Chapter 18: Departure

Dawn sat next to Uhura at the communications console, she watched as Jim sat there resisting the urge to tap his fingers on the armrest. She could sense that he was nervous, aggravated and upset. She looked toward Buffy who fidgeted. She understood why, Jim had kept the Enterprise in the docking bay as long as he could, and far longer than he wished to.

"Captain Kirk," Lieutenant Uhura said drawing Dawn and Buffy's attention, "Spacedock Control sends its compliments and asks if you would like to make a reservation for a time of departure."

"Send my compliments to Control—correction, address my compliments to Admiral Noguchi at Spacedock Control, and request a departure clearance for ... sixteen hundred."

"Aye, captain."

Uhura relayed the message.

"Control reports that they have logged sixteen hundred as departure time for Enterprise," Uhura said.

"Very good, Lieutenant Uhura," Jim said. "Thank you." He rose and looked at Buffy. "Commander, you have the bridge. I'll be in my quarters."

"Aye, sir," Buffy said as Jim left the bridge.

Dawn stood and followed Jim into the turbolift before the doors closed. As Jim selected his destination he looked at her. "Commander?"

"I can sense how nervous you are," she said. "And a little aggravated and even upset."

Jim sighed. "I'm delaying to give Doctor McCoy time to arrive."

"He hasn't checked in yet?" Dawn asked.

"No," he said. "And you …"

"Yes, I agree," Dawn said. "The Chief Medical Officer should be onboard in case something happens."

They stepped out of the turbolift and headed down the corridor and into Jim's cabin.

Jim opened a private communications line. They received no answer when they called McCoy's Macon, Georgia, apartment. McCoy's club had no idea where he might be.

"Possibly an old friend might know," Dawn offered.

Jim nodded and he called an old friend of McCoy's, an adviser from medical school, Dr. Chhay. The distinctive electronic voice of a brand-name concierge answered the call.

"One moment, please. I will see if Dr. Chhay is free."

The doctor's image appeared.

"Hello," she said. "It's—Commander Kirk, is it not? Leonard's friend."

"Yes, ma'am," Jim said. "It's captain now."

"Congratulations."

"And this beautiful young woman?" Chlay asked.

"Commander Dawn Summers," Dawn replied.

"A pleasure."

"I'm sorry to bother you. I just wondered if you'd seen Leonard recently," Jim asked.

"No, I haven't. The last time I saw him was when we all had dinner together. Can it have been over a year ago?"

"Yes, ma'am, almost two years now."

"Is he, all right?"

"Yes, ma'am, I'm sure he is. He's just ... momentarily misplaced."

Her glance combined doubt with mild amusement. "Surely Jocelyn knows where he is."

"I don't think so—I mean," Jim said quickly, "I haven't reached her yet."

"Give him my regards when you see him, captain," Dr. Chhay said. "We must all get together again sometime."

"Yes," Jim said. "I will. Good idea. Thanks."

"Good-bye, captain, commander," she said.

"Good-bye, Dr.—" He let his voice trail off, for her image had faded from the screen.

"Who is Jocelyn?" Dawn asked.

"McCoy's ex-wife," Jim said.

"Maybe it's time to see about getting someone else," Dawn suggested.

Jim looked at Dawn. "How is your medical training?"

Dawn sighed, she knew she would be his first candidate. After all, as Ship's Counselor she had to go through medical school as well.

"I do hold an M.D. alongside my PH. D in Psychology," Dawn replied.

"Consider yourself Chief Medical Officer till McCoy can be found."

0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0

The white-water raft crunched against the shore. Leonard McCoy dismounted from the boat's inflated rubber side, shouting with surprise and blowing out his breath as he landed up to his knees in the frigid water of the Colorado.

McCoy and the others grabbed the lines, dragged the raft onto the beach, and shed their life jackets.

Then they fell into each other's arms, laughing and crying, energetic and exhausted, elated to have made it, sad to have reached the end of the trip.

They started to take off their wet suits. The hot gravelly sand drove the cold from their feet. They dug through the boat bag, looking for canvas shoes worn ragged in only two weeks' time.

McCoy shed the wet suit like a reluctantly discarded skin, smiling at the metaphorical aspects of his actions. Under it he wore a thin shirt and a pair of rumpled, ragged Bermuda shorts. Both had been new when he set out. Neither was fit to be seen in anymore, anywhere but here.

"Jean-Paul," he said.

The guide gave him a warm hug. "It's okay," he said. "Go join your ship. But don't think you can get off so easy next time! Next time you stay and learn to pack the boat." He grinned. "I'll make a guide of you yet."

McCoy hesitated, then raised his hand in farewell to them all, turned, and sprinted toward the office.

The manager glanced up as he entered. "Ah," he said. "You're a bit late. Everyone make it?"

"Made it just fine. Use your comm?"

The manager nodded at the battered unit on his desk.

McCoy called the Enterprise. He fumed at the delay of getting a ground-to-space frequency. Why hadn't he brought along his communicator?

Then he thought, you didn't bring your communicator on purpose. For one thing, it's against the rules. For another, you can't hear it beep and not answer it. Don't let the universe drag you back into its modern state of hyperactivity.

"Enterprise, Lieutenant Uhura here."

"This is Leonard McCoy, chief medical officer. What's the plan?"

"Dr. McCoy! What is your transporter coordinates?"

"I have absolutely no idea," he said.

The manager recited a set of numbers.

"Stand by to beam on board," Uhura said.

The cool tingle of dislocation caught him and sucked him away.

0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0

"Lieutenant Uhura, open a channel to Starfleet Command," Jim said as he stepped out on the bridge.

"Aye, captain," she said.

"Captain," Buffy said, "Lieutenant Uhura just received a comm from Dr. McCoy. I ordered he be beamed up immediately. He should be in the transporter room by now."

Jim leaned rested his hands on the back of the captain's seat, on either side of Buffy's head. "Cancel that last order," he said offhand, keeping his voice calm. "I'll see Dr. McCoy on the bridge. And notify Commander Dawn Summers, she no longer is needed as Chief Medical Officer."

"Yes, captain." Uhura relayed the message. "He says he'll be up as soon as he's stopped in his cabin, sir."

"Tell Dr. McCoy," Jim said, "that I'll see him on the bridge right now." He looked to Buffy. "Commander."

Buffy nodded as she stood up. "Of course, Captain," she said as Jim took his seat.

When the turbo-lift doors slid open, Jim and Buffy both turned and saw first Dawn and then McCoy step out on to the bridge.

McCoy, all innocence, said, "You wanted to see me, captain?"

Jim leapt up. "Good lord, Bones!" He stopped, aware of the startled silence that had fallen over the bridge. He detected an amused glint in McCoy's eye. "Please come with me, Dr. McCoy. We have ship's business to conduct. Commander Summers, take the conn. Prepare for departure at sixteen hundred."

"Mind if I join you, Captain," Dawn said as Jim strode past her and McCoy.

"Granted," he replied as Dawn fell in step with him and McCoy.

"That was Dr. McCoy?" Lieutenant Uhura said as the lift doors closed.

"That was Dr. McCoy," Spock said. "The new chief medical officer."

"I hope he's all right," Uhura said. "He looked like he'd been in an accident."

"It appears to me from his clothes and the sunburn," Buffy said. "That he may have simply been at the beach."

0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0

In the turbo-lift, Jim glared at McCoy.

"Be mindful," Dawn said at the feelings of both relief and anger she felt from Jim.

Jim looked to Dawn and nodded in understanding. He knew it would take some time to get used to someone who could sense your emotions. "Bones, what happened to you?"

"Nothing." McCoy glanced at himself as if noting for the first time how he was dressed. "Why? Don't you like the newest fashion?"

"It's—" Jim looked McCoy up and down. "Not quite—how shall I put it—the thing on a starship."

"You didn't give me a chance to change. I did try, you know." He reached down and took off one ragged shoe. A handful of sand slid from it and scattered onto the deck. He took off his other shoe and brushed the rest of the sand from his bare feet.

"Bones, where were you?" Jim asked. "What did you do to your leg? I was about to send out the hounds. You were supposed to report two days ago!"

"I know. And I missed your party." McCoy ran his fingers through his tangled hair, pushing it back.

"Where were you? I nearly had to report you missing!"

"Relax, Jim, I'm here, aren't I? I was on vacation. At your insistence, as I recall."

"I know that."

"I went on a river trip. Once we reached the border, I got here so fast I didn't even help fold the boat."

"Fold the boat?"

"Sure. It's rubber; you need to rinse it off and deflate it and fold it up when you're done with it."

"You rode down a river in a rubber boat?"

"That's the idea."

"The sun must have gotten to you."

"I went to the Grand Canyon," McCoy said. His enthusiasm spilled over and obliterated the sparring. "White-water rafting. Have you ever tried it?"

"No."

"I have," Dawn said. "I even did the Grand Canyon once. Best time I had."

McCoy smiled as he looked at Dawn. "It's unbelievable, isn't it?" he asked and she nodded. "He looked back at Jim. "We're traipsing off to the far corners of the universe, while there are incredible places on our own planet that we haven't even seen. Jim, it's something you've got to experience!"

"That's what you said about mint juleps," Jim said. "What did you do to your leg? And none of this explains why you didn't let me know you were going to be late. You could have saved me having to give a lot of evasive answers."

"The canyon's a historical preservation area. Comm units are forbidden, even primitives like radios and wrist phones."

"That's barbaric," Jim said. "You paid for this?"

"I paid extra for it!" McCoy said.

"That's the whole point of rafting the Grand Canyon," Dawn said," is the experience. You are figuratively stepping back in time. No communications with the outside world. Reminds me of home, actually, in a way."

"Home?" Jim and McCoy asked.

Dawn smiled. "You both have clearance to mine and Buffy's files. So, I will just tell you. "I am two hundred and seventy-nine years old. Buffy is two hundred and eighty-five."

"That's impossible," McCoy said.

"Buffy and I are what are called Millennials," Dawn explained. "There is usually only one in each millennium. Though I met a Sulliban Millennial during John's stint as the NX-01's captain. So, it's probably one per inhabited planet. It's how I'm an empath. I'm supposed to feel the weight of the world's emotions. It's why I was on John's Enterprise for a tour and why Buffy and I pulled in some favors for a tour on this Enterprise. I can only take so much of feeling everyone's emotions in the world. Off world, I will be limited to just this ship."

"You say one," Jim said. He wasn't sure what he believed he would have to check hers and Buffy's files first of course. "But you said your sister …"

"Buffy," Dawn said. "Is accompanying me, it was my request when I was told I would live for one thousand years. She was given the lifespan I have but not the added gifts."

The lift stopped in officers' territory. McCoy got out. "It was a great vacation, Jim," he said bringing Jim and Dawn's attention back to their original conversation. He too would check on the records Dawn had mentioned before he would believe what she said.

"It doesn't sound great to me. It sounds like you need a vacation to recover from your vacation. I wish you'd left word—" Jim said as the lift doors tried to close. He put his hand in the way of the sensor.

"I didn't want to be tracked down!" McCoy said, an edge in his voice. "I didn't want to be able to call for help and get it. I wanted to see if I could do something for myself for a while, without a safety net. Can you understand that, Jim?"

Taken aback, Jim hesitated. "Yes," he said. "Yes, I do understand that. I'm sorry I jumped down your throat. I was worried. It made me mad."

"Apology accepted. Do I have time to bathe and change before I have to get to work?"

"No, but I think you'd better bathe and change anyway. And do something about that stubble."

"I was thinking of growing a beard."

Jim grinned. "There's no rule against silliness, even in Starfleet."

"Please use the turbolift in a courteous fashion," the computer said. "Please free the lift doors."

"I wish they'd make a rule against talking elevators."

"See you later."

Already walking down the corridor, McCoy raised his hand in acknowledgment, then abruptly turned back.

"Jim—"

Jim shoved his hand between the lift doors again. They sighed open. A warning signal made a couple of abortive buzzes. Its next noise would be an ear-splitting shriek.

"Just how far did you go in trying to track me down?"

Jim looked to Dawn as if to say, say nothing. He took his hand away from the sensor just as the alarm began in earnest. "You don't want to know," he said, and let the doors close between them.

"Probably for the best," Dawn said. "I know you probably want to check mine and Buffy's records. Buffy is in command at the moment. Now would be a good time to do it."

Jim looked at Dawn and nodded.

0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0

Buffy watched from the center seat as Sulu flexed his hands nervously. She glanced towards Dawn, who had relayed orders from Jim to take the ship out upon the requested time. She had half expected Jim to be on the bridge for this himself, but he must have been still in his cabin going over hers and Dawn's Starfleet files. "Mr. Sulu!" she said.

Sulu wrenched the Enterprise to port, overcompensated, and had to drag the ship out of the threat of spin and tumble. The ship quivered in his hands, as delicate as a solar-powered sailboat. He gulped.

The intercom burst into activity as every department in the ship demanded to know what had happened.

Buffy stood and walked over to Sulu. She placed a hand on his shoulder. "You can do this," she said. "Just relax."

Buffy glanced toward Dawn who nodded from where she sat at the Engineering console.

"Mr. Scott on comm," Dawn replied flipping a switch.

"Mr. Scott," Buffy said. "Damage report."

"The engines, the housings—they're no' designed for such use—"

Sulu called on the impulse engines. They delivered the faintest thrust to the ship, just enough acceleration to press it toward the Spacedock doors.

"What's the damage, Mr. Scott?" Buffy said again.

"Well, sir, there isna any damage, if ye put it—"

"Very good, Mr. Scott. Carry on."

The Enterprise cleared the dock. Space opened out before it.

A twinge of dizziness swirled before Sulu's eyes. He released his breath, wondering when he had begun holding it.

Dawn glanced toward Buffy and then toward Sulu.

Buffy nodded. "Relax, you can do it," she repeated.

"Yes, sir."

"Navigator, plot a course to Starbase 13—" Buffy said.

Sulu applied reverse thrust to the Enterprise and brought it almost to a standstill, relative to Spacedock.

Collision warnings sounded. Sulu acknowledged them and shut them off. "Sailboat, commander." Sulu increased the magnification on the viewscreen. Off their port bow, a solar powered boat sped across their path. Hundreds of times the size of its capsule, the sail showed its nearly invisible black surface to the Enterprise. It tacked. The gilded side of the sail reflected a bright crescent across the Enterprise's sensors.

The viewscreen damped the intensity of the light.

"I see it, Mr. Sulu," Buffy said. "Good work. Whoever is aboard her has more nerve than sense."

"And in human-controlled regions, such as this one," Mr. Spock said, "that person has the right of way as well."

Buffy rolled her eyes as the tension faded from the bridge. The sailboat passed very close before them. After it cleared their path, Sulu set the Enterprise under way.

"Course to Starbase 13 entered, commander," the navigator said.

"The Enterprise is clear of traffic and cleared for warp speed, commander," Sulu said.

"Warp factor one, Mr. Sulu," Buffy replied.

"Warp factor one, sir."

The Enterprise sped majestically toward the stars.

0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0

Dawn met McCoy on the way to Jim's cabin. "You look better, Doc."

"Thanks," McCoy said. "I reviewed yours and your sister's files. Quite interesting read actually. While I am skeptical of course, I have to admit that it has to be true. Why would Starfleet go to such lengths to classify yours and her files if they were a fabrication?"

"I can give you a demonstration in a safe area," Dawn said.

"I think that would be wise," McCoy agreed. "Plus allow me to examine you. The electrical energy you can house and discharge means …"

"That I have a biological way of storing it," Dawn finished. "My medical files should be attached …"

"They were," McCoy said. "But I would like to see it for myself."

"Not a problem," Dawn said as they stopped in front of Jim's cabin.

McCoy knocked on the door of the cabin.

"Come." The voice sounded tired, aggravated, impatient.

"He feels just like he sounds," Dawn said as the door opened and they strode in.

"Your guests are waiting," McCoy said.

Jim looked up bleary-eyed from the comm screen. He had been going over Buffy and Dawn's records with a fine-tooth comb. "My guests?"

"Amelinda and her company," Dawn said. "You told Ame that …"

"Ame?" Jim said as he looked to Dawn. "You know her." He looked back at the comm screen and flipped through the file to familial relations. He found no direct connect to Lukarian. But on closer inspection he found Dawn and Buffy indeed know Lukarian. "Her daughter is your goddaughter!"

"Yes," Dawn said. "Amelinda is descended from an old family friend by the name of Willow Rosenberg who died in twenty eighty-five."

"Why didn't you or your sister tell me that?" Jim asked as he stood. "My first meeting …"

"Could have gone better," Dawn said with a nod. "I know. To tell the truth it was more amusing to pretend not to know her. Anyways you told Ame that you would have dinner with them."

"Oh, lord!" Jim jumped up. "I lost track. I don't believe it."

McCoy noticed the other items of interest on Jim's desk. Namely large amounts of paperwork. "What is all this?"

"It's, you know—" Jim waved his hands. "Paperwork. Of which I am behind," he looked at Dawn, "after reviewing your records."

"Why are you doing it?" McCoy wondered.

"It has to be done," Jim said, then, defensively, "I always do it. But I never had quite so much of it before."

"Where's your yeoman?"

"I don't have one."

"You don't have one?" Dawn said with disbelief. Even she had one while on Earth. Being able to sense the world's emotions left her at times unable to do anything else. It's why she had wanted to leave Earth for awhile.

"I've never had a yeoman," Jim told her.

"You were never captain of the Enterprise before," McCoy said.

"I don't want a yeoman. I don't need somebody fussing over me and sticking things under my nose to sign and being sure the synthesizer put the right stripes on my shirt."

McCoy drew up a chair and straddled it. "Jim, permit your old Uncle Bones to give you some friendly advice. You're commanding twice as many people as you ever have before. Starfleet paperwork increases in geometric—maybe even logarithmic—proportion to the size of the crew."

"He has a point," Dawn agreed. "I have one when on Earth," she smiled when McCoy and Jim looked at her. "Sensing the world's emotions can at times be a little too much. I can only handle so much. And when it gets to be too much my yeoman helps Buffy with the everyday duties that I would normally do. Before you say will be all right as soon as you get caught up. You won't. I tried for a long time without a yeoman. I never got caught up."

"I suppose you have a magical solution," Jim said.

"Get a yeoman," Dawn said. "Now before you lose your sanity. Go down to quartermaster's office, pick out a likely person, and promote them."

"It'll take me more time to train somebody to do this than it would to do it myself," Jim said.

"Not in the long run. Not if you pick somebody with more than half a brain," McCoy offered.

"Ever since I came on board this ship, people have been telling me to surrender gracefully," Jim said with a glance at Dawn who smiled.

"What?" McCoy said looking at both Jim and Dawn.

Jim sighed. "I said—I'll try it. On a temporary basis."

"Good," Dawn said. "Now come on."

"If you think a feeble excuse like work will save you from what the synthesizer has laughingly billed 'dinner,' you've got another think coming," McCoy said.

Dawn and McCoy led Jim to the mess hall and to Lukarian and Buffy.

"Ame," Jim said.

"You told him?" Buffy asked with a shake of her head.

"Slipped out," Dawn said. "Besides with a little research he found the connection anyways. It is after all in our files that Ame's daughter is our goddaughter."

"Anyways," Jim said. "I'm terribly sorry. Ship's business—I hope you and your company will forgive my inexcusable tardiness—"

An older man broke in before Lukarian could reply. "If your tardiness is inexcusable, then how do you expect us to forgive it?"

"Of course I forgive you, Jim, don't be silly." Lukarian glared at the older man. "Mr. Cockspur was just joking."

"You youngsters are far too cavalier with the language," Mr. Cockspur said. "We should all endeavor to speak precisely."

Buffy rolled her eyes as she caught Lukarian's eye, who nodded at her in understanding.

"Let me introduce you, Jim, Dawn," Lukarian said, she had already introduced the people of her company to Buffy. "A few people had to leave. You've already met Mr. Cockspur, our neo-Shakespearean actor."

Lukarian introduced Philomela Thetis, a tall, elegant, heavy-set woman; the tap-dancing team of Greg and Maris; and Marcellin, the mime.

Everyone greeted Jim in a friendly fashion. Jim followed by Dawn and McCoy went to get some dinner, but found the synthesizer closed and blinking, "Down for repair," he said.

"Count your blessings," McCoy said. "You wouldn't have liked it, whatever you got. If you could tell what you got."

"By the way, Ame," Jim said when they sat with Lukarian, her company and Buffy, "you don't mind me calling you Ame do you?" Lukarian shook her head. "We got a greeting from—" He stopped, becoming aware of Mr. Cockspur's expression of indignation.

"I was telling of my sojourn in Lisbon," Mr. Cockspur said.

"Do go on," Jim said, trying to be polite.

"As I said, the performance was a triumph ..."

And he did go on. No one let alone Jim got a chance to talk to Lukarian that evening at all.