Star Trek: The Original Series: The More Things Change (6 page)

Her body trembling from effort and adrenaline, Chapel hurried into the aft cabin to grab a medkit. She spared a quick glance at Dax’s vitals, which were still stable, then she went back to Spock. Chapel dropped down to sit on the deck beside him. She pulled Spock up across her lap so that she could cradle his head in her left arm while she scanned him. Dull green blood ran from his upper lip—probably another injury she’d caused while yanking his unconscious body from the crawlspace—and the scan showed his oxygen levels were low. His left arm was still bleeding from the laceration, but no major blood vessels had been cut. She gave Spock a shot of tri-ox with the hypospray from the medkit and kept him cradled in her arms.

He looked a little pale, and she placed her hand upon his forehead. As soon as her palm touched his skin, she felt a burst of jumbled thoughts. She couldn’t tell if they were hers or his. Maybe her perceptions were still turned outward by the experience of channeling the symbiont bond; maybe that and her familiarity with Spock, the time she’d held him in her mind, combined to jump-start a link. She blinked rapidly, disoriented, as bursts of his confused emotions filled her mind. The singular friendship he felt for Kirk, the tangled camaraderie shared by him and McCoy, his loyalty toward the crew . . . And then Chapel, the place she had in his life, his lack of context for understanding the depth of those feelings, complicated by their past, her love for him and how it had changed and matured.

Chapel tried to pull away, embarrassed that she had felt his most private thoughts, but she seemed too weak to move her arms. Another part of her worried about the status of the shuttlecraft. How much of his repairs had Spock completed? Were they on course? She hadn’t even noticed if they were still at warp, and now she sat with her back toward the bow, unable to see out the port. Were they simply drifting, helpless and exposed, in open space? She had to get up. Had to check on Dax and the
Copernicus
. Chapel grabbed the hypospray to give herself a stimulant but felt it slip from her fingers and clatter to the deck as her eyes closed.

Chapter 6

Chapel forced her eyes to open. Spock’s face was just inches from her own; she still had him cradled across her lap, and she had slumped forward as she lost consciousness, overwhelmed by the mental links she had experienced. She blinked her eyes to help them focus and looked at Spock. His color had returned to normal, and his breathing was deep and regular. His injured lip was slightly swollen, but the bleeding had slowed. Chapel sat up straight and tried to stretch her stiff back as much as she could without waking him. She turned his left arm slightly to get a peek at the laceration. It was shallow, with just a trickle of fresh blood. That wound required care soon, but she needed to give some thought to the shuttle. She glanced around, trying to get a sense of their status. There were no alarms going off, either from the cockpit or from the diagnostic unit aft, and the normal lighting had come back on. The thrumming she felt through the deck seemed like the usual warp speed sensation. Before performing repairs, Spock obviously would have programmed their course into the computer, along with several emergency subroutines, so perhaps they’d come through this just fine. At least what could be called “fine” under their current circumstances.

Before Chapel could dwell upon those circumstances, she felt Spock stirring. She looked down in time to see his eyes snap open. He glanced around in confusion and raised an eyebrow. “Are we on the deck?” She nodded, smiling at him. He looked back up at her. “Are you holding me in your lap?”

“Yes, I am.”

His eyebrow lowered and he said, “Interesting.” He shifted a little, but he didn’t try to get up. “I remember being in the crawlspace and discovering some unsealed microbreaches in the outer hull. I had to keep the area clear of sealant to facilitate making the necessary repairs. My intention was to finish the work quickly, before the thinning air would affect my Vulcan physiology, which is adapted to lower oxygen levels. When I realized I had overestimated my tolerance, I called for your assistance, but clearly you did not hear me. Nevertheless, I assumed you would soon notice the developing situation on your monitor. I am curious . . . why did you respond so slowly?”

Somehow he asked that without any sense of incrimination, with only a tone of scholarly interest. Chapel smiled sadly while she formulated a reply. She couldn’t tell him she’d been facilitating a link between Audrid and her symbiont and had lost all sense of time or her surroundings. She didn’t know if she should admit she had heard him call her name in her mind, and she wanted to avoid explaining how her heightened neural state had allowed her to unintentionally eavesdrop on his thoughts.

“I’m sorry, I was at a critical point in my treatment of Commissioner Dax. I was so focused I just didn’t realize the danger you were in. When I did . . . it was quite a scare. For a split second I thought I might lose you.”

“It appears you were successful in averting that outcome.”

Chapel laughed. As a smile so wide it almost hurt spread across her face, she felt tears gather in her eyes. She wiped at them quickly before they fell onto Spock, still gazing up at her.

“I . . .” He hesitated, appearing confused. He reached up with his left hand to the side of her face. He wiped a tear away with his thumb and let her lean into his hand. She placed her right hand over his left. “Do you recall when I awoke in sickbay after mind-melding with V’ger?”

“How could I forget? I treated you. I was trying so hard to maintain my professional composure.”

In a desperate attempt to make contact with the intelligence behind the gargantuan spacecraft before it reached Earth, Spock had stolen a thruster suit and gone into the alien ship alone. Chapel learned that he’d encountered images spanning the universe, representing the craft’s travels. When he found an image of the robotic probe that V’ger had put aboard the
Enterprise
in the form of their lost navigator Ilia, he had initiated a mind-meld through the glowing sensor on her neck. He’d been overwhelmed by the information that gushed into his mind, learning that the V’ger spacecraft was sentient. There were no organic life-forms aboard it. He’d also sensed the profound emptiness that drove V’ger. When he had come to in sickbay, he’d been rather demonstrative when explaining that despite V’ger’s logical perfection and vast knowledge, it was isolated and aimless. Standing beside her patient, Chapel had watched Spock grasp Kirk’s hand while saying that such a simple feeling was beyond V’ger’s comprehension. She knew that she was witnessing an epiphany, but she had maintained her professional distance with great effort when all she’d wanted to do was grab his other hand and be a part of the moment that had changed Spock’s life.

Spock nodded. “Yes, I felt . . . liberated. I mentioned simple feelings.” He moved his fingers slightly against her cheek, and she squeezed his hand in return. “But they are not so simple, are they? Your feelings for me . . . they seem to have deepened, even though we did not progress into a romantic relationship. That confuses me.”

She shook her head. “But we did progress—just in a different direction. I grew past those feelings, but I didn’t forget them or disown them. You’ll always hold a special place in my heart.” It felt good to tell him.

“That result seems contraindicated by the circumstances.”

Chapel pulled her face away as she started laughing. “You’ve still got a lot to learn about emotions.”

“I concur with that assessment.” With her help he sat up beside her on the deck. He stretched a little, then stopped with a slight wince. “I seem to have injured my arm.”

“Yeah, sorry about that.” Chapel got an anabolic protoplaser and dermal regenerator from the medkit and explained what had happened while she treated his arm and his bloodied lip.

“A logical, if unfortunate, trade-off. In the future I will avoid losing consciousness in such hazardous confines.”

“Maybe Scotty could give you some pointers.”

“Indeed.”

Spock got up and returned to the pilot’s seat. While he started doing systems checks, Chapel looked in on Dax. The Trill was still resting comfortably in a deep sleep. Her brainwaves showed a slight asynchronous trend since Chapel last checked, but the amount of deterioration was small. At this rate, there should be no problem keeping Audrid and Dax stable until the rendezvous. Chapel hoped this would allow her to spend more time assisting Spock; he would probably need the extra hands to keep the
Copernicus
flying.

She moved back into the cockpit and eased into the copilot’s seat. Spock looked up from his controls with a frustrated expression.

“I was not completely successful in my repairs. Our shields are nominal, but we have only short-range sensors. While this will suffice to assist with our course changes within Rose’s Folly, they will not give us much advanced warning of the hostile ship’s return. The comm system is functioning erratically, but—with a modicum of quantifiable luck—I should be able to send the
Troyval
new rendezvous coordinates.”

“What’s next, and how can I help?”

“We are nearing Rose’s Folly. I’m programming an asymmetrical directional collapse of our warp field.”

Chapel raised her eyebrows. “Pretend I’m not Scotty and explain that to me.”

“I do not have to pretend that, as you are most obviously not Mister Scott.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.” Chapel immediately kicked herself for her offhand response as Spock blinked his eyes a few times while parsing its possible implications. Although Spock was an expert in repartee with McCoy, he was still too confused about her friendship to process the same kind of playful banter from her. She had to be more careful about what she said. “Please, continue.”

Spock grabbed on to that request like a lifeline. “When a ship drops out of warp, the standard dissolution of the warp field imparts forward momentum along the ship’s course into normal space. By altering the warp field shutdown, I hope to adjust our course, quickly directing us toward RF III while creating a false trail along our previous course. This may fool the hostile ship’s sensors and force them to backtrack to find us. Even a gain of a minute could be the difference between getting to the
Troyval
or being caught.”

“Altering our course with the warp field . . . like putting English on a cue ball.” Chapel was pleased with her analogy at first, but she received only a raised eyebrow in response. “When shooting billiards, you can put spin on the cue ball by where you hit it with the stick. Then when the cue ball hits the cushion or another ball, it’ll curve off or even move backward.”

Spock lowered his eyebrow. “If the cue ball represents the shuttle, and its sudden change in direction after impacting another object represents the effects of an asymmetrical warp field collapse, then the two situations are not entirely dissimilar, although I am not sanguine about the use of collision in the metaphor.”

Chapel kept her expression blank. “That started to feel like teasing, especially the last part, but I’ll let it go for now.”

With a hint of a smile, Spock went back to working the controls. “I have initiated standard protocols for ship detection, but if you could monitor the sensors for any detail that just does not look right, it might provide us with an early warning.”

“Will do.” Chapel pulled up the sensor feeds on the panel in front of her. Certain things were easy for tricorders and various diagnostic scans to pick out, but there were still hints that an organic mind could pick out almost subconsciously before a computer found a match by running through its entire database. That’s what Spock was hoping for here: that some little blip would draw her attention even if the computer found it to be within expected statistical variances.

Chapel stared at the readings, tweaking the way they were displayed a few times until the data made sense to her. It was quiet in the shuttle, the only sounds coming from the engines, the soft tones of the computer, and the feedback of her and Spock’s fingers on the controls.

Spock broke the silence. “In the past, under similar circumstances, I would calculate the odds, try to anticipate all the variables, and then formulate the responses necessary to adjust the odds as much in favor of the preferred outcome as possible. Now, even as a positive outcome becomes more difficult to foresee logically, I grow more certain that I will make that outcome happen. I feel that I
will
get us out of this situation, no matter what.

“Although such emotional impulses remain a source of confusion, I do wish to continue integrating them into my life. Nevertheless, I still appreciate the structure that logic provides for me. These two outlooks are perhaps not outright contradictions, but the amount of overlap seems quite small.” He turned toward Chapel. “How do you structure the emotional life?”

“You might be asking the wrong person.” Chapel stared out the forward port for a moment before turning her attention back to the sensor readings. “It’s funny you put it that way, because, looking back, I’m starting to think a lot of my choices were based on a yearning for structure, but always outside myself. My engagement to Roger, joining Starfleet, then my—dare I say it—fascination with you. In a way, they were all external sources of structure.” She chuckled. “Just think how much structure a Vulcan would provide as a mate.”

Spock smirked very slightly. “I’m sure my mother would say sometimes too much structure.”

Chapel laughed. “I’ve come to realize it’s about balance. There’s nothing wrong with wanting stability in my life. But I need more control. At a certain point, too much structure from outside isn’t stability, it’s confinement.

“As for your situation, you need to find your own balance, which takes time. You don’t want to be a slave to emotions or logic. They can temper each other, complement each other.”

Spock nodded. “That is helpful. But now we have to focus on other matters.” Spock tapped out commands on his panel. “I need to initiate the asymmetrical warp shutdown soon. I have integrated inertial damper compensations, but the course change might still be rather abrupt. I suggest you secure yourself aft and monitor Commissioner Dax during the turbulence.” He turned toward her. “Do you still wish to continue on this course of action?”

Chapel didn’t hesitate. “I already made my decision, and nothing has changed my mind. Let’s stick with it. I’ll let you know when I’m ready.”

She got up and walked briskly into the aft cabin. She was surprised to find Dax awake.

“How are you feeling?”

Dax licked her lips. “Thirsty. Other than that, surprisingly well, thank you.” After Chapel gave her a sip of water, she added, “What did you do to me? I recall strange dreams or memories of . . . but that can’t be.”

“I’m sorry, but we don’t have time to talk about it. We need to buckle down for a few minutes, then I’ll bring you up to speed.” Chapel checked Dax’s restraints and made some quick adjustments, then got into the jump seat and belted herself in. “Just hold on, this should be over shortly.” She reached over her shoulder and activated the intercom. “We’re ready back here.”

“Affirmative.”
The line stayed open, and Chapel could hear Spock’s hands moving and the feedback as he operated his controls.
“Course change coming up in eighteen seconds.”

Well, that was cutting things closer than I realized. He can still play things close to that Vulcan chest of his.
“Acknowledged.” To Dax she said, “Brace yourself.”

No one said anything else, and the seconds stretched out interminably until Spock said,
“Five seconds.”
There was a pause before he said,
“Dropping out of warp—now.”

Even before he spoke the last word, Chapel felt dizzy. The inertial dampers had kicked into high gear in advance of Spock’s unorthodox maneuver. Even so, when the ship dropped into normal space it felt like giant hands had gripped the shuttle fore and aft and twisted in opposite directions. Instead of being thrown to one side as the shuttle lurched, it felt like being thrown in all directions at once as the shuttle itself corkscrewed off in a different way.