In the days Kirk had been comatose in sickbay, Scotty and his team had mended the ship enough to get her back to base for more extensive repairs. In the three weeks since they’d arrived at Starbase 10, Kirk had spent sixteen days in recovery and only the last five on his feet, but he’d used all of that time to contact the families of each of the crewmembers who’d been lost. In addition to speaking with them directly over boosted subspace signals, he’d written letters to them, detailing the service records of their loved ones and adding whatever positive personal observations he could. He found it terribly difficult, but felt the obligation deeply.
So deeply that you’ve become inured to the deaths, he rebuked himself. That wasn’t true, of course; the loss of a crewmember still pained Kirk to his core, and he always did his best to balance the ship’s mission to explore the unknown and sometimes dangerous corners of space against the safety of the people in his charge. And yet…it had gotten easier over time, hadn’t it? The last death hadn’t been as hard to deal with as the first, had it? Hadn’t hurt him quite as much? At the beginning of the five-year mission, when one of the crew had gone down, he’d been unable to sleep soundly for days afterward. By mission’s end, though, he’d trained himself to slumber through the night no matter the circumstances. Right now, he loathed himself for that.
In the viewing port, Kirk spied the reflection of the admiral as he approached from the doorway. Just arrived from Earth, Nogura had set up this meeting with the captain only a few minutes ago. Kirk hadn’t expected to see the admiral here, but then Starfleet Command wasn’t in the habit of informing him of their members’ itineraries.
“Captain,” Nogura said in his deep, sonorous voice.
“Admiral,” Kirk said, turning to face him. Shorter than the captain, Nogura had a sallow complexion and short black hair. He wore his gold uniform shirt, the starburst insignia of Starfleet Command on its left breast. With a lean, toned frame and a relentlessly serious manner, Nogura commanded every room he entered. Even now, Kirk noticed many of the officers in the lounge stiffen in their chairs as they saw the admiral.
Nogura looked past Kirk, in the direction of the Enterprise, but he made no comment. Motioning toward a table, he said, “Shall we sit?” In response, Kirk moved around the table and sat down, and the admiral took a seat across from him. “Captain, I’m here at Starbase Ten as part of a tour I’m making of Starfleet facilities and vessels,” Nogura said, characteristically eschewing pleasantries. “With you here as well, this affords me an opportunity to discuss your next posting with you.”
Kirk had considered that this might be the reason Nogura wanted to meet with him, though he’d also thought the admiral might want a firsthand account of the Klingon attack on the Einstein research station. But Commodore Stocker, the base commander, had already debriefed the captain regarding those events, from the moment Lieutenant Uhura had received the distress signal to Korax’s destruction—or had it been murder?—of the Guardian of Forever. Kirk had been unconscious in the turbolift during that last desperate act by the Klingon commander, but Spock and other officers had also been interviewed about it. Nogura would have read all of the reports about the incident, and since high-level talks had begun in the past few days between the Klingon High Council and the Federation Council, there seemed little need for the him to discuss the incident.
Kirk hesitated, unsure if he should reveal to the admiral the thought that had occurred to him again and again since arriving at Starbase 10. He glanced out at his broken ship and couldn’t help envisioning her whole once more. To Nogura, he admitted, “I had hoped to take the Enterprise back out. I know she’s beaten up pretty badly right now, but she’s still a fine ship.”
“Enterprise will go back out,” the admiral said, and Kirk felt a momentary rush of adrenaline. “But not for some time. Reports indicate that it will take upwards of six months to make it spaceworthy again. It’s a miracle your chief engineer managed to get the ship back to base.”
“He’ll be pleased to hear you think so,” Kirk said, smiling to cover his disappointment and trying to project a nonchalance that he did not feel. Knowing that he should not pursue the issue, he did anyway. “In six months, though, when the Enterprise does go back out—”
“It will likely be longer than that,” Nogura said. “Command is strongly considering a redesign of the Constitution class. Once Enterprise has been repaired sufficiently to allow it to make the trip back to Earth, chances are that it will undergo a complete refit.” The admiral paused, as though intentionally separating out the next words he would say. “But you’ll have a say in that.”
“I’ll have—?” Kirk asked, confusion and hope mixing as he puzzled out the meaning of Nogura’s assertion. “Then I’m being left in command of the Enterprise?”
“No,” Nogura said. “You’re being promoted to admiral and reassigned to Starfleet Operations as its chief.”
Kirk’s eyebrows rose in surprise and his mouth dropped open. During the past few months, he’d heard the occasional rumor that he might be up for promotion, but he’d always assumed that if he did receive a bump up in rank, it would simply be to commodore. He’d also known that Starfleet Command might post him off the Enterprise, but he’d figured that it would be to another vessel or to a starbase. “I’m…” he started, knowing that he should say something, but not entirely sure how he felt.
“It’s an honor,” Nogura guided him.
“I’m honored, yes, of course,” Kirk said, and he meant it. Responsible for the supervision, monitoring, and coordination of all fleet and base activities, Operations functioned as the backbone of Starfleet. Further, its chief played a significant role in determining the distribution of resources and the manner in which those resources were utilized. As a practical matter, and of considerable interest to Kirk, the Operations chief in large part established the direction and philosophy of Starfleet’s exploratory endeavors. “What about Admiral Hahn?” Kirk asked.
“She’s stepping down,” Nogura said. A former starship captain herself, Hahn had served as CSO for more than two decades now. Under her leadership, Starfleet had conducted longer and longer single-ship missions of general exploration, including the previous Enterprise assignments under Captains April and Pike, and culminating—at least to this point—in the five-year voyage under Kirk. He had always held Admiral Hahn in high regard.
“That’ll be a great loss for Starfleet,” Kirk said, even as his mind began to conjure up the possibilities of what he might do in his new position.
“It will be,” Nogura agreed, “but Command is confident that we’re replacing her with somebody of at least equal capabilities.”
“Thank you, Admiral,” Kirk said, bowing his head slightly at the rare compliment from Nogura. “I look forward to this opportunity.” Already he saw ideas that he could champion: more and longer extended voyages, support for colonization in the outer reaches, perhaps even generation ships to cross the galaxy. The notion of being able to shape the imperatives of Starfleet—and really of the Federation itself—strongly appealed to him.
Nogura pushed back his chair and stood up. “As I mentioned, I’m making a tour of Starfleet facilities and vessels,” he said. “You should accompany me. It’ll provide good input and a richer viewpoint for you in your new position.”
“I agree,” Kirk said. “When—”
“Tomorrow at oh-six-hundred,” Nogura said crisply. “We’ll be traveling on the transport Tucker. I’ll have the ship’s quartermaster deliver a new uniform to your cabin here on the base.” He started toward the door, but Kirk called after him. Everything had just happened so quickly, he had difficulty processing it all. In time, he would learn and acclimate to his new role, he had no doubt, but he still felt the responsibilities of the Enterprise’s captain. When Nogura turned back around, Kirk paced over to him.
“My crew, Admiral,” he said. He knew that reassignments of the lower echelon had already begun, but the senior staff had not yet been repo
sted. Kirk had hoped that might’ve indicated a willingness on Starfleet Command’s part to keep the officers together, either on the Enterprise once she’d been repaired, or on another vessel. At the same time, he’d recognized that some of the command crew would want to move on in their careers, and they’d certainly earned that chance. He told Nogura that. “Mister Spock, in particular,” Kirk said, “merits a command of his own.”
“Your senior officers received their reassignments today,” Nogura said, “and Commander Spock was offered a captaincy.”
Kirk felt both pride and elation for his friend, as well as a sense of relief. Spock had seem preoccupied in the days following the battle with Klingons—and for a longer time than that, according to Bones, who’d been concerned about the first officer since the time the two had spent in Sarpeidon’s past. Perhaps his new assignment would redirect his thoughts and provide him some fulfillment. “Do you know what ship he’ll be commanding?” Kirk asked.
“Commander Spock was offered a captaincy,” Nogura said, “but he turned it down.”
For years, Spock had claimed no interest in assuming a position of command, despite that in the normal discharging of his duties as the Enterprise’s first officer, he’d often had to do precisely that. “Let me speak with him,” he told Nogura. “I think I can—”
“Commander Spock not only turned down the captaincy offered to him,” Nogura said, “he resigned his commission.”
“What?” Kirk said, stunned.
“We hate to lose an officer of Spock’s accomplishments and capabilities, but his decision seemed firm,” Nogura said. “Is there anything else?”
Kirk had wanted to ask about Bones and Scotty, Sulu and Uhura and the others, but he would find out on his own later. Right now, he needed to talk with Spock. “No, nothing else, Admiral,” he said.
“Good,” Nogura said. “Then I’ll see you at oh-six-hundred, Admiral.” Without waiting for a response, Nogura spun on his heel and left.
Kirk stood there for a moment, feeling more emotions than he could handle all at once: trepidation about leaving the Enterprise and her crew, excitement about serving as chief of Starfleet Operations, curiosity and hope about his senior officers, and confusion and concern about Spock. At the moment, the last two overwhelmed the rest.
Kirk looked back at the Enterprise one more time, at its battered shell, and then he turned and headed out of the lounge to go find Spock.
As the simulated day aboard Starbase 10 approached midnight, McCoy exited the turbolift amid a group of Starfleet officers returning to their vessel, the light cruiser U.S.S. Grampus. They all hurried through the docking port in a ritual McCoy had witnessed—and in which he’d participated—many times: the last-minute sprint back to ship at the end of shore leave. He trailed behind the mostly young officers as they hurried ahead of him and aboard the Grampus, apparently scheduled to depart shortly.
Spock had already arrived there, McCoy saw. Standing beside the gangway, he wore not his Starfleet uniform, but traditional Vulcan vestments. The brown, loose-fitting robe reached to the deck, and several scrolling symbols adorned its right side in a thin, vertical line. As McCoy walked up, he saw that Spock held a hardcover book in one hand.
“What’s so damned urgent that it couldn’t wait until morning?” McCoy asked, although he suspected he already knew.
“The urgency, Doctor, is that I will no longer be aboard Starbase 10 in the morning,” Spock said.
McCoy regarded his friend. He’d been concerned about him for some time now, though somewhere along the way he’d allowed Spock to talk him out of his legitimate apprehensions. Ever since those two time-travel incidents, though, the Vulcan had frequently shown an increased stoicism, which McCoy had attributed to the reverse problem: a decrease in his true emotional control. Just because Spock didn’t display his feelings didn’t necessarily mean that he didn’t experience them. Now, McCoy thought, he might just be running away.
“You’ll no longer be aboard?” the doctor said. “Did Starfleet Command finally hand down your reassignment?” McCoy had received his orders just today, and he presumed that Spock had as well. He also supposed that Spock’s new posting had little to do with his leaving right now.
“I did,” Spock said, “but that is not directly responsible for why I will no longer be aboard tomorrow.” He paused, gazing down at the book he carried in an atypical moment of hesitation. When he looked back up, he said, “I have resigned my commission, Doctor, and I will be returning to Vulcan.”
“Why, Spock?” McCoy asked. In some ways, he simply couldn’t believe it. The last few weeks at Starbase 10 had been strange, filled with grief at the recent loss of eleven crewmates, with concern for Jim during his recovery, with uncertainty about the future after the Enterprise, and with just a general sense of standing still while the universe whirled about in a frenzy. But of all the events McCoy might have predicted or simply guessed at, Spock’s departure had not been one of them.
Maybe it should’ve been, he thought. In the pit of his stomach, he felt that he had failed his friend.
“My reasons are my own,” Spock said. “But I wish to thank you for your…fellowship.”
McCoy nodded slowly, trying to think of something he could say to convince Spock to reconsider. Instead, he simply said, “You’re welcome. And I thank you for yours.”
Spock closed his eyes and dipped his head in silent acknowledgment. He then held up the book in his hands. “I would ask a favor of you, Doctor,” he said. “Would you inform the captain of my decision and also give this to him?”
“I’ve got a better idea,” McCoy said, despite knowing that Spock would not agree. “Why don’t you tell Jim yourself? There’ll be another ship going your way before too long.”
Spock said nothing, and for just a moment, McCoy thought that he might actually be considering his suggestion. But then an alert sounded in the docking port, and the signal light above the gangway switched from green to yellow. “I must go,” Spock said, and McCoy suddenly realized the truth of that necessity. What troubled Spock would not be resolved in whatever posting to which Starfleet had assigned him, or in any other position for that matter.
He reached up and took the book from Spock’s hands. “What should I tell Jim?” he asked.
“Tell him…simply tell him what I have told you,” Spock said.
“All right,” McCoy said.
“Thank you,” Spock said, then raised his hand in the traditional Vulcan salutation. “Live long and prosper, Doctor McCoy.”
“Thank you, Spock,” McCoy said, touched by the emotion he thought he could see in his friend’s eyes. McCoy held up his right hand and used his left to coax it into matching Spock’s gesture. “Peace and long life,” he said.
Spock turned and headed across the gangway and into the Grampus. McCoy waited there another ten minutes or so, until the alert sounded again, and the light went from yellow to red. Ahead of him, the hatch in the hull of the Grampus slid closed, the sound reverberating as it locked physically into place. Then the hatch in the hull of Starbase 10 glided closed as well. McCoy stepped up and peered through a viewing port as the starship retreated from the space station, then watched until it disappeared into the background of stars.
Finally, he walked slowly away from the docking port, the book in his hand, wondering how he would tell Jim. In addition to the news of Spock’s return to Vulcan, he had his own news as well, namely that he’d had enough of Starfleet life himself. He’d run to space after his marriage to Jocelyn had failed so spectacularly, but that had been a long time ago, and lately he’d found himself missing a home of green grass below and blue skies above. He’d been making notes for a while now on alien physiology, with the idea of eventually compiling a medical reference. He’d also had it in mind to return both to private practice and to research—the rise in Jim’s and the rest of the crew’s M’Benga numbers still intrigued him, and study of the Fabrini medical knowledge still beckoned.
&n
bsp; McCoy arrived at the end of the corridor and pushed the call button beside the turbolift doors. While he waited for a car to arrive, he examined the book he’d agreed to give to Jim. An old volume, it remained in good condition, he saw. “Life Before Man,” he read the title aloud, and speculated about how he should interpret that. Had Spock intended a message? Curious, McCoy opened the cover—he’d heard of the writer, Margaret Atwood, though he didn’t think he’d ever read her work—and thumbed through to the beginning of the novel. He read the first four sentences, then quickly closed the book, realizing that Spock was in even more distress than he’d thought.
He turned and looked back toward the docking port, and beyond it, toward the Grampus and Spock. “Peace and long life, my friend,” he said, his voice tinny in the empty corridor. “And especially peace.”
Twenty-Seven
1932
Lynn slid out of the truck behind Phil, then darted past him and ran through the cold night air. She raced up the front steps two at a time, driven not by the low temperature, but by her own anticipation. Rarely did she sit in church anxious for the service to end, but tonight had been an exception—her annual exception.
At the front door, she looked back, to where her husband still stood beside the Model A, watching Leonard root around in the flatbed. “Come on, y’all,” she urged them, then stepped into the parlor and stripped off her gloves, stuffing them into the pockets of her coat. She quickly found the matches and lamp they kept just inside, then used one to light the other. Glad that they’d left the wood stove in the corner burning, she took off her coat in the heated room, draping it across one of the Victorian tub chairs. After adding another log to the round-bellied stove, she took the matches and crossed toward the front window, to where Phil had set the Christmas tree just a few days ago.
Crucible: McCoy Page 39
