Clarity

Prologue

Jim walked down the hall. His footsteps echoed through out the ship as he went. As he went, every now and then he would pause and listen to them until they disappeared. Then he would listen for a few moments afterwards. Not for his steps, but for something else.

A voice… another pair of steps… breathing…

Anything.

But, as always, it was silent, except for the hums and dings of the machinery of the enterprise.

At this point Jim resumed walking and head to the turbo lift.

It was waiting for him, the door swooshing open as soon as he pressed the button.

Jim stepped on and turned around to the door, ordering the lift to take him to the bridge.

With another swoosh, the doors open and Jim stepped onto the bridge. He nodded to each station and swaggered his way to the captain's chair. Sitting in the chair had always felt right, as if the chair had been built just for him. He sat in it and placed a hand on both of the armrests.

"Kirk to Sickbay." He said into the intercom.

Silence.

"Kirk to Sickbay." He repeated.

No response.

"Kirk to McCoy."

…

"Kirk to Engineering."

…

"This is the Captain to Engineering. Respond. That's an order."

…

"Kirk to Auxiliary Control."

…

"Kirk to Transporter Room."

…

"Kirk to Shuttle Bay."

…

"Kirk to anyone. Do you read? Kirk to anyone."

…

"… Kirk to Spock. Respond."

…

"Respond."

…

"Kirk out."

Jim shifted his position, leaning back into the chair and stared at the screen in front of him. It was showing the current stars in front of him. They were always changing, but never were they recognizable.

Jim got up and went to Sulu's station and checked the coordinate readings. They proved inconclusive. That neither confirmed nor denied whether he was in federation space, the neutral zone, or other. Hell, whether he was still in his galaxy or in some new galaxy. Passively, he turned away from the readings. He checked others to see if there were any signs of a planet, a nearby star system, a ship, a ghost, or even a blimp, but found nothing.

He went to the science station and looked over the readings there, too. He repeated the process with all the stations, and found anything pertaining to the outside world irrelevant and inconclusive.

The communication station still had Uhura's nail polish sitting on it. She liked to paint her nails during the down time while listening to subspace radio waves. The subspace frequencies were silent right now. Kirk sent out the message he had prerecorded on all frequencies, using a special device to boost the signal that he had jerry-rigged out of spare parts he had stolen from Scotty's room. After making sure it worked, he moved on.

The ship it's self was operating perfectly. It was traveling comfortably at Warp 4. The dilithium chambers were full, the warp narcelles never seemed to over heat, and life support controls were rigidly sustainable. And, more importantly, the course of the ship was preset and nothing Jim could do made it change course, reveal where he was going, or where he was.

He was trapped; he was alone. He was an unwilling passenger on an empty Federation ship he had once captained going from no where to oblivion.

Jim settled back into the captain's chair and rubbed his forehead.

He spent the majority of both days sitting in this chair on the bridge, watching the stars go by. As the hours went by he would shift around in the chair, changing positions. He was sitting up straight. Next he was laying across the chair, legs hanging over one arm rest, and his head lolling over the other. Now he was sitting in the chair, up-side-down, and his feet where his head should be and his head where is feet go, angled so he was looking at the ceiling. That position got uncomfortable quickly.

Jim stood up and went back to the communication station and picked up the nail polish. Curiosity got the better of him, as it had several times before, and he couldn't help but try and paint one nail. The color was black, as bold and fierce as Uhura was.

Is.

Jim shook his head and replaced the nail polish back to its original position and went into the turbo lift.

Hungry was now present, so he went to the cafeteria. Out of habit, Jim got on top of the first table and surveyed the room from the high vantage point. He then hopped from that table to the next, and then to next, till he got on one close to a replicator.

The stores were enough to feed four-hundred men for five years. His food supply was unlimited. He had spent much time playing with the programming of the replicators, and was almost proud of the wide selection he had created, if he compared it to how it was before. Banana Fosters, jambalaya, gazpacho soup, grilled salmon, chocolate truffles, and smoothies of every fruit flavor were just a few he had created. He had also tried his best at expanding into Vulcan cuisines. He hadn't much experience with Plomeek soup, but it tasted like what he remembered from a Vulcan style restaurant he had dined at a long time ago.

He gave himself a meal of waffles with fried Canadian bacon. It was acceptable.

After licking his plant clean he deposited it into the receptacle and moved on to his next destination: the gymnasium.

It was a daily ritual to work out in it for at least an hour. Such an action kept him grounded, toned, and ready for anything. The ache of sore muscle felt good.

The rest of the day he spent on the observation deck, checking in with the bridge periodically. Finally a point came when Jim felt fatigue he could no longer ignore, so he took one last turbo lift ride.

As he walked down the hall he passed the room that was meant to be his, instead entered the room right next to it, using a captain's override to get in, has he had done the night before, and the night before that, and the night before that.

Jim entered Spock's quarters and peeled off the command gold shirt he donned everyday. He shimmied out of the black pants he wore too, in favor of his favorite pair of sweatpants which was hanging off the back of Spock's desk chair.

His own room hadn't been entered since the first week of this… solitude. Being there, it felt too normal and too lonely at the same time. Why Spock's room became his current sleeping space he couldn't really say, beyond that it comforted him, for some reason.

Taking in the foreign scent of incense the vulcan once favored, Kirk laid down on the bed and stared at the wall, where a vulcan tapestry hung on display.

With a sigh, he finally surrendered to the pulls of sleep.