THE LOST YEARS
by Soledad
EPISODE 01: THE JOY MACHINE
For disclaimer, rating, etc. see the Prologue.
Author's notes:
Some of the dialogue in this chapter is based on an early, rejected script to Star Trek – The Motion Picture by Harold Livingston. The title of that script was In Thy Image. The description of the refitted Enterprise follows the blueprints in Mr. Scott's Guide to the Enterprise by Shane Johnson.
As we never learned the name of the Enterprise's personnel officer, I named her after the actress who'd played her in the episode Court-martial. Meade Martin is also the actor's name who played the nameless assistant engineer.
CHAPTER 1 – NEW BEGINNINGS
The brand new dock office hanging in standard orbit above Earth seemed fragile like a decorative item made of porcelain. It was gleaming white: a mushroom-shaped centrepiece, from which four corridors radiated in a rectangle from each other. Each corridor had other circular units attached to it on both sides; from ones as small as a shuttlepod to ones as big as the saucer section of a starship, all having several independent docking rings. The four powerful, cylindrical generators, which were capable of collecting the solar energy from the Sun directly, were attached to the underside of the centrepiece and tapered to a high-capacity subspace communications tower on the bottom.
Rotating ever so slowly, the station offered an impressive sight, framed against the blackness of space and the azure-white globe of Earth beneath it. It housed several hundred people – mostly administrative personnel of Starfleet and the technicians of the nearby drydock facility – and was the most current pride and joy of the engineers who had constructed it.
A small travelling pod detached itself from one of the orbital office's docking rings and floated, propelled by tiny jets, towards the spidery network of the drydock – a huge, intricate structure, containing a gleaming white object. The grey-haired, middle-aged man in the working coverall of Starfleet's engineering section, who was flying it, smiled proudly at his companion, a command officer in his forties, with a captain's rank strips on his sleeve.
"Here she is, sir… more beautiful than ever."
And Captain James T. Kirk looked towards the gleaming object within the spidery structure and smiled. The dry dock's filigreed installation that enveloped the ship seemed fragilely beautiful with the white bulk of the Enterprise inside. As the pod moved closer, they could see the small, automated welding devices moving along the girders. One of the devices stopped, sealed a weld with a brief, bright blue flare, and then moved along again. Here and there orbital technicians were working on the hull, the engine pods, the struts. They resembled specks of dust silhouetted against the hull's whiteness.
The travelling pod now approached the ship and settled in next to the airlock. The magnetic locks closed. A whooshing sound could be heard, as the airtight doors were secured, and the security bolts snapped closed with a clang.
"Pod secured," the voice of the landing officer said crisply through the intercom. "Pressure equalized."
The grey-haired engineer grinned at Kirk and touched the control opening the hatch; it slid open immediately.
They stepped out onto the cargo deck, which was busy with activity as various supplies were being stored. Engineering technicians in working coveralls used small antigravs to effortlessly move large containers of supplies and equipment to appropriate sections. One of the technicians, a dark-skinned young man with the naturally bald head and deep red eyes of the native Mo'ari population of Alpha Centauri VII, met the newcomers right at the airlock.
"Mr. Scott, they'd like you in Engineering," he said; then he recognized Kirk and grinned broadly. "I beg your pardon, Captain. Your arrival was not announced for today."
"That's all right, Ensign Gabler," Kirk waved off the apology; all Centaurians serving in Starfleet used some terranized version of their names, for administrative purposes. "What's the problem in Engineering anyway?"
"They're having some damage control monitor relay problems, sir," the landing officer, a lanky blond Terran replied. Kirk gave him a second look; the man seemed familiar, but at the moment he couldn't put a name to the youthful face.
"Assistant engineer Meade Martin, Captain," the officer offered helpfully, then turned to Scott again. "They need you as soon as possible, sir."
Scott shot his captain an apologetic look. "I'd better get up there, sir. It's still early days, and we've got a lot o' final touches to perform."
Kirk nodded, and the engineer hurried away. Ensign Gabler shifted positions uncomfortably, clearly eager to follow them.
"Do you want someone to show you around the ship, sir?" he asked. Kirk gave him a sharp look,
"I think I can still find my way, Ensign, thank you. Dismissed."
"Aye-aye, sir," Gabler shrugged and darted towards the turbolift in obvious relief. Barely on board, and the captain already seemed to have one of those days. Well, if he didn't want an escort, Gabler had things to do. Important things.
Uhura and Tigh (who didn't use his cult-name openly outside of Munguroo) departed the shuttle and they walked towards the terminal of the spaceport with their arms linked. In the anteroom, they were greeted by a small, friendly Chinese woman who wore her shiny black hair in a low knot on the nape of her neck: Nancy Wong, personnel officer and quartermaster of the Enterprise. She wore the new uniform, of which Uhura had heard already but saw for the first time: a burgundy red tunic with black side parts, a pre-scan device imbedded in its broad buckle, and long black trousers with slightly elevated shoes instead of the old, tight and impractical boots.
"Welcome aboard," she greeted them with a friendly smile. "Can I see your ID cards? Regulations, you know."
Uhura laughed. "Sure you can, Chief!"
Wong routinely ran a computer scan on the ID-cards, as regulations demanded, then gave them back the small, relief-printed, unbreakable plastic cards and nodded, still smiling.
"Everything's all right, Commander. You can beam up at once. I've had one of the VIP-quarters prepared for you, on Deck D, level 5 – I hope you'll like them.
Tigh nodded. "I'm sure we will, Chief."
"You're entitled to have independent quarters," Wong reminded Uhura, "you're a senior officer, after all. But I thought the two of you'd prefer to share quarters."
"And you were absolutely right, as always," Uhura smiled. "You're a jewel, Nancy."
"Well, I try to make everyone happy," Wong shrugged in an almost childlike manner. "Granted, it's not always easy, but now that your attaché will take the matter of the rec deck out of my hands, Colonel, I might eventually find some time to sleep. It would certainly be a welcome change, compared with our last mission."
They laughed, then Wong became serious again. "When can we expect your luggage to arrive?"
"It should already be here," Uhura replied. "But since we're allowed to take more personal items with us this time, the cargo transporter seems a bit overtaxed."
"I'll look after it," Wong promised. "Continue to transporter room two, please. You're already expected on board."
Uhura and Tigh followed her instructions and a few minutes later they materialized in the Enterprise's main transporter room. Behind the central console the well-known long, bony figure of Lieutenant Kyle stood. On his side they saw a still quite young blonde woman, her hair twisted into a knot. They were both wearing the new working coveralls of the Engineering section: the ones that had been finally equipped with pockets, to every technician's utter relief.
"Commander Uhura!" the blonde woman cried out in delight, and leaving Kyle behind, she enclosed Uhura in a spontaneous embrace. "Do you still remember me?"
Uhura laughed. "Of course I do, Janice. It's good to see you again. Which position do you fill right now?"
"Assistant transporter chief," Ensign Rand told proudly. "Of course, I'm still just a green newbie in this area, but Chief Kyle is a very good instructor."
"I don't really think that you'd still need instructions, Janice."
"Oh yeah, I most certainly do! Granted, I know almost everything about the new systems, I was even able to gain some practical experience serving at the Utopia Planitia Fleet Yards, but Mr. Kyle has been doing this job for more than twenty years. That isn't something to catch up with easily."
"You'll do just fine, Janice," Kyle smiled and came forth from behind the console to greet the newcomers. "It's nice to see you again, Commander Uhura. Not many of the old senior crew are still here. Would you wait here for a moment? I must report the XO your arrival."
"Who is the new XO?" Uhura inquired. "The admiralty shrouds themselves in mystery, it's practically impossible to learn anything about the new senior staff members."
Kyle pulled a face. "They were probably afraid of a mutiny when the old crew learns that they set us a newly promoted lieutenant commander before our noses as the new XO."
"Chief, don't be mean," Rand chastised him. "It's Willard Decker, after all!"
"Decker?" Uhura checked the name with the biological database she called her memory, for lack of a better expression. "Isn't he the son of the late Commodore Decker?"
"I don't really care who his old man used to be," Kyle declared. "The fact is, he'd just been hurriedly promoted to lieutenant commander, and considering how little experience he's had so far, even the position of Second Officer would be much too high for him. He's barely thirty years old, for God's sake!"
"If I remember correctly, Captain Kirk was thirty-three when he got the Enterprise," Uhura pointed out, "and that after he'd already lost one ship."
Kyle have her a funny look. "You still aren't very fond of the Captain, are you?"
"I'm loyal," Uhura replied coolly. "That should be enough."
"Besides, the new XO has barely finished command school," Kyle changed topics smoothly. "He used to be an engineer."
"That could come handy, should Mr. Scott try to fool us about his wee little machines again," Uhura replied, and everyone laughed.
The hiss of the sliding door interrupted their friendly chat. A tall, fairly thin, long-faced blond young man entered the transporter room. In the new, light blue uniform he looked like a lost little boy. In fact, he looked very… green for someone who was almost thirty, after all, with the typical over-eagerness of a too young officer trying to fill a much too demanding post on his dimpled face. The dimples, cute as they were, definitely didn't help things, Uhura decided.
"Commander Uhura?" he asked in a very official manner. Uhura suppressed a smile.
"Reporting for duty as ordered, sir," she replied in a crispy voice, crispier than it was her wont. Then she nodded towards her partner and added in a more civilian manner. "And this is Colonel Tigh."
"The diplomatic observer from the Kobol sector, yes, I know," the XO answered. "Welcome aboard, Colonel. I'm Lieutenant Commander Willard Decker, First Officer of the Enterprise. If you'd follow me... I could show you your quarters before I return to Engineering."
"Sir," Uhura was careful not to remind the young man of her higher rank, "I'm familiar with the layout of the Enterprise, and so is Colonel Tigh. We don't want to keep you from your duties without a sound reason."
The young man stiffened as if insulted.
"As you wish, Commander," he emphasized the last word. "However, you'll have to realize that this is a completely refitted Enterprise now, it's therefore by no means sure that your former knowledge would still be sufficient."
With that, he turned on his heals and left, without any further comment. Uhura sighed, exchanging a long-suffering look with her old crewmates.
"I miss Mr. Spock already," Kyle grumbled.
"So do I," Uhura replied, "but we'll teach the boy how grown-ups have to believe, eventually."
"Don't be so sure," Kyle warned her pessimistically. "He was raised by her mother, in a group of those so-called 'New Mankind' guys. They don't even know theoretically what 'grown-up behaviour' means."
"Well, at least he managed to escape the paradise birds," Rand commented, "that's good enough for some hope."
"We'll see," Uhura shrugged. "What about the science section? Do we have a new science officer yet? I hope Headquarters doesn't expect Decker Junior to cover both of Spock's former areas of responsibility."
"Nah, not even the brass are that irresponsible," Kyle replied darkly. "They're sending us a green Vulcan instead."
"As far as I've been informed, all Vulcans are more or less green," Tigh intervened for the first time. "At least where their blood and their complexion are considered."
"That's right," Kyle nodded, "but those serving on Starfleet vessels usually aren't barely twenty-two years old."
"Vulcan years or Standard?" Uhura asked.
"What's the difference?" Kyle asked back.
"By twenty-two Vulcan years approximately eight Standard years," Uhura told him. "And if he weren't good at what he does, he surely wouldn't have been assigned to the Enterprise."
"That would cause bad blood," Kyle prophesised. "Science section says Admiral Nhauris has supposedly promised the job Lieutenant Boma, but Admiral Nogura insisted to have a Vulcan again."
"Boma certainly would have deserved it," Uhura nodded, "but none of us can choose our assignments. The best solution is to accept things as they are."
"You're probably right," Kyle admitted reluctantly.
"Am I not always?" Uhura laughed and took Tigh's arm. "C'mon, Colonel, we should move to our new quarters before I get ordered to the bridge."
"By your command," Tigh gave her a typical, smart Libran salute, quoting the over-used Cylon phrase, and followed her into the turbolift. Kyle looked after them, clearly touched.
"It's good to see that they are still together," he commented.
They stepped into the turbolift, still laughing, and Uhura called out their destination for the computer: "Deck D, level five, VIP area."
The lift swung into motion, but it came to a halt way before they would have reached the VIP area, in Uhura's estimation. The slide doors opened, and Chris Chapel backed into the cabin, guiding a pile of medical supplies being pushed by a med tech – Cindy Lou Johnson, Uhura realized, recognizing the lovely Jamaican nurse.
"Sorry, I've got some perishables here," Chapel spoke over her shoulder, without really seeing who else was in the turbolift. "Priority, level ten first."
Cindy Lou backed away, remaining in the corridor, as the lift doors snapped closed and the cabin started again.
"I really am sorry," Chapel continued, still not looking back, "but site-to-site transport is still a bit tricky, and if these get warm…"
"That's all right, Chris," Uhura laughed. Now Chapel turned to them, and her eyes grew wide with delight.
"Uhura! So good to see you again! And you too, Colonel. I heard you'd be coming with us…"
"I look forward to it… doctor," Tigh smiled. "It is Doctor Chapel now, isn't it?"
"Not quite," Chapel replied. "I do have all exams, but I'm still working on my dissertation. I'm listed as head nurse practitioner, which means half way to being a doctor, but if we were still using bedpans, I'd still be emptying them."
"You don't seem to mind it much, though," Uhura smiled.
"No, I don't," Chapel admitted. "The truth is, this ship is the closest thing I've got to a home. I'm glad to be back."
The lift stopped again, the doors opened. Chapel carefully pushed her cargo out to the corridor. "See you at your physical," she grinned at them, and then she was gone.
As soon as she reached her new quarters, Uhura understood at once why the young Decker had said that she'd be dealing with a completely new Enterprise. Although still called VIP quarters (there was such thing as Starfleet tradition), the rooms could belong to the quarters of an admiral above a particularly frequented deep space station. These new VIP staterooms served as quarters for visiting officers, ambassadors and their spouses and Federation government officials, among others – and were furnished accordingly.
The stateroom assigned to Tigh (as the representant of the Twelve Colonies) was composed of two areas, which were separated by a retractable, transparent aluminium partition. The front door led directly to a small foyer, containing a wall-mounted food processor unit on the left side. This processor, a Nutritech design (also called food replicator in recent times), was smaller than those used in public areas of the ship but its function was essentially the same. The foyer had direct access to the small, circular dining booth adjoining the working area. This was provided for those guests (or, in this case permanent inhabitants) who preferred to eat alone or needed to work during their meal.
Opposite the entrance, there was a transparent, smoke-coloured door to the generous sleeping area. Chief Wong conveniently had the two beds customary in VIP quarters replaced by one broad and low double bed, above which an up-to-the ceiling bookshelf provided enough room for personal items. Their suitcases, apparently having arrived in the meantime, were standing in the middle of the sleeping area.
On the right side, another transparent door led into the bathroom area, which had both a sonic shower booth and a Jacuzzi tub with a real shower. From the bathroom one could access a walk-in closet, in which only Uhura's new uniforms were hanging right now: black trousers with black-and-gold tunics as well as short and long sleeved white tunics for work.
The other half of the stateroom was the working area. This was somewhat larger than the bedroom, and, if possible, even more elegant. On the corridor side, build-in cabinets lined the wall, and in front of them stood a low, oval table – not a standard piece of furniture but Uhura's own coffee table from home, with the Deltan nappa leather armchairs, which she had transferred by cargo transport weeks earlier.
A viewscreen station stood against the wall left from the entrance, and leaning to the bedroom wall there was a computerized desk, directly connected to the Enterprise's library computer, designed so that two people could work at it at the same time. Behind the desk, there was another small storage closet, for luggage or personal cargo, which couldn't be stored away on the cargo deck.
After they had studied their new home thoroughly, Uhura started packing in delight. For someone who'd spent so many years aboard a starship, this wasn't a difficult task; besides, she had Tigh to help her now. In less than an hour, the rooms lost their sterile atmosphere and became what they were meant to be: a home for two people who had chosen deep space as their second homeland. The hand-made Bantu hangings that had accompanied Uhura on all her missions covered the naked walls pleasantly, the totemistic figurines made of ebony – in various sizes between a ten centimetres and a foot – reminded them constantly of the community waiting for their return on Earth, the black and red patterned, white Berber rugs (still hand-knotted by tradition-respecting tribes) swallowed the noise of their steps, and the zebra skin duvet spread over the wide bed still symbolized the day for them on which they joined their lives through the time-honoured ceremony of mesq.
Counting on being called to the bridge any time now, Uhura vanished in the walk-in closet to try on the new uniform. To her pleasant surprise, the cut of the tunic turned out to the wearer's advantage, while the fabric was light and soft. She was particularly glad not to have wear boots all the time now. The new colours needed some getting used to, of course, but she'd worn a golden uniform before, in Captain Pike's times, when she belonged to the command staff, due to her experimental position.
When she left the closet, she found that Tigh had also found the time to change. It could be expected from someone who'd spent long years in the barracks, really. He was wearing his old, silver-adorned midnight blue uniform, like once on board the Galactica. His silver belt buckle gleamed, and the high collar of his uniform tunic was held together by a silver-set, hexagonal white gem, as he was representing the people of Libra in the Quorum of Twelve, even though currently living on Earth and only keeping subspace contact with the provisional government of his planet.
"Do you think this is really necessary?" Uhura asked in surprise. "You're a diplomatic observer on this mission… why the uniform?"
"I feel more comfortable this way," Tigh replied. "Or would you prefer me haunting the corridors of the Enterprise in the flowing robes of a colonial councilman, frightening unsuspecting newbies to death? You know I'm supposed to wear the clothing of my homeworld on official missions."
Uhura shook her head, laughing. "As well as white suits you, I'm afraid this really is the better solution."
"I knew you'd say that," Tigh declared in smug satisfaction."
"You did? How come?"
"Well, I knew you were the woman with the best taste I've ever met."
"True, true. Which is the reason why I chose to marry you."
The door buzz that sounded only moments later both found really badly timed.
"Enter!" Tigh called out and let go of the waist of his wife with a sigh. The computer ignored the emotional load of the command and obeyed.
"I hope we're not disturbing," Charlene Masters, wearing the gold-black uniform of the engineering section and followed by Boomer, still in his civvies, entered the foyer with a broad smile.
"I have the impression our timing wasn't the best," Boomer guessed and kissed Uhura's hand in an exaggeratedly ceremonial manner. "It's nice to see you again, Siress Uhura."
"Likewise, Captain," Uhura replied. "I hear Starfleet has acknowledged your officer's rank and permitted you to become part of our crew. Congratulations; that's a rare occasion. You must have impressed the Old Man greatly."
"Well, thank you," Boomer managed to look embarrassed and satisfied at the same time. "It's a little strange, isn't it? I mean, captains usually don't serve as ersatz helmsmen on Starfleet ships."
"Kirk will go totally apeshit," Masters prophesied in amusement. "He's too much used to be the only captain on board… the Captain. But rank does have its privileges. We've got quarters usually only given to senior officers and are as good as VIP quarters. I've never lived so luxuriously aboard a starship before."
"Is it true that Rigel has married as well?" Tigh inquired, grabbing Boomer's forearm and squeezing it in warrior fashion. Boomer nodded.
"It seems to be a sudden development. Two months ago, she signed a one-year marriage contract with Lieutenant Commander Sulu. She's also absolved a successful retraining at Starfleet Academy and will be assigned as ersatz navigator in the Beta shift. We'll work together. Just like in old times."
"But who's going to replace Chekov?" Uhura asked. "Now that he's been promoted to Chief of Security, Alpha shift will need a new lead navigator."
"That seems to be quite the mystery," Masters replied. "Apparently not even Chief Wong is informed."
"That's highly unlikely," Uhura shook her head. "Unless our new navigations officer belongs to one of the less… pleasant species. But even so, Wong needs to know, so that she can prepare the newcomer's quarters accordingly."
"You mean we'll get a Tholian?" Masters wondered. "I didn't know we are allied to them nowadays."
"Don't be ridiculous," Uhura waved her off. "There are enough species within the Federation to work with whom could be… complicated."
"I know!" Masters declared in a dramatic manner. "We'll get a Tellarite!"
Uhura shook her head in maternal patience. "Charlie, you're quite cocky today."
"It's probably because I haven't got to see our esteemed captain yet," Masters told her, "while I got a great deal of relevant compliments from several good-looking security officers, including Lieutenant Garrovick and Mohammed Jahma."
"Whom I'll have to kill, sooner or later," Boomer added darkly. Masters leaned over to him, laughing, and kissed him.
"You're so cute when you're jealous."
"She thinks she can get away with everything, just because she's pregnant," Boomer explained gravely. "But I tell you: even a pain-trained husband blows off his top sometimes, and vengeance will be gruesome."
They all laughed, Uhura feeling a little nostalgic. "Now I understand why you're so high-spirited," she said. "Your first baby, isn't it?"
The younger woman nodded. "Yeah. Fortunately, things are running relatively smoothly. At the moment, anyway."
"How old is the baby now?"
"Nine weeks. Hopefully, it will last. The peace, I mean."
"It's possible," Uhura said. "With Kitharo, I didn't have any problems, either. With Karidy, I felt sick all the time, I was grateful to have a planetary assignment at that time. And most recently with Kimora, it was smooth and easy again. Every baby is different. But… the captain won't be happy to learn that you're pregnant."
"I know," Masters pulled a face. "That's why I won't even tell him for the time being. Only Dr. M'Benga knows, and I can count on him to keep the doctor-patient confidence."
"Oh, he will. The man is more reliable than a Vulcan. And you'll have at least three more months before you start showing."
"I hope so," Masters laughed. "My mother remained quite slender, up till the last couple of weeks. Maybe I'll get lucky, too."
"Good luck," Uhura smiled.
In that very moment, the intercom interrupted their conversation. "Senior officers to the bridge."
"It starts already," Uhura, too, pulled a face, but more in joke than seriously. "And I have hoped to draw at least three deep breaths before plunging headfirst into work."
"Look at the bright side," Tigh comforted her. "At least you'll be among the first ones who get all the new information."
"True again," Uhura pulled on the still unfamiliar new uniform and gave her appearance a sideways glance in the mirror. "Time to go, then."
To be honest, she didn't really mind being called to the bridge already. They had finished packing already, and as pleasant as being reunited with old friends could be, that was not the top priority right before start. Going to the bridge at the beginning of a new mission was something she always felt really strongly about. Just like Chapel, it gave her the feeling of coming home, and that made her happy.
Stepping out onto the bridge, the first person she saw was Lieutenant M'ress, the Caitian communications officer with whom she had already served during the most recent five-year-mission of the Enterprise. The good-natured feline with the thick, orange-red mane was working rapidly and expertly at the comm station, sorting out and checking channels.
"Hailing frequency four, check," she purred, most likely to someone in the communications lab. "Hailing frequency five… hailing frequency five, will someone give me a check?"
At the helm, Sulu had a service plate open, peeking inside while he made some adjustments.
"Helm, give me a reading on four point zero zero six of full," he ordered. "Someone down in Engineering answered something, and Sulu continued on with other readings.
At Weapons Control Station Chekov was having an argument with Technician Thule, an experienced Andorian, who kept insisting that the photon torpedoes read "ready", while Chekov argued that the computer is not relaying that information to his weapons scanner.
At various other stations, other technicians were at work, rapidly counting down checklists and arguing about whether or not a particular piece of equipment was working within normal parameters. With other worlds, the bridge was a mess, with service panels open, spare parts lying around, some circuits still leading across deck areas. The very normal organized chaos before start – familiar and heart-warming, on its hectic way.
Uhura grinned and turned to the command chair and the man occupying it.
"Lieutenant Commander Uhura reporting to duty, sir," she said crisply. Kirk grinned back at her.
"Welcome aboard, Uhura. Care to take over your station already?"
"Gladly, sir," Uhura switched positions with M'ress and continued where the Caitian left. At almost the same time, a call came in. She checked the source and turned her seat (nice, comfy new seat, she noticed absently) to Kirk again.
"Captain, transporter room reports the new navigations officer is ready to beam aboard. She's a… Deltan, sir," she added. Kirk brushed off her subtle warning.
"I know where she's from," he said, then looked at Chekov. "Mr. Chekov, since our first officer is currently otherwise occupied, would you go to the transporter room and welcome her? She's taking over your old job, after all."
"Aye, Keptin," the Russian was obviously not comfortable with the idea, but orders were orders. He left without protest.
Barely had he reached the transporter room when the transporter began humming and a breathtakingly beautiful young woman materialized on one of the platforms. A Lieutenant Junior Grade, according to her rank strips, she wore a uniform in command gold, but her most prominent feature was her head. She was completely hairless – entirely bald, but for the delicately slanted eyebrows and long eyelashes, a feature that, strangely enough, was not at all unattractive. With her jewelled Deltan headband shadowing the baldness, she emanated a definite, almost intense sensuality.
"Lieutenant Ilia requesting permission to come aboard," she said in an exotically accented, soft voice.
Chekov felt the blood rising in his cheeks and cursed his fair skin. Theoretically, he was aware of the effect of Deltan pheromones on humans, but thus was the first time she was confronted with said effect in the praxis.
"Per… permission granted," he stuttered, feeling fairly ridiculous,
Unexpectedly, Ilia smiled at him (it nearly made him swoon) and held out a fine, slender hand to him.
"Go ahead," she encouraged him. "It's all right."
If possible, Chekov became an even deeper shade of red.
"What do you mean with 'go ahead'?" he asked, flustered. Ilia shook her head tolerantly.
"Lieutenant, as every Deltan woman, I can sense it when a man longs to touch me. There's no need to repress, as long as you're aware that I'm sworn to celibacy as far as my shipmates are concerned. So, take my hand and get it out of your mind, or you will prove to be an unwelcome distraction, for me as well as for yourself."
She offered her hand again. Awkwardly, self-consciously, Chekov took it into both of his hands. Ilia gracefully extended her other hand, brushing his cheek with the gentlest touch of her palm and fingertips. To Chekov's astonishment, he felt his embarrassment evaporate, although he wasn't quite sure how he'd achieved that state of mind.
"Better?" Ilia asked. Chekov nodded his thanks.
"Yes. Thank you."
She touched his face again, smiling in gentle understanding. "Don't mention it. We can calm as well as stimulate. Now, would you show me the way to the bridge?"
Chekov smiled back at her. "Of course. This way, please."
As they emerged from the turbolift onto the outer bridge platform, all looks turned to them in awe.
"Keptin," Chekov said, leading her down to the command chair," this is Lieutenant Ilia, our new navigator…"
"… from 114 Delta V, I know," Kirk nodded. "I've heard about you, Lieutenant."
"And I about you, sir," Ilia replied, smiling. "May I assume my position?"
For just a moment, Kirk seemed mesmerized… completely caught up in that smile. Then he realized where they were and cleared his throat a little embarrassed.
"Well… please, don't let me interfere with your duties."
Chief DiFalco, one of the numerous ersatz navigators, rose from her seat and Ilia took over her place beside Sulu, continuing the system check with calm efficiency. Bridge activities continued on, as if the little interlude had not happened at all, until Chief Kyle's voice sounded through the intercom again.
"Transporter room to bridge… is the captain there?"
Kirk pushed the intercom button on the armrest of his chair. "Kirk here. What's it, Mr. Kyle?"
"The new science officer is beaming up now, sir," Kyle replied. "You wanted to welcome him personally, Captain."
"I'll be right here," Kirk said, and as he hurriedly moved to leave the bridge, he tossed over his shoulder. "Mr. Sulu, you have the bridge."
Reaching the transporter room he found not only Kyle there, but also Mr. Scott, mostly to check how the new machines are functioning, and two other technicians whose names he could momentarily not remember. The chief engineer was studying his controls with a worried frown. Kirk glanced at the receiving chamber – it was empty. No evidence of the beaming process going on.
"Is there a problem, Scotty?" he asked. His chief engineer and resident tech wizard gave him an unhappy look.
"Aye, Captain. The new systems still do have their quirks. I'm not gonna risk anybody's safety unless I'm one hundred per cent sure that everything's all right." He changed something on the control panel and swore softly in Gaelic. "Give it a try now, Mr. Kyle."
Kyle flicked on the comm unit. "Enterprise to Starfleet orbital station, we're ready to receive."
The words were hardly out of his mouth when suddenly the entire console erupted in a shower of sparks. The humming sound of the energizer grew very loud, as if out of control. The figure that had just appeared in the chamber shimmered, then materialized vaguely, and then shimmered again. The two technicians stood there frozen with shock, panic clearly written in their faces, but Kyle didn't lose a nanosecond.
"Scotty, reverse process!" he shouted, and the chief engineering hurriedly obeyed. The figure vanished from the platform again.
Kirk glared at the transporter chief accusingly. "What the hell was that, Mr. Kyle?"
Kyle shrugged helplessly. "I don't know, Captain. The system worked flawlessly just a few minutes ago when Lieutenant Ilia beamed up. We'll have to run a diagnostic, and…"
"How long?" Kirk interrupted.
"Approximately thirty to forty minutes, sir," Scott replied.
"Very well," Kirk sighed. "Keep me informed. I'll be on the bridge."
Returning to the bridge, he found all personnel occupied with pre-departure tasks, although they still had almost six hours until their scheduled takeoff. Some of the control panels were now closed, and the chaos seemed to have lessened considerably.
"Dock officer reports we are clear to pull away at your discretion, Captain," Uhura reported. "We're on yellow alert."
Kirk nodded and moved to the science station, where Decker was peering into the hooded viewer, punching in programmed procedures, with the assistance of Chief DiFalco.
"Inform Engineering and tell Scotty to hurry up with transporter diagnostics," Kirk said to Uhura, and then he turned to Decker, a little impatiently. "Can't you program a pre-departure plan any faster? We're supposed to leave here in six hours, not in six days!"
The young man glanced up at him, blue eyes cold with anger and humiliation.
"If I did, Captain, we'd never leave the dock in one piece. I'm an engineer, not a navigator or a science officer. Or is that what you thought I was when you yanked me off the El Mahdi to serve here?"
Kirk forced his flaring anger back under the surface with some effort, remembering that the young man probably felt overtaxed with this assignment, and rightly so. Becoming the executive officer of a Constitution-class starship and would have been intimidating for a freshly promoted lieutenant commander of barely thirty years.
"Commander," he said with forced patience, "I'm aware that you are not a science officer. But that's the very reason you were 'yanked' off the El Mahdi – because of your versatility. I need someone like you to backstop not only me but the other vital stations as well."
"Yes, sir," Decker replied testily, obviously not persuaded at all. Kirk sighed.
"Look, Will," he said in a conciliatory, almost paternal manner, "I know you wanted to start command experience on a much smaller scale, but I need you here. Consider this as advanced command school. Sooner or later, you'll be slanted for your own command, and then you'll be grateful for all the experience gathered on board the Enterprise."
"Whatever you say, sir," Decker replied tersely, paternal manners apparently wasted on him. Kirk was tempted to reprimand him for his tone when Uhura interrupted.
"Captain, transporter room reports diagnostics finished and everything checking out fine. Science and medical officers are ready to be beamed aboard." She shot Kirk a curious look. "No information about their identity, sir."
"I know," Kirk replied glumly. "Admiral Nogura said he wanted to surprise me."
Uhura winced in sympathy. The Old Man, as the supreme commander of Starfleet was called behind his back, had a rather… peculiar sense of humour. On the other hand, the Enterprise was Starfleet's pride and joy, and Captain Kirk the Old Man's favourite. One could be certain that only the best of the best could get a transfer here.
"Well," Kirk sighed," I'd better get down there and play nice. Do the best you can," he added to Decker, quickly leaving the bridge with the angry glare of his young XO in his back.
He found both Scotty and Kyle at the central control panel. The two techs were working at the other controls. Scott glanced up to him.
"Transporter is in perfect working order now, sir," he announced with proprietary pride. "We've found and corrected the power fluctuation."
Kirk nodded. "Thank you, Mr. Scott. That was fast and efficient, as always." Then, turning to the transporter chief, he added. "Energize, Mr. Kyle. Let's see whom Admiral Nogura has gifted upon us."
Kyle murmured his wiry, dark-skinned technician some highly technical comment that probably only the chief engineer could understand beside them, and they activated the new transporter mechanism with smooth, synchronous moves like a well-oiled machine.
As the shimmering effect of the new transporter commenced, two forms materialized on the platforms. One of them was young, long-haired, his brand new uniform already shabby, almost ragged. He couldn't be more than twenty-two, by the sight of him, and looked around curiously, as if visiting such a huge starship for the first time in his life. There was, however, a strange, steel-hard coldness in his dark eyes that belied his youthful looks. The other person was older, much older; a thin and seemingly fragile man, but his blue eyes still full of fire.
Before Kirk could have recovered from his speechless surprise, Montgomery Scott hurried around Lieutenant Kyle's console with a speed that put his grey hair to shame, ran to the transporter platform and greeted the second newcomer with an affectionate embrace.
"I cannae believe my ancient eyes!" he cried out excitedly, his thick Scottish accent more audible than usual, as always when he got fired up. "Is that you, Doc, or just a ghost from our grand olde times?"
At the same time, the slender young man in the shabby uniform snapped to attention, while still standing on his own platform. "Lieutenant Junior Grade Xon, Science officer, requesting permission to come aboard, sir."
Unfortunately, no one paid him the scantest attention. Kirk had stepped over to Dr. McCoy, peered at him and shook his head in utter disbelief. The doctor himself didn't display any enthusiasm about being back on board, though.
"Chief Medical Officer McCoy requesting permission to come aboard, sir," he repeated the same official request at the young man – but with visibly less eagerness.
Kirk still couldn't quite trust his eyes. "Bones, how did... is this some kind of joke…?"
"No joke, Captain, sir," McCoy replied in a flat, tight tome. "I'm sure a copy of my orders is already in the personnel computer."
The shabby-looking young man chose this particular moment to try getting their attention again. "Lieutenant Junior Grade Xon requesting permission to come aboard, sir."
Kirk winked him off impatiently. "Yes, yes, permission granted…" then he turned back to McCoy. "What happened?"
McCoy's eyes darkened in anger. "What happened, Captain, sir, was that our revered Chief of Staff, Admiral Nogura himself, invoked a little known – and seldom used – reserve activation clause..." he paused, perhaps to control his anger. "In simpler language, Captain, sir, I have been drafted."
Kirk was so nonplussed he couldn't find the right words. After all, McCoy had told him during their last encounter in no uncertain terms that he wasn't interested in another deep space mission. The captain glanced at Scott who was also unable to conceal a delighted smile. It was like old times again… well, almost.
The shabby-looking young man used the abrupt silence for another futile attempt to get the captain's attention.
"Sir, I'm Lieutenant Junior Grade Xon…"
McCoy shot him a baleful look. "Yes, Lieutenant Junior Grade Xon, we can smell you."
"Where were you that you got into such a foul state, Lieutenant?" Kirk inquired, finally acknowledging the presence of the young man.
"The high Gobi desert," Xon replied matter-of-factly, as if it would be the most natural thing in the world. "In a meditative monastery, sir."
"Doing what?" Kirk asked sarcastically. "Rolling in yak droppings?"
Xon tilted his head to the side with a strange, bird-like jerk. "Preparing myself for duty, sir. In the event a shipboard assignment should occur."
Kirk stared at him in disbelief. "You're a lieutenant! Are you trying to tell me you've never had shipboard duty?"
"Jim," McCoy laid a shooting hand upon his friend's forearm. "I think he's just graduated a lieutenant. How long ago?" he asked from the young man.
"Eighty-one days ago, sir," Xon replied calmly.
Kirk gave an audible sigh of relief. "He's yours then," he said to McCoy. "Medical officer."
But the doctor shook his head. "He's yours. Even Vulcans have to graduate as lieutenants."
Kirk stared at the newcomer for a few endless moments. Then quietly, very quietly, in an almost begging manner, he asked. "Please tell me you don't have pointed ears, Lieutenant."
Xon held his stare without a flinch. His unmoving face didn't reveal anything under the layer of dirt and dust that was covering it.
"I see no reason to begin our acquaintance with an insult, sir," he finally said in a cold, even voice. "Am I dismissed? I would like to take a shower and put on a clean uniform, if I may."
"That," Kirk replied dryly, "seems a good idea to me. Dismissed."
As the young man left the transporter room without any further comment, Kirk looked at the doctor. "It seems to me, Bones, that Admiral Nogura has a few rather… interesting ideas for our new mission. I'd like to see the personal file of this Lieutenant Xon."
TBC
