Jim placidly watched Spock work at the data sphere, tapping sequences of commands into its controls. Finally he looked up at Jim, putting the data sphere aside. "I have completed the coding necessary to transfer the data onto the Federation network."
"Great, can you send it out now?" Jim replied.
"I would like to verify that the files work properly in the Federation's computational environment. I will forward them to your account first."
"Sure, go for it." Jim leaned forward. He really wanted to see what Spock offered as proof of his story.
Spock typed on the data sphere, then looked back at Jim, nodding.
Jim checked his messages, seeing a new one from an unknown sender with an attachment. File size: 63 terabytes.
"Spock, this file is huge. That can't be right."
"I have sent you 63 terabytes of data."
"That's insane… what's in there?"
"The proof that the Admiralty requested. Please open the file, and verify that you can view its contents."
Jim tapped the attachment, downloading it to his account. He opened the archive, finding a series of folders delineated numerically. He opened "1788," then the first set of images.
An image of Spock's face, bloodied with eyes closed, popped up on screen. Jim scrubbed through the images: details like a pool of green blood staining a ripped blue tunic gave way to armed Xirans loading Spock's limp body into a transport vehicle. Jim swallowed hard.
"I see that the files are indeed compatible." Spock leaned back into his chair, typing again on the data sphere. "I am forwarding them to Starfleet Command."
Jim asked, "Spock, when were these images taken?"
"The folders are named according to the corresponding Earth year of the contents." Spock did not look up from his data sphere, though his hands stilled.
"I get that, but why are there so many folders? You've got one representing every year from then til now." Jim scrolled forward to 2260, opening the latest file: a photo of Spock in Xiran uniform speaking to a room with Xirans and other aliens seated in booths. He read the caption in the metadata: Admiral Spock addresses Parliament, 2260.125.
"The Admiralty will no doubt desire proof of my actions and whereabouts for the past 473 years."
"But you must have time-traveled back to the present? Why represent the years you skipped?"
"Jim, I lived through every second of every day from my arrival on Xira until now."
Jim blinked quizzically at Spock's bland expression as his feelings roiled between outrage and awe. "Spock, that's just crazy. That's over twice an average Vulcan's lifespan, and you've hardly aged!"
"My lack of aging is an enigma, but the fact remains that I have been alive for 503 years, 473 of them spent in the Xiran Union or its precursor." Spock met Jim's gaze, setting the data sphere down.
"How is that possible?"
"I hope to determine that by examining the rift device that was recovered from Hlish. There should be data about its last use including its settings that should prove useful."
"So you suspect that your prolonged life was caused by the rift?"
"It is logical."
Jim stood and started pacing. A terrible thought came to him."Spock, you were alive and probably in command of a fleet of ships when Nero destroyed Vulcan."
"I was the Admiral directing the Blue Fleet at the time, and yes, I could have intervened at the destruction of Vulcan. Or earlier, perhaps averting the destruction of the USS Kelvin entirely." Spock crossed his arms resolutely.
Jim stopped pacing right in front of Spock, hands tightening into fists at his sides. "What the hell, Spock! Why didn't you stop Nero?"
"I made a vow to never intentionally manipulate the time stream by selectively editing events, and I have kept that vow."
"But billions of lives could be saved! Spock, your mom would be alive! And my dad!"
"I refuse to play god. The consequences of changing such major events are unpredictable. Introducing the Xiran Union to the Federation at an earlier point in the timeline could have sparked war." Spock's eyes glittered with resolve. "The decision to remain uninvolved was not an easy one, Captain. However, I am at peace with my actions in this regard."
Spock rose from his seat, forcing Jim to take a step back. "I would like to meditate until it is necessary to appear before Command again."
"Sure, Spock, sure. Be at peace. I'll leave you alone, for now." Anger plain on his face, Jim picked up his PADD and walked out of the VIP quarters, heading for the bridge.
After taking the brisk walk to the bridge, Jim composed himself as best he could, trying to quell the invading thoughts about a possible alternate life led with his father, without the destruction of the Kelvin or of Vulcan. Jim huffed out a short breath, pulling himself together. The basics of running the ship were not enough to keep him occupied, though, his mind drawn to the enigma of Spock's time with the Xirans.
Caving relatively quickly, Jim couldn't tear his eyes away from his PADD as he reviewed Spock's files. In the recent years, there were mission reports, audio recordings of speeches, paparazzi photos, and videos of public appearances.
He watched a short clip of Spock in a stiff-looking heather gray and white dress uniform standing at attention at the dedication of the UXSS Bahsu . Spock looked nonplussed, as if he was used to such things.
Jim wondered about Spock's life. How could he have ascended to the highest echelons of society in a strange world without losing himself? What was he holding back? Jim knew he had to get Spock to talk to him about it, but for now, he chose to search for answers in the data Spock had provided.
He scrolled backwards to the "1830" folder. He found a series of audio recordings contained within, all titled " .4493.127," where the decimal places varied from one file to the next. Popping in his earpiece, he listened.
"Captain's log, UXSS Surak, stardate 3457.031. We cannot locate the party of biologists that was due to check in three days ago…" Jim spent the next twenty minutes listening raptly to Spock's voice.
"Captain, Admiral Chandra's on channel five for you, sir."
"On screen."
Admiral Chandra appeared on the viewscreen with a wry smirk on her face. "Captain Kirk. How is our resident quincentennial man?"
"Meditating. Did the data he submit authenticate the timeline he provided?"
"So far, it has, though Admiral Spock has done his best to inundate our research department with his glut of data. There's no way they can verify the authenticity of all these documents in the time allotted for his visit to Earth. My people are begging for a full day to even offer a reliable summary of the actions he has taken in the span of years indicated."
"So what's the plan? Are we still meeting at Headquarters in twenty minutes?"
"No, Captain, we'd like more immediate proof of Spock's veracity. Get Spock's consent and then have your CMO give him a thorough examination with the intent to determine his actual age."
"Aye aye, Admiral."
Jim rose from the command chair, ordering, "Tell Bones to expect a visit from Admiral Spock."
He arrived outside Spock's quarters with trepidation. Spock could simply refuse the exam, but it'd make it harder for him to make his case believable. Jim didn't enjoy being the one to tell him that more proof was needed, though.
Jim buzzed the room's intercom. "Spock, you there?"
The door slid open. "I am available, Jim. I assume the Admiralty have contacted you regarding the files I submitted."
"Yeah, Spock, they have. It's going to take more time than they foresaw to go through all that information. They want you to let Bones examine you to confirm your story."
"Logical, though redundant. Is the Doctor expecting my arrival?"
"He sure is. And he's in one of his states about it."
"'One of his states'?" Spock arched an eyebrow. "To which state of being do you refer?"
"He's just ornery about being special-ordered to see to you while he could be overseeing the restocking of med bay."
"I see."
"You will once we get to med bay. I'm almost frightened myself."
Bones thrust a box into Jim's arms as soon as they entered med bay, its' contents clanking and clattering dangerously.
"Great. Just in time. Nurse Chapel, my replacement has arrived."
"Bones, what? What am I supposed to do with this?"
"Manually check that its contents match the manifest."
Jim pulled a face, about to protest.
"Now look here, I've gotta do this exam on Admiral Hobgoblin and it's gonna set me back in terms of getting all this stuff accounted for. I've got to get this finished today, Jim. Jocelyn's letting me take Joanna tomorrow."
Jim smiled, remembering the last time Bones had gotten to see his daughter. It had been too long. "That's great, Bones! I can definitely do some grunt work to get you out of here."
Glancing back, Jim saw Spock standing hesitantly in the doorway to med bay. "Spock, get in here."
"So I need to find out how old you are, Spock? The admirals didn't believe you when you showed them a photo of the candles on your last birthday cake?"
"It is illogical to celebrate the date of one's birth, and I fail to see how candles on a cake are relevant."
"Illogical? Irrelevant? Obviously your time with the Xirans has not made one iota of difference in that emotionally-stunted head of yours."
Spock leaned away from Bones, saying, "You seem utterly yourself: nonsensical, abrasive, and argumentative."
"Let's just get this over with, Spock. Follow me." Bones stalked off into med bay, turning into one of the examination rooms.
Jim was dutifully stacking boxes and counting their contents in a med bay supply closet when he heard Spock and Bones' voices coming closer.
" - don't give me that guff, you should be a mouldering pile of mutations by now - "
" - I assure you, I am aware of the infeasibility of my own continued existence - "
"Gentlemen, what seems to be the problem?" Jim turned around to see Bones and Spock come to a halt in the doorway of the closet. Bones leaned against the doorjamb, sighing heavily.
"I can confirm that this green-blooded bastard is older than any Vulcan or human that I've ever examined. I can't give a precise estimate of how old, but 503 sounds right to me. Thing is, he shouldn't be alive."
"Why's that, Bones?"
"His DNA's telomeres are so short and shredded that they look like the fringe on my ex's tattered jean miniskirt!"
"Bones, what does that have to do with his alive-or-not-ness?"
"Telomeres are strands of protective material at the ends of our chromosomes, Jim. Every time a cell divides it loses some of the information at the end of the strand. The presence of telomeres prevent the strand from losing actual genetic material.
"In the case of older cells, telomeres become short enough that the cell can no longer divide. The shortening process is associated with aging, cancer, and a higher risk of death. Spock's had none of these effects, even though he's got the shortest telomeres I've ever seen - making him a freak of nature."
"I am cognizant of the contradiction inherent in my own survival, Doctor."
"Good for you, Spock. I will submit my findings to you shortly, Jim. You almost done here?"
Jim surveyed the remaining boxes, saying,"Yeah, you want to grab a drink from Landlover's later? I owe you one, remember?"
Bones looked pointedly at Spock. "I remember."
"My Xiran colleagues were excited to experience some recreation on Earth. May we join you?"
Inwardly, Jim cringed. He had been looking forward to the opportunity to vent to Bones about his attraction to Spock, but now it seemed like that would be impossible. "Sure, Spock, the more the merrier. But let's leave the security detail behind." Jim did his best to smile. Maybe they would all have fun.
Everyone seemed excited at the prospect of a little break from the negotiations. They had beamed down to the Academy's transporter bay and walked across the manicured Academy grounds to Second Street.
Jim was being entertained by the antics of Lieutenant Shalisa.
" - And then the diplomats showed us more photographs of Earth's culture. It was so boring. We want to experience the culture of Earth! We want to go drinking!" Shalisa's tail whipped around as she explained her goals to Sulu and Chekov.
Behind him, Dex, Bifur, and Scotty were enthusiastically talking about food. " - I canna' emphasize enough the importance of spicy mustard on a sandwich - "
To his left, Bones and Veersha were speaking in hushed tones, with Marcus and Uhura laughing behind them.
Spock walked placidly by Jim's side, quiet in the still night. Jim longed to question Spock further about his decisions on Xira, but sensed that now was not the time. He chose a more neutral topic.
"So how did Shalisa even learn that drinking was a thing on Earth? It doesn't seem like a hobby that you would find worthy of mention."
"Shalisa asked me about things a typical human Starfleet officer would indulge in upon returning to Earth.
Xirans have a similar cultural tradition of communal meeting places where the attendees intend to find mates or strengthen social bonds. They consume a psychotropic beverage known as quik'loran which induces a mild euphoria. The tradition of visiting a drinking establishment while docked is a time-honored Starfleet tradition. It was logical to tell Lieutenant Shalisa of its importance.
"And, to clarify, I have been out drinking a few times, though generally under coercion from my fellow officers or superiors. Pike in particular was fond of taking his subordinates out for a drink."
"I really can't imagine you drinking, Spock." Jim grinned, imagining what Spock would be like in such a state.
"Alcohol has a much milder effect on Vulcans."
"So there will be no drunk Spock tonight."
"Affirmative."
"Pity."
Landlover's Grog House was fairly empty at their arrival, but it was somewhat early on a Tuesday night. Not the busiest night of the week, but that worked in their favor, Jim thought. The faces of the Enterprise crew were well-known among the types of patrons known for frequenting the bar: Academy students, officers whose ships were in spacedock, and 'fleet groupies. Jim wouldn't have chosen Landlover's if it were the weekend or if another major ship berthed recently. As it was, the fact that the Enterprise was in orbit hadn't been broadcast long, and it was a school night, giving the crew some leeway. Jim loved the relative calmness of the place in contrast to its weekend bustle.
The place was done up in wood paneling and had a vague nautical feel, with porthole-like windows and rowboats mounted high above against the walls. There were lots of knickknacks on the walls— naval memorabilia interspersed with photos of Starfleet officers and their starships. It was a seat-yourself kind of establishment, with spots open at the long bar and surrounding swathes of tables. There were alcoves in the corners, partitions giving the occupants some privacy - a great stop for making out, Jim had learned. Music thudded out from the far end of the room, where a gap in the crowded tables functioned as a dance floor.
Jim selected two tables that looked clean enough for the grungy vibe the bar gave off, dim light making it hard to see into the far corners of opposite table.
"First round's on me, everyone." Jim walked up to the bar, ordering the beers. The group crowded around him as they passed out the beverages, forming a loose circle.
"To old friends and new," Jim said, after the last beer made it over to Scotty. They all clinked glasses and drank. Jim caught Spock's eyes as they finished the toast. The rest of the group started meandering back to the tables, drinks in hand.
Jim leaned against the bar as Spock chose the seat next to him.
"I listened to some of your old logs, Spock. Seems like you did good as a captain."
"It was a fulfilling time compared to some of the other phases in Xiran history."
"You supplied a ton of information. To the point where it feels like obfuscation. What are you hiding, Spock?"Jim asked, inquisitively.
Spock shifted on his stool. "The information on my career is complete."
"You're only delaying the inevitable, if that's the case. What's your endgame, Spock? Command will have your data analysed and summarized by the end of our visit."
Spock took a drink and set the glass back on the bar. "I had hoped to find a time to discuss some aspects of my past with you without the presence of others."
"You had a chance, back when I pulled you aside to confront you in Conference Room Seven two days ago. What's different now?"
"You were irate over the fact that I supposedly revealed the encryption protocols to the Xiran Union, stubborn and unwilling to hear my explanation. Telling you my age then would would not have been ideal, much less explaining particulars of my situation. You seem more willing to listen tonight."
"I'll grant you that. So, what do you have to tell me?"
"Let us move to a more secluded location." Spock took his drink and made his way to one of the alcoves in the corners, taking a seat in a booth behind a partition. Jim followed, sitting across from him.
"Spock, I'm ready to hear what you have to say."
"I fear that what I must say is not simple or straightforward."
"I can understand complex concepts, Spock; just get to it."
"As you wish. During my time on Xira, my experiences revealed much about my own character. Perhaps most notably was my own capacity for violence when pressed. There was a hundred year war on Xira - the Xiran Civil War, fought over the use of rift devices. I had been promoted to Captain in the Xiran Exploratory Force by then, but as the dispute escalated, I was ordered to fulfill the XEF's secondary purpose: defend the Union.
"The war was bloody and terrible, with civilians frequently caught in the middle of struggles between the two sides. Our opposition, known as People for Original Space-Time or POST, employed guerilla tactics in their strategies. I frequently had to choose between preserving civilian life or preventing POST from achieving their goals, whether they were trying to acquire munitions or actively targeting government posts.
"I could not always avoid killing civilians in the crossfire. I tried to always apply the philosophy that the needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few, but to this day I am haunted by the screams of women and children on a Xiran street turned battlefield."
Spock's hand shook slightly as he took a drink.
"Is that why you feel like you can't return to the Federation? Out of some self-flagellatory sense of remorse?" Jim set his elbows on the table, leaning in.
"No, Jim, it is not. I truly have an obligation to the Xiran people, one that cannot be shirked."
Jim cocked his head to the side, face "I'm listening."
"I was one of the inventors of the rift device. Not only did my creation cause a civil war, but rift devices are currently being stolen, smuggled onto the black market and sold to technology-poor societies. The use of the devices by those who hate the Union or wish to influence their own society's timeline must be prevented at all cost. I helped open this Pandora's box; it is my obligation to help contain it."
Jim leaned back, thinking. "You always have had a particularly strong sense of duty. But where will it end, Spock? If you live another five hundred years, will you still be serving Xira just because you influenced their timeline?"
"Xira has become my home, Jim. Aside from my obligation to right these wrongs, I feel more free and content with my life than ever before, even aboard the Enterprise. I am utterly myself, unhindered by social constructs of how I should behave, given my race and background." Spock's tone was confident and full of conviction, without any sense of self-doubt.
"That's great, Spock, it really is. I'm happy for you." Jim didn't feel happy; he wanted to scream. Suppressing his feelings, he finished his drink, hastily gulping it down.
"Why don't we go see what the others are up to?" Jim rose and headed for their tables, not glancing back to see if Spock followed.
Hours later, Jim was unsubtly watched Spock dance with Uhura from his seat at the bar. His hands were on her hips and she had her head thrown back, laughing.
"Another," Jim ordered. He downed the shot of tequila quickly.
He zig-zagged through the expanse of tables, making his way to the small dance floor. Tapping Uhura on the shoulder, he said, "Mind if I cut in?"
She smiled and turned to him expectantly, but Jim had already stepped up to Spock, placing his hands on Spock's shoulders. Jim vaguely heard Uhura say, "Of course," from behind him.
"Captain, you have been drinking heavily." Spock's hands were tight on his hips, holding him away from Spock's body.
"Worried about me, Admiral? How sweet." Jim let Spock turn them in a slow circle. Over Spock's shoulder, he saw Scotty chugging down a beer as the rest of the group shouted encouragements.
"I don't know how you can turn your back on a crew like ours, Spock." Jim absently curled one of his hands around the nape of Spock's neck.
"The officers of the XEF comport themselves admirably." Spock allowed his grip to loosen, and Jim pulled them closer together, stopping scant inches from Spock's body.
"What about all we've been through together? Nero, Khan, all the missions?"
"Those experiences did indeed have a formative effect on my character. I do not want to minimize them. Nor do I want to minimize your importance in my life, Jim. The memory of serving with you gave me the model I based my own captaincy upon.
"Your courage, grace under fire, and approachability are all qualities I seek to emulate. You guided me from afar."
Jim pulled Spock flush against him, stopping their slow rotation, his head pressed against the side of Spock's.
"I miss you, Spock," Jim admitted, his eyes welling up with tears.
Spock hesitated, hand coming up to cup the back of Jim's head as they gently swayed. "I have missed you greatly, Jim."
Jim held onto Spock for a long while, focusing on his warmth and steady heartbeat.
