by L. A. Graf
“When we returned to the Janus Gate against the Shechenag’s wishes,” Spock continued, “I calculated a significant probability that they would endeavor to regain control over the gate and, in so doing, interrupt Mr. Giotto’s contact with the device. If that occurred and Mr. Giotto was rendered unconscious or even killed, there would have been no other way to reestablish our link to Grex. It was an unfortunate weakness in our plan, and one which Commander Chekov identified without input from me.” He seemed to consider for a moment whether or not to go on. “Unfortunately, we had already determined that certain aspects of Commander Chekov’s personality made it impossible to use him as a focal point for the device. Our only recourse was to utilize Captain Sulu in that capacity. And in order for the device to work properly, Captain Sulu could not be informed of that in advance.”
Kirk didn’t know which part of the solution seemed most cruel, being the man who didn’t know [240] how his life was going to end, or being the man who knew he was going to end it.
“You must understand,” Spock said, with a gentleness Kirk didn’t think he’d ever heard in that voice before. “Captain Sulu and Commander Chekov were fully aware that your retrieval would result in the negation of the timeline representing the world they knew. Rescuing you from the past meant the end of their existence, regardless of how it was accomplished.” When Kirk said nothing in response, the Vulcan reached out and touched him lightly on the sleeve. “Jim, it was a future they would have done anything to prevent.”
And one of them did.
“But what if this wasn’t enough?” He looked up at his first officer, his hands curling tight around the rail at his waist. “What if I’m not enough? Spock, a man killed his best friend because he believed I could change the world. Is any one person really that important?”
One of the things he valued most about Spock was that he earnestly considered any question you asked him, no matter how unanswerable. “One person,” the Vulcan said at last, “perhaps not. But one event can change the course of history. And in the future they remembered, it was a single encounter with the Gorn which laid the foundation for the Federation’s destruction.” He met Kirk’s gaze without flinching. “As captain of the Enterprise, you will be the man who determines the outcome of that encounter.”
Kirk wasn’t sure he found that reassuring. He tried [241] to imagine Gary Mitchell as a starship commander—straightforward, hotheaded Gary Mitchell. He’d been a good man at heart, but Kirk also knew that Gary hadn’t been the sort of man to think about things too deeply. He didn’t doubt for a moment that Gary would kill an alien starship commander if he believed it was the only way to save his crew. But would Kirk really do anything so very different? Short of sacrificing his own ship and crew, what other choices would he have?
Kirk stared out at the Shechenag and their nearly completed array, although they weren’t the aliens he was thinking about. “So when we meet the Gorn at this planet called Cestus Three, all I have to do is figure out how not to irritate the Metrons—or, failing that, how to keep the Gorn commander alive when he’s doing his best to kill me.” He angled a wry grin up at Spock. “And I’ll have to do it all with no memory of anything we found out here, won’t I? With no idea what it means to the Federation if I fail.”
The Vulcan actually seemed a little flustered by the question. “I cannot answer that with any certainty.”
No data, of course. No other starship had been flung backward in time, then had to wait for the timeline to heal itself just to find out what they would or wouldn’t remember. Or maybe they had, and the lack of evidence only served to prove Kirk’s suspicions.
“Maybe it’s better if we don’t remember,” he said aloud, letting his science officer off the hook both in relation to his question and the horrible events that [242] had returned him to the Enterprise. “Maybe it isn’t good to know too much about the consequences of the decisions we make.” He tried on a resigned smile that probably looked as inauthentic as it felt. “Thank you, Mr. Spock. You’re dismissed.”
Spock merely lifted one eyebrow and dipped his own head in return. “You are welcome, Captain.” Then he backed gracefully to the door, and let himself out.
Kirk watched him leave, wondering if humans were as incomprehensible to Vulcans as Vulcans sometimes seemed to him. And wondering if Vulcans valued the friendships possible in such combinations, or merely viewed them as the unavoidable by-product of close association.
I have to be fair to the Gorn. He watched the Shechenag place the last link in their network, saw the gleaming cataract obscuring Tlaoli swell brighter and brighter. If I remember nothing else about these three days, I have to somehow remember that. He didn’t know who the Gorn were, or what they looked like, or how he could possibly alter the course of a future so terrible that men would kill people they loved in an effort to avoid it. But as the brilliant shell around Tlaoli spilled over into complete invisibility, he realized that there would be nothing here to see or find, nothing outside himself to remind him. It really would all come down to him, and how he responded to a single alien commander when he thought all other choices were gone.
[243] I have to be fair to the Gorn. No matter what happens, I have to be fair—
It was odd, Uhura reflected, but it felt as if it had been a long time since she’d been able to go to the rec room and eat a normal, leisurely meal.
She took her time at the menu panel, finally selecting a type of Basque seafood crepe that she had never tried before and a chocolate-hazelnut croissant for dessert. Then she spent almost as long deciding which kind of tea would best complement her dinner. It felt like a luxury just to be able to think about things as trivial as food, although if Uhura really cast her mind back, she couldn’t remember anything much more important happening during the past few days. Still, there was no telling what urgent mission the Enterprise might be sent on now that their three-day jaunt into the past had come to an end and they were resuming normal Starfleet duties. She decided to just enjoy the sense of tranquility while it lasted and not worry about the future.
As she paused to stir honey into her pot of silver-thread tea, Uhura noticed a young security guard fidgeting indecisively at the edge of the eating area, her own supper tray tucked under one arm. The young woman’s frank and cheerful face sparked a vague memory of having met her on some past landing party or other, and as she came up beside her, Uhura gave her a friendly nod of greeting.
[244] “Waiting for a table to open?” she asked, conversationally.
“Uh ... no, Lieutenant. Not exactly.” The security guard looked a little abashed, but only a little. “There’s a guy sitting all by himself over there,” she confided. “I was thinking I’d go sit with him, because I’m really sure I met him once, but I can’t remember his name.”
Uhura followed the direction of her glance to where a dark-haired young command ensign sat alone at the end of one table, gazing rather disconsolately down at his plate. “Oh, I know him,” she said. “Come on, I’ll pretend to introduce you and then if it turns out that he already knows you, we can all laugh about it.”
“All right.” The young woman followed her readily enough through the maze of tables. “My name’s Yuki Smith, sir. Just in case you weren’t sure.”
Uhura tossed a smile back over her shoulder. “I think I knew that ... but it never hurts to remind a senior officer who you are when you’re new on board.”
“That’s for sure,” Smith agreed. “I could have sworn Chief Giotto had me slated for the next landing party that went out, but he must have mixed me up with someone else, because the roster came out today and I’m on ship duty for the next three missions.”
The dark-haired ensign looked up in surprise when they halted beside him, pushing his chair back and starting to rise despite the fact that it looked as if he’d barely touched his dinner. “Do you need this table, sir? I can move—”
“But then we’d just have to follow you,” Uhura [245] replied, then laughed a
s his surprised look turned into something closer to alarm. “I came over to introduce you to someone I thought you’d like to meet. Yuki Smith, this is—”
She hadn’t realized, right up to the very second that she was about to say his name, that she didn’t actually know it. Of course, she knew it. For some reason it had just slipped off the tip of her tongue, the way words could do when you were very tired and sleepy. Although after three uneventful days of rest and recuperation from the Psi 2000 virus, right now Uhura didn’t even have that excuse to justify her inexplicable lapse.
Her training as a professional communications officer stood her in good stead, however. “I’m sorry,” she said to the young man, as gracefully as she would have apologized if she’d mistakenly used an Orion frequency to hail an Andorian vessel. “I know I should remember your name, but I just—forgot it.”
“It’s Chekov, sir. Pavel Chekov.” His Russian accent seemed familiar, and he returned Yuki Smith’s nod of greeting as if she were someone he already knew, but he eyed Uhura with real puzzlement. “I’m not sure why you should remember me, sir. I’m new on board, and I haven’t done a turn at communications duty.”
“Yet,” Uhura said, seating herself at the table with her supper. The more she thought about it, the less able she was to pin down why she’d been so sure she knew this young man. But even if she didn’t, it never hurt to let junior officers think that their seniors were keeping track of them at all times.
[246] A smiling Yuki Smith took the chair opposite Chekov and pointed at his dinner. “What’s that you’re eating? It looks interesting.”
“I’m not sure.” The young Russian glanced down at the spongy round of pan bread with its colorful heaps of pureed legumes and stewed meats. “It seemed like something I should try ... but now I’m not sure what parts of it are safe to eat.”
“Northern African stews can be pretty spicy,” Uhura agreed, as she dug into her seafood crepe. “I’d watch out for the red ones, if I were you. The yellow ones are probably milder.”
“How much milder?” he asked worriedly.
“Here, I can taste it for you and let you know if it’s okay.” Smith stuck the tip of her fork into one of the yellow stews and lifted a morsel to her lips. A moment later, her cheerful face turned bright red and she reached abruptly for her water glass. “Wow. If that’s mild, I’d hate to taste the hot ones.”
“Yes.” Chekov regarded his meal gloomily. “That’s what I was afraid of.”
A fourth chair squeaked against the decking, and Uhura glanced up to see Sulu plunk himself next to Chekov with all the familiarity of an old friend. “Hey,” the pilot said. “What’s good for dinner?”
“Not the North African platter,” Yuki Smith advised him. “Unless you’re really mad at the roof of your mouth. Sir,” the security guard added belatedly, as if she’d just noticed his rank.
Sulu glanced from her to Chekov, then across the [247] table at Uhura. She saw the same sudden lack of certainty in his dark eyes that she’d felt a moment before and took pity on him. “Lieutenant Sulu, I think you know Pavel Chekov and Yuki Smith.”
“I think so, too.” Was it Uhura’s imagination, or did Sulu sound just the slightest bit puzzled by that fact. “Aren’t you going to eat any of that food, Chekov?”
“No, sir.” An unexpected glint of humor flashed in the younger man’s eyes. “I’m just trying to decide whether to take it to the food disposal chute or a hazardous waste port.”
“Here, give it to me.” Sulu ripped off an edge of the spongy bread and scooped up some of the darkest red stew, making both Chekov and Smith wince in anticipation. But the pilot’s complexion never changed as he ate it. “So,” he said to Uhura around another mouthful. “I hear you’re having a dinner party for Riley?”
She nodded. “To make him feel a little better, after what happened back at Psi 2000.”
“I assume I’m invited since I made an idiot of myself back there, too. Who else is coming?”
Uhura glanced across the mess hall to where the ordinance and weapons officers had gathered for their meal. Two of them sat a small but significant space apart from the others. “Well, I was going to invite Angela Martine and Robbie Tomlinson, but apparently they have other plans.”
Sulu followed her gaze, his eyebrows lifting. “Huh. Since when have those two been an item?”
“I’m not sure,” Uhura admitted. “I hope they don’t [248] get in trouble for dating within the same department ... but they do make a cute couple.” Her eyes fell on a closer couple, one of whom was shyly offering the other half of her sandwich. “Are you two free for dinner tomorrow night?”
Chekov choked on his first bite, and Sulu had to lean over to thump the ensign between the shoulder blades before he could answer. While she was waiting, Uhura heard the scientific discussion at the table next to theirs rise to a heated pitch.
“—theoretically possible, Zap, but why are you even worrying about it?” said an exasperated Germanic voice. “I’ve never heard of any caves with those kinds of thermal gradients.”
“Well, geez, Jaeger, we’re on a five-year, deep-space mission here. You don’t think we might run into some kind of cave we’ve never seen before while we’re out here?”
“I’m sure we will. But I’m not going to waste my time trying to balance a thermodynamic equation for something that might not even exist. And even if it did, this ridiculous notion of endothermic energy storage—”
“I don’t know if I can come to your dinner party, sir,” Chekov said, when he’d finally regained his breath. “I mean ... I think I’m scheduled for a second-shift turn in astrophysics.”
“I know Lieutenant Boma pretty well,” Uhura assured him. “I think I can arrange a change in shift for you. Can you come, too, Yuki?”
[249] “I sure can. Thanks, Lieutenant.” The security guard caught sight of the wall chronometer and made a dismayed noise. “Speaking of shifts, I’m going to be late for mine in another minute. You can have the rest of my fries, too, Pavel. See you guys tomorrow!”
They waved her good-bye, then finished their meals in an oddly companionable silence. “I’m headed down for the gym,” Sulu said, as he rolled up the last rag of bread and popped it into his mouth. “You want to come along, Chekov?”
The Russian gave him a worried look. “You’re not going to practice fencing, are you, sir?”
“Not for a long time,” Sulu assured him emphatically. “I was just going to use the weights and punching bags.” He rose to his feet and gave the younger man a friendly tap on the shoulder. “Who knows, you might get lucky and have Captain Kirk ask you to be his sparring partner. It’s always good to catch the captain’s eye when you’re one of the new scuts on board. Otherwise you’ll never get picked for a landing party.”
“Knocking me down might make the captain remember me,” Chekov agreed, following Sulu toward the door. “But I don’t think it will get me any closer to a landing party. In fact, if I was the captain—”
Uhura finished the rest of her croissant in quiet and happy tranquility. The best part about serving on the Enterprise, she thought, was having so many good crewmates to work with that you were always meeting new ones even years into the mission. And wasn’t [250] it interesting how it sometimes seemed as if you had known them all along ...
“I’m glad someone’s happy around here,” said McCoy’s amused voice behind her, and Uhura realized with a little start of embarrassment that she had been humming one of her favorite songs beneath her breath. “If you listened to Spock, you’d think the entire galaxy was coming to an end.”
Uhura scooted aside politely to let the ship’s doctor and chief science officer sit down with their own dinners. It was typical of them, she thought, to share a meal even as they argued through one of their philosophical disagreements.
“I made no such statement, Doctor,” said the Vulcan, calmly. “I merely pointed out that we have no logical way of knowing if our three-day journey into the pas
t had any permanent effects on our future.”
“Well, I don’t feel any different than I did before we left Psi 2000,” McCoy retorted. “Do you, Lieutenant?”
Uhura considered that question for a moment. “A little more tired,” she decided, and saw the concerned look Dr. McCoy gave her. “I know, report to sickbay for a checkup,” she said before he could. “I will, sir, but I think it’s just the work we’ve all been doing. The last three days went past in such a blur ...”
“My point, precisely,” said Spock. “No one on the crew seems to have very clear memories of what we spent the last three days doing. I can only conclude that we have somehow merged with or been overlain by the versions of ourselves which already [251] existed in the timeline before we returned to it, whose memories do not include the duplicated period of time.”
“That doesn’t sound very logical to me,” McCoy retorted. “That other version of the Enterprise went to Psi 2000 and then got thrown back in time. It didn’t stick around to merge with us.”
“Not in our original timeline,” Spock agreed. “But if we created changes in the timeline while we were duplicating ourselves, it is possible that we altered our own future enough to slide into a parallel timestream where we did not go to Psi 2000—”
“Not according to my medical records, which still show that I had to give viral antitoxin to about two hundred crewmen infected with the Psi 2000 virus!” The doctor pointed across the table with his fork. “Face it, Spock. This is all just wishful thinking, because you want to have been right about the dangers of going back in time.”
The science officer arched a disdainful eyebrow. “Unlike you, Doctor, I do not attach emotional desires to my scientific hypotheses. I am merely attempting to explain certain anomalies that I have observed in the memories of the crew since we have returned to our proper place in time.”