Brief Timeline:

2130 - birth of Samantha Jameson Kirk

2151 - Launch of Enterprise NX-01, warp five engine

2154 - S.J. Kirk disappears during Klingon attack on NX-01

2161 - formation of the Federation

2299 - Marriage of George and Winona Kirk

2230 - birth of George Samuel Kirk Jr.

2233 - Death of George Samuel Kirk Sr. in first Narada attack

2262 - Enterprise discovers the wreckage of Neh'Vor class ChR Nei'rrh

Winona Kirk was not a woman given to flippant conversation. George Samuel took after her that way and was generally a somber, serious young man - although he had flashes of mischief.

"How did your date go, Mama?" Sam asked his mother after she'd removed her coat.

"Mediocre," she responded succinctly. She loosened her collar. "How was your day at school?"

"Terrible," said Sam with a dry smile. "It always is after Memorial Day." His mother made a sympathetic sound. "Sometimes I really hate being named after Dad," Sam continued with uncharacteristic bitterness.

"Don't," Winona chided gently. "It's a proud name. A family name." Seeing her son's tight expression, she added, "You know, George wanted to name you Tiberius. At least I managed to spare you that."

"And for that, I thank you," said Sam, his face finally clearing. "Hey Mom?"

"Yes, son."

"I get the George bit. Dad's uncle, right? But where does the Samuel come from?"

Winona paused. "An ancestor of your father's," she said thoughtfully. "Bit of a family mystery, that one. Her name was Samantha. I know that she was a very influential engineer in the 2100's. I think your grandfather had hopes that his son would go into the sciences rather than join Starfleet. Too bad it didn't pan out," she murmured.

Sam knew she didn't mean it. Despite the events that had taken George away from her, her husband remained the great love of his mother's life. She couldn't regret their meeting, even if their life together had been tragically brief.

"Do you think I'll make a better scientist than Dad?" Sam asked wistfully.

Winona Kirk smiled wryly. "You're certainly smart in that way. As for other ways..." Sam chuckled. "You've got a lot of your father in you, too."

"Why is it always Romulans?" Christopher Pike muttered as they materialized onto the damaged vessel.

"It is not always Romulans," George Samuel Kirk remonstrated.

"Will you assholes shut the hell up?" Leonard McCoy growled irritably. "I'm trying to get a fix on that life signature!" His tricorder whirred dramatically. There was no reason for it to do that, but it did anyways. Starfleet liked its devices to produce cheerful whirring, beeping, howling or whooshing noises whenever possible. "Unstable signal. Damn it!"

Captain Pike was surveying the smashed-up bridge curiously. "What do you think happened here anyways? These consoles are fried all to hell and there's heavy damage to the hull… looks like these fixtures got smashed in a tumble, like the gravity replicators shorted out. No blood though. No bodies. Two life boats missing." He rummaged through a little pile of broken communicators, non-plussed. "This ship is strange. I've never even seen this kind of lay-out. Looks almost like a research vessel…"

"No point in conjecture," Sam noted. "We should have a proper look first."

"Oy, Chris!" came Scotty's crackling voice over the com.

"Yeah?" Pike buzzed back.

"Looks like yer flotsam's got a right wicked cloaking device installed. Yank the memory banks for me, there's a lad."

"Mr. Scott," Sam broke in sternly. "May I remind you that Starfleet Command will have access to the details of this mission. Please address the Captain by his title."

"Aye, Lieutenant." Pike was kneeling by the flight console, rummaging through an unfamiliar tangle of wires. Sam bent to assist him. McCoy dithered with the tricorder, wandering towards an emergency ladder. "Think I've got a fix," he mumbled.

"Take Sam," the Captain said absently.

"Damn it, Pike, you ain't my mother!" was the wrathful retort.

"Fine, fine," he said placatingly as Sam frowned. "Be right back!" said McCoy, popping down the repair shoot. "Uh, Captain, you might want to come see this," said McCoy's disembodied voice.

"What is it, McCoy? You find a live one?"

"Just come down. Now would be good." Pike made a motion to his second, and they both moved towards the ladder. "Take the first right, then the third left," McCoy instructed. They followed the sound of his voice.

The chamber they ended up in was filled with grey pods and a weird, rhythmic sloshing sound. McCoy stood by an open pod, looking uncharacteristically apprehensive. Pike moved to his side and looked down, drawing a deep breath as he did so. "Mmm," he breathed. "Anyone want to explain… what I'm looking at here?"

"Well, she's definitely human," said McCoy quietly, fiddling with his tricorder.

"Her hair…"

"Hair keeps growing in stasis. Nobody knows why," McCoy muttered.

"It's got to be down to her ankles. What does that mean?"

"It means she's been in here for a long time," the doctor said sharply. "God knows how long. Ten years? Twenty?" Apparently reassured by something he was seeing on the reader, he reached down and gently wiped strands of hair away from the woman's face. She didn't stir. Kirk, however, went a strange color and practically stumbled backwards. "Lieutenant?" McCoy queried, alarmed.

"I know her!" Sam whispered.

"Excuse me?"

"I know her!" Kirk seemed to struggle with his next words. He leaned heavily on an empty pod. "At least, I think I do. And if I'm right, she's been in there a lot longer than twenty years."

"What do you mean?"

"My mother had pictures of her. Of my great-great-great aunt. Who disappeared… in 2154."