The Autobiography of James T. Kirk (18 page)

“I don’t have any proof of who was doing what,” McCoy said. “But someone was up to something. Even the poison on those darts wasn’t completely indigenous.”

An out-of-control genetic experiment would explain why the Tellarites had abandoned a rich dilithium vein as well as some state-of-the-art equipment. But it left a lot of unanswered questions. I wouldn’t get the answers for a long time.

“How’s Gary?” I said.

“Recovering,” McCoy said. “I was able to clean out all the poison in his arm and reattach it. That poison was naturally occurring on the planet, but it had been weaponized. It was particularly malicious. Another few seconds would’ve been too late.”

“Good job, Sawbones.”

“What?” I was surprised that McCoy had never heard this piece of ancient Earth slang.

“It’s what they called surgeons in the Old West,” I said. “Often men of your profession only had one option to cure their patients. Cutting off limbs to prevent the spread of infection.”

“I knew about the practice; never heard that nickname,” McCoy said. “Gruesome. Please don’t use it again.”

He probably regretted saying that.

After the incident on Dimorous, I was looking forward to my shore leave. I was still wounded by my experience with Carol, but I sought comfort with another woman. Janet Lebow was a young endocrinologist completing her doctorate on Benecia, one of the
Hotspur
’s stops, and she was part of a team that was tasked with examining the samples of the rodents from Dimorous. Janet seemed almost immediately familiar to me; in hindsight I can see that she reminded me of Carol: dedicated, beautiful, brilliant, a serious intellectual with a passionate devotion to her career. This devotion would allow me to rationalize my own emotional distance, and our fervent romance didn’t last.
*

But while there was a persistent emptiness in my personal life, my professional life was solidifying. I had dispensed with a lot of my early insecurities in managing a crew, and formed my command style. I knew, or thought I knew, what kind of captain I was. I was itching to get a step up, to gain more responsibility and respectability. As the years went by, I’d put together a good crew; I had a lot of bright young men and women who I thought would develop along with me and form a great team. I was counting on not losing them to better opportunities before I had a chance to take them with me wherever I would go. It was too much to hope for.

One night, I was awakened by the intercom. It was Uhura, who was on the bridge nightwatch.

“Sorry to wake you, sir,” she said. “Priority message from Starfleet.”

“Read it to me,” I said, yawning, sitting up in bed.

“To Kirk, commanding
U.S.S. Hotspur
. From Komack, admiral, Starfleet Command. You are hereby ordered to make best possible speed to Utopia Planitia, Mars, Sol System, for decommissioning.”

“Thank you, Ensign,” I said. Now I was awake. “Have navigation alter our course for Sol System, best possible safe speed. Kirk out.” I switched off the communicator. I’d heard that several of the
Baton Rouge–
class ships had already been decommissioned; they were all well out of their prime. Better-designed vessels specifically constructed for their tasks were taking their places. This was not good news.

I was losing my command, and since I hadn’t received word of a transfer, it meant there were no other captaincies available. I could be sitting on a shore posting for a long time waiting for a position to open up. It was risky; it was well-known the longer you were on a planet, the greater the chances Starfleet would leave you there. And since I had received a battle-field promotion to command of
Hotspur
, I was concerned I would be in competition with more senior commanders and captains for an open ship.

I informed the crew the next morning, but by then many had already heard. Over the next two weeks, most of them received their transfer orders; Starfleet was cannibalizing my crew, and it was painful. Many were given great opportunities: Kelso and Uhura were both posted to the
U.S.S. Enterprise
, though with no promotion. Black was made security chief of the
U.S.S. Excalibur.
I assumed McCoy would move up to a
Constitution
class as well, but no offer included a chief medical officer position, so he turned them all down. The biggest surprise, however, was Gary.

“Do you know Ron Tracy?” Gary said to me one day over breakfast.

“Met him for five seconds when he took over the
Republic,”
I said.

“He’s taking command of the
Exeter.
Offered me helmsman.”

“I thought Mendez offered you exec on the
Astral Queen
.”

“So?” Gary said.

“So the word is he’s going to make commodore soon. You’d be in position to get command.”

“No guarantee of that,” Gary said, “and if you offer me exec somewhere, I can leave the
Exeter
without burning any bridges.”

I was surprised and touched. Gary was putting his career on hold on the off chance we could continue to work together.

“Don’t you want a ship of your own?”

“Me with absolute power?” he said, with a smirk. “Don’t you think that’d be a little dangerous?”

The Utopia Planitia shipyard, both on the surface and in orbit of Mars, was, even back then, a grand sight. There were ten dry dock superstructures that hung above the red planet, many filled with spaceships in various states of overhaul or construction, while repair crews in space suits and piloting small “worker bee” shuttles floated around them, building and mending.

We brought
Hotspur
into one of the dry docks in low orbit, and most of the crew disembarked, while a skeleton staff from engineering coordinated with the dock crews to begin shutting down the systems and inventorying what was salvageable. The day before we reached Mars, I was given my next assignment: department of strategic planning and studies, Starfleet Headquarters in San Francisco. It was the epitome of a desk job.

On the trip back, I had made sure to have a personal exit interview with every member of the crew. I told many I hoped I would serve with them again and meant it (except maybe when I said it to Kaplan). So when we docked at Mars, I didn’t see any need to say goodbye to anyone again. I packed up my things in my duffel and headed for the shuttle bay; I had requisitioned one of the ship’s shuttlecraft so I could pilot myself back to Earth.

As I walked through the corridors of the
Hotspur
, I was surprised at how deserted it already was. I realized that I had been looking forward to a few casual goodbyes on my way off the ship, and was disappointed that I passed literally
no one
on my way to the bay. I suppose that should’ve been a clue.

“Atten-shun!” I heard the words as the doors to the bay slid open, and tried to conceal my astonishment. It was Gary who shouted it, and 300 crew members immediately stood at attention. They formed up on both sides of the bay, with a clear path to the hatch of the shuttlecraft. I smiled and, duffel over my shoulder, walked by them. Kelso, Black, and Uhura (who had tears in her eyes) all stood at attention as I passed. Gary and McCoy waited at the end. McCoy was coming with me to Earth, but this was the last time I would be seeing Gary for a while. I turned and faced the crew. I looked at all the faces of my first command, many of whom I hadn’t chosen, but to all of whom I’d felt connected.

“Dismiss all hands,” I said.

“Company, dismissed!” Gary said, sounding as sincere as he ever had. “Prepare shuttle bay for immediate launch.”

“Thanks for this,” I said quietly to Gary, as I shook his hand.

“Stay in touch,” he said, and followed the crew out of the bay. I then helped McCoy with his luggage onto the shuttle. He had a duffel as well as a very heavy crate.

“Are those your ‘special contingencies’?” I said, as I heaved it onto the craft.

“They would be dangerous in the hands of someone less experienced,” McCoy said. He sat down, and I took the helm controls. I could see through the view port that the bay had been cleared. I keyed the intercom.

“Shuttlecraft
Gates
to launch control,” I said. “Request permission to depart.”

“Launch control to shuttlecraft, permission granted,” Gary said, now in the bay’s launch center. “Uh, Jim, we’re getting a request from traffic control for you to take another passenger to Earth with you. He’s Starfleet.”

“All right, transmit his coordinates,” I said.

A moment later, I piloted the shuttle out of the bay, leaving
Hotspur
behind. I entered a maze of other ships in dock, old and new, and none of them were mine. I felt a longing to turn around, head back to
Hotspur
, but the ship wouldn’t be there for much longer.

My extra passenger was in a dock in a higher orbit. As we moved toward it, we got a good look at the majestic craft inside it.

“What ship is that?” McCoy said.

“That’s the
Enterprise
.” Unlike the
Hotspur
, it was sleek and clean.

“She’s a beauty,” McCoy said. “Who’s her captain?”

“Chris Pike,” I said. Pike was well-known among Starfleet as a wildly successful officer. He’d been in command of a
Constitution
-class ship for ten years, made dozens of first contacts, and charted many new worlds. The sector of space he was assigned to explore also put him into several skirmishes with the Klingons. The rest of us were envious of his accomplishments.

The yard command directed me to a port not on the ship, but on the webbed superstructure surrounding it. I docked the shuttle, and the hatch opened. On the other side stood a Starfleet lieutenant commander from an immediately recognizable species.

“Request permission to come aboard,” he said. I was surprised by his formality.

“Uh, permission granted, Mr…. ?”

“Lieutenant Commander Spock.” He calmly came aboard the shuttle-craft with his small suitcase. He stood near the helm station and looked down at me. Though I’d seen plenty of Vulcans in my life, I’d never gotten used to their ominous, almost frightening, appearance. The pointed ears, slanted eyebrows, and yellowish skin, however, always stood in stark contrast to their ultra-civilized, stoic demeanor.

“Will you need any assistance in piloting? I am rated for this craft.”

“Uh, no, thanks, have a seat.” He quietly took the seat in the cabin next to McCoy, who rolled his eyes at me. Spock seemed quite comfortable not learning our names.

“I’m Jim Kirk,” I said, then indicated McCoy. “This is Dr. Leonard McCoy.”

“I was aware of your identities before I came aboard.”

“Common courtesy would usually require asking our names anyway,” McCoy said.

“I unfortunately have not made a study of the redundancies involved in human etiquette,” Spock said. He said it very dryly; had he been human, I would’ve assumed he was being sarcastic, but in a Vulcan it was impossible to tell.

“Well, this is going to be a fun trip,” McCoy said.

“No offense taken, Mr. Spock,” I said, obviously not speaking for McCoy. “Strap yourselves in, we’re leaving.” I turned to the helm, and received clearance from the yard command as McCoy opened his crate.

“Anybody for a drink?”

“The consumption of inebriating beverages aboard shuttlecraft is forbidden under regulations,” Spock said.

“I bet you’re really good at making friends,” McCoy said.

“Friendship is a classification humans use to define emotional relationships,” Spock said. “It is not logical.”

“Yeah, well, obviously not for you,” McCoy said.

“Bones,” I said, my tone telling him to cut it out. The shuttle pulled away from the dock, and I took it out of orbit. We left Mars behind and began our three-hour voyage to Earth. For a long while it was silent, until that was broken by the sound of McCoy pouring himself another drink.

“Mr. Spock, are you posted aboard the
Enterprise
?” I said.

“Yes sir,” Spock said. “I am the science officer.”

“I see. How long have you served with Captain Pike?”

“Nine years, ten months, sixteen days,” Spock said. Vulcans didn’t make it easy to carry on light conversation.