Celebrate the Earth and Sky (12/20)
Thanks Kupo for the awesome beta!
Let your Spirit Fly I
When Spock awoke the next morning, Jim was gone.
“Volunteered for a mission,” McCoy said, spooning his morning oatmeal into his mouth and talking around it. Spock’s focus sharpened, though he tried to avoid looking at McCoy’s mouth.
“I was not aware that he was a full member of the Resistance,” said Spock.
McCoy swallowed and squinted. “What the hell has that got to do with anything?”
“I was led to believe that only full fledged members could undergo missions,” said Spock.
McCoy gave a shrug. “They needed someone who could fly a plane. Jim volunteered.”
Spock frowned, still unable to take a bite of his peanut butter toast. “For what purpose?”
McCoy avoided his gaze, scrubbing at a three days’ of stubble. “Dunno,” he said. “Could be any number of reasons.”
“Is it dangerous?”
McCoy placed his spoon inside the bowl. “Why do you care?” he asked, leaning his elbows on the table. “Ya’ll weren’t even talking after you got back from yesterday.”
“Any conflict Jim and I might have had does not negate my investment in his well-being,” Spock said stiffly. “Please answer the question.”
McCoy exhaled. “Any mission is dangerous,” he said, voice curt. “But I think Jim’ll probably make it out of this one alive. Something tells me he’s got some stuff to see to before he dies.”
“Your conjecture does not help,” Spock said, feeling the strongest urge to throw McCoy’s empty breakfast bowl across the room and shatter a mirror or two. “I need to know.”
McCoy leveled a gaze at him. “Tough,” he said. “I can’t predict the future.”
“But as a member of the Resistance, surely you are privy to some variety of information,” Spock said, attempting to sound cajoling and coming across more as desperate.
McCoy rolled his eyes. “Worrying’s not going to help him any, Spock. Go find something to do before you drive yourself crazy.” With one last nod to Spock, he rose, picked up his bowl, and strode away.
It was these words that eventually landed Spock in Scott’s lab with a bag of illegal narcotics in one hand and his data pad in the other. Scott scratched his head.
“You want to analyze what now?” he said. Spock drew a deep breath and began to launch into the story of how he had come into possession of the drug, but before he could get past Jim becoming aware of the child’s predicament, Scott held up his hand. “Yes, yes, we heard it all last night, Mr. Spock. But why do you want to analyze the Dirt at all? I could probably pull out the specs for you if you want. Got to have the molecular structure on the ‘net somewhere. We could go upstairs and have a look.”
“I wish to keep busy,” said Spock. “This was Jim’s suggested method.”
Scott’s face softened. “I see,” he said. He looked around his lab. “Well, I don’t have much of a chemistry set, but what I do have is yours.”
Spock pursed his lips. “The powder is fine,” he said. “If I use x-ray diffraction, I should be able to determine the structure by comparison to other, known materials. I do not believe I will need much of a,” his mouth twitched upward, “chemistry set.” He looked down the long line of a table at all the bits and pieces of wiring and old equipment. “I believe your lab is more than sufficient for my needs.”
“Fantastic,” said Scott. He made a wide gesture to the mess on the table. “Have at.”
“My thanks,” Spock said.
Over the course of the following two days, Spock robbed Scott’s lab of a cathode ray tube, several power sources, copper plating, a table, a computer and several other bits and pieces. He set up his equipment at the far end of the lab.
Scott looked up with alarm as Spock adjusted the filament in the cathode ray tube. “If you’re going to be generating x-rays all over willy-nilly, add some shielding to your pile,” he requested.
“Of course,” Spock replied.
“Spock’s generating what now?” said Uhura, stepping into the room.
Spock sighed. “I am applying voltage to accelerate electrons from the filament in the tube.”
She glanced at Scotty, who shrugged a little. “I don’t think we’re in any danger,” he said. Then frowned. “Probably.”
Uhura crossed her arms. “Spock, you’ve been in here for almost two days straight. Don’t you need to eat or sleep or something?”
“Vulcans require less sleep than humans,” Spock said, adjusting things so as to later add some shielding around his contraption. “I request that you not judge my physical well-being by the standards of human physiology.”
Uhura placed her hand across her eyes and shook her head. “Look, I know you’re worried about Jim, but acting like a manic- scientist, isn’t going to help him. He’s got a mission to run. He volunteered for it. He’s coming back, all right?” She stepped closer to him. “All right?” she said, gentler now. “Come eat something.”
Spock turned stone-faced back to the cathode ray tube. “Please, Nyota,” he said. “I would like to continue my work.”
Uhura looked helplessly at Scott, who spread his hands out in a gesture of bewilderment. She left the room.
McCoy barged in scarcely ten minutes later. “Okay, listen up,” he said, marching straight over to Spock’s workbench.
Spock barely twitched. He made a vague hypothesis that he was becoming used to McCoy’s theatrics.
“I said, listen up,” McCoy said again, slamming his hand on Spock’s table. Spock turned to glower at him as his experiment wobbled.
“Yes, Doctor?”
“I know you’re all pissed off because you and Jim got in a fight and it’s going to be hard to kiss and make up and be best pals again if he ups and dies,” McCoy took a breath while Spock attempted to unravel what it was he had just said. “But for god’s sake man. Just go take a fucking nap and eat a sandwich. You’re making everyone worried.”
With the word ‘kiss’ hanging in the air, Spock’s spine went even more rigid. He focused resolutely on the bag of Dirt before him. “I am not tired.”
McCoy came around the worktable and leaned over it so that he was face to face with Spock. “Let me make this really simple for you. If you do not get your ass off that chair and out of this lab to go take a nap, then I’ll inject you with something that’ll put you in a coma for a week.”
“You would not dare,” Spock said, eyes narrowing.
McCoy matched him stare for stare. “I’m pretty sure you know that yeah, actually, I would. Now go the fuck to bed.”
They glared at each other.
All of a sudden, the lights went out. “Oh, dearie me,” came Scott’s voice from the dark. “The electricity appears to have shorted. How could that have happened?”
Since no one could see his face in the gloom anyway, Spock scowled. Mr. Scott was not a subtle creature. “Very well,” he ground out, unwilling to prolong his defeat at the hands of these . . . co-conspirators. “As the . . . technology appears uncooperative, I will take my leave.”
He could hear McCoy shuffling away from the table. “So glad to hear it,” he drawled, voice thick with satisfaction as Spock shoved his chair back and stood.
As he stalked out of Scott’s lab, Spock was not in the least bit surprised when the lights mysteriously flickered back on again barely a moment after he was through the doorway. He could hear Scott’s voice echoing from the tunnel, “And now they’re back. How very odd,” and pondered the likelihood of spontaneous electrical failure if he should return to the lab immediately. He made a quick calculation, found the probability too high for his liking, and continued on.
Back in the main room, Spock made a beeline for his bunk, avoiding everyone’s gaze, but especially Uhura’s. He lay back, folded his hands together atop his stomach, and stared unseeing at the underside of Jim’s bunk.
Jim had been gone for at least 2.21 days. It could have been more, since Spock was unaware of the exact time Jim had left. Spock shifted a little. Jim had left without even speaking to him. How was he supposed to- was this normal behavior for humans? To abandon one’s companion without even a farewell? To go risk one’s life without even a by-your-leave?
Then again, Jim owed no clan allegiance to Spock. They were not family. They were- ugh, that word. Spock unfolded and refolded his hands. Friends. Yes. He, Spock of Vulcan, had a friend. A friend who emotionally compromised him. Sybok would never let him hear the end of this one. Spock huffed out a dissatisfied breath. At the rate he was going, he might as well move to Romulus and enlist as a gladiator.
Perhaps friendship could be construed as logical, if viewed in the proper light. Companionship, closeness, trust - these were necessary for maintaining one’s physical and mental well being, were they not? Had not Surak himself kept close company with many of his followers and students? Yet Spock had also been taught that logic was to be strived for, even at the expense of friendship. A conundrum. Clearly there was a boundary of sorts. And just as clearly, Spock had no idea where it was.
Jim was not a logical being. Likewise, Spock’s attachment to him was not logical in nature. Over the course of their friendship, this had become increasingly clear to Spock. Jim affected him in ways that his other companions did not.
When his fellow student, T’saya’s, family had moved from Shi’Kahr to T’Paal, Spock had spent perhaps a few days indulging in nostalgia for the times they would visit his home after school, study together, and assist his mother in her garden. After that, he had accepted her absence. Kaiidth.
In his defense, he had only been eight years old at the time.
T’Saya’s leave-taking had not given him this phantom ache throughout his body, this urge to turn around and say something to Jim, only to recall that he was not there. T’Saya had not gone without a word. They had not fought.
They had not kissed.
Spock struggled with the guilt that welled up in him at the thought. Unknowing, Jim had already kissed him numerous times, grabbing Spock’s hand with little thought. But when he initiated the action in the human way, only as a desperate gamble, only to save both Spock and himself, Jim had worried first for Spock’s discomfort, not his own.
But that was so like Jim, to do something drastic for Spock’s sake first, and to worry about the consequences later.
Spock resisted the urge to slam his fist into the bed above him. Who was this human, to make him wrestle with emotions like guilt, fear and doubt, like a being who had never even heard of Surak? What right had he to delve under Spock’s skin, into the very sanctity of his mind, to make himself at home as if he belonged?
Perhaps the issue was with Spock’s own lack of close, mental relationships. He had his family bonds, yes, but no bonded mate. He knew that there had been talk of his marrying T’Pring, daughter of a lesser branch of the House of Skaren. However, those plans had been abandoned for fear that Spock’s unorthodox bloodline would be brought to the attention of first T’Pring, then to her family, and then to the general populace. If he had a bond with T’Pring, would he now be so affected by Jim’s offer of friendship?
Such a line of thinking was useless. He was not bonded. His thoughts were becoming increasingly circular. He needed to meditate.
For the first time in a long time, he did not want to.
Instead, he slept.
When Spock awoke, it was to Uhura’s voice near his ear, her face grave. He sat up, his heart pounding.
“Jim?” he asked.
Uhura blinked, then shook her head. She gave Spock a strange look. “Jim’s fine. The job’s done. But he can’t come back here. That stupid shit he pulled the other day got you guys put on some kind of list. They’re looking for you here. You’ve got to leave.”
Spock was already slipping on his shoes. He had not changed into nightclothes the previous evening. He supposed it did not really matter.
“Where must I go?”
She gnawed on her lower lip. “We were waiting for Pike- he’s pretty much the guy in charge- but we don’t have time for that. So, you’re going to him.”
“And where is that?”
She gave him a look he could not decipher. “Tokyo,” she said finally.
Spock stilled, his left shoe still half off. “Tokyo is a very dangerous city,” he pointed out.
She crossed her arms. “I don’t know if we should be flattered or alarmed that the world’s most dangerous city is known even to aliens.”
Spock resumed zipping up his bag. “If I am discovered by any one of the crime lords operating there, my life is likely forfeit,” he said. “If the Resistance is discovered to be harboring me, it will most certainly be destroyed.”
“It’s a chance we have to take,” she said. “Besides, with all the crime there, who’s going to notice a few more criminals?”
Spock paused. “What is your leader doing in Tokyo?”
Her lips thinned. “Negotiating,” she spat out. “Uhura Enterprises isn’t as welcome in Tokyo Bay as most other places in the world. So Pike’s got a one-on-one with Keiyuu Naganata, who basically owns that part of the city.”
Spock flicked his eyes up to hers. “And what does Keiyuu Naganata receive in return?”
She stared at him for a moment, then her face flushed. “We’re not selling you out, if that’s what you’re asking,” she snapped. “Don’t you trust us?”
“I am merely curious,” Spock said, absolutely no inflection in his voice whatsoever.
She took a deep breath. “Negotiations are private,” she said. “Sorry.” She made to leave Spock to his packing, then turned back. “The plane’s going to leave in an hour, so better pack quick.”
Spock’s flight to Tokyo was uneventful, mostly in that Jim was not there to play chess with him. Instead, he sat next to Sulu, who devoted a good portion of the flight to complaining to anyone who would listen.
“I don’t know why I have to go to Tokyo,” he groused. “I can’t even speak Japanese.”
“But you can understand it,” Chekov pointed out.
“Barely,” Sulu grumbled. “Mostly just curses and the word for toilet.”
“What’s the word for toilet?” asked McCoy.
“Toilet,” said Sulu.
“Really?”
“More or less.”
“Well that is all that is really important,” Chekov said. “I do not understand why you are not excited. I hear Tokyo is a very interesting city. Chapel- not the nurse, the scary one, her sister- she said that it is now in style for women to paint themselves different colors in the strip clubs. She said all Tokyo has now red and green and blue dancing women in the clubs.” He frowned. “Then she got very angry and left. I do not think she is a fan.”
Spock, who had been staring out the window at the clouds, turned toward Chekov. “I beg your pardon?” he said.
“There are two women named Chapel, and they are sisters.” He nodded to himself. “But you can tell them apart very easily because one is a commander. Or was, I guess it is. She is like you, Mr. Spock, she does not like to show how she is feeling. And the other is a nurse. Dr. McCoy knows her, yes?”
“Just because I’m a doctor doesn’t mean I know every nurse,” said McCoy. A beat. “But yeah, I know her. Blonde, right?”
“Red,” said Uhura from across the isle. She smiled. “For this week, at least.”
“I would like to hear more of these dancing green women,” said Spock quietly.
“Really?” said McCoy.
“It seems a peculiar custom,” Spock said, over the sounds of McCoy being delighted by Spock’s apparent hedonistic streak.
Chekov moved his shoulders up and down. He glanced at Sulu for assistance. “Tokyo is . . . I do not know how to explain.”
“Weird,” Sulu put in. “The word you’re looking for is weird.”
Spock folded his fingers together atop his lap and waited.
Chekov shook his head. “I do not know how to describe it.”
“Fashion,” Sulu put in. “Games, technology, trends. Honestly, the body paint thing is kind of tame by comparison.”
“I see,” said Spock, relaxing back into his seat. For a moment he had thought- but no. “Would you be able to give me an example?”
Chekov tapped his fingers on his seatback tray. “Um,” he said, screwing up his face. “It is hard to think of something good just now.”
“Carrying small dogs in purses!” Sulu exclaimed. He crossed his arms and sat back with a wriggle of triumph. Chekov gave him a despairing look.
“That was an American fashion,” he said.
Sulu frowned. “Are you sure?”
“Of course I am sure,” Chekov asserted.
“I don’t believe you. I’m going to look that up.”
“How do you even know that?” McCoy shook his head. “No, scratch that. Why do you even know that?”
Chekov shrugged. “When you are very good at something - like me, I am very good with numbers - people think you are only good for that thing. They do not get that you might have other interests.”
“And your other interest is fashion,” said McCoy, bemused.
Chekov smiled, his white teeth gleaming. “I do not know why. But it is interesting, what people wear and do, and what they wore and did. Very psychological.”
Sulu swore, tossing his data pad aside. “American,” he grumbled.
“See?” said Chekov, his voice edging on smug.
Spock turned back to the window.
Unlike their landing in Edinburgh, which had been fraught with clandestine doings, the plane landed in broad daylight at a public airport. Spock jammed his hat over his head with a sigh as he prepared to disembark.
“You are not concerned with being here illegally?” he asked Chekov, recalling the young human’s reluctance to land in Edinburgh.
“Oh no,” said Chekov. “I have been here before. They do not care, as long as you can present the face of legality.” He nodded to Uhura, who was passing out some semblance of passports. “They say who we say we are, but also when the machine reads them, they will say who we are expected by.” He twisted his finger in his ear. “That is, Keiyuu Naganata. So we will get into the city, no trouble.”
“Fascinating,” said Spock, and meant it. Vulcan had rather a lack of criminally dominated societies. It would be interesting to see how the social order here was kept.
Having become somewhat used to traveling with the luxuries afforded by Uhura Enterprises, Spock was not startled to see a well-put together man bow to them all upon exiting the airport and then usher them towards a large black vehicle. When he got closer however, he noticed that the car was missing the typical emblem of Uhura’s family - that of a stylized Roman U and E entwined with a ship’s mast - and instead pictured the snarling head of a bulldog.
“Keiyuu Naganata’s got a ride for us,” Uhura breathed into his ear, her lips barely moving. “Don’t talk too much, they don’t know who you are.”
Spock gave her a sidelong look, but nodded anyway.
Despite growing up in the largest metropolis on Vulcan, Spock was unprepared for the sheer size of the city. As they drove from the airport, skyscraper upon skyscraper formed the trees of a concrete and glass forest through which the main road and all the little side roads travelled. There were lights and movement everywhere, all moving together with the kind of chaotic pulse one might expect of from an inter-dimensional being. He could not count the people and the flashes of color, for fear of incipient blindness.
Spock shut his eyes and breathed deeply, willing his mind to process what it could and to discard what it could not. He was only marginally successful.
“What do you think of our city?” said the man who had led them to the car. His black hair was cropped short, but he kept his mustache to a good length.
Spock knew he was supposed to speak as little as possible, but he could not very well ignore a direct question. He tilted his head to the side, weighing his words with care. “I have never visited before,” he said after a second or two. “But it appears very busy.”
The man gave him a measuring look, then sat back with a smile. “Yes, it is a very busy place,” he said. “Very busy, awake all of the time.”
“Indeed,” said Spock.
After three hours of driving, they parked outside one of the many skyscrapers. “Mr. Naganata hopes you will find the accommodation to your liking,” said the man to Uhura, as they entered the lobby of the building.
Uhura let her gaze travel around the inside of what was clearly a very lavishly appointed hotel. It settled on the fountain in the corner, and the set of couches next to it. She looked back at him.
“Yes, I believe this will suffice. Give Mr. Naganata our gratitude.”
The man laughed. “Your man Pike, he said you have very good taste, Ms. Uhura. I will tell Mr. Naganata that you are pleased with his selection. Mr. Naganata will always keep his friends happy.”
“Of course,” Uhura said pleasantly, at which Spock had to consciously keep his eyebrow from rising. They bowed to each other one last time until, with a final wave, the man left.
“We’re free to move around as we please,” Uhura told the rest of them as they gathered around her, as if in solidarity. Something about staying in a hotel owned by one of the most powerful crime bosses in the city set off that reaction in people, Spock supposed. “Within reason, of course.” She looked at Spock, propping her hands on her hips. “It’s good your hair has grown,” she said cryptically.
This time, Spock did raise his eyebrow.
“It’s rude to wear hats indoors,” Uhura said. “This is a very polite country.”
“I . . . see,” Spock said slowly. His hand inched toward his hat.
“Bandanas should be okay though,” she said.
Spock dropped his hand. “I see,” he said again, this time with considerably less enthusiasm. Behind him, he could have sworn he heard McCoy cackle a little.
“I brought some barrettes,” McCoy said. “To help you keep it on straight.”
“Thank you,” replied Spock automatically, not sure what a barrette was, but more certain that he could not trust McCoy’s sudden altruism.
As it turned out, they each had their own room on the 5th floor. Pleading a need to meditate, Spock excused himself from the dinner plans for that evening, and headed to room 526. Although he didn't really need to meditate, the constant company of the humans who had become his companions was beginning to wear on him. He needed some time to think. He needed some time alone. He slid the keycard into the door. The light blinked green and Spock opened it as he had been taught.
There was someone else in the room. Spock froze, and the figure moved into the light. Spock stared.
The left side of the man’s face was hideously scarred, with deep gouges down from the corner of his eye to the edge of his jaw. His right side appeared handsome and middle aged. His grey eyes met Spock’s startled brown ones. He was sitting in a wheelchair.
“Well, close the door,” he said. “You’re letting in a draft.”
Spock did so. “You are Christopher Pike,” he said slowly, still not moving from his place beside the door, but fairly confident in his assessment.
Pike laughed, a jagged thing that turned into a cough. “Got it in one,” he said. “Kirk said you were smart.” He shook his head indulgently. “Said a lot more than that, actually, but I boiled it down to the basics. How did you know?”
“Mr. Scott had a photograph,” said Spock. Of course, Pike had looked quite different in it, his arm thrown around Scotty’s shoulder, his face unscarred, but still. It was the same face.
Pike frowned. “I told him to get rid of that. The whole world’s going to know we’re related at this rate.”
“Related?”
“Second cousins,” said Pike. He bared his teeth. “As you can see, Montgomery got the good-looking genes.”
“Interesting,” said Spock neutrally. He shifted a little from foot to foot. “Is there something I can do for you?”
“Come, sit down,” Pike said, motioning to one of the armchairs. With a mental shrug, Spock did so. He recalled his mother telling him that her culture approved of direct eye contact. That they saw it as a sign of courage, and of fearlessness. This was different from Vulcans, who believed that direct eye contact between strangers often signified aggression, and a desire to peek into a mind not open to them.
Spock looked straight at Pike, expression as Vulcan blank has possible. “Is there something I may do for you?” he said again.
“Direct,” said Pike, nodding. “Kirk mentioned that too. I appreciate directness in a man.”
“I am not a man,” said Spock. “I am a Vulcan.”
“You must be fairly confident that these rooms are not being watched, to state your origins so boldly,” Pike said softly.
“I located and disabled the bugs by accessing the mainframe computer network of this building,” Spock said with something almost bordering on arrogance.
Pike coughed. “So you are indeed a Vulcan. With access to technology far superior than our own.”
There was no point in lying. “Yes.”
“You know what I am here to ask.”
Spock considered this. “Probably. You want to know if my Vulcan technology may be used to further your cause.”
“Close,” Pike said. “But I talked with Scott. I know that if you wouldn’t give it up to the Bureau, then there’s no way you’d give it up to me.” His expression turned wry. “Not to mention I’d have to start fearing assassination from my own men, if I did something like that to you.”
“I see,” said Spock.
Pike leaned forward on his elbows. “Do you want to know what happened to my face?”
Spock blinked, startled. “I had not thought to ask.”
“I was in a war,” said Pike. “I was an Admiral.” He looked away. “We were bombed by some planes. Nothing too out of the usual. You know.” His lips cracked in a grimace. “The price of war. But after we got fished out of the water by the enemy troops, they put us in camps. And I was tortured of course, because those are the way things are. Our standard, human mode of operations.” He looked at Spock. “I’m sure you know all about that.”
Spock could do nothing but nod. He knew.
“So anyway, eventually we were traded out. I was a cripple, I didn’t know anything useful.” He smiled. “Well, nothing I gave away.” Then his face hardened. “I want to repeat that, Mr. Spock. I gave nothing away. I was loyal.”
“And yet you are here, leading the Resistance,” said Spock.
“Well, as it turns out,” said Pike, waving his hand. “All that- the bombing, the deaths of my men, the torture. That was all supposed to happen. My government arranged it to happen, because they got something- some secrets, probably- out of the deal.”
“You were bait,” said Spock, clamping down firmly on any emotion. He could sense where this was going. “A sacrifice.”
“Like a pawn in a chess game played by psychopaths,” agreed Pike. “Or maybe a rook. I was, after all, an Admiral.”
“So as a result of your own betrayal you joined the Resistance,” surmised Spock, not all that surprised. “That is a very human course of action.”
“Would a Vulcan have done any different?”
Spock thought for a moment. “A Vulcan of the past would not have,” he allowed. “But a Vulcan of today? We are a race of pacifists, Mr. Pike. I do not know what a Vulcan would have done, I cannot speak for all of my people, but they would have chosen the logical path.”
“And what if the logical path and the right path are not the same?”
“Then they are not,” said Spock, not really wanting to go any further on that particular line of thought.
“Sounds complicated,” said Pike.
Spock gave out something that might have been a sigh. “It is not supposed to be,” he said, almost petulantly.
Pike looked amused. “Are our human ways corrupting you? It must be tough, being with us all the time.”
“It is a unique experience,” said Spock. He fixed Pike with a serious eye. “But I sense that you have a request of me.”
“Not really a request,” said Pike. “More of a general question.”
“Ask. I will not lie.”
Pike squared his shoulders. “Will Vulcan come here to help us?”
Spock stilled. “I will need for you to clarify the question,” he said eventually.
Pike drew in a breath. “You’ve seen our planet. Humanity’s problems have problems. We’re ruled by despots and criminals. Basic freedom is a joke. Our armies sacrifice soldiers without any need. There is little compassion. Instead, there is hunger and fighting. We need someone to help dig us out of this pit. Would Vulcan be willing?”
Spock was silent for a long moment. “The High Command operates under a series of laws. Some govern the society within Vulcan and others deal with Vulcan’s relationship with other planets. Earth is yet incapable of warp speed. Our prime directive therefore requires non-interference with your planet.” His eyes met Pike’s. “I’m sorry, such action on our part would be tantamount to invasion. Other planets would protest our actions. It could become a great crisis.”
Pike nodded, looking resigned. “I thought you would say that.” He rotated his left shoulder. “Still, I thought I would ask. No harm in trying.”
Spock waited.
“So if you’re not here to gently guide us to a better life, then what are you doing on Earth?”
Spock had thought about this beforehand, although he had not anticipated again being asked the question so directly. “Research,” he said. “Although we cannot interfere in the affairs of non-warp capable peoples, we can at least study them, to project when a society might develop such technology.”
“Huh,” said Pike. “So, any idea when we’ll get to the stars? Because I’ve got to tell you, our space programs are for shit. The last big mission was more than thirty years ago to Europa. And no one ever heard from them again.”
Spock valiantly forced himself not to react. “Indeed,” he said instead. “I will- I will need to research further.”
“Uh huh,” said Pike. “Well, I have a meeting with Mr. Naganata in twenty minutes, so I suppose I should leave you to your rest.” He inclined his head to Spock, the light from outside casting a shadow on the ruined side of his face, giving him the illusion of a hale man in his mid-forties. “It was very interesting to meet you. I’m glad we didn’t let the Bureau kill you.”
“Likewise,” said Spock, not wanting to explore that line of thought any further. He stood to open the door for Pike, who nodded his thanks. About to close the door, he hesitated, thinking furiously. “Mr. Pike!” he called down the hall.
Pike slowed to a stop, turning the chair back to face Spock. “Yes?”
Spock strode quickly over to him. “I owe your people somewhat of a life debt,” he said.
“You don’t owe us anything,” said Pike. “You didn’t ask Kirk to come get you.”
“Nonetheless,” said Spock. “It is the Vulcan way.”
“Okay,” said Pike. “So, why are you telling me this now?”
Spock leaned in closer. “The laws of the High Command dictate non-interference,” he said. “But even in coming here, I have interfered much. Set certain events in motion. I-” he forced himself to speak clearly. “I cannot promise anything,” he said. “But out of respect for what you have done for me, I will send a message.” He looked directly at Pike. “I will entreat the Vulcan High Command on your behalf.”
Pike looked taken aback. “You will . . . send a message,” he repeated. “With my request.”
“Yes,” said Spock, a bold sense of daring jolting through him at his own voice. “It is unorthodox, but I shall ask anyway.”
Pike gave him a long, searching look. “All right,” he said finally. “That's all I can ask of you. My thanks.”
“I am simply returning a favor,” Spock said. Pike nodded, swiveled his chair back around and pressed a button. It moved forward with a gentle whine. Spock watched him leave, and then turned to head back toward his room and his data pad.
If he was planning to speak to the VSS Nirak, he was going to need some equipment.
According to the map on his data pad, the closest store to the hotel that sold technological hardware was almost four kilometers away. Spock stood in the center of his room, considering his options. He did not want to bother the others. He had been given enough local currency to ensure his ability to purchase the items required. With a decisive flick of the wrist, he packed his data pad into a small backpack, and swung it over his shoulder. He adjusted his hat so that it sat snugly over his ears, and fussed with his hair so that it covered his eyebrows. He gave himself one last, critically appraising look in the mirror, and determined his appearance acceptably human.
The walk to the store took less than an hour, but the constant noise of people and machines made it feel twice as long. It was with a great deal of relief that Spock entered his intended destination, and leaned against the wall with a barely concealed groan.
Humans, and all their unshielded, broadcasting emotions, were exhausting. He should have gone to Ferenginar instead. At least the Ferengi were actually psi null.
The man at the counter gave Spock a peculiar look, and he straightened, attempting to pull himself together. After a moment or two of waiting for the pounding in his head to cease, he surveyed the store.
With a sinking feeling in his stomach, Spock noticed that the description for nearly every item was written across the packages or boxes or baskets in an unknown script. He rubbed his hand across his face, and began to regret his decision to come alone.
The man at the counter was watching him with beady eyes, as if expecting Spock to make a grab for the nearest valuable and run for it. Of course, considering the level of crime rampant throughout the city, Spock couldn’t really blame him. To ease the man’s concern, Spock picked up a basket and began wandering through the aisles, picking up items he hoped were the correct ones. Radio technology had been on earth for hundreds of years, and the technology to boost such a signal had existed here for only a slightly smaller amount of time. He was fairly confident he would be able to reach the VSS Nirak.
Spock paid for his goods with paper money and coins, grateful that he had taken a moment beforehand to organize his currency. That done, he prepared to head back to the hotel.
He had only walked one kilometer, taking a slightly different route, when an advertisement tacked to the wall of a club, caught his eye. He peered at it. It featured a green skinned woman hanging off a pole. Her clothes were more suggestion than reality. Her dark hair was loosely curled and hung just above her breasts. Spock cocked his head. This must be what Chekov had been talking about earlier. He looked closer at the picture. The woman was definitely human. Although the uneducated might mistake her for an Orion, there were slight differences in bone structure and in stance that were readily apparent in her undressed state. What’s more, Spock could even see where she had neglected to paint the bottoms of her bare feet.
Of course, the easiest method to tell an Orion woman from a human who, for some odd reason, had painted her entire body, was to be in the presence of one or the other. Pheromones were suppressible, but not completely. A Vulcan might not be affected by Orion pheromones, but that did not mean they could not smell them.
Spock walked on.
He reached the hotel mere minutes before the sun sank below the horizon. Upon entering his room, he dumped his bag of supplies on the desk, sat down before them, and prepared to build a simple radio.
An hour later, Spock examined his creation with a critical eye. Primitive, but it would have to do. He flipped a switch, and the sounds of static filled the room as he attempted to reach the channel that Captain T’Lan had indicated that they would be monitoring.
“This is S’chin T’gai Spock of the Vulcan Science Academy,” he said. “Requesting contact with Vulcan Space Ship Nirak.”
Static.
“Vulcan Space Ship Nirak, are you receiving my transmission?”
Still, nothing.
“Hello?”
There was still no answer. Spock looked at his radio in perplexity. Perhaps he had mistaken the channel? He tried a second channel, and then a third. Still the Nirak did not respond to his hails. Spock flicked the switch off, and rested his chin in his hands.
It was possible that the ship was still too far away to pick up his transmission, even with the boosting equipment. It was also possible that he had mistaken some of the components for the wrong pieces. Spock pursed his lips; although if that had been the case, the radio should not have worked at all, and he was relatively certain that it had. Nonetheless, it seemed prudent that he return to the store.
Spock checked the time on his communicator. His eyebrows rose to his hairline as he noticed that he had received a message from Mr. Scott less than an hour ago. He opened it.
Morning, Mr. Spock!
Spock looked askew at the device, before recalling the time difference between their respective locations.
I ran your Dirt samples through the XRD you built. Nice work on that, by the way. I might have to keep it. Anyway, I thought I’d send you the specs since you seemed so interested. Have fun!
The message indicated an attachment.
Spock’s finger hovered over the link for a moment, before he put his communicator away with a twinge of regret. There would be plenty of time for frivolities after he achieved contact with Captain T’Lan and the Nirak. For now, he had a store to return to.
As he walked, Spock began to feel the strangest feeling between his shoulder blades, a tingling sensation, as if he were being watched. When he craned his neck back in the gloom however, he could see nothing. He attempted to send his mental presence behind him in search of whatever was making him so wary, but the concentration required and the continual bombardment on his own shields by the endless moving bodies around him, gave him a headache.
When he finally reached the store, the door was locked and the windows barred. Spock’s shoulders slumped. How could he have neglected to note the closing time of the store? What was the point of an eidetic memory if you still forgot crucial information?
Linking his hands behind his back, Spock allowed for one disdainful Vulcan sniff at the locked door before turning away and once more beginning the return journey back to the hotel.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
When Jim reached the hotel about an hour before sundown, he gratefully assumed that Spock was with the rest of the Resistance members in Tokyo, eating dinner. So he was understandably surprised when, glancing out his 5th floor window later that evening, he caught a glimpse of a familiar figure lit by a street lamp.
What was Spock doing outside alone? Where was he going in such a hurry? Jim drummed his fingers on the windowsill. He had managed to avoid Spock so far today, and what could he possibly say to him now?
Hey, I saw you sneaking out after dark and wanted to know what the hell you think you’re doing seemed in poor taste after the way they had parted.
Still, Tokyo was a dangerous city. And while Jim had learned that Spock could definitely handle himself, it just didn’t seem right to let him disappear into the dark alone like that. Didn’t Vulcans believe in the buddy system?
His mind suddenly made up, Jim hurried down to the first floor lobby and out the door, half jogging in the direction Spock had been heading towards.
Jim caught sight of him a few minutes later. As Spock strode down the main sidewalks, Jim slunk his way through the shadows about half a block behind him. He supposed he could have easily caught up to him fully, and asked where he was going, but something held Jim back. He wasn’t quite sure what it was, but a nagging part of him gave off the sense that he just didn’t know what he should say when they did meet.
Yeah, Spock had been kind of an asshole after the whole kissing thing, but Jim had kind of been one too. Also, he had left without saying goodbye, which he supposed sort of made him the bad guy at this point.
Jim leaned against a wall and examined his fingernails while he waited for Spock to just accept that the store he was standing in front of, for whatever reason, was definitely closed for the night.
Would a simple I’m sorry do the trick? Or would he have to go more in depth? Spock wasn’t the biggest fan of emotional displays, so anything involving passionate discussions of their feelings (his on being an asshole, Spock’s on . . . actually, he had no idea) were definitely out.
Maybe Spock would just do that telepathy thing, and neither of them would have to go through any awkward explanations at all? His countenance brightened, and he filed that thought away for later use.
Spock had clearly abandoned the idea of getting into the store at this point. Looking rather dejected (for Spock, at least), he had turned around and begun to head back towards the direction of the hotel, when he suddenly stopped. Jim ducked behind a conveniently placed vending machine. He caught his breath, then peered around the corner of the machine, and stared.
What was Spock- was he sniffing at the air? No, that couldn’t be it. He was looking pretty confused, for one thing.
Jim was about to take a step forward when Spock made a sudden and abrupt ninety-degree pivot, and strode off in a completely new direction, face set in a wary expression that Jim had never seen before. Cursing a little, Jim set off after him.
Previous Next
Let your Spirit Fly I
When Spock awoke the next morning, Jim was gone.
“Volunteered for a mission,” McCoy said, spooning his morning oatmeal into his mouth and talking around it. Spock’s focus sharpened, though he tried to avoid looking at McCoy’s mouth.
“I was not aware that he was a full member of the Resistance,” said Spock.
McCoy swallowed and squinted. “What the hell has that got to do with anything?”
“I was led to believe that only full fledged members could undergo missions,” said Spock.
McCoy gave a shrug. “They needed someone who could fly a plane. Jim volunteered.”
Spock frowned, still unable to take a bite of his peanut butter toast. “For what purpose?”
McCoy avoided his gaze, scrubbing at a three days’ of stubble. “Dunno,” he said. “Could be any number of reasons.”
“Is it dangerous?”
McCoy placed his spoon inside the bowl. “Why do you care?” he asked, leaning his elbows on the table. “Ya’ll weren’t even talking after you got back from yesterday.”
“Any conflict Jim and I might have had does not negate my investment in his well-being,” Spock said stiffly. “Please answer the question.”
McCoy exhaled. “Any mission is dangerous,” he said, voice curt. “But I think Jim’ll probably make it out of this one alive. Something tells me he’s got some stuff to see to before he dies.”
“Your conjecture does not help,” Spock said, feeling the strongest urge to throw McCoy’s empty breakfast bowl across the room and shatter a mirror or two. “I need to know.”
McCoy leveled a gaze at him. “Tough,” he said. “I can’t predict the future.”
“But as a member of the Resistance, surely you are privy to some variety of information,” Spock said, attempting to sound cajoling and coming across more as desperate.
McCoy rolled his eyes. “Worrying’s not going to help him any, Spock. Go find something to do before you drive yourself crazy.” With one last nod to Spock, he rose, picked up his bowl, and strode away.
It was these words that eventually landed Spock in Scott’s lab with a bag of illegal narcotics in one hand and his data pad in the other. Scott scratched his head.
“You want to analyze what now?” he said. Spock drew a deep breath and began to launch into the story of how he had come into possession of the drug, but before he could get past Jim becoming aware of the child’s predicament, Scott held up his hand. “Yes, yes, we heard it all last night, Mr. Spock. But why do you want to analyze the Dirt at all? I could probably pull out the specs for you if you want. Got to have the molecular structure on the ‘net somewhere. We could go upstairs and have a look.”
“I wish to keep busy,” said Spock. “This was Jim’s suggested method.”
Scott’s face softened. “I see,” he said. He looked around his lab. “Well, I don’t have much of a chemistry set, but what I do have is yours.”
Spock pursed his lips. “The powder is fine,” he said. “If I use x-ray diffraction, I should be able to determine the structure by comparison to other, known materials. I do not believe I will need much of a,” his mouth twitched upward, “chemistry set.” He looked down the long line of a table at all the bits and pieces of wiring and old equipment. “I believe your lab is more than sufficient for my needs.”
“Fantastic,” said Scott. He made a wide gesture to the mess on the table. “Have at.”
“My thanks,” Spock said.
Over the course of the following two days, Spock robbed Scott’s lab of a cathode ray tube, several power sources, copper plating, a table, a computer and several other bits and pieces. He set up his equipment at the far end of the lab.
Scott looked up with alarm as Spock adjusted the filament in the cathode ray tube. “If you’re going to be generating x-rays all over willy-nilly, add some shielding to your pile,” he requested.
“Of course,” Spock replied.
“Spock’s generating what now?” said Uhura, stepping into the room.
Spock sighed. “I am applying voltage to accelerate electrons from the filament in the tube.”
She glanced at Scotty, who shrugged a little. “I don’t think we’re in any danger,” he said. Then frowned. “Probably.”
Uhura crossed her arms. “Spock, you’ve been in here for almost two days straight. Don’t you need to eat or sleep or something?”
“Vulcans require less sleep than humans,” Spock said, adjusting things so as to later add some shielding around his contraption. “I request that you not judge my physical well-being by the standards of human physiology.”
Uhura placed her hand across her eyes and shook her head. “Look, I know you’re worried about Jim, but acting like a manic- scientist, isn’t going to help him. He’s got a mission to run. He volunteered for it. He’s coming back, all right?” She stepped closer to him. “All right?” she said, gentler now. “Come eat something.”
Spock turned stone-faced back to the cathode ray tube. “Please, Nyota,” he said. “I would like to continue my work.”
Uhura looked helplessly at Scott, who spread his hands out in a gesture of bewilderment. She left the room.
McCoy barged in scarcely ten minutes later. “Okay, listen up,” he said, marching straight over to Spock’s workbench.
Spock barely twitched. He made a vague hypothesis that he was becoming used to McCoy’s theatrics.
“I said, listen up,” McCoy said again, slamming his hand on Spock’s table. Spock turned to glower at him as his experiment wobbled.
“Yes, Doctor?”
“I know you’re all pissed off because you and Jim got in a fight and it’s going to be hard to kiss and make up and be best pals again if he ups and dies,” McCoy took a breath while Spock attempted to unravel what it was he had just said. “But for god’s sake man. Just go take a fucking nap and eat a sandwich. You’re making everyone worried.”
With the word ‘kiss’ hanging in the air, Spock’s spine went even more rigid. He focused resolutely on the bag of Dirt before him. “I am not tired.”
McCoy came around the worktable and leaned over it so that he was face to face with Spock. “Let me make this really simple for you. If you do not get your ass off that chair and out of this lab to go take a nap, then I’ll inject you with something that’ll put you in a coma for a week.”
“You would not dare,” Spock said, eyes narrowing.
McCoy matched him stare for stare. “I’m pretty sure you know that yeah, actually, I would. Now go the fuck to bed.”
They glared at each other.
All of a sudden, the lights went out. “Oh, dearie me,” came Scott’s voice from the dark. “The electricity appears to have shorted. How could that have happened?”
Since no one could see his face in the gloom anyway, Spock scowled. Mr. Scott was not a subtle creature. “Very well,” he ground out, unwilling to prolong his defeat at the hands of these . . . co-conspirators. “As the . . . technology appears uncooperative, I will take my leave.”
He could hear McCoy shuffling away from the table. “So glad to hear it,” he drawled, voice thick with satisfaction as Spock shoved his chair back and stood.
As he stalked out of Scott’s lab, Spock was not in the least bit surprised when the lights mysteriously flickered back on again barely a moment after he was through the doorway. He could hear Scott’s voice echoing from the tunnel, “And now they’re back. How very odd,” and pondered the likelihood of spontaneous electrical failure if he should return to the lab immediately. He made a quick calculation, found the probability too high for his liking, and continued on.
Back in the main room, Spock made a beeline for his bunk, avoiding everyone’s gaze, but especially Uhura’s. He lay back, folded his hands together atop his stomach, and stared unseeing at the underside of Jim’s bunk.
Jim had been gone for at least 2.21 days. It could have been more, since Spock was unaware of the exact time Jim had left. Spock shifted a little. Jim had left without even speaking to him. How was he supposed to- was this normal behavior for humans? To abandon one’s companion without even a farewell? To go risk one’s life without even a by-your-leave?
Then again, Jim owed no clan allegiance to Spock. They were not family. They were- ugh, that word. Spock unfolded and refolded his hands. Friends. Yes. He, Spock of Vulcan, had a friend. A friend who emotionally compromised him. Sybok would never let him hear the end of this one. Spock huffed out a dissatisfied breath. At the rate he was going, he might as well move to Romulus and enlist as a gladiator.
Perhaps friendship could be construed as logical, if viewed in the proper light. Companionship, closeness, trust - these were necessary for maintaining one’s physical and mental well being, were they not? Had not Surak himself kept close company with many of his followers and students? Yet Spock had also been taught that logic was to be strived for, even at the expense of friendship. A conundrum. Clearly there was a boundary of sorts. And just as clearly, Spock had no idea where it was.
Jim was not a logical being. Likewise, Spock’s attachment to him was not logical in nature. Over the course of their friendship, this had become increasingly clear to Spock. Jim affected him in ways that his other companions did not.
When his fellow student, T’saya’s, family had moved from Shi’Kahr to T’Paal, Spock had spent perhaps a few days indulging in nostalgia for the times they would visit his home after school, study together, and assist his mother in her garden. After that, he had accepted her absence. Kaiidth.
In his defense, he had only been eight years old at the time.
T’Saya’s leave-taking had not given him this phantom ache throughout his body, this urge to turn around and say something to Jim, only to recall that he was not there. T’Saya had not gone without a word. They had not fought.
They had not kissed.
Spock struggled with the guilt that welled up in him at the thought. Unknowing, Jim had already kissed him numerous times, grabbing Spock’s hand with little thought. But when he initiated the action in the human way, only as a desperate gamble, only to save both Spock and himself, Jim had worried first for Spock’s discomfort, not his own.
But that was so like Jim, to do something drastic for Spock’s sake first, and to worry about the consequences later.
Spock resisted the urge to slam his fist into the bed above him. Who was this human, to make him wrestle with emotions like guilt, fear and doubt, like a being who had never even heard of Surak? What right had he to delve under Spock’s skin, into the very sanctity of his mind, to make himself at home as if he belonged?
Perhaps the issue was with Spock’s own lack of close, mental relationships. He had his family bonds, yes, but no bonded mate. He knew that there had been talk of his marrying T’Pring, daughter of a lesser branch of the House of Skaren. However, those plans had been abandoned for fear that Spock’s unorthodox bloodline would be brought to the attention of first T’Pring, then to her family, and then to the general populace. If he had a bond with T’Pring, would he now be so affected by Jim’s offer of friendship?
Such a line of thinking was useless. He was not bonded. His thoughts were becoming increasingly circular. He needed to meditate.
For the first time in a long time, he did not want to.
Instead, he slept.
When Spock awoke, it was to Uhura’s voice near his ear, her face grave. He sat up, his heart pounding.
“Jim?” he asked.
Uhura blinked, then shook her head. She gave Spock a strange look. “Jim’s fine. The job’s done. But he can’t come back here. That stupid shit he pulled the other day got you guys put on some kind of list. They’re looking for you here. You’ve got to leave.”
Spock was already slipping on his shoes. He had not changed into nightclothes the previous evening. He supposed it did not really matter.
“Where must I go?”
She gnawed on her lower lip. “We were waiting for Pike- he’s pretty much the guy in charge- but we don’t have time for that. So, you’re going to him.”
“And where is that?”
She gave him a look he could not decipher. “Tokyo,” she said finally.
Spock stilled, his left shoe still half off. “Tokyo is a very dangerous city,” he pointed out.
She crossed her arms. “I don’t know if we should be flattered or alarmed that the world’s most dangerous city is known even to aliens.”
Spock resumed zipping up his bag. “If I am discovered by any one of the crime lords operating there, my life is likely forfeit,” he said. “If the Resistance is discovered to be harboring me, it will most certainly be destroyed.”
“It’s a chance we have to take,” she said. “Besides, with all the crime there, who’s going to notice a few more criminals?”
Spock paused. “What is your leader doing in Tokyo?”
Her lips thinned. “Negotiating,” she spat out. “Uhura Enterprises isn’t as welcome in Tokyo Bay as most other places in the world. So Pike’s got a one-on-one with Keiyuu Naganata, who basically owns that part of the city.”
Spock flicked his eyes up to hers. “And what does Keiyuu Naganata receive in return?”
She stared at him for a moment, then her face flushed. “We’re not selling you out, if that’s what you’re asking,” she snapped. “Don’t you trust us?”
“I am merely curious,” Spock said, absolutely no inflection in his voice whatsoever.
She took a deep breath. “Negotiations are private,” she said. “Sorry.” She made to leave Spock to his packing, then turned back. “The plane’s going to leave in an hour, so better pack quick.”
Spock’s flight to Tokyo was uneventful, mostly in that Jim was not there to play chess with him. Instead, he sat next to Sulu, who devoted a good portion of the flight to complaining to anyone who would listen.
“I don’t know why I have to go to Tokyo,” he groused. “I can’t even speak Japanese.”
“But you can understand it,” Chekov pointed out.
“Barely,” Sulu grumbled. “Mostly just curses and the word for toilet.”
“What’s the word for toilet?” asked McCoy.
“Toilet,” said Sulu.
“Really?”
“More or less.”
“Well that is all that is really important,” Chekov said. “I do not understand why you are not excited. I hear Tokyo is a very interesting city. Chapel- not the nurse, the scary one, her sister- she said that it is now in style for women to paint themselves different colors in the strip clubs. She said all Tokyo has now red and green and blue dancing women in the clubs.” He frowned. “Then she got very angry and left. I do not think she is a fan.”
Spock, who had been staring out the window at the clouds, turned toward Chekov. “I beg your pardon?” he said.
“There are two women named Chapel, and they are sisters.” He nodded to himself. “But you can tell them apart very easily because one is a commander. Or was, I guess it is. She is like you, Mr. Spock, she does not like to show how she is feeling. And the other is a nurse. Dr. McCoy knows her, yes?”
“Just because I’m a doctor doesn’t mean I know every nurse,” said McCoy. A beat. “But yeah, I know her. Blonde, right?”
“Red,” said Uhura from across the isle. She smiled. “For this week, at least.”
“I would like to hear more of these dancing green women,” said Spock quietly.
“Really?” said McCoy.
“It seems a peculiar custom,” Spock said, over the sounds of McCoy being delighted by Spock’s apparent hedonistic streak.
Chekov moved his shoulders up and down. He glanced at Sulu for assistance. “Tokyo is . . . I do not know how to explain.”
“Weird,” Sulu put in. “The word you’re looking for is weird.”
Spock folded his fingers together atop his lap and waited.
Chekov shook his head. “I do not know how to describe it.”
“Fashion,” Sulu put in. “Games, technology, trends. Honestly, the body paint thing is kind of tame by comparison.”
“I see,” said Spock, relaxing back into his seat. For a moment he had thought- but no. “Would you be able to give me an example?”
Chekov tapped his fingers on his seatback tray. “Um,” he said, screwing up his face. “It is hard to think of something good just now.”
“Carrying small dogs in purses!” Sulu exclaimed. He crossed his arms and sat back with a wriggle of triumph. Chekov gave him a despairing look.
“That was an American fashion,” he said.
Sulu frowned. “Are you sure?”
“Of course I am sure,” Chekov asserted.
“I don’t believe you. I’m going to look that up.”
“How do you even know that?” McCoy shook his head. “No, scratch that. Why do you even know that?”
Chekov shrugged. “When you are very good at something - like me, I am very good with numbers - people think you are only good for that thing. They do not get that you might have other interests.”
“And your other interest is fashion,” said McCoy, bemused.
Chekov smiled, his white teeth gleaming. “I do not know why. But it is interesting, what people wear and do, and what they wore and did. Very psychological.”
Sulu swore, tossing his data pad aside. “American,” he grumbled.
“See?” said Chekov, his voice edging on smug.
Spock turned back to the window.
Unlike their landing in Edinburgh, which had been fraught with clandestine doings, the plane landed in broad daylight at a public airport. Spock jammed his hat over his head with a sigh as he prepared to disembark.
“You are not concerned with being here illegally?” he asked Chekov, recalling the young human’s reluctance to land in Edinburgh.
“Oh no,” said Chekov. “I have been here before. They do not care, as long as you can present the face of legality.” He nodded to Uhura, who was passing out some semblance of passports. “They say who we say we are, but also when the machine reads them, they will say who we are expected by.” He twisted his finger in his ear. “That is, Keiyuu Naganata. So we will get into the city, no trouble.”
“Fascinating,” said Spock, and meant it. Vulcan had rather a lack of criminally dominated societies. It would be interesting to see how the social order here was kept.
Having become somewhat used to traveling with the luxuries afforded by Uhura Enterprises, Spock was not startled to see a well-put together man bow to them all upon exiting the airport and then usher them towards a large black vehicle. When he got closer however, he noticed that the car was missing the typical emblem of Uhura’s family - that of a stylized Roman U and E entwined with a ship’s mast - and instead pictured the snarling head of a bulldog.
“Keiyuu Naganata’s got a ride for us,” Uhura breathed into his ear, her lips barely moving. “Don’t talk too much, they don’t know who you are.”
Spock gave her a sidelong look, but nodded anyway.
Despite growing up in the largest metropolis on Vulcan, Spock was unprepared for the sheer size of the city. As they drove from the airport, skyscraper upon skyscraper formed the trees of a concrete and glass forest through which the main road and all the little side roads travelled. There were lights and movement everywhere, all moving together with the kind of chaotic pulse one might expect of from an inter-dimensional being. He could not count the people and the flashes of color, for fear of incipient blindness.
Spock shut his eyes and breathed deeply, willing his mind to process what it could and to discard what it could not. He was only marginally successful.
“What do you think of our city?” said the man who had led them to the car. His black hair was cropped short, but he kept his mustache to a good length.
Spock knew he was supposed to speak as little as possible, but he could not very well ignore a direct question. He tilted his head to the side, weighing his words with care. “I have never visited before,” he said after a second or two. “But it appears very busy.”
The man gave him a measuring look, then sat back with a smile. “Yes, it is a very busy place,” he said. “Very busy, awake all of the time.”
“Indeed,” said Spock.
After three hours of driving, they parked outside one of the many skyscrapers. “Mr. Naganata hopes you will find the accommodation to your liking,” said the man to Uhura, as they entered the lobby of the building.
Uhura let her gaze travel around the inside of what was clearly a very lavishly appointed hotel. It settled on the fountain in the corner, and the set of couches next to it. She looked back at him.
“Yes, I believe this will suffice. Give Mr. Naganata our gratitude.”
The man laughed. “Your man Pike, he said you have very good taste, Ms. Uhura. I will tell Mr. Naganata that you are pleased with his selection. Mr. Naganata will always keep his friends happy.”
“Of course,” Uhura said pleasantly, at which Spock had to consciously keep his eyebrow from rising. They bowed to each other one last time until, with a final wave, the man left.
“We’re free to move around as we please,” Uhura told the rest of them as they gathered around her, as if in solidarity. Something about staying in a hotel owned by one of the most powerful crime bosses in the city set off that reaction in people, Spock supposed. “Within reason, of course.” She looked at Spock, propping her hands on her hips. “It’s good your hair has grown,” she said cryptically.
This time, Spock did raise his eyebrow.
“It’s rude to wear hats indoors,” Uhura said. “This is a very polite country.”
“I . . . see,” Spock said slowly. His hand inched toward his hat.
“Bandanas should be okay though,” she said.
Spock dropped his hand. “I see,” he said again, this time with considerably less enthusiasm. Behind him, he could have sworn he heard McCoy cackle a little.
“I brought some barrettes,” McCoy said. “To help you keep it on straight.”
“Thank you,” replied Spock automatically, not sure what a barrette was, but more certain that he could not trust McCoy’s sudden altruism.
As it turned out, they each had their own room on the 5th floor. Pleading a need to meditate, Spock excused himself from the dinner plans for that evening, and headed to room 526. Although he didn't really need to meditate, the constant company of the humans who had become his companions was beginning to wear on him. He needed some time to think. He needed some time alone. He slid the keycard into the door. The light blinked green and Spock opened it as he had been taught.
There was someone else in the room. Spock froze, and the figure moved into the light. Spock stared.
The left side of the man’s face was hideously scarred, with deep gouges down from the corner of his eye to the edge of his jaw. His right side appeared handsome and middle aged. His grey eyes met Spock’s startled brown ones. He was sitting in a wheelchair.
“Well, close the door,” he said. “You’re letting in a draft.”
Spock did so. “You are Christopher Pike,” he said slowly, still not moving from his place beside the door, but fairly confident in his assessment.
Pike laughed, a jagged thing that turned into a cough. “Got it in one,” he said. “Kirk said you were smart.” He shook his head indulgently. “Said a lot more than that, actually, but I boiled it down to the basics. How did you know?”
“Mr. Scott had a photograph,” said Spock. Of course, Pike had looked quite different in it, his arm thrown around Scotty’s shoulder, his face unscarred, but still. It was the same face.
Pike frowned. “I told him to get rid of that. The whole world’s going to know we’re related at this rate.”
“Related?”
“Second cousins,” said Pike. He bared his teeth. “As you can see, Montgomery got the good-looking genes.”
“Interesting,” said Spock neutrally. He shifted a little from foot to foot. “Is there something I can do for you?”
“Come, sit down,” Pike said, motioning to one of the armchairs. With a mental shrug, Spock did so. He recalled his mother telling him that her culture approved of direct eye contact. That they saw it as a sign of courage, and of fearlessness. This was different from Vulcans, who believed that direct eye contact between strangers often signified aggression, and a desire to peek into a mind not open to them.
Spock looked straight at Pike, expression as Vulcan blank has possible. “Is there something I may do for you?” he said again.
“Direct,” said Pike, nodding. “Kirk mentioned that too. I appreciate directness in a man.”
“I am not a man,” said Spock. “I am a Vulcan.”
“You must be fairly confident that these rooms are not being watched, to state your origins so boldly,” Pike said softly.
“I located and disabled the bugs by accessing the mainframe computer network of this building,” Spock said with something almost bordering on arrogance.
Pike coughed. “So you are indeed a Vulcan. With access to technology far superior than our own.”
There was no point in lying. “Yes.”
“You know what I am here to ask.”
Spock considered this. “Probably. You want to know if my Vulcan technology may be used to further your cause.”
“Close,” Pike said. “But I talked with Scott. I know that if you wouldn’t give it up to the Bureau, then there’s no way you’d give it up to me.” His expression turned wry. “Not to mention I’d have to start fearing assassination from my own men, if I did something like that to you.”
“I see,” said Spock.
Pike leaned forward on his elbows. “Do you want to know what happened to my face?”
Spock blinked, startled. “I had not thought to ask.”
“I was in a war,” said Pike. “I was an Admiral.” He looked away. “We were bombed by some planes. Nothing too out of the usual. You know.” His lips cracked in a grimace. “The price of war. But after we got fished out of the water by the enemy troops, they put us in camps. And I was tortured of course, because those are the way things are. Our standard, human mode of operations.” He looked at Spock. “I’m sure you know all about that.”
Spock could do nothing but nod. He knew.
“So anyway, eventually we were traded out. I was a cripple, I didn’t know anything useful.” He smiled. “Well, nothing I gave away.” Then his face hardened. “I want to repeat that, Mr. Spock. I gave nothing away. I was loyal.”
“And yet you are here, leading the Resistance,” said Spock.
“Well, as it turns out,” said Pike, waving his hand. “All that- the bombing, the deaths of my men, the torture. That was all supposed to happen. My government arranged it to happen, because they got something- some secrets, probably- out of the deal.”
“You were bait,” said Spock, clamping down firmly on any emotion. He could sense where this was going. “A sacrifice.”
“Like a pawn in a chess game played by psychopaths,” agreed Pike. “Or maybe a rook. I was, after all, an Admiral.”
“So as a result of your own betrayal you joined the Resistance,” surmised Spock, not all that surprised. “That is a very human course of action.”
“Would a Vulcan have done any different?”
Spock thought for a moment. “A Vulcan of the past would not have,” he allowed. “But a Vulcan of today? We are a race of pacifists, Mr. Pike. I do not know what a Vulcan would have done, I cannot speak for all of my people, but they would have chosen the logical path.”
“And what if the logical path and the right path are not the same?”
“Then they are not,” said Spock, not really wanting to go any further on that particular line of thought.
“Sounds complicated,” said Pike.
Spock gave out something that might have been a sigh. “It is not supposed to be,” he said, almost petulantly.
Pike looked amused. “Are our human ways corrupting you? It must be tough, being with us all the time.”
“It is a unique experience,” said Spock. He fixed Pike with a serious eye. “But I sense that you have a request of me.”
“Not really a request,” said Pike. “More of a general question.”
“Ask. I will not lie.”
Pike squared his shoulders. “Will Vulcan come here to help us?”
Spock stilled. “I will need for you to clarify the question,” he said eventually.
Pike drew in a breath. “You’ve seen our planet. Humanity’s problems have problems. We’re ruled by despots and criminals. Basic freedom is a joke. Our armies sacrifice soldiers without any need. There is little compassion. Instead, there is hunger and fighting. We need someone to help dig us out of this pit. Would Vulcan be willing?”
Spock was silent for a long moment. “The High Command operates under a series of laws. Some govern the society within Vulcan and others deal with Vulcan’s relationship with other planets. Earth is yet incapable of warp speed. Our prime directive therefore requires non-interference with your planet.” His eyes met Pike’s. “I’m sorry, such action on our part would be tantamount to invasion. Other planets would protest our actions. It could become a great crisis.”
Pike nodded, looking resigned. “I thought you would say that.” He rotated his left shoulder. “Still, I thought I would ask. No harm in trying.”
Spock waited.
“So if you’re not here to gently guide us to a better life, then what are you doing on Earth?”
Spock had thought about this beforehand, although he had not anticipated again being asked the question so directly. “Research,” he said. “Although we cannot interfere in the affairs of non-warp capable peoples, we can at least study them, to project when a society might develop such technology.”
“Huh,” said Pike. “So, any idea when we’ll get to the stars? Because I’ve got to tell you, our space programs are for shit. The last big mission was more than thirty years ago to Europa. And no one ever heard from them again.”
Spock valiantly forced himself not to react. “Indeed,” he said instead. “I will- I will need to research further.”
“Uh huh,” said Pike. “Well, I have a meeting with Mr. Naganata in twenty minutes, so I suppose I should leave you to your rest.” He inclined his head to Spock, the light from outside casting a shadow on the ruined side of his face, giving him the illusion of a hale man in his mid-forties. “It was very interesting to meet you. I’m glad we didn’t let the Bureau kill you.”
“Likewise,” said Spock, not wanting to explore that line of thought any further. He stood to open the door for Pike, who nodded his thanks. About to close the door, he hesitated, thinking furiously. “Mr. Pike!” he called down the hall.
Pike slowed to a stop, turning the chair back to face Spock. “Yes?”
Spock strode quickly over to him. “I owe your people somewhat of a life debt,” he said.
“You don’t owe us anything,” said Pike. “You didn’t ask Kirk to come get you.”
“Nonetheless,” said Spock. “It is the Vulcan way.”
“Okay,” said Pike. “So, why are you telling me this now?”
Spock leaned in closer. “The laws of the High Command dictate non-interference,” he said. “But even in coming here, I have interfered much. Set certain events in motion. I-” he forced himself to speak clearly. “I cannot promise anything,” he said. “But out of respect for what you have done for me, I will send a message.” He looked directly at Pike. “I will entreat the Vulcan High Command on your behalf.”
Pike looked taken aback. “You will . . . send a message,” he repeated. “With my request.”
“Yes,” said Spock, a bold sense of daring jolting through him at his own voice. “It is unorthodox, but I shall ask anyway.”
Pike gave him a long, searching look. “All right,” he said finally. “That's all I can ask of you. My thanks.”
“I am simply returning a favor,” Spock said. Pike nodded, swiveled his chair back around and pressed a button. It moved forward with a gentle whine. Spock watched him leave, and then turned to head back toward his room and his data pad.
If he was planning to speak to the VSS Nirak, he was going to need some equipment.
According to the map on his data pad, the closest store to the hotel that sold technological hardware was almost four kilometers away. Spock stood in the center of his room, considering his options. He did not want to bother the others. He had been given enough local currency to ensure his ability to purchase the items required. With a decisive flick of the wrist, he packed his data pad into a small backpack, and swung it over his shoulder. He adjusted his hat so that it sat snugly over his ears, and fussed with his hair so that it covered his eyebrows. He gave himself one last, critically appraising look in the mirror, and determined his appearance acceptably human.
The walk to the store took less than an hour, but the constant noise of people and machines made it feel twice as long. It was with a great deal of relief that Spock entered his intended destination, and leaned against the wall with a barely concealed groan.
Humans, and all their unshielded, broadcasting emotions, were exhausting. He should have gone to Ferenginar instead. At least the Ferengi were actually psi null.
The man at the counter gave Spock a peculiar look, and he straightened, attempting to pull himself together. After a moment or two of waiting for the pounding in his head to cease, he surveyed the store.
With a sinking feeling in his stomach, Spock noticed that the description for nearly every item was written across the packages or boxes or baskets in an unknown script. He rubbed his hand across his face, and began to regret his decision to come alone.
The man at the counter was watching him with beady eyes, as if expecting Spock to make a grab for the nearest valuable and run for it. Of course, considering the level of crime rampant throughout the city, Spock couldn’t really blame him. To ease the man’s concern, Spock picked up a basket and began wandering through the aisles, picking up items he hoped were the correct ones. Radio technology had been on earth for hundreds of years, and the technology to boost such a signal had existed here for only a slightly smaller amount of time. He was fairly confident he would be able to reach the VSS Nirak.
Spock paid for his goods with paper money and coins, grateful that he had taken a moment beforehand to organize his currency. That done, he prepared to head back to the hotel.
He had only walked one kilometer, taking a slightly different route, when an advertisement tacked to the wall of a club, caught his eye. He peered at it. It featured a green skinned woman hanging off a pole. Her clothes were more suggestion than reality. Her dark hair was loosely curled and hung just above her breasts. Spock cocked his head. This must be what Chekov had been talking about earlier. He looked closer at the picture. The woman was definitely human. Although the uneducated might mistake her for an Orion, there were slight differences in bone structure and in stance that were readily apparent in her undressed state. What’s more, Spock could even see where she had neglected to paint the bottoms of her bare feet.
Of course, the easiest method to tell an Orion woman from a human who, for some odd reason, had painted her entire body, was to be in the presence of one or the other. Pheromones were suppressible, but not completely. A Vulcan might not be affected by Orion pheromones, but that did not mean they could not smell them.
Spock walked on.
He reached the hotel mere minutes before the sun sank below the horizon. Upon entering his room, he dumped his bag of supplies on the desk, sat down before them, and prepared to build a simple radio.
An hour later, Spock examined his creation with a critical eye. Primitive, but it would have to do. He flipped a switch, and the sounds of static filled the room as he attempted to reach the channel that Captain T’Lan had indicated that they would be monitoring.
“This is S’chin T’gai Spock of the Vulcan Science Academy,” he said. “Requesting contact with Vulcan Space Ship Nirak.”
Static.
“Vulcan Space Ship Nirak, are you receiving my transmission?”
Still, nothing.
“Hello?”
There was still no answer. Spock looked at his radio in perplexity. Perhaps he had mistaken the channel? He tried a second channel, and then a third. Still the Nirak did not respond to his hails. Spock flicked the switch off, and rested his chin in his hands.
It was possible that the ship was still too far away to pick up his transmission, even with the boosting equipment. It was also possible that he had mistaken some of the components for the wrong pieces. Spock pursed his lips; although if that had been the case, the radio should not have worked at all, and he was relatively certain that it had. Nonetheless, it seemed prudent that he return to the store.
Spock checked the time on his communicator. His eyebrows rose to his hairline as he noticed that he had received a message from Mr. Scott less than an hour ago. He opened it.
Morning, Mr. Spock!
Spock looked askew at the device, before recalling the time difference between their respective locations.
I ran your Dirt samples through the XRD you built. Nice work on that, by the way. I might have to keep it. Anyway, I thought I’d send you the specs since you seemed so interested. Have fun!
The message indicated an attachment.
Spock’s finger hovered over the link for a moment, before he put his communicator away with a twinge of regret. There would be plenty of time for frivolities after he achieved contact with Captain T’Lan and the Nirak. For now, he had a store to return to.
As he walked, Spock began to feel the strangest feeling between his shoulder blades, a tingling sensation, as if he were being watched. When he craned his neck back in the gloom however, he could see nothing. He attempted to send his mental presence behind him in search of whatever was making him so wary, but the concentration required and the continual bombardment on his own shields by the endless moving bodies around him, gave him a headache.
When he finally reached the store, the door was locked and the windows barred. Spock’s shoulders slumped. How could he have neglected to note the closing time of the store? What was the point of an eidetic memory if you still forgot crucial information?
Linking his hands behind his back, Spock allowed for one disdainful Vulcan sniff at the locked door before turning away and once more beginning the return journey back to the hotel.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
When Jim reached the hotel about an hour before sundown, he gratefully assumed that Spock was with the rest of the Resistance members in Tokyo, eating dinner. So he was understandably surprised when, glancing out his 5th floor window later that evening, he caught a glimpse of a familiar figure lit by a street lamp.
What was Spock doing outside alone? Where was he going in such a hurry? Jim drummed his fingers on the windowsill. He had managed to avoid Spock so far today, and what could he possibly say to him now?
Hey, I saw you sneaking out after dark and wanted to know what the hell you think you’re doing seemed in poor taste after the way they had parted.
Still, Tokyo was a dangerous city. And while Jim had learned that Spock could definitely handle himself, it just didn’t seem right to let him disappear into the dark alone like that. Didn’t Vulcans believe in the buddy system?
His mind suddenly made up, Jim hurried down to the first floor lobby and out the door, half jogging in the direction Spock had been heading towards.
Jim caught sight of him a few minutes later. As Spock strode down the main sidewalks, Jim slunk his way through the shadows about half a block behind him. He supposed he could have easily caught up to him fully, and asked where he was going, but something held Jim back. He wasn’t quite sure what it was, but a nagging part of him gave off the sense that he just didn’t know what he should say when they did meet.
Yeah, Spock had been kind of an asshole after the whole kissing thing, but Jim had kind of been one too. Also, he had left without saying goodbye, which he supposed sort of made him the bad guy at this point.
Jim leaned against a wall and examined his fingernails while he waited for Spock to just accept that the store he was standing in front of, for whatever reason, was definitely closed for the night.
Would a simple I’m sorry do the trick? Or would he have to go more in depth? Spock wasn’t the biggest fan of emotional displays, so anything involving passionate discussions of their feelings (his on being an asshole, Spock’s on . . . actually, he had no idea) were definitely out.
Maybe Spock would just do that telepathy thing, and neither of them would have to go through any awkward explanations at all? His countenance brightened, and he filed that thought away for later use.
Spock had clearly abandoned the idea of getting into the store at this point. Looking rather dejected (for Spock, at least), he had turned around and begun to head back towards the direction of the hotel, when he suddenly stopped. Jim ducked behind a conveniently placed vending machine. He caught his breath, then peered around the corner of the machine, and stared.
What was Spock- was he sniffing at the air? No, that couldn’t be it. He was looking pretty confused, for one thing.
Jim was about to take a step forward when Spock made a sudden and abrupt ninety-degree pivot, and strode off in a completely new direction, face set in a wary expression that Jim had never seen before. Cursing a little, Jim set off after him.
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