9
He woke with the knowledge that he had slept longer than he had meant to, and that he had fallen asleep the night before without even realising he had done so. He was alone in his bed – but he could sense that Christine was still there in his room, perhaps in the living area.
He sat up slowly, feeling an odd sore aching through his body as he moved. 'Christine?' he asked.
He sensed her momentary surprise, then she came through to his sleeping area, saying brightly, 'You're awake!'
'Finally,' he said dryly. 'I have slept too long, I think.'
'You've slept just as long as your body deemed necessary, *I think*,' she responded, sitting down on the edge of his bed.
'Have you been here all this time?'
'I had to pop back to sickbay for a few hours, once I knew your condition was stable.'
'You have not slept?'
'You forget the time difference – I had dinner with you at my lunch time. It's almost eleven in the evening, ship time.'
'Of course. Then – you must be wanting to return to your quarters to sleep?'
'I've got another hour or so in me yet. I guess you want to get back to Vulcan as soon as possible?'
'I was intending to,' Spock nodded. 'I have business to arrange there.'
'I'm sorry about the murders, Spock,' she said softly. 'I know you knew Caroline – to be honest, I used to be jealous of her for all the time she spent with you.'
'Not any more,' Spock said soberly.
'Not any more,' she nodded. 'But anyway, I *am* sorry. Especially for how it happened – where it happened.'
'I know you are. I appreciate your sympathy.'
'And are *you* safe there?' she asked with very real concern. 'If they're Vulcan isolationists – you *do* represent contact with other worlds,' she pointed out with a tone of apology in her voice.
'I do not know if I am safe there,' Spock replied honestly. 'However, I must be there.'
'All right,' she said softly, acknowledging that there would be no point in arguing with him. 'I can't find a medical reason to keep you here, either – you might be a bit weak for a few days, but you're not in danger from the disrupter effects. I just need to treat the subcutaneous bleeding before you beam down.'
'Is it still noticeable?' Spock asked, running a hand down his forearm. He had almost forgotten that he was still naked under the covers. 'I feel a certain amount of soreness.'
'You will do for a couple of days – your whole body needs to recover, just as it would from a disrupter hit. The bleeding's fading a little, but it is still visible. I can do it now – you're in the perfect place for it.'
'Of course,' Spock nodded, lying back down on the bed.
'I'll just get the healing accelerator,' she said, darting into Spock's living area, and then back again. 'Ready?'
Spock nodded, folding his blanket aside to reveal his body, warmed and relaxed by sleep. He felt a sudden, surprising surge of emotion from the nurse as he did so – a mingling of desire and pleasure racing through her mind. He could almost feel her eyes on him. She reached out to draw a hand across the dark stubble on his cheek, and he raised an eyebrow. He had not realised that being unkempt could be an attractive feature.
'Christine, you are supposed to be tending to me in a professional capacity,' he said reprovingly – partially because he was aware that her excitement was causing a reaction in his own biology, sending his pulse racing and blood rushing to places he did not currently want blood to go. 'We cannot – '
'No, of course not,' she murmured. She turned on the healing accelerator and leaned in close to him, playing it over the worst patches of bruising and bleeding under his skin. 'Of course not,' she repeated. 'Not while I'm treating you.'
She brushed against him as she leant across to treat his right arm, strangely aware of surges of desire in Spock's own mind. And then suddenly he was grasping her wrist and taking the instrument from her, and saying, 'Technically, you are not treating me at this exact moment.'
'Oh, we can't!' she said desperately. His dark, insistent intensity was intoxicating. Every muscle in his body seemed to be shimmering with focussed determination.
'That is patently untrue,' he said, putting the device aside and swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. 'As I said, you are not treating me at this moment – and I assure you I am quite capable – '
'Yes, I can see that,' she said wryly.
'And I do not believe you are in a position to offer a physical resistance,' he said, taking hold of both of her arms and firmly but gently lifting her and placing her on the bed, holding her arms up above her hand. He relaxed his grip for a moment to see if she would resist him, but she didn't move. He managed to clasp both her wrists in one hand, and found himself adjusting her clothing with the other, just enough to gain access to what he desired, gaining a strange buzz of excitement from his domination of her. He entered her without preamble, reassured by her soft gasp of pleasure as he did, thrusting into her until sensation melted into a fiery climax.
'I – like to prove a scientific point,' he said breathlessly, pulling away from her and feeling for the towel he knew he had left on the chair by his bed last night. He handed it to her, and said, 'You may continue treating me now.'
'I – don't know that I want to,' she said, sounding even more breathless than he did. 'I'd rather give you more scientific problems to solve…'
'Nevertheless,' Spock said seriously. 'You must sleep, and I must return to Vulcan.'
'Give me a moment,' she said, getting up off the bed. She disappeared into the bathroom for a moment, then returned, smoothing down her uniform and going to retrieve the hand-held healing accelerator. 'I just need to do your right arm, and you'll be quite presentable. There,' she said finally. 'No bruises – there's just some very faint marks left, but they don't look as if they were made by anything specific.'
'No evidence of this encounter,' Spock said with a half smile.
'None at all. I'm guessing you don't want to shout about this around the whole ship?'
'It is not in a Vulcan's nature to advertise relationships in their early stages,' Spock said soberly. 'Besides, the reaction from McCoy alone would be almost unbearable.'
'That's fine with me. Just – make sure you come back from Vulcan safe and sound, and – don't change your mind about this,' she said.
Spock could hear the latent insecurity underneath her light-hearted tone. He reached out to touch her hand. 'Neither is it in a Vulcan's nature to change their minds on a whim,' he reassured her. 'Christine, I really must continue with my morning routine now. I need to shave and take a shower.'
'Okay,' she said, returning the pressure on his hand. 'Do you want me to fix you breakfast before you leave?'
Spock hesitated – every offer like this set up a battle in him between asserting his independence and responding to simple offers of kindness. In this situation, it seemed appropriate to answer in the affirmative, regardless of his blindness.
'I would like that,' he nodded. 'Thank you.'
He returned from the bathroom to find that she had retrieved and laid out a fresh suit of clothes on the bed. He dressed, and came into the living area just as she put something down on his desk with a gentle clatter.
She gave a soft gasp of surprise as he rounded the partition, and he raised an eyebrow quizzically. 'What is the matter?'
'You look – *fine* in that suit,' she said with feeling.
'I do not know which suit it is,' he admitted. 'Most of my clothes are not labelled – I identify them by location in my drawers, and by careful tactile investigation if I must.'
'It's a dark chocolate colour. It was the only one like that. It – matches your eyes.'
'Ah, yes,' Spock nodded, tracing his fingers down the front of the jacket. 'The close-woven twill with rectangular fastenings. I admit I did not select that one myself – Lieutenant Uhura assisted me in a shopping trip on our last shore leave. She assured me that it suited my complexion.'
'Oh, I'll say it does.' She shook herself out of her preoccupation. 'Your breakfast's on the desk there. It's not very exciting – toast and marmalade, and earl grey tea – black.'
Spock raised an eyebrow curiously as he sat and located his plate. 'It may not be exciting, but it is one of my favoured breakfasts – a taste I inherited from my mother. I admit I was thinking about that very meal as I went into the bathroom. How did you know?'
'I – don't know,' she said, sounding puzzled. 'I was going to fix you something else, but it just seemed right.'
'I am perhaps not shielding as I should. After our linking last night, you probably picked up on my thoughts.'
'We – linked?' she asked slowly. 'I thought I felt you there, in my mind, but I wasn't sure, it was so gentle.'
Spock nodded. 'I did not wish to overwhelm a mind unused to melding. But you seem to have taken to my mind as easily as you have to my body. At least, you understood my desire for marmalade on toast.'
'Is that possible?' she asked in amazement. 'After one instance?'
'It is very possible,' he said, touching his fingers to his teacup. 'Do not forget, we had just engaged in intercourse again, and each time only strengthens the bond. Do not be mistaken – you are not reading my thoughts, and I am not reading yours – we are simply sharing an understanding of each other's motives and desires.'
'Well, it's certainly – fascinating,' she said, sitting down opposite him. 'I'd be interested in finding out more about it.'
'There is not a great deal of literature on Vulcan mating practices,' Spock said seriously. 'You may find that you simply have to learn from experience.'
He turned his attention to his meal, eating it in typical Vulcan silence.
'Thank you for this, Christine,' he said as he finished, pushing his empty plate aside. 'But I must return to the planet now. I have an appointment this afternoon – and you must be wanting to sleep.'
'I'll walk you to the transporter room, if you like,' she offered as he stood.
Spock hesitated. 'There is no practical reason for you to accompany me,' he said with a tone of consideration. 'However – I would like that.'
******
The first thing he encountered as he walked through his front door back on Vulcan was McCoy with his medical scanner held out to him, playing it up and down his body.
'Christine promised me she'd let me know how you got on,' he grumbled before even uttering a greeting. 'And she didn't call and I couldn't get hold of her for some reason.'
'I 'got on' perfectly well,' Spock told him coolly, manoeuvring past him further into the hallway.
'You're showing severe cell degradation all through your body.'
'Yes. It is healing,' Spock said, unwilling to encourage the doctor to perform more in depth checks. 'The more intense treatment brought me back up to where I should be in my treatment plan. I would not want to undergo it often, but it was quite successful.'
'Obviously,' McCoy said in a rather puzzled tone. 'You should be a little more green about the gills than this, Spock, but – to be frank, you look like a man who's just got some.'
'Got some *what*, Doctor?' Spock asked, tilting an eyebrow upwards.
'You know what I mean. If you were Jim, I'd be checking your contraceptive injections were up to date. You've got that – relaxed, contented look about you.'
'Doctor, if you believe that I would engage in sexual intercourse after such a debilitating round of treatment,' Spock began in a nettled tone.
'No, I know,' McCoy said apologetically. 'It can't've been pleasant, that much disrupter energy.'
'It was not,' Spock said succinctly. 'Now, if you will excuse me, Doctor, I must find the captain to discuss yesterday's meeting with him.'
'Is this a private discussion, or can an old country doctor join in?' McCoy asked, sounding slightly put out.
'You are welcome to join us, Doctor. You have so far.'
'Well, Jim's out back in your mother's garden. Let's go find him.'
******
'I – would prefer to perform the meld in private, Jim,' Spock said when he had outlined his plans with T'Pring. They were sitting in quiet isolation in the far corner of his mother's garden, with Spock keeping a part of his mind alert for the presence of anyone else about to enter the area, and McCoy frequently scanning the door from the house with his eyes.
'Is that wise?' Kirk asked, concerned. 'Bones?'
Spock heard the warble of McCoy's medical scanner again. 'How taxing is a meld like this, Spock? You're not at peak fitness right now.'
'It should not prove difficult. T'Pring and I share a link. The only taxing element is T'Pring herself,' he said darkly.
'How about if Jim and I sit in a room next door, and I set up my scanner next to you to alert me if you need help?'
'That should be suitable,' Spock nodded. 'I very much doubt there will be a problem, but – I cannot say that I trust T'Pring as perhaps I should.'
'And then what, Spock?' Kirk asked. 'After you've achieved this - sharing of perceptions?'
'Then T'Pring is free to go ahead and attend her meeting with the terrorists – and provided I can stay out of sight, I will – oversee the meeting, so to speak. If you are with me, I can send you in at the first sign of danger. T'Pring is fearful of abduction or physical injury. At least, that is her excuse for needing protection.'
'Well, she may be right, Spock,' Kirk pointed out. 'They don't seem the type for simple peaceful protest, and an acclaimed academy teacher would be a good prize for bargaining purposes. T'Pring *is* quite popular at the academy, isn't she?'
'She does seem to be quite successful there. Her logic is much admired.'
'But she supports alien admission?' Kirk asked curiously.
'Privately, yes. She is highly reluctant to become involved in the conflict.' Spock unfolded his cane, preparing to get to his feet. 'Captain, McCoy is right that I am not at peak physical fitness. If you do not mind, I would like to retire to my room – in private – to rest and prepare myself for the meld.'
******
McCoy drew in breath through clenched teeth as T'Pring entered the house that evening.
'Just as tight-assed as ever,' he murmured to Kirk in an undertone as Spock let her pass him at the door. T'Pring fixed him with an icy look, and he realised that no matter how quietly he spoke, the noise was probably audible to the Vulcans.
Kirk regarded her through narrowed eyes. It was hard to forget how this woman had risked both his and Spock's lives for her own supposedly highly logical ends. She barely seemed to have changed in the few intervening years – her hair was still the same polished black, twisted in an elegant design on top of her head. Her clothes still had that strange mixture of elegant, stylish practicality. Her eyes were still dark with piercing, emotionless intelligence. She held herself like royalty as she swept past Spock and moved towards the study door as if she was perfectly cognisant of the layout of the house. Of course, she probably recalled it from her melding with Spock at the age of seven.
'The house is empty, as you expected?' she asked Spock smoothly.
'It is. We do not expect their return until after eleven. Shall we begin, T'Pring? There is no logic in prevaricating.'
'We will be alone?' T'Pring asked, turning her clear gaze on Kirk and McCoy.
'McCoy wishes to place his scanner near me during the meld, but they will wait in another room,' Spock assured her. 'Come,' he said, moving without further preamble into the study. He wasn't sure whether his underlying sense of tension was because of the meld he was about to undergo, or because of the various tensions that were rippling between Kirk and McCoy in the presence of T'Pring. He could not forget that day at his ancestral arena, or shake of the feeling of responsibility for what had happened to Kirk at that time.
He sat in one of the chairs he had prearranged, almost oblivious to McCoy fussily setting up the scanner and then the two humans leaving the room.
'Shall we begin, T'Pring?' he asked.
'Affirmative.'
He raised his hand, touching it very carefully to the meld points on her face. His mind could not help juxtaposing the memory of the last face he had touched in this way, and he crushed that thought away ruthlessly. Thinking of Christine now would be of no benefit at all.
The contact with T'Pring's mind was like being immersed in crystal clear, almost frozen water. Everything suddenly took on a perfect edge of clarity, unfettered by emotional responses. But that was the surface layer of her mind, not the deeper areas that he needed to reach in order to cement the meld strongly enough to rekindle it without touching. He pushed deeper, breaking through that ice-like veneer into more colourful and confused depths. He caught glimpses of her love for Stonn – a love that continued because of his stalwart predictability, but that was also often stretched to the edge of breaking for the same reason. T'Pring found no challenge in Stonn, and one of her most favoured states was the sharp alertness needed during a challenge.
Then he felt tendrils in her mind reaching out to his, probing as he had done, seeking beneath his controls and disciplines. He could feel her casting about to find those parts of him affected by his blindness, searching for his impressions and reactions to it. He steeled himself not to react or pull away, despite his reluctance to let her in this deeply. It was part of their bargain, and he had to honour it. He was dimly aware that he was clenching his free hand tightly as she accessed those parts of his mind that held the memory of the explosion on the Enterprise, and the turmoil that followed his waking on Earth.
*Enough,* he thought finally. The memory of the despair he had felt at that time was playing as if in a loop, and he had to cut her off. *You have seen enough.*
He felt her acknowledgement, but she seemed to dawdle as she retreated, brushing over all sorts of things in his mind, touching each one so swiftly he could not be certain of what it was until she had left it behind. He followed her retreat, moving back into her mind again, seeking out what she held in her visual cortex. Her freshest experiences were darkness, though – she had closed her eyes for the meld.
*Open your eyes,* he thought. *Let me experience your sight.*
And then abruptly he was looking at something odd and angular, in clear, almost sickening colour. The image seemed crass and vulgar, and he had to do all he could not to retreat from it in horror. This was so different from the sight he remembered in his mind. He had expected a wonderful, refreshing revelation, and this was none of that.
*Steady yourself,* she said coolly. *This is sight. It is not distorted. You have merely forgotten the vividness of image.*
He stared through her eyes, trying hard to reconcile these odd, disjointed images with what he remembered sight to be. He could barely make sense of it. This must be his face, but it seemed to be a jumble of shapes loosely piled together, with very little sense to them.
*Your mind has reordered itself. It has given over power from your visual cortex to other senses. Steady yourself. Reconcile what you see with what you know to be true.*
*I am trying,* Spock replied, but the strain was evident in his mind. He didn't understand. He could see in his dreams – or at least, he *thought* he could see in his dreams. Perhaps what he saw was actually as distorted as this, and his mind made him believe that it made sense. He was suddenly grateful for the graduality of his recovery. He was not sure that he could cope with seeing perfectly all at once, if this was what it would be like. He began unconsciously to lift his hand to his face, to feel the shapes of what he should be seeing – but T'Pring's hand shut about his wrist, forcing his arm back down to his lap.
*That will only confuse you further. You have obviously become incapable of interpreting the visual. Use my mind, not just my eyes. Let me interpret the image for you.*
Spock readjusted his touch slightly, seeking out the image she was seeing at a deeper level, after it had been processed rather than as soon as it had entered her brain. And suddenly he was making sense of what he saw – that odd, dark oval was not a oval, but obviously the hair on the top of his head and over his forehead, with three-dimensional form. Those dark, curved lines were his eyelashes along the edges of his closed eyelids, and his eyebrows above them. His lips were pursed together hard in concentration. He opened his eyes, purely to experiment with his perception of movement – and he saw the eyelids in T'Pring's mind flicker open, revealing white eyes with dark brown irises, and dull black pupils at the centre. He closed his eyes again. If he thought about the paradox of looking upon his own blind eyes he was at risk of destabilising what he had achieved.
*Look about the room,* he said. *I need to know that I can understand more than my own face.*
The view moved, and he recognised the shapes of bookcases, ornaments, the grand piano in the centre of the room. They had a cast of unfamiliarity to them because he was looking through T'Pring's mind, but he could at least recognise them for what they were. As long as he accessed T'Pring's understanding as well as her vision, he would be able to observe her meeting, and understand the images well enough to interpret them correctly.
*It is enough,* he said.
He dropped his hand from her face, concentrating on keeping the contact alive while he was not touching her. He withdrew his mind from hers, and then reached out again to see what she saw. It was surprisingly easy just to access that one area of her mind – it took none of the energy that reaching deep into another's psyche did. He severed the link, and was plunged back into darkness.
He took a few moments to compose himself. 'T'Pring?' he asked finally, noticing her silence and feeling her scrutiny of him.
'Your mind is – not as I imagined it would be,' T'Pring said, a slight breathlessness roughening her usually ice-clear voice. 'You – seem to be possessed of great depths.'
'Did you expect the child of seven?' Spock asked acerbically. 'Or perhaps an intellect dulled by my hybrid make-up?'
'Yes,' T'Pring said honestly. 'But I see that you contain greater intelligence than many of my acquaintance.'
'I am gratified,' Spock said dryly.
'I find – perhaps – that I desire you.'
Spock raised an eyebrow. The news was not wholly surprising, since T'Pring had a love of the unobtainable, but it was quite unwelcome. 'I do not desire you,' he said plainly.
'No. I am aware of that. You desire a woman who smells of pomegranate shampoo, with soft skin and soft hair – a nurse on your ship. In fact, you have done more than simply desire her.'
Spock drew away from her abruptly, clenching his hands. He was grateful that the study was soundproof. 'You had no right to seek that in my mind, T'Pring.'
'As much right as you had to probe my feelings for Stonn,' she replied smoothly. 'It is not as if you hide her in the recesses of your mind. She was there at koon-ut-kal-if-fee, blazing in your consciousness. You were consumed with the desire for intercourse with her. Of course, you were consumed with the desire for intercourse with any female, were you not? Is that not how it strikes the male at pon farr?'
Spock pressed his lips together, declining to answer, afraid that if he did he would say something based on trembling anger, not on logic.
'She is still in your mind now, although her image is more fragmented. You have trouble recalling her exact appearance. You experience her as a series of scents and sounds and textures. They inflame you.'
Spock turned partially away, trying to turn his face from her gaze. It was deeply unpleasant to be reminded of T'Pring's knowledge of his unguarded mind during pon farr, and almost as unpleasant to know that she was aware of his recent carnal feelings.
'Are you embarrassed by this desire, Spock?' she continued coolly. 'There is no need. You are, after all, half human – it is natural for you to gravitate to your own kind.'
'She is no more my kind than you are genetically, T'Pring.'
'Then – perhaps she is more your kind emotionally,' T'Pring said with a slight edge to her voice.
'Yes,' Spock said slowly, acknowledging the suggestion not as an insult, but as a compliment. 'Perhaps she is. But this discussion has no logical purpose, T'Pring. We have achieved what we wished with the link. I believe I will be able to monitor your meeting tomorrow. There is no further reason for you to stay.'
'No further reason but common courtesy, Spock,' she said. He could tell that no matter how logical and emotionless she seemed, she was annoyed by his lack of desire for her.
'There is nothing more to discuss,' he said firmly, standing. He had to rigidly focus his awareness after the odd experience of sight, reaching out to grip the back of his chair while he oriented himself in the room. 'You should leave before the others return. I do not imagine my parents will wish to see you here.'
Spock could feel the restrained curiosity in both Kirk and McCoy when they entered the hall. They had obviously been waiting to hear the study door opening. Of course, McCoy would have known when the meld ended by the readings on his scanner.
'You achieved what you wanted to?' Kirk asked as they moved to the door.
'Yes,' Spock said succinctly. 'We will be in position to observe your meeting tomorrow, T'Pring. Goodbye.'
'You must pass on my regards to your lady when you contact her as you wish to,' T'Pring said smoothly as she stepped down onto the front path. 'She has certainly chosen – a challenge.'
Spock closed the door and turned back into the hall, pressing his lips together in annoyance. He could feel Kirk and McCoy in front of him, beset with curiosity.
'Your – lady?' McCoy asked slyly. 'You been doing more than we realised down here on Vulcan, Spock?'
'I have done nothing of note down here on Vulcan,' Spock said, truthfully enough. 'T'Pring has been – drawing assumptions from her contact with my mind.'
'*Really,* Spock?' McCoy pushed, his voice alive with curiosity.
'*Yes,* Doctor,' Spock replied in a voice that would crack granite. He could feel McCoy falling back a little in deference to his tone.
'The meld went okay?' he asked in a more sober tone.
'Yes.'
'Your readings were erratic at points.'
'The meld is a deeply involving process,' Spock said. 'In fact, I intend to go for a walk to clear my mind.'
'Want company?' Kirk asked softly.
'Yes, thank you, Captain,' Spock nodded. He could tell there was something unspoken passing between Kirk and McCoy – a tacit agreement that McCoy would leave them alone.
'Do you want my arm?'
'Please,' Spock nodded again, grateful for his friend's tacit understanding of his state of mind. He was too preoccupied and unsettled by the meld to be confident of walking unguided. The darkness seemed all the darker after his brief access to sight.
******
They walked out towards the outskirts of the town in the evening half-light. Spock was silent for the first few hundred yards, his forehead creased minutely with a frown. Kirk glanced across at him. He had folded his cane at his side, choosing to hold Kirk's arm instead, but he was walking with an odd awkwardness in his step instead of his usual ease, as if he was having to actively think about how to move in darkness.
'So,' Kirk said finally. 'What was it like, seeing through her eyes?'
'Not as I had expected,' Spock said truthfully. 'It was – disturbing.'
'You seem unsettled.'
Spock's frown deepened. 'I expected sight to be pleasing after all this time, but in fact it was confusing and quite unpleasant. I did not initially understand the images I saw.'
'What images were they, Spock?' he asked curiously.
Spock readjusted his grip on Kirk's arm, as if he was extra conscious of the contact. 'My own face,' he said dryly. 'I could not understand the sight of my own face until T'Pring helped me to do so.'
'Well, you haven't been able to see for a long time now,' Kirk reminded him. 'Perhaps it's not surprising. You have a very adaptive mind – that can work against you.'
Spock halted on the path, smelling the scent of hot dust kicked up by their feet, feeling the shimmering, hot evening air cloaking about his body, reflecting up from the hard ground. 'I believed I could visualise things perfectly in my mind, but that belief has been cast into doubt. I – '
'What is it, Spock?' Kirk asked gently, recognising that hesitant look.
He dropped his head a little, turning more towards the open desert, away from Kirk's scrutiny. He could not be sure of the expression his face was showing. 'I – am afraid that when I *do* eventually see, I will not be able to process the images. It will be worse than blindness.'
'It couldn't be worse, surely,' Kirk began.
Spock sighed, shaking his head. 'I do not know. I understand my blindness now. I can sense my surroundings. All of this,' he said, moving his arm out in a sweeping arc. 'Assumed norms aside, I can tell we are near the desert, because I can hear desert animals and birds. I can hear the sound of sand, unhindered by obstacles, scudding across the ground. I can hear where it travels over the footpath or becomes caught by the stands of bushes and trees, and so I can locate those things. I can hear the noises of the town at my back, and nature everywhere else. I know it is late evening because of the way the heat is rising from the ground, not beating down from the sky. If you were not speaking, I would still be able to tell it was you beside me by the noises of your breathing and your scents and my awareness of your mind. I know you're wearing your uniform because I can feel it under my hand. All this gives me a knowledge of my surroundings. But today I saw – and I could not understand sight. It overwhelmed my other senses, but gave me nothing useful in return. I had no understanding of visual representations of depth or texture. All I could see, until T'Pring aided me, was blocks of colour – flat, formless, nonsensical.'
'Your mind was elastic enough to adapt to blindness, Spock,' Kirk reassured him. 'It'll be elastic enough to adapt to sight, believe me. Perhaps what you need to do tomorrow will give you another chance at getting used to it.'
'Perhaps,' Spock nodded pensively. 'But, truth be told, I am not looking forward to the experience.'
