On a regular day Admiral Christopher Pike was proud of his job, which provided him with meaning and a great sense of accomplishment. There was, of course, the odd exception when he had to play the part of a school principal lecturing his troubled students. In his case, those were the senior officers aboard the flagship. James Kirk's not getting into a bar fight every week was a gift horse he chose not to look into the mouth. He had no idea how he had managed to jinx that, but he had. Lieutenant Uhura, on the other hand, was the second less likely person on the Enterprise to get herself into that sort of trouble. She had an exemplary record as a cadet, marvelous academic achievements and was beyond the shadow of a doubt the best communications officer in the fleet, coveted by every other captain and published by every major journal of xenolinguistics in the Federation.
Montgomery Scott, the chief engineer, was and was not the bar fighting type. It wasn't that he wasn't brilliant, because he was, or that he lacked discipline, because he didn't per se. It was just that his people's skills were all over the map, much like the CMO's bed-side manner, and he had a big mouth and a penchant for making poor, helpless dogs disappear in transporter experiments. The rumor mill claimed his only hobby was alcohol, one he shared with McCoy. Ironically enough, the only person on the ship who was rumored not to drink was Spock, the serene Vulcan hybrid stuck in close quarters with all these people. Young Ensigh Chekov's only issue seemed to be his delusions of grandeur regarding Russia, which by Enterprise's standards made him probably the sanest person on board. Sometimes Chris had to wonder how he had made it all the way to admiral, considering his decision to give his ship to this particular group of officers.
He encompassed the Enterprise's captain, chief engineer, his assistant, navigator and communications officer again in one single severe look. Spock stood apart, by the window, his back a perfect vertical line, his cap clutched in his hands. He had been the one to spring his worse for the wear colleagues from the local police.
"I don't suppose I have to ask who started it," he said tiredly, his eyes drifting from the incident report on the pad on his desk to James Kirk.
The captain of the Enterprise took a single step forward and clicked his heels together. He was not in uniform, of course, but in his favorite off-duty attire: jeans and leather jacket. He had a black eye and a cut above his swollen upper lip. "Sir, I take full responsibility," he said firmly. "This was my fault."
Lieutenant Uhura's eyes went wide and she opened her mouth to speak presumably to defend him, but Chris waved her silent. "Out! You're dismissed, all of you. Kirk, stay." He pointed to the chair across the desk from him.
James obeyed dutifully, but his subordinates were less inclined so. Even Spock hesitated, casting his captain an insistent look, before departing. He was the first to leave. The others did so at the slowest pace possible. Chekov looked about to cry, as he did, his visage apologetic. Chris bet he hero-worshiped James, who was a bit too stoic and suspiciously not talking back. Something was wrong with this picture. Chris scrubbed a hand over his face, once it was just he and Kirk.
"Getting into a bar fight with HQ officers is a bit extreme even for you, James. So what's the story here? What really happened?"
"I was drunk, threw a few punches and my fellow officers got dragged into it, when they tried to hold me back," James blurted in one breath. "As you undoubtedly remember, Sir, we've met under similar circumstances."
Chris had read the captain of the Enterprise the riot act more than once over his pattern of lying on official reports and knew when his answers sounded rehearsed and when he was trying to distract him. This one was up there with the best of them. James was taking a bullet for his colleagues and Chris had a sneaking suspicion that in a bizarre twist of events, this was somehow Lieutenant Uhura's fault. He racked his eyes over Kirk's figure: his body language screamed determination and the firm lines of his face indicated that no torture in the universe or amount of pleading would get the truth out of him.
"There will be a formal reprimand in your file. It will follow you for the rest of your career, son."
James nodded glumly. "I understand that, Sir."
Christopher sighed and stood, placing his weight on his cane. He walked to stand by the large window occupying one of the walls of his office. "I guess that's that then." He paused. "Your mission to Tau Ceti was canceled. You are to take the Enterprise to the Azure Nebula, by the Klingon border, and search for a space laboratory former Admiral Marcus claims he ordered be built there. Your orders are to assess its status, take possession of it and take anyone you find inside to the nearest starbase for questioning, all without drawing the attention of the Klingons or of the nearby Romulan Empire."
Kirk frowned, looking slightly troubled. "What am I supposed to find in that lab?"
"Biological weapons."
The young officer got to his feet as well, his scowl deepening. "Targeted at the Klingons."
Chris looked him straight in the eye with an unyielding gaze. "Hopefully targeted only at the Klingons. Needless to say, your mission is high priority and classified. You are authorized to share the specifics only with those of your crew who absolutely have to know. James, I have no idea what you're going to find there so watch yourself and your people on this one."
Kirk nodded. "Yes, Sir."
Christopher studied him attentively. "I mean it, Captain. Dot your Is and cross your Ts. When this comes down, it will come down hard and I don't want it to drag the Enterprise along with it... or drag us all right back into war with one of neighbors."
Kirk practically unfurled, straightening himself up and adopting such a posture that despite his less than dignified look, he appeared to be every inch the captain of the flagship. He nodded once.
Christopher returned to his desk. "But I can't think of a better ship or finer crew to send to deal with this."
# # #
Christopher had ordered the USS Yorkshire that was scheduled to depart for the Pleadies Cluster to make a detour to drop Kati and Carol on the edge of the Mutara Nebula. After the being released from the hospital, Carol could stand on her own but still looked sickly and pale. Chris had thanked her for her assistance and though the feeling was sincere, the words had tasted sour on his tongue, burdened as he was with guilt over the unintended suffering he had inflicted upon her. He had taken it upon himself to make this trip happen as quickly as possible, pulling rank to get it done and ignoring the whispers of colleagues, who were wary of her reputation and would have perhaps wanted to wait until the information passed on from her father was confirmed. But as far as he was concerned, Carol had more than paid her dues and deserved to be back on the planet of her choice and be with her partner at such an important moment in their lives, regardless of that man was.
While McCoy, who had insisted on coming to see them off, settled Carol in the shuttle that was to take them to the Yorkshire anchored in the Starfleet dock. That left him and Kati in the busy shuttle hanger, the fury of activity that never stopped booming around them. They were outside the intimate confinements of their personal relationship, having said their private goodbyes earlier on. He was back in uniform and she was about to leave. They stood almost a full meter apart, the distance between them a bottomless chasm, and she held herself stiffly, her expression stuttered. For a while none uttered a single word.
He balked at the idea of letting go of someone who had become important to him simply because she had an inopportune genome, but even he had to admit that Kati was right about the uneasy nature of their relationship, which was a long-distance one in which every step forward was followed by two backwards, all taken on thin ice. But Chris had never in his life backed down from a challenged: it explained probably why he had talked an Iowa punk with a wrap-sheet a mile long and a famous name into joining Starfleet and promised himself he would make a captain out of him. It was how he had braved through the many dark nights of the soul caused by having a job that sometimes involved ordering fine officers and occasional friends to both certain and probable death. Still as the seconds ticked by and he stood in front of Kati with words that could not be said in public weighing heavily on his mind, he wished he could parse through the maelstrom of emotions clouding her almond-shaped eyes. He was good enough of a judge of character to guess she was holding something back and estimated that if she could share it with him, she would have. At least, he hoped she would.
"How is she?" he finally asked. He didn't give Kati a name. He didn't have to.
"Rattled," Kati replied, pursing her lips tightly together as soon as the word flew off them. She seemed to hesitate but then extended a hand to him. "Goodbye, Christopher."
He clasped her fingers, squeezing them in what he longed to be reassurance. "Let me know when you arrive."
# # #
McCoy did his best not to hover, which was not easy, considering that it was part of his description. He had given the CMO aboard the Yorkshire advance notice of Carol's needs, but he still felt he could do something more for her, even if he did not know what. They were early so the shuttle was empty and the pilot's console was still deserted.
"I heard you and Dr. Niwara hit it off," he said by means of opening.
Carol shifted in her seat trying to make herself comfortable. "She jumped at the opportunity, like you said. She will come to Ceti Alpha V, as soon as she is done putting her affairs on Cait in order."
He nodded distantly and pulled his tricorder to scan her one last time.
"Even I couldn't have gotten that much worse in the ten minutes since you last did that," she joked.
He grunted, scowling at her readings. Her vitals were slightly off, but not dangerously so and her baby was doing just fine, seeming healthier than her mother, which was no surprise given that Carol's problems were more of psychosomatic nature. "You didn't," he mumbled. "You're good to go," he added louder.
"Yeah, I'm fine," she said sardonically, turning her head to stare at the busy hanger outside through the window.
"Look, I know it's none of my business, but... ."
"I didn't tell him," she interrupted. She swallowed hard as if past a lump in her throat and gazed back at him. "But at least, I've settled my relationship with my father... as in I don't have one anymore. I also caused a rift between two life-long friends, possibly broken a chain of command and I'm on my way to start a family with a major fall-out with my husband... ." She paused to draw breath. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to unload all this on you."
He shrugged a shoulder as he packed away his tricorder. "I asked and besides, it seems to me you're taking way too much onto yourself."
She winced. "Why does everyone keep telling me that?"
He raised an eyebrow, looking her over skeptically. "Because we're right."
TBC