Captain's Log: After two months on Starfleet proving grounds, the Enterprise's shakedown cruise is nearly complete. The repairwork done by Mr. Scott is nothing short of exceptional, in many cases exceeding the designers' hopes. All that's left now is to see how fast the most advanced nacelles in Starfleet can go.

The bridge was a bustle of activity, and unusually, Kirk wasn't the calm center of it. He was hunched over Sulu's station, watching every coordinate of the course the helmsman was plotting. Over the past weeks he'd been familiarizing himself with the various departments, no matter how boring Spock tried to make science. Jim wondered if he was still harboring some resentment over that fistfight.

He tapped the helm's comm.. "Scotty, ready for the big show?"

"Cannae wait, cap'n."

"Then let's not. Sulu, we pointed at Earth?"

"Yes sir." Even Sulu's dutiful monotone couldn't hold in his excitement.

Kirk sat down in the captain's chair. "Maximum warp. Hit it."

The stars pulled toward them. A purring rumble ran through the ship as she climbed the warp factors. Jim remembered his stepfather's car. It'd been a sweet ride before he'd given it off a cliff. Not that he regretted it per se…

"Warp factor eight, Keptin," Chekov reported.

"Steady as she goes."

Kirk watched the spacedock workers transferring supplies onto the Enterprise, reloading the torpedo tubes, checking the phasers, and possibly spit-shining the nacelles. Any minute now, he was expecting to receive new orders, a five-year mission into unexplored space. What better place to wait than the observation deck?

The bartender brought him a steaming mug of coffee. "I didn't order—" He smelled it. Martian beans, his favorite. How did he know?

Jim looked around and saw Gaila sitting alone by one of the windows. She nodded to him, smiling. He knew she'd been on leave with the rest of the nonessential personnel during shakedown. Now seemed like an excellent time to renew acquaintances.

A woman in command gold, black pants stretching down to shining boots, sat down across from him. She was dark-featured, with long black hair running down to the shoulders of her turtleneck. By the lines at the corners of her eyes, she looked to be in her mid-forties. She wore no jewelry. "Captain James Tiberius Kirk," she said in a rich voice, accented with the husk of the Persian colonies. It wasn't a question. "Number One, reporting for duty as your first officer."

He couldn't help it. She was so serious, he smirked a little. "I hate to break it to you, but I'm not hiring."

She presented him with a letter. "New orders. Commander Spock is summarily demoted to science officer. The Enterprise is to chart Sector 1700 for Starfleet Cartography."

He grabbed the letter-pad from her and opened it with his thumbprint. "Sector 1700 has already been mapped," he said as he scanned his orders.

"Not to Command's satisfaction." She stood briskly. "Captain Kirk, did you actually believe the Federation would just let you and your classmates run around with the flagship? Putting fresh blood in command of the Enterprise may look good to the appropriations committees, but those in power have not forgotten your record."

He looked up at her. "Not forgotten your record, Captain."

She smiled coolly. "Of course. Would you like to tell the Commander or shall I?"

"I'm not surprised," Spock said, not even missing a note on his harp.

"I'm glad somebody isn't, this is outrageous," Uhura insisted. She'd understandably stopped singing.

Kirk had made sure to wait a while after Spock had said enter. The graceful notes and luminous singing was definitely the kind of thing Jim would use for mood music and he didn't need Pon Farr practice in his head. But it turned out Spock and Uhura had literally been making music together. He was never going to understand them.

"Anyone with an iota of logic can foresee that the Captain will be frequently leading away teams. As science officer, I would also be in harm's way. Having an experienced bridge officer to take command is only logical."

Jim made a rude noise. "Yeah, like I'm going to trust my ship with the Ice Queen of Starfleet. Spock, what do you know about her?"

"In Earth terminology, she's a kingmaker. She has served with numerous captains before their promotion to the admiralty; her opinion is highly valued by command. I knew her during my service with Captain Pike. She struck me as a highly competent officer, albeit not the most personable one."

"Tell me about it."

"So she's going to be second-guessing us every lightyear," Uhura said. "Great."

"It may be." Spock set down his harp, folded his hands together. "I have every confidence in this ship, her crew, and her captain. We will meet Number One's specifications. Captain, you are the youngest captain in Starfleet, therefore the least experienced, therefore the least trusted."

"Please Spock, don't spare my feelings."

"Look upon this as an opportunity to prove your mettle. I am certain you will rise to the occasion."

"And if I save the Earth again, maybe I can stay out until midnight." A comm. tone interrupted his grousing. "Kirk here."

It was Number One. "Captain Kirk, all supplies are loaded and all crew are accounted for. We are ready to disembark."

"I'm on my way." He closed the line. "Glad to see she's making herself at home. As you were, Mr. Spock, Nyota."

Kirk thought of checking the bridge's environmental controls, but it wasn't 30 degrees below, it was just Number One. She got out of the captain's chair (His. Chair.) and sat at the weapons station. "All systems functioning within safe parameters, we are go for launch."

Safe parameters? Don't tell me she rolled back Scotty's modifications. Kirk took the conn. "Mr. Sulu, set a course for Sector 1700, warp 7. Let's see what this baby can do."

"Captain, the efficiency of the dilithium crystals decreases by 4% above warp 5," Number One said archly.

Kirk spun to look at her. "Come on, Numero Uno, live a little."

"Course laid in," Sulu reported.

"Hit it."

The stars took longer to stretch out than usual. Oh yeah, she had definitely been messing with the Enterprise.

"May I have a word with you in your ready room?" Number One asked abruptly.

"Anything you want to say to me, you can say in front of my crew," Jim said, all smiles.

Number One didn't react to the blatant stares she got. "I've read your file. I'm surprised you accepted your orders so… meekly."

Kirk gritted his teeth. She'd won, did she have to rub it in? "If Command thinks the flagship is best used to draw road maps, who am I to argue?"

"Cartography may not be the most glamorous work, but by charting navigational hazards, we will save many lives. I trust you won't find it too… boring."

Kirk stroked his chin. "I'm sure I'll find something to do to pass the time."

Gaila howled out her orgasm, tossing her head so copper hair went everywhere, then sliding her sweat-slick skin against Kirk's one last time as they parted. One thing Jim liked about Orions: when you did right by them, they weren't afraid to let you know it.

"Something's bothering you," she said, slinking against the pillow. "I can always tell."

"You heard about Number One?"

"You lambasted her in front of the entire bridge, so… yes."

"I've been a model student for three years. You'd think Starfleet would trust me to scan shit without a babysitter."

"Model student?" Gaila teased, slinking her fingers over his chest.

"Well… I've never been caught…"

A lock of hair fell across Gaila's cheek. She pinched in. Swore in Orionese and went to her nightstand. Jim appreciated the view, if not the sudden suspension of touching.

"Why didn't you tell me my hairclip broke?" Gila agitatedly ran a comb through her untamable hair.

"I was a little busy at the time."

"Now I'll have to spend all night crimping it."

Jim rolled over to face her. "Gaila, no one's going to take you seriously because you put your hair up."

She shot him a look.

"I mean, you don't need to do that for people to take you seriously."

"Easy for you to say. Humans, male, heterosexual. You've never been called an animal woman. And do you know what people would say if they found out I was sleeping with the Captain?"

"'That lucky bastard'," Kirk said in Scotty's thick accent.

"Be serious," she almost swore.

"Fine. This is my serious face." He rolled out of bed and started to dress. "Why'd you join Starfleet?"

"I wanted to help people."

"Like Captain Pike helped you escape from the camps."

"Yes."

"And you heard about how tolerant Starfleet was, how its mission was to accept people, infinite diversity in infinite circumstances."

Gaila stopped brushing her hair. "Yes."

"So give people a chance to accept you. If they don't, I promise I'll maroon them on the next gas giant."

Jim saw Gaila's bright smile in her mirror. "You're wrong, you know. They wouldn't say you're a lucky bastard. They'd say I'm a lucky bitch."

Jim pulled on his boots. "They'd be right." His communicator rang. "Un-be-lievable." He looked for it. Gaila tossed it to him. "Kirk."

Number One. "Captain, you're not in your quarters."

He rolled his eyes. "That's right. I'm not."

"We've received a hail from a merchant vessel. I thought you might like to know, so you can determine if it's worth the flagship's time."

Kirk grimaced. "Well, if you're not going to, I'll be right up." He shut off the line, then gave Gaila's anatomy a 'parting shot'. "Don't get dressed in anything too complicated."

Gaila held up a Risan negligee as he left. "Will this do?"

Jim walked into a wall before he remembered where the door was.

James T. Kirk reported for duty in a black tee, pajama bottoms, and sehlat slippers. To her credit, Number One didn't blink an eyelash as she relinquished the conn.

"So, you'll be running the night shift and serving as first officer. When do you sleep?"

"I don't."

Jim wished Spock were on duty. That needed a raised eyebrow.

"Hailing frequencies open," the communications officer said.

"On screen." Kirk crossed his legs, letting one slipper dangle off his foot. "This is James T. Kirk of the starship Enterprise, how ya doin'?"

Number One's hand twitched as if it really wanted to impact her forehead.

The man on the viewscreen was a heavyset and fastidiously-dressed ruffian with intricately-curlicued facial hair to make up for his bald spot. A festive array of garments clothed him, highlighted by the golden sash keeping his trousers up. He petted a small, cooing furball. "Captain Kirk, it is my heartfelt pleasure to make your acquaintance. My name is Harcourt Fenton Mudd, surveyor, merchant, and gentleman of fortune. And I have an offer Starfleet will grandiloquently thank you for bringing to their attention."

Kirk grinned at Number One. "Is it just me or does this seem like a golden opportunity?"

"I wouldn't venture to speak for the crew in this matter," she said evenly.

"Hear me out, Captain. I have located that which mortal man hath sought since first turning their orbs skyward. Heaven, my dear captain. I've found Heaven."

Author's note: For what it's worth, I'm picturing Shohreh Aghdashloo as Number One. The one part of Star Trek that I thought was weakest was how Kirk is suddenly in charge of the flagship by the end of the movie. So here it's all something of a PR move/desperation on Starfleet's part, with a no-nonsense XO to keep him in check. This is a multi-part fic, which will focus more on the rest of the crew on coming installments (hopefully).