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BRIEF MENTION OF ZOMBIES AT THE END; MENTIONS OF CHARACTER DEATH
SPOCK & PIKE MEET TO DISCUSS & COMPARE RESPECTIVE TIMELINES
Seeing Spock post on the network - even if it wasn’t his Spock sent Chris for a bit of a loop. Given the events of the last year, he was still worried about Spock - the younger man had gone through quite a bit. He didn’t know what this different Spock had gone through, but given their conversation on the network, and what he knew of Starfleet, he was sure it hadn’t all been smooth sailing.
There was of course, the natural curiosity that made him a good Captain - who was this Spock, what was his world like, what were the differences? The knowledge of his own future added other questions as well, but he pushed those out of his mind for now.
He spotted the Vulcan and went over to him, giving him an easy smile. “Hello, Spock.”
It was not to say that Spock wasn’t surprised by the presence of this alternate Christopher Pike—it was just as unexpected as being whisked to a pocket dimension outside of normal time and space—but it was not in Spock’s nature to allow his shock or astonishment to overtake his rational sensibilities. There was always a logical explanation for every event, no matter how peculiar or unanticipated. No matter how improbable. He could probably even calculate an accurate percentage of this probability to a fourth decimal place. Fifth, if he received a bit more information from the residents who’d been in Derleth for longer than six months. But that wasn’t necessary. Not yet, anyway. For now it was all about survival and finding an appropriate place for himself.
Until he returned to the Enterprise.
Which, naturally, was the most commonsensical objective. Eventually. Once the current crisis was alleviated.
He turned when he heard his name called out. Like any good Spock his posture was straight, formal, exuding a kind of attentive tension that only Vulcans were capable of displaying. As stiff as the frame for a port nacelle still in spacedock.
And yet there was a flicker of playfulness in those eyes. A glimmer of another side of Spock. One that had been tarnished—or so the Vulcans would claim—by a tad too much human fraternization.
“Captain,” he acknowledged.
“Just Chris.” The familiarity of Spock’s posture and bearing was a strange sort of comfort. Although he was incredibly grateful for Orlin’s presence here and the shared understanding of two Starfleet officers, there was something different about having a member of his crew here, even if it was from a different universe.
It didn’t seem like this Spock was from the Terran Empire, there was no leather, no gold, no glint of malice in the eyes, which was a relief. Chris didn’t think everyone from the Terran Empire was automatically evil, after all they had managed to work with the other Georgiou.
“It seems unnecessary to stand on ceremony here - without Starfleet and with such a variety of individuals. Of course, you’re welcome to call me whatever makes you most comfortable.”
Chris gave Spock a quizzical look and arched an eyebrow. “Would you like to go for a walk? Or check out the view from the rooftop? It might give you a good layout of where we are.”
Was that a tiny flinch at the corner of his left eye when Pike mentioned calling him ‘Just Chris’? To anyone who was familiar with the subtle reactions of Spock’s normally unemotional expression there was just enough of a twitch to show that he would prefer to stand on ceremony, as it were. It was odd enough that this Pike was different. Younger. Possibly a little more brazen than the officer Spock had worked with. But to call a man he’d always admired and respect just Chris. A man he’d, in many ways, aspired to be like—an Admiral in his world—who commanded the esteem of numerous Starfleet personnel as well as ambassadors from the universe over. A man who’d died in his arms. To call him Chris?
Spock would never.
Could never.
“Thank you, Captain. I will take that under advisement.” Which, in this case, was Vulcan for ‘I will do no such thing.’
The offer of taking in the terrain, however, earned Pike a compliant nod of the head. “I believe that would be a very wise undertaking. As you have been here longer I will defer to your decision on which would be more advantageous.”
Chris nodded in understanding, being familiar with the formality of Vulcans. It wasn’t unique to Vulcans though, as the hierarchy of Starfleet was a hard habit to break for many of his crew, even in casual circumstances. He wondered about the type of relationship this Spock had with his Pike. It didn’t seem hostile, and Spock hadn’t attacked him, so that was always a good sign.
“Let me give you a tour of campus then to help you get your bearings, although lately it’s been changing more week to week than it used to.”
Another questioning look. “You have your phaser, right? And its charged? I don’t expect us to run into any trouble - the zombies haven’t been brash enough to come on campus yet, but it never hurts to be prepared.”
Pike was lacking his phaser and instead had a sword at his hip and a dagger and a pistol holstered at his belt.
“I don’t suppose any of your prior missions have dealt with zombies?”
Formality was a method of self-protection for Spock. It helped him stave off his human side. His human emotions. If he indulged in referring to his colleagues by their first names then he would have to accept that they meant more to him than he was willing to admit. Even with the captain—hiscaptain—with whom he had formed an unprecedented friendship, it was a struggle to call him by his name. Jim. Or Uhura by hers. Nyota. To be casual invited closeness. Closeness invited emotion. And Spock had always struggled with that side of himself. He resented it as much as he appreciated it. But he was always afraid that it would one day take control of him completely.
Which was why he wouldn’t allow himself to become too informal with this Captain Pike. He couldn’t risk the potential consequences. Particularly in a place like this, where his commitment to Starfleet and his duty to the Federation were obsolete.
“It is charged and functioning at maximum efficiency. I checked it shortly after arriving in order to be certain that it had not been altered in my transport to this place.” Spock still struggled to call it by its name. Perhaps he was still hoping to find out that this was some kind of dream.
He followed along beside Pike, always exactly half a step behind him to designate Pike’s position in the hierarchy of command. He tried not to look at him, but he couldn’t help the occasional side glance.
His lips pursed taut as he imagined the face of his former captain on the ground. Bleeding. Spock’s fingers at his temple, desperately trying to preserve his mind. And the overwhelming heartache of his own failure.
He’d been too late. He couldn’t save him.
Spock turned his attention forward again. Now was not the time to think of the past. “No, I have not encountered anything remotely similar to zombies during any of my missions. But I am, as always, prepared to do whatever is necessary to protect the crew.”
Spock paused. Then he corrected himself. “To protect the people of Derleth.”
The formal protocol was familiar. Discovery had been like that at first, especially after Lorca. It made Chris feel like he was at HQ - a place he tended to avoid lest they promote him to a desk job. Muscle memory made him want to walk a little straighter, fall back into the formality of the fleet that he tended to fall away on his ships.
Chris couldn’t help but chuckle at the slip up. “It’s all right, I think of them as my crew too, even though I’ve only been here a few weeks. Old habits die hard, I suppose.”
He pointed out the main buildings of campus as they walked, with caveats that things might be vastly different after the next reset. He could feel the glances and the curiosity.
“You can ask me anything you like, Spock, and I’ll do my best to answer. I grant you permission to speak freely.”
Spock did have a multitude of questions, but he was uncertain as to how to proceed or if he should indulge in asking any of them. He was reminded of meeting his alternate self for the first time—the scientific curiosity, the personal fascination, the inquisitive fear that this might somehow interrupt the flow of temporal events. Except the flow had already been interrupted with drastic consequences. And, in the end, all they could do was accept that they would be living in a shared sphere. Always connected. Each serving their individual parts in the reestablishment of the Vulcan species.
More than one person had insisted that sharing information in Derleth would not result in a space-time catastrophe. Spock had been hesitant at first to believe them, but in the end the calculations supported the evidence. And, even if they hadn’t, he realized he might have to take a page out of Jim Kirk’s book anyway. Break a few rules in order to do right by the larger group.
The needs of the many, after all.
He tore his gaze away from the various Derleth buildings in order to look directly at Captain Pike. “You serve on the USS Enterprise, correct? With Spock as your…”
Spock paused in thought. “...first officer?”
Given everything that his Spock had gone through recently with the red angel and Michael and her departure, Chris had things he wanted to ask. Mostly to figure out if there was a way for him to help his own Spock with all he was going through.
Spock as his first officer? That was… new. “Partially correct. I’m currently Captain of the Enterprise, but Spock is my science officer. Una Chin-Riley is my Number One.”
Spock quirked a brow. “Fascinating.”
He clasped his hands behind his back as he walked, allowing this new information to sink into his mind. Although Spock knew the danger of being too curious about himself, he couldn’t help but wonder what this other bridge of the Enterprise looked like. Not to mention how he—and those he knew well—were different. He wondered if he would even recognize the faces of those around him. Or would they all be like this Pike? Similar, but not quite the same. Familiar, but also unknown.
“I, too, served as science officer under Captain Pike. But when we last served together I was his first officer. Until he accepted the rank of admiral, of course. Then the command of the Enterprise was turned over to someone else.” As was protocol. But Spock was intentionally cautious as to point out names. He didn’t know how much this Pike wanted to know. Or how much he should know. Which, of course, was in direct conflict with Spock’s own curiosity about himself. “I am currently assigned to the USS Enterprise-A. A refit of the previous model. The first sustained extensive structural damage.”
“Admiral? I’m in no rush for that promotion.” There was a hint of a smile on Chris’ face. He’d been offered promotion more than once, but Chris was more than happy to remain on the Enterprise as long as he could. She was his home. There was of course, the knowledge that he would make admiral within the next ten years and what would happen once he made admiral. Even if that was inevitable, he was in no rush to get there.
But this Spock had been his first officer? What had happened to Una. Did he turn over the Enterprise to her as was his plan? But why didn’t Spock just say so? And what was Una doing while Spock was his first officer.
“The Enterprise does have a tendency to sustain structural damage. She finished a refit shortly after I got here. Not long after the Klingon war, we had just gotten back from a deep space mission and she was in bad shape.”
“I do not believe he was in a rush either. But circumstances were unanticipated. And the rank did suit him.” Although Spock knew that his Pike would have preferred to remain in the captain’s chair. He was quick to decide to return when the opportunity arose. Unfortunately, it was not to be. An incident which still weighed heavily on Spock’s heart.
Spock halted his walk once they neared the edge of the Green. He stared up at the large trees which seemed very out of place for the center of an educational institution. Then again, the entire campus had apparently been transplanted into a temporary universe. So, perhaps the uncommon foliage was not quite as bizarre as it seemed. But it seemed as good a place as any to bridge a particularly challenging divide in the conversation. One which Spock was uncertain how to breach.
“It is unclear to me how much of our realities and universes overlap with each other. I find myself in an uncomfortable philosophical position. On one hand, I do not wish to withhold information as that could provide the perception that I am untruthful and thereby untrustworthy. On the other hand, if there are correlating events in our timelines, it may be unwise of me to share knowledge that appears to foretell your path in your own reality.” Spock turned his attention to Pike. “I know that there is a shared belief that when we return to our worlds, we won’t remember any of this. But I also understand that knowledge can strike a person emotionally. And I do not wish to cause you any pain by revealing too much of my own world and my own history.”
Circumstances were unanticipated. Well, that at least seemed to be consistent. Between sitting out the Klingon war, the encounter on Boreth, the whole time with Discovery, all of it was unanticipated. Was it something unanticipated that led him to be Fleet Captain within the decade?
Chris raised an eyebrow at Spock, thinking back to their last mission and the conversations he and Spock would have over chess or dinner. There were many conversations around philosophy and morality.
“Does it help you to know that I have already glimpsed my own future in my time line? I know the events that bring an end to my career and I’ve already experienced them and chosen to accept them.”
He ran a hand through his hair. “I admit I’m curious about your world, I was the same when we had visitors from an alternate universe in my world. But I will respect your boundaries as to what you wish to share and what you feel would be too much.”
Of course, what Spock wasn’t saying was letting Chris fill in the gaps in his own mind. Whether Chris faced the same fate or just a similar one, Spock’s comment about ‘not wanting to cause Chris pain’ told him plenty. It didn’t seem like one in which he lived long and prospered.
Spock had to think. Normally, that wasn’t a long process. He had an uncanny knack for quick responses. His early education in the Vulcan children’s institute made certain that he could perform long calculations in his mind within seconds. And because he was half human, Spock had endeavored extra hard to be the best he could be. And he succeeded. He’d been one of the best of his entire age group. Top of his class. Despite his disability.
But this wasn’t a simple problem that required solving. This wasn’t an astronomical distance or a formula for velocity. This wasn’t even something that could be weighed in percentages and probabilities. This was a moral dilemma. A philosophical one.
This was a problem based on friendship and privacy. But also on empathy and knowledge. Spock didn’t know if he could save this Captain Pike from the same fate as the one in his own timeline, but if he could, then he wanted to.
“I had a great deal of respect and admiration for Admiral Pike. I do not consider myself to be the type of person who has many friends. Nor do I know if he saw us as such. But I would have liked to consider him my friend. Serving under his captaincy was truly one of the greatest honors of my life. And although it is unnecessary to my ego as a Vulcan to speculate or presume, I would like to believe that he would be proud of what I have achieved.” Spock’s eyes softened for a moment. An uncharacteristic glimpse into those human emotions which sometimes pierced his hard Vulcan exterior. He saw Pike’s eyes in his mind. His final gaze. Fear. So much fear. “We were together in his final moments. His last thoughts are forever imprinted on my mind.”
The emotion slipped from Spock’s eyes, replaced by that cold Vulcan stoicism. “I did what I could. But I could not save him.”
Spock’s words echoed in Chris’ mind. We were together in his final moments… I could not save him. He assumed death, but then his own future wasn’t a literal death, just close enough to put him on life support and end his career. His curiosity wanted details, as if the knowledge of this other universe would somehow make the knowledge of his own fate easier to understand and comprehend.
How many regulations had he broken for Spock already in his own world during everything that happened with the red angel? It seemed that this other Spock and Pike had a similar relationship. “I can’t speak for your Captain Pike, and I wouldn’t presume to, but I imagine that he probably saw you as such.”
After all, Chris had a tendency to become friends - or at least friendly - with his crew, especially with his Number One, who was practically his other half. His expression was soft. “I am sorry you lost your friend and captain. I do not doubt he was proud of you. Although the Spock in my world is still only a lieutenant and a science officer, he is already an incredible addition to my crew and I would go to great lengths for him. And I am quite proud to have him on my crew and one of my friends. Although like you, he’s not too fond of calling me Chris.”
A small smile at that memory, before Chris voiced the question nagging at him. “Can I ask what happened to Una Chin-Riley in your world?”
“I believe it would be inappropriate for me to refer to my commanding officer by a shortening of their first name,” Spock said without any particular emotion. Like he was stating a rule in the Starfleet behavioral code of conduct. But as he said it he couldn’t help but wonder if he hadn’t actually—and inadvertently—told a lie. Because sometimes when he was on an away mission with his current captain he had the instinct to do exactly what he said he wouldn’t.
Jim.
Curious. He would have to file that away for later consideration.
“Your adulations are appreciated, but wholly unnecessary.” Still, Spock’s human side did take those compliments to heart, as it were. Because despite how hard he tried to show that he was completely Vulcan, there was always a part of him that craved emotional recognition. And even though he knew that his Captain Pike had thought highly of him—perhaps even considered him to be a friend—it was different hearing it. Even if it was from someone else.
Pike’s final question, however, caused Spock to hesitate. He raised an inquisitive brow. It was clear he was thinking, mind searching through his memory for the name.
“The name is familiar, but I do not believe we had direct contact. As such, I am unaware of her whereabouts. Did she serve with you on the Enterprise? Perhaps she was before my time.” Spock paused. “Or while I was an instructor at Starfleet Academy.”
Spock an instructor at the Academy? Well, that was a new one. Chris wondered just how much older this Spock was than his. It wasn’t that Spock wasn’t competent enough to teach - Spock was one of the most brilliant officers Chris had ever served with - but he was still young and, in Chris’ opinion, acclimating to Starfleet’s culture. Of course, the events of their last deep space mission and Chris’ time on Discovery hadn’t helped. There was still a lot for his own Spock to work through - and Chris was trying to support him as best as possible. “Is it adulation if it’s true? I don’t believe in useless flattery, but I also don’t believe in withholding praise when praise is due.”
Spock not knowing Una was strange though - perhaps the biggest difference between their worlds in Chris’ mind. Oddly, Chris wasn’t surprised to learn that he died in Spock’s universe. He’d always expected to die in the line of duty. It was expected. The fact that he had sat out and survived the Klingon war while so many of his colleagues and classmates hadn’t still left a bitter taste in his mouth. (And not a small dash of survivor’s guilt, though there hadn’t been much time to sit with that.)
Chris tried to keep his expression neutral, but those who knew him would have registered the mix of surprise and concern. “Una - Commander Chin-Riley - has been my first officer for years. She was first officer when my Spock first joined the crew of the Enterprise and they have shared a close working relationship.”
He couldn’t imagine the Enterprise without Una. He didn’t want to. Instead, he focused the conversation on Spock. “What did you teach at the Academy? Science?”
“Fascinating.” And while Spock didn’t show a lot of emotion with regards to learning that Pike had another first officer who worked alongside another version of himself, he was curious. Curiosity wasn’t an uncommon trait among Vulcans. In fact, most Vulcans were inquisitive by nature. But his human side made his curiosity even more pronounced. So while most people might have seen very little in the way of intrigue in his expression, Pike might recognize those minuscule tics of piqued interest.
The way his eyebrow moved, for example.
“Are you concerned for your first officer? Is that why you ask what is known of her in my timeline?” This question was deliberately pointed. Probably the most of any Spock had asked thus far. He had the impression that Pike was hiding something, although he could not presume to guess what. Perhaps it was merely human compassion and concern for a close colleague. Perhaps they had been on an away mission. Perhaps something more. Spock should have been better versed in the subtleties of human emotion, having grown up with one in his household. Sadly, he was not.
Because he spent too much of his life trying to suppress that side of himself.
What he did notice, however, was Pike’s intentional change in the direction of the conversation. And because Spock knew it was not his business to pry into interdimensional affairs (even though they had once affected the course of his own life,) he indulged the captain with an answer to a simpler question. “I was an instructor of advanced phonology and interspecies ethics. I also programmed the Kobayashi Maru scenario for the cadets.”
“There is a long list of people I am concerned about whose fates I would be curious about in your universe.” That much was true. Kat, Philippa, hell, Chris was even curious what happened to Leland in Spock’s timeline. “It’s just … odd for me to consider an Enterprise without her on it. She’s been so much of a part of it and my captaincy. She was also one of Spock’s mentors on the ship and helped him adjust to life on the Enterprise.”
Chris ran a hand over his hair as he sighed. “There was also a war with the Klingons recently in my universe. We lost many excellent officers and crew members during that.” And during the battle with Control, but of course, that would never make it into any Starfleet record.
He was still trying to imagine Spock as an instructor at the Academy. Spock was more than smart enough, Chris didn’t doubt that. The concept still seemed a little strange to him, but perhaps that’s because of everything Spock had been through recently in his universe. “Ethics is always a fun topic for discussion and debate.”
Chris raised an eyebrow. “You programmed the Kobayashi Maru? As a simulation? Impressive. I’m familiar with the exercise, of course. It was a requirement even back during my days at the Academy. Being able to cope with failure is essential to command because some level of failure is inevitable.”
Even as Chris spoke the words, they seemed to echo for him in a different way. Was his future in Boreth a success or a failure? Did it matter?
“Crew members come and go, but from what I’ve been told the Enterprise will always remain an important symbol of both Starfleet and the Federation. Perhaps that will give you some comfort. Knowing that you and your crew will be part of a long line of captains whose commitment to exploration will form the basis of inspiration for so many others. Perhaps even some of your colleagues who have yet to discover or experience the Enterprise in their worlds will find their way to it because of the conflicts you’ve faced.” Time was complex. And while it was not always kind, as the saying went, it didn’t have to always end in disaster. That was something Spock had learned from his other self after a long time of wrestling with the grief of losing his home planet. He didn’t know if the people Pike worried for had better or worse fates in his timeline, but he didn’t believe in lingering too long in the darkness or the fear of something they might never know for certain.
It was challenging to both be reassuring and understanding without breaking his commitment to Surak’s philosophy. But Spock tried to add an appropriate amount of inflection to his tone.
“She may become a member of its crew later. Perhaps she is even there now and I will have the opportunity to meet her upon my return.” Spock paused. “We, too, recently lost many people against a group of rogue Romulans. It was … devastating for the Federation. But we overcome.”
Which, coming from Spock, probably sounded a little too emotional. We overcome. As though he too had lost a great deal. Which he had, but he didn’t elaborate. It was too soon. And this was not his captain.
“My version of the Kobayashi Maru was one of the most complex and challenging simulation scenarios Starfleet and its students had seen in years. Until one of the cadets inserted a subroutine to cheat the outcome. It was unprecedented. But it was a good learning experience for all involved.” Spock looked thoughtful for a moment. Then a sound on the outskirts of the campus caught his attention. Keen Vulcan hearing always at the ready. “Do you think we should walk the perimeter? To keep an eye out for those local creatures?”
“I’m not the Enterprise’s first captain and I know I won’t be her last,” Chris said with a smile. He loved his ship, and her crew, but he knew he wouldn’t have her forever, it would be selfish to desire that. Even without the vision of his future, he was trying to postpone that day as much as possible. “They’re more than just crew though, they’re family.”
Chris wondered idly about Michael in this other Spock’s timeline. “I hope you get a chance to meet Una - yours on mine. She’s one of the best officers I’ve ever served with and will be an excellent captain.”
Spock’s comment about the war with the romulans and the Federation’s losses earned a look of concern and a raised eyebrow from Chris. “I’m sorry. Loss is never easy.”
An eyebrow quirked. “Eager to test your mettle against zombies? We can definitely do a perimeter patrol.”