Chapter 2
Kirk – six months
He was seated in his office, a newly-minted lieutenant sitting across his desk from him, giving him a status report on patrols along the Romulan Neutral Zone when his attention was diverted elsewhere. He strove to focus on what the young woman was saying, but became distracted by a commotion in the next room. Looking past the junior officer, he could see Admiral Nogura showing a pretty blonde around the workspace. The insignia on her uniform indicated she was a vice admiral – one grade above him in rank. They were stopping at every workstation, the admiral obviously introducing her as she reached out to shake hands with the various Operations personnel, warm smiles and pleasantries exchanged on both sides. No one had told him they'd be conducting tours for VIPs today. But somehow, this didn't look like a tour. Normally, that involved a number of people, attended to by their even larger entourage of personnel. Instantly his head started to pound. He didn't like the look of this at all.
The lieutenant's voice trailed off as she realized Kirk was no longer listening to what she was saying. Following his eyes she turned, glancing through the glass front of Kirk's office, taking in the scene unfolding before them.
"Who's that, sir? And what's going on?" She shifted her gaze back to Kirk, her questioning look sweeping over his face.
"I don't know, and I have no idea, but I'm sure as hell going to find out." He launched himself out of his seat, stepping quickly around his desk, heading for the door. "Excuse me, lieutenant, I'll be right back," he informed her, the door swinging closed behind him. He moved decisively toward the flurry of activity at the other end of the office.
Seeing him approach, Nogura's face lit up in what to Kirk appeared to be a disingenuous grin. "Jim. There you are. We tried to coordinate a meeting with you first, but it seems you're a very busy man. I hope this is a good time. Allow me to introduce Vice Admiral Lori Ciana," he announced, inclining his head toward his companion.
Stepping around Nogura with a hand extended she flashed him a perfect smile. "Admiral," she said, grasping his hand with a firm grip and giving it a warm shake. "I've heard so much about you. It's going to be an honor working with you."
He felt his own answering smile melt away and he cast a quizzical glance at Nogura, who reddened slightly. "Well, you see Jim," he began awkwardly, before his considerable diplomatic skills kicked in, "Admiral Schmidt retired unexpectedly – turns out his wife is in poor health – so we were scrambling to fill his position," Nogura finished smoothly, now wearing his grin like a shield.
Kirk allowed himself a moment to reflect on that. Admiral Schmidt was his immediate superior, but distanced himself from the job, pretty much giving Kirk free reign to run things how he saw fit. Somehow he got the impression that wouldn't be the case with Admiral Ciana. She seemed one to take a much more hands-on approach.
Nogura was still speaking. "She has experience in this type of position; hers is a lateral move from Division HQ. She can handle a lot of the bureaucratic paperwork and red tape for you, freeing you up for the more critical tasks and essential decision-making processes."
"I see," he replied, his tone much more uncertain than his response. Something just didn't ring true, but at the moment he couldn't put his finger on it. His gaze shifted between Lori and Nogura, noting idly the look of utter shock on the face of the lieutenant commander seated before them at the appropriations desk as the man's eyes traveled from one to the other of his three senior officers. It seemed he was as stunned as Kirk.
"Well, uh, this really isn't the place to discuss it," Nogura hedged, pressing a handkerchief to the beads of sweat that had collected on his brow. "Shall we retire to your office?"
"I think that's a great idea." He beamed at Lori, placing a hand on the small of her back and gently steering her toward his glass-enclosed cubicle.
oooOOOooo
She had been in the Operations Office for over two weeks now, and he had to admit she'd turned out to be a tremendous help. He had learned later during that hour-long meeting in his office that she was also a gifted xeno-psychologist. Her expertise in this area was proving to be invaluable when it came to assigning non-humans to various vessels and staff positions.
Where her predecessor had distanced himself from the minutiae of overseeing the Operations office, Lori was here almost every day, working closely with him and yet did not insist on micromanaging everything, offering ideas and suggestions that proved beneficial to the smooth operation of his personnel and their assigned tasks, but allowing the final decisions to rest with him. At first he'd been suspicious, but with time his concerns had given way to grudging acceptance, gradually changing to approval overall. She seemed to notice the subtle shift in his attitude toward her as well, her initial diffidence and hesitancy turning quickly into self-confidence, her manner becoming easy-going, relaxed, comfortable.
Lately he'd noticed a marked difference in her demeanor as well. Where at first she'd been strictly detached, professional, she now seemed open, receptive, brushing his hand whenever possible, her knee pressing momentarily against his as they sat next to one another at the daily briefing, her hair tickling his cheek as she leaned over his chair, pointing at something on his monitor, her perfume alluring, provocative. Not one to mistake the overt signals she was sending him, he took a moment to contemplate the possibilities.
She was a very attractive woman; slim yet curvaceous, intelligent, self-assured and career oriented – all qualities he found desirable. While in command of the Enterprise he hadn't permitted himself the luxury of getting personally involved with any member of his crew, but this set of circumstances was completely different.
They weren't in a life-or-death situation. He would never have to choose her over another under his command as someone who would need to risk her life on hazardous landing party duty, or as part of a plan to protect his ship and crew. He didn't see anything wrong with starting a relationship with her. Hell, it was just what he needed to snap him out of the melancholy mood that had plagued him for the last six months. Decision made, he didn't delay in acting on the impulse.
"Lori, what are you doing tonight? If you aren't busy, I thought maybe we could grab some dinner after shift. It'd give us a chance to go over those new personnel assignments for the Revere." He couldn't stop the crooked grin that tugged at the corners of his mouth.
"Why, Jim, that's a lovely idea. I thought you'd never ask. What took you so long?" Her answering smile made him ask himself the very same thing.
oooOOOooo
He gathered her into his arms, kissing her passionately. They had barely made it through the door to his apartment before both were acting on the unmistakable chemistry between them. She returned the kiss fiercely, pawing at his shirt, working to slide her hand underneath it when suddenly, he winced and released her abruptly, turning away from her and taking a few halting steps, leaning heavily on the wall, a fist pressed to his forehead.
She was instantly at his side, a questioning hand on the small of his back. "Jim, what's wrong? Are you in pain?"
"No." And yet he was; not the kind of pain she meant, but an emotional pain, a general sense of unease, of foreboding. He ran an unsteady hand across his face, forcing himself to an upright position, once again trying to put some distance between them, her fingers falling away from him as he stepped around her.
"Then what?" The hurt in her tone was unmistakable.
How on Earth to explain this to her? Should he even explain it to her? He'd only known her for a few weeks – certainly not well enough yet for her to understand the enormity of what was happening. And this wasn't something he and Spock discussed even among themselves. Each had always accepted the link without question, and while they had touched briefly on the subject during their shore leave on Triani Prime, both were content with this bond between them, neither feeling the need to further dissect its existence, merely thankful and appreciative that it had sprung to life of its own volition. Kirk had enjoyed Spock's comforting, reassuring presence in the far recesses of his mind for well over two years before the bond went black after DeSalle's death and Spock's subsequent return to Vulcan. It may have lain dormant since then, torpid from disuse, but Kirk never questioned that it was no longer there.
Over the last few months, it was just as if a heavy door had been closed and bolted shut, one which permitted no light or sound to escape. But the door remained nonetheless; it was merely a matter of finding the right key to open it once again.
But somehow, at this precise moment, it felt different now, as if the door had been removed, a solid, thick, impenetrable wall now taking its place – no chance whatsoever of breaching that barrier. If the link was to ever function again, this obstacle would have to be blasted out of existence by a mental force he simply did not possess.
He drew a ragged breath. "Just a hunch – call it intuition if you will – but I just got the impression that something is terribly wrong with Spock, and that now there's no chance I'll ever see him again."
It didn't hurt per se; it was just as if the all-encompassing blackness where the link had once been was somehow becoming deeper, wider, stronger, as if his mind and Spock's were both the positively charged ends of a magnet, the force causing them to repel farther and farther apart from each other. His legs buckled, and she instantly grabbed him around the waist, steering him toward the couch. He collapsed into the soft cushions, his breath leaving him in a forceful, protracted sigh.
She sat beside him, the concern in her voice now replaced with – jealousy? "Commander Spock – just what was he to you anyway?"
He regarded her uncertainly. "What's that supposed to mean?" Warning bells had started to sound with alarming force.
"You're acting like you've lost the love of your life." Her tone was light, almost as if she was baiting him, but her eyes carried the unasked question hidden within that oh-so-innocent observation.
"Huh?" He was truly shocked. Never before had he heard such a theory about him and Spock. From very early on in their relationship he had always felt a special closeness to the enigmatic Vulcan, as if they were kindred spirits, long lost brothers, but desiring him sexually? In the five years they had served together, he'd only entertained that notion once, briefly, and that had been born out of desperation, of complete helplessness, of the irrational fear that McCoy had somehow miscalculated the amount of time Spock had to live before succumbing to the inexorable pull of his uncompromising biology, unsure that even racing through the galaxy at this breakneck speed they would be able to get Spock to Vulcan in time.
The captain had watched his executive officer carefully during that harrowing four-day trip for signs that Spock was losing the battle with his physiology. Kirk hadn't been about to let the man die simply because he needed to have sex, and most assuredly would have had no qualms about intervening had it come to that. But a constant desire for a physical relationship with his First? He had certainly never thought of Spock in that way before. In light of that, he had been more than happy to bask strictly in the Vulcan's friendship. That was the companionship he ultimately desired from Spock. He could always find someone to warm his bed, but someone who understood him so completely on so many levels was a rarity he wasn't willing to jeopardize, especially given his track record. But in the end, did it really matter? He'd lost Spock despite his best efforts to protect the Vulcan from the sheer force of his will.
"Are you implying that we were lovers?"
"That's exactly what I'm implying," came the instant, almost accusatory response.
He was stunned into silence for several long moments, staring at her with unabashed disbelief. "You're kidding, right? Just trying to push my buttons; to piss me off?" His next thought caused his temples to pulse with anger. "Or is that the general consensus throughout the fleet?"
She regarded him with utter calm, leaning away from him now, arms crossed in front of her defiantly, insolently, deigning not to answer, simply waiting for a response. And that was an answer in and of itself.
"What I had with Spock is a friendship that comes along once in a lifetime, if you're lucky enough to be given such a gift at all. Don't try to twist it into something it wasn't," he ground out slowly, the emotion raw, the anger unchecked. "And now it's gone – probably for good." And I have no one to blame for that but myself, he added silently, guilt he thought he had banished enveloping him once again, suffocating him, the air in the room suddenly dense, stifling, devoid of oxygen.
"Well that's a relief, because if you had been, I don't see how I could possibly measure up to that. Given your reputation, your 'relationship' has become the stuff of legend. I'm not looking to be someone's 'rebound fling' Jim," she informed him with conviction.
He had jumped to his feet, pacing the open area in front of the fireplace with short, explosive steps. "Spock and I were closer than any brothers for almost five years, and suddenly, without warning, that connection is gone. That represents a huge void for me. Forgive me if I'm having a hard time dealing with it," he finished hotly, coming to a stop in front of her. "I don't know – maybe it can be said that he was the love of my life. Even though we weren't interested in having a sexual relationship with one another, ours was an affair of the heart." He paused, another thought springing to mind. "You know, he and McCoy are the closest thing I've had to a family in the last five years. I suppose you think the doctor and I were involved as well?"
Again, no reply on her part, but her expression shifted slightly, as if she regretted bringing it up at all. He searched her face for any sign that she was teasing him, but detected nothing of the sort. "For God's sake, Lori." His tone was now a jumbled mixture of exasperation and anguish. "I may be a bit of a Lothario, but give me a little credit here – I am capable of having meaningful relationships with people that don't revolve around sex, and I certainly don't jump everything that moves."
"So just what do you have in mind for me, then? You jumped me no problem." Her look was now beguiling, enticing, teasing finally.
A grin slowly spread over his face as he gently pulled her up, gathering her into his arms once again, his lips brushing her throat, her cheek, her ear. "Well, that's because your walk is so damn seductive," he whispered, tugging her toward the bedroom, allowing his body to help him forget that which his mind could not…
McCoy – six months
"No please," he pleaded. "You said you only needed one of us – well, here I am – it's already been decided. Leave my friends alone – you've hurt them enough already!" He struggled against the forcefield swirling around his body, but it only served to strengthen it, the pitch increasing, the reddish glow becoming denser, more opaque.
Jim was still stretched out on the plinth, Spock slumped against the edge at his captain's side where he had dropped thanks to McCoy's well-timed hypo. He watched in horror as the two of them disappeared in a blinding flash of light.
"NO!" he screamed as the forcefield disintegrated and he crumpled to his knees. The sound of his voice echoed hollowly in the darkened chamber, the only light over the now-empty platform that had held his friends a few moments ago.
He set off at a run, disappearing into the darkness. He couldn't see a thing, aware only of the blood pounding in his temples, the tightness in his chest as he struggled to draw breath.
He ran blindly for what seemed like ages, calling out his friends' names until he was hoarse. Finally, a pinpoint of light appeared in the distance. He quickened his pace, heading for the spot of illumination, but though his legs worked furiously, it was as if he was running through a thick, viscous liquid, his progress agonizingly slow, his limbs unnaturally heavy, encumbered by an unidentified, invisible force.
At last, having passed through the murky haze, he burst into what he recognized to be the lab they had stumbled upon in what seemed like hours before. He slowed to a walk, terrified of what he would find. As he entered the brightly lit space he noted grimly that the chains suspended from the unseen ceiling, obscured by the darkness above, were conspicuously empty. His heart in his throat, he continued on to where he knew the specimen containers to be – large, life-sized test tubes that had housed the distorted bodies of Linke and Ozaba, along with three empty ones, each coded for one of the Enterprise men. The first two were occupied, as he had expected, but what he saw next caused his blood to run cold. Flashes of blue and gold were visible in the two following receptacles. Spurred into motion, he loped toward them, scanning his surroundings for something – anything – he could use to smash the containers and free his friends…
Jim and Spock were in the tubes bearing their names, their bodies horribly contorted, their faces frozen in the grimaces of pain that had gripped them as they died. He sobbed, falling to his knees before them. "Please, you two are all I've got left in this world," he choked out. "Don't leave me." Profound grief left him numb, broken, gasping for air. Gem. Where was Gem? Surely he could convince her to help them somehow.
He was never sure what made him glance up, whether it was consciously seeking the Vians as targets for his wrath, searching for the Empath who represented the only hope for his friends, or possibly a macabre desire to see his own body in the glass prison reserved for him, following his friends into death, unwilling to be the one left behind. As his eyes settled on the last tube, he felt himself go white, cold sweat breaking out all over his body, his lungs unable to draw breath. In the chamber marked McCoy, it wasn't his body he saw, but that of his father. The man was skeletal, extremely pale, the skin covering his sunken cheeks translucent, wafer-thin, like fine parchment. His dad turned cold, dead, gray eyes on him, reaching out an emaciated hand. McCoy could see the blood pulsing in the dark, spidery veins, they and the skin stretched almost to the breaking point over bone, sinew, cartilage. "Why, Lenny? Why did you kill me? You were skilled enough to have kept me alive for a few more weeks until they announced the cure. You could have saved me. Instead, you abandoned me, took the coward's way out…"
He woke to the sound of his own screams, his cheeks wet with hot tears. "I'm sorry, dad," he wailed. "I just couldn't stand to see you in so much pain. I didn't do it out of cowardice, but out of love. Please forgive me." There was no reply to his plea in the answering gloom.
"Oh God," he groaned, sitting up and putting his head in his hands. He'd been having the nightmare about his father for a number of years now. The setting would change – sometimes in his dad's hospital room, sometimes in his own bed at home, once even, in the main ward of sickbay on the Enterprise – but the questions were always the same. And he never had an adequate answer. That always managed to leave him feeling powerless and woefully inept, as if he were a child again.
The part with Jim and Spock was a new development, however, adding a novel, darkly disturbing dimension to the already terrifying dream. Beginning early on in their mission, he would occasionally have a dream that one or both were so severely injured he couldn't save them despite his best efforts. But he had expected those to subside now. After all, his friends were each safe at present – Kirk on Earth and Spock on Vulcan. It didn't mean they were immune to death, but they surely wouldn't meet their doom at the business end of a Klingon disruptor or at the mercy of some power-crazed, homicidal alien.
The psychiatrist in him began to explore this warped version of reality. He quickly came to understand it didn't have to do with their physical deaths, but their emotional ones. As sure as Sol was destined to rise over Earth for the next billion years, each man was killing himself, not literally but figuratively, whether he realized it or not, destroying that spark that made them each a unique and dynamic individual. Even were they to find each other again, to have that working and personal rapport that had marked their relationship to one another over the past five years, he knew both of his friends would be forever changed by their current circumstances, and while Kirk might be able to find himself again, the man they knew as Spock would be irrevocably lost to them once he completed Kolinahr. Yet Kirk insisted on blaming himself for Spock's radical choice, and if Spock did indeed become Kolinahru that in and of itself might do irreparable psychological damage to his former captain. It was a no-win situation, for each of them.
He knew with certainty Spock was as good as gone to them already. Last week he had broken down and called Amanda, only to learn that she had heard nothing, confirming his worst fears that the Vulcan had not changed his mind about the course his life would now take.
He couldn't stop his own feelings of accountability for what they were currently facing. Why didn't I stop things before it came to this? I should have seen this coming and done more to prevent it. I warned Jim that he and Spock were becoming too close, and it could mean trouble for both of them, but warning Jim about anything is about as effective as someone trying to push a starship through the vacuum of space. I know how hard it can be to convince him otherwise once he's made up his mind about something. I should have been more forceful, more adamant. Then maybe I could have prevented this. I've condemned my friends to a living hell, he lamented silently…
oooOOOooo
He was awakened by the screech of the comm unit. Briefly disoriented, he realized light was streaming through the open curtains. Had he managed to doze off again? A glance at his bedside chronometer confirmed the time: 09:54.
Damn it all to hell! He'd really overslept. In a fog, he jumped to his feet, crossing the distance to the desk where the comm unit sat, half-expecting it to fill with the face of his irate receptionist, demanding to know where he was and why he was late. He should have started seeing patients almost an hour ago.
He was shocked into speechlessness when his daughter's face appeared before him.
"Hi dad." She stopped, squinting and pushing her face closer to the screen, peering into the machine. "Sorry dad, did I wake you? What time is it there?"
He managed to recover somewhat from his initial sense of bewilderment. "It's almost 10:00, and no, you didn't wake me," he lied. "I'm late for morning hours, and I've gotta run." The dream still weighed heavily on his mind. Emotionally, he was not up to a rancorous confrontation with his only child.
"Really? Since when did you start seeing patients on Sunday? Or are you heading off to see an emergency?"
He drew a forceful breath. Sunday? So that's why Gladys hadn't been beating his door down.
"No…," his voice trailed off.
She was squinting into the monitor again. "Dad, are you okay? You look…upset," she finished tentatively.
"Yeah, I'm fine. I just haven't been sleeping well the last few days."
"Anything I can do to help?" she asked hopefully.
"Nah. Nothing to worry about, honey. I'm sure it'll resolve itself in a few days," he reassured her, a forced smile plastered on his face.
He watched in complete incredulity as his daughter's face fell, the old childhood pain of abandonment, of her response to the awkward, strained distance between them flaring behind her eyes. "Oh. I see. Once again, you don't need me – or my help." Her voice had a slightly sarcastic edge to it, echoing the pain that had marked their relationship while he had been off gallivanting around the galaxy instead of being there for his daughter.
He gazed at the viewer, transfixed, as a number of emotions flitted over her face during that brief instant – anger, shame, sorrow, and most of all, hurt. She stared back at him, her bottom lip trembling, unable to speak.
"Don't be ridiculous. I told you, it's nothing. But something is obviously bothering you. I know I haven't been around a lot for the last twelve years of your life, but that's gonna change, I promise." He paused, his turn to regard the image in the viewer intently. "Joanna, what is it? What's wrong, honey?"
Suddenly she burst into tears. "Oh daddy, I want to come home."
Once again, McCoy was stupefied. It had been years since she called him 'daddy,' and she had never expressed a desire to live with him instead of Jocelyn and her new husband before. But, his conscience argued, it's been seven years since you've had a permanent address. And she would certainly have known that.
"What happened? I thought you were happy on Cerberus, with Nick and your mom?"
"Yeah, well, shows how much you know." She wiped angrily at the tears moistening her cheeks, dropping her gaze from his, clearly wounded and upset.
That hurt. He bit back the angry retort that sprang instantly to mind. His next words could very well set the course for his future relationship with his daughter.
"I suppose I deserved that, but I'm trying to make amends, to be a better, more involved father. But I can't do that if you don't let me in. Please Joanna, I'm trying – help me out here. Work with me." She still refused to meet his gaze. "Look, you're the one who called me," he began, trying to quash his rising ire, "and for once, I'm all ears. I have nowhere to go and nothing to do but listen, and I can't even do that if you won't talk to me. Please, Dandy Lion, tell me what's wrong." His tone was starting to lean toward the desperate.
She glanced up at that, clearly startled to hear him use her childhood nickname. He'd told her once that he called her 'Dandy Lion' because while her smile was as plentiful and heartwarming as those bright yellow flowers, the 'lion' part of her personality was never far from the surface, and when she decided to throw a tantrum, it was always 'a dandy.' Scrubbing at her face one final time she took a deep breath and began, "Well…"
oooOOOooo
Three hours later they finally hung up, having run out of things to say. He was ashamed that he hadn't realized sooner just how tough things had been for her. Nursing school had gone well – she graduated fourth in her class and a full year ahead of her peers – and had opted to return to the colony world where Jocelyn and Nick lived. Nick was a high-powered interstellar trader and had made a good life for his wife and stepdaughter, but Joanna always felt as if she were on the outside looking in. It's not that Nick had treated her badly – he always provided for her; she had attended the best schools on the remote colony world, and his little makeshift family had never wanted for anything – but the two of them never connected on a personal level. To his mind she had always been 'Leonard's daughter,' and as such they never shared that father/daughter bond. His indifference to her, coupled with McCoy's prolonged absence from her life, had caused her to develop a rebellious streak, acting out in a desperate bid for attention – any kind of attention – from her stepfather and mother. In response to that inappropriate behavior they had sent her half a planet away to boarding school at the tender age of twelve, and then to nursing school on the planet Sargasso when she was just seventeen.
It seemed Jocelyn had been just as selfish in this marriage – worrying more about moving in the right social circles and making the proper connections than raising her daughter. Everything she did was carefully orchestrated to help further Nick's career, and there was no way she was going to let a sniveling, unappreciative brat spoil that for her. McCoy had chafed when she had tried to manage his professional choices during their short-lived marriage. He had not been interested in impressing the Georgian elite or winning the most prestigious position. He had simply wanted to help people, something totally incomprehensible to Jocelyn, and just one of many things that had ultimately driven them apart.
He had broken down when he heard all this. "Why Joanna? Why didn't you tell me sooner? I know your mom had custody, but I could've fought her for it if I'd known about this," he stated in a voice quavering with rage and self-recrimination. How could he have missed all the warning signs?
"You had your career, and once you joined 'fleet, there was no way we could be together. Besides, Mom drove you away; I guess I just didn't want to be guilty of that, too. And I worried about you every day you were out there on that stupid five-year mission – anything could have happened to you. I wanted you to be able to concentrate on what you were doing out there. I didn't want you to be distracted by worrying about me. After all, I had everything in the universe I needed…except love."
He had been astounded at her capacity for self-sacrifice. She had only been fifteen when he began his mission with the Enterprise and yet even at that age she had been able to see the danger and put his needs above hers. He had always known she was a special kid, but hadn't realized until this very moment just how special. Maybe there was more of him in her than he'd thought.
"That's true," he had countered, "but you could've stayed with your grandfather, or my aunt, or my cousins and their families. We could've worked something out."
Her face had clouded, deep shame registering there before she continued. "I guess I'm just not as brave as you are. Yeah, it sucked, but it was familiar, comfortable in a weird, twisted sort of way." She had searched his face earnestly. "Do you understand what I mean, dad? It would have meant giving up the known – and while it was far from perfect, it could have been so much worse – for the unknown. At that time, I wasn't strong enough to do it." She had dropped her gaze, clearly embarrassed.
His heart had ached and nearly broken when he heard that candid admission. "I didn't have a choice," he had countered immediately. "I was running from the pain of losing you, of losing your mother, from my failure as a father and husband, and I ran as far away as I possibly could. I don't call that strength, but cowardice," he had confessed softly.
"Well, whatever you want to call it, I don't have the guts to do it. I could strike out on my own, either somewhere on this colony or someplace else altogether, but I'm not ready to make that leap into the unknown yet. Daddy, I want to come home," she had admitted in a small, meek voice which managed to pluck most painfully at his heartstrings.
"If that's what you truly want, then I'd be honored to have you. You know I love you, right? I've always wanted what's best for you. Unfortunately, I always thought that was being with your mom."
"It doesn't matter now, daddy. That's all ancient history. We can start all over, and I promise things will be different between us this time."
"Me, too. I promise I won't walk out on you again."
He had ended the conversation feeling completely drained, yet quietly liberated at the same time. He silently gave thanks to Jim Kirk. He had followed the advice his friend had given him on Triani Prime, sending Joanna a tape expressing his love and pride. It had not been an instant fix, but the two of them had reconnected somewhat in the years that followed, and he was convinced that their conversation of today would never have taken place had he not sent that tape. And it pained him greatly as he realized his last meaningful conversation with Jim Kirk on the Enterprise had been uncannily prophetic. Just as he was now finding himself, returning to his roots and starting fresh with his daughter, his two friends were just as surely losing themselves, perhaps for good.
He shook his head, forcing those thoughts from his mind. He had promised Joanna she could come home. She'd be here in a week and he had a lot to do to get ready for her arrival. He headed resolutely for the shower.
oooOOOooo
He was straining to hear the announcement over the din in the crowded spaceport.
"Shuttle from Starbase Two arriving at gate six in three minutes."
Shit! Starbase Two was where she caught her connecting flight to earth, and he was at gate nineteen. Hopefully he could sprint the distance before the passengers started disembarking. This was his chance to start with a clean slate with his daughter. It simply wouldn't do not to be there to greet her when she arrived.
Atlanta International Airport, the US's busiest hub, had been converted to a spaceport over 100 years ago. And it still saw a preponderance of earthbound interstellar flights headed for the United States. Most shuttles and space flights carrying passengers bound for the eastern seaboard landed here, travelers then able to catch the trans-continental tube, commercial flitters, or for those who could afford it, journey via transporter to their final destinations.
He arrived just as the doors opened. He craned his neck to see over the heads of the others waiting to retrieve their loved ones. He became increasingly agitated as person after person passed through the gate, with no sign of Joanna.
Had she changed her mind? She had talked about wanting to come home, but after all, it would be stepping into the unknown. They hadn't seen each other face to face in almost eight years.
Finally, he saw her emerge, hesitant, unsure, and his vision clouded suddenly. This wasn't the small child he had left behind all those years ago. She was now a young woman.
"Joanna?" he called tentatively, and she snapped her gaze to his. She started toward him but he couldn't contain himself. He ran to her, gathering her at last in his arms.
She clung to him fiercely, burying her head in his shoulder, her body wracked with sobs. He disentangled himself from her, brushing her cheek with his hand. "You've gotten so tall; and beautiful." He was grinning so wide it hurt, drinking in the sight of her.
She laughed through the tears. "Yeah well, that's what we kids do – we grow up, like it or not." Now it was her turn to examine him. "Oh dad, you've gotten so…skinny! Didn't they feed you on that ship?"
"If you can call fake, processed, synthesized nourishment food." He held her at arm's length, content to just look at her. It was then he noticed the earrings and necklace.
"You're wearing the Kaliani," he began. "Do you like them…?" He trailed off, painfully aware of what the rare Trianian gems meant.
She sensed his unease, and pressed him into a brief hug once again. "Yeah, I love them – they're absolutely gorgeous. Purple is my favorite color you know," she informed him, her eyes twinkling. "And besides, I'm trying to make a statement here, in case you missed the point. I know they are meant as an apology, and I'm wearing them today to make it perfectly clear that the apology has been accepted, the reason for that apology totally forgiven. I want us to start over, dad. We're family – and it's about time we started acting like it."
"Just tell me one thing – how'd you get to be so damned smart?" Not surprisingly, he felt his heart swell with pride.
Her gentle laugh was like a soothing balm to rough, dry skin. "Like my sometimes volatile temper, it runs in the family, I guess."
"Well, c'mon," he said, swiping at his own cheek. "We can't stand here blubbering like idiots all day. Let's go get the rest of your things and go home." He swung the bag she had dropped to his shoulder.
Her sincere smile warmed his heart. "I thought you'd never ask," she replied, looping her arm through his as they set off for the exit.
Spock – six months
It was dark, the chill night wind sighing softly as it coursed along the twisting, narrow, path, small eddies of red dust following in its wake. A barren, empty plain lay twenty meters below, bridging the wide gap between the two sections of sheer, rocky cliffs marred in places by faults in the bedrock, visible to either side. Both were covered with sparse, low vegetation, serving as a refuge for the odd assortment of small nocturnal animals and insects who called this area of the desert home, their discordant songs carried aloft on the gentle breeze.
He was currently on a tiny ledge overlooking the uneven terrain, preparing for what was sure to be a rather intense session of personal meditation and reflection, huddled about the small campfire he had built to ward off the chill of the desert night air. His back pressed to the stone wall behind him, he allowed his gaze to travel out over the bleak landscape below. He had already endured fourteen days of the month-long ordeal known as Pon T'Khalivar, The Time of Self-Examination, which represented the first of many physical and mental challenges the acolytes were required to undergo as part of their training on the path to pure logic.
For this particular task, the candidates were expected to fast for thirty days while surviving weaponless on Vulcan's unforgiving desert. This exercise was designed to afford them the time and privacy necessary to examine in great detail those qualities they considered strengths and weaknesses, and why. Additionally, they were to carefully evaluate their previous personal relationships in order to decide what role, if any, those persons would play in their futures. Upon their return to Gol, they were obligated to meld with one of the masters to show what they had learned and accomplished during their time on Vulcan's desolate sands.
Having examined it from every angle possible, Spock had reached the conclusion that for him to complete the goal he had set for himself, he would need to remove Jim totally from his life. On this night, he intended to initiate the process of severing all ties to his former captain.
Forgive me Jim, but it must begin somewhere. I have been contemplating the proper method to use for the last two days, and the most logical place to start is with the link. Once it is gone, it will be easier for each of us to forget the other.
The best way would be to eliminate the link altogether, pulling it out by the roots, and yet I find myself unable to do so. Without advance warning and complete mental preparation, it would be excruciating for you, if only for a short time. Moreover, your force of will is quite strong, and I have no doubt you would fight tenaciously to retain it, which could result in permanent psychological damage. That is a consequence I am unwilling to risk.
At this time, you would certainly not understand why this is necessary, but would interpret the sudden termination of the link as a rejection of you on my part. You did not ask for this, and you should not be made to suffer for my mistakes. I am weak, inherently flawed, and despite knowing that this swift and decisive act would once and for all put an end to our friendship, I do not wish to cause you pain. I owe you that much at least.
I was being truthful when I informed T'Sai that the link would cease to function on its own, with time and disuse, but you will feel its presence until the final moment; be aware of it closing off bit by bit until it no longer exists. It is my sincere hope that you will be distracted enough by your new life, your new command, that you will barely notice its passing.
Spock took a deep breath, steeling himself for what was to come. And so it begins, he thought, as he set in motion the steps necessary to start sealing off the link…and their fate.
As he began the procedure, that, combined with two weeks of fasting and the emotional distress caused by this action threw his mind into a heightened state of agitation. As he came to understand the significance of what he was doing, his anguish became almost unbearable, causing a hallucination he was powerless to stop. To his conflicted brain, it almost seemed as if a spontaneous conversation sprang up between the two halves of his psyche, each arguing their case for dominance over the other.
'Be sure this is truly what you want. Once we start down this path and finally embrace Kolinahr, there will be no turning back.'
'You know as well as I that this is the only option open to us.'
'Really? There were other choices we could have considered, namely the captaincy of the Gagarin or the position at the Vulcan Science Academy. Either would have pleased our father, and guaranteed our acceptance among his people.'
'You are the one who has always held us back, kept us from achieving the goals set for us by our father.'
'You don't actually believe that. My presence has served to help us connect with those around us.'
'That may be true to an extent when dealing with the humans in our life, but it was your influence that kept us…at a distance…from our father's people, always kept us on the fringes, on the outside looking in, constantly striving for but never fully attaining unconditional acceptance.'
'Was it really my presence, or their fear of the unknown, of that which is different, alien to them, despite the teachings of IDIC, that kept us apart from them?'
'Our father's people function on logic. You are inherently illogical, despite my best efforts to control that aspect of our personality.'
'And so for that I must die, be forced out of existence, my presence in our life totally eradicated?'
'In light of recent developments, it would seem to be the only way for us to function.'
'You only kill what you fear.'
'I do not fear you. Fear is an emotion that, as a Vulcan, I am able to master through logic.'
'Then why dismiss me? Why deny that I am, in fact, part of us, or that I deserve expression? Why must I always remain in the shadows, kept under tight control? Jim Kirk saw my worth, our mother saw my worth.'
'Jim Kirk is the reason we are here; had you not allowed yourself to become hopelessly entangled with him emotionally, or had you been able to exercise even a modicum of restraint where the human was concerned, this extreme measure would not be necessary.'
'T'hy'la is a wholly Vulcan state of mind; you also had to be receptive to it for the bond to have formed. And it's an emotional bond between friends – let us be clear on this. You may have been able to deceive those humans we served with, but you can't deceive me, I know you as well as I know myself. You aren't as devoid of emotion as you claim to be.'
'But had I been granted greater control over the situation, I could have managed the link as it was intended to function, without the trappings of strong feelings. It was your illogical influence that proved to be its downfall. You are correct when you state t'hy'la is a purely Vulcan concept. And as such, this bond can be handled logically, without emotional overtones. Jim Kirk had no other option open to him; he is by nature an emotional being. For us, the choice was to embrace this link from the standpoint of a Vulcan or a human. I believe we are both aware of what transpired.'
His Vulcan half paused to let the weight of his words sink in. 'You are undeniably the reason we became too dependent on the human emotionally. It has always been thus. We have tried to integrate our two selves in the past, but it has never resulted in a true fusion of our personalities. We constantly struggle against one another. We realized this on Triani Prime, even though at the time we did not fully understand its significance. It was my intention to be solely Vulcan, you felt the need for expression. Unfortunately, these two mental outlooks are mutually exclusive. We must either be one or the other, and we have seen the effects of allowing our passions to rule us. It cost lieutenant DeSalle his life, and we were fortunate that the ship and crew of the Enterprise were not forfeit in one of our misguided attempts to preserve Jim Kirk's life.'
'It could be argued that lieutenant DeSalle would have died, no matter what choice we made, and that the ultimate decision we made was, in fact, logical. Even when we stayed in Tholian space in order to rescue Jim, we knew that he still lived. The link would have told us instantly if he had perished. We had inside information to which McCoy was not privy when he urged us to leave.'
'The fact that we knew he still lived does not negate the fact that we unnecessarily put over 400 lives at risk in an effort to save one – the one that meant the most to us; to you. Our father would not have agreed with or approved of that choice.'
'For once we see things eye to eye. Even I can't justify or deny the times the lives of the crew were put in danger unnecessarily. Leonard McCoy is one of the most compassionate individuals we have ever known, and yet even he questioned our decisions at those times. However, I can't find it within myself to bear the entire brunt of the blame for those decisions. We reached those conclusions together; it's the way we've always lived our life.'
His Vulcan half paused, carefully pondering that point before answering. 'You are correct, but it can be said that it was your influence that led to these questionable choices.'
'But were they so wrong? Even when we put the Enterprise and her crew in jeopardy, we managed to arrive at the proper solution, to have the best possible outcome. Jim Kirk would call that "following our intuition."'
'And our father would call that an unacceptable risk, endangering the lives of individuals with which we had no right to gamble.'
It was his human half's turn to pause, to carefully consider that statement. 'It would seem that no matter what I say you'll remain stubbornly unconvinced. Unfortunately, it is an undeniable fact that we can't coexist peacefully. In light of that, I will go, but be warned. I don't believe this is the right decision for us. I'm sure we'll come to regret it.'
'That is where you are wrong. This decision will guarantee our continued survival, and grant us the peace of mind that we will no longer jeopardize others due to our irrational and illogical impulses where Jim Kirk is concerned.'
'But at what cost? Can we truly function as only half a being? You seem to think so, but I have my doubts. There were other options open to us, but sadly they are no more. This was the decision at which we arrived, in favor of the other alternatives available for our consideration.'
'Let us speak plainly. You would not have allowed those other options, that separation from Kirk. He had already asked us to accompany him during his next command, and you agreed wholeheartedly, without fully examining all the possibilities before us. It was a decision that would have ended in disaster. We made this choice – I made this choice – precisely because it was the only one that guaranteed the safety of those around us. Surely you can see this, and understand why it is necessary?'
'I understand why you think it's necessary to destroy me, and unfortunately I don't have the strength or the will to fight you anymore. But don't expect me to believe that I'm the only one who was emotionally attached to Jim. We both know that is untrue. However, that does not change the fact that we are here. The choice has already been made. There is no turning back now. You're on your own. You, and our father's people, have won.'
His personal reflection was interrupted by a guttural cry that split the night. He was instantly on his feet, his Starfleet training taking over in spite of his surroundings, the intimate, personal dialogue brought on by his intense meditation and the painful feelings it evoked all but forgotten.
He set off at a steady sprint, following the sounds as they pierced the preternatural stillness, headed down the steep slope toward the flat ground below. Rounding a large bluff, he saw the le-matya fifty meters in the distance, its attention focused on a small cleft in a sheer rock face rising up from the floor of the desert. Even without the illumination a lunar body would have provided, his eyes were able to detect movement in the tiny gap, see the flash of clothing as the le-matya pawed at the surrounding structure in an effort to flush its quarry from the protection afforded by the hillside.
As Spock expected, there were no cries of despair, of fear, emanating from the confined space, but the emotions carried aloft on the chill night wind were a disorderly mix of frustration and single-minded determination emanating from the beast, and defeat and resignation from its prey. As novices striving to attain Kolinahr they were forbidden to use violence in any form, regardless of the circumstances in which they found themselves.
Without conscious thought, Spock set off at a run across the open plain. Once he had covered about thirty meters, he slowed his pace, traveling another ten meters before he stopped, raising his arms and closing his eyes, focusing all his mental energy on the scene unfolding before him. After a few moments, the beast raised its head, nostrils flaring, as if responding to an outside stimulus. Sampling the cool air with its pointed, orange tongue, it seemed to catch a more pleasing scent, disappearing into the night.
The sound of movement from the fissure brought Spock out of his trance. Someone was cautiously emerging from the makeshift shelter.
"Who is there?" the voice demanded. "Identify yourself."
"I am called Spock. Are you injured?" He began making his way over to the man, who was running his hands over the front of his robes. Stilek, an acolyte like myself, his mind supplied.
Stilek had been a member of the second group of students Spock had joined, and while none of them had been overtly friendly, engaging him in conversation only when necessary, Stilek had remained strangely aloof. Although Spock had been with this assemblage of his peers for over three months now, some aspirants moving on and others joining them from Spock's initial class, he and Stilek had never once spoken among themselves.
As Spock reached the other, he could see the slashes in the fabric. Stilek was now fumbling with the robes, his hands none-too-steady as he fought to open them, exposing his chest. The man breathed a sigh of relief at the sight of pristine, unmarred skin, knowing that the slightest scratch from the le-matya's poison claws would have been a death sentence.
Spock let out the breath he hadn't been aware he was holding as wide, startled eyes turned to his. They remained so for just an instant, the other's control taking over as if someone had flipped a switch. "I appear to be undamaged," came the calm, composed response. "But I am at something of a loss to understand why the creature halted its attack and retreated."
"I convinced it there was easier prey to be had elsewhere," Spock explained hesitantly.
"How? I did not see you touch the beast," Stilek commented warily, a touch of disbelief slipping past the tight control.
"It is not safe to remain here," Spock countered, ignoring the question. "Once the le-matya discovers there is no other quarry in the vicinity it is sure to return. We should retreat with all due haste." And with that, Spock turned, making for the protection afforded by the low hills, heading back toward the little camp he had vacated so abruptly. He was both relieved and slightly unsettled to hear footsteps behind him.
After a few minutes of silently winding their way single file along the narrow path, Stilek had drawn closer, falling into step beside him. "I am curious, Spock. How were you able to convince the le-matya to withdraw without physical contact?"
"I projected my thoughts; apparently it was enough to persuade the creature to seek its next meal in another location."
He could feel Stilek's eyes upon him, skepticism emanating from the man. "Only fifteen point two percent of our people are graced with the gift of thought projection powerful enough to influence the actions of another. How is it that you…" he paused, flushing slightly, before beginning again. "Where did you acquire such a talent? Many have tried, but it remains an impossible skill to teach or learn. One must be born with the ability."
"Then it would seem that I was fortunate to receive the proper DNA," Spock replied drolly, eyes focused on the trail before them.
"You misunderstand my question," Stilek countered, trying to properly qualify his previous statement. "Those who possess the gift must train to refine and hone the skill. As a rule, this ability does not appear before one's twenty-fifth year. Correct me if I am mistaken, but were you not already in Starfleet at that time? Surely this was not the first time it manifested?"
Spock considered carefully before answering. "I had occasion to use it in several instances in my capacity as a Starfleet officer. In fact, the lives of more than a few crewmembers depended on my ability to succeed. Necessity required that I gain proficiency in its proper usage quickly," he supplied, somewhat reluctantly.
Stilek raised an eyebrow at him. "In other words, you violated the sanctity of another's mind without permission?" Mind rape carried more stigma among Vulcans that physical rape did among humans.
"Negative." Spock allowed a hint of the distaste and annoyance he felt to carry over into his tone. "In each instance I adhered strictly to the rules that govern our people with regard to our telepathic abilities. It was not a true violation per se. No damage was done to the other party, nor was any information gleaned without their consent. I used it twice to persuade other humanoids that we had escaped from the cell where we were being confined, but in most cases it was used to establish communications with life forms so dissimilar from our own that this proved the only avenue available to initiate a dialogue."
Stilek's innate sense of curiosity was piqued. "Indeed. I should be interested to learn more of these alien life forms." Gone was the argumentative, skeptical air that had marked his tone previously, replaced with a simple desire for knowledge.
Again Spock hesitated, slightly uncomfortable discussing his unique and rare abilities with this man. For him, trust had been an issue throughout his life. The only being he trusted implicitly was one James T. Kirk. The decision to answer was made for him as they arrived at Spock's camp. Bending to throw sand on his small fire, he indicated the need to Stilek for them to keep moving.
"Once the le-matya becomes aware that other prey is not available, it will seek to reacquire you. In order to avoid detection, it would be wise for us to continue on."
"Flawlessly logical." Admiration gleamed in the deepset eyes for an instant. "But we should each go our separate way. We are expected to survive alone, without assistance. Surely you must understand that it was a breach of the ritual of Pon T'Khalivar to have come to my aid at all." Stilek's distrusting, suspicious demeanor had returned.
"Be that as it may, there are also certain rules of Vulcan ethics which dictate that all life is sacred and we should do all within our power to preserve it." His last image of DeSalle floated before his eyes, but he forcibly dismissed it.
"I cannot believe that either of us will be held accountable for this violation, but in any case, the fault lies squarely with me and I am prepared to suffer any consequences that may arise from it." He paused, continuing more softly. "Compassion for the life of another is one of the cornerstones of Surak's teachings and I shall defend my actions if need be." He cocked an eyebrow at Stilek, watching as disbelief flitted over the man's face briefly, before the Vulcan mask settled snugly over his features.
"You are wise, Spock, if foolhardy as well. It would seem your time among humans has also had an impact on how you conduct yourself. We shall see if your gamble, your rewriting of the rules, pays off in the end, but I shall take my leave of you now. Kaiidth shall determine our fate this night. Live long and prosper." Stilek raised his hand, flashing the ritual salute before turning his back on Spock and disappearing into the darkness.
oooOOOooo
On the thirtieth day, the acolytes began straggling back in twos and threes to wait patiently outside the entrance to the monastery. The huge structure was fashioned from the rock face itself, much like the Treasury at Petra on Earth, the casual observer often unable to distinguish where the intricately carved monument ended and the striated, reddish-brown stone of the windswept cliff, polished to a high luster by eons of swirling sand, began.
A six-meter tall, half-moon shaped wall surrounded the façade, marked by two guard towers located to either side of a huge, lattice-work metal gate at its center, and two more along both sections of curved wall halfway between the gate and the edge of the cliff. Millennia ago, watchers had been posted in these turrets to warn the inhabitants of approaching danger from rogue, aggressive tribes, but since the tenets of Surak had brought peace to the planet 5,000 years ago, the guards constantly on duty in these bastions of defense were largely ceremonial, a testament to ancient times and a willingness to preserve the customs and traditions of the past.
All but two of those who had faced the challenge of Pon T'Khalivar reappeared that morning to await admittance to the temple. Informed of the novices' arrival by those stationed atop the walls, T'Sai and several of the lesser masters had come out to meet them. The group paused in silent remembrance after being told the fate of those who would not be returning: "All here felt their katras depart into the great beyond. We know not the cause of their deaths, but grieve that all that they were, all that they knew, is now lost to the Vulcan people." Once the ritual words had been spoken, the weary travelers were ushered inside where they were permitted to bathe before engaging in the required melds with the masters.
During the course of the mind link he had shared with T'Sai, he learned that she had approved of his decision to rescue Stilek, and praised him for doing so without causing harm to the large, albeit deadly reptile. She also expressed support for his efforts to begin the dissolution of his mental connection to Jim Kirk. She had understood, even agreed with, his reasoning for not destroying the link outright.
"The human mind is more fragile than ours, Spock, but also blessed with a forgetfulness to help them survive difficult, emotional altercations. How does the human saying go? 'Out of sight, out of mind?' There is no doubt that this path will cause thy former t'hy'la the least amount of distress. A commendable choice on thy part to put his needs above thy own."
She also indicated that she was most satisfied with the advances in deportment and mental discipline he had been making.
"Thee have more to overcome than most, my child, and thee are performing at a level much higher than we thought possible for thee. Indeed, thee have already surpassed a number of thy peers with regard to control. An admirable indication of thy talent; we are pleased with thy progress. Thee bring honor to thy father's house, and the House of Surak. Thee are proving thyself to be a worthy heir to thy prestigious lineage."
He had been most careful during that exchange to let no hint of pride in his accomplishments show either in his mind or on his face. Perhaps this was a test as well, to see if he could indeed suppress these counterproductive thoughts, these vain emotions. While less destructive than the more base emotions of hate or jealousy, pride and feelings of superiority presented their own unique set of pitfalls.
These were the topics of his meditation later that day as he attempted to cleanse his mind as completely as thirty days in the desert without food had cleansed his body.
After the acolytes had been back for over ten hours, they were finally permitted to eat. It didn't matter that his class hadn't fed their physical bodies for over four weeks. At Gol, the monks only partook of one meal a day, and even though the students had returned this morning, they were granted no special privileges. After melding with the masters, they were expected to attend their lessons and then engage in several hours of personal meditation before breaking their fast at the evening meal.
The meal was typically consumed in silence, and afterwards the residents scattered to complete their assigned chores. This evening Spock found himself on cleanup duty in the dining hall, assisted by none other than Stilek. The two had not spoken since their encounter in the desert. They worked quietly for a time, washing and drying the dishes, stacking the chairs on top of the tables and then scrubbing the floor on their hands and knees.
It was Stilek who first broke the stillness. "I do not know how you managed it Spock, but Master T'Sai approved of your…indiscretion…in the desert." Said to the floor as he steadfastly applied himself to the task at hand, not meeting Spock's eyes.
Spock deigned not to answer.
"In addition," Stilek continued, "I have been remiss in my manners." The brush continued to swish back and forth across the weathered stone.
"In what way?" Spock asked in genuine confusion, glancing up at Stilek and halting his own movements.
"I condemned you for your actions, and the possible ramifications which they could bring to each of us, rather than expressing my gratitude for offering me assistance that ultimately preserved my life. I viewed your 'human' influence as a weakness, rather than something that contributed to your strength of character. Please accept my humble apology." Finally meeting Spock's eyes.
Unsure of how to respond to this unexpected turn of events, Spock merely nodded in acknowledgment.
Stilek continued, shifting the course of the conversation in a totally different direction. "I was quite struck by our discussion following my attack, and find that I wish to learn more about the creatures you encountered during your time in Starfleet, and how you were able to use your special abilities to establish contact with these beings." Stilek had stopped his work as well, his hands now resting on his thighs, legs folded beneath him, regarding Spock earnestly.
Spock returned his gaze with a sense of foreboding. Stilek had never gone out of his way to engage him before, but he could detect nothing in his fellow laborer's demeanor to indicate dishonesty, or an ulterior motive. The predominant emotion he sensed was that of curiosity.
He carefully considered his options. There were many on his home planet who judged Starfleet solely by its use of military force, only seeing its starships as finely-tuned weapons of war, used carelessly and much too frequently. Here was a chance for enlightenment; to show that they could also be instruments of peace, used to open up new avenues of communication with and to gain a deeper understanding of alien cultures.
Decision made, Spock began speaking quietly. "On Janus VI we encountered a silicon-based life form called a Horta. Unwittingly, the pergium miners on that planet where destroying her eggs and she responded as any mother who was trying to protect her offspring would – by killing those who were harming her children. At one point, she had cornered my captain and in an effort to explain to her that we meant her no harm and only wished to understand her motives I attempted this form of communication.
"She emitted a powerful corrosive, capable of dissolving solid rock and she had used this method to dispatch several of the miners and a member of our crew, so it was of paramount importance that she came to know that we did not pose a threat, and the destruction of her eggs was inadvertent, due to a lack of understanding on our part."
"Fascinating. It would appear that there is more to service in Starfleet than we were led to believe. You said there were other instances similar to this one?" Stilek asked, showing a genuine interest in the events being recounted to him.
"There was an incident where myself and the ship's chief medical officer found ourselves stranded on Beta Arcida IV, at the mercy of the planet's primary indigenous species: a large, arthropod life form similar to the Terran order Isoptera, which had captured the doctor and myself, intending to use us as sustenance for their queen. I was able to convince the drone guarding us to abandon his post, affording Doctor McCoy and I the chance to escape."
"It would seem I misjudged you when I intimated that you had used this gift in an improper manner. I ask forgiveness." Spoken with a slight degree of contrition.
"None is needed, for no offense was taken," Spock informed him matter-of-factly, but his words seemed to have little effect on the man. Stilek was once again searching Spock's face intently.
"Spock, I must make a confession to you. I have meditated on this for many nights, and believe you have the right to know." Stilek paused, licking his lips before continuing. "It had been said among our people that you joined an all-human ship in favor of the Intrepid because you would be unable to attain the level of control necessary to work exclusively among Vulcans. It seems even we, the most logical race in the galaxy, are not above falling victim to idle gossip." Hastily, Stilek averted his eyes.
"I see," Spock responded, blocking all trace of emotion from his tone.
"It was even said," Stilek continued hesitantly, "that you found companionship with your human captain, and that is why you freed T'Pring after the Koon-ut-kal-if-fee. Your doctor tricked T'Pau into believing the human was dead, allowing you to have him over a Vulcan wife. This is the reason given for your continued survival. For no true Vulcan male, with the exception of those who have mastered Kolinahr, has ever survived Pon Farr without consummation."
Spock's thoughts traveled back to that chaotic time, some events still not completely clear to him to this day. Even in the fever-induced haze which had enveloped him he had sensed Kirk's panic, his feelings of helplessness, and Spock had been acutely aware that Jim would have done anything to save him. Just as surely, Spock had vowed silently to himself that he would not allow that to happen, and yet he had been paralyzed by the very real fear that things may reach a point when he no longer had control over his actions. He valued Kirk's friendship above anything else in the universe, and had it come to that, that singular act would have taken their relationship down a path neither had a real desire to follow. Had that happened, things would have been irrevocably changed between them and not for the better to Spock's mind. That was an end result Spock had been unwilling to risk, Vulcan biology be damned.
In the days and weeks following his failed marriage, he and the captain had studiously avoided the subject, on any level, despite knowing the thought had crossed both their minds. It was as if they knew without discussing it that it would have been catastrophic, each glad to feign ignorance now that the immediate danger and the irrational impulse had passed. The temptation for each of them had died as rapidly as Spock's yearning for T'Pring had disappeared.
Besides, he knew Jim desired the companionship of females, and as a Vulcan, the physical aspects of a relationship, even within the confines of the marriage bond, except during Pon Farr, were always secondary to the mental ones. Vulcans were telepaths; they were hard-wired to crave psychological closeness even over physical closeness. This had been especially true in the days before Surak, when his ancestors had often been ruled by their passions. Mental control over their enemies, as well as their allies, had repeatedly proved more effective than physical control. It was this aspect of the Vulcan psyche that had allowed his people to cast out their emotions all those millennia ago, in favor of logic. This was not to say that present-day Vulcans didn't enjoy the pleasures of the flesh, but it was the psychological attachment of the bond they sought above all else, and once his barren, empty link to T'Pring had been severed, it opened his mind to the more ancient and satisfying bond of t'hy'la which had had its rudimentary, tentative beginnings in the weeks following that traumatic course of events. His emotional link to his captain had been more than enough, and what he truly desired.
He glanced at Stilek who had dropped his gaze, his cheeks flushed a vivid green.
"As you, and everyone else on this planet it seems, are so fond of pointing out, I am not a pure Vulcan. Would it not therefore be logical to assume that I would not respond to the loss of my mate in the same way as a full-blooded Vulcan?" His voice was even, steady, emotionless.
His companion refused to respond, clenching and unclenching the hands clasped tightly in his lap, unwilling to comment further. Spock tried a different approach. "Stilek, why would you tell me this?" Quite shocked that his voice did not betray his inner turmoil.
"Because it is easy to believe such things when the subject is only a phantom, an apparition, an indiscriminate vision created in the minds of petty, shallow individuals." He raised his eyes to meet Spock's squarely. "But I have met the legend, and found the stories to be unwarranted, the accusations unfounded. Had your reputation not preceded you, I would have regarded you as the epitome of what Vulcans strive to be, a most worthy representative of the House of Surak. Would that all of our people could make the same claim."
Spock was completely taken aback by that statement. No one save his mother or Jim Kirk had ever expressed such support for him. He felt his face grow warm.
Stilek continued. "It was my opinion that you had the right to know that there are those among our people who view you as an…aberration. I have reached the conclusion that this characterization is baseless, and if more of us were to subscribe to the teachings of IDIC, we would be able to celebrate your differences as well as those qualities and personality traits we associate with our own kind. You have been given a great gift – the ability to walk with understanding in both worlds. Do not lose that, and do not let others take that from you." Stilek's gaze was intense, penetrating, and Spock found himself unable to meet those eyes.
"Others have judged you unfairly. And I am ashamed that at one time I also chose to do so." Dropping his eyes finally and retrieving his scrub brush, Stilek bent over the floor, once more putting his back into polishing the stone, worn smooth by millennia of sandaled feet.
Spock grabbed his as well, and the two worked once again in silence, each relieved that the other did not feel the need to say anything more.
Over the course of the next few months, they found themselves assigned to work together more and more often, gradually building trust between them. Soon they were confiding in one another, seeking and providing advice, encouragement and sound counsel. Spock suspected that T'Sai had had a hand in this decision. While true friendship was frowned upon for those wishing to be Kolinahru, there was a distinct advantage to finding a kindred spirit from whom to draw strength and guidance during this grueling and difficult ordeal. To Spock's mind, T'Sai believed they would be able to help one another.
And it seemed she was right.