The BLTS Archive- On the Ship Second in the Edge of Forever series by S.R. Benjamin (phil@temples.com) --- Paramount owns Star Trek. I make no money from this and intend no infringement. This story picks up after Ellison's episode "City on the Edge of Forever," and immediately follows the events of my previous story, "In the City." There are no soaring moments, just poor communication, sad reminiscing and anguish. I can't say this will add a bright note to anyone's day, but it will bridge the stories "In the City" and the final segment of this three-parter, which at the moment is just a gleam in my eye. Thanks to Greywolf for encouragement on the three-parter format and to Killashdra for important feedback about "In the City." --SR Benjamin --- Evening of Day 1 On The Enterprise Captain's Quarters 2000 hours --- Back home. In my quarters at the end of ship's day, showered, dressed in clean clothes, fed--but still sick at heart. I was too abrupt on the planet, ordering the beam-up. The mess I got Spock and me into was hitting me too hard. What am I going to do with this relationship in my real world? And having to let Edith die, having to do that by stopping McCoy from saving her. What could be more wrenching? It's worse than if I drove the truck myself. --- Day 1 First Officer's Quarters 2010 --- I am back in uniform, having briefly tended the science station on the bridge, witnessing its familiar noises and patterns of light. Now all is still, as I sit in front of the Vulcan firepot. It is warm now. But not nearly as warm as those forbidden acts, harbingers of ill, back in New York. I have not seen Jim since his abrupt order when we returned with McCoy. Ordinarily, I would go to his quarters, we would play chess or review ship's business. But now, for the first time since we began serving together, I am unsure of how to approach him. Had I really believed I could avoid these consequences? My logic was in abeyance, and the cause was not sufficient. --- Day 2 The Bridge 0800 --- Well, well, just like before, everyone is going about their business, and my bridge crew seems none the worse for wear, except for two. All the rest act like nothing has happened, and indeed, for them, nothing has. But Uhura is quiet, watching me rather than the view screen. And Spock, my Spock whose shoulder is probably still bruised, speaks in clipped jargon and won't meet my eyes. There was one simple moment back there, when I was facing the fact that everything in our lives, the whole future, was just completely lost. And I was living with the knowledge that an innocent woman would have to die very soon, that I would be the one to have to make sure she died. And there was one bright soul with me in that desperate, depressed hell. I did what duty required, I ensured that what had to happen came to pass. Could I have without him? Now I want to be heard, to say to someone, about Spock and me, 'Look what else I killed.' But no one would understand, because for them, everything is as it was. --- Day 2 The Bridge 1230 --- Jim and I usually eat at 1200, but he remains in the command chair, reading reports. He had left earlier for briefings with department heads, but had not asked me to join him. I do not know how to re-enter our lives. How do we become the team we were? When I leave the bridge for the officer's mess, he nods permission but his eyes are wholly unreadable. It is cold here. So much colder than New York. It was only a moment of uncalculated connection, of trying to give him something he needed, which became something else as we continued. This has cost me what I never wished to pay. It is ultimately something neither of us wanted, except in that pon farr-like misperception that debased everything important while we indulged in serving, not Starfleet, but a senseless desire. If only we could go back, just the two of us, and I would rebuild the electronics. On the floor where they belonged. --- Day 2 The Bridge 1708 --- Shift's over. Spock looks completely withdrawn. Uhura knows something is radically different and looks concerned. To hell with it. I'm getting something to eat, and then maybe I'll go to the gym. I turn the con over to beta shift, and walk out leaving Spock behind me. How am I going to command this ship if we keep dodging each other? Time to confront the issues. I'll do that tomorrow, when I'm fresh. Tonight I'll see how McCoy is doing. --- Day 2 First Officer's Quarters 2240 --- The computer screen and the Vulcan firepot are the only sources of light in my cabin. The pot burns, the flames writhe, while on the computer screen flow the cool logical words: Starfleet Regulations, Section C, paragraph 12: "As with fraternization between officers and enlisted personnel, relationships between officers within the same chain of command are likewise destructive. Compromise of duty performance and accusations of favoritism are only two of the unacceptably severe consequences. Invariably, such relationships violate the boundaries of the chain of command to such extent as to create an unworkable situation. This is especially true of relationships which occur high in the same chain of command. Under such conditions, separation is the only option. At the Captain's discretion, transfer of one of the involved officers must be effected immediately." It is illogical to wait for the door chime. It is illogical to have wandered to the mess and officer's lounge, looking for him. This is why Surak was correct. This is why I find myself in front of the computer, composing a request for transfer. --- Day 3 The Bridge 1655 --- Good. I've order Spock to meet with me after shift. He even met my eyes briefly. I don't know what he saw. I saw bleakness. It reminded me of my aborted visit yesterday with McCoy. Perceptive Bones, drugged as he was back then, still saw and remembered enough to question me last night. We were doing fine until he said, "Jim, what happened back there, between you and Spock? It was more than Edith Keeler, wasn't it?" I cut the visit short. It was true, Spock and I had been different back in New York. Connected. Deeply. I thought we had shared something rich and essential about ourselves. Well, we're not in New York any longer. And now I know Vulcans are as cold as their planet is hot. I know one additional thing, too. I'll be damned if I'm risking this ship on a bad command decision. There are hundreds of First Officers in the fleet, and only one Enterprise. This hurts terribly. But I earned the Captaincy because I am willing to make the hardest decisions in accordance with duty. I'm not about to forget that now. --- Day 3 The Corridor of Officer's Row 1931 --- The Captain asked that I meet him this evening. I assume he is in his quarters. I have washed my face and hands, put on a fresh uniform, smoothed my hair. The reflection in my cabin mirror almost looks like the Vulcan I remember. But he was logical, capable, efficient, and could work as a team with his commanding officer. I do not know the stranger who looks back at me. He even lacks the integrity to bring the transfer request with him tonight. Rubri hof, so human. The Captain has not answered his door chime. I am no longer welcome in his cabin. I did not deduce this, therefore I have made an incorrect assumption about his whereabouts. Nor do I wish to page him. Before, when things were different, after I met him at his cabin we sometimes went to the officers' lounge or the observation deck for evening reviews of ship's business. I shall look for the Captain there. Perhaps not everything has changed. Perhaps it is only the things that matter most which have become irretrievable. --- Day 3 Observation Deck 1939 --- What was that old Earth song that contained the phrase, "Come what will, the stars remain?" That's a comfort. The stars still need this ship, and the ship needs me at the helm. I have always felt the tranquility of space, here on the observation deck. So many worlds, Federation and Empires, petty wars and bloodshed. Somehow the ceaseless struggle all falls away in the fierce grandeur of the frozen light from a million stars. We become so insignificant, with our silly hates and ephemeral loves. I should have told my First Officer where I was. First I tell him to meet me, and then I'm playing hide and seek. What has happened to us? Come what will, the stars remain - and I hear the door opening. --- Day 3 Observation Deck 1952 --- "First Officer Spock reporting as ordered, Captain." He gestures to a nearby chair. He, too, has remained in uniform. I crush the unbidden memory of his warmth, of the way he felt when we made love, of the pulsing vitality and his warm wetness on my thighs. Nothing of this matters. I am here to supply information and to carry out his orders. I am the Science Officer of this ship, at least for a little while longer. --- Day 3 Observation Deck 1955 --- His eyes are veiled. Where is the passionate soul, fevered and hungry, soaring and elegant, who I loved? At last, it is clear it only mattered to me. The stars are cut gems, they reign in a brutal and brilliant silence. He has given me the standard response. Now I must give him mine. "Spock, are you all right?" Too much concern in that phrasing. "McCoy has recovered, and the rest of the crew seems unaffected." Better. --- Day 3 Observation Deck 1956 --- I must reply. "Yes, I am well, Captain. I have noticed the efficiency ratings have remained high for all departments, and I have forwarded my report on the Guardian to you, so that with your approval I can file it with Starfleet Command. Also--" The Captain is looking at me from eyes unreachably deep. It is too late now. "Also, Sir, I have prepared a request for transfer, in accordance with Starfleet regulations, Section C, paragraph 12." His frozen gaze is fixed on me in the semi-darkness. He is completely still. After uncounted seconds, he says softly, "Spock. Tell me. Is this what you really want to do? Or do you wish to remain here? The Guardian told us, "everything is as it was." Do you wish that to be so? Or have we crossed a line we can't right between us?" His voice is steady, factual, quiet. Distance, pale and far as starlight, swells between us. I do not know what to do. I cannot ask that he continue. Cannot ask that, in the soft warmth of ship's night, he offer something warmer still. I cannot ask that we embrace as we once did, and let the Enterprise support us as we, too, soar in a velvet sky dappled with fire. No. I gave that up when I found my logic again--in Surak's words, in the regulations of Starfleet. He looks at me, searching. But there is nothing to find. "Captain... Jim, I do not know how to correct the situation between us. If it will help, I have the transfer request. It is in my quarters." Something in his expression shifts suddenly, and he drops this thing between us, as if it is no longer of concern to him. He says briskly, "Well then, Spock. Let's not waste time. I'll walk you back to your quarters, and I'll sign your request so it can be submitted tonight." --- Day 3 Corridor of Officer's Row 2010 --- Somewhere so deep I can't feel it, I am losing Spock. It doesn't even hurt. Severe wounds never do at first. Paper cuts are immediately painful. But a man can lose an arm and not even know he's injured. I step to the door of his quarters, it opens with a soft sound. He waves the lights up, motions for me to step inside. I wait, hands behind my back, while he finds the request. He hands it to me, finally. I get a powerful impression that this is not how he wished it to be. I don't know whether to be furious, relieved or numb. He doesn't look sure of himself. He looks, in fact, more uncertain than I have ever seen him. Those deep eyes, that met mine in such warmth. The hands that traced my body in shimmering lines of fire. He moves toward me, as I take the disk from him and lower my arm. Something boils up in both of us, unquenched. After all, this is the end of it. --- Day 3 First Officer's Quarters 2012 --- The next thing I know Jim is in my arms, in my mouth. I feel the grief behind his eyes. But for him there are no acknowledged tears, not of our ending, Edith's death, or of all the hundred losses that came before. None of it. I do not cry either. But I am shaking so hard he struggles to hold me. I am ashamed to hear a strangled soft sound of anguish, empty as space, tear itself from my throat to batter itself, helpless against a closed heart I have pushed away, I have lost. I understand heartache. My mother would be proud. Then he steps back, reaches down to pick the transfer disk off the deck, not looking at me. He walks to the door as if the ship itself is calling him. He is a dark figure, framed in the sudden threatening brightness of the corridor lights that bear down on him. Onrushing fate grasps me, renders impotent my struggling; I cannot move to save him. The door silently shuts. The death that needed to happen has come to pass. --- The End