RECORDS LOG ENTRY: Contact lost with cargo shuttle Vega Five. Last report received stated that they were under attack and engaged with an unidentified object. Long range scanners show no debris. No explanation. Advised fleet central to accelerate operation DEMOTH.

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        Spock squinted at the latest broadcast. Damn! He’s going to have a fit over this! He looked around for the codebook that would answer one question. Finding it, he punched up the call sequence for Kirk. The computer answered but there was no one home.
        Spock suddenly shivered in the evening chill. Suspicious by nature, he suspected that the cold was not the only cause. He set the terminal to retry Kirk’s code until there was an answer, and went to fetch a fur-lined robe.
        He had long been aware of the battering his system was taking on Vulcan. He was a telepath, of sorts. But, what he had gained in human height he had lost in mental skills. His family had been healers for as far back as records were kept. Vulcan healers were a special class of citizen, respected for their skills.
        As a half-breed, Spock lacked a healer’s power. He was merely a touch-telepath. He didn’t even rank as an adept.
        He had run into this condition once before, years ago, and the solution to his problem, as he chose to consider it, had been devastating. He wasn’t like the others. He couldn’t accept that lifestyle. Leaving home had been the answer to further humiliation. He suspected it would come to that again.
        Three hours later, while he was engrossed in status reports and news bulletins, the console beeped for incoming. Kirk appeared on the screen. Spock noticed that there was a filter up, the picture was hazy and rolled.
        “Spock, what’s up?” Kirk sounded tired. Ever brusque, he usually dispensed with the formalities of a greeting when answering a call. He barely used them when he was the initiator.
        “I saw the bulletin from staff headquarters. They’re rolling the Enterprise out of mothballs,” Spock tried, unsuccessfully, to get the picture clearer.
        “I know. They conned me into an inspection tour this morning,” Kirk replied, running one hand through his long dark hair to brush it out of his eyes. It was a known sign of distraction. Spock took note.
        “How does she look?”
        “Like you’d expect. They didn’t keep up security. Some pretty special equipment got lost out there. The headquarters turkeys behaved pretty much as I said they would.”
        “Is she rebuildable?”
        “Yes. Probably. Given that they are out of ships, fixing up an old one beats the high cost of a new one. They don’t have much time.”
        “The explosion damaged much of the hull.”
        “That can be fixed in dry-dock. Ships have been colliding since they first sailed the water oceans. Water, air, space, makes no difference. Hell, any Captain knows that.”
        “I am concerned about the inner hulls, and the engine pods.”
        “No need. The engines will probably get replaced. The inner hulls were only slightly ruptured in comparison, and most of that confined to two compartments. No, she’ll be all right. The question of the moment is who are they going to sit in the chair?”
        “Do you want it?” Spock wished the picture were clearer. He couldn’t read Kirk’s face. There was a long pause.
        “You think they’ll offer it?”
        “I think they will offer it ... to you.”
        “I don’t know ... There are conflicts.”
        “I will re-enlist if you do.” He didn’t need to say more. Kirk had been his Captain for a dozen years. He would understand the offer, and what it meant.
        “There are, ... things I need to work out,” Kirk looked back over this shoulder.
        “Indeed. I shall wait for word.”
        “Thank you, Spock. Signing off.”
        He was abruptly gone and Spock was left with a static screen. He was used to the speed of the termination and he guessed that his captain had company. Or, suspected that he was being monitored. He had been too positive. The Enterprise had severe damage, and the special equipment she had carried last was now missing.
        Spock had to think about that.
       
        # # # # # #

Kirk

       
        Star Date: 7702.04....
       
        James T. Kirk, former Captain of the USS Enterprise and now on temporary assignment to Star Base as a space academy instructor, paced about the Admiral’s reception room as if it were a cage and he its captive. His nerves were raw, his tension reflected in the harsh expression that he wore and in the rapid clip of his boot heels on the uncarpeted floor. Behind the desk, and trying very hard not to notice the other occupant of the waiting area, sat an ignored and slightly flustered secretary.
        Kirk was nearly six feet tall, just under the height limit for space duty. His trim figure was just slightly over the 195 pounds he preferred. He sported standard yet sophisticated civilian attire, a lightweight navy blue tunic with a wide collar; open halfway down his chest and with no visible means of being otherwise. The tunic hugged his figure, which had remained both firm and muscular, and boasted of its occupant’s fitness.
        The pants were of the same blue color, and snuggly followed the muscles of his legs, as was the current fashion, dropping down to break across the instep line of his shiny black boots. As had generations of ex-military men before him, Kirk preferred the heavier footgear of the service to the soft shoe of the civilian. There was a sense of power in doing this, felt by the wearer and thus conveyed to the observer.
        There was a distinguished air about him, as tends to mark any man who commands, and the slight touch of gray at his temples reinforced it.
        His appearance was commanding, his good looks even striking. There were many women on the base who secretly resented the existence of his equally beautiful wife and the contentment he displayed with her.
        Kirk was sorting over the events of the past two months and trying to integrate this latest of a long series of summonses that he had received from the Admiral. He was drawing conclusions that he did not wish to draw.
        Cursing and mumbling under his breath, his behavior reflected the patterns of his thoughts as he mulled over the two equally attractive choices for his future, remain with his newly acquired family and behind a desk, or return to space with all its danger and thrills, and lose his home. And he cursed again the man who was making sure that he had this choice.
        BUZZZZZZZ!
        The intercom signal shattered the quiet.
        “Yessss, Admiral?” The secretary quickly answered, relieved at the distraction. Her iridescent eyes slitted half closed as she listened, a third membrane barely visible.
        “Send James Kirk in now please.”
        “Yessss, Sssir.”
        “And,...Miss Odeia?”
        “Yesss, Admiral?”
        “Hold all calls. I want no interruptions. NO INTERRUPTIONS! Understood?” The voice on the intercom was used to giving orders and, from the sound of it, was used to having them occasionally disobeyed.
        “Yessss, SSSSSIR!” Miss Odeia was slightly miffed. She turned her reptilian eyes on this dark-eyed human who had disrupted the calm of her sanctuary. Daniels straightened his tunic, and ran his hand through his long, curly hair, a useless gesture as the one unruly curl immediately bounced back over his forehead in a defiance of its own.
        He had heard the call, and before she had even composed her instructions, he gave her a quick nod and without paying her any further attention strode into the Admiral's office.
        At her desk, Miss Odeia sighed at the flightiness of humans and noted to herself that of all of Kirk's visits here, this was the most agitated that she had seen him.
       
        # # # # # #
       
        A few moments later, scowling his annoyance, Kirk had settled himself opposite Fleet Admiral Henrichi, the acting Director of Star Fleet's Personnel Division. Normally, he would have felt comfortable. But today he felt undressed across from the fancy fleet uniform that the dark and muscular Henrichi, unknown to Kirk, sported in Kirk's honor. Kirk had just sullenly demanded to know why he had been summoned, this time.
        “I keep asking you here because I just can't accept your decision to stay on at the Academy in a non-flight position. You! With all you experience. Star Fleet's finest Captain!” Henrichi was pouring it on with a smile.
        Kirk's reply was terse.
        “I won't change my mind! You know that! And, you know why. If not, Nogura will be happy to fill you in!”
        “That was ...months ago, and you aren't naive when it comes to politics. The wounds should have healed. I’m to offer you another chance. It’s a brand new mission. One that would complete your active duty hitch, I might add. You aren't noted for leaving a job undone.”
        Kirk did not reply.
        Henrichi twirled on end of his big black handlebar moustache and tried another approach. Kirk watched him.
        “Have you heard the latest news? We lost another ship this morning. Another cargo shuttle, fortunately, so the number of hands lost was small, but another loss nonetheless. That makes five of them now.” Henrichi paused for effect and to watch Kirk. The puzzle was an intriguing one and Kirk was also not known to ignore a good puzzle for long.
        “I heard that the Vega was lost. I ...met one of the ensigns on board. The same sector?” Kirk curtailed his annoyance. Peterson had been so eager, so young. Such a waste.
        “Yes, vectored off of Rigel and Antares, 4,000 par secs from Rigel, if all of the readings were right.”
        “That's an unexplored area. What are cargo ships doing out there?” Kirk's interest was aroused. He couldn’t help himself. Too many years of dealing with such puzzles.
        “Hauling equipment. The area is under study for a new base. An expansion of Star Bases three and four, Star Base Four being the closest.” He had pulled a wall map down on an old-fashioned roller that illustrated with tiny lights the Star Base distribution throughout Federation territory and that also illustrated, this with small black circles, the sites of the recent unexplained ship losses.
        “What ships have you assigned to investigate?” Curious for the sake of old friendships, Kirk was beginning to sense a trap.
        “None. There are none to send.”
        “Now, that is a bit hard to believe!” Kirk's smile emphasized his sarcasm. He became alert. Something didn’t sound right.
        “You haven't been involved in Star Fleet problems for ... some time Kirk.
        “And, we all know why.”
        “And you remember that the outside worlds are generally kept uninformed of, ahh, our more sensitive technical matters,” Henrichi ignored him.
        “Yes, of course.” Now he was impatient. “So fill me in, why are there no ships to send? With the Fleet at its biggest in all of its history!”
        “There has been a sudden escalation in the “cold war” between the various space powers. The Gazinti, with whom we still have not established diplomatic relations, by the way, at least not yet, have been making overtures to the Romulans and to the Klingons. And the Gorns have been getting restless about the number of settlements cropping up so near their border. And, Krror’s ships have spotted near the Aldeb sector.”
        “So what? The various power groups have been flexing their muscles for all of history, if not one group then another. What has this got to do with ship availability? And what does it have to do with me?” He had heard nothing new, so far.
        “Kirk, we have become so spread out throughout our space, that every available star ship, from dreadnoughts to destroyers, and even the majority of the scouts have been assigned to peace-keeping patrols, and because we did not expect any attack from this direction,” he paused to indicate the map, and shrug off arguments. “We are simply unprotected. For sensitive reasons, I cannot elaborate.”
        “And you want me to get into this? To come back into a service that was all to anxious to have me retire such a short time ago. To come back to solve your mystery without my crew, my ship,” he trailed off, as if afraid that his bitterness would show. Kirk had jumped up and was pacing as he spoke. He had his own methods of negotiation. Realizing what he was doing, he took a deep breath and slowed his steps.
        And he had almost showed his excitement at the idea, showing enough for Henrichi to notice. Two months away from the demands of command had already been too long. Henrichi was counting on that. He tried not to show his excitement at the idea of being back in harness. He sat back down, determined to be calm.
        It was too late. His excitement showed enough for Henrichi to notice. Two years away from the demands of command had already been two years too long. Old habits die hard, a fact Henrichi was counting on to make this easier.
        “You could handle it. And, very well, too, I might add.” Henrichi stroked him verbally, seeing just how much the puzzle had attracted Kirk’s attention. Seeing the light that had come back to the dark hazel eyes. And they were hazel, not green,,, a fact Henrichi also noted.
        It took a few moments for Kirk to connect with the ploy.
        “That was ...before the accident!” Kirk jumped back up, aware now of the trap, “Find yourself a younger man! Or did you forget the comments made at the court martial. About my Questionable judgment in entering a restricted area. How I circumvented command authority. Or, how I would serve us better … at my age … behind a desk. Do I need to repeat the rest?” Kirk's voice was edged with bitterness.
        Henrichi winced at the verbal assault but continued.
        “None available. The rest of our command-qualified officers are on the more political visible patrols. I need someone I can trust to go in behind the lines, right to the trouble spot. I need it cleaned up fast.” Henrichi kept his voice level, softly encouraging. He had not expected this to be easy, on either one of them. The harsh treatment at the hearing had been too recent.
        Kirk could hear it, the coaxing. He remained unmoved. The harsh treatment at the hearing had been too recent, Kirk’s memory too vivid.
        “I’m sure that you could spare one ship,” he kept his defensive tone.
        “None.”
        “If you don't have a ship, what in blasters did you want me to use?” Kirk regretted repeating the question even as it came from his mouth. He knew the answer. He did not want to know he knew. They had listened! They were going to repair her! They hadn't mothballed her after all!
        Henrichi moved to close him.
        “As of Star Date 7702.02, the USS Enterprise was ordered refitted for active duty.” He paused for the effect. It was noticeable. For a moment Henrichi thought that he had him. But Kirk was still being stubborn, he sat down and said nothing. Seemingly unperturbed, Henrichi continued.
        “We are also, ahh, reassembling the original bridge crew. After all, it is the most famous investigative command crew in history.” That should break him. He placidly watched Kirk fidget.
        “No!” Kirk was on his feet again, “No! And don't ask again! A bunch of middle-aged men, not suitable to gallivant around in space, half of us retired and in God knows what condition,” his voice trailed off.
        Henrichi winced again at the continued quotes from the court martial. Kirk had long been known to have too good a memory.
        “You certainly remember the hearing that disbanded my crew! Why McCoy was crippled and isn't even in practice. Spock has retreated to Vulcan, ... for family reasons,” he paused, too frustrated to continue for a moment. Spock was apt to be willing to leave said family by now, if he read his Vulcan officer friend correctly.
        “If you're an example of what an out of condition member of your bridge crew looks like, you have no argument,” Henrichi tossed in the compliment.
        “Sulu has had his own ship for two months now, let him take this assignment.” Kirk was exasperated. The temptation was almost overpowering him. He was visibly struggling with himself. He tried to keep his cool but his nerves were raw and Henrichi coolly noted that, too.
        Henrichi continued, “Sulu lost his ship, and, pending a review, is on leave and, .... is, ..... ahh, ...... shall we say, assigned to this base for the duration?” He spoke as if he were discussing the weather and not a promising career in limbo.
        Kirk studied Henrichi across the desk for a moment, digesting this new piece of information. Then, he seemed to reach a conclusion. He fairly shouted his response.
        “No! Count me out of this!” Kirk turned on his heel and made the door in three strides. His years of conditioning made him remember to turn and salute, but his anger at the trap made it a mockery, then he fled.
       
        # # # # # #
       
        Henrichi sighed, and rolled up the wall map. Damn Numbota for his petty politics! This feud had gone too far, too long!
        Then he remembered Kirk’s face at the news of the retrofit of his ship. And, then again, at the news of the possible reassembly of his crew.
        “That should break him if nothing else does.” He spoke out loud, to the walls.
        After the hearing, it had been Kirk who had sworn to get the ship and his honor back. Kirk hadn’t known that they had never truly been disassembled, at least, not all of them. Fleet headquarters was far cleverer than that.
        Henrichi kept his cool. This was a delay, not an end to the mission. Seeds had been sown. The harvest was just delayed. After all, he thought, he had not expected this to be easy, on either one of them.
        “Ah, we shall see, Captain, we shall see.” He was smiling to himself as he turned back to his more pressing duties. There was still plenty of time, plenty of time.