Chapter 6- Unlikely Bedfellows

His eyes bore holes into me before turning to look at the image on the screen and then back to me as if he knew exactly what was going on. Of all the people on this ship, he was the last I would expect to understand the soul crushing realization I had come to. Although I desperately wanted to tell someone what I was going through, I thought I would have better success for commiseration from a brick wall than from him.

He looked over to the mess I left in the replicator and dryly said, "Captain Kirk was surprised you didn't report for the midday meal. According to Dr. McCoy you have not had solid nutrients for several days and you should have been hungry, but I see that you have decided to test the replicator." He looked back to me with just a hint of amusement in his eyes. "Gagh. Interesting choice for human consumption."

"The machine is broken," I muttered in a barely audible voice, "I wanted food and it gave me worms. Worms are not food, they are used for bait to catch fish, which is food."

"It is food to the Klingons," he informed as though he were instructing a child, "a popular staple of their diet. Do you wish to discard your meal?"

"Whatever." I mumbled. I couldn't even be bothered to properly annunciate anymore. I watched out of the corner of my eye as he strode to the machine and pressed a button that looked vaguely like the international symbol for recycle. I watched as the awful pile of swill slowly became vaporized and sucked back up into the apparatus; all that is, but the pungent smell that lingered in the room. I made a note for later to see if the replicator could make something like Febreeze to neutralize the nauseating stench.

He again looked at the screen and seemed to have some kind of internal debate before stating, "Earth. Do you miss your home planet?"

Even in my disoriented state, I could tell that he was not entirely comfortable with opening this conversation, but truthfully I was just as reluctant to engage him in content that I felt he could not appropriately handle. So, I opted for a vague and halfhearted "Not really."

He again seemed mildly surprised and observed, "It has been my experience that humans often feel a deep sense of longing for things they find familiar when they no longer have them. Is the Earth no longer of significance to you?"

I simply could not endure one more minute of this torturous dialog with him. It only served to drive the pain deeper and in a flash of reflexive anger I hissed, "Why the hell do you care what is or is not important to me? You have no idea how lucky you are that you feel nothing. I would give anything for that right now."

He graciously ignored my rudeness and quietly replied, "It is not accurate to say that I feel nothing. It would only be logical that you would feel a sense of loss for your home world when you can no longer go back."

I knew he was trying to be helpful in the only way he knew how, but it was all I could do to swallow the sick desperation I felt churning inside. I rolled onto my back and laid my arm across my eyes in a futile attempt to block out the world. I just wanted it all to go away. "And what would you know about that?" I asked sarcastically, "Did you read that in a book somewhere?"

He paused before emphatically stating, "Experience."

I slowly peeked at him from under my arm. He appeared to be dead serious which once again awakened the clinician in me and pulled me out of the swirling cesspool of self-pity. He opened the door of self disclosure just enough to pique my interest, but too far to slam it shut before I seized on the opportunity to learn more about him.

I sat up, pulled my knees up to my chin and wrapped my arms around them. "Continue." I prompted.

He stood absolutely still and I almost smiled at the momentary flash of panic that stirred in his dark eyes as he realized he had painted himself into a corner. He clearly wasn't counting on the possibility of me questioning him. After all he was in a position of high rank, he was probably so used to giving orders he never thought that having the tables turned on him was a viable option. I raised my eyebrows to indicate that I was waiting on an answer. He blinked slowly and clenched his jaw tight before turning to the screen.

"Computer," he said somewhat agitated, "show me Vulcan."

The image of Earth was quickly replaced by another sphere. The planet looked remarkably similar to Earth with the land mass to water ratio reversed, giving the orb a bit more of a reddish hue. It seemed as though it rotated on its axis slightly faster than the Earth. Weather systems were present, although the cloud cover seemed thinner and more sparse. I stared in silent wonder; this was exactly the type of thing I dreamed of when I looked at the sky as a child.

He went on: "This was my home world, a class M planet like your own. In fact, Vulcan was only 16 light years from Earth."

I looked at him skeptically. "Not possible. Even though we had just started planet hunting, Hubble was able to see greater distances than that. NASA has cataloged almost 300 planets within a 300 light year radius from our sun! If your planet was that close, we would have seen you."

He sighed patiently. "It is true that your civilization had made significant steps toward the identification of other habitable planets, in fact, that work was the beginning of what would become the United Federation of Planets. But the technology being used at the time did not allow for direct observation of other worlds, and was only able to detect planets the size of Jupiter or larger. The presence and composition of class M planets, like Vulcan, could only be inferred by utilizing the polarization of light as it shifted across the red-blue spectrum due to the pull of gravity on the star it orbited. We were, in effect, hiding in plain sight. Our respective civilizations officially made contact in 2044."

"That would have been within my lifetime." I said in awe. I was a bit aggravated that we could have been duped so easily, but also exhilarated to think that for all of human history we have looked to the sky and wondered if we were alone in the vast darkness of the universe. To think that other sentient beings lived so close for so long was almost unbelievable. "When was the last time you were there?"

"2258," He said looking back at the screen, "minutes before it was destroyed."

I straightened with a start. "Destroyed? How do you mean? It wasn't us, was it?" I knew all too well the propensity of humans to take by force what they wanted and it wouldn't surprise me in the least if we tried that same strategy in space.

"No," he answered in a low voice returning to me, "humans have always been allies of the Vulcans. It was destroyed by the Romulans using Vulcan technology." He turned once more to the floating image and added, "And now it is no more."

"Your home is completely gone?" I whispered. I simply couldn't envision destruction on such a massive scale. "And the people that you say had me and then shot me into space used your own weapons against you?" He nodded stiffly, but said nothing.

I looked back at the screen with a sense of sadness. How many people lost their lives when the end of their world came? Were they scared, or did it happen suddenly? I was completely at a loss; the human mind is simply not equipped to process immeasurable suffering such as that. "I…I am so sorry for your loss, Spock. You must feel so angry and lonely." I knew the words were painfully inadequate and ultimately not helpful when applied to absolute genocide, but it was the best I could do.

He looked me in the eye and quietly said, "Your condolences are accepted. I have long ago come to accept the fate of my people. I have also come to realize since that time that a sense of community or belonging comes not from being with your own kind, but from a shared history with those around you. In order for you to better adjust to your new surroundings, the Captain has asked me to bring you to the bridge to meet the crew. I will place myself outside your door until you are ready."

He gave his usual slight nod and did as he said he would. I sat on the bed a few more minutes and thought about what he said. It was true that I would not meet another human who grew up in the same world as I did, so in that sense we had both lost our concept of home. But he was right when he implied that relationships with others were what gave life meaning and purpose, no matter who you shared that with.

Who would have thought a coldly rational being such as he would be able to give sound advice on something as deep and warm as the bonds that humans find so comfortable?