Crossing the Equator, Chapter 10
Chapter 10: Mayday
Disclaimer: Some borrowing; no selling; no money at all.
"A long trip for nothing."
Chris hunches over his drink, his elbows propped on the tall round bar table. To his right, Natalie sips her tumbler of scotch and nods. What a waste of a day this has been. First the early morning briefing at HQ, then the flight to The Hague, then the surprise at the Intergalactic Criminal Court when the four accused terrorists changed their plea to guilty.
Now here she is, crowded around a bar table in San Francisco with Chris and Spock and two other captains who had been called to testify: Thom McEwan of the Farragut and Silvia Hopper of Endeavour. Both had been in Leiden during the bombings last spring; both had seen Pike and Spock disable the attackers.
They had traveled to Leiden together this morning and back again after the trial was called off late in the afternoon. When their shuttle landed at the transit terminal, Captain Hopper suggested they all have a drink-to celebrate the end of the affair, she said, though Natalie knows that Chris is angry at the guilty pleas-that he wanted to testify, had been confident that the terrorists would end up serving extra time if he had.
"Now they're damn martyrs," he says, his eyes glowering as he lifts his glass to his lips. "You see that crowd at the gate? It's not going away anytime soon."
Since the Leiden bombings, groups of sympathizers and protestors with the xenophobic group Earth United have congregated around the west gate of the Academy campus most days. Sometimes the crowds are thin-just a few people in shorts and trainers carrying crude signs that say "Go Home!"
On the days the trial makes the news, the crowds swell to include more raucous members. Twice in the past month Natalie has passed through the gate with Spock when pointed comments were yelled at them-or, if she is honest with herself, at him. She's a target only when she is with an alien-at least that was true until today.
"Abolish Starfleet" said one of the signs she saw today. And a petite woman in a neat skirt and blouse and pumps-looking for all the world like a bank CEO-shouted, "You're giving away our world!" as Natalie and the other officers passed by.
"Yeah, we definitely need a drink," Captain Hopper had said, leading the way past the crowd at the gate to the side street a block further on. "Moe's is closed, but I know another place."
Spock held back then and Natalie sensed that he was about to make his apologies and leave.
"You need to come," she said. She saw something miniscule flicker through his expression-disagreement, distaste? She couldn't tell. At any rate, he said nothing more but followed her and the other officers to a small tavern around the corner.
The bar was almost empty, though the few patrons already seated looked up curiously when they entered. No wonder. Placed around the bar were several large vidscreens, all of them broadcasting versions of the news. On one, the tall glass building housing the Intergalactic Court was in the background while a reporter gave details about the guilty pleas. From the corner of her eye, Natalie saw a headshot of the leader of the attackers on another screen. If she watched long enough, she was sure she'd see photos of Chris and Spock.
"Could you-?" she said to the bartender, pointing to the largest screen over the bar.
He shrugged and changed the channel to sports while Natalie pulled out a chair and Chris and the others settled around the table.
"I have to admit I'm surprised," Captain McEwan said, slipping into a chair. "I thought they'd milk the trial for attention."
Natalie doesn't know Captain McEwan very well-though she's seen him at enough briefings to know that he is quiet and measured, his voice rarely raised in anger or excitement. That he and Chris are such good friends is something of a surprise-they are that different in temperament. Shorter than Chris and stockier, he is a few years younger-his face unlined, his hair still dark blonde.
Captain Hopper is the oldest of the three captains-and the most experienced. Chris told Natalie that Captain Hopper had been Starfleet's first choice to command the Enterprise but that she turned it down. Whether or not that was true, Natalie isn't sure.
As she watches Captain Hopper in the bar, Natalie realizes why she would have been a natural on the bridge of the flagship. She's a take-charge kind of person, and fearless. Of course, so is Chris. Natalie looks at him as he waggles his finger to the bartender and orders a second drink.
"Being a martyr is better than being a convicted criminal," Chris says, and Captain Hopper snorts.
"Either way they're headed for prison," she says.
"But this way," Chris says, "they look like victims. Of course they aren't going to stand trial-because no one would give them a fair shake. Might as well go ahead and plead guilty. Now that crazy crowd out there-"
At this Chris turns slightly and motions to the door of the bar.
"-can argue that they aren't really guilty. They're just sandbagged by an unfair system. What's the matter, Spock? That doesn't seem logical to you?"
The attention around the small table shifts to Spock and Natalie feels a wave of sympathy for him. In staff gatherings he's never been reticent about giving his opinion-even at the risk of irritating some of the crew.
But tonight he seems…not shy, exactly, but withdrawn. Because he's with three captains? That doesn't seem likely. The trial, then. Perhaps like Chris he was hoping to have his say in court and feels cheated by the change in plea.
"Why," he says slowly, "would a guilty plea convince…supporters…that the accused were innocent? After all, they are admitting their guilt."
The four humans at the table laugh. Spock's eyebrows knit together.
"Just because they say it," Captain Hopper says, "doesn't mean they are being truthful."
"Then their supporters believe they are lying about being guilty."
"Yep," Chris says, lifting his empty glass to his mouth and letting the ice rattle against his teeth. He starts to signal for another drink and Natalie slips her hand on his. Careful. He glances at her and sighs, and when the bartender looks in his direction, Chris shakes his head.
"So their supporters believe them to be guilty of assault, or they believe them to be guilty now of lying. Either way, the accused do not seem worthy of support," Spock says.
Captain McEwan nods.
"It's not logical," he says, "but then, people aren't very logical. Of course," he adds before Spock can respond, "most of their supporters don't think they are lying. They believe they are guilty. And they're glad. They're just mad that they got caught."
"You need to shut up!"
The voice belongs to a heavy-set balding man sitting at the next table over.
Natalie feels Chris stiffen beside her.
"No one's talking to you," he says, and Captain Hopper adds, "This is a private conversation."
Before she sees him, Natalie hears the man stand up-and not just him, but two other men nearby get to their feet. Without making a sound, Spock is up, circling the table, and Chris swivels around, his glass still in his hand.
"Buddy," he says, "the last time I checked, this is a free country, and we can say whatever we want."
"Simmer down," Captain McEwan says, and Natalie stifles a nervous impulse to laugh. Is he talking to the drunk or to Chris? It's good advice for both.
"We're not going to have any trouble in here," the bartender calls, and a tall, lanky man sidles up. The bouncer. About time, Natalie thinks.
The man who shouted puts up his hands and says, "I didn't do nothing. Your Starfleet friends are the ones stirring things up."
"Finish your drink and head out," the bartender says. "All of you."
"Now wait a minute-" Chris says, standing up. Captain McEwan puts his hand on Chris' forearm.
"Chris," he says simply.
"That's right," the man says. "Call off your dog."
As Chris lunges, the man sags to the floor. Spock steps back from behind him and the other two men hurry out the door.
"Dammit, Spock!" Chris says, slamming his glass to the table.
The bouncer nudges the fallen man with his toe.
"What'd you do to him?"
"A nerve pinch," Spock says. "He is not permanently harmed."
"Perhaps a timely retreat is in order?"
This from Captain McEwan, who throws several credits on the table.
As they exit the bar, Natalie hears Chris grumbling and Captain Hopper chuckling.
"Why'd you stop me?" Chris says to Spock as they dodge a hover car making its way down the street.
"Be glad he did," Natalie says. "You've been in the news enough today."
X X X X X X X
"The offer still holds," Chris said, his voice tinny over the subspace transceiver. "All of it. Adjunct now, XO later-if that's what you want."
"I don't know, Chris," Natalie said her heart hammering so hard that she could barely hear herself speak. "That's a big commitment."
"I need you, Natalie. I can't get this ship launched without you."
"Yes, you can."
"I'm not joking," he said, and Natalie could hear the desperation in his voice. "You tell me what you need to make this work. Just tell me."
Even through the snowy reception she could see him frowning.
"I'd have to give up my job-"
"What if I could promise that it would be there if you wanted it back? After the launch, if you don't want to go back into space, you can curl up in your cubbyhole-"
"You can't do that."
"Wanna bet? Admiral Barnett pretty much gave me carte blanche. I'll tell your supervisor that you are on a temporary assignment. That you're coming back in two years. To hold that slot for you."
"That wouldn't be fair to my replacement," Natalie protested, and she heard Chris breathe out.
"You can't have it both ways, Nat," he said.
"I'd have to talk it over with Eric," she said, and she heard Chris sigh again.
"Of course," he said. "But I need to know something by the end of the week."
"You still going to be on Mars?"
"I think so. It's taking longer to get the power coil specs than I thought. The engineers here keep putting me at the bottom of their priority list. That's why I need you! You know how to make the system work!"
She didn't tell Chris, but by the time she hung up, she knew she would take the job.
Eric wasn't happy.
She would have to travel more. Her hours would be unpredictable. The stress would be greater. And after the ship launched, she would be out of a job.
She didn't try to counter any of his concerns. They were, in fact, all ones she shared.
"It's a chance of a lifetime," she said, and Eric scowled.
"That sounds like something Chris would say."
"It's true," Natalie said. Her voice sounded angrier than she felt and she tried to soften her words. "I don't know when there will be another chance to have this kind of impact. Can't you see how exciting that is?"
Eric took a breath and said, "I see how excited you are."
Something in his tone was off and Natalie looked at him closely.
"What do you mean?"
"I mean you sound excited. I'm just not sure it's about the ship."
"What are you talking about?"
"Nothing, Natalie. Forget I said anything."
"Eric," she said, forcing him to meet her gaze, "it's just for two years. Maybe less."
Eric looked away for a moment before turning back to her.
"I thought we were ready to start a family."
At that Natalie jumped. It was true that before they got married they discussed wanting to start a family soon, but since then they hadn't spoken about it directly. Indeed, Natalie assumed they would wait until they renewed their contract before thinking about children.
Like most couples, they had opted for a non-binding marriage contract that expired each two years. Couples who wanted to continue their marriages simply renewed the contract when the expiration date was up. Divorce had become rare since letting a marriage contract expire was easier-and far less expensive.
"I'm not sure I am-not right now," she said. "This is all so-"
Here she paused, searching for what she had never been able to say, not even to herself.
That being married to Eric was both wonderful and troubling-wonderful because he was a good person, kind and smart and steady and considerate. And troubling because she wanted to love him beyond measure, to be able to say "I love you" and mean it…and she did love him-quietly, gratefully, tenderly.
If love was a decision, a choice, then she loved him. She wanted good things for him, worked to bring those things into his life.
She could even imagine having children with him, raising them together, living with him into old age.
But if love was a feeling-if it was something beyond her control, some attachment made when she wasn't looking, an overwhelming need for someone, a longing that could not be stifled…she didn't finish the thought. She already knew the answer.
"It's your decision," Eric said, and Natalie nodded.
The next 18 months were both exactly as she imagined and completely surprising.
The work was not the surprise. It was intense from the beginning-the incredible lists of things to sort and order and do, the relentless pressure from Starfleet to meet or exceed deadlines, and the hours hunched over specs and requisition forms, usually while being jostled on a shuttle to and from Riverside.
Nor was it a surprise that she loved it. She had always loved order, had loved putting numbers in columns and watching them tally. The pressure cooker didn't bother her-in fact, it made her feel more alive than she had in several years, since her time on the Tiberius.
What was a surprise was that she could work so closely with Chris without being miserable. For that she had Eric to thank-not the man of flesh and blood, but his unseen presence that stilled her hand, that made her mute about any troubling feelings she might have been tempted to share with Chris.
And for his part-
"I would never do anything to hurt him," Chris said once, a few weeks after she started working as his attaché. They had been drinking after duty in his office, and Natalie had mentioned that Eric was out of town for the weekend.
Chris' comment made her blush. Had he thought she was offering something? She didn't ask.
When Earth United bombed the conference at Leiden, Natalie almost slipped. Seeing Chris facing down the terrorist, knowing that he could be seconds from dying…it changed something inside her, made her more afraid of seeing him in that situation again, more committed to staying planetside, and more heartbroken about that realization.
When the terrorists pleaded guilty months later, she thought how momentous that seemed at the time, how Earth United was the biggest threat she could imagine. No one there in that bar that night-not the stupid drunk itching for a fight, not Chris, not even Spock who was to lose so much the next day-had any inkling about what was going to happen.
Certainly not Captain Hopper, who would survive the Battle of Vulcan but succumb a week later from radiation exposure, or Captain McEwan, who went down with his ship.
None of them knew.
None of them knew how a Romulan madman would make their disagreements on earth seem puny by contrast, would erase personal considerations and commitments made back when the world seemed more predictable.
Natalie would remember that night in the bar not as a fight that almost happened but as the proverbial calm before the storm, an oasis in the desert they were going to have to traverse.
X X X X X X X
"Where are you!"
Not so much a question as an exclamation of surprise. Spock holds his comm in his right hand while he fishes his entry card out of his pocket.
"Entering my apartment," he says, swiping the card through the building reader and hearing the bolt click back. Pushing the door open, he steps into the dim hallway and listens. Distant music from the end of the hall, and laughter from the second floor. In two steps he is at his front door. Another swipe of the card and he is inside his living area.
"What are doing at home?" Nyota says. "I thought you were in Leiden."
"Evidently you have not seen the news," he says. "The trial ended earlier this afternoon."
"I thought it would go on for weeks!"
"The accused changed their pleas to guilty. The judges will pass sentence shortly."
"What do you feel about that?"
From anyone else, the question would border on insulting. Spock pauses and considers. What does he feel? Nothing much. The accused are now the convicted. They will be punished. He and the other people scheduled to testify are free to continue their regular schedules. The Kobayashi Maru simulation scheduled for tomorrow, for instance. He can monitor it. He tells Nyota as much.
"But aren't you a little bit angry? That they changed their plea at the last minute?"
"It is the appropriate plea," Spock says. "Their guilt would have been proven if the trial had continued."
"I'd be mad," he hears Nyota say. "All that time you wasted having to give a deposition. And then traveling to Leiden for nothing."
"Captain Pike shares your sentiment," Spock says, and Nyota laughs. Suddenly he is not content just hearing her voice. He has to see her.
"If you are free-" he begins, and to his dismay she sighs.
"Oh, I promised Gaila I'd go to dinner with her. She's heard about this new diner that specializes in chocolate desserts and she's forcing me to keep her company."
She laughs again, but Spock has a flash of the crowd outside the west gate. Nyota alone would be able to come and go, but an Orion might attract unwanted attention. He feels his heartbeat speed up.
"Where is the diner?"
"I know what you're up to," she says, a tone of mischief in her voice. "But you wouldn't be able to eat a thing there."
"Nyota," he says, "it may not be safe."
He hears her laugh again.
"I appreciate your concern, but I've been eating chocolate all my life and it hasn't hurt me yet!"
"You misunderstand," he says. "I encountered a large group of protestors outside the west gate earlier today."
"They've been there for weeks," Nyota says, and Spock says, "But now that the trial is over, they are particularly…agitated. They may not let you pass unmolested."
For a moment the comm is silent and Spock feels his heartbeat slowing back to normal.
"Spock," Nyota says, and he can tell from the tone of her voice that his relief is premature. "I'm not going to let some racists ruin my life. I don't want to be a prisoner on the campus."
"Then let me accompany you," he says.
"We're just going for a quick bite," Nyota says. "I have to get to the long range sensor lab by 2100. Toby asked me to cover for him tonight and I said I would. I thought you'd be in Leiden for several days at least."
His disappointment that she is working in the lab tonight is dwarfed by his concern about her leaving campus with her roommate.
"I can be at your dorm in ten minutes," he says, and this time he recognizes exasperation in her tone.
"No, you won't! We're walking out the door now. I'll be okay! I'll talk to you tomorrow after the simulation. I don't know why I let Kirk talk me into it. I'm going to be so tired."
When she hangs up he briefly considers his options. He could run across campus to the west gate but the odds are high that he would arrive too late. He could call security, but they are already doing what he would ask them to do.
Feeling a flush of irritation, he sits heavily on the sofa, his comm in his hand. He could call her again and insist that she not go, make her see how dangerous the protests are becoming.
But even as he imagines dialing her number, he knows he won't do that, would never do that. She would take offense at his trying to control her-and rightly so.
And yet.
He recalls his mother taking him aside one day when they were at the market, saying, "We won't tell your father about this just yet" as she purchased an expensive set of imported Terran silk sheets. At the time he had assumed she was indulging in the human custom of withholding information in order to please someone with a surprise, such as the time she ordered a refracting telescope from Cestis III for his birthday gift, another human habit she liked to indulge.
His father's birthday was more than half a year away, so if the sheets were a birthday gift, his mother was showing a great deal of foresight and restraint in buying them now.
But the very next day he overheard his mother commenting on the necessity of new sheets. From where he sat on the floor dissecting a favinit flower, Spock darted a glance at his mother and saw her lift her hand slightly, as if to caution him not to speak. He turned his gaze away.
"The sheets we have are satisfactory," his father said.
His mother said nothing else then, but several days passed and she brought up the topic again.
"Why all this discussion about sheets?" Sarek said. "Amanda, if you wish, purchase new ones."
There. Spock assumed that now his mother would produce the new sheets from wherever she had hidden them. To his surprise, she picked up some mending she was doing instead and spent the evening quietly sewing.
A week went by before his mother mentioned sheets again. This time she waited until the family had eaten their evening meal and were sitting in the living area, Spock working on a model of an injector engine, his father reading.
"Here," his mother said, placing three small squares of cloth on the table where Sarek had his PADD. "Which do you like best?"
Sarek did nothing so dramatic as sigh, but Spock could sense his annoyance. So could Amanda, apparently, and she ran her hand along his arm soothingly.
"It won't take long," she purred, and Sarek let his gaze linger on her for a moment longer than he usually did.
As Spock watched, his father fingered each of the squares quickly.
"Well?" Amanda said. "Do you have a preference?"
"I do not," he said, picking up his PADD. "Choose the one you prefer."
"Then this one? You like it?"
She held up one of the squares and Spock saw his father lower his PADD.
"Amanda," he said, "it makes no difference to me."
"Then this one is your choice?"
"As I am being forced to choose," Sarek said with some asperity, "then I choose this one."
He picked up one of the squares and placed it in Amanda's hand.
"I apologize for interrupting your work," she said, lowering her eyes, and Spock felt a tremor through their family bond-an upwelling of exasperation and affection mingled together from his father, and his mother's humorous response.
That night Spock was still awake when he heard his father padding down the hall toward the bedroom. The light was on-not unusual, since his mother retired first and read in the bed. More often than not she fell asleep before Sarek joined her, but tonight Spock heard her soft murmur and then his father's voice, saying, "They are more pleasing. I was unaware of the difference in quality."
Even now Spock isn't quite sure why his mother had acted as she had. Certainly her behavior was manipulative and secretive, even deceptive-and to what end? That Sarek agree with her selection of the expensive sheets? His father could be a force to be reckoned with-Spock had ample proof of that. Did his mother resort to such elaborate stratagems because she had no other choice?
Somehow that conclusion feels wrong. Perhaps his mother was simply amusing herself with some odd human tradition. The next time he speaks to her, he will ask.
In the meantime-
In the meantime….he won't get his way tonight. It is too late for that. By now Nyota and her roommate are already through the gate and whatever trouble waiting for them has been dealt with.
But he can plan ahead better, anticipate other assistance she might need.
Keep her safe, or as safe as he can. With or without her knowledge.
Standing up, he moves down the hall to his bedroom, switching off his comm and setting it in on his dresser before reaching for the primitive matches he keeps in a jar. With a quick motion he strikes one and lights his asenoi.
Today has been disturbing for many reasons and he welcomes the chance to meditate quietly. Settling himself cross-legged on the pillow on his floor, he stares at the flickering light and feels himself letting go of the different pieces of the day.
Like watching a holovid he sees himself on the morning shuttle ride to Leiden, hears again the gasps of the audience when the defense attorneys announce the change in the pleas.
The ride back, and Captain Hopper's invitation to gather-his own reluctance and Natalie Jolsen encouraging him forward…he sees all this again and lets it drift away, like a grainy photograph.
The moment in the bar when he was certain that Captain Pike was going to throw a punch at the inebriated man-"This is a free country," the captain had said, and even Spock could see that the situation was escalating.
"Simmer down"-that from Captain McEwan, whom Spock thought at the time was the lone voice of reason at the table, his words a calm, logical contrast to Captain Pike's leaping into the fray.
He lets that perception slide away and he replays his conversation with Nyota, his heart racing as it had the first time, his face flushing with worry. With a start, he opens his eyes and looks at the useless asenoi.
If she's hurt-
The thought makes his throat constrict and with a sudden movement he gathers his jacket and leaves his apartment, his head tucked against the wind that blows in gusts across the common. He walks so quickly that his breathing becomes labored, but he doesn't slow down until he is outside the building housing the long-range sensor array. Scanning the fourth floor, he sees that the lab lights are on and he starts to turn back. She's there, safe, working the night shift as she said she would.
A doubt niggles at the back of his mind and he stops. Checking the sign-in sheet becomes imperative, and he finds himself making his way up the steps and into the foyer of the building. A cadet sits behind the reception desk but Spock shakes his head and motions with his hand to say that he needs no help. Instead, he leans forward and taps the screen where he sees her name and the time when she signed in.
"Thank you," he says to the baffled cadet, and then he heads back outside.
What he doesn't know is that tomorrow he'll be given the task of assigning the cadets to ships able to assist Vulcan after the distress call, and as his fingers hover over Nyota's name, he will recall Captain McEwan's hand holding back Captain Pike.
"Simmer down," Captain McEwan had said, cautious, reasonable, logical.
And with a flick of his stylus, he will send both Nyota and her roommate to the Farragut, Captain McEwan's ship.
Keeping them out of harm's way. Whether or not they know it.
A/N: Chris and Natalie's back story is now up to date with what is happening on 2258.41. The next day the Narada arrives at Vulcan.
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