The Fire and the Rose

by David R. George III

  “And emotional,” Sarek added. “But not inferior to you or to me or to any Vulcan. Only different.”

  “Father,” Spock said, “I did not mean to imply that mother is inferior to anybody.”

  “Again, your intentions do not alter the facts of how your mother perceived your comments,” Sarek said. “And, I must say, how I interpreted them as well.”

  Spock nodded. “Yes,” he said. “I will apologize to her.”

  “As you should,” Sarek agreed. “But I also think that you should go. The choice you have made has been hard on your mother. In all the time you were gone, she was concerned for you. Now that you are here and she sees that you are safe, she has the freedom to feel the pain of losing you.”

  “She has not ‘lost’ me,” Spock said. “But she wants me to be something that I am not.”

  “She wants you to be something you were,” Sarek said.

  Spock shook his head from side to side, as though unable to make sense of Sarek’s words or his mother’s actions. “Illogical,” he finally said.

  “But nevertheless true,” Sarek told him.

  “Yes,” Spock said, and then he rose from his chair. “I will apologize to my mother. Then I will leave.”

  “Let us know where you go,” Sarek said, also standing. “Your mother will continue to be concerned about you.”

  “Of course,” Spock said. He pushed his chair back in, then rounded the table and left through the same door as Amanda had. A moment later, Sarek heard Spock going up the stairs.

  Sarek sat back down at the table, though he did not continue eating. He would wait until Spock had spoken with his mother and then departed. Then Sarek would go upstairs and console his wife.

  Spock stood in his third-story lab on the T’Paal campus of the Vulcan Science Academy. A door in one short wall led into the corridor, while a window opposite peered from the outskirts of the city toward the gleaming skyline of the urban center. A long display screen lined one side wall, while the other contained a narrower display and a door that connected to Spock’s office. A table presently strewn with data slates occupied the center of the lab, beside a computer terminal that connected directly to the many VSA research databases located across the planet.

  Spock gazed steadily at the end of the long display, at the final set of the hundreds of equations handwritten—along with copious amounts of text—in multiple columns across its entire length. He stood with his arms folded over his chest and a stylus clutched in one hand. “I am uncertain how to interpret this result,” he said.

  “From an applied perspective,” said Dr. Vorant, “it does not appear valid.” Two decades younger than Spock, with dark skin and dark eyes, the mathematician had come here at his request. Now, she stepped forward from beside Spock and pointed at several symbols on the display. “For this summation to approach infinity when this variable approaches one is not only counterintuitive, it appears to contradict the laws of the physical universe.”

  “That is how I read these final equations as well,” Spock said. “The difficulty with that interpretation is that I have verified my calculations and reasoning six separate times.” He motioned down the span of the display, all of it covered with a portion of the complex mathematics that he had developed over the course of the past two seasons.

  Dr. Vorant paced away from him along the wall, peering at the equations. As she did, she raised a finger to her lips, a habit Spock had noticed during other encounters with her. “Manifold substantiations of a proof do not preclude an error having been made and overlooked,” she said. “This is particularly true when the substantiations are performed by the same individual who wrote the proof.”

  “Of course,” Spock said. “In this case, though, not only have I confirmed my result numerous times, I have also employed two completely distinct methodologies to achieve that result.”

  Vorant faced him from the far end of the lab. “Distinct methodologies?” she said. “From the start of your calculations?”

  “Yes,” Spock said.

  “And for how much of the proof?” Vorant wanted to know.

  Spock moved forward and reached for the controls at the corner of the display. He tapped a button to bring up a different screen. “This,” Spock said after the display had blinked and redrawn with different information, “is the beginning of the proof utilizing the first methodology.”

  Vorant stepped back and studied the display. After a few moments, she said, “All right.”

  Spock worked the controls again, and once more the contents of the screen changed. “This is the beginning of the second proof.”

  Vorant scrutinized the display. “Yes,” she said at last. “I can see that you’ve proceeded from totally disparate starting points, utilizing totally different tactics.”

  “The proofs also remain distinct through thirty-nine screens of one and forty-three screens of the other,” Spock said. “The final eight screens are fundamentally the same.”

  “That would strongly suggest that, if there is an error, it would likely be found in those last screens, where the two proofs converge,” Vorant said.

  “Normally I would agree,” Spock said. “In this case, though, the final eight screens contain the steps least complex, most straightforward, and easiest to validate.”

  “Obviously you require an independent observer to certify your result,” Vorant said, walking back across the lab toward Spock. “Or to find the flaw in your calculations.”

  “That is why I requested you to come here,” Spock said. “Would you be willing to provide such an evaluation for me?”

  Vorant glanced back at the display. “Not right now,” she said. “Not for this amount of work. I’m currently developing a solution for Valtuperan n-spaces. But if you are willing to wait for approximately three weeks, I will be able to examine your proofs then.”

  “That will be sufficient,” Spock said. Although he’d been conducting research at the VSA in T’Paal for less than a Standard year, he’d already gained enough familiarity with the mathematics faculty to judge Dr. Vorant the most skilled among them. He would prefer to wait for her assistance than to immediately obtain somebody else’s.

  “Very well, then,” Vorant said. “When I have completed my own work, I will contact you to obtain copies of the proofs.”

  After Vorant had gone, Spock redisplayed the last page of his proofs and again inspected the result. He understood that, even with his repeated checks and separate methodologies, he might well have committed an error—or errors—somewhere within his calculations, but he also thought it possible that he simply failed to understand how to properly interpret the result. Still, as he stood and studied the final set of equations, he could see no way to reconcile them from a practical standpoint. There seemed no reasonable way to give credence to an infinite amount of energy accumulating at a single point in space-time.

  As afternoon faded toward evening, Spock remained in his lab and continued to ponder the issue. When through the window he saw the shadows growing longer on the ground, the last of the day beginning to fade, he deactivated the display and went into his neighboring office. From atop his desk, he retrieved his personal data slate, on which he had already downloaded his work. He then left the building and headed for his apartment.

  As Spock strode from the campus and onto the pedestrian thoroughfares of T’Paal that surrounded it, the question of how to unravel the meaning of his result remained at the forefront of his mind. It took thirty minutes for him to traverse the two and a half kilometers to the low-rise building in which he resided, during which time he had made no progress with the problem. Once he had climbed the stairs and arrived at his second-floor apartment, he opted to put it out of his mind for the time being.

  Entering his one-room unit, Spock set down his data slate on a shelf beside the front door, then crossed past his bed to the alcove that served as a kitchen. He prepared for himself a bowl of plomeek soup. As he sat down at a small table to eat, he activated th
e display mounted on a nearby wall, setting it to the Vulcan comnet so that he could learn of the day’s events.

  After supper, Spock laid out a mat at the foot of his bed, placing a candle to each side. He then lighted an incense pack inside a glass diffuser. Kneeling, he breathed in the subtle, dry scents of the desert and began his evening meditation.

  Several hours later, his mind clear and freshly centered, Spock snuffed the candles and readied himself for slumber. He changed into his nightclothes and performed his ablutions before settling into bed. In the darkness, with his eyes closed and his mind at peace, as he began to drift to sleep, a new thought suddenly occurred to him.

  Rousing himself, Spock turned on a light and crossed the room to pick up his data slate. He took it to the table and sat down, then called up the end result of his calculations. His interpretation, as well as Vorant’s, had led them to conclude that, under the conditions Spock had theorized, an infinite amount of energy would occupy a single point in space-time defined by a set of chronitons and chronometric particles, clearly an impossibility. But Spock now wondered if his final equations could be describing two identical points in space-time, two sets of chronitons and chronometric particles that precisely matched each other. If some form of connection existed between those two points-

  Spock pulled the stylus from its magnetic seating atop the data slate and began making notes on the screen. Once he’d codified his thoughts, he worked through a series of supporting computations. Two hours later, he had delineated preliminary verification of the new interpretation of his result. Rather than having infinite energy at a single point in space-time, two identical points connected to each other in some physical way—say, via a subspace tunnel—would allow the infinite energy to converge across the infinite number of points along that connection. It would mean the complete annihilation of everything between the two matching sets of temporal particles, but it remained consistent with the laws of physics. Although Spock saw no practical means of setting up such a set of circumstances, that did not detract from his conclusion.

  His proof would still need to be authenticated, but with his revised view of his result and the new calculation to support it, Spock didn’t believe that would present any difficulties. Satisfied with his work, he deactivated the data slate and returned to bed. Within minutes, he fell into a dreamless sleep.

  Twenty-Five

  2298

  McCoy walked through the narrow corridor, surprised to find himself nervous as-

  Nervous as a bridegroom, he thought with a chuckle. He couldn’t deny that his palms felt sweaty and that a hollow tingle danced in his stomach. As ridiculous as that seemed to him, he supposed it made sense. He hadn’t seen Spock in five years, since the day of Jim’s memorial service at Starfleet Academy, since they’d walked along the farm where their friend had grown up.

  Thinking of Jim immediately dampened McCoy’s spirit. He’d been gone five years now, and sometimes that fact still didn’t seem real. McCoy wished that the invitation he’d come to personally deliver to Spock, he could also have given to Jim.

  He arrived at the correct door and looked for a signal beside it. When he didn’t see one, he reached up and knocked. While he waited for a response, McCoy peered up and down the corridor. The modesty of the surroundings surprised McCoy, though he didn’t quite know why. Perhaps he felt that way because Spock’s apartment in San Francisco, while hardly luxurious, had at least been in a nicer, more modern building than this.

  Before him, the door swung open. Spock stood there in dark slacks and a gray shirt. “Doctor McCoy,” he said. Although Spock had used his title in addressing him for all those years, it now suddenly sounded absurd to McCoy.

  “You know what, Spock,” he said. “We’ve known each other for more than thirty years and your katra’s even spent time in my noggin.” He tapped at his temple. “I think it’s time you started calling me Leonard.”

  Spock gazed at him without any visible reaction. “What can I do for you?” he asked. His voice possessed a cold, detached character, one McCoy recognized from when they’d all gone back to the Enterprise during the V’Ger incident.

  “Well, to begin with, how about you invite me inside?” McCoy said, keeping his tone light. When they’d all returned to the Enterprise back then, Spock had just undergone the Kolinahr discipline. Four years ago, Spock had contacted him to reveal that he’d returned to Vulcan for the same purpose, and when McCoy had gotten in touch with Sarek a few weeks ago, the ambassador had confirmed that his son had now completed the training. But even if Sarek hadn’t said anything about it, McCoy would’ve been able to identify that fact simply from Spock’s manner.

  Now, Spock stepped aside to allow him entry, though with less than a welcoming air. Several biting comments occurred to McCoy, but he said none of them. He hadn’t come all the way from Earth to trade gibes with Spock or to offer observations about the Vulcan way of life. He’d come because, even after their recent lack of communication, McCoy still considered Spock his closest friend.

  McCoy walked into the apartment and across the room. Again he found himself surprised. A kitchen nook and a refresher opened off the single, small room that had few adornments beyond a bed, dresser, and table. McCoy saw a number of candles on a shelf, what appeared to be an incense diffuser, and a couple of Vulcan idols. “I love what you’ve done with the place,” he joked, unable to stop himself. When he turned to look at Spock and saw his stern countenance, though, he regretted saying it.

  “Have you come for a reason, Doctor?” Spock said. The question sounded more like an invitation to leave than to stay. Spock hadn’t even closed the door.

  It’s good to see you too, Spock, McCoy thought, but he chose instead to ignore his friend’s completely stoic demeanor. “Actually, I have come for a reason,” he said. “A couple of reasons, in fact. First, I wanted to tell you something I didn’t get a chance to say the last time we talked.” He paused, but Spock said nothing. “The advice you gave me about going to Uhura at Starfleet Intelligence for your tricorder readings of the Guardian… I did that, and she got me the access I needed. I reviewed the recordings and… well, it helped me a lot, Spock. I mean, it really changed my life for the better, and I wanted to thank you for that.”

  Spock said nothing, reacted in no way at all. When McCoy waited, though, he finally said, “You are welcome, Doctor.”

  McCoy thought back to his reunion aboard the Enterprise with Jim and Spock and the rest of the crew during the V’Ger incident, and he recalled just how distant and aloof the Vulcan had been when he’d first come aboard. As best McCoy had been able to tell, that had been a direct result of Spock’s Kolinahr, and he could only assume the same here. Back on the ship, though, Spock had eventually thawed, and McCoy hoped that would happen this time as well.

  “There is something else?” Spock asked.

  “Yeah, there is,” McCoy said. He felt very uncomfortable, particularly with Spock standing beside the still open door. “I’m getting married.”

  Once more, Spock did not react.

  “In some ways, I have you to thank for that as well, Spock,” McCoy said. “After I reviewed the recordings, I was able to rid myself of the terrible dreams I’d been having, and also really deal with a lot of personal issues. My life is a lot better now because of that.” He waited a moment for Spock to reply in some way, but it had become clear that the Vulcan would remain taciturn. “Anyway,” McCoy went on, “I came all this way from Earth because I wanted to ask you to be my best man.”

  At last, Spock’s mien changed, one of his eyebrows lifting. “’Best man,’” Spock echoed. “That is a position occupied during a human wedding ceremony?”

  “Well, not all human wedding ceremonies,” McCoy said. “There are a lot of different traditions. This is one I like. A best man or best woman stands with a groom during the ceremony and is usually responsible for a number of other items, such as holding the bride’s wedding ring and offering a toast to the newly
married couple.” McCoy took a step closer to Spock, wanting to emphasize his next words. “The best man is also typically the groom’s best friend.”

  Despite the extreme reticence Spock had already demonstrated, McCoy expected him to respond to the declaration of friendship. After a moment he did, but not in the way that McCoy had anticipated. “Doctor,” he said, “I think that you would be better served by selecting somebody else as your ‘best man.’”

  In all the years that they’d traded taunting remarks with each other, that they’d argued both for argument’s sake and about real and important issues, McCoy couldn’t recall ever having been intentionally hurt by Spock. It felt like that now. “Is that your real reaction?” he said. “Or am I just out of practice when it comes to our usual banter?”

  “Doctor, as with you, my life has changed since last we spoke,” Spock said. “I have attained the Kolinahr. For that reason, I do not believe that I would be well suited to take on the role of ‘best man’ for you. Nor do I wish to take on such a role.”

  McCoy felt deeply wounded. “Spock, I… I don’t know what to say,” he admitted. “I know we’ve had our differences, but I always thought… I always thought we were friends.”

  Without altering his expression at all, Spock said, “We were.”

  The past tense told McCoy all that he needed to know. “I guess that’s the answer then,” he said. “Sorry to disturb you.” He walked back across the room and out into the corridor. He turned back, though, stopping the door with the flat of his hand as Spock closed it behind him. He peered at his old friend—his former friend, he supposed—and said, “Have a happy life, Mister Spock.” Then he turned and left.

  Near the center of the busy reception hall, a cluster of dignitaries surrounded Sarek and Amanda. Observing from one side of the large high-ceilinged room, Spock recognized among the group the Gorlan, Tellarite, and Vian ambassadors, as well as several noted scientists from various worlds. He watched for any indications of conflict between his father and Ambassador Gorv, aware that tensions often ran hot between Vulcan and Tellarite officials, but he saw none.