The Fire and the Rose

by David R. George III

  “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.

  Intersection

  Crucible

  Spock set the last of the chairs upside down on the end of the table. Behind him, Captain Kirk pushed a broom across the floor, amassing the dirt that had been tracked into the mission since last night, when the two of them had performed the same chore. Spock peered over to the raised platform at the side of the room to where the captain, as had become his practice, had set down the dustpan and wastebasket.

  As Spock went to retrieve the cleaning tools with which he had grown well accustomed during the past forty-seven days, he glanced over at the kitchen. There, he saw Rik—he had never learned the former vagabond’s surname—with Edith Keeler, the pair washing the dishes from the night’s final meal. Just then, Keeler turned from the basin and reached toward the serving counter to pick up several empty bowls. Spock saw her notice him peering in her direction, and she gave him a wide smile. He nodded in response, then returned to the task at hand.

  Gathering up the dustpan and wastebasket, he walked over to the corner of the room, where the captain had finished sweeping. As they worked together in silence to dispose of the dirt and assorted refuse, Spock speculated about the state of mind of his commanding officer—of his friend. Over the course of the weeks that the two of them had been in Earth’s past, Spock had witnessed Jim fall in love with Edith Keeler, and she with him. Even before th
e social worker’s criticality to the timeline had become apparent, the romance had seemed futile, since the successful restoration of history would put an end to it. Spock harbored no doubts about what action the captain would take should the opportunity to right the flow of time arise: he would do it, regardless of his feelings for Miss Keeler. What did concern Spock was how the loss of such an obviously special relationship would affect Jim.

  Once they’d done tidying up, Spock put away the cleaning implements, while the captain collected their coats. As Spock took his and pulled it on, he saw that Jim also held Keeler’s navy blue cloak. “I’m going to wait for Edith,” he said.

  “Of course,” Spock replied. Though he recognized the need to keep a close watch on Keeler due to her importance to the timeline, Spock also understood that Jim wanted to be with her.

  “Has McKenna gotten those components you needed yet?” the captain said, asking about the transformer and vacuum tubes Spock had ordered through the watchmaker.

  “He has,” Spock said. “He told me that I could stop by his apartment tonight to pick them up, which is what I intended to do.”

  “Very good. The more information we have, the better,” said the captain, obviously knowing that Spock would utilize the components to attempt to mine more meaningful data out of his tricorder. A forlorn expression crossed Jim’s features for just a moment, but then he peered toward the kitchen, toward Edith Keeler, and his bearing changed.

  “We’ll be done in just a few minutes,” Keeler called.

  “Oh, that’s okay, Miss Keeler,” Rik said beside her. “I can finish up here. You can go.”

  “Are you certain?” Keeler asked.

  “Sure, I don’t mind,” Rik said. “You go on.”

  “Thank you,” Keeler said, and Spock saw her reach over and pat Rik on the arm. She picked up a rag and quickly dried her hands, then disappeared briefly as she ducked down below the counter. When she emerged through the swinging doors into the main room, she carried her handbag and pale blue cloche with her. She wore a wide-collared white blouse and a black skirt. After she’d set her hat atop her head, the captain helped her on with her cloak, then put on his own coat.

  At the front of the mission, Spock held open one of the double doors for Keeler and the captain, then followed them outside. The temperature had cooled as night had fallen, and water had puddled in the street after an earlier rain. Dim circles of illumination penetrated the darkness, both from street lamps and the headlights of passing automobiles.

  “Good night, Mister Spock,” Keeler said, peering back over her shoulder.

  “I’ll see you back at the apartment,” the captain said with a quick wave.

  “Good night,” Spock said. He raised his own hand in an awkward attempt to match the captain’s gesture. As Jim and Keeler started toward the street, Spock turned to his right and started along the sidewalk. He would head for the building in which Mr. McKenna resided, and then-

  Close behind him, a horn beeped twice, and Spock whirled quickly to see an automobile brake, its tires squealing as it lurched to a halt just in front of Jim and Keeler. The couple had stopped just past the curb, but now they hurried across the street in front of the stationary vehicle. The driver sounded his horn a second time in obvious annoyance, and then yet again.

  As Spock continued on his way, he wondered if they had all just passed the point at which Edith Keeler had been killed in the original timeline. Had McCoy already arrived in the past and somehow influenced the moment? Had the captain’s presence beside Keeler prevented the traffic accident that should have happened?

  Spock considered the circumstances as he stepped into the street. He had to wait to cross until an automobile drove by—the same one that had stopped before Keeler and the captain. If that automobile had initially killed the social worker in the untainted timeline, if the critical event in history that McCoy had somehow changed had just passed, if Spock and Captain Kirk had failed to set right whatever the doctor had done, then he didn’t know what else they could do to remedy the situation. Back in the twenty-third century, beside the Guardian of Forever, the captain had given instructions to the remainder of the landing party: once they thought that they had waited long enough, once it had become apparent to them that history had not reverted, they would have to try themselves to accomplish that which Spock and Captain Kirk had set out to do. But if any of them had made such an attempt, Spock thought, then wouldn’t they have appeared here in the past already? Wouldn’t they—

  “Spock!” the captain suddenly yelled. Spock turned quickly and saw him hurrying by himself back across the street, leaving Keeler standing alone on the far corner, watching him go. Spock hastened back to the sidewalk and toward the mission.

  “What is it?” he asked as he and the captain reached the front doors at the same time.

  “McCoy,” he said, pointing toward the mission. “He’s in—” He stopped speaking as he looked at the front doors, and Spock peered in that direction to see Dr. McCoy coming through the entrance. “Bones!” Jim called, rushing toward him.

  “Jim!” the doctor cried, and he embraced the captain. An uncharacteristic swell of emotion coursed through Spock, and he too rushed toward McCoy, reaching for his hand.

  “Bones,” Jim said again.

  McCoy pumped Spock’s hand. “I am so happy to see you two,” he said. “I didn’t know where I was or how I got here—”

  Jim peered back across the street, and now a look of horror suddenly appeared on his face. Spock followed his gaze to see Edith Keeler walking toward them, as though in a trance, seeming to take no note of the truck advancing in her direction.

  Now, Spock realized. The moment had arrived.

  Jim took three halting steps across the sidewalk, toward Edith.

  “No, Jim!” Spock yelled, as McCoy also cried out.

  At the curb, Jim stopped. “Edith—” he said in a harsh whisper. Keeler continued walking forward, still unmindful of her surroundings, moving directly into the path of the truck.

  McCoy moved then. One step, another, and he reached the captain, brushing past him. But Jim raised his arm, then turned his body into McCoy’s and held him back, prevented him from racing out into the street and pushing Edith Keeler to safety.

  The brakes of the truck screeched along the wet roadway. At the last instant, Keeler came our of her daze, seeing the truck, screaming as it struck her. She was thrown to the ground hard, her head striking the tarmac with a violent, decisive sound. Keeler’s body wilted at once, her life extinguished just that quickly.

  Bystanders dashed to the fallen woman. Spock looked from the corpse of Edith Keeler over to where Jim still held McCoy. Jim’s eyes were tightly closed, and for a moment, the life seemed to have gone out of him as well.

  “You deliberately stopped me, Jim,” McCoy said, his words delivered with quiet anger. Jim opened his eyes. Spock had never seen them filled with such agony. “I could have saved her,” the doctor went on. “Do you know what you just did?”

  Jim pushed away from McCoy and staggered over to the mission doorway. He leaned an arm against the jamb, his aspect distant. He had taken the proper action, done what he had to do, but at what cost to himself?

  “He knows, Doctor,” Spock told McCoy. “He knows.”

  Jim leaned his face against his fist, quaking with emotion. Spock had never seen him like this, and in that moment he didn’t know if his friend would ever be the same again.

  Twenty-One

  2295/2270

  Out in the easternmost reaches of Gol, the great statues lay in ruins. Where in ancient times the stone behemoths had towered over the volcanic plain, they had now fallen to rubble. Whether they had been toppled by the shifting of powerful seisms, the attack of advancing armies, or the simple decay of millennia, no one could say. The remains of an era long past antedated not only the cause of the ignoble fate of the huge effigies, but the identities of their builders and the reasons they had claimed for their efforts.
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  In the shadow of a massive, rounded slab of carved rock, T’Vora stood at a cairn she had earlier assembled, and at which she had devoted some time to memorializing whatever Vulcan ancestors had once trod these ravaged grounds. As sunrise unveiled the day, she peered from her umbral vantage out across the harsh geography. Steam rose from dozens of fumaroles littering the landscape. Though still early in the morning, the temperature had already begun to climb, and the vertical rise of the white vapor promised no cooling breath of shifting air currents.

  In the distance, Spock approached. Yesterday, T’Vora had walked the Two Thousand Steps with him, ascending to the canyon rim, descending back to the canyon floor. It had proven a strenuous excursion both physically and mentally, most especially for Spock, who had revealed to her difficult details of his life. Consequently, T’Vora had decided on an ensuing period of rest and meditation today for both of them.

  Through the night, though, T’Vora had not slept, instead contemplating all that Spock had divulged to her during their pilgrimage. Placing his accounts of those events into the framework of both his life and his emotional state had served to reinforce one judgment that T’Vora had made while undermining another. She had been fully and properly justified in rejecting Spock’s petition for the Kolinahr when first he’d made it to her, but she no longer remained as convinced of her verdict in granting him aspirant status after his second petition. Because of that, she now confronted another determination, for which reason she had cancelled today’s respite, leaving word for Spock to meet her out here on the Plain of Lost Antiquities.

  As Spock neared, T’Vora stepped out from the shade and into the dawn rays of the Vulcan sun. She addressed him by name as he stopped before her, then began speaking without further preamble. “I am concerned that you have come to the Kolinahr for the wrong reasons,” she said.

  “Forgive me, Master T’Vora,” Spock said, “but have you not already evaluated my impetus to the contrary?”

  “Your query is without merit,” T’Vora said at once, satisfied neither to be so questioned by an aspirant nor with the slack logic that the question demonstrated. “My acceptance of you into the Kolinahr made plain my assessment at that time of your suitability for it. My declaration of concern now clearly indicates that I am reexamining that assessment. And your query implies either that I have forgotten the former or that I have erred in the latter.”