He did that, and more, and so did others, Kirk learned a

few days later when one of the passengers stopped him in

the corridor to thank him for the wonderful care the

Enterprise had given her passengers. 'Wonderful' was not

a word Kirk would have associated with dormitory

bedding in cavernous rooms and Starfleet cooking,

although he had to admit the chicken-with-almonds-and-

don't-ask on the Enterprise was among the better of the

mystery dishes served up in Starfleet messes.

"I'm - uh - glad you find it to your liking, ma'am." he said.

"To our liking! Captain," the passenger said severely,

"we'd have to be very ungrateful to use a word as weak as

that. The food alone - oh my! We feel like honoured

guests!"

"You are our honoured guests." Kirk said gently, suddenly

moved by this plain woman past middle age now, setting

out to start anew at the edge of the Federation. "We

honour the courage of all those who go where no-one has

gone before, as you are doing."

Spying one of the crew assigned to liase with the

passengers and make sure they had what they needed, he

excused himself and hurried along the corridor.

"Mr Brand! Mr Brand! Hold up!"

Yeoman Brand turned, and came to attention. "Yes, sir!"

he said.

"At ease, Yeoman. I've just been having a puzzling

conversation with one of our passengers."

"Yes, sir?" Brand said, positively radiating innocent

bemusement. Kirk had not had much to do with him since

he had come on board, although he knew from Spock's

reports that Brand was an enthusiastic young officer,

although 'given to high spirits'. Hearing that sentence in

Spock's dry and slightly disapproving voice, Kirk had felt

a sudden affinity for the young officer he had hardly met.

And now, looking at Brand's wide blue eyes and his

earnest, freckled face, Kirk knew he'd seen that look of

eager innocence before. In the mirror. He'd spent a long

afternoon practicing it, Kirk remembered, in between

breaking his mother's favourite vase and her coming home

to discover it.

"What's going on, Yeoman?" he asked. "Give."

Brand blushed, and looked down. "Nothing against

regulations, sir."

"I think I'll be the judge of that." Kirk said.

"Yes, sir. Well, Quartermaster Singh, sir, put a message

on the general message board, asking if anyone would donate

any snacks or special foods or equivalent, he'd be happy to

have them. For the passengers. And quite a lot of people

had bits and pieces, and others put up some of their pay,

and Mr Singh put in some orders with the money, sir. It

was enough for a few extra things with each meal - treats

and such like. So they didn't just have rat packs and

scramble - ration packs, sir, sometimes we call them that."

"I know what a rat pack is, Mr Brand." Kirk said. "And

scramble is standard synthesizer fare." I was a yeoman

once myself, he was tempted to add, even if I now seem

ancient to you. "That was commendable on Mr Singh's

part - and generous on the part of the rest of the crew.

The passenger I was just speaking to said something about

'the food alone'?"

Brand blushed harder, his face now vying with his scarlet

hair for brightness. "Well, sir, some of the off-watch crew

have been spending time with the passengers. I mean, sir -

these people, they haven't had the kind of chances we had,

sir, or they wouldn't be here. And it's all very well to say

there's the interactive ed programs, but you have to know

how to use them. And lots of them know all sorts of

things but it's hard for them to get a chance because they

haven't got the right papers. Sir."

"So members of the crew have been teaching them."

"Yes, sir." Brand said. He was still bright red with

embarrassment, but he met Kirk's eyes and squared his

shoulders. "No-one wanted to talk about it, it was just

people doing things off duty. And some of the passengers

haven't got much, sir, and lots of the crew have extra

things they don't need - not really. But none of it is

against regulations, sir."

"Mr Brand," Kirk said, "if it were against the

regulations to show friendship to those who needed a

helping hand, that would be a Starfleet I wouldn't want

to belong to. Are you off shift at the moment?"

"Yes, sir."

"Go on and do what you were going to do." Kirk said.

"You can tell the others that I know and approve, if you

want. I'll make an announcement to the effect after we

debark our passengers."

"Yes sir!" Brand said, and scampered off as fast as he

could go.

Kirk continued on up the corridor, smiling. Coming the

other way with his professional bag in his hand, McCoy

stopped dead.

"What's her name?" he asked.

"Enterprise." Kirk said, and then looked up. "Sorry,

Bones, what?"

"What's her name? You're wandering about the

corridors smiling, I think it's a reasonable question."

"I'm going to ignore that crass slur on my character."

Kirk said. "I was just talking to Yeoman Brand, and

wondering - if I was ever that young."

"No." McCoy said, and Kirk laughed.

"That's not what you're supposed to say!" he protested.

"Probably not, but I'm off duty, so I get to tell to the

truth. I'm just going down to the gym, actually.

Sulu's running one of his damn courses, and I thought

I'd look in and make sure he hasn't killed anybody yet.

Want to come? It'll make you feel *really* old. Always

makes me feel ancient, anyway."

"Which course?" Kirk asked, falling into step with

McCoy as the doctor continued on his way.

"Duck and scramble." McCoy said. "So I've got splints

for sprains and breaks, analgesics and cream for the

bruises and antiseptic gauze and permaskin for the

grazes."

They came to the rec room and slipped quietly through

the door. ~Not that it would have mattered,~ Kirk

thought, ~if we'd entered playing a trumpet and riding

an elephant.~ The crew members inside were completely

occupied with trying to meet Sulu's demands.

"Roll, roll, roll!" he was yelling. "No, Shimona, that is

*not* cover. You are now dead! Larssen, do not stop

to look around! This is not a sightseeing tour! Duck!

Duck, now!"

Foam blocks in a variety of shapes and sizes were

scattered about the gym, and a dozen or so crew

members were tyring to hide behind them as Sulu strode

around, seemingly at random, occasionally grabbing a

block and pitching it across the room. He was carrying

a phaser and the object of the exercise was apparently

to avoid giving Sulu a clear shot. As Kirk watched,

Sulu fired twice, catching Martinique Duval's hand in

the nimbus of the shop and then hitting Larssen square

in the back. Even at its lowest setting phaser fire

stung and Kirk winced in sympathy. Duval cursed

fluently, shaking her hand, while Larssen turned to

look at Sulu.

"Bother." she said, and then as he raised the phaser

again she dived sideways behind the nearest block.

"Better, Larssen, but not good enough." Sulu said,

yanking the block away and sending her scuttling for

the next.

She did not enjoy these courses. Some, like Shimona,

loved them, and would go to great lengths to trade off

duty in order to attend. Others, like Kevin Riley, saw

them as a challenge and brought a fierce competitiveness

to them. Larssen attended because so saw it as her

duty to do so, to make her training as complete as

possible for the sake of the ship, her crew mates and

the service. Her main feeling about them was a glum

resignation, not dissimilar to her reaction to Jeffries

tubes.

~It's a good thing I'm not competitive,~ Larssen thought

as she was tagged with the phaser for the third time.

~I'd find this whole experience even more depressing

than I do now.~

"The ceiling is safe!" Sulu called suddenly, and his

pupils erupted from their cover and pelted towards the

climbing ropes. Larssen reached her rope last and

began doggedly to climb.

"Up, up, up, move it, move it!" Sulu said. "The

floor's on fire, Larssen, the flames are at your

bootsoles, move it, come on!"

Later, after the lesson was over and the captain and

Doctor McCoy had left, as the other pupils filed out,

chattering enthusiastically, Sulu stopped Larssen with a

hand on her arm.

"Larssen." he said, and hesitated.

"Sir." Larssen said. "I'm very bad at this, aren't I?"

He laughed. "I was thinking of how to put that

tactfully."

"I do hope to improve, sir." Larssen said.

"Yes. I can see you're trying very hard." Sulu said.

"It's not really your area, though, is it?"

"No, sir." Larssen said.

"You've been attending a lot of my courses, and

Chekov's courses, since you came aboard." Sulu said.

"Were you considering a transfer to security?"

"No." Larssen said. "I haven't completely lost touch

with reality, sir."

"Well, ah, Lieutenant, I do wonder why you attend

these courses so diligently."

"Apart from the desire not to slow down or endanger my

crew mates on a landing party, sir?" Larssen asked.

"If you feel unqualified for landing party duty, you can

request not to be posted." Sulu said. "That is

provided for in ship's rosters."

"I know, sir." Larssen said steadily.

"Well, it's your neck." Sulu said. "I'll keep shooting

you and throwing you across the room and chasing you

up ropes for as long as you keep turning up."

"Thank you, sir." Larssen said. "I appreciate that."

He was halfway to the door when she cleared her

throat. "Sir."

Sulu stopped and turned to face her.

"Sir," Larssen said, and then stopped, and took a

breath. "Sir, I keep coming because - I'll be looking to

take the command course testing. I know it's not likely

I'd pass, now, but maybe, if I keep working at it ..."

She let the sentence trail off, smiled a little, and

shrugged.

Sulu recognised a confidence when he heard one. There

were no rumours on the ship's grapevine about

Larssen's ambitions, and as far as he'd ever considered

it, Sulu had assumed she hoped to work her way quietly

through the ranks in Science to a non-command post.

Perhaps he should have thought more deeply - a Comet

of Valour was a pretty clear indicator of potential, even

if in Larssen's case that potential was hidden pretty

deeply.

~And whatever I might have thought, and whatever

tinware she might have, she's a junior officer, I'm

senior to her, and it cost her something to say that.~

He walked back across the room. "That's a worthy

aim." he said. "Why don't you come with me to dinner

and we'll talk about it."

"Thank you, sir." Larssen said.

When Sulu had collected his spinach lasagne and Larssen

her chicken-with-almonds-and-don't-ask from the

synthesizers, there were a few moments of silence in

deference to hunger and the current presence on Beta

shift of Ensign Seajin, the most recent product of a

culinary dynasty that spanned two hundred years and

five star systems. Ensign Seajin had reconciled his

desire to serve the Federation with his manifest

unsuitably for anything other than the family business

by stating that an army marches on its stomach.

"I don't know if an army *does* march on its stomach,"

Sulu said at last, pushing his empty plate away, "but if

Seajin stays with us much longer the Enterprise crew

will be rolling along the corridors on theirs."

Larssen chuckled. "If it wasn't for all the calories I

burn off in your classes," she said, "I'd have been

taking a larger size of uniforms by now."

"About those courses." Sulu said. "You want to take

the command track."

"Yes, sir, I believe I do."

"Have you spoken to anyone about this, Commander

Spock, the captain?"

"No, sir."

"What are you most concerned about, the tactical

training?"

"I believe it all worries me equally, sir." Larssen said

calmly. Sulu must have let more show on his face than

he intended, because she began to laugh. "I know, I

know..."

"I can work with you on the tactical stuff." Sulu said.

"I'm not saying I can make it easy, or that it'll be a

gimmie, but if we work on the stuff that they'll cover in

the command testing, given time and work and your

part, you'll have a fighting chance."

"That's appropriate." Larssen said.

"I guess it is." Sulu said. "What attracts you about the

command track, if you don't mind me asking?"

"No, sir, I don't mind. I don't know. It's just -

where I've always seen myself going. Not - I don't

know how far I'll go. I don't have visions of myself

with a captain's pips on my collar. But it's the

direction I'm moving in." She folded her hands on the

table. "Sir, do you mind me asking - how do you

know?"

"How do I know what?"

"How do you know you're doing what you should be

doing?"

"I try to think what the captain would-"

"No." She searched for words. "On the Enterprise.

In this uniform. How do you know?"

"Oh." Sulu said. "I see. I took the command track,

you mean, and how did I know?"

"Yes."

"I just - I just *know*." he said. "It's - the right

place for me. It's the place where I can make the most

difference."

"Yes." she said. "But what about, what about - I don't

know, building houses for poor people? Couldn't you

make more difference like that?"

"I'm not very good at building houses, and I'm very

good at flying starships. You have to do what it's best

for you to do." He tried to find the right words. "You

find the place that's the place for you to stand, the

thing that you can do best, the thing that others can't

do, and you try to get there."

"May I speak freely, sir?" Larssen asked.

"We're at dinner in the mess, Larssen." Sulu said. "I'd

say that's licence right there."

"Your career is stalled, sir. You could be commanding

your own ship by now - scout class, maybe, that's not

beyond the bounds of possibility. Your service jacket

has to be outstanding after the past few years. You

took command track, but not command."

"Well, that's the thing, Larssen." Sulu said. "When you

find that place, you stay there."

She nodded, looked down at her hands. Her voice was

very small, and when she spoke she didn't look up.

"How did you know where it was, the place to stand?"

"I don't know." Sulu said. "Larssen, I wish I could tell

you. I really don't know."

"Okay." she said. "I guess I'll know when I get

there."