In the annals of adventure and exploration, few names shine as brightly as those of the various vessels bearing the noble appellation of Enterprise. Equally distinguished are the many brave captains who have led their respective ships into battle, danger, and glory. STAR TREK: ENTERPRISE LOGS celebrates the proud history of those ships and their captains with an outstanding collection of new stories starring each of the men and women who have held command upon the bridge of one Enterprise or another.
From the trim fighting sloop that actually fought for freedom in America’s Revolutionary War to the state-of-the-art starship commanded by Jean-Luc Picard, this unique anthology presents some of the most thrilling moments in the careers of Kirk, Pike, Decker, Garrett, and many other legendary captains, as told by several popular and bestselling Star Trek authors, including:
Diane Carey * Greg Cox * A.C. Crispin * Peter David * Diane Duane * Michael Jan Friedman * Robert Greenberger * Jerry Oltion * John Vornholt
From yesterday’s history to tomorrow’s boldest imaginings, join the ongoing saga chronicled in STAR TREK: ENTERPRISE LOGS.
The sale of this book without its cover is unauthorized. If you purchased this book without a cover, you should be aware that it was reported to the publisher as “unsold and destroyed.” Neither the author nor the publisher has received payment for the sale of this “stripped book.”
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the authors’ imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.
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Introduction
“Don’t let them promote you … don’t let them transfer you … don’t let them do anything that takes you off the bridge of that ship…. Because while you’re there … you can make a difference.”
—Captain James T. Kirk, Star Trek: Generations
The U.S.S. Enterprise has been a part of America since the Revolutionary War and, thanks to Gene Roddenberry, has ensured the name’s place in Earth’s future. What other fictional creation could possibly be so firmly entrenched in our culture? After all, the Enterprise model proudly hangs in the National Air and Space Museum in Washington, D.C., and the first space shuttle was named Enterprise by popular demand. Recently, the public voted for Star Trek—depicted by the Enterprise—to join the fifteen stamps symbolizing the 1960s.
“My feeling was that if you didn’t believe in the spaceship … if you didn’t believe you were in a vehicle traveling through space, a vehicle that made sense, whose layout and design made sense … then you wouldn’t believe in the series,” Gene Roddenberry said in The Making of Star Trek. Without an identifiable ship, its captain and crew would be irrelevant. As important as the captains within these pages are, so too is the vessel they command.
Originally calling it the Yorktown, Roddenberry quickly renamed the ship Enterprise—why is undocumented, but one could argue the name alone conjures up man’s spirit and in one word sums up the nature of the captain.
As Roddenberry developed Star Trek for NBC, he projected our cultural development several centuries into the future. Having overcome great difficulties, mankind ultimately reached out to the stars. To do so, they needed starships capable of jumping between Solar systems, far from Earth. In order to ensure the crew’s completing their mission, each ship needed to be captained by a strong individual, one who could think for himself and act in the best interests of the United Federation of Planets. While there have been many lauded captains in Starfleet’s history, those who have commanded the U.S.S. Enterprise, from Pike to Picard, seem to rise head and shoulders above the others.
Of the twelve Constitution-class vessels that were Starfleet’s vanguard, several met with terrible fates. But the Enterprise endured, garnering a reputation as flagship for the fleet. Much has to do with the man at the hub of the bridge. Although Roddenberry got his inspiration from Captain Horatio Hornblower, a fictional hero of his youth, he molded the image of captain to suit his actors. There’s a lot of Hornblower in Jeffrey Hunter’s Pike, but it’s mixed with a clash of Hamlet. William Shatner’s Kirk, though, was brasher, faster to act. Still, Shatner should be credited with making certain the writers did not ignore the humanistic side of Kirk, which allowed him to temper the well-known cliché of the bed-hopping captain with the portrayal of a man upholding Starfleet’s ideals and keeping his ship and crew safe.
Captains who have followed Kirk have ghosts to live up to. In Starfleet’s early days, the rules were still being defined. Pike was known for his bravery, but Kirk was known for his “cowboy diplomacy.” How did these predecessors influence the command styles of Harriman and Garrett? Jean-Luc Picard had twenty-two years of commanding the Stargazer under his belt by the time he first stepped aboard the Enterprise. Could he not stop and wonder what his “ancestors” would do in his place? Meeting Kirk no doubt changed his view on command, no matter how slightly.
The lessons learned by one captain from another have been exhibited throughout Starfleet’s history. Spock certainly learned well from both Pike and Kirk, and the way Hikaru Sulu evaded Captain Kang in “Flashback” was certainly a Kirk-style maneuver. Even Captain Janeway has admitted some admiration for those legendary commanders, although her style is unique unto herself.
While Pike may have had his moments of self-doubt and Kirk witnessed the deaths of those closest to him, they managed to put aside their personal demons and remained in command. Other captains encountered along the way have been less fortunate. We’ve seen them devastated (Matt Decker), we’ve seen them mad (Garth), and we’ve even seen them traitorous (Ben Maxwell). It should be noted that the question of including Edward Jellico in this collection was hotly debated. After all, he commanded the Enterprise for several days during the popular two-part episode “Chain of Command.” However, he commanded briefly and was rather unpopular, and were we to include him, we’d have to include everyone who temporarily held command of the Enterprise. (Even Dr. Crusher. Even Khan.)
A word about those who tested the captains’ mettle. There are many different ways to command a crew, and one must respect the skills of one’s opponent. Kirk certainly held the Romulan commander in some regard in the classic “Balance of Terror.” The Klingon captain Kor on more than one occasion showed his dedication to honor and duty, dying in a blaze of glory that no doubt inspired countless songs among his people. General Martok clearly demonstrated an understanding of command that earned him first Worf’s respect, and then leadership of the Klingon people.
To command a starship takes resolve, courage, and the innate ability to handle the unexpected. As seen in the following stories, the captains approach problems differently—some with humanity, some with daring, some with cunning—but all do it with pride. The nine
authors that follow showcase those different elements, most choosing to focus on the captain apart from ship and crew, others focusing on the captain and his relationship with his crew. The insights gleaned from these stories will no doubt allow readers to come away with some idea of why these people are noteworthy figures. Adding some gravity to this volume are two stories based on the first two captains of the Enterprise, taken from the pages of history.
From 1776 through the twenty-fourth century Enterprise captains have excelled through a mixture of dynamism, practicality, and a heavy dose of humanity. Sit back and enjoy the adventures.
—ROBERT GREENBERGER
Fairfield, CT
January 2OOO
Captain Israel Daniel Dickenson
The Sloop-of-War Enterprise
“In every revolution, there’s one man with a vision….”
Captain James T. Kirk, Star Trek
DIANE CAREY
Diane knows a little more than most of her colleagues about ships and the rigors of command. In addition to being an accomplished author of science fiction and historical fiction, she is also a seafaring type, preferring older vessels. In fact, Diane braved the lash of early winter, crewing aboard the 1893 Schooner Lettie G. Howard and arriving at New York City’s docks. She stopped rigging and cooking just long enough to complete the following story.
This summer, Diane adds her own vision to the Star Trek universe with a new series of novels, starting with Wagon Train to the Stars and introducing one and all to the U.S.S. Challenger.
Diane’s contributions to Star Trek extend hack more than a decade, including the giant novel Final Frontier, which gave readers a glimpse at George Kirk, father to James. She has written six Original Series novels, four novels set during The Next Generation (including the first original story), six adaptations and one original Deep Space Nine story, and two Voyager novelizations.
With her husband, Greg Brodeur, Diane continues to whip up exciting stories, and shrewd readers will detect the loving attention paid to the starships, making them vital characters along with their crew.
Diane adds:
Special thanks to Captain Austin Becker and the Sloop-of-war Providence of Rhode Island, replica of John Paul Jones’s fighting ship, for their help and good works in preserving Revolutionary War history.
My admiration and gratitude also go to Captain Erick Tichonuk, First Mate Len Ruth, and all the crew at the Lake Champlain Maritime Museum of Basin Harbor, Vermont, for their hospitality and advice, and their faithful tending of the replica Gunboat Philadelphia. The original Philadelphia resides at the Smithsonian Institution in Washington, D.C. Another of Benedict Arnold’s gunboats, believed to be the Spitfire, has recently been found at the bottom of Lake Champlain. As a sailor of historic ships, I convey my applause to the team recovering this national treasure, and hope she soon rises to receive the tribute she deserves.
The Veil at Valcour
“Are the Americans all asleep and tamely giving up their liberties?”
Benedict Arnold, 1775
Dawn, October 11, 1776
“That’s the signal gun! Row for it, men! Royal Navy in sight! Heave! Heave!”
Frosted orange leaves roared across the chop. Wind snatched away the coxun’s orders. Beneath me a dirty bateau clawed upward, punching through whitecaps against a bitter wind. An hour ago the wind had been at my back. Now, scratching down the Adirondack hemlocks and spruces, it chipped at my nose and cheeks and froze the moisture in my eyes.
“How near are we? Will we see the Continental Navy soon?”
“Heave! Few minutes. Hard over, larboard! Heave!”
Black lake, black land—the large double-ended bateau muscled up on its right side as if hauled by a winch! I let out a strangled shout and became intimate with the gnawing water at my left elbow. Everything was so black, so dark, that I entertained a brief crazed fear that the men in this boat were the only Americans here and we would face the British ships all alone.
The coxun’s fingers dug at my collar as he pulled me back to my seat. “Keep a grip on them fascines there, your honor.”
“What happened?”
“Tiller’s over. We’re coming into the strait.”
“It’s the devil’s own dark! How could you know to turn?”
“Wind dropped. We’re in the lee of Valcour Island. We’ll meet up with the American navy any minute.”
While the boat hurled itself vertical on the unhappy chop, then skated sickeningly downward, I sat upon a prickle of hardwood saplings, twice as long as I was tall, stripped of every branch and tightly bound into nine- or ten-inch bundles so that they were almost tree trunks again. Five of these bundles, a great weight indeed at nearly two hundred pounds each, were strapped across the bateau’s wide beam, and caused the boat to wobble and struggle horridly. Along with those, piles of evergreen boughs with warty bark and needles assaulted my legs with every shiver. What could a navy want with trees?
I strained to see into the darkness, but might as well have had a mask over my eyes. The shore of New York, on our left until now, remained invisible. Around us, Lake Champlain was deeply cloaked.
Then, out of the night, came a voice blasting on the wind. “Hands to the tops’l sheets and braces! Bring the tops’l yard abeam! Don’t worry, boys, we possess the caution of youth! Other words, none!”
A huge dark mass surged out of the night, angling over my head as if I’d stepped onto a porch. Swinging in a wide arch came a thirty-foot wooden spear with four enormous triangular sails lancing the sky like great teeth. A ship’s bowsprit, inches away!
“Oh!” I dropped back and kissed the water again.
Moonless night had hidden an entire ship!
The ship’s sides were mounted with bundles of cut evergreens, a shaggy fence making the vessel into a giant bottlebrush. What an otherworldly sight! Camouflage?
“Hard over, Henry!” the voice again came as our bateau rowed abreast of the massive shuddering object. If the boat and the ship came together on the same wave, we’d be crushed. “Port brace, haul away! Lavengood, Thorsby, Barrette, man the bunts and clews. LaMay, show them the lines, quick, man! Barclay and Rochon, lend Hardie a hand! McCrae, your brace is fouled in the spruces. Don’t hurt your hands. McCrae, do you hear me? Stephen!”
Black hull planks bumped the bateau. Bracketing his mouth, the coxun shouted up. “On deck! Heave us a painter!”
High above, a wall of angular gray sail snapped in anger. Then, flap, flap … crack!—the wind filled it! The ship heeled hard, bit the water, and leaped beyond us.
“Sheet her in and stand by! Larboard, slack your sheet! Clew the tops’l! McCrae, what do you think you’re doing? Rochon, I said stand by on that sheet!”
That wind-muffled voice—did I recognize it? Or was it wishfulness after three cargo boats and two fishing smacks?
Just above me, a lantern flickered to life, dancing on the night. Its fiendish glow changed everything. Hemp ropes veined a hundred feet into the sky. Two great wooden strakes carried a huge sail that swung like a swan’s wing.
From an unseen hand, a rope snaked out to the bateau, falling a foot from me. The coxun snatched it up, and twisted it to a cleat, and thus we wheeled sidewise toward the surging wooden wall.
“Is this the right ship?” I called. “I’m seeking Israel Daniel Dickenson, aboard the Betsy. Or is it the George? I’ve got conflicting information on the ship’s name.”
“We don’t call our ships that way.” The coxun grasped a spruce bow fixed to the ship and with superhuman power dragged the bateau close, and we skated an inch from disaster. “Get up there, man, before we’re beat to splinters!”
As the bateau heaved upward, I stood and put one foot on the bateau’s rail. “I’ll break my neck!”
“Jump!” the coxun bellowed, “or you’ll have seventy ton of sloop in your gullet!”
With one toe I pushed upward, hands scratching for a grip. Boughs rustled, my cloak and tricorn hat disappe
ared, and I was carried up and away, a fly clinging to a mule’s black belly!
“Fend off!” the coxun called. Oars blunted the ship’s sides. The boat roached away.
“Heaven help me!” With me riding her wet flank, the ship clawed forward and defied New York’s western shore with her long bowsprit. Over me the hostile sail whistled. Above it, a smaller square sail crawled into a bundle and screamed on its yards. I saw all this in an instant—lines snapped, blocks creaked, water sprayed, boughs whipped, and the yard squawked like an enraged pelican trying to snap me up.
Again, that voice. “Hands to the larboard side, for God’s sake!”
A force grabbed me from above. I lost my legs. My body went straight outward on the wind. Headfirst I plunged through the bundled branches and flopped face-first upon a tilted deck. Pressing my hands to the planks, I twisted to look up.
Above me, a narrow man-shaped shadow loomed. “Get those fascines over to Philadelphia and mounted on. Should’ve been well done by midnight. Give them to Blake, he’s the mate. Or Captain Rue himself. Tell them to rig their canopy and hurry! The wind’s from the north!”
I rolled over and choked, “Daniel! Thank Heaven!”
The shadow’s shoulders lowered some, arms out at his sides. His head tipped forward. Against the bleak sky, shoulder-length unbound hair flew wildly. “Adam Ghent, that’s not you on my deck.”
He offered no hand to help me up. His unglazed anger was visible even in the dark.
But wait—the sky had lightened. As I drew to my feet and braced my legs, I could make out men around me doing feverish work, sawing, tying, hauling lines in a clutter of iron tools, round shot, wadding, tackles, blocks, piles of rope, and sponge rammers. A boy of about ten years used a bellows to keep a stone hearth glowing inside a formation of bricks. There were no uniforms. The men wore anything from muslin to buckskin, some with wool vests and tricorns or any manner of hat they could construct, and buff or black breeches. They didn’t look like a navy.
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