Night of the Eagle
Chapter 10
Chapter 9
Keetah shook her head, a repetitious, mechanical movement as she backed away from him. "No, this cannot be. What… have you done…?"
She was aware as she spoke, seeing his face drain of blood that she had trespassed into a forbidden area, taken part in one of the most closely guarded secrets of Vulcan life. She knew of the mind meld…what it signified.
"I must…apologize… for my lack of control," Spock said unsteadily. "The … it is not…usually so… spontaneous…"
His unspoken, unbelieving demand hovered in the air between them. How could it have happened. And Keetah sought for an explanation that would appease him, divert his mind from the only possibility. "Apache live as one with nature. Perhaps that gives us sensitivity unusual among humans generally. Or perhaps my studies of the healing trance have fostered an elasticity unknown to me. We are both tired. We should sleep now."
Spock agreed with alacrity. Yet, when they were both wrapped in their separate furs, she could not expunge that split second of total fusion. Because he was Vulcan, she had assumed he would have full control at all times – an assumption not borne out by the facts, as he might well say himself. Unfamiliar with the wolf-world, not fully recovered from his wounds, the conflict of wills, her own desperate need for comfort – all these had smashed the barriers down between them. Now, memories came, swift and involuntary – Spock's memories.
There were fleeting images, strange worlds, suns, faces; the urge toward space and ships, to voyage among the stars. Keetah writhed in painful embarrassment, unable to shut them out. The fears, the joys, the defeats, and the victories; the constant battle between his Vulcan and Human selves; his loneliness, an aloneness beyond her comprehension, all were laid bare to her. Without a mate, unbonded, Spock was only half a person, forever outside the linkage that bound his people together. Never and always touching and touched. The Vulcan greeting that was far more than just that. Not just estrangement but total deprivation. Years of silent endurance, with the need to be reached, known, and loved running like a thread through his life, spurred by his human side. He appeared entirely unaware of his own seeking, so well had he denied the inner hunger, the craving that had spurred him relentlessly into the company of humans, on human ships, with human emotions rife about him.
Tears pricked behind her eyes in sympathy – and yet all was not lost. She delicately circled the flame of deeply hidden warmth she had touched upon so unexpectedly. Spock had found an answer, his answer – one that satisfied him for the moment. Some day somewhere, he would also recognize the mirror image he unconsciously sought. Keetah turned and stared straight into dark eyes. Only then did realization dawn – a meld worked two ways.
O0o
Spock breathed slowly, deeply, trying to clear his mind. The initial shock was passing and he was able to think rationally. The meld had shaken him badly, the more so because Keetah was the last person he would have chosen as the confidante of his innermost thoughts. He puzzled over the curious, rhythmic – chant…song…incantation…so effectively blocking two –way egress. Still, one fact had emerged clearly: Sirak was alive! Keetah knew it to be true.
He turned to look at the Apache girl. Although few thoughts or memories had touched him, her pain and desolation, the need to fulfil her oath, came through the link. A soundless cry for help reverberated along his nerves: /Sirak, …why must I mourn alone? Help me, please…./
The loss of her team had broken something infinitely fragile, infinitely precious to Keetah, and she had sought - was still seeking - refuge in the age-old laws and customs of her people; defend, protect, show no mercy – allow no weakness through which an enemy could strike at the Nation. Keetah had taken up the war-lance to protect the Vulcan team she had unconsciously substituted for the family she missed so much. She had failed in that self-imposed task. Spock was unable to understand why that failure reflected on the honor of all Apaches; he could only accept that, in some manner unclear to him, it did.
Moreover, until she had removed the dishonor, there could be no expiation, no welcome in the Rancheria, no right to mourn her dead. Suddenly aware that she was unflinchingly returning his gaze, Spock turned away, unable to face the still, dark eyes.
Once he had linked with the command crew of the Enterprise to save their lives when they were caught in the web spun by the Melkotians. There had been other times, other intelligent beings, but always he'd had time to shield. Only with Jim Kirk had he ever voluntarily lowered his barriers, knowing with an inner surety that his trust would never b e abused – a surety he was not prepared to grant Keetah, Cuchillo's daughter.