Lately it seemed to Kirk as if all he was destined to do was to endure painful falls from very high places.
Vision and consciousness returned simultaneously, though not efficiently, as he struggled to free himself from the encumbering safety harness. He had not gone quietly. At least he had departed the Enterprise secure in the knowledge that sedation had been administered by someone other than Bones McCoy. The good doctor might have disagreed with him on strategy and chosen to side with that pointy-eared usurper, but he had also opposed the need to ban Kirk from the ship.
“I can keep him quiet and out of trouble while he’s on board,” McCoy had insisted.
“With all due respect for your medical expertise, Doctor,” acting Captain Spock had responded, “from what I have seen and know of Lieutenant James Kirk, short of placing him in permanent stasis it is not possible to do either. And even then I would have my doubts.”
Groaning, Kirk pushed himself forward out of the deceleration chair and tried to focus on the bank of blinking instrumentation in front of him. Other than insisting that he was alive and more or less intact, which conclusion he had already reached independent of mechanical confirmation, the readouts were not especially informative.
A quick look around indicated that he was in a standard one-person survival pod. He ought to have been flattered that the Enterprise had dropped out of warp long enough to deposit him wherever the hell he presently was, but for some reason he was less than thrilled. No doubt the pain in his shoulder had something to do with his lack of appreciation. At least he had been put down somewhere inhabitable.
When he finally managed to squirm completely free of the couch and peer out the single port, he discovered that while his present venue might be habitable, it was anything but inviting.
Spread out before his gaze was a pale vista of ice, snow, slopes of raw rock, scudding dark clouds, and a lowering sky that loomed over a landscape that was anything but benign.
Welcome to the resort world of Antarctica Twelve, he told himself bitterly. Somewhere far out in space a certain Vulcan commander unexpectedly raised to the rank of captain was no doubt smiling at his younger colleague’s predicament.
No, Kirk corrected himself. Spock might be logical to the point of indifference, but he was not vindictive. That would have been un-Vulcan. Whereas he, Kirk, felt completely comfortable raging against the situation in which he currently found himself. Leaning toward the hatch, he winced and caught himself as his shoulder protested.
“Oh—that sonofabitch.” Reaching up, he felt the throbbing joint. A strain suffered on touchdown, he decided. At least nothing was broken.
Turning toward the pod’s nearest pickup, he began with the most obvious and necessary question. “Computer, where am I? And don’t tell me you’re incapable of responding, because I’m just in the mood to pound the circuits out of something.”
Ignoring the empty threat, the pleasant synth voice responded with gratifying promptness. “Current location is Delta Vega, Class-M planet, unsafe. You have been ordered to remain in this pod until retrieval can be arranged by Starfleet authorities. Please acknowledge.”
“Bite me. How’s that for acknowledgment?”
Wonderful, he thought. Another glance out the port confirmed what he could recall from studies of the world on which he found himself. Empty, hostile, unpleasant.
Well, it couldn’t be any more empty, hostile, or unpleasant over the next hill, and he was damned if he was going to sit in one place and suck survival concentrates until the six-legged cows or whatever organisms dominated this part of the planet came home.
The fact that he was clad in cold-weather gear showed that his marooners had prepared him as best they could for his abandonment. He felt confident that he wouldn’t freeze if he took a little hike. Slapping a hand down on the appropriate corner of the console caused the pod’s canopy to rise. Frigid atmosphere slapped right back, stinging his face and turning his breath to vapor. It might have reminded a more wistful traveler of the Pacific fogs that still sometimes swept over San Francisco. Kirk was not in a wistful mood.
“Warning,” the mechanical voice piped up immediately. “You have been ordered to remain in your pod until you are retrieved by Starfleet authorities. Your location has been recorded and sufficient supplies are available to sustain you until that occurs. Except in the case of an emergency, unwarranted excursion in this vicinity is not recommended. This area has been deemed unsafe.”
Even though there was no one to see his expression, Kirk smiled. “There is an emergency. If I have to stay here and listen to you, I’ll go crackers.”
Putting his hands on the sides of the exit, he pulled himself out.
The immediate surrounds of his landing site did not vary much no matter which way he looked. Ice and snow gave way to ice and rock, which occasionally was supplanted by ice and gravel. The lack of variety in the terrain was vast and numbing. Still, he kept walking. For someone of his temperament the thought of squatting in the survival pod until someone came to pick him up and place him under formal arrest was intolerable. Anger at the state of affairs in which he found himself kept him going. Pulling out his tricorder, he muttered into it.
“Lieutenant’s log, supplemental. I’m preparing a testimonial for my Starfleet court-martial—assuming there’s still a Starfleet left by the time I’m picked up. The circumstances in which I find myself are embarrassing, debilitating, and due entirely to the actions of a certain Acting Captain Spock, whose rationale for marooning me on this dismal snowball I can comprehend but utterly disagree with.”
Preoccupied with unburdening himself of his self-righteous anger, he failed to notice that the ground nearby was in motion. Something was traveling beneath the ice and snow parallel to his present path. It was unseen, silent, and quite large. He continued speaking into the tricorder.
“Acting Captain Spock, whose only form of expression is apparently limited to his left goddamn eyebrow, has abandoned me on Delta Vega in what I believe to be a violation of Security Protocol Forty-nine-oh-nine, governing the treatment of prisoners aboard a starship. According to the relevant Starfleet regulations, I am entitled, as an officer being kept under detention, to a standard holding cell on board a ship equipped with the minimum of civilized amenities, as opposed to being dumped on the friggin’ icebox of the galaxy!” He took a deep breath of the frosty air, which helpfully seemed to contain a slightly higher than Earth-normal percentage of oxygen.
“On the plus side,” he continued heatedly, “it’s really great here—if you like staring at nothing! Or if your favorite color is white. Even a damn hospital isn’t this white!”
He halted, swaying slightly. Without knowing how long he had been walking, it was impossible to determine how far he had come. Not that it mattered. Here looked the same as there, and there the same as anywhere. Rock and ice, ice and gravel. His head tilting back slightly, he howled at the uncaring sky.
“Sonofabitch-bitch-bitch! There’s nothing here-here-here! You pinch-faced neck-pinching mother—!”
“Nurrrgghhhhh!”
Uh-oh.
He turned slowly. Though not half the xenolinguist Uhura was, he had still been required to take and pass the usual minimum of courses in alien languages, and what he had just heard did not sound like a convivial greeting in any of them.
Glaring back at him out of a pair of black orbs that screamed murder was a massive furry shape that resembled the bastard offspring of a polar bear and a gorilla. How enchanting, he decided as he took an uneasy step backward. A polarilla. No, that’s a…drakoulias. It snarled again, exposing dentition that had not evolved for masticating vegetables. Painfully aware of his lack of access to any defensive weaponry more advanced than a rock, Kirk continued his studious retreat.
“Um…s-stay…?”
The monster took a step toward him, in one stride making up all the distance the diminutive human had thus far managed to put between them.
“Sit?” Kirk opined plaintively.
“RAAURRRRHH!”
Whirling, Kirk bolted.
Though not built for speed, the land leviathan’s stride allowed it to keep pace with the fleeing biped as Kirk sprinted for his life. So this is how it ends, he told himself as he ran as hard as he could. As a quick snack for some heartless carnivore on an out-of-the-way planet in a nowhere system. No one would find his body. There would be nothing to bury, no one to grieve over him, and no honorable career to memorialize. He would end up a single-line footnote in the annals of Starfleet, the least memorable of an otherwise unforgettable class.
It was gaining on him, it was going to eat him alive, it was going to pop his head off his shoulders like a cap on a drink bottle, it was…
The ground exploded beneath his pursuer as something massive, crimson-hued, multiarmed, and far more alien in contour than the drakoulias enveloped the startled carnivore in its tentacles and proceeded to cram it down an enormous circular gullet. The fur-covered meateater had been almost familiar in shape. The scarlet monstrosity that was now burping it down looked as if hell’s own crab had collided with a giant squid. A hengrauggi. Where am I pulling these names from? Willing himself to all but fly over the icy surface, Kirk somehow managed to increase his pace.
“…shoulda—stayed—in the pod.” He was breathing like a freight train.
A panicky glance behind him showed the monstrosity gaining rapidly. Too big, he decided. Too many legs. And him with only two, and short ones at that. He looked back again. Tentacular red terror now filled his gaze.
It was replaced by sky as the ground dropped out from under him.
The slope was long and steep, but as he fell he managed to miss most of the protruding rocks. Snowdrift cushioned the rest of his descent. On the occasions when his head happened to be facing rearward he saw that the creature, after a moment’s hesitation, was still coming after him. It was almost as if, by temporarily escaping its clutches, he had enraged it even more. That might be all to the good, he told himself. The angrier it became, the more likely it was to tear him limb from limb quickly instead of taking its time and dismembering him like a plucked chicken.
Hitting bottom, he rolled to his feet and resumed running just as the hengrauggi slammed into the ground on the exact spot where he had been lying a moment earlier. Scrambling up onto its multiple legs, it charged off in pursuit, unfortunately none the worse for wear from its fall. A desperate Kirk examined his surroundings. He was out of breath, out of energy, out of ideas.
Off to his left, a dark hollow in the rocks. A cave. Espying it sent a shot of adrenaline surging through him as he made desperately for the opening. Without even slowing down, his pursuer smashed into the too-small breach behind him. Rock and ice went flying as it battered its way forward, enlarging the aperture with each heave of its massive body. Running down its prey had become a matter of determination. It gave every indication of following Kirk all the way to the center of the planet, if necessary.
He was slowing, slowing. The last burst of energy that had enabled him to reach the cave had truly been his last. Slowing to a walk, he sought in vain for a smaller hole, a fissure or crack into which he might wedge himself. As he searched, something like a soft rubber cable wrapped itself around one ankle and jerked him off his feet.
The circular mouth that opened in the center of the creature’s forebody was more than wide enough to swallow him whole. Horrified at the prospect of being gobbled alive and slowly assimilated by unknown alien digestive fluids, he hoped that before that happened the muscular orifice would crush his chest or, preferably, snap off his head. Defiant to the end, he scrabbled at the hard ground with his hands, fighting for a purchase on available rocks. He might as well have been trying to resist the pull of a starship. Slowly but inexorably he found himself being dragged toward that waiting, gaping, hungry maw.
It was over. All of it, over. He closed his eyes and waited for the end.
His backward progress halted.
Opening his eyes, he saw that the monster’s attention had suddenly been focused elsewhere. An irregular but bright light flashed, causing him to blink. Evidently it caused his gruesome assailant to do more than that, because the tentacle that had been gripping his leg abruptly released him.
Under the press of that flickering luminosity the monster drew back, recoiling reluctantly but inexorably. Now, Kirk saw that the source of the light was a torch, large and possibly fueled by more than just the large chunk of wood from whose tip flames danced. The creature’s retreat was understandable. On the frozen world of Delta Vega, fire and heat would be perceived as alien and threatening to an indigenous species unfamiliar with a flame’s inexplicable distortion of the atmosphere. Additionally, the high level of oxygen in the atmosphere would make any fire that did start spread dangerously fast.
Advancing on the crimson-skinned monster, the figure wielding the torch continued to move forward until finally the predator gave up and conceded both the cave and the hunt. Tossing the torch aside, the biped turned toward the disbelieving but greatly relieved Kirk. Bundled against the cold beneath heavy furs and related synthetic materials, his savior was definitely humanoid. As his vision cleared and strength returned, Kirk could see that beneath the fringed cloak his savior was a…Vulcan. A very old Vulcan but unmistakably a member of that now nearly annihilated race.
Not that the identity of his rescuer mattered. At that moment Kirk would gladly have kissed the feet of a Netronian garbage macerator. He staggered weakly to his feet.
The figure commented evenly, “Notoriously afraid of heat.”
“Whoever you are—thank you.”
His rescuer continued to stare at him. Was his savior, considering his palpable great age, senile? Kirk hoped not. He badly wanted to ask a number of questions. As he debated how to proceed, the one who had rescued him finally spoke. There was uncertainty in his voice as he squinted at the still exhausted human.
“Jim?”
Kirk’s lower jaw dropped. “How—how’d you know my name?”
The Vulcan stared back at him, dark eyes that had seen much searching the human’s stunned visage. “How did you find me? Does Starfleet know of my presence?”
Kirk hardly heard him. “How do you know my name?”
No smile in response, no expression at all—or was that just a slight upturning at the corners of the Vulcan’s mouth? A weakening of logic confronted by overwhelming emotion?
“I have been, and always shall be, your friend.”
It was a nice sentiment, particularly here and now, but instead of warmth and recognition an aching Kirk felt only bafflement. Maybe the Vulcan confronting him was bordering on the senile. For saving him from the predator Kirk’s gratitude knew no bounds, but that did not mean he was ready to connive in an old man’s fantasies.
“Look, I’m sorry. I don’t know you. The only Vulcan I know isn’t exactly a buddy.”
It was no consolation that this response seemed to render the oldster as confused as the individual he had just rescued. He seemed to retreat into himself, pondering, contemplating, calculating. Or maybe just fading away—Kirk couldn’t tell. The oldster’s next observation, when it finally came, was worse than confusing. It was frightening.
What made it worse was that the Vulcan recited it all with utter assurance.
“You are James T. Kirk. James, after your mother’s father. Tiberius, after your father’s father. Your father is George, as is your elder brother. Your mother’s name is Winona. You were born in the year twenty-two thirty-three on a farm in Iowa…”
Kirk just stared back at the specter who had saved him. “I was born on a ship. How d’you know these things about me? Who told you about my family, my past? Who are you?”
By way of response the Vulcan gestured toward the back of the cave. “We need to get away from the entrance, where it is colder and where our scents can be detected. We have much to discuss…”
By the light of a fire and after Kirk had ravenously devoured food provided by his mysterious host, that worthy proceeded to explain himself. Had he told his guest that he was the reincarnation of an ancient Terran deity, Kirk would have been no less flabbergasted than he was by the actual truth.
“Though much of what I am about to tell you will be difficult to accept,” the oldster began, “the first thing you need to know is that I am Spock. One hundred and twenty-nine years senior to the Vulcan you know from your days at Starfleet Academy.”
Kirk considered carefully. His response was, if not eloquent, characteristically terse. Under the circumstances, he could have been excused.
“Bullshit.”
“I understand your skepticism.” The individual calling himself Spock responded to Kirk’s challenge without so much as a hint of a smile. That, at least, accorded with his claim. “The odds of us meeting across space-time are so improbable that at the moment of actual confrontation I too wondered if I was dreaming.” Pausing, he looked away. “I have had too much time to dream, and have dreamed too much.” He went silent.
As Kirk studied the face of the being seated across from him, dawning realization mixed with rising astonishment. “It’s not possible. It’s just not. But it is you. I’ll be damned.”
“While it is entirely possible that both of us may be, it is remarkably most pleasing to see you again, old friend. Especially after the events of today.”
Kirk was taken aback afresh. “‘Old friend,’ sir?” He shook his head in disbelief. “I don’t know how you know what you know. But I don’t know you and if you are Spock we’re not friends. You hate me. You marooned me here for mutiny.” His expression twisted. “Or for what you and you alone decided was mutiny. Or incipient mutiny. Or insubordination or whatever rationalization you concocted in that perpetually rationalizing brain of yours.”
Now it was the Vulcan’s turn to looked mystified. “Mutiny? You are not the captain of the Enterprise?”
Kirk was utterly baffled. “What kind of perverse Vulcan game is this? You’re the captain. Pike was taken hostage. We have no idea if he’s dead or alive.”
This information caused something to gel within the Vulcan’s thoughts as disparate bits of information came together.
“Nero.” Spock’s expression tightened ever so slightly. “He is a remarkably—troubled Romulan.”
Had a human spoken the name, it would have emerged as a curse. Uttered by the old man in the cave, it was, despite all its menacing connotations, just another name.
“Yes.” At least they agreed on something, Kirk thought. “We left Vulcan—the Vulcan system—to rejoin Starfleet yesterday.”
His host went silent, once more lost in deep thought. Studying him, Kirk was ambivalent. He wanted, he needed to know what was going on in that venerable mind. At the same time, the thought of what he might find there unsettled him more than he cared to admit.
What he could not realize was that he was about to get his wish—or realize his fear.
Rising from where he had been sitting by the fire, his unlikely rescuer approached and extended a hand toward Kirk’s face. “Please. Allow me. It will be easier, faster, and more articulate than talking.”
His reflexes revived by the food, Kirk thrust out a hand to restrain the reaching fingers. “What’re you doing? The last time you came at me like that you put me out cold.”
His rescuer paused. “In the wrong hands the mind-meld is potentially lethal. In my culture it’s a way of sharing experiences. You—leastwise, another you—already know that. I repeat it to the you of this time frame.”
Time frame? Still Kirk hesitated. The memory of the nerve pinch the other Spock (the younger Spock? the alternative Spock?) had delivered on board the bridge was still fresh in his mind.
“You swear you’re not going to knock me out and store me for food or something?”
“If I wished to do so, it would already have been done. I promise that you will remain aware throughout the exchange. It is impossible to convey information to the unconscious.” Once more the barest suggestion of a smile played around the deeply lined face. “I speak from experience when I say that you would make an especially tough meal for anyone to digest.”
Kirk stared back at him. “Damned if I’m not starting to believe you.” He readied himself. “All right—go ahead. With whatever it is I’m supposed to be familiar with.” He released the oldster’s hand.
Gently, the elder Vulcan placed his fingers against Kirk’s face, fingers to cheek and temple, seeking particular nerve endings, probing for contact. As he did so, he whispered an ancient mantra of his kind.
“Our minds—one and together.”
His eyes snapped shut. At the same time Kirk twitched as if an electric charge had been shot through his entire body.
Billions of stars. Swaths of nebulae, brilliant and flaring. The cosmos revealed. Infinitely vast—and yet all contained and restrained within the dazed but aware mind of James T. Kirk. And permeating it all, another presence besides his own. Another intelligence, beside him and yet with him, speaking solemnly.
“One hundred and twenty-nine years from now a star will explode and threaten all civilization in this part of the galaxy. That’s where I’m from, Jim—the future. I was ambassador to Romulus. The Federation was mining in the vicinity of a nearby star when it unexpectedly went supernova. The consequences were predicted to destroy everything in its vicinity.
“As ambassador, I promised the Romulans I would find a way to save their planet. I returned to Vulcan and asked the Science Academy and the Federation to take immediate action. We outfitted our newest, fastest ship. Utilizing Red Matter, I would attempt to create a black hole that would absorb the exploding star and its expanding field of deadly radiation. I was en route to do so when the unthinkable happened. The rate of propagation from the supernova accelerated suddenly and at a velocity previously unrecorded for that type of exploding star. It destroyed Romulus.
“I could no longer save their homeworld, but I could still stop the expanding supernova. I had little time. Before the first bow wave destroyed my ship I had to extract the Red Matter and shoot it into the supernova. And it worked. The supernova was neutralized by the black hole. All of the radiation and energized particulate matter it was blowing outward fell back and became part of the accretion disk.
“As I began my sad return journey home I was intercepted. He called himself Nero—last of the Romulan Empire. In my attempt to escape from him, both of us were pulled into the black hole. Nero’s ship went through first—back through time. So he was the first to arrive in this time frame. Nero and his crew spent the next twenty-five years waiting for my arrival. For my emergence from the wormhole.
“But what was years for Nero was only seconds for me. I went through the black hole. When I arrived here in this day and time, he was waiting for me. He blamed the Federation for not stopping the supernova and held me, who had promised to help, responsible for the loss of his world. He captured my vessel and spared my life for one reason: so that I would know his pain. He beamed me down here so that I could observe his vengeance. As he was helpless to save his planet, so I would be helpless to save mine. Billions of lives lost, Jim—because of me. Because I failed.
“And though the means on Delta Vega exists to contact the Federation, it is intermittent. In the end there was nothing I could do to stop him. The local communications facilities proved inadequate and I was unable to issue a warning in time.”
Kirk blinked. The dream he had been dreaming vanished as Spock drew back and lowered his hands. The meld had been terminated. But everything Kirk had experienced remained in his mind, fresh and clear as if he had conceived it for himself.
“Didn’t—didn’t you try to explain to Nero that if he just left you alone in this time frame you could destroy the unstable star before it went supernova and thereby save Romulus? Wouldn’t you then be working to achieve the same purpose, the same ends?”
“I did indeed. But as I said, he would not listen to me. Consumed with rage and regret and anger at the destruction of his world that had already taken place in our own future, he was convinced that if he let me go I would simply disappear and allow the Romulus of this time frame to also eventually be destroyed. He is utterly convinced that, regardless of the time frame, only Romulus will be allowed to suffer destruction and that this has been the real intent of the Vulcan and the galactic councils all along. That they sought and still seek a galactic civilization without Romulus. So he made clear that he would strive, in this time frame, to create a galaxy with Romulus but without the Federation. After utilizing the Red Matter device to destroy Vulcan and the other Federation worlds, only then would he use it to annihilate the star that would become the destructive supernova.”
“That’s,” Kirk searched for an appropriate frame of reference, “that’s—irrational.”
Spock nodded slightly. “Just so. But how many times throughout history have great catastrophes been caused by individuals acting in an irrational manner? I am convinced that even if he once was, Nero is now no longer entirely sane. Having already witnessed the destruction of his entire homeworld once, he is unwilling to rely on the word of a representative of the people he blames for its destruction to now prevent it in the past. From his viewpoint that may be a logical conclusion. He would rather destroy the Federation and ensure the survival of Romulus in this time frame than give me a chance to save both.” He broke off, the agony of his loss and his failure having communicated itself whole and entire to the shaken human standing across from him.
“Forgive me—emotional transference is an effect of the mind-meld.”
Kirk did not try to hide his surprise. “So you do feel.”
“Cthia is the stricture that binds our emotions, but it is harder to sustain for the few of us who are not wholly Vulcan.”
The younger man just stared, still trying to digest all that he had been shown. “Going back in time, you changed all our lives. Because of this, our futures will no longer be what they once were.”
Spock nodded solemnly. “Yet remarkably, events within our different time lines—characteristics, people—seem to overlap significantly.”
A million questions, Kirk thought to himself. He had at least a million questions. This elder Spock must know of so many things. Not just advances in science, but the future of individuals. In his future he would know, among others, James T. Kirk. What was his future self like? Kirk couldn’t help but wonder. On initially meeting him here Spock had called him “captain.” Captain of the Enterprise? The Vulcan elder was quite certain in his tone. At the moment, Kirk felt his future seemed to hold out the promise of a court-martial, not a promotion.
What had happened in the future to change him and the circumstances in which he presently found himself? Now that this time paradox had intervened, would that future still take place? Would someone, sometime, still refer to James Kirk as “captain”? Or would it be “inmate”? Or worse?
It struck him suddenly that this elder Spock’s future had already been determined—but that in this time frame the future, including his own, was yet to be made. Future Kirk’s destiny was set. His own was still his to make. And if they did not do something about the other intruder from the future, the Romulan known as Nero, then if Spock was to be believed, all futures would be wiped out. This corner of the cosmos would be left sterile and dead—except for present-day Romulus.
His head was starting to hurt as he struggled to resolve all the potential contradictions. All the possible futures.
Enough about projected tomorrows, he told himself. Right now everything demanded that he focus on the present.
“So Nero has a chance at revenge. And a weapon that can destroy the Federation.” He stared at the elder Spock. “Your weapon.”
“The device was designed and built to save, not to destroy. Throughout history great power has often been put to uses which its discoverer did not foresee or intend. In this instance, the discoverer was the Vulcan Science Academy. In your own history, consider among other examples what happened to the work of Alfred Nobel.” The strain of isolation and the burden of guilt was plainly weighing heavily on the elder Spock.
“But let us pause a moment to consider other things. I cannot restrain my own curiosity. Tell me about the rest of the crew of—I am presuming you were of course on the Enterprise. Knowing only their future selves, I wonder if and how they exist in this continuum. What of Chekov, Uhura…?”
“Tactical and communications,” Kirk told him.
“Sulu?”
“He’s the helmsman, why?”
“Doctor McCoy would assert our meeting here is not a matter of coincidence, but rather indication of a higher purpose.”
Kirk nodded. “He’d call it a miracle.”
“Yes.” Spock turned speculative again. “It may represent the time stream’s way of attempting to mend itself. We know far too little about the physics of such deviations to determine actualities and can only speculate on how they function in the greater continuum. In both our histories the same crew found its way onto the same ship in a time of ultimate crisis. Therein lies our advantage. It suggests that whatever the future of this present may hold, it does not deviate so radically from mine that ultimate catastrophe cannot be avoided. We must hope that events bear this out. Indeed, we can only proceed on that assumption.” He turned and gestured.
“We must go. The future past waits for no man—or Vulcan. There is a largely automated Federation outpost not far from here. It is the location of the inadequate communications facilities to which I referred earlier and which provides me with the minimum of necessities that allow me to sustain my miserable existence. Having no hope of saving my world and not wishing to further inflict the paradox that is myself on this unknowing present, I have taken to dwelling apart from it and its few inhabitants. Paradoxically—if I may continue to employ the term—this very self-isolation has resulted in my encountering you. As I said, perhaps the time stream attempting to heal itself.
“While I can no longer do anything for Vulcan in this time frame, I cannot stand by and watch while Nero destroys your future. Possibly between the two of us we can yet do something to stop him.” Reaching out, he briefly rested a hand on Kirk’s shoulder. “It was so, once. Perhaps it can yet be so again.”
Kirk pondered. He was ready to follow this intriguing, curious, and enigmatic being who insisted he came from the future. But that did not mean he was without questions of his own.
“Where you come from—in your future—did I know my father?”
Spock responded without hesitation. “Yes. You often spoke of him as your inspiration for joining Starfleet. Indeed, as the inspiration for everything that you became. He was, I believe, immensely proud of what you accomplished.”
“That means—I must have accomplished something besides a spell in prison.”
Sharply angled eyebrows drew together. “Prison, Jim?”
Kirk waved it off. “It’s nothing. At least, I hope it turns out to be nothing. But that’s a matter for the future, isn’t it? The future that lies ahead of us and that we’re going to try to sway.”
“The future that we must sway,” Spock corrected him. “Otherwise there will not be one. Not for you, not for your father, not for anyone.”
Kirk was still trying to imagine what life would be like had his father not perished years ago trying to stop Nero. The sleeve of one arm wiped across his eyes.
“I am responsible for whatever is upsetting you,” Spock commented immediately. “That was never my intention. Something you should know: he proudly lived to see you become captain of the Enterprise.”
Captain. That was how this Spock had addressed him when they had first encountered one another. It was still hard to accept.
It would be even harder for this Spock to accept if he knew the current James Kirk’s history.
“‘Captain’? Are you sure?”
Spock nodded. “Of a ship we must return you to as soon as possible if we are to have any hope of stopping Nero.”