At last, the images within the vortex reached the days just before he had boarded the Enterprise-B for its maiden voyage. He quickly reiterated his requests of the Guardian, then took a step back with one foot, preparing himself to move quickly. When he saw himself walking along the streets of San Francisco, he knew that the moment had come.

Kirk sprang forward and leaped through the Guardian of Forever, back into his own past.

ELEVEN

2293

A cool breeze blew in from the bay and across the Presidio, hardly unusual weather for San Francisco late on a summer afternoon. As Jim Kirk walked alongside the facilities building on the Starfleet Headquarters campus, he glanced north, past the international-orange towers of the Golden Gate Bridge to the Marin Headlands. There, he saw fog already beginning to roll in from the Pacific. It would doubtless be a cold, damp night.

At the intersection with Robert April Way, Kirk turned onto the wide pedestrian thoroughfare, which led up to the main administration building in the center of the grounds. Hugging the wall a little too tightly, he nearly tripped over a low bench situated against the wall. He quickly jogged to his right and skirted both it and a potted bush beside it.

Several people strode along the gray paving stones and amid the scattered greenery, most of them in groups of two or three, and so far as Kirk could see, all of the them in uniform. Dressed himself in civilian attire-brown slacks and a jade-colored shirt-he felt out of place. Although he had spent more than half his life-Kirk heard a scuffling noise behind him and he looked around in that direction. Back past the bench he had almost fallen over, he saw disappearing behind the facilities building a black pant leg, its thin red stripe distinguishing it as part of a Starfleet uniform. Kirk turned around and continued on his way.

Although he’d officially retired from Starfleet only earlier in the year, it already seemed strange to be back here. He still lived close by, in Russian Hill Tower, and he could even see the Presidio campus from the windows of this apartment. But merely seeing this place did not equate with actually being here.

Twice, Kirk had declined this invitation. Fleet Captain Strnod had left messages asking to meet with him, both times when Kirk had been off world. Once, he’d been cliff diving into the garnet waters of the Canopus Planet, and the other time, employing artificial wings to fly in the low-gravity environment of Izar’s Shroud. On each occasion, after the message had been forwarded to him, he’d replied with the same simple rejection: “Whatever it is, no thanks. I’m retired.” He hadn’t even wanted to know why Starfleet had asked to see him. If their interest had related to the assassination of Klingon Chancellor Gorkon and the attempt on the life of Federation President Raghoratreii, if the admiralty had perhaps needed him to provide additional testimony about his role in unmasking the conspiracy, they would have made him aware of that. Since Strnod hadn’t specified the reason for calling him in for a meeting, though, Kirk had assumed that they’d merely wanted to try to coax him back into the fold.

He would never allow that to happen.

As he followed April Way around a curve that would bring the walkway across the front of the administration building, Kirk thought about the reasons he’d decided to leave Starfleet. In some ways, it had begun with the Enterprise-A, the ship he had commanded for eight years, and the namesake of which he had commanded for a dozen more. When Starfleet had decided to decommission the vessel after its decades of service-the ship had first seen duty as the Yorktown prior to its rechristening, when Kirk had been posted as its captain-the time had seemed right to step away. Many of the senior command crew with whom he had for so long served had aspirations beyond starship duty. Spock had initially returned to training cadets, but then he’d accepted an appointment as a full-fledged ambassador. McCoy had gone back to medical research, Uhura had taken a position with Starfleet Intelligence, and Scotty had retired. Kirk certainly could have assumed the captaincy of another ship, but he’d found little desire to command a vessel other than the Enterprise, and even less to do so without his friends by his side.

In addition to all of that, the space service in his estimation had become overly political in recent years. With so many interstellar tensions-with the Klingons, the Romulans, the Tholians, and others-missions of exploration had frequently given way to missions of diplomacy. Kirk understood and agreed with the efforts to maintain peace throughout the quadrant, but when he’d peered up at the stars as a boy, it had not been with the dream that he would one day mediate.

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.