A little snip that immediately follows En Garde! The *Enterprise* is still at the starbase, about to leave on its Babel assignment.
Copyright Mistress V 2009, etc, Paramount is the great owner and keeper; I just play with its toys. My work is my own property.
The Choice 1/?
by Mistress V
Kirk rubbed at his eyes and tried not to yawn. He'd been up the entire night, dealing with the consequences of the fracas that some of *his* crew managed to get into. The fact it was with a Federation supply ship's personnel made things twice as bad. It was one thing to get a little carried away in a bar with some locals. Heck, that was how he ended up at the academy to begin with. But fleet personnel, even enlisteds, were presumed to Know Better.
Fortunately, he'd met the captain of the supply ship over dinner. A capable, weather beaten old salty dog type. The man was surprised to see Kirk again so soon after his departure, but he'd waved off all of his attempts at apologies and explanations. "It's not the first time you'll see this kind of mess and not the last, not by a long shot," he said philosophically. "So don't for one minute try to take all the blame. You'll be so used to it by the time your mission ends you'll be giving this same talk to another captain."
They'd split the costs of damages to the bar in question (which were considerable but mostly cosmetic) down the middle. That was still unfortunate. The captain's discretionary fund was set up for emergencies, which included these scuffles, but to use it to make restitution for such an event came with a price of its own. The fleet bean counters and rulemongers would be all over him just as soon as they got wind of this.
Kirk poured himself some more coffee. He'd just come from lecturing the fight participants and the staff members who had done their best to keep the news of said fight from him. Separately of course, but both groups were guilty as charged in different ways. Lt. Smith and the rest of the hide-and-seek gang had been adamant they thought the happening was minor and didn't need the captain's involvement, etc. etc. etc. Kirk made certain that such a thoughtful but ridiculous gesture would not happen again. As for the would-be pugilists, they were all confined to quarters when not on duty. The whole question of what would happen at Babel regarding shore leave was still that, a question. And he held the answer---except that even he didn't know it. Yet.
He forced himself to scroll through the data he'd just received one more time. The results of the promotions examination were out. Of course, these wouldn't be made public until after the conclusion of the Babel mission. But as captain, he was deemed one who needed to know now, so here they were. He was surprised at some of the listings, both pleasantly and unpleasantly. For one thing, he now knew Janice Rand would be leaving him, but that was hardly surprising. She'd go right into the ship's personnel and records division, something she was good at already. So they'd still be working together in a way. But that meant he had to choose a replacement, and he couldn't really go asking Janice for her suggestions. This was supposed to be classified information, and the ship's gossip mill was grinding away enough as it was.
Then there was the matter of his new, permanent second officer. Gary Mitchell would be departing the ship after Babel concluded, going back to the strange, twilight world of espionage and intrigue that he normally inhabited. And Kirk now had a problem. His number one choice for the position, a capable lieutenant commander from engineering by the name of Michaels, was now officially out of the running. He'd thrown the first punch the night before. Oh, it was in defense of his crewmantes, who'd just been called a 'fancy pants bunch of glorified passengers hiding behind their guns' by an ensign off the supply ship. The inference being that the larger starship might be faster or have more firepower, but most of the crew did little or no work. When the ensign continued, saying that Michaels' hands were soft as a baby's, the hard working officer, who Scotty relied on quite a bit, decided to set the record straight.
Kirk winced. Michaels had scored in the highest percentile of the exam. That meant he should rightly be the top candidate for the job. But a second officer was just as indispensable as a first, and had to be level headed and mature enough to issue command decisions if needed. A hothead, even an only-now-and-then model, just wouldn't be advisable. He'd checked the man's psych profile as well. The tendency was there. No dice.
The next batch of potentials, three of them, had tied scores. And one just below was only a point off. After that, the wheat definitely fell away from the chaff in a very sharp way. Kirk sighed. He knew the names, all of them, and all of them seemed capable enough on the surface. He didn't know the men. So how could he even begin to make such a complicated, important decision? He needed input, feedback, from those he could trust.
Well, the ship wouldn't be leaving orbit for some time. So that meant he could pick some brains. He called down to sickbay.
"Bones? Jim. You up for some target practice?"
End of 1.