There had been seven on The Galileo shuttle, but only five remained. Two men lay dead on the planet's surface, and the rest were now to burn up in the decaying orbit. It was with typical Vulcan calm that Spock informed the crew of their impending deaths… logically commenting that the fate they would suffer in the planet's sickly green atmosphere was infinitely more preferable to the death they would receive on the planet below. Of course, Lieutenant Boma responded with sarcastic anger… but Spock did not react. The ensign had every right to be angry. Had a Vulcan not been leading the expedition, those two men would not have been dead, and the shuttle would have had the fuel to retain orbit. And had his subordinates not rescued him from the boulder beneath which his leg was pinned, the remaining crew would have escaped the beasts on the surface below and returned safely to The Enterprise before Captain Kirk was forced to terminate the rescue mission. But becausehe, Spock, had been in command, a logic-driven, insensitive Vulcan, all seven of the Galileo science expedition were condemned to a painful and fear-filled death.
"Is there anything we can do?" for the first time since the crash, McCoy didn't address Spock with reproach or scorn.
"The Enterprise is surely on course for Makus III by now." Spock replied, his heart filling with the heavy pang of resignation. "I for one do not believe in angels."
Unlike the rest of the crew Spock was not afraid. He was a Vulcan. Vulcans chose to ignore fear. Yet he was also half-human, and the emotion of shame was finally beginning to wear away his walls of emotional suppression. It was… regretful. Spock had always wanted to die as he had strived to live. Emotionless, competent and respected… but instead he sat in a doomed shuttle fighting against feelings of shame and remorse, having failed dismally at his command, and thus incurring the anger and hatred of his subordinates. It was regretful… and regret was yet another human emotion.
"Well Mr. Spock…" McCoy said in his matter-of-fact way. "So ends your first command." Knowing the doctor as well as he did, Spock could sense pity beneath his words.
Staring straight ahead, Spock nodded contemplatively, finally allowing the shame to wash over him. "Yes. My first command."
Forty-three minutes and fifty-three seconds…
But there had to be a way! Unintentionally, Spock bit the inside of his lip in frustration. There had to be a way!
An idea, a hopeless, pathetic thought dashed through his mind and unbidden, Spock's muscles responded.
He reached out, and swiftly flicked the switch that would jettison the shuttle's fuel. Then- he ignited it.
Shocked cries arose from the crew and the shuttle began to rattle furiously, souring at full speed around the planet's orbit and emitting two brilliant streams of fuel in her wake.
Why had he done that? Spock could scarce believe it. They now had but six minutes before incineration… those extra minutes of life his human crewmates would have so valued… wasted on his desperate illogical hope. The Enterprise would be long gone by now.
"A distress signal?" Scottie smiled gently, realising what Spock's intent had been. "Ah… It's like sending up a flare. Mr. Spock, that was a good gamble. Perhaps in was worth it."
'Vulcans should not gamble…" Spock thought, before bitterly saying, "No one out there to see it."
"This may be the last action you ever take, Mr. Spock… But it was all human." Said McCoy from behind him. Spock inwardly winced, knowing that in death McCoy had finally seen what he always wanted. Spock's human half.
"Totally illogical… there was no chance." As his final failure, Spock had betrayed himself.
"That's exactly what I mean." McCoy responded.
Three point four-five seconds.
The sound of the explosion filled Spock's ears… his eyes were dazzled by a brilliant light… and then… nothing. 'Is this what death is? Fascinating.'
But the silence lasted barely a second …
"Mr. Spock! You did it, sir!" A warm Scottish accent broke through the surface of Spock's daze.
Opening his eyes, Spock blinked, twice. "Mr. Scott… it would appear my gamble was… worth it."
For the five remaining crew members were now safe on the transporter pan of The Enterprise.
Broad grins greeted them from the officers at the transporter control panels. For a moment, stunned silence filled the room before everyone, except Spock of course, erupted into relieved laughter.
"I must make a report to the captain." Spock moved to exit the transporter room when he winced. His leg. He had forgotten. No matter… he would have it seen to later.
"Oh, no you don't." McCoy gripped his arm. "A boulder was flung high speed at your leg. I'm guessing that despite all your oh-so-superior Vulcan anatomy, there have got to be a couple of broken bones in there."
"Small price to pay. Have you forgotten that it's his fault Latimer and Gaetano are dead." Lieutenant Boma still hadn't forgotten his animosity towards Spock, as he expressed an almost animalistic satisfaction with his commander's obvious pain.
With a righteous Northern indignation, Scottie turned on Boma. "Mr. Boma, may I remind you that Mr. Spock just saved our hinies?"
Knowing now was the time for regulations, Spock turned tired eyes on the irate lieutenant. "Mr. Boma, I know you were… emotionally affected by the effects down on the planet, and whether your anger is justified or not is a discussion irrelevant in this particular situation. But now that we are all out of harms way it would be wise to resume standard etiquette. Therefore, you refrain from referring to me in such a level of insubordination again, or you will be subject to an official reprimand."
"Will be? He ought to be struck from the ranks." McCoy was now viewing Spock as a patient and a friend, having forgotten his own insubordination a short time earlier. But Spock did not argue, preferring to focus his mental energies into bearing the pain of his shattered leg.
Back in the medical bay, Spock was very quiet. The day's events had presented a significant challenge the infallibility of his life's philosophy. He would need to meditate… but also present a report explaining just why he had proved so unfit a commander.
His reverie would not last, however.
"Like I thought… ankle, shin, phalanges, metatarsals… you got at least eight broken bones, Spock. Vulcan or not, how you managed to limit it to one scream is beyond me."
Spock was silent.
McCoy shot a keen blue gaze at the First Officer. "Look, er, Spock?"
"Yes, Doctor?" Spock avoided McCoy's eyes by taking a keen interest in his swollen and green-soaked injury.
"Uh… I'm sorry for chewing you out like that in front of the junior officers. You can put me on report if you like. It's what I deserve."
Turning to McCoy, Spock said, "I wold not have Mr. Boma hear it, but you were all quite justified in your anger. Although your expressions of said anger were insubordinate, I have also failed in my actions as commander. If you are to be put on report, than it is logical to also put myself on report. Shall I do that?"
McCoy's jaw clenched foreward. "No, Mr. Spock, you shall not."
"Than we shall hear no more of it. Two men are dead, and their friends shall grieve for them. They have died on my watch. I shall have to bear that. Enough damage has been done." Spock's dark eyes seemed to sink back within himself, and he once more was silent.
"Spock!" the captain came rushing in, a broad grin on his face. "Scottie told me you'd be down here." He paused upon seeing Spock's battered leg. "What happened?"
"He had a little argument with a 20-ton boulder, Jim. Pinned him against a rock as neatly as a butterfly on a pin."
"A rather distasteful analogy, Doctor, but essentially true." Spock interjected.
"When will he be up and about, Doctor?" Kirk looked at his First Officer with concern.
"I will be capable of working as soon as the good doctor is finished." Spock began.
"Oh, no, you don't. You aren't working for some good, solid thirty-six hours, d'ya hear me, you green-blooded Vulcan? Man's insane, Jim. Broke eight bones, and wants to go back on duty in an hour."
"Nevertheless, I will complete my report. I'm sure you will want an account for the death of two Starfleet officers and the destruction of one shuttlecraft."
"I've already heard something of the matter, Spock."
The Vulcan lifted his chin up stiffly, yet avoided his captain's gaze. "Yes… I would assume you have."
On the strict orders of the good doctor, Spock was required to stay off his leg for a day or two. Not a man conducive to the lethargy of relaxation, Spock buried himself in writing up reports and researching obscure scientific oddities. He was, to use a human terminology, 'taking his mind off things'. He knew, in his logical, detached way, that he was avoiding having to face what really happened down on the planet. The feelings he experienced aboard the doomed shuttled- the depth of shame, grief, and guilt that darkened his typical emotional purity… the memory of those feelings were most unpleasant, as was the constant urge to feel them once again.
It was not only the knowledge of his own failings that troubled the Vulcan commander. The news of his conduct during the mission would have doubtless spread across the ship's personnel, and such gossip would of a certainty affect his ability to command the respect his rank required. Furthermore, Spock was troubled as to what his captain would think of him. He foresaw himself receiving an official reprimand… not that it would not be well-deserved. Yet he valued his relationship with his captain… if it were to be damaged, Spock knew he would have to spend many long nights of meditation to supress the subsequent emotions. It would render him… less efficient. It must be for that reason that Spock was concerned. Yes… it must be.
It was at first quite a welcome change to be returned to bridge duty, and Spock applied himself to his task with great avidity. But after a few minutes, it came to his realisation that he was avoiding the gazes of his crew members. A most illogical attitude. But then, how was it logical to look the other officers? It should be a matter of little consideration… it was not worth thinking on. And with that in mind, he exacted himself out of the mental mire he seemed to be sledging through, and he compelled himself to glance at the nearest officer. By doing so, Spock came to a somewhat disconcerting realization… for although he had been avoiding everyone's gaze, the bridge officers all appears to find him of extreme interest. A brief glance around the room was all it took… every eye was trained on him. For what emotional reason was he the subject of such scrutiny? He did wonder. Anger, disdain, disappointment? Spock quickly scanned Engineer Scottie's face. No, none of those emotions marked his good-natured Scottish face… his eyes were gentle and friendly, but in the corner of his mouth danced an irrepressible twitch. He was amused. Oh… of course.
That morning incident of the jettisoned fuel had elicited a buzz of humorous gossip. It only took a few hours before everyone on the ship were aware of Spock's emotionally charged action. He had just come out to breakfast in the mess hall, and had noticed dozens of mirthful eyes trained on him. His heightened Vulcan hearing then picked up the strain of their amusement.
'jettisoned and ignited the fuel…'
'completely disregarded his precious logic.'
'…saw his human side...'
'emotional act of last-ditch frustration.'
Without bothering to finish his meal, the Vulcan had huffed quickly out of the hall.
And now, on the bridge, Captain James T. Kirk turned to his First Officer with a good-natured sparkle in his eye, and proceeded to tease him, accusing the Vulcan of jettisoning the fuel in an act of desperation. Which was, as Kirk said, 'a highly emotional state of mind.'
Throughout this satirical session, Spock's face was a mask of attentive contemplative. But the Vulcan wryly wondered if his human friend knew just how damning his 'light-hearted teasing' was to a person of the Vulcan philosophy. As if following on from the captain, the voices of his Vulcan schoolmates echoed in his ears, they, his ever-present scourge. 'Shame, guilt, frustration… an illogical action based out of the human emotion of desperation. You should admit it… you with your sad human eyes… you're not really Vulcan at all, are you? It is illogical to dissemble.' Betraying emotion was a Vulcan's greatest shame. But Spock's friends could not understand this.
The captain was correct… Spock had acted from emotion. But he had no intention of compromising his Vulcan dignity any further by admitting this aloud. So Spock supplied Kirk with a weak excuse, provoking disbelieving smiles from the bridge-crew.
"You're not going to admit that for the first time in your life, you committed a purely human act?" Kirk laughed.
"No, sir." Spock replied in monotone. "Not to you, Jim." He thought. The battle for emotional suppression had only just began- and it was a private battle. Yet his ship-mates were clamouring across the battlements and intruding on the delicate internal situation… completely unaware of the disorder they were creating.
"Mister Spock, you are a stubborn man." Kirk shook his head in bemusement.
"Yes, sir." Spock returned.
And looking around at the bridge crew as they laughed uncontrollably at his obstinacy, Spock felt strangely alone.
"You've always thought logic was the best basis on which to build command." McCoy's earlier comment rang in his ears. Yet Spock had never been more wrong. Every step of the way, he had made the correct and logical decision. And yet two men had died. And the only thing that had saved their lives was Spock's single inexplicable act of human emotion. McCoy had warned him at the very start of their predicament. 'It'll take more than logic to get out of this.'
Spock's faith had been shaken in the one thing that held his being together. Logic. Logic was what made him Vulcan. Yet it was emotion that had kept him alive. It was… fascinating.