ANAMNESIS
2
Even now, so many years later, he sometimes heard her voice, calling to him from the edge of an eternal sleep.
On occasion, the words were soft, comforting-echoes of the brief endearments they had exchanged so long ago. At other times, he heard stark wails of grief, expressing the agony of a loneliness so terrible that any sane mind shrank from its mere contemplation. Both seemed to come from outside his consciousness, filtered through eons of separation. He could conceive of no rational explanation for the disturbance.
Nor was it rational to posit that a single life form, by definition imperfect, could exceed an imagined ideal. Yet, in those rare moments when he allowed himself to contemplate the nature of beauty, he still saw her face.
To mourn for one now five thousand years dead would seem futile. Therein lay the paradox. Despite the passage of years, and the destruction of an entire world, he knew that in a very real sense, she waited for him as if the distance between them were no more than topographical. Given all that he had since learned about time travel, perhaps the analogy was not entirely inappropriate.
It was a paradox his mind had continued to sift through while the present time, his life, and his career continued to move forward. As his research progressed, he became certain that a time when circumstances, opportunity, and the state of his understanding would eventually converge.
They did so the day he was offered command of the U.S.S. Copernicus, a small research vessel assigned to spend two years accumulating scientific data of whatever variety its specialist crew deemed advisable. The first officer he selected, Michaela Taylor, ranked among Starfleet's most respected authorities on wormholes and theories of spacial/temporal displacement.
Fifteen hours before the Copernicus' maiden voyage commenced, Spock settled himself behind the desk in his quarters.
"Computer. Access Captain's personal database. Retrieve classified file 'Sarpeidon.'"
Within moments, the information he had spent years collecting and synthesizing flashed onscreen. Methodically, he began to input new data regarding the Copernicus' structural qualities, warp capabilities, and other relevant minutiae. When the figures were ready, he would submit them to Commander Taylor for a complete feasibility study.
Compared to an eternity, two years would not seem long to wait.
Since the first time she'd put on her uniform, Michaela Taylor had envisioned herself becoming a vital part of Starfleet's history, hopefully by making some significant contribution to scientific or maybe even diplomatic progress. Now, with three months left to serve on the Copernicus and the possibility of her own command afterward, it seemed she was about to take part in an experiment that, fail or succeed, would be recounted in Academy textbooks for years to come.
It was exactly what she'd hoped for when she'd won her post as Spock's first officer. Suddenly, though, she found herself more perplexed than exhilarated.
For one thing, she couldn't understand his choice of locale. Studying a lost world was an interesting idea, certainly, but she would have preferred some closer planet, or at least one with more clearly defined research opportunities. To her surprise, the Captain had listened patiently to her suggestions for alternate locations, then proceeded with his original coordinates. Since then, she had made no further efforts to dissuade him, nor had she questioned his insistence on calculations so specific it had taken her almost two years to complete her report.
The only gratifying aspect of the situation was that he had used those same calculations, with only minor adjustments, to plot their slingshot trajectory into the past. At least, if they were successful in accomplishing his somewhat vague objectives, she would share in the credit. If they failed, however, she expected to shoulder most of the blame.
Her anxiety increased when they reached what remained of the Beta Niobe system, complete with floating chunks of debris and a fading dwarf star that had once been the planet's mighty sun. Already the bridge crew was scurrying to prepare the Copernicus for the jump: shields and structural integrity checked and checked again, dilithium and reserve power stoked and brought online, sensitive instruments readied for massive and rapid data collection. Even the Captain, she noticed, seemed on edge, at least by Vulcan standards. Never before had she seen him demand that the ship's computer run the same diagnostics twice, let alone three times. Still, his face was almost unusually expressionless when he finally settled into the center seat and faced the main viewscreen.
His voice, likewise, remained utterly neutral. Maybe he was trying to keep the rest of them calm, Taylor speculated. She couldn't shake her sense that she'd failed to pick up something important. "Commander Taylor, initiate jump sequence."
"Initiating," she confirmed, fighting down an entire flock of butterflies that spread their magnificent wings in her gut. "Captain, I'd just like to state, for the record, that we might be in for a bumpy ride."
"Acknowledged. Proceed."
"Yes, sir." Taylor closed her eyes and punched in the code.
...
The first sensation they all felt as the Copernicus spiraled back through the centuries was a disorientation so profound that it felt like they were moving in slow motion-which, she reflected, wasn't entirely impossible. More nerve-wracking was the pressure on the shields, caused not only by their extreme velocity but by stray chunks of debris and lingering radiation left by the sun's explosion years before.
Worst of all was the loss, about halfway through their plotted trajectory, of all sensory data. Control panels, froze, static filled all internal communications channels, and the image on the main screen contracted into a whirling miasma of blurry colors. While it flickered and converged, no one dared to speak. Even Spock began to look a little anxious as he gazed straight ahead, waiting for some sign that they had gained access to the past...or that they had forfeited all claim to their own futures.
Then, slowly, the planet took shape in front of them. It seemed to emerge from a pale green mist, though Taylor suspected that might have been a trick of their frazzled sensors. Quickly she checked her instrument panel as it sputtered back to life.
"Shields holding, sir," she reported. "Reserve power switching back to mainline. Systems returning to normal."
Their helmsman's reaction was more to the point. "Captain, that planet! It just came up out of nowhere."
"Inaccurate, Lieutenant. It is we who have emerged unexpectedly." Finally, as though he were still moving in slow motion, Spock lifted his hands from the button-studded arms of the command chair. "The planet is precisely where I expected it to be. That is Sarpeidon."
Rising, he crossed the bridge and walked toward the screen with a distant expression. To Taylor, it looked almost as though he were absorbed in a strain of music only he could hear. Finally, a reaction from the Captain she could understand: awe.
In fact, she was feeling it herself, now that she was sure they weren't doomed to drift through primeval space without life support.
"The lost planet." Unlike the Captain, Taylor made no effort to hide her wonder. "Well done, Captain."
"I cannot take full credit, Commander. The general calculations were, after all, yours."
"I constructed a theoretical jump trajectory...but to find ourselves orbiting a planet that didn't exist only hours ago...well, it's a little overwhelming, to say the least."
"It may be premature to claim total success. We shall require more specific data for that. Scan the planet's surface for humanoid life."
"Yes, sir." She did so, then looked up frowning. Spock moved in close enough to peer over her shoulder at the rows of flashing scanners. "I have a reading of human life, Captain. It's most peculiar-a single entity." She made a few quick adjustments, which accomplished nothing. "It must be a sensor error."
"It is not." With a brief grimace, Spock reached past her and hit the com button. "Transporter room, lock onto the life-force reading and prepare to beam me within a radius of eight to twelve meters."
Taylor stared at him, flabbergasted, wondering if the time displacement had affected her aural processing functions. "You're beaming down? Shall I prepare an away team?"
"Negative, Commander. I intend to visit the planet's surface alone. In the meantime, I grant you full authority to conduct whatever inquiries on the planet or its environs you deem essential."
"This is highly irregular, Captain."
"Agreed."
When he moved past her, she jumped up and followed him to the lift doors. The rest of the bridge watched silent, tense. "Captain, a word?"
"If you wish, you may accompany me to the transporter room. Lieutenant Darcy, take the bridge until Commander Taylor returns."
They stepped into the lift together. The moment the doors closed, Spock seemed to forget that she was there. What was wrong with him? "Captain, I would advise against your visiting the planet's surface."
"Your concern is commendable but unnecessary. I have already prepared thermal-resistant gear that should protect me from the elements."
"But Captain, why risk it? We could easily record all the data we need from the bridge. Our sensors are more than capable of collecting precise readings, and our automated sample collectors should be able to handle any geological details." Again, her words seemed to have no effect on him.
"Permission to speak freely, sir?" When he nodded, she took a deep breath and forged ahead. Weeks of frustration made her far more reckless than she'd ever had to be with their unusually formal Captain. She maintained no illusion that he considered her a friend, but until now he had always been straightforward with her. For reasons she couldn't begin to fathom, all of that had suddenly changed. "I get the sense that this isn't just a research exercise. Something more is going on here, isn't it?"
He held up a hand. "You are correct, Commander. My current mission is not entirely scientific."
"I'm afraid I don't understand."
Spock turned to the voice-activated control panel. "Computer, reroute to Deck Five. You are correct, Commander Taylor. It is reasonable that I provide you with a detailed explanation. Please accompany me to a more private area. I will have the transporter room stand by."
"Thank you, sir."
They didn't speak again until, in the privacy of his small conference room, he outlined the details of his self-designed task. He intended it to be the last act of his Starfleet career. In that respect, it made a peculiar kind of sense; in every other, it left her utterly astonished. What she'd taken as an unorthodox but highly structured research exercise was, in fact, a rescue mission...one in which their Captain had a deeply personal stake.
"I wish you'd told me all this sooner," she said after she'd taken the time to digest all he'd told her-not the complete story, she suspected, but enough to let her read between the lines. "Do you really believe you can calculate our reversal to within days of your last visit?"
Spock's eyes slid away from hers, but not before she caught a glimpse of what seemed to be raw pain, even fear, glistening in them. "I believe my methods were as sound as they could be, given the circumstances. When I returned to the present, I was able to preserve my tricorder readings, including records of solar position and temperature fluctuations. In addition, I performed radio-carbon dating on particles returned on my clothing at the time. Obviously, it would be impossible to summarize years of research in a few brief minutes. Yet I have computed these factors and matched over 2,700 points of comparison with our current bearings. Your calculations provided the framework for our attempt."
"If I'd known that someone's life depended on my theories, though...." Taylor shook her head in wonder. "Maybe it's just as well I didn't. My own expectations might have paralyzed me. Anyway, I guess we'll soon find out."
Spock got to his feet. "Indeed."
Before they left the room, she offered her hand.
"I wish you luck, Captain. It's not something scientists - or Vulcans - generally appeal to, but if there is such a thing, I hope it's with you today."
"You are correct in that it is a concept foreign to my nature. Yet I appreciate the sentiment, Commander." His fingers closed around hers, hesitantly at first. To the best of her recollection, it was the first time they had ever touched. Never before had she realized how very little she knew about the man she'd served for almost two full years.
But she no longer doubted that he had a heart.
"All right. I've got a bridge to run and you need to get to the transporter room. We'll be waiting for you, Captain...both of you."
2
Even now, so many years later, he sometimes heard her voice, calling to him from the edge of an eternal sleep.
On occasion, the words were soft, comforting-echoes of the brief endearments they had exchanged so long ago. At other times, he heard stark wails of grief, expressing the agony of a loneliness so terrible that any sane mind shrank from its mere contemplation. Both seemed to come from outside his consciousness, filtered through eons of separation. He could conceive of no rational explanation for the disturbance.
Nor was it rational to posit that a single life form, by definition imperfect, could exceed an imagined ideal. Yet, in those rare moments when he allowed himself to contemplate the nature of beauty, he still saw her face.
To mourn for one now five thousand years dead would seem futile. Therein lay the paradox. Despite the passage of years, and the destruction of an entire world, he knew that in a very real sense, she waited for him as if the distance between them were no more than topographical. Given all that he had since learned about time travel, perhaps the analogy was not entirely inappropriate.
It was a paradox his mind had continued to sift through while the present time, his life, and his career continued to move forward. As his research progressed, he became certain that a time when circumstances, opportunity, and the state of his understanding would eventually converge.
They did so the day he was offered command of the U.S.S. Copernicus, a small research vessel assigned to spend two years accumulating scientific data of whatever variety its specialist crew deemed advisable. The first officer he selected, Michaela Taylor, ranked among Starfleet's most respected authorities on wormholes and theories of spacial/temporal displacement.
Fifteen hours before the Copernicus' maiden voyage commenced, Spock settled himself behind the desk in his quarters.
"Computer. Access Captain's personal database. Retrieve classified file 'Sarpeidon.'"
Within moments, the information he had spent years collecting and synthesizing flashed onscreen. Methodically, he began to input new data regarding the Copernicus' structural qualities, warp capabilities, and other relevant minutiae. When the figures were ready, he would submit them to Commander Taylor for a complete feasibility study.
Compared to an eternity, two years would not seem long to wait.
Since the first time she'd put on her uniform, Michaela Taylor had envisioned herself becoming a vital part of Starfleet's history, hopefully by making some significant contribution to scientific or maybe even diplomatic progress. Now, with three months left to serve on the Copernicus and the possibility of her own command afterward, it seemed she was about to take part in an experiment that, fail or succeed, would be recounted in Academy textbooks for years to come.
It was exactly what she'd hoped for when she'd won her post as Spock's first officer. Suddenly, though, she found herself more perplexed than exhilarated.
For one thing, she couldn't understand his choice of locale. Studying a lost world was an interesting idea, certainly, but she would have preferred some closer planet, or at least one with more clearly defined research opportunities. To her surprise, the Captain had listened patiently to her suggestions for alternate locations, then proceeded with his original coordinates. Since then, she had made no further efforts to dissuade him, nor had she questioned his insistence on calculations so specific it had taken her almost two years to complete her report.
The only gratifying aspect of the situation was that he had used those same calculations, with only minor adjustments, to plot their slingshot trajectory into the past. At least, if they were successful in accomplishing his somewhat vague objectives, she would share in the credit. If they failed, however, she expected to shoulder most of the blame.
Her anxiety increased when they reached what remained of the Beta Niobe system, complete with floating chunks of debris and a fading dwarf star that had once been the planet's mighty sun. Already the bridge crew was scurrying to prepare the Copernicus for the jump: shields and structural integrity checked and checked again, dilithium and reserve power stoked and brought online, sensitive instruments readied for massive and rapid data collection. Even the Captain, she noticed, seemed on edge, at least by Vulcan standards. Never before had she seen him demand that the ship's computer run the same diagnostics twice, let alone three times. Still, his face was almost unusually expressionless when he finally settled into the center seat and faced the main viewscreen.
His voice, likewise, remained utterly neutral. Maybe he was trying to keep the rest of them calm, Taylor speculated. She couldn't shake her sense that she'd failed to pick up something important. "Commander Taylor, initiate jump sequence."
"Initiating," she confirmed, fighting down an entire flock of butterflies that spread their magnificent wings in her gut. "Captain, I'd just like to state, for the record, that we might be in for a bumpy ride."
"Acknowledged. Proceed."
"Yes, sir." Taylor closed her eyes and punched in the code.
...
The first sensation they all felt as the Copernicus spiraled back through the centuries was a disorientation so profound that it felt like they were moving in slow motion-which, she reflected, wasn't entirely impossible. More nerve-wracking was the pressure on the shields, caused not only by their extreme velocity but by stray chunks of debris and lingering radiation left by the sun's explosion years before.
Worst of all was the loss, about halfway through their plotted trajectory, of all sensory data. Control panels, froze, static filled all internal communications channels, and the image on the main screen contracted into a whirling miasma of blurry colors. While it flickered and converged, no one dared to speak. Even Spock began to look a little anxious as he gazed straight ahead, waiting for some sign that they had gained access to the past...or that they had forfeited all claim to their own futures.
Then, slowly, the planet took shape in front of them. It seemed to emerge from a pale green mist, though Taylor suspected that might have been a trick of their frazzled sensors. Quickly she checked her instrument panel as it sputtered back to life.
"Shields holding, sir," she reported. "Reserve power switching back to mainline. Systems returning to normal."
Their helmsman's reaction was more to the point. "Captain, that planet! It just came up out of nowhere."
"Inaccurate, Lieutenant. It is we who have emerged unexpectedly." Finally, as though he were still moving in slow motion, Spock lifted his hands from the button-studded arms of the command chair. "The planet is precisely where I expected it to be. That is Sarpeidon."
Rising, he crossed the bridge and walked toward the screen with a distant expression. To Taylor, it looked almost as though he were absorbed in a strain of music only he could hear. Finally, a reaction from the Captain she could understand: awe.
In fact, she was feeling it herself, now that she was sure they weren't doomed to drift through primeval space without life support.
"The lost planet." Unlike the Captain, Taylor made no effort to hide her wonder. "Well done, Captain."
"I cannot take full credit, Commander. The general calculations were, after all, yours."
"I constructed a theoretical jump trajectory...but to find ourselves orbiting a planet that didn't exist only hours ago...well, it's a little overwhelming, to say the least."
"It may be premature to claim total success. We shall require more specific data for that. Scan the planet's surface for humanoid life."
"Yes, sir." She did so, then looked up frowning. Spock moved in close enough to peer over her shoulder at the rows of flashing scanners. "I have a reading of human life, Captain. It's most peculiar-a single entity." She made a few quick adjustments, which accomplished nothing. "It must be a sensor error."
"It is not." With a brief grimace, Spock reached past her and hit the com button. "Transporter room, lock onto the life-force reading and prepare to beam me within a radius of eight to twelve meters."
Taylor stared at him, flabbergasted, wondering if the time displacement had affected her aural processing functions. "You're beaming down? Shall I prepare an away team?"
"Negative, Commander. I intend to visit the planet's surface alone. In the meantime, I grant you full authority to conduct whatever inquiries on the planet or its environs you deem essential."
"This is highly irregular, Captain."
"Agreed."
When he moved past her, she jumped up and followed him to the lift doors. The rest of the bridge watched silent, tense. "Captain, a word?"
"If you wish, you may accompany me to the transporter room. Lieutenant Darcy, take the bridge until Commander Taylor returns."
They stepped into the lift together. The moment the doors closed, Spock seemed to forget that she was there. What was wrong with him? "Captain, I would advise against your visiting the planet's surface."
"Your concern is commendable but unnecessary. I have already prepared thermal-resistant gear that should protect me from the elements."
"But Captain, why risk it? We could easily record all the data we need from the bridge. Our sensors are more than capable of collecting precise readings, and our automated sample collectors should be able to handle any geological details." Again, her words seemed to have no effect on him.
"Permission to speak freely, sir?" When he nodded, she took a deep breath and forged ahead. Weeks of frustration made her far more reckless than she'd ever had to be with their unusually formal Captain. She maintained no illusion that he considered her a friend, but until now he had always been straightforward with her. For reasons she couldn't begin to fathom, all of that had suddenly changed. "I get the sense that this isn't just a research exercise. Something more is going on here, isn't it?"
He held up a hand. "You are correct, Commander. My current mission is not entirely scientific."
"I'm afraid I don't understand."
Spock turned to the voice-activated control panel. "Computer, reroute to Deck Five. You are correct, Commander Taylor. It is reasonable that I provide you with a detailed explanation. Please accompany me to a more private area. I will have the transporter room stand by."
"Thank you, sir."
They didn't speak again until, in the privacy of his small conference room, he outlined the details of his self-designed task. He intended it to be the last act of his Starfleet career. In that respect, it made a peculiar kind of sense; in every other, it left her utterly astonished. What she'd taken as an unorthodox but highly structured research exercise was, in fact, a rescue mission...one in which their Captain had a deeply personal stake.
"I wish you'd told me all this sooner," she said after she'd taken the time to digest all he'd told her-not the complete story, she suspected, but enough to let her read between the lines. "Do you really believe you can calculate our reversal to within days of your last visit?"
Spock's eyes slid away from hers, but not before she caught a glimpse of what seemed to be raw pain, even fear, glistening in them. "I believe my methods were as sound as they could be, given the circumstances. When I returned to the present, I was able to preserve my tricorder readings, including records of solar position and temperature fluctuations. In addition, I performed radio-carbon dating on particles returned on my clothing at the time. Obviously, it would be impossible to summarize years of research in a few brief minutes. Yet I have computed these factors and matched over 2,700 points of comparison with our current bearings. Your calculations provided the framework for our attempt."
"If I'd known that someone's life depended on my theories, though...." Taylor shook her head in wonder. "Maybe it's just as well I didn't. My own expectations might have paralyzed me. Anyway, I guess we'll soon find out."
Spock got to his feet. "Indeed."
Before they left the room, she offered her hand.
"I wish you luck, Captain. It's not something scientists - or Vulcans - generally appeal to, but if there is such a thing, I hope it's with you today."
"You are correct in that it is a concept foreign to my nature. Yet I appreciate the sentiment, Commander." His fingers closed around hers, hesitantly at first. To the best of her recollection, it was the first time they had ever touched. Never before had she realized how very little she knew about the man she'd served for almost two full years.
But she no longer doubted that he had a heart.
"All right. I've got a bridge to run and you need to get to the transporter room. We'll be waiting for you, Captain...both of you."
