The Game
or
A Captain's Secret
Sometimes, when I think about it - and I mean really think about it - I wonder what I'm even doing here. When I take the time to stop and think, I'm not entirely sure I'm even fit to be the Captain of a starship. Of course when I'm in the action - when I'm fighting, making quick decisions and coming up with clever plans - I don't even think about this. I just do what needs to be done. A Klingon ship needs to be destructed? A probe from some unknown race is threatening to destroy a Federation affiliated planet? Or perhaps we need to assist a marooned crew? I'm right in the action, giving orders like a Captain, acting like a Captain, feeling like a Captain.
But it's in the quiet moments, the moments when I'm stuck in sick bay overnight, or when I'm laying in bed - or even when I'm in some mysterious, quiet, alien prison - that's when I stop to think, and I'm not sure. Maybe I'm not a good Captain. Maybe I'm not a Captain at all.
I feel sometimes like it's all just a game, like I'm pretending to be "the great Captain Kirk," pretending to command the USS Enterprise, pretending I'm the one in charge. But the thing is, no one else knows it's a game. Bones might suspect, and Spock might have an idea, but no one really knows. They think I'm really a strong, wise, clever Captain, they don't know I'm only pretending. They don't know that they're just playing the game along with me.
The only trouble with this game, is that if you lose, someone gets hurt. Someone might even die. It might be you, it might be someone you care about, it might be someone you don't even know. But it's someone. When that happens, I realize that it's not a game to them, and I can't pretend forever. I can't happily jump around the galaxy in my ship and expect to be free from real life, adrift in some fantasy world where when you lose, you can start fresh and try again.
Then, just when I'm starting to feel the slightest bit humble about the whole thing, Bones will give me a long lecture about something, or Spock will tell me how illogical I'm being. Of course I start arguing with them, and the contrary side of me says they're wrong, I'm not illogical, and I'm not making rash decisions. Then I walk off, feeling quite on top of things, and I can play the game again.
The game serves its purpose. If it weren't for the game, I'd be too afraid to get up in the morning. I'd never be able to make myself believe that I, little nobody-Jim-from-Iowa, am the Captain of the USS Enterprise. Because of the game, I can do that. I can see myself as Captain James Tiberius Kirk, the man that every boy wants to be, the man who gets to fly around in a spaceship, who can get himself out of just about any situation, who always gets the girl. Even though deep down, I know I'm still that little Jim-from-Iowa, the boy who never learned to tie his shoes, and who was too shy to give Esther Grimshaw a card on Valentine's Day.
Of course, the game has its rules as well. Unfortunately, there is no manual - or if there is, someone neglected to give it to me. I've had to figure them out as I went along, and it hasn't always been easy.
Rule number one is, always push people farther than they think they can possibly go. I found out early on in the game that this was the only way to really get anyone to do all they really could. Of course the classic example is the Captain-Engineer relationship. Engineers are always thinking they're doing their best when they can really do more. This rule states that when your engineer insists that he's doing his best, you have to insist that he do more. Trust me, it's the only way to get anything done, and it works every time.
Rule number two is, surround yourself with the best. To play this game, you need people around you who will stand by you in every situation, whether they agree with you or not. People who don't have a clue about the game, who'll trust you with their lives. I have six that come to mind; Spock, Bones, Scotty, Chekov, Sulu, and Uhura. Any one of them would crawl through hell and high water for me if I gave the command, and it would be utterly impossible to play the game without them.
Rule number three is, whenever possible, take matters into your own hands. I'm rather notorious for this, and people think it's because I'm rebellious, but that's not entirely true. The fact is, Starfleet Command is usually thousands of light years away when these decisions have to be made, and they may or may not fully understand the situation. Besides, I am the one who knows the people involved, I am the one who is ultimately responsible for my ship and my people, and ultimately, I am the one who has to suffer the consequences if I fail. The responsibility lies with me, not with them, and I want to be the one to make the ultimate decision. But is true - and some would say unfortunate - that doing this so often has given me rather a taste for harmless disobedience, and more than a small rebellious streak. I have a respect for Starfleet, don't get me wrong - but I don't believe they are infallible. It's all part of the game.
Rule number four is, show your crew that, like the army generals of old, you are willing to be the first in advance, and the last in retreat. It may sound old-fashioned, but it's important. How can you expect anyone to risk their lives for you if you're not willing to do the same for them? That's why I'm always at the heart of the action - not because I enjoy it, although I do. It's primarily because I want to inspire confidence in my followers - to show them that I am not asking them to plunge in where I fear to tread.
Rule number five is, don't be afraid to do what needs to be done. In the end, the game dictates that there will be consequences, and that can't stop you from doing your best to complete your mission successfully.
Of course, these are just the big, general rules. There are little personal sub-rules I've come up with, like never let Bones know that you care about what he thinks of you. Always listen to Spock. Never serve Romulan ale when there are Starfleet officials present. Never accept a promotion. Don't trust Klingons. You can't beam out of every problem. Be sure to take the batteries out of Sulu's communicator when he's not on duty. See that Chekov takes his vitamins. Always arrive a little bit late. Try to find new ways to annoy Scotty. It's not a good idea to fire proton torpedoes at random. Never admit that you've done anything wrong. Don't let Uhura try to navigate the ship. And don't even think about ordering and eating a pound of dark chocolate right before you go to bed.
But above all, never let them know about the game. There have been times that I came very, very close to admitting it to Spock or Bones, very close to telling them I'm not who they think I am. I'm not Captain James T. Kirk, I'm just Jim - Jim, who shakes in his boots at the thought of loosing either of them, Jim who still doesn't know how to tie his shoes, Jim who couldn't do what Bones, Scotty or Sulu do if his life depended on it. Just Jim. Maybe, deep down, they already know it. Sometimes, they smile at me and I see it in their faces. But instead of saying "I know that you're a fraud, even if you don't admit it," their eyes seem to say, "It's okay, Jim. You play the game better than anybody else, and I'll never tell anyone."
Then they'll lecture me, and I'll argue, and we'll go on our ways, saving the galaxy one crisis at a time. I'll be playing the game better than ever until the next stay in sick bay, the next sleepless night, the next stay in a mysterious, lonely, alien prison. And then I'll remember with a sigh, that it's only a game.
But at the same time, I know I'd much rather play the game than be doing anything else in the universe, and I'll take heart again.
As long as I follow the rules, everything will be fine, and my secret will be safe.