Chapter Text
2264.64
07:33
Dad says that this is useless. That paper is outdated and it will eventually rot away to nothingness. It’s been out of fashion for centuries now, but I find its impermanence charming. There is something so secure about it, how it can be destroyed in a moment. It used to be the only way one could display an idea outside of their head.
The mortality of paper is reassuring to me, I think. I’ve never been more thankful for the old world pen that Professor Vattoh gifted me when I had finished his class with perfect marks all those years ago. I figured out how to replicate some ink, and I’m set for the rest of the mission.
I never thought I could be on the Enterprise, of all ships. It’s not the place that a simple archivalist would be landed on often. I had a stroke of luck, really. Starfleet, after the many attacks on San Fran, wanted their goings on recorded on something permanent. So, if a complete failure of all infrastructure and peace treaties should happen, the future would know of their exploits. A bit arrogant, if you ask me, but they didn’t, so I don't get much of a say.
I’m on a shuttle up to the starship proper at this moment. It’s early as death, and that’s what I feel like right now, death. I was not made to be up this early in the morning without at least a shot of espresso drowned in milk. The bumping is getting too bad, I’ll write again later.
=-O
You had no idea what to do other than sit and wait out the ride once it got too hard to hand write anything. Your pen had stained your hand a bright green color from gripping too close to the nib. You needed more handwriting practice. It wasn’t something you learned until university, when you were learning about restoring older documents and artifacts. It wasn’t like paper was extinct or anything, just rarely seen in a starfleet officer’s hand. You weren’t an officer, though, you were a civilian brought in by existential dread of Starfleet wanting to be known through all time, like their ancestors had, on earth or otherwise.
You tugged on your tunic, uncomfortable with the fact that you were the only person in the shuttle not in starfleet uniform, but instead in the clothes you would have worn to a conference or a journal reading. Business casual, right? You had tried to ask Professor Vattoh about what you should wear, but your Orion mentor also had no idea what attire would be appropriate for a place he had never seen other than in photos. You had decided to pack as if you were going on a long business trip, which was essentially exactly what you were doing. A five year business trip. You had brought a lot of clothes after realizing that, maybe too many, but all your work needed was a PADD and a starship to log into to enter your notes.
The shuttle quaked, making you jerk your head up to look out the window, but your view was obscured by two giggling ensigns who seemed far too used to being in space for your liking. It wasn’t as if you had never been into space at all. No, you had been in space a lot, but most of that time was spent in fervent conversation with an ambassador of some kind, learning about their culture’s past. You had no time then to gawk at the stars. Now, with nothing else to do, added with your current inability, it seemed as if it was the only thing that would put you at ease.
Docking was fast and a lot more quiet than you remembered it being. All of the other times you had been in a shuttle, it was loud and frustrating and interrupted your conversation, but now you were being shooed out of the little ship like an unwanted mouse, clutching your luggage and staring wide-eyed at the cargo bay, which was a lot more interesting than you thought it would be.
You weren’t sure what to do now. There wasn’t anything you could do, really, other than wait for whatever liaison the captain would send down after being altered of your presence.
Would he be alerted to my presence?
“Miss?” A voice asked, and you turned to face a vulcan in blue, clutching your notebook to your chest. Oh, you know this Vulcan. It was Spock. Not your Spock, though. You were more familiar with Ambassador Spock, who you spoke with multiple times on New Vulcan about cataloging history and customs.
“Oh! Mr Spock! Glad to see you again!” You said excitedly, but then realized what you said and quickly tried to fix your mistake, “I mean, um, i knew you—I’m sorry.”
The science officer gave a tight smile to you, nodding, “I know of your efforts to help New Vulcan, and I am very grateful for your work there. You helped many future Vulcans know their heritage.”
You blushed at the compliment. It was not often that someone recognized your work. It wasn’t what you worked for, really, you worked to know things. You helped New Vulcan for a purely selfish reason, to know more. Sure, Vulcan customs were known, but you wanted to get down and dirty into the history of things, and what was better than helping reform a structure to hold those customs and culture.
“Thank you, I am happy that my work is being used,” you said, and not sure how to continue, gesturing to the cargo bay around you, “I assume I am not to stay in the cargo bay, are you here to tell me my assigned quarters?”
“Ah, yes miss. The captain wanted you to come up to the bridge as soon as you got here.”
You raised your eyebrows, “I have quite a bit of luggage that I am sure would just clog up the bridge, could we stop by where I am to stay so I could drop them off.”
“The captain had some urgent things to talk about.”
“None so urgent that I have to plant my bags in his ready room, I hope.”
Spock blinked at you for a moment, but conceded and brought you over to a lift, and commanded it to deck seven, which you assumed was where you would be staying for most of your trip. The Enterprise was the largest starship you had been on in your entire life, and the sheer amount of decks made you afraid you would get lost.
Once you had arrived on deck seven, Spock led you down the main hallway from the mess for a long while, longer than you thought could be possible, but with a left and a right turn you arrived at a secluded room near where you believed the power converters to be. Spock opened your door for you, asking you to input in your own code—you used your dad’s birthday, it was the code to your PADD as well, but you remembered it—and let you drop off your two suitcases and fish out your PADD and a hair tie from your travel bag before ushering you back to the lift and commanding the computer to take you to the bridge.
Your hands clutched at your PADD nervously, making it beep and causing you to look down at the open document that you had ready for your notes.
Somehow, you didn’t think that condensing the life and times of The USS Enterprise would be very easy.
Captain Kirk was just as handsome as all of those ensigns had muttered in the archives of the academy. You tried not to let it affect you too much, but his eyes were such a deep unnatural blue that you were sure that it was some sort of cosmetic enhancement on his part. Maybe to stand out? It certainly worked.
His face was situated in a diplomatic smile when Spock escorted you into the ready room, nodding to his captain and heading back out. Without the Vulcan, the room seemed much smaller. You had known him at least tangentially and that was really the only relationship you had on the Enterprise.
“Captain, sir, what did you need to discuss with me?” You venture, shuffling your PADD between your hands, unsure of what to do. The captain had pinned you down with his gaze and you were largely unequipped for talking to someone so high a rank. The only other officer you had ever spoken to was the admiral who assigned you onto the starship.
“Ah, yes,” he said, finally breaking his tractor beam of attention to look at this display, which held your face in a small holographic facsimile with the short blurb that described your academic endeavors. It was odd to see your life work condensed into little more than seven sentences, but you knew that your line of work was largely uninteresting to someone in the Starfleet chain of command. He glanced back up at you, then your picture.
“Oh, yes, that was taken years ago, right after I graduated,” you tried to explain, “I’ve changed a… lot.”
The Captain was smirking at you, shaking his head. “I know that people change, Miss.”
“Oh. Sorry.” You said dumbly, perching on a nearby chair, ready for him to say a few words and dismiss you. This room was starting to feel very suffocating.
“Miss, I’d like to ask you what you are really doing here,” the Captain asked, flicking down the display and folding his hands, setting his imploring gaze back on you.
This confused you, because Kirk should know why you were assigned on the Enterprise, his superiors sent him an explanation. “Well, Starfleet sent me to be a historian of sorts, to catalog the goings on of the ship. To understand and log the culture of the officers and crew of the USS Enterprise.”
Kirk nodded, chewing his lip. “That was well rehearsed. Good job. Now, why are you here?”
“Me specifically?”
“Who else?”
You were unsure of how to answer his question. You were here because there was no other choice. Getting off world legally would be impossible if you said no to Starfleet, and if you were a veritable fugitive, you couldn’t learn anything, not when your entire life consisted of running.
“To do my job, sir?” You asked, “What else would I be here to do?”
The captain snorted, “Alright. I’ll let that be for now. How long have you been with Starfleet? Your file didn’t mention your graduation from the academy.”
“That’s because I didn’t graduate from the academy, I graduated from Princeton, sir,” you reasoned, “I am an archivist, only recently employed by Starfleet.”
The captain’s eyebrows shot to his hairline, and he leaned back in his chair, rubbing his cheek and blowing a big breath out. You couldn’t see what the problem was with your employment or occupation, and you opened your mouth to ask that very question before you were interrupted by the sound of a communicator.
“This is Kirk,” he said, flipping the device open.
“Sir, we are ready.”
“Thank you Mr. Sulu, I’ll be right there.” The captain turned to you, nodding, “I’d like you to stay here for now. We will resume this conversation in a minute.”