Title: Spock's Log 24 Author: Istannor Series: TOS Part: 1/1 Rating: [PG 13] Codes: Summary: Disclaimer: These are and today as characters of Paramount and Viacom, they own them I only check 'em out from the library. I promise to bring 'em back. To revisit any of the previous installments in the Federation Histories, go to the Website for Istannor, Federation Historian. http://istannor.tripod.com/Istannor.html Spock's Log 24 I have been restricted to my quarters for ten days pending complete medical review of my mental status. This is day four. Dr. McCoy is livid with me and it is probable that he has just cause to be emotional. I made a logical decision to attempt to retrieve the consciousness of my captain, yet it is obvious this decision is viewed in a somewhat altered light by Dr. McCoy. He actually yelled at me when we came on board. I have been named an 'inconsiderate, thieving, lying, grandstanding, sneaky bastard'. I have researched the cultural references for all of those acrimonious labels and I find that he is, in a strange sense accurate for at least three of the descriptions. I lied by omission; I definitely utilized subterfuge and clandestine movement, I did take Jim without permission. I must decline the title of grandstanding, as I sought no glory. I did consider his reaction to my actions but the knowledge of how he would react did not deter me. Jim is still very weak from his recent experience. Dr. McCoy states it was if he was actually doing the flying through space. It seems to have depleted his muscle glycogen stores as well as his hepatic stores. He lost 7.2 kilograms in weight. I have sat with him to monitor his oral intake and assist him with utilizing his utensils. He often refuses my assistance, which results in him not taking in sufficient nutrients before the effort tires him. Fortunately, McCoy has taken the initiative of utilizing other means to rebuild his nutritional stores. I asked Jim why he called for me in the Song. "I wanted you to see what I was seeing. I wanted to share it with you." He called McCoy, also, but the Doctor's longstanding refusal to open his mind to psychic impressions, sealed him in his own head, alone and unable to hear. Jim. . .my captain is often very quiet and still. At first, I thought it was a residual, an echo of the Song which held him still. It is not. I finally asked him, and he said it was me. My actions have caused him a great deal of concern. He feels I should not have put his ship or crew in danger to rescue him. I sense he is ambivalent about and . . . uncertain of my motives for my actions. I am at somewhat of a loss to explain my decisions, now that I have the gift of hindsight. In the full light of my calm perusal of the facts, I am able to see why he would question my actions. His logic is not equal to mine. That is unusual. His conclusions and my have had concordance of 93.4%. Obviously, he did not review all of the parameters involved in my decision tree. Perhaps the Song affected me. I felt it pulling at my. . .my innermost self. It fades now. I am told Humans experience this with normal dreams, the fading of memory. Vulcans do not dream as Humans do, in allegorical, disconnected snippets of imagination and reality combined. At one time in our distant past, it is possible we did, but we have been trained out of the habit. To dream freely allows one's emotions free reign. Passions emerge, fears hold sway, and irrationality floods the mind. We would sink into our dreams and emerge insane, or so some posit. Therefore, we control even the sleeping state and force our minds to meditation or deep, dreamless slumber. Restorative sleep it is called, and so I have believed it to be, until I heard the Song. Who will restore my sleep now? Visualize the beating of your mother's heart, feel it suffuse your being, cool. . .no, for a Vulcan or a full Human, it would be warm. It is only I, half human, who felt a cool chest against my head. Amanda. . .she who is my mother. Look what your son has done. I digress. Hear it . . .tha-tha-thump. . .tha-tha-thump. It beats until it is all you hear, and your hands begin to clinch and unclench to the rhythm. Your feet hold the beat against your will. You rock. . .oh so subtly, until you are the rhythm. I hear it. I feel it. A slow sound of sand shifting in the desert, the breathing of a creature old and immense is added to the symphony, the crackle of the heat on the rocks of the Formaji. Sometimes, they hiss from the heat, drying the last bit of moisture from the hoary hold of the ancient rocks; blowing winds and the sounds of the surf on worlds where the seas are liquid ammonia fill your eyes with colors. Voices. Strain to hear them, and no matter how far you stretch your senses they flit away into the distance. Do not think of instruments. Lives, energy, light, darkness, are the tools to bring you music. I heard these things. In my head were the calls of the Elders, not words, and not notes. A name spoken in passing lasted for an eon. They are alien and ageless. Gargantuan and barely mobile in the physical realm, they were the epitome of puissance and unimaginable grace as they sped across the cosmos, in search of. . .no that is not correct. They search for nothing. They require nothing. They fear nothing. They are. In the Song, they are eternal and the Song is all. They exist to Sing, and they span the universe to sing of its wonders. Joy. . .contentment, surety. . never alone. They are never lonely, never rejected. This is what they sing. How could he resist? Jim. What will become of him? What will become of me? His voice. Against the backdrop of a symphony of sounds, I heard him sing. His voice was notes. His voice sung, laughed, and exclaimed in wonder. The Elders took his song and wove it into the Song, now held there for all times. A youngling who sang. Heat. They named him because he flared and burned like a sun's corona, reaching out far from the core of the Star, living and dying in an instant, glorious to behold. I had a name. I was . . . It is far easier to translate the mental construct for Jim into one word, than it is to do so for what I was named. Heat: a nova, expanding out into the living darkness of space; sun falling on a youngling's back as it basked in the sun of their world; water near a thermal vent, rising and warming the skin of an almost adult as it fed on the plants of the deep, skin of Elder against Elder, making circles of warmth in the cold of the deep. Jim was all of this to them, life, touching, experiencing, joy, creation, destruction, sharing. Jim: Heat; Spock: Voice Sing Noise Song. Does a longer name constitute an insult or a compliment? I suspect I was not complimented. I screamed against the notes of the Song. I flew and called out for Jim. I refused to leave him out among the stars he craved. I denied him his dream. I caused him pain, because I decided I knew what was best for him. He has only spoken to me briefly since he awoke. I do not believe he agrees with my decisions, but he will never say that. There was and is no logical reason to not want to be rescued. Unfortunately, he is not always logical. Yesterday he was stronger. We spoke for 1.54 hours. He asked, 'Why did you break quarantine and risk your life and your career for me, Spock? Why not let me go? I was content and if you had chosen to join the Song, you would have been immortalized. What do you want so badly in this reality? Where was your logic?' If he remained in the Song, he would die. If I remained in the Song, my Katra would have been part of the Song, even had I died. I would have continued. When he died, my Katra would remain in the Song, alone among the Elders. Alien. The Song gave me nothing. I did not desire it, therefore an eternity of being in it was not a logical choice. Jim, having no Katra would have left the Song upon his demise. Jim's death would have resulted in a null set for four equations. The Federation would have lost its most brilliant Starship captain, Jim would be dead, the Song would be without Jim, and I would persist in a Song in which I did not belong, or have been forced to serve under a less worthy commander. I attempted to explain my reasoning to him. He seeks to push me. He seeks to deconstruct me and rebuild me into something he can predict. If this continues, I will not be allowed any secrets from this man. Now my logic and my rationality are questioned by the man who would have been dead, but for my actions. My decision was logical. Perhaps there were five equations with null sets for solutions. If Jim had died, and I had lived. . .I would have returned to my previous solitude. I no longer seek what I once espoused as necessary. It is just as well. I gave Sam my word, and Jean Little. Jean called the ship two days ago. She spoke briefly with Jim and then asked to speak with me. She sat silently and stared at me across the screen. I thought she would not speak at all. "Spock, over time, water can break a rock. Which shall you be: the water, or the rock?" She then thanked me for my efforts and signed off. I am not sure I understand the question. I certainly do not see any logic in making a choice between those two options. I must end this. It is time to go to assist Jim with his meal. He will not allow any of the medical technicians or nurses to do so. My escort will be three security officers until the quarantine is lifted. Dr. McCoy insisted on the redundancy. I did not deem it necessary to tell him that even three Human guards could not stop a determined adult Vulcan male. Some things are better kept to oneself.