The Autobiography of James T. Kirk (33 page)

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.

“Admiral Kirk,” Amanda said. “It’s a pleasure to see you again.” I had met Spock’s mother several years before on the
Enterprise
. She was human, and like many human mothers, completely maternal, protective, and loving of her son.