“If you don’t mind, Captain, I should like to remain here a while longer, to record and study some of the artifacts Dr. Vassily has unearthed. If we have some time before departure, that is.” The Aurelian’s expression was hopeful.
“Me too, Captain,” added Jan Grey. Kirk nodded, turned to the other historian.
“How about you, Erickson?”
“Oh no, I’m satisfied. All I want to do is put my tapes in a big viewer and play them back. I was so busy recording and taking notes that I didn’t have half a chance to enjoy the journey.” His blissful look turned momentarily serious.
“But you’ve got to understand, Captain Kirk, that this is a once-in-a-lifetime experience for most historians. We can’t hold you up.” Aleek-om and Grey indicated agreement. “I know starship time is precious. But if my compatriots could have even a few additional minutes…”
“All right, all right.” Kirk grinned, spoke into the communicator. “Cancel that, Scotty. Four only to come up. Myself, Mr—” he hesitated, “and the others.”
The two historians who would remain a while longer thanked him profusely and then hurried off toward the reception station. They promised to be ready for transporter pickup at the first call from the orbiting Enterprise.
“All clear, Scotty. Bring us up.”
“Aye, sir.”
There was a familiar feeling of disorientation. The four figures dissolved into four roughly cylindrical columns of luminescent particles.
In the transporter room, Chief Engineer Scott personally handled the delicate task of transporting while Chief Transporter Kyle, himself a master at the job, watched admiringly. Those calloused, practiced hands operated the transporter controls even more smoothly than his own.
The first thing Kirk noticed when he regained sight was the startled expression on his chief engineer’s face. The first thing he heard when he regained hearing was the startled tone of his chief engineer’s voice.
“Captain—” Scott paused, unmistakably confused. “I was expecting two of the historians with you and Dr. McCoy. But a Vulcan—”
Kirk decided that was quite enough. If this was a practical joke, it was going too far.
“Explain yourself, Mr. Scott!” he snapped. Scott’s mouth worked. His puzzlement seemed honest.
“S… sir?”
Kirk chewed at his lower lip and stepped out of the alcove, off the platform.
“I don’t know what’s going on here—but the first officer of this ship will be treated with respect!”
“Captain,” came a strange voice from the elevator, “I assure you no one has ever treated me otherwise.”
It was Kirk’s turn to look dumbfounded.
His gaze snapped to the right. The humanoid who’d just brazenly laid claim to Spock’s title walked easily into the room. He was an Andorian, clad in the blue shirt of starfleet science officer, and wearing the insignia of a full commander.
Like most Andorians he was slim, rather fragile-looking, and had the pale blue eyes and silver hair of most of his people. Kirk noticed the two slightly curved, flaring antennae which protruded from his forehead and ended in dull, round knobs. These were his organs of hearing. He had no shell-shaped ears as did human or Vulcan.
Where distance was involved the knobbed antennae had less range than other humanoid sensing organs, but they could pick up much higher and lower frequencies. The Andorian’s slim build belied his agility and strength, characteristics which certain other races had learned about the hard way.
Kirk took a couple of steps towards this alien, and his jaw dropped in amazement. He looked the other up and down without fazing him, finally managed to blurt out his thoughts.
“Who the hell are you?” This time it was Dr. McCoy who replied, wryly.
“I thought sure you’d know Thelin by now, Jim. He’s been your first officer for five years.”
“Is something the matter, Captain?” queried the Andorian. His tones were soft, slightly accented. And he too seemed openly puzzled. Kirk could only stare at him.
Spock finally broke the silence, summing up both his own and Kirk’s thoughts in his usual terse fashion.
“Caotnin, I have come to the conclusion that this is not a game.”
“No—no,” Kirk muttered. “I agree, Mr. Spock. But if it’s a reality—and everyone else here seems to think it is—then what happened?” He stiffened.
“All right, I don’t know what’s going on here, but Fm going to get to the bottom of it! Spock, Mr…. Thelin. If you’ll both come with me to the main briefing room. There’s no point in upsetting anyone else on board.” They started off.
“Me too, Captain?” asked Erickson. He had no real part in the problem, but if something was the matter with Spock—well, he’d formed enough of a friendship with the starship officers to at least be concerned.
“Yes, by all means, Mr. Erickson, join us.”
VII
The command briefing room was small, with a single free-formed table of dark mahoganylike wood from the forests of IandB dominating the center. Holographic portraits of various alien landscapes decorated the walls, along with a framed copy of the Federation charter, and there was a musical rain sculpture shifting and chiming softly in one corner.
The seats were also free-formed, lush and comfortable, but they could do little to ease the tenseness of the four humanoids who now sat in them.
Erickson immediately set to work with his tricorder, keeping his verbal requests to the machine to a whisper. He had thought about the unbelievable situation, and decided that maybe the compact instrument had noticed something significant they had not remembered.
“I will pass over the obvious, gentlemen,” began Kirk. “I can think of only one explanation for what seems to have happened, and I’m sure it has occurred to you also.”
“When we were in the time vortex, something happened to change the present as we know it. No one seems to recognize Mr. Spock. And neither he nor I nor Mr. Erickson recognizes Mr. Thelin. The only answer must be that the past was somehow altered when we were in it. Instead of emerging into our own time line, Mr. Spock, Mr. Erick-son, and myself have reemerged into an alternate secondary one as a result of that as yet unidentified change.” He paused for breath.
“And if that sounds confusing, gentlemen, I assure you it’s a fit description of my present state of mind.”
Erickson chose that moment to interrupt. He shook his head and looked disappointed.
“Nothing, Captain Kirk. I’ve just done a double-speed review of our entire journey. The tricorder has no record of anything we did while in the vortex that could conceivably have affected the future. Any future.”
“Please, Mr. Erickson,” requested Kirk. “I don’t doubt your readings. But could you… try once more? Take all the time you need.”
“I don’t need any more time, Captain. I’ve done this sort of review a thousand times before.” He shrugged, bent over the tricorder once more.
When he looked up again a while later, after completing the second run-through, the stocky historian found all eyes were on him. The sameness of his expression was eloquent.
“Nothing, Captain. I’ve even run down any changes in the atmospheric content while we were present, and there’s absolutely nothing.”
Kirk slammed a fist down on the smooth wood. One of these days he was going to break a hand doing that.
“But. dammit—something was changed!”
“It seems, Captain,” interposed Spock easily, “that I am the only one affected. The mission, the ship, the crew—except for myself—remain the same.”
“Not entirely, Mr. Spock,” Kirk countered. “I still know who you are. So does Erickson.” The historian nodded vigorously. “But no one else aboard does. While we were in Orion’s past, the time revision that apparently occurred here didn’t affect us.” He looked thoughtful. “I wonder how extensive it is?”
“If you’ll pardon me, Jim,” began Thelin. Then he smiled faintly, uncomforta
bly. “Captain, I might be able to answer that. While we were on our way down here, I took the liberty of placing an informational request with the library. It should tell us how complete the time change has been.”
“I didn’t hear you put in any request, Mr. Thelin.”
“You were in deep conversation with Mr…. Spock, at the time,” the Andorian replied.
As if on cue, the bosun’s whistle sounded in the room. Thelin looked pleased.
“That ought to be the reply now.” Kirk pressed a half-hidden switch under the rim of the table. A three-sided viewer popped up from the center of the dark wood. He hit another switch.
“Kirk here.”
The picture of a young, neatly turned-out ensign appeared on the three screens. The ensign started to speak, but Kirk waved him off.
“Just a minute, Ensign.” He turned to Spock. “You know who that is, Mr. Spock?”
“Ensign Bates, Captain. Inexperienced, but studious, well-intentioned, reasonably efficient. Graduated OTS Starfleet with high honors but not the highest. Served one year apprenticeship on the shuttle tender SCOPUS. Transferred to Enterprise starda…”
“That’ll do, Spock.” Kirk looked satisfied.
“That would approximate my own evaluation of Bates’ abilities at this stage, Captain,” Thelin added casually. “Transferred to Enterprise stardate 5365.6.”
“Ummm.” Kirk’s tone was noncommittal. He directed his attention back to the screen. “What have you got for us, Ensign?”
“Sir, we’ve checked Starfleet records as Commander Thelin requested.”
Even though he thought he was growing used to the present impossible situation, Kirk still gave a little mental jump every time he heard the Andorian referred to by his own crew as “Commander Thelin.” Deep down he knew that—in the original time line, at least—the Andorian didn’t really exist.
Or was this the real time line, and the other merely a secondary copy? One problem at a time…
Yet McCoy, Scotty—everyone—seemed to know Thelin intimately, and not Mr. Spock.
He blinked, remembered Bates. The ensign was patiently awaiting Kirk’s orders to report the researched material, destroy it, stand on his head, play dead, or do something.
“Findings, Ensign?” he said crisply. The ensign’s reply had the directness of truth.
“There is no Vulcan named Spock listed with Starfleet in any capacity, sir. Neither as commander, nor cook—no listing whatsoever.”
Spock’s only visible reaction was the moderate ascension of one eyebrow.
“I see,” Kirk muttered. He thought a moment, then, “You have your visual pickup on?”
“Of course, Captain. I was not told this was to be a closed meetin…”
“No, no, it’s not. Relax, Ensign. Now, can you see the Vulcan sitting to my immediate right?” Bates’ head and eyes moved. He showed no reaction.
“Yes, sir.”
“Do you recognize him?”
“No, sir,” responded Bates, who was one of Spock’s regular science-library assistants. “I’ve never seen him before in my life.”
Thelin leaned forward and addressed the screen. “Did you also research the Vulcan family history requested?”
“Yes, Commander,” said the ensign crisply. “There are some related visual materials. I can put them on the viewer pickup, if you wish.”
“We so wish, Ensign,” Kirk ordered. Bates hit a button below screen pickup level and his image vanished, to be replaced immediately by a still hologram of a distinguished-looking male Vulcan clad in formal ambassadorial attire. Bates continued to speak.
“This is Sarek of Vulcan, ambassador to seventeen Federation planets in the past thirty t-standard years.”
Spock broke into the Ensign’s speech. “That is not correct.”
Kirk only grinned sardonically.
“In this case—or this time, Mr. Spock—it seems that it is.” Spock gave a slight nod of understanding and looked back to the tripartite viewer.
“I wish to ask a question.”
“Yes, Commander?” Bates might not know Spock, but he could still recognize the uniform and rank of a starship commander, even if not his own.
“What of Sarek’s family? His wife and son?”
The picture of Sarek disappeared, to be replaced by another hologram. This one was of a lovely human woman in her early thirties. She was fair-haired and slim, delicate—one of those rare women who you know instantly will retain her youthfulness well into old age. The young officer’s voice—impersonal voice, doom voice, continued—
“Amanda, wife of Sarek, known on Earth as Amanda Grayson.” Kirk gave Spock a sympathetic look as Bates droned on. “The couple separated after the death of their son.”
That finally drew a visible reaction from Spock, though, as Kirk knew, ninety percent of it was still bound up tightly inside his first officer. Bates continued.
“The wife was killed in a shuttle accident at Lunaport, on her way home to Earth. Ambassador Sarek has not remarried.”
Everyone was watching Spock now, and he was watching none of them. His eyes remained glued to the picture on the screen. When he finally did speak, there was a pause, a bare hint of a catch in his voice that could have been—no, ridiculous.
“My mother—” he whispered softly. Then he spoke—well, almost normally. There was no uncertainty in his tone, only a desire to satisfy perverse curiosity to the utmost, to draw out the thing to its ultimate mad conclusion.
“The son—what was his name and age when he died?”
“Spock,” came Bates reply. “Age…” he seemed to be checking some off-screen reference, “…age seven.”
“Svmpathy is not among my race’s primary traits, Mr. Spock.” said Thelin, “but I believe I can understand a little of what you are feeling now. I’m sorry, truly I am.” He gave the Andorian equivalent of a shrug. “But I am me and you are you, and there is nothing to be done for it.”
“Not in this time line, no,” mused Kirk.
“You are, of course, correct, Captain,” Spock added. “But if we didn’t change anything in the past—”
“We didn’t!” insisted Erickson. “We didn’t!” his forehead creased and he repeated, softly this time, “we didn’t…” Suddenly, “Of course! Jan and Loom!”
“Surely,” said Spock, “they didn’t enter the Guardian while we were in the vortex?”
“No, no!” Erickson was nervous as a mouse. “They would never do a thing as potentially dangerous as that. But scanning—they must have been scanning! We might at least get some useful information from them if they…”
“…were looking into my past while we were in Orion’s. Yes, I see what you are leading toward, Historian.” Spock rose, looked at Kirk.
“Captain, we must go down to the Guardian again. And as quickly as possible. The longer we stay in this time line, the stronger our position here grows, and the less chance we have of returning to and correcting our own—my own.”
“Certainly, Spock. Erickson, come on!” The four rose and left the briefing room.
“You’re sure you don’t recognize him?” Kirk asked Scott when they’d returned to the transporter room. They were mounting the transporter platform prior to beam-down. Scott studied Spock carefully, indifferently, and shook his head.
“There are few Vulcans on the Enterprise, Captain. I’m not likely to forget any, let alone a commander.”
“Thanks, Scotty. Beam us down, please.”
On the way back to the Guardian in the ground car, they tried to explain the situation to Grey and Aleek-om. Since Kirk was still confused himself, he wasn’t sure they made things much clearer to the two historians who had remained behind. But they seemed to grasp the idea behind what had happened better than he had. Time was their business, space was his.
Of course, neither of them recognized Mr. Spock. And both seemed to know Thelin. The Andorian had insisted on coming along, as was his privilege both as commander and science office
r.
By the time they had returned to the quiescent Guardian of Forever, mutual agreement had reached on an approximation of sequential probabilities. Nevertheless, Kirk continued to examine every salient fact with the three historians as they all made their way toward the Guardian. As always, the Time Gate was modest in appearance, overwhelming in capabilities.
Glowing cream-colored mists flowed and danced patiently, languorously in the central hollow, oblivious to the petty problems of the small knot of approaching humanoids.
“If we didn’t change anything while we were in the time vortex,” Kirk insisted, “someone or something else must have.” He turned to Aleek-om and then Grey. “You were using the Guardian while we were gone.”
“Yes, but it was nothing unusual,” said Grey matter-of-factly. “We were merely scanning occasional sequences of recent history.”
“Any recent Vulcan history?” asked Kirk.
“Why, yes!” She smiled in sudden realization. “I see the way your thoughts have been going, Captain. I don’t see what we might have done, but—of course it seems the only other possibility.”
“What time period?” asked Spock as they mounted the last step leading towards the Gate.
“I’m not sure.” She fumbled with the omnipresent tricorder. “Just a moment…” A quick recheck provided the desired information. “No specific dates listed—approximately twenty to thirty Vulcan years past.” Kirk had a sudden thought. His question beat Spock’s by a few seconds.
“Was there any notation recorded on the death of the son of a Vulcan ambassador named Sarek and his human wife?” Both historians looked thoughtful, glanced at each other before turning back to Kirk and Spock.
“I don’t recall any, but there was so much information—” Aleek-om looked a little tense as he worked his own tricorder. Thin, powerful claws clicked over the sensitive controls, too fine for any human to manipulate. It hummed softly, then stopped.
Aleek-om jabbed a recessed switch, ran something back and played through it more slowly. The hum deepened. He stopped again and nodded, his crest bobbing and dancing in the dry desert breeze.