Chapter Fifteen
As the two-week survival trek marking the end of Basic Training wrapped up, Christopher Pike was starting to worry about his Cadets. He'd left Jim Kirk with nineteen trainees on the desolate world of Tatooine, essentially stranding Jim on his own homeworld. He'd done that on purpose. Jim knew Tatooine, he knew how to survive the deserts, and if he decided to stay with his family or masters, that was fine. It was all a learning experience. However, most of the supervisors had at least heard from their Cadets during the trek, he hadn't heard a peep out of Jim's group since leaving them on the Dune Sea. Part of him feared the worst, another part of him scoffed. Jim was too smart, too resourceful. He could only hope to hear from them before the end of Basic Training.
He was seriously considering going out early to find them, but he didn't end up having to go anywhere. Richard Barnett stopped by his office one day looking displeased. He was confused, he didn't like being confused.
"What can I do for you, Admiral?"
"Where, precisely, did you leave Jim Kirk?"
"I left them on Tatooine. Why?"
"You'd better come with me, Captain." Oh, that was not good. Christopher could only imagine the sheer level of hell he was about to stand through, and dreaded it. Something had happened to Jim and the Cadets, something awful. Barnett led him to one of the hangars, the sense of dread deepened.
"Admiral, what's going on?" he asked tamely. Suddenly, he heard the whine of afterburners. Christopher looked up and shaded his eyes. Three fighters of a strange make sailed past at low cruising altitude, pulled off a perfect banking turn, and disappeared.
"Captain Pike?"
"Those are X-Wings!"
"What?" Barnett was glaring at him.
"Incom T-56 X-Wings!" As they watched, more appeared. Christopher followed the flight-path to the hangar they were heading for on foot and ran inside to find the fighters clustered in battle-ready launch-patterns. There were now twenty, the last six had just landed. Christopher skated to a halt, trying to catch his breath, "Oh my god! I think I know what happened to my Cadets, sir!" Barnett was fuming. Jim and nineteen Cadets had gone AWOL for a week and a half, and returned in fine, if unusual, style. Each pilot stood by his or her X-Wing, Christopher was just relieved to count twenty X-Wings and twenty pilots. He didn't miss the fact that every single one of them wore the trade-mark hazard-cone orange flight-gear, their helmets tucked under their left arm. He saw Jim standing with two of his pilots, Christopher recognized Nyota Uhura and Leonard McCoy.
Barnett stormed past him and just laid into the Cadets, berating them and accusing them of disobeying orders and going AWOL, and who knew what else. The Cadets simply stood quietly under scrutiny, but Christopher could see them seething. They were being accused of jacking off and messing around, being no-good hooligans causing trouble wherever they went. And of course he tore Jim to pieces. Christopher stood quietly by and watched, it was all he could do. These were his recruits, and Jim had done the impossible bringing everyone home from some engagement that had tested them in ways the survival treks never would. Surviving a wilderness was one thing, surviving close-quarters combat with enemy fighters was something else entirely.
"Admiral Barnett, with all due respect, sir, I must disagree with you."
"Excuse me?"
"I said, sir, that I must disagree with you." Jim met Barnett's gaze with unnerving calm, "We had only enough time to make the most basic of repairs to our X-Wings before we departed Yavin IV to return home. Each and every one of these fighters bears kill-marks on the cockpit-rims. Some of us have more than others, but we all carry kill-marks. If not for us, and every pilot we flew with a week ago, the Federation would now be under assault."
"From what enemy forces?"
"The Empire." Jim's voice was cold as he stood up to Barnett, "The pilots you see here were left on Tatooine to survive fourteen days in the Dune Sea. The Rebel Alliance had need of pilots, I had my own reasons to go. My sister was captive of the Empire, yes it was personal. I destroyed the Empire's Death Star."
"Oh my god."
"Yes, Admiral." Jim didn't outwardly show any glee at Barnett's reaction. Christopher felt sick. He'd heard rumors of the Empire's super-weapon, spies had brought word of it and plans had been stolen. But Christopher hadn't actually expected anyone in the Federation to get so closely involved with the damn thing!
"It…existed?"
"And one planet has already been destroyed by it, sir. Alderaan is nothing more than an asteroid field. I am incredibly fortunate my family remains safe and intact." Jim raised his chin, "You left me nineteen survivors of Basic Training, I brought back tested pilots, efficient members of a fully-operational team. In the future, Admiral, you might consider giving Cadet Trainees some real-life experience before you unleash them untried and undisciplined to starships and planetary posts."
"You have some nerve, Kirk. You'll wish you'd never left Tatooine for a personal vendetta against…"
"Admiral Barnett, with your leave, sir." Jim cut a sharp, abrupt salute, cutting off Barnett's rant, and made a gesture with his free hand. Before Barnett could stop them, all twenty pilots had left the hangar. Christopher looked at Barnett and smirked.
"You might want to pick your fights more wisely in the future, Admiral. There's absolutely nothing to keep Skywalker and his pilots from abandoning Starfleet for the Alliance. And a little respect wouldn't hurt you, either. If he destroyed the Death Star, he didn't just save the Alliance, he saved the Federation."
"He didn't destroy the Death Star, that's impossible!"
"Willing to bet on that, sir?" Christopher pointed out a kill-mark on Jim's X-Wing, "Good morning, sir." He left Barnett fuming and went to find the X-Wing pilots. Or at least find Jim. Whichever came first. Part of him knew Admiral Skywalker would have absolutely no problem whatsoever with what Jim and his pilots had gotten into, hell the man had probably slapped them commissions to front-row seats to see history in action and actually do something about it. He wondered what kind of rank Jim and the others had, and suspected they'd earned whatever they held.