Of Ships and Sheep, Once More
The much-celebrated Chief Science Officer of the Enterprise remained still for a minute longer, before his shoulder tightened again in his almost imperceptible shrug: Captain Kirk prepared himself for an apparent change in topic.
"Vulcan scientists have often gone into Space by ones or twos; more often than not, in fact.
"In general, we have taken with us only what we must."
Commander Spock's eyes travelled over the room once more, and were solemn as they sought Kirk's. He seemed a little reluctant to voice his next words: "Captain, I am not sure whether you can grasp how truly different our approach has been to that of the explorers proceeding from your own world. In nearly every respect, it has been… not just different, but almost diametrically opposed."
He was more direct: "Please understand that I wish to state, here, only facts. I am not desirous of passing judgment upon your people, nor upon my own: In our individual manners, we each make the decisions that seem to us to be worthy, needful – even logical. It is simple fact that - just as a Vulcan is not a Human - what a Vulcan would choose to carry with him for a journey from his homeworld into Space must be different from that which a Human would choose."
Jim met the other's level gaze. The look Spock was giving him was a well-known one: Once upon a time - when they had first begun to work together – the Captain had disliked it mightily. He had thought of it as the Vulcan's 'Are you understanding this, you imbecile, or do I have to use smaller words?' look. In time, Jim had decided that it was unlikely that Spock would ever think, much less say, 'imbecile' - and he could follow the other more easily, more often.
He now could reassure the Science Officer without resentment, "I'm with you so far, Mr. Spock. Just say what you need to - I'll try not to take offense."
It felt good to say those words aloud, at last – and truly mean them. He grinned, just a little – a relieved sort of a grin.
Spock nodded his small single nod.
"I have said that we would take with us only what we must.
"This is true. But 'what we must' covers something different for us, than it would for you."
He paused, his expression typically serious. It did not change, but Jim nevertheless thought he looked vaguely uncertain, as he considered how to proceed.
There was a tiny silence after Spock had obviously decided what he might say… Jim's brain interpreted it as that peculiar Vulcan not-a-sigh.
Spock folded his hands together, the first two fingers forming a bridge. The Captain had seen him do this countless times. Jim thought of the gesture as characteristically Vulcan.
"Vulcan ships were fast, maneuverable, efficient. Small and lightweight, they could land readily on uneven ground, and be concealed comparatively easily. They were outfitted for maximum flexibility of scientific research, exploration, and accumulation of data. Such essential equipment was given priority over everything else, other than that which was absolutely necessary to ensure the safe return of the traveler."
Jim considered that for a second.
'Safe return', not 'comfort' – not 'happiness', nor even 'contentment'.
His mind started to wander off… to contemplate what might be encompassed in 'specific medical arrangements' required for injuries sustained by hardy Vulcan couples in minute comfortless vessels… but he reined it in sharply before it went too far down that road.
He remembered Spock's apparent surprise at the 'non-essentials,' even luxuries, carried by Human space-faring ships. Maybe a little levity was in order: "So, uhm… No sheep for you guys?" Jim asked. He suspected Spock would forgive him – and it bought them both a little more time.
"No," Spock said evenly, "No sheep."
He shook his head slightly, and shot one of his swift indecipherable glances at Jim. His tone was thoughtful when he repeated, "No, no sheep."
He looked down at the strong hands still folded in front of him. Perhaps, Jim thought, studying the other's grave face, the gesture wasn't characteristically Vulcan – perhaps it was simply uniquely Spock?
Spock spoke again: "Nor sha'milar, neither." His low voice told Jim nothing.
'Sha'milar'? It had to be a Vulcan word, one Jim had never heard before.
For a long, motionless moment the Vulcan stood quietly, before those pale hands unfolded, to be clasped, instead, behind his very straight back.
Here, now, were those few long, deliberate paces…
Kirk was suddenly aware of the hush of Spock's quarters, and he felt that slightly off-kilter feeling he got when they approached any subject that seemed too personal to his First Officer. He knew Spock could hold his own in any conversation – oh, how he knew that! – but he also knew how protective the other could be about anything remotely related to Vulcan culture or philosophy, or his own individual privacy. The man wasn't ugly about it: He just shut down any discussion point-blank, when he decided it had gone far enough.
Intrusive curiosity was all-too-common, now, and would not be tolerated.
And Kirk had seen Spock's lips form a grim line, just for an instant, before the other spoke that word…
So, "Shah-meelahr?" Jim asked, very tentatively, trying to copy his friend's intonation.
Spock's step hesitated, and he glanced back at Jim, one eyebrow lifted at Jim's attempt. He froze mid-motion for a fleeting instant, as though to consider; then, his foot continued its slow descent. His chin started to lower in his typical affirmative; then, instead, "Vulcan sheep," he offered, tossing the words back over his shoulder, his voice an unmistakable imitation of Jim's own.
Jim supposed he gawped. His brain was just winding up again to give him its usual confusing and argumentative analysis, when he realized that Spock had, in fact, delivered requested information; but had intended, with such delivery, another tiny hint of comic relief in a topic that was, obviously, intensely painful for a reason of which Jim was not yet aware.
Jim nodded his comprehension.
Well.
No matter how it was pronounced, sha'milar was 'Vulcan sheep.'