XIII. Flight Into Darkness

"To a nightmare of knowledge he opens up the gate.
A blinding revelation is served upon his plate:
That beneath the Greatest Love lies a hurricane of hate,
And God help the critic of the dawn."
Phil Ochs, "Crucifixion"

Ashriliin, antennae aquiver, peered delightedly through the screens at the Enterprise's engines. "It really is!" he chortled. "It's a primitive matter-antimatter drive! What a relic!" Then he caught sight of Scott's reddening face. "Er, but ingenious. Yes, marvelously ingenious. Did I ever tell you about the V'zmanthans? Incredible people! A whole technology based on steam power, even orbital spaceships. No star drive—that was our winning gift to them—but everything else—"

"Mr. Scott," a cool Vulcan voice cut in. "A word with you for a moment, please."

"Ach, sure." Scott straightened up slowly. Now we'll see fireworks. "Hey, Suvannaphong, take over showin' oor guests aboot. Pardon me, Ashril; the Commander calls."

"I understand." Ashriliin didn't look up; his eyes were fixed on the screen and his antennae pointed likewise.

Scott let Spock lead him away to the upper gallery, out of earshot of everyone else. "Whot's the problem, Mr. Spock?" he asked, impatient to get on with this.

"The problem is Hawk. Where is he, Mr. Scott?"

"Och, in no trouble." Scott's face softened into a lecherous grin. "When last seen, he was goin' into Bal'Tia's cabin wi' her. He didna look as if he were aboot ta discuss politics."

Spock bit down a surge of outrage. "You allowed him to go off with one of the Imperials? Alone?"

"Weel, noo," Scott continued to grin. "That's no the sort o' thing we Humans care ta do in front o' witnesses."

"I asked you to keep him under surveillance at all times."

"I didna think ye meant I should watch him fook." Something about Scott's smile had a sharp, angry edge.

"I am not concerned with human mating habits! I am concerned that he may do other things—such as talk. Do you understand me, Mr. Scott?"

"Och, aye, but I got the distinct impression, from whot they were doin', thot he had in mind ither uses for his mouth."

Spock blushed green.

Scott saw it and laughed silently. Chew on that, ye prissy Vulcan bastard.

"Mr. Scott," Spock fairly hissed. "I am well aware of the human tendency to abandon all common sense when sexually aroused—"

"Unlike Vulcans?" Scott couldn't help saying.

The green blush vanished completely. Spock turned as pale as Scott had ever seen him.

Oops. Better cool him off, Scott thought. "Ye needna worry aboot him, Mr. Spock. I've never seen any sign thot he'd do anythin' sa foolish as ta leave us stranded in the wrong time. I do believe thot ye can trust the mon ta know his business and keep ta it."

"Then you've seen nothing!" Spock snapped, fiercely enough to draw a look of surprise from Scott. "And you were ordered to keep him under constant surveillance."

"I did." Scott stopped smiling. "I could hardly follow him aroon' by meself—'twould raise suspicions among oor hosts as weel as him—so I managed ta get close enough ta brush against him, an' I put a wee beacon on the back o' his shirt. 'Twas nae problem ta set a communicator ta follow it, and' I kept the channel open for a guid long while—until he waltzed off inta the bedroom, ta be precise."

"And what did you overhear?" Spock insisted, annoyed at Scott's ingenious avoidance of direct observation. He had, he realized now, hoped that Scott's too obvious personal presence would intimidate Hawk into good behavior.

"I heard a' sort o' borin' drivel." Scott shrugged. "Chatting' aboot their history o' philosophy, economics an' daily life, manners an' social position an' a' like thot. Whot I gather, these Imperials are sa ploddin'ly dutiful an decent thot they're domned dull. Nae an orgy in a carload, for a' their easy lovin' ways." He twitched the ghost of a wry smile. "I keep rememberin' my auld history lessons, an' wondering' if we got slanted information, Mr. Spock. Where's Nero, where's Caligula, an a' thot bluidy lot? These seem ta have avoided such—an' maybe sich were the grand exceptions, anyway: great oddities among basically guid folk, remembered just because they were the exceptions. From a' I could tell, these folk have had no tyrants o' any sort wi'in livin' memory, not anywhere—which is more than the Federation can say."

Spock took a half step backward.

Scott noticed. His eyes narrowed. "From whot I've seen," he growled, "Howsoever oor Romans turned wrong, this lot went right."

"For the wrong reasons," Spock retorted.

"Captain Kirk, ye mean?"

"Precisely."

"Och…" Scott sighed. "'Tis a'most a shame ta bring him back, then. He did a fine job wi' them, did he not?"

"That is not our concern. We have our own timeline, our universe, to protect. This affection for the Imperials might prove treacherous if not controlled—and that is why I asked you to watch Hawk at all times."

'Treacherous'? Scott raised an eyebrow at him. "Aren't those rather hard words, Mr. Spock? Or do ye really think sa little o' Human loyalty thot ye imagine folks would drop a whole universe just for a bit o' table talk an' a roll in the hay?"

"It has been known to happen before," Spock reminded him. "The blandishments of a single alien sufficed to suborn Lt. Palomas, if you will recall."

Scott smiled un-prettily. "Do ye needle thot scar again, Mr. Spock, and I'll knock yer bluidy teeth doon yer throat."

Spock raised both eyebrows at him. "There is no need to become violent. I was merely quoting an example well known to both of us."

"Oh, were ye, noo?" Scott gave a bitter laugh. "Then ye should remember thot she stuck wi' us in the end. Do you think less o' Dr. Hawk?"

"His personality is quite different."

"Stronger, if anythin'. He's a fierce-willed little mon; I grant him thot."

"And entirely too self-willed. Also, he is not a member of the Starfleet, and not subject to the same training and psychological screening. I have seen good reason not to trust him. That should suffice, Mr. Scott. Now resume personal surveillance."

Scott snorted and held out a communicator that bristled with extra wires. "This little gizmo's homed in on his beacon, Mr. Spock. Do ye want ta hear whot he's up ta, just turn it on. Do ye wish ta see him also, just go to any console wi' a view screen, plug this black lead inta the channel-D outlet an' turn on reception. If ye're no satisfied wi' ma surveillance, go look for yerself."

Spock hesitated for a moment, then took the communicator and turned it on. All he could hear were distant noises of hard breathing and an indefinable rhythmic creaking. Puzzled, he glanced up—and saw Scott leering knowingly at him. "This is not conclusive proof of Hawk's innocence," he retorted.

"Oh?" Scott cocked his head to one side. "I thought 'twas guilt needed provin'. 'Presumed innocent', an' a' like thot…"

"This is not a courtroom but an emergency situation." Spock glanced at the nearest communications view screen. The console was temporarily occupied. He frowned with impatience.

"I see na pressin' emergency," said Scott. "The ship's in na' danger, oor friends ha' gi'en us a' the help an' replacements we need, the Knaffbein stress effect is aboot gone fra' the engines, an' we'll be ready ta go in anither two hours at the verra most. Hardly a red-alert situation, I'd say. Sa why a' this attention ta one wee visitin' scientist?"

"Because he is the weakest link," Spock snapped, watching the sub-engineer at the console finish up her particular business. "I thought I made that clear to you in our last conversation."

"Weel, ye didna. I've seen nae reason ta suspect the mon sa heavily. Would ye mind tellin' me yer reasons for sa doin'—an' fer askin' me, of a' people, ta do the spyin'?"

"Direct orders should require no explanations." Nonetheless, he clearly requires some reinforcement… "Dr. Hawk is an excellent example of an alienated and personally unrestrained human. He has no binding loyalty to anything but his own ego and gratifications, and enjoys verbally abusing those humans who possess what he lacks. I should think you would have seen that for yourself at dinner yesterday."

Scott gave him a distinctly odd look. "Na, I saw nae such thing. Whot I have seen is thot he's quite dedicated ta his work—much like meself. Thot I can understand weel, Mr. Spock."

"Dedication to one's work is not sufficient for preventing…antisocial behavior. It involves no higher authority that enforces rules of conduct. You recall Dr. Daystrom, do you not?"

"'Tisna the same." Scott stared at him, puzzlement deepening. "Just th' opposite, if anything'. Daystrom was fair distracted wi' the need ta prove himself ta ither scientists. Hawk's perfectly sure o' himself. Why, hell, Daystrom's trouble was too much worryin' aboot 'higher authority'. Hawk's got nae need o' it."

"Yes, he does," Spock insisted. "All humans do. Without such a standard, they have nothing to curb their selfish and aggressive impulses. Hawk has no such restraints, and is therefore untrustworthy."

Scott's expression altered in a why that Spock couldn't read. "Ye mean," he said slowly, "Thot ye think men a'ways need a master ta keep 'em in line? Thot itherwise they'd do naethin' but slaughter each ither an ruin a' they touch?"

"Essentially correct." When will that engineer finish and leave the console? "Though I would add that such an authority should be above human failings, for obvious reasons."

So… Scott quietly ground his teeth, seeing the whole pattern laid out before him as clear as a wiring diagram. Ye think we're beasts that need keepers! I never realized how much you despise Humans, Vulcan! Is this a new thing, or have you always had it—from despising the Human in yourself? "I suppose I should be flattered thot ye think me sa trustworthy, sa 'restrained'." Damn you. "Is it because I'm a proven Starfleet officer, or because I'm a guid Engineer?"

"Neither." Spock actually tapped his fingers, watching the occupied console and listening to the uninterrupted heavy breathing on the communicator. "Starfleet's authority is largely a human invention and not infallible. Your engineering skills have nothing to do wit the question. I was referring to your adherence to a rigorous philosophical and ethical code, one not thoroughly shared by other members of this crew."

Like you, Vulcan? "Oh? An'whot might thot be?"

Spock turned to give him the Vulcan equivalent of a surprised stare. "You are a Christian, are you not?"

Scott felt his jaw drop. Is that it? You think I—You think it means— The last detail fell into the pattern: Day's proselytizing, Spock's tacit alliance, Aquila's easy argument, Hawk's agreement and subsequent 'surveillance', and now this. I never truly stopped to think on it before. Now I do. And it's wrong. Wrong! "Ye're mistaken, Mr. Spock." His voice sounded strange in his own ears.

"I beg your pardon?" Spock gave him a distinctly puzzled look.

"I mean, yon's no where ma heart is." Take your Holy Authority and shove it! "I'm an Engineer: first, last an' a'ways. I believe in the laws o' nature, which care naethin' for who pays attention to 'em—an' I dinna gi'e a fat rat's rump where they came from. The fine law o' physics are religion enou' for me."

Spock blinked at him, looking faintly pole axed. "But…you possess ethical standards…"

"O' bluidy course! No frae any domned preacher's carpin', ether, but because I know I've got ta live wi' ither people—an' I just happen to like 'em."

"Than's…all?" Spock asked faintly, feeling as if a trusted deck plate had suddenly given way beneath his feet.

"Aye! Bluidy all!" Scott folded his hands across his chest. "If ye think thot's not enough, then act like a scientist an' go check it oot. Yon view screen's waitin'."

Spock glanced at the console and saw the sub-engineer vacating it. He turned and stalked over to it, plugged the black lead into the channel-D outlet and pressed buttons.

The screen darkened for an instant, and then homed in on a close-up of the back of Ellison Hawk's jacket. Hawk wasn't in it. It was lying on a carpeted floor near other scattered clothes, including part of an Imperial uniform.

Scott chuckled knowingly.

Frowning, Spock adjusted the dials, pulled back the viewing range, noted movement to one side, homed in on it—and snatched back his hands as if the dials burned.

The screen showed a close view of a darkened bed. On it Hawk and Bal'Tia, quite naked, were wrapped in each others straining arms, their faces tight and exalted, their breathing matching perfectly. Their bodies lunged together and parted, lunged and parted, as smoothly as any fine-run machine.

Spock stared at them, stunned. He'd never observed humans mating before.

"Heh! 'Tisna any political secrets he's gi'en her!" Scott guffawed.

Spock hastily snapped the viewer off, blushing to the tips of his ears.

"A guid performance, I'd ca' that," Scott needled. "An' who'd ha' thought thot such a wee mon would be sa big in one particular part?"

"That is enough, Mr. Scott!" Spock yanked the black lead's plug out of the channel-D socket, snapped the wired communicator closed and shoved it back into Scott's hands. His face felt as if it were burning.

"Weel, sir, are ye satisfied thot Hawk's don' nae mair than I said he was doin'?"

"I am satisfied. I—"

"Ha! Nae sa much as he will be, I wager!"

"Continue-to-monitor-him-with-discretion," Spock gritted. "When Hawk has finished his- his current activity, resume surveillance."

"Oh? An' hoo am I ta know when he's finished?" Scott asked innocently.

"Use your own discretion." Spock got up, turned and marched rigidly away.

"Aye, I'll be discreet," Scott smiled at the Vulcan's retreating back. Ye prissy bastard. Aye, think on it! Yon's where your bloody distrust leads…

He tucked the communicator back on his belt, and turned to see what Ashriliin was up to, smiling as he noted the Roman sandals sticking out of an access chamber. Now there's a man after my own heart, he thought fondly. I can recognize him across space and altered time; know how his mind works, and call him a friend. No matter to me what gods he swears by or what fleet he pledges to; I know where his heart is. Aye, Ashriliin: the laws of physics are religion enough for me, too; the only difference between me and thee is that you probably have some little departmental god or goddess to represent them. Would it be Athena, now, or Vulcan?

Vulcan… Scott started toward the access hatch, and then stopped again. But you, Vulcan… He shook his head. For long I thought you too believed in the laws of nature…but lately I've seen you show another side. Too much of it. Fear of… Freedom. Love. Of life itself.

Scott glanced back at the way out that Spock had taken. His eyes narrowed. Aye. Narrower and narrower you circle, vulture-like. Where's your IDIC, Vulcan? Traded for a bloody cross! Why and how you've changed I don't know, but it's none for the better. You don't love life, Spock; you only hate the living part of yourself.

He shrugged and went over to the access hatch.

Unheard by the closed communicator, the creaking and heavy breathing stopped.

###

Hawk lay quietly in Bal'Tia's sweat slicked arms, drowsily running his fingers through her tangled hair. She purred and snuggled against this neck.

"Good?" She murmured.

"Oh, yes. Very good…" Hawk trailed a slow finger down her cheek. "I wish I could stay."

"I think we have a few hours…"

"Not enough." Hawk rolled on his back and stared at the ceiling. "A lifetime wouldn't be enough."

"What, have you fallen in love with me already?"

"I honestly don't know," Hawk smiled. "Too early to tell. It isn't just you, though…"

"Oh, I should be jealous," she giggled.

"It's you and more. Your people, your universe, you… I like it here. Never mind that there's so much to study; it's more than that. It's so free here. There's no…" He frowned. "I'm not quite sure how to put this. There's no great, constant, pervading sense of guilt, of shame, of eternal insufficiency, of always having to apologize for what you are, as if there were some impossible standard you're supposed to live up to but never can… No self-hatred. That's it. No unquestioned assumption that you're born guilty and have to constantly prove yourself innocent…."

"I don't understand."

"You—your people—just assume that there's a basic decency that all people share, and you treat each other accordingly. If people do better than that, they're applauded for it—not just…forgiven. If people do worse than that, it has to be proved—like a civil crime—and it's treated like- like an aberration, a temporary failure by a person who should know better. It's like…you believe in crime, but not in sin. Can you see the difference?"

Bal'Tia frowned, trying to understand. "I think…it's philosophically similar to some of the early pre-contact post-reform Vulcan ideas. They had this odd belief that all emotions were dangerous, and wrong, and needed constant suppression. Imagine despising one's own nature like that! The poor things were quite miserable, as I recall. Fortunately they also believed in the value of all life, appreciation rather than just tolerance, so various philosophers were able to argue that around into an appreciation of their own natures as well. The 'IDIC Debates', I think it was called."

"I wish some of my universe's Vulcans knew that." Hawk gnawed at his lower lip. "There's so much your people could teach us…" But they never will. One way or another, we'll never see this universe again. Either it'll go out like a light, or continue its separate way without us, forever out of our reach. I'll never see this again, or you again, that's for certain… If I go back…

—And what if I don't?

He sat up beside her. "Bal'Tia, how does one go about joining the Imperium? How do I become a citizen?"

"You mean—" She sat up too, staring at him, face growing more joyful by the second. "You mean to stay with us?"

"Yes. Stay for the whole game. Live or die."

"I- I'll go look up the regulations." Bal'Tia bounced off the bed and hurried away to her desk.

Hawk leaned back on the bed and grinned up at the darkened ceiling. "'Alea jacta est'," he whispered. 'The die is cast'…

"Here," said Bal'Tia. "There are several legal methods. The quickest way is simply to join the armed services."

"Find the recruiting sergeant," Hawk laughed. "And I'd better send a goodbye note to my old ship." …And if this whole universe dissolves in three hours, I'll go out with it.

…Hell, I could die in worse company!

###

The Enterprise was in 'night' cycle, and the corridor lights were dimmed. Spock blinked painfully as his eyes readjusted to the brighter illumination of Dr. Day's cabin. Agnes, intent on her tape viewer, didn't notice.

"I'm so sorry, Mr. Spock," she said. "I just can't pinpoint the date and time any closer. The Captain appeared somewhere in the year 7 BC, and that's all I can gather. Have you had any luck analyzing the transporter malfunction?"

"The lab team is still interpreting the data," Spock replied. "I will consult them when I leave here. It is imperative that we retrieve the Captain before he takes any effective action in that time period."

"I understand perfectly, Mr. Spock." Agnes smiled in boundless sympathy.

"I do not believe you do." Spock looked away, unnoticed fingers rattling on the desk. "Even minor actions can cause remarkable changes in future history, as we once learned in a painful fashion. Changes this major…" He gestured vaguely toward the tape viewer. "Jim surely knew better. I cannot understand why he would do such a thing. The only possible answer is amnesia—and yet he left that message, which would have required some knowledge of his former position. I cannot imagine what could have happened to make him reverse his former loyalties so completely. Whatever the cause, we must reach him before it takes effect."

"I do understand." Agnes smiled again. "You're worried that they might have discovered him, used him, the way that Marcus used Commander Merik on that horrible planet—"

"Yes." Spock shook his head sharply. "I can not find a more probable explanation. But precisely what pressure could have been brought to bear on him? Not threats to his crew, certainly, since he was alone. As for various methods of torture…" Spock paused, carefully opening his clenched fists. "He is a strong willed man, and the records note that he remained healthy and vigorous throughout his life. With their crude technology, the ancient Romans could not have effectively tortured him into such total acquiescence without…noticeably damaging him."

"One can't be too sure." Day rolled her eyes and absently fluffed her curls. "The pagan civilizations, having no real concept of love or mercy, could often be quite ingenious at such things. There are very details historical records of the persecutions of the early Christian martyrs, recorded by survivors. Many of the accounts are quite…" She shuddered. "Horrid."

Spock looked away until he was certain that his face didn't show anything. "Captain Kirk has a…very forceful personality," he said faintly. "And Starfleet officers are trained to resist such…treatment."

"But all humans have their limits," Day insisted. "Only great faith can lift one beyond them. I know Captain Kirk is a very good man, but…" She gave Spock a gently pitying look. "He doesn't have that, does he?"

"No," Spock sighed. "He does not. He is chiefly devoted to his ship, crew and military duties—admirable enough in themselves, of course—but nothing beyond them."

"Haven't you tried to show him something beyond?"

"I confess that I have not known how to begin. After this experience he may be more amenable, perhaps…"

"Then it could be that this whole horrifying business may turn out to be a blessing in disguise, showing people undeniable proof of the Master's words, and the importance of faith, and where our universe would be without them." She gently patted Spock's hand. "You might save your Captain in more ways than one."

"Let us hope so," Spock replied stiffly. "In any case, he cannot be allowed to do that damage to…the proper course of history."

"I know." Again, Day gave him that look of utter forgiveness, understanding and sympathy. "If worse comes to worst, he will have to be sacrificed for the good of our whole universe."

Spock flinched. He hadn't really thought of that aspect. Of course it was a logical course of action, but he wished—most irrationally—that she hadn't brought it up. "I will do whatever is necessary," he hedged. "I would suggest that you now secure all tapes and equipment. The Enterprise will begin its time run in two hours and 38 minutes, and the voyage will be unavoidably difficult."

"Yes, Mr. Spock." Day smiled serenely. "And…I'll pray for you."

Spock marched out of her cabin and down the corridor, trying to push the disturbing end of that conversation out of his mind. It was surprisingly difficult to do, and that disturbed him. Is my control slipping? …I shall not allow that. He paused to do a brief concentration exercise, focusing on the nearest handy object—which happened to be the number plate on a cabin door.

Much to his dismay, the numbers moved. They wavered, swam, grew as difficult to see as the detail in a grainy photograph.

Lack of sleep, he recognized. I have not slept since…before Jim was lost. And I have been under stress… Dangerous. Must not continue. I can afford an hour's sleep…

It took 3.4 minutes to reach his cabin, 1.8 minutes to settle comfortably in his own bed, but an oddly immeasurable time to attain sleep. Although the physical temperature was unchanged, the room seemed peculiarly cold. The flames of the firepot flickered low and sullen. I, Spock decided, am falling prey to imagination. Sleep is long overdue. Concentrate. Sink down… Eventually his efforts proved successful, and he sank into welcome silence.

After a measureless time came a dream.

He was walking alone through the streets of ancient Rome, among gaily dressed natives whose faces were eerily familiar. He recognized the human ancestors of Aquila, Ashriliin and the others, even Ellison Hawk and Mr. Scott. They recognized him too, for they turned to look as he passed—and they laughed, cruelly and triumphantly. There was no restraint among them; in the open streets and plazas they fondled each other shamelessly, fought with each other over trifles, ate like wolves, drank until they fell down drunk, laughed and sang without order, danced and capered like mad things, baldly displaying every emotion he'd ever seen or heard of. There was nowhere that was not a perfect horror of riotous liberty to rest his eyes. He picked his way through the profligate streets, untouched by the triumphantly abandoned crowds, utterly alone—for he knew somehow beyond a doubt that the Enterprise had flown away and left him there to complete the mission by himself. Complete it he must, he knew; otherwise this libertine city would grow, spread like a flood, filling this world and the entire galaxy and reaching out to the next, as well.

But as he came to the foot of a high hill, he saw that he wasn't entirely alone after all. His father stood there, silent and aloof from the crowd, face set in a cold pure Vulcan mask of condemnation. Spock looked to him for help, but all Sarek would do was to point silently to the street that led up the hill. His meaning was plain. Spock obediently bowed his head and took the required road.

The hill soon grew very steep, almost a sheer mountain face, and climbing it was difficult. He stretched and strained and struggled, until he came to a broad ledge where he thought he might rest. But no rest was allowed, for Agnes Day stood there—gowned in white, hands clasped upon a prayer book, face set in that sweetly sympathetic and forgiving look that he had come to know so well. Her softly murmuring voice was vague and indistinct. He couldn't make out a word of what she said, but her general sense was clear: go on, and quickly. He bowed his head and climbed on.

The mountain was perilously steep now, and he inched his way up by the barest hand holds. All around him he heard the cries of angry eagles, and felt the wind from their passing wings. Three times he felt their strong wings strike him, trying to beat him back from their aerie, and once he felt the rake of talons across his back, but he would not stop climbing or even turn to look at them.

Eventually he reached the top of the mountain, where there stood a vast palace of white marble, flanked by tall Roman columns and fronted with wide marble steps. At the foot of the steps stood the Master himself, arms outstretched, smiling gently, radiating waves of that absolute love and acceptance that Spock remembered. He wanted to run to Him, but the Master held up His hands to ward him off.

"First you must do what is necessary, Spock." The Master's voice was very clear. "Do not be afraid or weaken, for I will be with you always."

Once more, Spock bowed his head in acceptance. He went up the marble stairs, into the great palace, feeling the Master watching after him. The interior of the palace was an unlit labyrinth, shadow dark, silent, full of twisting corridors and empty rooms. Several times he thought he might be lost, but always the Master's voice was with him, urging him onward.

Finally he came out into a vast formal garden full of exotic plants and tame animals, all under deep twilight. In the middle of the garden was a white marble bench, and on it sat a man in a purple bordered toga, writing on a scroll and wearing the laurel wreath of a Roman emperor. As Spock approached, the man lifted his head. Spock saw that it was Kirk.

"Spock!" he cried, casting side the scroll and leaping to his fee. His face broke into a wide smile, and he reached out both hands. "I always knew you'd come back for me!"

Spock nodded once and stepped forward.

Kirk ran up and threw both arms around him, laughing with joy. "It's been so long, but I never gave up hope. I always knew you'd come for me, sooner or later. I never lost faith in you. Ah, Spock… Can you take me back to the ship right now?"

"No," Spock sighed, allowing his hands to settle lightly on Kirk's shoulders. "The ship is gone. We are stranded here."

Kirk shuddered, gripped tighter, and pressed his face against Spock's neck. "Then at least I'm not alone here," he said. "At least we're together."

"Yes," Spock answered, basking in that contact, that beloved presence.

But in his mind he heard the voice of the Master saying: Do what is necessary, Spock.

Some unseen floodgate broke then. I can't! He pleaded silently. Not Jim.

You must, said the Master, very sadly, very lovingly.

Not this. Not him… But his hand slipped down and silently pulled out his phaser. Just a minute longer…

Now! The order rode on bright waves of vast love and acceptance.

Please! His hand lifted the phaser, pressed it softly against Kirk's side. Don't!

…LOVE…LOVE…LOVE… No longer precisely words or images, only vast heavy waves surging at him from an infinite supply, like a sea of honey, overwhelming, urging him on.

At the last second, Spock turned his face toward Kirk's and kissed him on the cheek. Then he pulled the trigger.

"NO!"

His own cry snapped Spock awake, yanked him bolt upright, heart hammering and lungs working like a bellows, back in his waking time and place. Dream, he thought. Nightmare. Effect of stress… Enough of this!

He rolled out of bed, felt for his boots, found them and yanked them on almost viciously. That is quite enough, he decided coldly. I have had enough sleep to last me until this mission is over. No more rebellious dreaming, thank you. Work to do…

He stalked out of his cabin and own the corridor, mentally listing immediate tasks: recall the last of the science tams from the Invictus, shoo out the visiting Imperials, make diplomatic farewells, make one last check of Engineering—and, yes, another inspection of Dr. Hawk.

The first three items subsequently presented no problem; personnel dutifully reported in, the Invictus reported all clear, and Spock composed a beautifully non-informative farewell.

The last two caused unexpected problem.

Scott was frowning at the power flux relays when he heard Spock come up behind him. Now I'm in for it, he thought glumly. Not that I don't trust Hawk myself, but Spock will think the worst of it…and me…

"Engine status, Mr. Scott?"

"Perfect." Scott didn't look directly at him. "The dilithium crystals they ga'e us are perfectly balanced an' unusually pure. Th' effects of Knaffbein stress are completely gone. The ship could take off at any time noo."

"And your other assignment, Mr. Scott?"

"Hard ta say." Scott glanced at him, careful not to look nervous. "He's pitched his clothes in the laundry."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Here. See fer yerself." Scott pulled out the communicator, plugged it into the nearest viewing console and activated the screen. The view showed nothing but a close-up of Hawk's rumpled jacket and the inside of an obvious laundry chute. Hawk himself, of course, was nowhere in sight. Scott turned off the screen.

"How long ago did this occur?" Spock snapped. "And where is Hawk now?"

"As fer the first, aboot an hour ago," Scott answered glumly. "I canna be quite sure. After Ashriliin left I checked again an' heard Hawk an' his lady friend gigglin' aboot in'laws, of a' things—and then the lass picked up his clothes an' bundled 'em doon the laundry chute. As ta where Hawk is noo, or what he's wearin', I've no idea."

"You were ordered to keep Hawk under surveillance!" Spock looked as close to furious as Scott had ever seen him. "Yet you allowed him to escape you. How do you explain such a flagrant disregard for orders?"

"Mr. Spock," Scott bristled, "In case ye've forgotten, I also had orders ta get the Enterprise up ta optimum condition for the time run. That does happen ta be my primary job, if ye'll recall; I'm the ship's Chief Engineer no' Chief o' Security. I agreed ta watch yer wee friend in ma spare time, but for the past couple hours I've had no spare time at a'. Noo whot did ye expect me ta do? Drop the systems check an' run over ta the Invictus, knock in' on everra door 'til I found whot bed Hawk's sleepin' in the noo? Och, a pretty picture I'd ha' made for Captain Aquila ta wonder at!"

Spock was silent for several seconds, seething and chewing over that, and finding the defense annoyingly good. "You should have informed me immediately when you found you had lost contact," was the best he could come up with.

"Why you?" Scott dared a grin. "I didna' thinkye'd have sa much leisure as ta worry aboot trifles. I informed the Security Chief, an' he said he'd look inta it." What else did you expect me to do? Find some other Good Christian to take over?

"I will indeed speak to Security. You may also be sure that I will report this incident. Carry on with your duties, and be prepared to leave orbit in 47 minutes." Spock stalked out of Engineering without waiting for a reply.

Scott felt distinctly uncomfortable, watching him leave. It wouldn't hurt, he decided, to call back the Security Chief himself. Glancing around almost guiltily, Scott pressed the buttons.

Spock called Security from his quarters, feeling an irritated need for privacy. The line was busy. Spock restrained an illogical urge to strike the machinery, and ordered Uhura to break in on the conversation. Before she could comply, the Security Chief hung up on his previous call. Spock jabbed the buttons again and caught the man on the rebound.

"Yes, Mr. Spock," came the cheery reply to his question. "We know pretty much where Dr. Hawk is. He's on the Invictus, being sworn in."

"What?" Spock almost shouted.

"Yes, sir. He apparently Gated back here almost an hour ago, picked up some books and clothes, left a tape and some legal papers, and then went back to the Invictus. The papers were resignation forms, sir. The tape's not addressed to anyone in particular.

"Play it for me."

"Yes, sir."

The screen shifted to an image of Ellison Hawk, in close-up. He was wearing an Imperial tunic. He looked relaxed and happy. "I don't care who else reads this," his image spoke. "But be sure to take it to Spock. To make a long story short, people, I've renounced my Federation citizenship and joined the Imperials. Don't worry…" he flashed his old sardonic grin. "I don't feel any serious ill-will toward the Federation and I won't—heh!—do you any harm…"

You lie, Spock thought, glaring at the screen. You cannot be trusted.

"It's just that I happen to like these people, and this universe. It's a better place than ours. Quite frankly, I'd rather be a- a foot soldier here than a professor back home."

So you have joined their army. That is definite evidence of aggressive intent! Spock seethed silently. Of course you prefer the company of unbridle pagans—and their females! The suborned you in the classic manner…

"I know what the risks are," Hawk's image continued. "I know damn well that this whole timeline might disappear tomorrow—with me in it—but I think it's a chance worth taking. Send back word to the university that they can find somebody else to fill my chair, and—" He smile again, genuinely sympathetic. "Good luck getting your Captain back, Spock. I hope he's worth it to you."

The screen went blank.

Spock stared at it for a full 30 seconds before, with a very Human oath, he switched to the intercom and called Scott. He had a lot to say to his obstructionist Engineer. 'Insubordination' was the mildest of it, and phrase 'tantamount to treason' was used more than once.

Scot said nothing but his face turned very pale and tight.

"If you presence was not vital for the operation of the time voyage," Spock finished. "I would have you confined in the brig. Thanks to your behavior, we must depart with all haste. Be prepared to warp out of orbit in 10 minutes. Spock out." He stabbed off the intercom, stalked out of his office and went directly to the bridge.

Scott stepped back from the dead intercom, teeth grinding and color sweeping back into his face in a hot flood. He began to swear, very quietly in Erse. Passing sub-engineers, overhearing him, found it expedient to busy themselves elsewhere. But Scott didn't lash out at the first person handy. Instead, very quietly, he took out the altered communicator and placed a single tight-beam long distance call.

Ellison Hawk was shyly examining the folds of his new toga, itching a little under his new red tunic and high sandals, and happily enduring the congratulations of his new family when the call came in. Bal'Tia pulled him reluctantly away from the backslapping and toasts with the news that there was a call for him, urgent, from the Chief Engineer of his former ship.

Scott? Hawk wondered, making his way to the nearest intercom-booth. I was expecting an icy tirade from Spock… What in both universes could an Engineer want with me? It took him a few seconds to figure out the operation of the not-too-alien machine. "Hello. Hawk speaking."

Scott's voice came through, loud and clear. "Dr. Hawk, I dinna have much time to talk t'ye; Spock's ordered the Enterprise ta set oot in less'n 10 minutes, sa be still an' listen."

What the hell? "Why the sudden rush?"

"He got yer message an' hit the ceilin'—"

"I'll bet!"

"—an' since he couldna reach ye, he's took it oot on me."

"You? Why the hell you?"

"Y'see, while ye were visitin' the Invictus, he asked me to spy on ye personally—see thot ye dinna betray any grand state secrets or whatever—"

"…What?"

"—An' I didna do it ta his satisfaction. I only put a wee beacon on the back o' yer jacket an' eavesdropped through a communicator set for it."

"Beacon— My jack- I took it off when I—" Hawk blushed beet red.

"Aye," Scott drawled. "An' then ye threw it doon a laundry chute. I've no been followin' ye since, an' Spock was…upset aboot it. Noo that ye've gone over ta the Imperials, he's convinced he was right ta spy on ye in the first place, an' he's doon ta callin' me a domned traitor for no watchin' ye personally. Mayhap he thinks I should ha' stood over yer shoulder everra minute, and dragged ye home by main force. In truth, I've much preferred mucking aboot in the Invictus' engine room."

"That you would…"

"Sa noo he's bitchin' at me, threatenin' ta have me up on charges—"

"Whaaat?"

"Aye. He used the word 'treason' a couple of times. I'm no used ta takin' such treatment."

"Uh…" He's going to court-martial harmless old Scotty? For treason? Because he didn't spy harder on me? "That…bigoted…Vulcan…son of a bitch…"

"Aye." Scott let out his breath in a long hiss. "He's a'ways been a prudish, disapprovin' bastard, arrogant in ways thot dinna show right off… I've rarely seen him miss a chance ta censure us Humans when he could, an' noo I'm wonderin' if 'twas a' just a game. Betimes I've wondered why he stays among illogical creatures… Maybe just for the pleasure o' lookin' doon on us."

"This- this doesn't make sense! Vulcans are supposed to value all life, all intelligence—"

"Weel, it seems thot they too can be bigots, as ye said. Spock, noo… In the past few months, I've seen 'im come ta some kinda idea aboot whot's good fer Humans, an' I canna say I like it. Only a while ago he told me a great load o' bull aboot Humans a'ways needin' somethin' at rule above 'em, so's ta keep their wicked minds in line. Och, I know he hates Human feelin's but this…"

"Authoritarian personality…" Hawk mumbled. "Always needing somebody to look up to, and down on. Hierarchical…no equality… There've been whole civilizations that thought like that. They were all hellholes."

"P'raps thot's anither reason I dragged ma heels on his spyin' game; he wanted me ta do it because he thought thot I thought the same as he. I took if for a bluidy insult."

"Yes…" Hawk blinked in stunned recognition. "He thinks we're all animals that need collaring—and he thinks Agnes' kind of religion will do that to us! That's why he sided with her, even though I think he personally can't stand the woman. And—"

"And ye'r on the ither side, which is why he treats ye like an enemy spy," Scott finished for him. "Ah, well, I hafta quit noo. Goodbye, lad. Mayhap 'tis a better universe ye've got there after a'."

The intercom clicked and was silent.

Hawk leaned his forehead against the wall, eyes closed, looking into a landscape of horrors. Authoritarian… his mind whirled. People need keepers, keeping down, keeping in line…because they're basically evil. That's where it leads. Damn you, Vulcan, can't you see what a hideous idea that is? Anti-Human, hell—anti-life! They don't believe that here… That's why you hate them so; they prove that your comfortable arrogance is wrong! You'd be just as well pleased if this whole universe did get blown to hell, wouldn't you?

Hawk raised his head and snapped his eyes open, jaw set. Damned if I'll let you destroy the evidence without a fight, Spock! This is a better universe, and I'm one of its citizens now, and all goddam bets are off!

He turned resolutely back to the party, looking for Aquila.

###

Spock sat rigid in the command chair, watching the stars on the screen shift and flow as the Enterprise swung out of orbit and angled sunward. The engineering monitor reported 'perfect performance'; the new dilithium crystals were indeed of excellent quality. Uhura reported formal farewell messages from the dwindling Invictus, conveyed by Sub-Praefect, Aemilia Decima. Spock wondered briefly why Aquila himself hadn't sent them. Good only knew what the man was doing. It would be wise to hurry.

"Solar-parabolic course laid in, Sir," Sulu reported.

"Increase to Warp 5," said Spock.

Sulu gave him a startled look as he complied. He hadn't expected to increase speed for several minutes yet.

Down in Engineering, Scott noted the demands being made on his engines, and scowled darkly. The engines were performing beautifully, but Spock was asking much of them and would soon require more. Are ye so frantic then to get back? He wondered, glancing upward as if he could see through all the decks up to the bridge and the con and the Vulcan who sat there. Or is it just that 'the guilty flee when no man pursueth'?

###

On the Invictus, in the vestibule of the ship's shrine, still wearing the toga he'd put on for the citizenship ceremony, Aquila listened to Hawk with expressive eyebrows climbing his forehead. "Explain!" he snapped. "Just why does Spock intend to travel in time? And where—no, when is he going?"

"To 7 BC…ah, 746 since the founding of the City. He means to find Kirk—I mean, the Imperator Démas Kirke—and take him away from there before he ever gets to be Imperator, before he has any effect on history at all."

"But- But-" Klaveth crowded in beside him. "Démas was— He had such an effect on history—that will make inconceivable changes in the past, and…and the present."

"Yes! Yes!" Hawk shouted, clutching handfuls of his hair. "It means the difference between your history and mine, your timeline and ours, your universe and the one Spock came from! If he succeeds, there's a good chance that this whole timeline will just plain cease to exist—and us with it!"
"But why?" Why should Spock do that to us?" Bal'Tia wailed. "Surely both our universes existed side-by-side before. Why couldn't they just continue—?"

"No, they didn't! Don't you understand? This history, this timeline, is the result of an accident in our common past—an accident caused by the Enterprise on its last time visit! Spock is going back to wipe out the effects of that accident and set history back the way it originally was—with Rome collapsing 2300 years ago!"

"…What?" Aquila looked stunned. "But why couldn't he leave us alone? Why must he change it…back?"

"Can't you see it?" Hawk was practically dancing up and down. "Démas Kirke was really James Kirk—Captain of the Enterprise! He was lost by accident in Rome's past and Spock is going to fetch him back!"

"I can't believe this…." Klaveth whispered.

"I can!" Aquila whipped the toga off his shoulders and bolted to the intercom. "Bridge!" he roared. "Follow and overtake that ship! Maximum speed! This is a triple-X-class emergency!"

Sirens began to shrill. Aquila grabbed Hawk by the arm, hauling the little archeologist almost off his feet, and ran for the nearest intra-ship Gate station.

###

"Sair," Chekov announced from his current post at the Science console, "We're not alone here; there's a big ship followink us at…Warp 12! Sair, it's the Inwictus!"

"Sir, they're hailing us," Uhura added. "They're ordering us to halt at once."

Hawk told. I knew he would. Spock silently clenched his teeth. I suppose I should be grateful that he waited this long. Fighting chance… Roman sportsmanship. "Do not reply. Top speed, Mr. Sulu."

"Yes, sir."

The Enterprise shot forward, engines shrieking, vibrating heavily as the gravity compensators strained.

Down in Engineering, Scott clutched a stanchion and swore mightily. He could guess what had happened, and what Spock was up to. "…Domned Vulcan's goin' ta tear the ship apart!" he predicted bitterly. –And it wouldn't have happened if you'd kept your mouth shut and ridden with a light hand, you arrogant fool!

On the view screen the Invictus loomed huge and white and glowing, like the vengeful ghost of a looted pagan temple chasing after its defilers through the sea of night. Second by second it was gaining on the Enterprise.

Spock watched it come, making light speed calculations in his head. He didn't think the Invictus would dare open fire at less than point-blank range, not in the crowded shipping lanes and not so close to an inhabited world. But then again, one couldn't absolutely guarantee such reticence; her Captain had, after all, a different view of the value of life. Aquila might think nothing of smashing a dozen innocent ships—or even half a planet—to stop an enemy. No, our only safety lies in speed and maneuverability…and in maintaining our lead…

"Passing the sun," Sulu noted. "Beginning curve…"

The Enterprise began its tight swing, shuddering in every bolt.

###

On the bridge of the Invictus, Aquila noted the course change. "Put one across their bow!" he snapped.

A blue-white beam shot out, diagonally crossing the Enterprise's port side. Ignoring it, she raced on.

"So much for warnings," Aquila growled. "Aim dead amidships."

But at that instant the Enterprise began to buck and shake visibly on the screen. The gunnery officer's next shot missed—a close miss, but a miss. "Sir," he reported, "I don't know why, but she's bouncing around so that I can't get a clear shot. The gun-comp's going crazy."

Aquila turned to Hawk, who was standing silent and pale beside the command chair. "What's happening, Hawk? How does she do that?"

"It's the time turbulence," Hawk replied grimly. "The effect of the sun's gravitational field at that speed. She's beginning to slip in time, and you'll lose her in another sec—"

"Helm!" Aquila shouted. "Follow her course exactly! Gunnery, by bare eyes, fire at will!"

The Invictus veered after the now-shimmering Enterprise, trying to pace her course precisely. The turbulence hit, rattling the ship through. Down on her Engineering deck, Ashriliin scrabbled for handholds and winced at the noise of the screaming engines. "Damned Armenian's going to get the ship blown up," he muttered, fighting his way to the main control panel.

###

From the Enterprise's viewpoint, it was the Invictus that shimmered, misted, pulsed, vanished and reappeared on the troughs and crests of energy waves. She was still firing at them, though most of her bolts went wide. Spock wondered what effect the added energy blasts were having on the Enterprise's course. The helm chronometer was running backwards rapidly now, showing added burst of speed with every blast that came close enough to shake the ship.

Something slammed the Enterprise hard enough to knock half the bridge crew out of their seats.

"Sair, we'fe been hit!" Chekov screeched, clawing his way back up to his console. "Our left shield. It…it's gone, sair."

"No aft shield…" Spock firmly cut off that thought. Speculation on the Invictus' firepower was pointless at this stage. He looked at the speeding chronometer, blinked, then stared up at the screen. The pursuing ship was a blinking ghost now, fading, now flickering out…and gone.

"We've lost her!" Uhura whooped. "We're safe!"

The bridge crew broke out in a spontaneous cheer.

…The impact 'kicked' us forward, Spock guessed. But if she continues on course… "Correction. We have evaded pursuit only temporarily," he announced. "Helm, begin braking procedure immediately after apogee."

Sulu gulped, but complied.

The engines roared. The chronometer danced like a drunken ballerina. Turbulence hit in savage waves. The ship's hypersteel bones creaked with the pressure.

"Slowing…slowing…" Sulu reported, flicking his eyes back and forth from his board to the chronometer. "We're coming back up time."

"Commence long-range sensor scans of Earth," said Spock. "Divert power from the shields as necessary. Note the exact time and date of any evidence of transporter activity."

Chekov turned, open mouthed, to stare at him.

"That is the only means available for pinpointing the exact time of the Captain's arrival," Spock explained impatiently. "A rough method, but feasible."

"Yes, sair." Chekov turned back to his board, set the sensors and linked them in with the computer.

"Slowing…slowing…" Sulu chanted softly, intent on the braking.

"There it is!" Chekov yelped. "Now, sair!"

"Now!" snapped Spock.

Sulu's hand slapped down the buttons.

The Enterprise roared, bucked, jolted and slowed. The back ground stars on the view screen stopped dancing like fireflies and began to crawl across the sky.

"We'fe overshot," Chekov reported sadly. "We'fe missed him—by…maybe a few days."

Just then something roared past. It didn't show on the sensors as anything but a blur of energy, or on the view screen as anything but a square, flickering blob of light. The turbulence of its wake tossed the Enterprise about like a cork on the high sea, tumbling the crew onto the deck.

"Full stop," Sulu panted, holding a bleeding cut on his cheek and scrambling back into his chair. "But what the hell was that last jolt?"

"That," said Spock, "was undoubtedly the Invictus—overshooting the correct date, and ourselves."

"Then they've gone into the future?" Uhura marveled. "I mean the future from where we are… How far?"

"Unknown." Spock stood up and surreptitiously stretched. "In any event, the quicker we conclude our business here, the better chance we have of avoiding them. Helm, set course for Earth and assume ecliptical orbit when we get there. Mr. Chekov, you have the con. Lt. Uhura, relay complete damage reports to my quarters.

Spock went out via turbo lift and straight to his quarters. The first thing he did when he got there was to call Security and order a detail to accompany Mr. Scott to the brig.

To Be Continued in Chapter XIV: Kirk Among the Lions.