Shuttlecraft Galileo, Beta Quadrant
They have already begun calling it the "Battle of Vulcan."
This Sarek learns with the volume on his PADD at the lowest possible setting, the tiny yet surprisingly painful earphone speakers he wears a mere courtesy to his fellow passengers. Politeness is logical; in the privacy of his quarters at the embassy in San Francisco, he would have left them out.
The podcast is called Idle Chatter, transmitted via subspace channel once every Terran week. Its commentators, a trio of former lawyers turned reporters, spend the hour discussing the political developments of the day, primarily on Earth but also across the different Federation worlds. They engage one another in well-informed debate, broken by innocuous joking and teasing. In the episode he is listening to, they are uncharacteristically subdued, bereft of their usual pointed remarks. This is unsurprising. The episode was originally aired on stardate 2258.43, the day after the attack. Sarek is catching up.
His decision to use his time aboard the shuttlecraft to listen is logical. While he prepares to help with relocating the Vulcan refugees—survivors—from their temporary accommodations to whichever planet will ultimately become their new home, he will be using Standard much less regularly than in the past. He must maintain his proficiency.
The decision, he knows, is also illogical. There is no need for him to listen to Idle Chatter to remain informed about the news of the day, and yet he finds himself unable to ignore the download notifications on his PADD. How many times had he joined Amanda listening to it in their kitchen at Shi'Kahr, drinking tea and stripping plomeek shoots for their evening meal together? How many times had she laughed unexpectedly at a passing comment, paused thoughtfully at an argument being thrown back and forth between the commentators? She too had no need to listen to Idle Chatter to remain informed, but rather listened as a way to "stay connected" to Earth. Even now he doesn't fully understand how. Ostensibly the good-natured arguing reminded her of politically-charged debates among her immediate family members at the dinner table.
Then again, he never needed to understand before. Amanda's interest in the show was simply a fact of life.
His fellow passengers in the shuttle are, like him, absorbed in their own affairs. Aside from the pilot, there are three in total: a pair of non-military agriculture experts, and a Starfleet geologist. The agricultural experts are deep in quiet conversation, the geologist buried in files on her PADD. Early in the seven-hour journey, she attempted to engage him in conversation, uncomfortable with his silence. Or perhaps uncomfortable with him, feeling an illogical need to adopt new protocols in speaking to a member of an endangered species.
The headphones, Sarek admits to himself, are also a way to discourage her from expressing sympathy to him. He does not want her to tell him—like so many have done over the last several weeks—that she is sorry. He knows this is unfair of him. Humans' tendency to apologize for something which is not their fault is, after all, a method of self-reassurance. Humans find it emotionally necessary to acknowledge the difficulties of others. Not to do so would be...painful. This fact renders their apologies no less discomfiting.
Ahead in the cockpit, which is open to the passenger cabin, the pilot, one Lieutenant Hikaru Sulu, turns and looks at him. They were introduced only hours ago in the Enterprise hangar bay. He is likely the youngest person in the shuttle: one of the Enterprise cadets who has received a battlefield promotion within the last few weeks. Sarek removes his headphones, waiting.
"Ambassador, I just wanted to let you know we'll be arriving soon."
Soon. An imprecision. He pauses, searching for the best way to ask for clarification, but Sulu beats him to it without prompting: "About twenty minutes from now."
Another imprecision, but much less so than the first. Sarek inclines his head in acknowledgement.
As the young man turns back to the flight console, there's a flash of metal on his right hand that catches the light. A simple gold band, Sarek realizes: he is married. The thought passes through his mind, unbidden: how must his spouse have reacted when the Enterprise limped into spacedock after the carnage?
Then Sarek realizes, abruptly, that he has seen Lieutenant Sulu before: in the Enterprise transporter room wearing a scorched exosuit, standing beside the transport console. That Sarek didn't realize it before when they were introduced is disturbing to say the least. Under normal circumstances such an observation would have never escaped his notice for this long.
Of course, his first glimpse of the pilot could hardly have been considered "normal circumstances".
It was no maintenance of control that kept him silent when he reemerged on the Enterprise transport pad, but rather the silence that was all around him, throughout him, inside him. The vacuum left behind by Spock's stricken cry, the shocked, dawning comprehension of the Starfleet officers across the room. The abrupt emptiness in his own mind, the realization that for the first time in decades, he was alone in his thoughts.
No, not entirely.
Spock's anger was suddenly a faint flare in the corner of his mind, more present than it had been in years. Spock was furious. And he was…
Stunned.
That is the word she would have used. There is no exact equivalent in Vulcan. The closest word means to be confronted with unexpected circumstances. Barely accurate, and insufficient.
Perhaps a better word would be pakik: lost.
Whatever it was, it pursued him to the Medical Bay, to the temporary quarters arranged for him and the elders on Deck Eight, and all the way to the bridge, hours later, where he watched James Kirk hurl xenophobic insults at his son.
In the days—weeks—after it was over, Sarek would replay that scene over and over in his mind, trying to understand why he had not succumbed to his son's same rage, because his lack of action had hardly been the product of skillful restraint.
No Vulcan on Earth, even in the planet's most liberal hubs, could escape the pockets of anti-off-worlder abuse that cropped up in the most innocuous places. Sarek was hardly blind to the stares he had attracted walking at Amanda's side in San Francisco, to the protesters who gathered periodically outside the Vulcan embassy, holding hand-made signs with messages like, Aliens Go Home and No Borders, No Planet. Standing there in front of the communications console, hearing his son's voice break with fury—back away from me, Mr. Kirk—Sarek should have been incensed.
And yet there was something about Kirk's invectives—what is it like not to feel anger? It must not even compute for you—that had seemed somehow insincere. Calculated. Intentional.
Perhaps even logical.
Spock, by contrast, was by that point too far gone to recognize what Sarek saw. His fury was like a bonfire, bright and blinding to the point of obscuring all else, filling the void in Sarek's mind, keeping him rooted to the spot. It was only when he realized that Spock had no intention of stopping—that he was going to stay there, hand pressed down on Kirk's windpipe until the other man stopped breathing—that Sarek found his voice again.
Slowly, his son's rage had faded to horror and shame, turned inward on himself.
"Doctor, I am no longer fit for duty. I hereby relinquish my command based on the fact that I have been emotionally compromised. Please note the time and date in the ship's log."
Sarek had not waited to determine what would happen next. He had followed Spock off the bridge and to the empty transport room, to offer words of comfort. Things that Amanda would have said. Things he knew to be true, but did not fully understand himself.
The next time Sarek saw James Kirk was three weeks after the Enterprise returned to Earth, in the main library on the Starfleet Academy campus. By that point he had received detailed information on a class M planet potentially suitable to relocate the survivors of the attack. The planet did not yet have a formal name, but a research designation: BX331. It was several lightyears further from Earth than Vulcan had been, but had a remarkably similar climate and was uninhabited by intelligent or humanoid life.
All this from an elderly Vulcan named Selek, who was unable to meet Sarek in person. When Sarek inquired about his background, he learned Selek was also from Shi'Kahr, but had spent most of his life off-planet as a stellar cartographer. His answers to Sarek's questions, he now realizes, are what Amanda would have called "hedging." They left much to be clarified.
As did his reports on BX331. Though they were highly detailed, it was logical to substantiate the information contained in them based on other records. Shortly after receiving Selek's initial message, Sarek asked him to forward details of the organization he had worked with in surveying the planet. The organization turned out to be the Vulcan Science Academy, whose records were largely lost, the few that remained still being recovered from offworld servers.
In the weeks following, Selek proved strangely difficult to reach. It seemed to Sarek counterintuitive that any Vulcan—regardless of time spent offworld—should now avoid contact with other Vulcans, but Selek was so elusive that Sarek began to wonder if the man was avoiding him—in a manner not unlike Spock's avoidance of him during his first few years in Starfleet.
Then again, perhaps Sarek, like Amanda, merely wished to interact with someone who understood the nuances of his former home. He was perfectly capable of seeking out any existing records on BX331 himself; it was hardly logical to waste time trying to reach out to Selek for answers.
Had the Vulcan Science Academy still been standing, Sarek would have requested access to their spatial planetary surveys, in order to examine the details on the planet himself. That, of course, was no longer an option, and so Sarek found himself in the library on the Starfleet Academy campus—a location he rarely visited while on Earth, despite that the ambassadorship gave him borrowing privileges.
He was seated in the library at 0331 hours, long after the optimum hour to end the day and transition from work to rest, scanning survey records. Approaching footsteps drew his gaze, and he found himself looking at James Kirk, in civilian clothing, standing in front of his table.
Perhaps it was the late hour, but the young captain appeared hesitant, if not uncomfortable. A far cry from his bravado on the Enterprise bridge.
"I hope I'm not disturbing you," he said. "Do you have a moment?"
Sarek inclined his head, and Kirk sat opposite him.
"I was told you'd be here. That you're checking out a planet to potentially relocate the survivors of the attack."
"That is correct," Sarek confirmed.
"I was also told there's not a whole lot of information on it."
Sarek paused. The Academy library's data on BX331 was proving insufficient, but there seemed no suitable way to say this without coming across as insulting. "It is indeed relatively unknown," he answered. He waited for the captain to clarify his intentions. This was another human characteristic—building up to the crux of their conversations over time, rather than stating them outright. Patience was necessary.
"How unknown? Kirk asked.
"It would require a detailed survey of the planet to determine its suitability."
"Ok. I want to help."
And there it was. Like the geologist on the Galileo, the young captain was clearly exercising a human need to acknowledge the difficulties of others. Sarek knew firsthand of the damage the Enterprise had sustained in tracking down Nero and destroying the Narada; he also knew that the ship and its crew were unavailable to assist in relocation efforts while Starfleet reeled from the attacks. The significance of Kirk's statement was in the offer, not his real-world ability to effect change.
Another Amanda-ism: It's the thought that counts.
The thought did count—to Kirk, at least. But there was something else in the young man's eyes that made Sarek feel a need to point out the impossibility of his offer.
"I was given to understand the Enterprise requires significant time in spacedock to complete repairs," he said.
Kirk shrugged. "Well, sure. We're stuck in port for now, but the Enterprise shuttles are usable. You need a lift to get out there in the first place, right?"
Sarek paused. He hadn't considered the shuttles. As they were unlikely to have warp capability, a shuttle journey to BX331 would be significantly longer than making the trip in a starship. Then again, there was nothing untrue or inaccurate in Kirk's statement. He nodded briefly.
"Ok, well, I'm offering." The captain fell silent, waiting for a reply, and for once Sarek found himself unsure what to say.
"You are unaware how far from Earth BX331 is located," he said finally.
"I'm offering anyways."
Sarek stared at him. The young man had answered without missing a beat. A genuine offer, then. He would be a fool not to accept.
"Very well. …I thank you."
The captain shook his head. "Nothing to thank. When do you need to get out there?"
Sarek paused again for only a moment before answering: "As soon as possible."
"Ok. I'll start asking first thing, then."
True to his word, within a few days of their meeting, Kirk would arrange Sarek's transport to BX331. It would be a merely preliminary trip—Starfleet Command could only be cajoled to let Kirk borrow the Galileo for a single Terran day. But the young captain would also manage to assemble the small team of scientists accompanying Sarek to BX331. Their presence, Sarek knows, will prove invaluable during their short visit to the planet.
Just before leaving Sarek's table in the library, Kirk's hesitance returned.
"Ambassador…before on the bridge, I…"
He trailed off, and Sarek recognized immediately what he was attempting to say. His actions were irrational, and yet they made sense. He was human.
"To dwell on past events which cannot be changed would be illogical," Sarek said, preempting the apology.
Less than absolution, more than acknowledgement.
Kirk merely stared at him for a moment, then nodded and left.
Aboard the shuttlecraft Galileo, the episode of Idle Chatter ends, and Sarek's statement—to dwell on the past is illogical—echoes through his memory of the conversation. He knew the truth of it then, and he knows it now. And yet putting it into practice proves elusive.
The questions come to him unbidden, largely before sleep when his mind is unoccupied: an endless series of what ifs. What if he had chosen to take Amanda off-planet that week, as he had been contemplating but delaying for months? Their decision—his decision—to go to the katric arc was logical given the information he had at the time of the attack, as it was one of the most secure locations on Vulcan, but what if he had instead piloted their flitter into orbit? As they fled the katric arc into the open air, what if he had stayed close to her and Spock, rather than trailing behind them? What if he had been close enough to reach out and catch her before she fell?
What if he had been standing in her place when the rock gave way?
When his mind is open to stray thoughts, he lives in the past. And at all other times, he contemplates an uncertain future—one that may or may not tether his son to the relocation efforts, and more.
Barely a week had passed after the attack when the elders approached Sarek with their request that he ask Spock to leave Starfleet and put his skills to use helping to establish a Vulcan colony. And even as he listened to them, recognized the soundness of their logic, he had to focus to steady his breathing and quell the anger that rose in his chest at their flagrant hypocrisy.
It is truly remarkable, Spock, that you have achieved so much despite your disadvantage.
Even then—now more than ten years ago—his anger was nothing compared to the shock and fury he felt from his son. He remembers the undercurrent of apprehension that arose in him like a wave as he tried to catch Spock's eye.
Your achievements speak for themselves. You have been judged a worthy candidate for acceptance into the Vulcan Science Academy. Do not allow the bigotry of others to destroy what you have worked for.
Spock did not reply, though his eyes flicked briefly toward Sarek at the thought—before he hurled the elders' acceptance back at them. The entire time, his face was a perfect mask of stoicism. It was his voice that betrayed him.
The only emotion I wish to convey is gratitude. Thank you, ministers, for your consideration. Live long and prosper.
In the years following they barely spoke. It became impossible to hold a conversation that wasn't charged with the subtext of Spock's decision. Even well after it became clear he would go far in Starfleet, Sarek found it impossible to contain his disappointment—which, illogically, Spock read as Sarek's disapproval of him. They consigned themselves to separate corners of the familial bond, only reachable by Amanda despite her protests, her one-sided wrath echoing her son's.
Within the last two years, however—shortly after Spock was tapped as the XO of the Enterprise—one particular stray thought had begun to enter Sarek's mind, catching him off-guard.
Perhaps the VSA was never the right place for Spock.
And now: perhaps his own reasons for wanting to honor the elders' request—to convince his son to return to Vulcan society, or what remains of it—are not logical at all, but merely selfish.
Sarek does not have time to finish that thought, as Lieutenant Sulu turns around again to advise the passengers to put on their safety restraints: they are about to enter the planet's atmosphere.
During the approach, Sulu proves his skill as a pilot. The descent is as smooth as anyone with his training could make it. When Sarek steps out onto the planet's surface—at the coordinates provided to him by Selek—he feels the harsh heat of the star BX331 orbits on his face, a brief flutter in his chest as his cardiovascular system adjusts to the higher gravity. (Is it higher than that of Vulcan, or has his body merely grown accustomed to the lighter pressure on Earth? He will have to verify.)
The scientists and Lieutenant Sulu follow, fanning themselves and producing equipment and garments to protect themselves from the sun's ultraviolet rays: thin protective goggles with dark, polarized glass lenses, and a slippery, white cream which they will periodically work into their exposed skin over the course of their time on the planet.
The ground is dry and gravelly, their immediate surroundings the beginnings of foothills that lead into low, rocky mountains. The landscape is dotted by low scrub grass and succulents, the air full of the singing of insects which remain hidden from view.
Sarek selects the camera function on his PADD and captures an image of what he sees, the first of many which he will send to the Vulcan elders currently housed at the embassy in San Francisco, along with the findings of the scientists accompanying him. He studies the image after taking it, and pauses a moment, reflecting, before attaching it to a text-based subspace message. Over the next several minutes, he makes brief, preliminary observations, recording them in the body of the message, before reading them over and sending it.
If Spock does resign his commission in Starfleet to work on the relocation efforts, he will want to consider details of the prospective planets first.
They work for the next nine hours, the geologist and the agricultural experts taking soil samples and mapping the surrounding area, Lieutenant Sulu curiously examining the local plant life. (As it happens, his knowledge extends to botany as well.) When necessary, the scientists and Sulu take short breaks in the shuttle to eat and rehydrate, human bodies requiring more frequent maintenance than Vulcans'.
Sarek continues to document the immediate terrain in as much detail as he can, until the last possible moment. This comes an hour after nightfall when Lieutenant Sulu, leaning exhausted against the shuttle doors, calls him back, reminding him of their deadline to get the Galileo back to spacedock within twenty-four hours.
During the return journey, one of the agricultural experts exchanges seats with Lieutenant Sulu, monitoring the auto-nav system while the pilot sleeps. The geologist, energized by their work that day, begins composing a report of her findings; the second agricultural expert makes a private subspace call to someone back on Earth.
Sarek listens to another episode of Idle Chatter, skipping ahead to the most recent one. The commentators are more animated, back to their usual banter and snark. To his surprise, he finds this a relief. They have invited a guest speaker, a lawyer named Samuel T. Cogley, to discuss the upcoming midterm elections to the Federation Council.
Seventeen minutes into the episode, a subspace message notification chimes on Sarek's PADD, interrupting a lively debate between Cogley and one of the usual commentators. Sarek feels his eyebrow twitch upward as he notes the sender. The message contains a single line, with no salutation and no closer:
The terrain bears a striking resemblance to that of Shi'Kahr.
If nothing else, Spock has always shared his efficiency of communication. Sarek pauses the podcast and pulls up the message.
Indeed, he types.
The reply is unnecessary. He sends it anyways.
A/N: And here we are.
First, some brief acknowledgements. Idle Chatter is modeled on a real-life podcast called The Slate Political Gabfest, which is just as informative and snarky. "Selek" is, of course, Spock Prime's alias in the alternate reality. If I'm completely honest with myself, I don't know where that name originally comes from, whether it's from the novelization of the first reboot film, or just a convention I've adopted from other excellent fanfiction writers. All I know is I can't take credit.
I started tinkering with the Ben chapter of this fic in early November, with no idea where it was going to lead. Needless to say, this story swept me off my feet. I'm really glad it did. I'm currently rehashing a long ensemble fic I started back in August, one that takes place in the six months following Star Trek: Into Darkness. Now that I've spied on these characters a little bit, I'm deeply curious about what they got up to during that time. If the rehashing works, I will keep you posted on what I find out.
As always, thank you for reading. Live long and prosper.
12/19/2016
