Boldly to Go, Chapter 10

By Mistress V

Disclaimers as in Chapter 1.

The trio materialized in Seven's Manhattan deserted apartment without incident. A note, written in large, flowery script, proclaimed that the esteemed Miss Lincoln had taken herself off for the weekend to visit her parents in Long Island. Outside, 1968 Manhattan continued as normal.

Isis and McCoy immediately set about the procedure to restore Spock to his normal appearance. They had just finished checking in on the patient, who was in a deep sleep, when the transport chamber again filled with smoky clouds. Seven and Kirk stepped through the mist and joined their colleagues.

"How's Spock?" Kirk inquired first off.

"He's transforming back to his old self," McCoy offered. "Whatever THAT is!" he muttered under his breath. "How'd it go with you two?" he then continued.

"It was a comedy of errors," Seven replied, shaking his head. "The operatives had no idea what they were really supposed to do. The entire plan seems to have been a desperate, last-ditch attempt at fixing something that was already broken beyond repair."

"Thanks to my friend's scanner, though, we got plenty of information, and this." Kirk dropped the replacement forged notebook onto the desk. "They'll love it at Starfleet. Should keep the historians busy for a week."

"Ah, then they'll love this too." McCoy added a second tome to the pile. "Spock said it didn't make much sense--the data was correct but the way it was presented was all wrong. And we couldn't salvage the cloaking device. It self-destructed."

"What about the operatives?" Seven now asked. "Ours turned their disruptors on each other. My guess this was a suicide mission. If it failed, the agents couldn't go back, and they weren't properly trained on how to survive back then. This must have been a risky bid on the part of the Empire."

"Same with our pair. Jim, the second was Subcommander Tal. He was the injured one, died before I could help him. Then the Commander vaporized them both. I somehow don't think she wanted to go back. I can't help wondering what their fate would have been if they did."

"We'll know more after I go over that scout ship," Seven said. "I only have about thirty six hours before it starts off to Jupiter to self-destruct, so I'd better get up there. When are we due at Starfleet for de-briefing?"

"Monday afternoon." Kirk glanced at the computer array. "Could I check in with Scotty? He's probably wondering how we are by now."

"Sure." Seven moved over to the databank. "What'll you do with your free time, then? Just think, you're back in 1968 again till Monday morning and it's just Saturday afternoon. Got any unfinished business?"

"I might," Kirk replied. He surreptitiously eyed Isis, who was working on her report.

vvvvvvvvvv

"So, where would you like to go this evening?" Isis asked Kirk sometime later. This was after he'd made doubly sure Spock was recovering comfortably, though asleep and rapidly looking like the Vulcan he knew once more.

"Bones'll baby sit my friend back there, so the sky's the limit. Just kidding. I've always loved the 60's in my Terran history. Why don't we go to the Village and see what's on at Café Wha?"

Isis smiled mysteriously. "I have a better idea. Let's go, but not tonight."

"Eh?" Kirk said, wondering if he's struck gold already.

"Now Captain," Isis fairly purred with laughter, "you need to listen better. I meant how about, oh, 1964 or so? We could go to the Peppermint Lounge and see Ringo Starr dance the twist and then catch Dylan across town. I can program the transport for that."

"You can? Won't your boss get mad?"

"My boss isn't here. And besides, we won't be messing up the timeline. I do it all the time." Isis morphed herself into the very epitome of a cutting-edge mid-60's glam girl, from her bobbed hair and frosted lips down to her square-toed go-go boots. "Let's get you fixed up now," she told Kirk.

"Lead on," he grinned.

vvvvvvvvvvv

Kirk and Isis returned from their excursion very early the next morning. The captain was determined to get his money's worth, so to speak, and continued kissing the pretty young woman as they opened the apartment's door.

"Ahem."

The pair turned to see McCoy and an obviously-recovered Spock playing ordinary Terran chess.

"Don't let us interrupt," McCoy continued. Spock merely raised an eyebrow.

"I guess my coach has turned into a pumpkin, Captain," Isis said, somewhat regretfully. "We'd better start writing up our final de-briefing report."

"Yeah, that's probably best." Kirk was clearly displeased. Of all the times for that indestructible first officer of his to make an early recovery. He'd been counting on breakfast at Tavern on the Green and a nice long stroll in Central Park.

vvvvvvvvvvv

The Enterprise left starbase orbit and began its way back towards a delayed visit to Marcos XII and the Starnes expedition. All was as it had been left. No word from the Romulan Empire, no evidence of more operatives sneaking furtively back into Earth's past in a vain attempt to change the quadrant's history. The de-briefing had gone well, with yet another appearance by the futuristic, enigmatic Daniels. After that, a shuttle had whisked the three officers towards a rendezvous with their ship. It was hard to believe that scarcely a week had passed.

Spock finished his evening meditation and now sat contemplating the vast expanse of space that glided past his window. He was troubled, had been since the mission ended. Although he looked precisely the same as he had before undergoing the genetic-altering procedure, something did not feel quite right within.

The Vulcan chided himself for allowing something so illogical as a feeling to cross his mind, but the thought persisted, nagging at him like the biting words Charvanek had thrown his way. What was he? Vulcan? Terran? Both? Neither? Another memory passed through his consciousness, one of his first day of school when his classmates had, in the stoic Vulcan way, deemed him impure, a half-breed, and thus not worthy of acknowledgement. He'd spent most of his life since that day trying to be as Vulcan as possible. When it was clear that his father's people still regarded him as…different, despite his accomplishments, escape into the anonymity of space beckoned. Starfleet provided an outlet of sorts, where Spock could explore and learn, yet still retain his heritage.

Until now. The image of his human self would not go away. And as illogically reprehensible as it now seemed, having to act as a Terran was not all that unpleasant. It was only when he witnessed the suicide of the woman he had once struggled to deny feeling for that Spock admitted to himself he was more than capable of experiencing emotions, he had embraced them.

This would not do. The mission was ending soon and once it did, Spock knew what his plans were.

He would go to Gol.

vvvvvvvvv

"General?"

General Tavel turned from his observation of the Romulan star system and saw his aide, Telok.

"Yes, what is it?" he asked, though he already knew in his heart.

"The ship…it did not return." The young man stood stiffly to attention. "I grieve for your loss, sir."

Tavel sighed and sat down. "My daughter was always the noble, impetuous one. She knew the chances for her plan's success were astronomically small. Yet she insisted that she and Tal could rectify the error she felt weighed so heavily on our people. The Senate would not have had her executed, but for my brightest one, a life away from her stars was not a life. She told me this before they left."

"I shall see to the memorial arrangements. They will receive a hero's tribute."

The general only half-heard his aide. "Very good," he replied. "You are dismissed."

Telok turned on his heel and left the room, leaving the older man to resume his pondering of the inanity of conflict.

vvvvvvvvvvv

Isis fumed at her computer terminal. It was simply NOT FAIR that her superiors put the long-awaited Risan vacation on hold. So what if there were skirmishes along the Klingon borders? Priorities were more important. She'd be breaking every rule that was written but Gary Seven was off at Starfleet HQ for yet another meeting so she was free as the proverbial bird.

She strode to the main array and checked some data. Good, she thought with a sly smile. A quiet night that had just begun. They'd confined her to Terra, but they didn't specify WHEN.

Robert Hogan was asleep in his bunk, his blankets drawn up against the chilly night. Outside, the first snow of the season was blanketing the landscape. Man and beast sought the shelter of the indoors and the camp was still.

He didn't notice the flash of blue that momentarily illuminated his office.

"Colonel Hogan?" A soft voice came wafting through the quiet.

"Mmmmmmmzzzzzxxxxthxxxxx!" Hogan let out a mighty snore and rolled over, certain he was dreaming.

"Robert?" the voice purred seductively.

Hogan opened his eyes and stared into the darkness at the end of his bunk. For some reason, everything was perfectly clear to him. A female was sitting there, her eyes flashing catlike in the glow of the distant searchlights.

"Isis!" Hogan's voice was a hoarse whisper of amazement. "What are you doing here? And why do I remember everything? You have to tell me….I have so many questions!"

The woman laid a finger over his lips, her gaze amused.

"Time enough for that. I said you had given me food for thought, Robert. Now I'm here to enjoy the whole meal."

THE END.

Café Wha still exists in Greenwich Village and is a popular live music club. Many beat-era musicians played there during the 60's. The Peppermint Lounge, alas, lost its license in the late 60's, but not before hordes of celebrities (including Ringo Starr) danced the twist there side by side with ordinary folk.

So, who's your favorite Casanova? Kirk? or Hogan?