Star Trek
Page 26
“As my customary farewell would appear oddly self-serving, I will simply say—good luck.”
They exchanged salutes, heavily wrinkled and aged fingers rising to the exact same height and distance from the body as their younger counterparts. Anyone witnessing the display of perfectly matched gestures would have been forgiven for thinking they had been made by the same person.
Resplendent in dress uniform as formal music played behind them, the four hundred stood at attention. Each row was perfectly aligned, each crew section sharing the ancient private wish to outshine the other. So it had been since the time of the Phoenicians. So it was now in twenty-third-century San Francisco.
Standing alone at the speaker’s podium, Admiral Barnett—the Academy commandant—gazed out over the sea of expectant young faces. How many times he had presided over such a gathering before, on how many equally momentous and gratifying occasions? But even for him, this one was special. Before him, awaiting their final commissions and their assignments, was a crew that had already done great things. He was confident they were destined to do more. He cleared his throat. Throughout the amphitheater, the last whispers died away.
“This assembly calls Captain James Tiberius Kirk.”
Pivoting smartly, a single figure broke from the formation to march down past rows of fellow officers. His progress was tracked by numerous pairs of eyes. Uhura—Scott—Chekov—Sulu. No one tried to repress what they were feeling and it shone forth in the smiles that filled their faces. Ascending the stairs to the podium, Kirk turned sharply and halted at attention. He too was smiling. The commandant forgave him.
“Your inspirational valor and supreme dedication to your comrades are in keeping with the highest traditions of service and reflect utmost credit upon yourself, your crew, and the Federation. By Starfleet Order Two-eight-four fifty-five, you are hereby directed to report to commanding officer of U.S.S. Enterprise for assignment as his relief.”
Snapping off an acknowledging salute that would have brought a tear to his first-year instructors, Kirk turned and walked past the commandant to halt in front of another officer. Admiral—formerly Captain—Christopher Pike saluted back from the autochair in which he sat. The trauma he had suffered had turned his hair permanently gray. Easy enough to cosmetically reverse the coloring, but not a choice a proud Starfleet officer would necessarily take. Experience was a badge of honor that neither Pike nor any other senior officer would casually discard.
“I relieve you, sir.” Kirk’s words rang out over the assembly—loud, precise, and Starfleet formal.
Pike was the one who smiled. “I am relieved,” he responded quietly. Then he too lapsed into procedural formality as he opened the box that was resting on his lap. Inside was a medal; its composition distinctive, the words engraved on it memorable.
“And as fleet admiral, in acknowledgment of your…unique solution to the simulation, it’s my honor to award you with this commendation for original thinking.”
Kirk advanced closer. Restraining a smirk, Pike reached up to secure the medal to the younger officer’s chest. “Congratulations—Captain.”
“Thank you, sir.”
He turned to face the crowd, not entirely certain of what to expect. The subsequent roar of appreciation and thunderous applause brought a moistness to his eyes. He stood there for as long as he thought proper, not wanting it to end but not wishing to overstay his approval.
It was a long way from Iowa.
Near the back of the assembly a lone figure looked on in silence. He did not applaud—physically. He did not cheer—verbally. But his appreciation was none the less for his silence and his poise. He did not stay for the aftermath, for casual conversation and idle chat. There was far too much to be done.
Remaining any longer would not have been logical.
The gold shirt and appropriate insignia fit well, Kirk decided as he entered the bridge. Evidently his crew thought so as well, if one were to go by the admiring looks that greeted him as he strode toward the captain’s chair and settled himself into the command seat. As soon as he nodded toward the helm, Lieutenant Sulu responded crisply.
“Maneuvering thrusters and impulse engines at your command, sir.”
“Weapons systems and shields on standby,” Chekov reported confidently. The ship’s chief tactical officer had aged remarkably fast—as had they all.
“Dilithium chamber at maximum efficiency, Captain,” came a broguish report from engineering.
Uhura swiveled slightly in her chair. “Dock control reports ready for departure. Yard command signaling all clear on chosen vector.”
From where he was standing between the command chair and the lift, the ship’s chief medical officer grinned wryly. “Same ship, different day.”
Kirk smiled at that. His expression changed as he spared a fleeting glance for the empty science station. Along with everyone else on the bridge, he hoped the position would have been filled before departure. By a particular science officer. But it still sat vacant, and they could delay no longer. The galaxy is forever in motion, he knew resignedly, and time waits for no man.
Lately, he had been forced to think a lot about time.
“Mister Sulu,” he announced as he swung back toward the helm, “prepare to engage forward thrus—”
The order was interrupted by a soft whoosh as the turbolift doors parted to admit a single figure onto the bridge. Displaying the insignia of a senior science officer on his blue uniform, Spock moved toward the command chair and halted halfway between Kirk and the empty—but no longer vacant—science station.
“Permission to come aboard, Captain.” Admiration gleamed in the eyes of every other officer present. Quite appropriately and as would have been expected, Spock ignored them all.
Well, perhaps not all.
Kirk struggled to suppress a broad smile. “Permission granted. Your purpose in presenting yourself here, Mister Spock?”
“As you have yet to select a first officer, I would respectfully like to submit my candidacy. If you decline, there is still time for me to disembark. I ask that you fully consider all candidates and qualifications before rendering a final decision in this important matter.” He paused a moment, his expression never changing. “Should you desire, I can provide character references.”
It was all Kirk could do to keep from bursting out laughing. As he met the Vulcan’s gaze, one of the science officer’s eyebrows rose prominently. Little more needed to be said.
“It would be my honor, Commander. The science station is yours.” Turning, he addressed the helm briskly.
“Maneuvering thrusters, Mister Sulu. Take us out.”
“Aye, Captain.” Sulu’s smile matched those of everyone else on the bridge.
The Enterprise began to move. Slowly at first, but without hesitation and with the subtle intimation of purpose that would define her own future. As it slipped clear of the dock, Spock remained by Kirk’s side.
“Before assuming my formal duties, I must know one thing. The Kobayashi Maru—how did you break the encryption code?”
Looking up at his friend, Kirk was finally unable to repress a smile that harkened back to an earlier time. To a simpler, younger, far more innocent time. He lowered his voice conspiratorially.
“Orion women talk in their sleep.”
Spock considered carefully before responding. “I suppose I may never understand cheating.”
Kirk nodded slightly. “Give it…time.”
No one was in the transporter room when it unexpectedly and fleetingly energized. The figure that emerged on the pad closest to the rest of the chamber did not hesitate, but made straight for the nearest open portal. The blip engendered by its appearance was too transitory and insufficient to alert security. It did not matter, because the unexpected arrival’s appearance on board caused only consternation and not alarm.
For the life of them, as it sped outsystem and entered warp space, no one on the Enterprise could figure out where the beagle with the
very peculiar ears had come from.
Space—the Final Frontier