“It is not these things that have brought you back to Vulcan, back here to my chambers?” T’Sai asked.
“That is quite correct,” Spock said.
“Speak, Spock, and I will hear your words. Although whether I have any answers for you remains to be seen.”
Spock acknowledged the old master’s words with a slight nod of his head. He knew that this was more than politeness on her part, more than mere curiosity as to what he might have to say.
“The fact that I am half human has been a concern of mine since I was a small boy. I have always embraced my Vulcan half, denying my human heritage. I have striven to accept all of Sarek’s teachings in all things. But in doing so, I denied the principle of IDIC. I set aside my own . . . diversity.
“I believe it was my connection to humanity that allowed my Vulcan half to link with the V’Ger entity. Whether this is true I do not know, nor will I ever. Nevertheless, when I first felt V’Ger’s presence, no one could have been more unprepared than I. It was a most curious sensation. I suddenly felt afraid—not for myself, but for Earth, and for her people.”
Spock hesitated for a moment, as though unsure whether to continue, his eyes cast toward the flames that danced and twisted in the fire pit.
“Once the Enterprise was inside the cloud, I mind-melded with V’Ger. I expected to encounter a totally alien mind, implacable and unfathomable. But what I discovered was a kindred spirit: a being who was unsure of what it was—it lacked both identity and direction. V’Ger was a machine that had no choice other than to be a machine. However, I am free to choose, to experience friendship, love, and companionship.
“For many years I have ignored the wisdom of my mother, who wanted me to embrace everything I am. I chose to listen to the council of my father, to follow the teachings of Surak.
“Since my joining with V’Ger, I have begun to question whether I have been wrong all these years, if I should have also embraced my human ancestry, as my mother would have had me do.
“V’Ger asked, ‘Is this it? Is this all that I am?’ Its answer was a resounding yes. I too have found my answer there.”
There was a long moment of silence as Master T’Sai considered Spock’s words. The light from the flames sparkled in her eyes as she stared across the fire toward him.
“I cannot begin to understand this conflict that rages within you. As a Vulcan, I find the idea of untempered emotion to be abhorrent. Our ancestors did away with emotions. Many would consider what you are suggesting an unwanted reminder of a much darker, brutal time.
“In all the years I have watched you, Spock, you have carried yourself with great dignity and fortitude. You have the potential to be more than what you are. I have no comparisons to go by, but it would be illogical for you to pursue just the one aspect of your ancestry.”
The master stared at Spock for a moment, her long, bony fingers templed together in quiet contemplation.
“There is only one question that must be asked,” T’Sai said at last. “Since your encounter with V’Ger, what do you consider yourself to be?”
Spock’s voice was strong and clear as he replied, “I am more than Vulcan.”
• • •
Standing in the warmth of midday, the waves of heat radiating off the roof terrace, he felt comfortable, familiar. He was Vulcan, and this was his home. He may feel the burning fires of the Pon farr coursing through his body every seven years, but he also found the compulsion, the need, for friendship equally. Serving on the Enterprise had opened Spock’s eyes to the importance of both the mental and the physical. It was not something he had expected. As a consequence, he had not understood how important both interactions were. It wasn’t until after he had left the Enterprise that he felt its absence.
“If it had not been V’Ger, my son, it would have been something else.”
Sarek’s words had been expertly timed; it was as though he had been reading Spock’s mind.
Spock allowed the older Vulcan to get closer before speaking. “You anticipated this?”
“It was only logical that by serving in Starfleet your human half would be awakened,” Sarek replied. “You were living and working among them.”
“I must congratulate your powers of deduction. I admit that it was not a situation that I had even entertained,” Spock said.
“You forget, I know only too well how tempting the allure of the human spirit can be.”
Spock waited for Sarek to extrapolate further but was disappointed when his father remained silent.
“The Kolinahr ritual—”
“Was not for you, my son,” Sarek finished the sentence for him. “It is not for everyone.”
“Master T’Sai told me that you were unsuccessful,” Spock said.
Sarek fixed Spock with an unblinking gaze. “Did she also tell you why I failed?”
“She did not, and I did not feel it prudent to ask,” Spock explained.
“I do not consider the matter to be a private one,” Sarek assured him. “I had thought the idea of a complete purging of emotions worth striving for. However, once I started . . . I realized I could not continue.”
“Do you believe that you made the correct choice?” Spock asked.
“I do,” Sarek said. “I was sent to Earth, perhaps to show me the error of my choice—I was never told. I met and married Amanda; without her my life would be far less satisfying.”
Sarek raised his hand in the traditional salute—fingers together to form a V. Spock mirrored the salute.
Sarek lowered his hand, stepping closer to his son. “I did not agree with your decision to join Starfleet. But I have always believed Starfleet to be a fine organization. And my son is the first officer assigned to its flagship.” Sarek paused, unable or unwilling to proceed.
“Thank you, Father.”
Sarek nodded. “One does not thank logic.”
“No, sir, one does not.”
“Is there a message you wish me to give to your mother?”
Spock considered the question for a minute, then said, “Tell her, ‘Thank you.’ ”
Sarek inclined his head to indicate his understanding, then turned and disappeared back into the house.
IOWA
Aunt Hanna told Kirk that a message was waiting for him when he got back to the house. She ushered him toward a small home office in the former pantry at the end of the hall.
“You know I don’t have much to do with these things,” she said as they entered the office.
Kirk saw that it was a prerecorded message sent from New Berlin colony.
“It’s from Carol,” Kirk told her.
“Is something up with David?” Hanna asked.
“No, nothing’s wrong. Carol sends me messages from time to time, letting me know how David’s getting on, sending me pictures so I can see how much he’s grown.”
“That’s sweet.”
“I guess I should consider myself fortunate. Even from a distance, I get to see my son growing up. That’s something Sam will never get to do.”
“That’s true. You gonna play it?”
“Yes.”
“Well, don’t be too long. There’s a storm on its way, and the station sometimes shuts itself down if there’s lightning in the air.”
“I’ll watch it in a minute.”
That was over three hours ago.
Now here he was, sitting in the attic in the center of a pile of boxes, pulling out various items from his past in a vain attempt to put off what he knew he should do. His boxes held no answers on how to reach his nephew; he wouldn’t find Sam in them telling him what to do.
No, he needed to focus.
With a sigh, Kirk dragged himself untidily to his feet.
The boxes were pushed back into the alcove under the eaves one by one. Kirk then made his way back down the steps.
How old is David now, anyway? Ten? Eleven?
He tried to think back, to remember when he and Carol had first started dating. Not that Carol would have called it that.
“You call this ‘dating,’ Jim?” she had said to him once. “Not seeing a girl for months on end and then suddenly dropping onto her doorstep unannounced with a bottle of Romulan ale and a lascivious smile?”
Thinking about it, it was two years before he took command of the Enterprise, so that would make David ten years old.
Had it really been a decade already?
Slowly, Kirk padded down the stairs to the hallway and to the office, then pulled the door shut. The comm was old, like the rest of the farmhouse, and Kirk barely remembered how to activate it.
The panel trilled softly and the screen flashed up: “Message Waiting.”
“Please state identification,” the comm asked.
“James T. Kirk, admiral, Starfleet,” Kirk told it.
“Please stand by.”
The words on the screen changed from “Message Waiting” to “Transmit.” It stayed like that for a while.
For a brief second, guilt almost got the better of him as Kirk had a sudden overwhelming urge to reach forward and switch the comm off. He probably would have if Carol hadn’t finally appeared, a data slate cradled in one hand.
She was smiling, a good sign.
“Well, well, if it isn’t the wanderer himself, James T. Kirk. Hey, Jim, just a quick message to keep you updated on how David is getting along. Well, what to tell you . . .”
She paused, blowing out her cheeks in exasperation as she attempted to put her thoughts in order.
“Well, first off, Cal-Tech Prep has accepted David’s application. Did I tell you he was applying in my last message? I’m pretty sure I did. Anyway, he applied last month and they’ve accepted him. Two years before he starts. He’ll have to keep his grades up. But for—” Carol paused, then shook her head. “I’m not worried.
“He’s asked if he can go skiing in Switzerland next winter. There’s a whole bunch of friends going with their parents, and he’s been asked if he can go. I’ve told him I’ll think about it, but I’m not too keen on the idea of a load of eleven-year-old kids hurtling down a mountain at high speeds. David is a good skier, but I won’t be able to get the time off and get back to Earth. He’d be going without me, and you know what a worrier I can be.
“Sometimes I worry that I’m spending too much time at the lab, that I’m neglecting him. Don’t get me wrong: We get plenty of time together, especially on the weekends. David seems happy . . .”
Carol stopped and thought about things for a moment or two. Then she threw up her hands.
“Well, you know me: the eternal worrier, even when things are ticking along nicely. It’s just that we’re really busy here at the moment, desperately trying to get approval for a couple of projects. I’m concerned that if David needs me, or if he’s got a problem that he really needs to talk to someone about, that he would keep it to himself.
“A little bird tells me that you’re back on the Enterprise. James Kirk behind a desk . . . I can’t imagine that, somehow.”
There was a brief trilling from somewhere inside her apartment, causing Carol to glance around.
“Look, Jim, I gotta go, but I just want to say thank you for respecting my wishes and not contacting David. I know it must be hard for you—don’t imagine for a second that I don’t understand that, because I really do. I just think it’s for the best right now. I’m not saying it’s always . . . And, hey, who knows? Maybe one day, when I tell him everything about you, he might look you up, take you to a bar, and have a beer with his father. But, for now . . . thank you.
“I’ve attached a couple of files to this transmission, a few pictures of David out on his snowboard last birthday, and there’s a vid of the hiking party . . . At least, I think it’s the hiking party . . . Anyway, take a look for yourself and enjoy. Until next time, Jim. Marcus out.”
Carol leaned forward and cut the connection. The screen winked momentarily to black, then the standard Starfleet “End of Transmission” took its place.
After a few seconds, Kirk reached forward and powered down the machine.
Chapter 8
IOWA
He was awakened by shouting.
He hadn’t meant to fall asleep. He’d just wanted a few minutes to himself after Carol’s message, so he’d gone upstairs to his room.
Kirk had created a data card, and he’d carried it up to his room so he could use his data slate in private. There were over two dozen pictures attached to the message, some of David with friends, others with Carol, but most were just of David on his own. He’d grown so much since the last message, and it surprised Kirk how much David now looked like Kirk’s father, David’s grandfather. He had cycled through the collection two or three times.
The shouting was coming from somewhere under his window, and Kirk swung himself off the bed and padded across to take a look. The storm was over the farm, darkening the sky. Rain had started, and thunderheads were booming overhead.
Kirk saw the smoke first, drifting across the yard like a thick pall of sea mist. Then he spotted Peter down in the yard, pelting headlong across the dirt, an extinguisher clutched in one hand. He disappeared into the noxious black fumes without a second’s hesitation.
Kirk pulled on his shoes and raced downstairs, yanking open the back door, and ran out into the yard.
A flash of color in the smoke up ahead caught his eye.
“Peter, wait!” Kirk choked out before the smoke pushed him backward. It stung his face, caused him to stumble to his knees.
By the time Kirk had managed to rub his streaming eyes and clear his vision, the twisting black cloud had swallowed up most of the yard between the house and the barn. Peter was nowhere in sight.
There was a scream behind him. Aunt Hanna stumbled out the back door, one hand clutching a cloth to her mouth, the other pointing listlessly toward the streaming column of smoke.
Kirk stopped his aunt from running toward the burning barn. He shook her as gently as he could and tried to maneuver her back into the house, but the old woman was surprisingly strong and refused to budge.
Hanna suddenly realized who it was standing in front of her, and her eyes widened in shock.
“Peter,” she managed to say at last. “Jim, where is he? Please tell me he’s not . . .”
“He’ll be all right,” Kirk said firmly. “Go back inside, Aunt Hanna, and alert the fire department. We need a crew here now!” At first she refused to move, so Kirk gave her a gentle shove. “Go now, Aunt Hanna!” She snapped out of it and disappeared into the house.
For Kirk, the worst part wasn’t that he could hardly breathe, nor that he had been rendered half blind. No, the worst part was that the closer he inched to the flaming barn, the thicker the smoke grew.
What I really need right now is a respirator from the Enterprise, Kirk thought. Or an EV suit.
Kirk placed a hand upon the rough wooden wall of the toolshed and pushed himself forward. From here he could just make out the flickering flames through the thick barrier of smoke, and he could even feel its heat.
He took a few more unsteady paces forward, his hands held out in front of him like a man walking in his sleep, and was almost knocked to the ground by a bolting horse.
Someone had reached out and gripped him roughly by the forearm, dragging him out of the horse’s path just in time.
Kirk looked up to find Uncle Abner staring down at him, a spotty old bandanna tied across his nose and mouth, making him look like a train robber from an ancient Western.
“Where’s . . . where’s Peter?” Kirk asked, erupting into a fit of coughing.
“I thought I’d fixed that shield, swore I’d got it working again.” When Abner spoke it was like he w
asn’t really there, like he was talking in his sleep.
Kirk shook himself free of the old man’s grip and staggered in the direction of the barn.
The entrance was a curtain of pure flame; the door hinges had warped and bent in the intense heat. They had given way, and now both enormous doors were ablaze.
Looking for another way in, Kirk noticed Abner was standing behind him with an ax in his hand. His uncle was staring into the flame as though mesmerized, his green eyes standing out against his soot-blackened face.
“Abner!” he shouted, but at first the old man didn’t react. It wasn’t until Kirk grabbed him and shook him that his uncle noticed he was there.
“Peter,” he asked, as soon as he had the man’s attention, “where’s Peter?”
Abner, still dazed, pointed with his ax into the unbroken sheet of flames in front of them.
“He’s . . . he’s in there?” Kirk asked incredulously. “You let him go in there?”
“I tried to stop him, but he wouldn’t listen,” Abner explained. “He said he had to save the horses.”
Without thinking, Kirk pushed the old man aside, took a few paces backward, covered his face with his arms as best he could, and leapt headlong through the burning doorway.
• • •
Kirk hit the stable floor with enough force to drive the breath from his body, and then he immediately began to roll. He tumbled over and over through the thin dusting of hay and feed, stopping only when his back connected sharply with the far wall.
The interior of the barn was unbearably hot, although the layer of smoke was not quite so dense, which made it a little easier for him to breathe.
At the other end he could see Peter frantically kicking at one of the stall doors, desperately trying to help the trapped animal within.
Kirk dragged himself upright and ran forward to help the boy.
Peter hardly registered his uncle’s presence as he continued to kick at the door with every ounce of strength he had.
“Bella is in there,” he said, as he paused for breath, pointing across at the big shot-bolt. “The bolt’s warped.”
“Together, it’s the only way,” Kirk shouted, and Peter nodded his understanding.
Star Trek: The Original Series - 162 - Shadow of the Machine Page 8