Tackling the Hard Stuff
McCoy leaned back in his chair, still watching Jim.
After a moment, the doctor long-armed his cup of coffee, took a deep swallow, then carefully replaced the cup on the corner of the desk.
"It might be different," he said, slowly, "if you liked the guy."
He shook his head. "Captain Pike hardly made a move without him.
"There were times Spock was called out of lectures, because Pike needed him, needed to run something past him, needed his presence at some meeting or other. And when there was something big going on that needed to go right, Pike needed Spock: Your Commander Spock has the dubious distinction of being the Starfleet Academy professor who spent the most time out in the field - when he was supposed to be teaching 'full-time.' Fortunately, apparently, he left great notes – and he heals quickly - so his students didn't suffer."
He wasn't going to say so, but Bones' assessment meshed pretty well with what Jim had found, himself, snooping through Spock's records. (But without all of the references, maybe, to Pike.)
"So, what is it?"
Bones wasn't really expecting an answer. He reached for the cup, took another swig, replaced it.
Well, Jim wasn't sure he could even manage an answer, but he'd try. "Bones, you ever play Federation Diplomacy?"
"What?" The clear hazel eyes were lifted to him, below eyebrows that were drawing together.
"Federation Diplomacy: It's a Command Simulation from the very beginning of my first year at the Academy. Rough, but great – and a popular reference, later, to get us to think." Jim smiled, remembering. "Makes a great drinking game, too, actually. You ever play?"
Bones considered, then shook his head. "No."
"Well, you should." Jim came around the desk, and leaned on it, looking down at his friend.
"It's complicated, naturally, but the basics are these: Every person gets a slip with the name of a planet, coordinates, a few instructions, a goal or two. The people are arranged in a big room relative to their coordinates; and, according to his instructions, each tries to achieve his goals by negotiating with the other planets."
Bones looked both interested and amused. "That's it?"
Jim laughed. "Yeah, that's it."
"You send messages back and forth?"
"Sounds easy, right? I mean, you're Earth. What do you want? Resources, allies, new territory to settle – improved technology, maybe. You send a message to your pals on Altair, get them talking, and away you go.
"But what about Kleinbeck?"
"Who?"
"Kleinbeck. A little planet out in the middle of nowhere."
"Never heard of it," Bones said.
Jim shrugged. "No reason you should.
"Kleinbeck has limited technology; so the guy being Kleinbeck can only send a short message – and that, only so far. So he sends out a note, and just hopes that it will get passed, eventually, to the people who actually make policy – and might be interested enough to help him."
"Okay," McCoy said, "that makes sense."
"I know," Jim replied, "it makes sense. But it's fiendish. Poor Kleinbeck, sending out message after message hoping against hope that someone will eventually listen… Because the thing is, Bones, that everybody else is too busy trying to meet their own goals to pay any attention to poor Kleinbeck, way out at the edges of the Galaxy – leaning, if you will, against the wall, on the far side of the room.
"Right at the center - seated close around the table - are Earth, and Alpha Centauri, and Altair, and all of the other movers and shakers of the great UFP. With their technology, they get to talk face to face – to argue shit out. It's all too easy for them to get caught up in their own affairs; to see only each other, and turn their backs on all of the humbler Member planets on the periphery – not to mention those Independents with nothing of apparent worth to offer.
"12 great men in comfy chairs, disputing around a vast shining table – very impressive indeed… when you're the guy leaning against the wall."
McCoy registered the sarcasm, before Jim's voice dropped. "And lurking around the edges are the Klingon and Romulan Empires, who might just swoop in and 'take an interest' if the guys at the table aren't paying enough attention."
Bones suppressed a shudder. "Sounds like fun."
Jim grinned, "I know, right?" He reached out and clapped his friend on the shoulder, before taking a pace or two of his own.
It took a second, then: "Hey," Bones wondered, "Where are the Vulcans during all this?"
"Where, indeed?"Jim turned, with a passable – if unconscious - imitation of his First Officer. "I said the table held 12; I'm glad you noticed that. But the UFP Council has 13 primary members… What of the Vulcans – those proud, aloof creatures? Does their Representative sit idly at a table - in the chair reserved at the right hand of the UFP President - wasting her time with the squabbles of Earth and her belligerent neighbors, dictating peace in such a way that the others have to take it?
"Obviously," Jim said, with satisfaction, "Not.
"Vulcan, my friend, sits apart. She has a comfortable chair a ways from the others, where they cannot help but be aware of her. She perches on its edge and coolly listens to the swirling chaos around her. However, Vulcan technology is very sophisticated, indeed. She can move, to investigate something that interests her; she can intercept messages, and receive appeals - and be called upon to mediate between Tellurite and Andorian, as they hurl accusations at one another, distracting the other Council Members from the progress they make.
"The problem with Vulcan, of course, is that it is too easy for her to become the wise old woman, solving everyone's problems. Vulcan doesn't like that: She thinks people should grow, and develop - figure stuff out for themselves. So Vulcan has a limit: Vulcan can only verbally interfere – proposing solutions to the problems of others – once every two hours. And she will only say so much. Once she has spoken, the clock resets, and she is silent for two hours more."
Jim could see McCoy thinking about it, picturing it. When the scowl returned, Kirk nodded.
"I know, right? Thing is, the first round, everybody around the table – The UFP Council, I mean – all learned to behave themselves when they thought the Vulcan member was paying attention. As long as she sat there - even if she was reading notes she had intercepted - they argued logically and reasonably; but when she walked away, they'd devolve. It was fascinating."
Bones was shaking his head. Jim said, "Like kids, honestly."
"No, Jim," Bones said, slowly, "That's not what I was thinking, at all."
"No?"
"Huh-uhn." He looked at Jim, his forehead furrowed. "I was thinking about Spock." The hazel eyes were solemn, indeed, and there was pain in their depths.
"You say this was a Command Track exercise?"
"Yes," Jim answered. "The game changed when Starships were added, bringing the Federation out to the edges."
"Of course it did." There was a lot going on in Bones' voice, and Jim wondered what the Doctor would have made of the huge echoing chamber, with bodies scattered about: There were those who gave up quickly - deciding that getting their needs met in the vastness was futile - and those who let power go to their heads. One girl sat in the corner sobbing, as her 'people' starved.
"Well, Spock went both Science and Command, right? I'm just wondering whether they forced their young Vulcan recruit – their very first, mind - to play this game, or observe it, or what.
"Do you think they knew he was the Ambassador's son? Would they have made him be Vulcan? (Just picture that…) Or a powerless little Kleinbeck?
"Did they punish him for his peoples' perceived faults, making him some automated relay station?
"Or - perhaps worse - did Starfleet (his future colleagues, Jim) hide the exercise from him: Inventing some other task for him to do, while all of his classmates spent however long learning this lesson?
"Did the cadets come back and stare at him, imagining him perched on the edge of that chair?
"I know you think Spock has got it all together; and maybe he does – Hell, I don't know – but he still has to think something about this shit… feel something, right?"