Disclaimer: Star Trek: The Original Series belongs to CBS, not me.


After everyone else leaves, three motionless bodies remain at the table with me—Spock on one side, McCoy on the other, and Tucker a couple of meters away. Spock and McCoy are both close enough that I can feel the shadow of their bodies against the side of my face, Tucker close enough for my signals to bounce off of his body. No one moves, no one speaks … and yet I can tell something needs to be said.

"What is it, you two?"

Spock moves first, ejecting his data card from the slot and turning away from the table as if to stand, although he makes no such move. "Merely that I am puzzled by Starfleet's lack of immediate response to the Romulans' initial appearance in this sector."

"You're not alone. But right now Starfleet politics isn't our concern—the Romulans are."

"Acknowledged. It is, however, a troubling matter."

Spock may have the Romulans on his brain, but in McCoy's case the subject is more likely to be Adora. In either case, they're going to have to wait. "Go on ahead, you two. I'll catch up with you in just a few minutes."

McCoy claps my shoulder on his way out. "Come on, Spock—before all the good food cards are gone."

Tucker waits until they've both taken their leave before he starts moving. He turns his chair more in my direction and leans forward as if to stand, only to fail and lean back to reset. He tries, and aborts, a second time. "I'm all right," he says. "I just need to get some food and then rest." He tries a third time, this time rocking forward with momentum, and small grunt finds him staggering to his feet. His right foot scuffs, and he catches himself on the table. "I'm impressed with how comfortable your crew is with you—especially Spock and McCoy."

"It's hard won, but worth it." Tucker is definitely struggling more now than he was when he first came on board, moving more deliberately and with less coordination. "Yeoman Burris can bring dinner to your quarters, if you need her to."

"No." His right foot scuffs again and he staggers sideways this time—one step—two steps—before somehow regaining his balance. He reorients toward the door and works up an uneven progression toward it. "For one thing, the Committee wants a full picture of life on board this ship; food and recreation periods are all an important part of that picture. And since they're a part that rarely gets addressed in reports, it's especially important for me to see that."

"You said that was one thing. What's the other?"

"I'm following you," he says once we move into the corridor. "The other thing is—All you're seeing is lack of conditioning. I've been chained to a desk for well over a decade now; my body's just forgotten what hard work is. I don't get very many opportunities to push myself these days."

"Probably because it backfires on occasion." Heading counterclockwise around the saucer section toward the nearest turbo lift, I suppose now is as good a time as any to tell him. "I understand the Carolina's CMO was afraid to let you push."

"Push?" Tucker huffs. "He was even afraid to let me coast. I figured Carmichael would tell you—and when you called McCoy back down, I knew she had."

"For the record, McCoy said Steiner was out of line."

"I don't suppose Carmichael mentioned that Steiner actually had the chair waiting for me in the transporter room when I arrived—or that he didn't even bother to show up with it."

"Must've slipped her mind."

"I'll do a lot of things for Starfleet—I'll put up with an awful lot in the name of following regulations and getting the job done at all costs—but I won't use a chair again. Not unless I actually needed one."

"And you don't."

"Granted that my body doesn't work perfectly—and, yes, I do fall occasionally, especially on stairs—but if I don't use what I have got, pretty soon I won't have even that."

"You have to push or you never get anywhere." I nod, thinking back to the early days after I lost my vision. McCoy would set a goal for me and I'd work at it—and work—and work—and work—until I'd conquered it, long past the point where Bones would start telling me to give it a rest and come back to it another day. "Most people don't understand that."

"Only a precious few. What about your people?"

"It makes them uncomfortable, but yes. The key to McCoy is being honest. As long as he knows you're telling him the truth when he checks in, he'll keep letting you push."

"Understood." The turbo lift doors slide open and Tucker follows me inside, leaning against the wall of the car for stability. "For the record, I am pushing, but I've pushed harder. I haven't reached my limit yet."

"How close are you?"

"Not as close as you probably think." Then, without prelude, Tucker changes the subject. "Something else is on your mind, Captain. What is it?"

"Sam Carmichael said something else in her message that I wish you'd clarify."

"If I can."

"I don't pay much attention to the rumor mill, but Sam does. Apparently word is that I have powerful friends on the Committee. Is that true?"

Tucker's answer is guarded, almost to the point of being a non-answer. "Everyone on the Committee is powerful. Some are on your side; some are against you. But you already knew that because their preliminary decision came down as an even split. Why? You're not usually one to politic."

"I'm not. I'm concerned that politicking within the Committee might prevent me from being able to earn the captain's chair honestly."

Tucker's voice relaxes. "That sounds more like you. What specifically is on your mind?"

"How many people on the Committee know about your history with the Foscara system?"

"It's mentioned in my record, so I assume all of them. I'm sure it was at least discussed—probably hotly debated, knowing the Committee—but the vote to send me here was unanimous. What are you thinking?"

"I'm thinking it's extraordinarily convenient that someone with unrecorded knowledge of the Foscara system happens to be on board my ship at just the right moment in time. I don't want to find out that someone stacked the deck in my favor."

"Noted. And if you'll express your concern about it in a captain's log, I will include that with my final report. But in this case I'm not sure that you have anything to be concerned about. Everything I told you, your staff will be able to tell you themselves when you get close enough to run scans."

"And you don't remember anything else?"

"Nothing of any consequence." Tucker follows me out of the turbo lift and a few meters down the corridor to the mess hall. Just inside the doors, he stops to take stock of the situation and ultimately says, "I'm afraid I'm going to need some help."

"That makes two of us. I can't read the food card labels."

"What about your new reading program?"

"Honestly, I hadn't thought of that." The trouble with the reading program is that it involves aiming the camera, and that still involves a fair amount of concentration. "Maybe I'll try it next time. For now, maybe we can trade. What do you need?"

"I can manage the food cards, but I have trouble balancing trays."

"Perfect. I'll make you a deal. You help me pick out a food card that doesn't involve a salad and find us a seat, and I'll carry both of our trays."

Tucker laughs. "Deal. How do you usually manage?"

"Usually I come in with Spock, but if not I just take whatever card I grab and ask the nearest person to point me toward an open seat. You?"

"Fortunately, my wife is an incredible cook and I have the luxury of bringing leftovers to eat in my CO's office most days. He's paralyzed and can't feed himself, so I help with his meals. On the odd occasion when I do eat in the mess hall, I'm usually with someone who can use both hands and then I ask for help, the same as you."

Between selecting food cards and actually retrieving our trays, getting our meal turns out to be a slow proposition. That said, there's something satisfying about not being the recipient of Spock's good nature for once—about getting to actually do something in exchange for my choice of food cards.

"Spock and McCoy have two open seats at their table," Tucker says.

"I'll follow you. Just give me an idea where we're headed."

"How do I—"

"Sorry. I forget." Ordinarily, I'm pretty good about telling people how to give me directions, but Tucker feels so familiar that I tend to forget he doesn't know these things already. "Based on the way we were facing when we walked in, use the face of a clock as a reference."

"Ten o'clock."

Fortunately for me, Tucker takes the straightest route instead of weaving through tables the way Spock does. We're halfway to the table before Bones raises his voice. "Jim!"

I nod, letting Bones know that I heard him, but concentrate on following Tucker through the crowd to the open seats. Based on the direction of McCoy's voice, he and Spock must be sitting opposite one another, so I deposit Tucker's tray on one side and my own on the other. "Thank you, Commodore."

"It worked for both of us." The instant Tucker starts eating, I understand why he chose a sandwich and soup for his meal—he eats one-handed. He couldn't have cut a piece of meat even if he'd wanted to. I hadn't thought about that, but it seemed like second-nature to him. I guess that makes us even.

McCoy nudges my arm. "So, Jim, tell us about you and this Captain Merlo—"

Relaxing into the nuances of our usual mealtime banter, I grin. If he's going to stoop to petty small-town gossip-mongering, he isn't the only one who knows how to play that game—he's just the only one who enjoys playing, I guess. "All right, all right. You want the truth? Fine. I give up."

McCoy chuckles, and the tone of satisfaction seems to be directed across the table at Spock as much as at me. "That's more like it."

"Adora Merlo and I were friends with Sam Carmichael at the Academy—as much as anyone was friends with Sam, anyway. All three of us competed against each other, except sometimes Adora and I would work together. Every now again we even convinced Sam to work with us instead of against us."

"And?"

"And that's it. I told you, Bones—Adora and I are just friends."

Bones grunts, and he sounds disappointed. "Like a sister. Right, you did you say that."

Tucker sounds amused by the entire exchange. "You have a unique way of interacting with your crew, Captain. It's refreshing."

Bones and I both grew up in small towns, so we both know the ins and outs of that way of life. Each starship is its own small town. I was still fairly new to space when I figured that out, and that's when I understood how to command one. "If I had to guess, that's because not too many starship captains grew up in small towns in the middle of nowhere. I figure that gives me a home-court advantage."

"I hadn't thought of it that way, but I suppose you're right. Maybe that explains the other thing I noticed."

"What other thing is that?"

"Commander, your report on the Foscara system—"

Spock's answer is stiff. "Yes, Commodore. You found it deficient?"

"Not at all. In fact, just the opposite—It impressed the heck out of me, especially since you prepared it without having to be asked."

"As Chief Science Officer and as First Officer, it is my duty to have information prepared for the captain when he requires it. Since this is a largely unfamiliar sector, it stood to reason that he would require information prior to our arrival."

"Maybe. Although I've known plenty of very competent section heads who still would've needed to be told. But do you really want to know what impressed me? The fact that you knew he'd done it, Captain."

I open my mouth to answer, only to realize that I have no argument to defend myself with. He's right—I asked Spock to present a report that I never told him I needed, knowing he'd have the information ready.

McCoy grunts. "Happens so often, we're used to it. I didn't think anything of it."

"Nor was there reason for you to think of it, Doctor. As stated, it was only logical for me to prepare information regarding our destination in this situation, as the odds of the captain knowing about the system were quite low."

"And I just assumed that Spock would have the information because he always seems to."

"Both of you work on a very intuitive level. That's a rare kind of partnership, but it's a beautiful thing if you can get to that level. It happens relatively often in the world of musicians—some of the most exciting music is born out of two musicians understanding intuitively where the other is going with a piece—but it's a lot more unusual on a starship." He's quiet long enough to take a bite of his turkey sandwich and wash it down with a spoonful of soup. "Again, this is why the Committee asked for an in-person observation to break the stalemate. Dynamics like this don't show up in after-action reports, but they do paint a very clear picture of the situation here."

A previously unrecognized bit of tension uncoils in my chest, the release of a breath I hadn't realized I was holding. "I just hope that the Committee can be made to see what you see, Commodore."

"Convincing the Committee is largely a matter of knowing how to tell the story in such a way that the truth can't be denied. And—as I indicated—both storytelling and picture-painting come naturally to me. I didn't have all the materials I needed when I submitted my report before; I will by the time I go back to present my findings this time."

"I fail to understand the logic of asking you to prepare a report with insufficient data in the first place. Why was an observation not required from the outset?"

"Because I don't think any of us realized that the ship's paperwork output was insufficient. Remember, Commander, this situation is unprecedented; we're all flying by the—" In mid-sentence, Tucker stops, grunts, and reroutes. "Sorry. We're all experimenting with what amount and type of information will be sufficient to do the job. My apologies."

Spock's tone is the one that equates with surprise, the one he usually uses just before he proclaims that something is interesting. "Apologies are unnecessary. If you meant to say that you and the Committee are flying by the seat of your pants, I am familiar with that Human expression—although, admittedly, I do find it somewhat distasteful. I infer that you have some experience working with Vulcans, Commodore. Is that accurate?"

"When they placed me in my current position, Starfleet assigned me a Vulcan aide. We work pretty well together, but I am learning which of my expressions confuse him." Tucker grunts. "Speaking of Lt. Silak, I wonder if you could explain something he does that's puzzled me all these years, Commander."

"I will endeavor to do so."

"My commanding officer is paralyzed, and Silak won't look at either of us. He'll look at our feet, past our heads, or right through us, but he won't make eye contact. We've both tried asking him about it, but all he'll say is that he would prefer not to discuss it. I don't suppose you'd be willing to explain his behavior, would you?"

"Of course." Spock's answer sounds casual enough, but I'm fairly sure it's a ruse. "The description you have given of Lt. Silak's behavior does point toward one common explanation. However, I must caution that my statements will necessarily be imprecise because I do not know the extent of your commanding officer's paralysis."

"Understood. At this point, any insight you can give us will be helpful."

"In Vulcan society, it would be extremely uncommon for men with your conditions to be expected to function in ordinary society. In avoiding eye contact, he is attempting to preserve your dignity in what he perceives to be an illogical situation."

"Which, of course, is itself an affront to Human dignity. We suspected it might be something like that, but the admiral wanted to be sure before we tried to intervene. Thank you very much for your honesty, Commander."

"I am incapable of anything less." That's definitely a lie, but Tucker either buys it—most people do—or he lets it pass. But there's another, more implicit lie being told here, and I'm positive that Tucker doesn't pick up on that one. No matter what Spock's voice says, this whole conversation makes him highly uncomfortable. He'll want to debrief on it later; I'd put a day's wages on it. "May I ask why you and your commanding officer suspected that might be the case?"

"A couple of reasons. One, the admiral has a bit more experience with Vulcans than I do, and he had seen the behavior on a few prior occasions. Two, I've had a lot of contact with the Federation Council as a peripheral part of my position. You might be surprised how often I hear some variation on that theme." Tucker's tone implies a shrug. "Besides, the idea isn't as foreign to Human culture as you might think. I hear it almost as often from Humans as from other species—although not always phrased quite so tactfully. I appreciate that tact, by the way."

"Certainly, Commodore." Apparently in a hurry to move the conversation in a less uncomfortable direction, Spock turns his attention to me. "Before we reach the Foscara system, Captain, I am reminded that our last chess game remains unfinished. Given the state of your pieces, I suspect that it would not take long to complete the game, if you would care to do so."

"The state of my pieces? You're the one who's more than halfway to checkmate. But if you want to get it over with that badly, you're on."

And that settles it. After dinner, our whole convoy heads down to the rec hall, where Spock's and my game still sits, waiting to be finished. In addition to the ship's usual complement of three-dimensional chess sets, Spock and I have our own private set that features a board with cells that have different textures and raised borders and tactually distinguishable game pieces. We sometimes leave it set up in the rec hall when we get interrupted in the middle of a game, as we did this one. Maybe because the board belongs to Spock and me, or maybe just because it's tactually adapted for me, but the crew never touches our in-progress games regardless of how long it takes us to get back to finish them. Once, a game sat half-played like this for an entire solar week before we got around to finishing it.

"All right. Just give me a minute to review exactly what kind of a bind you've gotten yourself into." In fact, a quick glance of all three main boards and all four attack boards reminds me that we're pretty evenly matched. We've played with this set so many times over the last five years that my wooden pieces have started to wear smooth along the tops where I touch them the most. His metal ones, of course, show no signs of wear. "Thank you; I'm ready. I think it was your turn."

I've played Spock enough times that I can gauge his mental state based on how he plays. When we started this game well over 24 hours ago, every move suggested his usual clear-headed rationality. Now, his moves suggest just the opposite. Within half an hour, a full quarter of his remaining pieces sit on my side of the table, and the outcome of the game is decidedly less ambiguous now than when we started.

"Spock, are you sure you wouldn't like to take a rain check on this game? Or shall I just hurry up and put you out of your misery?"

"Misery, as you are well aware, is an emotion to which I am fortunately immune." He moves a piece on the top board, then calls out the move for my benefit. "Your turn, Captain."

"Sorry—my mistake. That miserable wail I'm hearing must be coming from your king. I'll have him mated in three moves."

"I find that extremely unlikely."

I raise one of the attack boards to the top level. "Your turn." Spock usually monitors his internal state well enough to avoid playing when he's this distracted. At the very least, he'll usually accept an offer to postpone when I offer one. The fact that he keeps rebuffing even those says a lot about the state of his head. It's a pity, especially since this could very well be our last game together. As much as I love winning a game against Spock, winning this way is no fun.

Suddenly—a few moves too late—the analytical component of Spock's brain drops back into place and he takes a few minutes to review the board, reaching for and ultimately abandoning several pieces along the way. In the end, he leans back in his chair and says, "Extremely unlikely indeed. It will not take you three moves to place my king in check; you will have it done in two."

I incline my head, acknowledging that he's right. "Sorry. I tried to warn you."

"Indeed." He tips his king over, acknowledging the inevitable because he left himself no way to block the attack. "My apologies."

I push back from the table and motion him toward the door. "Everyone's entitled to an off-night—even you, Spock. Maybe you'd better get some rest."

"It is not sleep that I lack." He pushes back from his side of the table also and stands, collecting the data card he brought to the briefing. "If you will excuse me, gentlemen, I believe I will be best served at this moment by meditating."

"Of course. And I think I'm going to get some rest myself." Spock and I excuse ourselves from the rec room together as Uhura starts to distract everyone with her singing. His quarters and mine are directly next to one another, so we'd find ourselves making the trip together even if he didn't intend to debrief on the earlier conversation.

All the same, we're in the turbo lift and partway to our quarters when he asks, "Before you retire, Jim, may I trouble you for a few moments?"

"Of course not. I'm expecting you."

"Indeed." His disappointment is blatant. "I regret that Dr. McCoy may also have noticed."

I wave him off. "I'll handle McCoy later; don't worry about it. The conversation regarding Tucker's aide?"

Before he can answer, the lift doors open and he shadows me out of the lift and down the hall to my quarters. He waits to answer until after the doors shut. "I found the conversation quite troubling, although he seemed unfazed by it."

Genuinely wanting to catch a few hours of sleep once we're done talking, I head toward the bed so I can ultimately stretch out. For now, I sit on the end of the mattress, leaving Spock to find his own position. "It sounds like he's used to it."

"Yes, that does seem to be the case."

As usual when we have these conversations, he chooses not look at me. Not knowing what to make of it, I've never commented on it before. But now, given the explanation he handed Tucker, I need to know: "Are you attempting to preserve my dignity?"

"Not yours." His head snaps around to look at me this time. "My own."

"Yours?" Maybe just I'm getting tired, but I wasn't expecting that one.

He drops into the extra chair that sits in the corner of my room, turned so that he appears to be staring into the office. "When we discuss these matters, I feel shame—for my own ignorance, and for the ignorance of my people. It is a most illogical state to find myself in, and yet I find it unavoidable."

"Spock, regardless of whether or not you agree with it, you have no reason to be ashamed of Vulcan culture in this particular matter. And as for yourself—There is no shame in learning to understand another culture's point of view. You're not born knowing everything."

"I do not wish for Commodore Tucker to believe that I share the views of my people."

I would point out that Spock has two people, but—as Tucker noted—the view from both sides is closer than we Humans would like to admit. "So talk to him."

"I had hoped to avoid that. I find these conversations most awkward."

"Most important conversations seem to be." I shrug. "Like it or not, Spock, you're most likely going to spend the rest of your life acting as a liaison between Humans and Vulcans because you're uniquely situated to see both sides with equal clarity. The sooner you make your peace with that role, the better off I think you're going to be."

Instead of answering, he just sits there. But eventually, once I stretch out to let my muscles uncoil against the mattress, he stands. "My apologies for keeping you from your rest."

I wave it off. "Don't apologize. As long as it helped."

He stops just shy of the door. "Indeed. I may find your advice troubling at times, but—as always—it is helpful. It is also deeply valued and appreciated. Sleep well."


Author's Note: I'm so sorry for the long delay between posts. Real life came crashing down on both my beta reader and myself. Now that things are looking up again, I hope to be more regular about updating. Many thanks to all my readers for sticking around!