A Few Good Men: Chapter 4

[zauzat]

Chapter 1 * Chapter 2 * Chapter 3

Jim's mind was pulled into a dizzying swirl of sounds and images. He battled to find his footing, fending off an acute attack of mental motion sickness to try and focus on the images shimmering in front of him. He saw a state funeral held at what looked like Starfleet Command, although there was no coffin. Just a portrait of himself looking decades older and - it had to be said - quite a lot fatter. A man, clearly of great authority, was reading from a podium.

“James T. Kirk’s historic role as an explorer was rivaled by his reputation for tactical genius. He had a strong moral center and devotion to the values he found embodied in the Federation, spending most of his life in its service and defense. In numerous incidents, he risked his life for causes he deemed just, including his final act on Veridian III. For that the Federation is forever in his debt.”

Murmurs of respectful agreement came from an audience that numbered thousands, while a sort of mental footnote from Spock told him that a dozen networks were broadcasting the event to millions more. With a rueful smile the speaker continued. “Of course, his confidence in his righteousness sometimes led him to creatively interpret, and outright disobey, his orders.” There was laughter throughout the room but laughter of affection rather than derision.

Sadly Spock’s whirled him away before he could see more. Watching his own eulogy was strangely mesmerizing. Frankly he'd always expected to die in a ditch after being stabbed in the back with no-one bothering to mourn his passing. Even stranger was to feel the overwhelming sadness contained within Spock at having lived to see this event. If Vulcans were the same across the multiverse, then clearly the emotionless thing was bullshit. Grief, respect, and something that felt strongly like love radiated from the Vulcan's mind.

Spock's voice spoke to him through the kaleidoscope of imagery filling his head. "In the light of your present predicament, perhaps we should visit my Kirk's first encounter with Romulans." Bewildering images flickered by. The bridge of the Enterprise - not as lovely as his own ship, Kirk noted with pride, although the view was definitely better for not having the Empress and the Philosopher glowering over everyone. And he had to think that he looked particularly good squarely seated in the captain's chair. He felt a gentle amusement emanating from Spock at this thought.

Other-Kirk and his crew were following a Romulan vessel that had apparently attacked the Federation outposts that marked the edge of the neutral zone. Orders were that they might defend themselves but were not to attack for any reason whatsoever. Kirk watched fascinated as an older version of himself calmly ordered a parallel course, matching the enemy ship for course and speed. Moving like an echo. He was impressed by his own grasp of tactics. Impressed too by his focus and patience. Age and confidence suited him.

Small details kept catching his attention. The skirts on the female crew members for one thing, if something that short could be called a skirt. In the Imperial service men and women wore identical trouser suits designed to hide rather than display their bodies. It took effort to tear his eyes away from Uhura's astonishing miles of shapely leg. She was a member of his bridge crew? And seemingly happy to be there?

He noticed too the willing respect the crew offered to him, following his orders with oiled precision but with none of the cringing resentment so common on Imperial ships. He was astonished by the absolute lack of visible weapons on any officer. They trusted each other that much?

The scene shimmered and focused again in the conference room. It looked like the Enterprise and yet unlike, an odd mimicry of the ship he knew. He quickly glanced around the faces. Spock, Bones, Sulu, all these he knew. Even Styles, a ruthless cadet who was quick to anger and read an insult into every comment. Only the Scotsman who was apparently his engineer was unknown to him.

He watched the debate that followed with fascination. The full and frank exchange of views that was allowed, with no man being pilloried for opposing another, even a superior officer. The captain openly inviting a range of opinions. Other-Styles openly insulting the first officer, yet other-Kirk quelling him with a simple three words: "sit down, mister." Yet when all was done, they rose to follow his orders without demur.

Other-Bones was a revelation, a confident man boldly expressing his opinions. He challenged other-Spock with no less but no more respect than any other officer. "You're discussing tactics. Do you realize what this really comes down to? Millions and millions of lives hanging on what you do next." Every sentence spoke of a fight for the right to life, for the importance of conscience, more important than memories of a war a century ago. Was this who Bones could be if freed from the kill-first, justify-later ethos of the Empire?

The memory seemed to slow down for a pointed piece of conversation.

"War is never imperative, Mister Spock," challenged other-Bones.

"It is for them, doctor," replied other-Spock. "Vulcan, like Earth, had its aggressive colonizing period. Savage, even by Earth standards. And if the Romulans retain this martial philosophy, then weakness is something we dare not show."

Spock's voice spoke gently in Kirk's head. "It is time to move beyond aggressive colonizing, Jim. Time to demand more of yourself, and of your friends."

Kirk watched as his other-self played a careful, patient game of tactics and bluff, attack and counter-attack, finally with both sides playing dead. Itching for resolution, for action and glory, Kirk was astonished by his own patience. He watched other-Spock too, still brilliant, still logical, yet working in perfect harmony with other-Kirk. The Vulcan had none of the aggressive insecurity of the man he had faced down on his own ship just hours earlier.

Finally, in his moment of victory, other-Kirk calmly offered the enemy captain safety for all survivors in transferring to the Enterprise. Such mercy was weakness, an illogical reaction for a victor. All Kirk's training told him this. Yet watching his other-self, it looked oddly like strength.

Spock let the images blur out of sight. "Time perhaps to see another side of yourself, Jim, and of your friends. Time to meet the Horta."

A rapid blur of information told Kirk he was on a mining planet, Janus VI, hunting a man-eating monster given to reducing the miners to a pile of crispy ashes. The stream of events slowed to show other-Kirk crouched together with other-Spock, with the disgusting lump of brown crust and orange nodules complete with tatty carpet fringes that was the injured monster cornered nearby. Kirk itched to kill it himself.

He did not understand why other-Kirk dithered, wasting time ordering his first officer to mind-meld with the thing. He found himself considerably less impressed by this vision of his other self. However, that thought was overwhelmed when Spock let Kirk follow his other self into his mind-meld with the monster, let him feel the pain and fear and despair that lay in the gentle heart of the creature.

Kirk found himself being pulled under into the grief, as if caught by an unexpected undertow when swimming. The pain of the creature was echoing through the mind of other-Spock, who was muttering disjointed phrases. "Sadness for the end of things. It is time to sleep. It is over. Failure. The murderers have won. Death is welcome. Let it end." The pain was amplified in the mind of Spock, and Kirk suddenly found himself with double vision, seeing the creature and other-Spock, but also seeing battalions of invading humans and Vulcans, emaciated prisoners deep in mines, Federation cities laid waste, Vulcans lining up other Vulcans for elimination. Threaded through all of it was Spock's sense of horror, of failure, of utter helplessness.

"I apologize." Spock pulled them both abruptly to the surface of his mind, so that Kirk could once again sense the ice cavern around them, the fire by their feet. "The mind-meld with the Horta triggered other memories I had not expected. I will proceed with more care."

Kirk simply focused on breathing deeply. Any thought that Vulcans truly did not feel emotion had been blown away. As he fought to push away the overwhelming despair of the memories, he thought he had a glimmering of why they perhaps fought so hard to control their emotions. It felt uncomfortably similar to the way he chose to deaden his own feelings.

He found himself back in the mine, this time watching his other self order other-McCoy to heal the creature.

"You can't be serious! The thing is virtually made of stone." He found some amusement in the realization that McCoy back-chatted him right across the multiverse. For a moment he found himself profoundly homesick for his Bones, over-enthusiastic hypos and all. If what he was seeing in front of him was what friendship looked like, maybe he and Bones were friends after all.

"Help it. Treat it," said other-Kirk.

"I'm a doctor, not a bricklayer," retorted other-McCoy.

"You're a healer. That's a patient. That's an order."

A healer. That was what Bones was meant to be. No wonder he was so unhappy in Imperial service.

Other-Bones was grinning up at other-him, hands covered with the thermal concrete he had been troweling into the creature's wound, face alight with happiness. "It won't die. By golly, Jim, I'm beginning to think I can cure a rainy day." Other-McCoy looked so delighted with himself. Kirk vowed to himself that if he ever got back to the Enterprise, he'd find a way to help Bones become this man.

He felt gentle approval from Spock as the scene shimmered and shifted, bringing them back to the bridge, where other-McCoy and other-Spock stood by his chair as he spoke to the chief engineer from the mine that contained the Horta and her newly hatched children. The chief was reporting on the vastly improved production that had come from the mutually-agreed alliance between the Horta and the humans.

For a moment Spock overlay that memory with an image of the mining planet he and Nero had escaped from, the misery of prisoners being worked slowly to death, ruled by violence and fear, living without hope, all in pursuit of impossible production targets. Without comment, he steered back to the bridge for a final glimpse of other-Kirk and other-McCoy teasing other-Spock about the Horta having a liking for his Vulcan ears.

"She really liked those ears?" said other-Kirk.

"Captain, the Horta is a remarkably sensitive and intelligent creature with impeccable taste."

Other-Kirk nodded slowly. "Because she approved of you?"

"Really, my modesty--"

"Does not bear close examination, Mr Spock. I suspect you're becoming more and more human all the time." Other-Spock raised an eyebrow as other-Kirk and other-McCoy grinned at each other. 

The scene shimmered out of focus as Kirk tried to imagine such easy camaraderie existing between command crew in the Empire. He wondered what it would be like, not just to lead men who respected him, but to lead with the support of two such able and confident deputies, men dedicated not to his downfall but to their mutually-procured success. Could he ever be like that?

Spock now took him through a rapid swirl of scenes, coming from a variety of missions. He saw other-Kirk arguing with a race so committed to war with its neighboring planet that they did it by computer game, marching the 'casualties' to elimination chambers.

"We're a killer species," argued the leader of their high council. "It's instinctive. It's the same with you."

"It's instinctive?" demanded other-Kirk. "The instinct can be fought. We’re human beings with the blood of a million savage years on our hands. But we can stop. We can admit that we’re killers but we’re not going to kill today. That’s all it takes, knowing that we’re not going to kill... today."

Then abruptly he was on the bridge again, watching through other-Spock's eyes as he in turn watched his captain via a viewscreen. His other-self was on a desert planet where he had apparently been sentenced to one-on-one combat with the captain of a Gorn enemy ship by some interfering god-like aliens called the Metrons. Kirk had to say that he seemed to have lived a full and eventful life and met a remarkable range of beings.

With the Gorn captain finally at his mercy, his other-self hesitated. "No, I won't kill you. Maybe you thought you were protecting yourself when you attacked our outpost." Other-Kirk lifted his face to shout up into the sky. "No, I won’t kill him, you’ll have to get your entertainment somewhere else."

The voice of the Metron came out of the heavens. "By sparing your enemy you demonstrated the advanced trait of mercy, something we hardly expected. We feel there may be hope for your kind. Therefore you will not be destroyed. It would not be civilized."

He caught a final glimpse of his other-self back on the bridge, grinning at other-Spock as he informed him, "We’re a most promising species, as predators go, did you know that?"

He tried to imagine ever having that kind of teasing camaraderie with the Vulcan who had been intent on killing him just that morning. Had it been just that morning that he'd been back at the Academy, giving the finger to the Kobayashi Maru the height of his ambitions?

Spock's voice broke through his reverie. "And now it is time to share with you our first encounter with a parallel universe. Sadly the anomaly that allowed for this, a boost to the transporter system because of a magnetic storm, was later harnessed in the multidimensional transporter device, which would eventually allow for your universe to invade and conquer ours."

The image had an odd faded quality this time, hazy at the edges. "I was not present," explained Spock from the depths of Kirk's mind. "What you see here I received from my Captain Kirk via mind-meld when I wished to understand who my Mirror Universe counterpart was."

Kirk found himself in yet another version of the Enterprise. The uniforms were showily exotic but the weapons they all carried were at least familiar to him. He thought his other-self looked good with arms bare in the glittering gold shirt, complete with tassels and sash. Other-Kirk was apparently being required to fire on the cites of the Halkan, a dilithium-rich planet whose people would not trade with the Terran Empire. Spock's voice spoke over the scene. "From the Vulcan Imperial records I accessed, in your universe the Halkans killed themselves and destroyed their entire planet rather than co-operate with the Vulcan Empire. They take their commitment to peace with great seriousness."

Kirk would like to have taken rather longer to appreciate Uhura in thigh-high boots with a bare midriff or to have watched his other-self romance Marlene, the captain's woman. That certainly wasn't something that would ever be allowed in the Vulcan Empire. Maybe a Terran Empire had something to be said for it.

"Better to have no empire at all," came Spock's voice. "Let us end with a message from you that changed the fate of another Empire." The scene shifted forward to other-Kirk in the transporter room, preparing to escape with other-McCoy, other-Uhura and that odd Scots engineer once again, but stopping to debate with Mirror-Spock.

"Terror must be maintained or the Empire is doomed. It is the logic of history."

Other-Kirk looked across the transporter desk at Mirror-Spock. “How long before the Halkan prediction of galactic revolt is realized?" he asked.

"Approximately 240 years."

"The inevitable outcome?"

"The empire shall be overthrown, of course," replied Mirror-Spock quite calmly.

"The illogic of waste, Mr Spock. The waste of lives, of potential, resources, time. I submit to you that your empire is illogical because it cannot endure. I submit that you are illogical to be a willing part of it," challenged other-Kirk. "If change is inevitable, predictable, beneficial, doesn't logic demand that you be part of it?"

"One man cannot summon the future." Exactly, thought Kirk. Other-Kirk might have a fine line in rhetoric but Kirk's sympathies were entirely with Mirror-Spock.

"But one man can change the present. Be the captain of this Enterprise, Mr Spock. Find a logical reason for sparing the Halkans and make it stick. Push the system until it gives. You can defend yourself better than any man in the fleet. How about it Spock?"

"A man must also have the power."

Like Mirror-Spock, Kirk felt as if he was holding his breath waiting for his other-self to reply. The argument was so enticing but a man was nothing without power.

"In my cabin is the Tantalus, a device that will make you invincible."

Well, that wasn't fair, thought Kirk furiously. No one was handing him a device to make him invincible.

Other-Kirk continued to speak as he mounted the transporter platform. "What will it be? Past or future? Tyranny or freedom? It's up to you. In every revolution there is one man with a vision."

Spock pulled them up out of the memory and slowly released Kirk's mind from the embrace of his own. Kirk staggered backwards, feeling dizzy and nauseous. He felt small and very alone with no voice but his own in his head.

"I think you had a bit of an agenda there, with the things you chose to show me," accused Kirk.

"Indeed I did, Jim. I wished to show you the honorable man that you are and that all your friends and colleagues know you to be. Now we must go. There is a Starfleet outpost not far from here. We must return you to the Enterprise. You need to embrace your destiny.”

As Kirk trudged across the snowy wastes behind Spock, the Vulcan turning out to be surprisingly spry for his age, his mind was awhirl with all that he had witnessed. He'd liked the man he'd seen. Handsome, brilliant, with a great line in rhetoric and an astonishing tactical talent. People had respected him. Loved him. Followed him because they believed in him. Both Spock and McCoy had treated him as the focal point of their lives. And both men had been impressive in their own right. Even Uhura had liked him!

It had all come wrapped up in a lot of namby-pamby pacifist bullshit, although other-Kirk's instinct for mercy had seemed to serve him well. And the man could fight when he needed to.

He wanted it. All of it. He was rather taken aback by how desperately he wanted it. So it involved having ideals and integrity and shit. How hard could that be?

* * * *

Pike lay on the damned table, muscles aching from lack of movement, staring despondently at the ceiling. Nero had been right about the slug. The sub-space frequencies for the border protection grids of Terra had spilled out of his mouth as easily as his own name, totally outside his conscious control. He’d not said a word since, terrified of what else might slip out.

He no longer even had pain to help him keep his focus. The ship's doctor had treated the injuries caused by the passage of the slug into the foot of his brainstem. The human woman had had torture scars across her face and one eye put out. She'd refused to exchange a single word with him.

Not that any of it mattered much, if his planet was about to be destroyed. Presumably he would follow it shortly after, his purpose fulfilled. Everything that had ever mattered to him would be lost. Unable to face thinking about what he’d done, he let his mind wander over what he'd been told of Nero and Ayel’s universe. What Ayel had told him of his own great-great-grandson.

Pike had made his required contribution to the Empire’s breeding program. Back on Terra was a wife who’d been assigned to him, whom he’d met with only the number of times required to get her pregnant the first time. The second time he’d just sent a sperm donation. Back on Terra were a boy and a girl who he’d never seen. If the planet was not destroyed, there might eventually be a great-great-grandson called Josh.

But better not when said descendent was a pervert. Sex between men. Marriage! Homosexuality was a physiologically unnatural deviation from the heterosexual norm, being systematically bred out of the gene pool by the procreation protocols. At best it was a mental disorder, at worst sickening perversion. He knew this. His whole society knew this. How could an entire universe, both the Romulan Star Empire and what they seemed to be calling a Vulcan-Earth Federation not know this?

He let himself imagine - just for a moment - a younger version of himself, held within Ayel’s strong arms. Held by a man as tall and as powerful as himself. Stronger than himself, if the power of Ayel's punch was anything to go by. Pushed back against a wall, warm skin rubbing against his, those full lips brushing across his cheek, reaching out for his own...

He jerked his mind away. Sexual abstinence enhanced vitality. He knew this. Or at least he knew what he'd been taught. Ejaculation leached the body of vital nutrients, of lecithin and phosphorus which were needed for full development of the brain. Control of sexual urges was a sign of maturity. One of the many ways in which Vulcans were manifestly superior to humans.

He bit down so hard on the inside of his cheek that he drew blood, trying to use the pain to clear his mind. Normally at moments like this he’d have headed for the treadmill or the punch bag, using hard exercise to exhaust his body and empty his mind. He's always found physical exertion worked far better than meditation in overwhelming his base lusts. But strapped down like this there was no way to escape his body’s rising reaction.

He'd found it reasonably easy not to be moved by women. He'd never even let himself think about men. But now he couldn't rid himself of the vision of Ayel pushing him up against a wall. Or running a hand under his shirt as he lay here tied to the table. A warm hand pushing through the hair on his chest, callused fingertips rubbing over a nipple...

He tried again to take control of his errant thoughts. Interspecies sex was wrong. Homosexuality was wrong. Their practices were disgusting. Naked men writhing against each other. A hard lean body pressing against his own. Strong fingers releasing his fly, pushing into his briefs. Another erection rubbing up against--

“Do you need more pain medication?” Ayel’s voice cut through his reverie. The Romulan reached out to test that the straps were not cutting off his circulation. Pike tried to flinch away from the warm fingers that brushed across his wrist, resting briefly against his thumping pulse point. He licked at the blood inside his mouth, trying to ignore that fact that Ayel had removed the black coat he normally wore and was in angular black waistcoat that left his firmly muscled arms bare. He looked as strong as Pike had imagined.

Still Ayel hesitated at his side. The fussing was bizarre. Keeping prisoners did not seem to be the Romulan's strong point. As he continued to hover, Pike wondered if Ayel was actually seeking out his company. Maybe he could use this to his advantage. It wasn’t as if he had much left to lose. He’d also really rather that the Romulan was looking at his face right now than at any other part of his traitorous body.

“Why do you have to take out Earth?” he asked. “Vulcan is gone. The Empire will fall apart without them. There’s no further risk to you. Why cause more deaths?”

“Did you not hear what Nero told you about the human attack dogs the Vulcan’s brought with them?” snapped Ayel. “You humans are never more than one step behind your Vulcan masters, begging to do their dirty work. You’re not innocent.”

"Humans are the chosen species," Pike said stiffly. "Of all the species encountered by the Vulcans, we are considered the most likely to be able to evolve significantly towards perfection."

Ayel laughed bitterly. "You're chosen all right. Chosen as the most gullible, the most likely to fall for the Vulcans' propaganda, the most open to being used unquestioningly as their tools. Trust me, being chosen is not a compliment."

Pike hesitated. His parents were both Starfleet to the bone. Respect for authority had been beaten into him since he'd been able to walk. But somewhere down on his planet was a wife who wasn’t Starfleet, two children who’d probably never seen a Vulcan in the flesh. Ongoing loyalty to the Vulcans and their instruments of power seemed pointless, given the circumstances. “So take out Starfleet. You’ve got the weapons. Most humans hate the Vulcans. Just take down the leadership.”

“When you take down a dictatorship the easiest thing for a new government to do is just fill up the same space," replied Ayel. "In my universe, there is a vast body of psychological research on this. Being freed from overbearing authority leaves a void of emptiness and anxiety. Some fill that void by taking action with their new freedom. But many simply look for another authoritarian system to tell them what to think and how to act. I’ve no doubt that humans like you will take over right where the Vulcans left off. In the current chaos, do you think you could take over the Empire?”

“Yes, I do.” The words slid out of Pike as smoothly as water, coming straight from the slug still leeching off his brainstem. He was intelligent, ruthless, highly trained and self-confident. He had a network of allies that he'd been discreetly building over the last thirty years. He also still had the one talent the Vulcans had tried to extract from him, the capacity for independent thought. He was sure he could do it.

“And you’ll run another Empire as evil as theirs,” retorted Ayel. “That’s why we can’t let any of you live.”

“What’s wrong with having the strongest rule? Isn't their ability to seize control the sign of their right to power? It's the natural order of things. The survival of the fittest. The triumph of the most worthy.”

“Your Vulcans were worthy?” scoffed Ayel. “Do you know that the next thing they did after destroying ch'Rihan was take over Vulcan, keep the planet and begin to exterminate all our Vulcans as being unworthy of their race because of their belief in IDIC.”

“IDIC?”

“Infinite Diversity in Infinite Combinations, the basis of our Vulcan philosophy, celebrating the vast array of variables in the universe. We judge a species worthy by the respect they show to others. We judge a society worthy by what they do to protect the most vulnerable among them. At the heart of the philosophies that unite the species of the Federation, and that run through the history of my people is the Golden Rule. You must have heard of it?"

"Do not do unto others that which you would not wish done unto you," murmured Pike. "That one is certainly not taught in our schools but it remains as an old wives saying from the before times."

"Exactly. Being in touch with our moral essence is to be in touch with the needs of those with whom we share the universe. We are all social beings. Interaction with others as individuals in their own right is an essential, natural expression of our own morality. You tell me something. In my experience, humans are a confident, assertive species, capable of great compassion but also often aggressive. How the hell did you come to let the Vulcans walk all over you?”

“I’ve wondered that myself sometimes.” Damn his mouth for spilling out his thoughts without the filter he had spent a lifetime creating, a filter reinforced by every aspect of his life, from his father's belt to his teachers' cognitive repurposing to the beady eyes of the ever-present holos of the Empress and the Philosopher.

“Zefram Cochrane launched our first warp vessel in 2063. That must’ve attracted the attention of the Vulcans. First Contact or the Imperial Enlightenment as we are supposed to call it, followed shortly after. Their ships were faster, and far better armed. They’d been in space for millennia already. They overwhelmed our military forces within days. Our civilian leaders gave way soon after. Rebellion continued sporadically for another century until the last rebel leader, Jonathan Archer, died in the process of blowing up Emperor Syrran, his entourage and the humans collaborating with them in government. I guess he thought it would free us but it just let Empress T'Pau seize control and her ruthlessness made Syrran look like a pussycat."

Pike looked up at Ayel, moved by a profound wish to make the Romulan understand just how bad it had been. "You have to realize that the Vulcans arrived only ten years after the end of World War III, which had left over six hundred million dead. We'd just gone through a nuclear cataclysm and genocidal war that has lasted nearly thirty years. Many of our major cities and governments had been destroyed. We were still living with nuclear winters, still dying of radiation poisoning, scraping out a living in makeshift communities, surviving hand-to-mouth with no trust for strangers.

"And then god-like aliens descended from the sky and promised us an end to poverty, disease, war and hunger. An end to hopelessness and despair. They offered us a new order that would restore our pride, and bring us a new certainty. Can you blame us for believing in them?

“Our entire culture was supported by myths of superior beings coming to save us from ourselves. Every major religion pointed that way, each waiting for the prophet of their choice to descend from the heavens. World War III was widely hailed as being the Apocalypse and heralding the end of times. And on the other hand our atheist scientists were all searching for superior alien species.

"When the Vulcans arrived with their superior strength, their god-like technology, their refined intellect, it was easy to believe that they had come to lead us to a better, brighter future. It seemed logical."

"Didn't you come to think better of it when you realized how they were treating you?" asked Ayel.

Pike shrugged helplessly. “Guilt and punishment is deeply embedded in our culture, too. When they began to discipline us for our failings, that did not seem unreasonable either. After centuries of what seemed like an inevitable, unstoppable march towards ever-greater levels of civilization and technology, our attempts at self-improvement through eugenics had left us on the edge of a new dark age. All our belief in progress, in our inevitable rise towards a better future had been lost. Their way had to be an improvement.”

Pike turned his head to Ayel, straining against the straps. "But the Vulcans are right, aren't they? Maybe you Romulans do better but isn't human nature essentially evil, driven by turbulent emotions? We've done terrible things in the past. Aren't we better in subservience to societal norms that curb the unfettered expression of our base lusts, with enlightened rulers giving us guidance and direction?"

"Your Vulcans? Enlightened? You can't believe that," replied Ayel. "If evil is part of your make-up, then so is your vast capacity for compassion. And all of it is founded in emotion. In my opinion it is the very process of forcing beings into absolute subservience to a communal authoritarian norm that reinforces the negative aspects of human nature. Where is there any room for compassion, for friendship, for love and forgiveness in the world you live in? I don't care what Vulcans say. An utterly logical being is the essence of evil, with no empathy to allow it to sympathize with others and no compassion to temper its judgments.

"Humans - as for all of us - are better for being able to exercise their free will, not worse. As for enlightened absolutism, the assumption of infallible judgment combined with absolute power gives you tyranny pretty damn quickly. Your own human history tells you that."

Pike fell silent, looking back over all he had been taught in his career. Over all he had learnt and then tried to forget when his relentless need to prove himself intellectually had led him to uncover and devour forbidden texts. It had been done in good faith. The Vulcans were intellectually so advanced. He'd easily assimilated their respect for data, for the power of information. He'd believed them when they said that logic would never allow a false inference from true premises. True premises lay in having all the facts.

Pike had believed that the more he knew, the closer he could come to emulating his masters. He’d read everything he could find about Earth’s history. Making the mistake that would dog his whole career, he’d used his own initiative instead of following orders to the letter. He’d sought out forbidden texts, assuming they were only forbidden because most of the disappointingly primitive humans did not have the capacity to fully understand them. Secure in his belief in the righteousness of the Vulcan way, he’d been sure he could analyze them without danger.

What it had left him with were disturbing ideas about mankind’s ability to forge their own progress, about other ways to rule the body politic, about different notions of justice and fairness and the responsibility of power. His teachers had found out - though they'd never realized the full extent of his illicit studies. He'd been sent for three debilitating months of cognitive repurposing before being declared once more fit for purpose. He’d stopped reading, had plunged himself into his Kelvin research instead, but the poison of the ideas had never quite left him. And they’d poisoned his understanding of what had happened on the ISS Kelvin.

The ship had been a science vessel, searching out new sources of dilithium, carrying Vulcan commanders and scientists, crewed by humans. The ship he now knew to be the Narada had materialized out of nowhere, had fired on the Kelvin with no warning and unimaginable power. And then the barbarous face of Nero had come into view, demanding that their captain come across to his ship. He was a savage possessed of inexplicable technology, unlike anything humans or Vulcans had dreamt of in the last two centuries.

The Vulcans had not even stopped to think of an alternative strategy. The Vulcan captain had never considered going to the Narada himself. They’d ordered the most senior human to go over to the enemy to buy them time while they started an evacuation. There had been enough shuttles on board to allow for a full evacuation, but only if they were fully occupied. The Vulcans had refused to share quarters with humans and by the time they were loaded, nearly half the human crew remained on board.

The next ranking human had been ordered fly the ship into the mouth of the Narada in order to create a diversion that would allow the shuttles to escape. Where Commander Robau had followed his orders without question, Lieutenant-Commander Kirk had not. Furious, desperate, he’d demanded to be allowed to fight on, to at least try to save the nearly 300 humans left onboard.

“You sound rather less like a card-carrying apologist for the Vulcan Empire than you did when you arrived,” commented Ayel.

Ayel's voice snapped Pike out of his reverie. “I don't know what to believe. I don’t know who I am any longer,” he said, the words still spilling out on their own.

“The Vulcans are gone. You can be whoever you want to be.”

“Ayel,” called a crewman. “Nero needs you. We're approaching Earth.”

Pike was left alone, back to staring at the ceiling. Who could he have been in another universe? Who could humanity be, freed of Vulcan control?

* * * *

Kirk stood on a beaming pad, waiting for a lunatic Scotsman that Spock had uncovered - who apparently couldn’t even get a dog to arrive at its destination - to beam them onto a ship in warp using a formula that hadn’t been invented yet. Still, all in a day’s work. It wasn’t as if things could get any stranger at this point.

The fact that the lunatic was clearly the chief engineer who he had seen in the mind-meld suggested that Spock's assertions of destiny might not be just the ravings of a madman, unhinging by grief at losing both his universe and his planet. Maybe he could get back onto the Enterprise and achieve things greater than he had ever imagined.

He turned to Spock. “You are coming with us, right?”

“No Jim, that is not my destiny.”

“Destiny? You want me to take over as captain of the Enterprise but you not coming with to explain this. The other Spock is so not going to believe me.”

“Under no circumstances can he be made aware of my existence. You must promise me this.”

“You’re telling me that I can’t tell you that I’m following your own orders? Why not? What happens?”

“Jim, this is one law you must not break. To stop Nero you alone must take command of your ship.”

“How? Over your dead body?” It would be messy but that was a plan that Kirk could get behind. He still had a few things to say to Spock about that cognitive correction session back on Terra. Although it would ruin the magical threesome he'd seen in command in that other universe. Damn, this was getting complicated.

“Preferably not, however there is Starfleet regulation 619 which states that any command officer who is emotionally compromised by the mission at hand must resign said command. Jim, I just lost my planet. I can tell you, I am emotionally compromised. What you must do is get me to show it.”

“Right.” Jim kept his silence as he waited to beam.

He couldn’t help feeling that Spock was overlooking some fundamental differences between their universes. He'd been told more times than he cared to remember that the highest objective of a traditional Vulcan life is to eliminate all emotion, thus rendering a purely logical being. He was pretty sure that his Spock would much rather be defeated physically than forced to show emotion in front of the crew. He fingered the phaser he’d taken off the mad Scotsman. He was looking forward to it.

* * *

Kirk was doing his best to live up to the elderly Vulcan’s vision for him. Sadly it had proved difficult to explain to the security forces that had chased him and Scotty through the engineering deck that they needed to rethink their position and respect and admire him. So he’d taken them out, but with the phaser set to stun rather than to kill. It would have to do. This level of change was probably best managed in small stages.

Now, with a dripping engineer on his heels, both of them armed to the teeth with weapons they’d taken off the security guards, he burst onto the bridge.

Spock was on his feet. “We are traveling at warp speed. How did you manage to beam aboard this ship?”

“You’re the genius,” smirked Kirk. “You figure it out.”

“As captain of this vessel I order you to answer the question.”

Kirk had no idea how he was supposed to steer the confrontation towards friendship. Right now he couldn't imagine why he'd ever want to be friends with such a stuck-up prick. He decided to simply settle for taking control.

“Yeah, about that, I think we’re done with fucking Vulcans telling us what to do. Your planet’s gone. Your leaders have gone. Thanks to you, at least in part. Good move that, by the way. Now get out of the captain’s chair. Your time is over.”

Spock seemed about to protest once more. Kirk raised his phaser, past Spock's chest, past his face, over his head. He fired, twice. The holos of the Empress and the Philosopher exploded in a shower of sparks, leaving singed remnants of wires and cameras dangling forlornly from the ceiling.

A collective gasp from the bridge crew was followed by a ragged cheer. Spock glanced around the bridge. Other than Uhura, every human was looking to Kirk who in turn was smirking at Spock. “It’s only logical.”

Spock carefully laid his phaser and agonizer beside the command chair, and then silently walked off the bridge. Kirk bit down on the urge to shoot the bastard in the back. He was pretty sure that was not something the other Kirk would have done. And it was likely to ruin any chance of future friendship. Pity, that. He jumped into the command chair instead.

“Ship-wide announcement. This is Captain James T. Kirk.” He grinned to himself. Damn but that sounded good. He could get used to this. “I’m ordering a pursuit course of the enemy ship to Earth. I want all departments at battle stations within ten minutes. Either we’re going down or they are. Kirk out.”

The mad engineer stood dripping by his chair. “I like this ship,” he offered. “It’s exciting!” Kirk had to agree. This was turning into the best day of his life by quite some way.

* * * *

Spock stood on the observation deck, looking out at the blur that was a ship in warp. They’d dropped out of warp briefly, presumably to plot the new course towards Terra, and were now following Kirk’s vision.

Being deposed was hardly a shock. The minute he realized Kirk was back on board, he’d known it was all over. It has been a relief, in some ways. He was a scientist, a computer technician, a logistics expert. He was even a fairly decent combat specialist. What he clearly was not was a leader of men.

He’d expected Kirk to shoot him. Even when he’d been walking off the bridge, he’d expected a shot in the back. To be simply ignored, dismissed as utterly irrelevant, was worse than almost anything else Kirk could have done to him.

He’d never been good enough. In school he had striven in every hour of every day to be perfect, in his grades, his comportment, his emotional control. But still he had been relentlessly bullied by his full-blood peers, the name of plak-kre'nath following him everywhere, told at every turn that he was inferior, damaged, an abomination of the blood.

He’d obtained perfect scores in the entrance exams for the Vulcan Science Academy - the goal he had worked towards since he'd first understood what the VSA was. In the calm serenity of science he'd found a peace that the greater world would never offer him. He’d been informed by the High Council, under the flinty gaze of his father - not a flicker of emotion reflecting the level of humiliation that this represented for the noble house of Shi'Kahr - that he was not eligible for the VSA and was being assigned to Starfleet instead. His great-grandfather Solkar had been the first Vulcan governor of Terra. His grandfather Skon had translated the Teaching of Surak into Standard, a lifetime dedicated to the enlightenment of the savage species. His father had been an Ambassador. He was good for nothing more than supervising humans.

Only his mother had seemed pleased. He’d been avoiding her for years, ever since he’d learnt what a stigma her existence was. But that had never stopped him from missing her. He had made it through many long lonely nights reliving memories of being a very small child, when she would find precious bits of time to spend alone with him, sitting him on her lap, stroking his hair, tickling the tips of his ears, holding him tight against her and telling him that he was her gorgeous boy and she loved him and that no matter how difficult her life had become, she could never, ever regret his existence.

She had found him again when he had returned from the meeting of the High Council, humiliated and devastated. She had taken his face between her hands and told him that no matter what he did in his life he would always have a proud mother. She had told him, too, that he would always be a child of two worlds, and that - no matter how uneven the power balance between the two seemed right now - there was good in both and it would do him good to find that out. He’d turned his back on her, incandescent with anger and shame, and humiliated by the very emotions that burnt through him.

Emotions led to errors of judgment. A being of 'moral and intellectual perfection' would not suffer from blemishes. Yet all his life emotions had blazed through him. All his life he had been blemished.

Now his very reason for existence had evaporated. Who now cared how Vulcan genes interacted with human ones? One of his worlds was gone and the other was imperiled. Spock turned away from the star view, squared his shoulders and headed for the door. If his fellow officers wouldn’t let him fight for Earth, maybe they’d let him die for it.

He walked back onto the bridge to see the humans huddled together round Ensign Chekov. “If we can drop out of warp behind Titan,” said the navigator, “the magnetic distortion from Saturn’s rings will make us invisible to Nero’s sensors. From there as long as the drill is not activated, we can beam aboard the enemy ship.”

“Mr Chekov is correct.” Every head whipped round to stare at Spock. He advanced towards them slowly, hands visible and away from his sides, making it clear he carried no weapons. “If Mr Sulu can maneuver us into position, I can beam aboard Nero’s ship, steal the black hole device and use it to destroy their vessel.”

“And we should trust you to do this for us why?” challenged Kirk.

“My mother was human, which makes Earth the only home I have left.” He took a deep breath. Vulcans did not beg favors of humans. But that was in the past. “Captain. Please. Let me do this.”

“The suicide mission as the honorable way out. It’s getting old,” said Kirk. “Someone’s got to get Pike out first. I’m coming with you.”

Spock looked uncertainly at Kirk, bewildered at why the young captain would want his commanding officer back, unsure if this was a gesture of trust or mistrust. “I would cite regulation but I know you would simply ignore it.”

Kirk grinned and slapped him on the shoulder. “See, we are getting to know each other.” The captain turned to the others. “Set course for Titan.”

Spock remained awkwardly on the bridge as everyone headed to their stations. After a few nervous glances at their new captain, they ignored Spock, just as Kirk was doing. At a loss for what to do, he finally took up the empty first officer’s position. He got a few resentful looks but no protests. Maybe it was trust after all.

* * * *

Chapter 5

Author's note: TOS episodes referenced in the mind-meld scene:
Balance of Terror
The Devil in the Dark
A Taste of Armageddon
Arena
Mirror Mirror