CHAPTER EIGHT

Spock stood outside the door to the captain's quarters, waiting for the call to enter. They had warped away from the Hunoi ships nearly seven hours ago, and yet, Spock remained overwhelmed by what he'd experienced on the Hunoi ship.

Even more so, his performance had been less than stellar on the mission. He had allowed his consciousness to be drawn close to the Hunoi hive-mind, and in doing so, had delayed their escape my several seconds and placed their lives in danger.

"Enter."

The doors slid back, and Spock stepped into the captain's quarters. Kirk was lying back on his bed, stripped to his black undershirt, barefoot, and reading an antique book.

"May I inquire," Spock said, striving to achieve neutrality in his voice. "If what you are reading is . . .acceptable?"

Kirk made a face at the book and then set it down. "It would be if I actually read any of it. I've been staring at the same page for over an hour now. Have a seat, Spock." He gestured at the chair across from his bed, but Spock clasped his hands behind his back instead. "I am afraid that I have not come for conversational pleasantries, Captain. My behavior on the Hunoi ship was—"

"Below expectation?"

"Yes," Spock agreed. "And—"

"Poor timing?"

"Affirmative, and —"

"Somewhat illogical?"

"Correct —"

"And, dare I say, human?"

Spock raised an eyebrow. "I would not go that far."

Kirk swung his legs to the side so that he was seated on the edge of his bunk. "Spock, I already read the report you filed, and of your so-called misconduct," he said, a bemused expression on his face. "I deleted it."

"Captain, I sincerely—"

"Sit your butt down, Spock, you're putting a kink in my neck. That's an order."

Stiffly, Spock moved to sit in the chair. It was another of the captain's antiques, and the cushion was a bit worn yet sank in a pleasant way beneath his weight. Almost against his will, Spock found his body relaxing into it.

Kirk let out a sigh. "All right, Spock. Yes. I admit that you weren't at your best, but honestly? I get it. The Hunoi are a curiosity; we may never have the opportunity to interact with them again. And that's why we're out here: To seek out new life." Kirk paused as an impressed look came over his features. "And what ships they built, Spock! Have you had the chance to check out their ship scans again? Those engines . . . They came out of nowhere; Chekov can't even begin to backtrack a single navigational point, and you know how smart that kid is."

Spock felt a ripple of disconcertment. "Captain, I must confess that . . . it was not only a scientific curiosity on my end."

Kirk looked at him for a long moment, and Spock could feel the thread of his friend's thoughts through the neophyte telepathic bond they shared. He could sense Kirk's respect, his friendship, and his understanding. He realized then that Kirk was already aware of what had drawn Spock to the Hunoi.

"Well, did you find out how they did it?" Kirk asked, his voice curious. "How they combined the feelings of flesh and the logic of machine?"

Spock dropped his eyes. Yes, the captain knew him well. How many times had Spock been called a half-computer by his human companions? Or felt the weight of Vulcan eyes as they watched for evidence of his human emotions?

"I did not find an answer," Spock admitted. "I did learn something of the Hunoi's master race, however, or the 'Borg,' as they called themselves. As time passed, it seemed that the Borg began to make elective changes to their bodily makeup, replacing biological components with superior mechanical ones. Where the Hunoi prefer balance between the two halves, the master race became obsessed with the idea of new technology that would allow them to continue their upgrades. After a time, the master race abandoned the Hunoi as inferior, despite eons of guided evolution. The Hunoi were left without purpose, without direction."

Kirk frowned. "Suddenly I feel sorry for them. They're like children abandoned by their parents."

Spock remained silent. He purposely did not think of the last few seconds he had in contact with the Hunoi, just in case Kirk had become mutually sensitive to his thoughts as well. He did not think of the message he'd left them with, the single burst of information that defied dozens of Starfleet regulations. He had sent them his own memories combined with carefully selected words: freedom, exploration, curiosity, knowledge, art, poetry, music, and then, with the image of Jim Kirk in his head, he had added the word 'friendship.'

"I am sure the Hunoi will continue to evolve," Spock said blandly as he stood. "They are much wiser than the master race. As for the Borg, I am left to assume they are still out there, continuing with their upgrades, always working to become that which they are not."

Kirk glanced up at him. "You know, in all the universe there is only one Spock. I'm rather fond of him. I'd hate for him to become something he is not."

"I shall endeavor not to do so, Captain."

"Good night, Spock."

"Good night, Jim."

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