"It's like you always said...If something's important enough, you make the time..."
Spock isn't sure why these words are in his head, but as he stares out across the gunmetal gray water of the San Francisco bay, the spray of chilly sea water reminds him of a time, ages in his past but still farther back, and yet somehow faintly in the future, when he swam with whales here. There is a hint of familiarity in the tone, he surmises, as if he'd heard it through a PA system or from a television turned well below normal audible range, but any more than that is washed away with the fine misting spray.
It has been 18 short months since the Narada fell back into the temporal rift and stranded him here, and yet it feels an age has passed since he began his work with the Vulcans. Recolonizing an entire species, even one so severely depleted, has proven more challenging than he'd originally calculated, and the longer the process draws on, the more anger mounts.
At first it was only Starfleet asking when they'd have free use of their transport vessels again, as if shuttling refugees around had become not just an inconvenience but a hardship.
Then the Federation had begun pestering him; what sort of aid would these people need? Had adequate surveys been conducted of the new homeworld? Was the planet in contention? Did the environmental chaps get enough time to draw up a cross-section of the indigenous lifeforms before 'tampering' began? What sort of timeline could they expect for relocation to finish?
Worst of all, the elders, as well as several uncharacteristically outspoken Vulcans, had come to him asking if they might suddenly consider finding another planet; this one was far too removed, they'd reasoned, and while it gave them a modicum of privacy and safety, it also meant trade and subsequent taxes would be a major inconvenience. They had also voiced concern over returning to Vulcan Prime to scour for possible artifacts, which the Federation had already barred them from three times.
He thinks of his own homeworld, the real Vulcan, flourishing and oblivious in that far and parallel universe, and cannot help but sigh. In the back of his mind and in all his spare moments he still tries to devise a way of getting back there, but it seems like such a pipe dream now-
His communicator trills angrily, a hornet in his pocket, and as he turns away from the cold, dead ocean, he shakes off the dream and returns to his reality. He has work to do, and the Enterprise won't tolerate his idling.
A flurry of activity on the bridge greets the tired old Vulcan, but he's more entertained than annoyed. This Kirk may not be the same smirking, coy artisan of escape that his best friend was...is...but he's still a genuinely witty and energetic character. In fact, all the faces he surveys are caricatures of his former life, as if someone has decided to put on a shady puppet show in tribute to a life he technically will never live.
"Bones, we don't have time to wait for another shipment," Kirk is growling, striding heavily from the rear of the bridge to the captain's roost, his footfalls more like sledges striking granite. It is a rare talent both captains share that they can become thunderheads when angered.
"Fine, if you want to give everyone Boruvian varicella, damn-well be my guest," the doctor huffs, turning just as red as Spock remembers the other Bones would become when challenged. Everyone could do as they pleased, as long as they kept their necks out of the sickbay, McCoy had told him on many an occasion-
"It is highly improbable that a simple lack of vaccine would trigger an outbreak, doctor," his young self intones smoothly, appearing from behind him, as if his own shadow had just gained its long-sought freedom.
If any of these people give him reason for disquiet, none are moreso worrisome than his own past self. They are as alien to one another as he'd once been to the plethora of humans he'd served with years ago on the original Enterprise, before the 5-year mission had fully gotten underway, and they were only beginning their acclamation to one another. An emotional Vulcan was not something Spock had ever really considered, and when he'd been confronted with this maverick version of himself, he realized why his forebears had taken such pains to eradicate emotion: He was highly dangerous, completely unstable, and largely unfit for service.
"Keptin, zer is an sheep closink from de base; it wood appear she is goink to mayk to board," the shuddering English of Ensign Chekov interrupts.
Here are two more curious creatures, Spock continues his inner monologue, as he glances at the curved, transparasteel controls at the head of the bridge. A 17-year-old boy and an untested Lieutenant are all that stands between the Enterprise and certain destruction on a regular basis, and yet both of them unquestioningly wear the gold and stripes of command. The Chekov and Sulu he remembers were straight-laced, quick-thinking, intellectual men, men of integrity and courage, not a pair of pubescent flight-school rejects. He is disinclined to be so outright and harsh toward the pair, but after observing their...style...he knows such emotion stems from his acquaintance with what may be their better halves.
And there, the last of the important faces, the red-clad Uhura and Scotty, are pouring over something at the communications array. The two are an unlikely couple, but they are above all his favorite companions among the rabble, and he values their insight. Uhura, just as beautiful as her counterpart and just as intelligent, and Scotty, still the same brash Scottsman he recalls, have been his technical eyes and ears since he was assigned the Enterprise as primary transportation, and if his suspicions are correct, that pointed over-the-shoulder glance from Scotty means they have news for him.
Ignoring the simmering battle so similar to those he's fought himself on just such a bridge, he joins Scotty and Uhura at her workstation.
"Do we have word from Vulcan 1 yet?" Spock asks, referring to the hastily (and temporarily) named refugee planet. They cannot get underway until Vulcan 1 requests them, as per shoddy Federation guidelines surrounding the re-population effort, and as of oh-six-hundred, they had been asked to idle in dry dock. Now, floating just beyond the initial couplings and inertial dampeners, the umbilical of Starfleet still hasn't been cut, but the feeling of unrest is already manifesting itself in the crew (and its captain).
"N...no," Uhura says slowly, the worried look in her eyes making her look considerably older. "We've been asked to bring aboard a shuttle."
"That is not completely unusual," Spock replies, the furrow in his brow growing only slightly deeper. "The doctor has requested a cache of supplies; perhaps Starfleet has determined that their value outweighs our timeliness."
Scotty and Uhura share a quick and troubling look.
"That in'nit tha thing, Ambassador," Scotty says slowly, and the way he lowers his voice and leans forward seems far too conspiratorial for this to be a simple thing like vaccines. "They're requestin' that you go in'meet the shuttle yourself, y'see. Summat important an' secret, we're thinkin', if you asked us. Which, I think y'may want t'consider. Honestly."
Between Scotty's halting speech and Uhura's haunted expression, Spock has a good idea that this is turning into a bad affair.
"Is there any word from Starfleet...officially?" he clarifies, his face stony. "If this is a political matter, they could have contacted me personally-"
"I don't think it is," Uhura interrupts, completely unlike her. "I think it's got to do with...With your, you know, your home."
A thought occurs to him, one so outrageous and inconceivable that it sticks immediately on his thought pallet and refuses to let go. He knows it is as absurd as it is unlikely; he disappeared years in the future, a lifetime after the rest. They, they and most of their children, are dead. This is most likely an inquiry, another long interview about the technology aboard his vessel, something completely logical and plausible and routine.
As if in a dream, though, the words play back to him again:
"The most important reason for climbing a mountain...Because it's there."