Disclaimer: Star Trek: The Original Series belongs to CBS, not me.
"You're very good, Lieutenant."
Scott and McCoy both left shortly after Kirk and Spock, but I couldn't tear myself away from the music. Good live jazz is hard to find these days, and a starship hurtling toward the far reaches of Federation space is the last place I would have ever expected to find it. It hasn't done my body any favors because I can't resist moving with it, but it's gone a long way toward making me feel at home.
"Thank you, Commodore." Lieutenant Uhura beams at me, her eyes twinkling, but I'm sure that has more to do with the exhilaration of performing than my compliment. "But you should really hear when Mr. Spock joins us. He plays the most amazing Vulcan lyre I've ever heard."
"Now that you mention it, I do remember reading something about that in a report a few years back. But I would never have taken him for a musician otherwise."
She laughs. "You wouldn't, would you? But he really is quite good. Maybe you'll get to hear him before you go."
"I'd like that." For now, though, my body has been pushed as far as I dare to push it, especially this close to a potential conflict with Romulans. Given how tired my body is and how long I've been sitting here, it'll take me a minute to find my balance, and Uhura looks like she might feel obligated to stay. I get that a lot. "If you need to go, I'm all right."
"No, sir, that's not why I'm still here. I was just thinking, I noticed you have a pretty mean sense of rhythm yourself."
"Fortunately, rhythm is in the brain." High muscle tone from stiff muscles means that I have less control than I'm used to. I push onto my feet and straighten, only to see myself pitching backward. Jerking my trunk forward again keeps me from toppling back into the chair. "It's just a matter of getting my body to cooperate with my brain. That part is still a work-in-progress."
"The left side seemed to be cooperating. Were you a dancer?"
Uhura's smile and good looks fool you into thinking she's just a pretty face, but there's a sharp eye and an even sharper mind behind them both. It takes a shrewd observer to notice that at least one half of my body still knows what to do with itself, and even keener intellect to connect those observations to my love of jazz and sense of rhythm. "I still am—at least to a degree."
Her smile widens. "I imagine it's something like figuring out what notes you can reach."
The problem for me is that my reach varies based on how tired I am. My right side is ordinarily strong enough these days and provides enough biofeedback to give me decent control over it. But that control always erodes when I'm tired, and sometimes when I'm keyed up, and occasionally when I'm getting sick. Knowing what I can do at any given moment means being intimately connected with how I feel. "That may be a lifetime's work."
"Most worthwhile projects are." She nods at me in the corridor and smiles again, although she's finally starting to look as tired as the rest of us. "Good night, Commodore."
"Good night, Lieutenant." Fortunately, my quarters are just down the hall from a turbo lift, so I don't have far to go before I can rest. I head for the desk chair and ease into it. "Computer, adjust temperature: 90 degrees Fahrenheit. Adjust artificial gravity: 20%."
"Temperature adjusted. Artificial gravity adjusted."
The ability to shed most of my weight in a single instant is one distinct benefit of artificial gravity. As on Earth, I have to wait for the temperature change to take effect. While I'm waiting, I strip down to my black undershirt and open the comm port to make a private call home.
"Hey, stranger." Standing in the kitchen dicing zucchini and yellow squash—it's Saturday brunch back home, so I assume she's making omelets—Alana's smile already looks tired. "How are you holding up?"
Even when it was just a short cargo run to Delta Kappa Six, before the Committee changed its mind, we knew this trip would be a push for me. "I'm sore and my muscles are cramping, but otherwise I'm all right. What about you? It's not even noon yet, and you already look tired."
"Marina and Chris are coming over for brunch, so I had to run the vacuum before I took Nia to class. But I'm all right. I just miss having you here to do the chores and take Nia to class while I cook; it's surprising how much those little things help. I wish I was there to massage your muscles for you. Is there anything you can do for them?"
"I've turned the heat up and the artificial gravity down, so once the room warms up I should start to feel better. I'm going to lay down and rest after we hang up."
"You made it onto the Enterprise all right?"
"Finally. I've never been so happy to get off a ship in my entire life."
"I'm sure." Alana shakes her head. "I still can't believe that doctor wanted you back in a wheelchair. You'd think a doctor, of all people, would understand that you're done with that. I assume things are better on the Enterprise?"
I nod. "Of course. The people here are good." A faint, rhythmic clatter in the background catches my ear. "How's Nia?"
"She misses you. We just got back from her dance class."
"I hear her."
Alana sticks her head into the hallway, looking toward the living room where our daughter is playing. "Nia, do you want to say hi to dad?"
Two size-5 taps ball-change most of the way down the hall, only to stop just outside the kitchen door and slide into view. "Dad, Mr. G showed us how to do a two-bar up-the-front time step! Want to see it?"
"Of course, if you can do it without getting in Mom's way."
"Go ahead." Alana compacts herself into the far corner of the kitchen to give Nia more dance floor.
Nia points the camera down so I can see her legs and feet. She's humming the rhythm to herself, hands flirting in and out of the camera's upper range. Her right fist has locked itself around her thumb the way it does when she concentrates. It's still repetitive at this stage, just the three variations Gavin will have showed her in class, but by tomorrow night she'll have come up with half a dozen variations on each of them. She learns quick that way like her mom. She's also slightly obsessive, a trait she gets from her old man.
"That's great, honey—I'm really proud of you. Keep playing with it, but only if you remember to help Mom with the dishes after you eat. Deal?" We make the same deal every Saturday after class.
She bends the camera back up so I can see her face. She's got the same glow Uhura had, brown hair falling out of her ponytail and one hook-style earring half backed out of her left ear. "Deal. When you get back, will you show me yours?"
My left side still functions reasonably well as the tap dancer I used to be, but the lack of fine muscle control on my right side means I have to get creative with how I use it. Even then I hear the difference, but Nia's too fascinated by how I choose my steps to care that they don't always come out clear. When you get right down to it, I guess creativity isn't a bad legacy to leave my daughter. "You know it."
"Thanks, Dad." She grins. "How long before you get to come home?"
"I don't know yet. I have to finish something here first."
"I know; I remember—the man on the news." Whether he realizes it or not, Kirk has been making headlines back home for several years now. The fact that he may not be allowed to keep his command has also been in the news lately. "It's okay. I love you."
She kisses the screen; I plant a kiss on my fingers and touch them to her forehead. "I love you too. I'll call again as soon as I can. Help Uncle Chris this afternoon, and be a good girl for Mom."
"Promise."
She slides out of the kitchen and riff-walks down the hall, and Alana readjusts the camera. "You're going to be gone longer than you expected?"
"I could be. I'm wrapping up a loose end."
"A loose—" She gasps. "Ethan—"
"Don't worry, honey. I'll be fine."
"You'd better be."
"Lightning won't strike twice, Alana. I promise, I'll be fine."
"You said that twelve years ago. Call me every night."
"Or as often as I can. Listen, I was thinking—When I get home, I want to start hiking again."
"Hiking?"
"We haven't done it in ages, Nia's never been, and you and I both used to enjoy it. And I'm going to start taking some of my leave so we can travel; Nia's old enough now to remember and appreciate going off-world. I need to start challenging my body more than I have."
"You think you can?"
"I know I can. A lot of the reason I'm having trouble now isn't that I'm pushing the limits of what I can do, just that I'm pushing the limits of what I have done. I'm not used to working at my full capacity anymore. I've been doing what's easy."
"If you really want to, we'll try." She pushes a stray lock of hair away from her face, tucking it behind her ear. Nia got my feet and her mom's hair—it's always out of place. I happen to think it's cute, but it drives Alana crazy, especially when she's tired. "A family vacation would be nice."
Those dark circles under her eyes worry me. "I'm sorry I'm not there to help."
"Don't be. You are where you need to be, doing what you need to be doing. Just be careful so you come home in one piece."
"Promise." The door chime sounds, and I glance toward it. "I have to go, honey. I love you." I kiss my fingers and touch them to the screen, and she does the same.
"Love you too, Ethan. Call again soon."
"I will." As soon as the call ends, I turn to face the door. "Enter."
The door opens to reveal Commander Spock, looking more uncomfortable than even Silak does on the rare occasion when I can get him to look anywhere near me. This is turning out to be an interesting evening.
"Is this a convenient time for us to speak, Commodore? If it not, I can return at a later time." The heat radiating through the open doorway surprises me. Although I find it quite hospitable, most Humans find this temperature uncomfortable.
"This is fine. Come in." Commodore Tucker motions for me to come. "Just be careful. I have the artificial gravity lowered quite a bit."
That is no exaggeration. The change in gravity, and therefore weight, is jarring and could have had unanticipated consequences had he not provided a warning. I raise my right eyebrow in response to the conditions.
The commodore laughs. "The lower gravity makes it easier for me to move. I'm letting my muscles rest."
"I see. And the heat also has a therapeutic benefit, I presume? Most Humans would not choose this temperature without receiving some benefit from it."
Another laugh. "Exactly. It helps loosen my muscles. They tend to cramp when I'm either tired or cold."
"I see." The depth of his fatigue is apparent at the physical level, but I sense none of the mental or emotional fatigue that I so often do in Jim. Indeed, he seems quite lively on an internal level. The fact is simply that his body betrays him. In Jim, the problem is opposite: his body serves him, but at a steep cost to his mental and emotional state. "I do not wish to disturb your rest. I merely wished to clarify a point from our earlier conversation."
Commodore Tucker eases onto the side of the bed, then maneuvers his weaker side onto the mattress and stretches out. "You're not disturbing me. I'm wide awake. My internal clock is still set to San Francisco time, which means that it's about eleven o'clock in the morning for me. This just happens to be the only way for my muscles to completely relax." He gestures toward the guest chair in the office. "Have a seat. By 'our earlier conversation,' I assume you're referring to the one about Vulcan views on disability?"
"Affirmative." I wonder if this conversation, and its apparently endless variations, will ever cease to feel tedious. "I merely wished to clarify that while I am familiar with the traditional Vulcan view on that particular subject, I do not share it."
Tucker turns his head to look at me without rising, eyebrows elevated. "So that's what it was."
"Commodore?"
"I knew you looked uncomfortable, but I couldn't decide why. That explains it." He looks back up at the ceiling. Perhaps he is attempting to preserve my dignity? At any rate, the gesture is very much welcomed. He says, "I appreciate the clarification. So how does a Vulcan come to disagree with that particular view? From your mother? I understand that she's Human."
"She is, but we did not have reason to discuss the subject of acquired disability while I was a child. It is—" I shall never cease to find these conversations awkward. "—not a subject which is discussed in Vulcan society unless critically necessary."
"I see. That makes me even more curious how a Vulcan raised in Vulcan society comes to disagree with a view that's so taboo it's not even discussed."
"One comes to disagree with such a view by realizing, through experience, that the belief is fundamentally illogical and not in keeping with other beliefs. You are, I presume, familiar with the Vulcan concept of IDIC—Infinite Diversity in Infinite Combinations?"
Tucker nods. "Your captain goes blind and takes the opposite tack from what you expected, and you have no choice but to realize how big the word infinite really is. Is that it?"
"Spock, I'm sorry to bother you." Jim had stood in the open doorway of my quarters, data cards in hand. "But I can't think of an alternative. I need your help."
These things were, of course, to be expected until the appropriate arrangements could be made for him. My knowledge of Human customs surrounding the acquisition of uncorrectable disability was slim, but logic dictated that there must be a place equipped to deal with the victims. "I had anticipated that that would be the case." By the time Jim appeared in my doorway, I had been anticipating this conversation for the entirety of the 22 minutes and 13 seconds since Dr. McCoy had left him alone in his quarters. "No apology is necessary."
"Thanks."
Letting Jim feel his way back to his quarters, I followed at his shoulder, prepared to assist but ultimately unnecessary. "You appear to be managing remarkably well."
"It isn't as bad as I might have expected." He felt his way to his desk and sat down, adding his handful of data cards to the larger pile cluttering the center of the desk. He picked up the first card his fingers encountered and felt for the data slot with his other hand. "I can find the cards and put them in, but all they bring up are pictures that do me no good. Eventually, of course, I'll need the computer to read them out to me, but I think that should be a simple fix. But I don't need to tell you that; after all, you're the computer expert. In the meantime, I just need your help sorting through all these cards. I'm trying to get organized so things don't spiral too far out of control while I'm trying to get my feet back on the ground."
"Do I understand that you intend to remain here, on board the Enterprise?"
"I'm her captain. Where else would I go?"
"I understood Dr. McCoy to say that there were no artificial vision systems that would be wholly satisfactory, given the condition of your retinas. Has there been a development?"
"No. And since there's no way to reverse the damage, that leaves me no choice but to make the best of what I've got. And I will figure it out; McCoy seems to think my ears and fingers can be trained to kick in quickly. I'll just need some help until then." Unexpectedly, he grinned and waved an arm toward the disorganized pile of data cards. "So what about it? Are you up to the task?"
"That is—" The memory has left an unexpected aftertaste in my mouth. I attempt to settle my stomach before completing my answer but am unsuccessful. "That is quite an apt description of what happened."
Commodore Tucker's head snaps so quickly toward me, and his eyes narrow so sharply on me, that the motion is momentarily unsettling. His reaction, however, appears to have been borne not of criticism but of concern. He asks, "You okay?"
"Affirmative." The fact that my stomach is still queasy and uncontrollable suggests otherwise. However, his choice of wording leaves the question nebulous enough that my answer is not strictly a lie. I am not in physical jeopardy; I am, therefore, "okay" by at least one measure.
Tucker nods, again looking away from me. He is preserving my dignity; I am quite certain of that now. "Sorry. I didn't mean to take you to that place." He does not explain what he means by that place, nor do I find it necessary to ask. Instead, he says, "The usual view is that disability happens to an individual. It doesn't. It happens to his entire ecosystem."
"That is—" I consider and discard a number of words which, while apt, do not fully capture the unexpected nature of Tucker's statement. "—an interesting observation."
"Everybody thinks to ask the person most directly affected how he's doing. Very few think to ask how the people around him are coping."
"Indeed."
I initiate eye contact; he meets it and nods. "As hard as I know it's been—and I do know that it's been hard—probably always will be at times—you and Captain Kirk have done the right thing by sticking it out." He looks away again, focusing instead on the ceiling above his bed. "You want to know how I know?"
Aside from my crewmates, the experience of adjusting to Jim Kirk's blindness has been a solitary one. The fact is that I am quite curious to hear the perspective of an outside source. "If you would not be troubled by sharing that information, I would very much like to hear it."
"I ran into my old captain in the hallway at Starfleet Medical earlier this month, when I went in for my annual physical. He wouldn't look me in the eye; I barely got him to say hello, never did get him to shake hands. We haven't talked since before the accident."
Until this moment, I have considered the loss of Jim Kirk's eyesight to be a great tragedy to which we are both adjusting. While there remains a sense of regret over the events that occurred, perhaps the real tragedy was averted after all. In the immediate aftermath of the loss, both he and I made a series of decisions that carried us closer together—closer than either of us could have ever anticipated at the outset. Had we made other choices, we both would have suffered a much greater tragedy than simple loss of eyesight. I realize that now. "Commodore, if I may clarify a point?"
I wait for his permission to continue; he gives it with a nod.
"The relationship that you had previously with your captain—"
He answers while still staring at the ceiling. In this case, I believe that he may be attempting to preserve his own dignity rather than mine. Respecting this wish, I look away as well, but not before witnessing the regret in his expression. "He'd been making a lot of mistakes, but we were still friendly."
The tightness in my abdomen loosens and the bile in my stomach settles. "That is—" The depth of my breathing also increases, although I had not previously realized that it was constricted. "—unthinkable."
"According to my CO, disability isn't the real tragedy at all. It's what you make of it that turns it into a tragedy—or not."
"One must learn to draw a distinction between events that are merely unfortunate and those that are genuinely tragic. It seems that your commanding officer possesses an uncommon measure of wisdom in this subject matter." The logic of his perspective is at once simple and flawless: if the acquisition of a disability in some way spurs one toward achievement, then it cannot be a tragedy. For a non-Vulcan to reach that depth of logic regarding a topic so potentially mired in emotion is frankly astonishing. When we reach Earth at the end of this assignment, I should very much like to meet this remarkable individual.
Tucker grins. "You sound like your father."
Although the sudden reference to my father surprises me, it should not. In the mess hall, Tucker mentioned having had frequent contact with the Federation Council, of which my father is a key member. Had I been in a clearer mental state at that time, I would likely have inferred that he had spoken with my father on occasion. "Given the genetic similarity between us and our common culture, some resemblance is to be expected."
"You say that as if sounding like your father is a bad thing. He's one of the more open-minded people on the Council. He looks me in the eye and treats me with respect; that's more than I can say for most of the other councilmembers and about three-quarters of Starfleet. There are worse people you could sound like."
"That is fortunate, since I have little choice in the matter." Now that my tension is gone, it seems to have left my body in a depleted state. I repress the need to yawn, at least until I reach my quarters, and prepare an exit. "Commodore, I am most grateful for your time and for sharing your experiences with me. I have found them both extremely helpful."
He studies me, then nods. "Glad I could help."
