12. Dreams.

Still damp from his excursion earlier that day, Spock bid farewell to the young Gryffindor and stepped into the Slytherin common room, the boy's surprised expression etched into his mind. He had said the customary human farewell greeting, had he not? The boy had informed him of that, yet he had still had an air of confusion about him. He shook his head slightly. Perhaps he would never fully comprehend human behaviour, despite the amount of time he had lived with various members of the human race.

He quietly deposited his school bag by a chair and sank into the soft cushioning, feeling slightly weakened by his previous excursion in the rain. Vulcans as a rule were not made for cold weather, having grown up on a desert planet. Their body temperature was significantly higher than a human's in order to compensate for the harsh environment in which they had evolved, and they also stored a much higher amount of water in a natural survival mechanism; the less they sweat in their home environment, the more chance they had of surviving.

In fact, McCoy had once likened him to a "cactus with ears". It was a most puzzling analogy, yet for reasons he could not fathom, he had felt amusement at the physician's gentle sniping.

A small ache had formed in the pit of his stomach at his ponderings, near to his heart, and he frowned at the familiar sensation. Whenever he discussed or even meditated on the topic of his lost home planet, he would experience this illogical bodily reaction. It was almost as though his heart was dysfunctional, although he knew this not to be the case. It was possible that McCoy would understand his reaction, since it was almost certainly psychosomatic, but he did not wish to discuss it with the acerbic human.

While it was true that he had come to trust the man, even like him although his Vulcan upbringing rebelled against that notion, he was hardly ready to discuss things of such a personal nature. As a matter of fact, he had disclosed his opinions on the destruction of his planet to no one, not even his older self. There was no need to, he had reasoned; the emotions must be dealt with in the Vulcan way. That did not allow for intimate discussion of them.

Yet he had to admit that the Vulcan way was having a disappointing success rate, although he did not show this outwardly. Every day he could feel the persistent weight on his mind of the memories that had been forged at the moment that the black hole had been created. Occasionally, in his dreams, he could still hear the mental screams as millions of Vulcans were separated from the universe, killed by a being without remorse.

Illogically, he felt responsible. He knew that he had done nothing to warrant such an attack upon his race, his home world...at least, he had not done anything yet. The knowledge still remained that he might in the future, if this timeline had any similarity to the one which his older self claimed to originate from. His appointment of First Officer under Captain James T Kirk, youngest captain in the history of the Fleet and only person to beat the Kobayashi Maru test, albeit through unconventional methods, already attested to the fact that there were undeniable parallels. If this persisted for the rest of his life, he would find himself responsible for the slaughter of his people and those of Nero. He would fail, as he had done so many times before, to fully complete his promises.

Feeling the pressures of a looming future weighing down upon him, he allowed himself to lean uncharacteristically back into his chair, laying his head on the headrest and struggled to dispel the chill settling into his bones. The fire was flickering before him, close enough to provide the warmth that he needed, yet through either the cold that he had been forced to endure or from unexplained mental effects, none of it reached his body.

He let himself simply sit, something that he had not done for a long while, and watch the students as they played amongst themselves. He saw a variety of card games which seemed precarious at the least, and an interesting variation of chess. He briefly considered moving closer to the game to watch as it unfolded, but found himself curiously unwilling to move. This time, he allowed himself to frown and briefly closed his eyes in what he was half certain would be a futile attempt to motivate himself to unpack his schoolbag. He needed to research as much as he possibly could if they were to have any hope at surviving in this newfound universe, and he was certain that neither the Captain nor the Doctor would have time to do so, as they were still immersed in their homework assignments.

Thus the duty fell to him. Sighing, he permitted himself a few brief moments to rest, feeling himself drifting...

Suddenly, he was floating in blackness, a thousand lost souls reaching out to him. Their pale, white hands grasped for his, fingers brushing against his palm in a futile attempt to grab hold of his flesh, to keep him with them.

Wordlessly, he felt himself drifting past them. All he could do was stare at them, helpless to do anything as they were slowly but surely sucked into a blackened void behind them. A few fixed him with wide, dispassionate eyes which cut right through him, their lips imploring him to stop, to help.

But he could not.

Still he floated on, past the wailing children who had not yet learned life, the desperate mothers who clutched them close. Fathers stood over them or knelt beside them, murmuring as kind a words as they knew as their collective deaths slowly approached. A few simply sat there, seemingly unconcerned as their world crumbled around them, shattered everything that they had ever known.

The constant murmur of helplessness trickled into his delicate ears, but he could not reply, could not move. His hands were pinned to his sides, but he struggled against the invisible bonds. A mad laugh echoed at every jerk of his body, an insane rhythm beating with his frantic heart.

A face materialised above, around, through him. It penetrated his very being. It was his past, present and future.

Sneering at him, it gazed into his desperate eyes, raked his struggling body with contempt. "What?" it spat with pure malice. "Can't get free?"

Spock opened his mouth to try to talk, but could barely pry his lips apart. He could feel cold, dead air seeping through his clenched teeth and freezing the back of his throat.

"Always the helpless one," the face whispered, shimmering before him slightly as something red flew through it. "Never quite managing to succeed." It laughed softly.

The souls around him seemed to gain tangibility now, as they began to shuffle towards him. Their eyes blinked as though they had finally recognised what was happening, blind panic replacing the calm detachment they had possessed in the face of the unknown threat. They knew now, for certain, that certain death was coming. It was no longer just a possibility.

"Don't you want to save them, Spock?" A voice whispered in his ear as the face swirled around him, transforming itself into the body of Nero. A hard and unrelenting hand grabbed his face when he tried to glance away. "LOOK AT THEM!" He suddenly roared, shattering the silence like a mirror.

A lone human woman stared up at him from the floor, her body broken and twisted. Her head was half smashed away; blood staining her hair unrecognisably. Her mouth gaped in one final scream and her arms seemed to flail, although one had almost been clean ripped off by the sudden impact.

Her features were barely recognisable as something that had once lived, mangled as they were by death, but he knew her instantly. People walked around her and over her unconcernedly in their attempt to get to him.

Nero's hissing voice told him that his lips were just inches away from Spock's ear. "Look at what you've done."

A small sound rose in the back of his throat but his teeth were still clamped together. The cold was going up his nostrils now and around his ears. He could feel his hands seizing up uselessly as he finally managed to jerk them free. He could not use them.

"Do you have something to say?" the whisper mocked. People continued to pass through them surreally. "Do you think anything can justify what you did?"

He found that he could open his mouth, and the cold rushed in completely, filling his being. "I...did not do this."

"Didn't you?" Nero smirked. He waved a ghostly arm around him. "Take a look, Spock," he ordered. "These are not just the people of Vulcan."

Sure enough, he could see subtle differences in those congregated before him; a slight shift in the upswept eyebrows or a different point to the ear. No one wore any expressions, but their eyes spoke volumes.

"You killed them all, Spock." Nero's grip tightened as it dragged him past all of the people that he had ever known throughout his childhood. Lying before him now was no longer the body of his mother, but that of a Vulcan Elder. His chest was crushed by an invisible weight. "Even those you attempted to save died."

He shook his head numbly. "That is not true...my father-"

"Is dying inside," Nero finished smoothly. "You might have saved his body, but you lost him his life. You lost him what he found worth living for." Dark eyes scrutinised his. "He doesn't say it, but he hates you. All who are here...they hate you."

"They-" he was not allowed to finish.

"Look into their eyes, Spock." His face was thrust into that of an innocent child. She was clutching her mother's hand tightly, an expression of fierce stoicism on her face. Yet her eyes betrayed her; they were filled with fire, the feeling overflowing and pinning him beneath it. "Tell me what you see."

"Hate."

Nero hissed. "More than that."

He forced himself not to turn away and run. "Loathing."

Nero shook his head. "Blame. After all these years, you don't recognise blame?" He laughed; a cold, humourless tone. "You dirtied their race with your very birth, Spock. You have been blamed all of your life. Only now, have you beyond a doubt earned it."

Sybok stood before him, the usual smile gone from his face, the empathy gone from his eyes. His expression was rock hard, unyielding. "I fought for you, little brother," he said in a voice of toneless resignation. "I fought for you when no one else would. I thought I recognised something deep within you, something special. I saw the ability to achieve fantastic things...I never anticipated failure, little brother."

"Sybok," he croaked around the sudden lump in his throat, "Sybok, I could not-"

"Oh, but you could," Nero interjected as they moved on, Sybok falling behind and into the crowd. "Don't you see? You could have stopped all of this. All you had to do was keep one little promise." He held up a finger with deliberate slowness. "Just one."

"How?" He demanded. He had had this inner debate with himself countless times, and never found a conclusion.

"It is your future, Spock."

"That does not give me a solution."

Nero smirked. "Don't you see?" He tutted pitifully. "You were arrogant. You thought that you could handle this without help, and we were fools to believe you. What could one half Vulcan possibly do to stop our tragedy?"

"I do not understand."

"You could have prevented this," Nero continued bitterly, gesturing at the living dead around them, "if you had only admitted that you weren't up to the task." He leaned further forwards. "That you needed help."

"That is a different timeline," he said with a conviction that he did not really feel. "A different manifestation of myself. I have not yet-"

"But you might," Nero interrupted impatiently. "This timeline is similar to the other. You're right where your counterpart was, so many years ago." He sneered in Spock's face, breath rising up Spock's nostrils. "If something like this happens to Romulus in your future, will you make the same mistake?"

"No," he said quietly.

"Then you need to use reason." Nero's features began to shift, and suddenly Spock found that he was staring at himself. "Use logic. You cannot do this alone, Spock."

"I do not know how-"

"Then you must ask," Spock told himself reasonably. "Do not let others die because of your incompetence."

He reached out a hand and gently slapped Spock in the shoulder. "Wake up."

"I beg your pardon?" He blinked as the dead souls began to slowly disappear, although the cold remained.

"Wake up," Spock ordered himself calmly, this time hitting him lightly over the head.

Blinking in surprise at having witnessed such a bizarre dream, Spock glanced up to see Malfoy looming over him. "We need to talk," the Slytherin said shortly, looking distinctly uncomfortable.

oOo

Spock trudged to Divination the next day, feeling oddly as though he were a scarecrow. His body was unbelievably stiff and achy, his head thumped in rhythm with his footsteps and his throat burned. He had never experienced such a thing before, but he knew enough from his human colleagues to recognise this as the Vulcan equivalent of the flu.

Sitting down on a tantalizingly soft cushion in the stuffy classroom, he resisted the very human urge to yawn and rub his eyes. He swallowed it into the back of his throat, noticing as he did so that his mouth was beginning to feel like cotton. His lips were beginning to chap from the unusually harsh wind and, not for the first time, he wished that he was not so vulnerable to weather.

McCoy eyed him in concern as he settled back with a posture less rigid than normal. "Spock, are you alright?"

"I am perfectly functional, thank you Doctor."

"You don't look it," Kirk chipped in, mouth tightening in worry.

"It's probably due to all that running around you did in the rain yesterday," McCoy said with an accusing tone. "What were you doing out there anyway?"

"I was hardly running, Doctor," he replied wearily.

"That doesn't answer his question," Kirk pointed out. "Let's have it Spock. The truth."

"Very well. I was attempting Quidditch."

"You were what?" McCoy instantly exploded.

"Attempting Quidditch, Doctor," the Vulcan replied in a weary monotone and winced. "I would prefer, however, that you refrain from communicating in such excessive decibels."

"You should have thought about that before you got yourself ill," McCoy snapped.

"I assure you Doctor, that it was hardly a voluntary action on my part to contract an illness."

"Did you make the team?" Kirk asked, before McCoy could open his mouth to retort.

"Jim!"

"What?" Kirk demanded of the glaring physician innocently, "I'm curious."

"I am reserve seeker," Spock replied.

"Who's the real one?" Kirk asked, completely ignoring McCoy's increasingly indignant scowl.

"Mr Malfoy."

"Funny..." Kirk mused. "With your strength, I pictured you as a beater."

"Unfortunately, Captain, I propelled the bludger out of the perimeters of the pitch. It was decided that I was therefore unsuitable for such a position."

"I wish I could have seen that," Kirk chuckled.

"Both of you," McCoy suddenly snapped, "just shut up for a moment." He glared them both into submission before turning his heated gaze back onto Spock. "I thought you were against Quidditch!"

"You are mistaken. I was not in accordance with the activity when it was suggested that the Captain participate without supervision. In all other instances," he explained, lip twitching slightly at Kirk's expression, "I have not indicated a preference."

"Until now," Kirk interjected.

McCoy ignored this interruption. "You know what I think about this!" He hissed furiously.

"Indeed. However, you do not dictate my actions, Doctor."

McCoy huffed. "You're almost as idiotic as Jim."

"Hey!"

"Oh don't deny it, Jim. No one can beat your record of injuries caused by lunacy."

"You never know," Kirk shot back.

They continued to banter under their breaths as Professor Trelawney began the lesson with a mystical entrance and quiet speech on the art of Divination. From their vantage point in the classroom, they could clearly see that not many students were paying close attention; many having assumed a seemingly routinely glazed expression, a few even daring to place their heads on the tables beside them and drift to sleep.

Spock studiously tuned out the bickering humans beside him. Although he considered the prediction of the future to be a highly illogical profession, not to mention impossibly paradoxical, he had resolved to learn as much as possible from all of his lessons at Hogwarts, including this one, unfortunately. While it may not be apparent now, the art of Divination may one day prove to be essential.

"Now," Professor Trelawney was saying in her soothingly soft voice, "I want you all to look into the mugs on your table...no, not now dear," she hastily corrected herself as an overeager student picked up their mug, "and tell me what you see."

A girl whom they recognised as Pavarti Patil stuck her hand into the air. "Professor, what are we looking for?"

"I cannot tell you what lies in your future," Trelawney said mysteriously, "but your texts should give you all the definitions that you need."

At the table adjacent to the three Star Fleet officers, Ron and Harry exchanged amused glances, and Ron leaned forwards to whisper conspiratorially in Harry's ear, although Spock still heard with his Vulcan hearing. "Just like it has for the past five years."

Another student asked a question, and after a few minutes of this back and forth conversation Spock could feel his concentration slipping – an experience which, due to its rarity for him, he found extremely disquieting.

He was powerless to stop the slowing down of his blinking process, lulled as he was by the welcoming warmth of the room's atmosphere and Trelawney's soft voice. His body, normally rigid and proper, began to relax in its armchair, his arms draped loosely on its sides. His breathing began to slow and deepen, but he could not bring himself to care...

A sudden poke in the ribs an indeterminable amount of time later, he opened his eyes to find both Kirk and McCoy staring at him in concern. The class was already staring into various mugs, a few even swirling it around absently to make the contents reform into a different shape. The quiet murmur of voices filled the air and Professor Trelawney drifted between the tables, leaning calmly over the shoulders of various students and listening to their predictions. Occasionally, she would predict a terrible accident or illness and then move on, leaving the alternately stricken or amused students in her wake.

The tips of his ears flushed in slight embarrassment and he pulled himself erect in his chair once more. He had fallen asleep – it had been brief, but disturbingly out of character.

"Are you alright?" Kirk asked eventually.

Spock nodded. "I am functional."

McCoy's eyes narrowed at him as he struggled and only partially succeeded in stifling a yawn. "What time did you get to sleep last night?"

"I returned to the Room of Requirement at 2300."

"Did detention with Umbridge last that long?" Kirk asked in shock.

"Negative. However, I took the opportunity to visit the Slytherin common room."

"Why?" Ron asked bluntly from the next table as Harry was explaining his theory to a stricken looking Professor Trelawney.

"I was intending to complete my extra research."

"How long have you been doing that?" the boy continued, looking shocked that anyone other than Hermione would be crazy enough to do extra work.

"Since our arrival."

"Have you been doing it at night?" McCoy asked suddenly.

"Occasionally," Spock admitted.

"So you were working in the common room until 2300," Kirk deduced.

"I was not. Mr Malfoy engaged me in discussion, wishing to apologise for previous behaviour."

"You mean the tickling spell?"

"Affirmative, Captain."

"That doesn't sound like Malfoy," Harry commented once Trelawney had finished predicting his gruesome death and had moved on to another victim.

"Slow down just a minute," McCoy ordered, having been scrutinising Spock carefully. "I know that you've been working at night," he said, "but you have to take care of yourself, especially if you're going to go galloping around in the rain."

"I was hardly 'galloping' Doctor. Such behaviour is usually prescribed to horses."

"Just tell me what time you got to sleep last night, Spock," McCoy continued in exasperation.

"I see no reason why last night holds such significance for you."

"It became important," McCoy said smoothly, "when you didn't answer me the first time I asked you."

"That is incorrect," Spock said. "I informed you that I returned to the Room of Requirement-"

"The jig is up, Spock," McCoy interrupted. "You never answered the question so stop trying to evade it!"

Spock's eyebrows predictably rose. "I do not know what a jig is, Doctor, nor do I know why it should be 'up'."

"Spock," this time it was Kirk who was beginning to sound exasperated. "Just answer the question."

There was a telling silence and McCoy sighed. "You didn't sleep at all, did you?"

"Negative," Spock admitted quietly.

"Why not?" McCoy's voice had, in sharp contrast with mere moments ago, assumed a soft quality, the concern shining through what was usually the physician's gruff exterior.

Spock refused to shift uncomfortably under the scrutiny. "I did not require it."

McCoy's eyes narrowed. "Oh really?" He scoffed. "Tell me, Mister Spock, have you looked in a mirror lately?"

"I know my own appearance, Doctor, I do not require constant consultation with a mirror to verify that it is unchanged."

"My point," McCoy said in exasperation, "is that you look terrible, and going out in that storm yesterday didn't help. Whatever your reason for not sleeping, 'not needing it' wasn't it." He leaned forwards and spoke softly. Ron and Harry, taking the hint, looked away and pretended to be busy in their work. "Spock, we're your friends. If there's anything on your mind, you can tell us."

Spock's mind warily flickered back to the dream about Nero; the real reason that he had not slept last night after so many late hours of research. He considered the words of advice that had been presented to him; that he needed help of people who knew how to give it. That he needed to learn to receive it. If dreams were the language of the subconscious, then perhaps he should try listening to it. Perhaps his human half was doing something which his non-dreaming Vulcan counterpart never could – warning him, protecting him from himself.

He hesitated visibly before giving his answer. "I...am unaccustomed to such discussions."

Kirk nodded in understanding. "If it makes you feel better, we could talk about it later in the Room of Requirement."

He inclined his head in agreement. "That would be preferable."

Inwardly, he wondered if he had made the right decision. He certainly was not used to sharing his feelings, and to do so now, in front of two people who could never hope to understand his current circumstances, was almost unthinkable. It went against all his Vulcan upbringing had ever taught him about emotional independence, the ability to control so that things which were wished to stay private remained hidden. Yet perhaps, he reflected, he had been rejecting his mother's advice too much. Perhaps it was time to honour her memory, and take it.

oOo

Feeling detached from the world around him, Montgomery Scott slowly walked through the door to his new quarters at the Star Fleet Academy, barely believing his luck that he had passed the exams with flying colours. A soft 'whoosh' announced his arrival and he stopped just inside the doorway, taking in every inch of his new home with something akin to excitement.

It was not the most lavish of settings, in fact it was much simpler than the surroundings to which he was accustomed, but it already felt right, as though he was meant beyond a hint of a doubt to be there. There were the necessities of course, along with a small sofa in front of a slightly old fashioned looking television, and bookshelves lining the walls. A few holo-photographs were already up on the walls, showing the family of his new room-mate and, he reflected wryly, hopefully friend.

Feeling curious, he stepped forwards and, dumping his heavy luggage onto the empty bed, leaned forwards to peer at the beings in the photograph.

They stood, all of them, at least over six foot, maybe just under seven. Their skin had a slightly orange quality to it, barely noticeable unless Scott squinted and stood out of the light. It made them appear almost like surreal bronze statues, their features perfectly chiselled and eyes gleaming out of their faces. Their hair was all long, even on the men, until it touched the backs of their knees. In fact, apart from those three distinguishing features, they could have been mistaken for humans.

There was a young man in the middle of the clustered group, proudly holding up the letter of invitation to the Academy, his mouth showing the radiating happiness that he was feeling. Two taller men had their arms around him, their expressions showing their clear pride for the new student, their expectations of him. A shy looking girl stood to one side, her eyes not looking directly at whoever had taken the picture, as the others were, but at a point just over their shoulder. Other assorted people stood around them, all of them beaming proudly and in some cases laughing in sheer joy. It seemed that the boy's entire family had come to celebrate; people spilling out of the frame and others cramming their faces in around the sides.

Scott chuckled quietly, remembering how his own acceptance had been received in much the same way.

The door whooshed open and Scott jumped away from the photograph, not quickly enough, guiltily. The boy from the photo strode in casually, his long hair billowing slightly behind him as he walked. His clothes were from his home world; long and flowing, almost mystical in quality. He looked almost like a wise wizard from old Earth lore, although his expression told a different story.

He was not wizened looking, with a permanently sombre expression as would be expected from his clothes, but mischievous and full of vivacity, eyes gleaming at a permanent joke. They seemed to look straight through Scott as he came to a halt, and the Scotsman blushed in embarrassment at having been caught in the act of prying into his new room-mate's personal life. Not a good start, he decided.

"Ach, I'm sorry," he mumbled, beginning to be unnerved by the sudden intensity of the gaze opposite him. "I did nae mean tae pry...I just saw the holo and was curious..." he trailed off lamely.

Suddenly, incredibly, the boy laughed, throwing back his head in mirth. "Don't worry," he said softly once he had finished; his voice strong and deep. He had a rolling accent, thick with an unfamiliar world. "I don't mind you looking." He stepped forwards, covering the ground in no time at all because of his large stride. "My name is Tohn." He held out his hand politely.

Scott blinked, thoroughly thrown off guard by Tohn's so far unpredictable behaviour. "I'm erm...Montgomery Scott," he finally muttered, looking up into the boy's eyes.

"Nice to meet you," Tohn said enthusiastically, pumping his hand up and down with vigour. "You're from Earth?"

"Aye," Scott replied once his arm had finished being attacked. "Scotland."

"I think I've been there," Tohn gushed, grinning at having found something in common. "It was fantastic...I'm from Gaar," he added quickly. "Did I mention that?"

"No..." Scott replied thoughtfully. "That's the planet new to the Federation, isn't it?"

"Yep, that's the one!" He opened a draw and pulled out several photos. "Do you want to see what it looks like? I know not many people have. I'd actually be surprised if anyone recognised me as a Gaaran, to be honest."

"Alright," Scott answered, curiously scooting over to where Tohn had sat on his bed.

"This is my house," Tohn explained, poking the photo with his long finger. The building was large and sprawling, with many circular structures around it and with a strangely shaped roof. Exotic looking plants surrounded it, reinforcing the alien setting completely. It almost looked like something out of science fiction.

Scott whistled. "Do all houses look like this?"

"Of course they do! But," he added, "not completely. The more circular structures you have, the richer you are."

He peered at the breathtaking house once more, noticing how very little of it appeared to be straight. "I'm guessing yer family are very rich..."

"That we are," Tohn said smilingly, looking at the next photo with fondness. "I guess you could say we're from a sort of Royal family."

"Ye're Royal?"

"Our family is closely linked to the Gaaran monarch," he explained. "I think your word is 'cousins'. Anyway," he said quickly before Scott could comment, "this is the largest continent. I took this from the shuttle craft on the way here."

He handed the photo to Scott, who could see from this aerial position all of the houses in the main cities, along with a few lights as night time apparently began to fall. The land mass was surrounded by sparkling water, which had a slightly green tinge to it, although it was otherwise blue. A few ripples formed from what was supposedly a rough storm, forming small white horses upon the otherwise smooth surface.

"Here's another one," Tohn announced when Scott looked up. "It's down in the caves near the beach. That's a ten minute walk from my house."

Wordlessly, Scott accepted the photos with mounting amazement at his first true sight of a newly discovered world. He had seen photographs of Vulcan and Telar of course, since when he was in school they were both very influential in his courses, but he had never seen anything like this. He had never seen anything which was so similar to Earth and yet eerily different. It was almost dreamlike, the way that the mountains sprawled across the vast expanses of land, the way that the sea always seemed to shimmer in the sunlight, even the moonlight. He gaped openly as he was handed photo after photo of yawning cliffs and valleys, clustering trees or houses and fluffy beach.

"That's my planet," Tohn concluded proudly. "Not many people have seen it, like I said before. You're one of the first outside of the discovery and diplomacy expeditions."

"It's..." he searched fruitlessly for words to describe, unable to encompass all of the emotions, the desires that it made him feel. It made him want to delve deep into space on his own ship, meet new races and see new planets. That was why he was here, of course, but these pictures reminded him anew of his motivations, and increased his determination to get aboard a good ship. "I cannae describe it."

Tohn chuckled once more. "Don't worry. We got that a lot when your race first found us." He had shuffled up the photos once more and placed them back in the drawer.

"Do ye think the same of Earth?"

"Oh yes. This planet is so..." he paused for a moment, waving his arm slightly, "...square."

Scott blinked and then burst into laughter. "Square?" he gasped. "That's a first."

"It is!" Tohn said emphatically, grinning openly. "All your buildings are the same and even your machinery is. You're all obsessed with straight edges."

"It makes everything easier to fit together..." Scott said with slight dryness in his voice, realising how weird that sounded.

"Your planet isn't a jigsaw," Tohn joined in, laughing. He shook his head in amusement, his long hair swaying. "You need some randomness thrown in there!"

"We're already random enough, thank ye," Scott said.

"Oh come on," Tohn entreated. "Live a little. If I didn't know any better," he added, "I'd say your space ships were square too. You people need variety."

"You need less variety," Scott shot back playfully, causing them both to grin. "Your buildings are all over the place."

"Hey, we enjoy getting lost. Life is an adventure."

Scott snorted, marvelling at how he already felt that he had known Tohn for years instead of minutes. "If ye say so."

"Speaking of adventure," the man next to Scott said, enthusiasm barely hidden in his voice, "I can't wait to go further into space. All of those planets left to be explored, all of those things to see...problems to solve." Scott frowned slightly at that but did not press the point. "It'll be, to use one of your Earth expressions, 'awesome'."

"Aye, that it will," Scott agreed. "Which ship are ye planning to go for?"

"Maybe the new one that's being built. The Enterprise."

"She's a beauty," Scott said dreamily, "from what I've heard."

"It's very competitive though. Not to worry," Tohn said cheerfully, as though he had no worries at all, "I'm planning on throwing myself into these courses. My enthusiasm is p'yimeh!"

"P'yimeh?"

"That's a Gaaran word..." Tohn explained ruefully. "Since we only just made contact with your world, it's a bit difficult to speak your language with fluency."

"Ye do very well tae say we made contact only one year ago."

"We're quick learners," the Gaaran explained dismissively. "I think p'yimeh is...unlimited?" He said this last word as a question, face scrunching up slightly.

"I do nae know," Scott said.

"That's the downside of being a newly contacted planet. It's sometimes hard to communicate. Oh well, I'll look it up later...Do you want to go for a look round?"

The rest of the day was spent examining the grounds to what was, effectively, their new home. Several other first year students appeared to be doing the same; walking around conspicuously in groups, a few even having maps to stop them from getting lost.

As they were chatting with another group of first year cadets like themselves, Scott could not help but marvel at how well Tohn appeared to fit in. He was content just to chat away about his planet if anyone asked; which they usually did since they did not recognise his appearance, answering any extra questions that people had. He made them laugh and gasp as he detailed stories from his childhood, usually legends about various warriors rather than his own memories and eventually a few cadets ventured to swap some of Earth's. What resulted was an epic battle between heroes in an effort to determine which were better; those of Gaaran or those of Earth. Needless to say, they reached no real conclusion, but simply argued for hours on end as they continued to survey the grounds together.

When night finally fell and everyone had turned in, Scott lay awake, staring at the ceiling and allowing his mind to drift towards all that he had learned that day of the planet Gaar; the wildlife, the historically significant people, the development of their culture. It was by no means a complete history of the planet, but it was certainly enough to fill Scott's mind with buzzing facts, although he could not help but wonder as he began to drift, how Tohn fitted into all of this. Despite all of his talking and amiability, he seemed reluctant to actually discuss what had happened in his life, although he would happily talk about other members of his family, or of the area in which he grew up.

With that puzzling thought in mind, he succumbed to the welcoming darkness of dreams, allowing himself to imagine the finished product of the Enterprise; circular and square, the two cultures merged together.

Gasping, Scott sat bolt upright in bed, sweat running down his neck in rivulets. It had been years since he had thought of Tohn and even longer since he had thought of his Academy days. That voice linked with a long distant past plagued him even now; lurking at the back of his mind and whispering accusations at him. He had hoped that things would remain the way that he had left them; harmless. But the attack in the turbo lift spoke of a situation which was anything but what he hoped.

His past had come back, and Scott had an alarming idea why.