Some thirty miles across Vulcan II, the elder Spock had become very quiet in his laboratory. The news Lauren had shared affected him more than he anticipated, and he unknowingly found himself struggling with the same worries his young counterpart felt worlds away.
As she spoke on about her visit to Norai, Spock Prime became increasingly focused on the information she shared regarding Sarek's risky mind-meld. Yes, it was known to all Vulcans that the practice could have adverse results, but such consequences could never be accurately predicted. Strange, he mused. Strange how this reality contained echoes of his own past. It had been painful to learn of Sarek's onset of Bendii syndrome, to know that his father would eventually lose the brilliant mind that had always been characteristic of him, to know that at some point, he might not even recognize his own son. He had been grateful for Perrin's devotion to Sarek and her willingness to remain at his side, especially since Spock could not be present to care for him.
Looking back, part of him regretted not being there at the end.
"Hey, Spock?"
The gentle insistence of her voice cut cleanly through the uncertain thoughts, brought him back to this present, made him lock eyes with his young cousin. She was watching him over the small lab table, curiosity evident in the slight tilt of her head. "Where'd you go?"
He blinked once. "I'm afraid I am unfamiliar with your form of inquiry."
"You tend to look down when you're lost in thought. Just wondered if anything was bothering you," she said, rolling a glass stirring rod between two fingers.
In mere moments, he found himself secretly smiling as she gazed at him through her optical force-field, which acted as a protective barrier across her eyes. It made them appear an even darker shade of blue than usual, and also seemed to amplify their curiosity. "I never could disguise my pensive state from you or Mother."
She smiled at that. "We have a gift."
One amongst many, he thought. In the back of his mind, Spock Prime could sense the spirit of his mother through her smile. He secretly grasped that feeling in his heart. "I assure you that all is well, Lauren," he told her honestly. "Pardon my mild rudeness; let us redirect our focus to the task at hand, shall we?"
She gave him a smirk, mutely conveying that she had not found him rude in the slightest. But with a nod, she returned her attention to the lab table without pressing for further details. Such a patient heart she had. For Spock Prime, it was illogical to dwell on a future that may not happen in this reality, and he refused to cause her worry.
Spock Prime chose not to veil the intent of these experiments: he explained to Lauren that he and a select group of Federation officials were attempting to continue the research initiated by Lauren's parents. Before they had lost their lives...They intended to honor them by achieving the proper formula needed to increase efficiency of the fuel enhancement agent they had been developing.
Learning from past mistakes, Lauren had summarized. He had placed an appreciative hand on her shoulder at that.
"So you don't often work with this stuff?" She indicated the vials of various chemicals displayed before them.
Spock Prime picked up one vial of blue liquid, which was labeled dichralate trioxide in Vulcan scripture. "There has admittedly been little need for their use in Vulcan engineering, as it is a chemical primarily utilized for human technologies on Earth. Some deemed them less sophisticated than many of the compounds we have grown accustomed to employing over the years. However, after consulting your parents' logs, I have come to believe there are potential benefits of their combined uses as mechanical cooling agents, not only for primary mechanisms in starship engines, but also for computer systems protecting hazardous materials being transported through space. Many Vulcans may not realize how significant a contribution they can be." He looked up at her. "Since your parents frequently experimented with these chemicals, I believed you may be familiar with them."
"Yeah, I watched Dad work with them once or twice."
"Then I am in capable hands."
"Whoa," she laughed nervously, shaking her head, "Mom and Dad were the chemists, not me!"
"But you have had exposure to it, which puts you at a great advantage in this situation. Therefore, your perspective is more valuable than you realize."
Her modest smile warmed him greatly. "Okay; go for it," she bent down to watch him work.
Touching the device at his temple, he activated his own optical barrier to match Lauren's. With great care, Spock Prime emptied the contents of the vial into the beaker containing clear phenantimaane. Then waited. Blue swirled around in the clear container, and then settled into solid color. And then...nothing.
She blinked. "Wait, that's not right."
"Indeed," he supplied, standing to his full height. "I have thrice combined these chemicals, and each instance has yielded identical results. According to Jonathan's log, there should have been a visible reaction when the items were combined."
She could detect the rare, underlying note of frustration in his voice, and felt her own brow furrowing in acute frustration. "It should have turned orange…Let me see that for a sec." Running her finger across the data screen, she scanned through the notes her father had recorded while conducting his research. After several moments, she seemed to detect something. "Hmm. He didn't put it in here."
"What do you see, Lauren?"
Almost absently, she repeated. "He forgot to put it in." Tapping a finger on the screen, she asked, "Do you have enough chemicals to try again?"
It took mere minutes for Spock Prime to reset the appropriate materials, and soon, he readied another vial of dichralate trioxide.
"Don't pour it all at once," she advised, "just a little bit at a time."
"Are you certain?"
"Yeah, that's how Dad did it."
He followed his young cousin's instructions, adding small amounts until the last few drops left the vial. As she had said, the liquid morphed from swirling blue into a transparent orange hue.
She grinned triumphantly. "Pretty."
"Fascinating. Are you familiar enough with the chemical's properties to articulate an explanation?"
"Not really," she admitted. "All I remember is Dad talking about particles. Slow particles. Something about them moving slower in di-tri than in water."
Spock Prime's eyebrows went up slightly. "Of course," he took back the data screen and keyed in new information. "That was the element missing from his procedure." Lauren came around to see him enter his amendment. "This chemical is, characteristically, in liquid form, but its make-up has a more complex nature, not just a simple state of matter. Since the particles move at a slower rate, they require more time to adapt as they undergo the chemical change."
She nodded in understanding. "It's been a while since I saw Dad use it with this stuff, but he had the same problem as you the first few times."
"To my knowledge, he was one of the only individuals to use it in this manner."
"I think you're right." She paused. "Guess he didn't have enough time to get it all down."
Spock Prime looked at her, sensing her silent longing for her absent parents, and his features softened subtly. She had become very good at masking her pain, but more often than not, her eyes betrayed her countenance. "Your father would be proud to see you finishing what he started."
Her eyes widened at his statement. "Me?" She released a short laugh, "You're the one figuring out how to finish his experiments. There's not a whole lot I'm doing here."
"On the contrary," was his calm argument, "your assistance unlocked the last clue that may have otherwise taken weeks of research to determine. Your modesty is an admirable trait, Lauren, but do not shun recognition when it is clear that you deserve it."
She smiled subtly. "Especially from you?"
"Yes."
Her ears perked at that. It had only been one word, but Spock Prime had stated it with such finality that it vibrated right through her ears and straight into her mind. Not knowing how to say what she wanted in return, she settled for, "Thanks, Spock."
When they had completed their work, they took time to put their materials away and wash their hands. As they did so, a high-pitched chime suddenly sounded from outside the laboratory. Lauren turned her head in that direction, realizing it came from his computer system.
"Sounds like you've got an incoming transmission," she said, drying her hands.
"No, actually," he replied, draping an arm behind her as they exited the room. "The program I have been designing has finally completed its restructuring process."
She tilted her head in that curious way again. "What kind of program did you design? Is it for Starfleet?"
There was a hint of smile she did not see. "I am pleased with your general interest. Would you care to see the prototype?"
"Sure. What exactly is it?"
"Tranush, krei," he said gently as he crossed to the computer system, regarding the display screen and pressing a few icons. When he was satisfied, he turned back to his cousin. "Come, Lauren." Without hesitation, she came and stood in front of the large system. "The undertaking of your tutelage by your uncle is an admirable task, and I am pleased to know both of you care enough about your education to make sure you receive the most credible instruction. However, Vulcan ways of instruction and learning vary greatly from what you have experienced on Earth, of which you have already been made aware."
"Several times."
"Indeed. Am I correct in assuming your desire to do more to independently contribute to your education?"
She half-smiled. "You know me well enough to know that answer is 'yes.' He's an ambassador; I don't want to find out the hard way that tutoring me interferes with his duties somehow. Maybe it doesn't yet, but what about the future? His missions are too important for that to happen, and I've just seen that first-hand."
"I share your concerns. Therefore, in an effort to assist with your endeavors, I have designed a program to demonstrate how individuals are assessed in Vulcan academies."
Her eyes widened. "You did?"
He gave a nod. "The learning centers specific methods of instruction are meant to benefit the development of critical thinking and recall skills in all Vulcan children. I have captured the essence of those goals in this program, which will give you a better understanding of the expectations of our students. It is my hope that you will not only gain knowledge, but also hone your methods of study among our people. You will have the advantage of knowing what you will potentially face should the High Council eventually recant their decision."
Her eyes remained wide, and then she beamed. "Spock, that's a great idea!"
"I hoped you would think as much. It is logical to give you an advantage, even if it is only in practice."
Her eager eyes turned to face the computer screen. "Can I try it out? See how it works?"
He raised an eyebrow, appreciating at the excitement he saw in her, quite the rarity from what he remembered. He especially appreciated that she was not overly-exuberant; just genuinely interested. "Do I sense a degree of impatience, Lauren?"
She laughed softly. "I'm just curious to see how what I could be facing someday. I mean, you never know if it'll happen, right?"
No, you never know, his thoughts echoed. "Keep in mind you should remain standing whenever you assess yourself. You are no doubt accustomed to sitting during Earth instruction, but we have discovered heightened student awareness when they are made to stand during such evaluations."
"Okay."
"Questions can come rapidly, but you may adjust the pace of assessment by verbal command. This is true in the academies themselves. Vulcans understand that not all persons learn at the same rate, and therefore give a degree of control to every learner in order to allow them the opportunity to be independently successful. In turn, students are more accountable for their own learning, which can increase one's sense of self-sufficiency as he or she matures. I believe utilizing this program on a regular basis will give you a chance to become more comfortable with our methods over time."
This was all welcome news to her ears. "I like the sounds of that."
"Let us see how you do, then. However, I ask you keep in mind that this will be a trial run, Lauren, and you may not achieve a flawless score, especially in the beginning.
She gave a nod. "Alright; let's give it shot."
Spock Prime was pleased. Clasping his hands in front of him, he stated, "Computer: run phase one, level one of Academia Developmental program."
A short series of beeps, and the computer responded with, "Vocal identification, please."
It took her a moment to realize Spock Prime was looking expectantly at her. When it finally dawned on her, she blinked a few times. "Oh, uh...Lauren Grayson-Reed?" She was not sure what to say, but the acknowledging beep told her she had been granted access. Spock Prime gave her an instruction, and she followed with, "Begin program." Another affirmative beep. She realized he had set up the program to acknowledge only her voice.
Diagrams appeared on the display screen, and then, without warning, the program began. "Give the equation for the volume of a perfect sphere."
She stared. Perfect sphere? She thought. Was that something that was covered in math or science classes on Earth? Had they even gotten to that chapter when she was still there? She wracked her brain momentarily…
"Incorrect." It had only been five seconds. "What is the central assumption of quantum cosmology?"
She stared again, feeling the color drain from her face. It did not occur to her that it would move on so quickly to the next question. "Oh…umm…" She did not have a clue.
"Incorrect." It then played a series of notes from a tune she did recognize from her early days learning violin. "Identify the eighteenth century Earth composer of the following musical progression."
"Uh..." She gave her head a hard shake. "J-Johann Bach."
"Correct," it chimed.
She exhaled in relief, but before she could revel in it, the next question was already coming. "Computer," she quickly interjected, "slow program pace."
There was an acknowledging beep, and then it repeated, "What is the square root of nine thousand two hundred sixteen?"
It continued that way for six more questions. When it was over, Lauren wore a slightly bewildered expression. It did not help when the computer stated, "Your score is ten percent."
She just stood there, staring at the now blank screen and, despite Spock Prime's earlier words, felt embarrassed heat rising to her cheeks, turning the paleness to red. Ten percent. One out of ten correct. The first try had bruised her ego.
She realized Spock Prime was waiting for her to speak first. Slowly, she let out a long, heavy breath. "I did terrible."
"It was only your first attempt, Lauren," he reminded her, "so do not be disappointed in yourself. Even I struggled in the beginning."
She did not speak, but she felt a small degree of gratefulness at his confession. It made her heart swell to know that the older version of Spock still trusted her enough to tell his deepest secrets to.
"This is an accurate portrayal of how assessments are conducted in the academies of my people. You are undertaking an educational process rooted deeply in Vulcan history and tradition," he took a hand and tilted her chin up, making her look at him, "and it would surprise no one—least of all me—to see you initially struggle with the concepts. This program will adapt to your abilities as you continue to use it. Your progress will be gradual, but improvement will follow if you are willing to put forth the effort."
As he spoke with his soothing voice, she felt the harsh heat fading from her face, her own heart calming at his genuine kindness. "I know, and I want to get better," she said sincerely. "I do, Spock."
He smiled faintly. "I am pleased to hear it." For a moment, he became quiet, seeming to contemplate something. "Before we continue, may I ask a personal query?"
"Of course."
"What emotions did you experience when Sarek underwent the mind-meld during the mission on Norai?"
In truth, she had expected a question like this to arise at some point, whether it be this Spock, or the cousin from her own time. It did not bother her the hear it. She did not answer immediately, only because she wanted to make sure she explained her feelings in the best possible way. Eventually, her thoughts materialized on her lips, and she was saying, "I was afraid."
He was listening intently, head bowing only slightly. "Elaborate."
She sighed quietly, eyes staring off to the side as she recalled those memories. "It was hard to see him like that. That was my uncle; he's always been one of the most composed people I've ever known. But for those few hours when he drew the Dunu chief in…" she shook her head slowly, "I had no idea who was in there." She fell quiet. "I temporarily lost my uncle, and it was one of the most frightening feelings I could ever imagine." She looked right at him. "I don't want to feel like I've lost him ever again."
He sensed her trying to maintain her calm demeanor, despite the conflicting emotions no doubt churning beneath her features. She had already lost both her parents; how could she handle losing her uncle? He placed a hand on her shoulder, much like Sarek would have done. "But he did return to you. With your guidance and patience, he found his way back."
The smile she tried to give came out wobbly. "Maybe."
"And despite your fears, know that you will be taken care of, no matter what, Cousin Lauren." He was smiling more obviously now, his attempt to reassure her. "Whether it be me or my younger self, we shall always be watching over you."
She took in a breath, and her smile became stronger. "Always been characteristic of him, huh?"
"Since I was a young child." He raised an eyebrow in mild amusement as a thought occurred to him. "Mother had rather interesting ways to describe his mannerisms as I grew older, some not so appropriate for your ears."
That finally got a laugh. "I don't doubt it."
"However, he has always believed his purpose lies in the service and betterment of others. In this matter, his mindset is quite similar to T'Pau's, and when he was appointed to the position of ambassador, he made a vow to serve his world and his people in any possible manner, no matter the consequences."
"Devoted to his duties," Lauren summarized quietly, and she seemed to be dwelling on those words.
"Affirmative. It is, simply put, his nature."
"You have the same kind of devotion when it comes to your work," she observed, "and so does the younger Spock."
"I feel a necessity to serve a purpose higher than myself. Nothing more; nothing less. With all my counterpart has already done for Starfleet, it surprises me not that he has a similar mantra. So much good can be accomplished if we choose to put others' well beings ahead of our own."
She thought about that a bit longer, then slowly nodded in understanding. A few moments later, she raised her eyes to his and smiled. No more words were needed, and both cousins knew and appreciated that.
What comforted Spock Prime about the entire ordeal was the fact that Sarek had not had to face those challenges alone; not in the future, and not in this past. Unable to articulate all he wanted to say to her at once, Spock Prime chose to vocalize his feelings with, "Itaren. Thank you for being there for him."
She smiled so purely. "I wouldn't have let him go through it alone."
Yes, he was well aware of how strong her devotion would always be to her family. For this, he would be eternally grateful. "Now then, Lauren," he looked at the computer again, "would you be willing to try again?"
She pulled in a breath and released it, rolling her neck and letting her shoulders relax. "Yes . I want to get a better grasp of what kind of material I need to focus on. Especially the math stuff."
At her sudden commanding tone, he gave an approving look. "On your command, then, Cousin Lauren."
She could not help but smile as she re-activated the program. "Computer…"