The Fire and the Rose

by David R. George III

  “That’s true, but in neither instance did I lie,” Tremontaine said, then paused to take a sip from her cup. Wisps of steam rose above its rim. “The BIA has given me a good deal of autonomy here, based upon my previous experiences with the Frunalians. I initially intended to come here and add my voice to yours, perhaps provide a different perspective. After reviewing your reports, though, I concluded that, even with the progress you’ve made, Jalira Tren remains a long way from granting us the rights to mine their rubindium. For that reason, and because the Federation does have other pressing needs for its diplomatic corps, I decided that this process needed to be either accelerated or abandoned. So unless Ambassador Tren in the next few days offers a compelling reason to resume the talks, they will be over, Mister Spock, and you and I will be leaving Orelte.” She sipped again at her cup, then added, “But Jalira will want to continue the talks, and at that point, we’ll be able to reach an agreement in short order.”

  “That,” Spock said, “seems like arrogant conjecture.”

  “Oh, I disagree,” Tremontaine said. She spoke with no hint of having taken any insult from Spock’s characterization. She walked back around to the front of the settee and sat down again, placing her cup on the table. “Conjecture is the formation of a judgment based upon incomplete information. That’s not the case here. I have your reports of the summit, as well as my knowledge and experience with the Frunalians and Ambassador Tren. I decided on a course of action not through conjecture, but through rational deduction. As for arrogance, well, I don’t feel particularly self-important right now, but I’ll accept your observation. Fortunately, that’s not relevant to the success or failure of our mission.”

  Spock peered at Tremontaine, trying to take her measure. She did not speak without emotion, but she did maintain a levelness he found both convincing and compelling. What he had at first viewed as conceit, he now judged as self-assurance, the dividing line being the logic by which she’d apparently arrived at her conclusions. Still, she had acted unilaterally, and he questioned her about that. “You reached Orelte today several hours prior to today’s session,” he said, “sufficient time for you to seek me out and detail your intentions. May I ask why you did not?”

  Tremontaine glanced down at her cup on the table, then reached forward and picked it up again. Spock perceived her hesitation in answering as either uncertainty or regret, and he thought she utilized the physical action of retrieving her cup as an attempt to camouflage the feeling. “For that, I’m sorry, Mister Spock,” she said, looking back over at him. “I’m certainly aware of your long record of exploits aboard the Enterprise and the masterful job you did as a special envoy to Chancellor Gorkon. But for all of that, I didn’t know you personally, and so I couldn’t be sure how you would react to my strategy or how easy or difficult it would be for you to help me carry it out. I chose the path with the fewest unknowns, and therefore the path I could be most certain of traversing successfully.”

  “Reasonable,” Spock said. It seemed clear that Ambassador Tremontaine had not acted without forethought.

  “Thank you, Mister Spock,” Tremontaine said. “I take that as a great compliment, coming from your disciplined mind.”

  Spock dipped his head in acknowledgment of the returned accolade. “Am I to take it then,” he asked, “that your plan now is simply to wait for an official response from Ambassador Tren?”

  “It is,” Tremontaine said. “Later, I’ll make arrangements for our departure, say, two days from now. That’s something Jalira might check just to make sure that we’re not bluffing.”

  Spock stood up. “It would appear that there is nothing else we need discuss then,” he said.

  “Actually,” Tremontaine said, hastily setting her cup back down and rising from the settee, “even though I’ve read your accounts of the negotiations here, I think I’d like to discuss your experiences with you directly.”

  “Very well,” Spock said. “Do you wish to do so now or shall we schedule another time?”

  “Are you a vegetarian, Mister Spock?” she asked, the question an apparent non sequitur.

  “I am,” he said.

  “So am I,” Tremontaine said. “I know an excellent restaurant on the far side of the city. I was thinking that perhaps we could have our discussion over dinner.”

  Spock blinked. He could not be certain, but he thought that Tremontaine’s invitation might be motivated by more the just her desires for sustenance and information; he thought that she might be attracted to him. It had been some while since Spock had noticed anything of this sort, and an even longer time since he’d been in any way involved with a woman. In addition to the dearth of opportunities over the years, owing to the rigors of his Starfleet duty and to his own solitary nature, there had also been the complications with Saavik.

  Eight years earlier, after Spock had perished aboard the Enterprise, his body had been revivified and rejuvenated on the Genesis Planet, aging rapidly to maturity and triggering the pon farr. In order to prevent the unfulfilled mating urges from killing Spock, Saavik had bonded with him. Later, after he’d undergone the fal-tor-pan and his katra had been reunited with his restored physical self, the link with Saavik had remained. Although both of them had recognized the logic of her decision to do what she’d done, neither of them had been comfortable with the idea of allowing their connection to stand; Spock had been Saavik’s mentor, she his student, and their joining had been born of necessity. Eventually, when the time had been right, the two of them had returned to Vulcan together, where they’d successfully undertaken the rel-san-vek: the dissolution.

  Now, free of that encumbrance, Spock stood in Ambassador Alexandra Tremontaine’s suite, faced with what should have been a simple choice to make. Having sensed Tremontaine’s interest in him, accepting her request to dine together could easily mislead her into thinking that he reciprocated that interest. He would not wish to do that… except-

  Except that this woman does intrigue me, Spock thought. He appreciated the clarity with which she’d analyzed the Frunalians’ position, the decisiveness and confidence with which she’d acted, and the composed manner in which she conducted herself. “Yes,” Spock said. “I’ll join you for dinner.”

  “Wonderful,” Tremontaine said. She did not smile, but Spock could still tell that his answer pleased her. He moved to the door and opened it for her, then followed her out. They exited the embassy, then walked across the city together, their conversation coming easily. At first, they spoke of the Frunalians and Ambassador Tren and stable rubindium ore, but over dinner the discussion moved on to other topics. Tremontaine asked about Spock’s choice to join the Bureau of Interplanetary Affairs and about his service in Starfleet. For his part, Spock found himself curious about the ambassador’s career, as well as what had driven her to pursue a vocation in diplomacy. By the time they retired to their own suites later that night, they had spent five hours with each other.

  The next morning, Jalira Tren requested a resumption of negotiations, offering an extensively reworked proposal from which to recommence the talks. Three days later, Spock and Tremontaine departed Orelte, the Federation mining rights to the Frunalian rubindium secured.

  Five

  2267

  The sound of doors opening penetrated Lieutenant John Kyle’s dazed mind. With his eyes closed, he heard voices and footsteps, and he realized that he had no idea where he was or how he had gotten there. As he stirred, he became aware of a sharp pain slicing through the back of his head.

  “John, are you all right?” somebody asked. Kyle opened his eyes and saw Dave Galloway, a security guard, squatting down before him.

  “I don’t know,” Kyle said. Past Galloway rose the transporter platform. Kyle remembered being on shift here, and that he’d being studying whether or not a landing party could safely beam down to the planet they currently orbited. He struggled to push himself up to a sitting position, and at his side, a second guard, Paul Bates, took his arm to help. “What happe
ned?” Kyle asked, reaching up and rubbing the nape of his neck.

  “We don’t know,” Galloway said. “We were searching for Doctor McCoy when we checked in here. You were lying on the deck, just coming to.”

  Kyle recalled the alert that had gone up about the doctor accidentally being injected with an overdose of a drug. McCoy apparently roamed the ship now in a paranoid delusion that he was being pursued by murderers. Kyle couldn’t visualize the doctor in such a state of-

  The lieutenant felt his jaw drop as a possibility occurred to him. He tried to get to his feet, but Galloway stopped him with a hand to his shoulder. “Easy there,” the guard said.

  “You don’t understand,” Kyle protested. “I need to check the transporter to see if anybody’s beamed down.”

  “I can do it,” Galloway said. He quickly stood and moved to the console.

  “See if the transporter’s been activated today,” Kyle said.

  Galloway worked the controls for a moment. “Yes,” he said. “Nine minutes ago, there was a successful transport.”

  Kyle had been on the verge of confirming the ability to beam down to the planet safely, but now he had direct confirmation. “Check the log. See who it was,” he said, though he suspected that he already knew the answer.

  “Doctor McCoy,” Galloway confirmed.

  “Contact the captain,” Kyle said, but already Galloway had reached for the intercom.

  “Bridge, security,” he said. “Alert, alert.”

  “Bridge here,” the captain responded. “Go ahead.”

  “Security, oh-five-four, sir,” Galloway said, identifying his patrol route. Kyle attempted again to stand, and this time Bates helped him do so. “We just found the transporter chief injured.”

  Kyle staggered over to the console. As he reset the slide controls, he spoke into the intercom. “Captain,” he said, “Doctor McCoy has beamed himself down to the planet.”

  “And the transporter at that time, Captain,” Kyle heard Spock say, “was focused on the center of the time disturbance.”

  “So whatever’s down there, McCoy is in the heart of it,” Kirk replied to the first officer. “Set up a landing party. Let’s go get him.” Then, into the intercom, the captain said, “Kirk out.”

  As quickly as he could manage with the pounding in his head—the doctor must have struck him pretty hard—Kyle swung around the console and began working the controls.

  “Maybe you should head to sickbay,” Galloway said. “We can get another operator down here.”

  “No,” Kyle said. “You heard the urgency of the situation. The captain will be here with a landing party straight away.”

  “John,” Galloway protested.

  Kyle looked at him with a serious expression. “Dave, really, I’m all right,” he said. “After the landing party beams down, I’ll have somebody take over for me.”

  “All right,” Galloway said. “But if you—”

  The intercom whistled, then transmitted the sound of Lieutenant Commander Giotto’s voice. “Security to Galloway,” he said.

  Galloway opened a channel and identified himself.

  “The bridge just requested two security officers for a landing party to go after Doctor McCoy,” Giotto said. “I’m assigning you and Bates.”

  “Acknowledged,” Galloway said.

  “Giotto out.”

  Galloway deactivated the intercom, then peered over at Kyle. “What did Commander Spock say was down there?” he asked.

  “The center of the time disturbance,” Kyle said.

  “The time disturbance?” Galloway said. “And what does that mean?”

  “I don’t know,” Kyle answered honestly. “I don’t think anybody knows.”

  The wind blew cold across the planet’s surface, although the sheer rock formations all around provided a considerable barrier. As the rest of the landing party spread throughout the area, searching for Dr. McCoy, Spock stood beside Captain Kirk and peered up at the unusual object situated at the heart of the archeological ruins. An irregular torus standing on edge, it had a dappled, golden surface. Spock almost could not believe what his tricorder reported about it.

  “This single object,” he told the captain, “is the source of all the time displacement.”

  “Explain,” Kirk said.

  “I can’t,” Spock admitted. “For this to do what it does is impossible by any science I understand.” The captain gazed up at the object—it stood approximately four meters tall—then slowly started around it. Spock walked with him, checking his tricorder as he did so. “It is operating even now,” he said, “putting out waves and waves of time displacement, which we picked up millions of miles away.” The captain stopped when he’d made it halfway around the object.

  “It’s difficult to imagine that this single structure could do that,” Kirk said.

  “And yet it does,” Spock said, verifying the fact with his tricorder. “I am at a loss both to explain how it is doing what it is doing, as well as to understand just what its purpose might be.”

  “It’s functioning,” the captain said, “and yet our sensors showed no sentient life anywhere on the planet.”

  “That is correct,” Spock said.

  “And these ruins, you said, were on the order of—”

  “Millions of years old,” Spock said, seeing the captain’s point. If the inhabitants of this world had disappeared millions of years ago, whether dying off or departing in a mass exodus, then how could the object have continued to operate for all the time since then? Would it not require periodic maintenance, as well as a regular power source? Spock supposed that it might have employed solar or geothermal power, but his tricorder showed neither sunlight receptors on it nor any subterranean connections.

  “To reach through an atmosphere and out into space, all the way to the Enterprise,” Kirk said, “must have required a great deal of power.”

  “Incredible power,” Spock agreed. As he reached out to touch the object, he added, “It can’t be a machine as we understand mechanics.”

  “Then what is it?” the captain asked.

  Beneath his hand, Spock felt a strong vibration, and he quickly stepped back. Suddenly, a deep voice boomed from the object: “A question.” Light flashed through its circumference in time to its words. “Since before your sun burned hot in space and before your race was born, I have awaited a question.”

  Beyond the unexpectedness of the object’s speaking, the response made no sense to Spock. Sol had formed approximately four-and-a-half billion years ago, the Vulcan sun even farther back in time. But the remnants of the civilization about the object dated from only millions of years ago. Had not a single individual in the history of that society ever asked a question here?

  “What are you?” the captain asked.

  “I am the Guardian of Forever,” it said.

  “Are you machine or being?” Kirk asked.

  “I am both and neither,” the Guardian replied cryptically. “I am my own beginning, my own ending.”

  “I see no reason for answers to be couched in riddles,” Spock commented.

  “I answer as simply as your level of understanding makes possible,” the Guardian said. Though Spock did not doubt the sophistication of the object, he also perceived arrogance in its answer.

  “What is your purpose?” Kirk asked.

  “I am the confluence of all moments, all places,” the Guardian said. “I am what was, what will be. Through me is eternity kept.”

  The captain peered with a creased brow over at Spock, clearly attempting to decipher the meaning of the Guardian’s enigmatic pronouncements. Spock too tried to discern its intent. As Captain Kirk began walking again around the object, Spock followed, his mind working over the words that the Guardian had utilized in its replies. Forever. Eternity. All moments, all places. Through me.

  As they reached the other side of the object, Spock formulated a theory. “A time portal, Captain,” he said. “A gateway to other times and dimens
ions, if I’m correct.”

  “As correct as possible for you,” said the Guardian. “Your science knowledge is obviously primitive.”

  “Really?” Spock said. Even if the Guardian was what it claimed to be, that did not diminish the level of scientific advancement that Vulcan and Earth and the Federation had achieved.

  “Annoyed, Spock?” the captain asked with an amused air.

  “Behold,” the Guardian said. A mist fell from the top of the object to fill the empty space at its center. Within, images began to form: humans, barely clothed, carrying spears at the ready as they tramped through a tropical forest. Then the jungle scene vanished, replaced a moment later by another: pyramids rising in a desert setting, with people riding and leading beasts of burden. “A gateway to your own past, if you wish.” The desert faded and a great white temple appeared, a crowd milling about before it.

  Ancient Greece, Spock thought. Or perhaps Rome. More images came, one after another. Spock saw people in togas and-

  “Killers!” McCoy’s voice rang out. Spock turned and saw the doctor emerge from among the ruins, ducking between an upright column and a large slab of stylized masonry leaning against it. Uhura stood near him, apparently having flushed him out. The two security guards, Galloway and Bates, ran after him.

  For just a second, McCoy headed toward where Spock and the captain stood before the Guardian, but then he sped to the right. Engineer Scott stood there, though, blocking the doctor’s path. McCoy saw him and tried to reverse direction, but found himself surrounded. “Killers!” he yelled as Galloway drew closer. “I won’t let you get me!” McCoy scrambled backward into a recess in the rocks. “I’ll kill you first!” he yelled.

  Galloway had his phaser drawn, Spock noticed, but he did not point it at the doctor. The captain’s orders had called for minimal force in apprehending McCoy. Given the doctor’s state, the physical effect to him of a phaser blast, even on a stun setting, remained unknown.

  Finally, Galloway and Scott moved in, and McCoy attempted to rush through their midst. “I won’t let you get—” As the two officers took hold of him, with Bates moving in as well, the captain and Spock raced over. “Assassins! Murderers! Killers!”