Stardate 2258.96
Spock patrolled the long lawn on the south end of the Starfleet Academy training complex. The sun was setting and casting long shadows over the plush grass. The ten enormous granite monuments loomed like pillars of grief. The largest was black and one hundred meters long, and bore only a simple inscription etched in the center in Vuhlkansu that read, "In loss, may we never abandon our pursuit of long life, prosperity, and peace."
Nine smaller cenotaphs encircled it, representing the lives lost on the eight ships that answered Vulcan's distress call, and the lives lost on Earth in Nero's final assault. The memorial had been dedicated earlier that day, and he had attended the ceremony several hours before. There were the requisite speeches and moments of silence, but Spock required his own private pilgrimage to this place. There were dozens of others paying similar personal respects, and he deferentially afforded them their space.
Nearly everyone he had ever cared for was represented on these stones. His entire family, excepting his father and several distant relations of his mother were venerated on the large, central, black slab honoring Vulcan.
Billions of lives. Far too many to name.
The loss of his home world was one he still had difficulty bearing. It had been so great that he often failed to properly consider what else had been lost. The others. They were why he had come. He found the first familiar name on the memorial of the Walcott.
Lieutenant Angelica Spooner, Exobiologist.
They had become close friends over the years, though their careers had mostly kept them apart. Spock had always harbored a quiet, unrequited affection for the beautiful, opinionated scientist. He would always consider Nyota his first love, but Angelica Spooner had been the first to teach him about the intricacies of the human heart.
He turned the corner and a young woman with a shock of white blonde hair caught his eye. Not Susan Spencer, but her daughter, Sarah. She was no longer a child, but a girl on the cusp of womanhood. She was holding a piece of paper against the smooth rock and scraping colored wax across it to reveal the words, Lieutenant Susan Spencer, Chief Adjutant.
Her hands were shaking and there were visible tears streaming down her cheeks. He did not wish to disturb her in her grief, and began to move around to the back of the stone when she turned her head.
"Are- are you- I'm sorry, are you Spock?" she asked.
"I am," he said, pausing to acknowledge her. "I did not wish to intrude."
"No," she breathed, choking on her sorrow and sniffing. "Mom talked about you a lot. I can't believe I'm finally meeting you. I'm Sarah."
"Yes, I know," he replied. "She spoke often of you as well."
She thought to herself for a moment, and then awkwardly formed her hand into the Vulcan salute, and looked at him expectantly. He recalled teaching her mother the same gesture years ago, when she had asked why it was that Vulcans never shook hands.
"You know she only had two more weeks left in Starfleet?" Sarah asked.
He had known that. Spencer had been a good officer and was dedicated to her work, but he had always known she desired to make a more proper home for herself and her daughter. Service as a Starfleet officer required a minimum commitment of eight years, a term that she had been quite close to completing before her death aboard the Antares.
"Anyway, call me crazy, but I decided to follow in her footsteps. I started the process to join Starfleet three weeks ago when I turned seventeen. I'm supposed to finish the paperwork tomorrow. I guess that means I should be calling you, sir," she said, chuckling through her tears.
"You are not yet a member of Starfleet," he argued. "So for now, I am simply Spock."
"Well, I have to go: my grandma is waiting on me. She wanted to come, but she said she wasn't ready. It was really nice finally meeting you in person though," she said hastily, before adding, "Live long and prosper, Spock."
Her eyes darted to the central Vulcan memorial and she grimaced.
"I am so sorry for your loss," she added. "Your losses. I only lost my mom, you lost, well, yeah."
"I lost my mother as well," he explained. "Loss is loss. It is illogical to attempt to quantify grief."
"Mom always said you always knew just the right thing to say," she replied, a weak smile stretching across her lips. "Still, you know, I'm sorry for what happened to your home."
He nodded to her, and they exchanged the familiar Vulcan hand gesture, and she soon disappeared behind the adjacent granite marker. Spock approached the Antares memorial, noting the second name from the top.
Commander Rylax, First Officer.
The cheerful Denobulan man had often challenged his solemn Vulcan logic as being too severe, but had been one of the few who also had never suggested that Spock abandon or temporarily suspend his principles when they were inconvenient.
He walked further, coming to the stone honoring the sixty-eight crewmembers that had been killed aboard the Enterprise. Engineering and medical had taken heavy losses in their initial evasion from the Narada at the edge of Vulcan space, and that was how Lieutenant Michael Schassler, the Enterprise's head nurse, had earned his place among the dead.
Schassler had expanded his view of philosophy and given him a renewed appreciation for the Vulcan principle of Kol-Ut-Shan, or Infinite Diversity in Infinite Combinations. Their friendship had a strong foundation in logic and learning, and he greatly missed their discussions in the wake of Schassler's death. Of all the familiar names on the Enterprise's monument, Schassler's weighed the heaviest.
He continued his journey around the granite tribute, coming at last to the memorial for the Farragut. At the very top was the name of his longtime mentor, Captain Fernando Quinones. At the time of his death, he'd been the senior instructor in Interspecies Communication and Ethics at Starfleet Academy, and had only assumed command of the Farragut out of necessity. Most of the fleet had been engaged in the Laurentian system when Vulcan was attacked and there had been few starship captains readily available to take command.
Another name halfway down the shiny, smooth face of the rock caught his eye. Lieutenant Andrew Schmidt, Assistant Chief Engineer.
The angry, lonely, intelligent, overconfident, frustrated man had always remained an enigma to Spock, but Schmidt had eventually found a place among the truest of his friends. Yet for all of his emotional failings, Schmidt had instilled in him an understanding that there were no people who were truly beyond redemption. He owed his life to Schmidt and it was a debt he would never be able to repay.
There were many other names of friends and acquaintances written on these stones that he'd met in his nearly nine years of service in Starfleet, and while he privately grieved for each, the losses from his fellow former members of Sigma Squad were unique. It had been his mother that had endowed him with an element of humanity, but it had been Sigma Squad who had first taught him what it meant to be human.
"Commander Spock," called a familiar voice.
He turned his head to see the newly promoted Admiral Christopher Pike, still bound to his chair.
"Sir," he said, moving to the position of attention.
"Oh stop it," the older man smirked. "Looks like we had the same idea in coming here. It's been months, but seeing the names this way… it's sad when you realize you know more dead people than living ones."
"We are fortunate to be among the living," Spock agreed.
"Yeah, but being alive isn't the same thing as living, is it?"
"Are you referring to your previous recommendation that I leave Starfleet Academy for service in space?" Spock asked.
"We served well together for years, Spock, but you have to get out there," Pike replied, glancing up to the sky. "I won't order you, but there are several open assignments on starships. The Antares-A is nearly rebuilt, and-"
"I shall take it under advisement," he said, uncharacteristically interrupting his superior officer.
Spock had been deeply conflicted about his future in the months following Vulcan's destruction. Ambassador Spock had urged him to befriend James Kirk, yet he still felt a duty to leave Starfleet and settle on the newly established colony of New Vulcan.
"Well, for what it's worth, I hear the new captain of the Enterprise is looking for a first officer," Pike mused. "Might be worth looking into."
"I do not believe that Captain Kirk and myself would forge an ideal partnership," Spock argued.
"I'm pretty sure you once felt the same way about someone called Andrew Schmidt," Pike frowned, scanning the memorial stone and resting his eyes on Schmidt's name.
"You imply that our differences would lend strength to a command team," Spock stated.
"You're Vulcan. You're smart. Deduce what you want from it. But I think you're wasting your talents here at Starfleet Academy."
"It is growing late and I should return to my quarters, sir," Spock said, glancing to the sun falling behind the horizon.
"Right," Pike agreed. "Oh, by the way, the Enterprise leaves tomorrow for a planetary survey mission to a little rock called Nibiru. Just thought you might want to know."
Spock began the long walk back to his billet, reflecting deeply on Pike's advice, as well as Ambassador Spock's. The diplomat's words echoed clearly in his mind.
"I could not deprive you of the revelation of all that you could accomplish together, of a friendship that will define you both in ways you cannot yet realize."
"Spock?"
Just ahead of him, he saw Hadrian Scrivner. The past eight years had turned his fading red hair to full gray now, but time had not diminished the stern look of sadness he'd always carried. Spock had not seen him since they'd graduated the Academy.
"Lieutenant Scrivner," he replied.
"Finally made it back to Earth yesterday after two years of geological surveys in the Bolaran sector. I was just going to pay my respects," Scrivner explained somberly, looking behind Spock into the distance. "Care to join me?"
"I have just come from there," said Spock.
"Oh, yeah, sure," Scrivner replied. "It's been a long time."
"Yes," Spock agreed.
"Still not a man for many words," Scrivner sighed. "It is good to see you, Spock. I wish it were under happier circumstances."
"As do I."
"I'm so sorry for what happened to Vulcan," he confessed. "I can't even begin to imagine what that's like."
"Thank you," Spock replied, knowing that humans had a tendency to apologize for that which they were not responsible as a symbol of empathy.
"You know, it just kills me, thinking about how many people we lost," Scrivner said.
"We should be grateful to be among the living," Spock argued.
"That's what people told me when my family died," Scrivner retorted. "Or one version of it, anyway. Life goes on, life is beautiful, live to honor their memory, all that stuff. Like it was just that easy. Sometimes I wonder what the point of even living is anymore."
"Death is a part of life," Spock replied. "Perhaps one of the most simple aspects of living; it takes no effort to do. But grieving is complex. Perhaps it is not enough to live for the dead, but to consider living for the living."
"You and Schassler, boy I tell you," Scrivner smiled. "Big brains and old souls, you two."
Spock could see tears welling at the corners of Scrivner's eyes and was uncertain how to proceed.
"I was returning to my quarters for private reflection," he explained.
"Oh, yeah, I didn't mean to keep you," Scrivner sniffed. "God, it was so good to see you, Spock. We should keep in touch."
"Certainly," Spock agreed.
They both had so few friends left. They nodded goodbye to one another, and Spock continued his journey home when Scrivner called out to him.
"Hey, Commander Spock?"
He looked over his shoulder to Scrivner, who stood with his shoulders slightly hunched.
"I know you're still young, but life is so short. It gets shorter every day."
"It does indeed," Spock agreed. "May you live long and prosper, Hadrian Scrivner."
"You too, Spock."
He was uncertain what he should infer from Scrivner's obvious statement about the relative brevity of life, but he considered his own advice to the man. Live for the living.
Ambassador Spock's words trailed through his thoughts again. "…all that you could accomplish together, of a friendship that will define you both in ways you cannot yet realize."
Vulcans were a private people, but they were not a solitary people. His life had held more meaning when it had been entwined in the bonds of friendship. He thought of Schassler, who had once told him that it is the people we choose who matter most. He thought of Kirk, who had risked so much for his friends, which forced him to consider Ambassador Spock's advice for a third time.
Spock reasoned that he did not have to serve with James Kirk to be his friend. Kirk was young and brash, and was certainly very different than the Kirk Ambassador Spock had known. Still, Nyota had received her commission and had taken an assignment on the Enterprise.
He had not spoken with her in several days. They had both supposed their relationship would be brief: most liaisons in Starfleet were, thanks to the transience that Federation service demanded. It was illogical to regret past decisions, yet in his quieter moments, he had occasionally wondered what might have been if he had taken the position of Science Officer aboard the Walcott with Angelica Spooner. Yes, it was very illogical to speculate on that matter. Had he been aboard the Walcott, his name would be written alongside hers.
He arrived in his quarters and sat down on the plain, standard issue sofa in the tiny central living area. It had been days since his last serious meditation, and the day's events offered much to reflect upon. He became aware of the passage of time only when the morning sun began to stream through the Eastern window.
The clock on the wall read 0658. He stood, removed his dress uniform, hung it neatly in the closet, and dressed in standard duty uniform. As he departed his quarters, he observed himself in the long mirror stationed by the door. Nearly nine years in Starfleet: time had passed quickly.
An hour later, he found himself in the turbolift, pondering the probability of his success. James Kirk was an unpredictable man. Soon enough, the door slid open and he stepped out onto the familiar bridge.
He had not anticipated that the captain would so freely accept him, but humans were so often in the habit of doing the unexpected. Schmidt had been the first to teach him that, and had reminded him of it often.
Nyota grinned broadly as he moved past her to take up position at the science station. Her smile was lovely and genuine, as Spooner's had always been.
His hands settled on the screen of the computer terminal and he began to analyze the ship's mission. A fresh start. Vulcan was gone. Most of his friends were dead.
He recalled Schassler had said that home was wherever one chose to make it, and friends were the people who willingly travelled the same journey through life. He felt the pull of the engine's warp drive engage and examined the crew of the bridge.
Yes, a home could be made anywhere, so long as it was made in the company of friends.