Measuring Time [K/S: chapter one]
Title: Measuring Time
Dedicated to jademac2442
Pairing: Kirk/Spock
Characters: Kirk, Spock, Ambassador Spock, McCoy, Uhura, Saavik
Universe: ST XI
Rating: R
Summary: While on a deadly mission to Hellguard, Kirk and Spock philosophize about time, identity, prejudice and not least - love.
Notes: There are not words enough to thank the lovely germankitty and louisestrange for the countless improvements they have made to the text. The planet Hellguard and the rescue mission there are introduced in the Star Trek novels, which I have not read. The account of Hellguard given here is therefore my own.
Warning: This story is a fragment consisting of five chapters. It will not be continued.
Chapter 1: The Mission
Time - with the regularity of a scythe reaping grain, separating stalks from roots as distinct units, the seconds rose and fell. What distinguished one second from the next? A memory superimposed, a hole in time, a gravitational pull into the past . . .
Slowly, First Officer Spock spun from his science station, eyebrows furrowed. An undefined pressure, perhaps best described as the illogical need to share his thoughts, rose in his chest. "Captain," he said, tentatively.
Captain Kirk of the Enterprise, who had been slouched in his command chair listlessly filing fuel reports for the past hour, immediately straightened, handed his datapad to a yeoman and swiveled around to face Spock, his expression curious.
"Captain," Spock repeated slowly. "It has been exactly one year and six point five seconds since Nero was defeated."
"A year and how many seconds, Spock?" Kirk's bright eyes held surprise, a surprise that he attempted to cover with humor.
Spock's lips twitched. "As of this moment, nine point two-five, sir."
"Good God, you're missing the point," exploded Doctor McCoy, bouncing on his toes. There was clearly nothing for him to do but prowl the bridge on the hunt for the right moment to deliver a sarcastic comment. "All that precision is simply wasted when it comes down to split seconds. The second you tell the time, it's already over."
Obviously, Spock thought. But he was also curious to hear how McCoy would phrase his understanding of time - Spock was secretly fond of his colorful metaphors. "What, then, is the point, Doctor?"
"The year! The anniversary! That's something worth taking note of, something to remember."
"A good point, Bones," said the Captain, standing. "Crew, I'd like to take this moment to emphasize how much it means to be working with the most competent team in the Fleet. None of us could have come this far without the fantastic teamwork we've been able to pull together. - Thank you." Kirk turned to grin at each of his senior officers - first Uhura, who smiled tightly at him from her communications station; then Scotty, who had been deeply engrossed in looking at something over Uhura's shoulder and now gave his Captain a disoriented grin. Lastly, he clapped the backs of Sulu and Chekov, who took the moment to exchange energetic high-fives.
Spock was so preoccupied with watching this display that he did not realize until too late that Kirk had slung an arm around his shoulder.
What was to be done? Kirk was aware of how little Spock appreciated invasions of his personal space, but Kirk was never one to leave a barrier uncrossed. Spock noticed Uhura watching and closed his eyes, but there was nothing to do but tolerate Kirk and grimace in silent protest.
Cultural upbringing alone did not explain Spock's need to maintain distance from others. There were also psychological as well as biological reasons. At his mother's urging, years ago - (Vulcan philosophy won't prepare you for what's to come) - Spock had read Freud to aid his understanding of the biological cycle (Say it - Pon Farr). Spock was less interested in the theory that sexual trauma causes neurosis than in the assumption that traumatic experiences during his childhood had shaped his personality in a lasting way. Something deep within him, a distant memory of those times perhaps, triggered fear when the safety zone around him was breached. He had explained this phenomenon to Uhura several times. (That's not an excuse, she had said. Besides, you don't seem to mind when Kirk invades your personal space. - He is my superior officer, Spock had defended.)
Spock opened his eyes, wondering how long it had been since he had stopped minding the sensation of Kirk's arm around his shoulder. Suddenly was hyper-aware of Uhura's gaze and made to pull away, but not before he heard Kirk say, "I wouldn't have made it without you."
Spock could think of no adequate reply, but nodded once with lowered eyes before returning to his station. Something in him had been satisfied by the little exchange, although he could not say what. He looked at the computer monitors without seeing them. Kirk was still speaking with McCoy about time - "just a few more hours till shore leave" -
Spock's gaze snapped over to the communications station where Uhura was making rapid adjustments to the receiver in her ear. Her face was suddenly serious, her eyes wide. "Captain, I'm getting a priority one message from Starbase 10," she said hastily, and to Spock it was as if the warmth that seemed to radiate around the bridge had instantly dissipated.
Kirk strode away from McCoy - the Doctor stood as if he had been turned to stone - back to the center of the bridge, his mouth pressed into a thin line.
"Put it on screen, Lieutenant."
Without hesitation, the projection of an overweight man with the insignia of a Commodore on his chest replaced the sight of the stars. "Kirk?" the projection asked in a surprisingly scratchy voice. "Commodore Bohr. Sorry for the short notice, but we've had to change your orders. You're to come down to Starbase 10 immediately."
"What happened, sir?" Kirk asked, glancing at Spock, who could only respond with raised eyebrows.
"We'll discuss the details once you're here. Beam down with your CMO. Oh - and bring your Vulcan officer as well." Kirk must have seen Spock stiffen, for he narrowed his eyes, at which the Commodore jumped to add: "Your people are of course welcome to relax at our facilities while we discuss things. They can plan on remaining in orbit here for at least one solar day. Bohr out."
The entire bridge crew turned to face Kirk in expectant silence. He had turned with a questioning expression to Spock, who for his part, acknowledged the unspoken query with an answer.
"Travelling at our present speed, Captain, Starbase 10 is two point seven days away from our current coordinates."
Kirk closed his eyes, a brief spasm of displeasure crossing his features. "Scotty, can you give us Warp 6?" he asked, his voice implying a command.
"You mean our shore leave is being cancelled?" spluttered McCoy, catching up with the implications.
"Yes, Bones, that would seem to be the case. Good thing we decided to celebrate beforehand." Kirk sat down abruptly in the command chair, his face closed, brooding.
Observing him from the science station, Spock could not suppress the thought that he had somehow missed an opportunity earlier by not reacting to Kirk's statement. Despite their . . . troubled - to say the least - history, there was undeniably something that connected them, a spark of some kind that surfaced whenever they made contact. It was, frankly, addictive. Yes, working aboard a starship was a highly stimulating activity. . . Spock hunched over his scanners, ashamed of such irrational thoughts. He attempted to banish them amongst thousands of lines of computer code, yet they persisted, weaving invisibly into the data and seemingly mutating it. Fortunately for Spock there were only another five point three three minutes until the end of alpha shift, until he could meditate . . .
"Commodore, while I'm pleased to be of service, I must admit that your message came as a surprise -"
"Look, Kirk, I'm sorry I had to cancel your shore leave, but something far more important's come up and no one else can do the job. Please, gentlemen, be seated." The Commodore retrieved a bottle of whisky from a cabinet and poured out three glasses. "Mr. Spock, can I safely assume you don't drink?"
"Indeed."
"Here, gentlemen," the Commodore passed out the drinks and leaned back in his chair, emptying his glass in a single gulp. McCoy, who believed one should nurse a whisky for hours, stared at him in barely contained outrage. "Now, to get to the point. You are all aware that the Fleet is currently suffering a shortage of battleships, and not only on our side. The Vulcans lost every single ship they had that wasn't deployed elsewhere." He looked pointedly at Spock, who, although he resented the artificial division between Terran and Vulcan ships, refused to show it. "Furthermore, the Vulcans are miserably underpopulated. They aren't used to the kind of manual labor it takes to settle a planet. Many of the survivors are elderly and simply collapse on the work sites. Others belong to a kind of priest caste and refuse to work at all, on the grounds that they need to dedicate themselves to religion."
Kirk interrupted, "I think all of us here are familiar with the situation." His expression was scornful, the Commodore did not seem to notice. Nevertheless, Spock made a note of Kirk's reaction.
"Let me finish, Kirk. You don't understand these Vulcan priests. They just haven't accepted the fact that ninety-nine percent of Vulcan's working class was annihilated - and they refuse to give up their celibacy." The Commodore shifted his body away from Spock as if to cut him off from the conversation. Kirk frowned and glanced at Spock with something like empathy in his eyes. Again, Spock noted the reaction. "Not that it would help much, since the women are so stressed that they're having trouble getting pregnant. Add to that the complications of Vulcan biology, gentlemen, and you get the picture. The death rate is significantly higher than the birth rate."
"You want us to help increase the birth rate?" McCoy asked in open confusion. Spock raised his eyebrows.
"No, that's a matter better left to the Vulcans themselves. What we need you to do is strictly military." The Commodore straightened his uniform over a bulging middle no fabric could hide. "Five years ago, gentlemen, four Vulcan science ships mysteriously disappeared near the border between Federation and Romulan space. No one could guess what happened. Now we know that the ships were hijacked by Romulans and taken to the planet Hellguard, where the Romulans had founded a colony. The colony soon disbanded as a failure, but the military built facilities there that it still continues to use."
Spock shifted in his chair, the only expression of his discomfort he was willing to show. He remembered reading about the missing ships - two family friends had been aboard. "What have the Romulans done with the captives and to what purpose do the military facilities serve?"
Still turned away from Spock, the Commodore let out a breath. "Well, that's the trick. The Romulans used the Vulcan crews as breeding material. There are now one hundred fifty children on Hellguard, gentlemen, one hundred fifty children being used as test subjects for mind manipulation experiments. The children are half-breeds, so to speak -"
Spock looked away - directly into Kirk's expectant gaze - and immediately turned back to the Commodore with a grimace he could not conceal.
" - but they have the right to Vulcan citizenship. So long as their heritage is concealed, we think they could be integrated into Vulcan society."
"I wouldn't say that," McCoy said, skepticism written over his face. "Sorry, Spock, but from what I've seen of your people, they don't really like outsiders."
Spock was unable to remove the grimace from his mouth. "The doctor is not incorrect," he told the Commodore in a low voice. "Vulcan children are raised from birth to adhere to the principles of Surak. Children without such training would be unwelcome in Vulcan society, assuming the standard principals of teaching have not undergone significant change."
"Well, the Vulcans need to change," the Commodore barked. "Way I see it, these children are good for your society, Spock. It's about time your people got over their xenophobia. But more importantly, these children could have a calming effect on the women, make them more eager to have children themselves."
"Speaking from my experience with Vulcan women, that's unrealistic, sir," Kirk said bluntly.
"In short," the Commodore continued, as if Kirk had not spoken, "we need you to go to Hellguard and rescue those children. That's the mission. If the Vulcan ships are salvageable, or if you could get a further glimpse at whatever mind technology the Romulans are using …" He shifted position, looking at Spock for the first time. I am only useful when the matter becomes scientific, Spock thought and clenched his jaw. ". . . Those would be pluses, of course. The Vulcans have offered some diplomatic assistance -"
"Commodore, excuse me," interrupted McCoy, "but I don't think I'm following you just right. Lemme see: You want us to take a lone battle cruiser into Romulan space, break into a secret military compound, rescue some children and then crack the mechanism of whatever mind manipulation technology the Empire's been using - you're saying we should do all that, and then try to avoid a war?" McCoy shook his head in exasperation. "That's impossible, even for the entire fleet!"
"I am in full agreement with the Doctor," Spock said, feeling strangely faint all of a sudden, as if all the blood had drained from his head. "There is no logic, no purpose in this mission. Such an action would unnecessarily endanger the lives of this crew and jeopardize far more than a cease-fire. The consequences are foreseeable, and they would be catastrophic for the Federation." He paused, but could not bring himself to drive further, to ask the most pressing question. Who is behind this madness?
Kirk searched Spock with his eyes, and for a moment it seemed as though the visual contact sent electricity running through Spock's system, sending heat into his face - before turning to the Commodore with a set expression. "I must agree with my senior officers," he said. "Commodore, don't get me wrong - I sympathize to the core with the Vulcan people and those children. Having dealt with a few Romulans myself, I can imagine the horrors they're experiencing."
"We all can," McCoy emphasized.
Kirk nodded. "But we need to separate the fate of those children from the fate of the refugees. Speaking freely sir, I suspect that more than four ships or a desire to rescue motivates this mission. My gut feeling tells me that this is somehow about revenge. And while I can understand that, I'm not prepared to sacrifice the lives of my crew, let alone get caught up in an intergalactic war, on that basis."
The Commodore rubbed his hands together. He seemed neither displeased nor surprised. "I see you men are going to need some more convincing. Well, you're still young, that's understandable. Ambassador Prime," he called in a louder tone, raising his eyes to the door, "perhaps you should come in".
Immediately, both Kirk and Spock stiffened. McCoy noticed, and glanced suspiciously from one to the other. "Prime?" he asked, but Spock seemed to have withdrawn into himself - the blood appeared to have drained from his face - and Kirk was shaking his head, a clear sign that now was not the time to ask questions.
The Commodore stood. His hand was raised in a poor imitation of the Vulcan salute, a gesture he immediately dropped. "Well, Ambassador, as you can tell, I've already explained the basics to Captain Kirk and his senior officers, but they need some extra convincing." His demeanor was suddenly respectful, his tone courteous. "Here's a seat, sir. Ambassador Prime, gentlemen, is the Vulcan agent that will assist you on the mission. He is the current expert on Romulan affairs."
As the Commodore spoke, Kirk watched the Vulcan enter with a look that seemed to convey an inner struggle between dread and joy. He's worried, McCoy thought. Understandable: Prime, as the Commodore called the ancient Vulcan walking toward them, was leaning heavily onto a cane, and seemed to be fighting against some kind of pain. Severe arthritis, McCoy diagnosed, taking in the other signs of Prime's age as he did so: skin speckled with dark blotches from internal bruising, muscles pared down to the skeleton, eyes sunken in shadowed green sockets from insomnia, clear signs of malnutrition and improper mineral balance. Death loomed over this frail body, and yet McCoy - who harbored deep feelings for the elderly - could not help but admire the determination that lingered in that shuddering stride, the glint of humor in those yellowed eyes - so unusual for a Vulcan -
McCoy leaned over the table and felt his mouth grow slack. Suddenly, Kirk's foot pressed hard into his own, and he was jerked back into his seat. "Ow!"
"Prime, it's great to see you again," Kirk said loudly, arranging his fingers into a flawless Vulcan salute. He shot McCoy a silencing glare before turning to the Vulcan with set smile that McCoy couldn't interpret. "But I'm disappointed to learn you're behind this suicide mission."
"Kirk," the Commodore barked, "that was out of line!"
Spock stood, his face white. "He is too old to be involved in military affairs. The council has erred in sending him."
"There's been no mistake," the Commodore said, eyes widening as he took in Spock's state. "Commander, be seated!"
McCoy stood with forced charm and pushed Spock down into his seat. "Well now," he said lazily, gesturing at Prime, "would anyone take the time to introduce me to the gentleman? Seems I'm the only one around here who hasn't made his acquaintance."
"It has been far too long, Doctor," Prime said in a warm voice made light by age that seemed curiously at odds with his ailing body. McCoy blinked, but there was no way to make sense of the words, so he kept silent. Prime, meanwhile, had directed his energy upon the act of sitting. His thin arms shook with the effort of maintaining hold on the armrests. Always the good Samaritan, McCoy thought, watching Kirk go to the Vulcan.
"Let me help you."
Prime looked at Kirk with a disconcerted expression on his face. "Thank you, Captain," he said stiffly, as Kirk helped him ease into the chair.
Observing this, Spock's throat involuntarily emitted a strangled noise. McCoy added this to the evidence he was currently chewing on, and continued studying the two Vulcans with sharpened eyes. Kirk began helping Prime adjust into a more comfortable position. McCoy glanced over at the Commodore, who was gazing at the clock. The clock seemed to make him acutely aware of the swift passage of time and instantly impatient with the whole business of convincing petulant officers to accept orders. McCoy watched him glance at the clock again, although only two seconds had passed, and make a clucking sound with his tongue.
As if sensing McCoy's scrutiny, the Commodore forced a smile. "Well, now that you're here, Ambassador, you gentlemen won't be needing me anymore." Kirk began to protest; the Commodore waved him off. "Feel free to use my office to discuss the mission until you feel satisfied that you've understood. My secretary is keeping tabs right around the corner. Let her know when you're leaving, so she can lock up. Captain Kirk," suddenly, his voice took on a harder tone, "I will remind you that these are your orders, and that severe consequences await disobedience. The same goes for the two of you," he said, looking pointedly at McCoy's scowl and Spock's clenched jaw.
Spock shifted in his chair, not daring to look up at the Commodore and reveal the emotions he was experiencing. I am angry, Spock reflected, his own voice ringing desperate in his ears, and thus I allow a base instinct to influence my judgment. But - his mind provided an image of the Vulcan High Council for him to address - there is good reason for my anger.
He felt his gaze become heated with the old loathing, that dizzying feeling of hatred that had been familiar to him since childhood, but of course his other selfdid not grace to look at him. His attention was fixed on - Jim.
Who did he see, when he looked at that face?
"Commodore, thank you for the offer, but I think we'd be more comfortable discussing this at length on the Enterprise," the Captain was saying. Despite a surface appearance of calm, his cheeks red from rising blood. "I'd like to consult my chief engineer . . ."
The Commodore shrugged, looked at the clock. "So long as you check in with me before leaving, Kirk."
"Of course, sir."
With a final warning glance, the Commodore left the room. McCoy began to pace.
"Jim, I wouldn't move him now, you've just gotten him into the chair."
"He'll make it, Bones. Right, Prime?" But the Vulcan had already begun to rise onto his cane. Immediately, Kirk snapped his communicator open. "Enterprise, this is Kirk. Four to beam up."
(on to chapter two)