About a month later we were on Delta IV. I had never been to the planet before; Starfleet maintained a base there, and the world itself was a curiosity to many of the other species of the Federation. The Deltans, humanoid but all bald, had a “sexually advanced” society, but what that meant hardly anyone knew, since they had strict rules about who they mingled with.
Will Decker, who was stationed there, looked very much the same as I remembered him; lanky and boyish, he was pleasant and friendly. We shared a bottle of Tellarite beer at a bar situated on a cliff, below us, the starbase, three-quarters surrounded by blue mountain foothills and facing a green sea. In the distance, the shiny metal spires of a city on an island (which the Deltans simply called “City Island”). The air was filled with the scent of flowers I didn’t recognize but that was nevertheless very soothing.
Will seemed happy that I’d looked him up. We’d only met that one time, now over five years before. Since his father’s death about a year ago, I had started to keep tabs on him. He had served on several ships, eventually on the scout ship Revere, where he rose to the rank of commander. He then stepped down from the center seat to join a program he had had a hand in devising.
“Emergency transporters for shuttlecraft,” he said, after I’d asked what led him to give up his command. “I coauthored the proposal with several engineers I’d gone to the academy with. Delta IV was the natural place to experiment because the Deltans have designed and manufactured small transporters for replicating plants from stored patterns.”
“How’s it been going?” I said.
“Well, if failure is the mother of innovation,” Will said, “then I guess we’re innovators.” I smiled at his little joke, as he continued. “We’re definitely a few decades away from them being standard equipment, but if at some point in the future we can save the life of someone in Dad’s situation, it’ll be worth it.” I nodded, trying to disguise my discomfort at the mention of Matt Decker’s death. He was doing work that, if successful, would be an incredible boon for Starfleet and possibly save hundreds of lives.
All inspired by a lie I had recorded in my log. I hoped he’d never find out that Matt Decker would not have used an emergency transporter to beam out of his shuttlecraft, even if he’d had one. I decided to change the conversation to the topic I’d made the trip to discuss.
“You’ve had a taste of command, don’t you miss it?”
“I don’t know,” Decker said. “I’m a scientist first, an officer second. And I’m pretty happy here.” I read something into this and took a gamble.
“What’s her name?” I said. In my experience the only thing that competes with commanding a ship is a woman. Decker smiled, and I knew I was right. He told me about a Deltan woman named Ilia who he’d started a relationship with.
“There’s a lot of misconceptions about them,” Decker said, a little defensively.
“I make no judgments,” I said. That was a bit of a lie; I was judging him, but not in the way he thought. He was choosing a settled life, and I had other plans for him. “To get to the point, Will, I need a new first officer, and I think you’re the man for the job.”
“Um … what?” Will said. I could understand his surprise. He didn’t know that I’d lost Spock, and that Scotty, who I’d made first officer, didn’t enjoy many of the administrative requirements of the job. I had looked at other members of my command crew: Sulu, Chekov, Uhura, all great officers, but I thought there was something missing with all of them. In truth, I now think any of them would’ve been a terrific choice in their own way, but I wasn’t just choosing my first officer for the next four months.
“It’s a great opportunity, sir,” Decker said, “but you’re almost done with your tour. I don’t know that I’d want to leave this project just for a few months as your exec.”
“I understand. I’m taking the Enterprise back to Earth, where it’s going to undergo a major refit,” I said. “I think it would be good if the next captain spent a little time on her with me.”
Decker was momentarily staggered, for good reason. I’d gone from offering him executive officer for a few months to offering him a Constitution-class ship for however long he could succeed at the job. Finally, he opened his mouth.
“Why me?”
“It’s a special ship,” I said. “It needs a captain with a solid background in engineering to supervise the refit. I’ve looked at your record; I want it to be you.” This explanation sounded a little thin, even to me. And I was being a little arrogant; I was going to have to convince the rest of the Admiralty of it, but since I was going to be one of them, I was confident I’d get my way.
“Captain Kirk,” Decker said, “I’m floored. It’s just so sudden.”
“Opportunities like this come along once in a lifetime,” I said. “Don’t let it pass you by.” I finished my beer and got up from the table, which I think startled him even more. I told him I’d be in orbit for two more days. The implication was clear; he had that time to decide whether to take the job. It was a brutal negotiating move, but it worked.
Decker showed up on the Enterprise the next day and accepted. He seemed a little discombobulated; I wondered if he had difficulty wrapping up his personal life that quickly. We left orbit, and I have to admit the next few weeks on the Enterprise were a little strange. The crew was guarded with the new first officer; I think many of them had hurt feelings that I didn’t choose them (although Scotty was relieved to wash his hands of the clerical duties). But Will worked hard to win them over. He was initially nervous and a little taciturn, but we soon developed an easy friendship and he fell into the role quickly. It was McCoy who decided, however, that I wasn’t seeing the truth in the relationship.
“Are you going to stay aboard?” I asked while we were having drinks. I was curious what McCoy’s plans were.
“I’m going to move on,” he said. “I’ve got a lot of medical experience that I can share with a new generation of doctors. It’s time to pass the torch. Besides, I can’t take orders from Decker.” That caught me off guard. He had given me no clue before then that he didn’t think Decker was up to the job. More important, I thought Decker was working out nicely. I asked him what his problem was.
“I don’t have a problem with Decker,” McCoy said. “I have a problem with how he got the job. You picked him because you felt guilty.”
“Guilty? What am I guilty about? I barely knew Decker when I gave him the job.”
“You’ve defined yourself by this job, and now that it’s coming to an end and you’re going home, you’re trying to fill a hole in your life you’ve been ignoring.” We sat there in silence for a while. I didn’t want to hear what he was saying, but I couldn’t ignore it.
“Go on,” I said.
“You picked a man like yourself, who doesn’t have a father, who you could mentor, help in his career,” McCoy said. “Do I have to spell it out? You don’t want a replacement; you want your son.”
“I don’t know if I agree with you,” I said. “But if you’re right, what’s the harm?”
“The harm is, there’s no real relationship there,” he said. “Someone could end up being very disappointed.” We finished our drink in silence. What McCoy said cut deep, but I didn’t let it get in the way of my plans. In hindsight, he of course was completely right; I was using Decker, and though he went on to something truly extraordinary, to this day I’m ashamed of the life I deprived him of because of my actions.
The rest of our tour of duty was routine; with Sulu’s and Chekov’s help, I was able to time our return to Earth five years to the second after we left. Admiral Nogura, now commander in chief of Starfleet, came aboard with Federation president Bormenus. In a grand ceremony, the entire crew was given medals, I was promoted to admiral, and Decker promoted to captain. We then had a reception on the shuttle bay hangar deck.
My parents were there, too. Both in their seventies now, they were fit, energetic, and happy to see me. They brought with them Sam’s sons,
Peter, now fifteen, and his twin brothers, Joshua and Steven, now three. The young boys all seemed awed by what they saw; Peter was friendly to the crew and delighted that they all remembered him. During the reception, I was surprised to find my father talking with Admiral Nogura very casually; I didn’t know they’d served together. The three of us chatted for a while, and then Nogura made his excuses and left.
“Heihachiro was Robau’s yeoman on the Kelvin,” Dad said.
“Was he good at it?” I asked. It was hard to picture Nogura getting coffee.
“Depends how you define the job,” Dad said. “He was ruthless. Unusual in a yeoman.”
I left the party before it began to break up. I realized that I understood why Spock had not wanted to be here; saying goodbye to this crew was too much for me to handle. I think, also, I was sure I would be back in one way or another.
The next day, I put on my new admiral’s uniform and reported for duty.
It was in the penthouse of the Archer Building, and I was greeted by a yeoman who showed me to my office. It was along a hallway with several other admirals, all of whom I knew: Cartwright, Harry Morrow, and Bill Smillie, and at the end of the hall was Nogura. He had successfully transferred his department of strategic planning and studies to the Admiralty, and had a group of relatively young admirals to help him make policy.
I reported to Nogura, who gave me my assignment: I was chief of Starfleet Operations. It sounded like a more important title than it was. I was responsible for a lot of the scut work of maintenance and supply the other more senior admirals didn’t want to deal with. However, I was still in their ranks and would participate in the daily meetings of the Admiralty to decide on policy and planning. But on that first day there was a lot to catch up on, so I went back to my office to dive in.
I sat at my desk; behind me, the wall was transparent, and I had a view of the Golden Gate Bridge. In the distance, I could see the old prison island of Alcatraz.
I was 36, I was an admiral, and this lovely office would also turn out to be a prison cell.
I’m not sure I fully comprehended the endless but efficient bureaucracy I was a part of before becoming an admiral. Starfleet Command had the herculean task of maintaining its fleet, training its personnel, supplying and protecting the starbases and Earth colonies, monitoring trade between Federation members and nonmembers, law enforcement, emergency medical and disaster assistance, as well as implementing the political policies of the Federation Council. And that was when there wasn’t even a war on.
And as a member of the Admiralty, every day was a pile of orders I had to cut so that tasks big and small could be completed across Federation space. On just one day: the starship Obama was running behind schedule and over budget at Utopia Planitia, so I had to call of meeting of the yard’s officers to try to get them back on schedule; Starbase 10’s commander, Commodore Colt, died unexpectedly, so I had to find her replacement; an intelligence report came across my desk that indicated increased activity of Tholian ships along their border with the Gorn, so I ordered a freighter, equipped with the latest surveillance equipment, to move near that area of space to surreptitiously gather more information; and I approved the budget for the building of three new cargo vessels, the Waldron, the Kuhlman, and the Asaad.
And then there was the politics. It seemed all the admirals had their own priorities and pet projects that they lobbied for. Everyone got along, though I sensed there was a subgroup who saw the Klingons as a growing threat. Diplomatic efforts with the Klingons had fallen away in recent years; admirals, especially Cartwright, were pushing for increased expenditures on defenses along the border. It was a two-tiered strategy: it guaranteed a little more security, but it also had the effect of pushing the Klingons to do the same, with the intent of straining their resources to defend the border. The theory was this would weaken them over time; it might also provoke an attack, which Cartwright felt we’d be ready for. This was obviously a continuation of the work Nogura had been pushing in the department of strategic planning and studies, though then it was much more discreet.
I had help in my new job; Uhura became my chief of staff, and I brought on Sulu and Chekov as well. This had the double advantage of keeping them from getting new assignments on other ships so I could put them back on the Enterprise when the time came, as well as providing me with a group of officers I was already comfortable with.
Even though I was busy, I found myself looking inward, trying to figure out if this was what I wanted. My last few years on the Enterprise had begun to feel empty, and I thought a promotion would be the solution; I found, however, it just left me with more questions about who I was and who I wanted to be. I began this self-examination during one of my first meetings of the Admiralty. I was approached by a colleague, one who I hadn’t seen in over 20 years.
“Admiral Mallory,” I said.
“Captain,” he said. “I just wanted to thank you for that lovely note.” This was the man who I’d met as a child when I saved the Tellarite ambassador, and who’d recommended me for entrance to the academy. But now he was a reminder that, though people considered my mission a success, a lot of good people lost their lives because of my decisions. I came to the Enterprise having never lost a crewman under my command; soon, I was responsible for eleven deaths on average for every year for my five years. This wasn’t even counting Gary, whose death I thought about almost every day. This was what Pike had been talking about all those years ago—it had ripped the guts out of me, and left me now a little hollow. One of these losses was the son of Admiral Mallory, this man who’d changed my life by getting me into the academy.
“It was the least I could do,” I said, referring to the note. “He was a fine crewman. And I felt I owed you.” I smiled, but he looked confused.
“Have we met before?” Now I was confused. He wasn’t that old. I reminded him about the incident with the Tellarite when I was a child. He laughed delightedly at the story.
“That was you?” he said. “I’m sorry I didn’t remember, it was so long ago …”
“But,” I said, “you helped me get into the academy.” I then told him the story, that Ruth sent my message asking for his help.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I never got it.” Ruth said she had given it to his chief of staff, and I was sure she hadn’t lied. The only conclusion was the chief of staff hadn’t passed it on, and that I somehow got into the academy on my own merits. It left me a little confused.
“There’s a planet called Dimorous, which has been off-limits for a number of years,” I said. I had gathered Sulu, Chekov, and Uhura in my office. I had resources at my command, and I decided to make use of them. I showed them my log entries from the Hotspur, specifically the details of the attack of those mysterious rodent-like creatures. I then told them to see what they could find out about the Tellarite facilities on the planet. They were an efficient group; they had a report for me later that week. Uhura was convinced that, though the dilithium mining facility belonged to the Tellarites, the other facility did not. Sulu had contacts in the Tellarite embassy, and though they had very detailed records of the dilithium facility, they had no records of the other one.
“If it involved illegal genetic experiments, they might have kept them a secret,” I said.
“Yes,” Chekov said, “except their records clearly state that the dilithium facility had to be abandoned when they also were attacked by the creatures. If they were keeping the genetic experiments a secret, would they be so open about this fact?” That was a good point. I asked if they found any indication of who the facility belonged to.
“In one entry of the Tellarite manager’s record,” Uhura said, “he details an accident that led to some of his workers being severely injured. He reports receiving medical aid, but doesn’t say from where.” They had already personally tracked down the manager, who said he remembered that the aid was provided by the Federation starship Constellation. Even back then, it was Matt Decker’s ship, and Nogura was
his immediate superior.
They had checked the logs, which showed no record of the ship visiting Dimorous during that period, though there were gaps where the ship could have. It was starting to look like a conspiracy. Uhura asked if they should keep investigating, but I told them not to, at least not yet. It felt like a hornet’s nest in our own backyard, and I wasn’t sure how to proceed. But I thanked them and pointed out that they were fortunate the Tellarite manager they tracked down was so forthcoming. Uhura, Sulu, and Chekov exchanged looks that were simultaneously guilty, pleased, and conspiratorial.
“Well, sir,” Chekov said, “I may have not been completely honest about who I worked for.” Then he added, “Or what my rank was …”
“I think I’ve heard enough,” I said.
I did my work, and the time passed, but I never fully invested in the world of the Admiralty; I spent a disproportionate amount of time focused on the Enterprise’s refit. I consulted for a year with Decker and Scotty and all the designers and technicians who were working on the new Enterprise. The designs used for the refit were based on technologies and construction techniques of the many new classes of ships that were now flying. Scotty and I would help vet and refine the designs based on our practical experience from our five-year mission. Then it was another 15 months as they oversaw all the engineering work. I had a feeling they thought I was getting in the way. At the time I didn’t care; the ship was somehow still mine. A few months before her scheduled launch, I became very hands-on in helping find the new crew.
One of my main focuses was trying to find a science officer. My experience told me that, no matter how brilliant or well trained a human officer was, there was no comparison with a Vulcan. The rigorous education and training they received from the time they were children made them invaluable in that position; it was like having a living computer with you at all times. I had to find one for the Enterprise.
My first thought was to go to Spock. Not to offer him the job, but to see if he had any recommendations. Of course, it was all an excuse to talk to him again; I hadn’t seen him in over two years, and I missed him. I had Uhura patch me through to his home on Vulcan. He wasn’t there, but his mother took my call.
The Autobiography of James T. Kirk Page 22
