This was the only chapter without an illo. Hmmm….
This time, it was snowing.
The surface around the Guardian was covered completely by a white blanket of snow. The Guardian, as ever, stood untouched and isolated in the center of the landscape. Saavik shivered at the sight of snow again after so many years.
Terry must have noticed her, for he looked over and grinned. “Well, Mr. Saavik, if we’d remembered to bring skis, this wouldn’t be such a bad leave after all.”
Before she had a chance to ask what “skis” were, Saavik saw movement in the corner of her eye. Several feet from the Guardian, a tent made of standard blue Starfleet-issue plastic had been erected. The door which held the temperature-regulated air in had drawn back, and Spock emerged. Apparently, he had brought the portable shelter with him from Vulcan—the other Vulcan.
Still angry and dismayed over the mutinous behavior of his two officers and the on-going mystery of the ship’s malfunctioning computer, Jim Kirk came out of the turbo lift, pushing at the edge of the door with his left hand in an impatient gesture.
He approached Uhura’s station. “Have you raised the Excelsior, Commander?”
“No sir,” Uhura said apologetically, “I’m afraid I haven’t.”
That wasn’t the answer he had expected. “What?”
“I’ve tried, but there’s no response.” She shook her head, aggravated. “I don’t understand it.”
“Identity scan indicates two passengers,” the computer voice announced. “Identity: Starfleet—active.”
Okay, thought Hikaru Sulu, bemused by the mystery of the entire situation. It wasn’t often that an unannounced, unidentified shuttle approached a Federation starship, offering no communication except a request for docking.
As it was a Starfleet, vessel, Hikaru had little choice but to grant clearance.
He had sent for a security force, which stood behind him now, ready in case this was a commandeered shuttle preparing an attack against the Fleet’s newest, proudest vessel. Hikaru, however, found this possibility ludicrous, to say the least. He wasn’t concerned so much as unbearably curious.
Accepting Saavik’s voice print, the computer-activated door slid open into the access corridor which led to Regula’s main reception area. The last time she had been here, the station had been cold and dark and strewn with bodies of the victims of Khan Singh’s mad attempt to appropriate the Genesis project.
Now it had been restored after two months of labor on the parts of the remaining Genesis team and a Starfleet work crew. Saavik wondered how much of the actual work Carol Marcus and her colleagues had found themselves able to actually participate in. This laboratory complex was a vessel for horrible memories for those who had survived the Reliant affair as well as those of the Genesis personnel who had returned from leave only to discover that the project had come to an end after years of dedicated labor with the deaths of their friends.
In the Guardian’s central area, the images Saavik and McCoy had observed faded now, obscured by swirling mists. She and the Doctor stood, numbed by what they had seen. He probably did not fully understand as she did what it all meant. He had not had the dream. For the moment, he was spared the pain of knowing how things must be. Knowledge was not always a blessing.
The voice boomed, “Saavik.”
“Yes,” she responded coolly.
“Now you have seen what must be. Are you willing to do what must be done? I cannot force you, but I believe you know some of the consequences should you refuse.”
I cannot force you. True enough, she supposed, but certainly it had seen to it that she would not refuse. What kind of creature would? A low, unprincipled one might, one that placed the lives of a select few above the lives of a universe. Saavik might have—long ago. Continue reading
The central living area Sarek escorted Terry to was not what he would have expected of Vulcan living. Onboard ship, Vulcans tended to be rather spartan in their decor. This room, in fact. the whole house, showed a human touch—specifically a feminine one. Obviously, Amanda had had a hand in the decorating.
Once inside the central room, however, Terry didn’t find himself noticing walls or floors or other things inanimate. Around him were anxious faces, most of them with a touch of sympathy in their expression. Captain Scott, Dr. McCoy and Commander Uhura sat casually on the large couch in front of him. In nearby chairs, facing one another, were his commander, Hikaru Sulu, and a man he assumed to be Pavel Chekov.
Sulu smiled at him in greeting, as did Uhura and McCoy. Could they see how nervous he was? Were they offering him a vote of confidence? Perhaps they wanted to remind him that they were old friends and teachers as well as criminals he’d been sent to arrest. He remembered.
USS Phoenix Log, Stardate: 8223.4
Lieutenant Aer’La commanding in the absence of First Officer Hadley.
Phoenix has been called out of maintenance in spacedock and ordered to follow the path of the USS Enterprise, stolen by a band of Starfleet renegades led by Admiral James Kirk and including former Phoenix commander Sulu, to the Genesis planet in the Mutara sector.
It was truly the most bizarre order she had ever been given: pull the ship out of dock in the middle of maintenance work and reassemble what crew she could to track down and arrest six of the most celebrated officers in the fleet—the former command crew of the Enterprise. Two thirds of the crew had been available, and, despite their grumbling, the repair crews had had the ship ready to go in six hours.
Aer’La had looked at Admiral Morrow as though he were mad when he had called her, a simple lieutenant just off of border patrol, into his office and put her in charge of the most delicate mission the fleet could ever dream of undertaking—the arrest of a band of heroes for mutiny. No diplomatic undertaking could ever be so sensitive as this. Starfleet would not be popular when it hauled Jim Kirk in for court martial. Why her? And why Phoenix?
Pavel Chekov was seated at a table in the back of the lounge, looking quite haggard, when Scotty came in. In front of him was a huge stack of tapes. He exhaled heavily, ran a hand through his hair, and inserted one of them into the viewer.
After stopping to order a glass of scotch from the selector, Scotty went to join him. “Whot are ye up to here, lad?”
Pavel looked up with a frown. “I em going through the log tapes—or helf of them, if you believe thet—for Uhura. The executive reports hev to be ready tomorrow, and she’s supposed to review all the logs. She got me to do these,” he explained, his frown growing more pronounced.
Scotty swallowed a sip of his drink and laughed. “When I was second officer, Spock took care of all thot.”
Popping another tape into the viewer, Chekov said, “I suppose thet’s vhy you wanted me to hev the job?”
Jim Kirk tossed his report board and pen down on the desk and sat back, picking up the Saurian brandy he had poured earlier. No, that report wouldn’t be written tonight. He was too tired. Taking a long drink, he pondered for a moment over the number of reports he had filled out and submitted to Starfleet Command in all his years. He couldn’t count that high.
Somewhere, in a case of software buried deep in the bowels of Starfleet headquarters, were the complete files of the USS Enterprise—no doubt untouched since the day they had been submitted. And Enterprisewas just one of hundreds of other ships, each of which took a week out every few months and had its poor, downtrodden senior officers fill out a set of reports on efficiency or the lack thereof. God, that storage room must have been a crowded place! He wondered if anyone at Fleet command could honestly explain to him the difference between that room and the station’s waste disposal tanks.
But he hadn’t been complaining, not one bit. This was the first time in ten years that he had filled out one of those mundane things which were the bane of every ship commander’s existence, and he had enjoyed every minute of it. The Enterprise was coming to the end of its first thirty-day mission with Kirk in command, and naturally the bureaucrats at HQ wanted reports filed. After all, the ship was up for a new commander now.
Wouldn’t they be surprised?
Welcome to Fan Fiction Fridays! Think I have enough “themed” blog entries yet? I’ve decided to start sharing fan fiction produced by myself, my family and my friends herein, because, well, we put a lot of work into it. It’s the reason we got involved in crazy ventures like Farpoint and Firebringer Press. And I think it deserves to be remembered. I’ve shared some of my fic already. You can access it from the Fan Fic menu item above. But there are some big chunks missing.
In 1982, I wrote a Star Trek fan fic titled “A Noble Mind is Here Oer’Thrown.” Terrible title, right? I got news for you. Most of my titles suck. Not news. By 1984, it became its own fanzine novella, Enterprise Regained. You can read that here.
People liked “Regained” so much (and when I say “people,” I mean probably two or three) that they told me to write a sequel. “But,” I said, “‘Regained’ was a continuation of ST II, and ST III invalidated it. How can I write a sequel?” “Make it reconcile the two,” they said.
And Enterprise Lost was born. It has never seen the light of digital day, to my knowledge. So here it is, the prologue, anyway. I’ll post a chapter a week. My thoughts on this segment follow it.
Oh, and I did the artwork, too. I beg your forgiveness. Continue reading