A/N: Okay, so I'm relatively new to the Star Trek scene, so please take it easy on me. A lot of minor stuff has been changed in this, like Kirk's age and the arrival times of the original crew, but it's the same characters. The style of clothing is a little bit more modern-day in my mind, too. This story was greatly inspired by "Green as Grass" by Nesabj, which is in my favorites, so definitely go check that out. I'm planning on writing a few more stories as sequels to this, depending on what you guys think of it, so PLEASE review!! Enjoy.

The gossip began before Christopher Pike even left the Enterprise. The Captain, promoted to Admiral and transported to Starfleet Headquarters? That news was exciting enough, but add the rumors about the Enterprise's next captain, and it was a wonder that anything got done on a ship with such a distracted crew.

"I heard it's Captain Lucas. His ship just got sent to the crushers, he'll be wanting a new command."

"Lucas?! Are you crazy? Starfleet would never put its best ship in such reckless hands. I'm putting my money on Kavorcek. Now there's someone with experience!"

"Yeah, and too much of it. The guy's like eighty years old! I bet you anything they'll saddle us with some green kid out of the Academy."

"Once again, I say that Starfleet would never give such a valuable Starship to a reckless thrillseeker."

For many, it was just a routine "changing of the guards". Captain Pike had not been especially personable. He was not one to socialize with the crew, and they were loyal to his position – not to him. But the few who could call themselves his friends were feeling very odd about this transition.

Leonard McCoy had been Chris Pike's doctor for three years, a position that made him privy to the man's inner thoughts and feelings. He supposed this made him a friend, but one could never be sure with a man like Pike. If the next captain was anything like him, McCoy was not looking forward to gaining another prickly man's trust.

Montgomery Scott held Christopher Pike in high regard. He had understood perfectly the precision and care necessary to perform the elaborate balancing act that was keeping a starship in working condition. He had never asked for more than Scotty had been able to give, had never thoughtlessly pushed his precious Enterprise to the breaking point. And Scotty didn't relish the thought of having a new Captain, especially an immature one who would abuse the engines of the beautiful Enterprise.

Science Officer Spock could not think of Captain Pike as a friend. He could, however, think of him as a man he had served under for more than eleven years. He could think of him as a man who had earned his respect with bravery, loyalty, and strength of character. He could think of no other man who could possibly fill his shoes. And maybe, just maybe, in a part of his mind that was utterly human, he could weep for a departing brother.

A week before Christopher Pike left the Enterprise for good, the final decision was made and released to the crew. It was worse than they had feared. Their new commander wasn't just a newly minted, inexperienced Academy graduate, he was a FAMOUS newly minted, inexperienced Academy graduate.

James Tiberius Kirk, the youngest person ever to be accepted at the Starfleet Officers Academy at 17. He had blown through the academics and theory courses in two years instead of four, entering the cadet program at 19. When he was twenty, he became the only person to ever beat the infamous Kobuyashi Taru training sequence (A/N: I don't know if that's the right name. Whatever. You get the idea.). He had served his mandatory trial period on the USS Farragut, advancing quickly up the ranks, receiving commendation after commendation until, at the tender age of twenty-four, he had landed here, squarely in their proverbial laps.

Kirk was Starfleet's Golden Boy, the shining example the Admirals held up so the universe could see just how impressive they were. Those who were to serve under him, however, were getting the impression that they would be dealing with a thoughtless, arrogant boy trying to do a man's job. Scotty despaired and kissed his precious engines an early goodbye, McCoy had nightmares about petulant captains refusing to take their medicine, and Spock ruthlessly squashed a feeling of grim resignation. The next few years were going to be long indeed.

Jim Kirk was never scared. Jim Kirk was never nervous. At least, Jim Kirk liked to tell himself that.

In all actuality, Jim Kirk was terrified. He was standing in front of a window on the Starfleet docking bay that orbited Earth, staring down at his Starship.

My Starship, he thought, a trill going down his spine at the words. The Enterprise.

He couldn't believe this was happening. He knew that he was the youngest Starship Captain in history by about eight years, but he felt as though he had been waiting for this moment for an eternity. He could remember nights spent lying on his roof and looking up at the stars, knowing how far away they were and wondering if he would ever reach them. Nights spent wishing he could just jump up and fly far, far away from any reminder of Rockridge, Iowa. And now, with the Enterprise, he could have the stars.

If he could work up the courage to walk on board. He had been standing at the window with his bag for who knows how many minutes, staring at his gigantic ship in awe, and wondering how in the hell he was supposed to keep charge of the whole thing.

Come on Jim! he thought, angry with himself. Pull yourself together! You've worked hard to get here. If you weren't ready for command, Starfleet wouldn't have given it to you. Power and responsibility don't scare you, quit acting like they do.

A treacherous part of his mind replied. Yeah, but an entire Starship?? Come on! Do you really think they're gonna respect you? You're just a green kid in their eyes!

Suddenly, the thought of his crew judging him before even seeing him made him very angry. His jaw clenched, his shoulders stiffened, his had tightened around his bag, and his eyes glinted dangerously.

Then I'll show them the error in their judgment, he thought fiercely. I am Captain James T. Kirk, and no amount of nerves is going to make me anything less than that. Now I'm going to go in there and show them that I may be young, but I am no green kid.

He turned abruptly from the window and strode to the hangar doors.

I refuse to be lost. Captains do not get lost on their own ships.

Kirk sighed in frustration as he stopped at yet another intersection, with no inkling of which way to turn. Theoretically, he knew where his cabin was and where the bridge was, but actually finding them was proving to be more difficult than he had foreseen. He had never been good with maps, but one of the dreadful things was currently his only lifeline. He had been planning to go to his room and change out of civilian clothing, then report to the bridge to meet the senior officers before the swearing-in ceremony, but the treacherous piece of paper in his hand had instead guided him to what looked like the engineering wing. Kirk groaned. This was becoming exceedingly annoying.

Scotty had entered into premature mourning for his precious engines, and had decided to ease the pain with a spot of whiskey he had smuggled aboard on his last shore leave. Now that he thought about it, it might not have been the best idea. The walls seemed to be moving slightly, the floor was tipping beneath his feet, and he was seeing two young men standing in front of him where he was sure he had only seen one before. The lad was asking him something…

"Lieutenant, could you point me in the direction of the bridge? I seem to be quite lost."

Obviously a plebe. It was practically a rite of passage for new crewmen to get completely and hopelessly lost on their first day. Scotty wasn't sure if he should interfere with such a time-honored tradition.

The lad was speaking again, sounding testy. "Did you hear me, crewman? I asked where the bridge was!"

Scotty drew himself up indignantly. He may be a little sloshed, but who did this lad think he was, calling a senior officer "crewman"? There was no way this mere boy outranked him, he wasn't even wearing a uniform! Instead of standard military black pants and colored shirt, he was wearing ripped jeans and a t-shirt sporting the name of a band Scotty might have been able to read had his eyes been able to focus on the words. And the lad had the nerve to come here, all arrogant and imperious, probably not even five minutes after walking onto the ship, and ask how to get to the bridge where he had no business being anyway! Well Scotty, for one, was not going to stand for it. He drew his fist back, took an educated guess, and socked one of the lads swaying before him a good one right in the eye. And then he walked off, whistling and leaving a very confused young man sitting on the floor, cradling the side of his head and wondering what the hell had just happened.

McCoy had seen many green crewmen wandering aimlessly through the ship on their first day of duty, but this was the first one he'd seen sporting a black eye. The young man's lithe, muscular frame pegged him immediately as a new security ensign. Remembering Starfleet's penchant for picking brawny blockheads for guards, McCoy steeled himself for a rather one-sided conversation as he took the man's arm and began to steer him into sickbay.

"Come on, crewman. Let's check out that wound of yours." McCoy didn't notice the man stiffening at the word "crewman".

"Look, you people obviously don't know who I am – "

"Let me guess. You're new on the Enterprise."

The man stared at him for a moment, surprisingly intelligent amber eyes flashing angrily. "Yes, as a matter of fact, I am."

McCoy nodded knowingly. "Then let me introduce myself. My name is Leonard McCoy, I'm the Chief Medical Officer on this bucket of bolts."

He held out a hand, and the young man took it warily.

"Okay, now that you know who I am, will you let me take a look at that face of yours?"

The ensign considered it for a minute. "Are you talking about the bruise, or my face in general?" he asked, grinning slightly and then wincing and touching his eye gingerly. McCoy chuckled. At least this one had a sense of humor.

"Just the bruise. I'm afraid nothing can be done for your face."

He guided the man into sickbay and grabbed a diagnoser. Running it above the darkening bruise, McCoy decided to indulge his curiosity.

"How exactly did this happen?"

The man looked vaguely puzzled. "I'm not exactly sure. The only thing I know is if everyone down in engineering gets drunk on a regular basis, I'm on the wrong ship."

McCoy rolled his eyes. "I take it you met our chief engineer."

The young man looked thunderstruck. "That lunatic was the chief engineer??"

McCoy winced. "Yep, that was Mr. Scott. You'll have to excuse him; he's been a little under the weather lately. He thinks our baby captain is going to break the engines."

His patient was still in shock. "Baby captain?"

"Yeah, haven't you heard?" McCoy put down the silver instrument and went to his cabinets, rummaging through them looking for a bruise cream. "The new commander of the Enterprise, Captain James T. Kirk, the Starfleet Golden Boy. A captain at twenty-four, can you believe it? How old are you?"


"And – no offense – but you're what, an ensign? That's what all twenty-four year olds should be. Giving the Enterprise to a boy? It's like giving a sixteen year old a brand new sports car. He's just gonna go out and wreck it!"

He finally found a small container of bruise cream. "Here. Put this on and the bruise will fade in a few hours."

"Thanks." The man's tone was guarded, and if McCoy had been paying attention, he would have seen an angry fire smoldering behind those amber eyes. But he was not paying attention, he was still ranting indignantly to himself, throwing things back into the cupboard with more force than was necessary.

"Probably doesn't even shave yet, and already responsible for 430 lives… the kid's gonna get us all killed…"

Realizing that the doctor was no longer talking to him, and not trusting himself to remain there any longer without punching the older man's lights out, the "ensign" walked stiffly from the room.

First Officer Spock was feeling extremely frazzled. As the second in command, it was his duty to arrange the swearing-in ceremony. Before this, he had had no idea that planning such a simple affair could be such an elaborate process. If he had been human, his tone would have been decidedly bitter as he thought, This new captain better be pretty darn impressed with the whole thing.

He was striding down the hallway, finally finished with the preparations and looking forward to a soothing game of chess before the actual ceremony. Already immersed in thoughts of potential game strategies, he rounded a corner and nearly ran over a muscular young man – in civilian clothes. Spock's wrath was not often incurred, but he had just spent five hours prepping the entire ship so that it looked spotless and worked perfectly, and to see this crewman with his baggy jeans and rock band t-shirt, his mussed blond hair and his black eye was simply the last straw for the exasperated Vulcan.

The young man - already knocked off balance by the taller man's momentum - jumped backwards when the pointy-eared officer began shouting.

"Crewman! What are you wearing? Don't you know the new captain is coming today?! Where's your uniform? Your hair is a mess, you badly need a shave, and for god's sake, do something about that eye! Stars, man, you look like a hooligan!"

As he mentioned each shortcoming, he gestured to it emphatically, narrowly avoiding hitting the younger man – who couldn't seem to decide whether he was puzzled or infuriated - in the back of the head.

"You're confined to quarters until you make yourself more presentable!"

"Actually, I'm the –"


"I don't actually know where –"

"Does it look like I'm interested in excuses? Just follow my orders!"



The crewman threw up his hands, turned abruptly and strode away, muttering something about how he had thought Vulcans were supposed to be rational. Spock took a deep breath, struggling to rein in his normally suppressed emotions. He looked around, relieved that no one else had been there to see the slip in his impeccable control, and continued on his way to his quarters. That chess game was sounding very nice right about now.

Janice Rand was crying. It was not something she normally did, and it definitely wasn't something she was proud of, but it just couldn't be helped. Sitting in Captain Pike's empty room seemed to bring the truth of the matter home to her. Christopher Pike - the man she had loved in secret for two years – was gone and was never coming back. And here she was, sitting on his abandoned sleep couch, sobbing inconsolably. She was embarrassed by herself.

Suddenly, she heard the hiss of the door opening. Her heart leapt to her throat. She knew that this was to be the new captain's room, but everyone had assumed that the young man wouldn't bring his things on board until after the ceremony. It was a new captain's right to make a grand entrance in full military dress, flanked by family members, former teachers, admirals, and paparazzi – and most captains utilized that right. But if this wasn't the captain, then who was it?

A young man entered the room, looking exhausted and put upon. He threw the only piece of luggage he had – a small duffel bag – onto the chair near his desk, and ran his hand through his thick blond hair as he yawned. Looking at his watch, he swore and began to take off his t-shirt, and Janice decided that she better make her presence known quickly.

She drew in a quick breath and the young man spun around, shirt half off revealing the lower part of a well-toned chest. He stared at her in utter confusion, amber eyes slowly taking in her position, her bedraggled uniform, and her splotchy red face. A red face that was rapidly becoming even redder as Janice deduced that this was indeed the captain, and that she was not making a very good first impression.

"I'm, uh… I was just… Captain Pike was…" Come on Janice. String four words together and you might even be intelligible. "Well, you see… I… I'm sorry!"

Now completely and thoroughly mortified, she raced past the young man – still frozen in position with his shirt up around his midriff and a dumbfounded expression on his face – and escaped into the hallway. Wiping her eyes on her sleeve, she hurried off to her quarters, hoping that with the correct application of makeup, the new captain would not recognize her at the swearing-in ceremony.

Jim Kirk was still staring at the door the young woman had just sprinted through, wondering if his morning coffee had been tainted with some sort of hallucinogen. What else could possibly explain what he had just been through?

"The crew of this ship is completely and utterly insane." Saying it out loud made it seem a bit more real. He had been laid out by his drunken chief engineer, producing a bruise he had no hope of covering up in the half hour he had before the ceremony, his chief medical officer held him in very low regard and had no problem saying it, his first officer – whom he had been told was an extremely reserved, unemotional, and efficient asset to his bridge crew – had thrown a temper tantrum in his face, and now his yeoman – yeo-woman, whatever – was falling apart on his bed. What a welcome.

Groaning resignedly, he finally turned from the door and continued to change into his brand sparkling new uniform. Pulling the gold shirt out of his bag, he held it up and felt his heart begin to pound more franticly. This was real. He was no longer a subordinate, with a duty to follow orders to the best of his ability. From now on, he would be giving the orders. He would be the one in charge. And he would be responsible for the 430 lives on this ship. Even the crazy ones, as every single one of the senior officers seemed to be.

Rubbing the fabric between his fingers, adrenaline pumped through his veins, his blood pressure skyrocketed… and his face slowly split into a blinding grin. It took a lot to make James T. Kirk smile, but now his body was raging with pure emotion. This was his ship. His crew. His life. And goddamn it, he didn't care if every single person here doubted him. He was going to do this thing right.

The time had come. The moment of truth. The final minutes before the bridge crew met for the first time the man who would command them for the next five years, the man their lives and actions would revolve around, the man the entire atmosphere of the ship was based upon. The tension in the room could have been cut with a knife.

They had gathered in the bridge. It had been revamped in the three weeks they had been at port, and the new control boards and instruments sparkled excitedly, almost begging to be put to work. Everyone was at their very best, dress uniforms impeccably cleaned and pressed. Spock stood at the science console, looking controlled and emotionless now that he had poured out his frustration on his chessboard and that hapless ensign. McCoy was leaning against the railing, wishing for the very first time that he were a Vulcan so he could escape this feeling of helplessness and resignation. Yeoman Rand had washed her face, put on a boatload of makeup, and was now trying to make herself scarce behind Sulu and Scotty, who had been tricked into taking a soberer by Doctor McCoy and was now holding his throbbing head with a hand that was hurting for some reason he couldn't quite remember.

The door hissed open, and everyone stiffened slightly. But it wasn't a young captain; it was an older man in an admiral's uniform. He looked around the bridge appraisingly, then turned to Spock and nodded in greeting.

"Mr. Spock."

The Vulcan nodded in reply. "Welcome aboard, Admiral Carr." He paused, as if pondering something, and spoke again.

"Sir, if I may be so bold, where is the Captain? Isn't it customary for the Admiral swearing in the new commander to be part of his party?"

Admiral Carr looked confused. "What are you talking about? Ji – er – Kirk came aboard earlier today. Said something about getting to know his crew before the ceremony. Personally, I think he was just antsy to get on board."

He turned to Spock, and looked down the line of officers questioningly. "Didn't you meet him? You can't have missed him!"

When the crew stared at him blankly, he incredulously launched into a description of the man. "About six foot, blond, kinda loud voice? I think he was wearing some sort of ridiculous rock band shirt this morning?"

Puzzled, Admiral Carr turned away before he could see McCoy start to choke on his own saliva, Scotty fall off the console he had been leaning on, Janice squeak and hide her face in a bemused Sulu's shoulder, and Spock raise a shocked eyebrow. Unaware of the complete terror now occupying the hearts of the people behind him, the Admiral continued to talk.

"Well in any case, Kirk doesn't have a "party" or whatever you want to call it. He's not into the whole pomp and circumstance thing. He specifically asked me to get this over with quickly and send the Enterprise off, which is exactly what I'm going to do."

He whipped around and looked at the officers, four of whom were just managing to pull themselves together. He grinned at them all rakishly.

"You people really have no idea how lucky you are to have him for a Captain. He may be young, but I've never met a better man. You'll see."

The door hissed open again, and James T. Kirk walked onto the bridge of the USS Enterprise for the very first time.

He definitely cleans up well, the mortified members of the crew who had already encountered him thought absently as he examined the room and the officers with stern, intelligent eyes. The civilian clothes had been replaced with traditional black pants and a bright gold uniform shirt with the Enterprise logo over his heart. All traces of golden stubble were gone, and the previously messy dark blond hair was neatly combed. He exuded a calm power that filled the room and made everyone feel as if things were under control. Everyone, that is, except for the four he had already met, who were wondering how in the hell they had mistaken him for anything other than their commanding officer.

Admiral Carr smiled and walked over to him, clasping the younger man's hand warmly.

"Welcome home, Jim."

Kirk gave a reserved smile in return.

"Thanks, Lewis."

"Jim, I thought – what in blazes happened to your eye?" The Admiral had only just noticed the nasty black and blue bruise surrounding his young friend's right eye socket, and was now peering at it with complete confusion. Scotty, who had by now figured out why his hand hurt so much, gave a small sob in the background.

"Oh," Kirk said, touching the tender skin carefully. "This."

He chuckled and chanced a quick look over at his chief engineer, who had gone ashen white and was struggling to breath.

"Well, let's just say that the engineering section of this ship is a bit more dangerous than that of the Farragut, and leave at that." He suppressed another laugh as the red-shirted engineer collapsed into poor Sulu's arms, relief and gratitude shining through on his face.

The Admiral looked suspicious, but let it go. "Whatever that means, you should have that looked at by Dr. McCoy here. He's one of the best ship's surgeons in the fleet."

He gestured to the petrified man, whose wide blue eyes were fixed on his Captain pleadingly. But the clueless Admiral was speaking again.

"That reminds me, these officers said they hadn't met you before. Didn't you come aboard earlier to talk to them?"

Kirk looked at his officers, most of whom were looking at him in awe as they reevaluated their pre-made opinions. But he could see four who were struggling to hide their horror behind a calm façade.

"Oh yes, I met several of them." He turned to his high-ranking friend. "You obviously make them nervous. Mr. Scott and I met down in engineering, shortly before I received this beauty."

He gestured to his eye with a grimace.

"And I actually did go to sickbay, where I had a very enlightening talk with Dr. McCoy while he patched me up, and I met Mr. Spock while I was searching for my room. He pointed me in the right direction."

McCoy and Scotty were turning a light shade of green. The engineer was looking as though he might actually throw up all over the sparkling communications console. Spock was staring at the viewscreen – now showing the multitude of stars beyond Earth waiting to be explored – with a fixed expression on his face, determined not to show his utter shame as Kirk continued with his story.

"And I met the lovely lady there," he gestured to Janice, who had given up trying to hide behind the scrawny and uncooperative Mr. Sulu, "Outside my room. All in all, they are a very welcoming crowd."

Admiral Carr noticed the ironic glint in the young man's eyes, but couldn't for the life of him figure out the hidden joke of his words. Sighing in resignation, he decided to get on with it.

"Well, seeing as you've met all your highest ranking officers, we might as well get this thing over with and get you out into space."

For a split second, Kirk became his age. The mature and calm man - in charge of the situation and aware of the responsibility he held - disappeared for a moment, and was replaced by an excited boy who had finally gotten the only thing he had ever wanted.

"We can leave – tonight?"

The Admiral smiled sadly. "So eager to leave Earth?"

The two men exchanged a look that only they understood. Kirk's amber eyes darkened for a moment, and when the moment passed, he was once again far older than his years – a man who would have no trouble leading the Enterprise and its crew into the far reaches of the galaxy.

Lewis Carr stepped back from Jim Kirk, the man he loved like a son, and reached for his bag. Pulling out a communicator and a phaser emblazoned with the Enterprise insignia, he handed them over reverently.

"With the power vested in me by Starfleet Command, I pronounce you, James T. Kirk, to be the Captain of the USS Enterprise. Guide her and her crew well."

It was by far the shortest swearing-in ceremony in the history of Starfleet. But then, Jim Kirk had always been a record breaker. Admiral Carr grasped the young man's shoulder tightly and briefly, his glistening brown eyes speaking of more pride than words could ever communicate.

"Set your first course for Donovan II. There's a war brewing there, we need someone to break it up." He leaned in closer, not wanting to undermine Jim's authority by speaking so personally.

"Good luck, son."

And he strode quickly from the bridge, leaving Captain James T. Kirk alone with his crew.

He walked slowly over to his first officer, the man who had yelled at him to go to his quarters not forty-five minutes ago. This was not how he had planned to meet his senior crew-members. He had covered for them, not wishing to bring shame down on them in front of an Admiral. But something needed to be said now.

"Mr. Spock. Maybe we can… start over. As my first officer, I don't want to always remember you as the man who called me a 'hooligan' and ordered me to shave." He heard some snickering down the line, and the corner of his own mouth turned up slightly, despite his annoyance. This whole experience had been very tiresome, but he had no doubt that in a few years it would seem hilarious. He held out a hand, a peace offering really. The Vulcan hesitated, and then, for the first time in his life, he shook hands with a human. Kirk's hand was strong and calloused, far from the hand of a boy.

"I'm looking forward to working with you, Spock."

"I, too, am interested in how this arrangement will proceed."

Kirk raised an eyebrow and - deciding that this was the Vulcan's way of saying "ditto" – moved on to the doctor.

"That… bruise cream would work better if you actually… put it on, you know," McCoy said haltingly, attempting to inject humor into an incredibly awkward situation. Kirk chuckled.

"Yes, I'm sure it would." The two men grasped hands firmly. "I hope your real bedside manner is a little better than what I experienced, or you're going to have a sickbay full of a whole lot of angry patients."

McCoy became very fascinated with his shoes, his face burning with embarrassment.

"Look, sir… I –"

The Captain held up a hand. "I know, Bones."

The Southerner looked up and grinned at the informal moniker, and watched as Kirk turned to the rest of the crew. He found Yeoman Rand in between Sulu and Lieutenant Kyle. Shaking her hand firmly, he looked at her with concerned eyes.

"Are you okay?"

Janice had finally regained control of her wayward emotions, and was able to look him right in the eye as she said quite calmly that she was all right, thank you sir. Nodding kindly at her and giving her hand another squeeze that made her heart flutter despite herself, he greeted Sulu, exchanged a few words, and finally reached the chief engineer.

If Scotty hadn't still been a bit tipsy, he probably wouldn't have started in to make such a fool of himself apologizing.

"I'm sorry sir, I'm so sorry! I swear to God I didn't know it was ye! It's the drink, it gets to me head you see, and there ya were, jist –"

"Yes, Mr. Scott, I understand perfectly." Kirk cut him off decisively, crossing his arms in front of his chest. "I trust all traces of the, uh, 'drink' will be disposed of immediately."

The poor Scotsman looked heartbroken, but he could tell just by the way the Captain was looking at him that there would be no bargaining on this term. He couldn't believe that he had once called the pillar of strength and determination now standing in front of him a "baby captain". No nickname could be further from the truth.

"Aye, sir. It's as good as gone."

"Good." Having met everyone, Captain Kirk raised his voice to address the entire bridge crew. "There will be order on this ship, and discipline, or you and I will not get along. I ask for your loyalty, and in return I will give you mine. I know a lot of you are thinking that I am too young and too reckless to command a starship. Don't try to deny it, I have it from a very reliable source." He glanced at McCoy, eyes laughing. "And I admit that I am young. But I am prepared to put my entire mind, body, and soul into this ship, as long as every one of you will do it with me."

He looked around at his crew, at the men and women he would be spending the next five years with, and he smiled.

"Alright people. To your stations. Let's get this baby moving!"

As the officers rushed to their consoles, he turned and stepped up to the captain's seat, staring at it with the tiniest bit of apprehension. Here it was. The final sign that he was indeed in command.

He sat down without hesitation. Real leather. Hmm. Nice.

"Oh Mr. Scott..."

"Aye, sir?"

"I'll try not to wreck the engines." Kirk grinned at the older man, who laughed.

"I don't doubt it sir. I don't doubt it."

Captain Kirk turned to the viewscreen and looked out at the stars. Goodbye Iowa, and good riddance.

"Set a course for Donovan II Mr. Sulu, warp factor one."