I started this forever ago and then got very bad at updating, so I decided to fix it in anticipation of the new movie coming out soon. This used to be a series of short stories posted separately, but it has since occurred to me that they would work better as one longer, multichapter fic, so I am now reposting everything and will continue to update from this point.

Freddey Mulcahy had not gone through divinity school for a bachelor's and master's degree to wait tables in this podunk little diner and deal with drunk assholes trying to grope her. It was 2255. Why hadn't men stopped doing that? She was sick of swatting away hands and forcing smiles for the sake of her tips, but dammit if the study of religion didn't pay off until a person got a PhD. She didn't have the time for that. It just irritated her that all these bozos from the Philadelphia shipyard would come down, thinking they're all hot stuff because they get a decent wage and benefits and act like they're God's gift to the world. Just because they build shuttles and pieces of ships for Starfleet didn't make them special. Starfleet wasn't high on her list of people and organizations she liked, anyway.

At one in the morning on one particular evening, one those assholes was drunker than usual and was getting a bit too pushy with her. Freddey was to the point where she didn't even want his money anymore; she just wanted him to leave her damn diner. He pressed too close to her, breathing beer in her face and getting too grabby.

"Dammit, just go sit down and eat your damn eggs and scrapple!" she told him at last, pushing him away, "You're not doin' yourself any favors and your food's gettin' cold. And I ain't gonna get it reheated when you complain about it."

"Aww, c'mon," he slurred, "I jus' wanna have a lil fun."

"Looks like you had a bit too much fun already, pal. Now go sit down."

His friends were just as drunk and not helping at all, egging him on to kiss her or grab her ass and telling her, "Don't be such a bitch!" and "He's just tryna have a lil fun!" and "Come on, just show him your tits!"

Freddey was losing her patience. She was ready to throw them out. Her manager would let her if he knew why she was doing it. The drunk snuck up and grabbed her from behind. Thinking quickly, she shifted her center of gravity and threw him, his body hitting the tile with a loud slap and a louder crack. (Being shorter than average did have its advantages.) With Drunk One struggling to get up off the floor, Drunk Two and Drunk Three practically jumped out of their chairs, clearly pissed off now.

"Fuck you do that for?"

"He didn't do nothin'!"

"Crazy bitch! He wasn't gonna hurt you!"

"Get out!" she yelled over them, hoping the cook would hear and help her out and so beyond fed up, "Get out! Take your food or leave it, I don't give a fuck, but get the hell out! I swear to God, I'll call the cops if you don't fucking GET OUT!"

They were shouting worse obscenities now. That sure worked well.

"I believe she asked you to leave," a male voice rumbled behind her.

The drunks all stopped and so did Freddey; she turned. The man was fairly tall and of middling age, his brown hair just beginning to streak with grey and wrinkles forming around his brown eyes she supposed normally looked warm and friendly. At that moment, they were glaring daggers at the belligerent drunks. They made the smartest move they'd likely made all night and decided to leave. She watched them skulk out the door.

"Are you alright, miss?" the man asked.

"Yeah… yeah, I'm fine," she replied, "Nothin' I couldn't handle."

"Really? Looked to me like you were having a little trouble handling it."

Freddey glared at him a bit. The man was wearing, she noted, a Starfleet uniform, casual, just the black shirt and trousers.

"You're Winifred Mulcahy, right?" he queried.

"Who's askin'?"

"You don't remember me?"

Freddey took a longer look. Something about him was familiar, though she couldn't be sure why. She did see a lot of 'Fleet personnel at the diner, all of whom wanting to be remembered, but this guy was different. Her brain kicked into overdrive, trying to find the face and pair it with a name. She remembered so many faces and names. She looked back at him. He smiled kindly, like a father would… like a father smiles at his children… children…

"Chris?"

"See, you do remember me," he replies, smiling a bit wider.

Freddey adopts a grin of her own. How could she have forgotten this man? Chris was probably one of the most important people she'd ever known, she'd ever met. He'd saved her life, the lives of thousands on Tarsus IV not so very long ago… almost ten years ago. She owed him her life.

"Chris, what brings you down here to the sticks?" she asked, "Shouldn't you be out in the black or sittin' pretty in San Francisco?"

"I'm checking in on parts for the USS Enterprise, under construction in Riverside. She'll be ready to launch in a few years."

"Yeah, I've heard some of yardies talking about her. Supposed to be a fine ship."

"Oh, she will be," Chris said wistfully, "I'm headed back to Riverside tomorrow to check in on her again, then escorting some new cadets back to the Academy."

"Sounds thrilling, Chris."

Silence fell over them briefly.

"I'm here to ask you to enlist in Starfleet," he told her flatly.

She blinked at him.

"What?"

"I want you to join Starfleet, Effie-"

"No," she snapped at him, "Not Effie. Not anymore."

"Winifred," he amended, his voice soft, "Starfleet could use someone like you. You're bright, resourceful, kind, but tough. That's everything the 'Fleet looks for in a cadet. I've seen your records."

"Then you know I studied religion, not science. I went to a seminary, a divinity school. I minister to the needy right now, when I'm not here earning some money to help out my grandparents. What use does Starfleet have for a preacher?"

"Our chaplaincy program is very selective. I know you can get in. You're perfect for the program. Our ships need someone on board the crew can talk to and not have to worry about it being in a report. They need someone to comfort them when they feel small and useless, when their friends die on faraway planets, when their loved ones die while they're deployed and can't go home for the funeral. It's not just about religion, but knowing how to heal the soul can be a big help."

"I know that. What do you think I did in the Exile?" she responded, her voice tight, "All did for those two months was comfort those kids."

"You were a kid yourself, Winifred."

How dare you? she thought angrily, How dare you come in here and bring up Tarsus IV? Freddey was ready to toss him out the door, too. She turned to face him again. His eyes were twinkling mischievously. He knew exactly what he did.

"You have the opportunity to make a good career for yourself in Starfleet, have a good life. You'll never have to scratch out a living in a backwater diner serving drunk shipworkers again."

She looked to the window. She could see the stars shining faintly above the lights and steam of the chemical plant across the street. She had been out there in space for a time, had lived on the colony of Tarsus IV from when she was six to the time of the infamous famine and massacre when she was eleven. She had been fascinated by space, certainly. Like Giordano Bruno way back in the late 1500s, she saw the universe as an infinite creation of an infinite being, a garden of life lovingly cultivated by a force no one would ever be able to comprehend. She could the Mother in its infinite beauty and intricacy.

Freddey returned her attention to Chris. The older man smiled at her fondly… fatherly. She could see the man who saved her life not so very long ago, her life and the lives of others.

"Do you really think I could make a difference up there, Chris?" she asked quietly.

"You already have," he replied, "but I think it could always use a little more help."

Freddey fell silent again. She always sought to make a difference in the lives of others. It was part of her promise back on Tarsus IV, part of her prayer to stay alive when she was sure she would die. Perhaps this was the Great Mother, calling out to her, telling her this was her chance to make a difference. She cast her eyes back to the chemical plant. She sure as hell didn't want to stay in podunk little Salem County, South Jersey her whole life. It was nice, but it wasn't what she wanted.

"When's the next shuttle leave from Philly?" she asked at long last.

"There's one tomorrow. Be at the shipyard by 0800. Shuttle leaves at 0830. When you get to the yards, just ask for the 'Fleet shuttle. I won't be on it. I'm taking one out to Riverside later in the day, but yours'll go right the Academy in San Francisco. I'll be at the Academy a couple days later. I'll call the head of the program and tell him you're on your way."

"Don't suppose you're the one who's gonna have to wake up my gramma and tell her?" she jabbed.

"You're on your own for that one. Better go get some sleep."

"Y'know, it'll be your fault when she kills me!" she called after him as he exited the little diner.

Realization washed over Freddey, and she shouted, "Hassan! Hassan! Come here!"

The middle-aged Turk came running out of the back, asking frantically, "What? What is it? What's so important?"

"Hassan, I quit!"

"What? Why? I thought you liked it here?" he questioned in his thick Bronx accent.

"I'm joining Starfleet!" she blurted excitedly.

Hassan blinked at her owlishly, eyes comically wide. Freddey wasted no time in pulling off her apron and saying, "Thanks for everything, Hassan, really. I really mean that, but I gotta do this. Gotta go. The shuttle leaves early, and I need sleep, and I gotta tell Gramma."

She gave him a quick hug before hurrying out to her car, but when she got home, she wanted nothing more than to hurry back to the dinner and pretend she never quit, pretend Chris Pike never came to the diner, pretend she never agreed to join Starfleet. Of course, Chris would be very disappointed in her if she did that, and the last thing she wanted to do was disappoint him.

Seriously though, what was she thinking? Starfleet? People with divinity degrees don't go to Starfleet Academy. Barely anyone is actually qualified for Starfleet Academy, come to think of it. They only take the proverbial cream of the crop in the fields of science and mathematics, something she was definitely not. Ancient languages were nothing to her (she's already learned ten dead languages, and she taught herself Ancient Greek and Latin before she even got to high school) but science and math were unreachable. There was a reason Starfleet did not recruit theologians and ministers.

Chris, however, had said the program at the Academy was competitive and necessary, that chaplains were still integral members of a ship's crew. At about 1:30 in the morning, she rushed into her eldest brother's room, shaking him awake.

"Wha'?" he slurred sleepily, emerging from his blankets with dark, mussed hair, "Wha'? Wha' happened? Wuzzit?"

"Whit… Whit, you're never gonna believe this…"

"Ugh, Fred, what? Believe what?"

"I… um, well… I might have… joined Starfleet and the shuttle leaves tomorrow."

Whit sobered quickly, suddenly coming awake. He replied, "What? No. No, you can't. Don't you remember what they did to us on Tarsus? You can't just join Starfleet now."

"Look, do you remember that Starfleet captain that rescued us on Tarsus IV? Well, he came to see me at the diner, wanted to recruit me to the Academy's chaplaincy program," she explained quietly, "It… it made sense, Whit, what he said. I wanna do it. I can see now that it's where I'm meant to be."

"Fred, you're not thinking clearly," Whit said, trying to placate her, to make her see the error of her ways, "Here, come with me back to the farm. Belén's getting pretty far along in her pregnancy, and I know she would like some help around the house. Her belly's enormous, you should-"

"No, Whit. I need to do this. If it all comes crashing down, then I'll come home and you can tell me 'I told you so' all you want and make fun of me for being a silly girl who wanted to be a starship ranger… but I need to try. It's important to me because that man, Chris Pike, believes in me. He offered me a challenge, and I plan on rising to it."

Whit looked torn and somewhat angry, but he sighed after a tense moment, sounding like all his air was being let out, and said, "Well, I guess I better help you pack. Don't suppose you'll be able to take too much, and you'll wanna over pack. And you'll probably need a ride to the shipyard tomorrow. What time?"

"I need to be there by eight."

"Alright, then we'll leave at seven. You better go tell Gramma. She's gonna have a fit, hearin' that," he grumbled.

"Have I ever told you that you're the best brother ever?"

"No, you usually tell me you wanna kill me or maim me."

"Good, then when Gramma kills or maims me in five seconds it'll be karma."

As expected, her grandmother took the news rather poorly, shouting about stupid, half-assed, late night decisions and the dangers of space. After a few minutes of that, she quieted enough to allow Freddey to explain herself and declared Freddey was old enough to make her own damn fool decisions now she was twenty.

"That Pike better not let me get my hands on him," she growled.

"Well, Gramma, if it doesn't work out, you go tell him exactly how you feel about him," Freddey smirked.

"Joinin' Starfleet," the old woman muttered, "Don't know what you're thinkin' 't all. Starfleet chaplain…"

"I'll be alright, Gramma. Don't worry about me."

"Oh, I know that, sweetie. Always been tougher'n you look."

The old woman pulled her into an embrace, then ordered, "Now, you gotta be outta here early. Go pack up your duffle and then you go right to sleep. It's already two in the morning. I'll wake you up at six so you can make sure you have everything and get a good breakfast."

Freddey could hardly get to sleep that night, she was so wound up and worried. She barely ate the breakfast her grandfather cooked in the morning, a hearty farm meal consisting of all her favorites – scrambled eggs, French toast, crispy bacon, hash browns, and (best of all) scrapple. Said grandpop had been a bit startled to say the least but took it in stride, saying, "I knew this day would come. Always loved meetin' new kinds of people and that ain't easy here. And the stars… girl, you love the stars so much. I remember you calling from Tarsus right after you got there, when you were a little thing. You just couldn't get over flying through space and seein' aliens and all the different starbases. Nope, can't say I'm surprised, Fred. Can't say it 't all. I wish you all the luck in the world, sweetie. All the luck in the galaxy."

"Dammit, Pete! Don't encourage her!" her grandma joked.

"Grandpop, I knew you'd understand."

"What, and I wouldn't?" her grandma retorted.

"No, Violet, you wouldn't!"

"Oh, hush up, you old man, always takin' her side…"

Freddey chuckled at her bickering grandparents, but it faded quickly. She was going to miss this. It would be worth it, she told herself as she climbed into the car with Whit. It would be hard, yes. There would be lots of physical training and science and math and other things she wasn't good at, but perhaps she would at least excel at her religion courses and alien languages. She had always wanted to learn an active xenolanguage, as the dead languages she was fluent in like Latin, Ancient Greek, Aramaic, and Akkadian were not in high demand. It would be worth it.

"Sure you won't reconsider?" Whit asked, "I can always turn around."

"Very sure. Thanks, though."

"Well… in that case, good luck, Freddey," he told her earnestly, "I mean it. I really do."

"Thanks, Whit. I really mean that, too. I'll try to keep in touch as much as possible. You'll be the first to know if I flunk out."

"You won't flunk out. I know it. You're gonna do just great. I know it, Freddey. Love you, sis."

Freddey replied, "Love you, too," and gave him a quick hug before getting out of the car and retrieving her duffle bag. The watched the car until it drove out of sight. Well, I have to go now. I got no ride back.

The Philadelphia Shipyard was huge (though not as big as some of the ones in the heartland), the air filled with the smell of burning metal and chemicals. She would have crinkled her nose if she weren't used to it. Looking around for a nod in the right direction, she finally approached a worker, an older woman who looked as though she had been at the shipyard since she graduated high school, and asked, "Excuse me, but could you tell me where I can find the shuttle to Starfleet Academy? It's very important that I not miss it."

"Sure thing, darlin'," the woman told her, "Here, I'll give ya a lift."

She thanked the woman profusely, climbing into the old-school golf cart that took her directly to the shuttleport. Freddey found a small herd of cadets bonding and milling about, all recognizable by their red uniforms. She felt very self-conscious in her in work jeans and flannel and dusty old boots. Still, she rolled her shoulders back and held up her head, trying to make herself feel more confident, and walked up to the shuttle. Most of the cadets gave her patronizing looks, ones that told her they thought themselves better than her because this was their career choice and had been recruited early in their lives for the Academy. Clearly they must have thought she was enlisted. Times sure hadn't changed. Only one approached her with an outstretched hand, a smile, and a cheerful, "Hi! How you doin'?"

This cadet was a friendly black girl, not much taller than Freddey but very fit. Her hair was short and natural. Freddey quickly took the proffered hand, saying, "Very well, thank you. You?"

"Wonderful! Just great! You joinin' Starfleet, too?"

"Yeah, I just got on board a bit late. Just got recruited last night."

"Last night? You weren't kiddin'! Here, you better talk to the commander so the Academy knows you're comin' and-"

"Don't worry, cadet. The Academy knows."

The girl turned and snapped off a crisp salute to none other than Cpt. Pike. Freddey did not.

"Aww, Chris, did you come all the way here to see 'lil old me?" Freddey asked.

"Yeah, to make sure you came," he replied, "Had a lot ridin' on you, kid."

"Glad I didn't disappoint."

"Never thought you would. Glad you're makin' friends."

"One friend anyway, and she wanted to make friends first, not like some of the others," she quickly turned to her new buddy, "I'm Winifred, by the way. Winifred Mulcahy. Call me 'Freddey'."

"Hey, Freddey," she replied, still slightly wary of Pike, "I'm Kahliya Cook. I'm goin' into the medical track as a nurse. I've already completed my nursing courses and got a little experience in a trauma unit, so I'm looking for some more advanced training. What about you?"

"Oh, I'm going into the chaplaincy program. I've been to seminary and divinity school, learned a lot about different religions and belief systems, became fluent in ancient, dead languages. The usual."

Kahliya perked up, and Pike said, "Well, it looks to me like you'll be fine, Winifred. CDT Cook, you keep an eye on her. She's ornery."

"Yessir. I'll try, sir."

When Pike was gone, Kahliya seemed to relax. She took Freddey by the arm and boarded the shuttle with her, saying, "You gotta tell me more about those dead languages! Girl, I have trouble with Spanish!"

"Forget my dead languages! You gotta tell me about being a trauma nurse! How do you deal with people like that? I had trouble doing it as a waitress!"

The both laughed, drawing disapproving looks from the other cadets in the shuttle, and they continued to do so through the flight. The journey was not so daunting when there was someone to share it with. By a strange coincidence, Kahliya was from the same county as Freddey and had completed her nursing studies at the community college very near Freddey's home. She was a bit older than Freddey at twenty-three, exuberant and bubbly and friendly. Freddey could already tell they were going to be good friends.

When they arrived at the Academy, they found they had been assigned as roommates. Freddey suspected Pike had something to do with it. She couldn't find it in her heart to be upset about it.

For my part I know nothing with any certainty, but the sight of the stars makes me dream.

~Vincent Van Gogh