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deflector room—” He paused; the barely perceptible glimmer of sorrow in his eyes told McCoy that the Vulcan had shared the same guilt, and had logically reasoned it through. “—it would have only made things more difficult for him. He would have been concerned for your safety.”

McCoy digested this a moment. “Maybe you’re right… I guess if he had to leave us, he went the way he wanted: saving the Enterprise.”

Spock angled his long face toward the doctor and somehow managed to convey the notion of a smile without moving the comers of his lips a fraction of a millimeter—though, McCoy noticed, the comers of his eyes crinkled almost imperceptibly. “It is not such a bad way to die.”

McCoy turned his head sharply at that. “That’s right,.. you should know, shouldn’t you?” The memo-ry of Spock’s agonizing death from radiation exposure was almost too horrible to bear, and still sent a shudder through him. Yet there was some comfort knowing that Jim’s end had been less painful, more mercifully swift. “You know something?” The Vulcan faced him silently, waiting.

“I feel sorry for you, Spock.” He said it kindly, sincerely, without any of the acerbity he had directed at the Vulcan in the past. “Because you’re gonna outlive all of us. And you’re going to have to experience the loss of a dear friend over and over again.” He paused, trying to keep his tone light and jesting, to keep the huskiness from his voice, and failed. “That’s what you get for hanging around us humans. No katras to preserve for posterity, no last-minute trips to Mount Seleya to bring us back…”

69

Sudden tears filled his eyes, turning Spock’s stoic countenance into a blur. “Damn,” McCoy said, as they spilled hot onto his cheeks, then swore again at the sound of his shaking voice. “Damn. I’m sorry, Spock.” He quickly wiped them away with the outer edge of an index finger, and riffled through his pockets for a handkerchief. “I promised myself I wouldn’t do this to you …. “

“It’s all right,” the Vulcan said softly. “I have served with humans for many years. I am therefore quite accustomed to emotional displays.”

McCoy smiled apologetically through his tears as he continued to search his pockets. No handkerchief, but he pulled out something that made his smile grow sincere. “Look at this, Spock—I bet you thought I’d tucked this away in some drawer and forgotten about it.” He held up the Vulcan mandala, its coppery finish turned green from countless fingerprints. “I carry it around with me. Call it my Vulcan good-luck charm.” He managed a feeble imitation of a chuckle. “I think maybe I ought to contemplate it a bit before the others get here. My logic’s not doing so good these days.”

He hesitated, remembering, rubbing the metal between his fingers. “Remember the day you gave this to me?”

“Of course, Doctor.”

“And Jim gave me that clock. Seems like only yesterday—but here it is already a year. I was up all last night, listening to Jim’s clock strike the hours, from midnight to dawn. He gave it to me to remember the good times, he said—but all I could think about was how quickly they pass. Time just keeps moving past us,

and we’re helpless to stop it. You, me, even this”—he held up the mandala—”will someday be gone.”

“‘Time,’” Spock quoted quietly, “‘the devourer of all things.’”

“Yes, time…” McCoy looked up swiftly, sudden anger in his voice. “I can’t stop thinking about time …. “