The Silence of Space
Jim Kirk was acutely aware of the quiet in Spock's half-lit quarters. Only, now, it struck him, somehow, as vaguely uneasy rather than uncanny.
When he glanced over, Spock was standing motionless, turned away a little. His hands were loose at his sides, and he did not look like the perfectly contained expert-in-everything he appeared to be in the Briefing Room, or on the Bridge.
No, he kinda looked like an average guy, trying to figure out how to explain something difficult to somebody he wasn't quite sure was going to get it.
Giving him a little time - a little space - Jim wandered over and dropped onto the couch. He could afford to be patient – Heaven knows, Spock had been patient with him, plenty of times. He casually propped his feet up on the low table, and waited for the other to continue.
Jim wasn't going anywhere: He hoped Spock would understand the unspoken invitation to take the time he needed…
Spock hadn't been looking at anything in particular. His eyes idly followed Jim's movement; as the latter tucked his hands behind his head, the Vulcan's gaze sharpened for a second. Then that focus relaxed; and once again, his thought was almost palpable.
Jim smiled to himself: Spock understood.
Having taken time for thought, Spock seemed to gather himself. Jim imagined he could see him wrapping himself in serenity - breathing it in.
Having gathered himself, Spock became, once more, that familiar cool, logical, enigmatic being who lectured on the Bridge, and in the Briefing Room. When he spoke - slowly and deliberately - his tone was decidedly impersonal.
Jim figured it probably was just easier that way.
"As I stated previously," Spock noted, "Vulcan scientists carried little equipment: Only that which was necessary for the mission at hand, and anything else deemed absolutely essential. They did not convey non-essentials, nor yet luxuries, as did the people of Earth.
"Once they disembarked on a planet to be studied, they survived with minimal supplies. They ate what they could locate in the environment in which they found themselves, doing their best to exist in the same manner as any indigenous sapient lifeforms would do.
"Disciplined, and practiced in self-denial, Vulcans were used to want – In service of knowledge, this was not considered a hardship. They had work to do, and they did it efficiently, bearing in mind that they would return home soon."
He glanced at Kirk, for a second; but though their eyes met, that level glance revealed nothing: Spock was simply making sure he was not wasting breath - The Human was listening.
Jim took in the straight spine; the level shoulders; the proud, disciplined face with its cool, remote expression. He could almost feel the distance widening between them.
"The Human concept of 'add and adapt' would have been alien to Vulcan explorers. They were Vulcan, and would remain so. In the meantime, whilst they were away from home, they would do what they must to survive: Survival was of paramount importance so that their findings could be reported to the homeworld."
Spock's voice, also, was cool, remote – perfectly level in the room's eerie hush.
"The Vulcan ethos was of import, of course, in the founding of the Federation, and – though I am the first (and, likely, the last) of our people to serve within its ranks – in the establishment of Starfleet. The Prime Directive is a Vulcan imperative: Vulcan scientists have always endeavored to leave no trace behind in their explorations - no anomalies, no contaminations, no artifacts; no interference. No mysteries."
Huh, Jim's brain sniffed... As opposed to humans?
The old Jim - the two-days-ago Jim, even - would have hated this aloof arrogant creature.
"The end result is that, whereas Humans, and the plant and animal life forms of Earth that accompanied them in their travels, are spread across the Orion Spur - more populous now than at any point in their past - the Vulcan people, and the lifeforms of our planet, are all but extinct."
Mr. Spock was silent for a moment, unmoving.
"Take, for example," he said coolly, "sha'milar.
"As I am sure you have realized, Captain Kirk, Vulcans have long memories. We are a people of deeply held tradition, and we value connections with our past. This is but one reason why we chose to abandon off-world efforts – However, it is an important one."
Black eyes cut toward Jim, just for an instant.
"Given that our Adepts are all gone - that the mental mastery we have achieved must undergo change in the face of that fact – the loss of a few sheep may seem, to you, insignificant.
"But to us it is not.
"We honored their contributions to our way of life: The wool of this animal was highly prized, and its use was an indication of status. The traditional garments used for meditation by the Adepts was made of it, as were those of individuals who had achieved a certain level of accomplishment.
"My own, in fact - though I rarely wear them, now - are made of this substance."
Listening attentively to the other's words, Jim discovered he was surprisingly grateful for that chill tone.
Spock's chin lifted by the smallest fraction of an inch - emphasizing, rather than breaking - that determined, invulnerable, inhuman stillness.
"Now, the sha'milar are gone - The weavers, the seamstresses, the embroiderers; their teachers. Add to this the other artisans associated with Gol – the stonemasons, the sculptors, all who laboured so that the minds of the Masters could be freed… the Adepts, of course: An entire tradition, one of the bases of our culture was - except for its impact in shaping the viewpoint of the survivors - all for naught.
"The same is, in essence, true for all of our art forms, our accumulated knowledge, our accomplishments. Millennia of effort -Wiped out with the muffled hush of our planet imploding."
The calm words seemed to hang in the air forever, before fading into nonexistence. The silence, then, was complete, like that of Space itself; the Vulcan was as cold, as remote, as ageless and preternaturally still.
How was such complete composure possible?
At some point, as Spock spoke, Jim had been drawn to his feet, as though caught in the strong pull of the other's inexorable gravity. He now turned his head, and looked into those distant eyes, for a moment – and before they could focus upon him fully, tore his gaze hastily away from their grave black limitless depths…
Vulcan equanimity: Life, and strength, and hard-earned peace, inextricably entwined.
So much sacrifice for Peace.
Jim thought of his Academy lessons in Vulcan history: Required study of the unparalleled peacemakers and diplomats of the Federation, and their methods. A careful and curious reader could almost glimpse something hidden in the cold black-and-white. At the time, Jim had wondered… Now he knew there was passion there, subsumed in unstinting respect for Life, and desire for Peace.
And that was Before… Before all Life - for all of those who had been there, and survived - for those who had shared, in some measure, that common experience – had seemed to become infinitely more precious.
He thought of the last vision he had had of a deliberately defenseless red-and-gold planet – in the instant before it was swallowed up into black nothingness – and the last lingering sight of his own, receding, as the Enterprise embarked on the journey that would carry them all - how far? He hardly knew.
Even now (though he had never thought he valued it, particularly) the mental image of the brilliant blue and green sphere of Earth - with its gentle white striated mottling, familiar background of stars and moon and Starbase One, the web of lights that appeared as the bright turned into dark - nurtured him, sustained him, buoyed him, as the light-years unwound in the Ship's invisible wake…
He would always carry 'Home' with him - It was in his heart, in his very breath. (He had heard Nyota Uhura describe it that way, once – and now he was sure he knew what she meant.)
The thought of losing that was… incomprehensible.
So, instead, Jim began to think of littler things he valued from home. Never mind the big things, natural or even man-made: The Library of Congress, the British Museum, the Great Wall – or smaller, but equally important things: The Sistine Chapel, the Statue of Liberty, the actual hand-signed UFP Constitution…
Honestly, it was simply too hard to even think about those treasures being lost.
But what about the little things? The tiny things from home?
Corn and sheep.
He thought back through his day yesterday, the one before that, the one before that. He realized that, once again, Spock was right – Just like the sheep they'd taken to du Bois, this ship carried things that were never meant to leave Earth. Pine trees? Roses? Herbs of all kinds? No, they weren't necessary here – 'strictly' or otherwise. But here they were nevertheless. And Jim was very, very glad those things had made it.
No, he couldn't imagine losing one single tree, much less a forest – Khimki, was it, that Chekov cherished? – a snow-capped mountain, an azure sea…
And the biggest thing?
Huh.
How ironic. His own civilization's most enlightened people could spend years arguing passionately over its greatest treasure, and never come to a consensus.
But the Vulcans had. They had sacrificed so much in service to what was truly important to them. And, in the end, for what?
No. Too much pain, there.
He glanced at Spock, a fleeting glance: All he could spare. He took in that cool remote non-expression - and steadied himself, listening to his own heartbeat, his own breath…
Air in; air out.
His own culture's heart, now? What would that be?
As one Human man - a lone resident of Earth - he had no idea. But he knew what it would be if he were Vulcan.
If he were Vulcan?
Gone.