Disclaimer: As per previous chapters.
"The ripples reached further than I expected," She said to the young man who stood silently, overlooking the memorial that had been erected tall and proud. The man imperceptibly flinched, as if he hadn't noticed her arrival. Perhaps he hadn't.
The elder one beside him, however, seemed to expect her.
"Can I help you?"
The younger's words, polite, and to the point also echoed with an unspoken wish for solitude. His posture stiffened, he carried so much hurt, and anguish, and blood, and anger and revenge.
The elder openly stared at her, obviously curious about her old British flag t-shirt, old jagged jeans and the pair of ancient twenty first century 3D glasses perched on her nose. The red and blue cellophane starting to crinkle from use.
"The ripples," She started again, looking out towards the small gathering of Vulcan Survivors. Their pain was easily seen, Raw. But they acted Vulcan, with all their pain hidden below the surface of a mask of stoicism, "They spread out across the pool, changing the things that shouldn't have been changed. I didn't stop them; I thought they'd stop as soon as they hit the wall."
"I do not understand."
She eyed him out of the corner of her eye.
"The ripples changed everything. The Jellyfish and the Narada." The man's posture changed, as he recognized her words, "It should have torn a hole in Time and Space and Dimension and everything. But they didn't. Because they found a crack."
"What do you know of the Jellyfish and the Narada?" He demanded.
"The cracks," she continued, "Two points in Time and Space that should never have touched."
"An astute observation," The other's voice interrupted, another man, the same. But older.
"They ranged from tiny, to as big as the sky." She spoke, her words concealing what she thought "Two points in time that were never meant to touch."
Glancing between the two men, the same and yet so different, she smiled.
"Am I correct in the assumption that you are part of the Collective known as the Q?"
"I'm not a Q, They fear me, you see" She nodded, "They're nothing but children, and I am their mother."
"Indeed. Fascinating." The older Spock spoke, his weary face betraying more emotion then the younger.
"Some cracks acted as wormholes, allowing passage to the otherside, but some erased things. People. Events." She eyed the younger Spock for a moment, "Consequences must remain the same."
"He has new eyes." She looked at the elder Spock, "Blue instead of Hazel."
"I had noticed, may I ask why?"
"How do you know, I know?" She teased him, "I had to change something, anything. I don't want a repeat, playing the same level over and over, learning all the cheats and codes, Spock."
"You claim to be in control of events." The younger Spock spoke, more robotically.
"Maybe. Things will be different now. The Nexus is coming earlier, sooner than usual." She noted, "The Nexus, like a transporter. You can beam down, but your pattern is stored."
"Jim?" The elder Vulcan voiced, "He is alive."
"He's in transport." She wryly grinned, "But for everything that comes, something must be given in return."
A silence fell between them, the woman looked towards the sky, her eyes widening, "The silence is falling."
The two Vulcan men seemed to finally become aware of her words, as they noticed the absence of all sound. Wind. Traffic. Speech. Anything at all.
"Some cracks connected to other worlds, and some, to silence and the end of all things." She whispered.
"Please elaborate on your words," The younger demanded.
"I cannot." The weary blonde woman replied regretfully, "The cracks, I looked through them and I saw fire, and death, and destruction. They must be healed, fixed up with tape. Sew them closed."
"Do you have the capabilities to seal these 'cracks'?" The younger input, eyes narrowed. His emotion so raw, yet he hid it away, because he must. Curiously, the blonde looked at him. Her eyes saying nothing but 'I'm so sorry.'
"No." She simply stated, "And they mustn't be. The cracks must be closed up, but not completely. Even broken things have their place in the multiverse."
The silence fell around them. Pure silence. The wind missing, the birds absent, the hum of the world of technology around them missing.
"Sometimes the cracks are necessary, you've fell through one more than once. I can see the void stuff around you," She tapped her glasses with a grin, "It swirls around you. This isn't your universe. But it has the same potential for greatness. It won't turn out like the others."
"You are referring to the Mirror Universe-"
"Among others."She admitted, smiling sadly, "Everyone is going to want to speak to youS'chn T'gai Spock." Her lilting voice pronouncing the Vulcan words effortlessly.
"Define 'everyone'." His pronunciation of the last words makes her grin. It's awkward, too casual to be a word he'd favour.
"Starfleet. The Vulcan Council. They'll want you to tell them of things to come. And if you do, you'll save billions of lives, trillions of lives. But for every single person you save, three more will die in their place."
The silence fell again, while she studied the memorial, and the sky, and the people who still hung around the stone inscribed with the dead.
"They'll ask you to tell them things. Things from your universe that should happen. But they won't, not here. Things are going to happen out of turn, happen differently, or not at all." Smiling softly she glanced sadly at the elder, "You remind me of somewhere, from a long time ago. A doctor. He tried to save everyone, but you can't save everyone. The universe thrives on death. If you try to save everyone, if you try to stop death, you only stop growth. Life from Death, Spock."
"How do you explain the destruction of Vulcan, and the death of six billion of its inhabitants as growth?" The younger spoke, clearly agitated and upset. Yet his face remained perfectly still, only his voice gave any indication to the emotions bubbling inside of him.
"How do you not? Vulcan society was very focused on Tradition, Ritual, now, the survivors must improvise, and adapt. As a people, they must grow."
She nodded towards the memorial, "How we deal with death is at least as important as how we deal with life."
"Wise words." The elder remarks.
"Spoken by a wise man." She adds raising her hand to her forehead, she saluted the memorial stiffly.
With one last sad glance – one so torn and tired that she'd easily be mistaken for a Vulcan, even with her long blonde hair and pink cheeks.
"Thrusters on Full, Spock." She bides one last time, before turning and disappearing into the world behind her.
And the world does continue.
Even if it isn't quite the same.
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