Kirk had also come to realize that he would not find what he needed out in space. He had found her once. He would not find her again.
Nearing the ten-story administration building, Kirk peered at the huge version of the Starfleet insignia adorning its facade. Years ago, when each starship had carried its own unique emblem, the asymmetrical arrowhead had belonged to the Enterprise. Later, when the policy of assigning distinct insignia had been discarded, Kirk had been proud that the distinguished record of his vessel had motivated Starfleet Command to adopt its symbol servicewide. Even now, seeing it so prominently displayed at headquarters prompted in him a glimmer of satisfaction.
When he reached the building, Kirk walked into its sprawling atrium. Beneath the transparent canopy that arced inward and upward from the doors all the way up to the top of the structure, he headed for the large circular desk located at the center of the space, to where a sign written in Federation Standard read
VISITORS. Beyond the desk stood several banks of turbolifts. Kirk knew that automated sensors scanned every individual who entered the building, and that those identified as active Starfleet personnel could move freely about. Those not so identified and who did not check in with security would find themselves unable to leave the atrium; turbolifts containing unauthorized individuals would not function.
As Kirk approached the desk, a young security officer looked up at him. “Captain Kirk,” he said, tapping at the controls of a console. “You can go right up to the tenth floor, office ten-thirteen,” he said. “Admiral Sinclair-Alexander is expecting you.” Kirk couldn’t tell whether the officer had recognized him or the sensors had revealed his identity.
He thanked the security officer, who informed him that he could use either of the central turbolifts. Kirk hadn’t needed to be told that; when he’d served as Starfleet’s chief of operations, he’d occupied an office on the tenth floor himself. He headed past the desk and over to one of the lifts.
As the car started upward, Kirk wondered if he’d made the right choice in coming here. After Fleet Captain Strnod had tried and failed to persuade him to attend a meeting here at Starfleet Headquarters, Margaret Alexander-Sinclair-Alexander now, he reminded himself-had added her voice to the request. Kirk had known Madge Alexander for many years now, ever since she had served for a year aboard his first command. A lieutenant at the time, she had performed so well that she’d earned a field promotion during her time aboard the Enterprise, at the end of which she had transferred to the Firenze to serve as its second officer. Her rapid ascent through the ranks had continued when she’d been made a full commander and assigned to the Freedom as its exec. Later, she had served as captain of the Freedom through to its decommissioning, and then she’d taken command of the Saratoga. From there, she had eventually moved into Starfleet Command. When she had followed up Strnod’s invitations to a meeting at Starfleet with one of her own, she’d also mentioned that she would consider it a personal favor. With the request phrased in such terms, he had been unable to refuse.
The turbolift arrived at the tenth floor, and Kirk stepped out into a reception area. Another young officer immediately greeted him. “Captain Kirk,” she said, “I’m Ensign Teagarden, Admiral Sinclair-Alexander’s assistant. Let me take you back there.” She gestured vaguely off to her right.
“Thank you,” Kirk said, and he followed Teagarden through several corridors, past his own former office. Finally, she led him through an anteroom-no doubt the ensign’s own workspace-and into a large, comfortably appointed room. A sofa stood against the wall to the left, and a small conference table to the right. Artwork-mostly wooden carvings and masks, but also two paintings-hung on the walls and reflected the influences of Sinclair-Alexander’s Jamaican birthplace. Across the room, before a row of tall windows, the admiral sat at a desk of blond wood.
“Jim,” she said as she looked up from a data slate. She rose and came out from behind her desk to greet him, both hands extended. As the ensign left, Kirk moved to the center of the office, where he took Sinclair-Alexander’s hands in his own, offering a warm squeeze.
“Madge,” he said. “You’re looking well.” Tall and dignified, Sinclair-Alexander had beautiful coffee-colored skin, high cheekbones, dark eyes, and black shoulder-length hair. Though just a few years younger than Kirk, she had something of a timeless appearance that made it difficult to estimate her age simply by looking at her.
“Thank you so much for coming in,” she said. Her voice carried the hint of a Caribbean accent. “Can I get you anything? A little Saurian brandy perhaps?”
“Is your plan to ply me with liquor before you tell me why you’ve called me here?” Kirk said with a smile.
“Ah, you’re on to me,” she said. “Here, let’s sit.” She let go of his hands and motioned toward the sofa. They sat down, and she asked again if he wanted anything to drink. When he declined, she said, “So how is life outside of Starfleet? Something I need to try for myself?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Kirk said. “You seem to be doing pretty well right where you are. In fact, I understand that congratulations are in order, Admiral Sinclair-Alexander.”
She smiled widely, exuding a radiance that bespoke her happiness. “We got married last year,” she said. “You’ll have to come over for dinner one night. Cynthia’s a wonderful cook.”
“So you’re spoiled then?” Kirk joked.
“Completely,” Sinclair-Alexander said. “No more food synthesizers for this old girl.”
“That’s reason enough to give up a starship command,” Kirk said with a chuckle.
“If I’d have still been on the Saratoga when Cynthia and I met,” Sinclair-Alexander said, “you can bet I would’ve jumped ship.”
The notion of abandoning a captaincy for the right person dredged up an all-too-familiar sadness within Kirk. If only I’d been able to, he thought, but he worked to keep the smile on his face. “Congratulations,” he told Sinclair-Alexander. “I’m happy for you, Madge.”
“Thank you, Jim,” she said. “So how are you enjoying your retirement? No regrets?”
“Oh, plenty of regrets,” Kirk said with a laugh. “Just none of them I can do anything about now.” When Sinclair-Alexander peered at him just a bit askance, as though she had detected a seriousness in his jest, he quickly continued. “Actually, I’m enjoying retirement. I’ve been able to do a lot of things I never had time for.”
“Like what?” Sinclair-Alexander asked.
Kirk shrugged. “I’ve caught up on my reading…. Done some horseback riding…. I dove the Alandros Caves…. I climbed- “
“The Alandros Caves?” Sinclair-Alexander asked, her eyes widening. “That’s a little more demanding than riding horses or reading.”
“And something Starfleet Command typically frowns on its captains doing on shore leave,” he said. “Which is why I’m finally getting to do it now.”
Sinclair-Alexander shook her head, on her face an expression that seemed to mix disbelief with appreciation. “Well, you’ll have to tell me about that and all your other adventures when you come to dinner,” she said. “Unfortunately, I’ve got a meeting in a few minutes, so I need to talk to you about the reason I asked you here.”
He still fully expected the admiral to suggest that he return to Starfleet. “I’ve been afraid to ask,” Kirk said.
“Which is why you twice turned down Captain Strnod’s invitation to meet,” Sinclair-Alexander said. “I appreciate that you agreed to come when it was me who asked.”