Personal Log: Stardate, 2342.4
[The shuttle bound for Earth departed at precisely 0300 hours this morning. The trip is estimated to last approximately 4.73 hours—accounting for roundtrip travel, and the errand I am to run, I should arrive back on Vulcan between the hours of 1400 and 1600 hours. As par my plan, these times coincide closely with those of my usual arrival at home after completing my daily extracurricular activities. If all goes according to plan, my father will never know of my trip to Earth, or of the business that I have there. Or rather, he will not know yet.]
The Starfleet Academy Admissions department was housed in a tall, imposing building placed smack-dab in the middle of the bustling city of San Francisco. Its high smooth walls extended almost two stories into the air before there was any sight of a window—and another 40-some stories after that. At almost all hours of the day, there were steady streams of people both entering and leaving the structure.
Personal Log, Supplemental: Stardate, 2342.4
[I have arrived in San Francisco, and am en route to Starfleet Headquarters. Perhaps it is worth noting that this is my first true visit to Earth—virtual and textbook descriptions can only provide information to a certain extent. It is truly an entirely different experience to be at a destination physically, rather than intellectually. I do not yet know what to make of the public here—it is true that my mother is a human, like them, but years of living among Vulcans has dulled the edges of her humanity. Thus, I do not feel that she can serve as a fair indicator of the species as a whole. For the most part, they have treated me less than warmly. But perhaps this is for the best—it is likely that they are not familiar with Vulcan philosophies, and would interpret my clear mental state and logical responses as a form of rudeness. Nonetheless, I am almost inclined to say that their behavior falls more on the side of rude than my own does—I have yet to speak with a single human beyond asking which direction the Admissions Building was in. And even then, I was treated with a certain level of distaste. If I did not know any better, I would say that humans are in some way prejudiced against those of a race different from their own.]
A tall marble lobby housed approximately forty prospective Academy students as they anxiously waited to be called in for their admissions interview. Among them was one lone Vulcan, seated on a bench near the perimeter of the space. It was not a scenario he was unfamiliar with. Especially not since arriving on Earth. Still, not one human had said so much as a friendly "hello," to him. But then again, had he expected them to? He studied the faces of the young humans as they paced back and forth, rehearsed answers for their interviews, and conversed with acquaintances. None of them studied him.
Personal Log, Continued: Stardate 2342.4
[My admissions interview was conducted swiftly, and I am now preparing to make my way back to the shuttle station to ready myself for the return trip to Vulcan. Judging by the facial expressions and voice tone of my interviewer, I would hazard a guess that it went rather well. I believe that my spot at Starfleet Academy is all but secured. The only remaining obstacle will be obtaining my father's signatures on the necessary paperwork—if I must confront him with these, I do not see how my intentions will be able to remain hidden any longer. Perhaps—] [recording interrupted]
Paperwork was knocked freely into the air as the Vulcan collided with a slender blonde form. The papers rained onto the ground and both people stooped to pick them up before they got carried off by the wind. The first one to speak was the blonde. He was of average height—though still shorter than the Vulcan— with sparkling hazel eyes. When he spoke, he radiated an aura of kindness. "I'm so sorry," he said, scooping up a set of yellow papers and handing them back to their owner, smiling as he did so. The Vulcan paused to receive the papers, and took them gratefully. He had a rather blank—perhaps shocked?—look written across his face. Before he could thank the stranger, the blonde boy spoke again: "Wow; Starfleet?" he said, glancing at the papers he had just picked up. The taller of the two nodded curtly. "Yes. I have just completed the interview portion of my admissions process." The other young man's smile widened into a grin. "Well," he chuckled jovially, "What a coincidence—I happen to be on my way to my interview." When the Vulcan did not return the laughter, the blonde stuck out his hand as a form of greeting. "Kirk. Jim Kirk," he smiled. The tall quiet boy looked silently at the hand for a moment, taken aback by this warm and seemingly unwarranted show of kindness. Not wanting to appear rude, he reciprocated the gesture. "Spock," he said. Jim smiled again. "Well, Spock, I'll see you in class." And they shook hands.
Personal Log, Continued: Stardate 2342.4
[I am currently in transit to Vulcan—if the flight is indeed on schedule, then my arrival should go unnoticed, and my parents shall have no reason to think that I spent my day in any other way besides attending my usual classes. The shuttle is due to arrive on Vulcan in approximately 23.8 minutes. Until then, I feel that I must reflect on the events of my day. In particular, one event seems to be at the forefront of my reflections: Upon departing the campus of Starfleet Academy, I became acquainted with a human by the name of Jim Kirk. I must admit that I was somewhat baffled by his behavior at first, and was unsure of what to make of it. Using my prior experiences with humans that day as a standard, Kirk's actions seemed somewhat anomalous. Or perhaps he was merely typical, and all the rest of the humans I encountered were of a particularly distant and prejudiced breed. But logic tells me that this is not so. And something else—try as I might to silence it—perhaps my heart, also tells me that it is not true. Yes, deep down, in the murky depths of my human side, I know that Jim Kirk is special.]
At precisely 1600 hours, Amanda Grayson cast her eyes over to the front door of their home, expecting her son to arrive at any moment. She glanced at her watch, wondering where he could be. Just before the time switched to 1601, the door swung open, and a tall Vulcan teenager stepped into the foyer. His mother smiled warmly and reached up to plant a kiss on his forehead. Normally, he would have pointed out the illogic of such a gesture—but today, he merely gazed silently at the floor, lost in his thoughts. Amanda stepped back, placed her hands on her hips, and asked, "So, sweetie, what did you do today?" Spock continued to stare silently, and for a moment she thought he wasn't listening. But then he responded quietly, not moving his gaze, "I made a friend." And the corners of his lips threatened to twitch upward ever so slightly.