Errand of Fury Book 1 Page 6

  Kirk could see a shadow on his chief engineer’s face. “What’s the problem, Scotty?”

  “The upgrades are all good pieces of engineering, but I’m uncomfortable with some of the trade-offs,” Scott said. Then, before Kirk could ask, he continued. “Phasers and shields will be more effective against, for instance, Klingon shields and disruptors, but less flexible and less effective against a broad range of threats. Same with the sensors. Tactical sensors get a fairly big boost, but we lose power in nontactical applications.”

  “Including astronomical study and research,” Spock added.

  Kirk absorbed this for a moment. After a brief silence, McCoy was the first to speak and when he did, it was an observation, not a protest. “They’re turning us into a warship.”

  Technically, of course, the Enterprise was part of Starfleet’s defensive force. And this ship and crew had seen their share of conflict, from the Romulans to the Gorn. However, as a practical matter, most of the ship’s duties were scientific and related to exploration. Constitution-class vessels were true multipurpose ships. Now, it seemed they were going to be retooled for a very specific purpose: fighting Klingons.

  “Not just a warship, but a warship optimized for battle with a single enemy,” Scotty said.

  “The situation is regrettable but necessary, given the current crisis with the Klingon Empire,” Spock said.

  “And, we can only hope, temporary,” Kirk said.

  “Temporary if we win,” McCoy said.

  “What?” Kirk asked.

  “I said the changes will only be temporary if we win,” McCoy said.

  “Yes, and irrelevant if we lose,” Kirk said. The Enterprise might survive a Federation victory, but the ship and crew would never survive a defeat. Even if Kirk were inclined to surrender when overwhelmed, the Klingons didn’t take prisoners.

  “Jim, is there any hope of a diplomatic solution?” McCoy asked.

  “There’s always hope, Bones, but you’ve seen Admiral Solow’s reports…”

  “Then we’ll have to hope for a miracle,” McCoy said.

  “Gentlemen, we can hope, but I suspect that if we’re going to have a miracle here, we’re going to have to make it ourselves.”

  Michael Fuller saw the figure from behind. Brown hair, tall, dressed in a red Starfleet ship’s services uniform. Fuller’s throat caught, and he felt a rush of emotions. It was all a mistake. Sam was alive and walking the halls of the starbase. There was a moment of relief, then outright joy as Fuller saw his son.

  He quickened his pace as his eyes tracked the tall young man. Even after Fuller’s rational mind had re-asserted itself, he decided to watch the figure until he turned around.

  The young Starfleet officer did turn around a few seconds later, and Fuller saw that it was not his son. That moment of confirmation was perhaps worse than any he had had in weeks. In that second, he again knew a rush of grief, a reminder that his son was gone. In that moment, his son died again in his mind. The pain was surprisingly fresh, reminding Michael Fuller of the moment when he realized why Jim Kirk had sent him a message.

  From long practice, Fuller took control of himself, willing the grief to recede. Once again locking away his son’s death in a box in his mind, Fuller headed back to his quarters on the starbase. The starbase was full of young men in uniforms. Many of those young men would be about Sam’s age and size, and they would be wearing the red tunics of ship’s services, of security.

  How many more times would he see Sam? And how many more times would his son die again in his mind and heart?

  Fuller wondered if things would be easier if he had been able to bury his son. Neither the official Starfleet notification nor Kirk’s personal message had included any details, but Fuller had deduced that his son had been disintegrated and there had been no remains to send home.

  At that thought, Fuller felt his stomach lurch and his throat close up. It took another act of will to pull himself together, but he did it. He decided not to eat dinner after all that day.

  For the next two days, Fuller barely left his quarters, and then only at odd times, when there was less chance of seeing people in uniform, less chance of seeing his son again in a crowd. Nevertheless, Fuller “saw” Sam four more times in the two days. Each time, the view startled him. And each time he experienced the same cycle of relief followed by the cold rush of reality. Each time he had felt his son die again.

  But the cycle was shorter by the fourth time. And by the third day, Fuller was ready to lift his near exile from other people. Partly because he saw that it hadn’t worked. Many of the young people on the starbase were new officers and enlisted personnel awaiting assignment and had been in their uniforms since the moment the base quartermaster had issued them. They never took their uniforms off, even during their off-duty hours. Fuller remembered his own feelings at that age—he doubted he wore civilian clothes once in his first year in the service.

  However, since his reinstatement, he had not put on his own uniform. Until now he simply hadn’t been ready because he was still seeing his dead son in every crowd.

  On the fourth day, he made a point of seeking out large groups. He saw his son more times than he could count, but being among people was necessary. Everything depended on his being able to perform his duties flawlessly. By the sixth day, he could function normally and he did, though he kept mostly to himself. It was two weeks after that that the inevitable happened.

  “Sections one through four to the assembly area in ten minutes,” the voice on the intercom said.

  Ten minutes would be plenty of time, Michael Fuller knew. The few things he would be bringing with him were already packed in his small canvas bag. In fact, his personal effects had fallen well below the already low mass limits for junior officers.

  There was only one thing that remained. There was one task that he had put off—and putting things off was something he never did. In fact, he had always made it a point to perform his most difficult or least pleasant tasks first in any situation. His one remaining task was neither difficult nor unpleasant, but a part of him had resisted doing it nevertheless.

  Fuller put on his uniform. He well remembered his excitement when he had put on his first Starfleet uniform three decades ago—before Sam was born. He had felt excitement, pride, and a touch of fear. Now, he remembered that moment as if it had been yesterday.

  A part of aging, at least for him, was the sensation that time sped up as you moved through it. Yet, he felt closer to his past than he ever had before. Enlisting in Starfleet, becoming a father, serving with the finest men and women in the fleet on six different vessels.

  Losing his son.

  Each experience, no matter how far in the past, seemed close by—felt close by—as if it were just a day away and not a year or a decade. But for a moment, everything else disappeared as he pulled the red tunic over his head. He ceased to be a fifty-two-year-old ensign, and once again because a twenty-two-year-old crewman putting on his first Starfleet uniform.

  Suddenly, he wasn’t remembering what he had felt all those years ago, he was feeling it.

  He was surprised by the intensity of the emotion. The moment passed quickly, but left behind a lingering feeling of…what? Excitement? Pride? Exhilaration? Fuller didn’t question the feeling any further. He simply enjoyed it. He knew it would help him fit in, and fitting in was essential now.

  With nearly five minutes to spare, Fuller stepped out of his quarters with his canvas bag strapped over his shoulder. Few people took notice of him; he was just another person in uniform.

  His destination was on the same level as the temporary officers’ quarters. After a short walk he was there with minutes to spare. The assembly area was a large room with exactly twenty-three other people. Fuller didn’t have to count to know how many others were there. He knew there were four sections of six people each. He had no doubt that he was the last person to arrive, and he guessed that the others had been there within a minute of the announcement.
Their eager, excited faces told him that much.

  The fact that Starfleet was on war footing didn’t diminish their excitement. In fact, the reason that many of them were there was that Starfleet was increasing the number of security personnel on starships due to the Klingon crisis. For now, they were too happy about getting posted to a starship to wonder about the emergency that had gotten them there, or what the crisis might mean for them in the very near future.

  Michael Fuller forgave them their naïveté. After all, they were young and had never seen real danger or fighting, certainly not with Klingons. The fact was that few people in Starfleet had seen conflict with Klingons. Most of those who had were dead, and most of the remaining were retired.

  However, Fuller was neither dead nor retired, and he had plenty of experience against the Klingons. In his time, he had seen too much to share his young peers’ almost childlike excitement, though he found it almost touching. It made him remember the day Sam received his commission.

  Fuller had spent much of his son’s childhood and youth away from Earth, but he had been able to attend Sam’s Starfleet Academy graduation. He had surprised his son by showing up a day before the ceremony. Fuller remembered the look of surprise and pure pleasure on Sam’s face when his father arrived. The fact that Fuller knew he didn’t deserve his son’s admiration had not diminished his own pleasure one bit.

  That night he had taken Sam for a drink at a local Starfleet bar. Sam had said no to a number of offers from his friends to celebrate with them, and the two of them had sat for most of the night talking over their drinks. It was the kind of father-son moment that had been all too rare in their lives. Of course, Fuller had always thought there would be time, that they would catch up on his next leave, or—after he retired—Sam’s next leave.

  Now there were no more leaves. No more talks. No more quiet drinks. There wouldn’t even be the occasional subspace communication from Sam to share news or ask advice.

  There was no more time.

  Fuller felt a hatch opening in his mind and shut it down with force. He immediately turned his attention to the others in the room with him. He realized that several of the young recruits were looking at him.

  Michael Fuller was too old to worry about the stares. Still, he couldn’t help but notice them. He also understood them.

  “Section four to the transporter room,” a voice said on the intercom. Immediately, five of the people around him came to attention. A moment later, Fuller left the assembly area with five other people who were now so excited that they barely noticed him. A few moments later he stepped into the transporter room, where a lieutenant from the base nodded to them.

  “Congratulations to all of you, and good luck on the Enterprise,” the officer said. Then she turned to the transporter room operator and said, “Energize.”

  Fuller heard the familiar hum as the system powered up. The next few minutes wouldn’t be easy, but they were extremely important. In the past, he had measured new difficulties against what he had seen at the Battle of Donatu V. In that fight, he had seen things that he wished he could forget, and had done things he didn’t think he could do. Now, however, he knew that the decades-ago battle was no longer the yardstick he would use to measure difficult events in his life—that dubious distinction would now go to the effort it took for him to sit down and listen to the message from his son’s captain.

  After that, he knew he could face anything that would come, from Klingons to the meeting that was still ahead of him.

  No, the next few minutes wouldn’t be easy, but Fuller knew that he would not fail.

  “Captain, the first team is awaiting transport now,” Uhura’s voice said through the intercom.

  Kirk hit the button on the desk of the security office and said, “Thank you, Lieutenant.”

  Chief of Security Giotto was already on his feet. Kirk nodded to him, and the two men headed for the door. After a turbolift trip and a short walk, they were outside the transporter room door. The two men had repeated this ritual so many times in the past that no discussion was required. They merely waited outside the door for the right time.

  From the corridor, Kirk heard the hum of the transporter and he imagined the young faces now standing on the pad, looking around them in wonder. Then, on cue, their section chief greeted them.

  “Hello, I’m Lieutenant Leslie Parrish, your section chief or squad leader,” Kirk heard dimly through the door. Then Parrish continued her standard greeting, which included a few words about the ship and her captain.

  Then came a joke Kirk had first heard a variation of when he served on the U.S.S. Republic, though he suspected it long predated his time there. Kirk marveled that there once was a time when he actually thought the joke was funny.

  “How many old security guards does it take to fire a phaser?” Parrish asked.

  The response came unusually fast, in a voice that was firm, clear …and familiar. “There are no old security guards,” the voice said. Then, instead of the customary laughter, there was a silence that even through the transporter room door seemed uncomfortable to Kirk.

  He glanced at Giotto, who managed a shrug with only his eyes. When Parrish spoke again, her voice was normal. Consistent with Starfleet regulations, she offered the recruits the opportunity to resign, step back onto the transporter pad, and go home with no penalty. Particularly in this political climate, it would have been a wise move, but no one took her up on the offer. In Kirk’s career, he had never seen anyone resign before being sworn in.

  Then came the Starfleet oath that Parrish said and her new squad repeated, “I solemnly swear to uphold the regulations of Starfleet Command as well as the laws of the United Federation of Planets, to become an ambassador of peace and goodwill, to represent the highest ideals of peace and brotherhood, to protect and serve the Federation and its member worlds, to serve the interests of peace, to respect the Prime Directive, and to offer aid to any and all beings that request it.”

  “Congratulations, and welcome aboard,” Parrish said.

  That was their cue. Kirk entered the transporter room with Giotto right behind him. His eyes immediately sought out the owner of the voice that had sounded familiar. He wasn’t hard to find. A fifty-two-year-old man in a room full of twenty-two-year-olds was easy to spot.

  At the moment his eyes met Michael Fuller’s, Kirk thought that seeing a Rigelian in his transporter room wouldn’t have surprised him more. Yet, there Fuller was, standing with five freshly minted ensigns. The fact that it was impossible was clearly secondary to the fact that it was true.

  Kirk had a duty to perform, so he didn’t linger on the officer and scanned the group with his eyes.

  Parrish said, “Recruits, I present Captain James T. Kirk and our chief of security, Lieutenant Commander Giotto.”

  “At ease, Lieutenant,” Kirk said to Parrish. “Scared any of them off yet?” He added, with some humor in his voice.

  “Not yet, sir, but it’s still early,” she deadpanned.

  “That it is, Lieutenant.” Kirk turned to the group. “Welcome to the Enterprise. I look forward to getting to know each of you in turn. For now, we’ll trust you to Lieutenant Parrish’s capable hands.”

  Then Kirk turned and exited the room, with Giotto behind him. Once they were in the hallway and a few paces from the door, Giotto said, “Captain, about Chief Fuller, the new crew manifests were incomplete because of some of the late additions. I’ll find out how this happened.”

  “No need, Mister Giotto. I know exactly where to go for that information. Please inform Parrish that when she’s finished with her squad she should tell Chief Fuller to expect to hear from me.”

  “Yes, sir,” Giotto said.

  Kirk stopped at the nearest corridor intercom and hit the button. “Kirk to Uhura,” he said.

  “Uhura here,” she responded immediately.

  “Get me Admiral Solow and patch him through to my quarters.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Kirk
out.” He headed for the turbolift and thence to his quarters. A light on his desk told him that he had an active communication waiting for him. Sitting at the desk, he flipped on the monitor and was surprised to see Admiral Solow’s face on the screen. The admiral had responded immediately to Uhura’s message and was actually waiting for Kirk. That spoke volumes.

  “Admiral,” Kirk said.

  “Captain Kirk, I presume that you have seen Michael Fuller,” Solow said.

  “Yes, sir. I just greeted Mister Fuller with a new squad of recruits.”

  “And you’re wondering if I’ve compromised the security of your ship and crew by saddling you with a grief-stricken father out for revenge against Klingons.” Solow’s tone made it a statement, not a question.

  “Yes, sir.” Kirk was glad he wouldn’t have to beat around the bush.

  “I think we both know him better than that.”

  That much was true, Kirk knew. “He has just lost his son.”

  “And Michael Fuller has enjoyed a long and distinguished career in Starfleet security. He has earned our trust and our gratitude.”

  Also true, Kirk conceded. Many throughout the ranks owed Fuller their lives. Solow did. And so did Kirk himself.

  “I had the same doubts about his request to re-enlist. Then I read his psych report, which said he was more than fit for duty. Then I read the results of his physical and skills test certification, which were quite remarkable. And finally, I talked to Fuller. I suggest you do the same. As captain, you have final say on your crew assignments. And at the moment, you and I have something more pressing to discuss, the Enterprise’s next assignment. This, Captain Kirk, comes directly from President Wescott’s office.”

  Fuller slowed down and let the rest of the squad walk ahead of him. For the moment, the Enterprise was more interesting to the other new recruits than he was. Fuller understood that well. This was their first ship, and it was a starship, and it was the Enterprise. They would spend as long as they could exploring, many of them not even stopping to put their gear in their quarters.