Chapter Seven

Several hours ago he'd installed the last of the replacement parts they'd cobbled together over the last few days and was now programming the boosters to fire automatically. They needed to begin braking at precisely the right moment, lest they overshoot or undershoot their time by years or even centuries, and odds were the G-forces would render him unconscious once again.

Spock had carried his captain inside last evening soon after the boy had left. Kirk still had not regained consciousness. He'd administered the final dose of antibiotics earlier today; at this point there was nothing else he could do for Jim. Everything now depended on getting him back to their time and placing him in McCoy's capable hands.

He spent the remainder of the afternoon eradicating what evidence of their presence he could; he filled in the trenches gouged into the sandy soil by their crash-landing, phasered into oblivion the vegetation and scrub damaged or burned by the Galileo's faulty engines, and rubbed out all traces of their footsteps.

The final details now complete, he headed for the aft compartment, slipped into the chair beside Kirk's bed. His captain's brow was on fire, his breathing rapid and shallow now. It would all be over soon, one way or another. For more than an hour he kept silent vigil over his friend, occasionally wiping the sweat from his captain's forehead, all the while working out the computations for their return trip in his head. As twilight approached Spock strapped the man to the cot, his hand lingering briefly on a gold-clad arm. It went without saying that the trip back through time, should they manage it, would be a bumpy one. The infection was dangerous enough; he didn't want to risk the captain suffering additional injuries should their effort prove successful.

With nothing else left to do, he wandered to the open hatch and sat down to await the arrival of his "nephew." The boy appeared after several minutes. Spock rose to meet him, unprepared for the look of anguish clearly visible on the youngster's face. Spock could not deny that he was apprehensive as well, both at the monumental task looming before him, and for the fate of his young friend—a fate he would never know. He felt a twinge of regret. Only years of rigorous training kept it from showing openly.

Spock watched as the boy gathered himself, took a deep breath and reached for control, chin thrust out stubbornly before him. "As promised, Uncle, I have come to see you off," he said, the young voice wavering slightly.

"As I knew you would."

The boy handed Spock a bottle of water. He opened it and handed it back to the youth, who accepted it, took a healthy swallow, and returned it to the tall stranger. Spock sipped at it as well as a look of understanding passed between them.

"Your friend…?" the child began, unable to finish the sentence.

"He lives, but will not survive for much longer. It is now paramount that I return him to our time."

"How soon will you go?" the boy asked, shifting his weight from foot to foot.

"It will be dark enough to make the attempt in twelve minutes, but before we depart, I would ask one final thing of you."

The boy's face lit up with expectation. "What? Whatever it is I will do it gladly."

"You must promise me that you will never speak of our presence to anyone, or of our vessel or of the technology you have seen. The fate of your world may depend on your silence." And yet, in the back of his mind Spock knew that even if the boy should find it necessary to recount the events he had experienced in the desert, without concrete proof and given his youth, the child's stories would likely be dismissed.

There was always the option to mind meld with the boy and wipe the memories from his "nephew's" mind, but Spock could not bring himself to do so. Over the last five days the boy had proven his trustworthiness. Besides, there was always a chance that he, Spock, would see something in the boy's mind that was better left unknown. He was confident that his and Kirk's presence here had not somehow altered this timeline, and all would be as it should.

"You have my word on my honor as a Vulcan, Uncle," the child vowed fervently. "However, I shall miss you and will think of you often."

"And I you," Spock admitted sincerely. "Your beliefs on life and peace are sound, regardless of the current views harbored by your society. In every revolution there is one man with a vision. Do not lose sight of yours, Nephew, and do all that you can to see it realized."

"I won't, for you have given me the hope and inspiration that others have not; you have supported me where others only provided ridicule, and I will never forget that, or you." With a stifled sob, the boy launched himself at Spock, hugging him tightly about the waist. Spock was nearly bowled over as the kaleidoscope of his "nephew's" conflicting emotions assaulted him through the tactile contact.

Unsure of how to respond, Spock merely caressed the small, dark head, drawing the child to arm's length after a moment and dropping to one knee so they were now eye to eye. "And now we must depart. I wish to thank you for the assistance you provided during our time here. In many ways, it was instrumental." He raised his hand in the traditional Vulcan salute. "Peace and long life to you, Nephew."

The child imitated the unfamiliar gesture, spreading the fingers of his one hand with the other, forcing his hand to mirror Spock's symbol. "And to you, Uncle. And luck—that your plan to return to your own time works, and that others will be able to save the life of your friend once you do get back."

Spock rose to his feet, and with a final squeeze to the boy's bony arms, he turned and disappeared inside the shuttle, thumbing the switch to close the hatch.

oooOOOooo

The bridge crew was exhausted, most running on adrenaline and a ceaseless supply of caffeine. The majority of personnel from alpha shift had worked steadily for twenty-four hours, only leaving for four hours of rest when McCoy ordered it, saying odds were if they were too tired they'd miss something.

Earlier today the Lexington had joined them, allowing each vessel to deviate farther from the projected course the shuttle would have taken, but still the search had turned up nothing.

Ten hours into the search on the first day, Chekov had picked up a faint warp trail, possibly generated by a shuttlecraft, but it had ended abruptly, as if the vessel that had made it had simply winked out of existence. Vulcan Space Central had provided what assistance they could, exhaustively scanning and rescanning the atmosphere and planet, searching for signs they may have missed, but again could find no evidence that the Galileo had burned up in the skies above or crash-landed somewhere on the surface below.

Scotty focused their attention at the point where Chekov's warp trail ended, convinced they hadn't been taken by hostile forces. Despite what the commodore had said, there was simply no evidence to support such a theory. Vulcan was located well within Federation space. Even if their enemies had managed to find a way to hide an entire vessel and had ventured so far into Federation territory, the craft would still have to generate some form of propulsive signature they'd be able to track. He was not given to the random paranoia occasionally exhibited by those in the upper echelons of Command. To his mind, the fact that his captain and the first officer had been transporting sensitive documents was just coincidental.

He couldn't explain it, but Scott was certain the answer revolved around the spot where the trail disappeared. He ordered that the Enterprise's search pattern consist of ever-widening concentric circles around that point while the Lexington continued to sweep back and forth over the Galileo's projected course from Vulcan to Starbase Four. Neither provided any additional clues as to the shuttle's whereabouts.

"It's been nearly two days, Scotty. What are the chances that their life support system is still functioning?"

Scott glanced up into the worried blue eyes of the CMO. The doctor had also been on the bridge for the majority of the search, pacing and chewing his thumbnail mostly. "It's no' lookin' good, but I'm not ready to throw in the towel yet. After all, if anyone could figure out how to extend the life of their fuel an' keep essential systems functionin', it's Mister Spock."

"Mister Scott, no signs detected during this sweep, either," Chekov reported, his voice frustrated, defeated, mirroring the somber mood pervading the bridge.

"Acknowledged, lad. Mister Leslie," Scott remarked, addressing the substitute navigator, "increase our position by one parsec an' continue the circular path around the end location of Chekov's warp trail. Mister Sulu, engage when ready."

"Aye, aye sir," both men at the helm answered immediately, their fingers flying over their consoles as they hurried to fulfill the request.

McCoy leaned close to the command chair. "Scotty, realistically how much longer can we keep this up?" he asked in a conspiratorial whisper.

"Until someone orders me to stop," came the determined reply.

oooOOOooo

As the Galileo escaped Vulcan's atmosphere, Spock breathed a sigh of relief. They had not been detected. He set a course for the interior of the solar system, straight for Vulcan's sun. As the gravitational pull increased, he engaged the warp engines. It would just be moments now. The craft began to shake in earnest, the light from Eridani streaming intensely through the viewports. Spock dialed the filter to maximum and the glare eased somewhat.

Current speed was now in excess of warp ten as the craft skimmed above the surface of the sun, hull temperature now off the charts, interior temperature hovering around 47 degrees Centigrade. Another few seconds and the vessel was sure to fly itself apart. Spock abruptly changed course, veering 180 degrees away from the sun in an effort to wrench the Galileo away from the pull of Eridani's gravity. As he did so the G-forces increased, his vision going dark. He was unsure if the boosters had fired before the world around him ceased to exist.