“Spock,” T’Vora said. He blinked once, very deliberately, as though hearing her from far away and willing himself back into the moment.
“Master?” he said, turning from the view of the canyon to face her.
“You have accomplished much since arriving here,” she said. “I have especially noted your willingness to reveal that which you would see eliminated from your character.”
“How better to achieve my goal than by working actively toward it?” Spock asked. His voice carried no inflection or hint of emotion that suggested his question contained anything beyond the literal interpretation of his words.
“That is true,” T’Vora said, “but your efforts have been exceptional, and I commend you for them.”
Spock bowed his head in response. “Your approbation holds meaning for me,” he said.
“You have still more work to do in order to reach your ultimate destination,” T’Vora said. “From this point in your progress, I know where that effort should begin.”
“I am an apprentice under your tutelage,” Spock said. “I look to you for guidance.”
“As it should be,” T’Vora said. “During our bridges, Spock, during our attempts to explore and understand your emotional existence, I have perceived in you a strong sense of remorse.”
“My life has not been lived without shame,” Spock agreed.
“As well I know,” T’Vora reminded him. “We have contended with such issues in your journey so far. I speak not of that with which we have dealt, but of that with which we have not.” She paused, giving Spock a moment to respond. When he didn’t, she asked, “Do you know of what I speak?”
“I believe that I do,” Spock said.
“From the first time we approached the issues surrounding your physical death aboard the Enterprise to the reintegration of your katra at Mount Seleya, I have been aware of what seems to be a singular regret, though it has remained isolated within you,” T’Vora explained. “It seems to have existed before your death, and to have been exacerbated after your fal-tor-pan.”
“After the fal-tor-pan,” Spock repeated. “Yes. I know to what you refer. And it is a singular regret.”
T’Vora held her hand out, palm up, gesturing toward the ground. Spock at once adjusted his robes and lowered himself to his knees, folding his hands together before him. Facing him, T’Vora did the same. “Tell me,” she said.
Spock peered at her with his dark eyes, but he said nothing. The moments passed, the brilliant Vulcan sun tracking above them across the sky, the deep canyon snaking past them in both directions. T’Vora waited, understanding that what Spock would reveal had been a part of him for some time, and likely a profound wound that had never healed. T’Vora waited, and at last Spock began to tell her.
“I willfully violated a principle,” he said.
On the main viewscreen, the image of Hiram Roth appeared, the human easily recognizable by his bald pate and cropped white beard. “This is the president of the United Federation of Planets,” he announced.
Seated at the operations station on the port side of the Klingon bird of prey’s bridge, Spock noted the interference in the transmission that had been broadcast from Earth. Coupled with the lack of Federation vessels on assigned patrol stations and the number of overlapping distress calls that Uhura had intercepted, he deduced that some calamity had taken place in or around the Terran system. He did not have to wait long to have his suspicions confirmed.
“Do not approach Earth,” President Roth said. Admiral Kirk moved slowly away from where Uhura sat to starboard at the communications console, until he stood before the command chair in the center of the bridge. “The transmissions of an orbiting probe are causing critical damage to this planet.”
At his station, Spock quickly implemented a long-range scan.
“It has almost totally ionized our atmosphere,” the president continued. “All power sources have failed.”
On his console, Spock could see why. The probe itself appeared composed at least partially of energy, of a type Spock had never before seen. And although the nature of the probe’s transmissions pointed to their use as a form of communication and not as a weapon, the prodigious strength of the signals would readily disrupt other energy sources in their vicinity.
“All Earth-orbiting starships are powerless,” Roth said. “The probe is vaporizing our oceans.”
The oceans, Spock thought. He worked his controls, reexamining his scan, and saw that none of the probe’s transmissions focused on land.
“We cannot survive unless a way can be found to respond to the probe,” Roth went on. Clearly the authorities on Earth had also concluded that the probe had not intended its transmissions as an attack. “Further communications may not be possible.” Around the bridge, Spock saw, the crew seemed shaken: Sulu and Chekov at the forward helm and navigation stations, Uhura at communications, Dr. McCoy standing aft. As though stunned himself, Admiral Kirk gradually lowered himself into the command chair. “Save your energy. Save yourselves. Avoid the planet Earth at all costs. Farewell.” The president’s transmission shook from side to side, then degenerated into static.
In his chair, the admiral turned slowly around and peered over at the operations station. Spock returned his gaze. For a moment, Admiral Kirk raised his hand to his head, as though in pain. Then he looked to Uhura and quietly asked, “Can you let us hear the probe’s transmission?”
“Yes, sir,” Uhura said, also obviously affected by the threat to Earth. She touched a control, saying, “On speakers.”
Spock listened closely as a strange whine played through the bridge. It modulated upward and downward, and it seemed as though the sound might contain multiple components, like several stringed instruments playing at once. Although he could not decipher its meaning, the complex structure of the message suggested an equally complex mind behind it. It also put Spock in mind of the language of certain other beings.
Admiral Kirk stood and walked over to the operations station. “Spock, what do you make of that?” he asked, leaning against the front of the console.
“Most unusual,” Spock said, still listening to the peculiar sounds. “An unknown form of energy of great power and intelligence, evidently unaware that its transmissions are destructive. I find it illogical that its intentions should be hostile.”
“Really?” Dr. McCoy said. “You think this is its way of saying ‘Hi, there’ to the people of the Earth?”
“There are other forms of intelligence on Earth, Doctor,” Spock replied. “Only human arrogance would assume the message must be meant for man.”
“You’re suggesting the transmission is meant for a life-form other than man,” Admiral Kirk said.
“At least a possibility, Admiral,” Spock said, thinking of the beings of whom he had just been reminded. “The president did say it was directed at Earth’s oceans.”
The admiral seemed to consider this. He straightened, then walked across the width of the bridge to the communications stations. “Uhura,” he said, “can you modify the probe’s signals, accounting for density and temperature and salinity factors?” He had clearly understood what Spock had implied.
“I can try, sir,” Uhura said. As she began working her controls, Spock stood and joined the admiral at the communications station. Dr. McCoy followed as well. In response to Uhura’s manipulations of the signal, the sound of the transmission changed in stages. At last, she said, “I think I have it, sir.”
“And this is what it would sound like underwater?” the admiral asked.
“Yes, sir,” Uhura said.
To Spock, the sound now resembled a single voice, and one which he thought he recognized. “Fascinating,” he said. “If my suspicion is correct, there can be no response to this message.” Knowing that he would need to check his hypothesis, he excused himself and started toward the door at the back of the bridge, headed for the library-computer compartment located amidships. Fortunately, Spock and Uhura had uploaded a Federation
database to the Klingon vessel before they’d begun their flight from Vulcan to Earth.
“Where are you going?” the admiral asked.
“To test my theory,” Spock responded. As he headed down the main dorsal corridor of the bird of prey, he heard Admiral Kirk and Dr. McCoy follow behind him. When he reached the library-computer compartment, he immediately instituted a search of the Terran zoological database, cross-referencing the audio of the probe’s transmission as adjusted by Commander Uhura. The admiral and the doctor arrived a moment later and looked on as the computer hunted through the database, images of various Earth animals appearing on a row of displays mounted high on one bulkhead. It stopped when it reached the species Megaptera novaeangliae.
“Spock?” the admiral asked.
“As suspected,” Spock said. “The probe’s transmissions are the songs sung by whales.”
“Whales,” Kirk repeated, a measure of surprise in his voice.
“Specifically, humpback whales,” Spock said.
“That’s crazy,” McCoy said. “Who would send a probe hundreds of light-years to talk to a whale?” The question seemed to Spock both supercilious and scientifically careless, though space had been so well explored in the region surrounding Earth that the probe likely had come at least as far as the doctor had suggested.
“It’s possible,” the admiral said. “Whales have been on Earth far earlier than man.”
“Ten million years earlier,” Spock noted. “And humpbacks were heavily hunted by man. They’ve been extinct since the twenty-first century. It is possible that an alien intelligence sent the probe to determine why they lost contact.”
“My god,” McCoy said. Spock assumed that the contempt he heard in the doctor’s voice had been meant for those who would not only kill animals for no good reason, but also cause the extinction of an entire species.
“Spock,” the admiral said, “could the humpbacks’ answer to this call be simulated?”
“The sounds, but not the language,” Spock said. Though the intelligence of Terran cetaceans had long been widely suggested, no interpretation of their vocalizations had ever been accomplished. “We would be responding in gibberish.”
“Does the species exist on any other planet?” Admiral Kirk asked.
“Negative. Humpbacks were indigenous to Earth,” Spock said, and then formulating a possible plan of action, he added, “Earth of the past.”
“Well,” the admiral said with obvious reluctance, “we have no choice. We must destroy the probe before it destroys Earth.”
“To attempt to do so would be futile, Admiral,” Spock said, recalling the nature of the probe’s energy and its effect on other power sources. “The probe could render us neutral easily.”
“We can’t just turn away,” Kirk said. “There must be an alternative.”
Spock did not hesitate. “There is one possibility, but of course I cannot guarantee success,” he said. “We could attempt to find some humpback whales.”
“You just said there aren’t any,” said McCoy, “except on Earth of the past.”
“Yes, Doctor, that is exactly what I said.” Already Spock could see that the admiral understood the nature of his proposal.
“Well, in that case,” McCoy began, but then he too realized what Spock advised. “Now wait just a damn minute,” he said, but the admiral had already made his decision.
“Spock,” he said, “start your computations for time warp.”
T’Vora regarded Spock as he stopped speaking, each of them still kneeling along the rim of the Akrelt Canyon. She recognized the circumstances surrounding the scene that he had just described, recalling the reports of the alien probe that had threatened the humanoid population of Earth. She also remembered how the potential disaster had been averted: Admiral Kirk and the former command crew of the Enterprise, including Spock, had traveled three centuries back in time and brought two humpback whales—a male and a gravid female—back to the present. Once back in Earth’s oceans, the whales had evidently communicated with the probe, at which point it had ceased its destructive transmissions and departed the Terran system. But for all of that, T’Vora didn’t understand the reason Spock had related the events he had.
“It is unclear to me why you have told me this,” she said.
“It was I who recommended to Admiral Kirk that we go back to Earth’s past,” Spock said. “It was I who counseled that we bring humpback whales forward in time.”
“Your story made that clear, Spock,” T’Vora said.
“The principle I violated is that which states that one should never alter a timeline,” Spock said.
“But does one not do that each instant of their existence,” T’Vora said, “by virtue of every decision they make, every action they take?”
“I refer not to the present, but to the past,” Spock said. “I refer to timelines already in existence.”
T’Vora knew almost nothing about time travel and she told Spock so.
“It is believed that the flow of time constitutes a complex natural system,” he explained, “but one that is sensitively dependent on initial conditions. In physics and mathematics, this is known as chaos theory. In common parlance, it is often called the butterfly effect, an appellation taken from an illustration of the theory. On a planet such as Vulcan, the flapping of a butterfly’s wings will change the state of the atmosphere, and the subsequent evolution of weather systems will diverge significantly from what it otherwise would have been had the butterfly not flapped its wings. Where perhaps clear skies would have prevailed, instead a cyclone will form.”
“I understand,” T’Vora said.
“In actual instances of time travel,” Spock said, “it has been found that it typically requires a more significant event than the flapping of a butterfly’s wings in order to effect an alteration in a timeline. Still, it has proven impossible to predict what will change history and what will not, or how a change will propagate through the ensuing years.”
“But the concern is that by traveling back in time,” T’Vora said, “it is possible to inadvertently alter the future.”
“That is correct,” Spock said. “The principle I advised Admiral Kirk to violate, and that I myself took part in violating, is one espoused by Starfleet, the Vulcan Science Academy, and all major scientific institutions within the Federation. It is also one in which I personally believe.”
“But clearly your actions in retrieving the whales did not alter the timeline,” T’Vora said.
“In actuality, they did,” Spock said. “In the original timeline, those two whales were not transported aboard a Klingon vessel and taken three hundred years into their future because, for one thing, Admiral Kirk and myself and the rest of the crew had not even been born yet. The very fact of our presence in that time necessarily altered the timeline. The reason this does not seem to be the case is simply because no significant changes appear to have occurred.”
T’Vora considered this. “Your actions did change the present, though,” she said. “After you returned with the whales, the people of Earth were spared a catastrophe. Is that not sufficient justification for your actions, to have saved the lives of billions?”
“Would the Romulan Praetor think so?” Spock asked. “Perhaps a future war between the Empire and the Federation that would have produced a Romulan victory will now produce a Romulan defeat.” Spock peered out across the canyon, the reserve he had cultivated in his time at the Refuge in obvious danger of slipping. When he looked back at T’Vora, she saw agitation in his expression and understood the enormity of the situation to him. “I am uncomfortable,” he said, “with the notion that my action in violating a principle is justifiable because I approve of the outcome.”
“Yes,” T’Vora agreed. “I can understand that. But I would submit to you, Spock, that individuals can err, and that when such an error can result in the saving of billions of lives, it is perhaps far more understandable for that error to occur. As an isolated incident, I
think that you may be according it too much weight.”
“It is not an isolated incident,” Spock said gravely. “Prior to that, I had willfully altered the past, and not for the purpose of saving billions of lives, but for my own personal gain.”
The confession startled T’Vora, and only a lifetime of practiced emotional control prevented her from reacting visibly. After a moment, though, the unexpectedness of the revelation drove her to move. She parted her hands and rose to her feet. Spock followed her lead and did the same.
“Walk with me,” she said, and she started along the path that traced the edge of the canyon. When Spock joined her at her side, she repeated to him what she had said earlier: “Tell me.”
And Spock did. “There was an artifact,” he began.
As the Guardian of Forever released him from its hold, having pulled him from thousands of years in the past and back to the present, Spock considered with satisfaction how successful the mission had been. When the Enterprise had initially been ordered on this assignment, he had grown concerned. In light of the events Captain Kirk had endured on their first visit here, Spock had feared for his friend’s emotional well-being. As it had turned out, the captain had so far seemed to cope well with the circumstances.
For this mission, Captain Kirk, Dr. McCoy, Lieutenant Bates, and Spock had all been assigned to assist a team of annalists investigating Federation history via the Guardian. All four Enterprise crew members had been part of the contingent that had discovered the time vortex two years ago, and they had therefore been granted exclusive authority by Starfleet Command to actually travel into the past. No other individuals, not even the historians, had ever been permitted to pass through the temporal gateway.
In the days after the crew had originally encountered the strange and powerful artifact, the Enterprise had been relieved at the planet by the U.S.S. Appomattox, which had arrived to provide the military presence that Captain Kirk had recommended to Starfleet Command. After that, multiple efforts had been made to construct a research facility on the planet’s surface. All such attempts had failed, the result of violent earthquakes that some suspected had been caused by the Guardian itself, though it would neither confirm nor deny any such explanation. Eventually, a research station, Einstein, had been built in orbit.
The Fire and the Rose Page 23