Dirt road and green-gray fields blurred as Jim slid past them on his motorbike. An opaque screen of fog seemed to fill the air like water in an ocean but disappeared whenever Jim came within thirty metres. It was as if he had his own portable atmosphere and lithosphere.

Last night, he had made his decision based on a gut feeling. Deprived of a family and consequently, sentimentality, he had left his tiny apartment with nothing but his motorbike to transport him to the shipyard. He didn't own much anyway – only the necessities needed to survive. After Tarsus IV he had lost his interest in materialistic things.

At a glance, Riverside Shipyard appeared relatively unsecure but as he neared the metal fence that bordered the yard, Jim saw that it met Starfleet standards. The fence hummed with Invisible energy beams that rose into the sky. Vertically aimed beams ensured that the yard could not be breached from the sky and would likely set off multiple alarms should someone attempt to. The security measures may have appeared ludicrous but when Jim saw what they protected, it justified Starfleet's excessiveness.

Taking up almost half of the yard was a Starfleet Starship. It was clear she was still a working progress but the sheer size of her was enough to blow him away. Starships weren't uncommon and Jim had even been on one when he left Tarsus IV but they had never struck him as anything but ordinary. But this ship struck as him as special, he didn't know why – it just did.

As the main gate of Riverside Shipyard loomed closer, Jim parked his bike behind a dense clove of bushes. Chances were it'd get nicked but he was next to a Starfleet Shipyard so he doubted a lowlife thief would even consider going near this place. Jim knew that the academy was all the way in San Francisco so if he stayed he wouldn't need his bike anyway.

Jim spotted the main gate some distance away from him and began walking over. As he neared, he took a moment to inspect the signboard that flanked its right side.

STARFLEET SHIPYARD 2-1A

CONSTRUCTION ZONE

SFC DIVISION

United Federation of Planets

SECTOR 47

NOTICE:

This Facility is in SF-5SC Security

LEVEL: 3

'I.D sir?'

Jim turned to the security guard who'd spoken and barely held back his snort of derision. Sir, huh? Nevertheless, he handed over his standard issue identification card.

'I'm not a cadet but I think Captain Pike may have cleared me for the shuttle,' he explained as the man ran his I.D through the system.

The guard nodded and handed Jim back his card.

'Welcome… Jim Kirk,' he said, surprise creeping into his voice, 'Military Shuttle Bardeen is located at the shuttlepad near the rear of the yard.

Jim grimaced; he was going to have to get used to that. In Riverside, Iowa everyone knew everyone and he could move around without so much as an eyebrow raise when he mentioned his name. In a place like Starfleet Academy – especially Starfleet academy – he was likely to have people getting in his face for his surname.

The walk to the shuttle was relatively short in distance but tedious with the amount of people in the yard. Engineers and crewman swarmed the ground and air, most hauling pieces of equipment. Other cadets dressed in identical red uniforms milled around him, reminding Jim of an endless flow of blood. A scene of bloody bodies strewn across an abandoned field flashed across Jim's eyes and he quickly swallowed down the bile that had risen in his throat.

Christopher Pike stood a few metres away from the Bardeen, his eyes sliding repeatedly towards the main gate. He didn't even know why he was doing it, there wasn't really much reason to expect anything but still…

'We waiting for something Captain?'

Pike turned to the shuttle pilot who was waiting expectantly beside him. He glanced one last time towards the gate before returning his gaze to the pilot.

'No… no I guess not,' he said and the pilot nodded before moving towards the shuttle.

Pike was about to follow suit when he noticed a disheveled looking man weaving his way through the crowd. Well I'll be damned thought Pike he really is his father's son. A kirk could never ignore the beckoning of space forever.

'I'm glad you chose to come,' he told Jim.

Jim smiled and shrugged.

'You were right, normal is boring,' he said and walked towards the shuttle.

'You're your own man, you know,' Pike called after him, 'remember that.'

Jim half turned and gave Pike a grateful smile before reaching the Bardeen. Pike watched as Jim walked to the shuttle door, pause and then enter. He felt a small flash of pride for the kid and smiled to himself – Jim would give Starfleet Academy a run for their money.

As Jim entered the shuttle he paused to give the interior a quick eyeshine. It looked safe enough and as far as he was concerned all the other cadets were average teenagers and adults. Mercifully, the shuttle was shaped differently from the one he had been rescued in on Tarsus IV to accommodate for the number of people it would need to transport; instead of two rows of seats lining the walls of the shuttle this one was twice as big with four rows of seats facing each other in two aisles.

He walked into the shuttle, turning right towards the rows of seats. No sooner had he done so than a metal bar obstructed his view with a LOW CLEARANCE warning printed in bold, black words.

He ducked the bar and walked down the aisle, searching for an empty chair – preferably an isolated one. Curious faces flipped up as he passed but he ignored them. The roof of the shuttle was too low for him so he was forced to stoop slightly, placing his hand against the roof to ensure that his head wouldn't accidentally rise too high and hit the roof.

A few seconds later he spotted an empty seat and gratefully sunk into it, pulling on the safety straps. Once settled, he scanned the faces surrounding him out of habit and was surprised to find that he recognized one of the cadets sitting opposite him a few seats down.

Uhura had spotted Jim from the moment he'd walked into the Bardeen. He was a bit hard to miss dressed in the same bloodstained civilian clothes he had worn the night before. Amongst a crowd of bright red uniforms, his drab clothing stuck out like a sore thumb. Ironic how that worked – if it were the other way around, her cadet-reds would stick out as soon as she walked into a crowd of civilians.

'You never told me where you learnt Romulan,' she said when he met her gaze.

Gazes swiveled, attracted by sound of a human voice from the constant hum of machinery they'd been listening to for the past half hour.

'You never asked,' Jim replied flatly, wishing that she would choose to make conversation where it wouldn't be so obviously noticed.

'Where did you learn Romulan?' she asked promptly.

'Off-planet.'

Uhura shook her head in annoyance and Jim allowed himself the ghost of a smiled. It wasn't the answer she wanted and he knew it.

'I meant who did you learn Romulan from?' she amended.

In actual fact, she had been the one to teach him that language back when he was still recovering at the hospital ward. He contemplated reminding her subtly who he was but Uhura was by no means shy and Jim didn't want to take the risk that she might inadvertently revealing his past to the entire shuttle. Come to think of it, he probably wouldn't tell her either way – he had left J.T behind years ago. It would be disastrous if J.T's true identity – Jim Kirk – became public knowledge. No, he preferred the privacy and anonymity of his pseudonym.

'A linguist,' he finally replied.

Uhura gave him a condescending stare.

'You don't elaborate much, do you?'

Jim opened his mouth to reply but a sudden outburst from the lavatories ceased all conversation.

'Are you people deaf? I told you I don't need a doctor, dammit! I am a doctor!'

Jim and half the cadets in the shuttle turned to their heads towards the heated argument originating from the bathroom. A man was being forced from the cubicle by one of the shuttle's crew. He spoke with a southeastern North American accent and was perspiring noticeably. Jim guessed he was in his mid to late twenties judging by his weathered appearance and the alcoholic odor.

'Sir, You need to find a seat.'

The crewman was gently wresting the man towards the rows of seated cadets. Their argument grew in volume as they neared Jim=

'I had one! In the bathroom with no ports!'

'You need to sit down in one of the seats.'

'I suffer from aviaphobia which, in case you don't understand big words, means fear of flying.'

Sir, for your own safety, sit down or else I'll make you sit down.'

The man glared at the crewman one last time before gruffly complying. He lumbered over to the last empty seat, which so happened to be next to Jim. He sat down heavily and glanced sideways at Jim as he pulled on the safety straps.

'I might throw up on you,' he said flatly.

Kirk raised an eyebrow. This guy was different from the normally polite and 'porcelain' cadets in the shuttle. All of them were extremely passive and could easily be manipulated.

Puke wasn't really that bad. Jim had gotten use to the mushy substance after his first week on Tarsus IV. Most of the kids threw up whatever they managed to scrounge before Jim realized that their stomachs were being overwhelmed and forced them to eat slowly. If this man wasn't exaggerating, there was always the bathroom he had been dragged from. On Tarsus there were no showers, only a river that had been unfortunately guarded by soldiers for its water supply – that left the occasional shower whenever it rained.

'Shuttles are pretty smooth running,' Jim shrugged, 'and your not going to die if that's what you're worried about.

'Don't pander me, kid,' the man growled before he launched into his lecture.

'One tiny crack in the hull and our blood boils in thirteen seconds. Unpredicted solar flare might strike when we leave the magnetosphere and cook us in our seats. Hell, some of the damn passengers are blue. Wait till you're sitting pretty with a case of Andorian shingles,' he turned his head away from Jim momentarily to fasten his buckle more securely, 'see if you're still so relaxed when you're eyeballs bleed,' he turned back to Jim and widened his eyes briefly to prove his point,' tell me if you're still feeling good when ship gravity fails and your intestines start wrapping themselves around your stomach, ask yourself-'

The other cadets were beginning to grow impatient at the man's constant bantering and Jim was beginning to feel uncomfortable with all the attention they were directing in his direction since his neighbor was the perpetrator. Uhura was muttering under her breath in Tellarite, trying to refrain from verbalizing her impatience in English. If he didn't interrupt soon, it was likely that the man would continue until they reached their destination and mentally exhaust everybody in their aisle.

'-I hate to break this to you but Starfleet operates in space. Are you sure you didn't apply for a position with the Chicago Transit Authority?'

Thankfully, the aviaphobian ceased his grotesque death descriptions.

'Yeah, well, I got nowhere to go but up – my ex-wife took everything in the divorce. You'd think that a species that's succeeded in reaching the stars could have managed by now to devise a more equitable method for dividing communal assets. Sometimes I think the Klingons have the right idea. Anyway, all I got left is my bones.'

Jim nodded slowly, he actually felt sorry for the guy. At least he wasn't he going to be the only one launching into this whole Starfleet business with nothing but the clothes on his back – and coincidentally, nothing to loose.

'You really know how to pick 'em Bones,' he mused.

'Bones?' the man asked.

'Yeah, that's all you got left, that's all you are – what else am I suppose to call you?' Jim shrugged.

The man rolled his eyes.

'McCoy, Leonard McCoy,' he said.

Jim frowned slightly as the name stirred a long forgotten memory within his mind.

'You know, you remind me of someone,' Bones frowned, 'you've got weird coloured eyes. Can't remember where I've seen them though.'

Jim shrugged. It wouldn't be the first time someone had compared him to George Kirk. This guy was probably just to drunk to make the connection. He watched as Leonard reached into his pocket, sparing a fleeting glance for the female crewman who had hauled him from the bathroom and quickly pulled a metal flask from his pocket. He chucked its alcohol-scented contents down his throat while she wasn't looking and quickly shoved the empty flask back in his pocket.

'Given the fact that you have aviaphobia, you probably should've saved some of that for later,' Jim commented.

McCoy glared at him but Jim kept his face completely deadpan.

'Bones,' he added.

Bones glare increased in intensity. Totally unabashed, Jim grinned back – he liked this guy. At least he had the sense how to react to Jim's teasing, unlike the cadet at the bar.

'Jim,' he said and for the first time since Tarsus, offered his hand to the man beside him as a peace offering.

Bones grunted and accepted the handshake.