— Chapter One —
— Rikesik —
K'oh-nar: The fear of emotional vulnerability and emotional exposure.
The thick cloud cover of the planet beneath remained impenetrable for the ship's scans to breach, and the captain was showing signs of frustration.
Spock paid close attention to the man from his peripherals, although the bulk of his attention was being taken up by the details of his work. It wasn't difficult to multitask like this; minding his station while also observing his captain came quite naturally to him these days. Captain Kirk was his priority in all aspects, and there was rarely a moment that he wasn't—in even some small way—keeping a careful vigil. Now, he could read the subtle signs of tension in Kirk's face, his increasingly rigid posture, and know that the situation was, as they said, getting to him.
"And you're certain there's no way to pull back the curtains?"
It was only through years of exposure to humans, and this human specifically, that he didn't comment on the figure of speech as he would have once done. A trait he'd had to train himself out of; most humans considered it to be something of a verbal attack and went on the immediate defensive. He'd discovered this years ago during his education at the academy, and it was because of that knowledge that he continued to verbally examine most of what the ship's Chief Medical Officer said in his presence. However, he'd also learned when and where to feign ignorance in common Terran metaphors and when not to. Idiom wordplay aside, the captain was quite correct to be concerned.
"None that I have discovered yet, Captain," Spock said, splitting his attention between his approaching commanding officer and the data at his station. The latter unfortunately continued to prove his statement; the sensors were still reading the unknown energy barrier surrounding Seskilles VII—and only that energy barrier. "It is most curious; our sensors cannot break through the atmosphere, but that appears to be the extent of the interference. All other systems work as normal, including transporter and communication use. We can both hear and speak, but we cannot see."
Kirk ran a tired hand over his jaw, letting out a low sigh that brushed heat along Spock's neck. The captain peered down over Spock's left shoulder to examine the data for himself, as if another result might suddenly manifest itself if only he stared hard enough. When none appeared, his expression grew only stonier. From the short space between them, Spock could feel his unease brush against his own mental controls. It wasn't accurate to say he felt it himself—nervousness was an emotional reaction—but he understood it.
"I'm not exactly enamored with the idea of beaming down blind, Mr. Spock." Kirk's voice was neutral enough to maintain professionalism, but there was a sharp edge in tone behind the words. Once, Spock would not have heard the subtleties of human emotionalism; with this particular human, he recognized the nuances loud and clear.
"Indeed, sir, nor am I." A shared glance between them; they knew that their own suspicions and comforts were irrelevant. They had their orders, and the Federation council would not accept anything short of success.
"Keep trying. I want to know what we're getting into."
"Yes, sir."
The mission was, for all intents and purposes, a straightforward one. To establish friendly communication between the Seskille, the native inhabitants of Seskilles VII, and the Federation. The rumors of the planet being rich in pergium—untouched by the population—made it a high priority for Starfleet, and so consequently the Enterprise, to open negotiation channels for mining rights. This was not their first diplomatic mission, nor even their twentieth, and it should not have proven to be a difficult one. The captain had only yesterday called it a milk run; he'd been lamenting over chess that he desired to be out exploring the mysterious and strange, not convincing planets to sign documents.
Upon entering orbit, the circumstances had rapidly shifted from simple to suboptimal. The unknowns of space, in all its great vastness, had complicated the matter considerably. There was no logical or statistical meaning to the phrase 'you get what you wish for', but Spock privately thought the captain was a perfect example of it regardless; he'd gotten everything he'd wanted.
The planet was shrouded in an invisible and impenetrable energy barrier of unknown properties, preventing all sensor readings—environmental, scientific, and otherwise—from breaching through to the surface beyond. All attempts to, as the captain said, 'pull back the curtain', had been thus-far ineffective. Their orders were to beam down to negotiate in person, and those orders wouldn't allow for the luxury of hesitation.
"Captain Kirk, I've established communication with the Seskille." Lieutenant Uhura turned in her chair and she was smiling for the first time in hours. The Science department were not the only ones feeling the urgency of the situation; Communications had been working just as furiously to break through the shield.
A low huff from the captain as he drifted from Spock's side and back towards his post; a distinctly relieved one. Perhaps relief wasn't what he'd call his own reaction, although it felt dangerous close to it. He could feel it in the periphery of his own emotional control, his shields preventing a bleed-through. Reframing it as a logical sense of satisfaction at the completion of a difficult task felt more accurate and satisfied his composure.
The Bridge, however, did feel relief; it spread through them like a wave. The crewmen were exchanging grins. Ensign Chekov gave a soft cheer. The captain looked like he was resisting the temptation to do the same; it was the first sign of improvement in their current dilemma for 5.174 hours. Opening a channel between the Enterprise and the surface had been an ongoing struggle, and the odds had been growing higher that not only would they be beaming down blind, but deaf as well.
"Lieutenant, you're a miracle-worker! Do we have visual?"
"No, sir, audio only. Apologies, sir, but there's a large amount of interference. It's coming from their end; I'm unable to clear it."
Kirk rewarded her a with warm smile, leaning back into his seat and crossing one leg atop the other. A posture that Spock had come to learn was his way of expressing confidence. It worked much like a ripple effect, with the rest of the crew relaxing at their own stations. Perhaps not quite visibly, or in a way most would notice, but he could see the tense edge ebb from their expressions. The only one he thought it didn't affect was the captain and himself; they both knew that confidence was largely a show to reassure.
"That's alright, Lieutenant. Patch me through. Let's see if we can't clear all this up."
"Channel open, sir."
There was a loud popping sound over the audio feed, crackling and spitting like great amounts of static. Curious whines, both low and high pitched, screeched from the speakers, causing most of the crew frown and himself to withhold a wince. The frequency was such that human ears would fail to register the full effect, but that his own unfortunately picked up quite well. It was unpleasant and grating, and he fought to block it out as best he could. Similar to, he supposed, a dog whistle—although the comparison wasn't favorable.
"Greetings, this is Captain James T. Kirk, of the USS Enterprise, representing the United Federation of Planets," the captain spoke aloud, voice professionally neutral once more. "To whom am I speaking with?"
The whining grew louder, popping and crackling, but there was no response. Time passed—approximately 1.97 minutes—before the captain hailed again. Silence. That sense of relief from the crew turned distinctly sour. Kirk turned towards Communications for an explanation.
"There's no malfunction on our end, sir. According to my systems, they are receiving us just fine." Lieutenant Uhura attempted to clear the line, but the whining only got louder. Spock kept composure, but only just. The urge to cover his ears was almost overwhelming. Another 3.28 minutes passed with no response and no cessation of the discordant noise, and it was clear that the Bridge had passed the point of impatience. But then, finally—
"Greetings Captain James T. Kirk of the U.S.S Enterprise, it is our happiness."
Fascinating. Spock briefly took his attention from his own station to analyze the audio. The voice was clearly not human in nature or vocal tone, despite speaking perfect Standard. There were no apparent gender markers present, no identifying male or female quality; it sounded androgynous in nature. The voice seemed to be forming words with sound, but not that typical of organic origin. Sharp resonances and inharmonious frequencies; much like the tone the machine known as a Tesla Coil created. A voice made of pitch and sound, but perhaps not natural vocals. If it were not for the audible emotional inflections, of which there were many, he would suggest it was a machine communicating. And potentially it was, for without visual, it was impossible to know for certain. Stranger things had happened.
Most curious.
"The pleasure is ours," Kirk was quick to reply, far more friendly now that the greeting had been received and returned satisfactorily. Cautious all the same; the captain only let his guard down so much. Their information on the planet was unfortunately limited, only made up of brief encounters from previous passing vessels, but the people were said to be kind in nature. "Am I speaking with your people's leadership?"
For a moment, there was nothing but the whines and popping that made Lieutenant Uhura look particularly irritated. She was frowning at her console, fingers moving over the controls to attempt to once again clear the channel's interference. Spock alleged, and he suspected the Lieutenant did as well, that all efforts would be ineffective. Whatever the cause of the noise, it was not in their power to correct. Unfortunate; it was starting to give him a growing headache.
It took another 5.28 minutes for a response to be returned, and he formulated this to be the beginning of a pattern. An ongoing hypothesis suggested that the thick atmosphere was responsible for the delay in communication; the other vessels who had made contact had not reported any delay or interruption to audio contact.
"There are no leaders. All are equal. None better than another."
Spock raised a brow at that, intrigued and curious. A planet without a governing body; it was not unheard of, but it was exceedingly rare. Often, they had at the very least a council of some kind, or even wise elders to guide the younger generations through the ages. Teachers that held some measure of power or influence. He could feel his own interest was shared with the captain. They exchanged a brief glance; his own eyebrow raised was mirrored by the other.
"I see." To his credit, the captain recovered swiftly. "We were hoping to beam down a team to your planet's surface and establish a more direct communication with you in person. There is a great deal we'd like to talk about; to share our cultures and learn about one another. The Federation is interested in establishing friendship between our people."
The audio distortions continued, but the voice was silent for a long moment. Long enough that Lieutenant Uhura was moving over her console quickly and a line furrowed between the brows of the captain. Another 5.28 minutes, and then it came back louder than before, with the whines increasingly uncomfortable to his own Vulcan ears. Whereas before the voice—if it could be called that—was calm, it now sounded to be considerably more excited. The tones it used to speak with were faster, rushed and light.
"We would like this greatly. To show you what we have made and to learn of what you have made. To share ourselves with yourselves, and the opposite. This is most welcome to us, Captain James T. Kirk of the U.S.S Enterprise."
The voice sounded sincere and pleased, and Spock could not recall hearing quite so heartfelt a welcome from any planet they had visited during the duration of the Five-Year Mission so far. It went beyond, he thought, of what a human frequently expressed, and the pure emotionalism made him uncomfortable. In his experience to date, the kinds of governing bodies they often spoke with were cautious and probing. Of course, with increasing regularity, they also often ended up being alarmingly hostile. While Spock was aware of the statistical ratio of uninterrupted missions to that of violently interrupted ones, there was most certainly a negative pattern forming.
Still, he could detect no trace of hostility or ill-will in the Seskille's voice. Quite the opposite; the weight of the positive emotions was almost overwhelming in their genuineness. It made him run the calculations predicting the likelihood of this mission ended up a plot to destroy the Enterprise or her crew. The odds were higher that he would have liked, and it made him cautious. He appeared to be the only one; the rest of the Bridge crew seemed in cheerful spirits.
A positive beginning to what they all hoped would be a future alliance, despite the initial and current sensor interference. With communication to the surface established, a large barrier had been broken down. The problem of the sensors remained, however, and would not be resolved on their end. He had exhausted all possible solutions; the energy barrier was foreign in nature, unknown in origin or design, and it only registered on his sensors for the very glaring lack of any sensor data at all. Scans of the nearby asteroid belt had given the expected results, as had the barren Seskille IV, but Seskille VII had proven entirely sensor-dead. Were they not staring at the fog-shrouded world beneath them and registering the gravitational effect it had on surrounding matter, the sensors would suggest there was no planet there at all.
"Sir, Ambassador Hammett is en route to the Bridge." Lieutenant Uhura warned briefly, glancing over towards the doors.
No one could miss the way that the muscle in Kirk's jaw jumped as he clenched his teeth. His expression, despite that, was forcefully pleasant with a calm smile smoothing over his face. He gave a brief nod towards Communications and returned his attention to the audio feed.
"We're all very glad to hear that; I'm hopeful we can reach a mutual friendly relationship. We'll contact you again shortly to discuss our mission further. Enterprise out." The communication channel closed just as the turbolift doors opened to reveal a beaming Ambassador Roger Hammett. The man moved swiftly towards the captain.
Spock moved as well—faster, in four quick strides—and reached the captain's chair first. With his arms comfortably at his back in parade rest and leveling the Ambassador an even look, he made certain that the captain and himself presented a unified front. The captain's expression of forced pleasantry was a sharp contrast to his own blank one.
The ambassador was, from Spock's own personal evaluations and opinion, relatively harmless in nature. There was no direct threat from him on any physical level; on the contrary, there appeared not to be a physically violent instinct in him. That did not, however, mean he was inoffensive. Dr. McCoy had loudly groused in the mess hall that the man was a 'Grade-A idiot'; an unusual use of phrasing but one that Spock found was not... entirely inaccurate. Roger Hammett's skills in diplomacy had yet to be put to any official use during the mission, but his attempts at using other supposed skills had been a great disruption in the normally smooth operations of the Enterprise.
Already, Dr. McCoy had banned the man from Medical, and Spock himself had been forced to have stern words with the diplomat about interfering with the science labs. He did not appear to be purposefully harmful, but his attempts to improve the experiments had caused several setbacks. Those in the Science department had taken it extremely personally; they prided themselves on operating at peak efficiency. More than one scientist had complained to Spock about him putting his hands on experimental equipment and causing possible contamination.
Engineering similarly had issues of a like nature, and it was from them that came the only warning that Hammett had seemed to truly heed. Lt. Commander Scott had been the most volatile over the damage, to the point of requiring the captain's direct intervention to prevent actions that would necessitate a court martial.
The captain was, even now, side-eyeing the Scotsman and Spock took the initiative to angle himself in such a way as to shift imperceptibly closer to Engineering. If there was going to be a fight, he'd be in a better position to stop it. Mr. Scott's face was already turning an alarming shade of angry red as he turned in his seat to watch, simply glowering at the ambassador from across the Bridge.
Spock had frequently heard the phrase 'if looks could kill' and suspected he now understood the meaning of it.
"Ahh, Ambassador Hammett! You're a moment too late; I've just ended initial communication with the Seskille." Kirk's smile was made entirely of insincere charm, and it seemed that only Roger Hammett was unaware of the disingenuousness. The rest of the bridge turned back to their own consoles, although Spock knew their attention was entirely on the conversation at hand. Mr. Sulu was murmuring to Mr. Chekov; and Spock thought it sounded suspiciously like betting. The only one not even pretending to do their work was Mr. Scott, whose steely expression closely followed the ambassador to the captain's chair.
"Did you really?" Hammett's smile widened, showing a great many gleaming teeth. He clapped a hand on the captain's shoulder—Spock tensed at that, prepared to physically intervene should it become a matter of Kirk's safety. "Wonderful news—just wonderful! And did they seem amiable to further conversations? When are we to beam down?"
"Yes, about that. There seems to be an audio delay of some kind on their end. Takes forever to get a response, but the Seskille seemed open to a landing party; they sounded eager to meet with us, at least. I'll have the transmission patched through to your quarters for your convenience. As for an away team, well… there are complications. Mr. Spock, would you do the honors?"
Spock straightened as the bright blue eyes of Mr. Hammett turned to him and seemed to become increasingly excitable. The man had not been outright rude to him, exactly—he'd kept a friendly tone and an open posture—but displayed a certain amount of insensitivity regarding various aspects of Vulcan culture. Spock had observed him to be perplexingly condescending in his remarks and tone.
Curious, especially for a diplomat. He seemed to take great delight in making arguments against a logic-based mindset, while at the same time also attempting to imitate one. Spock thought, at first, that it may have come from a place of negative prejudice, but now he suspected it was a form of joking—although of a poor quality. While Spock remained unaffected by the slights or the ill form of mockery, he had seen the captain become increasingly agitated by it—as had, surprisingly enough, Dr. McCoy.
Offense was a human emotion; one that he controlled and purged as completely as any other reaction. Hammett's opinion towards him was unimportant. All that mattered was his ability to positively affect the mission, preferably with as minimal a disruption to the rest of the crew as possible. Although the captain had taken his attitude towards Spock personally, the diplomat had not singled Spock out in this alone; his insensitivity towards the rest of the department heads had been equally displayed. It was not, Spock thought, born of any malicious hostility, but instead by an odd desperation to prove himself equally competent in their fields. And in Spock's own case, he suspected it came from a place of both insecurity and unintentional prejudice.
Why this was, he was uncertain and—more than that—uninterested.
Explaining his observations to both Jim and Dr. McCoy had not improved their opinion of Hammett either, not that he'd tried overly hard to do so. "Prejudice! In this goddamn day and age!" McCoy had exclaimed, and Spock had raised an incredulous eyebrow at that. He had not seemed to acknowledge the irony of his exclamation, and when it was logically pointed it out, Spock had been summarily insulted in a most prejudicial manner.
Spock stood at-the-ready now, hands stiffly behind his back. His chin tilted up in a manner that he knew most humans found intimidating.
"Our system scans have been ineffective at penetrating the atmosphere of Seskilles VII. A barrier of unknown energy has blocked all attempts at surface and environmental study. Origin unknown, type unknown, composition unknown. Without further information, beaming to a planet with unknown conditions would be hazardous at best, disastrous at worst. While communication seems to have been established with the natives of the planet, according to our sensor readings, there is no planet."
Hammett stroked his jaw idly, lips pursed in concentration.
"But it is possible to beam a landing party down?"
"Inconclusive, sir. Engineering has not found any direct conflict with the ability to transport to the surface, but it is a gross violation of all established safety code."
Kirk leaned back in his chair and Spock noticed his eyes were hard; narrowed in the manner he'd often seen directed towards large amounts of paperwork. That expression seemed reserved for that which ranked low in his personal estimation, and they were now focused intently on the ambassador. Spock glanced at his captain to gather data on his emotional state and, upon reading it, shifted his physical positioning to better demonstrate a united display.
"Until we get more information, I'll not risk my men going down blind," Kirk said sternly, and even Hammett seemed to quail back from the tone in the captain's voice. However, the round man gathered himself together remarkably quickly and blustered forward.
"We have recorded visuals of the planet from five years ago, correct? I read through the briefing; those ships seemed to believe it was like Earth's desert. They didn't scan the environment, exactly—maybe they couldn't either, who knows—but there was nothing to suggest it was dangerous."
This, unfortunately, was correct—if a simplified version. The trade vessel, Boa, had been one of many to pass by the planet and had been the first to establish communication and detailed visual. Reports had suggested it to be a Class M planet; a desert world, rocky and hot. Without current sensor data, it was impossible to estimate the climate or further detail about the composition of the surface. The communication to the Seskille had been brief, the Boa merely seeking tradable goods. The Seskille had seemed uninterested in trade when asked. They had, however, had short conversations with the Boa's crew and the mention of different ores had come up. One in particular that fit the description of pergium.
It was of no use to a trade vessel, especially one which had no mining capabilities or crew experienced in mining operations. It was of great interest to the Federation. Starfleet's General Order 1, the Non-Interference Directive, had already been broken by the Boa and other passing ships, and that appeared to be all the excuse needed to send the Enterprise to investigate further.
A milk run, Kirk had called it. He was, as the human expression went, eating his words now.
Mr. Scott's murmuring—which Spock would define as a low snarl if he were to indulge in the emotional labeling—was loud enough to be heard by all. The attitude the man had shown towards Hammett since the ambassador's incident in Engineering had been nothing short of disrespectful, and occasionally outright hostile.
"Aye, neither does a hole in the ground before a snake takes a bite outta you, yeh brainless-"
"Unfortunately, Boa's scans are now invalid." Kirk raised his voice louder to try to drown out the commander's trailing insults. "As you can see; the planet is visually different from our briefing." Kirk motioned towards the view screen showing the large planet below them, as if the ambassador could have possibly missed it. No longer a desert surface with a sparse cloud covering, it was shrouded by a thick white atmosphere. Whether the previous desert-like environment remained beneath it, it was impossible to tell; nothing was visible through the cloud coverage.
"Captain, need I remind you the importance of this mission?" Ambassador Hammett smiled widely, cheeks flushed a steadily rising red. He'd clearly heard the Scotsman's comments, which hadn't been drowned out nearly enough and were still quite audible. Spock resigned himself on pulling the Chief Engineer aside later to remind him that his voice tended to carry. "I hardly need to tell you how to do your job; we both have our orders, and unfortunately, mine are... well…" He cleared his throat in a feign at delicacy. There was no need to say that his orders took priority; the crew was unfortunately well aware. "I understand your concerns, I really do, but we can't delay the mission for them."
It was exactly as they both had known, but that did not make the decision easier to hear. Spock glanced at the captain and met the eyes that had likewise looked back towards him. Years now of working closely with each other had developed a certain degree of silent communication. Perhaps not the most comprehensive form of communication, but most effective despite that. Through the shared glance, Spock discerned they were in perfect agreement in their dissatisfaction.
"Concerns?!" Mr. Scott seemed unable to keep to himself a moment longer, whipping back around in his chair with a furious scowl on his face. "It's hardly a wee concern, Mr. Hammett! As Second Officer, it'll be me who'll have to scrape you all offa that rock if something goes wrong, an' I cannae do that without those sensors operating."
"Thank you, Mr. Scott; I'll take it from here." Kirk's voice was markedly warmer towards the Chief Engineer than the outburst had warranted. There was muttering from Engineering, but Mr. Scott only turned back to his screens after another dark look towards Hammett. His hands pressed his controls harder than necessary. "His analysis is correct; it'd put us in enormous danger to send a landing party without further information. There's no telling what we'd be beaming down into—and before you interrupt, Ambassador, remember that you'll be part of the landing party."
But the Ambassador only smiled widely. Spock did not understand why he continued to do so; there was nothing joyful about this predicament, even to the rest of the human bridge crew.
"Then I invite you gentlemen to look for another alternative! I'll give you two hours; if you don't find something by then, I doubt you will. Orders are orders are orders, unfortunately, and our orders are to meet face-to-face! The mission hinges on us establishing friendship, and no true friendship can be made with a machine! Oh—my apologies, no offense meant to you, Mr. Spock."
Spock raised a brow at him, staring for a second longer than necessary before responding.
"Apologies are unnecessary; a Vulcan is not a machine. There is no offense to be taken from erroneous and faulty comparisons." Whilst he did not feel offended by what he thought to be a poor attempt at a joke, that did not seem to be the case for the rest of the Bridge. Kirk's jaw grit so tightly that his teeth audibly creaked. Mr. Scott had violently whirled around in his chair once more, mouth working furiously but silently, and he seemed to be on the verge of beginning an outright brawl. It was... not touching, exactly, but something close to it if he were to use Terran descriptions.
In truth, the discriminatory comment was nothing that Dr. McCoy hadn't expressed to him with casual frequency. Jim had once commented that there existed, between friends, certain kinds of humor that would otherwise be considered unacceptable when demonstrated towards acquaintances or strangers. Perhaps this was one such situation; he had not understood the concept fully then but thought he may now. Although he was not insulted, he did not feel the same amount of camaraderie towards Roger Hammett that he did when the Doctor insulted him in a similar manner. It did not seem logical, but Spock found that human relationships often defied all logical reason.
"We'll let you know what we find in two hours," the captain spoke sternly, but his voice was nothing if not civil. Forced civility, but far better than Lt. Commander Scott's display. He turned around to face the view screen in obvious dismissal of the ambassador. "If nothing else, I suppose you'd best prepare for a landing mission."
Hammett floundered for a moment, red-faced at the obviousness that no one had found his poor attempt at humor amusing, as well as at the dismissive behavior of the captain. He stood there for several moments, glancing at the rest of the Alpha Shift. They had followed their captain's cue and had turned back to their stations with the same glaring disinterest.
Raising another brow at the ambassador, Spock also turned on one heel and fluidly moved back towards Science to relieve Ensign Keller. She shot him a small smile as she moved back towards Environmental. He had grown used to reading the small expressions of his human crewmates and thought it appeared commiserating.
Finally, the ambassador left the Bridge and the room visibly relaxed once the turbolift doors slid closed. Mr. Scott's mutterings now lowered in volume, but no less in quantity, and Lieutenant Rivera joined him to speak in quiet tones.
Focusing back on his readings, fingers flying instinctively over the dials, Spock felt rather than saw the captain approach his left side. The warmth of the human was close to his back as Kirk leaned in to privately speak with him, and his voice was soft to prevent the rest of the crew from overhearing.
"Do you think we'll find anything?"
Spock didn't need to look at his data for information; it was exceedingly easy to memorize what little information there was. No part of it promised any immediate breakthroughs in sensor readings, nor did they suggest a way around the barrier.
"Unlikely; I estimate the chances to be-"
"No, no, I get it. Thank you for trying anyways. Who knows, maybe we'll get lucky—and even if we don't, two whole hours; it's worth it if only to have him out of my hair for that long."
Whereas he'd previously refrained from commenting on the captain's use of colloquialism, this time Spock indulged in it. There was a time and a place for such things, and whereas earlier had not been appropriate, he thought it would be well-received now. Refuting such figures of speech never failed to irritate Dr. McCoy, but it seemed to only ever amuse Jim. Whereas once he thought it odd, he now engaged in it just to see his captain smile.
"He was standing at your right shoulder, sir, not within the follicles of keratin growing from your scalp."
Kirk's lips twitched upwards and his face relaxed; he huffed a sound that could have almost been a laugh. It sometimes surprised Spock how controlled this particular human was in comparison to others. Even at his most outwardly expressive, it was often displayed with a careful amount of consideration for others.
"Mm, so he was." A hand pressed gently onto his shoulder, gripping in a light squeeze. Spock made eye contact with the captain and found the hazel in them warm. "Carry on, Mr. Spock. We've got two hours to make a miracle, and if there's any chance of finding one, no matter how slim, I want it found."
Vulcan:
K'oh-nar — The fear of emotional vulnerability and emotional exposure.
Rikesik — Unlikely; improbable; likely to fail.
Although K'oh-nar was written for Star Trek: The Original Series, it can also be read with the AOS/Kelvin Timeline in mind if that's more your style. This fic heavily references the events of the TOS episode: Amok Time, but it should be easy enough to follow along with even without having seen it—but I recommend doing so, because it is fantastic!