The Autobiography of James T. Kirk

by David A. Goodman

  Decker then indicated the younger man. “This is my son, Will.” The young man seemed nothing like his father; where Matt was coarse and unrefined, Will appeared friendly and polished, although somewhat nervous around all the senior officers. I must have shown my surprise, because Decker added, “He takes after his mother.”

  “Cadet,” I said, shaking his hand. “Fourth year?”

  “Yes sir,” Will said.

  “Since he doesn’t look like me, I want to make sure everyone knows he’s my son,” Decker said, then turned to Nogura. “Don’t dump him on a starbase.”

  “I’ll see what I can do,” Nogura said, with a rare smile. Decker then turned to me.

  “Wait, are you the Kirk who commanded the Hotspur ?” he said.

  “Yes sir,” I said.

  “I heard about that gas giant move,” he said. “Well done. And call me Matt.” Decker turned back to Nogura, referencing me. “Put this guy on a bridge too. He could come in handy.” I was hopeful that Nogura would take Decker’s suggestion, but I saw no sign of it.

  A few days later, I walked into Cartwright’s office, while he was meeting with another officer I didn’t know.

  “Jim, this is Major Oliver West,” Cartwright said. We shook hands; he was much taller than me and had a stare that I could only describe as “mean.” I noticed he had the rank of major and was part of the small contingent of Starfleet officers whose focus was infantry operations. Cartwright had brought me in because West wanted to ask me some questions about the incident on Dimorous. He seemed very familiar with my logs on the subject.

  “How long do you think you could’ve held out?” he asked.

  “Not very long,” I said. “There were too many of them, and they were fearless.”

  “I was curious,” West said, “why you didn’t kill them, instead of using stun?”

  “The Prime Directive,” I said. “As far as I know, they were indigenous.”

  “Even though your lives were at stake?” West said.

  “Isn’t that the point?”

  “So you can’t imagine a situation where you’d violate the Prime Directive in order to protect the lives of Federation citizens?” West said. It felt like a trick question. Because in my mind, there was only one response.

  “I think it’s my duty not to,” I said. West and Cartwright exchanged a look.

  “Thanks for your time, Jim. I’ll see you later,” Cartwright said, getting up and leading me out.

  I left feeling like I’d taken some kind of test and failed.

  “Pike is getting promoted to fleet captain,” Nogura said. He had called me into his office, alone. Pike’s promotion wasn’t a complete surprise; our department had been discussing how his tactical knowledge of the Klingons was invaluable to Starfleet, and had to be part of overall mission planning. The revelation was what came next.

  “You’re receiving a promotion to full captain, and you’re to assume command of the Enterprise,” Nogura said.

  “Thank you, sir,” I said. I could barely get it out; I was thunderstruck.

  “No need to thank me,” he said. “You were on top of the promotion list. Your years on the Hotspur are well regarded by the Admiralty. You were assigned a dangerous area of space, completed all your missions without any loss of life.” He made it sound very reasonable, but since joining the department, I had made a study of all the available command-grade officers. I was among the youngest, and there were several with years more experience than me as shipmasters.

  “We are also implementing your plan to complete the Enterprise’s refit on Starbase 11,” Nogura said.

  “Sir, a conservative estimate has the components reaching Starbase 11 in ten months,” I said.

  “The ship should still function properly,” Nogura said. “You’re used to less-than-up-to-the-minute technology. Pike will bring the Enterprise to Earth tomorrow. We’ll transfer command then. Start going over personnel; see what spots you can fill in 24 hours. I think, if my recollection’s correct, you’re going to need a first officer.” He then stood up and shook my hand.

  “Congratulations, Jim.”

  “Thank you, sir,” I said. My head was mush; this was what I wanted, and yet I wasn’t sure why at this moment I was getting it. I felt it was somehow connected to the conversation I had had with Cartwright and West the week before, but I couldn’t figure out why.

  Whatever doubts I had, I chose to put out of my mind. I went back to my desk, double-checked the Enterprise’s files to make sure the first officer position was open, and put a call in to Starfleet Personnel to requisition Gary Mitchell. His new captain wouldn’t like it, but I would figure out some way to pay him back.

  I then opened the rest of the personnel files and started scanning them, then decided to call my parents while I did it. I opened a call on the screen. Dad answered.

  “Hey, Captain,” he said. He took great pride in calling me that. “What’s going on?”

  “Dad,” I said, “I really am a captain. I’ve got a ship. It’s the Enterprise.”

  “Oh my god,” he said. “Bob April’s ship?”

  “Yeah, but it hasn’t been his in ten years,” I said. “And anyway, it’s Jim Kirk’s ship now.” My dad laughed, and I could see he was welling up.

  “I’m so proud of you,” he said. “You’re 29, that’s got to be some kind of record …” I hadn’t realized it until Dad brought it up, but I did a quick record search, and he was right. I was the youngest person to receive the rank of full captain in Starfleet’s history; the record, interestingly enough, had been held by Matt Decker, who achieved the rank at 31.

  I’d been absently scrolling through the personnel records while we spoke, but stopped. I could see that Dad wanted to say something else to me, but I didn’t know what. I felt like he needed me to either prod him or change the subject.

  “Where’s Mom?” I said. I chose the latter.

  “She went to a conference this morning in London,” he said. “She should be back a little later.”

  “Well, tell her the good news,” I said. “I’ll try to come home for a bit before I leave.”

  “Do what you need to; you’ve got a big job,” he said. “Take care of yourself. I hope it’s everything you want it to be.”

  “Thanks, Dad,” I said. “I think it will be.” We said goodbye and I shut off the communication. I could sense that he was proud, but there was something else, too. And then I thought about Carol and David. Dad didn’t know about them specifically, but now, looking back, I think he wanted to tell me what I was giving up. He didn’t know that I already knew.

  I was soon distracted by all the work I had to do. I had to finish getting through the personnel records, to try to fill my open spots; I also had to see about a new uniform with the proper braid, and make any other last-minute arrangements before I shipped out. Busy with these tasks, I was happy. This was the fulfillment of my dreams. And just as I was thinking I was leaving all the struggles of my past behind, I noticed something in the personnel records that told me it wasn’t going to be all that easy.

  The Enterprise’s records officer was Ben Finney.

  * * *

  * EDITOR’S NOTE: Janet Lebow became Janet Wallace after marrying Dr. Theodore Wallace, also an endocrinologist, several decades her senior. They were only married a few years before he passed away. She continued her distinguished career until 2283, when she was on a mission aboard the U.S.S. Vengeance, which disappeared with all hands.

  CHAPTER 6

  “WELCOME TO THE ENTERPRISE, CAPTAIN,” Christopher Pike said. I stepped off the transporter and shook his hand. I was struck by how tall he was, much taller than me. He greeted me with a friendly smile, and there was camaraderie about the way he said “Captain.” I felt like I was joining a very exclusive club.

  “I think you know our transporter operator,” Pike said, and I saw a familiar face at the console.

  “Mr. Scott,” I said. “Need someone to carry your tool kit?” We sh
ook hands warmly. I knew Scott had been transferred to the ship as an engineer, and I was thrilled. This was one bit of luck I would never take for granted, and I would make sure he was permanent.

  “Thanks for the offer, sir,” Scott said. “But I’ve got plenty of help here already.” He gave me a weary smile. I noticed his eyes were a little bloodshot.

  “Rough night?” I said.

  “My going-away party,” Pike said. “Come on, we’ve got a lot to cover.”

  Pike took me on a tour of the ship, giving me a rundown of the areas of the refit that weren’t finished yet. It had been a while since I’d been on a Constitution-class ship, and its comfort was inviting. When we got to the bridge, it was twice the size of the Hotspur’s; it felt like a living room.

  There were several familiar faces there: Lee Kelso was at navigation, Scotty had come up from the transporter room and was monitoring the engineering console. And Mr. Spock was at the science station, looking into his viewer. Pike took me over to him.

  “Mr. Spock,” Pike said, “this is Captain Kirk.” Spock stood up from his viewer, at attention.

  “We’ve had the pleasure. At ease,” I said.

  “He is,” Pike said, smiling.

  “Your record is very impressive, Mr. Spock,” I said. “I look forward to serving with you.”

  “Thank you, Captain,” Spock said. “Please let me know if there is any way I can be of service.” It sounded as though he memorized it off a flash card. At that moment, I wasn’t sure I was ever going to be completely comfortable with this guy.

  Pike then continued on the tour; Scotty came with us to engineering. While down there, Pike took me over to a small hatch near the rear of the engineering section on the secondary hull. “The sensor pod?” I said. Pike nodded and opened the hatch. Inside was a plastic bubble, clear to space, crowded with various scientific instruments. One of the many scientific missions a ship has is to get radiation readings in abnormal conditions. Ion storms, quasars, etc. This can only be done by direct exposure of the necessary instruments in a plastic pod on the skin of the ship. It was particularly important if the ship was caught inside one of the phenomena; the borders and structures could change rapidly, so the sensor pod was often necessary to navigate out of it.

  I climbed up inside the pod. There was only room for one person in the cramped space. But as I looked “up” it was as if I was standing on the outside of the ship; I could stare out at Earth and the various shuttles and ships in orbit. The pods were dangerous. In an ion storm, it picks up a charge of its own very quickly; since it’s connected to the ship, if the charge is big enough, excess current could flow through whatever circuitry it could find, potentially blowing out vital ship’s systems in the middle of an emergency. The captain has to make a determination how long to let that crewman stay in, acquiring as much information as he or she can without threatening the ship; if the crewman delays too long to get out, the captain might have to jettison the pod with the crewman still in it. On the Hotspur I had a senior officer stand by at the hatch to jettison, but Pike told me he had the control moved up to his chair on the bridge.

  “If someone has to die,” Pike said, “I don’t want anyone else to carry the burden.”

  As I stepped out of the pod, I saw that Pike had waved over another officer to introduce to me. I guess he didn’t know we’d already met. It was Ben Finney. I politely cut off Pike’s introduction by extending my hand to Finney.

  “Good to see you, Ben,” I said. I wasn’t going to assume bad feeling. To my surprise, Ben smiled and shook my hand, albeit somewhat formally.

  “Congratulations, sir,” Ben said. “It’s nice seeing you again.”

  We talked briefly about Jamie and then he excused himself to return to his post. It was difficult to tell how he was feeling about me; Ben had acted properly, was even friendly. I hoped this indicated my concern about serving with him was unfounded.

  Pike and I continued on, finally ending in Pike’s quarters, which it took me a minute to realize would soon be mine. I’d forgotten how much larger a captain’s quarters were on a Constitution-class ship. I had gotten used to my stateroom on the Hotspur, which wasn’t much more than a bed and a closet.

  Pike and I sat on opposite sides of the desk and went over specific members of the crew. He had recommended Spock for my first officer, but I wasn’t comfortable enough with him to give him that position. I wanted to keep him on as science officer, and asked Pike if Spock would care if someone was brought in over him.

  “If he did,” Pike said, “he’d rather die than let you know. He’s all about the work.” We then went through a few more. Pike’s chief engineer was retiring, and I was determined to give Scotty that position. Mark Piper from the Republic had replaced Pike’s chief medical officer, Philip Boyce, who died about a year before the end of Pike’s mission. I could see that the loss had affected him. Pike said that the death of Boyce was the first sign that maybe he stayed in space too long. I changed the subject by congratulating Pike on the promotion, but he only laughed, somewhat derisively. I didn’t realize until this moment how political promotions could be in Starfleet.

  “Fleet captain is a desk job,” Pike said. “They wanted me out of the way.”

  Decker and Pike were contemporaries and had different schools of thought about their roles as starship captains. Decker was more focused on defense and protection, while Pike saw himself as an explorer. Nogura favored Decker, who would now be in field command of all ships in the sector that bordered the Klingons if there was an incursion. Since Decker didn’t like Pike, Pike felt he had played some role in getting the Enterprise away from him.

  “I probably need a break,” Pike said, although it sounded like a weak rationale. He started talking about the ship and how much it meant to him, but that the mission itself was much more trying than he ever expected. The Constitution-class ships were designed to operate without a net; you were really on your own. He’d lost a lot of friends during the ten years he’d been on the Enterprise.

  “This job will rip the guts out of you,” he said. “You have no choice but to lean on people. This crew will become your friends.”

  He took another long pause.

  “And then they’ll die.”

  We sat in silence for a long moment. I didn’t quite know what to make of this advice. I’d faced the death of crewmen for my whole career, but I felt like answering would only make me appear weak, self-justifying. So I sat in silence until he was ready to move on. He then decided it was time to transfer command, and he ordered the ship’s crew to report to the hangar deck.

  A few minutes later, I was part of a ceremony I’d witnessed only once. Pike and I stood at a podium near the bay doors, facing the 400 faces of the crew. Spock stood by, and Pike gave him a nod.

  “Attention to orders,” Spock said, shouting. I’d never seen a Vulcan raise his voice; it was unnerving. But I supposed it was necessary serving aboard a starship. I stepped up to the podium, placed the tape of orders in the portable viewer that was set there, and read them.

  “To Captain Christopher Pike, commander, U.S.S. Enterprise, you are hereby promoted to fleet captain, and requested and required to relinquish command to Captain James T. Kirk as of this date, signed Heihachiro Nogura, admiral, Starfleet Command.” I then turned to Pike. “I relieve you, sir.”

  “I stand relieved,” Pike said. We shook hands, and I turned and took in the faces; a familiar few: Scotty, Kelso, Mark Piper from the Republic, Uhura. But they were quickly lost in an ocean of strangers. I had never taken over a ship like this before; I had been serving on the Hotspur when I was given command, so I had already been working with everyone on that ship, and there had been no need for a ceremony. Now, I could see a lot of the crew members weren’t looking at me; they looked at Pike. It was easy to read affection and admiration in their expressions.

  I was envious; it was ridiculous for me to expect anything from these people. It would be the hardest job in my life to win
them over, since being a good captain meant doing nothing that was designed to win them over. I had to count on them to do their jobs, and do my best to protect their lives, which, despite what Pike had said, meant I couldn’t let anyone be my friend. Thrust into command of the Hotspur, I had felt alone, but not quite as alone as this.

  And then I saw an unexpected face in the crowd. Gary Mitchell was in the back; he must have just come aboard, his duffel still over his shoulder. He gave me a conspiratorial grin and nodded. I smiled.

  “All standing orders to remain in force until further notice,” I said. “Crew dismissed.” Captain Pike came over one last time and shook my hand.

  “Hope to see you again,” he said. “Good luck.”

  “To you too,” I said.

  I went back to the cabin, which only a little while ago had been Pike’s. Now everything of his was gone; my clothing had arrived and had been magically put away. I decided to start going through the ship’s status reports, which took me late into the evening, and fell asleep.

  The next morning, I woke early, dressed, and left my cabin. As I walked along the corridors I received friendly but reserved hellos from the crew I passed. I reached the turbolift and noticed a lieutenant, who was obviously heading toward it, make a last-minute decision to turn in the other direction and take a ladder; whoever he was, he wasn’t comfortable riding with his new captain. I didn’t mind; I think I liked the fact that he was nervous.

  I rode the lift alone and stepped out onto the bridge. The viewscreen was off; the night shift was still on duty. To my right, Uhura was at communications.

  “Nice to see you again, Ensign,” I said. “Have the department heads report to me on the bridge as soon as they come on duty.”