Captain's log, Stardate 2258.159. I really have to thank Starfleet Command for assigning me to the extremely boring—that is, the essential, but really boring—duty of mapping this quadrant. Thanks to them, I've put in the two most exciting weeks of my career. Considering the recent tragedy, I should have suspected there would be smugglers of Vulcan artifacts—but frankly, the thought hadn't crossed my mind until Sulu spotted that scout ship in a supposedly unoccupied sector. So I suppose I really ought to thank Starfleet for all the subsequent chases, tracking down, interrogations, and best of all, capture of this ring of shameless pirates attempting to profit from Vulcan's loss. Now, after two weeks of what I might consider really hard duty, we have our smugglers safely delivered to Starbase 4, and we're expecting to rendezvous with the Lexington in three days to transfer our cargo of priceless Vulcan artifacts to them.

My only regret is that Spock isn't here to see the items for himself, but he isn't due back for another ten days, and I don't want to break into his solitude with a message that might only make him feel the pain of his loss all over again. Still, the Lexington will deliver the items to the New Vulcan colony, so I imagine Spock will be able to see them there at some point in the future. Until then, we're resuming our original mission of mapping this quadrant. The crew is in excellent spirits, having felt that we've done something really positive in the wake of the Vulcan disaster. So we're once again looking at the stars—but keeping a sharp lookout for any other ships that might cross our path. It almost makes the mission fun. Sort of. Kirk out.

* * *

Jim sat in the command chair, reveling in the quiet hum of purposeful activity all around him. Their interlude with the space pirates had really perked everyone up. Even Mallory and Uhura were getting along. They weren't quite like sisters—Jim supposed that would be too much to ask—but they had certainly crossed that bumpy road into the territory of true colleagues. Their conversation was easy and uninhibited; it made for a welcome distraction, and was certainly a relief to the rest of them, considering that it had been all Jim could do to prevent the murder of their fresh-faced Science Officer only two weeks earlier.

And Uhura seemed genuinely happy now. Jim wasn't certain when the turning point had come, but about ten days after Uhura's drunken collapse, she had rallied with a strength that had surprised him. For days, she wore a secretive smile on her face. Off and on Jim suspected that she'd gotten a really good message from Spock—but he couldn't imagine a Vulcan phrasing anything in such a way that would put that kind of smile on a woman's face. However, whatever had happened, the Enterprise was once again a smoothly functioning machine. He felt his gratitude deep in his bones.

Uhura turned to him from her station. "Incoming message from Starfleet Command, sir." She had that lilt in her voice that made him wonder if she'd received a new Spock message. Maybe she was only happy that, in another nine-point-something days, her boyfriend's leave was scheduled to be over.

Jim rose from his chair. "Thank you, Lieutenant. I'll take the call in my quarters."

"I'll transfer it over, sir."

Yes, she was entirely too happy. He wondered if she had been playing the Spock tape again—some mystery message that she and Lo had been sighing and snickering over for days. Well, snickering was better than bickering, but he really was eager to get his First Officer back. He was ready to trade the feminine hilarity for a little cold superiority—just for a change of pace.

Jim arrived at his quarters in less than a minute and was in his chair behind the desk almost before the door closed. "Kirk here," he said, his voice activating the terminal.

"Jim." Admiral Pike's rugged visage beamed at him from the screen. "Are you all through shaking up the sector?"

"Admiral, I haven't even begun."

"That's a shame. I thought you might be ready for your first deep space assignment."

Energy galvanized Jim's body from toes to hair. "Really? You're sending us out?"

"I know you've been chomping at the bit, but we had to make sure there wouldn't be any incursions into Federation space in the aftermath of Nero's attack."

Jim was so excited he could hardly keep his seat. "I suppose a few measly pirates doesn't count as an incursion."

"No, it doesn't. But we've found we have to do some shuffling. I've got to send the Lexington off to the Gamma quadrant immediately; the Tellarites insisted. That means you've got to deliver the stolen artifacts yourself to New Vulcan on your way out to Sector 294. I don't think it will delay you more than two or three days, once you're headed that direction."

"Two or three days? Why the variation?"

"In case they want to thank you. You know, run through the old diplomatic drill: show you around, hold a dinner..."

"Thank me." Jim stared at the screen. "Admiral, they're Vulcans."

"True." Pike held his gaze a minute, then they both cracked up. It felt good. Jim didn't know how the Vulcans managed. In his book, a good laugh was a logical release of tension.

Pike recovered first. "I'm sorry, Jim. What was I thinking?"

"I seriously don't know." Jim sobered. The interval had given him time to think. With some trepidation, he asked, "So, uh, when does this assignment begin?"

"Now. Immediately."

The uneasy feeling in Jim's gut intensified. "I hate to break this to you, Admiral, but I'm one First Officer short."

"How's Sulu working out for you?"

"He's terrific—good with people, technically savvy, has all the right instincts. He'll make Captain one day."

Pike chuckled. "You have hardly three months of experience yourself—and you're already predicting who's going to make Captain?"

Jim felt annoyance creep in. Why was it no one ever took his suggestions seriously? Just because he was young didn't mean he was an idiot. "I'm serious, Admiral. He's got what it takes—but... later. Right now I think all he really wants to do is fly the ship."

"I'm serious, too. Jim, I know that you and Spock didn't always... see eye to eye. This is an opportunity for you to get someone a little more... compatible, in the position."

Jim did a slow burn. It haunted him enough what he'd had to do to Spock that first day—push him over the edge like that in a moment of crisis. The last thing he needed was for the Admiralty to think he couldn't handle his own crew. Stoutly, he said, "There's no one more compatible for me than Spock."

But Pike still didn't get it. "I know the pickings are slim at the moment, but we have a couple of officers who—"

"You can keep your damn officers. And don't bother to forward their files to me, because I won't even read them."

Pike cocked his head. "Jim, this isn't anything personal—"

"Like hell it isn't! We haven't even gotten underway on our true mission yet, and you already want to break up my bridge crew."

"Five years is a long time, Jim. If you're going to make changes, now is the time to do it."

"I said no, and I mean it." He paused, breathing hard, and try to think past his anger. He met Pike's eyes. "Who's after him?"

Pike's gaze flickered, just for instant. "What do you mean?"

Jim rolled his eyes. "Oh, come off it, Admiral! Who's after Spock?"

Pike paused. "Commodore Mendez expressed an interest in attaching him to his staff."

"Commodore—" Jim took a deep breath. Mendez; that ass. Still, Jim supposed there would always be people trying to steal away his best officers. He'd better get used to it—as well as nip the precedent in the bud. He spoke coldly. "You can tell Mendez he can put that request where the sun don't shine."

Pike looked equal parts annoyed and amused. "For the sake of your career, I'll tell Mendez no such thing." He frowned. "Why are you so set on Spock, anyway?"

"Oh, I don't know. Something about having a supergenius with an eidetic memory and the strength of three men at my beck and call appeals to me."

"Except when he turns that strength against you."

If Jim could've punched a hole in the screen, he would have. "Admiral, that was a total fluke. Spock was under extreme emotional stress, and I goaded him on. I thought I made that perfectly clear in my report. He's a good officer—what am I saying? He's an excellent officer, he wants to serve aboard the Enterprise, and I want to give him that opportunity. So can we end this conversation, and all future conversations on the same topic, right now?"

Pike subsided with a wry smile. "All right, Jim. You've carried the day."

Jim was still wound up. "Good," he snorted.

"But you've still got to figure out how to get your First Officer on board before you leave the sector."

Jim frowned. "What do you mean? We'll go over there and get him."

"You'll have to backtrack. I could have Carter pick him up with the Excalibur, and meet you at Outpost 8 in three weeks' time—"

"No way. Three weeks from now Mendez will have worked his sticky tentacles throughout Starfleet command, and Spock will be trapped in his insidious flypaper."

"You're mixing metaphors."

"The answer's 'No,' Admiral. But if it makes you happy, we'll map every star on the way over to Emagious III."

Pike shrugged. "It's your ship, Captain."

Pike's capitulation had a strange effect of calming Jim's temper and restoring his ego at the same time. He started to relax.

"How's Mallory working out?" Pike asked conversationally.

"She's fine—but she's no Spock."

"Few people are."

"Well, if you want to get technical about it, one person is, and in another few days, he'll be back aboard my ship."

Pike didn't even try to challenge him. All he said was, "You'll be cutting Spock's leave short."

"Only by four or five days. And believe me, Admiral, he'd rather be aboard the Enterprise with me than sitting around running stupid science experiments for Mendez."

Pike held up his hands. "All right, Jim. I get it. Spock's your First Officer, and I'll set straight anyone who tries to suggest otherwise."

"Thank you, Admiral. I'd appreciate it."

* * *

Jim had a slight swagger in his step as he returned to the bridge.

"New orders," he announced the moment he stepped off the turbolift—enjoying the sensation of raising interest all around him. "The Enterprise is scheduled to begin deep space exploration of Sector 294, after a brief stop at New Vulcan. But first, we have a passenger to pick up."

He put his back to Uhura, enjoying the idea of giving her a pleasant surprise. "Navigator, plot a course to Emagious III."

Sighs of satisfaction sounded all around the bridge. For all that Spock could be a handful, he really did have the confidence of the crew. That was a tremendous asset to Jim, and he intended to do everything he could to preserve and foster that trust.

"Course plotted," Chekov replied.

"How long will it take us to get there at warp factor four?"

"At warp four, estimating arrival in... 4.8 solar days."

"Lay in the course. Mr. Sulu, engage at warp four."

"Warp four, Captain."

Jim now permitted himself the luxury of turning around. He had to work hard not to laugh. Uhura was in a cloud of contentment, doing her best and failing to contain a self-satisfied grin. Beside her, Mallory was in a trance of excitement. Jim swore he could see her hyperventilating. He wondered if Uhura would take offense at Mallory's open admiration—and then dismissed the problem from his mind.

In five days, Spock would be back on board and they would be heading for unexplored regions. Surely nothing could go wrong before then.