XI. Where It Changed
The Invictus's gate not longer opened on the formal garden but on huge changer full of vast, complex, unrecognizable machinery. Assorted Imperials in gold-brown jumpsuits scurried about checking gauges, studying view screens, taking notes, barely pausing to notice and not politely at Spock as he stepped through the Gate. The area was obviously some sort of engine room, and Mr. Scott had to here somewhere. Spock made various mental notes as he made his way through the busy complex of engineers and machines, looking for a familiar face, voice or uniform. He eventually recognized a pair of boots sticking out of an access hatch, and went up and tapped the nearer ankle for attention.
"Mr. Scott, if I may have a moment of your time…"
Scott slithered reluctantly out of the hatchway, shedding protective gloves and goggles. His eyes were bright with delighted wonder. "Och, Mr. Spock, ye really should see it fer yerself. D'ye know how they power this ship. 'Tis the Electron Resolution Drive—the unicorn o' star drive physics! Begod, they use the matter-antimatter reaction just ta start their engines! Ye' could spend a lifetime just studyin'—"
"If you please, Mr. Scott." Spock took him firmly by the elbow and drew him off to an unoccupied corner for a reasonable amount of privacy. "Please give me a brief summary of your observations concerning the technological ability of the Imperials in general and this ship in particular."
Scott pursed his lips in a soundless appreciative whistle. "I scarcely know where ta begin. There's the Resolution drive, o' course; we've naethin' like it. Their weaponry's similar ta oors. There's also a specialized sort of tactics, near as I can tell, usin' the Gates for delivery o' bombs and torpedoes. Yon Gates are the really striking difference; they use those for everythin' we use transporters for. They don't seem ta have any knowledge o' transporters at a', an' so they've never had some o' the interestin' experiences we've had with transporter accidents."
"Which is probably why they have never discovered alternate universes," Spock considered.
"Aye. Yon Gates are wondrous safe. Either they work right or they dinna work at a'; no middle ground. Also, their shields are different from oors. 'Tis a variant use o' their drive, in a shaped field…" He paused, giving Spock an arch look. "Oor phasers would no get through much, if it came ta that."
Spock nodded slightly, considering that fact. "Could we possibly outrun this ship?"
"Never in hell. They can get Warp 12 wi' oot breathin' hard, an' 13 wi' some effort."
"What of sub-light speed maneuvering?"
"Hmmm… In atmosphere, or an asteroid field, we might ha' the advantage—simply by bein' smaller. In generally, though, I'd say oor best defense lies in keepin' their good will. They've right good claim to bein' 1000 years ahead o' us, an' I'd no want 'em for enemies."
"I see." Spock filed that away for future reference. "There is another problem. In order to deflect the curiosity of the Imperials away from our true origins, not to mention purpose, I have arranged for various members of our anthropology department to come aboard and discuss comparative social systems with the Invictus's crew."
"Aye. So?" Scott glanced impatiently back at the engines. "What's thot to do wi' me?"
"The problem is that I may be unable to prevent Dr. Hawk from accompanying them. Knowing his tendency toward iconoclasm for its own sake, I suspect that he needs to be watched. We cannot allow his personal proclivities or…favoritism…to endanger our mission."
Scott took all that in, with rising eyebrows. "Ye mean…ye doubt the mon's loyalty? Uh…weel, then, find some excuse ta keep him safe on the Enterprise. I canna see the problem."
"There is a small problem of legality. I have as yet no proof that Hawk is untrustworthy; only reason for suspicion. Dr. McCoy sees no such tendency, and without his support I would have difficulty justifying undue restraint on a civilian. This could lead to problems once we return to the Federation, if not before."
"In ither words," Scott guessed, smiling knowingly, "The mon has powerful friends, so ye canna keep him from his claimed field o' work wi' oot ironclad reasons, eh?"
"That is…essentially correct." Only a close acquaintance could have recognized the fleeting, subtle look of embarrassment that flicked across Spock's features. "I have arranged for a test, whereby I might be able to justify keeping Dr. Hawk away from the Invictus on grounds of technical incompetence—"
"Incom-? Him? Na, 'twill no work."
"If he succeeds—and here is 78.4% probability that he will—thus justifying a prolonged visit to the Invictus, he will require watching, as previously mentioned. To use the colloquial term, Mr. Scott, I wish you to 'keep an eye' on him."
"Me?" Scott blinked in bewilderment. "Why me? I'm no Security guard—nor one o' his team ither."
"For reason which should be obvious, we cannot send identifiable Security personnel aboard the Invictus; as you yourself said, we need to retain their goodwill, not rouse suspicions. Personnel on Hawk's own research team, or anthropologists with whom he has already had dealings, cannot be relied upon because of probable personal bias in his favor.
"But, why me?" Scott persisted. "I'll be wi' the engines, when I'm no' back on the Enterprise replacing' the crystals and monitorin' Knaffbein stress levels. I've no call ta take time from sich important work ta go play spy. Why can ye no get someone else?"
"Mr. Scott." Spock answered very quietly and deliberately. "I entrust this task to you because, as I have observed to my complete satisfaction, your moral standards are unshakeable."
"Huhhh?" Scott's jaw dropped. This was the last thing in two universes that he'd expected.
"I mean," Spock detailed impatiently, "That you are most unlikely to be distracted or lured from duty by the pagan diversions of this society. Social scientists, I have noticed, have a lamentable susceptibility to such things. You recall, not doubt, the unfortunate case of Lieutenant Palomas. Do I make myself clear, Mr. Scott?"
Scott snapped his mouth shut and ground his teeth. Aye, I remember Carolyn Palomas! He thought, turning nearly as red as his shirt. "Ye make yourself perfectly clear, Mr. Spock."
"Then I am satisfied to leave the problem in your capable hands." With that, Spock turned away and went back to the Gate and the bridge of the Enterprise beyond.
Behind him, Scott wrestled his astonishment and outrage under control. What the bloody hell? He wondered. He's practically accusing our folk of letting themselves be seduced—Carolyn—No. No, I'll let that old jealousy lie. Not many men can say they've lost a woman to the love of a pagan god! I may call myself fairly beaten…
He wandered over to systems status display screen, idly noting the lovely intricate patterns flickering on it but unable to keep his mind from wandering. …Pagan gods…and 'pagan diversions'…? He pondered. What does he mean? Aye, good food and drink they've shown us and easy minds toward loving…also much kindness and generosity…especially in such fine knowledge… He smiled at the display screen. What harm in that? These glorified Romans seem decent folk. What is Spock so bloody afraid of? His smile faded as he mulled that over. So prissy he seems, backing away in damn-near paranoia…much like Proper Agnes when yon Captain Aquila innocently flashed his fine thighs… Scott smothered a laugh, remembering that marvelous dinner party. Aye, and he argued well, too. Set her back on her heels a good bit…and Spock…Spock looked as if he'd bitten into and apple and found only part of a worm.
Scott drifted over to the screened off bay that contained the ignition engine housing, automatically noting the position of the magnetic bottle chamber that contained the antimatter stores. His thoughts circled back to his original question. What ails Spock? What game is he playing? …He isn't taken with Agnes, surely…but why does he align with her in so many ways? Character judgments, social judgments, even command decisions…as I saw even before we got this lost in time, and worse now…as if they were secret allies in some unspoken game… But what game? What's going on between them that's so bloody important and secret as to make Spock act like this? He shook his head, trying to figure that out. What could they have in common, anyway? He's Science Officer and now Acting-Captain, with far more on his mind that ancient history. Agnes is single-minded, concerned with nothing but ancient history…and, of course, spreading the Word of the Lord every chance…
Three memory images abruptly collided, matching. Agnes' preaching. Hawk's warnings. Spock's 'unshakeable morality' valuing… Great bleeding bull-turds in a cyclotron! She tries to convert everyone handy, even total strangers. Spock's letting her do it, even helping her, when there are more important things to deal with, god knows. Hawk tries to stop it—so Spock wants him muzzled… and he thinks he can rely on me to do it! By all the gods of physics, he's put Agnes' conversion games at top priority—right next to the mission itself—and devil take all the rest! Why? Bloody hell, why? What's Human religion to him, anyway?
Scott idly pounded one fist against a bulkhead, heavier and heavier, until the noise startled him enough to make him stop. What the bloody hell is going on? And why should he want to convert theses folk whom we'll likely never see again? Especially when the chances are so poor… Aye, their faith looks bloody well unshakeable, too. So why bother? What in hell's the point? It doesn't look at all logical to me… He stared, unseeing, at the antimatter bank. Out of his confusion only one certainty coalesced, and that not a pleasant one. Whatever he's up to, he didn't see fit to explain it to me. Didn't trust me. Only… A dark thread of anger shot through the recognition. He played on my grief for losing Carolyn. Played on my feelings. Used me…
Scott looked down at his hands, automatically hiding an expression that might have drawn startled notice from his nearby hosts. I do not like being used, Vulcan, he snarled soundlessly in the confines of his skull. I do not like it at all…
…and damned if I'll let myself be thus used.
The silent string of oaths that followed the decision would have heated Spock's ears, had he been listening.
At the moment, though, Spock wasn't thinking of Scott at all. He was back in his office, working the computer, plowing through the laborious work of matching the Invictus's historical data with that in the Enterprise's library banks, looking for points of dissimilarity. The problem was that there were so many of them, dating as far back as written records reached. Apparently the Imperials had kept records that had been lost in the proper timeline, records whose information varied wildly from the data available in the Enterprise's. Accounts of the period that coincided with the date of Kirk's scribbled message were gorgeously contradictory, and the interpretations were incredibly different. There was a wealth of data actually rejoicing in the downfall of the old Republic, praising the 'new constitution' and even heralding the first Emperor as the 'well-omened', 'liberator', and 'prince'—more exactly, 'first speaker'—'of peace'. Spock actually scowled at that. Someone had appropriated a title properly belonging to someone else.
And there was no mention of that someone else.
Spock interrupted his primary search to investigate that oddity. Had all knowledge of the Master been suppressed? How was that possible? Some records must have survived. The Being that Spock had met in 1st century Judea could not have helped but have a tremendous impact on everyone who had met Him.
…Including myself, Spock remembered. Even now, he couldn't resist taking a few minutes to close his eyes and recall, in detail, that incredible face-to-face meeting.
It had started with a battle: two local thugs attacking a wandering preacher in hopes of reward from some politically directed High Priest. Spock had stopped that, at the cost of a deep and fast bleeding knife wound that could have killed him. Instead, the 'Rabbi' had found him…
"Spock!"
A voice? A hand touching him? Had the Captain come through the Guardian to find him? Would he get back to the Enterprise in time?
"Spock! You must not yield. Father! Grant me his life."
The Vulcan could hear the voice clearly now. It wasn't Kirk's; it belonged to a stranger. However, those warm, musical tones seemed to drive away the coldness which surrounded him. He could almost wish the stranger would speak again.
The illusion of the abyss faded, and pain became the only reality. Pain which increased when someone drew the dagger from the wound, then a strong hand pressed against his side. After a moment, a sensation of tingling warmth spread from that hand throughout Spock's entire body and the pain ebbed to a dull ache. He took a deep breath, and then he opened his eyes and looked up at the man who was bending over him.
"No, lie still," the stranger warned when Spock tried to sit up. "You are weak. Sleep and regain your strength. I will keep watch."
"I- I do not need to sleep!" Spock protested as he tried to rise, but the stranger laid his hands on the Vulcan's shoulders and held him down easily. Once again, Spock felt that strange, tingling warmth; it was almost as if some magnetic or electrical force were passing from this man's ands into his flesh, easing the tension of pain which knotted the Vulcan's muscles. The stranger lifted one hand and laid it against Spock's face—near his jaw—and the Vulcan sank helplessly into a dreamless slumber in response to the warmth which seemed to be radiating from that gentle but strong hand…*
…And when I woke, I was healed. Spock shook his head slightly, still marveling. While I slept, he did amazing things to me… And afterward we talked. I found my translator broken, yet he spoke to me in Vulcan…
"How is this?" Spock demanded. "You say that you are native to this time, but you speak my language fluently! Humans have great difficulty with…" He paused, and then his eyes narrowed. Yes, the Vulcan tongue was difficult for humans, but perhaps the Rabbi wasn't a human. After all, until that moment when the Organians had revealed their true forms, they had appeared to be…
"No, Spock. I am not Organian." Jesus assured him, and for a second time the Vulcan couldn't conceal his surprise. They weren't touching, yet this Rabbi was reading his thoughts. If he were not an Organian, he must be a very powerful telepath…
"What are you?" Spock asked softly.
"This fell from your robe during the battle." The Rabbi held out Spock's tricorder. "Use it so you may accomplish your mission and determine the answers to your own questions."
…Spock needed no further urging. A moment later, he looked up, his eyes reflecting the wonder and—yes—the awe which had taken possession of him.
"It seems I must retract a statement which I made to my Captain. You are all that the Organians are—and more!"*
Indeed… Spock smiled, remembering—then frowned briefly. Strange. I can no longer recall exactly what the tricorder readings were. My memory is usually more reliable… Perhaps it was affected by the subsequent mind-meld. The mind-meld… He leaned back, basking in the memory.
"There is much about your philosophy which I admire," said Spock. "However, I cannot understand why a religion which s peaks so highly of duty and responsibility should consider 'eternal rest' so desirable…"
"Yes," said the Rabbi, "That would present a difficulty to you… Spock, that which you call 'eternal rest' is not the same thing which I promise. It is not something which I can describe verbally to your satisfaction. Therefore, will you let me show you?"
He held out His hand.
Spock drew back; instinctively recoiling from a contact with would enable this Man to fathom directly those depths which the Vulcan sought to keep hidden–even from himself.
Aware that he was revealing a lack of trust-an illogical lack of trust-Spock bent his head for a brief moment, considering all the factors of the situation.
At last, he drew himself erect and held out his hand.
Their fingers gripped in the age old gesture of peace and trust, and they looked deeply into each other's eyes.
"No! Spock gasped, seeking to pull his hand free, still unwilling to share his innermost self—even with this man—but it was too late…
What they were sharing was much more than a mind-meld. Now that he had accepted the mental touch, Spock found that it wasn't the invasion he'd feared. Somehow, Spock realized that everything he'd ever done, said, or even thought had been no secret to this Man—perhaps even before they'd clasped hands. But, it did not matter; it made not difference… Even though he knew everything about Spock, the Master loved him—not for what he'd done or for what he might do in the future. He loved him because he was Spock. For the first time, the Vulcan knew what it was to be totally at peace within himself.*
A moment to cherish for a lifetime, Spock thought. Overwhelming…filling the mind with a sense of certainty and purpose…promise of the restoration of some lost paradise, when men were happier and better and possessed virtues since lost… He mentioned something of that.
"You- You said that Your hour has not come. You know so much… Do you have the gift of precognition?
"That is one name which men have given this gift which they once possessed."*
…We might yet regain it, then, Spock considered, So much offered, if we but pursue the Master's plan, take the path He offered us…
Just then Spock became aware that someone was snapping their fingers under his nose.
He opened his eyes quickly, neither pleased nor surprised to see that the rude guest was Ellison Hawk. "Why have you interrupted me?" he asked, coldly.
"I waited a decent amount of time," said Hawk, not really apologizing, "But you didn't wake up."
"I was not asleep."
"Really? You looked like you were having a pleasant dream." Hawk flashed his sardonic satyr's grin. "Hell, you resembled the Bernini statue of Saint Teresa in Ecstasy."
"Your purpose here, if you please?" Spock decided that Hawk's very presence was irritating.
"I think I may have pinpointed the source of the divergence." Hawk held up a tape cassette, but didn't hand it over at once. Spock supposed that he intended to bargain for privileges, and he could guess what particular goal the little archeologist had in mind. Sure enough, after a brief pause Hawk asked: "Now can I go back to the Invictus with the Anthro teams?"
"That depends on the accuracy of your information," Spock hedged, unwilling to concede easily.
"Oh, it's pretty solid." Hawk grinned again. "You'll see what I mean when you read it."
"You will forgive my suspicions…" Spock didn't sound at all contrite. "But I find it difficult to believe that you could find the discrepancy before a trained Historian could." –Or I could.
"That's because I thought to look in sources that Little Miss Purity wouldn't think of. Original sources—such as old gossipy exposés—like Suetonius' scandalous 'Lives of the Twelve Caesars'." Hawk's smile held no humor whatsoever. "I looked there first, and she'd look there last—if at all. The lady's biases do get in the way of her research, you know."
Spock felt distinctly uncomfortable with Hawk's knowing looks and acid comments. "Can you not resist an opportunity to denounce you colleague, even behind her back?"
"Do you reprimand her for doing the same to me?"
Spock didn't answer. That question was a little too close to McCoy's accusation. He wondered if the two of them were collaborating.
"Spock," Hawk sighed, sounding infinitely weary, "I'm not asking you to like me—god knows, I wouldn't expect that from a Vulcan—but I'd like to know why you distrust me so much. I mean, you're not only suspicious of everything I say or do or even think; you even suspect my work, for chrissake!"
"I find it ironic that you swear by a Being whom you commonly denounce."
"Proves nothing." Hawk half smiled. "I swear by shit, too."
Spock suppressed a sudden jolt of real anger. "Do you have anything else of importance to say to me?"
"Hmmm, yes…" Hawk tapped the tape cassette against his hand and gave Spock a long, thoughtful look. "I've been speculating on something that seems relevant. Agnes told me—several times—about your time-visit to 1st century Judea, where you met Jesus of Nazareth, himself. She said you actually got a tricorder reading of the guy. Right?"
"Essentially correct," Spock replied, wooden lipped. "What is the relevance?"
"Pity you lost the recording," Hawk commented, eyes narrowed. "She said you did it so people wouldn't 'worship the image'. Right?"
"Correct. I noted that lamentable failing among humans."
"But you got a good look at the readings yourself, and they obviously impressed you."
"Quite true. The Master was definitely more than a mere human being."
"Uh-uh." Hawk's sardonic smile returned. "Like the Organians, maybe?"
"Considerably more than an Organian." Spock allowed himself a faint smile of utter certainty.
"Well, there are a lot of superhuman beings running around in this galaxy, not to mention the next: Metrons, Melkotians, the Goddess of Delta Theta III…"
"I do not think He was one of those!" Spock snapped, surprised at his own outrage.
"How do you know?" Hawk's eyes momentarily blazed. "Did you ever do the tricorder readings on any of 'those'?"
"…No," Spock had to admit. Logical possibilities, but highly improbable. …I think…
"And nobody's ever found out who the preservers are," Hawk continued. "Or, here's a spooky idea: what about the Kelvans? In this universe, the descendants of the Romans have the Kelvans on the run, and in their own galaxy. If the Kelvans were to discover time travel—which the Imperials haven't—it'd make sense for the Kelvans to go back in time and try to nip the danger in the bud. Just poison a few harvests, spread a new disease or two, kill off an enlightened leader here and there, and make sure that bad leaders got into power, spread dissention in the form of a new religion… It wouldn't be hard, if you had the recourses and knowledge."
"Impossible!" Spock almost roared at him, surprising them both. In the few seconds resulting silence, Spock hastily assembled a counter argument. "The Kelvans are not telepathic, and the Master was. Besides, he stated that he was a 'native of this time'."
"So was Gary Seven—and he never told you who his bosses were."
"The Mast- Jesus was something more than Gary Seven, and used very different methods."
"But he didn't say he was a native of Earth, did he?"
Spock didn't answer.
"So, that still leaves the Metrons, the Melkotians, the Preservers… Hmm, for that matter, did you ever wonder what became of the people who built the Guardian of Forever?"
Spock jerked his head up, unaccountably disturbed. "Those ruins were very old. The Guardian itself said that it had awaited a question since before our sun had burned hot in space…"
"'A question' isn't the same as 'a request' or 'a visit' or 'an order'," Hawk replied, grinning eerily. "I've seen the ruins on the Guardian's world, Spock. They may be old, but they're certainly not older than Sol. Some of them damn well could have been inhabited 2000 years ago, or less, and you know as well as I do that you can use the Guardian to travel in space as well as time. So how's that as a possible origin for your Master?"
Spock caught himself tapping his fingers on the console. "An interesting speculation, Dr. Hawk. May I ask how it applies to the current situation?"
"In a roundabout way." Hawk briefly chewed his lip. "You see, any of those superhuman beings would have had reasons of their own for diddling with Earth's historical development—and maybe not friendly reasons, either. I've read the available log tapes; the Metrons and the Melkotians certainly didn't greet us with any great warm welcomes, did they? The Melkotians were downright fanatical in their attitudes—and so were their creations. Remember? The Metrons had no compunctions about meddling with a couple of shiploads of passing strangers, did they? Even the Organians have been known to produce a meddling heretic or two, as you found out on Madworld."
Spock didn't say anything. He was certain that Hawk's suggestions were utterly wrong, and that he could find the necessary facts to disprove them, given time; he just didn't have the facts handy at the moment.
"So what makes you think that alien politics didn't exist 2300 years ago?" Hawk insisted. "The super-being you met could have had purposes of his own for monkeying around with Earth's development, goals of his own, that had nothing to do with humans' goals for themselves. He could have been—"
"Nonsense!" Appalled, Spock felt his hands clenching into fists. "I personally spoke with the Master, and saw no such sinister intention as you are suggesting. He wished only to present a morality based upon love—"
"Heh! Aemilia deflated that nicely!"
"—And to assure humans that existence does not end with physical death," Spock grated from between clench teeth. "He offered a path to that enlightenment, something which humans never previously possessed."
"Oh, bull," Hawk retorted. "Every human deity from Djamballa to Father Divine assured Humans that death wasn't final. If we needed more assurance, there's the discovery of countless energy-beings, discorporate intelligences, cheerfully inhabiting this galaxy. Big deal!"
"He offered the promise of eternal life and love—"
"At what price?" Hawk retorted, his humorless smile showing teeth. "Serving your Master in both worlds? Was he recruiting armies of loyal souls? Oh, there's a thought: maybe he leases them out to customers, in job lots! Come to Yahweh & Son, lowest prices in Town! Armies of obedient souls for rent, already trained: just give 'em a jolt of love-juice, rap out the proper commend words, and they'll serve you anywhere, at anything! Rent 'em by the hour or by the eon! Hah! No wonder he's called a 'Shepherd of Souls'. What happens to sheep, Spock? They get shorn—and then eaten; used in life and then used after death."
"Stop!" Spock slammed his fist down on the console. "That is the most monstrous lie—"
"How would you know?"
"I mind-melded with the Master, and I saw no such disgusting intent!"
"You mind-melded with him. Right." Hawk's eyes blazed back into Spock's. "And you've been following his assignments ever since! You've got a hell of a nerve to accuse me of being 'untrustworthy', Vulcan!"
"What?" Spock gasped, unable to believe that he'd really heard that.
"No wonder you've been going out of your way to side with Agnes, letting her 'spread the word' no matter what the situation or risk—like the fun and games at dinner. Oh, that was a real giveaway, Spock! I've seen enough of Vulcans to know that they can be just as arrogant and bigoted as anybody else, but it's always been for emotionless logic and Surak. You're the fist one I've ever seen who was gung-ho for unreasoning devotion and Jesus. So exactly what did he give you during that mind-meld, Spock? Friendship or takeover? Love or rape?"
Spock was out of his chair and halfway across the room before he realized what he was doing.
Hawk had been expecting it. He ducked and danced backward, clutching the cassette in both hands, bending it. The plastic creaked in warning.
Spock heard the sound, recognized the threat, and stopped short.
"There's you proof," Hawk commented coolly, easing his grip on the cassette. "Just what were you about to do, Vulcan?"
Spock suddenly remembered McCoy saying something very similar while backed up against a cave wall on long lost Beta Niobe. 'What are you feeling, Spock? Rage? Jealousy? Have you ever felt these things before?' "Impossible," Spock murmured, now as then. But I was not responsible! I had reverted to my savage ancestors. I was not in my right mind then. Now I am…I am… He wrenched his mind away from that train of thought, returned to his chair and dropped into it. "You," he said, "Have made a fine art of irritating people beyond restraint. I am astonished that you have lived so long."
"It's not a habit I usually indulge in; I do it only when I see really gross examples of…prejudice." Hawk took a cautious step nearer. "I needle prejudiced people to make them reveal themselves. It works, you know."
"You are mistaken in this case." Spock settled his impassive Vulcan mask into his features with exquisite care. "Had my control not been weakened by the stress of the last few days, you would not have succeeded. I can reliably assure you that I am not in the least prejudiced in favor of Dr. Day or against you for reasons of rel- philosophical viewpoint."
"In that case," said Hawk, sounding quietly weary, "Stop giving her privileges that you won't give me, especially when I've proved—as this tape will show—that I'm at least a little more professionally reliable than she is."
He held out the tape, but still didn't hand it over.
Bargaining, Spock thought, growing tired of the whole game. "Very well, Hawk. Just what is it that you want?"
"Only what I asked for the first time. Call off your hounds and let me go visit the Invictus again, as soon as possible."
"Why?"
"Why? Christ on a thoroughbred! We find an advanced civilization developed from ancient Rome, and you have to ask an archeologist why? I want to study the damned thing, that's why! This is a priceless opportunity! Just the records they've preserved, and their customs, and their social structure—"
"Do you have any other reasons?"
Hawk started to answer, stopped and suddenly looked embarrassed. "Well, uh…I'd really like to see Bal'Tia again…" He admitted.
"So." Spock suppressed an urge to laugh in relief, and contempt. "Now we come to it: all this effort and argument, simply so you may pursue a female shorter than yourself."
Hawk didn't say anything, but he blushed furiously.
Incredible, Spock thought, watching him. Humans can make such monstrous efforts for such petty causes. Vanity and lust… Yes, that I can readily believe. How often have I seen Jim made foolish by some female… "Very well." Spock turned to the console, reached for the intercom and called the bridge. Uhura answered. "Mr. Hawk will come to the bridge shortly," he informed her. "Allow him to pass freely through the Invictus's Gate. Spock out." He thumbed off the intercom and turned back to Hawk. "Will that satisfy you?"
"That will satisfy me." Hawk handed over the cassette. "The really relevant stuff starts at chapter three, although there are interesting differences in the second section—and even in the title. Happy reading, Mr. Spock." Hawk tossed him a mock salute, spun on his heel and marched out.
Spock didn't even wait for the doors to close behind Hawk; he shoved the cassette into the console's slot and scampered his fingers over the readout buttons. The computer chimed almost instantly. Discrepancy so soon? He punched the button for screen display and peered close.
Sure enough: the title for the work, according to the Enterprise's library, was "The Lives of the Twelve Caesars".
…"Eight"…? Spock noted idly that his fingers were shaking. He slowly advanced the tape to the third chapter.
The name at the head of the biographical sketch should have been 'Tiberius Claudius'. It wasn't. The title read 'Démas Tiberius Kirke'. The profile on the accompanying coin-portrait was unmistakable.
"No…" Spock whispered, turning cold. His eyes automatically traced the first sentence.
"The Imperator Démas' first appearance in Rome was unusual and marvelous as his subsequent career: he appeared in mid-air above the Old Forum, in a shower of blue and golden sparkles.
Transporter effect, Spock noted dully. Malfunction. The solar flare. Of course.
"Fortunately for the future of Rome, it being a market day, the Forum was greatly crowded and Démas fell safely into a fish peddler's pushcart. The marvel is well verified, having been witnessed by over 1000 citizens… "
Spock shuddered.
"…and also confirmed by the records of small claims court, where Démas was subsequently brought on minor charges of practicing magic without a license and of destruction of property."
Quite understandable, considering the effect of a 100-kilo mass falling on a pushcart…full of fish. No doubt he ruined the merchant's wares. No wonder the incident was well remembered. Yes, I would call that a dramatic entrance…
"This and subsequent marvels brought him to the attention of several priesthoods, which took care to bring him favorably before the Emperor Augustus."
Spock closed his eyes for a moment. Ah, Jim. You never could disguise yourself very well, could you? Not on Earth or Organia… Always that fierce, proud soul displays itself. He resolutely opened his eyes and read on.
It grew worse. The long rambling sentences recounted, in fussy and disorderly detail, 'Démas'' meteoric rise to fame, power, the favor of the Emperor and Senate, and finally the Curule Chair itself.
Jim, why?
Démas' first political success had been his appointment by the Emperor to a special committee investigating grain fraud in North Africa. He had not only exposed the massive fraud and arrested several of the most powerful landowners in the empire, but confiscated the lands and redistributed them among the poor, this vastly reducing the welfare rolls. Shortly thereafter he'd been elected Tribune and had launched a spectacular campaign of land tenure reforms, slavery reduction and public works. He had founded schools of scientific agriculture, forestry and sciences. Countless inventions were attributed to him: the improved horse collar, the telescope, the crossbow, the heliograph, the steam engine, gunpowder, the hot-air balloon, crop rotation and the moldboard plow. Within five years his reforms had nearly double the agricultural yield and emptied the welfare rolls of the entire Empire. He had been repeatedly elevated in rank, and was elected Consul.
Oh, Jim, how could you?
"The Emperor loved him, the commons adored him, and the Nobles hated him more than any man since the time of the radical Gracchus brothers, whose policies many of his resembled. There were numerous plots against his life, all of which he not only foiled but exposed and prosecuted, thus reducing the old aristocracy to an endangered remnant. One of the more famous plots was instigated by the Emperor's own stepson, Tiberius Claudius, who committed suicide rather than face public trial. To show that he felt no rancor, the Emperor subsequently married his daughter Julia to Démas. The marriage producee four children, but was unhappy. Démas later divorced Julia when she was implicated in a political plot against her own father, and she spent the rest of her life in exile."
So much for the original succession.
"He then married a recently retired Vestal, who bore him a healthy daughter despite her age, and who aided his educational efforts by founding and administering several schools of science and medicine. At this time the Emperor Augustus retired from office, and Démas was elected unanimously by both Senate and Popular Assembly to take his place. Augustus and his wife retired to Capri, where they spent most of their time at entertainments, but Démas often sought their advice in civil matters. Augustus died peacefully in his sleep at the age of 82. Livia, retaining her post as chief administrator of the Roman fire department, died at the age of 91 of a case of pneumonia, which she contracted while riding on a fire engine during a rainstorm. Démas was inconsolable at the loss of h is foster parents, but he drowned his grief in work. Shortly thereafter, he assumed command of the northern armies to repel a German invasion. He defeated the invading tribesmen handily, employing winter tactics which were made possible by cold weather uniforms made by knitting, a technique which Démas also introduced. In pursuing the tribesmen, Démas extended the borders of the empire beyond the German forests and into the rich grain lands of the Ucranian country. The German tribesmen he subsequently resettled in colony-towns along the Rhine, and taught them useful trades; they became successful at farming, leather-working and knitting, and upon becoming well-to-do tradesmen they gave up raiding and became peaceable citizens."
Yes, and your…descendants did something similar with the Klingons.
"With improved communications, electoral reforms were now possible. Démas altered the Constitution to allow election of the Emperor every eight years by Popular Assemblies in every province, rather than every ten years by the Senate alone. He compensated the Senate for this loss of power by placing it in charge of the legal administration of the entire Empire, which, as some Senators afterwards complained, gave more work than prestige. He also created more Tribunician offices and created for them a standing committee to investigate and punish corruption in public office anywhere in the Empire. He also assessed taxes by income per year rather than per capita or per acre. He set aside public funds for the education of the poor, appointed the priesthood of Asclepius guardians of the public health, and was credited with the discovery of the healing properties of blue bread-mold and yellow sulphurous mold"
…Primitive antibiotics. McCoy would be honored…
"Among his personal peculiarities were the firm beliefs that Humans could fly by mechanical means and that the stars were but other suns circled by globular worlds similar to the Earth and inhabited by beings similar to Humans. The first belief he confirmed by inventing first the hot-air balloon and then the man-carrying glider, and finally the steam-powered airship. The second belief was not confirmed during his lifetime, but founded a school of natural philosophy which subsequently confirmed the true nature of the stars and planets via improvements upon the telescope. A curious notation found among the Emperor Augustus's diaries states his belief that Démas himself was a lost inhabitant of one of those distant planets: a charge which Démas himself never denied. Schools of philosophy have debated this note at great length, concluding that it is the ethical duty of true philosophers eventually to explore the heavens, seek out those inhabited worlds, make the acquaintance of the peoples there and duly thank them for their gift—however inadvertent—of so able and progressive a ruler."
…So they developed an early cultural drive for spaceflight. No wonder. How he must have grieved for his lost life… His descendants caught that yearning and carried it on… Spock advanced the tape, skimming through the history that followed. Kirk had been succeeded by a daughter, Démasia: unusual enough in itself, still more unusual that she had been a brilliant military commander. After that had come a grandson-by-adoption, then an actual great-granddaughter. It was not, Spock realized, a case of automatic inheritance; rather, the former Emperor legitimized promising candidates by adopting or marrying them into the sprawling Imperial family. Any noteworthy freeborn citizen was eligible. One's record of public service and general elections decided the rest.
…Essentially democratic, though it still calls itself an Empire… 'The Imperium'? What did they originally mean by that word, anyway?
He hurried on, noting brief facts and dates: exploration, expansion, the turning of the major German invasions, destruction of the Persian Empire, the first railroads, the first crossing of the Atlantic, contact with China, medical advances, and the discovery of electricity…
By the time of the last biography, Kirk's Romans were barely 100 years short of space travel.
Spock slowly rewound the tape to its earlier setting. Jim, he wondered dully, Why did you do it? Broke—No shattered the Prime Directive, when you've given so much before to keep time intact… Edith Keeler! Not even for her! …Then why all this? You must have known what you were doing… Didn't you?
He pondered that for several minutes. What could change you so? What could make you forget your duty… Forget? Amnesia, as on Miramanee's world… Yes, you made innovations there, too. That must be the answer. Transporter malfunction effect? Or the impact of landing? Spock considered calling McCoy, but thought better of it. How would I phrase the question? 'Is it possible to suffer amnesia, but no other serious injury, by falling from unspecified height into a pushcart full of fish?' Imagine his reaction… Sure enough, the tape zipped forward and stopped at the end of a paragraph.
Démas died at the age of 96, of injuries received when he fell from a half-trained cavalry horse. He remained clear of mind almost to the last moment, giving instructions to his family concerning his estate and Rome's future needs. He specifically requested that all of his magical amulets be cremated and buried with him, for he feared what harm might follow if they were to fall into unscrupulous hands. At length his mind wandered, and he spoke of unknown persons and grieved persistently for some enterprise not reached. His last coherent words, as witnessed, were: 'Why didn't you ever come back for me? Spock, why did you leave me behind?' he did shortly before dawn, on—"
Spock closed his eyes and looked away, automatically struggling to repress the surge of pain. He remembered… the thought trickled loose. He waited for me, all those years, and I never… Enough! It will not happen! He will be saved…
…Saved?
The word cued another thought. Something was missing from that account, something vitally important. There is no mention of the Master, nor of His followers. Yet He would have lived and died during the period when Jim arrived, rose to power and ruled. There must be some reference somewhere… Spock jabbed fiercely at the buttons of the computer, refusing to consider the obvious connection. No. Not that. Jim would not have done anything to discourage the Spread of Christianity. He could not possibly have forgotten that.
The tape zipped backward, stopped and displayed another page. Yes, it was in the section under the biography of the Emperor Démas.
"The effect of his reforms was most subtle and far reaching in Judea, which had long been troublesome. While carefully avoiding the building of temples, statues and even references to the various civil gods, Démas caused there to be build in Judea many good roads, sewers, aqueducts, market pavilion, libraries, public baths, courthouses, hospitals, schools and public housing for the poor. He also empowered the provincial governors, by reason of reforming civil injustices, and gradually removed from the local king and high priesthood the administration of all laws and public services not directly related to religious exercise or use of funds from the king's own treasury.
"The priesthood and the royal kindred were also subtly encouraged to quarrel with each other, for which they required not great urging, thus distracting their time and attention from public matters so that they neither noted nor cared about the civic reforms. Improvements in education, trade and agriculture, the latter including gifts of seed, livestock, tools and irrigation systems, caused the populace to prosper despite the erratic taxations of the official rulers. Indeed, the Judeans came often to appeal to Rome for redress of grievances caused by their king and priesthood, and increasing numbers of them applied for and received full citizenship.
"Because of the growing prosperity and civil justice, conditions which bred despair and dissension disappeared, and the incidence of religious hysteria and rioting was greatly reduced. While the high priesthood paid little heed to this development, being content so long as the Great Temple's revenue was not reduced, various renegade sects and wandering holy men were incensed by their loss of local power and revenue, and some of them grew so bold as to enter the larger cities in hopes of finding ready audiences there. Démas, with his usual astonishing foresight, had previously given instruction that all such dissenters found breaching the public peace should not be handed over to the religious authorities but removed from the area and sent directly to Rome, where they were examined by the various priesthoods. Those found to be in good mental health were given teaching positions at various schools of philosophy, posts which they usually accepted with great alacrity but often resigned later upon finding their pupils more willing to question than to accept. Those who resigned, finding no audiences in Rome willing to support them, took up lesser trades within the city and often prospered thereby, not uncommonly abandoning all further attempts at preaching, though a few continued at their original effort and ended on the welfare rolls. None, in any case, were ever allowed to return to Judea, from which their influence soon passed.
"Once such wandering holy man, Yeshua ben-Yosef of Nasaret, attracted the attention of Démas, who came to hear him teach during the philosopher's brief employment at a school near the new Augustan Institute of Natural Philosophy at Velletrae. Seeing the philosopher being harassed by the impertinence of university students, Démas took pity upon him and invited him to dinner with his foster parent Livia, who was yet alive and active at this time. Only fragmentary accounts of the dinner conversation have survived, but it is clearly recorded that the philosopher proved no match for Livia's ready wit; she bested him thoroughly on several points, including the value of life, the value of rationality, the value of worldly happiness, and the social rights of women, the lattermost being especially telling in view of the degraded standing of women in Judea. Démas, by all accounts, was greatly disappointed in the philosopher, yet treated him with great civility and offered him a post in the foreign office. Yeshua refused, but did not return to teaching. He became a carpenter in the suburban district and was never again noted in public life. Démas generosity in making this offer is shown by the fact that although Yesua was provably a magician of some ability, having many medical cures to his credit, yet his personal ethics were suspect due to the tendency of his patients to undergo mental deterioration after being touched by him; indeed, it was common knowledge at the school where he taught that students should carefully avoid allowing the philosopher to touch them in any way. Had not Démas interfered personally, Yeshua would doubtless have lost his teaching position shortly for the aforesaid unethical conduct.
"Now concerning proven magicians, augurs and oracles, Démas set high standards—"
Spock shut off the tape and stared unseeing at the blank screen. '…did not return to teaching…' he repeated to himself. '…lost his teaching position…unethical conduct…became a carpenter…never again noted in public life.' The Master! And you—you were 'greatly disappointed' with Him? Jim, how could you? He reactivated the screen, backed up the tape and re-read the beginning of the middle paragraph.
"Because of the growing prosperity and civil justice, conditions which bred despair and dissension disappeared, and the incidence of religious hysteria and rioting was greatly reduced."
Spock looked at the words until they blurred, quietly knitting the cold facts together. "The Pacifier of Judea," he murmured. Jim. You changed social conditions. 'Prosperity and civil justice'. Distracted people with immediate concerns, worldly toys, bread and circuses… Took the audience away from the Master—and then the Master away from any audience that would listen to Him! Harassed by 'impertinent' university students! Charged with 'unethical conduct'! Argued down by an old woman at a dinner party… He shoved the sudden memory of the dinner party on the Invictus out of his mind. Jim, why did you do it? How could you have met Him and not be…not be…
The concept slipped away, leaving only the shining memory of that momentous mind-meld with the Master, that promise of endless, boundless, accepting, unquestioning love…love…
Obviously you did not mind-meld with him, Spock concluded. When I have you back, I will correct that. Once I have you again, I will show you the Master, directly. When I have you…
At least now I know where—and when—you are.
To Be Continued in Chapter XII: Mushrooms, Paranoia and the Lady in White
*from "Proof Positive," by Sharon Emily, SHOWCASE #2, printed 1975, pages 10-16.