Les romans Star Trek

Pg 3 and 4:
The Vulcan brow lowered as Spock observed his captain's nonchalant approach. "I have not eaten this morning," he stated in straightforward contrast to Kirk's roundabout endeavors, "and I would be pleased to join you.” His eyes seemed to lighten as he studied the casual way Kirk was holding his stomach. “And we need not inform Doctor McCoy as to the menu."

Releasing the exaggerated breath he’d been holding, Kirk grinned, realizing there was no one else who could ease his tension quite so easily.


Pg 26:
[…] He laughed gently, trying to chase away the cold, black thing which seemed to be lingering at his shoulder. It had his own eyes, his features, his mind. But it felt alien.
As if sensing the thought, the Vulcan reached out tentatively, placing one hand on his captain’s shoulder. Kirk was the only person on board to whom Spock could open up, and he valued that freedom. "If there are answers, we will find them, Jim," he ventured, eyeing Kirk more closely. "But ... I believe it can wait until morning. You appear somewhat ... fatigued?"
Kirk sighed and reached out to cover the Vulcan’s hand with his own. Men like Spock weren't standard issue. "Thanks, Spock," he murmured. "I don't know what the hell I'd do without you." He stood slowly, and turned to go.


Pg 33:
No ... not dead. Not quite. Briefly, he touched the silver thread of the link, [He] thought he could almost sense the physical strength and mental rapport which had always been there before. But it too slipped away ... and was gone.
Time cartwheeled.


Pg 41: (lol what?)
"I understand perfectly, Donner," he said in a voice which was oddly compliant. But he raised hazel eyes aflame with unconcealed hatred. “I understand that you were probably playing with dolls and wearing lipstick until you were twenty! And I also understand that you’re probably double jointed—since you’ve got your head so far up your ass that you’ll never see the light of day again!”

In the background, Kirk heard a few of the crewmembers giggle appreciatively.


Pg 120:
It was late in the evening when the door buzzer sounded again, and though the Vulcan had long since abandoned the prospect of sleep, the grating tone was nonetheless annoying. He rose from the bed, only then realizing that he'd slipped into a state of light meditation while planning the details for the scheduled meeting with the Canusian ambassador. Reaching for the discarded uniform shirt, He glanced at the chronometer: two A.M. The buzzer sounded again, more insistent ... and more annoying.

"Come!" he said sharply, surprised at the harsh tone of his voice.

[…]

"Guess McCoy told you about my little ... problem," the human muttered as if to himself. "But since when are the captain's quarters considered a dispensary?" He was angry at having the knowledge discovered by anyone--and especially embarrassed that the Vulcan commander had obviously been informed. But he felt his hard resolve start to weaken. He glanced up, meeting the Vulcan's eyes. Somehow, shirtless and with hair slightly disheveled, the ShiKahr’s legendary captain appeared vulnerable in the dim lighting… almost reachable.


Pg 121-122:
"You ... obviously do not wish it publicly known that you are ... experiencing difficulties, and I do not believe you sincerely wish to be transferred off this vessel." So, he thought to himself, this was poker. He felt his heart quicken just a little.

Kirk looked up, started to deny it, then abandoned the pose with a deep sigh as he flopped, uninvited, into a convenient chair. "Mind if I sit down?" he asked after the fact.

A Vulcan eyebrow climbed high as the captain sank into his own chair. Bluff called. He waited mutely.

"Why do you care?" Kirk asked at last, meeting the Vulcan’s eyes.

And Spock felt himself weaken under the human’s scrutiny. He glanced away from the intense hazel globes. But the stakes were too high to permit intimidation to interfere with logic. "I have ... discussed your case with Doctor McCoy," he began, wondering where the statement would eventually lead, "and have come to the conclusion that you are somehow ... a critical factor in the survival of this ... universe." His throat was suddenly dry; gambling was a game best left to humans.

But Kirk laughed, startling him back to reality. "Now that's a heavy guilt trip, Captain," he said boldly. "I know the ShiKahr's received some strange orders, but telling me that I'm a critical factor is taking psychiatry a bit far, isn't it?"

The Vulcan shivered, glancing forlornly across the room to the discarded shirt. Yet he knew that no amount of clothing could cover up his psychic nakedness; Kirk could strip him to marrow with a single question. "I can offer no logical explanation," he replied truthfully. "I can only state what I ... feel ... to be true."


Pg 123:
Kirk shook his head once again, then turned to face the Vulcan, wondering if it was even possible to trust again. He started to speak, then closed his mouth with the words still suspended in his throat. Something stirred inside him… something ancient, yet something familiar. He took a deep breath. "All right," he conceded at last. And somehow, it didn't injure the fierce pride nor the stubborn ego as he'd half-expected it would. "For all the good it'll do, I'll go on the landing party."


Pg 155:
"Ship's present status?" Spock asked, rising to his feet and only then noticing that he was bare to the waist. Somehow, he had been dressed in a tight-fitting pajama bottom which vaguely resembled a leotard. He frowned at himself. A pressure bandage wound itself around his chest, just under the sternum, and as he stood a moment of dizziness threatened to drag him back down. He fought. "Precisely ... how long was I in the healing state, Doctor?"


pg 167:
Telling himself it was purely professional concern, knowing otherwise, Spock studied the sleeping man openly, not surprised to see several scars and bruises where the unbuttoned shirt had become dislodged. But in those minor injuries--apparently a combination of Donner's rowdiness and the Canusian incident--Spock observed much more. For an instant, he was in Sickbay, standing over this human as he'd done a hundred times before. Kirk had been injured during planetfall (again); McCoy was working frantically to save his life (again); and Spock knew he must be there when his companion awakened (if indeed he ever did).


Pg 168-169: (editors don’t like… context?)
Wrenching himself free of the memory which wasn't a memory at all, the Vulcan leaned back to sit on the ground, curiosity filling black eyes. Face filled with expression even now, Kirk appeared familiar; and for an instant, and phantom memory appeared so tangible that the Vulcan thought he might be able to simply reach out and grasp it. he felt himself soften as the human moaned restlessly, and suddenly understood that aloneness—loneliness—was not something assigned to outcast Vulcans. Despite Kirk’s previous façade of defiance, the mast of self-assuredness, the human—like himself—walked totally alone in a universe which seemed determined to drive him mad.

Without daring to ask himself why, Spock reached out hesitantly, then stopped with his hand poised less than an inch from the human’s face. Perhaps madness had already intervened; for what right did he have to intrude, even if his only intention was to help? He was, he reminded himself sternly, basing an act of mental transgression on nothing more than a fleeting and illogical assumption that this human’s mind had always been open to him before. The hand trembled, hesitated. Yet he knew he had seen Kirk’s thoughts… many times. He had walked through th layers of consciousness and subconscious… sharing secrets, healing befriending. Line of duty… personal, dual curiosity. The meld was not alien to the two of them. Somewhere… somewhen. And yet, an unsolicited meld shattered all the Tenets of Vulcan. Regardless of intent, it was nothing less than mental trespass.

But as he sat there, alone despite the human's presence, a sudden simplicity of vision presented itself. A few moments before, he had accepted that he was no longer Vulcan; and the concept that ancient doctrine and taboos would prevent his helping the young ensign severed whatever strand had tied him to his own heritage. With the cool rapport of a meld, he could stop the human's nightmares, erase the lingering mental anguish from the Talos Device ... fill emptiness with purpose.

And perhaps there would be other answers as well. The mind knew no limits. And any universe--no matter how small or large--could dwell inside one thought.

T'lema ... he who walks in dreams.

No ... Kirk was no stranger to his mind.

Dizziness swayed the Vulcan's hand. Logic fought ... and lost. Before permitting himself the luxury of altering his decision, [he initiated the mind meld.] he allowed his hand to come to rest on the side of the human’s warm face.

Kirk tensed instinctively in his sleep, as much from the unexpected physical contact as from the mental thread which gently entered his mind. For an instant, he moved instinctively toward the familiar warmth, allowing his thoughts to flow into well-known territory. But as he became aware of his true surroundings, his eyes snapped open, a gasp of surprise slipping past his control when he saw the Vulcan commander leaning over him.

For a moment, Spock did not move, neither continuing with the meld nor withdrawing his hand. And as their eyes met in near-darkness, the Vulcan thought he detected the same sense of recognition in Kirk that he had experienced within himself. He’d seen the ensign relax, had felt an openness draw them closer. For the briefest of instants, reality had altered… accepting the two of them as one entity. An eyebrow rose.


Pg 170:
"I ... sensed that you were troubled by ... dreams," he stated, schooling his voice to its calmest level. "Please forgive me," he added, annoyed by words which became more clipped and difficult as he continued. "I did not intend to ... intrude."

Surprisingly, the enigmatic human only stretched out on the ground. A fallen leaf tangled in his golden hair; and with a heavy sigh, Kirk met his captain’s questioning eyes. "Since I'm already considered to be crazy by the majority of people on this ship," he began, "maybe it won't be too difficult to say what I'm thinking for a change." He smiled wistfully, wondering where his anger had disappeared to. "Then you can haul me down to Sickbay and have me fitted for one of those jackets that tie in the back."


Pg 171:
"Right now," he began, "I feel just about as phoney as that sunset." Somehow, it was easier to share his thoughts with the Vulcan than he'd expected. Briefly, he wondered how far the meld had gone while he was asleep, but ... no. It was something else which had thrown their lives together. "I don't know myself anymore," he added matter-of-factly, "but I do know you." He turned, studying the angular face of his commanding officer—the thin lips and dark eyes and the lithe feline musculature.


Pg 172:
“Bullshit,” Kirk muttered to himself, then looked straight into the Vulcan's eyes. "Logically," he said, "you should have saved Donner. He belonged here. He ... wanted his life." Darkness crept into his cheeks.

[…]

The Vulcan flinched inwardly despite his cool exterior, appalled that any living creature could hold such little regard for its own life. It did matter--if not to Kirk, then to him. He tasted a moment of fire—an illogical, un-Vulcan anger at the sudden rejection. Kirk had led him on, had practically asked for the meld… and now the human was hurling jagged knives into vulnerable tissue. With an effort, he wrestled himself back under control, choosing a less personal approach.

"If you are familiar with the dual universe theory," he began, feeling his own muscles tense, "then you are aware that your assumptions may well be correct. There is every possibility that your alternate life is completely different from that which you are currently experiencing. And if a way can be discovered to reinstate--"


pg 173:
But before he could complete the sentence, he found himself falling to the ground, [thrown by the Vulcan's arms.] the Vulcan’s arms wrapped tightly and unexpectedly around his legs. Lethal anger flared in the human's eyes as he fell painfully into the dirt; he kicked, but to no avail.

Without completely understanding what he was doing, Spock rolled over, covering the ensign’s writhing body with his own. Powerful Vulcan hands seized Kirk’s wrists, forcing muscular arms easily to the ground despite violent resistance.

"Understand one thing, Human," a rough whisper commanded harshly. "On this ship, your life does belong to me! If I choose to spare it, that is a choice by which you are bound!" He saw a single instant of fear and disbelief in the wide, hazel eyes, but that glimpse was enough. The madness covered him, claiming him. And, like an animal sensing fear, his strength doubled. "I grow weary of your self-pity, Kirk. And Time, in this universe, shall not wait for you to outgrow your childish bitterness!"


pg 174-175:
In the back of his sane mind, a logical Vulcan voice requested an answer as to what had brought his anger to the surface with such a vengeance. But the madman ignored it. In seven years as command of the ShiKahr, he had never met a human who could arouse such forbidden feelings, who could wrestle emotion from his as easily as turning on a light.

Beneath him, the human continued to struggle, fierce hatred flaring on proud features. "So why don't you just transfer me off this ship and out of your hair?" Kirk suggested, shoving violently against the hands which held him pinned to the ground.

But the Vulcan merely shook his head as something tore free inside him.

T'kona ... He had nothing left to prove--not to Vulcan, not to himself. Vulcan was a word without meaning, a port in which he was never to be welcomed again.

Something dangerously resembling a smile came to his lips.

"No," he stated very gently, sensing another wave of fear flash through the human. "No ... I shall not make it so simple for you, Kirk." He shook his head, an eerie laugh parting lips which had never laughed before. "It is time to stop running!"

Using Vulcan strength, Spock seized both of Kirk’s wrists in one hand, holding him immobile. With his legs, his scissored the human’s ankles; ebony-black eye stabbed through hazel-golden pools, compelling cooperation. With his free hand, he reached for the human’s face, fingers spreading and seeking the neural centers necessary to a link.

And suddenly, a look of horror came to dwell on Kirk's features as his body went limp. But a cunning smile came to his lips. "You wouldn't dare," he said quietly, wondering nonetheless if he’d finally tempted the fates once too often.

The Vulcan merely shook his head as his fingers pressed firmly against plaint flesh. "In this universe," he replied, "you are wrong, James Kirk!"

Without another thought to the matter, he injected himself into the human’s unshielded mind.

Kirk tensed against the unexpected dizziness which swirled through his thoughts and clouded reality. He was vaguely aware of twisting his arms in a final attempt to free himself, but the resistance seemed futile… unnecessary. His eyes closed, and he did not notice when the gold Academy ring slipped from his finger and lodged in the loose sand. It was just another part of the past ... gone.


Pg 177:
On the ShiKahr, James Kirk opened his eyes to see the Vulcan regarding him with an unreadable expression. For a moment, the Kirk-he-had-been wanted to reach out to the commander, to confirm physical reality with a gentle touch. But he found himself too exhausted to move; and slowly the Vulcan released him, rolling into a sitting position.

One eyebrow slid beneath disheveled black bangs as Spock shook his head, then looked away, angular face darkening.

"I ..." The Vulcan stood suddenly, turned away as the full memory of what he had done returned.

"Wait," Kirk's voice commanded quietly. The Vulcan stopped, but did not look at the other man.

Kirk climbed slowly to his feet, brows narrowing as he pondered Spock's tense frame. For a moment, he could think of nothing to say ... but he forced himself to remember what he'd seen in the meld, forced himself to rely on the man who commanded starships. Ensign Kirk retreated respectfully.

"Spock?"

"You must forgive me, Ensign," the captain stated flatly. "I ... am obviously not myself. This ... incident ... must be reported at once." A forced meld, regardless of impact or reason ... it was wrong. He started to walk away, suddenly recognizing his own insanity for what it was. Blood murmured hot against his ears.

But behind him, Kirk only laughed, and a very tentative hand touched his shoulder.

Spock flinched.

"Why?" the human asked. "How can you regret proving to me that there is something worth living for?" He didn't wait for an answer. "If that other universe is real," he ventured, "then you had every right to do what you did." He winked conspiratorially, feeling something—someone— come back to life inside him. Reality wavered, fighting the transformation, but he held on, using the Vulcan's downtrodden eyes as a focal point.


Pg 235:
In the midst of the darkness, there was a voice--distant at first, then closer… familiar. It spoke one syllable repeatedly. The syllable, too, was a recognized sound, an arrangement of consonants and vowels which held meaning.

Spock ... Spock?

The stars grew brighter, burning their smiling pattern into the Vulcan’s mind and he listened, watched.

Jim ... Jim? He reached for it, sensed the warmth behind it, moved closer.

For a moment, the stars took them, molded them together. One thought. One mind.

But gradually, the stars began to fade ... and were lost somewhere in the silver-gray sky of an alien morning.


Pg 275:
The Vulcan remained silent for a long time, head tilting curiously as he studied the human's indirect approach. "In any timeline, I know that you will be as unique as you are now ... and I believe you will find your happiness." He looked down, not quite able to meet the hazel eyes as he spoke. He is even deeper in your blood than Vulcan. It was, he realized, a very simple truth.

Kirk stared at the floor, then laughed somewhat sarcastically. "Hell, Spock," he managed, "in this universe, I've never commanded anything bigger than a bath-tub fleet. The thought of a starship ..."

Reaching out very slowly, Spock rested one hand on the human’s shoulder as he sought something reassuring to say. Within another thirty minutes, the T'Favaron would reach maximum velocity as it fell toward the sun ... and then there would be no turning back. It was now or never. He closed his eyes, relying on something he'd seen in the human's mind--an uncanny ability to turn even the most tense situations into humor. "Then perhaps you would be well advised, Jim," he suggested, "to think of the Enterprise as a rubber duck, and the galaxy as a slightly larger tub."


Pg 292:
Spock shook his head, eyes closing. "I do not know, Jim," he whispered. The poison, he knew, had already taken its toll. He slumped to the gravel floor of the roof, not surprised to hear the human slide down by his side, cradling his head as he became weaker. For a moment, he tried to go over the details ... not that it would matter, he reminded himself, but they seemed nonetheless important.


Pg 293:
Giving into his human half, Spock leaned more heavily against Kirk, resting his head on the warm shoulder. "I ... do not believe the end will be painful, Jim," he stated logically.

Kirk smiled wistfully at the Vulcan's peculiar train of thought, but didn't respond.

The Vulcan sighed deeply, glancing up at the stars once again. "Are you sorry to leave this particular life?" he wondered philosophically.

Kirk shook his head with a tender smile, moving a little closer, seeking a warmth which seemed to be draining from his own body. "No ... I'm not, Spock," he said, suddenly realizing the truth in that statement. He too felt the dizziness, the disorientation, the unreality. "If this had happened six years ago, I might've been sorry ... but I feel like I've gained something ... like I've found something that was missing back at the Academy. . . ."

The Vulcan nodded, noticing without alarm that his legs were numb, his arms growing cold and distant as if they were no longer attached to his body. There wasn't much time ... but that no longer seemed important. He had found his contentment as well. "Then come with me," he murmured, his voice barely a whisper against the human’s shoulder. He inclined his head toward the black night sky.

Kirk’s eyes closed in acceptance of the invitation as he felt the Vulcan’s hand settle on the side of his face, joining their minds together.


Pg 304:
But the Vulcan shook his head as the decision became clear. It is time to stop running ... for both of us. An eyebrow rose at the unusual train of thought, but he made no effort to block the implications. "I believe the only answers we will ever have are within ourselves, Jim," he murmured. His eyes locked with Kirk’s, and, seeing no hesitation, he reached for the human’s face.

Kirk let himself relax, not expecting it quite so quickly, but determined to go through with [it.] his own decision. His eyes closed, and he took a deep breath as the warmer-than-human hand settled against the side of his face.

For a moment there was only the euphoria associated with the meld... but that surrealism faded as his mind’s eye suddenly opened.

Somewhere, in a universe locked away from reality, a Vulcan commander and his human friend demanded recognition.