Captain's Blood

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Spock remembered heat.

He remembered the shuttlecraft shuddering around him, the last frantic beats of a dying heart. His own heart, now, he knew.

Dying.

It was the way of things.

No matter that logic had so many times been circumvented. No matter that fate and luck and James T. Kirk had so many times intervened in the flow of cause and effect; inevitably everything must die.

Vulcans were no exception.

“Mister Ambassador?”

Spock opened his eyes. Meditation eluded him.

Even in the shadows of the ground transport’s passenger compartment, lit only by the slow green flicker of passing streetglows, he saw the worry in Marinta’s expression. Romulans were so free that way. In truth, there was much these lost children could teach their Vulcan forebears.

Spock focused his thoughts on chance—his one last chance to make that transfer possible.

Reunification.

It was all that mattered to him now.

“We’re almost there,” Marinta said.

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