"Captain?" called Uhura, tapping her headset, "We are receiving a message from the base on Aristotle IX."
"Thank you, Lieutenant," he said, "On speaker."
They heard only static. Frustrated, Uhura shook her head.
"I can hear it just fine, Sir," she said, "I'll get you a transcript."
"Thank you, Lieutenant," he repeated, "I don't know what I'd do without you."
She nodded, mostly focused on the incoming message. Eagerly, she copied each word as it was spoken. The finished tablet was presented to the captain, who shrugged.
"Then it isn't bad news?"
"No, Sir."
She read it over his shoulder, checking to ensure she could follow his eyes and match his pace.
"Yes," he began, resting his face on one hand, "Tell them we'll be ready for whatever festivities they have in mind. And confirm dress code, please, Lieutenant."
"Of course, Sir."
He smiled, returning the tablet to Uhura's hands.
"Did you have something in mind? Some activity or tradition to add to their list?"
She considered it as she approached her workstation.
"I can't think of any at the moment, Sir. Oh!" she set down the tablet, inspired, "Sulu mentioned one to me… I'll have to ask him. Hasn't Mister Spock been researching it?"
He peered at the scientist's station, temporarily unattended.
"Yes, he has…" he stood, "I'll go and check with him, then. Maintain course, Mister Chekov."
"Yes, Keptin."
Before he reached Spock's quarters, he was derailed by a friendly voice.
"Jim!" called McCoy, "Haven't seen you all day…"
They turned, simultaneously dictated by habit, and proceeded toward Sickbay.
"What can I do for you?"
He glanced over his shoulder, and considered turning around.
"I needed to see Spock, actually… they're looking for Christmas ideas for the star-base."
The doctor nodded, slowly.
"I'll go with you" he said, "I'm heading that way."
"Really, you are?"
They both shrugged as they turned around.
Spock was silently attempting meditation when they arrived in the doorway.
"Captain," he said, glancing up, "Doctor…"
"I just have a few questions, Spock," the captain said, sitting at the chair across from him, "I hate to bother you."
"Your superstition relies on an emotional response, Captain. What do you wish to ask?"
"I'm short of Christmas party ideas," his eyes crinkled when he chuckled, "We need something to suggest to the base."
The Vulcan pressed his hands together, and folded up his fingers.
"I believe it would be beneficial," he began, staring only at his hands, "for me to relay that information to you as efficiently as possible."
McCoy rolled his eyes, muttering about Spock's conversational skills.
"How would that be?" posed Kirk.
"You are aware of the Vulcan mind-meld technique…"
"Yes."
At the captain's motion, McCoy positioned another chair beside the desk. Finally, Spock looked up at them, in short intervals. He held one hand toward Kirk, who shrugged and leaned in to meet it. The other was offered to McCoy, who accepted it with a troubled sigh.
Both tried to focus on the words Spock used, but neither could hear correctly. Instead, their minds blurred and bled together, gently directed by Spock's fingers.
Only the Vulcan could determine which thoughts and memories belonged to each man before him. They were overwhelmed.
A swirl of snow, dusting rows of corn-fields. Sweaters and scarves, made to match. A cup of coffee, sitting outside on a padded armrest. Gifts wrapped in neatly-cut paper, meticulously prepared.
Spock accepted these, copying them from his friends' expressions. The memories were traded for new information, subject of his research. Professional activities, fit for the crew.
Gift exchanges, he presented, with recipients selected at random.
Bowls of a beverage called 'punch.' He did not admit his lack of understanding concerning the name. It could not be found in the library records.
Selecting and decorating a specific type of pine tree.
This connected, unintentionally, with McCoy:
They saw a little girl stretching to reach the top of the tree. In both hands, she held a metal casting of a star, and struggled with its weight. She was hoisted onto shrugging shoulders, and able to reach the highest branch. She smiled and hummed, delighted.
Spock removed his hand from Kirk's face, allowing the captain to lean back and draw in a sharp breath.
"Thank you, Spock," he began, "I think we might be –"
He paused, upon seeing the continued connection. McCoy's eyes were wide open, as they always were in such situations, but brushed with tears. Spock appeared troubled, and rearranged his fingers before letting go.
There is a custom on Earth, in your country. When two people stand beneath a parasitic plant – mistletoe – they kiss, by the human definition, Spock presented, to divide the doctor's sorrow, I believe you would be fond of this tradition, Doctor, based on my knowledge of you.
He set his hand on the table, ashamed of his interference. He hoped this proposition was not entirely false.
McCoy coughed, and stared at Kirk.
"Emotional transference," said Spock.
The doctor was still and quiet, allowing Kirk to pat his shoulder.
Over the intercom, Uhura called for Captain Kirk. He accepted the message on Spock's console, refusing to leave the room.
"Yes, Lieutenant?"
"I've confirmed the details with the base, Captain," she said sweetly, "Dress uniforms, after landing."
"Thank you, Lieutenant. Are we still on schedule?"
Sulu's voice joined hers:
"So far, so good, Captain."
"Good. Kirk out."
Do you see what I see?
A star, a star:
Dancing in the night,
With a tail as big as a kite.
With a tail as big as a kite.