"I would like to take this opportunity to remind you that we are currently in cautionary standing with Starfleet Command."
It is with displeasure, certainly mild enough as to not be indicative of an emotional motivator, Spock discovers the most opportune moment to speak privately on the Enterprise always seems to be in the least convenient location.
In effect, the turbolift, during a mass crew boarding protocol. As such, it has taken four separate attempts to intercept Captain Kirk's unrelenting route towards deck 14. A grave detour, as Spock is expected for a private debriefing before joining the primary crew on the bridge. It is imperative to correct this mistake now.
Kirk does not respond with words, merely tips his head and taps a foot.
Spock continues, "You realize, of course, a prank of this magnitude can be expected to cause sanctioned investigations, mainly, concerning the professional conduct aboard this ship."
Kirk clutches his PADD close to his chest and then lifts a hand. He inspects his wrist as though looking at an invisible chronometer, then begins to hum.
There is a spike in Spock's displeasure. Slight a change it may be, he is thorough in determining this has negligible effect on his carefully cultivated argument.
"Cap—"
"Okay. Firstly? It's not a joke." Kirk interrupts.
It has been in Spock's experience that unlike many, if not most officers of Starfleet, Kirk lacks the kind of politeness in command which allows for miscommunication in favour of sparing one's feelings. The Captain is direct and intuitive, yet without making use of the convenient facade which selective words and projected emotion can imply. However, that is not to say he is unskilled at this precise form of diversion as well. On these occasions, Kirk just so happens to make Spock the exemption.
It is merely one of the reasons why Spock believes Kirk to be a highly capable captain and well-suited to leading a command team in which a Vulcan comprises. For such a reason, there is little question as to the nature of Spock's displeasure, however small, at being wrongly announced Captain of the USS Enterprise without prior warning.
Thus, Spock awaits the information he knows is forthcoming.
"Secondly," Kirk counts off by way of fingers, "They know it's not a joke. So, please, keep up. We're not gonna get sanctioned. Our tickets are non-refundable."
Another spike, though not as disconcerting as before.
"May I correctly assume you have used the reverse activation clause as a safe situation in which to confuse, and possibly, dispense your disapproval to the Admiralty by—"
"It's not a joke." Kirk repeats crisply, a distinct contrast to his otherwise humorous demeanour.
Spock raises an eyebrow.
"It was under my impression," Spock replies delicately, attempting to fit this point into a pre-conceived argument in which there is no correct space, "the contract I signed, in no way indicated the loss of your captaincy."
"Spock." Kirk says blandly and a strange sort of smile pulls one side of his mouth wide, "You're getting really slow. I switched our contracts."
Both eyebrows up.
He wishes to ask 'how' but more importantly is the;
"Why?"
Kirk ignores this. "We're friends, right?"
Spock attempts to remain undeterred by the arbitrary nature of human deflection.
"I do not understand the context of the question."
"Yes or no?"
It appears Kirk intends to provide the necessary information depending on his answer and Spock cannot logically perceive why, except to force him to confront Kirk on an emotional level rather than intellectual. At such a junction, it would be important to note Vulcans do not have friends. It would be prudent to distance himself from the subjective nature of the interaction. Spock knows this, and has done so with numerous others, and yet...
"...Affirmative. However, you are attempting to change the subject."
Kirk looks contrite, an expression for which Spock immediately feels complete accountability when he says, "Spock, I know you have no reason to believe me. But just trust me, okay?"
Spock is dismayed at the timely arrival of the turbolift on deck 14. The doors hiss open to a picture of two Operations ensigns, heavily burdened by their personal effects. It is with even more apprehension Spock watches as the officers drop their belongings to break off sharp salutes, still facing him.
"Captain, sir!"
Kirk is safely out the doors and on deck before Spock may say more.
As the turbolift has not regained function without a designated destination, it is within Spock's narrow parameters to allow reluctance to enter his countenance before he steps aside, allowing the ensigns aboard.
"At ease, ladies," Kirk's forehead wrinkles as he cocks his head standing alone in the middle of the narrow corridor. The ship is dimly lit to stimulate a circadian rhythm, long shadows of the walls stretching into darkness behind him in the light of the lift.
"The Captain doesn't bite."
Spock's eyebrows draw together and he regards Kirk with silent disapproval before a piece of luggage is mistakenly dragged onto his toe.
"But I could be wrong!" Kirk amends with a smile and waves, PADD glowing in one hand.
The doors slide closed.
"Everything checks out here..." Kirk makes a mark on his file. "We're warping out soon. Keep all comms open for the order."
"Excuse me, sir! But everything's not awright!"
The recognizable brogue explodes before his face in the predictable form of saliva. Kirk scrunches his nose and then smiles lightly.
"Did it perhaps escape yer notice that my complement's been reduced to a maximum of 110?"
"No." Kirk replies blandly.
"You call tha' wee number a maximum? It's a bloody cut of 30 percent!" Scott blusters.
The distinct steaming and whirring sounds of Engineering are almost pleasing to the ear. If it weren't for Lieutenant Commander Scott's shouting on the tail end of a twenty hour work day, Kirk would be finding it wondrously easy to fall asleep here.
"Sorry, Scotty, but that's all I can do. I need to be on the bridge." He stifles a grimace at Scott's unimpressed face and starts climbing up from the main computer bay towards the upper level deck.
Alas, he's followed quickly. The two walk briskly past a milling line of security officers still stuck in phase 3 orientation. At the rate launch prep is going, the Enterprise will be lucky to warp out by sunrise.
"You've gotta give me some more crew, sir! I cannae run Engineering with one arm tied behind my back."
"Yes, you can," Kirk replies.
Scott gets caught by that, preening a little at the compliment. Unfortunately, he's much too good at working up a lather to let the issue go. Kirk rolls his head to thud against the side of the turbolift as Scott jumps in after him.
"Not even Chekov? Now, don't get me wrong, he did a might fine job chewin' up the engines but beggars cannae be choosers."
"I'm keeping Chekov," Kirk counters as the decks fly by. "What about Riley?"
Scott blows out a breath. "I'd get more work done without puttin' up with his idea of singing on gamma shift."
Kirk cocks a hip. "You should have led in with this criteria, Scotty. Specifics. Who could you possibly want?" He leans forward, tone slightly disbelieving, "Uhura?"
Horrifyingly, Scott has started to— No way.
"Are you blushing?"
"No, sir!"
Scott shakes himself.
"Now, that's not a 'no' to the lass, mind you. Lieutenant's got a lovely voice but it pales in comparison to the minor in electrical! You should see her wire work. M'lady the Enterprise could always use more hands with a gentle touch."
"Mmhm," Kirk can't help smiling indulgently.
"Why," Scott looks to the side and rocks back on his heels, "If you weren't already taken Jim, I'd ask for you."
That's just weird enough to startle a laugh straight out of Kirk.
"You get Riley."
Scott deflates and amazingly the lift doors slide open. Kirk practically springs into the corridor but Scott is fast on his heels with stubborn determination.
"Warp 5 is the best you'll do then! Factor 6.5, tops. The nacelles won't always purr like kittens, sir, especially for five years in deep space!" Scott pulls up to Kirk's side just shy of the bridge's entryway, "I need teams of at least 42 at each station during peak levels."
"Ugh!" Kirk groans and grinds to a halt. He whirls on his heel, then chews the inside of his cheek and scowls. "You're killing me, Scotty!"
At that, the engineer freezes.
Kirk nearly swears, but they've already stepped onto the bridge.
"Commander Kirk," Sulu acknowledges, vacating the captain's chair. Kirk nods, feeling a bit self-conscious as most of the crew have turned to look his way.
"Jim!"
Kirk's head snaps up and—uh oh.
McCoy is standing next to Sulu and there's definitely a distinctly pinched look on the doctor's face. Kirk spins and gestures quickly to avoid that particular brand of trouble.
"Officer Jodi!" He barks, startling a few officers with his urgency. "The head of Engineering is personally requesting your immediately transfer to his department. Is that acceptable?"
The white-haired woman looks extremely alarmed but stands, "Yes, sir."
"Good. You are now reporting to—Mr. Scott!" Kirk claps his hands together and Chekov jumps in his chair. "Surprise! You get to fill out the necessary transfer forms. Darwin, take Jo's place. Your new department head is, uh," he flounders for a second, "...me. And Scotty?"
"Aye?"
"Please don't forget Riley when you pass by Communications."
"Fine, that's— thank you, sir."
The weak, utterly distracted response throws Kirk for a loop. The engineer is, for once, not bearing him down.
"Sorry to ask, but... But what is that?" Scott flings one dramatic hand out to point.
"Science Officer 0718," The officer in question responds with a noticeably toneless speech pattern.
Scott looks flabbergasted. "The thing's got a network processor in its head! Connected to my ship!"
"Dammit man, just because you don't understand something doesn't make it a thing!"
Red Alert. Kirk can feel the hairs on the back of his neck rise. Trouble has just closed in.
Scott rounds on Kirk and McCoy, a crazed look in his eyes. "I know exactly what it is, and let me tell you—"
"Bones!" Kirk smiles disarmingly, walking backwards until he's somehow hilariously—embarrassedly— sandwiched between the doctor and engineer. "Ready for deep space? Sulu told me it's lovely this time of year on Risa."
"Already put in my request for shore leave," Sulu chimes.
"Oh, no you don't," McCoy is leaning in much too close for comfort. It puts that menacing scowl right into Kirk's face.
"A state of the art AI officer!" Scott bursts, looking like he's about to drop everything and fall into a jig. "Was just reading 'bout it in my journals!"
Kirk easily dodges around McCoy and swings an arm across Scott's shoulders so he can be pulled to safety by the engineer's thrilled pace.
"He's completely upgraded," Kirk says encouragingly, ushering them around the science modules with McCoy in hot pursuit. "No more of those pesky bugs from last year's model. Smoothest OS to ship network sync you'll find this side of Andromeda."
Scott's grin suddenly snaps shut in offense. "Why d'you get one an' I don't? Look, yer not even using it, really. It's just pushing buttons! You know how many humans it takes to reroute a Jeffries tube?"
Kirk smirks, "One, but he has to be able to fit inside it."
"Very funny!" Scotty nudges him in the side, and then pats his own stomach. "I'll have you know I've been making up for lost time. One AI can lift a near metric ton!"
"Jim," McCoy's voice rises to a volume that bounces between cross and genuinely disturbed. "I want a word—!"
It's at this moment Uhura marches onto the scene and Kirk, well; he wouldn't say he leaps behind her while still using Scott as a shield, but it could be described as such. If things were to get technical.
"Kirk!" She yelps, glaring at him even though, really, it's McCoy's oversized shoulder that's bumped her. And Scott's too busy drooling over the android officer to notice a vein is standing out on Uhura's neck.
"All of you! Out of my station! Spock's—"
"Captain on the bridge!" Chekov practically sings out and all the chaotic conversation slams to a halt.
Kirk blows some of Uhura's ponytail out of his mouth.
Spock's stoic countenance holds the crew in its orbit for one long, painfully quiet moment. He takes a single step forward.
"Please attend to your posts so that we may begin our mission in a timely manner."
With two well-placed shoves, Uhura unfolds McCoy, Kirk, and Scott from their human accordion quartet. As they tumble out from the stations, bridge officers spring into action so fast it's like the first day of school and they've got Klingons for show and tell. Consoles light up instantly, data screens zipping into life to display ship vitals. Sulu and Chekov activate the main screen and the insulated room suddenly expands as if they've stretched into the seconds just before warp.
The dark vision of space pulls everyone's eyes to look far, far out.
One eyebrow pushes up underneath Spock's severe bangs. "Lieutenant Uhura, please open all lines of ship-wide communication."
Uhura straightens her skirt. "Yes, sir."
Something crushes deep inside Kirk's chest when Spock takes five last calculated steps and sits in the captain's chair.
"I am Spock." He says without fanfare, staring straight ahead.
It hurts, physically hurts Kirk to walk away from that center seat, but he is careful not to let it show. He reminds himself he can't go back. That this is what must be done, for them to go on. This is the only way things will work.
And once he's taken position at Defense, it is painfully obvious the main science station at his side, is empty.
But Spock looks so unperturbed, so confident.
This is who they need.
The United Federation of Planets had been a dream, once. And it has always been Starfleet's goal to realize that dream, to spread it throughout the stars.
It's hard not to recognize the sharp touch of envy as pride crawls its way into Kirk's heart.
He can think no better man for the job.
"As captain of this vessel, my first act of Starfleet command is to inform you the Enterprise will begin its course with a rendezvous at Starbase 11 to receive additional personnel. Also note, incomplete orientation phases will resume at 0700 hours. Please ensure your schedules do not conflict and strive to perform every duty to the best of your ability, as all officers onboard are a representation of the Federation and," Spock tilts his head, "all humankind. Today marks the start of our 5 year mission. We go boldly where no one has gone before. Captain out."
His message is met with silence.
Spock turns and for one, blindingly panicked moment, his eyes pass over Kirk.
"Mr. Scott, why are you not at your post?"
Scott throws his hands up in surrender, "Was just on my way, Captain."
Spock merely faces forward once more, allowing it all to fall in place. "All hands on deck."
The bridge is absent of the destruction it had incurred since the last time Spock sat in this same chair. The screens are flawless, every surface newly polished. A fine example of the fleet's flagship, the Enterprise is impossible not to take pride in. A foolish behaviour, indeed, for the measure of the ship's beauty is weighed down equally by responsibility.
Spock does not permit himself the time to reflect on this. The Enterprise will disembark in short order.
"Have we received confirmation from Luna?" Spock asks primly.
"Luna confirmed, airway 15C primed for warp activity. Sir." Uhura replies with clipped inflection, one for which Spock has no immediate meaning assigned. However, she is no doubt depicting her attentiveness to the situation in the same way her brevity with Captain Kirk applied.
"Overrun area has been extended by 19.1km."
The data appears almost instantly on the chair's console. It is frustratingly small a screen compared to the science station, but Spock is not affected by limitations. He is challenged by them.
Command module receives the information next, thankfully rousing Chekov from whatever arbitrary muttering to Sulu he has deemed relevant.
"We are clear for plotted trajectory."
"Relay your navigation co-ordinates to Lieutenant Sulu."
"Yes, Captain, already done, sir," Chekov replies though it becomes clear to Spock that Sulu already has plotted the course and has begun disengaging dampeners 1 through 18.
"Recommended gravitational swing input bearing 048, mark 200," Sulu says, retrieving the simulated flight plan to play across the navigational module screen.
"Insufficient," Spock quickly corrects this mistake. "Negative 26 marks away from the Copernicus shipyards."
"Sir," Sulu does not turn, though his voice is noticeably more formal when he responds. "It's more than enough to drop us under."
"Luna confirms," Uhura reiterates.
"Inform Lieutenant Commander Scott, engines require preparation for warp factor 5."
Even as he issues this command there is the sound of engines humming to life.
"Already done, sir." Uhura says again.
Spock understands his face has formed a slight frown, yet it cannot be removed. "Regulation dictates the senior engineer on staff must have authorization directly fro—"
"Captain," Kirk calls from the Defense station.
Peculiar.
Despite engaging in no forethought on the topic, Spock realizes he desires this particular interruption very much. For what purpose, he is unsure, as Kirk merely needs to monitor shields at this point in time.
"All inventory has been accounted for. All officers are signed into registry. I have already taken the initiative to issue the preliminary launch regulations to all personnel." Kirk looks away for a brief yet mesmerizing moment before finishing with, "Sir."
Spock tilts his head.
As do many others on the bridge, not discounting Ensign Chekov's remarkable ability to self-inflict whiplash.
"Noted, Commander Kirk."
The fact that a professional discourse between the captain and an officer involving proper vernacular should not distract their fellow officers enough to cause stares and yet, humans are a highly illogical species.
"Also—" Kirk continues, disrupting Spock's thought process.
"I'm detecting signs of extremely intelligent life in this little thing called the Enterprise. I think we'd better go."
The crew bursts into laughter. Curiously, the charge of unease is a presence Spock had not noted until it was dispersed. It is foreign for Spock, to suddenly be overcome with the urge to say thank you. Thanks are not necessary.
Yet there is something gratuitously pleasant about eliciting a positive emotional change in Kirk.
"Thank you, Commander."
In front of him, Spock witnesses Chekov and Sulu sharing an unfamiliar expression.
Primary source confirms. Highly illogical.
"They'll light it up for us on your mark," Kirk says, smiles mildly, and then turns back to his console.
Twin rows of bright blue xenon lights curl across the surface of the moon, pulsing like neon signs, enticingly pointing the way into the unknown.
"When were you planning to tell me?"
Uhura has waited until Spock's duties have trickled down into a stream consisting of necessities which can be carried out his quarters. It is not only the most professionally considerate approach, but also the most personal.
"As it became relevant only a short time ago, it was not in my ability to do so."
It is immediately apparent Uhura can parse through Vulcan specifics with great speed.
"You mean you just found out. You didn't know." She stares at him. "So, what? Kirk just decided to throw the captaincy in your lap without saying anything?"
As the question is rhetorical, Spock does not answer.
She snorts. "That's one hell of a joke."
Spock is momentarily pleased his own observations have been corroborated by a secondary source, though the initial displeasure at Kirk's action returns when Spock recalls: it's not a joke.
"Commander Kirk has shared with me his reasoning," inadequately, however true, "And I am no longer labouring under the element of surprise."
He returns to unpacking his sparse belongings.
With a sigh of exasperation, Uhura joins him at the foot of the bed and attempts to help by refolding his clothes as he lays them out. Illogical.
"So he asked you to play along," Uhura suggests. "Will you do it?"
'Will,' not 'can.'
An important difference.
Uhura has known him the longest.
The duration of acquaintance is of great value to humans in attributing capacity for understanding. Along with this knowledge, Spock finds a warring piece of himself which desires to subscribe to the practice, yet cannot. For Vulcans, the sharing of oneself, one's mind, occurs in mere moments through the use of a mind meld. It is therefore, unreasonable to assign the same qualities of duration versus depth. There is condolence, however, in knowing both mind melds and long lasting relationships are rare occurrences and thus not necessary to consider at this time.
It is also important to remember, as the highest ranking officer on the ship and most educated, Spock must consult his own expertise prior to engaging other sources.
Uhura has inferred he is capable of captaining the ship by simply choosing to ask if he will.
He desires to correct her.
"I have taken the oath," Spock says instead.
Uhura nods and pushes a lock of hair behind her ear, her dangling earring catching a bit of light. "Who's got Sciences now?"
"A highly trained officer who has been reactivated to the Enterprise's roster. Lieutenant Carol Marcus will board at Starbase 11."
"Kirk's in charge of rosters now."
"Affirmative."
The corner of Uhura's mouth hooks up in reply at this information. Though he considers possible reasons for such humour, Spock finds no greater understanding.
They continue unpacking in silence. The captain's quarters are now located on deck 5 after the refit configuration. Amongst the subtle differences in his new living arrangement is the addition of a porthole. The streaks of stars at warp glow beyond the aluminum, tiny gems in an otherwise vast sea of darkness.
"You do know how this will look, right?" Her cadence is airy, light. A human sign for the arrival of a topic with substantially more weight.
He does not.
"What time is it, Captain Spock?"
"2300 hours, 43 minutes, 11 seconds." He looks to her for explanation.
A sigh.
"I better go."
It is Spock's opinion that removing oneself from an unfavourable situation is the most efficient and effective prevention of emotional dissonance. If he were emotional, that is.
He frowns, "Have I erred in some manner?"
"I'm fine." Uhura shakes her head and then her lips press together, brows drawn slightly closer. It is not an expression that precursors a simplistic thought. This indicates whatever she has to say— is complicated.
"Kadiith."
The acceptance of that which is unavoidable. What has been done is done.
A fascinating development.
Perhaps the simplest ideas are also the most complex.
The Enterprise is pristine. Too pristine. Every nook and cranny is sparkling clean, every Jeffries tube swept out and shining. It's like a showroom home waiting to get broken in and oddly enough, every new scuff or ding Kirk spots on otherwise gleaming surfaces appear to him like markings on a cave wall. Gives him hope for the signs of life, of what's to come.
Not to say he doesn't make note of it. The duties of First Officer require a vigilance Kirk is rusty in employing. He speeds through the rosters as fast as they keep piling up, checking and double checking reports. And when he gets a chance while surveying the labs, he takes a moment to peer out a porthole.
It's dark, out there. But the cold vacuum of space holding all of its wonders—and dangers— seems to tug something in him just the right way.
He quickly stamps it down.
Realistically? He's been living in a fantasy.
The universe is not singular.
There are many universes in existence, multiverse, and these multiple maps mark the flow of time and space in parallel. This simple way of looking at the world, in hindsight, allows even simpler beings to believe in the illusion. One Kirk has bought into, until now.
The illusion is that the movement between time and space, in addition to being parallel, is linear.
Not true.
Really, if Kirk continued allowing himself to believe he's moving along a mapped path, a linear transition towards an eventual targeted end—some greater destiny— He'd eat his boot, and he's pretty sure there's something in the sole that makes him allergic.
Kirk steps from shadow to shadow, pockets of dark cast by bulkhead-mounted floodlights. He moves briskly as he can to examine along the slanted tubing rafters in Environmental lab 4.
The thing is— the thing easy to forget is that destiny has no physical location.
Destiny is the supposed unavoidable outcome based on a series of events in one's existence, which means destiny is a state of mind; the illusion whose existence can no more be verified by quantitative data as it can by belief.
Then there is, of course, Spock.
The older Spock, the one who had claimed to be from the future, had presented his case with the most careful of logic. Here is my knowledge of a mysterious hostile Romulan. Here's my spaceship brimming with technology not yet invented. Oh yeah, and check out this nifty equation for transwarp beaming, a statement which operates under the assumption where space is the thing that's moving.
Space is the thing that moves.
And it works.
Even then, it had made Kirk wonder. If he stands still, will this supposed destiny find him anyway? And since he knows too much already, about another life and another him, maybe moving fast enough in another direction can make things change.
Kirk reaches the end of the rafters where a ladder travels down the wall a few metres. Ignoring it, he jumps using the beam of an overhead truss to swing down. His foot accidently catches on the large fronds of a plant and Kirk gives a bit of a yelp as it topples over, spilling blue soil across the floor.
"Shit," He mutters, but no one is around to hear him. It's late, real late. Beta shift ended hours ago and the majority of crew are dreaming to the soft drone of warp activity thrumming throughout the ship.
But he needs to get these surveys complete faster than Spock's old turnaround.
That familiar tugging sensation in his gut becomes a sharp, distinct pull. He's starting to sweat, heartbeat picking up. Kirk closes his eyes quickly and takes a deep breath. The terrifying press of powerlessness eventually fades like a message in the sand, washed over with many coats of resolve.
Kirk quickly inserts documentation into the Environmental sector report, cataloguing a plant whose size is against code for this particular lab storage.
It's his duty, as First Officer.
He's good. He's good, but he has to be better. Be like Spock. Tear this universe a new one and find his way.
The idea that somewhere out there, in the great uncharted spaces between stars, lived a James T. Kirk who had once been a beloved captain...Well, it all grazes a mighty fine line between the idea of destiny and an unflatteringly bad science fiction.
Kirk supposes it isn't his fault— that he has kind of a thing, for fiction. Except that thing is something he likes to call deconstruction,or even more simply: ripping it apart.
And maybe...
Just maybe, in this universe, being second-best won't turn out that bad.