The Fire and the Rose

by David R. George III

  But it hadn’t. Spock had seen Jim at the board of inquiry, on one of the captain’s last days in Starfleet. Then he had never seen him again.

  At the podium, Wesley finished his tribute. “I was fortunate to have Jim Kirk in my life,” he said. Then, with a lingering look across those present, he ended by saying, “We were all fortunate to have Jim Kirk in our lives.” Applause followed him as he turned and walked back across the stage to his seat.

  Spock waited as the Starfleet commander-in-chief rose and returned to the podium, from which he had guided the memorial. Many individuals had spoken throughout the morning. Dr. Gillian Taylor, a twentieth-century cetacean biologist who had helped the captain and the Enterprise’s command crew bring a pair of humpback whales into the present in order to avert Earth’s destruction, had recalled meeting Jim, being charmed by him, and at last being enlisted to his cause. Admiral Westervliet Komack had remembered his own days as the flag officer in command of Sector 9 during the 2260s, a position he’d found fraught with challenges and filled with rewards simply because, at that time, Captain Kirk had reported to him. Helena Albrecht, former governor of Deneva, had talked of the terrible days when her colony had been invaded by deadly neural parasites, and of the days following, when the captain and crew of the Enterprise had destroyed the threat. Admiral Margaret Sinclair-Alexander of Starfleet Command had related tales of her service under the command of Captain Kirk, from whom she said she had learn so much. Rojan, the Kelvan leader who with a group of his people had fled the doomed Andromeda Galaxy, intent on conquering the Milky Way, had spoken admiringly of the captain’s efforts to help them settle a world of their own, without the need of going to war with the Federation.

  One after another, the speakers had recounted their experiences with Captain Kirk, explaining the tremendous impact he’d had on their lives. McCoy had spoken first, painting a portrait of Jim as a passionate man driven to explore space from an early age, as a fiercely loyal friend, and as a thoughtful, responsible, decisive leader. The doctor’s obviously heartfelt and well-considered eulogium had set the tone for the proceedings, offering a friend’s perspective of Jim as a person, and a respectful and laudatory view of him as a starship commander.

  “Thank you, Governor Wesley,” Admiral Smillie said after the applause had quieted. “Our final speaker before President Ra-ghoratreii concludes our ceremony will be Ambassador Spock of Vulcan. As many of you know, Mister Spock began serving with Captain Kirk almost thirty years ago, as his executive officer aboard the U.S.S. Enterprise—a role he permanently surrendered only upon the captain’s retirement.” The normally stern-mannered admiral smiled before continuing. “While their exploits together eventually became well known to the public,” he said, “they have always been well known—and a constant source of irritation—to Starfleet Command.” A swell of laughter rolled through the auditorium. The commander-in-chief waited for it to fade, then glanced over at Spock. “Ambassador,” he said, then made his way back to his own chair.

  Spock stood up, the black fabric of his Vulcan ceremonial robes settling about his lean figure. Unlike many of the orators today, he carried no notes with him. On the voyage from Alonis to Earth, he had written a suitable encomium for the captain and committed it to memory. But as he stepped up to the podium and peered out at all those commemorating Jim’s life, Spock discovered that he did not wish to speak at all. He had no need to share his loss with others, already displeased with himself for having done so in the manner he had with Alexandra. Nor did he want to admit the sting of regret he felt for not having talked with his friend in the months prior to his death, nor to reveal the persistent remorse that had occupied him since the fateful decision he had so confidently made all those years ago.

  As Spock’s silence began to draw out, he saw some people shifting nervously in their seats, a mixture of sorrow and anxiety on their faces as they gazed at him. For their sake, he realized, he could not say nothing; for his own, he could not say what he had intended to say. “Commanding a starship,” he said at last, recalling something he had once told Jim, “was James T. Kirk’s first, best destiny.” The captain had spent so much of his adult life on the bridge of the Enterprise, executing his duties to such a successful degree, that the statement verged on truism. “I have been, and always shall be his friend.” Spock hesitated for a moment, debating whether those in attendance wished him to say more, but what else could he add that held any greater meaning than what he’d already said?

  In silence, he returned to his seat. Dr. McCoy regarded him with a look of sadness, perhaps even of pity. After a few seconds, Spock heard scattered claps, but they did not blossom into applause, the brevity of his comments evidently startling people, including the Starfleet commander-in-chief. Admiral Smillie quickly hurried back to the podium. “Thank you, Ambassador,” he said. “Now, to close our memorial, Federation President Ra-ghoratreii has asked to say a few words.” As the president rose, the admiral once more retreated to his seat.

  An Efrosian, Ra-ghoratreii had raised ridges that reached from the top of his nose and slanted across his forehead. He had long, silken white hair, a similarly colored moustache that fell from the sides of his mouth and chin well past the line of his jaw, and brilliant blue eyes that could see only rough shapes. He wore a pair of specially designed pince-nez spectacles that transmitted clearer images to his optic nerves, permitting him a better awareness of his surroundings and thus allowing him to move about more easily.

  “Thank you, Admiral,” Ra-ghoratreii said. “And I want to thank everybody for attending. It speaks volumes that so many people have chosen to be here today, from so many different worlds and so many different circumstances. Though it may be redundant after the comments of all those who have spoken this morning, I would be remiss if I did not mention my own experiences with Captain Kirk.” As Spock listened, he noted McCoy continuing to gaze at him. “I met James T. Kirk for the first time only a few months ago. It was on the Klingon world of Khitomer, and the captain introduced himself by lunging through the air and tackling me to the floor in order to save me from an assassination attempt.” Ra-ghoratreii paused for a second, clearly for effect. “Needless to say, I was very pleased to make his acquaintance.” Laughter again went up in the auditorium.

  The president detailed the crisis surrounding the attempt on his life, and how Captain Kirk had helped both to prevent a war between the Federation and the Klingons, and to foster an active peace between the two powers. Ra-ghoratreii then described what it had been like for him, after the incident, to actually converse with the captain, a heroic, larger-than-life figure he’d known about for so long. He’d expected to be awed by the legend, he said, but instead had been impressed by the man.

  As the president started talking about other of Jim’s most important accomplishments, Spock pondered his own immediate future, considering what he would do next. The Bureau of Interplanetary Affairs wanted him to return to the negotiations on Alonis as soon as possible, as did the Alonis themselves, but his own evaluation of his ability to adequately discharge his ambassadorial responsibilities at this juncture had only diminished since he’d taken leave. In the nights since McCoy had informed him of Jim’s death—on Alonis, aboard the S.S. Glasgow en route to Earth, and in the apartment he still kept here in San Francisco—Spock had slept poorly, beset by uncharacteristically emotional dreams. In times of stress, Vulcans could go without sleep for weeks, and he now considered avoiding slumber in the days ahead. Perhaps a regimen of lengthy meditations over an extended period would help to settle his mind.

  Spock listened as President Ra-ghoratreii brought his remarks to a close, reiterating his estimation of Captain Kirk as a legendary officer and as a great man. When he finished speaking, the audience clapped once more. The president bowed his head, then walked offstage to the left. As the applause quieted, a murmur of conversation grew in its place. People rose, both those out in the auditorium and the speakers up on the stage.

  Spock go
t to his feet and strode quickly into the wing. As he neared an exit, he heard his name called from behind him, once, then a second time. He considered not stopping, simply continuing through the door and then walking through the city to his apartment, having no inclination to speak with anybody right now. Such a response would be rude, though, as well as suggesting an emotional motivation. Spock turned and waited for McCoy.

  “Spock, thank goodness,” the doctor said as he reached him. McCoy’s tired appearance had changed little since Spock had seen him on Alonis. “I thought those pointed ears of yours might not be working.”

  A rejoinder occurred to Spock—Would that my ears did not function when I was within audible range of your voice—but he did not wish to encourage a prolonged conversation. “What can I do for you, Doctor?” he asked.

  McCoy glanced at the people passing them, heading for the exit, and he sidled a few steps away from them. As Spock followed, the doctor peered at him as though evaluating him in some way. Then McCoy nodded back over his shoulder, in the direction of the stage. “It was a good service,” he said.

  “Yes,” Spock agreed. “Is there anything else?”

  “Well, it’s good to see you too, Spock,” McCoy said pointedly.

  “Yes,” Spock said again, and he turned to go.

  “Wait,” McCoy said, his voice rising for a second. “I’m sorry. I know this is difficult for you too.”

  Spock looked at him, unsure what sort of a reply the doctor expected. Surely McCoy had known him long enough not to anticipate an emotional response. “It is what it is,” Spock said.

  “I didn’t get a chance to say so earlier,” McCoy told him, “but I’m very happy that you decided to come.” The doctor had arrived at the memorial just before the ceremony had begun. His eyes had widened in obvious surprise when he’d sat down onstage beside Spock, but there had been no time for them to speak with each other.

  “As it turned out,” Spock confessed, “I found that I could not stay away.”

  “I know what you mean,” McCoy said. “Anyway, I also wanted to apologize for being so hard on you when I went to Alonis. I realize that we all deal with grief in different ways, and there’s no telling how Vulcans do it.” The remark sounded like a gibe, but McCoy’s demeanor told Spock otherwise. When he said nothing, the doctor went on. “I liked what you had to say up there, Spock. In just a few words, you said the most important things. I know Jim would’ve appreciated it.”

  “Thank you, Doctor,” Spock said. “But brevity is no measure of import or quality. I found your remarks quite compelling.”

  “Thank you, Spock,” McCoy said. “That means a great deal coming from you.”

  Spock acknowledged the compliment with a nod. “If there is nothing else then—”

  “Actually, there is,” McCoy said. “I assume you’re going back to Alonis.”

  “Eventually, yes,” Spock said. While he intended to return to the conference as expeditiously as possible, he could not envision doing so for at least a week, maybe two.

  “Then you’re not leaving Earth right away?” McCoy asked.

  “I have no plans to that avail,” Spock said.

  “Then I’d like you to come by Jim’s apartment,” McCoy said. The idea provoked an immediate response in Spock, an aversion that disturbed him as much for its existence as for its content.

  “For what purpose?” Spock asked.

  “In his will, Jim named me his executor,” McCoy said. “There are a few items he left to you.”

  “Perhaps you can have them sent to me,” Spock suggested.

  “I can,” McCoy said, “but… all of us are going to be there: Scotty, Sulu, Uhura, Chekov. We’ll have a drink, tell some stories about Jim, talk about the good old days…”

  “To which ‘good old days’ are you referring, Doctor?” Spock asked.

  “All of them, Spock,” McCoy said. “All of them up until the day Jim died.” The doctor looked down for a moment, visibly overcome. He took a deep breath, then said, “We’d all really like you to be there. I would like you to be there.”

  Spock did not want to go, but McCoy’s entreaty had moved him, yet another instance of his emotion overshadowing his logic. For many years, he had found a balance between his human and Vulcan selves, accepting his dual nature and learning to integrate them with each other. But now that equilibrium seemed threatened, and Spock wanted to withdraw into himself and find some way to restore it.

  Fleeing a problem will not solve it, he told himself. If he had to avoid situations in order to maintain his logic, then his mental state would remain precarious. “Very well,” he said to McCoy. “I will go with you.”

  “Good, Spock,” the doctor said. “I’m glad.”

  Together they went outside and started across the Starfleet Academy campus, on their way toward Russian Hill and Jim’s old apartment.

  Nine

  1930

  Kirk walked beside Edith Keeler as she led him and Spock through the urban canyons of New York. Night, moonless and deep, had descended on the city. In many places, though, small attempts to combat the darkness prevailed: the illumination emanating from windows in the buildings they passed, the lights mounted on the ground vehicles that drove by, the cones of yellow light falling from the street lamps that lined the sidewalks.

  Where it had not been cold this morning—despite Kirk’s claims to the contrary when he and Spock had been discovered by Miss Keeler—the temperature had dropped considerably after sunset. Kirk kept his coat buttoned up to his neck and his hands buried in his pockets. Whenever he glanced over to their escort, he saw her breath puffing out before her in ephemeral clouds of white.

  Keeler had a way about her, Kirk thought. Even simply walking through the wintry night, she projected a positive and vibrant air. This seemed true in spite of both the work she did—running a soup kitchen for the indigent—and the period in which she lived.

  During the course of cleaning the basement today, Kirk and Spock had taken midday and evening meals upstairs, in the main room of the mission. There, they had seen a calendar hanging on a wall, displaying the days of June 1922, but then they’d consulted several different newspapers, all of which had identified the current month as January 1930. That placed them in an era of economic upheaval known as the Great Depression. And yet as they’d eaten their soup and bread this evening, Keeler had taken a few moments to address the penniless, hungry men who had come to her establishment in search of food and charity. She’d told them, essentially, that there would be better days ahead, not just for them, but for everybody. Incredibly, she’d spoken of the possibilities of atomic power and space travel, of eliminating hunger and disease worldwide, all accomplishments well in the future. To Kirk, her views made her seem as much out of place in 1930 as he and Spock were.

  “Down this way,” Keeler said, pointing left as they reached an intersection.

  As they turned the corner, Kirk said, “I have to ask you, Miss Keeler, how can you be so sure that the days ahead are worth living for, when things appear so bleak right now?”

  “Bleak?” she said, her delicate features visible at the moment in the reflected glow of a street lamp. “You mean because of the bank failures and the stock market panic?”

  “Yes,” Kirk said, sure that she must be referring to the events of the day.

  “Oh, I don’t know how bleak things are,” Keeler said. “I suppose every day is bleak for somebody, no matter how good or how bad things are for the rest of the world. Poverty was widespread before the panic, it’s just getting worse now. But at least we’re not at war.”

  “But you sounded very optimistic about humanity’s future,” Kirk prompted her.

  “Well, yes, I am,” she said. “It seems to me that if mankind can produce Michelangelo’s David and the plays of William Shakespeare, if it can give us the telescope and the microscope, sailing ships and aeroplanes… it seems to me that a society of such capabilities must surely be able to lift itself and its ci
tizens out of poverty and starvation and disease.”

  “That is a noble view,” Kirk said.

  “We can be a noble people,” Keeler replied.

  “The history of mankind is also filled with tyranny,” Spock said from behind them.

  “Spock—” Kirk began to protest, but Keeler stopped him.

  “No, you’re right, Mister Spock,” she said. “And it isn’t just history. Mister Gandhi and the people of India are struggling right now to throw off the shackles of British imperialism.”

  “And you believe they’ll be successful,” Kirk said.

  “Of course they will be,” Keeler said. “It may take years or even generations, but they will succeed because our drive to be free is greater than our drive to conquer. Every day, every month, every year that passes will strengthen the resolve of the Indian people and weaken the will of the British politicians. Eventually, even the British people will favor the independence of India.”

  “An interesting analysis,” Spock said.

  “When you look at history,” Keeler continued, “you do see tyranny. But you also see people climbing mountains, crossing continents and oceans, and flying across the sky.” She paused for a moment, but Kirk chose not to fill the silence, instead waiting—anxious—for what she would say next. “Materialism is not a natural state for people, I don’t think,” she went on, “or at least it needn’t be a normal state. People are better as explorers than as collectors, better as creatures of imagination than as creatures of possession.”

  “So you believe that the good in humanity will overcome the bad,” Kirk said.

  “Yes, I very much do,” Keeler said, and she stopped walking. For a second, Kirk thought that he might have insulted her in some way, but then she pointed toward the building there. “This is where I live,” she said.

  Kirk peered up at the four-story structure, which even at night appeared to be in poor repair. Light streamed from several windows, though most appeared dark. Keeler started up a wide set of concrete steps at the front of the building, and Kirk and Spock followed. At the top of the stairs, she pointed to a dark archway above the front door. “I keep telling Mister Dubinski that he needs to replace that lightbulb,” she said.