“We have to get him off that ship,” Kirk growled.
Spock turned immediately. “That is not an option. He left us with standing orders that in the event of his failure to return, we should rendezvous with the rest of the fleet on the other side of the quadrant. It was a sensible command, clearly thought out and only reinforced by subsequent events. As has been amply demonstrated, we’re technologically outmatched in every way and are fortunate the Enterprise is still functional. A rescue attempt would be illogical.”
Fighting to keep calm, Kirk struggled to reply in kind. He did not entirely succeed. “With all due respect, what about loyalty to one’s commanding officer?” He nodded sharply in the helmsman’s direction. “If Mister Sulu’s correct, then if Pike’s not dead he’s likely being tortured to give up what he knows about Earth’s defenses.”
The science officer was not moved. “The captain’s committed our loyalty to his sacrifice. He would be the first to repeat and to emphasize that we carry out his final order. He understands that the needs of the many outweigh the danger to the one.” Spock’s voice tightened slightly. “It is the kind of decision one is required to make when one assumes the responsibilities of a starship captain.”
“He also,” Kirk shot back, “believes officers shouldn’t blindly follow orders without looking for alternative ways of doing things. I can speak to that from personal experience. As his crew, we owe him the effort to explore alternative possibilities.”
That much, Spock was willing to bend. “As stated, I am always open to suggestions.”
“All right, then. I suggest we find a way to catch up, get on that ship, and get him back. Again, if Mister Sulu’s observation is accurate, then time is of the essence. We already know they command means of destruction far beyond our own capabilities. We can only assume that they have access to methods of persuasion we can’t imagine. Captain Pike is a resilient officer, but he’s only—if you’ll pardon the expression—human. We have to get him back and we have to do it now.”
“Fantastic,” McCoy muttered. “I’m in.”
“Even though we think we know their destination, they would have to drop out of warp for us to overtake them,” Spock pointed out inexorably. “And that is assuming that their technological advances do not include the ability to travel faster than our own vessel.”
Kirk was not so easily thwarted. “What about assigning engineering’s best people to try and find a way to boost our warp yield, if only for a short period of time? As you’ll remember, we were required to consider such possibilities as part of courses dealing with emergency situations.”
“I also recall,” the implacable acting captain responded, “that they remained nothing more than possibilities. Several of which, you might remember, risked complete destruction of any vessel daring to attempt such extreme manipulation of its warp field. Anyway, even if such an adjustment could be tried in time, engineering is fully occupied restoring our drive capability and helping to repair damage, without which we cannot communicate with Starfleet. They do not have time to spend it on wishful fantasies.”
Yet again Kirk found himself deterred by logic. “Okay, okayokayokay—there’s gotta be some way…”
“When thoroughly analyzed, the information we’ve gathered about the enemy warship may point the way toward some method of defeating them—but only if we assemble the fleet to balance the terms of our next engagement. As already inferred, they are clearly not omnipotent. It may be that by bringing sufficient firepower, even if it is inferior firepower, to bear, it may be possible to destroy their advanced vessel through sheer force of numbers. If such were not the case, they would not take the time and trouble to counter our attacks so energetically.”
Kirk took a step forward. “Spock. By the time the fleet is redeployed, it’ll be too late. Too late for Captain Pike and too late for Earth. You know how Starfleet operates. A decision of such magnitude will require conferences, discussions—by the time Command appoints a committee, reaches a conclusion, decides on a strategy, and issues orders to move against Nero, he’ll be finished with Earth and on his way to still another doomed system. How many planets are you willing to risk?” Seeing that his appeal was having no effect on the ship’s acting captain, an increasingly irate and desperate Kirk tried another tack.
“You wanna be logical? Then do what this Nero doesn’t expect you to do. Respond illogically. Be unpredictable. It’s the last thing he’ll expect from you.” A smile cut across the younger man’s face. “I can guarantee it.”
As usual, the sarcasm had no effect whatsoever on the Vulcan officer. “You’re assuming Nero knows how events are predicted to unfold, and that by acting in an illogical manner we could somehow disrupt his intentions.”
“You just suggested he’s from the future,” Kirk pointed out.
Spock nodded agreement. “In which case his intent in traveling to this point in the past would appear to be to significantly alter it. If he had no intention of doing so, then there would, logically, be no point in making such a dangerous attempt simply to observe what he already expects to happen. It is clear that his purpose in making the time traverse is to change the past. Insofar as we know, his actions since entering this time plane have been unremittingly hostile to the Federation. We may safely assume they shall continue to be so.
“Through his actions subsequent to his entry into our time he has altered the flow of history, beginning with the attack on your father’s ship twenty-five years ago and culminating in the horrific events of today. These actions have created a new chain of events that cannot be anticipated by either party. At least, not by those living and functioning in the present. As we have no knowledge of additional alternate timelines, it is useless to speculate upon them. We can only influence our own, and I am required to make decisions based on our knowledge of what and where we are at the present time.”
McCoy wore the expression of someone who had accidentally sat down on one of his own sedative hypos. “Does anyone understand him?”
Uhura murmured softly in amazement. “An alternate reality. An alternative past.”
Spock nodded. “Precisely. There may be a thousand others, a million, or only this one. Certainly, Nero is acting as though this is the only one that matters.” He scanned the faces around him. “Whatever lives we might have lived if he had not appeared here to alter the time continuum of this reality have now been permanently altered. Our destinies, whatever they were, have changed.”
Chekov’s mind was churning. “Even if we somehow manage to stop this Nero, what’s to prevent him from reentering his time portal, however he achieves that, and simply going back in time a little farther to stop us all over again? For that matter, if his objective is the destruction of the Federation, why didn’t he go back to an even earlier date when our defensive technology was even more primitive?”
“It may be,” Spock surmised, “that the method of time travel employed is not perfect, or is fraught with limitations we cannot imagine, and that twenty-five years ago was the optimum time for him to attempt to send his vessel into the past.” He hesitated, thoughtful. “It may also be that he is subject to other motivations of which we as yet have no knowledge. We could speculate on an infinity of possibilities, any one of which might prove fruitful but none of which exist at the moment. And at the moment, I am charged with carrying out Captain Pike’s last order.” He met the helmsman’s gaze.
“Mister Sulu, plot a course for the Laurentian system, warp factor three.”
Kirk stood nearby, shaking his head vigorously. “Commander, I disagree, because—”
“Captain,” Spock corrected him, sharply this time. “Your opinion is duly noted, Mister Kirk—but my order stands.”
They locked eyes. The other officers on the bridge looked on uneasily. This was no time for a confrontation. Whatever actions they next embarked upon had to be carried out with some degree of unanimity. Those who knew something of Kirk expected him to explode—or at least to raise
his voice in an attempt to dominate verbally, if not logically. He did not.
“Captain. Spock. We’ve all been through a lot the last couple of days. You more than anyone. But I ask that you separate your feelings from—”
“I have,” Spock broke in. “You may rest assured on that point. Were I not to do so, I could not reasonably remain in command. And as you and I have both lost a parent to this creature, we must assure that our mission does not become a personal vendetta. Must I point out that while I have lost the bulk of my species I have acted and continue to act in a wholly rational and logical manner, whereas you—”
It was Kirk’s turn to interrupt. “We don’t have time for debate-team niceties! Every second we spend discussing alternatives, Nero’s getting closer to his next target and probably closer to extracting what he wants to know from Captain Pike!”
“Then we are in agreement,” Spock replied tightly. “No more time should be spent discussing alternatives. Therefore, I’m instructing you to accept that I alone am in command and that I alone am the one responsible for making the decisions that govern the actions and response of this vessel.”
Kirk responded with an entirely different argument. It bore all the hallmarks of rationality—but not of common sense.
“Not if the ship’s chief medical officer says you aren’t.”
McCoy stepped back in horror. “Oh crap—Jim, don’t do that.”
Spock’s gaze turned as hard as his voice. “Your attempt at subterfuge is insufficiently subtle to disguise your true intentions, Lieutenant. What you’re proposing is nothing less than mutiny. You will cease this course of action or suffer the consequen—”
“Under Regulation One-twenty-one,” Kirk declaimed coldly, “I’m citing you as being emotionally compromised and therefore unfit for continuing in the position of captain of a Federation vessel. As a replacement I propose…”
This time it was Spock who stepped forward. “Yet you’re the one acting emotionally, as I am certainly willing to have a board of inquiry determine. As of now you are relieved of duty—and now that I think of it, I am not at all certain you were ever formally placed on duty.
“Lieutenant Kirk,” Spock declared in the no-nonsense tones of command, “I gave you a direct order. Failure to comply is a court-martial offense!”
“Jim, please!” McCoy struggled to mollify as well as mediate. “He’s the captain!”
Kirk froze, staring blankly at the doctor. From the time they had met at school, McCoy had been his best friend. Maybe his only real friend. And now, when it mattered most, his closest friend wasn’t with him. He let his gaze sweep around the bridge. There was some sympathy in the eyes of his fellow officers, maybe even some understanding—but no support. He had chosen to cross a very dangerous line, and it was now clear that he had crossed it by himself.
He had chosen his own Rubicon but, unlike Caesar, had fallen off his horse and was rapidly being swept downstream.
Spock wasn’t finished. “If I confine you to the brig, you’ll likely escape. The very resourcefulness that makes you potentially a good officer now marks you as a threat, not only to this ship and to its continuing mission but to yourself. I can’t allow you to remain on this ship, where your zealous insubordination poses a danger and where your admitted powers of persuasion might inveigle the less secure into additional unwise actions.” He turned to his left.
“Mister Chekov, signal the bay to prepare transport for Mister Kirk. He will be transferred to a venue where he can utilize his talents to whatever degree he desires, but where he will not be able to adversely impact this vessel’s assignment. Mister Sulu, Mister Chekov—escort him out.”
Stepping forward, Sulu took Kirk’s elbow and pushed gently but firmly. The regret in his voice was genuine. “Sorry, man.”
“Yeah.” Kirk appeared to shrug it off. “Don’t worry abou—”
Whirling, he swung hard. Sulu ducked back, spun, and grabbed the wrist of the other man’s striking hand. Kirk hit Sulu with an elbow as Chekov reached for his sidearm. Wrenching forward, Kirk slammed into the younger man and sent the phaser spinning to the deck. The sidearm lay there, tempting the first fingers that could close around it. Kirk lunged in its direction—and collapsed, unconscious.
As swiftly and precisely as he had administered the nerve pinch, Spock stepped back. His expression had not changed and he was not breathing hard.
What had just occurred was merely one more in a series of disagreeable incidents that he had recently been compelled to deal with.
Under other circumstances, and in the presence of a good deal more illumination, Pike might have found his watery surroundings pleasant. The straps that held him in place atop the semisubmerged platform likewise contributed to a general sense of ill-being. The Romulans who were working to make certain he was secured and unable to move went about their business with the determined efficiency he had by now decided was a product of fanaticism and not fear. They respected their captain, were even in awe of him, but they were not afraid of him.
Nero watched attentively as his crew concluded the process. When they had finished their work, he approached the tightly bound prisoner and spent a moment staring down at him. Pike did his best to ignore the examination. Instead, he filled his mind with Mozart, though he doubted the anti-interrogation technique would be sufficient to save him from whatever was coming.
Expecting a blow, contemptuous spittle, or at least a tongue-lashing, he was taken aback by his captor’s almost apologetic tone.
“Captain Christopher Pike. An honor. Truly. I regret that the circumstances must be as they are.”
“Likewise.” Pike gazed determinedly at the dark ceiling as he played back the last movement of the Jupiter Symphony in his head. “Romulan.”
Nero sighed. “Centuries ago, before the Vulcan High Council decided to reveal themselves to the people of Earth in order to inform them that they were not alone in the universe, and to invite them into the Federation, we would occasionally observe your species from a distance.” He paused. “You are a more noble race than our deplorable fallen cousins.”
Pike let out a snort. “If that’s an attempt to drive a wedge between us, it’s a pretty feeble one.”
Nero smiled. “An understandable presumption on your part, but such is not my intent. I speak truly when I say that I feel that humankind is a more decent species than the Vulcans—the great majority of whom are now, thankfully, no more. Humans can feel, can suffer, can be aware of their surroundings on a level the forever ‘logical’ Vulcans cannot. In this you are closer to my kind than to them.”
“You’ll excuse me,” Pike muttered, “if at the moment I don’t feel any special kinship.”
Nero stiffened slightly. “I’ll take no pleasure in humanity’s extinction.”
“Your attempts to draw a link between our different species are growing progressively more feeble. Pardon me if I don’t feel reassured.”
“It’s not your fault,” Nero went on, “that Starfleet chose Earth for its headquarters and the Federation for its center, nor do I chastise you for your allegiance to your own. I find both it and you admirable. But despite this there is something I require from you and will obtain by whatever means necessary, in spite of my avowed admiration.”
“Let me guess,” Pike posited. “You want to know how to pick up females.”
Nero’s tone darkened. “Your impertinence does not serve you well, Captain. I expect that in a short while such attempts at humor will be halfhearted at best.” He leaned toward the pinioned prisoner. “You must have so many questions for me. I have only one for you. I need the subspace frequencies that alert Starfleet to hostile intrusion. Specifically those surrounding Earth.”
Pike’s voice grew faint and his expression distant. “It—it’s strange, but I—I find myself…” Nero and a couple of other attending officers leaned closer.
“…not remembering,” the Enterprise’s captain concluded. Fastened athwart the platform, he mana
ged to smile. “Recent events must have affected my memory. I’m afraid the information you’re asking for has completely and permanently fled my mind.”
Stepping back, the commander of the Narada gestured. Two crew members who had been standing in the shadows now advanced toward the platform and its pool. One of them was carrying a container; his companion, instruments. Pike tried not to look in their direction.
“Ambushing your opponent isn’t very noble,” he told Nero accusingly.
“True.” The Romulan nodded in agreement. “In this case it’s an act of mercy. I give you one last chance to recall the information I require.” He smiled thinly. “I strongly suggest you look hard into your ‘deteriorating’ memory.”
Pike turned away. “Christopher Pike, Captain, U.S.S. Enterprise. Registration NCC-1701.”
Nero’s tone hardened. “Christopher. Answer my question.”
“No. You answer for the genocide you just committed on a peaceful planet.”
“I prevented genocide.” Calming himself, the commander of the Narada continued. “Christopher, I chose a life of honest labor to provide for myself—and the wife who was carrying my child. I sit here now, knowing you as an enemy. Not just of today, but of tomorrow. I watched helplessly as your Federation,” he spat the word, “did nothing. They let us die, to the last man, woman, and child.”
Pike suddenly found himself more confused than fearful. “Then Nero, you’re mistaken. Romulus has not been destroyed. How can you blame the Federation for something that hasn’t happened?”
“It did happen. I remember it. I—felt it. When I lost her, I promised myself I would not speak another word until the day of my retribution. In twenty-five years I forgot the sound of my own voice. But I didn’t forget the pain. That feeling cannot be erased.” Unrepentant anger crept back into his voice. “A feeling that every surviving Vulcan now shares.”
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