Almost an hour later, Jim said, "Last question," and pointed to a human male in the second row.
"Do you think of your father as a hero? And if so, do you think heroism runs in the family?"
Jim tensed at the question, so different from the others he'd been asked. The other questions had to do with day-to-day life aboard ship, types of missions, things he'd expected. This came from nowhere.
Pike must have noticed his distress, because he started forward. "That's inappropriate -"
Jim held up a hand to cut off Pike's protest. "No, it's a legitimate question. I just wasn't expecting it."
The auditorium was silent except for the low hum of the climate control system and the occasional rustle of fabric. Jim blew out a breath and met the cadet's gaze without flinching.
"When you look at the facts objectively," Jim said, "of course he was a hero, and I'm proud to be his son. Looking at the same facts subjectively, there've been days I wish I had my father instead, and there are still days I hate him for what he did. As to whether it runs in the family -" Jim paused and surveyed the room "- that's not for me to judge. Thank you."
He stepped back from the podium to let Pike handle the handful of questions about his lecture. Before he could be swarmed by cadets with just one more question, Captain, Jim straightened and put on his captain's expression and demeanor. More clearly than words, it conveyed do not approach unless it's a crisis - and you do know what a crisis is, don't you?
As the auditorium emptied, Jim let out a silent breath and with it, he hoped, the tension that had settled between his shoulders for some reason. It wasn't speaking in front of a crowd that had done it, Jim knew that - hell, he'd faced more terrifying situations since the time he ran his father's antique Corvette off a cliff in Iowa - but he was completely at a loss as to what else might have caused that sudden tension.
"It's a bitch, isn't it?"
Jim looked over at Pike's casual question. "What is?"
"Living up to your own reputation, not just your father's."
"I'm pretty sure that reputation has been exaggerated," Jim replied. "Both of them, actually."
Pike grinned at that and said, "I'm sure you didn't come here just to upstage me at my own lecture."
Jim ducked his head. "Sorry."
Pike studied him for a moment. "Concerns about the mission?"
Jim frowned at him. "You know -?"
"See these?" Pike nodded to the insignia on the epaulets of his uniform. "They say admiral, as in the Admiralty, remember?"
Jim chuckled. "Yeah, well, Komack swore us to secrecy. I figured that extended to the rest of the Admiralty, too." He looked up as the auditorium door opened and a pair of cadets came in - presumably for an eight a.m. class. "Someplace we can talk privately?"
"I have real coffee."
Jim fought the sudden anticipation moistening his mouth. "I've been told that taking a desk job is not for me," he said. "But if desk jobs come with real coffee, I might have to reconsider."
"Uh-huh," Pike said. "My office is this way."
When he left Pike's office, Jim realized he needed to brush up on Federation politics - at least enough to bullshit his way through the various formal events that would likely take place during this mission. The best place to start, he decided, was with the president herself.
Jim hadn't bothered to vote in the last election. It had been during the months after the Narada incident, and he'd been so busy with coursework the Academy insisted he finish - they'd decided that commanding the Enterprise during a successful defense of Earth counted toward completion of the required Advanced Starship Tactics course, but refused to credit that same experience toward Organizational Behavior or Personnel Planning, Development and Appraisal - and overseeing the Enterprise's refit that the first he'd even realized there'd been an election was when the people around him started talking about Sarika Kiraly's upset victory.
Good for her, he'd thought, and dived back into his duties.
Now, while he waited for her to beam aboard, Jim scanned a news archive to try to bring himself up to date.
Which didn't take as long as he'd expected. With a groan, he shoved his datapad into its place in the armrest of the captain's chair.
"Are you well, Captain?" Spock asked.
"Well enough," Jim answered absently.
"Should you see Dr. McCoy?"
That made Jim chuckle. "No, Spock. I'm just frustrated."
Spock rose from his station and came to stand beside him. "What is the source of your frustration?"
"I was just catching up on Federation politics. Nothing's changed since we left, except a couple of the names."
Spock tilted his head fractionally to one side. "What did you expect would have changed?"
"More hope than expectation," Jim admitted. Before he could say anything else, Uhura spoke from her station.
"Captain." She sounded puzzled. "I'm receiving a request for a diplomatic party to board." She turned to him. "I thought we were picking up the diplomats on New Vulcan."
Jim glanced at the chronometer. He'd been told the president would beam aboard between eleven and twelve, and the chronometer read 1113. "At least they're punctual."
"Indeed," Spock said.
"Tell them five minutes, please, Lieutenant, and ask Yeoman Rand to meet me in the transporter room." Jim toggled the intercom on his chair. "Bridge to Engineering. Report, Scotty?"
"I kicked the last of the Starbase lads out a while ago, Captain," Scotty replied. "We're ready to depart."
"Good job," Jim said. "Kirk out. Mr. Sulu."
"Yes, Captain?"
"Confirm with Starbase One. I want us cleared to leave in ten minutes."
"Aye, sir."
Jim rose from the chair and looked at Spock. "You have the conn."
"Aye, Captain."
As the turbolift doors swooshed closed, Jim heard Uhura asking, "What's going on, Spock? Who are we picking up?"
Jim sensed Spock's reply through their bond. "I will be at liberty to inform you once the transport is complete."
Yeoman Rand was waiting for him outside the transporter room.
"Sorry for the short notice," he told her, "but you'll have a few more people to arrange accommodation for."
"How many is a few, Captain?" she asked as they entered the transporter room.
"One VIP. Beyond that, we'll know when they beam up."
Rand frowned, the expression making her features unusually severe. "That's hardly protocol, Captain."
"It is for this mission," Jim said. He glanced at the transporter tech on duty. "Whenever they're ready, Ensign."
"They report ready in three. Two. One."
Jim straightened to attention as four figures solidified on the platform. Three men, who he assumed were the presidential security detail, and the president. Beside him, he heard Rand's gasp, and then she, too, was standing at attention.
"I believe the proper phrase is, permission to come aboard?" President Kiraly asked, her voice soft but commanding.
"Yes, ma'am, and welcome," Jim said. "I'm Captain Kirk, and this is Yeoman Rand. She's your contact for anything you might need while you're aboard."
"A pleasure, Yeoman." The president stepped down from the transporter pad. "As is being here. I've never been aboard a starship before."
"Would you like to be on the bridge for departure?"
She smiled, and a couple of decades dropped away from her.
"Yeoman, will you escort the rest of her party to their quarters?"
"Yes, sir. This way, gentlemen."
One of the men - the one Jim suspected was in charge - frowned, but President Kiraly waved him on.
"Surely I'm perfectly safe aboard the Federation's flagship."
"Yes, ma'am," he said, and with a nod of his head, gathered the other two to follow Rand.
Jim confirmed with the transporter technician that the presidential party's bags had been beamed aboard via the cargo transporter, then gestured for President Kiraly to precede him from the room.
"It's an ambitious mission you've set yourself, Madam President," Jim said as they made their way to the turbolift.
"A necessary one," she said. "If we don't act soon, the Romulan people will be destroyed."
"In a century or so," Jim said, "assuming the star is unstable in this timeline."
Kiraly smiled. "As I said, soon. Even if this mission is successful, we can't expect the Romulan people to assimilate overnight."
"I hope it is successful."
Kiraly arched an eyebrow at him. "Truly?"
Jim hit the button for the bridge. "Why does that surprise you?"
"You are Starfleet - I would think the last thing a military organization wants is peace."
"We're descended from Terran naval forces, yes, but we're not strictly speaking a military organization," Jim said, and fought to keep his disappointment and, yes, anger, at her lack of understanding from his tone. "Our mission is, in part, to seek out new life and new civilizations. We hope those will be peaceful, but sometimes they're not, and so we have to defend ourselves and the Federation, but it's not our primary purpose."
"Hmm."
Jim was oddly grateful he hadn't voted in the election - if all politicians were as ignorant as this one seemed to be, he'd rather none of them were in office. Thankfully, the turbolift doors opened onto the bridge just then, so he was spared the need to make further conversation.
He knew exactly when Chekov recognized his companion by the break in the ensign's voice. "Keptin on ze… bridge."
Jim paused to allow President Kiraly to join him, intentionally keeping his crew at attention for the moment.
"Madam President, may I present the finest crew in Starfleet." Jim heard the pride in his own tone and smiled. It was simply the truth. "Our orders are to get underway immediately, so formal introductions will have to wait. As you were."
As normal activity resumed, he stepped down toward the center seat. "Status, Mr. Spock?"
"Pre-flight checklist completed, Captain."
Jim nodded an acknowledgment and turned to President Kiraly. "My executive officer and science officer, Commander Spock."
Spock inclined his head. "Madam President."
She nodded in return, still surveying the bridge with wonder. Jim thought that maybe it wasn't only his crew that might be a little star-struck.
Still, right now he had orders to follow. He took the seat Spock vacated, and toggled his all-call. "All decks, this is Captain Kirk. Prepare for immediate departure." He thumbed the switch and looked to Sulu. "Helm, thrusters."
"Moorings retracted," Sulu reported. "Dock control reports ready. Thrusters fired…. Separating from spacedock."
Jim had only watched the separation twice before, and the sight of the stars apparently shifting as the Enterprise seemed to fall away from her moorings brought to mind lines from a poem he'd read once.
I must go down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky,
And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by.
The poet had been speaking of a water-navy life, but Jim thought he'd appreciate that his words also applied to starship captains.
"We are clear of spacedock, Captain," Sulu said, and Jim attributed the extra formality in his tone to the presence of their guest. "Ready for warp."
"Set course for New Vulcan."
"Aye, sir. Course laid in."
"Warp six, Lieutenant."
There was no shudder of engines, no tremor to suggest that they'd suddenly jumped to well beyond lightspeed. The only sign that anything had changed was that the stars on the screen became wavy and indistinct as the ship's computers tried to match the view to what their sensors were recording.
"Warp six," Sulu confirmed. "Estimated arrival at New Vulcan in five days, three hours."
The words brought Jim's focus back to the present, and he suppressed a sigh. Five days with a president who didn't understand his job, his mission, his calling.
Just remember, he told himself, it could be worse.
