Disclaimer: Star Trek doesn't belong to me.
A/N: this is a sestina.
(Sestinas are unrhyming poems with six stanzas, where the end-words of each line repeat in a different order in each stanza. It has an envoi (last stanza) of three lines.
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In this poem, every line is said or thought by one of the Galileo Seven. None of the characters speak more than one line in a row; except for the last three lines, which are all the same person.)
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The Galileo Seven
Logically, I had no choice—
I want none of your logic, you greenblooded Vulcan!
We are going to die.
Act like you at least care.
Mr. Spock will find some way to save us.
Aye, lass, that he will.
I know I'll be the first to die. I will…
He's dead! We don't need your help. Our choice
I want to help, but the others aren't. Look at us—
It's the 'logical' course of action. You're a Vulcan.
Logic is not all—how can you so little care—
We have to kill them, hurt them. Otherwise—you saw. We'll die.
Mr. Spock, I have an idea—we might not have to die.
I was sent to die. I know. The creature seems to follow me through force of will—
I don't know why I go after him, pick up the body—What they said. Did I care?
Spock, I know I'll regret my words later, but I can't stop. No choice—
He infuriates me, scares me. I can't understand him. He's alien… Vulcan.
I know he'll figure it out. I'll stand by him, though the others may doubt us.
Electrify the outer hull, I say—the others watch us.
The creatures are gone. Maybe, just maybe, we won't die…
We have to bury them—give them a proper funeral. I'm no Vulcan.
Humans. So reckless. I will permit it—if the creatures will.
I watch Mr. Spock as he makes a choice.
It's because I'm terrified. Now I care
It's done. We have the power to try, if you care—
Eight minutes until takeoff. You have ten. The creatures watch us—
The spears start. Now, my words forgotten, I turn back—I don't make a choice.
That choice means we will die.
I watch, willing them on. You'll make it. You will.
He was heartless, but just as much to himself. He's surprised me. Vulcan—
Well, Spock. Your last act was very human. —I'm no longer angry with the Vulcan.
I look straight ahead, try not to care—
You said there are always alternatives. I will
Not now. I may have been mistaken. —I don't look at us
I wonder what it will feel like when we die.
I look at the button. There it is, in front of me. A choice.
As if against my will, my hand reaches out, flips the switch. It is not Vulcan.
I have made the choice, and part of me wishes I hadn't—no turning back, but I don't care.
Here we are—all that is left of the Galileo seven. All of us have a chance. A chance to live, or a chance to die…
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