CHAPTER 25

It wasn’t as if Spock had never seen a badly damaged bridge before. It was just that he had never seen this one badly damaged. Truly, the place had seen better days.

The Vulcan inspected the havoc the Romulans had wrought with their photon torpedo salvos—the charred control panels and the disabled stations, and the place where Mister Data had grabbed the rail hard enough to leave an imprint of his fingers.

But Spock also looked past the recently inflicted ruin, at a mingling of lines and tones and textures that was all too familiar to him.

The bridge of the original Enterprise. Until his abrupt transport from the surface of Constanthus, he had never expected to see it again.

“Mister Spock?”

The Vulcan turned to his stocky, moustached companion who barely looked a day older than when Spock had seen him last—though that was more than seventy-five standard years ago.

“Yes, Mister Scott?”

“Ye looked distracted,” the human informed him, his eyes narrowed slightly with concern. “Ye’re all right, are ye nae?”

“I am fine,” the Vulcan assured him. “I apologize if I seemed unattentive for a moment. Appearances to the contrary, I was listening to every word you said.”

Before he could complete his statement, the turbolift swooshed open and their other companion emerged. Nor had McCoy’s advancement in years curbed his willingness to speak his mind.

“I wouldn’t believe him if I were you, Scotty.” The admiral grunted disapprovingly. “Ancient as he is, the man still hasn’t learned any manners. You can’t take him anywhere.”

Spock considered Leonard McCoy, now as wizened and white-haired as any human he had ever seen. The man was doing his best to keep from smiling—with little success.

Even after all these years, he enjoyed provoking his old colleague. In fact, the Vulcan mused, McCoy probably enjoyed it more now, considering he didn’t get the opportunity quite so often anymore.

“I might remind you,” Spock replied, “that I am three years your junior, Doctor.”

“A subject still eminently open to debate,” the admiral grumbled, taking a seat at the burnt-out communications panel.

“What’s more,” said the Vulcan, “as I already indicated to Captain Scott, I heard every word he uttered.” Spock turned to Scotty. “It was then that you intercepted the subspace message concerning my captivity?”

Scotty smiled. “That it was, sir. And having heard it, I could nae sit back and let Starfleet worry about retrievin’ ye.” He looked around cautiously and leaned forward. “Nae while there was someone around who still knew what he was doin’.”

“Make that two of you who knew what you were doing,” McCoy remarked. “I’ve got a newfound respect for that fellow Picard. He may not be Jim Kirk, but he’s all right in my book.”

The Vulcan was reminded of how Sarek had spoken of Picard. “And in mine,” he agreed. “I see now why my father placed so much … trust in him.”

Scotty turned to McCoy. “Dinnae sell yourself short, Doctor. I heard the way ye put two and two together regarding the Stugg and the lack of Romulans patrollin’ the Neutral Zone… .” He shrugged. “If ye had nae thought o’ that, we might all be guests of the proconsul now. And I, for one, have had my fill of his hospitality.”

“It was a most clever ploy,” Spock conceded. “At least, Captain Picard seemed to think so. Nor was there anyone else on the Enterprise who could have executed it.”

The admiral seemed uncomfortable accepting a compliment from his onetime sparring partner. “In other words,” he said crustily, “it pays sometimes to be older than the hills.”

“There are no other words,” the Vulcan answered. “There are only the ones I spoke.”

McCoy harrumphed and pointed a forefinger. “Don’t be so literal, Spock.”

The Vulcan regarded him. “I do not see the value of being otherwise.”

Turning to his other colleague, Spock changed the subject. “I am intrigued by your method of survival in a transporter unit, Captain Scott. I found some of the details in a library file, but they were rather sketchy.”

“And ye want to hear it from the horse’s mouth,” Scott replied proudly. “Well, ye’ve come to the right place. Y’see, we’d gone down, trapped in the Dyson Sphere’s gravity well. The crash had disabled everything except auxiliary life-support and communications—and those systems were failing as well. It did nae look promising, I can tell ye that.

“With the help of another survivor, I melded the transporter’s diagnostic circuits, locking the pattern buffers into a perpetual diagnostic cycle. Then I had the computer cross-connect the phase inducers to the emitter array.”

The Vulcan pictured the maneuvers in his mind. “And by doing so,” he realized, “you created a regenerating power source—which could keep the mechanism operating until assistance arrived.”

“Exactly,” Scott confirmed. “Of course, I did nae expect it to take seventy-five years—but I suppose I should be glad it arrived at all.”

Spock nodded. “Fascinating.”

It made the human smile. “Ye know,” he said, “I’ve waited a long time to hear ye say that. And it was well worth it.”

“Speak for yourself,” commented McCoy, tinkering with what was left of the communications controls.

The Vulcan sighed. Some things, it seemed, would never change.

As Picard entered Ten-Forward with Riker at his side, his gaze was drawn to the twenty-third-century vessel keeping pace with them off their starboard beam. Somewhere on that vessel, Spock and his old comrades were enjoying a reunion of sorts.

There was something about those three that distinguished them from other people, he thought. They possessed a stature that seemed to transcend the physical. A…

“Camaraderie,” he said out loud.

His first officer turned to him. “I beg your pardon, sir?”

The captain indicated the Yorktown with a lift of his chin. “Those three, over there. They exemplify the meaning of camaraderie like no one else I’ve ever seen.”

Observing the Yorktown for a moment on his way to the bar, Riker grunted. “I see what you mean. But then, they served together for a long time. Almost thirty years, wasn’t it?”

Picard thought about it as he slid onto a stool. “Off and on, I suppose. On one mission or another.”

His exec commandeered the next stool over. “And still friends. Still willing to risk their lives for one another.”

Not so long ago, the being called Q had shifted the captain back and forth in time. In a future that might yet take place, Picard had seen his friends separated and at odds with one another—Riker and Worf in particular. On his return to normalcy, he’d sworn not to let matters take that course.

Now the value of avoiding such a future was brought home to him even more resoundingly. The captain very much wanted his officers to be like Spock, McCoy, and Scotty thirty years hence. He wanted them to be able to look into each other’s eyes and know that they were in a place where they could feel at home. He—

“What can I get for you gentlemen?”

Turning, Picard saw Guinan standing expectantly behind the bar. He smiled.

“Listening in?” he asked.

“How could I?” she said, answering his question with another. “You weren’t saying anything.”

The captain chuckled. “That never stopped you before.”

“Duhlian Twist,” said the first officer. “Spicy, the way I like it.”

“All right.” Guinan eyed Picard. “And you?”

“Ale,” the captain responded.

But before he’d quite gotten the word out, she had produced a foamy mug full of the very stuff. He had to smile.

“You poured that before I said anything,” he pointed out.

“Of course I did,” Guinan told him, smiling back. “I can’t wait all day for you to make up your mind.”

Riker shrugged. “You can’t beat the service,” he observed.

“I suppose not,” Picard agreed. “For that reason alone, it was worth rejoining the saucer section.”

A moment later, Guinan brought the first officer his drink as well. The color of rust, it came in a squat, round glass.

“So,” said the bartender, “what happened to those charges?”

The captain had to think a moment before he realized what she was talking about. “The ones related to Captain Scott’s theft of the Yorktown, you mean.”

“Uh-huh. He’s not going to be court-martialed, is he? Not after he managed to pull Ambassador Spock out of prison?”

“No,” Picard told her. “He won’t be court-martialed.”

Riker grinned. “The captain pulled a few strings at Starfleet Command. After all, it’s not the first time anyone’s ever stolen a ship for a good cause.”

“True,” said Picard. “I understand that in Captain Scott’s day, it happened on a fairly regular basis.”

Guinan wagged a long, graceful finger at him. “You’re pulling my leg now.”

“Indeed,” the captain admitted. “In any case, I had to promise Starfleet that Scott would return the Yorktown and refrain from such thefts in the future. I trust that from now on, he’ll restrict himself to the shuttle we loaned him.”

Riker looked past Picard to the old Constitution-class vessel. “They’ve been out there for hours already— probably so glad to see each other, we’ll never be able to pry them apart.”

Guinan had to stifle a snicker. The captain shot her a glance.

“What’s so funny?” he asked.

“Nothing,” she told him. “Nothing at all.”

“An emotional act?” Spock cocked an eyebrow. “I must confess, Doctor, I do not see how—”

“Don’t give me that eyebrow,” McCoy countered, his eyes fiery and passionate as he leaned on the red-orange rail surrounding the Yorktown’s command center. “You knew you didn’t have a spacer’s chance of stopping the execution—but that didn’t keep you from belting your guard into the middle of next week. Or are you saying your Romulan friends fibbed about that in the debriefing?”

The Vulcan didn’t move a single facial muscle—yet he managed to convey his disagreement. “If you are suggesting that my decision to attempt physical resistance was not thoroughly considered,” he said, “I must apprise you of the contrary.”

“The contrary,” McCoy repeated. “Uh-huh.”

This time Spock continued undeterred. “Remember, Admiral, at that moment the only alternative was to allow myself and my compatriots to be killed. It is hardly an emotional response to act to prevent such a result, even if the odds are against one’s chances of success.”

McCoy grunted. “In other words, you panicked. You felt the icy grip of fear and you lashed out.”

Spock leveled a stare at his colleague. “Really, Doctor.”

“There’s nothing to be ashamed of,” McCoy persisted. “It happens to all of us at one time or another.” He wagged a finger at the Vulcan. “The difference is the rest of us admit it, dammit.”

“I would admit it,” replied Spock. “I would admit it quite willingly, in fact, if there were even a single shred of truth to the notion. However, as it is, I can only—”

He was cut short by the hiss of air that accompanied the opening of the turbolift doors. The Vulcan turned and saw Skrasis standing there.

“I thought you were to remain in sickbay,” the Vulcan observed.

“I was released,” the Romulan explained. “And allowed to beam over to the Yorktown, to assist you in your assessment of the damages.” He paused, no doubt observing the looks on their faces. “Am I interrupting something, Teacher?”

McCoy harrumphed. “Damned right you’re interrupting something. But don’t let that stop you. Pull up a chair.”

Skrasis looked to Spock, to make sure he had no objections. When the Vulcan inclined his head slightly, the younger man took a seat at the science station—the place where Spock himself had sat many years earlier.

He couldn’t help but note how pleased the Romulan was merely to be alive. But then, the Vulcan was pleased as well. For a time it had looked as if survival was impossible.

“Ye were sayin’, Mister Spock?” Scotty prompted. “As it is, ye can only …?”

The Vulcan thought about his experiences with the Constantharines in Tharrus’s prison. He recalled Belan’s doomed but courageous attempt at escape. He remembered how D’tan and the others had come forward, claiming to be Spock, in defiance of all logic. Finally, he considered Skrasis’s refusal to point Spock out, even when his life hung in the balance.

He had tried to teach his students the value of objectivity, in the belief that they could aspire to nothing greater. And all the while, without realizing it, they had been teaching him the value of something just as important.

Spock frowned. “I can only admit,” he replied, completing his statement, “that emotion may have played some small part in my actions.”

McCoy looked at him incredulously. “Emotion, Spock?” He shook his head. “Pinch me,” he cackled, “because I’m most certainly dreaming.”

Scotty’s brow had twisted into a knot over the bridge of his nose. “I think I’d better call security,” he said. “Someone’s impersonating the ambassador.”

Skrasis merely looked from one human to the other. He apparently had no idea what they were talking about. But then, he hadn’t served on the original Enterprise with them, had he?

Spock eyed his former colleagues. “You may find my statement humorous, gentlemen. However, I should note that it was not human emotion that shaped my behavior—but rather, Romulan emotion. You see,” he remarked, glancing at Skrasis, “I began my efforts toward reunification thinking I had to teach Romulans to be Vulcans.”

“And now?” asked his student, obviously captivated by this turn in the conversation.

“Now,” said Spock, “I realize that Vulcans and Romulans have a great deal to teach each other. And any worthwhile reunification effort will have to combine the best qualities of both peoples.”

Skrasis smiled, no doubt pleased by his master’s conclusion. “I will have to remember that,” he responded.

“Well,” McCoy interjected, “I’d say we’re making some progress here. If the ambassador’s sampling Romulan emotion, I don’t think human emotion can be too far behind. Pretty soon, we’ll have him singing ‘Row Your Boat’ like Enrico Caruso.”

“I do not believe I will ever do that,” the Vulcan demurred.

“Sure you will,” the admiral assured him. “After you’ve gotten settled, we’ll spend some time on Earth. Visit Starfleet headquarters, that sort of thing. Remind you of those human qualities you’ve been missing the last few years.”

“Aye,” Scott chimed in. “We’ll visit the captain’s monument, if ye like.”

Spock looked at him askance. “His … monument?”

The Scotsman nodded. “They built it on the land where he grew up, right in the middle of a cornfield. Paid for with private funds, too. There’s a history of his exploits engraved in the stone beneath his likeness and

well

” The former chief engineer went ruddy with embarrassment. “There’s a bit there about each of us,” he went on. “Ye especially, sir.”

The Vulcan acknowledged the information with a nod. He was glad that his friend Jim had not gone unremembered by the people of Earth, for whom he had sacrificed so much.

Spock would very much have liked to see this monument. Unfortunately it would not be possible to do so. He said as much.

McCoy balked at the Vulcan’s response. “What are you talking about?” His eyes widened suddenly. “Don’t tell me you’re planning on going back to Romulus?”

“Indeed,” Spock replied, “that is precisely what I intend to do. I have already made the necessary arrangements with Captain Picard.”

“But it was near impossible to get ye out,” Scott declared. “Getting ye back in could be twice as hard.”

“No,” the Vulcan disagreed. “There is a network I helped establish, which from time to time smuggles Romulan dissenters out of the Empire. I will employ the same network to smuggle myself and my students back to Romulus.”

“You can’t do this,” the admiral insisted. “Not at your age. You’re too old to go risking your life in that den of snakes.”

“Aye,” said Scott. “Ye’ve done enough, sir. Ye’ve done more than enough. Let someone else lead the unificationists.”

But Spock shook his head resolutely from side to side. “If I am truly as old as you claim, gentlemen, there is little time for me to leave the galaxy better than when I entered it. And I cannot imagine a greater legacy than to have played a part in reunification.

“Besides,” he went on, “two brave and resourceful men put their lives on the line to preserve the leader of the unification movement. How can I allow such an effort to be wasted?”

McCoy swallowed. His eyes seemed to take on a liquid cast. “You’re a damned fool, Spock. Still.” He paused. “But I’ll be rooting for you just the same.”

“As will I,” agreed Scott. “And we’ll meet again, Mister Spock. Ye can bet the whole blasted Romulan Empire on that.”

Inwardly the Vulcan smiled at his friend’s optimism. “I would not be so foolish as to accept that wager,” he replied simply.

For a moment or two, silence reigned on the bridge. It was Skrasis who finally ended it.

“Our time here is short, Teacher. How may I be of service to you?”

Spock turned to him. “You may help me repair the science station.”

After all, like McCoy and Scott, the science station was an old comrade—one he would miss when he returned to Romulus.