Star Trek: TOS: Allegiance in Exile

by David R. George III

  Sulu looked at Kirk for a long time. The captain waited, hoping that he’d gotten through to him. It seemed as though he had, and—

  “No, Captain,” Sulu said. “I’m going to do this.”

  Kirk dropped his hands from Sulu’s arms. “I’m sorry to hear that,” he said. He paced back across the cabin and sat behind his desk. “You’re dismissed, Lieutenant.”

  Sulu left without another word. Kirk watched him go, and continued staring at the door of his cabin even after it had closed behind the lieutenant. The captain could deny Sulu’s transfer request, or if he wanted to push the responsibility off onto somebody else, he could approve it, but ask Starfleet Command to deny it. He felt sure he could contact Admiral Ciana to make sure that the transfer didn’t go through.

  But he wouldn’t do that. Even with all the pain Sulu clearly felt clouding his judgment, even with his mistakenly blaming Kirk for Trinh’s injuries, the lieutenant deserved the respect he had earned. The captain would approve his transfer, and he would make sure that Command did so as well.

  The only thing Kirk wondered was whether or not he would ever see Hikaru Sulu again.

  Pillagra

  III

  Thirteen

  Sulu glanced at the chronometer on the top right of the engineering console he manned. It pleased him to see that only ten minutes remained in alpha shift. As had become his habit of late, he looked forward to leaving the bridge.

  Before he could do that, though, he needed to complete his calibrations on the helm of Courageous. During the observation and investigation of a proto-nebula a week earlier, the ship had been buffeted by plasma surges. Courageous appeared to weather the storm with no ill effects, but when Sulu took the helm several days later—a task he rarely performed since his transfer—he noticed a sluggishness in its response. He brought it to the attention of the alpha-shift helm officer, a Tellarite woman named Teglas, but the lieutenant had initially been unable even to measure any variance. Over the course of the next few days, Sulu had worked with her, first to precisely define the problem, and then to resolve it.

  Earlier that shift, with helm operations routed to a peripheral station, Teglas had installed the fix, which had included replacing two duotronic components in the main console, as well as upgrading its firmware. After that, the only remaining task had been to recalibrate the updated panel. Sulu had taken on that job, which he’d nearly completed.

  “Captain, long-range sensors are detecting a warp signature,” said Ensign Trenna from the primary science console. Sulu peered over at the Vulcan to see her operating her controls with elegant precision.

  As the captain, Michael Caulder, looked over from the command chair at Trenna, the first officer, Jordan Costley, walked from his station over to the primary science console. Leaning in over Trenna’s shoulder to look at her monitors, Costley said, “It’s a big one. Or maybe several little ones.”

  “Track it back to see if you can find out where it might have come from,” Caulder ordered.

  “Yes, sir,” Trenna said.

  Costley stood back up and moved over to the vacant secondary science station. “I’ll take a look the other way,” he said. “Maybe we can see where they’re headed.”

  As Trenna and Costley worked the ship’s sensors, Sulu returned to his calibrations. He’d already executed a pair of diagnostic tests on the updated helm, and then made necessary adjustments. He hoped that his third diagnostic, which had only a few more minutes left to run, would confirm fully restored helm function. Until then, Sulu watched intermediate results reveal themselves on his readouts, and he hunted among them for any potential inconsistencies.

  “Captain,” said Trenna, “the warp vessel’s path has taken it through some of the R-Seven-Hundred sectors.” Sulu turned in his seat at the mention of that particular region of space. It had been on a planet there that he had almost been killed by a missile. “We’re too distant to know whether or not the vessel originated in one of those sectors or only passed through them.”

  “I don’t have the same difficulty on the other end,” announced Costley. “We’re too far to pick up detail on the vessel itself, but I can see that it’s passing through the R-Eight-Hundred sectors.”

  R-Eight-Hundred! Sulu thought, the designation screaming through his head. And before he could avoid thinking about it: R-Eight-Three-Six! On the second planet in that system, Trinh—

  But he couldn’t think about that. Except that, in truth, he still thought about little else. During the two months he’d served aboard Courageous, he’d kept in touch with Trinh’s mother, Nguyen Thi Yeh. She sent him sporadic subspace messages about Trinh, whose condition had not improved since her return to Mars. Yeh did not provide much detail in her communications, but she always mentioned her gratitude to him for filling her daughter’s life with joy, and for then letting her go. Sulu still had trouble reconciling his actions with something positive; he still felt that he’d abandoned the woman he loved when she’d needed him most.

  “Log it,” Captain Caulder said. “Bundle the sensor readings and transmit them to Starfleet Command and Starfleet Operations.”

  “Captain,” Sulu said, and it surprised him to see not just Caulder, but every crew member on the bridge turn toward him.

  “Lieutenant?” Caulder asked.

  Sulu stood up and padded to the center of the bridge. “Captain, the Enterprise crew had some adversarial encounters with several vessels out in those sectors, but failed to establish communication with the alien crews. Perhaps it would be a good idea for us to find out where they come from and where they’re headed.”

  The captain—a tall man with a barrel chest and shoulder-length blond hair, along with a full beard and mustache—looked at him for a moment without saying a word. “I’m sorry, Lieutenant,” he finally said. “I must’ve misheard you. You couldn’t possibly have suggested that we pursue an unknown alien vessel across sectors of space.”

  “I . . . I know it’d be an unusual mission for us,” Sulu admitted, “but there could be considerable value in being able to identify—”

  “Lieutenant,” the captain said, cutting him off. “It wouldn’t be an ‘unusual’ mission for us; it would be an inappropriate one.”

  “Sir, I know—”

  “Lieutenant,” the captain said again, his deep voice growing firmer. “I know you were accustomed to serving on the Enterprise, but this isn’t a Constitution-class starship. We’re a small ship on a scientific research mission. We’re not heavily armed, we’re not all that fast, and we have a crew comprising mostly scientists.”

  Sulu wanted to respond. He wanted to explain his thinking to the captain, and to try to impress upon him the importance of learning whatever they could about what had already proven a threat to the Federation. He knew, though, that Captain Caulder would not listen.

  “Am I understood?” the captain asked him.

  “Yes, sir,” Sulu said.

  “Good.” Caulder stood up to his impressive height—he easily stood two full meters tall—and looked over at Costley. “Commander,” he said, “we’re almost at the change of shift. You’ll make the handover to Pearson for me?”

  “Yes, sir,” Costley said.

  “Very good,” Caulder said. He offered Sulu a final, reproachful glance, then marched into the turbolift.

  Once the captain had gone, Sulu returned to the engineering station. There, he resumed monitoring the intermediate results of his latest diagnostic. Behind him, he heard the beta-shift personnel arrive and relieve their alpha-shift counterparts. Because of Sulu’s position on Courageous—relief helmsman, mathematician, and second officer—no supernumerary needed to take over for him.

  What was I doing? the lieutenant asked himself. He’d transferred to Courageous from Enterprise because he could not tolerate Captain Kirk unnecessarily risking the lives of his crew, and yet Sulu had just suggested to Captain Caulder that he order their science vessel to trail a ship potentially crewed by dangerous aliens
. Aliens who already damaged a Constitution-class starship and caused the deaths of several crew members, he thought. Aliens who stole Trinh from me.

  Sulu had initially been surprised by Caulder’s reaction to him, but upon reflection, it seemed justified. Is that the type of starship captain I’d be? he thought. Racing my vessel and crew into harm’s way without a second thought? The idea disgusted him.

  A tone on the engineering panel chirped, and Sulu saw that the diagnostic had at last finished running, confirming the accuracy of his calibrations to the helm. Thankful that he wouldn’t have to remain on the bridge, he secured the station and started for the turbolift. In the center of the bridge, Costley handed a data slate to Ensign Pearson, then apparently finished speaking with him. Sulu stepped into the turbolift, and the first officer followed him inside.

  When the doors had slipped closed behind them, Costley reached for the activation wand, then looked over at Sulu. “Where are you headed, Lieutenant?” he asked. “Anything on your agenda for tonight?”

  “Just to my cabin,” Sulu said. “I’ll have some dinner, maybe catch up on some correspondence.”

  Costley nodded slowly, almost as though he didn’t believe what Sulu had told him. Though taller than the lieutenant, the first officer did not reach anywhere near the height of the captain, nor did he fill out his uniform as broadly. Sulu thought of him as lanky.

  In the odd silence of the turbolift—the cars always hummed while in operation, but Costley hadn’t yet specified any destination—Sulu realized his own poor manners. The first officer had asked him about his evening, but Sulu hadn’t reciprocated. “What about you, Commander?” he said, trying to sound as though he hadn’t felt forced to pose the question.

  “I thought I’d head down to the gym, maybe spar a little,” Costley said. He raised both his fists and playfully punched at the air. “You wouldn’t care to join me, would you?” The first officer sounded as though he already knew the answer to the question before he’d even asked it.

  “No, thank you,” Sulu said. “Sparring’s not really one of my interests.”

  “No?” Costley said. “So what are you interested in?”

  “Oh, well . . .” Sulu didn’t want to say anything that would then get him invited to some other activity. “I guess I really don’t have any.”

  Costley nodded. “Okay,” he said. “Just thought I’d ask.” He reached again for the activation wand and turned it. “Deck Three, then Deck Ten.”

  The car began to hum as it descended, but the atmosphere seemed awkward to Sulu. Trying to normalize it, he motioned toward the turbolift doors, and by extension, to the bridge. “He doesn’t really like me very much, does he?”

  Costley didn’t pretend not to know what Sulu meant, but addressed the issue directly. “No, I don’t think it’s that the captain doesn’t like you,” he said.

  Sulu snorted in disbelief. “No?” he said. “Then what is it?”

  The first officer appeared to consider whether or not to say anything. “Look,” he finally said, “this has to stay between you and me, but—”

  The turbolift doors parted. Costley looked out into the corridor, then said, “We can talk about this another time.”

  Sulu took hold of the activation wand and ordered the turbolift to resume. The doors closed again, and the car continued down. “I’d prefer to talk about it now, if that’s all right.”

  “Sure,” Costley said. “What I was going to say is that it’s not that the captain dislikes you; it’s that I don’t think he trusts you.”

  “What?” Sulu asked, shocked. He could far more easily understand somebody not liking him on sight, just based on a visceral first impression, but he knew of nothing he’d done that could have earned Caulder’s distrust.

  “Lieutenant, you’ve been aboard the Courageous for . . . what? Two months?” Sulu nodded. “Well, your shift just ended, and you’re heading to your cabin to have dinner by yourself.”

  “I didn’t say I’d be alone,” Sulu bristled.

  Costley’s eyebrows rose on his narrow face. “Are you having company?” he asked.

  “No,” Sulu admitted sheepishly. He wondered why he’d feigned indignation when the first officer had said nothing untrue.

  Costley shrugged. “You’re not even eating in the mess. I have to say, Lieutenant, it even seems . . . noteworthy . . . to me that you’re not making any friends here. You don’t even seem to be trying.”

  “I wasn’t aware that was a requirement of service,” Sulu said.

  “It’s not a requirement, of course,” Costley said, “but . . . it is natural. Hell, even Trenna and Teglas are friends—a Vulcan and a Tellarite—and that’s not usually the way to get a party started.”

  “I guess I didn’t come here to make friends,” Sulu said.

  “Why did you come here?” Costley asked. Before Sulu could reply, the turbolift once more slowed to a stop and the doors opened. Costley stepped out of the car onto Deck 10, but then he reached back and held an arm out to prevent the lift doors from closing. “I’m not being facetious or rhetorical; I really want to know.”

  Sulu debated with himself for a moment—Do I really want to have this conversation?—then exited the turbolift. As the doors shut behind him, he peered down the corridor. He saw several of the crew, but nobody within earshot. Looking back at Costley, he said, “Before I transferred here, I was a helmsman and a third officer. Now I’m a second officer. I’ve moved up in the food chain.”

  “Yeah, but you dropped down in weight class,” Costley said, which Sulu took as a boxing metaphor. “I mean, I love the Courageous, but you served on the Enterprise. And under Captain Kirk.” At the mention of the captain’s name, Sulu felt his jaw tense. He forced himself to relax, but apparently too late to avoid the first officer’s notice.

  “Oh,” Costley said. “You know, Lieutenant, the only things in the universe that travel faster than light in normal space are rumors.”

  Sulu’s stomach clenched. “You heard something?” he asked. “About me? About Captain Kirk?”

  “The talk is that you threw him out an airlock,” Costley said.

  Sulu understood the idiom: people believed he’d sacrificed Captain Kirk’s good name out of self-interest. “What exactly did you hear?” he asked.

  “I heard that you reported him to Starfleet Command and demanded a transfer,” Costley said.

  “That’s not what happened,” Sulu said. “And what did I supposedly report him for?” Then he realized that it didn’t matter, because he had taken no such action. I mean, I did essentially force Captain Kirk to transfer me, but— He wondered if Kirk himself had started the rumor, but he couldn’t imagine that being the case.

  “I never heard what you supposedly reported him for,” Costley said, “and I don’t think that Captain Caulder did either, but I think that’s another reason he might be having trouble trusting you.”

  Sulu raised a hand to the back of his neck and rubbed it for a moment. “Do I need to have a talk with the captain?” he asked.

  “No, I don’t think that would help,” Costley said. “But I’ll say something to him. Nothing on the record, just conversationally.”

  “I’d appreciate it,” Sulu said.

  Costley shrugged. “I’m the ship’s first officer,” he said. “It’s part of my job to boost morale. Can I give you some advice, though?”

  “Sure,” Sulu said. He didn’t actually want to hear any of the first officer’s suggestions—or anybody’s suggestions, for that matter—but he thought it would be blatantly rude to say so.

  “Don’t spend all your off-duty hours in your cabin,” Costley urged him. “We’re a relatively small crew, we’re out here studying astronomical objects and phenomena, but believe it or not, we’re a fun group. You might find that you’ll like some of us. Maybe even many of us.”

  Sulu thought about that. He certainly hadn’t been looking for fun in his life when he’d transferred to Courageous, but he thought tha
t the first officer made a larger point. Sulu had officially joined the Courageous crew, but he hadn’t actually become a part of that crew. He really didn’t want to become a part of a crew. Or a part of anything, he thought. But that didn’t mean that he shouldn’t.

  “Did you say that you were going to the gym to spar?” Sulu asked.

  “Yeah,” Costley said. “And you’re still invited to tag along.”

  “Thanks,” Sulu said. “I’d like that.”

  Fourteen

  Jim Kirk perused the hardcover volumes that ran along the shelf above his bed. The day before, he’d finished Derivon Sanger’s Declaration Red, a compelling tale of a man’s struggles to survive the War of Martian Independence. The captain had been forced to read the novel on his data slate, though, rather than in hard copy; since the book had been published only recently, physical editions hadn’t made their way out to the edges of the Federation—and certainly not beyond UFP space. Kirk preferred the feel of a book in his hands, the sound of a page turning, the smell of the paper—all prejudices he’d learned from his mother, who had so loved to read. With the critical notices Declaration Red had received, though, and considering his interest in the subject matter and the pedigree of its seventh-generation Martian author, the captain hadn’t wanted to wait.