Chapter Ten

Captain’s log, U.S.S. Enterprise, stardate 7412.3. Per Admiralty orders included herein, Enterprise is now ready to depart orbital dock on my command. This is being accomplished approximately one hour ahead of the revised emergency schedule, and appended to this log are appropriate commendations listing exceptional efforts by both Enterprise and dockyard personnel. Also per Admiralty orders, I, James T. Kirk, do now accept and take operational command of this vessel.

Kirk eased himself down into the center seat. This place was officially his now and he let himself savor the first moment, pretending to survey the bridge stations. Not that he expected anyone to be deceived—but he knew they would be tolerant of a moment like this. His eyes fell on Decker, whose eyes were fixed rigidly ahead, his expression taut. Kirk felt sympathy, then reminded himself that if they survived, Decker would still have his own moment like this. But for James Tiberius Kirk to sit here again was like Lazarus stepping out into the sunlight.

“Dockyard ready on main umbilical,” reported Uhura.

Kirk nodded. “Disengage main umbilical.”

The order was relayed, and on the main viewer they could see the dry dock’s great, thick cord of feedlines and powerlines begin to detach itself from the vessel, floating away weightless. At the helm, Sulu’s hand was edging toward the maneuvering thrusters, ready for the captain’s next order.

Kirk waited for the “all-clear.” Had he pushed too hard? Decker had urgently recommended another three hours before departure. Although undeniably Decker knew the ship best, Kirk was certain that to launch late was to lose the momentum they had built up. A launch on a note of failure to meet one deadline would breed doubt about their ability to meet other deadlines still ahead of them. He had decided to go.

“Dock control reports ready, sir,” Uhura said.

“Helm ready, sir,” Sulu said.

“Orbital departure on plot, sir.” It was a new voice, but yet it seemed to carry some understanding of what this moment meant to him. It was the Deltan navigator, Ilia.

“Yard command signaling go, sir,” Uhura said.

“I have go on all stations here, Captain.” It was Decker who had made his final check and was confirming the starship’s readiness.

“Maneuvering thrusters, Mr. Sulu,” said Kirk.

“Maneuvering thrusters, sir.”

As Sulu’s hand moved, Kirk knew that tiny jets of blue flame were briefly visible out there to dockyard workers. He watched the viewer intently, waiting to see the almost imperceptible rocking, drifting movements which would indicate that the dry dock tractor beams had released . . . yes, they’ve released us! She’s floating free!

“Hold station,” he ordered.

“Thrusters at station keeping, sir.”

She was under Sulu’s control now and his experienced hands were holding Enterprise exactly at dry dock center. Sulu gave Kirk a nod that this control system, at least, was working perfectly. Kirk nodded.

“Maneuvering thrusters ahead, Mr. Sulu. Take us out.”

Sulu’s right hand played the thruster controls and Enterprise began to move slowly forward—on the viewer they could see the dry dock girders beginning to slide slowly past them.

Outside, along the girders, they were watched by tiny human figures in workpods and others in spacesuits. Some of the dry dock technicians waved; others merely watched with what seemed weary satisfaction. No, the others were waving, too. It would have been hard to be out there and not be moved by the sight of Enterprise emerging majestically from her orbital chrysalis.

Earth was a gigantic darkening shape, dominating the full half of the sky above them—the sun was just now completely disappearing behind the planet, and a last atmosphere-flare of sunlight reflected for an instant against the white-blue of the starship’s tritanium exterior.

Kirk did not need to be outside to know the look of her departure. He had felt the grace with which she had let the delicate metal lacework of the dry dock slip from her shoulders, and now he could feel the clean freedom of space cooling her skin.

Something drew Decker’s eyes toward the man in the center seat. Kirk’s face wore a transfixed look, a communion with things in the realm of poetry, religion, passion . . . and much else that Decker understood, too. He was surprised to find himself much less bitter than expected.

Although he had never served aboard a vessel with Kirk, he had wanted it badly enough as a young officer. Not even the memory of his own famous father, Commodore Matt Decker, could change the fact that Kirk was likely the finest ship commander in Starfleet’s history. At least, he had been the finest. Despite everything, Decker found himself hoping that it was still true.

Scott had long ago let the sounds of the engine room drift out of his conscious mind. He would have found it hard to explain how this left the sound of music there—he only knew that he now heard it again. Scott made another scan of the impulse engine board. Kirk would order power from there soon. The chief engineer’s ship status viewers showed that the maneuvering thrusters had taken Enterprise well clear of the orbital dry dock now.

Scott could see a familiar flicker of power barely visible in the great intermix chamber—he was also aware of a low, throbbing sound like tightly leashed thunder. At this power setting, only microscopic amounts of anti-matter and matter were entering the intermix chamber, but the annihilation of even a pinhead of matter was sufficient for the impulse power which the captain would soon request—and which Scotty would grant. Even this barest of intermix setting would thrust the Enterprise forward as though a thousand of the old hydrogen-fed rockets had been fired in unison up there.

Decker’s intercom voice: “Status, Engineer?”

“Intermix reads ‘go.’ Impulse power at your discretion, bridge.”

On his status viewers, Scott could see Sulu shutting down maneuvering thrusters. And then he heard Kirk’s order to the helm:

“Impulse power, Mr. Sulu,” it said. “Ahead warp point five.”

At the trailing edge of the Enterprise saucer section, the two great impulse power throats suddenly glared star-white. Scott’s thousand hydrogen-fed rockets would not have come near the explosion of power really happening there. No murmur of it could be heard inside the starship; her inertia dampeners also kept the explosive acceleration from being noticed, except on the bridge readouts.

“Departure angle on viewer,” ordered Kirk. He intended to miss no part of this.

Behind them was a breathtaking panorama of the old orbital dockyard of San Francisco—but that installation was rapidly receding in size now, and Earth’s huge dark sphere began to dominate the center image as it showed a last sliver of atmosphere halo from the now-hidden sun. Then, Earth itself began growing smaller and then more rapidly smaller as the starship continued its acceleration. A grin from Chekov triggered similar expressions from Uhura and Sulu. Kirk was glad that they felt the excitement of this, too—and then he was jolted by the realization that their pleasure was closely connected with his presence here. It made him feel uneasy as he remembered how many planet departures he had shared with them and how little he had thought of that or of them during these past years. He wondered: Why? But he found it difficult to be philosophical and ecstatic at the same time.

“Viewer ahead,” he said.

The viewer shifted to show the star-spattered space ahead. Kirk let his eyes search for familiar patterns as he relaxed back into the command seat. Yes, it had begun right. He need have no fear of anything now . . . except losing this.