The Sisters of Sha Ka Ree by Stan W
Summary: Who would have thought a simple diary would set in motion a series of events that would put the whole Federation in jeopardy? Certainly not Admiral Hiroshi Mifune. He had long since retired from active duty and was perfectly content with his current assignment as a distinguished professor at Starfleet Academy, teaching archaeology and warp physics. But events have a way of interfering with the best-laid plans and sometimes the bell tolls for you. If that were not bad enough, he knew he would be forced to commit treason, cooperate with an old enemy, and ask for help from the best student he ever had, one Jean-Luc Picard, all to save the Federation from potential extinction! But as the grandson of the famous Admiral Hikaru Sulu, he had a certain reputation to uphold, and this was just one more challenge.
Categories: Next Generation Characters: Data, La Forge, Geordi, Picard, Jean-Luc, Riker, William, Troi, Deanna, Worf
Genre: Action/Adventure
Warnings: None
Challenges: None
Series: None
Chapters: 1 Completed: No Word count: 1223 Read: 448 Published: 06 Jun 2018 Updated: 23 Jun 2018
Story Notes:
This is my first effort at cranking out a novel so any constructive criticism is always welcome. I think it a pretty good story although I readily admit my prose could use a little improvement (ok maybe a lot). Those of you who fans of movies and books in general as I am may notice that I have borrowed quite a bit from some of my favorites. Kudos to you if you can find Ice Station Zebra. Anyway, hope you enjoy my story.

1. Chapter 1; A Grandfather Bestows a Gift; Stardate 2309.100 by Stan W

Chapter 1; A Grandfather Bestows a Gift; Stardate 2309.100 by Stan W
Chapter 1
A Grandfather Bestows a Gift
Stardate 2309.100

The fire crackled in the hearth, the flames stirred by the winds of the approaching storm blowing through the window created by a gap left open between the traditional, translucent white-paper screens. The crashing surf of the ocean only meters away filled the night air as the grandfather spoke to the young boy on his lap, rocking sedately in a chair beside the fireplace.
“And that is how Captain Kirk and Mr. Spock defeated the evil Romulans, and the first Romulan ship with a cloaking device was destroyed.”
“But Ojiichan!” the little boy protested. “Why are the Romulans evil? Aren’t they just Vulcans? Vulcans are our friends! Like Uncle Spock!”
“Oh, well, little Hiro,” the grandfather said, “Not all Romulans are evil. But some are not very nice. And they may look like Vulcans, but they are not like Vulcans at all. Romulans and Vulcans come from the same ancestors, but they parted ways many generations ago.”
“Father!” A beautiful Asian woman, with only a few streaks of silver showing in the glistening black curtain of her hair, stood in the doorway. “You know the Weather Service warned there would be a storm tonight!” She shook her head as she crossed over to the open window and slid shut the shoji screens.
“Demora,” the old man laughed. “A little wind and water never scared a Sulu, isn’t that right, Hiro?”
“Yeah!” the little boy piped up. “Nothing scares a Sulu! Not even Klingons!”
“Not even Klingons!” the old man agreed. “But maybe Tribbles. . . ”
“Tell it, Ojiichan! Tell it!”
“That one again? You’ve heard that one a hundred times.” Sulu laughed, kissing the little boy on the crown of his head. “Don’t you want a new one? Did I ever tell you about the time Captain Kirk and I—“
“Enough stories!” Demora cut him off. “It’s someone’s bedtime!”
“Aw, Mom! Please! Just one more!” the little boy begged.
“Yeah, Mom! Just one more?” his grandfather smiled.
“Uh-uh. Lights out in ten. And that’s an order, Mr. Hiroshi Sulu Mifune!”
The little boy sighed and looked to his grandfather for help, but the old man only shrugged. “Better do what she says. She is your superior officer. We’ll tell more stories tomorrow. Your shore leave isn’t over for another week.”
“I love you Ojiichan!” The little boy hugged him and slid out of his lap.
“I love you to, Hirochan.”
The old man left the chair and shuffled toward the fireplace as the mother led the little boy from the room. Above the mantle hung an impressive collection of ancient weapons, including several katana swords, and an array of firearms: an M14 rifle, numerous pistols, a shotgun, and even an American Revolutionary War musket. Sulu slid an appreciative hand across one of the gleaming barrels, but then picked up an old leather-bound book from the mantle and started back to his chair with it, just as his daughter poked her head back into the room.
“Don’t stay up reading about old times too long, Otosan. Or I’ll be back to give you orders next, Admiral Sulu.”
He threw back his head and his teeth flashed white as he let out a bellowing laugh to rival the crash of thunder that rattled the screen walls.
“Sulus aren’t afraid of wind, or water, or Klingons. But they know enough to be afraid of bossy daughters!”

* * *

The rain beat down on the glossy wood of the coffin resting beside the open grave. Above the sound of the storm and the ocean crashing below the bluff where they were gathered, thunder of a different type cracked out as ten rifles in unison fired off three quick rounds. Then, the sound of the bagpipe playing “Taps” pierced through the mists as the coffin was hoisted over the grave. The congregation watched with solemn and respectful eyes, but they did not wear black; no, for the funeral of one of Starfleet’s most decorated and legendary officers, commanders and captains and admirals by the dozens had turned out in the bright reds, blues, and golds of their finest dress uniforms.
When the last notes of the bagpipe faded away, the young man standing proudly in the uniform of a Cadet at the head of the riflemen stowed his weapon and came to stand beside his mother as she watched the coffin lowering down into the grave.
“We should have postponed until tomorrow. Or arranged for Weather Control to delay the storm another hour. They would have done it for Admiral Hikaru Sulu,” Demora said, the Captain’s pips glittering on her collar even in the gloom.
“Sulus aren’t afraid of a little wind and water,” the Cadet smiled sadly.
“Sulus aren’t afraid of anything. Not even Klingons!” she agreed, her tears mixing with the rain on her face. She took her son’s hand. “But maybe—“
“Tribbles!” they finished together, chuckling softly.
The coffin reached the bottom of the grave with a solid sound, and the entire congregation raised their hands in formal salute, even the young cadet, his eyes glittering with fierce pride.
The group began to file away in a slow trickle. Hiro held the rifle out to his mother. “We should return this to Ojiichan’s collection,” he told his mother, but she shook her head.
“Keep it, Hirochan. Your grandfather would want you to have it. And this as well.” She reached into the bag hanging at her side and pulled out an object wrapped in protective plastic. “Your grandfather would have given it to you himself, if you’d been able to get back from the Academy in time…”
A stricken look crossed over the young man’s face, but then his eyes fastened on what his mother was holding out to him; a battered old leather-bound book.
“What is this?”
“Look at it and see for yourself,” she replied gently. He carefully reached into the plastic and opened the cover just enough to make out the handwriting on the worn pages.
“Is this what I think it is?!” The young man looked at his mother, perplexed.
“Yes it is, Hiro. Admiral Kirk gave his diary to your grandfather as a token of his appreciation for his many years of service and the long friendship they shared. Ojiichan used to read it before your visits. He always wanted to make sure he had a new story to tell you. He treasured the time he spent telling his grandson tales of his adventures with the great Captain Kirk. It’s yours now, Hiro.”
Hiroshi gripped the book with trembling, reverent hands.
“But…this belongs in an archive.”
“It was Kirk’s personal diary. Not a captain’s log. They have plenty of official records for the archives. Your grandfather served with Kirk for a long time, and Kirk gave this to him. Your grandfather wanted you to have it. He knew how much you always loved his stories about Kirk and the Enterprise. The journal belongs with you, Hiroshi.”
Cadet Mifune stared through the plastic at the battered leather binding for a long moment before finally looking back at the grave. He smiled.
“What do you think, Ojiichan? Maybe one more story?”
This story archived at