Chapter Eleven: Interruptions
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From his vantage point in the back of the shuttle, Spock watches as Nyota makes her way down the crowded aisle. Slowing her progress are other cadets stopping to stow their duffels and backpacks in the overhead bins.
Illogical and inefficient to bring so much luggage on such a short recruiting trip. A human tendency to over prepare? More likely an inability to adequately calculate the odds that a particular item will be useful.
"Who can predict the weather?" his mother would argue as she packed sweaters for tropical climates and sun gear for the rain forest.
Despite his rising irritation at the delay in their departure, Spock allows himself a moment to savor the time away from the Academy. Not his first choice of a journey—chaperoning a three-day recruiting hop through the closest ring planets, the current cadets meeting with potential students to make a pitch for a career in Starfleet.
Nevertheless, he hasn't been off-planet since his last trip home, and to his surprise, he feels an almost human wanderlust to get out into space again. That feeling is one of the reasons he's started to think seriously about applying for a position on the flagship under construction at the shipyard in Riverside.
Another more pressing reason is that Nyota has made the Enterprise her goal after graduation. Imagining her taking a post on the ship while he remains Earthbound is…uncomfortable. Distressing in a way that surprises him.
The seat beside Spock is empty—not a surprise. Except for the two other faculty members—both sitting near the front of the shuttle—everyone else is a cadet. Even those he knows fairly well treat him with more deference than friendliness, a distance Spock appreciates.
"Are you trying to look intimidating?" Nyota asked him once when he'd startled a student she was tutoring in the lab. He'd dismissed her question as a cultural misunderstanding—humans unable to read Vulcan facial expressions—but he's mulled it over ever since. He might, in fact, be trying to keep others at bay. Certainly his mother thought he was when he was a boy.
"If you keep that look on your face," Amanda scolded when they were out together in public, "no one will ever want to talk to you."
"Precisely," Spock said.
Closer now, Nyota makes eye contact and lifts one brow. An apology of sorts for taking so long to get to him? They'd discussed this beforehand—whether or not they should sit together on the shuttle.
"People might talk," Nyota said, and Spock did not disagree. His disappointment, however, prompted him to add, "On the other hand, you are my student aide. Our familiarity with each other is easily explained."
"Logical, you mean," Nyota teased.
"It might call more attention if we do not acknowledge each other's presence on the trip," Spock said.
So it was settled. They would not share quarters, of course, but they might have some private interactions if they were careful.
Suddenly a thin green hand snakes up and takes Nyota's wrist. Her roommate, Cadet Farlijah-Endef, pulling her down. Nyota snaps another apologetic glance in Spock's direction as she settles her bag and disappears into her seat.
A surprisingly disagreeable turn of events. Spock tries not to glare when a cadet leans down and says, "Commander, is this seat taken?"
When the shuttle finally lifts off, Spock closes his eyes and attempts—unsuccessfully—to meditate.
X
The first planet on the tour has a higher water-to-land ratio than Earth, with 97% of the population living at the edge of the ocean on thin, crescent-shaped islands no wider than a few hundred meters. Both the ambient light and the reflective color of the water is a pinkish orange that seems to delight Nyota. More than once Spock overhears her telling someone that "it's like living in a rose!"
Since arriving, he's had no time to speak to her directly. Their hosts—humanoid colonists from other worlds—usher them swiftly to small, cramped rooms with furnishings even Spock considers spare. Unlike most of the cadets, he finds the temperature comfortable despite the excessive humidity.
A petite young woman wearing native garb appears at his door and invites him to join the others for a meal in the congregation room.
"I will be there shortly," Spock says, unzipping his travel case and unfolding his meditation robe. Already he anticipates slipping it on and silencing his mind. From the corner of his eye he notices that the young woman continues to stand motionless in the doorway.
"Was there something else?" he says. The young woman jerks back and disappears down the hallway.
Had he spoken too abruptly? Are you trying to look intimidating? A relevant question, both when Nyota asked it months ago and now.
The young woman was, in all likelihood, merely curious. After all, none of the colonists are of Vulcan origin.
Still, being the object of curiosity is wearing, an old torment he feels no matter where he is. Vulcan eyes peer at him oddly when he is at home. On Earth he attracts even more attention.
Certainly he doesn't want to be bothered at the moment. The stress of the travel; Nyota's inaccessibility. He takes a deep breath and wills his heart rate to slow.
The noise of laughter and chatting catches his attention as he makes his way through the warren-like halls and finds the cadets gathered in a large dome-topped room. At once he spies Nyota sipping a glass of clear liquid, her face tipped toward a tall, dark-haired male colonist who is speaking too softly for Spock to hear. A potential recruit, evidently. From the look of things, one who is very interested in what Nyota has to say.
Taking several quick steps around the perimeter of the room, Spock comes up behind the two of them. Glancing over Nyota's shoulder and seeing Spock there, the young man starts slightly, his eyes widening a fraction.
Are you trying to look intimidating?
To Spock's satisfaction, the young man stutters some excuse and backs away. Swiveling around, Nyota says, "Commander! I had a feeling you were nearby."
"Your intuition serves you well," he says. She lifts her drink and takes another sip, clearly stalling as she formulates a witty rejoinder, something she also does well. Indeed, her verbal wordplay is an aspect of her personality that he finds most pleasing, and he leans forward a fraction to better hear her in the noisy room.
"There you are!"
Cadet Farlijah-Endef, her voice ringing out loud.
"Ny, you promised you'd sing with us before dinner! That song we rehearsed, about the Tellurian slugs—"
"Not that one, Gaila! It's ridiculous!"
"Then that Orion love song I taught you. You promised! We have to entertain the troops. That's an Earth saying, right? Come on! Oh, sorry Commander Spock, but we're the entertainment before dinner. You can join us if you want to. It'll be fun!"
"If you'll excuse me," he says, ducking away as Gaila circles Nyota's waist with one green arm. Nyota looks back over her shoulder and shrugs. It can't be helped, of course. These recruiting jaunts require an inordinate amount of time spent entertaining and feeding potential recruits, rather than doing what Spock would have preferred—spelling out the information about the Academy and the requirements for admission.
"It's a sales pitch," Nyota explained back when Spock was assigned chaperone duty for the tour, something he'd strongly considered appealing until Nyota volunteered to go, too. "People aren't going to enlist unless they see how it's going to benefit them."
"One does not join Starfleet for personal gain," Spock replied, "but to serve."
Nyota set down the cup of tea she was drinking at the time and crossed her arms, something she did when she was preparing to contradict him.
"The two aren't mutually exclusive. People who feel called to serve—who have a need to serve—can do both when they enlist. Wining and dining them a little to get them to understand that isn't a bad idea. It'll be fun! You might even enjoy it. "
Now here they are, wining and dining the potential recruits on Mishis-Anconia. Repressing a sigh, Spock listens as someone turns on some digitized music and the crowd begins singing what apparently is a well-known piece of popular music.
It will be a long night indeed.
X X
The inhabitants of Salariax, the second planet on the tour, are not descended from human colonists but are typically humanoid, like so many species in this part of the galaxy. The reason hasn't been definitely settled, though many—Spock included—suspect a super-alien "seeding" sometime in the distant past.
Spock has heard several human cadets praising the Salariaxian physique—which is, admittedly, trim and athletic. Gender neutral, they are tall and muscular, with facial features similar to human eyes, nose and mouth. Instead of ears, however, they have fringed gills that enable them to exist under water as easily as they walk on land.
The planet itself is unremarkable, with two large land masses almost devoid of flora. A singular geologic outcropping near the major settlement is the only real attraction, with huge columns of basalt rising up from the ocean floor and towering over the beach.
"I recommend it," Spock tells Nyota over a hasty breakfast of flatbread and fruit in the area set up for meals. It's the first time since arriving on Salariax that he's been able to converse with her alone, and to his astonishment, he feels jittery, as if he expects someone to carry her off before he has had time to enjoy her presence. If she is anxious, she doesn't show it. In fact, she looks unusually rested and relaxed, as if the hectic schedule of meetings and parties suits her.
"You've been there? To the basalt beach?" Nyota asks as she spears a piece of yellow fruit and lifts it slowly to her lips. Spock follows the fork with his eyes, his breath catching when she takes a nibble. To his dismay, he becomes flushed and slightly aroused.
"I have not," he says, "though my cousin Rachel stayed here for some months doing research on the local marine worms. She says it is not to be missed."
"Dean and Daria are organizing a trip there this morning," Nyota says. "I was going to skip it and hang out here, but since you say it's not to be missed—"
She lowers her fork and Spock swallows. Nyota grins slyly and says, "Of course, you could come, too."
"The other Commanders and I have a planning session after breakfast that will keep me from attending."
"You just don't want to get wet. I know how you are about swimming."
Spock blinks in surprise. His natural aversion to water—or more precisely, to being immersed in it—is not something he has ever shared with Nyota.
"It is true that swimming is not my preferred activity," he hedges, "but it is equally true that I will be occupied this morning in a planning session with the other chaperones. Go. You will enjoy it."
"Well," Nyota says slowly, "since you're going to be busy anyway—"
Just then the long suspected interruption happens when Cadet Farlijah-Endef and three male cadets wander over to their table.
"Commander," Cadet Farlijah-Endef says, simultaneously acknowledging and dismissing him. "Nyota. You need to hurry up and get dressed if you're going with us. I told Poloto you were coming. He asked about you specifically."
She points across the room where a group of Salaraxians stand around a table sampling the breakfast buffet. One looks up and waves.
"See!" Cadet Farlijah-Endef says. "He likes you!"
"I've got to go," Nyota says, turning to Spock. "See you later."
She gets up and follows the other cadets and the Salaraxians out the door.
From the corner of his eye, Spock sees one of the other chaperones, Commander Wells, approaching, beverage in hand. She's a pleasant enough woman close to his mother's age, or so she appears. Spock realizes that he knows almost nothing personal about her except that she teaches theoretical mathematics at the Academy.
"Care for some company?" Commander Wells says, sitting in the chair Nyota vacated.
"I was getting ready to contact you," Spock says. "I will be unable to join you and Commander Thompson for our planning session this morning. Some of the cadets are taking an excursion up the coast and they require my services as chaperone."
"Really!"
"The terrain they wish to examine is not without peril. However, if you prefer that I meet with you and Commander Thompson instead—"
"No, no," Commander Wells says, visibly flustered. "I'm sure you're right. Keep an eye on things, so nothing goes wrong."
"My intention exactly. Now if you'll excuse me, I need to ask our hosts about the availability of swim wear."
X X X
By the middle of the third day of the trip, Spock feels that he might jump out of his skin. The close proximity of so many people—coupled with the lack of sufficient proximity to Nyota—are irritants exacerbated by his difficulty meditating.
The last planet on the tour is so sparsely populated that the odds are high the few potential recruits who come to the information session will not be serious contenders for enlistment. Nevertheless, Nyota is particularly solicitous of each candidate she speaks to, giving them what Spock judges to be an inordinate amount of attention.
Even her lunch break is spent chatting with two male recruits whose interest in Starfleet is, Spock is 96.4% certain, predicated more on their interest in Nyota and less on a career in space. Although he sits at the next table facing the two recruits, if they feel intimidated by his glare, they do not show it.
In the afternoon the Academy students make personal presentations about their own experiences at Starfleet. As a natural communicator, Nyota does the best job by far. Spock is caught off guard when she points to him as she describes her xenolinguistics studies.
"Commander Spock actually teaches in two departments," she says, and the assembled cadets and potential recruits swivel in their seats and eye him where he stands, arms akimbo, in the back of the room. "His computer students are jealous that the language department poached him some time ago. They'd like to have him back, but we aren't going to let him go."
Her voice is inflectionless, almost dry, but Spock senses that her words have more than one meaning.
After the presentations the Academy cadets throw a party—or more specifically, they turn on synthesized music and serve mildly alcoholic refreshments. Spock catches Nyota's eye briefly but someone calls to her and she turns to the crowd. Giving one last look around the room, Spock exits and walks the short distance to the hangar where the shuttle is parked. He might as well go over some of the pre-flight checklists now if the pilots are on hand. Perhaps they will be able to get away sooner tomorrow if he does.
And not a moment too soon, he thinks with uncharacteristic annoyance.
The check takes less time than estimated—so he is not surprised to hear the noise of the party continuing as he passes back by. In fact, the decibel level is marginally higher than before, probably an indication of the rising alcohol consumption.
Despite his inability to meditate successfully so far, Spock returns to his room intending to try. At the door he pauses and places his palm on the entry pad. Then he keys in the temporary pass code he's assigned to the lock and pushes the door open.
Immediately he's on guard. The temperature controls have been lowered, the low light already on.
"Who is here?"
A shadowy figure rises from the bed. Nyota, a whiff of citrus and jasmine stirring in the air.
"What took you so long?" she says in what she refers to as her come hither tone.
"I had a triple algorithm security lock on the door," Spock says. "How did you get in?"
"My question first," Nyota parries. "Where were you?"
In two long strides he is standing in front of her, so close that he can hear the sound of her heartbeat.
"Doing pre-flight checks for the shuttle," he says.
"Because you want to get away as soon as possible tomorrow. To get back home where you are comfortable."
"You know me well."
"That's not the same as understanding why you do the things you do. You are still a mystery."
"As are you. Now tell me how you overrode the security at the door."
But she leans up instead of answering, her lips brushing his own, and suddenly the question seems irrelevant.
X X X X
The next morning Spock is the first person on the shuttle, once again ensconced in the last seat in the back. This time as the cadets amble and dally and take more time to get their gear stowed and themselves settled in their seats, he merely blinks and watches through half-closed eyes. There's no hurry, after all. The trip back to San Francisco is little more than what his mother used to call a hop, skip, and a jump.
When the shuttle engines begin to rev, Spock sits up straight, his heart racing in his side. Without consciously counting them, Spock realizes that only two cadets have not boarded, Nyota one of them. She left his quarters hours ago, saying that while it was entirely possible—even probable—that Gaila was herself busy in someone else's room, Nyota wasn't willing to take the risk that her roommate might notice her absence. She'd slipped away into the night, insisting that she could find her way back to the cadet quarters with no trouble.
Pressing his fingers against the hammering in his side, Spock does something so uncharacteristic that later he will meditate about it for hours before finding a measure of equanimity. What, he imagines, if Nyota met with an accident in the dark? If she encountered some unforeseen danger and was unable to adequately defend herself? What if she is, even now, hurt or harmed by someone with malicious intent, or if she has fallen and is unable to rise from one of the rocky paths that separate the dwellings here?
Not for the first time, he wishes they were a properly bonded couple, their minds linked, no mysteries between them.
How unlike him to fantasize and speculate with insufficient data, yet here he is, imagining the worse, half-rising from his seat and ready to charge down the aisle to hunt for her—when suddenly the top of her head comes into view as she steps into the shuttle, her duffel carried ahead of her like a shield.
Almost sheepishly he returns to his seat and watches her make her way down the aisle. Each step she takes is a balm to him, easing the pain in his side, calming his anxiety like oil slowing the motion of water.
And then—because sometimes the universe does seem more malignant than random—Cadet Farlijah-Endef sings out, her distinctive voice carrying all the way to the rear of the shuttle, and Nyota has no real excuse not to sit with her. As she puts her duffel away, she looks up as he catches her eye and she smiles, a secret message just for him.
An apology? A declaration of affection? A rueful commentary about her nosy roommate? Spock isn't sure, but it doesn't matter. Understanding, as it turns out, is more difficult than merely knowing someone. On one level he knows what Nyota means with her look, her words, her intonation. Understanding her, however, is going to be a longer adventure, one that can't be rushed or solved during a hop, skip and a jump.
Closing his eyes, he leans back. Something to relish on the journey.
A/N: Thank you, dear readers, for all the kind wishes and reviews during what has proven to be a challenging summer. Your faithfulness to this story has been a wonderful gift!