Celebrate the Earth and Sky (18/20)
Let Your Spirit Fly VI
Spock floated into consciousness with the thought that he was most certainly dead. After all, as far as he could remember, he had been shot-not fatally perhaps, but badly enough to be in need of immediate medical attention. Of which there had been none. Instead, there had been a fire. An explosion. And possibly an elderly human? He was fuzzy on that last bit.
But if he was not dead, he was almost certainly hallucinating. Even more bizarrely, he was hallucinating his father’s presence through their familial bond. Given that even if Spock were too weak to shield, his father definitely would never be, and also given that Sarek was on Vulcan anyway, it just seemed very unlikely that his senses were firing on all thrusters.
Spock opened his eyes to a very sterile sickbay. The exit sign above the far door was in Vulcan characters.
“I seem to have died,” he said, his voice coming out in what could kindly be referred to as a hoarse croak. He blinked. “Death is very peculiar.” His throat hurt. He coughed.
“You are not dead,” said Sarek, sitting beside him. He lay his palm against Spock’s forehead and Spock felt their mental connection like a balm to his mind. “You are in the sickbay of the VSS T’Mor. You have been in healing for three days.”
“Oh,” said Spock, and slept.
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Jim’s awakening was less gentle. It was hot. He was sweating. And there was something pushing on his chest.
“Well, well, look who’s awake,” came a very, very familiar voice.
Jim attempted to put his pillow over his face, and possibly to smoother himself with it, but found that his arm wouldn’t move. He cracked open eyes encrusted with gunk.
“My chest,” he groaned.
“What about it?” prompted McCoy, perched cheerfully at his bedside, all decked out in gleaming scrubs.
“Hurts . . .”
“Huh, I’ll get you some more painkillers.”
“. . . leg?”
McCoy stopped his bustling and looked over. “Still numb?”
“Numb?”
“I’ll take that as a yes.” He came over, and began to prod delicately at Jim’s knee. “Can you feel this?”
“A little.”
“Huh, that’s good.” Quick as a snake, McCoy jabbed him with a needle. Jim flinched on instinct, but then realized he couldn’t even feel it. “Whatever you got shot with did something to the nerves, and kept the blood from clotting. The way that Vulcan lady explained it, said it was like some kind of venom.” He shook his head. “Don’t ask me how you get venom into a laser weapon. That shit sounds like fantasy land to me.”
“Venom . . .” Jim trailed off. Then his brain caught up with what else McCoy had said. “Wait, Vulcan lady?” he exclaimed, trying to sit up. His throat ached, and he immediately regretted shouting. McCoy restrained him with one lazy hand.
“Oh no you don’t,” he scolded.
Damn, his chest hurt. “Why does my chest hurt?” he asked, easing back down, as clearly he was going nowhere. He hadn’t been shot in the chest, had he? No, that had been Spock . . .
McCoy rolled his eyes. “I don’t suppose you’ll remember, but your first day in bed, you made like a lunatic, tried a jailbreak, fell out, and cracked two ribs. The smoke didn’t help, either.” He adjusted Jim’s blankets. “Idiot,” he added.
Jim shut his eyes, feeling as though he was missing a large chunk of whatever had recently happened. A shot of fear went through him.
“Spock?” he said quietly, dreading the answer.
McCoy sat next to him. “He’s alive,” he said, taking Jim’s hand and squeezing it. “He was in a pretty bad way though. You both were. Lungs all fucked up from smoke inhalation, shot through with some weird alien gun . . . I have to say, I was worried.” He exhaled. “I was worried.”
“Where,” Jim swallowed, the room spinning in his relief. “Where is he?”
McCoy pointed at the ceiling.
“Up . . . stairs?” Jim said hesitantly.
McCoy huffed. “No,” he said. “I’m pointing at the sky.”
“That’s the ceiling.”
“Well, I mean the sky,” McCoy said.
Jim stared at him.
“He’s in space,” said McCoy, exasperated. “Jesus Christ. He’s on a Vulcan ship in orbit.”
Somehow, Jim thought there were several things wrong with that sentence.
“Bones,” he said.
“Yeah?”
“What the hell is going on?”
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“Father,” said Spock, the next time he was lucid. “Why are you here?”
Sarek paused his perusal of his data pad to fix his son with an intent look. “What do you recall?”
Spock hesitated for a moment. His gaze drifted around the sickbay room. It was clean, much cleaner than anywhere he had been on Earth. As far as he could see, he was the only patient. His bed was sufficient for comfort, perfect for a long term healing trance. He had been bathed, and his skin was raw as if scrubbed, though the scent of smoke still seemed to cling to his nostrils. He thought back.
“We infiltrated the Orion warehouse,” he said slowly. “We intended to locate their stores of the hain-enela. Jim and I-our plan, that is-” he shook his head, forced himself to think harder, to articulate. “We would locate the hain-enela and threaten to destroy it, unless they agreed to trade. Earth for, for the safe transport of their drug. Sybok and his Romulan ships were a distraction, to make the humans aware of what was happening, and to form a deterrent should the Syndicate-the Orions, I mean . . . should they attempt to return before we could get word to . . .”
He looked at his hands. He nails were clean and filed. He felt for a wound in his chest.
“The plan failed,” he said woodenly. “The Orions on Earth had made an alliance with the majority of the Syndicate. They ambushed us. Jim . . .” his throat seemed tight. What was this ache he felt?
Sarek sighed. Spock looked up sharply.
“The human, James Tiberius Kirk, is alive,” he said. “He is being cared for by a-a mutual acquaintance of yours, I believe. A Doctor Leonard McCoy.” He shrugged. “We of course offered the services of our own healers, but Dr. McCoy insisted that as he had spent his entire professional career caring for humans, he was-and I believe this is a direct quote-‘a damn fool sight better prepared to fix him than any of you hacks.’”
Spock choked. Sarek’s mouth twisted.
“Human vernacular is so interesting,” Sarek said, and stood adjust his clothing and to brush an invisible piece of lint off the sleeve of his robe.
“Indeed,” Spock managed, looking at his father with new eyes. Then a thought occurred to him. “Sybok?”
Sarek sat back down, his face looking drawn. “The ship captained by the Romulan, ah, freelance trader, Mirok, was badly damaged. Your brother is-he survived, but he remains in a healing trance.” Sarek looked away, then back at Spock. “They do not know if he will wake.”
Spock swallowed. “He is badly injured?”
Sarek nodded.
“May I see him?”
Sarek looked at him with gentle eyes. He smoothed the coverlet across Spock’s chest. “Later, perhaps,” he said. “For now you must rest. When I go to him I will-I will convey your regards.”
“He is not in this sickbay?”
“No,” Sarek said. “He is in another, better equipped to deal with his injuries.”
“He would not be injured if he had not come for me,” Spock said quietly.
Sarek reached out and brushed his fingers against Spock’s meldpoints. “Your brother’s loyalty is commendable,” he said. “He fought for you of his own free will. Do not dishonor his sacrifice with shame.”
Spock nodded. He twisted the coverlet between his fingers. “How did the Vulcan fleet come to be in orbit around Earth?”
Sarek looked, if possible, a little embarrassed. “The Orions made a mistake in targeting the Nirak,” he said. “Upon hearing of the ship’s disappearance, and knowing of course that you had been on board, your mother became rather vocal in regards to determining what had happened.”
Spock felt something warm well up inside him. He bit back a small smile. “Mother convinced you to petition the High Command?”
Sarek folded his hands. “Actually,” he admitted to the ceiling, “I went at her bidding and was refused. She therefore went and petitioned them herself, after threatening to first unman, and then divorce me.” He winced a little at the memory.
Both of Spock’s eyebrows rose. He sat up a little straighter. “Indeed?”
“Yes,” said Sarek. “At that point, Sybok had informed her of the Orion presence on Sol III. She advised the High Command that if they would not do anything about the Orions’ operating illegally on a pre-warp planet under their very noses, then she would follow Sybok’s route and ask the Romulan fleet for their assistance instead. Given recent history between the Empire and the Syndicate, she felt as though they would be more than willing to oblige her in this small matter.”
“If the Praetor had been forced to intervene in a criminal enterprise so close to Vulcan space, the High Command would have lost much face,” Spock said solemnly. He met his father’s gaze. “So the High Command sent ships.”
“The decision should not have taken so long. Our timing was barely fortunate.”
“But fortunate nonetheless,” Spock said. He exhaled. “What will become of the planet? All of their governments, their authorities-they were all built upon foundations laid by the Syndicate.”
Sarek turned to him. “Sol III has been placed under Vulcan protection,” he said. “We will assist them in rebuilding their society.” He grimaced. “A more peaceful society,” he amended.
“I have learned that humans are a very contrary species,” Spock said, thinking of one human in particular. “They will not like it.”
“When they have discovered warp speed, they are free to destroy their planet, and each other, however they see fit,” Sarek said primly. “Until then, Vulcan will stay.”
“They will not like it,” Spock said again. His eyes flickered to the viewport just over Sarek’s shoulder. The blue planet was well named; its oceans glowed in the darkness of space. “It will be a monumental task.”
“The High Command has assured me that I am equal to it,” Sarek said. Spock blinked at him in surprise. Sarek’s voice turned dry. “It is possible however, that such backhanded flattery, and an appointment as Ambassador to Sol III, is merely meant as punishment for your mother’s actions.”
Spock looked at him shrewdly. “You are not displeased with her?”
Sarek looked out the viewport, then turned back to Spock, his hands clasped loosely in his lap “If I had wished to contain her,” he said, “I would not have married her.”
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“Jim, this is Mr. Hasegawa. He’s the reason you and Spock are still alive.”
Jim clicked off the news anchor who had been attempting to interview what he thought might have been Spock’s dad. He turned to see McCoy escort an elderly man into the room. Jim’s eyes widened in recognition.
“I remember you!” he exclaimed.
The man bowed. “I should hope so,” he said in impeccable English, “although I was not sure. You had lost much blood by the time we met.” He tucked his hands into his pockets. “I did not think you would survive.”
“Eh,” said Jim, waving his hand dismissively. “Please, come in. Thank you saving my life.” He swallowed. “And for saving Spock’s,” he added.
Mr. Hasegawa nodded. “From the events of the past week, it seems almost as if it is I who should be thanking you.” He glanced out the window. “I have lived a long time, Mr. Kirk, but I did not think that I would ever live to see this world at peace.”
“Oh,” said Jim, rubbing the back of his neck. He turned a little red. “Well, it was more Spock, see. He’s the one who really got things rolling. I was just along for the ride.”
“Even so,” said Mr. Hasegawa. “It is an honor to have helped the men who freed our planet.”
“Whoa,” said Jim, holding out both hands. “Wow. I um, I don’t really know what to say to that. But it was a lot more than just me, really. I mean, there was Spock and, and his brother, and the whole of the Resistance, really.”
“Yes,” said Mr. Hasegawa. “But you and I are here. So as one man to another, I thank you.” He bowed.
“Well,” said Jim. “I-I thank you too. For my life. And for Spock’s.” He bowed awkwardly from his position on the bed. “You didn’t-I mean, you could’ve just left us to die, and you didn’t, so. Thanks.”
“I could never have left you to die,” said Hasegawa.
“Oh,” said Jim, dumbly.
And apparently that was the end of the matter.
Mr. Hasegawa stayed for another hour or so, chatting with Jim, and asking what he thought of this new, Vulcan occupation.
“Well, first off, I don’t think it’s an occupation,” said Jim.
Hasegawa raised his head. His bald top gleamed in the fluorescent light, the wisps of his white hair around the edges fluttering a bit in the breeze from the air vent. “No?” he said.
“No,” said Jim firmly. “I mean, they’ve known we were out here for hundreds of years and they didn’t do anything until they’d realized that someone else had already invaded, right?”
“Yes,” said Hasegawa. He shifted in the hard chair and leaned forward, wrinkled face intent. “But they have disbanded all the governments on Earth and publically declared us under their ‘protection.’” He jerked his head towards the television Jim had been watching. “Already there is talk that we are to become a Vulcan colony. The leaders of the Resistance are facing fire from their own members, saying we have traded one conqueror for another.”
Jim frowned. Being stuck in the hospital, he had been cut off from the events taking place outside. “That doesn’t sound like how Spock described Vulcans,” he said.
Hasegawa shrugged. “They are very logical, yes? Perhaps they have decided that we are not logical enough. Perhaps they have decided that we are volatile.” He lowered his voice. “That we are dangerous.”
Jim laughed, but it sounded off. “Dangerous? To them? Our technology is so behind theirs, we’re like babies. We’re no danger to them.”
“Maybe so,” Hasegawa said. “And maybe it is, like we are babies, that they think they must keep an eye on us.”
Jim couldn’t think of anything to say to that.
After the old man left, with promises to come back and visit Jim again, if only because his life had not been this exciting in years, Jim turned on the television again. He hadn’t really been paying attention before, but now he watched the expressions on commentators’ faces as they spoke of the Vulcans. Was that fear he saw there? Or was it a justified nervousness? Anger, or distrust?
He clicked the T.V off and stared at the blank screen in the suddenly quiet room. He had thought that once the Orions were gone and the Vulcans had saved the day, Earth could go back to being the peaceful utopia it had always clearly been meant to be. He snorted. What a load of shit.
What would happen now? The wars had been terrible, and the dictators and oligarchs harsh, but with them they had managed to maintain a kind of planetary limbo. People died, people vanished, but life went on.
Oh god, there were going to be some fucked up economic consequences, weren’t there? Jim didn’t even try to pretend to understand the world market, but even he could get that with the sudden collapse of almost every major government in the world, there was going to be some serious financial problems in the long run.
And for fuck’s sake-if the Vulcans had removed all of the Orions, who was running the goddamn planet?
He needed to talk to Spock. No. Not Spock. Rather, he’d love to talk to Spock but Spock was who knows where, and possibly stuck in the Vulcan equivalent of a hospital anyway. Who knew when he would be well enough to . . . to-he pushed away the insidious thought that Spock was gone, that he might never be coming back.
No. He needed to talk to Spock’s dad. He needed to convince him that they were going about their helping Earth mission all wrong. He needed to be all, ugh, logical and shit. He needed to be convincing. And he also needed to figure out how to contact the Vulcans because they sure as hell hadn’t left him a phone number.
Jim shut his eyes in resignation. The planet was doomed.
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“How progress the relations with the humans?”
Sarek looked pointedly at the data pad in Spock’s hands. “You know very well how they do,” he said. “You have been watching their news.”
Spock tilted the data pad so that the screen faced Sarek instead. Across it flashed the newest sensational headline (Is Conquering Earth Logical? What Sarek Won’t Say). Sarek curled his lip at it. Spock put the data pad away.
“I am aware that that the media is often influenced by the affected parties. Nevertheless, what is there is concerning. There are stories of riots and mass panics. Rumors that Vulcan will declare martial law, until the planet can be managed properly.”
“That is preposterous,” said Sarek. “No one is declaring martial law.”
“No?”
“It would be impossible; we do not have the resources here.”
Spock lifted an eyebrow. “So it was considered?”
Sarek’s lips thinned. “The people of this planet are very illogical,” he said, “and suspicious.” He stood, his hands behind his back as he stared out the viewport at the image of Earth hanging in the black. “They will not accept that we act in good faith, that we act in their best interest.”
Spock frowned minutely. He shifted in his bed and glanced up at the ceiling in thought. “Perhaps we are not approaching the problem from the correct angle,” he said.
Sarek turned to look at him. “Elucidate.”
“You have been trying the logical approach,” said Spock, “Yet we-perhaps more than any other Vulcan-know that humans are inherently illogical. It may be necessary to further tailor our method.”
Sarek approached him. “You are likely the foremost Vulcan expert on human behavior at this point, Spock. What do you suggest?”
Spock took a quick breath. “What I suggest is not logical, nor is it efficient, and will likely slow planetary recovery down significantly. However, if we wish for the humans as allies in the long term, we must, perhaps, determine a method that would allow the humans to,” he looked down, then back up again, “manage their own future. Their ego is already bruised by the Syndicate’s actions. We must not exacerbate that.”
“If we leave now, the planet will collapse into absolute chaos,” Sarek objected. “Their heads of state have been removed, but the bureaucracy survives on the promise that Vulcan will bring stability. If we depart, that too will fail.”
“We cannot dictate their future,” said Spock, and he was surprised to hear his voice rising in volume. “Humans will take our logical approach and view it though an emotional lens. They will distrust us, they will fear us, and soon they will begin to hate us.” Spock swallowed, not even sure anymore if he was referring to humans in the future, or humans in the past.
“Spock,” Sarek said. Spock could feel his concern, though his face remained simply inquiring. “You have not yet told me how you came to meet the humans of the Resistance.”
Spock lowered his gaze. “It is unimportant,” he said to his hands. His forehead furrowed. “What methods of government have humans historically preferred?”
Sarek noted the subject change, but allowed it for the time being. He took a step closer to Spock. “I am uncertain,” he admitted. His eyes flickered back to the planet. “This task would be simpler if they had an equivalent to our own High Command,” he murmured to himself.
Spock nodded. “But they do not,” he said. “Their planet has never yet been united under one banner.”
Sarek passed his hand over his face as though to ward off a headache. “This will be a monumental undertaking. We will not only need one Ambassador, we will need lawyers and scientists. We will need historians and economists and bureaucrats.”
“But they must be human.”
“They would act under the guidance of Vulcan advisors.”
Spock pondered this. He tried to picture how a human might react to such a mandate. How Jim might react. “No,” he said slowly. “Vulcan mentors, perhaps, present if needed, but not advisors.”
Sarek looked doubtful. He folded his hands into his sleeves. “I do not believe that to be a wise course of action. Humanity is not stable. We must avoid planetwide chaos at all costs.”
Spock shook his head. He indicated the headlines on the data pad as he said, “There is already planetwide chaos. We must attempt to manage it in a way that humans do not find objectionable.”
“I am beginning to speculate that humans will find any course we take to be objectionable,” said Sarek darkly. He looked down as his communicator pinged. He took it out without much interest, and then looked at the caller. “It is T’Ani,” he said. “I must take this call.”
Spock nodded. Sarek opened the communicator.
“Sarek here,” he said.
Spock watched with a great deal of interest as, for the briefest of seconds, his father’s expression actually changed to that of surprise. Spock blinked, and Sarek’s face was back to normal.
“Indeed?” he was saying. “Through their human satellite signals?” He listened for a moment, then nodded. “How resourceful,” he said.
Spock tried very hard to look like he wasn’t eavesdropping. As Sarek sat down again in the chair however, he gave it up as a lost cause. He leaned forward, eyes intent on the conversation.
“I see,” said Sarek. His gaze travelled over to Spock, who tilted his head in inquiry. “Very well. Please escort our guest to the sickbay.” He hung up.
“Father?” said Spock, after the silence began to grow oppressive.
Sarek straightened his robes. “It would appear,” he said, “That you have a visitor.”
Spock was confused for a moment. “Someone from another ship?” he clarified.
“No. A human one,” Sarek said, looking down the long line of his nose at him. “Quite a resourceful being, if their method of communication is any indicator.”
Spock’s heart sped up. Jim was resourceful, was he not? Perhaps . . . but no. Jim had been badly wounded. He was in no shape to be visiting Spock, was he?
“When will this visitor arrive?” he queried. He bent his head so that Sarek would not see the expression of anticipation on his face. His emotional control was still tenuous after his ordeal.
“Presently,” said Sarek.
“Present-” started Spock, then stopped as the door to the sickbay slid open. He turned toward the entrance, hardly daring to believe it. Then he paused, taking in the identity of his visitor. “Nyota?” he said slowly.
She beamed. “So you are alive!” she exclaimed, moving towards him. She then registered Sarek and stopped. “Ambassador Sarek?” she questioned, hesitantly.
“I am,” confirmed Sarek.
Uhura bowed, hands flat to her sides against her faded jeans. “It is an honor to meet you,” she said. “I am Nyota Uhura, second in command to Christopher Pike of the Resistance.”
Sarek’s eyebrow went up. He showed her the ta’al. “Well met,” he said. “Your method of contacting us was quite,” he hesitated, “interesting.”
Uhura smiled. “Actually, that was Jim’s idea,” she said. “I just provided the Romulan language part of it.”
“Romulan language?” broke in Spock. He shook his head. “Forgive me, when did you have the opportunity to learn Romulan?”
Uhura shrugged, settling herself in a chair. “When I was aboard the ship,” she said, smoothing down the front of her shirt. “I just picked up a few words, but we thought you might be more likely to pay attention if our satellites shouted something non-human at you. I mean, you guys didn’t exactly leave a phone number.” She looked around with interest. “This ship is a lot nicer than the other one,” she commented. “And it really is great to see you’re recovering.”
“An interesting solution,” Spock said, reluctantly impressed. He tilted his head up towards Sarek. “And indeed, I am recovering.” He winced a little as he shifted. “Albeit more slowly than I would prefer.”
Sarek glanced between Spock and Uhura, and gathered his robes about himself. “You must have much to discuss,” he said. “I will return when you have finished.” He took a step.
“No, wait!” said Uhura quickly. Sarek stilled. Spock looked at her. “Wait,” she repeated. She shifted in her chair, crossing her legs. “What I’m here for involves you, too.”
Sarek and Spock shared a silent communication, before Sarek planted himself back in place, hands tucked into the sleeves of his robes. He examined the human woman before him.
“Very well,” he said. “Proceed.”
“Uh,” said Uhura. “Well, Jim would have come too, but he’s still not allowed out of bed.”
Although this particular piece of information likely had little to do with whatever Uhura was actually there to speak with them regarding, Spock nevertheless felt a spark of warmth somewhere in his side. He nodded anyway. “I understand,” he said. “Please convey my regards to him.”
Uhura smiled. Sarek adjusted his sleeves impatiently.
“He says hi to you to,” she said, and winked. Sarek appeared alarmed at the motion, perhaps wondering if Nytoa was developing a facial tic, but Spock understood the intent. He inclined his head the slightest bit and Uhura continued. “But anyway,” she said. “The thing is, I came alone because aside from me and Jim, most humans were too frightened.”
Sarek and Spock were silent for a moment as they digested that tidbit of knowledge.
“Frightened . . .” Sarek trailed off. “Frightened of what, may I inquire?”
Uhura looked surprised. “Well, you guys,” she said.
Sarek’s forehead wrinkled. “That does not make sense,” he stated. “We have greatly assisted in freeing humans from Orion influence. We are here to help. There is no logical reason for their fear.”
Uhura frowned. “There are plenty of logical reasons,” she objected. “You’re an unknown. Your technology is much more powerful than ours. We don’t know anything about you.”
“We have proven ourselves to be peaceful,” Sarek said.
“Fear isn’t logical,” said Uhura, voice low. She glanced at Spock, who caught her gaze and tilted his head to the side, ever so slightly. “But anyway, the reason we went to all this trouble is because, honestly? You’re doing it all wrong.”
Sarek stiffened. “If you would please clarify,” he said. “What, precisely, are we doing that is, ‘wrong’?”
Uhura gave him a long, steady stare. “Well, first of all, you’re making communication pretty difficult.”
Spock bit his lip to hide a traitorous smile.
“And secondly, all of your efforts have been directed towards uniting our planet. You’re assuming things. You’re not looking at our past, or any other relevant data.”
Sarek looked very offended at this accusation. He opened his mouth, but Uhura beat him to the punch.
“Look, I like the idea of a united Earth as much as you guys do, but honestly? Most people don’t. Humans like autonomy. The more, the better. People like to decide things for themselves. The majority of our societies and economies revolve around give and take from other societies and economies. We can’t have just one big old United Earth government yet. We would stagnate.”
Sarek’s expression didn’t change, but the hardness in his eyes softened a little, Urhua’s words starting penetrate just the slightest.
“So, as a human,” he said, “You are here to make us aware of our error. I see.” He tilted his head, and pursed his lips. “What course of action then, would you suggest?”
Uhura shrugged. “Honestly?” she said. “I don’t know. Maybe different regions could decide who they want to be a part of, if anyone? Maybe there could be an Earth Council? Some major international rules that everyone must abide by, but everything else can be decided on a regional basis? I really don’t know.” She set her shoulders. “I’m just one human,” she said. “You don’t have to listen to me. But if you want to maintain good relations with Earth, then you’re going to have to go to the people. Ask them what they want, and let them achieve it for themselves.” She folded her hands. “I guarantee that unless you rule with an iron fist, any government you put in place will fall within twenty years. And then we’ll be right back where we started.”
It was quiet for a moment. Sarek paced across the room to look out at Earth again through the viewer. Uhura uncrossed and then re-crossed her legs, though she kept on eye on Sarek, whose expression remained impassive, his eyes giving away nothing of his thoughts.
“A council,” said Spock, suddenly.
Uhura and Sarek both turned to look at him.
“It is the logical course of action,” he said. “There must be a council. It must be broadcasted throughout the entire planet. We will explain our intentions, and the current Earth governments and those who wish to separate, must all have representatives in attendance.”
Uhura blinked. “Like a gigantic press meeting?”
Spock looked uncertain. “If that is the human term,” he said. Sarek appeared doubtful, his face still shadowed.
“That is a very inefficient course of action,” he said. “It will likely take months to organize.”
“Then let it take months!” Uhura exclaimed. She backed down as Sarek turned a reproachful eye to her. “I’m sorry,” she said. “But you have to understand-humans are inefficient and illogical. If you want to maintain our planet’s goodwill, your approach to us must reflect that.”
Sarek exhaled, and gave her a considering look. “I will take your words under advisement,” he said finally. “But you must understand, I also must answer to the Vulcan High Command. It is they who will make the final decision.”
“I guess that’s all I can ask,” Uhura said. She rose. “I guess I’ll see you later, Spock.” She waved her hand ruefully at his injuries. “I’m glad you’re getting better. Pay us a visit on the surface sometime. I know Jim would be glad to see you.”
“I shall,” Spock said, speaking around a strange lump in his throat.
Uhura locked eyes with Sarek. “There is one more thing,” she said.
Sarek lifted an eyebrow. “And that is?”
“A goodwill gesture,” Uhura said firmly.
Sarek blinked. “Is our very presence not a gesture of goodwill?”
“That’s different,” said Uhura. “And it’s got to be something big.”
“Big,” Sarek repeated. “I see. Is this a human custom?”
“It will make you look good,” Uhura said. “And believe me, you guys need to look good.”
“Very well,” said Sarek, resigned. “And is there anything else you wish to discuss?”
Uhura smiled, and shook her head. She headed towards the door. “Oh, wait, yeah,” she said, stopping and placing her hands on her hips.
Sarek raised an eyebrow.
“Get a telephone number or something. You’ve got to be reachable. Relatable. Not just looming around in the sky, beaming down to go arrest Orions or whatever it is you’ve been doing.”
“Very well,” Sarek said, now not even trying to hide his weariness. “We will also look into, ah, ‘getting a telephone number,’ as you say.”
“Fantastic,” said Uhura. She bowed to Sarek, waved one last time at Spock, and marched out the sickbay door to be escorted back to the surface of the planet.
Sarek watched the door close behind her. He eased himself into a chair, chin cushioned on both hands. “Humans are an exhausting species,” he said.
Spock grunted, already back to scrolling through his data pad.
“Spock,” said Sarek, after a minute.
“Yes?”
“What is a telephone number?”
Spock opened his mouth, then closed it. “I believe that if we are to have any success in this matter, then we will need to further research human culture.”
Sarek looked a little pained at the idea, then nodded. “And are you willing?”
“Me?” said Spock.
“You are the logical choice,” Sarek said, now peering at him, as if concerned by Spock’s surprise. “You have human ancestry and you have spent the most time among them.”
Spock folded his hands together and rested them on top of his knees. The task was monumental. Not beyond him but not, perhaps, his chosen field of interest. Still, it would afford him many opportunities. He would likely forge many connections here, on Earth.
“Spock?” prompted Sarek.
Spock gave himself a mental shake. “I am willing,” he said, voice soft.
“You are certain?”
Spock thought of a human smile, of laughing blue eyes, and words in the night under the desert sky. He nodded. “I am willing,” he said, voice much stronger this time.
Previous Next
Spock floated into consciousness with the thought that he was most certainly dead. After all, as far as he could remember, he had been shot-not fatally perhaps, but badly enough to be in need of immediate medical attention. Of which there had been none. Instead, there had been a fire. An explosion. And possibly an elderly human? He was fuzzy on that last bit.
But if he was not dead, he was almost certainly hallucinating. Even more bizarrely, he was hallucinating his father’s presence through their familial bond. Given that even if Spock were too weak to shield, his father definitely would never be, and also given that Sarek was on Vulcan anyway, it just seemed very unlikely that his senses were firing on all thrusters.
Spock opened his eyes to a very sterile sickbay. The exit sign above the far door was in Vulcan characters.
“I seem to have died,” he said, his voice coming out in what could kindly be referred to as a hoarse croak. He blinked. “Death is very peculiar.” His throat hurt. He coughed.
“You are not dead,” said Sarek, sitting beside him. He lay his palm against Spock’s forehead and Spock felt their mental connection like a balm to his mind. “You are in the sickbay of the VSS T’Mor. You have been in healing for three days.”
“Oh,” said Spock, and slept.
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Jim’s awakening was less gentle. It was hot. He was sweating. And there was something pushing on his chest.
“Well, well, look who’s awake,” came a very, very familiar voice.
Jim attempted to put his pillow over his face, and possibly to smoother himself with it, but found that his arm wouldn’t move. He cracked open eyes encrusted with gunk.
“My chest,” he groaned.
“What about it?” prompted McCoy, perched cheerfully at his bedside, all decked out in gleaming scrubs.
“Hurts . . .”
“Huh, I’ll get you some more painkillers.”
“. . . leg?”
McCoy stopped his bustling and looked over. “Still numb?”
“Numb?”
“I’ll take that as a yes.” He came over, and began to prod delicately at Jim’s knee. “Can you feel this?”
“A little.”
“Huh, that’s good.” Quick as a snake, McCoy jabbed him with a needle. Jim flinched on instinct, but then realized he couldn’t even feel it. “Whatever you got shot with did something to the nerves, and kept the blood from clotting. The way that Vulcan lady explained it, said it was like some kind of venom.” He shook his head. “Don’t ask me how you get venom into a laser weapon. That shit sounds like fantasy land to me.”
“Venom . . .” Jim trailed off. Then his brain caught up with what else McCoy had said. “Wait, Vulcan lady?” he exclaimed, trying to sit up. His throat ached, and he immediately regretted shouting. McCoy restrained him with one lazy hand.
“Oh no you don’t,” he scolded.
Damn, his chest hurt. “Why does my chest hurt?” he asked, easing back down, as clearly he was going nowhere. He hadn’t been shot in the chest, had he? No, that had been Spock . . .
McCoy rolled his eyes. “I don’t suppose you’ll remember, but your first day in bed, you made like a lunatic, tried a jailbreak, fell out, and cracked two ribs. The smoke didn’t help, either.” He adjusted Jim’s blankets. “Idiot,” he added.
Jim shut his eyes, feeling as though he was missing a large chunk of whatever had recently happened. A shot of fear went through him.
“Spock?” he said quietly, dreading the answer.
McCoy sat next to him. “He’s alive,” he said, taking Jim’s hand and squeezing it. “He was in a pretty bad way though. You both were. Lungs all fucked up from smoke inhalation, shot through with some weird alien gun . . . I have to say, I was worried.” He exhaled. “I was worried.”
“Where,” Jim swallowed, the room spinning in his relief. “Where is he?”
McCoy pointed at the ceiling.
“Up . . . stairs?” Jim said hesitantly.
McCoy huffed. “No,” he said. “I’m pointing at the sky.”
“That’s the ceiling.”
“Well, I mean the sky,” McCoy said.
Jim stared at him.
“He’s in space,” said McCoy, exasperated. “Jesus Christ. He’s on a Vulcan ship in orbit.”
Somehow, Jim thought there were several things wrong with that sentence.
“Bones,” he said.
“Yeah?”
“What the hell is going on?”
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“Father,” said Spock, the next time he was lucid. “Why are you here?”
Sarek paused his perusal of his data pad to fix his son with an intent look. “What do you recall?”
Spock hesitated for a moment. His gaze drifted around the sickbay room. It was clean, much cleaner than anywhere he had been on Earth. As far as he could see, he was the only patient. His bed was sufficient for comfort, perfect for a long term healing trance. He had been bathed, and his skin was raw as if scrubbed, though the scent of smoke still seemed to cling to his nostrils. He thought back.
“We infiltrated the Orion warehouse,” he said slowly. “We intended to locate their stores of the hain-enela. Jim and I-our plan, that is-” he shook his head, forced himself to think harder, to articulate. “We would locate the hain-enela and threaten to destroy it, unless they agreed to trade. Earth for, for the safe transport of their drug. Sybok and his Romulan ships were a distraction, to make the humans aware of what was happening, and to form a deterrent should the Syndicate-the Orions, I mean . . . should they attempt to return before we could get word to . . .”
He looked at his hands. He nails were clean and filed. He felt for a wound in his chest.
“The plan failed,” he said woodenly. “The Orions on Earth had made an alliance with the majority of the Syndicate. They ambushed us. Jim . . .” his throat seemed tight. What was this ache he felt?
Sarek sighed. Spock looked up sharply.
“The human, James Tiberius Kirk, is alive,” he said. “He is being cared for by a-a mutual acquaintance of yours, I believe. A Doctor Leonard McCoy.” He shrugged. “We of course offered the services of our own healers, but Dr. McCoy insisted that as he had spent his entire professional career caring for humans, he was-and I believe this is a direct quote-‘a damn fool sight better prepared to fix him than any of you hacks.’”
Spock choked. Sarek’s mouth twisted.
“Human vernacular is so interesting,” Sarek said, and stood adjust his clothing and to brush an invisible piece of lint off the sleeve of his robe.
“Indeed,” Spock managed, looking at his father with new eyes. Then a thought occurred to him. “Sybok?”
Sarek sat back down, his face looking drawn. “The ship captained by the Romulan, ah, freelance trader, Mirok, was badly damaged. Your brother is-he survived, but he remains in a healing trance.” Sarek looked away, then back at Spock. “They do not know if he will wake.”
Spock swallowed. “He is badly injured?”
Sarek nodded.
“May I see him?”
Sarek looked at him with gentle eyes. He smoothed the coverlet across Spock’s chest. “Later, perhaps,” he said. “For now you must rest. When I go to him I will-I will convey your regards.”
“He is not in this sickbay?”
“No,” Sarek said. “He is in another, better equipped to deal with his injuries.”
“He would not be injured if he had not come for me,” Spock said quietly.
Sarek reached out and brushed his fingers against Spock’s meldpoints. “Your brother’s loyalty is commendable,” he said. “He fought for you of his own free will. Do not dishonor his sacrifice with shame.”
Spock nodded. He twisted the coverlet between his fingers. “How did the Vulcan fleet come to be in orbit around Earth?”
Sarek looked, if possible, a little embarrassed. “The Orions made a mistake in targeting the Nirak,” he said. “Upon hearing of the ship’s disappearance, and knowing of course that you had been on board, your mother became rather vocal in regards to determining what had happened.”
Spock felt something warm well up inside him. He bit back a small smile. “Mother convinced you to petition the High Command?”
Sarek folded his hands. “Actually,” he admitted to the ceiling, “I went at her bidding and was refused. She therefore went and petitioned them herself, after threatening to first unman, and then divorce me.” He winced a little at the memory.
Both of Spock’s eyebrows rose. He sat up a little straighter. “Indeed?”
“Yes,” said Sarek. “At that point, Sybok had informed her of the Orion presence on Sol III. She advised the High Command that if they would not do anything about the Orions’ operating illegally on a pre-warp planet under their very noses, then she would follow Sybok’s route and ask the Romulan fleet for their assistance instead. Given recent history between the Empire and the Syndicate, she felt as though they would be more than willing to oblige her in this small matter.”
“If the Praetor had been forced to intervene in a criminal enterprise so close to Vulcan space, the High Command would have lost much face,” Spock said solemnly. He met his father’s gaze. “So the High Command sent ships.”
“The decision should not have taken so long. Our timing was barely fortunate.”
“But fortunate nonetheless,” Spock said. He exhaled. “What will become of the planet? All of their governments, their authorities-they were all built upon foundations laid by the Syndicate.”
Sarek turned to him. “Sol III has been placed under Vulcan protection,” he said. “We will assist them in rebuilding their society.” He grimaced. “A more peaceful society,” he amended.
“I have learned that humans are a very contrary species,” Spock said, thinking of one human in particular. “They will not like it.”
“When they have discovered warp speed, they are free to destroy their planet, and each other, however they see fit,” Sarek said primly. “Until then, Vulcan will stay.”
“They will not like it,” Spock said again. His eyes flickered to the viewport just over Sarek’s shoulder. The blue planet was well named; its oceans glowed in the darkness of space. “It will be a monumental task.”
“The High Command has assured me that I am equal to it,” Sarek said. Spock blinked at him in surprise. Sarek’s voice turned dry. “It is possible however, that such backhanded flattery, and an appointment as Ambassador to Sol III, is merely meant as punishment for your mother’s actions.”
Spock looked at him shrewdly. “You are not displeased with her?”
Sarek looked out the viewport, then turned back to Spock, his hands clasped loosely in his lap “If I had wished to contain her,” he said, “I would not have married her.”
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“Jim, this is Mr. Hasegawa. He’s the reason you and Spock are still alive.”
Jim clicked off the news anchor who had been attempting to interview what he thought might have been Spock’s dad. He turned to see McCoy escort an elderly man into the room. Jim’s eyes widened in recognition.
“I remember you!” he exclaimed.
The man bowed. “I should hope so,” he said in impeccable English, “although I was not sure. You had lost much blood by the time we met.” He tucked his hands into his pockets. “I did not think you would survive.”
“Eh,” said Jim, waving his hand dismissively. “Please, come in. Thank you saving my life.” He swallowed. “And for saving Spock’s,” he added.
Mr. Hasegawa nodded. “From the events of the past week, it seems almost as if it is I who should be thanking you.” He glanced out the window. “I have lived a long time, Mr. Kirk, but I did not think that I would ever live to see this world at peace.”
“Oh,” said Jim, rubbing the back of his neck. He turned a little red. “Well, it was more Spock, see. He’s the one who really got things rolling. I was just along for the ride.”
“Even so,” said Mr. Hasegawa. “It is an honor to have helped the men who freed our planet.”
“Whoa,” said Jim, holding out both hands. “Wow. I um, I don’t really know what to say to that. But it was a lot more than just me, really. I mean, there was Spock and, and his brother, and the whole of the Resistance, really.”
“Yes,” said Mr. Hasegawa. “But you and I are here. So as one man to another, I thank you.” He bowed.
“Well,” said Jim. “I-I thank you too. For my life. And for Spock’s.” He bowed awkwardly from his position on the bed. “You didn’t-I mean, you could’ve just left us to die, and you didn’t, so. Thanks.”
“I could never have left you to die,” said Hasegawa.
“Oh,” said Jim, dumbly.
And apparently that was the end of the matter.
Mr. Hasegawa stayed for another hour or so, chatting with Jim, and asking what he thought of this new, Vulcan occupation.
“Well, first off, I don’t think it’s an occupation,” said Jim.
Hasegawa raised his head. His bald top gleamed in the fluorescent light, the wisps of his white hair around the edges fluttering a bit in the breeze from the air vent. “No?” he said.
“No,” said Jim firmly. “I mean, they’ve known we were out here for hundreds of years and they didn’t do anything until they’d realized that someone else had already invaded, right?”
“Yes,” said Hasegawa. He shifted in the hard chair and leaned forward, wrinkled face intent. “But they have disbanded all the governments on Earth and publically declared us under their ‘protection.’” He jerked his head towards the television Jim had been watching. “Already there is talk that we are to become a Vulcan colony. The leaders of the Resistance are facing fire from their own members, saying we have traded one conqueror for another.”
Jim frowned. Being stuck in the hospital, he had been cut off from the events taking place outside. “That doesn’t sound like how Spock described Vulcans,” he said.
Hasegawa shrugged. “They are very logical, yes? Perhaps they have decided that we are not logical enough. Perhaps they have decided that we are volatile.” He lowered his voice. “That we are dangerous.”
Jim laughed, but it sounded off. “Dangerous? To them? Our technology is so behind theirs, we’re like babies. We’re no danger to them.”
“Maybe so,” Hasegawa said. “And maybe it is, like we are babies, that they think they must keep an eye on us.”
Jim couldn’t think of anything to say to that.
After the old man left, with promises to come back and visit Jim again, if only because his life had not been this exciting in years, Jim turned on the television again. He hadn’t really been paying attention before, but now he watched the expressions on commentators’ faces as they spoke of the Vulcans. Was that fear he saw there? Or was it a justified nervousness? Anger, or distrust?
He clicked the T.V off and stared at the blank screen in the suddenly quiet room. He had thought that once the Orions were gone and the Vulcans had saved the day, Earth could go back to being the peaceful utopia it had always clearly been meant to be. He snorted. What a load of shit.
What would happen now? The wars had been terrible, and the dictators and oligarchs harsh, but with them they had managed to maintain a kind of planetary limbo. People died, people vanished, but life went on.
Oh god, there were going to be some fucked up economic consequences, weren’t there? Jim didn’t even try to pretend to understand the world market, but even he could get that with the sudden collapse of almost every major government in the world, there was going to be some serious financial problems in the long run.
And for fuck’s sake-if the Vulcans had removed all of the Orions, who was running the goddamn planet?
He needed to talk to Spock. No. Not Spock. Rather, he’d love to talk to Spock but Spock was who knows where, and possibly stuck in the Vulcan equivalent of a hospital anyway. Who knew when he would be well enough to . . . to-he pushed away the insidious thought that Spock was gone, that he might never be coming back.
No. He needed to talk to Spock’s dad. He needed to convince him that they were going about their helping Earth mission all wrong. He needed to be all, ugh, logical and shit. He needed to be convincing. And he also needed to figure out how to contact the Vulcans because they sure as hell hadn’t left him a phone number.
Jim shut his eyes in resignation. The planet was doomed.
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“How progress the relations with the humans?”
Sarek looked pointedly at the data pad in Spock’s hands. “You know very well how they do,” he said. “You have been watching their news.”
Spock tilted the data pad so that the screen faced Sarek instead. Across it flashed the newest sensational headline (Is Conquering Earth Logical? What Sarek Won’t Say). Sarek curled his lip at it. Spock put the data pad away.
“I am aware that that the media is often influenced by the affected parties. Nevertheless, what is there is concerning. There are stories of riots and mass panics. Rumors that Vulcan will declare martial law, until the planet can be managed properly.”
“That is preposterous,” said Sarek. “No one is declaring martial law.”
“No?”
“It would be impossible; we do not have the resources here.”
Spock lifted an eyebrow. “So it was considered?”
Sarek’s lips thinned. “The people of this planet are very illogical,” he said, “and suspicious.” He stood, his hands behind his back as he stared out the viewport at the image of Earth hanging in the black. “They will not accept that we act in good faith, that we act in their best interest.”
Spock frowned minutely. He shifted in his bed and glanced up at the ceiling in thought. “Perhaps we are not approaching the problem from the correct angle,” he said.
Sarek turned to look at him. “Elucidate.”
“You have been trying the logical approach,” said Spock, “Yet we-perhaps more than any other Vulcan-know that humans are inherently illogical. It may be necessary to further tailor our method.”
Sarek approached him. “You are likely the foremost Vulcan expert on human behavior at this point, Spock. What do you suggest?”
Spock took a quick breath. “What I suggest is not logical, nor is it efficient, and will likely slow planetary recovery down significantly. However, if we wish for the humans as allies in the long term, we must, perhaps, determine a method that would allow the humans to,” he looked down, then back up again, “manage their own future. Their ego is already bruised by the Syndicate’s actions. We must not exacerbate that.”
“If we leave now, the planet will collapse into absolute chaos,” Sarek objected. “Their heads of state have been removed, but the bureaucracy survives on the promise that Vulcan will bring stability. If we depart, that too will fail.”
“We cannot dictate their future,” said Spock, and he was surprised to hear his voice rising in volume. “Humans will take our logical approach and view it though an emotional lens. They will distrust us, they will fear us, and soon they will begin to hate us.” Spock swallowed, not even sure anymore if he was referring to humans in the future, or humans in the past.
“Spock,” Sarek said. Spock could feel his concern, though his face remained simply inquiring. “You have not yet told me how you came to meet the humans of the Resistance.”
Spock lowered his gaze. “It is unimportant,” he said to his hands. His forehead furrowed. “What methods of government have humans historically preferred?”
Sarek noted the subject change, but allowed it for the time being. He took a step closer to Spock. “I am uncertain,” he admitted. His eyes flickered back to the planet. “This task would be simpler if they had an equivalent to our own High Command,” he murmured to himself.
Spock nodded. “But they do not,” he said. “Their planet has never yet been united under one banner.”
Sarek passed his hand over his face as though to ward off a headache. “This will be a monumental undertaking. We will not only need one Ambassador, we will need lawyers and scientists. We will need historians and economists and bureaucrats.”
“But they must be human.”
“They would act under the guidance of Vulcan advisors.”
Spock pondered this. He tried to picture how a human might react to such a mandate. How Jim might react. “No,” he said slowly. “Vulcan mentors, perhaps, present if needed, but not advisors.”
Sarek looked doubtful. He folded his hands into his sleeves. “I do not believe that to be a wise course of action. Humanity is not stable. We must avoid planetwide chaos at all costs.”
Spock shook his head. He indicated the headlines on the data pad as he said, “There is already planetwide chaos. We must attempt to manage it in a way that humans do not find objectionable.”
“I am beginning to speculate that humans will find any course we take to be objectionable,” said Sarek darkly. He looked down as his communicator pinged. He took it out without much interest, and then looked at the caller. “It is T’Ani,” he said. “I must take this call.”
Spock nodded. Sarek opened the communicator.
“Sarek here,” he said.
Spock watched with a great deal of interest as, for the briefest of seconds, his father’s expression actually changed to that of surprise. Spock blinked, and Sarek’s face was back to normal.
“Indeed?” he was saying. “Through their human satellite signals?” He listened for a moment, then nodded. “How resourceful,” he said.
Spock tried very hard to look like he wasn’t eavesdropping. As Sarek sat down again in the chair however, he gave it up as a lost cause. He leaned forward, eyes intent on the conversation.
“I see,” said Sarek. His gaze travelled over to Spock, who tilted his head in inquiry. “Very well. Please escort our guest to the sickbay.” He hung up.
“Father?” said Spock, after the silence began to grow oppressive.
Sarek straightened his robes. “It would appear,” he said, “That you have a visitor.”
Spock was confused for a moment. “Someone from another ship?” he clarified.
“No. A human one,” Sarek said, looking down the long line of his nose at him. “Quite a resourceful being, if their method of communication is any indicator.”
Spock’s heart sped up. Jim was resourceful, was he not? Perhaps . . . but no. Jim had been badly wounded. He was in no shape to be visiting Spock, was he?
“When will this visitor arrive?” he queried. He bent his head so that Sarek would not see the expression of anticipation on his face. His emotional control was still tenuous after his ordeal.
“Presently,” said Sarek.
“Present-” started Spock, then stopped as the door to the sickbay slid open. He turned toward the entrance, hardly daring to believe it. Then he paused, taking in the identity of his visitor. “Nyota?” he said slowly.
She beamed. “So you are alive!” she exclaimed, moving towards him. She then registered Sarek and stopped. “Ambassador Sarek?” she questioned, hesitantly.
“I am,” confirmed Sarek.
Uhura bowed, hands flat to her sides against her faded jeans. “It is an honor to meet you,” she said. “I am Nyota Uhura, second in command to Christopher Pike of the Resistance.”
Sarek’s eyebrow went up. He showed her the ta’al. “Well met,” he said. “Your method of contacting us was quite,” he hesitated, “interesting.”
Uhura smiled. “Actually, that was Jim’s idea,” she said. “I just provided the Romulan language part of it.”
“Romulan language?” broke in Spock. He shook his head. “Forgive me, when did you have the opportunity to learn Romulan?”
Uhura shrugged, settling herself in a chair. “When I was aboard the ship,” she said, smoothing down the front of her shirt. “I just picked up a few words, but we thought you might be more likely to pay attention if our satellites shouted something non-human at you. I mean, you guys didn’t exactly leave a phone number.” She looked around with interest. “This ship is a lot nicer than the other one,” she commented. “And it really is great to see you’re recovering.”
“An interesting solution,” Spock said, reluctantly impressed. He tilted his head up towards Sarek. “And indeed, I am recovering.” He winced a little as he shifted. “Albeit more slowly than I would prefer.”
Sarek glanced between Spock and Uhura, and gathered his robes about himself. “You must have much to discuss,” he said. “I will return when you have finished.” He took a step.
“No, wait!” said Uhura quickly. Sarek stilled. Spock looked at her. “Wait,” she repeated. She shifted in her chair, crossing her legs. “What I’m here for involves you, too.”
Sarek and Spock shared a silent communication, before Sarek planted himself back in place, hands tucked into the sleeves of his robes. He examined the human woman before him.
“Very well,” he said. “Proceed.”
“Uh,” said Uhura. “Well, Jim would have come too, but he’s still not allowed out of bed.”
Although this particular piece of information likely had little to do with whatever Uhura was actually there to speak with them regarding, Spock nevertheless felt a spark of warmth somewhere in his side. He nodded anyway. “I understand,” he said. “Please convey my regards to him.”
Uhura smiled. Sarek adjusted his sleeves impatiently.
“He says hi to you to,” she said, and winked. Sarek appeared alarmed at the motion, perhaps wondering if Nytoa was developing a facial tic, but Spock understood the intent. He inclined his head the slightest bit and Uhura continued. “But anyway,” she said. “The thing is, I came alone because aside from me and Jim, most humans were too frightened.”
Sarek and Spock were silent for a moment as they digested that tidbit of knowledge.
“Frightened . . .” Sarek trailed off. “Frightened of what, may I inquire?”
Uhura looked surprised. “Well, you guys,” she said.
Sarek’s forehead wrinkled. “That does not make sense,” he stated. “We have greatly assisted in freeing humans from Orion influence. We are here to help. There is no logical reason for their fear.”
Uhura frowned. “There are plenty of logical reasons,” she objected. “You’re an unknown. Your technology is much more powerful than ours. We don’t know anything about you.”
“We have proven ourselves to be peaceful,” Sarek said.
“Fear isn’t logical,” said Uhura, voice low. She glanced at Spock, who caught her gaze and tilted his head to the side, ever so slightly. “But anyway, the reason we went to all this trouble is because, honestly? You’re doing it all wrong.”
Sarek stiffened. “If you would please clarify,” he said. “What, precisely, are we doing that is, ‘wrong’?”
Uhura gave him a long, steady stare. “Well, first of all, you’re making communication pretty difficult.”
Spock bit his lip to hide a traitorous smile.
“And secondly, all of your efforts have been directed towards uniting our planet. You’re assuming things. You’re not looking at our past, or any other relevant data.”
Sarek looked very offended at this accusation. He opened his mouth, but Uhura beat him to the punch.
“Look, I like the idea of a united Earth as much as you guys do, but honestly? Most people don’t. Humans like autonomy. The more, the better. People like to decide things for themselves. The majority of our societies and economies revolve around give and take from other societies and economies. We can’t have just one big old United Earth government yet. We would stagnate.”
Sarek’s expression didn’t change, but the hardness in his eyes softened a little, Urhua’s words starting penetrate just the slightest.
“So, as a human,” he said, “You are here to make us aware of our error. I see.” He tilted his head, and pursed his lips. “What course of action then, would you suggest?”
Uhura shrugged. “Honestly?” she said. “I don’t know. Maybe different regions could decide who they want to be a part of, if anyone? Maybe there could be an Earth Council? Some major international rules that everyone must abide by, but everything else can be decided on a regional basis? I really don’t know.” She set her shoulders. “I’m just one human,” she said. “You don’t have to listen to me. But if you want to maintain good relations with Earth, then you’re going to have to go to the people. Ask them what they want, and let them achieve it for themselves.” She folded her hands. “I guarantee that unless you rule with an iron fist, any government you put in place will fall within twenty years. And then we’ll be right back where we started.”
It was quiet for a moment. Sarek paced across the room to look out at Earth again through the viewer. Uhura uncrossed and then re-crossed her legs, though she kept on eye on Sarek, whose expression remained impassive, his eyes giving away nothing of his thoughts.
“A council,” said Spock, suddenly.
Uhura and Sarek both turned to look at him.
“It is the logical course of action,” he said. “There must be a council. It must be broadcasted throughout the entire planet. We will explain our intentions, and the current Earth governments and those who wish to separate, must all have representatives in attendance.”
Uhura blinked. “Like a gigantic press meeting?”
Spock looked uncertain. “If that is the human term,” he said. Sarek appeared doubtful, his face still shadowed.
“That is a very inefficient course of action,” he said. “It will likely take months to organize.”
“Then let it take months!” Uhura exclaimed. She backed down as Sarek turned a reproachful eye to her. “I’m sorry,” she said. “But you have to understand-humans are inefficient and illogical. If you want to maintain our planet’s goodwill, your approach to us must reflect that.”
Sarek exhaled, and gave her a considering look. “I will take your words under advisement,” he said finally. “But you must understand, I also must answer to the Vulcan High Command. It is they who will make the final decision.”
“I guess that’s all I can ask,” Uhura said. She rose. “I guess I’ll see you later, Spock.” She waved her hand ruefully at his injuries. “I’m glad you’re getting better. Pay us a visit on the surface sometime. I know Jim would be glad to see you.”
“I shall,” Spock said, speaking around a strange lump in his throat.
Uhura locked eyes with Sarek. “There is one more thing,” she said.
Sarek lifted an eyebrow. “And that is?”
“A goodwill gesture,” Uhura said firmly.
Sarek blinked. “Is our very presence not a gesture of goodwill?”
“That’s different,” said Uhura. “And it’s got to be something big.”
“Big,” Sarek repeated. “I see. Is this a human custom?”
“It will make you look good,” Uhura said. “And believe me, you guys need to look good.”
“Very well,” said Sarek, resigned. “And is there anything else you wish to discuss?”
Uhura smiled, and shook her head. She headed towards the door. “Oh, wait, yeah,” she said, stopping and placing her hands on her hips.
Sarek raised an eyebrow.
“Get a telephone number or something. You’ve got to be reachable. Relatable. Not just looming around in the sky, beaming down to go arrest Orions or whatever it is you’ve been doing.”
“Very well,” Sarek said, now not even trying to hide his weariness. “We will also look into, ah, ‘getting a telephone number,’ as you say.”
“Fantastic,” said Uhura. She bowed to Sarek, waved one last time at Spock, and marched out the sickbay door to be escorted back to the surface of the planet.
Sarek watched the door close behind her. He eased himself into a chair, chin cushioned on both hands. “Humans are an exhausting species,” he said.
Spock grunted, already back to scrolling through his data pad.
“Spock,” said Sarek, after a minute.
“Yes?”
“What is a telephone number?”
Spock opened his mouth, then closed it. “I believe that if we are to have any success in this matter, then we will need to further research human culture.”
Sarek looked a little pained at the idea, then nodded. “And are you willing?”
“Me?” said Spock.
“You are the logical choice,” Sarek said, now peering at him, as if concerned by Spock’s surprise. “You have human ancestry and you have spent the most time among them.”
Spock folded his hands together and rested them on top of his knees. The task was monumental. Not beyond him but not, perhaps, his chosen field of interest. Still, it would afford him many opportunities. He would likely forge many connections here, on Earth.
“Spock?” prompted Sarek.
Spock gave himself a mental shake. “I am willing,” he said, voice soft.
“You are certain?”
Spock thought of a human smile, of laughing blue eyes, and words in the night under the desert sky. He nodded. “I am willing,” he said, voice much stronger this time.
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