Chapter 7: The crew spends a year apart, and prepares for the launch of Enterprise A

Year Seven: 2264

/jtkirk/letters/condolencesrecovery. Last accessed 2264.270. Dear [insert appropriate honorific, I am writing to inform you that the body of your [insert relationship, [insert name/rank] has been recovered from the wreckage of the Enterprise. After all this time, I hope it brings comfort to you. [insert personal reminiscences or ask senior staff]. [His/her/their] body is being cared for on Yorktown Station, and will be returned to you in the coming days by an escort, who will be in contact with you each step of the way. You have my thanks for the exemplary life of your [insert] and my very deepest condolences. Sincerely, James T. Kirk, Captain, late of the USS Enterprise.

… the endearing thing about him was how much he loved to be in command of a starship. He was constantly volunteering for Gamma shift rotations so he could take the conn through the whole night, even if it meant pulling a double shift in the morning. Other than the first and second officers and myself, I believe he had the most time in the command chair of anyone aboard. I sometimes had to remind him that he needed to let other people have a turn! He was made for it, and I am convinced he would have had his own Captain's chair before long. I will always remember how much he loved it, and keep that feeling with me …

...she was an exemplary scientist. She combined her endless curiosity with precise scientific rigor. It was an honor to edit her ten published papers, all of which were astrophysical breakthroughs. She had a passion for taking things that were unknown and shining the clear light of science on them. Her loss is incalculable...

… you already know this, but he was a born engineer. He loved night shifts the most, because he could get into the machinery without interruption. He was a godsend to me. On more than one occasion I'd walk down to Engineering late in the evening to talk with him about a strange noise or a hitch in the engines. And every time I did, he always told me the same thing: that he already knew, that he'd sorted out what was wrong, and that it would be fixed before morning. And sure enough, in the middle of the night the rough sound would suddenly smooth out. He'd done it again, and I could sleep easier for it ...

...she was an exceptional nurse. She had worked particularly hard on training in psychology and counseling. The crew knew they could trust her, and they did. She had the perfect combination of empathy and professionalism. I know she was the difference between survival and despair for more than one member of the crew. You should be so very proud of her. I always was…

...while she survived the initial attack, one of the final acts of her life was to save mine. It was an act of supreme bravery. The unity and love that the crew had for one another was unmatched and she died, as she had lived, for others…

...particularly on deep space missions with species we'd never met, language was a constant challenge. Although the translator helped, we often had to make decisions about nuance and shading—so critical in a first contact—with very little information. Our advice could make or break the mission, and either protect the away team or put them in danger. She had an instinctive knack for it, especially if she could get face to face with the people. She had been on more first contact missions than any communications officer in Starfleet, a fact about which she was very proud, and rightly so...

...he was my friend. What more can I say? We teased each other about Russia and Ireland, and the merits of their women and alcohol, but were going to give each other tours of our hometowns when we got back. I miss him ...

Commodore's log, Starship Group One, Stardate 2264.356, from Yorktown Base. Routine reports received from Intrepid, Reliant, Hawking, Bernoulli, and Chandrasekhar. It still hurts not to receive reports from Enterprise, even after all this time, but the launch of Enterprise-A is imminent. Project Engineer Cmdr. Scott reports success in bringing the warp core online. He had declared the ship to be a 'reincarnated soul.' If ships have souls, I believe he may be correct.

After a mildly uncomfortable two-week journey, Lieutenant Commander Hiraku Sulu, Lieutenant Commander Nyota Uhura, and Lieutenant Pavel Chekov stepped off the mid-range transport into the always-impressive terminal of Yorktown Starbase. More impressive, though, as far as they were concerned, was the Starship visible through Yorktown's clear walls, sitting majestically in one of the massive berths. Crowds of passengers from disembarking ships always paused there in wonder, and the three friends were no exception.

"She's gorgeous," Chekov breathed.

"The Enterprise," a passerby said, stopping beside them to gesture up at her. "Almost done, I hear. We'll miss seeing her when she's gone! She vanished about a week ago, and disappointed us all because we thought there would be a big show when they launched her. But then she was back a day later. They don't say anything, obviously. It's classified. But good bets are that they took her out to start her warp core. It's too dangerous to do that in the middle of two million people!"

"You live here?" Uhura asked politely.

"Three years!" the man responded cheerfully. "Best place in the Federation to live if you ask me, even with that attack two years ago." He gestured at the Starship. "Her crew saved us. Part of the reason they got her done so fast. The shipyard was very motivated to make a gift of her to James T. Kirk." The man nodded firmly and proudly. "Are you just visiting?"

"Briefly," Sulu answered.

"Starfleet," the man said knowingly. "You're not in uniform, but you live here long enough and you can start to tell." Then he looked harder at them. "You're Enterprise crew, aren't you? You are. I can see it in your eyes. The last Enterprise." He reached out and took their hands. "Thank you for saving my life," he said reverently.

"Our honor," Uhura said softly.

"They alway say that," the man said, his eyes sad, and walked away with a bow.

"That kind of thing happens around here, sometimes," a familiar voice said behind them.

"Scotty," Nyota breathed fondly, and turned to give him an enveloping hug, which he readily returned, then draped an arm over Chekov and Sulu's shoulders. He wasn't in the Starship red they were used to seeing, but Starbase grey, with Yorktown's patch on his shoulder.

"What d'ye think?" he said, smiling up at the ship.

"I don't think there are words," Nyota said softly.

"I certainly never have them," Scott agreed, giving the ship another lingering look. "Let's get you settled."

For all of their easy camaraderie, none of them had seen Scotty in a year and a half. In the first weeks following the disaster on Altamid, the surviving junior officers and crew of the late Starship Enterprise had scattered to the stars. New assignments, new postings, although many would return to the new ship when it was time. The seven members of the command crew, however, had returned to Earth, directly into endless debriefings, intense and difficult mandatory counseling, a short inquest which had resulted only in commendations, and a soul-crushing round of funerals as bodies were slowly recovered from the wreckage on Altamid—or memorials when there was nothing to bring home.

Scott's engineering department had taken the brunt of those losses. The secondary hull, sliced to pieces, had vented scores of personnel straight into space. The chief knew well that many of the rest of his missing people had been cut off from all routes to evacuation. Structural integrity gone, the secondary hull had largely burned up in the atmosphere, along with anyone who hadn't found their way out. At a quiet dinner hosted by the Sulus one evening, mostly drunk and still in his dress uniform from another service, Scotty had admitted that he had nearly met the same fate. Oldest of the command core by nearly a decade or considerably more, they'd watched his hair go noticeably silver during those months on Earth. While the rest of them found some comfort in being together in San Francisco, it had surprised no one when Scotty didn't come back from what was supposed to have been a week on New Vulcan, but bolted at the opportunity to get back to the emerging new Enterprise.

Starfleet had filled in the second stripe on this sleeve, a promotion good enough for Project Engineer, with the dangling temptation of the third stripe and Shipyard Commander at Yorktown. A promotion he'd never take, not with the Enterprise waiting, for all that Starfleet would have liked to keep their best theoretical physicist and design engineer far away from deep space. Kirk had been locked in a near-constant battle with Starfleet Engineering to keep him for the Enterprise until Spock had pulled out regulations to remind the Admiralty that assignments to active duty on a ship of the line had priority over other orders.

"They wanted tae stick you in officers quarters," Scotty said as they followed him through Yorktown's gleaming streets. "But there are plenty of nicer places on Yorktown, so I got you a B and B."

"Very nice," Uhura said approvingly when they arrived.

"Cheers, Seamus," Scott greeted the proprietor. "My mates, Hiraku, Pavel, and Nyota."

"Ah, the mystery guests!" the man said. "And not the only ones! There are Starfleet officers streaming in from everywhere. You're launching her soon, aren't you?"

"Classified, Seamus!" Scott said.

"Classified my arse, parked in plain view of a million people. The damn Klingons know you're launching by now."

"I take it you know each other?" Uhura said, amused.

"Aye, ma'am," Seamus said. "Scotty and I share an appreciation of old liquor, and a powerful urge to drink each other under the table. Which largely ends in a draw."

"Largely ends in us drunk," Scott snorted.

"That too. Your luggage is already upstairs," he said, turning his attention to his guests. "If you'd prefer to trade rooms, feel free, and the common area is entirely yours." He hesitated, then forged on. "You're … Enterprise, aren't you? Not just our fair lady out front. The other one. Thank you for your service," he said. "Please, go take a look at your rooms. The view is incredible."

Rooms inspected and declared perfect, they congregated for a few minutes more on the large balcony overlooking a twisting gravity drop.

"Where have you been living this whole time, Scotty?" Chekov asked.

"Mira's," he said simply. "Yorktown Archive is her permanent posting, and she bought an apartment. It …" he stared at his hands. "She wants me tae take a permanent assignment here at the shipyard. I'm nae going tae do that. Nae now; nae with the Enterprise sitting there. I moved out tae the ship yesterday. I'm leaving for five years." Scott shrugged ruefully. "That's hard as hell, and I'm a shite boyfriend, much less a long-distance one."

"Bring her to dinner tonight," Nyota said softly.

Scott shook his head. "She's on Beta shift this month. She has tomorrow off, so we have plans." He sighed. "Letting each other go."

"It doesn't have to be that way," Sulu said gently.

"Mira is as kind and patient and good as your Ben is," Scott agreed with a sad smile. "But I'm no' half the man you are, Hiraku."

"You're wrong," Sulu said fervently.

Scott shrugged, disagreeing. "Get settled and rest a bit, that shuttle in from Earth is brutal. I have a shift tae finish, then I'll come by and grab you for dinner at 1900."

Scotty was perfectly capable of living on protein nibs, reheated burritos, and two-day old sandwiches, but he preferred not to, and the restaurant he brought them to was excellent. Quieter than shore-leave fare—which was always about getting drunk and laid in more or less that order—this was the kind of hidden gem that the locals knew.

"How was your thesis defense, Doctor Chekov?" Scotty asked, after drinks had arrived and they were waiting for their meal.

"It went fine, thank you again for the sponsorship," he said, then sighed. "It was a leetle strange if I am being honest. There was the Nero thing, and then the Khan thing, and that was all bad enough. And when we finally came up for air after Altamid and the battle of Yorktown, it was like … I don't even know the word. We were ….?" he gestured helplessly at Uhura.

"Badass motherfuckers," she supplied, to choked laughter from Sulu. Scotty smiled faintly at her.

"That works," Chekov shrugged. "My thesis defense was closer to a book signing than a scientific inquiry."

"You should have seen my first lecture at the Academy," Uhura said, leaning forward and gesturing with her wine. "It was supposed to be a xenolinguistics seminar with twenty seniors. There were two hundred cadets and professors stuffed in there."

Sulu shook his head. "About the thousandth time I told the story about flying the Franklin off the cliff, I cashed out every hour of leave I had, and have been spending the days on the beach with Ben and Demora, where no one knows us," Sulu said. "Life on Earth is stupid."

"There is a wee bit of that here," Scott admitted. "More along the lines of what you saw today, though. They take it seriously on Yorktown. But then, they processed the bodies from the recovery here." He frowned and rolled his drink between his hands. "The recovery team actually found a piece of the secondary hull two weeks ago that hadnae burned up in the atmosphere. Main Engineering."

"I'd heard that," Uhura said gently.

"Six bodies," he continued, and angrily finished his scotch. "Six o' my people, or what was left of 'em. And I'm standing there beside Commodore Paris in dress grey, sending them home in boxes. Here on Yorktown, they say they can recognize Enterprise crew by the look in their eyes. Maybe so; I try nae tae look in the mirror that often. Two years later, and it still fucking hurts just the same." He sighed. "I need another drink," he said, standing and heading to the bar.

"I was worried about him being here alone," Sulu sighed. "For good reason."

"We are not the same as we were," Chekov argued. "None of us is. We cannot be."

"There's 'changed' and then there is 'still traumatized,'" Sulu countered.

"Give him a break, Hiraku," Uhura said. "A week ago he sent six of his kids home for closed-casket funerals. It was main engineering they found. And he's breaking up with his girlfriend tomorrow out of misplaced chivalry. He's allowed to be maudlin."

"Who's maudlin? Scott asked, sitting down again. "McCoy?"

"The usual 'five year mission, god I hate space.'" Uhura laughed. "I think he's genuinely confused how he got talked into this again."

"As if he could say no tae the Captain," Scotty said. Their food arrived and they murmured their thanks. "They grow most of it here," Scott explained, "although they have tae keep the Terran section sealed off. Earth pollen is apparently vicious on both environmental systems and non-Earth plants. The meat is imported, although they have a couple of animals in a little hobby farm for the school kids tae look at. So McCoy's grumpy," he continued, picking up the earlier thread. "How are the other two-thirds of our favorite trio?"

"Spock's been teaching, when he isn't hunkered down with Kirk planning the mission," Uhura said. "You think my lectures are ridiculous, they have to schedule him the largest lecture hall, and he gets applauded at the end of every class."

"Most illogical," Chekov supplied, and Scotty smiled at him.

"Spock's son was born early this year, on New Vulcan," Nyota continued. "Soren. He's beautiful. We've spent a couple months here and there with the baby and his mother. It's … good, Scotty. Really good. It's right. It works."

"I'm glad for yeh, and him," Scott said earnestly. "And Kirk?" Scotty raised his eyebrows when his friends all glanced hesitantly at each other.

"It depends which of the 'three Kirks' you're talking about, as you've put it in the past." Uhura said at last. "There's James T., world famous Starship Captain who can't go anywhere without being recognized. There's Kirk, the asshole." Scott snorted at the apt description. "And then Jim, our friend. It's mostly James T. these days, with occasional appearances by Kirk, although generally only when the Admiralty is being unreasonable. Jim appears only behind very closed doors."

"Does he know about our little surprise?" Scott asked.

"I don't think so," Sulu answered. "Leonard is the weak link, but I think he's afraid of what Spock would do to him if he spoiled it."

"Spock's onboard with it?" Scotty pressed.

"'The Captain is engaged in the details of preparation. It would be illogical to disturb him with information that may or may not come to pass,'" Uhura quoted. "So yes. He's practically giddy."

Scotty gave them the first genuine grin they'd seen since arriving, and there was the man who'd once stood in the bridge of the Enterprise, soaking wet, and declared it 'exciting,' "I cannae wait tae see the look on his face."

Commodore's Log, Starship Group One, Stardate 2264.363, from Yorktown Base. Note change in designation. Yorktown Shipyard Project 0006 re-designated to Starship Enterprise 1701-A. Godspeed, Enterprise.

Captain James T. Kirk stepped out into the garden for a breath of night air. Inside, there was music, and drink, and food. Although the Enterprise was still weeks away from completion, much less shakedown, the tasteful garden restaurant had been reserved for the evening for the first meeting of the crew. Just the senior officers—the department and sub-department heads, the assistant heads, and the command staff—about thirty people, starting to buzz with the anticipation of the mission.

He'd been circulating through, saying hello. This was the first time meeting many of the officers, and he was in full 'Captain' mode, especially because, other than McCoy and Spock, the senior staff seemed to be missing. It was harder than he'd imagined. He'd caught himself looking around for familiar faces before remembering that they were dead. He knew he wasn't the only one. There were ghosts walking here, and the old Enterprise crew felt it. Felt the loss, still. Probably always would.

As he'd feared, there was a division starting. He didn't begrudge the way that the officers of the late Enterprise congregated. The things they had lived through together had bonded them deeply. But there was a creeping feeling of 'us' and 'them' that he'd need to address. He'd hoped the party would help—drink together tonight and work together tomorrow—but it wasn't so far.

He lifted his face to the sky. The light pollution in a city like San Francisco was inevitable, but he could still pick out a few stars, plus Starbase One, always gleaming in geosynchronous orbit above the city.

McCoy strolled up behind him. "Happy birthday, Jim," he drawled.

"I'm feeling a little stood up," Kirk grumped. "None of this tonight is mandatory, and I knew Scotty wouldn't be here. But I expected Nyota, Hiraku, and Pavel!"

McCoy shrugged, and glanced over at Spock who had also joined them outside. "I know they've all been off world for a few weeks on short term assignments, but they promised they'd be here. Ah! Look, here they come."

And it was true, a laughing group was walking up the path, and Kirk smiled at them. Then he took a harder look and—

"Scotty, what the hell?" Kirk called out, a little concerned, grabbing the engineer's shoulder and shaking his hand. "I thought you were on Yorktown with our girl?"

"Aye," Scotty said. "I was. Got called back tae Earth a wee bit early. Seeing as how I was on Earth, and seeing as how it's your birthday, I thought I'd bring you two presents. First is this old and obscenely expensive bottle of scotch," he said, handing it over.

"Thanks, Scotty," Jim said appreciatively, lifting the bottle for everyone to see. "We'll open this tonight," he promised. Kirk turned back to Scott, a teasing eyebrow raised. "You said two presents?"

"Aye, I did," Scott said, and broke into an enormous grin. He handed Kirk a pair of long-range binoculars, and looked significantly up at the night sky. "Dock One."

It took a moment before understanding dawned. "Oh my god," Jim whispered, and lifted the binoculars to focus them on the Starbase. "Oh, my god, Scotty. She's in orbit!"

"Captain James T. Kirk," Scott said, and gestured at the command crew. "We have brought you the Federation Starship Enterprise."

"You all knew!" Kirk laughed, in disbelieving wonder.

"That's where we've been the last four weeks," Uhura said, taking Spock's hand. "They shipped the three of us out to Yorktown to bring her home under Scotty. I knew Spock could keep it a secret. Wasn't so sure about Leonard," she teased.

Jim handed the binoculars to Spock, and slapped a hand on Scott's back. "Four weeks early?" he asked in wonder. A shout had gone up inside the restaurant, and the rest of the assembled officers started to pour out as the word spread.

"I'm opening this," McCoy announced loudly over the commotion, holding up the bottle of scotch.

"Hell yes," Scotty exclaimed. "That's why I brought it. The Yorktown crew is damn good," he continued, answering Kirk's question. "And after … everything," he waved a vague hand, "they wanted tae get her done early for you, sir. But it's more than that. She just wanted tae be born. Every time I expected tae have an issue, thought I'd have tae chase a glitch for three weeks, she just came together, smooth as you like. She's ready tae go."

The gathering shifted abruptly from a professional meet-and-greet to a party, as the officers of the Enterprise, old and new, bonded together in the giddy realization that their ship was in the sky. They slapped their Captain on the back: congratulations, sir! happy birthday, sir! and broke into increasingly drunken out-of-tune renditions of the Happy Birthday song as sung on at least six planets. Kirk knew that he would be buying the restaurant's entire stock of liquor tonight. Sometime approaching dawn, with the last glass of Scotty's scotch in his hand, Jim Kirk stood up on a table.

"The Enterprise!" he called, gesturing to the sky, and those who knew him best knew that he was speaking of both of them.

"The Enterprise!" his crew roared back. With the word, Kirk felt the ghosts of his old crew leave him, going their ways to rest in peace. New ship, new crew, new mission.

Forward.