Crucible: Kirk (17 page)

“Very well,”
she said.
“Is there anything else, Captain?”

“No, that's it,” Kirk said. “Thank you, Ensign.”

“My pleasure, Captain,”
she said.
“I'll place you on standby then.”
Kirk nodded, and the ensign reached forward to a control. The Starfleet emblem returned to the display. This time, beneath it, read the words:

O
FFICE OF
A
DMIRAL
M
ARGARET
S
INCLAIR
-A
LEXANDER
, S
TARFLEET
C
OMMAND

E
NSIGN
E
LISA
T
EAGARDEN
, A
SSISTANT TO THE
A
DMIRAL

Teagarden,
Kirk thought, remembering the name once he saw it. He waited for eleven minutes before the ensign's face reappeared on the monitor.
“Captain Kirk,”
she said,
“the admiral will speak with you now.”

“Thank you,” Kirk said, and then Sinclair-Alexander's face replaced Teagarden's on the screen.

“Jim,”
she said at once,
“please don't tell me you're canceling for the
Enterprise
ceremony tomorrow.”

“No, against my better judgment, I'm still planning on being there,” Kirk said, hopeful that the admiral's concern and her awareness of his reluctance would make her more receptive to granting the request he would now make of her. “Unless there's some reason that you think I shouldn't,” he japed.

“No, no, not at all,”
Sinclair-Alexander said.
“Forget I even mentioned it. So what
can
I do for you, Jim? Ensign Teagarden said that you did want to talk about the launch.”

“Not precisely about the launch,” Kirk allowed. “But you promised me a tour of the ship tomorrow.”

“That's right,”
the admiral said.
“Is there a problem with that?”

Kirk recalled the meeting he'd had with Sinclair-Alexander when she'd asked him to attend the launch and first voyage of the
Enterprise
-B, a meeting she'd had with his earlier self just a few days ago. “Actually, I'm looking forward to seeing the ship,” he said. “I'm just not much interested in being rushed through it with the press at my heels or being ushered around like a plebe who's never seen the inside of a starship before.”

“Jim, the whole point of having you on board the
Enterprise
is for the positive public relations,”
Sinclair-Alexander said.
“It really would be counterproductive to that end to bar the press from accompanying you on your tour.”

Kirk had not only anticipated such a response, he'd counted on it. “What about a separate tour?” he asked.

“The schedule is very tight tomorrow,”
said the admiral.
“I'm not sure that we could fit anything more in.”

“That's why I was thinking that I could do it today,” Kirk said. “I mean, I'll still go with Scotty and Chekov through the ship tomorrow for the sake of the publicity, but if I went up today, I could take my time and really get a good look around.”

“We've only got a handful of personnel on board right now,”
Sinclair-Alexander said,
“and most of them are engineers trying to get the ship ready for the launch. You'd really have to be on your own.”

“That'd be perfect,” Kirk said. Although he could have accomplished what he needed to with an escort by his side, not having one would make his task easier.

“All right,”
the admiral said.
“Let me get you reactivated today then.”
She looked away for a second, then asked,
“How does noon sound?”

“That'll be fine,” Kirk said.

“You can report to any of the transporters here at Starfleet; they'll send you up,”
Sinclair-Alexander said.
“I'll inform the officer of the deck that you'll be coming. Anything else?”

“That's it, Admiral. Thank you,” Kirk said. “It should be interesting.”

“Enjoy yourself, Jim,”
Sinclair-Alexander said. She touched a control and the Starfleet insignia showed once more, then disappeared in favor of the Earth comnet logo.

As Kirk reached to shut down the terminal, he suddenly saw a light flashing on the console, indicating that he—or rather, his counterpart—had received a message. He thought back to the day before the
Enterprise
-B ceremony, to when he'd gone orbital skydiving, and he tried to remember whom he'd heard from when he'd gotten home that night. Unable to recall a single message from that day, he quickly tapped a button to play it. When the sender's face appeared on the display, Kirk felt his mouth drop open.

“Hi, Jim,”
said Antonia.

To Kirk, she looked much the same as when last he'd seen her, which had been when she'd walked out of his vacation home up in Canada. The lines around her mouth had grown more defined and a few wrinkles had begun to show at the sides of her eyes, but she still wore her hair long and looked as attractive as ever. It stunned him to see her.

As though reading his thoughts, the recorded image of Antonia said,
“You're probably as surprised to hear from me as I am to be leaving this message.”
She smiled with obvious nervousness.
“No, that's not the case. I do know why I'm contacting you. I read that Starfleet was sending out a new starship
Enterprise
tomorrow and that you would be coming out of your second retirement for a day to preside over the christening ceremony and then to go aboard for its first voyage.”

Antonia paused, a pensive looking coming over her.
“I didn't know that you'd retired again,”
she said.
“I did know that, not long after you went back to Starfleet the last time, you helped save my life and billions of others from that probe that wanted to communicate with humpback whales. I also knew that, after that, you went back to command the
Enterprise
again for quite a few years.”

Again she hesitated, for longer this time. Finally, she shrugged.
“Even if you're not in space regularly these days, it seems pretty clear that you belong up there. Anyway, I think I know how much the
Enterprise
meant to you, and I'm guessing that placing this new ship in the care of another captain might be difficult for you. I just wanted you to know…I just wanted to wish you well tomorrow. Take care, Jim.”

Kirk watched Antonia's face blink from the screen, and then he pushed back from the computer terminal, stood up, and paced across the room, driven by both shock and bewilderment. At the floor-to-ceiling windows, he peered out at the waters of San Francisco Bay. On one level, it delighted him to have heard from his former lover, who seemed to have forgiven him his transgressions against her, even if she hadn't said so outright. How else could he explain her contacting him for the first time in nearly nine years?

At the same time, Kirk knew that, in the course of his own life leading up to the launch of the
Enterprise
-B, he had never received a message from Antonia. Did that mean that he'd already somehow altered the timeline in his efforts to prevent the converging temporal loop? But how? He'd only been in this time a few days, almost all of which he'd spent alone up at his property in Idaho.

Deeply concerned, Kirk thought back to the first instance when he'd lived through this day. He'd left his apartment early in the morning to meet Scotty and Chekov in Wichita, Kansas, where they'd surveyed his landing site outside the city. After that, he'd traveled alone to Tunis, where he'd executed a simulated descent before transporting up to the orbital platform from which he would perform his actual dive. After checking and donning his equipment, he'd then made his jump, ultimately landing in Kansas in the late afternoon. After verifying his safe landing with the team aboard the orbital platform, he had eaten dinner with Scotty and Chekov in Wichita. They'd enjoyed one another's company, sharing stories of their shared experiences over the years. Afterward, they'd gone out for a drink and continued reminiscing.

Kirk recalled that he hadn't returned home until late, and when he had, he certainly hadn't found a message from Antonia waiting for him. But then, he hadn't watched any messages at all, had he? He remembered now that he hadn't even checked the terminal when he'd gotten home, but had simply fallen into bed after his long day. The next morning, he'd left the apartment as soon as he'd risen, headed for the
Enterprise
-B ceremony.

Antonia did leave me a message,
Kirk thought. He simply hadn't seen it. The realization saddened him, even though he knew it wouldn't have made any difference in his life; just hours later, he would be lost in the nexus.
Except that I'm still alive now,
he thought, and although he could not respond to Antonia, he did take some solace in the notion that she seemed to have let go of her anger for the pain he'd caused her.

Kirk padded back across the den to the computer terminal. He called up a menu of options and selected the disabling of the system's monitor and alert functions. Although he knew that his counterpart would not check for any messages tonight or tomorrow morning, Kirk did not want to risk somebody contacting him during the time that his counterpart did spend in the apartment. In particular, he wanted to avoid any communication with Admiral Sinclair-Alexander, in which she might ask how he had enjoyed his tour of the
Enterprise
-B today. He thought that unlikely, but wished to take no chances.

Once he'd disabled the terminal, Kirk picked up the carryall and took it into the bedroom. There, he emptied the bag and then stripped, tossing all of the clothes into the recycler but for his uniform. After dressing in his official attire, he pulled out the jacket of one of the three uniforms hanging in the back of the closet. He also replaced the carryall where he had found it.

After retrieving the blue data card from the den, Kirk waited for the morning to pass. Just before noon, he left the apartment, headed for Starfleet Headquarters. From there, he would transport up to the
Enterprise
-B, from which, if all went according to plan, he would not return.

2293

As he lay in what amounted to a launch bay, Jim Kirk could not help thinking of the many probes and photon torpedoes he'd ordered fired during his Starfleet career. Though he knew and understood the process that would begin his descent to Earth, it nevertheless felt strange to be configured like a projectile. It also reminded him of the few times he'd had to abandon ship in an escape pod.

Within Kirk's helmet, he heard the words of the dive controller, checking readiness. Kirk studied the readouts on the inside of his visor, then confirmed his status. The controller acknowledged, executed a scan of his own that he narrated, then initiated a countdown.

As Kirk listened to the numbers ticking down, he worked to keep his breathing and heart rate at acceptable levels. He felt more nervous than he'd expected to, particularly considering his long career in space and the several times that he'd had to perform extravehicular activities. Of course, his training had always essentially warned him away from circumstances similar to those upon which he was about to embark.

At last, the controller reached zero in his countdown. Kirk did not feel the acceleration, but he could at first measure his progress through the tube visually, though the surface of the metal around him soon became nothing more than a blur. His arms folded across his chest and held tightly against himself, he waited for the moment when he would leave the orbital platform.

When finally he shot out into space, the moment exhilarated him in a way even greater than he'd expected. He had launched into Earth's night above the Arabian Peninsula. To his right, he saw a spectacular array of stars, seeming so close that he felt as though he could simply reach out and touch them. To his left, the planet of his birth spun through the void, sprawls of light sparkling across its surface.

Launched opposite the direction of the platform's orbit, Kirk had actually been decelerated with respect to the planet's surface. As he arced above the northern coast of Africa, he knew that he began to fall toward the Earth, though he could not immediately perceive that motion. The dive controller made contact with him, and Kirk quickly checked his readouts to verify his optimal status. He noted the transporter recall on the inside of his helmet showed green, available to him with a flick of his chin or tongue. Another had been placed within his right glove, he knew, on the back of his hand. Should he encounter any problems, he could be back within the orbital platform in just seconds, either through his own action or that of the controller, who would monitor his entire descent.

For nearly an hour, Kirk seemed to float free above the Earth. As many light-years as he'd traveled, as many exotic locales as he'd visited, he didn't know if he'd ever seen a more breathtaking vista. He had been born on the great blue marble below him, and that fact counted for something on an instinctive level.

By degrees, he became aware of falling from space, the Earth growing larger below him. He examined his display and saw that indeed he'd begun to experience the effects of the atmosphere. He twisted his body around so that he would descend feet first.

As Kirk sailed across the coast of Morocco and out over the Atlantic Ocean, he saw the terminator ahead. The line separating day from night made it appear as though some great being had draped a curtain over the world there. Kirk soared in that direction, the atmospheric drag beginning to slow him more dramatically, his passage through the air growing noisy. He felt a slight increase in the heat within his dive suit, and a glance at his readings showed a sharp increase in its outer temperature. He peered down across his body and saw that the blue heat-resistant tiles lining the exterior of his suit had begun to glow red.

I've become a meteor,
Kirk thought, imagining the view of his reentry from the ground.

It took nearly another hour for him to cross the ocean and the eastern coast of North America, finally approaching the heartland. His dive suit cooled as he slowed to terminal velocity. As he at last arrived in Kansas airspace, he changed his attitude once more, dropping facedown into a spread-eagle position. He felt the full resistance of the atmosphere now, and he used it to adjust his descent. He shifted his arms and legs based on the readings in his helmet, which now coordinated his location with respect to the homing beacon on the ground.

At four kilometers up, Kirk began paying strict attention to his altitude. Almost a minute later, one and a quarter kilometers above the ground, he deployed his parachute. His harness tugged slightly on his torso, but not nearly as much as he'd expected. He looked upward at his chute and saw that it hadn't fully unfolded, its lines tangled. Kirk quickly moved his legs in a cycling motion, and almost immediately, the lines straightened and the rectangular parachute unfurled completely. The rush of the air quieted and a strange sort of peace enveloped him.

As he neared the ground close to his target, he saw Scotty and Chekov gazing skyward and pointing in his direction. Kirk steered near them, proud to have navigated so well to his landing zone. He peered directly beneath him as he came down the final dozen or so meters, and the ground seemed to jump up toward him in stages, his eyes unable to make total sense of what they saw without a dimensional referent.

His feet struck the ground hard, but he bent his knees and dropped, taking the impact without incident. He quickly turned to pull in his lines and gather his parachute, but he saw that Scotty and Chekov had already taken hold of the canopy and had begun to fold it together. After signaling his safe landing to the dive controller, Kirk reached up and pulled off his helmet.

“Right on target!” he told his friends excitedly. “I jump out over the Arabian Peninsula and I end up here, a quarter of a world away, right on the mark.”

“Actually, your precise target was thirty-five meters in that direction,” Chekov said with a smirk, pointing. He and Scotty handed the condensed fabric of the parachute to Kirk, who hugged it to his chest.

“Thanks for mentioning that, Pavel,” Kirk said. “I've come twelve thousand lateral kilometers, so I think I'll call this a bull's-eye anyway.”

“Oh, well, twelve thousand kilometers,” Chekov said. “That's even wider than Russia.”

Kirk looked to Scotty, who rolled his eyes at Pavel's comment. “So how was it?” the engineer asked him.

“Amazing,” Kirk said. “Absolutely amazing. Let's go get that dinner and I'll tell you all about it.”

“Perfect,” Scotty said.

A few minutes later, they had reached the airpod and Kirk had stowed his chute. By the time they reached Wichita, he'd slipped out of his dive suit and donned civilian clothes. The three men found a restaurant to their liking that overlooked the Arkansas River, and they sat and talked into the night.

On a day when Jim Kirk had jumped from orbit and traveled back down to Earth, it seemed appropriate that he felt as though he had suddenly reentered his own life.

Kirk stepped out of the turbolift and onto the bridge of the
Enterprise
-B. In the command chair, a young man—presumably Ensign Rousseau, the current officer of the deck—peered casually over his shoulder, but when he saw Kirk, he stood up and virtually snapped to attention. “Captain on the bridge,” he said.

Glancing around, Kirk had to suppress a laugh, even given the gravity of the situation that had brought him aboard this new
Enterprise.
Other than the young officer and himself, he saw only one other person on the bridge, a technician lying on her back, partially hidden beneath the combined helm and navigation stations that stood forward of the command chair. As Kirk looked on, she rolled out from under the console and rose to her feet.

“As you were,” Kirk told the two crewmembers.

“Yes, sir,” said the officer beside the command chair, though he did not move. Slight of stature, he had cropped blond hair and light blue eyes. The technician, dark haired and with a serious expression that seemed to reflect concentration on her work, immediately lowered herself back to the floor and resumed what she'd been doing.

Kirk gazed around the command center of this new
Enterprise.
Larger than the bridge of any of the vessels he had captained, it now sat largely dark, as did much of the ship. He had asked Admiral Sinclair-Alexander to allow him to come aboard so that he could tour the
Enterprise
-B, and he had so far done just that, visiting main engineering, sickbay, one of the mess halls, one of the gymnasia, and various other areas. In several places, technicians had been working busily, but in others, Kirk had found himself alone. He'd been sure to be seen by those present, though he'd avoided engaging in conversation with any of them. Though he recalled having very little contact with the
Enterprise
crew during the brief tour of the ship he'd taken with Scotty, Chekov, and members of the press during the launch, he did not want to risk one of them feeling comfortable enough to approach him and say something like, “Nice to see you again, Captain.”

Peering around the empty bridge, Kirk felt a sense of nostalgia for the command center of his first command, the
Constitution
-class
Enterprise.
In those days, nearly three decades ago, his bridge had physically been a brighter, more intimate place. Although he'd found a connection with each of the vessels he'd commanded and with each of his crews, he held a special fondness within him for that old
Enterprise
and the days of the five-year mission.

Kirk began slowly along the raised periphery of the bridge. He walked between the primary systems display—one of the few screens currently active here—and the tactical console, then past the communications station, past sciences. At a mission operations panel situated beside the dark main viewscreen, he turned and stepped down to the lower, central portion of the bridge. As he moved over to the helm and navigation stations, he noted that the young officer still stood beside the command chair.

“Ensign Rousseau, I assume,” Kirk said. When he'd beamed aboard from Starfleet Headquarters, he had heard the transporter operator inform Rousseau, the officer of the deck, of his arrival. Traditionally stationed on the bridge while in port, the officer of the deck functioned as a representative of the captain and bore responsibility for the security of the ship. Aboard a Starfleet vessel in Earth dry dock and that had yet to launch, the requirements for such a task would amount to little more than keeping track of who embarked and disembarked.

“Sir, yes, sir,” the ensign said. His attentiveness and eager responses likely betrayed an anxiety born of inexperience, Kirk thought. He guessed that Rousseau hadn't been long out of the academy. The young officer seemed as though he might jump out of his own skin at any moment.

“At ease, Ensign,” Kirk said.

“Yes, sir,” Rousseau said. He relaxed his posture, but almost imperceptibly so. Kirk noticed the gray hue of the division bands circling the left wrist of the ensign's crimson uniform jacket and sitting atop its right shoulder. The color indicated the scientific nature of Rousseau's regular duties, meaning that he would be able to provide Kirk with the information he needed.

“Will this be your first deep space assignment?” Kirk asked.

“Yes, it will be, sir,” Rousseau replied.

Kirk nodded. “I envy you, mister,” he said, attempting to put the ensign truly at ease. “Your first time out exploring the universe, meeting the unknown head-on, making new discoveries. This will be an exciting time for you.”

“Yes, I think so, sir,” Rousseau said. “I'm looking forward to it.”

“What's your position, Ensign?” Kirk asked.

“I'm an assistant science officer, sir,” Rousseau said. “I have a specialty in geology.”

“A science officer and a geologist,” Kirk said appreciatively as he moved past the command chair and mounted the steps back up to the outer ring of the bridge. “Then you'll be getting a lot of landing party assignments,” he said, looking back at Rousseau, who remained standing by the command chair.

“Yes, sir,” the ensign said, a small smile stealing onto his face. “I hope so.”

Kirk walked over to the main ship display at the rear of the bridge, which showed lateral and dorsal cutaway views of the
Enterprise
and detailed its primary systems. He studied it for a moment, then raised his hand and traced a finger along the underside of the saucer section to the phaser emitters. “Is phaser power no longer channeled through the warp engines?” he asked. He could actually see the redesign and the answer to his question, but he did not want the information he really needed to stand out when he inquired about it.

Rousseau climbed the steps and joined Kirk at the display. “The phasers are still augmented by being routed through the main engines,” the ensign said, pointing to a location on the diagram, “but they can now also be fed through the impulse drive. That way, in the event of a warp power shutdown, there's still a means of increasing phaser strength.”

“I see,” Kirk said. He stared at the display for a few seconds, then asked another question, and another, and then several more. At some point while the ensign answered all of his queries, the technician who'd been working at the helm and navigation console reported to Rousseau that she'd completed her work and would be returning to main engineering. After acknowledging the captain, she left the bridge.