A/N: ALRIGHT, I FINALLY got around to writing that Spirk fic I promised. And it's actually CHAPTERED -gasp-
In my leafing through Star Trek 2009 fanfictions, I really didn't see many that covered the resettlement of the Vulcans, and, that seemed kind of odd, since there are so many directions to take that, so in this fic I cover the settlement of New Vulcan as I see it--the various compromises the Vulcans will have to make for the sake of survival, and the paths of evolution of the species. This is where the facts and feelings the culture has suppressed for thousands of years finally comes to the light.
Please tell me what you think, and enjoy.
Colonization
Chapter I
Peaceful NegotiationsThe first thing Jim noticed about the new Vulcan colony planet was that it was hot—sinfully hot, and arid: a Vulcanesque climate that he'd only had the esteemed privilege to read about. Secondly, he saw that Spock seems so at home here, eyes scanning the landscape in the same pensive silence he so often wore.
"How do you stand it?" Kirk breathes, popping the fabric of his uniform for ventilation.
"It is… familiar," Spock responds distantly, his voice rippling with a hint of some underlying confliction Kirk deems too personal to broach. He can see enough—the stiff, pained line of the Vulcan's shoulders pointing to the falter in his brow.
Spock steps carefully, and watches carefully, so as to not become too caught up in the similarity of the landscape. If he lets himself slip—if he finds himself distracted and gives himself time to forget—it becomes too easy to mistake the rock and soil of this new place of that of Vulcan, and reality is left to rear up with an unforgiving sharpness.
His people—what is left of his people—build: work by the sweat of their brow to mold and recast not only the society and metropolis of thousands of years of learning and life, but an entire race, whose culture and population is still reeling from the heady blow of genocide.
The are alone: orphaned survivors.
Jim's hand falls on his shoulder and he's met with that confident, disconcerting face that shouldered it's way into his life with a particularly… creative solution to the Kobayashi Maru. To think he'd be here today.
Fascinating.
"Spock—" Kirk begins, only to stammer and correct himself, "The other Spock—will be glad to see you."
He nods curtly, disengaging his focus from the surroundings. "You as well, I am sure."
It drives Kirk crazy—that blank look Spock wields so well. But there is something running underneath: some swell of emotions almost too strong to bear; Spock had proved that to Jim himself, more than once.
Actually, he's gotten pretty good at ciphering them out.
He leads Spock away from thought and open space with a gentle hand on his shoulder, ushering him into the swell of activity that is the building sight of the budding colonies. His grip is firm, reassuring, and Jim can feel the slightest of breaths pass through Spock, relaxing the slope of his shoulders by the tiniest fraction of an inch.
Though, Spock—of any generation—had proven himself to be anything but an easy man to get a hold of. With Ambassador Spock heading multiple facets of New Vulcan's colonization and construction, finding him outside of a meeting or away from his post was a near impossibility. However, he was always one to make time for an old friend.
"Ah, Jim—Spock," he greets, warmly ushering them to fall into step beside him. While neither of the Vulcans—neither of the Spocks—seem to recognize the bizarre atmosphere produced by their being in the same place at once, Jim is floundering in it, at a complete loss for how to address them separately.
As they wander, vast skeletons of scaffolding rise up before them in odd and magnificent shapes, each frame coated in a wide array of workers of all shapes, sizes—and species.
Spock's inquiring expression catches the eye of the Ambassador long before Jim is able to form a coherent question.
"The isolated superiority of our cultured must die with our planet—we are not enough to undertake this task on our own—if we want to survive, we must accept the helping hand these people have extended to us. We will preserve our culture as best we can, and let the new generations usher in a new age."
"I presume there are some who have not taken kindly to such a change," Spock comments, the slightest of grimness seeping into his expression; his hands remain carefully braced behind his back. At a glance, he looks to be the same Spock who stands so proudly on the bridge of the Enterprise, but there is a stiffness and a stillness brought on by the trip planet-side that goes beyond posture to breech the more private of emotions Spock would deny he has.
The Ambassador nods, and fearlessly allows concern to touch his eyes, and Kirk wonders mildly if the younger Spock will ever become like this.
"Protests have been made—and threats. We are an old breed; there are those who will fight change."
Finally embodying the stern, authoritative persona that earned him his rank, Kirk asks, "Anything serious?"
The Ambassador takes the time to glance between them, a thoughtful, pondering expression crossing his features.
Jim's look softens, and he smiles in that gentle, trustworthy way. "I've got a brooding Vulcan on my hands that I don't know what to do with, and I would really like my first officer back." Affectionate, as always, he drapes an arm across Spock's shoulders, flashing him a bright grin.
"On the contrary, Captain," Spock responds deliberately, "my mind is quite at ease regarding Vulcan colonization—I am, after all, overseeing the project myself." He nods respectively to his older counterpart, resettling somewhat contentedly into his stance.
The corners of the Ambassadors eyes crinkle in a bright expression that borders on laughter.
"Nothing has gotten out of hand," the Ambassador answers—answers but doesn't answer. And while Kirk takes note at the sidestepped answer, Spock seems to have fooled himself, the younger version falling somewhat more relaxed in his posture. Jim smiles dimly to himself; Spock hasn't realized how human his older self has become.
It is not much later that the Ambassador is called away from them, his attention being in high demand. He bids them a regretful farewell leaving them just a ways off from the construction sight, on a stout crag overlooking a wide and imposing stretch of open land, the beginnings of the settlement standing small and lonely inside it.
"Looks a lot like Vulcan, doesn't it?" he asks, somewhat tactlessly—but always with good intent.
Spock is turned in on himself—more so than usual. His quiet calculation borders on indecipherable.
"Its familiarity," he says after a time, "Only serves to make it all the more alien." Quietly, he murmurs, "It fools me into expecting what is not here." With an almost wide-eyed blink, he shakes off the concerned look Kirk casts him. "We should return to the ship, Captain. Matters here are well underway."
Shooting one last thoughtful look at his first officer, Kirk nods. He pulls out his communicator. "Go ahead and beam us up, Scotty."
A resounding, "aye, aye, Cap'n" rings from the device and they quickly find themselves blinded by the white of the transporter room.
"Well, isn't it a pleasure ta see your cheerful faces," Scotty remarks brightly, clapping Jim across the back. "And how goes things down there?"
He grins. "Not bad, not bad. How about here?"
"She's purrin' like a kitten, Cap'n." He swells with a puff of pride, patting the wall affectionately. "Just waitin' for your orders, sir."
"Great," Jim chimes, "Then how about we land the old girl, eh? I'd say another couple days here couldn't hurt." The Ambassador's avoidance to his question still hangs heavy in Jim's mind, and that old herculean instinct to offer assistance where it's needed serves as a nagging old pain.
"Captain," Spock interjects, in his own, dignified way; while his expression is unreadable, his shoulders are tense yet again and the line of his mouth is hard and straight, "With your permission, I would like to retire to my quarters for the remainder of the day.
Jim looks up in surprise. "Sure—go ahead."
He nods in response. "Thank you, Captain."
His is more than halfway to the turbolift before Jim catches up with him, and too distracted by his own thoughts to hear the ring of Jim's boots across the floor.
"Spock!"
Spock turns to see Jim only feet away, a puzzling expression contorting his features.
He speaks softly, casting a quick glance behind him to make sure they're alone. "Hey, are you gonna be okay?"
Surprised as he is, Spock doesn't let the comment faze him. "I assure you, Captain, I need only rest."
Considering the matter settled, he turns from Jim, managing only a few steps in his previous direction before Jim grabs his hand and all progress stops.
His own surprise is quickly drowned out by a spike of emotion too vivid and violent to be subdued by his typical barrier of mental blocks. It shoots through him from the connection, radiating up and down his spine and spinning in his skull, carrying with it a handful of vague, blurred images that stumbled over one another in a pell-mell rush of nonsensical sensation.
Taken aback by the force of emotions not his own, Spock's lungs work of their own accord, and the sudden, subconscious intake of breath is enough to make Jim pull back in alarm.
"Is everything alright, Spock?"
Swallowing down the swell of confusion and surprise beginning to flood him, he manages a hurried, "Fine, Captain," he swallows down embarrassment and flexes his fingers, finally fisting them against his palm and trying to ignore the faint pleasant tingle left behind. "I am simply fatigued after the trip planet-side. With your permission…" He glances at the turbolift, and Kirk takes a bashful step back.
"Yeah," he says, working to smooth the worry lines on his face, "Yeah, of course. Rest up, Spock—The bridge needs it's first officer."
"Aye, Captain."
Inside the turbolift, Spock runs fingers over his hand and struggles to make sense of himself.
The next day of Kirk's exploration begins without Spock—the Vulcan claiming to have personal matters to attend to on the surface. Instead, he goes with McCoy, accompanying the cantankerous doctor as he runs scan after scan of the area in search of the new, unknown, and certainly deadly diseases and life forms bound to be peppering the planet.
"Hey, Bones," he whispers jokingly, "It's a rock; I think we're safe." He chuckles lightly, only to be met with a particularly searing glance and a grouchy:
"This is a completely new planet, Jim—there's no telling what's safe."
Jim only smiles and shakes his head, taking the chance to wander.
There is a sort of pristine ideal of civilization—crystalline structures glimmering at the peak of a bare and rugged landscape: a utopia standing beautiful in a raw, brutal way. A society populated by elegant, advanced creatures of higher breeding and knowledge than the lowly human soul. This is the image the Vulcans create, even with their skeletal structures towering half-finished and lonely amongst so much empty space, they still form perfection this way. They are the diamond in the rough, the city in the rocks—they are everything and more so many can only dream of.
They are beautiful even in decay. Beautiful in tragedy. Beautiful in strife.
The Vulcan life beats on—its culture thriving still, even if secluded, isolated.
Alone.
Jim has envied Spock in the past—he envied him as a cadet, struggling to make his way to the top and looking up at he accomplished face of those who'd beat him to it; he envied him as an unorthodox First Officer, when he was trapped so close to what he wanted, and still answering to the men with all the power; he'd envied him as a frozen, abandoned prisoner on Delta Vega, made to see the proud and established man Spock could work to become—or would work to become, or had worked to become.
He envies nothing of him now, because he is haunted by the memory of Spock looking out with bitter love over the landscape of New Vulcan pained by a kind of desperation.
A kind of desperation that meant he would never be able to bring himself to live there.
A smattering of testy complaints and one trek through the new construction site later, Jim finds Spock consulting with his father and the rest of the council of elders—the group tucked just a little ways off the main path in an alleyway formed by two half-buildings.
His cheerful advance is stopped by grim expressions and muted voices.
"…increased violence… unrest… rioting…"
He strains to hear.
"…deaths."
Jim stiffens, turning to Bones, who wears the same, aggravated worry-creases that seem to be his default.
"Ah, to hell with this," Bones grumbles, fiddling with his tricorder, "God knows I have better things to do than keep you from sticking your nose where I already know you're going to stick it anyways." He heads towards something that mildly resembles dying plant life and waves Jim away.
Chuckling, Jim leaves Bones to his work and starts to make his way toward the group just as Sarek catches sight of him. "Captain Kirk," the old Vulcan says in greeting, giving a calm nod in his direction.
With an awkward cough, Kirk hurries to close the distance between them, casting a self-conscious glance along the skyline of headless buildings making up the surroundings. "Is, ah, everything alright here?"
Spock speaks quickly, cutting off his father's response. "Construction is running smoothly, Captain. With the supplies Starfleet sent they should not require our presence here many days longer."
Jim tries not to take any personal offence in the way the real issue was sidestepped, only urging, "What about interspecies relations?"
Sarek steps in for this one, shooting his son a glance that—by human standards at least—seems lacking in meaning. Kirk, however, notices the shock of stiffness added to Spock's stance.
Carefully crafting his sentences, Sarek begins, "It would be… untrue to say things have not escalated far past uneasy. We have done what we could to contain the incidents, but…"
Kirk's expression drops to something very, very hard. "But."
"But, there has been bloodshed for which we cannot account or excuse. On both sides now. I fear things may have long passed any hope of diplomacy. If peace is not regained swiftly, we will make enemies long before we have any means to defend ourselves from them." He pauses to release a heavy breath, expelling with it a shameful confession. "Pride runs too rampant through some of us. It is through our own arrogance we breed contempt and bruise benign natures—instigate violence in a time where we can withstand nothing but peace. Already, we have made enemies of many of the other species residing here. We cannot… we cannot manage such a crisis on our own."
Kirk nods thoughtfully, his eyebrows furrowing together. "I guess it's lucky for you you've got Starfleet on your side," he says with a manufactured sort of cheerfulness that runs dark in a deeper vein. "Well do everything we can."
He glances to his First Officer, landing a supportive hand on his shoulder. The orders came gently—more question than command. "Mr. Spock—walk with me."
Spock nods, and with a brief exchange of formal goodbyes, the pair heads off in a nonspecific direction, conversing in low voices and keeping close together.
His brow only barely mussed by a furrow of thought, Sarek's eye follows the casual contact. His questions, he keeps to himself.
-
"You gonna be alright?" Jim asks softly; more tightly gripping the Vulcan's shoulder.
"Captain, I assure you, I am fine. Should the elders require our assistance here, I am perfectly willing to give it." He settles his hands at the small of his back, looking composed, refined, professional.
"But you don't want to," Jim says, with a certainty that causes Spock to falter, "You don't want to stay here."
He hesitantly opens his mouth in an attempt to reply, but McCoy cuts him off, plodding his gruff, grouchy way toward them.
"Anything new, Bones?" Jim greets good-naturedly.
Crossing his arms over his chest, McCoy sighs, "Oh, just your typical array of maladies and parasites, so far. But I'm sure I'll find something."
Jim laughs and claps him across the back. "Well, in the mean time, you can come with us. We could use your help with something."
Casting a cynical, suspicious look at Jim, Bones asks, "And that would be what?"
"We've got some angry colonists on our hands; the Vulcan High Council wants our help to settle things."
-
The colonists are not a difficult bunch to find. Furious and raging, they are proud of their involvement in the resistance.
A number of them are gathered in a campsite not far form the western edge of the construction project: a large and ragged group with a smattering of species—Andorians, Bajorans, Ferengi, Tholians, Betazoids, even Klingons—though they are few in number and clustered off to themselves.
The sight of Spock sets things into motion. There is a violent ripple of under-toned whispers and antagonizing stares. Kirk shoulders his way into the heart of this, his command gold uniform gleaning an ethereal yellow in the shift of the firelight.
He comes to a stop in the midst of the hostile thrum and his voice rings out with that undeniable tenor of authority that turns all ears to him.
"We're here on behalf of the federation." All at once his tone softens to a smoother, more charismatic quality—the tone that turns trust to loyalty; skepticism to trust. "We want to talk, that's all."
There is a wave of muttered conversation, as the mass undulates to the rhythm of each wary gaze and stiffened stance. Starting from a spot in the back, the waters part to make way for the broad shoulders of a large figure—unmistakably Cardassian.
"Then you'll want to talk to me," he bellows in a low, gruff, abrasive way. He closes the gap, leering over Kirk by a good five or six inches. While Kirk remains unfazed and unflinching, the two by his side turn tense in an instant, waiting for the Cardassian to make a move.
"Sir," Kirk says levelly: his best mediator voice, "We only want to hear what you have to say."
The Cardassian's gaze darts to Spock and his eyes harden. "The Vulcan should leave."
Spock shifts as if to move, but the arm Kirk throws in front of him stops him. "The Vulcan is my First Officer and my friend, and will remain here with me; any act against him will be considered an act against Starfleet for which you and your men will be immediately arrested."
The Cardassian's eyes widen at the hostility underlying Kirk's voice—surprised, but impressed—only to narrow again with mistrust and grudge-ridden fury.
"I am James T. Kirk, Captain of the Starship Enterprise. This is First Officer Spock and Chief Medical Officer Leonard McCoy." They each nod in turn, Bones looking calmer than he feels, Spock looking calmer than he should.
The animosity radiating off the crowd around them is stifling; they watch with fury as their eyes dart venomously between Captain and First Officer.
"My name is Takar," the Cardassian offers, somewhat guardedly, "And this," he pauses to glance around them, "Is the resistance."
"Yes, we know," Kirk says, mostly to himself. "We're here for the sake of negotiating peace between the Vulcans and your people."
Takar snorts and settles himself on a bench constructed out of excess raw materials. "Peace?" He asks in a mutedly disgusted way. "Peace was all we asked for—and this is what we got."
It's only now that Kirk realizes that most of the group is bruised and bloodied, only now that he sees the myriad of cuts and scrapes that look infected and the homemade splints and casts made from scrap boards and tattered fabrics. It's a battered army, lined with tired, wounded faces and heavy, swollen limbs.
Sympathy staining his voice, Kirk says, "We're here to do what we can."
"And what good is that?" Takar growls, "The word of the military? What has that gotten us?"
"Believe me, I understand the bad blood—" Kirk is unable to even get the sentence out before Takar snarls out:
"You understand nothing!" His voice turns low and hateful, and in his eyes smolders the most vicious kind of hate—born from pain gone too long unavenged and unredeemed. "You did not watch a brother fall to one of those creatures." He points cruelly at Spock, who flinches just the tiniest, almost undetectable bit. "What does a race of emotionless scholars have to gain from killing my people? Inside, they are only the same, soulless marauders as their ancestors." He draws himself to his feet.
"Show some respect," Kirk snarls.
"Captain," Spock murmurs under his breath, a brief flash of anxiety underlying the tone, "my presence here is only serving to agitate—"
"No, Spock," Kirk answers: loudly, and unabashed. Turning his sights on Takar and his men, he tells them, "My First Officer has nothing to do with what you are facing. Show some discretion." He quiets, his gaze gone dark and thoughtful—conflicted. Murmuring so that only those closest can hear he says, "My father died at the hands of a Romulan named Nero—died so that me, my mother, and hundreds of passengers and crew would survive. I've lived since the day I was born without a father. Don't talk like you're the only one who's lost."
Cautiously and with an edge of wary respect, Takar says, "I apologize."
Returning once more to the stiff, elegant posture of professional finesse, Kirk continues. "The Vulcans have lost their planet and their people. They know pain. Now—we're here in an attempt to negotiate peace. You're going to have to share the same planet; you might as well get used to the idea of sharing the same air."
"With all due respect, Captain—we have fought only in self-defense. We refuse to make any promises of peace when we are still in danger of attack each time we step away from our work."
"I understand that. I only want your word that your people won't be instigating any fights." Finally, Kirk seems more relaxed; he is in his element—undefeated and unmatched. "And should we get Vulcan cooperation, we ask that you agree to a treaty."
There is a weighty pause where the Cardassian eyes him as if sizing him up. "We are agreed."
"Great," Kirk says cheerfully, his relaxation going to extremes, "Glad to hear it. That's all, then—sorry for the bother." He turns to leave, but Takar calls him back.
"Captain," he says, still somewhat sarcastic in the use of the term, "Do not be under the impression that I will not protect my people should the need arise."
Kirk smiles brightly, and connects the gap with the clap of an allying hand on the Cardassian's shoulder. "Wouldn't expect anything less."
A/N: just sort of laying the groundwork here. Things really get rolling come the next chapter, but we had to have some set up or it was never going to work.
I'm trying to keep this at five chapters max, but since in my writing I'm already at chapter 4, I may overstep a bit.
Hope you enjoyed!!