The Autobiography of James T. Kirk

by David A. Goodman

  “Attention to orders!” Tichenor shouted, and we all stood at attention. He then handed a PADD to Captain Garrovick, who read from it.

  “To Captain Stephen Garrovick, commander, U.S.S. Republic, you are hereby requested and required to relinquish command to Captain Ronald Tracy as of this date, and report to Captain L. T. Stone of the U.S.S. Farragut for duty on board as his relief in command …”

  Wow, I thought, Garrovick was getting a Constitution-class ship. That was a big step up from the Republic. I watched as Captain Tracy, a middle-aged, fierce-looking man, relieved Captain Garrovick. I was a little anxious and confused as to what I was supposed to do; Garrovick had told me he would get me my orders, but now he looked like he was leaving right away. Tracy turned to address the crew.

  “All standing orders to remain in force until further notice,” he said. “The following officers will immediately depart U.S.S. Republic, for duty on board U.S.S. Farragut.” There was a pause, as crewmen exchanged excited looks at the possibility of getting off this garbage scow. But Tracy only read two names.

  “CMO Mark Piper, Ensign James T. Kirk,” Tracy said. “Flight deck personnel, prepare shuttle bay for immediate launch. Crew dismissed.” Everyone looked at me, and I couldn’t believe it. I looked over at Captain Garrovick, who stood at a shuttlecraft with Dr. Piper. Piper exchanged a look with him and boarded the shuttle, and Garrovick looked at me. He was enjoying what he was seeing; he had planned this. I couldn’t put it all together before he tilted his head toward the shuttle, indicating I’d better get a move on. I immediately picked up my duffel, ignoring the jealous stares of my crewmates. I passed Ben Finney on my way; I wanted to say goodbye, but his stare conveyed such a pureness of hatred it chilled me, and I just kept moving. I went over to Garrovick, who stood talking with Tracy.

  “Good luck, Mr. Kirk,” Tracy said. “Sorry to lose you.” He shook my hand. I was in a fog; everything was moving so fast, but I followed Garrovick onto the shuttle.

  Dr. Piper sat in one of the seats at the rear of the ship. I was about to sit next to him when he stopped me.

  “Captain likes to have a copilot,” he said, indicating the empty navigator’s seat next to the captain, who was manning the helm. I hesitantly moved forward.

  “Have a seat, Ensign,” Garrovick said.

  I put my duffel down and took the seat next to him. Through the porthole, I saw the Republic’s shuttle bay doors open, and Garrovick piloted the shuttle out of the bay. Out the view port I could see an orange planet blocking out the stars. We flew in silence for a long while.

  “Sir,” I said, finally breaking in. “May I ask you a question?”

  “Yes, Ensign?”

  “Why me?”

  “I’ve read your service record. You were very close to Ensign Finney.”

  “Yes sir.”

  “Yet you logged an incident that you could’ve easily covered up. Why?”

  “I was worried that if I didn’t log it, something like it would happen again.”

  “Well, Ensign, I can always use a man who’d sacrifice his closest friendship for the safety of my ship,” he said. “I can’t control all the gossip, but I didn’t appreciate how you were treated for doing the right thing.”

  That was what the ceremony was all about. He was taking me with him and was rubbing it in the noses of the officers who’d believed Finney.

  I was both gratified and sad. Ben had once been my closest friend; he had looked after me at the academy. But as I left the Republic, any fond memory of him was eclipsed by his angry glare.

  Garrovick switched on the communicator.

  “Shuttlecraft McAuliffe to Farragut,” Garrovick said. “Request permission to come aboard.”

  Through the view port, the Constitution-class ship loomed. We were approaching the underside of the saucer section. The letters spelling out the ship’s name dwarfed our craft.

  “Permission granted,” a woman said over the communicator. “You are cleared for main hangar deck.”

  “No going back,” Garrovick said.

  “I hope not, sir,” I said. And he laughed.

  “That, friend James,” Tyree said, in a whisper, “is the scat of mugato.”

  We were in a small clearing in the forest, looking down at a pile of yellow dung. The primitive humanoid hunters I was with, all dressed in animal skins, put an arrow in their bows, and scanned our surroundings cautiously. I supposed the scat looked fresh to them, and that meant our prey was near. We’d been hunting the mugato for about three hours, following footprints and other spoors, but it was only now that things had become tense. I had a phaser pistol hidden in the pouch I was carrying, but I was under strict orders not to use it. These people were to have no knowledge that I was, in fact, not from their planet. And since this was my first planetary survey, violating the Prime Directive* was foremost on my mind.

  At that point, I’d been on the Farragut about eight months, and life aboard a Constitution-class ship couldn’t have been more different than the Republic. The big news for me was I had my own quarters. And another thing, I was no longer working gamma shift in engineering. I’d already been rotated through several different departments: security, a variety of the astrosciences, finally landing navigation. The ship itself was on a mission of exploration; we’d charted eleven solar systems since I came aboard, and within eight months I’d received my promotion to lieutenant.

  I was at my post on the bridge when we entered the Zeta Boötis system. The third planet, designated Neural, had signs of intelligent life, and the captain put us in a standard orbit. He ordered the launch of suborbital probes and had them transmit to the bridge’s main viewscreen. We got a look at the primitive structures the natives lived in, the population divided among small villages, farms, and tribes living in the wilderness.

  “Technology report,” Garrovick said.

  “Primitive,” Commander Coto said, from the science station. “Roughly corresponds to fifth-century Earth, agrarian society. Sensors detect heat signatures that suggest iron forges.”

  “Pretty barbaric,” I said.

  “Hmm,” Garrovick said. “Not much we can learn from them, Mr. Kirk?”

  “I’m not sure, sir,” I said, though I was pretty sure.

  “Well, let’s be certain,” Garrovick said. “Let’s send a survey team. Mr. Kirk, you’re in command.”

  “What … I mean, yes sir!” This was new; I’d been on a couple of surveys, but never as leader. Suddenly I had to make decisions that I had never faced before. How many people in the team? Who to take with me?

  “Anytime you’re ready, Mr. Kirk,” the captain said. He seemed amused. I keyed the intercom.

  “Uh, Ensign Black and the two on-duty security officers, report to ship’s stores for landing party. Have historical computer correlate data from satellite images to determine appropriate clothing—”

  “Only taking three crewmen with you?” Garrovick asked, as if it was a mistake.

  “Yes sir,” I said. “Population seems very sparse. A large group of new people suddenly showing up might cause undue attention.” I searched his face for some clue that he agreed or disagreed with me, but got nothing. I kept going. “I thought Ensign Black could gather samples while I investigate the tribes in the mountains.”

  “Proceed,” he said. I could see him exchange an amused look with Coto as I left the bridge.

  Ensign Christine Black, the security officers Sussman and Strong, and I donned disguises that did a pretty good job of approximating the local clothing. We beamed down and found ourselves on a rocky hillside. There was plenty of green, with a warm, inviting breeze. It had an immediate soothing effect on all of us, but I tried to ignore it. I sent Black to gather biological samples with Strong, ordering her to return to the ship when she was done. Minka Sussman came with me. I was hoping to view the natives without having to make contact, but I was in for a quick disappointment, as we almost immediately found ourselves surrounded by a hunting party of Hil
l People.

  They all carried either bows or spears. Sussman’s hand moved to the pouch that held her phaser, but I gestured for her to stop. Their weapons weren’t aimed at us. The leader of the hunting party came forward and spoke to me in an unknown language. The universal translators instantly deciphered the language, so we could communicate. The leader, who called himself Tyree, asked where we were from. I told him we were from another land far away (the Prime Directive prevented us from revealing our true origin to primitive people who had no knowledge of spaceflight or other worlds), and that we were only staying a short time. He indicated that we follow him. He took us back to his camp, a loose conglomeration of tents near caves and a spring.

  He and his people were remarkably trusting. The leader of his tribe, an older man named Yitae, welcomed us to the village. He put Sussman in a tent with other women, me in a tent with Tyree, and welcomed us to eat and hunt with them.

  I was worried about what I would see, living among these primitive people. There was certainly a chance that they believed in a superstitious religion and would engage in violent sacrifices. There was also great potential for accidentally causing an incident because we didn’t understand their primitive ways. I had warned Sussman to be careful.

  Over the next three days I learned that they hunted for food and clothing, and had a great knowledge of the wild roots. They had a good trade relationship with the villagers, who, more adept at forging iron, provided arrowheads and knives in exchange for food and skins. I did pick up their references to some beliefs in spirits and spells, but other than that the life they led was simple and peaceful. They killed only to feed themselves or for limited trade, and there seemed to be no conflicts or jealousies that were usually part of primitive human society. And the enthusiasm with which Tyree welcomed me into his life was affecting. One morning, he woke me up.

  “Today, friend James,” he said, “we hunt mugato.”

  The mugato were an ape-like carnivore, dangerous and deadly, that the natives hunted for food. Sussman and I joined a hunting party of four Hill People. Sussman was a tough security officer, but even she found herself relaxing while part of this community.

  “The quickest way to kill it,” Tyree said, “is in the eye.”

  I had some experience from childhood with a bow, and I gave Sussman a spear. We set out, and now that we’d found our prey’s feces, the hunt was almost over. I looked over at Sussman; I could sense, as tough as she was, she was scared. Her hand was firmly in her pouch, presumably on her phaser. I had told her before that under no circumstances could we show these people our advanced technology, but the pressure of the current situation was clearly overriding my orders. I was going to move closer to her to have a quiet word when I heard the menacing shriek.

  A white simian, large as a man, with a ridge of bone running along its head and down its back, leaped into the center of our party. With one arm, it knocked Tyree and one of his men aside. Two of the others, both with bows, fired arrows into the creature, hitting it squarely in the chest. They didn’t slow it down.

  The beast moved toward Sussman, who panicked, dropped her spear, and fumbled through her pouch for the phaser. The mugato reached her just as she got it out, but the animal knocked her down and the small phaser went flying. Tyree was now up again, joining his men in firing arrows into the creature, but it wouldn’t let Sussman go. The mugato bit Sussman and she screamed.

  I fired off an arrow, but I could see none were having an effect on the raging animal. I could take out my phaser and vaporize it, but my training told me to resist that urge, that it would contaminate this culture. The Prime Directive said we were expendable, but seeing Sussman in peril, I had to do something. Tyree had said hitting the eye was its weakness, but since it was bent over Sussman, we couldn’t get a shot. I dropped my bow and arrow and went for a knife one of the Hill People had dropped.

  “Tyree! Get ready!”

  I leaped onto the mugato, wedged my foot into the bone ridge, and stabbed it in the side of the neck. I hung on to the knife as the mugato reared up, and, reaching back, tried to grab me. I saw Tyree taking aim. The creature bucked hard and I lost my grip. I flew to the ground, and the mugato quickly turned to me and roared.

  And then an arrow pierced its left eye. The beast froze and fell backward, dead. Tyree had made the shot.

  I got up immediately and went to Sussman. The mugato had bitten her in the neck, and she was shivering. There was some kind of poison I could see mixed in with her blood in the wound. My mind raced. I had medical supplies in my pouch, but bringing them out would expose me. I wasn’t even sure any of them would help against the beast’s venom. I needed help. I had to get her back to the ship. If I used my communicator, that could literally be the end of my career, but I had no choice. I couldn’t let her die. As I reached into the pouch, Tyree touched my arm.

  “Don’t worry, friend James,” Tyree said. “We will help her.” I looked up at him. Could he save her? Could I trust this primitive? He seemed certain. He then turned to one of his men and told him to find a Kahn-ut-tu, which the universal translator didn’t have a meaning for. He then quietly handed me Sussman’s phaser, which one of his men had picked up from the ground.

  “This was hers,” he said.

  “Yes,” I said.

  “What is it?”

  “I … can’t tell you,” I said. Tyree accepted that. He ordered the remaining three men to take care of carrying the mugato back to camp, while he helped me with Sussman.

  In a cave at the camp, we were met by Yitae and a young man dressed differently than any of the Hill People. He had a brownish complexion, jet-black hair, and wore different skins, from a much darker animal. Tyree had expected him; this was a Kahn-ut-tu. It looked like I was placing my crewman’s fate in the hands of a witch doctor, and I didn’t feel good about it. I longed to get her back to the ship under the care of an actual physician.

  There was a beat of a drum. The Kahn-ut-tu man kneeled over Sussman and took out a black root. The root seemed to move like an animal. As Yitae beat the drum, the witch doctor fell into a trance, and eventually slapped the root hard on Sussman’s wound. They both heaved in pain, and then fell unconscious. I had never seen anything like it, and when I went to examine Sussman’s wound, it was gone. Sussman stirred awake. She was tired but cured.

  I realized that I was due to communicate with the ship, so I thanked the Kahn-ut-tu, who seemed completely indifferent. I then left the cave, found a private spot near the spring, and took out my communicator.

  “Kirk to Farragut.”

  “Mr. Kirk, we were starting to worry.” It was Garrovick. I filled him in on what had happened. I said I thought we needed another day for Sussman to recover before I could leave without raising suspicions. Garrovick agreed with my assessment, then said something I didn’t expect.

  “I guess you were lucky those barbarians could help you out.”

  “They’re not barbarians, sir,” I said. “This is an amazing species …”

  “It’s nice to know we’re not the only worthwhile people in the Galaxy.” Garrovick signed off, and I realized the lesson he’d taught me. I felt ashamed, embarrassed. I closed my communicator and turned to see Tyree had found me. He looked confused.

  “Were you speaking to a god?”

  “No,” I said. I wanted to tell him the truth, but the Prime Directive was clear. Of course, if I didn’t tell him the truth, his imagination might lead to a worse kind of contamination. I had gotten to know this man in the past few days, he had saved the life of my crewman, and he was my friend. I felt there was a third alternative.

  “Tyree … can you keep a secret?”

  It turns out he could.

  The experience with Tyree and the Hill People helped me grow as an officer. I had faced what was probably my most terrible experience in Starfleet up to that point—I’d almost lost someone under my command. I couldn’t imagine anything worse. Fate would soon punish me for my lack of vision.
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  A few months later, I’d been rotated to weapons control. Though I’d been trained in space combat, in my year and a half of service in Starfleet, I’d seen none. We were in orbit around the fourth planet in the Tycho star system. A landing party had been sent to chart the planet’s surface, which was devoid of life, or so we thought.

  “Red alert!” The captain’s voice came over the intercom. “Shields up, phaser control report status!” I was manning weapons control along with Chief Metlay and Crewman Press. They reported that all weapons were charged and ready.

  “Bridge, this is phaser control. All weapons show ready.” As I said this, the monitor in front of me displayed what was on the bridge views-creen. I saw the planet, but couldn’t make out anything else. Then I noticed what looked like one of the clouds in the atmosphere moving up into space. It was headed directly toward the ship. This was my target? A cloud? (I would find out later that this “cloud” had attacked and killed our landing party, but at this moment in time, I had no idea what I was even looking at.)

  “Phasers, lock on target,” Garrovick said. I immediately tied in the tracking system and brought the cloud into the center of my range finder. Sensors showed me the cloud was made out of dikironium. Its gaseous nature made it difficult for the computer to lock on it.

  “Sir, I can’t get a definite lock,” I said. It was moving much faster now, growing on the screen.

  “Fire phasers!” Garrovick said. I looked at the cloud. It now filled the viewscreen. It was at point-blank range. I paused for just a second, tried to figure out what the hell I was even looking at. And then it was gone. I pressed the fire button, but it was too late.

  “Sir,” Chief Metlay said, “something’s entered the main phaser bank emitter …”

  What he said was technically impossible; only forms of energy could pass through the emitter. But before I could figure out what was going on, Metlay and Press were surrounded by white gas, leaking out of their consoles. There was the distinct odor of something very sweet, like honey. And then Metlay and Press immediately fell to the floor choking.