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For most of Jim’s life, people had told him he had a problem with authority. Some of them even meant it kindly. It frustrated no one so badly as Captain Pike, the one authority Jim did trust. He’d say again and again that Jim would get people killed one day, thinking he knew best, thinking he could test a limit that shouldn’t be tested. Well, Jim disagreed with that assessment—had barely restrained himself from a deeply point-proving emotional reaction to Pike thinking little enough of him that he’d ever endanger his crew like that.
Denying the Vulcan captain his request for aid was one hell of test, though. Jim himself had pushed for allyship, once, for seeking other defenses against the UEF’s deadliest threats. But now, now he’d seen the same reports the Admiralty had seen. And with himself, he’d puzzled, debated, raged, and drank his way out of every dead end and still come up blank:
Earth couldn’t afford a war. No matter how just.
He followed orders. He looked Vulcan’s Captain Spock in the eye and told him no.
Lieutenant Uhura closed the comm on his order, too, trusting him like he had to trust, too, the chain of command. He’d have to make sure to put a commendation on her record—
Uhura gasped, a horrible, ripped-up sound.
“What?” Jim asked urgently.
“An SOS! The Sh’Rel, they’ve—”
Then a shockwave threw Jim to the ground. A shockwave, not a direct hit. Which likely meant…
Well, if their death had already been lurking so close by, maybe at least history wouldn’t say that Jim Kirk condemned them. If only his own conscience was as forgiving.
“Status report,” he said, pulling himself back to his feet, gripping the back of his chair white-knuckled.
“Scanners show that a Romulan warbird has fired on the Vulcan ship Sh’Rel, Captain,” Commander Marcus read. “I believe the shockwave came from residual energy ricocheting off the Sh’Rel’s shields, but without an understanding of Vulcan starship specifications, I couldn’t predict how much life they’ve got left, sir.”
“Small hit to our own shields, sir. Currently at 89%.”
“Lieutenant Uhura, can we get a visual?” Jim asked.
“Yes, sir.”
She keyed in the sequence; it took only seconds. Maybe less. Jim held his breath, then let it out long and slow as the viewscreen changed over and yellow and red splashed across the bridge.
The Sh’Rel was burning. A blue flicker was all that remained of their shields, contracted around the heart of the ship, where the bridge must be. They were bleeding badly, one engine destroyed. Dead in the water.
Very calmly, Jim said, “Nyota, get me all decks, please.”
“The battle is over.”
Hands behind his back, Jim paced before his crew, each one of them a volunteer. They wouldn’t all be going with him to the Vulcan ship, but each and every one would do their part to save the survivors and to get the hell out of dodge before Romulus shot them down, too. To save lives. To make a difference.
He’d always been good at speechifying, but this time, he’d scarcely needed to. There’d been no resistance. Some unnamable emotion swelled up inside him about it all—pride, gratitude, the prelude to grief—but he wouldn’t think about that now. They had a job to do.
The away team, Kirk included, all wore environmental suits to improve odds of survival in case of hull breach and to maximize athletic abilities in the thin air of life support calibrated for Vulcan. His voice came out tinny through the helmet, but he kept it strong nevertheless.
“But though the battle may be lost, the war will go on. While Vulcan breathes, she fights. We know that. We’ve seen it in the news, and we feel it in our hearts. As different as we humans might be from Vulcans, we’ve got that in common. We are a bunch of stubborn motherfuckers. Isn’t that right?”
“Aye aye, Captain!” his crew barked.
At the end of the line, McCoy was waiting for him, arms folded, face like thunder.
“Bones…”
“I should be going over with you and you know it,” he snapped. “Damn it, Jim, there will be people on that ship that need immediate attention—”
Jim interrupted, “Which is why I’m bringing Doctor Garga and three nurses. You’re needed here to administer triage and med bay. The hardest cases are coming straight to you. You know it, Bones.”
He grasped McCoy’s arm, giving him a slight shake, all but begging him to let it go and follow orders.
“Hell. Well I don’t have to like it.”
“I wouldn’t expect anything less, my friend. All right.”
Jim turned away from Bones to address the whole assembly once again—looking each one in their faces, memorizing them, like he did before every dangerous mission. Some of them were grinning; some of them were deadly serious. Jim’s heart burst with affection for them all, even more so when he stopped in front of the last officer in the line.
“If the Romulans detect us and launch an attack, take evasive maneuvers, but do your best to stay within transporter range. If that becomes impossible, your orders are to disengage and escape by any means necessary. Is that understood?”
“Understood, sir!”
“Mr. Sulu, you have command.”
“Sir.”
Sulu snapped a perfect salute. He hadn’t been acting First Officer for long, and already, he was being called on to do the impossible. Jim had cultivated that sort of reputation for the Enterprise and her crew, but as he clapped Sulu on the shoulder and stepped onto the transporter pad, he still felt a flicker of regret.
Everyone had their orders already, but still, Jim said, “Standby to beam over survivors. Transporter, energize.”
Jim left the Enterprise in a shimmer of light and landed on the Vulcan vessel in the same—sparks arcing through the air so bright they seared technicolor streaks across his eyes.
“Get down!” he barked to his team as an energy surge juddered through the hull, sending debris careening across the floor. When the shaking stopped, the two engineers he’d brought flocked to the transporter controls, assessing if they had outbound capability, or if it could be restored.
“Negative, Captain.”
“Damn.”
Jim flicked open his communicator. “Kirk to Enterprise. Vulcan transporter is a no-go. Standby to beam up survivors on my command. No one on this ship is going anywhere alone.”
“Aye, aye, Captain.”
To the away team, he said, “Riley, Zhu, with me. I need to locate Captain Spock so we can coordinate the rescue effort. They must know their transporter is shot, or we’d have given them a nasty shock already. The rest of you remain here and await my orders. I don’t want any further misunderstandings with the Vulcans.”
A chorus of ayes followed Kirk and the two lieutenants out of the transporter room. They moved swiftly, remaining on their feet through two more power surges that rocked the entire ship. How much was left for their shields, if the guns were pulling this much power? Could they withstand even one more shot? Were the Romulans just playing with their food?
Through the next two hallways, they saw no one and heard nothing. The lieutenants checked each turn and cleared it, and all three of them kept their eyes out for a working lift that could take them to the bridge. Without any waypoints, they’d just be traveling in circles.
But shortly afterward, they saw something at last: A terrible green splash up the lower half of a wall—a streak where the unfortunate victim had tried to crawl, then drag themselves away—and the body, crumpled in an alcove.
And it wasn’t alone. A short ways further down were two more bodies, but those had been felled by phaser fire. Cleaner deaths.
Riley checked the first body, Kirk and Zhu the others.
“No life signs, Captain,” Riley said softly—as if they’d expected anything else. Kirk sighed.
“None here, either. Damn it, isn’t there some internal comm system we can access? We need to find the Captain!”
“Captain!” Zhu called. She beckoned him to the body she stood over, phaser trained on whoever it was, despite the clear evidence whoever it was was deceased. “The uniform,” Zhu said. “A Romulan.”
“They’ve been boarded,” Jim said grimly. Into his communicator, he said, “Transporter room: be on high alert for Romulan hostiles. Verify hostile before firing, understood?”
“Understood, Captain,” replied his Security Chief, Lt. Commander Lawson. “Do you require backup?”
“Not yet. Stay together. Kirk out.”
He snapped his communicator closed and addressed Zhu and Riley. “Alright. Quickly and quietly, let’s go.”
Now that they’d confirmed Romulan presence within the ship, the wreck suddenly seemed quiet, for all the screaming of metal and machinery, the crackle of snapped wiring, the desperate grinding hum of the remaining engines. Where were the voices? Where was the phaser fire, the orders, the footsteps?
As they approached a corner, Kirk held up a hand to stop his lieutenants and said quietly, “Riley, contact the ship and double check if there’s any sign that the Sh’Rel has deployed escape pods.”
“Aye, sir.”
While Riley stepped away to make the call, Jim turned the corner.
Vulcan strength was estimated by UEF Intelligence at 3.7 times that of a human of comparable size and fitness. But no knowledge of statistics could prepare anyone for how it actually felt to have 3.7 times human strength snatching you weightless, throwing you into the cold wall of a spaceship, wrenching your arm back, and pressing—
“Captain!” Jim gasped, ship spinning around him from the way his head had bounced off the bulkhead. He could only hope the split-second flash he’d gotten of his attacker was accurate, and it was Captain Spock about to break his arm, and hopefully able to be stopped from doing just that.
Jim let out a huff of relief as the pressure eased—just slightly.
“Captain.”
Spock’s even baritone voice betrayed no surprise, but no anger either. Jim held perfectly still.
Spock said, “I am aware that humans have a different philosophy on dishonesty than do Vulcans; however, having denied my request for aid, even a human should logically understand that unauthorized boarding of another vessel is—"
A small explosion rocked them on their feet.
“Now isn’t time for lectures, Mr. Spock,” Jim breathed. “Circumstances have changed. We—"
Another explosion—an aftershock. Spock spun Jim around so they were face to face. No surprise, no anger—no mercy. For the first time, Jim squirmed in that hard Vulcan grip.
“If there is no time for reprimand, neither is there time for excuses, nor hesitation. Explain yourself, or I have no choice but to consider you hostile and—"
“I couldn’t do it! I couldn’t abandon a ship full of people to die right in front of my eyes. Now, it’s too late for this battle, but we can still save your people!”
Some part of Jim cringed from the bare emotion in his own voice. Like he was begging, somehow, to be allowed to do this thing, by a man whose hopes he’d snuffed out just in time for the world to end after all.
“You were right,” he tried again. “Allyship is our only path forward. I don’t speak for Earth, or the Fleet, or my people, but I speak for the Enterprise, and I speak for James T. Kirk. Earth and Vulcan need each other. Let us help you now.”
Slowly, so slowly, Spock’s fist unclenched, releasing the front of Jim’s shirt. They both straightened up, eyes locked on one another. Neither said a word. Zhu and Riley might have been holding their breath. Wildly, without thinking, Jim grinned and thrust a hand out between them for Spock to shake.
Eyebrow arched most of the way to his perfect hair, Spock hesitated only a moment before accepting the gesture. It wasn’t until their palms met that Jim remembered—duh—but it was too late. Hopefully his helmet hid his blush. Fortunately, they both wore gloves, so their skin didn’t touch.
Zhu and Riley stood down now that Jim wasn’t under threat. It wasn’t a good sign that Spock had gone to this confrontation alone, Jim thought, heart in his shoes. He might need to recalculate the win condition here if the crew was already so depleted.
Their hands parted after one firm shake. Spock held his hand perfectly still at his side, but Jim couldn’t help but flex his, unsure of the sensations buzzing up and down his nerves.
“We must proceed with haste. Already, our medical facilities are overwhelmed,” Spock said.
“Right. Right. Lead the way.”
Spock set off swiftly, leaving no allowance for the pace of the humans following him. Jim had to nearly jog to keep up, but keep up he did, rattling off to try and get them both up to speed.
“We encountered a fallen Romulan. Do you know how many hostiles remain on board?”
“Provided the life signs abruptly present within the transporter room belong to your boarding party rather than the Romulan boarding party? Negative.”
“Right. Yes. That’s us.”
“The initial invasion party disabled the transporter then moved toward the medical bay, weapons station, and emergency escape pods. The medical bay and escape pods were defended and remain fortified. The Romulans may have taken our weapons station, but the Sh’Rel cannot fire upon herself.”
“Right. You take command of the security team waiting in the transporter room and sweep the ship for any Romulan stragglers and saboteurs. I’ll take the medics and other volunteers and begin the search and rescue operation.”
Spock stopped short, so abruptly Jim almost plowed into his back. Slowly, he turned, eyes bored into Jim, dark and endless; and Jim stared back, no idea what a Vulcan might see in his eyes. He waited for the challenge to his command—that it was Spock’s ship, that he would not take orders from an interfering Human—but as long as the staring stretched, it never came.
Without looking away, Spock said, “The plan is acceptable. I will divide the remainder of my crew in a similar fashion.”
“Right.” Jim shrugged his shoulders back, loosening himself up, and shot Spock his best disarming grin. “Sounds good. Let’s get this show on the road.”
The search and rescue teams worked in units of three, then four: an Enterprise medic, a volunteer from the Enterprise’s other ranks, and a Vulcan, wherever they could be spared. Once Spock finished the sweep of the ship, each team was joined by at least one additional security officer. They worked from the bottom of the ship up, as the lower decks, storage and engineering, were more vulnerable to secondary incidents caused by the overall damage to the Sh’Rel. Survivors were beamed to the Enterprise, to the second cargo bay, which had been designated as a field hospital, or directly to the medbay for those in most critical condition.
It was dangerous work; the crews were constantly at risk due to fires, damaged electrical equipment, and structure collapse. They had to pull debris off bodies and survivors both, and they had to work quickly, under threat of the Romulans deciding to finish them off or the possibility that hostiles were still lurking somewhere in the ship. But minute by minute, they beat back the odds.
Jim would rather have been in the thick of it, but he stayed in the transporter room, coordinating between Vulcan engineers and the Enterprise transporter room. It was their biggest bottleneck, and they were pushing the transporter to absolute capacity.
While he worked, he saw little of Captain Spock, who was elsewhere in the ship, simultaneously attempting to hail the Vulcan fleet and run repairs to the shield generator—to buy them more time. But partway through another run of diagnostics trying to find any way they could get more juice out of the transporter, Jim’s communicator chirped. Absentminded, he answered.
“Spock to Captain James Kirk, Enterprise,” the voice greeted him.
“This is Kirk. Good to hear your voice, Captain. How are things on your end?”
“Within acceptable parameters. Little could be done for the shield generator, but we have affected a temporary solution. Confidence in the completion of our mission has risen to 82.367 percent.”
Jim raised an eyebrow. “What was it at before? No, wait, don’t tell me. Have you managed to contact the Vulcan fleet?”
“They are aware of our situation and regret to inform us they can spare no relief at this time.”
“Well, then, we’ll just have to go to them.”
“Affirmative.”
“Where are you now? Twenty percent is a pretty significant margin for failure if you ask me. We ought to stick together.”
“The margin for failure is 17.633 percent. And I am taking action to further reduce the chance of additional casualties—rerouting power from the main computer to escape pod deployment systems. Therefore, if the Enterprise’s transporter fails, we will—”
“Great. I’ll meet you there.”
Jim hung up on him. He was beginning to get the hang of the Sh’Rel’s layout and could find the escape pod bay easily. As it turned out, UEF and Vulcan ships weren’t so different after all, and Jim’s mind had latched on to all the similarities, probable and improbable. On some level, the laws of physics ensured certain design standards—the weights of warp engines, the idea shape of nacelles—but on others, could it be simple convergent evolution, or had one race studied the other and been convinced of the logic of their designs at some point in history?
Why had it taken so long, why had it taken all this, for their two peoples to come together? Even Jim himself had nearly rejected it. He was frantic to get back to the negotiating table. There must be another way, something that could convince the Admiralty.
He was pent up enough that, though Spock drove off his attempts to help with the electrical work, he could only burn energy by pacing around behind him while he worked.
“Here’s what’s bothering me: why haven’t the Romulans finished the job?” Jim asked, pacing another lap, hands clenched behind his back. “They can’t be worried about being outnumbered; the Sh’Rel is dead in the water, weapons disabled, shields almost totally depleted. But they haven’t even fired on the Enterprise!”
“They are patient. Waiting to see what the Enterprise will do. Despite the skirmishes between your peoples, I do not believe the Romulans have a complete understanding of Human weaponry or martial prowess. They will not pass up this chance to collect valuable data.”
“Right,” Jim sighed. “But I doubt their patience is infinite. They must know we’re in communication—they must know there were Vulcan survivors. I can’t stand the waiting.”
“While I am familiar with the emotion frustration, I remind you that waiting is preferable to immediate death at Romulan hands, which requires no exercise of patience.”
Jim shot Spock a mean look. He just raised an eyebrow.
“All I’m saying is that I’m starting to feel toyed with. What do they want?”
“Whatever they are observing, we would do well to evacuate before it comes to pass.”
“You don’t have to tell me twice.” Jim stood up, taking a PADD from an ensign on standby behind him and flicking through the preliminary reports each sector was submitting, confirming which sections of the ship had been searched. “The search and rescue is wrapping up. We should begin evacuating crews.”
“Understood. I will remain until all others have gotten to safety.”
“As will I.” Jim handed the PADD back to Ensign Medvedeva and took up his communicator again. While he relayed his orders through to the Enterprise, he was uncomfortably aware of Spock staring at him from behind his safety goggles.
As soon as he hung up, Spock said, “Would it not be wise for you to return to your ship in case swift departure is required? Your presence there would do more to ensure the smooth conclusion of the rescue operation.”
“Trying to get rid of me already?”
“Negative.” Spock closed the maintenance panel and pushed the goggles up on his head. “However, I have verbally overestimated the remaining structural integrity of the Sh’Rel in order to maintain morale among the rescuers. Such subterfuge is no longer required as the crews themselves return to safety. The longer you stay here, the greater danger you are in.”
“The same goes for you. I have a duty to see this thing through, too. I’m not leaving you here alone.”
“The Sh’Rel is my ship,” Spock said quietly. “No other bears as much duty to her as I.”
Hell. As if Jim didn’t know just how that felt. Unable to express it, he clapped Spock on the arm and just said, “Well, whatever the case, it’s good that you’ve shored up power to the escape pods. Chances are we’re going to need them.”
Unable to hold still, Jim paced back to the transporter room. The Vulcan engineers were gone. Jim greeted Medvedeva again and looked over her PADD as she said:
“All decks but this one are clear, Captain. We’ve almost done it. I—do you hear that?”
From somewhere far below, a groan welled up, one that rattled up through the floor, shaking the walls, down to the rivets.
Jim gripped Medvedeva’s arm. “Get out of here, Ensign, that’s an order! I’ll go round up the stragglers.”
“Y-yes, sir!”
Sprinting down the corridor, Jim nearly ran right into Spock, who’d been coming to meet him, too. “I’m hailing the Enterprise!” he shouted over the cacophony.
“We should make haste to the escape pods in case your ship cannot retrieve us.”
“Right!”
They ran, Jim following Spock, shouting into his communicator as they went—
“Kirk to Enterprise. I’m here with Captain Spock. The Sh’Rel is going down; time to beam us up.”
“Captain! We’ve taken aboard the remaining crews, but we overdid it, sir, the transporter’s overloaded. We won’t be able to—”
Damn. Whatever the Vulcan phrase for I told you so was, Jim would be hearing it a lot over the next…god knows how long. For a long second, a long stride, all Jim heard was his heart, thumping loud in his ears.
“Understood. Get out of here, Mr. Sulu. That’s an order.” He responded, keeping his voice level.
“But Captain—!”
“You heard me! Disengage, Commander. You have to get those survivors to safety and preserve our chances for this alliance.”
Spock had gotten far ahead of Jim—he sped up, feet pounding the floor. The screech of rending metal sheared through his ears and must have carried over the communicator, too, because Sulu sucked in a harsh breath.
Everyone in deep space had had the nightmare once or twice. What that death was like. What happened if you answered that call to the void.
“How many did we get?” Jim panted into his communicator. This was his only chance. He had to—he had to know.
“Don’t know how many will make it, Jim. But we’ve got 261 Vulcans aboard receiving treatment. It’s a hell of a thing you pulled off, kid.”
Bones. Of course Sulu would share his transmission with the bridge. But that voice choked Jim up something fierce, fiercer than the burn of exertion in his lungs.
“Yeah, well, it’s your miracle now, Bones,” he rasped.
“Damn you, Jim.”
There was a note of despair there Jim couldn’t listen to, couldn’t hear. He pushed it aside.
Clearing his throat, he said, “Captain Spock and I are entering an escape pod. We’ll do our best to stay alive until you can circle back for a rescue, but you have a responsibility to our people, and you have your orders. Disengage.”
“Yes, Captain. Disengaging,” Sulu said thickly. Then, without shutting off communication, he said, “Increase thrusters until the Romulans begin charging their weapon, then punch it, warp factor 6. Captain, it appears the Romulans are in pursuit. We’ll be back for you.”
“I know, Commander,” Jim said softly.
“We’ll be back. I swear! Engaging warp now!”
The line went dead. Jim snapped his communicator shut and sprinted to catch up with Spock, who’d gained on him while he spoke to Sulu and was waiting in the opening of the escape pod for him.
But he took a step, boot heavy on the metal floor—
Then another, weightless—wrongness, some force rippled up his body from beneath them, jarring his bones, shaking them loose—then with another metallic shriek, the walkway tore away beneath him. Screaming, pure pain, pure terror, he launched himself forward, barely clinging to the grate that underlied the smooth floor surface. His legs dangled over a pit, a great jagged gash ripped open by an explosion on the deck below. Fire leapt greedily at him from below—he needed to get up, away, before something else ignited. Frantically, he kicked, trying to find purchase somewhere, anywhere, any way to pull himself up, then screamed again behind gritted teeth as his left leg jarred against the wall. Something was wrong, somewhere inside, and he could feel the cool tightness of the environmental suit deploying a pressure seal to repair a puncture. He was hit, hurt, probably bleeding. His hands, sweaty inside his gloves, couldn’t hold his weight forever, and—Spock! Was he caught in the blast, were the pods—?
No! Two hands, horribly strong, latched around his forearms and pulled. Jim kicked his legs out again, narrowly avoiding ripping himself open farther on a sharp bit of ceiling; then, he was lying on his front, fighting for breath beside his savior.
“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.”
“An astute assessment,” Spock said dryly. The bastard, he was already getting to his feet, offering his hand again to Jim, who had no choice but to take it. Spock pulled him upright, slung his arm around his shoulders, and all but carried him into the escape pod.
The main lights of the Sh’Rel flickered and died behind them, like a period at the end of a sentence.
Jim collapsed against the first row of seats. Spock shut the hatch; it sealed with a hiss, and then they were alone. Even the tortured sounds of the ship were muffled. The world shrank in close.
“Wait,” Jim panted as Spock touched the controls to begin the launch.
Spock paused.
“If the Romulans scan the ship, will they be able to detect our life signs while we’re in here? It’s standard for pods on UEF vessels to have jammers that prevent identitive scanning—part of the stealth system for emergency battlefield deployments.”
After all, an escape pod wasn’t worth much if you were under attack and your attackers could just shoot the pods like fish in a barrel. UEF ships would always pick up an escape pod, no matter the condition it was in or if its communications array was active, just in case.
Spock’s eyes lit up. “Yes. I understand. If we remain attached to the ship—”
“If we deploy, they’ll know a pod is active and take us out. But if we stay, they’ll think no one is left alive aboard and chase the Enterprise. And the Enterprise can outrun them. I know she can.”
“If the Sh’Rel suffers total structural collapse, it could damage this pod beyond repair. We will likely die without rescue regardless, and if a rescue vessel arrives, we will be as invisible to them as we are to the Romulans. Furthermore, the Romulans may decide to destroy the derelict ship, either to ensure total extermination of the crew, or simply as entertainment.”
“It’s a risk we’re gonna have to take. They’d destroy an escape pod, too. This way buys us time, at least.”
“We are in agreement. I merely thought you deserved to know the risks.”
Jim acknowledged his appreciation with a short nod. “Have a seat, Mr. Spock. I have a feeling it’s going to be a while.”
For his own comfort, Jim disengaged his environmental suit and took off the helmet, running his fingers through his sweaty hair and huffing out a breath. The air was thin but breathable, and he should preserve his oxygen for later in case he needed it. Who knew what would happen to a human if the life support on a Vulcan escape pod started to fail.
Setting his helmet aside, he went through a methodical sequence of flexes and stretches, cataloguing his injuries. The leg would be problematic if they had to run for it again. A disturbing wetness was beginning to accumulate behind the pressure seal, but he wouldn’t bleed out as long as it was in place. His head still throbbed, and his neck twinged from the whiplash, but he didn’t have any more worrying concussion symptoms.
While he examined himself, Spock was doing the same, twisting his head to examine the burns on the back of his shoulder and upper arm. Jim grimaced at the singed edges of his uniform—were it him, he’d be terrified to see the possible state of the skin underneath, but of course Spock displayed no fear whatsoever.
Tearing his eyes away, Jim braced himself, got his good leg under him, and stood, to prove to himself he could.
“What are you doing?” Spock asked.
Jim didn’t bother answering. Limping to the wall, he dug through the containers beneath seats and side panels, ignoring medical supplies, tools, water rations, emergency lights, blankets, and ammunition until he found the food rations. Then, he slumped onto the floor right where he stood, kicking out his injured leg with a grimace. He couldn’t read Vulcan well enough to pick out the exact ingredients on the label, but he unwrapped it and took a bite anyway, chewing slowly and swallowing. Less sweet than most rations made from Earth fruit, but not bad at all. A bit dry.
He'd die of anaphylaxis or he’d die of suffocation or he’d die of catastrophic pressure failure when the Vulcan ship fell to pieces and took them with it, but whatever way his number came up, he wouldn’t die hungry.
“Want one?” He held another bar out for Spock, who took it but didn’t open it.
“It would be wise to conserve your strength. Additionally, I am familiar with the locations of all supplies within this shuttle and may retrieve anything you require. Allow me to see to your wounds before you exacerbate them further.”
Jim huffed. “Alright, if it makes you feel better. But I don’t think I saw anything in your first aid kit that will fix broken bones or a concussion. You should deal with your burns first.”
“It is not a matter of comfort. Your need is greater at this time.”
“Say that again when you’re dying of a ghastly infection. Burns like that are no joke.”
Spock didn’t even deign to respond to him, that time. He stood elegantly and retrieved the medkit, then crouched beside Jim, just as elegantly. It was nearly enough to make a man angry, all that smooth, confident control. He let out a gusty sigh.
“Unfortunately, I’m not in a position to get my pants off for you to take a good look at that leg,” Jim said wryly as Spock took his temperature.
“It would indeed be unwise for you to remove your environmental suit, in case it becomes abruptly necessary.”
“Shouldn’t you be wearing one, too?”
“There was not time to retrieve and equip a suit. Perhaps, if we survive, I will push for environmental suits to be added to the standard equipment available in escape pods.”
“That’s a—that’s a good plan.”
Jim’s voice stuttered briefly as Spock palpated his arm and shoulder—where Spock himself had held him prone just, what, an hour ago? Two?
“I am gratified that my aggressive behavior has not caused you significant injury,” he said eventually.
“No, you didn’t hurt me. Of course you were aggressive, you’d already fought off one invasion. Water under the bridge, Spock, there’s another Human saying for you.”
Spock selected an antibiotic hypo from his medkit, but Jim grabbed his wrist and shook his head.
“Vulcan and Human physiology, of course, have significant differences from one another. However, the antibiotics effective to treat infection in both our species have common—”
“Not that, though it’s good to know. No, I’m allergic to many things, including a lot of common medications. Like penicillin. You should give yourself a dose of whatever’s in that, but I can’t risk it. I’m already playing with fire with the ration bars.”
“Ah.”
He didn’t quite freeze, but Spock stared at the hypo for a moment as if at a loss. Jim patted his arm awkwardly then dropped his touch away.
“You should give yourself a dose of that, though. Then turn around so I can clean those wounds, too.”
“It is unacceptable that there is no further aid I can render.”
If Jim didn’t know better, he’d say Spock was frustrated. “Really, it’s okay. The suit will prevent me from bleeding out, and while I can’t easily walk on it, well. We’re not going anywhere under our own power, anyway.”
Spock didn’t respond, so Jim just leaned around him for the medkit and the antiseptic wash.
“Will you let me?”
To answer, Spock just turned his back on him.
Jim hissed at the sight—vulnerable, ragged and raw skin, emerald green in the worst patches. But no matter how badly the disinfectant must hurt, Spock didn’t make a sound as Jim washed him. Gentleness preoccupied him, drove all his other thoughts away. Unbecoming of a captain, maybe, but, here and now, there was no greater responsibility than ensuring he caused this man no more pain than absolutely necessary.
“You have my thanks,” Spock said solemnly when Jim was done. Jim just nodded at him, sinking back against the wall as Spock stood to dispose of the bloody fabric.
Exhaustion tugged at his mind, almost drunkenness. He blinked once, and Spock was gone. He blinked again, and Spock was back, re-taking the same spot against the wall where he’d been sitting before, across the pod from Jim.
The escape pod was dimly lit, but now and again, sparks from broken wiring would arc across the thick window between them and the dying ship, illuminating them. Jim didn’t need the light to feel the weight of the Vulcan’s eyes on him, assessing him.
“Had you denied my request for aid, your vessel could have eluded the Romulans.”
Jim contradicted, “My vessel is evading the Romulans. We have no reason to believe they’ve failed.”
“Indeed.”
Did Vulcans have tact? This one must, and Jim appreciated it. He didn’t need to hear what he already knew—that they had no way of knowing if they’d succeeded, either.
At the risk of sounding defensive, he continued, “It’s logical to seek out allies when they present themselves. Of course, there’s logic in self-preservation, too, but if we acted on only the cruellest conclusions logic allowed us, what sort of monsters would we be? Er—no offense, that is.”
“I take no offense.” Spock sounded almost amused. “The nature and ethics of perfect logic are matters of some small debate among my people. If this is shocking to outsiders, I have overestimated you.”
Jim let himself laugh at that. “All right, all right, Spock. You’re right, of course.”
All humor vanished from Spock, though, as quickly and unexpectedly as it had come on. Gravely, he continued, “Yet, the truth remains the truth. To borrow another Human saying: withdrawing from the conflict altogether would have been ‘the safer bet.’”
“Why, Mr. Spock, I’m starting to think you have an academic interest in my little corner of the universe.”
“An incomplete but evidenced conclusion. I have found attempts to understand the unique illogic of Humanity make for most stimulating intellectual exercise.”
Jim laughed again. “I’m glad to hear it. You guys are pretty interesting, too.”
While he wouldn’t claim to have matched a Vulcan’s careful study rigor for rigor, Jim had done his own reading, nights he couldn’t sleep and needed a little hope to tide himself over, dreams about living futures where the galaxy came together in the name of peace. Information on Vulcans was scarce, but what he’d found, Jim’d read. He knew, for instance, that Vulcan control was so fine that they could consciously regulate their automatic processes even under duress. Just because only Jim’s sawing breath disturbed the quiet dark of the failing ship didn’t mean Spock was in any less pain than he was.
“Captain, I believe you know that when I contacted the Enterprise, I was acting out of desperation, not logic.”
“I think you can call me Jim at this point.”
If a Vulcan could admit to disposing logic in extreme conditions, Jim could act on his emotional human whims. With a groan, he lifted up on his hands and shifted himself over to sit beside Spock, not quite touching, but closer, close enough. The companionship was nice. Made him feel better. Kept the cold at bay a little longer.
“Jim.”
“Yeah. I know, Spock.”
“Regret is illogical. What is, is. What shall be, shall be.”
“Kaiidth.”
Spock inclined his head. “I begin to think you have an academic interest in the affairs of my people.”
Almost fondly, Kirk knocked his foot against Spock’s. He could just barely make out a responding raised eyebrow.
“You found me out.”
Jim spoke softly, savoring the words on his tongue. Every word was precious, with its shape and its taste, in the hearing of such a new individual. His First Officer once accused him of liking the sound of his own voice. If it was true, it hardly mattered now.
“As I was saying: regret is illogical. Yet I find myself questioning what might have become of Captain Kirk had I not involved you in this conflict at this moment. If you had preserved yourself and left the battlefield.”
“If I’d done anything else, the price would have been my soul.”
And hadn’t he given it—the last of what he was, for the Fleet, for his people? Hadn’t he followed commands, bowed to authority, done all that Pike ever asked of him? And then eaten the consequences, stuffed his throat with them, consequence over consequence rocking his ship, shaking him to the ground, shattering against his shields, as the Vulcan ship fell under Romulan fire, as the people who asked for his aid suffered and died?
Just as softly, Spock said, “I do not know the Human soul, but Vulcans possess the katra, the living spirit. Though metaphysical and philosophical debate continues regarding the precise nature of the katra, it is known that our spirits continue after body death, capable of finding peace within and among the katra of others. Thus, I acknowledge your assessment of risk and my regrets are at rest. A soul is a great price to pay indeed. Thank you, Captain Kirk.”
“Wow.” Jim cleared his throat. All this talking made his mouth dry, and their water was limited. “No, no, Captain Spock. Thank you. That’s beautiful.”
The hull of the ship—cold and dark, nearly derelict already—creaked and groaned and far away something snapped. It was some miracle of Vulcan engineering that they hadn’t lost pressure yet.
“It is not a thing we would typically share with outsiders. But the sacrifice you have made for my people…I am in your debt.”
“No more of that, Spock. I haven’t sacrificed anything yet. All you owe me is a drink, as soon as we’re back in friendly space.”
“To indulge in the hypothetical: if such a thing comes to pass, it will be my honor to do so.”
Spock’s serene fatalism was starting to grate on Jim’s nerves. He didn’t have the space or the strength to pace, so he took out his communicator instead, flipping it in his hands, flicking it open and closed, just for something to busy his hands. Spock watched every motion, every movement of his hands. It was almost enough to make him self-conscious, but the nervous energy won out.
“Kirk to Enterprise,” he tried. The chance of a response was low—he wouldn’t ask the Vulcan for the precise probability—but he had to try. How long had it been? An hour? Less? They were probably still out of range—or headed to Vulcan if too many of the survivors were too badly injured to survive with limited Human medical care.
Or maybe the Romulans blew them out of the—
No.
“Kirk to Enterprise. Come in, Enterprise.”
“We should attempt to make contact with your ship at intervals to preserve your device’s power.”
“What century do you think this is? It’s not going to run out of battery, and if it does, I can rig up a power source with the backup batteries in the pod—”
“That would be inadvisable, as we must preserve any auxiliary power for the life support—"
“—p—ain—? –ptain K—r—?”
A few scrambled syllables leapt out of the static—that was all—but Jim bolted upright, pure adrenaline crashing into his blood, and even Spock stiffened to attention.
“This is Kirk! Enterprise, what’s your status?”
“—vading, sir! Cir—” The connection dissolved into static then.
Fingers cold on the communicator, Jim shook it like that would do anything to help, curled around that tiny plastic lifeline like he’d been gut-shot.
“Enterprise! Come in, Enterprise!”
Finally, finally in the next burst, he could even recognize the voice as Sulu’s. He could almost weep for relief, hanging on each and every word.
“No time. Skirting in and—your range. Romulans pursuing. Ren—vousing—Vulcan fleet. Then rescue—”
“Good, that’s good, Sulu,” Jim said, just hoping the Enterprise could hear any of what he was saying. “We’ll just sit tight. We have life support and provisions enough to await rescue.”
“Aye, --ptain! We—”
The transmission cut, then, and Jim did, too, collapsing back again, a puppet off his strings. He let the communicator fall out of his numb grasp, and he let his eyes fall shut.
That was that, then. Waiting game, now.
“Don’t suppose there’s a pack of cards anywhere in storage on this thing,” he rasped.
“A Vulcan crew would commonly pass any extended enforced idleness in meditation.”
“Right.”
Maybe he’d try to sleep. Ha ha, very funny. His crew was out there somewhere triaging nearly three hundred Vulcans in critical condition, racing a Romulan ship to the remains of the Vulcan fleet, and if they survived both those encounters, they might still face court martial once returning to UEF space—and if they escaped court martial, they would still have to convince the admiralty to actually honor the fledgling alliance Jim had made—against orders—
Hopefully Sulu, Uhura, and Scotty would at least have the presence of mind to place the blame where it belonged. Chances were low enough that Jim would make it to see the consequences, anyway.
“I may have a suggestion that could ease the passage of time as well as counteract some of your physical pain,” Spock said, interrupting Jim’s thoughts.
“Oh yeah? I’m hearing any and all suggestions at this point.”
“If you consent, I can join our minds and create a space between them where we may occupy our time. Perhaps you could even locate your ‘pack of cards’ there, as it exists in your memory.”
“Wait, really? You’d do that—for me?”
“I am also experiencing significant pain. The distance the meld creates between the mind and the body would be beneficial to myself as well.”
“Okay, but—I mean, I have to warn you, my emotions are far from under control, Spock. I don’t know how comfortable my mind will be for a Vulcan right now.”
“With respect, Captain. You have very little frame of reference with which to asses the comfort of Vulcans. Whatever is in your mind will not cause me distress.”
“Well. You’ve got me there.”
Somewhere along the line, Jim’s voice had fallen to a whisper. He tapped Spock’s foot with his again.
Stronger, firmer, he said, “Let’s do this.”
“Very well. I will have to touch you.”
Jim nodded his consent. Spock turned to him fully. He pulled at the fingers of one glove, then the other. Though the fabric was thin and conductive over the pads of the fingers to allow deliberate melding while minimizing incidental telepathic touch, he would touch Jim bare-handed.
“What’s going to happen?” Jim asked. He was too tired, his head hurt too bad to hide, to smile, to ease his own way. If he sounded like a frightened child, how different could it be from how a Vulcan would see any other emotion, so blatantly displayed? It didn’t matter.
“That, I cannot say. But I will be there. We will face what comes together as one.”
“Alright, then. Let’s do this thing. Once more into the breach, dear friend.”
Spock didn’t close his eyes, so Jim didn’t either. His skin prickled under a gentle touch, and if it was to be the last thing he ever felt, it was a better end than any he’d faced before.
“My mind to your mind. My thoughts to your thoughts.”
People always said there’d be a light. Jim’s was a sun setting on a planet he’d never seen, red sand hot on his skin. He blinked, eyes watering from the brightness, cold shivers breaking over his skin paradoxical in the heat. A sudden shock to the system.
“It’s beautiful,” Jim said. Nothing like the pictures he’d seen of Earth. But beautiful.
“The sun setting over Shi’Kahr. A sight I have not witnessed in person since I was a child, but one I often revisit during meditation. A reminder of what the fighting is for.”
Spock’s presence beside him was pleasantly cool, like shade. The light bent toward him, too, and shifted here and there as Jim’s eyes focused. Like there was a prism between them, tilted this way and that.
Jim smiled and took a step down the garden path, his face still tilted to the sky. The pain of his injuries, the weakness in his muscles, the soul-crushing, deathly tired—in this place, it was all gone. Blissfully gone.
Bliss was the right word. He wanted to laugh, to shout, to run up and down the perfectly straight paths and color it in chaos. Spock was the only thing centering him—a real thing, an anchor.
Jim said, “Thank you for sharing it with me. I wish I could show you something like it, too. I’ve lived my whole life in space.”
“Beauty takes many forms.”
“I didn’t know Vulcans put that much stock in aesthetics.”
Spock inclined his head. “Precisely as most Vulcans would have outsiders believe. However, to deny the beauty of our homeworld—and furthermore, the beauty of Vulcan architecture, the plants we cultivate in our homes, and the art that lines our streets—would be simply illogical.”
“I wholeheartedly agree.”
He walked further down the path, arms folded behind his back, mirroring Spock’s stance. But after only a few steps, he couldn’t help himself and reached out, skimming his fingers along the glossy leaves of one of the plants—it looked almost like the jade plant Pike had kept on his desk, just with much larger lobes. Under his touch, the plant changed, the vision changed—the plant reached for him, curling, woody stems twisting into the shapes he remembered, the stone planter smoothing out into Pike’s steel desk. His office, transplanted into a Vulcan garden. Jim pulled his hand back, blinking in shock.
“What is the significance of this place?”
“A man I knew…a mentor. Not on the Iowa where I was born, but the captain of the Enterprise before me. When I was a teenager, something…happened. And nowhere in the galaxy was safe—except there. The heart of the ship. He liked to cook. He hung up blankets…”
He’d had too much tact to tell a shellshocked fourteen year old he was building a blanket fort. But that was the first place Jim felt safe enough to sleep without sedation after the UEF Tarsus incident. Tucked away between pillows and couch cushions, hidden from sight, he’d closed his eyes to the sound of the ship’s engine, Pike typing away on the other side of the room.
“I am honored to share this memory,” Spock intoned, bowing his head slightly, then straightening again.
“Oh, uh, thanks. Me, too.”
Pike. At least, if this was it, Jim wouldn’t have to face him and tell him he’d doomed humanity to annihilation. If the Romulans considered rendering aid to a Vulcan ship shot down in Earth space an act of aggression. If Human and Vulcan-kind couldn’t rally this opportunity into something greater than the sum of its parts.
If, if, if, and none of it anything Jim would see. None of it anything Jim would control. One final, great submission to authority. He wanted to fucking puke.
The world tensed up around him; the world squeezed his throat and flattened his lungs. The sun itself dimmed. On the edge of his hearing, on the edge of his teeth like tin foil, a klaxon alarm, a red alert blared from somewhere beyond Pike’s office, unreal, unanswerable.
“Kirk! Jim,” Spock said sharply.
“What?” Jim bit out.
“You are experiencing severe negative emotions. Such fluctuations alter the landscape of the meld. Will you permit me to assist?”
Stunned, all Jim could do for a second or two was stare at him, the sarcastic No shit I’m feeling negative dying on his lips.
“Alright. I. Yes, Spock, you may assist me.”
“Very well. Walk with me.”
And Jim followed. Down the garden path they went, away from the slice of Pike’s office Jim had somehow summoned to this place. Here and there, though, he still caught glimpses of things that didn’t belong—the awful sweater Sam got from their grandparents and dared Jim to wear on a date was draped over a bench; the ship’s cat from the Iowa slept curled in the shade of a planter; he caught the smell of fresh laundry on the air, the smell his mother always used even when the ship’s laundry didn’t bother.
“Though stillness is expected of Vulcan children, we may practice walking meditation as well. Some individuals find the motion soothing, the counting of steps a tool to assist in ordering one’s thoughts. I sense it would suit you more than other traditional forms of meditation,” Spock said eventually in his smooth baritone.
“Astute observation. This meld is truly an incredible thing. Of course, I’d heard some about Vulcan telepathic abilities, but I didn’t know it was like this.”
They slowed to a stop, facing each other in the cool shadow of an archway. Somewhere within the building behind them, soft music played—sweet, fluid notes followed by the same notes in a less practiced hand, but no less sweet. The sound made Jim smile, though it was no song, no instrument he’d ever heard.
“It is not always ‘like this.’ The meld can take many forms based on the intent of the individuals involved, and each mind has variations in compatibility that affect the ability to form and maintain a liminal space such as this. The texture of your mind is,” Spock licked his lips, “very similar to my own.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.”
Jim’s eyes wandered back over Spock’s shoulder, back across the courtyard, back toward the sun. Vulcan was beautiful in an unexpected way. Harsh, yet delicate. Jim had spent enough time on the agricultural decks to recognize the level of care that went into this garden—to maintaining the balance that made it all possible. Just as unexpected was the feeling blooming in his breast. Every time Jim ever faced death, he faced the one truth, the one unwinnable condition: when death came for you, you would be alone.
Jim turned his attention back to Spock, taking a step closer, putting himself closer than arm’s length, almost kissing close. It might have been a challenge. It might have been an invitation. If the texture of Jim’s mind was so like Spock’s, maybe Spock could tell which, because Jim couldn’t.
“How long do we have in here?” Jim asked.
“Within the meld, time is a matter of pure perception. We may remain for as long as our bodies sustain the connection.”
“I’m glad you’re here, Spock,” Jim said suddenly. There was no hiding emotion here, so there was no logic in trying.
Spock didn’t answer that—maybe he didn’t know how. But he also didn’t need to. Jim just knew, like he knew the sky was fading red, like he knew the lingering scent of pine and basil that clung to Pike’s office. Spock was happy to have him here, too, a bulwark against the darkness.
That was nice. Maybe he saved someone today after all.
He closed his eyes on the blush of lamplight through the sheets above his head, the same color as dusk on Vulcan.