Star Trek: The Original Series: The Rings of Time

Thirteen

2270

Captain’s log. Stardate 7104.2. First Officer Spock reporting.

I have assumed temporary command of the Enterprise following Captain Kirk’s traumatic encounter with the alien probe. Although our mission to render assistance to the endangered Skagway colony, and perhaps find a way to avert the disaster, remains paramount, I cannot help wondering what effect the probe has had on the captain’s mental state.

Spock entered sickbay, where he found McCoy waiting for him just inside the doorway. The doctor’s office preceded the examination rooms and recovery wards beyond. Spock didn’t waste time with pleasantries. “You asked for me, Doctor?”

“That’s right,” McCoy grumbled. “About time you got here.”

Spock felt a touch of impatience himself. He had been called away from other pressing duties, most notably the challenging task of saving the Skagway colony from total destruction. “If this is urgent, it might have been more efficient simply to transmit your report to the bridge.”

McCoy snorted. “I think you need to see this for yourself.”

That remains to be determined, Spock thought. He was uncertain why humans placed so much value on direct visual observations when eyewitness accounts were often notoriously inaccurate. Still, his curiosity had been piqued, and he remained concerned about Kirk’s condition. More than one hour and sixteen minutes had passed since he had placed the captain in McCoy’s care. By now, Kirk should have recovered from the nerve pinch. Spock could only wonder if he had recovered from his contact with the probe as well.

“How is your patient, Doctor?”

McCoy remained stubbornly uninformative. “Let me show you.”

The doctor led Spock to a private examination room adjacent to the primary ward. The chamber was sometimes used to quarantine patients who needed to be kept isolated from the rest of sickbay. Spock found Kirk strapped to a bed, under restraint. A diagnostic screen above the bed monitored his vital signs, which appeared to be normal for an adult human male of Kirk’s age and conditioning. Nurse Christine Chapel watched over the patient. A highly emotional woman, even by human standards, she could not conceal her anxiety, although Spock had no reason to expect this to affect her performance. She was the ship’s senior nurse, after all, and had served aboard the Enterprise since the onset of its current voyages. Kirk lay silently on the bed, his eyes closed. His fingers drummed irritably against the sheets. Spock could not immediately determine if he was conscious or not.

“How is he, Nurse?” McCoy asked.

“A bit calmer,” she reported, “but… the same.”

An unnecessarily cryptic diagnosis, Spock mused. He trusted that more concrete data would be forthcoming soon. Minus any more attempts at drama.

Their voices roused Kirk, who opened his eyes and lifted his head from the pillow. His gaze zeroed in on Spock. His fists clenched at his sides. Only the restraints holding him down kept him from jumping off the bed and perhaps engaging Spock in a physical confrontation.

This was not an encouraging sign.

“You again,” Kirk snarled. “What did you do to me before?”

Spock assumed that he was referring to the nerve pinch. “My apologies. You were resisting our efforts to assist you. It seemed necessary at the time.”

“Necessary?” Kirk challenged. “Is that what you call it?”

“This is Mr. Spock,” McCoy said, intervening. “Our first officer.”’

Spock frowned. That the doctor found it necessary to introduce him indicated that Kirk’s memory was still impaired. Don’t you know me, Jim?

Kirk regarded him warily. “And is he… human?”

“I am Vulcan,” Spock stated. “As you should be aware.”

“And why the hell should I know you’re a Vulcan, whatever that is?”

“Because you are Captain James T. Kirk of the U.S.S. Enterprise, and we have served together for some time.”

“Oh, God, not that again!” Kirk threw his head back, visibly agitated. “I already told the doc here. I’m not this Kirk person. I’ve never even heard the name before today.” He tugged on his bonds. “I keep telling you. You’ve got the wrong guy!”

Chapel gave Spock a sympathetic look, as though she feared that Kirk’s failure to recognize him might have hurt Spock’s feelings. Despite her considerable skills and intelligence, she had always tended to underestimate his control over his emotions. If he was being completely honest with himself, though, he did find the captain’s current behavior troubling.

He turned to McCoy for answers. “Amnesia, Doctor?”

“More than that, I’m afraid.” McCoy addressed his patient. “Tell Mr. Spock who you think you are.”

“I don’t think anything!” Kirk insisted. “I am Colonel Shaun Christopher, commander of the U.S.S. Lewis & Clark, and I demand that you return me to my ship.”

An arched eyebrow betrayed Spock’s surprise. Of all of the eventualities he had considered regarding the probe’s effect on the captain, this had not been among them.

“You see what I mean?” McCoy said.

For once, Spock was not certain what to think. He gestured to McCoy that he wished to converse in private. They moved to the other end of the cabin and lowered their voices.

“Interesting,” he observed, even as Kirk glared at them as if they were strangers. Spock consulted the doctor. “A delusion?”

“You tell me,” McCoy said. “I assume you recognize the name.”

“My memory is unimpaired, Doctor.” Spock easily retrieved the relevant data. “Shaun Geoffrey Christopher, son of Captain John Christopher of the United States Air Force, circa the late twentieth century.”

He recalled the incident well. Exactly three years, ten months, and twenty-three days ago, the Enterprise and its crew had been accidentally transported back to Earth orbit in the year 1969. During that unplanned sojourn in the past, they had been forced to beam aboard an American jet pilot who had been in pursuit of what had then been termed an “unidentified flying object.” Captain Christopher had been a reluctant guest aboard the ship for a time, until it was discovered that he needed to be returned to his life in order to father Shaun Christopher, the future commander of Earth’s first manned mission to Saturn. Ultimately, a means was devised to beam John Christopher back to the precise moment he had been plucked from his aircraft, so that he would have no memory of his time aboard the Enterprise, which had returned to its own era shortly thereafter. Spock had given the incident little thought since.

“I don’t get it,” McCoy confessed. “Why Shaun Christopher, of all people? We never even met him. Just his father.”

“A valid question,” Spock said.

While the Earth — Saturn mission of 2020 was certainly an important milestone in the history of human space exploration, he was not aware that it held any special significance to Kirk, aside from their brief acquaintance with Colonel Christopher’s father, and even that was now some years in the past. Kirk had been involved in any number of equally memorable encounters since. Why had he not fixated on, say, Zefram Cochrane, Commodore Matt Decker, or Apollo?

“I have not heard the captain speak of either Christopher recently,” Spock noted. “Have you, Doctor?”

“Can’t say that I have.” McCoy scratched his head. “Heck, if Jim was going to go off his rocker and think he was some famous historical figure, you’d think he’d fixate on Abraham Lincoln… or maybe Casanova.”

The object of their discussion grew restive. “You there!” Kirk fought in vain against his restraints. “Stop talking about me like I’m not even here. I’ve told you who I am. Now I want to know who exactly you people are and what I’m doing here!”

Spock returned to the foot of Kirk’s bed. “My apologies.” He started to call Kirk Captain but caught himself. It would not do to upset Kirk further. “I assure you, we find the present situation equally as puzzling as you do, perhaps even more so. May I ask what your last memory was before you found yourself in our transporter room?”

Kirk eyed him suspiciously. “Don’t you know that?”

“Indulge my curiosity,” Spock said calmly. “There is still much about your presence here that we do not entirely comprehend. Any data you can provide may ultimately benefit us all.”

“Hmm.” Kirk mulled it over for a few moments. “Okay. I’m not sure what your angle is, but I’ll play along. I was conducting an EVA to retrieve what appeared to be an artificial space probe of unknown origin. I had just made contact with the object when there was a sudden flash… and I found myself with you and your buddies in your so-called transporter room.” His brow furrowed. “What does that mean, anyway? Are you telling me you have some sort of teleportation device?”

“Affirmative,” Spock stated. He found Kirk’s unusual narrative intriguing, although it bore little resemblance to the actual circumstances of the captain’s injury. “You encountered the probe in space? Where precisely?”

“In orbit around Saturn, naturally.” His eyes widened in alarm. “Wait! Aren’t we there anymore?” He tried to sit up, only to be forcibly reminded of his restraints. “Where in the universe are we? Where is my ship?”

Spock chose not to answer those questions, uncertain how Kirk might react in his present state of mind. Instead, he continued his interrogation. “And you believe yourself to be in the year 202 °C.E., as reckoned by traditional Earth calendars?”

“Of course! Why shouldn’t I?”

“Why, indeed.”

Spock contemplated what he had just heard. The captain’s delusion appeared to be remarkably consistent, aside from the fact that there was no record of the real Shaun Christopher ever encountering an alien probe on his mission to Saturn centuries ago. Humanity had not made conclusive contact with another sentient species until First Contact some forty-three years later. Had Kirk interpolated the probe into his fantasy of being Colonel Christopher? Spock was not certain why Kirk should do so, but the human unconscious, as he understood it, was even more irrational and unpredictable than their surface thoughts. It might require a specialist trained in abnormal human psychology to explain the nature of this obsession fully. Spock was more concerned with how to restore the captain to himself. He wondered what might be required to dispel the delusion.

“Doctor, a word.”

He stepped away from the bed to confer with McCoy once more.

“Have you attempted to confront him with his true identity?” Spock asked. “Perhaps via the simple expedient of a mirror?”

“I considered that,” McCoy said. “But I wasn’t sure if that would make things better or worse. His mental state seems precarious enough as it is.”

Spock swiftly weighed the pros and cons. Now was no time for a protracted course of psychological treatment. “Do it,” he instructed. “The ship requires its captain.”

“I don’t know,” McCoy said hesitantly. “Are you sure that’s wise?”

“Your reservations are duly noted, Doctor. I will take full responsibility for any consequences.”

“I don’t care if my butt is covered,” McCoy protested. “I want to do what’s right for Jim!”

“As do I, Doctor. And the captain deserves a chance to recognize himself.”

McCoy shook his head dolefully. “All right. If you say so.” He resigned himself to the prospect. “God help me, I’m not sure what else to do.”

Antique medical instruments were displayed on the walls of sickbay. McCoy retrieved a small hand mirror from one frame. “Physicians once used mirrors like this one to determine whether patients were still breathing,” he explained, perhaps to take his mind off what they were about to attempt. He shrugged his shoulders. “At least we don’t have to worry about that, I suppose. Aside from his case of mistaken identity, he seems fit enough. Just confused and agitated.”

“Wouldn’t you be, Doctor, if you awoke thinking you were someone else? From a completely different time and place?”

“Good point.”

Spock stood back, observing carefully, while McCoy returned to Kirk’s bedside. The doctor held the mirror behind his back and conferred briefly with Nurse Chapel before speaking gently to his patient.

“Capt— I mean, Colonel, I’m going to show you something. There’s no reason to be alarmed. I just want you to look in a mirror and tell me what you see.”

“Fine,” Kirk said sullenly. “Knock yourself out.”

McCoy brought out the mirror and held it up to Kirk. Chapel stood by with a sedative, just in case.

This proved a wise precaution. A look of utter shock and horror came over Kirk’s face as he spied his reflection in the glass. The blood drained from his features, so that he looked as white as a mugato. His jaw dropped.

“Nooo!” he wailed. “That’s not me!” He tried to reach for his face, but his arms were still strapped down. “My face! What have you done to it?” He thrashed wildly against his bonds and stared down at his body, which was still clad in the uniform of a Starfleet captain. He didn’t seem to recognize his own hands or clothing. “Oh, my God! What have you done to me!”

His face was contorted. His eyes bulged from their sockets. Veins stood out against his neck. Spittle flew from his lips. He averted his eyes, unwilling to look at the mirror anymore.

“That’s not me! I’m Shaun Christopher! Shaun Christopher, I tell you!”

“Nurse!” McCoy barked. “Sedative!”

“Yes, Doctor!”

She handed him the hypospray, and he placed it against Kirk’s jugular. A hiss signaled the release of the drug. Kirk’s eyelids drooped, and he sagged against the bed. His straining limbs fell still.

“Damn,” McCoy muttered. “I was afraid of that.”

“It was worth the attempt, Doctor,” Spock stated. “If nothing else, we have demonstrated the considerable depth of the captain’s delusion.”

“He sounded so convinced,” Chapel said. “So terrified. For a moment there, I almost believed him.” A pensive look came over her face. “You don’t think…” She paused, as though hesitant to complete her thought. “Is it possible he’s telling the truth?”

McCoy scoffed. “That Jim Kirk is actually possessed by a dead American astronaut from more than two hundred years ago? That’s ridiculous.”

“Is it, Doctor?” Spock gave Chapel’s query due consideration. “Upon reflection, have we not encountered similar phenomena in the past? Consider that incident involving Dr. Janice Lester or perhaps our experiences with the disembodied alien intelligences we made contact with on the planet Arret.”

On that latter occasion, both he and Kirk and a third crew member had allowed their bodies to be temporarily occupied by the bodiless survivors of an extinct civilization — with nearly irrevocable results. Spock was also acquainted with various ancient Vulcan legends that spoke of the transference of minds between two or more individuals. It was said that in ages past, even the very katra—or living spirit — of an individual could be imparted to another.

And, sometimes, back again.

“Well, I suppose it is possible,” McCoy conceded. “Lord knows we’ve run into stranger things these past few years… maybe.” He shook his head. “But still, Shaun Christopher? He’s not some bizarre alien entity or superintelligence. He died hundreds of years ago on Earth. What would his mind be doing out here, centuries later?”

Spock considered the possibilities. “The captain, speaking as Colonel Christopher, told of encountering the probe during his celebrated mission to Saturn. If this event actually occurred and was omitted from the historical record, then it is conceivable that the real Shaun Christopher’s consciousness was somehow stored or duplicated in the probe’s memory banks until the captain came into contact with it earlier today.”

“Maybe, possibly,” McCoy groused. “But that’s a heck of a leap, Spock. How can we know for sure this isn’t just some wild theory?”

“There is a way to be certain, Doctor. One way or another.”

Understanding dawned in McCoy’s eyes. “A mind-meld?”

“Precisely. It may be our best means of determining the true nature of the captain’s condition.”

McCoy nodded. To Spock’s surprise, the doctor did not automatically attempt to dissuade him. “Well, I suppose it has worked before,” he said grudgingly. “But how can we be sure that you won’t be affected by whatever has unhinged Jim’s mind?” He indulged in a bit of mordant humor. “I don’t want to end up with two confused twenty-first-century astronauts on my hands.”

“I will endeavor to avoid being caught in the captain’s delusion, if that is indeed what it is.” McCoy’s concerns were not without merit, but Spock felt confident that he could navigate Kirk’s disturbed psyche safely. “As you just stated, Doctor, I have done this before.”

“Don’t remind me.” McCoy stepped away from the bed. “You planning to do this now?”

“I see no need for delay,” Spock said. “Although Lieutenant Sulu is an able officer, it is best that I return to the bridge as soon as possible. The Skagway colony remains in jeopardy, and an effective solution has yet to be found.”

Chapel looked on worriedly. She prepared another hypospray. “Do you need us to revive him, Mr. Spock?”

“That will not be necessary, Nurse. I require only a few moments of mental preparation and perhaps a degree of privacy.”

Despite his assurances to McCoy, a mind-meld was never to be entered into lightly. The lowering of one’s psychic barriers to achieve telepathic communion with another was a profoundly intimate — and often shattering — experience. One he had no desire to share with an audience.

To his credit, McCoy seemed to grasp this. “That will be all, Christine,” he said softly. “I can take it from here.”

“All right, Doctor.” She retreated from the ward, glancing back over her shoulder as she did so. Concern and compassion were evident in her voice. “Be careful, Mr. Spock. I hope you find the captain.”

“That is my hope as well,” Spock said.

McCoy remained behind. Spock did not object. It was only logical to have a physician overseeing the meld in the event that unexpected complications arose. They could not fully predict the effect the meld might have on their patient — or on Spock himself.

“Please do not interfere, Doctor,” he instructed. “Unless you deem it absolutely imperative.”

“Just get on with it.” A shiver ran down McCoy’s body. “This whole thing always gives me the creeps.”

Spock recalled that McCoy had once been subjected to a forced mind-meld by an alternate-universe version of Spock himself. It was small wonder that McCoy regarded such invasions with distaste.

“If it is any consolation, Doctor, I would also avoid this if I could.”

He took a moment to brace himself. Time-honored meditative techniques, passed down for generations, prepared his mind for the task at hand. He put aside any fears or misgivings; it would not do to sabotage the meld by clinging instinctively to his mental defenses. To carry out the meld, he had to make himself more vulnerable than any human could possibly imagine.

I have no choice, he reminded himself. I must do this — for the ship and the mission.

And for Jim.

He leaned over Kirk. Using both hands, he splayed his fingers against the sides of Kirk’s face. It was a delicate touch, barely grazing the skin, but sufficient to anchor the neural connection. Kirk’s flesh was cool to the touch compared with his own. Spock closed his eyes and concentrated on achieving the meld.

“My mind to your mind,” he intoned. “My thoughts to your thoughts.”

A minor tremor threatened his resolve as their individual minds began to blur together, but he took a deep breath and pushed past his natural impulse to protect his own identity. He had melded with Kirk before, on several occasions, so he reached out for the familiar signposts he had come to expect. Boyhood memories in Iowa. His proud parents, George and Winona. Older brother Sam. The massacre on Tarsus IV. Starfleet Academy. Carol Marcus. Ruth. The U.S.S. Republic. The attack on the Farragut. The launch of the Enterprise under his command. Gary Mitchell, his eyes glowing like pulsars. Sam Kirk’s death on Deneva. Klingons. Romulans. Edith Keeler. Miramanee…

But instead, he found himself lost in an unfamiliar psychic landscape. Strange memories that had nothing to do with James Tiberius Kirk flooded his mind:

Earth, more than two centuries ago. Smoggy skies. Automobiles clogging endless highways. Television. Video games. High school. Making Eagle Scout. His first car. College. Marrying Debbie Lauderdale. Babies being born, then growing up right before his eyes. Kevin. Katie. Rory. Air Force training, just like Dad. Area 51. The DY-100. Shannon O’Donnell. NASA. The divorce. Docking with the Lewis & Clark. Months in zero gravity. Fontana. O’Herlihy. A stowaway? Saturn looming in the distance, growing nearer by the day. The probe, floating in space. His hand reaching out to touch it—

A blinding flash lit up Spock’s synapses. The shock jolted him from the meld, and he staggered backward, reeling from the sudden dislocation. For a moment, he wasn’t entirely sure who or where he was. Foreign memories and emotions fogged his mind.

“Fontana,” he murmured. “Alice…”

“Spock!” McCoy rushed toward him. “What is it? Are you all right?”

“A moment, Doctor. Please.”

Spock struggled to regain his composure and sense of self. He placed a hand against a wall to steady himself. The borrowed memories began to recede. Years of mental discipline and training restored order to his thoughts.

I am Spock, son of Sarek and Amanda. My mind is my own.

“Talk to me, Spock!” McCoy pleaded. He took hold of Spock’s arm. “What happened?”

“Forgive me, Doctor.” He straightened and stepped away from the wall. He politely but firmly removed his arm from McCoy’s grip. “The meld was broken abruptly, and the transition back to myself was rather more jarring than I would have preferred.”

McCoy examined Spock with a palm-sized medical scanner. “Well, you seem to be more or less normal. Your blood pressure, heart rate, and neural activity are a bit elevated, even for a Vulcan, but they seem to be dropping back to their usual freakish levels.” He lowered the scanner. “So, what did you find in there? What’s wrong with Jim?”

The anachronistic memories lingered at the back of Spock’s mind. The evidence was irrefutable; there could be only one conclusion. He turned toward their unconscious patient, who twitched and murmured in his sleep. The man’s fingers drummed restlessly.

“That, Doctor, is not James T. Kirk.”

McCoy gaped in astonishment, but the truth had to be faced.

“Despite all outward appearances, that is Colonel Shaun Geoffrey Christopher.”

“I can’t believe it,” McCoy murmured. He sank into the chair in his office, still trying to process the astounding diagnosis Spock had just delivered. He had no reason to doubt Spock; the Vulcan usually had his precious facts in order. It was just a lot to take in. “This is insane.”

Spock remained standing, seemingly unshaken by his discovery. “At least we now know that the captain is not insane,” he pointed out. “Merely… dispossessed.”

That was small comfort.

“Dammit, Spock,” McCoy cursed. “I’m a doctor, not an exorcist. What are we supposed to do now?” An urgent question came to mind. “What about Jim? Is he still in there somewhere? Beneath Shaun Christopher’s memories?”

“Negative,” Spock said. “I regret to say that I found no traces of the captain’s consciousness still remaining within his body. His mind appears to be entirely absent.”

“Good God,” McCoy said. “You don’t think it’s been… erased?”

The thought that all of Jim Kirk’s personality and life experiences — everything that had made him who he was — might have been wiped away forever filled McCoy with despair. It would be the same as if their friend had been vaporized by a Klingon disruptor. He would be gone for good.

“Or perhaps merely displaced,” Spock suggested. “It could be that Colonel Christopher’s memories were not simply copied into the captain’s brain. There might have been a two-way transference instead.”

“Across time?” McCoy’s mind boggled at the notion. “Is that even possible?”

“There are always possibilities, Doctor. Some are simply more probable than others.”

McCoy wanted to believe him but had his doubts. “But isn’t it more likely that the probe simply replaced Jim’s mind with a copy of Shaun Christopher’s? I mean, I hate to be the one citing logic here, but what about Occam’s Razor? Isn’t that a simpler and more plausible explanation than assuming that Jim and Shaun somehow switched minds over a span of centuries — and umpteen light-years to boot? What makes you think Jim’s mind is still around… somewhere?”

“A feeling, Doctor.” Spock grimaced, as though the admission pained him. “I cannot put it into words precisely, but what I sensed just now did not feel like a copy of Shaun Christopher’s memories but rather his actual living consciousness, somehow displaced in time and space. Which suggests that the same might have occurred to the captain’s mind.”

“A ‘feeling,’ you say.” McCoy couldn’t help being amused. “Look at us. I’m the one talking logic, and you’re relying on some vague impression you can’t really explain.” He snickered at the sheer irony of the moment. “Somebody check on Tartarus Prime. I think it may have frozen over.”

“Mind-melds do not lend themselves to spoken vocabulary,” Spock replied, perhaps a tad defensively, “let alone your own unsophisticated human languages. I believe my reasoning is perfectly sound, given my observations during the course of the meld.”

“Uh-huh.” McCoy didn’t buy it. “Sounds more like wishful thinking to me. Not that I blame you. Anything’s better than thinking that Jim’s mind is lost for good.” He settled back into his chair and crossed his arms. “All right, then. Let’s run with that theory. What now? Where do you think Jim is?”

“If my hypothesis is correct,” Spock said, “then the captain’s mind may now occupy Shaun Christopher’s body, during the Saturn mission approximately two hundred fifty years ago.”

“Then let’s go find him!” McCoy urged. He seized on Spock’s theory as their last, best hope of getting Jim Kirk back. Hope flared inside him for the first time since Spock had revealed that Jim’s mind was truly absent. If there was even a chance that they could save Jim, they had to take it. “Saturn is a ways from here, but if we hurry at maximum warp, we can be there in a matter of weeks. And we’ve traveled back to that era before. More than once, actually. Jim’s probably wondering what’s keeping us!”

Of course, even if they did somehow miraculously locate Kirk’s mind in the past, they would still have to put it back into his body where it belonged, but McCoy was inclined to cross that bridge when they came to it. Another mind-mind, perhaps, or that alien machine Janice Lester had discovered. There had to be a way to put Jim back together.

We just have to find him first.

“Easier said than done, Doctor,” Spock observed. “While I appreciate your sense of urgency, the situation here in the Klondike system must take priority. We cannot abandon the Skagway colony to go searching the past for our lost captain.”

McCoy refused to accept that. “But what about Jim? He could be trapped in the past, waiting for us to rescue him!”

“If he is in the past, Doctor, then there is no hurry. Whatever might have become of the captain occurred centuries ago. Our present duty remains before us. Perhaps later, if and when the crisis here is resolved, we can follow up on my hypothesis.”

McCoy seethed in frustration. He knew from personal experience what it was like to be marooned in the past with little hope of rescue. How could Spock be so cool and analytical about the situation? “This is Jim we’re talking about!”

“I am fully aware of that, Doctor.” Spock’s voice held a hint of regret, although one probably had to know him well to hear it. “But I also know that the captain would want us to carry out our duties in his absence and not sacrifice the Skagway colony on the basis of a… supposition.”

“I know.” The hell of it was, Spock was absolutely right. McCoy’s shoulders slumped in defeat. He felt as though his hopes had been raised, only to be crushed beneath the combined weight of logic and duty. “That’s what Jim would want, but that doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

“Nor do I,” Spock admitted.

Sighing, McCoy nodded at the private exam room beyond. “In the meantime, what am I supposed to do with our misplaced friend there? It looks like he’s not going anywhere.”

“For the time being,” Spock advised, “it is probably best that we share the particulars of the captain’s condition with only select members of the crew. I suggest we keep Colonel Christopher confined to quarantine and limit any contact with him. As far as the rest of the crew and any civilians are concerned, the captain is simply recovering from his injuries — under doctor’s orders.”

McCoy didn’t have a better idea. “And what exactly do I tell my patient?”

“As little as possible,” Spock stated gravely. “If we do hope someday to return him to his own place in history, we must limit his exposure to the future — as we did with his father.”

McCoy nodded. “And just how long do you think we can keep him in the dark?”

“Long enough, Doctor. I hope, long enough.”