Jim was leaning back in his chair on the fly bridge of Harris's ship. Fine wine and good food had mellowed his mood. They were currently travelling at 20 knots, fast enough to get somewhere but slow enough to enjoy the scenery. Travelling southward on the Hecate Strait meant he saw vistas of the northern temperate rain forest with its huge redwoods and cedars. Every so often a mountain glacier would calve off a large chunk of ice into the dark water. They passed fingers of fjords that stretched inland, obscured by mist and fog.
There was something about wind in the face that gave the illusion of speed. Jim Kirk understood the impulse that took sailors of old across vast expanses of water to destinations unknown, using only their wits and limited tools. For any man to climb hand-over-hand, hundreds of feet above a pitching deck, on a dark night in a howling gale, to reef a sail and save the ship from capsizing - that was frigging amazing. Extraordinary effort or death. The choice was simple.
He also understood the captain of the old navy ship of the line. Command was a two edged sword. Any captain's ability to command was based on his ability to be in control. Confidence in the leader was only as good as the last order given. In a crisis, no confidence in leadership meant cohesion failed and so was the ability to pull together for the common good.
That historic navy captain was isolated from his crew by the demands of outrageous expectations. He had no contact with land. Navigating was by sun and star using crude sextants and calculating equations with paper and pencil. Ancient chronometers were mechanical devices affected by humidity and temperature. An overcast day or a faulty chronometer or an error in calculation - all meant the difference between avoiding a reef and grounding a ship. His orders were months old. Despite all that, those amazing sailors from another time persisted and triumphed.
Thoughts like this ran through Jim's head as he watched the man across the table. The rest of the Star Fleet and Federation guests had vacated the vessel a day ago. He was the last one remaining. Harris invited him to sail to Seattle with him. Jim had accepted. He was in no hurry to get back to San Francisco. Officially, he was still on medical leave until Bones said otherwise. True, McCoy would be annoyed at his prolonged absence from Star Fleet Medical but Jim felt fine. To be honest, he felt better than he could remember but he chalked that up to the lack of duty and responsibility. And the truly amazing meal Harris's staff conjured up.
Harris had invited Jim to dine with him on the fly bridge of the ship. It was a meal of local delicacies. He couldn't decide which was better - the wine, the food or the view.
At Harris's prompting, Jim retold his experiences with the Narada and the more recent experience with the Vengeance. Harris listened intently, interjecting with comments that helped Jim put into context the nature of the orders given to him by Star Fleet and Federation Council. He obviously understood the inner workings of power. Jim was impressed. Was there no one or nothing, this man didn't know?
Later, over a glass of 40 year tawny Port, Harris asked for Jim's thoughts on the species who resided in the nearby universe - Andorians, Orions, Vulcans, to name a few. Jim found it gratifying to have a man of Harris's obvious stature listen to his ideas. Bones, Scotty and especially Spock tended to nit pick every order, question his every move. Spock got him fired. Bones tended to belly-ache at every suggestion. Scotty fucking quit on him. Jeez, maybe what he needed was new friends. He tipped back his glass.
"The Klingons?" asked Harris. He aerated the Port with a gentle swirl.
Jim paused. His only direct experience with Klingons had been the events on Qo'noS only a couple months back. He thought how badly they were being beaten until Khan showed up.
"Formidable," he said.
"What about war?" said Harris.
"It would be costly." Jim watched Harris closely.
"To win, we would need to strike first, hard and quick. Strength is all they understand," said Harris.
Maybe thought Jim. Out loud he said, "Perhaps we should concentrate on normalizing relations."
"Can an eagle normalize relations with salmon? A predator is a predator."
"There is no motive for conflict."
"Motives can manufactured like piece of furniture. By either side," said Harris. He signalled to the steward to clear the table. The conversation was over.
Before Harris left, he turned and said, "We dock tomorrow in Seattle. I have an extensive collection of antique Corvettes at my place there. Have you ever driven one?"
"Just once," said Jim. He suddenly grinned at Harris. This guy had fucking amazing toys.
Star Fleet Headquarters, San Francisco
"I need to get to London." McCoy burst into the room where Spock was meeting with the engineering firm re-fitting Enterprise.
"Carry on," said Spock. He stepped out into hallway and closed the door behind him. "Why did you interrupt my meeting?"
"I need to get to London. Fastest way possible. They are going to cremate that body. If not the WHO, it'll be Section 31." The doctor's anxiety was palpable.
"What are you talking about?" Spock was annoyed.
"Lucille died."
"Still not making any sense, Doctor," said Spock.
"Lucille. Lucille Harewood."
"Daughter of Thomas Harewood, the Kelvin Memorial Archive bomber? I re-iterate my original question. What are you talking about?"
"Jesus man, don't you know how Khan coerced a man like Harewood to set that bomb? It was his daughter. Lucille. She was dying. Khan saved her with the platelets from his blood. She was the first known use of Khan's blood. The only other use besides Jim. I didn't just inject that Tribble because I was bored one day in sick bay," said McCoy.
"I assume Lucille's procedure was successful?" Light was dawning for Spock.
"Very. But now she's dead. I need to get to London," repeated McCoy.
She is dead, Spock repeated the statement in thought. "I'll go with you." But how? London could be minutes away if they used a transporter. But, the use of transporter technology on Earth was very restricted. To pop out of thin air virtually into any room or area just was not socially acceptable never mind outright dangerous in certain cases. Not to have access to that very useful device was frustrating to Spock. "Scotty may have a suggestion."
"Jesus, Spock," said McCoy. "Let's hope so. And here's the next issue - where the hell is Jim? This isn't funny any more. I need to see him."
"Agreed. And you, Doctor, need to tell me what you know. I can only help if I understand what you did."
"And you need to help me find Marla McGivers. I have some holes to fill in about eugenics research one hundred years back. Two hundred years back."
They started to run.
First City, Qo'noS
"Kruge."
"Yes, my lord Chancellor?" Kruge was standing at attention in the office of the man who ruled the Klingon empire.
"There can be no mistake. I do not want war with the humans. Our plan is to expand through the acquisition of weaker species like the Organians and the Capellans. War with the federation will be costly. We do run from it but we bide our time until we are stronger."
The Chancellor walked to the other side of the room and turned. "But rumours of genetic engineering are upsetting. I need to know if they are true!
Kruge pounded his fist on the table. "Humans and their li-quids and potions to heal the sick. The sick should die! Creating mutagenic viruses is a dishonourable way to fight!"
The Chancellor walked over to Kruge and grabbed the front of his tunic. "No! We still do not know what they are doing. Marcus wanted to provoke us into war. We are not stupid. When Klingons fight we fight for our own reasons, not theirs!"
Pushing Kruge away, the Chancellor walked back to his chair. "Get me the truth. Are the humans planning war? Who is behind this?"
"Yes, my lord Chancellor." Kruge was still not sure how he was to accomplish this.
"There is a meeting. In the Ketha Province where we met before. Now go. Prepare for it."
"With the agent?" asked Kruge.
"No. With Harris," said the Chancellor.