Jim Kirk (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
pursuedthestars) wrote2015-10-27 08:30 am
pursuedthestars) wrote2015-10-27 08:30 am
The Enterprise | Tuesday FT
There was no one present in the open engineering bay to hear the steady, powerful hum of the ship's engines. Maintenance was busy elsewhere, still battling to repair the last of the serious damage that had been incurred in the fight with the Narada. At the moment no technicians were on hand in the vicinity of central cooling and water distribution, a largely automated corner of the ship that required little attention.
So it was that there was no one present to see the twin vertical columns of lambent particulate matter that swiftly solidified into the shapes of two human beings.
One of those figures stumbled, gasping, to look down at itself in amazement. Jim realized he was intact and breathed out a sigh of relief. His brain and attendant mechanical parts had all survived the impracticable, implausible journey in one piece. As he rose and began to slip out of his cold-weather outer clothing, a quick look around revealed that he was indeed in the engineering section of a starship. While no identification was readily at hand, he had little reason to doubt it was the Enterprise. If the elder Spock had managed the transport, surely he had also succeeded in putting them aboard their target vessel. Engineer Scott would confirm it.
Where was Engineer Scott?
Looking around anxiously, Jim searched among the huge tubes and conduits for his enthusiastic if unlikely subspace traveling companion. He turned only when he heard a faint banging. His eyes went wide as he located the source.
Scott had rematerialized equally intact and energetic—but inside one of the cooling tanks.
As a stunned Jim looked on, pressure shoved the wide-eyed engineer upward and into a crosswise conduit. Trapped like a worm in a hose, cheeks bulging, Scott was spun sideways with Jim in pursuit. Fists pounding desperately on the transparent unbreakable composite, the engineer could see Jim but not reach out to him.
Racing along below, a frantic Jim looked ahead in search of an access. Instead of a port or sampling cylinder his eyes fell on the main coolant distribution chamber. If the trapped Scott made it that far, he would not have to worry about drowning: the greatly increased pressure in the chamber would crush him and distribute the pieces to different parts of the ship.
If he didn't do something quick, the Enterprise's maintenance engineers were going to find some unpleasant clogs in various corners of the ship's hydrologic system.
No tools were at hand—not that the tough, durable synthetic of which the coolant tubes were made would yield to hammering driven by mere human muscles anyway. There, just off to one side—a control panel. But did it offer access to the right controls? When only one option presents itself, decision-making becomes easy. He made for it as fast as his feet would carry him.
Beneath his pounding fingers a schematic of the complete cooling system offered itself up for inspection. Which conduit, which direction, which valve…? A sideways glance showed that if he didn't do something fast it would no longer matter—Scott's lungs would fill with water before his body even reached the distribution chamber.
Try something, Jim shouted at himself. His fingers stabbed wildly at the console. Jim forced himself to take a mental step backward. "Okayokay—comeoncomeoncomeon—think. Pretend you're in the relevant simulator." His fingers moved again; slower and more assured this time. With purpose instead of panic. "Manual control; enabled. Pressure; calculated. Emergency pressure release; located."
Fluttering eyes half shut, Scott was shooting down the final conduit leading to the distribution chamber. All that remained was to see if he died from drowning or being torn apart by the distributor pump. Then…
The rush of water ceased as emergency seals fell into place on either side of him and a maintenance access panel in the underside of the conduit abruptly dropped open, unceremoniously dumping onto the deck a couple hundred gallons of water and one severely waterlogged engineer. Jim rushed to his traveling companion and propped him up as a gasping Scott spasmodically relieved his insides of a liter or so of involuntarily imbibed liquid. Worse, it was water.
"You all right…?"
Taking a deep breath, the engineer wiped at his dripping face, looked up, and recognized his new friend.
"Nice," he coughed up water, "ship. Really."
Jim helped him to his feet. "Better to be remembered as the inventor of the equations that allow for long-range ship-to-ship transporting than as the first man in history to die from drowning aboard a starship." Still supporting the engineer, he was looking around worriedly. All this commotion in what was normally a tranquil section of the ship was bound to attract attention.
"Come on—let's get to the bridge!"
They didn't get too far. Soon enough, two security guards had their weapons trained directly at Jim and Scott. With nowhere to go, both men slowed. Bemused but professional, the security team came closer. Then one of them grinned unpleasantly at Jim.
"Come with me—moonbeam."
Jim recognized the voice as well as the body. It was the cadet he had bloodied in an Iowa bar in what now seemed like centuries ago…
When they entered the bridge the pair were greeted by stunned expressions. From Sulu, Uhura, and Chekov. Only Spock, and his father, who was also present, regarded the arrivals calmly. Scott wisely kept silent and drew little of the attention. He knew none of them anyway and was unaware that the tension on the bridge was due as much to the awkward relationship that existed between its acting captain and Jim as to the far greater danger that now threatened them all.
Spock straightaway confronted the one prisoner he knew. Flanked by security personnel, Jim met the Vulcan's probing gaze without flinching. The effects of the stun that had been used to subdue him had already worn off.
"Surprise," Jim said.
Ignoring him, Spock eyed his companion. "Who are you?"
He's with me." Jim's smile widened.
"How did you beam yourself aboard this ship while it is traveling at warp speed?"
Battered and exhausted from what had been a very long day indeed, Jim still managed to grin.
"You're the genius: you figure it out." He nodded toward a particular bridge station. "Why don't you ask the ship's science officer?"
"As captain of this vessel I order you to answer the question." It was not exactly a shout, but much more than a casual request. "You are a prisoner. There is nowhere for you to go. This question impinges on the very security of Starfleet itself. I assure you that I will utilize whatever authorized methods are at my disposal to convince you to respond to my inquiry."
"Well, I'm not telling."
Clearly taken aback, Spock had no rejoinder for that. Relishing the confusion he had engendered, an energized Jim pushed harder.
"Does that frustrate you? My lack of cooperation? Does that make you angry?"
Turning away from him, Spock studied the stranger who had accompanied him.
"You are not a member of this ship's crew. Under penalty of court-martial, I order you to explain how you beamed aboa—"
"Don't answer him, Scotty."
Spock was not to be denied. "You will answer me," he ordered the stranger.
Scott looked from Vulcan to Jim—and demurred. "I'd rather not take sides, if you dinna mind."
Frustrated beyond measure, Spock nodded to the security guards. "Escort them to the brig."
But Jim wasn't yet ready to go. In fact, he was just getting warmed up.
"What is it about you, Spock? Your planet was just destroyed. Your whole civilization was wiped out. Your mother murdered—and you're not even upset?"
Spock stared back at him, hard and unblinking. "Your presumption that these experiences interfere with my abilities to command this ship is inaccurate."
"Ha! I mean, did you see that bastard's ship? Did you see what he did?"
"Yes, of course I…"
"So are you angry or aren't you?"
"I will not—allow you to lecture me about the merits of emotion."
Jim moved closer, before the guards could think about intervening. "Then why don't you stop me?"
Spock's eyes did not waver from the human confronting him. Off to the side, McCoy was watching the growing confrontation nervously. Sarek merely—watched.
"Step away from me, Mister Kirk."
"Tell me, Spock." Jim didn't move. "What's it like not to feel? Anger. Or heartbreak. Or the need to stop at nothing to avenge the death of the woman who gave birth to you?"
A vein had begun to pulse in the Vulcan's neck. His eyes had widened slightly.
"Back away…."
"You must not feel anything," Jim persisted. "I guess it must not compute for you. When it comes down to it, I guess you must not have loved her at all…."
"Stop it, you sonofabitch!" Rising from her communications station, Uhura started toward them.
A hand caught her arm and held her back. Looking around in surprise she saw that she was being restrained by, of all people, the ship's doctor. McCoy wore an indecipherable, almost speculative expression.
"Let 'em fight."
Spock snapped.
Jim did his best to fight back, but no human could have moved as fast as the acting captain of the Enterprise did at that moment. Spock became a blur, a whirlwind of striking hands and darting fingers. Every blow Jim struck was blocked, every attempt at defense repulsed as Spock tore into him. Blood—considerably more than a trickle—began to appear on the taunter's face as the Vulcan pounded him relentlessly. A couple of crew members hesitantly tried to intervene.
Spock threw them aside as if they were weightless. Bedlam reigned on the bridge as other officers yelled and shouted in an attempt to stop the fight.
Lifting Jim off the ground, Spock threw him against a far wall. One of the security team charged with guarding the intruder tried to step between the two, only to find himself thrown to the deck. Eyes blazing, Spock caught Jim before he could spin clear and clamped a hand over the tormenting human's throat. Now even an alarmed Uhura was yelling at the Vulcan to stop.
But all the acting captain heard was the uncontrolled raging in his own mind. Nothing could penetrate the white heat that was driving him, no one could make themselves heard above…
"SPOCK."
From where he had remained standing near a far wall, Sarek had finally stepped forward.
Spock maintained the death grip for an instant longer. Jim's eyes fluttered and started to roll back into his head. Then, with the sound of his father's voice echoing throughout his entire being, Spock abruptly released the younger human. His attitude now that of the defeated instead of the victor, he stepped back, stunned by what had transpired. Clutching at his throat and gasping for air, Jim barely managed to remain on his feet. Though his face was bloody and bruised, there was no hatred there. Only compassion.
No one gave much notice to the visage of the battered lieutenant, however. Their attention was focused solely on their commanding officer. After a moment Spock gathered himself, straightening, and wiped at his eyes as he struggled to regain some semblance of his natural dignity. A condition now fled, he knew. Thoughts elsewhere, his attitude uncharacteristically hesitant, he walked calmly over to where McCoy was standing and staring back at him wide-eyed…
"Doctor. By order of Starfleet Regulation Six-nineteen I hereby relinquish my command on the grounds that I have been—emotionally compromised. Please note the time and date in the ship's log." He pushed past the staring physician and exited the bridge.
"I like this ship," Scott declared into the ensuing silence. "It's exciting!"
McCoy turned to Jim. "Congratulations, Jim. Now we've got no captain—and no goddamn first officer to replace him."
Jim didn't hesitate. "Yeah we do."
If he didn't hesitate, the same could not be said for his shipmates. It was left to Sulu to point—in his direction. That was when it hit them. That was when they remembered.
Pike had made Jim first officer before leaving the ship.
"What!?" McCoy blurted in disbelief as the same realization struck him.
Jim offered him a lopsided smile. "Thanks for the support, Doc." As he moved purposefully toward the command chair, he passed Uhura.
"There's a lot I'd like to say—Captain." She all but hissed the title. "But I'll save it for another time. Meanwhile, I sure as hell hope you know what you're doing."
Under the circumstances, he thought, her comment practically amounted to a vote of confidence. He nodded slowly.
"So do I."
Spitting blood that was decidedly not green, he moved painfully toward the command chair.
When McCoy stepped forward as if to examine the injuries the younger man had just suffered, Jim waved him off. There would be time for that later, he knew. If they did not move swiftly and decisively now, there would be no time for anything. Slumping into the chair, he directed his voice to the communication pickup.
"Attention, crew of the Enterprise. This is James Kirk. Captain Spock has resigned his commission and advanced me to acting captain." Throughout the ship stunned crew and officers stopped what they were doing to listen to the announcement. Those who knew Spock could not imagine a scenario under which the Vulcan would have resigned as commanding officer.
They had not been witness to the clash on the bridge.
"I know you were all expecting to regroup with the rest of the fleet," Jim continued, "but I'm ordering a pursuit course of the enemy ship that we believe to be headed for Earth. I want all departments at battle stations and ready for combat in ten minutes. Either we're going down or they are." Ending the transmission, he looked around to regard the bridge crew. Some of them were still in shock. It had all happened so quickly.
Not unexpectedly, it was Uhura who finally broke the stunned silence.
"I want some answers. Where the hell did you get transwarp technology?" She jerked her head in the direction of the still silent and unmistakably damp figure who had remained standing inconspicuously off to one side of the lift doors. "Surely not from that vagrant you brought on board with you?"
That drew a response from the subject, who looked wounded. "'Ere now, lassie, I think that's uncalled for."
Jim smiled, winced at the pain this induced, and tried to answer. "Lieutenant Uhura, that ‘vagrant' is Montgomery Scott, an experienced Starfleet engineer of unexpected mental and technical gifts, if possibly dubious character. As to the definitive source of the actual physics that were employed to get us on board, trust me—it's complicated."
Sulu looked over from his position at the helm. "How about you trust me? I have a doctorate in astrophysics and a master's certificate in interstellar navigation—not to mention having completed a wide assortment of advanced seminars in subspace theory and related disciplines. Whatever explanation you care to propose, I think I can handle it."
"And I also," declared Chekov. "Between Mister Sulu and myself I doubt there's any account you can provide, Mir…Kir—Keptin Jim—that we will be incapable of dissecting. Or is it that you want us to trust you but you won't trust us?"
The expressions and attitudes of the rest of the bridge complement indicated that not only did they agree wholeheartedly with the two officers but that Jim was going to have a hard time getting them to listen to him if he was not soon more forthcoming on this particular subject. Still, he hesitated before replying. When he finally did so it was because he knew that when the time came to confront Nero and the Narada, the one thing they could not afford was uncertainty regarding the top of the chain of command. It would be critical that everyone respond promptly and to the best of their ability to whatever orders he might have to issue. The battlefield was not the place to question the competency—or the honesty—of one's commanding officer. He had no choice but to respond to Sulu's and Chekov's and Uhura's probing.
Even if it was likely they wouldn't believe a word he said.
"Okay, you want answers? The necessary equations to program a transporter for transwarp beaming came from Spock." Looks of bewilderment were exchanged among the bridge crew.
They only grew deeper as Jim continued.
"Not the Spock who just resigned his command of this ship. Not the Spock who just nearly killed me. They came from an older Spock. A much older Spock. One from the future who traveled through a wormhole and is currently residing in our present."
Seated at the helm, Sulu was staring back at him. "Okay—I find myself having to amend my previous statement: I'm not sure I can handle it."
"Do you think we're all crazy, Captain?" Chekov challenged him.
"No." Jim found himself growing in confidence the more he explained. "I am asking you to think. Consider our opponent, the great Romulan starship, the Narada. Bigger by far than any Romulan warship in the catalog. Utilizing weaponry whose basics are familiar but that are far more powerful than anything previously encountered. The unremittingly hostile, even vengeful attitude of its commander and crew. An attitude that to us has no basis in reality. In this reality."
Sulu looked at Chekov, who looked back at Uhura. The change in attitude on the bridge was perceptible. Or maybe, Jim thought, he was just fooling himself. But at least they were listening to him. At least they were thinking.
Logic was not the exclusive preserve of Vulcans. Humans too, on those occasions when they calmed down, were capable of rational thought. And when all possible reasonable explanations for a sequence of events had been exhausted, they were frequently willing to consider the impossible. He continued to present it.
"This Nero followed the older Spock back in time because he blames Vulcan and all Vulcans for the destruction in the future of Romulus. He thinks the Federation, and Vulcan in particular as exemplified by a future mission headed by Spock, could have saved his homeworld. He doesn't trust the Federation, Vulcan, or Spock to do it in this time frame. So now he thinks the only way to save Romulus in the future is to destroy the Federation in our present. That's the truth. As for transwarp beaming capability…" Turning, he nodded in the engineer's direction. "Ask him. He's the one who invented it. Spock—the older Spock, the one from the future—just supplied a reminder."
This time it was not just Uhura but everyone on the bridge who looked penetratingly in Scott's direction.
"Is what he says true, Mister—Scott?"
The engineer nodded, his attitude a mixture of pride and embarrassment. "Aye—and me friends call me ‘Scotty.'"
The astonishment and uncertainty that had heretofore dominated the bridge now dissolved into excited debate.
"So this changes all our histories, or what?" McCoy began. "Does it change the general thread of history and not personal pasts, or does everything change?" He looked down at himself. "Do we change physically, too? I kind of like the way I am." His gaze narrowed as he regarded the new captain. "If we alter the future so that everyone has to do transwarp beaming, I'm not sure I want to go there."
"Our history is only altered," Sulu was saying, "if you think of time as a single thread."
"Then possibly it's more like we're living out a parallel strand than an alternate one," Uhura speculated aloud. "If you believe that the future is immutable and that it already exists, what we're doing is only changing the past. That same future, or if you prefer, parallel one, will continue on whatever plane it exists. Only ours, only this one here and now, will be altered."
"Parallel?" McCoy stared at her. "How many damn universes are there?"
"If this one is changed," Sulu continued, "does it only affect this one, or are all the others affected as well?"
"A ripple effect across the entire continuum." Chekov was clearly excited by the possibilities, however theoretical they might remain. "But can such a ripple affect only parallel existences, or, if it is strong enough, can it also affect a future that has already happened?"
Turning away from the animated and slightly chaotic discussion, McCoy put his hands over his ears. "Kentucky," he told himself solemnly. "Think bluegrass. Quiet caves. Real food. Not parallel food."
Jim eventually called for silence. "Look," he told them, "I'm not sure what it means or if we can even make things go back to the way they were—the way they're supposed to be. Our task right now is to try and save Earth and the Federation from someone who doesn't care about the future of either. We have enough to worry about trying to save the present, without tying ourselves in mental knots wondering if we can save the future. One thing I do know for certain—if we don't save the present then there'll be no future. At least, not for the Federation." He tried to meet each of their stares in turn.
"Maybe if this ship was crewed by Einstein, Rutherford, Bohr, Planck, Hawking, Ashford, T'mer, and Lal-kang instead of us they'd be able to come up with some answers to questions that we can barely formulate. But it isn't. There's just us. And if we want our descendants to have any kind of future, then it's up to us to see that it comes to pass. All I know is, we can't tell Spock—our Spock, the present-day Spock—any of this."
Evidently, McCoy's hands were not pressed tightly enough over his ears, because he turned to frown at the command chair. "Why the hell not?"
"Because I promised him," Jim explained.
Uhura looked baffled. "Promised who?"
"Spock." Jim struggled for clarity—and feared he was losing the fight. "The other one—the other Spock. The one from the future. I promised him that I wouldn't tell him in the present about him from the future because him from the future made me promise." His voice rose. "Dammit, are you gonna trust me or not?"
In response to his manifestly frustrated appeal, silence once more settled over the bridge. But not comprehension.
[NFB, NFI. Taken from the ST novelization.]
So it was that there was no one present to see the twin vertical columns of lambent particulate matter that swiftly solidified into the shapes of two human beings.
One of those figures stumbled, gasping, to look down at itself in amazement. Jim realized he was intact and breathed out a sigh of relief. His brain and attendant mechanical parts had all survived the impracticable, implausible journey in one piece. As he rose and began to slip out of his cold-weather outer clothing, a quick look around revealed that he was indeed in the engineering section of a starship. While no identification was readily at hand, he had little reason to doubt it was the Enterprise. If the elder Spock had managed the transport, surely he had also succeeded in putting them aboard their target vessel. Engineer Scott would confirm it.
Where was Engineer Scott?
Looking around anxiously, Jim searched among the huge tubes and conduits for his enthusiastic if unlikely subspace traveling companion. He turned only when he heard a faint banging. His eyes went wide as he located the source.
Scott had rematerialized equally intact and energetic—but inside one of the cooling tanks.
As a stunned Jim looked on, pressure shoved the wide-eyed engineer upward and into a crosswise conduit. Trapped like a worm in a hose, cheeks bulging, Scott was spun sideways with Jim in pursuit. Fists pounding desperately on the transparent unbreakable composite, the engineer could see Jim but not reach out to him.
Racing along below, a frantic Jim looked ahead in search of an access. Instead of a port or sampling cylinder his eyes fell on the main coolant distribution chamber. If the trapped Scott made it that far, he would not have to worry about drowning: the greatly increased pressure in the chamber would crush him and distribute the pieces to different parts of the ship.
If he didn't do something quick, the Enterprise's maintenance engineers were going to find some unpleasant clogs in various corners of the ship's hydrologic system.
No tools were at hand—not that the tough, durable synthetic of which the coolant tubes were made would yield to hammering driven by mere human muscles anyway. There, just off to one side—a control panel. But did it offer access to the right controls? When only one option presents itself, decision-making becomes easy. He made for it as fast as his feet would carry him.
Beneath his pounding fingers a schematic of the complete cooling system offered itself up for inspection. Which conduit, which direction, which valve…? A sideways glance showed that if he didn't do something fast it would no longer matter—Scott's lungs would fill with water before his body even reached the distribution chamber.
Try something, Jim shouted at himself. His fingers stabbed wildly at the console. Jim forced himself to take a mental step backward. "Okayokay—comeoncomeoncomeon—think. Pretend you're in the relevant simulator." His fingers moved again; slower and more assured this time. With purpose instead of panic. "Manual control; enabled. Pressure; calculated. Emergency pressure release; located."
Fluttering eyes half shut, Scott was shooting down the final conduit leading to the distribution chamber. All that remained was to see if he died from drowning or being torn apart by the distributor pump. Then…
The rush of water ceased as emergency seals fell into place on either side of him and a maintenance access panel in the underside of the conduit abruptly dropped open, unceremoniously dumping onto the deck a couple hundred gallons of water and one severely waterlogged engineer. Jim rushed to his traveling companion and propped him up as a gasping Scott spasmodically relieved his insides of a liter or so of involuntarily imbibed liquid. Worse, it was water.
"You all right…?"
Taking a deep breath, the engineer wiped at his dripping face, looked up, and recognized his new friend.
"Nice," he coughed up water, "ship. Really."
Jim helped him to his feet. "Better to be remembered as the inventor of the equations that allow for long-range ship-to-ship transporting than as the first man in history to die from drowning aboard a starship." Still supporting the engineer, he was looking around worriedly. All this commotion in what was normally a tranquil section of the ship was bound to attract attention.
"Come on—let's get to the bridge!"
They didn't get too far. Soon enough, two security guards had their weapons trained directly at Jim and Scott. With nowhere to go, both men slowed. Bemused but professional, the security team came closer. Then one of them grinned unpleasantly at Jim.
"Come with me—moonbeam."
Jim recognized the voice as well as the body. It was the cadet he had bloodied in an Iowa bar in what now seemed like centuries ago…
When they entered the bridge the pair were greeted by stunned expressions. From Sulu, Uhura, and Chekov. Only Spock, and his father, who was also present, regarded the arrivals calmly. Scott wisely kept silent and drew little of the attention. He knew none of them anyway and was unaware that the tension on the bridge was due as much to the awkward relationship that existed between its acting captain and Jim as to the far greater danger that now threatened them all.
Spock straightaway confronted the one prisoner he knew. Flanked by security personnel, Jim met the Vulcan's probing gaze without flinching. The effects of the stun that had been used to subdue him had already worn off.
"Surprise," Jim said.
Ignoring him, Spock eyed his companion. "Who are you?"
He's with me." Jim's smile widened.
"How did you beam yourself aboard this ship while it is traveling at warp speed?"
Battered and exhausted from what had been a very long day indeed, Jim still managed to grin.
"You're the genius: you figure it out." He nodded toward a particular bridge station. "Why don't you ask the ship's science officer?"
"As captain of this vessel I order you to answer the question." It was not exactly a shout, but much more than a casual request. "You are a prisoner. There is nowhere for you to go. This question impinges on the very security of Starfleet itself. I assure you that I will utilize whatever authorized methods are at my disposal to convince you to respond to my inquiry."
"Well, I'm not telling."
Clearly taken aback, Spock had no rejoinder for that. Relishing the confusion he had engendered, an energized Jim pushed harder.
"Does that frustrate you? My lack of cooperation? Does that make you angry?"
Turning away from him, Spock studied the stranger who had accompanied him.
"You are not a member of this ship's crew. Under penalty of court-martial, I order you to explain how you beamed aboa—"
"Don't answer him, Scotty."
Spock was not to be denied. "You will answer me," he ordered the stranger.
Scott looked from Vulcan to Jim—and demurred. "I'd rather not take sides, if you dinna mind."
Frustrated beyond measure, Spock nodded to the security guards. "Escort them to the brig."
But Jim wasn't yet ready to go. In fact, he was just getting warmed up.
"What is it about you, Spock? Your planet was just destroyed. Your whole civilization was wiped out. Your mother murdered—and you're not even upset?"
Spock stared back at him, hard and unblinking. "Your presumption that these experiences interfere with my abilities to command this ship is inaccurate."
"Ha! I mean, did you see that bastard's ship? Did you see what he did?"
"Yes, of course I…"
"So are you angry or aren't you?"
"I will not—allow you to lecture me about the merits of emotion."
Jim moved closer, before the guards could think about intervening. "Then why don't you stop me?"
Spock's eyes did not waver from the human confronting him. Off to the side, McCoy was watching the growing confrontation nervously. Sarek merely—watched.
"Step away from me, Mister Kirk."
"Tell me, Spock." Jim didn't move. "What's it like not to feel? Anger. Or heartbreak. Or the need to stop at nothing to avenge the death of the woman who gave birth to you?"
A vein had begun to pulse in the Vulcan's neck. His eyes had widened slightly.
"Back away…."
"You must not feel anything," Jim persisted. "I guess it must not compute for you. When it comes down to it, I guess you must not have loved her at all…."
"Stop it, you sonofabitch!" Rising from her communications station, Uhura started toward them.
A hand caught her arm and held her back. Looking around in surprise she saw that she was being restrained by, of all people, the ship's doctor. McCoy wore an indecipherable, almost speculative expression.
"Let 'em fight."
Spock snapped.
Jim did his best to fight back, but no human could have moved as fast as the acting captain of the Enterprise did at that moment. Spock became a blur, a whirlwind of striking hands and darting fingers. Every blow Jim struck was blocked, every attempt at defense repulsed as Spock tore into him. Blood—considerably more than a trickle—began to appear on the taunter's face as the Vulcan pounded him relentlessly. A couple of crew members hesitantly tried to intervene.
Spock threw them aside as if they were weightless. Bedlam reigned on the bridge as other officers yelled and shouted in an attempt to stop the fight.
Lifting Jim off the ground, Spock threw him against a far wall. One of the security team charged with guarding the intruder tried to step between the two, only to find himself thrown to the deck. Eyes blazing, Spock caught Jim before he could spin clear and clamped a hand over the tormenting human's throat. Now even an alarmed Uhura was yelling at the Vulcan to stop.
But all the acting captain heard was the uncontrolled raging in his own mind. Nothing could penetrate the white heat that was driving him, no one could make themselves heard above…
"SPOCK."
From where he had remained standing near a far wall, Sarek had finally stepped forward.
Spock maintained the death grip for an instant longer. Jim's eyes fluttered and started to roll back into his head. Then, with the sound of his father's voice echoing throughout his entire being, Spock abruptly released the younger human. His attitude now that of the defeated instead of the victor, he stepped back, stunned by what had transpired. Clutching at his throat and gasping for air, Jim barely managed to remain on his feet. Though his face was bloody and bruised, there was no hatred there. Only compassion.
No one gave much notice to the visage of the battered lieutenant, however. Their attention was focused solely on their commanding officer. After a moment Spock gathered himself, straightening, and wiped at his eyes as he struggled to regain some semblance of his natural dignity. A condition now fled, he knew. Thoughts elsewhere, his attitude uncharacteristically hesitant, he walked calmly over to where McCoy was standing and staring back at him wide-eyed…
"Doctor. By order of Starfleet Regulation Six-nineteen I hereby relinquish my command on the grounds that I have been—emotionally compromised. Please note the time and date in the ship's log." He pushed past the staring physician and exited the bridge.
"I like this ship," Scott declared into the ensuing silence. "It's exciting!"
McCoy turned to Jim. "Congratulations, Jim. Now we've got no captain—and no goddamn first officer to replace him."
Jim didn't hesitate. "Yeah we do."
If he didn't hesitate, the same could not be said for his shipmates. It was left to Sulu to point—in his direction. That was when it hit them. That was when they remembered.
Pike had made Jim first officer before leaving the ship.
"What!?" McCoy blurted in disbelief as the same realization struck him.
Jim offered him a lopsided smile. "Thanks for the support, Doc." As he moved purposefully toward the command chair, he passed Uhura.
"There's a lot I'd like to say—Captain." She all but hissed the title. "But I'll save it for another time. Meanwhile, I sure as hell hope you know what you're doing."
Under the circumstances, he thought, her comment practically amounted to a vote of confidence. He nodded slowly.
"So do I."
Spitting blood that was decidedly not green, he moved painfully toward the command chair.
When McCoy stepped forward as if to examine the injuries the younger man had just suffered, Jim waved him off. There would be time for that later, he knew. If they did not move swiftly and decisively now, there would be no time for anything. Slumping into the chair, he directed his voice to the communication pickup.
"Attention, crew of the Enterprise. This is James Kirk. Captain Spock has resigned his commission and advanced me to acting captain." Throughout the ship stunned crew and officers stopped what they were doing to listen to the announcement. Those who knew Spock could not imagine a scenario under which the Vulcan would have resigned as commanding officer.
They had not been witness to the clash on the bridge.
"I know you were all expecting to regroup with the rest of the fleet," Jim continued, "but I'm ordering a pursuit course of the enemy ship that we believe to be headed for Earth. I want all departments at battle stations and ready for combat in ten minutes. Either we're going down or they are." Ending the transmission, he looked around to regard the bridge crew. Some of them were still in shock. It had all happened so quickly.
Not unexpectedly, it was Uhura who finally broke the stunned silence.
"I want some answers. Where the hell did you get transwarp technology?" She jerked her head in the direction of the still silent and unmistakably damp figure who had remained standing inconspicuously off to one side of the lift doors. "Surely not from that vagrant you brought on board with you?"
That drew a response from the subject, who looked wounded. "'Ere now, lassie, I think that's uncalled for."
Jim smiled, winced at the pain this induced, and tried to answer. "Lieutenant Uhura, that ‘vagrant' is Montgomery Scott, an experienced Starfleet engineer of unexpected mental and technical gifts, if possibly dubious character. As to the definitive source of the actual physics that were employed to get us on board, trust me—it's complicated."
Sulu looked over from his position at the helm. "How about you trust me? I have a doctorate in astrophysics and a master's certificate in interstellar navigation—not to mention having completed a wide assortment of advanced seminars in subspace theory and related disciplines. Whatever explanation you care to propose, I think I can handle it."
"And I also," declared Chekov. "Between Mister Sulu and myself I doubt there's any account you can provide, Mir…Kir—Keptin Jim—that we will be incapable of dissecting. Or is it that you want us to trust you but you won't trust us?"
The expressions and attitudes of the rest of the bridge complement indicated that not only did they agree wholeheartedly with the two officers but that Jim was going to have a hard time getting them to listen to him if he was not soon more forthcoming on this particular subject. Still, he hesitated before replying. When he finally did so it was because he knew that when the time came to confront Nero and the Narada, the one thing they could not afford was uncertainty regarding the top of the chain of command. It would be critical that everyone respond promptly and to the best of their ability to whatever orders he might have to issue. The battlefield was not the place to question the competency—or the honesty—of one's commanding officer. He had no choice but to respond to Sulu's and Chekov's and Uhura's probing.
Even if it was likely they wouldn't believe a word he said.
"Okay, you want answers? The necessary equations to program a transporter for transwarp beaming came from Spock." Looks of bewilderment were exchanged among the bridge crew.
They only grew deeper as Jim continued.
"Not the Spock who just resigned his command of this ship. Not the Spock who just nearly killed me. They came from an older Spock. A much older Spock. One from the future who traveled through a wormhole and is currently residing in our present."
Seated at the helm, Sulu was staring back at him. "Okay—I find myself having to amend my previous statement: I'm not sure I can handle it."
"Do you think we're all crazy, Captain?" Chekov challenged him.
"No." Jim found himself growing in confidence the more he explained. "I am asking you to think. Consider our opponent, the great Romulan starship, the Narada. Bigger by far than any Romulan warship in the catalog. Utilizing weaponry whose basics are familiar but that are far more powerful than anything previously encountered. The unremittingly hostile, even vengeful attitude of its commander and crew. An attitude that to us has no basis in reality. In this reality."
Sulu looked at Chekov, who looked back at Uhura. The change in attitude on the bridge was perceptible. Or maybe, Jim thought, he was just fooling himself. But at least they were listening to him. At least they were thinking.
Logic was not the exclusive preserve of Vulcans. Humans too, on those occasions when they calmed down, were capable of rational thought. And when all possible reasonable explanations for a sequence of events had been exhausted, they were frequently willing to consider the impossible. He continued to present it.
"This Nero followed the older Spock back in time because he blames Vulcan and all Vulcans for the destruction in the future of Romulus. He thinks the Federation, and Vulcan in particular as exemplified by a future mission headed by Spock, could have saved his homeworld. He doesn't trust the Federation, Vulcan, or Spock to do it in this time frame. So now he thinks the only way to save Romulus in the future is to destroy the Federation in our present. That's the truth. As for transwarp beaming capability…" Turning, he nodded in the engineer's direction. "Ask him. He's the one who invented it. Spock—the older Spock, the one from the future—just supplied a reminder."
This time it was not just Uhura but everyone on the bridge who looked penetratingly in Scott's direction.
"Is what he says true, Mister—Scott?"
The engineer nodded, his attitude a mixture of pride and embarrassment. "Aye—and me friends call me ‘Scotty.'"
The astonishment and uncertainty that had heretofore dominated the bridge now dissolved into excited debate.
"So this changes all our histories, or what?" McCoy began. "Does it change the general thread of history and not personal pasts, or does everything change?" He looked down at himself. "Do we change physically, too? I kind of like the way I am." His gaze narrowed as he regarded the new captain. "If we alter the future so that everyone has to do transwarp beaming, I'm not sure I want to go there."
"Our history is only altered," Sulu was saying, "if you think of time as a single thread."
"Then possibly it's more like we're living out a parallel strand than an alternate one," Uhura speculated aloud. "If you believe that the future is immutable and that it already exists, what we're doing is only changing the past. That same future, or if you prefer, parallel one, will continue on whatever plane it exists. Only ours, only this one here and now, will be altered."
"Parallel?" McCoy stared at her. "How many damn universes are there?"
"If this one is changed," Sulu continued, "does it only affect this one, or are all the others affected as well?"
"A ripple effect across the entire continuum." Chekov was clearly excited by the possibilities, however theoretical they might remain. "But can such a ripple affect only parallel existences, or, if it is strong enough, can it also affect a future that has already happened?"
Turning away from the animated and slightly chaotic discussion, McCoy put his hands over his ears. "Kentucky," he told himself solemnly. "Think bluegrass. Quiet caves. Real food. Not parallel food."
Jim eventually called for silence. "Look," he told them, "I'm not sure what it means or if we can even make things go back to the way they were—the way they're supposed to be. Our task right now is to try and save Earth and the Federation from someone who doesn't care about the future of either. We have enough to worry about trying to save the present, without tying ourselves in mental knots wondering if we can save the future. One thing I do know for certain—if we don't save the present then there'll be no future. At least, not for the Federation." He tried to meet each of their stares in turn.
"Maybe if this ship was crewed by Einstein, Rutherford, Bohr, Planck, Hawking, Ashford, T'mer, and Lal-kang instead of us they'd be able to come up with some answers to questions that we can barely formulate. But it isn't. There's just us. And if we want our descendants to have any kind of future, then it's up to us to see that it comes to pass. All I know is, we can't tell Spock—our Spock, the present-day Spock—any of this."
Evidently, McCoy's hands were not pressed tightly enough over his ears, because he turned to frown at the command chair. "Why the hell not?"
"Because I promised him," Jim explained.
Uhura looked baffled. "Promised who?"
"Spock." Jim struggled for clarity—and feared he was losing the fight. "The other one—the other Spock. The one from the future. I promised him that I wouldn't tell him in the present about him from the future because him from the future made me promise." His voice rose. "Dammit, are you gonna trust me or not?"
In response to his manifestly frustrated appeal, silence once more settled over the bridge. But not comprehension.
[NFB, NFI. Taken from the ST novelization.]