The morning began as all others began when he was required to work. A small simple meal followed by D'vun Kaltor meditation on the plaza until the sun rose, an hour's meditation in his cell and then a transport to the city. He had taken to wearing the hood of his robe up and pulled forward over his face. It discouraged the non-Vulcans from attempting to include him in their insipid socialization activities between work intervals.
On this day there were 29 transports slated for arrival at Shikahr. One had been pre cleared for landing on the Vulcan Science Academy's landing pad.
"SS Mead to Vulcan space command, this is Lt. Ilia requesting instructions."
Spock recognized the name, the vocal qualities. For a long moment he said nothing. He searched his memory for her name and quite suddenly stopped, hand raised over the comm channel as he remembered.
Ilia.
The woman who had stood at the edge of the dance floor on the arm of the President.
His memory replayed the scene, the waking nightmare. He could hear her apology to Christine. She was so sorry for the accident, she would get the president off the dance floor, she would come help Christine with her dress.
Her dress. The same emerald velvet that later had lain in tatters on the floor, stained with blood.
The Klingon had fallen on it.
The quiet undertone of the station seemed to take on a nefarious quality as if they all murmured the same accusatory words.
"SS Mead to Vulcan space command, this is Lt. Ilia requesting instructions."
The sound of her voice brought him out of his reverie and his finger impacted lightly on the comm channel button.
"SS Mead, this is Vulcan Space command. You are cleared for landing at Vulcan Science Academy." His voice sounded distant and hard. His mind swirled with memory and conflict.
With a swift motion he sent the landing coordinates. "SS Mead, confirm that you have received landing coordinates."
"Confirmed Vulcan Space command. Thank you."
He almost said 'you're welcome.' He felt the words rise to his lips and swallowed them down. Years of training as the son of an Ambassador seemed to reassert themselves at moments such as these. When his control failed him. When he was so utterly vulnerable to the memories.
Near him one of his co-workers talked another ship in for a landing and ended the transmission with the ubiquitous "On behalf of Vulcan, welcome."
It was not required verbiage. Spock considered it unnecessary socialization and had never integrated it into his dialogue.
But at that moment he was so lost he couldn't remember what his next task was.
And then the channel closed and the Mead moved to their coordinates. He watched it on the sensor screen as it made a slow approach to the Academy.
Spock swallowed hard and closed his eyes reaching deep within himself for any shred of Surak's wisdom. He desperately needed control. Then a heartbeat later he found it. A short passage from Surak's earliest writings. 'Logic alone suffices'. Control comes when one does not resist the flow of the universe but allows experiences to flow like wind over sand. It is illogical to resist the memory. Resistance gives the memory power. Lt. Ilia is only a being, nothing more. Her presence has no power over him. Logically he could only let go of the sensation.
When he did finally open his eyes again it was time to talk another ship in and the SS Mead was just a memory.
It was a memory that would once again occupy his meditations for several days.