Some
Kind of Woman
DATE: January 1, 2000
My Rand owes a few elements to Istannor’s “Doctor’s Log No. 10“
(which tells his story of the aftermath to “The Enemy Within” which I adopt) as
well as inspiration from Jat-Sapphire’s “Holiday
Stress” and the TOS DVD’s I got for Christmas that forced me to give this
character a closer look and a more sympathetic read. My Kirk owes more than a
little to my own special life-changing old boss.
© Rabble Rouser 2000
v v
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God I hate anniversaries. Especially this one. Five years ago today Captain
James Tiberius Kirk died saving the Enterprise B. He achieved admiral rank more
than once—but everyone always thought of him as the Captain.
It was not a relationship that started well. Jeez over thirty years ago now. I
wasn’t his choice for his yeoman, and at first he always seemed annoyed with
me. Although to tell the truth, right from the beginning he was the type who
would instantly apologize for an outburst. Once, when he saw me snapping at
Yeoman Third Class Tina Lawton, he took me aside and told me to apologize. He
told me that those below you in rank could never snap back so you had to be
careful not to bully someone under your command.
He was an exasperating man to try to take care of. Private, proud, unwilling to
complain or ask for anything—the kind that prefers to do it himself. The one
thing he would complain about was my ‘hovering.’ The first look of approval he
gave me was when I managed to bring hot coffee to the bridge even though the
power was out in the galleys. I had used my hand phaser. For the first time he
looked at me with speculation, like there might be a brain behind my blonde
beehive hairdo. The man always appreciated resourcefulness.
I had never thought much about my future before I knew him. I was afraid of the
prospect of my own success. You see if I never really tried, I wouldn’t have to
admit I had limits—or even worse that I could be more than what I allowed
myself. I had flunked out of the academy and signed up as a yeoman. I felt I
had ‘bimbo’ tattooed on me and had settled for a lesser life. I thought it was
enough just to be aboard a starship. My duties as a yeoman made few demands on
me, and no one before him had looked beyond the hairdo and rank. I had told
myself that was the way I liked it.
He kept giving me more responsibilities. More and more, I found myself working
beside him and Spock supervising and training the Starship support staff and
learning to become expert at wheedling supplies out of starbases and smoothing
out bureaucratic snafus. I would no sooner master one skill or duty before he
threw me another.
Often that would be his way. He would throw people into the deep end of the
pool and force them to swim. Few ever disappointed him. He had a way of making
us want to do anything to gain his respect. Your best was never good enough
because he constantly raised the bar, but he left you feeling exhilarated with
the trust he placed in you rather than frustrated that nothing could satisfy
him.
He once left me with a small detail to organize an evacuation of thousands of
people on Ceti Aurigae while the Enterprise had to be elsewhere. My first
command. He grinned at me all through the debriefing like a proud parent. I
couldn’t stop an answering grin. I had worked hundred-hour standard weeks for a
month under impossible, depressing circumstances and had never been happier. At
one point, I felt a pang of guilt about my glee over what was after all a
tragedy and apologized. The captain grinned back and for the first time using
my first name said. “Janice don’t apologize for feeling joy at finally feeling
your strength. There’s only one kind of woman—you either believe in yourself—or
you don’t—I think you finally do.”
Kirk was a gifted teacher, always able to find a way to explain something
vividly and lucidly. He never just told you what to do but would explain the
whys behind it. I learned how to teach and lead from how he taught me. He
called it giving context. Kirk was never a martinet. In an emergency he wanted
instant obedience—for us to be an extension of himself. But when time
permitted, every day with him on the bridge would be like taking an advanced
seminar at the academy as he would ask for opinions and questions and explain
alternate strategies and how things could have been done better.
Before long, we became as one wag put it the “yeast” of Starfleet. Command
would give us their prodigies and problem children. We would take them in and
rotate them out and before that first five-year mission was over there wasn’t a
ship in the fleet that didn’t have quite a few officers trained on the
Enterprise. Today there’s no captain or executive officer on the Federation’s
ships that didn’t serve under Kirk at one time or another. Each ship used to
have their own insignia. Now in his honor all of Starfleet wears the old
Enterprise’s two-pronged badge.
I remember when we had to take the ship’s shuttle to a diplomatic conference on
Palova Prime and he asked me to take the helm. I told him I didn’t know how. My
past commanding officers would have let that pass but not Kirk. He said it
would be a couple of days until we reached the conference and that everyone who
served aboard a starship should know the basics. He told me to come up and take
Riley’s place at the controls and patiently began to teach me.
Before long I was enjoying myself, and I saw a sidelong look like he had caught
me at something. “What?” I challenged. He gave me one of those lopsided smiles
that always made my heart skip a beat. “I always enjoy it when you allow people
to see you shine.” On the way back Riley went to the rear of the shuttle to
catch some shut-eye. The captain complained he was tired and had a headache and
handed the controls off to me, leaned into his seat and was seemingly instantly
asleep. The man wouldn’t complain or go off duty if he were suffering a
concussion. I knew he was doing it to force me to take responsibility and
underline that I was in control and that he trusted me. He certainly was awake
before we had to take her into a landing in the shuttlebay. After that, he had
Sulu drill me on the bridge helm and navigation stations during beta shift until
I could be certified. We would trade off. It paid off when I suddenly found
myself taking the helm during the PSI 2000 incident.
It had another payoff. Sulu and I became friends. Uhura had been a friend from
the beginning and soon the three of us could often be found in rec room six
playing cards or just trading ship’s gossip. You would think Uhura would be the
bad one with all she knew but she would be close-mouthed as a priest on the
confessional about anything she heard over the com lines. It was Sulu who was
the worst offender. And after the rumor about Christine started circulating, I
drew her into the magic circle—after I threatened to knock Sulu’s teeth out if
he teased her. You see it had gotten around the ship she was in love with the
untouchable Mr. Spock. I didn’t find that funny—I didn’t find it funny at all.
What did people say behind my back? Was it obvious to everyone how I felt? Oh
yes I knew how Chris felt and feared titters behind my own back. Kirk might as
well have been a Vulcan for he was just as unreachable. Or so I had thought.
Once after the PSI 2000 virus had run its course I caught him looking at me
with the same look of longing I saw in my own mirror. I thought about it later
with euphoria—one that was short lived.
The man of my daydreams assaulted me in a caricature of all my fantasies. Out
came all the words I had hoped to hear. He called me beautiful. Said we no
longer had to pretend about what we both felt. That I was “too much woman to
ignore.” And instead of it being over wine, I could smell the Saurian brandy on
his breath. Instead of the gentleness and compassion I had seen him give to so
many, he brought me his brutality. I drew blood, and I was glad. I was beyond
feeling betrayed or disappointed. All I could think of was what did I expect?
That he admired my mind?
The next few hours were the most excruciating of my life. Having to repeat what
I experienced before a man who looked nothing but hurt and bewildered and a Mr.
Spock who coldly observed me as if I was the accused. I told them I would have
told no one if Fisher hadn’t witnessed the assault and believe me I wouldn’t
have. I wouldn’t have expected to be believed even with a computer confirming
my responses as truthful.
The whispers would have followed me everywhere. There’s the woman who ended the
golden boy’s career. Spock’s explanation was that there had to be an imposter.
Only Spock could come up with such a loyal if ludicrous explanation to protect
the Captain. Anyone else would have thrown the Captain into the brig. His guilt
was the obvious and “logical” conclusion. And then my mortification when I
found out that the ludicrous explanation was true. And then that it wasn’t
quite true. The man who brought me his lusts wasn’t Kirk but a part of Kirk
split off by a transporter accident. One he had folded back into himself and
intended to keep buried—deep.
On the bridge I tried to bring it up one more time. I told him the “imposter”
had told me the truth. Or rather I reminded him. I wanted to tell him that I
understood. That I forgave him. He cut me off. The whole incident might have
ended there except for Spock’s little comment. Spock asked if I didn’t think “the
imposter had some interesting qualities.” I think what mortified me most was
the thought that if he could say this to me then there couldn’t be a person on
the ship who didn’t know how I felt about the captain and who didn’t think it
was all my fault.
Soon after, the Captain asked to meet with me in the briefing room. I think he
suspected that after what had happened I wouldn’t feel comfortable with him
alone in either his quarters or mine for a while. For the first time, I heard
his voice coated in self-loathing. It’s something I recognized all too easily
from my own inner voice. I was appalled to hear him offer to face charges for
what he had done. He said that there was no use pretending now that I didn’t
know who or what the imposter was and that he took full responsibility. I told
him that I would never do anything to hurt him.
He told me he didn’t deserve such generosity and asked if I wouldn’t feel more
comfortable assigned as someone else’s yeoman or if I wanted a transfer off the
ship. He had put his career and his ship in my hands and now he gave me the
power of absolution. I told him I forgave him. I wanted to tell him I would
forgive him anything. I think the only thing that stopped me was that I didn’t
want to add to his burdens. I sometimes wonder what might have happened if I
had told him what I felt, for the one thing he couldn’t have pretended was that
he felt nothing for me—even if only lust. I sensed though that the best I could
do for him was offer him the pretense of a pretense. And frankly I was afraid
of how he might answer. So I stayed silent.
He didn’t end it there. “Janice. One last thing you said is troubling me. When
you were telling your story in sickbay, you said that after all I was the
captain and that if Fisher hadn’t seen what happened you would never have said
a word. I don’t care if you’re dealing with an Admiral—no man has a right to
lay a hand on you against your will. If anyone ever does again, I want you to
scream loud and clear and I’ll back you all the way no matter who it is. I’ve
already spoken to Lt. Mina Roth in security. I want you to meet with her and
work out a schedule to learn some basic techniques of self-defense. When you
feel ready, Sulu or I can show you some moves to take down a stronger opponent.
I don’t want you feeling vulnerable or depending on someone coming by to
protect you.”
Not long afterwards, it was Mr. Spock who was at my door. He said that rape as
a human knew it did not exist on Vulcan. He said that the captain had made it
clear in terms he could understand what I had experienced and that he wanted to
apologize to me for his comment on the bridge. The Spock I served with on the
original Enterprise was famously known for calling such common courtesies as
thank-yous and apologies “illogical.” He looked so contrite for once that I
tried to hug him. Something that finally caused him to beat a hasty retreat.
After that it was easy. No whispers at my back. Just a firm and warm support
enclosing us both from the whole crew.
Having bourne Jim’s brutality, I was undone by his compassion. On one of our
next missions, we were both struck by a virus that disfigured as it killed.
Vain brat that I was and scared for my life, I admitted my terror and he held
me with all the gentleness I could wish for—and not a hint of desire. The wolf
and the lamb. It seems I was great at bringing out one or the other but not the
whole man who could bring me both his passion and his tenderness.
I’m not a masochist. My Spanish grandmother used to quote the traditional
saying about unrequited love. Translated it means that it takes one nail to
drive out another. But I couldn’t imagine finding someone else to love with him
before my eyes. So I asked for a transfer—and he promised me one without demur.
I thought he might have objected if not for his lingering guilt over—let me say
it for once and for all—over the attempted rape. His command crew couldn’t be
separated from him over a decades-long period even with the enticement of
independent command—but I slipped easily out of the family.
Well not quite. Kirk managed one last gift. I didn’t transfer to another ship.
Kirk had recommended I be accepted into the academy once again—into the
Officers’ Candidate Program. For months I thought it was guilt—even a payoff.
Until I saw that the date of the recommendation preceded the transporter
accident. It was a kind of atonement to go into engineering and make the
transporter my specialty.
And there I was years later finally back on the refitted Enterprise—her
Transporter Chief—and my first act was to preside over a transporter accident
that killed Jim’s wife Lori. I wanted to run again. But this time the Captain
wouldn’t let me. He told me it wasn’t my fault but his—he had given the order
to use the transporter even though Scotty had told him it wasn’t ready. But
everyone would believe he held me responsible if I transferred off now. He said
I needed to “get back on the horse.” So I stayed, and we fell into an easy if a
bit distant friendship. After all I was safe. I had followed my grandmother’s
advice and married and had children. “Un clavo saca otro clavo.” And I never told
Jim Kirk or my husband who I really loved and will love to my dying day.
So now I’m serving again with Sulu. Captain Hikaru Sulu. This time as part of
his command team. Commander Janice Rand, First Officer of the Starship
Excelsior. Tonight Captain Sulu and I and a few others here who served on the
Enterprise will get together in remembrance and dare our own special ghost to
attend the party we hold each year at this time. God will the pain ever be less
fresh?
There are those who called Captain Kirk insensitive to women—even sexist
because of exaggerated tales of his sexual conquests. Those who say that never
served with him. They forget he’s the one man in the history of the universe
who could say he knows exactly what it’s like to be a woman—not that I’m
thanking Lester for any sensitivity training. I couldn’t have asked for a
better mentor.
And they forget one small but very significant act Starfleet women everywhere
are grateful for. His first act as Chief of Operations was to get rid of those damn
miniskirts.
Thanks boss—for everything.
The End.
Please write to me and
let me know what you thought.