography of James T. Kirk (10 page)

“Mr. Mitchell,” I said, “next time,
think
before you throw a punch.”

“Sir, yes sir,” Mitchell said, with a smirk.

He was lying on the floor; I was standing over him, having just thrown him with a judo move called
koshi garuma.
I was serving as an instructor in Hand-to-Hand Combat, and Gary Mitchell, a first-year cadet, was my problem student. It didn’t seem to bother him that he was going to wash out of my class. Probably because it wasn’t the only class he was going to fail.

It was my third year, I’d been promoted to cadet lieutenant, and Mitchell was in my squad. He was everything I wasn’t: charming, gregarious, rough, and a little reckless. I had been leaning into him, hoping to shake loose a little intellect, but I wasn’t having much success. I had a feeling at that time that Mitchell wouldn’t make it through.

I was at the Finneys’ home one night and mentioned it to Ben.

“Let him wash out,” Ben said. “Who needs another loser graduating?”

Ben was now in his second year as a postgraduate instructor, and the academy had just asked him to stay on for a third. Unlike Finney, many computer specialists could often be notoriously bad teachers, which is why he was so valuable to the academy. But he’d watched two graduating classes leave him behind, and now he would see a third; it was starting to get under his skin.

His baby, Jamie, however, seemed to do a lot to soften his mood. Ben had said he wanted a son, but didn’t seem at all disappointed in having a daughter. It had come as quite a shock when he and Naomi told me that they were naming their first child after me, and it made me feel more attached to them as a family. I leaned on them during those years after I broke up with Ruth. Aside from a couple of casual relationships, Ben and Naomi became my one major social outlet, as I threw myself into my studies. (I found out later that some underclassman had dubbed me a “stack of books with legs,” which I would only criticize as not being particularly clever.)

In any event, it was soon time to submit Mitchell’s grade. I spoke to his other instructors; though he was passing most of his classes, he was going to fail his Philosophy of Religion course. That and another failing grade from me would lead to expulsion. I weighed the decision seriously and finally decided to pass him. Maybe I had softened on him, maybe I just liked him, but whatever the reasons, I would not regret that decision.

The following summer, I was part of a flying exercise of two squadrons of five craft each; we were flying academy trainers, the century-old Starfleet surplus shuttle pods, with basic instrumentation and updated piloting software. I had rated high on piloting, so by my third year I had my own squadron, and Gary was in it. We were out near Earth’s moon, learning to operate in its gravity well. I was in the second squadron; my old roommate Adam Castro led the first. Our job was to follow them, stay within ten kilometers, and imitate their maneuvers as closely as possible. Castro acted the role of hotshot pilot, so he wasn’t making it easy. There was also a little bit of competition between the two squadrons, which I did my best to tamp down.

We were doing a fair job of following, until their final maneuver. They lined up wingtip to wingtip, forming a three-dimensional loop. We imitated the maneuver, when I noticed something on one of my scanners. Gary noticed it too.

“Cobra Five to Cobra Leader,” he said, “they’re opening their coolant interlocks. Do we follow suit?”

“Cobra Leader to Cobra Group, do not, I say again, do not follow suit,” I said. I could see what Castro was up to and I didn’t like it.

“But they’re accelerating, pulling ahead,” Gary said. “You know what they’re doing, don’t you?”

“Yes, I do,” I said. “Cobra Leader to Cobra Group, I repeat, keep your coolant interlocks closed. Engines to all stop; we’ll wait here until they finish.”

The ships of the other squadron spun, moved inward on the circle, and vented plasma. As they passed each other inside the circle, the plasma ignited. The maneuver, called a Kolvoord Starburst, usually ended as the ships moved out in separate directions, creating an expanding five-point eruption of ignited plasma. It was a “top gun” piloting maneuver that cadets had been performing for decades. I, however, hadn’t prepared my squadron for it, and it was too risky. My caution was justified.

As the ships moved past each other, one of them veered off its course and hit another one. It caused a domino effect; all the ships crashed into each other and were destroyed.

“Oh my god …” It was someone over the intercom, maybe Gary. I couldn’t be sure.

“Cobra Leader to Cobra Group, stand by for rescue operations—” Before I could finish that order, however, it was rendered pointless.

There was an explosion, and not the one the pilots intended. All the ships were engulfed in the cascading conflagration, and a much more dangerous wave of energy, caused by the detonation of five engines, was heading right toward us.

“Cobra Leader to Cobra Group, 180 degrees about and scatter, go, go go!” I said, shouting. I banked my ship and watched to make sure all the shuttle pods came about. The old ships moved achingly slow, but they all turned away from the explosion and each other.

I checked my six and saw the wave about to hit …

“All ships, brace for impact!”

I was jolted forward by the impact of the force wave. An alarm sounded and my instrumentation panel shorted out. Smoke billowed, and coughing, I waved it away. I looked up through my view port. I’d lost sight of the other shuttle pods.

“Cobra Leader to Cobra Squadron, damage report,” I said. I tried again; no answer. My communications panel was out. I then checked my helm and navigation panel; I had no instruments, no sensors. I looked up through the view ports. I still didn’t see any of the shuttle pods.

I couldn’t risk navigating by sight. Protocol in a situation like this was to prioritize communications and signal for help; ships flying blindly were a navigation hazard. And after witnessing the death of five cadets who weren’t following the rules, I decided I had to. So I ripped open the communications panel and attempted to repair the circuits.

After about half an hour, I was having no luck and started to regret my decision. The course the shuttle pods had been on was taking us away from Earth, so it might be a while before search and rescue found us. I had a squadron out here, I didn’t know their status, and because I had followed the rules, they might all be dead. I gave up on the communicator and took control of the helm. I was going to have to try to find them by sight. I started scanning the sky when I heard a loud thunk on my ceiling. I looked up as the upper hatch opened, and Gary Mitchell came through. He had docked his shuttle pod to mine.

“Permission to come aboard,” he said with a smile.

“Granted,” I said. “How did you find me?”

“I just started looking,” he said. “I found the rest of the squadron first; everybody’s alive.”

“You have instrumentation?”

“Nope,” he said. “I did it by sight, and when I got close to a ship, I used Morse code with my landing lights to tell them to fall behind me. Then I found you.”

“You … that’s …” I was dumbfounded. He’d taken so many risks, but he had brought the squadron together, and now we could safely navigate to the dock.

“I think I owe you one,” I said.

“We owe you one,” he said, “for not trying that maneuver.”

It was a terrible day; we’d seen five comrades die needlessly. But it was not without its lessons. The academy banned the Kolvoord Starburst, which has not been performed to this day. And I learned that I could count on Gary Mitchell.

“This was a labor camp,” Lev said. He was a native of Axanar, humanoid, short and stout like most of his species, with reddish skin and ridges along his neck. It was the beginning of my last year at the academy. I was with a group of cadets, and we were standing in the central square of what had once been a midsize city on his planet. Some buildings had been destroyed to make room for stretches of farmland; others were converted to barracks and monstrous factories. A million Axanars had lived in this converted city, with dozens like it all over the planet, and spent a lifetime under the relentless rule of the Klingon Empire. As slaves they had no rights, and rebellion was not tolerated. Lev led us behind a wrecked building. I gagged at the sight; others gasped; a young cadet vomited.

Thousands of people, charred to their bones, in a pile two stories high. They hadn’t just been burned; heads had been bashed in, arms and legs broken. The faces of the blackened skulls seemed to scream in agony. There were smaller skeletons. Children. Babies.

“What a shame,” someone said. They had a mocking tone, and I turned, expecting to deliver a reprimand to one of my cadets. I was surprised, however, to see our party of had been joined by a group of Klingon soldiers, intimidating in their gold tunics with impressive sidearms packed to their waists. The one who’d spoken, their leader, wore a smile that could freeze an open flame.

“You don’t sound sincere,” I said.

“Oh, but I am,” he said. “The rules were clearly posted. If only they’d followed them, they might still be alive.” We were all about the same age, part of the same mission. A mission of peace that at the moment I wanted no part of.

Axanar was the site of a battle between the Federation starship
Constitution
and three Klingon ships. Captain Garth of the
Constitution
, in some brilliant maneuvers, defeated the Klingon birds-of-prey. (In one particular move that we would study in school, he took remote control of his enemy’s weapons console. No one had thought to try that before, and it led to all Federation ships having their own combination code so no one would try it on
us.
)

Garth was a unique captain, and rather than suing for peace, he boldly claimed the system was under his protection. It was a big gamble; since the Klingons considered Axanar part of their empire, Garth’s action could have started a war. But Garth knew the Klingons were embarrassed by the defeat. The Klingons relied on fear to maintain their empire, and if they took him on and he somehow defeated them again, it could undermine their authority in the entire quadrant. In addition, Axanar was no longer of value to the empire; most of its assets were depleted. For those reasons, the Klingons hesitated before taking further action.

This allowed the Federation Diplomatic Corps leverage to step in. They reached out to the Klingons, hoping for a negotiated peace. The Klingons, for the first time in history, agreed. In truth, the Klingons decided to use the negotiations as an opportunity to get more information on what they considered their greatest enemy.

Starfleet saw the same opportunity; this peace mission was a chance for our military minds to gather as much information as possible about our greatest adversary. So along with the diplomats, a contingency of Starfleet officers was selected. I was part of a group of academy cadets included since we might one day have to face the Klingons in war.

It was not out of the question; right now, I wanted to hit the one standing in front of me.

“I’m Jim Kirk,” I said, extending my hand. The Klingon looked down at it with a mix of amusement and disdain. He didn’t take it, so I withdrew it.

“Koloth,” he said.

“A pleasure to meet you,” I said.

“I don’t think it will help our negotiations,” Koloth said, “if we start out lying to each other.” He wanted me to be open about hating him; I had no problem with it.

“You’re right,” I said. “Great things may come of this.” Koloth ignored me and turned to Lev, who’d shrunk behind my group of cadets.

“You there,” he said. “We’re thirsty. Get us some wine.”

“I’m sorry,” I said. “He’s giving us a tour. Maybe you could find your drinks on your own.” Koloth looked at me. One of the men behind him reached for a knife, but Koloth noticed, and with a slight motion of his hand signaled him to stop. Koloth then turned back to me.

“Very well. I imagine this won’t be the last time you and I meet,” Koloth said.

“I look forward to it,” I said. I gave him a smile that told him, this time, I wasn’t lying. Koloth led his men away.