Author's Note - Warning! This story is way out there in alternative land. Outside of some familiar TOS characters, the similarity to anything in the normal Star Trek universe ends. Oh, just to clarify, Spock is not a Vulcan in this story.
Read at your own risk. If you're a TOS purist and your head explodes, you have been warned.
Captain Kirk and the HMS Truculent
Introduction:
Imagine, if you will, that the sun never set on the British Empire. The American Revolution fizzled as King George stretched the necks of such insurrectionists as Washington, Adams and Hancock. The British soundly defeated Spain in the Anglo-Spanish war at the end of the 19th century and Kaiser Wilhelm’s aggression was thwarted before it could begin. The British invasion of France in 1938, ostensibly to stem the tide of the Nazis, in fact cemented Britannia as the dominant world power. Colonies flourished, independence movements were put down and the Union Jack was placed on the moon in 1980. Queen Elizabeth set her sights to the stars and the Pax Britannia held for almost 100 years. In the east, however, China and Japan entered into an alliance which threatened Britain’s world-wide dominion. With the advent of interstellar travel, pressure for territorial dominance on Earth subsided but did not end. Both the Eastern Alliance and the Empire established numerous colonies and bases among the stars, postponing open warfare until the mid-22nd century. Millions lost their lives as starships from the two sides went head-to-head and shock troops fought over desolate planets in a hundred distant star systems. Finally, after seven years of war, an uneasy armistice was signed. For a brief time, it seemed that Earth and the two empires would enjoy a time of peaceful coexistence. Ironically, the peace was rent asunder, not by Britain or the Sino-Japanese alliance, but by an old feud that had simmered for thousands of years in the land known as Palestine. By 2260, most of the Israelis had emigrated to Zion, a planet hundreds of light years away – but a determined remnant held onto Jerusalem.
Until the Black Day when the world ended.
E.B. 14 July 2265
Planet New Australia
Kilogolo – the capitol city
Commander James Kirk, RSF, watched dust kick up through the dirty viewport as the passenger transport settled onto the red dirt tarmac of the Kilogolo airfield. Repulsor lifts spun down with a humming sigh as the small spacecraft knelt heavily on its landing struts.
Kirk unbuckled his seatbelt and stepped over a portly man whose destination lay elsewhere. He inadvertently stepped on the gentleman’s foot, earning a look of disdain and an injured “harrumph.”
“Sorry,” said Kirk, absently, as he pulled his tote-bag down from the overhead. Tossing it over his shoulder, he joined the queue of passengers lined up to exit the transport. Many of them were locals, wearing broad-brimmed hats and clothing of light fabric to help them cope with the heat and intense sun-light of New Australia. Kirk wore the standard blue fleet uniform, which was particularly ill-suited for the climate. A wave of dry heat hit him like the slap of an ill-tempered lover as the hatch was opened and the line of passengers shuffled forward and down the stairway.
The young officer had to squint against the brilliant light from the sun, Arcturus. He placed his officer’s cap on his head for a small degree of protection – the bill offering only scant shade across his eyes. Powdery red dust which tasted faintly of salt swirled in the air. Kirk pulled a handkerchief from his pocket to wipe the sweat from his brow and also to filter out the fine dust.
“Commander Kirk? Over here!”
Kirk jerked his head up to see an army officer in tropical mustards, waving at him. He made his way toward the officer who stood by a dusty, open field car.
“Commander Kirk, welcome to New Australia,” said the tanned man who wore lieutenant’s pips on his shoulders. A Pith helmet with regimental crest rode on the Lieutenant’s head. “I’m Leftenant Will Farning. The Governor asked me to give you a ride. Here now, let me take your kit.”
Farning tossed Kirk’s bag into the back of the car. The car was painted in the typical mustard tan of military vehicles that served on arid worlds – though in this case, the red dirt made the lighter color stand out like a sore thumb.
“Thanks,” replied Kirk who hopped in on the passenger side. He wished the car had a roof to deflect the harsh rays of the sun, but he was grateful not to have to find his own way to visit Governor Smyth-Davis.
“First time on New Oz?” asked Farning, conversationally as he eased behind the steering wheel. The car lurched forward with an electric whine and sped quickly from the tarmac onto crowded surface streets. Kirk grabbed his officer’s lid, lest the wind rip it away.
“Yes, first time. Is it always this hot?”
Farning’s face broke into a broad grin as he steered the car into a narrow street, narrowly avoiding a collision with one of the local’s food carts.
“Not hardly, sir. It’s winter in this hemisphere. We’re enjoying a bit of a cold snap at present. Best hang on, sir.”
Farning said this as he maneuvered sharply around a cart pulled by two creatures that looked like a cross between water buffalo and rhinoceros. Kirk gamely held on, wishing in vain that the Lieutenant would slow down.
“I hear through the grapevine that you’re takin’ command of the Truculent. Is that right, sir?”
Kirk nodded. “You heard correctly. Though I have to wonder why the Governor wanted to see me first.”
Lt. Farning cocked an eye at Kirk. “You’ve not met Sir Robert yet?”
Kirk shook his head. Captain Sir Robert April, current C.O. of HMS Truculent was still on board the light cruiser which was currently in orbit, tied up to a tender. There was nothing unusual about that – command changes usually involved a bit of overlap, but Kirk had wondered about Governor Nigel Smyth-Davis’ “request” that Kirk pay him a visit before taking command.
“So what was your last billet, Commander?” continued Farning as he rapped the horn in a staccato fashion, sending some of the locals, known as “Nobs,” scurrying out of the street.
“I was First Officer on Enterprize.”
Farning turned and stared at Kirk with wide eyes. “Oh,” he said, finally. After a few moments of silence, he added. “Sorry.”
Kirk shrugged again and watched the patchwork of low, stone buildings and people of multiple races flow by in a blur. Farning’s response was typical. Kirk was used to it.
The remainder of the drive was mercifully quiet and Farning pulled the field car into a circular drive in front of a two-story building surrounded by arches and stone colonnades. The Union Jack flapped languidly from a pole attached to the building and two soldiers stood guard by the front door. Thick trees with corrugated brown trunks surrounded the villa; feather-like fronds swayed in the hot, dry breeze.
Farnsworth extended a hand to Kirk. “Good luck to you, Commander!” Kirk shook the Lieutenant’s hand, and watched him speed off before shouldering the bag and walking up the worn, stone steps to the covered portico. It was blissfully cooler in the shade. Kirk pulled off his hat, wiped his brow, and tucked the lid under his arm before approaching the door.
“Commander James Kirk to see the Governor,” announced Kirk to the sergeant. The soldier checked a noteboard and nodded.
“Yes sir, straight down the hallway – last door on the left. If you like, you can leave your kit here and we’ll keep an eye on it.”
A crooked grin formed on Kirk’s face. “Thanks, Sergeant, I appreciate it.” He brushed red dust from his blue jacket before entering.
Inside, the air was cool and soothing. Kirk stood still and closed his eyes for a moment, savoring the respite from the brutal heat. When he opened his eyes, an attractive woman in a gray suit and holding a noteboard was regarding him with a bemused expression.
“You must be Commander Kirk,” the woman said. She was quite lovely with reddish blond hair pulled up in a sensible bun. Green eyes sparkled as she gazed at the handsome RSF Commander.
“Guilty as charged. And you are?”
I’m Penny Gilchrist, the Governor’s assistant. If you’ll follow me, the Governor is waiting in his office.”
“Thank you Miss Gilchrist,” replied Kirk, favoring her with a boyish grin. “Any chance I could get some water? I’ve inhaled quite a bit of the local dust on the drive over.”
“Certainly. You’ll find refreshment in the Governor’s office – water, some of our local Bramoola juice, tea, or something stronger if you wish.”
Kirk followed Gilchrist, watching her walk with an appreciative eye. The conservatively tailored suit did little to detract from the woman’s shapely figure. She led him down the high-ceilinged hallway and into a small outer-office which Kirk assumed (correctly) belonged to Gilchrist. She tapped on a stout, paneled door hewn from dark, heavily grained wood and turned the door knob.
“Governor? Commander Kirk is here.”
“Ah, very good. Show the Commander in, please,” came a baritone voice from within.
Miss Gilchrist opened the door wide to allow Kirk to enter. “Commander James Kirk, Royal Star Fleet,” she announced.
Kirk walked into an office filled with artifacts and eclectic artwork. The walls were painted a pale yellow and festooned with paintings, photographs, awards and citations. Bookcases made of the same dark wood as the door lined one wall, filled with local bric-a-brac and leatherbound books. Kirk absently wondered if the Governor actually read the books or if they were simply window dressing.
A tall, florid faced man with thinning chestnut hair and impressive mustache stood from behind a large desk. Governor Nigel Smyth-Davis was a well-built man in his early sixties. He wore a Poplin suit over a moleskin vest, a gold watch chain draped prominently from a vest button to a fob pocket. Kirk noticed a small Fleet pin on the Governor’s lapel.
“Ah, Commander Kirk! So good of you to come! Irregular of course, but I do appreciate you making the slight detour. Please, have a seat – may I offer you refreshment? I’m partial to Bramoola juice, myself, but I have a well-stocked liquor cabinet or I can have Miss Gilchrist fetch you tea or coffee?”
“Thank you, sir. Water would be fine.”
Smyth-Davis bustled to a side-board and poured water into an iced-glass, then poured a bright green liquid into another glass. The governor hummed to himself as he played his role as host while Kirk gazed around the office again. His eyes fixed on a plaque dated ten years earlier, given by the officers and crew of the HMS Stalwart to Captain Nigel Smyth-Davis, RSF, on the occasion of his retirement.
The Governor presented the water to Kirk and retook his seat behind his desk. Large, fronded plants helped shade the tall windows from the harsh sun. Smyth-Davis took a sip of his drink and licked his lips.
“Bramoola juice is an acquired taste, Commander. The indigents can get intoxicated off the stuff, but for humans it’s a mild stimulant like coffee and tea. Sure you won’t try some?”
“Perhaps another time, Governor.” Kirk gestured at the plaque. “I didn’t realize you served in the Fleet.”
The Governor followed Kirk’s gaze to the plaque and smiled. “Those were good years, Commander. Stalwart was a fine ship and I was blessed with a top-notch crew.” His face grew pensive. “Of course, those were happier days for us all.” He drew a breath and continued. “I had finished my tour as C.O. and was dreading desk-duty when Lord Hampton offered me the governorship here. Being a loyal subject, I of course, accepted. At that time, New Australia was a backwater world – very quiet with a small population. But after Black Day, we’re the second largest British colony.”
Kirk listened silently, allowing the older man his ramblings. Smyth-Davis stared off into some unseen place for a moment before rallying and fixing a smile back on his face.
“Enough about me. I do appreciate you coming by, Commander Kirk. I’m an old friend of Sir Robert – we served together on Trafalgar when we were still ensigns. I feel that I owe it to him and to you to apprise you of his situation.”
Kirk frowned. “What situation would that be, Governor?”
Smyth-Davis rummaged through his jacket and produced a silver cigarette case. He opened it and offered one to Kirk, who shook his head. The Governor picked up a crystal lighter from the desk and lit the cigarette, blowing out a long stream of smoke.
“Do you have any family, Commander?”
Confused by the direction of the conversation, Kirk hesitated. “Not any more, sir.”
The Governor favored him with a sympathetic look. “Were they on Earth when . . .?”
“My mother was,” Kirk replied, quietly. “My father was lost when I was small – his ship disappeared with all hands over thirty years ago. My brother and his wife and son died when the plague hit Deneva.”
“My condolences, Commander,” said Smyth-Davis, sincerely. “Yet, you seemed to have weathered your personal tragedy. Not everyone has, you know.”
“I suppose not,” replied Kirk, guardedly.
“Sir Robert would be a case in point.”
“How so?”
The Governor tapped ash into a crystal dish. “Captain April’s wife, his two sons and their wives, his grandchildren – all died on Black Day.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” said Kirk, his tone flat.
“Don’t misunderstand me, Commander. I’m not making light of your loss in what I’m telling you. Nearly ten billion people died that terrible day. Sir Robert’s loss was not unique – but like many, the shock changed him.”
Kirk really did not care. He was beginning to feel irritated with the Governor. Why did he feel the need to apologize for Captain April? It wasn’t like Kirk was going to serve under the man. And Kirk still wrestled with his own personal demons – he didn’t need some pompous bureaucrat to open old wounds, retired RSF Captain or not.
“Governor, I would appreciate it if you’d come to the point.”
Smyth-Davis stood and looked out the slats of the window blinds. Shadows from the trees played across the window in the hot breeze.
“You’re right, of course. I do apologize for mucking about so.” He turned and took a long drag on his cigarette before crushing the butt in the ash tray. He avoided eye contact with Kirk.
“Sir Robert put on a good game-face for a time after he learned of his family’s fate. Stiff upper-lip and all that, I suppose. But a deep and dark depression set upon him. The Admiralty has left him be, partly out of respect for his reputation, partly because the Fleet is terribly undermanned and under equipped. But Sir Robert’s . . . detachment, has had an adverse effect on the entire crew. Truculent hasn’t left orbit in over six months, and then for a brief in-system knock about. I thought it only right you should know what you’ll be inheriting, Commander. I would, if I were filling your shoes.”
Commander Kirk rubbed his upper lip which was beaded with perspiration despite the climate-controlled room. He nodded, as much to himself as to the Governor.
“I see,” he said, finally. He glanced up at the Governor, a wan smile on his lips. “You’re telling me this won’t be a posh billet?”
The Governor shook his head. “'Fraid not. However, there are very capable officers on that ship. They just need someone to take charge and provide leadership. And, as much as I like having a star cruiser in orbit all the time, it’s a waste of the Queen’s resources for Truculent to sit idle – especially if the Alliance decides to get adventurous. My ‘friends’ in high places tell me that they are in much better shape militarily five years since Black Day than are we.”
“My ‘friends’ say pretty much the same thing.” Kirk stood. “Thank you for your time, Governor, and for the ‘head’s up.’”
“Just one more thing, Commander,” Governor Smyth-Davis opened a desk drawer and pulled out an envelope and a small black case. “One of those ‘friends’ knew that we would meet, so he forwarded something to give you. I think you’ll be pleased.” He passed the case to Kirk with a smile.
Kirk opened the case to find a set of epaulets, each with a crown, single star and sunburst – the rank insignia of captain with less than three years in grade. His face broke into an open grin.
The Governor extended his hand. “Congratulations, Captain Kirk! The envelope contains all the legal mumbo-jumbo, but I figured those epaulets would be all you needed to see.”
Kirk grasped the older man’s hand. “Thank you, sir. I must say, this is unexpected . . .”
“Nonsense!” replied the Governor. “I read the report of what you did on Enterprize. Damn shame about Captain Pike and the ship, but if not for you the entire crew might have been lost. Good luck with Truculent, Captain, and good luck with Captain April.”
* * *
Read at your own risk. If you're a TOS purist and your head explodes, you have been warned.
Captain Kirk and the HMS Truculent
Introduction:
Imagine, if you will, that the sun never set on the British Empire. The American Revolution fizzled as King George stretched the necks of such insurrectionists as Washington, Adams and Hancock. The British soundly defeated Spain in the Anglo-Spanish war at the end of the 19th century and Kaiser Wilhelm’s aggression was thwarted before it could begin. The British invasion of France in 1938, ostensibly to stem the tide of the Nazis, in fact cemented Britannia as the dominant world power. Colonies flourished, independence movements were put down and the Union Jack was placed on the moon in 1980. Queen Elizabeth set her sights to the stars and the Pax Britannia held for almost 100 years. In the east, however, China and Japan entered into an alliance which threatened Britain’s world-wide dominion. With the advent of interstellar travel, pressure for territorial dominance on Earth subsided but did not end. Both the Eastern Alliance and the Empire established numerous colonies and bases among the stars, postponing open warfare until the mid-22nd century. Millions lost their lives as starships from the two sides went head-to-head and shock troops fought over desolate planets in a hundred distant star systems. Finally, after seven years of war, an uneasy armistice was signed. For a brief time, it seemed that Earth and the two empires would enjoy a time of peaceful coexistence. Ironically, the peace was rent asunder, not by Britain or the Sino-Japanese alliance, but by an old feud that had simmered for thousands of years in the land known as Palestine. By 2260, most of the Israelis had emigrated to Zion, a planet hundreds of light years away – but a determined remnant held onto Jerusalem.
Until the Black Day when the world ended.
E.B. 14 July 2265
Planet New Australia
Kilogolo – the capitol city
Commander James Kirk, RSF, watched dust kick up through the dirty viewport as the passenger transport settled onto the red dirt tarmac of the Kilogolo airfield. Repulsor lifts spun down with a humming sigh as the small spacecraft knelt heavily on its landing struts.
Kirk unbuckled his seatbelt and stepped over a portly man whose destination lay elsewhere. He inadvertently stepped on the gentleman’s foot, earning a look of disdain and an injured “harrumph.”
“Sorry,” said Kirk, absently, as he pulled his tote-bag down from the overhead. Tossing it over his shoulder, he joined the queue of passengers lined up to exit the transport. Many of them were locals, wearing broad-brimmed hats and clothing of light fabric to help them cope with the heat and intense sun-light of New Australia. Kirk wore the standard blue fleet uniform, which was particularly ill-suited for the climate. A wave of dry heat hit him like the slap of an ill-tempered lover as the hatch was opened and the line of passengers shuffled forward and down the stairway.
The young officer had to squint against the brilliant light from the sun, Arcturus. He placed his officer’s cap on his head for a small degree of protection – the bill offering only scant shade across his eyes. Powdery red dust which tasted faintly of salt swirled in the air. Kirk pulled a handkerchief from his pocket to wipe the sweat from his brow and also to filter out the fine dust.
“Commander Kirk? Over here!”
Kirk jerked his head up to see an army officer in tropical mustards, waving at him. He made his way toward the officer who stood by a dusty, open field car.
“Commander Kirk, welcome to New Australia,” said the tanned man who wore lieutenant’s pips on his shoulders. A Pith helmet with regimental crest rode on the Lieutenant’s head. “I’m Leftenant Will Farning. The Governor asked me to give you a ride. Here now, let me take your kit.”
Farning tossed Kirk’s bag into the back of the car. The car was painted in the typical mustard tan of military vehicles that served on arid worlds – though in this case, the red dirt made the lighter color stand out like a sore thumb.
“Thanks,” replied Kirk who hopped in on the passenger side. He wished the car had a roof to deflect the harsh rays of the sun, but he was grateful not to have to find his own way to visit Governor Smyth-Davis.
“First time on New Oz?” asked Farning, conversationally as he eased behind the steering wheel. The car lurched forward with an electric whine and sped quickly from the tarmac onto crowded surface streets. Kirk grabbed his officer’s lid, lest the wind rip it away.
“Yes, first time. Is it always this hot?”
Farning’s face broke into a broad grin as he steered the car into a narrow street, narrowly avoiding a collision with one of the local’s food carts.
“Not hardly, sir. It’s winter in this hemisphere. We’re enjoying a bit of a cold snap at present. Best hang on, sir.”
Farning said this as he maneuvered sharply around a cart pulled by two creatures that looked like a cross between water buffalo and rhinoceros. Kirk gamely held on, wishing in vain that the Lieutenant would slow down.
“I hear through the grapevine that you’re takin’ command of the Truculent. Is that right, sir?”
Kirk nodded. “You heard correctly. Though I have to wonder why the Governor wanted to see me first.”
Lt. Farning cocked an eye at Kirk. “You’ve not met Sir Robert yet?”
Kirk shook his head. Captain Sir Robert April, current C.O. of HMS Truculent was still on board the light cruiser which was currently in orbit, tied up to a tender. There was nothing unusual about that – command changes usually involved a bit of overlap, but Kirk had wondered about Governor Nigel Smyth-Davis’ “request” that Kirk pay him a visit before taking command.
“So what was your last billet, Commander?” continued Farning as he rapped the horn in a staccato fashion, sending some of the locals, known as “Nobs,” scurrying out of the street.
“I was First Officer on Enterprize.”
Farning turned and stared at Kirk with wide eyes. “Oh,” he said, finally. After a few moments of silence, he added. “Sorry.”
Kirk shrugged again and watched the patchwork of low, stone buildings and people of multiple races flow by in a blur. Farning’s response was typical. Kirk was used to it.
The remainder of the drive was mercifully quiet and Farning pulled the field car into a circular drive in front of a two-story building surrounded by arches and stone colonnades. The Union Jack flapped languidly from a pole attached to the building and two soldiers stood guard by the front door. Thick trees with corrugated brown trunks surrounded the villa; feather-like fronds swayed in the hot, dry breeze.
Farnsworth extended a hand to Kirk. “Good luck to you, Commander!” Kirk shook the Lieutenant’s hand, and watched him speed off before shouldering the bag and walking up the worn, stone steps to the covered portico. It was blissfully cooler in the shade. Kirk pulled off his hat, wiped his brow, and tucked the lid under his arm before approaching the door.
“Commander James Kirk to see the Governor,” announced Kirk to the sergeant. The soldier checked a noteboard and nodded.
“Yes sir, straight down the hallway – last door on the left. If you like, you can leave your kit here and we’ll keep an eye on it.”
A crooked grin formed on Kirk’s face. “Thanks, Sergeant, I appreciate it.” He brushed red dust from his blue jacket before entering.
Inside, the air was cool and soothing. Kirk stood still and closed his eyes for a moment, savoring the respite from the brutal heat. When he opened his eyes, an attractive woman in a gray suit and holding a noteboard was regarding him with a bemused expression.
“You must be Commander Kirk,” the woman said. She was quite lovely with reddish blond hair pulled up in a sensible bun. Green eyes sparkled as she gazed at the handsome RSF Commander.
“Guilty as charged. And you are?”
I’m Penny Gilchrist, the Governor’s assistant. If you’ll follow me, the Governor is waiting in his office.”
“Thank you Miss Gilchrist,” replied Kirk, favoring her with a boyish grin. “Any chance I could get some water? I’ve inhaled quite a bit of the local dust on the drive over.”
“Certainly. You’ll find refreshment in the Governor’s office – water, some of our local Bramoola juice, tea, or something stronger if you wish.”
Kirk followed Gilchrist, watching her walk with an appreciative eye. The conservatively tailored suit did little to detract from the woman’s shapely figure. She led him down the high-ceilinged hallway and into a small outer-office which Kirk assumed (correctly) belonged to Gilchrist. She tapped on a stout, paneled door hewn from dark, heavily grained wood and turned the door knob.
“Governor? Commander Kirk is here.”
“Ah, very good. Show the Commander in, please,” came a baritone voice from within.
Miss Gilchrist opened the door wide to allow Kirk to enter. “Commander James Kirk, Royal Star Fleet,” she announced.
Kirk walked into an office filled with artifacts and eclectic artwork. The walls were painted a pale yellow and festooned with paintings, photographs, awards and citations. Bookcases made of the same dark wood as the door lined one wall, filled with local bric-a-brac and leatherbound books. Kirk absently wondered if the Governor actually read the books or if they were simply window dressing.
A tall, florid faced man with thinning chestnut hair and impressive mustache stood from behind a large desk. Governor Nigel Smyth-Davis was a well-built man in his early sixties. He wore a Poplin suit over a moleskin vest, a gold watch chain draped prominently from a vest button to a fob pocket. Kirk noticed a small Fleet pin on the Governor’s lapel.
“Ah, Commander Kirk! So good of you to come! Irregular of course, but I do appreciate you making the slight detour. Please, have a seat – may I offer you refreshment? I’m partial to Bramoola juice, myself, but I have a well-stocked liquor cabinet or I can have Miss Gilchrist fetch you tea or coffee?”
“Thank you, sir. Water would be fine.”
Smyth-Davis bustled to a side-board and poured water into an iced-glass, then poured a bright green liquid into another glass. The governor hummed to himself as he played his role as host while Kirk gazed around the office again. His eyes fixed on a plaque dated ten years earlier, given by the officers and crew of the HMS Stalwart to Captain Nigel Smyth-Davis, RSF, on the occasion of his retirement.
The Governor presented the water to Kirk and retook his seat behind his desk. Large, fronded plants helped shade the tall windows from the harsh sun. Smyth-Davis took a sip of his drink and licked his lips.
“Bramoola juice is an acquired taste, Commander. The indigents can get intoxicated off the stuff, but for humans it’s a mild stimulant like coffee and tea. Sure you won’t try some?”
“Perhaps another time, Governor.” Kirk gestured at the plaque. “I didn’t realize you served in the Fleet.”
The Governor followed Kirk’s gaze to the plaque and smiled. “Those were good years, Commander. Stalwart was a fine ship and I was blessed with a top-notch crew.” His face grew pensive. “Of course, those were happier days for us all.” He drew a breath and continued. “I had finished my tour as C.O. and was dreading desk-duty when Lord Hampton offered me the governorship here. Being a loyal subject, I of course, accepted. At that time, New Australia was a backwater world – very quiet with a small population. But after Black Day, we’re the second largest British colony.”
Kirk listened silently, allowing the older man his ramblings. Smyth-Davis stared off into some unseen place for a moment before rallying and fixing a smile back on his face.
“Enough about me. I do appreciate you coming by, Commander Kirk. I’m an old friend of Sir Robert – we served together on Trafalgar when we were still ensigns. I feel that I owe it to him and to you to apprise you of his situation.”
Kirk frowned. “What situation would that be, Governor?”
Smyth-Davis rummaged through his jacket and produced a silver cigarette case. He opened it and offered one to Kirk, who shook his head. The Governor picked up a crystal lighter from the desk and lit the cigarette, blowing out a long stream of smoke.
“Do you have any family, Commander?”
Confused by the direction of the conversation, Kirk hesitated. “Not any more, sir.”
The Governor favored him with a sympathetic look. “Were they on Earth when . . .?”
“My mother was,” Kirk replied, quietly. “My father was lost when I was small – his ship disappeared with all hands over thirty years ago. My brother and his wife and son died when the plague hit Deneva.”
“My condolences, Commander,” said Smyth-Davis, sincerely. “Yet, you seemed to have weathered your personal tragedy. Not everyone has, you know.”
“I suppose not,” replied Kirk, guardedly.
“Sir Robert would be a case in point.”
“How so?”
The Governor tapped ash into a crystal dish. “Captain April’s wife, his two sons and their wives, his grandchildren – all died on Black Day.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” said Kirk, his tone flat.
“Don’t misunderstand me, Commander. I’m not making light of your loss in what I’m telling you. Nearly ten billion people died that terrible day. Sir Robert’s loss was not unique – but like many, the shock changed him.”
Kirk really did not care. He was beginning to feel irritated with the Governor. Why did he feel the need to apologize for Captain April? It wasn’t like Kirk was going to serve under the man. And Kirk still wrestled with his own personal demons – he didn’t need some pompous bureaucrat to open old wounds, retired RSF Captain or not.
“Governor, I would appreciate it if you’d come to the point.”
Smyth-Davis stood and looked out the slats of the window blinds. Shadows from the trees played across the window in the hot breeze.
“You’re right, of course. I do apologize for mucking about so.” He turned and took a long drag on his cigarette before crushing the butt in the ash tray. He avoided eye contact with Kirk.
“Sir Robert put on a good game-face for a time after he learned of his family’s fate. Stiff upper-lip and all that, I suppose. But a deep and dark depression set upon him. The Admiralty has left him be, partly out of respect for his reputation, partly because the Fleet is terribly undermanned and under equipped. But Sir Robert’s . . . detachment, has had an adverse effect on the entire crew. Truculent hasn’t left orbit in over six months, and then for a brief in-system knock about. I thought it only right you should know what you’ll be inheriting, Commander. I would, if I were filling your shoes.”
Commander Kirk rubbed his upper lip which was beaded with perspiration despite the climate-controlled room. He nodded, as much to himself as to the Governor.
“I see,” he said, finally. He glanced up at the Governor, a wan smile on his lips. “You’re telling me this won’t be a posh billet?”
The Governor shook his head. “'Fraid not. However, there are very capable officers on that ship. They just need someone to take charge and provide leadership. And, as much as I like having a star cruiser in orbit all the time, it’s a waste of the Queen’s resources for Truculent to sit idle – especially if the Alliance decides to get adventurous. My ‘friends’ in high places tell me that they are in much better shape militarily five years since Black Day than are we.”
“My ‘friends’ say pretty much the same thing.” Kirk stood. “Thank you for your time, Governor, and for the ‘head’s up.’”
“Just one more thing, Commander,” Governor Smyth-Davis opened a desk drawer and pulled out an envelope and a small black case. “One of those ‘friends’ knew that we would meet, so he forwarded something to give you. I think you’ll be pleased.” He passed the case to Kirk with a smile.
Kirk opened the case to find a set of epaulets, each with a crown, single star and sunburst – the rank insignia of captain with less than three years in grade. His face broke into an open grin.
The Governor extended his hand. “Congratulations, Captain Kirk! The envelope contains all the legal mumbo-jumbo, but I figured those epaulets would be all you needed to see.”
Kirk grasped the older man’s hand. “Thank you, sir. I must say, this is unexpected . . .”
“Nonsense!” replied the Governor. “I read the report of what you did on Enterprize. Damn shame about Captain Pike and the ship, but if not for you the entire crew might have been lost. Good luck with Truculent, Captain, and good luck with Captain April.”
* * *
Thanks for reading and the kind comments - more to come! 
