The Autobiography of James T. Kirk (20 page)

“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 schedule, 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.

Decker then indicated the younger man. “This is my son, Will.” The young man seemed nothing like his father; where Matt was coarse and unrefined, Will appeared friendly and polished, although somewhat nervous around all the senior officers. I must have shown my surprise, because Decker added, “He takes after his mother.”

“Cadet,” I said, shaking his hand. “Fourth year?”

“Yes sir,” Will said.

“Since he doesn’t look like me, I want to make sure everyone knows he’s my son,” Decker said, then turned to Nogura. “Don’t dump him on a starbase.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” Nogura said, with a rare smile. Decker then turned to me.

“Wait, are you the Kirk who commanded the
Hotspur
?” he said.

“Yes sir,” I said.

“I heard about that gas giant move,” he said. “Well done. And call me Matt.” Decker turned back to Nogura, referencing me. “Put this guy on a bridge too. He could come in handy.” I was hopeful that Nogura would take Decker’s suggestion, but I saw no sign of it.

A few days later, I walked into Cartwright’s office, while he was meeting with another officer I didn’t know.

“Jim, this is Major Oliver West,” Cartwright said. We shook hands; he was much taller than me and had a stare that I could only describe as “mean.” I noticed he had the rank of major and was part of the small contingent of Starfleet officers whose focus was infantry operations. Cartwright had brought me in because West wanted to ask me some questions about the incident on Dimorous. He seemed very familiar with my logs on the subject.

“How long do you think you could’ve held out?” he asked.

“Not very long,” I said. “There were too many of them, and they were fearless.”

“I was curious,” West said, “why you didn’t kill them, instead of using stun?”

“The Prime Directive,” I said. “As far as I know, they were indigenous.”

“Even though your lives were at stake?” West said.

“Isn’t that the point?”

“So you can’t imagine a situation where you’d violate the Prime Directive in order to protect the lives of Federation citizens?” West said. It felt like a trick question. Because in my mind, there was only one response.

“I think it’s my duty not to,” I said. West and Cartwright exchanged a look.

“Thanks for your time, Jim. I’ll see you later,” Cartwright said, getting up and leading me out.

I left feeling like I’d taken some kind of test and failed.

“Pike is getting promoted to fleet captain,” Nogura said. He had called me into his office, alone. Pike’s promotion wasn’t a complete surprise; our department had been discussing how his tactical knowledge of the Klingons was invaluable to Starfleet, and had to be part of overall mission planning. The revelation was what came next.

“You’re receiving a promotion to full captain, and you’re to assume command of the
Enterprise
,” Nogura said.

“Thank you, sir,” I said. I could barely get it out; I was thunderstruck.

“No need to thank me,” he said. “You were on top of the promotion list. Your years on the
Hotspur
are well regarded by the Admiralty. You were assigned a dangerous area of space, completed all your missions without any loss of life.” He made it sound very reasonable, but since joining the department, I had made a study of all the available command-grade officers. I was among the youngest, and there were several with years more experience than me as shipmasters.

“We are also implementing your plan to complete the
Enterprise
’s refit on Starbase 11,” Nogura said.

“Sir, a conservative estimate has the components reaching Starbase 11 in ten months,” I said.

“The ship should still function properly,” Nogura said. “You’re used to less-than-up-to-the-minute technology. Pike will bring the
Enterprise
to Earth tomorrow. We’ll transfer command then. Start going over personnel; see what spots you can fill in 24 hours. I think, if my recollection’s correct, you’re going to need a first officer.” He then stood up and shook my hand.

“Congratulations, Jim.”

“Thank you, sir,” I said. My head was mush; this was what I wanted, and yet I wasn’t sure why at this moment I was getting it. I felt it was somehow connected to the conversation I had had with Cartwright and West the week before, but I couldn’t figure out why.

Whatever doubts I had, I chose to put out of my mind. I went back to my desk, double-checked the
Enterprise’
s files to make sure the first officer position was open, and put a call in to Starfleet Personnel to requisition Gary Mitchell. His new captain wouldn’t like it, but I would figure out some way to pay him back.

I then opened the rest of the personnel files and started scanning them, then decided to call my parents while I did it. I opened a call on the screen. Dad answered.

“Hey, Captain,” he said. He took great pride in calling me that. “What’s going on?”

“Dad,” I said, “I really am a captain. I’ve got a ship. It’s the
Enterprise
.”

“Oh my god,” he said. “Bob April’s ship?”

“Yeah, but it hasn’t been his in ten years,” I said. “And anyway, it’s Jim Kirk’s ship now.” My dad laughed, and I could see he was welling up.

“I’m so proud of you,” he said. “You’re 29, that’s got to be some kind of record …” I hadn’t realized it until Dad brought it up, but I did a quick record search, and he was right. I was the youngest person to receive the rank of full captain in Starfleet’s history; the record, interestingly enough, had been held by Matt Decker, who achieved the rank at 31.

I’d been absently scrolling through the personnel records while we spoke, but stopped. I could see that Dad wanted to say something else to me, but I didn’t know what. I felt like he needed me to either prod him or change the subject.

“Where’s Mom?” I said. I chose the latter.

“She went to a conference this morning in London,” he said. “She should be back a little later.”

“Well, tell her the good news,” I said. “I’ll try to come home for a bit before I leave.”

“Do what you need to; you’ve got a big job,” he said. “Take care of yourself. I hope it’s everything you want it to be.”

“Thanks, Dad,” I said. “I think it will be.” We said goodbye and I shut off the communication. I could sense that he was proud, but there was something else, too. And then I thought about Carol and David. Dad didn’t know about them specifically, but now, looking back, I think he wanted to tell me what I was giving up. He didn’t know that I already knew.

I was soon distracted by all the work I had to do. I had to finish getting through the personnel records, to try to fill my open spots; I also had to see about a new uniform with the proper braid, and make any other last-minute arrangements before I shipped out. Busy with these tasks, I was happy. This was the fulfillment of my dreams. And just as I was thinking I was leaving all the struggles of my past behind, I noticed something in the personnel records that told me it wasn’t going to be all that easy.

The
Enterprise
’s records officer was Ben Finney.

*
EDITOR’S NOTE:
Janet Lebow became Janet Wallace after marrying Dr. Theodore Wallace, also an endocrinologist, several decades her senior. They were only married a few years before he passed away. She continued her distinguished career until 2283, when she was on a mission aboard the
U.S.S. Vengeance
, which disappeared with all hands.

“WELCOME TO THE
ENTERPRISE
, CAPTAIN,”
Christopher Pike said. I stepped off the transporter and shook his hand. I was struck by how tall he was, much taller than me. He greeted me with a friendly smile, and there was camaraderie about the way he said “Captain.” I felt like I was joining a very exclusive club.

“I think you know our transporter operator,” Pike said, and I saw a familiar face at the console.

“Mr. Scott,” I said. “Need someone to carry your tool kit?” We shook hands warmly. I knew Scott had been transferred to the ship as an engineer, and I was thrilled. This was one bit of luck I would never take for granted, and I would make sure he was permanent.

“Thanks for the offer, sir,” Scott said. “But I’ve got plenty of help here already.” He gave me a weary smile. I noticed his eyes were a little bloodshot.

“Rough night?” I said.

“My going-away party,” Pike said. “Come on, we’ve got a lot to cover.”

Pike took me on a tour of the ship, giving me a rundown of the areas of the refit that weren’t finished yet. It had been a while since I’d been on a
Constitution
-class ship, and its comfort was inviting. When we got to the bridge, it was twice the size of the
Hotspur
’s; it felt like a living room.

There were several familiar faces there: Lee Kelso was at navigation, Scotty had come up from the transporter room and was monitoring the engineering console. And Mr. Spock was at the science station, looking into his viewer. Pike took me over to him.

“Mr. Spock,” Pike said, “this is Captain Kirk.” Spock stood up from his viewer, at attention.

“We’ve had the pleasure. At ease,” I said.

“He is,” Pike said, smiling.

“Your record is very impressive, Mr. Spock,” I said. “I look forward to serving with you.”

“Thank you, Captain,” Spock said. “Please let me know if there is any way I can be of service.” It sounded as though he memorized it off a flash card. At that moment, I wasn’t sure I was ever going to be completely comfortable with this guy.