Chapter 11.

The Stalemate

The Captain entered the Rec Room when the ship's night was about to start and immediately spotted Spock sitting in the far corner. What was even better, a chess board was set in front of him and he seemed to be deep into a match against the computer. Smiling lightly, Kirk crossed the room, nodding to crew's greetings.

"Mind if I sit down, Mr. Spock?" He asked, hoping to startle the Vulcan as he remained the only person, who did not acknowledge his presence in any way.

The Science Officer raised his eyes at him slowly, his expression calm to the point of absolute serenity.

"Please do, Captain," he replied politely, indicating the seat opposite him.

"How's it going?" Kirk asked, gesturing towards the board. "I can see you, uh, have some difficulties on your right flank."

Spock's eyebrow furrowed slightly as he observed the board.

"Those are minor, Captain. The computer will not attack on this level now."

"How do you know?"

"Please, observe," Spock said and moved one of his pieces. "Computer, bishop to queen's level two."

He left his flank carelessly unprotected and the Captain was waiting for computer's reply with certain interest. Will the machine seize the chance he would?

"Knight to king's level one," the computer voice finally announced.

Obediently, Spock moved the opponent's piece and looked up at the Captain.

"You were right."

Spock's sigh was barely audible.

"The machine is predictable," he said, light touch of regret in his tone. "It has access to a great number of strategies and methods, but since I have studied so many of those, it appears it cannot surprise me. Even when it wins, it is predictable."

"That must be frustrating," the Captain noted cautiously, studying the board. "I believe it's checkmate in three."

Spock concentrated on the board, too, trying to find the roots for this determination. It took him twenty seconds to realize the Captain was right. He looked up at him curiously.

"Do you play, Captain?"

Kirk was tempted to say that the question was illogical since obviously he had good knowledge of the game, but refrained with enormous effort and smiled casually instead.

"Occasionally. When I have the chance. Not that it happened a lot lately."

Spock continued to watch him, intrigued, but even a Vulcan couldn't ignore an opening like that. He finally realized why the Captain had joined him at the table in the first place and realized also that he was pleased about it.

"Captain, I would be honored to play against you," he stated calmly.

Kirk's tentative smile grew wider.

"Only at chess, I hope, Mr. Spock?"

The Vulcan raised an inquisitive eyebrow. "Of course, sir."

"Fine. Set the board then."

Spock complied, moving pieces back in order efficiently. He left two pawns on the table and as Kirk didn't move to touch them, he took them himself. Many times he watched the custom of choosing the side to play between the players. Never before had he participated in one. He exchanged the pawns in his hands several times behind his back, then raised two tight fists to the table level and looked at the Captain questionably.

Kirk tapped his right hand without hesitation and Spock produced a white pawn out of it. The Captain took the piece from him, looking pleased with himself.

"I have to warn you, Mr. Spock," he said, putting the pawn to the right place on the board. "I never lose when I start the match."

Spock's eyebrow climbed up again.

"A most illogical observation, Captain. Even if you do win this match, to extrapolate this one occurrence to 'never' is somewhat… presumptuous."

"Well, I hope I'll have more than one occasion to convince you, Mr. Spock," Kirk said eagerly, moving his piece and starting the game.

Spock's answer – both on the board and above – came immediately.

"You are most welcome to try, Captain."

Kirk moved another piece, frowning.

"I'm not the captain of this chessboard, Mr. Spock. Please, call me Jim."

Spock took one of his pawns and glanced up briefly.

"Pardon my frankness, Captain, but according to my observations, you do not appear to like to be called 'Jim.'"

The Captain looked at him sharply. Of course, he thought, that must have been obvious. I must have been giving signs of dissatisfaction every time Gary used my name on the Bridge. Signs that anyone, but my First Officer was able to see.

"I'm off duty now, Spock," he said aloud, keeping his tone casually light. "The Captain can come off duty as well the other guy, can't he?"

Spock held his gaze for a long moment. They both knew his words weren't true. A starship captain could never come off duty. It was a lifetime commitment with a very few luxuries available and being in the off-duty mode was simply not one of them.

"Of course… Jim," the Vulcan said just as casually, returning his attention to the board.

"Fine, I'm glad we cleared that up. Protect your rook."

The Captain did win that first game, though he spent an hour and a half doing it. It took Spock exactly half that time to bust him up spectacularly in the second. Both were decisively surprised with each other, though naturally Spock's face never showed a trace of it.

"You are a challenging opponent, Captain," Spock noted cautiously.

Kirk grinned at him. "I hear a big 'but' coming."

"Your mind seems not to have been on that last game," the Vulcan said shrewdly. "If you would not consider it inappropriate of me to ask, what is bothering you?"

The Captain's face grew darker, his smile faded. The room was empty by then, except for the two of them. The lights were dimmed in accordance with ship's night.

"Professor Lishan's last words," Kirk admitted reluctantly. "I can't get them off my mind. I know," he added quickly, "you can't tell me what they meant, but I can't help wondering if they had anything to do with the converter."

"The device is troubling you," Spock observed calmly.

"A great deal," Kirk confirmed gravely. "I think the power generators we already have are just fine. Granted, they have their limitations, but at least none of them can be turned into an instrument of mass destruction."

"I agree," Spock said simply.

Kirk stared at him. The Vulcan met his gaze steadily. Same apprehension, same doubts and concerns were reflected in his eyes, and for once, he didn't mask any of it. A complete if momentary understanding ran between the two men like a lightning bolt.

"It doesn't look like there's anything we can do about it, though," Jim said quietly, breaking the spell. "We have to trust our superiors to have wisdom to deal with that much power."

Spock's eyebrow rose up a bit. "There is an old Earth saying, Captain, which Vulcans find to be very true. Power corrupts."

"And absolute power corrupts absolutely," Kirk nodded, smiling grimly. "Well, my recent conversations with Starfleet Command, certainly, made me wish we were all as logical and invincible to temptations as members of the Vulcan High Council."

It was Spock's turn to smile a ghostly smile at the statement. "Captain, I wish I could tell you that high ranking Vulcans are guided solely by logic in their ways. But such belief would be incredibly naïve of me."

"In that case, we both can only hope for the best."

"Hope, Captain, is a human trait," Spock replied with some renewed Vulcan arrogance and looked at the chessboard. "Would you care to avenge your defeat now?"

"No, Mr. Spock," Kirk shook his head tiredly. "Don't think you can scare me off that easily, but it's getting really late. We're both on duty in six hours, I suggest we call it a night."

"Agreed, Captain."

Spock started to dismantle the board and Kirk came to his feet. In the emptiness of the room, Spock's calm voice caught him easily when he was almost at the door.

"Jim."

Kirk turned to look at him questionably.

"Thank you for the game."

The Captain smiled sincerely.

"My pleasure, Mr. Spock. Same time tomorrow night?"

"That would be acceptable."

Shaking his head slightly at the response, Kirk turned to go. "It's settled then. See you in the morning."

"Good night, Captain."

--

The day was not uneventful, but all in all quiet. Mr. Scott reported the repairs almost complete; he estimated full warp capacity to be restored in another eight hours. Of course, Scotty would have been an irresponsible Chief Engineer if he hadn't prepared a 'shopping list' for spare equipment to acquire at a Starbase. Kirk could see some rather over compensatory items, but signed the request all the same.

They had rendezvoused with the Yokogama – the Federation police vessel that much to the Captain's relief took custody of their prisoners. The Klingons did not bear their captivity lightly. There had been two brawls that made it necessary to use anesthetic gaze to suppress the fighters, three assaults and half a dozen suicide attempts. Both Giotto and Piper could hardly express the magnitude of their happiness at having finally got rid of the unwilling guests.

Mitchell brought the news that Doctor McCoy was indeed back at Centauri Prime, but in a rather incommunicative frame of mind. Kirk was getting ready to have a talk with his old friend, as soon as their current mission would be concluded.

When he entered the Rec Room later in the evening, he felt tired but satisfied, trying to maintain the mood of the day. He sat in the corner, waiting for Spock and watching with a smile Mitchell's continuing attempts to gain a bit of Uhura's sympathy. The Communications Officer was smiling brightly at him, but that was as far as he was getting.

Suddenly, the ship shook slightly with a low undistinguished hum. Mitchell met Kirk's gaze, apparently, as much at a loss as his Captain. The next moment he was standing beside him, as Kirk sprang to the com panel on the wall.

"Bridge, report! What's going on?"

"Kelso here, Captain. We're reading a distortion in the integrity field on Deck Seven."

"Where on Deck Seven?" Kirk asked with sudden concern.

"Checking now, sir." A pause. "Science Lab 2, Captain."

Just as he suspected...

"Seal off the deck. I'm on my way."

"Yes, sir."

He practically ran out of the door, Mitchell at his heels. The turbolift brought them as far as Deck Six and they had to take the Jeffry's tubes to get to their destination. Finally on Deck Seven, they heard Jessica Quaint's anxious voice long before they saw her. She was pleading with the security guards, who were preventing her from going inside the Lab.

"But don't you see – he might need help in there!" She was shouting at the guard, half hysterically, half angrily.

"What happened?" Kirk demanded, coming closer. "Ensign, let her go."

"But sir, this area is off limits..."

"Not to me. Lieutenant Quaint." She paid him no attention and he grabbed her shoulders, shaking her slightly. "Lieutenant! What happened?"

"We detected a distortion in the containment field around the converter," she said, biting her lips in desperation. "Mr. Spock went in to check the field generator for malfunction and when he lowered the forcefield – it exploded!"

"What exploded? Lieutenant? What exploded?"

"I don't know!" She whirled out of his grip furiously. "I don't know – Mr. Spock's not answering – and they wouldn't let me in!"

"Get the medics down here on the double," Kirk ordered one of the guards. "We're going in."

"Jim, wait, it's too dangerous..."

But Kirk had already engaged the entrance override and stepped in.

The Lab lay in ruins. It looked very much like Lishan's installation disrupted to bare pieces by the Klingons, but with a distinctive difference: all the furniture and equipment here was distorted not by mean greedy hands but by formidable force of vacuum. In the middle of the room on the floor they could see all that was left of the M-Type converter – mere bits and pieces – enough to identify the device, but not enough to repair it.

'Thank God,' was the Captain's first thought. Now there was nothing to deliver back to the Federation. With this ultimate menace gone, he'd probably be able to sleep at last. His second thought was far less gratifying.

"Spock!"

He spotted the Vulcan at the same moment Quaint did, and they both rushed toward his lifeless form. He was curled up on the floor, blood streaming from his nose and ears, motionless, but breathing.

"Over here, Mark!" Kirk heard Mitchell call out and the next moment the Doctor rushed in, two nurses with a stretcher following suit.

Kirk and Quaint moved aside, watching Piper running a medical scanner over Spock.

"Tri-ox!" He shouted across his shoulder and the nurse handed him a hypospray instantly.

"How's he?" Kirk asked impatiently.

"Lost a lot of blood, several vessel dilacerations, oxygen deprivation, - I need to get him to Sick Bay, but all in all I'd say he's doing fine for someone who'd been clashed by a forcefield explosion. On the stretcher, on my mark – one, two, three!"

"Doctor, I'll need to speak with him the moment he regains consciousness."

"That might take a while, Captain!" Piper barked without even looking at him. "Let's go, people!"

They were out of the room before Kirk could say another word. Slightly relieved, he glanced around the Lab.

"Lieutenant, Commander," he called softly.

Quaint and Mitchell, who were doing their share of sightseeing, came to his side at once.

"I'm putting you both in charge of the investigation. I need a complete analysis of what happened here and I need it fast."

"Yes, sir," Quaint said, frowning. "If only you'd order those gorillas out of here..."

"We'll make it fast for you, Jim," Mitchell interrupted her briskly. He watched his friend and Captain with compassion. This was no easy news to deliver to Starfleet Command.

"I'm counting on it. Inform me as soon as you make any progress."

"Aye, sir."

Back in his quarters, he ordered all the security logs for the last five days and started to review them. It took him quite a while to determine that there had been no transgressions. Ever since Spock erected the containment field around the device and a forcefield around the Lab, nobody so much as came close to it, including the Vulcan. Lieutenant Quaint's account seemed to be correct: a noticeable fluctuation in the containment field was detected shortly before the explosion. The cause of it remained as yet unknown.

The Captain ordered some black coffee from the food synthesizer and leaned on the back of his chair, thinking.

The M-Type converter – the one and only known to exist – was decisively innovative technology. There was no way of telling how many safeguards Lishan had put in it and whether or not it was enough. That's why they had a science specialist on this mission, on every mission, and a good one from what Kirk could see. Spock guessed about what Lishan had really been working on after as much as glancing at the control mechanism schematics. He checked the device down there on the planet before beaming up. He was the one putting it in the containment field. And now he was also the one who witnessed the explosion.

Kirk frowned, taking a sip from his cup. Lishan clearly cared a great deal about his invention. The man had a heart attack when Spock as much as turned it off. He poisoned himself in order not to take part in the crime against humanity. Spock was the last person he talked to, and Spock wouldn't say what they had talked about. The last thing the Professor did was writing a note to Spock, emphasizing one well known fact – 'you are a scientist, too.'

The Captain wondered with tired sarcasm if there was any logical explanation to all this chaos, where Spock seemed to be the central element.

His door chime sounded, calling him out of his reverie. He glanced at the chronometer quickly – it had been almost three hours since the incident. Gary was indeed fast.

"Enter."

Just as he expected, Quaint and Mitchell stood in the doorway.

"Come in. What do you have?"

"A preliminary report only, sir," Quaint answered, handing him a data chip.

Kirk took it and examined thoughtfully, but didn't put into the reader. Instead he looked up at Quaint.

"Tell me."

She appeared to have expected this and started talking immediately.

"It is difficult to make precise determination when dealing with one of a kind equipment, sir, but the evidence we have found indicates it was an accident. According to my analysis, some of the internal relays had created a power loop, which upon obtaining enough energy started to leak it. This energy came to a dissonance with the power flow of the containment field. When the pressure became too high, it exploded."

"Some of the internal relays created a loop," Kirk repeated slowly. "But the converter was supposed to be deactivated completely."

"It was, sir," she said somewhat defensively. "But it is innovative technology, and the Professor did not exactly show us its schematics."

"Spock was the one who deactivated it," Mitchell interjected coldly. "Isn't it possible, Lieutenant, that he might have missed something?"

Her cheeks reddened slightly with anger as she turned to the First Officer and snapped. "Mr. Spock is not capable of making such mistakes!"

"Really? But you said it yourself, it's a completely new piece of technology and Spock wasn't exactly in the best shape when he had to turn it off. However much he might resemble a computer, he's not one yet. He can make mistakes just like the rest of us, mortals."

"Captain," Quaint turned back to Kirk, speaking earnestly. "I've been working with Mr. Spock for three years now. In all this time I have never known him to misplace so much as a Petri dish. He checks and double-checks everything he does. He cannot be careless or negligent, not even if the sky's falling over his head."

"If he's so irreproachable, Lieutenant, how would you explain that his tricorder – the only other source of information about Professor Lishan's research – was destroyed in the explosion as well? According to regulations, it should not have even been in the same room."

"Gary," Kirk spoke quietly, glancing over at him as if to say 'ease off.'

"Well, maybe he was tired!" Quaint came dangerously close to exploding herself. "He didn't have any sleep or food in 72 hours, he was beaten, cold, and he had to fight for his and Ensign Lupa's life – and for our lives, too, Commander!"

"That's exactly my point, Lieutenant," Mitchell retorted. "I'm not saying he'd been negligent on purpose. But it's much more plausible that he missed some relays in a hurry in his condition, than to imagine that they somehow sprang to life on their own."

"Lieutenant?" Kirk prompted her gently.

"I suppose, it's possible," she acknowledged reluctantly. "But it's just as possible that those relays were programmed to start functioning after a while. There's no way to be certain. It's not fair to blame Mr. Spock for something he might not have had the power to stop!"

"Nobody's making any accusations, Lieutenant," Kirk said.

"We've been lucky that only two relays were active," Quaint added. "Had there been just one more, we could have lost half the ship."

Yes, very lucky, Kirk thought, staring at her face without really seeing it. Very, very lucky. One casualty, one destroyed room – and the device that contained potential risk of total annihilation did not exist anymore. What unimaginable precision for such an indefinite substance as luck. You'd think it was intelligent.

"Is that all, Lieutenant?" He asked.

"Yes, sir."

"Thank you. Dismissed."

With a final dismayed glance at Mitchell, she left.

"Jim," his First Officer began, but Kirk cut him off.

"I heard you, Gary. You think he's made an error."

Mitchell came to sit at the desk across from him.

"Yes, I do. I think this time he's done it with his damn Vulcan arrogance. He could have acknowledged for once that Vulcans do have limits. He should have asked someone to assist him. Lieutenant Quaint, for one. She's a capable officer and apart from having a crush on Spock, I don't think there's anything wrong with her judgment. If he'd swallowed his pride and asked for help, this wouldn't have happened."

Kirk shook his head slightly, pieces of the puzzle finally assembling into a picture in his mind.

"You don't know what has just happened, Gary," he said slowly, careful not to lose his newly born clarity of perception. "You don't see yet what he had done."

"Destroyed an invaluable piece of equipment with no possibility of restoring it back. Idiotic mistake."

"I don't think it was a mistake, Gary."

Mitchell stared at him in utter disbelief.

"You think he did that on purpose?"

"Most certainly, though I'll never be able to prove it. Do you remember how the H-bomb was created on Earth?"

"Not really. What does it have to do..."

"Shortly before the end of World War Two the group of leading scientists teamed to invent a weapon, more powerful than Earth had ever seen. They were not all Americans, but they worked for the United States. Across the ocean in Russia they had been working on such a weapon, too. But the Russians were late. They had a war at their doorstep, it hit them much harder. They were short on resources and they were too late. They sent spies, naturally, to the US to speed up their own research. Do you know what the American scientists did? They shared their findings with the soviets shortly after their tests were complete. Some said they were traitors, but I think they were the best kind of patriots. They realized what kind of power the H-bomb represented. They knew they could never go back in their work, they could not pretend it never happened. But they realized that to leave such ultimate power in one hands would be the shortest way to total annihilation. So they shared their knowledge. And the soviets got the bomb and never used it. Those two nations never fired upon each other. They had the capability to destroy the planet not once but hundreds of times, yet they never did. And we survived and made it into space."

"That's all very fine, Jim, thanks for the history lesson, but what does that have to do with Spock? The M-Type converter is not an H-bomb."

"Isn't it? Isn't it an ultimate weapon of our time? Why do you think the Klingons were after it? Why do you think Professor Lishan preferred to commit suicide rather than face the consequences his invention would bring? For God's sake, the man died, Gary! Because he didn't want to see the Federation becoming an ultimate oppressor."

"We would never have used it as a weapon."

"Wouldn't we? Are you sure? Me – not one bit. And even so, sooner or later the technology would have been stolen – nothing of that importance can be kept a secret for very long. And then what? The Klingons would undoubtedly have used it as a weapon. And when that happened we would have to do so as well."

"But Spock didn't give to the Klingons. He destroyed the blasted thing."

"Well, he's a Vulcan, not a soviet agent. Lishan was the one who contacted the Klingons, I'm almost sure of that. That's why they told me they were invited, that they came to take what was theirs. Spock guessed to whom Lishan had sent his message, that's why the Professor was so shocked. Back then, Spock saw the historic correlation that I'm only seeing now."

"You sound so sure, Jim."

"But it's all only – logical, don't you see? Spock's a scientist, he must have studied the converter and realized that we're in no danger of repeating the technology in the nearest future. God, Gary. You can't imagine how great a burden he's lifted off my shoulders, because I don't think I'd want to be the one who delivers a 23d century H-bomb to Earth."

I only wish he trusted me enough to tell me, Kirk thought bitterly. But then, just as the officers must earn the captain's trust, he must earn theirs. Spock hardly knew him. From what Kirk heard, his interactions with humans had not been... cloudless, to say the least. An ultimate weapon, a destiny of an entire civilization was too great a risk to put it on such shaky ground. It was hardly a logical thing to do. If Jim were in his place, he would most probably have done the same.

Silence fell over the room, as two men contemplated what had happened. Mitchell's enmity towards Spock seemed to have dissipated slightly as he realized that the Vulcan was willing to risk his career, maybe even to end it, to prevent the greater evil from happening. He looked at Jim tentatively.

"What do you intend to do about him? The Command will hardly be happy."

Kirk waved his hand dismissively. "The Command is in such a debt to Spock already, they'd be only happy to even the scores a little. Besides, if he's made a mistake due to his fatigue, I'm just as guilty as he is. The man had just risen from dead and I knew it. I could have ordered someone to assist him, Lieutenant Quaint for one, couldn't I? Crush or no crush, she's a capable officer. But I didn't do it."

"Your ship had just gone into battle, you were otherwise occupied..."

"There you go. There's a whole line of guilty officers. Care to find your place in it, my friend?"

Mitchell returned his smile somewhat ruefully.

"You know, you two make a good team."

"We make a good team, Gary," Kirk said reassuringly. "Chris Pike seemed to have left me a better crew than any captain could hope for."

The intercom whistled softly.

"Kirk here."

"Sick Bay, Captain." Piper's voice sounded mildly subdued and annoyed. "Lieutenant Spock has regained consciousness. He insists on speaking with you immediately. He says the accident in the Lab was his fault, that he's made a mistake or something."

Kirk caught Mitchell's eye and winked.

"Doctor, I believe your patient is in need of further rest after what he's been through, am I correct?"

"Uh, yes. Yes, Captain, that's exactly what I've been trying to explain to him."

"Well, tell him I'll talk to him after he leaves your care. We're not in any rush."

An amazed silence greeted his words then Piper said carefully, "Understood, Captain. Sick Bay out."

"You can't leave it at that, Jim," Mitchell shook his head softly.

"I know," Kirk sighed. "Now that he's insisting on taking the blame I'll have to reprimand him officially. But I'll be damned if he doesn't get what he truly deserves. We're all in his debt, whether Starfleet Command is willing to admit it or not."

"Well, that's been a long day, wouldn't you say?" Mitchell yawned and stretched tiredly. "We're back on duty in several hours and I'd like to get some sleep – now that the world is safe for the night."

Kirk snorted and waved him off. "See you in the morning."

The freshly renewed sensation of undisturbed peace flooded his mind in a most pleasing way. After the nervous tension of the past several days Jim was happy to greet it back. He surrendered to sleep willingly for the first time in days.