Chapter Text
The setting sun shone through the window to Spock’s office, lighting up dust motes that seemed to dance in the air, buoyed by the current flowing from the air-con system that was currently keeping his room at a pleasant 35ºC. His focus was on the console in front of him, on the most recent work handed in to him by his advanced computer sciences students.
He found reading their lines of coding fascinating, as each appeared to have their own style, like a signature, that allowed him to identify the programmer. The better the student, the more elegant the code. It was something Spock could appreciate, having spent years perfecting his own abilities in this area.
Because of his absorption in his task, he was unaware of the passing of hours, as the lights in his office increased to keep pace with the decrease in external lighting. It was only when he heard the door slide open, that he became aware of the external world for the first time in four point six hours. He maintained his focus on the screen for a further seven point seven seconds until he’d concluded parsing a particular section of coding, and the clearing of a throat pulled him reluctantly away. His time sense told him it was close to midnight.
“Good evening, Professor,” Uhura said crisply. “I hope I’m not interrupting, but I saw your office lighting was on.”
She was, but Spock understood enough of human convention to know that admitting it was poor manners. The cadet was in civilian attire and the lateness of the hour told him that this was unlikely to be an official call. So he cocked his head to one side in a gesture generally understood to say without words, I am paying attention..
“Cadet Uhura,” he acknowledged. “How may I be of help?”
She glanced at the floor before looking up and responding hesitantly. “I’m not here to do with coursework. I just needed to get away from my dorm for a while and didn’t know where to go. When I walked past your office and saw the light on, I figured I’d drop in, if you weren’t busy.”
Spock had seen the pattern before, where a student sought him out for extra assistance, then began to turn the visits into social calls and then the flirting usually began. In the past, he had dealt with the matter swiftly to ensure the cadet in question was left in no doubt that any romantic overtures were unacceptable and unwanted. He was prepared to do the same for Uhura, although he would begin, at least, by giving her the benefit of the doubt, considering the unusual circumstances.
“Is there a problem?” he asked.
She sighed and took his question as a signal to sit down at his desk. “Not really. It’s just my room-mate’s tied up with Kirk and I’m not going to sit there and watch them go at it.”
The words acted like a physical blow. “Tied up?” he repeated.
“I don’t mean bondage, just you know, sex.”
“I see.” Though he gave no outward sign whatsoever, sitting there at his desk apparently calmly, inside he felt a churning in his stomach and an ache in his chest – physiological responses he knew that were the result of the shock he was experiencing.
Over the last four weeks, he and Jim had spent as much time as their busy schedules allowed together, and much of that was in private where he had believed they’d deepened their connection. While it had never expressly been stated, since Jim had demonstrated a keen understanding of Vulcan culture, he had believed their relationship was monogamous.
“Right. Trouble is, I don’t know if they’d just gotten started, or just finished, and I don’t want to go back until Kirk’s left – Gaila knows he can’t stay over. So I was thinking maybe you and I could go get a coffee.”
The last thing Spock wanted right then was to ingest anything. Yet if he did not accompany Uhura, she would be on her own, and while he was reluctant to join her, a sense of chivalry suggested that he should. He was not going to allow emotion to affect him, even though he felt as though something vital had just been ripped out of him.
“That would be acceptable,” he heard himself say, as though he’d become detached from his corporal self.
That night, unable to sleep, he attempted to meditate.
+
The following afternoon, Spock stood behind the one-way window looking into the simulator, sharing the small room with two test administrators and a simulator technician. While they chatted behind him, he watched as various cadets gathered for Jim’s third attempt at the Kobayashi Maru. He had never told Jim of his involvement, wanting to keep as much of his professional self out of whatever it was they had shared. When Jim inevitably failed for a third time, Spock had thought he’d need never know his lover had witnessed it.
When Uhura entered, he could see by her features and the way she sat rigidly with her arms crossed, that she did not wish to be present. The cadets who support the examinee were chosen from among those who’d already taken the test, or were on tracks where the test was not administered. In addition, the examinee had the right to request certain qualified individuals to participate, and he wondered if Jim had requested Uhura for reasons of humor, since he appeared to enjoy riling her at every opportunity.
When Jim walked in with his doctor friend, wearing his gray cadet jumpsuit which perfectly highlighted how fit and toned his body was (a body Spock had spent the previous twenty two point three days cataloguing in detail), he was quick to quell any and all physiological responses to the sight of his former lover – a relationship change Jim was as yet unaware of. They were due to meet the following evening at which time Spock would inform him of the alteration to their status.
Spock detached himself completely, so that he was simply a member of the teaching staff observing a student under examination conditions. He would acknowledge no more than that.
The exercise began as it always did, Uhura acting as communications officer, advising the captain of a distress signal, and like his first attempt, Jim crossed into the neutral zone to offer assistance.
“Two Klingon vessels have entered the neutral zone and are locking weapons on us,” said McCoy from the helm position.
“That's okay,” Jim responded.
“That’s okay?” McCoy repeated, incredulously.
“Yeah, don't worry about it.”
Spock stared at Jim’s face, attempting to read him. All the signs of stress he had shown in his two previous attempts were absent now and he couldn’t understand why.
“Did he say don't worry about it? one of the test administrators asked.
“Is he not taking the simulation seriously?” another questioned, echoing Spock’s own thoughts which were interrupted by the next stage of the simulation.
“Three more Klingon warbirds decloaking and targeting our ship,” McCoy informed Jim. “I don't suppose this is a problem either,” he added with a sarcastic tone.
“They're firing, Captain.”
“Alert medical bay to prepare to receive all crew members from the damaged ship,” Jim announced.
“And how do you expect us to rescue them when we're surrounded by Klingons, Captain,” Uhura asked, exasperation clear in her voice.
“Alert medical,” Kirk ordered again.
“Our ship’s being hit,” McCoy cut in. “Shields at sixty percent.”
“I understand,” Kirk responded nonsensically. He would be expected at the very least to order evasive maneuvers, as well as prepare to defend his ship. Spock found himself perplexed by Jim’s behavior.
“Well should we, I don't know, fire back?” McCoy asked and Spock could see the doctor was beginning to look irritated by Jim’s cavalier attitude.
“No,” Kirk responded and bit into an apple.
“Of course not,” McCoy agreed, clearly resigned.
It was at that moment that the power to the simulator appeared to fail, but after two seconds, came back online.
“What is this? What’s going on?” asked one of the administrators beside Spock. It was a good question. That Jim was sitting there so complacently had alarm bells going off in his head.
“Hmm... arm photons,” Jim orders. “Prepare to fire on the Klingon warbirds.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Jim, their shields are still up,” McCoy pointed out, reasonably.
“Are they?” Jim asked.
McCoy glanced down at the screen in front of him. “No. They're not.”
Spock’s eyes flew from where he had been watching Jim, down to the monitor where all the information about the simulation’s status was displayed. McCoy was right, their shields were down. Yet that was impossible – it wasn’t one of the parameters of the programming. Knowing Jim’s computer skills, and the odd malfunction, the alarm bells got much louder.
“Fire on all enemy ships,” he heard Kirk say and glanced back up, watching him closely. “One photon each should do it, so we don't waste ammunition.”
“Target locked and acquired on all warbirds. Firing.”
Spock and the test administrators watched on incredulously as the impossible – at least according to the parameters of the program – happened, and each of the warbirds was dispatched one by one.
“All ships destroyed, Captain.”
Spock stared through the window at Jim – he’d seen that smug look on his face any number of times, usually when he was about check-mate Spock.
“Begin rescue of the stranded crew. So, we've managed to eliminate all enemy ships, no one onboard was injured, and the successful rescue of the Kobayashi Maru crew is underway.”
The simulator technician who’d been standing beside Spock throughout turned to him. “How the hell did that kid beat your test?”
Spock swallowed. “I do not know.”
That wasn’t entirely accurate. He was certain Jim had somehow cheated. Compounding his infidelity, he had now made a mockery of the test – of his simulation. Given who Jim had been with the previous evening, there was a eighty eight point two percent probability he’d gotten help from Gaila, since she had been one of three cadets in his advanced computer sciences class to input the two new routines he’d designed while on the Reliant. She knew all the simulator’s access codes, though he acknowledged that Jim certainly had the level of skill required to hack in without assistance and to alter the sub-routines to his benefit. However, since Spock had personally programmed in all the levels of security, he was reasonably confident it would have taken Jim some time. Gaila’s assistance would have speeded up the process.
Spock watched as Jim put his arm around McCoy’s shoulder as they left, a self-satisfied smile on his face. Uhura then seemed to collect herself from her apparent shock at the proceedings and quickly followed them out until the simulator sat empty.
The simulator technician – Pete – was already examining the code. “Someone’s hacked into the system,” he confirmed, his face clearly showing his disapproval, “and installed a sub-routine that replaced the original program.”
Beside him, Spock stared at the screen and the elegant lines of code that had so easily sabotaged his program and altered the conditions of the test to allow him to win. Jim had showed him some of the programs he’d created in his spare time and this code had Jim’s signature written all over it. He found himself wondering how long Jim had been working on this, never having so much as hinted to him that he was planning it. Judging by McCoy’s face, he had apparently also kept it from his closest friend.
“So, what now?” one of the test administrators asked.
“I will take the matter to Admiral Barnett and the disciplinary board,” Spock responded, “and bring Cadet Kirk up on a charge violating StarFleet’s Code of Conduct for academic immorality.” The leaden weight in his stomach didn’t lift with the knowledge that he would see Jim dismissed from the service for his actions.
+
Spock took his seat in the almost-filled auditorium, as final-year cadets all around him speculated why the meeting had been called. When he had informed Pike the previous day, he was clearly angry at Kirk’s actions, though he had attempted to dissuade Spock from his decision to take the matter further. As Jim’s mentor, Spock believed Pike to be somewhat culpable, having failed to discipline Jim adequately for his previous casual transgressions of StarFleet regulations and general wayward behavior. The service required personnel to follow rules and orders; without their adherence, it would descend into anarchy.
That Jim and he had shared physical intimacy for twenty three point four days was not a matter he had dwelled upon. Indeed, since the evening with Cadet Uhura, he had carefully schooled his thoughts to purge them of Jim – a logical step since he would be leaving his life permanently. Unlike humans, who frequently demonstrated a tendency to hold onto the past, he had no intention of recalling memories of their passionate love-making nor the deep mental connection they clearly shared. He accepted the Vulcan maxim: kaiidth – what is, is.
He watched, unobserved as Jim and McCoy took their seats near the front, on the other side of the auditorium, quelling a quickening of his heart-rate. A minute later, the Disciplinary Board took their seats and a quiet hush fell over the room.
“This session has been called to resolve a troubling matter,” Admiral Barnett began. “James T. Kirk, step forward.” Spock watched as Jim made his way to the podium, his face not giving away his thoughts. For a moment, his eyes swept over the body he had mapped, that belonged to the man he had shared such intimacy with, every scar, mole and tone of skin catalogued in his memory. Suppressing the memory, he returned his attention to the present.
“Cadet Kirk,” Barnett continued, “evidence has been submitted to this council, suggesting that you violated the ethical code of conduct pursuant to Regulation One-Seven point three of the Starfleet Code. Is there anything you care to say before we begin, sir?”
“Yes, I believe I have the right to face my accuser directly.”
Again, Spock found himself quelling a speeding pulse and regulating his breathing as he rose from his seat. When Jim turned to look at who it was who had brought the charge, Spock discerned a momentary look of shock and utter betrayal in Jim’s eyes at seeing just who his accuser was, before it was ruthlessly quashed, his mouth forming a thin line. Nevertheless, Spock had seen it and he felt an inexplicable constriction in his chest, as though he were bound by a band that was being tightened by some external force.
“Step forward, please,” Barnett said, and as he made way down to the floor, added, “This is Commander Spock. He's one of our most distinguished graduates. He's programmed the Kobayashi Maru exam for the last four years. Commander?”
Spock now stood only three meters from Jim. He had rehearsed what he intended to say, but the words stuck in his throat. Instead, he said, “Cadet Kirk, you somehow managed to install and activate a subroutine to the programming code, thereby changing the conditions of the test.”
There was anger in Jim’s eyes as his gazed pierced him. “Your point being?” he asked coldly.
That Jim drew attention to the fact that he had failed to make an argument in his opening statement, demonstrated how unsettled he was by the situation.
Before he could respond, Barnett stepped in. “In academic vernacular, you cheated.”
Kirk turned to his attention from the admiral back to him. “Let me ask you something I think we all know the answer to. The test itself is a cheat, isn't it? You programmed it to be unwinnable.”
“Your argument precludes the possibility of a no-win scenario,” Spock pointed out. They had had many debates over the months since they’d first met and he had always found them to be satisfying. Such was not the case on this occasion – he would rather anyone was standing there, than Jim. Yet paradoxically, he felt no remorse for his decision.
“I don't believe in no-win scenarios.”
Spock was not surprised, having discovered through their chess matches, how tenacious Jim could be. It was one thing to be doggedly determined in personal matters, but to have a commander who didn’t believe he could lose was a danger to his ship and his crew. Such egoism had no place in StarFleet and only served to underscore to Spock that he had made the correct decision in bringing the matter before the board.
“Then, not only did you violate the rules, you also failed to understand the principle lesson,” he responded, tersely.
“Please, enlighten me.”
Jim was playing a game, as Spock was certain he understood it perfectly well. He would not allow Jim to feign ignorance and pulled from his arsenal the one thing that he could be certain would get a reaction.
“You of all people should know, Cadet Kirk, a captain cannot cheat death.”
“I, of all people?” Jim’s eyes flashed betrayal.
Spock swallowed. Jim was going to force him to spell it out, even though he knew from the look he’d gotten that the cadet had correctly inferred the meaning of his statement. “Your father, Lieutenant George Kirk, assumed command of his vessel before being killed in action, did he not?”
Jim looked down, clearly working to reign in any emotional reaction – which a detached part of Spock approved of. At the same time, his excellent Vulcan hearing picked up gasps not just from the gathered cadets, but also from members of the board and a brief glance at Pike showed he had a deep frown of disapproval on his face.
If it was possible, when Jim glanced up, his eyes were even colder, their blue the same shade as the ice that covered Jupiter’s moon, Ganymede. “I don't think you like the fact that I beat your test.”
“Furthermore,” Spock continued, choosing to ignore the comment, “you have failed to divine the purpose of the test.”
“Enlighten me again,” Jim’s eyes sparked his anger.
“The purpose is to experience fear. Fear in the face of certain death. To accept that fear, and maintain control of oneself and one's crew. This is a quality expected in every StarFleet captain.”
Whatever response Jim was going to make was lost when the hearing was interrupted.
Two hours later, Spock was standing in uniform on the bridge of the Enterprise. Once they were underway, Pike turned to Spock.
“Mr. Spock, walk with me to the bridge briefing room.”
As soon as the door closed, Pike rounded on him. “This is off the record, Spock – just you and me. So, Jim cheated and I accepted your decision to report him to the board – even though I disagreed with it – but what the fuck were you thinking bringing his father into the argument?”
Spock was not surprised to find Pike being protective of Jim – he had seen this on a number of occasions over the last four months. “Cadet Kirk holds an unrealistic view that he cannot be bested,” Spock explained. “Should he find himself in command, there is a seventy nine point six percent probability his belief would lead to the loss of his ship and crew.”
“So you thought you’d rub his nose in it that his father faced a no-win situation and lost.”
“I am aware that Cadet Kirk resents the fact that he has lived in his father’s shadow all his life. However, he should not turn his back on the important lessons he might learn from his father’s actions and subsequent death simply because he does not wish to be reminded of him.”
“Has it occurred to you, Spock, that Jim might consider his father to have won?”
It was a subject they had never broached, so he was unaware exactly what Jim’s thoughts were beyond the fact he was fed up at everyone pointing to him as George Kirk’s son, instead of seeing Jim Kirk as his own person.
“Since his father lost his life, it would be illogical to believe he had won,” he pointed out.
“But he saved eight hundred others, including Winona Kirk and Jim. While George’s life was forfeit, Jim might just be magnanimous enough to consider that was ultimately the price that needed to be paid in order to win.”
Spock had not considered that. As a Vulcan, he held to the sanctity of life, so that the fact that George Kirk had ultimately died he had regarded as a ‘loss’, not just in the immediate sense, but for his family – for his children growing up without their father. He would have to meditate on Pike’s words.
“I had not considered the situation from that perspective,” he admitted.
“It was tactless – actually in poor taste – for you to have flung that at Jim under those conditions, in front of hundreds of his classmates and – if he gets through it – his future colleagues. For that, at least, I think you owe Jim an apology.”
“Yes sir.”
“Don’t ‘sir’ me and go all super-Vulcan,” Pike chastised. “I told you this was off the record. I’m sending Alpha shift off-duty for two hours to get some rest. I’ll see you on the bridge at,” he glanced at the wall chronometer, “twenty -hundred.”
Spock sat in his quarters, trying – and failing – to attain a basic level of meditation. Not only had events over the last two days left him unsettled, but their current assignment was troubling.
They were traveling at Warp 8, the journey from Earth to Vulcan taking just twelve point two hours. Unlike the rest of the fleet, the Enterprise was unofficially able to attain Warp 9, but Pike wasn’t prepared to test it on her maiden voyage with seventy two percent of her crew unqualified cadets – the helmsman’s error in failing to release the external inertial dampener, a demonstration of their inexperience. So ‘maximum warp’ had officially been set to the standard 8 until such time that her higher warp capability could be safely tested.
It was unfortunate, as the greater speed would have allowed them to arrive three hours earlier, which would have been his preference. He was uncertain whether it was the almost unheard-of seismic activity on Vulcan, or the disturbance in his parental bond that he detected once attempting to meditate in his quarters, that gave him a sense of foreboding. Having detected it, he spent an hour attempting to strengthen the signal of the bond, but without success.
Though it was an emergency, he broke with protocol to make a personal transmission to his father: the cause was sufficient. “Lieutenant Anderlecht,” he said, addressing the communications officer on the bridge from the console at his desk, “input the code I have transmitted to you for a sub-space call to Vulcan Central.”
“Aye sir, one moment.”
Spock sat back and waited for the familiar logo of Vulcan’s communications system to appear and after a minute, began to frown. Just as he was about to call the bridge, the lieutenant got back to him.
“Sir, I can’t get through to Vulcan. I’ve tried every channel and there’s no answer.”
“Understood,” Spock said, standing swiftly. Two minutes later he was back on the bridge to find that though Pike had ordered everyone to take a break, he himself had elected not to. It was illogical as he needed the same amount of rest as any other Human in order to perform at his peak.
“Is it possible that some kind of gravitational force caused by the seismic activity could have knocked out communication systems?” Pike asked him as he stepped out of the elevator, unsurprised at seeing his early return to duty. Clearly Anderlecht had informed Pike of the lack of communication from Vulcan.
“Negative. I will use long-range sensors to ascertain the nature of the disturbance.” The lieutenant manning his station stood to one side as he took his seat and began to input the data necessary for the scans. After ten minutes of calibrating and recalibrating the scanners, he gave up his attempt as fruitless.
“I am unable to retrieve any relevant data, Captain,” he said, standing beside Pike. “It would appear the sensors cannot accurately scan that sector of space.”
Pike frowned. “Any idea why?”
“Negative sir.”
“Speculation?”
It was against Spock’s nature to speculate in the absence of hard evidence, and while he might protest, he knew Pike would insist on it. “I cannot discern a cause for sensors’ failure, however, I believe that there is an eighty one point six percent probability that there is a link between it and the communication black-out.”
“Understood.”
Twenty three minutes later, the remainder of Alpha shift returned to their positions and the atmosphere in the bridge was tense.
At one tenth of a lightyear to destination, Pike ordered a status update.
“Engines at maximum warp, Captain,” Sulu confirmed.
“Russian whiz kid, what's your name?” Pike asked. “Chenko, Chirpoff?”
“Ensign Chekov, Pavel Andreievich, sir.”
Spock had not met the Russian navigator before, though he’d heard from other Academy instructors of his prodigious abilities.
“Fine, Chekov, Pavel Andreievich, begin shipwide mission broadcast.”
As the broadcast was made, Spock remained focused on the ship’s sensor readings, the data remaining frustratingly scrambled. Two minutes later, the turbolift doors opened.
“Captain!”
Spock swiveled in his chair in shock at the voice of the last person he thought to see running onto the bridge, his face flushed and sweating.
“Jim, no!” McCoy shouted. Spock wasn’t even aware of standing as he joined the group.
“Captain Pike, we have to stop the ship!” Jim said.
“Kirk, how the hell did you get on board the Enterprise?” Pike demanded to know.
“Captain,” McCoy cut in. “This man's under the influence of a severe reaction of a Melvaran flea vaccine, completely delusional...” That explained to Spock his appearance.
“Bones, Bones...” Jim interrupted his friend.
“I take full responsibility,” the doctor added.
Spock was close enough to Jim to feel the heat emanating from his body, though he quickly squelched any reaction to it. He noticed the cadet was pointedly not looking at him, though he himself was unable to take his eyes off Jim.
“Vulcan is not experiencing a natural disaster,” Kirk said. “It's being attacked by Romulans.”
There was a moment of incredulous silence before Pike found his voice. “Romulans? Cadet Kirk, I think you've had enough attention for one day. McCoy take him back to medical, we'll have words later.”
“Aye Captain.”
“Look, sir, that same anomaly...” Jim began.
“Mister Kirk...” Pike said more forcefully.
“Mister Kirk,” Spock stated calmly, “is not cleared to be aboard this vessel.”
Finally Jim turned to him. “Look, I get it, you're a great orator. I'd love to do it again with you too.”
Spock’s eyes narrowed at the obvious sarcasm before he turned to Pike. “I can remove the Cadet...”
“Try it!” Kirk said, taunting him. “This Cadet is trying to save the bridge.”
“By recommending a full stop mid-warp during a rescue mission?” Spock said, knowing how ridiculous that sounded.
“It's not a rescue mission, listen, it's an attack.”
Spock had been ignoring the growing unease he had been feeling for the last few hours – the seismic activity, the communication black-out, the sensors’ inability to scan the planet – yet no-one, not even Romulans, would dare to enter the heart of Federation space and attack Vulcan. The thought left him unsettled, so he focused on facts, not speculation. First, it would require an entire armada of ships; second, it was impossible they could have gotten so far, undetected; third, the Romulans did not possess the level of technology required to jam all communications and sensors; and fourth, how could a mere cadet who had likely been in sickbay since their departure, judging by the state of him, and was clearly reacting adversely to medication, know all this when none of the bridge crew, with all their sophisticated equipment, was aware of it? Logically, Jim was in error and he need to prove that.
“Based on what facts?” Spock demanded to know, determined to prove him wrong.
“That same anomaly, a lightning storm in space that we saw today, also occurred on the day of my birth, before a Romulan ship attacked the USS Kelvin.” Spock took in his words and the feeling in the pit of his stomach grew as Kirk turned to Pike. “You know that, sir, I read your dissertation. That ship which had formidable and advanced weaponry was never seen or heard from again. The Kelvin attack took place on the edge of Klingon space and at twenty-three hundred hours last night, there was an attack. Forty-seven Klingon warbirds destroyed by a Romulan, sir. It was reported that the Romulans were in one ship, one massive ship.”
Pike’s eyes were wide. “And you know of this Klingon attack how?”
It was Uhura, who much to Spock’s surprise, spoke up. “Sir, I intercepted and translated the message myself. Kirk's report is accurate.”
Spock was taken-aback by this admission, as Uhura had not mentioned it to him the previous night – though it may have been because she had likely used unorthodox methods to obtain the data, which would explain why there had been no official intel bulletin about it.
“We're warping into a trap, sir,” Kirk added. “The Romulans are waiting for us, I promise you that.”
Uhura’s evidence, on top of everything else, was compelling. “The cadet's logic is sound,” Spock reluctantly admitted. “And Lieutenant Uhura is unmatched in xenolinguistics; we would be wise to accept her conclusion.”
Pike turned to the communication station. “Scan Vulcan space, check for any transmissions in Romulan.” It was a sound order. They had been attempting to get through the block on communication at the planet itself, not listening out for other sub-space messages in the vicinity. If the unthinkable really were happening and his home planet was under enemy attack, it would explain why the sensors signals were also failing to give readings, since they would want to hide the fact of their existence.
“Sir, I'm not sure I can distinguish the Romulan language from Vulcan,” Anderlecht admitted.
Pike turned to Uhura. “What about you? Do you speak Romulan, Cadet?”
“All three dialects, sir.” Spock detected no note of smugness in her voice, simply a statement of fact.
Pike nodded. “Uhura, relieve the lieutenant.”
“Yes sir.”
Anderlecht stood to one side as Uhura took his seat and began to scan. The tension on the silent bridge was palpable, and for the first time, Spock understood the curious idiom, ‘to cut the air with a knife’.
“Hannity, hail the USS Truman,” Pike ordered. The ship would be just ahead of them and could verify Jim’s claims.
“All the other ships are out of warp, sir, and have arrived at Vulcan,” there was a pause before she added, “but we seemed to have lost all contact.”
Pike frowned and looked at Kirk.
“Sir,” Uhura added, “I pick up no Romulan transmission, or transmission of any kind in the area.”
Regardless of what was happening on the planet, they should have had contact with the other fleet ships in the vicinity. Spock’s concern continued to mount, though he remained outwardly stoic.
“It's because they're being attacked,” Kirk said.
It was clearly the deciding factor, as Pike said, “Shields up, red alert.”
“Arrival in Vulcan in five seconds... four... three... two...”
The view on the screen was one of absolute devastation, the debris of destroyed ships floating grotesquely all around them.
“Emergency evasive!” Pike ordered.
“Running sir.”
Such was the extent of the carnage, it was impossible to avoid, as the Enterprise collided with gigantic pieces of detritus, once part of StarFleet’s finest starships.
“Damage report,” Pike said.
“Deflector shields are holding.”
“All stations. Engineer Olson, report. Full reverse, come about starboard ninety degrees, drop us underneath and...”
The sight on the screen cut Pike’s words off as the massive ship that had decimated the fleet hove into view for the first time. Spock estimated it to be some ten kilometers in length – over ten times the size of the Enterprise.
And so began the events of the worst day of Spock’s life.