Eighteen

2295/2285/2269

The two of them had climbed the Two Thousand Steps and now stood atop the plateau, gazing out at the canyon from its edge. The ascent had tired T’Vora. At one hundred thirty-five years of age, both her physical and mental vitality had begun to erode. She still felt strong, but not as strong as she once had. Though time itself had doubtless taken its toll, T’Vora knew too that her station in Vulcan society had added to the normal deterioration of her body and mind. The rigors of the Kolinahr did not confine themselves to aspirants; masters too paid their price. And while an aspirant endured the Kolinahr once—or sometimes two or even three times—masters in some regard went through it time and again as they guided others on their paths.

T’Vora looked from the canyon and over at Spock. He stared out across the landscape, but she could discern that he did not see it. He looked not outward, but inward, as he most often did these days. In the year since he had taken up residence in the Akrelt Refuge and begun the Kolinahr under her auspices, Spock had been perhaps the most dedicated of the many aspirants who had ever come to her. Initially, and in some sense antithetically, his desire to purge his emotions had been extremely powerful. T’Vora had thought that this might be a consequence of his human heritage, but once they had started to move beyond his feelings, once they had delved deeply into the rational portion of his mind and peeled away his sentiment, his logical need to achieve the Kolinahr had been as great.

Because of this, T’Vora’s interactions with Spock had paradoxically been both undemanding and incredibly arduous. In terms of her bridging to his experiences, thoughts, memories, and emotions, his intense commitment to the course he’d chosen had provided an openness, a willingness to lower his mental barriers to allow her access. Again, T’Vora had at first believed that her ability to so easily observe the core of his mind had been due to his human genetics, but she had come to see that Spock possessed highly developed defenses, as strong or stronger than any full Vulcan she had encountered, for as much as he permitted her to see, he still held some things sequestered away from her.

At the same time, her virtually unrestricted view into Spock came with a cost. The force of so many of his experiences, from an emotional and a rational standpoint, made even bridging to them an onerous undertaking. More than with any other aspirant she had ever conducted through the Kolinahr, T’Vora had found it necessary to take time away in order to process what she had learned of him, and also simply to renew her own strength through meditation and rest.

Now, as she regarded him on the high plateau of Gol, at the edge of the Akrelt Canyon, she could see that this process had not been easy for Spock either. She understood well the severity of the Kolinahr to even the most prepared, best inclined aspirants. In this case, the lines in Spock’s face had grown noticeably deeper; at the sides of his head, silver had begun to show in his hair, which had grown down past his shoulders; and his overall carriage reflected a weariness not present when first he had arrived here.

Of course, T’Vora had watched her own appearance begin to show similar signs during the past year. She supposed that, like other more traditional measures, the changes to their bodies could be used as a means of assessing the efforts she and Spock had so far put forth. Since the first time Sokel had initiated a mind bridge between them, those efforts had been significant. Month after month, T’Vora and Spock had explored Spock’s emotional existence, from the impact caused by his father’s disapproval of his human side to the loss he’d felt at the death of his closest friend.

They had begun with the unique, peering into his “death” and “rebirth,” and it had proven a wise choice. From the moments leading up to his physical death through the fal-tor-pan that had reunited his katra with his restored body, Spock had experienced a plethora of different emotions, many of them relating to other times and events in his life. Analyzing and deconstructing these emotions, T’Vora and Spock had worked to recast all that he had felt in terms of logic. All living things must die. Spock had made a reasonable and reasoned choice to forfeit his life to save those of his crewmates. He had reinforced the reintegration of his mind and body via logical Vulcan methods. Under her direction, Spock had extracted his emotions from his memories, leaving behind an untainted canvas of fact.

But not completely untainted yet, T’Vora thought. For as much progress as Spock had made, he had yet a longer road to travel. Through their mind bridges, T’Vora had perceived in Spock a reservoir of remorse, collecting a series of regrets formed throughout the course of his life. As a boy, disappointing his father with his decidedly human behavior. As a man, realizing that he had hurt his mother, never telling her that he loved her. As a friend, failing Jim Kirk at the end of his life, allowing the captain’s final months to pass without contacting him when his pursuit of dangerous avocations clearly indicated his unhappiness. Spock had permitted T’Vora to see these and other instances of his shame, and with her help, he had worked his way through them.

And yet remorse remained within him, T’Vora was sure. Again and again during her interaction with Spock, it had hung in the distance, an island to which she could find no bridge. With so many other issues, she had not addressed it to this point. But with Spock making such major strides, the time had come at last.

“Spock,” T’Vora said. He blinked once, very deliberately, as though hearing her from far away and willing himself back into the moment.

“Master?” he said, turning from the view of the canyon to face her.

“You have accomplished much since arriving here,” she said. “I have especially noted your willingness to reveal that which you would see eliminated from your character.”

“How better to achieve my goal than by working actively toward it?” Spock asked. His voice carried no inflection or hint of emotion that suggested his question contained anything beyond the literal interpretation of his words.

“That is true,” T’Vora said, “but your efforts have been exceptional, and I commend you for them.”

Spock bowed his head in response. “Your approbation holds meaning for me,” he said.

“You have still more work to do in order to reach your ultimate destination,” T’Vora said. “From this point in your progress, I know where that effort should begin.”

“I am an apprentice under your tutelage,” Spock said. “I look to you for guidance.”

“As it should be,” T’Vora said. “During our bridges, Spock, during our attempts to explore and understand your emotional existence, I have perceived in you a strong sense of remorse.”

“My life has not been lived without shame,” Spock agreed.

“As well I know,” T’Vora reminded him. “We have contended with such issues in your journey so far. I speak not of that with which we have dealt, but of that with which we have not.” She paused, giving Spock a moment to respond. When he didn’t, she asked, “Do you know of what I speak?”

“I believe that I do,” Spock said.

“From the first time we approached the issues surrounding your physical death aboard the Enterprise to the reintegration of your katra at Mount Seleya, I have been aware of what seems to be a singular regret, though it has remained isolated within you,” T’Vora explained. “It seems to have existed before your death, and to have been exacerbated after your fal-tor-pan.”

“After the fal-tor-pan,” Spock repeated. “Yes. I know to what you refer. And it is a singular regret.”

T’Vora held her hand out, palm up, gesturing toward the ground. Spock at once adjusted his robes and lowered himself to his knees, folding his hands together before him. Facing him, T’Vora did the same. “Tell me,” she said.

Spock peered at her with his dark eyes, but he said nothing. The moments passed, the brilliant Vulcan sun tracking above them across the sky, the deep canyon snaking past them in both directions. T’Vora waited, understanding that what Spock would reveal had been a part of him for some time, and likely a profound wound that had never healed. T’Vora waited, and at last Spock began to tell her.

“I willfully violated a principle,” he said.

On the main viewscreen, the image of Hiram Roth appeared, the human easily recognizable by his bald pate and cropped white beard. “This is the president of the United Federation of Planets,” he announced.

Seated at the operations station on the port side of the Klingon bird of prey’s bridge, Spock noted the interference in the transmission that had been broadcast from Earth. Coupled with the lack of Federation vessels on assigned patrol stations and the number of overlapping distress calls that Uhura had intercepted, he deduced that some calamity had taken place in or around the Terran system. He did not have to wait long to have his suspicions confirmed.

“Do not approach Earth,” President Roth said. Admiral Kirk moved slowly away from where Uhura sat to starboard at the communications console, until he stood before the command chair in the center of the bridge. “The transmissions of an orbiting probe are causing critical damage to this planet.”

At his station, Spock quickly implemented a long-range scan.

“It has almost totally ionized our atmosphere,” the president continued. “All power sources have failed.”

On his console, Spock could see why. The probe itself appeared composed at least partially of energy, of a type Spock had never before seen. And although the nature of the probe’s transmissions pointed to their use as a form of communication and not as a weapon, the prodigious strength of the signals would readily disrupt other energy sources in their vicinity.

“All Earth-orbiting starships are powerless,” Roth said. “The probe is vaporizing our oceans.”

The oceans, Spock thought. He worked his controls, reexamining his scan, and saw that none of the probe’s transmissions focused on land.

“We cannot survive unless a way can be found to respond to the probe,” Roth went on. Clearly the authorities on Earth had also concluded that the probe had not intended its transmissions as an attack. “Further communications may not be possible.” Around the bridge, Spock saw, the crew seemed shaken: Sulu and Chekov at the forward helm and navigation stations, Uhura at communications, Dr. McCoy standing aft. As though stunned himself, Admiral Kirk gradually lowered himself into the command chair. “Save your energy. Save yourselves. Avoid the planet Earth at all costs. Farewell.” The president’s transmission shook from side to side, then degenerated into static.

In his chair, the admiral turned slowly around and peered over at the operations station. Spock returned his gaze. For a moment, Admiral Kirk raised his hand to his head, as though in pain. Then he looked to Uhura and quietly asked, “Can you let us hear the probe’s transmission?”

“Yes, sir,” Uhura said, also obviously affected by the threat to Earth. She touched a control, saying, “On speakers.”

Spock listened closely as a strange whine played through the bridge. It modulated upward and downward, and it seemed as though the sound might contain multiple components, like several stringed instruments playing at once. Although he could not decipher its meaning, the complex structure of the message suggested an equally complex mind behind it. It also put Spock in mind of the language of certain other beings.

Admiral Kirk stood and walked over to the operations station. “Spock, what do you make of that?” he asked, leaning against the front of the console.

“Most unusual,” Spock said, still listening to the peculiar sounds. “An unknown form of energy of great power and intelligence, evidently unaware that its transmissions are destructive. I find it illogical that its intentions should be hostile.”

“Really?” Dr. McCoy said. “You think this is its way of saying ‘Hi, there’ to the people of the Earth?”

“There are other forms of intelligence on Earth, Doctor,” Spock replied. “Only human arrogance would assume the message must be meant for man.”

“You’re suggesting the transmission is meant for a life-form other than man,” Admiral Kirk said.

“At least a possibility, Admiral,” Spock said, thinking of the beings of whom he had just been reminded. “The president did say it was directed at Earth’s oceans.”

The admiral seemed to consider this. He straightened, then walked across the width of the bridge to the communications stations. “Uhura,” he said, “can you modify the probe’s signals, accounting for density and temperature and salinity factors?” He had clearly understood what Spock had implied.

“I can try, sir,” Uhura said. As she began working her controls, Spock stood and joined the admiral at the communications station. Dr. McCoy followed as well. In response to Uhura’s manipulations of the signal, the sound of the transmission changed in stages. At last, she said, “I think I have it, sir.”

“And this is what it would sound like underwater?” the admiral asked.

“Yes, sir,” Uhura said.

To Spock, the sound now resembled a single voice, and one which he thought he recognized. “Fascinating,” he said. “If my suspicion is correct, there can be no response to this message.” Knowing that he would need to check his hypothesis, he excused himself and started toward the door at the back of the bridge, headed for the library-computer compartment located amidships. Fortunately, Spock and Uhura had uploaded a Federation database to the Klingon vessel before they’d begun their flight from Vulcan to Earth.

“Where are you going?” the admiral asked.

“To test my theory,” Spock responded. As he headed down the main dorsal corridor of the bird of prey, he heard Admiral Kirk and Dr. McCoy follow behind him. When he reached the library-computer compartment, he immediately instituted a search of the Terran zoological database, cross-referencing the audio of the probe’s transmission as adjusted by Commander Uhura. The admiral and the doctor arrived a moment later and looked on as the computer hunted through the database, images of various Earth animals appearing on a row of displays mounted high on one bulkhead. It stopped when it reached the species Megaptera novaeangliae.

“Spock?” the admiral asked.

“As suspected,” Spock said. “The probe’s transmissions are the songs sung by whales.”

“Whales,” Kirk repeated, a measure of surprise in his voice.

“Specifically, humpback whales,” Spock said.

“That’s crazy,” McCoy said. “Who would send a probe hundreds of light-years to talk to a whale?” The question seemed to Spock both supercilious and scientifically careless, though space had been so well explored in the region surrounding Earth that the probe likely had come at least as far as the doctor had suggested.

“It’s possible,” the admiral said. “Whales have been on Earth far earlier than man.”

“Ten million years earlier,” Spock noted. “And humpbacks were heavily hunted by man. They’ve been extinct since the twenty-first century. It is possible that an alien intelligence sent the probe to determine why they lost contact.”

“My god,” McCoy said. Spock assumed that the contempt he heard in the doctor’s voice had been meant for those who would not only kill animals for no good reason, but also cause the extinction of an entire species.

“Spock,” the admiral said, “could the humpbacks’ answer to this call be simulated?”

“The sounds, but not the language,” Spock said. Though the intelligence of Terran cetaceans had long been widely suggested, no interpretation of their vocalizations had ever been accomplished. “We would be responding in gibberish.”

“Does the species exist on any other planet?” Admiral Kirk asked.

“Negative. Humpbacks were indigenous to Earth,” Spock said, and then formulating a possible plan of action, he added, “Earth of the past.”

“Well,” the admiral said with obvious reluctance, “we have no choice. We must destroy the probe before it destroys Earth.”

“To attempt to do so would be futile, Admiral,” Spock said, recalling the nature of the probe’s energy and its effect on other power sources. “The probe could render us neutral easily.”

“We can’t just turn away,” Kirk said. “There must be an alternative.”

Spock did not hesitate. “There is one possibility, but of course I cannot guarantee success,” he said. “We could attempt to find some humpback whales.”

“You just said there aren’t any,” said McCoy, “except on Earth of the past.”

“Yes, Doctor, that is exactly what I said.” Already Spock could see that the admiral understood the nature of his proposal.

“Well, in that case,” McCoy began, but then he too realized what Spock advised. “Now wait just a damn minute,” he said, but the admiral had already made his decision.

“Spock,” he said, “start your computations for time warp.”

 

T’Vora regarded Spock as he stopped speaking, each of them still kneeling along the rim of the Akrelt Canyon. She recognized the circumstances surrounding the scene that he had just described, recalling the reports of the alien probe that had threatened the humanoid population of Earth. She also remembered how the potential disaster had been averted: Admiral Kirk and the former command crew of the Enterprise, including Spock, had traveled three centuries back in time and brought two humpback whales—a male and a gravid female—back to the present. Once back in Earth’s oceans, the whales had evidently communicated with the probe, at which point it had ceased its destructive transmissions and departed the Terran system. But for all of that, T’Vora didn’t understand the reason Spock had related the events he had.

“It is unclear to me why you have told me this,” she said.

“It was I who recommended to Admiral Kirk that we go back to Earth’s past,” Spock said. “It was I who counseled that we bring humpback whales forward in time.”

“Your story made that clear, Spock,” T’Vora said.

“The principle I violated is that which states that one should never alter a timeline,” Spock said.

“But does one not do that each instant of their existence,” T’Vora said, “by virtue of every decision they make, every action they take?”

“I refer not to the present, but to the past,” Spock said. “I refer to timelines already in existence.”

T’Vora knew almost nothing about time travel and she told Spock so.

“It is believed that the flow of time constitutes a complex natural system,” he explained, “but one that is sensitively dependent on initial conditions. In physics and mathematics, this is known as chaos theory. In common parlance, it is often called the butterfly effect, an appellation taken from an illustration of the theory. On a planet such as Vulcan, the flapping of a butterfly’s wings will change the state of the atmosphere, and the subsequent evolution of weather systems will diverge significantly from what it otherwise would have been had the butterfly not flapped its wings. Where perhaps clear skies would have prevailed, instead a cyclone will form.”

“I understand,” T’Vora said.

“In actual instances of time travel,” Spock said, “it has been found that it typically requires a more significant event than the flapping of a butterfly’s wings in order to effect an alteration in a timeline. Still, it has proven impossible to predict what will change history and what will not, or how a change will propagate through the ensuing years.”

“But the concern is that by traveling back in time,” T’Vora said, “it is possible to inadvertently alter the future.”

“That is correct,” Spock said. “The principle I advised Admiral Kirk to violate, and that I myself took part in violating, is one espoused by Starfleet, the Vulcan Science Academy, and all major scientific institutions within the Federation. It is also one in which I personally believe.”

“But clearly your actions in retrieving the whales did not alter the timeline,” T’Vora said.

“In actuality, they did,” Spock said. “In the original timeline, those two whales were not transported aboard a Klingon vessel and taken three hundred years into their future because, for one thing, Admiral Kirk and myself and the rest of the crew had not even been born yet. The very fact of our presence in that time necessarily altered the timeline. The reason this does not seem to be the case is simply because no significant changes appear to have occurred.”

T’Vora considered this. “Your actions did change the present, though,” she said. “After you returned with the whales, the people of Earth were spared a catastrophe. Is that not sufficient justification for your actions, to have saved the lives of billions?”

“Would the Romulan Praetor think so?” Spock asked. “Perhaps a future war between the Empire and the Federation that would have produced a Romulan victory will now produce a Romulan defeat.” Spock peered out across the canyon, the reserve he had cultivated in his time at the Refuge in obvious danger of slipping. When he looked back at T’Vora, she saw agitation in his expression and understood the enormity of the situation to him. “I am uncomfortable,” he said, “with the notion that my action in violating a principle is justifiable because I approve of the outcome.”

“Yes,” T’Vora agreed. “I can understand that. But I would submit to you, Spock, that individuals can err, and that when such an error can result in the saving of billions of lives, it is perhaps far more understandable for that error to occur. As an isolated incident, I think that you may be according it too much weight.”

“It is not an isolated incident,” Spock said gravely. “Prior to that, I had willfully altered the past, and not for the purpose of saving billions of lives, but for my own personal gain.”

The confession startled T’Vora, and only a lifetime of practiced emotional control prevented her from reacting visibly. After a moment, though, the unexpectedness of the revelation drove her to move. She parted her hands and rose to her feet. Spock followed her lead and did the same.

“Walk with me,” she said, and she started along the path that traced the edge of the canyon. When Spock joined her at her side, she repeated to him what she had said earlier: “Tell me.”

And Spock did. “There was an artifact,” he began.

 

As the Guardian of Forever released him from its hold, having pulled him from thousands of years in the past and back to the present, Spock considered with satisfaction how successful the mission had been. When the Enterprise had initially been ordered on this assignment, he had grown concerned. In light of the events Captain Kirk had endured on their first visit here, Spock had feared for his friend’s emotional well-being. As it had turned out, the captain had so far seemed to cope well with the circumstances.

For this mission, Captain Kirk, Dr. McCoy, Lieutenant Bates, and Spock had all been assigned to assist a team of annalists investigating Federation history via the Guardian. All four Enterprise crew members had been part of the contingent that had discovered the time vortex two years ago, and they had therefore been granted exclusive authority by Starfleet Command to actually travel into the past. No other individuals, not even the historians, had ever been permitted to pass through the temporal gateway.

In the days after the crew had originally encountered the strange and powerful artifact, the Enterprise had been relieved at the planet by the U.S.S. Appomattox, which had arrived to provide the military presence that Captain Kirk had recommended to Starfleet Command. After that, multiple efforts had been made to construct a research facility on the planet’s surface. All such attempts had failed, the result of violent earthquakes that some suspected had been caused by the Guardian itself, though it would neither confirm nor deny any such explanation. Eventually, a research station, Einstein, had been built in orbit.

Now, as Spock arrived back on the planet from an observational mission to the dawn of Orion’s civilization, he saw the rest of the Enterprise landing party, as well as a pair of historians from the research station. Captain Kirk and Lieutenant Bates stood with their backs to the Guardian, having just preceded Spock in their return from the past. Dr. McCoy, who had remained in the present, stood facing the time vortex alongside the two annalists. Dr. Grey, a human female, had a streak of orange through the top of her black hair. Dr. Aleek-Om, a tall, gold-colored Aurelian male, had two arms and two legs and stood upright, like a humanoid, but also possessed a beak and two large wings sprouting from his shoulder blades.

As Spock stepped forward between the captain and the lieutenant, he saw Dr. McCoy raise a hand and point in his direction. A look of surprise dressed the doctor’s face. “Who’s he, Jim?” McCoy asked.

Captain Kirk lifted his hands to his hips, and Spock couldn’t tell whether the doctor’s comment had amused or annoyed him. “What do you mean, ‘who’s he?’” the captain said. “You know Mister Spock.”

“’Fraid I don’t, Jim,” McCoy said. The question could have been an example of the doctor’s sometimes ill-considered wit, but it still drew Spock’s concern. Before he could say anything, though, the captain opened his communicator and contacted the ship, simply ignoring what he must have judged a joke on McCoy’s part.

“Kirk to Enterprise,” he said.

“Enterprise,” replied Lieutenant Commander Scott.

“Prepare to transport four back to the ship,” the captain said, and then he moved away from the time vortex and the historians. Spock, McCoy, and Bates followed him over to a small cache of equipment that had been sent down from the research station. Kirk retrieved the three life-support belts that the Enterprise landing party had carried with them from the ship for possible use on the trip into Orion’s past. An examination of their destination through the Guardian, though, had shown that the belts would not be necessary.

McCoy collected his medical tricorder from among the equipment, wrapping its strap about his torso. When Bates handed back Spock’s own tricorder, which he’d given to the lieutenant when they’d been on ancient Orion, he also slung the device across his shoulder. The captain then handed one of the life-support belts to Spock and one to McCoy, keeping the third for himself. When Kirk distractedly circled his around his waist, the other two did the same. Spock thought that the captain’s obvious preoccupation might indicate his own apprehension about what Dr. McCoy had said.

As Kirk gave the order for transport, Spock seemed to recall, though he could not be sure, that the landing party had beamed down to the planet with four life-support belts, not just three. Taking into account Dr. McCoy’s comments, Spock began to consider more seriously the notion that he, Captain Kirk, and Lieutenant Bates might have inadvertently altered the past, and thus the present. Too late to say anything, he waited while the metallic shimmer of dematerialization formed before his eyes, then vanished as he re-formed aboard the Enterprise.

While the landing party descended from the platform, Spock spied another expression of surprise, this one worn by Lieutenant Commander Scott. “Captain, I was expecting it to be one of the historians with you,” the engineer said from where he worked the transporter console. “But a Vulcan?”

“Explain yourself, Mister Scott,” Kirk snapped, a clear indication to Spock that the captain also suspected that something had gone wrong.

“Sir?” Scott said.

“I don’t know what’s going on,” Captain Kirk said as the doors of the transporter room parted, “but the first officer of this ship will be treated with respect.”

From the corridor, an Andorian had entered, clad in a blue Starfleet uniform that bore the rank braid of a commander—although Spock knew that no Andorians currently served aboard the Enterprise. “Captain, I assure you,” the unknown officer said, “no one has ever treated me otherwise.” The implication of his response seemed clear.

“Who are you?” Kirk asked.

“Well, I thought sure you’d know Thelin by now, Jim,” said Dr. McCoy. “He’s been your first officer for five years.”

Although the doctor had spoken casually, Spock no longer doubted the sincerity of all the comments that McCoy had made, and he said as much. The captain concurred. “Bones, Scotty,” he said, “I’m asking you seriously: do you or do you not know Spock?”

“Honestly,” McCoy replied, “I don’t know him.”

“I’ve never seen him before in my life,” Scott said.

“And none of us have ever met Commander Thelin,” Kirk said. He peered at Spock and then over at Bates, who nodded his agreement.

“Clearly something happened while we were down on the planet,” Spock said.

“Yes,” the captain said. He paced over to the transporter console and reached across it, opening an intercom circuit. “Kirk to bridge.”

“Bridge, this is Sulu,” came the immediate reply. The captain glanced over at Spock, obviously taking note that Lieutenant Sulu remained fourth in command aboard the Enterprise. Thus far, the only change seemed to be with respect to the ship’s first officer.

“Sulu,” the captain said, “as quickly as you can, I want you to conduct a survey of the crew. Ask if anyone aboard has ever heard of a ship’s officer named Spock.”

“Spock?” Sulu asked, and then he spelled the name.

“That’s correct,” Kirk said. “Contact me as soon as you have the results.”

“Aye, sir,” Sulu said.

The captain signed off and closed the intercom channel. Looking around at the officers present, he said, “Bones, Scotty, I don’t want you discussing this with anybody.” After both men acknowledged the order, Kirk said, “Mister Spock, Mister Bates, Commander Thelin, come with me.”

The captain led the group to a briefing room, where they assembled around a conference table. An idea occurred to Spock, and he asked if he could review the crew manifest. When the captain agreed, Spock handed off his tricorder to Lieutenant Bates, then sat down at the end of the table, in front of the computer interface located there. Across from him, he saw Commander Thelin’s antennae move in a way he interpreted as consternation. Spock quickly keyed in a control sequence and brought up a display of crew files. As he quickly began browsing through them, Thelin spoke up.

“Am I to understand, Captain,” he asked, “that you believe that you do not know who I am?”

“That’s correct,” Kirk said. “Earlier, Commander Spock, Doctor McCoy, Lieutenant Bates, and myself beamed down to the planet. Except for the doctor, we all took part in an observational mission to Orion’s past.”

“And at that time,” Thelin wanted to know, “you believed that Commander Spock was the first officer aboard the Enterprise?”

“He was the first officer,” the captain said. “I mean no disrespect, Commander, but there was no Thelin—there were no Andorians at all—among the crew.”

“I take no slight from your comment, Captain,” Thelin said. “But my recollection is that you, Doctor McCoy, and Lieutenant Bates transported down to the planet. I have not left the ship.” After a moment, Thelin said, “Captain, with your permission, I would like to ask the records officer to check if there is a Commander Spock presently serving elsewhere in Starfleet.”

“Yes, that’s a good idea,” Kirk said. “Also have him check on Ambassador Sarek of Vulcan, as well as the ambassador’s family.”

“Yes, sir,” Thelin said. Continuing to read through the list of the crew, Spock heard a click as the Andorian opened an intercom channel. “Commander Thelin to Lieutenant Erikson.” The records officer—the same individual Spock knew, or had known, to be in the position—responded, and Thelin told him of the research they needed done.

After Thelin had closed the channel, the captain asked, “I don’t remember you, Commander, but you remember me?”

“Yes, very well,” Thelin said. “You have been my commanding officer for several years.” He hesitated, but then added, “We have also become friends.”

“I’m…sorry,” Kirk said, his voice growing quiet. “I truly do not know you.”

“The situation is what it is, Captain,” Thelin said. “Do you believe, then, that you caused a change to the timeline when you traveled back through the vortex?”

“That would seem to be the obvious conclusion,” Kirk said.

“Indeed it would,” Spock said as he finished scanning the crew manifest. “But the alteration appears strangely contained. I recognize every name in the ship’s complement—all but that of Commander Thelin.”

“But how can we have done anything thousands of years ago on Orion that would have resulted only in substituting one first officer of the Enterprise for another?” Kirk asked.

“It may be that other, more significant changes have been wrought,” Spock said. “Changes that are not immediately apparent to us aboard the ship. I suggest that we have the computer compare the tricorder readings we took in Orion’s past with the recordings of the same time period made earlier through the Guardian. In that way, it may be possible to detect the point of divergence.”

The captain nodded. “Mister Bates,” he said.

“Yes, sir,” the lieutenant said, activating the tricorder that Spock had just given him. On that device, they had recorded events on historical Orion both directly and through the time vortex. Spock exchanged seats with Bates, allowing the young officer access to the computer interface.

“Spock,” the captain said, “if your absence from the Enterprise is the only difference in this timeline, have you any theories that might account for so limited an alteration?”

“There is nothing in theory or in practice that would suggest—” Spock began, but he stopped when he heard the up-and-down call of the intercom signal.

“Sulu to Captain Kirk.”

The captain toggled open a circuit. “Kirk here. What have you got, Mister Sulu?”

“We’ve contacted everybody aboard the ship,” Sulu said. “Nobody has ever heard of an officer on the Enterprise named Spock.”

“Thank you, Mister Sulu,” the captain said. “Kirk out.” He closed the channel with a touch. “Well, then,” he said.

Silence descended in the room, broken only by the intermittent clicks and chirps of the computer interface and the tricorder. Spock perceived a high level of anxiety in Commander Thelin and a great tension in Captain Kirk. He wondered if the current situation evoked uncomfortable memories for Jim, memories of what had happened during the events surrounding their discovery of the Guardian of Forever.

After a few minutes, Lieutenant Bates looked up from the computer interface, the tricorder held out before him. “Nothing,” he said, frustration evident in his voice. “I can’t find one thing we did when we were in the vortex that could possibly have affected the future.”

“But something was changed,” the captain said.

Spock agreed with that, but something troubled him. Even if the timeline had been altered beyond the Enterprise, the single change aboard the ship seemed wildly unlikely. “It seems, Captain,” he said, “I am the only one affected. The mission, the ship, the crew—except for myself—remain the same.”

“But I know who you are and no one else aboard does,” Kirk said, clearly trying to make sense of the situation. “While we were in Orion’s past, the time revision that took place here didn’t affect me.” Again, the intercom whistle sounded, and again, the captain opened a channel. “Kirk here.”

The image of Lieutenant Erikson appeared on the multisided display in the center of the table. “Sir,” he said, “we’ve checked the Starfleet records Commander Thelin asked for.”

“Your findings?” Kirk said.

“There is no Vulcan named Spock serving with Starfleet in any capacity,” Erikson reported.

“Did you also research the Vulcan family history requested?” Thelin asked.

“Yes, sir,” Erikson said. “I can relay that to your screen.” The lieutenant’s image vanished from the monitor, replaced a moment later by that of Spock’s father. “Sarek of Vulcan, ambassador to seventeen Federation planets in the past thirty years.”

Spock knew well the record of his father’s service. “That is not correct,” he said.

“It is in this case,” Kirk noted.

“I wish to ask a question,” Spock said. “What of Sarek’s family, his wife and son?” There seemed to be no need to mention Sybok, Spock’s half brother.

Once more, the image on the display changed. This time, a picture of Spock’s mother appeared, though one clearly recorded some time ago. “Amanda, wife of Sarek, born on Earth as Amanda Grayson,” Erikson said. “The couple separated after the death of their son.”

Their son, Spock repeated to himself, and again he thought of Sybok, though Sybok had not been born to Amanda.

“The wife was killed in a shuttle accident at Luna Port on her way home to Earth,” Erikson continued.

At once, Spock felt a terrible shock, though outwardly he controlled his reaction. He barely heard Erikson say that Sarek had not remarried. Though illogical, the impulse to scream rose within Spock, but instead, he merely closed his eyes. “My mother,” he said softly. He struggled to push aside his torment and managed to do so by concentrating on the dilemma they faced. “The son,” he said. “What was his name and age when he died?”

“Spock,” Erikson said. “Age seven.”

In the briefing room, all eyes turned to the Vulcan.

“Thank you, Mister Erikson,” the captain said, and he switched off the intercom. The likeness of Spock’s mother disappeared from the display. “Mister Spock, how?” Kirk asked. “How could our presence on Orion so long ago cause your death as a boy?”

“I do not know,” Spock said. “While it may seem implausible, the chaotic nature of the flow of time may have made it possible.”

“Still,” the captain said, “it just seems incredibly unlikely that an alteration we caused in the timeline thousands of years ago would end up specifically affecting you like this.”

“Yes,” Spock said, and then a possibility suddenly occurred to him. “Perhaps we should examine this situation from another perspective. Could it somehow have been my absence from this timeline that caused the change?”

“I’m not sure I understand that,” Thelin said.

“I’m not sure I do either,” Kirk added.

“I’m suggesting that we did not alter the timeline when we went back in time,” Spock said, “but that it was altered while we were back in time.”

“The historians?” the captain asked.

Spock nodded. “Possibly.”

The captain pushed back from the table and stood from his chair. “Mister Spock, we’re transporting back down,” he said. “Let’s talk to Doctor Grey and Doctor Aleek-Om.”

As Spock rose, so too did Thelin. “Captain, as the first officer of the Enterprise in this timeline, I request that you permit me to accompany you.”

“Very well, Commander,” Kirk said. “Mister Bates, recheck the tricorder readings of Orion and the Guardian. This time, be alert for anything even remotely related to the planet Vulcan.”

“Yes, sir,” Bates said, and he turned at once back to the computer interface.

Spock returned with Captain Kirk and Thelin to the transporter room, and the trio immediately beamed back down to the planet. There, the two historians stood before the Guardian, though the time portal appeared inactive at the moment. “Doctor Grey,” the captain called as he strode over to her. Spock and Thelin followed.

“Captain Kirk,” Grey said, looking up from the tricorder she held.

“Doctor,” the captain said, “we believe that an alteration has occurred in the timeline.”

“Mister Spock?” Grey asked, peering from the captain and over at the Vulcan.

“Yes,” Kirk said. “I know that you don’t recall this, but Commander Spock traveled back in time with me and Lieutenant Bates. When we returned, though, nobody here knew him.”

“Since you beamed back up to the Enterprise,” Grey said, “we’ve been examining our recordings to see if we could determine the cause of what happened.”

“You have?” Kirk asked.

“When we saw an unexpected traveler return through the time vortex,” Dr. Aleek-Om said, “we understood that something had gone awry.”

“Of course,” the captain said. “Have you found anything?”

“Not yet,” Grey said.

“We’ve examined our own tricorder readings, but we haven’t pinpointed anything that we changed on Orion,” Kirk said. “If we didn’t change anything while we were in the time vortex, someone else must have. Was the Guardian in use while we were gone?”

“Yes, but it was nothing unusual,” Grey said. “We were scanning recent Vulcan history.”

“What time period?” Spock asked, suspecting that the span would include his death as a boy in this timeline.

“Twenty to thirty Vulcan years past,” Grey said, confirming Spock’s notion.

“Was there any notation on the death of Ambassador Sarek’s son?” the captain asked.

Aleek-Om consulted his own tricorder. “Yes,” he said at last. “The boy is recorded as dying during the maturity test.”

“The kahs-wan,” Spock said, recalling that he had been seven years old when he’d undergone the ritual. “A survival test traditional for young males.”

“The date was—” Aleek-Om started, but Spock interrupted him.

“The twentieth day of Tasmeen.”

“How do you know this?” Thelin asked.

“That was the day my cousin saved my life in the desert when I was attacked by a wild animal,” Spock said. A template of what must have caused the alteration in the timeline began forming in his mind.

“This cousin,” the captain said. “What was his name?”

“I do not recall clearly,” Spock said. “I was very young. He called himself…Selek. He was visiting us, but I never saw him after that.” Suddenly, what had happened seemed apparent.

“Spock, did Selek look…like you do now?” Kirk asked, obviously thinking along the same lines.

“I believe so, Captain,” Spock said. “And I know what you’re thinking: it was I who saved myself that other time.”

“But this time, you were in Orion’s past with us when the historians had the time vortex replay Vulcan history,” Kirk said, spelling it all out. “You couldn’t be in two places at once, so you died as a boy.”

T’Vora stopped walking and turned to face Spock. Past him, the Vulcan sun had grown low in the sky, sending long shadows down into the canyon. “Is that what happened?” she asked him. “You, as an adult, had saved yourself as a boy, and then when that period replayed in the time vortex while you, as an adult, were thousands of years in the past, you died as a boy?” It not only seemed improbable to T’Vora, it seemed almost incomprehensible.

“That is an accurate description of what occurred, yes,” Spock said.

T’Vora looked away, back down the path toward the Two Thousand Steps, and then she began in that direction. Spock walked along beside her. For a while, she remained quiet, trying to put what she’d been told into some sort of rational context. She also called to mind all that she knew about Spock’s life. At last, she said, “It is self-evident that you did not die at the age of seven. I am also aware that your mother is still alive, and that she and your father have not separated.”

“That is correct,” Spock said.

T’Vora considered this. “You related the incident of the time vortex to me after stating that you had willfully altered the past,” she said. “You claimed that you had done so in contravention of the accepted precept that held it to be wrong to change the timeline, and you further stated that you had done so for your own personal gain.”

“I did,” Spock said, though if he meant that he had told her those things or that he had actually done them, she could not tell.

“Am I to take it then,” she asked, “that when this incident took place, you subsequently traveled into the past again, to the time that you were seven years of age?”

“Yes,” Spock said. “Through the Guardian of Forever, I visited the home of my parents in Shi’Kahr, masquerading as a cousin named Selek. When the seven-year-old Spock went out onto Vulcan’s Forge, I followed him. When a le-matya attacked, I intervened.”

“You saved your own life,” T’Vora said, “but in so doing, you also restored the timeline that had been altered by the historians’ work at the time vortex.”

Unexpectedly, Spock said, “Perhaps.”

“Perhaps?” T’Vora questioned.

“When I saved my younger self from the le-matya,” Spock said, “events did not transpire precisely as I had recalled them from my own youth.”

“The memories of a child, even a Vulcan child, are necessarily different than those formed by an adult, by virtue of the differing perspectives and life experiences of the two,” T’Vora said. “Could that explain the disparities you perceived?”

“Not entirely,” Spock said. “My recollection from my own youth is that my pet sehlat perished several months after my experience on the Forge, succumbing to a disease not uncommon to sehlats of advanced age. When I went into the past to save myself, my sehlat died out on the Forge, the result of poison it had taken from the le-matya’s claws.”

“And yet when you returned to the present,” T’Vora said, “you found that your mother had not died, that your parents remained together, and that you were once more first officer of the Enterprise.”

“That is correct,” Spock said. “As far as I can tell, the timeline has been restored but for the premature death of my pet.”

T’Vora shook her head. “What you describe defies logic,” she said. “If the timeline has been reset because you went back in time and prevented yourself from dying as a boy, then why are the two memories you have of the incident—the one formed when you were a boy and the one formed when you were an adult—different from each other? Should they not be the same?”

“Logic suggests that they should,” Spock said. “But the manner in which the Guardian of Forever worked remains a scientific mystery, and time travel itself poses many problems that resist reasonable explanation. However, it does seem unlikely to me that in the original timeline, I as an adult saved myself as a boy. How could I, when at the time my life was imperiled at the age of seven, I had not yet become an adult? It seems to me that I may have restored a timeline, but not the original timeline.”

They reached the point along the path where the Two Thousand Steps reached the top of the canyon. “Daylight grows short,” T’Vora said. “We will descend to the canyon floor and return to the Refuge.” She began down the stairway that had so long ago been carved out of the rock wall by Vulcans now lost to time and memory. Behind her, she heard Spock’s footsteps as he came down after her.

Along the great inclined span of the Two Thousand Steps, T’Vora moved beyond the nature of the incredible events Spock had described to the impact that those events had left on him. He had related the tales of time travel in response to her questions of the great remorse she perceived in him, but she did not know if she quite understood the connection between the two, between his choices and his guilt. In one incident, he had seemed to have minimal impact on the timeline while helping save billions of lives, and in the other, he had restored the timeline in which he lived, again with minimal impact, saving his own life and that of his mother. T’Vora could conceive that Spock’s violation of principle in so doing might have caused him some self-examination and even some uncomfortable reflection, but she could not reconcile it with the deep-seated regret she had detected within him.

When they reached the canyon floor and began the march back to the Refuge, T’Vora raised the issue. “Spock, I have listened to the stories of your violation of principle,” she said. “Considering the outcomes of those events, as well as your benevolent intentions in taking the actions you did, I cannot comprehend the level of remorse you claim this has brought you.”

Spock did not answer for a moment, and T’Vora peered over at him. At last, he said, “It is not those two incidents alone that have caused me the guilt I still carry within me.” His voice had lowered, as though he found the admission difficult to make. “It is those incidents juxtaposed with another…one in which I did not violate principle.”

And for the third time, Spock told a tale of traveling through time.