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Star Trek: The Divergent Series (Ep. 1-1: "These Are the Adventures ...") *COMPLETE*


For a couple years now – ever since I finished watching Star Trek: TOS for the first time – I’ve had the desire to create my own reboot for the Star Trek Universe. This isn’t because I think the show or its movies suck – far from it, in fact – but because I felt that the series, for all its good characters and stories, never really realized its full potential, hampered as it was by storytelling conventions and technological limitations of 1960s television.

Since I was only recently acquainted with the ST Universe at the time, I didn’t feel comfortable writing the first story in a ST reboot right then and there; I was afraid I’d fail in doing the characters justice without a proper handle on their voices. I’m still afraid I’ll fumble the ball, so to speak, but the desire to start upon this reboot has been growing ever-stronger for months now, so I feel I have to make this first attempt or I’ll explode.

The name of this story is “These Are the Voyages”, and it is to be the pilot episode of this reboot series. I’m using two separate stories – the novel Enterprise: The First Adventure and the comic “All Those Years Ago …” – as sources of inspiration for the plot, but ultimately I hope it will be its own story.

My end goal is to write five 13-episode seasons for ST: TDS and, eventually, move on to reboots for TNG and DS9. Since I’m operating alone, that’s going to be a daunting task, so I probably won’t get that far. Nothing ventured, though, nothing gained …

“Okay, I’m goin’, takin’ off. See ya… bye….” — Chip Douglas

“This concludes our broadcast day. Click.” — Chip Douglas



On Ghioghe, a roughly Earth-sized planet covered in large mauve landmasses and medium-sized turquoise oceans.

Glowing with an almost eerie radiance in the pitch black of space, its sun burning chartreuse in the distance, Ghioghe has in its orbit thirteen starships; three of these ships – the Federation-class dreadnought Entente, the Detroyat-class heavy destroyer Sardaukar, and the Newton-class starship Lydia Sutherland – belong to the United Federation of Worlds while the remaining ten – an assortment of sinister-looking frigates, corvettes, and destroyers – belong to Ghioghe’s native race.

The two sides are locked in battle, and the Federation ships – outnumbered, outgunned – are losing the fight.


Buffeted by weapons’ fire from the enemy vessels, the starship rattles violently. Though they try to hold on to a facade of cool-headedness, the officers of the bridge crew grow visibly anxious as the odds fall further and further out of their favour.

Seated in the command chair, dressed in the shiny black jackboots, black trousers, green undershirt, and gray jacket of a Starfleet commanding officer, is COLONEL JAMES R. KIRK. Well-built, handsome, with a square jaw and dark blond hair, Kirk is a Human male who glows with an intense, fierce determination which belies his young age of thirty-one years.

KIRK: Ens. Cojji, go to 090-mark-90! Lt. Rlad, target the corvette’s portside engines and fire phasers, maximum power!

Located directly ahead of the command chair are the navigation, tactical, and helm stations. Behind these stations sit three individuals – a gracile Andorian male; a stocky Tellarite male; and a Human female – all dressed in uniforms similar to Kirk’s safe for beige undershirts in place of green. Cojji and Rlad – the Human and Tellarite, respectively – obey their commanding officer with silent acknowledgement.


As the Lydia Sutherland moves into position, twin azure beams flash out from the starship’s forward phasers, converging upon the portside engines of the blade-shaped corvette directly before them. Within seconds, the port engines go critical and explode, sending the craft into a spin which sends it careening into another Ghioghe corvette, demolishing both with a brilliant explosion.

Before the Sutherland can reorient itself, two Ghioghe destroyers – one coming down from above, the other up from below – zero in on the Newton-class starship and open fire with their energy weapons. Six purple beams slam into the starship’s deflector shields, overwhelm them, and then slice on through the forward section.


With showers of sparks, several control panels explode. Several officers, caught in the blast, are blown out of their seats. The lights aboard the bridge begin to flicker erratically.

KIRK: Damage report!

Unfortunately for the colonel, most of the bridge crew now lie strew about the bridge deck unconscious, dying, or dead; the science officer – a semi-Human with iridescent scales – can be counted among the latter third.

Pressing a button set into one of his chair’s armrests, Kirk activates the red alert and klaxons begin to blare throughout the ship. Getting up from his seat, Kirk then quickly moves forward to the navigation, tactical, and helm stations. Rlad and Cojji – bodies charred black from the blasts – are dead, but Thelin – the Andorian – while covered in severe burns of his own, seems to have escaped the brunt of the explosion and remains breathing.

Bringing up his left arm, Kirk activates the comcorder secured to his wrist.

KIRK: (into comcorder) Medical personnel, report to the bridge! We have injured here!


The two Ghioghe destroyers, having reoriented themselves, move in upon the Lydia Sutherland again, opening fire with their purple beams. This time the beams cut into the engines of the ship.


With a terrific explosion, violent shocks resound through the length of the ship into the bridge. Thrown clear off his feet, Kirk is sent forward into the forward viewscreen. Hitting the transparent aluminum surface at an odd angle, he then collapses to the deck, face bloody and eyes closed. The internal lighting and artificial gravity then go out as the ship’s power fails.


With one of their own hopelessly crippled, the Entente and Sardaukar decide now is the time to hightail it out of the system.

Coming to the Sutherland’s aid, the Entente passes over the Newton-class starship like an avenging angel, training its phaser banks on the two Ghioghe destroyers; opening fire, the Federation-class dreadnought decimates the ships completely.

Catching the Lydia Sutherland in its tractor beam, the Entente, along with the Sardaukar, turn away from the enemy fleet and head away from the planet. Once they have cleared some distance, the three Federation craft jump to the safety of warp.


At the back end of the room, built into its own alcove, is the ship’s transporter. Consisting of two separate components – a round pad set in the floor and a round projector set in the ceiling – it is connected to its own generator, leaving it ready for operation even though the rest of the Sutherland’s systems have gone dead.

A large tube of blue energy suddenly manifests within the transporter. Energized particles quickly pool within the tube, coalescing into sixteen distinct shapes. The radiant shapes – all more-or-less humanoid – lose their glow as they become conventional matter. With the transport process completed, the tube dissipates, leaving a rescue party of SIXTEEN STARFLEET PERSONNEL – all dressed in hermetically sealed environment suits – standing there with various medical equipment on hand.

Without gravity to hold them in place, the new arrivals begin to float up from the pad. Reaching for their suits’ controls, they activate the magnetic soles in their boots and are immediately pulled back down. They then activate the lamps attached to their helmets to bring some light to the dark interior.

Bringing up their left arm, one of the suited figures presses another of their suit’s controls; in the blink of an eye, a rectangular holographic display covered in technical readouts springs to life from a small projector affixed to their wrist.

PARTY MEMBER #1: Atmospheric readings are normal; the hull wasn’t compromised, at least not on this section of the ship.

PARTY LEADER: We needn’t take any chances. Leave your helmets on. (beat) Signal the Entente and tell them to send the next party through. There’re a lot of injured people here that need our assistance.

Stepping off the transporter pad, the rescue party moves out to explore the rest of the ship.


Pulling open the bridge door, the party members step inside, where they find the bridge crew members – the dead and the barely alive – floating about like prone, motionless ghosts. Moving inward, taking care to locate and administer aid to the survivors, they soon come upon the form of Col. Kirk himself.




On a black starfield.

Travelling through this starfield, we pass by several exotic planets and colourful nebulae until we finally come to focus on the Constitution-class starship USS Enterprise.

KIRK: (V.O.) The Delta Sector: a vast expanse of space bordered on three sides by the United Federation of Worlds, Klingon Empire, and Romulan Star Empire; lightly charted and largely unexplored, it is the latest great frontier of the known galaxy. My name is James R. Kirk, and I am the captain of the Federation starship Enterprise. Our five-year mission: to patrol our border with the sector, to offer aid and assistance to our outlying outposts and colonies, to curb the schemes and machinations of our enemies, and to ultimately go where no man has gone before.

The Enterprise vanishes from sight as it goes to warp.













“Okay, I’m goin’, takin’ off. See ya… bye….” — Chip Douglas

“This concludes our broadcast day. Click.” — Chip Douglas



In the early hours of the Mantillian dawn, as the first dull rays of sunlight begin to filter in through the small, one-room apartment’s window blinds, James Kirk – dressed in black jackboots, trousers, and undershirt – stands over a small suitcase, loading his few possessions – a couple microtapes, an ancient pre-Eugenic Wars family Bible, a thin sheaf of family photos, and one hand-written letter – into it.

KIRK: Computer.


KIRK: Close out my account here.


Closing the suitcase, Kirk walks over to a chair and pulls a Starfleet jacket – gold instead of gray – off of it. As he pulls it on and zips it closed, we can tell by the rank pin secured to his left breast and the braids embroidered on his sleeves that he is no longer a colonel; he has been promoted to the rank of captain.

Returning to his suitcase, he picks it up then leaves the apartment without a single look back.


Stepping out of a taxi, Kirk finds himself standing before the Federation Teaching Hospital, a short but wide building with a pristine exterior of whitewashed walls and sparkling clean windows.

Approaching the hospital, Kirk climbs the steps to the front entrance.



Entering the ward, Kirk makes his way over to a long, transparent regeneration tank. Lying inside the tank, immersed up to his neck in a green regenerative gel, is the Andorian Thelin; though his burns have healed, he remains unconscious, in a deep coma.

Sitting down in a chair beside the tank, Kirk locks a pained gaze upon his subordinate.

KIRK: They keep telling me you’ll wake up soon. I hope it’s true. You’ve been here too long, and it isn’t fair. (beat) They also claim you can’t hear me because of the drugs, but they’re wrong. I don’t care if they think I’m nuts to talk to you. (beat) I saw it all going wrong at Ghioghe. I still can’t believe Sieren could make a mistake like that. I saw – this is going to sound weird, Thelin, I know it, but I saw the pattern of what was happening. I knew that if everyone would calm down for thirty seconds, if all the commanders held their fire for another minute, the crisis would pass. But it didn’t happen that way. (shakes his head) Lord, I admired Sieren. (beat) I saw the pattern, I knew how to fix it, but I couldn’t do anything and it all went wrong. Is that how it was for Sieren? Is that how it would have been for me, if I had been in command? Efros could have turned out just the same, but it didn’t. We came out of that one covered in glory and holding a peace treaty. Was that just good luck?

Kirk rises from his chair.

KIRK: It’s alright. Sleep, get well. I have to leave for Starbase 95 soon to begin my assignment on the Enterprise, but I’ll check in to see how you’re doing as often as I can, my friend. I promise.

At that moment, Christine Chapel, a handsome blonde woman dressed in a blue nurse’s uniform, enters the room, a clipboard-sized PADD cradled under her right arm.

CHRISTINE CHAPEL: Good morning, Captain.

Kirk doesn’t seem to hear her.


Finally noticing her, the captain turns around to acknowledge the young nurse.

KIRK: Sorry, Ms. Chapel. I’m still not used to being addressed to as “captain”. Good morning.

The nurse approaches the captain.

CHRISTINE CHAPEL: The biotelemetry on Maj. Thelin is very encouraging. I thought you’d like to know.

KIRK: Then why doesn’t he wake up?

CHRISTINE CHAPEL: He will. (beat) When he’s ready.

Chapel calls the information on Thelin’s current medical condition up on her PADD, then hands the device over to Kirk. Accepting it, he reads it over.

KIRK: (smiles) I see he has the heart of an eighteen-year-old.

CHRISTINE CHAPEL: (grins) Yes – in a jar on his closet shelf. (beat) He will be alright, Captain. I promise you that.

KIRK: Thank you, Ms. Chapel.

Deactivating the PADD, the captain hands it back to the nurse.

KIRK: (cont’d) Ms. Chapel …


KIRK: Would you do me a favour?


KIRK: I know it isn’t supposed to make any difference, but I keep remembering the time before I woke up. I could hear things – or thought I could hear – but I couldn’t open my eyes and I didn’t know where I was or what had happened to me. While Thelin’s still asleep, could you … talk to him? Tell him he’s going to be alright ….

CHRISTINE CHAPEL: (touches Kirk’s arm reassuringly) Of course I will.

KIRK: Thank you. (beat) I’m supposed to report to Starbase 95 soon. I’d like to leave a note --?

CHRISTINE CHAPEL: You can use the office in back.


As Kirk steps into the office, he finds two individuals, engaged in conversation, standing there, their backs turned to him. Both female, one is a near-Human doctor with radiant blue-green eyes and silver hair while the other is a young Human woman with short blond hair

SILVER HAIRED DOCTOR: (cont’d) No, of course not. It’s just – (notices Kirk standing there behind them) Why, Capt. Kirk! How nice to see you looking so well!

The blonde – CAROL MARCUS – spins around upon hearing that name.


KIRK: Hello, Carol.

SILVER HAIRED DOCTOR: (to Carol) Talk to you later.

The doctor leaves so the two Humans can converse in private.

CAROL MARCUS: How are you feeling, Jim?

KIRK: (ignores her question) It’s wonderful to see you. I have to leave soon. Can we … I’d like to talk to you. Would you have a drink with me?

CAROL MARCUS: It’s too early in the day for a drink, Jim ….

KIRK: Oh, of course!

CAROL MARCUS: (cont’d) But I will go for a walk with you.


Mantilles’ sun has risen high in the western sky, and it casts its red rays down over the beautiful orange foliage of the park.

Kirk and Carol walk together along a narrow dirt path, hand-in-hand.

CAROL MARCUS: We are still friends, I hope.

KIRK: I hope so, too.

CAROL MARCUS: Are you sleeping any better?

Kirk hesitates too long before answering.

KIRK: I’m sleeping fine.

CAROL MARCUS: If you want to talk about it ….

KIRK: (flustered) No, I don’t want to talk about it! (more gently) No, I don’t want to talk about it.

They soon reach a small lake. As they take a seat on a bench close to the shore, a number of small, violet cephalopods rise out of the water and begin to flail their short tentacles about in search of a handout.

CAROL MARCUS: (looking upon the cephalopods) We always forget to bring them anything. How many times have we walked here? We always meant to bring them some bread, but we never did.

KIRK: We had … other things on our minds.


KIRK: (frustrated) Carol, there’s got to be someway --!

He cuts himself off when he notices her tense up.

CAROL MARCUS: Such as what?

KIRK: We could … we could get married.

She turns to face him.


KIRK: Let’s get married. Come with me to Starbase 95. Gen. Noguchi could perform the ceremony.

CAROL MARCUS: But why marriage, for heaven’s sake?

KIRK: That’s the way we do it in my family.

CAROL MARCUS: Not in mine. (beat) And anyway, it still wouldn’t work.

KIRK: It’s worked for quite a number of millennia. (beat) Carol, I love you. You love me. You’re the person I’d most want to be with if I were stranded on a desert planet. We have fun together – remember when we went to the dock and snuck on board the Majel for our own private tour – (notices her strange expression) It’s true.

CAROL MARCUS: Yes, it’s true, and I have missed you. The house is awfully quiet without you.

KIRK: (smiles hopefully) Then you’ll do it?

CAROL MARCUS: (shakes her head) No. We talked about this too many times. No matter what we do, it wouldn’t make any difference. I can’t be with you and you can’t be with me.

KIRK: But I could. I could transfer to headquarters –


The pretty young woman takes both of Kirk’s hands in hers and gazes deeply into his eyes.

CAROL MARCUS: (cont’d) I remember how you felt when you found out you were getting command of the Enterprise. Do you think anyone who loved you would want to take that away from you? Do you think you could love anyone who tried?

KIRK: (voice breaking) I love you. I don’t want to lose you.

CAROL MARCUS: I don’t want to lose you, either, but I lost you before I ever met you. (a tear runs down from her eye) I can get used to the quiet. I can’t get used to having you back for a few weeks at a time and losing you over-and-over-and-over again.

KIRK: (miserable) I know you’re right. I just ….

Tears running down both their faces, they kiss for the final time. Carol then holds him to her, allowing him to rest his head on her shoulder as he weeps.

CAROL MARCUS: (crying) I love you, too, Jim, but we don’t live on a desert planet.

“Okay, I’m goin’, takin’ off. See ya… bye….” — Chip Douglas

“This concludes our broadcast day. Click.” — Chip Douglas



On the Federation colony M5O-0024, a violet-and-mauve gas giant looms large in the northern sky, the distant white sun of the system shining just off to the northeast, casting its bright, clean light down on the coastal buildings of Crichton Settlement, the O-class moon’s largest city.


Entering the apartment, we travel to the bedroom, where we find a suitcase – open and partially packed – sitting atop the large, king-sized bed.

Moving out of the bedroom, we come to the living room, where we find two dark-skinned Humans standing together. 1ST LIEUTENANT NYOTA UHURA, a pretty woman with short, black hair, dark brown eyes, and a strong, toned body, is of Terran extraction, a native of the African Confederation. Kabaka Bubunga – a man with short, curly hair, a thin mustache, and a taller, finer build than that of his companion – is of similar heritage.

KABAKA BUGUNGA: So you’re really going, Nyota?

UHURA: Yes, Kabaka. Did you really expect otherwise?

KABAKA BUGUNGA: (shakes his head with confusion) I didn’t know. I … (looks down at his pants and reaches into a pocket) Here, I have something for you.

Pulling the object – a small ebony box – out, he presents it before Uhura, resting a hand lovingly on her shoulder as he does so. Taking the box, she opens it; inside, nestled against scarlet velvet lining, is a beautiful electrum ring with an ornately cut turquoise set in it.

UHURA: A wedding ring? (beat) Kabaka, that’s very sweet, but –

Gently but firmly, Kabaka directs Uhura over to a sofa and sits her down in it.

KABAKA BUGUNGA: (sits down beside Uhura, facing her) Marry me, Nyota. What do you need space for when you’ve got someone who you loves you right here?

UHURA: And I love you, Kabaka … but I can’t just abandon my career. Comm officer of the Enterprise is a promotion I can’t refuse.

KABAKA BUGUNGA: (frowns) And you expect me to wait for you, is that it?

UHURA: No … no.

Taking one last look at the wedding ring in its box, she slowly closes it and replaces it in Kabaka’s hands, closing his fingers over it as she does so.

UHURA: (cont’d) I’ll wait for you.

Apparently a poor choice of words. Upon hearing them, Kabaka’s face contorts with intense, sudden anger. Bolting up from the sofa, he gazes down upon his lover, cheeks livid with rage.

KABAKA BUGUNGA: Don’t bother, Uhura ….

Taking the ring, Kabaka hurls it away from him. Hitting the far wall, it drops to the floor with a low THUNK.

KABAKA BUGUNGA: (cont’d) … I won’t be here when you get back.

Turning on his heel, he makes his way to the door out of the apartment. By the time Uhura goes to stop him, he has already stormed out.

UHURA: (staring after him) Goodbye ….


On board the Constitution-class starship Enterprise, in the corridor wherein the crew quarters are located, a man comes to a halt before a specific door. Clad in a gold command jacket nearly identical to Kirk’s, he keeps his hands clasped behind his back, an aura of what can only be described as relaxed but contemplative focus worn about him. A tall, lanky man who wears his dark black hair shorn short and his facial expression neutral, he looks almost like an average, nondescript Human male; only the greenish tinge to his light skin, his upturned eyebrows, and his pointed ears betray the extrahuman side of his heritage. This is MAJOR S’POCK, the Vulcan/Human hybrid science officer of the USS Enterprise.

Bringing up a hand, he presses the door’s buzzer.

CAPT. PIKE: (O.S.) Come.

The door slides open, allowing S’Pock to step inside.


As the door closes behind him, S’Pock finds CAPTAIN CHRISTOPHER PIKE seated behind his deck. A handsome man in his early forties, Pike has dark brown hair, piercing blue eyes, and a gold jacket. Elbows resting upon the desktop and his chin resting upon his fists, he stares at holographic images of old friends, family, and colleagues being projected from a data crystal held in a data reader upon his desk. His eyes are solidly fixed on the three dimensional images, his expression pensive.

Glancing up from the images, Pike seems to take notice of S’Pock for the first time. Bringing his head up, he passes a hand over the data reader, shutting the holograms off.

CAPT. PIKE: Good afternoon, Mr. S’Pock.

S’POCK: Commodore Pike.

CAPT. PIKE: Not Cdre. Pike. Not yet. I’m still a captain ‘til the week’s end.

Taking the data crystal out of the reader, Pike drops it in a drawstring bag. Scooping up other such crystals from the desktop, he deposits them in the bag, too.

S’POCK: Very well, Capt. Pike.

CAPT. PIKE: Ship’s business?

S’POCK: No, sir. The Enterprise is prepared for change of command.


Drawing the string of the bag tight, Pike then ties the bag shut and tosses it into a nearly empty suitcase.

CAPT. PIKE: Not much to show for eleven years, is it?

S’POCK: (cocks an eyebrow) Sir?

CAPT. PIKE: Nevermind. I’m just feeling my age.

S’POCK: Yes, Captain. (beat) Congratulations, sir.

CAPT. PIKE: Congratulations?

S’POCK: Yes, sir. In regard to your promotion, your increased responsibilities.

CAPT. PIKE: Oh, right. (smiles humourlessly) Did you want to talk to me about something in particular, Mr. S’Pock?

S’POCK: Change of command offers little opportunity for conversation, Captain. I came to speak to you now … merely to wish you farewell.

CAPT. PIKE: Merely?

S’POCK: Yes. Words of farewells are perhaps not logical, based as they are in superstition, in wishes for good fortune, but … I have learned much from you, Captain.

CAPT. PIKE: (smiles) That’s high praise, Mr. S’Pock. Thank you.

S’POCK: Perhaps we will have the opportunity to work together again, sometime in the future.

CAPT. PIKE: Does that bother you, Mr. S’Pock?

S’POCK: What, Captain?

CAPT. PIKE: I never asked you if you wanted to be promoted off the Enterprise with me. I could have recommended that. If I had, you’d be on your way to being my executive officer on a starbase.

S’POCK: I am aware that this is often done. Capt. Kirk has recommended one of his senior officers for a position on the Enterprise. That is his privilege, as it is your privilege to choose your own executive staff.

CAPT. PIKE: I probably should have talked to you about it, but I made the choice for you. I was afraid that if I made you the offer, you might feel compelled to accept it, compelled to leave the Enterprise. Did I make a mistake?

S’POCK: (frowns) Sir?

CAPT. PIKE: You have a highly developed sense of responsibility, Mr. S’Pock. You don’t necessarily choose the path that’s best for you.

S’POCK: “Best” is a highly subjective term, Captain. Vulcans attempt to eliminate subjective terms from their decisions. The goal of a Vulcan with my background and training is to increase the store of knowledge available to sapient beings.

CAPT. PIKE: Maybe I didn’t make a mistake, after all.

Pike rises from his chair, putting him on equal stature with the half-Vulcan.

CAPT. PIKE: (cont’d) When people of my background and training say goodbye, they shake hands, but Vulcans ….

S’POCK: I will shake your hand, Capt. Pike, if you wish it.

The captain and science officer then clasp hands for the first and final time.

“Okay, I’m goin’, takin’ off. See ya… bye….” — Chip Douglas

“This concludes our broadcast day. Click.” — Chip Douglas



In these modest quarters on-board the Baton Rouge-class starship Saladin, James R. Kirk lies outstretched upon his bed in near-total darkness, eyes closed in sleep. Though still dressed in his black trousers, he has discarded his boots, undershirt, and jacket.

Awakening, Kirk slowly sits up. As he does so, the room’s lights automatically brighten, chasing the shadows away. Rubbing lingering sleepiness from his eyes, he throws his legs over the side of the mattress and gets up from the bed.

Walking over to an opaque panel set into the far bulkhead, the captain reaches for the controls set in the bulkhead beside it. With the press of a button, the panel loses its opaqueness and becomes a transparent viewport. Situated beyond the pane of transparent aluminum, its featureless black walls marred only occasionally by blue spiderweb patterns caused by minute stresses in the warp field, is the dark void of warp space.

EXT. SPACE – P1C-0072

In the depths of deep space, on the far outskirts of the Alpha Sector, stands P1C-0072. Tethered to a dim red dwarf, P1C-0072 is a small, rocky C-class planet; desolate, airless, and geologically inactive, this is a world which, if it ever supported life, hasn’t done so in long eons. Floating in orbit around this dead brown sphere, the only sign of active intelligence in the entire system, is Starbase 95, a large Federation space station which serves as a way station between the Alpha and Delta Sectors.

On the edge of the distant solar system, a small pocket of spacetime distorts, balloons into a sphere, and then bursts outward in a series of three-dimensional ripples as the Saladin drops out of warp.


Seated in the command chair, baby blue eyes fixed ahead, is Col. Mmirg. A large, muscular semi-Human with orange, craggy skin, he looks almost out of place in a Starfleet uniform.

COL. MMIRG: Standard approach, Mr. Kaasq. Viewer ahead.

MR. KAASQ: Aye, sir.

EXT. SPACE – P1C-0072

The Saladin’s impulse engines flare to life and the starship continues its approach to Starbase 95 at near-light speed.


The turbolift door to the bridge slides open and Capt. Kirk – freshly showered, groomed, and dressed – steps inside.

COL. MMIRG: (turns to Kirk) Captain on the bridge!

KIRK: At ease.


Finally arriving at Starbase 95, the Saladin slips under the behemoth station’s massive shadow and approaches one of the four large doors which leads to the docking bay within. The titanic bay door parts in the middle and slowly slides open, allowing the Baton Rouge-class starship entrance.


Inside Starbase 95, the Saladin finds itself only one of countless dozens of starships which take up space within the vastness of the docking bay’s interior.

As the Baton Rouge-class starship approaches its mooring, it passes within range of the NCC-1701, better known as the USS Enterprise. A Constitution-class starship, it has the same basic saucer-and-twin-nacelles configuration utilized by most of Starfleet’s capital ships. Unlike the other Federation ships seen thus far, though, the Enterprise wasn’t built to wage war or ferry passengers on short jaunts between systems; it is a long-range ship, designed and equipped to maintain a large crew in the wild frontiers of the galaxy for long stretches of time.


As the impressive sight of the Enterprise fills the viewscreen, Kirk becomes entranced, mouth falling agape in awe of the magnificent craft.

KIRK: Col. Mmirg.

COL. MMIRG: Yes, Captain?

KIRK: Have your comm officer open a channel to the Enterprise. Tell them I’d like to give Capt. Pike my regards.

Turning to the comm officer, the orange-skinned colonel issues the command with a single gesture of his hand. Nodding once in acknowledgment, the comm officer follows through.

COMM OFFICER: The channel’s open, Captain, go ahead.

KIRK: Capt. Pike?


CAPT. PIKE: Pike here.


KIRK: Capt. Pike, this is Capt. Kirk aboard the Saladin.

CAPT. PIKE: (O.S.) What can I do for you, Captain?

KIRK: I know the official ceremony is a few days off yet ….


KIRK: (cont’d; O.S.) … but I was wondering if you’d mind if I beamed aboard and took a look at her.

CAPT. PIKE: (smiles slightly) Not at all, Captain. Come right ahead.

Rising from the command chair, Pike turns his attentions to 1ST LT. LEE KELSO, a thin, blonde Human male attired in a red operations jacket who is currently seated behind the nav station.

CAPT. PIKE: You have the conn, Kelso. I’ll be escorting your new captain around, if you need me.

KELSO: Yes, sir.

Pike turns and leaves the bridge. Once he has disappeared in the turbolift, Kelso turns to the man seated beside him at the tactical station, a sudden frown creasing his brow.

KELSO: (irate) The nerve of that Kirk. Can’t even wait for Pike to step down to get his hands on his ship! I call that low, Sulu!

Of approximately the same height and build as Kelso and also attired in a red jacket, 1ST LT. HIKARU SULU is a dark-haired, golden-toned man of Asian ethnicity.

SULU: You shouldn’t talk about our new commanding officer that way, Lee – even if he deserves it.


Kirk turns to leave the bridge. As he does so, Mmirg rises from his chair to stop him.

COL. MMIRG: Captain, you can’t leave like this – not in the middle of docking procedures! As commander of this ship, I’m responsible. What if --?

KIRK: (opens the turbolift door) Mr. Mmirg.


KIRK: How long have you had command of this ship?

COL. MMIRG: Almost a year – twelve months.

KIRK: (steps into the turbolift sporting a wry grin) Just consider this a test of your command capabilities.

COL. MMIRG: But sir, I –

KIRK: (to the turbolift computer) Transporter room.

The turbolift door closes, ferrying the captain away and leaving the colonel in a flustered state.

“Okay, I’m goin’, takin’ off. See ya… bye….” — Chip Douglas

“This concludes our broadcast day. Click.” — Chip Douglas



Having arrived at the transporter room, Pike stands behind the transporter controls. Standing beside the captain, eyes and hands ready at the controls, is MAJ. MONTGOMERY SCOTT, a lean man with short black hair and a missing middle finger on his right hand.

SCOTT: They’re energizin’, captain.

A tube of blue energy forms within the transporter; Capt. Kirk’s form quickly materializes within it.

SCOTT: (cont’d) Here he comes.

Once the process is complete, the transporter shuts down, leaving Kirk standing there on the pad.

KIRK: Permission to come aboard, Captain?

CAPT. PIKE: Granted, Captain.

Approaching Kirk as the younger man steps down from the transporter pad, Pike offers his hand in greeting. Accepting the hand, Kirk gives it a firm shake.

KIRK: It’s a pleasure to meet you at last, sir.

CAPT. PIKE: No need for formalities, Jim. Call me Chris. (looks over at Scott) There’s a gentleman over here you should get to know ….

Pike directs Kirk over to the major. The two shake hands.

SCOTT: Maj. Montgomery Scott, sir, chief engineer. Call me Scotty.

KIRK: (smiles) We have quite a lot in common, Mr. Scott. I was assistant engineer on the Farragut; that should make our working together that much easier.

SCOTT: (perturbed) Er … that it should, sir.

With the greetings out of the way, Pike begins the tour of the ship. Once the two captains have left the transporter room, Maj. Scott frowns.

SCOTT: Och! That’s all Ah need – some wet-behind-the-ears rookie tellin’ me muh job!


Standing on a walkway, Pike and Kirk look down at the ground level of the cargo bay. Below them, S’Pock and a Saurian – Sergeant Aennik – work together arranging cargo.

CAPT. PIKE: You’ll want to meet my first officer, Maj. S’Pock. That’s him down there.

KIRK: The Saurian?

CAPT. PIKE: (laughs) No, the Vulcan.

KIRK: (surprised) He’s Vulcan? (squints)

CAPT. PIKE: Not a full Vulcan. He’s Human on his mother’s side.

KIRK: Must be some woman who’d settle down with a green-blooded Vulcan male. (beat) I thought your first officer was a Human woman – Col. Robbins?

CAPT. PIKE: (smiles wistfully) Eureice Robbins was my number one. She was promoted and assigned her own command two years ago.


Down below, S’Pock and Aennik continue their duties.

S’POCK: (cont’d) Store those drugs in the stasis field. The machine parts aren’t perishable.

PO. AENNIK: I have already had that done, sir. (checks her PADD) The resulting rearrangement saves 112.4 cubic millimetres.

Having come down from the walkway, Kirk and Pike approach S’Pock and Aennik.

S’POCK: Excellent work, Sergeant. You – (takes notice of the two new arrivals) Yes, Captain?

CAPT. PIKE: Sorry to interrupt, Mr. S’Pock, but I wanted you to meet the man who’ll be taking over the centre seat. This is Capt. Kirk.

S’POCK: (to Kirk) Greetings, Captain. Your record is quite impressive.

KIRK: Thank you, Mr. S’Pock. You know, I was first officer on the El Dorado, so we have a lot in –

As this conversation is occurring, the cable of a mechanical winch holding a cargo container aloft – weakened and overstretched – begins to snap. Sgt. Aennik immediately takes notice of the cable and the impending danger.

SGT. AENNIK: (alarmed) Look out!

Leaping forward, the Saurian pushes Kirk, Pike, and S’Pock out of the way as the cable completely gives way and sends the container crashing to the deck. Unfortunately for Aennik, she isn’t able to clear herself from the path of the descending container in time; it slams down on her lower body with crushing force, pulverizing everything from the hips down.

Aennik isn’t killed by the impact, but she is severely injured. The other three officers move in and crouch down around her as she begins to squirm and moan in complete agony.

CAPT. PIKE: (activates his comcorder) Pike to sick bay! Piper, it’s an emergency!

PIPER: (O.S.) On my way, Captain!

KIRK: (anxious) She’s in agony! Isn’t there anything we can do?

S’POCK: I am attempting that now, Captain.

Reaching out with his left hand, the calm and collected half-Vulcan gently lays it upon her head.

S’POCK: Aennik, your thoughts are my thoughts. We feel no pain ….


Sometime later, Sgt. Aennik lies in a bed. Emergency surgery has already been performed on her broken body, and she is stable and in a state of comfortable, drug-induced unconsciousness. Standing a ways from her bed are Kirk, Pike, and DOCTOR MARK PIPER. A potbellied man with brown hair turned mostly gray, Piper is a man in late middle age who has all the appearance of a person who is carrying the entire weight of the galaxy on his shoulders.

CAPT. PIKE: How is she, Doctor?

PIPER: She’ll pull through, but her legs and hips were crushed. She may walk again, after reconstructive surgery … but that will take a long time. (glances back at Aennik) I don’t want to say this, but the fact of the matter is her career as a Starfleet officer is over. (angry) Good God, why did I agree to this assignment? I was planning my retirement! All the suffering I’ve had to face over the years – I was glad to finally leave it all behind! (turns back to the others) Why did I let Command place me here?!

CAPT. PIKE: She would have died without you, Doctor – don’t forget that.

PIPER: (sighs) I realize that, Captain. (beat) I’m just tired.

CAPT. PIKE: Kirk and I are going to my cabin for a drink. Care to join us?

PIPER: Not now, thanks. I think I’ll retire to my quarters for a nap.


Entering his quarters, Capt. Pike gestures for Kirk to take a seat. As the younger captain does so, Pike goes to his desk; opening a drawer, he pulls out two short glasses and one long wine bottle.

KIRK: Piper strikes me as a good man. What’s eating him?

CAPT. PIKE: (pulls the cork from the bottle) Two months ago, my chief medical officer – Philip Boyce – died while on an away mission. Mark Piper, being the only qualified doctor available to us at the time, was assigned to the Enterprise on short notice; he was getting ready for retirement and doesn’t want to be here.

KIRK: Surely he can retire now that your tenure’s at an end?

CAPT. PIKE: That was supposed to be the plan, but there was a mix-up in the paperwork somewhere down the line; the doctor’s been assigned to a full five years of active duty aboard ship. (beat) He’s made appeals, and Starfleet Command’s promised to resolve the matter as soon as possible, but you know how bureaucrats are – they love to leave their wheels spinning in the mud.

Tilting the wine bottle, Pike pours some of its dark burgundy contents into the pair of glasses. Re-corking the bottle, he picks the two glasses up and saunters over to Kirk, handing one of them to the captain.

KIRK: (takes a sip) Wow! What is this?! It’s incredible!

CAPT. PIKE: Château Picard, vintage 1226.

KIRK: (takes another sip) You know, I have an old friend who’s a doctor – Leonard McCoy. I would have recommended him for CMO, but he’s currently stationed on Starbase 94, around Betelgeuse; even at warp 6, it’d take him about a year to get out here.

CAPT. PIKE: (takes a seat) Maybe you should go ahead and make that recommendation. Piper’s situation should be resolved in a year; it’d be nice to have a qualified medical officer you know you can trust on hand to take his place.

KIRK: Perhaps you’re right. I’ll have to think about it. (beat) Chris, if you don’t mind my asking … how can you give all this up? (gestures toward the ship around them) How can you step down and take a desk job as “fleet captain”? A command like this is everything I’ve ever wanted. How --?

CAPT. PIKE: Jim, I’m alike Piper in many ways. We’ve both been out here too long, seen too much, and missed out on so much more. (beat) When I first received command of the Enterprise, I felt like the gods themselves had come down from the heavens and blessed me with the greatest gift any man or woman could ever receive. After those first several months passed and stretched into years, that initial enthusiasm waned; the gift became more of a curse and my command of the Enterprise became a marriage – a hard, demanding marriage with diminishing returns. (beat) I want out of this marriage, Jim. I want to get away from her and get solid ground under my feet again. I want to settle down with a beautiful woman and create a beautiful family before it’s too late for me to do either.

A moment of silence passes between the two men.

KIRK: (raises his glass) A toast, then, Chris. May we both find whatever it is we’re looking for.


They clink glasses.

“Okay, I’m goin’, takin’ off. See ya… bye….” — Chip Douglas

“This concludes our broadcast day. Click.” — Chip Douglas



A few light-years away from Starbase 95, we find Wrigley’s Pleasure Planet.

An egg-shaped body approximately the same size as Rhode Island, Wrigley’s Pleasure Planet isn’t a true planet; it is a captured asteroid which has been hollowed out and equipped with antigravity generators and weather control systems, allowing a temperate, life-sustaining environment to exist upon its surface in spite of its small size.


Golden sunlight filters in through the tall, wraparound windows, filling the spacious room and falling upon the queen-sized bed currently occupied by the sleeping form of MAJ. GARY MITCHELL.

Beside Mitchell’s bed stands a short, round table, upon which rests a small holoprojector; the holoprojector suddenly begins to chirp.

MITCHELL: (frowns in his sleep) Mrffff …?

Turning over away from the table, he lifts his sheets over his head and bunches them up against his ears in a bid to muffle the sound. When this proves inadequate, he angrily slaps at the projector, hoping to make contact with the button that’ll turn the device off. Instead, a short holographic projection of himself – standing tall in a blue-and-white T-shirt and dark gray Bermuda shorts – flickers to life.

MITCHELL’S HOLOGRAM: Hi there, Gary. This is you, yourself, approximately sixteen hours ago, telling you to wake up!

Hearing his own voice yelling at him, Gary bolts upright in bed, fully awake.

MITCHELL’S HOLOGRAM: (cont’d) Knowing you were going to spend your last hours of freedom partying like it’s 1399, I figured you’d be too swept up in your hangover to remember you’re supposed to leave early today for Starbase 95.

MITCHELL: (groggy) Oh, God – what time is it?

As Mitchell begins fumbling about in search of his chronometre, the hologram replies.

MITCHELL’S HOLOGRAM: (cont’d) Don’t worry, Gary. I programmed this message to play three hours before the last shuttle leaves for the starbase. That leaves you plenty of time to get fed, showered, dressed, packed, and to the spaceport.

MITCHELL: I really think of everything, don’t I?

MITCHELL’S HOLOGRAM: James chose you to be his first officer. You wouldn’t want to disappoint him, would you?

MITCHELL: (turns off the holoprojector) No, you wouldn’t.

As Mitchell gets ready to leave his bed, a near-Human woman with orange skin, a head of large, feathery white hair, and a tray of food held between her hands enters the bedroom; dressed solely in a purple nightshirt, she is an exotically beautiful female.

ORANGE LADYFRIEND: (smiles) Morning, Gar, honey. (lifts up the tray, tilting it left-and-right in a little dance) I brought you a little something.

MITCHELL: (grins) Breakfast in bed. My favourite.


Having entered the docking bay, the Vrekasht – an Ericsson-class warp shuttle – makes its approach toward the Enterprise.


Inside the spacious cockpit of the shuttle sit only two individuals: the pilot – a black-and-silver furred Caitian male – and Nyota Uhura herself. Having traded in her civilian garb, she is now dressed in her Starfleet uniform; aside from the black skirt, it is identical in form to those red-jacketed uniforms we’ve already seen worn by other operations division officers.

CAITIAN PILOT: (turns to Uhura) The Enterprise is prepared to receive you. Are you ready to beam over, Lieutenant?

UHURA: I’m ready.

CAITIAN PILOT: Step onto the transporter pad and I’ll start the transfer.

Nodding once in acknowledgement, Uhura picks the suitcase which has been resting down beside her up and crosses over to the transporter pad installed in the rear of the cockpit.

CAITIAN PILOT: (activates transporter) Energizing.


Once the transportation is finalized, Uhura finds herself standing inside the Enterprise’s transporter room. Manning the controls is 2ND LIEUTENANT JOHN THOMAS KYLE, a man with blond hair, blue eyes, and sharp features, dressed in a red jumpsuit.

Stepping away from the transporter controls, Kyle approaches Uhura as she steps down from the pad.

KYLE: (smiles) Welcome aboard the Enterprise (offers her his hand) So, you’re the new comm officer? I’m John – John Kyle.

UHURA: (shakes his hand) Nyota Uhura. (takes a gander about the room) So, this is the Enterprise.

KYLE: Yep, this is the old girl, alright.

UHURA: How long have you been assigned here, John?

KYLE: Oh, I’m new to the crew. I arrived here from the P2M-0057 colony just over a week ago.

UHURA: Have you had any trouble fitting in?

KYLE: Nope. Most everyone here’s pretty welcoming and friendly. Oh, except Mr. S’Pock, but he’s a Vulcan, so that’s to be expected from him. (beat) I hope you’re not thinking what I think you’re thinking. A lady such as yourself shouldn’t have any trouble making this ship home away from home.

UHURA: (half-smiles) From your lips to God’s ears, Mr. Kyle.

“Okay, I’m goin’, takin’ off. See ya… bye….” — Chip Douglas

“This concludes our broadcast day. Click.” — Chip Douglas



In the large, spacious, finely furnished den of a luxurious mansion located in an unknown location sits MALCOLM MCDOWELL. Seated in a leather upholstered armchair before a crackling fireplace, he drinks a dry martini through a crazy straw while ALANIS MORISSETTE stands over him; dressed in a bright red bikini top and bottom, her lips slathered in dark violet lipstick and her hair styled in a big, curly ‘80s style, she holds Malcolm’s eyes open with a pair of robotic hands while she deposits eye drops with her organic ones.

Without warning, the door behind them is kicked open with a violent CRASH. Spinning around, Alanis’ eyes go wide as CHRISTOPHER LAMBERT – dressed in DayGlo coveralls and sporting a long mullet – storms in, a pair of heavy disruptor rifles held in both hands.

CHRISTOPHER LAMBERT: (grins) Do you want to live forever?

Opening fire, Lambert lays waste to the den and its inhabitants, laughing maniacally.


James Kirk seated in his quarters aboard the Saladin, watching a movie on a flatscreen display.

Suddenly, the door buzzer outside his quarters rings.

KIRK: Come.

The door slides open. Turning toward the open doorway, Kirk finds Gary Mitchell standing there, wearing his red Starfleet uniform and a crap-eating grin upon his face.

MITCHELL: One first officer, reporting as ordered.

KIRK: (shocked) Gary? (ecstatic) Gary! (beat) You’re a sight for sore eyes, you old space dog!

MITCHELL: You’re uglier than ever, Jimmy-Boy!

Mitchell enters the room and the two men greet each other vigorously, happy to see one another for the first time in several months.

MITCHELL: I hear Starfleet’s given you the Enterprise. Good thing you’ve got me to keep you out of trouble.

KIRK: That was just a ruse to lure you here. Actually, they want me to keep an eye on you.

MITCHELL: (claps Kirk on the back) Listen, we’ve got some time before the change-of-command ceremony, right?

KIRK: (checks his chrono) About two-and-a-half hours.

MITCHELL: Good. I’ll buy you a lunch and a drink, to celebrate. How’s that sound?

KIRK: (shrugs) Sounds good to me.


Having made their way to a bar, Kirk and Mitchell now sit at a table next to viewport which looks out onto the barren orb of P1C-0072.

MITCHELL: (looking out at the planet) What a view. (turns to Kirk) Couldn’t they have parked this station over a comelier planet?

Kirk merely shrugs. Mitchell picks up a menu and begins to read it over.

MITCHELL: Ah, this looks good: “Bolian Zombie”.

KIRK: (frowns) Isn’t that stuff at least 130 proof?

MITCHELL: (grins) Thank modern medicine for ocular implants.

Mitchell enters the order into a small keypad set in the centre of the table. Moments later, an Andorian waitress saunters over to their table, a pair of Bolian Zombies balanced on a tray in her hands.

After the drinks are placed on the table and the waitress leaves, Kirk just sits there, looking at the tall glass before him; layers of silver liquor – lightest shades on the top, darkest on the bottom – fill the glass, a straw and some blue fruit protruding from the top.

MITCHELL: (sucks on his straw) Ahh, that’s nice. Give yours a taste, James.

Picking out the bit of fruit and eating it, Kirk picks the glass up and puts the rim to his lips. Before he can take a sip, though, Mitchell takes hold of the captain’s wrist and forces it back down.

MITCHELL: (irate) Use the straw! Breaking the layers is an insult to the bartender!

KIRK: Gary, there is no bartender. The waitress synthesized these drinks for us.

MITCHELL: The principle’s the same. It came in layers, it has to be drunk in layers.

KIRK: Alright, if that will make you happy.

Putting the straw to his lips, Kirk drains the bottom layer of his drink. Before he can even finish swallowing, he’s coughing violently, his eyes flowing hot with tears.

MITCHELL: (drinks two whole layers from his glass) As you know, I only have a taster’s tolerance for booze, but this stuff’s pretty enjoyable. What do you think of it?

Having gained some semblance of control over his coughing fit, Kirk hurriedly punches another order into the keypad.

KIRK: (hoarse) “Enjoyable” doesn’t even begin to describe it!

As the Andorian waitress returns to their table, Kirk is quick to spring up and snatch the tall glass of ice water from her tray, greedily downing the cold liquid in three large swallows.


Attired in a green dress uniform, S’Pock makes his way to the command chair. Aside from himself, the bridge is entirely empty.

Pushing a button set into one of the armrests, he activates the intercom, opening a transmission to all regions of the starship.

S’POCK: This is Maj. S’Pock. May I have the attention of all crewmembers. (beat) The change-of-command ceremony will take place on the recreation deck in thirty minutes precisely. Dress is formal. Your presence is expected.

With the message given, S’Pock cuts the transmission.

“Okay, I’m goin’, takin’ off. See ya… bye….” — Chip Douglas

“This concludes our broadcast day. Click.” — Chip Douglas



A little over two hours have passed since Kirk and Mitchell ordered their first Bolian Zombies; while the captain is still nursing that first drink, the major – inebriated to the max – is currently on his fourth.

MITCHELL: (slurring) A toast to Capt. Kirk! (beat) I always said you’d make admiral, or prison, before thirty-three!

KIRK: I’m thirty-two, Gary. I’d have to work at it to accomplish either in your time limit.

MITCHELL: Ah, but you’re a captain, and I’m only a lowly major. You’ve travelled fast and far.

KIRK: (smirks) Is that why you’re trying to make me drunk, Gary?

MITCHELL: (frowns) What? No! You deserve your prizes, and I deserve what I’ve won … which isn’t bad, come to think of it, except perhaps compared to you. (laughs) No, oh, no …. I just thought, when I saw you, how funny Rhabé was on the day he got his commission ….

Mitchell then collapses across the table, spilling the rest of their drinks in the process, caught in a fit of giggles. As the other clientele in the bar look their way, Kirk blushes with embarrassment.

KIRK: Gary? Come on, Gary, time to go.

On a whim, Kirk takes a look at his chrono. Realizing what time it is, he leaps up from his seat in shock.

KIRK: (shakes Mitchell) Gary!

MITCHELL: Mrffff ….

Jamming his shoulder under one of Mitchell’s arms, he heaves the semi-conscious major up to his feet.

MITCHELL: (grinning and drooling) Are we going to another party?

KIRK: We’re going back to your room.

With Mitchell in tow, Kirk leaves their table. As he passes the front counter, the Andorian waitress stops him with a raised hand.

ANDORIAN WAITRESS: (slides a credit chip reader across the counter to Kirk) You have to pay for your drinks, hon.

Frowning and sighing in indignation, Kirk reaches into his jacket and feels around for his credit chip. Finding it, he pulls it out, slips it into the reader, enters his personal code, and waits for the transfer to go through. Once the transfer of funds is made, he retrieves the chip from the reader.

ANDORIAN WAITRESS: (grins) Stop by again anytime, and don’t forget to bring your friend along with you.

Grumbling, Kirk half-drags, half-carries Mitchell from the bar.


With Mitchell in tow, Kirk heads toward Mitchell’s room. Mitchell, still as drunk as ever, is a dead weight in the arms of the captain.

KIRK: Come on, Gary! If you don’t hurry, I’m going to be late! (beat) Damn your so-called sense of humour, anyway.

MITCHELL: (chuckles) You’ll thank me, James.

KIRK: Thank you!? For trying to get me drunk before change of command?!

MITCHELL: Some ceremonies are better endured with the use of a crutch.

KIRK: A crutch is what I’m going to need after I get you back to your room. (beat) Can’t you walk by yourself?

Pulling himself away from Kirk, Mitchell manages to keep himself unsteadily upright.

MITCHELL: Walk by myself? Of course.

Mitchell then topples forward. Kirk manages to catch him just in time.

MITCHELL: See? I’m quite capable of navigating on my own. Go on ahead to your ceremony.

KIRK: I couldn’t possibly.


Opening the door into Mitchell’s rented quarters, Kirk hauls the intoxicated first officer inside and then deposits him in the nearest available sofa.

MITCHELL: There’s a bottle of Saurian brandy in the kitchen cupboard. Let’s have a toast to your new mission.

KIRK: Neither of us need any brandy, Saurian or otherwise.

As Kirk turns to leave, Mitchell tries to push himself up from the sofa.

MITCHELL: I’m your first officer … I’ve gotta come with you. Can’t miss … your coronation.

KIRK: As your commanding officer, I excuse you of any duty you have in attending the change-of-command ceremony.

MITCHELL: Nonsense. Just give me a minute to –

Collapsing forward on his face, the major begins to snore.

KIRK: (smiles) Sleep well, Gary.

The captain departs.

“Okay, I’m goin’, takin’ off. See ya… bye….” — Chip Douglas

“This concludes our broadcast day. Click.” — Chip Douglas



Having detoured briefly to the Saladin to switch into his green dress uniform, Kirk has now arrived at the access tunnel leading into the USS Enterprise. A countless number of VIPs – Starfleet officers; civilian dignitaries; and reporters from every news medium in the Federation – stand in the path before Kirk. Entering the morass of bodies Human, near-Human, semi-Human, and pseudo-alien, Kirk begins pushing himself through, fighting to get to the head of the crowd.

As Kirk nears his destination, he sees the heads of Cdre. Pike and GENERAL KIMITAKE NOGUCHI over the crowd; the two officers are deep in concentration and do not yet notice the captain.

As Kirk prepares to make his way past the final line of onlookers to the general and commodore, he is stopped by the sight of two individuals – dressed in clothing plainer than that worn by the others in the access tunnel – out of the corner of his eye. Turning his head, he sees them clearly.

KIRK: (surprised) Mom! Sam!

There stands Kirk’s mother and older brother, WINONA and SAMUEL KIRK. A short woman in late middle age, Winona is still pretty for her age. Sam, minus his mustache and slightly receded hairline, is almost an exact twin of his younger brother. Both smile broadly at the sight of James R. Kirk standing there before them.

KIRK: What are you doing here? When did you get here? How long can you stay?

WINONA KIRK: We came to see you take command of the Enterprise, of course.

SAMUEL KIRK: But if you don’t hurry up, they’re going to auction it off to the highest bidder.

Glancing at Noguchi and Pike, Kirk sees that they have finally caught notice of his presence. They wear expressions of patient amusement upon their faces, as they both understand that the joy of seeing one’s loved ones after a long separation overwhelms mere protocol.

Turning back to Sam and Winona, he hugs her and claps him on the back, then leaves their side to join Pike and Noguchi. Together, the three officers head into the body of the USS Enterprise.


The recreation deck has been turned into a reception hall. All the starship’s officers have gathered here. A podium and lectern stood on the stage at one end; tables along one wall held trays of food, racks of champagne bottles, and rows of sparkling glasses.

Lieutenants Sulu and Kelso are helping themselves to a platter of hor d’oeuvres when they notice Uhura in amongst the crowd.

KELSO: Hey, Sulu, who’s the lady?

SULU: That’s Lt. Uhura, our new communications officer.

KELSO: (cocks an eyebrow) No kidding? Hope she’s only married to the service.

Elsewhere, we come to 1ST LT. HADIA RUAN, the Enterprise’s infantry commander and chief of security. Judging by appearances, she is a Human or near-Human woman, in her thirties, with long black hair pinned back in a utilitarian style, bronze skin, and intense hazel eyes. Though a striking beauty, there is an underlying hardness to her features which shouts “WATCH YOURSELF”.

She is staring into her glass of champagne with apparent contempt when Scotty sidles up to her.

SCOTT: Penny for yer thoughts?

RUAN: If I ever meet the insect who passed the act prohibiting real alcohol from sanctioned Starfleet events, I’ll drown it in a vat of this synthetic swill.

Taking care not to be noticed, Scott reaches into his jacket and pulls out a copper flask. Unscrewing the cap, he carefully lifts it over the rim of Ruan’s glass and pours some of the rich brown contents into it.

RUAN: (grins) Why, Major – is that what I think it is?

SCOTT: (taps his nose) Ye can return th’ favour later, Lieutenant.

Noguchi, Pike, and Kirk then arrive, drawing the attention of all present.

SCOTT: Looks like th’ ceremony’s about t’ start.


Over the next hour, speeches from the general, commodore, and captain are made.


The ceremony as it draws to a close.

Pike, holding a sabre sheathed in an ornate gold scabbard, stands before Gen. Noguchi on the stage.

GEN. NOGUCHI: (cont’d) … and have you, Cdre. Christopher Pike, faithfully executed your duties as a captain of Starfleet?

CDRE. PIKE (CAPT. PIKE): To the best of my abilities, General, I have strengthened interstellar peace, I have kept the Prime Directive, I have obeyed my oath.

Taking the sabre, Pike presents it before the general.

CDRE. PIKE: (cont’d) I return to you this sword, a token of the ship on which I served.

Noguchi accepts the sword and Pike takes a step back. The general then turns to face Kirk.

GEN. NOGUCHI: Capt. Kirk, stand forward.

The captain steps forward.

GEN. NOGUCHI: Let all present know your name and rank.

KIRK: Capt. James Regis Kirk.

GEN. NOGUCHI: Capt. Kirk, do you swear to maintain interstellar peace, to uphold the Prime Directive, to obey your oath to captaincy?

KIRK: I … do, sir.

GEN. NOGUCHI: (presents the sabre to Kirk) Then receive this symbol of your new office, captain of the Enterprise!

Kirk accepts the sword, and the crowd breaks out in applause.

SULU: So, what do you think, Kelso? Is Kirk the man to take Capt. Pike’s place?

KELSO: Ask me again in five years.



The recreation deck sometime later.

As the after-ceremony celebrations continue, Kirk, Pike, Noguchi, and Winona and Sam Kirk stand off to the side away from prying eyes and ears.

CDRE. PIKE: Captain, the starship Enterprise is yours. (shakes Kirk’s hand) I know you’ll find her and her crew as faithful as I did.

KIRK: (smiles) Thank you, Commodore.

With a slight smile, Cdre. Christopher Pike turns and leaves, never once looking back.

SAMUEL KIRK: Hey, Jim – that was a great speech you made.

WINONA KIRK: (smiles) I agree completely.

KIRK: Thanks, Sam – Mom.

Gen. Noguchi turns to Winona.

GEN. NOGUCHI: Winona, it’s a pleasure to see you again. Especially now.

WINONA KIRK: It’s been a while, Kimitake, hasn’t it?

GEN. NOGUCHI: Yes, a long time. Since before …. Well, George would have been very proud, I think.

WINONA KIRK: Yes, he would.

GEN. NOGUCHI: (offers Winona his arm) We mustn’t offend the chefs by ignoring their day’s work. I understand they’ve created quite the spread for us. I’m told the chocolate cake is particularly delectable. (beat) Winona?

WINONA KIRK: (takes Noguchi’s arm in hers) Thank you, Kimi.

The older folks depart arm-in-arm, leaving the two Kirk brothers alone.

KIRK: (seizes Sam by the shoulders) My lord, I’m glad to see you. When did you get in? Where’s Aurelan? How’s my nephew? Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?

SAMUEL KIRK: We just arrived. There’s a xenobiology conference, so we got our ways paid. We weren’t certain we’d arrive in time for the ceremony. We figured if we did, we’d surprise you. (beat) Peter’s fine – he’s learning geometry. Aurelan … she sends her love, but she’s in the middle of an experiment and can’t leave it.

KIRK: You look great, Sam. Everything’s going well?

SAMUEL KIRK: (grins) Never better.

Leading Jim over to a table, Sam picks up a pair of champagne glasses.

SAMUEL KIRK: (hands a glass to Jim) To my little brother and his ship.

Raising their glasses in a toast, they down the contents.

SAMUEL KIRK: How’s Mitch doing, anyway? Isn’t he supposed to be here?

KIRK: (smiles wryly) He had a bad run-in with pink pachyderms from Bolarus IX. He’s sleeping it off.

SAMUEL KIRK: Ah. (beat) Jim, Mom’s going back to Earth. P3M-0107’s done her good, and she loves being a grandmother – I never saw her enjoy anything as much as she enjoys spoiling Peter. You ought to –

Noticing Jim’s suddenly distant expression, he clams up.

SAMUEL KIRK: (cont’d) You ought to visit us and see how you like being an uncle. (beat) Anyway, Mom and Aurelan and I wrote a paper – it’s coming out in Jox. She wants to follow up on it on Earth, in Iowa, back on the homestead.

KIRK: That’s good news. (beat) It’s going to be a while before she gets the opportunity. It’s a three-year trip back to Earth from here.

SAMUEL KIRK: (sighs) Well, like they say: Warp travel’s not the best way to travel faster than the speed of light –

KIRK: – it’s just the only known way.

Grinning, Sam heads on over to the table with the chocolate cake. Taking up a piece, he bites into it.

SAMUEL KIRK: (mouth full) Jim, aren’t you going to enjoy your own party? Kimitake was right – the chocolate cake is terrific.


On-board the bridge, the bridge crew – Maj. Gary Mitchell; Maj. S’Pock; Lt. Nyota Uhura; Lt. Hikaru Sulu; and Lt. Lee Kelso – are all present; only Capt. James Kirk is absent.

As we look upon S’Pock and Mitchell, we notice a change in the uniforms they now wear. S’Pock, no longer the Enterprise’s first officer, now wears a blue jacket of the sciences division; Mitchell has replaced his red jacket with one of command gold.

S’POCK: All stations report ready, Mr. Mitchell.

Mitchell, seated at the helm, winces, still suffering the aftereffects from his drinking binge the night before.

MITCHELL: Thank you, Mr. S’Pock. (turns in his seat until he sits facing the empty command chair) All we need now is someone in the centre seat.

Just as soon as those words are spoken, the bridge turbolift discharges James R. Kirk.

MITCHELL: Captain on the bridge!

Everyone on the bridge snaps to attention at Mitchell’s announcement.

KIRK: At ease.

As the bridge crew relaxes, Kirk walks up to the command chair and sits down in it – tenderly, lovingly.

KIRK: Status report, Mr. Mitchell?

MITCHELL: All stations ready, Captain.

KIRK: Detach all moorings. Prepare to leave Starbase 95.


Detaching from its mooring, the Enterprise backs away and then turns on its axis until it’s facing the opposite direction. Impulse engines engaging, the craft begins its run to the exit.


The large bay door opens, allowing the Enterprise out to the airless splendour of free, star-studded space.


KELSO: We have cleared Starbase 95, sir.

KIRK: Viewer on aft. Let’s have one last look at the starbase ….

An image of Starbase 95 appears on the viewscreen.

KIRK: (cont’d) It’ll be the last time we see it for five years.

With that said, Kirk then reaches for a button on an armrest; pressing it, he activates the recorder.

KIRK: Ship’s log, StarDate 1312.16, Capt. James R. Kirk reporting. With all personnel aboard, we have left Starbase 95 and are preparing to leave system S1K-28313. (beat) Words are insufficient to express what this moment means to me. I’ve had a dream for every day of my life since I was fourteen, and I’ve finally realized that dream: to sit in the command chair of the Enterprise, as her captain, taking her out into the wild, untamed regions of the galaxy.

EXT. SPACE – P1C-0072

With the Enterprise travelling at full impulse, Starbase 95, P1C-0072, and the parent red dwarf star recede into the distance until they all but vanish in the distance.

KIRK: (O.S.) For the next five years, my crew and I’ll be patrolling the Delta Sector border, far from the centres of our civilization; I don’t know what those years hold in store for us, but I’m all-too-eagre to find out.


The local spacetime around the Enterprise begins to fluctuate, rippling wildly, until it distends and wraps itself in a ball around the ship, catapulting it on its way through the depths of warp space toward the Delta Sector.

“Okay, I’m goin’, takin’ off. See ya… bye….” — Chip Douglas

“This concludes our broadcast day. Click.” — Chip Douglas



In the depths of deep space – floating free without a star, planet, or other large body to orbit around – is Starbase 104, a K-class space station.


Under the great big dome which tops Starbase 104 lies the station’s ops centre. Seated in the centre of ops, his thick legs propped up on his desk and large hands behind his head, is CAPT. QULOOB. While not quite asleep, the Tellarite captain keeps his eyes closed to save his eyes the strain of looking at nothing worth the effort.

Ops’ turbolift door slides open, allowing a Human woman to step out. Dressed in operations red, her long blond hair styled high atop her head and her shapely legs blatantly evident below her black skirt, is the stunningly sexy, blue-eyed YEOMAN JANICE RAND. Approaching the captain’s desk, she takes the large PADD held under her arm out and hands it out to the Tellarite.

RAND: Here are those stats you wanted, Captain.

CAPT. QULOOB: (opens his eyes) Oh, yes. (accepts the PADD) Thank you, Yeoman.

Looking the data on the PADD’s screen over, he takes a gander at the young Human woman.

CAPT. QULOOB: You look peaked, Janice. Did you sleep at all last night?

RAND: (rubs the bridge of her nose) Not really, sir.

CAPT. QULOOB: Have you been in to see Dr. Olié? Maybe he can prescribe something for your insomnia.

RAND: I have an appointment to see him Eighthday.

CAPT. QULOOB: I think you should call it a day, Janice. Retire to your quarters and try to get some rest.

RAND: Is that an order, Captain?

CAPT. QULOOB: Do I have to make it one?

RAND: (smiles thinly) No, you don’t.

CAPT. (returns his attention to the PADD) Goodnight, Yeoman.

RAND: ‘Night, Captain.

Turning on her heel, Janice prepares to leave the captain to himself.


CAPT. QULOOB: (frowns) What is it?

BETAZOID SCIENCE OFFICER: Sensors detect three large vessels on approach.

CAPT. QULOOB: No one’s scheduled to arrive for another six hours. (beat) Can you identify them?

BETAZOID SCIENCE OFFICER: (shakes his head) No, sir. Their subspace markers have been disengaged.

CAPT. QULOOB: (to the comm officer) Open hailing frequencies.

COMM OFFICER: (opens hailing frequencies) They’re refusing to respond.


With three bursts of disrupted spacetime, three starships drop out of warp into normal space right before the starbase. These three ships are long-necked K’t’inga-class battle cruisers, warships of the dread Klingon Empire.


BETAZOID SCIENCE OFFICER: (alarmed) Three D7 cruisers – dead ahead of us!

CAPT. QULOOB: Quick! Throw up deflectors before --!

The forwardmost K’t’inga powers up its disruptor banks and opens fire. Deflector shields spring up around the starbase, but a split-second too late; the sickly green energy beam manages to score a direct hit on the station’s main body.


A tremor makes its way through the length of the starbase, and then the on-board lighting begins to flicker erratically.

BETAZOID SCIENCE OFFICER: We’ve received severe damage to our reactor, Captain!

CAPT. QULOOB: Can we maintain shields?

The science officer enters a series of commands into his console. Automatically, the lights go completely out.

BETAZOID SCIENCE OFFICER: I’ve diverted all power from non-essential systems, but –

CAPT. QULOOB: (interrupting) Bring our phasers on-line.

BETAZOID SCIENCE OFFICER: I can’t do that without dropping shields first.


All three Klingon battle cruisers power up their disruptors and open fire. Devastating green beams wash over the starbase’s weakened shields, weakening them even further.

Finally, the shields wink out altogether, leaving the station completely vulnerable to the Klingons’ onslaught.


BETAZOID SCIENCE OFFICER: Captain, our shields are down.

CAPT. QULOOB: (angry) By the goddess’ bulge, where are our phasers?!

Before the Betazoid can answer, the forwardmost K’t’inga opens fire again. With this hit, the generators are utterly destroyed; power to the starbase goes completely dead.

“Okay, I’m goin’, takin’ off. See ya… bye….” — Chip Douglas

“This concludes our broadcast day. Click.” — Chip Douglas



The Enterprise continues to travel through the darkness of warp space, blue spiderweb patterns appearing and disappearing sporadically across the otherwise invisible walls of the field holding this small pocket universe together.

KIRK: (V.O.) Ship’s log, StarDate 1312.21, Capt. James R. Kirk reporting. (beat) Five days have passed since we departed Starbase 95, and we are on a delivery run to Starbase 104, our cargo bay laden with supplies the station is in need of. (beat) There’s a day left in-transit before we reach the starbase, so I’ve decided to kill some time exploring my new ship ….


Entering main engineering, the captain finds this section of the ship a-bustle with activity; various crewmen in engineering suits make their way to-and-fro about their duties, working hard to keep the warp drive and associated systems in top operating condition. Nodding with silent approval, the captain finds his way to Mr. Scott.

SCOTT: (notices Kirk and stops what he’s doing to acknowledge the captain’s presence) Er … Capt. Kirk.

KIRK: I thought I’d get acquainted with the ship.

Walking around Scotty, Kirk continues to scrutinize the surrounding systems and equipment.

KIRK: I’m very impressed, Mr. Scott.

SCOTT: (hopeful) Then ye’ll want to be making some speed trials, will ye, Captain?

KIRK: Not just now, Mr. Scott. Maybe later in the trip.

SCOTT: But, Captain –

KIRK: (firm) Later, Mr. Scott.

Scott decides to remain silent. Once Kirk leaves, he frowns to himself.

SCOTT: (in a mock Shatnerian impression) Later, Mr. Scott! (beat) Blast it out yer shaft, ye inexperienced tyro ….


The recreation deck (having returned to the state it was in prior to the change-of-command ceremony held at Starbase 95) has been subdivided into a multitude of gymnasiums, game rooms, and lounges.

In one of the lounges, S’Pock sits alone at a table, playing a game of three-dimensional chess against himself. Deep in concentration, he doesn’t make an effort to acknowledge Captain Kirk’s presence as the Human enters the room and walks up to him.

KIRK: Need an opponent?

S’POCK: No, Captain.

KIRK: Why are you playing alone?

S’POCK: Because, Captain, no one on board plays at my level.

KIRK: You’re modest, aren’t you?

S’POCK: I am neither modest nor immodest; both are character traits beyond which Vulcans have evolved. I state a fact.

KIRK: (scrutinizes the chessboard) Are you playing black or white?

S’POCK: Both, of course, Captain.

KIRK: But black’s move? (smiles wrily) Of course?

Making a noncommittal sound, S’Pock proceeds to move a piece: queen to queen’s pawn D-4. Placing the piece down, he thoughtfully draws his hand back.

KIRK: White to checkmate in three.

As the half-Vulcan looks up at him in disbelief, Kirk simply turns around, leisurely surveys the lounge, and then strolls away.


It is dinner time aboard the Enterprise, and a good number of the ship’s crew have assembled to eat.

S’Pock approaches one of the mess hall’s food synthesizers.

S’POCK: Computer, green salad, undressed.

As soon as the request is given, a tray with a plate of undressed green salad materializes within the synthesizer’s slot.

Taking the tray, S’Pock makes his way over to his usual table. Unfortunately for the major, who prefers to eat alone, the table is occupied by some of the female crew members: the exotic, dusky Zahra Jamal; the pretty, auburn-haired Marla McGivers; and the cat-eyed Hazarstennaj. Talking with one another animatedly, they freeze and fall silent once they see S’Pock standing over them. Hesitating but a single moment, the half-Vulcan decides to take a seat with them.

CPL. JAMAL: (uneasy) Uh, Mr. S’Pock ….

S’POCK: Yes, Corporal?

CPL. JAMAL: Nothing. I mean, hello, sir.

Accepting her greeting without response, S’Pock settles down to eat. Grasping his fork, he spears some of the greens and lifts them to his mouth. Before he has a chance to bite down, though, the smell of the vegetables reaches his nostrils. Assaulted by the scent, he slowly puts the fork down and glances at the meals of his table partners; Jamal is having broiled salmon, McGivers some type of glazed fowl, and Hazarstennaj a large, raw, 1-kilo steak; from the look of things, their plates have barely been touched.

S’POCK: Are your meals satisfactorily synthesized?

The others exchange glances. McGivers then giggles.

S’POCK: Erroneous synthesis is a serious matter. I did not intend levity.

2ND LT. MCGIVERS: I know that, Mr. S’Pock, but we were just talking about the food. It’s been getting worse all day.

S’POCK: The synthesizers must have been reprogrammed. I suspect the maintenance crews misadjusted them at Starbase 95.

CPL. JAMAL: Anything’s a disappointment after the fresh salmon we had on Two Dawns, but this tastes like … (cringes) chicken.

2ND LT. MCGIVERS: I knew I was challenging the synthesizer, so I suppose I was asking for it.

S’POCK: I beg your pardon, Lieutenant, but do you mean you got the meal you asked for, or you did not get the meal you asked for?

2ND LT. MCGIVERS: (grins) Both. Neither. What I asked for was duck lu-se-te. It’s a variation of duck à l’orange, but le-se is from my homeworld, and it’s green. (beat) I didn’t expect the synthesizer to know what I was asking for. It didn’t reject the request … but it didn’t exactly fill it, either. This tastes like … (cringes) wood pulp and sugar syrup.

S’POCK: Am I correct in assuming that this is not what you wished it to taste like?

2ND LT. MCGIVERS: You are correct.

A1C. HAZARSTENNAJ: Wood pulp and syrup would be an improvement on this!

Growling, the felinoid airman picks up a shred of pink meat and thrusts it before S’Pock’s face. The half-Vulcan barely manages to keep himself from recoiling in disgust.


S’POCK: Your assurance that it is unacceptable is quite sufficient.

A1C. HAZARSTENNAJ: No, you must taste it to get the full effect. It tastes like … (cringes) it tastes like vegetables.

Cocking an eyebrow, S’Pock picks the morsel from Hazarstennaj’s slender fingers, gives it a sniff, then pops it in his mouth. Chewing carefully, allowing the full flavour of the food to cover his palate, he swallows.

S’POCK: (picks up his forkful of salad and offers it to Hazard) Perhaps you will find this to your taste.

A1C. HAZARSTENNAJ: (growls) You wish me to eat leaves?

CPL. JAMAL: Hazard will never live it down if she eats a salad, Mr. S’Pock.

S’POCK: The salad may be her only choice if she wishes animal protein in her dinner.

Growling softly, Hazarstennaj plucks the bit of salad off S’Pock’s fork and, with trepidation, places it in her mouth.

A1C. HAZARSTENNAJ: (surprised) It is cooked!

S’POCK: That is true.

Taking her plate, Hazard swaps it for S’Pock’s.

A1C. HAZARSTENNAJ: Better than nothing. I will trade you.

S’POCK: Very well. (divides the huge pseudo-steak in three) Lt. McGivers, Cpl. Jamal, will you have some? It tastes – I assume – more acceptable than wood pulp or chicken.

JAMAL & MCGIVERS: (in unison) Thanks.

Taking two-thirds of his pseudo-steak, S’Pock places either piece on each of the Humans’ plates. Meanwhile, Hazard consumes her meat salad with great relish before going off to order another.


Kirk is seated at his desk, dividing his finite attention between his computer console, a PADD, and several hardcopy printouts when a BUZZ resounds through his door.

KIRK: Come.

The door opens and Maj. Mitchell saunters in.

MITCHELL: Did you eat?

KIRK: Eat?


KIRK: Oh, Lord – I lost track of time. (shakes his head) I don’t believe it – five days into my five-year mission, and I’m already behind on my paperwork.

MITCHELL: (looks at the mess of Kirk’s desk) What’s all this?

KIRK: It’s, you know, (waves his hands) paperwork.

MITCHELL: Why are you doing it?

KIRK: It has to be done. (beat) I always do it, but I never had quite so much of it before.

MITCHELL: Where’s your yeoman?

KIRK: I don’t have a yeoman.

MITCHELL: (nonplussed) You don’t have one?

KIRK: I’ve never had one before.

MITCHELL: You’ve never been captain of a Constitution-class starship before.

KIRK: (irate) I don’t want a yeoman. I don’t need someone fussing over me and sticking things under my nose to sign and being sure the synthesizer put the right amount of carbohydrates in my food.

MITCHELL: (draws up a chair and straddles it) James, permit your ol’ buddy, ol’ pal Mitch to give you some friendly advice. You’re commanding twice as many people as you ever have before. Starfleet paperwork increases in proportion to the size of the crew.

KIRK: It’ll be alright as soon as I get caught up.

MITCHELL: You’ll never get caught up. You know you’ll never get caught up. This isn’t your job anymore.

KIRK: I suppose you have a magical solution.

MITCHELL: James, go down to the quartermaster’s office, pick out a likely clerk, and promote them.

KIRK: It’ll take me more time to train somebody to do this than it would to do it myself.

MITCHELL: Not in the long run. Not if you pick someone with more than half a brain.

KIRK: (sighs) Alright, I’ll try it – on a temporary basis.

MITCHELL: (smiles) Good. (walks over to the food synthesizer) Now, what do you want?

KIRK: Gary, I can feed myself.

MITCHELL: Just consider me acting yeoman for the time being.

KIRK: (sighs) Surprise me.

MITCHELL: Computer, roast teracaq with a side of west Centauri poutine and iced jestral tea.

The order materializes. Picking it up, Mitchell carries it over and sets it down before the captain.

MITCHELL: Bon appetit.

As the major departs, Kirk picks up his fork and knife and slices off a thin piece of the teracaj. As he bites into the meat, though, his face turns green, and he quickly spits it out into his napkin. The unwelcome taste still in his mouth, he picks up his mug of tea and takes a sip, only to automatically spew the horrid liquid from his mouth.

“Okay, I’m goin’, takin’ off. See ya… bye….” — Chip Douglas

“This concludes our broadcast day. Click.” — Chip Douglas


Just an update in regards to this screenplay:

Since I’m operating on the idea that Starfleet is a combined military force – not the Federation’s navy, army, air force, or marines, but all of the above – I’ve decided to abandon the use of a strictly naval ranking system for the Starfleet characters; I have formulated my own amalgamated ranking system, revising the screenplay to the reflect that. Basically, what this means is that while the captains remain captains, the commodores commodores, and the lieutenants lieutenants, the admiral is now a general, the commanders are now colonels, the lieutenant commanders are now majors, and so on.

And, on that note, I guess now’s as good a time as any to give you all a detailed chart of the Starfleet rank insignia I’ve devised for this reboot.

Breastpins are on the left, sleeve braids on the right.

Starfleet Rank Insignia (UPDATED) by DuracellEnergizer

“Okay, I’m goin’, takin’ off. See ya… bye….” — Chip Douglas

“This concludes our broadcast day. Click.” — Chip Douglas


I have gone back to the last entry of this screenplay and edited it. I added a new scene with Kirk & Spock between the Kirk/Scotty and mess hall scenes, and I also made some modifications to the mess hall scene itself, swapping Uhura for another character (The reasons why will be made clear in a future story.) and changing some of the characters' ranks.

“Okay, I’m goin’, takin’ off. See ya… bye….” — Chip Douglas

“This concludes our broadcast day. Click.” — Chip Douglas



In front of a large bay window which looks out over an alien metropolis, behind a desk of midnight green wood, sits a TALK SHOW HOST.


ANNOUNCER: (V.O.) We now return to The Fourth-Quarter at Night Show! with Franc Gouger Is.


A close-up shot of FRANC GOUGER IS. Adorned in a five-piece suit of magenta and gold, Mr. Gouger looks almost like a baseline Human; only his webbed hands and nictitating membranes break the illusion.

FRANC GOUGER IS: Welcome back, welcome back. (beat) Now, for our next guest. I’m sure you all know who she is; she played the laughing groupie in The Infitters, played Victim #16 in Nightmare in Remelt Set, and now has a starring role as Lei Ka in Lei & Wain: The Wain-B’Rus Story. (beat) Guys, gals, herms, and a’s, I present to you Ms. Heth Lang!


As HETH LANG, an attractive near-Human woman with mottled red skin, walks out onto the set.

Waving to the unseen audience as they applaud her, she walks up to Gouger’s desk as he rises from his chair; the two greet each other with a hug and kiss.

FRANC GOUGER IS: (smiles) Welcome to the show, Heth. My contractors are glad to have you here.

HETH LANG: (laughs) I’m glad to be here, too, Is.

Gouger returns to his chair as Lang takes a seat on the hot pink couch to his right.

FRANC GOUGER IS: So, how are you tonight, Heth?

HETH LANG: (tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear) Oh, I’m fine – just fine.

FRANC GOUGER IS: Nice to hear that. Traffic in the second sector was the tenth hell earlier today; did you --?

HETH LANG: The traffic was a little congested, but it was no biggie. (beat) You wanna see real bad traffic? Check out the skylanes of the Northeastern Quadrant back home; now that’s just awful.

FRANC GOUGER IS: (turns to the camera) You heard it here first, folks, straight from the qantu’s orifice: “Kwwa XI – homeworld of the Alpha Sector’s worst drivers.”

The audience laughs uproariously.


Captain Kirk seated in his cabin aboard the Enterprise, watching The Fourth-Quarter at Night Show! on a flatscreen display.

Having discarded his gold command jacket and kicked off his jackboots, Kirk sits low in the cushions of a comfortable sofa, his eyelids heavy with drowsiness.

KIRK: (yawns) Sorry, Is, but it’s time for this starship captain to call it a night. (beat) Computer, record program already in progress and deactivate flatscreen display.

COMPUTER: Recording. Deactivating.

As the display goes dark, Kirk stands up then strips down to his underwear. Yawning again, he walks half-asleep to his bunk, throws back the sheets, lies down on the mattress, then pulls the sheets back over him as he closes his eyes.


Carol Marcus, dressed only in a translucent black nightie, who now sits astride Kirk.

CAROL: (whispers) Jim … oh, Jim ….

Slowly, Kirk opens his eyes. Coming awake to this beautiful angel straddling him, he smiles lazily.

KIRK: Carol …?

CAROL: (smiles) You were expecting maybe Lenore Karidian?

KIRK: You wouldn’t believe the dream I just had.

CAROL: (grins) You won’t believe the dream you’re going to have.

Smiling sexily, Carol bends low over Kirk, bringing her lips
close to his. Before they can connect, she halts.

CAROL: Beep, beep, beep.

Kirk frowns.

“Okay, I’m goin’, takin’ off. See ya… bye….” — Chip Douglas

“This concludes our broadcast day. Click.” — Chip Douglas



The turbolift door swishes open and Kirk steps out onto the bridge. The officers of the day watch – Mitchell, S’Pock, Uhura, Sulu, and Kelso included – are all already present and accounted for.

MITCHELL: Captain on the bridge!

The other crew members snap to attention.

KIRK: (perturbed) At … ease.

As the bridge crew relaxes, Kirk strides over to Mitchell’s station.

KIRK: Maj. Mitchell, it isn’t necessary for you to call attention to my presence each time I enter the bridge.

MITCHELL: (grins mischievously) Only following standard Starfleet procedure, Captain.

Frowning lightly, Kirk turns and steps on over to the command chair.

KIRK: (sits down) What’s our current position, Mr. Kelso?

KELSO: Approximately 14.11 light-days away from Starbase 104, sir.

KIRK: Reduce warp factor to 2 then take her to 1/4 impulse power.

KELSO: Aye, sir.


With a burst of disrupted spacetime, the Enterprise drops out of warp. In the distance, a lone sentinel in a sea of stars, lies Starbase 104.


KIRK: Open hailing frequencies, Ms. Uhura.

A moment passes as Uhura tries to establish a connection with the starbase.

UHURA: Captain, I’m getting no response.

KIRK: (frowns) No response?

As the Enterprise moves in closer to Starbase 104, the image of the starbase on the viewscreen grows larger and evermore defined. Soon, the telltale signs of weapons’ fire on the station’s hull become disturbingly evident.

KIRK: Mr. S’Pock – readings!

S’POCK: (checks his readouts) Structural integrity remains intact, but the fusion reactor has been destroyed. Burn patterns indicate disruptor fire as the most probable cause of damage.

KIRK: Life signs?

S’POCK: Twenty-one lifeforms detected on-board.

KIRK: But are they friend or are they foe?

S’POCK: That cannot be ascertained at this range, Captain.

As Kirk opens his mouth to reply, something strikes the ship with tremendous force, causing the bridge – and everyone on it – to rattle about violently.


A K’t’inga-class battle cruiser – one of the very three which attacked the starbase – has descended over the Enterprise from above. Its disruptors charged and aglow with green radiance, it unleashes another deadly disruptor beam upon the Constitution-class starship.


The bridge is shaken violently about once again.

KIRK: Mr. Mitchell, 077-mark-10!

MITCHELL: 077-mark-10 – aye!


Under Mitchell’s guidance, the starship Enterprise follows the course Kirk has set for it. The K’t’inga follows along after it, firing its disruptors.


KIRK: Turn us about, Mr. Mitchell. Fire phasers as soon as the Klingon ship comes within your scopes, Mr. Sulu.


The Enterprise turns on its axis until it’s facing the battle cruiser, then bright blue phaser beams flash out, impacting on the Klingons’ shields. The Klingons are quick to reciprocate, and the two ships – the Enterprise flying backwards, the K’t’inga on its trail like a relentless hound – trade weapons’ fire.


KIRK: Sulu, fire six photon torpedoes aft!

SULU: But sir --!

KIRK: (irritated) I said fire, Mr. Sulu!

SULU: (resigned) Firing.

KIRK: Mitchell, 000-mark-90!


As the six glowing red photon torpedoes are deployed behind the Enterprise, the Federation ship pulls straight up, taking it directly out of the way of the battle cruiser’s line of direction. The Klingon ship then plows directly into the torpedoes lying ahead in its path; with tremendous explosions of antimatter, the K’t’inga is knocked askew, its deflectors decimated.


KIRK: Open fire with phasers, Mr. Sulu, but target their flight and weapon systems only – I want them taken alive.

SULU: Aye, sir.


Locking the K’t’inga-class battle cruiser in his scopes, Sulu opens fire; with the delicacy of a surgeon wielding a finely sharpened scalpel, the tactical officer excises the Klingon ship’s disruptor banks, photon torpedo tube, impulse engines, and starboard nacelle.


KIRK: Mr. S’Pock, give me a status report on the Klingon ship.

S’POCK: Neutralized, Captain. It is no longer capable of fight or flight.

KIRK: Very good. (beat) Ms. Uhura, open a channel to the battle cruiser.


At that very moment, the Klingon ship explodes.


Kirk sits silently in his chair, watching the flaming debris of the Klingon ship burn itself out in the airless vacuum of space on the viewscreen with a mildly surprised expression on his face.

KELSO: There goes surrender.

KIRK: Self-destruction – the last resort of a defeated Klingon captain. (presses an armrest button) Lt. Ruan?

RUAN: (O.S.) Captain?

KIRK: Assemble a landing party of twelve and report to the transporter room immediately. Be sure to equip yourselves with type-3 phasers and mark-5 body armour.

S’POCK: Captain, with the starbase reactor off-line, the on-board transporters will be non-functional. A beam-over will be quite impossible.

KIRK: (to Ruan) Lieutenant, report to the shuttlebay instead. Maj. Mitchell and Dr. Piper will be accompanying you.

RUAN: Yes, sir.

KIRK: Kirk out.

Ending the communication, Kirk stands up. As the captain crosses over to his station, Mitchell rises and turns to face him.

MITCHELL: This is one of the fringe benefits of being a first officer, I suppose.

KIRK: (half-smiles) I’d lead the landing party myself, but you know standard Starfleet procedure.

MITCHELL: The captain stays on the ship where he’s needed most.

KIRK: (claps Mitchell on the shoulder) Good luck, Major.

Flashing that roguish grin of his, Mitchell leaves the bridge.

“Okay, I’m goin’, takin’ off. See ya… bye….” — Chip Douglas

“This concludes our broadcast day. Click.” — Chip Douglas



The Enterprise’s shuttlebay door slides open, allowing the Galileo – a Class G shuttlecraft – exit into the open vacuum of space. Impulse thrusters blazing a bright azure, the Galileo begins its trek to Starbase 104.


The inner walls of the cabin are lined by two long benches. Seated upon these benches are Mitchell, Ruan, Piper, and TEN INFANTRYMEN. Suited up in mark-5 body armour – environmentally-sealed armour equipped with life support systems – they each go over their equipment and weapons.

PIPER: (praying quietly) Our Creator in Heaven, hallowed be Your name. Your kingdom come, Your will be done. Give us this day our daily bread, and forgive us our sins as we forgive those who have sinned against us. And save us from this time of trial, and deliver us from evil. For the kingdom, the power, and the glory are Yours now and forever. Amen.

As Piper concludes his prayer, he looks up to find Mitchell, seated across from him on the other bench, examining him.

MITCHELL: A religious man, Doc?

PIPER: I try to be. How about you?

MITCHELL: (shakes his head) I come from a long line of secular humanists. Faith’s just not in my genes.

PIPER: In my experience, I’ve found that faith doesn’t come with the genes. You find it somewhere down the road – or maybe it finds you – and then once you have it, you have to struggle to hang onto it. (beat) There are times when I don’t feel the struggle’s worth it, times when I feel I should just hang up my cross and call it a day. Other times, I feel that faith’s the only thing in my life that makes the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune the least bit tolerable.

MITCHELL: (frowns) You’re not a very happy man, are you, Doc?

PIPER: (half-smiles) I have my days.


The Galileo enters the open shuttlebay of the K-class space station, disappearing into the deep shadows within.


As the shuttlecraft comes to a hover just inside the shuttlebay, we find all the various starships, tools, and other unsecured machinery and equipment taking up space within drifting about without the starbase’s artificial gravity to hold it all down.


Mitchell steps inside the cockpit and turns to the second pilot.

MITCHELL: Fire a low-powered phaser burst, wide spread.


The Galileo’s phaser banks power up, glowing with bright green radiance. A burst of green energy is then released, spreading out in a wide field to envelop the entire interior. The low-powered blast – calibrated only to take out organic life – isn’t powerful enough to inflict any severe structural damage to the walls or mechanical components inside the chamber.


MITCHELL: Alright, take her down.


As the shuttlecraft touches down, Mitchell re-enters the main cabin. Crossing over to the rear of the compartment, he turns to face the others.

MITCHELL: Alright, everyone, here’s what’s up. Twenty-one lifeforms have been detected on-board this station. Of that twenty-one, we aren’t quite sure how many are friendlies, but six have been detected holed up in the station armory. As the armory is the most secure area of the station, it makes sense that the starbase commander would have taken as many of his personnel with him as he could there. (beat) Our mission is to head straight for the armory, retrieve the survivors there, and head straight back here. They are our top priority; if enemy troops are present aboard this station, we can’t go out of the way looking for strays. (beat) Any questions?

No one replies.

MITCHELL: Alright then. (puts on his helmet) Let’s lock ‘n’ load!

Standing up, the others secure their helmets in place, activate their gravity boots, and bring their phaser rifles to bear. The Galileo’s hatch then pops open before them, lowering to form a ramp leading out into the shuttlebay. With the shuttle’s on-board force field active, the atmosphere inside is prevented from being sucked out into the airless vacuum beyond.

MITCHELL: After me!

Bringing his rifle up, the major cautiously steps out of the shuttlecraft, making his way down the ramp onto the shuttlebay deck.

RUAN: You heard the No. 1 – move out!

Ruan and the infantrymen follow Mitchell out into the shuttlebay. Spreading out, they keep their eyes peeled for hidden dangers, fingers tensed over their phaser triggers as they make their way away from the Galileo and deeper into the cavernous bay.

“Okay, I’m goin’, takin’ off. See ya… bye….” — Chip Douglas

“This concludes our broadcast day. Click.” — Chip Douglas


The landing party soon comes to the freight turbolift. The turbolift door having already been wrenched open, an apparatus of Klingon design has been erected around it.

Holding his hand up for the others to stay where they are, Mitchell cautiously approaches the piece of Klingon technology. Activating the analytical components in his left gauntlet, he scans the device.

MITCHELL: (looks over the holographic readouts) Just your basic force field barrier. It’s safe for us to pass through.

Turning the holographic readout off, Mitchell takes a step through the barrier. Blue-green energy crackles around him as he pass through the force field, but he remains unharmed. The others follow after.


Once inside the large turbolift, the landing party members turn on their helmet lamps and look up. As the beams of light play over the top of the cab, they can see that an impromptu opening has been created with disruptorfire, allowing entrance into the turbolift shaft.

PIPER: (takes readings of surrounding environment) There’s atmosphere present here, Major – standard oxygen-nitrogen mix. (beat) I’m not registering any biological, chemical, radiological, or nanotechnical hazards in the air, so it should be safe to breathe, if a little stale.

MITCHELL: Alright, men, you heard the doc; you can retract your faceplates.

With a press of a button, the faceplates of their helmets are retracted.

Pressing a button in his gauntlet, Mitchell activates a red holographic map of the starbase; the path to the armory is illuminated in yellow.

MITCHELL: The armory’s on Level 10. That’s a fair distance from here, and with the power out, we’ll have to make the trek on foot. (beat) Set your phasers to full power. We don’t know what’s waiting for us up there.

With their rifles set to full power, the members of the landing party walk straight up the wall of the turbolift cab, step through the ragged hole one-by-one, and enter the turbolift shaft.


The landing party makes its way along the turbolift shaft. Dark and dusty, the lamps of their helmets providing the only illumination, the shaft is like a foreboding tunnel leading straight into nothingness.

INFANTRYMAN #1: (edgy) It’s creepy in here!

MITCHELL: (checks his map) Only fifteen more metres to go.

As they continue on their way, yellow warning lights begin to blink on all their left gauntlets.

RUAN: I’m getting readings, Major! (beat) There’s something in here with us!

Suddenly, in the darkness ahead of them, four small green lights flash into existence, forming a lozenge pattern in the blackness.

MITCHELL: (whispering) Bring your rifles to bear … slowly.

The lights begin to advance on them.

MITCHELL: (cont’d) Steady ….

As the armoured Starfleet personnel stand there, stock-still with their phaser rifles at the ready, the green lights move into the beams of their helmets. As the yellow-white light washes over them, the lights are revealed to be the sensors of a KLINGON HUNTER-KILLER. A large, semi-humanoid robot, the hunter-killer is eight-feet tall, its head, shoulders, arms, and chest bristling with in-built disruptors.

INFANTRYMAN #2: (afraid) Hunter-killer!

Overcome by his fear, the infantryman springs forward, pushing Mitchell out of the way as he swings his phaser into firing position.

MITCHELL: (alarmed) You idiot --!

The infantryman fires. The blue phaser beam strikes the hunter-killer dead centre, but the energy dissipates against the automaton’s powerful deflector shield. The hunter-killer fires back with its pair of head disruptors; the twin disruptor beams slam into the infantryman’s armoured chest, and with a bloodcurdling SHRIEK he is disintegrated in disturbing fashion, leaving his now-empty suit of armour to collapse into a smouldering heap.

MITCHELL: Spread out!

The remaining members of the landing party spread out. Training their rifles on the hunter-killer, they open fire; leaving their fingers pressed down on their triggers, they keep phaser energy trained upon the behemoth, hoping to overwhelm its deflector shield. Its shield glowing brightly as the blue phaser energy washes over it, the hunter-killer fires back. Four more infantrymen are struck down, their armour joining their foolhardy companion’s on the floor.

Opening her pack, an infantryman fishes out the components of a grenade launcher and begins assembling the weapon. Just as she loads a photon grenade into the launcher, she’s shot down by the Klingon machine.

Spotting the grenade launcher lying prone upon the dusty floor, Mitchell makes a dash for the weapon. Somersaulting across the floor, he snatches the launcher up, finds the hunter-killer in his sights, and presses the trigger. With a burst of red light, the photon grenade rockets forth, striking the hunter-killer with deadly accuracy. With a white-hot explosion, electricity cascades over the body of the hunter-killer. Tossing the launcher aside, Mitchell takes his rifle and fires upon the robot; the beam slams into the robot’s left shoulder disruptor without hinderance, blasting it apart.

With the surviving landing party members firing upon the now-unshielded robot, the hunter-killer begins to falter against the onslaught of phaser beams. Encased in heavy armour plating, however, the machine still has fight left in it. Advancing on its treads, it swivels around until it’s got Mitchell in clear line of sight of its left arm disruptor. Mitchell, quick on his feet, leaps out of the way just in time to avoid the full force of the subsequent disruptor blast, but the green beam grazes his side; the armour there superheating, damage is inflicted to the underlying flesh.

Before the hunter-killer can finish the job it started on the major, Ruan leaps in between them. Instead of firing upon the bronze-skinned woman, the hunter-killer inexplicably freezes up. The lieutenant doesn’t hesitate to take advantage of the situation; jamming the barrel of her phaser rifle right into its chest, she pulls the trigger, unleashing high-powered phaser energy directly into the robot’s heart. With a BOOM, Ruan is tossed back as the hunter-killer is reduced to hundreds of pieces of white-hot shrapnel.

Grimacing, Mitchell holds his side where the disruptor beam struck him. Approaching the major, Piper begins scanning his injury.

PIPER: (frowns) This isn’t good ….

MITCHELL: Give it to me straight, Doc.

PIPER: The armour protected you from the brunt of the hit, but you still suffered severe subdermal hemorrhaging. (beat) Major, if you don’t report to sickbay as soon as possible, you’re going to bleed to death internally.

MITCHELL: (shakes his head) Isn’t there something you have on hand that can help?

PIPER: A shot of triclenidil would slow the bleeding, but –

MITCHELL: Give it to me, Doc.

Unsealing one of his gauntlets, Mitchell pulls it off, allowing Piper access to his naked wrist. Frowning, the doctor opens his medical kit, fixes a vial of triclenidil to his hypospray, then injects the drug into Mitchell’s bloodstream.

PIPER: You’re dancing on the razor’s edge, Major.

MITCHELL: (reseals his gauntlet) The razor’s edge? My favourite place to be.

Leaving Mitchell, Piper turns his attentions to Ruan, who has already regained her wits. Without asking, he begins scanning her for injuries.

RUAN: I’m fine, Doctor. (holds up her blackened, half-melted rifle) My rifle’ll never be the same ….

Once Piper has made the rounds, Mitchell hefts up his rifle, motioning for his subordinates’ attention.

MITCHELL: Recess is over, boys and girls – hup to.

As the infantrymen resume their stride, Mitchell stops Ruan and waves her over.

RUAN: Yes, Major?

MITCHELL: If it hadn’t been for you, Lieutenant, my goose would have literally been cooked. Thank you.

RUAN: It doesn’t seem to have done you that much good, Major.

MITCHELL: Still, it’s better to be dying than dead, right? (grimaces) God, disruptor blasts really smart, don’t they?

RUAN: You should follow Dr. Piper’s advice, Major. Return to the Enterprise – I can handle the mission from here.

MITCHELL: It’s too late for that, Lieutenant. I wouldn’t even make it to the shuttlebay. Piper knows it, I know it. (beat) You familiar with the ancient Terran song “Rock of Ages”?

RUAN: I can’t say that I am.

MITCHELL: “It’s better to burn out than to fade away.”

Turning on his heel, Mitchell leaves Ruan to make his way back to the front of the group.

“Okay, I’m goin’, takin’ off. See ya… bye….” — Chip Douglas

“This concludes our broadcast day. Click.” — Chip Douglas



At the end of this corridor, the door into the turbolift shaft stands open. Peeking up over the bottom edge of the door, Mitchell brings his rifle up and over, scoping the corridor for enemy agents.

MITCHELL: It’s clear.

Mitchell climbs out of the shaft and into the corridor, followed quickly by Ruan, Piper, and the remaining five infantrymen.

MITCHELL: (reactivates the holographic map) The armory’s three corridors down. Let’s go, and keep a watch out.

The landing party stealthily crosses through the corridor into the adjacent corridor, and from there to the next corridor.

Soon they come to the end of the final corridor. Beyond it lies the door to the armory – the door and SIX KLINGON WARRIORS. Each seven-feet tall, humanoid in form, armed with heavy disruptor rifles, and encased head-to-toe in black armour which makes them look like fusions between Samurai warriors and emperor scorpions, even a blind man can see that they are dangerous opponents who will not surrender or go down without a brutal fight.

Halting, Mitchell throws up his hand for the others to do likewise. With another gesture, he motions them to spread out and plant themselves out of sight.

MITCHELL: (pulls out a stun grenade and arms it) Just a little gift from Starfleet, boys.

Kissing the grenade, Mitchell then lobs it out into the midst of the Klingon warriors. The Klingons quickly take notice of the grenade, bark guttural Klingon proclamations through the filters of their helmets, and are quickly overtaken by the grenade’s wave of bright, green energy.

Protected by their heavy armour, the Klingons remain conscious, albeit incredibly weakened and unsteady on their feet. Allowing the warriors no chance to recover, Mitchell and Ruan jump out of hiding, opening fire with their phaser rifles. The blue phaser beams pierce the black suits of armour with a minimum of effort; with sharp cries of quick pain, the Klingons are cut down.

Crossing over to the armory door, Mitchell quickly looks it over. Finding an intercom beside it, he pops the front panel open, exposing the inner workings of the powerless device.

MITCHELL: I need the generator over here.

One of the infantrymen, saddled with a heavy pack, joins Mitchell by the door. Opening the pack, he fishes out a portable generator. Taking the power cords, Mitchell hooks them up to the intercom.

MITCHELL: Alright, turn it on.

The infantryman flips a switch and a current of energy begins flowing into the intercom panel. The inner workings of the intercom immediately light up.

MITCHELL: (activates the intercom) This is Gary Mitchell, Starfleet major, serial number HE5095C21922, first officer of the USS Enterprise. I’m here with an armed escort and we’re here to take you back to the Enterprise. If you can, please respond.

Mitchell gives whoever is on the other side a chance to respond. The intercom remains silent.

MITCHELL: (to the infantryman) Can we cut through this door?

INFANTRYMAN #3: This door’s made out of solid beresium. Even a disruptor at full power wouldn’t be able to burn through it.

Right then, the intercom crackles.

RAND: (O.S.; weak) Major?

MITCHELL: I’m here. Who’s this?

RAND: (O.S.) Janice Rand, Starfleet corporal, serial number CU4729D20023. (beat) How do I really know you’re Starfleet?

MITCHELL: You’ll just have to take my word for it, Corporal.

RAND: (O.S.) I suppose I will. (beat) I’ve unsealed the lock; you have to open the door.

Working with the infantryman, Mitchell attaches a mechanical apparatus to the door. Activating it, they pull the door open, allowing access into the armory.


Mitchell enters the armory. Beside the door, half-leaning, half-lying against the intercom, is the barely conscious Janice Rand, a respirator affixed over her mouth and nose. Beyond her are FOURTEEN FIGURES, all laid out prone about the compartment, many of them wearing respirators like Rand’s. As we can ascertain from the life readings taken by S’Pock earlier, at least eight of them are already dead.

MITCHELL: Doctor, get in here.

Piper rushes in. Moving in on Rand, he begins taking her readings.

PIPER: She’s suffering from oxygen deprivation.

Grimacing in pain, Mitchell clutches his injured side.

MITCHELL: (groans) I can see that, Doc. Just give her something to help her.

Taking his hypospray, Piper injects the young woman with tri-ox compound. Almost immediately, she begins to come around. The doctor then goes to attend to the other living patients.

MITCHELL: (to Rand) You well enough to stand?

RAND: (slips off her respirator) Yes, I ….

Still woozy, Rand almost collapses. Mitchell is quick to brace her up, but at the expense of causing more pain to shoot through his side.

MITCHELL: (grimaces; to the infantrymen outside) C’mon, lend us a hand!

Ruan and the other infantrymen enter the armory. As they go to help the survivors to their feet, we can see that amongst their number is the Betazoid science officer and Capt. Quloob himself.

MITCHELL: (to Rand) You think you’re ready to handle a weapon, Corporal?

RAND: I think so, yes.

MITCHELL: Then grab yourself a phaser rifle.

Leaving Mitchell’s side, Rand crosses over to a gun rack holding several type-2 phaser pistols. Taking one of the pistols, she then moves over to a rack holding separate rifle barrel-stocks. Taking a barrel-stock, she interlocks the two components, converting the pistol into a complete type-3 phaser rifle.

MITCHELL: (to the other survivors) If any of you are good enough to go, outfit yourselves with rifles, too. We’re moving out.


The landing party members and their compliment of starbase survivors make their way back through the corridor en-route to the open turbolift shaft.

MITCHELL: Capt. Quloob, when did the Klingons attack the starbase?

CAPT. QULOOB: Six days ago? Seven? (shakes his head) I’m sorry, but I’m not sure.

MITCHELL: You have any idea why they attacked?

CAPT. QULOOB: I have some idea, yes.

MITCHELL: Would you care to divulge that information, Captain?

CAPT. QULOOB: In due time, Major.

Frowning, Mitchell prepares to press the Tellarite further, but he doesn’t get the chance; as they round a bend in the corridor, they find FIVE KLINGON HUNTER-SEEKERS – floating, tri-winged weapons equipped with single green sensors for vision and disruptors secured to their undercarriages for offense/defense — waiting for them at the end of the corridor.

MITCHELL: (jumps back) Hunter-seekers! Get back!

One of the hunter-seekers fires its disruptor, but the members of the landing party and the starbase survivors both manage to avoid the disintegrating beam. Bringing up her rifle, Rand opens fire on the attacking hunter-seeker, keeping the blue beam trained upon the dangerous device; the weapon’s in-built deflector shield holds for five seconds before winking out, allowing the phaser beam to blast it to smithereens.

MITCHELL: Retreat!

Backing away, the Federation personnel flee back up the corridor as the hunter-seekers gain chase.


Blue and green beams crisscross the length of the corridor, forming a beautiful but deadly light show. Hunter-seekers and Starfleet personnel are both cut down in the rain of death.

Hoisting up the grenade launcher, Ruan turns to an infantryman.

RUAN: Proximity grenade, double-quick!

Fishing out a proximity grenade, the infantryman hands it to the lieutenant. Taking the grenade, she hurriedly arms it and just as hurriedly slides it into the launcher. Finding the approaching hunter-seekers in her scope, she grits her teeth and pulls the trigger.

Rocketing forward, the proximity grenade enters the swarm of hunter-seekers. Detecting the presence of the klingon weapons, it detonates; with an immense explosion of pure white light, the hunter-seekers and surrounding corridor are reduced to fine debris.

Just as she’s almost ready to let down her guard and relax, a green disruptor beams flashes out towards the tough lieutenant, barely missing her left arm to demolish the grenade launcher in her hands instead. Taking hold of her phaser rifle, she spins around to her left; there, in an adjoining corridor, are NINE KLINGON WARRIORS on approach. Grimacing, she shoots a Klingon warrior right through his disruptor rifle and into his gut, returning their favour.


On the run from the armoured Klingon warriors, the Starfleet personnel enter this new corridor. Most of their number has now been lost to the Klingons; of the landing party, only Mitchell, Ruan, Piper, and two infantrymen remain; of the starbase personnel, only Quloob, Rand, the Betazoid, and a handsome female 1st lieutenant with short blond hair.

BETAZOID SCIENCE OFFICER: There’s a transporter room in this section! We can escape to the Enterprise from there!

CAPT. QULOOB: There’s no power to power the transporter, Lieutenant.

BETAZOID SCIENCE OFFICER: (to an infantryman) You brought a portable generator with you, didn’t you?

INFANTRYMAN #3: Yeah, but it doesn’t have enough juice to power a transporter.

BETAZOID SCIENCE OFFICER: Maybe not alone, but used in conjunction with the power packs from our phasers, we might just be able to provide enough energy for one beam-out.

MITCHELL: Our phasers are the only things between us and the Klingons outside, Lieutenant ….

BETAZOID SCIENCE OFFICER: Danal. Lt. Jaxxon Danal. (beat) Major, we’re trapped in here. Those Klingon warriors’ll be joined by more Klingons soon, and our phasers won’t make a lick of difference then; we’ll be dead. This is our one and only chance to get out of here alive.

Mitchell takes a moment to think it over. As a disruptor beam passes over his head, singeing his helmet, he silently decides to agree to the desperate plan.


The Starfleet personnel enter a dark transporter room. As the two infantrymen brace themselves against the open door frame to lay down cover fire, Mitchell collapses to his knees, finally succumbing to his injuries.

RUAN: Major!

Coming to the major’s aid, the lieutenant helps him back to his feet.

MITCHELL: (pained; to Danal) Alright, Lieutenant, if you can do it, do it now.

Danal nods, then goes to collect the phaser rifles from all but the infantrymen stationed by the door. Taking the weapons, he, Quloob, Rand, and the blonde lieutenant work speedily to connect the phaser power packs to the generator and the generator to the transporter control panel.

As Danal, the captain, and the two blonde women work on the transporter, the Klingons steadily continue to advance towards the transporter room. One of the two infantrymen stationed by the door is hit by disruptorfire, and he goes down with a scream, his phaser rifle hitting the deck with a CLATTER as the molecules of his body break apart. Pulling away from Ruan, Mitchell collects the rifle and takes the place of the fallen infantryman, opening fire on the Klingon warriors amassed in the outside corridor.

RUAN: (edgy) Major --!

MITCHELL: Just stay back, Lieutenant!

With the final connections made between the generator and transporter panel, Danal goes to activate the device. The controls of the panel come to dim life.

1ST LT. DANAL (BETAZOID SCIENCE OFFICER): Transporter’s on-line!

CAPT. QULOOB: Everyone, on the transporter pad!

As Piper, Quloob, Rand, and the blonde lieutenant hurry to climb atop the transporter pad, Ruan hesitates, eyes fixed on her commanding officer.

MITCHELL: (to the infantryman beside him) Time for you to join the others, Airman.

INFANTRYMAN #4: But sir –

MITCHELL: (interrupts) That’s an order, Airman.

INFANTRYMAN #4: Yes sir.

MITCHELL: Just leave me your phaser.

With reservation, the infantryman hands the major his rifle before stepping on over to the transporter. That is when Mitchell finally notices Ruan staring at him.

MITCHELL: You, too, Lieutenant.

Frowning, Ruan strides up to Mitchell, seemly unaware of or unconcerned with the danger posed by the incoming disruptorfire.

MITCHELL: (angry) Lieutenant, maybe you didn’t hear me. I gave you a direct order. Join the others on the transporter pad now.

RUAN: All due respect, Major ….

Balling her gauntleted right hand into a fist, Ruan punches Mitchell hard in the face, knocking him out cold.

RUAN: (cont’d) … go to hell.

Hefting Mitchell’s limp form up and over her shoulder, finding a way to pick up the two phaser rifles in her free hand, the lieutenant scrambles over to the transporter pad, joining the others there.

1ST LT. DANAL: (activates the transporter) Energizing.

As a low HUM begins to emanate from the energizing transporter, Danal leaves the controls. Unfortunately for the Betazoid, an armoured Klingon warrior enters the room, disintegrating him with one shot from his disruptor rifle. The Klingon then trains his weapon on the transporter control panel, but Rand – having taken one of Ruan’s two phaser rifles – brings him into her scope, shooting him right through the helmeted head before he can open fire.

As more Klingons spill into the room, a transport beam – weak, nearly colourless – coalesces around the people standing on the pad. As the Starfleet personnel are converted into energy, the transport beam begins to flicker erratically with the power being consumed.


In the transporter room, Lt. Kyle stands over the controls, eyes fixed on the transport beam before him. Like its twin on Starbase 104, it, too, is ephemeral and nigh-colourless. Furrowing his brow, he tries boosting the signal, but to little avail.

KIRK: (enters the room) What’s happening, Mr. Kyle?

KYLE: Someone’s trying to beam in, sir, from the starbase.

KIRK: (frowns) From the starbase?

KYLE: They must have jury-rigged a secondary power source. The signal’s incredibly weak.

KIRK: Have you tried boosting the signal from our end?

KYLE: Yes, sir.

Several tense moments pass, with the tenuous transport beam coming to the brink of discorporating, but the transfer finally manages to go through; the landing party and starbase survivors successfully materialize on the transporter pad without a single molecule in their bodies displaced.

Leaving Kyle, the starship captain approaches the survivors. He becomes desperately anxious when he finally notices Mitchell’s unconscious form braced against Ruan.

KIRK: (worried) Gary!? What happened?!

PIPER: He took a disruptor hit. If I don’t get him to sickbay right now he’s going to die.

KIRK: Do it.

As Kirk moves aside to let Piper and Ruan pass with Mitchell, he activates his wrist-worn comcorder.

KIRK: (into comcorder) Medical personnel, prep a table for immediate surgery STAT. Maj. Mitchell has been wounded in battle. Dr. Piper and Lt. Ruan are on their way with him now.

The order given, the captain turns to regard the other beam-overs. It is at that very moment where he meets the eye of Yn. Rand. For an instant, there’s an immediate connection between them – an unconscious sense of mutual familiarity and recognition – but just as quickly it is broken, gone as if it had never been.

“Okay, I’m goin’, takin’ off. See ya… bye….” — Chip Douglas

“This concludes our broadcast day. Click.” — Chip Douglas


I went back to the last two entries and made some alterations. Regarding the former, I replaced the three hunter-seekers with a single hunter-killer (which is a kind of cross between the Robot from Lost in Space and the HK-tank from the Terminator franchise) to add a greater sense of danger to the situation. Regarding the latter, I wasn’t satisfied with how I executed the landing party’s escape from the starbase, so I added more twists and turns to the proceedings.

“Okay, I’m goin’, takin’ off. See ya… bye….” — Chip Douglas

“This concludes our broadcast day. Click.” — Chip Douglas



Piper and Ruan enter the sickbay, Mitchell’s limp form held between them. Already in wait for them is a contingent of nurses.

PIPER: Help us get his armour off.

Moving in, the nurses assist Piper and Ruan with the removal of Mitchell’s body armour. Once that is done, they carry him over to a biobed, laying him down on it. One of the nurses takes up a pair of scissors and cuts open the front of the major’s black bodysuit; pushing it aside, the nasty disruptor wound on Mitchell’s torso is revealed. The nurses quickly administer an anesthetic and disinfect the wound.

NURSE #1: A disruptor blast?

PIPER: (removes his helmet and gauntlets) Yes. Thank God it was only a glancing hit. (to Nurse #4) Hand me the laser scalpel.

NURSE #4: Aren’t we going to use the cellular regenerator, Doctor?

PIPER: (shakes his head) The hemorrhaging is too extensive. We’ll have to go in with a protoplaser if we’re to stop the bleeding.

The nurse hands Piper the laser scalpel. Activating the tool, the doctor begins making the incision.

PIPER: (to Mitchell) As for you, you pig-headed son of a bitch, you’d better not die on me.

“Okay, I’m goin’, takin’ off. See ya… bye….” — Chip Douglas

“This concludes our broadcast day. Click.” — Chip Douglas



Kirk is standing outside sickbay, anxiously awaiting news on Mitchell’s condition. The sickbay door slides open and Dr. Piper walks out, his expression stoic.

KIRK: Doctor, how is he?

PIPER: I managed to stop the internal bleeding and heal the most grievous damage, but it was a serious injury ….

KIRK: (grabs Piper by the shoulders) Give it to me straight, Doctor.

PIPER: His condition’s been stabilized, but I can’t say with any certainty that it’ll improve. (beat) Only time will tell.

Swallowing audibly, Kirk releases his grip on the doctor.

KIRK: Can I see him?



Entering the sickbay, Kirk walks over to Mitchell’s biobed. The major, lying prone atop the bed with a sheet pulled up to his bandaged torso, looks peaceful in his unconsciousness.

Placing one hand on Mitchell’s shoulder and the other across his own face, the captain begins to weep silently.


Kirk, S’Pock, Scotty, and Ruan are seated at a long conference table when Capt. Quloob and Yn. Rand enter the briefing room.

KIRK: (rises from his chair and approaches the Tellarite) Capt. Quloob.

CAPT. QULOOB: Capt. Kirk. (shakes Kirk’s hand) If only we could have met under more agreeable circumstances. I hear Maj. Mitchell is in recovery?

KIRK: (nods) He’s still is sickbay. Maj. S’Pock will be handling his responsibilities as first officer until he’s ready to resume active duty.

CAPT. QULOOB: (motions to Rand) Have you met my yeoman, Janice Rand?

KIRK: (glances at Rand) Briefly.

After Kirk and Rand shake hands, the yeoman and two captains take a seat at the table.

CAPT. QULOOB: May I ask how the situation aboard the starbase is being handled?

KIRK: We’ve sent in drones to contain the remaining Klingons and locate any surviving members of your crew ….

CAPT. QULOOB: Are there any? Any survivors, I mean?

KIRK: I’m sorry.

Quloob nods solemnly. This news only confirms what he already suspected.

CAPT. QULOOB: Capt. Kirk, you’re probably wondering what inspired the Klingon Empire to attack us – a small, inconsequential starbase out in the middle of nowhere.

CAPT. KIRK: The thought had occurred to me.

CAPT. QULOOB: (reaches into his jacket) I have a good reason to believe they attacked us because of this.

The Tellarite pulls out a small microtape and hands it to S’Pock. Taking the microtape, S’Pock inserts it into a reader; a projection of the nearby galaxy is automatically displayed from the holographic projector built in the centre of the table.

CAPT. QULOOB: Three years ago, Federation scouts came across a previously undiscovered G-class planet while charting new routes. This planet – P2G-0091 – turned out to be quite extraordinary.

The hologram shifts focus to reveal P2G-0091 in full detail. Rocky and barren, the world is tinted pink by its atmosphere.

CAPT. QULOOB: (cont’d) 85% of its lithosphere consists of nithium crystal deposits. The atmosphere itself is rich with dinithium gases.

SCOTT: (amazed) Ye could build a trillion warp drives over with that much nithium!

S’POCK: Quite fascinating. If that information got out, it could cause a –

KIRK: (interrupts) Gold rush, S’Pock?

S’POCK: (cont’d) I was thinking war, Captain.

CAPT. QULOOB: Well, gentlemen, I think that highly sensitive data has gotten out.

KIRK: (to Quloob) This planet – are you certain it doesn’t lie within Klingon jurisdiction?

CAPT. QULOOB: Absolutely certain. A Klingon presence was never detected on the planet. The world is nowhere to be found on the registry of local Klingon territories. (beat) Captain, there’re over three-hundred colonists living on P2G-0091; they don’t have any means to defend themselves. If you don’t set course for the planet right away, the Klingons will certainly do to them what they did here to us.

Leaning back in his chair, Kirk sighs.

KIRK: How far away is P2G-0091 from here?

CAPT. QULOOB: Approximately 2 light-years.

S’POCK: And the attack on the starbase was staged six days ago?

CAPT. QULOOB: About that.

SCOTT: (to Kirk) Captain, those D7 cruisers canna travel any faster than warp 5.

KIRK: It’d take them about six days to reach P2G-0091. Travelling at warp 8, we could get there within a day.

S’POCK: They do have a six-day advance on us, Captain.

KIRK: Yes. All the more reason to move immediately. (rises from his chair) Dismissed.

“Okay, I’m goin’, takin’ off. See ya… bye….” — Chip Douglas

“This concludes our broadcast day. Click.” — Chip Douglas



On the bridge, almost all is as it was before the arrival at Starbase 104; the only change is that Ens. Dfhue – an eight-foot-tall Axanari woman – has taken Mitchell’s place at the helm.

The turbolift door to the bridge slides open. Stepping out of the turbolift, Kirk and S’Pock head to their stations.

S’POCK: Captain on the bridge.

KIRK: (sits down) There’ll be no more of that, Mr. S’Pock.

S’POCK: Yes, Captain.

KIRK: Mr. Kelso.

KELSO: Yes, sir?

KIRK: Lay in a course for system S3OBB-44600.

KELSO: Course laid in, sir.

KIRK: Ens. Dfhue.

ENS. DFHUE: Yes, Captain?

KIRK: Take us to maximum warp.

ENS. DFHUE: Maximum warp, aye.


The USS Enterprise disappears from conventional spacetime, speeding through the darkness of warp space on a mad dash for P2G-0091.

“Okay, I’m goin’, takin’ off. See ya… bye….” — Chip Douglas

“This concludes our broadcast day. Click.” — Chip Douglas


EXT. SPACE – P2G-0091

P2G-0091 lies in the dark sea of space, its three parent stars far in the distance. A world of empty desert, its atmosphere providing it its rosy tint, it is a near-twin of the planet Mars as it was thousands of years into the past, before it was terraformed into a resplendent M-class planet.

Dropping out of warp, the Enterprise moves on approach for the colony world.


Kirk sits in his chair, clenching and unclenching his left fist at regular intervals; it is all he can do to keep himself from jumping up out off his seat and pacing about the bridge. Capt. Quloob stands behind him, a quiet observer.

KELSO: We are coming up on P2G-0091 now, sir.

KIRK: On-screen, Mr. Kelso.

The navigator brings a live-feed image of P2G-0091’s upper hemisphere up onto the viewscreen.

KELSO: On-screen, sir.

KIRK: Magnify to 10.

The Enterprise’s scanners zoom in and the image grows in size, enlarging until details on the surface come into focus. In moments, the P2G-0091 colony can be seen – or more accurately, the remains of the P2G-0091 colony. The entire colony – its housing facilities, its processing plants, everything – has been burnt down to the ground, leaving scorched earth in its place; only a few transmitter towers and derelict land vehicles remain to indicate that a colony had ever been here.

CAPT QULOOB: We’re too late.

KIRK: Uhura …?

Uhura turns in her seat, meeting Kirk’s gaze with her own.

UHURA: (shakes her head) I’m sorry, Captain.

Kirk’s features briefly contort with rage, but the captain pushes them down, refusing to let them take hold and overwhelm him.

KIRK: Where are they?

ENS. DFHUE: Straight ahead, sir.

EXT. SPACE – P2G-0091

Emerging from behind the other side of the planet, two K’t’inga-class battle cruisers move on approach for the Enterprise, disruptor banks powering up with baleful energy.


UHURA: They’re hailing us.

KIRK: Let’s see them.

Uhura relays the incoming transmission to the viewscreen, and an image of a Klingon appears on-screen. The Klingon is male, clad in the black bodysuit and sleeveless mail tunic of a Klingon officer, a gold baldric bearing his rank, family, house, and caste insignia affixed over his chest. His skin is bronze, with beady eyes, a broad nose, a Fu Manchu mustache, and a cruel mouth situated upon his face. Were it not for the pronounced forehead ridges he sports, he’d be virtually indistinguishable from a baseline human.

KOR: Commander Kor of the Klingon battle cruiser Klothos.

EXT. SPACE – P2G-0091

The lead K’t’inga opens fire. The disruptor beams pass just over the Enterprise’s bow – a warning shot.


KOR: (cont’d) I am prepared to discuss the terms of your surrender.

KIRK: Capt. Kirk of the Federation starship Enterprise. Commander, does this look like a cold day in Hell to you?

KOR: Should I interpret that clumsy Human idiom to mean you refuse to surrender, Kirk? With your one ship under the guns of my two cruisers? (beat) Very well, perhaps I should give you a choice instead. You may surrender or you may die.

KIRK: If that’s a bluff, it’s not a strong one, Kor. You’ve already destroyed a Federation colony in Federation space; destroy a Starfleet vessel and war between our two peoples will be a foregone conclusion.

KOR: It is you who provides the weak bluff, Kirk. This planet does not fall within Federation space; your mining operation was established on unclaimed territory. And as the terms of the Treaty of Organia clearly state, either of our two powers can lay claim to disputed territories – with or without extreme prejudice. (beat) I give you seven minutes, Captain – seven minutes to acquiesce or suffer the consequences of the alternative.

Kor ends the connection.

KIRK: (turns and looks up at Quloob) Was he telling the truth? Did our people erect a colony without laying claim to the planet first?

CAPT. QULOOB: Technically … yes.

KIRK: (angry) Three-hundred people dead – needlessly!

CAPT. QULOOB: It wasn’t my decision to make, Captain.

Frustrated, Kirk faces back forward.

KIRK: Mr. S’Pock, you are our resident logician. What course of action do you suggest we take?

S’POCK: Captain, the Enterprise is an exploratory vessel; it was designed for long-duration missions at the expense of heavy weaponry. Conversely, the D7s were specifically designed to be combat vessels; they are equipped with six disruptor banks and two torpedo launchers each. (beat) Only through subterfuge were we able to defeat the last D7, and then only barely. The same initial conditions will not be in effect here.

KIRK: So we turn tail and run.

CAPT QULOOB: We can’t leave all that nithium to the Klingons!

S’POCK: It is the logical decision.

KIRK: Logical, but not reasonable.

S’Pock merely cocks an eyebrow in response.

KIRK: (sighs) Lt. Uhura, hail the Klothos.

Uhura opens a channel to the Klothos. In seconds, Kor’s face reappears on the viewscreen.

KOR: So, you’ve accepted the inevitable.

KIRK: Yes, I’ve accepted the inevitable – the inevitable conclusion that I can’t allow a planet of nithium to fall into Klingon hands.

KOR: (grins) Will you make a fight out of this after all?

KIRK: No. Trying to take you on would be like a cat trying to take on a pair of sharks.

KOR: What then? You have no reinforcements, nothing to bargain with.

KIRK: Kor, are you at all familiar with King Solomon?

KOR: I don’t make the sovereigns of inferior races a concern of mine.

KIRK: Solomon was a king on ancient Earth, famous for his wisdom. He was so wise that people from all over the world came to him, eagre for his advice. (beat) On one morning, a pair of women came to his palace; they each claimed to be the mother of a newborn son and wanted Solomon to resolve their dispute. Solomon, wise as his was, quickly came up with a solution; he would have the child cut in half, allowing the pair to have equal shares of the boy.

KOR: If this is what passes for wisdom among Humans, then your race is a sorry one indeed.

KIRK: (cont’d) While one of the women agreed to Solomon’s resolution, the other was despondent. She begged Solomon not to have the boy killed, promising to relinquish all claim to him, to allow the other woman to raise the boy as her son if the king would only have him spared. Right then Solomon knew who the rightful mother was; taking the baby, he placed him in the arms of the woman who was ready to give him up for his own benefit. (beat) You see, Kor, I am King Solomon and the Federation and Klingon Empire are the two women. Only this time, neither of the women will be willing to give the child up for its own benefit.


The Klingon science officer – a gracile Klingon with negligible forehead ridges, incredibly pale skin, and very fine hair – spins around in his chair to face Kor.

KLINGON SCIENCE OFFICER: The Enterprise has charged her weapons. She is targeting the planet!


KIRK: If you have any personnel on the surface, I advise you to beam them up if you can. (beat) Lt. Sulu, photon torpedoes, full spread.

EXT. SPACE – P2G-0091

The Enterprise deploys its entire payload of photon torpedoes. A massive arrow of glowing red death, they head straight for the planet. Upon dropping into the atmosphere, they detonate, setting off a massive conflagration which immediately begins consuming the dinithium gases.


S’POCK: Sensors indicate the photon torpedoes have ignited the dinithium atmosphere and initiated a combustive cascade through the entire geosphere. I estimate that the whole of P2G-0091 will explode in 1.29 minutes, unleashing a subspace shockwave which will annihilate everything within a 1.7 light-year radius. (beat) You have inadvertently killed us all, Captain.

KIRK: Kelso, turn us around and get us the hell out of here.

EXT. SPACE – P2G-0091

The Enterprise swivels around, impulse engines flaring as it heads as far and as fast as it can away from the volatile planet.


KIRK: (presses an armrest button) Mr. Scott.


SCOTT: Yes, Captain?


KIRK: Mr. Scott, you recall that discussion on speed trials we had the other day?


SCOTT: Yes, Captain.


KIRK: (O.S.) Now would be an opportune time to follow through with them. Don’t you agree?


SCOTT: (grins) Aye, Ah certainly do!

EXT. SPACE – P2G-0091

As the Enterprise goes to warp, P2G-0091 explodes, unleashing a spherical shockwave of coruscating violet energy which quickly subsumes into subspace, obliterating the neighbouring planets and parent stars in an instant before moving on to the surrounding systems.


The Enterprise moves forward through warp space, travelling at the highest possible velocities to escape the subspace shockwave. The shockwave is right on the ship’s heels, however, its destructive violet energies seeping into the pocket universe and licking the rear end of the starship, threatening to overtake and destroy it.


KIRK: Faster, Mr. Scott! Must go faster!


Scott and his corp of engineers are hard at work coaxing more-and-more energy out of the warp drive.

SCOTT: The bairns are burnin’ at warp 8.8, sir!


KIRK: Then get them burning at warp 9, Mr. Scott!


Warp space directly behind the Enterprise burns with glowing violet-white energy, warp space in front criss-crossed with angry red veins as the shockwave threatens to tear everything apart. In moments – certainly under a minute – the shockwave will consume the Enterprise.

Miraculously, the Enterprise begins to accelerate to ever greater velocity. Perhaps Scotty managed to coax a little more energy out of the warp drive, or perhaps the energies of the shockwave itself are augmenting the starship’s speed. Whatever the explanation, the Enterprise pulls ahead, escaping the shockwave’s path of destruction.

The threatening violent energies retreat and vanish, restoring warp space to its natural black state.

“Okay, I’m goin’, takin’ off. See ya… bye….” — Chip Douglas

“This concludes our broadcast day. Click.” — Chip Douglas



The Enterprise has returned to Starbase 104, where they have rendezvoused with three Saladin-class destroyers sent to clean up the mess left by the Klingons.


Kirk, Quloob, and two of Quloob’s subordinates step inside the transporter room. Acknowledging Kyle’s presence at the controls, they cross over to the pad.

CAPT. QULOOB: (cont’d) … will be upgraded, equipped with new top-of-the-line shields and defenses so something like this doesn’t happen again. Until that time, Starbase 104 is officially decommissioned.

KIRK: An eight-month paid vacation sounds good right about now.

CAPT. QULOOB: Longer than that, perhaps. (beat) Someone up there has apparently found fault with my administration. I’m on indefinite suspension pending review.

KIRK: (frowns) There’s nothing you could’ve done to prevent this atrocity.

CAPT. QULOOB: It’s instinctual, Captain; the undying need to assign blame. Starfleet Command has no legal grounds to take the Klingons to task for what they’ve done here, so I’ve been designated the de facto scapegoat.

KIRK: If anyone should shoulder the guilt, it’s whoever sanctioned this ignorant, ill-thought-out endeavour.

CAPT. QULOOB: Our races have come a long way in three-million years of evolution, but we still have a long way to go before we finally learn to stop passing the buck along.

Quloob and his men climb atop the transporter pad.

CAPT. QULOOB: Oh, and Captain?

KIRK: Yes?

CAPT. QULOOB: I have it on good authority that you’re looking for a qualified yeoman ….


Some time has passed. Kirk now sits at his desk, hopelessly going over the files on his computer console.

The door BUZZES.

KIRK: Come.

The door slides open. There on the other side stands Janice Rand.

KIRK: Hello.

RAND: Hello. (steps inside) I’m here to help with your files?

KIRK: Right over here.

Rising from his chair, he gestures to the console. Striding up to the desk, she takes a gander at the screen then at the captain. Stepping aside, he allows her to take a seat behind his desk. Sinking into the chair, she looks at the displayed information.

RAND: (shocked) Oh! That’s not right!

KIRK: Can you get me out of the hole I’ve dug, or will you have to start all over?

The yeoman doesn’t respond. She’s already hard at work re-configuring the data.

KIRK: I’m sure you’ll do fine, Yeoman. (takes a step away from the desk, then halts) Lt. Uhura on the bridge will know how to reach me, if you have any questions.

RAND: Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.

Kirk leaves Rand to her business.


Kirk and Piper stand at the foot of Mitchell’s bed. Though still very weak, the major has regained consciousness.

PIPER: The wound is healing quite nicely. He should be able to resume active duty within another full week. (smiles) I’d say the prognosis looks good.

KIRK: Thank you, Doctor. (beat) May we be alone for a moment?

PIPER: Certainly.

Dr. Piper makes his departure.

MITCHELL: So, the folks around these parts have been telling me you blew up a star system.

KIRK: (half-smiles) Thirty-four photon torpedoes reacting with a planet’s worth of nithium will have that result, yes.

MITCHELL: (sighs) I’m just sorry to have missed out on all the action.

KIRK: I’ll tell you what – next time we need a system destroyed, I’ll let you fire the torpedoes off yourself.

MITCHELL: Promises, promises ….


Kirk now sits alone at a table, playing a game of three-dimensional chess against himself. Deep in concentration, he doesn’t make an effort to acknowledge S’Pock’s presence as the half-Vulcan enters the room and walks up to him.

S’POCK: Would the captain oblige me with the answer to a question?

KIRK: (turns to S’Pock) Certainly, Mr. S’Pock. I mustn’t put leisure above a consultation with my science officer.

S’POCK: I need only a moment. It is not my intention to take you from you pleasure.

KIRK: Ask away, Mr. S’Pock.

S’POCK: Regarding white to checkmate in three ….

KIRK: I apologize for barging in on your problem.

S’POCK: (cocks an eyebrow) Then … white cannot checkmate in three moves?

KIRK: Yes, it can. Did you think I was making a joke?

S’POCK: One can never be certain when a Human is making a joke.

KIRK: Usually we laugh.

S’POCK: Not invariably.

KIRK: No. Not invariably. Still, I wasn’t making a joke.

S’POCK: If the captain will indulge me … your comment has piqued my curiosity.

KIRK: In that case, of course I’ll play out the problem with you.

S’Pock takes a seat on the other side of the table from Kirk. Leaning forward, he rearranges the pieces on the board, perfectly recreating the game he was playing all those days before.

KIRK: Maj. S’Pock, I thought Vulcans experienced no emotions. Yet you confess to curiosity.

S’POCK: Curiosity is not an emotion, Captain, but the impetus in the search for knowledge that distinguishes sapient creatures. (beat) Your move, Captain.

Kirk moves his queen’s knight. S’Pock then regards the chessboard, staring at the positions as if he were calculating the effects of every possible move of every piece on the board. Reaching out, the half-Vulcan takes hold of his king and tips it.

S’POCK: I resign.

Kirk studies the science officer. The barest hint of a frown can be made out on the half-Vulcan’s features.

S’POCK: Your move risked your queen and your knights. It was … illogical.

KIRK: But effective.

S’POCK: Indeed. (beat) What method of calculation did you use? Sinhawk, perhaps? Or a method of your own devising?

KIRK: One of my own devising, you might say. I didn’t calculate it, S’Pock. I saw it. Call it intuition, if you like, or good luck.

S’POCK: I do not believe in luck, and I have no experience of … intuition.

KIRK: Nevertheless, that’s my method of calculation.

S’Pock clears the board.

S’POCK: Would you care for a complete game?

The captain nods his assent.


Somewhere out in the void between systems, there is a bright flash of violet light as a subspace portal is torn open, spewing a K’t’inga-class battle cruiser out into normal space. It is the Klothos – heavily damaged, powerless, but remarkably intact.


The bridge is in chaos. Several consoles spark and burn, cloying smoke fills the air, and most of the bridge crew float about in the now-zero gravity environment, dead or injured.

Kor, one of the few Klingons who escaped serious injury, is seated in his command chair, hands gripped around the chair tightly to keep himself from floating off.

KOR: You owe me a blood debt for this humiliation, Kirk, and I will collect … when circumstances are more propitious for me. (beat) We Klingons have a saying, “BortaS blr jablu’DI reH QaQqu’nay.” In your clumsy Human idiom, “Revenge is a dish best served cold.”


Carried forward on its own momentum, no friction in space to slow its course, the Klothos tumbles end-over-end towards an uncertain fate.



“Okay, I’m goin’, takin’ off. See ya… bye….” — Chip Douglas

“This concludes our broadcast day. Click.” — Chip Douglas