Chapter Fifteen

Captain’s log, stardate 7413.4. Thanks to Mr. Spock’s timely arrival—and assistance engines are rebalanced to full warp capacity. Repair time less than three hours, which permits us now to intercept Intruder while still more than a day from Earth.

Kirk glanced toward the science station. Spock had returned there just moments ago, now in regulation uniform and haircut, but still deep in the same self-isolation. Sulu was giving a curious glance in that direction, too. The helmsman had no doubt that Spock’s presence increased their odds of survival. But he could not help thinking that the old Spock would have improved those odds even more.

“Ready, Captain,” said Scott’s intercom voice.

“Stand by to give us warp power,” replied Kirk.

“Our engines are not yet perfectly balanced, Captain,” said Spock. “But I have adjusted our intermix formula accordingly.”

Decker had come out of a turbolift during this, his eyes scanning bridge consoles as he moved to Kirk’s side. “Recommend yellow alert, all decks, Captain.”

“Quite unnecessary,” said Spock.

“Yellow alert, all decks,” ordered Kirk. He had gone with Decker’s recommendation as much out of curiosity as anything else. But the Vulcan gave no indication that he had either heard or cared.

Meanwhile, Chekov had begun the alert; the Klaxon was blaring. “Yellow alert, all decks; yellow alert, all decks; yellow . . . ” The computer voice stopped in mid-word as Kirk touched the silencer.

Decker was looking at Spock apologetically. “I’m not questioning your computations, Mr. Spock. But it is close to the same formula that put us into the wormhole last time.”

It annoyed Kirk to see how completely Spock was ignoring this. Considering what had happened on their last attempt, Decker was right in recommending everything be buttoned down.

“Science Officer,” said Kirk. “I’ll trouble you to acknowledge our exec when he speaks to you.”

Spock turned to Decker. “There is not the slightest risk of a hyperspace rupture, Executive Officer.”

Kirk turned toward Sulu. “Ahead, warp one.”

“Warp one, sir. Beginning acceleration.”

They could all feel the power throb, the primal fury of matter and anti-matter shattering into energy—then came the surge forward, which not even their inertial dampeners could quite handle. Despite the certainty in Spock’s statement, an eddy of tension could be felt circling the bridge.

“Warp point nine point nine two . . . point nine five . . . point nine eight . . . ” Sulu’s auxiliary viewers showed the power effect building between the great engine nacelles. Any instant now, either a smoothly accelerated entry into hyperspace, or . . .

The quantum shift happened; the star mass congealed in front of them in an eerie blaze of cold light.

“Warp one, sir.”

Kirk forced himself to wait out the long interval which had passed last time before apparent success had dissolved into chaos.

“Cancel yellow alert,” he finally said to Chekov. Then to Sulu: “Take her on up, helm.”

Everybody breathed and Kirk turned toward the science console where he would have liked to at least nod his gratitude, but Spock was immersed in calculations.

Scott’s elated voice could be heard on the intercom. “Proper treatment, that’s all this lady wanted, Captain. She’s not even strainin’!”

They took her up by smooth, unfaltering stages to warp sever point six one. Spock had marked this as their limit until engines received a final balance. Then, when everything had been checked, Kirk rose, keying his intercom. “Dr. McCoy, please meet me in the officers’ lounge in five minutes.” He moved for the elevators, adding: “I’d be obliged if you could join us there, too, Mr. Spock.”

The officers’ lounge was located three decks below the bridge at the forward edge of the command superstructure. The observation ports here looked out over the starship’s vast saucer section and provided the best shipboard views of space and, at warp speeds, of hyperspace. With the ship in warp drive, the myriads of stars visible from here were coalesced into a mass ahead of them—and the starship’s incredible velocity was obvious even there as occasional stars would seem to abruptly slip free of the rest, whipping brightly past the starship to vanish into the reverse coalescence of stars behind them.

McCoy liked the officers’ lounge. It pleased him that Starfleet could understand the necessity of providing luxury like this, especially for those whose years of service and distinction merited it. And it was made doubly pleasant by the fact that entry here was forbidden to no one—its exclusive use by command-grade officers was merely a tradition which had grown out of the honest respect which Starfleet’s senior officers had earned.

The Vulcan came in, still cold and aloof. “Reporting as ordered, Captain.”

McCoy felt half-angry and half-pitying. Despite the cold Vulcan exterior being presented by Spock, McCoy had known him too well for too many years to miss the small signs of human torment that were present too. It annoyed the doctor that Spock, so perfectly logical in other things, felt compelled to repudiate his human bloodline—it also troubled him that the strain of this might push Spock past some breaking point.

“Sit down, please,” Kirk said.

Spock remained standing. “Sir, I would appreciate Dr. McCoy absenting himself from this interview.”

McCoy saw Kirk’s look harden. “I want him here,” Kirk said. “Sit down!”

This was unmistakably given as an order—even then, for a moment, it looked as if Spock would refuse. Finally, he sat, but formally, rigidly, his eyes centered on the captain alone.

Kirk decided to maintain the official tone in his voice. “Your arrival report stated that while on Vulcan you sensed unusually strong thought emanations which seemed to be part of some entity or entities traveling in this direction. Can you tell us any more about these thoughts?”

Spock answered equally formally. “I could sense only what seemed an almost omniscient pattern of perfect logic, sir. I can explain nothing more; I understand nothing more.”

“Have you had any contact with this consciousness since then?” asked McCoy.

Spock kept his eyes on Kirk, presenting his answer there. “Affirmative. Since arriving aboard, a second contact in which I sensed some puzzlement; also, some urgency in needing some answer. As to the nature of the puzzle, I have no clue.”

“Is that all of it so far?” asked Kirk. “Two mind contacts with something out here? Nothing more?”

Spock wished Kirk’s question had not been asked so broadly. “On Vulcan, I seemed for a moment to be also sensing your thoughts, Captain. It felt as if you were wondering whether the Klingon cruisers and crews were actually destroyed . . . or had been converted into exhibits of some sort.”

Kirk’s expression told McCoy there had indeed been such a thought—although this surprised McCoy much less than the fact that Spock had admitted sensing it, considering his present unfriendliness. It was common knowledge that telepathic rapport between Vulcan and human was possible only in cases of extraordinarily close friendship.

Kirk nodded casually. “I must have been wishing that I could discuss all this with you. I had acquired the habit of having you around during emergencies.”

McCoy watched as Spock continued to sit staring expressionlessly straight ahead. Why couldn’t Spock respond to him? Kirk could hardly risk begging one of his officers for friendship.

“I heard you went to Gol after you left,” Kirk said. “Were you studying with the Vulcan Masters?”

“That question invades my personal life, Captain.”

“Emotion, Spock?” McCoy had seen the barest flicker of expression at Kirk’s mention of the Masters. “Is it possible you failed?”

Spock turned slowly toward McCoy, acknowledging his presence for the first time. “Your deductions do you credit, Doctor, if your puerile curiosity does not.”

“My professional curiosity, Science Officer.” McCoy was capable of a formally official tone, too. “And am I seeing anger now?”

McCoy had seen a glint of it, even though Spock had composed his expression almost instantly. It was precisely this kind of thing which had made Spock object to the doctor’s presence here. He had no choice but to nod stiff acknowledgment of the truth of McCoy’s observation, but he addressed himself back to Kirk.

“I had believed that a discipline at Gol would exorcise my human half. I did not succeed . . . I have not yet succeeded in fully accomplishing that.”

“The fact that you had sensed patterns of perfect logic,” Kirk had to ask. “Does that have something to do with your being here?”

“It is my only hope of accomplishing what the Masters could not,” said Spock.

“Isn’t it lucky we happened to be going your way,” said McCoy.

“Let it drop, Bones,” Kirk said. But he kept his tone firm as he continued, to Spock: “You are my science officer—I’ll expect an immediate report on anything further you learn or sense from here on.”

“I have accepted service here as a Starfleet officer,” said Spock, stiffly.

Kirk nodded, accepting the rebuke. “This has been painful for me, too. Thank you.”

Spock turned and went out without a word. Kirk and McCoy exchanged a troubled look. Then Kirk turned to go, too.

“Jim . . . ” called McCoy. Kirk turned back and McCoy waited until certain Spock was out of hearing range. “However seriously Vulcans take their oaths, remember that everything and everyone has a breaking point.”

Kirk shook his head. “I can’t believe Spock could ever be turned against us.”

“Jim, if that consciousness is as enormous and powerful as Spock describes it, he may have no choice.”

Kirk came onto the bridge to find Spock back at his station again, opaque and unreadable. Decker was in the command seat, which was perfectly proper, of course. The young exec got up and came to give his report, handing over the display readout which showed present efficiency of Enterprise divisions and departments.

“Critical systems status improving markedly, sir,” Decker reported. He was pointing to Chekov’s weapons and defense division which was now rated high—mid-eighties. Communications was equally high. Secondary and auxiliary functions still showed marginal ratings, but, of course, main effort and attention had been concentrated on their most critical needs.

What was this? Decker’s display board showed an interesting power bypass design; in fact, it was the very kind of thing Kirk had just mentioned to the chief engineer! No wonder Scott had suggested that Kirk discuss it with Decker. Clearly, Decker had already been working on an arrangement which would permit the use of their ship’s phasers even with all engine power knocked out.

“Something Mr. Scott and I had been putting together in our spare time, sir,” Decker said, with some satisfaction.

Kirk was genuinely surprised. According to the display here, a major part of bypass arrangement had been installed. It said a great deal about Decker that he had not only been aware of this need, but was also ingenious enough to have this much already accomplished. “A pity there wasn’t time to finish this,” Kirk said.

Decker grinned. “Hoped you’d say that, sir. I think I’ve worked out a way to have these alterations completed and tested an hour before I.P. Permission to proceed?”

Kirk hesitated. It could be disastrous if some unforeseen problem occurred during further alterations—it could end with them drifting helplessly in the path of the Intruder with the work incomplete and both engines and phasers useless. Kirk resisted an impulse to ask him if he were certain of his estimates—Decker was as aware as anyone of their situation. And he knew this ship best. It was Kirk’s moment to indicate how far he trusted his young second-in-command.

“Permission to proceed.” Kirk nodded. “I’m very pleased and impressed with this, Will.”

“Thank you, sir.” Decker hurried toward the turbolift landing. Kirk took another look at the vessel and crew emergency breakdowns. He couldn’t actually boast that they merited a “battle-ready” description, but it was clear that a remarkable job had been done—and it had been done mainly by Decker before Kirk had arrived on the scene.

McCoy had been right; Kirk had come to realize that, too. Getting starship command again had been a secret obsession, hidden even from himself until the Intruder alert occurred. When he realized that this could mean not only returning to space again but also to Enterprise, he had closed his mind to everything else. Retaining command of Enterprise had somehow become for him the purpose of the entire mission. He was genuinely shocked as he realized how close he had come to defiling an entire lifetime’s beliefs.

Kirk had come to the bridge to confront himself on a decision which had now become inescapable—were Enterprise and Earth best served with himself or Decker in the center seat? But even as he asked himself that question, he realized that the decision had already been made—he could feel it in the measured, easy way he was breathing, moving . . . yes, and thinking. He knew this feeling, and he was immeasurably gratified that it was still there. It was some stranger who had lived that other life down there. The James Kirk he wanted to be, the one he was now, had never left this bridge.