The Fire and the Rose

by David R. George III

  “Forgive me again, Master,” Spock said. “I offer my humble apology for the folly of that which I asked.”

  “Very well,” she said. “We will speak no more of it. But we will speak of my concern.”

  “As you wish,” Spock said.

  “During our time together yesterday, you related three tales to me when faced with my observation of a lasting remorse present within you,” T’Vora said. “You stated that this remorse involved your willful violation of a generally accepted ethical principle—noninterference with the timeline—a principle to which you subscribe. You provided descriptions of two incidents in which you intentionally changed the past, contrasting them with one in which you explicitly worked to correct an alteration to history.”

  “As you say,” Spock acknowledged.

  “I initially inferred that you offered the third narrative as an illustration of your awareness of and dedication to the principle about which you spoke,” T’Vora explained. “But upon reflection last night, and in considering the events of your life immediately preceding your pursuit of the Kolinahr with me, I have come to believe otherwise.”

  “I understand,” Spock said. “It is an involved issue.”

  “You will explain it then,” T’Vora said. “Come.” She rounded back toward the large stone fragment—once a section of a sculpture’s arm, perhaps, or of a leg—and padded back into the shade. Out of the direct rays of the sun, the air measured several degrees cooler. She motioned toward the small cenotaph of loosely piled stones that she had assembled. “About this totem that I have consecrated to the memories of our forebears,” she said, “tell me what you must.”

  Spock did not answer right away, and T’Vora assumed that he gathered his thoughts before speaking. At last, he said, “In my life, I have been involved in a number of time-travel incidents, only three of which I have recounted to you. In all cases, I have had the opportunity either to alter or to preserve the timeline. Understanding and believing in the precept that history should not be changed, I have almost always acted accordingly. I have also counseled others to take action against their own personal interests in order to maintain the integrity of the past.”

  “As you did with Captain Kirk on Earth in 1930,” T’Vora said.

  “Yes,” Spock said. “But just two years later, during our return to the Guardian of Forever for our mission of historical research, I traveled back in time for the intended purpose of altering the timeline specifically for my own benefit. I saved my own life, as a boy, which in turn prevented the death of my mother. I do not know what other consequences my actions caused, except for the fate of Commander Thelin. He never served aboard the Enterprise, but was instead assigned as second-in-command aboard the U.S.S. Ticonderoga. One year after his posting, he was killed in an avalanche during a survey mission to an unexplored planet.”

  T’Vora nodded. Without Spock having complete control of his emotions, she understood how such a reality could weigh on him. She said nothing, though, not wishing to interrupt the flow of the aspirant’s thoughts.

  “Years later, I encouraged another possible alteration to the timeline when I suggested bringing Terran whales forward in time from three centuries earlier,” Spock continued. “I know that course of action apparently resulted in the rescue of Earth’s humanoid population, but I cannot tell what other unintended consequences it had—or will have.” He paused again, and this time, T’Vora suspected that he would finally crystallize the nature of the regret buried so deeply within him. “I am not entirely comfortable with having violated my ethical standards by tampering with history,” he went on, “particularly when I did so for my own advantage. Nevertheless, I have learned to live with what I have done. In the incident with Commander Thelin, I at least appear to have restored some timeline; with respect to bringing the whales forward in time, I at least seem to have contributed to a positive outcome for the inhabitants of Earth. What troubles me considerably, though, is that in my single-minded quest to restore the timeline—a timeline I would later intentionally change—I did nothing to ease the burden of my friend.”

  “Captain Kirk?” T’Vora asked.

  “Yes,” Spock said. “At no point during our weeks on Earth in 1930 did I attempt to ease his personal burden. Although I recognized the terrible pain that losing Edith Keeler would cause him, I did not even consider what I might do to prevent or diminish that pain.”

  “But what could you have done, Spock?” T’Vora asked. “Would you have sacrificed the proper flow of history for the sake of one man?”

  “After many years of contemplation, I have concluded that it is illogical to regard any timeline as ‘proper,’” he said, peering down at the pyramidal pile of stones. “Still, I am not suggesting that I necessarily should have abandoned attempts to correct the damage that Doctor McCoy had done. But perhaps I could have been a better friend to Captain Kirk, warned him away from the emotional turmoil that I knew he would face once we had accomplished our mission. Or perhaps I could have found some way to restore the timeline without Edith Keeler having to die.” Looking up again at T’Vora, he said, “I don’t know. I only know that I never even thought about how I could help my friend.”

  It occurred to T’Vora to point out that Captain Kirk’s position of authority might have made it difficult for Spock to do anything such as he now proposed, but she realized that it didn’t matter. This did not impact Spock intellectually, but viscerally. The emotions he still felt had been with him for many years and needed to be dealt with on that basis. “This guilt that you feel, Spock,” T’Vora said, “it has abided since you and Captain Kirk witnessed the death of Edith Keeler?”

  “No,” he said. “After her death, after our return from Earth’s past, I was concerned for Captain Kirk, but I had no regrets. Later, though, after I changed the timeline to save myself and my mother, I began to feel the remorse of which I’ve spoken, and which you have perceived within me. And when I finally came to realize just how much the loss of Edith Keeler had affected Captain Kirk, just how much he had loved her, the remorse grew strong. It has lasted since that time.”

  “And when Captain Kirk was killed last year,” T’Vora asked, “did that exacerbate your guilt?”

  “Exacerbate?” Spock said. “No, but the captain’s death called it to mind. Coupled with the loss I felt, it underscored the need in my life for mastery of my emotions and a complete commitment to logic.”

  “Spock,” T’Vora said, “I denied the first petition you made to me because it seemed that you were attempting to employ the Kolinahr as a means of escaping your emotions, rather than choosing it solely on the basis of what it offered. After what I have learned yesterday and today, I am again concerned that this is the case.”

  “It is not,” Spock stated categorically. “Master T’Vora, I first embarked on a journey to achieve Kolinahr a quarter of a century ago. I spent nine seasons in intense study with Master T’sai, until I arrived at the very brink of that which I had sought. As I told you, it was only the intervention of a powerful and perfectly logical consciousness, V’Ger, that pulled me from that path. I have now studied with you for nearly four seasons, and you are aware yourself of how much progress I have made. I mention all of this as evidence that I am capable of reaching my goal, and that I have earned the opportunity to do so.”

  A question rose in T’Vora’s mind, and she posed it to Spock. “Why did you pursue the Kolinahr twenty-five years ago?”

  Spock lifted an eyebrow. “For the same reason I do now,” he said. “I came to understand my need to fully control my emotions and to function on logic alone, to be wholly Vulcan.”

  T’Vora had actually wanted to know if some event had precipitated that understanding for Spock in the same way that the death of Captain Kirk had led him to it last year. She determined that the answer would be of no relevance. Only that which had driven him to this Kolinahr mattered now.

  “I have much to consider,” T’Vora said. “All that you have achie
ved since coming to the Akrelt Refuge, all that I have perceived within you, all that you have told me. I will examine my concerns in the context of all that. I do not know how long it will take, but you may rest or meditate or study as you see fit until I render my decision.”

  “Your decision?” Spock asked, obviously not understanding.

  “Yes,” T’Vora said. “I must decide whether you will be permitted to continue with the Kolinahr, or have your aspirant status revoked.”

  The Klingon battle cruiser collided with the Starfleet vessel. From the sciences station on the Enterprise bridge, Spock watched the main viewscreen as the bulbous control section at the bow of the D7-class Vintahg struck the U.S.S. Clemson on the starboard flank of its single hull. The dorsal tube of the Klingon ship ruptured in numerous places, severing the connection between the forward superstructure and the wide, angled stern section that housed engines and weaponry. One of the two sleek warp nacelles that projected top and bottom from the Clemson’s long, elliptical body canted at a steep angle.

  Then the rest of the Vintahg slammed into the Clemson. The Klingon vessel exploded first, but only by a fraction of a second. Clouds of flame bloomed about the two ships, dying in the next instant, smothered by the vacuum of space. One of the Clemson’s nacelles broke free and twisted away into the void, and then the vessel’s main section burst completely apart.

  Spock allowed himself a brief moment of dissatisfaction—of sorrow, really—for the many lives just lost. Around him, the Enterprise command crew quieted, their silence broken only by the thin voices of personnel broadcasting systems’ statuses to the bridge. Finally, Ensign Chekov said, “Oh, no,” his voice a whisper filled with dismay.

  After the Einstein research station had transmitted its distress signal, but before the Enterprise had arrived in response, two other starships had also been destroyed. The U.S.S. Minerva, like the Clemson a Paladin-class vessel, still hung lifeless in space near the station, its crew dead, its broken hull emitting radiation. The I.K.S. Rikkon, another D7 battle cruiser, had been obliterated in battle, exploding just as the Enterprise had approached it. Now, a pair of Klingon warships—the Goren and the Gr’oth—remained.

  On the ruby-colored world below stood the Guardian of Forever. There had been no indication of how the Klingons had learned of Starfleet’s presence in this system, but according to Captain Chelsea of the Clemson, they believed that the strange emanations from the planet, the research station in orbit, and the two Federation starships assigned here, indicated a Federation attempt to develop a new weapon for use against the Empire. Though untrue, Spock also knew that the Guardian could be employed as a tool of aggression—to sabotage a ship in battle, to prevent a population from achieving warp drive, to stop an entire species from evolving in the first place. For that reason, it could not be allowed to fall under Klingon control.

  In the center of the bridge, Spock heard the click of a button being pressed on the arm of the command chair. “Kirk to engineering,” the captain said. “Scotty, what’s happening with the weapons and shields?” Both systems had gone down when the Enterprise had struck a line of Klingon torpedoes seeded like mines across the ship’s path.

  “Captain, I’ve got one torpedo tube back online,” said Mister Scott, “but I don’t know for how long. The deflector grid’s got so many holes in it, we can’t reenergize. We’re doing the best we can, but we only have so many work crews.”

  Spock knew at once what he needed to do. Any of several officers could substitute for him at the sciences station, but if they couldn’t find a way to raise the shields, they would have virtually no chance of defeating the Goren and the Gr’oth. “Captain,” he said, looking in Kirk’s direction, “I can—”

  “Go,” the captain said, hiking a thumb over his shoulder toward the turbolift doors. “Use security or anybody else you need.”

  As Spock rose, he peered over at Lieutenant Haines, who presently crewed a secondary station near the engineering console. She glanced over her shoulder and nodded to him, obviously acknowledging what she knew her duty to be. On his way to the lift, Spock saw her secure her controls, then stand and head for the sciences station he’d just vacated.

  “Scotty, Spock is on the way with some help,” the captain said. “Get those shields back up. Kirk out.” He closed the intercom circuit without waiting for a reply.

  Spock entered the turbolift, turned, and reached for a control wand. “Position of the Klingons?” he heard the captain ask.

  “Checking,” Haines said. “The Goren is still in pursuit—” The lift doors glided closed, cutting off the rest of the lieutenant’s words.

  “Main engineering,” Spock said, ordering the lift to his destination. He then reached for the intercom, activating it with a touch. “Spock to security.”

  “Security,” a female voice responded. “Delant here, sir.”

  “Lieutenant, contact all security officers at nonessential duty posts,” he said. During the Enterprise’s current call to battle stations, guards would be distributed throughout the ship, protecting both critical and noncritical systems, and providing a thorough defense against boarding parties. “Have them report to me immediately in main engineering.”

  “Aye, sir,” Delant said.

  “Spock out.” He closed the channel, then waited for the turbolift to complete its journey.

  Less than two minutes after he’d left the bridge, Spock entered main engineering. Already several security officers had arrived, distinguishable from the many red-shirted engineers present by the phaser pistols hanging at their waists. One of the guards, Lieutenant Carver, worked to congregate the others into a group by the main doors, and as Spock passed, he spoke up.

  “Commander,” Carver said, “Lieutenant Delant told us we were to report to you here.”

  “That is correct,” Spock said. “Stand by. You’ll be issued orders shortly.”

  “Yes, sir,” Carver said.

  Spock peered deeper into the engineering compartment. He spied Lieutenant Commander Scott standing at the long main console and hastened over to him. “Mister Scott,” he said. “Status.”

  “No different than when the captain asked me a couple of minutes ago, Mister Spock,” the engineer said without looking up. As he operated a series of controls, a technical systems diagram above the console shifted. On either side of him, members of his staff also worked.

  “Shields are the priority,” Spock said.

  “I know that.” The engineer stopped working various buttons and dials, then studied the schematic for a moment before finally turning toward Spock. “When the shields went down, it was because they got hit hard at multiple locations.”

  “The ship struck a line of torpedoes,” Spock explained. “They detonated on impact.”

  “Aye, that’d do it,” Scott said. “With the shields already weakened by the Klingons’ disruptor bolts, those torpedoes overloaded the grid. At least thirty junction nodes burned out.” He pointed up at the diagram, jabbing his index finger at several rectangles colored red.

  “Can we bypass?” Spock asked.

  “Ach, not that many of them,” Scott said. “We’ll need to replace at least two-thirds in order to raise the shields at all, and even then we’d only be able to bring them up to partial strength.”

  Amid the many noises crowding main engineering—the hum of the impulse drive, the snaps and beeps of controls being operated, the squeak of the doors opening and closing as additional security guards arrived, numerous voices—Spock heard the distinctive sound of a photon torpedo tube discharging, a fitting accent to what he said next. “The Enterprise is in battle, Mister Scott. We must do whatever we can, as quickly as we can.”

  “Aye,” the chief engineer agreed. “But it takes at least three people to replace one of the shield nodes. I’ve already got repair crews out on ten of them.”

  Spock turned and gestured toward the group of security officers, now perhaps thirty strong. “We have personnel,” he said.<
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  “Right,” Scott said. “We can divide them up into groups of two, send each pair out with an engineer. That’d be the fastest way to go about it.”

  “Then let us begin,” Spock said.

  Scott called over Lieutenant Gabler and described the repair strategy to him so that he could coordinate it. Gabler quickly did so, gathering members of the engineering staff and assigning to each of them two of the security guards already assembled. The first teams began to depart at once.

  “Mister Scott,” Spock asked, “what is the status of the warp drive?”

  “Down hard,” Scott said. “If I had two days and no bloody Klingons knocking at our door, I might coax a few light-years out of them, but I couldn’t even promise you that.”

  “In that case,” Spock said, “what of the ship’s weapons?” Through the deck, he detected subtle changes in the vibrations of the impulse drive, variations resulting from adjustments made to the ship’s velocity. Although he thought it likely that the Enterprise still engaged the enemy, he also noted that, since he’d left the bridge, he’d felt not a single jolt of Klingon weaponry striking the ship.

  “Most of the torpedo tubes are locked down cold and I don’t know why,” the engineer said. “As for the phasers, the couplings are burned out. We can replace them and reload the firmware, but we’ll need to recalibrate, and the technicians I’ve got rated on the tuning algorithms are busy holding the impulse engines and life support together.”

  “I am able to assist with that,” Spock said. “I am familiar with the tuning software.”

  Scott nodded, then addressed the engineer to his right. “Cleary, watch this board for me,” he said, working to adjust the diagram once more. “Keep an eye on the number one impulse stack.”