Chapter Thirteen
He had the look of fasting, of hot winds and blowing sands, and of difficult and painful disciplines mastered. He had the look of . . . almost serenity. It was of serenity so nearly achieved that it had left behind this dignity, at least. Spock might have need of this dignity, for there was no serenity in his eyes.
Kirk seemed stunned. “Spock . . . ! Spock, where? How . . . ?” Then there was a smile on Kirk’s face, and he was moving to Spock with a hand outstretched.
But the Vulcan had turned, ignoring Kirk’s presence, and was moving to the science console where Decker sat.
“Commander, if I may.” Spock’s voice sounded unusually toneless to Decker. It was and was not the Vulcan voice from the old Enterprise science tapes. But what surprised Decker most of all was this profound sense of awe he felt at being in Spock’s presence.
It took the exec a moment to realize that Spock wanted to take over the science station position. He came hastily to his feet, trying to indicate yes, certainly! Decker knew without conceit that he was at least as good as any other human on this new console, but this was more like an amateur yielding a keyboard to an artist. Spock was sliding into the seat, intent on the computations he began keying into the maze of computer programming and retrieval systems.
Decker felt no disappointment over what he saw next. Spock’s long fingers played over the closely packed banks of selectors, sequencers, and regulators with astonishing speed, each touch deftly accomplished as if it had been done with painstaking concentration.
“I have been monitoring your Starfleet transmissions, Captain,” Spock said in that same dispassionate tone, “and I am aware of your engine difficulties.” The considerable assortment of science console viewers were now displaying readouts whose rapidity began to lose and bewilder Decker—and then he was even more astonished as he remembered that Spock had never before sat at this particular console design, even though it reflected recommendations he had left behind in his science logs.
Spock paused, scanning the information displays on the console viewers. Then he turned to Kirk, still without any expression: “I offer my services as science officer.”
Kirk’s relief was absolute. If there was any way to get the starship into warp speed quickly, it had just somehow miraculously arrived. Kirk turned to Decker. “If our executive officer has no objections—”
“Of course not,” Decker said quickly. “I am well aware of Mr. Spock’s qualifications.” The young exec was close to forgetting the disappointment he had endured so far. How had Spock been conjured up at this very moment? Had this been arranged by Jim Kirk somehow? Decker found himself remembering again how those five years of Enterprise logs had been filled with instances of a Captain Kirk who seemed to keep achieving the impossible. Only if Spock had come here on his own, then at least it had to stem out of the well-known friendship between these two. And Spock’s professional admiration of Kirk was equally well known. Either way, Decker’s estimation of Kirk began slowly growing again toward what it had been in the past.
Chekov arrived back at his station, still looking stunned over the surprise of having seen Spock out of the shuttlecraft cabin. “Mr. Chekov,” Kirk said, “record Mr. Spock’s Starfleet commission reactivated, and list him assigned as Enterprise science officer, both effective immediately.”
Although Kirk had been as dumbfounded as the others, he was pleased to note that he had recovered first and was now handling all this with some degree of command presence. But it still felt painful to be reminded so powerfully and unexpectedly of his friendship and affection for Spock—theirs had been the touching of two minds which the old poets of Spock’s home planet had proclaimed as superior even to the wild physical love which affected Vulcans every seventh year during pon farr. However, Spock’s new demeanor warned Kirk to stay clear of personal considerations for the moment.
Spock came to his feet abruptly from the science console. “The required fuel formula will need considerable cooperation from the chief engineer,” said Spock. “I can go there immediately, unless the captain wishes to question my tentative findings thus far.…”
Kirk knew he was at last beginning to take firm command of this vessel and this mission—and this was as good a time as any to demonstrate that he was capable of dealing coolly and effectively with either good fortune or calamity, however unexpectedly one or the other might arrive.
“Just fix it, Spock,” said Kirk. “Do it in any way that gets us to warp speed fastest!”
Giving no sign of acknowledgment, Spock turned to step toward the bridge turbolifts. At that moment, one of them now arrived, discharging Chapel and McCoy, out onto the bridge. It was plain that Spock intended to ignore them too, just as he had the other familiar faces among the bridge crew—but they had moved in too quickly and were blocking his path.
As Chapel first saw him, black robed, almost regally Vulcan—she felt almost suffocating pain somewhere. And now she was standing in front of him, cursing herself for the fool she knew she must look as she tried to compose a simple sentence of greeting. She hated the silly smile she knew was brightening her whole face. “Mr. Spock . . . !!”
McCoy was almost as unsuccessful in hiding his own pleasure: “So help me, Spock, I’m almost pleased to see you!”
Spock’s eyes had passed them rapidly, so totally devoid of interest that a hand slap across their faces would have been almost kinder. He seemed to be committing deliberate cruelty. Kirk came very near intervening but held back, realizing that Spock could not be blamed for Chapel’s fantasies concerning him. And McCoy was well able to look after himself.
“That’s how we all feel, Mr. . . .” This was from Uhura who had hoped to convince Spock of the sincerity of everyone’s welcome, but her words stopped as the same cold, uninterested glance passed her in mid-sentence.
Kirk could see a pattern emerging; except as duty situations required, Spock obviously intended to completely and impartially ignore every member of this starship’s crew. The reasons for that might turn out to be as interesting as whatever it was that brought him here. Perhaps as painful, too. Kirk decided that it would not hurt Spock to be reminded that pain could be two-edged.
He waited until the Vulcan was in mid-step into the waiting turbolift. Then:
“Mister Spock! Welcome aboard.”
Spock hesitated for an instant—Kirk knew that his voice had carried enough sincerity to call forth a memory or two in the Vulcan’s mind. But although he had hesitated for an instant, Spock continued into the turbolift. He made no acknowledgment. The doors snapped closed and he was gone.
“Never look a gift Vulcan in the ears, Jim,” said McCoy. Kirk felt a grin beginning to form. It was a totally nonsensical statement that Bones had just made, but somehow Spock’s very presence did seem to promise that everything was soon to get better.