Ship's night, Starship Enterprise

Kirk sat paralyzed in front of the comm screen, numb to the core. His pupils, fixed and dilated, lay where they had fallen at Sarek's cataclysmic words. But now instead of the Vulcan's face they beheld only a flat, black silence. Gradually, he became aware of his reflection as it coalesced on the glossy screen, a phantom suspended against the darkness.

In dismay he realized that it was no longer anyone he recognized. A phrase he couldn't quite place flitted unbidden though his mind. 'I am become a name.'

The wisp of an image before him was but a ghost of the man he had expected. Where full cheeks should grin pink and gold, now hard furrows of care worried the corners of tight lips. The brow was creased in continual indecision. Even his hair had transmogrified itself in sympathy; where once brassy shocks arced so impudently, now muted curls meandered without direction to be cut short at the boundaries of Starfleet decorum.

And no matter how he looked, there was no shadow to be found.

His wrist comm beeped, jolting his gaze, dissipating whatever had been there. "Jim, where are you?" the muted voice pressed. It was Lori. "This could be your chance. You need to get up here now!"

Now. Always. Never again. No time. Never enough time.

He slapped the wrist unit harder than necessary. "Coming."

***

The doors to Fleet Admiral Nogura's office slid apart to admit Kirk to the meeting. Lori caught his eye as he worked his way across the room past the assembled knees and stripes. Ever striking, Lori was now positively aglow, bursting with the enthusiastic vibrancy that had once drawn him to her. It seemed like a decade since he had seen her smile like that--smile at him like that. Absently, Jim's face returned her look with a vestige of the smile she had once loved.

But why now? Surely not for him. Whatever passion had drawn them to each other's shelter had been euthanized long ago. Sadly, it had become but another collateral casualty of Jim's private war on the gentle assailant that had so stealthily conquered his heart.

Oh Lori, my poor sweet savior, so right and yet so wrong weren't you? Why did you have to force yourself in so close? Didn’t you know that mortals flying too near the sun always, in the end, get burned?

Seeing her as she was brought back a flood of memories from their year of stormy marriage: the fervent lovemaking; the tears, his and hers, shed and unshed; the power of shaping worlds together. Most of all it revived the soul-wrenching desolation of waking up curled about her, drying body fluids hopelessly intermingled, knowing that no matter how desperately he drove himself into her, he would nonetheless find himself still utterly, inexorably alone.

But through it all there was not one memory of a smile like that, not one. Not from either of them.

The room was packed. Kirk set course for the only vacant seat. This put him catty-corner to the timeworn cedar desk, beside the admiral's left ear, and in front of the great window to the stars. Given the choices of a view he would pick the stars.

No, the stars held too much pain, too much promise. But the promise was now for someone else, not for him. Best not to think, not to feel. He dropped his gaze.

On the polished ebony sill below lived Nogura's personal pride, an ancient Bonsai willow which had been tended though the centuries by generations of family before him. According to legend an ancestor about to evacuate his ruined home in Hiroshima had hastily plucked it from the family garden when it was but a seedling. In the dark aftermath of the bombing the symbolic little plant was nurtured as a microcosm of life that could not only survive, but flourish despite, or perhaps because of, the horrors endured.

And the tree did flourish, but not unaffected. For as the months and years marched on it was clear that the little sprout taken from the formal grove of cherry and larch would become neither of these but instead, inexplicably, a weeping willow.

In the midst of its graceful, sweeping lines, a single lead weight hung rough and homely off one errant, wired branch. Jim recalled the day he had asked about it.

The old man told of how the tree had been untended during his Andorian captivity thirteen years ago. Upon his return more than four years later he found a branch had grown unnipped and untrained, breaking the perfect balance sustained for over 400 years.

"Why not prune it off?" Kirk had casually tossed out.

"It is too late now. Pruning it would leave a scar marring the flow of life energy though the trunk. Once a branch has matured there are but two options: to leave it grow as it will and accept the new shape of the life taken on, or to wire and weight. To patiently coax the life back to the form of the gardener's conceit."

The admiral had made his choice and hung the ugly lead weight from the offending limb. Through the years he had restrung, relocated and refined the weight many times. And though it take nine years or 109 years, he would have the willow weep again in the just the form he had set for it. It said something about Nogura, about how he ran the fleet, his people. Kirk wasn't sure it was such a good thing.

The ear swiveled and became by a pair of dispassionate eyes. "Good morning, Jim. What you have missed is that Outpost 12 is lost to subspace contact and presumed destroyed. Eight hours ago they reported escalating subspace interference and energy damping. One hour ago they lost all communications except low energy telemetry. Data sent indicate they were approached by an 8.3-kilometer long neutronium object. A pure anti-proton beam was directed from object to outpost. Shortly afterwards they ceased all transmission. Attempts to raise them have all failed."

Impassive as ever, Nogura's eyes had settled on Jim. Unflickering, they never left him.

Old instincts coming online automatically, Kirk leaned forward tensely. "The planet crusher? Another planet crusher? If it crossed the intergalactic void and breached the rim near Outpost 12, then any straight course will send it through populated Federation space."

"That is our conclusion as well. While R&D has developed an unmanned energy delivery device based on the reports from Enterprise, the problem now is interception. Currently the fleet is deployed almost exclusively along the Klingon and Romulan borders. Assuming this automaton can also change course like the one of L374, no starship can reach the rim before the search area becomes prohibitively large."

Nogura's eyes stayed fixed on Kirk's face. Why, Kirk could not fathom. There was no challenge. No threat. No apology. As always, the face was as placid as his willow.

"One tentative solution lies in the scoutship Zephyr. She has been outfitted with the prototype transwarp drive and is in spacedock here awaiting the arrival of her command crew. It is this assembly's opinion that there is nothing to lose and much to be gained by sending an ad hoc crew out on her to locate and monitor the object."

Suddenly it all converged. A vision of his future rushed past his eyes and roared into his ears so violently that he almost missed the admiral's next words.

"It is also the position of this committee that a commander with knowledge of the L374 machine would be invaluable. While it is contrary to standard procedure to dispatch flag officers into front line conditions, it is also the majority opinion that given your demonstrated field abilities and the immediate risk to Federation citizens, the benefits of such a plan outweigh the risks.

"So then, what is your opinion, Jim?"

He was being set free! Sweet heaven, Nogura was giving him back the stars! Not trusting himself to speak, he took a calculating breath. Midway through it hit him somewhere deep inside his belly, and he froze. When had Nogura in truth *given* anything to anyone?

Time stood still and he felt his consciousness drawn up and away, as if swept up to a balcony to attend the stage play of his own life. He saw himself, Nogura, the collected brass, the tree, the stars. He watched the scene play out. He saw himself on a ship that was his but not his. He saw his Spartan quarters with the neat, narrow berth that would be his home--empty, of course. He saw a crew of the best, only Starfleet's finest, who never could, never would, live up to what he would look for them to be. And still he could see no shadow.

Someone had once said that time was like a river with currents, eddies, and, oh my, yes… backwash! Maybe it is not too late. Maybe what *is* need not continue to be. He stared down at the man he had become and at the graceful 400-year-old tree that had survived two world wars. If that tree were to shrivel and die tomorrow it would matter not at all, except to the tree itself.

And, perhaps, to the man who had cared for it.

The river flows, the tree grows and the starship commander knows with all the certainty he has ever had in his heart that that gray apparition is not, or at least need not be, him. Maybe he had been premature; maybe Nogura's methods weren't so iniquitous after all. Above all else, life matters. His life, the tree, the man in gray. Life must be set right. Events can be reversed; stray paths can, be corrected. Anything is possible if people will only care enough to take action. A rich bass rumbled up from the back of the room breaking the spell and sending him crashing down to his seat. It was Frank Stone, the same Stone who had once had him court-martialed, now Quartermaster General of the fleet. "Heihachiro, this sounds like a risky precedent. If flag officers can be assigned hazardous duty once on the basis of experience, why not repeatedly? Or even permanently?" But curiously, despite his words his tone didn't sound worried. Not at all. In fact, it sounded quite encouraging.

Kirk smiled inwardly. Funny how friends appear where you least expect them. Thanks, Frank. But first there was a job to be done.

Kirk lifted his head. "Will Decker."

Nogura could not have looked more stunned if James T. Kirk had grown wings, flapped out the window and laid an egg. "Decker?" he mimicked stupidly.

"Yes," Kirk continued as if nothing had happened, "Will Decker is your man. He has a personal interest in the device, has studied all the Enterprise logs extensively and interviewed all the key personnel involved. He has an understanding of the machine equal to my own."

"But no where near your experience with deep space," a voice countered from somewhere, maybe Lori. Kirk couldn't decide if it mattered.

"Then assign him as a mission specialist along with a more experienced captain. But Will is the man who should go."

Ah ha! Nogura's face composed as his universe reformed in its proper shape. It was again impassive, all but for a knowing gleam in the eye he aimed at Kirk. "Decker is currently overseeing the refit of Enterprise. If he weren't back by the time she is ready to launch, there would be a vacancy for her captain."

Now Kirk let the smile reach his face. "Yes, I suppose there would be."

"And, in that case, would you have a recommendation, for a replacement?"

The grin broadened, his lips twitched with the effort of restraining his relief. The ersatz Kirk receded and the spirit born anew this morning in blaze of epiphany roared to life. "Unfortunately, Heihachiro, I will be unable to oblige. I must regretfully inform you that I will be unavailable for these, or for any other commissions, for the time being. This will serve as my notice that I will be taking emergency family leave effective immediately."

As the bombshell fallout showered over the room, Kirk made his escape without a backward glance. He headed for the Quartermaster General's suite. Less than five minutes later Stone appeared.

"Frank, I need a favor."

***

Four days later found him about the merchant freighter Icarus under the able command of Captain Jerry Portman. Stone had outdone himself. Portman ran a clean ship with an easy, jovial air. Currently contracted by Starfleet for Earth/Vulcan supply runs, she was well appointed including a complex array of long range and high resolution scanners. Kirk noted the alert settings: not just for typical pirates and hostiles, but also for Federation patrol cruisers. Wryly he decided this spoke of a ship and crew not unaccustomed to a robust bending of rules.

Testing the theory, shortly after boarding Kirk had met privately with Portman to sketch out his plan. Reassuringly the captain had simply chuckled and replied, "Well, I guess we'd best have all ship's business done first, in case we find ourselves asked to leave…expeditiously."

The crew of 27 was all Terran with one exception, the first mate, Stynek. Kirk would come to find he was married to the pilot, a bright, saucy young woman from the Greek islands. At first this seemed a strange match, but as he worked with Stynek on transferring template and scanner data he had scavenged from Enterprise logs, it became less so. He came to find in Stynek a piercingly familiar curiosity that logically would attract the Vulcan to that which lay well beyond the expected.

In a short time he came to respect the officer not only for his intellect, but also for the amicable equanimity with which he handled the issues of the human crew. He in him saw a loosely restrained passion for all the wonders that life among the stars had to offer. It made Jim more than a little jealous.

As they laid in the final link between scanner and transporter template, Jim pondered the choices made by another Vulcan Captain's Mate he had known. The parallels were simply too compelling not to prey on his mind. Without quite realizing he had said it aloud he pondered, "Stynek, do you ever find it all too much? Do you ever wish to return to your homeworld for a time?"

As soon as the words were out her regretted the forwardness. He braced himself for the reply he was not at all sure he wanted to hear.

Unexpectedly, Stynek responded quite easily. "If you are referring to Vulcan, the answer is 'no'. However, I no longer consider Vulcan to be my home. While I honor the achievements of Vulcan society and civilization, I have come to find the limits of any one culture restrictive. It is an interesting paradox as it was the study of the Vulcan philosophy of Nome and the ideals of IDIC that lead me to the conclusion that I cannot be content to consider myself simply Vulcan. I am of Nome."

"But every man must have a place he calls 'home'," Kirk persisted.

"Indeed? Then I claim Terra, the homeworld of she-who-is-my-wife, custodian of all she holds dear. By extension it is then home to all I hold dear, and therefore my home as well."

"Can you really turn your back on all of Vulcan so easily?"

"I do not turn back on it, Admiral; I simply assert that the constructs of Vulcan are no longer necessary for my contentment, while those of my spouse are." Stynek continued his work smoothly, patently unaware of the effect his words had had on the human. When he looked up some minutes later he found Kirk leaning against a bulkhead, fist pressed hard against his forehead as if to counter some unseen force pressing critically from within.

"Admiral?" Stynek probed quietly.

Wrenched back to the present, Kirk willed his body to a relaxed posture, opened his eyes, and acknowledged the Vulcan.

"The template installation is complete," Stynek continued, unsure of how to deal with this particular human and his quirks. "It would help final preparations if I were to be privy to the specifics of its intended use."

Now Kirk relaxed for real as he contemplated taking action. With a grin he said, "Mr. Stynek, we are going to park in synchronous orbit over Gol and beam the person matching those readings from the compound to this ship."

"Without advance notice?"

The grin broadened. "Without advance notice."

The Vulcan inclined an eyebrow. "That should prove most intriguing."

***

Seven hours later, cargo transport completed, Kirk and Stynek made their way back to the transporter bay.

Nothing left to lose, Kirk stood very straight beside the console. "Energize."

The figure materialized kneeling on the platform with his back to the room. Robed in white, hair wild and unshorn, he rose slowly. His face was hard, cracked and dry as the land from whence he had come. By the time he had turned to face his abductor anything that may have shown, surprise, or, more likely, the total absence of surprise, was long gone.

Kirk took a hesitant step forward, hands parting wide in welcome entreaty. Oddly, his throat had somehow stopped working. More with his heart than his throat he managed to choke out, "Spock."

And then it happened. Admiral James T. Kirk who had with mere words catapulted computers to self-destruction, spewed peace over solar systems, unshackled the collective mind of races--Admiral James T. Kirk could not think of a single word to say next.

Not to the man to whom he had stolen his soul.

The thousand thoughts and dreams and wishes that had inundated his being for the past weeks warped through his mind. Not one could he catch with his tongue.

"I presume," the Vulcan intoned in a shockingly normal voice, "that you have some motive for bringing me here."

Kirk licked the dry corner of his dry mouth with an even drier tongue. How to convey the ineffable? What would the young captain have done?

With resolution, he moved onto the platform and grabbed the Vulcan by the shoulders, holding hard. Holding his eyes. Motive? The nightmare resurfaced and the driving purpose that had spurred him unawares for so long now announced itself in full voice.

”I came to get you back."

The Vulcan shook his head almost imperceptibly. "Sir, I cannot go with you."

Kirk recoiled in almost visceral pain, hands dropping by his sides as if burned. He turned to recompose his thoughts, stepped back for distance, for breath.

"Spock, you yourself said…."

"Sir, I made a serious error in logic at the time I last spoke with you. Had it gone unchecked, I could have destroyed both of us. I am now taking measures to ensure that that does not happen again."

Smarting from the rebuff Kirk collected himself to go on. Failure was not an option. "Logic? Spock, logic is determined by the circumstances. You are half human, therefore it is not illogical for you to have feelings."

"Sir, my concern is not with any feelings which I may or may not possess. Feelings are a given for most sentient beings. My concern is that the actions I have taken regarding them, and those I had proposed to take, were and are dangerously illogical. This cannot be permitted to go further."

"Spock, I have spoken with your father. I am aware that there are…complications. But I also know that this: that what we have become is quite simply wrong. Look at us! You were right two years ago and we have to change it before it is too late." Gathering steam he reached back out to the Vulcan. The human's eyes were full, so full, heedless of decorum, elemental need winning out over pride. "Spock, we can't let this go on either. I need you. I want you. I want you with me, always."

This time the Vulcan did shake his head gently as he stepped down from the platform, stopping only inches away. The long forgotten heat of Spock's body threatened to overwhelm the human where he stood. He fought for composure.

"Spock, " Jim struggled raggedly, "I am in the admiralty now. We can find a way. Together we will find a way."

Spock's plangent tones, too long absent, massaged his soul as they rolled over him, through him. "Admiral, do you not see?" Did he imagine it or did the voice hold a tinge of ruefulness? "Starfleet is open to all Federation citizens--citizens in good standing."

Kirk's jaw dropped, steadied, lifted. He had not seen. He shifted leaning against the console to use the chill of the metal to solidify his thoughts. He took a dilatory breath, but oh gods, such a breath it was!

The acrid scent of the desert suffused his nostrils. His body was permeated with Spock's masculine musk, so impossibly alien and so intimately familiar at the same time. Spock stood close, so close, too close. As the dulcet heat enclosed him Jim was certain he would suffocate where he stood in the enormous cargo transport bay. He couldn't think, didn't want to. He wanted only to live in this moment. He inhaled again and drank deeply filling a place in his heart that had been dry for too long, a place he was not sure he had even known was there. A little voice in the back of his head politely reminded him that his mouth would be expected to say something very soon.

He closed his eyes and once more breathed the intoxicant into himself, not really for courage, but finally giving in to his want, reveling in the luxury. With a calmness that surprised even him, he made the leap. "I have heard that there a few other things in the galaxy besides Starfleet."

Oh, and such a leap! A blind, glorious hurdle into the unknown! Was it only the lighting or was that a bead in the Vulcan's eye? He couldn’t tell. His own body was becoming clammy. The fusion of their essences was positively dizzying. He couldn't think, couldn't look, couldn't do anything but drown in the living presence of Spock.

Deliberately Spock reached down and folded Kirk's hand in his own. He closed the half-step distance between them. Jim was now effectively pinned between the transporter unit and Spock's pelvis, too lost to care. His left arm, pinched by the metal, came up to snake around Spock's waist, the hand resting on the robed hip. The Vulcan leaned over the human bringing his hot breath up to Kirk's ear. Kirk turned his face slowly bringing his lips closer and closer to the Vulcan's cheek. The smell, the heat, the weight of him, the sound of Spock's shallow breathing was agony itself. His lips only a hair's width from the Vulcan's sandblasted cheek, he turned himself further towards the alien lips.

Before he could seal the motion, Spock's fingers shifted. He brought their coupled hands in to lie against their nearly mated thighs. He unfurled his first two fingers and with excruciating slowness moved his warmth downward on Kirk's hand.

As if completing a circuit, the contact sent a bolt surging though to the core of Jim's being. He was seized by the force of it, body held in tetany. On some autonomic level he knew he should order his body to stay standing, to blink, or at least to breathe, however his mind was unwilling to spare any bit of itself for the task, unable to tear itself away from the glory cascading through it.

For with the touch of fingertips the full force of the spirit that was Spock had entered his mind and erupted spreading flood and fire through the human's soul. It permeated through the thoughts and years reaching every lonely corner, touching every long neglected part of him, stimulating inchoate feelings Jim had yet even to classify. The past two years were swiftly swept away. Whatever it was he had said that fateful night no longer mattered. Spock now knew the truth, the depth, the force, the perennity of Jim's unspoken truth--possibly more fully than Jim himself did.

The intimacy brought both blessed relief from the old grief and a new soul-searing pain --too close, too much, too deep too fast. The pressure in his chest, his heart, his soul was too great. If he didn't find a way to take a breath he would die. Just as the weight of the onslaught threatened to pummel him into unconsciousness, the flood slacked off to the lightest ripple. When he knew anything again he had no time to concentrate on the invasion; the pain was forgotten having transformed itself into pure, ingenuous wonder. For however improbably, there was now a reciprocal response from Spock.

Whatever he had believed Spock had meant to offer two years ago, it was certainly not this. Like the rich blossom of the hyacinth, the alien feeling bloomed out of the receding floodwaters. He saw not a volatile mix of the passions like his own, but the cool order of pure, decisive ideals. Waves of trust, devotion, respect, wardenship, camaraderie, and yes, love peaked and climaxed inside Kirk's mind. For this the Vulcan had abandoned family, home, honor, career. For this he would trade all that he held dear. As Jim tried and failed to assimilate the great gift he had been given, the feelings were very carefully restowed within the desert soul from whence they came.

In less than a heartbeat Kirk was again alone in his own mind, shaken and trembling, supported by, my god, Spock's arms! He tried to back away, to catch his breath but the friction of each movement against Spock's encompassing presence only made the turmoil worse.

Spock's warm hands moved up to steady him, holding him by the shoulders, quietly waiting, just as of old. Always waiting--by his side. Had anything really changed? Hadn't it, in truth, always been this way between them? "Spock, I do love you. Please come home."

"Jim," there was no mistaking the sadness now. "I cannot. We are what we are. Whatever home your body may find, your heart is only and always among the stars. Field command is the greatest part of your nature. It is what united us and what fuels your spirit that I love so well. To kill that would be to destroy what you are, and therefore, what we are."

Jim swallowed hard, fighting the conclusion while forced by his own sense of justice to acknowledge the ineluctable truth.

"Spock, there has to be another answer. What you say may be true, but my friend, look at us. What we have become is every bit as untenable. This can't be our final lot in life. We must not let it end this way."

A smile that was not a smile flitted across Spock's face for just an instant. "Perhaps, t'hy'la, but that which we are, we are. We must establish that individually before we can make a place together."

"Spock, I have spent five years doing just that and two more years assimilating what those first five meant. My friend, I am ready!"

"Possibly. But I am not. I must return to Gol."

He groped for ammunition for a last desperate foray. "Spock, completion at Gol means permanent isolation from the outside world. Forever."

"Yes."

"You can't possibly want that."

"It is irrelevant. The paradox there is that if one achieves the objective of the Kolinahr, any wants one has, or has had, thereby become nullified."

"And if one does not achieve the objective?"

"Then, Admiral, there are always…possibilities."

Spock's face was placid. No longer hard, simply still. He disengaged himself from his former captain and walked smoothly to the platform. He turned to meet Jim's eyes one last time. He raised his hand in the gesture of salute. "Live long and prosper, Admiral."

The hand began to fold, but instead of letting it drop to his side, he curled the last two fingers in and swept the air in a small, slow arc as if caressing something precious and unseen. Then it was over.

Spock looked directly at Stynek, acknowledging him for the first time. In the perfect tones of non-emotion he said, "Energize."

Stynek looked to Kirk standing immobile, eyes only for his friend. He slid his fingers across the controls. Spock shimmered in a golden glow and was gone.

The moment broken, Kirk weighed his options with ease. He shot onto the transporter platform and pivoted. "Mr. Stynek, beam me down to wherever he went."

Stynek looked over to him and said calmly. "I must obtain permission from my captain before acquiescing to that request."

Face set, Kirk snapped in the old command tone, "Your captain told you to assist me, so assist!"

"He also ordered me to safeguard the ship and manifest, including your person, sir. The denizens of Gol eschew intruders. The security system is archaic, but extremely efficient. I estimate your survival time inside the compound at less than three minutes."

Thinking back to the 'security' at Spock's koon-ut-kal-if-fee, he could well believe that.

"Then put me outside."

Stynek referred to the console and appeared to read a sensor. "Temperature at the compound gate is currently 147 degrees. Mean useful consciousness of an unprotected human would be 38 minutes. Chance of reaching target within that time approaches zero."

Kirk spread his palms in wordless entreaty to someone, anyone. Face steely he marched over to the front of the console and raised his hand as if to reach for the controls. Abruptly he stopped and stared at the seemingly impassive officer before him. On impulse he asked, "Stynek, what would you do?"

The reply came with unforeseen gentleness. "I would live. For where there is life there are always possibilities."

Kirk looked up, his face shifting. A wisp of a lambent smile played over his mouth, his eyes, his cheeks.

"Yes, it seems I have heard that somewhere before."

The comm interrupted. "Portman to transporter room. Are we done here?"

Stynek inclined an eyebrow in inquiry.

Kirk motioned his head in a quick, tight gesture that could have been a nod, could have been a shake. He squeezed his eyes and whispered so softly as to be almost indiscernible even to Vulcan ears, "If only I knew."

What does a man do when he doesn’t know what to do? Who can he trust beyond himself? There could be only one answer for that. He reached for the smoldering memory of the psychic kiss and rubbed it twice for reassurance--or was it twice for luck? Hell, Spock had been right before, why not now?

He squared his shoulders. Kaiidth. He would follow this path to wherever--to whomever--it led. And who knows, some work of noble note may yet be done, not unbecoming men who strove with gods.

With confidence borrowed from another, not quite able to muster it in himself, he spoke. "Mr. Stynek, please tell your captain to take us home."

~end of Lyrastar part~

~The End~

Author's notes on part V: Thanks to Greywolf for plucking the magnificent little Bonsai tree out from the rest of Carolyn Clowes wonderful writing. Some readers may recognize lines from a Tennyson piece scattered throughout this part. They are intended solely as allusions; in no way am I attempting to claim his phrases as my own. Those who recognize the source will doubtless understand.