one of their most important diplomats. My parents and I had been told that the matter was confidential, and that if we told anyone, Starfleet would deny it happened. However, Captain Mallory’s gratitude at the time led me to hope that he’d remember me and maybe help. All I had to do was track him down.
Starfleet Headquarters would only tell me he was now a commodore, but they would give me no information on his whereabouts. I thought about sending him an electronic letter, but I was worried it wouldn’t find its way to him. So I embarked on what was, in hindsight, a ridiculously dangerous plan.
In our attic we had a storage container that was filled with my dad’s belongings from his time in Starfleet: various pieces of equipment, tapes containing all his work, and, most important, his uniforms. When I was little, I would put them on and traipse around the house, always a little disappointed that no matter how “big” everybody said I was getting, they still didn’t fit. However, it had been a few years, and now when I tried the uniforms on, they seemed almost tailored.
I made sure I wore the uniform with the rank of ensign, then found a recording disc with a Starfleet logo on it. I took it to my computer station and recorded a message for Mallory, reminding him who I was, and asking him to write me a recommendation.
The next morning I jammed the uniform and recorded message into a rucksack and snuck out early, borrowing Dad’s hover car. I had told him that I was driving to Riverside to see friends and that I’d be back by noon, so I was on a tight schedule. I drove to the transportation station in Riverside and caught a Sub Shuttle to San Francisco. *
The trip took less than two hours, and I didn’t want anyone on the Sub Shuttle to notice me in the uniform, so I stayed in my civilian clothes until about five minutes before we reached San Francisco. I then got up and changed in the bathroom, and waited until we pulled into the Starfleet Headquarters stop. I then quickly exited the bathroom and immediately got off the Sub Shuttle car.
I marched through the station, found a temporary locker to store my rucksack, then took the escalator to the street level. I found myself in a shuttle port and was stunned. Shuttles and flying trams flew in and out of the port, over the bay and the Golden Gate Bridge. People of all races and species in bright gold and blue uniforms walked with purpose to their destinations. I suddenly felt like a complete fraud, but I had committed to this course of action and had to see it through. I imitated the resoluteness of the people I saw around me and walked out of the spaceport.
I had studied the mall of structures that made up Starfleet Headquarters, and immediately recognized the main building, the Archer Building, named for Jonathan Archer. **
I walked into the large reception area, and where doubt had only crept into my mind when I entered the spaceport, it now completely consumed me. The lobby of the building was filled with officers,
adult
officers, of many different species and ages. The whole place had a sense of importance and dignity, and I was a kid playing dress-up. I was only a few steps inside when I decided this wasn’t going to work, and was about to turn around when someone blocked my way.
“May I help you?”
It was a young woman, not much older than me. She was petite, dressed in a blue uniform dress, had blond hair. Very beautiful.
“I have a message,” I said, holding up the tape much too quickly. “It’s for Commodore Mallory.”
“Oh,” she said. “Come with me.”
I followed her to a reception desk, where she typed some information into the computer terminal.
“Commodore Mallory isn’t here, Ensign,” she said. “Were you under the impression he was?”
“Uh, no,” I said. “I mean, yes, I thought he was here, but no, I didn’t know for certain that he’d be here
right now
.” She looked at me like she didn’t know what I was
Starfleet Headquarters would only tell me he was now a commodore, but they would give me no information on his whereabouts. I thought about sending him an electronic letter, but I was worried it wouldn’t find its way to him. So I embarked on what was, in hindsight, a ridiculously dangerous plan.
In our attic we had a storage container that was filled with my dad’s belongings from his time in Starfleet: various pieces of equipment, tapes containing all his work, and, most important, his uniforms. When I was little, I would put them on and traipse around the house, always a little disappointed that no matter how “big” everybody said I was getting, they still didn’t fit. However, it had been a few years, and now when I tried the uniforms on, they seemed almost tailored.
I made sure I wore the uniform with the rank of ensign, then found a recording disc with a Starfleet logo on it. I took it to my computer station and recorded a message for Mallory, reminding him who I was, and asking him to write me a recommendation.
The next morning I jammed the uniform and recorded message into a rucksack and snuck out early, borrowing Dad’s hover car. I had told him that I was driving to Riverside to see friends and that I’d be back by noon, so I was on a tight schedule. I drove to the transportation station in Riverside and caught a Sub Shuttle to San Francisco. *
The trip took less than two hours, and I didn’t want anyone on the Sub Shuttle to notice me in the uniform, so I stayed in my civilian clothes until about five minutes before we reached San Francisco. I then got up and changed in the bathroom, and waited until we pulled into the Starfleet Headquarters stop. I then quickly exited the bathroom and immediately got off the Sub Shuttle car.
I marched through the station, found a temporary locker to store my rucksack, then took the escalator to the street level. I found myself in a shuttle port and was stunned. Shuttles and flying trams flew in and out of the port, over the bay and the Golden Gate Bridge. People of all races and species in bright gold and blue uniforms walked with purpose to their destinations. I suddenly felt like a complete fraud, but I had committed to this course of action and had to see it through. I imitated the resoluteness of the people I saw around me and walked out of the spaceport.
I had studied the mall of structures that made up Starfleet Headquarters, and immediately recognized the main building, the Archer Building, named for Jonathan Archer. **
I walked into the large reception area, and where doubt had only crept into my mind when I entered the spaceport, it now completely consumed me. The lobby of the building was filled with officers,
adult
officers, of many different species and ages. The whole place had a sense of importance and dignity, and I was a kid playing dress-up. I was only a few steps inside when I decided this wasn’t going to work, and was about to turn around when someone blocked my way.
“May I help you?”
It was a young woman, not much older than me. She was petite, dressed in a blue uniform dress, had blond hair. Very beautiful.
“I have a message,” I said, holding up the tape much too quickly. “It’s for Commodore Mallory.”
“Oh,” she said. “Come with me.”
I followed her to a reception desk, where she typed some information into the computer terminal.
“Commodore Mallory isn’t here, Ensign,” she said. “Were you under the impression he was?”
“Uh, no,” I said. “I mean, yes, I thought he was here, but no, I didn’t know for certain that he’d be here
right now
.” She looked at me like she didn’t know what I was
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