Just a couple of quick notes on this one:

 - This story contradicts some of the things said in the biographical
brief toward the beginning of another Exile story, "Secrets".  I'm
aware of it.  I'll get around to revising "Secrets" one of these days;
until then, rest assured that this story's version of history takes
precedence.

 - Parts of the story assume you've seen the following movies:
	Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan
	Star Trek III: The Search for Spock
	Star Trek IV: The Voyage Home
	Star Trek VI: The Undiscovered Country

It does NOT assume you've seen "Star Trek: The Motionless Picture",
"Star Trek V: The Final Frontier", "Star Trek: Generations" or "Star
Trek: First Contact".  It contains what might be thought of as a
miniscule "First Contact" spoiler and a reference to "Generations",
but if you miss them you won't miss anything important to the story.

I chose to go with the "you had to be there" format instead of
explaining the references because, when I attempted the latter, it
came off heavily "As you know, Bob."

Of course, it also assumes that you've read at least the four core
stories that establish the setting for the Undocumented Features
universe.

 - Purists will notice I've cast Robin Curtis as Saavik despite the
fact that the story opens before, and spans the events of, "Star Trek
II: The Wrath of Khan".  Basically, the reasons behind this decision
are as follows:
	1) I didn't want to go through the mental gymnastics of
recasting the character in the middle of the story; and
	2) Robin Curtis is cuter.

 - If you're interested in catching up with UF or any of the other
Eyrie Productions, Unlimited works, check out our web page:

http://www.eyrie.net/

Our complete catalog is archived there.

Enough of my gabbling, on with the story.

--G.
--
"Captain Scarlet was killed, but is expected to make a full recovery."
gryphon@world.std.com    -><-    gryphon@sidehack.gweep.net     S.I.G.

---cut here---

	Eight-Ball One was out of control.
	In the cockpit, Benjamin Hutchins, former space hero, ace
fighter pilot, amateur spacecraft designer, roboticist, linguist,
armchair historian, professional fugitive, and known throughout the
civilized galaxy as Gryphon (or, to that mass majority which believed
the false charges against him, the Butcher of Musashi), wrestled the
controls, punched buttons, and swore long, loud and with all his heart
in every language he knew.  The size of that repertoire (47) should
give one an idea just how long the fighter had -been- out of control.
	The problem was simple: just as he had gone to warp speed, one
of his pursuers, a group of well-meaning system defense fighters from
the Deneb III colony, had damaged his port warp nacelle.  This had the
somewhat unfortunate effect of throwing the ship into a wild warp
field imbalance, which, worse luck, was varying rapidly as the damaged
nacelle's field coil flexed.  This left Gryphon in the somewhat
unenviable position of having to manually adjust the drive every, oh,
half-second or so, in order to prevent his craft from ripping a hole
in the space it was warping and falling out of existence.  While
keeping it pointed in something approaching the right direction so he
wouldn't be completely lost by the time he finally got the damned
thing under control and powered down.
	Assuming that happened.
	"Goddamn you, stabilize!" he shouted at the drive computer.
It blinked glumly at him, unable to do much besides relay the
deteriorating state of affairs in cold, hard figures.  The fingers of
his right hand played over the keypad next to the center VDU as his
left hand wrestled the joystick; this left him no free hand to
throttle back with.  A bad situation.  He was just in the process of
trying to figure out some way of pushing the throttle back with his
knee when the wormhole alarm went off.
	Great.
	Despite his attempts, the imbalance had opened a wormhole in
spacetime.  That was just what he needed.  He spat a few of the
choicer Romulan curse words he'd been saving for this sort of occasion
and, abandoning the joystick, started prodding the drive computer with
both hands as the VF-1FS plunged down a swirling orange-black tunnel
to nowhere.  The only noticeable effect this had was to change the
color of the wormhole pattern to blue; then it started smearing,
although that might just have been the wormhole effect screwing with
his perceptions.  He noticed he was retaining a fairly accurate sense
of time; a side effect, no doubt, of Detian physiology.
	No, the smearing was definitely happening; now everything on
the control panel, and his hands, were starting to sideshade with this
bright blue light, a kind of neon St. Elmo's fire.  It was starting to
blot out details, the VDU was becoming impossible to read.
	"Screw it," said Gryphon, and he yanked the throttle back to
IDLE, automatically disengaging the warp drive.
	The blue light flashed to white and smeared away his
perceptions of everything, and for a long, long moment, he heard, saw,
felt nothing but whiteness.
	Then he was sitting in the cockpit of his now-quiescent
fighter, surrounded by the inky black of deep-space night and a
thousand thousand twinkling stars.
	"Hmm.  Well," he observed to himself, "I'm not dead, anyway.
Yet."  He poked at his navigational instruments; stubbornly, they
remained dark.
	"I would appear to be lost, though."  He check his craft
status; neither fusion turbine was running, nor could he get them
started with the reigniters.  "C'mon, c'mon," he muttered, punching
the restart buttons a few times and hearing nothing but dull clicks
from the engine spaces behind his seat.  "Shit.  Not enough cell power
left to initiate a restart."
	He sat and looked around at the darkness for a while.
	"OK, well, it's not as bad as all that.  The power cells will
regenerate enough energy to restart one of the engines soon, and I can
bring everything else back up from there.  Life support is still
operative.  I'm not going anywhere for a while, but I'm hardly dead."
	He settled back in his seat.  "Might as well take a nap.  If I
stare at these instruments much longer, I'm gonna start talking to
myself."

	He awoke from a dream about Reika to hear the voice of a
stranger crackling in his headphones.
	"Unidentified spacecraft, please identify yourself," it was
saying.  "Do you require assistance?  This is the starship Enterprise
calling unidentified spacecraft, please respond."
	Enterprise?
	Who had a ship named Enterprise which had a crew that spoke
Standard?
	Shit!  The United Galactica Navy.  They'd roast his ass real
good if they could catch him.  Jarred awake by the adrenaline rush, he
ran a quick visual check on his instruments.  His navigational
instruments still had no clue where the hell he was, but his power
cells were up to 45% and all systems but the warp drive were showing
green.  Crossing his fingers, he hit the TURBINE 0 START switch.
	A chill ran up his spine as the familiar CRACKthrummmmmmMMMMMM
welled up from behind his seat and to his left.  As soon as #0's
status light went green he started #1, and Eight-Ball One came alive
around him.  Flicking on the tactical display, he located the starship
and cracked his throttles, swinging around to get a look at her.
	Yup, there she was, all right, a few miles out: graceful,
thermocoated a brilliant white, the ramscoops on the fronts of her
warp nacelles glittering in their reddish pinwheel pattern.  She was
making for him on impulse, shields down.  Down?  Surely they had
identified him at this range.  Why weren't they getting ready to
fight?
	"Unidentified spacecraft, this is the USS Enterprise calling.
Do you require assistance?  Please respond."
	"Do I require assistance?" muttered Gryphon to himself.
"Yeah, but not the kind of assistance you're going to give me as soon
as you figure out who I -- "
	-USS- Enterprise?
	Wait a second.
	Against his better judgment, Gryphon flicked a switch on his
comm panel and replied.
	"Enterprise, this is starfighter Eight-Ball One.  I seem to
have lost my navigational base figures, would you be so kind as to
tell me where the heck I am?"
	"Say again?" replied the female voice of the Enterprise comm
officer.  "You said 'starfighter'?"
	"Yes, that's right.  Hyper Valkyrie starfighter Eight-Ball One
requests a navigational fix."
	There was a brief pause; then another voice came on, this one
male, and forceful.
	"This is Captain James T. Kirk," it said.
	Gryphon blinked.  "Who?" he muttered to himself.  "Why the
hell aren't you Chris Pike?"
	"Our sensor scans show your warp drive is damaged and
inoperable," Kirk's voice went on.  "If you like, we can bring you
aboard and give you a lift to the nearest starbase.  Where have you
come from and where are you headed?"
	Starbase?
	Oh boy.
	Instinct prevailed over reason again, and Gryphon thumbed his
press-to-talk.  "I'd be quite happy to take you up on that offer of a
lift, Captain," he said.  "As for where I'm from and where I'm headed,
well, I think we're going to have to talk to your science officer to
get the definitive story on that... "


		     Eyrie Productions, Unlimited
			       presents

			 Benjamin D. Hutchins

			     Robin Curtis

				 and

			   William Shatner
				  as
			    James T. Kirk

		     UNDOCUMENTED FEATURES EXILE
			   SPLIT INFINITIVE

		(c) 1996 Eyrie Productions, Unlimited

			Special Visual Effects
			     HOLOGISTICS

			     Starships By
	      MARIN COUNTY SHIPYARDS, SKYWALKER DIVISION
		       MARIN COUNTY, CALIFORNIA

			 Scheduling Catalyst
			    STEVE WILLENS

			  Telecommunications
			LIVINGSTON ENTERPRISES

			 An Eyrie Production

	     Written and Directed by Benjamin D. Hutchins

 Script consultation and editing by the UNDOCUMENTED FEATURES CREATIVE
	     GENERAL STAFF, EYRIE PRODUCTIONS, UNLIMITED
		  ALAMEDA COUNTY, CALIFORNIA ETC.
				 and
			      PHIL MOYER

    With special thanks to STARFLEET and the Faculty and Staff of
 STARFLEET ACADEMY for their gracious assistance with this production

			Powered by PEPSI-COLA

	       Set Catering by PIZZA HUT OF OAKLAND, CA

		    Filmed in Superconceptimation


			   TEN YEARS LATER

	"Permission to speak candidly, sir?"
	Admiral James T. Kirk blinked, turned, and then smiled.  "Ah,
Cadet Lieutenant Hutchins.  Let me guess: you feel the simulation
you've just undergone wasn't a fair test of your command abilities."
	"In a way, sir, although I doubt my reasoning is the same as
that of most candidates who've undergone it."  He stuck doggedly to
protocol.  They might have known each other for ten years, but this
was the Academy, and even if neither of them minded being informal, if
they did it here, they might be observed by someone who wouldn't
understand.
	Kirk's eyebrows rose.  "Oh?  Take a seat and enlighten me,
Lieutenant."
	Lt. Hutchins sat in the chair opposite Kirk, considered for a
moment, and said, "I agree with the simulation planners that the
scenario is a good test of character.  I think, though, it would work
better if it were a more accurate simulation."
	"Accurate?  How so?"
	"Consider: the Klingons have permitted Federation starships to
make rescue missions in the Neutral Zone before.  Even if they
intended attack, I can't imagine a Klingon commander who wouldn't
allow a starship captain to contact him -- Klingon captains love to
gloat, if nothing else.  There's also the little matter of the faux
Enterprise's performance being somewhat, shall we say, deficient.
	"The biggest problem I had with the simulation, though, is the
fact that the bridge crew, by necessity, is a throw-together, having
none of the working experience a real starship crew would be required
to have before their starship ever left Spacedock.  A crew which can't
read the tone of each other's voices can't react to a crisis in
anything resembling an efficient manner."
	"You've given this some thought."
	"The whole point of the exercise is to make cadets think.
Yes?"
	"Yes," acceded Kirk.  "Even given a chance to parley with the
opposing-force commander, a better-performing starship, and a
smoother-working crew, there would likely be no way to win the
scenario."
	"Winning the scenario isn't my point, Admiral," replied
Gryphon.  "Getting the most realistic experience out of it is my
point.  Without maximum realism, the emotional impact is significantly
diminished.  I can't say that I felt any particular shock at being
defeated under those circumstances, or much if any grief for my 'dead'
comrades, and my psych screenings will tell you I'm far from a stoic
person."
	Kirk grinned.  "Well, Lieutenant, short of putting cadets on
starships, running them out to the Neutral Zone and letting the
Klingons blast the hell out of them, there's really no way we can
simulate that experience adequately, for your purposes."
	"I know, sir.  That's why I question the value of the
simulation as a test of character.  Learning how a cadet reacts to
fake death in a simulation he knew he couldn't win when he started is,
in my opinion of course, useless information."
	"You knew the scenario was unbeatable?"
	"Of course.  Everybody knows about the Kobayashi Maru
simulation.  As soon as I heard the name of the ship in the distress
call, I knew the object of today's game was to kill me and see how I
liked it."
	"And how do you like it?" asked Kirk, his grin returning.
	"Sir, I can't say I like it at all, even simulated," replied
Hutchins, returning the grin.  "Perhaps I need to find a copy of
KIRK-KM.SIM and salve my wounded pride."
	Kirk suppressed a laugh.  "My God, is that still floating
around somewhere?"
	"You know what they say about the Worlds-Wide Web, sir.  If
it's out there, it's out there."
	"Well, Lieutenant, I have what may be good news for you, if
that's the way you feel," said Kirk, getting to his feet.  "I probably
shouldn't tell you this, but what the hell.  You've been bumped into
the fast track for field assignments.  Your official orders should
probably come in tonight."
	Rising with his superior, Hutchins blinked and asked, "I'm
being sent into the field pre-grad?"
	"Indeed you are.  Next week, you'll report to the USS
Challenger as primary-shift helmsman, holding the acting grade of
ensign.  Assuming you perform well, and I see no reason to assume
otherwise, you'll be graduated as a lieutenant junior grade in six
months."  Kirk paused.  "You don't look like you know whether or not
to be happy about that."
	"I don't," replied Gryphon honestly.  "I specifically asked
the Admissions Board to deny me any special treatment because of
my... unusual status."
	"And you're not getting any," replied Kirk.  "Any cadet with
classroom and practical training scores like yours would be put on
this program.  In fact, six others are, and I believe you know them."
	"I see.  Still, it makes me kind of sad; I'll miss the
Enterprise training crew with my classmates.  I've been looking
forward to serving on her, you know, officially, especially under
Captain Spock."
	Kirk leaned closer to the cadet, his eyes twinkling, and said
conspiratorially, "If we both play our cards right, Cadet, we may both
get our chance to serve aboard the Enterprise again before our careers
wind down."  He clapped the cadet on the shoulder, then said, "Now,
you'd better get on to your next class.  If Commander Stephenson takes
you to task, be sure and tell him I held you up giving you an
after-action evaluation."

	That evening, in his room in Captain Christopher Pike Hall,
the Academy upperclass dormitory, Gryphon lay in his bunk, a datapad
in his hand, re-reading his posting orders for the nth+1 time.

FROM:     Admiral Mark Bradley, Commandant, Starfleet Academy
TO:       Cadet Lieutenant Benjamin D. Hutchins (C-006-723-6650A)
STARDATE: 8134.8

Cadet Hutchins:

You are hereby requested and required to report to Captain John
Marshall, commanding USS Challenger [NCC-1870] no later than stardate
8140.0, as acting ensign and helmsman, under the provisions of the
Advanced Field Studies and Evaluation program.

Well done, Cadet.  Starfleet Academy is proud of your accomplishments
so far and wishes you continued success in the field.

[signed]
Adm. Mark J. Bradley
8134.8

	Wow.  AFSEV.  He turned the pros and cons of the matter over
in his head, more as an intellectual exercise than because he was
considering refusal.  To refuse would seem boorish or sprung from
false modesty; it was a distinct honor to be chosen for such an
accelerated program.  He was on the fast track to a captain's bar if
he kept his performance up.
	Well, he remarked to himself, if you wanted to keep a low
profile, Starfleet wasn't the career choice for you.
	The door to the double room hissed open, and his roommate
entered.  He turned on his bunk.  "Afternoon, Lieutenant."
	"Good afternoon," replied his training corps' other cadet
lieutenant, a Vulcan cadet by the name of Saavik.  He and Saavik had
been vying for the top spot in their graduating class almost since the
beginning of their tenure at the Academy, and it struck some people as
odd that they had, after being thrown together by the housing draw
their freshman year, chosen to remain roommates throughout that time.
Such people didn't understand that their apparent competition for the
top spot wasn't competition at all; they worked together on everything
but the strictly individualized projects and coursework, in all the
areas where their courses of study overlapped.
	Mind you, that didn't happen all that often.  Gryphon was on
the track for command by way of engineering, with a secondary talent
for helming a starship; Saavik was a scientist to the bone with only a
peripheral interest in command.  Even when they were studying
different subjects together, though, Saavik's keen, analytical,
disciplined Vulcan mind and Gryphon's creativity and sharp instincts
made each a better student than they would have been separately, and
Starfleet didn't mind that at all.
	It raised no eyebrows that Cadet Lieutenant Saavik was a
woman; housing had been fully integrated at Starfleet Academy for
decades with very few incidents, and neither cadet's conduct in this
case had been anything short of exemplary.  It was unclear to their
case officers whether they had a romantic relationship (unlikely,
given Saavik's Vulcan origins, and in fact not the case), but even if
they did, it wasn't harming their performance, so they were left
alone.
	This arrangement suited them admirably, and Gryphon knew he
would miss his Vulcan counterpart during his assignment to the
Challenger.  He could never be sure of her underlying emotional state,
so he wasn't actually sure if she would miss him.
	"How was your simulation run this afternoon?" asked Saavik as
she seated herself at her desk and called up the evening's Advanced
Energy Sciences assignment.
	"Oh, same old same old," Gryphon replied, hopping down from
his bunk (the top one).  "They ran the Kobayashi Maru on us, the
Klingons blew us to bits, I shared my reservations about the
simulation's usefulness with Admiral Kirk afterward, which made me
late for Warp Theoretics.  The usual."
	"Indeed," said Saavik, arching an eyebrow.  Gryphon wondered
if she copied the mannerism deliberately from her mentor, Captain
Spock, or if it was accidental.  "I had much the same experience last
Friday."
	"When does Enterprise leave for the training cruise, anyway?"
	"The day after tomorrow," replied Saavik.  "Did you not
receive your posting orders?"
	"Well... actually, I did, and it doesn't look like I'm going
to be there."
	Saavik stopped studying the forcefield dynamics problem in
front of her then, turning to look quizzically at her roommate.  "Why
not?"
	He handed her the datapad; she scanned it without noticeable
expression, then returned it.
	"Congratulations," she said.  "You must be very excited."
	"By your lights," said Gryphon with a smile, "I'm always very
excited.  But it's not an entirely positive experience.  I'm going to
miss the Enterprise run, and heck, I'm not sure I can keep my head
screwed on without you to play straight man for me."
	Accustomed by now to her counterpart's odd speech patterns,
Saavik didn't take the second or so it would once have taken her to
parse that statement.  "We each, I suppose, will learn to cope with
the other's absence," she said carefully.
	"Which is Vulcan for 'I'll miss you too,' I suppose," said
Gryphon with a grin.
	Her expression resolutely neutral, Saavik replied, "You may
interpret it as such if you wish."
	He chuckled, tapped her lightly on the shoulder (a liberty
most cadets would hesitate to take - Vulcans, being touch telepaths,
have a much more rigidly defined sense of personal space than humans,
and dislike being casually touched even more), and crossed the small
room to the door.  "I'm going to get a drink - you want anything?"
	"Thank you, no," replied Saavik, with the kind of pause at the
end that told him to wait, because she was putting together another
statement.  "When I finish this assignment, I will be at liberty for
the evening.  Perhaps we should ask Commander Jantzen for an evening
pass and have dinner in the city to celebrate your posting."
	"Sometimes, Lieutenant Saavik, you give me the impression that
in spite of everything, you like me," said Gryphon with a smile, and
he left the room.
	"Unfathomably human," murmured Saavik to herself as she
adjusted the hypothetical force field on her screen, shaking her head
in an unconscious imitation of her roommate.

	Gryphon dropped his duffel bag on the lone bunk in his
stateroom, stepped back, and sighed.
	"Problem, Ensign?" asked a voice behind him; he turned to see
the long, bearded face of Captain Marshall.
	"No, sir," he replied.  "Just thinking.  This room is about
the same size as the one I had at the Academy, but without my roommate
here to take up half of it, it feels... positively cavernous."
	Marshall chuckled.  "I know what you mean.  I felt the same
way the first time I had a stateroom to myself on a
starship... although back in those days the junior officers were still
two to a room, so I didn't have one all my own until I made lieutenant
commander."  He scratched at his left sideburn, which Gryphon would
come to learn meant he was thinking.  "If memory serves, you had the
same roommate all the way through the Academy, didn't you?"
	"Yes, sir, I did," replied Gryphon.
	"Do you mind if I ask you a personal question?"
	"No, sir," said Gryphon with a slight smile.  "We were, as the
cliche goes, just good friends."
	Marshall smiled, as if a trifle embarrassed.  "From what I've
read, Ensign, nobody is 'just friends' with a Vulcan, but I take your
meaning.  Still, I had to ask -- to anticipate what effect the
separation might have on your performance."
	"Count on me, sir," said Gryphon.  "Everybody misses
classmates when they first leave the Academy, but duty remains
constant."  And, he didn't add, given the other aching wounds in my
heart that have been there since before I ever set eyes on the
Academy, what's a little more loneliness?  A golfer's divot in the
Mariner Valley.
	Marshall nodded.  "A healthy attitude, Ensign.  Carry on.
I'll see you on the bridge at 0900 tomorrow."
	"See you then, Captain," said Gryphon, and Marshall departed,
the door closing behind him.
	Gryphon turned to survey his room, sighed, and unpacked his
belongings, then sat down at the desk to scan for any news of the
Enterprise training run.

	Gryphon stumbled out of the dark turbolift car into the red,
smoke-filled gloom of the bridge.  "Somebody give me a sitrep!" he
bellowed over the cacophony of alert sirens, damage alarms, sizzling
equipment, and atmosphere blowers on emergency overspeed.
	"Who in - oh, Ensign Hutchins!" Chief Nancy DeFalco cried.
"Situation still very hazy, sir!  It'll take us a minute to sort
everything out!"
	"Bridge engineer!  Shut off all this noise, I can't hear
myself think!" Gryphon shouted, making his way across the
rubble-strewn deck to the bullseye.  He made as if to take his
helmsman's seat back from Yeoman Lynch, then realized something that
brought him up short as the petty officer at the Engineering console
shut off the sirens.
	"Am I the only officer on the bridge?" he asked of DeFalco,
who had the Communications station.
	"Sir," replied DeFalco gravely, her eyes huge in the dark
redness of the bridge, "I suspect you're the only officer on the
ship."
	Gryphon blinked, then changed course and sat down in the
center seat.  "Well, then, I guess I have the conn," he said softly,
his tone belying the wryness of his phrasing.  "What the hell
happened?"
	"We're still working that out," said DeFalco.  "Ask me again
in five minutes - right now I'm trying to sort out damage reports from
all decks and get a headcount of surviving personnel.  I'm not even
sure if we were attacked or hit something."
	Gryphon turned to his left.  "Petty Officer Radois," he asked
quietly.  "Can we get some normal light?"
	"I'll try, sir.  Main circuits are blown, but the emergency
lights may... "  The red lights winked out, replaced by a set of dim
but somehow less stressful white floods.  "Best I can do right now,"
said Radois apologetically.
	"Thanks, Rad," said Gryphon, settling back in the conn.  A
moment later, Chief DeFalco turned her seat to face his.
	"We were attacked," she reported.  "Engineering reports at
least three hits, one in officers' country, two in the engineering
decks themselves.  All the officers who were in their quarters are
dead, and Lt. Marston was in Engineering.  They can't find him, but he
was last seen in one of the damaged areas."
	"Attacked by what?"
	"Unclear, sir, but given our position, I'd say the most likely
candidates are the Romulans."
	"Ship's condition?"
	"The saucer section is breached on both sides in sections 13
and 14 - a through-and-through hit.  Structurally, the damage is
minimal, and the vacuum-exposed sections are sealed off now.  Damage
control parties report no leakage or fires.  The hits to engineering
were, luckily, more oblique, and we had our shields up by the time the
third attack came in.  Impulse Control was pretty much wrecked by the
impact, but it still has hull integrity and the starboard impulse
engine is still online.  Our aft torpedo tube's fire control system is
out of action, and phaser bank #2 is wrecked.  Warp Engineering is
intact."
	"Capabilities summary?"
	"Impulse capacity is effectively halved, but we can still
maneuver.  Warp drive is unharmed, as are our forward torpedo tubes
and all phaser banks except #2.  Crew casualties look to be in the
high sixties, including all the officers but you.  Either they knew
exactly where to shoot us, or it was just dumb luck.  Chief Medson,
our acting chief engineer, tells me that third torpedo hit would have
crippled the warp drive if Rad hadn't've gotten our shields up so
fast.  As it is, the power imbalance from the impulse damage opened
some breakers, which has cut off main power for the moment."
	Gryphon sat back and thought for a moment.  "OK.  I need a
full bridge crew before I can do anything.  Then get over to the
Sciences console and run through the sensor logs; see if you can find
our for certain what hit us and where they went when they were through
with us.  If this is the precursor to a major attack, Starfleet
Command needs to know about it."
	"Shouldn't we alert Starfleet Command as to our situation?"
	"Not until we have something more useful to report than the
fact that we've been mugged," replied Gryphon.  He thumbed a control
on the conn arm.  "Open starship log, USS Challenger.  Ensign Benjamin
Hutchins recording.  We have been attacked by unknown forces and
severely damaged.  Captain Marshall and the remainder of the officer
corps, excepting myself, are believed dead.  In accordance with
Starfleet regulations, I am therefore assuming command as of stardate
8192.1."
	He punched another key, ending the log recording and opening
an intercom channel to the engine room.  "Engineering, this is the
bridge.  Chief Medson, Ensign Hutchins.  Do you need a hand down
there?"
	"No, thank you, Ensign," replied Medson, his voice slightly
garbled by the throat mike of the respirator he was apparently
wearing.  "Despite everything, we're managing down here, and I suspect
you're needed more where you are."  He knew, then, about the officer
situation.
	"Fair enough," said Gryphon.  "When can I have main power
back?"
	As if ordained by that question, the main standard lights
sprang back to life, and Gryphon felt the nearly subsonic rumble of
the deck below him take on a slightly different tone.
	"How about now?" Medson's voice inquired wryly.
	"That'll do," replied Gryphon dryly.  "Will we fall apart if we
go to warp speed?"
	"At this point, I dare say warp speed will be a safer
proposition than impulse power," replied Medson.  "I've got a DC team
up trying to figure out if #1 engine can be convinced to work again;
I'm going up to join them now that I've got the main energizer back
online."
	"Well, then, I won't keep you from it any longer," replied
Gryphon.  "Bridge out."
	As he ended the conversation, the turbolift opened,
discharging two petty officers and a yeoman.  The yeoman took the
Communications station, while the two petty officers settled in at
Environmental and Navigation.
	"Sir," Chief DeFalco reported from the Science station,
"sensor logs confirm we were attacked by a Romulan vessel - a D-7 type
battle cruiser, one of the ships they bought from the Klingons,
equipped with a cloaking device.  The hit that punctured our saucer
section came from one of their plasma weapons; the other hits were
photon torpedoes."
	"Do we know where they went when they were finished with us?"
	"Aye, sir.  They remained uncloaked and left the area at warp
speed, heading 213 mark 45.  They were moving at a fairly leisurely
pace, too, only warp 5.  I suspect they think we're dead in space."
	"Where will that course take them?"
	"Working that out now."  DeFalco paused, then turned, her
expression troubled.  "Sir, that's a direct heading for Starbase 214."
	Gryphon sighed.  "It never rains but it pours," he remarked.
"Yeoman Ffrench, signal Starbase 214 that they may soon find
themselves under attack.  Also advise Starfleet Command.  Chief, are
there any other starships in the area?"
	DeFalco consulted an area chart.  "Only one, sir.  USS
Komarov, a Gagarin-class science survey vessel, is at Starbase 214 for
an engine refit."  She frowned at the display.  "Scratch the Komarov,"
she added.  "Their power systems are torn apart for the refit, they
can't even make impulse power."
	"Well, then, I guess it's up to us.  Navigation, lay in a
course for Starbase 214.  Let's hope we can get there before the
Romulans."
	The navigator, Petty Officer Phillips, turned in his seat.
"Are you insane?!" he demanded.  "We're no match for a Romulan battle
cruiser, especially in the shape we're in right now!"
	Gryphon could have shouted at the noncom for questioning the
instructions of an officer, however junior; he could even have placed
the man on report.  But he could hardly do that, not since he was
thinking much the same thing.
	"Who else is going to do it, Phil?" he asked instead.
	Phillips's horrified expression faded, and, realizing the
abruptness of his outburst, he blushed a little.  "Sorry, sir.  I
just... lost my head for a second."
	"It's all right," replied Gryphon easily.  "I may join you
before the day is out."  He punched the all-call intercom key on the
conn arm.  "All hands, this is Ensign Hutchins speaking," he said.  "I
have assumed command, since no other officer can be accounted for.
The recent excitement you may have noticed was our ship being
sneak-attacked by a Romulan battle cruiser, which is now en route to
Starbase 214, probably to continue the evening's carnage.  To make
your evening even worse, it appears we are the only operational
starship in the vicinity, so unless I miss my guess, before the day is
out, we'll see even more combat.
	"We all joined Starfleet in hopes that we could make a
difference; well, here's our big chance.  Let's do it... "  He paused,
collecting his will.  It wouldn't do for his voice to catch at a
moment like this.  "Let's do it for Captain Marshall.  That is all."
	He switched off, and was momentarily disoriented by a
spattering of spontaneous applause from the impromptu bridge crew.
And at that moment, as he had a chance, just for a moment, to relax,
it dawned on him: Captain John Marshall was, in all likelihood, dead.
And Ensign - Acting Ensign, at that - Benjamin Hutchins was the
captain of the starship Challenger, for the moment.  He looked down at
his hands, expecting them to shake; they didn't, just to spite him.
	"Course laid in, sir," said Phillips.
	"Yeoman Lynch," said Gryphon to the woman at the helm, "engage
warp drive.  Fast as you can; everything depends on us beating the
Romulans to Starbase 214."
	"Aye, sir," said Lynch, plying the controls.  The Challenger
hesitated for a moment, then burst into warp speed.
	Gryphon fiddled with his chair controls, bringing up a
tactical map of the Starbase 214 area.  "Hmmm," he said to himself, a
smile creeping onto his face.  "Chief DeFalco, correct me if I'm
wrong, but the latest intelligence indicates that the Romulans still
don't have high-gain pattern-resolving sensors, correct?"

	Commander Sthal felt the smile wanting to emerge on his face,
but kept his visage stony: the battle was far from won.  A starbase
was, perhaps, not as glorious an opponent as a starship, and it could
not maneuver, but they were fairly heavily armed and not to be
attacked lightly.  Still, if he could catch them as unaware as that
starship, it would be over soon.
	Speaking, of course, his native tongue, he ordered his helm
officer, "Bring us out of warp."
	"Warp drive disengaged," reported the helm officer.
	"Weapons officer, raise shields and arm all weapons.  Target
the docked starship first."
	"Shields up; targeting."
	"Sir, we are being hailed," reported the communications
officer.
	"Ignore it," Sthal replied.  "I have no interest in saluting
those who are about to die."
	"Sir, the hail is not coming from the starbase," said the comm
officer.
	"Oh?  Put it on," said Sthal, his curiosity piqued.
	The bridge speakers crackled; then an English-speaking voice
burst through the static into clarity.  " -- and leave the area
immediately."

	"Attention, Romulan starship," Gryphon announced with more
confidence than he felt.  "This is... "  Oh, what the hell.  It'll
impress the Romulans a little more than 'Acting Ensign'.  "... Captain
Benjamin D. Hutchins of the Federation starship Challenger.  Power
down your weapons and leave the area immediately.  I repeat, power
down your weapons and leave this area immediately, or you will be
fired upon."

	"Challenger?!" sputtered Sthal.  "Did we, or did we not,
cripple that ship not two hours ago?"
	"With respect, sir, apparently not," said Sub-Commander
Trakon.
	"Someday I will have to get you to tell me how that tone of
voice implies respect, Sub-Commander," growled Sthal.  "Weapons
officer, new target: destroy the starship Challenger."
	"I would enjoy nothing more, Commander.  Only... where is it?"
	Sthal let out a hiss through his teeth.  This afternoon (by
his ship's time) was starting to head downhill.

	"They're scanning the hell out of the area, sir.  Doesn't look
like they can see us."
	"Excellent," said Gryphon, his grin a bright slash in the dark
red of the battle-fitted bridge.  "Now, if he'll just take the bait
and turn his attention back to the Komarov, we might just have a shot
at this."

	"Sir, I can find no sign of any other starship," the weapons
officer said.  "I suspect the hail was a trick."
	"The starbase commander, perhaps, trying to frighten us away,"
Sub-Commander Trakon mused.  "Yes, it is possible."
	Sthal considered.  His ship would be vulnerable during the
initial attack, unable to cloak or maintain shields while the plasma
weapon was using all the available power to deliver the crushing
opening blow it was designed for.  The thought, as always, made him
faintly uneasy, but not as uneasy as the thought of engaging in
protracted lesser-weaposn combat with a starbase.
	"Very well," he said after a momen't pause.  "Resume attack on
the starbase.  Target the plasma weapon on the docked starship."
	"Target... locked."
	"Fire."

	"Their shields are dropping, sir!" DeFalco cried.
	"Helm, make your course 204 mark 12!  Impulse power, all ahead
flank!  Stand by on forward torpedoes!"
	"All ahead flank aye," said Lynch, throwing the impulse
throttle open.  With both impulse engines online thanks to the
Herculean efforts of Chief Medson and his team, Challenger surged out
from her hiding place, the blind spot just opposite the asteroid which
formed the basis of Starbase 214.

	"Commander!  New contact bearing 74 mark 2!" cried the weapons
officer.  "Federation starship, Miranda-class!"
	"Abort plasma firing sequence!" Sthal ordered.  "Raise
shields!"
	The weapons officer scrambled for the plasma override, punched
it, reached for the shields key.

	"Forward torpedoes, fire!" bellowed Gryphon.
	"Torpedoes away!" replied Lynch.

	The bridge heaved around Commander Sthal, the lights flickered
momentarily, and the acrid stench of burning electronics filled the
processed air.

	"Direct hit!" called Chief DeFalco.  "Aft section, near
Impulse Engineering.  They've lost impulse power and their shields are
still down."
	"Lynch, get us between them and the starbase.  Yeoman
Ffrench, get me their bridge."

	"Damage report!" Sthal snarled.
	"Two direct torpedo hits to the engineering section,"
Sub-Commander Sthal reported.  "Main power is out.  The engine room is
not responding to my intercom hail.  Shields are down, weapons and
drive systems inoperative.  They've got us, Commander."
	"They're hailing us again," said the comm officer.
	"On screen," Sthal snarled.  "And get me back main power!"
	The face of the officer who appeared on the main viewer was
younger-looking than Sthal expected, though the neatly trimmed beard
and golden-wire spectacles made the man look older than he really
looked on closer examination.  He wore the uniform of an officer, but
the strap over his shoulder had only an ensign's triangular pin.
	"-Captain- Hutchins, I presume?" Sthal said with a
poorly-suppressed sneer.  "I am Commander Sthal."
	"Commander, you are in violation of treaty," said the young
officer on the screen.  For all his youthful appearance and
low-ranking insignia, his face was calm and his voice steady.  "Your
ship is disabled.  Surrender and prepare to be boarded."
	"Never!" Sthal spat.  "A Romulan starship commander will
self-destruct before allowing his ship to be taken!"
	"If you had that option, I imagine you'd use it," replied --
Captain? Ensign? Hutchins, nodding.  "From where I'm sitting, it
doesn't look like you do, though."
	"He is right," murmured Trakon, out of range of the conn audio
pickup.  "We're running on batteries, the main computer is out and I
can't raise anyone in the engineering section.  We cannot initiate the
self-destruct from here without the computer."
	Sthal seethed quietly for a moment, his blood all but boiling,
as he stewed in his own helplessness and how quickly he'd been
rendered that way.
	"Commander, there's no need for you to throw away your life,"
said Hutchins.  "Your high command doesn't even know you're here, and
given the current diplomatic situation, they're liable to be quite
upset with you for this little outing.  It's certainly not going to
hurt your record any further if you surrender."
	Sthal made a face as if he were swallowing something caustic,
then snarled, "I suppose you're right, Captain, though how you knew
this attack was unauthorized, I'll never know.  Send your boarding
party.  We will not resist."
	"You'll no doubt have wounded aboard," said Hutchins.  "We'll
send you a medical team along with our security personnel.  Stand by.
Challenger out."

	After dispatching the boarding party, Gryphon leaned back in
his conn and sighed.
	"How did you know they were on an unauthorized mission?" asked
Phillips.
	"I guessed," Gryphon replied.
	"You... guessed?"
	"Yup."
	"Sir, I take back everything I said before, if I haven't
already.  May I speak candidly?"
	"Sure, go ahead, Phil."
	"You are one centered son of a bitch, sir," said Phillips with
a grin.
	"Thanks, Phil.  Inside I'm screaming, though.  Hey, Ffrench,
get me Starbase 214 again, will you?  I suppose it's about time I
turned this ship over to somebody with some seniority and a real
commission."

	As he made his way to one of the starbase's conference rooms,
Gryphon wondered just how to describe his current rank.  Acting
Captain Acting Ensign-Cadet Benjamin D. Hutchins?  Five words for the
rank, two and an initial for his name.  He hadn't expected to spend
two weeks in nominal command of a starship at this early juncture,
even a damaged, starbase-bound starship.  Starfleet didn't seem quite
to know what to do about the situation, though, and so here he
remained, awaiting orders.
	Today was an auspicious day for Starbase 214; the Enterprise,
damaged in action against the starship Reliant, was going to offload
most of its trainee crew and pick up some equipment for the long slog
back to Earth.  Counting Challenger, the Komarov, the captured Romulan
cruiser, and the hospital ship USS Imhotep, Starbase 214 was hopping
with more starship docking action than it had seen at one time in
several years.
	Gryphon assumed he had been summoned to the conference room so
that someone from Starfleet Command could finally take Challenger off
his hands and send him back to the Academy.  He was understandably
surprised to be greeted by Admiral Kirk, as well as Starbase 214's
Commander Staples, upon his arrival, though.
	He had to suppress his surprise not only at Kirk's presence
but also his appearance.  He looked like he had aged ten years, or
simply not slept in five, with puffy dark circles around his eyes and
more and deeper lines in his face than Gryphon remembered.
	"Er... Acting Captain Acting Ensign-Cadet Hutchins reporting
as ordered, sir."
	"That's quite a mouthful," said Kirk with a ghost of his old
grin.
	"Sorry, sir.  It's my best guess.  The situation is somewhat
irregular."
	"Well, it'll get simpler, at least by a little bit," said
Kirk.  "It may seem odd for this to be coming from me, the Chief of
Starfleet Operations, but Starfleet Command asked me to handle this
since I'm the only flag officer in the area, and I know you."  Kirk
cleared his throat.  "Begin recording."  The computer terminal in the
corner of the room bleated.  "Ensign Hutchins.  Admirals Bradley and
Morrow, and I, have reviewed your after-action reports concerning the
Romulan incident, and we've arrived at a few conclusions.
	"It is my proud duty to award you the Starfleet Medal of Valor
for your actions on stardate 8240.  Be it known that you acted with
great flexibility, superb situational awareness, and outstanding
courage in a situation far outside the typical.  Your actions saved
the lives of the surviving crew members of the starship Challenger as
well as those of Starbase 214 and the starship Komarov.  You have
demonstrated yourself to be an exceptionally quick-thinking and
decisive officer, and you have shown an enormous aptitude for starship
command.  Well done."
	Gryphon swallowed as Kirk pinned the starburst medal to the
front of his uniform tunic; then, as he shook the admiral's hand, he
said, "Thank you, sir.  Please let the record reflect that I could not
have accomplished the acts for which I am commended here today were it
not for the courage and spirit of the surviving crew of the
Challenger."
	"So noted.  Furthermore," said Kirk, raising a hand in a
dramatic flourish, his exhaustion momentarily forgotten, "Admiral
Bradley has sent new orders for you."  Kirk drew a printout from his
pocket, squinted at it, and then said, "You are hereby requested and
required to retain acting command of the starship USS Challenger and
report with that starship to Earth Spacedock immediately.  Upon
arrival, you will report to Starfleet Academy to be graduated with the
highest honors and receive your new posting."  Kirk handed Gryphon the
printout.  "End recording."  The terminal bleeped again; Commander
Staples excused herself and left the conference room.
	Kirk seemed to deflate a bit when the commander left the room,
and Gryphon knew he didn't look much better.  Without other officers
to see them, there was no real point in protocol; so Gryphon went to
the food processor on the wall and ordered up coffee for Kirk and iced
Mountain Dew for himself.
	"I heard what happened in the Mutara sector," said Gryphon,
handing Kirk his coffee and plopping down in a chair by the conference
table.  "And I thought I had a lousy last few weeks."
	Kirk chuckled; there was a touch of bitterness in the sound.
"You could say that."  He sat down as well.  "Did you know Captain
Marshall well?" he asked, skirting the central, too painful, issue.
	"Fairly well," Gryphon replied, voice heavy.  "I'll miss him;
he was a good commander, and a good teacher.  It was easy to see why
his ship was chosen for the AFSEV program."
	Kirk nodded.  "I recommended him for his command," he said.
"He had a gentleness about him that made him good with
students... much like... "  Kirk seemed to gather himself.  "Much like
Spock."
	Gryphon nodded.  "Yeah.  Like Spock.  I'll miss him, too."
	Flag officer and senior cadet sat in silence for a moment,
gazing at their beverages.
	"Jim," said Gryphon at length.
	"Mm?" Kirk replied, looking up.
	"How are -you- holding up?"
	"Oh, I... I imagine I'll survive.  I have my work... life goes
on.  Actually, aside from being so tired, I feel surprisingly good.
Looking at the Genesis Planet... it gave me hope.  Hope that our
future... may still be a bright place, a good place to go."
	Gryphon smiled.  "You're still an idealist."
	Kirk chuckled.  "We all have our illusions."
	"Yeah... I suppose we do, at that.  But some are truer than
others.  And others, we only call illusions because claiming them as
truth feels like hubris."
	The second silence was warmer and less awkward than the
first, as the two men smiled across the table at each other in mutual,
hopeful understanding.
	"Well," said Kirk at length, slapping the table briskly and
getting to his feet.  "I have cadets to transfer, and forms to fill
out, and more forms to fill out."
	"And it appears I have a ship to get ready for departure."
	They shook hands.
	"Before I go, I want you to know that I've asked Admiral
Bradley to post you to Enterprise, but I haven't gotten a straight
answer yet."
	"Thank you, Admiral, for thinking of me," said Gryphon with a
smile.  Then he softened his voice and slipped out of protocol again
for a second.  "Take care until I see you again, Jim."
	"Both of us, Ben," said Kirk, and he left the room.
	Gryphon pondered for a few moments, and then left as well,
heading in the other direction, back toward the berth where Challenger
waited.

	It was a good thing, Gryphon reflected, that he had left most
of his effects at the Academy during his posting aboard Challenger.
Had he not, most of them would now be destroyed, along with his
stateroom.  (For that matter, so would he, had he not been walking off
a bout of insomnia, but he tried not to dwell on that.)  As acting
captain, he had commandeered one of the guest staterooms on the
opposite side of the saucer section, and now he sat at the desk in
that room, paging through his own action reports, trying to put the
events of the last couple of weeks into perspective.
	The door pinged, interrupting his train of thought.  Letting
out a tired sigh, he pushed himself away from the desk, turned the
chair toward the door, and said, "Come in."
	The door hissed open, and there was Saavik.
	Gryphon got to his feet, her name coming out somewhere between
startled and glad.  In all the confusion, he hadn't even noticed that
she was among the uninjured cadets offloaded from Enterprise to assist
on Challenger's run back to Earth; he'd sent her email after hearing
about the Reliant incident, but hadn't received a reply.
Unconsciously, he'd started fearing the worst.
	She entered the room without a word, keeping her strides short
as if she were afraid longer ones would make her lose her balance, and
he went to meet her, unable, as usual, to read her expression.
	The door closed just as they met, and, silently, she embraced
her old roommate, drawing him close and holding him tightly to her,
though careful not to hurt him, for several long moments.
	This was, to say the least, unusual behavior for her, and he
was pretty fairly taken aback.  He knew a person in need of a hug when
he was seized by one, though, so he returned the embrace.  When she
released him he got his second shock of the afternoon: she was, in a
very understated way, crying, hot, hot tears spilling silently down
her cheeks.
	For her to be feeling this way was understandable: Vulcans
-have- emotions, they simply refuse to show them most of the time, and
besides, she was only half Vulcan by blood.  Her powerful, passionate
Romulan side, though, had only induced her to work harder than usual
at the Vulcan stoic ways in which she had been educated; for her to be
showing even this level of emotion was nothing short of astounding,
and Gryphon was very moved that she would show it to him.
	He knew why she felt this way, of course; the trauma of the
Reliant incident would have been bad enough for anyone, without the
added horror of the fact that Captain Spock had been her mentor -- no,
more than that, her foster father.  Still, he had to wonder if that
was all.  He was faintly empathic himself, and it wasn't only pain he
could read in her bearing.  There was also... fear?  Confusion?
Something like that.
	Softly, he said, "Bad month."
	She nodded, suppressing a sob and trying to regain her
composure.  "I am sorry for this... display," she whispered.  "I do
not know what has come over me."
	"It's all right," said Gryphon, sitting down on the edge of
the bunk and guiding her down with him.  "It's me, remember?  I wrote
the book on displays of emotion.  You don't have to worry about
appearances when you're with me."
	"You know, of course, that Spock is dead," she said after
another moment's composure-gathering.
	"I heard," he replied, nodding.  "I'm sorry."
	"He died to save the ship," said Saavik.  "It was... the
logical thing to do."  She sounded almost bitter about that.
	"So it was," said Gryphon.  "I've read the reports.  To hell
with logic -- it was the -right- thing to do.  I only hope I'm never
faced with a decision like that."
	"Engineering was hit hard in the initial attack, as well," she
went on, as if he hadn't spoken.  "There was a coolant leak... Peter
Preston died in that part of the engagement."
	Gryphon's face fell further, if that's possible.  "Aw, hell,"
he said, and instinctively took one of her hands.  It only struck him
after he had done it that it was a mind-numbingly rude thing to do to
a Vulcan, but she didn't pull away; rather she took hold of his hand
as though it were an anchor.  Her hand felt feverish to him - her core
temperature lurked around 101, 102 degrees Fahrenheit, if he
remembered the conversion factor right.
	"The third-year midshipman you were tutoring in advanced
math?" he asked softly.
	"The same.  He... he remained at his post despite the leak.
He was one of the few engineering cadets to do so."
	Gryphon let out a long, hissing sigh.  "Another victim of the
right thing."
	"Vulcan philosophical training does not lend itself to the
consideration of the human concept of 'fate'," said Saavik, "but I
cannot help wondering why the 'right thing' so often leads to death
for the best of us."
	Gryphon shrugged.  "Another concept Vulcan philosophy has
never been very good at is the old human axiom that shit
happens... but it still does."
	They talked into the night, about mortality, confusion, fear,
death, life going on, the future's uncertainty.  Saavik told Gryphon
about David Marcus; he reminisced about a similar time in his life
before Starfleet, when he had been going through a dark period and
hadn't been looking for love, but it had come and found him anyway.
	"It is ironic," Saavik observed, as the conversation wound
down.  "Only now am I beginning to understand what Spock told me,
about logic and emotion striking a balance."
	"Well, better late than not at all," said Gryphon, which
elicited the tiniest hint of a smile.
	As the midnight chimes rang, Saavik stood, smoothing her
uniform tunic.  "I should go, I suppose.  It would not do to make the
captain late for his watch in the morning."
	"'The captain.'  Yow.  I can't get used to that... and I
suppose I'd better not, since they'll be taking it away from me soon
enough."  Gryphon got up as well, and showed his old roommate to the
door.
	"I do not know if I have ever actually told you this," Saavik
observed as she stood in the doorway, "but... you are my friend.  I
feel... fortunate... to be able to say that."
	"I'm glad you felt the need... my friend," he replied,
smiling.  He raised his hand to wave, and she surprised him for the
third time that evening by raising her own and placing her first two
fingers across his palm.
	>Good night... Ben,< she said to him in Vulcan.  >Live long
and prosper.<
	Make it four.
	>Live long and prosper, Saavik.<

	Lieutenant Commander Benjamin D. Hutchins sat on the bunk in
his new stateroom and gazed out the window.  From his position, he
could look across the open interior of Spacedock and see the battered
starship Enterprise, dark and at rest.  Not far beyond it, and moored
"lower" such that it, too, could be seen, was the similarly battered
Challenger.  Challenger wasn't dark, though, nor did he imagine it was
quiet; vac-suited repair crewmen could be seen, dark specks crawling
across the pearlescent alloy of the hull near the charred edges of the
ship's wounds, which glowed from within with the brightness of the
temporary repair lighting installed inside the damaged internal
spaces.
	Lieutenant Commander.  So much for taking the normal track
through the ranks.  Well, he supposed he couldn't really blame Admiral
Bradley for pushing for such a promotion, given the circumstances...
but still, it was kind of embarrassing.
	He sighed, rolling onto his back and contemplating the grey
metal ceiling.  The reason for the general staff's hesitation on
Kirk's staffing requests for Enterprise was clear now; the ship was to
be decommissioned.  Kirk and his crew were cooling their heels down in
San Francisco, except Commander - no, Captain Scott, supervising the
testing of the new transwarp system on the experimental Excelsior.
	Gryphon was grateful for that.  Had he not been working under
a man as level-headed as Montgomery Scott, he doubted his own
abilities to deal with Captain Styles effectively.  But how could a
person get seriously bent about anything, even Styles's autocratic
attitude, with an opportunity to learn at the elbow of a man like
Scott?  Granted, he would have preferred to work with a Montgomery
Scott who was doing the job he loved best - refitting the Enterprise -
but since that didn't seem like it was going to happen, it was just as
well Scott was here.
	When he remarked as much, a woman's face appeared on the
monitor of the clunky-looking, old-fashioned computer he'd set up on
his work desk and replied,
	"Yeah, I like that old guy.  But then, I just melt for a man
with a Scottish accent and an engineer's hands.  Speaking of which,
isn't it about time to head down to Engineering and start getting your
hands dirty for the day?"
	Gryphon raised his arm and looked at his wristwatch - another
old-fashioned affectation his fellow officers found somewhat amusing.
"Yep, looks like it," he said, getting up and grabbing his uniform
jacket from the back of his desk chair.
	"Try not to black out this deck again today, will you?  Bad
enough I had to spend -months- in limbo while you went through the
Academy and did your time on the Challenger... "
	"Hey, if you hadn't, you'd be free particles now, along with
the rest of my Challenger stateroom," he replied.  "Starfleet's
regulation against cadets having their own computers saved your cute
little electrophotonic butt."
	"I look at that as the logical payoff for months of complete
boredom," said Vision with a wink.  "Have a good day at the office,
hon."
	Chuckling, Gryphon waved and left the room, fastening the flap
on the front of his jacket as he went.
	Lieutenant Commander Benjamin D. Hutchins, Assistant to the
Chief Engineer.
	Yeah... he could live with that title.

	Head buried in the conduit panel, Gryphon stuck his hand back
and said, "Hey, Scotty, can you reach my alluvial damper?"
	Something struck his hand, but it wasn't an alluvial damper,
and it wasn't put there so he could grab it.  "OW!" he yelped,
starting and banging his head on the inside of the panel.  "OW!" he
repeated, extricating himself and deciding to split the difference by
rubbing his smarting head with his smarting hand.  "What the -- "
	And there was Captain Styles, with his usual smirk on his face
and his silly swagger stick, the instrument of Gryphon's current
discontent, in his hand.
	"Sloppy, Lieutenant Commander," said Styles.  "You should
always address your superiors by their proper rank or title.  And for
that matter, don't leave your tools where you can't reach them and
then expect your superiors to do your work for you!  Is that
understood?"
	Gryphon's brain swirled with questions he wanted to ask the
captain.

	1) How am I supposed to work comfortably with the man if I
	    have to call him "Captain Scott sir" every time I need
	    something?
	2) Is that teamwork?
	3) Is THIS?
	4) What the hell are you doing in the engine room?
	5) Is this part of that new 'Management By Walking Around' thing?
	6) Were you dropped on your head as a very young child?
	7) Or is this genetic?
	8) Which part of your body is that stick supposed to represent?
	9) What in Skuld's blessed name are you using for brains?
	10) Pez?

	Pushing it all aside with enormous force of will, he forced
himself instead to stand at attention, devoted part of his mental
capacity to a blissful fantasy of slugging Styles and stuffing him
into the conduit panel, and said, "Aye aye, sir!"
	Styles nodded as if such a thing fit perfectly into the format
he had developed for the universe, tapped Gryphon's radsuited chest
with the end of his swagger stick, said, "Carry on," and departed the
engine room at a brisk, important pace.
	As he left, the mustachioed face of Captain Montgomery Scott
looked around the conduit housing, wearing a look of commiseration for
his assistant.
	"Someday, Scotty," murmured Gryphon as he picked up his
alluvial damper.  "Someday I'm going to snap and shove that swagger
stick where the sun don't shine."
	Scott nodded sagely.  "Aye, an' I'll hold him down while ye do
it, lad," he replied, and went around to the other side of the
housing.
	Heartened, Gryphon returned to work.

	That night, Gryphon was sitting up in bed perusing a book of
Vulcan poetry Saavik had given him when the door chime to his room
bleeped.
	"Come in," he called, bookmarking the volume and setting it
aside.  The door opened obediently, and Captain Scott entered.
	"Captain Scott," said Gryphon, perhaps in some kind of
stung-animal reflex to his afternoon's chewing-out by Captain Styles.
"Come in," he continued lamely, getting out of bed.
	Scott entered, the door closed behind him, and he smiled.  "Ye
dinna have to be so formal in your own quarters, lad," he said.  The
smiled faded quickly, though - the senior engineer had something on
his mind, that was obvious.
	"Have a seat," said Gryphon, pointing to his desk chair; he
sat on the edge of his bed.  "What's up?  Schedule get tightened up
again?  I figured we were well ahead of the game with the whole
electroplasma system up and running."
	"No, no, it's not that," Scott replied.  "This is completely
unofficial."
	"Oh.  Well, what's on your mind, then?"
	Scott appeared to ponder for a moment.  Behind him,
unobtrusive and unnoticed, Vision's face popped into a corner of the
computer display.
	"In a few hours - ye dinna need to know exactly when - I'm
going to do something... well, there's no two ways about it, something
illegal.  It'll get me in a good bit o' hot water, or I miss my guess.
I don't imagine they'll let me stay on the project when all's said an'
done."
	Gryphon blinked, but truth to tell, this hadn't been entirely
unexpected.  He knew Jim Kirk was burning to go back to the Genesis
Planet for something, and now he had an inkling how he planned to do
it.
	"What do you need from me?" he asked, ready to help.
	"No, lad, I'll not involve ye in this," said Scott.  "That's
not what I'm here for.  I came to tell ye this: I may make fun o'this
ship, because I'm old an' set in my ways, but I think she's a good
ship inside.  But she needs a good engineer to make her live up to her
promise."
	"That was the feeling I got, too, working on her today,"
replied Gryphon.  "That's why I'm glad you're here."
	"That's my point, though, lad," said Scott.  "She needs a
younger man than me to bring out her beauty.  I'm married, ye might
say, to a well-established lady," the engineer said with a grin.  "A
young lass like this needs a man like you t'lead her into the world."
	Gryphon was considerably older than Scott, chronologically,
and Scott certainly knew that; nevertheless, he saw the senior
officer's point.  A curious, but often useful, side effect of
Gryphon's Detian agelessness was that, although he acquired experience
(and, he liked to think, the wisdom that came with it), he never
seemed to lose his young-man's, wide-open-prospects, world-before-him
sort of view of things.
	"So after tonight, when I'm off this project... I want ye to
take over from me and make this ship as great as we both know she can
be.  It'll be hard going at first, but I know ye can do it."
	"Do you think they'll let me stay on?" he asked.  "I don't
have the seniority to -- "
	"Dinna worry about that, ye'll stay," said Scott firmly.
"After I'm out o' the picture, there'll be no one else in the fleet
who knows a tenth o' what ye've already learned about this ship an'
her engines.  Why, with all the studyin' ye did before ye even came
aboard, I wouldn't be surprised if ye knew more about transwarp drive
than the men who invented it, and ye know more about the way this
ship's put together than anybody, -includin'- me.  Even Captain Styles
isn't fool enough to throw away that kind o' expertise."
	"Well... I won't ask what you're planning.  The less I know,
the better.  But good luck, Scotty.  Good luck and godsspeed... and
all my best to Jim and the others," he added with a wink.
	"Aye," said Scott, getting to his feet.  "Ye're a sharp one."
He grinned.  "Ye'll see us again.  We'll call ye for a character
witness at our court-martial."
	"Well, how do you like that?" Vision remarked thoughtfully
after Scott had gone.
	"I'm not sure I like it at all, Vision," Gryphon mused, lying
pensive on his bed.  "I'm not sure I like it at all... "

	Later that night, as Excelsior pursued Enterprise out of
Spacedock and sputtered to a halt while her transwarp drive failed to
engage, Gryphon lay on his bed, not expected in Engineering for a mere
yellow alert during third shift, and, thanks to the miracle of
external acoustic damping, listened to Enya at a volume level that
might well have been unhealthy without disturbing anyone else.

Under the heavens
we journey far,
on roads of life
we're the wanderers,
So let love rise,
So let love depart,
Let hope have a place in the lover's heart.
 Hope has a place in the lover's heart.

	Good luck, my friends.
	I don't even know if Skuld can see us so far from her home,
but if she can't, may she watch over you.

	"Well, Mr. Hutchins.  Think you can get this ship working
without Mr. Scott to hold your hand?"
	I'd be able to do it faster without you TYING my hands, you
pompous jerk.
	"Not a problem, sir.  We'll launch for trials on schedule, and
then we'll rewrite the record book."
	"I have to admit, I had my doubts about moving you into the
chief engineer's position after Scott's little... defection," said
Styles.  "But Admiral Bradley has given me his assurance that you're
the right man for the job, so... we'll see."
	Oh, we'll see, all right.
	"But I'm warning you: if you don't deliver the performance I
need, I'll find someone else who can."
	Unlikely.
	"And if I find out you had anything to do with that little
stunt Mr. Scott pulled, you'll be out of Starfleet so fast it'll make
your head spin."
	You can't fire me, slaves have to be sold.
	"Is that understood, Mister?"
	Fuck you and your swagger stick too.
	"Aye aye, sir!"

	"Engineering, this is the Captain.  How does it look down
there?"
	"Transwarp factor 12.5 and she's running like a Swiss clock,
sir," said Gryphon, not even an annoying status request from Styles
denting his radiant mood.  "We haven't even scratched the surface of
what this ship can do!"
	"Transwarp 12.5," Styles repeated, his tone thoughtful.
"What's that in conventional warp numbers?"
	Safely ensconced on the far end of a voice-only communication,
Gryphon allowed himself the luxury of rolling his eyes (eliciting a
stifled giggle from Chief Petty Officer Kathryn Parker) as he replied
pleasantly, "Impossible to compare, sir.  The physics of transwarp
drive make comparison with conventional warp drive meaningless in any
frame of reference save objective elapsed time from start to
destination."  Which I've told you at least sixteen thousand times.
	"Well, then, make that comparison."
	"OK... say we were headed for Starbase 10.  With conventional
warp drive at warp factor 7, we'd be there in about twenty-four hours.
At transwarp factor 7, the same trip would take about sixteen hours."
This example ought to sound familiar to you, too.
	"And at our current transwarp speed?"
	But I can see it doesn't.  "Ten hours, give or take."
	"'Give or take'?"
	Uh-oh, there's that pedantic edge in his voice again.  "I
can't give you precise calculations -and- keep an eye on everything
Starfleet R&D wants me to watch during these trials, sir.  Ask me
again when we're not running a test and I'll have an exact figure for
you."
	"I'll hold you to that."
	I'm sure you will.
	"In your opinion, is it safe to take her up to transwarp 15?"
	Knock yourself out, kimosabe.
	"Absolutely."
	"Glad to hear it.  Bridge out."
	Oh, man, thought Gryphon as he watched the status reports and
grinned joyfully at his engineering staff through the pulsing blue
glow of the intermix chamber.  If Zefram Cochrane were here right
now...
	... well, scratch that... he'd be leering at Chief Parker,
most likely.

	It was just dumb luck that Gryphon happened to be on the
bridge when it happened.  Just pure dumb luck, a friend and companion
whose assistance he readily acknowledged was very handy at times.
	Excelsior was zooming through sector 102 on another
letter-perfect drive trial, minding her own business and generally
having a smooth day.  Captain Styles, Gryphon remarked, hadn't even
been obnoxious once.  Everybody was in a marvelously expansive mood,
pleased with the success of their vessel and its test project.
	And then, they ran across the strange, angular alien
spacecraft, and the day went straight to hell in a handbasket.
	"Go to conventional warp drive, match speed and bearing,
Mr. Hunter.  Science officer, what the hell is that?"
	"Unknown, sir.  It's definitely a spacecraft of some kind,
warp-driven.  I read no life signs aboard."
	"Hail them," said Styles, gesturing with his swagger stick to
the comm officer.
	"No response," replied that officer after a moment's plying of
his controls.
	"Any idea who built it, Mr. Mancuso?" Styles asked.  His
science officer shrugged.  No one else seemed to have any clue.
Gryphon, though, recognized its sharp, blocky lines.
	"It's a Cyben scoutship," he said.
	"I was talking to Mr. Mancuso," said Captain Styles.  "Not
you, Engineer."
	"It's still a Cyben scoutship," replied Gryphon evenly, before
returning to his panel status displays.
	Styles glared at his back for a moment, then turned to
Mancuso, who was busily plugging information into his library
computer console.  "Well?"
	"There's no record of a race called the Cyben in Starfleet
records, Captain," replied Mancuso.  "And no library data on a ship of
anything resembling that configuration."
	Not liking the direction this was heading in, Gryphon pulled
up a tie-in to the science station on his console's master monitor and
started fiddling.
	"Sir, the vessel is on a direct heading for Earth," reported
Mancuso after another moment's attention to his display.
	"Of course it is," said Gryphon, more to himself than anyone
else.  "They're on their way to make first contact.  Their mission is
peaceful."
	"That's -enough-, Engineer," snapped Styles.  "Consider
yourself on report."
	"Connnnnsideryourself - ON report!" Gryphon sang quietly as he
kept working.  Styles didn't seem to notice.
	"Mr. Mancuso, is that vessel armed?"
	"It appears to be, sir.  I read four devices similar to phaser
arrays and a couple of things that read like Klingon disruptors."
	"They're ignoring us completely, sir," reported the comm
oficer.
	"They can't hear us," Gryphon muttered.  "We're transmitting
on frequencies they haven't bothered with in years."
	"Where are you getting this information, Mr. Hutchins?" asked
Mancuso, curiosity on his face.  "Our library computer has no record
of any of this."
	"Ignore him, Mr. Mancuso," said First Officer Sharpe.  "He's
obviously cracked under the pressure."
	Gryphon suppressed a derisive snort, turning it instead into a
cough.
	"Well, let's give them one last chance, anyway," said Styles,
thumbing a control on his conn arm.  "Alien spacecraft, this is
Captain Styles of the Federation starship Excelsior.  You have entered
the United Federation of Planets.  Please identify yourself."
	Gryphon suppressed an urge to sing, "Theyyyy cannn't
HEEEEAAAAR yooooouuuu!" and kept working.
	"Alien spacecraft, if you do not shut down your warp engines
and respond to us immediately, we -will- consider your presence here a
hostile act!"
	Great.  He's digging the hole faster than even I expected him
to, thought Gryphon as he stepped up his pace.
	"Very well, alien spacecraft," said Styles after a few more
seconds of silence.  "You leave us no alternative."  He snapped the
comm channel closed.  "Mr. Harriman, raise shields.  Sound red alert."
	No, no, you incredible fool, I'm almost ready to end this
mess!  "Sir, don't do this.  The Cyben are peaceful, but if you attack
their scoutship you'll make them the Federation's most dreadful
enemies.  With the Cyben, the first impression is the only one you
get."
	"Spare me your fantasies, please, Mr. Hutchins, this really
isn't the time.  Energize main phasers and lock on, Mr. Harriman."
	Gryphon tensed, silently cursing his superior officer for a
fool, and half-turned in his chair, ready to dive out of it if
absolutely forced.  "Sir, I urge you to stop."
	"Not now, Engineer!  I'll deal with you in a moment.
Mr. Harriman, fire."
	"Belay that order!" Gryphon barked, coming out of his seat.
Harriman froze, his fingertip millimeters from the fire-select key.
	Styles was on his feet in an instant, his face darkening to a
fine brick red.  "How DARE you!" he bellowed.
	"Captain, if you destroy that ship you destroy the Federation,
count on it," Gryphon replied.  "Please, stand down from this red
alert and let me finish what I was doing.  I've almost got the
secondary communications array reconfigured so we can talk to them."
	"Get off my bridge!" Styles roared.  "Report to your quarters
and consider yourself under arrest pending a full court-martial for
this insubordination!  Mr. Harriman, fire!"
	"Don't you touch that goddamned switch, John!" Gryphon
ordered, his eyes like steel, pointing a finger at the lanky
lieutenant manning the weapons console.  "Captain, you are acting in
an irrational and dangerous manner.  It's my judgment as chief
engineer that you are needlessly endangering the safety of the ship.
Under Section 45c of Starfleet General Regulations, I am relieving you
of command.  Please leave the bridge."
	Styles's red face darkened further, to a color almost purple.
"This - this is preposterous!" he sputtered.  "You have no authority!
I'll have you up on charges that'll stretch from here to the Galactic
Core - YOU CAN'T DO THIS TO ME!!"
	Deadly calm, deadly serious, Gryphon replied, "Sir, I can and
I am.  Mr. Giordano," he continued, gesturing to one of the security
officers standing near the turbolift.  "Please escort Captain Styles
to sick bay.  Mr. Harriman, stand down your weapons and go to yellow
alert."
	A long, tense, undecided moment stretched long and thin on the
bridge.
	Giordano left his post by the lift and took the captain's
elbow.  "Come on, sir."  With an almost audible sigh of relief,
Lieutenant Harriman disengaged the phasers and reset the ship's alert
status.
	"Get your hands off me!" Styles bellowed at Giordano, pulling
his arm free.  The captain lunged at Gryphon, hurling invective, but
the security ensign, a beefy fellow who looked to be from a high-G
colony world, pinned him handily and began dragging him toward the
turbolift.
	"Enjoy it while you can, Hutchins!" Styles howled as he was
hauled away.  "When I get through with you you'll never even see
another starship again for as long as you live!  Admiral Morrow will
hear about this!  Your career is finished, you -- "
	The closing of the turbolift doors cut him off.  Gryphon,
relaxing visibly, moved to return to his station, then turned to the
navigator's station and made a questioning look at Commander Sharpe,
who, technically, was still above him in the chain of command.
	Sharpe had survived as Styles's first officer by being about
as non-confrontational and spineless as they come; he shrugged,
visibly sweating, and murmured, "Ca, carry on."
	"Thank you, Commander," said Gryphon, returning to the
Engineering console - unlike the conn, it had a full keyboard/monitor
system.  The Cyben ship was still up there, still cruising merrily
along at warp 6, knowing nothing of the little history-making drama
that had just unfolded behind it.  Good.  He turned his attention to
the science officer.  "Ensign Kimmell, patch through to my console and
pull across the stuff I was working on before Captain Styles stepped
in it, if you'd be so kind."
	"Aye, sir," said Kimmell, the comm officer, and after a
moment's fiddling, "Standing by."
	Gryphon smiled, a small, private smile.  "Link us in,
Mr. Kimmell."
	"Aye, sir, linking now."  The comm console beeped.  "Link
negotiated.  We're in, sir."
	"Echo on the main viewer, please."
	The main viewer went black, and a moment later, large white
text scrolled across it.

@ STARSHIP EXCELSIOR
@ GREETINGS FROM THE CYBEN EMPIRE
@ I AM CYBEN 1F, EXPLORER/AMBASSADOR

	Smiling, Gryphon typed his response.

> Welcome to the United Federation of Planets, Cyben 1F.  I am
Benjamin Hutchins; I currently command this starship.  What is your
final destination?

@ PLANET NC-34-3, LOCAL DESIGNATION "EARTH"

> What is your mission on Earth?

@ I AM TO OPEN DIPLOMATIC RELATIONS BETWEEN THE CYBEN EMPIRE AND THE
UNITED FEDERATION OF PLANETS
@ MY MISSION IS PEACEFUL

> Starship Excelsior would be happy to escort you to Earth,
Ambassador.

@ THANK YOU EXCELSIOR
@ CYBEN 1F ACCEPTS YOUR OFFER
@ PRESENT COURSE AND SPEED ACCEPTABLE?

> Perfectly, Cyben 1F.  Again, welcome.

@ THANK YOU EXCELSIOR
@ CYBEN 1F EOT

	Sighing, Gryphon stood up from his console.
	"They've broken the link, sir," reported Kimmell.
	"Fine, Ensign, thank you.  Please notify Starfleet Command
that we've had a successful First Contact and we're escorting the
Cyben envoy to Earth, would you?  Mr. Hunter, maintain course and
speed.  Mr. Harriman, stand down from yellow alert, please.
Mr. Mancuso, keep your eyes peeled for trouble -- be a hell of a note
to promise these guys an escort and let them get whacked by something
else on the way to Earth.  You have the conn, Commander Sharpe... I'm
going down to my quarters and get working on the first of the several
thousand forms I'm going to have to fill out for this."

	In the dark, with a flashlight, Gryphon lay face-down on his
bed and continued reading the book of Vulcan poetry in spite of what
was going on all around him.
	Outside, in Earth orbit, an alien probe was busily wreaking
havoc; it had already shut down all but reserve power in Spacedock and
aboard Excelsior herself, and for now all anyone could do was hide and
wait.
	Gryphon wasn't worried.
	After all, Jim Kirk was working on it.
	And if he pulled it off, then maybe the future wasn't so dark
for him and his crew after all.
	And if he didn't, well, Gryphon wasn't going to have to show
up for his own court-martial next week, now was he?
	"'My love for you burns in my loins like the sands of the
Great St'klakhla Desert; like the sun-star itself I burn, my soul
aflame for you'?  Man, some of this pre-Surak stuff is hotter than the
Song of Songs.  I bet she forgot this was in here."

	The Cyben ambassador to the Federation was an impressive
figure, there was certainly no doubt about that.  A mechanoid of
basically humanoid layout, he stood perhaps two meters tall, and
glittered from his blocky feet to his helmet-like domed head.  His
surface was coated in a nice-looking silver and black color scheme;
his face was an impassive green crystalline visor.  Yes, a most
impressive figure, especially when he spoke, with a deep, pedantic
synthesized tone.
	"I am Cyben 1F, Ambassador from the Cyben Empire," he stated,
for the record.
	"It was, then, you specifically who was en route to Earth
aboard the unknown spacecraft which was sighted on stardate 8330.4 by
the starship Excelsior?" asked JAG Adjutant Commander Erlin Stinson,
the Admiralty-appointed prosecutor.
	"It was."
	"Why did you not respond to Captain Style's hails?"
	"I did not receive them.  Cyben communications equipment
cannot receive voice communications; it is not our way.  We
communicate with packet data transmitted from ship to ship on a
subspace carrier network.  We are now adding voice communications
capabilities to all Cyben vessels which will travel in or near
Federation space."
	"So you had no idea at all that Excelsior was trying to hail
you?"
	"None."
	"Did you attempt to communicate with Excelsior?"
	"Yes.  My attempts to initiate a communications network
connection were unsuccessful, for reasons which are now obvious."
	"When did you first become aware that Excelsior was trying to
contact you?"
	"A packet network connection was established by an Ensign
Kimmell, acting for Lieutenant Commander Hutchins, who had assumed
command by that time."
	"Were you aware that Captain Styles intended to attack your
vessel?"
	"No."
	"Why not?" Stinson demanded.  "Surely you must have noticed
her raising shields and arming weapons."
	"No," repeated the Cyben flatly.  "When communication attempts
failed, I gave the vessel no further attention.  My contact
information indicated that Federation Starfleet vessels did not fire
on unknown, non-aggressive vessels."
	"Your assumption was that the communications failure was due
to some sort of equipment problem?" asked Stinson.
	"Yes."
	"I see.  No further questions of this witness."
	"Commander Jeppesen, you may proceed," said the tribunal head,
Admiral Morrow, to Gryphon's advocate.
	"What would you have done," Jeppesen asked, "had Captain
Styles retained command, and had Excelsior consequently attacked?"
	"My vessel was unshielded and unprepared for an attack,"
replied the Cyben ambassador calmly.  "I estimate a 95% probability
that I would have been destroyed."
	"What would the reaction of the Cyben government have been?"
asked Jeppesen.
	"The United Federation of Planets would have been reclassified
as an aggressive, hostile state.  The result would have been immediate
war."
	"I see.  And your opinion as to the probable outcome of that
war?"
	"Cyben technology is superior to that of the Federation," said
Cyben 1F impassively.  "At the present time, the Federation would be
unable to prosecute successfully a war with the Cyben Empire.
Fortunately, Captain Styles did not retain command; the point is
therefore moot."
	"Fortunately indeed.  And the Cyben government's present
disposition with regards to the Federation, if we may ask in this
forum?"
	"I completed negotiations with the Federation President
yesterday confirming the Cyben people's continued wishes for peace and
goodwill toward the United Federation of Planets."
	"Thank you, Ambassador.  That is all I ask of you."
	"You may stand down, Ambassador, and thank you," said Admiral
Morrow.  "Commander Stinson, call your next witness.

	"Lieutenant Commander Hutchins, please stand."  Gryphon stood,
trying to ignore the lump in his throat the size of a bowling ball.
	"Lieutenant Commander Hutchins," repeated Admiral Morrow.
"You are charged with gross insubordination and mutiny.  This tribunal
has heard the evidence and is prepared to pass judgment."
	The admiral paused, then said, "It is the judgment of this
tribunal that Captain Styles acted with criminal incompetence and
disregard for both the safety of his vessel and crew, and his
overriding mission as a Starfleet officer, in attempting to fire upon
the vessel carrying the Cyben envoy when attempts to communicate
failed.  We find that Lieutenant Commander Hutchins acted properly and
correctly under regulations by relieving Captain Styles and resolving
the situation.  Therefore, the charges of insubordination and mutiny
are hereby summarily dismissed."
	A wave of applause filled the hearing room, marred by a single
dissenting voice.
	"WHAT?!" Styles demanded, jumping to his feet.  "That's it,
you're just going to let him walk all over me in front of my crew and
get away with it?!"
	"Sit down, Captain," said Admiral Cartwright severely.
"You'll be facing your own tribunal fairly soon, or don't you remember
the charges we've just levied upon -you-?"
	"But... but... "
	"Sit down, Captain Styles," Admiral Bradley seconded, "before
we find you in contempt."
	Sputtering like a punctured balloon, Styles sat.
	"You're dismissed, Lieutenant Commander," said Admiral Morrow.
	"Aye aye, sir.  Thank you, sir!" said Gryphon, and he turned
smartly on his heel and left the room.
	Outside, in the concourse, he ran into the just-demoted
Captain James T. Kirk, who met him with a smile the size of Yosemite.
	"Well, it seems we've both managed to pull ourselves out of
the fire again," he said, shaking Gryphon's hand.
	"You could certainly say so, Jim," replied Gryphon with a
grin.  "I must say, you're the happiest-looking recently-demoted
officer I've ever seen."
	"Well, if there's one thing I've learned," said Kirk
cheerfully, "it's that it's all in your priorities."
	"Isn't -that- the truth," Gryphon concurred as the two men
stepped outside into the gleaming San Francisco sunshine.  "I wonder,"
he continued, looking wistfully up at the sky, "where they'll post me
now?"
	"Why, you're coming to work for me, of course!" said Kirk.
"Unless," he added, eyes twinkling, "you'd rather keep your top spot."
	"Do you even know what ship you're being assigned to yet?"
	"No, but that's half the fun," replied Kirk.  "Scotty's been
after me since we got in to see if you're willing to go back under his
wing, although he wouldn't phrase it that way.  He says he still has a
few things to teach you if you're willing to learn them."
	"Captain," said Gryphon, extending his hand again, "I'd be
honored."

	Isn't it funny, Gryphon asked himself, how your career keeps
zigzagging?  Cadet, starship commander, cadet, assistant engineer,
chief engineer, starship commander, assistant engineer.
	But this apparent demotion, much like the last one, he met
with nothing but unabashed joy.  Sure, he was back to being Assistant
to the Chief Engineer of a starship again.  But the chief engineer he
was assisting was Montgomery Scott again, and the name of the starship
was Enterprise.
	And actually, his position was more than just Mr. Scott's
assistant.  He had two jobs on board the Enterprise, and his real
titles were "Primary Helm Officer" and "Transwarp Systems Engineer";
in the second capacity, his job was to make sure that the smaller
transwarp drive installed in the new Enterprise-A functioned well and
got along with the other systems.  Scotty's overriding responsibility
as Chief Engineer was to keep -all- the systems working, and he had
claimed to need part-time, specialized assistance with that job thanks
to the complexity of the new transwarp system.  Whether that was
strictly true was a question best left to the philosophers, but
Gryphon's assistance never seemed to hurt anything.
	Most of the time, though, he spent on the bridge, filling the
seat vacated by the recently promoted Hikaru Sulu - who had gone on to
the center seat of the very starship Gryphon had just left, Excelsior.
Sometimes, just for variety's sake, he took a turn as Officer of the
Deck for one of the off shifts.
	And, best of all, Saavik was back in his life.  She was aboard
as Assistant Science Officer under Mr. Spock (Spock, alive again, O
brave new world), calm, centered, and learning the nuances of
coexisting with rather than suppressing her emotions.  Spock himself
had mellowed considerably since his unusual experience, which, no
doubt, helped, as his return must have helped blunt Saavik's pain at
the death of David Marcus.
	Year blended happily into year as the crew of the Enterprise
met challenge after challenge, adding to the ship's massive volume of
history, charging around the galaxy, rendering assistance, exploring,
charting, showing the flag.  A promotion, a romance or two, good
friends, adventure, happiness.  It was a good time to be Gryphon.
	But like everything else, it had to end someday.

FROM: Admiral Mark Bradley, Starfleet Chief of Operations
TO: Commander Benjamin D. Hutchins, USS Enterprise
STARDATE: 9518.7

Commander:

You are hereby requested and required to report to me at Spacedock no
later than stardate 9525 to receieve formal notification of the
following:

 - As of stardate 9525 you are promoted to the rank of Captain; and
 - As of that same stardate, you are assigned command of the starship
USS Invincible [NCC-1717].

Please provide me with a list of key personnel you wish to be
assembled as your command staff within one solar day; you will be
notified if any cannot be located or transferred.

Congratulations.  Starfleet is proud of your continuing achievements
and looks forward to numbering you among our elite: the starship
commanders.

[signed]
Adm. Mark J. Bradley
9518.7

	"Talk about a mixed blessing," said Gryphon to Kirk, over a
quiet drink in the latter's stateroom.  "My own command is a wonderful
thing and all, but... I'd hoped to stick with you and the Enterprise
until the end."
	Kirk smiled.  "And I'd hoped to have you with us, but it seems
Admiral Bradley has different plans."
	"Well, good luck, I guess, Jim... hopefully I'll be able to
make it to your firewatch party.  I'd hate to miss that after all
these years aboard."
	"Take care... Captain."

	"Camp Khitomer, eh?"
	Sulu's image nodded from the tiny screen of Gryphon's
stateroom viewer.  "I'm heading over there to help out right now.
Figured you might want to know."
	"Thanks, Hikaru.  Invincible's not ready to leave Spacedock,
but I may just be able to contribute something to this little party
yet."  He grinned.  "It'll be Former Helmsmen Save the Enterprise Day
at good ol' Camp Khitomer.  Hutchins out."
	Whistling a little tune, Gryphon opened his closet and pulled
out the special suitcase.  "Vision, get me in touch with Admiral
Bradley, would you?"

	The Enterprise shuddered with another torpedo hit as General
Chang ranted on.
	"Spock, come on, there must be -something- we can do!" Kirk
declared.
	"Unknown, Captain.  Commander Uhura's suggestion is a good
one, but unfortunately, we offloaded the gaseous-anomaly equipment
before embarking on our diplomatic mission, so we now lack the tools
with which to implement it.  I am attempting to determine another
solution."
	Another hit.  "Well, determine it fast!"
	A crackle from the speakers, as another signal broke into
Chang's ranting:
	"HEEEEEERE I come to save the DAAAAAAY!"

	"What the hell's that?!" demanded Chang of his crewmen.
	"New transmission, sir... from a very small, very fast vessel
that just entered the system."  The Klingon squinted at his display.
"Looks like it might be a warpshuttle, sir."
	"Destroy it."

	Gryphon's battle computer made a note of the point where the
torpedo coming for him appeared from, then opened up with the nose
guns and blew it up well short of its target.  This universe had no
starfighter aviation to speak of, so nobody knew how to deal with a
starfighter when they encountered one.  Shooting at him with naval
weapons was something on the order of trying to take out a fly with a
Patriot missile battery.
	Mind you, if he did get hit by one of those torpedoes, he was
going to be about as aware of it as the fly getting clipped by a
Patriot, but he tried not to dwell on that.
	Instead, he calibrated his sensors to watch for the
characterstic outgassing of the Klingon vessel, which to his mind was
a Predator-class scout vessel... his very own first starship design.
	And there it was.  He spotted it just as Excelsior showed up
and gave them something else to shoot at; the origin point of that
torpedo confirmed his sensor readings.  He had the Klingons
nailed.
	Converting Eight-Ball One to gerwalk mode, he vectored in,
readied his starboard missile pod, and opened fire.  One, two, three
explosions, and a sparking hole appeared in the emptiness of the
firmament before him.  A shocked-looking Klingon floated by, not yet
aware that he was dead.  Putting the thought aside, Gryphon went to
battroid mode, applied his lateral thrusters and drifted closer,
getting his VF-1FS's manipulator hands onto the edges of the hole and
tearing it further open.  There within was the component he was
looking for, all right.
	He unslung his GU-11 and opened fire.  Just like that, no more
cloaking device.
	As the Klingon ship appeared "above" him, he ducked "down" and
away, shifted to fighter mode, slammed open the afterburners and got
the hell out of Dodge, assuming, rightly, that the area was going to
get right lively, right quick.

	"You'll be heading back to Earth now, I suppose," said Captain
Kirk as he walked with Gryphon out of the conference center toward his
parked starfighter.
	"Actually, if it's all the same to you, Captain, I'd like to
stow Old Number One in the Enterprise shuttlebay and go back the long
way.  I'm cleared with Admiral Bradley; my chief engineer wants
another week to fit out Invincible before he even wants to see me
there, anyway, he's made that quite clear," said Gryphon with a grin.
"If you could use somebody to drive the bus one last time... "
	Kirk smiled broadly, the cares of the last few days forgotten.
"I'd be delighted to have you at the helm... for our last cruise."
Even the fact that it was couldn't quite dilute his mood.
	"Well, then, I'll see you up there, Captain Kirk."
	"I'll be waiting, Captain Hutchins."

	"Captain on the bridge."
	Gryphon stood in the doorway, failing to realize, for a
moment, that Saavik's comment was about -him-.  Then it hit him,
again, as it had hit him repeatedly every time he stopped to think
about it for the past several days.  This was -his- bridge.  -He- was
the captain.  For real, this time, not because of a state of emergency
or a superior's incompetence.  His bridge, and his crew.
	Saavik, newly promoted to Commander, his exec and science
officer both in the time-honored mold of her mentor Spock.
	Lieutenant Max Hunter, the hot ensign helmsman from the
Excelsior tests, now a tested officer and helmsman of his ship.
People were calling Max Hunter the next Hikaru Sulu; one of those
people was Hikaru Sulu.
	Lieutenant Junior Grade Rick "Slick" Sterling, favored pupil
of Commander -- no, he corrected himself, Captain now -- Pavel Chekov
in his most recent stint as an Academy instructor, navigator.  Claimed
it was physically impossible for him to be lost.  We'll see.
	Lieutenant Commander Jaime Finney, Weapons Officer and Chief
of Security, another Enterprise transferee.  Gryphon still remembered
vividly the day he watched her flatten a pair of Klingons in a taproom
brawl on Space Station K-7.
	Doctor Selar, Vulcan Science Academy graduate, Chief Medical
Officer, another comrade from Excelsior's Styles days.  Short on
bedside manner, perhaps, but long on expertise.
	Lieutenant Commander Henry Lang, Invincible's chief engineer
through two previous captains and completely unimpressed by his new
commanding officer's own engineering credentials.  If staying out of
his way while the ship was underway worked as well as staying out of
his way for the refit had, Gryphon didn't have a problem with that at
all.
	Ensign Jan Nimitz, personally nervous, timid, brand new from
Starfleet Academy, but steady as a rock on the comm console.
	His crew.
	He almost forgot to say "As you were," as he made his way into
the bullseye and settled into his center seat.
	For a moment, he just sat there and contemplated it all.
-His- bridge, white, black and royal blue, quietly humming and feeping
and clicking all around him, the nerve center of his starship, the
brain of a living, breathing creature.  The fittings were so new from
the complete overhaul the ship had just come out of that some of the
new touch-panel displays still smelled faintly of solvent, but that
would pass.  The turbolift cars still smelled of carpet glue.  "New
car smell," he had remarked to Saavik, who hadn't gotten it.
	Then his eyes fell on the viewscreen, and he smiled.  He was
not the only new captain taking command of a starship today.  Just
departing Spacedock before him was the newly refitted starship USS
Challenger, under the command of mustang Captain Nancy DeFalco.
	"Jan, get me a channel to Challenger, would you?" he asked.
	"Aye, sir," replied Nimitz, plying her controls.  "Channel
open."
	"Challenger, this is Captain Benjamin D. Hutchins of the USS
Invincible.  I just wanted to wish you clear skies on your voyage,
Captain DeFalco."
	"Why, thank you, Captain Hutchins," came DeFalco's smiling
voice.  "And to you as well.  Challenger out."
	Gryphon sat back in his conn and watched happily as the ship
departed; then, it was his own ship's turn.
	"Engine room, this is the Captain.  How are things looking,
Mr. Lang?"
	"Beautiful, just beautiful," the engineer's melodically deep
voice with its heavy Russian accent replied.  "I told you we'd be ready
if you stayed out of my hair for a few days."
	"So you did," said Gryphon with a grin.  "We'll be leaving
soon."
	"We're ready," said Lang.  "Engine room out."
	"Invincible, this is Spacedock Control," came the voice of the
dock controller.  "You are cleared to depart."
	"Right on time.  Thank you, Control," replied Gryphon.
"Mr. Hunter, clear all moorings."
	"Moorings are clear," said Hunter after a moment's work.
	"Impulse power.  All ahead one-fourth."
	"All ahead one-fourth, aye," said Hunter, and the ship slid
smoothly out of her place, across the interior of the Spacedock
complex, and through the doors into space.
	"We are free and clear to navigate," reported Sterling.
	"Mr. Sterling, lay in a course for... "  Gryphon considered.
His orders were open-ended; he was beginning a five-year exploration
mission in the grand Constitution style.  "... for wherever in the
Deneb Sector suits your fancy as a starting point."
	Sterling smiled.  "Aye, sir."  He consulted the starmap,
grinned, and punched in some coordinates.  "Course laid in."
	"Mr. Hunter, all ahead full; once we're beyond the safety
limit, go to warp factor 7."
	"Aye, Captain.  All ahead full."
	He felt a touch on his shoulder; looking up and back, he saw
Saavik standing behind him, at the rail between her station and the
lower level of the bullseye.  As he met her eyes, she gave him the
faintest hint of a smile; but it went all the way to those dark eyes,
and that's what counted with one of Saavik's smiles.
	He smiled broadly in return and settled fully into the
Invincible's center seat.
	"It's a good life, Saavik," he said.
	The starship Invincible leaped for the distant stars in a
streak of rainbow light.