“I thought you were concerned because you hadn’t done this in such a long time,” Sulu said, teasing her.
“I am still rusty,” Trinh told him. “I can feel it.” Sulu would have been hard-pressed to identify anything she could have done better. Her movements appeared artful, her hands and arms graceful. As she sent the kite swooping, climbing, diving, and arcing across the sky, all accompanied by the combined sound of the flutes, her actions seemed like a collective piece of performance art.
“Yeah,” Sulu said, “you’re about as rusty with the kite as I am at the helm of the Enterprise.”
Trinh laughed, sweetly and cheerfully, and Sulu joined in. He watched her, and he saw that several other people had gathered around the park to look on as well. He felt appreciation and pride as he stood beside her, and far more than that too.
Finally, Trinh said, “My hands and arms are getting tired.”
“Why don’t you pull her in?” Sulu said, realizing that he had referred to the kite in the same way he referred to Enterprise: with a feminine pronoun. “We can go have our picnic.”
“Don’t you want to try?” Trinh asked. She reached her hands toward him, but he didn’t take the reel and line.
“You know that I’ve never done this before,” Sulu said. “After watching you fly it, it’d be easy for me to humiliate myself, especially now that we’ve got an audience.”
Trinh glanced around at the spectators, but their presence did not deter her. “Come on, Hikaru,” she said. “Take the helm.”
Sulu laughed again, and when Trinh tried to hand him the reel and line once more, he took them from her. He felt the force of the wind on the kite at once, as though it wanted to tear it from him. He reflexively yanked the line toward him, and the dieu sao jerked upward. Attempting to compensate, he quickly extended his arms. The kite dipped back down, but then heeled around to the right and surged downward. Sulu exclaimed—more a sound than a word—and tried to guide the kite back up. Trinh had taught him how to use the line, but those lessons had been theoretical, not practical. While he managed to reverse the direction of the kite momentarily, its flight seemed neither steady nor smooth. “I think I need some help here,” he said.
Trinh reached for Sulu’s hands, presumably either to guide his movements or to take the line and reel from him, but too late. The kite swung around again and plunged toward the ground. Sulu tried to work the line, but it had slackened. Whatever small amount of control he might’ve had over the kite vanished. He watched helplessly as the bright-red dieu sao rocketed into the ground. The tones produced by the flutes abruptly ceased, giving way to the sounds of breaking wood and tearing fabric. Some of the onlookers added their own startled exclamations.
For a moment, Sulu and Trinh stood side by side, unmoving, staring at the wreckage of the kite they had worked together to create. He had intended the entire experience to have meaning for Trinh, to help her hark back to the wonderful days of her childhood when she’d shared such things with her grandfather, who had died while she’d been away earning her doctorates. Instead, he had destroyed what they’d built.
Turning to Trinh, he said, “I’m so sorry. I—”
“Are you sure you know how to steer a starship?” she asked. She appeared neither upset nor angry.
“I . . . I . . .” Sulu tried again, but he didn’t know how he could possibly apologize.
Trinh regarded him, then threw her head back and laughed. She stepped up to him and put her arms around him. “It’s all right,” she said. “It’s just an object. I mean, I know we built it together and that made it special, but we can always build another one. And even if we never do, so what? We still have each other.”
Sulu hugged Trinh to him, grateful to the universe at large for allowing their paths to cross. He still held the line and reel in one hand. He kissed her urgently but softly on the lips, then pulled back and gazed into her dark eyes. “I love you,” he said, telling her for the first time what he had just realized himself.
Then he kissed her again.
• • •
The door signal buzzed, surprising Kirk. He sat at the desk in his quarters aboard Enterprise, reviewing his recent log entries in preparation for submitting them to Starfleet Operations and Starfleet Command. Most of the crew had departed the ship on shore leave, heading either for Starbase 25 or for Dengella II, leaving behind only a skeleton staff.
Kirk had spent a few days off-ship himself, despite that he hadn’t really wanted to do so. He knew, though, that if he shunned leave completely, his ever-vigilant CMO would have made an issue of it. Not that the doctor had much cause for concern. After Kirk’s meeting with Commodore Wesley, the captain spoke with McCoy about it—about the upcoming end of Enterprise’s mission, about the possibility of being promoted away from starship command, about how to handle both potential and real changes in his life. Kirk strived to keep the future ahead of him and to hold his fears at bay. He reasoned that if Command would allow him only one more year as Enterprise captain, then he would not waste that time by indulging in self-pity.
“Come,” Kirk called toward the door. The single panel withdrew into the bulkhead, revealing a Starfleet officer the captain didn’t know, a member of neither the Enterprise crew nor, so far as he knew, the Starbase 25 staff. A human, the uniformed woman possessed a slim build, and though she probably stood a head shorter than Kirk, her ramrod-straight posture lent her the illusion of height. As she padded into the captain’s quarters, he noticed an angularity in the movements of her arms and legs, almost like those of a fawn. She had thick, golden hair—blond almost to the point of being silver—that gave her a radiant, youthful appearance, though the merest beginnings of lines in her face suggested that she had lived perhaps five or ten years longer than Kirk.
The woman wore the braid of a vice admiral, as well as the starburst-shaped assignment patch of Starfleet Command. She stopped two paces inside the cabin, and the door slid closed behind her. Kirk stood from his chair, though he couldn’t say whether he did so because of the flag officer who’d entered his company, or the beautiful woman.
“Captain Kirk,” the woman said easily, her manner not nearly as staid as her bearing. “I’m Vice Admiral Lori Ciana.”
“Admiral Ciana,” Kirk acknowledged. He stepped forward and offered his hand. She grasped it firmly and shook, a single up-and-down pump. The captain became uncomfortably aware of the heat of her flesh, and when she did not let go until just an instant longer than he expected, he felt as though he had committed some graceless breach of decorum. He retreated behind his desk, hoping to cover his discomfort, and gestured to the chair opposite his own. “Please, have a seat.”
Ciana crossed the cabin and took the chair offered. Kirk waited until she sat, then did so himself. “Admiral Ciana,” he repeated, searching his memory for the names of the members of Starfleet Command. Ciana’s name seemed familiar, but he didn’t believe that he’d ever met her or that there had ever been any communication between them. “Are you a member of Admiral Nogura’s staff?” he asked. A formidable officer, Commander-in-Chief Heihachiro Nogura held the highest position within Starfleet.
“I am,” Ciana said. “Technically, I’m simply an aide to the admiral, but my training is in xenopsychology, and so Starfleet Command’s relationships with nonhuman species fall under my purview.”
“That sounds fascinating,” Kirk said. His echo of a word that Spock so often used—fascinating—rang false in his ears. It made him realize that he hadn’t even really thought about what Ciana had said before responding to her. And that’s what I’m doing, he thought. Responding to her.
“It is fascinating, of course,” Ciana said. “But then, many positions in Starfleet are.”
The admiral hadn’t quite put the lie to what he’d said, but she clearly noticed the speed with which he’d replied to her, and the blatancy of his esteem. Who wouldn’t notice? Kirk thought. I’m acting like a schoolboy.
Determined to establish a
professional tone, Kirk said, “May I ask the purpose of your visit, Admiral?”
“I’m here at Starbase Twenty-Five to consult with Commodore Cohen,” she said, identifying the commander of the space station. “There are plans to begin colonizing out in this region, and I’m here to coordinate those efforts with the commodore.”
“I’m sure he’ll welcome an influx of settlers into the sector,” Kirk said. “I know we’re on the edge of Federation space, but the border here seems to have reached considerably farther out than our expansion has.”
“That’s certainly true,” Ciana agreed. “At least in part, it’s because Starfleet Command wanted to establish a beachhead for exploratory efforts out beyond this sector.”
“And the Enterprise crew has been taking advantage of that,” Kirk said. “Although we’ve ascertained that the sectors beyond Starbase Twenty-Five are nearly as empty as this one.”
“Nearly,” Ciana said, “but not entirely. I’ve read your reports on the first contacts you’ve made in the last six months: the Graym . . . the Ktarians . . . the Ellesant.”
Kirk felt the features on his face freeze. The admiral’s reference to the Ellesant, and the manner in which she’d mentioned them—dramatically last in her list—made him wary. Although Ciana had answered the question of her presence at Starbase 25, she hadn’t yet articulated her reason for boarding Enterprise and calling on Kirk—but the captain believed she had just revealed it.
A month earlier, the Enterprise crew had entered an unexplored star system to find two of its planets—and one moon—occupied. The Ellesant had evolved on the third planet, growing to a global population of three and a half billion. Having achieved the capability of interplanetary flight, they had also settled one of their three moons, and had begun colonizing the fourth world.
When the Enterprise crew had first scanned the star system, they’d detected more than just the interplanetary vessels of the Ellesant, though; they had discovered a massive asteroid on a collision course with the fourth world and its one hundred thousand inhabitants. Spock programmed and executed simulations of the cataclysmic event, concluding that the fourth planet would be laid waste and rendered uninhabitable for a considerable length of time; of greater import, all of its residents would perish. The Ellesant had clearly forecast the approaching disaster, for they had started both an evacuation from the fourth planet and an attempt to destroy the asteroid. With time running out, though, both of those efforts failed to achieve the results necessary to prevent the deaths of the colonists.
Captain Kirk had taken action, in direct and willful contravention of Starfleet’s Prime Directive, which forbade interference with pre-warp societies. Kirk ordered his crew to take Enterprise into the system, where they employed the ship’s phasers and photon torpedoes to destroy the asteroid. Unable to hide Enterprise from detection by the Ellesant, the captain then had to decide whether or not to establish direct contact with them. Kirk chose contact.
If some of the admirals want to use the end of Enterprise’s five-year mission to remove me from starship command, he thought, I’ve given them more ammunition to make their case. The idea upset Kirk, not because of his own self-interests, but because he had seen no moral reason to allow so many of the Ellesant to die when they could be saved. If Starfleet Command opted to cite that incident as grounds not to return him to the bridge of a starship, then maybe he needed to reconsider being part of Starfleet in the first place.
“Captain?” Ciana asked, clearly noticing Kirk’s quiet deliberation.
“I’m sorry,” the captain said. “You reminded me of something.” Before the admiral could ask him about that, he quickly pressed on. He folded his hands together atop his desk and leaned forward. “You’ve told me why you’re here at Starbase Twenty-Five, Admiral,” he said, “but what can I do for you?”
“Actually, Captain Kirk,” Ciana said, “this meeting is about what I can do for you.”
For the second time, Kirk froze, though he recovered quickly. He thought he must have misunderstood the admiral. “Excuse me?” he said.
“As I told you, I’m here to discuss the colonization of the sector with Commodore Cohen,” Ciana said. “But Starfleet Command knew of the Enterprise crew’s shore leave here, of course, and so Admiral Nogura instructed me to pay you a visit.”
“Forgive me for belaboring the point,” Kirk said, but then he paused in order to modulate his tone and avoid sounding insubordinate. He parted his hands and laid them flat on his desk. “You’ve told me that you have orders to be here,” he went on, “but that doesn’t tell me why you were given those orders.”
Ciana laughed. “I’ve been given to understand that you sometimes question your orders,” she said, “but now you feel the need to question mine?”
“I’m sorry, Admiral,” Kirk said, “but—”
Ciana quickly sat forward in her chair and placed one of her hands atop one of Kirk’s. Again, he felt the warmth of her touch, and when he peered across the desk at her, he once more saw the loveliness of her visage. The strength of his attraction to her surprised him. “It’s all right,” she said, patting his hand. “I was just teasing you.” She sat back again, and Kirk did the same.
“I’m . . . not used to being ‘teased’ by Starfleet admirals,” the captain said.
“Honestly, I’m not used to doing much teasing,” Ciana said. “At least, not while I’m on duty.” She smiled, and her behavior suddenly seemed less like teasing and more like flirting. Before Kirk could even begin to consider how to react, Ciana continued. “Anyway, Admiral Nogura is aware of certain . . . speculation would be the nice word for it . . . the admiral knows that there is speculation about how your career will proceed once you complete the Enterprise’s five-year mission. He doesn’t know whether any of that scuttlebutt has reached you, but in case it has, he wanted me to assure you, on his behalf, that no decisions have yet been made. Admiral Nogura appreciates your service to the Federation, and respects all that you’ve accomplished during your command.”
“That . . . doesn’t sound like the admiral,” Kirk said, regretting the words as soon as he’d spoken them. He had no wish to impugn Ciana’s word or Nogura’s reputation, but he’d said what he felt. Kirk had known the commander in chief to conduct himself only in the severest, most serious manner.
“No, I guess it doesn’t sound like the admiral,” Ciana said. “But if it helps, I can tell you that I heard him say those words myself.”
“It does help,” Kirk told her, “but I’m still at a loss. I thank the admiral for the vote of confidence, and I thank you for personally delivering it, but I don’t understand what it means.” He noted to himself that, in listening to Nogura’s approbation, he hadn’t heard a promise to permit him to continue his career in the position of starship captain.
“It means that Starfleet Command values you, Captain Kirk,” Ciana said. “It means that we’re all on the same team, and that you should continue to do what you’re doing out here.”
Kirk nodded, trying to process what Ciana had told him. As he thought about her words—and Nogura’s—she rose from her chair. Kirk did the same, understanding that she meant to conclude their brief meeting. He wanted to ask her more questions, but he resisted, not knowing whether she would have the answers, or if she did, whether she’d be able to reveal them to him.
“Captain,” Ciana said, holding her hand out just as he had when she’d entered. “Thank you for giving me a few minutes of your time.”
“My pleasure,” Kirk said, taking the admiral’s hand in his own. When he softened his grip, though, she tightened hers.
“I have to admit something to you, Captain,” she said, holding his gaze. Ciana had unusually large eyes, Kirk saw, and it felt to him as though she could hypnotize him with little more than a glance. “I’ve wanted to meet you for some time now.”
“I—” Kirk began, but then had no idea what to say. He settled on simply thanking the admiral.
“My p
leasure,” she said, echoing his words, a wry smile fluttering across her face. She released his hand, then turned and headed for the door. Kirk watched her go.
After the door to his cabin closed behind her, the captain remained standing. Although the conversation had been relatively short, it seemed to Kirk as though a veritable mountain of information had been revealed to him. He thought about Ciana’s visit, about Nogura’s message, about Ciana appearing to flirt with him. He didn’t quite know what to make of it all.
Even after Kirk sat back down at his desk and returned to reviewing his log entries, his thoughts continued to drift back to his meeting with Nogura’s aide. It seemed as though what had been said to him could tell him what he should expect when Enterprise’s mission ended in another six months, but he couldn’t see it, not with any certainty. But even as Kirk’s mind replayed the conversation, even as he recalled the generous words of the commander in chief, even as he tried to muddle through the various career possibilities he would soon enough face, his thoughts kept wandering elsewhere.
He couldn’t stop thinking about Lori Ciana.
Eight
Alpha shift had nearly ended when the figurative ground seemed to drop from beneath Sulu’s feet. A month out from their last shore leave at Starbase 25, the Enterprise crew continued their exploration of space previously unvisited by the Federation. Even as the helmsman monitored and adjusted the ship’s orbit above a terrestrial world in an unknown star system, he looked forward to his off-duty hours—and particularly to that evening, when he would see Trinh.
As the first officer stood at the science console and recited his findings, Sulu peered across the bridge at him from his place at the helm. The lieutenant could hear the progression of the sensor readings that Spock detailed and knew the determination he would reach. It did not feel like déjà vu—the illusion of recalling an event when experiencing it for the first time—because Sulu actually had experienced the scene being played out on the Enterprise bridge. Unlike on the previous occasion, though, he dreaded where all of it would lead.
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