The Fire and the Rose Read online

  “Spock,” Kirk said as he gestured toward the doctor. Spock immediately reached up and applied pressure to the appropriate points on McCoy’s shoulder. The doctor stiffened and then collapsed. Galloway and the others lowered him to the ground, and Spock squatted down to check on McCoy’s condition. He took hold of the doctor’s wrist and felt for a pulse. It beat strongly—perhaps too strongly, no doubt a consequence of the considerable amount of cordrazine still in his body. They would need to-

  “Spock,” the captain said, his tone urgent. Spock stood up and stepped over to his side. “If that is a doorway back through time,” he said, staring at the Guardian, “could we somehow take Bones back a day in time, then…”

  “Relive the accident?” Spock said, understanding the captain’s intention. “This time be certain that the hypo accident is avoided?” Kirk nodded to Spock, and then they both looked back at the Guardian, in which images seemingly out of Earth’s history continued to appear and disappear. If they had truly found a time portal, then the captain’s idea might have some merit, but—“Look at the speed with which the centuries are passing, Captain,” Spock said. “To step through on precisely the day we wish…”

  Captain Kirk seemed to consider this for a moment, and then he said, “Guardian,” and moved toward the object. “Can you change the speed at which yesterday passes?”

  “I was made to offer the past in this manner,” the Guardian said. “I cannot change.” As though testifying to the fact, the sights within its misted center continued to advance through human history.

  After watching for a few seconds, Kirk said, “Strangely compelling, isn’t it?” The captain, Spock knew, had a fondness for historical studies. “To step through there and lose oneself in another world?”

  Spock glanced down at his tricorder and decided that recording the images might prove to be of some value. He worked the device to do so, but when he checked the data stream, he saw not just pictures being recorded, but the reality behind them. “I am a fool,” he declared. “Our tricorder is capable of recording even at this speed. I’ve missed taping centuries of living history, which no man before has ever—”

  Spock heard rapid footfalls in the sandy ground behind him, but before he could turn, McCoy sprinted past.

  “Doctor McCoy!” Scott called.

  “Bones, no!” the captain yelled. He took three steps and lunged after McCoy. But the doctor had been too fast and he leaped away, passing directly through the center of the Guardian. The mist and the images within evaporated as Kirk landed on the ground before the object.

  McCoy had also vanished.

  “Where is he?” Kirk said as he climbed to his feet.

  “He has passed into what was,” said the Guardian.

  Spock heard the activation tones of a communicator behind him, and then Uhura said, “Captain, I’ve lost contact with the ship. I was talking to them and suddenly it went dead.” She handed her communicator to Kirk. “No static, just nothing.”

  The captain operated the communicator’s controls. “Kirk to Enterprise,” he said. When he received no response, he held the device out toward Spock, who took it. “Scotty,” the captain said, and the engineer retrieved his own communicator and activated it.

  Quickly, Spock and Scott established a signal between the two devices, confirming their operation. “Nothing wrong with the communicator, sir,” the engineer said.

  “Your vessel, your beginning,” the Guardian said, “all that you knew is gone.”

  Spock understood what must have happened, and the captain put the concept into words. “McCoy has somehow changed history.”

  “You mean we’re stranded down here?” Scott said.

  “With no past, no future,” Spock replied.

  “Captain,” Uhura said, “I’m frightened.”

  “Earth’s not there,” Kirk said, as though attempting to grasp the enormity of the situation. “At least not the Earth we know. We’re totally alone.”

  For a few moments, no one said anything more. Spock silently regarded the other members of the landing party, the only sound the low whine of the wind through the rocks. He wondered about the apparent paradox of what had just happened: if McCoy had indeed altered Earth’s history in such a way that the Enterprise had never been built, or had at least not come to this world at this time, then how could the six of them be standing here now? Perhaps their proximity to the Guardian had prevented them from being affected by the change to the timeline, but whatever the case, they had no water, no food, and no means of leaving this place.

  Except that McCoy just did leave, he thought. So could they, back somewhere into Earth’s past. And if they could find McCoy, prevent him from altering the timeline-

  “Captain,” Spock said. “There is a possibility.”

  Six

  2293

  As they came to the last set of exhibits, she felt disappointed. Even though they’d spent the past couple of hours in the museum, the historical displays had so engaged Tremontaine that she hadn’t wanted to reach their end just yet. Though she had known of the Alonis, and had even dealt with several of their representatives through the years, she’d never before this assignment visited their world.

  An aquatic species, the Alonis resided beneath the violet seas that covered nearly ninety percent of their planet. They possessed a head and torso that resembled that of a humanoid, at least in shape and dimension, but their body narrowed down to a long tail rather than to legs. They did not have arms either, but short fins. With no fingers or thumbs, they would have been unlikely to develop an advanced, technological society had it not been for their short-range psychokinetic ability. With that skill, they had learned how to fashion water into essentially solid tools.

  Tremontaine peered through the glass at the final set of displays, at the same time listening to an audio presentation via the miniature speaker affixed to the top of her ear. At the near end of a long chamber, a diorama depicted Alonis scientists in a lab as they discovered the means of faster-than-light travel. Past that scene, a detailed scale model of an intricate underwater construction facility showed the fabrication of a prototype warp ship. Finally, at the far end of the chamber, she saw a mock-up of two Alonis clad in environmental suits encountering the crew of an Andorian vessel, making their people’s first contact with an alien race.

  “From the dawn of a civilization to the time they reach out into the universe, it’s always a fascinating story,” Tremontaine said. “But I find it particularly compelling in this case.”

  “Yes,” Spock agreed from where he stood beside her. “The progression of exploration from ocean to land to sky to space is highly unusual.”

  “The way the Alonis have adapted to interaction with air-breathing races is so impressive,” Tremontaine said. In quite a few locations throughout their vast submarine cities, the Alonis had erected structures to hold an atmosphere, specifically for the use of guests to their world. The tunnel in which Tremontaine and Spock now stood weaved its way through the mostly water-filled museum.

  “We do regard ourselves as explorers,” said Tel Renavir Morat, “not just of the physical universe, but of the many cultures that inhabit it.” The chief of staff for the Alonis ambassador had accompanied Tremontaine and Spock to the museum, graciously leaving her natural environment in order to act as a guide for the Federation dignitaries. Out of a fluidic setting, Morat employed an antigrav chair for locomotion and wore a rebreathing suit that maintained a layer of water against the silver scales of her body. “We are as absorbed by the interior world as the exterior,” she said, her words sounding slightly tinny as the translator in her helmet interpreted the chirps and snaps of her native language into Federation Standard.

  “A most worthwhile perspective,” Spock said.

  Morat escorted Tremontaine and Spock past the final display and through a doorway, where they completed their closed circuit through the museum. There, the chief of staff bade them farewell until tomorrow, when the summit wo
uld resume. After returning their earpieces at the museum office, Tremontaine and Spock stepped up onto a transporter platform, informed the operator of their destination, and then a moment later descended another platform halfway around the world.

  They exited the transporter station and emerged into the open air of Lingasha, the largest town on the primary land-mass of Alonis. Night had already fallen on the tourist and diplomatic center, a place established expressly for off-world, nonmarine visitors. As Spock signaled for an airpod that would carry them back to the Federation Embassy, Tremontaine again felt disappointment. She realized that she hadn’t wanted their outing at the museum to end not just because of how interesting it had been, but also because she hadn’t yet wanted to part from her fellow ambassador.

  “Mister Spock,” she said, wary of breaching the formality with which they still addressed each other, even after all this time. They had worked together on Orelte for only a few days, but after she’d completed a brief mission to Marcos XII, Tremontaine had been teamed with him for these talks on Alonis. Already a month old, the complicated and protracted negotiations for the construction of a Starfleet base here promised to continue for some time. During the past weeks, Tremontaine and Spock had spent a great deal of time together, mostly at the bargaining table, but also with their aides in preparation and analysis sessions outside of the conference. Additionally, they had eaten a number of meals together, typically working through those as well. They had never really spoken on a personal level here on Alonis, and only once back on Orelte, during her first night there. Their excursion to the museum today had been the first activity they’d shared that had not been directly related to their jobs, albeit with Chief of Staff Morat along as their guide. Now, Tremontaine decided that she wished to be alone with Spock, away from the embassy and their professional lives. The initial attraction she’d felt for him back on Orelte had only deepened as time had passed. “Can I interest you in a nightcap?” she asked, recognizing the incongruity of using the honorific Mister as she invited him out with her. “The Federation consul recommended a cafe where they have live music in the evenings.”

  As the airpod approached, Spock said, “That would be acceptable.” Although his words hardly sounded enthusiastic, they also lacked any sort of coldness. Tremontaine had known enough Vulcans in her life—some of them colleagues, some of them acquaintances—that she understood well their usual emotional control and outward detachment. Spock seemed different to her than any of the others she’d ever met, though. While he maintained his own reserved manner, he also did not appear completely stoic. She found his steady demeanor not aloof, but approachable and even soothing.

  They boarded the airpod and Tremontaine told the operator the name of the cafe, which translated into Standard as Notes on the Water. It took them only a few minutes to cross town. As they entered the establishment, she heard the strangely soulful strains of Alonis music, sinuous, extended tones that blended together in a way only possible within a liquid medium. They walked through the small interior of the place and then out the back, to where the music played, and Tremontaine immediately wondered if she’d made a mistake in asking Spock here with her. Beneath a panoply of stars, the wide, dimly lighted terrace ran along a still inlet. Small tables sat against a railing that overlooked the water, in which spotlights penetrated past the surface and picked out the Alonis musicians, whose song played through speakers all around. The various elements combined to create a romantic ambiance.

  Concerned that the setting might make Spock ill at ease, Tremontaine looked over at him, ready to tell him that they needn’t stay. Before she could say anything, though, he pointed to the far corner of the terrace, away from the few other patrons present. “Would that table suffice?” he asked.

  Pleased, Tremontaine nodded. They made their way over to the table and sat down, and an Antosian waiter quickly came over to serve them. Tremontaine ordered a glass of red wine, and Spock an Altair water. After the waiter had left, Spock asked her opinion of the museum, and they chatted for a few minutes about the exhibits they’d seen. When their drinks arrived, they sipped from their glasses, then sat back and listened to the evocative, almost haunting melodies drifting through the night.

  When the performers finished their set, Spock said, “The Alonis music puts me in mind of whale song.”

  “Yes,” agreed Tremontaine, who’d had the same thought. It had been a while since she’d heard such sounds, but back in 2285, virtually everybody on Earth had become familiar with them. At that time, a powerful alien entity had approached the planet, seeking to make contact with humpback whales, a species long extinct. Its communications had threatened the population of Earth, ionizing the atmosphere, vaporizing ocean water, and draping the globe in near total cloud cover. Along with Admiral Kirk and the former command crew of the Enterprise, Captain Spock had traveled back in time to the twentieth century, where they’d retrieved a male and female humpback whale and brought them forward to the present. The ocean-bound creatures had then conversed with the alien, prompting it to reverse the damage it had done to Earth’s environment. In the months and years that had followed, accounts of the incident had been widely reported, and the musical speech of the humpbacks had become commonly known among the general populace, Tremontaine included. Not wanting to bring up all of that, realizing that Spock must have heard questions and comments about it many times before, she instead asked, “Are there whales on Vulcan?”

  “Not as such,” Spock said. “There is, however, a species of large creatures that inhabits the Voroth Sea. In addition to being noted for their size, they are also known for their bioluminescent hides. They are fish, though, not mammals, and they bear only a passing resemblance to the whales of Earth.”

  “They sound interesting,” Tremontaine said. “I’ll have to make a point of seeing one the next time I’m on your homeworld.”

  “You have been to Vulcan before then?” Spock asked.

  “A few times,” Tremontaine said. “Mostly in an official capacity, but I also took two classes at the Diplomatic Institute in T’Paal.”

  “I am familiar with the institute,” Spock said. “My father periodically lectures there.”

  “I didn’t know that,” Tremontaine said. “I never ran into Ambassador Sarek when I was there.” It should have come as no surprise to Spock that she knew the identity of his father. As Federation representatives, she and Sarek had met on occasion, and sometimes had attended the same diplomatic events. “I’ve spoken with the ambassador on occasion, though we’ve never worked together,” she added. “Of course, I’m certainly familiar with his reputation.”

  Spock drank from his Altair water, then said, “I am curious to know your understanding of that reputation, Ms. Tremontaine.”

  Ms. Tremontaine, she thought. Mister Spock. She took a sip of wine, then set down her glass. “Would you… when we’re away from our bureaucratic roles, would you call me Alexandra?”

  Spock seemed to consider this, and for a moment, she thought that he might object. Instead, he nodded and said, “Alexandra, then. If it is acceptable, I would have you call me Spock.”

  Tremontaine felt herself smile, a slight, closed-mouth expression that people who knew her well would have recognized as a sign of great delight. In her many years as an ambassador, she had learned the value of keeping a tight rein on her outward bearing, a choice that had spilled over into her personal life. “I would like that,” she said. She paused, allowing herself to experience the moment, and then she returned to the question Spock had asked. “As for Ambassador Sarek, he is well respected, considered a strong negotiator with a sharp attention to detail. It’s well known that a number of his successes—such as the Coridan accession, the Alpha Cygnus IX treaty, and the Koltaari reprisal—have occurred under adverse circumstances, but have proven absolutely vital to Federation interests. Because of that, your father is thought to be the best choice for the most difficult, most important missions.”

  “It is
gratifying to know that his efforts are appreciated,” Spock said.

  “Well, I definitely appreciate Ambassador Sarek,” Tremontaine said, then quipped, “For one thing, because he’s dealt with the Romulans, it means I haven’t had to.” She chuckled, hoping her attempt at humor wouldn’t make Spock uncomfortable.

  “From what I’ve been able to observe,” Spock said, “it is the Romulans who are fortunate not to have had to face you at the negotiating table.”

  Tremontaine peered over at Spock. Had he just made a wry joke, or had he just complimented her? Or both? Amazingly, she thought she saw a glint—an impish glint—in his eye. “So tell me,” she said, wanting to know more about him, “do you get back to Vulcan much? I assume you were raised there.”

  “I was born in the city of Shi’Kahr,” Spock said. “I lived there until I entered Starfleet Academy. I do return there occasionally, most often to visit my parents, though with Sarek’s work, they are often away as well.”

  “What does your mother do?” Tremontaine asked.

  “She is a schoolteacher,” Spock said, “though her travels with Sarek usually leave her little opportunity to practice her profession.”

  “What does she teach?” Tremontaine asked.

  “On Earth, prior to marrying my father, she taught grade school,” Spock said. “Once she moved to Vulcan, she began teaching human studies, including history, literature, and emotional analysis.”

  Tremontaine leaned forward in her chair. “Your mother lived on Earth?”

  “She did,” Spock said. “My mother, Amanda Grayson, is human.”

  “That’s—”

  —interesting, she thought, but did not complete her sentence for fear that she might offend Spock. Though not unusual for individuals of different species to enter into relationships, to marry, even to have children, Tremontaine hadn’t known—why would she?—about Spock’s mother being human. She wondered if his parentage had contributed to his Vulcan-but-not-completely-Vulcan persona, to his apparent lack of an impenetrable, emotionless veil. She also dared to think, for just an instant, what it all might mean to her. So many questions whirled through her mind, and she picked one. “You think of yourself as Vulcan, is that right?” she asked.