Divergence


Planet-side: Vulcan, ShiKahr City, Artisan Quarters, year 2246

Spock ascended the winding staircase carved directly from the rocks. It was a familiar path and led to the old Mahr-kel, built high within the crumbling battlements of an ancient fortress that encompassed half the city, and had been in his youth, a preferred place of leisure. He had fond memories of many languid late winter afternoons spent here with his parents when he had been very young, following them as they purchased scrolls and paper-bound books. The vendors here were some of the oldest and most respected in the whole ShiKahr and it would have been amiss of him to not make the journey. The reason for his visit was rather personal, but it was also necessary; one of the mission objectives given to the Enterprise had been to collect samples and specimens from Vulcan, in preparation for the event that their mission would be a failure and –

Spock stopped abruptly, pivoting back around to the businesses he had just passed. There was a display on political figures in the last two centuries at a familiar book vendor, in fact – yes. With some hesitation, he edged closer and examined several volumes stacked along the middle shelf. It was an anthology of writings by several authors, including several well-known Human historians… a biographical account of Ambassador Soval, with a particular focus on his contribution to relations with Earth and participation in the Council of Babel, the protean organzation that led to the United Federation of Planets. It was… this book… Spock picked it thoughtfully.

My son has never read his works – I was planning on purchasing an anthology for him… a birthday present…

In his timeline, he distinctively remembered the anthology being a gift from Mother, given on a day in that had not been significant by Vulcan or Earth's calendar; he had returned from school, and it had been there, waiting for him upon his study desk. Spock ran a hand along the spine thoughtfully.

"Sulu to Spock. Come in please," His communicator click-chirped.

Spock put the book down as if he had been burnt and ducked into the alcove doorway of a closed instrument shop. Checking that no one was paying attention, he flipped his communicator open. "Spock here. Report, Lieutenant."

Lieutenant Sulu's voice was harsh through the small speakers, panting breaths distorting his words. "We've completed collecting the botanical samples in the first list, sir, and the second team has just beamed down."

"Excellent," He affirmed, pleased that they were ahead of schedule. "Proceed with the rest of the collection."

"Aye-aye sir – will you be returning to the ship, sir?"

Spock turned and gazed upon the book vendor. His purpose in coming here was to purchase certain works for archival purposes, and the anthology…

"Negative, Lieutenant. I am currently occupied with the task of collecting Vulcan cultural artifacts."

"Understood, sir, do you require any assistance?"

Spock was tempted for a moment to call for Nyota to join him, as her linguistic expertise would certainly be useful in this situation. But no, he reminded himself firmly that she was technically not cleared for away missions, and that visit to his ancient home had been anomalous. Spock allowed himself a moment of reluctant gratitude. Yesterday, there had been a moment where his control had been in need of assistance, which Nyota provided adequately but... no – he should do this alone. "Unnecessary, Lieutenant – please inform the transporters to be ready to beam items aboard upon my orders."

"Yes sir, Sulu out."


Planet-side: Earth, San Francisco, Starfleet Academy, year 2246

Christopher Pike locked his office door and taking a deep measured breath, tucked the datapad securely under his arm. He wasn't sure what this meant yet; the DNA matches to Starfleet officers running back four generations, the physician who wasn't where he was supposed to be, the young man named "Jim", the Starfleet training... Someone had to be told, the only problem was who.

The Bolian yeoman hurried over, his thick bushy eyebrows drawn in a frown. "Sir, there's a –"

"Not now, Naido," Pike said tersely.

Reading his face, the yeoman nodded nervously and got the hell out of his way.

Pike headed for the nearest stairs, ignoring the lifts. The last thing he needed was to be in a small enclosed space with a bunch of noisy cadets. He felt like beating the hell out of something and going down the stairs helped disperse a little of that nervous energy. He'd left his office without a plan and even now his mind was spinning, trying to figure out where to start, who to begin with.

Pike paused as he exited the building, blinking at the dramatic change from the light-controlled interiors. It took a few seconds for his eyes to adjust in the afternoon glare. He eyed the spires of Starfleet Intelligence off three hundred meters to the east. He frowned; no, the last thing he needed was for his two captives to be carted away under dubious jurisdiction and never heard from again.

"Hey."

He spun around in surprise at that familiar voice. "Winona," He said, hiding his dismay – oh crap, not now.

Winona Kirk smiled, leaning back against her hoverbike. Suddenly the image of that young man, "Jim", collided with hers. Pike looked away.

"What are you still doing here?" He asked, masking his irritation. Telling her was not in the plan. The Temporal Prime Directive applied here; Pike felt a slight tremor run through his body as he flashed back to the results from the DNA screens.

"Chris, hey… look, um. Sorry, about that, earlier," Her smile turned apologetic; she hooked her hands in her hip pockets. "Can we talk for a moment?"

Pike looked at her, wondering if she was onto him. The woman gave him a wry smile, then at his non-response, furrowed her brow in confusion. Finally she shrugged, palms open at her sides. 'What?' She drawled, arching one eyebrow.

"Sorry, Winona, but I'm on official business." And I don't want to get you involved, Pike added silently.

"Ah, well…" She looked skywards in an exasperated gesture, "Sure, look, I'll be staying in the Green Wing, so look me up later tonight okay? I'm going to go see if I can catch Barnett."

"Sure," He nodded, smiling tightly.

She was barely two steps away when someone stepped up to him from behind, startling him badly.

"Commander Pike?"

Pike turned on his heel sharply and eyed the two security officers, trying to figure out what they wanted. The collar of his uniform tightened a little.

"Yes?"

"Commander Pike," The female Edosian trilled softly, still managing somehow to sound stern despite the lyrical quality of her voice, "We have a message for you from Starfleet Command, sir."

"What's this about?" Winona demanded at his side, instinctively protective.

The Edosian's head, bobbing high on that elongated neck, swung around to blink at her. "It is private, sir," she trilled, "Priority One seal… I'm sorry but if you could come with us please, Commander Pike."

The look on the face of the other security officer said it clearly; he was coming with them, whether he liked it or not. He felt the sweat collect uncomfortably down his back as his collar tightened just a little more. Pike glanced back at Winona, uneasy. He didn't know if he was going to like this or not, but he had a gut instinct that it had something to do with the two guys in detention; even though he wished that he could get her opinion on it, a Priority One seal meant that the message was for his eyes, and only his eyes. He eyed the phasers clearly displayed on the officer's hip holsters.

"It was good to see you, Commodore..." He murmured, "Excuse me."


In stationary position behind Charis: USS Enterprise, year 2246

Lieutenant Nyota Uhura took a deep breath of cool ventilated air as the ship's transporter room appeared around her. Alongside her, three members of Security also took equally deep breaths of relief, before immediately starting to complain about sand in their boots. She caught the eyes of the female technician on the transporter controls and they shared a grin. Nurse Chapel and one of the doctors stood in front of them, medical tricorders chirping in light lilting tones as they were checked for the standard planet-side pathogens.

"All clear," Nurse Chapel proclaimed.

She smiled at the woman and excused herself for a shower and a long nap. Thank goodness she wouldn't be on bridge duty again till 0800 hours tomorrow shipboard time – the experience of trekking through a Vulcan town and back to collect samples had pretty much wiped her out; not to mention their emotionally charged meeting with Lady Amanda. She had not seen Spock around but according to Sulu he was working on compiling the cultural archives. Good, Uhura thought firmly, she was the last person who would recommend work as a way to deal with emotional backlash but right here right now, Spock needed to keep it together.

Oh, where is Kirk when you need him?

She allowed a wry smile at her thoughts, which only seemed to turn to Kirk when they were in a crisis. It was undeniable though; the man had a way with crisis situations – his usually infuriating attitude of taking everything lightly was an unexpected blessing during a crisis.

"Miss Uhura, Miss Uhura!"

She turned back from the open turbolift doors and blinked at the young ensign running towards her at full speed, "Chekov! What's wrong?"

Bearing a PADD in one hand, and an empty mug of coffee in the other, Pavel Chekov looked like he hadn't slept in 72 hours, hair a mess and uniform looking less than regulation. Rather than frothing in a panic as his initial cry suggestion, he was grinning at her infectiously, wired from caffeine or sugar and quite possibly both. "Miss Uhura, I believe I can find the Romulan vessel! No, that's not right, I mean!' Chekov squeezed his eyes shut in frustration, fingers pinching at his nose and many a lines of Russian were mumbled unintelligibly under his breath. Finally he hit his forehead and met her concern gaze with a feverish smile, "No, no I mean I have a way of getting the Romulan vessel to find us! Yes!"

The Russian beamed at her, "We can make the Romulan vessel find us."


Planet-side: Vulcan, Sarek's Estate, year 2246

Spock approached with wariness the doors which he had stood outside only a day's cycle before. It was late afternoon, well past the time when visitations were to be expected (and indeed welcomed), but he had been unable to come any earlier. Nyota had been quite devious in her attempts to keep track of his activities, and conveniently disrupt them for her purposes; it was only by keeping her occupied with the task of properly catagorizing all the data records they had collected in their archival effort that prevented her from following him. In the future Spock was quite certain that she would make an excellent intelligence officer.

He hefted the weighty paper-bound volume under his left arm, reminded of the purpose for this anomalous visitation. If others knew what he was doing, he suspected they would not approve, and yet Spock was certain that if given the chance to explain, the captain would agree with him – Jim would agree with him. The timeline had to be preserved, and while this was seemingly insignificant, perhaps even frivolous, it was… Spock brought the book before him and ran his right hand along the spine, which being held together via parchment-threading – an old Vulcan handicraft – had meant that the stitching on each was unique. And this book was without doubt the one Mother had given him, the pale blue twill used, the stitching done in the Flowing-Water pattern.

Ringing the archaic doorbell, Spock stepped back down to the lower landing to await a response. It came swifter than he expected, considering the late hour of the morning.

"Yes, may I be of assistance?" The female voice was soft-spoken and unexpected.

Spock froze in shock but quickly schooled his features to be neutral. Internally, he berated himself – Naomi! How could he forget her! She had been Father's chief of staff from when he was young till after he left for Starfleet, when she finally left to take up a civilian liaison position at the main Starfleet base on Vulcan. "Yes," He said, surprised at the sound of his own voice, steady and clear, "I am Seriyk, of the Department of Xenoculture, Vulcan sub-branch. Is Lady Amanda available?"

Sloe-eyed, Naomi examined him for a moment before replying with a business-like smile, "I'm terribly sorry, but she is not available for guests at the moment – would you like me to pass on a message?"

Spock inclined his head, "That would be-" Disappointing, his mind whispered, "-acceptable." He slipped the anthology from beneath his desert cloak and placed it in the woman's hands. Though he had hoped to give it to her himself, there was no logical reason for him to insist on personally delivering the item. "Please present this to Lady Amanda, with my thanks for her hospitality. Miss Uhura sends apologies for – for the family emergency."

Not a complete lie, but certainly not the truth… Spock wondered if their mission could be considered a 'family emergency.' Perhaps, he concluded, by a very broad definition. Naomi took the paper-bound book with the gentleness he had presented it, her eyes casually skimming the title. The Human gave him a probing look, her face as composed as he recalled. She was well-adapted to life on Vulcan, and in hindsight, it seemed perfectly logical that she had stayed till her death. At that thought, Spock felt a deep sadness – Naomi had been one of the many casualties in the destruction of Vulcan, having stayed behind to assist in evacuations till the very last moment. Her name, as well as the names of many other off-worlders, had now been memorized in a monument on the grounds of the Federation Council and New Vulcan, but seeing her again brought to the forefront of Spock's consciousness that Nero had not just torn apart the lives of the Vulcan people.

"I'll be sure to give her your message, Seriyk," She paused, obviously holding herself back from interrogating him as was her habit. "Is there any way for Lady Amanda to contact you?"

Spock shook his head, a sense of heaviness lifting off him. It was done. "Thank you but I require no –"

"Seriyk!"

The call was loud and high. Spock took a startled step back before his senses honed in on the source and he looked up. Naomi leaned out from the doorway, her neck craning as she looked up also. Waving from the upper terrace which circled the private family bedrooms, his mother smiled down at them.

"Seriyk, what a surprise!" The sight of her, awash in the warm orange light of the afternoon was… familiar. "Oh, wait a moment. I'll be right down."

Spock nodded his assent and felt a flutter through him as she flashed him a quick smile. He realized with some discomfort that Naomi was watching him closely. As chief of staff, Naomi had been a constant in his life up to the time he had left Vulcan for Starfleet Academy; she was as familiar as family, and indeed, knew him well. Unlike Mother though, her duties meant that she was trained to remember names and faces, and to put them in the right context when it was required. If anyone were to recognize him through this flimsy disguise, it would be her.

She smiled politely, her brows furrowing, "Have we met before?"

Spock met the woman's curious gaze, "Perhaps. I have been to several functions held here at the ambassador's estate."

"I see…" Naomi said, but did not stop her study of his features.

With a clatter steps, Mother appeared in a simple grey twill robe – her casual clothing, Spock recognized, usually worn when she was doing nothing in particular at home, except perhaps some cooking or tending to her much-loved flowers. "Seriyk," she breathed, slightly winded from her swift descent, "What a surprise. I received the message regarding Miss Uhura."

Mother fixed him with a look of genuine concern, "Is she alright?"

"She is well and has left Vulcan."

That was, Spock mused to himself, technically true; the lieutenant was aboard the Enterprise, hidden in stationary orbit behind Charis.

"I am not at liberty to discuss her personal matters further."

Mother nodded, "Of course."

He glanced away, unable to carry on this conversation though he knew that the silence was by Human standards unbearably awkward. Though purchasing the book had been part of his mission, this meeting was bordering on a Temporal Directive violation and could not be allowed to continue.

"I have brought something, for you." He said, his words thick and stilted, "For – for your son."

Naomi passed the paper-bound volume over to Mother. Her expression went from curiosity to one of genuine surprise. "Seriyk, you shouldn't have," Her voice was quiet, but her small smile reassured her that he had not made the incorrect decision.

"It seemed appropriate," He murmured, "I believe my Human colleagues would approve."

Mother's smile became wistful. "Thank you… well, then!" Her tone lightened, "I must give you something in return."

It was enough to risk being recognized, which would be considered a contamination of the timeline, but to actively influence and participate in events that could have wider impacts, was a definite violation of principles set forth in the Temporal Pride Directive. This was his cue to leave. "I mean no imposition –"

"Nonsense," His mother chided, her voice high and sharp; the sound of it was so familiar that it shocked him into a temporary silence. She raised a finger and tapped the air thoughtfully, eyes narrowed as a grin stretched her lips. "I have just the thing- oh please allow me to offer you some refreshment, the climb here must not have been easy. Naomi?" His mother turned to the waiting chief of staff and gestured vaguely in the direction of what Spock knew was their kitchen, "Some water please."

Naomi bowed her head to both of them as per Vulcan custom, slipped around his mother's figure and disappeared into the house proper. Spock opened his mouth to protest but was unable to speak when his mother halted him with a hand, emphatically waving away whatever he might have said.

"It's no trouble at all, really, Seriyk. And yes I think I know exactly what to give you." With a bright smile and another thoughtful tap of a finger at him, Mother turned and swiftly disappeared, book clutched to her chest.

"I insist, Lady Amanda!" He protested, as much as he dared in his current cover identity. But she ignored him. Looking skyward, he gritted his teeth in a lapse of control and followed.

"Lady Amanda?" He passed the entrance to the public receiving room and startled Naomi who almost dropped her tray of drinks. A familiar wave of irritation came upon him along with all the requisite thoughts, full of childish vigor and ire: Mother, it is illogical to deny my request due to your insistence that I do not know myself, that is an emotional claim and I am- I am not showing my stiff upper lip – whatever that is!

"I require no recompense for my gift. Your gratitude is more than an adequate response, as well as the knowledge of your son's enjoyment. I am-" Spock froze in front of the open doors to the wet-planet observatory. The smell hit him a moment later, and filled his chest with such overwhelming nostalgia he almost visibly flinched. Spock swallowed thickly, struggling for composure as a dull pain made itself known.

He had grossly miscalculated.

He had completely forgotten himself, unacceptable for a Starfleet officer of his rank. This was not his home; he was a stranger and he should not have abandoned etiquette in coming in here uninvited.

Yet, for a moment he had forgotten. This… Spock let his eyes drift longingly over the potted succulents, the smooth volcanic stone pathways and the impressionistic statue in the corner rendered into the vague shape of a hominid sitting... this was all so familiar.

"It's not as fancy as what you've given me, but I think you'll like it."

He turned abruptly at the sound of her voice. Slowly, his feet took him to where she was felt even as his thoughts became chaotic and indecisive.

Spock felt the immediate difference as he stepped into observatory from the courtyard. In comparison with the outdoors, it was humid and cool, causing Spock to shiver. She stood behind her work bench, gloves on, with a gleaming cerulean glazed pot waiting to be made a home and her nursery rack to the side. With a small spade in hand, she deftly loosened one of the flowering plants from its home in the rack and transferred it to the old-fashioned pot. The image of her, doing this a hundred other times, passed before Spock's eyes. With a smile, she delicately added several thimbles of various chemical mixtures including fertilizer to the rehoused greenery, and then smoothed the dirt down with her gloved hands, patting around the plant.

"There," she pronounced with satisfaction, and stripping off the gardening gloves, held the pot up for his inspection, "Perfect."

It was...a miniature rose plant, the small buds pink and delicate and…

Spock received the pot stiffly as she thrust it before him.

"Damask miniatures, a gift from the VSA, developed from my contribution of the species." She met his surprised gaze with a warm smile, "Was I too forward in presuming that you'll appreciate it?"

The pot was cool to the touch, and the scent of the roses, was sweet and… Spock cleared his throat, "You are too kind, thank you."

Her smile grew. Suddenly his communicator chirped, startling him. Spock took a hissed breath, reminded of why he was here; the Enterprise, the mission that his captain had charged him with, Jim's trust in his ability to perform admirably despite his intimate knowledge of Spock's weakness (how susceptible he was to becoming emotionally compromised, part of him muttered acerbically, despite having chosen the Vulcan path) and –

He had to leave, now.

"I apologize but I must take my leave."

There was a faint edge of disappointment when she smiled, but she nodded, "I understand. Then I bid you farewell.'

With a curt nod, he turned and strode towards the door, bowing his head slightly as he passed Naomi who had not lost of her suspicion towards him. Only when he was outside the courtyard doors, did breathing become easier for him. He held the pot before him, uncertain of how to hold it, if he should keep it at all and… the communicator chirped again, eroding at his already disturbed composure.

"Seriyk."

Spock paused at the sound of her voice. He turned slowly, apprehensive. Framed by the doorway, Mother held her hand up in the traditional Vulcan salute and smiled that cryptically bemused smile characteristic of her, "Live long and Prosper."

Holding up his hand to return the gesture, he bowed his head, "Peace and Long Life, Lady Amanda."

"I hope you'll drop by sometime, to see my son… when he's back."

Spock met her eyes, and wondered how she was able to keep her emotions in check, to present oneself as composed, smiling, in sound mind. It was strength that he did not have, had not had when he lost her, and was struggling to find now faced with her goodbye. Spock averted his eyes, unable to keep up the pretense of his indifference. He struggled to keep his face neutral and succeeded only in frowning. She waited for an answer.

"Yes," He nodded curtly, "I shall look forwards to it. Fair day, Lady Amanda."

Pivoting on his heel, Spock descended the stairs swiftly. When he was within a safe distance, he took out his communicator. "Spock to Enterprise, one to beam up."


Planet-side: Earth, San Francisco, Starfleet Academy, year 2246

Commander Christopher Pike unlocked his office with a sense of foreboding, and surreptitiously shook his head at the yeomen who approached - with an ease that deserved a commendation, she smoothly changed her course and wandered back to the reception desk. Letting the two officers inside, he covertly gestured for privacy; Naido gave a slight nod and the buzz at the front desk continued as normal. As soon as the door slid close, the two officers immediately panned out, one going around to his desk console, the other one riffling through the stack of datapads he had haphazardly thrown in an open–

"HEY!" Pike yelled in alarm. "What the hell do you think you are doing?"

Snatching back a datapad from the Edosian, he eyed the scramblers in their hands warily. "You said you had sealed orders – give them to me and get the hell out of my office."

He didn't have a reputation for being impatient, but he was going to tear someone a new one if they didn't explain what the hell was going on. This was obviously an attempt by somebody to sabotage his efforts to approach a member of Command with his findings. The Edosian opened her mouth but then hesitated, tilting her head to the side at her companion as though she wanted a conference first.

"Lieutenants," He said sharply, "Unless you give me those sealed orders right now, I will turn around and go back to what I was doing. I don't take kindly to being interrupted without purpose."

The two officers exchanged knowing looks. The Edosian female stepped forward and withdrew a mini-pad from her belt, "Your orders, sir."

Eying the two officers to make sure those scramblers stayed where they were, he took the miniturized PADD and keyed in his code. Pike blinked at the display. The logo of Starfleet Intelligence flashed momentarily in blue and white, then A-R-C-H-E-R filled the screen along a set of code words and phrases before it went dark, automatically shutting down. No, no this was… Pike slowly met the eyes of the two officers.

"I'm listening," He ground out.

"Any and all information pertaining to the two detainees is effective immediately the sealed property of Starfleet Intelligence, in keeping with the Temporal Prime Directive as set forth by the Department of Temporal Investigations. Access to your computer would be appreciated, sir."

Swallowing down his reflexive response that like hell they would, Pike walked stiffly over to his desk console and unlocked the system. The male officer sat down and withdrawing a bicorder, systematically copied all of his recordings and case notes, as well as the results from the labs. Within thirty seconds, all traces of his investigation into "Jim" and the man claiming to be Leonard McCoy were gone, wiped from his systems and public record.

The man gave him a slight nod, "Thank you for your cooperation, sir."

Pike nodded back gruffly; there wasn't any point to protesting, this was coming straight from the top. The Edosian withdrew something from her belt and held it out to him.

"Your orders, sir…"

Glancing at her and then her partner to make sure that they weren't joking, Pike took the paper envelope and tore it open. There was a note inside. Unfolding it, he scanned the contents and frowned at the note, looked over to the Edosian, then read the message again carefully in case his eyes were deceiving him. A minute later, having verified that he couldn't possibly dream something as ridiculous as this, Pike finally folded the note and slid it back into its original packaging. Looking up at the waiting officers, he smiled mirthlessly, "This is the part where someone jumps out from behind my desk and shouts surprise."

"Starfleet needs your assistance, Commander Pike," The Edosian trilled, hand out for the envelope. Pike handed it over without protest and watched as she placed it on the floor and destroyed it with a controlled blast from her phaser.

"A certain admiral in Starfleet, in a certain branch of Starfleet that doesn't need to be named, is counting on you, sir," the other security officer said quietly.

"No doubt," Pike muttered in his driest voice, "And this… certain admiral's wish is our command."


Planet-side: Earth, San Francisco, Starfleet Academy, year 2246

Jim Kirk twisted around in his cot at the sound of his door opening, blinking blearily at the figure silhouetted in the doorway. He'd been sleeping, waiting for the 24-hour timer on the auto-beam they set up to kick in so he could get out of this place. He never had the pleasure of more than an hour or two at the Academy holding cells because Bones always caved and got him out. After a good twelves hours stuck here though, he was going to have to buy the guy some Saurian brandy when they got out of here - he never knew that the beds here sucked so much!

"Lights."

He scrambled upright. It was Pike, who didn't look happy. Well, Jim mentally drawled, that was an awfully familiar expression. The door closed but there was no electronic grind from the locking mechanism. He shot the man a confused look. What did he want? Another interrogation? His name? To scare him some more with stories about prison in New Zealand? Personally, Jim liked sheep.

"I believe you."

Jim took a deep breath and ran a hand through his hair, "Okay, wow, unexpected."

"Get up," Pike ordered flatly, throwing him a cadet uniform, "You're coming with me."

"Wait, are you breaking me out?"

Pike glared, "Shut up and get dressed."


A/N: And now we get to the action