--
4. The No-Win Scenario
--
Spock didn't remember much of his way back. He was aware intellectually of all the actions he had taken. Drank some water. Pulled Arina to her feet and washed his blood off her face. Filled the canisters he had brought with water. Tucked the body of the child into the blanket and put him gingerly into a niche in the rock. Climbed back to the surface, practically tugging Arina all the way up.
The girl was conscious but unresponsive. She walked if he took her hand and towed her after him, but as she was barely lifting her feet off the ground, it was clearly unacceptable. The moment they stopped, she fainted. Spock couldn't afford to wait for her to regain consciousness, and even if she did, she was exhausted. He picked her up in his arms and resumed his walk, grateful that he had thought of tying the canisters together with a crude rope made of someone's clothing. He could now carry them over his shoulder, leaving his hands free.
He did not remember much of the way. He was walking, not thinking. Just walking. His eyes never lifted off his and Arina's tracks. Time seemed to stretch and bounce back in leaps. He nearly walked past the camp, in fact, he would have, if they didn't called out to him. Only then did he realize he was back, and the sun was still up in the sky.
Low, though. It was hanging low.
Strangely, the voices seemed to have had a waking effect on him, strengthening his weakened ties with reality. The canisters were snatched off his shoulder in a blur. Spock didn't watch. He lowered Arina carefully to the ground and spoke, not looking at anyone.
"Get her some water."
The silence that followed his order was blazing. Spock didn't recognize his own voice, so much menace rang in it. He straightened up slowly and turned to face them. They were all staring at him as if he was some sort of apparition. No, not all of them.
"Where is Lieutenant Wilson?"
One of the women, Telma, pointed behind him with her chin. Spock glanced back and walked to the outstretched figure immediately. The Lieutenant was breathing, but he was unconscious. Two dismantled communicators were lying in the sand near his elbow.
"Water," Spock said. "Now."
Still in perfect silence, Telma brought him some in a small piece of twisted metal.
"Give some to Vaz also," Spock told her, not taking his eyes off Wilson. "The girl. The man over there, too."
"He's dead," she said quietly.
He looked her in the eye calmly.
"Then he does not require water anymore."
She nodded and went to complete the task, while Spock poured water, drop by drop, into Wilson's mouth which he kept open with his other hand. The Lieutenant swallowed, muttered something incoherent and tried to shrink away from Spock's grip, but Spock held him fast, making sure he'd drink his share. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Telma bringing water to Arina, who seemed to come around, and then to Vaz.
The temperature started to fall rapidly as the sun was inclining further to the horizon. Spock was sitting outside the camp's invisible perimeter, his knees tugged to his chest. Some time ago he had cut down their makeshift tent and told the others to sit closely together under it for warmth. He did not join them, and they didn't ask. He gazed at the darkening skies, his thoughts splashing lightly in his mind like fishes on shoals.
There wasn't anything else he could do, and what he had done was pointless. He brought them water. So? The child died. The other man died. Vaz and Wilson were close to dying. And none of them stood any chance once the sun went down. He might have just as easily not gone anywhere. There was no telling even if the water he had brought had alleviated their cravings or prolonged their suffering. The result remained unaffected by his action. He could not think of a way to sway the situation. He should have been able to find one, but he couldn't.
There was nothing he could do.
He couldn't tell how many hours had passed before he saw two bright flashes in the sky, and then two shuttles landed twenty feet in front of the camp. He couldn't tell if he was frozen or half-frozen by that time. He only knew he couldn't move. Which was strange, because he remembered later he was in the pilot's cabin, talking to the captain of the rescue team. He wasn't sure what the conversation was about. Location of the bodies? Circumstances of the crash? He wasn't sure.
He wasn't sure when he slipped into some kind of euphoric trance, either, watching his own actions from somewhere high above, not controlling them. It was a most peculiar sensation; he had not experienced that one before. There was certain danger involved in it, but he couldn't quite grasp what it was, the thought was elusive. He drifted further and further away, losing ties and bounds. The last thing he remembered clearly was a familiar face...
…
"Be careful and don't stay out long, Spock. Your father will be most displeased if you are late for supper again."
"I will be punctual, Mother. I will come back on time."
…
…on time…
…
He woke up in the brig, feeling that his body had been taken care of. He felt good, if mildly confused. He knew he wasn't on board any kind of vessel, but there was no mistaking a Starfleet facility. Must be a Starbase, most likely the one on Centauri Prime. Spock discovered a tray with food and a pile of clothes on the floor next to his bunk. He dressed quickly, but one glance over the offered meal made his stomach squirm painfully.
The realization gave him a pause. It was his usual reaction to human medication. Had he been sedated? And why was he here? Had he done something terrible without remembering it? Spock frowned, concentrating. It did not seem likely. But he was here...
Mercifully, he wasn't left in the dark for long. He heard someone entering the brig and exchanging greetings with the Security officer on duty. Spock rose to his feet a moment before a familiar figure of Lieutenant Andreas Lysacek, the Southampton's First Officer, appeared in the doorway, glimmering behind the forcefield.
"Lieutenant," Spock made an involuntary step forward.
Lysacek smiled, raising a restraining hand.
"Hold up a second, Spock, I know you have a lot of questions. I'll explain everything in a moment."
He deactivated the forcefield and motioned for Spock to come out. The Vulcan did so warily, and Lysacek grinned at him reassuringly.
"You're satisfied?" he asked the officer on duty, who was studying a padd.
"Yes, sir," the man snapped to attention. "You're free to go, Ensign."
"Thank you," Spock inclined his head, still puzzled.
He followed Lysacek out. As soon as they cleared the detention area, the First Officer turned to him with a cheerful grin.
"You're hungry, Ensign?"
"No, sir."
"Too bad, I was going to have lunch and thought you might join me. Some tea perhaps, Mr. Spock? They have Vulcan blends here in abundance."
At the mentioning of tea, Spock's mouth watered.
"That would be acceptable, sir."
"Great," Lysacek nodded. "Let's go."
He led Spock to a quiet café on the Starbase promenade. They placed an order quickly, and Lysacek caught Spock's patient, but clearly questioning gaze. He sighed.
"Shoot."
"Why was I detained?" Spock asked at once.
The Lieutenant looked mildly uncomfortable.
"There was a minor... misunderstanding. There was a man in your party, who said you assaulted him. And then, that young girl..."
"Arina Dale."
"That's right. Well, when the rescue team came, you were all pretty much out of it." Lysacek shifted uneasily in his seat. "They found your blood under her fingernails, and your face was all scratched. They thought you tried to, well, take advantage of her."
Spock stared at him, eyes wide with shock.
"How could anyone think I would do such a thing? Why?"
"Because people do all sorts of freak things when they think they're about to die and have nothing to lose."
"But I—"
Lysacek sighed.
"Look, Spock, this was all a misunderstanding, okay? Turns out the captain of the rescue team doesn't like Vulcans very much, scared of them I think. And you looked, well... scary. Covered in dried blood and whatnot. You made a bad impression, that's all."
"I see," Spock said, though he clearly didn't. He was far from ever being able to fathom it.
"Yes, well," Lysacek looked away briefly. "As soon as people started to come around, it all cleared up. The girl was very helpful."
"How is she?" Spock asked, refusing to comment on the illogical presumption.
"As fine as could be expected," Lysacek assured him. "We contacted her parents, they're on their way. In the meantime, she's seeing a counselor. Her prognosis is good."
"That is... good news," Spock inclined his head slightly.
"Indeed it is. You might also be interested to know that your Tellarite friend, Vaz, will make a full recovery. And Lieutenant Wilson has already been certified fit for duty."
"That is gratifying to know, sir."
"Speaking of Wilson," Lysacek said, nodding to the waiter who had brought their drinks. "He recommends a commendation for you. But there isn't going to be one," he added, meeting Spock's eyes squarely. "It's not about you, but Starfleet generally doesn't commend officers when people were lost during a mission. It's like... mauvais ton."
"But how can he even recommend it?" Spock asked, completely befuddled. "It wasn't our mission."
"Yes, it was, Ensign," Lysacek replied quietly. "You were there. Therefore it was. How can I explain this?" He frowned, thinking. "Do you recall the text of your Starfleet Oath? Sorry, dumb question, of course you do. Quote the third line for me please."
"—to protect the Federation and its citizens from any threat may it come from without or within," Spock recited.
"That's right," the First Officer nodded. "Starfleet was designed as an instrument of exploration, but one should never forget that protecting the Federation is one of its core functions. It's not paraded, because it's kind of... assumed. Wherever you go, Ensign, whatever you do, as long as you wear this uniform—and mostly even when you don't—everything that happens around you is your responsibility. If anything bad happens, it's Starfleet's responsibility whether we were involved or not. That's what it means to wear the uniform. That's what you signed up for."
The arrival of the waiter with Lysacek's lunch interrupted him. Once the man was gone, the Lieutenant continued, seemingly uninterested in his food.
"Did you take the Kobayashi Maru test at the Academy, Ensign?"
"No, sir."
"But you've heard of it?"
"Of course. No one has ever beaten it. It is known as a no-win scenario."
"Then why is it there at all?"
"It is considered to be a test of character, sir. One can not defeat death. It is the way one faces it that matters."
"The way one faces it that matters," Lysacek repeated pensively. "I'd say you just lived through a no-win scenario, Mr. Spock."
The Vulcan blinked. Lysacek nodded.
"Oh yes, the resemblance is remarkable. The people you were responsible for were going to die, and there was nothing you could have done about it. Only, unlike the Academy test, those were real people who were dying on your hands. Two of them did die. Two more likely would have if you didn't bring that water."
"But sir," Spock felt obliged to object. "The test does not contain a possibility of a rescue. We were rescued. I did not beat the test."
"I never said you did," Lysacek smiled at him knowingly and a touch sadly. "But you said it yourself, Ensign, it is a test of character. It is the way one faces the inevitable death that tells us what kind of person he or she is. And I can tell you that I like the person you turned out to be."
Spock pondered his words for a while, but shook his head finally.
"I am not certain I understand, sir."
Lysacek chuckled good-naturedly.
"You will." He suddenly winked at the Vulcan. "Your tea is getting cold."
Spock sipped the warm drink automatically, while the Lieutenant tucked into his meal.
"You know," Lysacek said after a while. "Your tour with us ends in three months."
"Three months four days and—"
"Yes, yes, I should have said approximately," Lysacek grinned. "My point is, I believe you need some time to think things over. I'm being promoted in about that time myself and I'm going to be posted on the de Gaulle. To be honest, I was planning on taking you with me."
At Spock's startled blink, he grinned again.
"Oh, I'm very fond of you, Spock. I shouldn't be telling you this before the official crew evaluation, but I can't imagine someone like you being spoiled by praise. I am very pleased with your work. I have never had a more meticulous, inventive and curious assistant science officer on board. So I was going to suggest you apply for a position on the de Gaulle as well, I know there will be some open. But we'd be mostly assigned to carry political and diplomatic envoys, and I would imagine you'd rather be on a deep space mission somewhere, away from us all, emotional humans."
"Sir, I do not require any special treatment—"
Lysacek frowned.
"I'm not giving you any, Ensign. I'm doing my job in making sure Starfleet gets a better officer. There is no shame in admitting that you need time. Facing the ultimate defeat is a tough ride even within the Academy simulator. Only there, no matter how engaged you are in outsmarting your enemy, you always remember somewhere in the back of your mind that it's only a test. And when you lose everyone and everything, you still know that the lights are going to turn on in the end of the exercise, and every 'dead' person will rise to their feet, and there will be no real casualties, no harm. It's not like that in real life, is it?"
"No, sir," Spock replied quietly. "It is not."
"No, it's not. You can't cheat death, you can't fool it. The people you lost will not rise from the dead. That is the definition of a real no-win scenario, Ensign. It's going to take time for you to sort it all out, to come to grips with what it says about you." His tone lowered slightly, as he added, "It's going to take time for you to forgive yourself for those deaths."
Spock didn't answer. His thoughts were in turmoil, he couldn't begin to bring them into any kind of order. Lysacek shook his head softly.
"There's a new science vessel, the Artemis, only just commissioned. It will launch in some two months or so I'm told. I understand Captain Daniels is making inquiries throughout the Sector Zero vessels about young officers who may be recommended to him. In fact, I have a communiqué from him on my desk this very moment. If that is your preference, I can recommend you to him."
Spock couldn't come up with a coherent answer if his life depended on it. Utter embarrassment, pain, confusion fed by several different sources, shame that he was betraying so much, all warred within him, and he was the one losing that battle.
"Sir, I do not... that is, I would, but... is that all right?" he finished helplessly.
Lysacek chuckled softly.
"It's perfectly all right, Mr. Spock. Not every captain in the fleet likes to deal with the Personnel Office. Some prefer to make their own choices wherever possible. Captain Daniels has an excellent reputation for coaching junior officers. Plus, he's a scientist himself, an exobiologist, if memory serves. I'm sure you could benefit from serving under him."
"That sounds most agreeable, sir," Spock admitted frankly, summoning enough resolve to at least maintain a stoic façade. "But I am not certain if I am... qualified enough for this position."
Lysacek had to actually draw blood from his tongue not to snap. He willed his irritation down and smiled dryly.
"I'll pretend I didn't hear that, Ensign."
"Sir?"
"You've just suggested that I'm not qualified enough to make correct evaluations of my officers."
"No, sir!" Spock shook his head emphatically. "I never meant—"
"Good, I'm glad to hear it. Anyway, as I said, the Artemis launches in two and a half months. I'm sure Captain Caroux wouldn't object to letting you disembark a little early. If that is all right with you that is?"
"Yes, sir," Spock said hurriedly. "I apologize, sir. It was... unexpected."
"I know. It's settled then." Lysacek tapped his lips with a napkin and pushed his plate away, looking suddenly all business. "We take off at twenty-four hundred, and you're not scheduled to resume your duties until oh-eight tomorrow. There will be a memorial service here tonight for everyone who died in this crash. You might consider attending."
"Thank you for informing me, sir," Spock said somberly. "I will pay my respects."
Lysacek studied him silently for a moment.
"It's not obligatory, Spock. I know Vulcans grieve in their own way."
"That is true, sir. But I believe I must be there," Spock amended quietly.
Lysacek nodded, approval showing clearly in his eyes.
"I won't hold you up then. See you on board."
Spock rose to his feet, still somewhat dazed and inclined his head respectfully.
"Thank you, sir."
--
Spock walked along the corridors of the Starbase confidently, but without any apparent direction. Assigned to Centauri run, the Southampton had often orbited Centauri Prime, and Spock had come to know this Starbase well enough to find his way blindfolded. He wasn't sure where he was going. He was just—walking.
While his appearance remained unchanged, his inner thoughts were in turmoil. He desperately required time to meditate, but he realized he would not be able to achieve any kind of concentration with his mind in such an agitated state. He had to tune it down a little, before he could even hope to make a successful attempt.
Lieutenant Lysacek's words bothered him. Assuming this experience could be regarded as living through a no-win scenario, what good could anyone see in Spock's actions? There was no way he could sway the situation. It was illogical to even try, and yet he did just that. All he achieved was proving that he could act as illogically as any human. Was that what Lysacek approved of? Spock could not imagine that.
He came to a stop at the railing and looked down at the lower level, buzzing with activity. Life was surrounding him, pulsing around him, washing over him. Not entering. He was alive, but realizing that logically, he couldn't feel it. He didn't feel he was part of it anymore. He was numb. Would the feeling ever return? Or would he stay forever on that dead world, carrying it with him wherever he went?
More illogic. Spock winced, shaking his head at himself. Lieutenant Lysacek was right in one thing, Spock did need time. The person he had been for so long he could obviously be no longer. Who was he then? Who was he becoming? He had no answers. And while the scientist in him urged him to go in search of them immediately, someone else within him, someone he couldn't quite recognize was begging him to proceed with caution.
Spock dismissed them both. He would not solve anything by splitting himself further. It was time to look for some integrity. His commanding officer believed he had showed it. Was he right? Spock didn't know. He could only be certain of one thing now. He'd spend numerous years to come trying to find out.
--
In little more than a year, while serving aboard the Artemis, someone would mention to Spock that a cadet at Starfleet Academy whose name they didn't quite catch had beaten the Kobayashi Maru test by reprogramming the simulator. His colleagues would be impressed by this audacious solution and would discuss it for quite some time. Spock would not offer an opinion until asked, and then he would only shrug mildly and say that real life could not be reprogrammed.
Nearly twenty years later, Admiral James T. Kirk would sit alone in his quarters on the refitted Enterprise and ponder those words he had never heard. For the first time in his life, he would be facing a real no-win scenario. And he would be left with no choice but to believe in it.
--
Fin
