Crossover - Michael Jan Friedman [104]
“What’s so funny?” he asked.
“Nothing,” she told him. “Nothing at all.”
“An emotional act?” Spock cocked an eyebrow. “I must confess, Doctor, I do not see how—”
“Don’t give me that eyebrow,” McCoy countered, his eyes fiery and passionate as he leaned on the red-orange rail surrounding the Yorktown’s command center. “You knew you didn’t have a spacer’s chance of stopping the execution—but that didn’t keep you from belting your guard into the middle of next week. Or are you saying your Romulan friends fibbed about that in the debriefing?”
The Vulcan didn’t move a single facial muscle—yet he managed to convey his disagreement. “If you are suggesting that my decision to attempt physical resistance was not thoroughly considered,” he said, “I must apprise you of the contrary.”
“The contrary,” McCoy repeated. “Uh-huh.”
This time Spock continued undeterred. “Remember, Admiral, at that moment the only alternative was to allow myself and my compatriots to be killed. It is hardly an emotional response to act to prevent such a result, even if the odds are against one’s chances of success.”
McCoy grunted. “In other words, you panicked. You felt the icy grip of fear and you lashed out.”
Spock leveled a stare at his colleague. “Really, Doctor.”
“There’s nothing to be ashamed of,” McCoy persisted. “It happens to all of us at one time or another.” He wagged a finger at the Vulcan. “The difference is the rest of us admit it, dammit.”
“I would admit it,” replied Spock. “I would admit it quite willingly, in fact, if there were even a single shred of truth to the notion. However, as it is, I can only—”
He was cut short by the hiss of air that accompanied the opening of the turbolift doors. The Vulcan turned and saw Skrasis standing there.
“I thought you were to remain in sickbay,” the Vulcan observed.
“I was released,” the Romulan explained. “And allowed to beam over to the Yorktown, to assist you in your assessment of the damages.” He paused, no doubt observing the looks on their faces. “Am I interrupting something, Teacher?”
McCoy harrumphed. “Damned right you’re interrupting something. But don’t let that stop you. Pull up a chair.”
Skrasis looked to Spock, to make sure he had no objections. When the Vulcan inclined his head slightly, the younger man took a seat at the science station—the place where Spock himself had sat many years earlier.
He couldn’t help but note how pleased the Romulan was merely to be alive. But then, the Vulcan was pleased as well. For a time it had looked as if survival was impossible.
“Ye were sayin’, Mister Spock?” Scotty prompted. “As it is, ye can only …?”
The Vulcan thought about his experiences with the Constantharines in Tharrus’s prison. He recalled Belan’s doomed but courageous attempt at escape. He remembered how D’tan and the others had come forward, claiming to be Spock, in defiance of all logic. Finally, he considered Skrasis’s refusal to point Spock out, even when his life hung in the balance.
He had tried to teach his students the value of objectivity, in the belief that they could aspire to nothing greater. And all the while, without realizing it, they had been teaching him the value of something just as important.
Spock frowned. “I can only admit,” he replied, completing his statement, “that emotion may have played some small part in my actions.”
McCoy looked at him incredulously. “Emotion, Spock?” He shook his head. “Pinch me,” he cackled, “because I’m most certainly dreaming.”
Scotty’s brow had twisted into a knot over the bridge of his nose. “I think I’d better call security,” he said. “Someone’s impersonating the ambassador.”
Skrasis merely looked from one human to the other. He apparently had no idea what they were talking about. But then, he hadn’t served on the original Enterprise with them, had he?
Spock eyed his former colleagues. “You may find my statement humorous, gentlemen. However, I should note that it was not human emotion that shaped my behavior—but rather, Romulan emotion. You see,” he remarked, glancing at Skrasis, “I began my efforts toward