RoH 3

Some Of Us Forever

Stardate 2260.129, 1830 hours, Bridge, USS Enterprise 1701

When Jim entered the bridge, he couldn’t suppress a grin. Hikaru Sulu still had the conn. Uncomfortable and ramrod stiff he perched on the very edge of the command chair. Jim wondered if the lieutenant would fall off the chair if he yelled “Booo” but quickly dismissed the idea.

It was, after all, a historic moment. That this moment was his … Bemused, and somewhat in awe, he shook his head.

“Thank you, Mister Sulu,” Jim said and grinned when Hikaru jumped off the seat as if stung. “Uncomfortable?”

“I’m not ready to get used to it yet.” With a wry smile Sulu moved to the helmsman’s station. “Chair’s all yours, sir.”

Jim took a deep breath and sat down. During the long months in hospital, there had been times when he’d wondered if he would ever be allowed to reclaim this seat. Darker times still, when he’d doubted if he’d ever be fit to sit in this chair again. Today all reservations and reluctance had faded.

This, this was his. A bitter birthright, certainly, but also a home hard-won. He would forever respect the chair.

First things first. There were procedures to observe. Pressing the button for Engineering, he leaned forward. “Mr. Scott, how’s our core?”

“Purrin’ like a kitten, Captain,” the chief assured him without hesitation, pride in his voice. Jim shook his head, amused. Even with Spock’s help it would take weeks to figure out just what Scotty had done to the warp core this time. Not that Jim minded the chief’s creativity; Scott was brilliant. But as captain he should be aware of the number of safety regulations the Enterprise didn’t conform with – a mere three months after Starfleet finished repairing, refitting, and updating the ship’s drives and weaponry.

“She’s ready for a long journey,” Scotty announced.

“Excellent!” Jim couldn’t stay put. Exuberance and excitement drove him to his feet. McCoy was hovering behind the chair with a gloomy expression. Leaving his daughter behind to send her off to Centaurus on her own was difficult for his friend. Jim clapped him on both arms, in a doomed attempt to cheer him up. “Come on, Bones – it’s gonna be fun.”

“Five years in space,” Bones muttered darkly. “God help me.”

Jim rolled his eyes and hoped the comment hadn’t been loud enough to be picked up by microphones. The start of their mission was being broadcast live to all Federated planets and then some. He turned to the next station on his list. “Dr. Marcus,” Kirk greeted the woman at the secondary science station. “I’m glad you could join the party.”

He wasn’t entirely comfortable with her presence. But she had earned the opportunity to prove herself and to move out of her father’s shadow. On Earth she would never manage. Jim knew all about that, and about what it meant that there was somebody, anybody, to give you the chance you needed. She smiled back at him. “It’s good to be here, Captain.”

At the back of the bridge, behind Bones, he glimpsed the imposing figure of Commander Michael Paul. With rugged features, sharp green eyes, and salt-and-pepper hair, the man was still lean and fit as a fiddle, although he was one of the oldest officers on board. Jim still wasn’t sure how he got that lucky. The man was a legend in Starfleet – the Xenopolitics officer with the highest ratio of successful First Contacts ever. Paul had resigned from active starship duty years ago to take care of his only child after his wife’s death. It was nothing short of amazing that Paul had signed on for a five-year mission now. With his daughter in tow, too (Lieutenant Carolyn Paul was a sciences officer who’d work as a teacher for the duration of their trip). No matter; Jim wasn’t one to look a gift genius in the mouth. Smiling, he nodded to the commander. It was good to have such an experienced officer on board.

Next, Jim turned to Uhura. One of these days he’d get her to allow him to call her Nyota. Another goal for this mission. “Communications?”

“Starfleet Command are hailing us – Captain.” She was all business, but her eyes were gleaming. And the way she said “Captain” told him she meant it.

“On the screen,” Jim ordered, stepping next to his first officer, who instantly moved half a step backwards.

Larger than life, commander in chief Admiral Abrams appeared before them on the display. His unruly black hair was swept up over a high forehead. Gray eyes sparkled behind retro glasses with thick black rims, ruthless-smart. “Captain Kirk, as commander in chief of Starfleet Command it is my duty and my privilege to issue the following orders to you and the crew of the starship Enterprise. For the next five years your mission shall be: to explore strange new worlds, to seek out new life and new civilizations, to boldly go where no man has gone before.” The admiral smiled. “Godspeed to you all – Abrams out.”

Anticipation overflowed into exhilaration. Jim turned to his first officer. “So. Where should we go, Spock?” he quipped.

Spock stood motionless, a warm column of strength, almost but not quite touching. He didn’t even raise an eyebrow at the inane question. (They had received the itinerary for their mission months ago; additionally, Spock was the sole member of the crew who already knew the details of their top-secret missions on behalf of the Vulcan High Council.) Instead he replied, his voice warm and level, “As a mission like this has never before been attempted, I defer to your good judgment, Captain.”

Jim straightened but didn’t move away. If anything, he leaned infinitesimally closer to Spock. Shit, he thought, lightheaded with the euphoria of the moment, that’s it. Now.

“Mr. Sulu – take us out.”

“Aye, Captain.”

Sulu verified the coordinates on his screen. Jim had just enough time to draw a deep breath. Then the helmsman punched it.

The familiar lights of the Terran system contracted around them, like diamonds on strings drawn into the hollow of an invisible hand, just to be flung back into space a moment later. In a flash, brilliant ribbons of lightning exploded, unfurling into the blaze of warp speed.

♦

Stardate 2260.129, 1400 hours, somewhere on board of the Enterprise

As soon as Chekov disappeared, Jo turned around and headed down the next corridor, doing her best to project vibes of “I belong here, everything’s cool”. So far it had been almost too easy. But she tamped down that dangerous surge of exhilaration. The hard part hadn’t even begun. She didn’t know where they were going. She had no idea when earthside authorities would catch on to her disappearance act. She had no clue how long it would take to get far enough away from Earth and any possible route to Centaurus for her to be safe. Bottom-line, she needed to hide as long as possible.

That’s where her previous trips to the Enterprise came in handy. She’d done her level best to memorize the floor plans of the entire ship. At least she probably wouldn’t get lost. But her best resource remained Mr. Scott – thanks to the visit when she’d innocently asked him what he’d do if he had to play “Hide and Seek” on the Enterprise. They’d all laughed; Mr. Scott, her dad, even Keenser. And then Mr. Scott had given her all kinds of neat insider tips. With a bit of luck, she’d get the last laugh now.

One important piece of advice had been to hide in the same place only once, and to stay where people were actually allowed to be. Mr. Scott had gone on about how scans registered when people happened to show up where no one should be. As if that was an insult or something, even though Jo was pretty sure starship security systems were meant to do just that. However, she’d taken Mr. Scott’s advice to heart. At least for a week, she wouldn’t spend a night twice in the same place.

Her first hiding place was a Jefferies tube that formed a short, horizontal emergency connection between two parallel corridors behind the turbolifts on deck twenty. At first the idea of being inside a Jefferies tube had scared her. She’d said as much when Mr. Scott had praised Jefferies tubes as hiding places. In horror holo-flicks the tubes were always endless, vertical tunnels full of shadows, hollow noises, and monsters. But Mr. Scott and Keenser had shown her how Jefferies tubes were pretty straightforward emergency shortcuts. Like this one. Emergency lights glowed at a comfortable level. Perhaps twenty percent. Not very bright, but good enough. The temperature was okay, too. Not warm, but also not cold enough that she needed a blanket. She was sure glad that she’d taken her dad’s old jacket with her, though. Now and then she glanced at the time on her PADD. The Enterprise was supposed to take off at 1900. As she waited, she noticed a couple of letters stamped into the metal of the tube: “G.N.D.N.” She wondered what that meant. And if she’d feel the moment the Enterprise left orbit, the second the starship went into warp. She kind of wanted to stay awake. After all she’d spent months waiting for that moment. But boy, was she exhausted.

In the end she closed her eyes and let herself drift off to sleep. Main thing, she’d made it onto the Enterprise. She’d stay hidden, and she’d stay with her dad, even if he had no idea that she was here at all.

♦♦♦

Stardate 2260.129, 2000 hours, Deck 10, Conference Lounge One

A few minutes past 2000 hours, at the end of Beta shift, the command crew milled into conference lounge one. Now that the PR shtick had been dealt with, and they were warping towards their first destination, it was time to get down to business.

Yeoman Rand had prepared the table with non-alcoholic drinks and PADDs on every place. She was a platinum punk of a woman with no manners to speak of, and one of the meanest hackers Jim had ever encountered. It was both reassuring and kind of creepy that Starfleet Command figured that particular combination of attitude and skills qualified her to work with him. But Gaila and the supercomputer of the Enterprise loved her, and Scotty had taken to calling her “lassie”. She was also the only one in the universe besides Spock who could make Jim do his paperwork on time and remember to use spell check. Within the last three months, Jim had come to appreciate her, abrasive personality and all.

Of course Jim had known that “five-year mission of deep space exploration” wouldn’t translate into the twenty-third century equivalent of “and they rode off into the sunset and went wherever they wanted to go”. Just how prosaic their orders read had been a letdown all the same. With a sigh, he settled down and looked at the members of his command crew: Bones, Uhura, Chekov, Sulu, Scott, Marcus, Paul. Spock.

“Ladies and gentlemen, our orders.” Jim tapped a few buttons, and the screen behind him flared to life, presenting the Starfleet seal on the cover of a fat folder. “I know we’ve been over all of that before …”

“… only three times every week for three months now,” Bones griped. “But by all means, oh Captain, my Captain, do enlighten us.”

Jim rolled his eyes and just kept going. Sure, this was repetitive. But that’s what successful missions were made of. Good prep work. Even leap-without-looking, sheer-desperation-will-make-it-work Jim Kirk knew that. If going over their itinerary, their various schedules, and all the damn details every day until they got back to Earth would save the life of even one red shirt, then that was how he’d spend his evenings for the next five years. “Each year of our mission is devoted to a specific major assignment. Explorations en route are up to the command team’s discretion, and I am looking forward to input from every department in due time.” A wave of his hand, and an overview popped up, with five subsections highlighted, one for each year of their mission.

“As you can see here, space is sort of like a piece of Swiss cheese.”

To illustrate, he switched on the holo-projector, then rose to his feet for more freedom of movement. That was the part of this latest debriefing Jim had actually prepared for. Most of all because he enjoyed playing with the new holo-projector. Above the wide, oval table a three-dimensional, translucent image of chartered space formed in spiraling rows of cubed sectors. Federation space glowed blue; the Klingon Empire flared red, Romulan sectors lit up yellow. Darkness that faded away into thin air surrounded everything: uncharted space. But even the tinted portions of space formed by no means solid blocks of explored territory. Instead they were riddled with holes, blank spots on the map. Not at all unlike the famous Terran cheese.

“A traditional Russian cheese,” Chekov whispered, nodding sagely, “the Sviss stole the recipe.”

Jim grinned but went right on, “Our job is to fill up some of those holes, and to expand the cheese a bit around the edges.”

“And if that doesn’t stink I don’t know what does,” Bones muttered.

Uhura shook her head, indicating her disapproval of Jim’s approach, figure of speech and all. But he could see that her lips were twitching. Spock offered a blank stare. At least he didn’t comment. Jim scratched his head. He’d have to work on his speeches. Perhaps he could have Rand write them for him? Suddenly an awful thought hit him. If Pike hadn’t survived, he might have been the one to give that speech at the memorial ceremony for the victims of the Marcus conspiracy. He shuddered.

“Our first mission is in support of a member of the Federation in their hour of need.” Now very serious, Jim nodded to Spock. “We are to proceed to Mu Draconis and the planet Alrakis, or Arrakis. Or yes, Bones, Dune.”

In one of their previous sessions, the different names for the damn planet had led to heated arguments among the team that he hadn’t seen coming at all. Who cared if the dust ball was called Alrakis, Arrakis, Dune or Sandmite Paradise? Jim shook his head. At least today he could provide some useful details about this destination and wasn’t stuck with saying: “That’s where we go first; update the translators with that freaky Fremen dialect, and get me info about sandworm riding – sounds like a fun activity for shore leave.”

Vulcan High Council had meant business when they’d declared this part of their mission top-secret. Even he had been given the interesting details only this very morning. By Sarek. In person. Paranoid, the lot of them. Not that he blamed them. Not after Nero, and certainly not after an unknown party had abducted three Vulcan scientists from a climate research station on a remote desert planet to sell them on a slave market of an Orion colony a few weeks ago. Pure dumb luck that enough Section 31 agents had been present to rescue the Vulcans. (Weather forecasts, the guys had been working on weather forecasts! Somehow that made the whole thing even worse. So few had survived the Vulcan genocide, and now that very fact made it dangerous for them to just keep living their lives, doing their jobs?) Jim couldn’t get the log entry out of his mind in which Spock had stated how he was a member of an endangered species now. What a fucked up universe in which that translated into Fleet intel with astronomical going prices of Vulcans on way too many planets of known space. The latest “at risk” report of PATS (Planets Against Trafficking of Sentients) made Jim want to throw up and never allow Spock on any away mission ever again.

“The planet is the last known location of a Vulcan colony under the leadership of one Sybok. I guess Vulcans just can’t pass by desert worlds without natural precipitation. Our goal is to locate the colony so Mr. Spock can deliver a message from the Vulcan High Council.” Jim decided to leave it at that for the moment. Traveling at an average of warp six it would take them around two months to get there. Time enough to reveal certain sensitive details concerning Sybok and friends.

A bright purple line appeared in the projection to indicate their itinerary, complete with estimates of travel times lighting up along the way. He liked the new holo-technology. “From Arrakis we are to pursue a course to the Black Cluster to scout out a possible location for a starbase in order to facilitate research on the effects of gravitational wavefronts. As Nero has shown us, our current navigational systems are not up to scratch when it comes to the impact of such phenomena.” He smiled at Spock. As science officer, Spock was looking forward to that part of their mission a lot; searching for a good spot for a starbase would provide ample opportunity for the science department to collect data on the Black Cluster and to contribute to important research projects.

“From there we are to make our way toward the unaligned space of the Sagittarian systems at leisure. Claiming areas at a strategic distance from the Romulan neutral zone have become a priority for Starfleet. So if at all possible we’re supposed to make First Contact and get people to sign on with the Federation right away.” He frowned at the display and failed to come up with something new to add to what they’d been going over for weeks, well, ever since Starfleet Command handed them their general itinerary. “Besides ‘the Teapot’ systems, Alpha Sagittarii – Rukbat – seems the best candidate so far.”

Thankfully Spock didn’t start a discussion this time. Last time the debate of what “strategic distance” meant and how the proximity of The Patriarchy might cause problems had taken until 0500 hours. Since Sagittarian sector was pretty close to the Kzinti, a race with a long tradition of deep space exploration, everyone anticipated that they’d find warp-capable societies in that area. However, taking into account the aggressive history of that species, chances were that visitors wouldn’t be received with open arms. Hey, a scant two-hundred years had passed since Earth’s last victory over the Patriarchy and the peace treaty of Sirius that tamed those warrior-cats. On Earth some people still clung in warped nostalgia to Terran territorial conflicts resolved several hundred years ago. Vulcans got twitchy when reminded of kerfuffles that happened a few thousand years in the past. And Klingons, well, best not get into that because there was no getting out of it, ever … The bottom-line was that beings who’d suffered acquaintance with the Kzinti before the Terran 21st century might very well shoot first and ask questions later.

Jim expected trouble, and although they’d been over it a dozen times already, the bad feeling in the pit of his stomach persisted. Maybe that’s why he needed to sum everything up once more tonight. To reassure himself. Let me explain, he thought wryly. No, there is too much. Let me sum up. The famous quote reminded him that he should organize a movie night one of these days and force everyone to watch the historical Terran flicks he enjoyed. If only to get back at Rand for the captain’s dinner she’d scheduled for … shit, in twenty minutes?

“Last but not least, we are supposed to return into Federation space to patch up a rather uncomfortable hole at a critical location between Romulan and Klingon space: the Regulus system.” Jim pointed at the base of a blue outlier of Federation space ensconced between yellow and red on three sides. If shit went down in that corner of Federation space, Regulus would the most important bastion to fall back to. Jim took a deep breath. There, almost done. He felt quite accomplished for having summed things up for the thirty-seventh time without boring his team to death (at least they didn’t look quite dead yet), thus ending their mission early.

“All of that should keep us more than busy for five years.” Nods and smiles followed that statement. Space was a big place; just getting from one destination to the next would take them between one and three months. The core of the Enterprise might be the most advanced warp drive yet, but even so a speed of warp eight could not be sustained for days on end. Most of the time, they would have to make do with warp six.

“Aye,” Scotty said happily. “An’ that’s assumin’ nothin’ goes awry.”

“Which we all know it will,” Bones groaned. “Just think about it: First we get to spend some quality time boiling our brains to mush in a worm-riddled and drug-infested desert. Then we’re supposed to play chicken with a whole cluster of black holes. Dancing around a damn abyss, that’s what it is. Only to—“

“Especially since we are to fulfill another task for the Vulcan High Council throughout our mission,” Jim interrupted before Bones could go into full rant mode. With that announcement he had everyone’s attention once more. Time for the second Vulcan revelation this evening. He should send Sarek a thank-you note. “Time to brush up on Vulcan history, ladies and gentleman. Hopefully everyone knows that after Surak several factions left Vulcan to found new colonies, such as what is now known as the Romulan Empire. However, what may not be common knowledge is that there’s another contingent of Vulcans who errr… left the planet due to philosophical differences later on. Vulcans who have never settled down but have embraced a nomadic life-style.”

“Philosophical differences?” Bones put in, intrigued. “Was mugwump Surak not logical enough for them, or what?”

“Quite the opposite,” Spock replied mildly. “The V’tosh ka’tur believe in the necessity of actively experiencing emotions in order to control them. When their lifestyle became incompatible with the majority of Vulcan society, it … was deemed appropriate that they leave Vulcan-that-was.”

Bones stared at Spock. “You mean to say that there are …” He blinked, started over: “Just, lemme get that right: There are emo Vulcan space gypsies out there somewhere?” He flailed his hands. “Emo Vulcan space gypsies who got kicked out of the logic club because the rest of you guys didn’t approve of their touchy-feely flower-power ways? And now – after how many hundred years, the High Council wants them back?”

“If there are any Vulcans still out there,” Jim said firmly, “they should be made aware of the plight of their people. And that’s our job. We’ll interrupt our voyage at all major trade hubs to gather information in order to make contact with the V’tosh ka’tur. Whoever they are, and whatever philosophy they subscribe to. That will take a lot of time, but we have five years to get this done, after all.” He sat down and reached for a glass of water. His throat felt dry and scratchy after the lengthy monologue. “Questions? Comments? Have at it.”

♦♦♦

Stardate 2260.129, 2100 hours, Deck 8, Main Mess

When the discussion wound down, Jim would have liked to hole up in Engineering with Scotty, Bones, and Gaila. Celebrating their successful escape from Earth with whisky and Romulan Ale would have made the start of their mission perfect.

Instead harridan Rand dragged him off to his cabin to change into his damn dress uniform and then back to the mess hall to attend her stupid gala dinner. As if that wasn’t bad enough, she made him give a speech with an abbreviated version of Abrams’ farewell message and their orders, as far as that was appropriate for the unwashed masses. Jim decided then and there that from now on Rand was going to draft all of his speeches, always. In this case, revenge was captain’s prerogative. Even if he had to admit that she was right to insist – historic moment, first civilian contingent on a Starfleet flagship ever, first five-year mission and all.

Thing was, looking at all those faces in the storm of applause that followed his awkward impromptu speech, he was transported back to Iowa. Back to a time before Frank, before Tarsus IV, when he hadn’t understood yet what it meant to be his father’s son. Back to county fair potluck dinners with adults making boring speeches and him sharing silly jokes with Sam and their mother shushing them and sticky fingers and cotton candy and his mother’s laughter and … He stared at the faces, at all those people looking at him – no, not at him, at the captain – crew members, their spouses, their children, at human beings and aliens. So many lives hurtling through space, all of them his responsibility. His people, in a way. He wondered if that was how the ancient kings of Earth had felt, all possessive and proud. The same instant, and perhaps for the first time ever, he understood just why Bones periodically got the heebie-jeebies over being stuck in what was not much more than a tin can yo-yoing through space. “Fucking scared” didn’t come close.

Thank goodness dinner was served then, and he needed to concentrate on his food. Eating was, and always would be, serious business for Jim. First of all, what with the million things he was allergic to, eating often amounted to Russian roulette with fork and spoon for him. Then there was Bones monitoring his messed-up metabolism (surviving a famine will do that to you) and moaning about vegetables and salad and “fish, Jim, fish, and steamed, not fried” and no damn carbs, and most certainly not for dinner. Finally, each and every meal constituted an intimate battleground for Jim’s often visceral reactions to the presence and the absence of food, which could swing from attacks of gluttony to painful revulsion from one meal to the next. However, no matter what, he always ate slowly, and he always consumed everything on his plate. He was also almost incapable of talking during meals. Demonstratively crunching away on that apple had been the hardest part of the Kobayashi Maru. He’d puked afterwards, too.

All of that – last minute preps and checks starting at 0400 hours, lunch with Spock, checking all stations before leaving orbit, his orders, security measures, the big moment with Abrams on the screen, the briefing, the torture of public dinner – added up. This was why Jim wound up in sickbay at 2200, tied into knots, staring into a glass of medicinal whiskey from Bones’s secret stash instead of sleeping. Also because he knew it would be one of those nights. A night when he’d be afraid to fall asleep like a stupid little kid. It was one of those things left over from … well, that thing. Bones knew, of course. But he wouldn’t mention it. He’d just sit with Jim, however long it took, and happily express his personal disgust with the construction of the universe in general and the human body in particular. They’d share a few drinks, and if it was really bad, Bones would eventually bully him into manning up and enduring a hypo that would knock him out instantly for a few hours or into taking a couple of pills that worked a bit more slowly. That night, Bones needed it, too, the drinks, and the companionship. Leaving Jo behind … Jim hadn’t seen Bones like that in a long time. He’d told his friend not to be an idiot and to take Jo along when the topic came up first. But of course Bones would have none of that. Jim had quite seriously considered kidnapping Jo. Tonight he wished he’d just gone ahead and done it.

♦♦♦

Stardate 2260.129, 2300 hours, Deck 5, Captain’s Cabin

Gamma shift was already half over when Jim returned to his cabin. Wow, he’d live to regret that in the morning. He hadn’t accepted the casual offer of a hypo or pills. The buzz generated by the wine he’d had with dinner and the shots he’d downed with Bones should be enough on top of a long day to make him go the fuck to sleep.

No such luck. Jim didn’t even try complete darkness but kept lights at twenty to start with and left the door to his living area open. As he lay in his bunk with the skin trying to crawl off his back, he couldn’t deny that he might have a real problem. At 2400 he sat up, trembling, to glower at the bathroom door. He’d opened the door to the office adjacent to the living area at 2330 because hey, it was his office, his very own, private, awesome captain’s office, and why should he keep that door closed? Besides, better air quality and all that. But if he opened the door to the bathroom he shared with Spock as well, chances were that Spock would hear it. And worse, it might not be enough. Jim knew treatment existed for trauma-induced claustrophobia. Drugs and therapy and what have you. But bullshit. He hadn’t come back from death to be scared of doors.

Jim balled his hands into fists and squeezed his eyes shut. He had no idea how long he sat there like that, leaning against the wall, sweating and shaking, his heart trying to explode from an utterly fucked-up fight-or-flight impulse. A wisp of warm air made him open his eyes eventually.

The bathroom door was open. The other bathroom door was open, too. And in the darkness beyond he could just make out Spock. Dressed in a silken black robe, he sat on his meditation rock in a perfect loshiraq position, stone-still, as if he hadn’t moved or even breathed in hours.

♦♦♦

“We travel, some of us forever, to seek other states, other lives, other souls.”
– Anaïs Nin, The Diary of Anaïs Nin, Vol. 7: 1966-1974

♦♦♦

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Author’s Notes

• Some lines of narrative summary and dialogue in the first scene of this chapter are quoted verbatim from the epilogue of the tie-in novel “Star Trek Into Darkness” by Alan Dean Foster.

• Arrakis or Dune are from Frank Herbert’s “Dune”.