FIC - Celebrate the Earth and Sky (2/20)
Celebrate the Earth and Sky I
2241, Vulcan
Spock was different.
At the behest of his father, Spock had memorized the tenets of Surak before his seventh birthday. He recalled the first moment he had recited them to complete satisfaction, cthia, under Sarek’s watchful eye. Standing in the doorway of his father’s study, he could remember with crystal clarity the cold, polished sandstone under his bare feet, and the soft fabric of his heavy, formal robes weighing down his slim shoulders.
He could remember the slight hesitation, the vague guilt squashed somewhere in his belly, when he spoke the fifth tenet.
A single untruth will birth many tangled offspring, each one more deformed than the last. The Vulcan who follows Cthia will therefore never lie, even should the consequence be his own destruction.
Spock was not the only hybrid on Vulcan. He was not even the first. Since the cessation of hostilities with the Romulans nearly twenty years ago, Vulcan-Romulan hybrids had become, if not commonplace, at least not pariah. Of course, Vulcans and Romulans shared a common ancestry. Truthfully, they could breed without any external assistance.
There were nine hundred and sixty-four Vulcan-Romulan hybrids.
Even so. There were other hybrids. There were six Vulcan-Klingon hybrids. There were two hundred and seven Vulcan-Betazoid hybrids.
If the public records were to be believed, there were two hundred and eight Vulcan-Betazoid hybrids.
Spock knew better.
“It is fortunate that, despite the none-discriminatory practice of empathy among the Betazoid people, you have shown little inclination towards it.”
Spock turned away from his perusal of Vulcan’s Forge, visible out the main window of the library of his learning institution.
“It is fortunate that, despite Vulcans’ historic precedence towards illogic and violence, you are remarkably capable of withholding from such self-debasement, Sokar,” said Spock.
Sokar bristled, then attempted to smooth his expression over so that it did not look as though he had been bristling. He was only marginally successful.
“I have always expressed curiosity regarding the mind of a mixed-breed,” said Sokar. He leaned in closer to Spock, who tried not to flinch. Sokar was three years older than Spock, taller and broader.
“You will have to continue in your curiosity,” said Spock, stiffly. “My mind is my own.”
“You are unbound,” said Sokar, stepping forward. Spock sidestepped him a little, his back still to the wall.
“You are not,” Spock bit out. “Desist. I have no desire to catch pa’nar syndrome from a mind used to indiscriminate melding.”
Sokar’s eyes widened in affront. “You dare,” he started, catching Spock’s wrist.
“Release me!” Spock said, trying to quell his panic. He could feel Sokar’s consciousness push up against his own through the contact between their skin. He focused on his mental shields.
Sokar’s face was blank but his eyes were mocking. “You seem to be somewhat emotionally compromised, Spock.”
“I am not.” Spock’s back hit the wall.
“What will you do, Spock?” Sokar asked. “It is illogical to deny me this. I am taller than you, and stronger. I have accomplished the twelfth level in suss-mahn, and you are still at the eighth. You do not belong here, Spock.” Nearly chest-to-chest, he let go of Spock’s wrist, his hand reaching again toward Spock’s temple. “Your half-breed disadvantage makes that abundantly clear- ”
Spock formed his freed hand into a fist and without pausing to think, uppercut it straight into Sokar’s jaw.
“Aurgh!” Sokar grunted as he stumbled back, hand clutching at his chin. His eyes flashed.
Spock stood stock still, not quite able to believe what he had just done. He stared at his fist as though it belonged to someone else. Sokar’s cheeks flushed green with fury. He straightened, settling into one of the more aggressive suss-mahn stances.
Spock bolted.
His schoolbag flapped against his side as he ran, his uniform robes cumbersome as he attempted to lengthen his stride. He did not look back to see if Sokar was following him. Either the older boy had lost all sense of logic and was pursuing him with murderous intent, or he had somehow retained the presence of mind to appeal to an authority figure; clearly Spock had lost control, to resort to such violence.
Either way, Spock knew that the resulting chaos would not be in his favor.
He raced down the main corridor, streaming towards the exit. He was sufficiently athletic, but his breath came in pants nonetheless, fear tightening his lungs. He gasped as he skidded to a stop in front of one of the side-doors.
Spock’s educational institution was among the best in Shi’kahr. Part of its reputation came from the somewhat unorthodox approach of allowing its students to perform research projects in the Vulcan Forge itself. In this vain, the institution was situated at the very edge of the vast desert. The front of the main building faced the city. The back opened westward, to the edges of the Forge. Spock had, nearly unwittingly, fled towards the back. He looked around wildly, his keen ears picking up the faint sound of pursuit. Spock made a split second decision, thought longingly of his own room, the quiet of meditation and his mother’s comforting scent, then wrenched open the sliding door and took off into the desert.
Three point two nine hours later, Spock was beginning to regret his decision. Heat blazed across the surface of the bare rock. The sun was setting, and his shadow grew longer and longer as he walked with aimless purpose.
His original plan had been to circle around towards the main road leading back to Shi’kahr, and from there, access public transportation. However, illogical fear of discovery, of some sort of punishment for his transgression, kept him moving on a path that he hoped was parallel to the main road from the institution.
By the time he had calmed down enough to think clearly however, the road had turned. Picking his way through a crevasse, Spock was struck with uncertainty. Which way should he go?
The Forge was a vast desert, ringed with mountains. Spock knew that millions of years ago, it had been an extremely seismically active rift valley, splitting apart three ways. Eventually, two of the separating sections had taken precedence over the third, and the Forge’s local seismic activity had become considerably lowered, in favor of the southern orogeny. He knew that the mountains to the south were igneous in nature, formed by the volcanism caused by the newly emerging, divergent plate boundary. The mountains to the north were much older, curved from a tectonic collision that had occurred millions of years before the rift valley even began, when what was now the Forge had been a shallow sea.
Spock’s mother kept a garden in the back courtyard of the villa. When Spock had been a much younger child, he used to assist her in caring for the small patches of plomeek, and the desert flowers. He listened to her speak about the water-rich gardens of her homeworld, and wished that he might one day see an orchid, or a lily. On one occasion, he uncovered a small fossil of a mollusk while digging up the stubborn weeds drawn by his mother’s tender care, and she had explained to him that before the land rose and the sun rebelled, there had been a sea.
In the fading light, Spock could see that the mountains and hillocks to his left were far smoother, their lines sculpted by wind, their layers more visible. The mountains to his right were darker, with rough boulders and chaotic speckles of lighter and darker minerals. The rock around him was clearly igneous as well.
Spock headed left. Logically, the emerging volcanoes would have eliminated visible traces of fossilized life. Therefore, if he had found a fossil near his home, then he must head north.
Unfortunately, when it came to understanding the complexities of dynamic planetary strata, Spock’s logic was not as sound as it could have been.
His first full night in the Forge, Spock wedged himself into an accommodating overhang, his ears pricked for any sound of a le-matya hungry for a midnight snack.
His second night in the Forge, he attempted to meditate on the events that had brought him there. He was shocked out of his meditation by the sound of claws scrabbling against the rock above him. Adrenaline engulfing his system, he gripped a sharp stone and prepared to fight off the expected predator.
The intruder however, turned out to be only a small rodent.
On the fifth day, beginning to feel the lack of water, Spock considered that he might have made an error in direction. He turned around, and headed south.
When the tenth day arrived, Spock was reminded forcefully of his kas-wahn. Despite the unusual circumstances surrounding his coming of age four years ago - notably that he had undergone the ritual before his seventh birthday - when his kas-wahn was completed, it was complete. His father had expressed relief (“the cause is sufficient, Spock”) and his mother, joy (“I don’t know what on earth you were thinking, but I’m just glad you’re back safe”) upon his return.
This time, Spock was not entirely certain that he would, in fact, be returning.
On the twelfth day of his ordeal, Spock sat among the debris from a rock fall, his back against one particularly sun-warmed boulder. His throat felt parched, and he lacked the energy to do anything more than sit. Even meditation felt beyond him now. He wondered if his family was concerned for him. His mother, certainly, but she was not Vulcan and so such emotionalism was to be expected. But what of his father? What of his brother?
Would they grieve his death?
“Surely your House would greatly mourn the demise of such a fine, young son,” said a voice near his elbow.
Spock started, cracking open his eyes. “What?” he managed to croak. He belatedly took in the form of an ancient Vulcan, clad in little more than ragged robes, leaning upon a staff. Spock blinked again. Trees, and the wood they produced, were relatively rare and precious. How peculiar.
“I apologize,” said the elder. “Am I interrupting your kas-wahn?”
Spock shook his head. Really, he was not that small. His height was within two standard deviations for his age group. Barely. “No,” he said. “And there is . . .”
“. . . No offense where none is taken,” finished the elder for him. “I see. Your House must be a part of the Syrranite movement. Only the children of Syrranites quote Surak with such zealotry. Interesting.”
Spock wondered if the stranger was, in fact, a member of a rival faction out for his blood.
The wrinkled face took on an almost amused cast. “Do not worry so, child. I follow Surak’s precepts as best I may. You are in no danger here.”
“I was not,” Spock tried, maneuvering his legs to support his weight.
“Yes, yes,” said the elder. He grabbed for Spock’s elbow and helped him stand, careful not to touch skin. “Come to my oasis,” he said. “It is not far.”
The elder’s name, it turned out, was Vorek. “A third son,” he told Spock, watching the younger Vulcan take greedy sips of water. “A third son, such as myself, had little prospect in the grand schemes of my family. Therefore, why should I not dedicate my time and energy to meditation, and to the deeper understanding of our world?”
Spock frowned. “I do not understand the appeal,” he maintained. In truth, his mind was only partially engaged by the conversation. The rest of him was busy appreciating the shade of a few thin trees, and the grasses fed by the small spring that formed Vorek’s oasis.
Vorek’s eyes took on a far away cast. “Perhaps it would serve you to experience such a life, before placing judgment upon it. No, no,” he said, as Spock looked down at his feet, “I did not mean to rebuke you.”
“I must return home,” Spock said. “My mother will be . . . she will be concerned for my well-being.”
“Very well,” said Vorek. “On foot, Shi’kahr is a four day journey that way.” He pointed. “I would advise you not to get lost again.”
Spock gripped the sides of his, now very matted and dirty, school robes. “Do you have a communicator? That would greatly simplify the matter.”
“I do not,” Vorek said.
Spock licked his lips, “Then, would you perhaps be willing to, to guide me? On my journey?”
Vorek looked at him. “I would be willing,” he said after a long, steady stare. “I would much prefer it if you did not die in the Forge.”
“I- I am gratified,” Spock spoke quickly. “If there is anything, any sort of recompense . . . ?”
“We will leave tomorrow,” said Vorek.
“Ah,” said Spock. “Why?”
Vorek patted the rock at his side. “Sit here beside me, child,” he said. “It would not do for you to emerge from the desert still so conflicted. Meditate with me. Perhaps I, and this place, can ease your suffering.”
At a loss for what else to do, Spock sat. Unless he wished to head back into the desert alone, clearly he was going nowhere. “I am not suffering,” he said.
“Indeed,” said Vorek. “Then why are you here?”
“It was necessary to escape one of my peers,” said Spock, shoulders stiff. He fisted handfuls of his robe until his knuckles turned white. “He implied he wished to perform a mind meld without my consent.”
Vorek raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”
At this point, Spock could not have stopped speaking even if he tried. “He expressed curiosity in the mind of a,” he made himself spit out the term, “a halfbreed,” he said. “I,” he bit his lip, “I struck him. And I fled. I did not intend to end up out here,” he said petulantly, gesturing to his surroundings.
“You were frightened,” said Vorek.
“Fear must be cast out,” Spock said, the words coming automatically to his tongue. “It is an emotional response.”
“Nevertheless,” said Vorek. He shifted, crossing his legs. “If I may ask a personal query?”
Spock hesitated, then nodded.
“Which one of your parents is Vulcan?”
“My father,” said Spock.
“And your mother?”
“According to public record, my mother hails from Betazed,” said Spock.
Vorek blinked.
“The record is false,” said Spock, reckless now with thirst and fear. “My mother is nearly completely psi null. She hails from a planet in the Sol system, sixteen light years from here. My father calls it the ‘Blue Planet.’”
“Fascinating,” said Vorek. “Do I understand correctly that your mother’s people are not yet warp capable?”
“Yes,” Spock muttered, inexplicably ashamed.
“How curious,” said Vorek. “Later, you must tell me the circumstances under which your parents met.”
“Later?” Spock echoed.
“Now however, we will meditate.” Vorek turned to Spock. “Today we will meditate on Vulcan. On the nature of this harsh planet we call home. This is your father’s homeland. For your boyhood, I sense this will suffice.” The corners of Vorek’s eyes crinkled. “But to achieve the peace within yourself that you are seeking, one day you must do the same for your mother’s home world. Only then, I suspect, will you be able to accept your dual nature.”
“That is impossible,” said Spock, envisioning all of the restrictions regarding contact with non-warp capable societies.
Vorek shook his head. “Few things are truly impossible,” he said. “Someday, you will go to the Blue Planet. Just as we Vulcans must return to our planet every seven years, so too will you be drawn to your mother’s home. It is inevitable. It is in your blood.”
Earth Year 2256
Shi’kahr Spaceport, Vulcan
“Mother, please desist. We are in public.”
“I know, I know.” Amanda let her hand slip from Spock’s wrist. “Still, I can’t help- I worry, you know?”
“Yes,” Spock said dryly. He exchanged glances with his father.
She leaned in closer. “Remember what I’ve told you. It’s been nearly thirty years since I was on Earth. Things have probably changed.”
“It is a certainty,” Spock said.
“I still think it’s foolish for the High Command to send you alone,” fretted Amanda.
Spock shook his head. “Mother, you know this is a brief investigative mission. Due to my - unique - heritage, I am clearly the most logical person to send. I speak two of the planet’s languages. I know the customs-”
“Barely,” snorted Amanda.
“I will be able to blend with the local populace more thoroughly than anyone else on this planet.”
Amanda gave him a pointed look.
“With the exception of yourself,” Spock amended.
“Right,” said Amanda, matching his earlier dry tone.
“Mother, my shuttle is scheduled to depart in twenty three point nine three minutes.”
“It is time, Amanda,” said Sarek. He stepped forward, his fingers in the ta’al. “Live long and prosper, my son.”
“And don’t get killed,” Sybok said. “It would be very disappointing.”
Sarek turned to his eldest with an expression that would have, on any other species, been termed exasperation. “It has not escaped my notice that your shuttle is also due soon,” he said pointedly. “Perhaps you might consider making your way to your gate.”
Sybok shrugged. “And miss Spock’s great departure?”
“Indeed,” Spock said, definitely not giving his brother a glare.
“I find the idea of your travelling to Romulus disquieting,” Sarek said to Sybok, putting everyone back on a topic they were most familiar with. “Do not let their emotionalism affect you.”
“And yet you do not find the idea of Spock’s travels to a primitive society - no offense, Amanda - as worrisome?” Sybok queried.
Amanda put her hands on her hips.
Sarek looked helplessly between his two sons, and his wife. “My concerns regarding Spock are different from my concerns regarding you,” he settled on.
“So what you really mean,” Sybok began.
“Enough,” said Sarek, raising his voice just the slightest bit. “Sybok, bid your brother farewell.”
“Very well.” Sybok leaned over to Spock. “I think I may have emotionally compromised him a bit,” he murmured into Spock’s ear.
Spock’s eyebrow twitched. “I do not understand the appeal of goading father,” he muttered back. “Honestly, Sybok. Logic is everything to him.”
Sybok stepped back. “Perhaps that is why I do it,” he said with an uncharacteristic note of sobriety. He touched his fingers to Spock’s meld points, a contrarily Vulcan gesture of affection. “Be well, brother.”
“And you,” Spock said, feeling the spark of Sybok’s consciousness behind the touch. He turned back to Sarek. “Peace and long life, Father.” He looked at Amanda. “Mother.” He bowed a little.
“Stay safe, Spock,” repeated his mother, as Spock turned to go. “You know I love you,” she added in her native language. Despite her use of a tongue few on Vulcan would be familiar with, Spock’s ears and the back of his neck flushed green.
“Yes,” he whispered, voice barely audible. He hoisted his small bag of personal possessions (his much larger suitcase had already been loaded onto the shuttle), and boarded.
The transport shuttle was small, but Spock did not mind. Its only purpose was to break atmosphere and dock with a much larger ship, the VSS Nirak, which was intended to ferry him to his destination. While Spock conducted his mission on the Blue Planet (“Earth,” his mother said. “We call it Earth. Or Terra, if that’s easier for you.”), the VSS Nirak would conduct routine surveys on the Sol system. He had heard that there was a particularly curious group of meteorologists, who were most intent to study a peculiarly large and, seemingly permanent storm on Sol V.
The shuttle took off with a rumble. Spock flipped open his communication device, and settled himself to practicing irregular English verbs.
The Nirak boasted a three hundred and six member crew, not counting Spock. Its science labs were not the best in the Vulcan fleet by far, but neither were they among the worse. The captain of the Nirak welcomed him, as well as the rest of the shuttle passengers, on board with a brusque ta’al, and a standard greeting.
Spock was assigned quarters with one of the meteorologists, a young male named Visak. Visak was from the southern continent. His skin and eyes were a deep brown, and it was clear to Spock that his emotional control was, if not tenuous, less apparent than Spock’s. He seemed rather to drift through life with a permanent sense of amusement. Often, it was directed at Spock himself.
Spock found it most unsettling.
“I have heard you attended the Vulcan Science Academy,” said Visak. He carried a piece of kraila in his hand, and a bowl of pia-savas. Spock looked curiously at the fruit, but was forced to avert his gaze as Visak began to eat with his bare hands.
“Is something wrong?” Visak asked, popping a piece of the red fruit into his mouth. He followed it with a bite of kraila.
“On the Blue Planet, kraila would be referred to as ‘bread,’” Spock said.
“Fascinating,” Visak deadpanned. He followed Spock’s gaze to the fruit in his hand, catching the disapproval in his eyes. “I will not apologize for my cultural norms,” he said. “The people of Shi’kahr may abhor eating with their hands, but my people believe in using the tools at our disposal.”
“I do not require it,” replied Spock. He turned back to his English verbs.
Visak sat next to him, still chewing the kraila. “What did you study at the Academy?”
“My main focuses were computer science and astrophysics.”
“Odd that the High Command would send a physicist to a pre-warp planet,” Visak remarked. He extended his hand. “Would you like some . . .” he wrinkled his nose, “bri-ed?”
Spock was ninety three percent certain that Visak was baiting him. He extended his hand, “Bread. Yes, please,” he said.
Visak blinked for a moment, then handed over a piece. Spock resolutely ignored the thought of what his father would say should he catch him behaving in such an uncouth manner.
“So, why did the High Command choose you for this mission?” Visak persisted.
“I have had close contact with one of the aliens from the Blue Planet,” said Spock. “Such communication provided the opportunity to learn both the rudiments of culture and language necessary for blending in amongst the natives.”
“They are Vulcanoid?”
“Not entirely,” Spock admitted. “Their physiology more closely resembles the inhabitants of Betazed.”
“Telepathy?” asked Visak. He bit a chunk of pia-savas, and offered the bowl to Spock with an absent flick of his wrist. This time, Spock declined.
“Negligible,” said Spock.
“How intriguing,” said Visak. “Are they a peaceful species?”
“I was under the impression that your area of interest revolved around meteorology,” Spock said pointedly.
Visak shrugged, “I am merely curious. Do you so dislike conversation?”
“I dislike superfluous conversation,” Spock said, a little sharply.
Visak looked down his nose at him, “Very well,” he said. He stood, and turned to leave the room. “It appears you also dislike common courtesy,” he observed over his shoulder as he left.
Spock watched the door slide shut. He turned back to his verbs.
Visak returned two point five six hours later. He nodded to Spock, and then retired to his bunk. By that time, Spock had progressed from his language studies to reviewing scans of the Blue Planet itself. He paged through the figures on the screen of his PADD. Six continents and six thousand and five hundred estimated languages for a population of approximately five billion. According to his mother, the differing cultures of Terra numbered nearly as many - and each culture had, of course, seen its share of bloodshed. Even with his eidetic memory, he felt as though he could never prepare enough for this mission.
“Mother, why do you speak so little of your home planet?”
“Oh, Spock.” Amanda rose from her knees, and brushed off the soil from her robe. She led her small son out of the rows of neatly watered plants, and gestured that he should sit beside her next to the walls of their home. She leaned back against the cool stone. Spock copied her movement with a careful eye.
“Why, Mother?” he prompted again, when it became clear that Amanda was reluctant to speak.
She sighed. “My home planet is a vibrant place,” she said. “Our art is pleasing to the eye, our foods pleasing to the palate, and our music . . .” she drifted off.
“Pleasing to the ear?” guessed Spock.
“Well, I suppose,” Amanda said. “But more than that it’s, hmmm, the epitome of our state of being.” She paused. “A portrait of our emotionalism.”
“Surak said that one must master one’s emotion, lest they become master over you,” Spock said, with all the righteousness of a six year old. He was also unsure how one might draw or paint emotions with sound, but chalked that up to his mother’s inherently illogical speech patterns.
“Surak was not from Earth,” Amanda replied.
“Perhaps when I am grown I will bring Surak’s teachings to Earth,” said Spock. “Then Terrans can learn about mastery of emotion, and you will be able to visit.” He leaned against his mother’s side.
Amanda snickered, and ran her hand through Spock’s hair. “Some humans do practice mastering emotions,” she said.
“Do they meditate?” Spock demanded. “Father says that I must meditate if I am to succeed in . . . mastery.”
“Yes,” said Amanda. “They do meditate.”
“Then I do not understand,” said Spock. “Why aren’t your people like us?”
Amanda gave a crooked smile. “Do all Vulcans have superior control of logic?”
“Father does,” said Spock.
Amanda rolled her eyes. “Everyone is different,” she said. “It is the same on Earth - even more so. We’re very-” she pursed her lips. “Fractured,” she said finally. “Humans rarely unify under one belief, let alone a whole philosophy.”
“Even science?” Spock asked. Surely everyone had to agree on what could be proven through the scientific method.
“Even science,” his mother affirmed, not wanting to destroy her son’s illusions that Vulcan scientists never disagreed on anything.
Spock looked scandalized. “Earth sounds like a very peculiar place,” he managed.
“Yes,” Amanda agreed. “Peculiar, and conflicted.” She looked towards the southern mountain range, the sun’s rays casting long shadows over the dusty red rocks. “But beautiful,” she added, as she stood. “Very beautiful.”
“Visak,” Spock said.
“Yes?” Visak looked over at Spock, his brown eyes wide in inquiry.
“To the native sentient species of the Sol system, Sol V is known as Jupiter,” Spock said. “In one of their earliest civilizations, Jupiter was the name of their highest deity.”
Visak blinked at him.
“In an earlier incarnation, the same deity was known as Zeus,” said Spock. “He controlled lightning bolts as weaponry. According to the mythology.”
Visak continued to stare.
“I,” said Spock. “My earlier behavior was rude.” He swallowed. “I would ask your forgiveness for the transgression.”
“There is no offense where none is taken,” Visak said after a moment of continuing to look baffled.
“I am gratified,” said Spock.
The silence in their shared quarters was suitably awkward for the remainder of the evening.
“We are expected to remain in the Sol system for at least ninety days,” said Captain T’Lan. She wore a modified version of a traditional Vulcan military uniform, common among Vulcan’s peacekeeping armada. A long black tunic reached down to mid-thigh, gathered at the waist. Gold lettering embroidered down the wide black cloth of her left arm marked her rank and ship, and on her right was the emblem of her House. Her brown flared trousers whispered as she moved in front of Spock. Her dark hair was tightly braided. “Does that accommodate the High Command’s mission?”
Spock, hands clasped behind his back, inclined his head. “Indeed,” he said. “The time should be sufficient.” He felt somewhat out of place, clad in a simple pair of white trousers and a common traveler’s robe.
“The High Command has been somewhat tight lipped regarding the parameters of your mission,” T’Lan said. “Are you permitted to speak of them?”
“For what purpose?”
T’Lan studied the view screen for a moment, her gaze dragging down the expanse of the water covered planet. She looked back up at Spock. “While I am aware that the natives of Sol III do not possess warp capability, that does not mean they do not possess intelligence,” she said. “There is increased safety in increased knowledge, and I am aware that the history of the natives is violent and their politics unstable. If your extraction becomes necessary, I would prefer not to risk my crew on such a venture.”
“Such an extraction will not be necessary,” said Spock. “I understand the risks of this mission.”
“And if you are discovered?”
“Then I am discovered,” said Spock. “I trust the transponder implanted in my arm will permit you to locate me without difficulty?”
“Unless it is removed,” countered T’Lan. She walked over to one of the science stations, and entered a code. A graph and series of numbers popped up on the screen. “The natives have mastered the use of extremely low frequency wavelengths for communication, have they not?”
“Indeed,” said Spock, suspecting he knew where this was going.
“If your transponder is removed, we will be monitoring this frequency when we return to planetary orbit,” she said, indicating the screen. “If your situation calls for it, we will ideally be able to intercept any message you send.”
“Logical,” Spock approved.
“Indeed,” said T’Lan. “I would prefer not to leave you marooned on this planet. It does not seem to me a pleasant place.”
“I would not know,” said Spock.
“Your beam down is scheduled in thirty-five minutes,” said T’Lan. “I assume you have already prepared your effects?”
“Yes,” said Spock. “The Vulcan Science Academy was able to procure a small bag and provisions similar to those found on Sol III. The mission proceeding as planned, I will be able to blend in with the local populace without much difficulty.”
“It has been my experience,” said T’Lan, “that first contact missions rarely proceed as planned. Even the preliminary ones.”
“I am prepared for that possibility,” said Spock. He did not disabuse her of the notion that this was a first contact mission. His orders were not to engage in first contact with the inhabitants of Sol III.
They were to find out who - if anyone - had already done so.
Spock returned to the Transporter room thirty-five minutes later.
“I trust your beam-down will be discreet.”
Spock nodded. “Indeed. The coordinates I have given you are for a remote, desert locality. From there I will make my way to civilization.”
“Very well,” said T’Lan. She held her hand up, fingers splayed in the ta’al. “Live long and prosper, Spock.”
“Peace and long life,” Spock returned. He stepped up to the beaming platform, bag in hand, this time clad in a loose fitting shirt and trousers made to his mother’s specifications.
“Energize,” said T’Lan.
Spock’s form vanished.
Previous Next
2241, Vulcan
Spock was different.
At the behest of his father, Spock had memorized the tenets of Surak before his seventh birthday. He recalled the first moment he had recited them to complete satisfaction, cthia, under Sarek’s watchful eye. Standing in the doorway of his father’s study, he could remember with crystal clarity the cold, polished sandstone under his bare feet, and the soft fabric of his heavy, formal robes weighing down his slim shoulders.
He could remember the slight hesitation, the vague guilt squashed somewhere in his belly, when he spoke the fifth tenet.
A single untruth will birth many tangled offspring, each one more deformed than the last. The Vulcan who follows Cthia will therefore never lie, even should the consequence be his own destruction.
Spock was not the only hybrid on Vulcan. He was not even the first. Since the cessation of hostilities with the Romulans nearly twenty years ago, Vulcan-Romulan hybrids had become, if not commonplace, at least not pariah. Of course, Vulcans and Romulans shared a common ancestry. Truthfully, they could breed without any external assistance.
There were nine hundred and sixty-four Vulcan-Romulan hybrids.
Even so. There were other hybrids. There were six Vulcan-Klingon hybrids. There were two hundred and seven Vulcan-Betazoid hybrids.
If the public records were to be believed, there were two hundred and eight Vulcan-Betazoid hybrids.
Spock knew better.
“It is fortunate that, despite the none-discriminatory practice of empathy among the Betazoid people, you have shown little inclination towards it.”
Spock turned away from his perusal of Vulcan’s Forge, visible out the main window of the library of his learning institution.
“It is fortunate that, despite Vulcans’ historic precedence towards illogic and violence, you are remarkably capable of withholding from such self-debasement, Sokar,” said Spock.
Sokar bristled, then attempted to smooth his expression over so that it did not look as though he had been bristling. He was only marginally successful.
“I have always expressed curiosity regarding the mind of a mixed-breed,” said Sokar. He leaned in closer to Spock, who tried not to flinch. Sokar was three years older than Spock, taller and broader.
“You will have to continue in your curiosity,” said Spock, stiffly. “My mind is my own.”
“You are unbound,” said Sokar, stepping forward. Spock sidestepped him a little, his back still to the wall.
“You are not,” Spock bit out. “Desist. I have no desire to catch pa’nar syndrome from a mind used to indiscriminate melding.”
Sokar’s eyes widened in affront. “You dare,” he started, catching Spock’s wrist.
“Release me!” Spock said, trying to quell his panic. He could feel Sokar’s consciousness push up against his own through the contact between their skin. He focused on his mental shields.
Sokar’s face was blank but his eyes were mocking. “You seem to be somewhat emotionally compromised, Spock.”
“I am not.” Spock’s back hit the wall.
“What will you do, Spock?” Sokar asked. “It is illogical to deny me this. I am taller than you, and stronger. I have accomplished the twelfth level in suss-mahn, and you are still at the eighth. You do not belong here, Spock.” Nearly chest-to-chest, he let go of Spock’s wrist, his hand reaching again toward Spock’s temple. “Your half-breed disadvantage makes that abundantly clear- ”
Spock formed his freed hand into a fist and without pausing to think, uppercut it straight into Sokar’s jaw.
“Aurgh!” Sokar grunted as he stumbled back, hand clutching at his chin. His eyes flashed.
Spock stood stock still, not quite able to believe what he had just done. He stared at his fist as though it belonged to someone else. Sokar’s cheeks flushed green with fury. He straightened, settling into one of the more aggressive suss-mahn stances.
Spock bolted.
His schoolbag flapped against his side as he ran, his uniform robes cumbersome as he attempted to lengthen his stride. He did not look back to see if Sokar was following him. Either the older boy had lost all sense of logic and was pursuing him with murderous intent, or he had somehow retained the presence of mind to appeal to an authority figure; clearly Spock had lost control, to resort to such violence.
Either way, Spock knew that the resulting chaos would not be in his favor.
He raced down the main corridor, streaming towards the exit. He was sufficiently athletic, but his breath came in pants nonetheless, fear tightening his lungs. He gasped as he skidded to a stop in front of one of the side-doors.
Spock’s educational institution was among the best in Shi’kahr. Part of its reputation came from the somewhat unorthodox approach of allowing its students to perform research projects in the Vulcan Forge itself. In this vain, the institution was situated at the very edge of the vast desert. The front of the main building faced the city. The back opened westward, to the edges of the Forge. Spock had, nearly unwittingly, fled towards the back. He looked around wildly, his keen ears picking up the faint sound of pursuit. Spock made a split second decision, thought longingly of his own room, the quiet of meditation and his mother’s comforting scent, then wrenched open the sliding door and took off into the desert.
Three point two nine hours later, Spock was beginning to regret his decision. Heat blazed across the surface of the bare rock. The sun was setting, and his shadow grew longer and longer as he walked with aimless purpose.
His original plan had been to circle around towards the main road leading back to Shi’kahr, and from there, access public transportation. However, illogical fear of discovery, of some sort of punishment for his transgression, kept him moving on a path that he hoped was parallel to the main road from the institution.
By the time he had calmed down enough to think clearly however, the road had turned. Picking his way through a crevasse, Spock was struck with uncertainty. Which way should he go?
The Forge was a vast desert, ringed with mountains. Spock knew that millions of years ago, it had been an extremely seismically active rift valley, splitting apart three ways. Eventually, two of the separating sections had taken precedence over the third, and the Forge’s local seismic activity had become considerably lowered, in favor of the southern orogeny. He knew that the mountains to the south were igneous in nature, formed by the volcanism caused by the newly emerging, divergent plate boundary. The mountains to the north were much older, curved from a tectonic collision that had occurred millions of years before the rift valley even began, when what was now the Forge had been a shallow sea.
Spock’s mother kept a garden in the back courtyard of the villa. When Spock had been a much younger child, he used to assist her in caring for the small patches of plomeek, and the desert flowers. He listened to her speak about the water-rich gardens of her homeworld, and wished that he might one day see an orchid, or a lily. On one occasion, he uncovered a small fossil of a mollusk while digging up the stubborn weeds drawn by his mother’s tender care, and she had explained to him that before the land rose and the sun rebelled, there had been a sea.
In the fading light, Spock could see that the mountains and hillocks to his left were far smoother, their lines sculpted by wind, their layers more visible. The mountains to his right were darker, with rough boulders and chaotic speckles of lighter and darker minerals. The rock around him was clearly igneous as well.
Spock headed left. Logically, the emerging volcanoes would have eliminated visible traces of fossilized life. Therefore, if he had found a fossil near his home, then he must head north.
Unfortunately, when it came to understanding the complexities of dynamic planetary strata, Spock’s logic was not as sound as it could have been.
His first full night in the Forge, Spock wedged himself into an accommodating overhang, his ears pricked for any sound of a le-matya hungry for a midnight snack.
His second night in the Forge, he attempted to meditate on the events that had brought him there. He was shocked out of his meditation by the sound of claws scrabbling against the rock above him. Adrenaline engulfing his system, he gripped a sharp stone and prepared to fight off the expected predator.
The intruder however, turned out to be only a small rodent.
On the fifth day, beginning to feel the lack of water, Spock considered that he might have made an error in direction. He turned around, and headed south.
When the tenth day arrived, Spock was reminded forcefully of his kas-wahn. Despite the unusual circumstances surrounding his coming of age four years ago - notably that he had undergone the ritual before his seventh birthday - when his kas-wahn was completed, it was complete. His father had expressed relief (“the cause is sufficient, Spock”) and his mother, joy (“I don’t know what on earth you were thinking, but I’m just glad you’re back safe”) upon his return.
This time, Spock was not entirely certain that he would, in fact, be returning.
On the twelfth day of his ordeal, Spock sat among the debris from a rock fall, his back against one particularly sun-warmed boulder. His throat felt parched, and he lacked the energy to do anything more than sit. Even meditation felt beyond him now. He wondered if his family was concerned for him. His mother, certainly, but she was not Vulcan and so such emotionalism was to be expected. But what of his father? What of his brother?
Would they grieve his death?
“Surely your House would greatly mourn the demise of such a fine, young son,” said a voice near his elbow.
Spock started, cracking open his eyes. “What?” he managed to croak. He belatedly took in the form of an ancient Vulcan, clad in little more than ragged robes, leaning upon a staff. Spock blinked again. Trees, and the wood they produced, were relatively rare and precious. How peculiar.
“I apologize,” said the elder. “Am I interrupting your kas-wahn?”
Spock shook his head. Really, he was not that small. His height was within two standard deviations for his age group. Barely. “No,” he said. “And there is . . .”
“. . . No offense where none is taken,” finished the elder for him. “I see. Your House must be a part of the Syrranite movement. Only the children of Syrranites quote Surak with such zealotry. Interesting.”
Spock wondered if the stranger was, in fact, a member of a rival faction out for his blood.
The wrinkled face took on an almost amused cast. “Do not worry so, child. I follow Surak’s precepts as best I may. You are in no danger here.”
“I was not,” Spock tried, maneuvering his legs to support his weight.
“Yes, yes,” said the elder. He grabbed for Spock’s elbow and helped him stand, careful not to touch skin. “Come to my oasis,” he said. “It is not far.”
The elder’s name, it turned out, was Vorek. “A third son,” he told Spock, watching the younger Vulcan take greedy sips of water. “A third son, such as myself, had little prospect in the grand schemes of my family. Therefore, why should I not dedicate my time and energy to meditation, and to the deeper understanding of our world?”
Spock frowned. “I do not understand the appeal,” he maintained. In truth, his mind was only partially engaged by the conversation. The rest of him was busy appreciating the shade of a few thin trees, and the grasses fed by the small spring that formed Vorek’s oasis.
Vorek’s eyes took on a far away cast. “Perhaps it would serve you to experience such a life, before placing judgment upon it. No, no,” he said, as Spock looked down at his feet, “I did not mean to rebuke you.”
“I must return home,” Spock said. “My mother will be . . . she will be concerned for my well-being.”
“Very well,” said Vorek. “On foot, Shi’kahr is a four day journey that way.” He pointed. “I would advise you not to get lost again.”
Spock gripped the sides of his, now very matted and dirty, school robes. “Do you have a communicator? That would greatly simplify the matter.”
“I do not,” Vorek said.
Spock licked his lips, “Then, would you perhaps be willing to, to guide me? On my journey?”
Vorek looked at him. “I would be willing,” he said after a long, steady stare. “I would much prefer it if you did not die in the Forge.”
“I- I am gratified,” Spock spoke quickly. “If there is anything, any sort of recompense . . . ?”
“We will leave tomorrow,” said Vorek.
“Ah,” said Spock. “Why?”
Vorek patted the rock at his side. “Sit here beside me, child,” he said. “It would not do for you to emerge from the desert still so conflicted. Meditate with me. Perhaps I, and this place, can ease your suffering.”
At a loss for what else to do, Spock sat. Unless he wished to head back into the desert alone, clearly he was going nowhere. “I am not suffering,” he said.
“Indeed,” said Vorek. “Then why are you here?”
“It was necessary to escape one of my peers,” said Spock, shoulders stiff. He fisted handfuls of his robe until his knuckles turned white. “He implied he wished to perform a mind meld without my consent.”
Vorek raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”
At this point, Spock could not have stopped speaking even if he tried. “He expressed curiosity in the mind of a,” he made himself spit out the term, “a halfbreed,” he said. “I,” he bit his lip, “I struck him. And I fled. I did not intend to end up out here,” he said petulantly, gesturing to his surroundings.
“You were frightened,” said Vorek.
“Fear must be cast out,” Spock said, the words coming automatically to his tongue. “It is an emotional response.”
“Nevertheless,” said Vorek. He shifted, crossing his legs. “If I may ask a personal query?”
Spock hesitated, then nodded.
“Which one of your parents is Vulcan?”
“My father,” said Spock.
“And your mother?”
“According to public record, my mother hails from Betazed,” said Spock.
Vorek blinked.
“The record is false,” said Spock, reckless now with thirst and fear. “My mother is nearly completely psi null. She hails from a planet in the Sol system, sixteen light years from here. My father calls it the ‘Blue Planet.’”
“Fascinating,” said Vorek. “Do I understand correctly that your mother’s people are not yet warp capable?”
“Yes,” Spock muttered, inexplicably ashamed.
“How curious,” said Vorek. “Later, you must tell me the circumstances under which your parents met.”
“Later?” Spock echoed.
“Now however, we will meditate.” Vorek turned to Spock. “Today we will meditate on Vulcan. On the nature of this harsh planet we call home. This is your father’s homeland. For your boyhood, I sense this will suffice.” The corners of Vorek’s eyes crinkled. “But to achieve the peace within yourself that you are seeking, one day you must do the same for your mother’s home world. Only then, I suspect, will you be able to accept your dual nature.”
“That is impossible,” said Spock, envisioning all of the restrictions regarding contact with non-warp capable societies.
Vorek shook his head. “Few things are truly impossible,” he said. “Someday, you will go to the Blue Planet. Just as we Vulcans must return to our planet every seven years, so too will you be drawn to your mother’s home. It is inevitable. It is in your blood.”
Earth Year 2256
Shi’kahr Spaceport, Vulcan
“Mother, please desist. We are in public.”
“I know, I know.” Amanda let her hand slip from Spock’s wrist. “Still, I can’t help- I worry, you know?”
“Yes,” Spock said dryly. He exchanged glances with his father.
She leaned in closer. “Remember what I’ve told you. It’s been nearly thirty years since I was on Earth. Things have probably changed.”
“It is a certainty,” Spock said.
“I still think it’s foolish for the High Command to send you alone,” fretted Amanda.
Spock shook his head. “Mother, you know this is a brief investigative mission. Due to my - unique - heritage, I am clearly the most logical person to send. I speak two of the planet’s languages. I know the customs-”
“Barely,” snorted Amanda.
“I will be able to blend with the local populace more thoroughly than anyone else on this planet.”
Amanda gave him a pointed look.
“With the exception of yourself,” Spock amended.
“Right,” said Amanda, matching his earlier dry tone.
“Mother, my shuttle is scheduled to depart in twenty three point nine three minutes.”
“It is time, Amanda,” said Sarek. He stepped forward, his fingers in the ta’al. “Live long and prosper, my son.”
“And don’t get killed,” Sybok said. “It would be very disappointing.”
Sarek turned to his eldest with an expression that would have, on any other species, been termed exasperation. “It has not escaped my notice that your shuttle is also due soon,” he said pointedly. “Perhaps you might consider making your way to your gate.”
Sybok shrugged. “And miss Spock’s great departure?”
“Indeed,” Spock said, definitely not giving his brother a glare.
“I find the idea of your travelling to Romulus disquieting,” Sarek said to Sybok, putting everyone back on a topic they were most familiar with. “Do not let their emotionalism affect you.”
“And yet you do not find the idea of Spock’s travels to a primitive society - no offense, Amanda - as worrisome?” Sybok queried.
Amanda put her hands on her hips.
Sarek looked helplessly between his two sons, and his wife. “My concerns regarding Spock are different from my concerns regarding you,” he settled on.
“So what you really mean,” Sybok began.
“Enough,” said Sarek, raising his voice just the slightest bit. “Sybok, bid your brother farewell.”
“Very well.” Sybok leaned over to Spock. “I think I may have emotionally compromised him a bit,” he murmured into Spock’s ear.
Spock’s eyebrow twitched. “I do not understand the appeal of goading father,” he muttered back. “Honestly, Sybok. Logic is everything to him.”
Sybok stepped back. “Perhaps that is why I do it,” he said with an uncharacteristic note of sobriety. He touched his fingers to Spock’s meld points, a contrarily Vulcan gesture of affection. “Be well, brother.”
“And you,” Spock said, feeling the spark of Sybok’s consciousness behind the touch. He turned back to Sarek. “Peace and long life, Father.” He looked at Amanda. “Mother.” He bowed a little.
“Stay safe, Spock,” repeated his mother, as Spock turned to go. “You know I love you,” she added in her native language. Despite her use of a tongue few on Vulcan would be familiar with, Spock’s ears and the back of his neck flushed green.
“Yes,” he whispered, voice barely audible. He hoisted his small bag of personal possessions (his much larger suitcase had already been loaded onto the shuttle), and boarded.
The transport shuttle was small, but Spock did not mind. Its only purpose was to break atmosphere and dock with a much larger ship, the VSS Nirak, which was intended to ferry him to his destination. While Spock conducted his mission on the Blue Planet (“Earth,” his mother said. “We call it Earth. Or Terra, if that’s easier for you.”), the VSS Nirak would conduct routine surveys on the Sol system. He had heard that there was a particularly curious group of meteorologists, who were most intent to study a peculiarly large and, seemingly permanent storm on Sol V.
The shuttle took off with a rumble. Spock flipped open his communication device, and settled himself to practicing irregular English verbs.
The Nirak boasted a three hundred and six member crew, not counting Spock. Its science labs were not the best in the Vulcan fleet by far, but neither were they among the worse. The captain of the Nirak welcomed him, as well as the rest of the shuttle passengers, on board with a brusque ta’al, and a standard greeting.
Spock was assigned quarters with one of the meteorologists, a young male named Visak. Visak was from the southern continent. His skin and eyes were a deep brown, and it was clear to Spock that his emotional control was, if not tenuous, less apparent than Spock’s. He seemed rather to drift through life with a permanent sense of amusement. Often, it was directed at Spock himself.
Spock found it most unsettling.
“I have heard you attended the Vulcan Science Academy,” said Visak. He carried a piece of kraila in his hand, and a bowl of pia-savas. Spock looked curiously at the fruit, but was forced to avert his gaze as Visak began to eat with his bare hands.
“Is something wrong?” Visak asked, popping a piece of the red fruit into his mouth. He followed it with a bite of kraila.
“On the Blue Planet, kraila would be referred to as ‘bread,’” Spock said.
“Fascinating,” Visak deadpanned. He followed Spock’s gaze to the fruit in his hand, catching the disapproval in his eyes. “I will not apologize for my cultural norms,” he said. “The people of Shi’kahr may abhor eating with their hands, but my people believe in using the tools at our disposal.”
“I do not require it,” replied Spock. He turned back to his English verbs.
Visak sat next to him, still chewing the kraila. “What did you study at the Academy?”
“My main focuses were computer science and astrophysics.”
“Odd that the High Command would send a physicist to a pre-warp planet,” Visak remarked. He extended his hand. “Would you like some . . .” he wrinkled his nose, “bri-ed?”
Spock was ninety three percent certain that Visak was baiting him. He extended his hand, “Bread. Yes, please,” he said.
Visak blinked for a moment, then handed over a piece. Spock resolutely ignored the thought of what his father would say should he catch him behaving in such an uncouth manner.
“So, why did the High Command choose you for this mission?” Visak persisted.
“I have had close contact with one of the aliens from the Blue Planet,” said Spock. “Such communication provided the opportunity to learn both the rudiments of culture and language necessary for blending in amongst the natives.”
“They are Vulcanoid?”
“Not entirely,” Spock admitted. “Their physiology more closely resembles the inhabitants of Betazed.”
“Telepathy?” asked Visak. He bit a chunk of pia-savas, and offered the bowl to Spock with an absent flick of his wrist. This time, Spock declined.
“Negligible,” said Spock.
“How intriguing,” said Visak. “Are they a peaceful species?”
“I was under the impression that your area of interest revolved around meteorology,” Spock said pointedly.
Visak shrugged, “I am merely curious. Do you so dislike conversation?”
“I dislike superfluous conversation,” Spock said, a little sharply.
Visak looked down his nose at him, “Very well,” he said. He stood, and turned to leave the room. “It appears you also dislike common courtesy,” he observed over his shoulder as he left.
Spock watched the door slide shut. He turned back to his verbs.
Visak returned two point five six hours later. He nodded to Spock, and then retired to his bunk. By that time, Spock had progressed from his language studies to reviewing scans of the Blue Planet itself. He paged through the figures on the screen of his PADD. Six continents and six thousand and five hundred estimated languages for a population of approximately five billion. According to his mother, the differing cultures of Terra numbered nearly as many - and each culture had, of course, seen its share of bloodshed. Even with his eidetic memory, he felt as though he could never prepare enough for this mission.
“Mother, why do you speak so little of your home planet?”
“Oh, Spock.” Amanda rose from her knees, and brushed off the soil from her robe. She led her small son out of the rows of neatly watered plants, and gestured that he should sit beside her next to the walls of their home. She leaned back against the cool stone. Spock copied her movement with a careful eye.
“Why, Mother?” he prompted again, when it became clear that Amanda was reluctant to speak.
She sighed. “My home planet is a vibrant place,” she said. “Our art is pleasing to the eye, our foods pleasing to the palate, and our music . . .” she drifted off.
“Pleasing to the ear?” guessed Spock.
“Well, I suppose,” Amanda said. “But more than that it’s, hmmm, the epitome of our state of being.” She paused. “A portrait of our emotionalism.”
“Surak said that one must master one’s emotion, lest they become master over you,” Spock said, with all the righteousness of a six year old. He was also unsure how one might draw or paint emotions with sound, but chalked that up to his mother’s inherently illogical speech patterns.
“Surak was not from Earth,” Amanda replied.
“Perhaps when I am grown I will bring Surak’s teachings to Earth,” said Spock. “Then Terrans can learn about mastery of emotion, and you will be able to visit.” He leaned against his mother’s side.
Amanda snickered, and ran her hand through Spock’s hair. “Some humans do practice mastering emotions,” she said.
“Do they meditate?” Spock demanded. “Father says that I must meditate if I am to succeed in . . . mastery.”
“Yes,” said Amanda. “They do meditate.”
“Then I do not understand,” said Spock. “Why aren’t your people like us?”
Amanda gave a crooked smile. “Do all Vulcans have superior control of logic?”
“Father does,” said Spock.
Amanda rolled her eyes. “Everyone is different,” she said. “It is the same on Earth - even more so. We’re very-” she pursed her lips. “Fractured,” she said finally. “Humans rarely unify under one belief, let alone a whole philosophy.”
“Even science?” Spock asked. Surely everyone had to agree on what could be proven through the scientific method.
“Even science,” his mother affirmed, not wanting to destroy her son’s illusions that Vulcan scientists never disagreed on anything.
Spock looked scandalized. “Earth sounds like a very peculiar place,” he managed.
“Yes,” Amanda agreed. “Peculiar, and conflicted.” She looked towards the southern mountain range, the sun’s rays casting long shadows over the dusty red rocks. “But beautiful,” she added, as she stood. “Very beautiful.”
“Visak,” Spock said.
“Yes?” Visak looked over at Spock, his brown eyes wide in inquiry.
“To the native sentient species of the Sol system, Sol V is known as Jupiter,” Spock said. “In one of their earliest civilizations, Jupiter was the name of their highest deity.”
Visak blinked at him.
“In an earlier incarnation, the same deity was known as Zeus,” said Spock. “He controlled lightning bolts as weaponry. According to the mythology.”
Visak continued to stare.
“I,” said Spock. “My earlier behavior was rude.” He swallowed. “I would ask your forgiveness for the transgression.”
“There is no offense where none is taken,” Visak said after a moment of continuing to look baffled.
“I am gratified,” said Spock.
The silence in their shared quarters was suitably awkward for the remainder of the evening.
“We are expected to remain in the Sol system for at least ninety days,” said Captain T’Lan. She wore a modified version of a traditional Vulcan military uniform, common among Vulcan’s peacekeeping armada. A long black tunic reached down to mid-thigh, gathered at the waist. Gold lettering embroidered down the wide black cloth of her left arm marked her rank and ship, and on her right was the emblem of her House. Her brown flared trousers whispered as she moved in front of Spock. Her dark hair was tightly braided. “Does that accommodate the High Command’s mission?”
Spock, hands clasped behind his back, inclined his head. “Indeed,” he said. “The time should be sufficient.” He felt somewhat out of place, clad in a simple pair of white trousers and a common traveler’s robe.
“The High Command has been somewhat tight lipped regarding the parameters of your mission,” T’Lan said. “Are you permitted to speak of them?”
“For what purpose?”
T’Lan studied the view screen for a moment, her gaze dragging down the expanse of the water covered planet. She looked back up at Spock. “While I am aware that the natives of Sol III do not possess warp capability, that does not mean they do not possess intelligence,” she said. “There is increased safety in increased knowledge, and I am aware that the history of the natives is violent and their politics unstable. If your extraction becomes necessary, I would prefer not to risk my crew on such a venture.”
“Such an extraction will not be necessary,” said Spock. “I understand the risks of this mission.”
“And if you are discovered?”
“Then I am discovered,” said Spock. “I trust the transponder implanted in my arm will permit you to locate me without difficulty?”
“Unless it is removed,” countered T’Lan. She walked over to one of the science stations, and entered a code. A graph and series of numbers popped up on the screen. “The natives have mastered the use of extremely low frequency wavelengths for communication, have they not?”
“Indeed,” said Spock, suspecting he knew where this was going.
“If your transponder is removed, we will be monitoring this frequency when we return to planetary orbit,” she said, indicating the screen. “If your situation calls for it, we will ideally be able to intercept any message you send.”
“Logical,” Spock approved.
“Indeed,” said T’Lan. “I would prefer not to leave you marooned on this planet. It does not seem to me a pleasant place.”
“I would not know,” said Spock.
“Your beam down is scheduled in thirty-five minutes,” said T’Lan. “I assume you have already prepared your effects?”
“Yes,” said Spock. “The Vulcan Science Academy was able to procure a small bag and provisions similar to those found on Sol III. The mission proceeding as planned, I will be able to blend in with the local populace without much difficulty.”
“It has been my experience,” said T’Lan, “that first contact missions rarely proceed as planned. Even the preliminary ones.”
“I am prepared for that possibility,” said Spock. He did not disabuse her of the notion that this was a first contact mission. His orders were not to engage in first contact with the inhabitants of Sol III.
They were to find out who - if anyone - had already done so.
Spock returned to the Transporter room thirty-five minutes later.
“I trust your beam-down will be discreet.”
Spock nodded. “Indeed. The coordinates I have given you are for a remote, desert locality. From there I will make my way to civilization.”
“Very well,” said T’Lan. She held her hand up, fingers splayed in the ta’al. “Live long and prosper, Spock.”
“Peace and long life,” Spock returned. He stepped up to the beaming platform, bag in hand, this time clad in a loose fitting shirt and trousers made to his mother’s specifications.
“Energize,” said T’Lan.
Spock’s form vanished.
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