McCoy had indeed been drinking. As soon as the door opened, he twisted out of Kirk and Spock's supporting grasp and half fell into Chapel's arms, trying to embrace her and still keep hold of the bottle of brandy he was clutching by the neck. While he babbled slurred Christmas greetings, Kirk and Spock gently pried him away from Chapel.
"Come on, Bones. Let's get your boots off. Sit down. No, right here." Kirk steered him into a chair and knelt down next to him. "Give me the bottle and take off your boots. Here, like this. Now give me your jacket. Attaboy." He looked up at Chapel. "I'm sorry, Christine, I really am. He's pissed. He's been drinking all day, and the barman in the OC was about to throw him out when--" He broke off suddenly and stared at McCoy, who had stopped babbling and gone very quiet and pale. "Shit! Spock, help me get him to the john!"
Using a maneuver that looked as though it had been perfected through long practice, Spock looped an arm around McCoy and hoisted him from the chair. Kirk supported him from the other side, and the three quickly made their way down the hall towards the bathroom. Certain identifiable sounds ensued, causing Uhura to cast her eyes upward. "Give me strength," she said. "Let's hope they lifted the seat in time. Otherwise the captain and the first officer are gonna be swabbing that head tonight."
"Something's wrong," Chapel said. "Len was supposed to be spending Christmas with his daughter."
Uhura nodded. "And the captain was going to Eleuthera to do some sailing. They shouldn't even be in town right now--" More sounds came from the bathroom, and she grimaced. "I wonder how we got so lucky."
A few minutes later, Kirk and Spock reappeared. "Christine, he wants to know if you've got any Dessoulex," Kirk said, "and some ASA. Do you mind having a look at him? It worries me when he starts prescribing for himself."
"He should take in some water first, lots of it. You said he'd been drinking at the club all day?"
"I guess he didn't have anywhere else to go. We thought about taking him to a restaurant for some coffee and something to eat, but everything is either closed or booked up for the holiday." He paused. "We ate a lot of peanuts, though."
Now it was Chapel's turn to look upward in supplication. "I don't believe this. Nyota, would you--"
"Go ahead, honey. Take care of your problem patient. I'll get these two some food."
* * *
When the commotion had abated somewhat, Kirk turned his attention to me. "Good evening, Commander. I'm very sorry about all this. I had no idea you were here."
I wasn't sure how to respond to that, so I made a vague dismissive gesture: "No apologies are necessary, Captain." Kirk looked and sounded as though he was trying to pull himself together in a hurry. I guessed that the doctor was not the only one who was feeling the effects of too much ethanol.
"McCoy was pretty well out of control when I found him," he said, looking towards the dining room where Uhura was setting out the leftovers from our dinner. "His trip to Georgia fell through, so he was trying to drown his sorrows. I spotted him when I came into the bar. When I saw what shape he was in, I called Spock. I thought maybe we could take him to Sarek's house, since nobody else was home there."
"The bar in the Officers' Club is a fairly public place," Spock said. It was the first time he'd spoken since he entered the apartment. "It would not have taken long for a crowd to gather if the doctor had continued his performance. We thought it best to escort him to a more private location."
"Thanks so much for thinking of us, Mr. Spock," Uhura said from the dining room. But I could hear the smile in her voice.
"I assure you, Lieutenant, we did not want to bring him here."
"He wouldn't go back to his room and he wouldn't shut up about wishing you and Christine a merry Christmas," said Kirk. "Things were just getting worse and worse. We figured if you were home we could bring him by for a minute or two and then take off again. I'm sorry, Nyota. Really."
Chapel entered the living room, leading a chastened-looking McCoy. His hair was wet and combed back from his forehead, and his color had improved. Apparently the Dessoulex was already beginning to take effect.
McCoy managed a crooked smile: "Hello, Commander. Chris tells me you're mobile now. Lemme see."
Luckily, I interpreted his request correctly. I held out my left arm; he pushed up the sleeve of my dress and probed the inside of my elbow. "Very nice," he said. "Who did it?"
"Dr. Therial, a civilian physician."
Therial evidently met with his approval, for he nodded. "Fine lady. Known her a long time." He turned as Uhura came into the room. "Hi, Ny. Merry Christmas."
"Hi, Len. Feeling better?" She embraced him, then sat down next to Chapel and me and began to tune her lyrette once more. "Food's on the table. Buffet style, so help yourselves to the feast."
"First I gotta feast on this beautiful sight," McCoy said, grinning at the three of us. "Look at 'em, Spock. Reminds me of that painting we saw in that museum that time. The Pro-Raphaelite guy."
"Pre-Raphaelite," said Spock. "Dante Gabriel Rossetti. 'The Bower Meadow.' I agree with you, Doctor. The comparison is apt."
McCoy stared at him. "It is?"
Laughing, Kirk stood up. "Come on, Bones. You too, Spock. Let's discuss art appreciation over Christmas dinner. The one we didn't expect to have tonight."
* * *
The senior officers of Enterprise applied themselves methodically to their meal. Kirk's plate was nearly obscured by an enormous turkey leg and a mound of gravy-drenched stuffing. Spock had compensated for the absence of those items by building himself a pyramid of sweet potatoes, broccoli, corn, and cranberry sauce. McCoy had wisely limited his choices to a modest serving of salad and pumpkin pie, accompanied by a large glass of Altair water.
While they were occupied with their food, I took the opportunity to observe them. All were in mufti, though their clothes were so nearly identical that they might as well have been wearing uniforms--neatly pressed dark trousers, heavy woollen sweaters over starched white shirts. If their recent experiences with Starfleet Command, Federation officials, and the media had caused them stress, they showed no sign of it. Of the three, only McCoy looked tired and slightly unwell; but his condition was temporary and easily explained.
Kirk seemed to be recovering quickly from his own mild intoxication; his expression was alert and attentive as he spoke and listened to Uhura and Chapel, and there was certainly nothing wrong with his appetite. All in all, he looked disconcertingly fit and relaxed, and, as usual, very much in control.
Spock appeared equally composed. His dark eyes had rested briefly on my face when I acknowledged Kirk's greeting, and again when McCoy made the remark about a painting. But otherwise I might not even have been in the room. And what did you expect from him? I asked myself bitterly. A public apology for his treachery? I ought to have been pleased by his lack of reaction: at least that cool indifference would make it easier for me to maintain my own relative detachment.
Uhura was playing a series of quiet melodies on her lyrette; the music formed a soothing backdrop to the desultory conversation. When she stopped to retune her instrument, McCoy made a sound of protest. "That was pretty, Ny. Don't stop. Sing something for us."
"Sure. But I'll need an accompanist. I haven't got a strap for my lyrette, and I can't sing sitting down. Not after a big meal, anyway." Smiling, she offered the lyrette to Spock. "How about it? I know this is different from the one you're used to, but ..."
He took the instrument from her and moved his chair nearer to the music stand. They spent a few minutes discussing what songs they would perform and agreeing on keys and tempos. The listeners waited expectantly.
Spock's touch on the lyrette produced a strong, rich, resonant opening chord. As soon as Uhura began to sing I understood why he had chosen that particular instrumental mode: he knew her voice--soaring, sure, and achingly pure--and he knew exactly what was required to support and complement its beauty.
Together they moved through a repertoire of songs whose lyrics were mostly incomprehensible to me, for sung Standard sounded very different from the spoken language. But I guessed from the others' responses that the songs were probably similar to the ballads, space chanteys, and rounds that humanoid groups across the galaxy sang when they came together in social gatherings such as this. When Spock and Uhura began a medley of seasonal carols, the others sang along with them, as if they had done so many times before.
They paused momentarily, and Uhura said: "Time for a change of pace." Looking quizzically at Spock, she hummed several bars of a melody.
"We have not perfected those harmonies," he said.
"So what. Let's do it anyway."
"Very well, but I believe I too must stand. A large helping of Christmas dinner is not the best preparation for this piece." He looked around him, as if seeking inspiration. "Doctor, would you please hand me that length of ribbon lying under the tree?"
Spock deftly fashioned a makeshift strap for the lyrette so that he could play it while standing. Then he turned to face Uhura and touched the synthesizer keys on the instrument. The low, droning note of a voicewind floated through the room, and a deep percussive rhythm beat like a pulse beneath the strings. At Spock's nod, they began to sing. The song was slow, elegiac, almost an anthem: I found that I could actually understand the words.
Fare thee well, love
Far away you must go ...
Uhura's vibrant soprano rose above Spock's clear baritone.
Far across, love
Over mountains and country wide
Take my heart, love
No one knows the tears I've cried.
The two voices blended in practiced harmony. On the last line of the verse Uhura closed her eyes; Spock, apparently unconsciously, did the same. Watching his face, watching his long fingers moving on the strings of the lyrette, I was aware of a quick, sharp pain somewhere around my heart.
So I'll dream today, love
I'll sing to you, love
In pauper's glory my time I'll bide
No home or ties, love, for a restless rover
If I can't have you by my side . . .
Fascinated, I observed the other listeners. What did those words mean to them? Clearly, the song was one of love and loss; if these people were anything like my own, every one of them must have had to leave behind lovers and family and friends in order to pursue their dream of stars. Looking around the circle, I saw McCoy lean back in his chair and hum softly along with the singers as his foot moved in an irregular rhythm. Kirk, seated next to him, was watching Uhura; his expression needed no translation. Ah, I thought, with not much surprise. So that is how it is. Chapel, whose face was in shadow, seemed oddly unaffected by the performance; she was looking down at her folded hands.
Oh, come back, love!
Suns and moons refuse to shine.
Spock sang the melody of the final chorus, and Uhura's voice soared in poignant counterpoint:
Will we never meet again once more?
They stayed on their last notes so long that I held my breath along with them. Finally the strains of instruments and voices died away, and there was silence for a moment. Then Spock said mildly: "Lieutenant Uhura, I believe you and I were singing the same notes on 'home' and 'side.'"
"No problem, we can fix that. Sing your part again." The two of them began to sing fragments of the chorus back and forth to each other. McCoy stood up, stretched, and said he was going to get himself another piece of pumpkin pie. Kirk said he thought that sounded like a good idea. Chapel excused herself from the room. The mood was broken.
* * *
Eventually, the story came out. McCoy's daughter Joanna was staying with her maternal aunt in a city called Macon. She had canceled her father's visit at the last minute when her mother, McCoy's ex-wife Jocelyn, appeared unannounced, expecting to be welcomed for a prolonged stay. Joanna, who apparently had been born without a backbone, took her mother in and told her father it would be best if they got together some other time. McCoy, who hadn't seen his daughter in years, had responded by attempting to anesthetize his pain with ethanol.
Kirk hadn't fared much better. His plans had come to nothing when his friend, lawyer, and sailing partner, who turned out to be the woman I'd seen with him on the newscast, suddenly received, in Kirk's words, "a better offer" for the holidays. So he had planned a last-minute trip to a place called Iowa to see his relatives, only to find that they were visiting a distant cousin somewhere in the Alpha Centauri system and had decided to extend their stay over Christmas.
There was no mention of what Spock's holiday arrangements might have been. Kirk merely said that he had been glad to know Sarek was not in residence when it looked as though they were going to have to bring McCoy to his house.
"The trouble is," McCoy said, "that we've all got too many unrealistic expectations about Christmas. We want it to be just like it was when we were kids, except--well, it was never like that then either." The others laughed, but they appeared to understand what he meant.
Their talk of Christmas had reminded me of something: "Doctor," I said, "when I was aboard Enterprise, Counselor Elydex told me to ask you about the Christmas story of the soldiers on Old Earth. She said it was one of your favorites."
"Good idea, Bones," Kirk said. "Tell it." His eyes met mine: "It's appropriate in the circumstances."
McCoy warmed easily to his subject. He described one of the many barbaric conflicts that had devastated Earth centuries ago, when warring nation-states continually fought brutal ground and air battles with one another. Troops from two opposing armies, the British and the Germans, sheltered from the bombardment in trenches and bunkers. On Christmas morning in the year 1914, a British captain saw his men leave their trenches to shake hands with the German soldiers, who had stepped into the no-man's-land to meet them. The Germans laid out a Christmas dinner under a covered part of their trench, and pressed their British enemies to share it with them. Wine was drunk, carols were sung, prayers were said, and family photographs were shown around. When the festivities were over, the soldiers returned to their respective trenches. Word of the informal truce must have traveled to the British High Command, for an order came down: all fraternization was to cease immediately, and any further instances of friendly contact would be punished severely. "Next morning," the British captain wrote, "the guns spoke as usual."
McCoy was clearly moved by his retelling of the tale, as were the others; Spock alone showed no emotion, though he had been listening carefully to McCoy's words. While I could not share the humans' obvious desire to find parallels between the Terran soldiers' Christmas truce and our present situation, I was able to understand why they wanted me to hear the story, just as Elydex had predicted. That in itself was food for thought.
* * *
It had begun to snow heavily again, and Chapel, at Uhura's urging, had raised the window coverings so we could watch. I had to admit that there was something satisfying about sitting in a softly lit room, safe from the elements, gazing drowsily at the falling snow. I knew I was going to have to make some move to return to my own quarters soon, but at the moment it simply seemed too great an effort ...
The shrill whistling of Kirk's communicator startled us all.
"Kirk here." His voice held no apprehension, merely a trace of surprise that someone should want him on official business at such a late hour.
"Captain, this is Ensign Willis in Admiral Komack's office. We have a Priority One for you, sir. Is there a securable terminal at your present location?"
Kirk glanced at Chapel. "In the study, Captain," she said. "Through there."
"Affirmative, Ensign," Kirk said to his communicator. "Stand by and I'll send you the cipher routing."
"Aye, sir. Standing by."
Kirk disappeared into the study. Breathe, I told myself. Just breathe. After all, there was no reason to assume that this late-night emergency call was bringing the news I wanted with all my heart to hear. But I couldn't stop myself from glancing involuntarily at Chapel's tabletop clock: it was just after midnight, Saturday morning. The timing could be right! I looked away from the clock and began to examine studiously the wallpaper above Spock's head.
When two minutes had passed and Kirk had still not returned, McCoy, who had been half-dozing in his chair, muttered something derogatory to Spock about Starfleet Command.
But Spock appeared not to have heard him. For the first time since our bitter parting in the lift of Enterprise all those weeks ago, I suddenly found myself the object of the first officer's open and undivided attention.
"Are you all right, Commander?" Spock asked. I could detect nothing more than a note of puzzlement in his voice.
"Perfectly," I answered coldly, and he nodded and looked away. But something in my expression must have drawn his attention in the first place. I will have to be more careful.
Uhura sat down next to me on the sofa. "If you're tired and want to leave, Commander, I'll call the security guard."
"No, Lieutenant. Thank you, but I'm fine." The last thing I wanted was to be beamed out of there before I could discover what was going on--
Kirk came into the room, and Spock stood up. "Captain?" he said.
"I've got to go, Spock. Komack wants me at HQ."
"Jim, what the hell is this? You're on leave! It's Christmas!"
"I'll tell Komack you send him your best wishes, Bones." Kirk was hurriedly pulling on his boots and jacket.
"Yeah, and you can also tell him to--"
"Stow it, Doctor. Christine, call downstairs and find out how long that guard is going to be on duty. Komack said the Council's been called into emergency session, and all available personnel are being assigned to the councillors as they arrive. I gather Fed Security is on a holiday duty schedule, so it'll take them a while to get up to strength. Spock, if there's a problem with the guard I want you to make sure the commander gets back to her residence safely. We'll settle the jurisdictional issues later."
"Understood, Captain."
"And stand by for a message from HQ. You and Scotty may have to join me there. I'm sorry, but I can't brief you until then. Orders." Kirk turned to me; surprisingly, his quick grin appeared. "It was good to see you, Commander. Look after yourself."
"And you, Captain." I was pleased to find that my voice was steady. A seamless façade ...
A moment later, Chapel emerged from the study: "You were right, Captain. The security guard says he's been ordered to the Council chambers, and he has to beam back with the commander right away. The duty rosters have been changed, and he's not sure when his replacement will arrive."
"The hell with that," said Kirk. "Spock, you take her home when she's ready to go."
"Excuse me, Captain," I said quickly. "I will leave with the guard now if that is what's necessary."
Kirk shook his head. "I'm going to sort this out. I don't like the idea of reduced security around you, especially ... well, especially now. Christine, I need your terminal again for a minute."
While Kirk was out of the room, McCoy began to speculate about the "emergency," the sudden recall of the Council, and why, exactly, Enterprise's chief engineer and science officer, not to mention the captain himself, might be wanted by Starfleet on a moment's notice.
Spock seemed uninterested in McCoy's musings. As Kirk's second in command, he undoubtedly knew all there was to know about Al-Diraj and its top-secret payload. Perhaps he had already guessed that the ship was in trouble. What else, short of an outright declaration of war from the Romulan and Klingon empires, could cause such a sudden flap among officials of Starfleet and the Federation Council? Well, the news, or some censored version of it, would be public soon enough; in the meantime, I would have to get back to my quarters as soon as possible so that I could receive Tilendi's confirmation of the strike.
Kirk reappeared, looking satisfied. "Commander," he said, "I talked to Elydex, and she agrees that in the circumstances Spock should go with you. She says she's willing to entrust you to the care of Starfleet, at least temporarily."
The note of irony in his voice was so obvious that I wasn't even tempted to make a sarcastic remark. "As you wish, Captain."
"Now, I've got to get out of here. Christine and Nyota, I'm sorry to cut the evening short. Thanks for everything. You two were a godsend."
"You're welcome, Captain." Chapel smiled slightly. "At least we were all able to share Christmas dinner."
"Come on, everybody," said Uhura. "We'll go down to the lobby and give you a sendoff."
* * *
Apparently Elydex had already communicated with the chief of Federation Security, for the guard made no protest when Kirk announced that his first officer would be accompanying me; he merely handed a padd to Spock for his signature.
Kirk's departure was quick and informal: he exchanged a few quiet words with Spock, raised his hand in farewell to the rest of us, and disappeared in a column of light. McCoy was the next to leave, declaring that he wasn't interested in having his molecular structure reassembled upside down and backwards, thank you very much. He embraced Chapel and Uhura and bowed solemnly to me. "Wonderful to see you all, ladies. You throw a damn good Christmas party. Say hi to your sister for me, Ny." He blew a kiss in our direction, waved goodbye, and walked out into the night.
Spock was standing on the transporter pad, waiting for me to join him. But he would have to wait a moment longer: I was determined to make a proper parting from the human women who had treated me with such unexpected courtesy. "Lieutenant Chapel, Lieutenant Uhura," I said, "thank you for sharing your festival meal with me, and for these gifts." I touched the folded sweater I was carrying and the hematite pendant around my neck.
"You're welcome, Commander," said Chapel. "And thank you for our gifts. I hope we'll see each other again."
Uhura squeezed my arm. "Jolan tru, Khisan. See you after the holidays, okay?" She was trying not to smile, and I knew why.
"Okay," I said, mimicking the gravity of her tone. "See you."
She was the first to lose control, but I was not far behind her. For a few seconds we were both rendered nearly helpless by what was, after all, only a very small and nonsensical private joke. She looked past me to Spock, whose expression I couldn't see. "Sorry, Mr. Spock," she said, wiping tears of laughter from her eyes. "I guess you had to be there."
I turned around. Spock stood with his hands clasped behind his back, showing no sign of offense or impatience--in fact, showing no sign of anything at all.
I stepped onto the transporter pad: I could feel Spock's eyes on me now, but I would not meet his gaze. Without waiting for his signal or permission, I spoke to the concierge in my sternest command voice, giving the order in the Standard words that Elydex had used.
"You have our coordinates. Energize!"
Startled, perhaps, into compliance, the concierge obeyed. As the apartment lobby began to fragment and fade away, my last impression was of Uhura, her eyes wide, looking at Spock and me as if she had never seen us before.
© 1996, 1999 Kathleen Dailey. All rights reserved.