Star Trek Into Darkness Page 0,33

one looking over his shoulder as he made necessary decisions on the spot. No admirals, no senior functionaries. He would be free.

Free from everything, he reminded himself pragmatically, except his responsibilities.

The source of those responsibilities appeared not long after the shuttle cleared the ionosphere: the immense orbiting facility that was Starfleet dock. As the shuttlecraft slowed on approach, Kirk was able to pick out his ship waiting in place. Like worker ants attending a queen, a swarm of small support craft darted silently around her, preparing and supplying her for imminent departure. A small smile creased his face. There were other ships in dock, but like anyone thoroughly smitten, he had eyes only for his beloved.

As far as James T. Kirk was concerned, there was only one ship in Starfleet, and her name was Enterprise.

VII

The Enterprise was being prepped for departure as per standard procedure, but on the sealed interior cargo deck near where the shuttle docked, there was turmoil. Like a whirlwind trapped in place, this rotated around the ship’s chief engineer, who was railing loudly at a pair of patently unhappy but persistent security officers. The streamlined white-and-gray object of Scott’s consternation rested on a hover palette floating beside the two immovable visitors.

“No. Absolutely not. I’m not signing anything!” Angrily he passed a transparent info tablet back to the nearer of the two officers. “I’m not puttin’ me retina stamp on anything that’s a blind delivery, especially on behalf of a load like this!” With a glance, he indicated the hovering palette. Following his gaze, Kirk decided that he could sympathize with the chief engineer’s position.

The palette was stacked with gleaming photon torpedoes of a design and type unknown to him—the new weapon described by Admiral Marcus.

“Get those bloody things off my ship!” As Scott started to turn away from the unwanted cargo, he caught sight of the newly arrived Kirk. “Captain!”

Taking a deep breath and flanked by Spock, Kirk prepared to deal with the altercation.

“Mr. Scott,” he said calmly. “Is there a problem?”

“You bet your . . . !” The chief engineer calmed himself with an effort. “Aye, sir-there’s a ‘problem.’” He gestured forcefully in the direction of the two security officers. “I was just attempting to explain”—he glanced at Spock—“in the most calm and rational way possible, that I cannot authorize additional weapons comin’ aboard unless I know exactly what’s inside them.” He gestured at the palette and its coldly ominous load. “Especially when those weapons are of a new and unfamiliar type.”

“Mr. Scott raises another concern,” Spock began.

Kirk did not give the science officer an opportunity to elaborate. “Mr. Spock, report to the bridge. Now, if you please.”

“Yes, Captain.”

While his expression betrayed no reaction, the Vulcan’s body language indicated that he was unhappy with the summary dismissal. Nevertheless, he complied.

As soon as his first officer was out of earshot, Kirk turned back to his chief of engineering. “Mr. Scott, I understand your concerns, I sympathize with your position, and I admire your adherence to procedure-but we need those torpedoes on board.”

Scott was openly puzzled. “Pardon me, Captain, but—why? The Enterprise is fully armed. There’s not enough spare room in the weapons bay for a catapult, much less a load this size.”

Kirk smiled. “I’m sure you can find space, Mr. Scott.”

“It isn’t even that, sir. Photon torpedoes run on their own miniaturized drives, each specific to a type an’ model.” Once more he gestured at the palette’s heavy load. “But I kinna get a readin’ on any o’ these because their drive compartments are shielded. And the sections that are supposed to be open to inspection and repair are combination locked down. I could force one, but without knowin’ the specifics of what’s inside, I dinna think that’s an especially good idea. Not while the device in question is aboard ship, anyway.” He nodded at the nearest of the two security officers. “I asked to have the operational specs transferred over, and when I did”—the chief jerked a thumb at the man standing behind him—“he said—”

“It’s classified,” the officer finished for him.

“‘That’s classified,’” Scott echoed. “To which I said: No specs, no signature.” His voice turned pleading. “You talk to them, Captain. Try to make them see reason from an engineering standpoint. Each of these little ship-busting packages has its own drive. If I don’t know the specs on those drives, how am I supposed to be certain that when they’re activated, they won’t interfere with the Enterprise’s own drive, or some other critical component of