Chapter Five: Travelers All
Disclaimer: I am playing in someone else's playground—with gratitude!
"Sorry I'm late to the party," Leonard McCoy says as he enters the conference room and navigates his way to a chair at the large table. "What did I miss?"
Before Jim can answer, Spock says, "If you were punctual, you would know."
He's not wrong, of course, but McCoy accepts it as the jab Spock probably intended.
"And if I had been punctual, Ensign Rochenko would still be writhing in agony with appendicitis. Or maybe you don't think emergency surgery takes precedence over staff meetings?"
Spock shifts in his seat to better face McCoy.
"Gentlemen," Jim says to head off a response. If what Uhura has just told him is right, they don't need to waste time bickering. Motioning towards her, Jim says, "Lieutenant, do you mind getting the doctor up to speed?"
Jim sees Uhura give Spock a glance. A warning, or at least an unspoken request, a hint of the friction Jim has noticed between them at times. Spock backs off and crosses his arms, silent.
"I think I know what's been happening," Uhura says. "I just had a…visitor…and she said some things that helped me understand."
"What do you mean, a visitor?"
"My…our…daughter. Khio'ri."
"So we are caught in a time loop," McCoy says. "I was wrong when I thought our brains were getting scrambled by the star, that these hallucinations were just that."
"Well, maybe not," Uhura hastens to add. "What if both things are true? Or sort of true? Time travel could be involved, but our minds could also be manipulated to see things."
"You lost me now," McCoy says.
"The young woman I saw told me that she may or may not be my daughter. That she could be if I wanted her to be. What if she isn't really my daughter, but she knows about my daughter?"
"How is that possible? Who is she then?"
"An alien life form. I think she created an image of…Khio'ri….to communicate with me. She said that she wanted us to know that we are causing her harm."
"But you don't have a daughter," McCoy says. "Are you saying this alien traveled into the future, saw your daughter who hasn't even been conceived yet, and pretended to be her to get your attention?"
Jim heard McCoy harrumph.
"It's possible, Bones," Jim says. "I thought I saw a son I don't have."
A slight wobble in his words gives away his failed attempt to sound nonchalant. Uhura's eyes meet his briefly and he is forced to look away.
"And I saw my nephew, but older than he is now," Scotty adds. "What I saw, it didn't make sense. Some terrible things—and good things, but they couldn't both be true."
"Maybe these aliens are reading our minds and fabricating what they think we want to see," McCoy says. "What about the rest of the crew—like me—who haven't seen anything? How do you explain that?"
"Very likely," Spock says drily, "the aliens only appear to reasonable people able to comprehend their message."
McCoy's eyebrows shoot up. "Like you? And what's the message? Hello, now go away?"
"They did say we are hurting them," Jim says. Uhura nods.
"Khio'ri said that our presence is a problem."
"If they are aliens who live in the star," Scotty says, "our orbit might be disrupting their environment."
"What kind of aliens could live in a star?" McCoy's tone is incredulous.
"We've seen odd things before," Jim reminds him. "She did call herself a child of the star."
"A metaphor, more likely," Spock says. "Our survey team has recorded fluctuations in the space-time continuum around Procis 241. It could be evidence that the aliens use the star as a way station of sorts to travel."
Scotty's eyes light up. "We know these variable stars act like nodes in space-time. There's a whole section of Starfleet trying to figure out a way to harness that power to extend the range of transporters. Make a transporter powerful enough and you wouldn't even need starships. Maybe these aliens have figured out a way to do it."
Jim's head is buzzing. If Uhura is right and this is a first contact situation, he needs to inform Command right away.
And if Uhura is right and the aliens are being harmed by the Enterprise, this is also going to be a last contact.
"Just like I said when all this started," McCoy says, "we need to get the hell out of Dodge. Whatever these aliens are doing, we know what we are doing. We are hurting them by being here. So let's leave."
Jim looks around at his other officers. Sulu, who has sat quietly through the discussion, seems unusually pensive.
"Mr. Sulu?" Jim prompts.
Sulu straightens deliberately before answering. "I understand what Dr. McCoy is saying," he says slowly, "but shouldn't we make sure there isn't a way to, I don't know, coexist? I mean, isn't that why we are out here, to discover new life forms and make contact?"
"Aye, captain," Scotty says. "Maybe we can adjust our orbit, or shield our radiation signature if that's the issue. I'd love to have a chat with aliens who know a thing or two about interstellar transportation."
As if on cue, everyone turns their attention to McCoy. He throws his hands up in mock surrender.
"Then it's settled," Jim says. He feels both relief and pride in his crew, in their belief in their mission, and even in Bones' willingness to change his mind. "Now we need to find a way to contact the aliens instead of waiting for them to contact us."
Again Jim senses something unsaid flickering between Spock and Uhura, and then Spock says, "As our communications specialist, Lt. Uhura is best qualified to determine how we proceed."
This time Uhura's expression is no mystery. She beams up at Spock.
"Agreed," Jim says. "Lieutenant, tell us what we need to do."
The observation lounge at Spacedock is part viewport, part shameless retail snares—small restaurants serving everything from obscure upscale cuisine to ordinary street food, vendors hawking gemstone jewelry and kitsch adorned with worthless rocks, haberdashers serving clientele of various shapes and number of limbs, and entertainment kiosks where patrons watch holovids or hire a sequestered booth for a quiet nap between flights.
Ordinarily Spock avoids this area of Spacedock, preferring to stay close to the docking bays or the Starfleet offices that oversee traffic control and defense operations. Today, however, he sits in one of the open seating areas, watching as Nyota navigates her way through several new open-air stalls selling hand-crafted imported goods. Although he had offered to accompany her as she shopped, she'd turned him down with a laugh.
"I don't want to feel rushed," she'd said, giving him a playful push towards the seating area. "Besides, I might be looking for a gift for you. You have a birthday soon, remember?"
"Vulcans do not—"
"And don't give me any of that Vulcans don't do birthdays stuff. Your dad sent a very nice houseplant last year."
Spock had a flash of his father standing in a doorway, a potted white orchid in his hands.
Except nothing like that had ever happened.
"Are you okay?" Nyota said, peering up at him. "You look like you saw a ghost."
"I am…fine," he stuttered. "Perhaps I did see a ghost."
She gave him another intense stare, shook her head, and watched as he settled on a nearby bench. "I won't be long."
But her definition of "long" is different from his. From the corner of his eye he tracks her progress among the craft vendors while he contemplates the image of his father with an orchid in his hands.
"Flowers can be replaced, but children are fragile," his father says, like an echo in his head. Disturbing, to envision something nonexistent.
Spock forces himself to think of something else. The briefing this morning, Admiral Initio'Elda's face like stone as the captain details how Nyota reconfigured the Enterprise's radio frequencies as audio counterpoints to the star's background radiation.
"Sure got the aliens' attention all right. Probably sounded like nails on a blackboard to them," Scotty said, grinning, but the admiral, a Selbian from a world that had probably never had blackboards—or nails, for that matter—flicked one ear like someone annoyed by a fly and said nothing. "Yes, well," Scotty said quickly, "what's important is that it worked. The Travelers were able to communicate with us pretty easily after that. Told us how to adjust our orbit so we wouldn't interfere with their transport."
Admiral Initio'Elda's ear flicked again. "Travelers?"
Uhura rushed to answer. "Well, that's the closest word that corresponds to what they call themselves. It's how they define themselves. Travelers in space, travelers in time. As far as we can tell, they don't have a home world. They stay in motion all over the quadrant."
"Now that we know what to look for," Jim added, "we suspect that many variable stars are transit stations for them. We may have even countered them before without knowing it."
The debriefing had ended shortly afterwards, but not before Admiral Initio'Elda sent their report to the Federation diplomats whose task it would be to pursue further ties with the Travelers.
The Enterprise crew, meanwhile, has earned shore leave. Spock assumes Nyota will visit her mother in Nairobi, that the woven blankets and scarves she runs through her fingers and wraps experimentally around her shoulders before buying them will be gifts for family.
Spock catches a glimpse of Jim Kirk chatting with someone ahead of him in line for a shuttle down to Earth. The captain could have pulled rank and ducked to the head of the queue, or he could have wrangled permission to use the Enterprise's transporter for civilian travel, though Jim is the last person Spock would expect to ask for special treatment. He knows where Jim is headed because Jim told him—San Francisco. Jim hasn't told him what he will do there, but logic dictates that Starfleet Academy—and Carol Marcus, whose advanced weapons class is over in 37 minutes-is his true destination. Spock hasn't asked, and Jim hasn't volunteered, much about the vision he had earlier of his son David, but it has obviously, as Spock's mother used to say, spooked him. Left him uneasy or uncertain about what to do next. Not like Jim Kirk to be spooked by anything, which makes it all the more remarkable—and quite possibly the reason Spock noticed it at all.
Spock thinks he understands the feeling. His own reaction to seeing his daughter has spooked him as well, given him a new sense of purpose and a different sensibility about the future. Is Khio'ri out there, waiting to be born? Or is she an imagined creation the Travelers saw in his mind, a longed for child to anchor him, not only to the future, but to the past where his mother still lives in his memory?
He doesn't know, and not knowing something this personal and private spooks him.
He almost sighs. Jim Kirk will show up at Carol Marcus' classroom or her apartment and sort out what his vision of a son might mean for them.
Spock feels no such urgency to speak this way to Nyota. She is equally unsettled, as if the hint of any children at all catches her completely off guard. Pressing her on the matter seems unwise, or unkind.
"Window shopper." Dr. McCoy is suddenly standing behind Spock, hands on his hips. Motioning toward Nyota, who seems to be in some financial negotiation with a seller, he says, "Don't Vulcans buy things? Or do you always make other people do that work for you?"
"I thought you were spending your leave in Georgia," Spock says, refusing to acknowledge the doctor's jibe.
"Yeah, well, I'm going to buy a birthday gift for my daughter first," McCoy says. "Apparently the one I sent her didn't make it, or more likely, got intercepted."
"You will visit your daughter?"
"She's not going to be happy about it, but I don't care. I need to see her. She needs to see me. End of discussion."
McCoy's tone is more defiant than defeated. Still, his posture indicates something hesitant, or even fearful.
"You believe your daughter does not wish to see you?"
"Of course she doesn't! She's 14. What 14-year-old wants to spend time with her old man?"
Spock thinks of a family trip he took with his parents when he was 14, a quick jaunt from Vulcan to Seattle to see his formidable grandmother. He'd spent the trip in cahoots with his cousins, another word his mother used liberally. His older cousin Chris had recently learned to drive and insisted on taking his young sisters and Spock for long rides in the family hovercar.
"What are you all getting up to?" Spock's mother asked when they trooped in after dark, Spock still spooked by Chris's daredevil maneuvers through the nearby gorges.
But his mother's grin said she didn't really want to know. She ruffled his hair and laughed when he backed away. "Wash up and help your aunt get supper on the table," she said, and Spock darted thankfully up the stairs behind his cousins. Settled in a chair reading a newspad, Sarek watched the teens with a knowing eye.
Spock had felt watched over. Cared about. If he was not precisely happy, he was at least content.
"Perhaps your daughter needs more time to see that you are a caring person," Spock says. "The way your friends do." A slight hesitation, and then he adds, "As I do."
McCoy snorts—not in surprise or annoyance but the way humans sometimes signal humorous agreement.
"You, Spock? I thought I was just your punching bag."
"A worthy opponent, more likely." Spock meets McCoy's gaze and the doctor nods quickly, as if resolving something within himself.
"Yeah, well okay," he says. "Thanks. I, uh, need to go find that gift."
The doctor walks briskly toward the open-air stalls where Nyota appears to have finalized her transaction. Although they are out of earshot, Spock can tell that when they greet each other—Nyota holding up a piece of cloth for McCoy's inspection—they exchange warm pleasantries. Then she waves goodbye and heads straight to the sitting area.
Spock stands and catches himself before he puts out his hand to touch hers. An instinctive reaction—a cultural necessity on Vulcan where touch telepathy is the norm and something reserved for private moments. Still, Nyota wouldn't have minded. Would have welcomed it, in fact. With an effort, Spock unclenches his fist and holds his palm toward her.
Surprise and then delight in her expression—and she slips her cool fingers in his fevered hand.
With an effort, he says, "I checked on flight times for you. There's a commercial cruiser leaving at 1800 hours."
"What are you talking about?"
"I assume you want to spend your leave in Nairobi with your family."
"Oh, you do, do you? What logic led you to that conclusion?"
He knows she's teasing him, but he can't help but fall into his pedantic teacher voice. "First, the Enterprise has been away from Earth for 153 days without any substantive leave time. The longest amount of time you have been apart from your mother and family is 137 days. The length of your mother's mail to you in the past ten days has been 12% longer than average, suggesting more entreaties for you to come see her—"
"You read my mail?!"
"I did not and would not. I did, however, make note of the transmission time—and hence, each missive's relative length."
He pauses as a group of brightly dressed young schoolgirls dart past, the sound of their boots drowning out the ambient noise.
"Furthermore," Spock continues when they are finally out of range, "you bought a hand-woven blanket just now from one of the crafts shops. I am not in need of a blanket, nor are you, so this is clearly a gift for your mother, to appease her for your long absence."
Nyota's laugh is deep and throaty—and with a start, Spock realizes that he hasn't heard her sound this happy in a long time. The impending visit with her mother must be lifting her spirits.
"That's amazing," Nyota says, squeezing his hand.
"Simple logic," Spock says.
Again Nyota laughs. "And completely wrong! Or rather, you were right about one thing. I do want to spend my leave with my family."
"Then we should hurry to the gate where the cruiser—"
"I said I want to spend my leave with family. With you, Spock. My family."
"I thought—"
"Look, we need some time to talk about what that means—to be family. About what we want our family to look like. Maybe the Travelers have given us a gift. Forced us—forced me—to think about the future. About…children."
"We don't have to have children," Spock says, his voice for Nyota's ear alone. "We still don't know if the Travelers were showing us things they saw in the future, or things they saw in our own imaginations."
"Don't you see? It doesn't matter. What if she's just a product of our imagination? We have the same dream, Spock, the same image of our daughter. And if she's somehow really in our future waiting for us, then it will be because we decided to make our imagined child a reality. Isn't that what every parent does?"
As they talk they make their way toward the large translucent viewscreen that looks out over the docked ships. To facilitate the view, the lights are dimmed and shadows give the area a hushed feel, like the old cathedrals Spock has visited on Earth. When he's sure they are alone and unobserved, Spock pulls Nyota into his arms and presses his face into her hair. Her heartbeat, as quick and light as a bird, reassures him in a way he can't explain.
A scuff of shoes nearby indicates someone walking towards the viewscreen. Spock lets go of Nyota and takes a step back.
Startled, an older man bobs his head apologetically and moves away.
Nyota gives a rueful grin. "So much for the romantic moment."
"We could try again," Spock says. "Perhaps somewhere more conducive—"
"Where did you have in mind? Paris? That's pretty romantic? Or we could drop in and stay with my mother—"
For a moment he thinks she is serious and his heart gives an alarmed thump in his side. Then she laughs and says, "Actually, I was thinking we could go back to our quarters. With most of the crew gone, it will be nice and quiet. We could probably think of something to do." She waggles her eyebrows suggestively.
"I could meditate," he says and is rewarded by her horrified expression. Then a gradual smile blooms as she realizes he is returning her tease.
"We could play poker," she says.
"Tiddlywinks," he counters.
"I don't know how." She lets her forefinger drift across his wrist and he shivers. He pivots quickly toward the observation deck exit and they head toward the Enterprise's gangplank at the end of the enclosed walkway. The sentry, a young ensign sporting a patchy beard, salutes smartly.
"Looks like you've been shopping," he says, pointing to the blanket in Nyota's left hand. In reply she unfolds it and holds it up for his inspection—the soft woven design of interlocking stars shimmering in the reflection of the Enterprise's running lights.
As soon as they enter the turbolift, Spock says, "Nyota, if your wish is to present this blanket to your mother tonight, you don't have to stay here. There's still time—"
Before he can finish, Nyota's lips are on his and he stands rooted in place, like someone speared by lightning.
"I told you," she whispers when she pulls back, "I want to be with my family right now. And this blanket isn't for my mother. It's a baby blanket. I have a feeling we might need it one day."
The future is unknown and uncertain, but right now in this moment, he feels watched over. Cared about. Content and even happy. He leans forward to kiss Nyota again but she puts her finger on his lips and says, "Now, what was that you said about tiddlywinks?"
Author's Notes: And so we come to an end! I hope you enjoyed reading this little story as much as I enjoyed writing it!