Celebrate the Earth and Sky (19/20)
Note: Just the epilogue left now. Almost to the end!
Let Your Spirit Fly VII
The United Earth Council took four months to cobble together. In that time, Sarek made more hasty decisions than he was really comfortable recalling. He also wore through the elbows on two sets of robes, and had to have another set discreetly let out, as he had discovered a proclivity for human sweets.
Spock recovered, and then spent the majority of his time doing Sarek’s bidding. Any time left, he used to visit Sybok, who still had not awoken. He might have suspected Sarek of orchestrating events in order to prevent Spock from returning to his companions on Earth, if not for the fact that Sarek was far too busy to be orchestrating anything but his next meeting.
Most of Spock’s time was taken up with research. He soon became the foremost Vulcan expert on human history, devouring text after text. He studied the ancient days, the Roman and Mongolian Empires, and the Medieval Ages. He pored over the famous artists of the Renaissance, and launched into the Industrial Revolution and then the Technological Revolution, with gusto. He became familiar with the names of famous geneticists, and the conquerors who orchestrated World War III. Working as a goodwill ambassador for his father, the actual ambassador, Spock visited the various regions on Earth. He met with barely functioning bureaucracies and organized representatives. Twice he was forced to flee communities on lockdown, and once he got caught in a demonstration that turned to a riot.
“No, Ambassador, Vulcan cannot enter into any trade agreements until relations between our planets are recognized and official.”
“Yes, Council, my people do believe in the use of logic over emotion. That does not, however, make us immune to the understanding of it.”
“I apologize, but I cannot return your president to you-he is an Orion and a criminal, and he will stand trial on Betazed for violating at least six interplanetary treaties.”
“My physiology is similar to yours in its basic constituents. Its placement is somewhat different. Forgive me, Governor, but I do not see how this is relevant to the cessation of tribal warfare.”
“You are of course within your rights to dispute our presence on your planet. Your opinion will be allowed full reign at the upcoming Council.”
“Yes, you are invited.”
“No, this is not a plot to usurp your authority. That would be most illogical.”
And so on.
By the day of Earth’s first council as a freed planet, he believed himself to have a good understanding of human history and human culture. Humans themselves however, he was beginning to suspect that he would never understand.
For Jim had not attempted to contact him.
The first United Earth Council took place in a large amphitheater built on an island in the middle of the Pacific Ocean. For security’s sake, the location remained a secret until after the meeting itself. One thousand, five hundred and seventeen delegates, each representing a region, a country, or a tribe, were flown to the island by Vulcan security forces. The Resistance too, was in attendance, and although Spock caught glimpses of Pike, Uhura, and Sulu, he did not see Jim.
Spock had personally seen to the seating arrangements in the amphitheater. It had taken no less than a full week of comparing notes with his father’s other underlings, and feeding list upon list of national enmities into various algorithms. He could now fully appreciate the efforts Surak must have gone through to make sure his own constituents did not kill each other at first sight. The entire process had been not only trying, it had been downright frustrating.
Perhaps force-fields would not have been out of place after all, he mused, as he found himself eyeing all the delegates from the Balkan regions, and making sure that they were staying precisely equidistant from one another, where he had put them.
He wondered too if, even despite his vast efforts to the contrary, representatives might still attempt to assassinate one another-no matter if they were seated together or not. Spock shifted a little, and glared down at a week’s worth of work on his data pad. At this rate, he might as well have settled for alphabetical order, and saved himself the trouble
Eventually, after much chaos and two interventions by security, the human delegates were all settled.
Sarek stepped up to the podium. Spock, who was seated with the Vulcan delegation a little ways below, watched as he prepared to speak. Although worry was not, perhaps, strictly a logical activity to partake in, Spock could not help but do so. What if Sarek’s speech was not met with human approval? Or, possibly worse, what if some humans approved, and others did not? That could very well set up a plausible basis for yet another war. Spock tried not to grind his teeth, and felt as though his own tension must be palatable to the other Vulcans around him. The knowledge did nothing to alleviate it.
Finally, Sarek began to speak.
“Greetings,” he started, standing tall at the podium, though looking a bit askance at the microphone he had been presented with. His brown robes, embroidered with the purple and red of Spock’s clan, swayed in the tropical breeze. Sarek’s mouth was stern. “As I have been informed that it is a custom on Earth when giving a speech, I would first bid you welcome, and extend my gratitude to you for joining me at this Council. I am Sarek of Vulcan.”
The humans in the audience stared at him intently. Spock could not help but wonder if they were intent upon his words, or if they were more focused on his alien appearance. A few whispered amongst themselves. One or two jotted down some notes. Spock clenched his hands together until the knuckles showed white.
“As you are no doubt aware,” Sarek continued, “It is our intent that the proceedings of this Council are seen by all the citizens of your planet.” He looked around. “We do not condone subterfuge.”
More muttering. Spock willed his father to hurry up with the speech and let the humans argue amongst themselves.
“My planet is a peaceful one,” Sarek said. “We honor the path of logic. Our highest interest is the pursuit of logic, and of peace.” He cleared his throat. “Therefore, before I speak further, let me assure you, and all humans: we have no designs on your planet. We have no designs on your people, nor on your resources. If not for the Orion Syndicate, our own laws would have prevented us from making contact with your species.”
Silence greeted this pronouncement.
“However, in ridding your planet of the Syndicate’s influence, we understand that we have also rid your people of stability. It is our responsibility therefore, to assist your planet in achieving not only stability, but also prosperity, once more.”
Sarek paused for a moment, looking out at the crowd. His gaze flicked over to the Resistance and then over to the Vulcan Delegation, to Spock. His voice grew stronger. “I understand that, given your planet’s last treatment by an alien race, it is difficult for you to trust Vulcan. However, I swear to you that, to the best of our ability, we will assist only inasmuch as your species desires.”
Another break. The humans shifted and breathed and spoke to one another in what might have passed for subtle whispers, and looked to Sarek, to the Vulcans, to each other, and waited. They waited. Spock willed himself to calm, to listen to this speech as if it were any other Sarek might give, as if he and his father had not carefully selected each word, each turn of phrase. As if they had not double, triple checked what might offend whom, and what might cause fractures that even the might of Vulcan could not fix.
“This brings me to you, the audience to whom I speak now.” Sarek pursed his lips, as if preparing to choose his words carefully, though Spock knew that surely he had memorized the speech almost as soon as it had been finalized.
“The people you represent today have selected you as their leaders. Before this Council is adjourned therefore, I implore you to speak to one another. Divide up your regions and people the way you see fit, or do not. This place, this time, is here for you to determine a method of maintaining a peaceful planet, with strong leaders and content citizens.
“Vulcan will send our resources to aid your recovery, and our ships to guard your planet against those who would mean you ill. And when your people discover true spaceflight, our High Command is open to an alliance of equals.”
Sarek hesitated. “Though we will aid you,” he said, “We cannot dictate your future. Humans must forge their own path, and that of their planet.” He held up his hand in the ta’al. “Live long, people of Earth,” he said. “And prosper.”
The sea of humans was silent. Nobody moved a muscle. Spock scanned the crowd, preparing to order an immediate return to the ship, should the humans prove violent.
And then slowly, very slowly, a woman stood, tall and unbending. She wore a dress of black cotton and her hair was grey, coiled into a bun at the back of her head. She stared hard at Sarek. And then her face broke into a smile, and she began to clap. Others stood as well, rising like a tidal wave until it seemed as if all the people there were moving and clapping and cheering and whistling. The noise was staggering.
Freed from the scrutiny of the cameras by the shielding of the bodies around him, Spock allowed himself to collapse back into his chair, weak from relief. There was much work to be done of course; the Council was scheduled to continue for several weeks. There were treaties to be made and laws to be rewritten, or cast out entirely. Truth be told, Spock had it on excellent authority that seventy eight point three percent of the planet was functioning largely out of bureaucratic inertia (though he had already heard of two attempted military coups) and that the remaining percent had essentially dissolved into anarchy, which of course would need to be addressed.
To add to the collective headache of Sarek and his ambassadorial staff, there were still large factions of humans who did not trust Vulcan’s promise, certain that they were being taken advantage of, or unwilling to permit alien presence on their soil. Naturally, and to Sarek’s eternal despair, the media had not been of much assistance in this matter-apparently preferring to fan the flames of chaos, rather than attempting to calm the collective masses.
And of course, there was also the question of the sect that believed, with utmost sincerity, that the “Vulcan presence” was nothing more than an intricate conspiracy on the part of their own government. Or possibly a rival government. The identity of the alleged conspirators was often unclear.
In all honesty, Spock had half a mind to just leave that particular group to their delusions.
These issues would need to be resolved-amongst all of the other tasks inevitably required when one attempted to rebuild the entire governing structure of a planet from scratch-but Spock had not quite worked himself up to worrying about them. This first step at least, had been taken, and it had been well received.
It was satisfactory.
“Spock?” came a hesitant voice from behind him.
Spock froze. He rotated around to eye the speaker, and then felt very glad that he was already sitting down.
“Jim?” he whispered, disbelieving.
Jim smiled, though it was a bit shaky. “Hey,” he said. He indicated the mass of human bodies. “Quite the party you’ve got going on here.”
Spock rose as if in a dream. He took one step forward into the aisle. Two, and he was next to the wall. “Jim?” he repeated. “You are-you are well?” he reached out, and Jim’s hand met him halfway. Their fingers twined as if of their own volition, Jim’s calluses rough against the relative softness of Spock’s palm.
“I’m well,” Jim confirmed, voice oddly scratchy.
Spock reached out with his second hand, as if to touch Jim’s face, then lowered it back to his side. “You are well,” he repeated. “I feared, perhaps, since you did not contact me-”
“No!” Jim said. He lowered his voice as they caught the attention of the delegates from the Cayman Islands, who gave them the stink-eye. “I just. I’m sorry. I just didn’t think you wanted to be bothered. I thought . . .” he paused, looking around. “Can we go somewhere else?”
Spock cast a glance over to Sarek. He was busy speaking with several delegates at once, all the while deftly avoiding the dreaded handshake. Spock had a terrible premonition regarding his own future, and promptly made a decision to never, ever go into politics.
“Very well,” he said.
They left the main amphitheater, pacing their way side by side down a path to a small stone building, brushing by palm fronds and bright red hibiscus as they walked. The building they reached was squat with whitewashed stones, its bamboo shutters open to the ocean breezes. It resembled those put aside for the delegates, to ensure their comfort during the Council.
“The Resistance’s been put here,” said Jim, pushing open a cheerfully painted wooden door. “Even Gaila. Did you hear she’s been given refugee status?”
“Which country?” Spock said, although in all honesty he could not care less.
“United East Africa. I think Uhura pulled some strings.”
“She has been fortunate.” Spock stepped inside, and felt Jim move in behind him and close the door. He turned. “Jim,” he started, and then shut his mouth as he suddenly found himself crowded up against the door, Jim’s eyes on him, heavy and intent. He exhaled, feeling his body relax as though boneless.
Jim stared at him for a moment, then leaned his forehead in to rest against Spock’s chest. Almost on instinct, Spock’s hand rose to stroke his hair.
At the touch, Jim shook.
“Oh god,” he said, voice breaking. “Oh god. I’m sorry, Spock. I don’t mean to be all fucked up like this, really, I don’t. I just-” he took a shuddering breath, and nuzzled his nose against Spock’s collarbone. Spock sucked in air.
“Jim,” Spock repeated, voice weaker than he would have preferred. He found his hands petting Jim’s head, smoothing down the dark blond hair, then trailing further, over the back of his neck, circling his rounded ears. “Jim.”
“I thought you were dead,” Jim whispered.
Spock stopped caressing him, smoothed his hair down one more time just to feel its texture, and then dropped his hands to his sides. “But surely you had word?” he said, starting to feel alarmed. Had this been why Jim had not contacted him? But he had thought that Uhura . . .
Jim bit his lip. “Well, yeah,” he said. “I had word.” He scowled at the term, glancing away at the floor. “I even saw you on, like, the news and stuff. But I didn’t-I didn't see you so-it didn’t feel, I don’t know. Real.” A beat. “Really, I thought,” his hands grasped Spock’s wrists and held them there, held him there against the door like he was afraid Spock would do like a mirage and vanish. “You got shot in the chest,” he said. “Your eyes were closed and I couldn’t-” he shuddered. “But I know you’re not,” he said. “I know. I’ve known.” He half sounded as if he were still unconvinced. “Fuck, I promised myself I wouldn’t act like such a pussy,” he said, breath huffing out in something that was not quite a laugh, not quite a sob. “I uh, missed you,” he said, more seriously. “A lot.” He looked down, as if he could not bear to meet Spock’s eyes at the admission.
Spock’s mouth felt dry. “I understand,” he said. At this, Jim looked up. His fingers on Spock’s wrists flexed and then loosened like a spasm.
“Then why didn’t you try to contact me?”
Spock gazed helplessly for a moment. What could he say? That he had been busy? That he had feared Jim no longer wanted to speak with him? To know him, body and mind both? That once they were no longer thrown together by happenstance, whatever they had would disintegrate like dust before the rains?
From somewhere, he found his voice.
“Why didn’t you try to contact me?”
Jim’s hands slid up until they rested on Spock’s shoulders. He tightened his grip and looked up. They eyed one another. Measuring. Seeking. Inquiring. Spock felt his breath coming quickly, as if he had just run a great distance. His heart pounded, and he could see nothing before him but Jim’s blue, blue, human eyes.
Surprisingly, it was again Jim, who looked away first.
“Because I was afraid,” he said to the floor.
“Afraid?”
Jim looked back at him, expression suddenly fierce. “Yes, Spock, afraid,” he snapped. “Vulcan had come. Your dad had swept you off onto that ship and I thought,” he shook his head, then fixed Spock with a defiant look, though Spock thought that he could see something else behind it. “I thought you might not want to come back.”
Spock stared at him, unsure what to say. It was fair, how had Jim known he would come back? There was nothing logical to draw him to Earth, except for, well, except for whatever it was that was between them. And if Spock himself had had doubts . . .
He swallowed. There were many replies he could give. Excuses. The truth. Yet here, and in the now, is seemed as though there was only one proper answer to Jim’s query.
Spock straightened his shoulders, in courage or in resignation he did not know, and leaned in. Jim’s eyes fluttered closed as Spock placed the lightest of human kisses upon his mouth. He pressed his forehead against Jim’s, and clutched at his hands.
“You will always draw me back,” he whispered. “It is not, perhaps, logical. But you are in my mind, and in my very soul. I will always return to you.”
Jim drew a shuddering breath. “Yeah,” he said, voice cracking. “You too.”
Spock kissed him again.
They stayed in the building for the remainder of the afternoon. Spock was certain that he would be missed, but found that he did not care as he and Jim learned each other slowly. He thought Jim’s body exotic, water rich, and sweet. His hair was softer than a Vulcan’s, his skin delicate and easily bruised.
The layers of Spock’s formal robes were delved into and then shrugged off until he stood, naked, the warm air from the open window caressing his form. He could not get enough as his fingers kissed Jim’s skin, twined through his hair, skittered geometric patterns and Vulcan script across the muscle of his shoulders. He pulled at Jim’s shirt and pawed at his pants, suddenly grateful for his understanding of the human zipper. A musky scent played about Jim’s body, and Spock reveled in it. He pushed Jim down onto the floor, onto his back, and Jim allowed it, yielding but not weak.
They gasped for breath at the most intimate of touches, at wanting. The cool wood beneath them warmed only slightly through their own heat. Spock wondered if this was what the burning, the Pon Farr, felt like, and then dismissed the thought. This fire burned too slow, too hesitant for that. Jim reached for Spock’s hands and Spock held them like an anchor as they moved, eyes closed, mouths gasping. Words were spoken; low and deep, their meaning was irrelevant, the feeling behind them not.
(Jim professed an almost shameful interest in Spock’s Vulcan strength, and Spock was more than willing to oblige him in this.)
In the end they lay twined together, satisfied, upon the floor. Jim’s sweat and other, more intimate substances, cooled onto Spock’s skin, and Spock found that he did not mind at all.
Eventually they rose, washed as best as they were able (Jim grimacing at a newly forming bruise at the juncture between his neck and his shoulder), and made their way back to the amphitheater. The council had been adjourned for the day, but there were still many people roaming about, snatching snacks from the silver trays of the passing waitstaff, talking and laughing. Jim drew Spock into a shaded corner, next to a grove of palm trees.
“Do you think your family will mind?”
Spock considered this. “My father wed a human,” he said, “and sired a son with her. I do not think that he is allowed to ‘mind.’ My brother . . .” he trailed off. Sybok had awoken at long last, despite the healers’ predictions. But there was a strangeness about him now that had not been there before. He seemed simultaneously pliable yet separate, as if reality was no longer relevant to the way his mind functioned. Spock did not know what to think of it. It made him uneasy.
Jim looked concerned for a moment, then shook his head. “No,” he said. “I don’t mean that. Just, that you’ll stay here with me, on Earth.”
“You could always come to Vulcan,” said Spock. Like my mother, went unsaid.
“No,” Jim said, smiling a little. “You know I can’t. Earth needs me here.” He brushed Spock’s cheek with his knuckle. “If I was the kind of guy who’d run away to Vulcan at a moment’s notice, I don’t think we’d even be having this conversation, anyway.”
Spock caught his hand, touched it in a Vulcan kiss, then lowered it. “No,” he agreed. “I understand.”
Jim looked up at the sky. So far from the major cities, and on a clear night, the stars winked down at them. “I did always want to travel in space though,” he said, voice a little regretful. “Too bad it’ll be years and years before we figure out how to do it like you guys.”
Spock suddenly looked a little shifty. Jim noticed.
“Spock?” he said.
“Nothing,” said Spock, voice very, very monotone.
“Spock,” Jim said, more sharply. “Come on, out with it.”
Spock held his mouth stubbornly closed for a moment, then relented when Jim elbowed him in the side. “My father was advised that a ‘goodwill gesture’ would not go amiss,” he said.
“Bet Uhura told him that,” Jim said, amused.
“He has not made the announcement,” Spock continued, ignoring him, “But after he and I had consulted for some time, we came upon one that might be, well. Suitable. The High Command was initially reluctant, but we have secured their agreement.”
Jim crossed his arms. “And?” he prompted, when Spock did not speak.
Spock’s expression turned serious. “The Orion Syndicate holds not only a reputation as the criminals of the galaxy. They are also very active in the slave trade.”
The lines on Jim’s forehead creased. “What do you mean?”
Spock gripped Jim’s shoulders and turned him to face him fully. “You spoke to me of children being taken,” he said, voice somber. Jim nodded. “But the prison camps of this planet have been evacuated and burned to the ground, the fields of hain-enela, er, removed, and still many are unaccounted for.”
“Then they must be dead,” Jim said, though his voice betrayed his uncertainty.
But Spock shook his head. “No,” he said. “Human slaves would be very valuable. They may be out there.” He gestured toward the sky.
“Like McCoy’s daughter,” Jim breathed.
“Our goodwill gesture,” said Spock firmly. “If they can be found, then we will find them.” He looked hesitant. “But we might require humans on the crew.”
Jim’s eyebrows shot up. “Oh?” he said, voice deceptively causal. “Would you?”
Spock gave him a sidelong glance. “You would not, perhaps, know where the Vulcan Fleet might locate some suitable recruits?”
Jim examined his fingernails. “Oh, I might,” he said carelessly. “Who wants to know?”
Spock was abruptly very close to him. “Me,” he said.
“Oh, well, in that case,” said Jim, smirking. “If it’s you.”
“Would you be willing?” Spock murmured into his ear. Jim shivered.
“You might have to convince me a little,” he said, then gasped as Spock kissed his neck, then breathed on it. “Hey, I thought PDA was a no-no in Vulcan culture.”
“We are not on Vulcan,” Spock pointed out.
“Your father can see us.”
Spock immediately drew away. He looked about, saw nothing but humans, none of whom were interested in their little corner, and focused back in on Jim. His eyes narrowed.
“Just kidding,” said Jim. He grinned. “Should have seen your face.”
Spock scowled at him. Jim prodded the corner of Spock’s mouth with his index finger.
“Careful,” he said. “I think Earth’s been a bad influence on you. You’ve got an expression on your face. Want me to see if I can wash it off?”
“Undoubtedly,” Spock returned dryly. He grudgingly allowed Jim to lean against him, and they lapsed into a comfortable quiet.
“I’d do it,” Jim said suddenly. “It’s something I’d be good at, something this planet needs, too.” He smiled, indicating the massive collection of delegates. “I don’t think I’d do too well in the political arena, anyway.”
Spock shifted to see his face. “Indeed?”
“As long as you come too,” Jim clarified.
“Of course,” Spock said. “I would not have suggested it otherwise.”
“Okay,” said Jim. He yawned. “Still though, that’s kind of cheating, since we’d be using your guys’ ships and stuff. It’s still going to be a while before we develop our own, and can get on any sort of equal footing.”
“Perhaps,” Spock said, looking again up at the stars, as Jim slipped his palm into Spock’s. He looked at their clasped hands, then back up at the sky. “Then again,” he said, “it seems as though many things are possible.” He stroked Jim’s fingers, and thought of a meeting on the edges of the Sol system so many years ago, and another in the desert, just as unlikely, and just as unpredictable. “I do not think humans will have very long to wait.”
“No?” Jim said. “Sarek seems to have got the idea that it’s going to take goddamn millennia.”
“No,” Spock replied, now thinking of an underground lab far to the north, hidden beneath a respectable shop. “You are a very resourceful species.” He reached over and drew Jim into a kiss. “And the stars have been waiting for you long enough.”
Previous Next
Let Your Spirit Fly VII
The United Earth Council took four months to cobble together. In that time, Sarek made more hasty decisions than he was really comfortable recalling. He also wore through the elbows on two sets of robes, and had to have another set discreetly let out, as he had discovered a proclivity for human sweets.
Spock recovered, and then spent the majority of his time doing Sarek’s bidding. Any time left, he used to visit Sybok, who still had not awoken. He might have suspected Sarek of orchestrating events in order to prevent Spock from returning to his companions on Earth, if not for the fact that Sarek was far too busy to be orchestrating anything but his next meeting.
Most of Spock’s time was taken up with research. He soon became the foremost Vulcan expert on human history, devouring text after text. He studied the ancient days, the Roman and Mongolian Empires, and the Medieval Ages. He pored over the famous artists of the Renaissance, and launched into the Industrial Revolution and then the Technological Revolution, with gusto. He became familiar with the names of famous geneticists, and the conquerors who orchestrated World War III. Working as a goodwill ambassador for his father, the actual ambassador, Spock visited the various regions on Earth. He met with barely functioning bureaucracies and organized representatives. Twice he was forced to flee communities on lockdown, and once he got caught in a demonstration that turned to a riot.
“No, Ambassador, Vulcan cannot enter into any trade agreements until relations between our planets are recognized and official.”
“Yes, Council, my people do believe in the use of logic over emotion. That does not, however, make us immune to the understanding of it.”
“I apologize, but I cannot return your president to you-he is an Orion and a criminal, and he will stand trial on Betazed for violating at least six interplanetary treaties.”
“My physiology is similar to yours in its basic constituents. Its placement is somewhat different. Forgive me, Governor, but I do not see how this is relevant to the cessation of tribal warfare.”
“You are of course within your rights to dispute our presence on your planet. Your opinion will be allowed full reign at the upcoming Council.”
“Yes, you are invited.”
“No, this is not a plot to usurp your authority. That would be most illogical.”
And so on.
By the day of Earth’s first council as a freed planet, he believed himself to have a good understanding of human history and human culture. Humans themselves however, he was beginning to suspect that he would never understand.
For Jim had not attempted to contact him.
The first United Earth Council took place in a large amphitheater built on an island in the middle of the Pacific Ocean. For security’s sake, the location remained a secret until after the meeting itself. One thousand, five hundred and seventeen delegates, each representing a region, a country, or a tribe, were flown to the island by Vulcan security forces. The Resistance too, was in attendance, and although Spock caught glimpses of Pike, Uhura, and Sulu, he did not see Jim.
Spock had personally seen to the seating arrangements in the amphitheater. It had taken no less than a full week of comparing notes with his father’s other underlings, and feeding list upon list of national enmities into various algorithms. He could now fully appreciate the efforts Surak must have gone through to make sure his own constituents did not kill each other at first sight. The entire process had been not only trying, it had been downright frustrating.
Perhaps force-fields would not have been out of place after all, he mused, as he found himself eyeing all the delegates from the Balkan regions, and making sure that they were staying precisely equidistant from one another, where he had put them.
He wondered too if, even despite his vast efforts to the contrary, representatives might still attempt to assassinate one another-no matter if they were seated together or not. Spock shifted a little, and glared down at a week’s worth of work on his data pad. At this rate, he might as well have settled for alphabetical order, and saved himself the trouble
Eventually, after much chaos and two interventions by security, the human delegates were all settled.
Sarek stepped up to the podium. Spock, who was seated with the Vulcan delegation a little ways below, watched as he prepared to speak. Although worry was not, perhaps, strictly a logical activity to partake in, Spock could not help but do so. What if Sarek’s speech was not met with human approval? Or, possibly worse, what if some humans approved, and others did not? That could very well set up a plausible basis for yet another war. Spock tried not to grind his teeth, and felt as though his own tension must be palatable to the other Vulcans around him. The knowledge did nothing to alleviate it.
Finally, Sarek began to speak.
“Greetings,” he started, standing tall at the podium, though looking a bit askance at the microphone he had been presented with. His brown robes, embroidered with the purple and red of Spock’s clan, swayed in the tropical breeze. Sarek’s mouth was stern. “As I have been informed that it is a custom on Earth when giving a speech, I would first bid you welcome, and extend my gratitude to you for joining me at this Council. I am Sarek of Vulcan.”
The humans in the audience stared at him intently. Spock could not help but wonder if they were intent upon his words, or if they were more focused on his alien appearance. A few whispered amongst themselves. One or two jotted down some notes. Spock clenched his hands together until the knuckles showed white.
“As you are no doubt aware,” Sarek continued, “It is our intent that the proceedings of this Council are seen by all the citizens of your planet.” He looked around. “We do not condone subterfuge.”
More muttering. Spock willed his father to hurry up with the speech and let the humans argue amongst themselves.
“My planet is a peaceful one,” Sarek said. “We honor the path of logic. Our highest interest is the pursuit of logic, and of peace.” He cleared his throat. “Therefore, before I speak further, let me assure you, and all humans: we have no designs on your planet. We have no designs on your people, nor on your resources. If not for the Orion Syndicate, our own laws would have prevented us from making contact with your species.”
Silence greeted this pronouncement.
“However, in ridding your planet of the Syndicate’s influence, we understand that we have also rid your people of stability. It is our responsibility therefore, to assist your planet in achieving not only stability, but also prosperity, once more.”
Sarek paused for a moment, looking out at the crowd. His gaze flicked over to the Resistance and then over to the Vulcan Delegation, to Spock. His voice grew stronger. “I understand that, given your planet’s last treatment by an alien race, it is difficult for you to trust Vulcan. However, I swear to you that, to the best of our ability, we will assist only inasmuch as your species desires.”
Another break. The humans shifted and breathed and spoke to one another in what might have passed for subtle whispers, and looked to Sarek, to the Vulcans, to each other, and waited. They waited. Spock willed himself to calm, to listen to this speech as if it were any other Sarek might give, as if he and his father had not carefully selected each word, each turn of phrase. As if they had not double, triple checked what might offend whom, and what might cause fractures that even the might of Vulcan could not fix.
“This brings me to you, the audience to whom I speak now.” Sarek pursed his lips, as if preparing to choose his words carefully, though Spock knew that surely he had memorized the speech almost as soon as it had been finalized.
“The people you represent today have selected you as their leaders. Before this Council is adjourned therefore, I implore you to speak to one another. Divide up your regions and people the way you see fit, or do not. This place, this time, is here for you to determine a method of maintaining a peaceful planet, with strong leaders and content citizens.
“Vulcan will send our resources to aid your recovery, and our ships to guard your planet against those who would mean you ill. And when your people discover true spaceflight, our High Command is open to an alliance of equals.”
Sarek hesitated. “Though we will aid you,” he said, “We cannot dictate your future. Humans must forge their own path, and that of their planet.” He held up his hand in the ta’al. “Live long, people of Earth,” he said. “And prosper.”
The sea of humans was silent. Nobody moved a muscle. Spock scanned the crowd, preparing to order an immediate return to the ship, should the humans prove violent.
And then slowly, very slowly, a woman stood, tall and unbending. She wore a dress of black cotton and her hair was grey, coiled into a bun at the back of her head. She stared hard at Sarek. And then her face broke into a smile, and she began to clap. Others stood as well, rising like a tidal wave until it seemed as if all the people there were moving and clapping and cheering and whistling. The noise was staggering.
Freed from the scrutiny of the cameras by the shielding of the bodies around him, Spock allowed himself to collapse back into his chair, weak from relief. There was much work to be done of course; the Council was scheduled to continue for several weeks. There were treaties to be made and laws to be rewritten, or cast out entirely. Truth be told, Spock had it on excellent authority that seventy eight point three percent of the planet was functioning largely out of bureaucratic inertia (though he had already heard of two attempted military coups) and that the remaining percent had essentially dissolved into anarchy, which of course would need to be addressed.
To add to the collective headache of Sarek and his ambassadorial staff, there were still large factions of humans who did not trust Vulcan’s promise, certain that they were being taken advantage of, or unwilling to permit alien presence on their soil. Naturally, and to Sarek’s eternal despair, the media had not been of much assistance in this matter-apparently preferring to fan the flames of chaos, rather than attempting to calm the collective masses.
And of course, there was also the question of the sect that believed, with utmost sincerity, that the “Vulcan presence” was nothing more than an intricate conspiracy on the part of their own government. Or possibly a rival government. The identity of the alleged conspirators was often unclear.
In all honesty, Spock had half a mind to just leave that particular group to their delusions.
These issues would need to be resolved-amongst all of the other tasks inevitably required when one attempted to rebuild the entire governing structure of a planet from scratch-but Spock had not quite worked himself up to worrying about them. This first step at least, had been taken, and it had been well received.
It was satisfactory.
“Spock?” came a hesitant voice from behind him.
Spock froze. He rotated around to eye the speaker, and then felt very glad that he was already sitting down.
“Jim?” he whispered, disbelieving.
Jim smiled, though it was a bit shaky. “Hey,” he said. He indicated the mass of human bodies. “Quite the party you’ve got going on here.”
Spock rose as if in a dream. He took one step forward into the aisle. Two, and he was next to the wall. “Jim?” he repeated. “You are-you are well?” he reached out, and Jim’s hand met him halfway. Their fingers twined as if of their own volition, Jim’s calluses rough against the relative softness of Spock’s palm.
“I’m well,” Jim confirmed, voice oddly scratchy.
Spock reached out with his second hand, as if to touch Jim’s face, then lowered it back to his side. “You are well,” he repeated. “I feared, perhaps, since you did not contact me-”
“No!” Jim said. He lowered his voice as they caught the attention of the delegates from the Cayman Islands, who gave them the stink-eye. “I just. I’m sorry. I just didn’t think you wanted to be bothered. I thought . . .” he paused, looking around. “Can we go somewhere else?”
Spock cast a glance over to Sarek. He was busy speaking with several delegates at once, all the while deftly avoiding the dreaded handshake. Spock had a terrible premonition regarding his own future, and promptly made a decision to never, ever go into politics.
“Very well,” he said.
They left the main amphitheater, pacing their way side by side down a path to a small stone building, brushing by palm fronds and bright red hibiscus as they walked. The building they reached was squat with whitewashed stones, its bamboo shutters open to the ocean breezes. It resembled those put aside for the delegates, to ensure their comfort during the Council.
“The Resistance’s been put here,” said Jim, pushing open a cheerfully painted wooden door. “Even Gaila. Did you hear she’s been given refugee status?”
“Which country?” Spock said, although in all honesty he could not care less.
“United East Africa. I think Uhura pulled some strings.”
“She has been fortunate.” Spock stepped inside, and felt Jim move in behind him and close the door. He turned. “Jim,” he started, and then shut his mouth as he suddenly found himself crowded up against the door, Jim’s eyes on him, heavy and intent. He exhaled, feeling his body relax as though boneless.
Jim stared at him for a moment, then leaned his forehead in to rest against Spock’s chest. Almost on instinct, Spock’s hand rose to stroke his hair.
At the touch, Jim shook.
“Oh god,” he said, voice breaking. “Oh god. I’m sorry, Spock. I don’t mean to be all fucked up like this, really, I don’t. I just-” he took a shuddering breath, and nuzzled his nose against Spock’s collarbone. Spock sucked in air.
“Jim,” Spock repeated, voice weaker than he would have preferred. He found his hands petting Jim’s head, smoothing down the dark blond hair, then trailing further, over the back of his neck, circling his rounded ears. “Jim.”
“I thought you were dead,” Jim whispered.
Spock stopped caressing him, smoothed his hair down one more time just to feel its texture, and then dropped his hands to his sides. “But surely you had word?” he said, starting to feel alarmed. Had this been why Jim had not contacted him? But he had thought that Uhura . . .
Jim bit his lip. “Well, yeah,” he said. “I had word.” He scowled at the term, glancing away at the floor. “I even saw you on, like, the news and stuff. But I didn’t-I didn't see you so-it didn’t feel, I don’t know. Real.” A beat. “Really, I thought,” his hands grasped Spock’s wrists and held them there, held him there against the door like he was afraid Spock would do like a mirage and vanish. “You got shot in the chest,” he said. “Your eyes were closed and I couldn’t-” he shuddered. “But I know you’re not,” he said. “I know. I’ve known.” He half sounded as if he were still unconvinced. “Fuck, I promised myself I wouldn’t act like such a pussy,” he said, breath huffing out in something that was not quite a laugh, not quite a sob. “I uh, missed you,” he said, more seriously. “A lot.” He looked down, as if he could not bear to meet Spock’s eyes at the admission.
Spock’s mouth felt dry. “I understand,” he said. At this, Jim looked up. His fingers on Spock’s wrists flexed and then loosened like a spasm.
“Then why didn’t you try to contact me?”
Spock gazed helplessly for a moment. What could he say? That he had been busy? That he had feared Jim no longer wanted to speak with him? To know him, body and mind both? That once they were no longer thrown together by happenstance, whatever they had would disintegrate like dust before the rains?
From somewhere, he found his voice.
“Why didn’t you try to contact me?”
Jim’s hands slid up until they rested on Spock’s shoulders. He tightened his grip and looked up. They eyed one another. Measuring. Seeking. Inquiring. Spock felt his breath coming quickly, as if he had just run a great distance. His heart pounded, and he could see nothing before him but Jim’s blue, blue, human eyes.
Surprisingly, it was again Jim, who looked away first.
“Because I was afraid,” he said to the floor.
“Afraid?”
Jim looked back at him, expression suddenly fierce. “Yes, Spock, afraid,” he snapped. “Vulcan had come. Your dad had swept you off onto that ship and I thought,” he shook his head, then fixed Spock with a defiant look, though Spock thought that he could see something else behind it. “I thought you might not want to come back.”
Spock stared at him, unsure what to say. It was fair, how had Jim known he would come back? There was nothing logical to draw him to Earth, except for, well, except for whatever it was that was between them. And if Spock himself had had doubts . . .
He swallowed. There were many replies he could give. Excuses. The truth. Yet here, and in the now, is seemed as though there was only one proper answer to Jim’s query.
Spock straightened his shoulders, in courage or in resignation he did not know, and leaned in. Jim’s eyes fluttered closed as Spock placed the lightest of human kisses upon his mouth. He pressed his forehead against Jim’s, and clutched at his hands.
“You will always draw me back,” he whispered. “It is not, perhaps, logical. But you are in my mind, and in my very soul. I will always return to you.”
Jim drew a shuddering breath. “Yeah,” he said, voice cracking. “You too.”
Spock kissed him again.
They stayed in the building for the remainder of the afternoon. Spock was certain that he would be missed, but found that he did not care as he and Jim learned each other slowly. He thought Jim’s body exotic, water rich, and sweet. His hair was softer than a Vulcan’s, his skin delicate and easily bruised.
The layers of Spock’s formal robes were delved into and then shrugged off until he stood, naked, the warm air from the open window caressing his form. He could not get enough as his fingers kissed Jim’s skin, twined through his hair, skittered geometric patterns and Vulcan script across the muscle of his shoulders. He pulled at Jim’s shirt and pawed at his pants, suddenly grateful for his understanding of the human zipper. A musky scent played about Jim’s body, and Spock reveled in it. He pushed Jim down onto the floor, onto his back, and Jim allowed it, yielding but not weak.
They gasped for breath at the most intimate of touches, at wanting. The cool wood beneath them warmed only slightly through their own heat. Spock wondered if this was what the burning, the Pon Farr, felt like, and then dismissed the thought. This fire burned too slow, too hesitant for that. Jim reached for Spock’s hands and Spock held them like an anchor as they moved, eyes closed, mouths gasping. Words were spoken; low and deep, their meaning was irrelevant, the feeling behind them not.
(Jim professed an almost shameful interest in Spock’s Vulcan strength, and Spock was more than willing to oblige him in this.)
In the end they lay twined together, satisfied, upon the floor. Jim’s sweat and other, more intimate substances, cooled onto Spock’s skin, and Spock found that he did not mind at all.
Eventually they rose, washed as best as they were able (Jim grimacing at a newly forming bruise at the juncture between his neck and his shoulder), and made their way back to the amphitheater. The council had been adjourned for the day, but there were still many people roaming about, snatching snacks from the silver trays of the passing waitstaff, talking and laughing. Jim drew Spock into a shaded corner, next to a grove of palm trees.
“Do you think your family will mind?”
Spock considered this. “My father wed a human,” he said, “and sired a son with her. I do not think that he is allowed to ‘mind.’ My brother . . .” he trailed off. Sybok had awoken at long last, despite the healers’ predictions. But there was a strangeness about him now that had not been there before. He seemed simultaneously pliable yet separate, as if reality was no longer relevant to the way his mind functioned. Spock did not know what to think of it. It made him uneasy.
Jim looked concerned for a moment, then shook his head. “No,” he said. “I don’t mean that. Just, that you’ll stay here with me, on Earth.”
“You could always come to Vulcan,” said Spock. Like my mother, went unsaid.
“No,” Jim said, smiling a little. “You know I can’t. Earth needs me here.” He brushed Spock’s cheek with his knuckle. “If I was the kind of guy who’d run away to Vulcan at a moment’s notice, I don’t think we’d even be having this conversation, anyway.”
Spock caught his hand, touched it in a Vulcan kiss, then lowered it. “No,” he agreed. “I understand.”
Jim looked up at the sky. So far from the major cities, and on a clear night, the stars winked down at them. “I did always want to travel in space though,” he said, voice a little regretful. “Too bad it’ll be years and years before we figure out how to do it like you guys.”
Spock suddenly looked a little shifty. Jim noticed.
“Spock?” he said.
“Nothing,” said Spock, voice very, very monotone.
“Spock,” Jim said, more sharply. “Come on, out with it.”
Spock held his mouth stubbornly closed for a moment, then relented when Jim elbowed him in the side. “My father was advised that a ‘goodwill gesture’ would not go amiss,” he said.
“Bet Uhura told him that,” Jim said, amused.
“He has not made the announcement,” Spock continued, ignoring him, “But after he and I had consulted for some time, we came upon one that might be, well. Suitable. The High Command was initially reluctant, but we have secured their agreement.”
Jim crossed his arms. “And?” he prompted, when Spock did not speak.
Spock’s expression turned serious. “The Orion Syndicate holds not only a reputation as the criminals of the galaxy. They are also very active in the slave trade.”
The lines on Jim’s forehead creased. “What do you mean?”
Spock gripped Jim’s shoulders and turned him to face him fully. “You spoke to me of children being taken,” he said, voice somber. Jim nodded. “But the prison camps of this planet have been evacuated and burned to the ground, the fields of hain-enela, er, removed, and still many are unaccounted for.”
“Then they must be dead,” Jim said, though his voice betrayed his uncertainty.
But Spock shook his head. “No,” he said. “Human slaves would be very valuable. They may be out there.” He gestured toward the sky.
“Like McCoy’s daughter,” Jim breathed.
“Our goodwill gesture,” said Spock firmly. “If they can be found, then we will find them.” He looked hesitant. “But we might require humans on the crew.”
Jim’s eyebrows shot up. “Oh?” he said, voice deceptively causal. “Would you?”
Spock gave him a sidelong glance. “You would not, perhaps, know where the Vulcan Fleet might locate some suitable recruits?”
Jim examined his fingernails. “Oh, I might,” he said carelessly. “Who wants to know?”
Spock was abruptly very close to him. “Me,” he said.
“Oh, well, in that case,” said Jim, smirking. “If it’s you.”
“Would you be willing?” Spock murmured into his ear. Jim shivered.
“You might have to convince me a little,” he said, then gasped as Spock kissed his neck, then breathed on it. “Hey, I thought PDA was a no-no in Vulcan culture.”
“We are not on Vulcan,” Spock pointed out.
“Your father can see us.”
Spock immediately drew away. He looked about, saw nothing but humans, none of whom were interested in their little corner, and focused back in on Jim. His eyes narrowed.
“Just kidding,” said Jim. He grinned. “Should have seen your face.”
Spock scowled at him. Jim prodded the corner of Spock’s mouth with his index finger.
“Careful,” he said. “I think Earth’s been a bad influence on you. You’ve got an expression on your face. Want me to see if I can wash it off?”
“Undoubtedly,” Spock returned dryly. He grudgingly allowed Jim to lean against him, and they lapsed into a comfortable quiet.
“I’d do it,” Jim said suddenly. “It’s something I’d be good at, something this planet needs, too.” He smiled, indicating the massive collection of delegates. “I don’t think I’d do too well in the political arena, anyway.”
Spock shifted to see his face. “Indeed?”
“As long as you come too,” Jim clarified.
“Of course,” Spock said. “I would not have suggested it otherwise.”
“Okay,” said Jim. He yawned. “Still though, that’s kind of cheating, since we’d be using your guys’ ships and stuff. It’s still going to be a while before we develop our own, and can get on any sort of equal footing.”
“Perhaps,” Spock said, looking again up at the stars, as Jim slipped his palm into Spock’s. He looked at their clasped hands, then back up at the sky. “Then again,” he said, “it seems as though many things are possible.” He stroked Jim’s fingers, and thought of a meeting on the edges of the Sol system so many years ago, and another in the desert, just as unlikely, and just as unpredictable. “I do not think humans will have very long to wait.”
“No?” Jim said. “Sarek seems to have got the idea that it’s going to take goddamn millennia.”
“No,” Spock replied, now thinking of an underground lab far to the north, hidden beneath a respectable shop. “You are a very resourceful species.” He reached over and drew Jim into a kiss. “And the stars have been waiting for you long enough.”
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