The nocturnal visit is unsurprising, as a fairly lengthy debrief and several hundred medical evaluations have proven to still be in progress, well into the twilight hours of this exceedingly unusual day. Even now, shortly after ship's midnight, there is non-stop repair work being done aboard, and Doctor McCoy has not yet sent a final medical report to his terminal, meaning Sickbay has yet to work through and record every crewman's psychological evaluation after beaming up from this deceptively Edenic planet.
While running diagnostics on all systems shortly after the contrite crew began re-boarding, he and the Captain had discovered, much to their dual chagrin, that Lieutenant Uhura was not the only crewman who had expertly sabotaged vital ship's systems prior to departing the Enterprise for the colony below. Repairing what had been damaged would take at minimum two point two-five days longer than at first anticipated, and time is not on their side in this matter.
They are not equipped to, nor were prepared to, accommodate an additional one-hundred and fifty beings aboard the Enterprise for longer than forty-eight hours, the precise amount of time the evacuation to the nearest starbase had been expected to take. It will require both some deft handling of resources, and a temporary displacement of crewmen, to execute this without significant pain points across all departments. They typically only have fifty empty cabins aboard for emergency purposes, and their supplies were already low to begin with, one reason they are soon to dock at Starbase Sixteen.
And while the ship's shields are more than sufficient to block any form of Berthold radiation, it does not sit well with him, nor with the Captain, that they are unable to leave the vicinity of this doomed planet until at least the navigation controls and shield modulators have been repaired and thoroughly tested.
He is beginning to understand the logistically impossible sentiment humans tend to use for such situations; despite its standard count of hourly cycles…this has indeed been a very long day.
His cabin door-sensor chimes twice and then, unlocked, slides open. The Captain pokes his head, looking inestimably weary.
"Hey. May I?"
"Of course."
The fact he is requesting entrance instead of simply walking into the cabin (as Spock has given prior permission for him to do if there is no privacy lock engaged), is quite indicative of the aforementioned long day.
Kirk enters, and the door slides noiselessly shut behind him. "I'm just on my way back from Secondary Engineering. We should be relatively safe to retreat tomorrow out of radiation range, even if we can't leave the system yet. The Bridge consoles are nearly finished, should be back to full functionality by beta shift tomorrow. Medical is still clearing the gamma crewmen, said they'll be done around 0230. That enough time for you to redo the duty rosters?"
"They have already been finished and distributed, based on Doctor McCoy's initial estimate."
A half-smile, tired but genuine. "Of course they have."
"Engineer Scott also reported to me twelve minutes ago that he would be able to repurpose four of the machinery replicators on the lower decks for medical and/or nutritional supplies, should it become necessary. I am ensuring the appropriate replication scripts are integrated in the replication processors now."
Kirk finally drops the three data-padds he entered with on the desk-top. Sits heavily in the chair opposite, and exhales, dragging his hands over his face. "That's very good news."
"Indeed."
"And…how are you? Bones most definitely ratted you out for skipping the medical evaluation, by the way." A pointed look. "If we weren't buried to our necks in things I need you for, I'd be far more annoyed about that."
He raises an eyebrow, unperturbed. "I simply prioritized tasks by their level of urgency, Captain. If you disagree with my decisions, I am certainly at your discretion for redirection."
"Mm, yes – you redirected my original question very neatly indeed, Mr. Spock." Clear amusement tinges the tone, even if it's accompanied by a chastising look. "So, I repeat – how are you?"
He replaces the stylus into its correct slot on his own data-padd, and folds his hands on the desk. "I am perfectly functional, Captain."
"Are you."
"Was I unclear, sir?"
"Don't get catty with me, Spock. I am not in the mood."
He represses the human urge to sigh. "I have no such intentions, sir. I am operating at full mental capacity." At Jim's incredulous look, he specifies. "I have been ninety-three percent successful in rebuilding my mental shields through targeted meditation while the replication scripts were being generated. There appear to be no lingering effects of the spores' destruction."
Kirk looks relieved, if still a little skeptical. "I'm glad to hear it, Mr. Spock." He picks up one of the padds, and flicks through it rapidly before handing it across the desk. "In that case, Bones needs your signature on the immediate medical requisitions, and then I think I will be calling it a night."
He accepts the instrument, and scans through the list with the rapidity of a being who is well-versed in Doctor McCoy's unique method of expertly camouflaging ridiculous and/or personal items in a monthly departmental requisition.
"And yourself, Captain?"
Kirk startles slightly, as if he'd been falling asleep in his chair, and clears his throat. "And I what?"
He raises an eyebrow pointedly, stylus hovering over the signature line. "How are you, Jim?"
"Ah. Well, there's nothing of significance to report, Commander, I'm completely in the clear." The words are accompanied by a relaxed smile, which is laughably artificial. "Thank you for asking, though."
Spock submits his signature and hands the padd back over the desk. "Sir, may I point out the hypocrisy in your recognition of my delayed medical examinations, if you have also foregone the same?"
To his credit, Kirk does not so much as blink. "I'm sure I have no idea what you mean, Mr. Spock."
"Is it incorrect that you allowed the physical examination but deferred the psychological?"
"Oh, come on. Surely Bones did not say that in a requisition report of all things."
"Negative."
"Then how did you know?"
"I did not, until you verified the matter just now."
Unlike many humans of Spock's acquaintance, James Kirk has never been known as being passive-aggressive. The openly hostile look Spock receives right now, can simply be categorized as aggressive.
"You're on thin ice, Mr. Spock."
"I am aware of this. However, even without medical logs, it was certainly not difficult to hypothesize."
"Do enlighten me."
Spock leans over to turn on the computer recording he had been listening to one hour previously, when compiling the preliminary mission report and log packet for Starfleet Command.
Captain's log, Stardate 3417.7. Except for myself, all crew personnel have transported to the surface of the planet. Mutinied.
Kirk's face drains of color.
…The ship can be maintained in orbit for several months, but…even with automatic controls, I cannot pilot her alone. In effect, I am marooned here. I'm beginning to realize just how big this ship really is, how quiet…
"All right, you've made your point, Spock." The words are sharper than glass shards, and just as dangerous. "You just had to go looking, didn't you."
"It was not a private log, Jim."
"Yes, I realize that now, thank you. At the time, I didn't think anyone would ever hear it." For the first time, Kirk slumps in the chair, exhaustion clear in every feature. "I was going to delete it along with the footage of the…altercation, in the Transporter Room."
"Regarding the latter, I am in complete agreement, and have already taken the liberty of doing so."
"Well, thank heaven for that at least," Kirk says dryly. "I still owe you a very handsome apology, by the way."
"Apologies are illogical, particularly when the action in question was completely mission-necessary."
"I can't argue with the necessity, but I would like to apologize nonetheless. It was…not acceptable. I was running out of ideas, but that does not mean I chose the best option available to me, just the only one I could think of. And I am sorry."
In restrospect, and in all frankness, Spock finds the incident more amusing than anything else, human emotion or not. Jim is a master strategist, one of the most intelligent beings of his acquaintance; and more importantly, is in the unique position of knowing Spock better than any other in the galaxy, Vulcan or human or neither. If the man had truly wished to cause emotional or mental harm, he certainly possessed both knowledge and ample opportunity to inflict real and lasting damage, rather than resorting to melodramatic outbursts and grade-school-level insults.
He says as much, in an effort to lessen the man's guilt over the scene, and receives an indignant splutter in lieu of further apologies. It is an acceptable trade, particularly as Spock is himself not entirely blameless in the affair.
Physical violence is abhorrent to the Vulcan Way, even if the cause is sufficient – and it is never sufficient, when directed at those extremely few individuals it is acceptable to recognize as more than simply acquaintances. However provoked, he is most definitely in the wrong for this.
It is also obvious to him, and likely to Kirk himself, that Spock's presence was not strictly necessary, if one actually looks at the situation with objectivity. The captain has extensive engineering skills, even if there is rarely opportunity to employ them, and he would have been perfectly capable of creating a simplistic subsonic transmitter that would integrate with the powerful Enterprise communications systems. Perhaps not as quickly as had transpired with their joined efforts, but an eventual certainty.
And yet, Spock has seen this man's thoughts on more than one occasion, for there is no possible place to hide in a mind-meld. And so, he well knows what very, very few things Kirk is genuinely afraid of, always well-hidden far in the darkest recesses of what is an admirably controlled human mind. Only Spock can hear the rising panic in that log entry, knowing as he does just how deep that fear is typically buried by the man in question. Hidden deeply enough, that he was willing to risk serious physical harm to ensure it did not come to pass.
Even to a Vulcan, the idea of losing all members of the crew and being reduced to complete solitude, in essence a ghost aboard an empty ship for many months, holds no more appeal than the prospect of imprisonment in a penal colony. And for Jim? The scenario is almost in totality a literal combination of his worst nightmares.
Both of them know this, and so vocalizing the obvious is unnecessary.
"I will delete the log entry as well, prior to submitting my preliminary report," he says instead.
A fond, quicksilver smile that disappears in an instant, yet is no less genuine for its brevity. "I would appreciate that. Thank you."
"Sir, thanks are –"
"Also illogical, yes. I'm aware. You'll just have to tolerate it, I'm afraid."
"As you wish."
Kirk offers him one last scrutinizing look as he stands, gathering up the data padds. He almost reaches the door, and then turns around abruptly.
"Are you sure you're all right?" Spock is about to reiterate his previous statement, when the man holds up a hand of protest. "Spock, you can't just say today is the first time in your life that you were happy, and expect me to just…ignore it. I can't. You've never been happy in your entire life, until today?"
Ah. "While I value your concern, Captain, I believe we may be using the same Standard word in very different cultural contexts."
"Meaning what?"
"The…feeling." He allows the word, for it is accurate in this rare instance, "of happiness, is an alien one to me. To all Vulcans. And not without cause. Such strong emotions are detrimental to logical thought and mental control."
"That's certainly logical, but…how can you live, being unhappy all the time? I know you value your privacy, but that sounds incredibly isolating. And it is not conducive to a thriving society, which your people clearly have. How do you find fulfillment, if that is your default state?"
"You mistake a lack of happiness for unhappiness, Jim. They are not the same."
Kirk's eyes sharpen, alight with interest. "Specify."
He pauses for a moment to choose the best analogy. "An apt comparison might be that of a recreational drug, for a human. Perhaps not inherently harmful in moderation and infrequency, but still an unnatural, enhanced temporary state. One which cannot be achieved due to one's own efforts, but is rather the result of outside factors. Such a thing could be considered a gateway, if you will, to a state much more detrimental to the Vulcan Way."
"Artificial euphoria," Kirk supplies, nodding thoughtfully. "And a lack of artificial euphoria does not necessarily equate to a negative emotion, it's more indicative of a state of balance, of natural equilibrium. The ideal goal is contentment, rather than transient happiness."
"Somewhat simplified, but remarkably accurate."
Clearly, Kirk has been contemplating this philosophy for some time, likely from the time they left the Bridge early this evening. It will ensure a fascinating follow-up topic for their next chess game, though that event likely will not be until they are safely docked at Starbase Sixteen.
"Does this address your concerns sufficiently?"
"I suppose it does. I just…" The captain's eyes soften as he gestures vaguely at the ship and space around them. "There's so much more to this universe than duty to a cause, Spock. And you deserve to be happy, or content, or whatever that…that self-made median between unhappiness and paradise might be. You know that, right?"
I have a responsibility to this ship, to that man on the Bridge.
Perhaps he does.
Italics are quotes taken directly from the episode in question, do not belong to me.
